Coffee at Nine

Coffee at Nine Chapter 3

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April

Henry was funny. I loved his sense of humor. It's no wonder we paired up on these youth group trips. As we joked around with each other, I thought our laughter might wake up our hosts. We didn't know these people at all, and we had stayed up fairly late. Their room was down the hall, but I still didn't want to be a loud guest.

Henry and I shoved and punched each other in our laughter. I had doubled over at his last joke. We got the giggles and then it just escalated. He stopped pushing on me, but let his hands stay on my body while we were still. I had hardly noticed, but he pulled them away before I could give it a second thought. But after the wrestling around, our bodies were now close. He didn't pull away. I didn't either. I was okay with it. I didn't mind his leg touching mine.

We continued to talk. I couldn't tell if we were pressing closer or if it was my imagination. It was like the movement of a minute-hand on a clock. After a few minutes, we were really pressed together. We seemed fine with it. I liked feeling his skin touch mine. I wasn't sure why, but I liked it.

"My legs really got hairy my junior year," he said, gently bending the one that touched mine.

We were one month into our senior year at high school.

"Mine aren't quite as hairy as yours," I said, having no idea what to say.

Henry put his hand on my hip. He continued to talk about the bus ride down, but my focus was on his hand. I had stopped breathing. I was afraid to even exhale. Air slowly escaped my nostrils. I was afraid to make the slightest sound. My dick had become hard. When Henry had put his hand on my hip, I wondered if the slightest movement of fabric was giving me away. My penis was doing jumping jacks in my briefs.

Like a symphony warming up, every instrument was playing in my head. It was a cacophony of thought and sound, and I soon became terrified. More than anything else, I wanted to put my hand on him, to touch him. Everything inside me told me that was wrong.

"We have to get up at 7. We should probably get some sleep."

Henry rustled under the covers. Even in the darkness, I knew he had just taken off his underwear. Why had he done that? My heart pounded. I turned my body on its side to face away from him.

"Good night," he softly said.

I felt him move up behind me. His body gently pressed up to mine.

My eyes were wide open. I stared at the soft glimmer in the sheer curtain cast by a streetlight three houses down. My heart pounded even more. Why was he so close? And why did I want to move back to press us closer? There were too many unknowns. I didn't know what to do. I was motionless.

I could feel it on one of my ass cheeks. It was pressing into me. Not shoved. Just a hard press. Even with me still wearing my underwear, I knew it was his cock — his erect, stiff, hard, solid, elongated, steel cock — and it was touching me. For a moment I wondered that if my heart pounded any more, would I have to be taken to the hospital. I just wanted my own dick to go down. It was a crowbar. But as I allowed myself to breathe, I realized I didn't want it to go down.

Between me and the window, a clock was placed on the nightstand. When I first saw it, it said 1:12. Then 1:20. Then 1:34. I was still motionless, paralyzed. It was like an awakened coma.

At 1:37, Henry moved his arm and put it around me. His fingers were relaxed and gently curled. A few seconds later, his curled pointer finger gently grazed my chest.

Fear!

Panic!

Joy!

Euphoria.

I let out an exhale. If I stayed tensed up, I thought I might shoot a two-liter bottle of cum into my underwear, and where would that leave me? I breathed in, I breathed out.

"You awake?" he softly asked.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"I don't want to sleep either."

He was right. I wasn't sleepy. Why would I want to sleep when there was this stiff hard-on pressed into me. Who could possibly sleep? I had only one thought. It tormented me to such a state that I was not remotely thinking about sleep. I wanted to hold it. I didn't know why, I just knew I wanted to.

I couldn't believe my courage. I moved my arm back. I reached over and found it.

His cock felt glorious in my gentle grip. It was like finding a thousand dollars. As softly as I could, I squeezed it. I held it. I fondled it. I slightly tugged it. I was never letting go of it as long as I lived.

I rolled over on my back and so did he. Even in our synchronized ballet, his penis never left my hand. It was mine. I felt he offered it, and I was keeping it.

I started slowly stroking it while it was captive in my grasp. It was gentle. It was slow. But pulling on it made him breathe in a way I liked.

I wanted to ask if he was okay with me doing it. I didn't. I wanted to ask him how often he did this at home. I didn't.

As I started tugging just a little harder, my pinky went down to the base. I felt his pubic hair and released his dick from my grip. For just a moment I spread my fingers through his bush. I took a deep breath again. I inhaled one more time. I resisted the urge to shoot my load right then. Once that second passed, I felt victorious for not being embarrassed by milky briefs.

Henry reached over and for the first time traced his fingers along the contour of my own erection. It was straining against the cotton like I had never felt. His whole hand cupped my dick and gently rubbed it. My hard-on was instantaneously plugged into high voltage.

I had never felt braver than I did at that moment when I pulled my briefs off and scrunched them between us. We were both naked. We both wanted to be naked. We both had to be naked.

His fingers explored every inch of my crotch. He felt the length of my dick, the slit on the head of my penis, he traced down to the base, my bush, and he fondled my balls. I had never experienced anything so gloriously frightening and exhilarating and magical in my life.

We said nothing. Our arms crossed and we began pulling and jerking each other's anatomy. It was all so pent-up. We couldn't have lasted two minutes.

I felt his body begin to tremble.

"Cooper," he whispered.

He panted.

"Cooper," he said aloud.

As he gasped, I knew he was coming. A bit drooled on my fingers, but I knew most of it was landing further. He whispered my name one more time as he continued to shoot warm liquid. I didn't stop. I kept pumping his organ to make sure he would release it all. I felt more drip down onto my fingers. He mildly shuddered, and then his body relaxed. He breathed.

For a moment, I worried that if he was done, he would want to stop. I didn't want to stop.

Without hesitation, I slid my hands through his cum and then wrapped it around my cock. I loved the slippery stickiness. I had said virtually nothing through all this, but the gooey texture on my dick made me softly utter, "Yeah."

My arm pumped my cock for all it was worth. I figured Henry would leave me alone and just let me finish, but then his hand cupped my balls and gently toyed with them. Once again, I whispered, "Yeah."

A minute later, I felt my orgasm build. I was panting, and I grabbed his hand and forced it around my pounding fist. His fingers wrapped mine. Together we serviced my erection. The pressure built and came to a head. My head.

A single "Ungh!" was said and then I just gasped.

And gasped.

And gasped.

And gasped.

And gasped.

And as the last spurt of cum was expelled from my cock, I made one giant exhaled "whhooooooo."

We lay still and quiet a moment.

"Man," I whispered.

"Yeah," he replied.

Just before I contemplated wiping my chest off, Henry reached back over and ran his hand through all my cum.

A clap of thunder caused me to jump. It startled me from my thoughts. Why had I been thinking about that night with Henry — again!?

Another flash of light was followed by a rumble of thunder. Then I heard the rain starting to hit the window.

My erotic thoughts had brought me so close to climax, I reached down to finish the job. As I jerked my erection, I remembered Henry telling me he would get us a washcloth.

He was the bravest boy in the world to slip out of our dark room into the dark hall and walk four dark steps to the guest bathroom. He was doing it completely naked. I could hear him gently run water. A minute later he came back in the room. My eyes were so adjusted that the faint glimmer let me make out his plumped cock swinging as he walked back to bed. He handed me a wet washcloth. I wiped off my chest completely. Then he had a dry towel and he placed it on my crotch. I let him dry me off. I even liked that. He dried my chest. Then we put the washcloths to the side of the bed.

I turned on my side again.

1:52.

Henry moved up behind me again. We both lay naked, and he put his arm around me. He whispered, "Good night," and then nuzzled into the curve of my neck. I felt his lips gently kiss my neck. Dear lord, I loved that.

We woke the next morning to a knock on the door. Henry's arm still draped around me. We both jolted at the sound. Our hosts were encouraging us to wake and said they would have breakfast ready in 15 minutes. We acknowledged the invitation. Henry slipped out of bed. In the morning light, I could see his dick. Clearly. Beautifully. He pulled back the cover looking for his underwear; I needed to do that as well. He uncovered my bare body. My morning erection was evident. He stared at it. I stared at his crotch. I could see his dick move, stiffen, lift.

That was it. My groin exploded. My chest was covered immediately. I gasped for breath in my early morning Sunday climax. Then I relaxed into my pillow like my head had the weight of a bowling ball. I listened to the sound of the rain. I loved listening to rain. In my contentment, I asked myself why these recent thoughts of Henry were giving me such intense orgasms.

—

"Curse you, Emory, for making me relive those stupid high school memories," I said peeling the lid off my coffee.

"Oh?" he said, leaning his umbrella against the window.

"Since we brought it up two weeks ago, I've ... it has made me ... well, it's been on my mind!"

"I see. Hopefully in a good way."

"Yeah. Pretty intense. Each time." I smiled knowingly. He got the drift.

I noticed when I had hugged him near the front door, the smell of blueberry muffins was emanating from the back kitchen. "Care to share a muffin today?"

"Sounds great."

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Okay, I guess. Been doing some spring cleaning."

"Nice."

"For the most part," he said solemnly.

"Oh? Something wrong?"

"No. Not wrong, per se. I got to cleaning out one of the spare closets. I found some things of Gene's. It made me a bit sad."

"I'm sorry. What kind of things?"

"Things he had saved over the years, keepsakes of sorts."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Mixed. Some things brought a smile to my face, some things made me sad. I discarded a few items that only had specific memories for him. I didn't find the value in just keeping them in a box. Among them were Valentine's cards, our `anniversary' cards, etc."

"I seem to recall you being an anti-marriage person. What did you pick as your anniversary date?"

It seemed like my comment had thrown Emory for a second.

"I wouldn't say I am an anti-marriage person. Certainly for the straights, it's fine. If kids are involved. All that. I just felt like it wasn't worth the effort for gay activists to pursue it so hard. I'm `meh' on it. But if it feels right for someone, who am I to discount it?" he said.

We both took a sip of coffee. In a moment of spontaneity, I walked to the flavor pumps and shot half a squirt of French vanilla in my coffee. I felt rebellious. I stirred it there and then returned to the table.

"To answer your question, we always considered our anniversary the date of our first kiss. That's when we were officially an item," Emory continued.

"Sweet."

"It was in a car. It wasn't even a date, really. It was a carpool for a training seminar. We were on a committee ... it was an End Child Hunger movement. It was at the town convention center. Because of some construction there, they encouraged attendees to carpool. We had worked together for a couple of days, maybe three. We picked up right away that each other was gay. On breaks we got to know each other better. Asked each other questions ... involved? Personal hobbies? Roommates? Simple things. In our last workshop, Gene let his hand rest on my arm. I loved it. I found him sweet. As the night ended, he looked into my eyes before we got out of the car. We kissed. The car didn't belong to either of us, so we each walked to our own. I walked over to him again and kissed him again, a little deeper. We made plans for an official date ... and there you have it. Almost 20 years."

"Aw. Love it."

"I still miss him."

"I can imagine. I'm sorry for your loss, but happy that you have such great memories to remember him by."

I flagged Brad for a blueberry muffin. I slid him an extra buck. He winked at me.

"Do you remember your first kiss?" Emory asked.

"With ... as in first kiss first kiss? Male or female?"

"First kiss."

"Well, not counting family of course, I ... guess I'm boring. I felt peer pressure to go out on dates. I think her name was Amber. I was a sophomore. I expected fireworks. It wasn't. I wondered what was wrong. It was ... nice, I guess. But ... instead of sparks, it was more of a ... checkbox. Like, `okay, I've done that.' It was more of a rite of passage thing more than an electric thing. In my junior year, I tried another date. We had three. I kissed her on the second date. She broke it off on the third. She told me I was a `nice guy' but didn't see us working out."

"Ouch. That had to hurt."

"Eh. Maybe it did a little. Rejection is rejection, but in a way, I felt a bit of relief."

"If only we had the wisdom to read those signs at that age."

"Then I had my moment with Henry ... but that didn't involve any kissing. Mitch was actually my first male kiss."

"Really??"

"Yep. After all the guilt and shame with my encounter with Henry, I finally forced myself to date. I needed to convince myself I liked girls. Natalie and her family moved into town. They came to our church. She was fun. She was pretty. She seemed like she should be the right one, so I just assumed she was. By the end of high school, we were an item."

Emory continued to sip coffee and let me do all the talking.

"We dated all through college. It was a Christian private school so there were strict guidelines. No sex, no drinking, no drugs. No dancing."

"No fun," he said sarcastically.

"Actually, it was great. Friendships were solid. In my case, the excuse not to have sex was easy. We both shared the same moral ethics. We were both virgins when we got married."

"Really?"

"Indeed. But, hey, we said last time this was your day to spill all your confessions."

Emory laughed. "What do you want to know?"

"Start with high school."

"Freshman year, first handjob. Sophomore year, first kiss. Junior year, first blowjob. Senior year, first real sleepover — a whole night of it. Boys for each one."

I gave him a smirk.

"And you said I didn't share details! That was a real skim-through there."

Emory emitted a high-pitched giggle. It was almost girl-like.

"And your parents were okay with it. The whole gay thing?"

"Oh, dear lord, they had no idea. It was all secretive. It looked innocent. By our senior year, we kind of knew who was who. Our gaydar was setting in."

"And mine never did!"

"Did you think of yourself as gay in high school? Or even college?"

I contemplated my answer. And to be honest, I wasn't sure I knew.

"My knee-jerk reaction is to say ... no. I didn't. I was so freaked out by that time with Henry that I thought it was just something `all guys did,'" I said using air quotes. "Any time I had any thoughts of looking at other guys, I just pushed it away. I thought it was normal, but I thought I wasn't supposed to think on such things."

"But did you look at them?"

"I did. A little at least. I'd love to sit next to a handsome guy in class. I didn't think of it in that way, but looking back, I never chose to sit next to a girl. At the swimming pool or a waterpark, if I was changing clothes in the locker room, if a guy was ... undressed ... I tried to sneak a look. I just assumed — I knew — all guys did that."

"And shirtless scenes on TV or in the movies ...?"

"Yep. You got it. I stared."

"Stared."

"And questioned and wondered. But by the time I was dating Natalie, it was easier to push it away. I had an outlet."

"But clearly not a sexual one."

"I guess not."

Brad brought us the muffin with an extra plate. I cut it with a knife and shared it between the two of us. It still had a warmth of recently coming from the oven. The aroma was intoxicating. I had always liked blueberries.

"So how on earth did you get your first blowjob in high school without staying over at someone's place?"

"His backyard. We had gone to the movies. Most high school guys won't sit next to each other. Too macho. Homophobic bastards. Those guys always left an empty seat between. The theater was crowded enough that we could naturally sit side by side. Halfway through, his hand was on my leg. You couldn't really tell unless you got up and stared at us. I think he felt comfortable enough to slowly check to see if I was hard. His fingers drifted to my fly. He left it there for a few minutes. After the movie, we biked back to his house, but instead of going in, we went around back. It was a nice evening. We didn't even kiss. We stood there and groped each other. He eventually opened up his pants, then I opened mine. Then we were on the ground, servicing each other."

I looked to see if Brad was out of earshot. He was. No one should have heard our conversation, shocking as it was in a coffeeshop.

"So you were never tempted in any way in college, huh?" he asked me.

"I didn't have a lot of opportunity. I wasn't into athletics. The only guys that undressed around me were my roommates. On occasion I would see their weinie..."

"Cooper, please! Don't appall me with your explicit medical terminology."

"Fine. Whatever. I would see their dicks on a rare occasion. And I liked looking at them. It would ... you know ... make me ... you know."

"And nothing ever happened?"

"No. I just kept focusing on Natalie. I proposed my senior year. It just seemed like the thing to do. I mean ... dating ... four years. It almost felt like I was obligated to."

"This is very personal — and I'm sorry for asking — but, were there good times, good years?"

"Sure. I loved Natalie. In my own way. I felt I did. We learned sex together. It was tender. Simple, but nice. We seemed happy. I enjoyed her as a roommate, as a friend and even as a lover. I have nothing but respect for her. I hate that I hurt her in this long process."

"How are you two now?"

I had to think on that. How were we now? I knew we didn't communicate enough. I always felt she would explode if I would press too hard. I had dropped a bomb on her back then. But over time, things were better ... weren't they?

"We're ... okay." I paused. "In the beginning, right after the divorce, it was very strained. I felt horrible. I knew I had blindsided her. In the year leading up to the divorce, I started drinking. Heavily. We would have drinks at work functions or at the end of the day around the office. In working with clients, we all had bottles of whiskey in our offices, always ready to offer a drink. I got used to the taste of alcohol. I liked it."

"We should go out for drinks one night," Emory said.

Did I know Emory enough well enough to tell him everything? Or should I just stay quiet?

"Seriously, we should do one of the bars around here one night," he continued.

"I ... um ... can't. I'm a recovering alcoholic."

"Oops. I stepped into that. I'm sorry, Cooper."

"Don't be. I'm in AA, do about two meetings every week. That program rescued me and, in particular, saved my relationship with Corey."

Emory had no idea what to say, but he continued to listen. A rumble of thunder made us glance out the window.

"I was a mess. After about 12 years, I got tired of repressing my feelings — my true feelings. A hot client would make me start searching on the internet. I spiraled. Drinks, porn, drinks. I felt myself pulling away from Natalie. She felt it too. We stopped having sex ..."

"Lots of couples do that."

"Maybe. I just felt like a fraud. And that made me drink more. I was miserable. I had all these ... gay ... feelings I didn't know what to do with, I hated what I was doing to Natalie, I hated being a liar ... and the only answer I could think of was drinking. Soon I had to drink every day. It didn't matter if it was work related. I brought it into the house. That really turned off my wife. She hated having it in the house. Soon Corey was well aware of it. I stopped being a good father. When I yelled at him one night — I made him seriously cry — that was it. I vowed to stop. I joined AA, but I had to own up to Natalie."

Brad warmed up my coffee. My French vanilla was diluted at that point, but I didn't get up to resuscitate the production.

"Hey, Coop, I'm sorry if I have brought up some tough feelings. I didn't mean to do that."

"No problem. I have to address them from time to time. I offered. You didn't pressure anything out of me."

"So, do you regret your marriage?"

"No. Some. I regret hurting Natalie the most. She didn't deserve that. And I certainly don't regret having Corey; he's the light of my world."

"Hey, buddy," I started, having no idea how to have this conversation. "Remember the other night when your mom and I sat down with you? Remember when we told you things were difficult between us at the moment, but it didn't have anything to do with you?"

Corey nodded, but he looked at my face intently.

"I want to tell you something. I am going to make you a promise. I will always tell the truth, okay? I promise never to lie to you."

"Okay," he softly said.

"But I need to tell you something. I feel really bad for hurting your mom. I never meant to do that. I wouldn't hurt her — or you — for anything. But I was lying to myself. For a long time. And to bring the truth out, people got hurt in the process."

"I don't know what you mean, Dad. What truth?"

"Well, it's best for your mother and I to be apart, because you know how people have feelings so strong, that they want to get married and stay together forever?"

"Yeah."

"Well, those feelings are ... powerful. And I wasn't telling the truth even to myself. I was having those feelings, but ... most people — not all, but most — feel them for the opposite sex ... like men and women. But some people feel them for the same type. And ... I am one of those people. Those romantic feelings ... that I feel, I feel for other men."

I prayed for a black hole to open up and swallow me into its dark void. I wished with all my might for an asteroid to strike the earth and obliterate this anguish. I wanted God to wrap Corey in his arms and pull me into heaven. I just prayed Corey would somehow understand.

"I know what I am saying is hard to understand."

"I think I do."

"Are you familiar with the term gay?"

He nodded. "I was about to ask that. It's when guys like guys, right?"

"Yes. What have you heard?"

"Not a lot, I guess. But kids mention it from time to time. Some of my friends have said people are really mean to gay people. I wasn't exactly sure what they meant, but they were taking up for them."

"That's nice. Every person is a human being and deserves to be treated nice. I'm gay. I want to be truthful to you about that. It's me being honest. I know it is kind of hard to understand, but it doesn't change how I treat other people. I still respect them and will be nice to them. I'm still me. I didn't choose to be this, I just am. I just ... am. And I'm sad I hurt your mom with this truth; I feel bad about that because she didn't deserve to have her feelings hurt. I hope she can forgive me."

He nodded, but I could tell he didn't know if he should say something.

"Being ... gay wasn't something I chose, but something I did choose was a mistake. When I was hiding it, I chose to drink. I've stopped that. For a few weeks now, I haven't had any. It's bad. I'm going to stay away from it. I hated how it made me speak to your mom and you. I feel bad that I wasn't a good dad for a while. I hope you can forgive me when I yelled."

"Okay."

"I don't get to see you nearly as much with your mom and me apart, but I promise to be an awesome dad when you get to spend time with me. I promise."

"Like I can stay up as late as I want?"

"I said an awesome dad, not a stupid dad."

We laughed together. I felt like I could exhale.

"If I could go back and do it all over again, as much as I hurt my ex, I would still do it just to have Corey."

"I love your love for him," Emory said.

"He's a great kid."

"Life often demands so much from kids. Thankfully, most are resilient."

"I hope so. He's just entering his teen years. I'm fearing he will soon turn into the disgruntled teen who hates everything."

"They can be tough years. I saw my nephews become real turds for a while."

"Great. I'm not sure how to steer through all that."

"You're a good dad, Cooper. You'll do fine."

—

As I sat with coworkers in the lounge on Tuesday, I listened to their tales of parenting. One incident involving their teenage son snowballed into several stories from many staff members who also had teens in their households. As I heard a few horror stories of how their sons and daughters had changed once in high school, it sent my pulse racing. I needed to accept it. I needed to brace for it, but I also needed to keep in mind that this was a very common life experience.

I texted Natalie. "I'm having a bit of anxiety. Can we talk some evening this week?"

"It all changed when Westin got his driver's license," a colleague scowled. "He couldn't stand to even be with me in the car at that point. I was erased."

"Wow. That's sad," I offered.

"Yeah. But, having listened to my brothers and sisters, they went through it too. It's all temporary."

"Does anyone like their teenage kids?" I asked the room.

They all immediately put on a defensive front.

"Oh. Of course I like her; she just developed interests that don't include me."

"Angel is anything but at the moment, but we have some good times still. It's when his friends come around that he turns into Mr. Hyde."

"You'll see, Cooper. One day nothing you do will seem right. It's just a hormonal thing."

Crap. I hated hearing all this. Corey and I had a solid relationship. Would I somehow screw it up? Right now, he is my constant, so I don't want to see that change.

Natalie texted back. "Okay. Should I be worried?"

"No."

Before I could compose anything else, the COO came into the lounge. He got our attention.

"If you haven't checked your email recently, we have an emergency meeting at 2. Alpha Conference Room. Please tell others in your area. We need everyone there."

All of us looked at each other with an expression of surprise and seriousness.

"Wonder what's up?" Carlos said.

—

I loved Alpha Conference Room. Top floor, windows from floor to ceiling. The curtains were lowered in the front half of the room reducing the light. A screen was lowered. All conference tables had been moved out into the hall. Alpha was our largest conference room. It had been set up with chairs in theater arrangement. There must have been fifteen rows; the room could seat 200 if need be. I was one of the earlier arrivals. I sat on the fifth row. It was the first row that had a view through the windows.

People poured in. There was a lot of murmuring. I didn't have any speculation to add, so I just kept quiet. I knew our company's financial position. I couldn't in any way foresee the company being in any trouble. But I was curious. I found myself content that we would all find out momentarily.

Our CEO called everyone to be seated. The vast majority of personnel in the building were in attendance. The presenter lowered more curtains for an a/v presentation. The entire meeting lasted about 45 minutes. It was exciting, but tentative. Our company was on the cusp of acquiring a huge account, but it wasn't a given. Our team would have to work hard on the final details and certain stipulations to seal this contract. If we got it, it could be huge. My brain started firing on all cylinders knowing what fragments of the proposal would fall on my plate.

At the close of the meeting, people started standing and heading back to their offices. Several people who drank a lot over lunch probably headed to the bathroom. As I listened to the whir of curtains being raised, I stepped over to the massive windows. I looked at a portion of Jackson Bend through the glass. We weren't a giant metropolis, but we were a big town. The view was nice. The courthouse, City Hall and part of W. Travis University could be seen. A few of the trees had barely begun leafing out, so it was nice to see a thin carpet of green flowing along the landscape. They wouldn't be lush for a few more weeks.

I needed to get to work, so I broke from my pleasant diversion. I turned and almost bumped into someone standing close to me. I didn't know they were there. I saw that it was Mitch.

My eyes were half dollars, my feet were in concrete.

"Oh! Mitch, what..."

"Please talk to me. Can we just talk?"

"Mitch, I don't..."

"Please. Please! Can we just talk?"

A few others that remained happened to look our way. I became self-conscious.

"Not here."

People gathered at the elevator. Eight of us got on when the doors opened. Numerous fingers started pushing buttons. Others called out their floor.

Mitch got off on my floor and followed me to my office. We walked in and shut the door. I locked it.

"Thank you, Cooper."

"I don't know where you want this to go..."

"I am sooo sorry."

"You've told me that."

"I know I fucked up. It was a mistake."

"You've told me that."

"I never, ever intended to hurt you."

"You've told me that."

"But I know I did. But no matter what, I love you, Cooper."

My volume dropped to almost a whisper. "You've told me that."

"I mean all of it. ALL of it! I've never stopped loving you. I would never want to hurt you."

"But you did! You destroyed my heart. We were talking about getting a house. It was a commitment. If you didn't want to hurt me — if you loved me — why do I walk into our bedroom seeing you fucking cheat on me with another man. I – I – I can't get that picture out of my mind! All I can see is your dick being shoved up his ass. In OUR bed. I want to get past this ... but I don't know how."

I hadn't realized, but tears had welled up in my eyes. Thin trails of saltwater ran along both sides of my nose.

"Wow. You don't sound like yourself. I'm so sorry. It was a mistake." Mitch had never heard me cuss.

"Why? Or was it just a mistake that you got caught? Was he one of many?"

"NO! No. I swear. That was the only time. I ... I don't know why I did it."

"And that's the sad part. I do."

"What?"

"I've seen the book. He's got a huge dick, Mitchell! I don't. Apparently, that's what you want. You say you love me, but ..." I stopped and wiped my eyes with a tissue from my desk. I lowered my voice unintentionally. It whimpered, "apparently, I am not enough."

"Nooo. Cooper," he softly called back. "That's not it. Of course you're enough. I will tell you a thousand times that I love you and I mean it every time."

"If that's true, then you can love me and cheat on me again."

"I won't, I swear. Please tell me you still love me. Let's work through this."

"I don't know how. It took me weeks to wake up in the morning and not look over to see if you were laying there next to me. And then my mind would flash on me walking in on you and ... the guy with the fucking gigantic penis — and I would just die. Every day. It killed me every time I thought about it. How do I get past that?"

"We can work on it together. You still miss us, right?"

"Of course I miss us. We were just becoming a solid family, the three of us."

"How's Corey?"

"He's awesome. He's such a great kid."

"He is. Did you tell him..."

"Did I tell him I saw you screw another man in our bed? No. He loved you; I wasn't going to do that to him — or you."

"Please tell him I love him. I always will."

As if my heart couldn't just shatter like glass, the fragments of glass kept getting stomped on, ground into fine particles. I wanted to believe Mitch. I wanted to take him in my arms. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to say I still loved him.

But I didn't allow myself to do that. My heart was fine dust. Fine, sparkly, crushed glass dust.

"We probably both should get back to work," I softly said.

"Oh." Mitch knew I wasn't going any further. "I-m – I'm glad we at least talked. Please don't give up on us, Coop. I'm here. I want to make it work."

My response was no response.

He walked toward my door. He bowed his head, not wanting to unlock it. I watched as his hand trembled reaching for the knob. Suddenly, he ran to me, grabbed my shoulders and pressed his lips to mine. It was so fast. It was so fast I didn't realize I had jumped. It was so fast I didn't feel myself melt into his kiss. It was so fast I didn't have a chance to tell him to stop.

"I love you," he told me once more. He wiped his eyes, walked to the door, unlocked it and walked out into the hall toward the elevators. I walked to the door, locked it again and proceeded to bawl. My hands were flat on my desk, and I leaned over and pressed my face into them.

—

"Hi, Cooper. How are you?" Lance answered.

"Not good," I replied, my eyes watery.

"What's wrong? Where are you?"

"At home, but ... I feel like I want a drink ... and ... and ... and I knew I needed to call."

"I'm glad you did. What happened?"

"Mitch and I talked to each other — in person — for the first time since our split."

"Oh. Man. Talk to me."

I told Lance of the short confrontation and how it destroyed me. Lance didn't say anything; he just let me talk. Lance was a good listener. I was happy for him and Jakob, but deep in my heart, I wished they still lived back here.

"When I hurt like this, I just want to ... bury it all with a drink."

"I know that feeling, but you and I both know that solves nothing. You know that," Lance encouraged. "Are you anywhere near a picture of Corey?"

"Yeah." I had a picture of Corey in every room of my apartment except the bathroom. I stared at it.

"Good. Let that be your focus. You want to be strong for him. Let him be your strength."

"Right."

"I'm going to stay on the line as long as you need, but maybe you should duck into a meeting tonight. You have others there that can listen too. You can even call Mike and Trent if you need company."

"I know, I know." I took a deep breath. "It helped just to get it out. Thank you for being there."

"We're always here. Jakob and I love you. Ophelia loves you. Corey loves you. You're okay."

"I think I'm okay. I – I – I just don't know how to get past all that. I felt so betrayed, but at the same time, I still love him. I still love Mitch. I don't know how to get past it."

"One day at a time. Just take care of today. Tomorrow, just take care of tomorrow. That's all you need to do."

"I'll try."

"Hey, Cooper? Do you get any exercise?"

"Dear lord, did I look that bad when you saw me last?"

"Oh, shut up. Get over yourself. You're handsome and you know it. I could stare at you all day." Lance had a way of making me blush. "Exercise is a great way to work off stress. I'm not saying that because my old gym is there in town. Mike and Trent do a lot of running together. I think it would help you work off some stress."

"And some pounds. I really need to lose about five. Maybe more."

"Run on your own, give them a call or join a gym. I think it could be a good thing."

—

"Dad, did you ever have a moustache?"

"Now that's an unusual question. What prompted that?" I replied.

"One of our friends in chess club, he's a year older than me. He started growing a moustache."

"I see. Well, I tried in college for a few weeks. I thought it looked ... okay. I didn't know if it was ... me. Your mother knew for sure — it was not. And that was that."

Corey chuckled.

"So what do you think, champ? Think you'll grow one?"

"Is that okay with you?"

"Sure. Fourteen is a bit young, so don't expect it right away." He nodded. "If you want to shave your hair into a purple mohawk or pierce your nose with a paper clip ... eeeh, then I might get a bit on edge. Moustaches, beards, all that ... all guys want to at least try it."

I tried to picture my son with facial hair.

"Mitch always wanted to grow a beard, so he finally tried it; he wasn't sure. But I kind of liked it. He really didn't give it a chance. He shaved it off after a month. I was disappointed when I saw he did it. It comes and goes."

Corey remained silent.

"That's the first time you've mentioned him in a couple of months. Probably longer." His eyes returned to mine.

"Yeah."

"Do you miss him?"

"I said I would always tell you the truth, so ... yeah. I do. I liked us. He and I were good together. And the three of us ... we made a good family."

"We sure did."

"I saw him this week at work, you know, face to face. That was the first time since ... we split apart. He told me to tell you that he loves you."

"Okay." Corey paused. "Does he love you?"

I rubbed my face with my left hand. I didn't want to have this conversation. I could barely sort this out for myself. I certainly couldn't explain it on a 13-year-old level. My wounds were barely scabbed over. But at least this little talk made me force myself to confront it.

"I'm torn, bud. Half my heart misses him. I loved us as a couple. But half of me is still hurt. And I really don't see how to get past it."

Corey didn't know what the right thing to say was. He leaned over to me on the other end of the couch and hugged me. We held each other for a minute.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have to be sorry about anything."

"I'm just sad that you're sad."

"Me too." I kissed the top of his head.

I remembered all that talk in the lounge. All those parents struggled with their teenage kids. I had called Natalie the night before. We talked about my anxiety over those upcoming years. She shared she felt somewhat the same, but we both knew we had to let nature take its course. The two of us had raised him well. He was an awesome kid. He did well in school, had activities that kept him engaged and was very trustworthy. We were proud.

I know some of my coworkers bragged about their kids that were football studs, or maybe they scored the most runs in the baseball season. Corey was not an athlete. But he was a force on the chess team. He was well-read. It's just kind of hard to be overly boastful of such traits in the break room, but I was super proud of my mature kid. Who cared about touchdowns?

—

The next morning, as I stepped into the kitchen, I saw a tissue at the side of the couch. I knew what that meant. I could teach him the brilliant convenience of socks, but I wasn't venturing into those uncharted waters.

—

We headed toward the house. It had been a good weekend. I hated dropping him off every time, but I felt comfortable that we really had quality visits.

I noticed that when we drove in the car or were on bikes or on long walks that it was easier to talk about the heavier subjects. Maybe it was the distraction of looking straight ahead and not into each other's faces. We had good talks that way. He must have picked up on it too. Five minutes from the house, he hit me with a toughie.

"Dad, how did Mitchell hurt you?"

"Ohhh, son, I'm not sure I want to get into this."

"Okay."

We drove a few more blocks.

"Did he cheat on you?"

Crap.

"Umm. Yeah. Do you know what that means?"

"I think. He got romantic with someone else?"

That was safe enough.

"Um, yes. He did. And it hurt me. He told me he didn't mean to hurt me, and he knew it was a mistake, but ... it is really hard for me to forget it happened. I want to get ... past it, but I don't know if I can. Trust is really important in a relationship. I want you to remember that. I'm not sure where he and I can go from here, but ... I think about it a lot."

"Okay." We pulled into the driveway. "I miss him too."

I have a smart kid.

—

It was 8:55. Emory pulled into the parking lot the same time I did. We hugged just outside the front door of Joe. I ordered my coffee black. Emory opted for a cappuccino this time.

I stared at the flavor pumps but rejected them. I was not tampering with the perfection of coffee itself today. There were several open booths this morning. With the bright sunshine, people were opting for the window seats. I chose the booth that had a Greta Garbo framed poster hanging above it.

"I suck at being gay," I said, sitting down.

"Uh oh. What have you done now?" Emory smiled, sliding into the booth.

"Nothing. That's just it. I have no idea why gay icons are gay icons."

"You mean Garbo?" He looked at the print. "I wouldn't say she's a gay icon. She just had an allure. It was her mystique that helped catapult her to fame."

Emory looked at the few other figures in frames.

"Of all these other film stars, I would say ... I would only consider Judy Garland the only gay icon."

"See? I have no idea why. I just know she is."

"Do you feel you should know why for some reason?"

"I don't know. Just those feelings of not fitting in."

"What do you want to fit into, Cooper? What's going on?"

"Since I saw you last, I ran into Mitch at work. It was the first time we've talked face to face since ... then."

"Oooo. Tell me everything."

"He begged forgiveness. He told me it was all a stupid mistake. He misses me. He still loves me. That whole routine."

"Routine. So what would you have preferred him to say?"

"That's just it. I don't know. He owned up to it. He said it was a mistake. I guess I just want time to somehow reverse itself and not let it ever happen in the first place."

"I hope you have a Plan B."

"And there it is. Obviously, I don't. As much as I miss him and love him, I don't know if I can get past this. And if not, I have to move on. But Mitch was my safety net. I lived a hetero life all my life up to two years ago, and then I was in Mitch's world. And I loved it. Now ... if I'm not with him, I don't know who I am supposed to be. I don't know enough about gay ... things ... that I look like an idiot at times."

"Why do you say that? It's not like we're given routine quizzes. There is no gay test."

"Maybe with Natalie I succeeded in living up to what I thought others expected. I felt like I had done what I was supposed to. Then when reality set in and Mitch drew me out, I followed his lead. Now, without him, I have no lead to follow. I don't know where to begin. If I move on ... move on to what?"

"You'll have no problem meeting people."

"Then what? I'm not a dancer, I can't drink, I don't have a lot of experience — one man — and I come with a kid. Plus, I'm an accountant in an investment firm. Hoo-whee, what a catch. In the broad scheme of things, who would want me? I'm not one to just ... go through a string of random hookups. I'm not wired that way." I paused. "I SUCK at being gay."

Emory put his hand on my wrist. "Coop, just be you. You and I have become friends. Just make friends. From that, if a right person comes along, then they come along. Don't try to force yourself to be something you're not. It's not like the gay world only has one mold. So what if your safety net is gone. If you have to take off the training wheels and ride on your own, then just ride. It's not like you're put on a tightrope to ride. Just learn to be Cooper."

He took his hand off my wrist and took a sip of his cappuccino.

While his words made sense, they didn't really alleviate my fear of being adrift ... forever.

Brad came by and topped off my coffee. He asked if we wanted anything to eat. I shook my head "no" this week.

He leaned down. "If you're willing to wait around about 15 minutes, Doreen has some raspberry/cream cheese kolaches coming out of the oven. They're or-GAZZZ-mic," he said.

If it is possible to make food sound sensual, Brad was at the top of his game.

"SOLD!" said Emory. He flipped Brad a five. Looking at me, he said, "It's on me this week."

I took a sip of my newly warmed coffee.

I felt I had talked too much about myself. I asked Emory about his work. I knew he was near retirement. He had less than a year. He told me about his 27 years at Greenfield Dairy. It did not sound like an interesting job, but who was I to judge? Mine was as bland as it comes. I tried to show as much interest as I could. Emory sounded like a dedicated employee. He educated me to some little-known cow facts. That made me chuckle.

Brad brought us the kolache. "Enjoy." He left two forks but did not bring an extra plate, We both poked at it from opposite sides of the table. It was incredibly hot and equally as delicious.

As Aprils go, this one was less rainy than usual. I mentioned that I was enjoying the weather. He said he had a commitment following our morning stop at Joe, but sometime in the future, we could do a walk following our coffee. I agreed.

A guy in a tank top that looked one size too small walked by our table. Emory smiled at me.

"He was checking you out."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"I clearly saw him look you up and down."

"You did?"

"He was handsome, wasn't he?"

I turned back. I could see him step outside the door to smoke. "Yeah. Quite cute."

"See? You won't have any problem meeting anyone."

"Uck. He smokes. He's out. Hello? It's the 21st century."

Then it hit me that I didn't know if Emory smoked. I could have just insulted him.

"I'm sorry. That came off as very judge-y. If you smoke, I'm sorry if I offended you."

"No, no. I did in my 20s. It was much more prevalent then. By the time I was 35 I had quit for several years and the smell of it just disgusted me. I hated myself for ever being a smoker. I mean, it just embeds itself into your clothes."

"Obviously, I'm set in my ways. Again, who would want to go out with me?"

"Everyone has their own turn-offs and things they find hot."

"Do you ever picture yourself dating again?"

"Now you're going to make me feel like a hypocrite."

"Why is that?"

Emory exhaled. "I've been telling you `Be yourself. You'll find somebody.' I can feel your pain though. A breakup and a death are far different, but at the same time, pain is pain. I'm not so worried that I won't find someone; I just don't know if I want to. Starting a new relationship after such a long one ... I'm not sure I'm up to that in my 60s."

"Man."

"But I also know if the right person comes along, I would be open to it. And so should you."

"What do you do when you feel sad?"

"Oh."

"Oh???"

"I've never told anyone," Emory said, looking to the side.

"We've been sharing secrets, come on."

Emory's gaze went from the empty kolache plate to slowly meet mine. Looking me in the eyes, he confessed, "It's silly. I dance."

"Explain."

"Gene and I would love to dance. We avoided the hot, NEW, trendy places," he said with descriptive sarcasm. "We knew that was the young crowd, the college crowd, people in their 20s wearing their pretentious personas. In our 60s, we would stand out like sore thumbs. We liked our local haunts here in the hood. Some nights techno, some nights country. But we were accepted here. I loved dancing."

"I wish I could dance. I'm a terrible dancer."

"Has anyone told you that?"

"No. We went dancing once. I sort of gyrated at our cocktail table. I liked the music, then Mitch pulled me onto the floor. I loved watching him. I tried my best. I was probably a bit stiff. But I knew if I had a few drinks I would loosen up, but ..."

"But you were a recovering alcoholic."

"Yeah. Still, I let myself loose and just decided to have fun."

"There you go," Emory encouraged.

"And it was fun. I think. I enjoyed it. I actually watched myself dance in the mirror one night before Mitch got home. I thought I looked like a huge dork. We never really went dancing again. I figured he thought I looked terrible on the dance floor."

"Maybe he didn't want to put you into a setting that was too tempting."

"Maybe."

"Do you know the song `Brand New' by Ben Rector?"

"Love it," I said.

"It's kind of my theme song. When those days get tough, and if I feel a little sad, I put it on. There's a line that says, `When I close my eyes and don't even care if anyone sees me dancing.' And I do just that. I dance. Soon I remember the good times. I'm better."

"That's sweet."

Brad came by to clear our plate. "Well?"

"You were right. I came in my jeans," Emory quipped.

"Told ya," Brad said as he whirled and walked away.

We both smiled.

Emory said he had to go. I told him that I wanted to finish my coffee. We both stood, and we hugged. Then Emory kissed me on the cheek. That momentarily startled me.

"Don't worry, kiddo. You're going to be just fine. Everything's going to be okay."

"Thanks," I said blankly, still thrown by the kiss. "Have a great week, Emory."

"You, too."

I sat back down. I looked up at Greta, then I moved to the other side of the booth so that I could see out the windows from an angle.

It's so odd that his kiss threw me. It was nothing more than friendship; I see it all the time. I'd even seen it at Joe quite a few times. Lance and Jakob kiss Mike and Trent when they visit each other. Heck, I think I've seen them even kiss on the lips. It was really nothing. But ... just that slightest hint of affection caught me off-guard ... in a good way.

—

I put the plates in the dishwasher. I was proud of myself for not simply ordering takeout. Not only did I prepare something reasonably healthy, I made four portions, so one is leftover for lunch tomorrow, and the other two are placed in the freezer for future "good" meals.

I dialed Corey.

"Hey buddy, how was your weekend?"

"Good. Mom and I went to a movie."

"Did you like it?"

"I guess. It seemed a bit childish to me."

"Hmm. And what is childish to a 13-year-old?"

"Just kind of cutesy to me. But it was okay. We both enjoyed it enough. C+."

He told me about things that happened at chess club. The big tournament was coming up. I expressed my excitement for him.

"You know what the best thing in the world is?" I asked.

"What?"

"You are!"

"You are so goofy, Dad."

"I love being goofy dad."

"You're so weird."

"True, but you love me anyway."

He was quiet a moment. Kids hate mushy stuff. Or so I assumed.

"I do."

"Is your homework done?"

"Oh, yes. Moth-ER has been hovering over me all afternoon."

I could tell that was said for Natalie's benefit, who must have been within earshot. Clearly, he had picked that up from me.

"Well, I will let you enjoy your last couple of hours of weekend freedom. I just wanted to tell you that you're the best thing in my life and that I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad."

"Good. Now go tell your mother too."

"Dad!"

"Can't wait to see you next weekend."

"Me too."

After I hung up, I convinced myself Corey would not become a surly teen in a few years. Surely there must be a few exceptions. I just needed to keep thinking that.

It was 9 o'clock. Too soon to think about bed, but I had accomplished the day's goals. I thought about checking out what was on television and simply lying in bed. As I passed the mirror in the living room, I stopped. I looked at my reflection.

Three minutes later I had Ben Rector's "Brand New" playing. Blaring. By the time the chorus came, I was singing, "I close my eyes and don't even care if anyone sees me dancing." I kept hitting repeat and was soon singing all the lyrics absorbing their simplistic — but incredibly powerful — meaning behind them. I wasn't with anyone to make me feel brand new, but the movement of my flailing helped me let go of things.

I thought maybe "my" song could be "Don't Stop Believin'." I put it on next. I danced with my reflection for 20 minutes.

* * * *

More to come. Feedback: timothylane414@gmail.com