Another Hotel Bar
"It'd be awesome to see you again," I texted back
You texted that I should meet you at The Keep, which is in the Hotel Leveque.
I spent a lot of time getting ready to see you again. I started internally, just in case what I hoped would happen actually happened.
I continued externally. I shaved my face and neck and then my balls and crack. I let my course salt and pepper hair -- which I had grown out -- hang loose, using enough product to tame my curls, but not so much that my hair had a will of its own.
I dressed to show off my body. My black shirt was tight. It was not age appropriate.
My grey LuLuLemons were just as tight. They hugged me everywhere I wanted to be hugged. They showed everything I wanted to show.
My white Stan Smith tennis shoes were also not age appropriate.
You were already standing at the bar when I arrived, but I didn't recognize you, at least not immediately. Your loose, wavy hair was shorter and styled. You wore horned rim glasses, like Superman. Your clean, sharp jawline was bearded. Your "dad bod" was transformed. Your chest and shoulders were still broad, but your waist was narrowed, your torso now a distinct V.
"Ooooh... I bet Clay has cum gutters," I thought.
Your ass and legs were still thick, but they seemed sleeker, even through your jeans.
"Clay?" I asked, approaching you from the left.
"Jacks!" you answered, turning and wrapping me up, your arms embracing me warmly.
I answered your embrace, my arms under yours.
"I almost didn't recognize you," I said, once the embrace ended. "You have a beard. You cut your hair. You look so different."
"I am so different," you said. "Let's get you a drink and I'll tell you how much."
We ordered me a wine to match your vodka. As we waited, you pushed your left shoulder against my right.
"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," I said.
"You changed me," you said. "It took me a long time to sort it out, but you changed me."
"For the better?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," you said. "Oh yeah."
My wine arrived. I grabbed it, and we looked around. There was a table for two in the corner. We claimed it.
"I can't believe you're here," I said, reaching my right hand across the table and grasping your left.
"Before we get started," you said, "I have some questions about the last time I saw you."
"Uh oh," I thought. "Shoot," I urged.
"Why'd you just leave?" you asked. "I mean, I thought you might join me in the shower, and instead you scribbled a quick note and left?"
"I've been with a lot of straight guys, Clay," I explained. "And, as much fun as the being with is, the after is usually a combination of disgust, regret, or shame, and it's almost always extremely awkward to wrap it all up. So, I decided to let you off the hook and get while the getting was good."
"Turns out," you said, smiling, "I'm a bit crooked."
"Really?" I asked. "Holy shit," I thought.
"Do tell," I added.
"Buckle up, Buttercup," you said. "It's quite a ride."
I pretended to buckle a seat belt and then used my hands to pull my ears forward. Obviously, I was signaling that I was all ears.
"Probably the biggest thing," you said, holding up your hand and showing me your naked fourth finger, "I'm divorced. Turns out, I was not the only one cheating. Not long after Chicago, Kelly -- my wife -- confessed that the twins may not be mine, as she had been for more than three years fucking my best friend in our neighborhood, Marcus. Turns out, they were, in fact, not mine. No need for a paternity test, either. Like Marcus, they have dark skin.... Marcus is black. So are the twins."
"Wow," I said.
"It gets better," you continued. "Marcus, too, was married at the time. His wife delivered their first child -- a girl -- about three weeks before Kelly delivered her fourth and fifth and his second and third."
"Bigger wow," I said.
"Yep," you continued. "Marcus is also now divorced. His wife took Keisha, their daughter, back to Birmingham, where she is from. Kelly now lives down the street with Marcus and their sons, Marcus -- he's a Junior, and they call him Deuce -- and Malcom."
"That must be hard," I offered, trying to be empathetic.
"It was. It isn't now. We've all made our peace with it. Kelly's happier. I'm happier. My boys can see their mom and their brothers whenever they want." You air quoted "brothers."
"Well, that's big of you," I siad. "I mean, it's one thing to cheat, it's another thing to be friends with the man who was fucking your wife while pretending to be your friend."
"We're friendLY," you corrected, "not friends... And, there's a reason there's only one letter separating friend from fiend."
I had never thought of that.
"Marcus is a fiend," you said. "But I'm a bit of one, too. I mean, I was unfaithful to Kelly throughout our marriage."
"Throughout?" I asked.
"Yes," you answered. "I fucked someone besides my wife on my first business trip after our wedding. After that, I kept doing it, every trip. I never got caught, but I never didn't get caught, either. It was just there, always between us."
"Did you suspect her?" I asked.
"No," you answered. "She, too, is a fiend. I mean, she was fucking him right under my nose, during her so-called 'runs', when she was 'shopping', when she was 'running errands'. I mean, she lost interest in me because he was splitting her on the regular, and her pussy could only take so much."
"You seem freakishly sanguine about this," I observed.
"Anger and resentment corrode the vessel that carries them," you answered. "For my boys, I can be friendly with Kelly and Marcus.... And, I'm a bit of a glass house on this one, as you well know. I mean, I railed you when she was at home with what I thought were my twins."
My mind went to Chicago, particularly to me riding you as hard as I had ever ridden anyone. It brought a smile to me face.
