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| Part 3 by Castgimp |
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| "The next couple of hours are kind of a haze in my memory. Tim managed to get me up off the track and into the Explorer, which was no small feat. I really couldn't put weight down on my ankle, and I really was pretty drunk. I remember leaning heavily on Tim, his arm wrapped around my back and shoulder, and lurching forward. He was basically carrying me as we stumbled forward. I was aware of the pain in my ankle, but I was more aware of being close to Tim and touching him and being grateful that he was there to help me. The most vivid memory I have actually is of the smell of his hair in my face as I leaned on him for support. Aside from feeling foolish about my accident, I was not unhappy about my situation. Early in the evening I'd wanted to spend more time with Tim, and that was certainly happening. It seemed right somehow that my old running buddy was there for me to lean on. Maybe it was the alcohol masking the pain and making me sappy, but I was feeling pretty sentimental about the whole thing. I felt like I'd be content to lean on Tim for a very long time, and my screwed up ankle gave me a perfect excuse."Once we got back into the car I realized that I didn't have a clue as to what we should do next. It was already after two in the morning. The nearest hospital with an emergency room was in Portland, which was more than an hour away. Tim wanted to drive me there to have my ankle looked at. I told him that was ridiculous, and that I could wait until morning to have it looked at. I even made the argument that I thought I just needed to stay off my ankle for a while and that with a little ice and a little rest it might even be better by morning. As much as Tim wanted to get some medical help for me, I don't think he was really in the mood to drive to Portland because I managed to talk him out of that pretty quickly. The next problem was simply one of where to go. Because my parents had out of town wedding guests staying with them, I was supposed to be sleeping at my brother Joe's place, but we both knew that there was no way we were going to get me up two narrow flights of stairs to that apartment tonight. I couldn't go to my parents' house-I didn't want to burden them with this situation in the middle of the night. Tim had a hotel room at the hotel where my brother and his new wife were staying, but I thought that was too risky. I absolutely didn't want my brother to know that I'd been hurt. I wanted him to get away on his honeymoon in the morning without having to worry about me, and I didn't think there was any way in the world that Tim could discreetly drag me across the hotel lobby floor in the middle of the night without that news filtering back upstairs to my brother. I'm not kidding when I say that the town we live in really is small." "So in the end we drove out to the highway exit and rented a room at a roadside motel that was frequented mostly by truckers and adulterous men from the surrounding towns. It felt a bit to me like Tim and I were shacking up, but we were kind of desperate for somewhere to lie down and it was the only thing that either one of us could think of. Tim registered and was able to drive around back and right up to the door of our room, so he didn't have far to lug me. My ankle was starting to swell and throb and I had a sick headache from the champagne and I wanted nothing more that to put my feet up and pass out. More than anything I wanted to wake up the next morning and find out this had all been a bad dream." "Tim was incredibly patient and gentle with me. I don't think I would have been half as good if he were the one who'd crashed and burned. He had to help me off with my clothes, starting with my shoe. As gentle as he was, taking that shoe off hurt like hell. As he pulled my pants down over my feet I could see that I had pretty much ruined my tuxedo when I fell, and I knew that would have to be explained and paid for as well. There was just one bed, and Tim even seemed cool with that. He filled a plastic bag with ice from the ice machine in the parking lot, wrapped it in a towel, and set it gently on my ankle. Then he stripped down to his briefs and jumped into bed next to me. He fell asleep almost immediately. I was exhausted too, but somehow I wanted to savor the feeling of just lying there next to him in bed. What I was feeling wasn't sexual-I couldn't see getting it on with Tim-but I just felt very close to him. When his snoring convinced me that he was sleeping soundly I carefully reached over to his side of the bed and rested my hand on his chest. His breathing never changed, and eventually I fell asleep like that, my swollen ankle propped up on a pillow at the foot of the bed." "Of course when I woke up the next morning is was clear that the night before had not been a bad dream, but was in fact a grim reality. My ankle was swollen and sore and I couldn't put any weight on it. I hopped to the bathroom on one bare foot to take a leak and that jarring hurt like hell. I knew I needed to see a doctor and that rest and ice alone were not going to make things better. We were both pretty hung-over, and sleep-deprived, and had more decisions to make than either one of us could face. My parents were having a brunch for anyone who was still in town, and the first thing I did was phone them and tell them that I would be a little late. I simply told them I'd had too much to drink the night before and they didn't question that. It sounded to me like they were moving pretty slowly themselves. All Tim and I had to wear were our soiled tuxedos, and mine was ripped at the knee on one side, so he drove over to the other hotel, packed his bag, checked out, and brought his clothes back to the motel where I was laid up. We were a similar size but not the same-I was taller and broader than he was-but he had a pair of workout shorts and a T-shirt that I put on. He'd worked out in them and they smelled of his dried sweat, and even that seemed halfway pleasant to me. He had a pair of Adidas shower sandals with him and I put one of those on my good foot. I looked like hell but it was the best we could do. I was also dressed for summer or the gym and it was November in Maine, but we didn't have much of a choice." "There was an emergency clinic in our town that had limited hours and limited staff, but which was a hell of a lot closer than Portland. Tim had called and their recorded message said that they opened at ten o'clock on Sundays. Tim piled me into the Explorer and we drove over and were waiting in the parking lot when they opened for business. A nurse was the first to arrive and as she walked across the parking lot Tim rolled down the window called to her. He told her that I had broken my ankle. I smacked him on the thigh and leaned over and told her that I didn't think it was broken. She asked me if I could walk on it and I said no and she said she would get a wheelchair, which she did. Inside we waited while she turned on the lights and the copy machine and the coffee machine and a dozen other machines that seemed medical in nature. She called the doctor who was on call and brewed a pot of coffee that we gratefully drank while we waited for the doctor to arrive. Eventually the doctor arrived and x-rayed my ankle and confirmed that Tim had been right. As I'd smacked into the hurdle the night before I'd managed to break my ankle. I didn't tell the doctor that I'd been running hurdles at two in the morning. Tim and I had agreed that our story would be that I had slipped and fallen on the stairs while we were running gifts up to Joe's apartment. It was plausible enough, and in fact it had nearly happened. I worried a little bit that Joe would feel badly that I had hurt myself carrying his wedding gifts up to his apartment while he was theoretically making love to his new wife in the honeymoon suite, but in the end it seemed like a better alternative than admitting the truth. The doctor said that the good news was that it was a simple fracture. I cracked my tibia, right at the base of the tibial shaft. He showed me the line through the bone on the x-ray. But there was no displacement, and he didn't have to operate or insert a screw or even manipulate the bone in any way. The tibia had a good sized horizontal crack in it right across the widest part of the bone, but it wasn't broken all the way through. He said I'd need to stay off of it completely for six to eight weeks but that it should heal well. So he put me in this plaster cast and handed me a pair of crutches and I signed a medical release form and we were out of there by one o'clock. I would have been out sooner but I had to wait while this plaster cast dried." And what a cast it was. If I closed my eyes and concentrated I could still feel the weight and heft of it as it rested on my crotch. It was an amazing story he'd told me. I'd played his story over and over in my head so many times that I could visualize every detail of it. I could see Tim and Scott struggling on the steep dark staircase carrying the wedding gifts. I could see Scott, drunk, running the hurdles on that dark track in his tuxedo. And most of all I could see Scott making his way across the airport concourse on his wooden crutches, carefully holding up that plaster cast-that cast that I'd had sitting on my lap for nearly four hours as we flew west at 38,000 feet. But that was all I had were the images I carried of Scott in my mind's eye. The last time I saw him he'd been walking away from me in the airport, back to his real life as a Marine. The reality was that I was alone in a hotel room in San Diego where an unseasonable spell of bad weather was dumping rain on the beach in front on me. I'd told Scott the name of my hotel, but I had no expectation that I would ever see him or his cast again. That thought was too depressing to dwell on. I decided it was time to get out of the hotel for while and find some dinner. If nothing else I needed another drink and I hated the idea of continuing to drink alone in my hotel room. So out into the cold California rain I went. I found a mediocre dinner in a mediocre restaurant not too far from the hotel. It didn't matter. A couple of beers and a hot meal hit the spot. I even sort of enjoyed walking back to the hotel through the rain. I had pretty much talked myself into accepting the fact that I was not going to see Scott again, and I had decided that that reality, however disappointing, was not going to kill me. If nothing else I had a nearly endless supply of erotic images to jack-off to for a good long time.Imagine my surprise then when I stepped back into the hotel lobby and saw Scott sitting there. He was facing the door, and had clearly seen me before I saw him. He had a grin on his face, and must have been reacting to the confused, befuddled look I had on mine. I was completely surprised to see him, especially here, at my hotel. He was as handsome as ever, and just the act of glancing quickly at his cast made me instantly hard. The more I stared at him, the less I could make sense of why he was sitting there. And something about him was different. The crutches. Instead of the wooden ones he had on the airplane, lying on the floor next to him were a brand new pair of aluminum ones. And the cast. That was different too. Gone was the plaster cast that I'd ground my crotch against, and instead his ankle was covered with a brand new fiber cast. It looked very similar to the first one, covering his leg and ankle from just under his knee down over his ankle and ending halfway down his foot. His long toes stuck out of the cast just as I'd remembered. I was unsettled, and confused, and sexually aroused, and I have to admit even a little love-struck. O.K. Maybe more than a little. "Scott!" I finally stammered, reaching out my hand. "Mark." He said, reaching back, the smile growing broader on his face. "Good to see you." "Yeah. Likewise. I didn't think I would see you again. What brings you here?" "I hope I'm not intruding...I probably should have called." "Not at all. I'm glad you're here. Just a little bit surprised." "Yeah, well, it's a long story. I got back to the base. The doc there checked me out. Took off the old cast. X-rayed me again. Confirmed that I had a non-displaced fracture of my tibia. Then he set me up with this new cast, gave me a new pair of lightweight crutches, and signed a four-week medical leave for me." "That's great. I guess." "Yeah. Now I've got some time on my hands." "It's really good to see you." "I was sort of hoping you'd feel that way." His grin seemed to groweven wider as he spoke. Now I was really confused. There were too many mixed signals for me to make sense of. What was this guy all about? It had actually never occurred to me that he might be gay. I could only think about him as a Marine. And as a guy with a broken ankle. As much as he'd talked about Tim, he'd been pretty clear that it had never been physical between them. He'd cum on the airplane while I was grinding his cast into my crotch, but that was just two guys jacking off together, wasn't it? And what about the cast thing? Was he turned on by that? Or did he dig me? Maybe he's just lonely and bored, I thought. Maybe he just enjoys the company of men. As much as I was turned on by him, I was not getting any gay vibes back from him. I didn't want to assume this was about sex. I didn't really want to get my head bashed in by a Marine-not even by a temporarily crippled one. I knew I needed to say something. "So. What are you going to do with your time off?" "Umm. I don't really know yet. I could stay on the base, but that's not much fun. I just blew all my cash going to Maine and back. How long are you going to be around?" "Just a few more days, actually." I hesitated. Should I invite him up to my room? Was he here because he was out of money? Or because he didn't have anywhere else to stay? Or because he wanted to get laid? It almost didn't matter. I was smitten. I knew in my heart I was going to ask him if he wanted to come up to the room, regardless of the consequences. The maid would probably find my battered body when she tried to clean the room the next morning. "That's too bad. I was hoping, you know, that maybe we could spend some time together." Now I was getting gay vibes. Or something close. There was definitely sex in his voice. "Umm. Listen. We don't have to stand here in the lobby. You want to come up to my room for a little bit? We could talk, or have a drink, or..." "Sure." His response was swift. He was still smiling. I pointed toward the elevator and followed him as he moved down thehallway. I was in heaven watching his ass move as he hauled himselfforward, and seeing his cast swinging between his crutches ahead of me made me so hard I thought my dick was going to explode. He was perfect. I wanted him. I was going to have him, or else I was going to die trying. "Please don't beat the shit out of me Scott," I said to myself. "And please don't break my heart." |
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