May in December (8 page)

“Hey, Bruce.” Denise, the restaurant manager, trudged over with an apologetic smile. “Thanks for coming in on Thanksgiving.”

“No problem. I was next on the roster.” Bruce wiped a screwdriver across his sleeve. “Besides, I’m making double holiday time.”

“Is the problem repairable today?”

“Yep. I have to go to the shop and get a few pieces. I should have it back in working shape in a couple of hours.”

“Whew. You don’t know how good that sounds.” Indeed, it must have, as the frown lines on her face faded. “With such a large attendance for the all-day Thanksgiving buffet, we’re already swamped, and we thought we might have to wash dishes by hand too.”

“Not today. Tell your kitchen crew they will be out of here in time to enjoy their holiday.”

When Denise walked away, Bruce thought about his own delayed celebration at home. He was dissatisfied the job had taken so long, as he’d wanted to make the day special for Jorry, especially since the last time he had a Thanksgiving dinner was before his grandmother had died. Come to think of it, the last time Bruce had celebrated Thanksgiving was in the hospital with Robert.

So this year he had resolved to do the best thing for both of them—make their own Thanksgiving dinner. Bruce had bought the turkey and the supplies for all the traditional dishes, and he had been prepared to start cooking them when he’d received the emergency call to come in to work. With the hours spent in dirty water and food waste, there was no way he would be able to get the dinner fixed by tonight.

When Bruce had told Jorry the news about having to go in on an emergency, a look of disappointment had flitted across his face. That expression had just about killed Bruce, but by the time he’d left for the resort, Jorry was watching the Detroit Thanksgiving Day parade on television and reassuring Bruce it was all right.

Bruce knew he would make it up to Jorry. He would cook the dinner tomorrow or he would take him out to eat. Either way, they were going to celebrate Thanksgiving together. That thought alone helped the time pass quickly.

Within a couple of hours, the job was done, the dishwasher put back together, and Bruce was packing up his tools to leave.

“Wait a minute.” Denise returned, holding out two take-out boxes. “I know you were pulled away from your own activities. Allow us to give you a free Thanksgiving meal, compliments of the Otsego Oasis Resort holiday buffet.”

Bruce thanked her. “You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did. It’s only fair, and you are much appreciated. Thank you.”

Tired, wet, and hungry, Bruce made it to his truck. He had pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the service drive to I-75 to head home when an oncoming SUV swerved into his lane. With a quick jerk of the steering wheel, Bruce was able to avoid the collision with only two fatalities—the boxed Thanksgiving meals did not survive the ordeal, and the contents lay on the floorboard, mixed in with melted snow, dried mud, and salt.

Bruce sighed. So much for Thanksgiving dinner.

* * * *

Bruce walked through front door and into the foyer. He was about to do his best Ricky Ricardo “Honey, I’m home” when a smell wafted through the air and penetrated his nostrils. Was that pizza?

Entering the living room, Bruce did a double take. In the nearly bare room, miniature white twinkle lights were taped up along each wall. On the floor, his mother’s patchwork quilt was laid out with an odd assortment of foods on top. The sofa pillows were scattered at the edges of the quilt.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked.

Jorry stood next to the quilt, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I hope this is all right. I’m no cook, so I couldn’t fix the dinner you had planned. I took my cue from Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving and walked down to the corner liquor store. I picked up a couple of vegetarian pizzas for the vegetables, popcorn for corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese for the dairy, Skittles for the fruit, M&M’S for dessert, pop to drink, and the main course…” He fanned out several pieces of dried meat. “Turkey jerky.”

Bruce couldn’t conceal the awe in his voice. “Extremely creative.”

“And since we’re doing things nontraditionally, I thought we’d do a twinkle light picnic.” As he spoke, a strand of lights fell down. “If I can keep them up on the wall. It’s okay, right?”

Bruce choked up. “More than all right. I believe you may have started a new tradition with us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. Us.” Bruce stepped closer and gazed down into Jorry’s eyes, so beautiful in a multitude of colors that seemed to change with the pattern of the twinkle lights.

Jorry reached up and brushed his fingers through Bruce’s beard, singling out the strands of silver with special attention.

“If you don’t want there to be an us,” Bruce warned, “now is the time to say something.”

“All I’m sayin’ is this…” Jorry clutched at the front of Bruce’s shirt and pulled him close. He stood on his tiptoes, tilted his head, and landed his lips on Bruce’s.

The kiss was chaste but passionate. Bruce drew his head back. “Is that all you have to say?”

“No, I have much more of an opinion on that topic. Here, let me show you.”

Jorry slid his hands down the front of Bruce’s damp work shirt and started unbuttoning buttons with his lips and tongue, slowly crouching with each nibble. One by one, the buttons gave and the shirt placket fell away, revealing a chest covered with black and silver hair.

Jorry stood back up and buried his face in the shirt opening. “Oh gods. I love a man with hair on his chest.”

Bruce halfheartedly swallowed a moan and leaned into the touch, smothering the top of Jorry’s head with small kisses and allowing his hands to travel down Jorry’s back and ass, rubbing and grasping the small mounds until Jorry fell on his knees.

Like a cat on a catnip high, Jorry rubbed his face and neck all over the large erection inside Bruce’s pants, worshipping, claiming ownership. Jorry’s tongue snaked out and continuously licked through the work pant material, leaving a wet spot the size of a large paperback novel.

“Ummm, feels great and all, but maybe you should take off my pants,” Bruce panted, his cock straining against the cloth. “I think what’s under the package tastes better than work clothes.”

Jorry gazed up, his eyes hooded with desire. “But you smell so good. The odor of your sweat and musk is strong here, and I just want to eat it up.”

“And I want you to eat up something else.”

Jorry licked one more time, then let his deft little fingers dance over the belt buckle and button. He released the pants by pulling down the zipper tab with his teeth.

“Oh man, Jor. You sure know what you’re doing.” Bruce had never been seduced like this before, but he was already sure that he wanted to be again. And again. And again.

Jorry stopped what he was doing to untie and pull off Bruce’s work boots. Jorry then slipped his fingers through the pants’ belt loops, jerked, and the pants came down with a
plunk
. Jorry giggled, and Bruce pursed his lips.

Damn change and keys. I keep too many things in my pockets
. But Bruce’s slight embarrassment was soon derailed by the cool air that blew over his cock, followed by the hot wetness of kisses and licks. Bruce gripped Jorry’s slender shoulders and threw his head back, enjoying the attention he had so long denied himself.

“That’s it, Bruce,” Jorry breathed. “Let me take care of you.”

Bruce went with it, enjoying Jorry, who did the job of a real man. Jorry grasped Bruce’s hands and tugged him down to the quilt. Bruce fell to his knees, then leaned down to lie on his back. Jorry removed the pants from Bruce’s feet and stood back up, straddling Bruce, removing his jersey and swerving his hips back and forth to music that must have been playing inside his head.

“Oh, you are so damn sexy!” Bruce panted.

Jorry continued his little dance, first pulling a condom out of his front pocket and throwing it down on Bruce’s chest. Then he placed his fingers around the waistband of his jeans. The jeans were so loose on Jorry’s hips that he could push and pull them with no effort, giving a flash of pubic skin and quickly covering it up again.

Bruce was so turned on that he grew impatient with the peep show. He rose up, grabbed the jeans, and quickly jerked them down. Jorry wasn’t wearing any underwear, and so his hairless cock and balls stretched down and bounced back up, eager to be free and demanding attention. And attention they got. Bruce wasted no time in being slow or coy—there would be time enough for that later. He got right down to business. He unwrapped the condom, rolled it on, and swallowed Jorry’s cock, which wasn’t more than his mouth and throat could handle with ease.

Jorry let out an erotic moan of desire like Bruce had never heard before. It was half surprise, half excitement, and all
more, more, more
. Jorry latched on to the back of Bruce’s head and dug his nails in. The slight pain urged Bruce to suck harder, longer, and faster. He also couldn’t help but take his own cock in his hand. Never before had he been turned on by giving a blowjob like this. It was like Jorry’s spirit depended on Bruce’s lips and tongue to give him life, to give him death, to resurrect him, and do it all over again.

Bruce tried to pace himself, but his penis had been visually and aurally stimulated beyond holding back. He would be coming soon, and part of him was disappointed with the thought, the other thrilled. If this was what oral sex was with Jorry, he could only imagine what other surprises his Jorry had in store for him.

Jorry started thrashing faster, his cries coming closer, his sweat dripping onto Bruce’s face. “I-I’m, oh gods, I’m c-com-m-ing… Augh!” His fingertips dug in hard on the back of Bruce’s head as he rammed his whole cock down Bruce’s throat several times. Bruce took each blow with eagerness, his reward the trace warmth of the semen filling the rubber. Bruce dreamed of the day when they wouldn’t have to use one, as he so desperately wanted to taste the salty warm goodness of sperm again.

Bruce’s own orgasm was building in waves, each one bigger than the last. Soon, he could stand it no more; the will to make the tingle last forever was overcome by a blinding sensation that rocked him to his inner core. Bruce’s balls constricted, and a hot rope of spunk flew out of his cock, hitting him in the chin, the rest dribbling over his hand like lava.

Depleted, Jorry collapsed on Bruce, burying his head in the crook of Bruce’s shoulder. After a moment, Jorry’s body started shaking, first with uncontrolled giggles, then with heaving sobs.

At first, Bruce didn’t know what was going on
. Was I that bad at oral sex? I know it’s been a while, but
… Then he realized there must have been an emotional release as well as a physical one. Bruce pulled Jorry onto his lap, drawing him in tight and gently rocking him back and forth, chanting small, encouraging words in the young man’s ear.

After a time, the crying stopped, and all that was left was the heaving of breaths and the trails of tears on Jorry’s cheeks and Bruce’s hairy chest. He continued to rock Jorry until his breathing was under control.

“I’m sorry.”

Bruce was bewildered. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I came without giving you satisfaction first.”

“Jorry, believe me, that’s not a problem.” Bruce paused, wondering if he should ask the next question. “Haven’t you ever come first?”

“No. The men I’ve been with expect their needs to come first. Sometimes I wasn’t allowed to come because that would make the other guy too queer for him to deal with.”

Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Then you’ve been with the wrong men. Sex between two individuals, whether homo or hetero, should be based on mutual gratification. Unless it was decided and mutually agreed upon beforehand, like in a BDSM situation, I can’t see why a man would do that to you.”

“So you’re not disappointed with me?”

“What? That you had an explosive orgasm in my mouth first and you triggered me with how hot you were in the throes of passion? I can only hope to see you let go like that again.”

Jorry snuggled deeper into the embrace and soon fell asleep. Bruce laid him down on the quilt, pulled over a pillow, and settled next to him, placing lazy, sleepy kisses along Jorry’s jawline.

The Thanksgiving dinner Jorry had so creatively worked on would have to wait.

Chapter Seven

December 10 was a big day for Jorry. An idea he’d mentioned during a casual lunch with Gail’s secretary had led to Gail calling an official meeting.

“Are you nervous?” Gail asked, licking a piece of holiday strudel from her fingers. Looking up, Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle sat and watched her every bite, hoping she would share.

“Kinda,” Jorry admitted as he scratched behind the ear of Gingersnap. He found himself in the Otsego Oasis meeting room, where Mr. and Mrs. Windom and a few department heads and investors were about to have a powwow. Observing the room, it was comfortable and cozy, not at all like the sterile board meeting rooms Jorry had seen on television. This one actually had a fireplace, a bar, a media center, and instead of a huge table and chairs, it had leather sofas with small retracting platforms and outlets for laptops built into the chairs. The effect created a more intimate atmosphere, which Gail admitted made the meetings more productive.

“Just be yourself,” Gail advised. “You have a great idea about making the resort pet-friendly. If it works out, the whole project will be under your supervision. You’ll be in charge of making sure the pets are pampered and well cared for while our guests golf and ski.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

Gail smiled. “Then you remain my boy Friday. It has worked out so far, hasn’t it?

“Yes, Mrs. Windom—I mean, Gail.” Jorry fussed at the purple necktie he had borrowed from Bruce.

The door to the meeting room opened as Gail sneaked a second piece of strudel.

“Ahhh, my dear.” Warren Windom sailed across the distance to properly greet his wife. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Gail paused midbite. “You’re late.”

“Trouble with the airport in Detroit. Nasty business, what the TWA does now. You know how it is.” Warren made a beeline to the bar and poured himself a gin and tonic. After a healthy swig of the drink, he turned around. “Jorry. Good to see you again.” He walked over and offered a strong handshake. “I’ve read the reports my wife has been sending me about this project. Only two weeks on the job and she can’t praise the idea enough. I know my Gail. She doesn’t throw her approval around.”