Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 

As Jeff describes it, he met Mike in court about this time of year two years ago. Jeff was a witness for the prosecution, while Mike was the defense lawyer for an obviously guilty client. Mike knew the guy was guilty and wanted to get a reduced sentence for him, but he hadn't counted on Jeff. Jeff's testimony was pretty damaging to Mike's client, especially the details around the situation that were backed by physical evidence and pictures. Mike had tried to corner him on some of those details to discredit him as a witness, but Jeff outmaneuvered him. (Of course, all of this is according to a Jeff who's had a couple of drinks.) In the end, Mike's client got an even bigger sentence than if they had taken the plea-bargain.

 

Mike was pissed at the damage Jeff's testimony had caused, but remained in control in court. However, afterwards in the hall right outside the courtroom was a different situation. Apparently Mike all but accused Jeff of lying on the stand, and the two got into a huge argument, almost a scuffle, that had to be separated and calmed down by a couple of courthouse guards. They'd said nasty words to each other, but Jeff had felt something between the two of them that he'd not felt with anyone else. He had felt more alive around Mike, almost like Mike was "a worthy adversary" for him, and he felt that Mike had about the same physical and mental capabilities as himself.

 

Although they didn't ever meet in court again, they did see each other around the courthouse. Eventually Mike apologized to Jeff, and the frost between the two of them began to melt. About three months after the "courthouse incident" as Jeff calls it, Mike invited Jeff to a game of racquetball at his club. It turns out that Jeff had never played racquetball or even tennis, so Mike had to show him everything. That suited Mike, especially since he liked to be "in charge" and in control of the situation.

 

"As time went on, as we saw more of each other and played racquetball together, we became better friends than I ever expected," Jeff concludes.

 

When he stops talking, I take a quick look at his face. He's relaxed again. The Jeff I wanted to be around was back again. But I still have questions. So I wait a few seconds then ask, "Racquetball, huh?"

 

Jeff chuckles, then says in a thicker drawl than usual, "Yeah. I guess it was his plan to try to citify this West Texas hick."

 

"So, how did you two become, uh. . . ."

 

"Roommates? Partners? Fuck buddies?" he asks with a chuckle.

 

"Yeah," I say as I grin, then blush yet one more time.

 

"That's an interesting story in its own. About nine months ago while getting ready for a game, I was coming back from using the bathroom when I overheard a conversation between Mike and another guy on the other side of a wall of lockers. Basically the other guy said, 'So you two gettin' it on yet?' Because he'd never told me was gay, I was pleased when Mike responded, 'No. Jeff's a good friend, not a fuck buddy.' But what pissed me off was when the other guy said something like, 'Well you've fucked most every other guy here, so why not him? Besides, prime beef doesn't get any better looking than he is. He's even better looking than you, and that will make a lot of guys willing to risk your anger.' Then the other guy laughed and walked away.

 

"After I heard that guy's comment about Mike and his past, I was pissed and began to realize that's why the guys at that club had recently begun to look me over so much. So I went back to the bathroom and stood there for a couple of minutes trying to think through what to do next. Figuring there wasn't much I could do, I decided to play along and give Mike the benefit of the doubt until he said or did something differently."

 

When I look over at Jeff this time, I notice something of a sly grin on his face. As he turns to me, I notice a definitely mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "But rather than waiting, I sort of decided . . . to push him . . . into telling me a little sooner.

 

"As we played I 'accidentally' ran into Mike a little more during each game. I tried not to let on, but a couple of times I had to turn away to laugh when I saw how frustrated he was getting. Then just before one of Mike's serve, I turned my racquet around, held it by the head, then slid the grip in between his legs from the back side and shook it around a little. I didn't realize it when I did it, but he told me later that it bumped up against his balls.

 

"Well, that was pretty much it for the game. He threw down his racquet, grabbed the front of my t-shirt, and pushed me roughly against the wall. He held me there while he ragged on me about bumping into him and doing what I did to him, about how it was so 'unsportsmanlike.' When he finally calmed down, all I had to ask was 'Do you have something to tell me? Maybe something about . . . prime beef?'"

 

Jeff turns away from me and a new serious look crosses his face. "And I'll never do that again. For the next thirty seconds, I watched Mike's face change from anger, to horror and fear, and finally to a really hurt look. He turned away from me, walked to the other side of the court, put his hands against the wall and leaned into them, then quietly told me that he's gay. He went on to apologize for not telling me sooner, and that if I didn't want to be around him, I could leave and he would stay away from me in the future." Jeff takes in a ragged, deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "But then he added that he hoped I'd stay around, that he'd really, really like to keep me as a friend, that he'd become somewhat attached to having me around."

 

I notice a new raspiness in Jeff's voice as he continues to describe the defining point in their relationship. "During all of this, it wasn't necessarily what he said that got to me, but the near-tears, defeated way he said it, like he expected me to walk out and never look back. I'd never seen Mike like that, and, well, I've never seen him like that since. It really gave me a clue how much of a shell he has around himself, and how tightly he controls his emotions."

 

I wait about a minute for Jeff to continue. When he doesn't, I quietly add, "Or a real clue of how vitally important you are to him. He never wants you to see him as less strong or less capable than you."

 

Jeff looks at me briefly, then looks back down at his lap, looking at his hands as he holds them loosely together, one thumb slowly rubbing the top of the other thumb.

 

I reach over and lightly grab the back of his elbow, and quietly add, "Or how vitally important he is to you now." When he doesn't respond, I instantly know that I've hit home with my last comment.

 

We sit that way for a few moments, time almost suspended, until Jeff finally croaks out a confirming "Yeah" and turns to me, his eyes latching onto mine. Those sad, green eyes with the brown eyebrows turned up in the center communicate how much he really loves Mike.

 

But instead of falling in love with those sad eyes, this time my heart almost breaks when he looks away and says, "But I think I'm going to have to let him go. Ever since that one time, whenever I try to get him to talk about stuff that's bugging him or talk about how he feels about us, he says he doesn't have the time to talk about it and it's all too complicated. And that's what this vacation was supposed to be about--giving us time to discuss stuff."

 

I watch Jeff closely as he heavily controls his emotions. He reaches up and briefly massages his eyes with his fingertips, then takes a couple of deep breaths and looks up and out into the canyon. In a stronger voice he says, "No, I can't do that." With a sigh he adds, "But I'm not sure I know what to do. It's all so frustrating sometimes, especially when he begins to criticize my job or the people I associate with. But he's never around, so how am I supposed to react? I can't wait forever for him to get his act together."

 

I wait for a few seconds before proceeding. "Okay, so what is your job, what do you do that has his shorts in such a tizzy?" I ask with rather pronounced, alcohol-induced drawl learned from somewhere in my Texas past.

 

Jeff looks over at me, initially with a surprised look on his face, but one that slowly changes to a huge, shit-eating grin with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

I look back at him wondering what he's up to now. When he doesn't say anything, I finally have to ask "What?" in a drawl that comes out more like "Whuuut?"

 

With a chuckle, Jeff asks, "What's with the drawl, buddy?"

 

"Oh, nothing. Just seems to creep out when I'm relaxed and nearly toasted from drinking too much." I pause and feel a smile move onto my face. "And being around you, the King of Drawl, seems to bring it out in me, too."

 

Jeff chuckles at the comment and we latch eyes again.

 

The alcohol is hitting me pretty hard by now, making me feel somewhat dizzy as I look at him and think, 'Damn, really, REALLY wish he weren't already attached. I'd have him over me in bed doing whatever he wants to do.' But something else deep inside keeps pushing reality back to the surface. I look away and say, "You still haven't answered my question."

 

After a few seconds pause, Jeff says, "I work for the state of California, with at-risk kids in a few of the middle and high schools in L.A. I'm not a guidance counselor, but help out in that role alot."

 

"At-risk kids?"

 

"Yeah, those who come from broken or poor homes, maybe where a parent is an alcoholic or abusive or sometimes both. Those are the kids that need a little extra help to get clothes or food or just to get through school. I connect them with charities and shelters and tutors and other groups to help out. I've even tutored some of them on specific exams and homework."

 

As Jeff continues to tell me what he does, I try to catalog some of the thousands of questions I want to ask, especially about how he, a cowboy from West Texas, got into this line of work in California. But being the good conversationalist I am (well, drunk and unable to think of more than one thing at a time), I stay with the subject. "Wow. Sounds like a fantastic job helping people who really need it. But why does Mike gripe about you bringing home strays?"

 

"Three or four times in the past year, I've brought kids to the house, usually those who never seem to have a parent at home or maybe need to get away from the gangs in the streets near where they live. I live on a few acres with a barn, a horse, and a couple of stray dogs and cats. It's amazing the change in kids when they're around the animals, and the animals seem to sense it, too. So I guess that's where he got the notion about me bringing home strays."

 

At that exact moment, my body betrays me, a sudden tiredness ripples through me which causes me to yawn big and long. When I'm finished I notice Jeff looking at me with a big grin on his face. In a chuckling drawl he says, "Wondered how long it was going to take you to do that, especially with as much as you've had to drink. Guess it's time to get you to your cabin."

 

I look down at my lap, the tiredness hitting pretty hard now. "Yeah. Now I wish I hadn't had so much to drink. The story was getting good. I hate to be a party pooper, but, yeah, it's time." I look over to Jeff, my eyes meeting his. "Sorry to do this to you, big guy."

 

Jeffs grins and laughs quietly. "No problem."

 

I slide off my chair and walk a few steps toward the lodge, hearing Jeff do the same. When I turn to look at him, I'm expecting to see his eyes. But across the three foot distance between us, I first see his dark brown, nicely trimmed mustache-goatee and his lips curled up into an easy smile, both framed by his nicely square jaw. Curiousity gets the better of me, and I let my eyes slide down a little to see if I can see any chest hair in the open collar of his shirt. All I see there is a small bit of a black t-shirt under the barely open collar of his nicely-starched dark blue shirt. Somewhere deep inside I hear a small voice say, 'Damn, can't see a thing. And there's nothing poking out above the t-shirt collar either.'

 

I slowly slide my eyes back up his face, past the strong, narrow, straight nose, and up to his playful, green eyes with the thick, dark brown eyebrows over them. After a few seconds of getting lost in those incredible eyes, I look up even further and see a dark gray, felt-like cowboy hat sitting on his head, the wide brim sheltering his face and the sides of his head.

 

My subconscious is way ahead of my conscious in reacting to the vision in front of me. The adrenaline is already running rampant through my body when I consciously realize that not only is this guy way too good looking to be true, but he's also really tall, really fucking tall. Then I briefly look at how wide his shoulders are when compared to his height, and even more adrenaline kicks in. I've always been partial to tall, wide men, and Jeff is the premier example of the Texas breed. Hell, mentally I'm already putting him at the top of my list as the premier example of all men.

 

I know I'm in trouble when I also notice that my mouth is bone dry, I'm already shaking a little from the adrenaline rush, and I'm breathing a little faster than usual. But what makes me finally realize that that I'm spinning out of control is this: the pain I'm feeling in my underwear isn't from a part of my anatomy expanding against the fabric, the pain is because that part is already so hard that any more stimulus is just downright painful. Then the small voice deep inside speaks up again and lustily says, 'You could have some real fun with this guy in bed. The shoulders and chest on this guy must be fucking amazing. Just imagine what it would be like to have this guy hovering over you, ready to. . . .'

 

A chuckle from Jeff and a hand gently pushing my mouth closed brings me quickly back to my senses. I stutter, "Sorry, I've . . . I've not seen you this close before." After a pause, I add, "You are kind of . . . uh . . . damn, you're really good looking, you know?"

 

Jeff looks down at his boots, the brim of his hat covering a good part of his face.

 

Instantly I know that I've screwed up, so I try to recover because I really don't want to lose his friendship. "Sorry, I'm sure you've heard that more times than you care to hear, and that also sounded like a pick-up line, but that's totally not what I want you to think. The brain's not engaged right now, so that just kind of slipped out." But just when I think I've engaged my brain for sure, another question suddenly pops out of my mouth, pretty much without me realizing it. "Fuck, Jeff, just how tall are you?"

 

Jeff looks up with a smirk on his face. With a short laugh and a shake of his head at how uncontrolled I am, he quietly responds, "Six foot five, barefooted."

 

'Daaaaamn,' I think to myself. Then my brain suddenly recalls the image of Jeff and Mike standing next to each other in the parking lot on the day I arrived. In that memory, Mike is a little taller than Jeff. So all of the sudden, out pops another question. "And Mike is how tall?"

 

"Six foot six, barefooted."

 

"Daaaamn, I'm six foot one barefooted, and I feel way short compared to you. And I'm sure I'm not nearly as. . . ." I choke on my words, so I turn my head and start coughing, my brain finally able to control the blabbering and the wild thoughts that are threatening to spill out.

 

"As what?" Jeff asks with a big grin on his face.

 

"Oh, nothing," I say, my face quickly reddening as my brain desperately tries to keep my mouth from completing the sentence with 'as well endowed as you.'

 

Jeff chuckles, uses both hands to turn me around using my shoulders, then gives me a slight push to head me toward the lodge and our cabins beyond it. Without any warning, I feel warm fingers slip down the back of my neck, grab both the shirt and coat collars, and gently push me forward. "Cabins. Walk to the right around the lodge. Go," he says quietly.