Another Hotel Bar
"It'd be awesome to see you again," I texted back
You texted that I should meet you at The Keep, which is in the Hotel Leveque.
I spent a lot of time getting ready to see you again. I started internally, just in case what I hoped would happen actually happened.
I continued externally. I shaved my face and neck and then my balls and crack. I let my course salt and pepper hair -- which I had grown out -- hang loose, using enough product to tame my curls, but not so much that my hair had a will of its own.
I dressed to show off my body. My black shirt was tight. It was not age appropriate.
My grey LuLuLemons were just as tight. They hugged me everywhere I wanted to be hugged. They showed everything I wanted to show.
My white Stan Smith tennis shoes were also not age appropriate.
You were already standing at the bar when I arrived, but I didn't recognize you, at least not immediately. Your loose, wavy hair was shorter and styled. You wore horned rim glasses, like Superman. Your clean, sharp jawline was bearded. Your "dad bod" was transformed. Your chest and shoulders were still broad, but your waist was narrowed, your torso now a distinct V.
"Ooooh... I bet Clay has cum gutters," I thought.
Your ass and legs were still thick, but they seemed sleeker, even through your jeans.
"Clay?" I asked, approaching you from the left.
"Jacks!" you answered, turning and wrapping me up, your arms embracing me warmly.
I answered your embrace, my arms under yours.
"I almost didn't recognize you," I said, once the embrace ended. "You have a beard. You cut your hair. You look so different."
"I am so different," you said. "Let's get you a drink and I'll tell you how much."
We ordered me a wine to match your vodka. As we waited, you pushed your left shoulder against my right.
"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," I said.
"You changed me," you said. "It took me a long time to sort it out, but you changed me."
"For the better?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," you said. "Oh yeah."
My wine arrived. I grabbed it, and we looked around. There was a table for two in the corner. We claimed it.
"I can't believe you're here," I said, reaching my right hand across the table and grasping your left.
"Before we get started," you said, "I have some questions about the last time I saw you."
"Uh oh," I thought. "Shoot," I urged.
"Why'd you just leave?" you asked. "I mean, I thought you might join me in the shower, and instead you scribbled a quick note and left?"
"I've been with a lot of straight guys, Clay," I explained. "And, as much fun as the being with is, the after is usually a combination of disgust, regret, or shame, and it's almost always extremely awkward to wrap it all up. So, I decided to let you off the hook and get while the getting was good."
"Turns out," you said, smiling, "I'm a bit crooked."
"Really?" I asked. "Holy shit," I thought.
"Do tell," I added.
"Buckle up, Buttercup," you said. "It's quite a ride."
I pretended to buckle a seat belt and then used my hands to pull my ears forward. Obviously, I was signaling that I was all ears.
"Probably the biggest thing," you said, holding up your hand and showing me your naked fourth finger, "I'm divorced. Turns out, I was not the only one cheating. Not long after Chicago, Kelly -- my wife -- confessed that the twins may not be mine, as she had been for more than three years fucking my best friend in our neighborhood, Marcus. Turns out, they were, in fact, not mine. No need for a paternity test, either. Like Marcus, they have dark skin.... Marcus is black. So are the twins."
"Wow," I said.
"It gets better," you continued. "Marcus, too, was married at the time. His wife delivered their first child -- a girl -- about three weeks before Kelly delivered her fourth and fifth and his second and third."
"Bigger wow," I said.
"Yep," you continued. "Marcus is also now divorced. His wife took Keisha, their daughter, back to Birmingham, where she is from. Kelly now lives down the street with Marcus and their sons, Marcus -- he's a Junior, and they call him Deuce -- and Malcom."
"That must be hard," I offered, trying to be empathetic.
"It was. It isn't now. We've all made our peace with it. Kelly's happier. I'm happier. My boys can see their mom and their brothers whenever they want." You air quoted "brothers."
"Well, that's big of you," I siad. "I mean, it's one thing to cheat, it's another thing to be friends with the man who was fucking your wife while pretending to be your friend."
"We're friendLY," you corrected, "not friends... And, there's a reason there's only one letter separating friend from fiend."
I had never thought of that.
"Marcus is a fiend," you said. "But I'm a bit of one, too. I mean, I was unfaithful to Kelly throughout our marriage."
"Throughout?" I asked.
"Yes," you answered. "I fucked someone besides my wife on my first business trip after our wedding. After that, I kept doing it, every trip. I never got caught, but I never didn't get caught, either. It was just there, always between us."
"Did you suspect her?" I asked.
"No," you answered. "She, too, is a fiend. I mean, she was fucking him right under my nose, during her so-called 'runs', when she was 'shopping', when she was 'running errands'. I mean, she lost interest in me because he was splitting her on the regular, and her pussy could only take so much."
"You seem freakishly sanguine about this," I observed.
"Anger and resentment corrode the vessel that carries them," you answered. "For my boys, I can be friendly with Kelly and Marcus.... And, I'm a bit of a glass house on this one, as you well know. I mean, I railed you when she was at home with what I thought were my twins."
My mind went to Chicago, particularly to me riding you as hard as I had ever ridden anyone. It brought a smile to me face.
"I bet I know exactly what you're thinking about," you said. When I lifted my eyebrows, you said, "You were like Willie Shoemaker up there, backstretching at the Derby."
I was taken aback by your reference. I thought you were too young to know who Willie Shoemaker was.
"I enjoyed the ride," I said sheepishly. "I'd like to do it again," I suggested.
"Patience is a virtue, Jacks," you teased, smiling.
I smiled back.
We were like teenagers, grinning at each other, stupefied.
"Single looks good on you," I finally said, looking you up and down again.
"You inspired me," you answered. "I mean, if you can look like that at your age, then I didn't have to look like I did at my age."
Your "at your age" stung a little bit. I mean, it was true, but some truths don't have to be revealed.
"Plus," you continued, "if I was going to get back out there, then I needed to put myself in the best position to succeed."
"Have you?" I asked. "Gotten back out there, I mean."
"I have," you answered. "Tighten that buckle and I'll tell you about it."
I repeated my prior motions, both with the buckle and with my ears.
"Not long after Kelly moved down the street, I met Fiona through an App. I made it clear that I was after sex, not a relationship. She was down for it. We hooked up on the regular. Fee, what I called her, was freaky and a pig for it. She'd do anything, anytime. I fucked her every which way. And, when I say I fucked her, I mean I fucking railed her. She liked it fast and hard, like a fucking jack hammer."
"Faster and harder than me?" I asked.
"I don't know," you answered. "I can't go harder and faster than I went with you. But, that's how hard and fast I went at her, especially when I fucked her ass.... Anyway, after a couple of months, she asked if her friend could join us, and I was 'Holy shit, of course.' I mean, what guy doesn't dream of an FMF? I totally greenlit it, but -- I can tell from the smile on your face you know what's coming -- her friend wasn't an F, he was an M. She wanted to watch me fuck him, so I gave her what she wanted. After that, it was the three of us as often as it was the two of us. It was like BiGuys Fuck on steroids. We did everything, and I mean everything, but I never let him fuck me."
"Why not?" I asked, both enthralled by, and uncharacteristically jealous because of, your story.
"Patience is a virtue, Jacks," you said. "Anyway, Derek -- that was his name -- claimed to be bi, but I don't think a bi guy would have fixated on my dick like he did. I mean, he fucked Fee while I fucked him, but I think that was just for appearances. He was all over me, 'up in here up in here'," you said, gesturing with your hands like you were dancing. "As soon as we started going, he'd dive on my dick and shove his finger in my ass. I'd have to pull him off so I could fuck Fee."
"He doesn't sound bi to me," I agreed. "I mean, you can tell the difference between where they want to be and where they're willing to be pretty quickly."
"It was pretty clear where he wanted to be," you said.
"You still riding with them?" I asked.
"No," you answered. "Me not letting him fuck me became a thing. He wanted it, almost like he was obsessed with it, and she wanted to see it, and I mean she was like totally fixated on wanting to see it. He tried once, without asking, and it pissed me the fuck off. When I told them it was never going to happen, she told me I was selfish and got all pouty, and I was like 'I'm out'. I didn't sign up for that. I signed up for fun, and I was no longer having fun."
"We're you tempted?" I asked. "To let him fuck you, or at least try to?"
"No, I wasn't tempted at all," you answered.
I thought you were foreclosing bottoming. You weren't.
