I'm Not Your Mentor - 1. Chapter 1: New Orleans

1. Show A Genuine Interest

A good mentor gets to know and understand the interests and skills of the person they are mentoring. It is only by showing a genuine interest in the individual that they will be able to offer meaningful advice and counsel.

— Employee Handbook: Mentoring

Boston

The second time I saw him was at a company meeting.

All of the major divisions of our company hold All-Staff meetings every three or four months. They are a chance to update everyone on what is being done, what is coming up, and to recognize the good work being done by the people of the division. These events also give everyone a chance to ask questions; either by standing up and asking them, or by emailing the questions anonymously before the meeting.

There is also a tradition of asking new staff to stand up and introduce themselves. If there aren’t too many of them—or we have plenty of time—we’ll give them a chance to talk a little about their interest or hobbies. That part of the meeting is very free form and informal. If you just say your name and what department you are in, that is okay too.

That day it had been a full—and a bit rushed—meeting, and I was just about to wrap it up when Peter called out to me that we hadn’t done introductions. The meeting had started late, and in the rush I had forgotten about it.

I surveyed the approximately 200 people in the large conference room, trying to gauge their mood. Sometimes you can tell that your audience is done with the meeting, and it is better to just let them go, than to drag it out any further.

Today they seemed happy and relaxed. Maybe it was the spring weather that had put everyone in a good mood.

“Oh right,” I said, standing at the podium in the front of the room. “Well, in case you hadn’t worked it out after two hours,”—there was a light ripple of laughter—“I’m Brian Chaffe, Senior VP of IS, and Peter,” and I pointed to him, “do you want to introduce yourself?” and with that, the rest of the senior leaders in the division each stood up and introduced themselves.

“How are we doing for time?” I said, glancing at my phone on the podium. “A few minutes. Okay, I’d like to ask everyone who’s joined the company since our last meeting to stand up, and then if you’d tell us your name, what department you’re in, what your job is, and…” and I glanced at the group that had stood up. It was less than ten people. “How about something interesting about yourself?”

And then I pointed at the woman who was standing in the front row.

“Hi. Would you like to start?” I asked her, and she nodded rather quickly—she was clearly a little nervous.

And with that, we went around the room, each new employee introducing themselves.

It’s interesting how these things go; usually, the first or second person sets the tone. If they talk about a previous job, then most of the people that follow will talk about where they came from, or an unusual past role. If one of the first people talks about a hobby or a vacation, then the people following will usually do the same.

Today the first person talked about how they liked to garden, and the second person spoke about being an avid cyclist, so the introductions turned into activity reports.

I was half listening—trying to appear to be paying attention—even though I was also checking the time, and thinking about my next meeting. I also was mentally reminding myself that I needed to move a meeting that had been scheduled for the afternoon to a different time.

The second to last person was way in the back, and I couldn’t really see him because he was standing behind another new employee standing in the row in front.

“Jonah Harris, I just started last week, so I still can’t find my way around the building,” he said, and there was a small ripple of laughter. The voice sounded sort of familiar, and then he added, “I’m in the database group, software engineer, and I’m not a very good guitarist, but I keep trying.”

New Orleans — two weeks earlier

The restaurant had been packed, and they said it would be at least twenty minutes for a table. However, they’d offered me a seat at the bar immediately, and since I was alone, I decided to take it. It wasn’t like I planned to soak up the ambiance. While the restaurant featured architectural details from earlier periods, the place was obviously of recent construction. I didn’t care. I was going to have something to eat, and then I planned to go to a bar down the street where I’d been told they had great music.

I was dressed casually, but in what some people would probably call ‘wealthy casual.’ In other words, I was wearing ridiculously expensive designer jeans and a light pink designer t-shirt. The chain around my neck and earring were just enough to let women know I wasn’t interested in them, and maybe let some men know that I might be interested in them.

Not that I was really looking for sex that night. I’d come to New Orleans on business and decided to spend a few extra days there just as a chance to get away. A change of scenery and a chance to rest and relax.

Somehow, anonymous hookups have never been my idea of relaxation. They fulfill a need, but they aren’t relaxing.

The pleasant young woman that greeted me at the door of the restaurant had shown me to two empty stools at the bar, and let me choose either one.

I sat down at the one closest to the window, and the bartender came up and gave me a menu, and asked me what I’d like to drink.

I ordered a light beer.

The menu was a large plasticized sheet of card, and I had just read through the appetizer section when I realized that someone was about to sit down next to me.

I looked up briefly, just to see what was going on; in case the person had some bag or other item they might accidentally hit me with. The person sitting down was a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was short, with dark hair that was long on the top but shaved slightly at the sides. What looked like a small cross hung on a short chain from one ear. He wore faded blue jean cutoffs that were almost skin tight, while the off-white t-shirt was covered in splashes of paint. It was also sleeveless and exposed much of the side of his chest.

He looked like he was dressed for a gay parade—or for street walking—and some of the restaurants in Boston I frequented wouldn’t have let him in the door dressed that way.

He noticed that I’d turned to look at him, and he smiled and nodded. His lips were full, and a little pouty, and I wondered what they’d feel like; and how much they’d cost me.

I nodded back at him and turned back to the menu. I wasn’t interested in a hooker.

“Anything look good?” he asked me, catching me off guard.

“Uh, I don’t know yet,” I said, trying to be pleasant, but not friendly.

“I’m Jonah,” he said, and he held out his hand.

“I’m Brian,” I said, shaking his. I wasn’t going to be rude—yet.

“You here for business, or pleasure?” he asked, the last part of the sentence pitched lower in tone, as though conspiratorially.

“Ah, vacation mostly,” I said. “What about you?”

“Just a vacation. What do you do?” he asked me.

God, it seemed he was a talkative one. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to chat with him, as it occurred to me that he might be trying to pick me up. But I didn’t want to be rude; maybe he was just a lonely person that wanted to chat?

“Well, don’t tell anyone, but I work for a pharmaceutical company,” I joked.

“Yeah? Which one?”

“Mayer-Martin,” I said, and he gave a nod of recognition. “No one likes pharmaceutical companies,” I continued. “Even the people that work there,” I joked, and raised my beer, and he grinned and raised his glass of water, and we clinked the glasses together in a mock toast.

“So what do you do there?” he asked. “You make the drugs?”

“No, no. IS department. We keep the place running. What about yourself?”

“Just graduated,” he said.

“Oh, wow,” I said, meaning; oh fuck, you’re younger than I’d thought. “Congratulations. What are you going to do?”

“I’m starting a job when I get back.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

He screwed up his face in semi-embarrassment. “IT,” he said, and his mouth turned into a shy grin.

“Oh, great. That’s exciting,” I said. “So is this a graduation present?” I asked him, meaning the trip.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “Honeymoon.”

I leaned back in shock.

“This is your honeymoon? Wow,” and I held up my beer again. “Congratulations,” I said, but he didn’t hold up his glass. Instead, he shook his head.

“It was supposed to be the honeymoon. The wedding was canceled.”

“Oh shit,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, it was canceled months ago," he said.

All sorts of thoughts went through my head, like what happened? And why? But it would be prying into his business to ask.

“So you couldn’t cancel the trip?” I asked instead, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.

“We bought non-refundable tickets, and I’d been looking forward to coming to New Orleans…” he shrugged. “And I know someone that lives here, so I’ve been crashing on their couch.”

I nodded slowly.

“But it doesn’t…” I began and then thought better of it.

“Doesn’t what?” he asked.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be…”

“That’s okay,” he said. “It doesn’t what?”

“I dunno, I just thought it would remind you of why you’re here. If it was me, I’d want to do something completely different.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he shrugged again.

“I didn’t have tickets to anywhere else,” he said simply.

“Good point,” I agreed. “You’re into music?” I asked him, noticing a small musical-note tattoo on his arm.

He grinned.

“I love music,” he said.

“Do you play?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“I’m not a very good guitarist, but I keep trying.”

Boston

As the crowd made a dash for the exits—no doubt relieved that the meeting was finally over—I tried to get a better view of the person that had spoken. It couldn’t be the same guy I’d met in New Orleans, I told myself. What would the odds of that be? A million to one?

What he’d said was just a turn of phrase. Many people would say something similar in the same situation. Especially young men,

But the same first name? That seemed to lower the odds significantly.

“How was the trip to New Orleans?” asked Peter.

“What?” I said, so lost in my thoughts I didn’t really hear his question.

“Have you already forgotten? Didn’t you go to New Orleans a couple of weeks ago?” he joked at me. Peter had been on vacation last week, and this was really the first time we’d spoken to each other since I’d gotten back.

Peter is a great guy. My right-hand man. He is about twenty years older than me—in his late fifties—and is already talking about retirement, even though he assures me that it is at least five years away. Peter joined the company after me—I’d hired him from a competitor—and he has a wealth of experience. He is the person I most like to bounce ideas off. Peter always sees the holes in things—or can foresee possible problems or issues. As he likes to tell me; ‘I’ve already made all the mistakes, you can learn from mine.’

“Oh, yeah, it was good.” I said, not really interested in chit-chat, but not wanting to be rude either.

We exchanged a few more words, and he reminded me about an issue with the budget. I promised to get some time on the books to discuss it later in the week. Fortunately, my assistant was right there, so I could ask her to do that, and not have to remember to do it later myself.

Frankly, in my current state, I wasn’t going to remember much that we talked about ten minutes from now. I was kind of obsessing about the guy in the meeting.

It couldn’t have been him.

I excused myself and walked off to my next meeting, which was scheduled to run through lunch, followed by another meeting after that. With all the meetings, it was mid-afternoon before I got back to my desk and could use my computer. It’s a laptop, but I don’t drag it around all the time.

When I got there, I brought up the company directory and typed in his name. I couldn’t remember his last name—wasn’t even sure he’d mentioned it—but there were only two Jonah’s in the directory, and one was in a different division, so I didn’t need to look at that one.

Jonah Harris was listed as being in IS, under the database division. It must have been the guy that had been in today’s meeting.

My hand wasn’t exactly shaking, but it took me a good minute to actually click on the name to see his photo.

Oh crap.

There was no earring, and he was wearing a dress shirt, but the face that stared back at me was definitely the same Jonah I’d met in New Orleans.

New Orleans

The food had been good, and though the restaurant was crowded, it wasn’t so noisy that we couldn’t talk easily.

And much to my surprise, I’d enjoying chatting with him. I’d asked him what he’d studied in school, and it had been interesting to hear his stories of courses and classes, and what he’d enjoyed and hated. And then we’d talked a bit about what we each hoped to see in New Orleans. It turned out neither of us really had any clear plans other than to wander around and to listen to music.

“Well, I’m sorry about your honeymoon,” I said. “But I hope you have a good time anyway.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, but then the smile sort of slid off his face, and I felt bad about bringing it up again.

“Are you going to get dessert?” I asked him, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible and not being able to come up with anything else.

“Ah, probably not,” he said.

I wondered if he was short of money. He’d just graduated and was staying on a friends couch. I’d noticed that he’d studied the menu prices closely, and only bought one beer.

“Dinners on me,” I said. “Why don’t you get something?”

He smiled and blushed a little.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I want to,” I said. “I’d been expecting to have a boring meal, and you’ve made it much more interesting and pleasant.”

And I could feel good about doing something for someone, and getting him to smile again would make me feel a lot better.

He grinned.

“Are you on a non-honeymoon too?” he asked me suspiciously.

I laughed.

“No, I was here on business and decided to stay an extra couple of days,” I said.

He stared at me for a moment, and then he nodded.

“What are you doing after this?” he asked me.

“I’m going to a bar down the street. They are supposed to have great music.”

“Sounds fun,” he said. “Would it be okay if I tagged along?”

I looked at him and our eyes locked for a second, and I wasn’t sure what the message was. Was he just interested in listening to music, or was he trying to be picked up?

He was handsome in a sort of quirky way. He would never have been a model, but there was something about his eyes and smile that were captivating.

“Sure,” I said.

Nothing was going to happen with him romantically or sexually, I told myself, and I had even started to doubt that he was looking to get money from me; though it was obvious, he was short of money.

We both ended up getting a dessert. I got one mainly because I thought that if I did, then he would. He got something obscenely large and covered in caramel and vanilla ice cream, and consumed it all, while I got a small cake and ate only half of it.

And I suspected I was the only one that would gain any weight. Oh to have the metabolism of a twenty-something.

It was only when we stood up to go that I realized how much shorter he was. The top of his head barely came up to my chin.

It isn’t that I have a thing against short guys, but I’ve never dated someone who is more than a couple of inches shorter than me. Which—when put that way—makes it sound like I do have a thing against short guys.

I don’t know why I was even thinking about it. It’s funny what your mind does as it wanders over different ideas and possibilities, immediately discarding most of them.

The bar we went to was crowded, and we ended up jammed together at a small table. Jonah’s thighs and shoulders seemed to be continually rubbing and moving against mine.

I paid for drinks, and we both got a little inebriated—but we weren’t drunk. I didn’t want to get drunk. I didn’t really think I’d be having sex with him, but if something did happen, I wanted to remember it. And maybe I didn’t want to get so drunk that I made a fool of myself by making a sloppy pass at him.

We had talked a little—mainly about the music—and then Jonah casually leaned over and whispered; “He’s hot,” when a new singer came onstage with his band.

I glanced at Jonah and realized that this was my chance to confirm that I was gay. He’d opened up to me, it was only fair that I be open with him.

I leaned over and whispered.

“Yeah. Those pants are almost painted on.”

Jonah laughed.

“Can you tell if he’s circumcised?” he asked.

“No, but he’s hung,” I said, and we both grinned at each other.

It wasn’t my imagination; he leaned into me more after that.

It was almost 1, and one band had ended, and another was about to start, and it seemed like a good time to make a move.

“I’m probably going to go back to the hotel now,” I said to Jonah, just to see what the reaction was.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I should probably go too.”

We stumbled out onto the street, and though it wasn’t really any cooler outside, the clean air was bracing; it made you feel like you had just woken up.

And he was standing close to me.

“How far do you have to go?” he asked.

“I’m just four blocks from here, it’s a short walk,” I said. “Where’s your friend's couch?”

“It’s over in Hammond.”

“Hammond? Where’s that?”

“It’s about an hour by car.”

“That’s a way to go, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing around and looking unsure, as he ran his hand through his hair, his armpit just in front of me.

I wanted to lick it.

“I have an extra bed,” I said a little nervously. “If you want to crash.”

“Yeah?” he said, and he turned and grinned at me. He seemed genuinely interested in the offer.

“If you want,” I offered.

He was gay, but he appeared to be very casual about my offer. I figured there was a 50% chance something might happen. I wasn’t even that concerned if it didn’t. Just having him hang out with me would make the evening more interesting than going back to a hotel room alone.

“Okay. That would be great. Thanks,” he said.

We walked back to the hotel talking about the musicians we’d seen, which ones were the best, and how good that singers ass had looked in those pants.

The conversation continued easily—with no lull or awkwardness—as we took the elevator up to the floor, walked down the hallway, and then I opened the door with my card, and we walked in.

It was only as I reached for the light that I felt him put his arms around me.

I stopped what I was doing, frozen as the door closed automatically, and we were enveloped in darkness. And then he was pulling my head down, and my lips touched his cheek. He turned his head, and my mouth was on his, and that was all the permission I needed. I put my hands up, cradling his head in my hands as our tongues swirled around each other.

The kissing continued as we began pulling at each other’s clothes. The shirts came off quickly, but I had more than a little trouble unzipping his pants; his erection was jammed hard against the zip, and I didn’t want to injure him.

Sliding his pants down was even more of a problem because they were so damn tight, while he’d already got my pants and boxers to my ankles.

Finally, I had my fingers wrapped around his erection. He may have been almost a foot shorter, but his cock was at least as thick as mine, and maybe a fraction longer. For a second, I thought it was unfair that he might be a little bigger than me, and the next second, I just wanted him in my mouth.

I literally dragged him to the bed.

As he fell back, my hands slid down his legs to his knees where his pants were still bunched up, and I pulled them down, having to pause to take off his sneakers and socks before pulling off his pants and underwear. I let go of his legs and quickly took off my own shoes and socks and pants, and then climbed onto the bed, finding his naked body lying there.

His hands were on my head, pulling me to him, and I kissed his mouth, and I felt his penis poking me in the stomach. I continued kissing his lips, kissing slowly down to his chin and then down his neck, down his chest to his stomach, and finally to his cock, taking it into my mouth, and tasting his precum as I gently cupped his testicles with my hands. I felt him squirming beneath me as he moved to get around to suck me, and I rolled my body so that we could lie against each other. I felt his mouth on me, and I tried to remember when I had last been this turned on, this sexually excited. I was probably going to cum like a virgin.

I pulled off his cock.

“I want to fuck you,” I whispered, sitting up and pulling him up to me, and kissing his mouth.

“Okay,” he muttered.

“You’ve got me so hard, if I don’t do it now, I’m gonna cum all over you,” I whispered urgently, and he laughed softly.

“I’ll get a condom,” I added, and in the dim light I saw him nod.

I jumped out of bed and stumbled over to the bathroom. I had a few condoms in my toiletry bag I’d brought just in case. There was also a tube of lubricant that I grabbed before stumbling back to the bed.

“I’ve got some lubricant,” I said, grabbing him in my arms, taking him to me and kissing him.

“You’ll have to loosen me up,” he said.

I was so hard. I was worried I was going to cum just putting on the condom.

Jonah rolled over onto his stomach, and I gently trailed the fingers of one hand down his back to his butt. I wanted to turn on the light to get a better view of his beautiful ass, but I could see just enough to slide my fingers into him. Opening the lubricant, I smeared a generous amount on my finger and then slowly worked the finger around his ring before pushing gently inside him, sliding it slowly in and out as his butt began to rise and fall around my finger.

“Two,” he whispered, his voice sounding horse, and I put my middle and first finger together and gently pushed them into him, and his butt pushed up to meet my fingers as they disappeared inside him. It was so fucking hot fingering him.

I reached down, and my cock was oozing precum.

Picking up the condom with the other hand I had to make a decision, and gently pulled my finger out of him and quickly tore open the packet. A little fumbling and I managed to get it onto the head of my cock, working it down, then putting some extra lubricant on it. Then I clambered on top of him, and he turned his head, and I kissed him on the mouth.

“You ready?” I whispered.

“Yeah, fuck me,” he almost purred, pushing his butt up against me.

I reached down with my right hand to my cock and then felt around for his anus. He had a hand back pulling his cheeks apart. I took a couple of tries, not quite getting it, and then his hand was on my cock, pulling it towards his entrance, and I let him lead me as I pushed gently and felt it slide in just a bit. I stopped as he groaned. I breathed in, kissing the top of his head. He took a breath, and I pushed again, and he gave out another small groan as his ass relaxed, and I slid inside him, and suddenly I could feel his warmth and the tightness around me, and I froze for a few seconds because I knew if I moved at all, I’d cum.

I hung there, all my senses on edge, on the precipice of orgasm, until the moment started to pass.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“You’re so fucking tight, I’m trying not to cum,” I whispered, and I felt and heard him laugh, and then I slowly pulled out and slid back into him, and his laughter turned to a sexual purr.

I started pumping slowly, trying not to get into a rhythm that would make me cum too soon, but try as I might I couldn’t contain myself and it may have only been a couple of minutes later I was pounding into him in a frenzy and cumming like my whole body was trying to force its way through my cock.

It took me a minute or two to recover, and I realized I was just lying on top of him. I gently rolled over, pulling him with me so that we were lying on our sides, my cock still buried in his ass, and I reached down and grabbed his erection. He was hard, and the precum ran over my fingers, as I slowly started to stroke him, my other arm around his chest, trying to pull him back against me. I realized that I couldn’t quite kiss his mouth in this position, but I could feel him moving against me, and I just wanted him to cum, and then suddenly he moaned, and his cock was spurting warm liquid, and the slapping of my hand became louder and wetter, and he was shaking against me. And then he really was quivering against me like I was tickling him.

I let go of his cock, and he calmed down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “it gets really sensitive sometimes, afterward.”

I rolled him over and pulled him up to me, wanting to get my mouth on his.

“That’s okay,” I said, and I kissed him, and we traded tongues and ran our hands over each other. “I’ve never cum so fast, or so hard,” I whispered.

I could feel him smile around me.

“That’s okay,” he said, pulling just a little away from me. “You can always do it again.”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning in and kissing and chewing on his neck and the chain hanging around it. “I want to.”

To be continued…