AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe he was overly cautious, but working for Far Sight was worse than being in the military, where you could no longer be discharged for being out. The larger problem while he was serving had been the guys in his unit who made no bones about their distrust of guys who liked dick. For some reason, he always ended up surrounded by guys like Brody and had nearly been outed to them a few times. He’d resigned his commission after coming dangerously close and knew that last time it was because he’d been working on the F-35, which had still been in development, and was getting promoted. The job at Far Sight had been a relief until he found out he still couldn’t be out and proud. Still, he’d managed to make it this far, and now he was too close to the end to fuck things up. So, hookups and quickies in bathrooms it was going to be for another couple of years.
Holden ordered a Lyft before he left his room with his bags and met the driver under the hotel’s covered entrance. The drive to West Hollywood would take about forty-five minutes if they didn’t run into traffic, which was always possible, even midafternoon on a Wednesday, so Holden settled into the back seat, pulled his personal phone out of his messenger bag, and watched LA pass by while he called his mother. He’d made a habit of calling every couple of days to check in on her since his father passed away two years before.
“Hey, Mom,” he said after the call connected.
“Where are you today?” she asked. It was her standard greeting, and Holden smiled as he told her he was in LA. “Again? You were just there last month.”
“I know. It’s an easy airport for everyone to get to.”
“Did you see any celebrities?”
Holden laughed. “Mom, I didn’t even get out of the hotel. How are you doing? How’s your painting coming along?”
“I’m good. The painting’s good. I tried a new paper with this one. Let me know what you think.”
The phone in his hand buzzed with an incoming text, so he looked down and saw she’d sent him a photo of her watercolor painting of the boats in Eagle Harbor. Marilyn was a talented artist who’d been studying at the Seattle Art Institute when she met Holden’s aspiring architect father in a technical drawing class. They’d continued to live in Seattle after they graduated and got married, moving to a house on Bainbridge Island after his father’s career took off when Holden was a teenager. Holden lived in Virginia, and while he didn’t like living on the opposite side of the country from his mother, she had lots of friends, led a plein air painting group, had plenty of time to pursue her own work while running a small gallery that showcased local artists, and was happy.
“That’s beautiful,” Holden told her. He didn’t understand all the nuances of her art form, but he could tell that the paper had given her work a softer, more impressionistic feel that was well suited to the line of boats tied to the dock at sunset.
They continued to chat about her painting and what was happening on the island, as well as Holden’s job and when he might be able to visit again. They didn’t talk about Holden’s social life because his mother knew he didn’t have one. Holden suspected Marilyn knew he was gay, but he’d never come out to his parents. His father had been intensely conservative and made enough comments about “the gays” that Holden was sure he’d never have accepted his son being one of them. Even if Marilyn suspected the truth, Holden was sure she wouldn’t want to hear about his hookups and one-night stands. His parents had been each other’s first loves and remained committed to each other until the day his father passed away. It was easier to tell his mother he was too busy to date.
“I’m sorry, what?” Holden’s mind had drifted into thinking about his parents’ marriage, so he only caught the last few words of his mother’s statement, but he could have sworn she’d said—
“I got asked out on a date.”
“Oh.” Holden struggled to think of what to say to that news. “Did you say yes?”
His mother giggled. She fuckinggiggled. Holden didn’t think he’d ever heard his mother giggle before, and he tapped the earpiece to make sure it wasn’t malfunctioning.
“I’m thinking about it,” Marilyn said.
By the time they hung up, Holden still didn’t know how he felt about his mother going out on a date, but he was comfortable that she knew the guy—he was part of her painting group—and wouldn’t take any unnecessary chances when they got together. His mother’s last comment was about him needing to get out there as well, and Holden didn’t know what to say to that except that he’d try.
After he finished the call with her, he scrolled through his voicemail, listened to his messages, then checked his email for anything urgent. Finding nothing, he turned off his phone and focused his attention on the urban landscape surrounding him, though he found it uninspiring. Once he got away from the coast, Holden found LA to be fairly boring and almost claustrophobic. He had loved growing up in Seattle, loved camping in the mountains with his father and going to the parks with his mother when she painted. In Virginia, he lived in Richmond but spent as much time as he could exploring the outer banks and hiking along the Appalachian Trail.
The car pulled up to the hotel’s entrance, and Holden got out, collected his things, and headed inside to check in. His plan was to shower, take a nap, then grab some dinner and head to the club. For tonight, he wanted to check out Neon, which was a new place for him in West Hollywood. The last few times he’d been in LA, he hadn’t had much luck in his usual spots, so maybe his luck would change somewhere else.
It did occur to Holden that his “luck” might have more to do with the fact that he was pushing fifty and the guys he was attracted to weren’t interested in someone that old. He kept himself fit—twenty years in the military had instilled a need for physical fitness in him that seven years as a civilian hadn’t erased—and knew he wasn’t bad looking. His neatly trimmed hair was turning to salt and pepper, but still mostly pepper. Today, he was clean-shaven because of his meetings, but he liked to let his beard grow out to a rugged scruff. It was also starting to show more gray in it each time it grew in, but Holden thought he still looked good.
There were laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and deepening lines around his mouth that no amount of moisturizer or facial treatments were ever going to take away, though he still would have availed himself of a spa day if he weren’t heading out the next morning. After three weeks of constant travel, Holden could have used the pampering and promised himself he’d book time once he got home.
He unlocked the door to his room and wheeled his suitcase inside, leaving it next to the desk along with his laptop bag, then stripped and hopped in the shower.
The warm water cascading over his body from the rainfall showerhead was heaven. When he lathered up and watched the soap suds disappear down the drain, he felt as if he were washing away the lies and deflections that went along with maintaining his straight-guy persona. Without the mental and emotional weight of keeping the façade in place, he felt lighter and rolled his shoulders back as he turned a knob to switch to the massaging showerhead and let the water beat against his shoulders. Holden was definitely going to book a massage when he got home and groaned as the water’s heat and impact worked some of the tension from his body.
As his tension eased and the need for pretense washed away, Holden’s cock stirred and came to life. Arousal pooled in his balls and radiated into his belly, and he drew in a deep breath, then reached for the tiny bottle of conditioner that came compliments of the hotel. The scent of lavender and vanilla spilled into the shower stall as he poured some into his hand. It could have been worse, but Holden didn’t want to take the time to retrieve his own lube from his dopp kit, so it would have to do.
A few slick strokes and Holden didn’t care what it smelled like. Days of sitting in meetings, wrapped up in his business suit, faking laughter at whatever off-color remark Brody or one of his minions made, had Holden gasping as his cock plumped and jerked in his hand. He stopped thinking about work and turned his mind to his evening’s activities, imagining a firm body against his own, his hands running over taut muscles, well-developed pecs, a rock-hard cock against his ass, the feel of a thick cock filling his mouth.
“Fuuuuuck,” Holden breathed out.
He continued to stroke with one hand while he cupped his balls with the other. They were drawing high and tight, and he knew this wasn’t going to take long. Pretending to be straight killed his libido, but it came roaring back to life once he was free of his work obligations, and he always came hard and fast the first time.
Sliding a finger along his taint, Holden rubbed the tip over the sensitive skin of his opening while keeping up the steady rhythm on his cock with his other hand. He teased at his rim, fingertip circling and pressing, and his hips bucked forward, forcing his cock through the tight tunnel of his fist.
Fire licked along his nerves, and his belly tensed. He breathed deeply, trying to slow the orgasm, but it was no use. Holden slid his finger as deep as he could inside himself. His fist was a blur, stroking along his shaft, twisting upward at the heated skin of his glans. The slippery release of precum made his fist even slicker. Holden tightened his grip, hips pistoning as he fucked and stroked himself. The orgasm rose and burst like a firework in his body sending shivers racking through his arms and legs as cum poured over his hand. With a great exhale, Holden leaned against the wall and let the water wash everything away while he caught his breath.
When he could breathe normally again and his heart rate had slowed, Holden switched the showerhead back to rainfall, rinsed a final time, then shut the water off. The hotel’s towels were large, fluffy, and white, and Holden dried off with one, then wrapped another one around his waist.
