If It Fits - 1. Chapter 1

March 9, 1995

“Do not yell at me!” I said, yelling at him. “I am not your punching bag. It is not my fault you are stressed out, that you are working yourself to death.”

Greg looked at me, his nostrils flared, pure rage on his face. His moods, his anger, had gotten worse and worse over the past six months. I had tried to deal with it, tried to mitigate it, but nothing was working. “Not your fault? Why can't I come home and just have a relaxing evening without you bitching at me for working too much? Your nagging and bitching is what's driving me nuts.”

That really pissed me off. We'd been together for over 20 years now, a couple married in all but name, and I'd tried to be a good, well, wife. As good a wife as another man could be. “Let us review,” I said caustically. “Your blood pressure is uncontrollably high, you have to carry nitro tablets with you to stifle your chest pains, and you're whole body is falling apart.” I didn't slam him about the extra 40 pounds he'd put on, but I wanted to.

“Oh I get it. I get it. It's all about sex. Now you're going to make me feel inadequate. That's real nice Stefan. Real nice. Maybe I just can't get it up when I'm with you.”

That hit me hard, hit me to the core. I was turning 48 this year, and the aging process had been hard on me. Not externally. Externally I took good care of myself. I'd managed to maintain my weight and to stay fit and in shape. Last year I'd had some mild plastic surgery to trim up my facial wrinkles and it had worked wonders, taking ten years off my face. And the most disturbing thing of all, the thinning hair, I'd fixed that with hair plugs. I had the best 48-year-old body that money could buy. And here was my partner telling me that I wasn't attractive, or that he didn't find me attractive. I just stared at him. I didn't know what to say. What's worse, neither did he. He just looked at me, knowing he'd gone too far.

I walked past him, glaring into his eyes, and sat on the couch calmly. He stormed out of the room angrily, heading upstairs. I flipped on the news, hoping there would be something to cheer me up. They were saying that Jonathan Schmitz had been killed in Michigan. That caught my attention. Why would they be talking about a murder in Michigan on the news in LA? Probably in Detroit anyway. I turned up the volume. “Scott Amedure has admitted to killing Schmitz. Here's a clip from the Jenny Jones show just a few days ago, where Mr. Schmitz told Mr. Amedure he had a crush on him. Apparently Amedure went on the show thinking his secret admirer was a female, but instead it was a male, apparently a homosexual.” I shook my head again. Another hate crime against gay men. I'd been shot myself back in the 70s and still had occasional back pain from it. Twenty years later, it was still happening.

I sighed and walked out onto the deck. It was a nice day here in Malibu, and even nicer here on the beach, with the waves pounding against the sand, furiously trying to erode it. A brisk breeze blew in my face, with the occasional grain of sand thrown in for good measure. A free facial, I thought with a smile. I loved living here on the beach. I'd grown more and more attached to it as my relationship with Greg had deteriorated. It calmed me, gave me the peace and serenity that I desperately needed as I watched the man I loved self-destruct before my very eyes. And the saddest thing of all is that there was no reason for it, no reason at all.

Greg was the most successful producer in LA, with a 25-year string of successes, and a few failures, along the way. He had no need to work to improve his reputation, it was already golden. He had no need to work to produce that one, next, great movie, because he'd already done that year after year. He had no need to work for the money, because he was one of the richest men in the industry. And even if he weren’t, I had more money than we'd ever be able to spend. There was no reason for him to work like this, yet he did. He'd traded everything for his career. And I'd stayed with him, been loyal, and supported him.

Then two months ago, the final blow to our relationship came up. Or rather, it didn't. Greg was impotent. He couldn't get it up. And he wouldn't talk about it, he wouldn't even admit to it, and he refused to talk to his doctor about it. So the one part of our life together that hadn't gone to hell went to hell.

I walked into the house and headed upstairs to our room as I pulled out my cell phone and called for my car. I needed to get out of here, to take a break, to escape from this pressure cooker. If he thought that I was the problem, then I'd remove myself from the situation. He was lying on the bed, reading some papers he'd brought home and smoking a cigar. He was smoking inside to piss me off, but I refused to let it get to me.

I grabbed my suitcase and started throwing in some clothes. He watched me but said nothing. I was leaving and he didn't know where I was going, and he really didn't give a shit. I slowed my pace then, being more deliberate, folding my stuff carefully, making him put up with my presence as I packed just to piss him off.

“Is the smoke bothering you?” he asked.

“Yes, but I will not be here much longer, so do not worry about it,” I responded flatly.

“Where are you going?”

“What do you care?” I felt my emotions hardening, the anger removing my ability to have a civil conversation. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the room and downstairs. I paused to look around at my home, then turned and walked out the door and handed my bag to the driver. “I will be right back.”

I walked through the door that connected my house to Brad and Robbie's house next door. Brad, who was like the son I never had, the man I'd designated as my heir, to take over my business. One of the smartest decisions I'd ever made, as it turned out. He was taking this dot.com boom and running with it, making us all a fortune with our venture capital business.

However, the first person I ran into wasn't Brad; it was his partner, Robbie. Tall, handsome, and still with a body to kill for, if anything, turning 30 had only made him sexier. He was to Greg what Brad was to me, which was why this was going to be hard on him.

“Hey Stef,” he said cheerfully.

“Well hello there,” I said, flirting with him as I always do. “Don't you look handsome today?”

He grinned and shook his head. “You looking for Brad?”

“I'm looking for both of you.” My mood got somber. “I'm going away for a couple of days.”

“Brad didn't say anything about a business trip,” he observed.

“It is not for business. I just need to get away for a little bit.”

“You're leaving?” I heard a voice behind me say, and I turned to find Brad staring at me. I moved to the side so I could see both of them.

“I need a break, for my own sanity,” I said sadly.

“Things are that bad?” Brad asked me, concerned.

“They are.” I turned to Robbie. “You will keep an eye on him for me? And call me if you need me?”

“Sure, Stef, but I'm not his favorite person these days either,” Robbie said. “We pretty much stick to ourselves.”

“I'll ride with you to the airport,” Brad said, knowing where I was going. I gave Robbie a big hug, headed out to the car, and got into the limo. “To the plane,” I said simply. The driver nodded and headed off to LAX while I pushed the button to put up the privacy screen.

“Where are you going?” Brad asked.

“I do not know yet. Maybe I will go see JP. He has that idiotic boyfriend now though. I do not get along with him.”

Brad grinned. “You mean Professor Benjamin Whist?”

“He must have a huge dick,” I said sarcastically. Benjamin, not Ben. Benjamin was a Philosophy professor at Stanford, so he and JP were both faculty members. The similarities ended there. JP was cool, composed, and cute as a button, while Whist was intellectually arrogant, convinced he was smarter than everyone around him.

“I think JP just needs someone to keep him company,” Brad said philosophically. “It can't be easy to be alone when you're sixty.”

“He is not 60 yet. Not until next June anyway. And it is nonsense. He could do better.”

Brad got that serious look on his face, the one that said he was going to try to dig into my psyche. “What happened?”

“He yells at me, he treats me like shit; he cares nothing for me.” I sounded petulant.

“What happened?” he repeated.

“He cannot get an erection and he says it is my fault. That I just do not do it for him.” Brad knew me; he knew that a slam like that to my sexual ego was the ultimate insult.

“He did not mean it,” Brad said reassuringly.

My cell phone rang and I looked at the number. Greg. “Hello,” I said.

“Don't forget about the party on Saturday night,” he said. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, incredulous. Some business function I was supposed to attend with him. Then I hit the ‘end’ button and hung up on him, and for the first time all day, I felt myself smile. He tried to call back so I simply turned the phone off.

“Greg?” Brad asked.

“He wanted to remind me about some party I'm supposed to go to with him. On Saturday night. Maybe you can help him find a date, because I'm sure as hell not going.”

“Where are you going?” Brad asked again.

“Well, I could go up to Palo Alto, or I could take a vacation, go to Hawaii, Fiji, someplace like that.” The thought of a tropical destination made me smile, but that wasn't going to happen. “Or I could go to Chicago and hang out with Marcel.” Marcel was one of my adopted kids, well not formally, but effectively. However, I didn't want to intrude in his life and possibly cause problems between him and his boyfriend, Max. They made the cutest couple, and they were so happy. No, they didn't need an unannounced guest.

“Go to Palo Alto,” Brad said. “That way you're close if we need you.” I nodded and turned my phone back on to call the pilots.

Palo Alto, where I could find refuge with my cousin, JP Crampton, at his palace in the hills. It even had its own name: Escorial. His wife would be there; Isidore, a good friend of mine. The only fly in that ointment was Professor Whist. Conceited and disturbingly rigid in his habits, I had a hard time picturing him together with JP. Yet they were dating, so JP must see something in him. The car pulled up to my Dassault Falcon. I loved this jet, with enough range to take me to Paris if I wanted, with only one stop for fuel, but incredibly comfortable, especially after I had the interior updated last year.

“I will see you in a few days. Call me if you need me,” I told Brad. He nodded and gave me a big hug, and then I shuffled from the car to the plane with a few steps, and relaxed into the big leather seat while we taxied out to wait our turn to take off. There were always delays at busy LAX. It ended up taking me two hours from the time the door closed in LAX to when it opened in Palo Alto, with another limo waiting to whisk me off to Escorial. I punched in my code and the gates opened magically, letting the limo enter the one place that so often served as my sanctuary. I noticed a beige Ford Taurus parked over by the garage. Professor Whist must be visiting.

I looked at my watch: it was two minutes before 7:00pm, or dinnertime at Escorial. I smiled. I loved to make an entrance. I threw open the doors and breezed past the medieval great hall and into the massive dining room. The leaves on the table had been removed to make it a more intimate environment for just the four of them. Isidore and her boyfriend Frank, JP and his friend the Professor. Isidore saw me first.

“Stefan! What a pleasant surprise!” She got up and moved over to me smoothly, almost gliding, and kissed me on the cheeks in the French fashion. She switched to that language. “You are alright? Everything is OK?”

“I am fine. We will talk later,” I told her, smiling. Then JP was there. I smiled at him, hiding my pain, but he knew me so well. He pulled me into his arms in a big hug, a physical gesture he gave to only a precious few people. I saw Professor Whist looking at us, irritated, and that made me smile.

“So you came up here for an impromptu visit?” JP asked. “That's wonderful. Unfortunately, you've missed everyone else. It's just a quiet little dinner tonight.”

“So you do not have room for me?” I asked, teasing.

“There is always room for you,” JP said, moving the chairs so I could sit in between him and Isidore.

“Hello Frank,” I said playfully. “Your son is doing well.”

Frank was Robbie's father, and they were tight. He gave me a quick smile. “I'm glad to hear it.” He wasn't a great conversationalist.

“You seem surprised to see me Benjamin,” I said to the stuffy professor, teasing him. He was such a caricature of an academic. Tweed jacket, trimmed beard and moustache, pepper-colored hair. He would have been singularly plain if he were not so tall. He had to be at least 6'4, maybe taller than that. How ironic that a short person like JP would be attracted to a tall man.

“Well, your presence certainly is a surprise, albeit a most welcome one,” he lied. If he weren’t such an uptight guy, he might actually be somewhat cute. But he wasn't.

“You do not appreciate spontaneity?” He was too easy of a target. I simply could not resist torturing him.

“I tend to organize and plan my life,” he said dryly.

“Even in bed?” I asked.

“That's enough,” JP said, getting irritated with me. “We are not going to talk about my sex life.”

I turned to Isidore. “I did not know they had a sex life? Did you know they had a sex life?” She giggled; JP shook his head and grinned slightly, while Whist glared at me. “It must not be a very good one Benjamin. You look very angry.”

I felt JP pinch me under the table as Benjamin replied icily. “I do not enjoy discussing such things, such personal aspects of my life, over dinner.”

“My apologies,” I said insincerely. “I will wait until after dinner to discuss them then.”

“Not everyone appreciates your sense of humor Stefan,” JP said dryly, acting mad at me when he was not mad at all. He turned to Benjamin and apologized for me. “I'm sorry Benjamin.” I wondered if he got to call him Ben when they were fucking. That made me giggle, and got me another dirty look from Benjamin.

“How was your flight up here?” Whist asked, trying desperately to change the subject.

“It was smooth and easy once we got out of LAX,” I told him politely. “Air traffic there is horrendous.”

“Did you fly into San Francisco or San Jose?” he asked. He pronounced the city names precisely, as if trying to eliminate any potential Spanish influence. It irritated me when people did that, when they refused to see the true beauty of other languages. Perhaps that was because of my French upbringing.

“I flew into Palo Alto. I have my own plane,” I said to him simply, making sure that I didn't sound like I was bragging.

“Well that must be most convenient,” he said formally. I could feel Frank and Isidore trying not to giggle. They must go back to their room and laugh their asses off after these dinners.

“It certainly is.” I tried to stop myself but I couldn't. I had to keep teasing him. Resistance was futile. “You see, if you wanted a boyfriend with money, you should have dated me. I'm much richer than JP.”

JP chuckled. “That's true.”

“Money is not something I consider when I decide to date someone,” Whist said severely. “Intellect and character are paramount.”

“That must narrow your choices down considerably. Fortunately, I'm pretty bright, and I can be quite a character,” I said, flirting with him shamelessly. He just stared at me, dumbfounded. He had no idea how to deal with someone like me.

“You definitely are a character. So are you going to tell us why you're here or are you just going to sit around and torture us?” JP said, albeit lovingly.

“I am not welcome here for no reason at all?” I asked and pouted, acting offended. “Did you not tell me that what was yours was mine?”

“You are always welcome, I did not mean that. What is mine is yours,” he said.

“Even Benjamin?” I teased. Isidore held her napkin up to her mouth to hide her grin.

“I am no one's property,” he said, offended.

“So what is for dinner?” I asked, ignoring him and changing the subject. We ate then, saying little, although torturing Benjamin had definitely improved my mood. He refused to look at me throughout dinner, which made me even happier.

Then I thought about Greg, and my happiness vanished. There was a time when I'd come up here without him and pined away for him. Back when we'd started dating, back when I fell in love with him. However, I sat here now and thought about the man he'd become, fat and overworked, unable or unwilling to pay attention to me beyond yelling at me, and I found that I didn't miss him at all. And that was really sad.

We finished dinner and I decided it was time to cause some more problems. “You’re not going out onto the patio?” I asked JP. He was a notorious pothead, and usually wound down in the evenings, after dinner, by smoking a joint.

“Our plan was to have a cognac in the hall and then enjoy some time alone,” Benjamin said stuffily.

“I would certainly not want to interrupt your time alone,” I said, feigning concern. “I wonder if your plans are flexible enough to allow me to spend a few minutes with my cousin.”

JP was clearly irritated at being caught in a squeeze play. “Why don't you go settle into your room Stefan? I'll see you shortly.” Benjamin glared at both of us.

“Allow me to guide you. It has been so long since you have been to visit I fear you will get lost,” Isidore said graciously. Frank smiled up at her, and winked at me.

“Did you enjoy torturing poor Benjamin?” she asked as we walked down the hall, slipping into French, our native language.

“He is too easy. Can I ask you a question?”

“But of course,” she said sweetly.

“You know JP is very loud when he has sex. You must hear them from time to time, even in this massive house. Is he allowed to call him Ben when they are fucking?” She burst out laughing.

“You are incorrigible,” she said fondly. “I have missed you.” I kissed her on the cheek and went into my familiar room, with the spare clothes I kept here so I didn't have to pack anything, the spare toiletries. It was a duplicate home. Still, I wanted my suitcase so I wandered out to the hall to get it. I stopped short when I heard voices, one calm, one irritated.

“JP, we had our entire evening planned out. Cognac, and some alone time, just you and me,” Whist said. “Alone time” must be his bloodless anachronism for sex.

“I understand that Benjamin and I'm sorry, but you know me, and you know that my family comes first. Don't be mad at me. I'll make it up to you.” JP ended up flirting.

“Very well,” Whist said, sighing in irritation. “I will see you tomorrow. We still have lunch scheduled, I believe?”

“I believe we do,” JP said. Then I heard the sound of them kissing and it almost made me giggle. I peeked around the corner to watch JP walk him to the door and smile at him, kissing him again, and then he closed the door and smiled, shaking his head. For some reason, he really liked this guy. Stunning.

I strolled out as if I'd just gotten there. “You were spying on me,” he said.

“Of course I was. Now can we go out on the patio and get high?” I teased.

He got an evil grin and nodded, leading me out to the big patio that looked out onto the Bay Area. Lights from the houses, streetlights, and businesses sparkled back at us as we passed the joint between us.

“So are you going to tell me why you're here?” he asked.

“Because I really needed my best friend,” I said, barely able to hold back my tears. Then I spilled my whole tale of woe, ending with my description of our lack of a sex life.

“That's hard to deal with Stef, especially for you,” JP said sympathetically. “Of all the people I know, I think having that aspect of a relationship, the sex, being cut off...I think that would be the hardest on you.”

“Why?” I asked, knowing the answer before I asked the question, but needing to hear it anyway.

“Because you have always had a hard time separating sex and love. I think that when he doesn't make love to you, to you that means he doesn't love you.”

I nodded. “I do not think he does. If he did, things would not have gotten to this point.” And that was really the crux of it. He didn't love me anymore, so how could I love him and survive emotionally? I felt the pain then, the realization that my relationship of 22 years was now over, and that the life we had built together was going to unravel. And that was probably going to be messy.

With anyone else, I probably could have kept my defense up, but not with JP. I felt my lips quiver and knew why I was here now. The one person that I could completely open up with, that I could totally trust. He moved over next to me and let me collapse into him then. I could not stop the sobs, I simply could not, so he led me back to his room and pulled me into bed, where I could really relax into him and feel his full warmth, his full support.

At some point, his lithe body, so thin and supple, so willing and so eager, began to fuel my desires, desires I'd repressed for the past three months. And I felt my body respond, and then I moved up and kissed him. He fought me a little but then he relented. He seemed to know how much I needed him, how much I needed his love, and he gave himself to me.

We lay in his bed afterward, clutching each other to stop our bodies from quaking, trying to get our breathing, our panting under control. “JP, I have been with so many men, but no one pushes my buttons like you.” Greg used to, but I didn't go down that road.

“You have always been the most skillful lover I know,” JP said. I stared at him, trying to see the lie, but it wasn't there.

“You are serious? You have been with some really amazing men.” I thought of Jeff and Sam, of Roger and Mouse. All fantastic lovers.

“I am serious.” I beamed at him, feeling my ego soar, and knowing why I always came to him when my life hit bottom.

“So what are you doing with that pompous ass?” I asked.

“I like him. He's smart, and he's good company,” JP said defensively.

“He is good company? You do not even get stoned with him?” I could tell he found this conversation extremely irritating.

“I can get high by myself. I'm not forcing pot onto anyone,” he said.

“What do you have in common?” I persisted, exactly because he was irritated.

“I don't want to talk about him,” JP said.

“You do not want to talk about him because you cannot answer my questions,” I said with my trademark smile. “You are only with him so you will not be lonely.” He ignored me. “Is he good in bed?”

“I'm definitely not talking to you about that,” he said.

“He must have a big cock,” I teased. He ignored me. “But you do not feel too stretched out,” I said, running my hand between his legs to his taint before he stopped me.

“Stefan!” he said, getting pissed.

I tickled him, and he punched me, but I tickled him some more and he finally relented, laughing with me. “You are a pain in the ass,” he said lovingly.

“You did not complain about pain before.” I kissed his nipple. “Come away with me this weekend.”

“I have things to do,” he argued, but I could tell it was nothing important.

“Plans you cannot break?” I reached up and played with his balls, stroking them gently. “Just you and me. We will go somewhere, anywhere you want.”

“I have classes tomorrow. I don't get done until 1 o'clock,” he said, relenting. I gave him a huge smile. “Where do you want to go?”

I shrugged. “The choice is yours. The world is at your disposal.”

“Well I'll have to think about it,” he said, avoiding a decision.

“You know, there was a time when we could make love two or three times in a night, at least,” I said, stroking his cock, getting him hard.

“We were younger then,” he said as he lay there, enjoying the feeling of my fingers on his dick.

“We are still young at heart. It is your turn to fuck me,” I said as I turned away from him and guided him toward me. I felt his cock pushing against my hole and I had to concentrate to relax my muscles and let him in. It had been so long. He drove into me gently at first, cooing in my ear, telling me how good I felt, all the while running his hands all over my body, flicking my nipples, and stroking my dick. The joy of being young was being able to cum several times in one night, but the joy of being old was that while we didn't have that kind of stamina, we lasted so much longer. When he finally brought me to orgasm I was so keyed up I thought I would black out.

“I love you,” I told him.

“I love you too Stef. I always will,” he told me. Only I was starting to wonder if our definition of love was the same.