Being Fitz

by J. D. Walker

  Being Fitz

  By J.D. Walker

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 J.D. Walker

  ISBN 9781646560318

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Being Fitz

  By J.D. Walker

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 1

  “Shit, that’s the way,” Jerry Mendoza said between grunts as he fucked me from behind. Usually, that was a good thing, but not so much right now. He didn’t seem to care that my neck was at an unnatural angle where he had it mashed against the door with one hand, or that my own grunts were from pain, not pleasure. Hell, my dick was at half-mast and fading fast.

  It hadn’t always been like this. When I’d first laid eyes on Jerry, it had been at the end of a long, miserable shift, and I’d needed a distraction in the worst way. The same old crowd had been at my semi-regular hangout, and Jerry had stuck out because he was new, interesting, and had a great smile. He’d been flirting with a dude who was my total opposite in size and age, and I had assumed I didn’t have a chance in hell. Then Jerry had looked my way and wandered over to lean next to me at the bar, beer in hand. Five minutes later, I was giving him head in the john, my knees on the dirty, sticky floor while he held my head tight and wore out my mouth.

  After that first, hot encounter, I couldn’t get enough, and the sex had seemed to mean something—well, to me, anyway. It had been frequent, unbelievably good, and I’d thought we had a connection. And then, things changed, or rather, showed themselves for what they really were: I provided the hole, he filled it. That was all. Jerry would come around to my dingy apartment with a sob story about his crap day and then screw me into a semi-coma to make up for it, not caring whether I got off or not. And I let him.

  “Fitz,” he’d say in a whiny voice. “I need a little something to make me feel better. Won’t you help a guy out?” And he’d flash me a sly grin. “You know you want to.” After a few times of this, I finally caught on. I wanted to say “no”, but he’d give me a smile that turned me inside out—the same one he’d dazzled me with at the bar where we’d met—and I always gave in, like the desperate fool I was.

  Why? Because when he was here, with me, I had contact with another human being, no matter how unsatisfying. It meant there was a guy who wanted to have sex with me and look past the fact that I was overweight and just plain ordinary, if tall. Who am I kidding? I probably could have been as cute as a button and slender, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I was a willing hole—a total pushover. End of story.

  And…Well, Jerry was hot—unbelievably so. I’d thought I was ridiculously lucky to have caught his eye in the first place and had wondered what a man such as he, as tall as I was at six-foot-three, coal-black hair and brown eyes, was doing looking my way. A few fucks later, I understood it had never really been about me.

  I’d never had a long-term relationship with anyone, and sex before Jerry had been frantic groping in dark places. Now, the desperation had moved to my doorstep. Lately, I wondered if it was worth my self-respect. Sound pathetic? Maybe, but I was past caring. Except, damn it, my neck was killing me.

  “Jerry, you done? I’m dying here,” I muttered, sweat pouring down my face and his hand like a clamp pinching my hip. From the vaguely pig-like sounds I heard, he was close to busting a nut. Thank God.

  “Yeah, in just—” thrust “—a sec.” Then he hiccupped like a drunk and moaned, his jizz warming the condom in my ass. My cat Rapunzel chose that moment to rub against my leg. I pushed her away awkwardly with one foot and hoped she’d get the message. Frankly, I got more pleasure from Rapunzel’s attention than Jerry’s so-called lovemaking.

  I was panting now, not because of need, but because Jerry was damn heavy and too warm. I reached behind me and pulled out his shrinking dick with the condom still attached, and pushed him off me.

  Pulling up my pants, I zipped the fly and turned to lean against the door, sweaty puke-brown colored hair falling into my boring gray eyes as I watched Jerry toss the used condom to the floor with a splat and tuck his wet cock back into his pants. Classy, as always. I had news for him: he was getting a little chubby around the middle, and those tight jeans he was wearing gave him a muffin top. I chose not to comment.

  “You always give it up so good, baby,” he purred, or at least, that was what he probably thought he was doing. Rapunzel did it better, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see that devious feline eyeing the kitty food on the kitchen counter. I just stared at Jerry and wondered what I really saw in him. How had I let desperation lead me to such a sad place? I should know better. And yet…

  “It was just what I needed,” he added, and he leaned in to kiss me on the mouth. God, how had I not noticed his breath was rank? It smelled like rancid ass, and not mine, either. I stepped aside so he almost collided with the door before I opened it and pushed him outside.

  “You got what you wanted, Jerry. I have to be up early for work tomorrow.” And I should tell him to stop using me for a booty call, but…

  He smirked. “I know you’ll dream of me tonight when you—”

  “Heya, Fitz,” a voice cut in before I could make a snide comment, and I saw it was my almost-new neighbor, Henry Teegle, who had stopped next to Jerry in the middle of the hallway. He’d just moved in last week and if my heart hadn’t been completely stomped on by life and users like Jerry, I might have found it in me to have a crush.

  Henry was friendly, maybe five-foot-seven, and almost pretty with the freckles on his nose, pale skin, light-brown hair, and bright hazel eyes. I had no idea what he did for a living. He seemed to be near my age, which was thirty-five. He had laugh-lines around his mouth and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Slender and fit, he was a remarkable sight.

  “Hi, Henry,” I replied. When he looked at Jerry, the instant attraction I could sense between them made my skin crawl, goddammit. I sighed internally and made introductions. “Henry, this is Jerry.”

  Naturally, Jerry poured on the charm. “My goodness, they make men fine in this city.” And a brighter blush I had never seen on another human being.

  Really? Henry liked that overused, cheesy pickup line? If Jerry wanted to tap that ass, it appeared Henry was more than willing to bend over and spread ‘em. How disappointing, but then, who was I to judge? Jerry liked to fuck, and opportunity had a back door wide open across the hall.

  “Later,” I said and w
ent back inside, leaving them with eyes only for each other.

  * * * *

  It usually didn’t take long before the crazies boarded my bus. I’d been driving twelve-hour shifts for over six years, and my current route began at five in the morning. I was typically worn to bits by the time I clocked out. The route itself wasn’t so bad, minus some of the other road users out there—it was the people, mostly. The regulars and I got along. Mrs. Manning, a seventy-something widow who greeted people at Walmart, was always so sweet, giving me cookies whenever she saw me. Then there was Mr. Bertrand, the financial planner who had gotten me into investing years ago and always had a tip handy. My little nest egg grew daily.

  There were others like them, but then there were the passengers who played music without headphones, or got into loud arguments. Those were the kinds of folks who drove me nuts. But I had empathy for the homeless and the mental and physical challenges that many faced—it hurt my heart to see anyone suffering. Reminded me too much of my dad who’d died seven years before.

  It still hurt to think about him and his struggles to just…be. Dad had been so strong, up until the time he started to forget things. We were all each other had had, and I’d refused to put him in a home. I owed him so much for his love and unfailing support—it was the least I could do. I’d watched over him as he’d deteriorated, using up all our combined savings after quitting my former job as an associate professor at a university to take care of him twenty-four-seven. It had been a stressful and depressing time, for both of us.

  When it was time for my lunch break after a particularly difficult morning two days after Jerry’s ass-fix, I was beyond relieved. “You look like you could take somebody’s head off,” Randy Holton, a fellow driver and good friend said as he sat next to me in the breakroom at the bus depot.

  Randy and I had hit it off immediately when we’d met on my first day. He had taken me under his wing, trained me on the routes, and given me some tips for surviving the brutal world of customer service and people management as a bus driver. The only reason I’d survived the first month was because of him. A freshman class of know-it-alls and malcontents had nothing on this.

  “Had to throw four people off the bus this morning,” I said. “One guy tried to get on the bus without paying and got into a pissing contest about it; this one chick was arguing with a guy who might have been her boyfriend, then fists started flying. The other one…” I sighed and drank some Gatorade. “If the afternoon is worse than that, you might hear about an incident on the news.”

  Randy laughed, teeth white against brown skin. “You always get the nuts. It only happens to me every other month or so. Maybe it’s the power of attraction.”

  “I guess they like me,” I replied, shaking my head. I idly wondered if there was a sign hovering over me that said, “Sucker: come one, come all.” The universe and I needed to talk. I focused on finishing the BLT and chips that were to tide me over till dinner time.

  “What you need,” Randy said, “is a steady boyfriend and regular sex. Then, even if things are shitty at work, you won’t even think about it. That’s how it is with me and Charlene.” His sappy smile said it all. Randy and Charlene had been married for twelve years and had three kids. I’d seen all the pictures. Repeatedly.

  “Not all of us are as lucky as you, man,” I replied, my mind, unfortunately, taking that moment to wonder who Jerry was screwing right now. He tended to come over to my place a couple times a month, and I had no delusions about what he did the rest of the time—at least I didn’t, anymore. I really needed to figure out how to say “no” to the bastard.

  “Hey, man, the right guy is out there for you. And no, Jerry is not it.” We’d had this discussion before. “Be patient and don’t sell yourself short. Any man would be lucky to have you, and I mean that sincerely.”

  I smiled. “You always know how to make me feel better. Why couldn’t you be interested in men?”

  “Them’s the breaks, buddy.” He laughed, clapped me on the back before tossing the remains of his lunch in the trash, and heading back to work. I followed shortly afterward.

  * * * *

  The rest of my shift was uneventful, thankfully, and since I didn’t have to work the weekend, I was free to sleep in, clean my apartment, and veg in front of the TV for the next two days. I was even whistling to myself as I took the stairs instead of the elevator up to the fifth floor—my main form of exercise, aside from the short walk I took sometimes in the park on my days off, just to get outside.

  I exited the stairwell on my floor, panting lightly, and sauntered down the hall as I caught my breath, turning the corner to the right. As I fumbled in my pockets for the keys, I happened to look up and froze. Jerry and Henry were pressed together against Henry’s door, oblivious to the world. Their mouths were locked and tongues visible as they made out in porn star fashion. I stared, speechless. Henry’s leg was around Jerry’s hip—yeah, he was that limber—and they humped a little, uncaring that anybody could see them.

  Did they have to look so good together, some part of me begrudgingly noted, Henry’s light to Jerry’s dark, short to tall, fitting like puzzle pieces? Jerry had never kissed me like that, even in the beginning. Our chemistry hadn’t been instant combustion. More like: he’s available, why not? I should have caught a clue then, but I’d seen what I wanted to. Jerry had never held my face so tenderly in his hands. I briefly wondered what I could offer to make him act that way with me but realized if it hadn’t happened by now, it never would, which was painful to admit. I was sure somewhere in my psyche, the words “it’s about damn time” were doing gymnastics with glee.

  I made myself move and unlocked the door, going inside quickly to block out the sight that would have me howling at the unfairness of it all, if I had any tears left. I hadn’t cried since my dad died. Rapunzel meowed loudly from the kitchen and I hurried over to feed Her Highness. “You wouldn’t desert me for another owner, would you, sweetie?” I asked as I rubbed her white and gray coat with one hand. She ignored me in favor of kitty kibble. Story of my life.

  After taking a quick shower and heating up leftover turkey casserole, I settled on the couch—Rapunzel on my lap—and watched whatever was on tap from Netflix. Maybe I should just give up on men. My experiences, limited as they had been, were decidedly poor and I was too old to still be dealing with users and flakes and wannabees.

  I needed to find my backbone and rescue my pride, dammit.

  Chapter 2

  A month later, I took a walk in the park, the wind a little brisk on this fall day as I huddled in my jacket. My thoughts were messy, at best. It had become a frequent occurrence to see Jerry and Henry together over the past few weeks, either cuddling outside Henry’s door or hand in hand on their way out to wherever. Jerry hadn’t called or texted me once to come over for a quickie. I should be happy or at least relieved, right?

  The only time he had contacted me was the day before, to say he wouldn’t be stopping by anymore. He’d actually told me that he was going through his contacts and deleting all his regular fucks because he had found “the one”. I’d almost dropped the phone when he’d informed me of this. Jerry had been looking for his one-and-only? Why couldn’t that have been me? Why wasn’t I enough, ever? It had thrown me off-kilter to realize that Jerry, the forever man-whore, was settling down, and for better or worse, I was alone again.

  So, I walked, and I pondered, and I lost track of time on a Sunday afternoon as the sun rolled across the sky and leaves fell on the ground. As I wandered by a thick copse of trees, I heard the sound of someone running. Probably one of those fitness types I saw every so often out here. And then, I was almost knocked over.

  Catching my balance, I watched the retreating figure, taking in dark blue jeans with patches of white, likely from bleach, a gray hooded pullover, and a slender build. The runner glanced back at me briefly before facing forward. I noted a sallow face, stringy blond hair, dark eyes—maybe gray or brown—and red spots on his ski
n. He looked young—in his twenties, maybe.

  I briefly wondered why he would be exercising in jeans, of all things, shaking my head when my eye caught something shiny to the left of where I stood. Thinking someone had probably dropped a piece of jewelry or whatever, I walked over and realized it was a watch, attached to the hand of a man lying flat on his back.

  He was dead.

  When my heart started beating again, I looked around. No one else was in sight. I looked at the man again. His forehead and the grass underneath were bloody from the gash in his skull which exposed his brain, and his auburn hair was matted. His light-colored, lifeless eyes were wide-open—and his mouth was frozen in a grimace of surprise, pain and fear. I knew I should do something, but I was in a state of shock.

  Eventually, I heard a dog barking in the distance and snapped to, taking my phone out and dialing 911. It was after five when I made the call.

  I was still there, after the sun went down, the area swarming with police and medics and onlookers. Aside from confirming I was the one who had found the body and getting some information from me, I was ignored as they secured the scene, or whatever. I needed to pay more attention to TV crime dramas, I guess.

  Turning to leave, figuring I’d outlived my usefulness, an African American man, taller than even me, came over to where I stood. He was built like a wall and his clothing fit almost too well for my peace of mind, likely custom made for his massive frame.

  “Mr. Lysander Fitzgibbon?” he said, taking out a tablet and tapping the screen to make it bright. His voice…wow.

  “Call me Fitz, please.” I hated my first name. What had my mother been thinking?

  “Fitz, then,” he replied. The light emanating from the tablet revealed honey-brown eyes in a hard, handsome face, hair shaved close to the skull and a moustache and beard practically sculpted on his skin. Luscious lips, skin the color of mahogany. I wanted to rut against this very hot officer of the law, and all my resolutions could go to hell. I tried to control my thoughts. Now was really not the time.