Shy (14 page)

My fingers circled his cock. He was already dripping, just like me. I slid my thumb across the slit of his dick and smeared the liquid around. Frank arched his hips, aching for me to keep doing it. Not to stop. Not ever to stop. All that humping he had been doing on the sofa cushion while he sucked my dick seemed to have taken its toll. I got the distinct impression that Frank was about three heartbeats away from shooting.

I held his cock in my fist and slowly stroked it until another drop of precome glistened at the tip. This time I brought my lips down and sucked it away.

Again Frank arched his hips, and I took him into my mouth as far as he would go.

He sighed happily. And so did I.

Without further ado, while my mouth was still on him, he came.

A second later, I followed suit. Boy, Frank was good.

We held each other as our heartbeats gently slowed. Our mouths stayed exactly where they were. Our hands continued caressing all the places they liked to caress. And all the while, I had never felt more loved and more satisfied in all my life. Small wonder I was smiling.

Finally, we let our cocks slide away from each other’s lips. Still, mine lay heavily against Frank’s cheek. Lingering there. Resting. A hot lump of flesh. Drained, but still very much alive. Frank looked up across the expanse of my flat stomach, damp with perspiration, and his eyes were the greenest I had ever seen them.

He smiled at me and I smiled back. He looked so happy there with my softening dick pressed against the side of his face, I thought my heart would burst.

“Whenever you want to go,” I said, “we’ll go. Just let me arrange it at work.”

He kissed my stomach. “Thank you, Tom. I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” I said, pulling him close. “We’ll take care of your dad. Just don’t worry.”

“Um, Tom, do you think you’re ready to tackle farm life? I mean, well, being raised in the city and all—”

I honest to God guffawed, and I don’t guffaw often. Most gay people don’t. “Don’t you worry about me,” I said. “How hard can farm life be? I’ll just follow your lead and do what you do, so don’t waste another minute worrying about
that
. Plus, it will only be for a couple of weeks. Okay? I’ll be fine. Just fine.”

Frank nodded. He closed his eyes, and since we were still in the sixty-nine position, he pressed his face into my stomach. I couldn’t see, since my vision was pretty well taken up with Frank’s crotch, but it felt like he was grinning. He lay there so long, with his face pressed into my stomach, that I thought he had fallen asleep. But then he kissed my belly button, and I knew he was just thinking things over.

I hugged Frank’s thighs, while his pillow of dark pubic hair tickled my face. The air around us was scented with the smell of sex and pizza and two satiated men who just happened to be very much in love. I closed my eyes and thought things over too. I had some money set aside. Quite a bit, in fact. I could manage it. If Moony wouldn’t give me time off from work, then I’d quit. Fuck him. Frank came first.

Frank would always come first. It was a matter of priorities. What else is love about, if not priorities?

And sex. Lots and lots of sex.

J
ERRY
was apoplectic when I told him. “You’re not going! I won’t have it! You can’t just throw your career away like this! What the hell is wrong with you, Tom? Have you had a nervous breakdown or something? Is this kid a fucking witch? Did he put a spell on you?”

I grinned. Since we were on the phone, Jerry couldn’t see the grin, so I wasn’t being cruel. Well, maybe I was. Just a little. “That would be a warlock, I think. And yes, Frank has put a spell on me. It’s called love. Ever hear of it? And don’t be such a drama queen. I’m not throwing my career away. I’m simply taking an unscheduled vacation.” At least I hoped Moony would see it that way.

For the past three months, Jerry had been calling every couple of days or so, as if he was afraid to let go. Telling me how much he missed me. Telling me how much he wanted me back. Hoping against hope that I’d had a knockdown drag-out fight with Frank and he might find an opening to squeeze himself back into my life. He was always desperate to find out what Frank and I had been up to, even though it drove him crazy when he did. This time he got more information than he bargained for, and he wasn’t happy about it.

“And what about Pedro? You can’t just drag him across state lines. He’s half mine, unless you’ve forgotten.”

That pissed me off. “Then you’re a deadbeat dad! I haven’t seen you feeding him or taking him to the vet or cleaning up his messes lately! You relinquished all rights to Pedro when you stopped caring for him. So don’t talk to me about Pedro, you cheating little shit. Just don’t!”

“Oh, so now we’re back to the cheating, huh? Don’t you think that proves you still love me, Tom? My God, you can’t have a conversation with me or with anybody else for that matter without bringing up the fact that I once cheated on you.”

“Well, gee whiz. Sorry. But when my lover takes his pecker somewhere else for servicing, packs up and leaves without so much as an apology and moves in with a home-wrecking poophead named Stanley, leaving me in the lurch with apartment rent, vet bills, and that damned credit card we jointly used, then yes, I’m going to bring it up now and then! If you don’t want people bringing shit like that up,
then don’t fucking do those fucking things in the first fucking place!
”

I felt a hand at the back of my neck. It was Frank. Trying to calm me. Trying to head off the aneurism that was about to explode somewhere down around my analytic converter, or whatever that human organ is called that pumps out the neurotransmitters responsible for making a person throw a fucking snit.

“Hang up the phone,” he whispered. “It’s not worth it.”

I glanced at my watch. It was almost time to leave for work anyway.

I did some yoga breathing to calm myself down, then said into the phone clearly, concisely, and without malice, “Good-bye, Jerry. Have a nice life.”

Jerry stammered, “But—but—but—”

And I hung up the phone. I allowed myself two seconds to feel sad about what I had just done to Jerry, not that he didn’t deserve it, then turned and gave Frank a grateful kiss for always seeming to be there when I needed him most.

Now off to work, and my confrontation with Mr. Moonhouse.

Hopefully, that confrontation would be a little less traumatic.

I
T
WASN
’
T
.
In fact, it was considerably worse.

Mr. Moonhouse was in a foul mood when I walked into the bank. I didn’t know why. Maybe his wife had refused to give him a blow job that morning. Or maybe she
had
given him a blow job but was forced to interrupt and water the petunias before he could make his customary deposit. Bankers are funny about that sort of thing. Deposits and all. Or maybe Moony owned a Chihuahua. Sometimes that was enough to throw a person’s day off. Believe me, I know.

Whatever the reason, when I asked for a minute of Moony’s time, he looked at me like I was asking for a loan. Bankers are funny about
that
sort of thing
too
, don’t think they aren’t.

I couldn’t help noticing that Moony was looking a tad unkempt this morning. It was as if he had run out the door on his way to work without checking a few things first. For instance, half of his shirt was untucked. Plus, he needed to clean his horn-rimmed glasses. They were filthy. And to top it all off, two cowlicks were poking out of the left side of his head like a couple of weeds and a booger was dangling from his nose. A big one. I couldn’t take my eyes off that booger. It was like—magnetic. Every time he breathed in or out, the damn thing fluttered. It was hard to talk to the man, what with that dangling shirttail, those funky glasses and flapping cowlicks, and that frigging fluttering booger.

I had to put my own problems on hold long enough to ask him what was wrong. Hell, anybody would. “Mr. Moonhouse, are you okay? You look a little—flustered.”

“I got a call about you at my house this morning, son. Just a few minutes ago, in fact.”

“About
me
?”
That couldn’t be good. It did, however, explain why he had been staring at me so strangely since I walked into the bank. Sort of a cross between “sympathetically appalled” and “unintentionally irked” with a smidgeon of “regrettable sexual curiosity” thrown in to confuse the issue.

Uncharacteristically, Moony stepped forward and slipped an arm around my shoulder. With his other hand he patted my forearm. I got the distinct impression he had been wanting to lay his hands on me for a very long time. For a host of reasons. His breath smelled of Twinkies. Breakfast of champions.

“I’m so sorry, dear boy. I had no idea you were going through such a crisis at home. Gambling, is it? Liquor? Hookers? Male prostitutes, maybe?”

Moony had a twinkle in his eye when he mentioned male prostitutes that made me think quite possibly that maybe it wasn’t only Mrs. Moony’s throat he had been hosing down, but at the moment that was neither here nor there. I was getting irritated.

I shook his arm off. “What the heck are you talking about?”

He put the arm right back where it had been and pulled me close. “It’s okay, Tom. Can I call you Tom?”

“You just did.”

“Yes, well, let’s not be snippy. That won’t help.”

“Help with what?”

“Help with our little crisis, son.”

“And just what crisis might that be, pray tell?” I was past being astounded. I was even past being irritated. I had moved right along to really, really mad. Furious, in fact. “Spit it out, Moony. What’s the problem?”

He tsked. “Mr. Moonhouse is my name. You know that. But I understand you’re upset so we’ll let that little breach of protocol slide for the moment. Tell me, son, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Like what?”

“Well, for instance, maybe you would like to explain why you are about to quit your position at this bank without any formal notice after putting in three long and happy years here. We’re a family, Tom. You don’t just quit a family. You give them a heads-up. You give them a little
warning
.”

“I’m not quitting.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Who said I was?”

Here he stumbled. “Well, the call was anonymous.”

“Anonymous, huh?” Jerry. What a putz. “I suppose he told you I’d been embezzling funds too, this anonymous caller of yours. Or snatching ballpoint pens and calendars out of the storeroom and toilet paper out of the bathroom and selling it all on eBay. What were his accusations precisely? That I had been stashing rolls of quarters down the crotch of my pants every night and walking out the door with them?”

“Well, son, there usually
is
a sizable bulge down there—”

“Yes, and it’s all me, as you undoubtedly know, since you’re looking at it all the time.”

He jumped as if he had been zapped with a cattle prod. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I’m a happily married man.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

He gave me a sympathetic cluck. “Yes, so I hear. And I also hear that the person you’ve got yourself mixed up with is the person who is leading you down the road to disaster. What do you have to say to that?”

“I have a couple of things to say to that. One, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear from total strangers, and two, if you say one more word about my lover that isn’t positively
steeped
in respect and admiration, I’m going to rip your tie off and strangle you with it.”

Moony blinked. At least I
think
he blinked. Those glasses really were funky. “Wait a minute. Did you say you weren’t quitting?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Then what did you want to see me about?”

“I need some time off. Just three weeks or so. A family emergency.”

“A family emergency.”

“Yeah, that’s all it is. I’m not embezzling or quitting or any of those other things. I just need a little time off.”

“Time off.”

Okay. Now I was getting mad again. “Is there an echo in here? Yes. Time off.”

I could hear the wheels turning inside Moony’s unkempt head as he thought things over. Golly, I’d had no idea he was so enthralled with my work. Or maybe it was just my basket he was enthralled with. But for whatever reason, it certainly seemed that Moony liked having me around and had been thrown into quite a dither thinking I might actually leave. That’s when it hit me. Jeez, this was a perfect time to ask for a raise.

I was just about to do exactly that, when Moony cleared his throat, took a gander at the ceiling, looked down at the toes of his shoes and gave a little buff to one of them on the back of his other pant leg, like that was really going to help his appearance any. Then he said the last thing I expected him to say.

“I’m sorry, son. You’re fired. Please clean out your desk.”

I was so dumbfounded, I actually said, “But what about my raise?”

Moony chose to ignore that. “I’m sorry, Tom, but our employees must he held to the highest fiduciary and personal standards. And clearly, you have some problems that need to be dealt with before you can be deemed trustworthy enough to remain with us here at the bank. I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to help you find a new position elsewhere. It’s the least I can do.”

Yeah, the very least. But what did I expect? I did threaten to strangle him, after all. That’s not something you often see on a quarterly evaluation sheet.

He took a final glance at my crotch, pulled the booger out of his nose, looked at it with surprise, then turned and walked away.

In the matter of clearing out my desk, I did Moony one better. Or two better. I also cleared out my savings and checking accounts. He watched in horror as the teller issued me a check for $42,000 and change and told me she would miss our little chats over coffee.

I could never remember
having
a chat with her over coffee, but I told her to have a nice day anyway, stuffed my cashier’s check into my pocket, picked up my cardboard box of desk crap, set the box back down, gave Moony the finger while adjusting my crotch for his benefit, then picked the box back up and regally strolled from the bank whistling a merry tune from
Pirates of Penzance
. I gave every impression of having taken a leisurely tour of the premises on my royal outing only to ultimately find the establishment wanting. Just like a queen, huh?