WINTER SOULS, Chapter 3 by Brian Hennessey
Happy New Year, everyone. Here is hoping 2010 is the beginning of a healthy, happy and prosperous decade for all of us. May you have love, and laughter and peace. Sandi did the icon and the illustration. Enjoy.
*****
WINTER SOULS, Chapter 3
Suite 415, 4:15 p.m. December 23, 2009
Food.
Food always works with him.
Justin cares more about food than I ever will. For me, food is fuel, a necessity and a risk to my waistline that I carefully monitor. For him, it’s a true pleasure. When it’s good. And yet he still manages to maintain that nice, tight little body. Oh well, he’s still young. The calories may catch up to him later.
After cream of asparagus soup, a strip steak with pomme frites and a large slice of cheesecake, he seems thawed out and mellow. The wine may have helped.
“Are you not eating at all?” he asks. I hold up my glass of wine.
“Drinking lunch.”
“You can’t live on that, Brian.”
“I managed to steal a roll before you devoured them all.”
He laughs. “I was starving. Starving artist and all that.”
“Yeah, very Jean Valjean. I understand your paintings are selling rather well. I think you can afford a meal or two.”
“Occasionally.”
I laugh and refill my wine glass. The bottle is now officially empty. I pick up the phone to order another.
“Ask for another piece of cheesecake,” he requests and ignores my raised brow. “I’m still young,” he reminds me and I shake my head.
“Not as young as you think. After twenty five, the party’s over on calories.”
“Really? Then why are you still the same weight you were when we met?”
“Because I watch it.”
“Vanity thy name is Brian Kinney. Hey, remember that time I was making jambalaya at the loft and you brought that southern fried trick home?”
“I remember I had to lure him out of the kitchen with my powerful sexual appeal,” I say with a smile. “Not sure which he found more interesting, your ass or the food.”
“Trust me, it was the food. Do you remember his name?”
“I’m not sure I ever heard his name.”
We both laugh. “You are such a pagan, Brian.”
“My pagan days are far tamer now. Between job, travel, age…” I pause to order and then hang up the phone. Justin is giving me that xray stare. It’s very disconcerting.
“Really,” his sarcasm drips. “So you’ve gone celibate now?”
We both laugh. “I said tamer, not dead. How about you? Someone new on the horizon since you left what’s-his-name?”
“I’m taking a break.”
“How does that work? You’re a serial monogamist by nature.”
“Truth is I’m bored with relationships for now. Concentrating on my work.”
“Ah. Me too. Concentrating on my work, that is.”
“Yes, I know. Relationships have always bored you.”
“Not all,” I correct him. “We were a lot of things but never boring.”
“That’s true,” his gaze drifts over to the whiteout beyond the windows. “Do you ever wonder how it might have turned out if we went through with that wedding?”
“Sure.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think we’d be right where we are today. Living separate lives. After a tough year or so of not so blissful marriage.”
***
The room service waiter rings the bell and Brian goes to answer it. I watch his slim image as if watching a movie. He glides, a very cat-like pace that is erotic and yet unstudied. If he tried to do it, it would be ridiculous. But it comes natural to him, the beautiful predator. What he said about us hurts, and yet he’s right.
We both had a lot of growing up to do when we made that pact. He was jumping from a life choice that was the antipathy of monogamy and I was a kid with a huge crush. I wasn’t in his league based on life experience and he wasn’t capable of my emotional commitment. Sex was our wonderful common point, we were perfect in bed together and that is a strong persuader. But great sex was never going to be enough to overcome all the ground we needed to cover to find the same page.
Facing that fact, both of us, knowing that house in the burbs was not who we were, nor was the walk down the aisle necessary, was a true revelation. I had to leave to grow up and he had to let me go to understand the gravity of his feelings. So here we are now. But where is that? The blizzard is a perfect analogy for the powerful obscurity of our shared emotions.
He opens the wine, fills both glasses and offers me the cheesecake. I shake my head and carry the wine glass to the bed. “I’ll eat it later,” I say as I slip out of the robe and under the covers. “God, this bed is comfortable. I forgot what a good mattress feels like.”
He is standing there and staring at me. It’s an awkward moment. I know he wants to join me but he’s hesitant. So not the Brian Kinney the Predator that I knew so well. Who’s feelings is he guarding? Mine or his? There is no such thing as “just sex” with us, and we both know it. It’s been a long time since I felt his hands on my skin, his cock in my ass, and I want him. I want every inch of him.
“Well?” I ask, holding open the sheet. “Are you coming? What was your line? Are you coming and then going? Are you coming and then staying? I can’t remember.”
He pulls off his sweater, his torso as lean and cut as ever, as he drops his jeans and slides in next to me, covering me with his body, He feels warm and taut and he smells like Brian always smells, clean but not reeking with product. Brian’s skin has a great natural smell, toasty and full of endorphins.
I pull him into an embrace and welcome his tongue into my mouth. He tastes of wine and heat. I throw a leg over the back of his thighs to press closer to his crotch. He is already hard and so am I. All the years and tears and loss melt away as we get lost in each other. There have been men since Brian, but none, not one, has come close to making me feel the way he can.
I want to devour him, to taste every inch of his body, to incorporate him into me. He penetrates, giving up on foreplay in exchange for the ultimate orgasm. The last traces of my chill disappear in his heat as we couple like tigers, feral and uncontrolled and dangerously intense.
When it ends in a mutual, shattering explosion of lust and need, only then does sanity return as he collapses above me, his heart pounding against my chest. “That was a first,” I whisper as I comb back his thick hair with both hands.
He lifts his head to look at me. “A first? You mean you were faking it all those years?”
We both laugh. “First bareback ride.”
A light suddenly comes on in his eyes. “Shit,” he rolls over, tucking an arm behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think about it. I never do that. But relax. I was tested just two months ago and haven’t been exposed since then.”
“I’m okay too. I took your lessons to heart. I’m always safe until today.”
“Sorry,” he turns on his side to look at me. “If you turn up pregnant, I promise to do the honorable thing.”
I laugh at that thought. “I’m on the pill.”
He spreads his hand out on my chest. “Too bad. We would make a beautiful baby, don’t you think?”
“Gus is a beautiful baby. You mix well with blondes.”
“Gus is a beautiful kid now. Amazing how big he’s become.”
“I know you miss him. I do.”
“Yeah, but I see him as often as possible. He’s fine.”
“I miss you, Brian.”
“Yeah?”
“You doubt it?”
“I don’t know. We’ve grown apart.”
“You don’t miss me?”
“Sure I do. When I allow myself to think about it.”
“I’m not the kid you knew back when.”
“I know. You’ve aged, but it wears well on you, and don’t say a word about my aging.”
“You’ll always be beautiful and you know it.”
He reaches for a cigarette and torches it. “It’s getting harder every year to just hold on to what I have left.”
“Does it still mean as much as it once did? Your looks?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it while I take a piss.”
I feel his gaze follow me as I walk to the bathroom. He says nothing, deep in thought.
***
Do my looks mean as much as they once did? I don’t know. Being born looking a certain way is no accomplishment. It’s just genetic bingo. But my looks have always been a tool, a way to get what I want when I want it, and you don’t give that edge up easily. So I work out, watch the weight, do what I can to preserve what I have. But does it mean as much as it once did?
No.
I’ve got other priorities now. At my age, no matter how well preserved I am, going on a club hopping fuck hunt is pathetic. I know what the young fags are thinking, because I lived that life. I don’t need their dismissal and I am no one’s potential sugar daddy.
My experiences are more in the moment than that, like with the actor in the commercial. He was here, it was easy. My business gives me access to many hot men, without the hunt. Enough to keep me satisfied. But knowing I can have them and feeding my ego with their easy attraction is not as important as it once was. And I am smart enough to know that attraction will wane with passing years. So where does that leave me?
“What’s your answer?” he asks as he returns to the bed and flops down on one of my arms.
“What was the question again?”
He glares. “Does it still mean as much as it once did?”
“I don’t know. Define important. I think I racked up enough hits to retire my number with dignity, but I’m not ready for the shelf just yet. I expend a lot of energy building my business. Believe it or not, I like that challenge and I’m good at it.”
“I know you are.”
I lean over and kiss him. “Do we have to talk? We do so well when we aren’t talking.”
He kisses me back, and then says, “I miss you, Brian. It hits me at odd times. I wonder what is eating at me or what I forgot or what hurts and then I realize I miss you. You left a hole in my life. When does that stop for good?”
“Never,” I tell him, and kiss him again. I know what I’m talking about, because I feel it too. We let the unanswerable questions hang as we get lost again in the easy physical rhythm we create together.
*****
WINTER SOULS, Chapter 3
Suite 415, 4:15 p.m. December 23, 2009
Food.
Food always works with him.
Justin cares more about food than I ever will. For me, food is fuel, a necessity and a risk to my waistline that I carefully monitor. For him, it’s a true pleasure. When it’s good. And yet he still manages to maintain that nice, tight little body. Oh well, he’s still young. The calories may catch up to him later.
After cream of asparagus soup, a strip steak with pomme frites and a large slice of cheesecake, he seems thawed out and mellow. The wine may have helped.
“Are you not eating at all?” he asks. I hold up my glass of wine.
“Drinking lunch.”
“You can’t live on that, Brian.”
“I managed to steal a roll before you devoured them all.”
He laughs. “I was starving. Starving artist and all that.”
“Yeah, very Jean Valjean. I understand your paintings are selling rather well. I think you can afford a meal or two.”
“Occasionally.”
I laugh and refill my wine glass. The bottle is now officially empty. I pick up the phone to order another.
“Ask for another piece of cheesecake,” he requests and ignores my raised brow. “I’m still young,” he reminds me and I shake my head.
“Not as young as you think. After twenty five, the party’s over on calories.”
“Really? Then why are you still the same weight you were when we met?”
“Because I watch it.”
“Vanity thy name is Brian Kinney. Hey, remember that time I was making jambalaya at the loft and you brought that southern fried trick home?”
“I remember I had to lure him out of the kitchen with my powerful sexual appeal,” I say with a smile. “Not sure which he found more interesting, your ass or the food.”
“Trust me, it was the food. Do you remember his name?”
“I’m not sure I ever heard his name.”
We both laugh. “You are such a pagan, Brian.”
“My pagan days are far tamer now. Between job, travel, age…” I pause to order and then hang up the phone. Justin is giving me that xray stare. It’s very disconcerting.
“Really,” his sarcasm drips. “So you’ve gone celibate now?”
We both laugh. “I said tamer, not dead. How about you? Someone new on the horizon since you left what’s-his-name?”
“I’m taking a break.”
“How does that work? You’re a serial monogamist by nature.”
“Truth is I’m bored with relationships for now. Concentrating on my work.”
“Ah. Me too. Concentrating on my work, that is.”
“Yes, I know. Relationships have always bored you.”
“Not all,” I correct him. “We were a lot of things but never boring.”
“That’s true,” his gaze drifts over to the whiteout beyond the windows. “Do you ever wonder how it might have turned out if we went through with that wedding?”
“Sure.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think we’d be right where we are today. Living separate lives. After a tough year or so of not so blissful marriage.”
***
The room service waiter rings the bell and Brian goes to answer it. I watch his slim image as if watching a movie. He glides, a very cat-like pace that is erotic and yet unstudied. If he tried to do it, it would be ridiculous. But it comes natural to him, the beautiful predator. What he said about us hurts, and yet he’s right.
We both had a lot of growing up to do when we made that pact. He was jumping from a life choice that was the antipathy of monogamy and I was a kid with a huge crush. I wasn’t in his league based on life experience and he wasn’t capable of my emotional commitment. Sex was our wonderful common point, we were perfect in bed together and that is a strong persuader. But great sex was never going to be enough to overcome all the ground we needed to cover to find the same page.
Facing that fact, both of us, knowing that house in the burbs was not who we were, nor was the walk down the aisle necessary, was a true revelation. I had to leave to grow up and he had to let me go to understand the gravity of his feelings. So here we are now. But where is that? The blizzard is a perfect analogy for the powerful obscurity of our shared emotions.
He opens the wine, fills both glasses and offers me the cheesecake. I shake my head and carry the wine glass to the bed. “I’ll eat it later,” I say as I slip out of the robe and under the covers. “God, this bed is comfortable. I forgot what a good mattress feels like.”
He is standing there and staring at me. It’s an awkward moment. I know he wants to join me but he’s hesitant. So not the Brian Kinney the Predator that I knew so well. Who’s feelings is he guarding? Mine or his? There is no such thing as “just sex” with us, and we both know it. It’s been a long time since I felt his hands on my skin, his cock in my ass, and I want him. I want every inch of him.
“Well?” I ask, holding open the sheet. “Are you coming? What was your line? Are you coming and then going? Are you coming and then staying? I can’t remember.”
He pulls off his sweater, his torso as lean and cut as ever, as he drops his jeans and slides in next to me, covering me with his body, He feels warm and taut and he smells like Brian always smells, clean but not reeking with product. Brian’s skin has a great natural smell, toasty and full of endorphins.
I pull him into an embrace and welcome his tongue into my mouth. He tastes of wine and heat. I throw a leg over the back of his thighs to press closer to his crotch. He is already hard and so am I. All the years and tears and loss melt away as we get lost in each other. There have been men since Brian, but none, not one, has come close to making me feel the way he can.
I want to devour him, to taste every inch of his body, to incorporate him into me. He penetrates, giving up on foreplay in exchange for the ultimate orgasm. The last traces of my chill disappear in his heat as we couple like tigers, feral and uncontrolled and dangerously intense.
When it ends in a mutual, shattering explosion of lust and need, only then does sanity return as he collapses above me, his heart pounding against my chest. “That was a first,” I whisper as I comb back his thick hair with both hands.
He lifts his head to look at me. “A first? You mean you were faking it all those years?”
We both laugh. “First bareback ride.”
A light suddenly comes on in his eyes. “Shit,” he rolls over, tucking an arm behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think about it. I never do that. But relax. I was tested just two months ago and haven’t been exposed since then.”
“I’m okay too. I took your lessons to heart. I’m always safe until today.”
“Sorry,” he turns on his side to look at me. “If you turn up pregnant, I promise to do the honorable thing.”
I laugh at that thought. “I’m on the pill.”
He spreads his hand out on my chest. “Too bad. We would make a beautiful baby, don’t you think?”
“Gus is a beautiful baby. You mix well with blondes.”
“Gus is a beautiful kid now. Amazing how big he’s become.”
“I know you miss him. I do.”
“Yeah, but I see him as often as possible. He’s fine.”
“I miss you, Brian.”
“Yeah?”
“You doubt it?”
“I don’t know. We’ve grown apart.”
“You don’t miss me?”
“Sure I do. When I allow myself to think about it.”
“I’m not the kid you knew back when.”
“I know. You’ve aged, but it wears well on you, and don’t say a word about my aging.”
“You’ll always be beautiful and you know it.”
He reaches for a cigarette and torches it. “It’s getting harder every year to just hold on to what I have left.”
“Does it still mean as much as it once did? Your looks?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it while I take a piss.”
I feel his gaze follow me as I walk to the bathroom. He says nothing, deep in thought.
***
Do my looks mean as much as they once did? I don’t know. Being born looking a certain way is no accomplishment. It’s just genetic bingo. But my looks have always been a tool, a way to get what I want when I want it, and you don’t give that edge up easily. So I work out, watch the weight, do what I can to preserve what I have. But does it mean as much as it once did?
No.
I’ve got other priorities now. At my age, no matter how well preserved I am, going on a club hopping fuck hunt is pathetic. I know what the young fags are thinking, because I lived that life. I don’t need their dismissal and I am no one’s potential sugar daddy.
My experiences are more in the moment than that, like with the actor in the commercial. He was here, it was easy. My business gives me access to many hot men, without the hunt. Enough to keep me satisfied. But knowing I can have them and feeding my ego with their easy attraction is not as important as it once was. And I am smart enough to know that attraction will wane with passing years. So where does that leave me?
“What’s your answer?” he asks as he returns to the bed and flops down on one of my arms.
“What was the question again?”
He glares. “Does it still mean as much as it once did?”
“I don’t know. Define important. I think I racked up enough hits to retire my number with dignity, but I’m not ready for the shelf just yet. I expend a lot of energy building my business. Believe it or not, I like that challenge and I’m good at it.”
“I know you are.”
I lean over and kiss him. “Do we have to talk? We do so well when we aren’t talking.”
He kisses me back, and then says, “I miss you, Brian. It hits me at odd times. I wonder what is eating at me or what I forgot or what hurts and then I realize I miss you. You left a hole in my life. When does that stop for good?”
“Never,” I tell him, and kiss him again. I know what I’m talking about, because I feel it too. We let the unanswerable questions hang as we get lost again in the easy physical rhythm we create together.