Now Watch This

Now Watch This! By Jack Russell warp8tobeach@yahoo.com

Route 72 was tied up in an agonizing constipation of autos today as if that's unusual. I'm crawling to work with the masses at 8am on a freezing February in the suburbanized mixer of Mt. Laurel, NJ. Once a tranquil life raft from strip malled Cherry Hill, it has walloped to a population of over 50 thousand people; all of which seem to be in front of me on fucking route 72 simultaneously for the single purpose of making me miserable.

The traffic light just changed again. It's reticent green cycloptic eye teasing me to just dare to try to make it and playfully allowing me to accelerate within range of the intersection before snapping its mouth shut like a great white shark on a seal.

Now I'm fidgeting with the reality of being late again for work. Let's see, it's only hump Wednesday and it'll rack up to be the...OK, third time this week. I mussed over my options. Sneak in the service door and make for the break room where I can victoriously emerge with a cup of Secure Tech's free burnt coffee and behave as if I've been there well before our prerequisite starting time.

Option two is what I call the "Lynda Carmichael diversionary dance". Truculent Lynda would over exaggerate her delayed entrance with her well practiced crimson blush, her hair jacked back in a disciplined lesbian bun, and jewelry dripping from every orifice of her body. Did she almost get creamed by an out of control tractor trailer that just missed her car by the length of a squirrels tail or get shot at by some nefarious road side sniper lying in wait on the grassy knoll?

Oh, you poor dear! The humanity! She deserved an Emmy for the performance that sent our normally detached office director, Tom Gufford, in a paternalistic panic. Tom, usually emotionally disabled, would come scampering out of his office to see what all the commotion was about and soothe the old bitch with a synthetic hug and a grateful gaze.

"Thank God you're all right!" he'd interject while running his hands through his speckled hair. They were co-conspirators with symbiotic needs as Tom's sales reports have been on the skid for some time and Lynda was apparently delivered in the same litter as the partners of the firm. Another words, she was a scared cow and ate like one too. Sometimes, I thought I could hear her "moo" from her cubicle next to mine.

I've been with Secure Tech for about five years now although it seems like fifty. This is my third job since graduating from Penn State with a degree in marketing. I suppose I should have made a greater effort with my first two jobs since I'm now discovering how much I loathe working here.

My first job was with Sears and although the pay was low and the hours long, they treated all their staff as family and that's where I met my wife, Sally. She worked in the billing department and was responsible for contacting customers nearing credit card default and midwifing them back into compliance. With her silky Tennessean draw and maternal instincts, she was a natural at warding off customer defaults.

She actually received complementary letters from customers thousands of dollars in debt who gladly made good on payments after listening to her ardent pitches for payment. But what I found so smitten about Sally was her delicious ass that poked out the back like a protective bumper and served as a sort of counterweight to her balloon like bosoms.

My second job was for Wink Publishing as a marketing assistant. There was some outside sales work involved but most of it was in house adjusting our advertising and content strategy as we breathlessly tried to out nimble the larger newspapers. I did well there but decided to move on for personal reasons. I told Sally that I was tired of the torturous commute from South Jersey to Center City, Philadelphia but the real reason was a state secret that she would never suspect.

Penn State was a bustling college with thousands of young men and it was there that I discovered after a night of binge drinking, the inebriated novelty of sucking some hot cock before going straight by the time the sun came up. We called it gay before day.

I always attributed it to a college fling much like a rookie fighter pilot who can't resist a dare to fly under the Golden Gate Bridge. I'll do it once for posterity before resetting my sexual preference circuit breaker and once again validating that my diversionary mission was a frat boy hoot and I'm really a straight dude who loves to shove his face in pussy.

But to transpose the old saying, once you go gay, you don't go any other way!

At Wink Publishing, I was supervising a sharp and sensitive college intern by the name of Franklin. He had that special talent of finding novel and workable solutions to problems that dogged our department. It was refreshing to hear his saucy input uncorrupted from years of pushing paper or responding to idiot emails.

Tall and of slender build with engaging blue eyes, he played basketball at school but got out muscled by the goons that got into college on an athletic scholarship despite being functionally illiterate. I suggested that he join the school paper since it dovetailed with his cerebral tendencies and would look great on his resume.

Franklin did well at Wink Publishing. He intuitively knew what I needed or what I was talking about and our synergy was unmistakable. I taught him how to clarify sales demographics and he taught me how to elucidate my reports so even my clueless boss could understand.

He would shoo my hands away from my keyboard and take flight at the computer. It was a fantasy of watching Tom Clancy bang out a thriller or Norman Rockwell capture an American moment.

"Now watch this!", he would whisper in his buoyant brogue; eyebrows arched triumphantly as he deftly edited my reports adding just enough filler to feed the directors ego. I always knew when Franklin was about to wonder me since he prefaced all his epiphanies with his intriguing characteristic idiom of "Now watch this!" It was a South Philly equivalent of, "Yo, how ya doin?"

Over the next few months, my usual drudgery at Wink Publishing receded as did my inklings to resign and take my talents elsewhere. Franklin and I were working exclusively together on a revenue enhancement project and I actually looked forward to the once combative commute to Philadelphia now replaced by an abridged dash to the Woodcrest High Speed Line Station. The train was a godsend sliding quietly through the badlands of Jersey, over the towering Ben Franklin Bridge with its birds eye view of the Delaware River, and then ducking underground into downtown Philly and depositing me unshaken on Locust Street. It gave me time to allow my mind to wallow in wonder and appreciate the things that driving a car steals from humanity.

Franklin was there before me as usual, excited as ever to start his day, and he already finished loading numbers into an Excel Spreadsheet and was churning out one three-D mind numbing graph after another. He was so multidimensional, unlike most other people you meet with their personality so engraved in a solitary track.

At times, he could be so dispassionately analytical and then five minutes later, introspective and free range thinking. And for me, it was liberating. Our collaboration at work was fluid, our thoughts linear. I was sharing his life and reliving my rousing college years through Franklin and with that, I was quietly falling in love with this young passionate man that was full of optimism and knew that his best days were a tomorrow away.

Of course, bedding Franklin was ferocious speculation on my part. A buddy of mine, a hard charging executive bound manager, was fired for his brash sexual blather on anything wearing a skirt. In retrospect, he told me to 'never shit where you eat.' A little late for him, though. It was like going on a diet after winning a pie eating contest.

"Brian! Good Morning!" he said while letting loose a perky smile punctuated by twin dimples.

"Hey Franklin". I hung up my jacket and took a chair behind his and studied the flat computer screen that Franklin played like a Steinway piano. He must have had around twenty Windows open, each cross referenced with others and choreographed to enchant.

Clearly proud but not over presumptuous of his work, he delivered a near perfect presentation seamless melding narration with data. I was smitten and eagerly followed his dialog. Although I would have to tweet it to reflect the randomness of the market that one could only determine from experience, his work was spot on.

"You want some coffee?", I asked knowing that Franklin loathed the vile brew that we burnt in our ad-hoc break room.

He managed a grade school pout.

"Cosi's", I corrected pointing towards the door. He smiled at my amendable suggestion and we strolled out the door and down the gentrified urban landscape to 15th and Locust. We were in the birthing days of Spring and the trees and flower boxes were saying hello and many shop door were propped open inviting customers to meander. I was in a mood to play hookey. I believe they call it Spring fever but I call it falling under the intoxicating spell of Franklin.

We settled on a table outside. It felt like Paris. We praddled about work before Franklin graduated on to subjects more interesting. He started talking about himself, his classes, and college life. He was doing well in Political Science but just scraping by in statistics. And next semester, he's taking some electives in art and history; his passion but of little use for paying the bills once the academic party ends. Try telling that to a tenured professor!

A young guy toting a backpack and wearing shrink wrapped jeans approached our table. Franklin jumped up and warmly greeted his friend with a protracted hug. I coolly smiled but was rather intrigued that I determined Franklin's sexual preference. I suppose that would account for his sensitivities and dearth of girlfriend confessions.

He introduced me to Mark who was figged up in the latest ensemble of clothes normally found in cutting age stores like Urban Outfitters of Aerospale. Mark screamed gay whereas Franklin's sexual preferences were more opaque and private.

Mark and Franklin engaged in a choppy breeze about their classes and other male student names were floated with prerequisite grins or subtle expressions of surprise. Their conversation became a slurry of background randomness as I was suddenly lost in my own thoughts and immersed in the fantastical urge to bed my intern.

I hungrily finished off my bagel and coffee as if that would rouse me from my budding incestuous thoughts. It wasn't so far fetched or illegal. Franklin was well past the age of consent and I was hardly six years his senior. It would be no worse than an incumbent congressman mentoring a handsome freshman senator or even a saucy page.

Its been years since I've had the pleasure of shoving my razor cut cock down the throat of some chemistry major before I was allowed to return the favor. No wonder I had the periodic chart memorized resulting in an "A" in class.

Life was so easy then. College days were the best! And then I got married. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I'm deeply in love with Cindy...but I stubbornly have the propensity to "go deep" with another man. I fancied a progressive alternative and allowed myself a depreciating laugh. Bad idea.

Cindy was spending the night at her mother's house in Newtown Square who recently had some cancer surgery and the prognosis was speculative, at best.

At any rate, I was in no rush to go home at 5pm to an empty apartment and pig out on a pizza. My mind was still buzzing from the days work and I needed a relief valve to expend all of my pent up energy.

I had a guest pass at Bally's on 24th street and figured on working out and then grabbing dinner at Monks; a popular eatery for the downtown Bohemian crowd. The gym, although crowded with health nuts sharing the same affliction, was well organized and replete with muscle numbing rows of various workout stations. I banged out a super set for the back and chest followed by a pyramid set of squats and lunges.

I couldn't resist weighing myself just to validate that my weight hasn't changed appreciatively since I played tennis and baseball at Penn State. The scale philandered to and fro in a teasing sway before settling on my desired heading of 175lbs. Sweet!

"Brian, I didn't know you worked out here." It was Franklin and and he was as happy as a golden retriever with an open bag of milk bones strewn over the kitchen floor. If he had a tail, I'm sure it would have been wagging deliriously. And I was equally delighted although surprised to see him again at the end of my workday while my wife was blissfully incognito. Do you know what I'm thinking?

He looked hot in his microfiber T-shirt from which his lean architecture was arousingly advertised. His skin was lustrous in sweat and a abstemious dusting of ebony hair graced his greyhound like legs.

"Hey Franklin, what's up?" We shook hands in awkward prose. I think he wanted to hug me and quite frankly, so did I.

He asked me If I would spot for him. He was trying to bulk up and that meant squats...and more squats. I wanted to pinch myself. Am I dreaming or is this guy one step ahead of me with the objective of letting me chase him till he catches me.

Franklin tipped the scales at a flimsy 140 lbs and that's including holding a semesters backpack of books. We started with a challenging set of 50 lbs and Franklin warmed into full squats with me holding court directly behind him with my hands lightly wrapped around his slim waist and my eyes enjoying the sight of his bony gluttonous muscles in concentrated strain.

Franklin was a trooper. He completed 2 sets without complaint and I could almost see his thighs swell. And for that matter, there was something else swelling as well and I just didn't have the self control to tell Tonto to dismount from his stallion.

Franklin was ready to graduate on to more weight and I had to concentrate on the type of weight he had in mind at the moment. Oh la la!

I slathered on another 10 lbs and he dutifully churned out another set. It occurred to me that I neglected to count the weight of the bar itself so he was pushing more steel than I thought he could handle. This guy had the proportional strength of a formicidae and every time he pushed skyward, he propelled my lust for him.

He racked his weights. "Damn, I'm pumped!", he exclaimed; his chest heaving like a turbulent sea.

I laughed at his comment. If only he knew that there were more pumped organs around here other than his fatigued legs. Steeling an otherwise surreptitious glance at my crotch, I was alarmed to see how my little rascal was fully engaged and pressing against my gym shorts like a plumbers wrench outgrowing its tool box.

Embarrassed, I tried to "adjust" myself but found the task futile. I felt a queer affiliation for royalty such as when Prince Harry is photographed at a soccer match in a less than regal situation by a scrum of paparazzi. Imagine how unamused his grandma must be when she peruses the morning newspaper with her tea only to see a color photograph of the future king frolicking about unencumbered.

Franklin grinned with a lucrative mixture of mischief and desire. He studied my wood and allowed his eyes to dwell around the outline of its protrusive head. I could hear him thinking and contemplating ulterior motives.

In classic Franklin mystifying surprise, he cut to the chase with his unique nerve . "I''d like to take care of that for you...a fringe benefit, perhaps?"

I was taken back by his perfectly executed passive aggressive posture but bewitched with the fantasy becoming reality. I had two things on my mind; the gay sex I wasn't having and the pot I wasn't smoking.

"My place or yours?" I amendably suggested. My vocal cords preceded my brain which surprised me. I wanted his cock. End of story.

We hurried out of Bally's like two preschoolers on recess and scampered on the High Speed Line which hushed into the station at a propitious moment. A gaggle of straggler office bees weary from their daily grind boarded and we found a seat in the empty first car. Franklin and I conversed naturally and unscripted as we usually did but we merged closer with the formality of the Philadelphia skyline in retreat.

Franklin talked enthusiastically about his new semester and I counted down the stops to Woodcrest Station so we could consummate our merger. I allowed my hands some carefree foreplay and stole a prenuptial frottage of Franklin's agitated penis. It's true, wiry thin guys are endowed by their creator with enceinte reproductive organs and Franklin's was like a peacock auditioning for a harem.

My apartment was a bit clammy from being closed off all day and I bumped up the thermostat and turned on the stereo. I proffered Franklin a beer and we settled on the couch that I retained from my single days replete with pizza stains along with other less discernible smudges.

"She's cute." Franklin panned innocently and pointing to the wedding portrait of me and Cindy. We dwelled into each others eyes shamelessly like Freshman caught cheating on a midterm but the dishonor was fleeting, our cocks were stirring, and both of us were about to implode if our sexual pressure wasn't relieved.

It was time to act. I shoved an abbreviated slug of my beer. "You're cute", I remedied and swept him into my arms and bedeviled him with probing kisses. We quietly smooched with the moist sounds of our lips in lurid osculation. I thought I was going to cream my pants right there.

All I needed now was a doobie and one materialized from the drawer but I couldn't get my lighter to offer a flame. Frustrated, Franklin interceded with a helping hand just like he did at the office.

"Here, Brian. Allow me." He got our weed glowing with his lighter and we gratefully coveted pacifying drags. Tracing droll motions of my fingers over his chest , I dwelled belatedly on his tender nipples and pinched them. He endorsed my endeavors with an ensemble of cooing moans.

I rendered him shirtless exposing his powdery white skin marooned hairless except for a finespun treasure trail leading from his tightly woven abs and ducking mischievously behind his underwear.

The pot was having its desired effect on both of us and accelerated our sexual predatory behavior. Franklin had all the purposeful moves of a coquette. He knuckled at my soccer thick thighs and stirred his tongue around my agape mouth like a drink mixer.

He was a pro and it was comforting to have someone so sexually confident in his orientation. I found it sexy as do women find men that can fix a screen door or a leaky toilet. Our cheeks brushed and my sandpaper like 5pm stubble tickled the fine nap of his skin. I picked him up in my arms and cradling him like a newborn infant, carried him majestically to the bedroom.

Franklin muzzled at my crotch with his mouth. He was ready for his shrouded prize and I bucked up and slid my pants down. He yanked my underwear off like a magician revealing a trick and the rabbit reappeared before an enchanted audience.

My tumid rod sprung out and Franklin claimed it as his own and brazenly shoved it whole down his throat. He tugged at my Gemini nuts pressurized with buckets of seething love juice. I was hopelessly overmastered by this cock sucking aficionado and convulsed on the mattress like a tropical fish dropped on the floor and then suffering the indignity of being stepped on.

I clamped my eyes shut but could still see movement. There were firecrackers aflame in my head and the sound of Franklin's measured slurping bombarded my eardrums. I wish this were being taped so I could sell instructional DVD's to chicks on the finer side of pleasuring your man. Cindy has a lot to learn. Go gay!

Franklin badgered my frenulum with precise whips of his tongue and then vacuumed my entire shaft into his mouth. He grabbed my nuts with his fingers and pinched them; first deftly and then with a rude tug. I was in orbit and couldn't wait till I returned his moves with some unique thoughts of my own added in.

He was full of surprises and the pièce de résistance was yet to come.

"Now watch this", he murmured in anticipation.

I must say he had the right combination of spit, suction, and rhythm as he bobbled up and down on my cock and his hands went searching for their own pleasure.

I knew I was in for a show. He's never disappointed me yet.

He wormed his arm under my ass and slid two of his generously lubed fingers past my surprised sphincter muscle. Flexing his fingers in deliberate prose, he drew them into a "come here" motion and located my prostate. With tender deliberate prods, he massaged it and I felt an ecstatic rush as every muscle in my body from my forehead to my little toe quivered from this unreachable tickle. My rigamortis was only temporary. "Oh my ...ood!" I screamed like a kid on a roller coaster just before it lurches off its apogee.

Someone call 911 cause I'm having a heart attack. I blew out a breath of air from my lungs followed by an expunging bucket of cum down Franklin's throat. It seemed to continue for minutes and I could feel my nuts evacuate their prize through my urethra and into his mouth.

Franklin's face was drenched with my milky emollient. It landed on his nose and a clump of my spunk was serving as hair gel in his razor cut black hair. I just had to laugh at how proud he was at his accomplishment.

I congratulated him with a brush of my hand through his soiled mane and maneuvered him up into my arms for a spray of docile kisses. His thin chest felt so good against my nipples and I cupped the compact curvature of his ass cheeks.

"Look at the mess you made, Franklin", I counterfeited.

He enjoyed his respite of dirty satisfaction. "It only gets worse. Now watch this!" he responded as he mowed my nips with his wet tongue and lips. I felt as if being tasered but in a more civilized way. Perhaps the policeman was British.

Franklin spent the night at my place and over the next few months he became a clandestine addition to my home and work life. Cindy never knew that her husband was outsourcing his satisfaction and it became a chore for me to be in the mood with her but strangely she never seemed to want of my affection. Women!

Despite the great time I was having with Franklin I was haunted by my uncharted pillage of living in the present constantly afraid and utterly clueless to consider the future. Infidelity, whether gay or straight weaves a claustrophobic neurosis that the perpetrator suddenly finds himself ensconced in and he relieves his misguided rebellion with more acts of infidelity. I was like an alcoholic that continued to binge to forget, if only temporary, my trespasses.

It was Saturday and Cindy was over at her moms again. She seemed to be spending an inordinately amount of time in Pa and I found myself reliving my bachelor years of pizza in front of the TV and a six pack of beer with a benumbing drag on some weed.

I drove to the shore with no particular agenda other than to dip my toes in the surf and to contemplate my place in the universe. The surf rolls in scattering seagulls and caressing the sands into ever changing sculptures. In an instant, I made two decisions. I would resign from Wink and join a Tech firm in Mt Laurel and I would stop seeking Franklin. No longer could I live my life trapped in an earth bound nauseating flat spin and wonder why in 20 years why I didn't do something about it.

The sun seemed to rise in my body and my mind was liberated by my decisiveness. There, it's done. I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth like I learned in Yoga 101. The air surrendered some of its salt on my tongue; natures soft pretzel.

The following week, I politely resigned from Wink and in the first irony of this debacle, they pleaded with me to stay offering a promotion and generous increase of salary. Fancy that!

One down, one to go. I could of just disappeared from Franklin's life like cigarette smoke in the wind but I felt that he deserved more. A decent man, he was both passionate and smart and deserved a closure more befitting than an act of Houdini and unanswered emails. We arranged to meet at Monks for dinner and I would do the deed there, mano to mano.

He arrived looking sharp in a button down blue shirt and black slacks. The collegiate facial hair under his chin was gone and his hair was glossy from a propitious measure of gel. He was effervescent and had a lot on his mind. Ironically, so did I.

I had a lot of time to rehearse my dear John missive but it's all so inutile when its time to deliver the monologue to its innocent audience.

Fortunately, I allowed him to lead the conversation. He just got the results of his midterms and he was happy to report that his problem course, French, was dispatched with an honorable B. I think Franklin got more pleasure in telling me than discovering his grade first hand.

I served as an editorial midwife to a history paper he wrote and it pulled in a heart pounding "A".

The waiter delivered our drinks. Perfect timing as I hid behind my beer like a newly ordained priest about to deliver his first mass.

Franklin had something else to tell me. It gave form and purpose to his otherwise amorphous energy and explained the spark that seemed to cauterize his pale blue eyes.

"I got a boyfriend!" , he proudly gushed.

I had to fight back tears. I was paroled from my painful missive with Franklin and yet happy that this energetic junior found a contemporary to share the wonders of his life with.

He told me all about Hal, a senior that he met in Political Science. Animated and with his hands in perpetual motion, Franklin beamed the same energy and satisfaction as I did when I met Cindy.

Another irony for the day. The dumper got dumped, sort of.

We hungerly devoured our dinner and chatted amicably as we silently colluded in the reality that this would be the last time we would ever see each other again.

Like an Allied solider who found truant love in liberated France, we hurriedly hugged and made hollow promises to keep in touch. I made my way down the steps to the High Speed Line before pausing and turning around to view Franklin walking down Locust Street with a liberating spring in his step before merging into the ardent crimson of the setting sun.

The memories of the next two years blurred into seconds as if caught behind the wheel of a subcompact about to be rammed by a tractor trailer. I was doing well at my new job in Jersey but was bored and missed the stimulation and nude serendipity of downtown Philadelphia. My birthday was last Tuesday and I was already starting to feel staled at a premature ripened 29 years. Cindy purchased me some cologne. How romantic!

Excitement was replaced by a walloping mortgage payment and suburban blandness was short circuiting any spark I had left in me. I went to work, mowed the lawn on Saturdays, and watched a movie with Cindy whenever she wasn't over at her moms or out with her friends. I had metastasized into a soulless drone rapped of all individuality by tract housing, weekend jaunts to the Moorestown Mall, and a predictable insomnia that cloaked me in a shroud worn by the living dead.

Funny how your future may sneak up on you at a moments notice and a mans destiny descends at a time of its choosing. For me, that moment arrived at Wawa convenience store one morning as I nursed my coffee habit and ran into Sammy, an old friend from my college baseball days. He lived in Pa and asked me if Cindy's brother lived in Media. Well, there was one problem with that. Cindy was an only child.

I played along. "Oh yeah. They're very close." I wanted to fish for more information but felt awkward asking probing questions like a jilted husband. I knew our marriage had become astringent over the years but for some odd reason, I didn't even care. I fudged nonchalance and poured my brew.

Sammy continued, "Well you're all welcome to stop by when you're in the neighborhood. I'm in the cream Cape Cod on the corner. Small world, huh?"

"It is, indeed." I cracked with a veneer of surprise. You would think she could at least fuck around with the Comcast guy. I'm so tired of my one hundred dollar cable statement!

So there you have it. I hate my job, I hate my lawnmower, I hate the mall, and my wife is cheating on her two timing husband. Now watch this!

*** I got an email at work today from Cindy. Looks like she had decided on a cyber break up and told me in emotionless laconic terms that she fell in love with someone else and was wracked by guilt in continuing a marriage based on infidelity. Hmm, hers or mine?

We settled on an amicable divorce and hired one attorney to broker an armistice. She took the cat, my favorite recliner, and the crushing credit card debts. Events unfolded quickly. I no longer had to change the litter box or mop up kitty puke. My favorite foods remained in the frig longer, I never had to lift up the toilet seat to piss, and then one day I came home to find all her possessions absent. Competition for bathroom counter space vanished and I there was actually an echo in the compact walk in closet.

Divorce is like death without a body. I was suddenly alone and what lay ahead was uncharted and challenged the human spirit to go forth and explore. Asked why man must explore space, Karl Sagan replied that man is innately good at exploration, we are hard wired to seek and explore, and not doing so somehow makes us less human.

Wonder whether Karl Sagan's ever been fired because that's what happened to me on Thursday at my new job. They couldn't even wait till 4pm on Friday. My manager was a slobbering walrus of a man that found it convenient to expel me from the pod since we lost a contract and he blamed it on my tardy "response" times.

The final insult occurred to me as I drove out of that antiseptic office park with my car dash light brazenly warning of a low fuel condition and five dollars in my wallet. Friday was "Good Friday" and was a paid holiday that I would never see. Bastards!

I hit the street running and decided to renew my urban love affair with Center City Philadelphia. After receiving some valuable contact information from Tom, an affable sales rep at Wink, I landed one interview that seemed promising. They gave me the grand tour of the office and I got the impression I'd be sitting at one of their desk by next Monday but the ensuing weeks of silence dimmed that prospect.

Tom told me that Franklin was offered a permanent position with Wink after graduating from college. He had my former position and I'll bet he was kicking ass. I was happy for him and enjoyed a vicarious moment.

"Would you like to talk to him?", Tom offered in his native Virginian draw.

Having no time to think about it and it's implications, I said sure and was connected promptly to this energetic problem solver.

"Brian! Oh my God, It's so great to hear from you. Been a long time, huh?" His voice was deeper, professionally clipped, but still full of that vitality evoking images of someone standing like a spring ready to rebound.

I told him about my divorce,my employment free agent status, and my undetermined interview with Tioga Publishing in Philadelphia. I've must of rambled like a sniveling shit for half an hour and Franklin engaged me in conversation as if the years of our separation were mere minutes. I tossed a lot on his plate but he absorbed it all with room to spare.

"You interviewed with Tioga? Was it with that pig Mitchell?", he wisecracked.

"Yeah". I was surprised. Franklin always had the capacity to surprise me with his insight fullness and savvy. He seemed to have developed a salubrious sarcastic edge over the years as well.

"I'll give that douche bag a call. He needs a big cock up his ass before he can make his own cereal!" he snapped.

Now watch this! I was surprised once again by Franklin's boldness as he tiptoed from being irascible one moment to a yoga like sedation the next.

I was belly laughing for the first time in two years and leave it to Franklin to be the source of my revival. Another part of me was happy too. The little one was raising its flag pole and needed petting. Thank God I was home and had the opportunity to visit an ol' friend that has seen more of his share of being down.

"Hey, I want to see you, Brian." Franklin ordained.

I had mixed feelings of speaking with him in the first place. One side of me reluctant to relive an old indiscretion, the other side, deliriously aroused to renew unexpected possibilities. It's time to explore, Karl Sagan.

Before I could even digest my options, he closed the deal. "I'm living at 1500 Locust. See you Friday at 6pm." It was an order, not a request. I found it refreshingly scrumptious and devilishly decadent as if consorting with Russian spies.

"We'll have dinner at Monks, catch up with each other, and watch some TV at my place." he said.

I spent my Friday in a conscious sleepwalk levitating between following up on leads, emailing my resume, and anticipating my reunion with Franklin. Before I left the apartment, I've must of have changed my wardrobe three times trying to get my ensemble just right. First I tried on the dress pants and button down shirt. Nope, too corporate. Then I over corrected with a pair of Levis and tight fitting top. Oh boy, too sophomoric. Third time was the cure as I settled on gray Dockers, glassy black shoes, and a short sleeved dress shirt. Gee, was I dating?

1500 Locust was a posh apartment building on Locust Street in Philadelphia where empty nesters, urban professionals, and upwardly bound college graduates, came home to roost. A uniformed man at the concierge desk cleared me with a call to Franklin's apartment and then waved me to the busy bank of elevators.

I didn't have to knock or even find Franklin's apartment as he was waiting for me as the elevator door slipped open with a mechanical whine. At first I didn't even recognize him. He had matured fabulously in the two years since I had last seen him assuringly joining the evening crowd of center city scrum after our dinner.

Like a father suddenly enscripted into a faraway war, I left a pimply adolescent son and returned to find a handsome young man of beefy architecture, unflappable, optimistic, and as sophisticated as his elders. Once on the brink of anorexia, he was now irresistibly buffed. Nature has transformed him beautifully like a Michelangelo painting first seen as a work in progress and then complete.

"You look so different." was all I could manage in a waffling surprise as we hugged as if rescued castaways.

His spikey black mane was now contemporary layered and his ever present gaggle of avant-garde earrings were missing. This once weedy basketball player put on some serious muscle over the years and was now football tight end solid.

"Come on in" he encouraged pointing down the hall.

Franklin must have been doing well at Wink. They were notoriously cheap with salaries and opened up their wallet for top performers only of which I'm sure he was.

His apartment, a fashionable one bedroom was furnished in a satiny modern theme I've once seen at Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams Furniture store.

He offered me a Bud Light. Funny, he remembered what I drank and then as if the years between us evaporated like meteorological virga, he pulled me in to him and open mouth mauled me with a kiss that only Franklin could deliver. I could recognize the uniqueness of his kiss blindfolded. We stood static in a comfy sclerotic flux that only two lost lovers could understand once reunited.

I discovered that I was home but Franklin seemed to understand that I had never really left; I just got lost before finding my way again. Our chemistry for each other was inscrutable, first easily approachable and then utterly confounding. Our two personalities; one analytical and dispassionately imprisoned in a sham marriage; the other, emotionally haunted and troubled by an overactive mind, were finally quieted with a peaceful embrace and tender kiss.

He effortlessly scooped me off my feet and like a secret military rendition, I was hustled away to his bedroom where I would be tortured for information.

Franklin fell on top of me, fully in control, and robbed me of my clothes. I was helplessly ambivalent to intervene being too distracted by my stampede of emotions. I could feel his muscles twist from under his shirt in a coiled menace like an agitated rattlesnake poised to strike. Not wanting to marinate in my sexual inhibitions and fears, I told my logical mind to take a hike and instead acted instinctively like a dog left alone in the kitchen with a steak on the counter.

I clawed at his shirt buttons and his pecs sprung free and I nursed on his eraser sized nipples. Once pubescence and hairless, his sinew chest was now manicured in a fine dust of ebony hair that smoked an erotic musky scent. He wrapped me up in his arms like a Christmas present and I kissed his biceps now flush with muscle and a disciplined menace.

He steamrolled over me and I was capsized under his mass. He reached under my crotch and brazenly fingered my hole with a generously lubed finger. At first I was nervous and tensed up.

"I'm going to have you one way or the other." he chided. "I'm going to send you to the moon!"

Franklin pushed my legs over his shoulders and continued to prosecute my hole into compliance. He drew his finger in curious stroking motions I found settling and he boated over my swollen prostate causing me to gasp from the novel sensation.

He thoughtfully doubled my delight with the smooth insertion of two fingers and the physical act along with the psychological feeling of helplessness sent me into a guttural spasm and I unloaded a fiat of pre cum that seemed to blast off a couple of feet before splashing down on my abs.

"Oh my God. I've never had that happen before!" I hollered.

Shooting a load without touching your cock or fucking is the childhood equivalent of dumping your Halloween candy on the floor and studying your bounty in amazement. Trick or treat! It's Franklin!

I felt more exposed and vulnerable than I ever did in my entire life and found it liberating. I'll bet that if every straight man was required to be fucked by another guy , their straight love making would improve, the divorce rate would plummet, and the bond between them would strengthen.

Franklin's erect shaft flanged with shoots of untamed bush bobbled in front of my face and I engulfed his cock sucking it down my throat like a snake devouring a live mouse. I whipped my tongue over its pulpous head and up and down his meaty shaft. His cum filled balls tickled my chin and I yanked on them to the brink of detachment before biting them as if they were malted candy.

Franklin leaned back moaning; his eyes shuttered and chest heaving. Sweat formed on his brow and his whole body quivered in a masculine hurricane about to reach its apex.

Furiously and without any warning, he spread my legs apart and allowed his cock to harass my hole. He paused as if changing his mind and then went for the kill. There was no diplomacy here as he delivered the goods like a punch to the nose.

I've never experienced cock up my ass before and the fresh flavor was a surgery elixir that propelled me past the Moon as Franklin promised and light years past our galaxy. Engage!

I winced in pain and yanked on his nipples and lacerated his baseball hard biceps. I felt like an insect being methodically shed of his appendages; my anguish juxtaposed with Franklin's uncontainable need to fuck me silly. He was on a mission and I was rendered useless like a mediator in a Colosseum death fight as Franklin jousted his adversary senseless.

He nibbled diversionary kisses on my neck and branded me with his signature hickeys. He was ripping my flesh out and demolishing me as I expelled hurried spunks of cum and muted screams in ignored appeasement.

Every time I came, I lurched like an overloaded truck hauling gravel propelling both Franklin and I airborne. He settled on me harder each time and his cock pursued my hole with undeterred thrusts.

Just as I thought it couldn't get more intense, Franklin managed his spring surprise.

"Now watch this!" he said whimsically.

I never saw it coming so I couldn't watch anything but I felt it. He must of have punched his whole hand up my ass and it was the 4th of July in my rectum. I was being sexually dissected from both ends and was powerless to stop it...like I really would have wanted to.

"You're ready to get your ass plowed now, Brian." Franklin said like a seasoned garage mechanic who breathed new life in a 68 Ford Fairlane.

He positioned me in an undefendable missionary position and greedily pinned me down with his head resting on my chest. His legs tree stumps, his V shaped torso fanned in uncompressed wrath as he found my cycloptic hole and elbowed his mushroom cockhead inside me. I thought I head a ripping sound as if a waterlogged phone book was being ripped apart and I felt an intense pain, but damn, that pain felt so good! With a "pop" he was inside me.

Rabid for my hole but yet sensitive to my needs, Franklin addressed my fear. "Don't worry, it's only me inside of you. It took two years to get here. Don't get shy now!"

I laughed at his bedside manner as he dived into me with a rhythmic stroke. I threw my hands back over my head and he pushed his face in my armpits as he tenderized my sardine tight ass with his throbbing pride of meat.

I counted the cadence; three trench filling campaigns culminating in a perfunctory truce before resuming his rout on my love hole. I closed my eyes in capitulation. He gripped the sides of my ass for leverage and like a ill tempered motorist suffering with road rage, rammed me repeatedly. Bang! Bang! Bang! I thought my neighbor was hammering a nails on the adjoining wall.

My eyes closed, Franklin inflamed my lips with full mouthed slurps. His passionate mania revealed, I found myself being transported to a planet of delirious rapture. If every str8 man could get fucked by Franklin's study plumbing, a lot of women would be spending time home alone with only their vibrators for company.

He devoured me like a swarm of locusts and left me so pathetically disheveled, my ex wife would be unable to identify the body.

He whispered nasty suggestions in my ear some of which were of undecipherable French but I got the idea.

His hips swayed with reckless gyrations and his low slung walnut hard nuts delivered punitive smacks at the tender spot of my ass.

I was ready to eject my load in grammar school impatience and I shouted out my dilemma to Franklin. In his principal wisdom, he put a stop to that and brought his hand down around the base of my engorged cock and squeezed effectively taking the reins of when and how I would ejaculate.

"Who's your daddy now?" he commanded.

I found it all so fucking erotic. My intern was now my master. He arrested my head in the cleavage of his arm and his taunt bicep would of knocked me out of bed if he flexed too hard. I was being pulverized in a mixed martial arts of lovemaking and could only acquiesce to the fragrant aroma of his masculine armpit.

My cock busted out of his grip like a fugitive on the run and I lurched back and sent fiery clumps of spunk airborne. Like a professional actor whose never missed his cue, Franklin unsnarled a bucket of his stern cocktail and literally brought down the house. It was like the 4th of July, Spring Break, your first drag on cannabis, and a knock out punch to a bully, compressed in the fissure of indecipherable raptus.

When he withdrew, cum was continuing to dribble from his erect sausage. Waste not, want not, as my mouth formed a watertight seal around his rod and I persuaded his belated load into my mouth. It was chardonnay sweet, chunky like homemade soup, and as hot as earl grey tea.

Tuesday morning brought thunderstorms and a phone call from that dumb ass swine from Tioga Publishing. He sheepishly was offering me a job and full of apology for not getting back to me sooner. Go Franklin!

I accepted with a plan of getting promoted to a management position where I would then fire his porky ass. It was akin to the satisfaction of squatting a mosquito before he gets the chance to bite you.

Now watch this!