The Conclusion of “Picture Perfect”
(Watch Monday for “Just How All American is Apple Anyway?”)
“Sorry, I’m early,” said Eric in almost a whisper, fidgeting with his towel.
“No problem,” said Ralph, getting aroused by all that black hair that matted Eric’s chest and abs and legs, and not caring that he was. “Let me just get all this stuff off me.”
He watched as Eric watched him rinse off and could see from the rising bump on his towel that Eric was pleased by what he saw. But he made no move to join him. Instead, as Ralph stepped out of the shower, Eric lifted Ralph’s towel off the nearby hook and began wiping his back and butt ever so gently. Then as Ralph turned around, Eric threw the towel over his head and stared him straight in the eyes.
“You’re beautiful buddy, just fucken beautiful.”
For one of the few times he could recall in his life, Ralph felt himself blushing over another guy, and taking Eric’s right hand, he placed it on his own stiff cock.
“You had me at the first hello.”
Keeping his grasp on Ralph’s cock, Eric took Ralph’s hand and placed it square on the bump on his towel.
“Here’s looking at you, kid.”
“Movie buff?” said Ralph.
“Big time.” Eric grinned.
“Me too, ” said Ralph, smiling back.
When he was 14, Ralph went with Dad to a church flea market in nearby Clifton and was so fascinated by the heavy iron old movie projector with a “Thomas A. Edison” nameplate he found that he bought it for twenty five dollars and kept it high on the bookcase in his bedroom. The “hunk of junk” as his dad described it got Ralph curious about its past and in the library he found it dated from the earliest days of the movies. Soon Ralph couldn’t get enough about the old Hollywood, not the glitz, but how it had all come to be, and most of all the technical side of making movies. He decided right then he would become a cinematographer and go to the University of California’s Film School to become just that. Then, just three weeks before Ralph graduated Ridgewood High, Dad dropped dead of a heart attack at work. With no one to support Mom, Ralph put his dream on hold and went to work as a claims adjuster for Network Health in Manhattan. A year later Mom died of liver cancer, leaving Ralph little but his freedom. He soon got his own place across the Hudson in Lodi.
As they strolled slowly back to Ralph’s room, Ralph noticed Eric was limping ever so slightly but decided not to make anything of it.
“So where’s all your clothes?” Ralph asked as he slid the magnetic key card in the door slot. “You didn’t come off the street with only a towel on, did you?
“No,” said Eric grinning. “I stowed my stuff upstairs in one of the lockers. Figured I’d hit the bathhouse in case you weren’t interested.”
“Fat chance,” said Ralph and, and slamming the door behind them, he dropped his towel on the floor and threw himself on the bed. Eric wasted no time flinging himself on top of Ralph and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
For what felt forever, they lay there saying nothing, Ralph stroking his hands slowly up and down Eric’s furry back and butt and Eric rubbing his beard against Ralph’s. Then almost as if they had rehearsed it, Eric flipped onto the other side of the bed as Ralph rose up on his knees and ever so slowly entered Eric’s furry butthole.
For the next hour, their bodies switched positions, Eric savoring Ralph’s cock, then Ralph’s his, then Ralph entering Eric again and again, first from the back, then with Eric lying on the bed facing him until Eric sprayed Ralph’s belly and chest with his cum just at the moment Ralph bred his new found buddy.
“I usually top,” said Eric wiping the sweat from his face with his hand. “But I think you’ve opened a Pandora’s box for me with that beautiful tool of yours, handsome. It’s like it was custom-made for my manhole.”
Ralph reached for the towel on the floor wiping the sweat from Eric’s torso which he then used to sponge off the cum from his own. Then they went outside to the courtyard to get some air and take a dip in the hot tub. They were the only ones there. Eric, whose Cuban grandfather had worked in the cigar factories of Ybor City, explained how what was today Ybor Resort back then had been the infirmary that the factories ran for the workers. Then they settled into the hot tub and kissed some more.
“You know, I’ve wanted you for almost a year now,” said Eric.
Ralph looked bewildered. “But why would you check out the Jacksonville listings?”
“You got me the very first time I saw you hanging up in Alberta’s Photo Gallery. I’m a paralegal and at work at a law office a few blocks away and made it a point to pass by every morning on my way in. It was better than the butchest coffee in town at picking me up.”
Laughing, Ralph told him the story on how his naked posterior had ended up larger than life.
“And then when I saw on furryguys that you were here in Ybor, well, that was it.”
They spent the rest of afternoon and evening and into the night napping, fucking, kissing.
Even when Eric swallowed Ralph’s load, Ralph stayed stiff enough to continue to fuck Eric until Eric came. It was as if they had been fuck buddies for years and knew one another’s every flash point perfectly.
And in between fucks, they played old Hollywood trivia, from how old Orson Welles was when he made “Citizen Kane” to how many dummies they had used in that crane shot of the Confederate wounded at the railroad station in Atlanta in “Gone With the Wind.”
“You know,” said Ralph that morning, after they had both cum the fourth time. “The next time we meet I think I’ll let you do it to me. Fuck my virgin butt, that is.”
“And there will be a next time, won’t there buddy?” said Eric as they got up and headed for the shower room.
“Sure, handsome, hell, we might even go to that TCM Classic Film Festival in Hollywood next spring together and show up Robert Osborne,” said Ralph.
Ralph returned to the room, still semi-wet, and fell back on the bed, happily exhausted.
Eric had headed upstairs for his things. Then came the knock on the door, but the fully clothed Eric who presented himself at the door was a different guy from the one Ralph had worshipped all night. Jeaned and t-shirted, he wore black framed glasses, and was leaning on a cane.
“Oh, this?” said Eric responding to Ralph’s stare. “I don’t usually meet guys for the first time with my surrogate dick – could be a big turn-off.”
“I didn’t want to bring it up,” said Ralph hesitantly.
“No, it’s not what you think.” said Eric. “I’m not a poz guy falling fall apart. I was in a bad car accident about a year ago that left my hip in fourteen pieces. I’m still going for rehab but I think this stiff rod here”- he held up the black stick in his hand – “is destined to be my companion for a long time.”
“But none of the stuff we did all night didn’t – well, didn’t hurt?”
“Hell, no,” laughed Eric. “It was worth two months with my very homely female physical therapist.”
They kissed. Eric promised to send Ralph his e-mail address over furryguys.com and they both promised to connect again, either here or in Jax soon. Then Ralph watched as Eric quietly walked down the corridor, his limp almost indiscernible, and into Ralph’s memory.
Realizing checkout time was only a few hours away, Ralph stopped by the desk and asked if he could pay for another day. While he needed to get back to Jax that evening – tomorrow was Monday and work – his body needed some sleep before he hit the road.
The cute balding manager who had shown him around on Friday admitted they had no one booked for Monday in any of the rooms and cut a deal where he could stay until 4 for $25. Ralph gladly whipped out his card, went back, set his alarm for 2 and dropped into a coma, too tired to even fantasize about all that happened.
Either he slept through the alarm or didn’t set his clock right, but it was almost 2:30 when Ralph opened his eyes. He immediately threw on some clothes, dumped whatever was still lying around in his duffel bag and, desperate for a line of caffeine in his veins before he hit the highway, decided to trot over to that little Starbucks wannabe in the square for a quick pick-me-up. While it had warmed up a bit, the clouds overhead looked threatening and he wasn’t crazy about driving in the rain on a slick 75.
He walked down East 7th Street intending to look one last time at the mural, but he was only half way down the block when he saw He was gone, the only vestiges that something had been in the window the thin dusty wires still hanging from the ceiling. And even though it was Sunday afternoon, prime time in a tourist town, the “Closed” sign was visible on the door. Imputing the gallery’s number into his phone’s contact list, he would call from home tomorrow to find out what had happened.
It started to sprinkle.
As he returned to his room, guzzling down his coffee as he walked, he could hear some commotion stirring at the end of the corridor. It was his resort tour guide from Friday and one of the twinks who cleaned the toilets up on ladders nailing Him to the now empty wall to the side the staircase that led to the whorehouse. All that tattered, yellowed ‘70’s kitsch was gone. And standing there with her back to him was, he soon learned, the Alberta of Alberta’s Photo Gallery playing supervisor. She immediately him reminded of Dorna Silvers from his Ridgewood High days, a tall, skinny, no boobs, tight bobbed babe who always hung out with her clone and fellow girls soccer team member, Lisa Gerrari. The talk was they were lovers but nothing every came of the rumor.
As she described Eric as the guy who had walked in that morning to purchase the mural for the Resort, she immediately blurted out, “Now I get it – you’re the cute guy in the – well up there!”
So someone had put two and two together. Finally.
And as he turned around to get back to his room, he could see a note sticking from under his door:
“Here’s looking at you kid.”
And under that was a phone number.
Suddenly Ralph didn’t care if it poured all the way home.