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- 01/11/2016
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
American Steel - 2. First Decision
First Decision
It had been over two weeks since my birthday, and I’d spent the days since reevaluating my life. My dad’s death had left me as the sole owner of the family home and business. There were no other relatives, so settling his estate had been but a formality. My first dilemma was what to do with the house. There was no way I could move there, I’d be rattling about living by myself in such a gigantic place.
The two story, wood-sided building had large rooms with high ceilings, an oversized double garage, wide covered porches facing the street on both floors, and plenty of windows used to create cross ventilation before the invention of air conditioners. It had been built in the late nineteenth century by my great-grandfather and there was no way I was getting rid of it. No matter how much money the damn developers were willing to throw at me for the large corner lot.
It was Chad who came up with a solution. Key West is a small town. Locals, particularly those who lived in old town, knew one another and we liked to do business with other Conchs if possible. Chad and I had been friends for a long time; he owns a small real estate company, focusing on rentals to snowbirds and other tourists. He provided management services for most of the properties he represented, leaving the owners free of most responsibilities.
Whereas I’m in good shape, as a result of the hours spent working on the boat and regular weight lifting, I’ve developed a small gut in the last couple of years. So my body’s far from perfect. Chad, on the other hand, is ripped. He has solid pecs, with a deep valley between them, and an honest-to-goodness six pack. And the fucker’s about the same age I am. Salt has overtaken pepper in my hair, just some darkness left on my head and beard, none on my chest. The fur is white as snow there. Chad is entirely smooth, clean shaven, and his honey colored hair doesn’t show any gray. I’m pretty sure that’s been helped along by Miss. Clairol, or professional work done at a salon.
Although physically as different as we could be, our love of motorcycles bonded us over a common interest. When he called to ask if I’d be interested in renting the house out for the month of June to a family from Sarasota, I invited him to join me for drinks so we could talk about it.
We met at Bobby’s Monkey Bar on Simonton, a dive popular with the locals, away from all the touristy shit on Duval. Chad walked in looking as professional as a real estate agent in Key West would. Deck shoes, faded jeans, and a tight short-sleeve shirt left unbuttoned. The hard planes of his chest and abs were on display, causing me to smile. I’m sure he’d undone the buttons just for me. The fucker knows he looks good and flaunts it.
My biggest concern about renting out the house was its safety. I didn’t want a bunch of college kids renting it out for a weekend, getting fucked up, and trashing it. We ironed out insurance, minimum age, and length of rental pretty quickly. The small, caretaker’s studio above the garage would remain empty. Well, as empty as possible considering I’d be using it to store anything from the house I wanted to safeguard. I’m not big on knick-knacks, but a few pieces were family heirlooms I wanted to protect.
By the time we staggered out of the bar―we may had had one or two more than we initially planned―we’d agreed I would meet him again the next afternoon. I was taking out a couple from Canada diving in the morning, once we docked I’d stop by his office to sign the contract. I planned on showering after cleaning out the equipment and securing it. My next decision was what to do with the boat and the diving and fishing gear. I was ready to make some changes in my life.
With no other relatives on the island, after the death of my parents, my friends were my family. Chad was a part of the circle of men and women who’d stood by me through Mom’s illness and Dad’s death. He proved he knew me very well when, after the paperwork was finished, he handed me a bag saying it was a belated birthday gift. We’d gone out for a sandwich and a beer and he handed it to me at the restaurant. Inside were a pair of handcuffs, a set of silk sheets, and a leather cock ring with metal studs. I smiled when I saw the contents and, raising an eyebrow, looked at him.
“Let’s go back to your place and use them to celebrate your fiftieth.” Boy was he going to be sore whenever I got around to un-cuffing him from the bedposts.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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