Confounded: Part III - 8. Chapter 5

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

When I arrived home, my mind was a jumble of thoughts, not in the least because while in the Uber, I looked up ‘third-date rule’.

I’d basically, and wholeheartedly, agreed to us having sex on a third date.

The moment I read the explanation on the screen of my phone and what it implied, the images that came in my mind were so vivid and real that my breath halted. Lord, I hadn’t had an erotic thought like that in years. Scratch that; downright pornographic.

Of course I have pleasurable dreams, everyone does, and I’m a healthy man; I’ll masturbate after having one. I see a movie and a particular scene gives me a bodily reaction, sure. I’m not a monk, the hand goes south. But to have a thought with explicit imagery after meeting someone? That hadn’t happened in a long, long time.

Clearly Tomás had thought the idea funny, and he had been yanking my chain without me realizing what it was we were talking about. I began to chuckle; one-nil in favor of Tomás. The driver tried to begin a conversation but I was far too distracted to keep my train of thought with the topic; it was like my body woke up to the fact that there were other men out there and I was far from romantically dead.

**********

I began my final walk through the house as usual before bed, going for a bottle of water from the fridge, opting for a foreign beer instead. Checking the label, I noted it was a Japanese micro brew that had been suggested by a neighbor, Bob. He raved about it at a dinner a few weeks ago so I’d gotten a few. They might come over and then I’d have something to share with him. Taking off the cap, I tasted it. Not bad. I rarely drink beer, normally only when it’s very hot, which it wasn’t now, then I went on my rounds. It’s a routine that’s ingrained in me, having started it when I bought this house twenty four years ago from an elderly couple who were looking to move to smaller accommodations.

Back then, I chose the neighborhood because the area was, though not as flashy as Beverly Hills, upscale enough. Family oriented and, with an eye on Kit, it would provide my son with a stable environment, with school, church and young families, and possibly friends for him closeby. It wasn’t too far from my parents either, who lived in Brentwood. My dad still lived there, in the house where I grew up.

It was also affordable for me. At the time I bought it, back in 1998, I’d had a good job, rising through the corporate ranks fast, making it to CFO at a well-known national distributor. But I wanted more. I wanted to make the decisions, be the boss, make a name for myself and I thought I’d identified a segment of the market not yet cornered by many, especially around here. For that, I needed to attract investors who were willing to spend their money on a new company. And to get those, you need to host them in nice , upscale surroundings. Yes, I had been ambitious, yes there was a degree of vanity, and even arrogance. I was a corporate shark and the weak don’t make it in that world. You gotta be a shark and I was one. Still can be, when need arises; hence Kit asking me to go on those trips.

Taking a sip from the beer, I looked around.

For a man alone, this house was far too big. When Taylan lived here, and Kit, and Tom later on for about a year, it had seemed smaller. Now, I needed cleaning services, a gardener, and a pool service to maintain it, though I have had the latter two from the beginning. When Kit and Mischa got married, I offered them the place. Kit loved the idea but Mischa politely declined. In secret, he’d purchased their current home in Beverly Glen, near the park. And that one was three times as big as this, but they had another floor. When I asked Mischa why he bought such a ridiculously big house, he told me of his dream of a big family. They wanted kids. When he dropped the number six, I understood his planning for the future and I remember thinking ‘good god, he’ll have a task on his hands, convincing Kit to have that many’. The two terrorists alone were a handful already.

My place is a one-level bungalow. The main living area, in the front of the house, faces north. Wings on both sides extend to the back, making it a U-shape. Sliding doors in the living room and all bedrooms, so you could step onto the terrace facing south. Then down a few steps to the pool and behind that the garden, reachable by going down five more steps and stepping on grass, at night lit by strategically placed lights. At the edges were trees. One even contained an old treehouse made for Kit; one day, my grandsons would probably raise hell in there. They were still a bit too young for it, but they knew it existed. Especially Julian, who had a curious nature. In an unguarded moment last weekend he had to be plucked off the ladder that hung down from it, the squirt already halfway up there. One of their dogs, Joker, actually had started barking like mad, alerting us to that. I’d asked the people from the gardening service to put that ladder out of reach; I should check if they had. Mischa had been very upset and demanded it be fixed. He hadn’t let the boys out of his sight for the remainder of that afternoon, with poor Julian unable to get further than just a few feet from his dad. Kit had thought he was overreacting but Mischa wouldn’t budge. The kid was going nowhere that afternoon.

I opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the terrace. It was cool now and I inhaled deep, enjoying the beer. Then I slowly went down the steps, past the pool and into the yard, heading for the treehouse. Yes, they had secured it higher up. Even I could barely reach the lowest rung. Good. Taking another swig of the beer, slowly walking back, my thoughts went back to earlier times.

When I had my idea for my new company, I voiced my thoughts to a select few people: co-workers, clients, business acquaintances, my parents. I found they were interested in investing in me, in my potential. BSL Communications was born and it became quite a success in a very short time, making huge leaps and bounds in the beginning of the technology boom.

These days, tablets and laptops are common. Back then, they were the tools that gradually took over offices; getting rid of paper and digitizing data. Servers flew out the door so to speak, and not cheap ones either. I remember an IBM server going for almost three hundred thousand (after markup) dollars and we sold ten of those in one order; the biggest one yet. We had a party at the office because of it. They were taller than me, even, those servers back then.

Those were wonderful days. Technology was advancing so fast we could hardly keep up with demand. Not bad for a company that began with three employees, then grew to a mid-sized west-coast distributor in a decade. Though not the goal, I made money quicker than I could spend. It enabled me to buy out the investors, except my parents, and become a completely privately owned company. These days, mostly under Kit’s guidance, BSL has expanded to include clients throughout Asia, Europe, and Oceania. China was an emerging market now as well, thanks to my son. I had my first trip to Beijing last year, together with him. Ahh, Kit. My boy. Quite the man now.

The agreement with Sienna, my ex-wife, had always been that Kit could come live with me, provided he would never be alone and that he would be safe. Not that Sienna was a bad mother and couldn’t wait to get rid of him; nothing could be further from the truth. She’d been, and still was, a great mom and now grandmother and, once we both knew where we stood and the divorce was done, we got along just fine. But the one stipulation, that Kit would never be alone, was one I was unable to provide in those days. Work was taking me away too often. There was simply no time to care for a child, much to my own regret and Kit’s, who’d been asking every single time he visited. I always promised that one day he would come and live with me; I just couldn’t make good on it until I met Taylan, a whirlwind of his own.

It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, not from his side. Lust possibly, though I felt something reciprocal even if he fought it or tried not to show it. But I sensed enough between us for me to pursue him aggressively and, luckily, I got him. Oh, did I get him. Best twelve years of my life, hands down. After a short courtship that was fast and furious he moved in with me, which then enabled Kit to finally be able to come and live with me. Us. Live with us. Fifteen at the time, I look back on that period as us being a perfect family unit and a year later, in June 2008, Taylan and I married.

A year after that, Kit himself came out to us. That had been hard for me, not because he was gay but I blamed myself, that being married to another man was a possible cause for that. That I’d been too selfish. A ridiculous thought, of course; you are who you are and probably because (I’d like to think) Tay and I were open in showing our love to one another, did he feel he could come out and say it when he realized it for himself. He’d recognized his feelings at school, having fallen for a fellow student who didn’t reciprocate. The next year Tom came.

Oh boy, that had been something.

**********

Maybe it was our reconnection tonight that had me rushing down memory lane, and for an outsider looking in, this might seem funny. Me, walking through my own backyard in the middle of the night, one hand in my pocket, the other holding a beer, nothing but garden lights and crickets, mumbling softly and chuckling at a funny recollection. But to me, it was a revelation; like waking up. And I’d done a lot of that tonight, in more ways than one.

Up until now, my thoughts had been rather compartmentalized to the memories I enjoyed the most, recalling those frequently; others not so much. Now one segued into the other, making the memories somehow more full, well-rounded. It was nice actually, thinking back to those days. Glancing at my watch, it was well after midnight but I wasn’t tired. I was fully awake.

I sighed and took another sip. The beer cooled my throat as the evening played through my head again. I really enjoyed it, as I had told Tomás. I chuckled again. I’d never known that was his actual name.

Tomás Quentin. It suited him, making the difference between thinking about him as a kid or an adult. Tomás was definitely an adult. I had noticed that he’d filled out more; broader in the shoulders and even a little taller. He’d been around Tayan’s height back then, but had added an inch or more since.

Approaching the pool, I stood at the edge. Sometimes I even go for a swim late at night. I can’t remember when I had started doing that; sometime during Taylan’s final weeks. It relaxes me, clears my head.

Deciding that a midnight swim would actually be nice, I undressed. There’s something about naked swimming that makes you feel free. I sat on the edge and closed my eyes as I dipped my feet in. The water was cool but not too cold. I set the bottle next to me and slipped in. God, that felt wonderful. Turning, I pushed off; arms spread wide and floating on my back toward the middle of the pool, looking up at the stars.

Exhaling deeply, I felt myself relax and the more I thought about the evening, the more I found myself smiling, even snickering as I recalled some of the conversation. He was very witty, Tomás, and far more mildly tempered nowadays than I remembered him being but there was still a bit of a rebellious nature. Confident, secure, stable and impossibly flirtatious. Then that word floated back into my mind.

Sexy.

When I closed my eyes, I could recall every bit of him to mind easily; God yes, he was sexy. Not only because he was attractive but his whole manner, his mind, his thoughts, his responses, those crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, the upturned corners of his mouth. He clearly laughed a lot, finding humor in many things. Clean shaven and his lips had a beautiful deep red color with a nice sheen on them, as if he’d just been thoroughly kissed. He’d seemed very healthy, athletic and nicely tanned. Great dresser, and those pants had hugged his ass like…

My mind had absolutely no trouble focusing on his ass. I remembered him walking away from the table, unable to remove my eyes from that ass.

Slowly opening my eyes, I lowered my chin to my chest and stared at my penis, jutting straight up in the air. Even in cool water, my thoughts were giving me a full on hard-on.

Twice in the span of what; an hour? Slowly moving into an upright position, I shook my head to clear the imagery, floating there, my arms spread and my legs slowly treading. What on earth was going on with me, suddenly objectifying a boy… no, a man I just met. A pretty, beautiful young man.

“Fool,” I muttered to myself, moving to the edge of the pool, to where my clothes lay. Then I noticed a light, flickering for a few seconds, then dimming. My phone. I’d put it on top of my clothes. Reaching the side, I then realized I’d shot myself in the foot here; I hadn’t gotten a towel before slipping into the pool. Sighing, I reached for my shirt. Using it to dry my hands, I took the phone and checked it while resting my arms on the edge of the pool. There were a bunch of messages from Kit, growing in agitation. One from Mischa, asking me to please send a message to my son to stop him obsessing over our date and igniting World War 3. And two new messages from Fucktoy? Who the…

I sent a thumbs up message to Kit, telling him I had a great time and we’d talk later; he’d read it in the morning. Then I read the messages from Fucktoy.

It was weird. When I read the messages, I felt elated. They were from Tomás. That ass, he’d probably put his number in my phone and gave himself that designation, the little shit. I quickly changed his details in my phone to Tomás, then reread his messages.

[Arrived safely.]
[You asleep yet?]

No, very much awake, mind and body, thank you very much, young man.

<Actually, taking a swim.> I sent back.
I saw him typing an answer when the dots appeared.

[That better not be a nude swim! I remember that pool of yours vividly.] A slew of emoji’s followed the comment, beginning with a flame, a heart, something that looked like an eggplant, a peach and a hand with the finger pointing to a hand making the ‘perfect’ sign. I frowned. It seemed silly to me.

<What do those mean?> I asked.

[Oh lordy, not well-versed in emoticons?]

I sent back a smiley face. I used those regularly enough.

[I think you should look it up.] He answered with a laughing face that had tears on the side. Mischa used that one a lot. Kit always used that and the one that was tilted sideways a little, alternating.

<That’s mean. You expect me to research that in the middle of the night?>

[*sigh* Let’s just say it represents my memory of that pool.]

I thought about that but it didn’t mean anything to me. <Elaborate, please.>

[Fine! Let’s go by emoji, teach you something in the process, old man.]

I huffed at that. I’ll show you old, I thought.

[The flame stands for…’hot’]
[The hearts stands for ‘love’]
[With me so far?]

<With yu.>
<Yo.>
<YOU.> Man! Come on. My fingers were slipping on the screen.
He sent the laughing emoji with the tears again. Jerk.

[Fat Fingering our keyboard, are we?], followed by that same emoji. I was beginning to feel inadequate by that thing.

<.....>

[I’ll go easy on you, Boomer. Alright, eggplant?]

<Boomer? Hey, watch it, Centennial!> I received multiple laughing with tears emojis.

[LOL! I'm not a Centennial. Not that young!]

<Fine. Give or take a year or two. Eggplant means?>

[Dick.]

Pardon? I frowned. What did I do? <Excuse me?>

[You heard me. Dick. Penis. Cock. Joystick. Eggplant = male weewee]

Oooohhhhh…right, right. I imagined he was having a ball at my expense, laughing it up.

<Right. Peach?> And as I sent that, I realized. The emojis were used as speech and bodily parts and I caught on. Ass. And the finger, pointing to the OK sign. Fucking. Looking back up to the original string of emojis, he was saying hot ass fucking, taking these emojis literally.

And I got hard again as I realized that. My body had definitely woken up and seemed to want to catch up on lost time, yikes…

[Got it yet?]

Good god, how does one respond to that?

<Yes, I got it. You had sex in my pool.>

His reaction was all laughing-with-tears emojis.

[Damn straight we did! Lots of times.]

And I groaned. Images invaded my mind, very, very erotic images.

I was glad the pool was enclosed on three sides by the house. Deeper in the yard there is a high wall separating my property from the neighbors. No one could see me here, which was one of the reasons I didn’t feel self conscious while swimming in the nude. I only did it at night though, never during the day because, you know… you just never know. Neighbors can be strange people.

Heaving myself up onto the side, I got out and grabbed my shirt, drying myself haphazardly with it. Then I picked up the rest of my stuff and moved back indoors, holding the clothes over my crotch. Even if no one could see me, I still could, and I didn't need the visual reminder of my business bobbing in front of me like some silly fairground balloon. The comparison made me snicker.

What was going on with me, that I was laughing at my own expense! And furthermore; I was enjoying it.