“Rex” and I are like a pair of favorite old shoes. We’re comfortable with each other. We fit each other.
Rex is one of the first guys I hooked up with about three years ago and he quickly became a regular. Its more than just freaking. I can open up to him, tell him what I’m going through with my marriage and family, and he will give me a straight answer. No flattery. No bullshit. Just the truth.
“Go home and take care of your family,” he told me once. “There is nothing out here but heartache and disease.”
I was downtown today to go to a funeral and called Rex on the way home. “Sure, come over, I’m home,” he said.
Rex’s apartment is cozy. He is in the design field and always has some interesting project he is working on. His apartment constantly changes. He redecorates it like you and I change underwear.
“Look, I was just laying down to take a nap,” Rex says after we exchange greetings.
“Okay, I’ll lie down with you,” I said. Then I walked back to his bedroom and hopped on his bed in a my suit pants, shirt and tie, and dress shoes. We’re old buddies — I got it like that.
His laptop is on the bed so I log into a gay sex hookup site and we look at who is on. Like a pair of macho school athletes we scan the advertisements and talk about who we have hooked up with and who we have tried to hook up with. Who gave up good sex. Who was a dead fuck.
We play pranks. I text message a fat bottom who has a photo of his plump ass filling the screen. His feet are rusty.
“Tell him to put some lotion on his feet and take another picture,” Rex said. We burst out laughing.
My cell phone rings. It is “Malcolm,” a down-low businessman. I told him I was downtown but he is busy in the office and I was busy so we didn’t get a chance to meet up. He has text messaged and called me a few times but we won’t have a chance to meet up. The timing just wasn’t right.
“Are you trying to sweat me,” I joke with Malcolm about the texts and calls. “You’re calling me all the time to see who I’m hooking up with today.”
“Could be,” Malcolm says and laughs. He knows I’m adventuresome and could be doing anyone at any moment. We are open with each other like that.
I hang up with Malcolm. “I think he likes me,” I say to Rex, a trace of sadness in my voice. “It seems like everybody gets attached to me.”
Attachments in this lifestyle bother me. I want things to remain on the “friendship-with-benefits” tip.
Sometimes I wish I could clone myself. I would give a copy to my wife so she would have the fresh-faced, eager young man she met in college who was loyal and faithful. I would give a copy to Malcolm so he would have somebody to have long intellectual conversations and sex on the side. And I would give a copy to Rex so he could have a buddy to hang with when he wanted.
But we only clone sheep, cows and mice. Not humans. So there is still just one of me to go around. To try to live a gay and straight lifestyle at the same time and be everything to everybody. Thinking about this makes me pensive.
But Rex reaches over and touches me and the old fire rekindles. We can go months and not hookup but when we do it is good. He caresses and massages my body, occasionally making an appreciative grunt. The clothes quickly come off, tossed on the floor at the foot of the bed.
I have gained a few pounds this summer but I have always been slim so is no big deal. “You filled out well,” Rex says, his big hands squeezing my waist and hard abdomen.
He takes my penis in his mouth and gives me head. Then he moves down, licking and lapping that space between my nutsack and asshole that is an erogenous zone I never knew about before kicking it with dudes. I return the favor, making him moan with pleasure.
Then I jerk-off and cum explosively as he nibbles on my right nipple, my body arching off the bed in ectasy. Then I lick his nipples as he cums — loudly. He sounds like a revving car engine. He cums so hard it shoots over his head and a little spatters on his laptop. Later I get a damp paper towel so he can clean it.
I dress and get ready to leave. I have to get back to my real life and he has to get back to his.
Before I leave he admits he was really into me and I tell him I always had a soft spot for him. But we both tell each other that even if we were free we would never date or live togther. He likes his freedom. And I have lived so long as a family man if I was single again I would enjoy my freedom too.
Like I said, we’re like a pair of old comfortable shoes. We know each other too well.