Chapter 9 – Chapter 9

Trick knocked on my door at 3:30 on Friday afternoon. I had been waiting since 1, when I had finished furtively cleaning the house and myself. I knew I was being ridiculous; I was acting like I was having a date over for dinner for the first time.

I wanted to look casual and indifferent. No hair product. A loose t-shirt. Gym shorts. But, no matter how hard I tried, I still looked like I was trying. When I looked in the mirror, Anderson Cooper stared back at me. I had been graying since I was 30; at 46, I was silver. I kept myself in reasonable shape, but my middle showed that I drank too much wine and didn't do enough abdominal work.

I had never been cool. I was not going to start today. I looked like I was trying too hard when I wasn't trying at all.

Trick stunned me when I opened the door. A plastic headband held his hair away from his face, which still was not shaved. He had that same scarf wrapped around his neck, had on the same blank tank top, and had on loose, ripped jeans that were tight enough to show off his body but loose enough to look casual and old.

He looked like the lead singer of a rock band. He oozed coolness and indifference and sex as he nodded and sauntered past me. He moved with the complete, unfettered confidence of a big penis. My freshman year college roommate had the same confidence. He was average looking, but he owned the room when he walked in. He was swinging a weapon, he knew it, and his demeanor betrayed it.

My dick was a little better than fine, 6.5 inches when hard, but nice looking. But, I moved like it was small. I lived with the diffidence of someone who never quite measured up, for whatever reason. I had since I could remember. I was short (only 5'7", stretched out completely), I sat in the front row, I was never late, and I was always harried. I was the opposite of Trick.

Trick plopped down on the sofa, pulled a bong out of his bag, and prepared to fire it up. I was surprised he moved right to that. I went to the kitchen and poured us two glasses of vodka, adding a bit of Sprite to his and a bit of ice to mine. I returned to the living room to see him take a big hit.

I put Trick's drink in front of him, and he downed half of it. He then unwound the scarf from around his neck and tossed it at me. "Yours to keep," he said. "A souvenir."

"Of what?"

"Our first date."

I was stunned. I had not considered that this could be a date. Sure, the questions about "when did you switch" during the car ride had me wondering, but there was a chasm between wondering whether Trick was gay and thinking he was gay and interested in me.

He then pulled the black tank top over his head, baring his hairy, muscled chest. "I hope you don't mind," he said." "But, I packed poorly. I have only the tank, and it's a little tight."

"I can get you a shirt."

"You can if you want, I guess. But, I'm happy without one."

I liked the view of Trick's hairy chest and path to paradise, so I casually ignored my offer. He offered me the bong, and I took it. We spent the next hour drinking vodka and smoking pot. By 5, I was drunk and high. So was Trick.

"You hungry?" I asked.

"Headed there. Pot makes me hungry . . . and horny."

"We can solve your hunger problem," I said, as I headed to the kitchen. Trick followed. I got out my wok, got out chicken and vegetables, and started cutting it all up for a stirfry. Trick moved in to help, and his assistance was titillating. I may have been too attentive, but it seemed like he touched my arms or back or shoulders every chance he could.

I poured more drinks. Trick retrieved the bong from the living room. We drank and smoked while we cooked. I was lost by the time I served the stirfry. And, I no longer wanted food. I wanted something else.

Halfway through dinner, Trick stood up, unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. As opposed to our drive two days before, he was wearing underwear, red boxer briefs that betrayed everything they were supposed to conceal. I looked at him, and my mouth went dry.

Again, I felt both like predator and prey.

I was not the predator.

Trick sat back down. "That's better," he said as he resumed eating. When he was finished, he got the bong again, took a huge hit, walked toward me, and lowered his face to mine. I was not sure what was happening when he cupped his hand around the back of my neck, placed his lips to mine, opened his mouth, and exhaled all the smoke he had been holding into my mouth.

His lips were soft but firm. Initially taken aback, I recovered in time to breathe the smoke in. Trick's lips did not leave mine. His tongue entered my mouth. I masked my surprise by letting my tongue meet his. We kissed, for the first time. When the kiss was over, I let the smoke escape my lungs.

I was not sure what was going on, but I was sure what I wanted to be going on. All of my self-control was being challenged and eroding.

I got up and started to clean the kitchen. Trick got up and helped. While I was washing the wok, Trick reached around me from behind and kissed the back of my neck. I finally got it. Somehow, someway, this hot 21 year old all-SEC baseball player wanted me. I turned around. He lowered his face to mine and kissed me again. I kissed him back, moving my hands up and down his smooth, hairless back. As the kiss endured, I moved my hands to his chest. We kept kissing.

It was an awesome kiss. I wanted it to go on and on, although I felt shitty that it was happening. I knew his father/my best friend/my former lover would hate that kiss with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns, but I also knew I'd have ceded that friendship to that kiss every time. It was that magical.

When the kiss was over, Trick pulled back and looked at me. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he said.

I was gobsmacked. "Really?" I asked.

"Yep. Since I was a kid, and I watched you play ball with my dad. The way you moved. The way you smiled. The way you talked to me, like you really cared about what I had to say. The way you treated me like an equal, not like a kid. I wanted you. I just didn't know it."

"You were a kid."

"A kid with a hard on. I jacked off thinking of you all through high school."

"You should have had better fantasies. I'm an old man."

"You're an older man. Which is hot. And which I like. A lot."

He lowered his mouth to mine again. We kissed for a long time. I could not believe what was happening. Trick was 21 and as hot as he could be. I was 46 and had gone fallow. I was living a fantasy, but it was fraught.

We kissed and kissed and kissed. I wanted to stop, but couldn't. I had not made out with someone for at least a decade. I was 46 going on 16. I was at a high school party, surprised to be kissing the BMOC.

As we kissed, Trick pressed his body to mine. I could feel his hard-on against my stomach. I wanted him, but I knew I could not have him. He was my best friend's son. He was less than half my age.

He pressed into me. My arms around him, I pulled him into me as hard as I could.

He broke the kiss and whispered "I want to fuck you" into my forehead. I wanted him to fuck me. So much. But, I knew he shouldn't.

"Trick, that's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

"Your dad would kill me."

"He's not going to watch."

"Still."

"And I'm not going to tell him."

"Still."

Trick kissed me again. I kissed him back. I had to, even if it was wrong. Our tongues twirled. He tasted of pot and beer and stirfry. His whiskers tickled my face. His hard-on tried to pierce my stomach.

"Are you sure I can't fuck you?"

"I am. I'm not sure what this is, but I need to take it slow and steady."

"I'm 21. Slow and steady really isn't my thing."

We parted again.

"Where do your parents think you are?" I asked.

"I'm 21. I don't tell them where I'm going when I go."

"You should probably go. I'm not strong enough for you to stay."

"I don't want you to be strong. I'm horny. I want you to make me come."

"I can't do that."

"Then, I'm going to make myself come."

Trick slipped back into his jeans and headed toward the door. I followed him. At the door, he kissed me gently and whispered, "you're going to regret letting me leave more than you'd have regretted letting me stay."

I knew he was right. But, I let him leave anyway.