Please Wait for Me

I was caught in a time warp. I knew I needed to move on from Jess, but my body and mind wouldn't let me. It was like the time I had bungee jumped from scaffolding on top of Squaw Mountain. I wanted to let go and free fall, but I . . . just . . . couldn't. My instinct toward self-preservation was stronger than my desire to let go and free fall, until it wasn't.

It was the same with Jess. I was safe in my life with her. I was in danger if I let her go and free fell into the unknown of what percolated inside of me. So, I held on, even after I shouldn't have.

I had been terrified the first few times I had sex. I didn't know what to do, and I feared I would do it wrong. I think everyone is fearful at first. But, I'm a little different than most. I couldn't laugh and learn on the fly. I was too self-conscious. I had hyperventilated as a grade schooler when called on to read aloud, fearing I would stumble over a word and everyone would laugh. I couldn't help but cry if I tripped and fell in the hallway, knowing everyone was laughing at me. I ran from the room when I misspelled a word during a spelling bee or miscalculated during a math bee. I was hypersensitive, especially to the perceived thoughts of others.

I had grown to be a large man, but I was still very much that self-conscious little boy. The first time I had gone down on a woman, I had focused on the wrong spot. When she grabbed my head and moved me to the right spot, I had been too ashamed even to continue. Or to see her again.

I had struggled the first time I tried to have intercourse, too. Even though she was experienced, we could not find the right opening. I was either too low or too high. It took so long to get it right, I came as I struggled to enter her. I was too ashamed to see her again, either.

I was as bad at meeting women as I was at having sex with them. I never asked a girl out unless I was certain she'd say yes. Even then, I often dallied too long to maintain her interest.

Jess had been an outlier. She had pursued me long after a rational woman would've quit. And, she was relatively inexperienced sexually, so once we moved in that direction, I was the teacher, not the student. She didn't know what I was doing wrong.

She also found our fumbling around endearing. She'd laugh the mistakes off, tell me how good it had been, and only later, when the moment wasn't hot, suggest maybe I could go a little slower, go a little deeper, or keep at it until I was sure she had finished.

Once we got it right, we really got it right. We yinned each other's yang, and we rocked each other's world. After many fits and starts, I learned to use my "gift," as Jess referred to it. It fit my body, was long and thick, and once I had tamed it, a weapon. It took me a long time to finish once I started, and my stamina inured to Jess's orgasmic benefit.

My love language is physical touch, and she was happy to feed my need for it. Her hands and mouth were always on me. There was nothing I asked her to do that she refused.

I had not been touched since she died. Still, I could not imagine re-learning sex. It was one thing to ask a woman out. It was a whole other thing to find out if a man was interested in being asked out and then mustering the gumption to do it. It was yet a hole other thing to contemplate returning to those clumsy, diffident days of not knowing what to do or how to do it. It was easier just to ignore it all.

I finished my daily work on the flow chart I was developing and on the two plaintiff's cases I had taken on (when I left my law firm, I decided I should try for a couple of home run plaintiff's cases to add to my nest egg). When I was done, I re-filled my re-filled wine glass and headed out back to our -- my -- pool. It had come with the house. It was the only thing we hadn't liked about the house, and it had turned into our favorite thing. We regularly skinny-dipped and made love in the pool. When Jess died, I had continued the skinny-dipping and, when I was randy enough, made love to myself.

I placed my glass down and dove in headlong. Once I surfaced, I tugged my gym shorts and boxer briefs off and piled them beside my glass. I hooked a saddle under my pelvis, rested my head back on a noodle, and floated wherever the jets took me. I felt tension drain from me as I did. I replaced it with thoughts of Luke.

I imagined him as a little boy. In my mind, he had blonde hair and big ears and a bigger grin. He didn't know what he didn't know, and his ignorance was bliss. He played hard and slept harder. His entire life stretched out in front of him, and he would be a King or a Titan. He slayed dragons and tamed dinosaurs. He learned to fly and to defy death. It was, in my mind, the idyllic childhood every child deserves. I knew the reality didn't fit the image, but I didn't want to think about the reality. It was too depressing.

When my slow float was over and my wine was gone, I walked nude into my house. I had cereal for dinner and found Stand By Me on Netflix. I loved those boys, and I re-watched their movie as I sipped vodka with a hint of pineapple juice. I don't know what time I fell asleep, but I slept through a text from Luke. It read "Thank you for everything."

I saw it when I awoke, sitting up, on the sofa at 3:47 a.m. I immediately texted back. "I meant it when I said it was my pleasure." I hesitated and then I hit send.

I walked to my bedroom and climbed into my bed. I was about to return to sleep when I impulsively sat up, saved Luke's contact information into my phone, and sent an imprudent, impulsive text. "Lemme know if you want to get 2gether while ur here." At the last minute, I had changed to "get 2gether" from "hook up."

Chapter Four

I stayed in bed the next morning through meditation or yoga or whatever I normally would have attended. I was too groggy, having ingested a bottle of wine and most of a bottle of vodka. I made a note to myself and stuck it on the refrigerator. "Address alcohol consumption. At some point. But not now."

I grabbed the coffee waiting for me and headed to the screened porch. I was under a throw and reading the Times before I checked my texts. There was one from Luke at 5:02 a.m.: "I will."

I decided to throw caution to the wind. I answered "I have a pool."

"I know. I saw it."

"I didn't know. It was dark."

"Not in the morning."

"True."

I re-filled my coffee and stared at my phone, waiting for a text or the little bubbles that suggested a text was coming. Nothing.

I laughed at myself. I had gone from ogling a stranger in an airport to hanging on his next syllable. I barely knew him, yet I couldn't stop thinking about him.

I checked my phone again. Nothing.

I dressed to go running, my phone hermetically sealed into my right hand as I did. Nothing.

I headed out on my run. As I had started doing when Jess died, I took my phone, just in case. I checked it during the run. Nothing.

I returned, soaked in sweat and vexed by Luke's silence. I put my phone down, stripped to my jock, and dove into the pool. I swam laps, my anxiety and uncertainty propelling me back and forth, back and forth.

When I was physically exhausted, I floated on my back. I wanted, I needed, to check my phone. But, I was too wary, fretful I'd find nothing and be wounded by it.

I was pickled by the time I made my way to the edge of the pool. All I had to do was pick up my phone and look, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I stared at the phone, and it stared back. It held both disappointment and promise. I finally forced myself to look. Nothing. Cussword (Jess thought profanity base, so she had cured me of it. Now, instead of "fuck" or "goddammit," I simply said "cussword").

I scrambled from the pool and headed inside. I put my phone on the charger, wrapped myself in my robe, and went to my office to work on my flow chart and my cases. When I was satisfied I had done enough for the day, I moved to the day bed under the window. I ran my right hand through my chest hair and down the trail that ran from the middle of my chest through my navel and into my shorts. I fell asleep with my hand inside the waistband, my fingertips resting in my unkempt pubic hair.

I was disoriented when I awoke. I did not know where I was or why. I had to shake my head to get my bearings. I felt like a dog, fresh from a bath or a swim.

I stretched and stood up. I looked down at my size thirteen feet. They looked like flippers. "No wonder I'm a good swimmer," I thought to myself.

I trudged down to the kitchen to start to get my daily drunk on. I peeked at my phone. Nothing. I felt an instant and unreasonable rage, so I opened the door and fired my phone into the pool. I felt like a fool when I realized what I had done, but it was too late. My phone was drowning.

I piddled the afternoon away. I grilled a pork chop for dinner. I ate it with asparagus and broccoli and a non-descript bottle of red. I finished the wine while I read "Becoming A Man" on the porch.

I fell asleep on the porch. When I awoke, I was too happy to move. I grabbed a throw, covered myself, and drifted back away.

I dreamed of Jess. In my dream, we were on a roller coaster, looking at each other and holding hands just before the first big plunge. Fear pierced her smile, and her side of the car plunged while mine stayed still. I tried to hold onto her hand, but could not. I awoke when I saw there was no track and her side of the car was falling to earth.

It was morning. I was soaked with sweat. My book had fallen to the floor of the porch, randomly creasing the pages.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone, before remembering it was at the bottom of the pool. I stood, stretched, and walked through the house in search of my iPad. When I found it, there was nothing from Luke. I was disappointed, but not so disappointed that I drowned my iPad, too. Instead, I went to yoga, searching for peace and -- possibly -- Alex. I found neither.

Back home, I fished my phone from the pool and dressed to take it in and get it replaced. Before I left, I checked my iPad again. Nothing.

At the Apple Store, I got the newest iPhone and re-established my account. As soon as I did, I saw that I had a voicemail from Luke and later a text. The text asked, "Get my msg?" I had not, as my phone was drowned by the time he left it. I also didn't get his text on my iPad, which meant either he did not have an iPhone or had not installed iMessage.

I walked outside to listen to the voicemail. Luke's voice sounded plaintive. "Sir, uh, James, if ain't too much to ask, can you come pick me up? Things ain't so good here."

I texted Luke back. "Sorry. Dropped phone in pool. Just got ur msg and ur text. Will be there ASAP."

He responded immediately. "Thx. Was worried I was asking to much."

"Not too much at all," I corrected, unable to stop myself. Years of Catholic school and diagramming sentences had turned me into a grammarian. Of course, I didn't know exactly what he was asking, but I was excited to see him again.

He and his bags were on the porch when I pulled up. I popped the trunk as he hurried to the car. He carelessly tossed his bags in the trunk and slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

"What's going on?"

"They want me out. They don't believe I met you at the airport and that you're just a good person who thought I might need help. They think you're a queer. Heck, they probably think we did queer stuff together. Anyway, they told me I ain't changed, and I need to leave their house."

"Do you want me to go talk to them?"

"Nah. They won't listen to me. They sure won't listen to you."

"Did you tell them I was married? That my wife died? That I waited with you only because they weren't there to get you, like they should have been?"

"I told them all that. They didn't hear it, though. They were too busy prayin' for me and wailin' about abominations and queer hell."

Shaking my head that people allowed ignorance to destroy their families, I put the car in reverse and backed out of the gravel drive. "Where to?" I asked, not wanting to be presumptuous or assume that what appeared to be true was, in fact, true and that Luke had no one and no where.

"Well, that's the thing," Luke said. "I don't got nowhere to be or nowhere to go. I have a flight on the 21st. Until then, I'm stuck."

It was only the 16th, which meant there were more than a couple of days to fill. "I'll unstick you," I offered. "You are welcome to stay at my house."

"Thank you, Sir. I was hopin' it wasn't too much to ask."

"It's not. But, there is a condition. You can stay, but only if you stop calling me Sir. I'm James, Jam, or Jammer."

"Not Jimmy?"

"No, not Jimmy. Like I said, that was only for Jess."

I was unreasonably elated as we drove. Not because I thought I might seduce Luke in the days he'd be staying with me, although that thought did flit through my head and then got lodged there. But, because, for the first time in a long time, I'd be hanging out with someone who saw me other than as incomplete without Jess, who knew me only as me, not as Jess's husband or as her widower.

I explained my routine as we drove. I gave Luke permission to treat the house as his own. I also told him he could use Jess's Prius, if he wanted. He causally responded he had nowhere to go, but thanked me for trusting him to drive her car.

"I want you to feel at home," I offered.

Luke sat there before trotting out the hint of a sense of humor. "I hope I'm more welcome than that."

When I looked at him, he was grinning ear to ear, like he had been when I first noticed him but not since. Without thinking, I winked at him. To my suprise, he winked back.

Chapter Five

I offered Luke a beer with lunch. "No, thank you," he answered. "I ain't never drank."

""Really?"

"Really. My parents were pretty strict about stuff. No alcohol. No drugs. No tobacco. No sex or anything remotely sexual."

"You've never done any of them?"

"Nope."

"Well, you're missing out."

"That's what the guys told me, especially about the sex part. I told 'em you don't miss it if you ain't never had it."

I had a lot of things to say in response. I said none of them. Instead, I drank Luke's beers as we ate silently on the screened porch. After, I told Luke I was going to nap and then spend the afternoon in the pool.

"I guess I'll do the same."

My body wanted to sleep, but my mind wouldn't let it. My thoughts were scattered like shopping carts, and I couldn't gather them up. I decided to masturbate, hoping the release would relieve whatever was teasing my mind. To my surprise, I thought of Luke's grin and wink as I stroked myself. With his chin dimple and thick, juicy lips, he reminded me of Michael in "The Most Fun You Can Have While Dying."

It took awhile, but I finally finished all over my stomach and abdomen. I swirled my finger through it before deciding to rinse off, grab two more beers, and head to the pool.

After a few minutes, Luke joined me poolside, in cut off blue jeans. I hadn't seen a pair of cutoffs since pictures of my dad from the 70s.

"There should be trunks in the upstairs hall closet. We stocked a variety for guests."

"That's alright. I ain't gettin' in. I don't really swim."

"Ever tried? It's pretty easy. I could teach you if you want."

"I dunno. I got this far without knowin' how."

I almost pointed out that "this far" wasn't very far at all. But, discretion prevailed.

"Suit yourself," I said, thinking myself clever. "But, you should at least get in. It's hot, you can stand in the shallow end, and you can float on a saddle in the deeper end."

"Is it okay if I just wear these?"

"Of course. I just thought you'd prefer a suit. Denim gets heavy when it's wet."

"I think I'd feel weird wearing someone else's clothes."

"They're not someone else's. They've never been worn. They're for guests who don't have or forget their trunks."

Luke didn't say anything. He just shifted back and forth, as if he was trying to decide something. Finally, he turned and headed into the house. He returned a few minutes later in red board shorts and his black Hollister shirt.

"There's sunscreen in the cooler," I said, pointing to the Yeti. I liked to keep sunscreen on ice so it was cold and thick when reapplied.

"I'll just keep my shirt on," he said, slowly descending the stairs into the pool. Most non-swimmers were afraid of water. Luke did not appear to be. He glided in and went under before standing up. His shirt, already too big dry, hung around him like a mumu wet. Luke realized it wasn't going to work at the about the same instant I did. I climbed out, grabbed the 50 and a beer from the cooler, and tossed the 50 to him. I started to stir watching him smear the cream on his face, neck, arms, and chest. If I hadn't known better, I'd have suspected him of wanting me to watch him. I returned to the pool to conceal the effect he was having on me. Without a word, I took the tube, filled my left hand, rubbed my hands together, and coated Luke's shoulders and back. He tensed when I touched him, which only made the muscles in his back more taut as I quickly but thoroughly coated them.

When I was finished, I let him know he could relax. "That should do it."

"Thank you."

"Can you return the favor?" I asked.

I didn't need him to. I spent so much time in the sun, I would not get burned. But, I definitely wanted him to touch me.

"I dunno. I guess so," he agreed, obviously reluctantly.

I reached back and pulled my hair off my neck as Luke filled his hand with way too much cream. He slathered it down my spine and then started spreading it laterally. His large hands were strong on my skin.

"I got way too much," he said.

"It'll rub in. Just keep at it."

I closed my eyes and savored as Luke reached for my shoulder blades, ran his hands down my sides, and again worked from my spine outward. It had been a long time since I had been touched, and I had missed it. I didn't notice when he stopped. I just stood there, hoping for more.

"I'm done," he said.

"Finished," I corrected. "Turkeys are done, people are finished."

"I wish I knew how to talk like you."

"I can teach you that, too."

"Seems like a lot to do in a week."

"A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step."

"Huh?"

"We could at least get started."

We were in the pool all afternoon. I taught Luke to tread water and then to dog paddle. I then laughed as he dog paddled from side to side, excited like dog paddling counted as swimming.

"What's next?" he asked as I finished yet another beer. I was buzzed, and my buzz was crashing through my inhibitions.

"You need to learn to float on your back. To trust the water. From there, swimming is easy."

I called him to the shallow end. I explained what it was to float and then showed him, knowing as I did that my wet trunks were clinging to me and leaving little to the imagination.

"Now, you try, first with me holding you up and then with me not." It took some convincing, but Luke was eventually on his back with my left hand under the small of his back and my right under his shoulder blades. I savored the feel of him in my hands. He had his eyes closed, and it would have been very easy for me to kiss him.

"Take big breaths and relax. The air in your lungs will help keep you afloat. . . .Yeah, just like that. . . . Good . . . . Good."

"Don't let go of me."

"I won't," I lied. I had to. One, holding him was getting me so aroused I feared I was going to tear through my trunks. Two, he wouldn't be able to float until he was not afraid to, and he would be afraid to as long as I was holding him. I lowered myself in the water so my chin was barely in and I was supporting him only with my fingertips.

"Are you relaxed?" I asked.