GWM - 10. Chapter 10 of 18

Ollie

But Art started a chain reaction. It seemed Harry couldn’t even glance online without stumbling over the kind of guys one of the women in his office cheerfully called “toads.” He hated her calling them that, but his friend almost constantly seemed to say, “Well, I’m off on a toad date.”
“Why do you go out with these guys?” Harry had asked. “If you don’t really think one of them’s going to turn out decent?”
“ It’s better than going to movies alone,” his friend had replied.
Harry used to do that, comfortably, simply because of his taste in movies. But it was getting harder to go into a restaurant by himself, let alone a movie. Still, he wouldn’t purposely date men he didn’t like. Even the worst of the next three guys was at best a lightweight clown. Though the first was closer to a buffoon.
Ollie answered Harry’s ad even before Harry recorded a greeting. That was supposedly impossible, and Harry wondered if he really understood how this particular voice mail system worked. He’d temporarily closed his PO box to get a break and had burned out online.
Ollie’s message said he was Harry’s age, 5'-10", 170, bald but with a sexy moustache. He went on to say he was handsome, liked theater, movies, good food, good conversation, had good values, worked in the Arts, and exercised regularly. It didn’t say that he had a strong European accent, but Harry could hear that for himself.
And Harry considered answering the message immediately, then he simply filed it, waiting to see what else appeared. He had nothing against Europeans, if that’s what Ollie was. But he was having enough trouble connecting with guys more like himself. Why add complications?
The next day brought a message from Syed, who described himself as tall, thin, dark-haired, and from Iran. He also liked good movies, good food, good values, and conversation.
“I’m am idiot,” Harry told himself. “What am I waiting for?” He called Ollie first.
Ollie was German, “East German,” he pointed out. “But I’ve been here for twelve years.” He’d just broken off a relationship that had lasted almost that long, with what he called, “My American: Tall. Blond. Athletic. Everything I always wanted. Sans brains.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Harry said. “About the relationship ending. You still see him?”
“I don’t want to. The last few years we had practically nothing to talk about. Now we have less.”
He supposed Ollie was being funny. But, again, all Harry could say was “Sorry.”
They talked for nearly an hour. Ollie said guys swore his accent was charming when they first heard it, then never called back. “Ten years ago, I looked very hot. How I sounded wasn’t an issue.”
“You sound fine,” Harry assured him. “Did you study English as a kid? I’ve heard that one advantage of being raised in Europe is you travel all the time.”
“As a child, I didn’t leave East Germany a lot,” Ollie said, this time cracking Harry up. Then, as conversation unjammed, Ollie’s doorbell rang. “My sister,” he said, “come to visit.”
“From Germany?”
“From Deerfield. She’s lived there for seventeen years. We’re going to dinner.”
Harry seemed endlessly able to embarrass himself.
“Look,” Ollie said, “I’ll call you later. I want to finish this talk properly.”
“Sure thing,” Harry told him. It was Saturday, but he had no plans. This was the closest he’d come to meeting anyone.
After hanging up, Harry called Syed, the guy from Iran. That conversation was tough, but not because of cultures: Syed loved sports. He lived sports. Talked sports. “Growing up, all I followed was American teams. It didn’t matter what they played, if they were good or bad, or what city they came from. If they were American, they were terrific.”
He’d come to the States for college, then had stayed. He was a businessman, also just out of a long relationship. “Eleven years! Can you believe I wasted so much time!” It was clear he wasn’t about to start up with Harry.
“We don’t have that much in common,” he said, politely ending their fairly one-sided discussion. “But thank you for calling.”
“It’s not like I don’t like the Red Sox,” Harry said aloud. Then he went out and rode his bike.
Back an hour later, he talked with one of his neighbors, a sweet old woman who reminded him of his great-aunt. He changed several light bulbs for her, tightened a doorknob, then made dinner and went to a Finnish movie he could have lived without. He could have gone with Ryan or Gordon, but he wanted to be alone. When he came home, there was a message on his machine.
“You said you’d be there,” Ollie announced. “I’d hoped we could meet for a drink. I’ll be up till after midnight. Please call.”
Since it was only eleven, Harry did.
“I’m so glad to hear from you,” Ollie said. “Too bad you didn’t phone sooner. Now it’s too late to meet.”
“I was just in Northampton,” Harry told him. “I could be back in ten minutes.”
He was mainly joking, but Ollie was amazed. “Are you serious? Most Americans plan out their lives days in advance. I’m always checking calendars.”
“I slept late,” Harry admitted. “I’m good for a few more hours.”
So they arranged to meet for coffee, figuring -- on a Saturday night -- the bars would be full of kids. But so was the coffee shop.
Harry had no trouble spotting Ollie. “I look like young Ben Kingsley,” he’d said, but he more closely resembled Hercule Poirot. He was sitting at a table, but hadn’t been served. Harry also couldn’t attract a waitress.
“Talk,” Ollie said. “I’ve been here before. They’ll leave us alone.”
Harry had occasionally been in the shop, and he even recognized one of the waitresses. But the place was so busy, that didn’t help. So he talked with Ollie, and they were left alone.
Harry thought he’d talked too much, mainly about foreign movies they’d both seen. They didn’t really seem to agree about anything. Some films Harry barely remembered, while Ollie seemed precisely judgmental. But Ollie was the first person Harry had met in a long time who’d seen that many films.
After an hour, they both needed something to drink but still couldn’t get service. Harry smiled. “They seem to have forgotten us.”
Ollie shrugged. “This is so European.” Then he suggested: “I made some herbal tea just before I left. It’s what I was doing when you called. I could warm it up.” He smiled and added, “I live just down the street.”
It was almost one. It seemed an obvious set-up, and Harry wasn’t interested.
Though they had only talked. Sitting with a bright Formica table between them. Under florescent light. What could be less seductive?
Harry agreed. He had to trust people. They left without leaving a tip.
Ollie’s apartment was in a thirties building Harry had always meant to explore. It was simply furnished, though crowded with books and oddly hung paintings, each tightly set against the next. The accumulation and quality of the art was seemingly more important than the presentation.
Ollie gave Harry a choice of several teas, then quickly boiled water. He claimed the earlier-mentioned herbal tea was now too strong. Soon they were settled on a small, L-shaped couch, and they resumed conversation.
Though Harry had barely sipped his tea when Ollie suddenly stood, offering his hand.
“Am I leaving?” Harry asked.
“A test,” Ollie said. “I always shake hands.”
They did, Harry still sitting.
“Good,” Ollie decided, when they’d finished, then he leaned down to kiss Harry.
Harry jerked away. “Hey!”
“Another test.” Ollie said, grinning. “I want to see what I’m getting.”
You’re getting me pissed off, Harry thought, though he said nothing. He knew he could always leave. Instead, he let Ollie kiss him, figuring it would pass as quickly as the handshake.
But Ollie clamped onto Harry’s lower lip. “I love sucking lips,” he finally said, while Harry wondered if his mouth was now swollen.
He stood. He felt nothing for Ollie, and cornered as he was on the tiny couch, the effort to avoid him was straining his neck. “I’m too tall for this,” he insisted.
Ollie rearranged the pillows.
“I really don’t want...” Harry began.
But soon Ollie was sucking again, this time while stroking Harry’s crotch. Clearly, they weren’t going to discuss movies.
When Ollie attacked Harry’s belt, Harry barked, “No!”again remembering Nick and the damn Sociology office.
“Okay,” Ollie said, grinning, then quickly rejoining their lips.
Out of here! Harry’s brain wailed. Ditch the creep! But Ollie was foreign, and Harry was just a bit too liberal. Besides, he knew how conservative he was. I could lighten up, he thought. We’re just kissing. It’s not unfun.
He relaxed. He delicately massaged Ollie’s back, as if it were Eric’s. In return, Ollie tried to swallow Harry’s tongue. Eventually, Harry retrieved it.
“Are you really that uncomfortable?” Ollie finally asked.
Harry nodded, glad this part was ending.
“I have a bed,” Ollie said, instead. “Only queen-sized, but more comfortable than this.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said, smiling.
“You want to stop?” Ollie seemed as disappointed as Perry had been, which Harry hated.
“Let’s just say I’m not taking my clothes off,” Harry allowed. He kept light, but firm. “After all, we barely know each other.”
“Two hours, if you count the phone,” Ollie said, grinning. His shirt was open, the tails pulled from his belt, though Harry didn’t remember how that had happened. Ollie had a nice, well-toned body.
He coaxed Harry to his feet. “You’ll like the bed,” he said. “It’s bouncy.”
Midnight trampoline fun.
And Harry had to admit the bed was more comfortable. And he still thought himself well protected: he was wearing a sweater, a shirt, a T-shirt, jeans. And a belt, shorts, socks, and work boots.
Ollie again stroked Harry’s crotch. “You’re not only tall...” he began.
OUT OF HERE! Harry’s brain demanded. He so completely didn’t want to hear the end of Ollie’s sentence, he quickly kissed the man to shut him up.
So how did Ollie wind up naked?
Okay, Harry admitted. I helped. While deflecting every tug at his own clothes.
“I’m more comfortable dressed,” he repeated nicely.
“That can be fun,” Ollie decided.
It was, and Ollie had an interesting body to explore: strong arms and legs, a tight waist, and more hair than on his head. Plus, he liked having his balls touched.
Any way: Stroked. Rubbed. Possibly sandpapered.
“No wonder you shave them,” Harry said, laughing.
Ollie grinned. “You want to know a secret?”
Secrets usually meant trouble. But this one, Harry couldn’t avoid.
“They’re the most sensitive part of my body,” Ollie whispered.
As if Harry couldn’t guess. So, obligingly, he licked them.
“Ohh. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh!”
He licked more.
“Ohhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhh!
He eased Ollie to the edge of the bed, then sat comfortably on the floor and licked.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
The man could have a heart attack.
It could be a long night.
But fun.
Harry did a lot of things he hadn’t for a while. He unpacked most of Eric’s arsenal. He didn’t do anything unsafe. And he didn’t do anything he hated. And he did nothing that took off his clothes.
Ollie kept tugging at them, but all Harry had to do was growl, lightly, and the man let up. Ollie finally came somewhere near five AM.
Harry had found baby oil and had coated Ollie well. In response, Ollie made sounds normally made by chimps. It was all too easy for Harry. For the last hour, Ollie was a rolling orgasm who barely needed tending.
Then began the long good-bye.
It was the old stand-up routine: Harry just needed a good joke to get out. The orgasm, surprisingly, wasn’t enough.
“That’s the best sex I’ve ever had,” Ollie cooed.
“After a twelve-year relationship?”
“...the longest I’ve made love...”
“With a fully-dressed man?”
“Want to know another secret?”
Harry was inches from the door and ready to bail. Ollie was robustly nude. And this was actually his third secret. The second: Ollie loved having his balls shoved up inside his body. “So it looks like they aren’t there.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Harry asked.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
Ollie showed Harry what to do. At first, Harry was gentle.
“Push them so they disappear,” Ollie urged.
“Like this?”
“Push!”
Harry did.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
That went on for a while.
The third secret: Ollie’s second most sensitive part was the top of his head.
Harry rubbed it for luck.
Then kissed it, making amends.
He lay Ollie on the living room floor.
One trick, he thought, and I’m out of here. He hoped the hard floor would help.
But Ollie loved the bare wood. He loved Harry’s weight squashing him down. He loved Harry pushing his balls, and massaging his scalp, and simultaneously sucking his lips.
This is exhausting, Harry realized.
The Sunday paper thudded against Ollie’s apartment door. The room was already bright.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry said. “I won’t be able to drive.”
“You can stay here. You’ll be great fun to sleep with.”
“We won’t sleep. I’d bet you anything.”
“That’s what Monday’s for.”
Harry had set himself up.
He stood. Ollie clung like spinach.
He opened the door. Still naked, Ollie followed him into the hall.
“I hope your neighbors sleep late.”
Ollie slid down Harry like a pole.
Harry grabbed the Sunday paper. He freed the rubber band then slipped it around Ollie’s balls.
Mistake.
Ollie rushed him into the apartment, slamming the door. He pushed Harry to the floor.
Almost in desperation, Harry unzipped his fly and fucked Ollie.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Once Ollie came, Harry was gone. He left him lying on the floor beside the used rubber. Home, he quickly fell asleep, vowing never to see Ollie again.
Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t even sleep all day. He’d promised some friends he’d come for lunch. They’d had a baby, he’d gone to the christening, but he still had to give them a present.
When he got home, there was a message.
“I’m thinking Wednesday,” Ollie’s voice announced. “For dinner. But if you’re free tonight...”
Wednesday, Harry had a long afternoon meeting. But he knew he’d have to see Ollie -- it seemed only fair. You don’t just leave a guy naked on the floor. And Wednesday evening, when he’d already be tired, seemed perfect.
He invited Ollie for dinner. “Nothing fancy,” he said. “I’m not a great cook.”
“Can I bring something?” Ollie asked. “I’ll go to the farmer’s market.”
“I’ve got everything. But thanks.”
Ollie had seemed nice enough on the phone, and Harry realized they still barely knew each other. Dinner might be a chance to fix that.
But Ollie arrived demanding a hug. Harry agreed. Then Ollie wanted to kiss, with his hand down Harry’s pants. “I’ve got food warming,” Harry begged.
They ate. But instead of talking, they argued. First, about film. Then about everything else. Not directly. Politely. Anytime Harry disagreed with Ollie, the guy simply changed the subject.
“I wasn’t finished,” Harry objected.
“Yes, you were,” Ollie said with a grin.
Harry remembered that the same thing had happened in the coffee shop. They’d talked broadly, but without much depth. The problem was that Ollie was clearly more articulate than Harry. And Ollie seemed to feel that also made him more perceptive. But Harry wouldn’t be bullied.
“I don’t need you to accept my opinions,” he said. “But you’ve got to let me have them.”
“Not if they’re wrong,” Ollie declared.
How could Harry reply to that?
After dinner, they moved to the living room. Harry sat across from Ollie, hardly his guest’s intention.
“I’ve left you space,” Ollie said, stroking the coach.
Harry smiled. He wasn’t ending up in bed. There was no way he could keep his clothes on twice.
“I’m as comfortable here,” he said.
Ollie smoldered, then suddenly stood. “You’ve done everything you could to offend me,” he stated.
The directness surprised Harry, but he lightly replied. “We just don’t seem to agree about a lot. I don’t know why that is. And when we disagree, you won’t talk about it.”
That seemed to stun Ollie, as if it were a familiar observation. “This isn’t something I talk about with strangers,” he huffed.
Harry said nothing. But he suspected Ollie’s “dumb American” had been through that conversation a lot.
“I thought we’d have a honeymoon,” Ollie went on. “I thought we’d spend a lot of time in bed. I was wrong.” He picked up his coat. “You have my phone number.”
Harry let him reach the door.
“What could we solve on the phone?” he asked quietly. “If we can’t even talk while you’re here?”
Ollie stared. “You’re such a good-looking man,” he said finally. “But there’s a lesson here for us both. Be careful who you meet from an ad.”
No surprise there.
Why do you think I kept on my clothes? Harry wanted to say. But he knew that would just prolong their talk.
Leaving, Ollie was imperiously Hercule Poirot.