It was my final day working for Kent County Community Mental Health. Thank God. Seven years of doing intensive, community-based social work hadn't been good for my soul or my health. And I was looking forward to a two-week break before starting my new job at the local library. I was 33. I felt like I did my boot camp, post-grad-school job, and deserved something a little lighter. Something less wrapped around responding to people who are psychotic, suicidal, homeless, or high as fuck.
I was packing up the last few things from my cubicle - an orchid plant, some fun magnets, a tiny rainbow flag, and some incense. A snarky meme taped to my desk read, "Don't hate the player, hate the game". I trashed it along with a half-eaten bag of Cheetos. I was glad that most of the team was out in the community with clients or downstairs in the clinic area so I could sneak out stealthily without a ton of goodbyes and attention on me. They call that an "Irish goodbye".
Crap, I thought. I gotta return this book about trauma that I borrowed from my boss, Nathan. Never even read it. I guess it gives me a nice segue into saying goodbye to him. I already expressed my gratitude and sentiments to him a couple days earlier, so this final farewell could be pretty quick and simple. As I walked down the carpeted hallway toward his private office, I started thinking about how our relationship evolved over the years. How I grew to really respect him.
At first I had sort of idolized him because he was so good at what he did. Kind, approachable, and sensitive - the kind of straight dude that has enough non-toxically-masculine attributes to make you pause and think to yourself, Hmm, I bet he'd let a dude suck his dick. Or let a dude watch him fuck his wife.
It also didn't hurt that Nathan was pretty handsome. He was like eight years older than me. I had heard through the grapevine that he was sort of a ladies man back in the day before marrying his wife. Back when he had long blonde hair. And was a literature major in college before getting into social work.
Nathan typically enters the building in the morning wearing cargo shorts and a green hoodie, accompanied by his bicycle. He bikes to work every day like a psycho and then transforms into his business-casual boss man outfit. Standing about 5' 10" with a fairly slender build, his athleticism gave him some definition in his calves, abdomen, and upper chest. He has short, tossed-around hair, often topped with a red beanie, and an adorable dimple on his left cheek. He shows signs of aging, but was looking good for a man in his 40's.
"Knock-knock, Nathan. It's Luke." I popped my head around the edge of his doorway. He was busy typing away on his laptop, sitting behind his desk covered in post-it notes. Some quiet, 90's rock music playing from his speaker.
"Hey Luke. How's it goin'?", he said with a relaxed, half-smile. Damn, I'll miss this guy. Sure he was kinda guarded about his personal life and leaned toward workaholism, but he always seemed to be super comfortable around people who are weirdos, including a queer guy like me.
I walked into the room. "Good. Kinda weird."
"I bet."
"Yeah, I wanted to return this book to you and say a quick goodbye." I set the book on his desk.
"Thanks. We'll have a hard time filling your shoes, Luke".
That damn dimple of his. I've jerked off so many times to him and that dimple it ain't even funny. Fantasies of seeing him pee next to me at the work urinals, him knowing I was staring at his cock and maybe giving me extra time to get a good, long look. Fantasies of running into him in the showers at the local gym, seeing how his naked cock flops back and forth when he walks. Fantasies of us sharing a hotel room at a work conference up north, leading to us watching porn together.
