When I was fifty （2017） #2
I struggled to find words that would encapsulate my emotions. “That is possibly the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” All the sweeter because I knew it echoed what I felt.
He smiled. “I have no secrets from you either. I see little benefit in hiding how I feel.” He paused. “And speaking of feelings…” He got up from the bed and walked around the easel, his body hidden by the canvas. “He seemed like a nice guy.”
I frowned. “Who did?” I had whiplash from the change of subject.
“That man you were talking to in the coffee shop. Must have been… oh, I don’t know… about three months ago?”
I searched through my memories. Coffee shop? Then I remembered. “Wait a minute. Tall guy, fluffy gray beard, leather patches on the elbows of his jacket?”
“Yes, that was him. He seemed very interested in you.”
I tried not to laugh. “Oh, he is. He always asks after me. In fact, he’ll do anything to make me happy.”
“I see.”
I couldn’t tease him a second longer. “Come out from behind there, please. We need to clear something up.” When he didn’t move, I sighed. “I know you’re not painting me right now.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m not posing. Now come here. Please.”
He emerged from behind the canvas, walking slowly toward me. I patted the bed beside me, and he sat. I put my arm around him.
“What did I say to you, two Christmas Eves ago? And don’t tell me you don’t remember, because we both know that’s a lie.”
“Was it the bit about… there only being one man for you?”
I nodded. “And who is that man?”
He sighed. “Me.”
“You. I also said I wouldn’t be doing what we’d been doing with anyone else. Well, that counts double for Rex—my boss.” I watched as the information sank in.
“The guy with the leather patches… he’s your boss?”
Another nod. “And while I’m sure he’s a lovely guy, he’s also straight as an arrow, happily married, and wouldn’t cheat on Lucy even under threat of torture.
” I cupped his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye.
“You have no reason to feel jealous. There is only you. There will only ever be you. Okay?”
It was the closest I’d come to confessing I loved him.
“Okay.” A breath shuddered out of him. “I’m sorry. I just happened to be checking in, and he was there, and—”
“Whoa there. Back up a sec.” I leaned back, my weight on my arms. “You said once how you’d had a feeling something had been wrong in my life. Seeing me with my boss having coffee is a helluva lot more concrete than a feeling. Sounds to me as if you saw us. So… how does that work?”
He swallowed. “I might have one secret I haven’t shared, but it’s connected with how I do what I do, okay? And I will share it with you, just… not today.”
“Because we’re running out of time?” I surmised.
He nodded, then gestured to the canvas. “And now…Would you like to see how far I’ve got?”
I got it. Change the subject time. “Is it finished?”
“No, it isn’t. We’ll have to carry on next year.”
The ache in my own heart returned. “Then show me.” I sat up. Santa went over to the easel and turned it around. Even at this early stage, I could tell it was going to be awesome. He’d blocked in my body, and had focused his efforts on my face. What struck me was the wistful expression.
I knew exactly what I’d been thinking in that moment. I’d been contemplating another year without seeing him. And if I was contemplating it, then he had to be to.
Then I realized what was coming. “Are you showing me because it’s time for me to go?”
No. Not yet. A little more time, please.
I had no idea who I was begging, or if indeed there was someone who could hear me.
He cleaned his brush with a rag. “Yes.” He met my gaze. “Is it me, or are these moments we spend together getting shorter?”
“One of Time’s tricks,” I replied.
His face fell. “I only know I hate to take you back.”
“Do I have to go right now?”
He gave me an inquiring glance. “Why? Is there something you’d like to do first?”
I nodded, stroking my cock. “Do we have enough time to make love?”
He walked toward me, then climbed onto the bed. “There is always time for that.”
The bottle of lube appeared from nowhere. Santa lay on his back, his knees drawn up to his chest. I smiled. It was his favorite position, the one where I was able to go deep. I squeezed some lube into my palm and slicked up my dick before swiping my fingers over his pucker.
“It hasn’t been that long since you were inside me.” He held his arms wide.
I crawled between his legs, guiding the head of my cock to his hole. I covered him with my body as I entered him, slow and steady, until his tight channel sheathed my dick and he held me to him, his legs resting on my shoulders.
I loved the way we fit, the way we moved together, the undulations of our bodies, the joy on his face, the glow that crept over his skin.
I loved the times when he rode me, his hips rolling fluidly, his belly taut.
I loved the low cries that tumbled from his lips as he drew closer to his orgasm, the gasps that rebounded around the room when I teased his nipples, knowing it brought him so much pleasure.
Only this time, we knew it couldn’t last long.
I didn’t want it to end.
He shuddered, his body stiffening as he shot over his belly and chest. I was aware of each jolt through him. And when he was done, we kissed as we always did, while I rocked into him, my own climax hurtling through me.
We held each other so tightly. I couldn’t speak. I was afraid to. Because if I opened my mouth, what spilled out would be words of love, and I couldn’t do that to him.
How would I feel if I were in his shoes, and I had to return my lover back to his own realm, right after he’d confessed he loved me?
I knew exactly. It would feel as though I’d abandoned him.
It was better for him not to know.
He kissed my forehead, an intimate gesture that always gladdened my heart. “We have to go now.”
I nodded.
No words.