Bankers' Hours (11 page)

I didn’t talk a whole lot about myself. I liked how his voice caressed me. It was the best date I’d ever been on. He even paid!

WHEN WE
got back to his house, he suggested a movie after giving me a brief tour of the ground level. “You can pick anything you want. I have a stack of DVDs, and I have Netflix.” He walked into the kitchen and pointed to the living room.

“You’re not going to lock your door?” It’s not that I didn’t feel safe in his house, but I always locked my door after I got home.

“No. I never lock it. I don’t think I’ve locked the door in eight years. My shop is practically in my yard. I come home every day for lunch, and the only people that visit me either work for me or are related to me, so I’ve never felt the need. Do you want anything to drink? A beer or something?” He stood by the fridge, waiting for me to answer from the living room.

“I don’t think I want a beer. The last time, I was really sleepy as soon as I walked in the door.” I started to kneel down in front of the stack of DVDs, but reconsidered. I squatted instead. The carpet looked grimy, and I didn’t want the knees of my pants stained. His DVDs were in disarray, upside down and in no particular order. One was out of its case and covered in dust. If they’d been mine, they would have been alphabetized and lined up on a shelf. One title caught my eye, and I slipped it out of the stack. “How about
Gone in 60 Seconds
?” I asked, waving the case around to draw his attention.

He cocked his head and walked over to me with two bottles of water in his hand. “Why did you pick that one?” he inquired curiously.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen it twenty times, and if I get distracted while we watch it, I won’t miss anything important. Why? Don’t you like this one?”

His soft smiles were becoming sappier every time. “It’s my favorite movie. I guess I’m surprised you picked it.”

I glanced down at the case in my hands and then back at Tristan and smiled. “Yeah, well, I almost picked
Pitch Black
, but I have a hard time resisting this one.” I winked, and he chuckled.

He said, “I’m fond of
Pitch Black
too. Either one would have been fine. I’m glad you like some of the same movies.” Tristan placed the water bottles on the coffee table and sat on the sofa. He grabbed the universal remote and turned on the television.

I opened the case. “It’s empty.”

He smirked. “It’s already in the player.”

I put the case on the top of the stack and sat next to Tristan. “By the way, I’ve seen probably 90 percent of the movies in that stack, and I liked most of them.”

The look on his face was priceless.

Tristan started the movie, and I opened my water and kicked off my shoes. I was really thirsty, and I knew it was from nervousness. Would he kiss me again? Would we mess around, and how far would he go? He said he wanted to take things slow, but I’d been sitting on idle for so many years I wasn’t sure how slow I could go without getting blue balls. I was tired of doing the one-fisted tango alone or coming in my sleep.

Tristan had his arm across my shoulders, and I leaned onto his chest; however, the position was awkward and not very comfortable on my neck.
And what should I do with my hands?
I had them folded on my lap, but the prospect of rubbing his thigh was very enticing. I moved my right arm so my elbow sat on top of his thigh and my hand comfortably rested over his knee. As soon as I slid my palm around to the inside of his leg, Tristan made a little noise. I continued caressing his knee area, because I didn’t want to push my luck. He’d never said how far he would go, which wasn’t my fault, but I feared his disapproval if I ventured too far up the inside of his leg.

I kept my fingers in check, but I was dying to rub his crotch.

Imagining what his body might look like, I licked my lips. He’d worn shorts to the gym, so I knew he had solid calf muscles and his brown leg hair wasn’t too thick. He had cords of muscle above his kneecap, which I could feel through his jeans. I bet his thighs were amazing.

At that point I forgot the movie. I heard the dialogue in the background, but Nicolas Cage was not my focus. Tristan’s breathing had changed to heavier, more rapid puffs. My head was against his collarbone, and he nuzzled my hair with his cheek as I caressed his knee. As I grew bolder and moved my hand north, he placed his hand over mine and squeezed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but his voice was far from steady.

I lifted my head off his shoulder and gave him a droopy-eyed expression. I all but stuck my lip out and pouted. “Nothing.”

He made a guttural noise, like a growl, but deep in the back of his throat. He was two seconds from either shoving me away or eating me. “Grant,” he rasped. “We can’t do this.”

“Just one kiss?” I suggested, looking as fake-sad as I could.

He grunted but brought his mouth down on mine. He was trying to maneuver on the couch as he kissed, but I was quicker and turned where I sat so I was practically kneeling on the couch as I worked my way into his lap. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him like we’d done before, only I wanted to use my tongue. I hoped he was into that.

It wasn’t like I knew all that many gay men personally, but I had heard there were men who didn’t like kissing, and some who didn’t mind kissing as long as there was no tongue involved because they had a thing against saliva getting all over their face. I couldn’t say I disagreed with that, but since I’d never experienced the messiness first hand, I figured I was still open to the option.

I had one leg bent on either side of his thighs as I sat in his lap, kissing him aggressively and working up my nerve to lick. When I did, Tristan groaned as he grabbed the back of my head and held me in place while thrusting his tongue into my mouth and kissing me wildly. He lifted me off the couch in his arms and turned us around so he could place me onto the cushions, then leaned down, still kissing me, and knelt between my legs.

It probably would have been wiser to stop kissing, because as he groped for the pillow wedged between me and the back of the couch, his other knee slipped off the side and he tumbled to the floor, nearly dragging me with him.

I giggled as I peeked over the edge.

“It’s not funny,” he said, staring up at me.

“Yes, it is,” I replied, giggling louder.

Tristan wasn’t laughing, but he also wasn’t upset. He reached out. “Come here.”

“But the floor is dirty,” I said, wrinkling my nose. His carpet was soiled from grease stains and ground-in mud. It was disgusting.

“You can use my shower later. I promise the shower is very clean.” He shoved the table out of the way, muffler and all.

I climbed off the couch and onto his outstretched torso. Once I was lying on him, Tristan held me around my back and rolled, switching our positions so he was lying on top. He smiled into my eyes, proud of himself, as he descended, kissing me again just as deeply as he had before he had fallen off the couch.

I enjoyed his weight on me. He wasn’t as heavy as I thought he’d be, or maybe he was holding some of his weight up by his elbows and knees. I didn’t know. What I knew was that being in that position made me realize the ache and need I had inside to be fucked. I’d pondered for years how people knew if they were tops or bottoms. Was it experimentation or dumb luck? In this moment, at least for me, it was an undeniable yearning for Tristan to sink inside of me.

I wasn’t a kid. This was the age of the Internet. My naïveté was long gone. I’d gone years not knowing anything about what two men could do with each other, but one year I typed in “porn” and lost my intellectual virginity. I’d watched videos, I understood the mechanics; it was practical experience I lacked. As I lay on the floor under Tristan, I burned for him to rip my clothes off and give it to me good.

My one leg sprawled open, so I easily bent it at the knee and pressed against Tristan’s hip. I found the hem of his shirt and rubbed the smooth skin of his lower back. Tristan was between my legs, and when he ran his hand down my side to my thigh and pulled, I felt his ample package nudging my crotch. I grabbed the back of his shaven head and kissed him fervently as I lifted my hips off the ground. I felt him press against my erection for a few seconds before releasing my mouth and sitting up.

“We need to stop, Grant.” He was breathing hard, and his face was red and slightly sweaty. “I wasn’t going to push this far.”

I sat up next to him and tentatively reached out. I needed to touch him, but I was afraid he’d pull away. “It’s okay. You’re not pushing. I don’t want you to stop.”

He rubbed his head as if frustrated and then looked at me with this weird suffering expression. “I think you should go home.” He moved from the floor to the couch but kept his eyes averted. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong. I sat quietly and put my shoes back on, then walked over to the other chair and picked up my coat. I hesitated by the door. “Can I ask you one thing?” He did at least look at me as I asked the question. “Was my kissing okay? I don’t have any experience to know, and I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

Tristan dropped his head forward and mumbled, “Oh, Grant.” He stood up and gestured to the crotch of his jeans. “This is what your kissing did to me.”

I saw the wet spot near his zipper. “You came?”

He grinned and shook his head. “No. It’s precome. I don’t wear underwear, so it looks worse than it really is. My point is that your kissing is just fine. I didn’t want to stop.”

“Then… why did you?” I hated asking, but I had thought the date was going so well.

Tristan joined me by the door and caressed my cheek. He explained, “Because I wanted to prove to myself I could have a relationship with a man
not
based on sex.”

“Even if I want the sex?” I did sound pitiful, and I hoped he wouldn’t think me terribly immature for whining.

He smirked. “Even if you want the sex. I told you at dinner that I’m looking to settle down. Maybe not tomorrow, but dating you—for me—isn’t casual. Deep down in my gut I can tell there’s something special about you, and I want to spend time with you. If you’re not looking for a long-term relationship, then this won’t work.”

“No—yeah, I get that. I’ve never wanted to play the field or date loads of guys. I’ve wanted someone special too. Ask Mel! All I talk about is meeting Mr. Right and settling down. I’ve been hoping that waiting so long to have sex would be worth it. Ya know? Like maybe it was fate telling me my first time needed to be special.”

“Precisely. I think you’re special. So I didn’t want to rush things between us sexually, because I thought there would be plenty of time later.”

I pointed to the couch. “And that’s why you stopped whatever was going to happen just now.”

“Yeah. Go home. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can talk.” He kissed me softly. “I care about you, Grant.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t say anything. I slipped through the door without more confusion. Tristan liked me a whole lot more than I expected. He wasn’t kicking me out for good, and he most definitely wanted to see me again. Hands down, it was the best date ever!

I got in my car and turned the key. The engine made a strained sound. I tried again. It groaned. One more turn of the key and the engine made a click and then nothing. I slumped forward on the steering wheel. “Tristan’s never going to believe me,” I groaned. I got out of my car and knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again. I remembered he said he never locked the door, so I turned the knob.

I peeked into the house. All the lights were still on, but Tristan was nowhere to be seen. “Tristan?” I called, but he didn’t reply. I walked slowly through the living room and entered the bedroom, unsure of how he’d react. “Tristan?” I saw a light from the bathroom door. I stepped closer and heard a grunt and a heavy sigh. It was probably the sound I thought it was, so I gulped, steadied my nerves, and knocked on the door. “Tristan?”

He yanked the door open. “Grant?” He seemed surprised and then squinted his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.

I felt so foolish I hung my head. “Um, my car won’t start.”

There was a pause, and then Tristan snickered under his breath. “You’re kidding.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his. “No!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know anything about cars, but mine won’t turn over.”

The mirth faded, and he asked, “Does it click? Or does it sound like the engine won’t quite start?”

“When I got in, it sounded strained. Then it clicked. Now I got nothing.” I apologized, “I’m sorry. I tried a few times, but it won’t do anything. I didn’t want to bother you, but….”

I guess he could tell I wasn’t lying. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Calm down, Grant. It’s all right. As much as I’d love to go out at midnight and use a flashlight to figure out what’s wrong, I think I’m going to pass. You can stay here tonight.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, thinly veiling my excitement.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll just find you a blanket for the couch.” He walked over to a closet and took out a fuzzy blue blanket.

“Couch?” I asked, letting my shoulders slump.

He lifted his eyebrow and smirked. “You didn’t think you’d get to sleep in my bed, did you?”

I shrugged. My disdain for sleeping on couches dated back to when I was ten and used to go to my grandmother’s house. Her couch was awful. Even as a little kid, my back would end up sore by morning. I’d avoided sleeping on couches ever since, even my own. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements when I walked in here. This situation just sort of happened, but your couch seems awfully short for me to sleep on.”

He opened his mouth, probably to counter my argument, and then decided against it. “Fine. You’re right, it’s small. It’s actually a loveseat, but I never call it that when people come over.”

“I thought you didn’t have much company here.”

“I don’t. Look, you can sleep here, but we’re
not
having sex. Remember that.” He pointed at me for emphasis and then put the fuzzy blanket back in the closet. “Do you want something to sleep in? My shirts might be too big, but I have a pair of shorts with a drawstring I think will fit you.” Tristan walked over to the bed and turned down the comforter.