Chapter Seven

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Ever since I got home from my dad’s funeral, I seem to have lost all my passion, all my interest. I get up, go through the usual motions—coffee, shower—and go to work, where I do my job, and then come home. I sit in front of the TV all night, watching whatever network I happen to land on, and I go to bed.”

Bobby looked at his therapist, whose warm brown eyes met his with understanding and sympathy. Camille waited for him to continue.

“I didn’t used to be this way.”

“How did you used to be?”

Bobby laughed. “I used to be a horndog, an incorrigible slut. I had a different guy—sometimes more—every day. You know how many times I’ve had sex since I got home last week?”

Camille shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Camille asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you want to have sex?”

“That’s just it. I don’t. And that’s not me.”

Camille nodded, leaning forward to place a hand on Bobby’s knee. “Would it help if I told you your behavior is actually very normal for someone who’s just lost a parent?”

“But I hated my dad!”

“It doesn’t matter. He was still your dad. He still occupies a huge space in your personal history. Don’t you think that maybe your lack of interest in sex, and in life in general, might be due to the fact that you’re attempting to process this loss?”

“But it wasn’t a loss,” Bobby argued, perhaps a bit too vehemently.

Camille smiled, toying with her frizzy hair for a moment. “Bobby, do you really believe that?”

“Yes! He made my life hell. He was a self-centered perfectionist for whom nothing I ever did was good enough. We had zero bonding. I can’t tell you how many times, growing up, I fantasized about him dying.” Bobby thought for a moment and then sprang up from his chair. “For Christ’s sake! When my mom asked me about a happy memory with my father, you know what I did?”

Camille shook her head.

“I made one up. I couldn’t think of a single thing.” Bobby sat again. “I don’t see how you can call his passing a loss.” Bobby spat out the last word.

Camille said nothing for a moment, then softly said, “Sometimes the biggest losses are for things we never had, for things we long for. Maybe your father’s death represents a big loss to you because now you know you’ll never connect with him, not how you wanted.”

The words hit Bobby like little pellets, stinging. He didn’t want to hear them. He had spent almost the whole session complaining about his dad, about his visit home, which really wasn’t a home at all, where, if anything, he felt displaced, longing for a past that never really happened.

And now Camille was telling him his current funk was due to the fact that he was longing for a relationship with his father. His father! He didn’t need a relationship with someone as vain and shallow and flat-out mean as that man. It didn’t take a PhD in psychology to know that!

“Our time is almost up.” Camille placed her notepad on the table beside her and leaned forward, so her face was close to Bobby’s. “I’m going to say something that might surprise you.”

Bobby slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Shoot.”

“Be receptive, Bobby. Listen.” Camille shifted. “We haven’t done much work together yet, but I’ve heard enough from you in two sessions to understand that there might be a link to the promiscuity you told me about when we first met and your relationship with your father.”

“Oh, I’ve been through all this already. I talked it out with a friend in Seattle. He thought that my hooking up might have had something to do with unfulfilled longing for a father I never had.”

“And what did you think about that?”

Bobby shifted. He felt weird, like his heart was suddenly beating too fast. He couldn’t seem to make the brain, tongue connection to form words. Finally, he said, somewhat desperately, “Didn’t you say our time was up?”

Camille sighed, glancing down at her watch. “We’re a little past.” She smiled. “I can see you want to be anyplace but here. But I’ll tell you, escaping here isn’t going to help you escape your demons. You can go now, but I want you to think about the connection I just described. And maybe we can talk about that next time.”

Bobby said nothing, but thought, if there is a next time, as he hurried from Camille’s office. He slammed the door behind him.

Just as suddenly as his sex drive had vanished, it reappeared—with a vengeance.

*

Bobby didn’t want to think about anything as he took a cab north from Camille’s office to Halsted Street. It was just past 4:00 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon in late March, and the day was surprisingly, unusually temperate for this early in the spring. The sun was shining, the breeze blowing was actually warm, and people were out on the sidewalks in droves. As they headed north on Lake Shore Drive, Bobby could see that the trails along the lakefront were alive with walkers, runners, bladers, and bicyclists.

Nothing like a sunny spring day after a punishing Chicago winter to bring everyone outdoors.

The spirit of the day was completely at odds with Bobby’s mood, which was dour. Every time he thought of his session with Camille, he shifted his mind away, concentrating instead on where the cab was taking him—Sidetrack, the busiest bar along the Halsted strip. The weather, Bobby reasoned, would be the catalyst for a busier-than-usual happy hour. And a crowded happy hour, filled with hot men, drinking, talking, laughing, and cruising may not be just what the doctor ordered, but it was what Bobby ordered.

He needed to get back to being Bobby. A few vodka and cranberries, some mind-blowing sex, and he just knew he’d be back to normal. He’d be Bobby again.

The cab left him at the corner of Belmont and Halsted. Even though they weren’t quite far enough north yet for the entrance to the big video bar, Bobby tapped the driver’s shoulder at the intersection’s red light. “I’ll get out here.”

The warm air felt good, and so did the sun on his face. He found himself smiling as he took in the rainbow pylons that lined the street and the fact he was certain almost every man he passed was gay.

He was home.

This was who he was: Bobby Nelson, sexually active gay man. Young, single, handsome, and on the prowl.

He had only been depressed because he hadn’t been doing what came naturally to him.

As he walked north, he caught the eyes of several good-looking gentlemen, several of whom did the classic head swivel of gay men on the street everywhere, so they could check out Bobby’s retreating form and, perhaps, make lingering eye contact one more time. Bobby had gone home with men based on as little as this simple gesture.

Inside Sidetrack, as Bobby had predicted, the walls were lined with guys, all staring up at video screens. Right now, a scene from The New Normal was playing, and everyone laughed at the appropriate moments. The scene was followed by a couple of kids from Glee doing a rousing rendition of “Somebody That I Used To Know.”

The song made him think of Caden, and he quickly scanned the crowd, hoping to see his old friend. But Caden was nowhere to be found, and Bobby reasoned maybe that was for the best, since a confrontation, even if it was a reconciliatory one, was not what he had come to Sidetrack for.

Bobby made his way through the crowd, searching fruitlessly for any previous tricks, and finally landed in front of the bar. The bartender, he noted, was gorgeous—a shaved-head, bearded man who looked to be all of about twenty-five. He wore a tight black tank and faded jeans. Both arms were alive with color. Sleeve tattoos trailed down both muscular arms, a riot of twisting vines, flowers, and bursting stars. Bobby grinned when—at last!—he felt a familiar tightening in his groin as he watched Tattoo Guy hold up and agitate a silver cocktail shaker, then pour out a perfect martini.

Finally, the man, god, whatever, stood before Bobby. His irises were ice blue, emphasized even more by startling black lashes. The eyes met Bobby’s, and his knees just about turned to water.

Yes! I am back!

The bartender asked, “What can I get you, sexy?”

“Vodka, cranberry,” Bobby said, his gaze never wavering from the stud’s blue eyes. He felt a connection—familiar, primal—pass between them. “And your phone number,” Bobby boldly ventured, feeling confident and brazen, even. It was a feeling he had missed.

The bartender laughed and turned away to get Bobby’s drink. He set a cocktail napkin down and placed the tall glass before Bobby, saying only what Bobby owed.

Bobby fished his wallet out and handed the guy a ten. “Keep the change.”

The bartender flashed him a killer smile, with the kind of pearly white teeth that only came from professional whitening, and started to turn away.

“Hey!” Bobby called after him. When the bartender turned around once more, he looked quizzical, his heavy black eyebrows drawn together in a question. Bobby grinned. “Aren’t you gonna give me that number? I was very serious. I’d like to know when you get off.”

The bartender ambled back up to him, put his face almost close enough to Bobby’s for a kiss, and said, “Hey, man, I’m flattered, but I have a husband at home. Not a good idea for you to call me. But if I didn’t, I’d be on you so fast.” He patted Bobby’s cheek and walked away.

A man Bobby had not noticed before, even though he stood right next to him, spoke. “Justin is always like that with us older guys. Likes to flirt so he gets big tips. Can’t say that I mind. He is hot.”

Older guys? Bobby was outraged. He had just turned forty—was he now an “older” guy? He took in the man standing next to him holding a glass of beer in one beefy paw. He was definitely on the downside of forty, maybe forty-five, forty-six, but still hot in a daddy way. His plain white T-shirt and jeans revealed a fit body, broad shoulders, a thin waist, and pecs that had obviously seen much attention in a gym. His head, too, was shaved, but unlike the bartender’s, his baldness was probably due to nature or the desire to conceal gray or a thinning hairline.

Bobby liked the way a patch of silver hair poked out from the top of the guy’s T-shirt. He was drawn to the man’s intense brown eyes, his full lips, and the salt-and-pepper grizzle that coated his cheeks. The facial hair thickened around his mouth and chin, forming a scruffy goatee.

There was no denying he was hot. Still, it disturbed Bobby that the man found him “older.”

“Ah, I had to take my chances. I’d kick myself if I walked away from that and didn’t at least try.”

The man laughed, and Bobby liked it—it was deep and full. Bobby let his gaze roam south and saw that the man’s faded denim revealed a nice package. Well, more than nice, huge actually, bulging, just about begging to be caressed.

Bobby stuck out his hand. “Bobby.”

The man’s grip was confident, firm. Bobby liked that. “Aaron. Aaron Shaw.” He smiled. “I believe in exchanging full names. So few people do anymore.” He winked.

“Bobby Nelson. So, Mr. Shaw, what brings you out to Sidetrack on a Wednesday afternoon?”

“The hankering for a Blue Moon with a big slice of orange. Love this stuff. Have to limit my intake, though. Used to be I could drink a lot more, but now it goes right to the gut.” He patted a stomach that looked firm but had just the slightest beginnings of a paunch. Bobby was surprised he found it sexy. “And you? What brings you to Sidetrack? And please don’t be a wiseass and say something like a car…or the El.”

“The hankering for a man.” Bobby pointedly looked the guy up and down, sending his eyebrows up for a second, flirting.

Instead of grinning, or winking, or licking his lips, Aaron actually frowned, which took Bobby by surprise. Even though he quickly turned that frown upside down, as the saying went, Bobby was taken aback. “You come on a little strong, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t believe in playing games. I see something I like, I admit it.”

“Well, thank you. But really, I was just here for a beer and maybe some conversation. If you’re okay with that, we’ll get along.”

“Boyfriend at home?”

Aaron cocked his head. “Why would you ask that?”

Bobby knew the answer. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Maybe that’s why you’re not jumping at the opportunity to hook up with me.” But he had second thoughts, thank God, and decided uttering such words would be more than a little vain, even for him. Still, the afternoon, so far, had not gone at all as he had imagined it would.

“Just wondered.”

Aaron laughed. “Want to be sure you aren’t wasting your time?” It was Aaron’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Sorry. I shouldn’t draw conclusions.”

“I don’t think talking to you would be wasting my time.” Suddenly, Bobby felt defeated, dejected. Just as suddenly as his good mood had arrived, it deserted him. He met Aaron’s gaze and said, “I’m gonna hit the restroom.”

Aaron smiled, but he looked away. Bobby figured he knew he was being brushed off.

Bobby started away.

“Hey!”

He turned back to Aaron, who was holding out a business card. “Take this. It has my email and my cell on it. Maybe we could meet up some time. Talk. Grab coffee or a beer.”

Bobby glanced down at the card before pocketing it. “Sure thing, man.” He hurried away.

The high-tech men’s room was like a sanctuary, and Bobby was relieved to be away from the crush of bodies in the large bar. He ambled up to the urinal, hoisted himself out, and let go.

There was a guy standing next to him. Bobby had taken in the basics when he entered the washroom. Stats came to him easily; he was so practiced at sizing men up with a single glance. This one had black hair, olive skin, was probably about five feet eight, with a compact build and a bubble butt. In profile, Bobby could see the guy sported a mustache, unusual these days, but oh God, adorable. His black hair was gelled into an alluring mess of spikes. Probably late twenties, early thirties. Hispanic.

And Bobby couldn’t resist glancing down at the guy’s cock. It was uncut, a kind of purplish brown, and thick. Right now, a stream of golden piss was issuing forth from it, splattering the bowl.

Bobby had to concentrate to keep his own dick from rising in admiration.

Bobby noticed the guy’s stream slow to a trickle, then a few drops, and then nothing. But the Latino didn’t put away his cock. No, he shook it a few times, which was normal, then began stroking himself, working the cock quickly into a firm column of flesh, at least seven and a half or eight inches long. Bobby could feel two things—his breath coming quicker and the guy’s gaze on Bobby’s dick, which was hardening as he stroked himself.

Bobby didn’t say a word. He stroked himself to full hardness, spitting on his hand and working it up and down the shaft as his new friend did the same.

Bobby didn’t want things to end here. He glanced over his shoulder and saw no one entering the washroom. He met the Latino’s eyes, grinned, and then bent over, taking the guy’s cock in his mouth with one fluid motion, swallowing it all the way down to the base, to where the guy’s black pubes tickled his nose.

The guy moaned and rested his hand on the back of Bobby’s head, thrusting even more deeply into his throat. Bobby took the cock like a champ, closing his eyes, relishing the slightly salty taste of the uncut dick in his mouth. He moved his head a bit away from the cock, pulling back the foreskin to lick out the drop of precome already poised at the guy’s piss slit.

This quick, down and dirty heaven was brought to an abrupt halt by the guy stiffening (and not in a good way) and then three sharp taps on Bobby’s back. Bobby straightened up and stared into the other guy’s chocolate eyes, a question on his face.

The guy nodded over Bobby’s shoulder while hurriedly stuffing his cock back into his jeans.

Bobby turned and looked.

Aaron stood there at the entrance, leaning against the wall, watching, a sardonic grin on his face. “Sorry to interrupt, fellas, just need to take a piss.”

Bobby felt heat rise up to envelop his face and neck. He put himself away with difficulty—he was still half-hard—and started out of the washroom.

Aaron grabbed his arm as he went by. “You need to be careful,” he said softly.

“Oh, fuck you. Mind your own business.”

Instead of looking outraged, Aaron’s face revealed only concern. “It’s just that a couple guys were arrested last week in here for doing just that. The owner doesn’t want that kind of thing going on here. He could lose his license. There are plenty of back room bars for that, or the baths up the street.”

Bobby watched the Latino retreat quickly, brushing by them as he edged his way out of the men’s room, eyes cast downward.

“Shit,” Bobby whispered to Aaron. “That’s ruined.”

Aaron sidled up to the urinal and took himself out. Bobby heard the splatter of piss hitting the aluminum. He didn’t dare look.

Aaron spoke over one shoulder. “Look, man, I didn’t mean to come off as the morality police or anything. From where I was standing, that looked damn hot. But I just didn’t want to see you get in trouble.”

“Thanks.”

Bobby turned to leave.

“Use my number. Give me a call,” Aaron called out.

Bobby didn’t answer, but hurried back out into the crowd, hoping to find that the Latino wasn’t totally humiliated and that he remained in the bar.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Bobby spotted him standing on the upper level, alone, holding a bottle of Bud in one hand.

Bobby rushed up to him. The Latino met his gaze and, to Bobby’s immense relief, grinned.

“Sorry we were so rudely interrupted—and just when things were getting interesting.”

“Well, I guess, contrary to my fantasies, the whole world is not my sexual playground.”

“More’s the pity,” Bobby said. “I’m Bobby.”

The guy shifted his beer to his left hand so he could shake Bobby’s with his right. “Carlos.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Carlos.” Bobby glanced down at his bottle and was able to determine it was three-quarters empty. “I was just gonna go grab another cocktail. Would you like another beer?”

Carlos winked and leaned close, whispering hotly in Bobby’s ear, “What I’d really like is for you to suck my cock some more.”

Bobby straightened up. “Well, I think that can be arranged. To use the age-old cliché, your place or mine? I think in public is kind of ruined for us, at least for now.”

Carlos said, “I got a roommate at my place up in Edgewater. So that’s not cool. You gotta place?”

“I certainly do. Follow me.”

*

Twenty minutes and one cab ride later, Bobby found himself flat on his back in his bed, his calves on Carlos’s shoulders, as the Latin guy thrust deeply into him. Bobby was enjoying this, and his groans and cries to “fuck me harder” confirmed it. He liked the way Carlos’s thick cock stretched him open, sending electric waves of pleasure not just through the area being penetrated but also throughout his whole body. Bobby’s own dick was rock hard, and he dared not touch it. Carlos’s thrusting had him this close. He glanced down at his dick and watched the precome ooze out of it, pooling on his flat belly.

“Oh man, you feel so good. I could fuck you all night.”

“Go for it,” Bobby gasped. A little come leaked out of him as the head of Carlos’s dick hit his prostate.

Maybe Carlos would have liked to fuck Bobby all night, but it was only seconds later as Bobby watched Carlos’s face morph into something twisted as his orgasm approached. He clenched his eyes together and his mouth dropped open. “Fuck! I’m gonna come!”

“Shoot it in me, baby! I want every drop.” Bobby ground his hips down on Carlos’s pulsating cock, enveloping it completely in his hole. He loved this part, watching his fucker’s face go from tense as he shot to more relaxed as the come and sexual tension ebbed out of him.

Bobby reached up to touch Carlos’s gorgeous face while he worked his own cock up and down. “Keep it in me. Keep it in me,” he muttered, as he drove himself to his own climax. In only a moment, he shot, the white come arcing up over his belly to land on his chin and chest.

They both laughed, Carlos collapsing on top of Bobby.

Carlos pulled himself carefully from Bobby, rolling onto his back next to him. Bobby watched as he unrolled the condom from his half-hard cock, eyeing the load inside with hunger. Would it to be too slutty of me to snatch that out of his hand and suck the come from it? Bobby decided it would. Besides, Carlos had already flung it into the wastebasket beside the bed.

“You mind if I have a smoke?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah. I kind of do. Is that okay?”

“Sure, I understand.” Carlos sat up, and Bobby admired the muscles in his strong brown back. He traced his hand along the spine. “I need to get going anyway.” Carlos stood and began to struggle into his jeans.

Bobby got up on one elbow. “What? I was hoping you’d stay. Maybe have round two? Breakfast in the morning?”

Carlos laughed. “Dude, I don’t think my wife would like that.”

“You have a wife? I thought you mentioned a roommate.”

Carlos grinned and pulled on his T-shirt. “I suppose you could call her that too. But she’s gonna be wondering where the hell I am.” Carlos leaned over and gave Bobby a fast peck on the lips. It was funny, Bobby thought, how quickly all the passion died once a guy shot his load.

“You want my number?”

Carlos paused at the door to the bedroom. “I could take it, but I might not ever call. I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”

Sure you don’t. “No worries. I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks, buddy. I can see myself out.”

Bobby lay in bed, body tense, as he listened for the sound of the front door opening and closing. Within seconds, it did. Bobby leaned over and plucked the condom from the wastebasket. He held it in front of him, eyeing the thick load within its receptacle tip, imagining himself turning it upside down above his mouth and letting the come flow into him.

That would be hot. But it would also be unsafe.

Instead, he upended the rubber above his chest and let the come run onto himself, mixing with the drying remnants of his own load. He rubbed it into his skin, whispering, “Carlos.”

He rolled onto his side, staring out at the night, which had crept in while he and Carlos were fucking and now pushed against the glass as if it wanted admittance.

“Carlos,” Bobby whispered once again, wishing he had stayed. He closed his eyes against the darkness and imagined the two of them in bed together, Bobby’s head on Carlos’s chest, laughing and talking softly. He imagined falling asleep together, spooning.

He would have liked to have at least talked to him. Maybe shared a laugh. Discovered what they did and didn’t have in common. Made plans to meet a second time.

Dream on.

Wearily, Bobby got up and headed for the shower, ass sore and, in spite of the orgasm he had just had, feeling completely unfulfilled.

Just as he was about to step into the shower, Bobby heard his phone ringing from the bedroom. He smiled when he saw the picture of the handsome redhead who came up on its screen.

Bobby pressed Accept. “Cody! I haven’t heard from you in ages. What’s up?” Cody, a bearded, beefy redhead, had once been one of Bobby’s fuck buddies. Once, because it had been at least six months since he had heard from the man. But back then, they had gotten together for some very satisfying sex at least a dozen times—why, it was almost a relationship! But when Cody stopped calling and two, three months had passed, Bobby had assumed that the statute of limitations had run out on their friends-with-benefits status. He had moved on and had had, oh, literally hundreds of new “friends” since the advent of Cody. Bobby assumed the same was true for his long-lost “friend.”

“Well, I was just thinking about you.”

“Yes?” Bobby grinned in spite of himself. That mood that Carlos had left in his wake? The unfulfilled one? The one that was quickly catching up with Mr. Carlos as he headed out of the building? It was doing a U-turn and heading back to the elevators.

“Going through my contacts and I came across your stunning picture.”

Bobby laughed. “Get out!”

“No, seriously, I came across it. Had to clean the screen off and everything.”

They both laughed.

“I like that. So what’s going on? I haven’t heard from you in ages. To be honest, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t ever again.”

“Well, I’ve been busy.”

“A man?”

“Oh, you know me so well!”

“Serious?”

“He just moved in last week. Bobby, I’m in love. Bliss!”

And Bobby’s mood, which had gone from unfulfilled to optimistic, took another U-turn, grabbed the elevator doors to prevent them from shutting, and headed back down to the lobby. “Well, good for you,” Bobby said, hoping he sounded convincing. But why, he wondered, is Cody calling to tell me now? To rub it in? Now he was just being self-pitying. For all Cody knew, Bobby was happily settled in his own little love nest with a man who was kind, smart, gorgeous, and who drove a Porsche.

Shallow much?

“So, what prompts the call? Not that I’m not glad to hear from you again, but this just comes so out of the blue.”

“I know, I know. But, uh, Andy was looking at my contacts with me, and he was very impressed with your picture. Very impressed.” Cody lowered his voice to a whisper. “I showed him some of the other pics too, the naked ones. He about shot when he saw those.” Cody’s voice returned to normal. “So we talked a little about you, saw it wasn’t all that late, and, um, don’t quite know how to put this, but—”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Is this a booty call?”

Cody laughed. “I guess we’ve shared so many of those in the past, you recognize my siren song when you hear it.”

“But I’m confused. I thought you just said you were blissfully in love with this new guy—setting up housekeeping and everything. What did you say his name was again? Andy?”

“Right. C’mon, Bobby, you know I could never be monogamous. We play together. I’m emotionally monogamous to Andy; he’ll always come first in my heart.”

Good luck with that.

“Anyway, we were doing a little partying, nothing serious, it is a weeknight after all, but we were in the mood for a third, and you came up—along with our dicks. So, what do you say? You still single? Available? I won’t even ask if you’re up for it because you’re the one person in Chicago that I can always count on being up for it.” Cody laughed.

Bobby didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched out. Bobby glanced at the clock and saw that it was going on ten. He had to be at work in the morning.

“Bobby? Has your situation changed? It’s cool if it has. It was still nice to talk to you.”

“No! No, I was just trying to decide if I want to come out on a work night.”

“Are you getting old or something? Two hot guys here—horny and hard! Just waiting for you. You gonna turn that down?”

Bobby grinned but felt sad. “I guess not. You still over in Lincoln Square?”

“Eastwood Avenue, second floor. How long?”

“Just gonna hop in the shower, and then I’ll be right over. Less than an hour.”

“Sounds good. You won’t regret it. See you soon!” Cody disconnected.

Bobby hung up the phone, looked again at the darkness pressing in, wondering if that’s what it looked like inside his heart.

He sighed and headed back into the shower. He had a date!

*

Bobby lay snuggled between the two men in their king-size bed. Cody must have moved in with the older Andy, because none of this furniture, all very sleek, very Room and Board, had belonged to Cody when he knew him. Cody was more the type to haunt thrift stores for midcentury modern stuff. He said it reminded him of his childhood in Des Plaines.

Bobby noted how quiet they all were, now that they had all come. Bobby had been what he referred to as “spit-roasted:” one guy up his ass (Andy) and the other down his throat. During the course of a prolonged and sweaty fuck, the couple had switched off, using Bobby’s orifices three times each, finally ending up in the same positions as when they started. At least they hadn’t suggested double penetrating him. Bobby wasn’t sure even he could handle that, especially not with Andy, who sported at least nine inches.

Now, lying between the two sweaty and muscular bodies, Bobby remembered Andy’s nine inches, his compact, almost muscle-bound frame, his black high and tight buzz that made him look like a marine or a police officer, the coarse black hair that covered the man from head to toe. He remembered him from not just this evening’s ass pounding, which had left Bobby breathless and aching in an oh-so-good way, but from several other times over last summer, when Andy had visited Bobby at his Lake Shore Drive condo.

They had originally met at Steamworks, the bathhouse on Halsted. Andy had been one of a trio who had gangbanged Bobby one memorable hot summer night.

And now here Andy was with his former fuck buddy, Cody, in what passed for wedded bliss in Chicago’s gay community. Small world.

“So,” Bobby asked, “tell me the story. How did you guys meet? How long have you been together?”

Cody quickly got up on one elbow to look down on Bobby. His green eyes shone. Bobby wasn’t sure if it was from the candlelight or happiness.

Cody smirked. “Wish we had some romantic story to tell, but the truth is we hooked up online. When I saw this one’s pic on Adam4Adam, I was in love. Who wouldn’t be, right? With that body and that dick? I didn’t even think the man was in my league. But it worked out fast. You know how it goes, sometimes you can spend hours on those sites, cruising, chatting, sending messages back and forth, exchanging pics…”

Bobby knew.

“Anyway, it was like that with us. I got online, and five minutes later, Andy was headed over to my place. I like to think it was fate. And Andy agrees, don’t you, honey?”

Andy growled from his side of the bed. Bobby assumed it was in agreement.

Cody continued, the happiness he felt obvious from the big smile on his face. “And it went really fast after that first time too. And that first time? Wow. Well, you know.” Cody nudged Bobby, and Bobby politely laughed.

Cody got up and moved to the other side of the bed so he could cuddle up next to Andy. Bobby watched as he stroked the hair on Andy’s chest and reached up to tenderly kiss his neck. Cody whispered, “I just love this guy. With all my heart. He’s the ‘one.’ You know what I mean?”

Bobby nodded and wished he did.

Andy looked over at Bobby with his dark eyes, smiling. “Soul mates.”

“That’s great, guys.”

The hot sex he had shared with the two of them no longer mattered. Bobby now felt like a little poor boy, standing outside a candy store, nose pressed to the glass, longing for things that would always be out of his reach. He looked at how contented Cody looked with his head on Andy’s chest, the older man’s arm wrapped protectively around him. In spite of what they had just done, they appeared to be such a sweet couple, so completely in love.

Bobby didn’t think he could bear to lie here as the pair drifted off to blissful sleep in each other’s arms.

It felt as though a lot more than a mere few inches separated him from them.

He sat up and reached for the jeans he had left in a crumpled heap on the stained-black hardwood floor. He slid into them, back turned to the boys on the bed, staring at the wall before him. To that wall, he said, “Gotta get up early for work in the morning. Thanks, guys. This was great.”

He listened for one or the both of them to protest, to ask him to stay the night, or at least for another round, but it was only Cody who said, “Got it. It was good to see you again, Bobby.”

“Yeah.” Bobby looked over his shoulder at the couple. “This was fun.”

“We’ll do it again,” Andy said, sitting up and pulling on the boxers he had worn when he answered the door. “I’ll see Bobby out, hon.”

“Okay.” Cody pointed the remote at the plasma screen mounted on the wall opposite the bed. It had been playing porn, but Bobby could hear him switch the porn off and the TV on. The Golden Girls theme was playing.

Bobby couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Andy closed the bedroom door and then followed Bobby down the hall to the front door. There, they paused.

“Thanks for not mentioning that we’d hooked up before.” Andy smiled. He opened a small desk situated in the entryway and rooted around in it.

“No problem.”

Andy scrawled something on a sheet of paper and straightened up. “I mean, Cody would be cool with it. We met on a cruising site, after all, but I think we were both wise to just keep things to ourselves.”

“Very wise. Your secret is safe with me.”

Andy pressed the piece of paper into Bobby’s hand, then grabbed him and pulled him close so his rock-hard body touched every inch of Bobby’s. Bobby was getting hard in spite of himself. He felt the same stirring from within Andy’s boxers.

Andy licked his ear and whispered, “Man, that is one fine ass you got there. I’d like another taste with us just one-on-one, on the down low, because Cody and I are supposed to play only together, but I would love to drop by your house again sometime, fuck you senseless.” Andy growled.

He did that a lot.

Bobby pushed away from him. He looked into the man’s sexy dark eyes, remembering the scene of contentment he had just witnessed between the couple, and hurried, wordless, out the door.

Once he was in the street, he tore the paper on which Andy had written his number into tiny pieces and tossed it in the gutter. He felt the hot prick of tears in his eyes.

He began walking east, toward Damen Avenue. At this hour of the early morning, he knew a cab would be hard to find, especially here in Ravenswood. But the brown line L station was only a couple of blocks away, and he could catch that, take it to Belmont, and walk home from the station.

The train was nearly deserted.

Bobby gingerly took a seat, ass still sore from the poundings it had taken in the last twenty-four hours. God! Have you really taken three dicks up there in one day? You slut! Bobby thought the appropriate response to this thought would be a quiet chuckle to himself, but instead he simply felt sad.

He stared out the window at the backs of apartment buildings as the train sped south and east. Many of the windows were dark, but a few gave off a warm yellow glow, and Bobby thought that indicated home. Sometimes, he would see a person moving around in a kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator door, or the flickering light of a TV in a living room. When they were stopped at the Irving Park station, he saw a couple, male, lying in bed together. They were not doing anything risqué, both of their faces aglow with the light from e-readers or iPads on their laps. Their bare shoulders touched, and in that brief moment, Bobby witnessed their companionable silence.

He felt just as isolated from this scene as he had from watching Cody and Andy in bed together, drifting off. He hoped this pair, glimpsed only briefly, had more going on than the couple he had just been with.

The train lurched back into motion. Bobby had been so absorbed in staring out the window, he hadn’t noticed that someone else had boarded the train.

Someone was occupying the seat opposite him, his back against the windows, long legs stretched out before him so his Nikes dangled into the aisle. The guy stared at Bobby, an impish grin playing about his lips. How do they always know? Bobby wondered. And what does this one want? A blowjob or to bash my face in? It’s hard to tell, especially on a public conveyance like the L.

This guy had a mop of black hair, part of which hung down to cover one of his dark eyes. He was olive-complexioned, tall, and wore faded jeans and a Northwestern hooded sweatshirt. Middle Eastern? Hispanic? Bobby couldn’t tell for sure, but he imagined an uncut, plum-headed dick nestled between those spread thighs.

The guy smiled bigger at him. He was either making fun of Bobby or trying to start something.

Bobby threw caution to the wind and smiled back, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

Ever the suave, romantic gentleman, the man squeezed his crotch, never ceasing his eye contact with Bobby. To be sure Bobby got the message, he licked his lips.

Bobby nodded. Oh, he’s all subtle charm.

The man stood and was suddenly on the seat next to Bobby. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Bobby felt trapped, leaning back toward the cool glass of the window. Glancing behind him, the guy reached down and squeezed Bobby’s dick, which—damn it—was getting hard, in spite of the stranger’s not-so-alluring aroma and the brown teeth he revealed when he smiled.

You really aren’t considering this, are you? For one, haven’t you already had enough for one day? Buddy, you’re not even horny. And two, this guy is beneath you. You are so far out of his league it isn’t funny.

Or maybe he’s just what you deserve…

Still, Bobby’s dick was hard. He felt, as he had many times in the past, that his dick stole all the blood from his brain.

He leaned over and whispered in Bobby’s ear. “I get off at Belmont.”

“Me too,” Bobby said, questioning his motive for responding.

“You got a place?”

Bobby shook his head. “No.” He thought maybe that would end things.

But this guy was undeterred. “I got a studio, right across the street from Dunkin’ Donuts. We can be there and undressed, man, in like ten minutes. You up for it?” He gave Bobby’s dickhead a squeeze as the train slowed when it pulled into the Belmont station.

Bobby wasn’t sure what to think. A part of him didn’t know how to say no. It would just be easier to follow him off the train, go to his apartment, and have sex. It would all be over in less than a half hour, and then he could go home and maybe, finally, sleep.

Bobby moved the hand gently from his crotch. There were people, after all, standing on the El platform, and they could see them.

He didn’t want to do this and wondered why he felt compelled. Was it really easier to go through with it than it was to utter one simple two-letter word: no? He looked over at the guy once more, at his eager grin, and Bobby’s stomach gave a little nauseous lurch.

“Okay. I’ll follow you.”

The train stopped, and the door slid open, accompanied by the familiar gong. Bobby watched as the stranger stood, and still wondering what the hell he was doing, he eyed the man’s ass.

He didn’t feel in the least horny.

Bobby sighed and stood, then walked to the door. His potential fuck buddy was already out on the platform, facing away. The flash of flame from a lighter illuminated the area around his face, indicating he simply could not wait to light up a smoke.

Is this what you really want?

Bobby stepped off the train, a million invisible hands and inaudible voices telling him not to follow.

The guy looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

And Bobby stepped back onto the train, just as the doors were closing. With a sigh, he plopped back down in his seat as the train lurched into motion.

He stared out the window at the man standing there, a cigarette dangling from between his lips, watching the train’s passage, features twisted by confusion, or maybe the surprise of rejection.

Whatever. Bobby was simply glad to be going home, glad that, for once, he had not followed through.

He could catch a cab to his condo from the station at Fullerton.