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The Trainer Page 3

* * * *

  At the stoplight on the corners of Radner and Harford in downtown Pittsburgh, to the right, was Merchuen Plaza. Not five hundred feet away, inside the small plaza, sat Nurtriworld. I saw Squire exit with a plastic bag in his right hand. The bag swung to and fro. Inside was a giant bottle of powdered protein.

  Squire looked muscled and handsome in tight and square shorts, a white tank top, and bright-white sneakers. He placed shades over his eyes and walked into the parking lot in search of his car.

  Some Bitch Lady behind me in her Saab beeped once, twice, and three times. Perturbed, she waved her arms, seated behind her steering wheel, obviously upset because the light in front of us had turned green and I wasn’t moving.

  I took a last glance at Squire: sexy as fuck, porn-stuff, just right for my needs. He caused my dick to pulse between my legs, and my temperature to rise. He caused me to whisper, “You’re fucking hot, man. I wouldn’t mind having you all to myself.”

  Bitch Lady beeped again behind me. Beep! Beep! Beep!

  I lifted my right foot off the brake. The Fiat drifted forward. My boner stopped pulsing a bit. Off I went.

  * * * *

  “Do you think I’ll hook-up with Squire Land?” I asked Kent at his gravesite, sitting in the green, thick grass, playing with a blade between two fingers.

  The day looked crisply blue with butterflies and many robins. A light wind blew from west to east. The temperature hung at eighty-two, resting.

  Of course I didn’t think he would answer me. How could he? I certainly didn’t expect him to. Ken was far, far away in a land somewhere with angels, unicorns, and flying pets. It didn’t stop me from having a conversation with him. No way.

  Honestly, the conversations were one-sided. I asked the questions or made all the statements. He, like when he was alive, stayed quiet, listening. Kent never was much of a talker. No surprise.

  “We might hook-up. I don’t know. It depends what serendipity has in store for us. Or the fates. You know I’m a big believer in both. I never question either. And you know I’ve forever liked him. Ever since high school. But he was always out of my league. He was busy being popular and bigger than me. You remember. You know. Of course you do. He’s still out of my league. Always will be. Hell, I’m only a grip. It’s not like I’m a Hollywood star, producer, or director. But you know…you know what I’m talking about. Sure you do.”

  * * * *

  Back in my temporary apartment, Sis continued to bring me foodies as my busy scheduled rocked and rolled while making River Death. She filled a cooler outside the apartment door at the top of the stairs with plastic containers of homemade lasagna, chicken fingers and mashed potatoes, pasta dishes, a variety of salads, and numerous desserts.

  Sometimes she caught me in the apartment, tapped on the door, and made her way inside, “Alex, are you decent?”

  I usually was, crashed on the sofa and watching Prime movies on a flat-screen that Mick, her husband, had installed for me. “Hey, Sis.”

  I stopped the movie and she plopped on the sofa beside me. We talked about Mick’s perfect skills in the kitchen, her generous food offerings, my appetite, and how she had read three more naughty books by Gregory Dicks. Titles included Master of the House, Blind Dates, and Daddy Camp.

  “I have them in the house and will bring them over for you to read the next time I feed you.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll have time to read them with my busy schedule, but I’ll try.”

  “Blind Dates is his raunchiest. It’s all about threesomes. In a bar. At a bathhouse. In a firehouse and police station. It was over-the-top hotness. I give it five stars.”

  “Does Mick know you read crap like Dicks?”

  She giggled and nodded. “I read some of the obscene passages to him. He laughs out loud at them.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  I offered her a glass of wine or beer.

  She politely declined and told me, “I’m trying to cut back some. Summertime off is turning me into a drunk. All I do is read and drink.”

  “Isn’t that what it’s for?”

  “That and jumping on my hubby when he gets home from work.”

  I told her, “He’s quite the hunk to jump on. Plus, he treats you well, which is a bonus in my book.”

  Sis blinked a number of times, serious as a rock, unmoving on the sofa next to me. “Speaking of hunks…What’s going on between you and Squire Land? Did you ever talk to him when he came dick-sniffing around here for you?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t. We never made contact.”

  “Strange.”

  “Not really. He’s a busy guy with his fitness training and I’m busy with the movie. We have separate lives. Besides,” I waved a hand at her, “he’s out of my league. The guy probably dates handsomer men than me. And men with more money and higher positions.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, pursed her lips, and shook her head. “He definitely seemed interested in seeing you when he was here. Keep an open mind about him, Alex. You never know what a guy wants.”

  I huffed, “He only wants to use me. I’ve had it happen before with guys. He probably wants to get into acting. The guy wants to land a role in some movie because he’s good looking and can be famous. He wants to be a star. It has nothing to do with me.”

  She tapped my shoulder and scolded, “You don’t know that. Stop it. Give him credit. Maybe he likes you.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head again. “He didn’t like me in high school much, and I’m sure he doesn’t like me now.”

  “Screw this,” she said. “How about that glass of wine?”

  So I ended up pouring us a glass a wine…then three more glasses of wine, and we talked for the next few hours, catching up on our lives, enjoying our brother and sister time, and reading filthy passages from Gregory Dicks’ novel Men Overboard until our stomachs hurt from laughing.

  Sis eventually wobbled over to her house and Malin knew that I was watching him and put a show on for me in his grandmother’s garage. He undressed, dropping his T-shirt and shorts to the garage’s floor. He pulled down his tight boxer-briefs and stepped out of them. I was surprised he left his sneakers and bootie socks on. The dude stood in the center of the garage with yellow-white light behind him and stroked his beef until he grew iron-hard. He played with his nipples and balls, teasing me. Blew me a few kisses and…

  I couldn’t believe what he did next: found a metal chair and placed it in the center of the floor; grabbed a plastic, ten-inch dildo out of a toolbox; spit on the dildo’s suction cup bottom; stuck the dildo to the metal chair; found a tube of lube in the toolbox; added lube to the dildo and…

  Malin rode that plastic dick and fucked himself for twenty minutes. Up and down. Up and down. Perspiration covered his shoulders and chest and face. He huffed and puffed. His body pounced up and down…up and down…up and down. His mouth twisted in pain and pleasure. His pecs bounced with the same rhythm as his untouched dick. The kid’s workout could have passed as professional in my opinion. A work of art. The director’s cut. Something award-winning.

  He came without his dick needing to be touched. A white arc of cream flew out of his shaft, across the garage, toward me, and splattered on the cement floor, creating a mess, or the greatest erotic painting a man could create. Something he could have called Squirting Beauty #1 or Garage Labor.

  Damn, what a show.

  Perhaps the greatest show on earth.

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  * * * *

  I had the next morning off and tried to sleep in. To no avail, knocking pulled me from a dream about Malin’s sexual antics in the garage. Wood sprouted between my legs as I heard knock…knock…knock on the apartment’s front door.

  Wearing nothing more than a pair of briefs, I pushed the boner away as I went to the door, and walked through the golden beams of warm, June sunshine that shifted through the open windows. I thought a refreshed Sis would appear with home-cooked breakfast sandwiches. Not quite. I opened the door and…

  “Squire, what are you doing here?”

  He checked out my chest and the package between my legs. The trainer didn’t seem to mind my lack of attire by the smile on his handsome face. “I came to get you for a jog. What do you say?”

  I didn’t jog. Never. Not once in the last thirty-four years. No way. Why would I start now?

  “A jog?”

  “And maybe breakfast. Something with fruit and yogurt.”

  I don’t know why I said yes, but did. Maybe it was his bare chest and hard nipples that convinced me. Maybe it was his too-tight, dry-fit running shorts that showed off his tubular knob. Or maybe it was his charming smile. Didn’t really know. The agreement simply slipped out of me.

  Before I knew it, I was dressed in a pair of shorts, ankle socks, running shoes, and outside with him, jogging at his side, enjoying the morning and his generous company.

  * * * *

  Jogging. Jogging. Jogging. Who knew I had it in me? Maybe it was because the hottest and handsomest guy was beside me. I thought so. We went straight on Joiner Street for six blocks, made a left on Daily Street, and ended up in Hays Park.

  Squire didn’t shed a drop of sweat. Nor did he huff or puff. The trainer was over-the-top fit, chiseled to his core. Obviously it wasn’t his first jog. The guy was physically buff all the way around. His golden-brown skin glowed in the morning sun, looking delicious. His hair didn’t bounce or become a sweaty mess. His cheeks didn’t turn a flummoxed red like mine.

  I, on the other hand, was soaked with perspiration from head to toes, bathing in the shit. My chest rose and fell in steady, deathly huffs, and my entire body shook in a state of hyperventilation.

  In the park, near the manmade
Rockwell Fountain, I panted like a dog, and begged, “Can…we…stop…and…rest…for a minute?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I sat on the circular, stone fountain, which was turned off for the day for some reason. City pigeons bobbed up and down near a standing Squire. As I caught my breath, he asked, “I think I saw a naked guy in the garage across from your apartment this morning.”

  I chuckled. “You did. His name is Malin. He’s obsessed with his dick and jerks off all the time. He takes care of his grandmother and her grass.”

  “Makes sense why he was fiddling with a lawnmower.”

  In detail, I told him about Ben Malin’s personal shows, and doubted the guy had a boyfriend because I had never seen him with one.

  “Sounds like he stays busy,” Squire said, stretching in front of me: left leg, right leg, both arms, back.

  “He does stay busy…with his dick and the grass. Doesn’t do much of anything else. He’s a good looking guy, though. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a boyfriend. Maybe one comes around when I’m not watching his shows.”

  He chuckled. “I’m jealous, Alex. You get free live shows. That has to be superiorly hot.”

  “I won’t deny it. It is.”

  About a minute later we started running again. This time around the park on a narrow and nameless trail, and then back to Daily Street, then Joiner, and then we headed to Sis and Mick’s garage.

  During the jog we continued to talk about our lives. Mine: Sis, Mick, and making River Death, my quiet life in a bungalow in West Hollywood. His: stories about his clients at Fitland, daily workouts, healthy meals and shakes, beginning free fitness programs for the community in his free time.

  Once we reached the garage/apartment where I was staying, standing at the bottom of the stairs, he faced me and brushed sweat off my left cheek with the back of his right hand. I huffed and puffed, drained from the jog. My chest continued to swell and fall. “It will get easier for you. I promise.”

  “I’m really out of shape.”

  “I’ll get you fit before you realize it. You can use Fitland anytime you want. No charge. My treat. As long as I can watch you work out.”

  I was shocked to hear him flirt with me and became nervous, confused, and wide-eyed. “I’m a hopeless cause.”

  “I doubt that. You’re a prize.”

  “The worst prize ever.”

  He winked at me and wiped sweat away from my right cheek with the back of his hand. The action left me befuddled, unclear of the moment until he bowed his head ever so slightly and asked, “I want to know if you’ll go out with me, Alex Lee?”

  “What? Out? Who? Why? What?” I sounded like a bumbling idiot. Probably turned three shades of red. Embarrassed.

  “Tomorrow evening. Meet me at Rally’s for dinner. Seven. What do you say?”

  “Yes…No…Yes.” I shook my head. I nodded. Looked left. Looked right. Came to my senses. “I mean yes. Of course I will.”

  He laughed. “Are you sure? Because you sound unsure.”

  “I’m just surprised. You never talked to me in high school. You were a jock and popular. I wasn’t in your league. I was an unfit and queer geek. So this is completely catching me off guard.”

  “Hell.” He waved a hand in my direction. “That was a long time ago. We were just boys then. We’re men now. Adults. And I find you attractive, like you, and want to have dinner with you. So tell me you’ll go out with me.”

  “I will,” I told him, bursting at the seams. Pop!

  He touched my lips with two fingertips, connected his eyes with mine, and said, “Good thing, because if you told me no, you’d break me a little. Maybe a lot. Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Before I could respond, he jogged away. Squire left me standing their numb at the bottom of the stairs…and semi-hard.

  Damn. How did he do that? And why?

  * * * *

  The next evening, seven P.M. Expensive Rally’s overlooked the Ohio River. Squire and I had a seat at the bottom of Mt. Washington, right of the incline. Over candlelight, we ordered wedge salads, gnocchi, red wine, and no bread. A guy who looked like Nick Bateman but sang like Frank Sinatra entertained the diners. He sang a slow version of “American Girl” by Tom Petty.

  Seated across from me, waiting for our drinks and salads to arrive at the table, Squire said, “You look good in jeans and a T-shirt. You fill them out nice. No flab. Muscular. Nice face too. Plus, you’re a sweetheart. Which you always were that I can remember. You’re not a walking dildo like some of the guys I train.”

  “Thanks. Who knew we would wear the same thing.”

  “And thanks for showing up this evening. Safford told me you would. He remembers you being a great guy in school. The last thing I wanted to do was sit here all by myself and being ditched for the evening.”

  “The food and drinks are good, though. And the music isn’t so bad. You could have handled it just fine, I’m sure.”

  “The question is…can I handle you this evening? You’re looking good. I can sometimes not be a gentleman. Let’s hope I can be on my best behavior.” He winked at me and shared a playful grin.

  I didn’t know what he meant by his comments, but I was willing to go there and asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Rally’s is known for the cornhole field, which I thought we could play after dinner. Then, maybe we could go for drinks and a walk. What do you say? Whatever happens after that…happens.”

  “You’re fun,” I told him. “You had that reputation in high school, and you obviously do now.”

  He grinned from ear to ear. “Is that a bad thing? Have I crossed a line? Is it too forward to tell you that I’m attracted to you, Alex?”

  “No to all three questions. Absolutely not.”

  Our server named Shelia brought our drinks, then our salads, and told us, “Your pasta dishes will be out shortly.”

  The wait gave Squire plenty of time to catch me up on the last sixteen years of his life:

  “I fell in love with Rae Lynn after high school. The cheerleader. I’m sure you remember her. We got married. Then divorced after three years because of irreconcilable differences. It might have had something to do with me not having sex with her, and being interested in men.” He shrugged, attempted to smile, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. “I don’t know. Anyway, she couldn’t have children, which was probably a blessing for the both of us.

  “I dated a few women after her. None of those relationships worked out. It took me a long time to understand that I was drawn to men. Mostly masculine ones with hairy chests like you. No twinks or fems. The more butch the better. I didn’t come out of the closet for a long time, though. Secretly I bounced from man to man, and didn’t meet the right guy to fall in love with. I opened a dating account online and dated men. It turned out to be all about sex with men. I had more sex than I knew what to do with. To tell you the truth, I think it was meant to be. I had to learn who I was before I could love someone else.

  “I wanted to tell you all of this when you came home from California for Kent’s funeral, but…but a lot was going on at the time. You had to bury your brother, and I was burying one of my friends. None of that was good timing for either of us. A funeral and a loss are no time to spill the beans about one’s sexuality and coming out of the closet.”

  “Did Kent know about the guys in your life?” I asked him, downing half of my glass of wine. “I mean…the two of you were friends. Not best friends, but friends. He probably knew about you being gay, right?”

  He shook his head. “No one knew. Some people probably thought about it. But they didn’t believe it. I guess they don’t see me playing the part. I owned a gym. I was buff. I was masculine. There wasn’t anything queer about me.”

  “So Kent didn’t know about your secret life?”

  “He didn’t. Not at all.”

  “So were you a player?”

  “You mean jumping from one gay man’s bed to the next?”

  “Yes. That’s what I mean.”

  He nodded. “Still am, I guess. I’ll be this way until I settle down and get married. Isn’t that what every single guy is until they get hitched?”

  I shrugged.

  He shrugged. Then he added, “I’m looking for Mister Right at the moment. Someday I’ll find him. For now, I just haven’t. I’m not as easy as I used to be, though. I’m more picky about who I’m sleeping with these days.”