Chase of a Lifetime

When the pilot announced the plane would be
landing in Dallas soon, the man sitting to the right of Jim Darling leaned over
and grabbed Jim’s knee. He did this in friendly way, with a smile and a joke
about how he hated landings and take offs.

The poor guy didn’t have a chance to leave
his hand on Jim’s leg for longer than a second or two, because Jim’s entire
body jerked and slanted the instant the man touched him. Jim turned fast, flung
the guy a startled glance, and clamped his knees together. Then Jim pressed his
palm to his throat and tried not to gasp out loud. He’d been listening to the
theme from
The Titanic
on his phone and hadn’t expected to be touched by
the man next to him.

Jim and the guy exchanged confused glances.
The guy shrugged and moved so far away from Jim his left shoulder wound up
pressed to the window. Then he buckled his seatbelt, faced the window, and
didn’t look at Jim again

Jim sat back, buckled his seatbelt, and
sighed without making a sound. He rested his head against the seat and clenched
the arm rests until his knuckles turned white. He pretended to look up at the ceiling,
but stole a few sideways glances at the guy. He looked to be in his late
twenties or early thirties, he wore a dark expensive business suit, and he had
thick brown hair that had been styled in an expensive salon. Jim wanted to say
something; he didn’t want the guy to think he’d been offended by this gesture. He’d
been cruising Jim since they’d boarded the plane in
New Jersey
. And Jim hadn’t reacted to a
single friendly gesture or comment he’d made. At the very least, he should
apologize so the guy wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think Jim had rejected
him. But the guy looked as if he were so far out of Jim ’s league it wouldn’t
have mattered one way or the other.

When they’d first sat down next to each other,
the guy looked Jim over and said Jim reminded him of the musician who was the
front man for the popular rock group
Maroon 5
, Adam Levine, only with
lighter hair. Then he started making small talk about how much he hated flying
so often. He said he worked in sales for a large pharmaceutical corporation and
he didn’t have a choice. He joked about living out of a suitcase and eating too
much fast food. He even made small self-deprecating jokes about one night
stands and gay bars, casually informing Jim that he preferred men. He kept the
conversation light and open so that Jim could jump in at any time and share his
own story. But Jim just smiled and sat there staring at the back of the seat in
front of him nodding and saying, “Ah well, isn’t that nice.”

It wasn’t that Jim didn’t want to talk to
him. Jim took it as a compliment when the guy said he reminded him of Adam
Levine with lighter hair. Other people had said that recently, too. Jim just
didn’t know how to talk to good looking men, especially good looking men who
seemed to be flirting with him. Although people told Jim he looked good all his
life, he’d never believed it completely. He’d recently started getting his hair
cut at a better salon, working on his body, and wearing better clothes. The
transformation he’d made his last year in college seemed to stun most of the
people who knew him. And he hesitated to react to the attention.

Jim had always wanted to be six feet tall
and he’d never grown the extra two inches. He’d always wanted thick dark hair;
the only way for him to get that would be to dye his sandy brown hair. He often
dreamed about having bulging muscles and washboard abs like guys in magazines. He
could eat anything he wanted and always maintain a thirty inch waist. He’d
never been embarrassed about the size of his penis. But his nose went slightly
crooked at the bridge, his brown eyes were a little too small, and his ears
stuck out a little just like Adam Levine’s. And when he sat next to guys like
this salesman who looked like he’d always wanted to look…perfect…he tended to
lose his voice.

He was also an almost twenty-one year old
virgin, which didn’t help his self-confidence. He’d had plenty of chances to
have sex with other men. He’d said no to more guys than he could count. For
some reason he couldn’t explain men were always making advances toward him,
especially since his recent transformation. He often wondered what they saw
that he’d missed. But sex with other men seemed so complicated and dangerous; he
needed more time. He worried about sexually transmitted diseases, he wanted to
get to know a man before he hopped into bed with him, and everyone else always
seemed so much more experienced than he did. A good deal of the time he
imagined himself having sex and not knowing what to do once it started. This
anxiety alone made him break out in sweat. So he wound up not having sex at all,
waiting for the right man to come along that would sweep him off his feet and
teach him how to do it right.

When the plane landed in Dallas, Jim and the
guy who had been sitting beside him parted in the airport and Jim knew he’d
never see him again. Jim went to baggage claim, gathered his luggage, and loped
out of the airport to meet his father out front. He spotted his father’s long
black Mercedes sedan behind a silver mini-van filled with screaming kids, but
his father wasn’t driving. A middle aged woman honked the horn and climbed out
from behind the steering wheel. She waved in Jim’s direction and said, “Your
father sent me because he had an important meeting this afternoon. He said he’d
see you later at home for the party.”

Jim sent her a smile and crossed to the back
of the car so he could load the trunk. He’d known her since childhood and he’d
always called her Miss Rice. She’d never been married, was now in her fifties,
and had gone completely gray since the last time he’d seen her. He knew his
father’s important meeting was probably a golf date he didn’t want to miss. On
Saturday and his father always played golf no matter what happened.

During the drive, Miss Rice did most of the
talking. She lived alone with a cat; Jim figured she didn’t have many people to
talk to. She babbled all the way back to the ranch about nothing in particular.
She rambled on about the unusual hot weather this early in the season, the sad
state of affairs in Washington D.C. with those evil Democrats, and the new
fence Jim’s father had installed at the ranch.

While she spoke, Jim smiled and nodded as
he’d been taught to do. He said things like, “Ah well,” and “I see.” He
shrugged and said, “There you are,” a few times when she mentioned how much
trouble his father had had trying to find a new manager for the ranch because
no one wanted to work for a living anymore. He always smiled inwardly whenever
people talked about the ranch as if it were a real working ranch. Jim’s father
was a senior partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in
Texas
. He came from
Connecticut and he’d acquired his Texas accent years ago. He knew as much about
roping a steer as Jim did. The quasi ranch had more to do with his father’s fantasy
of being a Texas cowboy. The main house looked nothing like a ranch. It
resembled a southern plantation with white columns more than it did an actual
ranch. There were, indeed, horses and a cowboy to manage the property. His
father did wear cowboy gear on weekends when he went riding. But the only thing
authentic about that ranch was that it was actually in
Texas
.

When they pulled up to the house, the
secretary parked near the front entrance and handed Jim the keys to his
father’s car. “Here you go,” she said. “I’m going to get my car now and go back
to the office to finish up some extra work for your father.”

Jim smiled; his father loved her dedication.
He took the keys and said, “I was wondering about the car.”

She shrugged. “Because of gas prices being
what they are, thanks to these Democrats, I was forced to scale down to a much
smaller car this year. Your father didn’t think it would hold your luggage so
he told me to take his car. He said to leave the keys on the hall table.”

Jim smiled again. He didn’t want her to
start ranting about gasoline prices or politics: he’d had enough of her gloom
and doom for one afternoon. He knew she’d never stop. “Well, thanks so much. I
appreciate it, Miss Rice.” Then he climbed out of the car, walked back to the
trunk, and didn’t give her a backward glance. He knew he wouldn’t see her again
for a long time. Miss Rice made Jim’s mother want to kick things when no one
was watching.

He found an empty house. He figured his
mother went to the “beauty parlor,” where she usually spent Saturday
afternoons. He went up to his bedroom and set his luggage inside his closet
without even opening it. He’d had a seven o’clock flight out of Newark airport,
which meant he’d had to leave Princeton at four to be there on time…Jim was
never late for anything. He’d been up since three in the morning and he
couldn’t stop yawning. So he stripped out of his clothes, put on a pair of old
sweats he found on his closet shelf, and fell on top of his childhood bed. They
were having a graduation party for him that night and the thought of smiling
that much caused a pain in his stomach. He knew there was only one way to
relieve that kind of anxiety.

So he climbed out of bed and checked to make
sure he’d locked the door. In his house, no one knocked before they entered.
He’d learned this the hard way when he’d been twelve years old and his mother
had walked in on him while he’d been jacking off with a raw piece of boneless
chicken breast wrapped around his big teenage dick. Though his mother turned
and walked out, and they never discussed it, Jim never pulled down his pants in
his bedroom again unless he checked the lock. And, his mother stopped serving boneless
chicken breast for a long time.

After he locked the door, he went into his
closet and kneeled down in a corner at the back of the closet. He yanked a
floorboard a couple of times, lifted it, and pulled out a dark red velvet bag
with a drawstring. He glanced down at the bag and smiled. Then he got up, went
to his bathroom for a large bath towel, and removed his sweats.

When he was naked, he went back to the bed
and opened the velvet bag. He pulled out a thick flesh colored nine inch dildo,
with a large head and thick veins. He ran his fingers up and down the shaft and
took a quick breath. He’d had to get rid of all the sex toys he’d used in
college before he’d left
Princeton
because
he’d been worried about airport security. The last thing he needed was for some
idiot to find a studded cock ring and big black dildo in his suitcase. This
dildo in the red velvet bag was one he’d had since he’d been in high school. He’d
purchased it in an adult bookstore in Dallas when he turned seventeen and he’d
kept it hidden in his closet all these years. He hadn’t had this one up his ass
in almost six months, not since his last trip home at Christmastime. He hadn’t
had anything but his fingers up his ass in more than a week, the longest he’d
gone in years without some kind of self-penetration. The thought of pleasuring
himself without something inside his body left him limp.