The Trainer (7 page)

“You see, each part of your hand,” he explained, his deep voice
, making Chris' body vibrate as he began to work his lubricated thumbs into Chris’ palm, “connects to a different part of your body.”

Chris’ disappointment at not getting a full body massage quickly disintegrated in the waves of pleasure that radiated from his
palm, up his arm, and into the rest of his entire body. He began to moan involuntarily in relief at the focused pressure of Mason’s fingertips pressed into the webbing of two fingers, or the pad of his thumb, or certain spots along the edge of his hand. The way Mason worked through so thoroughly, it was as if each pore of his hand was a conduit to the rest of his whole body, relaxing him from head to toe and arousing him as much as any amount of heavy petting applied elsewhere.

“This,” Mason said, sliding up and down the tips of his fingers, “connects to your head and neck. It relaxes you whenever you have one of those really tense days.”

“Like today?” Chris said, closing his eyes and relaxing.

“Exactly
.  And this,” he said, knuckling into the side of his hand, “connects to your heart.”

“Ouch,” Chris winced.

“I’ll be gentler,” Mason said, “I know it’s broken.”

“Yeah,” Chris whispered. He tried to resist it
, but involuntarily, tears welled in his eyes. Just for an instant.

“Don’t worry, Chris. I won’t hurt you,” Mason said softly.

Chris wondered if he heard exactly what he thought he heard, or if he’d just
imagined that. The intent, the words, the message:  it made sense. They both knew it too.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” Chris said, leaning back, closing his eyes and relaxing into the cushions of the couch.

The smoke curled, and the smell of sweet, spicy, sacred frankincense filled the room. Outside, the tropical birds sang their long and short choruses. The fan whirred overhead and the stereo switched over to another CD.  This time, it was Brian Eno:  a nice ambient album.

“I think it’s sweet that you’re a writer,” Mason said spontaneously.

“Really?” Chris said, surprised. Usually, people thought it was strange, or they pretended that it was cool. It sounded romantic, but most people quickly admitted that they thought it was probably a waste of time; or that, like so many writers, he was a narcissistic daydreamer who pretended that he would one day be successful.

“Yeah,” Mason said. “I think all artists are heroes.”

“Wow,” Chris laughed. “That’s a little grandiose. I dunno if I’d call myself an artist.”

“Sure you are,” Mason said softly, his voice a growl.

Mason’s hand rested on Chris’ upper thigh, centimeters from his cock.  Mason could feel the warmth below it and unexpectedly, just that heat was beginning to turn him on. Reflexology was always a very intimate connection with somebody, just like any form of touch-based therapy or healing. However, Mason’s connection with Chris felt so good, so soothing, so tender, that his cock was responding as surely as if Chris was a gorgeous girl.

For Chris, the way Mason slid his hand
s up and down, from the base of his hand to the tip of his fingers, then back down to his wrist, felt better than any foreplay he’d ever experienced. It was so intimate, so sensitive, yet so masculine. No one had ever done this for him before, and Tim hated whenever Mason would ask him if he’d give him a little massage. In fact, Chris realized, true moments of tenderness - not just lust or affection - but real, visceral, intentional, mindful tenderness, were something he had never experienced. Until perhaps this moment.

Mason was miraculous. A healer. Chris let out a little sigh, feeling all his stress and unhappiness, anxiety and misery
, expelled on his breath.

“God
, I needed this so bad.” Chris said.

Mason grinned crookedly, “Glad you feel that way,” he said.

“I like making people feel good,” Mason said, splaying all of Chris’s fingers until they popped.

One. At. A. Time.

Chris made a tiny gasp and then let out a long sigh. And that sound of total pleasure and release turned Mason on more than he’d been turned on in months. Even more than by a woman almost ready to climax. That surprised him, scared him, but also thrilled him enough to want more.

It was getting hot and Chris didn’t know if it was how arousing the hand massage was or the warmth of the daylight flooding into Mason’s living room.

“Now, breathe,” Mason instructed, pressing his hand on Chris' heart. It felt so firm but secure, and Chris exhaled as if he’d never exhaled before. There was something about Mason’s touch that felt so healing, like he had a heavy weight lifted off him.

“Good,” Mason said, sliding from his elbow to his wrist.

He almost felt like crying, actually. Chris thought of the months of tension and heartbreak with his ex that had been pent up for so long. No one had ever done anything like this for him before. It was so sweet and thoughtful, erotic but meaningful.

Chris’ cock was swelling
, and there was no denying it: he couldn’t help himself, and as Mason moved closer, the back of his hand rested against his swollen, hard cock.

Chris threw his head back in ecstasy, biting his lip and Mason took to the cue to
massage at his wrist more.

“Fuck, wow
. Ugh. That’s amazing...where’s that connect to?” Chris asked, his eyes closed enjoying the moment.

Mason hesitated a moment, then said bluntly, “Your cock.”

His voice was low, powerful.

Chris'
eyes flashed open and met Mason’s hazel ones. Neither said a word, but the body heat and passion between the two of them was undeniable. They stared back and forth a long while, their lips parted. Then Chris looked at Mason’s full mouth, so moist, so full, so thick, so delicious. He wanted Mason’s lips like he’d never wanted to kiss a man before in his life, and he could tell by the steady, hungry look in Mason’s eyes that he wanted nothing less.

Mason let out a low groan of a sigh when there was a noise outside: a child screaming and a woman shouting back; then a pounding knock at the door.

“Shit,” Mason said, stashing the lube under the couch. “It’s my ex.”

T
he knock at the door and the immediate DINGDONG of the doorbell was more than obnoxious: it was an interruption and ruining of the most perfect moment--opportunity--experience Chris could remember. He rushed into the bathroom, leaving the door open, and looked into the mirror for a second before splashing ice cold water over his face, hoping he could get his arousal to calm down. He had a wet spot in his underwear and could hear the high pitched screech of a child beyond the room.

God, what had just happened
.? Had he imagined it?

Mason, for his part, felt his heart pounding with both anxiety and frustration. He welcomed Victoria in and prepared himself for the usual.

“What took you so long?” she demanded.

“I didn’t know you were coming over,” Mason said.

“Well, do I need an appointment? Are you that busy?” his ex said, sarcastically,  her bracelets jangling as she brought her hand up to her face in mock amazement.

Mason ignored her and grunted as he lifted his baby girl up into the air.

“Daddy. Daddy. Put me down.” Lili squealed with delight.

“You mean, you don’t want me to make you an airplane? Brrrr...” Mason roared, spinning his daughter through the air like a jet.

“Don’t get her riled up, please.” Victoria snapped, “God, why’s it so hot in here? Are you going to offer me something to drink?”

“One second,” Mason said.  H
e passed by the bathroom and eyeballed for Chris as if he should come out, or better yet, leave.

“So, what’s up?” Mason asked, running some tap water into a glass.

“From the faucet?” she whined, “Don’t you have some juice? You never have anything in your fridge.”

Lili was clinging like a monkey to Mason’s bare leg. He just walked around with her hanging on there, encouraging her to make monkey noises, which she did most hilariously.

“So, I need a little money,” Victoria said.

“But I just gave you...
” Mason started to respond.

“Well, I need a little more,” she cut him off, one hand out
, the other on her hip.

At this moment, Chris finally emerged from the bathroom, much to Mason’s relief. Either he needed to get out as soon as possible, or help him improve Victoria’s horrible presence.

“Hey, thanks for letting me use your bathroom,” Chris said, coming out of the hallway. “I better get running.”

“Who’s this?”  the woman asked with sudden energy, her tone flirtatious.

“I’m Chris, and your name is...?” Chris asked, most charmingly.  He smiled broadly and held out his hand.

“Lydia-Victoria,” she smiled
, chewing on her gum, as she gave him a limp handshake. “But you can call me Victoria. He’s cute, Mason. Where’d you get such a cute friend?” she enquired. Her hair was dyed a remarkably convincing shade of corn silk blonde, but her features made it clear she was a native Tica.  Everything about her foundation, iridescent blue contact lenses, and form of dress made it apparent she was trying to look like a Beverly Hills starlet.

“You married?” she asked Chris.

“No, I..” Chris stammered.

“He’s my client, Victoria. And all I’ve got is faucet water. Take it or leave it,” he said
, handing the glass to her.

She took it, her manicured hand seizing it as hesitantly as if it was a filthy toilet brush, “Don’t mind him,” she said to Chris. “So you were saying, married? Wouldn’t he and Priscilla make the cutest couple?

“Um ... yeah. Except that...” Mason started to explain.

“Uck
.” Victoria gagged, looking down in her glass with revulsion, “Don’t you know how to wash your dishes? God, Mason. It looks like there’s a piece of corn in there.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Mason sighed, “It’s just a hard water stain from the dishwasher.”

“I better go,” Chris blurted. “Thanks again for everything, Mason. Nice to meet you, Victoria.” Chris said, seeing himself out the door.

“See ya,” he heard Mason call after him
, but before he could shake his hand goodbye, Victoria stepped in his path.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked Mason, “Don’t you know how to use no dish soap? How could you even serve me something like that. I bet you did that on purpose.  Nasty motherfucker
.” she screamed.

Chris couldn’t wait to get out the door.

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CHAPTER 12

C
hris had a lot to process that night. The hand massage that almost lead to something more, but what exactly? He’d never know. Damn the luck that Victoria showed up and ruined everything. She was so nasty that Chris actually considered the idea that she was worse than Tim. More unfortunate for Mason, their daughter meant that there was no way he could simply avoid her.

Something had almost happened.  T
here was that pregnant pause when he was certain they were about to kiss, or at least Chris thought so, but now as the night ticked on and he found himself obsessing instead of writing, he was starting to doubt himself. Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe Mason was just really, really sweet. He was straight after all, obviously. How could Chris have become so convinced that he was about to kiss him??

Maybe because he wanted it to happen so badly. He would delude himself about that hot body until the cows came home. He could ima
gine countless women wanted him: he was smart, he was charming, he was funny, and he was sensual, and from what he could see, he was a great father. What was there not to like?

Chris could still smell the scented lube on his
hands. He raised it to his face: it was more than that: it smelled like Mason too, and the memories of what had almost happened flooded back to him.

What
was he getting so worked up for?  Even if Mason was curious, where could it lead? Maybe he’d just use Chris like Tim did: chew the gum and spit it out when the flavor was gone. Besides, even if he really liked Chris, Mason was unlikely to drop his whole straight identity for a brief fling or even a long-term relationship.

It just wasn’t a good id
ea to lust after a straight man: it could only lead to a broken heart and confusion, and quite frankly, he just couldn’t handle any more of that. Truth be told, however, Chris had little choice in the matter. If Mason wanted him, really wanted him, he would be malleable putty in those strong, sensitive hands.

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CHAPTER 1
3

“
S
ettle down, honey,” Mason told his daughter Lili, as she jumped up and down on his bed. “It’s almost time for bed.”

“Aw, but I don’t wanna
.”  she whined, landing on her butt with a thud and flinging herself onto her back with her arms spread-eagle.

“I’ll read you a bedtime story, but you have ten minutes to get ready. That’s it.”

She gasped with pleasure, “Can I get some cookies and hot cocoa?”

He smiled and shook his head; she was getting as bad as her mother. “One cookie
, and you’ll go to bed in ten minutes.”

“If you give me two cookies or three cookies
, I promise I’ll go to bed in ten minutes. Promise.”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” he said, chuckling to himself.  She was such a sweet girl. She had all her mother’s best qualities and his, he liked to think.  She had light curly hair like a half-Latina Shirley Temple.

“Aww,” she groaned, bouncing up and down, “you’re way tougher than mommy.”

“That’s not gonna change, either. Now
, you can brush your teeth after the snack, but you should be totally ready when I come to tuck you in, okay?”

“Okay
.” she said.

He began to prepare the hot cocoa as his mind drifted to what had just happened between him Chris
. He was confused, to be honest.  He knew what he wanted to happen: something he’d never really done with a guy before. He didn’t know how far he’d go, but his imagination was spinning with the possibilities.

What did that mean? Was he gay now or bi? And if
he was, what would happen if his ex found out? He knew she’d use it against him somehow to extort more money from him. Worse yet, she might keep his daughter away from him. His heart stopped at the mere thought of it.

No, whatever had happened, whatever was going to happen, he probably shouldn’t encourage it to continue. He needed to keep it just business and pretend it never had happened.

But still, long after his daughter had gone to bed in her bedroom, he found himself staring up at the ceiling then out the window in his own bed, thinking about Chris.