Jay's Loelife - 12. The auction

chapter
twelve
jay

‘Find somewhere comfortable you can lay on your side.’

I look around the bathroom and laugh. Where do they want you to give yourself an enema? In bed? Psff. I sit on the toilet and finish reading the instructions. It’s been a decade since I’ve had a dick in my butt. I’ve never been interested in being pegged by a cleat chaser and they usually want to be pegged anyway.

‘Warm the enema in a bowl. Lubricate the nozzle. Lie on your left side on a towel, with your knee bent toward your chest as high as possible…’

I re-read the directions as I get on the floor and lift my knee. I’d much prefer this position if Loren was behind me but that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?

After a kind of rocky road trip, I want to surprise him the way he surprised me, saves the terrible southern/British accent. I’ve never been good at those…or role playing. I’m a terrible actor.

I take a deep breath and fill my guts with the water, then hold it.

Five minutes.

The timer dings. I rush and let it out. It doesn’t matter how you flip it, there is nothing sexy about getting ready to do the sexy.

****

Three hours later, I’m doubled over the toilet while my insides cease to exist. I didn’t know it was possible to expel the colon itself. Turns out that ‘some mild discomfort’ means severe cramps and excessive gas.

****

“Jay?!” Loren yells from downstairs.

I look at my watch, shocked at how long I’ve been sitting here. There’s nothing left in my system. At this point, I’m only really sitting for comfort. I swipe on a pair of sweatpants from the dresser and head downstairs. I find Loren leaning over the kitchen island with his ass popped out like the plastic thingy on a Thanksgiving turkey that lets you know the bird is ready. The chinos perfectly accentuate his best features, which is…just about everything. He’s even wearing a sweater. I’ve never seen him in a sweater. It’s a thick one, scholarly almost. Light heathered-brown color.

I just want to eat him.

“Hey.”

At my greeting, Loren sets his phone down and turns, his eyes dropping to my outfit. He leans back, grips the island, and waits for me to explain why I’m wearing loungewear instead of five-star restaurant wear.

“So…” I say with an awkward smile. “I may or may not have given myself an enema and it’s not going well.”

“Oh,” he says with sincere concern. “Is everything okay?”

“What? Of course. I was, you know, preparing…”

He takes a second to realize… “Oh…” He grins, holding back a laugh. “You gave yourself a full enema?”

“Well, yeah?” I begin to take a seat but decide against it. I’ve done enough of that tonight.

“Are you regular?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“So, you’re not constipated?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot, then laughs. “Just make sure you’re eating light ahead of time, get a good bowel movement, and do light wash. You shouldn’t have to give yourself a full washout.”

“Thank you for this educational moment. Wish it would’ve come before it ruined our dinner plans.”

“This isn’t ruining our dinner plans. I had to pull some favors for this reservation. I will not look like an asshole by canceling thirty minutes before we’re supposed to arrive. Now—” he points upstairs, “—get dressed.”

“But—”

“Don’t care,” he says, cutting me off.

My stomach rumbles. Loren raises his brow.

I set my shoulders. “Get used to it,” I warn. “It’s going to be a rough night for both of us.”

****

Stork has been around for a long time. They’ve recently gone through a lot of changes, including a new head chef. The favor he pulled was more a favor for the restaurant than for us. They want to expand their reach, and Loren is their golden ticket. If Loren talks about Stork, then people will eat at Stork.

They greet us immediately, shaking Loren’s hand and leading us to the best table in the house. They fawn over him like royalty. We don’t even get a menu. They have everything arranged from drinks to the multi-coursed meal.

Every time they hover around our table, I tense, trying not to pass gas in mixed company. It’s not until halfway through the meal that things begin settling. I relax, though not too much, and sip my wine. The night might be salvageable after all.

Loren looks awfully sexy in that sweater. In fact, he’s looked hot as sin all night. I love watching him when he’s ‘on’ and working. He’s passionate in the way he shares his experiences, like he’s talking to a friend. Thirty-seven million of them.

I lead Loren from the restaurant with a hand on his back. I hoped the night was truly salvageable, not just dinner, but no matter how hot he looks or how much I want it, it’s not happening. Not just because my body is still semi-rejecting itself.

Loren can’t keep a straight face when he looks at me and I don’t want to be laughed at when I’m bent over.

****

Three days later and it’s no better. Loren is still snickering every time he looks at me. We can’t even make out without him laughing or making a comment. The thought of him bending me over has him in stitches.

“Are you going to fart on me?” He asks. He can barely say it with a straight face. What a child.

For the record, I’m picking up dirty laundry…not trying to get fucked.

“I’m never getting laid again,” I mumble as I put the dirty clothes in the basket.

****

Another week later and I still haven’t gotten laid. We’re deep cleaning the trailer instead.

“The auction doesn’t even end for an hour. Why are we cleaning right now?” I think I sound casual, but I’m definitely whining.

“They might want to pick it up right away.”

I can’t focus on my task, which is wiping the walls, because Loren’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt and he looks sexy as hell. Every time he reaches into the upper cabinets with the vacuum, his sweatshirt rides up, exposing that sexy waist, abs, and back I love so much.

I swallow. “Is it over sixty?”

He puts the vacuum down and grabs his phone to check for an update. “Eighty-three thousand.”

Eighty-three thousand dollars?! “That’s amazing.”

“It could’ve bombed.”

“But it didn’t.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. His eyes shine like happy little fireflies. “No, it didn’t.”

“It’s because they think we fucked in it.”

He laughs, then puts his phone face down and slides it out of the way. “I’ve gotten no less than twenty-thousand DM’s requesting explicit details.”

“What do you tell them?”

His lip curls. “I list the explicit details of what I’ve done to the camper, not who I’ve done in it.”

We spend the rest of the auction stretched out on the trailer’s bed, watching the numbers climb until it closes at a whopping $91,405.00. I squeeze Loren’s shoulder and kiss his cheek while he stares at his phone in shock.

I will miss that trailer. Some might say the trip was a doozy, but I disagree. Yes, we fought. I screwed up. But we learned a lot. He explained the ins and outs of rock climbing, the safety protocols, the equipment, and the statistics until I could breathe easy. We came back from the trip closer and stronger than ever.

While he’s busy announcing the winner and fine tuning the details, I carefully extract myself from the bed and tip-toe to the shower.

It’s a meticulous process, though not as much as a few weeks ago. Just thorough enough that I feel confident when I walk downstairs naked to grab the phone I strategically ‘left behind’.

Loren is still DMing. Too busy to notice me.

I glare at him for a second, then start rummaging. “Ugh, where’s my phone?” I say to myself.

From the corner of my eye, I see him do a double take. Good. I bend over and grab the ‘missing’ electronic. “There it is.”

I finally have Loren’s undivided attention. His eyes focus south of the Mason Dixon line and my body twitches in anticipation.

I type out a fake message and saunter to the bedroom.

The floorboards of his older home squeak as he runs to lock up the house and turn off the lights. For someone who took the stairs two at a time, Loren’s awfully cool and collected as he enters the bedroom.

“You know…” he says as he strips his clothes off. “If you wanted to have sex, there’s no reason to be coy about it. I’m not going to say no.”

I’m lying on the bed, spread eagle with my dick in my hand. “I want sex.”

Loren pulls his shirt over his head and smirks. “I’m shocked,” he quips. “I wonder what kind of sex you want…”

I spread my legs further and Loren’s eyes immediately dart to the black object awaiting removal.

“Find a comfortable spot,” he says rather casually as he stalks to the bed.

I look around. I’m literally laying on a three-thousand-dollar mattress with the softest linens on the market. I couldn’t be more comfortable than I am now.

He kneels on this bed, his muscles flexing. “Lay on your side with your knee pulled toward your chest—”

I try to close my legs and glare at him but he’s already between them and pries my knees apart. He lifts my leg, rolls me on my side, and pushes one leg to my chest. “Yeah, this looks right.”

“Is this funny to you?”

Loren ignores me and turns the lube bottle until he can read the label. “Warm it up—” he rolls the bottle between his hands, “—and lubricate the nozzle.” He drips the liquid onto his hard dick.

“I hate you,” I laugh.

My cocky, smirky, thinks he’s oh-so-funny boyfriend, looks at me like I’m the biggest liar in the world. He’s right. I can’t hate him, especially when he’s naked with smoldering eyes.

His free hand traces my from hip to my thigh before landing on the plug. He toys with it, driving me mad, before finally pulling it out.

I take a deep breath.

Loren carefully presses into me. “Sorry,” he apologies, breathlessly. His eyes roll back. Now that he’s in me, the teasing is gone. He falls forward and kisses my neck. “Is this okay?”

It stings like all hell but I wouldn’t stop for anything. I reach up and hook his neck with my arm, dragging him down for a kiss. It’s awkward on my side like this. “I need to turn over.”

Loren pulls out with a groan and lets me arrange myself on my hands on knees. I lay my face on the mattress and arch my back. Loren grips my hips and pushes back in. He’s careful for my sake, going in and out slowly. It’s a little jerky. He glances back. His eyes are closed and he’s biting his lip. He’s holding back and easing me into it.

“C’mon,” I say. “You’ve done this to how many guys? Fuck me like you fuck them.”

Loren stills behind me then pulls out. He smacks my hip. “Turn over.”

“A third position? We’ve barely started.”

Loren pushes my leg up with one hand and guides himself back in. He’s not even all the way in when he lies on top of me with my legs wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t tell me to fuck you like I’ve fucked everyone else. It’s insulting. They’re just sex. One and done.”

“Sven wasn’t a one-and-done.”

His eyes go dark and presses into me all the way…and then some. He presses so far inside me I think his balls are trying to join the party.

“Did Sven and I fuck bare?”

I shake my head.

“No. I also never fucked him or anyone like this—” he leans in until his face is inches away from mine and his breath is tickling my face. He rolls his hip, pulling and pushing. My eyes flutter shut and a helpless moan escapes.

He keeps going, fucking me slow but hard, punishing, rubbing my insides almost as good as his stomach is rubbing my dick.

His face is stoic but stressed; red and sweaty. Just looking at him so close to orgasm brings me to the edge. He’s insanely gorgeous. Unfairly so. His dark brown hair is matted and wet, sweat is clinging to his temples. Loren shakes. He lifts his head and smiles. “I’ve never looked them in the eyes when either of us came.” The eyes he speaks of haze over as he comes. He leans down and kisses me.

The look on his face changes from sated and soft to mischievous. “Keep it in for five minutes.”

I groan and give him a weak shove. “You’re the worst.”

He kisses my nose and laughs, then slides down my body. He takes me in his mouth without ever taking his eyes off me.

****

Loren’s still between my legs with his face in my neck. I stuff a pillow behind my head so I can stare at Loren’s perfectly crafted body. My dick twitches as my fingers trace across his taut shoulders, down his sweaty back to his perfectly shaped waist before climbing the swell of that thicc ass that haunts my dreams.

“Was that not enough?” he mumbles into my shoulder. He looks up, all soft brown eyes and sexy hair. His dick twitches against my inner thigh. “You ready for round two?”

I’m always ready for whatever he’ll give me.

Light kissing quickly turns into a heated make-out session, which ends with Loren folding me like a damn pretzel as he fucks my brains out in ways I didn’t know was possible. Years of one-and-dones for the win. Tomorrow is supposed to be leg day, but I think squats are out of the question. I’ll be working my back and shoulders instead.

“I’m officially a bottom,” I tell him later, after he’s thoroughly exhausted me.

Loren lays on his stomach with his face burrowed into my side. The last round went long. Poor guy. It’s hard being a super star.

He blindly runs his hand down my chest and pats my stomach. “You don’t get all the fun.”

I like watching him top me. He’s focused in a way he’s not when I’m topping him. Either way, it’s fun. I’ll do whatever he wants.

With a content sigh, I roll over and sling my leg over the back of his thigh and drape myself over him. He grunts a happy sound, then relaxes, melting into the bed.

“Are you going to miss me?” I whisper against his hair. I leave for Mexico in two weeks and I’ll be gone two weeks. I’ve tried to get him to come with me but he has work obligations and a strong belief that just because he’s a boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s included in the annual guys' trip.

Loren groans into his pillow. “I don’t know how I’ll survive.” It’s the middle of the night; he wants to sleep, not chit chat about feelings.

Despite his very unconvincing answer, I squeeze him and tell him I’m going to miss him.

“I know, you tell me a hundred times a day.”

I breathe him in. “And that doesn’t feel like enough.” And it doesn’t. I dread leaving him. I actually considered bailing on the trip.

Loren turns under me so we’re facing each other, though his eyes are closed. “You’ve been traveling like this for years and I’m not the first boyfriend you’ve been separated from.” So don’t be a baby about it now.

‘But it’s different’ I want to tell him. It’s very different. Everything is different. I’ve never felt the way I do for Loren. Never.

****

“It’s not too late to join me…”

We’re standing by my SUV. Everything I need for Mexico is now loaded. Loren turns in my arms then slides his arms under my shirt. He rubs my lower back for a moment, then squeezes my ass. “You’re used to getting what you want. It’s hard for you to hear no, isn’t it?”

“You make it sound like I’m spoiled.”

He laughs. “Just ‘cause I think you’re spoiled doesn’t mean I think you’re a brat. You’re incredibly amazing and humble.”

I give him my best sad puppy dog face. “Not amazing or humble enough for you to come to Mexico with me…”

Turns out his puppy dog face is way more convincing. It’s the brown eyes. They can get so big and pouty when he wants.

I squeeze his cheeks, making his lips pucker. “The difference between you and me is that I can’t say no to your sad face while you turn your back to mine.”

“Dats not truw an you know it,” he says. I smile because he looks hella adorable like this. “You twide me down.”

I hold his face and kiss his lips. With my other hand, I cup his package. “Let’s go inside. I’ll blow you while you tell me how I turned you from a hoe to a husband.”

Loren raises one brow. “Are you proposing?”

“Are you accepting?”

He turns toward the house. “I believe you promised me a blow job.”

“Only if you tell me I’m the only one for you.”

Before I slide to my knees, Loren grabs my shirt and looks me in the eye. “I don’t bounce on anyone’s dick. I bounce on your dick. Now, suck mine like you’re the last man who gets to do it.”

Yes Sir.

****

Soft waves gently lap the sand on the private beach up. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as the sun beats down. No Wi-Fi, no phones, no stress. The only people we’ve seen since arriving are Eduardo and Artemisa and only because they clean and cook.

I lean over and hold Scott’s knee down. It’s been bouncing since noon. Six days is always too long for him to do nothing but lounge around. He lives for the second half of vacation, when the real fun begins.

“I don’t know how you guys do this,” he complains. “This is so boring.”

Will takes a sip of his drink and shrugs. He could go either way. Spending the whole two weeks in a pool with a drink in his hand has the same appeal as swimming with the sea turtles and riding ATVs.

Seamus on the other hand…he usually lives for this stuff but this year he looks like a man with a botched lobotomy. There’s nothing in his eyes. He hasn’t said much since we’ve arrived but we’re hoping tonight’s outing at the local watering hole will get him to open up about what happened between him and Matt before he left.

“It’s okay to enjoy a little R&R,” I tell Scott.

“I don’t enjoy it though. It’s boring. I need people and—”

“The internet,” Will finishes.

“Well yeah. The whole world is going around. What if we missed something? How are all of you so calm? Each of you have someone back home that you haven’t talked to since we’ve arrived. How is that not ringing more bells?”

A couple sets of eyes land on me and my mouth drops. “Why the hell is everyone looking at me?”

“You’ve always been the clinger.”

“Me?” I scoff and gesture at Seamus, who’s not even paying attention. I love the guy, but as stoic as he comes across, he’s the clinger of the group. Will and Scott look at me like I’m an ass for trying to turn the tables on our poor, heartbroken friend. A heart-broken friend whose birthday is today. “Whatever.”

“Your fingers are itching to call Loe the second we get to service. You’re practically dying. I’ve seen you staring at your phone.”

“I never said I wasn’t going to call,” I say, a bit defensively because I definitely plan on calling. His number is queued and ready to go.

“A whole week of missing out on his stories,” Scott reminds me. “You have no idea what he’s been up to.”

“I rarely watch his stories.”

“Liar.”

Seamus turns his head towards us. It’s usually Seamus who gives me the hardest time when it comes to Loren. It’s eerie that he’s not. He watches us for a moment, then goes back to staring at nothing.

I glare at my black-haired friend. “I didn’t say I never watch his stories, just not often.”

“Is there any way we could get a move on it?” Scott asks. “I’m this close to going postal if I sit here a minute longer.”

Will and I look at each other and shrug. Neither of us are married to staying at the house any longer. He nods toward Seamus, concern marring his face.

I stand in front of my best friend and hold my hand out. Seamus lets me pull him up and I put my arm around his shoulder.

“We’ve given you six days of silence, but you’re going to talk to us tonight, okay?”

Seamus looks at me with sad brown eyes then nods.

“We’re your family. We're here for you,” I tell him. “Now, go shower and be ready to go in thirty.”

I follow as he mopes off like Eeyore. When his shower starts, I head off on my own. Thirty minutes later we’re loading up into the rental and heading to the local village. There’s a small cantina twenty minutes from the house. It’s a straw canopy hut with a nice breeze and a beautiful view. We spend lots of time and money whenever we visit.

They know exactly who we are. The big Americans with money.

Scott sets a bucket of beers in the middle of the table. He opens one and hands it to Seamus then one for himself while Will and I open our own.

“Mike stopped by the office.”

Will, Scott, and I pause mid drink and look at each other. This isn’t good. Mike is Seamus’s ex-husband’s best friend and business confidant. He’s also the guy that’s been stealing right out from under Seamus’s nose. Our friend has suspected it for years, but it wasn’t until Matt confirmed it last winter that Seamus knew for sure. Since then, Mike’s been fired and prosecution is gathering evidence for a conviction.

“It’s fine, I guess,” Seamus lies. “He’s Mike and…he lashed out because he got caught and doesn’t think he did anything wrong. He felt he took what was owed to him. It doesn’t help that Kelly’s parents are backing him. They’ve always hated me.”

“They hated that you stood between them and their son’s small fortune,” I correct. Kelly was a fucking asshole and it was clear where he got it from. His parents. “I’m confused though. I just can’t see Mike causing this kind of reaction from you. It’s not like you didn’t see this coming. We suspected he may find you.”

Seamus spins his beer. “Matt and I hit a rough patch. He’s struggling to find his footing with Aidan. I think he blames me. Aidan’s been clingy toward me lately. I felt like Matt was pushing me away so he could feel better. I kind of lashed out and…” he shakes his head. “Matt stormed out. I tried to find him to apologize but I think Aidan took my phone. I couldn’t find them before I left. He was never at his apartment or work or anywhere. I even swung through on the way to the airport. I don’t know what I’ll come home to—if I get to come home to anything.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Hey, Brother. You won’t find nothing when you get home. You’ll find him waiting for you. I’m sure he’s just as broken up about this as you.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do,” I tell him. He looks full of doubt. The dumbass. “Trust me on this. He’ll be there waiting for you.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

I shake my head. “I won’t be. I’m never wrong about this stuff.”

“Just like you weren’t wrong about Loren?”

I grin. “Just like Loren. It wasn’t easy, but I knew he’d come around, just like Matt will. Have faith my friend. Have faith.”

Scott studies Seamus, gauging his mood. I know what he’s after and it makes me laugh.

“What?” he asks.

“Seamus is fine. You can use your phone now.”

Scott smiles, happy to reconnect with the world. “Let’s take a groupie and so we have something fun to post.”

We take several outside the cantina on the old brick patio overlooking the water. I embrace my inner livingtheloelife and I upload my favorite groupie along with a few others we’ve taken since arriving. Then I step away from the group and call Loren. After a week, I’m eager to hear his voice.

I pace the worn deck and wait for the call to connect. It goes to voicemail. I call two more times just in case. Maybe he’s trying to call me at the same time.

After the third attempt, my phone dings.

Loren: Miss you
Loren: On the road. Call me when you get service
Loren: Looks like service for me is spotty. Text me and we’ll figure out a time

Me: Facetime me when you have a minute. I’m be available for a few hours

I call one last time, just in case. When I get his voicemail, I end the call and head back to the group.

The guys are gathered around Scott, watching something on his phone with rapt attention. I sit down and notice they’re all looking at me with worried expressions.

“How’s he doing?” “That was brutal, tell me he’s okay,” and “Holy shit.” Are all said in rapid fire succession.

“I—” I stare at them for a moment, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. “What?”

“Loren!” they say in unison. They realize I really don’t know what they’re talking about.

“Dude…” Scott says cautiously. He slowly slides his phone from the table and into his pocket. “Loren was rock climbing—”

I put my hand out. “Give me the phone.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

I get up and force his hand until he hands it over. Once I have it, I hold it out. “Unlock it.” Scott does so with much reluctance. “Instagram?”

He nods.

There’s nothing on Loren’s account. Not a single clip or video. The last post was three days ago. It’s a picture of him and two guys in climbing gear with their soon-to-be conquest in the background. “Who’s account?”

“Ummm.” Scott can’t remember whose account he was watching. I tilt the phone and let him navigate. He scrolls for a second, then stops. “This guy, yourclimbingfriend. I only follow him because Loren has tagged him a bunch of stuff.”

Yourclimbingfriend’s story is so long that the dashes have become dots. There must be close to one hundred clips. I tap through the clips until I see Loren.

Everything’s okay. They’re laughing and unpacking their stuff. Tap. Tap. Tap. They’re on the rock. Four of them. Loren’s in the middle of the group. The camera is focused on him a lot. He’s laughing and joking with the others. They reach what I think looks like a death ledge. It’s practically horizontal. Two guys climb ahead. Then Loren. He’s really quite good. Every muscle he has flexes as he maneuvers across the rock.

As much as I want to watch him, I tap through. Then it happens. Loren’s body is turned at a weird angle as he tries to reach a new hold. The guy above him loses his footing. He falls, his rope catches and swings until he collides into Loren. Loren bounces off the rock, spinning so fast he looks like a rag doll flying around. His line hooks with the guy that fell, whipping him like a slingshot into the rock.

I cover my mouth as the other climber rappels to his side. The video is a little chaotic. It’s hard to see clearly, but Loren’s face is definitely bleeding and something is wrong with his arm.

“What the fuck—” I say as I stare in disbelief.

The audio is muffled at best but Loren’s trying to save. “I’m fine,” he says. Then he moves wrong and his face goes white.

“Just let them help you, you dumbfuck. Fuck! I told you rock-climbing was fucking dangerous you goddamn motherfucker,” I growl at the phone. I’m so fucking pissed.

And scared.

I tap through a bunch of the video because I can’t stomach the whole thing. It looks like the guy who fell is okay. Loren is not. The climber at Loren’s aid clips himself to Loren and helps him rappel down. The video picks back up when they’re on the ground. Loren’s wrapped in a blanket and they’re loading him into the passenger seat of his van. Then the van’s taking off. I quickly click through the rest of the story but it’s just yourclimbingfriend and I don’t care about him. I care about Loren.

I take a deep breath. Loren got fucked up and I don’t know how he is or where he’s at.

“I’m leaving on the next flight. I need to get to Loren.”

The guys are super understanding. The rest of the night is pretty solemn, though. Try as I might, I can’t focus on anything. My mind is in Washington, or…wherever Loren’s at.

I call David and ask if he can arrange transportation. While he does that, I reach out to Marcus. At one point he had Isaac’s phone number. I call Isaac and leave a voicemail to call me or David. Then I wait. We stay at the cantina until the wee hours of the morning, too afraid to miss anything. When they finally drag me out, I still haven’t heard from Loren but I know he’s on his way back to Washington. David texts me, he’s managed to book a flight for late morning.

I don’t sleep. I pack my shit and wait, helplessly.

This is why I asked Loren not to rock-climb. It’s too dangerous. He could’ve died. He knew exactly where I stood but convinced me it was safe. Safer than my own job. Now look.