Brad’s Search : Part 52

I leave work the next day to grab lunch with Gary and Harry. It’s been about a week since I saw them, and they were dying to hear more about what happened with James and Paul the day before. Things were so hectic getting them packed and flown out, I hardly had a chance to tell Gary and Harry what was going on.

We all order food and sit down. I waste no time getting into the details of the day before.

“So we’re all out to lunch yesterday and out of the blue, Paul gets a call from the private investigator he hired. His kids were found. Paul’s wife was apparently trying to cross the border into Canada with them, and they all got stopped at the border.”

Gary rests his chin on his hands. “Gosh, I can imagine how relieved Paul must feel—how everyone must feel, really.”

Harry nods. “Totally. So James just decided to fly back with Paul?”

“Yeah, without even thinking. As soon as Paul said he needed to fly back that night, James…I guess he just quickly decided in that moment that that’s what he had to do.”

Gary tilts his head. “Wow. I guess I can see where he’s coming from. What do you think about all this?”

I think for a few seconds. “Honestly, I’m really glad the two of them got past this huge roadblock between them, and that Paul’s kids were found. Both of those have been putting so much pressure on our relationship. I mean, I love the guy to death, but all this stress between his family and my work is really getting to me.”

Harry looks at me reassuringly. “Don’t worry too much, Brad. I’m sure you’ll both find a way to get through this. It seems like the worst of it is over.”

I nod in agreement. “You’re right. I’ll try not to stress out about it.”

* * * * *

With James out of town, my days are filled with work and my nights are filled with cooking for myself and going to bed alone—it almost feels like I’m single again. I don’t hear much from James, probably because he is so preoccupied with Paul getting his kids back, and rightfully so. I can’t blame him. Paul is really lucky to have someone close to him to help him through this difficult time. But it doesn’t help the many nights I’ve felt horny and have to take care of myself on my own. Even when James was in town, all the stuff he was going through with Paul really put a damper on our intimacy.

When Saturday rolls around, it’s almost too much to bear. I’ve been working like a dog on this project at work, getting everything ready for our meeting with the client next week. But it’s not enough. There are still some last-minute things that need to get done, and I volunteer to work from home Saturday to put the finishing touches on everything. I spend almost all day in front of the computer, but I finally get the last item on my list accomplished as the sun is setting and it’s starting to get dark.

I realize I haven’t had much to eat all day. When I’m in the zone working, I feel more like a robot than a human. I exist and am engineered for just one purpose—working—and forget my body needs sustenance to survive—that is, until, I finally wrap up and feel my stomach cramping up from being empty all day.

I decide to make some baked salmon with rice and surprise myself with how fast I eat it. Now that my body’s need for food has been satisfied, it’s time to give attention to my mind’s need for entertainment. Since I have only myself to rely on tonight, I check online for any interesting events going on in Seattle.

One of the bars in Capitol Hill is playing ’80s music all night long. I can’t resist dancing to music from the decade I was born, so I make a quick cocktail, down it, and hop on the bus toward the Hill.

I arrive at what seems like the best time. The music is pumping and all the right songs are being played, putting me in the best mood I’ve felt in a while. It’s a nice change from listening to all the family drama that’s been going on lately.

I walk up to the bar and order a drink. As I’m waiting, I glance at the people on the dancefloor and a really cute guy catches my eye. He looks up and we make eye contact. The bartender has my drink ready, I pay, take a quick sip, and make my way to the dancefloor.

All of a sudden, Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” starts playing. Arguably my most favorite song for when I’m desperate for intimacy.

I walk up to the cute guy and, just like we’re in a music video, we both start singing the words out loud. When the chorus comes, we’re both all smiles and dancing with each other, my hands on his shoulders and his hands on my hips. It’s such a great feeling.

When the song changes, we start heading back to the bar for another drink. It’s loud, so he practically screams into my ear, “Come here often?”

“Not really anymore.”

“Why’s that? This place could definitely use more eye candy like you.”

I feel myself blushing. “Thanks! I just don’t get out much. Work and all, you know.” I feel like it’s a bad idea to tell him I have a boyfriend. I’m having such a good time dancing with him, I don’t want to scare him off.

“Well it’s a good thing you decided to come out tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah. Vodka and cranberry?”

“You got it!”

He orders my drink along with another for himself. Once they arrive, we take them in hand and head back to the dancefloor.

The DJ transitions to another great song and we keep dancing, taking sips from our drinks. After a while, I lean in to ask, “Are you here with anyone?”

“My girlfriends wanted to go out, so we came here. Except they suck at dancing, so they’re just sitting by the bar drinking and gabbing to each other. So boring!”


“Love Shack” then starts playing—which is dangerous, because every time The B-52s sing “bang, bang, bang” he grabs and squeezes my ass. Don’t get me wrong—it feels nice, but a little part of me thinks I shouldn’t be doing this right now. However, the alcohol is doing a great job keeping the chemistry between us alive. I can’t help it—I’m a horny man in need of some release.

That all changes when the song nears its end, he grabs my crotch, and then plants a kiss right on my lips. Suddenly all of the recent events with James flood my awareness. He’s going through such a turbulent time, and finally started getting over this fifteen-year hiatus of his relationship with Paul. It hits me, hard. James was such a pillar of support for me when I was going through hard times, and now I need to be that support for him. If I’m in this for the long haul, I need to be there for him, just as he was there for me.

What the fuck am I doing here?

I snap back to reality. The guy looks at me, confused. “You all right? Too much to drink?”

I shake my head, perhaps a bit more vigorously than necessary. “No, I’m fine. Just had a moment.”

He looks over my shoulder, then back at me. “My friends are at the bar. They’re waving me over. I’ll be right back. Stay right here.”

The hell I am!

He walks away, and after a couple seconds, I try my best to sneak away.

I make it out undetected, and can’t help but laugh out loud to myself. I cannot believe what I just did. I’ve got to be the worst boyfriend in the world, going out and dancing with a complete and total stranger while my boyfriend is going through such a difficult time. But it felt so satisfying!

The more rational side of myself gets the better of me, thankfully, and I find the next bus back home and get on it.

As much fun as it was dancing with that stranger, it did absolutely nothing to relieve the sexual tension I’ve been feeling for a few days—in fact, it just made it worse. In my still halfway-drunken stupor, I feel the urge to get off, but in a more-than-usual naughty way.

James has lately taken quite well to borrowing my jockstraps when working out or playing Frisbee. Luckily he didn’t have a chance to do laundry before he left town, so it’s easy for me to find one he’s used recently.

I rip off my clothes as fast as I can and jump on the bed when I’m completely naked, James’s freshly-worn jock in hand. Oh God, what I didn’t do to this jock. I lie on my back, cock in one hand, and jock in the other, pressing the jock against my face and breathing in the scent of his package. I then wrap the jock around my cock and jerk off with it. I get even crazier and put that one on, then find another one he’s worn in the past few days. It reminds me of the night I fucked him while he wore one. I imagine myself inside him and I jerk faster and faster and faster and faster until I feel myself getting closer and closer and finally blow an enormous load all over my chest and torso.

The combination of working all day, the alcohol, plus the release from jerking off and cumming everywhere—all three make me start feeling extremely tired, and it’s not long until I fall asleep.