My Last Boyfriend Was a Swimmer

Copyright July 7, 2005
by Matthew Haldeman-Time
 

I am writing about men having sex with other men.  You must be eighteen or older to read my fiction.  This site is for consenting, responsible adults only.




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            When Tim had set him up on a blind date, Jamie’d had his doubts.  Going out with a complete stranger?  Spending all evening with someone he didn’t know?  On top of that, Tim had described Carson as “the most adorable little thing ever,” which had made Jamie expect to meet one of those little big-eyed kittens or something.

            However, as it turned out, Carson was very, very cute.  He had short, spiky black hair, astonishingly blue eyes surrounded by curly black lashes, and skeptically arched eyebrows.  His impish smile came complete with deep dimples, and the fact that his ears stuck out just slightly contributed to his elfin appearance.

            Jamie and Carson were on their fourth date now, and Jamie was already looking forward to date number five.

            Their first date had been dinner; they’d talked about their jobs.  (Jamie worked in the fascinating world of retail as the manager of a merchandising team.  Carson was the extremely fit owner of a gym.)  Their second date had been a movie; afterward, they’d talked about other movies.  (Jamie liked socially relevant dramas.  Carson liked anything with cute guys.)  Their third date had been bowling; they’d talked about their families.  (Jamie was the only child of divorced parents.  Carson had five sisters.)  Tonight, they were having dinner again and talking about ex-boyfriends.  (Jamie had three: Zach, Tom, and Noah.  Carson had ten.)

            “Or was it eleven?” Carson asked, running his fry through ketchup.  Jamie had learned almost immediately that Carson loved junk food.  According to Carson, if he stayed healthy by working out all of the time, he was free to eat anything he wanted.  “Jack, Randy, Paul, Johnson, Tony, Tony-”

            “Tony twice?” Jamie asked.

            “Two of them, back to back,” Carson said.  “The first one was a lot better than the second.  How many was that?”

            “The second Tony makes six,” Jamie said, picking up his drink.

            “Who was after Tony?” Carson asked himself, and chewed, thinking.  “Brad, Troy, Steve, Jim, and Peter.  That’s eleven?”

            “That’s eleven,” Jamie agreed.  “I think you win.”

            “That’s just because I make everybody I meet into a boyfriend,” Carson said.  “If somebody’s cute, we can get along for five minutes without fighting, and the sex is good, I decide, okay, he’s mine, and take him off the market.”

            “I can’t imagine,” Jamie said.  “I’m too commitment-phobic.  I’ll date, but no commitment, no exchanging keys, no keeping our stuff at each other’s houses.   I don’t even like guys staying over two nights in a row.”

            Carson laughed, amused.  “Then what were you doing with three boyfriends?”

            “The first one, I did it just to try it, to see if I could handle it.  We broke up after three weeks.  The second one, Tom, he wouldn’t put out unless we were boyfriends.  Noah, I only agreed to be his boyfriend on a dare, because he thought I was too chicken to do it.  We were only together for eight days.”

            “If you’re afraid of commitment, what do you do?” Carson asked, studying him with curiosity.  “You date several guys at once to avoid being trapped by someone?”

            “Sometimes I date around.  Sometimes I date the same guy for a while, and don’t really see anyone else.  I just don’t like being labeled ‘boyfriend.’  It comes with too much pressure and responsibility.”

            “It’s good responsibility,” Carson said.  “It’s great status, it comes with a real sense of importance.”  He finished his hamburger.  “So what’s the longest you dated somebody?”

            “Jason was five months,” Jamie said.  “Bruce was four months.  Peter was three.”

            Carson grinned, flashing his dimples.  “You’re blushing.”

            That was nice and embarrassing.  “Talking about Peter always makes me blush.”  Mostly because the sex had been fantastic and frequent.  “Peter was great.  He had thick blond hair and this great swimmer’s build.”  Jamie hated working out, but he loved athletes.

            “Sounds like my last boyfriend,” Carson said.  “Why’d you break up?”

            “He said there was somebody else,” Jamie said, shrugging.  “I was pissed, but we didn’t have a lot in common out of bed.”  Most of their three months of “dating” had consisted of meeting up somewhere, screwing, making small talk, screwing again, and parting ways.  Very satisfying sexually; not ideal in other ways.

            “My last boyfriend - - his name was Peter, too - - really was a swimmer,” Carson said.  “He had gorgeous chocolate brown eyes.”

            “What happened?” Jamie asked, wondering who would break up with Carson, wondering why Carson would break up with someone if he enjoyed being a boyfriend that much.

            “He was cheating on me,” Carson said.  “I really wanted to pretend that it wasn’t happening, but he kept having these weird scratches across the backs of his thighs.  You know, like-”

            “Cat scratches?” Jamie asked, the words coming out of his mouth before they hit his brain.  The second he heard what he’d said, everything clicked together in his brain.  Oh, shit.

            “Yeah, I…”  Carson’s voice trailed off, and he looked at Jamie as if they were strangers.

            Jamie’s stomach turned over unpleasantly.

            “Peter O’Hara,” Carson said.  “Six foot four.”

            “Shark tattoo?” Jamie asked, desperately hoping that Carson would say no.

            “Yeah.”  Carson sat back, still staring at him.

            Oh, god.  Jamie wished he’d never opened his mouth.  Why couldn’t they have talked about something else?  He liked Carson, he really liked Carson, he really really wanted to keep dating Carson, and-

            “You fucked my boyfriend,” Carson said.  “It was you, he was fucking you.  God, three months?!”

            “I didn’t know,” Jamie said earnestly, feeling a little bit desperate and a lot like shit.  “I didn’t know you, I had no idea, I thought he was single.  I don’t do that, I don’t date guys who already have boyfriends.”

            “How could you not know?” Carson demanded.  “We saw each other every single day, for a while we were practically living together, he drove my car!  That car, that blue Grand Am, that was my car!”

            God, they’d fucked in that car.  Damn.  “I’m so sorry,” Jamie said.  “I really didn’t know.  I never would have kept seeing him if I’d had any idea.”

            “I can’t believe this,” Carson said, rubbing his forehead.  “I can’t - - god, the first thing I thought of when I saw you was Peter.  You’re exactly his type, he loves tall clean-cut preppy guys.  I was too short for him, he never dated anybody under five eleven - - god, he was such an asshole.”

            Jamie didn’t think that it was safe for him to respond to that, although Carson looked so fed up it was almost comical.

            “I’ve never met anyone more obsessed with himself,” Carson said.  “I kept telling him that if he was going to be a serious swimmer, he should just shave his head to make it easier, but he had to have his perfect blond hair with every strand in place.  He spent more hours in front of a mirror than all of my sisters combined.  He couldn’t get dressed without spending half an hour deciding which socks went with what he had on.”

            “He seemed proud of his body,” Jamie admitted, trying to be diplomatic about it, since he was already on shaky ground.

            “Proud of it, he acted like he’d invented the six-pack,” Carson said.  “He hated thinking that I was around hot, buff guys all day at the gym.  He hated knowing I had a better body than he did, but he got over that by constantly reminding me that I was shorter than he was.”  Rolling his eyes, Carson picked up the dessert menu.  “If the sex hadn’t been so good, I would’ve dumped him a lot earlier than I did.”

            Carson seemed awfully resilient, but Jamie decided that it would be a good idea to apologize again.  “I’m really sorry.  I-”

            “It’s okay,” Carson said, giving him a brief half-smile before flipping over the menu.  “I got over the fact that Peter cheated on me, months ago.  I just didn’t expect to meet the other guy.”  He sighed.  “I’m not mad at you.”  Carson’s eyes met Jamie’s with sincerity.  “You didn’t know, I believe you didn’t know.”

            Being forgiven had the irrational result of making Jamie feel terrible, but it also seemed like a good sign.  He really wanted to go out with Carson again.

            “I’ve had a great time with you,” Carson said.  “I really have fun with you, and I don’t want to let this ruin that for us.  Peter was hot, but he was an ass.  He already wrecked enough shit for me when we were together.  I don’t want him to fuck this up, too.”

            “I’ve had a great time with you, too,” Jamie said quickly.

            A quick smile.  “I know you have.”

            Carson was studying the dessert choices.  Ordering dessert would prolong their date.  At least Carson wasn’t rushing through the door.  It really sounded like Jamie still had a shot at seeing him again.  Maybe if Jamie kept Carson talking, the conversation would drift into safer waters.  Jamie had a question for him, anyway, on a point Jamie just didn’t understand.  “Why do you have such a great opinion of relationships?”

            “I love being someone’s boyfriend,” Carson said, setting aside the menu and meeting his eyes.  “I like having someone to be close to, someone to share things with, someone to put first.  My life’s on track, and everything’s running smoothly, so I don’t have a lot of my own issues to worry about.  I like having someone else to think about, someone else to spend time with and look out for.”

            “Doesn’t going through that many break-ups bother you?”  Jamie hated breaking up.  Hated the idea of having a failed relationship.  It was better not to get involved to that extent in the first place.

            “Boyfriends are meant to be temporary,” Carson said.  “A permanent relationship I’d take more seriously, so I’d choose a hell of a lot more carefully.”

            Well…  Damn it, that wasn’t a bad point.  Jamie changed the subject.  “What are you going to order?”

            “The leaning tower of chocolate,” Carson said, showing his dimples again.  “What about you?”

            “I don’t know,” Jamie said.  “I keep thinking about the Oreos in my kitchen.”

            Carson’s smile was intrigued and a bit mysterious.  “I haven’t seen your place yet.”

            No, he hadn’t, and Jamie wasn’t sure why not.  Carson kept suggesting that they meet at the location of their date, instead of picking each other up, so Carson hadn’t seen where Jamie lived and Jamie hadn’t seen where Carson lived, either.  For someone who picked up boyfriends so easily, Carson was taking his sweet time getting closer to Jamie.  “It’s not far from here,” Jamie said, ever so subtly.

            Carson licked his lower lip, glancing around the restaurant.  “Maybe we could go there for dessert.”

            Score.  “You like Oreos?” Jamie asked.

            Carson smiled.  “I love Oreos.”



            An hour later, after Jamie’s mouth and Carson’s were thoroughly acquainted, Jamie rested his forehead against Carson’s temple, catching his breath while Carson reached under his shirt to stroke his lower back.  “I don’t want to ruin this by saying something stupid,” Jamie said, “but do you always move this slowly?”

            “No,” Carson said, kissing him softly, eyes drifting shut.  “Just with you.”

            Jamie squeezed Carson’s thigh, wishing he could feel the hard muscle directly against his skin instead of through denim.  “What makes me different?”

            The way Carson was running his fingers over Jamie’s spine was creating weird shivers.  “Before we met, I asked Tim to give me the best and the worst about you.”

            Hell.  “What’d he say?” Jamie asked, bracing himself.

            Carson’s eyes tended to sparkle a lot, primarily with plain old enjoyment of life.  “He said that you put out on the first date, but you run at the first sign of an actual relationship.”

            He couldn’t argue with either of those points.  Instead, he kissed one of Carson’s dimples, nuzzling back towards an ear.

            Carson made a warmly appreciative noise, stroking his hair.  “I decided not to push the boyfriend issue, so you wouldn’t bolt.”

            “And you decided to hold back on sex, to torture me?” Jamie guessed, kissing his neck, sliding a hand up his thigh.

            Carson chuckled softly by his ear.  “Yes.”

            The sound of Carson’s warm, intimate laughter made Jamie kiss him.  “Is the torture over?” Jamie asked, running a hand over Carson’s firm, developed chest, more than ready to peel off Carson’s shirt and see those well-defined muscles for himself.

            “Not yet.”  Carson’s eyes were a rich, many-shaded blue.  “I want to make a bargain.”

            “I’ll agree to whatever it is,” Jamie promised, and rubbed his thumb over a small, hard nipple.  “My bedroom’s right over there, if-”

            “Not-”  Carson moaned softly, pushing Jamie’s hand aside.  “Not yet.”  A slow kiss, and Carson backed off to say, “We can go to your room if you promise you’re not going to date other guys.”

            “This is only our fourth date!”  He couldn’t make that kind of promise this early.  He only did that after dates were in double digits.  Then again, he really liked Carson.  And he was really hard, and Carson was really turning him on...  “If I agree to that, you’re not going to think of me as your boyfriend, are you?”

            “How I think of you is my business,” Carson said with a smile.  “As long as you’re not seeing anyone else, I’ll be happy.  For now.”

            This was dangerous.  He found Carson irresistible, and he didn’t like that.  Jamie threw up one last desperate roadblock.  “What about…Peter?”

            “I really like you, a lot,” Carson said, fingers walking over his chest.  “Your fear of commitment is a terrific challenge.  And, Peter, well…”  There were those dimples again.  “Peter only let himself enjoy the best.  If he was with you more than once, you had to be good enough to hold his interest.  If you were together for three months, you must have something very…”  Carson licked his lips.  “Very enticing to offer.”

            Really.  Jamie wondered…  “You were his boyfriend.  Does that mean…”

            “Oh, I have something very special,” Carson said, rising and pulling Jamie up from the sofa.  “Take me to your bedroom and maybe I’ll show it to you.”



matthew@matthewhaldemantime.com
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