Unexpected Dreams: Dream Series, Book 4

by Isabelle Peterson

  “See,” I said out loud. “I’m not gay. I’m getting off to women.” I felt my orgasm near, and I stared at the girl’s tits and listened to her panting and moaning as she neared hers. “I’m straight. See. Women. Not Tanner.” Then the camera panned back and showed the guys’ ass tense with each thrust. I gripped my cock so hard with that image, and started pumping with the enthusiasm of teenage boy. Thoughts of Tanner flooded my mind. His dark hair…his wide smile…and tanned skin…and his chest. Would his ass look like that? The porn on the screen ceased to exist, just the sounds of the couple. The man’s grunts filled my ears louder than it had before. Unbidden, I recalled how it felt to have Tanner’s lips on mine and I lost it. I exploded with the most intense orgasm of my life, ropey spurts of cum hitting my chest, leg, and the edge of my desk. I was covered in sweat, and breathing so hard I felt like I was going to pass out.

  Shit! Get him out of your head!

  I spent the next hour clicking video after video of straight sex. Trying to get Tanner out of my head. But the images of men would catch my eye, and I’d feel my insides tighten and my pulse race. So, I’d exit that video and click on another. I tried watching lesbian videos, not even allowing men to be on the screen, but those videos did less for me than the straight sex porn.

  WHAT THE FUCK???

  After my pathetic solo session, I lay in bed—thinking. I couldn’t seem to turn my brain off. I’d always just crawled into bed and passed out. But my head, even with the wine and scotch, kept processing the evening and this past week.

  Meeting Tanner just five days ago, seeing his bare chest that gave me a hard-on, that he thought I was hosting a party with a bunch of gay men, his kiss, my insanely intense orgasm at the mere thought of Tanner… How was any of this possible?

  But if I let myself think of Tanner, it was favorable in every way. The way we got along and, (gulp) his looks, and (shit) his lips. I’ve been a straight man my whole life. I had sex. Satisfying sex. Regularly. I mean, twice a month is more than most married men get. And I always got off. Although not like I did when Tanner came to mind while I was trying to watch free porn. Damnit!

  I didn’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but I woke up after one in the afternoon. And what a hangover I had. Making my way into the kitchen, I counted the eight bottles of wine and saw the scotch still sitting out. Even for five of us, since Nicole couldn’t drink, that was a lot of wine. Add to that, scotch…That would explain the hangover. Suddenly, my head was flooded with thoughts of Tanner. How we got along, and his kissing me. As if on cue, my cock twitched to life. God! This wasn’t right!

  I cleaned up the kitchen and decided to do manly things. I cleaned the gutters and discovered a big blockage of debris that was causing the water to spill over the edge of the gutter instead of heading into the downspout. That had led to a rotted corner of the decking. Next I went to the hardware store, bought some pressure treated wood and repaired the rot. It took me the rest of the day. I was exhausted by nine that night, and too worn out to even order delivery and wait, so I made a quick cold cut sandwich and went to bed.

  Sunday I got busy with more manly things and started by washing and waxing my new car. Next, I went to the gym. After a solid warm-up on the treadmill, running while watching CNN, I headed over to the Nautilus equipment to start my workout. As I adjusted the weight for the bicep curl machine, I noticed mostly women and older men on these machines, and that the men were on free weights. So I got up, wiped the seat off and headed over to a bench next to a rack of shiny barbells.

  I noticed a guy doing bicep curls a few benches over and his weight was huge, but so were his arms. I looked down at my own, which weren’t too scrawny, and lifted a twenty pound weight and started to curl. I watched my reflection in the mirror, but my eyes continued to drift to the guy in the red tank top that was working the squat machine. His powerful thighs were very impressive and his, um, ‘package’ between his thighs.

  I quickly averted my eyes to the row of treadmills where a woman was jogging without a good sports bra. I tried to focus on her jiggling boobs, but nothing. They didn’t excite me one bit. Fuck! Maybe the gym wasn’t the place to be. I doubled my efforts on my curls, forcing my eyes on my own image in the mirror. I made it through a set of twelve then switched arms. Feeling accomplished, I headed to a bench, and loaded up a barbell with a hundred pounds, a reasonable weight for a guy like me. I did a hundred on the Nautilus machine easily.

  I raised the weight and lowered it then pressed up. Okay, so maybe a hundred on free weights wasn’t the same as a hundred on Nautilus.

  “Hey, need a spot, man?” I looked back slightly and saw a man… a bulked up man, standing at my head.

  “Um, yeah. New weight level for me,” I said.

  “It’s good. You’ve got this,” he encouraged.

  I pressed the weight all the way up, and somehow knowing that someone was there to catch the weight if I failed made it a bit easier. But when I glanced up and saw the bulge in his shorts, I lost my focus. He caught the weight and set it on the rack. “Want to lower to eighty?” he asked.

  “Nah. I’m just really worn out from yesterday. I was building a deck,” I explained, exaggerating only ‘slightly’ and trying to sound manly. “And my rotator cuff is acting up…damn those years of baseball, right?”

  “No problem,” he smiled and headed back to his own workout.

  I did what I could to calm my own breathing, rubbing my shoulder to make good on my white lie, grabbed my towel, and headed to the locker room. I was just about to hit the showers when a guy walked out of the shower bay completely nude, a towel draped over his head as he rubbed his hair dry unaware that anyone else was in there, or he didn’t care. And with a body like his, maybe he didn’t care. His body was incredible. His chest was broad…like Tanner’s. There was only a slight smattering of hair, unlike my smooth chest, but very much like…Tanner’s. His waist was trim, his abs ripped, and his oblique muscles created that amazing V… like Tanner’s.

  The man’s cock bobbed as his arms continued to rub his head. And my cock wondered what Tanner’s was like. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  I quickly turned back to my locker, grabbed my things, and left—practically running out of the gym. The gym was a bad idea.

  CHAPTER 6

  I spent the next week throwing myself into work. Buried in files and numbers was where I needed to be. I went in early, around seven, as opposed to my usual eight-thirty or nine o’clock. And I stayed late, until around eight. The near twelve-hour work days, totally focusing on work, was a good thing. I finished setting up the scholarship and the church’s audit, as well as got a head start on quarterly numbers that were coming in for some of our larger accounts. When I did get home, I poured myself a stiff drink or two and went to bed with the TV on to keep my thoughts off a particular man.

  I’d thought about trying the bars again, and picking up another woman, but the thought made me nearly sick to my stomach after the last debacle. The recollection of not being able to get it up enough with a hot chick was quite a blow to my pride. Then to have my junk go rock hard when the simple thought of Tanner turned my head upside down. And of course, I’d met Tanner at a bar. So—no bars, and no picking up women. And no porn. Or the gym. Man my life as a single guy sucked.

  Friday afternoon there was a knock on the office door.

  “Come in,” I said as I continued to enter numbers into spreadsheets.

  “Hey, stranger,” Aaron said sauntering in and sitting in one of the chairs at my desk for clients. It was casual Friday, and he loved to press the limits of that. Today he wore a bright red Hawaiian shirt. At least he’d paired it with khaki slacks and nice shoes instead of the cargo shorts and flip-flops I’m sure he would have wanted to wear. I myself respected the guidelines of casual Friday foregoing the suit and tie, and wore khaki slacks and a button down. Still presentable if a client were to come in.

  “Hey,” I answer back, not interested in chatting. I had to keep fo
cused. When I wasn’t focused, my thoughts wandered. Wandered to Tanner…

  “So…Listen. I know this is short notice, but that network event I’m heading to next week… Nicole doesn’t want me to go,” he said flatly. “Make no mistake… I want to go. She’s driving me batshit with her requests for foot massages and burgers from In-N-Out.”

  I looked up at my stressed out business partner and fondly remembered the days when Elizabeth had ridiculous cravings, although hers where more “normal” like waffles with Bradley, potato chips with french onion dip for Carter, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Phoebe. And, I also remember Elizabeth not wanting me to travel further than San Francisco.

  “Where is the event?” I asked, with completely no knowledge of the event.

  “Chicago,” he tosses back.

  I froze. Seriously? Of all places. I suddenly wanted to puke, or pour a gin martini. Maybe even a scotch.

  “It’s only two days. Thursday and Friday. And traveling aside, which is making Nicole a nervous wreck, she has an ultrasound on Friday that didn’t even come to mind when she asked me when she’d scheduled it. If we have to reschedule, then we’re out another three weeks, and—”

  “It’s fine,” I said, cutting him off while looking over my desk calendar. “I remember those days. Babies. Nothing like it.” Aaron didn’t have to say it, but Nicole was beyond worried with this unplanned pregnancy since she was near forty. And if Nicole was nervous, you could double it for Aaron. “I can go. It’s August twenty-ninth and thirtieth? Right?”

  “You know. You should just stay the weekend. When was the last time you took a real vacation? I’ll be taking time off when the baby comes. Chicago is a blast. Navy Pier. Second City.”

  “I’ve taken vacations,” I muttered.

  “A long weekend to move your kid into college doesn’t count. You need some real time off. And Chicago is a great place to do just that.”

  I nodded hoping to silence him. As much as I should stay away from Chicago, I found myself thrilled at the prospect of going. And a couple of extra days sounded just perfect. Maybe there’s a Chicago Smoke game, a little voice whispered inside my head. “Have Morgan make the switches.”

  Aaron sat there staring at me. In our sixteen year partnership, I’d always sent him to be our ‘front man.’ He always knew what to say in social situations where I always felt I was sticking my foot in my mouth. When it came to numbers, we were equally matched, although he’d tell you that I was more cunning, more shrewd. Truth was, I was more strategic when it came to planning and he was … safer, but we balanced each other out and that’s what made us an outstanding team.

  “I thought this would be a much harder sell,” he said. “You feelin’ okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, sitting up straighter. “Don’t I seem it?”

  “Honestly, no. You seem off. You’ve been off for the past week or so. Is it the divo—,” he paused and changed his wording, “the papers? That it’s all done? We haven’t talked much.”

  I shrugged and sat back to think about it. I’d have to watch myself. If Aaron was noticing that I ‘seemed off’ than this whole Tanner thing was affecting me far more than I wanted it to. The divorce papers. Hmmm… “Yeah, I guess. Just some things are so unexpected.” Even as I said it, I realized how ‘unexpected’ things could be…like with how I was feeling about Tanner.

  “Yeah. Nicole still can’t figure out what went on. She swears that Elizabeth was totally normal until her little splitsville thing back in April.”

  I put my hand up to stop him from talking. Seems that today was his day to put his foot in his mouth. “Please. I still…I can’t seem to figure any of it out myself. It’s not her fault. Not all of it, at least. I’m seeing that now.” Was I? What was I seeing? I went with, “Takes two to tango, right?”

  “Yeah. No. Of course. Sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay. It’ll all work out. It has to,” I said, hoping to ease his nerves.

  “So, Tanner seemed like a really cool guy. When is he moving out this way again?”

  Interesting that Aaron would jump from Elizabeth to Tanner, I thought. “Well, he said something about being back in a couple of weeks for a home inspection at the place he has an offer in on. But his season in Chicago isn’t over for a while, right? I think he said something about not moving here to fall or something like that.”

  “Jeremy’s really excited to meet him. And hey! Chicago! Maybe you can go see him play when you’re in town for the conference? Bring back a jersey for Jeremy or something, okay?” Aaron glanced at his watch and stood. “I have to get going. Jeremy’s last day of school was today. We’re going out to eat. You staying late…again?”

  “I’m almost done here. Don’t worry about me. You go home to Nic.”

  “Well, it is Friday. Don’t stay too late. I’ll talk to Morgan on my way out about switching the conference stuff. Thanks.” And with that, Aaron left.

  I don’t think three seconds passed before I clicked on the internet and searched for the Chicago Smoke game schedule. When I found the schedule tab and clicked, I held my breath not knowing if I wanted there to be a game that weekend or not.

  August 31, 2013. There was a game. It would be a home game.

  Impulsively I opened my email and sent a quick e-mail.

  To: TANNER WILLIAMS (tannerwilliams76@gmail.com)

  Cc:

  Subject: Portfolio Draft

  From: Greg Fairchild, Fairchild & Dolan Financial Planning, LTD.

  August 16, 2013 4:15pm

  Hi Tanner,

  Turns out I have to be in Chicago at the end of August for a conference.

  If you’re done with looking over the portfolio, I can pick it up while I’m in town. Or if you’ve already sent it back to the office, I may have the final draft ready and I can bring it.

  By the way, I see there’s a game on Saturday, the 31st. Any chances of me getting a ticket? No problem if it’s too late, just thought I’d see.

  Greg Fairchild, CPA, Financial Planning Specialist

  Fairchild &Dolan Financial Planning, LTD.

  Before I had time to look it over and reconsider, I hit send. And one second after that I was looking for a way to get the email back. But everyone knows that once an email is sent, it’s done. Shit. What in the fuck did I go and do that for? Now he’s going to think I’m interested… asking for a ticket to watch him play. I started to sweat as I sat overthinking everything. But I did include business stuff. The added request for a ticket was to be polite, right? Besides, looking at the clock I saw that it was already 5:30pm. Okay, that meant it was 7:30pm in Chicago. And it was Friday. Maybe he wouldn’t even see it this weekend. Maybe he had a really active social life and wouldn’t see his emails.

  Quickly, I shoved the papers I had been working on into their respective folders and stacked them in the center of my desk. I grabbed my keys and headed out. With the top down, and my sleeves rolled up, I drove west, thinking the fresh air would do me some good. Before I knew it, I was arriving at the coast. I did my best to not think, but at the same time, Tanner kept popping into my thoughts.

  I found a seafood restaurant on the water and took a seat for one outside on the deck with an incredible view. It was a quarter after seven and the deck was fairly crowded, but that was good. No one paid much attention to the lonely guy sitting by himself. The waitress quickly approached the table and took my drink order, and rattled off the specials and moved on to the next table, leaving me to my self-pity.

  Why did I have to go and send that email? Was I interested? No. No, of course not. I’m not gay. Not even curious… right? I mean, how does a man get to forty-five years old and suddenly have those feelings? Preposterous.

  The server brought my gin martini, and I ordered the catch of the day, not that I could remember what it was. Once again in my peace and quiet, I forced my thoughts on anything but Tanner. The only major thing I could come up with: why my marriage ended. Some bullshit about me not
wanting her. What did that mean? We were married, right? I gave her all the comforts than any woman would want, right? We were a picture-perfect family.

  My phone dinged and vibrated on the table. I picked it up to see what notification had come in. An email. From Tanner. My body got warm, and I wondered where the breeze had gone. I dropped the phone back down on the table top without opening the message. Did I want to know what his email said? Damn! Yes I did. And it hit me. That word. Want. Shit.

  CHAPTER 7

  I stared at the phone, willing the email to go away. I didn’t want to look at it. Right? But curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the app, clicking on Tanner’s recent inbox arrival.

  To: Greg Fairchild

  Cc:

  Subject: Re: Portfolio Draft

  From: Tanner Williams

  August 16, 2013 7:32pm

  Greg!

  Good to hear from you. I actually sent the draft package back via FedEx just this morning, just a few minor thoughts. You should have the package on Monday morning. If you have questions about my chicken scratch handwriting, just give me a call.

  And I can absolutely have a few tickets for you. Are you bringing any friends or business colleagues? Just let me know how many tickets you’ll need, and consider it done.

  Tanner

  Okay, I thought. He’s not reading into anything. I sat back and felt a little better about this whole situation.

  My dinner arrived and while I ate, I opened up my phone’s app to take a look at CNN.com and read some news stories, as had become my habit while eating to pass the time. I was half done when several servers came out with one leading the way with a piece of cake adorned with a candle and he brought it to a table with two guys, and the small group of waiters started to sing an anniversary song. The song ended, patrons seated nearby applauded, and the servers left.

  As much as I tried to keep my eyes off of the anniversary table, I watched them from the corner of my eye. They looked like regular men. One was dressed like…me. Khakis and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The other guy in jeans and a golf shirt. But they didn’t look gay. They weren’t flamboyant. They were drinking beer. Maybe it was a business anniversary? But when one man fed the other man a bite of cake, I knew this was a romantic anniversary.