Confounded: Part III - 10. Chapter 6

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

After locking the sliding door, I made my way to the bedroom, still dripping and dumped my wet shirt in the hamper in the bathroom. Then I got a big towel and dried off and sat on the bed.

In the meantime, Tomás had sent three more messages.

[Hello?]
[You still there?]
[I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. Me and my potty mouth, always talking before thinking.] followed by a sad emoji with a tear.

<I’m not offended> I answered with a smiley face.

Then my phone rang; it was him and I picked up.

“You’re not?”

Hearing his raspy voice in my ear made me twitch. He sounded somewhat timid, soft spoken and right next to me. Intimate.

“No, you didn’t.” I didn’t recognize my own voice, sounding husky. I cleared my throat. "Hold on." I got up and got some boxer shorts, putting them on. When I picked up again, I heard him chuckle. “What?”

“You -were- swimming nude.” I coughed but didn’t say anything else. "You just put on underwear. I could hear you, I heard the elastic band slap. You bastard!”

He’d heard that? “Why am I a bastard?”

“I was on the phone with a hot, sexy naked man and not there to enjoy it,” he laughed.

He thought I was hot too. And that was the second time he said he found me sexy. Come on, give this body a break; yep, there I went again! “You shouldn’t say such things; a man might believe you.”

“That’s why I said it. Oh, you think you’re not sexy? Find a mirror and take a good look, then say to yourself; dayum, I’m sexy.”

I was not. “Knock it off, Tomás.”

“Oooh, full name usage. I’m in trouble now.”

I couldn’t help it, I chuckled. “Yes, you are.”

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep; it’s not nice.”

“Stop that. That’s not nice.”

“What!? Oh…flirting? Can’t help it. Live with it,” he chuckled.

“Tomás! Tom,” I corrected his name.

“I think I prefer you yelling ‘Tomás’ at me…”

“Tom,” I said again.

“Sorry, Tom is not here,” he said in a monotone voice, mimicking an answering machine, “leave a message after the tone; beeeeeeeeeep.”

“Tomás!”

“Yessir. Right here. Wassup bro! How’s it hangin’, you goooooood?”

I started laughing so hard I began to cough.

“Dayum, might wanna get that checked out. At your age…”

“I am NOT old,” I replied, a little too vehemently.

“Oooh, found a sore spot,” he quipped right back, then more seriously, “then shut the fuck up about promises I won’t keep, because I’m just an Uber away. And I will get one, if you tell me to do it.”

‘Tomás…”

“See? The way you say my name; makes me all gooey inside.”

He shouldn’t flirt like that.

“Can you be serious, for like…one second?” I asked, “Tom?”

He sighed deeply. “Fine. Ruin my fun. Alright, starting over. Hi…”

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“I just got into bed.”

“I was about to go to sleep. Had to take care of someone…”

Just as I was about to react, thinking he was trying to rile me up with some joke about Grindr, a soft rumbling sounded; at first it was faint, like a freight train coming from afar. It got closer.

“What is that?” I asked, frowning.

“No, get off….Silver…” a soft rustling came through the speaker. And then I recognized it. Purring. Very, very loud, followed by a chuckle. “Stupid beast; no, daddy isn’t talking to you….Oh, ugh!” Laughter. “Knock it off! Get off me, you monster!”

“Tom?” I spoke and then listened. “Tomás?”

“Meow,” and I smirked. Aha! He had a cat. More rustling.

“Sorry, you still there?”

“I am…you have a cat?”

Tom softly laughed. “Meet Silver. My pride and joy. She thinks I’m talking to her and wants to cuddle. The phone kinda sets her off. I’ll put you on speaker.”

The purring intensified when I said ‘Hi Silver,” even adapting my voice a bit like he did. Why do we do that, as people? It works, but…why?

“Meow.”

“Meow to you too,” I answered, chuckling.

“She’s a Maine Coon. Yes, you are, you silly girl. Yes, daddy’s home.” He began to truly laugh. There was pure joy in that.

“Daddy?” I inquired, trying to keep a straight face.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, but that’s too cute.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s gorgeous, you’ll see. You’ll like her.”

I’ve never had a pet and said so.

“Aww, not even when you were younger?”

A memory stirred, from long ago. “Wait; we used to have a dog, when I was growing up. Family dog. Died when I was in college.”

“What was his name? Or hers…”

Ooh, I really had to dig in my brain for that one. “Spirit. He was a black retriever.”

“And after? Never got a new one?”

“No. At that time things were a bit hectic. Kit was born, and I was simply too busy. Even now, with all the travel I still do, I feel it would be cruel to take a pet. I’d love a dog again, though.”
I had always opposed the idea of pets; not because I didn’t want them, I just couldn’t be here for it. Selfish, really; Taylan had been here, and Kit but I had put my foot down, every time the topic came up. When did I become so selfish? They would’ve loved it. Seeing Kit now, with their dogs; he was crazy about them.

“Ah, I understand. I get it. This lady needs a lot of TLC. Brushing every day, but I got a girl coming in for that. She also takes care of her when I travel. There are way more services these days, you should look into it. Hold on, I’ll send you a picture. Gimme a sec.”

More rustling and then my phone chirped; I tapped on the icon.

“Oh my, she is a gorgeous one,” I said, looking at the picture. The cat did her name proud; she was facing the camera with beautiful big eyes, like slits and indeed silver colored, but from her head down over her back there was black. Then onwards in silver/white to a full fluffy tail. She was white on her tummy, from what I could see, and long tufts coming from the ears. Larger than a normal cat, she lay against his leg. A tattooed leg. “What kind of tattoo is that? I’ve never seen one quite like it…”

Only part of his leg showed; it began at his big toe, starting right below the nail, then snaking over the top of his foot and down again under his ankle, then winding up around his leg to behind his knee. That’s as far as the picture showed. He didn’t respond.

“Tom?”

“Yeah…” He sounded hesitant.

“What kind of tattoo is that?” I thought he hadn’t heard the question.
I heard more rustling and then it stopped. It sounded like he’d taken me off speaker because I could hear him breathing through his nose and then a deep sigh.

“Hold on.”

There came stomping as he was walking somewhere. A door creaked. A light switch being flipped. Silence. The switch flipped again, door closing. Stomping. Rustling.
My phone chirped. He’d sent another picture. A second later, another. And when I tapped it, I inhaled sharply.

“Holy…”

Standing somewhat turned, aiming the camera at a full size mirror, it showed Tom in snug, bright red boxer briefs, and displaying on only his left side, one, big, continuous tattoo that curved and snaked from his foot, over the ankle, circling up, disappearing behind his knee as I’d already seen, but then continuing up and up, coming from behind his knee and up over his upper leg to the hip, snaking under his briefs, coming back out above it, swirling to his stomach, right up to his bellybutton, then curving back to his side and lower rib cage, from there flaring out to cover the entire left side of his chest in branches like a tree, tendrils snaking out to over his arm and disappearing under it. The next picture had him with his arm raised, showing it curled right under his armpit to his shoulder, tendrils going left and right there, then down the right side of his back, ending in what looked like a three-pronged fork, the two outer ones ending in spikes just above his undies, the middle one disappearing under it.

Upon closer inspection, zooming in, I saw that it wasn’t a picture or presentation of anything; they were music notes, set in bars in a continuing line, never broken. There had to be hundreds of them, swirling in circles, with text so small I couldn’t zoom in close enough to read, sometimes branching off just a bit, executed in only black ink, very fine. Like tattoos or not, and I never was a fan, but I can recognize art when I see it. This was art.

“Good god, Tom…” I breathed, a little shocked.

“I know…”

“It’s incredible.” I heard him inhale deeply. “Did it hurt?”

“It didn’t tickle,” came his somewhat dry response and I breathed a laugh.

“I bet. Are those notes and lyrics from songs you wrote?”

“Yes. Now how did you get that in one go, while others at least have to ask a few questions first?”

I couldn’t stop staring at his picture and my thought, that he was pretty and beautiful, was very much true. And I think the term currently used for a body like his was ‘ripped’.

Muscled from legs to shoulders, and all hard muscle at that, he was a sight to behold. God, even his hips were defined, and from the look of it, even his ass probably was. His stomach clearly showed a six, no, an eight-pack that revealed he worked out in a way that showed discipline. I also saw that his left nipple was pierced. This was a definition beauty I hadn’t seen before. A true body of art, with art on it…

I’ve rarely gawked at anyone in my entire life. Sure, I can appreciate a nice man in the street, certainly, but looking at a picture of a man and having a bodily reaction to it is an entirely different thing altogether. Especially when that person is breathing in your ear as if he’s right next to you.

“Beautiful,” I whispered, more to myself than to him, but he must’ve heard it because he chuckled.

“Thank you. So now you know; I’m a tattooed bad boy.”

I answered his chuckle with one of my own.

“Haven’t you moved on from your bad boy stage by now?”

“No sir, I can still be a very bad boy. Depends on the other man, though…”

I swallowed and needed a drink. He so easily segued into flirting again and it was wreaking havoc with my thoughts. The imagery easily came and I stirred again.

“Stop it…” I said softly, turning onto my side and reaching for the bottle of water I always keep on the nightstand; I sometimes wake up thirsty, during the night. He chuckled again as I took a sip.

“Okay, fine, I’ll stop. Sorry; but it’s just too much fun, hearing you squirm.”

“I am not squirming,” I said, doing exactly that when I pushed my hard-on into the mattress and when I caught myself doing that, I couldn’t help it; I began to laugh. “You’re an ass.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you a prude, Mitch. Far from it.”

“I’m not, actually. But this is just…too much.”

“Too soon?” He added and I found myself nodding.

“Yes. A little. I mean, I can’t get over the fact that, after hours of conversation during dinner, here we are, you’re sending inappropriate pictures and we’re still gabbing like a couple of schoolgirls, while I’m gawking at your picture.”

“What are you wearing to prom?” he quipped in a girly voice. I was rather glad he didn’t catch on to the ‘gawking at your picture’ part of that.

“Ha! Did you even go to yours?” Safer waters to steer. I found I needed it, right now.

“Hell no. I was far too busy being a tortured soul. You?”

“Definitely. I’ve done the whole typical American high school thing.”

“Oh yeah, you were straight for a while.”

Ha! I sniggered at that. Misconception!

“I was never straight, actually. I’ve known I was gay since I was eleven, twelve years old. But I played at being ‘normal’ for a long while.”

“Really! Wow, that’s so foreign to me. I never did. So were you like one of those popular guys? Y’know; baseball jock?”

“No. I did play sports, but I wasn’t a jock. Not in that sense. I was a Brainiac, with a love for running, sprinting and swimming.”

“Interesting. But you were with the popular crowd, yeah?”

“Yes, I guess I was...”

“Please don’t tell me you became Prom King?”

“Ha! No, thankfully. Typically, those titles always went to the jocks and cheerleaders.” The memories were still there. Vaguely, though.

“So you were into guys back then?”

“Secretly.”

“Ashamed?”

“No, traditional. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents. As an only child and son, there were certain expectations so I dated girls openly but secretly met guys. I’ve never felt ashamed about who I am.” Those were also the days when I had the most of the aforementioned one-night stands.

“Really! Dayum.” It sounded like he was repositioning himself, perked up and curious. ”Where did you meet them? I imagine you couldn’t go to clubs and such. Not like nowadays...did the Internet exist then?”

“Oh no, not back then. I did visit clubs on occasion, but I mainly met them through church.” Tom made a surprised sound. “Hey! No judging…and no jokes about frocks or priests.”

“I’m not. The idea is, like I said, just so foreign to me. I find that very interesting. That must’ve been so weird. And in a much different time.”

“Yeah, it was. Being gay was not talked about, merely whispered. Definitely not as accepted then as it is now. There was a lot of sneaking around. San Francisco was the place to be for that, not around here.”

“So...how did Kit happen, then? Like...okay; how the hell did you manage that? If girls didn’t turn you on; how did you achieve liftoff? Like; were you bi for a while? I mean…I just can’t imagi…eww, I could never fuck a girl.”

I chuckled. Crass. Yet, I liked that he called it as he saw it.

“No. Never. My family had a good name and reputation in the community; Sienna, Kit’s mother, pursued me aggressively because of it. My parents encouraged it, as did hers and she was quite beautiful. Well, you met her, you know. Her parents had a similar standing, so she was quite the catch. I went along with it. We dated for about a year, when one night out with friends, I had far too much to drink and we stayed at a hotel because I couldn’t drive us back. I don’t remember much of it, other than waking up with her, to be honest. A few weeks later, she confessed that she had done it deliberately, getting me drunk because her other friends had been intimate with their guys, while we hadn’t. She blamed it on impatience and peer pressure.”

“Hold on, I’m writing this down, so I know what to do, next time we meet,” Tom commented dryly, then feigned to write down, “get him drunk, have my wicked way with him. Get preggers. I guess I’ll need a wig. Blond? Brunette? What’s your preference? Please say black.”

I laughed. Ass! “Ha! Anyway, it turned out that the once was enough; she was pregnant, so I did the honorable thing and we married.”

“What a calculating bitch. Sorry…”

“Don’t be, I thought the same thing, privately. It caused a lot of issues, particularly because I refused to sleep in the same room with her, ever again, and about half a year after Kit was born, I’d had enough. I spoke to my parents, told them I wasn’t happy and the reason why. I came out to them and filed for a divorce.”

“Wow. How did that go over? With your parents?”

“Better than I had expected, I’ll admit. My father was more progressive, especially for those days. I think he suspected something. My mother was not like that. Very concerned with what others would think, how things appeared; she accepted it, but mainly because my father told her to. Not that they ever had a choice, but I’ve always had a better relationship with my father; my mother was a distant woman.”

“She died young, didn’t she? I remember visiting your father every Sunday, when I lived with you guys.”

I made a quick calculation in my head.

“Fifty-eight. Kit was twelve, when she died. I think, in a way, he was her one joy. Strange, now that I think about it; he got what I never got from her. Warmth, affection. Attention, I guess. He was nuts with his nana. Thick as thieves, those two. Well, three, he and my dad are ridiculously close. He gets away with anything.”

“I wonder what she would have thought of Taylan.”

I smirked at that. “She would have liked him, I think; after a while. He had a unique way of dealing with people.”

It grew quiet on his end but I could hear him breathing.

“What do you miss the most? Since he died?”

Glancing beside me, the empty place where he’d always slept, the answer was easy.

“His touch; especially at night. Feeling him next to me. Watching him sleep. Hearing his soft snore.”

Tom chuckled softly. “Leave the phone on; you can listen to me snore.” There was some rustling and then a deep sigh. “C’mon. Lay down. It’s getting late.”

Hesitating at first, because it felt weird, I scooted down a bit and did as he asked and lay on my side, turned toward the empty place like I always did, the phone shoved to my ear, held in place by the pillow.

“Okay…”

“Grab the pillow. Bunch it up like you’re holding me.”

His voice was closer now, more intimate. I imagined he was doing the same thing. It felt weird, forbidden; he said holding me.

“Tom…”

“Shh, just do it. Grab the pillow, hug it and close your eyes. Just listen.”

I didn’t close my eyes but I did get the pillow, held it and listened, then smiled when I heard purring come closer.

“Hi baby,” I heard him whisper to the cat. Louder purring. “Ready to sleep? Go on then, off.”

Listening to him shooing the cat off the bed made me chuckle. Then I heard him settle and sigh deeply again.

“What…”

“Nothing. That was just cute to listen to.”

“She knows she’s not allowed. I can’t sleep with a pussy in my bed.”

I snickered and he joined in.

“She has her favorite sleeping spot, but she checks up on me during the night.” He sighed again and audibly yawned; it was infectious.

“She doesn’t go outside? I thought cats roamed outside while the humans slept,” I asked, yawning as well.

“Not like normal cats. I have a closed off section, a big cage. She goes there, if she wants to go outside. There’s a cat flap in the door, with a sensor; it only opens for her, she wears a collar with a transmitter.”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of pussy protection,” I couldn’t resist joking. I was getting drowsy…

He sniggered softly.

“Mhm,” came the soft answer. It sounded like he was getting drowsy too.

That was confirmed when a few minutes later, his breathing evened out and became steady. Closing my eyes, I just listened…