3. No Such Thing

The next day Kent started to awaken, but even before he decided to open his eyes, he felt something on his left calf, a human touch; Jamie. Kent started to smile. We did it, we slept together. And there you are, touching me, just like you said.

Kent let the joy of that sink in; we slept together. Didn't thrash around or nothin'.

He opened his eyes; it was still dark out. He was lying on his left side, away from Jamie; didn't mean to turn his back on him, but still, even in sleep, they were touching.

He turned to look at his lover, lying on his belly, facing away, the comforter all the way up to his neck, only his right calf exposed for touching him. Kent had kicked the covers to the foot of the bed, but that was okay because Jamie was warm enough.

Kent turned over onto his right side and lay there, looking at him and smiling. He still couldn't get over actually sleeping with his boyfriend.

In the tiny bit of light he could make out Jamie's bright blond hair.

The clock said 5:26 a.m., so Kent gently got out of bed, went to the half-bath and silently shut the door behind him, so that the sound of taking a leak didn't disturb the man he married last night. Jamie didn't stir.

Kent splashed some cold water on his face, then picked at a little bit of dried stickyjuice on his shoulder before rubbing it off with water. He toweled off, then looked at himself in the mirror.

You got laid last night, dude. Prettiest boy in the world, tightest little behind. Does exactly what he's told.

Ain't nothin' ever gonna be the same.

He exited via the other door into the family room and the two big recliners they sat in almost every night. He padded through the kitchen, got a glass of ice water, then headed into the living/dining room, where they sat on the floor together and lit candles last night. His head filled up with a thousand instant memories; what Jamie said, how he looked, his tone of voice. And helping Bad Cop with his boots.

Kent didn't feel guilty. Law enforcement officers learn to do a lot of unsavory things, which was why Good Cop accepted the existence of Bad Cop, who was "only ten percent" most of the time, except for the worst takedowns—and now fucking.

A dining chair gave Kent an idea. He picked it up and carried it back to the bedroom the way he came, so as not to cause more noise opening doors. He placed the chair by the mirrors next to the bed and sat, just watching his lover sleep.

He wanted to pull all those covers down so he could see Jamie's body. But Job #1 was "safe and warm." So he just pictured him, naked and sleeping.

Jamie didn't snore. He looked so peaceful. It made Kent feel peaceful just looking at him.

Kent pictured more scenes from yesterday; Jamie at the arena, talking basketball, cheering good plays, announcing he was leaving; then the awkward way Kent finally got the truth out and Jamie's instinctive reaction. Jamie at the restaurant, what they said, how his eyes looked; that little walk to the front door, then inside, playing a game about darkness and how to bring light.

Down on all fours, licking his tattoo; helping him with his boots. And that little sound he made, Nnnh nnnh nnnh.

Kent's dick got hard again, and he stroked it fondly a time or two, then told it not to be such a whore.

Slowly the room lightened, and he calculated when he would need to leave for his mother's; he'd promised to meet her at church and then go to the farm for his birthday dinner. He was looking forward to it, she was a great cook. He could almost taste the fried chicken already. She'd retired from competition at the county fair after someone complained that she always won, so now she was a food judge. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cream gravy, Southern green beans and homemade bread with real butter, then a devil's food cake, his favorite meal.

He would have to go back to his cabin first to change and pick up his presents for her. Years ago his father had taught him to give a birthday present to his mother, not to expect one, because she was the one he had to thank for his life. Of course she always had presents for him too, but the rule was, he had to give her presents first. So from the homemade card when he was in the first grade, to the diamond necklace when he signed with the Braves, he was always serious about Mom's presents.

To get to church by 9 he'd have to leave here by 7:45, which meant he'd better get busy. He hated to break away but there was no telling when Jamie would wake up.

Kent found his jock strap from last night, wrapped a towel around his waist and went out to his truck for sweats, which he always carried with him. It was nippy out, so he took his gym bag to the garage, picked out what he wanted and took off on his morning run.

It was a tired little subdivision, but the one next to it was newer and shinier. He enjoyed the little sights; he'd never seen them this way, in the early morning. He'd never spent the night with Jamie before, but this was now their new life.

My own little fucktoy, good as gold.

* * *

The dawn had started when Jamie woke up, but there was no Kent beside him. He frowned; he really wanted his lover to be there when he woke up.

Jamie scooted over to Kent's side of the bed; the sheets were chilly, but they smelled of his sweet sweat. He pulled the comforter over him and luxuriated that way a few minutes, soaking in sensuality, immersing himself.

Finally nature called as it always does, and reluctantly he got up and did his business.

He covered himself with his bathrobe, Egyptian terry, ankle length and bright red. Walking out toward the kitchen and the coffeemaker, he discovered a new sensation; even the next morning, he knew he'd been fucked. He felt himself moving completely relaxed, no cares in the world, no tension. He felt great. There really is such a thing as being tight-assed—and I know the cure.

He flipped on the coffeemaker, pleased to be naked in his luxurious robe. He didn't have to hide from Kent anymore. God, what a burden that was.

Then he started to wonder about breakfast. Did Kent eat breakfast on a Sunday morning? Jamie didn't. He needed a plan, though, in case Kent was hungry. What church did he go to again? He mentioned Jesus last night, but had he ever said a denomination?

It was so hard to remember even simple things after the Incident.

He checked the food supply. He had most of a carton of eggs, nine to be exact, and plenty of milk. The potatoes were few and wrinkly. He had part of a bell pepper and plenty of onions, but he needed potatoes for a frittata. He didn't remember how to make one without potatoes; a Hoosier would expect spuds.

No bacon, but he did have some sliced ham, which he'd failed to eat because the deli man got to talking and sliced it thick, when Jamie'd asked for shaved. When you've got your heart set on shaved, thick slices are a turnoff. No one in New York eats a deli sandwich with fat wads of meat, it isn't civilized.

He checked the bread; half a loaf of white, plus four English muffins. The muffins gave him an idea, but what was that breakfast dish called, with runny eggs over muffins and Canadian bacon? Plus a thick lemony sauce, that he couldn't remember the name of to save his life.

He sat at the kitchen table and fired up his Macintosh. He Googled "recipes" and got a list of 20 million. He tried "recipe ingredients" and got nearly as many, but found a site that said "search by ingredients," so he went there.

A few clicks later he saw the words Eggs Benedict. What was the sauce called, and did he have any lemons? Hollandaise and yes, a lemon, plus his mother left some bottled juice, which isn't nearly as good. How important were the lemons? He checked the computer again; he couldn't print anything on his mom's ancient dot-matrix. Just one tablespoon of juice needed; he wanted this first breakfast to be outstanding, and surely he could get a tablespoon of juice out of one lemon, unless it was all dried out.

He studied the hollandaise recipe; it was the most challenging thing, because even a brain-damaged comaboy can poach an egg. The recipe assumed that a blender came with a hole in the lid through which to slowly add butter. The recipe writer didn't know his mother, who was still getting by on 1970s appliances.

He decided it wasn't a major impediment, that the key was adding the butter slowly. He searched through cabinets until he found his mom's heavy glass blender, a Waring. She hadn't used it this century, so he washed it out, set it to dry and poured himself a cup of coffee, which he doctored little-boy style.

He looked out the kitchen window and thought about the sex last night. The pickup was still there. He smiled dreamily.

Kent was so tender with him at first, so patient; Jamie's heart broke at the thought. Then they got raw and raging; "Sex is wet, Jamie, sex is dirty."

Jamie remembered his questions from last night, pinned down, forced to give in; he'd never imagined being put in that situation, nor ever dreamed Kent could be like that. But if a screaming bottom was what he wanted, then do it and don't fucking look back.

As shocked as he was, this decision felt like a kind of grace somehow. See, you do know how to put someone else first.

Oh, how good his ass felt. He glided around the kitchen a couple of turns, just to feel his new way to move.

He savored his coffee, staring out the window in quiet joy.

Then Kent loped around the corner and through the garage door from his run, to find Jamie berobed in the kitchen like Dr. Pozzi at home. "Ooh, baby, just where I want you." They held each other and kissed, pat pat pat.

"Finally, the man I slept with last night." Kent reached through the robe to hold him by the butt; Jamie loved Kent's touch on his skin.

"How'd you sleep?" Kent asked.

"Like a baby. You?"

"Great. Although… we gotta figure somethin' out about those blankets. If we could have one that only fit on your side of the bed, that would be ideal. Even kickin' 'em to the bottom makes my feet hot."

"Well, whatever's right, let's do that. Do you want coffee? Or tea?"

"Never do coffee, too much caffeine. But tea would be good; make me some tea while I hit the shower?"

"Sure."

Jamie drew water in a pan; Kent hung on him with a hand around his neck. "Still got my chain on, I see."

"Well, yes, I thought you gave it to me."

"I did, baby. For now it's your wedding ring, till I can get ya a real one. Then again, gotta chain my puppy up so he don't run off." Jamie frowned, but Kent grinned at him. "I'm gonna love comin' home to you. Would you be naked for me sometimes when I get off work?"

"Happily."

"How do you feel today?"

Jamie looked at him, a tall, sweaty, sexy, dark-haired athlete. "Daddy, I've never felt better in my life."

Kent took him in his arms again, held Jamie's head down to his shoulder. "I know what you need, baby. I got what you need."

Jamie leaned into him; it felt so good to be in a man's arms, with a hardening dick between his thighs.

Kent rubbed Jamie's butt. "You don't hurt or nothin'?"

"No," Jamie shook his head. "Take your time, I'll never hurt."

"I'm glad. I don't ever want to hurt you, baby, not ever. You tell me if I do."

"I'm a well-fucked boy." Jamie brightened mischievously. "You have got to experience it, and I'm just the guy who can show you."

"Oh baby, I'm just glad it was good."

"I can tell as I move, I got filled up last night. That's incredible; the defining part of your body inside me. That changes both of us."

It was so intimate; some Gay men assign sex the same meaning as a game of croquet, but Jamie was shocked that another person now knew the deepest inner parts of him. One act swept away all possibility of secrets, of game-playing or put-ons, of any denial of the truth. He gave his ass to Kent; for that matter, he surrendered it to his demand, a secret no one else knew.

Kent rubbed Jamie's butt. "So you'll let me do it again?"

"Anytime. You let me get used to it. You made it easy."

"It starts with turning your mind off, baby, and that comes from position. Move your body in a certain way and emotion will follow. If someone hangs his head, he's bound to start feelin' down, but if he snaps his fingers he's bound to feel a little better. If you're dancin' you can't possibly feel bad."

"That's true. Man, that has lots of implications."

"Athletes are taught to use our bodies to create desirable emotions. I know with you, whether you're standing or sitting or lyin' down, you never stop thinking. I've never seen anybody who thinks all the time, but my guy does. So I gotta help you get past that. An unfamiliar position clears away all the baggage.

"But I gotta learn too, Jamie. If you keep teachin' me, I'll get there, I promise."

Jamie looked at him, and Kent saw something he'd never seen even from baseball fanatics with all their wild idolatry. No one had ever looked at him with the devotion in this guy's face.

"I've never asked for it before, but please, fuck me again. I want us always to be this close."

"Mm, baby, you're my guy."

"I sure am."

"Oh, sweetheart, you make it rock hard. Know what I learned? Just realized while I was out runnin'. Man-to-man sex ain't somethin' to be ashamed of, it's somethin' to be proud of; it's what brings us together. It's how the two of us become one. So man, I am all in favor of Gayness now, sign me right up. What you gave me last night, I ain't never felt nothin' like it."

With his right hand around Jamie's neck and his left hand on Jamie's ass, Kent made him remember. "It's okay, baby. It's real okay to need dick. 'Cause let me tell ya, I need what you got too." Jamie clung tighter. "You made me queer with one fuck, boy. Are you surprised?"

"Maybe," Jamie said. "Yes."

"I ain't exactly; I am and I ain't." Then, "Boy, did I just sound like a redneck."

Jamie laughed; it was the first time Kent had ever actually listened to how he sounded. Jamie hated double negatives—but he completely approved of how Kent talked.

The water was now at full boil, so Jamie fussed for a minute. "What kind of tea?"

"Just regular. Why?"

"I have three or four different kinds. Do you care to try something different?"

"Well, it is kind of a special occasion, ain't it. Wanna pick out one?"

"Okay." Jamie nuked cold water in the teapot, dumped it out and poured boiling water over the tea, watching approvingly as it began to steep.

Kent rubbed Jamie's butt. "Would you be naked for me when I get home from work tomorrow?"

"Of course. Thanks for asking."

"I know what you need, Jamie."

"How do you know?"

"It took me a long time to figure you out. You ain't easy, Jamie. You're very complicated. But I finally realized some things, and that told me how to do what I already wanted to do.

"One, pay attention when you call me stud and Commander. Jamie don't ever choose his words lightly. Jamie always thinks before he speaks. Jamie means every word he says. Thank you." Kent kissed him. "Oh, baby boy, how I want to be your stud. You have no idea." Kent leaned his head back onto his shoulders, stared at the ceiling and said, "Every time you called me that I'd get hard. Drivin' in my unit talkin' murder and you called me Commander; oh man, did I pop a boner."

"You were thinking of sex even then?"

"There's never a time around you I'm not thinkin' sex. How do I get this smart guy who's so fuckin' aggressive to relax and be my baby? I finally figured out, all I gotta do is pay attention and I'll know what you need; but it was difficult with you. Or I was really dumb, I ain't sure which."

Jamie grinned, "You're not dumb. All-Academic Big Ten." Jamie noticed he wasn't speaking in full sentences this morning. Was it his dreamy state, or not remembering to find that switch to turn his mind back on again?

"Got me a boy here, age of 26; but look at them rosy cheeks. Part of him's no more than 16, part of him's 6 even; but don't forget the guy that's all grown up, 'cause he intimidates people."

Jamie frowned; he'd often been told he intimidated others, which made no sense since he was only 5'10".

"Prettiest boy the magazines ever seen. But he ain't never once got what he needs, because he's been pawed on since he was 12—or 6. Haven't you."

Jamie caught his breath. He couldn't say yes, although the answer was certainly yes. "Not my parents; other people. Starting at 14."

Kent nuzzled him. "I'm glad you waited for me, baby. Sorry it took so long for me to get here, but I was comin' as fast as I could."

"It was hard to wait; but it means so much more when you love me."

"Then you met Rick. He was what you call a hero kinda; one of them things that gets you hard. Masculine, intelligent, sensitive; somethin', somethin', heroic."

Jamie smiled, so grateful. "He was a wonderful man."

Kent sighed and held him. "But he didn't give you what you need. I mean, he did and he didn't." Jamie looked up at him. "You gave him what he needed; he needed dick, and you gave it to him."

"Well, yes; all Gay guys need dick."

"So you gave it to him. But he wouldn't never give you none. You were always the one who had to give it to him. It's why you say you're a top, even though I fucked you last night doggy-style—exactly the way you need to be fucked, with your ass in the air reachin' up high for my dick. Boy, did you go for it. After all those years of bein' deprived, puppy needs to stick your ass up for Kessler cock and admit how much you need it. Admit it, Jamie, show me. I hear that's called coming out."

Jamie looked at him in surprise.

"So okay, Rick was a great guy, then he got sick. But he don't make a lick of sense to me." Kent grabbed Jamie's jaw again. "Why on earth, even with grave illness, would a guy not give the pretty boy who loves him, who changed everything for him, what he needs?" Kent smacked Jamie's ass. "Why, Jamie? It don't make a bit of sense."

"He was sick, that's all."

"He coulda stuck a sextoy up your butt and made you happy. But no, he wouldn't even do that. He didn't care about what you need. He wouldn't take any responsibility for you. I'll tell you this, Jamie Foster: if somethin' ever happens to me that I can't get it up no more—God fuckin' forbid—you 'n' me are headed straight for the Triple XXX Toys 'R Us store. I will always take care of you. Jesus Frickin' Christ, that's my job!"

Kent turned away. Jamie wanted to apologize for Rick, and thank his lover, but all he could do was gaze in amazement. Taking care of me is your job?

Kent said sternly, "I know what you need, Jamie. You need dick and plenty of it. And why the hell wouldn't you, after 26 years? Anybody'd need dick, it ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. It's what you're built for; you were made to get fucked. That ass of yours belongs on TV. Your whole body is built for sex, Jamie. If you let me, I'm gonna fuck you senseless.

"I'm halfway tempted to say that fucking is your whole purpose in life, because that's what you look like; but you've got a whole lot more purpose than that. You got a brain and all, a big heart and big ambition and a giant amount of courage, there ain't no limit to what you can do. Man, if I had half your brains I'd be a friggin' genius.

"But I know what you need, boy; you need dick. And I swear to God I got what you need." Kent groped himself, and the sight of it through his sweatpants nearly sent Jamie to the floor.

Kent took hold of Jamie's arms, pulled them behind his back and locked them. "You submit to me, boy. That's how it is now. You obey me. You respect your Commander. You do what Daddy says. I didn't force that word out of you, did I?"

Jamie was wide-eyed. "No."

"Called me Daddy of your own free will. Did I force you to call me sir?"

Jamie shook his head quickly, "No."

"You obey me. And I promise you, the other 23 hours a day I'm devoting to your happiness, your well-being, your needs."

"Wow."

"You gonna do it? Did you marry me last night or just pretend?"

"Hell yes I'm going to do it!" Kent immediately released his arms, and Jamie's voice went softer. "I just don't fully know how."

"Good boy." Kent kissed him. "I'll train you, puppy. I'm your personal trainer."

Jamie stepped away, mentally dazed, so he went physical and served him up a good strong cup of Constant Comment.

He warmed up his own coffee and they sat together. "I'm almost a little afraid of you. And the fear itself is slightly scary." Kent looked stricken for a moment. "Or maybe it isn't you; maybe it's my sexuality that I have to find out about. And then come out with."

"Well, I don't wanna analyze last night. Just let it be what it was. You weren't afraid of me last night, so don't start now."

Jamie was quiet for a time, then he said, "Okay."

"My system works, Jamie."

"Your system?"

"Coachin', Jamie; all coaches got a system. You trust me, I know you do; if I screw it up I'll correct it. Otherwise, I know my system works."

Jamie sipped his coffee. "Okay. That's good."

"Got me a neglected boy here. I promise, baby, I'll keep you safe and warm—not just physically, but mentally."

"That's quite an offer. I accept."

"Not only that, I'm gonna make it up to you, baby, all them lonesome nights, all that holdin' out you did when you were a kid; all those years of takin' care of a sick man who didn't do a thing for you.

"I'll tell ya, boy, I'm gonna make it all up to you. I'm gonna use my 10,000 fantasies to give you so much cock your ass'll be drippin'. You ain't never gonna want for cock again."

Jamie slowly grinned from ear to ear.

"Otherwise don't worry, baby, I'll give you a rest every now and then, let you build up your appetite again. But one thing I know for sure, you need it bad—which means we both got it good, 'cause my cock don't quit."

Jamie considered; "This could be an awful lot of fun."

"Sexual ecstasy, you said last night. 'Oughta be one of our goals.' Man, I coulda jumped for joy. 'Cause with all the scarcity in this world, there ain't no such thing as too much fuckin'."

Jamie tried to clear his head; a week ago he was a virgin, a widower whose one and only butt plug—a starter the size of his finger—was 300 miles away. Now he had a guy who was going to fuck him senseless? His mouth gaped open; he could hardly believe this. "What about when you need dick?"

"Very good question," Kent said approvingly. He sipped his tea. "Mm, I like this stuff."

"Good, I'll keep a supply of it."

"One, it ain't happened yet. Two, I don't want it to happen the first month we're together; let me train you this first month. Then we can expand from there. Three, I ain't sure it ever will happen that I actually want it, as opposed to just tryin' it, and lettin' you strut your stuff. If you think you're a top, boy, you ain't seen nothin'. I compete."

"Love isn't a competition, though."

"Well, that's spoken like a Gay guy. Life's a lot more about competition than you think, little point guard."

Jamie's eyes got big. "You can't beat me in hoops."

Kent's eyes narrowed. "Maybe not, but I can beat you in everything else—and I will."

"Sex isn't competition. Love certainly isn't."

"No, they're cooperation and competition both, we're two men. It's me and you learnin' to be together. So here's what I say to your reasonable challenge. If and when I ever need dick, I know exactly where to go. I know exactly who I want pumpin' my ass. Jamie's the only one allowed. If I ever need a man, I'm gonna need the biggest one there is, and that's you. Yeah, there might be a few bigger dicks out there, there's some taller guys, but there ain't no other Jamies. I ain't gonna settle for less than the best. If I ever get fucked, it's gonna be by the guy who took down 20 Quincy County Stranglers—the one I look up to so damn much.

"That's the confusing part; I want you to look up to me, but here I am lookin' up to you. All I can think of is it's kinda like bein' on the same team with a bunch of guys with awesome talent." Jamie settled back; Kent had never told him a baseball story before. "Back when I was with 'em, the Braves were loaded, Jamie, that's why we won all those titles. The best pitching staff in baseball. I wasn't exactly a wallflower in the clubhouse, but I just kept my mouth shut around those pitchers. I remember one night in early May, my first full season in the Bigs, I was in center field just studyin' Tim's every move, the command he had, the savvy, the way he could pitch out of any jam, no matter who he was facin'. It was one of them low-scorin' pitchers' duels that casual fans just hate 'cause there's no offense; we scattered five hits and left everyone on base, while Tim was workin' on a two-hitter, only one ball to the outfield all night. And I wasn't doin' nothin' with the bat neither, 0-for-3 when I came up in the bottom of the 8th, one runner on because of a passed ball, two outs. The stands were just listless, the game was so boring. Well, I happened to get a pitch and managed a soft line drive; I was sure it was gonna die, but it cleared the right-field fence by maybe a foot. That thing was so soft, a senior citizen caught it with her bare hands!" They laughed. "But we had two runs on the board and half an inning to nail down a W.

"Skip had relievers in the bullpen but he let Tim start the top of the ninth; one wrong move and he'da been yanked. Know what happened? Three up three down, with a called third strike to end the game. It was the most masterful pitching performance I'd ever seen. Then in the clubhouse, Tim comes up and thanks me for winnin' the game. I just gaped at him. Man, I was a rookie, who was he to be knowin' my name? Two-time winner of the Cy Young!

"But it was the start of a wonderful friendship, a mutual admiration society, I guess; now here I am in another one, lookin' up to you lookin' up to me. If this is what Gay life's like, sign me the fuck up."

Jamie settled his chin on his hand. "Oh, Kent. Everything you say and do seduces me."

"Attaboy," Kent chortled. "I love you. I can't stand to be with no one else. I know I been sayin' this an awful lot, man: I got what you need. But oh God, do I need your little blond ass just as bad. I am so vulnerable to extortion I should report to internal affairs."

Jamie laughed. "You might be willing to pay?"

"Oh Lord, hide the checkbook. Close the fuckin' account, I'll go bankrupt inside a week."

Jamie got up and poured Kent more tea. "Newsflash: you get it for free."

"Oh, man, Uncle Bob will be so damn happy." Kent laughed. "He's my banker. A total asshole, but he's got my money."

"How are we going to do this?"

"I don't know, man; play it by ear, one inning at a time, and don't analyze. Your ass is pure pornography, Jamie—as if you don't know. As if you didn't build a whole website around it, even though you never really show it."

Actually Jamie had built a very big business around it; but he'd never had a lover who was the least bit interested. "If I'm naked all the time, won't that bore you?"

"You don't gotta be naked all the time; that ain't what I want. What I want is you lettin' me know that you're mine sometimes; that you're open and available, ready for sex, that you're wantin' this dick. Two minutes before I get home, you were thinkin' about me; that's what I want. I'm egotistical, Jamie; I want you thinkin' about me."

"I've never even sucked your dick yet. I don't know what it even looks like."

"No, but you will. Oh God, don't get me started. I'd have to quit my job from missin' so much work."

Jamie sat wondering how they got to this point in less than 24 hours.

"I got it all planned out, man, Blowjob 101. And the blond blond robin goes bob-bob-bobbin' along."

Jamie scowled, "Massively egotistical."

"Yup. Sorry, but I am. I know what I got, Jamie, lots of manmeat for you to drool over. You're gonna be my little gobble-boy, down on the floor."

"Position is so important to you."

"It's your training position, man. I'm serious, you have got to learn to turn your mind off and your body on. And you gotta get into the habit of it; it's why athletes practice. Repetition's how most people learn. Havin' a position to associate with the concept will help you remember: don't think, just feel. You're too smart otherwise, you're too intellectual; what you need is trainin.' Which you were smart enough to ask me for, man oh man. Don't worry, I'll coach ya. I'm your personal trainer."

"Last night was great. I'm thrilled, Kent."

In a low, even voice Kent said, "You tolerated it just fine when I pinned your arms down and fucked you. That was the moment of truth."

"You were taking over."

"I sure was. And you let me."

"Well, my job is taking care of you too."

"Yes, it is; thanks for sayin' so. There's gonna be times, Jamie, when your first priority is takin' care of your coach. Doin' what your coach says. Learnin' to take orders from your coach, 'cause I'm the one who knows what's best for you. I'm the one who can help you develop your sexual athleticism. We're gonna learn it together."

"Okay, Coach. Bring it on."

"The more you obey me the more cock you get." Jamie got wide-eyed and speechless. "That's the key to my whole system, boy. You're gonna obey me."

Jamie just stared.

Kent went on, "And somethin' else: I'm in charge of your workouts from now on. I direct your weight training."

"Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, you been doin' a lot right; I mean, look at you, with them big arms and those washboard abs. But your pecs ain't where they could be, your thighs can take some more weight, and I can get you to the next level."

Jamie touched his chest. "Okay." A little insecurity started up in his mind.

"The main thing is that you keep goin', that you push yourself some more. It's great, you got back to where you were. But don't stop now, Jamie, keep goin'. I can help you. Don't get complacent, like all you gotta do is maintain. That kind of thinkin' will lead to a decline before you know it. You got a new job now, to be my cute little muscleboy."

"I'm glad you like my body." Jamie glanced down at his pecs. Maybe they weren't as big as they used to be. He knew losing all that weight and gaining it back had rearranged some of it. But he was really proud of his arms.

"You be in charge of all our mental stuff, okay? And I'll be in charge of our physical. Division of labor, right?"

"Well… except food; you don't eat right."

"Listen: whatever you put in front of me I'll eat. No questions asked."

"Really?" Kent nodded. "Excellent, Kent, thank you. Do you eat breakfast on Sundays?"

"Heck yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"Some people don't if they're going to church."

"Well, that's really stupid; why starve yourself just 'cause it's Sunday?"

Jamie frowned; there was a very good reason he didn't eat breakfast on Sunday. "What church do you go to?"

"It's called Kessler Chapel. United Methodist. Where Friends Are Always Welcome."

"A family chapel?"

"Kinda, but it's for everybody in town. Started in 1832 by Josiah Kessler, my multi-great grandfather."

"How wonderful."

"Just a little country place, but we like it."

"How many people go?"

"Sanctuary holds 200, but a lot of people have moved away, and other people are too lazy to get up on Sunday mornings. We get about half-full most days. More on the big holidays, standin' room only."

"Um, I should start breakfast then." Jamie woke up his Macintosh to the recipe page. "Eggs benedict?"

"Dunno, but if it's got eggs in it I'll like it. I can grab a shower while you're gettin' the grub ready."

"Um, I want us to start cooking together sometimes. It makes it really fun, and besides, you need the skills. I won't always be around."

Kent shrugged, "Okay."

"Cooking isn't women's work, Kent Kessler, it's men's work. I know how to make it fun."

"You be my cooking coach, then."

"Attaboy," Jamie grinned.

"This is like negotiating, ain't it."

"I guess so. We're doing pretty well."

"What's the name of your church again?"

"The Episcopal Church. Methodism is an offshoot of it."

"No, it ain't."

Jamie blinked. "Yes, it is. The Wesley brothers were Anglican priests till the day they died."

"No, they weren't! John Wesley was a circuit-ridin' preacher who went anywhere there was a crowd."

Jamie frowned, sighed and said, "Trust me, I can prove it. But not now, there's breakfast to get on."

Kent pulled his T-shirt off, smelled it and muttered, "Man, I stink."

Jamie reached out his hand; Kent gave him the shirt. Jamie sniffed it, closed his eyes and said, "No, you don't."

"You're weird." Kent went to the bedroom, got out of his clothes and headed for the big bathroom. He got the water running, then thought of something.

As Jamie started a skillet of water to boiling, a used jock strap hit him in the butt. He looked up but Kent had disappeared. Jamie washed his hands and left it there in the middle of the kitchen floor.

He's Gay. Oh, thank you, God, he's Gay.

And don't analyze. You think too much.

The more you obey, the more cock you get. That's the key to his system.

If he fucks it up, he'll correct it.

Good Lord, he's got a system? Jamie looked up at the ceiling and asked, "What hath thou wrought?"

Then something made him giggle uncontrollably.

***

Kent emerged from the bathroom wearing his jeans and boots just as Jamie finished the hollandaise. "If you'll toast the muffins, I'll poach the eggs and everything will be hot at the same time."

"Sure. Um, I need a knife."

"Use the fork there. Stick the tines in all the way around, that's how to split an English muffin. Take advantage of the uneven texture so they'll be crispy."

"Really." Kent tried it. "A knife would be easier."

"But it wouldn't be correct." Jamie carefully slipped his eggs into the boiling water, then realized Kent's tentative forking was too slow. Jamie took the muffin and fork and said, "Like this, slugger." Then he gave them back to Kent so he wouldn't feel shown up.

Kent got the job done, put the muffin halves in the toaster and pushed the button down. Jamie found some paprika over the stove. It looked 20 years old.

Soon they sat down to eat. Kent took his first bite; his eyes flashed, "This sauce is great!" He shoveled in another bite as fast as he could. "Curlicue orange slices. Ice water, hot tea, cold juice. Fancy plates and glasses, ham and eggs and toasted muffins cut with a fork. Man, you're a great cook."

"Thank you. I need my recipe cards from home, though."

"Don't go, Jamie. Stay here with me."

"Even if I were to stay here I need my recipes. I feel lost without them, Kent. I don't remember how to make anything."

"What were your specialties before?"

"Well, this is homely, but I love my spaghetti sauce. I worked for years to perfect it. Otherwise I just try to cook whatever's in season. It's cold outside, beef stew, meat loaf, roasts of various kinds; stir-frys, casseroles, things that go in the oven, which you wouldn't make when it's hot outside. In springtime, asparagus and new potatoes; this sauce goes wonderfully with asparagus, but I also have an Italian recipe. In summer, corn and tomatoes and everything from the garden. Do you like squashes?"

"Ain't had 'em that much."

"And cold soups in the summertime. I make a wonderful cucumber soup, but if I had to make it here I wouldn't even know where to begin. I've forgotten everything, Kent."

"Well, once it's warm out I can help ya there. My Dad taught me how to grill stuff."

"Wonderful. So you do cook."

"Well, not really. But I ain't bad with steak or burgers, and I really like grilling fish I catch. Ask him for forgiveness like the Indians did, then eat him. It's what he's for."

"I wish it were summer already."

"I'm just glad you're a meat-eater."

"You eat too much of it. But that's okay, we just need to add vegetables. And fruits, those are really good."

"I like fruit, I just never think of it."

Jamie noticed again that Kent ate twice as fast as he did; Jamie was always the slowpoke in any crowd, a compulsive chewer. Kent said, "Got any more of this stuff?"

"Enough for two more," Jamie said, getting up. "But four eggs are your limit, and only on Sundays."

Kent grabbed his arm, "No, sit down, finish your plate. I can wait, baby."

"The water has to boil. I'll come right back to finish eating." So Kent let him go. Jamie soon sat down again.

"I really don't want you to go, Jamie. And I don't want you callin' Columbus home no more. This here is home, baby. You know it is. This here's where you're from. Ohio ain't home."

"I'll come back."

"I don't want you leavin' in the first place."

"I have to go back to my job. Casey needs me. I have to call him this afternoon to let him know I'm staying here another week."

Kent grew morose temporarily, then growled, "I oughta fuck you so hard you don't never wanna go back."

Something made Jamie hide a smile. "Work is a big part of my identity, though."

"It's a big part of mine too. But still, Jamie, I just got you. Don't leave me now in the first week."

"The first week or the first month, when would be the right time?"

Kent glowered, "If you love me, don't you wanna stay with me?"

"Of course. But I have to go back home anyway. To Ohio."

"To get your things. I'll take you, we can rent a truck if we need to. But I want you with me!" Kent beat his own chest four times, want you with me!

"You push so hard, King Kong."

Kent growled, "I did last night. And you fuckin' loved it."

"Why did you hold my arms down again?"

Kent stared right at him; "To take your virginity. Emphasis on take." Jamie said nothing, so Kent went on. "It wasn't just somethin' you were givin' me, nice as that was; it was somethin' I took. That's how a Kessler man does it, and I ain't never gonna apologize for being a Kessler man."

"This is where I get a little scared, though."

"You weren't last night; don't be today. You didn't fight me last night; don't fight me today."

"It's not right to lord it over the one you love."

"Didn't I just tell you not to wait on me when you tried to jump up? My Grandma used to do that—she thought 'feeding the men' was her job, but Dad and me just hated it. We had to beg her not to jump up just because someone got seconds on iced tea. 'Course, when she died, that was the number one thing everyone remembered about her, not how kind and considerate she was to everybody. I swear, man, waitin' on people's not somethin' a person oughta be remembered for. She was entitled to eat too."

Jamie swallowed the last of his muffin and said, "Now I'm getting up to make you another helping. I have eaten."

He cracked two more eggs, threw another piece of ham into the small skillet, stirred the hollandaise, found a piece of wax paper to cover it and put it in the microwave without turning it on. When the meat started to sizzle, he turned it, then slipped the eggs into the boiling water.

Kent said, "When I held you down, I was coming out to you."

Jamie stared at the eggs. "You're this way?"

"Yeah. The dominant type."

"Which goes with your neck-grabbing."

"I'm a cop, Jamie. I expect to physically dominate in every situation."

"Every situation?" Jamie faced him. "I'm glad you came out. But I'm not submissive."

"You were last night. So stop second-guessing yourself. Stop second-guessing me."

"I like how you are, though."

"I'm glad, baby. That gets me hard."

"But I worry."

"That's just your head-trip."

"More than that; it also comes from beliefs about human nature. Give one person too much power and he'll invariably screw it up."

"Well, maybe so, but I don't wanna know. Not yet anyway. You ain't even tried my system yet."

To fill in the communication gap, Jamie dropped a muffin in the toaster, then came, put an arm around Kent's shoulder and kissed his head. "I don't understand this yet, but I'm willing to work at it. I won't drive you away."

"Great. That's what I want. Good boy."

Jamie went back to monitor his poached eggs. He zapped the sauce for 15 seconds, stirred it, then zapped another 15.

Kent said, "Just 'cause I'm dominant, I still gotta be accountable to you."

Jamie thought about that. "Great. Thank you. Now I'd like to state a rule, please. No abuse, physically or verbally."

Kent raised his right hand, "No abuse, period."

"I do want to be there for you when you don't feel so much like a Kessler man."

"Jamie, I'm gonna rely on you so much it ain't even funny."

Jamie came and knelt by him. "I don't mean to accuse you. I just didn't figure on kink for our wedding night."

"You ain't accusin', we gotta work this stuff out. You think it's a kink?"

"Well, yes. And I like kinks, sort of, as long as there are limits. So tell me more sometime about this dominant streak. I'm only saying I don't like SM. I'm not masochistic, Kent."

"I ain't sadistic, baby. Didn't you see that last night?"

"Maybe. But I have to ask."

"Never! Never ever. Don't even raise that shit."

Jamie stroked Kent's hair. "When you feel like it, tell me about who you are, what you feel. I do want to know." Then he moved to the stove, eyed his eggs and came back for Kent's plate. The muffins sprang up. Jamie built another serving, topped it with hollandaise, cut another orange slice and twisted it, and presented seconds.

"Thank you." Jamie poured himself some more coffee, a third cup, one more than usual. He came and sat.

"All my life people have expected me to be physically dominant. It fits me, it's who I am. Bigger than most people, with athletic ability and self-confidence Dad taught me. Usin' my body is what I do best, man. Policing is natural for me, now that I ain't playin' no more."

"I can see that."

"But none of it ever translated to sex till I met you. Women said I was some kind of control freak, but that ain't it. I'm always open to other people's ideas, I don't get into arguments to prove I'm right all the time. It's a physical thing, baby, it ain't mental. Then I met you, and I just knew you were made for me."

Jamie pondered. "Athletes can be so conservative." Are you a Republican or a Democrat?

"I love that you play hoops, man. I respect the hell out of that. Who was it you played for again?"

"The University of Chicago. Division III."

Kent stared, "I thought you said high school. I didn't know you played in college."

"Only as a senior. I went to high school and college at the same time."

"You got some PT, though?" Kent used the abbreviation for Playing Time.

"Very little at first. I was a sub for the first eight games, then I got the starting job."

"Man, that's fuckin' great! How'd you guys do?"

"Conference championship and the Sweet Sixteen." Jamie smiled, "When I was 16."

"Wow."

Jamie covered his chin for a second, thinking back on it. "All the Division I schools in town were down and out that year. The sportwsriters panicked, football was over, baseball hadn't even started spring training, so our team kind of became the media darlings for a couple of months, which never, ever happens to U of C."

"Schoolboy Goes Dancing."

"Just the Little Dance, but it was sure fun." That's what led him to Calvin Klein.

"What was your greatest honor?"

"Second team Academic All-American."

"National?" Jamie nodded and Kent just beamed. "You only started 20 games and you got second team? Oh boy."

(Despite the name, Academic All-American is mostly a sports honor; among hundreds of qualifying players in the nation with a B average or better, Jamie was named one of the 10 best players on his level, where athletic scholarships aren't allowed.) "Thank you. It's nice to be asked by a professional athlete."

"If I visit the Chicago hoops website, what would the archives say about you?"

"I haven't checked. I probably still have the free throw records, but maybe not."

"Records? You got records?"

"Single season is all. I didn't get a chance at anything career-related."

"What records, though?"

"Made and Percentage. I was nowhere close in Attempts."

"School records?"

Jamie's jaw hardened a little. "Conference records."

"Oohwah!" Kent shouted. "What percentage? How many makes?"

"Makes, 164; percentage, .976."

"Ninety-eight percent of all free throws? How many times did you fuckin' miss?"

"Four. Once I get my feet set, I can pretty much hit free throws blindfolded. We tried that once; I hit 20 straight. Coach yanked me out of the free throw contest after that, I wasn't allowed to compete anymore."

"Oh, man. Any other honors?"

"Conference Rookie of the Year; second team All-UAA; the Joseph Stampf Award for sportsmanship; and somehow I tied for team MVP, although Antoine Jabara deserved it all alone. He was our scorer, and man, was he good. He was Conference Player of the Year."

"MVP!" Kent exulted. "My baby's an MVP? Augh! You had to be a sensation!"

Jamie hugged his own shoulders, dropped his head and said, "It wasn't that so much. Guys just voted for the little kid."

Kent laughed delightedly, "I sure would have! Oh, sweetheart, that's fantastic."

"If it gives me a little credibility in your eyes, I'd be happy. It doesn't compare with a Major League professional, though. I was just a high school boy playing over his head."

"Literally. Oh, man, that had to be sweet."

"It was, till we lost to NYU for the Elite Eight, the team we beat for the conference championship." Jamie glowered, like an athlete always does at the memory of a loss.

"Conference foes are the worst in the post-season. They know you too well."

"They took out Antoine, and there was nothing we could do," Jamie mourned. He scored 23 points in that game, his career high, but they still got beat by 13.

"What was your other highlight you're not telling me about? You never brag, I gotta pry stuff outta you."

Jamie eyed him; man, was Kent emotionally smart. "I led the nation in A-to-T ratio." That's assists-to-turnovers, the key statistic for point guard efficiency; get the ball to a scorer, don't throw it away. "All three divisions."

"Lordy," Kent exulted. "Little 5'10" floor general, weren'tcha. Directin' traffic, tellin' guys where to go, callin' plays, crisp passes, no mistakes. And now he's my fuckboy!"

Jamie grinned and scratched his head and finally shrugged. He didn't know how to obey another man, but he'd get trained. And the sports analogy was suddenly apt, because he did have to win his PT by doing what Coach Mullen said, exactly as he was told.

He did finally learn to stop asking why all the time; and it did pay off, but sports aren't life.

Kent finished up his eggs, wiped his mouth, then gazed at his lover. "Did your coach ever accuse you of thinkin' too much?"

"Many times. More at first, though. In the second Case Western game, Coach gave me a swat and said, 'Keep thinking!'"

"Man, I'm so proud of you. I had no idea of any of this. It doesn't come up on the first few pages of your Google search."

"It was ten years ago. Did you play hoops in high school?"

"Yeah, I was a 3-guy." That's a small forward, the top scorer and defender, the most athletic man on a basketball team. "We won a couple of regionals, the semistate my senior year. Made it to Indy but bombed out."

"I will always regret not getting to play Hoosier Hysteria."

"It was great. I remember loving the fans in football and basketball. We didn't have anything like that in high school baseball. I liked all the sports I played, but hoops were fun because of the crowds."

"You got crowds a few years later, stud."

"Yup. That was good too." Kent shrugged. "Bygone days."

"Why did you quit? You could have rehabbed."

The question cut Kent like a knife; he struggled, then remembered who he was dealing with. Jamie was a slash-and-burn reporter, and his query opened a vein.

Kent felt like lying as he had so often in the past; but he didn't want to lie to the one he loved and trusted. He licked his lips, surprised and not by the challenge of it. "The game's corrupt, Jamie. Don't tell anyone."

"Steroids?"

"That too. But 'roids are the least of it. It ain't the players who're the bad influence."

"It's a multi-billion-dollar business."

"It sure is. And if the truth ever gets out it's headed for a gigantic fall."

"Worse than the Black Sox?" The Chicago White Sox threw the 1919 World Series to gamblers.

"The Black Sox got pin money. The richer a sport becomes, the more possibilities for corruption."

"So why did you quit?"

"The truth? Don't tell nobody, keep it to yourself."

"Deal."

"I've only told three other people, my Mom and Dad, and one cousin. Well, plus Judge Schneider for the deposition, which as my lawyer he's never publicly disclosed. I'm Former Player #6 in the Mitchell Report, though. The official story is I got hurt."

"Okay. Because you got hurt."

"You're damn right I rehabbed. Quickly."

"I won't reveal your secrets, Kent. I'll protect them with my life."

"I know; you already have." A look passed between them; during the serial murder case, Jamie was careful to censor his reporting to advance the investigation, while pushing to print everything he could. Kent respected him for it and was grateful. "When I saw what really goes on, I had to ask myself whether I could ever face the voters for sheriff, once I knew all the laws bein' broke."

"Oh my. You plan to run someday?"

"Montgomery County."

"You gave up millions?"

"I already made millions. How could I face voters and say I'm here to uphold the law?"

Jamie stared in sheer admiration. "Masculine, intelligent, sensitive; powerful, muscular, heroic."

Kent reached for him, scooted his chair out, sat him on his lap. "Most people would say I was stupid, I shoulda taken the money and run. But not Jamie; he thinks I'm a fuckin' hero."

"You really believe in the law."

"It's all we got, really. If we could just enforce the laws we got, it'd be a lot better society."

Jamie nestled his head on Kent's shoulder and felt him rubbing his head, stroking his hair. Somehow, fourteen issues fused into one embrace; physical dominance, a principled heart, the family chapel, what it means to be a Kessler man.

"I will never, ever, ever discriminate, not on the basis of race, or gender, or sexual preference, none of it, you hear me?"

Pat-pat-pat on his butt.

"Kent, I love you like crazy. I'll do what you want, just show me how."

"I need you, little boy. It ain't always easy bein' me. I had to give up the game I love for a bunch of businessmen and leeches, and corporate interests and crooks."

"I trust you in everything, Kent. Train me all you want."

"Thank you, baby. If I'm ever wrong you just say so."

"I'll do everything I can to please you."

"Just don't wait on me hand and foot. I don't want that. You ain't my Grandma, you got to eat too."

"I don't want to be your wife. I want to be your husband."

Kent nodded, pat pat pat.

"Do you ever get scared?" Jamie asked.

"Fuck yes, half the time I'm terrified. Yet I ain't; I'm a well-trained officer, and now I'm with Jamie. What could possibly go wrong bein' with Jamie?"

They looked at each other, then Jamie closed his eyes and prayed, "Dear God, help us to be worthy of each other."

"Yes."

"Help us to befriend each other, and to speak the truth as best friends do."

"I need your help, buddy."

"Lord, help me to open up to this man with my real feelings, my own fantasies."

Kent sighed, "Jesus, I can't thank you enough."

Prayers reminded Jamie that Kent was headed to church. "When do you have to leave?"

"Uh, 7:45 at the latest." Kent spied the jock strap in the middle of the room. "I ain't never gone without underwear to church before."

Jamie pounded Kent's chest. "Don't be showing what you've got to any Methodists! I get first dibs."

"I really should get to the cabin and change. I hate to break this up, though."

"Will your mother be there?"

"Yeah, in our family pew. Joey and Cheron too, if he can stop lickin' her pussy long enough to let her get dressed for once."

"Who's Joey?"

"My cousin, best friend next to you. We went to school together, played on the same teams, including the one that went to the Final Four. Kinda a love-hate thing, I guess. He's a total fuck-up most of the time, but he's always been my best bud."

"I should let you go, I guess. I love you, Kent."

"I love you too, Jamie. Thank you for accepting me, letting me come out. I ain't a control freak, I'm just dominant. There's a difference, and you get the other 23 hours. So what I'm dominant, I'm competitive. I don't know any other way to be."

"I'm not scared now. And I'll feel free to speak up."

"Do, baby. I'll never hurt you, Jamie, I promise."

"I know you won't. I've just never met a Kessler man before."

"It can be hard to accept training; I know that."

"I'm not the submissive type."

"You ain't, not at all. You're the aggressive type, you're a top. But so am I." Kent got more honest. "You're a better man than I am, Jamie. I can't quit competing, but you do. Soon as you fell in love with me you quit. But I don't know how to do that yet."

"If you ever need a top, let me be the one."

Kent closed his eyes. "Man, you're the only one I'll ever want."

"And don't even walk out of here without that jock on. I don't want anyone looking at you. I know what Methodist girls are like, they're not to be trusted."

Kent laughed. "Go get it."

Jamie scooted off and retrieved it. Then a few steps away, he quickly sniffed it, and audibly gasped. "That smell!"

"What?"

Jamie was both discomfited and empowered. "Do you have any idea what you smell like?"

"Some stinky jock? No. What's with you?"

Jamie threw it in Kent's face. "You smell like baby powder and testosterone."

"Baby powder? Is that what you think? I ain't had that stuff on me since I was in diapers."

"Somehow you shed that scent through your pores."

"You're kiddin' me." Kent sniffed it too, but all he detected was sweat.

"I wouldn't kid about this. You are the sweetest-smelling man I've ever met. Don't tell me no one's ever said so."

"Honey, I ain't gonna contradict you, but jeez. What are you talkin' about?"

Jamie considered. "I suppose it's possible that you and I perceive your scent differently. To you it must be normal. To me it's not at all."

"You like it, though?"

"Oh, man, gimme that jock strap. Let me wear it on my face."

Kent underhanded it back to him and grinned like a Cheshire cat. "If you insist, baby."

Jamie sniffed it again. "It isn't cotton candy; it isn't Coca-Cola, but it's certainly sweet. I swear to God it's baby powder and sweat."

"If it turns you on, imagine what suckin' my dick's gonna be like."

"Don't get me started. I'll be worse than Joey."

"Man, I'd never get to church that way. People'd start calling me Cheron."

Jamie threw the jock back at him and walked off to take a shower.


As he was about to leave, Kent said, "I prob'ly won't be home till suppertime. But I'll give you somethin' to think about till then."

"What's that?"

"You're gonna be my cocksucker t'night, boy. And believe me there's trainin' involved, a right way and a wrong way. You're gonna do it right."

Jamie swallowed. "Yes sir, Coach."

Kent looked at him and drained the last of his tea; then ostentatiously groped his jeans. "I got what you need, boy. And ten thousand fantasies in the bank."

With that, he stomped off to the pickup on his way to Kessler Chapel, Where Friends Are Always Welcome.++

© 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.