The Price Of Dick (10 page)

I’
d learned from past relationships that for there to be compatibility, even on a friendship level, we’re forced to make compromises for each other’s idiosyncrasies. If you can keep those compromises to a minimum, if you can retain a healthy honesty, you can actually get along. But if you strike an uneven balance of compromise between the two of you and if honesty is absent, then the relationship heads into rocky water.

I have to
admit that I believe I’m more accepting than most because I had lived an
out
life ever since I ran away from home. I’d never pretended to be anyone other than myself. I never tried to hide information about myself to fit in with my friends, or people I worked with. I valued this freedom. So I could sympathize when others don’t have such freedoms

The idea that I could be
inadvertently pulled into a closet I’d never occupied before seemed an impossibility. It was because of my sympathy for Dick’s situation that I made that compromise. At the time it seemed like a limited surrender of my selfhood. A disguise to be worn only for his friends and family. I didn’t think it could affect my life, my happiness or my well-being. Dick considered it my ‘temporary’ little white lie.

Like
many college graduates his age, the two-year post graduation mile marker for life changes began with a number of his friends getting married. There were weddings he had to attend, accompanied by the game he had to play, presenting himself as still being single with no girlfriend to take to the receptions. To cover up, he had to pretend to be the stud on the prowl at these events. He had to drag the Lady Killer persona out of the mothballs. I wasn’t involved in this. Or so I’d thought.

The innocuo
us little lie that would ultimately begin to alter my life had been told out of my company, during one of these receptions after a wedding he had to attend in Chicago. He and the brothers from his fraternity drove there together. They were the last three that remained unattached. They shared a room at the hotel. That was where the web of lies about my life was initially spun.

Perhaps it began with them asking more questions about me. Maybe it was because I was still unmarried. It could have been because I had so many beautiful women in and out of the apartment for the shoots. I
’m sure the speculation directed at him about my sex life was pointed and relentless. My ears should have burned as a warning. As I ambled carefree about in the apartment that weekend, my life was being fabricated in drunken stories. Dick was turning me into someone other than myself for his friends.

I wouldn
’t be aware of how far my life was sliding into fiction until his return. The three guys all piled in the house for a beer and to re-live the glories of the weekend. Lady Killer had lived up to his reputation. He bagged a bride’s maid. They saw him dance with her, leave with her and come out of her hotel room in the morning. They couldn’t have been prouder of their studly frat bro. Then one of the brothers let go the story Dick told them about me. I listened to my exploits for the first time; heard of my many adventures that had never really happened. They called me ‘
The Master.
’ Their buddy was learning new tricks from an old pro. Before I could respond, tongue numbed as it was, Dick spun another yarn about my heterosexual prowess while patting me on the back and handing me a beer. I drank the whole thing in a matter of seconds. It took real talent to whip up a story that detailed off the cuff. I was simultaneously shocked, confused and embarrassed. I ended up saying nothing. I could hear the closet door slamming on me in that moment.

Knuckle
taps and bear hugs made the rounds as this thirty-something formerly out and proud gay man joined the ranks of heterosexual male camaraderie. I drank three more beers by the time the guys were gone. It was still eleven in the morning and I was feeling trashed. I’d only had one piece of toast at breakfast to help absorb the alcohol I’d consumed quite rapidly. Dick dismissed my discomfiture. Thought I just wasn’t practiced in the art of ‘embellishment.’ He considered what he’d done to be no different than resume padding for a job. Little goodies added to make you look a tad more presentable for a particular type of company.

I was then treated to the
“real” version of what had transpired in the Chicago hotel room with the maid of honor. Not that I was interested, or that it mattered, but because he considered it essential to explain.

Naturally, she was the hottest bridesmaid of the bunch. She had eyes only for him the minute she saw him during the wedding
ceremony. She approached him at his table and asked him to dance. All the initiative had been on her part because he was so delectable in his tux. They danced all evening. All eyes were on them, of course. He drank, she drank, they got drunk. She offered to accompany him to his room. His sharing a room with two roommates prevented that. He went to hers. He made sure his friends saw them leave together.

I was feeling queasy from the morning
spent drinking. Either that or the ego-inflated story.

She was an okay kisser
, if a bit sloppy. She had a decent body but had obviously been heavier and lost weight. The stretch marks on the backs of her arms, hips, and butt gave that away. She was in awe of him when he stripped for her. And at first that admiration was enough for him to get an erection. But he lost it when he put the condom on. She tried to work it back up. He tried to think of Brad Pitt shirtless in
Thelma and Louise
to fortify it. Nothing worked. So he ate her out and finger-banged her until she got off. It didn’t matter to her. She was just happy to have a tale to tell her girlfriends that she’d nailed the hottest single man at the wedding. Oh, and on the drive back he told the guys that we banged the women who modeled for me all the time.

“
Why the fuck would you tell them something like that?” I asked. I was not capable of wrapping my brain around all of this nonsense.

“
To protect my investment,” he replied.

You could hear our watches tick in the silence.
“What?” I asked at last.

“
That’s my business. To know when you’ve got a good thing. When you do, you protect it.”

I looked at him like he was insane.

“Because we’re good for each other. And you know that.” The inscrutable curl of the lips. “Now if they have any conversations with my friends, and they will, you’re home free. You’ve made it into the inner circle and my mom can’t keep treating you like a piece of shit because she’s suspicious.”

I don
’t think he knew how little I cared about making it into his mother’s good graces. But I could see the logic of his thought process. All his lies were to protect himself and his ‘
secret
.’ I wasn’t walking into his closet. He was lassoing my ass and wrestling me inside like a rodeo steer.

“
We all play pretend,” he explained. “It’s harmless. Doesn’t hurt anyone. Every time I put on a suit, I’m an executive with a card that says I know more about some things than a guy without a suit. I only have to keep up that act when I’m in the suit, in my office and on appointments. Then I can take off my suit and be myself.”

He moved in very close to me until I could smell the beer on his breath.

“You’ve seen me naked. I’ve laid myself bare for you. You’ve seen my private moments. You know who I am. It’s only when I’m in that suit that I’m somebody else.”

It was hard to tell if he was lying, or really believed his own bullshit.

“We’re good for each other. You give me what I need. I give you what you need. No one needs to know what that is because it’s a secret between us. So we put on our suit. That’s the investment: us.”

A few months later he asked me for two favors. If I
’d paid more attention to the lesser of the requests, I’d have been better off. I wouldn’t have been played like the proverbial fiddle. But I paid more attention to the one in which he asked me to fuck him.

Oh, that other
favor? Help him get more clients from my own list of friends and contacts to win a contest at his company. The prize: an all-expense paid vacation for two to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. If he won, he promised to take me along on that much needed vacation I couldn’t afford. We’d drink, sleep on the beach, go out dancing, and just have a blast.

I blinked, thinking my ears had mangled
English into something alien. The one thing I knew my buddy never gave up in any of our little photographic adventures was his precious ‘real-man’s’ ass. He’d come a long way in being comfortable with kissing another guy; he loved having someone suck him off, and he could offer them the same as long as no one shot in his mouth. And he loved fucking. He loved every aspect of penetrating another man anally and getting off that way. He always kept it wrapped but he preferred coming inside someone’s body. He complained that pulling out, peeling off the rubber for a back-spatter shot broke the rhythm of the climax. And he had preferences: dark-haired guys in their twenties with very little body hair. He liked smooth chests and ass cracks. The complete antithesis of himself.

We
’d worked out a mutually beneficial system: when he helped deliver the necessary romance photos I needed to maintain my level of sales and earn a living, or as he called it: foreplay—he and the other model would fuck afterwards. It was like payment for him. And he wanted it photographed like a personal souvenir he could look at and savor at a later time, like vacation memories. I hear serial killers are like that too.

*  *  *

Red and yellow leaves said it was the beginning of autumn. We wanted to get in one of our last few outdoor runs before the weather dictated our confinement to treadmills indoors. It was brisk in the shadows but warm in the sunshine as we started our run in the park on its eight-mile paved course. As usual, his long legs kept him a good pace and a half ahead of me. I tasted the gravel from his heels occasionally.

At the end of the course, we grabbed a sip of water at the fountain,
sat on the bench to catch our breath and rest. That’s where he approached me with the request for those two favors. The first one was the lesser. I nodded in a non-committal way. I’d never won a contest, didn’t know anyone who had, either. Plus I wasn’t all that disposed to trying to talk my friends into doing anything, even if it was buying girl scout cookies from someone’s daughter.

He moved in closer to me on the be
nch. His voice was low; a confidential tone as he made the second request.

“
I’m asking you because I trust you. I really want to learn how to do this from someone who isn’t going to take advantage of me, or get the wrong idea, or go in the wrong direction, if you know what I mean?” he explained. “I know if you stick your dick in me you’re doing it as a friend and you ain’t gonna fall in love, or any crazy shit like that.” All I did was stare at him. “I’m just curious, you know? I wanna see what it’s like.”

I had a million responses and offered none. My sweat turned cold
, chilling my body in the breeze. I felt the blood rush out of every other inch of my body and into my crotch. That’s when we make the biggest mistakes. The blood isn’t in our brains when we need it.

“
I thought of trying it with one of the guys during a shoot, but I don’t know those people. I don’t want someone who’s just gonna ram their meat in me to get off when I’ve never done this before. I want to learn how to do this right. Nice and slow, you know? Take your time to teach me how to enjoy it. I read on-line that if you do it properly, it stimulates the prostate and you can make the guy getting fucked come hands-free. I’d really like to see how that feels. Could I ask you for that?”

If people were passing by us
; if cars were on the street, I was oblivious to them all. I’m sure I gave him some unintelligible, all consonants consent.

He looked happy, rubbing his hands together like an excited kid.
“Great. I bought some of those super sheer sheepskin condoms for you. That way it feels like you’re bareback in me. I want it to feel like a real dick in me and not a dildo. This will be so cool!”

I was one massive
exposed nerve.

“
This is just the best way for friends to really bond; don’t you think?” he asked.

It would be a few days before he was ready. His body was too te
nse from the workouts and eight-mile runs we were doing. He wanted to take a few days to rest and relax. In the meantime, he suggested, I could help him find more investment clients from my own lists of friends and business acquaintances. I was more than happy to oblige him in this request at this point. It wouldn’t hurt for him to win. I could look forward to laying on the sunny beaches of Puerto Vallarta with him, wearing skimpy swimsuits, soaking up rays, watching all his exposed flesh tan, appreciating where the tan lines would be. Ah, the dreamers inside all of us. I felt a rush at anything he suggested.

I knew exactly what kind of potential clients to send his way as well. Well-to-do gay couples,
middle-aged gay divorcees with sizable settlements, widows and widowers with new wealth gotten solely from inheritance. Anyone upon whom he could work those nefarious charms.

Saving myself the embarrassment of having to explain some of the preparatory hygiene of having anal sex, I left him with a gay sex manual bookmarked
at the appropriate chapters. It was a small, cheaply produced book you could find in any gay bookstore for a couple of bucks. Not fancy, but illustrated and useful for occasions like this. I stocked the bathroom with the supplies he’d need. A douche kit, sani-wipes, and KY lubricant. Once they were in place, I pretended they weren’t there. The next move was all his. All I had to do was mask my unbridled anticipation.

At last the subject resurfaced a week later
, on a Friday night after work during dinner. I’d made fried catfish sandwiches with horseradish tartar sauce.

In between munches of bread
crust, fish and sauce, he asked, “So do you think you’re up for a fuck tonight? I don’t want to put you out if you have other plans or stuff. But I kinda have the mindset that I might be ready to take a dick in my ass.” Blunt. He stared at me across the table. I’d forgotten how to chew. The food lay on my tongue where my answer should have been.

I nodded, choked out a,
“Sure,” and swallowed afterwards. The Kentucky Derby was in my chest.

He rose, pulled a cold beer from the refrigerator and sat it in front of me.
“You have a brewski, and I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a D and D. I’ll call you when I’m ready. How does that sound?”

I took another bite of sandwich and tried to ignore the craziness in my stomach, the yanking at my scrotum. I
’d been with a number of people since my breakup, but truthfully, they’d been fucks of convenience. Available and willing to serve the need, but certainly not at the top of the A-listers in my fantasy parade. There’s quite a difference between fucking what you can get, and fucking something that blows the brains out of your skull like a .44 Magnum.

I gulped down the beer; got another. I heard the shower start, the door to the bathroom open.

“D’ya wanna shower first?” he called out.

My feet impelled me forward as if by gravitational pull. The bathroom door was cracked open, steam filtered through. It smelled warm and
the steam was scented with an Irish-named soap. I pushed it open, looked toward the shower door. I could see the naked giant through the opaque surface, in the mist, the sound of the water beating against his flesh. His large fingers pulled the sliding door open. His drenched face grinned through the downpour at me. It made wrinkles the shape of a strawberry appear in his too-large chin.

“
I’m actually kinda nervous,” he confessed, gesturing with an index finger for me to join him. “I’m gonna give up my ass-cherry and I feel like a goofy kid!”

I began sheddi
ng my clothes. Naked, he’d eyed my readiness, then met my own gaze. We both looked terrified and exhilarated. I stepped inside the shower. The water was warm, prickling my scalp and shoulders. He moved himself against me, arms over my shoulders, palms flat on the wall tiles where they framed me. I felt trapped and crazed with anticipation.

His
planed face was mere inches from mine. Eyes the same color as his September birthstone bore into me. He took my hand and placed it on his wet chest. Tendrils of body hair flowered around my fingertips. I felt the tip of a nipple between my first two fingers; the thump of his heart beneath that. It seemed we were sprinting on the same track.

“
This is a pretty big thing for me,” he said in a very low voice.

“
Anything new is,” I agreed.

“
Like the first time I ate oatmeal?” he said with half a smile, attempting levity.

I laughed,
“Yeah, I guess.”

“
I hate oatmeal,” he admitted. His look was now sly like he’d caught me trying to coerce him.

“
Then it’s a good thing you found out.”

Leaning into me, sandpaper-rough whiskers grazed my cheek. His lips dragged across mine
, briefly tugging my bottom one down. Water from the top of his head fell inside my mouth.

“
Everyone always remembers their first of anything important.” Now his lips found the lobe of my ear. A nip of teeth.

His hand
caressed the side of my head, fingers toying with my hair. I felt the pull toward his mouth; my own opened instinctively and met the warm point of his tongue and deeper. And then we were breathing separately again.

“
Do you remember your first time? The very first time ever?” he asked.

I
nodded my head in the massive ladle of his palm. “Yeah. Very much.”

“
Tell me.”

“
At camp. A buddy. He taught me how. To masturbate that is. Not fuck. First time masturbation.”

He looked down at my erection. A waterfall spilled down my chest as he gripped
me firmly in his hand. I actually said, “Ow,” under the pressure he applied. It was tighter than I expected.

“
Were you attracted to him?” he asked.

I was truthful. He
’d been a chubby, redhead with freckles. He burned and peeled with ten minutes of sun exposure. “No.”

“
Was he gentle or rough?”

I blinked trying to recall the experience from long ago.
“It was a little rough. But I didn’t know what he was doing. I just knew I wanted to learn how and I didn’t want him to stop.”

“
Did it take very long?” The pad of his thumb rubbed over the tip of my cock. It tickled. I tensed and jumped backward against the tile.

“
No. It didn’t.”

“
Did you do him?”

“
He used my hand to do it. I wasn’t sure how hard...how to handle him.” I began to remember it very clearly. We shared a scout pup tent during a camp out in the woods by the lake. The other scouts’ tents had been a good distance away with trees separating us. It happened at night, a full moon glowing against the khaki fabric of the tent. I could barely sleep afterwards. The discovery of masturbation had set off a chain reaction in my body that I couldn’t control. So I lay there, listening to him snore, and thinking about the wonderful feeling I’d had revealed to me.

“
Did you fall in love with him?”

There was a weight to the way he asked that question.
“No,” I said.

His jaw relaxed and the whiskers dragged along my opposite cheek, more tenderly this time. His body curved deep into my own
, almost making me have to bend backwards. Our cocks locked in an easy embrace. His own towered above mine.

“
Quid pro quo. This for that. Your first?” I wanted to hear his story. We had been friends for more than a year, but I learned things about him in bits and pieces.

He was so close his
words puffed against the flesh of my face. “I’ll tell you what no one else knows. Not even my closest friends from college.” The words were terse, said in the way one spoke when secrets were being divulged as if a pact was being made. “Because you’re my very special friend. Because you won’t judge me.”

“
You know I won’t. I'm your friend.” I assured him.

He looked down at our dicks overlapping, performed a short swordplay with them.

“My coach.” he said. It was more of an announcement and had an atomic weight all its own. One that boggled the imagination, confounded sensibilities. He had only two coaches. In high school. It had to have been football. My head was already figuring his age range from the articles I’d seen in his scrapbooks. I remembered a picture of that coach standing next to the team. A man in his early thirties. As old as I was now.