Heart and Soul

Heart and Soul Chapter 10

Hi. Don't let the title throw you off. It's an important chapter, and I hope you will see it through.

10

The Stroke

(Twenty-one Months After I Met Don)

I opened my eyes. I still felt groggy.

What I felt wasn't my bed. Where was I? What was going on?

I felt a hand grip mine. I heard Don's voice. "I'm here."

I wasn't coherent.

Slowly the world came into focus.

"I'm in the hospital," I observed.

"What was the last thing you remember?"

"Umm ..."

"Do you remember getting into the ambulance?"

I tried hard to think. Why was it so difficult? Was I medicated? Bits and pieces returned. My memory was only fragments. I hated feeling like this. Because I didn't know what this was.

Ambulance. My head. My arm. Things fell into place, but I still didn't have vivid memories. Things weren't clear.

Don squeezed my hand. I then realized that my right hand felt different than my left. It was strange.

"You had a stroke, love," Don said.

"A – a – a ... I did?"

"You did," a doctor said, entering the room. "Luckily, your partner was there and called 9-1-1 immediately. That quick response is going to work in your favor."

He rolled a chair close to my bed.

"While you were out, we ran tests. We'll know the results soon. How do you feel?"

"Groggy," I said, almost croaking like a frog.

"That will eventually wear off, but I do recommend rest as well. By morning, we should have more answers."

He talked to us a bit longer, but I still wasn't present enough to remember much. I could see Don listening carefully.

Slowly, I re-entered the world. By dinner, I asked, "Did you tell anybody?"

"I let Cooper and Larry know. Larry came immediately, but you were out cold. I told them we'd know more in the morning when they came by."

"Anyone else?"

"Harry had called, and ... I let him know. I told Mitchell and Brad too. I hope that's okay. I probably should have waited for your permission."

"It's all fine."

I pushed the soup away. I had finished most of it. I think the meds were keeping me from being hungry.

"How did you know to call 9–1–1?" I asked.

"You looked funny. You suddenly looked in pain and confused. You put your hand on your head and then you said your arm felt so weird. When you said it, your words were slurred. I could see the side of your face droop. I knew. Back at the university, one of the deans was leading a meeting. He got dizzy, lost his balance and fell back into his chair. He had difficulty talking and had trouble using his arm. Other faculty members reacted immediately. I was just in shock. But since then, I've learned the signs, I suppose. The quicker you get medical attention, the better."

"Did he turn out okay?"

"He did." Don paused. "But, my dear, you are probably going to have several weeks of therapy ahead."

"Swell."

"Hey, you got treatment quickly. That's good. Therapy will only make you better."

"I guess so."

A different doctor stopped in to visit. I probably wouldn't remember everything the staff said, but I would remember how they made me feel. I thought all of them were nice. They did a good job. At least, I felt they did.

—

"You have a visitor, Mr. Pike," one of the attending nurses said.

I looked up. "Harry, hello. This is a surprise."

"A pleasant one, I hope," Harry said.

I really didn't know Harry that well. Don had let him stay at his house while Harry's home was being repaired following the tornado. There were several evenings when the three of us enjoyed dinner together at Don's place. I even had him over to my house once. Harry still had his own life, but he was in the middle of ours for almost two months.

"It is very nice of you to stop in. Thank you."

"After what you two did for me?"

"Well, that was Don. It was his house."

"But you let me be in the way for a very long time. I know you two had to give up some things with my being there."

"Walking around naked," I said.

"Emory!" Don softly chided.

Harry chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure he's right."

"How's your home?" I asked.

"Good. Once I got back in, I started all the painting and replacing what I lost. At least the things I can."

"I'm very sorry you lost so many irreplaceable mementos," Don said.

"I know ... but it's just ... stuff." He grabbed my hand. "At least I got a new friend out of it."

I compared what it felt like for my left hand and my right hand to hold someone else's. There was a difference. I could feel it. It wasn't the same. I wanted to squeeze Harry's hand, but I couldn't. And for a moment, I was scared. I didn't like feeling helpless.

Harry stayed for a few more minutes, and then he headed out, leaving a card for me on the tray table. I thanked him for coming.

"That was nice of him to come," Don said.

"Yes, it was. He's a nice person," I agreed. "I think he knows he dialed down our sex life."

"We still had sex."

"Subdued sex."

Don leaned over to kiss me. "It was still very enjoyable. We can be quiet when we need to." He kissed me again.

Then I pushed him back. "Ugh. I feel like I haven't brushed my teeth in a thousand years."

Even I could hear myself talk and notice how different I sounded.

I didn't like it. It scared me. I didn't want to be scared. I decided in that moment to put on a brave face. I didn't want Don to worry about me any more than he had to. And here we were, living in two different houses and it was still his responsibility. Had to. I felt bad about being an obligation.

Overnight, Don had gathered a few things for me.

"You didn't sleep here, did you?"

"No. Once you nodded off for the night, I went home to get at least a little sleep. I got about six hours. I went to your house to get some things you might need."

He held up a small bottle of mouthwash.

"Bless you."

"I also got your newspaper."

"My God, I love you. You didn't happen to pick me up a coffee, did you?"

"I contemplated it, but I wasn't sure what I was allowed to give you. But I'll ask. I'll run and get you a cup if it's okay."

I didn't remember everything from last night, but Don reminded me that test results were good, but he stressed I needed to be patient as I regained my strength and my ability to walk and work with my left side.

I tried to move my left arm. I couldn't. I wanted to, but I couldn't.

I was scared, but I acted like nothing was wrong.

The doctor came in and he talked to Don and me about a physical therapy schedule. He said coffee would be fine, but he recommended decaf for a few days so that caffeine wouldn't interact with medications, just to be on the safe side.

After he left, Don opened Harry's card and showed it to me. My instinct was to hold it with both hands, but I could only move my right arm.

I began to whimper, but I suppressed it the first second I started. I was going to be brave. I held it with my right arm. It was a nice card with a very touching message. Harry was a nice man. I handed it back to Don.

"Knock, knock," Cooper said, rapping on the door frame.

"Come in," Don said.

"Good morning," Larry said.

I saw Corey. He looked a little unsettled. I was sure seeing me like this was freaking him out. But ... damn ... it was nice to see him, all three of them.

Corey handed me a card. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better, now that you're here." I attempted a smile. "I bet I sound different, huh?"

"Maybe a little," Corey admitted.

"It's nice that you all are here," Don said. "Thank you."

"You never did tell me what you wanted me to sneak in," Larry said.

"Talk Brad into bringing me a cinnamon roll," I replied.

Everyone chuckled.

Don took flowers from Cooper's hands. They had chosen a nice vase. "These are lovely."

"I'm surprised you brought me flowers," I said.

"We thought they might make the hospital room a little cheerier," Larry said.

"Well, they do, but ... I love flowers. I don't really tell people that, but I do. Thank you very much. I think they are beautiful."

It was an arrangement from a grocery store, but it was still very nice.

I opened Corey's card. Immediately, a gift card for a sundae fell out. I picked it up off my blanket. "Hey! Another sundae." We all smiled.

I read through the words on the card. Inside, Corey had written a special message.

Mr. Emory,

Thank you for how nice you are to me. Even though you call me Kiddo, I like how you treat me just like one of the guys. You're very kind, and I am glad I met you.

I'm sorry this has happened to you, and coffee on Sunday mornings won't be the same when you can't be there. I will look forward to you being back with us.

You mean a lot to me, and I hope you get better very quickly.

Corey

I read it three times. It made me all misty-eyed.

"Thanks, kiddo."

Corey was sitting on the edge of my bed. I wanted to reach out to him, but after a split second, I realized I had to use the other arm. Everyone noticed my struggle. Corey watched, and I could tell he was a bit scared for me. So was I.

"The good news is that with therapy, he should regain most of his movement," Don said. "Plus, it is his left side, so we feel he should be able to drive. Not right away, but eventually."

"It was a good thing we got here quickly," I said.

"I saw him looking at his arm," Don said. "When I asked, I could tell by the way he answered what was happening. It ... it wasn't my ... first time in this situation."

We visited for about fifteen more minutes. Corey had turned 16, and they were on their way for him to take his driver's exam. I smiled every time I saw Cooper wither over the thought of his son driving. When it was time to say goodbye, Corey asked, "Is it okay to give you a hug?"

"That's what they prescribe the most," I winked.

Corey hugged me. I wanted to squeeze him so hard, but I couldn't. I wrapped one arm around him and squeezed him the best I could. I whispered in his ear: "I loved the card, kiddo. You're kind of amazing." He didn't say anything in response.

Both Cooper and Larry kissed me on the cheek. They did the same to Don before saying goodbye.

"They're good people," I said, once they were out in the hall.

"Yes, they are."

—

Mitchell and L.B. came into the room. They brought flowers too. Don commented on how pretty they were. "These flowers are stunning. Truly exquisite."

Our visit was a good one. They tried not to react to the difference in my speech, but I quickly learned to recognize when someone was trying not to react. It was noticeable. I was enjoying the visit, but then Mitch said something he never had.

"Have I ever told you I love you, Emory?"

I looked at him intently and smiled.

"Maybe not in those words, but perhaps in your actions each Sunday."

"I'm sorry I have never told you that. And you, Don. Please do know that I love you both."

We both thanked him. His comment made me think of my own feelings for Mitchell. I held his hand tightly.

"You know, Mitch, when Cooper and I started having coffee, he was wrestling with ..."

"I know." Mitchell saved me from saying out loud about his cheating on Cooper.

"Cooper was struggling and-" I continued.

"And thank you for being there for him."

"My point is my first impression — without even meeting you — was that I didn't like you. And you two tried to work it out. I met you and thought you were nice enough. But ... and I hope you won't take this the wrong way ... when Cooper and Laramie got together, I felt bad for you."

"It's what I deserved," Mitch softly said.

"But I learned to like you enough. And since you returned to our group this year, I've learned to like you for the good person you are. So please know that I love you too. You are a part of what is now my family."

Mitch managed a smile. He leaned down to kiss my forehead. Even though my true relatives were gone, I did have a family. It was nice that they were showing up to see me.

I saw Brad duck his head into the doorway.

"Hey you! Get in here," I called out. He hugged Mitch and said hello to L.B.

"Cooper told me you requested a cinnamon roll, so ... voila!" Brad revealed a to-go container. "I apologize that it isn't hot."

"I'll take it. But more importantly, I'll take a hug."

After I said that, I realized Brad and I didn't regularly hug. Hopefully it didn't come off as strange.

He didn't hesitate. He squeezed the daylights out of me.

"That was better than three cinnamon rolls," I said.

"You're a sweet man, Emory Pike."

Brad gave Don a hug next.

"Thanks for stopping in," my partner said.

"There is a card in the bag too," Brad noted.

He told me about the shift after Mitch and L.B. left. He shared Corey's report of his driver's test. I wondered how long it would be until I could get around and be back at Joe on Sunday mornings. I was still scared about the future, but I was a tiny bit less scared than I was the day before.

"I sound kind of different, don't I?

"Yes, but that's not a surprise. This whole thing happened to an aunt when I was young, and she made a full recovery — or at least what I could tell."

"I'm sure there will be some long-term effects, but the doctors seem optimistic."

Brad sat on the edge of my bed. The entire time he held my hand. I didn't think he even realized he was doing it, but he did.

"How long will you have to stay here?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. They expect a few more days at least. It's annoying."

"Just behave," he said. "Do what they tell you."

"I am. Thankfully, Don brings me my paper every day. It's a little harder to read, but once he sets it up in front of me, I can still turn the pages. One arm is good for something at least."

"The owner said when you get back, he will bring cinnamon rolls for the whole table."

"He doesn't even know me."

"He knows the regular customers. He might not know you all by name, but he knows who has supported Joe all these years."

"I can't wait to get back," I softly said.

"You will." Brad knew I was trying to be brave, but I could tell by the knowing look in his eyes, he could tell that I was scared. He squeezed my hand again. "You will."

He kissed me on the cheek as he prepared to say goodbye.

After he left, Don went down the hall to see if he could have the pastry warmed. He left Brad's card in front of me so that I could look at it, now that he had torn open the envelope. It was tucked back in the envelope. I tried to pull it out with one hand, but it didn't want to slip from its enclosure. Even though I had slightly been able to make my left arm budge, I couldn't get my hand to it. I grabbed the enclosed paper and shook it trying to get the envelope off. My fingers dug inside for a moment, but I set it down, allowing myself to wait for Don to return.

I looked through all the cards I had been given. I was alone. For some reason, I started to cry. I didn't know why I was crying.

Don returned and was immediately alarmed. "What is it? What happened?"

"Nothing. Fuck! I had a stroke, that's what happened! I'm scared, Don."

"I'm here, baby. I'm here."

I looked at him. I smiled, but the tears didn't stop. "I love you more than you can possibly ever know."

"I do know. You tell me all the time. What can I do for you?"

"Feel free to stick your head under the blanket and give me a blow job. I'm sure no one will notice."

Don glared at me, but we both smiled, which made both of us feel better.

"Can you remove Brad's card for me, please?"

Don nodded, and I could tell he regretted reinserting it into the envelope. It was if the two of us almost had to think through things twice to accomplish anything.

What if we could never have sex again?
What if he had to dawdle on me for months? Years!
What if this was the last straw to make him feel he could do better?
What if he didn't want to remain faithful?
What if I was now a burden?
What if we could never have sex again?

"I miss being naked with you," I gently said.

"Honey, it has only been a few days."

"Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I imagined you crawling into this bed with me."

"I'm afraid I would overwhelm the small contraption."

I reached out the good hand. He grabbed it.

"What if I don't get better?"

"You will. I promise. And I will be here for every step."

—

The orderly helped me into a wheelchair.

"Well, after twelve days, you finally are able to go home," the head nurse said. "I'm glad you are improving, Mr. Pike."

"Thank you for all the care your team has done for him," Don said.

"He's been delightful."

"That's a switch. I've surprised myself. You didn't see the real me."

Everyone chuckled.

"Oh, get out of here, you. And keep up all your physical therapy. I don't want to see you in here for ... well, never. You're going to be fine."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Don had my belongings. I had managed to get into some sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a little effort. The orderly wheeled me down the hall after Don left to pull up the car.

Outside, both the orderly and Don helped me transfer to the car seat. Once I lifted my left leg and got it in, the right side moved in fine. Don handled the seat belt for me.

Damn, I hated feeling helpless. At least I felt I had improved — a little — in the past week. And I was going home. Well, to Don's home.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Don asked, "Are you excited to be released?"

"Definitely. I mean, having the doctors' care and all was ... reassuring, I guess, but I like being able to be in our own place."

Own place. It was Don's place, not ours. But I felt at home there. Being limited as I was for a while, I wasn't sure when I would see my own house. Eventually.

During the drive, the two of us just made casual chit chat about the view out the windshield. As we talked, even I could still feel the slur in my speech. It made me not want to talk, but I didn't want the stroke to change me. Of course, it undoubtably did, but I wanted to be strong for Don.

We pulled into his driveway, and he told me to wait until he unlocked the front door. He returned with a walker.

"I purchased a wheelchair too. Would you prefer I get that?"

"No. My PT wants me to try to walk when I'm up to it."

"And you feel strong enough to do so?"

"Yeah."

Getting my legs out of the car and getting me to stand with the walker was almost as challenging as folding a fitted sheet. It was not a long distance to his door, but there was one step. We paused. He helped me lift the walker, but I felt I could have easily done it on my own. He held me as I lifted my weight up the one step.

God! ONE step!! I took a deep breath. I tried not to be overwhelmed by how different my life was.

"Do you want to go to the couch, or would you prefer to go to the kitchen? Are you hungry?"

"I think I'll wait about an hour."

"I made a pot of tortilla soup last night. How does that sound?"

"Delicious. I like your soup."

We sat at the kitchen table, and conversation stopped. He reached for my hand and held it. I knew he didn't know what to say.

"Share with me what's on your mind," he started.

"God. I have no idea where to begin." I paused. "First, thank you for ... everything. I'm sorry this happened and upended your life."

"I'm sorry it happened too, but not for me. I hate for anything bad to happen to you. Please know that I am ALWAYS here. I am here for you."

"Thank you, but I don't want your life to stop in the process. If I become a burden, then I'll get depressed."

"Taking care of each other isn't a burden. It's what people in love do. In sickness and in health."

"We've never said those vows."

"But both of us feel them. Anyway, I have a wheelchair, walker and cane — whatever you feel like for each day. I've checked on your house three times. I have your mail here. I have the fridge stocked with beer. Is there anything else you need?"

"Today's paper?" I said sheepishly.

"I have it too. I picked it up on the way to the hospital. You have two weeks' worth of mail to catch up on."

"Which I will do."

The newspaper would keep me occupied for a short time, but what would I do to occupy myself every day? Lying in bed all day sounded like punishment even though much of America would love to do just that.

Over soup, Don stated that he learned how to do Door Dash and that we would use it for dinner. He had signed up for two streaming services so that we would have things to watch. There was a kindness to him in all his caretaking intentions that made me love him even more.

Which swarmed me with doubt again.

I had been so worried about being blah, but now I was a complete imposition. But I was not going to let him regret falling for me. I was going to rock physical therapy and made a commitment to be a loving presence.

In the middle of the afternoon, we sat on the couch to watch a movie. He reached for my hand (my good hand), and we interlocked fingers.

"Have I told you, `Thank you for everything'?"

"Many times," Don replied, looking at the remote.

"Have I told you, `I love you'?"

"Many times."

"Have I told you how lucky you make me feel?"

Don turned to me. "And yet, I still feel the lucky one."

We kissed. Our bodies leaned into each other during the movie. We had chosen American Fiction to watch. Both of us found it thought-provoking.

Before bed, I found out many things:

·         Door Dash was convenient.

·         I never thought wiping my own ass would be an undertaking.

·         How much friction there is in carpeting.

·         How much one could desperately long to type with both hands.

·         How helpful it was when your food didn't need to be cut.

·         How incredible it was to have someone unconditionally love you.

I felt good about still being able to brush my teeth, but I was worried about my balance. My left hand was far from being where it needed to be, but there was still enough strength there to help me hold the counter.

Grabbing the walker, I moved back to the bedroom. Don had lounge pants to sleep in folded neatly in the chair next to the bed. I surprised myself at how easily I slipped into them. Or maybe just accomplishing menial tasks seemed like victories.

Don slipped into the sheets just wearing boxer shorts.

With effort, I turned to lie on my left side so that I could look at him.

"Is everything okay? Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine, babe," I said. "But thank you."

But I wasn't.

I wanted to hug him and maul him and for the two of us to become a tumbleweed of arms and legs and mouths and dicks rolling around the bed.

My good arm touched his chest.

"God, it feels so good to touch you ... next to me."

"I've missed it too," he softly said.

We kissed. We kissed for several minutes. And although that was as far as we could take it, I was wonderfully happy to do only that.

—

"You're sure you will be fine?" Don asked.

"Yes! Yes! Please. Go to your meeting. I'm fine," I grouched.

"Call me if you need anything."

I shooed him away, but not until he gave me a kiss goodbye.

"Enjoy yourself."

As the door shut, I realized how much Don had cut himself off from all his meetings and committees — the committees that made him interesting and me so ordinary for not being involved in society.

I sat down with a beer and decided to check my email. After retirement, I didn't have nearly as much email to deal with. My family was gone. Curiously, after the stroke, more people began checking on me. It was nice, but it also made me feel like I had allowed the few people I still considered friends to drift a bit.

Mitchell and L.B. checked on me. It was surprisingly a long email, which is probably why they didn't text. I was glad Mitch had found the person he was supposed to find. The two of them seemed to be getting along great.

I paid my credit card bill. It was amazing how low it could be when you didn't actually get out of the house. Although I knew I'd have hospital bills in due time, which would be a pain in the ass.

The latest issue of Rolling Stone kept me occupied for a little while, although I admitted I didn't know a lot of the people in music covered in articles. I liked Hozier's new song. Other articles kept my attention for a little while.

My beer was long gone, but now I had a sweet tooth craving.

Slowly, I made my way to the kitchen. Peering into the freezer, Don was great to have three different flavors of ice cream. He had cookies and cream, my favorite. He really had thought of everything. Once the carton had been put back away and the scoop rinsed, I picked up the bowl in both hands. I figured I could make it to the kitchen table.

Sadly, the legs were fine, but my left hand lost its grip on the bowl. It tilted and one scoop fell to the floor. "Damn!" Then the whole bowl became loose and crashed to the floor. It broke into a few pieces.

"Fuck."

I stared at everything splattered.

"Fuck."

Broken pieces. The floor. Splattered dairy. Bending down. Paper towels. I didn't realize tears had started until one went down my cheek. I was momentarily overwhelmed.

My phone was on the kitchen table next to the laptop.

I whimpered and silently cried as I worked my way over to it.

"Hi, Emory. How are you feeling?" Cooper answered.

"I – I – I need help," I meekly said.

"What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Don's at a committee meeting. I – I don't want him to have to leave."

"Are you okay??"

"Yeah. I just broke something, and – and – and I don't think I can clean it up."

I knew Cooper could tell I was crying. Damn it. I hated feeling weak and helpless.

"Are you at Don's? We'll be right there."

"Thanks."

I hung up and buried my face in my hands. I knew things would get better, but life seemed to be slapping me in the face to remind me it would take time.

"FUCK!" I grabbed a napkin from the table and dried my eyes and blew my nose.

Ten minutes later, I was calling out "Come in" to the door.

Larry and Cooper came in and saw me sitting at the table. The ice cream had melted further, so the mess looked even worse.

Cooper moved over to me to give me a hug. "You're fine?"

"Just embarrassed. Who would have thought dipping a bowl of ice cream could turn into a calamity?"

Larry had the pieces picked up and placed in the trash. "Do you have a mop?"

"Don keeps it in laundry closet." I gestured in the direction.

Cooper took a large piece of broken bowl and tried to scoop up the ice cream that was still partially solid. He then grabbed paper towels and corralled the spill.

Most of the mess was wiped up, but a mop was certainly in order. Larry returned and soaked the mop in the sink. Cooper had the dustpan and tried to wipe up any shattered fragments. Once Larry had mopped, the kitchen looked in perfect order.

"Thank you, guys. I'm truly embarrassed."

Larry leaned over and hugged me from behind. "Don't be. We are glad to help. Always."

"If you'd like ... I can dip you another bowl ...?" Cooper sheepishly offered.

"If you join me."

"Sure."

"I'm fine. I grabbed something sweet after dinner," his partner said.

"There's beer in the fridge," I said.

Larry hesitated for a second and then looked at Cooper.

"Have one," Cooper said.

Immediately, Larry said, "I'm good."

I was always impressed how he just stopped drinking around Cooper once the two paired up.

Cooper took out two bowls and began dipping the reason for my frustration. Larry looked into the refrigerator to find an alternative. He pulled out a Sprite.

The three of us sat around the table. It reminded me of Sunday mornings at Joe. Hopefully, I could return soon. Cooper shared his woes of Corey being able to drive. Larry talked about the store some. Things seemed normal.

When Don returned an hour later, he asked about my night. I lied about Cooper and Larry just dropping by. I confessed to dropping and breaking a bowl, which didn't bother him. He knew I hadn't pulled out the Christmas china.

Once we prepared for bed, I entered the sheets stripped naked. He hadn't noticed. Don climbed in wearing his boxers.

Only the lamp on his nightstand was on.

With effort, I turned to face him. He turned to me, and we kissed.

"I'd like to talk about something."

His face showed concern. "What is it?"

"As you know, the doctors told me it might be a while before I am up to ... performing sexually, and-"

"I understand. I get that. I can be patient."

"I don't want you to."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I don't want you to miss out."

"You're not asking me to sleep around, are you?"

"Hell, no."

We both smiled.

"But ... I don't want you to just have to GIVE UP on ... all that ... and I don't want you to have to sneak around and masturbate to porn while I'm taking a nap or something."

"You know I don't watch porn."

"Well, we HAD a good sex life. But ... while that is on hold, you might feel that is an outlet and ... what I'm saying — terribly! — is I don't want you to stop on my account. In fact, ... I want to watch."

"Watch??"

"Yeah. Watch. Take care of yourself. I will find pleasure in just watching."

"And that wouldn't be like salt in the wound that you can't ... your body isn't ready?"

"I'd feel worse if I brought things to a standstill. Truly, Don. I'd like you to enjoy ... being a man."

My partner was silent.

"I don't know, Em. I – I don't know how I would feel about being ... a – a show."

"Not a show. You're still my lover, my partner. I can try to touch you." I kissed him. "Desire you." I kissed him again. "Appreciate you."

"What do you want me to do?" he quietly asked.

"Start by moving closer to me."

Don did. I tried to maintain my balance on my side. It wasn't necessarily easy, but I could do that. I lifted my hand to touch the hair on his chest. I teased it between my fingers. Then I followed it down to his crotch. As I let the back of my finger graze against his penis, I could feel it start to move. It lengthened. It stiffened.

"That's it," I breathed, resting my forehead on his shoulder.

As his erection grew, I gently touched his balls.

"Em. Yeah. I have missed you touching me."

"I can't do it the way I want, but I have missed feeling you. All of you."

Sexually, I knew my body wasn't ready. I knew it would take time, but I was hopeful one day to really engage with Don. But in that second, I just wanted Don to feel like himself. He had been such a caregiver for me. I just wanted him to feel like a man for a little bit.

"Touch your cock," I whispered.

He reached down to hold his hard flesh like I couldn't.

"Stroke it," I softly said.

He did.

I would have killed for Pedro to come alive, but I knew the sex I used to crave was way away. But that didn't stop me from loving Don. Even if my body wasn't a cyclone of testosterone, I still longed to see Don pleasure himself. Enjoy being a man. Feel the gratifying sensations of his own anatomy.

I teased his chest hair again. "That's it. You're hot. I love watching you."

I didn't want Don to feel awkward, but he seemed to be going along with my wishes. He stroked his cock in a steady rhythm. His infuriatingly outstanding erections were still alive and well.

We spoke in breaths.

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Yeah," he returned.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Don."

"Emory."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

I rubbed his chest as he masturbated next to me. I still maintained my balance, but I wouldn't have been able to without his body offering the bit of support that made it possible.

"You're so sexy, baby," I said.

"I love feeling you next to me," he said.

Don stroked harder. I groped his chest harder. I wished it was possible just for my own dick to get harder. But our moment was tender and male and erotic.

I was engaged watching him jerk his cock. He seemed to be okay doing it for me.

"I love watching you, babe."

"I love you being next to me," he responded.

"Don't stop. You're so hot."

He kept stroking his manhood for my pleasure, but hopefully for his own gratification as well.

"Yeah, babe. Keep going. Don't stop. I love watching you jerk off. You're so hot."

"Emory..."

"Keep going."

He attacked his cock as he moaned louder.

I watched.

He stroked.

I watched.

He moaned.

I watched.

He yanked.

I watched.

He groaned.

I watched.

He came.

Don was loud as cum covered his navel. His load and his erections and his cock always impressed me. I was so envious of his 73-year-old anatomy. Pedro was jealous too.

Don moved his head to kiss me. He held the back of my neck and pulled me into a forceful kiss. I lost my balance and fell into him. My hand wiped through his cum. We were both glad. My fingers wrapped around his dick. We were both glad.

Then he gently motioned me on my back.

Don exited the bed to get a wet cloth. After he took care of cleaning his own body, he walked back to me to wipe my hand and any other part of me that needed it.

"I love you, Emory," he said before kissing me. I could feel his fingers playfully fiddle with my own uninvolved penis.

"I love you, too, Don. Thank you for doing that for me. I know you will be patient — because you are so un-fucking-believable. But please know, I want you to be sexual. If I can do anything to help, I will. But you've been here for me. Whatever I can do, I want to be here for you."

We had a forceful kiss, then Don turned out the light.

He spooned into me so that I could hold him with my good arm. It felt wonderful.

—

"So? How was physical therapy?" Don asked, as he put my folded walker in the back seat.

"Good, I guess. I'm slowly feeling things come back. If it improves at this rate, I think I can be able to walk short distances without anything. I'm not sure if that will be one week, two weeks or if I'm just dreaming, but ... each day is better."

"I'm so glad to hear that." He pulled out onto the main road. "Think you might be up to coffee at 9 on Sunday?"

"Oh." I hesitated. "I don't know."

"You've been making it around the house fairly well."

"Yeah, but from parking the car and getting inside ... that's a little longer."

"We have the wheelchair."

"NO!"

Don looked at me in alarm.

"I mean ... no, I'd prefer not to do that."

"There's something you're not telling me. Did something happen at therapy?"

"Nooo..." I needed to stop being brave and be honest. "Don, I ... I don't want people to see me having to use a walker. I – I feel weird about it."

"Why? Cooper and Larry have stopped by the house already."

"That was just a few steps. Corey hasn't seen me. And watch this be the weekend that Mitchell's hunky bartender boyfriend makes an appearance."

"Emory, please. These people care about you. You're not afraid they are going to judge you, are you?"

"No. Not that. I ..." I suddenly felt 105. "I don't want to be pitied."

"They know you had a stroke, baby. They came to see you in the hospital."

"I know, I know. There's ... there's something about being seen that bothers me."

"Tell me more. Share."

"I've always felt independent. Now, I don't feel that way."

"But you are making progress."

"Slowly. Yeah." I sighed. "It's just my ego."

Don didn't say anything further. He didn't try to debate my feelings nor try to perk them up. The silence let me simmer in the juices of my own frailties — not physical ones but mental ones. The people in the Sunday group at Joe WERE my friends; why would I hide? I'd love nothing more than to visit with them. The initial attention I received when the stroke first happened was welcome. Now, three weeks later ... I just want to be someone different. In reality, I wanted to be how I was.

But I'm not.

Over dinner, Don had little to say. It was not like him. He prepared a nice salad and a sweet-and-sour Asian stir-fry.

"Are you upset with me?" I finally asked.

"Of course not, Emory. Why would you think so?"

No babe, no darling, no honey. Emory.

"You seem quiet."

"I suppose I'm lost in my own thoughts. It's personal."

"Anything I can do?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Okay."

We ate in silence for a few more minutes.

"Are you sure you don't want to share? I'm here for you, babe."

"I realize that. It's not important. I'm not important."

"Fuck that. Like hell you aren't!"

"No. The important thing is to make sure you're taken care of."

"Don! What is it? Tell me."

"I'm conflicted."

"How so?"

"I'm wrestling with something, and I don't have a right to feel the way I do."

"I don't follow."

"I've been telling myself what I would do if I were in your shoes, and — well, I'm NOT in your shoes. I have no way of knowing how you feel and what you are going through. And, frankly, I am disappointed in myself."

I reached for his hand. "You couldn't be more wonderful to me."

"Thank you," he flatly said, but didn't seem to be in a good mood.

We put the dishes away. Before we moved to the living room, I cornered him by the sink. "So, what WOULD you do if you were me?"

"Never mind me."

"I'm minding. Tell me."

"It's not fair."

I leaned forward to hold him. He put his arms around me too.

"I don't like myself for thinking what I did, but ... I was saying if I were you, I would feel like getting back out to my friends and visiting with them. They would be an uplift to my outlook. But I don't know what it is like to be in your shoes. I'm sure I oversimplified your situation. I didn't validate how you felt about it, and ... and I don't like myself very much for it."

"What can I do to make you feel better?"

"It's not about me," he whined.

"It is to me. What can I do?"

"It's too hard. For you, at least."

"What?"

"I'd like to see you ... out. I realize you are healing. I do. I realize you have to regain your strength. But ... I just wish you could see more than just my house."

"Like ...?"

"Anything. I realize getting around takes some effort, but ... I don't know. Say, we go out for a drink. Just one. We could go see Mitch's new hunky boyfriend at The Black Stallion."

I thought about what he said. I hated the thought of using a walker to get into a bar. I would look old and weak and frail. Or perhaps I would look like someone who wasn't giving up.

"Okay."

"Are you sure?"

"As I said, I was only being held back by my ego."

"I think you're very strong." He kissed me. "I know it is easy to get tired, so ... if you're sure, why don't we just go get one drink. Just to be out among people."

"I guess." I looked down at what I was wearing. A faded 1970s "Welcome to My Nightmare" Alice Cooper T-shirt probably wasn't the best option. "Let me get a nicer shirt to put on."

I really didn't want to take my walker into a public place. However, perhaps Don was right. Maybe being among people would be a good thing. It served no purpose to be a recluse.

When I entered the living room in a nice, long-sleeved, navy-blue shirt, Don told me I looked great. At least it wasn't a bright color that would make me stand out.

As we drove, the last glimmer of sunset had faded. "We turn our clocks back soon. It will get darker even more quickly," Don said, making simple conversation.

"Yeah. I've never liked it getting darker earlier. At least Christmas lights start appearing a couple weeks after that. That's always a little bit cheerier."

When we arrived, it was the last few minutes of happy hour, which ended at 7. It was not crowded at that time, and there were two handicapped parking spots open. It was convenient to have that placard to hang.

Don came around to my door. I had learned the many expressions of my partner. He was having anxiety. He was second-guessing if pushing me to do this was a good idea. With the walker placed in front of me, I stood and took a few steps. The asphalt was not smooth. The challenge was not insurmountable, but the potholes and cracks in the surface weren't a breeze either.

My eyes focused on the door. It was maybe twenty feet away, but it seemed like a hundred. Don stayed at my side.

I was tired quickly, but I also felt victorious for making it to the door. Don opened it for me.

Once inside, the door closed. I saw a few heads turn my way.

Great.

But this was the whole purpose. To be out. To not let my circumstances diminish my life.

People cleared a wide enough pathway for me. Then I realized — and I had never noticed it before — but the main bar was one step up on a wooden deck.

Carter saw me. His reaction was one of shock, elation and surprise. He darted from the inside of the bar to come toward me.

"Hi!" he said with a smile. "It's nice to see you, Emory."

He stood at my other side. Both he and Don were at the ready when I lifted the walker up the step. Getting my balance, my good leg made the step. With effort, I pulled my body up. No one ever thinks that they will have to teach themselves how to walk again. It was the biggest surprise of my entire medical ordeal. And I hated it, more for having to do it than the actual act of relearning the process. Two weeks ago, I would have had to physically pull my leg up. But I was able to lift it the few inches to make the step. I felt like Superman. After regaining my balance, I scanned the bar. There were two open seats on the other side. I was hoping for something available on the side closest to where we were. But the floor was smooth, and I persevered.

Once we were seated at the bar, I heard "Thank God" under Don's breath. He didn't expect me to hear it, but I did.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I am. I think my PT would be very proud of me."

"Well, I am. And ... I'm sorry for asking you to do this. It wasn't right."

"I agreed to it. If I felt I couldn't, then I wouldn't have agreed. I need to do more than just a few feet at the house."

"What can I get you guys?" Carter asked. "It's on me."

"I'll just take a tall draft," I said.

"Blue Moon or Mic Light?"

"Mic Light is fine."

"I'll have a glass of Chardonnay," my partner said.

When Carter returned with our beverages, he paused a moment as if to talk.

"Thank you, uh ... do you prefer we call you Carter or L.B. here?" Don asked.

"Off work, I always prefer L.B., but here I'm Carter, so ... either is fine, but Carter is a better fit at work."

We nodded.

Carter looked at me directly. "How are you doing?" he earnestly said. "Mitchell has missed you on Sunday mornings."

"I'm thinking since I came in here, I should be able to do this next Sunday." I was tired. I could hear my speech be a little off.

Carter reached for my wrist and held it.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you since the hospital."

"Don't be. We've only visited a few times this year. It's not like you know me extremely well, but ... that's nice of you to say. That means something to me."

"I know my schedule is super all-over-the-place, but if there is anything I can do..."

"Thanks, Carter."

He let go of my arm. It was the one affected by the stroke. I realized I analyzed every touch, every movement. I wondered when I would stop doing that. But in this instance, his touch felt ... I felt it. In the hospital room, I'm not sure it would have been the same. At least I could move it now. Slowly. A little. My fingers could reach into the bowl of pretzels. That seemed like an accomplishment.

As I slowly moved them to my mouth, I caught glimpses of some men looking.

"People are staring," I said to Don. "They are feeling sorry for me."

"No, they are not."

"I look weak."

"If I may disagree..." the man next to me said.

I turned to him.

"I actually think you look strong," he said.

I stared at him. He extended his hand. Thankfully, my right hand was good to shake hands.

"I'm Lorenzo."

"Emory."

I nodded and noticed he was drinking whisky over ice. Of all the people in the bar, he was the most dressed up. He had on slacks and a dress shirt. His top button was undone and tie loosened, but he still looked dressy.

"People may have noticed the walker, but that doesn't mean you automatically think weak. The fact that you don't succumb to it, that's the sign of a champion."

"Well, I did have a stroke a little over three weeks ago. But each day is a little better. That walk from the car is actually the longest distance I've done yet."

"Good for you," Lorenzo said.

"Good for you," echoed Carter and Layton behind the bar.

I looked at Don. He seemed slightly relieved. Had I fallen, he never would have forgiven himself.

It was a weeknight, so the crowd was light. Don and I hadn't been to a club in months. I remembered him dancing with Larry earlier in the year. We had a good time that night. Cooper and Larry met my partner that night. So much had transpired this year. Don and I are in a committed relationship. Life seemed to be passing by so quickly. At our age, was that a good thing?

Carter refilled the pretzels.

"How's the physical therapy going?" he asked.

"It's only been a little while, but I like to think I'm improving. The doctors said it would be gradual, but there are little things that give me optimistic hope."

"That's wonderful."

"So, how are things with you and Mitch? You two have been a couple almost as long as Don and me."

"I'm positively the happiest I have ever been."

"I get that from him on Sunday mornings. He just glows when he talks about you two."

"What does he say?"

"Oh. Not necessarily anything specific. It's the way he says "L.B." in conversation, as if you hung the moon. It's so clear that you two are meant for each other."

Carter sighed. "Yeah. I feel that too. But our schedules are so opposite. I worry that at some point that will take its toll."

"Do you enjoy your time together?" Don asked.

"Incredibly."

"Then enjoy that. Let life play out as it will. You two are happy. Embrace what you have."

Lorenzo groaned, and then he realized he had caused everyone to look. "Layton, can I have another. Make it a Crown and Coke this time."

"Coming up," Layton said. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," he said flatly.

"You don't sound convincing, Lorenzo," I said.

"Don't mind me. I don't matter," he softly said.

"Nonsense," barked Don. "Every person matters."

Lorenzo motioned his head to the bartenders. "They know."

"Oh. We won't pry," my partner said.

Carter went to the other end of the bar. Layton served a customer across from us.

Lorenzo turned to me. "It's ... it's the fate I'm dealt. I can't come out at work. I think it would damage my job."

"They can't legally do that," I said.

"No. It can just become difficult. I'm with the school system and am on the city council."

"Again, nothing illegal."

"No, but people can stir things up ... make life difficult. Particularly with children involved."

"We have a friend, Mike, who is a teacher. He's married to a man."

"These are elementary kids. Is your friend a high school teacher?"

"Yes. I believe so."

"Maybe this is all my fault. I feel I've put up walls. I had my chance with Mitch before Carter. We were attracted to each other."

"REALLY?" I remarked at the revelation.

"Yeah. Mitch asked me out, but I – I – I wouldn't go out in public. I was afraid to be seen with another man on a date. Like I said, my fault. I liked Mitch too. It's a shame we never gave ourselves a chance."

"Are you out to anyone?" Don asked.

"Nope."

"I'm sorry. It's none of our business. If I may say so, you are quite a handsome man. Some lucky young man would be happy to go out with you."

"Young. Ha. I'm 45. I've let my life go by not allowing myself to really be in love. I can't blame anyone but myself though."

"Each person in their own time," I said.

"Right. I come here to be among gay men, but it's my only connection to the real me. Well, that and an occasional app hookup." Lorenzo took a sip of his new cocktail. "Hearing how happy Carter and Mitch are together is heartwarming to a point, but also a knife in my heart. I see you two, who are so devoted to each other ... trust me, I'm envious."

"Of us?" I spoke.

"Totally. Embrace what you have."

Don and I smiled at each other. I leaned over to give him a peck on the lips.

I immediately felt sad for Lorenzo, but I didn't pity him. As he said, his life was a result of his own choices. He was entitled to make the decisions he made, but I didn't think they were for the best. I admitted who I was by the end of high school — and that was the 1970s. Not everyone liked it — certainly not my family — but nothing was ever too insurmountable. Gene and I were always accepted. Times had changed. It's a shame Lorenzo felt the way he did.

Don and I had finished our drinks. We agreed it was time to go. Carter had mentioned the drinks were on the house, but we still left a ten on the counter.

Carter reached for my hands and held them. "It was nice to see you. Please, if I can ever do anything..."

"Thank you," I smiled.

We waved to Layton.

"It was nice to meet you, Lorenzo," I said, as I awkwardly got off my stool.

"Same here, Emory. Good luck on the recovery."

There were more people in the club now. Getting around the bar took a little more effort. And I was tired. But I thought I could make it.

When we got to the door, I asked if I could sit for a moment.

"Of course," said Don. "I'll pull the car right up to the door."

"I'll keep him company," a young Cowboy stud said.

"Thank you, sir," Don said.

A minute later, I was moving my legs into the front seat of Don's car. He placed my walker into the back seat.

"I'm sorry I nudged you to do that. It wasn't my place," my partner said.

"It was good for me though."

"You enjoyed it?"

"I liked being among people."

"Like that Lorenzo."

"In different ways, but ... yeah. I just enjoyed seeing people I knew. Granted, I don't know Carter extremely well, but-"

"He's so kind."

"He sure is. I'm happy for him and Mitch."

"And I'm a bit sad for Lorenzo," Don said. "He's not making his life easy."

"No. But in comparison, I need to appreciate things each day."

"Count your blessings?"

"Yeah. That kind of thing."

And I did.

—

The hugs from Brad, Mitch, Cooper and Larry were therapeutic. The fact that Corey was at coffee at 9 made the effort worthwhile. As I counted blessings, I was grateful for him in my life. I loved that kid.

They showed concern and asked questions, but we talked about other things too, which gave my life an aura of normalcy for an hour. One of my triumphs I could share was that I was able to wash my hair and shower on my own that morning. Small victories. Corey hung on every detail of my recovery.

Each day had blessings if I attempted to find them. Not every day had improvements, but the frustrations weren't any worse. I tried to be optimistic about the positive things I could.

I was happy that when Don felt he needed some sexual attention, he felt comfortable masturbating with me next to him. I enjoyed my gentle touch on his body as he pleasured himself.

One month after the stroke, I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich.

Thirty-five days after the stroke, Don was out of the house for half a day — and I was fine. I had enough independence that I didn't feel helpless. Granted, a long nap was in there.

Forty days after the stroke, I asked Don if we could sit cross-legged in bed. We faced each other and held each other naked. My right arm easily could reach down and stroke Don enough to where I got him off. I felt elated at my participation in what our sex life had become during my recovery. I really liked the position.

In the middle of the night, I woke needing to pee, but I realized I was erect. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the bathroom, Pedro fell asleep again. But feeling hard, even momentarily, felt good.

Forty-five days after the stroke, I didn't use the walker around the house at all. All short trips were accomplished with small steps.

Fifty days after the stroke, Don fucked me. We hadn't been concerned with fucking since the stroke, and Don let me take the lead on the heavier sex decisions. I wanted to feel him inside me though. It wasn't difficult for me to lie there in a heap. He carefully penetrated me from behind. I enjoyed it. He loved it.

Fifty-five days after my stroke, I browned some ground beef and was able to hold both the skillet and the lid to drain the grease.

Sixty days after the stroke, Don told me that my speech had returned to normal — for the most part. I could tell there were certain times when it was still affected. My use of the walker had almost come to an end. Every now and then, I tried the cane if I felt I needed a little more balance. My physical therapist was thrilled with my progress.

Sixty-five days after the stroke, I wanted to try something. I took a few pills, and I was excited that my body responded. Pedro all but sounded a bugle in his triumphant charge.

"Oh my. This is wonderful to see, my darling," Don said.

"I have ideas. Requests, actually."

"Do tell."

I wasn't sure how easily I could situate my body, but I got almost there by myself. I wanted to straddle Don. He helped my left leg bend properly. By holding the headboard, I could balance my body and thrust my cock into his mouth. His waiting mouth. His moaning, waiting mouth.

I groaned loudly as I felt his lips close around my dick. I loved feeling hard. I loved the feeling of sexual stimulation. I loved taking our sex life closer to what it used to be. I didn't hold back.

Don's hands helped my ass move forward, thrusting in and out of his mouth.

For several minutes, my cock was sucked.

But I needed more. My body was craving more — and that was a good thing. I lifted off him enough to where he could reach for the lube. He coated his erection, and I slowly lowered down on it. I didn't have the physical skill to ride his cock like I used to, but I squirmed and gyrated on it, which still pleasured my partner. He aided in the act by thrusting his manhood up into me as well. We moaned and cussed and growled and called each other every term of endearment we could think of. The word fuck — in a positive way — was thrown around continuously. And we did. I took one hand off the headboard to reach down and feel the small amount of gray hair on his chest. I tugged at it as he fucked me.

Don was getting close. He reached for my hard-on and felt the rigidity that was still a product of the pills. He had a request next. He helped me change positions. Soon, I was on my back. He coated my dick with clear slickness and gently impaled himself on my shaft. He rode me. We fucked.

We had been going at it long enough that it only took a few minutes. I told him I was about to come, but he did first. The first shot of cum hit my neck; the remaining pulses of male liquid landed between my nipples and further down my chest. With all the strength I had left in me, I pushed my erection up inside him. I came. It was glorious. It was my first orgasm in more than two months. In many ways, it was a milestone.

Seventy days after the stroke, we attended Trent's and Mike's Friendsgiving. It was incredible to see everyone. I could eat relatively normally. Both arms were cooperating.

Seventy-five days after the stroke, Don and I enjoyed Thanksgiving with Cooper and Larry. When asked if I was thankful for my recovery, I answered, "I'm more thankful for good friends."

Even though I still couldn't drive, I had fought the fight to be strong. Life was good.

* * * *

Lots of emotions in this chapter. See my take on it at the blog: timothylane414stories.blogspot.com The post is (appropriately) titled "The Stroke."

I enjoy hearing from you: timothylane414@gmail.com

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