Shooting Matt Ch. 07

Randy is unable to shake his doubts but puts them aside long enough to offer himself to his young lover.

Thanks to LarryInSeattle.

Enjoy. If you have the time let me know what works and, just as important, what doesn't.

Thanks.

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I do my best thinking working on the bag. It's like meditating. Your body falls into a rhythm and your mind is free. You shouldn't be thinking, not about boxing, or hitting the bag; you don't have time to think. Boxing is about doing and responding. The thinking had better be completed before the bell rings.

My hands move but I'm not thinking about the bag.

I'm thinking: does Frank's have security cameras?

I'm thinking: that was so fucking stupid.

I'm thinking: yes, but I want to do it again.

I'm thinking: why Matt's interest now? Matt had barely said a word to me before contacting me about taking his picture.

I'm thinking: I always avoid people I was crushing on, why wouldn't he?

I'm thinking: Why didn't Mary Beth call to tell me Liam was coming home? She wouldn't have done so out of concern, at least not based on past experience. But she's never passed up an opportunity to accuse me of turning him against her.

My hands hit the bag.

No one asks me to spar. That's fine. It's a great work out when I'm asked but it's a rare occasion that I'm asked. I shouldn't allow myself to come to expect it. I do a circuit on the weights and hit the shower.

My shorts are wet and damn near see through. No one here gives a shit. I toss my towel in the hamper and get dressed, jeans and a clean tee shirt - and underwear this time.

"Yo, Randy, what's up?"

I pause at the chest high counter that serves as the gym's desk.

"Not a damn thing, Max. How 'bout yourself?"

"I'm doin'," he shrugs. "But I'm not doin' great. World is goin' right down the goddamn shitter, if you ask me, which you didn't but I'm tellin' ya anyway."

"Sure seems that way some days, that much is surely true," I agree. I turn to leave.

"You okay, Randy?"

"Sure, Max. Why do you ask?"

"You've never come in here without at least tossing me a wave. Most always you stop to say hi and ask about the missus. Today you walk in like you's in a goddamn trance and beat the shit outta the heavy bag. Your hands are gonna be sore, my friend." He snorts and pauses to spit a stream of tobacco juice into the old coffee can under the desk. "Hell, your whole damn body's gonna be sore. I haven't seen you go at it like that in many a year." He gives me a look. "Not since you got out from under that wife of yours, anyway." He shrugs. "Just wonderin', that's all."

"Thanks, Max. Appreciate it but I'm fine. I got some things on my mind but nothin' major."

"If you say so. Take care." He smiles. The few teeth he has left are stained from years of chewing tobacco. The real stuff, Redman, none of that 'sissy shit in a can' as he'd say. "You one of the few white people I can stand." The smile fades. "Let me know if you need anything, Randy. Understand?"

"Sure, Max. Like I said, I appreciate it." I nod my good bye. "I'll see you Monday or Tuesday."

"Only if I ain't dead by then."

I shake my head and push the door open. The sun glares does nothing to lighten my mood.

I run a couple more errands and head home.

***

I'd stopped at home, after my little adventure at Frank's, long enough to unload the groceries. I'd also thrown the sheets in the dryer. I add my shorts and tee shirt to the pile. In the back of my head my mother's voice tells me I'll over load the washer. I've given up on the idea that one day I'll be old enough that I'll no longer hear my mother's commentary on my life. I decide it's not too big a load for the washer and dump it all in. I'd showered at the gym. Hot water is not a concern, so I use warm water. I don't have anything new enough, delicate enough, or not already faded enough, to worry about colors bleeding. It all goes into one big load.

I power up my laptop. I connect to a site I particularly enjoy. I stare at my phone, lying beside the computer. I've never considered uploading a video to a porn site before. I watch the video. It seemed like I was in Frank's for hours. In truth, it was less than thirty minutes and fewer than five of those were captured on my phone. What the fuck was I thinking? What if I had been caught? I remind myself that maybe I was. I have no idea if Frank has security cameras in the store. Most stores around here do. Frank will know who I am. I've shopped there since Liam was in diapers. Frank is old-school, a cranky old fart who cares about the neighborhood and hides his despair behind his crankiness. Clint Eastwood would be fucking perfect to play the part of Frank. Would Clint Eastwood stoop to spying with hidden cameras? Or would he protect his store with his wits and toughness. I hope the answer is the latter.

For having cum twice in the past thirty-six hours or so, I shot a decent load onto the floor of Frank's. I feel a little guilty about that. Someone could slip and fall. Someone will have to clean it up. The little camera flip, showing the other dude rubbing his crotch and watching, makes the video especially hot, in my opinion anyway.

I'm appalled at the risk I took. At the same time, I'm sitting here watching my phone with a hard dick in my jeans. I shake my head. I take a breath, plug the cable into the phone and read the instructions. It seems easy enough. I click on "upload file" and watch the bar fill in. I click on the main menu, select "Recent". My upload has already been pushed down to number two. Christ, how many dudes are out there posting videos?

I click on mine. There it is, it being my cock. I watch the video through again, resisting the urge to pull my dick out and jerk off. I watch a few more clips and "follow" a few posts by guys (apparently I'm one of them) that have a thing about public jerking off and/or bulges. This is an arena of porn I've never sampled.

I delete the video from the phone. I'm a better-safe-than-sorry kinda guy.

I watch a few public jerking clips. I make myself stop and log off before I get so wound up I'll end up jerking off again. I don't want to cum, not right now. I have a better idea about how I'd like to cum next. I've reached a decision. I rummage in the bottom, biggest, drawer of the dresser and head into the half bath. I run the water until it's warm and then fill the old-school enema bag I bought online. I hook it to the shelf above the toilet, lube the tip of the hose with a little soap and slip it into my ass.

I don't do this very often. Up until this past year, I rarely had the privacy. Also, there's been no need lately. I thumb open the clamp and feel the warm water flow into my guts. Soon, the ache begins, though the bag is barely half empty. This old bag comes from a time when enemas were felt to be effective only if they were: "high, hot and a helluva lot".

When it's finished, I pull the tip out of my ass and wipe it off with a bit of toilet paper and let it hang down, clamp closed, beside the toilet. I force myself to hold the water in my gut until I have refilled the red rubber bag with it's hard bone yellow-colored stopper. I hang it back up, grabbing my stomach as a cramp hits me.

I drop to the toilet just in time. There's a rush of water and more. My guts clench a few times. I wipe and flush.

Then I re-insert the tip. I do this a second, then a third time, before the water filling the toilet is clear.

I'm ready. Well, almost.

I make the last of my preparations and then go try to find something worth watching on TV.

***

It's mid-afternoon before Matt and Liam return. I've finished the laundry and made myself tuna salad for lunch. My tuna salad is a small package of water-packed tuna and a forkful of Miracle Whip. Viola. No grapes, dried cherries, celery, turmeric. Nope, Miracle Whip and tuna. Add bread. Eat. End of fucking story.

They looked flushed to me and a little tetchy. My first thought is that they're high but not weed. They're not nearly mellow enough for weed.

"Good work-out?"

Matt seems lost for a moment and I wonder again if they're on something.

"Yeah, great work-out," Liam answers for the both of them. "Matt kicked my ass but that's expected."

Matt nods agreement but doesn't say anything.

"You eat?"

"Yeah, we stopped at Jimmy John's," Liam answers. He yawns. "I'm beat. Later." He heads down the hall and I hear a door close.

Matt stands there, looking at the TV, Ink Master. I had been way behind but I've almost caught up.

"You watch Ink Master?"

Matt shakes his head.

"We can watch something else or do you want to take a nap, too?"

"This is cool," he replies.

"Matt?"

"Huh?" He turns to face me.

"Buddy, are you stoned or something? You haven't said two words since you got back. Something happen between you and Liam?"

"Huh? No, we cool."

"You going to sit down?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

"Matt, you sure you're okay, bud? You seem a little out of it."

"Naw, dude I'm cool. I did a high intensity work out." He shakes his head. "I think I hit the wall."

"You mean the pool wall? You feeling sick to your stomach? Headache?"

He offers a half smile. "Sorry, man. Not a wall wall, the mental, physical wall. I'm ball dragging tired is all."

"Sit," I order. "I'll be right back."

He sits in the lopsided recliner. The house is not big enough for me to be gone long.

I flip an over-sized beach towel out on top of the carpet.

"Strip and lie down," I tell him.

"Right here?"

"You bashful all of a sudden?"

He gives me a half-assed shrug.

"Bud, take your clothes off and lie down, face down, face up. It doesn't matter."

"What are you going to do?"

"Jesus, Matt, after the past two, three days, I'm not sure I can think of anything I could do that would bother you." I wave the bottle of massage oil at him. "I'm going to give you a rub down, as they'd say at Max's. A massage. I'm going to help keep your muscles from getting stiff." He stands there. This is fucking weird. "You don't have to. It's your call."

"No, it's cool, that sounds cool."

He strips. Have I gotten tired of gazing on his nude form? Not even close.

He stretches out on his stomach. I slip my tee shirt off but leave my shorts on. I kneel beside him. I thumb open the bottle of massage oil and drizzle it across his shoulders. The massage is genuine. I'm not trying to turn him, or myself, on.

"I don't get it, Matt," I tell him, as my hands and fingers begin to work on his shoulders. "You barely said 'hi' to me last year but now you tell me you've had this crush on me the whole time?"

"Dude, I was afraid someone would tumble to the fact I was gay. I told you this already, like a million times. Seriously, dude, you oughta understand that."

"No, I understand that." I work the delts of his left shoulder, reaching across his body to reach them. "But now, just out of the air, you decide to go balls to the wall?"

"I'm less worried about shit now. I'm not a freackin' high schooler anymore. Why not go for it?"

"So, you emailing me about taking a photo with your medal for your parents was just a ruse, a way to get in touch?"

"Not totally. I did want a pic for the units."

Coneheads reference, something else he's too young to really remember.

"Did you plan on jerking off in front of me before you came over for the photo shoot?"

Beneath my hands, he chuckles. "I planned on doing something, if I didn't flake on ya. I totally imagined I could get you to let me suck your dick."

"But, Matt, come on, bud. You really thought I'd just drop trou and let you give me head?"

"Hells yeah, dude. Not to sound conceited or anything but I'm an okay looking dude. Most girls, I look at more than half a second and they're taking their clothes off."

He can't see me, not the way he has his head turned. Nonetheless, I quell the urge to shake my head. He is a good looking, very good looking, man but I can't imagine that 'most' girls lie awake at night hoping against hope that he'll dip his wick in their pussies. I feel a twinge of disappointment. Matt had not seemed like a typical high school jock until that moment.

"Why are we doing this again? I've told you a fucking million times. I just got this thing for you. I like older guys, I guess, what's the big deal?"

I finish with his shoulders and arms and move to his back.

"I'm just having trouble processing the whole thing, Matt. That's all. I'm not trying to bug you about it. It just seems to be too good to be true. I've known you, at least casually for a couple of years. In all the time I took pictures of the swim team I don't even remember you saying 'hi'. Now, you're cooking up schemes to get naked in front of me, telling me you want to suck my dick. I mean, bud, try to look at it from my perspective. I'm a middle-aged dude and now all of a sudden out of the blue an unbelievably hot, college swimmer, with a gorgeous dick, walks through my door and says, or implies, he wants to spend a lot of time with me having amazing sex. That doesn't sound like a bad porn novel to you? You're too young to remember Penthouse Forum but I'm not sure even readers of that august periodical would buy this story."

"Dude, seriously, would you feel better it I got up and left? Fuck."

"No, I can't say that I would. I have, shall we say, enjoyed your company immensely. Forgive me for looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Not important." I work on his lower back. "You really want to watch that DVD?"

"The one of you, Liam's mom and that other dude? Fuck yeah I want to watch it. You offering?"

"Let me finish your legs," I answer, swiveling to start working on his calves.

"Screw my legs, bro. Let's hit it."

"Nope," I tell him as I shake my head. "I don't want you cramping up at the wrong time. Learn to appreciate anticipation my young friend."

I'm true to my word. I rub down his legs, taking my time and then his pecs, ignoring, with an extraordinary amount of difficultly, his cock.

***

I load the DVD into the player and make sure the sound is on mute. I've lead Matt back to the bedroom. The small TV atop the dresser is hardly larger than my laptop screen but I'm not about watching this thing in the living room with my son sleeping down the hall.

Matt is sitting on the edge of the bed. His feet are on the floor and he's leaning back on his elbows. His cock has been in various stages of tumescence since he rolled on to his back earlier. I try not to hate him for his youth. I seem to recall that I stupidly resented constantly popping boners when I was his age. What a fucking buffoon I must have been.

"Rewind it," Matt asks and I hear excitement in his voice. "I want to watch you unbutton his jeans and fish his dick out. That's was freakin' awesome, bro. I nearly busted a nut just watching your hand wrap around his cock."

I 'rewind' the DVD, wondering how it is some words are destined to remain long after they've stopped making sense. I'm not rewinding anything. The reading head is searching for the right sector, or something like that. Tape, if not dead, is moribund, yet I suspect we will continue to 'rewind' for a very long time. Even on my laptop has a 'rewind' button.

"Can't we turn the sound up?" Matt asks.

I shake my head. "I don't want Liam to know we're watching this," I explain.

"Oh, bro. He won't care," Matt protests. "The sound is important. I like the noise people make when they're fucking. Come on, please?"

I know I'm being foolish. I hesitate. Running the variables through my head. I shrug. He's right. Sex noise can be erotic. I turn the volume up, but keep it very low. I lie down on the bed behind Matt and pull a pillow up under my arm.

"Oh, man," Matt whispers and then falls silent.

We had already been fooling around before Mary Beth fired up the video. No matter how many times I watch this damn thing I'm never prepared for how hard it is to see Leon. He was a farm kid, from way the hell down near the Kentucky border. He was gay, deep, deep in the closet and both excited as hell and terrified. Mary Beth was not into having two men at once, at least not when we were together. It was never her and two guys. It was always me and the guy with her watching. That was fine, better than fine, with Leon.

I used to imagine that Leon simply wasn't into having sex with woman. Now, well, now I wonder if it had more to do with the fact he simply didn't like Mary Beth.

When the flashes of color and black and white zigzags settle down, it's an imagine of me kneeling in front of Leon. Mary Beth had framed it tight. All you can see is the lower part of Leon's belly. I swear to God I can still feel how the hair on his belly felt as I drug my finger down his happy trail and hook it in the top of his jeans.

I'm already naked. Mary Beth is, too but you can't tell it. She's rarely ever in any of the scenes. All you can see of me, is my hand, the upper part of my bare chest, and my face. As my finger hooks into the top of Leon's jeans, I look up at him. He must have smiled at me. I'm pretty sure he did. In any case, for whatever reason, my own face lights up in a smile. God, I wish I knew back then I was pretty good looking. Maybe I wouldn't have hung on to Mary Beth for so long.

I glance at Matt. He's not moving. His eyes are glued to the screen.

On the screen, I'm teasing Leon. I'm moving my finger back and forth under the waist band of his jeans. He's not wearing a belt. He sucks his belly in and the first real sound you hear is his gasp. On this electronic chimera of my past, my smile widens at the sound of his excitement.

Leon and I had fooled around before, top floor john in the student union - a tea room - busiest place on campus. The campus cops, either out of compassion or because they simply didn't want to deal with the hassle, stayed away. He and I had stood at the urinal, neither of us peeing, neither of us daring to actually turn our head and look at the other. It was probably on the third or fourth time I'd seen him there that our 'corner of the eye glances' had finally met. I think I was the first to actually turn toward him and let him see my cock was hard. He remained still, facing the urinal but his eyes stayed on my dick. I started to stroke it. The john had a foyer, which is probably why it became the de facto hook up spot on campus. We both heard the outer door open. I simply turned back into the urinal. Leon jumped like he'd been shot. His head jerk around so that his eyes drilled holes in the wall above the urinal. He stuffed his dick into his pants, zipped up, and fled.

The dude who came in was, I thought at the time, some old fuck. He was probably in his thirties, younger than I am now. I was pissed at first. Somehow I felt connected to Leon. The dude unzipped. He stood there for a couple of seconds. I didn't hear the zing of piss on porcelain. He turned almost immediately and showed me his dick. I got over being pissed. He stepped closer, right in front of the urinal beside mine. I turned. He grabbed my cock. He told me I had a beautiful cock. He asked if he could suck it. I nodded. He bent. I'll never know his name. I never saw him again but his was the first man's mouth to touch my cock.

He was wearing a suit. I wondered at the time if he taught there or was an administrator of some kind. If he was, I never figure it out. He used his mouth and hand together, in a way totally different than the girl I dated in high school. He told me it was okay if I came in his mouth. He said that's what he wanted me to do. My whole body shook when I came, my hips, shoulders. If anyone was watching they'd imagine I was having a seizure. I came a lot.