Long Way Out, page 14
“Let’s hear it for Chi-town Guy, everybody!” bellowed the host. “That was da bomb!”
A trio of college-age girls took the stage next. “Sorority sisters,” Russell presumed, chuckling to himself. As the over-served threesome launched into a shrill, semi-unison version of something vaguely resembling Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U,” Russell snatched a freshly vacated stool at the long, hardwood bar and resumed scanning the crowded tables for Mary Ann. The inebriated vocal trio was nearing the end of a sour, slurred performance when one of them abruptly burst into tears and wilted onto the stage floor. There, she sat, sobbing, shoulders roiling, legs splayed, her hardly there skirt now covering even less than it had the moment before her collapse. It seemed evident that the young lady was far more concerned about her shattered, aching heart than her lavender-colored panties being exposed to one and all. Russell wondered if the same break-up that had buckled the brokenhearted girl’s knees had also figured into this particular song choice. Then, this sad tableau became even more undignified. As her two girlfriends crouched down to provide aid and comfort, the weeping one thanked them by projectile vomiting onto their legs and shoes.
For the audience — until now, fully enrolled in an evening of alcohol-fueled, escapist diversion — this bilious piece of performance art proved to be an immediate buzzkill. Ego’s weekend decibel level quickly attenuated down to the low-frequency hum of a weekday afternoon. An impromptu intermission was declared, allowing an interim takeover of the stage by an employee wielding a mop, bucket, and rags. In the corner of his eye, Russell spied Mary Ann bolting out through the front door, her gal-pal gang hot on the spiked heels of her black-leather, knee-high, fuck-me boots.
By the time Russell exited onto the sidewalk, Mary Ann’s contingent was nowhere to be seen. Russell’s throat tightened. A heaviness filled his chest. If he’d heard the club door opening, then shutting with a weighted thud, he’d taken no notice. “There you are, Dude!” Startled, Russell turned around. Although Guy Gallo had suggested they convene for karaoke, Russell hadn’t come to Ego’s for that purpose, in spite of what he’d told Tess on the phone. If he happened to run into “Chi-town Guy,” great. If not, no big deal. Now, Russell couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this delighted (and relieved) to see a familiar, friendly face. Guy, on the other hand, had been counting on hanging out with his new acquaintance from Nashville. “So glad to see you, Buddy!” Russell noticed the baritone modulating into tenor territory. “Been keeping my eyes peeled for you all night.”
Russell could feel the scales of isolation molting from his chest. “Good job on the Johnny Cash tune,” he said.
“Oh, you heard that?” Guy smiled and nodded, hoping for more detailed praise.
“It was great,” Russell said. “You nailed it. Everybody loved it.”
“Well, thanks,” Guy said. “Thanks a bunch. That means a lot... coming from you.”
≈ ≈ ≈
Coming from you... What in the world, Russell wondered, could Guy have meant by that? They had only met that afternoon... and, only for a few minutes, in a hotel men’s restroom, both having escaped the tedium of the afternoon workshops. Did Russell’s approval actually mean that much to this jovial fellow from suburban Illinois? If so, why? Still, Russell observed, if Guy was equally as inflated with hot air as are most run-of-the-mill peddlers, he’d definitely developed superior acting skills. Russell prided himself on the precise accuracy of his bullshit detector. And this fellow was pushing the needle right past “BS” and pinning it firmly inside the “Sincerity Zone.”
Two insurance salesmen, who had met by chance just five hours earlier, now sat side-by-side in the backseat of a Yellow Cab. “Hey. When we get back,” Guy proposed, “how about we check out the jacuzzi and the sauna?”
This was, hands-down, the best idea Russell had heard all day. “If the spa’s still open,” he replied, without hesitation, “abso-freakin’-lutely!” He hid his smile by looking out the window at the lights reflecting on Lady Bird Lake.
It was approaching 11 when Russell entered the pool area to find Guy neck-deep, leaning back, eyes closed, luxuriating in the bubbles, a blissful grin stretched across his face. Russell began easing in, toes first. It took a full minute for his chilled skin to acclimate to the 104-degree water. Finally, fully submerged, he let out an enormous sigh of satisfaction.
“This is the life, right?” Guy remarked. After a minute of luxurious silence, Guy resumed the conversation. “So, Russ... Mind if I call you Russ?”
“I’m pretty sure I gave you permission to call me whatever... Russell, Russ, Rusty. Dickhead, if that’s what floats your boat.”
“I don’t think I know you well enough to do that,” Guy said. “But, I’d like to.”
“You’d like to call me Dickhead?” Russell was only half joking. “Or, you’re saying you’d like to get to know me well enough...”
“Well... that’s an interesting question.” Guy’s foot found Russell’s on the floor of the tub. Russell immediately intuited that this game of footsie was not accidental. When neither man withdrew his extremity from contact, their eyes met in silent understanding. The actual dickhead between Russell’s legs immediately took its cue to leap to attention. At this moment of unspoken connection, the pool door sprang open. Four middle-aged women traipsed noisily into the pool area, all caped in terrycloth robes embroidered with the resort’s logo. The tiled space, which prior to their entrance had been placid enough for quiet conversation, was now resounding with high-pitched jabber. Subjects at hand: husbands, or maybe ex-husbands. Guy and Russell traded lascivious smiles before simultaneously bursting into guffaws. After a good belly laugh, Guy asked, “What do you say we go up to my room?”
Russell’s heart was pounding. He responded affirmatively with a nod. “I may have to give it a minute, though.”
“Oh, sure. You just got in. I mean... we’ve got all night.”
For Russell, this seemed too good to be true. Was the entire purpose of this weekend’s mission about to be fulfilled, effortlessly, like an answered prayer? “I’d be outta this tub in a hot second,” Russell elaborated, “except...” He stole a quick side glance to check if any of the ladies were looking. Seeing them still fully engaged in their ongoing chatter, he grabbed Guy’s paw, pulled it under the teaming water and to his crotch.
“Oh, Lord!” exclaimed the big man, squinting his eyes and licking his lips. “That’s the dickhead I really wanna get to know.” Without warning, Guy dove into the bubbling water with the grace of a walrus scooting off a rock on its belly. A tsunami wave wafted onto Russell’s face and jacuzzi water flooded onto the concrete decking. Russell suddenly worried that this whale-sized man was about to go down on him. Instead, Guy surfaced on the far end of the tub, stood up, leaned his head back like a supermodel posing for a Sports Illustrated cover shot, ran his pudgy fingers through his wet hair and shook his head, shedding large drops of water in every direction. As he mounted each stair, the level of the pool diminished discernibly.
Russell wiped the chlorinated water from his bleary, stinging eyes to see the big man poised on the edge of the tub in a wide stance, his carpeted belly suspended over a tiny, black Speedo bathing suit. At that moment, Russell was thinking, This is, without a doubt, the sexiest man I have ever seen.
≈ ≈ ≈
A mismatched pair of barefoot, dripping, swimsuit-clad 40-something men hustled down the flagstone path from the pool enclosure to the main building, tittering like a couple of teenage pranksters under a Halloween harvest moon. The lateness of the hour found the hotel corridor devoid of bustle and clamor, as they stole their way to the elevator. There was nothing unusual or improper or the least bit suspicious about what they were doing. They were, after all, legitimate guests of the resort. But, knowing where they were headed and what was likely to happen when they got there had them feeling like a pair of naughty children making a midnight raid on the cookie jar.
Russell had been groped by men before. Every previous time, his immediate response had been, first, to take a stride back and, if necessary, swat the unwanted hand away. Invariably, these confrontations had been awkward, often resulting in hurt feelings (for the aggressor) and pangs of guilt (for Russell, aware that his mixed signals had probably invited the groping in the first place). Nobody thus far, however, had been as assertive as Guy Gallo. As soon as the elevator car began its ascent, the Chicago bear’s right paw was fondling Russell’s package, squeezing his rock-hard erection through his wet swim trunks. This time, Russell didn’t step away, nor did he put up any resistance. “Wow!” he remarked. “You’re really raring to go!”
Guy put his left hand on Russell’s cheek, looked down into his eyes, and said, “It’s not often that I meet a Russell.” A unique blend of emotions resounded in the big man’s voice: equal parts carnal desire and sincere gratitude. It was as though Chi-town Guy had tapped into a state of being Russell had always suspected might be attainable but, for him, would forever remain out of reach.
Inside the room, Guy wasted no time. Pinning the smaller Russell against the door, he dropped to his knees and proceeded to tug Russell’s swimming togs down to his ankles. Russell did his part by stepping out of the still-damp trunks, and sweeping them aside with a big toe. Fantasy and reality were uniting as one. Russell had only dreamed this scenario. Now, he was completely naked in the presence of another grown man, under the implicit understanding that they were about to engage in consensual sex. Something of concern occurred to Russell. “You’re clean, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” the man on his knees responded. With this utterance, Russell felt Guy’s hot tongue and breath tickle his genitals. The big man proceeded to nibble eagerly but gently at Russell’s scrotum, which sent electric currents of arousal rippling up through Russell’s belly, chest, and shoulders.
“Because,” Russell insisted, “I can’t risk... you know, I can’t be catching something and taking it home... OH, MY FUCKING GOD!” The Chicago bear was deep throating Russell. “How do you do that?”
“Shhhh!” Guy shushed. “Just enjoy it.” Once again, Russell’s entire eight inches disappeared within the man’s mouth.
“I am,” Russell insisted. “I’m... My god, you’re really good at this.”
“And, you,” Guy responded, now licking the shaft, “have a beautiful cock.”
“A match made in heaven, I guess.” Russell wasn’t one to talk during sex. This situation, however, felt different. Part of his chattiness was born of nerves. It was also a way of staving off premature ejaculation. He was feeling genuine passion for this jumbo-sized, woolly Midwesterner. Should he spill his load too quickly, Russell worried that his feelings might change, that he might even feel the urge to beg off and run. He hadn’t, after all, come all the way to Austin for a cum-and-go, wham-bam-thank-you-man encounter. The man delivering the blowjob gagged loudly. “I’m sorry,” Russell said.
“No worries,” Guy reassured him, “I love it. I want every inch of this gorgeous thing.” The big man climbed to his feet, took Russell by the hand, and led him to the bed.
“Don’t you want to take off your suit?” Russell queried.
Guy looked down at his yet-to-be-removed Speedo. “Oh,” he said, “it’s not important.”
“Come on! I came here to get naked with you!” Russell slipped his fingers inside the sides of the tiny, tight swimsuit, pulling them down over the man’s thick thighs. What he saw between those stout legs was surprising. Not only was Guy’s penis on the small side, it was still flaccid.
“Like I said, it’s not important.” A sad, apologetic grin crept across Guy’s lips. “I take a statin. For my blood pressure.”
“Do you ever get hard?” Russell inquired.
“Sometimes,” Guy confessed. “But never for long. I like to have my nipples sucked and pinched, if you really want to, you know... get me aroused. Mostly, though, I just love sucking dick.”
“Well,” Russell responded, with a smile, “I love fondling and sucking hairy man boobs.”
“So, you were right,” the big man chuckled. Russell’s bemused expression begged for clarification. “We are a match made in heaven.”
Russell pushed Guy back onto the bed, splayed his big legs, fell on top of his barrel chest, and kissed him on the lips. “Thanks for inviting me to your room,” he said.
“Hey,” Guy responded, “like I said, it’s not often that I meet a Russell.”
“And, I’ve never ever met anyone like Giuseppe Gallo.”
≈ ≈ ≈
Russell awakened to the sound of the toilet flushing. Guy shuffled out of the bathroom yawning, still clad in nothing but his triple-XL birthday suit. Although the pair had spent the entire night bound in man-on-man intimacy — Russell, for the first time in his life — neither of them had reached their climax. Instead, both men had felt an immutable, visceral yearning to fuse together into one quarter-ton, amoebic blob of human nerve endings.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” crooned Russell.
“What happened to ‘Sugar Bear’?” Guy pretended to pout, as he slipped back under the covers to spoon his cool belly against the warmth of Russell’s backside.
“I’ve decided that Sugar Bear is your nighttime nickname,” Russell teased, sleepily.
“I see,” Guy said, exhaling warm, moist breath into Russell’s ear. Russell’s soldier immediately responded in the only way it knew how. The bear’s paw was immediately drawn to it as if the erection had its own gravitational pull.
Russell felt a gurgling in his abdomen. “Hey,” he began, “this may sound kinda weird...”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay,” Russell said. “How do I put this? Guess I’ll just say it.” Sudden nervousness only increased his level of arousal. He swallowed hard for courage. “Wanna watch me jerk off?”
“Damn straight I do,” affirmed the big man. “Pun intended... or not intended, whichever way you take it.”
Noticing something hard poking him just below his buttocks, Russell reached his hand down to investigate. “What have we here?”
“Well,” Guy answered, “I haven’t taken my lovastatin yet.”
“So, that means...”
“We’ll see. Sometimes I’m good for five, maybe ten minutes.”
Russell rolled over on his back and threw off the covers, exposing his lower extremities. Looking into Guy’s watery brown eyes, he removed the big man’s hand from its fluffing duties and filled his palm with saliva. Guy took the cue to kick the covers off of his side of the bed. Russell looked down. The appendage that had appeared so meek and miniscule seven hours ago now stood stout, solid and fully erect. The two men lay side by side, calves entwined, observing each other as they shamelessly pleasured themselves.
“Oh, God!” The big man exuded the surprised delight of a man gazing upon a winning lottery ticket. “I’m gonna cum!”
Guy’s boyish joy inspired Russell to summon up his coaching skills. “Go for it, Baby! Blow your wad!” As milky white spunk shot onto Guy’s stomach, he growled, as if doing his best impression of the bear he so resembled. “Oh, yeah!” Russell exclaimed. “Now, it’s my turn.” Guy smiled dreamily as Russell closed his eyes and quickened his stroke. Russell came with a moan that rose from deep within the center of his core. It was physical and metaphysical, erupting simultaneously from gut and soul. Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly experience any greater bliss, Guy’s lips met his, and they feasted on each other’s tongues like two ravenous prisoners breaking a monthlong hunger strike.
≈ ≈ ≈
“So, does your wife know?” Russell was toweling off. Guy had just stepped into the shower.
“That I’m bi?” the big man asked.
“Yeah,” Russell was unsure how to broach the subject, or whether bringing it up was even allowed. “Or, you know, that you do this sort of thing... like when you’re at a convention, or whatever.”
“She knows.”
Guy’s blasé matter-of-factness sent a pang of envy through Russell. “So,” he continued to pry, “you tell her about it? Or...”
“Not exactly,” Guy responded. “But, she knows... or, let’s say, she probably assumes.”
“And, how does she feel about it?”
“We have a certain arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?”
Guy’s tone turned impatient and dismissive. “Look, Man. You and me... we had a good time together. It was fun. But let’s just leave it at that. And let’s just keep our wives out of it. Okay?” Russell felt wounded, as if he’d gotten a sharp slap on the back of the hand from Mommy while attempting to purloin a handful of Cheetos too close to dinner time. However, that brief sting was quickly replaced by a sense of relief. He’d achieved his goal, having enjoyed the exact experience he’d come to Austin in search of. And, it had not been a disappointment. In fact, one night in bed with this Chicago bear turned out to be far more fulfilling than he could ever have expected. Now, his comrade in this secret alliance was assuring him there were no strings attached. He was free to walk out of this room without looking back, which had to be the best outcome possible.
Guy was still in the shower reprising Johnny Cash as Russell wriggled his cool, still-damp bathing togs up over his knees. He patted the sheets goodbye, inhaled deeply, rose to his feet, exhaled, pulled the trunks up the rest of the way, and sneaked quietly to the door.
SEVENTEEN
When Mary Ann emerged from her room shortly after eight a.m., what she witnessed seemed particularly intriguing: Russell slipping stealthily into the sixth-floor hallway, still clad only in a bathing suit. This, in and of itself, would not necessarily have aroused suspicion, except that Mary Ann distinctly recalled Russell informing her that his room was on the fifth floor. She remained a silent, stationary fly on the wall observing, as he scooted, barefoot, shirtless, and oblivious to her presence, to the far end of the hall and into the stairwell.
