JOHN DARLING'S COMA
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Carrying the thirty-by-thirty-inch wrapped picture-turned-into-artwork, John gets on the apartment's elevator, thinking, 'WOW! Gerry Spelling!' He pushes the button for his floor, the elevator jerks, then settles down. He waits for two seconds, mutters, "Goddammit..." then pushes the button again, and the elevator groans and slowly begins going up.
He grunts, "Piece of shit," and thinks that as good as Gerry was this afternoon, he's set his mind on not meeting Gerry tonight. It was a welcome interlude for sure, but John is determined not to take it any further. He's sexually satisfied now, so it's understandable he'd think he's not doing anything more with Gerry. Two days from now, though... what then?
Inside the apartment, John unwraps the picture of him and Gary that Gerry turned into artwork. Yeah, it turned out so good!
Staring at it, John's eyes sting, and he gets dizzy with a terrible feeling of guilt for the double sex he had with Gerry. He gets so angry with himself for being, as he says out loud, "A slut! Is that what you plan on being, Darling, a cheating sex slut?"
John's positive Gary isn't having sex with anyone except himself, and John feels that should be good enough for himself, too! Gary's too honorable and too responsible to put sex ahead of learning how to repair automobile computers, which is what his boss, Mr. Marshall, is paying him to do. Meanwhile, here's John allowing sex to dominate his brain, being totally irresponsible, not even trying to resist Gerry.
Getting a Coke from the refrigerator, John stomps out onto the small balcony to smoke a cigarette and hate on himself some more. It's getting colder day by day, though, so mostly, he gets a quick nicotine fix and is back inside three minutes later, muttering, "Swell, October in fucking Wyoming! It's not this cold in Boston..."
Stalking around the apartment, not knowing what to do next, he spots his reflection in the mirror over the sofa and stops to gawk at it. "Fuck! My hair looks like shit because I had no willpower and let Andy cut it for some dumb-ass reason having to do with lady's makeup, and, of course, he fucked it up. As if that wasn't stupid enough, I then got that kid from college to fix it, and he made it worse, giving me a haircut that a nine-year-old boy might like while, at the same time, no one did anything about the hair that has grown raggedly over the tops of my ears. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He's frustrated, feels guilty, and doesn't know what to do next.
In the bedroom, John sits at Gary's desk and turns on his laptop but can't think of what he wants to do online. Instead, he says out loud, "Why am I so down on myself? So, I cheated a little bit. Shit, I'm not even twenty-two, so of course, I'm a horny sex-machine. Well, that would be a more appropriate description for an irresponsible sixteen-year-old, but maybe I matured more slowly than most.
Looking at the laptop, he sees the time: it's five after four. "Well, Goddamn, I can still buy a few things for the apartment. That's what I started out to do, right?"
Okay, something to do. He'll drive back to the mall, avoiding the photoshop, obviously, and see what he can buy for the apartment.
First, though, his ass is sticky with lube and Gerry's semen, so John goes in the bathroom, strips, and takes a shower paying extra attention to his asshole; his finger, poking a washcloth, goes inside his rectum a little, feeling good rubbing his prostate. He doesn't do that long, though. Mutters, "Slut," and pulls his finger out, then finishes his shower.
Dressed in Western clothes and his old cowboy boots, grinning and feeling like his old self, he puts his cowboy hat on, mumbles, "This feels normal, but I'll bet Andy wearing his cowboy stuff thinks... it's a little early for Halloween. He thinks, 'I miss being with Andy.'
Pushing that thought down, he goes out, hoping the elevator works, and it does.
Driving back to the mall, he lightens up on himself, figuring he'd had good intentions of being faithful to Gary, and, being realistic, he'd only had a couple of lapses in the past ten days. This lapse with Gerry is blinding him with its brightness because it's so recent. Stopping at a red light, he mutters to himself, "Tomorrow is Saturday, so if I can exert willpower for a week, I'll be with Gary in Montana next Saturday, and then the following Wednesday or Thursday, we'll be back in our apartment."
A car horn honks, "What?" He sees the green light and drives on, thinking, 'ASSHOLE!!' And then, 'Yeah, seven days from now, Gary and I will be back together for that weekend.'
Turning into the mall parking garage at the Target store's end of the mall, he says out loud, "After Gary uses that fabulous fat cock of his fucking me around the world a few times next weekend, that'll satisfy me until he's back full-time. I'll be fine while Gary is finishing up his training. It's been a pain in the sass, though. We're so early into our relationship. Hey, this separation Gary said will bring us closer and I think he's right. It's still a pain in the ass, though."
Walking into Target, he thinks, 'I'm very much attracted to Gary Thomas even though I know it makes no sense for me to be 'this' crazy about him. I mean, we barely know one another, but that doesn't change the fact that I am goofily crazy about Gary. I've never been this infatuated for anyone before. Not Brian O'Neal or Andy Salsbury, or anybody else. So, why is that? Why do I feel I should be super loyal to Gary?'
He mutters to himself, "Yeah, why?" and two people glance at him. John shrugs and smiles, then tells himself for the hundredth time, 'Stop speaking your thoughts out loud.'
Wandering through the first floor of Target, he passes the huge clothing department, the smaller TV department, the computers department, and the music section on the first floor. As he's going up the escalator, his eyes settle on two boys walking by, one looking totally like a young version of Brian O'Neal. So much so that John almost calls out to the boy to see if he's related to Brian. Realizing how insane it would be to do that, he gasps instead. The lady in front of him going up on the escalator turns and asks, "Are you alright, young man?"
"What? Um, yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."
She smiles and says, "I'm meeting my granddaughter at the food court. I know she'd like to meet you."
"Whaat? At the food court? Oh, your granddaughter, ha, no, I'm gay."
She frowns, muttering, "How rude!" and gets off huffily, walking out of the Target store toward the food court.
John shakes his head, wondering why he had Brian on his mind. Then, he sees the furniture department and wanders around that section, thinking, 'Was that the first time in my life I've told someone I'm gay? Just came right out and said, 'Oh, no, I'm gay. I could have said: Your granddaughter? Yeah, I'm sure she's adorable, but no thanks. Do you have a grandson?'
He laughs out loud and feels good that he said that to her, expanding on what he could have said, 'Granddaughter, you say? Why would I want to meet your granddaughter, you old bat?' Chuckling, he's leaning on a chest of drawers, muttering, "What the fuck? Haha, I'm losing it, whatever 'it' is..."
A middle-aged man with a pot belly and a name card on his shirt pocket that reads, "Hello, I'm Wayne," asks John, in a weird high-pitched voice, "Can I help you? Are you interested in this chest of drawers?"
"What? Ah, oh, no. I was, um, no thank you, Wayne," and John saunters away feeling bad for Wayne, and not sure why. Maybe because Wayne has this shit job and was hoping for a commission from selling the chest of drawers. John mutters out loud, "Do they get a commission?" Then he thinks. 'I'll bet when Wayne was my age, he never thought he'd end up as a furniture salesman in Target!'
He sees a desk that looks like Gary's desk and goes over to it, thinking, 'A matching desk! Gary and I can, um, do something at our desks at the same time.' Then he sees a desk chair that's much better than Gary's. He looks around for Wayne, seeing him looking bored in the bedding section, John waves. Wayne looks over and smiles, then he's walking quickly toward John.
John looks away to hide a snickering grin at the way Wayne walks. He's bowlegged, but with a bit of a swagger, his arms swinging, like... Okay, here we go!
The desk cost twice as much as John expected, not that he cared. It has inlays on the desktop or something. Anyway, he buys the desk and two of the compact swivel chairs that cost $258.88 each. Wayne says, "You've got a good eye, young man. Those chairs are ergonomic and a great buy at that price."
Squinting, John mutters, "Ya don't say," and asks how much a cool-looking throw rug in the next section costs. Wayne tells him, and John's shocked a rug could cost that much. As Wayne's writing up the desk and desk chair order, he asks, "Um, so, do you want to include the Chindi Trellis rug?"
"What? Ah, yeah, add in that colorful rug." They walk over, and Wayne reads the info about the rug on its tag, ending with, "Oh, I told you the wrong amount. It's on sale for $899."
John mutters his favorite word, "Whaaat?" and then nods, mumbling, "Yeah, okay, I'll take that too." He pays for everything with his credit card, $2611.00, and when Wayne tells him it can't be delivered tomorrow, John pays an extra $75.00 to have it all delivered on Sunday. Wayne says 'Thank you' many times and gives John his 'card.'
Leaving Target, John feels good, thinking the rug will look cool under their desk and chairs. Back in the apartment, he moves Gary's desk so there is room for his desk right next to it, then visualizes the area rug under all of it and grins, saying, "Goddamn, this will look good!"
He rolls the old desk chair, which is probably not ergonomic, whatever that is, out the apartment front door to the trash bin area, then thinks, 'No! I better let Gary decide what to do with the old desk chair,' and rolls it back, passing a woman carrying a bag of groceries in the hallway who looks at John quizzically.
He says, "Hello," and she mutters, "Hi," as he keeps rolling the chair, feeling like a dork as his face blushes. Inside the apartment, he yells, "Fuck!" and leaves the chair near the front door, asking himself, "What should I do now?"
He gets a Coke and uses the remote control to flick on the TV. After scrolling the channels for ten minutes, he flicks off the TV and texts Andy. 'Sorry that I couldn't have lunch with you today. What are you and Dickie doing tonight?'
He figures it's a long shot, but maybe he can hook up with Andy and Dickie. Andy texts back, 'Dickie wants to just hang out at my place and, you know, screw around.'
His place? That burns John up, but only for a minute or so. He thinks, 'All Andy has done for me, he can have a slip of the tongue and infer the house is 'his place.'
More than that, though, was a lack of an invitation... that hurts. So, they want to fuck around, maybe getting drunk tonight. Okay, but Andy could have invited John to do something with them tomorrow. On the other hand, John says out loud, "I don't want to be the awkward old maid third-wheel spoiling their fun while they bond together in the early going of their relationship."
John needs a best bud who is a leader type, deciding what they'll do. John's best at being someone's co-pilot... he's not good alone. Some guys like time by themselves for whatever reasons, but not John. He flops on the sofa, saying, "Yeah, well, maybe I need to learn how to entertain myself; to be alone." Then he grins and adds, "You can pleasure yourself as well as the next guy, but that only accounts for two or three minutes. Haha. What can I do the rest of the time?"
He doesn't have the slightest urge to 'pleasure himself' as Gerry took care of that a couple of hours ago. And that brought Gerry's offer back into play. Meeting Gerry at his brother's apartment building at eight o'clock would be a fun thing to do tonight, and to hell with Dickie and Andy at 'his place.'
So, his thinking has come full circle, and he's back saying, "No, I'm not doing that."
Putting on his coat and cowboy hat, he goes down in the elevator and outside to smoke a cigarette and get some exercise. He walks over to the private high school where that kid, Paul Sullivan, says they could use the school's gym to play basketball. John looks at the school, doubting the school is open to just anyone who wants to use their gym.
"That's not happening," John mutters out loud and realizes he'd like to shoot some hoops. It's been over three years, but he was on his high school basketball team. Yeah, on the bench, rarely getting in a game. Still, being a bench player made him the sixth or seventh-best basketball player in his high school. He has a basketball at the house but doesn't want to go there and interrupt Andy's and Dickie's screwing.
He keeps on walking, feeling his body heating up even though the temperature, according to the digital readout on the Nester Bank sign, reads thirty-nine degrees. John's sweating an hour into his brisk walk, but in his head, he can feel the calories dropping off him, haha! When back to within four blocks of the apartment building, John jogs the last four blocks and feels invigorated when walking inside the building's lobby, his feet hurting. Jogging in cowboy boot...not a good idea..
In the apartment again, he peels off his sweaty clothes and takes his second shower today, a quick one. Getting dressed in casual clothes, he somehow feels more in control of his life than he has since coming out of his coma. "Why is that?" he asks himself out loud. He thinks maybe it's because he's not going to meet Gerry and he's not going to bother Dickie and Andy, and he thinks shopping for apartment furniture was kind of an adult thing to do, and he's almost positive he's committed to going all next week without backsliding into having sex with anyone except himself... like Gary is doing.
He does the right thing, texting Gerry that he, seriously, is not going to meet him tonight, but he had a great time this afternoon, and he loves the picture Gerry photoshopped for him. Maybe they can get together next week some time. John doesn't think he will do that, but he wants to leave the door open just in case of an emergency.
Staying in the apartment for dinner, he eats two of the high-calorie frozen dinners Gary stocked in the freezer for him. Then, in the comfortable sweatpants and sweatshirt that he put on after his second shower, he watched a college basketball game on TV, set his phone alarm for five-thirty, and went to bed at ten-thirty.
Saturday morning, he awoke when the alarm went off and immediately called Gary, who answered, "Jesus, Darling, you didn't need to get up this early on a Saturday morning! I like that you did, though. How are you?"
"I'm great, Gary. I wanted to talk to you," and he told him about the desk, chairs, and area rug he'd bought for 'our' apartment. Gary says, "Wow, that sounds great, bro, but do you know what I liked best? It was you saying 'our apartment."
John says, "I was surprised when I said it to myself yesterday. Um, this might sound crazy, but do you know why you and I have become so tight so fast? That sounded odd, but, um, do you know why? I don't. And that sounded wrong, too."
Gary laughs, then says, "This is spooky, but I was wondering that same thing. There isn't any logical reason I can think of to explain how much you've come to mean to me. Jesus, I've only known you for a month or so. I can't figure it out, either, Darling. But it makes me feel very special somehow that you're this fond of me this quickly. I'm thrilled about that and determined to be worthy of your affection."
"Me too, Gary. Um, I got a picture for our bedroom. It's of you and me that this guy in the photoshop, um..." and he explained how Gerry photoshopped the picture into looking like it was painted, then he confesses having sex with Gerry, ending with, "So, I wanted to tell you that. I don't want to have secrets from you, and I'll try not to do it again."
The five seconds of silence before Gary responded seemed like a half-hour to John, and then Gary said, "Gee, I asked you not to tell me stuff like that. Well, listen, you're not perfect, and neither am I, although I haven't had any sex since our last time doing it together. It's easier for me to abstain because nobody is hitting on me the way they surely are hitting on you. We're not married or anything, John, and I wish I was enough for you sexually, but since I'm not there, well, um, do the best you can. Don't tell me about it if your best isn't the best, though."
"You're definitely enough for me, Gary. Can I still come next Saturday?"
"Yeah, except I was thinking you'd come Friday afternoon."
John nods, "Great! I'll make a plane reservation, or buy a ticket, or whatever tomorrow. Could you text me the hotel and tell the front desk person to give me a key to the room when I get there."
Gary says, "Yep, and I can hardly wait. In the meantime, we can both try to figure out how we got stuck on one another. I think I know why I'm crazy about you. It could be because you're gorgeous, sexy, and obedient. Haha, the last thing, obedience, sounds terrible to me, but I like obedience in a boyfriend. Ya know?"
John's smiling, "Yeah, I know, and I like a boyfriend who is not afraid to smack my ass once in a while."
"Oh, boy! We've figured it out, Darling. Not really! Hey, I've gotta go. Call me tomorrow, okay?"
"I love you, Gary. I'll call tomorrow morning."
Gary says, "It's too soon for love, but it's a nice thought. Bye, John... boyfriend!"
Lying back on Gary's pillow, John smiles and says, "That was the best phone call... ever! Gary is thinking about the same things I am. Gee, that seems, um, important somehow."
He falls back to sleep, still holding his cell phone, waking again at nine o'clock feeling as good as he's felt since awakening from his coma.
Saturday morning, he thinks about calling for a plane ticket or whatever, but doesn't know how to do that, so he puts it off. Instead, he does his bathroom routine, then steps on the scale and sees his weight is 157. Hmm, he's six feet tall, so what is a good weight for a six-foot male? He forgets what he found out when he looked it up before.
Naked, sitting at Gary's bedroom desk, John Googles charts for ideal weights for height and age and finds that a twenty-two-year-old male at seventy-two inches ideally should weigh between 160 and 165 pounds.
Still naked, John goes back into the bathroom to look at his body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and sees a little fat ring around his waist, most noticeable at his hips. "Whaat?"
Then, out loud, "Fuck this!" and, after putting on a pair of his girlie panties, he does all his exercises, then rests before doing the weightlifting. Then, putting on sneakers, sweatpants, and the sweatshirt he had on last night, he goes out in the thirty-three-degree temperature and does a fast jog around a four-block area twice. By the second block, he was warmed up, and sweating bullets jogging the last block.
In the apartment, gasping, exhausted, he collapses on the sofa, breathing hard for a few minutes, his muscles tingling and feeling good all over his body. He says to himself, "Feels almost as good as getting fucked." Then, getting up, he mutters, "No, it doesn't," and takes another shower, after which he weighs himself and mutters, "Huh, one fifty-seven again. Okay."
Dressing in one of his Western shirts, tight jeans, and cowboy boots, he combs his hair, shaking his head at how his hair looks, then puts on one of Gary's coats, then, grinning, he puts on one of Gary's three cowboy hats from the hall closet, and goes out to have a big breakfast. It's a two-thousand-calorie breakfast, and he had to talk himself out of an extra order of home fries to go. Walking out of the Downtown Diner, he mutters, "I've trained myself to eat huge meals, and now I crave them. Damn, those home fries were good!"
Two old crones walked in the diner as John was walking out talking to himself, which made the old crones gawk at John, so he tipped his hat, saying, "Enjoy your breakfast, ladies." They exchanged 'looks,' smiling, but had nothing to say to that. It made John smile too. Tipping his hat at two old crones is cowboy etiquette and courtesy. He never did that before the coma, but he's getting to be an adult now, so...
He says to himself, "Next time, I'll just touch the brim of my hat. That's acceptable, too." John's feeling good; then, when he gets back to the apartment, he finds the fourteen or fifteen-year-old kid with a tight buzzcut haircut bouncing a basketball in the lobby. John grins, mumbling, "Good morning, um..." The kid says, "Paul, Paul Sullivan, John. See, I remembered your name."
"Yeah, you did. Are you waiting for me, Paul?"
As he's bouncing the ball between his legs and behind his back, showing off, Paul says, "Yeah, you promised to shoot some baskets with me Saturday. Remember?"
John doesn't especially want to shoot baskets with a fifteen-year-old kid, but something about Paul tugs at John's heart. He looks at Paul with his too-big nose on his otherwise pretty teenage face. He's wearing eyeglasses so John asks, "Where's your cool sunglasses?"
"Oh, they broke," and John notices a cut on the side of Paul's nose and asks, "How'd that happen."
Paul stops bouncing the ball and says, "Some big kid punched me for no reason. It knocked off my sunglasses and they broke. They were prescription sunglasses, too. My old man was so pissed!"
John mumbles, "Well, I can't shoot baskets in cowboy boots, so I'll change into sneakers, and we'll shoot some baskets. Um, do you think the big kid might be at the gym?"
"Un-huh, probably. Are you going to beat him up for me?"
"Didn't your old man do that?"
Shaking his head, he mutters, "I bullshitted you about that. I don't have an old man. Or, yeah, I had one, but he left years ago. I live with my old aunt, and she can't beat up anybody."
Not wanting to hear any more about this kid's life, John nods, "Oh, um, that's... ah, I mean, do you want to come with me while I change."
"Okay," and he follows John into the elevator, saying, "This elevator is a piece of shit."
John nods, "Yeah, it is," and the kid says, "Don't try anything with me, or I'll call the cops."
"I won't try anything, Paul. I'm not a pervert... remember?"
"Oh, yeah, that's right."
Inside the apartment, John asks, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Do you got any soda?"
John hooks Paul up with a Coke and goes into the bedroom to pull off his boots and tight jeans. Then he put on a clean pair of Gary's sweatpants. There is an elastic waistband, so John can wear the sweatpants. He steps into his sneakers, then changes out of the Western shirt, puts on a long-sleeved lightweight sweatshirt, and walks out of the bedroom, seeing Paul sitting on a kitchen chair.
He's already finished the bottle of Coke, asking, "Do you got a cigarette?"
As Paul does a long carbonation burp, exaggerating it and chuckling at it, John says, "Yes, I have cigarettes, but not for you. You're too young. C'mon, let's shoot some hoops."
Going down in the elevator, Paul says, "Do you think we could play in a game? They don't let me play in a game. You're old, and you could make them let me."
John thinks, 'Oh, fuck! This kid wants me to be his old man, or at least his big brother, who will get revenge for him for whatever slight or indignity he's endured.' He mutters, "I'm not a fighter, Paul, but tell me... who are 'they' who won't let you play in a game?"
"They go to that private school, but my aunt works in the office and got permission for me to play hoops in the gym. The prick son-of-a-bitches, however, don't give a shit about my aunt or me. They mock me for going to a public high school."
Getting into the pickup, John's like, "Well, fuck, why don't you play basketball at your high school?"
"You don't know nothing, do you? My school is a school bus ride, twenty minutes from here, and for all I know, they don't let anybody play in the gym when school is closed."
Rolling his eyes, parking at the high school, John says, "Okay, I got it, Paul. We're here, so let's see what's up inside."
Paul says, "Don't take any shit from them, okay? Um, could you tell them you're my brother from a different mother home from the Marines?"
"Is that what you told them last week?"
"Uh-huh, sort of. When you promised to shoot hoops with me today, I sort of made up this story. You look like you'd be an ideal big brother being all handsome and everything."
John again thinks, 'Oh, fuck!' Then says, "Yeah, okay."
There is a door to the gym right off the parking lot. John would have bet a hundred dollars the door would be locked, but it wasn't. They go in the door and see four boys about Paul's age, three black boys and a white, chubby kid with red hair, playing a two-on-two basketball game while three girls are shooting baskets at the other end of the court.
John says to the girls, "Hey, hi! Do you mind if my, um, brother and I play a game of horse?"
The chubby girl, with the red hair, says, "If we can play too," so they play. John easily makes a free throw, and so do two of the girls and Paul, who isn't pleased because this isn't what he had in mind. The tall girl muttered 'Fuck; I've hot 'H,'" when she missed the free throw. John shoots an easy jump shot from the three-point circle, and the chubby redhead plus Paul misses the shot, and ten minutes later the three girls and Paul all have H-O-R-S-E and are out of the game.
As he sinks another shop from behind the three-point circle, John tells Paul, "I told you I was on my school's basketball team, right?"
For the last five minutes of the game of 'horse,' the four guys playing two-on-two watched, then the tall black kid said to John, "Hey, do you and your brother wanna get into a three-on-three game?"
The chubby redhead girl goes, "How about us?" The tall black kid ignores that and nods at Paul, mumbling, "Sorry about knocking your glasses off last week, bro. Are you okay?"
John looks at Paul like... What the fuck? and Paul grins at him and mutters, "He didn't punch me," and then to the tall black kid, "I'm okay. I brought my big brother from the Marines like I said I would."
The white kid says, "Good, let's play!" The redhead chubby girl said, "How about us?" and was ignored again.
They play three games of three-on-three; John is easily the best player, although the five-foot-eight black kid was pretty good, too. Paul was okay, not horrible, and not especially good. He's a good dribbler, but in half-court basketball, dribbling isn't usually a big factor. They played each game to thirty points with baskets, no matter where they were made from on the court, counting as one point, so it was a long, really good workout for John.
John and the tall black kid were the only six-foot guys in the game. The others were about the same height at five foot nine except the good black kid who was about five foot seven but could really shoot. After the third game, they all smacked hands or bumped fists; all having had enough for today.
John and Paul walked out together, John saying, "You needed me to make it three on three, right? That other bullshit was said so I'd feel sorry for you."
"Uh-huh, and because I felt sorry for you. You seemed lonely."
John laughed and rubbed Paul's head, sarcastically muttering, "Riiiight!"
At the apartment lobby, Paul asked, "We can't play on Sunday, but how about next week?"
They walk inside to the elevator, John saying, "I'm not promising anything, but maybe next Saturday. I work, ya know?" Then getting on the elevator, he says, "Is everything you told me a bunch of bullshit?"
"Nope. I live with my aunt because my mom is in rehab, and my old man walked out on us ten years ago. That's all true, and, um, thanks for pretending to be my big brother. Boy, did those guys seem impressed by you? They'll treat me a lot better now, knowing I got a big brother like you."
"Ha! I never know when you're lying, Paul. What floor?"
John gets off at three, and Paul goes up to five, but as John's getting off the elevator, Paul says, "If I had a big brother, I'd want him to be just like you! No lie!"
Nodding, John gets out of the elevator car, but he's not as blase as he pretended to be with Paul. John was a little high, feeling he'd done a good deed for Paul. Other than that, he liked being the best basketball player in the gym for once, and he was happy that he played so well after hardly playing at all for three years.
John plays tennis and golf, too, when he has someone to play with. This isn't the time of year in Wyoming for outdoor sports anyway, but he and Dickie will play in the spring and, hopefully, get Andy and Gary to play, too.
Yeah, it was great for John's self-image playing big brother to Paul, helping him out, and feeling good he impressed Paul so much. This whole experience has been good for John. He doesn't like being alone, and the high school basketball boys looking up to him as they did, made him feel good about that as well. Great day so far, all the way around, although it was after three o'clock, and he hadn't had lunch yet. So, that's not great.
Cleaning up in the bathroom, leaving the sweatpants and shirt on, he puts on Gary's coat and cowboy hat again, then goes out for lunch at Burger King. It's another high-calorie lunch, although John isn't thinking of the calories anymore. He needs that much food to feel satisfied; his stomach has stretched by now.
Contended, he goes back to the apartment and thinks about texting Gary just to say he's thinking about him but he's smart enough not to do that. Sending the text would make John feel good, but Gary is concentrating on learning complicated stuff, and a text from his boyfriend would just be a distraction Gary doesn't need.
Lying on the sofa, eyes closed, reviewing in his mind how hot he was shooting the basketball earlier today, totally relaxed, which is the key to just letting the ball go without overthinking the shots, and... and his phone rings. "What?" He almost dozed off.
Sitting up, he looks at his phone on the coffee table, then picks it up, not recognizing the caller ID. He's a little foggy, "Hello." and hears, "Darling, is that you? This is your favorite African American stud sex buddy. I thought we might meet somewhere and I could make your night for you. You know, like I did after the dinner Dennis put out for you, me, and your man, Gary Thomas."
Oh, yeah, the BO plenty guy. John goes, "Clarence, how ya doing, bro? Gee, the thing is, you blew me off after fucking me that time. Remember? I texted you a few times, and you ignored me."
Clarence makes a face and goes, "Oh, really? That doesn't sound like something I'd do, bro. Are you sure you're thinking of me? Huh? Anyway, how about tonight? Let's meet at that dive bar down the street from my place. Dennis is going out later, so after a few beers, we can use my place."
John gives his phone the finger, mumbling, "Oh man! That'd be so cool, Clarence, but I'm on my way out to a party with a guy, Paul Sullivan, from the apartment here. Gary's away, so you know... anything goes. Please give me a rain check, though. Thanks for calling." Click, he ends the call, muttering, "By the way, Clarence, you've got BO! Fuck you!"
John says, "Wow! I didn't realize how pissed off I was about the way Clarence totally punked me, ignoring my texts. Jesus, haha...
Lying back on the sofa, he thinks, 'Hmm, Clarence was a pretty good fuck. I'm feeling a little horny, but nothing serious. If Gary were here, it'd be a lazy, what the hell, let's fuck, kind of thing. Let's have an extemporaneous fuck, boyfriend. That kind of thing...' Then, out loud, he says, "Except my boyfriend hasn't been around like forever! Almost two weeks, actually.
He looks at the time, then shakes his head because It's way past eight o'clock, and anyway, he blew off Gerry earlier. John lies on the sofa thinking about sex and finally says, "I'll have a dildo/cock-ring jerk off."
He gets out the dildo and cock ring, then thinks, 'Maybe I'll do some urine play first. Some stuff from that popular book, "Yellow Stream" by I. P. Daily... heh-heh, but then says out loud, "Fuck that. It's only really good when someone else's urine is involved."
Taking everything off, he lubes up the dildo and starts to screw it into his asshole but stops. Roughly pulling it out, he mutters, "Fuck that, too," and carries the dildo and cock ring into the kitchen, where he drops both in the trash bin, muttering, "I don't care for sex toys, and Gary will need to simply be okay with that. His cock isn't a lot fatter than Dickie's anyway."
Wandering into the bedroom, he gets a pair of clean, silky panties, then goes into the bathroom, making a face, thinking back to the night of Dickie's and his reunion, the night Dickie and Andy first met. That was the only time Dickie and John had sex together; that's if you don't count them jerking off together at age twelve.
Looking in the mirror over the sink, fucking with his hair, John thinks, 'Yeah, that sex with Dickie was a big disappointment. Weird, but it never felt like Dickie, and I should be doing that. Not us, two innocent childhood best buds. Not that it was horrible or anything, but it wasn't special either. Christ, Dickie never even made me cum! That's right; Andy had to finish Dickie's fuck on my ass.'
That memory from weeks ago totally got John out of the mood for anything sexy, including jerking off. He grinned and said, "Well, I accomplished something worthwhile by throwing out the sex toys, and I'm naked, so I'll take another shower."
First, he takes a crap, then the shower. After drying, he brushes his teeth, puts on that clean pair of girlie underpants, weighs himself, and goes, "What the fuck? I lost a pound?" Then he thinks, 'Oh, all that running playing basketball and then the shit I just had. Yeah, okay.'
He starts to walk out of the bathroom but stops to stare at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Frowning, he stares at the fat on his hips. Grabbing it in his fingers, he mumbles, "Jesus Christ, I can grab hold of it!"
Hmm, still talking out loud, he points at his reflection in the mirror, saying, "Dude, you need to do more exercise, more running too. Yeah, heh-heh... Even though my boyfriend is fat, he wants his boyfriend to have a hot body with some muscle definition. So far, I'm getting a body more like Gary's than the one I used to have, which had some skinny definition. Now that I've been eating everything I can get my hands on, I'm getting fat."
Going into the bedroom, he's still mumbling, "I must be doing something wrong, but what?"
After staring at the wall over Gary's bed, John says, "I'll hang the artwork," and he gets the picture Gerry photoshopped and enlarged of John and Gary from the chair in the living room. Bringing the picture, he went through all the drawers in the kitchen, mumbling, 'Everybody in the world has a junk drawer." Then, "Ah ha!" as he pulls open drawers with every kind of odds and ends, including some basic tools: a smallish hammer, pliers, and a screwdriver, plus a plastic box with twelve little compartments containing all kinds of different size nails and screws.
Bring the picture, the little hammer, and two two-inch nails; John goes back into the bedroom and hangs the picture over the bed. Stepping back, he looks at it, "Too low," he mutters to himself and hangs it higher. Stepping back, he squints, mutters, "What the fuck?" and hangs it three inches higher. Rubbing his nose, he says loudly, "Fuck!" and hangs the picture another two inches higher, but now the nail holes from the first hanging show under the picture.
Blowing out a long exhale, exasperated, John says, "It's not centered, either." Putting the hammer on the nightstand, he sets his phone alarm for five-thirty in the A.M., turns out the light, mutters, "I'll fix it in the morning," and goes to sleep.
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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