Lusty Mr Harold

 

 

Prologue SFW version. Find the NSFW version at https://reamstories.com/krestonbach

The first time Phillip Harold saw Tom Bolden, he noticed the size of him before anything else. He wasn’t just tall, the man was enormous. 

Tom seemed to rival any of the statues to fallen heroes around the park where the basement of the community center held the Thursday night Sexaholics Anonymous meeting. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead and the folding chairs were arranged in a loose circle. Most of the men there kept their eyes low, hands folded, voices quiet. Tom looked like he belonged somewhere else entirely. Seven feet of muscle wrapped in a dark wool coat, shoulders broad enough to block the hallway behind him.

Phillip watched him from across the room while stirring a paper cup of day old coffee. The giant hesitated for a moment, scanning the room with sharp, guarded eyes before taking an empty chair. When he sat down the metal legs of the chair creaked in protest.

When it was Phillip’s turn to speak he did what he always did. He was quick, witty, just self-deprecating enough to keep the room relaxed. The group liked him. People tended to like Phillip Harold once he started talking.

But the big man across the circle was not smiling. He was observing. It seemed as if Mr Phillip Harold had raised his interest. Maybe it was the way he was self-assured despite his height or the apparent confident smile, but he was different.

After the meeting ended the men drifted out in small groups. Phillip was stuffing his hands into his coat pockets when the giant appeared beside him.

“You talk a lot,” Tom said.

His voice was rough, gravelly, the kind of voice that sounded like it had spent years shouting across football fields. Mr Harold turned around, looked up, and up. 

“I’m a lawyer,” he replied lightly. “We get paid by the word, you know.”

For a second the big man studied him like he was trying to decide something. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. Phillip could tell Tom wanted to ask him something, but couldn’t bring himself to say it, so he decided to say it for him. 

“Beer?” Phillip asked.

Tom raised an eyebrow in surprise and relief. “Sure, if you’re buying.”

They ended up at a dim sports bar a few blocks away off of the financial district. The place smelled like moisture and old wood. Tom stopped bothering with pouring from the  pitcher to the beer glass after the second one. He drank from the pitcher as if it was a mug. 

Mr Harold on the other hand talked lively while sipping on his martini. Tom listened to him like he was a puzzle difficult to solve. Slowly the big man began to open up.

Tom had played professional football once. A career cut short by injury and bad decisions. Women, alcohol, a life that spun too fast and too loud. Now he was trying to put something new together. Phillip told him just enough about himself to keep the conversation moving. 

“I am married and have a son. He’s nine.” he shared. 

His career was going well enough to keep him and his small family living comfortably in a suburban track home. The cookie cutter house made him feel like he was blending in and keeping up appearances.

“What about you?” Mr Harold asked. 

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about that.”

“Well, you came to the meeting for a reason. What’s your poison? Chronic masturbator, too many women, too many men?” Mr Harold laughed. 

“Mostly women,” the big man said, avoiding looking him in the eyes. 

“I see. Mostly. Why mostly?”

Tom turned and stared at the short blond man. From his expression, Phillip deduced he was going to have a hard time sharing. He figured he would try sharing first. Maybe that would make him feel more comfortable. 

“I discovered after two years of marriage that as much as I enjoyed women, sex with men was better. Now unfortunately I can’t stop myself. I crave it constantly,” Phillip shared which seemed to work because Tom started sharing too. 

“When I was playing ball in college, I had it all. I couldn’t go anywhere without them throwing themselves at me. I became insatiable, even fooled around with some of the cuckold husbands.” Tom said. 
“Ah, so you have tried sex with a man. How did you like it?”

The hours passed without either of them noticing.

When they left the bar headed for their cars, they stumbled into the quiet lobby of a nearby hotel. The city had gone dark. Phillip laughed at something Tom said and felt the strange electricity of standing next to someone who made him feel so small and vulnerable for the first time in his life.

They didn’t say it but soon, Phillip had paid for a room and they took the elevator upstairs.

What happened behind the hotel room door stayed there, wrapped in gin, beer, curiosity and the kind of reckless honesty that only comes from strangers who know they will never have to see each other again.

Mr Harold walked to the mini-bar, took a little vodka bottle for himself, then lifted a bottle of beer in the air. Tom put up his hand as a sign of approval. Phillip tossed it and the bottle was caught by the man’s hand. With the push of a button, Mr Harold ignited the flat screen and found a music channel. 

Days later he was standing in his living room adjusting his tie while his wife Vivian moved around the kitchen.

“Phillip,” she called. “My friend from the club is coming for dinner tonight. Her husband too. Be polite.”

“I’m always polite,” he said.

The doorbell rang.

Phillip walked over and opened the door.

The world seemed to tilt. Standing on the porch was Tom Bolden in a dark tailored suit, towering exactly as Phillip remembered. Next to him stood a smiling woman holding a bottle of wine.

Tom’s eyes widened just slightly as recognition landed. Behind Phillip, Vivian called from the kitchen. 

“Phillip, are they here?”

Tom Bolden stepped inside the house like a man walking into a surprise he did not yet understand.