The Trainer Page 4

  “Selective is the word.”

  He lifted his drink and took a sip. Winked at me. “Yes. Selective. That’s me.”

  “Likewise,” I told him, and downed the rest of my glass of wine, relishing a fresh pour.

  * * * *

  Cornhole championships in the tri-state area were held at Rally’s. The court sat snug against the river, netted from pesky bugs, and was lighted so players could enjoy it at after dark. Surprisingly, we had the court to ourselves.

  Squire rested his middle against my backside, teaching me how to toss a beanbag into the hole on the opposite side of the court. He told me, “Steady with the arm. Pull back and release.”

  Our motion together resembled making romantic love against a wall: man behind man, slow movement, synchronized gliding. Not that I was complaining, of course.

  I released the beanbag and it shot through the air, flying like a heavy bird, arced, and fell. Damn if it didn’t hit the sloped board on the opposite side of the court! It didn’t go into the hole, but close enough.

  “That’s my man!” he cheered.

  I spun around and we high-fived each other. Our chests bumped together a little. Both of us grinned in unison. Wide-eyed and goofy. Smiled from ear to ear. Such a great moment between us. Memorable.

  We played cornhole for maybe an hour or more. Point wise, he kicked my ass, which was expected, of course, since he had more experience than me. Following the playful run, he grabbed my hand, pulled me toward him, faced me, almost bumped my nose into his, and asked, “Do you want to go back inside and have another drink?”

  “Love to. Lead the way.”

  He did as he was instructed. “Do you like a man in charge?”

  “I have no complaints about it. If he can get the job done, so be it. I’d rather not stand around and argue who’s in control and waste time.”

  “Sounds logical.”

  Once inside, we sat at the bar area: lots of glasses, few people, a stunning female who looked like Selena Gomez’s twin took our orders. Squire told her, “My gentleman friend will have a vodka tonic with lime on the side. And I will have an IPA.” Selena went to work.

  Our knees brushed together. He touched one of my thighs; I didn’t mind. He inquired with an adorable smile, “You do like vodka tonics with lemon, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

  “What’s wrong with being presumptuous when you’re handsome?”

  “Nothing, I guess.” Then Selena served our drinks and he took advantage of the moment and asked about my previous boyfriends.

  I told him some scathing details that he probably didn’t want to hear, but the alcohol helped and did some extraordinary buzz-work. We chatted for quite some time, smiled some, and flirted, until I said, “Take me for a walk.”

  And he replied, “I like a man who demands things from me.”

  “Something told me you’d say that.”

  He picked up the tab at Rally’s, not that I expected him to, but it was a nice gesture on his part. Most guys would have said fuck it, and left it for me. Then he grabbed my right hand with his left one and we made our way out of the restaurant, beyond the cornhole court, and to a weaving, cement walkway along the river that headed west, toward Ohio. The sun fell on the horizon: a charming purple-blue wave of summertime.

  As if we were in high school, we swung arms together, walking and chatting about the weather, missing football since it was out of season, how much we both loved the small shopping district called The Strip, and our fears of heights.

  To our left were a string of barges and a towboat at work. The thing moved somewhat faster than our pace, but not by much. To our right was Heinz Stadium where the Steelers played in the fall and winter.

  Squire squeezed my hand and asked, “Do you like living in West Hollywood or Pittsburgh better?”

  “That’s a tough one. But I know the answer. I like the glamour of the west, but the smallness of the east. Both work for me.”

  “Do you ever see yourself living here in the Burg again?”

  “Someday. Not sure when. But someday. It will always be home to me. People who grow up here always come home. It’s inevitable. This place has a very strange force over its residents. Once you leave, you always come back.”

  “Speaking of very strange forces, Alex. Tell me what you’re doing to me?”

  I stopped, pulling him to halt. We faced each other. “What do you mean?”

  He grinned.

  I grinned.

  “I’m having a good time with you this evening. Better than I thought possible. Tell me what you are doing to me?”

  “Good to know. I’m also enjoying myself. Thanks for asking me out. Even if you blew me off in high school and wanted nothing to do with me, Mr. Jock and Popular. You were cruel back then. Out of my league.”

  He rolled his eyes and huffed. “I’ll make it up to you here and now.”

  “How do you intend to do that, Squire? I’m pretty sure you—”

  I was incapable of finishing my sentence when he leaned into me and locked his lips over mine, blocking my words off with a solid and earth-shaking kiss. It felt as if the river rose around us and the clouds dropped out of the sky. My knees shook and my heart thudded dramatically within my chest. The felt-like horizon bled through my closed eyes. His kiss felt hot and untamable, everything I had always dreamed of. I could hear the earth cracking beneath my feet, and the many bridges splitting into pieces and falling in the three rivers around me. Fire boiled around me, from my feet up to my shoulders and…

  When he pulled away from me, he said, “I think we can call it even now. What do you say?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, dizzy and wordless, breathless and windswept. “You like me. You’re not ignoring me anymore.”

  “Of course I’m not. I have you on my radar. It’s exactly where I want you to be.”

  I thought: He’s a player…player…player…player…and he’s playing you, Alex. Be careful. This is what he does to all the guys he dates.

  “Should we continue walking?” he asked, pulling me against his side, and forward.

  I mumbled something neither of us could understand, sounding like an idiot, a complete buffoon.

  Eventually, I came to and gathered my composure following his world-crushing kiss. Otherwise I would have tripped and fallen on the concrete pathway that skirted this way and that way along the Ohio.

  Following our kiss, we continued to hold hands and talk. Our topics detailed the crazy road construction going on in the city, a new queer bar called Anxiety on 2nd Avenue in the downtown area, and Sis’ obsession with Gregory Dicks’ writing.

  Squire told me, “I’m sure I can get her books signed. He pays me a fortune to keep his pounds off. The guy’s obsessed with carbs.”

  “She would like that.”

  “Maybe she can pop into Fitland when Dicks is there and meet him.”

  “She’d probably faint if that happened.”

  “Sounds like it,” he said.

  “Speaking of Fitland. Tell me how Barbells fell apart with Todd Scaler. I want the truth and all the skinny. Everything. Be honest with me.”

  And he was.

  “Very few people know all the details why I backed out of half the ownership of Barbells,” Squire said, “but since I just kissed you…and since I like you, I’ll tell you everything.

  “As you already know, Todd and I were friends in high school. After we graduated we were still good friends. Todd, as you also know, always liked guys. A lot of guys. Many guys. Too many to count. He helped me come out after my marriage with Rae Lynn, which I have always thanked him for.

  “Somewhere along the way, and during that process, we became boyfriends and then lovers. Then, in our late twenties, we decided to buy and open Barbells together since we were physical fitness nuts, which worked out at first for the both of us.

  “Barbells was (and still is today) very successful. The money was great. Both of us were the perfect trainers. About twenty-four months into the adventure, though, it turned sour, the biggest mistake of my life.

  “Let me just say that Todd didn’t believe in marriage, or faithfulness, which was probably a good thing for me, because I would have married him if he had asked me. I was in love with the man, or at least what I thought was love. Unfortunately, my feelings weren’t reciprocated in the two years we were together as lovers. There were lies upon lies. I had learned that he slept with numerous men behind my back while we were together, most of which were our clients. More than fifteen men. That was a huge mistake on his end. Bad business all the way. The biggest fuck up, if you were to ask me. Honestly, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to me, but it was. Todd always liked his men. In high school. After high school. Always.

  “Of course, it ended quickly and badly between us. I didn’t want anything to do with him. Nothing. Nor did I want Barbells anymore. Thereafter, I hired a lawyer and sued Todd for half of the business. Equal parts. Right down the middle. He had enough money saved up to buy me out, which is exactly what he did. Splitsville. It ended and I started to mend my heart, which wasn’t easy for me because of the love I had had for him. A year passed. Two years. Then I opened Fitland, which is more successful than I ever imagined. And here I am with you at my side this evening, with that amazing kiss you shared with me, happy. Life is good. Better.”

  “You sure you don’t have a boyfriend now? You’re good looking and successful, and your positive about life. You have to have a boyfriend.” We turned around and were heading back to Rally’s.

  He shook his head in the colorful evening as the moon started to rise. “I don’t date two guys at the same time.”

  “Good to know.”

  “How ab
out you? Are you messing around with that hot garage boy that’s putting on shows for you?”

  I laughed. “Not a chance. Malin’s just fun to watch. Nothing more. Nothing less. It’s like porn.”

  “So you’re single. And I’m single. Which means…I can kiss you again, right?”

  “Try me,” I told him, giving him permission to stop me on the curving sidewalk and letting him place his hands on my hips. Within a matter of seconds he kissed me, just as I wanted him to: smoothly, romantically, without any inhibitions whatsoever. Two men under a blanket of fresh stars, plus a moon. Togetherness.

  While kissing him, I thought: Fuck it, Alex. Give in to him. Kiss him. Enjoy him. Give him what he wants. Because you want it too. All of him. Everything he has. You’re equals. You’re just like he is. A player. So roll with it. Eat him up. Because he’s going to eat you up…whole.

  Ten minutes later, we entered his place through the front door and I kicked off my shoes, planning to stay an hour, maybe even longer. He told me, “I’d show you around but you’ve been here before. I know you have. You can’t tell me otherwise. I’ve seen you on my phone.”

  “So you have cameras everywhere?”

  “I do.”

  “I could have called the police on you but didn’t.”

  “Because you’re a good man. You must like me.”

  “I am. And I do.”

  “Which means I owe you a kiss, right?”

  He led me to the kitchen and I followed him like a puppy. “Something like that. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not the type of guy to make another guy do something they don’t want to. I like to consider myself a gentleman.” Once in the kitchen, he pulled out two bottles of imported, longneck beers. He opened one of the beers and passed it to me.

  “Thanks. Let’s go back into the living room. I think I owe you a kiss.”

  “I like it when you kiss me.”

  “Good thing,” I said, and tugged him behind me, into the dining room, toward the living room.

  Standing next to his sofa, listening to a clock tick somewhere inside the room, I kissed him on his neck, an earlobe, his cheek, and then the lips, making up for invading his privacy. My hand cupped against one of his hard-packed pecs and pointed nipples. When I pulled off and away from him, I said, “I didn’t mean to be a criminal and break into your house.”

  He brushed my stomach with a palm, then one of my pecs, and popped a kiss on my lips. “It was worth it. Looks like I won you over.”

  “You might have.”

  We took sips of our beers and placed them on the coffee table, forgetting them for the time being.

  I felt one of his palms slide down to the area between my legs and gently cup my hardening goods. He gave my dick a smooth rub, two rubs, and pulled the hand away. To finish the task, he kissed me again. When the kiss was complete, he pulled his lips away from mine and said, “I might have gotten you hard, Alex.”

  “A little.”

  “Can I undress you?”

  Before I gave him permission, he had already started.

  My shirt was dropped to the floor and my jeans were unbuttoned and pushed down to my knees. I still had my white, cotton briefs snug against my center, covering my firm private parts.

  Squire kissed both my shoulder blades and the sides of my neck. His tongue and hands steered down my chest. Short and abrupt nips were applied to my nipples and abs. Before I knew it, he was on his knees, kissing and licking my dented navel, gently rolling his tongue around its concave structure. One of his hands discovered the hard set of balls between my legs, which he added a pleasurable squeeze to. His teeth found the elastic rim of my briefs, which he tugged down to my thighs as he growled, and he released my hard shaft. The dick bobbed against his nose and forehead; an action he probably desired.

  He grabbed the base of my veined stick with his left hand, holding it upright. His right hand held my balls, applying gentle strokes to the hairy orbs, turning me on. He looked up at me in a seductive action, smiled.

  I knew what was coming next: his mouth would fall over the tip of my dick and he would pleasure the erection with his throat and strong suction; the finest blowjob I could possibly want from the most handsome and physically fit guy.

  I couldn’t do that…I wouldn’t. I…I backed away from him, shuffling, and told him, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…I can’t do this, Squire. I just can’t. It’s not you. It’s me. Honestly, it’s me.”

  Hurriedly, I pulled up my briefs, then my jeans. I left my shirt behind and bolted out of his place. Ran as fast as I could. Kept shaking my head.

  I couldn’t do that…I wouldn’t.

  * * * *

  I ran the twelve blocks to Sis’ and Mick’s house on Joiner Street. The evening’s warm air blew against my bare chest. My heart thumped wildly within my chest and my mind raced.

  He’s too good for you. He’s the popular guy. He’s a jock. You’re a nobody compared to who he is. He’s only using you to get off. Squire doesn’t really like you. This is a game he’s playing. You’re just a sex-toy for him. You’re flesh he can fuck. You’re an ass he can pump his dick inside. You’re a dick he can suck…because that’s what he likes to do. He doesn’t really give two shits about you. He never has. He never will. Never. Never. Never.

  I reached the apartment above my sister’s garage. Another Gregory Dicks paperback sat on the cooler at the top of the stairs: Brokenhearted. I thought it appropriate for my evening out with Squire and picked it up. Then I lifted the lid on the cooler: a plastic container of rocky road ice cream in a bucket of ice. Even more appropriate. I took the sweet treat out of the ice and carried it and the book inside.

  Alone again. Just me. Single. Always single. The way I was meant to be.

  I took a quick shower after my run home from Squire’s place.

  Squire called my cell phone while I was in the shower and left the message: “Hey, do you want to talk? Did I do something wrong? If so, I’m really sorry.”

  Then he texted: Call me. I want to know why you ran off. What did I do?

  I ignored both forms of communication.

  Following my shower, I decided to sit and read Sis’ book choice. Brokenhearted sounded like the best erotic read: A Marine comes back from Iraq and finds his lover in bed with another man. He gets his heart broken. To heal, he ends up sleeping with fifteen men. Each twenty-page chapter explicitly detailed his sexual experiences. With a bowl of Sis’ ice cream in hand, and the book in the other hand, I sat in the living room and…

  I heard grunts and groans outside. Loud noises. Two sets. Very masculine. I went to the window and looked across the alley, through the oak leaves in full flourish, and lo and behold, Malin had a bare-assed twenty-something gentleman over a chair in his grandmother’s garage, and was banging his mate’s behind. Malin hung on the man’s muscular hips and plowed…plowed…plowed the visitor with everything he had, murmuring things I couldn’t (and didn’t want to) understand. The men rocked to and fro, slapping together, grinding, and being naughty. Sweat flung off Malin’s chest and stung his friend’s back. And the very verbal visitor mumbled, “Fuck me hard,” which rose right up and into my living room, and ears. “Fuck me, Ben…Fuck me…Fuck me.”

  I watched their erotic bliss for the next minute or two, decided to give them their privacy, closed the window, pulled the blind, and went in search of my own pleasure: ice cream and reading. Good for me.

  * * * *

  Late in the month. June 20 or 21. The days melded together and I lost track of them.

  What I saw: Squire Land outside Fitland, on the sidewalk. Saw him hugging a blond guy that was over half of his age, almost a child. Saw him hold the blond guy against his chest and gave him a squeeze. Saw him kiss the blond guy on the cheek and smile, smile, smile. Saw him spank the blond guy on the bottom when he was walking away. Saw the two men wave at each other.

  What I confirmed: Squire Land maybe did have a boyfriend and lied to me. Confirmed that he was a player and got a lot a dick from every Joe he could. Confirmed he wasn’t serious about settling down. Confirmed that I was just a piece of ass when he tried to fuck me. Confirmed that we were not meant to be together.

  I’m glad I didn’t let him blow me. Glad I left his house. Glad I ran away as fast as I could. Good for me. Good.

  * * * *

  Squire called me again. Didn’t leave a message. Thank God! Because I didn’t want to be bothered by him.