by GA Hauser
Jordon felt his skin prickle. “Hey.”
“You live in the building?”
They were both eyeing him as if he were suddenly edible.
“Yes.”
“Nice.” The man’s gaze lowered to Jordon’s crotch.
“Thank you. I think.” The elevators arrived at Jordon’s floor. He stepped out, turning to look back as they ogled him from behind. One playfully threw him a kiss. “Are you getting out?”
“No, we just came for the ride,” the man smiled sensuously.
The doors closed and he continued to his home. Once he was inside, he kicked off his shoes and headed directly to the computer. He sat down, got on line, and typed Tyler’s website into the search engine. It was very sedate. Nothing special.
He located Tyler's MySpace site on Google.
“Holy fuck.” The list of friends blew him away; nearly naked photos of men, film stars, erotic gay writers, porn movie icons. Jordon clicked the tab to see Tyler’s profile, reading the details. “Single, gay, twenty-eight, looking for an agent; networking for a modeling job in New York City.”
Included was his list of favorite books, music, movies, heroes, and everything else anyone might find interesting. Next, Jordon viewed Tyler’s collection of photos. He choked in surprise at finding Tyler in a very seductive pose; nude, his hands concealing his crotch, and the look on his face was so hot it was amazing. Every muscle in his chest stood out from under his skin, and his big, muscular thighs were spread wide. Jordon couldn’t stop staring at the photo. Tyler certainly looked like a male model.
“Fuck!”
He was hard as a rock and peeked behind him as if someone might come in. Jordon knew damn well he was alone for the night, if not for the rest of the weekend.
I am so going to hate myself if I do this.
He stripped off his clothing and sat back down on the chair, staring at that photo, unblinking. Jordon smoothed his hand over his cock. He had never done this to himself in front of the computer and it felt fucking weird.
Jordon looked around the floor, grabbed his briefs, and placed them on top of the computer desk to catch the spray.
“You gorgeous motherfucker.” Jordon slid his hand up and down his shaft, licking his lips at the size of Tyler’s chest and the ripples of his abdomen. Jordon actually felt like he could come. He paused and looked down at his erection. “What the fuck am I doing?”
You can’t do this, Jordon. No way.
About to exit the site and go take a cold shower, Jordon took one last good look at that incredible man. “What the fuck? Am I losing it? Jacking off to a photo of Tyler Holliday?”
This has got to be the product of being sexually deprived on a constant basis.
He shut down the computer and stood staring at it. Then Jordon headed to the bathroom. He was still erect and having a hard time erasing the image from his mind. What did he expect? He frigging ogled the picture long enough.
Intent on a shower to get rid of the urgency to come, he waited as the water heated up. Jordon stared at his dick in frustration. Once he climbed in and wet down, he started washing himself, brushing against his hard on. “Fuck!”
He soaped up, spread his legs for balance, and forced himself to think about Fawn. A woman. Something with breasts.
He couldn’t come. Jordon stopped and let go of himself. The cascading shower pounded his head and back. Jordon stared at his dick, watching the water run off it.
Fine! He gripped his cock again, allowing himself the pleasure of this act once. Then never again would he think of Tyler sexually.
He fisted himself, picturing the way Tyler looked in that photo, like a goddamn Greek motherfucking god. Jordon came so hard he had to reach for the wall to steady himself.
Jordon panted to catch his breath, recovering slowly, and finished washing up. He shut off the water and stood silently as he dripped.
“What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck am I doing!” he shouted, furious with himself.
Then, something Adrian Tripp had said echoed like laughter in his brain Believe me, Jordon. If you met Mr. Right, you’d do him.
“No. No!” Jordon screamed, echoing in the steamy room. He stepped out of the tub and leaned both hands on the marble counter with the double sink basins. As the steam rose to the ceiling, Jordon looked into the foggy mirror, giving it a swipe with the heel of his hand. He found his eyes. The dark brown of his irises seemed to be glaring at him with hatred. “What the fuck are you doing, you idiot?”
He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, getting dressed in a pair of shorts and relaxing in the den. It’s what he did every night, even when Fawn was with him. Jordon stretched out, his legs elevated on an ottoman and a glass of strong booze in his fist. The television was on but muted. Nothing caught his interest at the moment. He was numb, so he just stared at the talking heads of the news channel.
The fact that he had jacked off to thoughts of Tyler was haunting him. That could never happen again. He was not gay. He was not Bryan, and men did not turn him on. No.
Jordon took a look at the time, knowing Fawn was most likely doing the whirling dervish on a dance floor in some dark, crowded club with her co-workers. The penthouse was so quiet. How could a man on the verge of marrying a woman feel so lonely?
The debate within him raged again. He wanted a woman like Fawn. He admired her independence, her stamina, her life force. He didn’t want some woman who would instantly turn into an old-woman-soccer-mom-overfed-cling-on. No. He’d seen a couple of his friends in that boat. What was a perfect ten in pre-married bliss changed with the emergence of diapers and pregnancy weight gain. How many of his colleagues had women clinging to them, not working any longer, spending their husband’s hard-earned income, and staying home even after the kid was in school? Too many.
Fawn was nothing like that. She was the opposite. Fawn didn’t want to start a family the minute she said "I do." Jordon was glad for that. He wasn’t certain yet if he wanted to enter into fatherhood at all. He and Fawn had discussed it. She wasn’t keen on it either.
Another plus for her.
Jordon sipped the rest of his scotch, feeling the burn in his throat. He set the glass aside and exhaled deeply. He’d dated enough pre-Fawn to know how most women viewed a successful man. Free meal ticket to being lazy. Several of his good friends couldn’t motivate their women back into the workforce, post children.
Jordon understood it while the offspring was young. But once they entered school? What did those women do all day? Watch soaps?
It made Jordon shiver. He couldn’t deal with that type. No. Fawn was perfect for him.
He picked up the phone and began dialing her cell phone number, just to say hi, or maybe I love you, something to connect with her. He stopped mid-dial and hung it up again.
Did he want to hear her drunk and partying at the other end?
No.
Just let her live her life.
Jordon wished he had a life of his own. He’d become bland somehow. Work, the gym, and… television? Had he turned into the very thing he detested in women?
Jordon yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He shut the television off and brought his empty glass to the sink. It was nearing midnight and he was exhausted. After rinsing it, he shut off the lights, leaving only a single lock latched on the door in case Fawn did eventually make her way back to him, and scuffed tiredly to the bathroom to wash up.
When he scrutinized his reflection, and how worn out he appeared, he asked himself, “When did you turn into an old man?”
He finished his nightly routine and crawled into bed, trying not to grow unreasonably angry. He'd made these decisions, he had to deal with them.
Chapter Three
She never even bothered to call him.
The next morning he ran on the treadmill at Club 75, the fitness center in his building. Jordon dripped with sweat as he stared out at the view of Manhattan’s skyline.
Would she cheat? Should he be the suspic
ious type? Did she not want sex with him because she was having sex with another man?
No.
Why, when he first met her, was she all over him? Why did she hiss in his ear how much he turned her on? That she was in love with him?
Jordon used his towel to wipe the sweat drops from his eyes and forehead. He sprinted up an incline, his feet pounding the rubber mat heavily.
She didn’t want live with him yet. Fawn and Camisha shared an apartment near the airport. Fawn stayed at his place most of her nights off, but they did not cohabitate.
Did he and Fawn have an odd relationship? Bryan thought so.
After going over all these thoughts during the night, Jordon had reinforced his conclusion. He had no complaints. Fawn wasn’t clingy; she was independent and seemed to be happy. She didn’t moan and groan about her life. She was a free spirit. That’s what drew him to her. Enough! Stop torturing yourself because she’s out one night with her friends.
As the pace became grueling, Jordon resisted the temptation to lower the speed and grade. He was laboring uphill at over nine miles an hour and in pain. He’d been at the treadmill for forty-five minutes and this last race to the finish line was murder.
He wanted to be married. His mom and dad kept needling both him and Bryan playfully about grandchildren. Of course they were out of luck with Bryan. Bryan, the actor, the theater major, opening as the lead in the revival of Hair on Broadway.
“Augh!” Jordon was in physical agony. Finally the machine blinked “cool down” on its LCD display. “Thank fuck.” The pace slowed with a whining of the metallic gears and he grabbed the side rails as he was able to walk briskly. He dripped with sweat even in the air conditioning, wiping his face and neck with the towel. He caught a man giving him a once over.
It amazed him that in most of his adult life, more men than women checked him out. It never made any sense to him. I must look fucking gay. Which was ridiculous in his opinion. He was over six feet tall and solid muscle.
As if waking up from stupidity, he realized that so was his brother, and so was Adrian, not to mention Tyler.
The belt ground to a halt. Jordon mopped up the drops of perspiration considerately from the machine. Once he stepped off, he headed to the water fountain and took a long time sucking down ice water.
When something brushed his ass, he turned to look. The man who had been admiring him was big and fit, with straight dark hair and a perfectly trimmed goatee. He said, “Nice workout. Muy bien.”
“Thanks.” Jordon stood tall, the sweat still running down his skin. After an overt glance at his nuts, the man walked away.
Jesus. Being gay and getting laid must be so fucking easy. There are men all over the place, looking hungry.
Once he recovered enough to continue exercising, Jordon spread out his towel on a weight bench and lay back, pumping iron. Jordon’s sessions in the gym were something he cherished. And with Fawn gone constantly, it killed the time and gave him the body he wanted.
The same man paused at the foot of the bench. After a set, Jordon glanced at him from behind his bent knees. It seemed the man was gazing between them at his balls. It struck him as curious. so Jordon sat up. “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” The man gave him a leering grin.
Jordon whispered, “Are you coming on to me?”
“Si. Only if you’re interested, of course.”
Jordon cleared his throat. “If I was. Would you suck my cock?”
“Vamos, come with me.” He reached out his hand.
“No,” Jordon replied. “I’m not. I just wanted to know how you guys did it.”
“You guys?”
“I’m not gay. I’m just amazed at how easy it is for gay men to get a blowjob.”
“Want me to be your first?”
Jordon watched as the man ran his hand over his own hard on. “No. But thanks for the offer. It’s very flattering.”
“I come here this time every day.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Alejandro.”
“Jordon.” Jordon took it.
“If you change your mind...” Alejandro smiled wickedly.
“I won’t, but thanks. I have to get back to my workout.” Jordon pointed to the weights behind him and lay back down.
Alejandro gave Jordon’s crotch another good stare, then he walked away.
Son of a bitch. Just like that. A blowjob. Jesus. Jordon shook his head. All the inner calming sensation from the exercise had evaporated to sexual frustration in two seconds flat. Jordon pumped the weights until he was spent and in pain, Damn! I wish I could find a way to entice Fawn into having more sex. What the fuck?
***
“Bry?” Jordon stretched out on the couch after dialing his phone number in Montclair.
“Hello, big brother. Are you calling me to check on the house you never use?”
“At least you use it.” Jordon asked, “Uh, you’re not alone, are you?”
“Uh,” Bryan mimicked him, “no.”
“Am I interrupting something?” He heard some laughter and it sounded slightly demonic, and it wasn’t coming from his brother.
“Hang on.” A muffled scolding and more laughter followed.
“Jesus!” Jordon was convinced everyone on the planet was having sex but him. “You want me to call you back?”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”
“When are you heading back to the city?”
“Tonight.”
“Can you drop by?”
“Dinner?”
“Please?” Now I’m begging my brother for a date.
“You cooking?”
“Sure.”
“Be there at six.”
The line disconnected. Jordon looked at the phone, picturing his brother getting laid, or trying not to picture it. Jordon dialed Fawn’s mobile phone.
“Hello, honey!”
“Hey. Whatcha up to?” It sounded loud in the background.
“Shoe shopping with the girls.”
“You never showed up last night. I thought we would spend some time together. When are you coming home? I was going to make--”
“No! Shut up, Jewel! I did not!”
“Fawn?”
“Sorry, Jordon. Jewel wants to spend over five hundred on a pair of Roger Viviers! I told her she was insane! Shut up, you are.”
“Fawn?” Jordon sensed he was suddenly intruding. “Ya there?”
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I’m making dinner for Bryan tonight, I was wondering…”
“Oh! Sure, Jordy. I’ll be there. What time?”
“Six?”
“Fine. We have to look up some of those catering places.”
“We do.”
“I leave tomorrow for four days, Jordy. No! Camisha! Not purple! You have to be kidding me!”
“So, I’ll see you for dinner?”
“You will. Kiss, kiss!”
He hung up and set the phone on the table next to him. “Am I the only one without a life?” he said out loud.
***
The paella was cooking on the stove in a large wok-like pan. Jordon gave it a last stir and checked the time. The mussels and clams were beginning to open, yawning in the steaming heat.
“Knock, knock!”
“Bryan!” Jordon smiled as Bryan let himself in with his own key. “Just in time.”
“Christ, it smells so good in here.” Bryan kicked off his shoes and stuffed the keys into the pocket of his tight blue jeans. “Damn, you’d make a good wife.”
“Shut up and pour some wine for yourself.”
“Sangria! Muy bien!”
Jordon was getting quite the Spanish lesson today. He smiled. “How’re rehearsals going? Please tell me you’re not really going to be nude for that show.” Jordon checked on the meal.
“Yup. Nude. Hey, I’ve got it, I can flaunt it.” He sipped the wine. “Can I pour you a glass?”
“Sure. I was waiting for Fawn, but go ahead.”
“Bridezilla is coming?” Bryan cringed, filling a glass.
Jordon checked his wristwatch. “She’s expected.”
