Chapter 7
7
MARNIN
S aturday mornings were usually my favorite—a chance to sleep in a little, get a workout in, and then get to work at a slower pace than usual. But I’d woken up at six this morning, courtesy of an inconsiderate neighbor who’d slammed his door at that ungodly hour. People like that should be evicted. And, of course, I’d been so pissed off that I’d woken up completely and going back to sleep had been impossible.
Then again, it fit the theme of my whole week, which had been…off. No major problems, nothing specific I could pinpoint, but I’d been off my game. Even my secretary commented on my fuse being shorter than usual, and that woman was immune to my attitude after working for me for six years.
I had no clue what the issue was other than I had this itch inside me, this restlessness like something had crawled under my skin. And even stranger, I wanted to go back home to Forestville. Why, I had no clue, but the urge was all but impossible to ignore. Staying in Seattle was a tribute to my willpower.
I’d checked in with Ennio to make sure he was okay after what happened last weekend. It hadn’t been traumatizing—at least, I didn’t think so—but Ennio was sensitive and more fragile than I was. He’d appreciated it, I think, and we’d exchanged some text messages throughout the week. Were we becoming friends? Maybe, and funny enough, I didn’t hate the idea.
But what to do about my mood this morning? With each passing second, the silence of the condo clawed at me, demanding I fill it with something, anything, to drown out the restlessness inside me. With a disgruntled huff, I snatched up my phone and flicked through the apps with practiced ease until the familiar glow of Grindr illuminated my face—a beacon for the emotionally shipwrecked.
“Distraction,” I muttered, scrolling through the grid of eager faces and sculpted bodies, searching for someone to unleash my temper on. A profile snagged my attention—not because it was different, but because it was disconcertingly familiar.
SkyBlueHair93. The thumbnail showed a young guy, probably late twenties, lounging against a graffiti-laden wall, his electric-blue hair a stark contrast to the gray skies above Seattle. He had that lean, wiry build that somehow reminded me of Ennio. His makeup was more outspoken than Ennio’s and he had bright-pink nail polish, but he had that edge that spoke of a kindred spirit to Ennio’s brand of defiance.
When I flipped through his pics, a phenomenal picture of his ass stopped me in my tracks. If that was truly him, I was sold. Plus, his profile said he was a strict bottom who liked it hard. How much more perfect could I get it?
Hey
Brevity was best here. I wasn’t out to romance anyone, just to get laid.
Hey yourself ;)
The response came back almost instantly, followed by:
Like what you see?
I sure do.
My thumbs tapped against the screen with impatience.
You free today…as in right now?
That depends. You gonna give me a good hard fuck, Daddy?
I rolled my eyes.
If you stop calling me that, yes.
Okay. Where and when?
I sent him the address of the hotel I used when needed. I’d made it a hard and fast rule never to invite people to my place.
An hour from now?
I fired off the message and waited, feeling the simmering frustration within me morph into a grim anticipation.
See you then.
The hotel was a short walk from my place—the whole reason I often used it—and within minutes, I had a room.
My hookup arrived right on time, dressed in pants I’d have to peel off him and a crop top. Were those back in fashion? I thought we’d left the eighties behind us.
“Oh, nice room,” he said.
“I’m not in the mood for conversation, Blue.”
He grinned. “You wanna unleash that bad mood on my ass.”
“That was the plan.”
“I’m down with that.”
Seattle rain pelted against the windows as I watched him undress. He was exactly my type with his slim, tight body and that spectacular ass that would bounce perfectly when I fucked him. The blue strands of his hair fell like rivulets of paint against his pale skin, and for a moment, I let myself believe this could scrub away the grime of today’s frustrations. But as he advanced toward me with a confident swagger that screamed youth and vitality, my body refused to mirror my intentions.
It would cooperate once I touched him. I yanked him toward me and kissed him, maybe a bit harder than I had intended, but he sank into it, into me, his hands massaging my ass. “Don’t you wanna undress, Silver?”
“Silver?”
He shrugged. “You called me Blue.”
Fair enough. But Jesus, how did I undress when my cock was still as soft as it had been before his arrival?
Before I could say anything, he sank to his knees and deftly pulled down my pants. “I’ll help you get in the mood.”
Fuck. He’d known what the problem was. “I don’t usually?—”
“Happens to the best of us.”
Him being so nice about it should’ve made me feel better, but it didn’t. Everything about this felt wrong, which made no sense at all. How was this different from any hookup I’d ever done?
He took out my cock and sucked it into his mouth. Oh, he was good at this, his lips and tongue working me with skill. My cock perked up a little, but it never grew beyond half-mast. What the fuck was happening? This was the second time I hadn’t been able to get it up. This wasn’t me. I was not some desperate middle-aged cliché battling with his damn libido.
Worry pooled in my stomach. “This isn’t working.”
Concern filled his eyes. “Are you okay? Is there something?—
“I don’t know, but it’s not your problem.”
“Fine,” Blue said, his earlier warmth replaced by a defensive chill. He gathered his clothes, dressing quickly. “For what it’s worth, you seem like you could use more than a quick fuck to fix whatever’s eating you.”
And now I felt like a total asshole—not that uncommon a feeling, but the circumstances were different. He’d only been nice and kind, and I’d been a dick. “Sorry. I’m… I don’t know what’s going on.”
“You may wanna have yourself checked out then.”
Before I could reply, he walked out, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving me alone with the silence and the chilling realization that something deeper than physical frustration was at play. Blue had been right about one thing: I needed to have this checked out…and I wasn’t waiting until Monday.
On the short walk back home, I came up with a plan. Fir Everett had been my classmate in Forestville, from kindergarten all through high school graduation, and he’d followed in his father’s footsteps as the town’s family doctor. He and I hadn’t been friends, but since he’d started dating Tomás, one of my best friends, we’d grown much closer. He was a good guy, kind and sweet, and a dedicated doctor. I hated doing this to him, but I couldn’t sit in this worry until Monday, and that was if I could even get in with my own doctor in Seattle that quickly.
As soon as I was back home, I made the call.
“Marnin? Everything okay?”
“Uh, hey, Fir… Look, I know it’s your day off, but…”
“What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“It’s a medical thing.”
“I assumed as much.”
“Right. Okay, so here’s the thing. I’m having some issues…below the belt.” I braced myself against the counter, its cold marble a stark contrast to my flushed skin.
“Sexual dysfunction?” Fir asked, clinical yet not devoid of concern.
“Yeah.” Admitting it aloud felt like a punch to the gut. “Can’t seem to…you know, get it up. It’s happened a few times now.”
“Have you been under a lot of stress lately? Any new meds or health concerns?” Fir was all business now, his professional demeanor a thin veil over the genuine worry in his tone.
“Stressed, sure. But not more than usual. No new meds. It happened out of nowhere.” An involuntary shiver ran down my spine as I forced the confession out. “I can’t wait till Monday. I need to know if something’s wrong.”
“Can you drive to Forestville to come see me?”
“Yeah, absolutely. When?”
“Today, tomorrow, whenever. Just text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll meet you at my practice. I’ll take a look, run some tests. We’ll figure this out together, Marnin.” Fir’s voice held a steadiness I envied.
“Thanks, Fir. I appreciate it.” Gratitude mingled with a gnawing dread. “Do you think it could be something serious?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?”
He was right. “I’ll pack a bag and leave right away. Should be there in about an hour and a half.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
Right on time, I turned into the parking lot of Everett’s Family Practice, where Fir’s car was already parked. He was waiting for me at the entrance, and on impulse, I hugged him. “Thank you.”
He hugged me right back. “Of course. Come on, let’s see what’s going on.”
As soon as we entered his office, his demeanor changed as if he’d put on a professional mask along with his stethoscope. Not that I minded. It made it easier to create some necessary distance between us.
“Okay, Marnin, I’m going to need you to be as detailed as possible. Since I’m not your doctor, can you tell me any existing health conditions I should be aware of?”
“Erm, nothing really. My yearly physical always comes back the same. Blood pressure a little elevated but not high, cholesterol levels could be better, and my doctor gets on my ass about exercising more. But nothing I’m being treated for or need meds for.”
“Okay. Any change in your diet, sleep patterns, or exercise routine?”
“My diet is the same crap as always. Too much sodium, too much fat, and I need to cut back on red meat. Sleep’s crap—too much work—and exercise is sporadic.”
“Uh-huh.” He scribbled something down. “Any blood in your urine?”
“No.”
“Painful urination?”
“No.”
“Sexual activity? Any new partners? A change in frequency? Anything out of the ordinary other than erectile issues, like injuries?”
“No changes in frequency. You know I hook up often, at least twice a week and more if I can fit it in.”
“No pain with ejaculating?”
“Not that I have noticed.”
“Right,” Fir said softly. He paused, considering his words carefully. “Marnin, sexual health can be a complex interplay of physical and emotional factors. We shouldn’t rule out anything, including the psychological angle.”
“Psychology?” I scoffed, though the prospect unnerved me. “What, you think this is all in my head?”
“Sometimes the mind has more control over our bodies than we’d like to admit,” he replied gently. “But let’s not jump ahead. I suggest seeing a urologist for a comprehensive evaluation, including a prostate check.”
Prostate. And there was the word I’d been dreading. I wasn’t stupid. At my age, I was at risk for prostate cancer. “Can’t you do it?”
“I can do a quick PSA test, which stands for Prostate Specific Antigen. That can give us an indication if anything’s wrong. But the test is notorious for having false positives, so if it’s positive, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong. However, false negatives are rare.”
“Sure, let’s do that. And a prostate exam?”
His face softened. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with me doing that?”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t. It’s gonna be weird no matter who sticks their fingers up my ass.”
Fir repressed a smile. “Point taken. Okay. Let me draw some blood first, and then we can do the exam.”
The blood draw was done quickly, and then it was time to change into one of those stupid gowns and bend over the table. Fir snapped gloves on.
“Okay, I need you to relax as much as you can,” he instructed, his tone shifting into a reassuring clinical professionalism.
I’d never met someone who could relax on command, including me. As Fir began the exam, I focused on the sterile white walls, counting the tiny imperfections I found there to distract myself from the invasive sensation and the fear tangling up inside me.
“Any discomfort?” Fir’s voice broke through my reverie, calm and controlled.
“Other than my pride?” I tried for a joke, but it fell flat even to my ears.
After what felt like an eternity under Fir’s scrutinizing touch, he finally leaned back and peeled the latex from his hands with a snap that echoed too loudly in the small, sterile room.
“Everything seems normal, Marnin,” Fir said, his words methodical and even, yet not quite masking the concern etched into the lines of his forehead. “No abnormalities that I can palpate, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear.”
My heart sank—a strange cocktail of fear and disbelief sloshing through my veins. Normal? Then why the hell couldn’t I perform? It was supposed to be good news, but it left me with more questions than answers.
“Look, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” Fir continued, his voice softening. “You were hoping for a quick fix, something obvious and easily treatable. But bodies aren’t always straightforward, and neither are their problems.”
“Great,” I grumbled as I put my clothes back on. “So, what’s next? Am I supposed to accept that my dick has a mind of its own now?”
“The next step is to see a urologist. They’ll have more specialized equipment and tests that can help us figure out what’s going on. You might need more blood work, imaging, maybe even a biopsy if they deem it necessary.”
“Biopsy?” The word hung heavy between us, a specter of something darker lurking beyond the veil of medical jargon.
“Only if they think it’s needed, Marnin. I’ll have the results of the blood work for you by tomorrow, okay?”
“Thank you.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets as I made my way to the door. “And hey, thanks for doing this on your day off.”
“Anytime.” He smiled back, though his eyes were somber. “You’ve got my number. Call me after your appointment, okay? Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Back in my car, the word biopsy echoed in my mind, each repetition louder, more terrifying. Could there really be something sinister hiding within me? Prostate cancer was a shadow that loomed over men of a certain age, and suddenly, I was standing right beneath it.
Vulnerability was a bitter pill, one that didn’t go down easy. But neither did fear, which gnawed at me now, sharp-toothed and unrelenting. The analytical part of my brain, usually so precise and logical, spun wildly. Statistics on survival rates, treatment options, side effects—all of it jumbled together in an indecipherable mess.
“Stupid,” I chastised myself. “You don’t even know if there’s anything wrong yet.”
But once planted, the seed of worry sprouted roots that twisted around my gut, squeezing tight. I needed something to get me through this, and this time, sex was not an option.
I started my car and drove out of the parking lot. Turning the corner, the neon lights of the Double F cut through the encroaching darkness. It promised escape, however temporary. If I couldn’t fuck my way through this, I’d give in to the raw need to drown every terrifying possibility in alcohol.