Let It Be: Eric & Maury

Eric had just come in through the screened side door to the lanai after mowing the front yard. He'd removed his sweaty workclothes and now turned under the lanai shower in the nude. The shower water was tepid but relative to the late-morning summer heat it felt positively refreshing. So refreshing, in fact, it was giving Eric a hard-on.

From a short distance, near pool's edge and a frosted glass-topped table, Maury stood smiling, stoned, already on his third Bloody Mary of the young day. It wasn't even noon yet.

"Somebody's happy," he declared.

Eric looked down at himself. "Sorry about that..."

"Why?"

"Well..."

"Let it be," a mirthful Maury gestured. He was just this side of slurred speech. Just. "Hey! That would be a great title for a song!"

Eric shut the water off. He was dripping wet. Tall, slender, about two percent body fat, if that. Washboard belly. Jutting round ass. A male vision. Dripping. "Isn't that a song already?"

Maury laughed. "How old are you again?"

"Twenty."

"Fuck you!" Maury said playfully, advancing with a thick white bath towel. "You don't know who the Beatles are?"

Eric took the towel and immediately began tousling his short dark locks. Grown out they would have curled, sweetly. But they were cut short. Maury, meanwhile, reached out with his free hand and took hold of his employee's wet cock. He stroked it, once.

"Goddamn, baby..."

Eric said, from underneath his towel: "I didn't say I didn't know who the Beatles were, I just said I wasn't sure about..."

"Let It Be."

"That's the name?" Eric asked, now drying his athletic torso off, above Maury's hand.

"Yeah, it's rather famous."

"I've heard of it..."

Maury let go, and switched the watery Bloody Mary, what was left of it, from his right hand to his former stroking hand. "Goddamn it, Eric! I'm gonna go find it on my iPad playlist and blast it the fuck through the speakers out here."

"Why don't you just Spotify it?" Maury's hand now gone, Eric was lifting each knee in turn to dry off his legs and feet.

"Say what?"

"I thought you liked opera."

"I like all kinds of shit. You ready for a little drinky-poo? You're twenty-one, right?"

"Right," Eric replied, with an imperceptible shake of the head. How many times had they played this game? "Maybe after I skim the pool."

"You're such a Puritan, Rick."

"Eric."

"Whatever. Asshole," Maury said, walking unsteadily away. "Who doesn't know who Hey Jude is...?"

Eric shook his head again, and this time it was not imperceptible. The young man, out of public view now, didn't have to dress for this portion of his weekly weekend gig. He could skim Maury's pool in the nude. He could skim it with an erection (Must be the fresh air) or without one. He could skim it then accept an underage "drinky-poo" from his employer ("No tomato juice please—I hate tomatoes!") and then the two of them could get in the sparkling pool together and Maury, down the road, would rub his Viagra-fueled cock against Eric's Stone Mountain of an ass and shoot his load in his own recently untainted pool water. But first would come the preliminary need for a chlorinated blowjob, Maury standing—swaying—on the top pool step while Eric knelt a few below. Sucking, fondling, pleasing. It was Saturday at Maury's and first came housework, then yardwork, then poolwork, then...play. All for $100.

It was a good deal—for Maury. He was rich, and what the fuck? Eric, a little grudgingly, broke it down as follows: $25 to mow, $15 for housework, the same for skimming the pool...$45 for sex: a blowjob followed by an otherwise noninvasive orgasm—for Maury. Free drinks. A splash in the pool. A few hours' work...It was mostly pleasant. Not bad, huh?

Back in the dorm Eric's roommate and sometimes lover Chad thought he was crazy. "You should charge double that."

"I'd never get it. He'd go on Deanslist and get a hundred responses from guys willing to do it for less."

"Guys. But not you."

"What's so special about me?"

"You're primo, baby. Primo," giving Eric's bottom a double pat. "You should offer to fuck him, dude. I mean...let him fuck you. Then charge double."

"Two hundred?"

"For a fuck? Plus you mow his yard, do all that other shit. Repair his fence? Jesus!"

"That was like a one-time deal."

"You're, like, his servant, dude."

Eric rolled dark-brown eyes. "Dude, that's what being a guy's, like, handyman means. It's a job, OK? Like any other job. For a few hours the asshole's my employer."

Chad seemed unconvinced and stood, naked, cock now drooping and glossy with lube, arms folded, shaking his head. "I would tell him two hundred for a fuck, dude. That's, like, eight hundred a month."

"That's crazy money."

"It's not crazy money. It's what it is, dude. For an additional service."

"It's not like Maury gets it up, OK? I mean he does and he doesn't."

"Rubbing off on you? Come on, dude! Tell him to stick it in! Dildo yourself in the shower before you go over there. He'll slide right in, I don't care how soft the fucker is..."

"I prefer it this way."

"You're crazy, dude. Who cares who's cock it is? My cock, his limp cock...some other dude's...It's just cock, dude."

Eric stood silent, trying to avoid his roommate's gaze. He reached behind. "God, your cum's leaking out me, I think. Something. I gotta go..."

"Think about what I said, dude!"

Hey Jude and not Let It Be was now piping through the outdoor lanai speakers, as Eric plied his long-poled magic wand. Once there had been a dead possum floating in Maury's pool and Maury had freaked out. "Jesus! How'd that get in here!"

Eric had buried the poor, bleached creature just beyond Maury's screened vegetable and herb garden. Then some other critter had dug up the smelly corpse and Eric had had to rebury it the following Saturday. This time, however, he wised up and covered the grave with flagstones. Now, today, a smiling, naked semi-hard Maury came out carrying two drinks: yet another Bloody Mary for himself and something clear and on the rocks with speared olives for his charge.

"Time to start drinking!" he declared, latently. "The pool looks great. Great job! Put that fucking...fishnet thing down and have a taste with the old man."

"Of the old man?" Eric smiled, looking up from his bend.

"That too, wiseass."

A naked Eric returned the pool skimmer to its pair of hooks on the house's stuccoed back wall and accepted the drink from Maury. He was no longer hard.

The drink was bitter, strong. "What the hell is this?"

"It's an adult beverage, son. Time to leave behind the...wine coolers. Or whatever you fucks drink these days."

"Flavored vodka."

"Well this is vodka flavored with a modicum of dry vermouth. Meaning it's a vodka martini on the rocks, a little dirty, with three green olives."

"Dirty?"

"A splash of olive juice as well. Drink up."

"Yuk!" Eric winced.

"Did I say a double? A double martini? That's four shots of the good stuff. Ketel One. Feel it?"

Eric did. And he nodded. The vodka was like fire going down, and a cloud going up. It went straight to his head. "Wow!"

"You like the music?"

"What is this?"

"This is Let It Be, asshole!"

"Oh. Whatever."

"Whatever," Maury sighed. "The touchstone nonsense word of an entire generation."

"Gee, thanks. What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's means, my boy, that I'm gonna fuck you today. No games in the pool today. I get you drunk, we go in my bedroom, the Viagra takes over, I fuck your sweet ass."

Eric stared down at his drink glass, now empty of all non-frozen liquid, the three olives still speared. Had he heard Maury right? His head was spinning—a little. He'd eaten a protein bar on the way over, but that was it. On an empty stomach, the vodka was becoming all-powerful. Like a Super Hero shedding his business suit.

"You...?"

"You heard right, baby boy. Time to step it up. A grown-up's drink; a grown-up's sex. Welcome to the real world, hotstuff. Don't tell me you're a virgin."

Eric looked up from his glass. "You mean...?"

"I don't mean with girls. I mean up the ass. You."

"No," Eric stammered. "No, I..."

"Good. I hate first-timers. Too tight, too...Now let's go inside and I'll make you another drink. You're way too uptight, I can tell. Relax. It'll be fun. Like playing in the pool but...better. Two adults. Hot sex. My cum shooting inside you. You'll feel it. You like the sound of that, baby?"

Eric couldn't reply. Meaning...he couldn't find the words. And as he led the way to the sliding-glass doors and the kitchen and marble countertop booze, Maury's free hand groped and squeezed each of Eric's beyond-firm cheeks, urging him on

"God I love this ass!" Eric's Saturday boss declared. "Can't wait to stick my cock up it! That Viagra shit should be kicking in any minute now..."

"You WHAT?" Chad practically screamed.

"He beat me to it."

"What do you mean he beat me to it?"

"He...I was gonna bring up your idea...And the next thing I know he's telling me change of plans, today we're gonna fuck. In the bedroom."

"So that's the perfect opportunity, asshole!"

"To what?"

"To pitch your idea!"

"But he beat me to it!"

"No, dumbass! The idea isn't about fucking, it's about getting paid for being fucked. Two hundred dollars, dude! That's what we agreed on!"

"That's what you and I talked about. That's not what Maury and I..."

"Fuck Maury. Two hundred dollars, dude! He fucked you? And you still only came away with a hundred?"

"He..."

"Are you drunk or what?"

"Yes. Yeah, sort of. He got me drunk and..."

"And fucked you up the ass. Nice. And paid you a hundred dollars for the privilege. Dude, this is not mowing a lawn, OK? It's not a blowjob. It's...a whole 'nother level, dude!"

"I get that."

"No you don't. You're a wimp. You're like, six-two, 195, body of steel...and you can't stand up for yourself."

"Well then maybe, Chad, I need a fucking agent, OK?" Eric said sarcastically. Chad, by way of reply, threw a glance off to the side. He sighed.

"You need something, dumbass. You need to grow a pair."

"I have a pair."

"Well you need a bigger pair. Grow up!"

"People stop needing to tell me that!" Eric cried, mixing his words. "I have an...empty pair," he added, looking somewhat downcast.

"You came?"

"I came on his bed, yeah. On his precious comforter."

"You jacked off?"

"No, he jacked me off while he was fucking me. We came pretty much at the same time. It was pretty hot. He got harder than I thought he would."

"You made him wear a condom, right?"

Eric looked down again, at his bare size elevens. "No."

"No?"

"Said he doesn't wear condoms."

"So fucking what? You MAKE him wear one, dude. It's your ass!"

"You don't wear one when we fuck."

"Yeah but you know me. We're buds. This guy...you don't know from shit."

"I know him from shit. I been working for him for, like, two months now."

"That doesn't have anything to do with his health!"

"He's a healthy dude, man." And for some reason the lyrics of Hey Jude popped into Eric's confused head. Chad threw both his hands up.

"I'm done with you, dude. Giving you advice."

"Good."

"I'm outta here. I don't even wanna..." Chad turned back at the dorm room door. "You're hopeless."

"He made me wear..."

The door slammed and so Eric lowered his voice. "He made me wear women's underwear. His ex-wife's, I think. He fucked me in women's..."

Eric's voice trailed off. He needed a nap.

"God! It fits you perfectly. Look! It's exquisite on you!"

Maury's hands were on Eric's waist, which in width was almost indistinguishable from his narrow hips. Still...

Puccini, or somebody like Puccini, was pumping distantly through the livingroom speakers...

"Look at you, baby!" Maury repeated.

Eric's only view of himself, however, was in Maury's dazzled dark eyes and by looking down at the somewhat wilted-looking bra cups and the contrastingly bulgy V-crotch of the one-piece bathing suit's flowery nylon.

"It fits you perfect!" Maury further declared, in uncharacteristically improper English.

Well it is squishy, clingy, form-fitting nylon Eric wanted to declare, but didn't. The suit probably would have fit hundreds of other body types—although it was uncanny how, north to south, bra straps to crotch, the suit conformed to Eric's frame. Lorelei must've been tall.

"I want you to wear this from now on whenever you go swimming," Eric's new landlord declared. "This one or the other one. I think Lorelei left two behind. We'll do some digging."

"Did your, um, wife die?" Eric inquired.

"Fuck no! She ran off with my business partner. The fuck! I'm still suing that bastard! It's tough cause they ran off to California—with lots of my money! Different jurisdiction. They were stupid though. The bitch coulda waited, sued for divorce and probably gotten half of everything I own. Thank god for love, y'know?"

Eric didn't know. He was confused. "So she behind all her...?"

"Not all. Some. Enough. They left in a hurry. I came back from a business trip and...Fuck 'em. Good riddance. Now I have you. In Lorelei's...shit. You know how much the bitch spent in a year on lingerie? Victoria's whatever? Fuck! Now it's all yours. Not yours, mine. But you get to wear it. I want you to wear it whenever we're alone in the house together. Or you're alone. For instance, keep this baby on now and go have yourself a nice swim while I'm gone. Business meeting. Then when I get back...You're still in Lorelei's sexy swimsuit and we'll have drinky-poos together, watch the sun set. Not that you can really see the sunset from here because of all the trees, but...I've gotta get 'em cut back. Hurricane season is coming. I mean, is, like, here. You don't do trees do you, Eric?"

"Trees?"

"Forget it. You'd...electrocute yourself. Don't even go there. Go for a swim. Welcome home. Just think!" Maury exulted. (Had he done some coke or something?) "No more doms. I mean dorms. No more asshole roommates who put bad ideas in your head. What's his name, Chet? Chad? Fuck the prick! And now," throwing his chubby arms out in display. "Look! All this is yours! Not yours, don't get any ideas, fucker. I mean...yours to use, long as you live here. Your own bedroom, bathroom...unless that is I want you sleep with me. Which you will, frequently. Believe me. Bit by bit we'll get Lorelei's shit moved into your room. You need a chest of drawers! Mark that down on the list. Plus...if the bitch ever comes back for the rest of her stuff...Too bad, baby. Gone! Goodwill. Fuck you! And if she ever asks...you I mean. You don't know shit about her shit. You just dress in it. Understand? God you give me a boner! Too bad I gotta...Shit, I'm late. Go for a swim. Make yourself at home. Martinis and steaks when I get back. You know how to grill shit? I'll show you, teach you everything. You'll be the cook, the maid...but so what? Free room and board? Your allowance will be a hundred twenty-five a week, paid weekly. I don't want you spending it all in one...whatever. Get my drift? The extra twenty-five is gas money...not that you probably need it driving that pruny Prius."

Pruny?

"To school and back, I mean. It's a drive from here, I realize. But so what? Look at the advantages. Look around you! It's a lot to clean but you'll do OK. I'm firing my maid. Fuck her. I think she steals. I have you now. That's a savings right there. Dishes, toilets, vacuuming, fuck...what's the big deal? Easy-peasy. Now go for a swim and enjoy yourself. You ever thought about getting a boob job? No, of course not. You're too young. Twenty-one, right? God, I feel kinda weird. Big meeting. Gotta get jacked up for it. Power of Positive Thinking. Ever read that book? No? Tossed it in the fire the guy...Anyway. I'll tell you the story one day, it's a hoot. By the way, stay out of my bathroom if you...get ambitious after your swim and decide to clean house. I mean, do some house cleaning. Which I would never discourage normally. But there's some...compromising shit in there. On my mirror. NOT the one mounted to the wall but...just don't go in there, kemosabe. You probably don't even get the reference do you? You look confused. Lighten up. Let It Be. I'll be back in, like, two hours. Three tops. We'll gill some strakes. Me you and...Lorelei. Keep that bikini on. I mean one-piece. The bitch took all her bikinis. Ironic cause she was getting too old—and fat—to wear a...

"Turn around, baby. GOD! Your sweet ass in that...Here, I'm gonna spank it. Here, like I used to do Lorelei's. Hurt? I'd tie her up, hands over her head. Get used to it. Wait till I show you the spare bedroom. Wicked! Big surprises to come, baby. Get ready. Get used to it. Hurt? You little bitch! Ow? I'll have you saying 'Ow'! Believe me. Now get in the pool! You look like a girl. I mean a boy. A boy in a...

"How do you like your steaks? I like mine rare. Bloody. I'll teach you. Like a whipping. You have so much to learn. Stay out of my bathroom you little fucker and..."

Free at last, in the vacuum of dissipating words, Eric, in Lorelei's one-piece, headed for the pool. No he didn't. He waited for Maury's black Bimmer to back out of the sloping driveway then steered his wary way toward his landlord's master bathroom. The handheld oval vanity mirror, probably another of Lorelei's former possessions, lay atop the pinkish commode, remnants of streaks of white power lining its surface. Eric wet a forefinger, dipped it to the reflective glass and tasted...bitterness.

Not unlike the speared olives in the vodka martinis forced upon him. What was it about adulthood? Everything suddenly turned bitter? Gone was the sweetness of all that lay before. The sweetness of youth and naïveté...

An unwashed cock was bitter; the booze was bitter; the white powder; marriage turned bitter; divorce was...beyond bitter.

Eric tasted more of the aspirin-tart powder. He had an erection now in the bulgy point of Lorelei's one-piece. He caressed it in the wide mirror above a pair of sinks in their marble counter. Eric smiled. Life was good. Or not. Who could say?

Time for a swim at any rate in a woman's flowery one-piece...