The Redemption of River Page 5

  Brent

  Brent sat facing River on the futon, legs crossed, knees touching, his hands holding River’s. They stared into one another’s eyes.

  River’s irises looked a little grayer today, maybe because there was cloud cover outside and the light filtering in from the window was duller. A candle flame reflected in one of those blue-gray eyes.

  Brent took a deep breath, exhaled.

  He was having a hard time concentrating. It should be easier since this was their fourth session, but it was the opposite. Maybe because he knew River better, it was more personal, intimate, looking into his eyes.

  Or maybe it was what River had done last time, the lingam massage. Holy hell.

  No, Brent shouldn’t think about that right now. This moment was not supposed to be about sex. This was supposed to be connecting. Spiritual.

  Brent focused on his breath, exhaled.

  What did he see in River’s eyes? Gentleness. Openness. Calm. Like nothing could disturb him.

  Was River really like that at all? Maybe Brent was projecting. How much could you tell from a person’s eyes, realistically?

  River lightly squeezed Brent’s hands. “Bring your mind back to your breath.”

  Brent blinked and refocused. Yeah, his mind was wandering.

  River’s eyes.

  They seemed to look at him warmly. What did River see when he looked at Brent? A thirty-nine-year-old man who’d lost too much weight, who’d retreated from the world? A boring business guy living alone in a too-big McMansion?

  A lot of people found Brent attractive. Did River?

  What would he do if Brent leaned forward and kissed him?

  The thought caused a wave of warmth through his body. The reaction surprised Brent. He wanted to kiss River?

  Yes. Yes, he did.

  Well, why wouldn’t he? River had sexy lips. They were full and soft and the beard around them was nicely trimmed and silky. He would probably be a good kisser, given the way he was so sensual with massage.

  Probably a great kisser.

  Heat bloomed in Brent’s belly like an opening flower. His dick thickened under his robe. The robe under which he was naked. Not now. Not yet. He looked away from River’s eyes and took a deep breath.

  River seemed to give up on the eye-staring portion of the session. “Are you ready to lie down?”

  He nodded, and as River slipped off the futon, Brent quickly shrugged off his robe and lay down on his stomach.

  Staying in the moment wasn’t any easier in this position. Now his body knew what to expect from the massage and sparked with anticipation even before River touched him. As soon as River began to rub oil into one of Brent’s palms, he shivered, a full-body shake. His dick lengthened against the futon.

  He breathed out slowly and tried to calm the electricity racing through him. He appreciated the newfound energy he’d had lately, but he wanted to get back to that relaxed place right now.

  River took his time working Brent’s arms and shoulders—long, slow, deep strokes and kneading. Brent melted and started to go into his Zen place. But then River carded his fingers up through Brent’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp, and the whoosh of fire was instantaneous. Tingles raced from his scalp down his spine. He couldn’t hold back a little moan.

  As if taking his cue, River changed the tone of the massage. He moved around on the futon, gently parting Brent’s legs until he was kneeling between them, with Brent still on his stomach. He removed the towel. And his own shirt, it sounded like.

  Oh. Oh, this was new. And exciting.

  River got more warm oil on his hands and stroked up Brent’s feet, calves, and thighs, palms pushing over his ass, and up his back, cupping his neck, then sliding up into his hair. His touch was sensual, and Brent loved it. He moaned again. He had to shift on the mat to unstick his erection.

  The next time River pushed up Brent’s body—slowly, so slowly—he leaned forward, following his hands with his bare chest. His breathing had deepened to that hypnotic sound he’d used during the lingam massage.

  Oh. Oh fuck yeah.

  River’s chest slid over the full cheeks of Brent’s ass, gliding with the slick oil. He could swear he felt River’s nipples. The sensation nearly stopped Brent’s heart. He lay stock-still, breathing hard and straining to feel everything. River reversed the motion, sliding down. Up. He rubbed his open palms up Brent’s back until he reached his neck, his bare chest sliding over Brent’s ass, stopping just at River’s ribs. Then he slid back down again.

  Again. Again.

  The feel of River’s skin was fantastic, the pull and push against the cheeks of Brent’s ass was maybe the most erotic thing he’d ever felt. Why did it feel so good? He’d never cared very much about his ass. But God, it drove him crazy. Maybe because it felt taboo.

  As River continued to do it, Brent wanted more. He wanted River to keep going. He wanted River to slide his chest farther up until he was lying fully over him. He wanted to feel….

  Was River hard? Brent had an urge to feel River’s groin against his ass, to feel his hard penis rub through the oil there.

  Oh, Jesus. Why? Why did he even want that?

  Confusion flared inside him, and Brent forgot to breathe. But as River continued to slide up and back, up and back, soothingly, hypnotically, Brent’s brain restarted.

  He was fine. It was all fine. It wasn’t so weird to want that. Genitalia was erotic. That was all. And of course he wanted to know River felt something, too, if he had a hard-on. That would show this wasn’t just a mechanical job to him. It was natural to want your partner to be into it, too, male or female.

  Wasn’t it?

  River isn’t your partner. He’s a professional, and you’re a client.

  The thought should have cooled Brent off. But with River sliding up and down his body in that incredibly erotic way, it didn’t. On the next pass, Brent couldn’t help but push his ass up as River’s chest slid over him, demanding more.

  “River.” The word came out on a moan.

  River paused for longer than usual at the apex of his motion, his hands on Brent’s shoulders, ribs and tender upper belly on Brent’s ass. His loud breathing ghosted along Brent’s skin and Brent swore he could feel River’s heartbeat trip fast against his skin.

  Then he slid back down and off. He removed his hands.

  For a moment, there was nothing. Brent wanted to open his eyes and look over his shoulder to see what River was doing. But River spoke.

  “Would you like to turn over now?” He sounded utterly calm.

  Brent sighed. Yes, he did want to. He began to move, and River shifted back to let him. Brent didn’t know where the towel was and didn’t care. He felt no shame when he settled onto his back and looked down his body at his rock-hard erection, so hard he was purple at the head and glistening with pre-come. In fact, hey, roll out the parade! He was damned pleased with himself.

  Since their last session, when Brent had had his breakthrough, he’d jerked off three times, always to memories of the lingam massage, and his dick had worked just fine, thank you very much. As long as he didn’t think about… about the cancer.

  He pushed it from his mind now.

  His gaze moved past his own groin to River, who was settling back into place on his heels. His expression was serene as always. His chest and legs were bare, but he still had his shorts on. Brent looked, but in the candlelight, and with the dark color of the shorts, he couldn’t tell if River was aroused or not.

  River placed the pillows under Brent’s knees, opening him up.

  “Close your eyes, Brent, and breathe. Relax,” River instructed.

  So Brent did.

  The lingam massage began the same way, with River rubbing his palms up Brent’s calves and thighs and hips, leaning over him so his chest ran over Brent’s cock, rubbing it between their bodies, and then back down.

  His groin still never made contact, but Brent forgot to care. With his eyes closed and his d
eep breathing mirroring River’s, and the intense pleasure of the friction on his dick, he finally managed to bliss out.

  Then came River’s hands, stroking first one palm, then the other, up Brent’s shaft, thumbs massaging his frenulum, the vein in his cock, the hand movement that twisted in a corkscrew as it stroked him upward, the one where River’s palm polished the head of his cock, the one where River’s two thumbs rubbed up and down his shaft in opposing strokes, like a cross-country skier, the gentle massage of his balls and perineum.

  Brent breathed, and he floated. Every nerve ending in his body felt concentrated in his groin. And oh, it was great. So, so good. Ugh. This had to be the laziest form of sex ever, just lying there, and he shouldn’t like it as much as he did. But, damn.

  His right hand found his own thigh and then River’s knee, wanting that contact. River left it there for a while as he worked, but at some point, he gently moved it back down to River’s side. And Brent thought nothing of it—at the time.

  He could have gone on floating on the plateau of pleasure forever, not in a hurry to get anywhere, and feeling pretty solidly in the now. But River switched to the up-down stroke, his fist loose at first and not too fast. Still, Brent’s balls knew that move, that rhythm as old as time, and they responded immediately, tightening up so high it felt like they were trying to crawl back up into his body so they could explode out through his dick.

  Brent couldn’t stop his hips from arcing up, or his moan.

  River’s next loud exhale held a sigh of satisfaction. He alternated the fist-pump with a few of the teasing strokes, but the fist-pump got faster and longer, faster and longer, until Brent clutched at the futon and raised his hips off the mat beseechingly.

  Fuck. He was gonna—

  River kept pumping, his fist flying, and Brent came, pulsing all over his stomach, body jerking with waves of pleasure.

  Brent rested while River cleaned him up and put things away. He happily floated until River tapped his leg, indicating it was time to get off the futon.

  Brent sat up and shook his head to rejoin the land of the living.

  River smiled at him. “Feeling good?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Seems like you had no difficulty getting aroused this time.”

  “God, no. I was into it right away.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” River said with a smile. “You’ve really had a breakthrough. I think the energy work at your Svadhishthana chakra made all the difference. You did so well releasing the blockage there. You’re so open to tantra and reiki. And maybe you were ready, huh?”

  Brent blinked at him. It sounded a little… clinical? But that had been the point of these sessions, hadn’t it? To regain his sex drive. And clearly, he had.

  Suddenly conscious of his naked state, Brent put on his robe and left the room to go get dressed. When he was safely tucked into a T-shirt and jeans, he walked River to the door and they had an awkward goodbye. At least, it felt awkward on Brent’s part. River seemed as cheerful and unfazed as ever.

  And damn, he was so appealing. Brent watched him walk to his car in the driveway—an older black BMW. He couldn’t help but check River out. He was wearing shorts and the smooth curve of his calves covered in golden hair was attractive. A really nice ass. Broad shoulders. He’d let down his hair at some point, and the messy blond locks gleamed in the sun.

  Nice kid. No, not kid. That was patronizing. Nice person. One hell of a nice person.

  River got into the car and drove away.

  Brent went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine, even though it wasn’t quite five o’clock. He felt… something. Maybe a little upset. He went out and sat on the deck, watched the lake, and tried to get a handle on why.

  The session had been great but….

  But he’d wanted to kiss River.

  He’d wanted to feel River naked against his back—wanted to feel his hard penis.

  Seriously?

  Seriously.

  He’d touched River’s knee. And River had moved his hand away.

  The memory caused a pang of guilt. Jesus, was he that guy? Some creepy handsy guy making overtures to a masseur? Granted, River wasn’t just a masseur. Still. he saw what they did as therapy. He probably didn’t appreciate being groped.

  He probably hadn’t been into it at all. Not that way. Not aroused.

  Brent’s brain had tried to turn it into a mutual thing. Which, fair enough. That was how sex had been his whole life. He thought he’d been a generous lover with Kathy, always taking care of her pleasure first. So it was perfectly normal that his instinct would be to make the sexual encounter with River mutual.

  Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t mutual. River was a professional providing a service. Brent was a client. End of.

  And as Brent finished his wine and poured a second glass, he realized two things.

  First, he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to get off with a professional. He too highly valued reciprocity. He needed to know the other person wanted to be there. Wanted him. Maybe he wasn’t callous enough for casual.

  Kathy was gone. There was no denying that. It wasn’t fair, and it had been god-awful, but it was time for his life to go on. When he eventually did get involved with someone else, he needed it to be… fair? Genuine? Mutual. And someone suitable. Someone who actually made sense.

  Someone like Kathy.

  The second thing he realized was that he wouldn’t see River again. His mental block or chakra block or internalized grief or whatever it was was better now. There was no medical reason to keep seeing River. And to use him just to get off felt… cheap. And, contrarily, damned expensive at four hundred dollars an hour.

  Besides, the desire to get closer to River would only grow. River wasn’t interested. Hell, for all Brent knew, he had a girlfriend or boyfriend at home. Someone his own age. A world traveler like him. Someone into chakras and organic bean sprouts.

  Expanded Horizons had helped Brent a lot. But now it was time to take off the training wheels, get out there, and pop a wheelie or two. Actually date. Like a regular person.

  He should be happy, he told himself. And he was. Or he would be. Once the memory of River had faded enough for him to put things into the proper perspective.

  Once he’d forgotten what it felt like to stare into those kind gray-blue eyes, bask in the positivity of that serene smile, and feel the magic touch of River’s hands.

  PART II: THE DISCIPLE

  “In the end only three things matter: How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.” – Buddha

  Chapter 7

  April, 2019

  River

  River sat on the deck and watched a squat tugboat go by on Lake Union. He idly stroked Lily’s head. Lily, an Irish setter, was highly energetic. She jumped up on everyone she met and was terribly spoiled, but she was a sweet dog, and River enjoyed her company. Beauchamp, a grizzled old bulldog, lay in his bed in the shade. River was currently mother and father both to the canines, which meant he had to stay close to the house. He wasn’t supposed to leave for more than eight hours at a time.

  But these invisible chains were temporary ones. Someone else’s house. Someone else’s pets. Someone else’s life. River was house-sitting. In another five months, he would slip away from this life—the life that included a swanky houseboat on Lake Union, Lily and Beauchamp, a kitchen with white marble countertops, a king bed with expensive white bedding where you could lie and watch the Seattle skyline, and endless photos of a privileged white couple in their forties.

  Which meant none of the responsibility for this lifestyle was his. And that was how he liked it.

  This place had been a blessing. Last summer, River wanted badly to leave the Sacred Triangle Ashram. Sacred Triangle had been amazing—until it wasn’t. One day, it had all come tumbling down, the day the police arrived to arrest Shri Agontha, their guru. Many of the students and devotees at the ashram re
fused to believe the charges, but River knew they were true.

  He knew because it had happened to him.

  Come by my rooms tonight, beloved. Prepare yourself.

  It still made his cheeks burn with humiliation to think of his foolishness, but River had meditated in preparation and dressed in a fresh sari, feeling blessed to have private time with the master. Once alone, Shri Agontha had bent River over a table and tried to penetrate him, scolding him for not being prepared.

  River struggled to breathe through it and allow it, to find the sacredness in the moment. But it had hurt, and the master had not even tried to connect with him. It did not feel tantric at all. So he’d said no and pulled away. Shri Agontha had been annoyed. He told River he was not ready for true tantric union and shooed him away like a misbehaving child.

  It had been confusing. It was still confusing. River tried to view it all objectively, with detachment, without emotion.

  No human being is perfect, not even one supposedly as elevated as Shri Agontha. And one guru’s imperfections did not invalidate an entire ancient teaching, or River’s own transformative experiences with it. He could separate one from the other.

  He’d fallen in love with tantra, with the promise of truly connecting with other human beings in physical-spiritual union. He was still dedicated to that path.

  After Shri Agontha’s arrest, the ashram became toxic. The doubt there was heavy and dragged him down, the endless bickering and factions, the blind denial. So he’d searched the exclusive house-sitting service he used to frequent and found this place.

  Yup. A blessing.

  The couple who owned the place, the Reynolds, were off to the UK. He, the husband, had been offered a prestigious teaching sabbatical in London for a year. And she, the wife, had put her executive job at Microsoft on hold to follow. The two of them had handed River the reins of their life, jabbering instructions right up until the moment they’d entered the taxi.

  It wasn’t a life River would choose for himself. But squatting in it for year? Did not at all suck.