Chase of a Lifetime

by Ryan Field

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and characters are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chase of a Lifetime

  Copyright©2012 Ryan Field

  Cover and Design by Dawné Dominique

  All rights reserved. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Published By

  Ryan Field Press

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  www.ryan-field.blogspot.com

  Chase of a Lifetime

  By

  Ryan Field

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  * * *

  When the pilot announced the plane would be landing in Dallas soon, the man sitting to the right of Jim Darling leaned over and grabbed Jim’s knee. He did this in friendly way, with a smile and a joke about how he hated landings and take offs.

  The poor guy didn’t have a chance to leave his hand on Jim’s leg for longer than a second or two, because Jim’s entire body jerked and slanted the instant the man touched him. Jim turned fast, flung the guy a startled glance, and clamped his knees together. Then Jim pressed his palm to his throat and tried not to gasp out loud. He’d been listening to the theme from The Titanic on his phone and hadn’t expected to be touched by the man next to him.

  Jim and the guy exchanged confused glances. The guy shrugged and moved so far away from Jim his left shoulder wound up pressed to the window. Then he buckled his seatbelt, faced the window, and didn’t look at Jim again

  Jim sat back, buckled his seatbelt, and sighed without making a sound. He rested his head against the seat and clenched the arm rests until his knuckles turned white. He pretended to look up at the ceiling, but stole a few sideways glances at the guy. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, he wore a dark expensive business suit, and he had thick brown hair that had been styled in an expensive salon. Jim wanted to say something; he didn’t want the guy to think he’d been offended by this gesture. He’d been cruising Jim since they’d boarded the plane in New Jersey. And Jim hadn’t reacted to a single friendly gesture or comment he’d made. At the very least, he should apologize so the guy wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think Jim had rejected him. But the guy looked as if he were so far out of Jim ’s league it wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other.

  When they’d first sat down next to each other, the guy looked Jim over and said Jim reminded him of the musician who was the front man for the popular rock group Maroon 5, Adam Levine, only with lighter hair. Then he started making small talk about how much he hated flying so often. He said he worked in sales for a large pharmaceutical corporation and he didn’t have a choice. He joked about living out of a suitcase and eating too much fast food. He even made small self-deprecating jokes about one night stands and gay bars, casually informing Jim that he preferred men. He kept the conversation light and open so that Jim could jump in at any time and share his own story. But Jim just smiled and sat there staring at the back of the seat in front of him nodding and saying, “Ah well, isn’t that nice.”

  It wasn’t that Jim didn’t want to talk to him. Jim took it as a compliment when the guy said he reminded him of Adam Levine with lighter hair. Other people had said that recently, too. Jim just didn’t know how to talk to good looking men, especially good looking men who seemed to be flirting with him. Although people told Jim he looked good all his life, he’d never believed it completely. He’d recently started getting his hair cut at a better salon, working on his body, and wearing better clothes. The transformation he’d made his last year in college seemed to stun most of the people who knew him. And he hesitated to react to the attention.

  Jim had always wanted to be six feet tall and he’d never grown the extra two inches. He’d always wanted thick dark hair; the only way for him to get that would be to dye his sandy brown hair. He often dreamed about having bulging muscles and washboard abs like guys in magazines. He could eat anything he wanted and always maintain a thirty inch waist. He’d never been embarrassed about the size of his penis. But his nose went slightly crooked at the bridge, his brown eyes were a little too small, and his ears stuck out a little just like Adam Levine’s. And when he sat next to guys like this salesman who looked like he’d always wanted to look…perfect…he tended to lose his voice.

  He was also an almost twenty-one year old virgin, which didn’t help his self-confidence. He’d had plenty of chances to have sex with other men. He’d said no to more guys than he could count. For some reason he couldn’t explain men were always making advances toward him, especially since his recent transformation. He often wondered what they saw that he’d missed. But sex with other men seemed so complicated and dangerous; he needed more time. He worried about sexually transmitted diseases, he wanted to get to know a man before he hopped into bed with him, and everyone else always seemed so much more experienced than he did. A good deal of the time he imagined himself having sex and not knowing what to do once it started. This anxiety alone made him break out in sweat. So he wound up not having sex at all, waiting for the right man to come along that would sweep him off his feet and teach him how to do it right.

  When the plane landed in Dallas, Jim and the guy who had been sitting beside him parted in the airport and Jim knew he’d never see him again. Jim went to baggage claim, gathered his luggage, and loped out of the airport to meet his father out front. He spotted his father’s long black Mercedes sedan behind a silver mini-van filled with screaming kids, but his father wasn’t driving. A middle aged woman honked the horn and climbed out from behind the steering wheel. She waved in Jim’s direction and said, “Your father sent me because he had an important meeting this afternoon. He said he’d see you later at home for the party.”

  Jim sent her a smile and crossed to the back of the car so he could load the trunk. He’d known her since childhood and he’d always called her Miss Rice. She’d never been married, was now in her fifties, and had gone completely gray since the last time he’d seen her. He knew his father’s important meeting was probably a golf date he didn’t want to miss. On Saturday and his father always played golf no matter what happened.

  During the drive, Miss Rice did most of the talking. She lived alone with a cat; Jim figured she didn’t have many people to talk to. She babbled all the way back to the ranch about nothing in particular. She rambled on about the unusual hot weather this early in the season, the sad state of affairs in Washington D.C. with those evil Democrats, and the new fence Jim’s father had installed at the ranch.

  While she spoke, Jim smiled and nodded as he’d been taught to do. He said things like, “Ah well,” and “I see.” He shrugged and said, “There you are,” a few times when she mentioned how much trouble his father had had trying to find a new manager for the ranch because no one wanted to work for a living anymore. He always smiled inwardly whenever people talked about the ranch as if it were a real working ranch. Jim’s father was a senior partne
r in one of the most prestigious law firms in Texas. He came from Connecticut and he’d acquired his Texas accent years ago. He knew as much about roping a steer as Jim did. The quasi ranch had more to do with his father’s fantasy of being a Texas cowboy. The main house looked nothing like a ranch. It resembled a southern plantation with white columns more than it did an actual ranch. There were, indeed, horses and a cowboy to manage the property. His father did wear cowboy gear on weekends when he went riding. But the only thing authentic about that ranch was that it was actually in Texas.

  When they pulled up to the house, the secretary parked near the front entrance and handed Jim the keys to his father’s car. “Here you go,” she said. “I’m going to get my car now and go back to the office to finish up some extra work for your father.”

  Jim smiled; his father loved her dedication. He took the keys and said, “I was wondering about the car.”

  She shrugged. “Because of gas prices being what they are, thanks to these Democrats, I was forced to scale down to a much smaller car this year. Your father didn’t think it would hold your luggage so he told me to take his car. He said to leave the keys on the hall table.”

  Jim smiled again. He didn’t want her to start ranting about gasoline prices or politics: he’d had enough of her gloom and doom for one afternoon. He knew she’d never stop. “Well, thanks so much. I appreciate it, Miss Rice.” Then he climbed out of the car, walked back to the trunk, and didn’t give her a backward glance. He knew he wouldn’t see her again for a long time. Miss Rice made Jim’s mother want to kick things when no one was watching.

  He found an empty house. He figured his mother went to the “beauty parlor,” where she usually spent Saturday afternoons. He went up to his bedroom and set his luggage inside his closet without even opening it. He’d had a seven o’clock flight out of Newark airport, which meant he’d had to leave Princeton at four to be there on time…Jim was never late for anything. He’d been up since three in the morning and he couldn’t stop yawning. So he stripped out of his clothes, put on a pair of old sweats he found on his closet shelf, and fell on top of his childhood bed. They were having a graduation party for him that night and the thought of smiling that much caused a pain in his stomach. He knew there was only one way to relieve that kind of anxiety.

  So he climbed out of bed and checked to make sure he’d locked the door. In his house, no one knocked before they entered. He’d learned this the hard way when he’d been twelve years old and his mother had walked in on him while he’d been jacking off with a raw piece of boneless chicken breast wrapped around his big teenage dick. Though his mother turned and walked out, and they never discussed it, Jim never pulled down his pants in his bedroom again unless he checked the lock. And, his mother stopped serving boneless chicken breast for a long time.

  After he locked the door, he went into his closet and kneeled down in a corner at the back of the closet. He yanked a floorboard a couple of times, lifted it, and pulled out a dark red velvet bag with a drawstring. He glanced down at the bag and smiled. Then he got up, went to his bathroom for a large bath towel, and removed his sweats.

  When he was naked, he went back to the bed and opened the velvet bag. He pulled out a thick flesh colored nine inch dildo, with a large head and thick veins. He ran his fingers up and down the shaft and took a quick breath. He’d had to get rid of all the sex toys he’d used in college before he’d left Princeton because he’d been worried about airport security. The last thing he needed was for some idiot to find a studded cock ring and big black dildo in his suitcase. This dildo in the red velvet bag was one he’d had since he’d been in high school. He’d purchased it in an adult bookstore in Dallas when he turned seventeen and he’d kept it hidden in his closet all these years. He hadn’t had this one up his ass in almost six months, not since his last trip home at Christmastime. He hadn’t had anything but his fingers up his ass in more than a week, the longest he’d gone in years without some kind of self-penetration. The thought of pleasuring himself without something inside his body left him limp.

  He pulled a small container of Vaseline out of the bag and spread it all over the dildo. He rubbed the lube left on his fingers around the lips of his anus and inserted his fingers a few times to open himself up. When he knew everything was well-lubed, he rested flat on his back and spread his legs. He reached down between his legs and pressed the head of the fake penis to his opening. He worked the big head inside with gentle turns and thrusts so it wouldn’t hurt too much at first. The deeper he inserted it the higher his legs went up. His feet arched and his toes curled. The pain in his stomach subsided and a feeling of absolute bliss passed through his body. By the time the fake cock was inside his body as far as he could push it, his dick grew fully erect and rested on his flat abdomen, with the head covering his naval.

  He grabbed the base of his shaft with his right hand and squeezed it hard. He glanced down between his legs and bit his bottom lip. Though the dildo had only been inside him for a few minutes, he had pre-come at the tip of his penis. He squeezed his shaft and milked it a few times. Then he released it, ran his index finger across the tip of his dick, and swiped a drop of pre-come. He licked the pre-come off his finger and swallowed. He repeated this a few times until his dick grew so hard the head looked as if it were ready to explode.

  When he started jacking with his right hand, he slid the dildo in and out with his left. The faster he jacked the harder he fucked with the dildo. He closed his eyes and imagined the handsome traveling salesman he’d met on the plane that morning. He fantasized about being locked in the airplane bathroom and going down on his knees. He pulled the salesman’s zipper down and yanked out a huge exaggerated fantasy erection. It would have made cartoon satires about porn look tame. In the fantasy, Jim knew there wasn’t much time because the plane would land soon, so he sucked fast and kept an even tempo. He jacked his own dick while he sucked the salesman off. When the pilot told the passengers to return to their seats and put on their seatbelts, the salesman climaxed and blasted his load down Jim’s throat. Jim imagined swallowing the salesman without missing a drop. While he did this, he imagined himself coming on the bathroom floor between the salesman’s expensive black shoes.

  Jim usually fantasized about something while he jacked off. The more he thought about the salesman’s exaggerated dick the closer he came to his own climax that afternoon in his childhood bedroom. At one point, when he knew he was near the edge, he stopped jacking his dick and grabbed the dildo with his other hand. He’d managed to nail this down to a perfect science by then. He would keep his legs open; he would push and pull the dildo with both hands and climax without ever touching his penis. It took a while for him to reach this point, but never regretted the effort in the end. Whenever he climaxed this way, without touching himself, the orgasm he experienced came from deep down inside his body in a place hard to describe. It wasn’t exactly his prostate, even though most people would have argued with him. This place held his secret pleasure and only he knew how to reach it. These climaxes were often so intense he experienced small multiple orgasms after the first one and wound up shooting several smaller loads.

  There was one problem. If he had continued fantasizing about the salesman on the plane it wouldn’t have worked. The salesman brought him close to the edge. But Jim always thought about one person right before he came: a guy he’d grown up with named Cain Mayfield. They’d gone to kindergarten together and had remained best friends all the way through high school. Cain Mayfield, an only child like Jim, grew up on a similar ranch about five miles down the road from Jim’s. Except for casual meetings by accident during holidays and spring breaks, they’d grown apart after graduation. Cain had gone to Stanford and Jim to Princeton. Cain had always been more aggressive and outgoing. He’d dated girls in high school and he’d been involved in every social event, while Jim had remained at home watching TV or reading books most of the time.

  Jim thought about Cain Mayfield that afternoon in hi
s bedroom. When he knew he was close, he started to remember all the times he’d taken gym class with Cain in high school. He imagined Cain standing next to him in the locker room in nothing but a sweaty jock strap and white sweat socks. Though there were other young men in the locker room, he only saw Cain’s handsome face and sweaty hot body. Cain had been his hero. He’d been the star quarterback; he’d been the captain of the baseball team: the school jock. There wasn’t a sport he didn’t excel at from shooting hoops to running track.

  With one hard push, Jim forced the huge dildo to the bottom of his ass and tossed his head back. He closed his eyes, imagined his old friend removing the jock strap in the locker room, and said; “Fuck me, Cain,” over and over. He whispered this until his toes curled all the way back and he blasted a huge load all over his chest without touching his dick. For the next minute or two, he remained this way, repeating Cain’s name in his head. While smaller, less intense orgasms passed through him, he imagined what it would be like to bury his face between Cain’s legs and just inhale his scent one time. He’d been pretending all this for so long he slid through each sensation with a smile. Sometimes he frowned because he knew it would never happen in real life.

  A few minutes later, Jim pulled the dildo out of his ass, gathered everything from the bed, and went back to the bathroom. After he cleaned up and put the dildo and Vaseline back into the red velvet bag, he pulled the drawstring and glanced into the bathroom mirror. He stared at his image for a moment, wondering if Cain would think he looked like Adam Levine the rock star with his new haircut and clothes. He also wondered how he would react when he saw Cain that night at the graduation party his mother and father were giving him. He suspected Cain would be there, but he wasn’t certain. Cain’s mother and father were good friends with his mother and father.