Eli

The punching bag at the gym has become my most trusted friend these last two months. All the loneliness and frustration I’ve experienced since moving to Boston have been taken out on my solid old friend, Mr. Everlast.

The sweat pours from my head as I go another round with the champ. Boxing has been my favorite pastime since I was ten-years-old, when my uncle Charlie taught me how to defend myself against all the little dickwad bullies who always picked on me.

I’d wished it would’ve worked on my ultra-conservative stepfather, who liked to put the fear of God into me with a belt to my ass, hoping he’d smack the little faggot right out of me. It never did work, so I guess the joke is on him. It still baffles my mind why some people think that punishment or aversion therapy will change a person’s sexual orientation. The only thing it really did was leave angry red welts on my butt for days afterward.

It wasn’t until I was seventeen, a little more bulk added to my developing body, when I was finally able to fight back. But by then it didn’t matter because the douche rag of a stepfather got lung cancer and ended up dying a year after my mom divorced him.

It was always Uncle Charlie who I turned to for love and guidance. My mom’s older brother was always there to look after me, my mom and my sister Felicity. Where things became strained between me and my own family, it was Charlie and his wife, Abigail and their daughter, Addison, my cousin, who took me in as one of their own. Addie was a few years younger than me, but we were as close as two people could be.

My sweet Addie’s the reason I accepted this job at Boston Methodist and moved to Boston in the first place, so I could be near her and her baby boy, Wyatt. While my own sister and I grew apart once I came out, Addie was my rock. She was there for me to cry on when I was confused and angry at the world, when things were tough, and I wanted to hate everyone. Addie’s kindness kept me in check and kept me pushing forward.

And when things went to shit in her life, I guess I repaid the favor and was her shoulder to cry on, too.

My dear, sweet, Addie. At one point a few years back, I’d envied Addie and her perfect life. She fell in love young and married her high school sweetheart, Thad, right after graduation. They moved to Chicago where he could attend college with a full ride scholarship and not even six months later, he was diagnosed with a terminal spinal cancer and died while she was pregnant with their child.

The loss and grief devastated her, but instead of moving back home to Indiana where she could be looked after, she moved to Boston to start fresh. She told me at the time that she needed to rely on herself and not anyone else for a change. It’s been good for her.

Speak of the devil – or in this case, my angel. I go another few rounds at the bag when my phone rings with Addie’s ringtone, drawing my attention to my gym bag by the bank of mirrors. Unwrapping the boxing gloves and dropping them to the floor, I bend down and pick up the phone.

“Hello, my angel. What’s up?”

The background is filled with a mix of laughter and voices, the sounds of her workplace. A bar and grill called Fitzgerald’s where she’s been employed for the last six months. Addie had struggled to find a job at first, since she never went to college or trade school, but the bar owner took pity on her and gave her a job waitressing. The owner of the bar, Sloane Fitzgerald, has become a good friend to her, giving Addie flexibility and daytime hours she needs to be a single mom to Wyatt.

Addie’s voice is light and a little breathy. “Hey, E. I know this is totally last minute, and understand if you do, but do you any plans for tonight?”

I look around the nearly empty weight room and consider my options. I was thinking about going to Club Shelter later tonight to check out the scene. It’s a local gay bar in my neighborhood that I’ve been to a few times in the past. It’s been a while since I’ve hooked up and I’m still a little amped from my interaction with my hot doctor today. But the idea of a random hookup isn’t as appealing as I’d originally thought.

Maybe it’s because I’ve had Mark Olsen on my mind.

Shrugging to myself, I reply, “Nah. Just at the gym right now and heading back home. You need me to take care of Wyatt tonight?”

“No, no...nothing like that. Mrs. Lindal’s scheduled to sit with Wyatt at eight. I’m going to run home, feed him and get him bathed, then shower and come back to the bar tonight because Sloane invited me to attend hers and Dylan’s engagement party. It’s also a baby shower for Dylan’s sister, Rylie. You’ve met her, I think. Anyway, they invited me, and at first, I wasn’t going to go, but well...she’s very convincing. Would you be able to come with me?”

I laugh over her nervous ramble. What’s both sad and funny about this situation is that Addison could have her pick of any guy she wanted. She’s that gorgeous, young and sweet. All she’d have to do is snap her fingers and they’d be there in a heartbeat. But ever since losing Thad, she’s refused to get back on that proverbial horse. Claims that her job and taking care of Wyatt is enough for her and she doesn’t have time to date. Which I understand up to a point, but don’t believe for a second.

She’s just scared. Losing so much, so young can really do a number on you. In a way, I have similar feelings when it comes to unavailable men. I want to meet a guy who isn’t ashamed of who he is and isn’t embarrassed to be seen with me in the light of day.

Blotting my sweaty forehead with the towel, I swipe it over my damp hair and grab my things to head into the locker room.

“Of course, I can, angel. If you want me there, I’ll be there. I’ll just get showered up and head over there around eight-thirty or nine. Or would you prefer that I pick you up at your place?”

I hear the sigh of relief over the phone. It makes me wonder if she needs me as some sort of reinforcement or if she’s using me as a diversion tactic. Either way, I’d drop everything to help her out whenever she needs me. It’s the reason I moved to Boston in the first place. I wanted to be here for her and Wyatt, just like old Uncle Charlie was always there for me.

“That would be awesome. No need to pick me up, just go straight to the bar and come find me when you get here, k?”

“Okay. Will do. See ya soon, Ad.”

Her warm, tender smile comes through the phoneline. “Thank you, E. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Love you.”

The line goes dead, and I drop the phone back in my bag and open my locker, removing my shower supplies and heading into the shower stalls.

As I rinse and lather under the hot, steamy water, I think about my discussion today with Dr. Olsen.

Scratch that. Dr. McHottie Olsen.

Since first meeting him and now having worked with him the last month, he’s never been anything other than calm, kind, and unruffled with a cool composure – both in and out of the operating room.

But something about our exchange today flustered him. It was evident the he was rattled by my request for feedback and I kind of liked the way his exterior façade collapsed ever-so-slightly. A little earthquake that shook the foundation of his carefully crafted persona.

When I clasped him on the shoulder, though – that connection we had felt more like a seismic shift in the ground beneath my feet. It made me wonder if he felt it, too, and that’s what got him so rattled.

I’ll admit, it was easy to push his buttons and it turned me on. Obviously, McHottie Doc isn’t used to being pressed like that, especially from someone on his nursing staff. When I did push, he seemed to get tongue-tied. A cute blush even rose up on his neck and his ears turned bright red. It was adorable and oh-so amusing to shake his steely composure. To make him stammer a bit with his words.

He looked incredibly handsome with his feathers ruffled. And damn if I didn’t want to ruffle them up using other means and tactics – maybe my mouth, hands and cock.

It made me wonder how far I could push things. If I could make him lose control in other ways. If there’s two things I know for sure at this point, it’s that Dr. Mark Olsen is one hell of a fine doctor, and likely a very closeted one, at that.

How do I know, you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you. The secret to knowing if another man is gay is the way he looks at you. The furtive glances that Mark has been giving me in the operating room over the last few procedures, as well as the way he kept his eyes glued to my ass as I walked away from him earlier is a sure sign he’s gay as fuck.

Or at least has gay tendencies.

Only men attracted to other men would look at my ass in that way.

The mere thought of his eyes, or any other parts of his body, being stuck to my ass has my soapy hands moving down my wet torso to stroke my hardening length. I lather up under my sac, lingering over my semi-hard cock, that twitches just thinking about meeting with Dr. Mark Olsen on Monday alone in his office. Where he could bend me over his desk and play doctor with me.

I stroke my cock as I imagine biting the blush on his neck. Nipping at his ears. Kissing down his chest. Listening to him growl out my name as he feeds me his cock and he comes in my mouth with a beastly howl.

My orgasm comes out of nowhere, shooting across the wet tile of shower floor. My vision is momentarily impaired with the high of my climax, blinding white lights flashing behind my eyelids.

When I finally suck in air that’s steady enough to regulate my panting gasps, I push those thoughts aside, because my naughty daydreams are just that...dreams that will never happen in real life with the good doctor.

Even if he thought about me in the same way, I know on instinct that he’s not the man who’ll shout my name from the rooftops.

Something inside him might be attracted to me, but there’s no way he’ll be flying any gay pride banner any time soon.