One on One (Cayuga Cougars Book 5)

by V. L. Locey

  The next hour passed with us sharing fruit, kisses, and more about ourselves. He filled me in on his childhood in Pittsburgh, the eldest of three kids in an extremely liberal, agnostic, civic-minded household. When he spoke of his father and mother’s service to the community, and then of his grandfather who had participated in the Selma to Montgomery march of ’65, I could hear his pride. He came from a long line of people fighting for change. How I wished I’d spent my life battling the powers that be instead of kowtowing to society’s hateful dictates. I’d wasted so much time pretending. The cranberry wine tasted even more sour now that it was mixing with the bitter taste of self-recrimination.

  “Did I say something to offend?” Town asked, lifting the nearly empty wine bottle and giving it a swirl before dumping the rest into our glasses.

  “Nope, not at all. Remind me to never eat cantaloupe then wash it down with wine,” I covered, hoping to get myself out of that funk I fell into whenever I looked back on my cowardice. I made a face to emphasize how sour the combination was. Town chuckled softly and nestled into the puffy swing cushion, his side next to mine. We rocked, our toes dug into the soft green grass, our legs pushing back gently in perfect unison. “This is the most wonderful night that I’ve had in many a year.”

  “It’s pretty special, I agree.” I got bold and draped my arm around his shoulder. I’d not cuddled on a swing with a person for ages. The last time had been with Betty several years ago at her mother’s house. “My fingers are so sticky,” he murmured.

  Mine were too. “Who has the energy to get up and walk to the house to wash up?”

  “Not me. I’d be content to sit here and rock with you for the rest of my life.” He stiffened under my arm, his shoulders tightening. “I didn’t mean…don’t take that the wrong way.”

  “Wrong way?”

  He sat up and regarded me, the moon painting the yard and his dark skin milky white. “Like I was pushing for something more.”

  “Ah, well that’s sorely disappointing, because I was hoping for lots more. More dinners, more talking, more swinging, and lots more necking.” I reached up to touch his cheek. The rasp of his whiskers made me tremble with want. How long had I dreamed of feeling a man’s new beard under my fingertips? Too damn long.

  “That’s nice to know. Most men are so distant and commitment shy. Not that I’m asking for any kind of commitment! Shit, I shouldn’t drink so much wine.”

  I kissed him, and it was sweet and hot and binding. Yes, binding, at least for me. “I’m not sure how most gay men do this whole dating thing. Maybe it’s all catting around for them, getting that itch scratched, but for me, it’s never been about sex first. For me, it’s about feeling that connection to another person then the sex. Could be I’m just an old-fashioned fool.”

  “Could be that you’re demi,” he sighed, his lips tempting me to taste them again. I had no clue what he was talking about, beyond a vague memory of hearing the term demi mentioned when my daughter had been talking about some show she’d watched where some character was rumored to be demisexual. I led his lips to mine, sticky fingers on his rough cheek, and we licked into each other’s mouths, the creak of the swing and the song of the crickets providing background music.

  Cock harder than a locust post, I pulled from his mouth, winded and wanting, and looked at the moon. “I think I should go home before I besmirch your reputation.”

  Town laughed long and hard. I liked the sound. A lot. “God yes, I’m such a paragon of virtue.”

  “You have a good reputation in this town. I don’t want people to talk poorly about you.” I stood, back cracking, knees popping, and bit back an old man groan.

  “It’s nice that you care, but I think I’m entitled to a dinner date on occasion.”

  I took his hand in mine, and yes, his fingers were terribly tacky, and led him to the front walk. There by the front door and the soft yellow bulb, I lifted his hand to my lips and tasted his knuckles.

  “Can I call you soon to make another date?” I asked as our eyes locked.

  “Please yes, I mean if you want.” He was so wary. I wondered why that was so. Surely any man with eyes and a brain would be thrilled to have Townsend express an interest in dating more. “Sorry, I’m just…phew, okay, yes, please. Call me.”

  “I will. Probably as soon as I wake up.” I dropped his hand.

  “You want me to drive you home?”

  “Nope, I’m good. I enjoy walking, it keeps me fit, clears my mind, and works out the passion in my blood.”

  “I’m looking at a cold shower,” he admitted.

  I had to snicker at us.

  “I had a wonderful time. Lock up tight now.” I began making my exit, walking backwards, praying I’d not trip over a garden gnome and make a damn fool of myself. He lifted a hand, I did the same, and then I ambled off, casting looks back now and again, until he went inside and the yellow light turned off. I whistled all the way home.

  I was having a bizarre dream when my phone woke me. It starred me and Townsend. We were standing at the open door of an airplane, parachutes strapped to our backs, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and flip flops with pink rubber flowers attached to the toe strap.

  “If you want me you’ll have to jump,” Town had shouted to be heard over the roar of the propellers. He leaped out of the plane. I clung to the doorway, terrified of making the jump even when I saw his chute open down below. I smiled at the rainbow parachute snapping open, yet my flip flops were firmly glued to the floor of the plane.

  “Can’t we just be kissing buddies for a spell?” I shouted at the clouds.

  Rolling to find my phone on the end table, I felt oddly relieved to not have seen how that dream ended. Knowing my future behavior as well as I did, probably I flew on home, ditched the chute, and lived the life of a hermit.

  “This important?” I asked, the question more a growl than a pleasant greeting.

  “Sorry to call so early, Lan, but I thought you’d want to know that Hartford clinched last night, so we’re heading to Connecticut tomorrow for game one on the following day,” Louis Mall, our interim defensive coach yelled into my ear. Louis tended to yell a lot. He was deaf in one ear and couldn’t hear out of the other, to quote my ex-mother-in-law.

  “Right, got it. I’ll be there by nine.” I squinted at the clock on the stand. It was five-thirty. Sweet Mary Magdalene. “What the hell are you doing up so early, Lou?”

  “My gout is flaring up, miserable shit.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” I rolled to my back as he filled me in on his foot and his gout and how it sucked to not have beer in his life anymore.

  “You might better have asked me to give up my old lady. Would have been less painful.”

  I snorted at him. We all knew he adored his wife. “Make sure you take the pills and stay off it. See you at work where you best be sitting with that foot up.”

  “Yes, dear,” he replied and ended the call. I laid there for several minutes, listening to the sound of nature waking up. A robin calling out, the slow drone of a sleepy bee buzzing at the window screen, the rustle of that first breeze over the lake tickling the sheers on the window. With my eyes closed, my mind led me on a short walk that ended with memories of Townsend and our dinner. Was it too early to call him? Hauling ass up to Hartford sucked. I’d been hoping to spend another night—or five—getting to know Town, but now we’d be gone for at least five or six days. I loved hockey, but sometimes I sorely hated it. This crazy intense attraction to a person was new and slightly terrifying.

  Was it always like this for two men? I had little knowledge of man-on-man romance. Sure, I knew the tab A went into slot B aspect, but the wooing part? Not a clue. Did a person woo a man differently than a woman? I’d only wooed one woman. Wooed and then wed. I lifted my phone from my chest, stared at the blurry screen, slapped the nightstand until I found my reading glasses, and did a fast internet search on what demi meant. I’d not heard about them adding a D to LGBTQIA, but I was sor
ely out of the gay community’s loop. Maybe they had. Could a man be gay and demi? Was that a thing? Gemi? Day? Lord above it all made my head spin. I’d just gotten myself out as gay, now I was maybe more than that? A combination perhaps? Talk about being lost…

  I laid there reading about what being demisexual meant. Some of what the article said didn’t fit what I was going through at all. The website said that demi people felt no sexual attraction to other people until an emotional connection was formed. I wanted to be with Town big time. The article said that demi people only felt fleeting sexual attraction to strangers. Wrong again. I’d wanted Town the first time I’d seen him, and that want had not disappeared. So just when I thought I had it figured out, I read on to find that when some demi people “crush” on other people, it’s not only confusing, but mammoth because those feelings didn’t happen often. Which fit, because I could not recall ever “crushing” on a movie star as some people do. Then the piece said that demi people are sometimes called “prudes” or a “goody-goody” because they don’t have the normal amount of sex, whatever the normal amount of sex was.

  Huh. Well, I was crushing on Town pretty hard, I could admit that. And I had been called a few of those names in high school and college. I’d assumed that the reason for my distance with girls was due to my religious upbringing and the fact that I was a repressed homosexual. Obviously, a gay man wouldn’t want to be with a different woman every night. Hell, he wouldn’t want to be with a woman at all. I’d dated one girl, Jeannie Newcomb, through high school. She was a member of my father’s church, so we never dared to go beyond holding hands. When I entered college, I met Bettina. It had been a slower sort of affection that I’d felt with Betty. She was lovely, and fun and tender, strong as nails but sweet. She accepted how slowly it had taken me to come around to her, to love her as a woman. We’d dated for close to two years before I’d expressed any kind of willingness for a deeper commitment and a sexual relationship that never really shot off any fireworks.

  I moved from the article to a sports page, my mind even more twisted in confusion than it had been before I’d started. Maybe I could ask someone with more knowledge of such things. Like Dan. He was younger and seemed to be well versed about the gay community. Yes, I’d run it past Dan and see what he had to say. My phone rang again.

  “Hello,” I answered, wondering who would be ringing me at this hour.

  “Hey,” Town replied, and my heart did a somersault. “Did I wake you up? You sound groggy.”

  “Nope, I was laying here thinking about you.” The pillow under my head suddenly felt softer, the sheets smoother, the sun peeking around the blind a little sunnier. Oh Lordy, I had it bad. And after only one date. This was a super crush.

  “That’s nice to hear. I run every morning before work so I’m up early and…well, I know this sounds needy and pitiful as hell, but I wanted to hear that young Sam Elliott voice of yours before I left to run. Are you freaked out? Tell me the truth.”

  “I am not freaked out. I’m tickled fourteen shades of pink to hear that you feel as stupid giddy about me as I feel about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hell yeah. I was lying here wondering if it was too early to ring you.”

  I was also trying to figure out my sexuality but gave up because “Just liking guys who play guitar and kiss good” wasn’t listed in the demisexual post. I am officially outdated and letterless.

  “Phew. Well, I feel better then,” he laughed nervously. “I’m really not sure how to handle this thing between us. You’re…huh. Well, it’s…I feel like you and I are…”

  “I feel the same,” I confessed, his heartfelt and awkward attempts to put into words what we both seemed to be feeling grabbed my heart. “Funny how you can meet someone and know right off it’s either really bad or really good.”

  “Tell me. The last man I dated was really bad. Like, incredibly really bad! Cold and unable to even talk about any emotions, let alone his.” Town sighed. “Who wants to talk about bad exes first thing in the morning? Not me. So, tell me what’s on your agenda while I force down some of this rotten tasting energy drink slop.”

  “Well, looks like we’re on the way to Hartford bright and early tomorrow. Any chance we can grab a bite somewhere tonight before I go?” My dick stirred under the soft, cool sheets. It took all I had not to grab it and start stroking it into a full erection while talking to my very own blues god.

  “Damn, I wish we could. Ben and I are going to Utica for a New York Conference of Mayors budgeting workshop for two days. This is our first, and while it’s exciting, I’m sure it’s going to be excruciatingly tedious as we…”

  I kind of drifted for a second, smiling at his eagerness, because it was just how I felt. There was a fervent burning to see and touch him again. Spend more time with him, laugh and eat with him. Maybe go for a swim in the lake, kiss a little, dry off, kiss some more, eat, kiss again. Listen to him sing and play guitar while I sat on the sofa knitting. I really wanted to learn how to knit. Then I could make people ugly sweaters for Christmas. My ex-mother-in-law would get the first one, and I’d laugh myself sick when she held it up and one sleeve was longer than the other and the head hole wasn’t big enough for a grapefruit.

  “…giving lengthy speeches about their tax bases.”

  “Taxes, yeah, damn boring stuff,” I hurried to say, to hide my wandering mind.

  “Boring but necessary. When will you be home from Connecticut? Maybe we can do something this weekend? Oh! How about a winery tour? We both seem to love Randy Rooster’s line of fruit wine. They’re over in Hector, so only about two and half hours from here. We could make a day of it if you want. Or am I being pushy?”

  “I would sincerely love that. Let me check the schedule, if the league even has it finalized yet, and get back to you to make sure of the date. Town, I just wanted you to know that I’m fully aroused right now just hearing you speak to me.”

  He barked out a laugh. “That’s good to hear.”

  “Hell fire,” I mumbled when what I’d said dawned on me. “No, I mean, well see, I’d been reading this article about demisexual folk. And that got me to thinking about when I was with my wife, and how lackluster our sex life was.” I ran my hand over my cock and shuddered wantonly. “But this erection proves that our love life isn’t lackluster.”

  “Lancaster, honey, we don’t have a love life yet,” he reminded me with light humor.

  “Yes, well I know we don’t but see, when I was with her it took me longer to become aroused. But with you, soon as I hear your voice my body gets all kinds of interested.” Did that sound as stupid to him as it did to me now? “I’m not sure I should have told you that. My mouth runs like a goose when I’m talking with you.”

  “Nope, you definitely should have. I’m standing here in my running shorts with a raging hard-on wondering how the hell I’m supposed to run past old lady McKinney’s place with this big old boner.”

  We both laughed at ourselves. “I wish I could see you tonight, but a wine tour sounds marvelous,” I said, kicking off the covers to admire my hard dick. I’d have to do something about that in the shower. A soft beeping came over the phone.

  “Shit, that’s my alarm. I better get moving if I want to get a run in. So, I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Yes, please do. Make sure you go the other way around. Don’t want to shock your dear old neighbor out of her wits.”

  That amused him to no end. “She’d probably swat me with her shopping bag. Okay, I’m off. This was nice, talking to you so early. Safe journeys. Talk to you soon.”

  “Same. And yes, we’ll talk real soon.”

  I hung up, tossed the phone to the bed, and hurried into the shower. With a soapy hand and a very active imagination, I yanked off in record time. Thrusting into my hand so hard I nearly threw out my back as I pictured Town plowing me like a new alfalfa field. As I toweled off, I snickered at my epiphany earlier. I liked to think I was an intelligent man, hell I graduate
d college with a 3.8 GPA, so I wasn’t a complete mule’s ass. Only when it came to my dick and Townsend Harris did I slip into a stupid-as-stupid-can-be mindset.

  We had a light skate that morning, more of a rally round the coach and be bolstered, then go skate and shoot pucks kind of skate. Which was fine. The team was tired, exhilarated, but tired. We all were. Hockey seasons are monstrously long. Everyone was exhausted, bruised, and many had gimps. Ice and acetaminophen were our best friends come June. I was in my office, going over the first of many game tapes we’d start feeding the team, when I heard Kalinski. My sight flew from our defensive pairs to Vic and Dan walking by, leaving for the day.

  “Dan, could I talk to you for a minute?” I called. He jogged backward, smiling, and waved his husband on.

  Victor peeked around the doorframe after Dan was in. “You’re not thinking of jacking my man up with that sweet tea shit of yours, then getting your cool funk on, are you? If so, I want to join, or at least watch.”

  “Sorry, no jacking or getting any cool funk on will be happening. Just a few questions about the tax base on properties and if I should—”

  “Yeah, boring. I’ll be outside signing boobs.” Off Vic went.

  “So, taxes?” Dan asked, hands on the back of my lone chair, arms softly locked.

  “Yeah, not really, I just didn’t want his uniquely flavored commentary.” I pushed my reading glasses on top of my head. “Close the door.”

  Dan eyed me curiously but reached back to push the door shut.

  “I have a delicate question,” I started, rubbing my right thigh as Dan stared at me with big, inquisitive blue eyes. “Right. Well, I seem to have this funny condition. I am very sure that I am gay, but Town said I sounded demi, which confused the shit out of me since I’d only heard the term in passing. I looked it up and I do have some signs of being demisexual, but then again I don’t, which leads me to wonder if I’m in some sort of other new and fabulous category that hasn’t been officially added to the letters yet.”