Emery • CHAPTER 2
by Sean Reid Scott
[NOTICE: This story contains vivid descriptions of homosexual encounters. There's lurid, kinky sex here. Homo sex. It's prolly straight out of HELL, if you're inclined to hold the religious perspective. Really, this story is not for those who button the collar tightly. If you can't stomach this kind of smut, skedaddle. Likewise if you're under 18.]
THE NEXT DAY WAS SUNDAY, and as usual we went to church. The semen—er, I mean the sermon—was on purity and moral fortitude. Probably providential. That’s our Lord for you.
It certainly wasn’t a coincidence, was it…. Yeah, I’d never actually cheated on Cheryl, but one could argue that the hours I spent on my computer jerking of to muscle guys had to be some kind of wrong. Our sex life was barely there. Cheryl said there had to be something wrong with her, and that just gnawed at me. No matter how much I reassured her, and no matter how much I just forced myself into bed with her, it never satisfied either of us. And of course, she took it personally. What woman wouldn’t?
I always thought about men—muscular men in particular—when we had sex. Yeah, that has to be some kind of wrong.
So, I had no problem confessing my sin. I knew God would be “faithful and just to forgive.” Yup. He always did. My prayers that day had an added emphasis on asking to have these thoughts and sinful desires removed—an emphasis that had permeated my prayers since forever. But Sunday’s prayers were more enthusiastic than normal. Emery Braun was turning out to be quite the object of debase and lascivious desires. I knew I’d need an extra measure of God’s deliverance if I were ever to stop thinking about Pumpkin’s soccer coach.
AS IT TURNED OUT, THE BATTLE between God’s deliverance from temptation and Emery’s captivating allure was quite short and decisive. I wasn’t even out of the sanctuary before my cock reared up its ugly head and began driving me crazy with almost audible chants: “Rub me! Feel me! I’m hard, and waiting for Emery!” (It actually isn’t an ugly head; I’m just using that as an idiom.)
Totally irreverent, my penis. I mean, right there in the House of the Lord no less!
By the time I got our little family home, I changed out of my Sunday Best while Cheryl took the roast out of the oven, and well, you can probably guess that it took me a few extra minutes to make it back downstairs to help set the table.
It was that way all week. At work: Emery. During the commute: Emery. At home: you guessed it.
I BARELY MADE IT TO THE NEXT SATURDAY. And let me tell you, I was the first one out of bed that morning.
It was a gorgeous day. Perfect for finally seeing that gorgeous man again. But of course, I had to subdue my enthusiasm, both for Cheryl’s benefit (didn’t want to be all walking-on-cloud-nine only when we were going to encounter my man) and because I certainly didn’t want to fawn all over the dude. He’s het. I’m het. The whole world is full of heterosexuals, okay?
I’m probably the only heterosexual in the world who, upon seeing Emery that morning, wanted to tackle him, ravish him, and fuck his beautiful body until I was unconscious. Yeah, I doubt too many hets want to do that. So much for my het aspirations.
Emery wore another body-hugging outfit, both shirt and pants. But today, being slightly warmer than last week, he was sporting short sleeves. And, shit he made my stomach leap. He made my heart palpitate; my intestines growl; my eyes bug out; my brain shut down; my sphincter sing. Not to mention my cock: the thing was doing the Charleston in my pants. No joke.
“Hey Pumpkin!” Emery smiled when he saw our little pride and joy. He greeted her warmly, then looked up at us. “How you doing, Jason… Cheryl?”
Of course he’d remember our names. He was just really cool.
But as I shook his hand for the second time in my life, I could swear his smile was a bit more enthusiastic and genuine for me than it was for Cheryl. I could swear. And of course, that did nothing for my equilibrium.
Not that I was looking, but I didn’t see that assistant gopher from last week. No, I certainly wasn’t looking, but for some reason it registered with me. The reason for my brain doing that (registering) would become wonderfully obvious when the soccer game was over.
The game was really close. Or maybe a blowout. Hell I don’t remember a thing. Only him.
I know Cheryl stole a few glances at me—gawking at him. I tried to find other things to look at. Pumpkin would have been a natural choice. And to be honest, I did watch her play. I’m sure I did. Yeah. She did good. (Please don’t hate me.)
When the game was over, Emery congratulated the kids again, with his usual enthusiasm.
Cheryl tended to Pumpkin and Fauntleroy, electing not to shake Emery’s hand. But I had no intention of passing up the opportunity. The cool thing about it was… while Emery was talking to the kids and other parents, and I waited patiently for my turn, he kept looking at me! With a smile! Like he was waiting for me!
Finally, when I did get up to him and we shook hands, he said, “Good to see you again, Jason. How was your week?”
My week? Does he really care? Actually it had been the longest week of my life. “Oh, it was great,” I said. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” he smiled. “Really good.”
“You sure are great with these kids,” I said, thankful I was able to dig deep and find things to talk about that didn’t have to do with how obsessed I was with him. “Thanks for volunteering to do this. Pumpkin can’t stop talking about soccer.”
He grinned. Fucking ChristAlmighty, will someone just make him stop?! I’m dying here! “It’s my pleasure.”
Then, out of the goddamn blue I said, “I noticed that your assistant coach is gone. Do you need a replacement?” Holy hell; what the fuck was I saying? Obviously, the guy was just not here today. Why would I assume Emery might need a replacement? Shit, I was sure I had just said the dumbest thing a person had ever said. In the world. My stomach knots tightened.
He smiled. “Funny you should ask.”
No, ridiculous I should ask. Nutty I should ask. A man who just wants to get close to you insane I should ask.
“Roger had to give up as my assistant. Some kind of family issues,” Emery said. “Why… you interested?”
“Well… uh…” What the fudge had I gotten myself into. Cheryl would pop a blood vessel trying to figure out why I’d volunteered for this. She knew I was swamped at work. We’d talked repeatedly about me spending more time at home. (You can guess who actually did the talking.) “To be honest, I don’t know much about soccer,” I said, “but I really love kids.” And you. Please tell me I didn’t say those last two words out loud.
“Aw, you don’t need to know anything about soccer, Jase,” he said. No one ever called me Jase. Cheryl had tried after we’d known each other for a few weeks, but I’d shut it down. I’d never liked that nickname. Until this very moment. Suddenly I had a new nickname—that I absolutely loved. Might make it legal. “All you have to do is have fun with the kids. We don’t teach much this first year. It’s all about exposing them to having fun.”
I nodded. “Well, then…”
“Cool,” he grinned. “When Roger had to quit, I actually thought of asking you.”
Really? Me? You want to work together with me?
“Well,” I said, “I’m ready and willing.”
“Good.” His smile was intoxicating. I made him smile like that! “There’s really nothing to learn. Just show up early next week, and I’ll tell you what I need. That’s pretty much it.”
No training? I was hoping there’d be some kind of training. One-on-one stuff. Kidding. But I can dream, can’t I? “Nice,” I said. “Okay, I’ll get here early next Saturday.”
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” Cheryl asked me as we drove home. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to take on anymore outside activities, Jason.”
I told you she’d be suspicious. I sighed, then said, “I thought the idea was that I’d spend more time with the family.” I turned to her and gave her a look. “What could be more family than spending time helping with Pumpkin’s team?”
“I want Daddy to help!” Pumpkin said from her car seat behind me.
“See?” I glared at Cheryl.
“Besides honey, it’s not any kind of time commitment at all. All I need to do is get to the field about a half hour early before the games. And maybe help gather the equipment afterwards. It’s not like there’ll be meetings or anything.”
She sighed again. “Okay, I guess I’ll let you.”
Oh, hell you will… if she wanted to press one of my buttons, she just found it. You’ll let me? I could feel my blood pressure rising. My knuckles became white on the steering wheel. I breathed deeply and slowly. One… two… three… four… Finally I came down from my perch. We’d had this conversation too many times. But now wasn’t the time for another go-round. It’d be best to let her be. She didn’t need another reason to analyze my decision to help Emery. Even though her permission stance had nothing to do with him, she didn’t need to be thinking about him—for whatever reason. If I got all hot and bothered about the subject, it’d just make her think more and more about soccer. And Emery. And possibly, why in the world I might want to spend time with him.
IT WAS ON TUESDAY EVENING that my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I usually don’t answer if I don’t know who it is, but this was clearly local, so I picked up.
“Jason?” the voice was immediately familiar; I’d memorized the resonance, the depth, the smile in the expression.
“Yeah, this is Jason,” I said, feigning like I didn’t know.
“Emery. Emery Braun. Pumpkin’s coach?”
“Oh, hi Emery! How you doing?!” I knew I was being too enthusiastic; my stomach was in my throat. I was doing somersaults inside. But I had to tamp it down, not only for Emery’s benefit, but for Cheryl’s. She was sitting next to me on the couch.
“Good, man. Hey, Sherry and I were wondering if you and Cheryl might want to come over for a bar-be-cue Friday evening—with the kids,” he said.
Holy shit we would! Holy fucking shit we would!
“Sure!” I smiled into the phone. “That’s cool of you to invite us!” Cheryl’s stare pierced my peripheral vision.
Once I hung up she said, “You accepted? Without asking me?”
I turned to her. “Well, I know we’re not busy Friday. I thought you’d like to get to know them better.” That was fact. Her approval of Emery’s involvement in Pumpkin’s life was no secret. I suspected her admiration of the man wasn’t merely because of our daughter, though. She’d made no effort to keep her opinion to herself regarding Emery’s pleasing appearance. More than once she’d mentioned it. Of course, I played dumb whenever she brought it up. “Oh really? Yeah, I guess he’s handsome,” I’d say. “If you’re into that kind of thing.” Um… yeah. Of course it never enters her mind that if I were to make complimentary comments about another woman’s appearance, there’d be hell to pay.
“That’s not the point,” she retorted. “I’d just appreciate if you’d ask me before you make a commitment for me.” She was moving well into her crabby voice. The ask me words particularly grated on me.
Sure, honey. I’ll ask you next time—as soon as I don’t have to get your permission to do, like, anything. “I can call him right back and cancel, if that’s what you want,” I railed. I lifted my phone from my lap to make the point.
“No, don’t bother,” she said. “I’ll go.”
MY COCK WAS GETTING RAW by the time Friday rolled around. I’d conjured so many fantasies in my mind about Emery that I couldn’t keep them straight. My favorite one though, was that first one I’d come up with—the one where we were in the bar and the conversation gets really… intimate.
Cheryl was actually in a pleasant mood that evening. She even took my hand while I drove. Who knew?
When Emery’s wife Sherry answered the door she escorted us into a big living room. From the street the house looked impressive. From inside, it was beautiful. Vaulted ceilings, big rooms. Nice furnishings. Somebody made bank. “Emery’s out back, working the bar-be-cue,” Sherry smiled. She looked down at the kids and said, “Sunflower is with him. She’s been looking forward to playing with you two.”
When we got out to the big, wooden porch, a huge, manicured yard greeted us. This was really nice.
“Hey, you made it!” Emery’s voice called from the far end of the deck.
Oh please don’t do this to me, man. How was I supposed to be able to handle this?: Emery wore shorts and some kind of T-shirt that hugged all of his muscles, but over all that he had on a green apron that said, “Bankers do it with interest. Severe penalty for early withdrawal.” Yeah, like I needed that kind of innuendo.
“Come on over,” he smiled. He motioned to a big cooler. “Help yourself to something cold: beer, soft drinks, hard cider, water.”
Fortunately I remembered to offer Cheryl something before I took mine.
“So, are you a banker?” I smiled, noting his apron.
He looked down at it. “Actually, no. My brother works for Second National. He gave this to me as a joke.”
“I work for Stheno Systems, downtown,” he said.
“Oh really? What do you do for them?” I twisted the cap off my beer and took a swig.
“I’m the CSO—Chief Security Officer.”
I nodded. Yeah, I bet no one gets past him.
“It’s a mix of actual physical security for our buildings, and cyber security,” he said.
“So, do you work out of their downtown office, in the tower?”
“Yeah. Thirty-fifth floor.”
“Whoa. Must have a pretty good view.” Must have a pretty good income too.
“I do. You’ll have to come down and check it out sometime.”
“I actually work downtown too,” I said.
“Well, we should do lunch some time.”
Okee dokee, dude!
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO keep my eyes off Emery that evening. Nearly impossible for me not to continually gush all over him.
I don’t think Cheryl noticed it, even though she’s pretty observant. I do actually think she’s on to me though—not just concerning Emery, but concerning all men. I have a feeling she notices when I watch the hot waiter, the buff guy walking down the street, or our studly neighbor when he’s outside mowing the lawn with his shirt off. (God, he’s hawt.) So yeah, on second thought, she probably did notice my infatuation with Emery.
Sometimes I wonder how much she knows about all of that. She’s not stupid. But she never seems to call me on it. I figure either I’m just paranoid about it, or she just doesn’t want to rock the boat. Maybe she suspects, but would rather keep the status quo. Or it might be something more complex than that: maybe deep down she has her suspicions, but its something so horrible that she really doesn’t want to admit it to herself. I kind of think that’s it. Someday, if I ever fess up to her, I bet she’ll realize that she knew it all along; just didn’t want to accept the truth.
Alrightythen, I guess I don’t need to see the therapist this week. Just got all of my stuff out in the open there. Thanks for listening.
AS IS OFTEN THE CASE, FRIDAY evening was followed by—you guessed it—Saturday morning. And what happens on Saturday mornings? (Sorry I’m being kinda flaming with my words. It’s just that when Saturday morning rolls around, I get kinda giddy anymore.)
This particular Saturday morning was one of the most difficult ones I’ve ever had. It was Emery. (Duh.) The weather was considerably warmer this weekend. And holy hell and fuck the world, he decided to wear, of all things: a tank top.
I was done.
I was done in.
His shoulders and arms were all I could see. Well, that, and his gorgeous face, and that amazing smile. Huge balls of deltoid muscle—bigger than any shoulders I’ve seen at my gym. And they had such an outstanding, defined separation between their lower insertion and the top of his triceps. Football-sized triceps mind you. And lean, bulging, powerful-looking biceps to boot.
The man made me wet down there. Fucking wet. Obviously I couldn’t check myself in front of God and everybody, but hand-to-God, when I got home, I most certainly had stained my underwear with generous amounts of pre-cum.
Shoulders. Arms. Chest. Narrow waist. I just wanted to stand there and stare. Probably actually did a few times.
“Dude,” he smiled when we were picking up the equipment after the game. Cheryl was talking with his wife Sherry. “You busy tonight?”
“Tonight?” Hmmm… as a matter of fact I wasn’t. Other than spending “family time” with, you know, the fam. “No, why?”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to catch a drink or two with me,” he said.
I froze. This couldn’t be the let’s-talk-personal-in-the-bar scenario I’d worn into the ground over the past few weeks, could it?
“Unless…” he’d gotten somber. “Maybe you’re busy after all?” Like he’d be disappointed if that was the case?
“No. No. I’m not busy. Sorry. I was just getting some cobwebs out. No, man. I’d love to. I mean… I’d like… I’d like to do that. Cool.” I nodded too enthusiastically. Another hand-to-God: I almost teared up right there. The man wanted to spend time with me! Shit, I’m hopeless.
He grinned again. “Sweet.” He looked over at Sherry and Cheryl, and added, “I think Sherry was going to see about hooking up with Cheryl too. Ladies’ night out, while we have guy’s night out.”
I glanced at Cheryl; she met my eyes. She smiled at me with a twinkle in her gaze. This was going to be awesome! Emery and me. And Cheryl was on board with it! Her mom would certainly agree to babysitting.
Now, if I could just keep my mind together. And if I could just keep it in my pants. And if I could actually pull this off, knowing that the encounter was definitely not going to measure up to the fantasy.
I KNEW I NEEDED TO JERK OFF before meeting up with Emery. Undoubtedly it wouldn’t help much, but I needed to avail myself of every possible advantage as far as not outing myself to him. Having a raging hard-on under my cargo shorts would certainly not help with that. Still, I was nothing if not a quick recoverer. I really wasn’t fooling myself. The only reason I found myself in the bathroom that afternoon was because I just couldn’t help myself.
Emery and I were going to go to a bar tonight! And have beers! And maybe get loose lips! Oh, hell, please let it happen. I considered the idea of actually praying to God for something to happen tonight, but I stopped short. I figured He’d probably say no. Just my luck that He’d answer that prayer, after refusing a lifetime of prayers to make me straight. Whatever.
While Cheryl ran to the store (taking the kids with), I’d planted myself in front of our bedroom window so I could stare down at our tall and mesomorphic neighbor while he shirtlessly mowed his lawn. I positioned myself discreetly, so I could whip it out and masturbate while I watched his muscular frame go back and forth over his lawn. (Don’t hate me because I’m horny!)
But Emery’s superior physique kept pushing neighbor-dude out of the picture, and I soon found myself walking—cock bobbing in front of me—to the bathroom so I could devote all of my attention to the man who deserved it.
THE BAR WAS PRETTY FULL, but not packed. Emery was already there when I arrived, sitting at a stool, wearing a light blue polo shirt that, well, just looked stunning on him. His khaki shorts allowed a generous view of his gigantic calves. And even covered by the tan fabric, his freakin’ massive upper legs bulged all over hell.
He hadn’t seen me yet; my eyes latched onto the most prominent feature that struck me: those powerful, wide, beautiful lats. His back was amazing. And it tapered down to a slim waistline that sat just above the most gorgeous ass you could ever handle. Even seated, his butt was an erotic compilation of gluteal perfection.
He stood when he saw me, and we gave each other a one-arm hug. He had been working on a beer, so I told the bar tender, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
He sat back down and grinned, “When Harry Met Sally?”
I chuckled. He and I thought alike! He got me. “Yeah,” I said. “But I gotta tell you, man, you’re no Meg Ryan.”
He laughed. “Got that right. But I can fake it just as good as she can.”
What? I’d barely got my butt planted on a stool and he’s already moving the conversation there? “Oh, I doubt you ever need to do that,” I said. I swear my hand was trembling. Just being in the same room with the guy made me shake like a leaf. I wanted to look around and make sure that everyone knew that I was sitting with him. Well, maybe I was able to control it. But sitting right next to him like this, because he wanted to spend time with me… and then having him bring up something to do with orgasms… my whole body shuddered.
He looked at me quizzically. “Haven’t you ever faked it?”
I averted his gaze and my eyes nearly burned a hole in the beer glass the waiter had just delivered. “Well, maybe.” I made like I was thinking. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, its the pits when your wife doesn’t do it for you.”
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod. Please no. I couldn’t say anything. I cupped my hand around the beer mug. Yeah, the beer was getting warm because of my laser eyes. I’m sure of it. I so wanted to pursue what he just said, but I couldn’t. If I glommed on to the topic too enthusiastically, it’d look weird. Even though that’s exactly what I wanted to do. But if he wanted to continue down that path—discussing his dissatisfaction with wife-sex—he’d have to lead the way.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t know a thing about you and Cheryl. Didn’t mean to make that association. I was just saying….” His voice trailed off.
I looked over at him. He was also lasering his beer. “No, it’s not uncomfortable at all,” I reassured him. Yeah, he’d have to be the one leading us down the path, but I wanted to let him know that I’d willingly follow!
Please! Lead on, man!
“Well, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s just that… I don’t know… my wife doesn’t always get it, you know?” He looked back at me with those golden brown eyes. “Sex… you know. Sherry’s kind of oblivious….”
“I get it, man.” My heart was pounding through my chest. I wondered if it might be actually visible under my shirt. “I hear you, dude.”
He sighed and pushed away from the bar, leaning into the back of his stool, relaxing. “You too? God, I thought I was the only guy who felt this way.”
This is exactly what I wanted to hear. I sighed too, and—choosing my words carefully—said, “I think it’s more prevalent than you realize.”
“Really?” His eyes opened more. He became pensive. He leaned forward and put an arm (a huge one) on the bar and said quietly, “I wonder how many married guys jerk off as much as I do.”
Okay. Stop. This isn’t fair. How many beers had he had? He did sound kind of loose. Maybe a bit buzzed. But only a bit. Whatever. It was a dream come true. I wasn’t sure, but maybe he was just lubricated enough to run off at the mouth—in the best way possible. I was bound and determined to find out.
I decided to give up some information; “Shit,” I said, “Dude, you’re not the only one. There’s something only my hand can do for me. Cheryl has good intentions, but really, she just doesn’t get it.” Fuck. Was that too much? Did I go too far?
“You too?!” he smiled. “God, I thought I was the only one. Sherry is, well… decent… in bed, I guess, but she totally ruins the concept of a blow job, lemme tell ya. I’ll be honest with you, Jase. I’d much rather jack myself off. A lot more pleasurable. Don’t tell anyone that, of course.”
“Oh, I was planning on posting it on Facebook, bud,” I smirked. “Tag you and Sherry in it too.”
A roaring laugh, and that killer smile made me nearly swoon. I was loving this. He probably wasn’t three sheets to the wind, but I bet he was two.
Emery looked at me seriously. He hesitated. “Okay, just between you and me… have you ever…” He stopped himself. “Nah, I can’t ask that. Never mind.”
“Have I ever what, man?”
“Nothing. It’s a weird question.”
“Emery, we’ve already admitted to each other some pretty personal and private stuff. Out with it.”
Where had I experienced this conversation before? This was the weirdest, most glorious case of déjà vu I’d ever had.
He leaned close. “Okay, I think I can trust you.” He looked around the bar to make sure no one was listening, then leaned into me. “Have you ever…” He hesitated again. “Oh hell, you’re going to think I’m out of my gourd.. a perv.”
“No. I promise I won’t,” I assured him. “This conversation is strictly between the two of us, man.” Come on dude, out with it.
“Have you ever… gotten head from… someone other than your wife?”
I lowered my eyebrows, feigning ignorance as to what I really wanted him to be meaning. “Well, sure,” I said. “Before I got married….”
“No, I mean since then.” Another check of the bar, for stray ears. “You know, on the down-low.”
I gave a slight smile. My eyes moved back and forth slowly, as I thought for my answer. Of course, my answer had been well-rehearsed in countless fantasy masturbation sessions in my bathtub. “Well, to be honest, no.” I really wanted to know what he meant by “down-low.” Did he just mean secretively? or did he know the other connotation that suggests man-on-man encounters that is often associated with the black community? But I had replied honestly. I had never hooked up with anyone—certainly not female—since I’d been married. “But given the opportunity, I’d have to say that I’d be… curious, at least. Like I said, Cheryl just doesn’t get it.”
He chuckled and relax, obviously pleased that I wasn’t judging him. “Yeah.” He took a healthy swig of his beer.
“Have you?” I asked innocently, making sure to provide the perfect mix of curiosity and acceptance in my question.
“Yeah, but not very often,” he said.
“Not often enough, I’d guess.”
He tossed his head back in a loud laugh. The dude had no cavities. God, just perfect teeth. Everything about Emery was perfect. “Dude, you got that right,” he said when he was done laughing. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be telling you all of this. I’m sorry man. TMI.”
“No, no,” I assured him. “Emery,” I loved using his name, “I think you and I are a lot alike, man.”
“I mean,” he moved close to me and got quiet again, “I have special needs, dude. I guess you do too.”
“Definitely, man.” I brazenly give him a wink.
He downed the rest of his beer, and raised a hand (and that gigantic upper arm filled my field of vision—that, and the veiny, thick forearm), motioning to the bar tender for another. Turning back to me, “Okay, just one more question,” he said. “And you have to promise you won’t freak out on me.”
“Dude, I think we’re both beyond the point of freaking out about what we’re sharing.”
“I don’t know,” he hesitated. “Just… I’ll understand if it bothers you—if you’re not into it, but…”
“You’re killing me man.” He really was. His smile was enough to do that. But add to it all of that physique perfection—and the fact that he was sharing intimate things… with me!
“Okay.” One final glance around to check for people who were too close. This was obviously going to be some kind of bombshell.
I momentarily took my eyes off his breathtakingly gorgeous face and examined all those bulging, perfectly-proportioned muscles again.
“Okay,” he repeated, bringing my eyes back to his. “Have you ever gotten a blow job…” he reduced his volume more, “…from a…” He moved his head next to mine and whispered into my ear, “…from a guy?”
I pulled back. I know I should have been scared shitless. I should have gotten up right then and there and ran for my life. This wasn’t possible. How was this possible? This was the same conversation—word for word—that I’d fantasized!
This had to be a dream. Yup. A really, really unfair dream. Thanks, God. The Heavenly Father was obviously teaching me a lesson. A lesson about purity and moral fortitude. In a moment, He’d wake me up and I’d be in the middle of the best wet dream of my life, and Cheryl would be all, “Honey? What the hell? What are you doing?” Yeah, I’d be humiliated. Hopefully I wouldn’t be calling out “Oh, Emery. Emery!” when I awoke. That’d really make for an interesting convo with her. Thanks, God. Just what I needed.
“Why are you pinching yourself?” Emery asked, his bright white teeth blinding me.
“I was pinching myse—?” I let go of the skin on my forearm. I could feel my face flush. Like I said, I should have been running for the nearest exit, which—to paraphrase all those flight attendants—was obviously behind me. Way behind me.
But for some reason I don’t think I’ll ever understand, I just sat there. I blinked a few times, and then the preposterousness of the situation slammed into me like a freight train. This was not a dream. The welt on my arm proved it. So, I shook out the cobwebs and tried to think. I couldn’t, obviously. So for some reason (and this is the thing I don’t understand), I started chuckling. Then I was chortling. It quickly turned into a red-faced uproarious, side-splitting laughing spell. This was totally insane! Totally beyond the realm of possibility! I don’t know how long it lasted, but I think I can still feel the aching in my stomach from laughing so hard. I do remember nearly falling off the bar stool.
I tried to compose myself. I realized laughter tears were running down my cheeks.
Emery was frowning. Not hard. Not like he was offended. But like he was curious… like he didn’t understand. “Dude. You okay?” He stared at me seriously now. “I’m sorry man. You probably think I’m such a pervert. And… that I’d mention something like that even though I have a wife… She certainly doesn’t deserve that. I hope you can forgive me, man. I didn’t mean to be that way. I feel like a heel.”
I swallowed hard, trying to pull myself together. “Emery,” I said, stifling down one last giggle. “No. You got it wrong, man. I wasn’t laughing at you. Far from it.”
He started in on his new beer, looking glum. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”
“It’s the truth, dude,” I reassured. “I was just laughing because its so damn outrageous…”
“Yeah, I know. Really, man. I’m sorry.”
“No. You don’t understand. I was saying: It’s outrageous because I’ve often wondered what it would be like to get a blow job from a guy.” I leaned in to him: “And to give one.” I sat back up straight: “And hand-to-God,” I lifted my right hand, ready to pledge, “I totally wondered if you were like me that way.” Obviously I really wanted to say it differently. Something like: I totally wondered if you wanted to find a room and do some sixty-nining.” Something like that. But I didn’t.
The corners of his lips turned up. He looked away from me and took a drink.
“But dude, you have to remember,” I said. “This is a very private thing. You can never tell a sole that I’ve admitted to having this… curiosity.”
He looked back at me with wide eyes. “Of course, man. I mean, I’m in the same boat. The wives will never know we had this discussion.”
“No Facebook posts?”
He grinned, “No Facebook posts.”
I sighed and took a drink of my beer. I could feel his eyes on me. I slowly put my beer down and turned to face him. I gave him a “what…” kind of expression.
He smiled. “So, now what do we do?”
[Oh, there’s fersher more cumming/coming….]
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© 2018 Sean Reid Scott
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