Date: Tue, 20 May 2008 20:32:15 -0400
From: niftyreadersclub@aol.com
Subject: The Journey - Part Seven

The Journey

Part Seven

I ran across the street, not knowing what door he'd come out of.  I just
wanted him to be there.  Too much was pounding on me right now to care
whether or not it was further down the block or the door I found myself
standing before.  I backed up and looked both ways.  The building had many
doors.  I locked my mind up and just decided to wait.

He showed up to my left, coming from a door not far away.  When our eyes
met, my entire demeanor changed.  Well, not really, but somewhat.  I was
glad to find him.  Yet, with my anxieties, not much helped.  Not now.
Mister Bartender could have been the president of the United States walking
toward me and nothing could have helped me feel better.

"I need to talk," I said huskily, looking around.  On this Sunday afternoon
there were people everywhere at this hour downtown.  I couldn't even think
of a safe place to talk out loud.

"Do you trust me?"

His question struck me hard.  I stared at this guy.  He never once offended
me, never made me feel out of place, nor did he ever make a move against my
own sexuality.  I grouped my feelings together and held on, waiting for
something to tell me to say `no,' but it didn't come.  I did.  I trusted
him.  The feeling was foreign, but it didn't feel alienated.  With this
brief pause, I said, "Yes."

He nodded, tossing his head to the left.  "Follow me."  Using his key, we
entered the building.  I followed him up two flights of stairs to the
hallway that led to his apartment.  Inside, I was surprised to find that he
lived in an efficiency.  It was one large, rectangular room, almost like a
warehouse.  The couch and two chairs were in the center, his bed was in a
corner to my right.  Close by was a door that lead to a bathroom.  On the
left was the kitchen area.  "Have a seat," he told me, walking to the
fridge.  "Something to drink?  A pop?"  I shook my head.  He grabbed a coke
for himself.

I didn't feel like sitting, so I walked to the windows, looking down at the
street and the door to the bar where he worked.  "Pretty convenient," I
cleared my throat, "you can oversleep and probably still be to work on
time."

He laughed.  "I like it."  He sat down in one of the recliners, studying
me.  "You look upset."

"I am."  I really didn't know what to say or how I'd say it if I knew.
"It's different now."  A moment slipped by.  The entire outside wall was
windows, and all of them were open.  The noises and traffic from below were
loud in my ears.  "He told me."

Looking over to him, I could see that he was surprised.  "Wow."  He shook
his head.  "How'd this come about?"  That very moment made me remember me
and Corbin in the garage, and Corbin telling me that he shouldn't have to
tell me something.  I felt the same exact way now, but like the situation
with Corbin, it had to be said or moving forward couldn't happen.  So I
told him.  All of it.  Carpeting the tree house, the talk with my son.

I hesitated about what happened after, because it was about privacy.  It's
hard enough admitting anything about myself and my body little alone anyone
else's.  Mister Bartender was waiting though, and I couldn't stop.  I
could, though.  I looked at the door, thinking I could simply get out of
this, but my feet were rooted to the floor.  "It's not easy for me to
talk," I let him know, shrugging my shoulders.

"About what, exactly?" He asked.

I sighed.  "My body.  What I do with it in private."

He seemed to understand, perhaps even read my mind.  "Did he see you
jacking off?"  I hated it that he sounded so casual with such a question
and such a situation.  I hated it that his speaking out loud like he did
was the most normal thing in the world.

"No.  I was in the shower."  I turned my head and looked at him sternly.
"You know why this is so hard for me?  Because I know that guys are visual.
Standing here and telling you that I jacked off in the shower may as well
be like handing you a video of me doing it."

He smiled.  "So you think I'm picturing you jacking off?"  I nodded.  "I
am."  I looked away.  "It can't be helped.  You said it yourself.  Most of
us guys picture much of what we talk about.  Maybe that's why so many of us
have hang ups and guard our privacy."

"But I don't want you to see me jacking off," I stated.

"It's only imagination.  Do you think I can really see you?  Because I
can't.  I have no idea how your muscles flex, I don't know the size of your
cock or what it looks like hard.  Things like this are all just a blur in
the image.  There's nothing I can take away from you just because of a
visual.  Your pride is controlling you right now.  Would it help you to
know that I don't always have that picture of you?  Because I don't.  It's
only now, because it came up."

I continued to stare out the window, feeling glum.

"Now that that's out of the way," he carried on, "that you jacked off in
the shower, what happened?"

"He came into the hallway.  He didn't come in the bathroom, but he could
see my image in the mirror, but blurry, as I was...as I was stroking.  I
decided to keep at it, and when I popped, he heard the usual sounds when it
happens."

I went into a trance state then, and told him the rest.  Finishing, I
silenced myself and wanted to hear what he thought.  A few moments later,
he said, "I've never known any two people who've come this far.  I mean,
I've never known anyone that is the object of affection who actually knows.
I hope you don't mind my interest."

"I want to get out of it!" I told him harshly.  "I should never have
started this.  Never.  I feel like I'm encouraging him to want these
feelings.  Letting him see me naked, letting him hear me cum, watching him.
None of this should be in his life right now."

"Stop."  I finally looked at him when he said that.  The look he gave me
was...serious.  I waved my arms around to indicate for him to continue.
"What are you thinking of doing?" He asked.

"Well...just stop everything, let him keep to himself until he's old enough
to handle this on his own.  I don't have the ability to help him with
anything."

"So you're willing to give up?"

"I think so."

He sighed.  "Well," standing up, he moved to the door and opened it, "I
don't allow this in my life.  Never have, never will.  `Quitting' never
accomplishes anything.  Have a good day."

I immediately went into shock.  I thought right away that I was exactly
where I wanted and needed to be, in the unusual comfort I felt from this
guy.  The look on his face that told me to leave was crushing.  He was the
rope I was hanging onto so that I didn't fall.  I looked back down at the
street, my legs quivering.  This rejection was like a stab in the heart.
Everything about myself just then was blackness.  Why would he do this?

Moving toward the door, I fumbled through a deepening darkness, hurting.
Just as was about to reach the exit and walk through, he closed the door.
I looked at him.  "How did it feel?" He asked.  He pointed to the window I
had been standing at.  "From there," he pointed at me then, "to here.  How
did it feel?"  I closed my eyes.  "Now, picture your son having that
feeling every day, carrying it with him, never able to forget."

I punched the door so hard I was surprised I didn't go through the wood.
Breathing hard, suffocating, imagining Zavid never feeling accepted or
loved was one of the worst feelings I ever had.  My hand flared with pain
but I deserved it.  Mister Bartender put his hands up before me.  I looked
at them, then into his eyes.  I thought I'd see sympathy, but didn't.  What
I saw was an invitation.

To my surprise, he opened the door again and allowed me to make a choice.
I closed the door.  "Will you help me?" I asked.  It sounded like begging.

"Will you let yourself care enough to be helped?"

"Yes."  I straightened up, shook my head.  "Let's forget everything I said
and start over."

"No.  You need to remember this.  You need to remember how bad it feels to
be exiled because of your feelings."

Thinking about that, I nodded.  "Can I sit down?"  He nodded.  I moved to
the couch and sat right in the middle.  My self control was returning.
That feeling of blackness I felt was fading.

He sat down opposite me in a recliner, putting a smile on his lips.