The Pitcher

"We're going to have a blast," he said, kissing my nose.

I wanted to share his confidence, but I didn't. I felt like a little kid on a bicycle, no training wheeels to protect me.

Cal distracted me by suggesting we do something we had never done. I couldn't imagine what it was until he flipped around, slid into my mouth, and took me in his. He was wrong about us never having done it, but I didn't think it was time to correct him.

We sucked and sucked until we were both slick with sweat. Cal pulled off my dick and started fucking my face purposefully. I was having trouble catching my breath when he came, driving his dick deep into my throat and biting my thigh. I could feel his body convulse as he shot over and over. He was so deep, I couldn't taste him.

He left his dick in my mouth as he returned his mouth to my dick. He started sucking me again, his tongue pressed firmly against the top of my glans. My dick was getting super-sensitive, almost to the point of pain. He wouldn't stop. He was pivoting up and down. When I finally came, he growled deep in his chest. He flipped around, let some of my cum drain from his mouth onto my stomach, and then laid flat on me, smearing the cum between us. I closed my eyes and tried to get the head of my dick to stop tingling.

"The sex just gets better and better," he said.

"It does."

"I think it's the love. Sex is better when there's love."

"The sex between us has always been good."

"I may have loved you before you left the bar that night."

I was stunned. I hadn't expected that.

"Really?"

"I'm serious. There was something about you. I was so at ease. I have never been that at ease with anyone that fast. I trusted you with my deepest secrets. It was all I could do not to spill my guts over drinks."

"I almost didn't come upstairs. I went out, smoked a cigarette, and tried to figure you out. I was certain you were married, on the down-low, and up for a mindless roll in the hay."

"I wanted at least that. I got a lot more."

"I felt the same way about you."

"What do you mean?"

"I was drawn to you. I don't do what I did. I'm usually way more guarded than that."

"You loved me?"

"No, but I thought I could."

"Me, too."

*****

Three months after I moved to Kansas City, Cal was paranoid about the visibility of our comings and goings in our building. The building was teeming with people, and Cal was anxious about us being seen together and going in and out of each other's apartments "too often."

Cal quickly resolved the issue. He purchased a downstairs/upstairs duplex just east of Loose Park, on 52nd Street. He took the downstairs unit and gave me the upstairs. When Kate was over, he didn't want me to have to lie under them and listen to whatever they were doing. It was atypical, though, for Kate to be over; to spare me, he usually went to her.

To the world, I was his tenant. But, other than when Kate was there, I lived downstairs with Cal. I only showered and dressed in my unit.

I knew I was primary, but I couldn't help but be jealous of any time he spent with Kate. I'd lie awake, vexed by what I imagined they were doing. It provided me no solace that Cal said he was thinking of me as they did what they did. They were still doing it.

I'd also lie awake, disappointed in Cal that he was perpetuating the myth of their romance and the possibility they would marry and live happily ever after. I thought it unfair to Kate and contrary to his character.

I raised it one night after sex.

"You're a wonderful man," I said, settling my head on his sweaty shoulder.

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself," he said, kissing my forehead.

"So . . . . I don't understand how you're doing to Kate what you're doing to her."

I felt his body tense. I knew he hated any discussion of Kate.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said. "I'm not sure I'm doing anything to her, other than giving her exactly what she wants."

"You're not. She loves you. She wants to be your wife. She thinks she's going to be."

"Maybe she will."

"Seriously? You'd marry her?"

"I've thought about it. I'm not Warren Beatty. It'll raise suspicion if I don't at some point marry someone. And, I can't live under a cloud of suspicion."

"Do you think that'd be fair to her? Don't you think she deserves a better husband than you'd be?"

"I don't know. I think I'd be a pretty good husband."

"Really? You think a good husband imagines he's inside of a man when he's inside of his wife?"

"I doubt it. But, I don't know that the two are mutually exclusive?"

"I do. . . . And, where do I fit in the marriage? Will we be a throuple? Will I be your side action, the one you want when you're not wanting her?"

"I don't know, Matthias. You're smarter than I am. I'm just a big, dumb jock."

"You're not that big," I answered, taking his soft dick in my hand. "And, you're smart enough to know better than that."

"You know, I haven't really thought this through."

"You should. You told me you're more gay than I am. I don't think I'd marry a woman, at least not without telling her that I'm like 2/3 to 1/3 gay so she could make an informed decision about my prospects as a husband. Don't you think you owe Kate that information so she can make an informed decision?"

"Where's this coming from? We just had sex. This is not what I'd call 'post-coital bliss.'"

"I think you're a wonderful man. I truly do. So much so that I want you always and forever. So, I don't think what you're doing to Kate is wonderful. I think it's unfair to her. And selfish."

"You may be right about that."

"I also think it's unfair to me. And selfish."

"You may be right about that, too. But, you knew the lay of the land from the get go. So, I'm not sure it's fair of you to complain that you are getting exactly what you knew you were getting."

"I didn't love you then."

"Maybe, maybe not," he said, again kissing my forehead. "I'm pretty loveable. I suspect you were already over the edge by that point. Anybody would've been."

"You're pretty full of yourself. And, don't try to joke your way out of this. I'm being serious."

"I am, too. I understand you may not like sharing me, but you knew you'd have to. I'm not sure it's fair of you to grouse about it now. And I'm not sure you have standing to grouse about anything that's happening with Kate."

"I'm not grousing about it. I just think it's inconsistent with who you are. And I think you should think about that. From her perspective. Not yours."

"Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you could force me into thinking, I may realize I'm not being fair to her, decide I need to be fair to her, end this, and focus on her."

I didn't believe him. At best, I thought it was a bluff. At worst, I thought it was a threat. Either way, it pissed me off.

"I don't think so," I answered, harshly. "I think you're too far gone. This is too good. You couldn't give it up. You'd miss me too much."

"Now, who's full of himself?"

"Okay. Let's be serious. Do you really think you could move on from this?"

"No."

"Me, either."

"But I can't move this out into public, either," he said. "I wish I could. I wish I could scream it from the mountaintops. I wish I could tell the world 'this is the person I love more than life itself.' But I can't. I just can't. Maybe I will be able to at some point, like when my career is over, but that's a long way way. I'm only twenty-seven. And, I can't today. Baseball's too closed. I hope that's okay."

I didn't answer. "More than life itself" echoed in my ears, breaking down my walls, eliminating my resistance.

"It is," I finally said. "I'm good. I don't need to be out in public. But, I'd prefer not to share you. I don't think they go hand in hand. I think you can be closeted without being publicly straight. I ache when you're with Kate. I'll confess: my challenge to your character was self-interested. I think I'm right about it not being fair to her. But I don't really care if she gets hurt. I want you all to myself. I don't want to lie in bed and wonder what you're doing. It hurts my heart so much. I don't need to be on a billboard. But, I need to know I'm the one."

"I get it. I wouldn't like it if the tables were turned. But, I'm in the public eye. It'd be scrutinized if a hot baseball player couldn't find a girlfriend. And, the reaction would be 'he's gay.' I have to have a girlfriend. I know words provide no comfort, but you have to know that I miss you when I'm with her. I miss you anytime I'm not with you. This season's going to be awful."

Jesus, I hadn't even thought about the season. I had been humming merrily along and had not even contemplated that, when catchers and pitcher report, I'd be alone in Kansas City the bulk of the time time and then half of the season.

I must have looked forlorn. "Hey," he said. "Don't look so sad. We'll be fine. Think about the 'I missed you sex.'"

As he said it, he rolled over me. He said, "I'm going to kiss the sadness out of your eyes" and kissed my right eyelid and then my left.

"And out of your mouth," he added, moving to it.

"Cal?"

"Yes."

"Will you please make love to me?"

"Will you beg me?"

"No. I don't want it to be base. I want it to be loving. I want you to make love to me. I don't want you to fuck me."

I held his face as he did as I asked. If he didn't lower his mouth to mine, I raised mine to his.

He was slick with sweat. He was dripping on me. He also had me tingling all over.

"I love you," I said, our eyes locked.

"I love you, too," he answered.

"I love you three."

"I love you four."

"I love you five."

We both started to laugh. I love to laugh when I'm having sex. It relaxes me all over.

"How long are we going to do this?

"Until you come."

"No, the counting."

"Until ten."

"Okay," he said, adding "I love you six" and hitting my prostate on each of the four syllables.

"Seven," I answered, panting.

"I love you eight." Again, he hit my prostate on each syllable.

"Nine," I panted again.

"I love you ten," he finished, again hitting my prostate on each syllable.

The counting stopped. The hitting did not. I grabbed myself and crossed over. The sight of it took Cal over the edge. He pulled out, tore the condom off, and added his load to mine. He then coated me with his sweat slicked body and smeared the mess between us.

"Oh my God," I said.

"I know."

We slept as cocooned as we could. Our lips were pressed together. Our foreheads were pressed together. Our chests were pressed together. Our legs were entertained. His toes were between mine.

*****

We went on like that. Any night Cal was not with Kate, we shared his bed. Those days and nights, we were like a married couple.

If he was with Kate, then I stayed on my own. I missed him too much to be in his bed when he was gone.

We made love most nights and most mornings, unless Cal was to see Kate. The night before - and morning of - any visit with Kate, Cal "saved" himself. He feared she would know if he wasn't "fresh" or as "intense" as he otherwise would be. Most of those mornings and nights, Cal devoured me orally. He wanted to give me something to remember him by when he was gone.

I started going out the nights Cal was with Kate. Kansas City's bar scene was weaker than carnival lemonade. The only real gay bar was the new Dixie Belle, and it was cavernously overbuilt. It lacked the intimacy for which gay men look in gay bars.

Still, it was an avenue to meet friends. I met Peter and Tim, a newish couple who had started a cellular tower brokerage business and seemed to be cutting a fat hog.

I met Andy, who was a little older than I, but a first-rate chicken hawk. He chased only those too young for him.

I met Tom, the florist to anyone who was anyone in Kansas City. Tom went to New York to stock his business and to buy his clothes. He was "faster" than anyone else I met in Kansas City. He was ahead of the curve. He was a "tipper." When everyone else caught up to where he had been, he had already moved on to the next big thing.

Publicly, Tom was arrogant and stand-offish. Privately, he was engaging and warm. Over the course of our friendship, I realized he was slow to trust but, once he did, he was both trusting and trustworthy. It was hard to get in. Once you were in, it was impossible to get out.

We became close friends. When Cal was with Kate, I was with Tom.

"You live above Cal Lowden?" he asked at dinner one night, stunned.

"Sure do."

"My God, he's so hot. One time, just one time, I'd like to be the heiress. I'd rock his world."

I smiled on the inside. I knew what it was like to be the heiress. And to rock his world.

I longed to tell Tom about Cal. Instead, I said "It's not a big deal to be his tenant. He keeps to himself. It's not like he invites me down for drinks or comes up to borrow sugar. I rarely see him."

"Have you tried to peak through his windows?"

"No. I'm not a creeper."

"I wouldn't be able to help myself. Can you imagine watching him have sex with Kate? I bet it's hot as shit, watching his muscled ass fall and rise as he slides in and out of her tight little body."

I smiled again inside. It may have been hot as shit to creep on him and Kate, but not as hot as watching my dick slide in and out of his mouth or his body get slick with sweat as he hovered over me and slid in and out of me.

I thought of when he was silhouetted against the wall. I thought of when we watched ourselves in the mirror.

Tom and I became cuddly. Some non-Cal nights, we'd watch movies at my apartment or his and snuggle on the couch as we did. Larger than I, Tom would lie behind me, pulling my body into his. We'd watch movies as we spooned, his lithe body dwarfing mine.

Tom was single. I was not, but he couldn't and didn't know that.

I wondered if Tom would make a move on me. He regularly hinted at it.

When he was behind, I could often feel his dick against me. I had heard rumors about his size, and the mass pressing against me suggested the rumors were true. I could tell his dick was straight down, and I could feel the top of it between my butt cheeks, pressing up as he got hard.

One night, he shushed me as we watched "Miller's Crossing," one of my all-time favorites. I loved the Coen brothers.

"Listen," he said, moving toward the H-VAC vent by the television. "I think I can hear them fucking."

He laid flat on the floor and put his ear to the vent. "I can," he crowed. "I can hear them. They must be in the living room."

My stomach knotted. I had heard them a few times, but I always immediately put in headphones and turned music on loud enough to drown them out.

"This is so hot. Get over here."

"Listening to other people fuck does nothing for me."

"You're a freak. It makes me horny as hell. Look."

He was wearing gym shorts. He rolled off his stomach and showed me the outline of his massive hard on.

I opted for avoidance and deflection. "Jesus, Tom, you're the freak."

"I have a really big dick."

"No shit."

"You want to see it?"

I hesitated. I so wanted, but I also did not want. I relented. "Sure."

He pulled his shorts down and rolled onto his back. His dick rested on his abdomen, the head well above his navel. It was not only long, it was thick. It was like a baby's leg.

"It's pretty," I observed.

"I need to get off."

"Feel free."

"Right here?"

"Why not."

I watched him as he jerked off. When it was time, he had both hands around it. He came like a porn star, spraying over his shoulder onto my floor and then down the length of his torso. It was majestic.

I sat frozen as he stood up, went to the kitchen for a towel, and cleaned himself and then my floor.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I think so. I'm still stunned by what I just saw. You could be in movies."

"Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

"I did."

He moved next to me. Without saying a word, he moved his hand between my legs and said "I can tell. . . . You want me to get you off."

I did, but I didn't want to admit it. "I don't want to taint our friendship."

"Heh heh," he said, imitating Butthead. "You said taint."

I embraced Beavis. "I did! I did!"

"I can get you off without tainting anything. It'll just be one friend helping another."

His hand on my dick resolved my resistance. "Okay," I said, raising my hips and sliding my shorts to my knees. He returned his hand to my dick.

"I'd rather use my mouth," he suggested.

"Feel free."

He did, from the side. As I got close, I straightened my legs and raised my hips.

"I'm about to blow, Tom," I warned.

He kept at me. When I started to come, Tom inhaled deeply so he took my load directly down. He stayed at me until I couldn't let him stay at me any more.

"Thank you," I said, pulling up my shorts. "That was great."

He stayed over. I blew him and he blew me. I fucked him and he fucked me. We had sex all night. I was surprised the sun came up before I had slept.

"I should go," he said, after swallowing another load.

"You don't have to,"

"I do. This was a nice distraction. But, that's all it was. I don't want you, and you don't want me."

"You're smart."

"I'm not. Actually, I'm probably dumb. But, I'm insightful."

After Tom left, I was conflicted. On one hand, I felt bad that I had "cheated." On the other hand, I didn't know why, as my "boyfriend" was at the same time downstairs fucking someone else.

I tossed and turned wondering if I should tell Cal what had happened. Ultimately, I decided I should not. I concluded that, if it had been a mistake, then it was a mistake I should carry around myself.

******

The Royals' season ended without a playoff birth. Cal finally cut his Jim Morrison hair. He was even more handsome with a proper haircut. It showed off his ears, which I found adorable.

One Sunday morning, out of the blue, Cal announced he was working on a backstory.

"For what?" I asked.

"For you. I'd like us to be able to go out. For that, I need a backstory for you. Who you are. Why you're here."

"That's a tough one. I'm thirty-five years old. It's hard to make a new friend at my age outside of work."

"I know. You almost have to be the new boyfriend of one of Kate's friends, but that seems too elaborate to pull off."

"I wouldn't be comfortable in that deceit anyway."

"I'll figure something out. In the meantime, I thought maybe we could spend the day in bed."

"I like the way you think."

We did just that. Other than to get food and use the bathroom, we were in bed the entire day. There was less sex than I expected. There was talking and napping and, often, just the two of us, lying there and exploring each other. Football was on in the background, but the volume was off.

I looked at him in a detail I had not before. I tried to memorize every aspect of him. I found more scars. I found one on his ear from a dog bite. I found one on the bottom of his foot from a broken bottle.

He returned my interest in his body. He poured over my body. His eyes and then his tongue explored every hidden spot, what my grandmother called the nooks and crannies.

"You're relatively pristine," he said.

"I am. I've had stitches only once. In the palm of my left hand."

My body was aglow by the time he finished. I leaned back against him. He moved his hand to my crotch.

"Someone enjoyed that."

"It was very sensual."

He jacked me off while he chewed on my ear and neck. After I came, he licked my cum from his hand, then held his hand in front of me so I could do the same. I liked the taste of him more than I liked the taste of me.

"Shall I reciprocate?" I asked.

"I don't want to move. I want to hold you just like this. I like the weight of you against me."