by Jamie Lake
He hung up, sighed, and flashed a smile, “My ex.”
“I figured,” Chris said. “Don’t get me started on exes.”
“Yeah?” Mason asked, enquiringly.
“Believe me, long story.”
“You’ll have to tell it to me sometime. We’ll swap horror stories.”
“Deal,” Chris laughed.
“I’m sorry. I hate to cut our first session early.” Mason apologized.
“No, it’s probably perfect. I’m dying here anyway.”
“Listen, we can make it up tomorrow and do a longer session. I’ve just got to head down to my daughter’s school. Evidently, she has a counseling session that my ex didn’t tell me about, and I have to look nice. I need to head back to my place and at least change shirts.”
“No problem. Did I hear you say your water was off?”
“Yeah, man, the manager...”
“Typical,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “Hey, if you want, you can use my shower, and I’ve got plenty of dress shirts. We’re about the same size, so you can use one of mine.”
Mason paused. Was he blushing?
“You know...Really? I wouldn’t normally, but ...”
“Please don’t hesitate,” Chris said, grandly. “It’s the least I can do after fucking up your whole schedule this morning. Maybe you’ll remove my first strike.”
Mason laughed, unselfconsciously, his big canines showing. He seemed genuinely surprised and appreciative. His eyes sparkled. Chris could tell it was that warm smile that lifted the spirits of other people every day.
“Well, let’s get showered,” Mason said.
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CHAPTER 7
Chris tossed his keys on the table. They’d had just enough time to grab his car and drive together to his condo. They raced up the stairs, knowing Mason had barely enough time to shower and get over to the school.
“Nice place,” Mason said, admiring the wood floors and three Japanese prints on the wall. In spite of his rush, Mason paused to look at these pieces by Hiroshi Yoshida, a landscape artist who painted with dreamlike watercolors.
“Thanks. Those were gifts from my best friend Alison, back in Portland. They’ve been with me a long time. The shower’s straight ahead to the right,” Chris told him. “I’ll pick out a shirt for you and iron it by the time you’re done.”
“Wow, thanks, man,” Mason said, rushing down the hall into the bathroom.
“Hey, Mason. There’s extra clean towels under the sink in the bathroom.”
“Appreciate it,” Mason said, closing the door.
“You have it?” Mason said, already starting up the shower.
“Slam the door or it won’t close.” Chris shouted.
“Ehh. I’m not worried about it.” Mason said. His tone was more than suggestive.
Mason figured out the right temperature and shucked off his shorts, conscious that the door was slightly ajar, but ignoring it. What was the worst that could happen? Would his timid, sweet-faced voyeur burst in on him? Mason stripped as quickly as he could and jumped in. He only had a few minutes, but force of habit already had his dick hard. Lately, he'd jacked off in the shower nearly every morning, especially since that first morning he noticed Chris watching him from the balcony. It still blew his mind that, of all people, Chris was the person waiting for him outside that morning. When he first noticed the boy watching him from the balcony, he felt a bit indignant; normal, he supposed. After a split second, however, Mason had realized how turned on he was at the thought that somebody was admiring - no - drinking in his naked image. The double excitement that Chris couldn’t tell he knew that made him even hornier.
Just the memory of it made him hard. Mason wasn’t gay, but the thought of a young, sweet-faced boy like Chris admiring his body and getting aroused by it made him feel tremendously sexy. And sexual. He started stroking himself again, right after he soaped up his body. He thought of his typical female sexual fantasy: a tight, young blonde girl, subservient, on her knees, sucking as she jacked his cock and kneaded his balls. Suddenly, however, the girl transformed. For just a split second, Mason thought of Chris on his knees, sucking down the girth of his cock. The thought thrilled him, and although he was also confused, Mason didn’t give it too much thought. He didn’t have time to...this felt good, now. He pumped himself to a climax thinking of Chris’s full lips wrapped around his cock, and burst upward, like usual, onto his belly and chest. He washed off, and rushed out of the shower as quickly as he could.
Meanwhile, Chris was scrutinizing his bedroom closet. His shirts were completely lined up, color coordinated, and then re-organized by fashion label. He knew it was a bit anally-retentive, but he just liked everything organized, and he had trained his housekeeper well to know what to expect. He thought about Mason’s incredible deep hazel-brown eyes; a contrast to Tim’s blue ones. Mason had the type he could stare into for hours and just drown in them. What shirt would complement them? Nothing would do them justice, probably, but he found a perfect pale orange that would contrast nicely. He pulled it off the hanger and snapped out the ironing board, pressing it and replacing it on the hanger just as Mason’s voice startled him.
“Hey, man,” Mason interrupted. Chris turned around to find Mason in nothing but a skimpy bath towel. “I’m so sorry to ask you this, but my pants got all wet on the floor. You don’t happen to have a pair about my size?”
Chris was tongue-tied. He looked unfathomably handsome. His olive skin was free of any tan lines: did this guy go nude sunbathing? What the hell? Quarter-sized nipples dotted the outer corners of his remarkable pecs. Between the clefting ranks of his perfectly-chiseled abs, a neatly-trimmed happy trail ran down from his navel under the white terrycloth of the towel.
“Um ... w-what size?” Chris stammered.
“34 x 32,” he said, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door.
“I have a pair that size...and a belt you can wear with them,” Chris said dreamily. He’d be lying if he didn’t say his eye didn’t roam down to the man’s crotch. It was hidden behind the fold of the bath towel, but he could only imagine it was thick, long, and heavy.
Fuck, Chris thought. I have this hot guy standing right in front of me and he’s totally off limits.
He grabbed the pants off the hanger as quickly as he could, hoping it would distract him from his thoughts, and he tossed them to Mason, trying not to look at those chiseled abs, rippling sides, and meaty shoulders any more.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” Mason said, heading back to the bathroom as Chris’ dirty mind lead him to think of the various ways Mason could repay that favor.
God, he needed a cold shower, Chris thought to himself. Or a good jerk off. He preferred the latter and couldn’t wait for Mason to go so he could do exactly that. His cock was getting hard and full just thinking about it.
It’d been so long since he’d had a good looking guy in his apartment, let alone an Adonis wearing a damp towel.
“Thanks, buddy,” Mason said, coming out of the bathroom and interrupting his thoughts.
“Anytime,” Chris said. As Mason rushed by, something was on his neck. “Hey, Mason?”
Mason stopped and smiled halfway out the door as Chris approached. “You got something, maybe soap, on the underside of your jaw?”
Mason wiped at it, looked at it, and bit his lip. His face was getting red. “I uh, I don’t know what it is. I better go. See you at the park tomorrow. Thanks for looking out for me.”
He shut the door, raced down the stairs, and hopped into his truck. It then occurred to Chris that Mason had been jacking off in the shower.
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CHAPTER 8
The next morning, Chris couldn’t wait to get up for his workout. He’d spent the night repeatedly remembering Mason in that clingy bath towel, sauntering into the doorway of his bedroom, and standing there with one armpit exposed to the air as he leaned again
st the doorframe. He had fantasized about the towel dropping away, and just the suggestion of the man’s package had put Chris over the moon. He hadn’t had that hard of a jack off session in months, and he slept deeply, sore as hell from his workout, but also more relaxed and satisfied than he could remember. More than that, he couldn’t wait to see Mason again.
Yeah, he was hot to look at - damn hot - but it was just nice to meet someone with whom he could talk, who understood what it was like to deal with a hateful ex, even if he was straight. Plus, he seemed so comfortable in his skin; he didn’t mind that Chris was gay and didn’t show the least bit of hesitation in working with him. Or walking into his bedroom topless with cum on his chin.
Other people might have been alarmed to find out some stranger had jacked off in their shower, but if the stranger was this fucking gorgeous, Chris would invite him into the bathroom any day of the week. He could just imagine him in the hot water, all his manhood glistening, stroking his thick, swinging cock, moaning. Just the thought of it was turning Chris on, and he decided he'd better get going before he got carried away.
He could see Mason stretching and jogging in place at the park as he came up to it. He decided just to walk to the park rather than drive, since it was only a few blocks away anyway, and he needed to burn off any calories that he could.
He jogged up to Mason and waved.
“Good morning,” Chris said, with a big smile on his face.
Mason gave a quick wave then thrust his hand out; he could barely look Chris in the eye, and he only guessed it was because of the whole 'soap on the neck' thing.
“Morning,” Mason grumbled.
“So how’d it go?” Chris asked.
“It?” Mason asked. “Let’s start with some stretches.”
“You know, the whole counselor thing with your daughter?” Chris explained, taking Mason’s lead as he stretched his arms from side to side.
Mason’s previously dark expression went sunny. A big smile broke across his face as he moved into the next stretching pose, interlacing his fingers and reaching high above his head. “Oh, that. Yeah, it was great. Got to see my daughter. Any day I see her is a good day.”
Chris could see he was deep in thought about her. Chris loved seeing how happy his daughter made him, and to Chris, nothing was sexier than a loving, good dad.
“That’s great, man,” Chris said, feeling the burn as his fingers reached for his ankles. “Glad to hear it.”
“And you? How was your day? Go ahead and lie down on the mat. We’re going to stretch your lower back and thighs,” Mason explained.
“A lot better than yesterday,” Chris said with a smirk on his face, as he laid on the mat.
“How’s that?” Mason asked, helping Chris lay on his side and touch the mat with his right hand.
“Oh, just my ex and Facebook,” Chris started.
“Yeah? That’s why I’m not on any of that shit. Facebook, Twitter, none of that,” Mason interrupted, as he put his strong hand on Chris’ thigh and helped him push it down close to the mat, to stretch his hips open.
“You’re not on Facebook?” Chris asked, surprised, trying to bear the pain of the stretch.
“No, hate it. I’m a very private individual,” Mason chuckled. “Besides, anything I reveal, my ex uses against me somehow. I’m not exaggerating. Every detail about my life that she finds out somehow turns into ammunition. The last thing I need is for her to be able to find out about my daily comings and goings on Facebook.”
Chris thought everybody was on Facebook; at least everybody he knew anyway. He forgot that there’s a whole world of people out there who never use it.
“I’m just not a technology person, I guess. I’m more of an outdoors, nature person,” as his hand slid up Chris' back side to his lower back.
God, that felt good, Chris thought. He felt a shiver run up his spine.
“That’s cool,” Chris said. “Wish I could be like you. It can be kind of addictive. I need it for work sometimes.”
“What do you do?” Mason asked, as he pushed Chris’ feet into position over his head, trying to stretch out the hamstrings. The position was incredibly erotic, and it was turning Chris on big time to have Mason essentially opening him up and stretching him out manually.
“Oh, I’m a writer,” Chris stuttered, feeling the bulge between Mason’s leg as he pushed against his legs even more.
Mason’s eyebrows popped up, and he seemed very interested, yet oblivious that what he was doing was turning Chris on as surely as porn or an inner thigh massage could do. “Oh, really? Wow. I’ve always wanted to do that. I just don’t have the talent for that sort of thing.”
“You can do it, believe me, if I can,” Chris said, taking a deep breath, praying Mason wouldn’t notice the growing bulge of his own.
“No, I...” Mason stared at the ground a bit, releasing Chris’ legs slowly and jogging in place, “I’ve got a bit of a learning problem.”
“Learning problem?” Chris asked, jogging in place like him, “Oh, like a learning disability?”
“Is that what they call it nowadays? They used to just call me dumb ass in class,” he chuckled at the painful memories as they began to jog around the park.
“Yeah, my brother had A.D.D. and dyslexia. But he worked through it. He’s an entrepreneur. But looks like things turned out pretty well for you now. I mean, you’re here in Costa Rica, you’ve got a daughter, you’re doing what you love. What more could you ask for?”
Mason shrugged, “Yeah, I guess so. I just want a bit more for my daughter.”
“What’s your family like? Your roots?” Chris asked.
Mason smiled. “My folks live in rural California,” he said wistfully. He talked about his mom and dad’s fruit farm, and growing up in the middle of nowhere. His sister Gabriela was a physician’s assistant in San Francisco.
“That’s good money, I bet,” Chris commented.
“Yeah, she and her partner do well,” Mason said.
“Partner? They’re not married?”
“Well, it hasn’t been legal. She’s a lesbian,” Mason explained.
“Ohh,” Chris said. “That’s cool. I mean, not that they can’t get married.”
“I know what you mean,” Mason said, smiling. “Speaking of good money, did Jessica tell you about my ex and how I lost my job at the gym?”
“She didn’t go into many details, but she said you had a nasty ex-girlfriend,” Chris said, trying to keep up with Mason as they jogged up a hill.
He shook his head, “What a mess. It’s for the best anyway,” he said with a sigh. “Hey, remember: try to jog on your toes as much as possible.”
“Okay,” Chris said, remembering what he said the other day about the knees, and noticing what a round bubble butt Mason had in the process.
“I was working at a stupid, shitty old gym which I hated,” Mason continued, totally unaware Chris was checking him out. “I figure you only live once, so you might as well do what you’re really passionate about, and I’d rather work on my own.”
“Amen to that,” Chris said, trying to keep his mind on the exercise.
“Yeah, man. That’s why I’m going to school and...” Mason started.
“Really? What are you studying?” Chris said, surprised.
“Oh, massage therapy, reflexology, natural healing. That’s kind of my thing.”
“Oh, like Reiki and stuff?” Chris asked, as they rounded the corner.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“You ever read any Wayne Dyer?” Chris asked, out of curiosity.
Mason’s face lit up, “Yeah, man. Wayne Dyer, that’s my man, and Deepak Chopra. I even love The Secret books.”
“Me too. My ex used to say they were just commercial, but I think they made very complex topics digestible for the masses to understand. That’s what we really need in consciousness today. Don’t get me started.”
Mason smiled, and watched Chris for a bit as they slowed to a stop, his hands o
n his hips, “No man. I agree 100%. Hey, we’re almost done here, would you like to grab a drink? I mean, a smoothie or something?”
“Sure.” Chris exclaimed.
“We should hang a little bit. It’s not often I run into someone interested in Dyer and stuff.”
Chris smiled, catching his breath. “I’d love that. Where should we go?”
“Only the best smoothie shop in all of Costa Rica,” Mason said, walking in the direction of his car.
“Where’s that?” Chris asked.
“My house.”
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CHAPTER 9
As flattered as Chris was to be invited to Mason’s home, he couldn’t shake the immediate anxiety and feeling of self-consciousness. Why? He asked. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in an attractive straight guy’s house. There was something else gnawing at him: maybe it was how much he loved being around Mason, even though they’d only met a couple of days ago; and he already had hopes, fears, and expectations about what might happen between them. Chris knew the man was straight, but a girl can dream, can’t she?
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Mason joked.
He tossed his sports bag on the floor as they stepped inside. It was a total bachelor’s pad, Chris noticed. It didn’t have imported, European sofas upholstered in leather or the flat screen TVs or the fresh flowers he ordered weekly. No, it was humble, it was simple, but it felt right: down-to-earth, unapologetic, and masculine: just like Mason. The carpet was a dull green that looked like a lot of tones from the American seventies that were still popular in San Jose. His furniture was all neat but eclectic, chosen from thrift shops or antique spots: a couch made of big orange rectangles, a long mission-style coffee table in black lacquer, and two white bucket chairs. There were a few old National Geographic magazines heaped on the coffee table, and a very obvious absence of a television. Instead, there were bookshelves, a simple-looking stereo system, and hundreds of CDs.
