Getting Russell for Christmas

by

Riley James

I could feel a weight pulling me down.  My right leg seemed to be made of lead and my body just wouldn’t follow where my mind wanted to lead.  At first I thought it was just one of my beer runs to the kitchen and that my pockets were loaded down with a few beer cans, but when my leg started to burn, I knew it was something else. My eyes flew open as the sensation moved from curious to scary.  I could actually feel flames on my skin. 

The abandoned warehouse where I had been sleeping for the last month was on fire.  My head was fuzzy from the bottle of gin I had consumed before passing out, but searing pain could be an instant hangover remedy.  Adrenaline shot through my body and I finally snapped fully awake.  I could now see why my leg wouldn’t move; there was a splintered wooden beam pressing through the floor into the slats below me.  The rotten wood of the beam was on fire and the flames were definitely licking through my pant leg to my calf. 

I tried to force the old, weathered support from my body, but it was no use. A portion of it had been propelled through the floor and it was wedged firmly in place.  I grabbed my shabby denim coat from where I had been resting my head and slapped at the flames.  Slowly the fire was contained, but I could see that I was still in serious trouble.  The floor above me was completely engulfed in a firestorm. 

I could hear sirens in the distance and I think I actually prayed that they were coming in my direction for once.  I continued to struggle, but I was getting woozy and weak.  I lay back down against the rough warehouse floor and waited for my fate to play out.  If I died in this blaze, I concluded, no one would miss me.  My wife of 15 years had thrown me out and my kids refused to even look me in the eye.   That was the ultimate humiliation.  I had tried to see them after school one day and they had shunned me, casting their eyes toward the dirty pavement as though I was less than the garbage that littered the windswept street. 

The bottle became a great comfort to me in those first days, but at the time I still maintained a fairly normal existence.  I had rented a one bedroom apartment in the run-down industrial district, but I didn’t need much.  As a matter of fact I barely left the space except to go back and forth to work.  My boss had warned me on several occasions that if my performance didn’t pick up, that he would be forced to let me go, but I didn’t or wouldn’t hear him.  I continued to show up every day depressed and barely functioning, I seemed to be impervious to anyone who tried to reach out to me. 

One of my co-workers, Christie and I had been pretty good friends up until my wife decided she wanted nothing more to do with me, conversing about just about any subject on our lunch hours, coffee breaks and even across the cubicles when we knew the boss wasn’t around, but not even she could bring me out of my icy blue funk.  I kept making excuses why we couldn’t get together anymore and she finally just gave up on me.  I didn’t blame her though; I was a pretty pathetic excuse for a human being.  At the end of November, right after Thanksgiving when I had plied myself with enough booze to give an elephant alcohol poisoning, my boss called me into his office and fired my ass.  It didn’t really matter, I had told myself I might as well be dead anyway and without any means of support, I could just melt into the burgeoning landscape of the homeless downtown and no one would be the wiser.  If I froze to death this Winter I would be less of a burden on my kids, who apparently had decided that I was no longer fit to be their father.

My serious contemplation of my impending death was shaken by a pair of hands on my wrist.  The skin against mine was warm and soft, like that of a baby and when I opened my eyes, I suppose that I expected to see a full-fledged angel waiting to carry me off to whatever afterlife awaited me.  Instead, there was an emergency response technician with the kindest blue eyes and sexiest curly black hair that I had ever laid eyes on.  Once he had determined I was still alive, he bent close to my ear and whispered, “We’re gonna get you outta here buddy, just hang on.” 

I knew that I smelled like a garbage heap, my clothes hadn’t been washed in I don’t know how long and the combination of dirt, sweat and booze must be assaulting his senses, but he never even wrinkled his nose at me.  He just went about trying to lift the beam off of my trapped leg.  He looked to be quite strong, not that I could see his actual muscles, but he was a bulky guy and his shoulders and biceps bulged against his industrial strength, cotton fire department jacket.

Another hefty looking fireman in a full fire suit was beside him now and they were both tugging and rocking the huge plank in order to try and get my wedged appendage free.  Finally, the beam splintered into a proliferation of dust, chards the size of tiny toothpicks and a chunk that sent my hunky rescuer flailing back to his buttock.  He chuckled a little and rendered himself upright.  The other firefighter was soon back at his side with a gurney and they lifted me quickly onto the stiff little bed and whisked me out of the rapidly collapsing building that had been my home.

* * *

An ambulance had been waiting outside and the dish in the tight jacket and lovely black curls attended to me, inserting an IV and wrapping a gauze bandage around my exposed calf.  I realized in all of the confusion that they were preparing me to go to the hospital.  I sat up, unceremoniously dumping all of the stuff on my lap onto the rocky ground.  “I can’t go to the hospital!  I don’t have any money to pay the bill.”  My voice sounded like a screech owl. 

“Whoa, buddy, it’s all right.  We’re gonna get you fixed up and the hospital will make sure that burn is cleaned real good.  No choices here, you’ve got to go.”  He caught my eyes with his and the ultra soft skin of his fingertip stroked the inside of my wrist.

I think he was trying to soothe me and wonder of wonders, it was working.  My nerves settled slightly and I figured that even if they did try to bill me, there was no money to give them, so they’d just have to find another way to get reimbursed.  The EMT worked diligently getting me all set up before they lifted me into the ambulance.  One of the guys crawled up front and my hero sat beside me. 

“What’s your name, bud?”  He asked in a light hearted tone.  Where did this guy come from anyway?  My libido, which had previously been non-existent since being outed by my secret fuck-buddy lifestyle, was finally coming back from its hibernation.

“Jonah…Jonah Wiley.”

“Well Jonah, buddy, everything is going to be fine, okay?  I want you to trust me and if you get scared or anxious, you just squeeze my hand.  I’ll be right here with you until we get you squared away in the emergency room at St. Dominick’s.”

I looked into his face and scanned down his body.  I realized that his name was embroidered on his jacket; “Russell” was spelled out in bright yellow thread against the blue of his work attire.  So that was who he was, Russell.  I closed my eyes and something he had given me must have helped me relax.  I dozed while the vehicle made its way through the snarled traffic of downtown. 

They were wheeling me into one of those little areas with curtains on either side and I could see a scurry of busy people pulling out machines and gloves to begin my assessment.  Russell was still standing beside me, taking off the straps of the gurney and helping to move me onto an examining table. 

“One, two, three, lift…he chanted at a pudgy little Hawaiian nurse.  They had me across and on the table in a snap, the cold metal of the runners, brushing against my exposed skin.  Russell was telling the doctor, who was looking into my eyes and ears and nose, that I had been trapped under an old rotting beam in an abandoned warehouse.  I expected to see revulsion or pity in his strong face as he described my circumstances, but again, I saw nothing but pure, unadulterated concern. 

The young doctor stopped looking into my facial orifices and asked me my name. 

“Jonah”

“Okay, Jonah, I’m Dr. Halverson, you seem to be stable accept for that leg.  Let’s take a look okay?”

I could feel a prod here and there, but nothing excruciating until the doctor pulled the bandage back fully.  I almost shot through the ceiling.  A noise sounded loud, reverberating though the room and I realized it had come from my throat without me giving it a second thought.

“Ah, well Jonah, you’ve got a pretty nasty burn there my man.  It’s going to take a little cleaning up to get it to heal properly.  It looks like you have some debris in there as well, so I’ll be letting Chelsea take care of that.” He nodded to the short woman standing by his right side. 

“I’ll be back to check on you later.”  The young doctor scurried from the room to destinations unknown, but Russell remained. Chelsea began getting the things she needed to take care of my leg. 

Russell leaned down and I could smell his clean shaven face.  “Jonah, this isn’t going to be pleasant bud.  If you want I’ll stay right here and hold your hand?”

Oh boy did I want.  “Thanks Russell.”

The room exploded as his throaty deep voice bounced off the low-hanging ceiling tiles and hit me like a ton of bricks.  God, his laugh was so beautiful and robust, just like he was. My heart was alive with tingling little pulses that I had to suppress.

My eyebrows arched as I considered whether or not to be offended at the fact he was laughing at me.  “What’s so funny?”  I finally got the nerve to say.

“Russell.”  He continued to giggle.  “This isn’t my jacket bud.  I borrowed it from the locker room at the station because I’d forgotten mine this morning.”

He took my hand and shook it lightly so as not to disturb my I.V.  “I’m Sam Barnes, Mr. Wiley, how do you do.”  The smile on his face was truly cherubic.

I couldn’t really get over how nice he was being to me, as a matter of fact, it seemed like he might even be flirting.  How could that be?  I was trash; a waste of a human being who had betrayed his family and lived with the garbage on the street.  Couldn’t he see that?  And did he know I was gay just by looking at me?  But maybe he wasn’t flirting with me… maybe it had just been so long since someone had been nice to me, even considered that I was worth wasting a half a minute on, that I was reading something into it that wasn’t there.

Chelsea, the little Hawaiian nurse, had returned to the foot of the bed and had a basin with her along with a large bottle of what I assumed was saline solution.  The idea of salt in that wound was not something I was looking forward to. 

I grimaced and Russell, I mean Sam gripped my shoulder to get me attention. “Do you want me to stay Jonah?”

I wondered why they weren’t kicking him out or why he didn’t just leave when his part of the job was finished.  Did he do this with all of his charges?  Why wasn’t he repulsed by me?  I wonder if he has a boyfriend.

I nodded my assent and he softly grasped my hand again, carefully placing his fingers around the tackle attached to the squiggly purple vein in between my knuckles.  He kept his eyes on mine and I felt like I was floating in a pool of soft blue fluff.  He was so tall that I couldn’t even see what Chelsea was doing now, but I could feel it.  She was pulling splinters from around the outside of the wound and then she let me know that she was going to start the debreeding, she called it.  I didn’t know what that meant, but I assumed she was going to pour that saline solution on my burned skin and I could imagine that it wasn’t going to tickle.

Nothing I could have imagined could have been any worse than the feelings coming from my leg.  I looked into Sam’s face and that was the last thing I remembered, his flowing, black, curly hair and those wondrous eyes.

* * *

I could hear my name being called.  There was a tall, manly figure standing at the end of a path covered by jagged rocks and shards of glass.  I put my foot forward and started out toward him, but the pain from the menacing ground shot through my foot and up into my groin.  I felt like I was going to throw up. 

When I opened my eyes, Chelsea was standing on right side with a tube of something in her hand and Sam was on my left with his strong hand grasping my shoulder.

“No naps Mr. Wiley.  The doctor wants you to stay awake for a while so that we can make sure you don’t have a concussion.  Are you going to vomit?” 

“My leg! Uuuuggghhh!  No, I don’t think I’m gonna throw up.” I moaned again.

Sam stroked my head with his large hand.  He was so full of compassion.  Were there actually people still like that in the world today?  I certainly didn’t think so before I met him.  My recent dive into Hell had given me a wide open view of the callousness and narcissism that prevailed in our society today.  People on the street either scorned me with their eyes or crossed the street to avoid me.  Shopkeepers berated me as a “lousy bum,” and shooed me from their storefronts where I could occasionally get a blast of heat from inside as their patrons passed to and fro.  Even the people who manned the shelters were hard and jaded.  I knew that their work was hard, but once in a while I felt like if someone would just smile at me, I might find it easier to get through the day.

“It’s okay buddy. She’s almost done, the bad part is over.”  He looked over to Chelsea who was popping the ammonia tablet back in her pocket.  “Give him something for the pain Chels, would you please.”

“Sure Sam.”  She wheedled her way through the stand of bandages and monitors and went to the glass front cabinets again.  As she returned, she picked up my hand, which Sam had relinquished sometime during my blackout and put the needle into the junction at the top of the IV tube.

I don’t know what she gave me, but it was serious and made me happier than I’d been in a coon’s age. 

I looked into Sam’s eyes and gained some courage.  “What are they going to do with me when they’re done?”

“Do you have someplace to go that you could rest up a while and heal?”  He asked me in a voice rich with genuine concern.

“No.”

“Well, normally they’d release you to the local shelter, but I think they’re kind of full tonight, it being Christmas and all.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.  It was Christmas?  I knew it was getting close because of all the decorations and such on the street, but I had no idea it was already here.  The vision of my kids in their plaid Christmas jammies from years gone by suddenly overcame all of my calm.  Tears sprang from my eyes and I tried to stifle a sob.  This was the first Christmas in fourteen years that I’d been away from my kids and up until now, my brain had refused to let me acknowledge that fact.  I was devastated, what was I going to do without my kids this Christmas?  Of course it’s not like I could have gotten them presents or that they would have even been able to stand to be in the same room with me, the way I must look and smell, but the total degeneration of my family had finally permeated my conscious life and it was, for me, a sudden and Earth-shattering revelation.

“What is it Jonah?  Is there someone I can call for you?”  Sam’s voice shook me from my reverie.

“No, I don’t have anyone anymore.  No one will be missing me.”

Something finally snapped inside me.  I didn’t want to die; I wanted to be able to see my kids again.  If I had to fight my wife for something as simple as visitation rights, I had to get them to understand that I still loved them and that I wasn’t going to give up my duty to them as their father, even if it took me years to get through to them, I had to try.  The tears refused to be stayed.

Sam continued to hold my hand, his strong grip, a constant reassurance that at least for the moment, I wasn’t alone.

“Jonah, hang on buddy….we’re almost done.” 

The pain from the debreeding process was still intense, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.   The day my wife found my out my secret, I was humiliated and angry.  I didn’t try to fight her because deep in my heart I knew it was time to come clean.  Even though she could be a demanding, overbearing bitch sometimes, I was the one who had been living a lie.  I had sucked off every guy who even feigned any interest whatsoever at the office and the local club I went to.  I had even had my share of raunchy nameless sex in a little adult book store down by the industrial park.  I couldn’t get an erection in bed with the little woman anymore, but she always attributed it to one too many beers before bed.

The beers were my anthestesia.  I found the more I had, the less I cared whether she got off or not.  I was still in denial about where my marriage was headed when she kissed me one night with strings of cum still in my mouth as I entered the kitchen door.  She was still screaming at me as I lay in a puddle of humiliation on the floor when the kids came in to see what was going on.  I felt like a coward and a failure.  My wife was spitting profanities at me and through it all there stood my children, looking at me like I was raw sewage.

I left that night without so much as a flicker of hope that I would ever be forgiven.  That’s was when I started the downward spiral that had landed me where I was tonight, Christmas Eve, a penniless, stinking vagabond without a home or a family or even a single person in the world who cared about me.

Sam shook me out of my morbid revere.  “Jonah, she’s all done bud.  Do you think you can stand?” 

Sam’s obvious compassion for his patients astounded me.  He helped me stand up and that’s when I got scared.  What was I going to do?  I couldn’t pay for my treatment, I didn’t have anywhere to go, the “home” I had been using up until today was in ashes and I still wanted to try to see my kids.  My knees started to give out and I found myself in a heap at Sam’s feet.  The shock to my system from being burned, combined with the emotional upheaval of my recent revelation about wanting to connect again with my offspring, was too much.  Sam however had the presence of mind to take charge of the situation and quickly had me in his arms and back up on the bed.

“Jonah, I don’t think that you’re ready to do any walking yet.  Why don’t you just rest here for a little while and I’ll go talk to Chelsea and Dr. Halverson.”  Without much attention to what else was going on around me, I simply nodded, closing my eyes and slipping back into my self-imposed stupor.

I suppose that sleep overtook me at some point.  I had been dreaming about the man at the end of the path again, waiting for me with open arms.  I felt oddly serene this time though as I walked toward him.  He embraced me in the most loving show of affection I had been party to in all of my life, not even in the early days of my marriage had my wife held me with such reverence.  I lay my head on his shoulder and he leaned down to kiss my cheek, tracing my jaw line with little butterfly wings of adore.  He was whispering to me then…  “Jonah, I’m going to take care of you.”

“Jonah, wake up. Come on buddy, it’s Sam.”  As my eyes finally registered what they were seeing, I was overcome with love for the face that smiled back at me.  This man had saved my life, maybe not a life worth saving, but still he had given me the catalyst to maybe start my life over again.  I didn’t know how or where I was going to start, but I did know that I finally had at least the drive to begin again.  I no longer wanted to die.

* * *

Sam’s big hands were holding mine and he leaned down and he kissed my cheek, just the way he had in my dream.  “Come on buddy, we’re going home.”

“Home?”  I stammered groggily.  “I don’t have a home.”

Without any conversation on the subject, Sam was putting me in a wheelchair and directly began wheeling me out of the emergency room.  We passed the nurses station and Chelsea waved.  “Merry Christmas you two,” she said as her cute little cherubic cheeks dimpled.

The automatic doors opened, allowing a blast of icy wind in through the chilled glass.  I was struck with an odd sense of wonder.  “Sam, where are you taking me?”

“I told you buddy, we’re going home.  I’m going to take care of you Jonah.”

This was a mystical, however confusing statement to me.  The man in my dream had said the same thing, but I couldn’t let Sam take me to his house.  I was physically and emotionally dirty and scarred.  I couldn’t let him get involved with me.

“Sam, you can’t.  I can’t let you.”

“What do you mean you can’t let me?  Why, Jonah?”

I started to try to explain, “I’m a mess Sam.  I haven’t had a bath in weeks, my body is craving alcohol, I’m a skid row bum; you don’t even know me.  Not even my family wants me Sam.”  Tears started leaking from under my lids as I closed my eyes to think about my son and daughter again, remembering not their consternation, but looks of adoring love from long ago. 

“Jonah, I don’t care about any of that, do you understand?  You don’t have anywhere to go, you’re hurt and you’re in pain.  I can see in your eyes that something is haunting you and that the pain you have is deeper than just that burn on your calf. So, I’m taking you home Jonah.  Nobody deserves to be alone on Christmas, not you and not me.”

“Why Sam, why would you do this for me?  I could be anybody; I could be a thief or a murderer.”

“No Jonah, you’re not.  I can see it in your eyes, buddy.  There’s no malice there sweetheart, only remorse, pain and grief.  I don’t want to see that in your eyes anymore, I want to see your eyes smile.  I bet they’re beautiful when you smile.”

With that he unceremoniously swept down and kissed me.  This big, burly beautiful man who saved my life was leaning over a wheelchair in the middle of a hospital parking lot kissing a bum and he didn’t even look around to see if anyone was watching.  How could this be happening to me?  I didn’t deserve this from him; I didn’t deserve anything from anyone.

“Sam????”

“Shhhhh, Jonah, hush.  I’m not taking no for an answer.  Come on, let’s go home.”

I didn’t know what else to say.  I just held on as he wheeled me out to the edge of the parking lot and unlocked a sassy red one-ton truck.  He lifted me into the passenger’s seat and carefully buckled me in.  I felt like a little kid again.

Sam took the wheelchair back to the doors of the emergency room and headed back towards the truck.  He paused for a moment, bringing his cell phone from a pocket on his jacket sleeve to his ear.  He stood there for a few minutes talking and then returned the phone and finished the walk to the truck.

As he climbed in he announced that his boss had given him the rest of the night tonight and tomorrow off.  “Now,” he said with an immense grin, “let’s go home.”

We arrived at a little house in an older area of town.  The yard looked well-groomed and even though it was dark, the house appeared to be in quite good condition.  A Spanish style, early California façade donned dozens of strings of Christmas lights, a bushy wreath on the entrance and even a little snowman standing next to the front door that held a sign welcoming friends to Sam’s home.

He parked the truck in the driveway and came around to extricate me from the other side of the vehicle.  As I held tightly to his well-defined shoulders, I was overcome with complete joy.  “I can’t believe you’re doing this, I don’t deserve it.”

Sam didn’t say a word.  He simply walked to the door, fiddled with his keys and let us inside.  He put me down on his couch and knelt down in front of me.  He laid his large hand on my knee and began to speak after looking into my eyes, long and sultry.

“Okay, here’s the deal.  I’m going to draw you a bath.  You can’t get your calf wet but I think I should be able to help you get clean without worrying too much about the bandage.”  He paused for a minute.  His tone started to sound slightly stern, but when he spoke again he was softer, almost resolute.  “I don’t want to hear any complaining, okay.  Once we get you cleaned up, I’m going to make us some dinner while you rest.”

I nodded in astonished compliance.  Sam shucked his uniform jacket and hung it up in a closet by the front door.  He then carried me to the bathroom off of his bedroom.  His house was warm and every room was decorated for Christmas.  There was a live tree in the family room where I had just been sitting that had been lovingly decorated with popcorn, cinnamon sticks and cranberry strings.   His bedroom hosted a plethora of old-fashioned Victorian-looking antiques and the holiday decorations matched the motive. 

This wasn’t just someone’s house, it was truly a home.  Sam deposited me on his high, quilt-covered bed.  He began stripping off my shoes, a shabby pair of trainers that had holes in the soles.  Next he took off my shredded socks; the elastic had deteriorated and they just hung down around my ankles.  My pants had been slit up the leg in the emergency room, so somehow I was going to have to find some new ones somewhere?  When Sam reached for my fly, I winced.  I knew what my underwear looked like and I didn’t want this magnificent man to see them.  I put my hand on his and looked into his eyes, pleading for him to stop.

“I can’t Sam.”

He just held my hands in his for a few moments.  “Jonah, we have to somehow.  Do you think you can do it by yourself?”

“If you help me into the bathroom, I think I can.”  My head hung against my chest and refused to meet his gaze.

“Okay sweetie, but if you start to feel weak or faint, please holler!” 

I plunked my arm around his neck and he hefted me from the bed.  I tried not to put any weight on my injured leg, but I would have had to hop to accomplish this.  We got about four or five paces before I collapsed.  Sam simply scooped me up and took me into the bathroom.

He pulled the door to after reminding to call for him if I got woozy again.  I managed to get my pants off and my briefs, hiding them inside the leg of my tattered, stained trousers.  My shirt was a frayed, plaid affair I had picked up at the Salvation Army.  It had worn through at the elbows and underneath I wore an undershirt that used be white, but like my jockey’s they had long since yellowed with sweat and grime.   I was shivering, although the room was warm.  My embarrassment as well as a smidgen of anticipation shook my body.  I gathered my courage and called out to Sam that I was ready.

When Sam re-entered the bathroom, I tried to cover myself with my arms.  I had my legs crossed and my penis was shriveled against my body in fear of what he would think of me.  My ribs shown through and I knew my body was less than desirable.  I was skin and bones from living for months on booze and scraps of food that people had given me.  I knew he could see my shame, but just like it was nothing at all he walked past and started the water in the tub.

“Okay, are you ready hon?”  Sam queried as he approached me. 

“I guess.”  Was all I could get out.

“It’s okay Jonah; you don’t have to be embarrassed.  I want to do this for you, okay?  When I set you down, hold your leg out straight and rest your heel on the edge of the tub.”  I couldn’t get over how much love seemed to be coming from his stare.

He sat me gently against the chilly porcelain, but the warmth of the cascading water against my leathery skin felt good. My right foot fit pretty comfortably into the nook of the corner of the tub.  “Lean back a little and I’ll wash your hair.”  I knew it was greasy and grimy, but the atmosphere in the bathroom at the moment was so charged with the energy of his compassion that I simply let him do what he thought he must.  No complains or comments from him while he went about his chore either.  He spread the shampoo into my wet, limp hair and began to massage it into my scalp.  His soft fingertips rubbing my head in little circles until I must have looked like a snowman with the amount of white suds that had accumulated in my hair.  He rinsed with handfuls of clean water and repeated the loving gesture once more. 

I had never had anyone touch me this way before.  The caring in his hands was beginning to travel to my other extremities and I knew that he could easily see my excitement.  I shut it out of my mind though and concentrated on the pleasure he was giving me in a non-sexual way.  Sam reached behind him into a cabinet and grabbed a face cloth.  He reached above me and retrieved some body wash from the shower caddy hanging from the shower head.  After wetting the cloth he spread some body wash on it and worked it together with his free hand.  He kept one hand behind me, lodged firmly in between my shoulder blades.  I guess, just in case I started to slip. 

Sam began to wash my body in slow circles with the wash cloth.  He started with my shoulders and my arms, working down my chest and my abdomen, my manhood stood firm against my stomach.  He brushed by it once or twice in his path, but never touched it directly.  I kept my eyes lowered in case he looked at me, but I never saw him look toward my face.  Letting go of my back, he washed my thighs and worked down to my toes on my left foot, washing each one individually and the sole of my foot almost lovingly without tickling me.  Then he rinsed the cloth out and squeezed out the excess water before attempting to do my other foot.  He was careful not to get the bandage wet on my injured calf but washed all around it.  When he was done he handed the cloth to me and with a quick wink instructed me to do my own cock and balls. 

I dipped the rag into the water and proceeded to lather up my genitals.  Paying special attention to the area under my scrotum, I did a few passes into my crack without upending myself into the water.  I rinsed again and started on my cock.  I think I was overcome with lust at that moment and began to stroke my wood with slow strokes, making it grow to its full length.  I wasn’t hung like a horse, that was for sure, but I was pretty proud of my size.  It had been so long since I’d masturbated that I squirted onto my stomach with only a few more stokes.

I was mortified, but Sam just grabbed to washcloth from my hand and wiped up my cum, telling me not to worry about it, ‘we all needed release.’  I wasn’t attempting to spy, but I think I saw him bring it to his nose and inhale my scent before he put it in the sink.  He grabbed a towel from a shelf above the commode, slung it around his neck and came back to the tub.  He let the water out and stood back up.  He put his right arm against firmly between my shoulder blades.

“Okay, I’m going to start to lift you.  If you feel like you’re going to fall just tell me and I’ll pick you up all the way.  I don’t care if I get wet, Jonah, I just don’t want you to get that bandage wet, okay?” 

I glanced at the wrapping on my leg and noticed the grit and grime lying at the bottom of the tub.  Well, there went my libido.  I teetered for a moment, but then found my footing (only being on one foot, that is).  I started to lift my right leg over the edge of the tub enclosure, but I caught one of my toes on the edge.  No matter how strong Sam was, he couldn’t hold a wet and slippery me and keep his balance at the same time.  We ended up in a pile on the floor.  He was extremely concerned about my health, but all I could do was laugh.  What a sight the two of us must be!

Sam gave in and started to giggle as well, his hearty laugh soon attaching itself to the strings of my heart.  I couldn’t help myself; I clambered up the tree trunk of man underneath me and kissed his face with a million little pecks.

“Thank you Sam, for everything you’ve done for me today.  First you save my life, then you practically adopt me and I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in a long time.” 

His eyes spoke the volumes he couldn’t seem to utter.  What I saw there was love.  Pure, unadulterated love and if I hadn’t fallen head over heels for him already, the look that he gave me then, definitely cinched the deal.  He stroked my cheek with his free hand and sighed in a huge, heavy rush of air. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy Jonah, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”  Sam almost looked sad at that moment.  As if by his admission, he was dooming the relationship as it was, to fail.

I lifted his chin with my hand and looked into those pools of blue, “That’s good Sam, because I don’t want to ever be in another relationship where the person I love doesn’t love me back.”

After a moment of doubt, Sam’s eyes flashed with the recognition of what I had just said.  He grabbed me up and squeezed like there was no tomorrow.  “Oh Jonah, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for someone like you.” It was his turn to cry now.  Not a sob, but just a few stray tears of joy as he reflected on the possibilities that lie between us.

“Look you roll this way and I’ll roll the other and we’ll get you up and into bed.  I think you could use some rest and I need to get dinner started, okay?”

We did just that.  Sam extricated himself from the human pretzel that we had created in our fall and deftly got me into bed after putting me in a pair of his old grey sweatpants.  I reveled in the feeling of being loved and quickly dropped off to sleep, dreaming of that hunk of a man at the end of the long path that had been my life.

* * *

I entered our little Spanish abode decked out with armloads of presents.  The house emanated with the sweet smell of a traditional Christmas dinner, Prime Rib Roast, potatoes, spinach and of course, the piece de resistance, a huge chocolate soufflé for dessert.  After all, my kids both had a sweet tooth and I couldn’t refuse them their favorite dessert on Christmas. 

This year was the third one Sam and I had spent together.  He helped me get partial custody of the kids after giving me the courage to go and sort things out with them last year.  We were stable and secure in our love for each by then and that was the year we found out we were going to be parents together.   A patient of Sam’s (he had finished his degree in our first year together and has a small, fledgling practice as a nurse practioner) confided in him that she was willing to surrogate for us.  Sam had been putting out feelers for a while, but we never thought that we would find such a loving, wonderful friend as Rachel in what could be a grueling process.  The baby was born on July 1st and we had slowly been adjusting to life together as parents.  This is going to be his first Christmas and I think we’ve gotten him enough presents to fill a small toy store.  His brother and sister adore him, as do both of his daddies. Oh, yeah and by the way, we named him Russell.