by Walker Cole
“Colt?” I call out, still in bed. I must have left my clothes in the bathroom. I get up to find them.
It still smells like coconut oil in here, and cum of course. The shower wall is slightly stained from where I climaxed. I get dressed and head downstairs.
I hear Colt talking in his office. He’s looking out the window and speaking quickly into the phone. Something about his assistant coach quitting. He hangs up and turns around.
I fold my arms in front of my chest. “I wasn’t snooping,” I say. He stares. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” I add.
Colt smirks. “Work trouble,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I should get going,” I say and head to the living room for my bags. I pick them up and turn around. Colt is in the doorway.
“Leo, do you want to grab coffee? I’ll give you a lift to the station after.”
I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself. “I really liked—” I stop myself. “Everything?” I bumble.
He smiles a little. I get the feeling he’s really not much of a talker.
Colt drives us to this small coffee shop in the center of Cold Spring. We both grab lattes.
“I had fun last night,” I say, seeing if I can get him to talk about it. He looks around, checking for something. There are a few people reading papers, drinking, and talking.
He replies quietly, “Me too.”
“That’s good,” I say and he looks around again.
“Do… do you mind if we change the subject?” he says and shrugs his shoulders. He puts on a demeanor of sorts—something in his face changes. “What made you chose photography?” The words come out weird.
I shoot him a weird look. “Sure,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t be with you right now.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“I need to hide a little. Because of how things are. This is just coffee.”
“What was last night?” I ask, and put my hand on his. “Just a shower?”
He flinches away. He seems nervous—nothing like the man he was last night. “This was a bad idea. I’m a public figure and—”
My heart pounds in my chest; I look down in disgust. “Just take me to the station,” I say, annoyed.
“No, look. I want to have coffee,” he says, and looks over his shoulder again.
“No one can hear us,” I hiss. “Why are you being such a jerk?”
“This isn’t New York. These people here, I know them. That guy in the corner sold me a truck. The woman at the counter has a daughter who hangs out with my daughter.”
“I don’t even know what you’re trying to say.” His words are messing everything up. He’s conflicted. My physical feelings are just as strong, but something else is fading. We had such great chemistry and now, who knows.
The Range Rover is silent on the way to the station.
When we pull up, Colt turns to me. “Wait,” he says. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Whatever. I get that you’re a big time football coach but that doesn’t mean we can’t drink a fucking cup of coffee together. You looked like someone had a gun on you back there.”
“You don’t know what it’s like out here,” he says. “I could lose my job. I have a wife, a family. Fuck, well, I had a wife. I have a daughter.”
“How old is she?” I ask.
“Seventeen.”
“Then I'm guessing she'd rather see the real you rather than the public figure you're pretending to be,” I say.
Colt rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I can be—whatever.”
“Doesn’t mean that you can be—what? You can’t be yourself? Because of what people might think?”
“It’s complicated. Don’t pretend you don’t understand.” Colt shakes his head, as if to say no more. He puts his hand on my leg. “I want to see you again.”
“Whatever, Coach Smith. Come see me in the city if you really mean it.” I get out and shut the door. I don’t look back until I’m at the ticket office, and when I do, Colt’s car is gone.
A week goes by. I set up some blind dates but don’t go through with them. Hell, I can't go through with them. When I’m about to fall asleep at night, all I can think about is Colt’s bed, and my coconut oiled body laying there, my asshole sweetly aching. The connection we had was so powerful, so raw, like, his body fit mine so perfectly, right down to his massive cock and my willing ass. I don’t normally get that on first dates—ever. We were two interlocking puzzle pieces—and the puzzle was a perfect orgasm.
Earlier, I woke up and did some much-needed cleaning in my apartment and right now I’m just watching TV in bed. I flick through the channels. Wait—was that Colt’s face? I go back one channel. ESPN. Colt is wearing a Jaguars jacket and talking about the preseason. His team is highly ranked, as far as I can tell. It’s a recorded interview. I watch him talk and turn up the volume letting his deep voice flood throughout my flat. My nipples harden a little. I’m torturing myself by thinking about him.
I shower and get dressed, ready to go out and hit up a bar or something. Anything to take my mind off Colt. There’s a knock at my door. “Wait a sec!” I say. I open it to see it's him. Colt. “You’re on TV,” I say, startled. He’s still wearing the Jaguars jacket. “I mean, I just saw you on TV.”
“Hey,” Colt says with soft eyes. “Yeah, I just recorded it.”
“How did you find me?”
“Your photography business has a registered address,” Colt says, and steps aside revealing a woman. “This is Nancy, my ex-wife.”
“We aren’t split yet,” Nancy says. She’s my height, and she looks like a former cheerleader. She’s definitely super attractive. Together they look like every middle-class white couple ever.
“Nancy wanted to apologize for missing the photography shoot,” Colt says.
“It’s very unlike myself to miss an engagement. In Cold Spring, I pride myself on being punctual and proper,” she says and straightens her posture. Colt’s face seems to be trying to say: sorry. I can’t believe that he brought her here. What the fuck is he thinking?
“So what can I do for you guys?” I ask, scratching the back of my neck.
“We’ve spoken to the magazine and we would like you to come by our house this weekend, to complete the shoot. We will compensate you generously,” Nancy says.
“I don’t know if I can,” I lie.
“Please,” Colt says and raises his eyebrows at me. He hands me a business card. “That’s the address in case you lost it. And I’ve included my mobile number on the back just in case.”
“Why would he need your mobile number?” Nancy snaps.
“Alright then,” I say, wanting to be as far away from this woman as possible. “I’ll see you this weekend.”
They leave and I shut the door. I’m tense all over. Why is Nancy with Colt? She left him. He hates her. Plus, that guy at my door just now could have been anyone, that’s how different he acted.
I text the number on the back of the card to get this whole shitstorm over >this is leo
>I’m so sorry. Nancy wants to pretend that we’re still together, for our careers
Whatever. I’ll just do the shoot and hopefully never see these two people again.
The train ride to Cold Spring: rich commuters reading papers and doing things in Excel on their mini-laptops, rural towns with Germanic names, no fucking drinks cart. Once again, the jiggling of the train reminds me how nice it would be to cum. Only this time, I will not be idly thinking about Colt, his masculine body and massive cock. No, today I am all professional. Colt could come to me on his knees and I wouldn’t look at him twice.
I depart with my photography bags. There are stands for pastries and evening newspapers. The sky is turning orange.
I see Colt standing outside the station. I was not expecting him. He’s signing a ball
for a teenager. “Thanks, kid,” he says, and shoots him the boy winning smile. Colt looks up to see me. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi. I was going to get a taxi.”
“I was nearby.”
“No, you weren’t,” I say. “You brought your wife to my apartment. What were you thinking? I had a crush on you—I thought, wrongly, that it was mutual.”
“Let’s take a drive,” he says. No one in the city could get away with saying something like that.
So we drive. Fences and sheep and fields of green. Trees, bushes, and sports cars. Colt watches the road. He drives like he’s been doing it for hundreds of years. His hands move between the steering wheel and the blinkers with precision. My focus stays on his fingers for a while. I don’t know where he’s taking us. Wherever we’re going, it’s a smooth ride.
Colt stops the car on an off-road at the top of a field. Far below us, past grazing cows, the sun is about to fall beneath the tree line. Up above, the clouds are glowing pink and red. “Let me show you something,” he says. When we’re out of the car, he holds my hand and stares down the field.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My favorite place. I used to jog up here when I was home from college. I had to train everyday for football. I used to start for the Jaguars. I don’t know if you knew that.”
“I didn’t,” I say. My hand feels nice in his.
“I like you, Leo,” he says. “I’m sorry about the coffee debacle, and about coming to your apartment with Nancy. It was her idea, but that's still a shitty excuse. She hates missing appointments. I told her, I hate her guts just as much as she hates mine. I’m leaving her, for real. I don’t care how ‘unmarketable’ a single guy is for the university administration. Why do I have to be marketed anyway? I’m a coach, not a fucking four-door luxury sedan.”
I lean into his body. It smells clean and musky like he showered but then immediately went running. “I don’t forgive you,” I say. “I can’t believe you brought her to my flat. The other night she was screaming at you. Didn’t she smash a plate?”
“I told her straight. The second we left your apartment I told her I couldn’t be together for show. I’m so sorry, Leo.” He pulls my chin towards his face and kisses me, then says, “Let’s just survive today, and if you ever want to see me again then I’ll just count it as a miracle.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be your miracle,” I say, just because it sounds good.
“I like you,” he says again. “I mean it.”
The Smith’s brilliant mansion looks gray in the evening light.
Inside, in front of my tripod, Maria is wearing a dress and pouting like a teenager. Nancy and Colt join her. They’re overdressed for any living room, but here we are.
The photo shoot completes without too much drama, and I take down my lights. Afterward, Nancy wants me to take a couple of pictures of her and Colt in the living room, and I can’t think of any good excuses.
Nancy is adjusting Colt’s shirt. She says, “It’s a bit fancy, couldn’t you have worn a plain white or blue one?” I don’t like seeing her touch him. Colt is cold to it. He flinches a little when she gets too close. It’s cringe worthy.
“I like this shirt,” Colt says.
“It’s a bit faggy,” Nancy says. Colt frowns but shakes it off. He looks at me. I wait for him to say or do something, to tell her that what she said was not okay. But he doesn’t. Faggy? This is how she speaks? Conservative bigots are the fucking worst. I start packing up my things.
“I have another appointment,” I say.
“At this time?” Nancy asks. Colt understands now. He sees that what she said hurt me.
“Don’t say ‘faggy’, Nancy.” She groans. “Seriously,” he says.
She looks over at me for validation. "You don’t mind, do you, Leo?” she asks, giggling a little.
"It's 2016. Most people better than to say that kind of shit even if they are a bigot on the inside," I say to her. Maria immediately leaves the vicinity, followed by any chance of the evening going smoothly. The air just hangs there, sharp, and stinking of potpourri.
“Excuse me?” she says, fusing her hands to the tops of her hips.
Colt beats me to it, and says, “You were offensive, Nancy. What did you expect?”
“Just because we’re splitting up,” she snaps, “doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like I’m a goddamn animal.” She stomps out of the room.
Colt helps me pack up my stuff and drives me back to the station for the last train.
“I’m sorry I told her off,” I say.
“Hey, don’t apologize to me. Soon she won’t be my business.”
“I never want to see her again. I didn’t even want to meet her in the first place. I remember thinking, my first time coming over, I just wanted to hang with the famous football coach.”
“You won’t have to see her again,” he says.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I really can’t see her again.”
“Me too.” Colt stares ahead; he’s angry, but he doesn’t let it affect his words. He looks straight ahead. He doesn’t moan or complain. He just tells me how he feels and leaves it at that. He’s a man with a capital M.
I put my hand on his leg as he drives. He doesn’t respond to it, so I leave it there. His leg is mostly muscle. It feels like a tree trunk. Colt opens his window a little and a cool breeze swirls around the car. I take my hand away and start picking at a fray in my jeans. Colt takes my hand and places it back on his leg without looking at me. I like that he takes what he wants. Especially when it’s something of mine—like a hand, or a kiss, or my ass. I spend some time thinking about what he’s into sexually. Kinks and things like that. When we had sex, he didn’t focus on pleasing me, he just held me and fucked me. That’s what I like about him—no nonsense.
I move my hand up his leg, and of course, he does nothing. I move it higher, near his crotch. His cock is semi-engorged and curled in on itself inside his pants, like a big spool of soft rope. I decide to leave my hand there for the rest of the drive. I want to map out his cock with my fingers—to capture it in my brain. Colt’s lovely penis will be a welcome addition to my daydreams. I want to copy it; 3D print it or something. I want to cuddle it when I fall asleep.
The station is coming up on the left, but Colt pulls over to the side of the road. “Look,” he says. “What I did with Nancy—coming to see you and then having you come over again, that was wrong of me. I’m sorry about that. Stuff like that won’t happen again. I want to see you.”
“You make me feel safe,” I say. “Not a lot of guys do that. Even when you’re causing the drama I know you’ll look after me, which is silly to think because I barely know you.”
“I like that you feel that way,” he says. His straight talking is hot, but he’s still a goddamn puzzle.
* * *
Colt
Leo meets me at Penn Station. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white shirt. His blonde hair is pushed back, away from his forehead. “Hey, big guy,” he says to me when I step off of the train.
“Hey,” I say. We look at each other for a few seconds and then head off. I like that he thinks I’m big. The thing is, Leo is pretty strong himself, just not compared to me. He’s boyishly handsome. He’s normally a little jumpy, a little skittish. He seems calm around me though. Our hands brush against each other and I’m sure he wants to hold mine, I’d be lying if I told myself I didn’t want to hold his, but I can’t. Not here at least. And I hope he understands why.
I have a reputation. Maybe ten years ago it would be different but with the way social media is—the university warns us over and over. They say, do whatever the hell you want but if it spreads across Facebook there’s going to be trouble for all of us. Leo keeps bumping his hand into mine. His hand feels soft when he does this. His hands are slightly smaller than mine. It felt so nice when his hand was resting on top of my cock through my s
lacks on that car ride the other night. I wonder if he knows that I went home and masturbated thinking about him.
“So,” he says, as we ride in the taxi. “What do you like to drink?”
“I’ll drink anything,” I say.
“You have no preference?”
“Guys like me grow up drinking beer, whiskey, and not much else. It’s boring. Take me wherever you like to go,” I say, and he gives me a look.
“You won’t like where I normally go.”
“Okay,” I laugh a little. “Take me somewhere that straight-ish guys go. Where it would be okay for a semi-famous football coach to go.”
“You wish you were semi-famous,” he teases. “You can go to a gay bar and not be gay, you know.”
“Explain that to the average college football viewer,” I say. Leo crosses his arms and seems pissed off. “Look, you knew it would be like this, seeing me,” I add.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I know a good place.”
Leo gives the driver new directions. I’ve never been to New York for a pleasure visit, as crazy as that is. Nancy didn’t like cities. Streetlight comes in through the window and outlines Leo’s face. He has kissable lips. I want to grab him by the neck and wrestle him towards my crotch—I know he’d be willing, but the wrestling is half the fun. I want to see his eyes light up when he takes my cum in his mouth for the first time. He seems like the kinda guy who loves sucking cock. I’ve lived my life avoiding cute guys like him, thinking it was wrong to stray from women. I don’t know what I was thinking. My pants are starting to feel a bit tighter around the crotch. Leo looks over and smiles at me.
The bar isn’t too busy, and we sit by the window on some high seats. Leo leaves and returns with two cocktails. They have umbrellas and are multiple shades of bright colors. I laugh and he turns a little red. “You don’t like it? You haven’t even tried it yet.”
“No, no,” I say. “I don’t think anyone has bought me a drink like that before. Beer, all the time.” Leo smiles. He smiles a lot. He never shows his teeth—which are lovely—he just does these quiet smiles.