by Jeff Erno
“Oliver, you’re so beautiful.” It wasn’t like him to use Oliver’s full name. “Thank you. Thank you for making me feel so… normal.”
How could Benjy’s declaration so artfully echo his own thoughts and feelings? He stared up into Benjy’s face, smiling. “Ditto.”
THEY WENT to a movie that night, a comedy, and Oliver sat beside Benjy, holding his hand in the dark. He hadn’t gone to a theater in a long time. The seats were too small, and he usually needed to allow at least one empty seat on each side of him because his torso extended to the outer edge of his seat and his arms needed room on either side. But this time was different. He’d actually lost enough weight that he fit into one seat, with Benjy right beside him.
As much as he despised his hometown, he didn’t want to go back to the city. After the afternoon at Deer Lake with Benjy, he couldn’t stop smiling. He felt like a new man, revived and inexplicably happy. He didn’t find himself annoyed at the concession stand, waiting for popcorn. He didn’t feel like screaming at the driver in front of him who’d failed to move when the light turned green. And even when his mother lightly scolded him for leaving the barbecue so abruptly, Oliver merely smiled and apologized. He even kissed his mom on the cheek.
They held hands again on the porch once they got home, and Oliver pulled Benjy close and kissed him deeply. The passion inside him roiled, and he had to resist his urge to ravage Benjy, to demonstrate aggressively how strongly he desired intimacy. Instead he oh so carefully and tenderly kissed Benjy and caressed his back, amazed this lithe, spunky little man saw anything in him at all.
When the spring on the screen door squeaked and Oliver pulled back from Benjy to see his mother standing just outside the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, he knew he’d been caught. He looked over at her, smiling.
She took a deep breath, shaking out her arms on either side of her before waving her hands in front of her face. “I knew it,” she whispered.
“Mom….”
“I can’t say I’m disappointed.” Her voice, overwhelmed with emotion, cracked as she spoke. “Actually, I was praying.”
“It just sort of happened… since we got here.”
“I… um… I suppose I should leave you two alone.”
Benjy shook his head, turning to her with outstretched arms. “C’mere.” He pulled her into an embrace, and then she hugged Oliver, sort of at the same time. She pulled back, looking from one face to the other, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I have two boys, both of them beautiful.”
“In that case….” Benjy grinned impishly. “Mom, do you have any of that delicious potato salad left?”
AS MUCH as Oliver wanted further intimacy with Benjy, he wasn’t ready, and certainly not at his parents’ house. He kissed Benjy good night, then lay in his own bed, staring up at the ceiling. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and yet he couldn’t stop grinning, even there in the dark.
He woke up early, ready once more for a long, solitary walk. But Benjy met him in the hallway, sporting sweatpants and a T-shirt. “Not sure I’m up for eight miles, but I’m not letting you out of my sight for that long.”
Oliver kissed him on the forehead, and they descended the stairs together. When they returned a little over an hour later, they bolted into the kitchen, dying for water. Oliver’s mom was frying bacon and sausage and making hash browns. “And I suppose you’re just having your usual?” She looked at Oliver.
“Low-fat yogurt and oatmeal please. Dry toast.”
“I’ll have extra bacon, please.” Benjy beamed.
Oliver’s mom attended church with her sister and brother-in-law, graciously inviting the rest of the family to join them, though to Oliver the invitation felt more like a guilting. He didn’t much care for church and hadn’t been to one, other than Amanda’s wedding, since the day he came out in high school. The Baptists weren’t exactly welcoming and accepting of the LGBT community, and it took Betty Paxton about sixty seconds to decide she’d become Presbyterian. When the preacher at First Baptist tried telling her that her son was an abomination, she told him to take his King James Bible and shove it where the sun don’t shine and called her sister to inform her she’d be attending church with her from then on.
The denomination didn’t really matter, though. Oliver wasn’t even sure he believed in God. He believed in science, believed in cause and effect. But that was different from karma. Karma was justice, and when he looked around, he didn’t see justice. He didn’t see equality and fairness. Some people had harder lives than others. Some started farther back from the finish line. And the good guy didn’t always win. How could he, believing in science, think that a God existed somewhere out there and actually cared about what happened with people?
Maybe growing up fat and gay had naturally jaded him. Perhaps he saw life through a far more cynical lens than the average person. But he watched as Benjy scarfed massive quantities of food into his tiny little body and never gained an ounce. He knew plenty of slender people who sat around smoking pot all day long, people who weren’t active, never exercised. Back in high school, he observed guys he’d been raised with suddenly develop into toned muscle studs, and they barely seemed to even put forth an effort. It was just something in their genes. How was any of this fair? How was it fair that he’d been born into a family with fatty genes? Why did he have a predilection to overeat? And why did other people who ate even more remain so slim?
He’d concluded he simply had to play with the hand he’d been dealt. If looking and feeling like a normal person meant exercising for hours every day and eating like a bird, he’d do it. And he still wasn’t quite over the shock that a guy—any guy—would be interested in him, would find him attractive.
They’d been at his folks’ for only two days, but it seemed an eternity had passed. So much had happened in the past forty-eight hours. When he and Benjy packed up Sunday afternoon, his mom and dad stood beside the car, his mother all weepy. She’d packed Benjy a buttload of leftovers, stuffing them into a specially purchased Styrofoam cooler.
“I’m going to learn some new recipes,” she whispered into Oliver’s ear as she hugged him. “Some nonfattening treats so I can cook for you again.”
“Mom, you’re fine. The food was amazing, as always.”
“Did you check your oil?” His dad patted him on the shoulder.
“I get the oil changed every three thousand miles, Dad. It’s on a maintenance schedule.”
His dad frowned and nodded, then leaned in for a quick, manly hug. “Well, don’t let the gas gauge drop below the half-full line.”
“I know, but thanks.”
“Benjy!” His mom pulled Benjy into her, hugging him fiercely. “You have to promise to come visit… a lot!”
“We will,” he promised. He lingered in the hug for a few seconds, then finally pulled back and stepped over to hug Oliver’s father.
An oddly surreal feeling swept over Oliver as he backed out onto the street and pulled away. “I can’t believe I actually dreaded this trip.” He spoke softly, not really directing his comment at Benjy, but Benjy responded, reaching over to take hold of Oliver’s hand.
“These have been the best two days of my life.” Benjy gulped, then stared out the passenger window. Maybe he was crying, but even if so, they weren’t tears of sadness.
“Can we think of this as the start of a new life?”
“I like that.” Benjy squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be working on your weight, and maybe I should work on a few things too.”
Oliver paused, wanting to respond but not quite sure what to say. Finally he whispered, “You’re fine just the way you are.”
“You know, I keep the ringer turned off on my phone because I’m too frightened to answer.”
“Benjy, that doesn’t mean anything. I do the same thing.”
He looked over at Oliver, shaking his head. “It’s not the same. I do it because I’m genuinely scared. I won’t go to a store or restau
rant if there seems to be a lot of cars in the lot, afraid it’ll be too crowded. I get freaked out standing in lines, and every time I have any kind of deadline, I seize up, completely panic.”
“We always have deadlines, Benjy. It’s part of our job, how we function at work.”
“I know.” He sighed. “You have no idea what a fucked-up mess I am most of the time. But….”
“What?”
“But everything’s different with you. You calm me. You make it all okay.”
He turned on the blinker, slowing in preparation for his turn onto the expressway. “Well, you’ve helped me so much. Why don’t you let me help you? We’ll take it one day at a time.”
Benjy smiled. “You’re afraid of being naked in front of me, and I think it’s silly. I’ve already fantasized a million times about you and me naked together.”
Oliver felt his cheeks warming. Again, how did a person respond to a comment like that? He raised his eyebrows and stared straight ahead at the highway. “And it didn’t gross you out?”
“Shut up!” Benjy pulled his hand away but only far enough to slap Oliver on the arm. “If I told you my fantasies, you’d probably really be embarrassed.”
“Uh, yeah. I would.” He couldn’t hear them, not now. He couldn’t let Benjy get any more detailed in his descriptions. That might just be enough to send Oliver completely over the edge, but oh how he wanted to know. Did Benjy dream about getting his dick sucked? Of sucking Oliver? Did he want to climb on top of Oliver, straddling him as Oliver lay on his back, and ride his cock like a cowboy riding a wild bull? “Don’t say any more. Please!”
Benjy laughed. “Just wait till you take off a tiny bit more weight. I’ll give you road head.”
“Benjy! Stop!”
“I could do it now, maybe… if you pushed your seat all the way back.”
“Benjy, for God’s sake! No, my seat’s already back as far as it goes, and that’s just….”
“Too risky, I know. But maybe a hand job?” He slid his hand onto Oliver’s thigh, rubbing back and forth.
“Why are you so horny?” Oliver grabbed Benjy’s wrist and pulled it back.
“’Cause you kissed me a thousand times this weekend but nothing more.”
“Well, you’re the shy one, the one with anxiety disorder. You’re not supposed to be so… um… assertive.”
Benjy giggled. “That’s what I mean. I’m an entirely different person around you. But think about it, Ollie. When you lose all this weight and turn into a supermodel, all these superficial guys who didn’t give you the fucking time of day are gonna be all over you. Then you’ll look at me and see me as I really am—a pathetic, neurotic little twerp.”
Oliver’s mouth dropped open, and he glanced over at Benjy, whose expression remained somber, dead serious. “You know that’s not true.”
Benjy took a deep breath. “I know,” he conceded. “It’s not fair, and I shouldn’t say things like that. But that’s my biggest fear.”
“It’s crazy, man. Baseless. I want to lose the weight so I can be more attractive to you.”
“Ollie, I do want to help you continue losing your weight, but please believe me. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to lo—feel the same way about you no matter what.”
“And you’ve got to believe me too. We’re both flawed. We both have our baggage, and so what? It’s called being human. I like you as you are, right now at this very minute, and nothing’s gonna change that. Ever.”
Chapter Seven
TOO KEYED up to sleep, Oliver spent an hour or so online, playing Overwatch, then finally switched off the PlayStation to try watching TV. He couldn’t stop thinking about all that had happened. Dropping Benjy off had been bittersweet, to say the least. He’d toyed with the idea of inviting Benjy to stay with him overnight, but Lord only knew where that might have led.
Yearning to take their intimacy to the next level, Oliver fantasized about so much more. He thought about Benjy shirtless, stark naked, even. His narrow waist and tight, solid core of abdominals depicted the polar opposite physicality to what Oliver’s body exemplified. Oh, how he’d love to wrap his hands around that skinny little waist as he sucked on Benjy’s rigid cock. It would be big, had to be. They always said skinny guys had huge cocks. With Benjy being short, it would definitely look disproportionately large against his diminutive frame.
As he pushed himself up from the chair, he thought of how lithe and agile Benjy was. He seemed to easily contort his body, sitting with his legs tucked beneath him, pulling his knees up to his chin, crouching and stretching so effortlessly. All of his antics contradicted Oliver’s. Oliver heaved himself out of a chair, lumbered when he walked, and gasped for breath when he so much as tried to bend at the waist.
Sure, things were starting to improve. He wasn’t winded anymore after a long walk. He could look down and see the lower half of his body much easier than before. He didn’t struggle so much raising his leg enough to slip on his socks every morning. As he stepped into the bathroom, forcing himself to look straight ahead into the full-length mirror, he peeled off his polo shirt.
Was he smaller? Did he detect any difference at all? His face certainly looked thinner. He didn’t display such an obvious double chin anymore. The man boobs disgusted him, the wretched pillows of fat that extended outward from his pecs to his underarms. But had they shrunk at all? Maybe a little. His tummy seemed smaller, and he was beginning to detect a waistline that had previously merely been enveloped with flab.
What exactly did Benjy see in him? He’d said Oliver was big and strong. In spite of himself, he smiled. Strong? He turned and flexed his bicep. Yeah, maybe. He certainly had more muscle than Benjy with his tiny twig-like arms. He repositioned himself, righting his posture to face the mirror head-on, and sucked in his belly. Puffing his chest a bit, he was able to imagine himself more defined. If he concentrated on the pecs and biceps, he could pack on some muscle for sure. If he lost some more of his gut, he wouldn’t even be that disproportionate.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds and recalled the soft, tender touch of Benjy’s fingertips traveling across his pectorals. Oh God, it had felt so wonderful. He opened his eyes and flicked off the light switch, then hurried to the bedroom where he peeled off his pants and underwear and flopped down on the mattress. Lying on his back with his eyes squeezed tightly closed, he envisioned Benjy. With one hand, he tweaked his nipple, and with the other, he found his hardness. Benjy’s warm, wet mouth enveloped him, surrounded the entirety of his penis, and began to lave him. The heat of the suction surrounded Oliver’s arousal, and as he stroked himself, it wasn’t his hand that delivered such soothing ministrations, but Benjy’s worshipful tongue and mouth.
Within minutes he lay panting on the mattress, a glob of semen splashed across his heaving torso. “Benjy…,” he whispered. “Oh, Benjy, that was amazing.”
HOPEFULLY BENJY didn’t think Oliver had just brushed him off. He’d declined the invitation to Benjy’s apartment after work, stating he had an appointment. He wasn’t lying, and now as he parked his SUV in front of the Fitness Warehouse, he had a clear idea of what Benjy went through on a daily basis. His anxiety had kicked into overdrive, and it was all he could do to force himself out from behind the wheel. Somehow he managed, though, and made his way to the double glass doors at the building entrance.
As he approached the counter, he glanced around, peering for a few seconds into the exercise area of the gym. Thankfully, people of varying sizes were using the equipment. At least they all weren’t buff muscle gods.
“Hi, can I help you?” a bubbly, blonde receptionist greeted him. He nodded and cleared his throat.
“I’m Oliver Paxton, and I have an appointment with Adam Wilcox.”
“Sure, I’ll page him.” She picked up her handset and keyed a set of numbers into the phone. After a few seconds, she informed the trainer his five-thirty was waiting. She then hung up and turned to Oliver. “He’ll be right out.”
Oliver thanked her and stepped back from the desk. No chairs were positioned in the customer area, so he couldn’t take a seat. Instead, he moved over toward the window and tried to appear inconspicuous. Thankfully his wait wasn’t long, and when a thirtysomething, drop-dead gorgeous man strode toward him, smiling, Oliver gulped. The tight-fitting T-shirt bearing the Fitness Warehouse logo hugged the trainer’s well-rounded pecs. He also wore silky, midlength shorts, perhaps Under Armour, and a pair of the most fashionable and undoubtedly super expensive sneakers.
“Oliver? I’m Adam! What a pleasure to meet you!”
Adam’s pearly white smile immediately mesmerized Oliver along with the man’s sparkling, crystal blue eyes. A lump quickly formed in Oliver’s throat, and all at once, he felt like nothing more than a huge blob. God, why’d his trainer have to look like that?
“Hi,” Oliver managed. “Dr. Evans referred me.”
“Brad? Oh cool. Great guy. Well, I’m glad to meet you.” He placed his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, patting it as if they were longtime friends. “Why don’t we head on back to my office and have a chat, okay?”
As he followed Adam down the hallway, the walls seemed to be padded, perhaps lined with carpeting like the cubicles at work. He trailed behind Adam, noting his broad shoulders, V-shaped torso, and most obviously, his well-rounded bubble butt. Everything about the man, from his impeccably styled hair all the way down to his sturdy, glistening calves embodied perfection. This was the man Oliver had dreamed about all his life, every time he looked in a mirror. Adam had been blessed with a perfect storm of physical amenities. He literally could become a model or perhaps even the next movie star.
He led Oliver into a small office, which was really more of a cubicle, and Oliver took a seat as instructed. Adam did not slide into his own comfortable desk chair but instead leaned back on the desk, sitting on the very edge. He bent forward as he spoke to Oliver, who might have otherwise felt awkward by the man’s close proximity. Adam’s charisma and striking good looks offset all of Oliver’s misgivings, however, and Oliver looked longingly into Adam’s gorgeous eyes, awaiting further commentary.
