Friends and Lovers

  Friends and Lovers

  First Edition

  Published by The Nazca Plains Corporation

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  2009

  ISBN: 978-1-935509-07-3

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61098-294-8

  Published by

  The Nazca Plains Corporation ®

  4640 Paradise Rd, Suite 141

  Las Vegas NV 89109-8000

  © 2009 by The Nazca Plains Corporation. All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, microfilm, and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Printed in the United States of America.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Friends and Lovers is a work of fiction created wholly by Tinnean’s imagination. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to any persons living or deceased is purely by accident. No portion of this book reflects any real person or events.

  Cover Photo, Frenk Kaufmann

  Art Director, Blake Stephens

  Dedication

  This is for three very special people: To Gail, cherest of chere amies, who was here almost from the beginning. She helped make this the story it is. To Tim, who’s much more than a cyber buddy. He was the inspiration for writing this story. And as always, to Bob, who emptied the dishwasher so I could have the time to write this story.

  Friends and Lovers

  First Edition

  Tinnean

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  The Perfect Blendship

  Chapter 2

  Oh, What a Night

  Chapter 3

  Except This Monday

  Chapter 4

  Flu Season

  Chapter 5

  Weekend on Amelia Island

  Chapter 6

  Coming Together

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The Perfect Blendship

  Tom Hansom thumbed through his high school yearbook and smiled when he found the picture he was looking for, then ran his fingertips over the grainy image of the broad shoulders covered by the football uniform.

  Jack Sweet.

  They’d been friends at that time, but in the years since he’d returned to take up teaching in Savannah, they’d become best friends.

  A wallet-sized photo fell from the pages where it had been tucked away, and he bent to retrieve it. He laughed at the comment his friend had scrawled on the back.

  6’2”? – Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you! – The big goof had even drawn a smiley face.

  Never the tallest of men, Tom had only been about 5’6” when that picture had been taken. The growth spurt he’d anticipated had only added a couple of inches to his height.

  His friend had great fun teasing him about needing to stand on tiptoe when the doctor measured him in order to top out at 5’8”.

  But what meant the most to him was the fact that this big, bear of a man who ran his own construction company, drank beer with the guys, and chased muff, didn’t care two hoots that he was gay.

  Tom glared at the clock on the wall outside his office in Wayne Hall, the chemistry building of Pulaski and Jasper College. It was only 9:15. In the morning.

  “You could still be in bed, you know,” he growled to himself. He wasn’t a morning person and always arranged his schedule so his classes wouldn’t interfere with his night-time activities. “Your first class isn’t for another hour.”

  “Yeah, well,” he growled back at himself, “for all the sleep I was getting last night, I may as well be here doing something useful.”

  He really hated when he started talking to himself. He entered his office and took a swallow from the can of coke he’d brought with him. The caffeine in the soft drink did a better job of waking him up than coffee.

  He plopped the can down on his desk with more force than he’d intended, and Coke fizzed out of the opening and onto the stack of blue books that were awaiting correction. He growled again, found a tissue in his desk drawer, and blotted up the moisture. The balled up tissue was tossed into the waste basket, his chair was yanked out from his desk, and he dropped into it and picked up the first of the blue books, along with a red pen.

  Call.

  Oh, great. Now the phone was talking to him.

  Purposely, he ignored it.

  You know you want to. The telephone, a nondescript beige that tried to blend into the wall, seemed to taunt him.

  Yes, he did want to, but…

  “Shoot.” He rose, crossed to the phone, and dialed from memory. “He probably won’t be there,” he muttered to himself. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever…” Someone picked up the phone on the other end. “Jack? It’s…”

  “Tom! Hey, how’s it hangin’, buddy?”

  “Good, Jack.” Tom smiled into the telephone receiver, feeling his first pleasure in the day. Of course Jack recognized his voice. They’d been friends for a lot of years. “And you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “And the kids?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “How’s the latest project? Your suppliers giving you any grief this time?”

  A few years back the industry had been in a slump and things had been tight. Tom knew that one asshole of a contractor had skipped out on all his commitments; Jack had just barely made the payroll, but he was a good boss and most of his men had stuck by him until things began to look up again.

  “The company is fine. Tom, why are you making small talk with me?”

  He was, wasn’t he? “Uh… Listen, Jack. Would you have lunch with me?”

  “Sure thing! Where and when?”

  Tom was a little startled by his friend’s rapid acceptance of his invitation. There had been a time when the fact that Tom was gay and Jack wasn’t had interfered with their friendship, but that time was long past. Still…

  “How about 12:45 at Loueller’s?”

  “Sounds good to me. She has the best chicken fried steak in Savannah. And those key lime cookies…? Mmm mmm mmm!”

  “You’re such a good ol’ boy, Jack, you know that?”

  “Yeah. But I’m still your best bud, Tommy. Just don’t call me Luke Duke.” There was a smile in Jack’s voice, and Tom found himself returning the smile, even though Jack couldn’t see his expression. “Catch you later.”

  Tom hung up, his smile fading. In spite of himself he found himself mulling over the question – the favor – he intended to ask Jack.

  He glanced at his wrist watch and sighed. Three quarters of an hour until he’d have to set aside the tests he was grading and his students came trooping in, and another two hours and forty-five minutes until he met with his friend.

  He went back to the stack of blue books.

  Tom sat across from Jack in a back booth at Loueller’s, nursing his Coke. He was nervous; he’d been nervous since Jack had strolled into the diner and taken the seat opposite him.

  Each time Jack had made sounds about getting back to his latest job, he would bring up some topic or other, no matter how lame, and keep him there talking.

  Now the place was almost empty of the lunchtime crowd.

  “Was something wrong with your lunch, sugah?” the waitress asked as she removed Tom’s almost untouched plate.

  “No. It was fine. Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” Tom offered a weak smile. He could feel his friend’s blue eyes studying him, and he reached for a paper napkin and began shredding it.

  Jack finished his beer. “Tom, I really have to get back to work. The men are going to think I’m having a little afternoon delight.” There was
a foam mustache over his upper lip, and he licked it off. Tom swallowed and looked away. “Tom?” Jack placed his hand on the back of Tom’s restless fingers. “What’s up, buddy?”

  He’d hoped his friend wouldn’t have picked up on his tension, but he should have known better. Jack was one of the sharpest tools in the shed.

  This is it, he told himself, now or never. He was going to ask for something that could wreck a long-standing friendship. His palms were sweating, his heart was beating so hard he was afraid he was on the verge of a heart attack, and his mouth was so dry he could barely get the words out.

  He drew in a breath, moistened his lips, and asked. The response wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting.

  “You want me to what?”

  But at least it wasn’t a punch in the mouth.

  “Come on, Jack.” Tom tried to lighten the atmosphere. “I know you’ve got 20/20 hearing.” When it didn’t work, when Jack simply continued to look bowled over, Tom sighed. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “But… but, Tom, I’m straight.”

  “You’re also my best friend, Jack.” The last thing he’d wanted to do, the one thing he’d always regarded with contempt when he’d heard of a gay man doing it, was to hit on a straight man. He scowled as he thought of the reactions of his so-called friends when he’d asked if they would help him out; they’d laughed, positive he’d been yanking their chains.

  “Yeah, but… There have to be about a million guys who’d love to do you.” Jack wasn’t laughing. In fact, Tom wondered if his expression wasn’t kind of wistful.

  “Maybe, but it would just be so they could brag they’d done the leather daddy. I’d never be able to trust them enough to give over control.” Tom was pleased to see that Jack took that as the compliment he’d meant it as. He was also pleased to see that Jack was starting to look intrigued by the proposition. “Look,” he pressed his point home, “it would just be the one time, I promise, and it would just be between us. You’ve been to my place plenty of times; no one will think anything of it.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Jack smiled, and Tom was relieved. If Jack was relaxed enough to joke about it, if the pun was intended, then even if he said ‘no,’ Tom knew their friendship would go on. “You want me to… to make love to you.”

  That startled Tom. “Jack, you don’t need to pretty it up.” He’d told Jack what he wanted in blunt, Anglo-Saxon terms: Jack’s dick up his ass.

  “Yeah, but y’know, Tom, I think I do.”

  Tom shifted a bit to hide his unexpected reaction to his friend’s words. Leather daddies were tough guys who didn’t melt when someone actually appeared to care for their feelings. “And?”

  “And I’m honored.”

  “But will you do it?”

  “Yeah, I will. I’ve… uh… I’d like to ask for something in return?”

  “You’re doing me a real favor, Jack. You know I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Jack’s smile was like a little boy’s. “I’ve heard you gay boys give the best head.”

  “You want me to go down on you?”

  “If… if it’s okay?” Jack’s hesitant expression made something in Tom’s chest twist. “Reba wouldn’t, and Julie always made such a big deal of it that I’d have to go out and buy her something special.”

  Jack’s first wife was incidentally his first woman. A foot-washin’ Baptist, once she had his ring on her finger, she’d insisted their love-making be limited to missionary position-fumbles in the dark on Saturday night, if she was feeling charitable. It had all come spilling out when Tom had taken Jack to a bar to get drunk during the divorce proceedings, when Jack’s entire family had lined themselves up against their son.

  As for Julie, Tom had known from the getgo that she was a gold-digger.

  “Bitches.” Tom didn’t bother trying to conceal his disdain for the two women under his breath. “You’ve got it, buddy. I’ll give you a blow job that will blow your mind.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned salaciously, and was gratified to see how happy the thought made his friend.

  “There’s just one other thing, Tom.”

  “Sure, Jack.”

  “No kissing.”

  “Whatever you say.” And he wasn’t disappointed, he told himself. He was getting what he wanted, and he had no intention of being greedy about it. “We won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, I promise.”

  “Friday, then?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be good. I’ll toss a salad, roast some potatoes, grill a couple of T-bones. I’ve got a new blues CD I think you’ll enjoy.”

  “I’ll bring dessert.”

  “That really isn’t necessary, Jack.” Tom raised the bottle of soda to his lips.

  Jack grinned at him, a lazy, affectionate grin that not many people got to see. “Sure it is, Tom. You don’t want me to feel like a rentboy, do you?”

  Tom choked on his Coke. “What do you know about rentboys, Jack?”

  “Hey, I’m not completely computer illiterate; I’ve surfed the Net.” He slid out of the booth and picked up the check. “I’ll get this. Just make sure you’ve got whipped cream, okay, buddy?”

  Visions of the stuff covering his nipples, striping his dick, just waiting to be licked off… “What… er… what did you have in mind?”

  “It’s for your cheesecake. As I recall, you don’t like it with fruit, but you do like it with lots and lots of whipped cream.” He ruffled his friend’s fair hair, laughing at his muttered, ‘Well, shoot.’ “What did you think I wanted it for?”

  Tom lassoed his rampaging imagination. “You’re bringing cheesecake?”

  “Yep.”

  Tom grinned at him. “I’ll whip it myself.”

  If anyone had ever asked him, Jack would have said he was heterosexual to the core. Hell, he’d been married, not once, but twice, and although the marriages hadn’t lasted, he had two great kids from the first one, who’d made the misery worth while.

  Oh, sure, he’d wondered about… stuff. Well, all guys were curious. Weren’t they?

  He’d been stunned when Tom, the man who’d been his friend since high school, had approached him with the proposition: make love to him.

  It would be a one-time deal, Tom had promised. “I’ve been emailing this dude on the West Coast,” he’d gone on to explain. “Chase is the most well-adjusted bottom I’ve ever met, and he writes stories that are down-and-dirty, cream-your-jeans hot!”

  Not only had they made Tom hornier than hell, giving him many hours of solitary butt pleasure, but he’d become curious as well, curious enough to want to try it with a partner.

  In the days before their ‘date,’ Jack found himself going over that conversation again and again.

  Tom was the quintessential leather daddy, testosterone on the hoof, the epitome of aggression, although he never showed that side of his personality to his friend.

  Jack was pretty certain Tom had no clue that he knew of all the buff young men with bubble butts who begged for his cock in their mouths or their asses.

  Nothing fazed Tom, not homophobic assholes or assholes of the gay persuasion who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He was perfectly willing to beat the shit out of any of them, and more than capable in spite of his short stature.

  And yet Jack had never seen his friend as nervous as when he’d asked Jack for his help, or as relieved as when Jack had said yes.

  Jack did a lot of thinking about how their friendship had evolved, from that first game of shirts vs. skins when he’d done a full-body tackle of the slight sixteen-year-old, knocking the wind out of him, to the time he’d accidentally snagged a sweaty Tom’s nipple in the locker room after a game and reflexively stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking pure essence of Tom, to when Tom had stood as his best man at his second wedding, never telling him he was letting his dick make an important decision. After the ceremony Tom had slipped him a black card that read, ‘My condolences.’

  And Jack started to be
come nervous.

  Is this going to be the beginning of the end of a friendship that I value more than anything except my kids?

  Half a dozen times he reached for the phone to cancel. He even got as far as dialing the first three digits of Tom’s number. I can just tell him something came up. Yeah, Reba needs me to do something with the kids. But what? And when he was unable to come up with a logical response, How the fuck should I know? he demanded of himself in irritation.

  Jack hated like hell the thought of lying to his best friend, and he never completed any of the calls.

  On Friday night, when Tom opened the door to let him in, greeting him with that thousand watt smile, he knew why. Tom was his best friend, who’d stood by him through the darkest times in his life. Tom trusted him, even though Jack had once been the one to turn his back on their friendship, his youthful self unable to deal with someone as unashamedly out-of-the-closet as Tom, who had faced life with the attitude, ‘This is me, and if you don’t like it, you’re cordially invited to eat dirt and die.’

  But Jack had grown up, had become his own man, and if Tom was serious about being fucked by him, then he was going to do his damnedest to see that from that point on, Tom would measure every other lover he had against him, and every last one of them would come up wanting.

  Jack slid the bag he was carrying under his arm and leaned a finger on Tom’s doorbell, then wiped his sweaty palm on the material that covered his thigh. In his other hand was a box that contained his offering, an amaretto cheesecake he’d done some serious finagling to obtain. He licked his lips and swallowed, then brushed his hand over his hair, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order.

  Tom opened the door. He was dressed in lightweight twill trousers and a blue, open-necked shirt that brought out the color of his eyes.

  Jack felt those eyes run over his body, and he tensed, but when Tom’s gaze didn’t linger on his crotch, he was startled to realize his dick was disappointed. He released a silent sigh of relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster.