John felt his chest ache and a throbbing burn behind his eyelids. He sucked in a controlled breath, commanding his body to hold it together.
I cannot have a fucking breakdown in public. Not in the middle of the bar like a sad, pathetic old man.
Dammit.
John pressed his fingers into the glass, hating how dependent he had become on his fling. Seeing Ben, bent on his knees, feeding his cock into his mouth one inch at a time, had been exactly what he needed. John had climaxed those first few times very quickly because it had been so new, so thrilling, so liberating. He hadn’t realized how much he needed the touch—the sensation of being held.
He raked his fingers through his beard.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
John would once again be alone tonight, stranded on the edge of a vast cliff, with nothing but his thoughts for company. And he never felt this dangerously close before. The emptiness burned through him, and he closed his eyes, vaguely wondering what it would be like to surrender to it.
Stop, John.
Just fucking stop.
You can’t think like this.
This was the second time Ben had stood him up.
John was particular about his home and didn’t like bringing anyone there. It felt too intimate. Too personal. He preferred the autonomy of a hotel room, with room service and a full bar. He barely had time to take care of himself these days, let alone have clean sheets or food in his fridge. He hadn’t even finished unpacking the boxes from his divorce several years ago in the spare bedroom yet.
John’s life and his mess were for his eyes only. He didn’t need the scrutiny, or worse, the concern from someone else.
His phone vibrated. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
Maybe next week...?
No, there would be no other chance with Ben. He couldn’t keep getting his hopes up when he was this fragile. This weak. It felt crushing to admit it to himself, but here he was, aching and alone and so fucking disappointed he wanted to scream and cry and…
John typed his reply.
Have a safe night.
Bubbles. Stop. Then nothing. Ben was smart enough to realize the second missed night would be their last. Both understood the arrangement. No talking, no intimacy. It was easy, fun, and no one got hurt. No emotions, just a release. Because that’s all John could handle at the moment.
Needing a distraction, John opened the last text message from his sister.
Talked to mom. She mentioned the garage door is stalling. Can you fix that? Dad shouldn’t be climbing ladders. Mom bitched about your beard again. I told her you’re going through a midlife crisis and to expect a flashy red sports car next time she sees you.
He smiled at the text and his response.
I’ll come by this weekend and take a look. The beard is a statement piece for the depressed and nearly middle aged. So yeah, I’m keeping it. As for the sports car, I already have two. I was thinking about a motorcycle next. Where are my pictures of Olive and Johnny?
He opened the dozen photos that followed, all of his ridiculously cute five-year-old niece and newborn nephew and smiled.
The dark, bottomless cliff inched out a little further, giving him room to breathe again and permission to step back in his mind.
If you get a motorcycle, Mom will have a stroke.
Good thing her son’s a doctor then.
Ha ha.
He closed the text thread and turned the phone around so he wouldn’t see any more notifications. Something he’d been doing more often. He had been on a few dating apps and struggled to dedicate any real time to them. He had been lucky when he met Ben, and the timing of it was convenient. And it helped that Ben was exactly his type.
Young, handsome, brimming with vitality and sex.
