As I watched my wife motor down the road on the way to spend the afternoon with her mother, I savored the fact that I didn't have to accompany her. It was a toss-up as to what was worse, spending time in the car listening to Edna drone on or being trapped in that little house with the two of them with a forced smile on my face.
I had gotten out of it, and as I made a pitcher of ice tea laced with vodka I looked out the window towards our next door neighbor's house in hopes that my young friend would be out in his backyard swimming like he was on most nice weekend days.
The yard was empty now, but given the way the sun was shining and the heat was rising I had faith that young Pat would soon be out there soaking up the rays under my subtle observation. I had watched Pat grow up next door to us for the last six years and it had been my pleasure, with the enjoyment growing down that Pat was in college.
My only wish was that Pat wore swimming attire like many of that generation did because Pat's bathing suit was not flattering given the beautiful body it was on. The baggy shorts gave no hint as to what was underneath, but that also let me use my imagination while enjoying the rest of him.
Pat had never gotten very tall, at maybe 5'9" a couple inches shorter than myself, but his sleek frame didn't carry an ounce of fat on it, a stark contrast to my own body which had regretfully had filled out very noticeably over the years.
Pat's hair was strawberry blonde like his mother's and almost as long, and he always had an impish look about him no matter if he was walking to the school bus or skateboarding past my house.
So sweet looking even now, with those dimpled cheeks still appearing to never have felt a razor despite him being, if not 20 years old then close to it. The lad was destined to be one of those forever young looking guys, like Dick Clark had been, and as I settled into my lounge chair in the shade I waited for my eye candy to appear.
The last time Edna had been out of town a couple weeks ago I had a wonderful time sitting out here watching Pat dive in the pool and climb out, the water making his gradually tanning skin glisten in the sunlight.
The only distraction was the boy's uncle or grandfather, or whoever he was. It was a guy about my age who often showed up when Pat's Mom was not at home, and he was definitely not my type because he looked like me, a chubby hairy old fart.
That day I had cum twice, which was more action than my cock had all year in the bedroom, and while I wasn't very proud of myself, the fact was that it felt so good. The first time was an accident. I had been idly rubbing myself through my shorts with my newspaper over my lap while watching Pat bounce on the diving board when my orgasm just roared up on me.
The second time was not an accident. That time I had my hand working on my stiff stub while watching Pat dry his long locks. His shorts had slipped a bit, showing some pale skin below the beige stomach, and I had noticed for the first time that young Pat had a little hair under his arms, now visible because the water pasted the sparse blonde wisp of fur to his wet skin.
Pat happened to wave at me just as I was cumming and all I could do was nod because I holding my paper in one hand while my other hand was occupied, and that orgasm was even more intense than the first.
I remember wishing I was Pat's uncle, although the things I was thinking were not those that a real uncle would think about regarding his nephew. Then again, when I was Pat's age - younger even - I had a grandfather who had taken an interest in me.
That hadn't damaged me any, and my reaction to his affection should have given me an idea that
maybe I wasn't as straight as I thought I was. The ensuing few relationships with my own gender also suggested that, but I was too scared to commit. Besides, 1965 was different than now, and 2002 seems way more friendly towards gay people.
Gay people? I'm not gay, I mused as I waited for Pat to come out. I'm just an unhappily married guy who had invested 35 years with a woman who seemed no more excited about me than I was with her. We were a habit. Edna has her bingo and her mother while I have a well-paying job I loathe, and my hobby has become Pat.
So after I waited what seemed like hours of Pat to make his appearance, I went inside to get some more ice to keep the dwindling pitcher cold, having no idea that when I came back out my life as I knew it was going to change.
***
I had just dumped the bowl of ice cubes in the pitcher, making a mental note to drink a little faster so the concoction didn't get watery, and had plopped back down unceremoniously into the lounge chair when I heard the clearing of a throat that announced that I was no longer alone.
"Hey Mr. Wilson," Pat chirped as he approached from the side of the house, his unannounced appearance making me glad I had a strong heart, and as he got closer I wondered what brought on this visit, not that I was complaining about it.
It was just that while we had a cordial relationship with Pat and his mother since becoming neighbors, it was usually just a nod and a hello. After all, what does a married couple in their 60's have in common with a single mother who was young enough to be their kid and her young boy?
"Pat! You startled me," I said as I fumbled to grab my sunglasses which had gotten knocked askew by my sitting down.
"Sorry. Guess I just shouldn't have just come over like this," Pat said sheepishly and he moved out of the sunlight and closer to me.
"No, that's fine," I said, and after he declined my offer to sit with me I added. "I enjoy the company. Edna, she went away for the afternoon."
"I know," Pat said as she shuffled his bare feet on my patio, the movement bringing my attention to the golden hair that grew on the insides of his wiry calves. "I saw her go. My Mom won't be back until late."
"Oh, I guess your uncle will be coming over to keep you company," I mentioned, and that made Pat's face twist up a little before he smiled broadly.
"Mr. Caulfield?" Pat asked, and after I shrugged and said that I just assumed that was who he was I was corrected with a laugh. "No, Mr. Caulfield isn't my uncle. That's for sure."
"Oh, I just assumed..."
"Mr. Caulfield is - or I should say was - a friend," Pat said and then he added wistfully. "Don't think Mr. Caulfield will be coming around any more."
"Oh."
"Do you think it's weird - me having friends way older than me?" Pat asked, and after I shrugged he explained. "I like people older than me."
Pat was dressed like he was going swimming, wearing nothing but those baggy khaki shorts that went down to his knees, and he had his thumbs in the belt loops. That made the front of them slide down a little, and that exposed this faint trail of hairs that grew down from below his navel, making me very uncomfortable.
"So, how's college going?" I said cheerfully, but Pat pretty much dismissed my question and got to the point.
"Want to come over and swim with me?"
"Me? Gee no. Thanks, but I'm not much for swimming," I declared. "Besides, I haven't got a bathing suit."
"You can come in like you are," Pat suggested, nodding toward my sloppy attire of an old faded tank top and shorts that I had got on a trip to Florida a decade ago, and when I shook my head he added, "Or you can come over and not wear anything at all. It's okay. The Carter family on the other side went to Maine for the week and there's nobody else that can see."
