You Don't Want To Know
You Don't Want To Know
by
Mickey S.
If you are under age, or live in an area where reading stories that include sex between males is illegal, or if you're not into this type of story, please leave. This is a fictional story that takes place in a time when everything was safe. Things are different now and the characters would take precautions. Please respect yourself and others enough to always play safe.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at NJMcMick@yahoo.com.
Chapter One
Even though Steve was quick about shutting it off, I heard the alarm for the few seconds it blasted, but then as always was asleep again before he was even out of bed. When I awoke the second time he was standing in front of the mirror putting on his tie. I reached for my glasses on the nightstand so I could get a better look at my beautiful partner. He saw the movement and gave me a wink and a smile in the mirror. Damn, every time I watched him get ready for school I thought of that age-old complaint of women, that as men age they become distinguished, but as women age they just get old. That's the way I felt about Steve and me. At 56, he was better looking than when I'd met him nearly eighteen years before. His hair was mostly gray and there were lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but he definitely looked distinguished. I was four years younger and had my slightly graying hair 'restored' to it's natural color every six weeks, but when I looked in the mirror not only did I think I looked old, I thought I looked like my father.
Steve finished knotting his tie, took a sports coat from the closet and crossed the room to the bed, kissing me on the forehead.
"Morning, Tom. See you downstairs in a few."
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me to get ready for my day. I dragged myself into the bathroom, got the water adjusted in the shower and let it pour over me for a while as I woke up. Steve was the morning person in our relationship. When I was sufficiently clean and awake, I shaved, brushed my teeth and dried my hair, then got dressed. Unlike Steve with his button-down dress shirt, tie and sports coat, I put on a polo shirt and khakis. It wasn't just that our jobs were different; our styles were different. Our friends often wondered how two such dissimilar people managed to be so happy together after eighteen years. But we knew that our differences were really on the surface. Deep down we matched. He took incredibly good care of me and while I wasn't sure exactly what it was I did for him, it was apparently what he wanted and needed.
My nose followed the smells of breakfast downstairs to the kitchen. Steve was sitting at the table reading the paper, a mostly empty plate and half a mug of coffee in front of him. I poured myself a mug, added milk and sugar and set it on the table before taking a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage from the oven. As I sat and took a sip of coffee he folded the paper and laid it on the table.
"Anything exciting in the news?"
"On the political front the usual budget crisis in Trenton and general incompetence in Washington. Another bishop accused of sex with a kid a hundred years ago and another pretty blonde coed disappeared somewhere out west."
"Same old same old, then. No need for me to read the paper."
"Not unless you want to read about the big semi-local organized crime story."
"Semi-local? What's that?" I dug into my breakfast.
"A case of 'you can run but you can't hide' or maybe 'what comes around goes around' or whatever other cliché fits. Apparently, some big local mobster went into the witness protection program over twenty years ago after his testimony put some of his cohorts behind bars. The other day he got whacked in his driveway out in Arizona."
I felt a lump in my stomach and my hand shook. I had to use both hands to set the mug down on the table.
"Whacked? You've been watching too much Sopranos." I took a deep breath and asked, as casually as I could, "Was it anybody you'd ever heard of?"
"No, not that I'm up on who's who in the Mafia, but I think I would have remembered his nickname." He picked up the paper and read it. "Richard 'Big Dick' Palermo."
The knot in my stomach tightened. Fuck, not Richie. Somehow, as soon as Steve mentioned the story I knew it had to be him, but I was hoping it wasn't. My mind started to wander back as Steve continued.
"Where do they come up with these names? I wonder if that one meant what I think it meant?"
"Yeah, it did," I answered absentmindedly.
"What? How would you know something like that?"
"You don't want to know." In spite of myself I smiled as I realized what I'd said. Those were just about the first words I'd heard about Richie and they'd always stuck in my mind.
"You mean you knew him? How the hell would you know somebody like that?"
"It's a long story, a very long story."
"Damn, you're serious, you did know him. Tell me about it."
"Maybe later. You're going to be late." I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about it but it was also true that he had to be leaving. He glanced at the clock.
"You're right. I wouldn't want to disappoint a whole lecture hall full of freshman by not showing up for their Monday morning economics lecture." He got up, put his dishes in the sink and grabbed his briefcase. "But I want to hear all about you and this Big Dick guy tonight."
As soon as he'd gone into the garage I got up and scraped what was left of my breakfast into the garbage. I'd lost my appetite. I refilled my mug, sat down and picked up the paper to read the gory details. Not that there were all that many details. He'd been found lying on his back in his driveway in Scottsdale, Arizona, shot three times in the chest. No witnesses, no evidence of who might have done it. A simple gangland execution. Most of the article was a recap of his criminal career before his disappearance into the witness protection program. There wasn't much there that I didn't already know. Most of what I knew about that part of his life I'd learned from reading the papers a long time ago. Most, but not all. He hadn't liked to talk shop with me and that was the way I liked it, but now and then toward the end he'd opened up.
I finally shrugged off my depression, put the dishes in the dishwasher and straightened up the kitchen. As I backed the car out of the garage and looked at the townhouse, I thought of Richie. Driving the ten miles up I-287 from Morristown to Boonton, I thought of him. I parked the car in the municipal lot and walked down Main Street to my antique shop. I stood across the street and looked at the sign over the window. Ancient Treasures. I'd wanted to call it Older Than Dirt, but Richie had convinced me that if I was going to charge people a fortune for used furniture I needed a classier name than that. He was right as usual.
I went inside and got ready for what I was sure would be a slow day. Most of the other antique shops on the street were closed Mondays, but most semesters Steve was able to avoid scheduling classes on Tuesdays so that was my day to close. I got settled in behind the counter and picked up the book I'd been reading but I couldn't concentrate on it. My mind went back all those years to when it all began, the summer of '71.
* * * * *
I had just turned eighteen and had graduated from Livingston High School two weeks before. I was pretty much a social misfit, although I didn't consider myself your typical teenage nerd. I thought I was pretty okay looking, 5'10", slim, brown hair and eyes. Okay, the glasses were kind of nerdy. But my social exile was self-imposed. I was gay and desperately trying to hide it. I'd never told anyone or done anything but I tried to stay in the background for fear that someone would notice. Being shy didn't help, either.
For the second year, I had a summer job working as an orderly at St. Barnabas Medical Center. My job was to pretty much do all of the non-medical stuff for the male patients. Things like helping them with washing or eating, making beds, giving backrubs, filling water pitchers, running errands. The day started at seven, not easy considering that even then I wasn't a morning person. While the day shift nurses got the report from the night nurse, the aide and I went room-to-room recording TPR's, temperature, pulse and respiration. I took the men; she took the women.
We'd each been given a list of the patients and I noticed that a male patient had been admitted to one of the private rooms the day before when I was off. A lot of the patients were barely awake when we went into their rooms. Some were still sleeping and I usually skipped over them, leaving them until the end so they could get a few extra minutes sleep. But the new guy in 5210 was wide-awake, watching the Today Show on TV. He looked to be around my parents' age but was in far better shape than my father. He was sitting up in bed wearing only pajama bottoms, exposing a smooth well-defined chest. He barely glanced at me as I put my list down on the over-the-bed tray table.
"Whaddya want, kid?"
"I've got to take your temperature and pulse, sir." I noticed his eyes flicker toward me as I said 'sir'. I hadn't paid attention to his name on the list so I didn't know what else to call him.
"Then go ahead." He ignored me and looked back at the TV.
I put the thermometer in his mouth and picked up his wrist, feeling around until I found his pulse. I'd been trained to count the pulse for ten seconds and multiply by six, then count the respiration for another ten seconds while pretending to still be doing the pulse. That way the patients didn't get self-conscious and alter their breathing. As I watched his chest rise and fall, I was mesmerized by his smooth muscles and large nipples. I know I kept counting long past the ten seconds.
"If you're done holding my hand can you take this thing out of my mouth?" he mumbled.
I dropped his wrist and took out the thermometer, checked the reading and wrote the numbers on my list. As I did so I looked over the rest of him. He had black wavy hair and very dark eyes. His nose was large and had a bump in it but wasn't ugly. I found something very attractive about him in spite of his age. I glanced down his body. His pajamas were a little tight and bunched up around his crotch. There was quite a bulge there that I figured couldn't be all cotton.
"Anything else, kid?" I wrenched my eyes off his crotch and saw he was staring at me. I blushed, wondering if he'd noticed what I was looking at.
"N-no, that's it."
"Then get outta here."
I hurried from the room and continued down the hall. There was something about him that fascinated me but something that scared me as well. He was sexy but not very pleasant. When I was finished with the TPR's I took my list back to the nurse's station. The night nurse was just leaving but I caught her last words to the unit clerk.
"Tell the girls to watch out for Mr. Palermo in 5210. He's all hands."
"Yeah, we noticed yesterday when he was admitted."
I spent the next few minutes entering my data in the patients' charts and was then given a list of my patients for the day. I noticed I'd been given all of the men on one side of the wing with the exception of room 5210. I asked the charge nurse about that.
"You stay away from that man, Tom. He's trouble." She looked at me very seriously. She was middle-aged and tended to act somewhat motherly towards me.
"Why? He was a little rude when I took his TPR this morning and I heard the night nurse complain about his roving hands but that shouldn't be a problem for me. What's the problem?"
She sighed. "You don't want to know."
I was busy working with my patients the rest of the morning and didn't think about him. After lunch I was straightening up the linen closet, another one of my odd jobs. It was directly across the hall from 5210 and I could see Mr. Palermo lying in bed. He still hadn't put on a top. I kept stealing looks at him, trying not to be obvious. Once when I looked over he was staring back at me and I quickly averted my eyes. I was just about done when I looked over and he was standing in the doorway of his room, only about a dozen feet away, looking up and down the hall. He nodded at me and then looked down the hall again. His left hand moved to his crotch and he groped himself. I wasn't sure if he was scratching or playing with himself, but whichever it was he had a lot more than a handful. I just stared at it for a moment and then looked up at his face. He was looking straight at me. He nodded slightly, sneered at me and then turned and walked back into his room, leaving me more than a little unnerved.
The next morning I was a little tense when I got to his room. He was sitting up in bed half-naked as usual, watching TV again. He barely gave me a glance and said nothing but opened his mouth when I held out the thermometer and lifted his wrist. I looked down at his crotch and noticed the bulge was a lot larger than the day before. It extended down the left leg of his pajamas and he looked like he was nearly hard. I felt my own dick plumping up at the thought of that and hoped it wasn't obvious through my white uniform pants. A couple of times his left hand moved and his fingers casually brushed his bulge. By the time I was finished I was totally hard and when I glanced down at myself it was very obvious. I jotted down his info and quickly left the room. He hadn't said a word to me the whole time I was there but had given me that same sneer as I was leaving.
As I started working with my patients, first helping them clean up, then making their beds, I was glad he hadn't been assigned to me. The man turned me on but made me very nervous. After lunch I was working in the linen closet again and I looked across the hall to his room. This time he was standing just inside the doorway so he wasn't visible to anyone in the hall. I froze when I looked down and saw his dick sticking out of the fly of his pajamas. It was completely hard and he was gripping it in his left hand, slowly stroking it. It looked huge. The only hardon I'd ever seen was my own. Mine was about six inches and from what I'd heard that was average, but his looked like it was twice that big. I knew it couldn't be, but it was enormous. My eyes were glued to it as he stroked. A noise in the hall snapped me out of my trance. I glanced toward the sound and saw the meds nurse approaching with her cart. I looked at him and jerked my head in her direction, then went back to arranging sheets and towels. When I left the closet a minute later he was back in bed watching TV.
I couldn't get the image of that huge schlong out of my head. I wanted to know more about the guy so I went to the nurses' station and got out his chart. I went first to the personal information. Richard Palermo was 38, not quite as old as my parents, Roman Catholic, married and lived in Short Hills. I looked for his diagnosis, the reason he was in the hospital. Crohn's disease. I had no idea what that was. He was on a special diet and had all kinds of tests and x-rays scheduled. My medical background was non-existent so it all meant nothing to me. I was suddenly aware of Karen, the black, thirtyish nurse's aide, looking over my shoulder.
"You'd better watch out for that guy, Tom. He's dangerous."
"Dangerous? What do you mean?"
She looked both ways before answering in a lowered voice. "I heard he's in the Mafia."
"No way! That's only in the movies. There's no such thing really."
She looked at me skeptically. "You really are a naïve boy, aren't you? There certainly is organized crime. I don't know if it's actually called the Mafia, but whatever it is, this guy's right in the middle of it. There's talk of him having secret visitors in the middle of the night, sneaking up the back stairs. Better keep away from him."
I still couldn't quite believe it. Things like that didn't happen in suburban New Jersey. Gangsters were in the city, if they existed at all. And while Mr. Palermo wasn't very nice, he didn't act like a dangerous criminal. I was sitting there thinking about it when the intercom buzzed. I looked at the panel and 5210 was lit up. I pressed the button and picked up the handset.
"Yes sir, may I help you?"
"Is this the kid who takes my temperature in the morning?"
"Yes, it is. Can I get you something?"
"As a matter of fact ... my back has been a little sore today. How about coming down here and giving me a massage?"
I hesitated. Backrubs were part of my job. Lots of patients on bed rest needed them to keep the circulation going to prevent bedsores from developing. And just lying in bed all day made some patients achy.
"Uh, sure, but it's more like a backrub than massage. I'm not a professional."
"Whatever, as long as it feels good."
I nervously approached his room. As always, he was sitting up in bed watching TV. When I walked in he pressed the button to lower the head of the bed.
"Pull the curtain, kid, no point in putting on a show for the whole world to see." He rolled over onto his belly and lowered his pajamas until just the top of his ass crack was showing. He seemed to have a pretty firm round ass for an old man. I drew the curtain to block the view from the hall and got the lotion out of his nightstand.
"What's yer name, kid?"
"Um, Tom, Tom Webber."
"Okay, Tom, you can call me Richie. Let's see what you can do. Being stuck in this room has got my muscles all tied up in knots. Let's see if you can work out some of the kinks."
I squirted some lotion on his back and began to work it in, rubbing my hands up the middle of his back, across his shoulders and then down his sides. After a few minutes of this warm-up I concentrated on smaller areas, kneading his muscles, digging in when he encouraged me. Then I finished off by returning to the original circular motions. Most of the guys I'd done this for were really old, like in their sixties or more, so it was nice to be able to feel someone who was younger and had hard muscles, someone I didn't have to be gentle with. Of course but the time I was done the muscle between my legs was pretty hard, too.
As I finished he rolled over onto his back.
"Okay, Tom, just one more kink to work out." I looked down and his rigid hardon was stretching the material of his pajamas. He lifted his butt off the bed and slid the pants down, exposing his swollen rod. I was scared to death but couldn't keep from staring at it. "Go ahead, kid. You're a fag-boy, aren't ya? Do what you do best."
I still couldn't move. My head was telling me to run away, to get as far from him as I could, but my eyes refused to leave his dick and my body was paying attention to my eyes, not my brain. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. I looked down into his eyes and must have appeared as terrified as I felt because when he spoke again he was softer but no less crude.
"Don't think about it so much, Tom. You're a cocksucker, so just suck my cock. It's no big deal. We all do what we've gotta do."
He pulled me even closer and put a hand on my shoulder, using his strength to bend me down toward his huge dick. It was only a couple of inches away from my face and I was amazed by it. It was at least half again the size of mine, both in length and thickness. There was a clear drop oozing out of the slit in the head. Without thinking I stuck my tongue out and licked it off.
"Yeah, that's it, baby, just let yourself go."
I wasn't sure what to do. I mean, I'd had lots of fantasies about sucking dick but I didn't know exactly how to go about it. I flicked my tongue across the slit again and then ran it around the edge of the head. I knew what I was doing was wrong. Someone could walk in any minute. I was at work, for God's sake! And I didn't even like this guy. For some reason I found him incredibly hot but he was very crude and threatening. Nevertheless, I couldn't stop myself. It was as if I'd been storing up hormones for eighteen years and they were finally busting loose. I took the head in my mouth and ran my tongue around the edge again. It was so thick I could barely open my mouth wide enough. I tried going down on it, letting a little of the shaft slide into me. He lightly slapped the side of my head.
"Watch the teeth, kid. I know we're in a hospital but I don't want to need medical treatment when we're through."
I tried again, this time concentrating on keeping my teeth away from him. I curled my lips in over my teeth and that seemed to work. Even so I couldn't even get half of his long tool into my mouth. Each time he hit the back of my throat I gagged. He pulled me off him.
"Just take a few deep breaths and relax, kid. None of the broads I've been with could take the whole thing and I don't expect you will but you should be able to handle more than that. You've got an advantage over them, though. Just imagine that it's your dick goin' down someone's throat."
I went down on him again and it wasn't much better. I wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft and stroked it, pulling up and down as my mouth went up and down on him. Maybe I got a little more of him into me but I was still gagging quite a bit. In spite of my paranoia of being discovered I found I was amazingly turned on. It just felt so good to have a dick in my mouth, so right. He was right; I was a cocksucker. I loved having that thick slab of man meat in me, even when it made me gag. His increasing moans and groans were evidence that he liked it, too.
All of a sudden he put a hand on either side of my head and began forcing himself deeper into me. I was gagging a lot now, sputtering and choking. He was completely oblivious and kept forcing me harder. He gasped and I felt his hot semen spurt into my mouth, flooding me. He pushed my head down harder and I began swallowing furiously, which seemed to open my throat and I felt him slide in even further as he continued to shoot his load. He finally relaxed his grip on my head and I pulled off him, gasping for air, tears running down my cheeks.
"Not the best blowjob I've ever had, but a relief after going without a few days. I'm sure you'll do better tomorrow now that you've had a chance to try it out."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. You're gonna be blowing me every day as long as I'm stuck in here. And don't act so put out. You obviously enjoyed it as much as I did." He pointed at my crotch.
I looked down, saw the huge wet spot on my pants and realized that I had cum at the same time he did. I was horrified. I mean, I knew I had liked the idea that I was sucking a cock but I really hadn't liked the way he treated me. But overall I'd gotten off on it, obviously.
"Now get outta here. We don't want the nurses to start talking."
* * * * *
The ding of the bell over the door of the shop brought me back from my walk down memory lane. I looked up and saw one of my regulars, a sweet little old lady who had to be at least eighty. I stood, hoping my book would cover the tent in my pants.
"Hello, Mrs. Carlson. How are you today?"
"Can't complain. Well, that's not quite true. I can always complain but what good would it do?"
"Are you looking for anything in particular today?"
"Just browsing, but I might be interested if you had any depression glass."
"I think I might have a few new pieces in the other room. Take a look around."
She disappeared into the other room and after my erection had gone down I followed her.
"How's that sweet Dr. Lyons of yours?" Steve always spent Sunday afternoons at the shop with me. He wasn't much interested in antiques and I had an office set up for him in the back so he could do schoolwork if he wanted, but even so he knew a lot of my regular customers.
"Steve's just fine. He's always asking about you."
"I know you're fibbing but that's nice of you to say anyway. You're both such nice men."
We chatted a bit about nothing much and she picked out a glass bowl. I felt bad charging her so much but it was probably less than my competitors would have charged and she didn't seem to mind.
After she left my mind wandered back to that first week I knew Richie.
* * * * *
For the rest of the week I sucked Richie off every day, usually twice, once around mid-morning and again just before I went home. We didn't take a chance on doing it in the bed again. We went into his bathroom and I knelt down in front of him. He seemed to get off on that even more. To be honest there was something about it that I found a little thrilling myself. After that first time I made sure to have a wad of tissue stuffed in my pants to soak it up in case I came again. He'd leave the bathroom first and make sure the coast was clear before I slipped out into the hall. Oddly enough, considering how crude and abrupt he was, we never spoke about it except when it was happening.
The morning he was being discharged he called me into his room.
"You're turning into quite a good little cocksucker, kid. Gimme your phone number. I want to keep in touch."
I panicked. "I'd like to but I can't. I live with my parents and they can't find out about this."
"Don't worry, it's not like I want anyone to find out about it either. I've got a wife and kid and some friends and business associates who wouldn't take this very well, if you know what I mean. Where do you live?"
"Here in Livingston."
He thought for a minute. "Okay, here's what we'll do. Meet me behind the Shop Rite at seven on Thursday. I'll be in a white Caddy."
I had no intention of ever seeing him again. Yeah, the sex turned me on something fierce even though it was pretty one-sided, but the guy terrified me. Even without Karen's warning of Mafia connections he scared me. I sensed that the only reason he'd been at all reasonable and under control all week was that we were in a public place and he didn't want to be caught any more that I did. If I met him privately, there was no telling what he'd be like. I just wanted him to go home and get out of my life so I played along.
"Okay, I'll meet you there."
A little later two men came to take him home. They looked more like the typical Hollywood gangsters than Mr. Palermo. Both were big, ugly beefy guys. They didn't say anything as I pushed the wheelchair down to the lobby. I noticed a white Cadillac illegally parked in the fire lane a few feet from the front door. One of the guys got behind the wheel while the other held the door for Mr. Palermo to get into the back seat. As he got up from the wheelchair he slipped a folded bill into my hand. It was against hospital rules for us to accept tips and normally I would have given it back, but I didn't want to cross him. I just wanted him to leave, so I slipped the money into my pocket without looking at it. I breathed a sigh of relief as he drove off, sure that I'd never see him again. When I got back upstairs I took the money out of my pocket to put in my wallet. It was a hundred dollar bill! That was more than my paycheck for the whole week. Maybe he was in the Mafia. At the very least he had to be rich. After all, he lived in Short Hills. Whatever, he scared me. I didn't want to see him again.
To be continued.