Purpose by Frodo46888@aol.com
Since retirement, I had kind of retreated from the world. Depression, a doctor would say, and he'd be right. My useful life was over, and from now on I would just collect my ample retirement check and decline into senility.
The old house reflected my attitude. It was looking shabby, and the once well-tended lawns had grown up to weeds and brush. The neighbors noticed, but their concern was fleeting.
One afternoon I was out front surveying the ruin when a young man walked by. It was hard not to notice him, for he had a powerful body topped by the head of a gargoyle. This might be an exaggeration, but he had a large, misshapen nose and equally large, malformed ears.
"All it needs is a rusted car on the lawn to complete the picture," I announced.
The young man stopped and looked. "All it needs is a little attention," he said in a deep, gentle voice.
"It needs more than I'm going to give it," I sighed and started up the walk.
"Would you like some help?"
I turned and looked at him. "You want to tackle this mess?"
"If you'd like me to."
"Will ten bucks an hour cover it?"
"More than enough," he replied. Then he thrust out his hand. "Brad Hooper. I live about a quarter mile up the road."
We shook hands as I introduced myself. The following morning Brad arrived promptly at 8:00, and we rummaged around in the garage for the tools he would need. He worked until I interrupted him at 10:00 for some cold soda, and at 12:00 I brought out sandwiches and drinks for both of us. We sat at the decaying picnic table in the shade and had lunch. His T-shirt was drenched with sweat, so I suggested he hang it on the line to dry.
Brad's body was drop-dead gorgeous. He had the powerful shoulders and arms and the muscled chest of someone who had spent many hours working out without overdoing it. Sweat glistened on his chest hair and gave a delicate scent to the air.
Bit by bit, I pried out of him that he lived with his divorced mother and had attended one year at the local community college. "I don't think I'm going back," he said. "I didn't do so well, and my mom doesn't have much money. Come fall, I'll get a job in construction or something. If I don't scare them away."
"I hardly think that will happen," I responded.
He looked straight at me. "I'm a freak. I've always been a freak, and unless I can come up with $100,000 for surgery, I'll always be a freak."
He looked both sad and angry.
"You're more than just a face," I replied. "Just talking with you I can tell that you're intelligent and you speak well. You're a hard worker, with a strong, handsome body."
I momentarily regretted that last bit, but he didn't react to it.
"Try and tell that to all the places I've applied to for jobs," he said.
"Perhaps I should. But for the next week or two, you've got plenty to do around here. How are you at carpentry?"
"I can use a saw and a hammer. I used to be pretty good in shop in high school."
"Then you're all set for a month or more. The old place is falling down aroun d my ears."
For the first time, he smiled, and his grotesque nose and ears seemed to vanish for an instant.
The following noon as we were having lunch, I asked more about his past year at the college.
"I guess I could have done OK," he said, "but a lot of times I'd come home and work out a bit and then sit in front of the TV until it was bedtime. And I had an awful time getting up in the morning, so I was late for class a lot."
Except for the working out, this sounded like the way I wasted far too many days.
"Do you do anything with friends?"
He shook his head. "Who would want to be seen with this?" He pointed to his face.
"A movie star you're not," I replied, "but you have a great smile and I'm sure you have a lot to offer."
"You haven't lived with this for 22 years." He looked angry.
Impulsively, I put my hand on his large, rough paw and looked into his soft, brown eyes. "Until you're willing to give yourself a chance, there's not a whole lot anyone can do for you. But when you change your mind, I'll be here."
We gazed at each other for a long moment, and when he suddenly looked away, I almost thought I spied the gleam of a tear. Without further comment, he got up and went back to work.
By the end of the week, the yard looked wonderful. The lawn was mowed, the gardens neatly edged and free of weeds, the brush pulled out and the shrubs carefully trimmed. Large rocks had been removed and stacked on the walls, and an old shed had been dismantled and carted away in my aging Bronco.
On Friday afternoon, I broke out a six-pack of beer and handed Brad a bottle.
Reluctantly, he accepted it as we strolled about the property and I admired all that he had accomplished. A warm smile crept over his face as my words of praise went on and on. We sat at the picnic table as I wrote out his check.
"If that's too much, I really don't need it," he said.
"You're worth twice as much," I replied. "And besides, you have to save enough for tuition in the fall."
"I told you I'm not going back."
"And I'm telling you that you are!" I stared straight into his eyes. "Maybe you don't care, but I do."
Brad arrived the following Monday and began removing the rotted boards from the back of the garage. Then we went to the lumber yard in my Bronco, the first of many such trips to get materials for the countless repairs that the buildings needed.
Over lunch, as we chatted about trivia, Brad announced, "You know, I haven't talked this much with anyone for years. I guess I've always been a loner."
"So have I," I responded. "But maybe for different reasons."
He have me a probing glance. "At least you look normal."
"Looks can be deceiving," I countered.
Although I've never been handy with tools, I found myself working with Brad more and more. It wasn't just that I enjoyed watching his hot body move, though I surely did. I liked Brad a lot. I liked talking with him or just sitting with him in silent contemplation. I wanted to do things for him and with him, and I realized that my life had acquired a new purpose. I felt alive.
One warm afternoon I was holding up one end of a board as Brad nailed it, and a sudden pressure hit my chest. I dropped the board and reached out for support, and the next minutes and hours blurred. I knew Brad was carrying me into the house, I heard the ambulance siren, and I was moved and poked as people milled about. I awoke in a hospital bed, feeling the tubes and wires that were connected to me, and when I turned my head I saw Brad's anxious face. He smiled and grasped my hand.
"Welcome back," he said. "You had me worried for a minute."
"I can't leave you yet," I replied weakly. "I have too much to do."
It was a relatively mild heart attack, and within a week I was home. My diet was restricted as were my activities, and I was checked daily by the visiting nurse. Brad was there every morning, making my breakfast as I showered and dressed, and after working on the place during the day, he would go home, clean up, and return to help with supper. Then I suggested that he could use my spare bedroom any time he wanted, and within an hour he was back with armloads of clothes. I now had a star boarder!
"This makes it easier on my mom," he explained. "She has a new boyfriend, and now she can have him stay without me to bother them."
I couldn't imagine Brad being a bother.
"You're getting paid for all this extra time, whether you like it or not," I told him.
In addition to my retirement check, I had some investments whose proceeds were piling up in an account, and land that had been left to me years ago by my great-uncle. I could well afford to pay for Brad's assistance for quite a while.
I just loved having him around. There were times when I wanted to see more than his modesty would allow, but that wasn't the most important part of our relationship. It seemed that we felt useful to each other, a mutual giving that we both found satisfying. As my health improved, I found I needed less help in my daily routines, but Brad stayed anyway.
At my insistence, he registered for his classes in the fall. "This year's going to be different," I advised. "You're going to knock their socks off."
I bought a 10-year-old Escort for Brad to commute in, and a shiny new iMac and printer for his room. He protested earnestly, but I insisted that it was an investment, and I honestly stated that I was already getting a return on it.
Fall blended into winter. Brad was quite successful in his classes, though he still seemed to have no social life despite my urging. We invited his mother and her boyfriend for Thanksgiving, and we spent Christmas Day at her house, but otherwise Brad had little contact with his family.
It was a cold, snowy day during semester break, and I had brought out the beer in mid-afternoon. We were feeling a little mellow, and out of the blue Brad asked, "You said that you were a loner for different reasons than mine. Maybe we should talk about it."
I was both startled and embarrassed by the request, but I knew it was time for honesty. "Maybe you've already guessed, and you'd be right."
"You're gay."
"That's the way I'm wired up," I replied.
"But you've never touched me and never put a move on me. I used to notice the way you looked at me from the neck down, but that's all you ever did. Those few times we've hugged, it's been me hugging you, not the other way around. I've sometimes wondered if I'm so ugly it turns you off."
"Everything about you turns me on," I confessed. "You're the most beautiful man I could ever hope to meet. I can't tell you how many hardons you've given me, and how many times I've jacked off thinking about you. But there's over forty years difference in our ages, and besides, you're not gay."
"You're right, but if it was you touching me it wouldn't bother me a bit."
"It's because of that generosity that I could never take advantage."
He stood up and pulled off his shirt. "I like this part of me myself." He turned and posed, flexing his wonderful muscles.
The he abruptly dropped his jeans and kicked them aside. His lovely, rounded butt and bulging pouch were displayed to advantage in the thin briefs, and I became hard. He turned and posed more. "This part of me is OK, I guess."
"More than OK. You're a sculptor's dream. And mine."
He put his thumbs into his waistband, and I held up my hand.
"If you're trying to seduce me, you're going to succeed," I stated. "What you just showed me is enough material for a month's fantasies. You don't have to go any further."
"If it would make you happy, I'd show you anything," he replied.
I stood up and embraced him. I'm sure he must have felt my erection, but he didn't comment. "You make me happy just by being here."
We stood with our arms around each other for some time.
That night, I lay in the darkness reviewing the day's events. There was a tap on the door and then it opened, and in the light from the hall I saw Brad's outline. Without a word, he padded over to my bed, raised the covers, and slid in beside me. He wrapped his strong arms around my thin form and held me. Then he released me and took my hand, placing it on his chest.
"Warm me up, old friend. Warm me up good," he said.
I explored his chest, his shoulders, his arms his hands, growing more excited by the second. When I reached his briefs, I hesitated. "Go on, old friend," he whispered.
My hand brushed across the hard bulge, surprised that he was also excited, and at that point his hands began to caress all of me. Inspired by the same thought, we each pushed down the other's confining underwear and our hardons dueled for space. My horizontal shaft found a space between his thigh and scrotum, while his more upward hardness was pressed between us.
We touched, we explored, we rubbed our bodies together slowly. I had never felt such joy and love as we softly kissed and held each other and the minutes went by. And then Brad groaned and tightened his grasp as I felt the moistness on my abdomen, but our gentle lovemaking continued until I, too, shot my seed. Then we lay back, our hands clasped firmly.
"I've never done that before, not with a man or a woman," Brad admitted.
I smiled, then began to chuckle. "You won't believe this, but neither have I! Ever hear of a 63-year-old virgin?"
We both laughed and embraced again. Moments later, we fell asleep.
A shower and a changing of sheets erased the physical evidence the next morning, but we both went about our early routines knowing that we had just shared something unique and special. Brad stood before me totally naked in the bathroom, the first time I had seen him this way. While others might consider his endowment unremarkable, I loved it. He was more man than I could ever want.
Brad and I didn't sleep together again, but his modesty relaxed. He went about the house in his briefs at times, and we shared the bathroom more comfortably. We hugged often. I still grew excited when I saw his nude form, but it was no longer a mystery.
One day in April, I told him, "Don't make any plans for tomorrow. You have a doctor's appointment at 3:00." I refused to explain further. As I checked the directory in the medical building, his suspicions were confirmed and his reaction reserved. After a long examination and consultation with the plastic surgeon, we left with a list of recommendations.
Brad looked angry. "So you can't stand this mug after all," he said bitterly.
"I love it," I replied. "You're the one who can't stand it."
We drove home in silence, but once we were in the house, I wrapped my arms around him with all my strength.
"You know I love you and you must know how much I hurt when you hurt. You've been put to the test for 23 years, and it's time to end it."
Brad wept. "All my life I've dreamed of being normal, and now that I have the chance, I'm scared."
"No need to be scared," I said. "I won't leave you."
"But this will cost a fortune!" he cried out.
"Would you believe they want to put a shopping mall on that land my uncle left me? Your bills are going to save me a fortune at tax time!"
Brad checked into the hospital the week after classes ended. He was home two days later, most of his head wrapped in bandages, and we made frequent trips to the doctor for the next several weeks. Then came the day for the unveiling.
He was still a bit swollen, but we were thrilled with what we saw. His ugly, misshapen features were now simply bold and masculine - and normal. I had always seen beauty in Brad's face, but now everyone could. We laughed and cried all the way home, and we held each other for a long time, but it could never be long enough.
Brad transferred to the State University for his junior year, and graduated with honors with a degree in engineering. In his senior year he met Wendy, a bubbly blonde that I liked immediately. They were married a month after graduation, and I was honored to serve as his Best Man. It's a two-hour drive to their apartment, but I have Sunday dinner with them every week. I have arranged my affairs so that they will never want for anything.
There is a purpose to every life. I found mine a little late, but it was worth the wait.