March

On the way back home I said, "Friday there's a Marlins opener with the Yankees. I have tickets. Do you and the boys want to go?"

"Let me run it by the boss, but I'm sure it will be okay," he said.

With George and the boys gone, Bella could take a Zumba class in the afternoon, if she felt up to it.

The Yankees in town meant that there was going to be a lot of action at the stadium, and all of us were very excited. I bought the boys Marlin's t-shirts in the new black and teal colors. It was a perfect evening for a ball game. The weather was cool and dry with long, thin clouds colored pink and gold as the sun was setting. The stadium was packed. We had seats right up front between third base and home plate.

"Dude, how did you get these seats?" George asked.

"Eddie gave them to me years ago," I said, "and I've always kept them. Besides, when did you start calling me Dude?"

"I don't know. It just seemed like the thing to do," he shrugged. I could tell that he was blushing. I lightly punched him on the arm.

"George, my man, tonight we do not worry about our diets. We will eat hot dogs with everything and drink beer, real beer, and I don't mean that watery light shit either," I said smiling.

We gave each other the high five. I ran up the steps to the concession area that was packed with all types of people. It seemed to take forever, but I finally got everything I set out for two beers, four smothered hot dogs, two sodas, two bottles of water(thank God for cargo shorts), and one box of Cracker Jack.

On my thirteenth birthday, my father took me to see the Washington Senators. I knew that they were not the original team but what was called an expansion team. They went from the National League to the American League. Many things had changed over the years like D.C. Stadium was now called R.F.K. Stadium, after Bobby Kennedy. There had been some talk about getting rid of the team entirely, and I can remember my father saying, "All this money and D.C. can't keep a decent team."

It was the end of August, and the weather was hot and humid. The air was still and clothes hung on your body like damp laundry, but we were there to have fun. Everybody called my father Pop, and he had purchased seats in the shaded area. They were on the third base to home plate side, and they were so close, you felt like you could reach out and touch the players. Tonight was called Batting Cap Night where all kids under the age of twelve would receive a free batting cap. Pop had convinced one of the ticket takers to give me one because it was my birthday. It was made of cheap plastic. On the side was a drawing of a pitcher winding up in front of the Capitol as its logo. Because my father had given it to me, I loved it.

The game started and the players came out to shake hands. The uniforms had changed. They were now made of a material called polyester and hugged the players’ bodies tighter than the old style. At thirteen I could not keep my eyes off their bulges in their pants.

"Now listen," Pop would say, pointing to the catcher. "That was one of the positions I used to play. Not only is he the catcher, but he manages the whole game for his team. Now watch, he'll give the pitcher a signal of what pitch he thinks is best. Look, the pitcher says no. Now, yes!" I had heard this from him a million times, but I didn’t care because I loved hearing him talk about the sport. It is directly because of Pop that I am a big baseball fan to this day.

The pitcher nodded his head and threw a perfect curve ball. "Strike one!" the umpire called out, elongating the words.

"Hot damn!" Pop yelled out, "that boy really knows how to toss that apple." I loved the way he said things like “stick” for a bat or “apple” for a baseball. He had a way with words. I remember him referring to a Virginia State Trooper as a "state boy" more than once in my life. The pitcher wound up and threw the ball, but this time wood met leather and with a line drive through centerfield, the batter landed on first base. The crowd stood on its feet and cheered.

"Now watch this," Pop gestured. "The pitcher is going to keep his eye on the first base and one eye on the batter." The pitcher started his wind up. The player on first base took a couple of steps toward second. The pitcher put his foot down and turned his body toward first base. The runner went back, placed his foot on the base and put his hands on his hips as to say, “Come and get me.” The crowd cheered. The pitcher turned back to the batter then turned his head back to the runner who shrugged his shoulders as the crowd burst into laughter. The play resumed with the pitcher winding up; then the runner took off for second base. This time the crowd was on its feet.

"Slide, slide," the crowd yelled. The runner threw himself down and slid into second base into a cloud of dust.

"You are out!" the referee called out drawing out each word.

"What?" my father jumped out of his seat. "You've got to be kidding! That boy was safe by a mile!"

The Senators, of course lost, but I didn’t care. Because my father had played for the original team after World War Two, he did. I think that it was just a matter of pride. Referring to my new batting cap, he said, "At least you have a little piece of history there, Boy." I loved it when he called me boy because I was the only one of his sons that he said that to. It was something between just him and me. When I became an adult, I still liked for him to say those words," I love you, Boy," and I would reply, "I love you too, Pop."

After Ed died, my father, at eight-five, insisted on flying to Florida to attend the memorial service. My mother, my sister, and Pop flew into Fort Lauderdale Airport where our friend Sandi graciously picked them up and brought them to the house. On the front porch Pop, with the aid of his cane, hobbled up the steps and wrapped his arms around me and said," I'll miss him too, Boy.""

"What am I going to do without him?" I asked my father.

" I promise you, things will get better."

George saw me coming down the steps with my arms filled with goodies.

"Boys, go help Uncle Chick; he has his hands full."

They came running up the steps to meet me. I handed them the hot dogs and the sodas. When the three of us returned to the seats, I handed George a beer.

"Is it a light?" he asked.

"Hell no!" I said. "We'll just have to either work out harder or run a little farther tomorrow. Okay?"

George said, with his hand on his hip, "if I get fat, I'll have you to thank."

"Ladies!" a guy two rows up shouted. "Down in front. Some of us are trying to watch the girls." He was talking about the Marlin Mermaids, a dance team, hired to entertain between innings and to act as cheerleaders. I doubled over with laughter almost spilling my beer, and George turned blood red. I was still laughing when we sat down. The boys crawled on our laps eating their hot dogs. Juan perched himself on his father’s knee, mesmerized by the girls while Aaron sat all the way back on my lap with his back pressed up against my chest. I liked both of George's kids, but I especially liked Aaron, maybe because he was quiet and sensitive. Without being asked, he would take my hand whenever we were out or, like now, he would cuddle up close to me like he didn’t want me to be alone. I do not know if he liked being at the game or whether he just liked being out with us because he seemed more interested in his hot dog than he was with what was going on out on the field. I looked over at George and Juan, and thought how much alike they really were. Their profiles were so similar as they watched the Mermaids while eating their hot dogs. Both of them were enthralled with the girls and the food, their jaws moving together in perfect unison. George looked over at me and was about to say something when he stopped and just smiled.

"What?" I asked.

“You’d have been a great father.”

“I know,” I agreed.

"Those girls are pretty hot," George changed the subject.

"Yeah," Juan chimed back never taking his eyes off the girls. George and I laughed then Aaron laughed too. I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a big squeeze.

"They are nice girls too," I added.

"You know them?" he asked.

"They come into the Spa every now and then. I have actually given some of them massages."

"You lucky devil," George smirked. " I would love to have your job for just one day."

"I do some of the ball players too. I've always had a thing for jocks... or for things in jocks," I said laughing. George slapped me on the back of the head, and it made me laugh even harder.

Aaron was asleep by the end of the game, and George had thrown him over his shoulder. I had Juan by the hand as we all walked to the car. The sun had set hours ago, and the night was cool and crisp. We took our time walking to the car because we knew that it was going to be a mob scene trying to get out of the parking lot.

"I liked what you did at the seventh inning stretch," George said. "Pulling the Cracker Jack out during Take me out to the Ball Game was perfect. We all think you are a magician."

"No, you guys are the magic makers. I haven't had this much fun since my father took me to a ball game a long time ago," I said smiling down at Juan.

He smiled back. "Yeah, I had fun too."

Tears started to fill my eyes when George looked over at me. I turned my head away. He moved Aaron to his other shoulder and put his arm over my shoulder. I started to cry.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No, George, thank you.” I took a deep breath. “I am just an old fool," I said

"Oh Chick, you aren’t old." I looked at him with mock indignation, and this time I slapped him on the back of the head. We laughed.

"Bella is pregnant," George blurted.

"What? I knew it!” I paused. “Are you happy?"

"You bet, I've always wanted a big family." I could tell, by his face, that he was happy.

"You want another boy?" I asked.

"I know that Bella would like to have a little girl and between you and me, I would like to have a little girl too," he answered smiling.

"Is she going to quit working?" I asked.

"My wife is the most incredible person I know. She taught an aerobics class in the morning and gave birth to Aaron in the afternoon."

"How far along is she?"

"She just started her second trimester. We didn‘t want anyone to know until we were completely sure"

“I understand,” I said. “That makes sense because she was sick throughout the holiday season.”

“We knew then but chose not to say a thing, not even to Bernice and the boys. She said something to me about you mentioning that she looked pregnant.”

“I didn’t say she looked pregnant. I said that because she was nauseous all the time, I’d swear she was pregnant. It was supposed to be a joke.”

“She thinks you are psychic,” George said with a laugh.

We were at my house. It was Sunday afternoon, and the game was about to begin. I had made up a large batch of buffalo wings with tons of celery, carrot sticks, and ranch dressing. The dogs were hanging out near the food, as always. I opened a couple of beers and took the snacks into the den, which looked out onto the backyard. I had no pool, but my patio was covered with beautiful potted plants that had been neglected, but now were thriving because of my tender, loving care.

"Oh boy!" Juan and Aaron said as they came running over to the tray of food. "Wings! Yey!"

I sat on the sofa. The boys filled their plates and then crawled onto the sofa. The dogs came over and laid down at our feet. The announcer on the TV was calling out the starting line up. I looked over at George who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his muscular arms folded looking at the bunch of us. This is when I realized that this is what I had been wanting my entire life.

The best way to describe our house in Washington was a row house. It was not in the best area of town, but it was affordable. Built in 1883 it had three stories and was made of brick with black rod iron bars on the windows and doors. An iron staircase led you to the front door. The living room and dining room had a large fireplace, and the ceiling was fourteen feet high. An exposed brick wall lent drama to the staircase going up to the second floor where there were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a den with a skylight. The first floor, lower than street level, was an English basement or an efficiency apartment. As soon as we walked into the house, we knew we were home.

"Now that you boys own a house," Joyce exclaimed, "we need to make you legal. I'll see that it gets done right."

Joyce was one of my best clients in Olde Towne, Alexandria. Joyce was what you would not call small or shy, and she reminded me of Kathleen Turner. She had big hair, a big whiskey tenor voice, and as a prominent attorney with aspirations of judgeship, she had a big presence. Joyce made all the arrangements to have legal documents drawn up for Eddie and me. Since we were classified as single, we needed to have power of attorney and living wills so no one could take advantage of the survivor if something should happen to the other. That meant that our families could not come in and kick the living partner out of the house while he was still grieving, or ever, for that matter. She would have everything finalized in a few weeks. She decided that she would have a few people over to help celebrate with dinner, and then we would sign the papers.

Joyce shared her house with Roy, who also practiced law. Roy was still married but was separated from his wife. It was very complicated. Joyce was so sharp in many ways but not, it seemed, in her love life. Who were we to judge her and her lifestyle? She was determined to attach Ed and me legally, and we were determined to let her do it as we enjoyed her fabulous cooking.

Olde Towne is a colonial village that is just south of Washington. Most homes date back to the eighteenth century and are quite small, but very expensive. Joyce's was no exception. It was a two bedroom townhouse that was decorated exquisitely. She had set up a white iron table and chairs on the brick patio. The table was set with the finest of everything, with a huge bouquet of white Casablanca lilies in the middle of the table. Either she had good taste or Ed must have told her that they were my favorite flower. Sitting on the patio with its vine covered walls gave you the feeling that you were in New Orleans or Savannah. The moon was out and the weather was cool, but for some reason I was sweating.

We dined on Cornish game hens with wild rice and baby vegetables. The wine, a white Bordeaux, from Roy's personal wine cellar was nothing but spectacular. Joyce finished off the evening with a beautiful flourless chocolate cake and champagne along with the necessary paperwork. Joyce and Roy explained each of the legal documents that we were signing and how we would use them.

"To my wonderful friends," I said after the papers were signed, notarized, and witnessed. The champagne was uncorked with a loud pop and we cheered. "This is as close to a wedding as I will ever have, and I want to thank everyone here. I propose a toast to Joyce and Roy for opening up their beautiful home and for taking a lot of their precious time to help us."

"Don't take any more of their precious time talking," Ed ordered and we all laughed. "Let's drink!"

“And,” I said, trying to finish my speech, "for serving this expensive champagne. Last, but certainty not least to my loving and beautiful husband, whom I will always love forever. What a great way to begin our life journey together." We all clinked glasses to the sounds of, "Here, here."

It did not take long before the papers came in handy. Ed had been taken by ambulance to George Washington University Hospital because of a lung infection. I had been at work, and he called me as soon as he was placed in his room. When I had left him that morning, he had complained of a cold that he had for some time and as a nurse, himself, he did not think it to be too serious. It was a form of Legionnaires Disease but as a male nurse who was single, the diagnosis was, of course, PCP or a type of pneumonia that usually affects people with HIV. It took three days for his results to come back from the lab. We sweated until his diagnosed was negative.

I left work and went straight to the hospital when I reached his room, I was stopped at his door by a very large nurse. She was dressed in a traditional white dress, hat, and white wedge shoes that looked like they were two sizes too small for her feet which squeaked when she walked.

"Are you a relative?" she asked putting her fat hands on her wide hips and looking me in the eye.

"Ah, yes," I answered. "I am his partner."

"No, I mean are you a blood relative?" she asked turning her back to me to check on Ed's chart.

"Listen," I was beginning to become angry. "I told you that I was his partner. You know, like his husband."

She turned around slowly and with mock indignation said, " there is no need to be blasphemous. You can just take your gay rights’ parade right out of this hospital.”

My blood was boiling. I looked at her name tag, A. Mc. Queen. "Listen Nurse Mc. Queen, I have legal papers at home declaring that I and I alone am responsible for that man in that room. Now if you want I will go home and get those papers. When I return, I will be bringing my attorney with me and you will not like her."

Nurse Mc. Queen had her finger pointing at me with a nail coming dangerously close to slicing my nose when another nurse came walking down the hall. He had heard the commotion from the nurse's station down the hall. He took his arm and gently moved her out of the door way. " Please let this man see his friend," he urged.

"Thank you," I mouthed as I stepped past the two of them. He led his co-worker by the shoulder back to the nurse's station, her squeaky shoes masked the heated debate that ensued the entire way down the hall.

Ed was in his bed when I walked into the room. Even though he looked like death warmed over, he still had a smile for me. I took his hand and kissed it. "It didn't take you long to force me to use those documents." We laughed in spite of the serious circumstances.

"Just get in the car," George demanded. He had pulled into my driveway in his white sedan and opened his window. "I've got an early meeting, so I'm going to have to shower at Dale's."

It felt strange to be driving to the gym because our usual routine was to jog, work out, then jog home. Once we entered the gym, we went right to work. With the lights, A/C, and the radio turned on, we began to warm up by hopping on two treadmills. Five minutes later, we were on the floor stretching.

"Well, Georgie, what are we going to work on today?" I asked.

"Today is Wednesday, so that means legs," George responded.

George always planned our workouts for us. He had a strict schedule for the week. Monday we worked on chest and Tuesday, back. Wednesday was dedicated to legs. Thursday was shoulders day and Friday, arms. We took the weekend off with the exception of the occasional short run. I have to admit that with all of George's hard work I was in the best shape of my life so if my best bud wanted me to do legs, then legs it would be. I simply said, "Okay!"

To save space in a small gym like Dale's, you may find a multi- purpose unit called a Smith Machine which is equipped with a locking bar that is attached to a pulley system. Weights are placed on either side of the bar. With your shoulders placed under the bar, push up and back to unlock it. As you do your feet, which are slightly in front of your knees, you squat into a sitting position. The further into a sitting position, the better the work out. It is better to start off with light weights to warm up the muscles and joints. Some people wrap their knees with ace bandages for better support. I found that using heavy duty knee sleeves did a much better job at protecting my soon to be fifty-year old knees. My legs, I felt, were the weakest part of my body. I told George that I wanted legs like his, and he told me that to get Latino legs I would have to pay for them. That meant that I would have to pay a doctor or a Cuban hustler for legs like that.

George started things off by wrapping a towel around the bar for padding. He stepped up to the padding, placed his shoulders under it, stood up and unlocked the bar. He planted his feet about shoulder width apart and with his ass pushed out, he went into a sitting position. He went lower than ninety degrees, what you would call "in the hole." He counted out loud, "one, two." Then, digging his heels into the ground, shot back up into a standing position. He did it twelve times and each time he squatted, I watched his perfect form. He was wearing his usual black spandex shorts and white tank top but for this exercise, he buckled a wide black leather belt around his waist. I watched the muscles in his thighs and glutes strain against the weight. He shot the bar up and locked it into place. Now it was my turn. I walked up to the bar and looked at the weight on either side. I had done this amount of weight before, and I was comfortable with it.

"Here, put this on," George said. Taking off his wide belt and coming over to me, he placed it around my waist and latched it tightly. "This will give you some extra support." Then he slapped my backside. "Get going!"

My knee sleeves were down around my ankles, looking like some cheap leg warmers from the eighties. I pulled them up. Then, with my shoulders firmly in place, I pushed up and unlocked the bar. With a wide stance, my feet were planted firmly in front of me. I took a deep breath, looked up, and slowly went into a sitting position feeling every muscle from my knees up strain under the weight. I counted two seconds in my mind, then shot back up for a count of one.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" George shouted. "You could not have been more picture perfect than that. You go, boy!"

I looked at him and mimicked, "You go boy?" We both laughed.

"Get to it!" George commanded, snapping his fingers," I've got to get to work, remember?"

We got to it all right. I finished my set of twelve, then George doubled the weight. I handed him the belt, and he strapped it on, tighter this time. He stepped up to the bar, lifted it on his shoulders, unlocked it, and squatted down. This time holding the weight for a count of two was a little harder, but we both prevailed. First him then me. George again doubled the weight, and the belt was buckled even tighter. This time George could only press out six squats. He was covered in sweat so that you could see through his shirt to his beautiful skin beneath.

"Your turn," he panted taking a drink of water.

"All right," I shrugged. "I don't know if I've done this much weight before."

"That's okay. I'm here to help you."

I went over to the bar and I could smell George's sweat on the towel that he wrapped around the bar. That was a good thing. I inhaled deeply his masculine aroma, hoping it would give me the added strength that I needed to handle this much poundage. I placed the bar on my shoulders as I stood and unlocked the bar. I felt the weight heavy on my shoulders.

"You okay?" George asked. "Yep," was all I could say. "Go for six,"

I planted my feet with a wide stance. I took a deep breath. I looked up. I slowly went into a sitting position. I counted, one, pause, two then with all my might, I pushed myself back up.

"Good, again," he directed.

I did it again.

"Again."

I did it again. I felt my quads and glutes starting to burn. "You okay?" I nodded. "Again," he was intense.

Sweat was pouring off me. I was breathing hard, and my face was turning red, but I was not about to quit. I saw George do six perfect squats and even though he was ten years younger than me, I was not going to let him beat me. I went into a sitting position, and George wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"I'm with you all the way," he whispered in my ear. With his help, I finished my last two repetitions.

He explained to me how to assist in heavy squatting." The one in the back helps out getting past the sticking point. Just wrap your arms around your buddy's rib cage and take an extra wide stance. When they can't make it, just push with your legs to get them back up. You want to try it?"

"Sure," I answered.

George added twenty-five pounds to each side of the bar. He looked at me and winked as he tightened the belt around his waist. He went around to the bar and put his shoulder to it then lifted and unlocked it. I positioned my feet a little further than shoulder width apart, just like George had done moments before and wrapped my arms around his chest. We both were soaking wet with sweat. In front of us was a floor to ceiling mirror, and all you could see was George with an extra pair of arms around him and four legs instead of two. He slowly went into a sitting position while I was holding on to him. When he reached the point where his thighs were parallel to the ground, he pushed back onto my crotch and counted out loud, “one, two. Up!" he cried and up we went.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah!"

"Again!" Down we went and when we reached the bottom, George did the same thing, he sat back right on my crotch. "One, two," he counted out loud. With a loud grunt, we both shot

back up again. Both of us out of breath George asked," Again?"

"If you can I can," I gasped. Down we went again. We stopped at the bottom, and he counted to two again. I liked the feel of his hard ass on the front of my shorts. "Don't you want to count to four this time?" I whispered in his ear. He laughed so hard we almost didn’t get the bar back up and locked. We both fell onto the floor, panting and sweating.

"Now it's your turn," George said breathless. "And this will be the last one because I've got to go."

"I've never done this much weight before," I panted.

"Don't worry I'm right behind you," he reminded me as he slapped my ass.

I calculated the weight on the bar, and it was just shy of four hundred pounds. George removed the belt from his waist and placed it around my body, just beneath my rib cage. He looked me in the eye as he buckled it very tightly. For the last time today, I stepped up to the bar and with a loud grunt, lifted it onto my shoulders and unlocked it.

"Are you ready?"

"Yep," I answered.

George wrapped his arms around me from behind. He planted his feet widely but firmly on the floor like a Sumo wrestler.

"Let's do it," he ordered.

I could feel my heart beat in my chest and my throat go dry. I went into a sitting position, and I felt George's crotch pushing on the back of my shorts. He whispered in my ear the count of two. I kept my eyes up and then pushing with my heels, I drove the heavy bar back up. Sweat was pouring off my face and I was breathing hard.

"You okay?" he asked. "Yep."

"Again?"

"You bet."

With George's arms around me in a vice grip and his muscular legs to help support the both of us, I knew that we could do this. I went into a sitting position, again I felt his hot groin pressing into the seat of my shorts. This time I felt he was beginning to get hard.

“Oh boy,” I thought.

"Up," he growled. I pushed with my heels and up we went. Both of us covered with sweat and breathing hard. "Again!"

"You bet," I murmured between gulps of air.

We went down together; this time there was no mistaking his erection.

"Up," he commanded and up we went.

With the bar still on my shoulders and my arms stretched out, I looked in the mirror. George's arms were still around my body when he peeked out over my shoulder.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" I asked between breaths. "Well," he said, gasping for air. "Let's just say I don't have a gun in my pocket."

We looked in the mirror at each other for a long second. Together we burst out laughing.

The lights went on in the front room.

"What's going on in there?"

"It's Dale," George whispered to me. "Hey, it's me, George!”

“And Chick,” I added.

“And Chick,” George added loudly. “Come on," he motioned to me, "let's go say hi."

"I can't meet him looking like this," I refused. "I'm a mess."

"Believe me, he won't mind a bit," George said. Then we walked into the front room.

Dale was standing at the front desk. He was my height and extremely well built with reddish hair that was graying at the temples. His massive arms were covered with freckles. He was wearing a red tank top with “Dale’s Gym” and a caricature of himself, complete with his flat top haircut, printed on the front. His grey, cotton shorts were stretched tightly across his body because of his huge thigh muscles. I could not keep my eyes from wandering down his legs to his calves, which looked like bowling pins, then slowly I looked back up. His face broke into a broad, white smile. I finally found his eyes. They were green, just like mine. I felt as if I had been caught doing something naughty, and my face began to feel warm; I knew that I was blushing. Dale was leaning on the desk with his hand on his hip and one leg crossed in front of the other. He seemed to give us both the once over before he opened his mouth.

"What are you boys up too?" he asked still smiling. "You two almost look like you've been fucking."

George and I looked at each other and just started laughing.

"What? Did I say something funny?" Dale asked.

"No, we were just finishing legs when you turned on the lights," George said.

" I bet you were," Dale said keeping his eyes on me.

"Dale, this is Chester," George said.

"Nice to meet you," I said walking over to him and holding out my hand for him to shake. "Please call me Chick." His handshake was strong and friendly.

"Oh, so this is the Chick that I've been hearing about. Bella has been telling me about her two husbands. You must be the one that cooks."

Still holding on to Dale's hand, I must have blushed again. I could see why everyone liked him; he was a great big teddy bear. "Guilty," I blushed.

"Listen," George said. "I've got to hit the shower and go to work. I'll see you guys later." He disappeared around the corner, and I stayed to talk to Dale.

I found out that he had grown up in Madison, Wisconsin. He sounded like he had a midwest twang. As he talked, I looked at the photographs behind him of body builders and realized that they were all of him winning awards. In one shot he had his arms up holding a giant, golden trophy.

"Are those pictures of you?" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered modestly. He pointed to the pictures on the wall. "That is when I took Mr. Wisconsin in ninety-five and here," he took a picture off the wall and handed it to me, "is where I took the title of Mr. America in ninety-six. It was something that I wanted ever since I was a kid."

I held the framed photo in my hand and just stared at it. "You are awesome," I drooled.

"Those days are long gone," he sighed.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "You still look great."

"I turned fifty-three this year, and everything has begun to rust on me, my back, my knees."

"I know what you mean. I'm turning fifty in August, and I am bound and determined to go into the second half of my life kicking and screaming."

"You look great."

"Thanks," I said. I noticed that Dale was wearing a gold ring on his right hand just like Eddie and I had worn.

In truth, I still wore mine.

It was Christmas time in Washington, D.C., and a blanket of snow had covered the ground. It was beautiful for only a few hours because in the city, snow becomes very grey in a short period of time. A business card was left on the windshield of my car, X-mas trees for sale. At the bottom was the address and hours between five and ten in the evening. Something sounded very strange; however, we hopped in our Isuzu Trooper and headed for the address on the card. It turned out to be a vacant lot in a seedy section of town. It was fenced in with a string of naked light bulbs hanging over the lot. We sat bundled in the car trying to gather up our courage. No one had entered or left the lot. Finally, after what seemed like hours, a car approached then stopped. A young couple got out of the car and disappeared into the trees. If it was good enough for them then it was good enough for us. We stepped out of the car and walked across the windy street. When we approached, a nice looking man came over to greet us. He informed us that all the trees in the lot were twenty bucks and since the ceiling in our house was high, we took the tallest tree we could find. He even helped us tie the tree onto the top of the car. We handed him twenty-five dollars and away we went as fast as we could, maneuvering dangerously on cold and wet city streets. It took about five blocks before we could breathe.

"I feel like I just bought a hot tree on the coldest night," I exhaled.

Ed responded, "That, or we pulled off some kind of drug deal." We both started laughing and heaved a sigh of relief.

The tree turned out to be the prettiest tree that we had ever purchased, and it fit perfectly in the bay front of the house.

Christmas day was cold but sunny. Tiny swirls of snow danced up deserted streets, and puffs of chimney smoke blew from roof tops all across the city. Everyone was either relaxing for the holiday or enjoying a much needed day off. We had a fire burning in the fireplace, and the tree was lit. With holiday music on the stereo, the bottle of Tattinger Rose champagne was nearly gone by the time we finished opening our gifts. I always liked to put something extra special in the toe of the stocking since it was be the last gift to be opened. This year I had bought Ed a gold band.

"What's this?" he asked holding up a small gift wrapped in gold foil.

"A little something," I hinted.

He opened the box, took out the ring, and held it out to examine it. I took the ring from him and went down on one knee.

"Ed, from the first moment I saw you, I knew that we would be together forever. Some day it might be legal for gay people to marry. I know that I don’t need a ceremony to celebrate our love for each other; we show each other that everyday. Will you wear this ring as a symbol of our love for one another?” We chose to wear our rings on your right hands to show that our love is visible but different.

"Yes," was all he could say as tears filled his big, brown eyes.

"Oh, my God, just look at the time," I said as I looked at the clock behind Dale. " I’ve got to get to work."

"What do you do?" Dale asked.

"I'm the manager of The Spa on South Beach," I said. " I do some massage, but mostly I just tell people what to do."

" Could you give me a massage? I sure could use one."

"Sure," I grinned.

"Really? Most massage people are intimidated by my size."

Taking in the whole scope of him and thinking to myself what it would be like to have my hands all over that massive torso of his, I could only imagine what his hard muscles would feel like. I could feel an erection beginning to grow. “I’m not afraid of big,” I divulged.

"No, I bet you aren't," he answered back smiling.

As I walked over towards the locker room I looked back. Dale was following me with his eyes, and we both smiled. When I returned home, I was going to need a cold shower.

George had just pulled the curtain open and was reaching for his towel, when I walked into the locker room. Shining wet, his smooth, almost hairless, long muscular body looked perfect. From being outside, his honey-colored skin had darkened, and I thought if I licked his skin, it would taste like warm café con leche. The tan line from his shorts showed how much his color had changed. His cock and scrotum were several shades darker than the rest of his body and like most Latin men, he was uncircumcised. I could not keep my eyes off of him, and he stood there letting me. He opened up his arms and turned around so that I could see all of him. Then he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Eh, not too bad." I grabbed my keys, ran out the back door and did not stop until I reached my house.

In the shower I could not stop visualizing both men and how different they both were. There was Dale with his big hard muscles that looked like they were made of stone. Then there was George's sinuous body and the thought that earlier he had wrapped his sweaty arms around my body and pressed his hard cock against the back of my shorts. I took my erection in both hands and brought myself off. It was the most intense orgasm I had in a very long time.