An Officer And His Gentleman

by Ryan Field

  Chance was turning over the potato salad so it would look fresh. “What did you do with them?” He bit his bottom lip, hoping the old man hadn't done anything cruel.

  "I drove them to Newark!” Dan shouted. He was still smiling and patting himself on the chest.

  "All the way to Newark?"

  "I let them go in the cemetery,” he said, “They like the cemetery. There are plenty of trees with nuts."

  Chance wished he could take him to the cemetery, too. But all he said was, “That's good. I'm glad they're gone."

  "Oh, I'm still setting the traps tonight, just to be sure,” he said, “but I don't think I'm gonna see any more for a long time.” Then he looked into the wooden bowl and saw that all the cakes had been sold. “They're all gone?” He scratched the back of his head and smiled. “You did good. You can watch that Food Network all night tonight if you want."

  Chance jerked his head back. He knew how much Dan hated the Food Network. He must have been feeling really good that day.

  "I'm going up for my nap now,” Dan said. When he crossed the market toward the back staircase, he lowered his head as he passed the cash register so he wouldn't have to say anything to the cashier he hated. He had no idea she lifted her arm and gave him the middle finger before winking at Chance.

  After Dan went upstairs, the market traffic started to slow and there wasn't much to do. By four-thirty, Chance told the part-time cashier she could go home early and he'd handle things until he closed at five. He wasn't smiling much that afternoon, and when he grabbed the broom to sweep, he gripped the handle so hard his knuckles turned white. He'd been expecting Brody to stop by, and it didn't look like it was going to happen now. He was beginning to think the previous night on Brody's veranda had been nothing more than a booty call.

  He slammed the broom into a corner next to the cash register and kicked the trash can a few times. But just as he was about to lock up for the night, the front door opened and in walked Brody. He was out of breath, holding a small, thin paper bag. “Man, I'm glad you're still open,” he said, “I drove that big old Cadillac faster than it's been driven in years to get here on time."

  Chance took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I just figured you were busy, or that you had other plans. You're not obligated to show up here for anything.” He wanted to sound light and breezy, but it came off more like hurt and disappointed.

  "Ah, but I got you a little present today, baby,” Brody said. He crossed toward the counter and pulled a DVD from the bag. “It's that movie you told me about. The one where your mother named you after the guy named Chance.” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I figured that if you're named after a guy in a movie, the least you can do is watch it."

  Chance took the DVD and stared at the front cover for a moment, but he knew he would not be able to watch it any time soon: Dan didn't own a DVD player. “This is nice. Thanks.” His voice became soft and calm and he looked up and said, “I have to lock the door so no one comes in. We close at five on Sundays and there are people who will come in anyway if the door's not locked.” He pressed his palms on the counter and hopped over to the other side. When he crossed toward the front door, he purposely brushed against Brody's arm in a playful way.

  He was sure that Brody stared at his ass while he locked up. “You're wearing my sweatpants, I see. I hope you at least had time to wash them first. They really did smell awful."

  He locked the door and pulled down the shade. Then he turned around and said, “Nope. I left them as dirty as they were last night."

  Brody's eyes became wide and excited, and he started rocking on the balls of his feet. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging. “I like that,” he said. And then he asked, “Are we alone?"

  Chance nodded yes. “Follow me."

  He led him back to the kitchen area behind the deli counter. He knew it was safe; the old man was upstairs for the rest of the day. When they were in the back, he slowly removed his clothes while Brody stood there and watched. Then he hopped up onto a tall wooden butcher block table and sat there with his naked legs wide open. Brody wore a tight black T-shirt and olive green jeans. He walked to the butcher block and stood between Chance's legs; his lips were pressed together and his eyebrows were furrowed. When he leaned forward and started kissing Chance's neck, Chance wrapped his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders. His head went back and he opened his mouth, and Brody shoved his tongue inside and started sucking his tongue. Then Brody grabbed his ass with both hands and lifted him off the counter. His right hand slowly inched to the middle of Chance's ass and he started to work his middle and index fingers inside. Chance arched his back and held Brody's shoulders tighter. When the fingers were all the way in, he closed his eyes and rubbed his face against Brody's five o'clock shadow.

  Brody whispered, “Can I go inside? All I want to do is bend you over and nail you, baby. I can't stop thinking about fucking that ass."

  Chance held his breath for a second. Brody's fingers felt so great up his ass. “I don't want the first time to be in here. Not in the back room of a smelly kitchen."

  Brody started to work his fingers in and out. “Please, baby, I gotta get some of this. I'm dying to get in there."

  His fingers felt really good. He started to buck and rotate his ass slowly against the movement of Brody's finger-fucking. But he said, “No. Not here. I want to do it too, but I want it to be special.” The fact that Brody was so eager to get inside made him smile, but he wasn't teasing. He really did want it to be special.

  But the begging was nice.

  Brody removed his fingers and slowly lowered Chance to the floor by pressing on his shoulders. Chance went down on his knees and reached to unbutton Brody's jeans. When he pulled down his zipper, Brody's rock-solid penis popped out and hit him on the lips. “Close your eyes and don't be mad. I'm still going to take good care of you today,” he said. Then he opened his mouth wide and swallowed him all the way to the back of his throat. Brody's hips bucked forward and he grabbed Chance's ears. Chance started to suck, then swallowed. Brody still tasted salty and smelled like watered-down vinegar. He was so excited, there were already drops of pre-come oozing from the opening. Chance's cheekbones indented and his head moved back and forth. He started to breathe through his nose and saliva dripped down his chin.

  "Are you my little slut?” Brody asked. “Are you my cocksucking slut?"

  Chance smiled, then with the huge cock in his mouth, nodded yes.

  "You like big dirty dick, don't you? You want me to fuck that mouth like a pussy?” Brody asked.

  Chance nodded yes again.

  "I know you do ... you love sucking cock. I've got a huge load for you today, baby. Suck that cock dry, baby."

  Chance moaned and sucked harder.

  "You want a facial, baby?” Brody asked. “You want me to jerk my big, fat dirty dick off all over your face?” He began to buck his hips more rapidly.

  Chance nodded yes. He did want it. He placed his left palm on Brody's thigh for support and started to jerk his own penis with his right hand. While he continued to suck, Brody controlled the rhythm by holding his head and jerking it back and forth. He was strong and rough, and Chance relaxed all his neck muscles so Brody could move his head in any direction. He felt like a human flesh-light toy ... if his lips hadn't been puckered and his tongue hadn't been pressed so tightly to the bottom of Brody's penis, he would have smiled. When Brody's penis hit the back of Chance's throat, Brody moaned and sighed each time.

  A few minutes later, Brody pulled out of his mouth and said, “I'm gonna jerk off all over your face now. Open your mouth and beg for it, baby."

  Chance opened his mouth all the way and stuck out his tongue. Brody then reached down with his left hand and started to tug the shaft while the head was only inches from his open mouth. The jerking became more intense. Chance's lips puffed out and the tip of his tongue curled up. He knew Brody was about to climax and he didn't want to waste a drop of jui
ce that came from between Brody's hairy legs. And in no time, Brody jerked a thick stream of nectar into Chance's mouth. He took it all. Some of it landed on his lips and he licked them dry. As he gulped and swallowed, he closed his eyes and deposited his own creamy puddle onto the wooden floor boards.

  He was learning that Brody wasn't one of those guys who put their dicks away the minute after they come, and that he liked standing there watching Chance suck out the last drops while he penis became flaccid and floppy. He even whispered, “Baby, you've got the best cocksucking lips in the world."

  When Chance finally let it slip out of his mouth, Brody helped him up to his feet and said, “I'm taking you to dinner tonight. Get dressed, baby.” Then he shoved his penis back into his pants and zipped up his jeans. “And after dinner, I'm going to fuck your brains out."

  Chance frowned;. There was no way he could sneak out on a date, not with Dan Pratta upstairs. “I can't. I have plans.” He pulled on the sweatpants and reached down for his socks. His voice became solid and even, and slightly cold. He knew he had to tell Brody everything about his living situation with the old man, but it didn't feel like the right time or place.

  Brody said, “Okay. How about tomorrow?” He was still smiling, but not as wide as he had been a moment earlier.

  "Tomorrow's bad too.” He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his shoes. He knew he sounded too abrupt, like he was trying to get rid of Brody.

  Brody stopped smiling and his voice became deep and throaty. “I don't get you. We have this great time last night and today, and now it feels like you're blowing me off again. I don't get it, man. I thought this was more than just getting off."

  "I'm not blowing you off. I just don't have time is all.” He stopped what he was doing and stared at Brody for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands.

  "Then fucking make time,” Brody shouted. His eyes were wide and a thick vein in his forehead looked about ready to explode. He sounded like an officer giving an order to an enlisted man.

  Chance looked up at him and tilted his head. Brody had become almost belligerent. He sounded worse than the old man, giving him orders and telling him what to do all the time. It occurred to Chance that he was already in one abusive situation, and that he didn't need to start another one with Brody, a guy who, for all Chance knew, was only in town temporarily, and one he'd never see again when summer was over. If Brody's mother died Monday, he'd be gone Tuesday.

  "I don't think I like your tone,” Chance said. “It's mean and uncalled for. And I don't think we know each other well enough for you to speak to me like that. Sounds like you might have a few control issues. How do you know I don't have a date with someone else tonight?"

  Well, he probably should not have mentioned a date with someone else.

  Brody's eyebrows went up and his head jerked back. “You know, maybe I'd better leave right now so you can get ready for your date. Are you going to tell him you just sucked me off? Are you going to suck him off next?"

  "That's none of your damn business,” Chance said. He clenched his fists and turned away. Brody calling him a slut and talking dirty during sex was one thing, but in this context, it was uncalled for. “Besides, I didn't say I actually did have a date with another guy. I just said I could have one. You don't know."

  "I'm starting to think this whole thing is a big mistake, and that all you're doing is playing games. You're really pissing me off. I don't need this, man.” Brody slammed his fist on the wooden chopping block as hard as he could. His face tightened and he bit his bottom lip.

  Chance jumped back and pressed his palm to his throat. His knees felt shaky. The old man may have been verbally abusive, but he'd never been abusive in a violent way. “You know what? Maybe you should leave."

  Brody shook his head and threw his hands in the air, then sighed and said, “I don't need this. This is bullshit, man. I'm out of here. I'll see you around. Have fun on your date tonight."

  He took a deep breath as Brody stormed out of the kitchen. But when he heard the front door unlock and then slam shut, his stomach clenched so hard he had to grab the butcher block for support.

  That night he passed on dinner and rested naked on the sofa from seven o'clock until midnight, watching the Food Network. The fight with Brody kept repeating in his head. He kept grinding his teeth and changing positions because he couldn't get comfortable on the sofa. The old man hated the Food Network, so he read the newspaper. He also drank another bottle of wine and five cans of beer. By nine, he was so drunk he didn't even bother to grab Chance's ass. He just rose from his chair and staggered into his bedroom without even saying goodnight. Sundays were like this: Dan always celebrated the end of another long week by drinking a little extra booze. When Chance heard the old man fart in the bedroom, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

  He wasn't happy about the way his life was turning out.

  A moment later, he sat up straight when he saw a television commercial about a recipe competition. It was the first time he'd seen this advertisement, probably because Dan always flipped channels during commercials. The Food Network was having a contest for the best original recipe, and the grand prize was fifty thousand dollars. And all you had to do was go to their Web site, submit the recipe, and be chosen as a finalist to appear on national television.

  Chance scrambled for a pen and wrote down all the information. The deadline for entry was only two days away, and the actual competition was being aired in less than three weeks. He'd have to get Sarah to enter the contest for him because the old man didn't believe in computers—he still thought they were a waste of time and they'd never catch on. Chance knew there was only a remote chance of being selected at random, but for the first time in ages he had a feeling of hope. If he won this, he wouldn't need anyone—not Dan Pratta and certainly not some strange guy who was only in town to watch his mean mother die. He'd show them all.

  He felt so good about the contest that before he went to bed that night, he pulled on a pair of jeans (he wasn't going to wear Brody's sweatpants ever again; he'd have Sarah give them back, washed and folded) and slipped downstairs. He went out the back door and crossed the yard to the barn. When he flipped on the lights and looked down at squirrel traps, all five cages were occupied by a fresh group of squirrels. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. Then he reached for a can of orange fluorescent spray paint Dan had left on the counter and sprayed all their tails orange. He couldn't wait to see the expression on Dan's face the next morning.

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  Chapter Five

  Chance had a very special recipe for lasagna with a bolognese sauce that he liked to prepare for customers about once a month. It had become his signature recipe. Regular customers would come into the market with their small grocery lists—Betty Shack, Mrs. Johnson from the library, Mrs. Dolan the widow, the nun from the Catholic Church across the street—and they would take one look at the wooden bowl loaded up with bolognese lasagna before throwing their arms up in the air and screaming, “There it is! I was wondering when you'd make that again. I've had such a craving.” They would change all their original dinner plans on those days and reach for a container of lasagna instead. “No leftovers or dry pork chops tonight,” they'd say. “This is a real treat!"

  People were screaming with joy and grabbing lasagna all morning that midsummer Monday. On warm days, the smell of the lasagna alone permeated the market, which drove the customers directly to the wooden bowl. Though he was still preoccupied with what had happened with Brody the day before, Chance had gotten up extra early to prepare his famous lasagna recipe and to write it down very carefully so Sarah could enter it in the recipe competition that night on her computer.

  When Sarah arrived for work at eight, she immediately pressed her palm against her stomach, raised her head and sniffed, then stared directly at Chance and said, “Save me two containers. I'll call my mother and tell her not to cook tonight."

  Chance smile
d and walked over to the cash register to make sure she had enough cash to make change—the old man kept the drawer low because he thought everyone was out to steal from him. “Can you do me two favors tonight?"

  Her eyes grew wide and she dropped her purse on the counter. “Does it involve Brody? You want me to cover for you?"

  He sighed and lowered his gaze for a moment. “Yes and no. The first favor is that I'd like you to return his sweatpants. Just leave them at his front door. I washed them and wrapped them in a package.” He pointed to a shelf below the counter, where there was a soft package neatly wrapped in white deli paper.

  Sarah looked at the package and frowned. “I'll give them back. But are you sure this is over? He's such a great-looking guy."

  "Yes,” he said, “It's finished. I'm not going to get involved with another control freak. I've had enough for one lifetime.” He pressed his lips together and clenched his teeth.

  "What's the other favor?” She sighed like she was expecting him to ask her to toilet-paper Brody's front yard.

  "It's about a recipe contest for the Food Network,” he said. “I want to enter, but you can only enter online and I don't have access to a computer here.” He decided not to mention anything about his fight with Brody. He knew she'd blame him for the whole thing, and then she'd harp on him all day about apologizing. He only wanted to focus on the recipe contest. He needed to plan for the future and that didn't include a bossy guy in the Navy who was just passing through town for the summer.

  The recipe contest took Sarah's mind completely off Brody. She was only too thrilled to enter him in the contest. This was right up her alley: She'd been entering them both in contests and reality show competitions since the first season of “Survivor.” She was a reality show addict. She could actually name almost every contestant from every season of “Big Brother,” and she was a member of the Ryan Seacrest fan club for life. She once told Chance that her ultimate, all-time fantasy was to get into Ryan's pants someday.