Nowhere Man - 2. Chapter 2: Jesus

The next day I found myself humming the tune of Nowhere Man as I did four cabinet installs all over town. The song’s tune was a simple 4/4, but since it wasn’t a real song, no one really knew what I was humming. In the three months I’d worked for Cale’s, I didn’t really interact much with anyone, so they probably thought the little quiet boy was being weird again.

What they didn’t know, and what I didn’t realize until I was about to clock out, was that I’d been thinking about Tyler the whole time I was working. His thin physique and how strange it was to me that someone with such a thin frame managed to get that much muscle definition.

I, on the other hand, was what you would probably call built. I stood about the same height as Tyler, 6’, but had much more weight on me. I’d been a physical and active guy for a few years, and it showed. I had a solid chest that tapered down into a 32 inch waist. My arms were large and always tight in my t-shirts. The feature I was proudest of though, was my legs. Months of lifting cabinets, and then years of squatting and lifting air conditioning units before that, had developed toned thighs and calves that I knew were a cut above average. Added to that, the natural Texas tan I developed by spending a solid portion of my day unloading lumber from the truck to client’s houses. I believed it when my sister-in-law would say that I’d be a lady killer if I put some effort into it.

But my mind was a million miles away from my own physique that day. I couldn’t get my mind of off Tyler.

I clocked out, rode my truck to the one grocer in town and bought myself a 24-pack of Natural Light. I preferred Bud Light or even Miller, but I figured seeing my host had given me Natty last night, I’d repay the favor in his brew of choice.

I placed the case under the seat of my truck and walked into the house. My brother was home, in between double shifts at a construction site about twenty-five miles north of town. Ashley was in the kitchen fixing up cornbread and pork chops for when Dustin woke up.

“You hungry?” she asked. I was always hungry, and she was used to it. I was sure their food budget had doubled when I moved in. “Pork chops will be ready at six and I’ll wake Dustin up for dinner.”

“Sounds good,” I said, glad that it was another good mood day. Ashley’s moodiness didn’t come from her being a bad person—she was just as frustrated with her position at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder as everyone else. And sometimes, it got too hard for her to pretend that the home she was working hard to keep wasn’t a total piece of shit.

I escaped to my room to plan how I was going to approach Tyler tonight. I thought about going down there with a lighter and a case and knocking on his door. Simple. That would be a bad idea if he was sober, though. He hadn’t been the most welcoming guy sober, but I couldn’t sit back and wait for him to get drunk and find me. I wanted to see him. For some reason, I needed to see him.

I tossed a styrofoam ball into the air as I lay on my mattress, thinking about none other than Tyler, trying hard not to get hard right before dinner. At dinner, my brother was his usual self. He’d come up with a grand idea that was going to make them millions of dollars and move them out to Beverly Hills. Ashley nodded along, replying with more practical news: she was working on Thursday, Friday and Saturday night this week and one of her co-workers had quit so shift leader was up for grabs.

“You’ve got it, hun,” Dustin told her. “My baby is the best cocktail waitress this town has ever seen.”

He wasn’t far off on that one. She was a good waitress. And she was attractive to boot. The problem wasn’t her skill slinging drinks, but rather keeping the guys who went to Mackey’s off her long enough to let her do it. In my time there, I’d seen three fights erupt over her, starring Dustin, to the point where he wasn’t allowed in the bar while she was working.

At seven, Dustin went off to his second construction job of the day, this one taking him about sixty miles south. It involved land surveying for oil rigs and paid better than the first job, but not enough. Ashley settled in for another round of reality television and I ducked out of the trailer.

I sat outside, enjoying the warm April air and dreading the summer heat that was well on its way. At about 8:30, I decided to go for it. What was the worst that could happen? No guy I knew ever turned away a friend and a case of beer.

I walked down the strip and knocked on Tyler’s door. At first I didn’t hear anything. And then Pete barked and then silence again. I started to turn around when the latch unclicked and the screen door opened.

“I brought beer,” I announced, not sure what else to say. Tyler squinted at me as if he’d just woken up and couldn’t adjust his eyes to the twilight.

“I see that,” he said. “You gonna stand there or you gonna come in?” Already more words in the first sentence today than in the first hour yesterday.

“This beer is warm as shit,” he said when we’d cracked open the case and placed the rest in the fridge.

“It’ll cool down,” I replied. He nodded at me. He was sitting to my left, Pete on the floor between his spread legs, just like yesterday. This time, his upper body was covered by a flannel button down shirt. I was mad at the shirt.

I found myself dissecting my feelings a lot earlier today than I had yesterday. Maybe it was because I’d had a boner for this guy since I woke up at six this morning; or maybe because, somehow, he looked sexier to me with his shirt on— arms outstretched and almost touching me— than he had last night. Whatever the case, I was jonesing harder than I should have and I knew I was playing with fire.

“What’s your story?” he asked me simply after tepid beer number two. He had loosened up a little sooner, which was awesome.

“Story about what?” I asked.

“You got a girl?” he asked.

“No,” I responded. He nodded at me and took another long sip.

“Who’s the pretty blonde that hangs around your trailer?”

“My brother’s wife,” I replied. He nodded again. Another long sip. Conversations with this guy were glacial and I was starting not to mind.

“Must be hard to keep your hands off her,” he said. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Did he have a thing for Ashley? How many times had he actually seen her?

“I manage,” I replied squarely.

“You queer or something?” he asked. At first, I was jarred by the question. I felt a prickle of sweat on my forehead. I moved my beer from my left hand to my right because my left had started to shake. Fuck, I thought. My friendship was about to end exactly 24 hours after it had started.

In a split second, I thought that maybe this was the natural follow up question. I wasn’t attracted to the pretty girl that lived with me. I must be queer right? I mean, I knew I was, but admitting it to this guy could easily be a mistake.

And then again, saying it out loud could be a good thing. Maybe that’s what he wanted in a friend. Someone who could take care of him, no reciprocation required. I was kidding myself. There was no way this ended well for me if I confessed.

“Why do you ask?” I asked, not trusting how false a straight up “no” would have sounded. At least if he was talking, I wasn’t and my voice wouldn’t shake.

“Just asking,” he replied shortly. He shifted in the couch so that he was angled more away from me but his leg sat closer to mine. If it was possible, I think he had stretched his body out even further than it had been, taking up a solid 60 percent of the couch at that point. “I had a queer friend once, and you remind me of him.”

I guess that was that. He wasn’t a gay-basher, so at least my life was safe. Now if I could only get my breathing down and my sweat glands to stop working. A second later, he got up and walked to the fridge, giving me my cue to check him out like I always did when he walked by. As I finished my beer, I thought maybe, just maybe, his crotch was a little fuller, more defined, than usual. Either my beer-swimming mind was playing tricks on me, or the line of conversation had affected Tyler. He sat back down, handed me a Natty and resumed his quietness.

“How do I remind you of him?” I asked. No harm in that. No admission was made. Just a curious statement.

At first, Tyler shrugged. He took a swig of his drink and said, “The way you look at me, is all.”

I swallowed heavily. Busted! I didn’t say anything after that.

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” he replied. “I don’t mind you being gay or anything, but I’m not gonna do anything with you if I can help it.”

I dissected what he said. If he could help it. If he could help what? What did that mean? I wanted to ask, but I knew it was wildly inappropriate. He’d basically just told me that everything I’d been feeling, the chemistry I’d been sensing, was all made up in my mind. But still, he was leaving a window of possibility. If he could help it.

We switched topics after that. An hour and four beers later, we were singing again. This time, he had an old Travis Tritt song on his mind that he said he’d thought of because my name was Travis. I didn’t recognize it at all, but after the first chorus, I joined in with, “this whiskey ain’t workin’ anymore” at the end of the chorus.

As we continued to loosen up, those same feelings I’d felt yesterday crept back, even though I’d essentially been shut down. After a couple of hours of singing, talking and carrying on, I was about ready to leave again. I made one more trip to the fridge to get another can. The box felt almost empty, meaning we’d blown through almost 24 beers in a little over 3 hours. Even for big drinking guys like us, it felt like a lot.

“You’re still looking at me,” Tyler said, catching me looking at his midsection as I handed him a can. I moved my gaze really quickly, but I’d been caught. Again.

“You know, you gay guys really amuse me,” he said, stretching wide and sitting down. I like how he ran with that assumption as if it were a fact now. “You look at a guy like me and all you want is to suck my dick. And the whole time I’m sitting here thinking a blow job would be nice and this guy next to me is looking at me like he wants to give me one, but I couldn’t let a guy suck my dick, could I?” He stopped talking and waited for me to respond. I kept quiet, took a sip of my own beer, and forced myself to keep my eyes on his face and not to let them wander. “And then I think to myself, what’s the big difference? I like getting my dick sucked and you like sucking it, so what’s the big problem?” He stopped talking and turned his head to make eye contact.

“What’s the big problem, Trav?” It was the first time I’d let someone other than my brother and father call me that without correcting them. I looked him square in the eye and wondered the same thing. What was the big problem? Instead of answering, like I assume he wanted me to, I just moved my beer to my right hand and stretched my left hand towards him.

He wanted me to do this, I kept thinking. That’s why he was looking me straight in the eye and telling me that getting a guy to give him head wasn’t a big deal. And I wanted to be doing this. Damn, I wanted to be doing this.

I was shaking the entire time, no longer sweating, but definitely nervous. I reached over and felt his bulge. It wasn’t quite hard, but it was far from soft. And I was surprised to find that it was wet. I used my thumb to circle around the wet spot, keeping my eyes peeled onto Tyler’s eyes, waiting for him to stop me.

He didn’t. And so I didn’t. I squeezed his dick, the first dick I’d felt in over a year and the first I’d felt knowing who the guy was in as long as I can remember. It pulsed in my hand and I swear I heard a soft moan come out of him.

“See,” he said, quieter than he’d been. “Not a big deal is it?”

“Not a big deal,” I repeated.

“And if you really want to suck at it, I say you go right ahead. You’ll enjoy it, and I’ll imagine it’s some chick doing it and I’ll probably enjoy it.”

Without saying another word, I got down on my knees in front of Tyler. He stretched out really wide as I lowered his pants, looking at his long body stretched out before me. I dove in with my mouth.

Meanwhile, my cock was straining impossibly against my own denim, but I was too nervous to let it out. That might be crossing a line and I didn’t want to ruin this moment. I wanted to savor the feeling of a guy’s dick in my mouth for as long as I could.

It became apparent quickly that this wasn’t just any dick. Tyler’s cock was big by any standard, and seemed even bigger attached to this skinny guy. When it was completely hard in my mouth, I guessed it was upwards of eight inches. There was a small patch of hair above his shaft and two bearing sized shaved balls under it. The heat coming from his balls hit me just under my chin and I reached a hand up to cup them.

As soon as I touched his balls, he stretched again, sending his dick to the back of my throat. He let out a complimentary moan and leaked precum into my mouth. And he leaked. Like a fucking geyser spewing sticky saltiness into my mouth. I wondered how long it’d been since someone had taken care of him?

We must have been a sight. There I knelt, a tall muscular dude, on my knees in front of this tall skinny guy, taking his dick to the very back of my throat. And in all his straightness, he was moaning like a bitch under the touch of my tongue.

“Jesus,” I heard him whisper. I looked up and realized his eyes were closed and he was licking his lips. I decided if I was going to get any relief, it was now or never. I let my cock out and stroked it slowly as I brought Tyler over the edge.

When he finally came, I was reminded why I love servicing men so much. Sucking a dick is one thing, but the sweet reward at the end is another thing altogether. Some guys are built for it. As soon as Tyler pinned my head down to the hilt of his cock and began oozing cum straight to the back of my throat, I lost myself something awful. I bucked my hips in time with his, and came right there and then on his carpet. I let out a moan that caused a wave of vibration to shoot down Tyler’s shaft and his body went limp under me. I pealed myself off him, wiped what little dribble I hadn’t swallowed off of my chin, and sat back on my heels, grinning at him.

He swallowed hard; his Adam’s apple pulsed in his throat. He pushed me aside and walked towards the bathroom. I heard shuffling and then what sounded like a dry heave and vomit hitting water. I looked in the direction and instinctively knew I needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. I stood up, rubbed the cum into the carpet with my shoe, and walked out of the door.

As I walked up to our unit, I thought about what a huge mistake I’d made. There was no telling who in this town Tyler would tell that I took advantage of him when he was drunk. What if I was labeled? What if my brother and his wife were harassed because my little secret was out? What the fuck would Dustin say?

Paranoid, I went straight to my room and tried to think through all of the worst case scenarios, unable to even imagine the world of hurt I could be entering. But something eclipsed my worry session. Even while I was mentally preparing for the inevitable hate crime, and the burning at the stake of the town queer, I couldn’t get Tyler’s taste out of my mouth. I couldn’t get the image of his smooth, naked body out of my head. And I couldn’t get the sound of his soft, passionate “Jesus” out of my ear.