All characters are over 18 years old.
*****
Cliff and John were on time to pick up Ben for the movie. Ben had woken from Tom's embrace in time to get back to his house, clean up, and meet them. His goodbye to Tom was not ideal. He panicked he would be late and would have to come up with an explanation to them and, even worse, his parents. He dressed, smiled at Tom and apologized for a departure that had no romance, no tenderness, and nothing that reflected the significance of the afternoon. Instead it was almost transactional. He felt empty but he could not afford controversy from his mother, father, or his friends.
While Cliff and John laughed through the film, Ben couldn't. He was caught with the smell of Tom in him. It was the strangest feeling. He could breathe in one minute and he caught only the smells of a movie theatre—stale popcorn and carpet cleanser. Other times he would breathe in and he smelled Tom. His body and his breath. In his mind he was back to lying on the floor as Tom pleasured him. His hairy chest. His scruff. His passion. It was all there randomly and it was beautiful. Could Cliff and John tell how lost Ben was in the moment? He didn't care; he had never felt better.
After Cliff and John dropped him off, Ben went to bed and fitfully tried to go to sleep. But he could only think of Tom. To relax himself, he jerked off thinking of Tom taking his cock in his mouth. He slowly drifted off to sleep and dreamed that Tom was on lying top of him. He wanted that again. He wanted Tom's weight on him. Tom's deep kisses. Tom gazing at him. Nothing else would do. Masturbation took the sting out of the aching, but it was still a dull and persistent pain.
Over the next few days Ben looked out his bedroom window in the evening to see if Tom was there. He looked for lights on in Tom's house. He looked for Tom in his backyard. When coming in from his job, he would walk slowly from the car to get to the house. Was Tom looking out of his windows to see Ben? Would Tom come out and call him over? Would there be an excuse he could come up with to tell his parents? Did Tom want to see him again? This man with his lean yet powerful chest, the chiseled face, the magnetism. Would he want to be with someone as young and inexperienced like him again? Ben felt weak. He could not concentrate. He couldn't eat or sleep. He tossed and turned and dreamed only of Tom walking into his room and kissing him the way he had the prior the weekend. Ben's desire was not, however, met with relief. There had been no word from Tom. Ben wondered if this is what Tom did. Take in someone, caress him, make him feel like he had never felt before, and then that was it. Was Tom a tease? Would he ever have the opportunity to feel the hair on Tom's chest again? Would he be able to reciprocate and give Tom the pleasure that Tom had given him? Was the lingering scent of Tom something he should try to hold on to as he would never get again? Ben's heart raced at the thought of it—the ability to do it all over again.
On Thursday afternoon, Ben returned home and did his slow amble up the driveway and tried desperately not to look at Tom's house. He entered the door, went to the kitchen and was met by his mother. She was clearly upset and Ben's heart began to race. Did she know what had happened with Tom? How could she have known? Did a neighbor see and then tell his mother? Panicked he asked only "Mom, are you ok?" She told him they had word from his aunt in Santa Barbara. She had to be hospitalized for an emergency appendectomy. His aunt would be ok but she was very sick and needed someone to take care of her dogs. She and his father were heading up there for the weekend. She apologized that Ben could not go as he was already scheduled to lifeguard that weekend and she knew it was too soon for him to get a replacement. His mother asked him if he would be ok taking care of the house himself. She would leave microwaveable dinners for him. There was cereal and milk for the morning; lunch meat and bread was also there if he wanted it. Ben tried to hide his excitement that he had the possibility of being alone with Tom. He said flatly that it would be ok and feigned disappointment that he would miss a weekend with his aunt. He did love his aunt; she was the fun one. He could tell her things. He could maybe even tell her about Tom. She was the rebel, the artist-professor. But while he loved her, time with her was nothing like the thought of being with Tom again.
On Friday morning, his parents packed the car, kissed him goodbye, and headed north. Ben went to work for the morning and afternoon shift. There he was, watching country club kids and making sure they didn't drown. He endlessly twirled the chord holding his whistle around his index finger clockwise and counterclockwise. With his baseball hat and Ray-ban aviators on he knew the kids were slightly fearful of him. And while he was projecting this aura of casual indifference, on the inside he stomach was in knots. He tried, and repeatedly failed, not to look at his watch. He was off at four and would immediately go home and knock on Tom's door. Maybe Tom would be home early on a Friday? Until then though, it was just him, the games of Marco Polo, the chicken fights, the races to the bottom of the pool, the screams of the kids.
At 3:55, Lindsay, his replacement let him know she was on. She asked how things were and he told her "Uneventful as always" and tried not to run to the car. His drive home was nothing short of agony. The suburban streets were consistently marked for 25 miles per hour and he kept an eye on the speedometer as his parents wouldn't tolerate a ticket. The desire he felt, the aching, the weakness in his legs, would be allayed once he was able to kiss Tom again.
He pulled up to his house, parked on the street, ran up the walkway (there was no use in the slow amble he had done the past week) opened the door, and dropped his wallet and car keys on the kitchen counter. He then, with a sick feeling in his stomach went next door and knocked on the door. The last time he had done this was almost a week ago. That was, however, a world away. He waited for a response. He strained to hear Tom's footsteps coming down the stairs. He anticipated hearing "just a minute." When Tom opened the door, he would walk in, shut the door, and kiss him deeply. He would kiss him like he hadn't before. No fear this time. No trepidation. Just his desire—man to man. When Ben did not hear the footsteps, or Tom's voice, he decided Tom must be in the shower. While it was tempting to try to open the door and surprise him, he decided that would not be the best move. Instead he walked back to his house and gave Tom a few minutes.
On the walk back, he decided the best thing was to take a shower. He used his mom's shampoo because it smelled nice, shaved, brushed his teeth, and used some of his dad's aftershave. He towel dried his hair and body, put on his whitest underwear, his favorite t-shirt, a a pair of jeans, and sandals.
He walked back over to Tom's house just by cutting through the yard. No sidewalk. No time to waste. He was approached to door, knocked, and waited. Tom fresh out his shower, would come to the door perhaps in a bathrobe. His hair would still be damp and he would have a towel around the back of his neck. He would open the door, give Ben that million dollar smile, and invite him in. Ben smiled at the thought of it, but he kept waiting. There was no sound from inside. No footsteps. No call from upstairs. Nothing.
Dejected, Ben walked back home and tried to figure out what to do with his evening. Could he call Cliff or Jim and ask if they had plans? He would be out with them and he would have missed this opportunity. He was going to need to do something to get Tom off his mind. He could jerk off, but what if Tom came home? He would have wasted it on himself. His mind reeling, Ben began to wonder. What if Tom had to work late? Had he gone away for the weekend? Perhaps he had gotten back together with his wife? What if none of that were true. Ben went to his parents room which overlooked both their front lawn and Tom's driveway. He sat on his mother's side of the bed and watched the street. When Tom came home, if Tom came home, he would know.
Ben waited and waited. He played a game on his phone to distract himself. It was eight o'clock and there was no sign of Tom. Ben wondered, if he temporarily fallen asleep and missed Tom's entrance? He knew he thought he could hear Tom's garage door open. But maybe not. Maybe he just nodded off and missed the car. Was it worth it to walk over and knock again? Would he look like a fool? Would the neighbors across the street see him coming over? What would he say to them? They were so damned nosy.
The sun was now behind the trees and getting lower. The street lights had not come on yet, but they would be soon. The desperation Ben felt for the last four hours had dissipated. Now he was angry. This was his chance. He could spend the night with this man, but Tom was blowing it. He was gone and Ben as left alone with only the memory of Tom.
As the despair set in, Ben's heart leapt when he saw Tom's car pull up. He tried to tell if there was someone else with him, but it was too dark for him to see in the car. It was just a car pulling into a garage with a remote controlled door. As far as Ben could tell, the car could have been driverless. Then the garage door closed and it was silence punctuated only by the cheers of children playing a few houses away.
Ben paced his parents room back and forth. Perhaps Tom had picked up someone. Perhaps it was his wife. What should he do? Could he come up with an excuse to go over to Tom's house if he had company? If he did, what would his excuse be if Tom had a guest? Would the neighbors see him going over? Would they tell his parents? His desire was overwhelming but the obstacles seemed to be relentless and insurmountable.
Finally, Ben decided to go to his garage, get his dad's shovel, and bring it over. He imagined the scenario. Tom answered the door and there was some buxom woman behind him. Ben would say "Oh, Mr. Harrison. My dad said you wanted to borrow the shovel and I should bring it over. So here it is." Yes. That would work. He prayed that no woman would be there, but he needed to be prepared.
Ben went to the garage, found the shovel, brought it to through the house and hoped there would not be any dirt that would fall on the floor and give his mom a reason to be angry at him, or, worse yet, question him. But he was too excited to look. He just got his keys, took the shovel, locked the door and made the fifteen yard walk across their property. Ben's legs felt weak but he pulled his shoulders back and acted confident. This was just an errand. He told himself that he was ready to hand off the shovel and head back home and that he could hide his disappointment.
