by Long, W. S.
“What friends? Maybe the redhead went to his room.” Dimas chortled. “He was halfway drunk by the time he finished his portion of the news conference. He was mumbling when I saw him later, when I was headed back to the room.” Dimas grabbed Hunter’s face and forced him to look at Dimas. He brushed his hand on the scar, slightly faint under Hunter’s right collarbone. Dimas shuddered to think his lover had been punished so severely as a teenager. “You told me he never sexually abused you, right?”
“Yes, stop asking that question,” Hunter whispered.
“Because if he did, you know—”
“I know. I know. You don’t have to say it. I haven’t lied to you, about anything in the past, so stop looking for hidden faults in him.”
“I’d fucking kill him, if he had done anything to you.” Dimas said. His finger now gently tracing the scar. “I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“I know,” Hunter sighed. “He’s never used the belt after that incident. Mom made sure of that. But let’s stop talking about him. I didn’t sneak in your room last night with a hoodie, trying to be under the radar, after bringing two women to meet you, to talk about my stepfather.”
“Yeah, nice surprise. The champagne, the alcohol, you. Well, I’m glad, we’re alone now. From now on, no more bringing women in. I don’t care if anyone knows. I’m not going to hide it. I’m not going to shout about it either.”
“That’s probably the hangover talking. I’m hungry by the way.”
“You’re always hungry. How you don’t gain weight anyway is amazing.”
“Thanks,” Hunter said. “Going back to what we were talking about, you could lose endorsements, be shunned by the players’ and be the gossip of all of the tour.”
“You know what? That’s fine. I shouldn’t have to have you send me coded messages with your left ear that you love me while I’m playing golf. Besides, there are women in the pros who are out. Tadd Fujikawa is out.” Dimas kissed Hunter, softly, his lips caressing Hunter. “Maybe you don’t want to come out,” Dimas whispered.
“I don’t know how you could be so cocky about coming out. I’m scared to death that my family and friends will know, and that everything will change.” Hunter closed his eyes and pursed his lips.
“Everything will change. Just think of the weight and pressure that goes away by being honest.”
“I don’t know,” Hunter said, his voice in almost defeated resignation. “My whole world…everything I know. Maybe I’m just not as strong as you.”
Dimas kissed Hunter again. “My family knew before I left Lima to go to FSU that I was gay. They were cool with it. I guess if either my Mom or Dad didn’t like it, then it’d be different. Our teammates in college didn’t care.”
“Well, we were a close circle of friends. It’s different now. And if I came out, what would I do for a living? I couldn’t caddy anymore. Who wants to hire a gay caddy?”
“What do you mean? You’d keep working for Carl.”
“You know how he is about homosexuality! He’d be embarrassed to have me on the tour. I can just here him now, playing poker at the clubhouse, when he sees me, and talks to his buddy. ‘Here comes my faggot stepson.’ I would lose my job. He’d think I came out to personally attack him or something.”
Dimas kissed the tip of Hunter’s nose. While Dimas parents had no problems with him, Carl was the stereotypical homophobe. He suspected Hunter’s upbringing to be the major cause of the anxiety and stress of being open to the public about his relationship with Dimas. “That doesn’t make anything sense,” Dimas said. “You’re the best caddy that I know. You know golf. You can read a green like no one else. You’re like the Doctor Doolittle of putting greens. You were giving advice to Carl that he wasn’t taking, and he would be a fool to fire you. He could’ve won the tournament yesterday if he listened to you. And if he says faggot, and I hear it, I’ll knock him out. “
Hunter ignored Dimas’ last comment. “So you and Joe overheard everything I said to Carl?”
“I didn’t. But Joe did.” Dimas hesitated, but continued. “Come work for me. Quit your job with your stepfather.”
“I told you already. He paid for college. I agreed I’d work for him for at least four years if I couldn’t make pro.”
“I could buy you out.”
Hunter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Really? I’m just some commodity that you both sell and trade? And then what? What if we disagreed on the golf course? I give you a suggestion and you ignore it. And you make a bad shot?”
“Or I follow a suggestion of yours, and it’s wrong?” Dimas asked. “So what? At least we’re playing together. On the same team. Like we were in college.”
“Yeah but the dynamics are different. At Florida State, we were teammates, co-equals, and you didn’t have millions of dollars of prize money and endorsements on the line. Do you see any golfers whose girlfriends or wives caddy?”
Dimas shook his head. “No, but so? You and I can be the first.” Dimas ground his pelvis on Hunter’s thigh.
“I know you’re talking this way since you probably have the afterglow of yesterday’s win.”
Dimas sighed. He wanted to tell Hunter he meant what he was saying. He’ll have to prove it to Hunter. Somehow.
Hunter continued. “Let’s take it day by day. We should be getting out of bed soon. You should take a shower. You’ve got some interviews lined up. A lot of people want to see you and talk to you. I have to head back to my stepdad’s suite. See what kind of mess he’s in.”
“Yeah, get rid of the evidence of cocaine, pack up his stuff, bring his drunk ass down to the car, and take him home down to the beach. Let’s face it. Carl’s gone downhill since your mother passed.”
“I know,” Hunter whispered. He turned to the edge of the bed, and inched forward to get out, but Dimas tightened his hold.
“Come on. You have me all alone now.” Dimas pressed his fully erect dick against Hunter. Dimas reached out to stroke Hunter’s flaccid cock through Hunter’s underwear. He wanted the hardness to develop in his palm. Hunter moved back, pushing his body into Dimas’ caress. He pushed Hunter’s boxers down, circled his fingers around the base of Hunter’s dick, his fingers rubbed against the red pubes and stroked as he started thrusting in the warm invite of Hunter’s cheeks.
As Hunter’s dick came alive, Hunter ground his ass against Dimas’ dick.
“Why don’t you show me what you were trying to do to me last night?” Dimas asked. “I don’t want to work out this morning, answer any phone calls. For now anyway. And I definitely don’t want to run this morning.”
Hunter scooted down, throwing his underwear to the floor, kicking the bed sheets so they were both exposed. Dimas closed his eyes as Hunter caddied Dimas’ pole. When Hunter pumped Dimas’ dick, and then licked the head, Dimas stretched out his legs, and curled his toes. Hunter pleasured Dimas for a long while, taking his time with his tongue, fingers, and hand.
This is fucking heaven.
Dimas opened his eyes to find Hunter eyeing him as Hunter licked up and down the shaft.
“Yeah, that’s it baby.”
Hunter then moved his mouth up and down on Dimas’ dick, taking him down his throat. Dimas body heated, and his back was wet from perspiration as Hunter showered him with oral and manual attention.
“Fuck, that feels so good.” Dimas grabbed Hunter’s face, and hair and started fucking Hunter’s mouth, his balls slapping Hunter’s chin as he did so as Hunter eagerly strove to accommodate Dimas’ deep and hard thrusts.
Hunter’s moans of appreciation only egged Dimas to face-fuck him faster. After a while, Dimas couldn’t hold back. His breathing had become more pronounced. Hunter’s moans of pleasure spurred him to the edge. “Shit, I’m going to come.” Dimas arched his back, and tried to pull Hunter off his cock, but Hunter resisted and greedily swallowed everything Dimas could give him once he let the dam burst open.
Dimas tried to catch his breath. Hunter moved up to kiss Dimas and shoved some of
Dimas’ cum back in Dimas’ impatient mouth, as both their tongues darted in and out of each other’s like greedy teenagers on a first date.
“God, that was so fucking good,” Dimas whispered. “Just like the first time.”
Damn? How many times has Hunter sucked him off since college?
“You say that every time.” Hunter smiled. He laid his sweaty body on top of Dimas. Their chests expanding in tune with each other’s.
“I mean it. Your mouth and your tongue. They fucking drive me wild.”
“You know what drives me crazy?” Hunter asked.
“What?”
They both lay there, trying to catch their breath. Finally, Hunter stood, showcasing his well-toned, gym body, and the ass that Dimas had made his countless of times. Hunter moved his hoodie that covered his book bag, dug through the bag, and then came back to bed with a bottle of lube and a condom.
Dimas smiled. “Let me guess.” Hunter moved in for a kiss and Dimas obliged. He loved this guy with all his heart. He really didn’t give a shit at this moment about anybody else but Hunter.
Fuck everyone.
Chapter 2
“Two chai lattes please,” Hunter ordered. As the barista prepared the hot drinks, a voice interrupted his idle fascination with the workings of the young woman getting the tea ready.
“Hunter Mullins? Is that you?”
Hunter turned to a familiar face. “Hi, Ida. What you doing here?”
“Carl gave me passes for the tournament, so the hubby and I came to watch. We were supposed to meet Carl for a late breakfast this morning, but he’s not answering his cell. And they won’t tell me if he is staying here.” Ida brushed bangs of graying dark brown hair to reveal her dark brown eyes. She didn’t have make-up on, like she normally did, and wore for a ponytail, and for half a second he wondered why she hadn’t worn any. Ida prided herself as being a fine member of the Ponte Vedra community so it was odd Ida hadn’t put on make-up or wore her hair to her shoulders so she could toss to the side, when she wanted to, flirting like she did at any man she fancied, sometimes even in front of Lenny, her husband. “Those lattes aren’t for Carl, are they? I can’t see Carl drinking chai.”
“No, they’re for a friend.” Hunter blushed. Dimas and his secret often put Hunter in this predicament. Usually, he could lie and shrug it off, but this was Ida. She lived close by, and she’d known him since he was a kid.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“No one.” He paused and tried to think of something but couldn’t. Ida had been good friends with his mom, often bringing her food and visiting her in her last days. He’d figured if anyone in Ponte Vedra knew about Hunter, she would since his mother probably told Ida. His mother had been the only one who knew about Hunter and Dimas. And Hunter didn’t like lying to Ida because she was always good to his mom.
“Well,” she sighed, her tone expressing disappointment, “tell Carl I’m looking for him.”
His eyebrows knitted together as Hunter scanned the hotel lobby for Lenny. “Okay, I will.”
Ida left quickly as she appeared. He followed her steps, and once he confirmed that Lenny wasn’t anywhere in the area, he palmed out his phone and texted his stepdad.
You up? Ida was looking for you.
Hunter slid the phone back in his pocket and sipped on the latte the barista handed to him. By now, Dimas should be out of the shower and dressing for the first of three interviews. It was close to noon. He headed back to Dimas’s room.
Their room.
When he arrived at their suite, Dimas was gone. He contemplated going to the news conference and leaving the chai there with an assistant but then changed his mind.
It’ll just get everyone talking if I do that. Why is Carl’s stepson delivering a latte to Dimas?
He picked up the dirty clothes Dimas had thrown to the side and threw it in the hotel’s courtesy laundry bag. Dimas must have left just a few minutes earlier because there was still steam on the bathroom mirror when he opened the bathroom door.
He placed Dimas’s tea on the nightstand next to the unmade bed, and left, making sure that the housekeeping door tag gave fair warning not to service the room.
He trudged over to the suite Carl booked one floor down, and stepped inside. The living room’s dining room table had several beer bottles on it. He stepped toward Carl’s bedroom, then knocked. When Carl didn’t answer, he twisted the doorknob and checked out the room. The drapes stood open and sunlight brightened the room. There were two wine glasses on the nightstand. A spoon lay next to a wine glass, no doubt with very minute traces of cocaine. As Hunter approached, he saw lipstick on the rim of one of the glasses.
Hunter walked quickly to the room he had left his suitcase, and saw his notebooks scattered on the bed. He had binders of notes for the next two golf tournaments. Hunter didn’t see his TPC notebook, so he squatted down to see if it had dropped below the bed.
He checked his bathroom, and didn’t see the binder there. He scratched his head, knowing he left it on the bed last night after the tournament.
He walked back into the living room and nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Lenny?”
“Hey, Hunter. The door was open. I was looking for Carl.” Ida’s husband’s eyebrows scrunched together. Lenny stood a few inches shorter than Hunter’s five eleven and he was stick-thin like Ida. His complexion was pale like hers too. The similarities between Ida and Lenny made them so similar that they were commonly mistaken as siblings. Lenny wore running shorts, and his thinning gray hair was all disheveled.
“He’s not here. I just checked.”
“Oh?” As if he didn’t believe him, Lenny stepped forward and peeked into Carl’s room.
“Yeah, I’m not sure where he is. I told Ida this a few minutes ago.” Dimas worried that Lenny saw the lipstick-stained wine glass.
Lenny cocked his head. “Where did you see Ida?”
“In the coffee shop off the lobby.” Hunter crossed his arms. “Did you and Ida stay here over night?”
“No,” Lenny shook his head. “Ida did, but I didn’t.” Lenny looked down at the ground, avoiding Hunter’s gaze.
“Do you want me to give him a message?”
“Just tell him I was looking for the paperwork. He knows which one.”
Hunter nodded his head. He didn’t want to bring up the fact that Ida told him something else earlier. His curiosity was now piqued. “Was Carl supposed to meet up with you?”
“No, not really. I mean…No. When you see Carl, ask him to call me.”
Hunter pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of Lenny’s sudden appearance in the hotel room. Before he could say anything else, the phone rang. Hunter walked to the phone and answered.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Mullins?”
“This is Hunter Mullins.”
“Mr. Mullins, this is the front desk. There is a deputy asking to come up to the suite to ask you some questions about Mr. Carl Mullins.”
“Oh?”
What’d he do now?
“May he come up?”
Hunter nodded. “Sure.” Before he could say anything else, Lenny left the room without saying a word.
“Okay, he’s coming right up.”
“Thanks,” Hunter said, wondering what Carl had gotten himself into.
A few minutes later, after a knock on the door, Hunter opened the door to find a corpulent deputy, dressed in a dark green polyester shirt, and pants, and a heavy gun belt, sweating with a small noted paid in his hand. “Mr. Mullins?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Is your father, Carl Mullins?” The deputy wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
“Stepfather. And, yes, is he in trouble? What has he done?”
“Maybe we should take a seat in the living room table area. I’m Deputy Myers. St. Johns County Sheriff’s Office.”
Hunter shook the deputy’s hand, after the deputy turned down the volume of his holstered walkie-talkie,
then Deputy Myers walked in, along with a tall, dark suited man. The second gentleman, based on his name badge, was hotel security and another person, a pixie-cut brown-haired, diminutive woman trailed after him. The female wore a white starched shirt and over the left front of her blouse the words, “Crime Scene” had been embroidered.
“Do you mind if I look around?” she asked.
Hunter hesitated. “Hold on.” He took a step toward Carl’s room, but she blocked him.
“You can’t touch anything sir. Not right now anyway.” Her voice was firm, but not angry. It had a tone of empathy in it.
“We don’t care if there’s any evidence of partying,” Deputy Myers said.
Hunter nodded. “Okay, go on ahead…Wait, why do you want to look around?”
“I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ll just spill it out. This morning, a jogger on the running path, found your stepfather. Ordinarily, we would have asked you to identify him, but he was easily recognizable.”
“How is he? Is he okay?” Hunter sat down.
“I’m sorry to say this, but he’s dead.” Deputy Myers spoke as if he had uttered those words countless of times. His voice was flat. Unemotional.
Hunter blinked. “What?” He slouched in his chair as if someone just punched him in the stomach. “That can’t be. There must be some mistake.”
The crime scene tech that’d been taking pictures of the living room, walked up to Hunter. She eyed the deputy who nodded. She held her digital camera and her finger flipped through images. She finally stopped at one and showed it to Hunter.
Carl was on the ground, his face was up, and his eyes were closed. Dark, dried blood appeared on the side of his face. A pond was in the near distance of the photo.
“Where?” Hunter asked, his voice hoarse as he tried to stop the tears from flowing.
“Just beyond one of the holes, near the running and bike path,” the deputy said.
“From the looks of it, he’d been there more than two hours, based on body temperature,” the crime tech volunteered. “The ME might know better about the time of death, though.”