Thank You, Mickey Mouse

Thank You, Mickey Mouse by Greg Bowden j_and_g@telis.org

It was crowded in the clinic waiting room and I knew it was going to be a while before I could deliver the needle studded piece of rock that was my kidney stone to Dr. Norris, my urologist. It didn't matter; I was so happy to finally be rid of the damn thing though that I'd wait half the day.

I registered with the nurse at the little window and took the only seat available-between two people who were obviously in for obesity counseling. I tried to get my book out but it proved to be too much of a hassle so I just let my eyes wander over the others in the room. I spotted a couple of good looking guys but they were both too young to be of very great interest. I much prefer men a few years past the half century mark-men who have lived long enough to have some character in their faces and experience under their belts. As it were.

My eyes kept drifting back to the man sitting directly opposite me and I began a little game of "who is he and why is he here?" Whatever had brought him to the clinic must be serious, I thought, because he was holding his head in the palms of his hands in a way that spoke of unhappy resignation. He looked up when a name was called and his eyes turned out to be gray rather than the blue I'd decided they would be. He also had a thick, blond mustache and the most miserable expression I think I've ever seen on a man.

The woman sitting next to him was called and I quickly moved into her seat. When I opened my book my arm touched the man and when he didn't move I didn't either. At first I thought there might be some sexual meaning to the way his arm pressed against mine but then I decided he was simply seeking some sort of human contact, something like a hug only more acceptable between strangers. After all, with arms touching you can always say "Oh, excuse me," and pretend it didn't happen. That's hard to do with a hug.

I also wondered about the little plastic ring he kept toying with. It was broken and had an odd medical look about it. It obviously hadn't come out of a box of crackerjack and the way he sometimes looked at it made me think is was somehow very important to him.

"Mr. Jebson?"

My man got up, threw me a sad smile and followed the nurse through the door to the examining rooms. Not long after that I was called. It didn't take long. Dr. Norris examined the little slasher I'd brought him and pronounced it a perfectly normal, garden variety kidney stone and assured me that the chances of having another one were about even with the chances of not having another one. Thus heartened I gave him a quick kiss (we've been very good friends for a lot of years), collected my souvenir stone and took my leave, nearly running into Mr. Jebson in the hallway. He looked, if anything, more miserable than he had in the waiting room and impulse took over.

"You look like a man who needs a drink," I said to him, surprising myself. "May I buy it for you?"

He looked startled but after a moment's hesitation he nodded. "That'd be nice. Yes, I think a drink is just what I need right now."

We went to Zapolleti's, down the street from the clinic. Zapolleti's bar is a favorite of mine, all dark paneling, comfortable leather chairs and bookcases with actual books on them. They serve hefty drinks in good glassware, mixed nuts in silver bowls and they've never heard of a jukebox. We settled in and ordered Scotch.

"Tell me something," he said after a long but not uncomfortable silence. "Do you make a habit of picking up men and buying them drinks?"

I laughed. "Not for a lot of years. But it seemed like you might want some company after. well after hearing whatever they had to say back there."

It was his turn to laugh only his came out more rueful than anything else. "What they said was that it's all in my mind. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist, that's what they said. Shit."

We finished our drinks in silence. When the second round was served he sighed and shook his head. "Well, that's enough of that," he said and extended his hand. "The name's Jebson, Samuel Jebson. My friends call me Jeb."

"Pleased to meet you," I said, shaking his hand. "My name's Walter Lindner and my friends call me Walter."

He laughed, this time with some enjoyment to it. "Well, I tell you, Walter. You promise not to call me Sam and I'll promise not to call you Walt. Deal?"

"Deal."

We began to talk then, covering the sort of things strangers talk about in bars and then easily moving on to the more personal things friends talk about. After a third drink we moved to Zapolleti's dining room for seafood pasta, salad and the best zabaglione this side of Rome. By the time dessert was over Jeb had bragged about his kids, touched on the death of his wife three years before and told a sad but funny story about transferring to the desert to get away from the advances of his wife's friends. In turn he heard about Jack, the man I had lived with for twenty-nine years, the ups and downs of building a house in the desert and the complete lack of humor shown by book editors.

After dinner we walked each other back to the clinic parking lot and exchanged phone numbers and promises to have dinner together again soon. On the way home I wondered a little about Jeb's reaction-actually his lack of reaction-to the fact that I'm gay. Even though I hadn't come right out and said it in so many words he had to have figured it out; two men don't live together for twenty-nine years-until one of them dies-just to share expenses. I finally decided that Jeb simply didn't care much and that made me decide I would call him.

He beat me to it. Five days later he called and said he was really in the mood for Mexican food and he hated eating out alone. We ended up on the patio of La Pinata, gorging ourselves on chimichangas and green corn tamales and debating the merits of Mexican over American beer-as compared, of course, to German beer. We had a fine time of it.

Three days after that I had him over to my place for grilled steaks and four days later I was at his house for coq au vin which was wonderful and which, after dinner, he confessed he had bought at a restaurant because he really didn't cook very well.

It wasn't long before we'd fallen into an easy routine of having dinner together two or three times a week, sometimes out but more often at his house or mine. After dinner we'd watch TV or go to a movie or sometimes just sit and read. Over dinner we talked. Jeb told me about running an engineering and fabrication plant and I bounced plot lines off of him. Sometimes he'd talk about his children, Sam, Jr. and Samantha, both then in their thirties. He laughed when I raised an eyebrow at their names and told me their mother had been named Sarah and they'd decided to keep the initials in the family. Samantha had done him the favor of marrying a man named Sidney and had named her children Stanley, Shirley and Sasha. Sam, Jr. was as yet unmarried but he was living with a woman named. Andrea. I knew I was going to like him!

All of this was very comfortable and over the period of a year and a half or so we became about as close as any two people who don't sleep together can be.

In mid-September sometime I called him at his office to suggest dinner at Zapolleti's. His secretary said he was out of the office for a couple of hours and it was just as well since the office staff was planning a little birthday celebration for him. This was news to me and I realized I hadn't the least notion just when his birthday was or how old he actually was. His secretary not only filled me in but also invited me to the party. "He speaks so highly of you Mr. Lindner. I just know he'd be pleased if you came."

I begged off the party but thought perhaps I should do something to mark the occasion as well-after all, it was the big 6-0. I spent some time thinking about what I'd like to do on my sixtieth birthday-only a couple of years away-and decided I'd want to do something sixty year olds don't usually do.

Four nights later, over chocolate cannoli at Zapolleti's, I handed him a tacky birthday card which characterized him as "youth impaired". He loved it. When he read the note inside, though, he frowned. "Disneyland? That's pretty much for kids isn't it? I remember Sarah used to take the kids there once in a while."

I'd given him four days at Disneyland-with me as tour guide, of course. "You'll love it, Jeb. Trust me on this." It took some convincing but he finally agreed.

We arrived at John Wayne Airport a week later, in the midst of Southern California's late summer with air as clear as crystal and the temperatures in the low 80's-cool compared to the desert we had just left. I'd arranged for a limousine to take us to the Disneyland Hotel and by the time we were checked in and the bell boy was turning on the air conditioning and checking the towels I could see that Jeb was going to enjoy the experience in spite of himself. When the bellboy left Jeb went out on the balcony and looked over the park. "You know, Walter, I've never in my life been here?" He turned and smiled at me. "I still think it's for kids though, no matter what you say."

We explored the hotel grounds-almost an amusement park in themselves-and then ate an early dinner on the deck of one of the restaurants there. Back in our room Jeb opened the drapes and looked at the park, shimmering below us. "It is a kids fantasy, isn't it?" he said, just as the sky exploded with brilliant streamers of fire. "Fireworks too? Oh God, I love fireworks."

We stood on the balcony and watched the show, oohing and ahhhing like everyone else. When it was over we went inside and got ready for bed. Jeb took a shower while I turned back the beds and switched on CNN just to see if anything had happened in the world since we'd left the desert. Jeb came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair and stood for a moment, watching the news. "Same old stuff," he said, dismissing it. "You mind if we leave the drapes open? No one to see in and I like the morning light."

I nodded and went to take my own shower.

Finally in bed, the only light in the room coming from the park outside, Jeb held his arm out in the space between the beds and said "Thanks Walter. It's a great birthday present." I reached out and shook his hand. "Good. G'night Jeb."

I turned over and thought: My God, it's Brick and his football buddy all over again. With that, and the image of Jeb standing naked in front of the TV drying his hair, I went to sleep.

The next day was wonderful. We took the first monorail into the park, just as it was opening. Since school was back in session the crowds were small and there was almost no wait for anything. We did a lot of the big rides first: Space Mountain, Star Tours, the Haunted House. Jeb nestled in between my legs on the Matterhorn ride and laughed at every drop and hairpin turn and when it was over insisted on going again and then once more. On the jungle ride he laughed at the mechanical alligators and pointed with delight when the hippopotamus opened it's mouth so the boat driver could shoot it. The Tiki Room almost did him in, making him twist his head this way and that to see all the animated birds and flowers sing and dance.

We had burgers and fries and chocolate milkshakes for lunch and then, God help us, rushed off to the Mad Hatter's Tea Cup ride. Followed by the Matterhorn again. Finally, at four, I threw in the towel. "My feet hurt, my face is sunburned, and I'm still queasy from the tea cups. Can we go back to the hotel and put our feet up for a little while?"

He agreed, reluctantly, and we went back to our room and took a nap. Three hours later we were back in the park, having dinner with the Pirates of the Caribbean. That was followed by a parade, fireworks and-you guessed it-the Matterhorn again. And again.

I decided I'd created a monster.

The next day was much the same except that it was Jeb who suggested going back to the hotel in the afternoon. We poured drinks in our room which neither of us finished. We fell asleep before we had the chance.

We woke around seven and, happily, Jeb suggested we have dinner in the hotel. I chose the seafood restaurant next to the artificial lake and we were seated on the deck, right next to the water. The food turned out to be very, very good and we spent time savoring it, along with a fresh, crisp California white wine. When we were finished I suggested a brandy at the bar.

"No, I think I'd rather walk a little," Jeb said. "I've had a glass or two too much wine and you know how I hate that."

We walked in silence along the narrow path that circled the lake. We weren't a quarter of the way around before I realized that somewhere in our walk we had begun to hold hands. At about the halfway mark Jeb suddenly stopped and looked at me for a long time. Then he laughed and said he wanted to sit for a bit.

We found a bench set back in the landscaping and sat, still holding hands. I had no idea what was going on but I wasn't about to ask, either.

"You know, Walter, I haven't enjoyed anything like this since I was a little kid. It's been a wonderful experience. Thank you." He was silent for a long time before he turned and spoke directly to me. "You're a homosexual aren't you?"

I didn't see how this could possibly be new information. "Yeah."

He seemed to watch the lights glinting on the water for a long time. Then: "How does a man get that way? Become a homosexual?"

Uh oh. This was serious. I took a long moment to think about it before answering. "I think maybe it's born in him, Jeb. Some of us. Like an alternate path. Some men-like me-find that path right away and happily follow it all our lives. For some others it's like a frontage road, one they can turn onto once in a while and then leave, going back to the main highway. And I guess some guys don't even know it's there until one day they come across a hidden access road. For most men, though, it isn't there at all, no matter what they might think when they hit a construction zone on the main road." I was intensely aware of his fingers intertwined with mine.

"That's an interesting way of looking at it, Walter, very interesting." There was a long pause and then: "Let's walk some more, shall we?" We rose from the bench and started around the lake again. "You know that day we met? At the clinic?" His voice was low and I had to strain to hear him. "I was there because I'm-I was impotent." He laughed but there was no enjoyment in it. "What I mean is, I couldn't get it up anymore. Not with a woman, not with my hand, not with. Anyway, I went to the doctor and he gave me these little plastic rings to wear at night, on my penis. If the ring wasn't still there in the morning, if it had broken, that meant I'd had an erection during the night. It meant that there was nothing physical stopping me from having an erection. It meant it was all in my head." He gave me a quick look. "The things broke every damn night."

He was silent for a time, thinking. Then he whispered "Okay" to himself and pulled me off the path, up against a tree, away from the lights. "But I'm not any more," he said, grabbing his crotch with our intertwined fingers. "Because of you." I felt the hardness through his jeans, heavy and rigid. Hardly a man with a problem.

Then he was kissing me, his hands at the nape of my neck driving chills and fire down my spine. I slipped my arms under his and held him by the shoulders for a moment and then slipped down his back until my hands were cupping his ass. He was firm there, too, like a gymnast. I pulled him in tight, letting him feel my sudden hardness against his own.

At the same time our tongues were fighting for space in each other's mouths. I finally gave in to him and let his tongue invade my mouth. When it did I began to suck on it. That's when he surrendered to me and started to whimper.

The rest took us both by surprise.

There was a sound, like a helicopter in the distance only it was coming from Jeb. I let go of his tongue and he sucked in air and went completely rigid against me. Then he lost control and I felt his spasms against my crotch. It took a long time and when he was through he went limp against me and I had to hold him to keep him from falling. I was happy to do it.

We stood that way, holding on to each other, until Jeb got his legs back. "Was that a confession or what?" he chuckled. Then, very serious: "I think I've just made a great fool of myself, haven't I? You want to go home? Back to Tucson and forget this ever happened?"

I hugged him tightly for a moment and then pulled back and looked in his eyes. "No. To all the questions." I kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled him back to the path where we walked in silence back to the hotel.

In the room Jeb went immediately into the bathroom, embarrassed by the large, wet stain on the front of his jeans. When he'd showered he came into the room and got immediately into bed, as though his nakedness embarrassed him. I went to take my own shower and when I came back he had turned the lights off and was lying on his side, facing the glow from the park. I thought he might be asleep but he said in a low voice, "I'm okay Walter. I just need to think for a while." I squeezed his shoulder, climbed into bed and let myself drift away, one ear tuned to him, in case he needed anything.

It was maybe three hours later that I woke to the sound of Jeb getting out of bed. He stood for a long time in the space which separated our beds. "You okay, Jeb?" I asked, turning onto my back.

"I. Yea, I'm okay. I'm just a little lonesome, that's all. Is it okay if."

I raised the corner of the sheet. "Come on. It's fine." He crawled into the bed and lay rigidly on his back next to me. Not knowing what else to do, I rolled up on my side and threw a leg and an arm over him and pulled him close. Unplanned, my knee came to rest directly over his cock -- which began to stir almost immediately.

"Is it okay?" he asked in a quiet voice, flexing his cock just a little. "I don't know if." He turned his head and looked at me. "Damn. What I'm trying to say is I don't know if you have any interest in me that way and I sure as hell don't want to force myself on you like some hormone crazed kid." He took a deep breath.

I started to laugh but caught it before it got out. That had been hard for him to say and I didn't want to make this any harder for him than it already was. "Jeb," I said, catching his erection in the bend of my knee, "I am very interested in you that way. I always have been."

His eyes brightened in the dim light. "Would you show me? What to do? How." He let out a low chuckle. "You know, always before I've been the one in charge, been the one to -- I don't know, lead I guess. Now I don't even know how it's done."

"Don't worry, Jeb. I think you'll find it comes quite naturally. Now, here's your first lesson. Never try anything when you're exhausted because in that state there's no way it can go right." I rolled him onto his side and pulled him up against me, my dick folded up and resting along the valley between his buns. "So. What you do is you get some sleep. Then, well, then we let Nature take its course." I kissed him on the neck and felt him begin to relax against me. He was asleep almost before I finished thinking how much I'd missed sleeping with a man.

We woke in the early morning, the room turned a soft gold from the rising sun glinting off Sleeping Beauty's Castle. We were both erect, a combination of passion and full bladders. I sent Jeb to the bathroom first, then followed when he came out looking relieved but still excited. I returned to find him stretched out with the sheet over him, looking very self conscious.

"Do you think a small demonstration might help?" I gently pulled the sheet back and began touching him, both with my hands and my lips. I nuzzled into the pale blond fur that covered his chest and found a nipple which I tongued lightly. I felt him stiffen under me and I wondered if anyone had ever done this to him before. Not having had much experience with straight men I also wondered if he was going to have a problem with it, think it un-masculine to feel pleasure there. He answered my question by relaxing into it and letting me know he felt it-and liked it. I nipped just a little in response and felt goose bumps begin to rise along his arms.

I worked my way down and tongued his belly button which made him laugh and then rested my cheek against his abdomen, listening to his internal works and gazing at his dick which was standing straight out in the air. It was a handsome thing, round as a garden hose but substantially thicker. He had a short foreskin which clung to the middle of the cockhead and which I knew was going to stay back behind it when I put it there. I reached out and touched him, on the underside of the head; he flexed and his dick hit me squarely on the nose.

I nestled in between his legs and boosted myself up on my elbows so I was looking straight down on him, and he could feel my breath on the head of his dick. Then I took him in my mouth. He whimpered the whole way and when I paused I could feel him fighting for control. I tried to help him by holding myself perfectly still on him and it actually worked for a while. Then he whispered, "I can't, Walter. I can't. I'm." He let out a sigh and came in long, hard spasms. When he was finished I waited a while, wanting to feel him go soft on my tongue but nothing much happened so I finally gave it up and crawled up to take him in my arms.

"For an impotent man you have one hell of an erection down there," I said pulling him close and pushing my knee up between his legs so I could feel his balls against it.

"I think it likes you," he answered with a laugh. "I know I do." He began to kiss me, sucking on my tongue and nipping gently at my mustache. "Well," he said when I was breathing hard, "let's see if I've learned anything from your demonstration."

He went directly for the cock, crawling in between my legs and taking it into his mouth fast. Too fast. His gag reflex kicked in and he pulled back in a hurry, looking surprised. "Slow," I said, tousling his hair. "Easy. And if it bothers you then come back up here. There's lots of other things we can do."

He shook his head. "No. I want to." He took my cock in his hand and gently touched it everywhere, as though comparing it with the way his own felt. His touch was like a million feathers all floating past at once. Then he took the head in his mouth and began to explore it with his tongue.

"Easy, Jeb. I'm very close and you're going to drive me right over the edge doing that." My voice sounded horse even to me.

Jeb looked up at me and came as close to a grin as a man can with a cock in his mouth. He took more of me into his mouth and closed his eyes. One of us let out a long sigh -- it might have been me -- and we rested, my dick lying almost still against his tongue as he very slowly took more and more of me into his mouth.

"Oh, Jeb, Jeb. I'm going to."

He stopped and became absolutely still. I focused on the light fixture on the ceiling and felt the tension ebb. Then he began again, slower than before but still taking me deeper in his mouth. When I began to moan he stopped, letting me back off a little before taking more of me in. When I felt my cock hit the back of his throat it was all over and I let out a yell, telling him to pull off because I was going to come no matter what. He didn't pull off though, he took a deep breath, forced my dick down his throat and began to swallow.

I thought I might actually die from the pleasure, it was so great.

When I was coherent again Jeb moved up on the bed and took me in his arms. He shoved his knee between my legs, tight into my crotch just as I had done to him and I wondered if it was for the same reason. Later I found out it was. He liked the feel of my balls against his skin.

"You know," he said after a while, combing his fingers through my hair, "I. I didn't think it would be like that. No," he put his hand over my mouth, stopping my question; I licked his palm instead which made his eyes twinkle. "Let me tell you because I don't think you have any idea what's just happened here. I went to do. well, what I thought I should do. Bring you pleasure the way you did to me. But when I knew, when you let me know what. what pleasure I was bringing you, the pleasure became mine, too. Always before the object has been. well, it's been to bring the partner to orgasm as soon as possible. But here it was to keep you from it, to stretch it out as long as possible. Because it was my pleasure too and I didn't want it to end. Does that make any sense, Walter?"

It made a lot of sense and I told him so. Then we drifted off to sleep for a while, lying spoon fashion, his buns pressed against my cock and my hand just resting on his dick. I don't believe he ever did go soft.

We woke an hour or two later and Jeb discovered the joys of sucking a cock at the same time his was being sucked. We quickly learned how to communicate, how to let each other know just where we were and how long we wanted it to last. It lasted a very long time. Then we napped again, this time with his dick pressed into the valley between my buns and his hand on my cock.

When we woke again Jeb called room service and ordered breakfast: real steaks -- not those thin little breakfast things -- with eggs, potatoes, rolls, coffee and a bottle of very good champagne. When it came we ate it all and then went back to bed where we spent the rest of the day exploring each other.

Around four, Housekeeping threatened to break the door down to give us clean towels so we decamped to the hotel pool where we swam laps and tried not to look at each other in our Speedos. It didn't matter. Just being together kept us both about half hard and we got a number of envious looks from the other guys around the pool.

After dinner we went back into the park for the parade and fireworks. We stood back and pretended no one would notice that we were holding hands.

The next morning we flew back to the desert and our everyday existence which we found had been radically changed. It's amazing what a trip to an amusement park can do.

Thank you Mickey Mouse.

Thank You Mickey Mouse

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