Say Goodbye to Sparkleland

Say Goodbye to Sparkleland Chapter 17

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My last chapter was short and funny. This one is a bit off the rails.

Hang on.

17

I pondered Logan's question. Would I still consider Cooper the love of my life if the two of us weren't capable of making love? That was a really hard thing to determine. I'd have to think about it some more. Sex was huge with me. But would it be in my 40s, 50s, old age? I'd still want Cooper with me, no matter what.

"Mitch? Did I lose you?"

"Hm? No. Just thinking further on your question."

"Good. I think that will help you sort some things out."

I picked up the black book. "As should this next one."

"Go on."

"No. 17. Theodore Santos Lawrence."

"Teddy! I remember him."

"It's funny. At work he was Theodore. Some of his friends called him Teddy. His family called him Santos; so did I. He had an American father and Latino mother."

"Okay."

I looked back down at the book. "Four inches soft, seven inches hard. Uncut. No pre-cum. Translucent cum. Trimmed bush. Intense sex."

"These descriptions are a marvel."

"The words that follow are fountain, passionate, scary, accent and making love through food."

"I don't know where to begin. I remember him, but I don't remember how you met."

"At work. His father is Simon Lawrence, the owner and head chef at Lawrence Creek."

"Nate and I eat there on special occasions, often our anniversary."

"Nicest place in town. Anyway, Simon and Santos came into the firm one day to discuss finances. He had investors in Chicago. They wanted to help Simon open a second restaurant. Downtown was too pricey, but Oak Brook was an upper-class suburb they felt could support it. We spent almost an hour looking at feasibility, risk, interest rates, taxes, etc. Boring stuff. I was still fairly new, so I was just in the room assisting, but I didn't get to say much."

"Did sparks fly talking about money?"

"I wouldn't say that. My boss, Mr. Shannon, did all the talking. Simon did from his end. At one point, Santos' eyes and mine met. We just smiled. I loved his eyes. They were green, and they captivated me. After looking at each other a few times, I think we both began to question."

"Magnetism."

"Completely. Mr. Shannon asked me to walk them out. Santos paused at the front doors and turned to me. He had such a deep, powerful voice. `I wish to see you again.' I asked where he'd like to go, and he invited me to his restaurant."

"It was clearly an interest of attraction, not ... financial."

"In that moment, I thought he wanted to stick his tongue down my throat."

Logan roared.

"Do you laugh with many of your patients?"

"Not many. Hardly any, actually. Sessions with therapists aren't known for `giddy times.' As much as I feel this isn't a good situation, I have to say that I'm glad you came to me. I feel a stronger connection with you than I did just as a drinking buddy."

"Or former lover."

"Yeah, that." He sighed. "I'm still very sorry, Mitchell."

"That was so long ago."

"Does that really matter? I broke your heart."

"We made it through. We still love each other."

"We do. Even though we don't always like each other."

I threw one of his pillows at him. He laughed again.

"So ... back to Santos," I said. "I met him at the restaurant a couple nights later. I had never been, so I wasn't sure if I should wear a suit. I only owned two. I wore a sports jacket with slacks and a tie. Lawrence Creek has a private room with several tables set aside for special occasions. It probably seated about 32 or so. He had it reserved just for the two of us."

"Wow."

"I've prepared something special for us, Mitchell. I hand-selected all the ingredients today. I was very specific to my chef tonight on how to prepare the ingredients."

"I'm sure they are used to your instructions," I said.

"Not so much. It's my father."

I smiled. "I see that the two of you have a close and informed relationship then."

"He's known I like men since I was a young age. I loved watching him cook. I didn't like sports."

"But you have an athlete's body."

"I eat well. I work out. I love the male figure."

It was funny that I could detect an accent, but it wasn't overly discernible. Clearly it was a blend of his two parents' influence. I hung on his every word.

"Mitchell, my father found me in bed with my best friend when I was 17. He has always known. We have never talked about it. He has just known. Each time I have had a man in my life, he has accepted it and welcomed him politely."

"And how many men is that?"

"I do not know." He waved an arm. "I am older than you."

"Me being younger doesn't bother you?"

"The moment I laid eyes on you, I wanted you. I wanted to cook for you."

"Oh. Wow."

"That first night, he was so ... confident. Forceful makes him sound like a brute. But it was more in control. He had me. He said, `From the moment I laid eyes on you, I wanted you. I wanted to cook for you.' It made me catch my breath."

"I see what you mean by making love through food."

I paused. "Partially."

"Well, the only other interpretation is literally. Like sex with food." I said nothing. Logan stared at me. His head slightly turned. His eyes squinted. "Really?"

"Santos was intense. But ... we can get to that later."

"We start with a butternut squash bisque with whipped coconut, granola and sage. It will be followed by a roasted beets and burrata salad made with beet coulis, kumquats, spiced hazelnuts, vanilla and a lemon vinaigrette."

"Goodness. It sounds quite ... elegant."

"The main course is surf and turf with seared halibut on potato puree, crispy marble chips, tomatoes and lemon caper beurre blanc. Aside it is roasted Colorado lamb with carrot puree, tabouli, charred fennel and lamb jus."

"Santos ... that sounds like ... a lot."

"It will be accompanied by asparagus dusted with fresh garlic and a boat of sauteed mushrooms."

Could I possibly eat all that? It sounded both delicious and intimidating.

Our waiter, Arthur, poured us a glass of cabernet. I had no idea what the label was, but I was confident it was very expensive. I tried to sip on my ice water as much as possible. I didn't have a lot of experience with wine. I liked it, but I didn't know if I could discern it from a $6 bottle of wine.

Within a few minutes, the soup came. The presentation was extraordinary for a soup. Everything I had heard about Lawrence Creek was living up to its reputation.

"Course after course ... starters, entrees, sides ... they were beyond what you'd see on a cooking show. Each dish was served with artistic flair. I watched Santos' eyes hover over me like a helicopter parent each time I tasted something for the first time. I made sure my expression conveyed that it was delicious — because it was."

"And you had just met?"

"Yes! I thought the same thing. At one point in the dinner, I began to wonder why he was going so far out of the way for a first date. I could have been impressed with anything. I was feeling out of my league."

"Mitchell, do you prefer the halibut over the lamb or vice versa?"

"That's like choosing a favorite child. Both are delicious. I love seafood though, so this is excellent," I said, pointing to the fish with my fork.

"I'm glad you like it, Mitchell."

"Please. Call me Mitch if you prefer."

"Perhaps. I like Mitchell."

I scooped some more mushrooms onto my plate.

"It's odd. I myself don't have a preference," he said. "You'd think I would. People here call me Theodore. My former lovers called me Teddy. My family calls me Santos. Why did you choose to call me that?"

"That's how I met you. You were with your father, and he referred to you that way. It has a beautiful sound to it."

"You think so, Mitchell?"

I smiled, knowing I would be Mitchell to him for the foreseeable future.

"I do. Everything about you is quite ... impressive. You have charisma, if I may say so."

"And so far, you've only seen my food."

"Santos was so forward. There was never a question of what he wanted or what he was thinking. It was just ... there. Out in the open."

"How did he make you feel?"

"Oh, goodness. Lots of things! I felt lucky to be wined and dined by this man. I felt intimidated by his age and talent and ... wealth. In small ways, he could be scary. He was like that the entire time we were seeing each other. I felt attracted to his beautiful looks. It was like being on an episode of a reality show. He was equal parts alluring and intimidating."

"Pardon me, Theodore, is dinner prepared as you wished?" Arthur asked.

"It is excellent, my friend. Thank you."

Arthur nodded to me and topped off my wine. "And you sir, are you enjoying your meal?"

"It's incredible. Thank you."

I looked around the room as I took a sip of wine. Three of its boundaries were solid walls with beautiful art, but the front of the room was tall glass windows. White, sheer curtains were draped over most of the glass, but the French doors were uncovered. Every now and then, I'd notice a patron looking in. I knew they wondered how a room of this size could be used just for two men. I felt like a king. And I felt guilty.

"Santos, can I ask you ... why me? This exceptional dinner is very ... extravagant for a ... shall we say, first date. Why?"

"Because I want you to know that I am serious. I find you very handsome. I would like to get to know you better. There is much the two of us could do to make each other happy."

"Is that so?" I coyly asked. "You know little about me. I'm not sure I could live up to your lifestyle."

"My lifestyle may not be so different than yours. Yes, I love to cook. I find food very sensual. And I like to share that. I'd like to share that with you ... repeatedly. A man does not have to be wealthy for me to be interested. He must have heart and passion."

That response threw me. What heart? What passion?

"And yet, you've only known me from a financial meeting."

"I am a good judge of people, Mitchell."

"I only hope I can live up to your expectations."

"I'm sure I will — we will — enjoy finding out."

"Even though I felt he deserved someone far better than me, Santos was mesmerizing. He had me. I was all but captive. It was like living a fantasy."

"The fantasy being ...?"

"Well, he had more money. I just wanted to make rent on my apartment. It was sort of that fantasy of a dashing prince sweeping me off to his kingdom. His family was wealthy. He didn't like being called rich. He would say, `very, very well off.' He rarely let me pay for things, but at the same time, we'd do things that were quite common."

"Common?"

"Well, when you met him, it was at a gay bar. You fawned all over him."

"I did not!" Logan protested.

"Yes, you did. You put your hand on his wrist and asked if you could call him Teddy."

"I was being polite. I was supposed to be friendly to him. You were introducing him to your circle of friends."

"And for some reason, he fit into them okay. Even when he was dressed casually — the loose, white pants; the leather sandals; the Ron Dorff tank tops — he looked elegant when he was bumming around. But Santos never put anyone down. He felt compelled to draw them in instead of establishing boundaries. He was so passionate yet so complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Unpredictable. Moods, I suppose. He loved and respected his father — all but worshipped him. At the same time, his father would irritate him. I'm not sure he felt respected. He so wanted to be his father's equal, and I'm not sure if he ever achieved that."

"Did his father belittle him?"

"Not that I ever saw. It was always a good relationship. I'm wondering if it was some sort of self-judgement on his part."

"That first date ... were you swept off?"

"Are you saying sexually?"

"Yes."

Arthur had cleared our dishes.

"Will there be anything else, Theodore?"

"Mitchell, would you like coffee?"

"Oh, I'm fine. But thank you." I was so glad dessert wasn't being offered; I was stuffed.

"That will be all then. Thank you, Arthur. Excellent."

I saw Santos hand him a folded hundred-dollar bill. Holy shit.

Putting his elbows on the table, Santos interlocked his fingers. He didn't rest his chin on them; it just hovered a few inches above.

"I have something in mind for dessert. I hope you will like it."

"Oh goodness. I'm so full. What did you have in mind?"

"You."

Mercy. The man was forward. What was I to say to that? Should I be all flattered? Should I be flippant? Flirty? I was out of my league.

"You're certainly forward, Santos."

"I don't mind going for what I want."

"Hm. I'm not sure I'm sweet enough to be considered a dessert."

"I'm the chef. Let me design the final course."

I leaned forward. "Tell me more."

"I will take roasted figs, brown butter caramel, fig jam and vanilla bean ice cream and drip it on a long ... hard ... firm ... male body."

I gulped. It was hard to catch my breath.

"Ohhh, my. That ... that – that sounds quite sticky."

"It's precisely the point. The tongue enjoys many sensations."

"It was insane! I followed him to his place. He poured us a glass of wine. It was a beautiful house. Tasteful. Immaculate. He took my jacket and hung it up. Then he unbuttoned my shirt halfway. We sat on his couch. He had his shirt draped open. We sat on his couch with our wine."

"Nice."

"For sure. I wasn't a wine person, but I was becoming one. Then he kneeled before me as I held my glass. I watched him slowly pull the shoes off my feet."

"Oooo. A foot man."

"I – I – I guess so. It was all strange. But then he pulled off my socks and massaged my feet. It was odd but incredibly sensual and sexy and freaking hot. I just sipped wine as my feet were being pleasured."

"Hot indeed."

"When he stood, his hand grazed my dick in my pants. He knew I was hard. His pants had a huge bulge.

"Come. Bring your wine."

We walked down a long hallway. Santos' master bedroom was stunning. I immediately felt like I lived in a shack. How was I there? How had I snagged this catch among catches? As much as I felt like I didn't belong, I figured for one night, I could go along with it. Have fun. Enjoy.

Santos had nightstands on each side of his bed. He set his glass of wine on what I would have deemed "his" side. He turned on the lamp. Then he gestured to the nightstand on "my" side.

"Please. Make yourself comfortable." He started to step away but then turned back. "And by that, feel free to be completely naked if you desire. I'll be back."

Fuck! I didn't want choices. Did that mean: Get Naked!? Did that mean take off almost everything? Did that mean to climb into bed? Or should I be stretched out in my boxers on top of the bed? Fuck!

Throwing caution to the wind, I took everything off. I liked my body. I liked my dick, even though I hated my balls. They were so tight. I wanted loose balls.

Santos gave me four to five minutes to second-guess myself a thousand times. As soon as I got on the bed, my cock was a crowbar. But in my indecision, it had wilted in its rigidness.

He walked in with a tray. I couldn't see everything, but there was an assortment of dishes. One of them had Ice cream. I could tell.

"Mitchell, you are more beautiful than I had hoped."

"You know how to make a man feel special," I smiled.

He set the tray at the foot of the bed. "Indeed, I do." His hand roamed through my chest hair.

Santos began to remove all his clothing. As much as I really desired to see him get naked, I peered at the food items. The sauce was steaming and on occasion would have a heat bubble burst on the surface.

"That – that looks very hot. Ummm ... are we ...?"

"I've mastered this dish. I know when to make the presentation."

The briefs were the last thing to come off. His uncut cock wasn't fully erect, but it was obvious it had been earlier. Plump, growing, stiffening. His trimmed bush only made it seem larger. When it reached its full length, I thought it neared seven inches.

"Talk about beautiful."

"Thank you, Mitchell."

He stared at the sauce. I could tell by his expression that he felt it too soon.

His hand roamed my chest. His touch caused my erection to reach its final length. My hard-on felt like a bazooka ready to launch.

His touch traced its contour. He didn't grope me; he didn't feel me. He traced it. Lightly. A drop of pre-cum leaked from the head.

Santos leaned over to kiss the middle of my shaft. He rose and reached for a spoon. Delicately, he touched it to the head of my cock and swirled it artistically, painting with my pre-cum. I leaked more as my dick jumped. Again, the spoon twisted before being positioned above the tray. He picked up the sauce and stirred my pre-cum into it. I gulped.

"Lie completely still, Mitchell."

Yikes. I placed my head on his pillow, wondering what I would be able to see. Getting on his knees, he leaned forward to ever-so-softly rub his cock perpendicular to mine, forming a cross in the air. He pulled back to place the dish above my crotch. I watched him stir. I watched him lift the spoon into the air so that it could drip back into the bowl as he tested it for consistency and temperature. Then he hovered it inches above my dick. I lifted my head to look.

"Holy fuck!" I said, as warm, sticky liquid was drizzled along my rod. I flopped my head back down. "That's – that's amazing."

"That's just the beginning, Mitchell."

I watched him dish figs on my cock, followed by jam. He reached for another ingredient.

"I feel my sundae needs nuts."

Was that innuendo? Or was he just piling on ingredients. A sprinkle of finely diced pecans landed on my dick, and a few fell into my bush and onto my balls.

This was madness! And I loved it. It was like nothing else.

Santos picked up a tool I didn't recognize. He plunged it into the ice cream and pulled through it. It made a thin rope of frozen dessert. Carefully, he lifted it from the dish and spread the vanilla accent along my erection.

"Wow!" I called out as both warm sauce and frozen cream tantalized my cock.

"Perfection." He reached for his phone and took a picture. I wasn't asked if that was okay. But it was okay. He didn't ask for permission to photograph my anatomy. But he had my permission. "Food can be very sensual."

"I – I – I'll say," I muttered.

The tray of ingredients was moved to the side.

Santos leaned down. He saw more pre-cum on my cock and licked it off for his first taste. Carefully, he sucked my cock into his mouth and devoured his dessert. Slowly he consumed the flavors of his dish, my dick being one of them. He slurped audibly but tactfully. Ice cream dripped off the side into my bush. A drip ran to my navel. Santos continued to consume me. I felt the delicious ingredients slowly leave my manhood. I had never felt anything like this. It was mind-blowing. I whimpered in the stimulation.

Most of the sweetness was gone, but he continued to suck me. Feast on me. I felt the sauce spread around my cock as his tongue tangled around my shaft. I couldn't hold back on my moans. I uttered my compliments to the chef through guttural approval. He was bringing me close, but his mouth pulled from my cock to taste the sweetness above my crotch. He licked me clean. Then he plunged onto my pole again.

Sucking.

Licking.

Consuming.

It had all hit me so fast, so overwhelming. I cried louder, which wasn't like me.

Sucking.

Licking.

Tasting.

"Santos. You have me so close."

He groped my ass cheeks with his hands and forced my cock into his throat.

"OoooOOOHHHH! UNGH! Ungh! Ungh. Ungh. Ungh!"

My "ingredient" pulsed cum into his throat. It was an incredible orgasm.

"Food is so sensual," he said, removing his mouth from my body. "Thank you, Mitchell."

"Thank YOU!"

He looked down on me. "Now it is your turn to be chef."

I leaned up. "What? But – but – but the sauce isn't right anymore. I can't do what you did."

"Trust me, Mitchell." He got off the bed. "I have more warming on the stove."

A minute later, he returned with a new bowl.

"How will I know when it is right?"

"I will tell you. For now, place your hand on me."

"Where?"

"Where your heart tells you to."

"I love your chest," I said, mowing my fingers through the hair. "It's very sexy."

My hand moved to his testicles.

"I'm jealous of your balls. They hang so wonderfully."

I gently felt the hard, rigid skin of his shaft.

"I love your cock. It's very masculine."

"Thank you, Mitchell. Please, `present' me."

Nervously, I lifted the bowl. He didn't leak any pre-cum, so I didn't have to worry about the spoon trick. I stirred and lifted the spoon to watch it drip.

"How will I know?"

"It is ready."

I didn't want to scald him or simply make a mess. My hand shook a bit.

"I am ready."

I pictured his cock as a pastry to receive strudel icing. Zigzagging my drip, I tried to keep a consistent design.

"Nice, Mitchell."

I spooned the figs and jam. I sprinkled the pecans. Most of them adhered to the stickiness.

When I looked at the ice cream, I said, "I don't know how to use that tool."

"It is a sculptor's tool. A potter would pull it through clay to make a handle for a mug."

"Wow."

"But the ice cream is too soft now. Which is okay. I prefer cream poured over my cock."

My head was exploding at how wild and hot and freaky and delicious and insane the whole experience was. It was nuts!

I placed the spoon in the bowl and gathered some melted cream. I heard Santos inhale as the cold cream dribbled over his erection.

"Enjoy your dish," he whispered.

My mouth paused as it was inches from his cock. I inhaled. I could detect the sweetness of the ingredient blended with the musk of his masculine body. Sweet and salty.

I dove in. Tasted. Engulfed.

"MMMMmmmmm," we both groaned, me for the flavor, him for the sensation. His shoulders pulled back and his chest lifted up as my mouth took his organ.

"Taste me, Mitchell. Keep tasting me."

He spread his legs wider. I moved up closer. I relished my dessert. Santos relished being dessert. We moaned and groaned. My hands climbed his chest as I sucked his erection — his butter caramel-roasted fig-vanilla bean-pecan coated erection.

As I continued to get every drop of dessert and sweetness from his male flesh, Santos squirmed at being stimulated.

I loved sucking him.

He loved being sucked.

I loved dessert.

He loved being dessert.

Santos groaned and whimpered, making me feel proud that my oral skills were up to the task. I had learned in my time when a man's body language indicated he was near orgasm. I knew I was edging them there just with my tongue. He groaned louder; his hips gyrated.

"Mitchell!"

"I'm.

"Going.

"To.

"Come!"

He made a painful but enthusiastic cry when my hand groped his sticky cock and jerked it to make it shoot on my tongue. I loved feeling the spray of his cum coat my tongue and hit my face.

When he was finished, I leaned up, towering above him, but a huge smile was on my face. The back of my wrist wiped the cum I knew was in my moustache and on my chin.

"That was the best dessert I've ever had."

Santos smiled. "I'm glad. I just need one more missing taste."

My look was one of confusion.

"May I taste your lips?"

His arms pulled me on top of him. Our lips merged.

"Logan, I can't even describe it. It was the craziest sex I had ever had. He had this sticky, warm sauce and jam and nuts and ice cream and ... it was all over my cock. My dick was part of dessert."

"What!!? You never told me that."

"I so wanted to, but at the time we were seeing each other, it seemed rather private."

"Like that would stop you."

"It was kind of freaky too. I thought you might think him weird, so I kept it to myself. It really was sort of scary. I wanted you to like him." I paused. "But then I did it to him too. Our first date was ... probably the best first date ever. It was insane!"

"I'll say. But it sounds very hot."

"Amazing. He WAS amazing."

I could feel the stickiness of his cock rubbing into mine.

"We're kind of messy."

"In a good way," he whispered. "I like it. The two of us are delicious together."

I chuckled. I kissed him again. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."

"Join me in the shower?"

"Probably a good idea."

As we stood, he reached for his wine. I glanced at the bed.

"Ooo. There may be traces of sauce on the comforter. Yikes."

"My cleaning crew is used to my `desserts.' It'll be fine. Or I can buy a new one." His words echoed inside his wine glass as he sipped.

In the shower, the most expensive looking products for men lined a shelf. They all had exotic-sounding brands and fragrances. As Santos lathered my body, I inhaled whatever the manufacturer felt Tahitian Surf would smell like. To me, it was heaven. I was reduced to a schoolgirl in junior high, imagining what life would be like living with a rich prince. I felt so lucky to be in that shower. In that house. In his bed. On a date with him.

And I realized —again — he was out of my league. I wondered if tonight would be a one-night thing. Was I simply a sexual conquest? Just another drip of sauce on the bed? Or would we be ... what? I'd be up for whatever he wanted. Dating? Sex on the side? Santos awakened something in me. I felt alive.

We dried each other off with the most luxurious towels I had ever felt. I wanted to sleep in them. I wanted my casket to be lined in their softness.

"I am sorry, but I have very early meetings in the morning. I would like to see you again, Mitchell."

Ah. I was being sent home. I was okay with that, but it also reinforced that I didn't really belong in his world.

Or not yet.

"I was worried that — even though the first date was hot — he would realize that I wasn't even middle class yet. Different worlds and all that."

"I didn't get that from him."

"Right. We were seeing each other twice a week, more or less. His schedule was very busy and very evening-oriented. It was a challenge. It was just one part of our relationship that was complicated. But he was the first person to use that word: relationship. Santos liked me; I liked him. It was all working out really well. I wanted to introduce the few close friends I had to him. He was fine with it. He didn't feel `above it' or anything. When we met you, it was at a ... gay bar, right?"

"Correct."

"Right. But I think the second time was in a bowling alley."

"It was."

"I thought for sure when you suggested it, he'd blow it off. There was some kind of `special' that night — cheap lanes, cheap hot dogs ... or something."

"It was a two-hour package deal."

"Yes. Yes. I remember him being handed the hot dog and us going over to the mustard and ketchup pumps. I thought for sure — with his refined tastes — he'd want to spit it out. He ate it like he had one every other day. He commented on how he liked the grilled bun."

"He was a terrible bowler."

I laughed. "He was! But when we got back to his place, he told me how much fun he had. He said he hadn't been bowling since high school. It brought back good memories. He thanked me for taking him."

"Really? How about that?"

"He told me, `Mitchell. Tonight was very enjoyable. Thank you for sharing it with me. I hope I didn't embarrass you.' Can you believe that?"

"Embarrass?"

"Because he was so bad."

"I always thought he was nice."

"It was the first time he told me he loved me."

"I am grateful you didn't make fun of me like you did your friends."

"They're just drinking buddies. We rib each other. You had said you hadn't bowled in 25 years. Why would we embarrass you?"

"In my heart, I felt like I didn't fit in. But you, Mitchell, made me feel like I fit in. I don't have friends to where I can say, `I'm one of the guys.' I go out with our servers on occasion. My father has dinners with people in ... I'll just say, `of means.' I will accompany him. I love my life. I like the decisions I have made. I love how I am passionate about what I do. But ... you ... you, Mitchell. You have brought something to my life."

"Hm. I like the sound of that. Tell me more."

"You accept me for who I am."

"I'm the one with the dopey apartment. Of which, you have slept at once. I'm the one who should feel accepted."

"It is not because I dislike your apartment that we typically sleep here. It is because I am selfish. I like my things; I like knowing where my things are. At your place, I have to depend upon you, and that frightens me. All the men I have dated are content to be here with me. But ... you have brought me into your world, even though it scares me. You make me feel like I belong when I know I don't."

"You belong with me. We belong together."

"I'm glad you think so." He kissed me. "I love you, Mitchell."

Oooo. I felt that was big. For Santos to say that — for him! — it was him letting go of control.

I kissed him hard. "I love you too. These past two months have been ... glorious. Fantastic. You've shown me so much, but you've also just let me ... be me."

"Because I adore who you are."

His hands slid under the waistband of my underwear and slipped them down my legs. He pulled them out and tossed them to the floor. Our hands were all fingers under the sheets. Feeling. Touching. Loving.

"And you said it back, didn't you?"

"I did. I wasn't sure if two months was long enough to fall in love, but we were. Santos was so intense. He'd have a week where he had no time for me — not that he'd put it in those words. But when we met next, he was a dynamo. He'd show me something he was working on — a recipe, a sauce, a dessert topping. He was alive. I adored watching him. He – he just made my heart soar."

"I did enjoy being invited to his house that one time. Nate and I had just started dating. He was very kind to invite us over."

"There were times that I knew Santos enjoyed being the most talented person in the room. And then there were times I could tell he wanted to feel normal."

"Not normal as in straight, right?"

"No. No. Just a regular guy."

"Did you get along with his father?"

"As well as anyone could. His father was very polite to me. But he wasn't affectionate. He never hugged me. My mom smothered Santos in hugs and kisses when I started taking him home. Other than Cooper, Santos was their favorite. Not that I took a lot of people home to my parents, but a few. My mother had a way with him. She would share a recipe with him, and he would make her believe it was the most amazing thing in the world."

I sighed. Mom loved him. She loved Santos. She loved Cooper. I kept hurting her with each breakup. Perhaps I should never take boyfriends home to visit with her and Dad. It all seemed to fall apart each time.

"I miss him, Logan. I hadn't thought about Santos in years. We had such loving times. Lovely times. Close times. He was just very complex, but that was also something I was attracted to."

"I have a surprise for you tonight."

"Oh? How was work?" I asked, as Santos put some things in the refrigerator. I had owned a key to his house for a month by then.

"It was wonderful. The kitchen staff worked very well."

I hugged him. I could always tell when he had been in the kitchen at work. He smelled of steam and grills and herbs and onions and butter. I breathed him in.

"I know. I need a shower."

"I don't mind you smelling delicious."

"Sweat isn't delicious. Care to join me?"

"I went jogging and showered a couple of hours ago. I'd love to be in there with you, but I can appreciate you once you're out."

He kissed me. "I'll miss you." I kissed him back.

Several minutes later, he came out just wearing a robe. My hands slipped inside and roamed over his fresh-smelling body. I kissed his neck.

"You smell wonderful."

"It is what I want for you, Mitchell."

I had gotten used to his accent. I could tell the influence of his mother on the way he talked. Both his parents could speak both Spanish and English, but I knew his mother liked to use Spanish around him. I had never met anyone like Santos. That's what made him so magnetic to me. I loved him. Everything about him.

"You said you had a surprise."

"I do. I will show you. Later."

We enjoyed a glass of wine. I couldn't help but peer into his robe when the position of his leg made it drape open just enough to where I could see his cock hanging within. Santos and I had always been on the same page sexually. If he got loud, I didn't have to worry about it since his house was so big. In the two times he had slept at my place, he was willing to tone it down. We found it more fun trying to bring each other extreme pleasure while forced to be quiet.

I loved him.

"I'm ready for bed," I said.

"Agreed."

While I had stripped to my underwear, Santos had been fiddling in the kitchen. He came to the bedroom with a brown bag.

"What's this?"

"My surprise."

"Is it leftovers from the restaurant?"

"No." He set a couple of instruments on the nightstand.

Santos lowered his arms and shook the robe off to stand naked before me. He looked at my underwear and nodded. I dropped them and stepped out of them. We smiled.

He got hard.

That made me hard.

He gestured to me to lie down. He spread a kitchen towel on the bed.

"What are you doing? What are you up to?"

"I've always told you that I found food sensual. I thought of you all night. I would grab something, and it would make me think of you, Mitchell. The food I am so passionate about made me so passionate for you. I love you. I wanted to make love to you. I wanted the food to make love to you."

"What are you saying?"

His extended hand indicated for me to lie still.

Santos pulled out a zucchini and reached for the potato peeler. Over the towel, his lightning-fast hands peeled the end of the zucchini making it rounded and smooth.

He reached back down in his nightstand and lifted the bottle of lube. I looked him in the eyes putting everything together.

"No," I smiled in disbelief.

A finger lubricated my hole. It felt good to be penetrated. He put a light coat of shine on my cock. Santos pressed his lips to mine. I reached over to him to grip his raging hard-on. We kissed. We didn't break apart. Our lips were joined.

I felt the vegetable at my hole. It entered slowly. It was cool, which was an odd sensation, but it filled me. He began to thrust it in and out. We kissed hard. My hands grabbed his head, keeping our lips pressed together as I was being fucked by a zucchini.

We broke apart to breathe.

"How is it?" he softly asked.

"Insane. Fuck me please, chef."

"He had his moments. He'd get all worked up about the sensuality and sexuality of food. Every five or six weeks he would..."

"Are you saying what I think you are saying?"

"I've been fucked by more vegetables than you can count on one hand."

"Wow!! All in the same night?"

I laughed. "No. Various nights."

"Please tell me you discarded them and didn't cook with them later."

"Eck. Of course."

"Man. That's ... I don't know what to say."

"I know, right?"

"I prepared this at work," he said.

"Is that ... is that a papaya?"

"It is."

There was an incision, and it was widened in the center.

I smiled at him. "Are you wanting me to fuck that?"

"You, me and it will make passionate love."

I chuckled. "I love you."

He carefully guided my penis into the fruit. It was juicy and wet, but still a firm ridge surrounding it.

"You're mad, Santos."

He smiled. He leaned down to kiss me. His hand guided the papaya up and down my erection. My cock was coated with sticky, fruity juice.

"Fuck, yeah," I breathed.

"Yes, my love. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck me through the food."

I bucked my hips as he met each thrust. The three participants worked together, with the fruit being the quietest. Its slight squish confirmed it was willing to make love with the two of us. It spoke to us.

Santos kept thrusting the papaya on my crotch. I kept thrusting my cock into it. Our lips met again and again, sometimes as I was moaning. He moaned with me, being pleasured by my pleasure even though his cock was left alone.

I groaned. He groaned.

"Fuck, yes!" I called out.

"Fuck, yes, Mitchell. Fuck it! Fuck it!! Make love."

My hand grabbed his cock in a death grip as I continued to fuck the fruit. He barked his approval. I groped it and wrestled with it.

He groaned.

I groaned.

"Oh, Santos. Oh, Santos. Oh, Santos!"

"Fuck it, Mitchell. Fuck the fruit. Fuck me. Fuck ME!"

I exploded inside the papaya. Cum added to the juice I had felt for the past seven minutes. I groaned aloud as my orgasm subsided.

Santos pulled his cock to free it from my hand. He straddled me. Then he growled like a bear.

His cum was sprayed across my chest. We hadn't made love in a week. I felt a week's worth of cum was across my chest.

He leaned down to kiss me and then shimmied back to suck my cock in all its delicious fruitiness.

As he sucked me, I looked at his cum. I compared it to mine. His was almost translucent but still milky. Mine was much whiter and thicker, and I didn't shoot like he did. My cum dripped from my cock; he was a fountain. Why were cocks so different? Why was cum different?

Then I seriously wondered why that was on my mind. I had just fucked a papaya!

I turned my head and looked at the food items on the towel.

Was I in heaven or in a food cult? The answer was I was in love.

"I wonder if that is what a vagina would feel like."

"Not exactly," he said.

"Have you had sex with a woman?!"

"A few. In college, all the boys in my dorm were doing it. I felt compelled to ... `give it a try.'" It was the first time I had seen Santos use finger quotes. "It was pleasant enough, but I simply wanted men. When I started at my father's restaurant, I ... I'm not sure. I wanted him to look up to me. So I slept with one of the servers."

"You didn't think your father looked up to you?"

"I wasn't sure if he wanted a normal son. A straight son."

"Those two words don't mean the same thing."

"I realize that now. I felt I probably used this poor girl. After a couple of nights, I no longer wanted to pursue it. My father didn't treat me differently. I've always been with men since."

"Santos was so intense and so complex, but ... that's what made me love him. We were a curious pair, but we made it work. We shouldn't have worked, but we did. It was wonderful for nine months."

"I remember how devastated you were at the end."

"It was like Cruz. We both loved each other. We did."

"Tell me again."

"The restaurant in Chicago. Santos would finally be head chef. He wouldn't be in his father's shadow."

"And you didn't want to go with him?"

"To be honest, that wasn't a discussed option. It wouldn't have worked anyway."

"Why not?"

"When you get down to it, we weren't right for each other."

"You loved each other! What else is there to know?"

"I'm not sure we could have stood the test of time. He would have been consumed getting a restaurant started. There would be no time for me. I'd have to find a job. It would have been a lot of stress. The two of us just had these passionate triggers here in Jackson Bend. There ... I'm not sure they would transfer. I don't think we had enough to make a full life together. We'd probably realize that we weren't a good fit. Maybe we knew it all along, and the move just showed us."

"Something's missing."

Santos' cock filled me. We did everything we could to make this last night together go on as long as it could.

I had fucked him. He was fucking me. Neither of us had come yet.

"I love that cock inside me," I panted. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mitchell. Always know I love you," he called out, as he pounded my hole.

His face twisted. I knew he was close. He pulled out.

We were all arms again and held and squeezed each other tightly.

"I don't want tonight to end," I whimpered.

"Let's make love forever and it never will."

We switched places. His legs were spread open. I flung one over my shoulder and pushed my dick back inside him. He moaned. I moaned.

I tried my hardest not to cry. I forced myself. Knowing it was our last night was killing me. I pressed my face to his ankle. I wiped moisture from my eyes on his skin. My hand gripped his foot and began massaging it in my thrusts. It made him cry out.

"I love you, Mitchell."

I fucked him and held his leg and ankle and foot. I squeezed my eyes tight again, letting any escaped moisture get lost in the hair above his ankle.

My other hand blindly reached for his dick. I held it firmly as we fucked.

Fucked.

Fucked hard.

My cock wanted to come.

It insisted on coming.

It demanded it.

"No!" I gasped. "Too close again."

I pulled out.

I flopped down beside him. I turned and my arm lifted up my leg providing him access to be back inside me from behind.

I heard the pop of the lube bottle behind me. Santos then slid into my interior with no problem. I loved his cock. The passion of our love had all the makings of producing sparks in my orgasm. I wanted to see them. I wanted to feel them again. I wanted to experience them with Santos on our final night.

I was concerned about the neighbors, but we had never screamed. We had groaned. We had moaned. Squealed and whimpered. But we weren't super loud. But if a night called for it, this was it.

His arm held me under my arm, grabbing my chest. Fiercely holding me, our bodies were pressed together. He pounded me. I wanted it to go on forever. Even if my ass would be in pain for days, I wanted to feel him inside me. Completing me.

"Fuck me. Keep fucking me. Don't stop."

We had begun to sweat. We were clammy and hot and red. And in love.

"Don't sto-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooop," I uttered as his cock jackhammered my insides.

"Mitchell, my love. I can't hold back. I must come. I – I am – UNGHHH! I'm coming!"

"Do it! Fill me. Love me, Santos."

Like a boa constrictor, he squeezed me tightly as his dick was shoved inside me as deeply as possible. I knew his seed was filling me. It made it feel glorious.

He flopped on his back and gasped.

"Now! Fuck me now!" he insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"I must know you will fill me with your deepest love, your deepest passion. Fuck me!"

My stiff rod entered him once again. As much torment I had given my male flesh, I knew it wouldn't take long to bring me off. I thrust and pounded. Our eyes locked. They did the talking. Love. Sorrow. Passion. Disbelief. But mostly, love.

I got radical in my thrusts. I grunted on each push.

"I.

"Love.

"You!"

I growled.

"Yes.

"Yes!

"Theodore.

"Santos.

"Lawrence.

"I'm.

"COMING!"

I closed my eyes to accept my orgasm. I hated to lose his stare. I wanted us to look at each other forever. Love forever. Never say goodbye. Nine months of desire and gratitude shot from cock. I panted and grunted with each spasm of love fired inside him.

I collapsed on him and bawled.

I didn't want him to go.

I didn't want to be without him.

I didn't see sparks.

Damn. Damn it all to hell.

"Mitchell, do not cry."

"I told myself I wouldn't."

"I am sorry. I know I have hurt you."

I sobbed.

"I feel it too," he whispered in my ear.

My dick withdrew from him.

"I didn't expect us to fall in love. I figured you'd dump me after that first date," I whimpered into his chest.

"Why?"

"You deserve so much better than me. But now I have no idea how to let you go."

"Perhaps one day, we might not know when, we can begin again."

"Maybe."

"I am glad my final night here is in your apartment and not my home."

"Why?"

"Because it is fully you."

I got up to get a washcloth to clean us up. We curled our limbs together in the darkness. Sleep was elusive, but we reached it.

—

Santos slowly walked from the bedroom, following the trail of cooked bacon.

"Good morning," I said, waiting to give him a peck on the lips.

"Good morning, Mitchell."

"I have made you breakfast."

"You didn't have to do that."

"My only regret is that I don't know how to serve a BLTA on your dick."

Santos laughed.

I set the plate down. I cut his sandwich diagonally. I accompanied it with a fried egg, over easy, just how he preferred.

We didn't say much. We each ate from our plate.

"How is it?"

"It is the best bacon-lettuce-tomato-avocado sandwich I've ever had. I will always remember it."

I smiled at him.

"If anything was missing, it was a true reason to be together. We loved each other. Somehow, I feel it was on the surface. We didn't live together. There were weeks that he couldn't see me or deal with me, but the passion and kinkiness somehow kept us connected. When he moved away, we kept in touch the first two months. Occasional calls. Several texts. He still kept his house for a year. If the restaurant didn't work out, he'd return. But it was a success. It demanded so much of his time, it was obvious I couldn't have survived if I had gone with him. I would be home alone most of the time."

"Did you go see him?"

"Once. We made love. When I left, I think we both knew it was a sense of closure. We were done." My gaze looked into the middle space in the center of his office. I was staring but looking at nothing. "Communication in each direction just came to an end. We didn't force it."

"I'm sorry, Mitch. You've had some very heartbreaking situations."

"I suppose. I don't know how much heartbreak is normal. Cruz really hurt. I was young — we were young. You broke my heart, but we never told each other we loved the other."

"I'm sorry," Logan softly said.

"Santos showed me I could love again. And get hurt again. Cooper should have been the final page. But I fucked it up. Maybe the common denominator is me."

"Yes, you made a mistake with Cooper, but also take a moment to think of all the people who wanted to be with you. It's not like Teddy ... Santos ... didn't want you. His career took him away from you. He loved you."

"He did. But once he moved away, it just seemed obvious that there wasn't enough to attempt efforts to keep it going."

"Have you ever been in touch recently?"

"No. For a few months, I would drive by his house. I would picture us making love in his bedroom. I still can't work up the strength to eat at Lawrence Creek."

"Or the bucks."

"Hey! I'm not poor."

We laughed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that. Fancy restaurants aren't your thing."

"True. Which is another reason we weren't right for each other. But he found something in me. He awakened something in me. I wanted to find love again."

"That's healthy."

"I rarely think of him. But talking about him now, I still miss him. I hope he's doing well. I will never forget how he made me feel. He was complicated. But I think I brought out something in him. He had a willingness to share that wasn't all wrapped up in the details and intensity of the restaurant. Perhaps I made him feel younger."

"And he made you feel special."

"He did. Perhaps I should see how he is doing."

"You've had a very interesting life romantically, Mitch."

"Possibly. That doesn't mean I'm good at it."

P * * * *

A related blog post, "Food Group," is at timothylane414stories.blogspot.com

Email: timothylane414@gmail.com