GWM - 5. Chapter 5 of 18

5

Eric

Eric’s letter was part of a seemingly ordinary batch, though his was typed, on good stationery. It also had paragraphs, complete thoughts, and several jokes. Harry would have written him immediately, but Eric had included a phone number. So Harry called.
Their conversation was pleasant. They shared similar interests, notably strong opinions on politics and art. They talked for several hours without Harry noticing the time. Then, only because of mismatched schedules, they agreed to put off meeting until after the weekend. Falling asleep that night, Harry felt hopeful.
Three days later, Eric arrived at Harry’s apartment. Harry had allowed that because Eric said it was on his way home. He also said he hated meeting strangers in restaurants. He wore a well-cut, conservative suit, fitting for the businessman he was. He was shorter than Harry, though not by much. And he was cute.
They shook hands then talked for a short time about nothing in particular. Then they drove -- in Eric’s new BMW-- to a Chinese restaurant in Northampton. The food was good, conversation continued easily, and even the fortune cookies were optimistic.
Harry’s said, “You will find generous rewards in coming days.” Eric’s was more philosophical. “Those who praise others, better themselves.”
After dinner, they went back to Harry’s apartment and talked for several more hours, always sitting on opposite sides of the living room. Near eleven, Eric got up to leave. They shook hands again, and Harry walked Eric to his car.
“I’ll call you in a few days,” Eric said. “If I get busy and forget, please call me.”
It could have been the politest brush off, but two days later, Eric called. This time, they arranged to try a Japanese restaurant, then see a Polish film.
“Too weird a mix?” Eric asked.
Harry didn’t care. Almost no one would see foreign movies with him. This is going well, he thought.
The sushi was excellent, the film pleasantly opaque. Eric again drove, but this time he dropped Harry outside his apartment.
“I have a weekend seminar,” he apologized. “If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be useless.”
It sounded like too earnest an excuse, but Harry agreed. He was beginning to wonder what Eric looked like under that suit.
“Call me when you can,” he said casually.
“Sunday night,” Eric promised. Again, he followed through.
Harry hoped to see Eric the following week, but as one result of the seminar -- which Eric had been leading, not simply taking -- he had to be out of town.
“I’ll phone you as soon as I’m back,” he promised. “If you’re still free, we can have dinner Saturday.”
“I’ll plan on it.”
Friday afternoon, a post card arrived from Dallas. The glossy picture was generic, but the message read, “Hope to see more of you soon.” As Harry hoped to see more of Eric.
“What’s he look like?” Gordon had asked. This was Wednesday night, which was getting to be their usual night for dinner, sometimes more. For a second week, Harry held him off.
“He’s nothing unusual,” Harry replied. “Medium height. Medium looks. Dark hair.”
“How old?”
“My age. Year-or-so either way.”
“Hot?”
“Intelligent.”
“So not-hot?”
“I think he is. I’ll tell you more if I ever find out.”
Saturday morning, just after eight, Eric called. “I wake you?” he asked.
“No,” Harry lied.
“Can I see you?”
“Right now?” Harry questioned, trying not to yawn.
“Well... no. I was thinking tonight.”
“That would be great.” And they managed to pace themselves through one more meal.
“That was terrific,” Eric said, driving back to Harry’s. “Though I don’t normally like French food.”
He could have been speaking French for all Harry cared, and they barely made it past his front door. They quickly stripped each other, both happily surprised.
“Wow!”said Eric. “Big things come in tall packages.”
Eric was smaller, all around, but delicately boned and muscular. The dark hair started high on his chest, let off midway, then trickled down his belly. Around his cock, it looked almost trimmed.
Eric’s cock had been hard when his pants came off. Harry had been hard since the restaurant.
They stood for a time, kissing. Harry never even turned on the lights. At some point, Eric slipped Harry’s cock between his legs, and every time Eric even slightly moved, Harry thought he was going to lose it.
Then they were in bed. There was only streetlight, no music. But Eric relaxed Harry as no one had before
He lay Harry on his back, head resting on pillows.
He faced Harry, their legs overlapping.
He massaged Harry, working with barely his fingertips. Starting at the center of Harry’s chest, moving gradually outward and down.
He gently pushed on the bone just below Harry’s belly, making the smallest circle with his palm.
Harry came, without otherwise being touched. He almost couldn’t stop. Eric held him till he slept.
When he woke, Haydn was playing, and Eric was reading at Harry’s desk. “You all right?” he asked.
Harry smiled.
Eric moved to him.
“I sleep long?” Harry asked.
Eric grinned. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I’ve never done that before. Fallen asleep, I mean. I’m sorry.”
Eric brushed the hair from Harry’s forehead. He kissed him. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time.”
Harry was silent.
“I can never...” he began. “I never have...” He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. “I could never do for you, what you just did.”
Eric grinned. “There’s no reason.” He undressed and got back into bed. And gently cradling Harry, ever so slowly, he did for himself what he’d done for Harry. Harry got hard just watching.
In the shower afterwards, they held each other, barely awake. “Why do you want to leave?” Harry asked.
Eric hesitated. “I sleep more comfortably alone.”
Harry had used that excuse himself, to politely duck women. Now, he laughed.
“What’s funny?” Eric asked.
“I am,” Harry said. “I’m a fool.”
He helped Eric dress, then dressed himself, and they walked to Eric’s car.
“My place next,” Eric said.
“When?”
“Tomorrow?”
“You’re kidding?”
“I have no sense of humor.”
They laughed.
“What time?”
“Whenever you’re free.”
“I’ll call when I get up.” He leaned into Eric’s car to kiss him.
After Eric left, Harry doubted he’d sleep. But he dropped off immediately, woke late, and didn’t call Eric till ten.
“Why aren’t you here?” Eric joked.
“I’m on my way.”
Eric greeted him in a kimono. He slowly ran his thumb down Harry’s chest. Harry considered chewing the silk. Instead, they had breakfast: Scrambled eggs with Canadian bacon. Fresh cornbread muffins with strawberry jam. Earl Grey tea with cream and honey.
“Never brew tea for more than a minute,” Eric advised. “You get the flavor, without the oil.”
Harry had been making tea wrong his entire life.
In Eric’s bedroom, a wide, low futon made the ceiling seem higher. Twin ebony trunks flanked the bed, facing a long dresser as low as the futon. Music drifted from hidden speakers. Outside, the day was bright, but in the bedroom, the windows were shaded. A half-dozen candles lit the room.
Eric slowly stripped Harry, then let his kimono slide to the floor. He lay Harry on the bed, then sat beside him, opening a small, dark bottle.
He held the cap to Harry’s nose.
“Perfume?” Harry asked.
“Almond oil.” Eric poured a small circle of it into his palm, then spread the oil down Harry’s chest.
“Smooth.”
“You’ve never used it before?”
Harry gasped, “No.”
Eric was delighted. Uncommonly, Harry giggled. Then Eric meticulously oiled Harry’s body, almost separately coating each tiny hair.
“Where did you learn this?” Harry asked.
Eric wouldn’t say.
Harry nearly hallucinated:
Water.
Blossoms.
Sky.
“My wife was Japanese,” Eric finally allowed.
A distant whisper.
“Our marriage didn’t last. She was... unfortunately... unfaithful.”
He stroked Harry’s balls.
His fingers could be silk.
He oiled Harry’s cock.
There might be God.
“You’re doing everything,” Harry mildly protested.
“My pleasure.”
He touched Harry’s soles.
Harry squeaked.
He reached places Harry didn’t know existed.
Eased him to an edge.
Brought him back.
Shot him out again.
Then sent him further.
Harry was sure he’d disappear.
“Would you like to come?” Eric finally asked. It seemed days later.
Again, he barely whispered, and Harry thought, “Come? What’s that?”
“When you do,” Harry was able to manage, using the last of his courtesy.
“Then we’ll wait.”
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Harry wanted to scream. But he’d forgotten his voice.
Eric slowly oiled himself.
Harry watched.
He lay on Harry, slowly rubbing against him.
Now! Harry thought. Now!
There were words to say this. But Harry couldn’t remember.
Eric glided.
He hummed.
And when they came, it embarrassed Harry’s imagination.
Then they slept.
When Harry woke, the room was still in shadows. A keyboard clicked nearby. Eric was working in his office.
Harry followed the sound. Seeing him, Eric grinned.
“Hungry?”
Harry laughed. “What year is this?”
“I’ve showered,” Eric told him.
“Good thing. You’re not getting near me.”
They laughed. But even the thought made Harry hard. Which he had no way to hide.
“How do you do that?” he asked.
Eric grinned. “It’s you. I almost never get where you took me.”
“I took you?”
“Just watching you. Most guys can’t last.”
“Have any died?”
Eric laughed. “Have you ever done peyote?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m way too straight.”
“That’s part of what it’s like.”
“You make it sound tempting.”
“Go shower,” Eric said. And while Harry did, Eric cooked.
They ate in kimonos. Afterward, Eric worked in his office. “I’m always behind,” he apologized. Harry had work, too, but hadn’t brought it. Instead, he stretched on Eric’s office couch and read. When Eric finished, they went back to bed.
When Harry finally left, in a late Sunday fog, he couldn’t wait to see Eric again. And the next weekend was the same: they met Friday evening, ate, then went back to Eric’s. Everything was amazing. Though this time, while Eric wrote at his desk, Harry worked on his laptop.
Every night, Harry slept on the futon, and Eric slept in his office. “I hope you don’t mind,” Eric said. “I just sleep better.”
Otherwise, they were barely apart.
The third weekend was the same. And the fourth. Fifth. Seventh.
“Would you like to come?” Eric would ask. And somewhere beyond time, Harry would nod. Though when he wanted to talk, Eric would ease away.
“Why?” Harry asked.
“There’re more interesting things to do.”
And Harry couldn’t deny that. And they talked during week. Every night, for at least an hour. But when they were together, Eric always said, “Help me relax.”
He insisted that Harry controlled everything. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met,” Eric said. “I used to think I never should’ve let my wife go. That I’d never match her. But we’ve easily passed that.”
“I thought you left.”
“No. I told you she was unfaithful.”
“And you wanted her to stay?”
“Yes.”
“How long were you together?”
“Four years.”
“What happened?”
Eric hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.” And he wouldn’t explain.
Still, Harry felt closer to Eric than anyone he’d ever known. He’d let Eric see him as no one had before. Helpless. He’d let Eric do anything he pleased.
Yet Harry’s friends had never met Eric. And while Eric met lots of people for business, he kept weekends for Harry alone.
“You don’t mind?” he asked.
“How could I?”
One weekend, when Eric was away for another seminar, Harry had friends in for dinner. They wanted to know who Harry was seeing. They kept trying for information. But there was almost nothing Harry could say. Then Eric phoned.
“Know where I am?” he asked.
“Scottsdale,” Harry said. The trip had been planned.
“In a hot tub.”
Harry grinned. “Wish I were there.”
“That’s why I’m calling. Get on a plane.”
Eric had wanted Harry to travel with him, but Harry’s schedule interfered. And now his friends were laughing in the kitchen.
“Food’s getting cold,” one called.
“Be right there,” Harry replied. Then, to Eric, “I’m sorry. I can’t talk. Can I phone you later?”
“No trip then?”
“Not this week.”
“Then stay on the line. Two minutes?”
“Sure.”
“Talk to me. Let me hear your voice.”
Harry laughed. “What’re you doing?”
“Tell me about dinner.”
Harry knew what was happening. “We’ve barely started,” he began.
“Well, tell me what you’re having.”
And, slowly, Harry did. Beginning at the top of the menu, with the hors d’oeuvres. Then the salad. Then the chicken. Carrots. Broccoli. Peas. Describing the wild rice, he could picture Eric in the tub.
“That’s nice,” Eric said.
They’d never done this before.
“Tell me about the wine.”
“Chardonnay. Inexpensive. From California. Supposedly private reserve.”
“And dessert?”
Harry signaled to his friends. “One minute,” he mouthed. Then, to Eric: “Ice cream. Homemade. Mary Ann brought it.”
“And coffee?”
“The usual. Plus teas.”
“And what’s everyone talking about?”
For a moment, Harry couldn’t remember. He could only see Eric glistening. “Easy stuff,” he finally said. “No politics or investments. We just kind of hit...”
And Eric finished. “We should do that again,” he said, very quiet. And Harry wondered how he’d get himself through dinner.
“I love you,” Eric told him that weekend.
“I love you.”
“You’re everything to me. You know that.”
“You, too.”
“I won’t lose you.”
Harry had never considered losing Eric. He’d never even thought about it. Their world ran without bonds. When Eric spun Harry out, everything else fell away.
“We should eat something,” Eric would say.
And they’d get around to it.
“There’s a movie,” Harry might suggest.
Which they sometimes saw.
“Would you like to come?” Eric asked.
“With you.”
“I’m there.”
Harry’s friends called patiently. He saw them during the week “Do you have a picture of him?” they’d question. Harry had images, but no photo.
Gordon had barely seen Harry for months. He finally asked, “Are you OK?”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry answered.
“Where have you been?”
“You know where.”
“You’ve got to break up with this guy,” Gordon joked. “ He’s wrecking your life. But before you do, give me his name.”
They both laughed.
“You’re glad to see me,” Eric always told Harry as he cupped Harry’s pants at the front door. As he stripped Harry, there was only proof. And Harry smiled.
Where would he rather be?
What would he rather be doing?
What was wrong with weekends spent mainly naked, almost high?
Eric had taken him past the need for questions, past the need to speak.
“Now!” Harry’s mind would beg.
Did Eric hear?
It didn’t matter. Whatever Eric did was fine.
Till one morning, Harry slipped past Eric.
Waking early, he’d eased onto the couch in Eric’s office, quietly oiling his fingers.
“What are you doing?” Eric asked, half-awake.
“Giving you a present.”
“That feels good,” Eric admitted. “But I can do better.”
“ I know you can. But let me.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Eric had no answer.
“Do you know what it’s like,” Harry finally asked. “Being sent places you can barely remember?”
“I’m there with you. Always.”
“It has to be different.”
“It’s not.”
“Has to be.”
Again, Eric was silent.
Harry’s fingers never left Eric. And Eric easily responded. He couldn’t help it. Harry was doing what Eric had always done.
And soon Eric stopped trying to talk. He smiled. Relaxed. Slowly began to grin and closed his eyes.
Harry kept him flying all morning. Stroking his chest. Rubbing his ears and eyes and calves and toes. Sometimes using his tongue. Sometimes his whole, oiled body. Harry lost sense of the time. He barely noticed the light change on the office walls.
Occasionally, Eric opened his eyes. He’d start to speak then would shake his head, grin, and close his eyes again.
Harry knew he’d done the same.
And Harry realized Eric was right. It wasn’t different. Harry was as high with his eyes open as he was lying on the bed.
And he wondered why Eric’s wife had left.
Why she needed to be unfaithful?
And when he’d oiled every part of Eric’s body and just wanted to hear Eric’s voice again, he quietly asked, “Now?”
And Eric stirred.
“More?” Harry whispered.
Eric’s arched.
“OK. I’ll wait.”
And Harry took him further.
“Go,” Eric finally whispered.
“Are you ready?”
“I’m there.”
“Then go.”
“With you.”
“I’ll wait.”
But Eric begged, “Let me come! Now!” he almost cried. “Please!”
And Harry did. As Eric came, so did Harry.
When Eric’s eyes finally opened, he reached for Harry. “Make me come again,” he said. “Make me. Make me.”
“Maybe later.”
“No.”
So Harry did. And they lost the afternoon.
Then they lost the rest of the day. And Sunday. Then, for weeks, they shared this new existence.
Harry arrived. Then they were naked. Then they stayed that way.
And Harry realized why Eric’s wife had left.
And he knew why he, unfortunately, would have to as well.