Before telling you about the most amazing, beautiful, fantastic, wonderful thing that ever happened to me, let me tell you a little bit about me.  To begin with I’m an actuary, a profession most people would compare to boredom and dullness.  They would be correct.  The miraculous thing that happened to me just doesn’t happen to people like me, but it did.

I grew up down the shore.  For those of you who are not familiar with that expression, let me explain.  In the New York and New Jersey area, ‘down the shore’ is a colloquialism, which translates to the New Jersey beaches.

For some reason that I have never figured out, my high school was rife with guys who played on the same team as I did.  Maybe it was the ocean air.  At any rate, we had a large gay population, and therefore, each of us had plenty of sex all through high school.  While our straight bretheren were struggling to get laid, we could get laid whenever it could be arranged.

I went to Rutgers University.  During my four years there, I reached my maturity, and continued to enjoy man sex to its fullest.  I grew to be six feet tall, muscular (from lots of workouts), with straight black hair, blue eyes and a couple of cute dimples.  I am cut and five inches flaccid.  I’ve never measured myself in the throes of passion, but I would estimate eight inches.  None of my fuck buddies ever had a complaint, especially since I enjoy being a bottom more than a top.

After college I got a job in New York City as an actuary with a small insurance company.  The pay was adequate, and I loved New York and its fantastic gay life, but I believed that I was stuck in a dead-end job.  I began to search the internet and found an opening in the San Diego office of a huge west coast insurance company.  To cut to the chase, I got the job, and here I am in San Diego.  I found a small one-bedroom apartment in a high rise just four blocks from the ocean.  I was back to my roots, and in my element, so to speak.

*****

Between work, and the stress of getting settled in an alien environment, it was several weeks before I could kick back and enjoy the world around me.  One Sunday morning, when the time was finally right, I strolled down to the ocean.  The beachfront area was loaded with restaurants and souvenir shops.  One restaurant caught my eye.  It was named ‘The Funky Chicken.’  The name intrigued me, and I decided to have lunch there.  Then my miracle began.

I entered the quaint restaurant and looked around.  There were about twelve tables for four, two tables for two, and two tables for six diners.  They were all occupied.  There were benches in the lobby, and people were sitting on them and others were standing.  Obviously, if I stayed, I’d have a long wait.  I decided to stay.  This place seemed to be very popular, and I figured the food must be terrific.

One of the other waiting patrons saw the look of confusion on my face, and decided to rescue me.  “There’s a sign-in sheet on the cashier’s counter,” she said.  “You’d better put your name down before you miss your turn.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

I ambled over to the cashier’s station, and signed in as a party of one.  I was surprised that I didn’t see anyone manning the desk, but it was more obvious to me that I didn’t see anyone who might be a maître d’ or who might be a member of the service staff.  It was all too odd, and I wondered if I shouldn’t leave after all.

While I was trying to make a decision, a young man came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of food.  He delivered his burden to one of the tables, and put the empty tray on a rack nearby.  Then, he ran over to a table just being vacated.  He bussed the table and then ran to the cashier’s station where he took the money for their lunch from the people whose table he had just cleaned.  When that was done, he called the next name on the list, and seated four people at the newly prepared table.  He gave them each a menu, grabbed the empty serving tray, and ran back to the kitchen.  A few minutes later, he repeated the entire routine of the scene I had just witnessed, and he added a step.  He filled the water glasses, and he took the order of the newly seated guests.  Finally, he delivered their order to the kitchen.

I was exhausted looking at this young man who was running the entire busy restaurant by himself.  Sound reason would have advised me to get out of there, but I knew that I would wait it out.  You see, by now I was madly in love with this guy who was a one-man show.  He was deliciously handsome with an athlete’s body.  I had to admire his stamina, and knew he would be great in bed.  I had fallen in love with the guy even though I was sure he was straight.  That made me sad, but I still wouldn’t leave.

At long last, he called my name and seated me at a table for two.  I just had to make conversation with him, so while he was pouring water into a glass for me, I asked, “How can you run this place by yourself like this every day?  You’ll be dead in no time.”

“I don’t usually operate alone, but today is a bad day at Black Rock,” he told me.  “My three servers are roommates, and they had a bad car accident on the way to work this morning.  They were pretty banged up, but the doctors are optimistic that they’ll all recover.  My cashier’s boyfriend is one of the servers.  She wouldn’t come in today.  She’s holding vigil at the hospital, and keeping me informed.  Thank God, my cooks are here.  Usually, I’m just the host,” he concluded.  “I own the place.”

When I realized how traumatic all this was for him, I did something so spontaneous, that I have never given up wondering why I did it.  Well, that’s a lie; of course, I know why.  I was in love with him.

“Look,” I said, “I used to be a server during my college years.  I can help you out today and on weekends until you can get help.”

He looked at me in disbelief.  After an awkward silence, he embraced me and kissed me on my cheek.  It was the happiest moment of my day … so far.

“Come into the kitchen with me,” he pleaded.  “You can eat on the run.  I’ll give you an apron and an order pad and get you started.”

I did as he requested.  I would have followed him to hell.  If only he knew how much I loved him.  I realized how irrational I was being but I couldn’t help myself.

He gave me a lunch menu, and I took a few minutes to orient myself to the items on it.  It consisted of five appetizers, five desserts, and at least fifty chicken dishes, each prepared differently.  There were a vast variety of side dishes and drinks available, as well.

“Sometimes a customer will want breakfast for lunch,” he said.  “We’ll accommodate them.  You’ll find breakfast menus under the cashier’s desk.”

At first, I had to ask lots of question.  Finally, I said to the man I loved, “I can’t keep calling you ‘hey you’.  What’s your name?”

“Jeremy.  What’s yours?”

“Pete.”

I settled in pretty quickly, and Jeremy and I began to work harmoniously together.  We made a good team.  Every time our eyes met, he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Things began to quiet down dramatically after 2 PM.  Jeremy told me that the restaurant was only open for breakfast, brunch, and lunch, and after cleaning up, he was always out by 4 PM.  I helped him clean up and get set up for the next day’s business.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you tomorrow,” I said, “but I do have a job.”  I felt bad so I added.  “If you still need help next weekend, I’m available.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay,” he said.  “I’ve contacted a temp agency and they are going to get me a couple of servers.  My cashier assured me that now that her boyfriend is out of danger, she’s coming back to work tomorrow.   I’ll be able to handle the host job by myself, as usual.”

“Well, the offer is open if you need me.  I’ll write my telephone number on a piece of paper.  I’m new to San Diego and I don’t have cards yet.”

“That’s fine, but please don’t run off.  I need to pay you.”

“Not necessary,” I muttered.

“You’ve got to let me do something for you,” he insisted.

My love for him was so deep that I blurted out, with no thought to possible consequences, “There is something I’d like you to do for me, or rather, to me, but if I ask, you’ll probably want to kill me.”

It was obvious what I meant, even to a straight guy.  After I said it, I actually stepped backwards expecting him to hit me.  I was wrong.  The reaction I got floored me anyhow.  Jeremy broke out laughing.

“What’s with you, Pete? Don’t you have any gaydar at all?  I knew you were gay, the second I took you to a table.  I’m so hot for you that I’m not asking you, I’m pleading with you.  You didn’t have a proper lunch.  Let me take you out to dinner tonight, and let’s get to know each other.  I know you feel the same way.  I could tell by how you looked at me, when our eyes met for the first time.”

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, so I started to do both simultaneously.  Jeremy threw his arms around me and held me tight.  Our erect cocks smashed together and we smiled at each other.

“Where do you live?”  I asked.

He gave me his address and I screeched.  “We live in the same building,” I said.  “I’m in 4B.”

“I’m in 4C, right next door,” he blubbered.  “Our meeting has got to be some sort of fate.  It was destined to happen.”  He held me closer.  “I’m taking you to a really fancy restaurant tonight, so I want us to go home and change into proper clothing.  Also pack a bag with clothes and toiletries for tomorrow morning.  You’re going to spend the night with me.”

“Yes, yes,” I screamed out.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

When we got to our building, I ran into my apartment and Jeremy ran into his.  As quickly as I could, I showered and dressed.  I only packed my toiletries.  I could get dressed for work at home in the morning.  When I burst into his apartment, he was nearly ready to go also.

“I’m taking you to my favorite gay bar first.  It’s in the neighborhood so we can walk, and not worry about limiting ourselves as to how much we drink. It’s still early and we can have a drink or two before dinner.  The restaurant I have in mind is walking distance from the bar.  We’ll go there afterwards.”

“Whatever you say,” I agreed.

“And another thing, don’t guzzle your drinks and gobble your food.  We have lots of time.  We’ll be making love for the rest of our lives.”

“We will?” I asked.

“You betcha,” he smiled back at me.

There was no doubt in my mind that it was true.

In spite of how anxious we were to make love, we did what Jeremy asked.  We drank and ate slowly.  I savored every moment of the beginning of our lives together, and I’m sure he did also. 

After dinner, we strolled back to our apartment building.  We were squeezing our hands tightly together.  Suddenly, I felt like this whole thing was absurd.  I dared ask. “Are we doing the right thing Jeremy?  We just met.  It’s too fast.  How do we know if it’s real love?  Maybe we should just date for a while.”

“I don’t need a cooling off period,” Jeremy said, sounding very hurt.  “I fell in love with you the minute I laid eyes on you.  What does it matter if it all just happened today?  I love you this minute, and I’ll love you until the day I die.”

The thought of Jeremy dying filled me with dread.  I screamed out, “Yes, Jeremy, I do love you, and I’ll love you until the day I die also.  Let’s make love.

*****

Jeremy opened his front door, and grabbed my hand.  He literally dragged me inside, and locked the door behind him.  He enveloped my body, and started kissing me passionately.  All of a sudden, he started to cry.

“What’s wrong?” I asked

“Nothing’s wrong.  I’m just so fucking happy.  This morning I was all alone, and then I got the dreadful news about my staff.  Then you came into my world, and you brought me back to life.”

Since I was at a loss for words, I attempted to be proactive.  I started to undress him in the hall.  He pushed me away and got himself naked in a flash.  Of course, I checked him out.  He was exceptionally well endowed.  He was uncut, and at least nine hard inches.  I wouldn’t find out his stats while flaccid, until after the love making.

I followed suit, undressing as fast as I could.  He pulled me into his bedroom.  We fell on his bed, and Jeremy started to twist into a sixty-nine position.

“No,” I screamed at him.  “We’ll do it to each other separately.  I don’t want any diversions.”

“I like that Idea,” Jeremy said.

“Try not to cum,” I added.  I’m a bottom.”

“That’s good news, but can we alternate from time to time?”

“Sure.”

I went down on Jeremy immediately, and in seconds he stopped me.  “I felt myself cumming, and I know you want me to fuck you,” he explained.

I smiled, rolled over on my stomach, and raised my ass.  Jeremy took a tube of lube from his bedside dresser, and coated his cock and my ass with plenty of the goo.  He didn’t put on a condom, and I didn’t care.  He entered me effortlessly, trying hard not to pump.  He just lay on top of me, and hugged me tighter and tighter.  Then, as if this day hadn’t been miraculous enough, another miracle occurred.  Without Jeremy pumping in my ass, while he was lying perfectly still, we both had simultaneous orgasms.  We started to cry in joy.

That all happened a long time ago, back in 1980.  Now in 2020, I can tell you, we love each other more than ever.  We have oral sex several times a week.  If one of us is very aroused, we can still manage anal sex occasionally.  If it doesn’t work, we don’t cry about it.  We just satisfy ourselves with our hands or our tongues.

I recently retired, and Jeremy sold the restaurant years ago.  The mission of our retired lives is to continue to give each other pleasure for as long as we can.

*****

Last night I showed this manuscript to my husband, and asked him to critique it before I submitted it for publication.  He read it slowly, and laid it down.

“You’ll never stop being hopelessly romantic, and I can’t change that, but I’d put a different spin on the story,” he said.

Even though I had asked for his opinion, I was really hurt.  “What would you have done differently?” I asked.

“Well, that whole business with the car accident is too contrived.  And as for living in the same building, that’s just too hard to believe.  I would have Pete enter ‘The Funky Chicken’ for lunch.  There would be a long wait for a table, but the maître d’ would ask him if he would mind sharing a table for two with another single diner.  He would have no objection.  The other diner would be gay, hot and available.  They would like each other and begin dating.  Nobody should fall in love as quickly as the two guys in this story, and commit to each other even quicker.  Not only is it not realistic, it’s not very smart.”

“It’s not supposed to be realistic or smart.  It’s an unabashed love story about the miracle of love.”

“Don’t get your nose out of joint.  You asked for my opinion.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry I jumped at you.  I’ll consider the alternate version as a story for another time, but I’ll submit this one as is.”

“You’re a stubborn ass,” he said, and he kissed me on my cheek.