Taen Care Of

I always knew Garrett was a good friend, but I didn't realize how good until... everything went down.

I vividly remember the day we met, it was our first day as newbies into a competitive grad school program at a good university back in the mid-1990s. On my first day, I had walked into my first classroom, settled into a chair... and then he walked in.

Wowza.

I had never thought of myself as anything but a normal, red-blooded straight guy, but I swear I did a double take. It was like Garrett had walked off the set of a freaking Hallmark Christmas movie--so much so that I thought it was going to snow. He was the literal embodiment of All-American charm, with an athletic frame that oozed masculine grace. The dazzling effect was heightened when he spoke with a mellisonant Southern lilt that sounded as if it was drenched in honeyed bourbon... I mean, shit, it sounded like music. Every woman in the room suddenly shifted their posture and started to warble like little tweety birds, and even the lesbian Marxist in the corner languidly dragged her fingers across her face and started to purr appreciatively.

For a minute, I felt like a gangly teenager back in middle school all over again.

Wait. Fuck that shit. I have nothing to be ashamed about. I'm Blake, and I am very much not a gangly middle schooler any more. I worked through my awkward stage by throwing myself into sports, and through workouts to build and maintain muscle. I'm no gym rat by any stretch, but I feel no shame when I hit the showers. I've also grown into my looks and can say with no false modesty that I'm damn easy on the eyes. I may not be the sporty, All-American God Garrett was, but I wasn't nothing.

Garrett and I really didn't get to know each other. On the one hand, we were each other's direct competition. As new recruits starting at the same time, we were both thrown into the meatgrinder simultaneously, and essentially each other's rivals for funding, position, and the professors' attention.

And it was a struggle; that first semester kicked my ass. Given the program we were in, every paper we turned in needed to be publishable, every spoken statement had to be presentation quality. It was rough, and a huge leap from my undergraduate program. And it wasn't just me feeling the heat. As the weeks went by, I could see the... brightness of Garrett's eyes start to dim, to be replaced by haggard exhaustion. But after the initial jolt, I got my shit together and plowed forward. It was rough going, but by the semester's end, I like to think I had shown my professors and colleagues that I deserved a seat at the table.

I saw Garrett on the first day of the new semester, when we discovered we had three Monday classes back-to-back-to-back. We essentially exchanged pleasantries as we moved around, and ended the day with a 3-hour seminar that was required of all new entrants to the program.

And holy fuck was that seminar a shit-show.

The professor who led it was several decades beyond his expiration date, and the whole thing could have been a sketch comedy segment... if it hadn't been so mind-numbingly boring. Like, the kind of event where you wanted to rip your own arm off so you could bludgeon yourself to death with it.

After it was over and everyone had left for the evening, Garrett and I stumbled into the hallway. We were dazed, staring at each other blankly. Finally, I started to snicker, he followed suit, and within minutes we were both collapsed on the floor howling with laughter. Him clutching my shoulder for support.

"Did... did he really just jabber on about... a 'Dear Abby' column for 20 goddamn minutes??!?" he howled.

"Jesus Christ!" I exploded back. "And that was the only coherent part of the lecture! Oh God! The look on that girl's face when he spent 10 fucking minutes trying to figure out if they were related because they had the same last name...." I trailed off as I dissolved into convulsive laughter.

"Good Lord Almighty! She looked like, 'Is he... is he trying to hit on me?' And then, 'Do I

wish

he was hitting on me instead whatever bullshit this is?'" More riotous laughter.

Finally, we regained our composure. I got up and extended my hand to him. "Fuck this shit. I think we need to grab a beer. We earned it."

Garrett brightened, considerably. He looked like he was going to say something, but then clammed up. He instead grabbed my hand and hoisted himself to his feet. "You, sir, are a man after my own heart. I humbly accept." He clapped my on the shoulder, and off we went.

We ended up having a blast. After spending time with him I realized he was a real chill guy, and freaking hilarious. We had so much fun that we did it again the following week, at which point it became a Monday night tradition. From there, I noted that we were coming up on the Super Bowl and invited him over to watch the game. He tried to hold himself together, but the look of joy on his face was like I was his long-lost father come home from the war to restore the family fortune. Normally a chill dude, he was bouncing around thinking of all the food he was going to make--I learned he was a damn good cook--and planning out every detail. On game day, while we were gorging on some amazing pulled pork, corn bread and homemade mac and cheese, I whined that I had gotten completely out of shape since starting the program. He excitedly suggested that we join a local gym together to be each other's accountability partners. Things kept building, and in short order we were inseparable, and thick as thieves.

In one of our many beer-soaked conversations, I learned more about him... and just how bad things had been for him that first semester. It didn't help that he was in a long-distance relationship with a girl he'd been together with since college. This was proving to be a real challenge for them, and things had been really wearing him down.

Worse, he confided that he hadn't been sure he was going to make it in the program. "I was expecting it to be hard, but not that hard. And it didn't help any that everyone treated me like I didn't belong. They only saw me as an silly-ass pretty boy, or a dumb jock, or a country hick... or all three at once. Professors, the students, even Ellen in the office."

"Yeah, Ellen is a real bitch," I commiserated. But secretly, I was wincing remembering my less than gracious response to meeting him, and hoping I hadn't been a total asshole. "But you're doing okay now, right?"

Garrett sighed and looked down. "It's been... hard. I don't know. Back in college, everything came so easy. Like I didn't even need to read everything, it just clicked. I really was on top of the world in college, and now I feel like I'm just... nothing."

"C'mon, man. You're a great guy, and you totally can do this. Tell you what. I know they want us at each other's throats and all, but what say we start our own study group. Make sure we have each other's backs."

He gave me a look that I couldn't quite read. "Yeah. Yessir, let's do this. Two Musketeers, right?"

"Yes! And drinking buddies, too!"

"Agreed! Let's strike hands on the bargain!"

At that point, the semester started getting better. I realized how much I had been starved for friendship myself, and loved having someone to run around with. Garrett got much of his mojo back, and seemed... well, bright again. With a killer smile that made women go weak in the knees. And if I didn't know better, from some guys, too. Hell, we both got our share of attention at the bar where we hung out, even if he remained blindingly loyal to his far-off girlfriend, Ellie.

I was somewhat surprised when he returned from spring break, all puffed up and full of himself. He proudly proclaimed that he had asked Ellie to marry him, and she said yes. His eyes just lit up when he talked about her... I hope I can find someone like that myself. I've been single since I found out my college girlfriend had been cheating on me with one of my buds. I wanted to get back into the game again... but, well....

Garrett and Ellie decided to get married during the summer, and they started the new school year as husband and wife. I met her, and she was a riot... a real sassy personality. The kind of woman you expected to find working at a roadside diner somewhere. Garrett confided with a twinkle in his eye that she was on the high end of high maintenance, but matched well against his laid-back personality. We all became fast friends.

Times were great--a steady grind with classes but a lot of fun in-between. Garrett and I continued to climb the grad school ladder, becoming TAs in turn, and plowing ahead.

And then, things went sideways.

I stared getting excruciating abdominal pain, and came to find I had gall stones. They needed to remove my gall bladder.

The good news is that the procedure no longer gutted you like a fish; they were reasonably sure they could work things out laparoscopically. Still, it was going to be a massive, invasive procedure. Talking to the doctor, I learned that the first 24 hours or so I would be essentially useless. The next 2 or so days after that would be better, but still pretty much unmitigated hell, as I would still need help with basic biological functions. I'd improve steadily after that, but I should plan a week of essentially staying in bed.

And, I'd need someone to stay with me at all times, and to help with everything. Everything.

That really sucked. The only one I could really ask to serve as my bedside nurse was my mom, but she lived a thousand miles away. And as a 20-something guy, I had zero interest in my mommy helping me with... um, basic biological functions. Hell no. I'd rather eat broken glass.

Garrett and Ellie had invited me for dinner that night, and I was bemoaning how badly that was going to suck. Garrett let me bitch and moan, for a bit while he was preparing the meat. After I had talked myself out, he offered up simply, "Well, Blake... I could stay with you."

"Wait, what?"

"No, seriously. I could stay with you. You said you were goin' to schedule things over spring break, right? Ellie and I aren't going anywhere. I'll bring the readings I need to catch up on, the essays I need to grade, and camp out with you."

"Dude, no. No! Didn't you hear me? Jesus, you'd be like...

seeing

me. You know, like

all

of me."

"Now, settle down, I see that tiny excuse of a dick you have all the time at the gym. I'm hardly frightened."

I punched him in the arm. "There's more to it than that. Shit, you'd be like helping me go to the bathroom! And bathing! And... everything! God, I could never ask that of you. Of anyone!"

"No, seriously. I've done team sport since I was a kid, and seen and helped all kinds of injuries. All kinds of personal injuries. I can do this."

I was absolutely flabbergasted. "But... why

would

you? Like I said, I could never ask someone..."

Garrett abruptly put down the knife. "It's the least I could do." He looked at me sharply, and then looked down before continuing. "The very least. Blake... you... I don't think you realize it, but you pretty much saved my life back when we started. I've never really gone into it, but that first semester about ripped me apart. I never felt so... useless. So stupid. So out of my depth. After that first day of second semester, I was pretty much fixing to throw everything away and turn tail. Especially after that crazy-ass seminar, I had it. But as we were leaving, we just... clicked. That was the first time someone here treated me like a person. You made me feel like I could make it. That I belonged here. And Hell, you made me want to fight for Ellie, too. You... brought me back. And you've done it every day since." He looked up at me, and his eyes were glistening. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I owe you. Enormously. Will you will let me, in some small way, do something to pay you back? You saved my life."

I didn't know what to say. It was so hard seeing myself through someone else's eyes. To know something I did so casually had such an impact on someone, causing ripples that kept going.

And I realized that his friendship had been as much an anchor for me as mine had been for him.

Damn. No one--certainly no other man--had ever said something so profound and personal to me before. I was welling up myself. I had no response, and no voice to make it. I just reached over and grabbed his shoulder. Just standing there. Together.

Ellie came in at that moment, looked at us and rolled her eyes. "Lord save me. I leave the room for 2 minutes and all the men-folk are cryin' and huggin'... why don't you set the table, Blake, and make yourself useful for once? Honestly!"

The surgery came and went, and I was incredibly grateful to have Garrett on my side. He was there to pick me up post-op, as the nurses poured me into his car. He was somehow able to get me into my bed, went through the checklist of things, and quietly set himself up to camp out in my living room.

The first night absolutely sucked. I was wildly disoriented, drugged up to high hell, and in serious pain. Garrett essentially stripped me naked and had me wrapped in a light robe, the easier for me to manage biological functions as they started to return, and to check on the four incisions on my abdomen. That first night he was kind enough to hold a portable urinal--essentially a strangely shaped, glorified water bottle--to my dick so I could relieve myself, which was probably the single most humiliating thing I'd ever done. But it saved me from the hassle of trying to get me to the bathroom. Garrett discretely looked away, like he wasn't even there, but did everything with military precision. And without making me feel like a total, fucking loser. No ball-busting, no snark. Just much-needed assistance.

God, I was lucky to have him.

Fortunately, I was in pretty good health otherwise, and quickly recovered. Still, I was nowhere near fully myself again, and the pain meds continued to throw me for a loop. But over the next few days, in addition to soreness, I was battling boredom and a fair amount of cabin fever. Garrett was a trouper, putting up with my foul mood.

Finally, Thursday night, I kinda snapped. Looking over at him, I growled out, "Dude. I'm going out of my mind here! I love you, man, for taking care of me... but Goddamn, I kinda wish you'd give me like five minutes of privacy so I could rub one out and take the edge off. It's been too long as it is!"

He gave me a level look and shot back, "Don't bitch at me, man. Just do it! We're all guys here...."

"Very funny. I've already made a spectacle out of myself, thank you very much. I'm not gonna whip it out."

"Lord above, it's not like I haven't seen your pencil dick a hundred times already at the gym."

I glowered at him. "That's different. Besides, being left with nothing but my right hand is just another reminder about how badly my love life sucks. You don't have to resort to jerking off--you've got an actual woman to give you all the help you need."

Garrett exasperatedly closed the book he was reading and turned towards me. "Oh please. Do you think there is a married man, anywhere, whose wife is giving them everything they need? Trust me, I switch over to 'single player' all the time."

"Aw geez, man... seriously? Ellie let's you jerk off by yourself?"

Garrett guffawed. "No sir--Ellie thinks beating your meat is a form of cheating! The one time she nearly caught me, there was hell to pay. I have to go deep undercover to pull it off."

I looked at him for a second, before we both exploded in laughter. Me laughing so hard I think I re-opened my incisions. "What is the deal with that?" I asked in wonderment. "Why do women get so bent out of shape about guys jerking themselves off? Taking it personally? And God forbid you be watching porn while going at it... that makes you worse than Hitler!"

Garrett continued snickering. "I'm sure I have no idea!"

I went in in a righteous huff. "I mean, it doesn't mean anything! We don't do it for any great important reason, we just do it because we can. Can't get the morning started? Rub one out. Bored at home? Rub one out. Can't fall asleep? Rub one out. It's just... relieving pressure. A distraction. A few minutes of feeling good. And girls make up this whole story in their minds that we're not satisfied with them, or we're sex obsessed perverts!"

"And really, sometimes it's just... faster," Garrett jumped in. "I love sex. I love sex with my wife. Sex is the gold standard. But sometimes, you're just too tired or don't have the energy. You don't want the half hour of convincin', with the next half hour of preliminaries, followed by a half hour of cardio. We just need a quick release. We don't always have time for the whole banquet; sometimes, we just need a bag of Cheetos to tide us over!"

I was howling in laughter all over again. "Gar, I think you're the first man in history who compared jerking off to a bag of Cheetos."

"Am I wrong?"

"Not a bit!" I thought about it for a minute. "You're right about the quick release. I mean, jerking off doesn't feel... bad... but you only really do it for the release. It's all about the ending."

Garrett considered my words, and went on. "Yeah, now that you say it... it's the total opposite of a blowjob. If jerking off is all about the ending, getting blown is all about the process. Really feelin' it. Especially for me... I don't think I've ever actually finished up just from getting blown."

"Huh. Yeah, well... I think part of the problem is women just don't understand the glory that is a good blowjob. They totally don't know what to do, and too often don't even care. Sorry that it doesn't work for you and Ellie."

Garrett scoffed, harshly. "Normally I'd demand satisfaction from any man talking about my wife that way... but it's not an issue. Ellie flat out refuses to ever, ever blow me. She says it's degrading and that if I ever pressure her, I'm getting a knee in my nether parts. And trust me... she'd do it."

"Damn, man... I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, well... I've resigned myself to never gettin' a blowjob again. But I can't complain too much, generally things are pretty good between us. It's just, sometimes I get... wistful."

"So, I guess that's back where we started... beating our meat is our only recourse. Damn." Somewhat absently, I reached down and cupped myself... still naked under my light cotton robe. I savored the sensations, but realized what I was doing and pulled my hand back. Embarrassed. I looked at Garrett, and he was watching me with... interest.

We looked at each other in silence for a while, until he tentatively broke the ice. "I wasn't kiddin' when I said you were free to let loose. I've been feeling the urge myself for a while, with no way to relieve the pressure. Maybe if we do it in front of each other, it won't count. Just guys being guys, doing what guys do."

I was stunned speechless. My Southern Gentleman, suggesting something...

untoward

. Seriously? I... have to admit. It wasn't just the usual... pressure I was feeling. His suggestion, was... intriguing. Doing with another guy around? It was like... taboo. My sex life since moving out here had been essentially pathetic. But Garrett was offering something... dangerous. Fucking exciting. I mean, two grown men jerking off in front of each other? I was, I admit, more than a little curious. And more than a little bit eager.

"Gar, are you shitting me...?" I asked cautiously. Lightly enough that I could still back down and laugh it off if he was just kidding me.

"Naw, I'm not pulling your leg. In fact..." he got this conspiratorial look in his eye, "I'm hopin' my unmarried buddy might just happen to have some good ol' fashioned porn at his disposal. I haven't been able to indulge since getting married."