The Trainer by Jamie Lake Page B

further. A bit weirder.
    It crossed his mind that there was something profoundly comforting about Chris . Something so open and trusting - his energy made Mason feel safe enough to - never mind, he thought, getting up off the couch. He put the thought out of his head as Chris continued to giggle. There was no chance of something like that happening, right? He was at least ten years younger than Mason, for a start, and Chris seemed like the type of guy who was into more sophisticated things and more sophisticated people: Mason wasn’t in his league. He struggled to read The New York Times , for Chrissakes:  Chris was a fucking novelist. They were from completely different worlds.
    As Chris raised his fingers to wipe his tears of laughter, Mason collected their empty smoothie glasses and walked into the kitchen with a sinking feeling of uncertainty.
    “Hey, how about that rub down?” Chris asked, sheepishly.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    -------------------- 0 --------------------
     
    CHAPTER 10
     
    C hris waited on the couch as Mason nodded and stepped into the back hallway. He was getting so nervous that his palms were sweaty with anticipation. What, exactly, was going to happen with this rub down? He imagined so many different scenarios as he heard Mason rummaging around and opening drawers in the bathroom.
    It was taking a while. Chris looked at the walls, painted a really overwhelming but still beautiful shade of bright indigo. There were a couple photos of Mason’s daughter tacked up on the side of the fridge. God, she was adorable . Above the stereo, there was a big poster of Buddha under the Bodhi tree, wearing his orange robe and touching the earth with his right hand. It made Chris feel a little more calm, but not for long:  his heart was pitter-pattering, he had butterflies in his stomach, and his mouth was dry. Why was he so anxious? He felt like he was in the dentist’s office, about to get a tooth ripped out; not like he was about to get a relaxing massage from the sexiest hunk he’d met in the last five years. Alright:  what the hell was going on in the bathroom? Chris was starting to wonder if Mason was stalling on purpose, or if perhaps he was just over thinking things as usual.
    “Hey,” Mason said, his deep voice startling him as he finally came back out into the living room, “Sorry man.”
    “No, it’s cool. We can do it another time,” Chris said, feeling a little disappointed.
    “No, we can do it right here on the couch,” Mason said.
    Chris swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Here?”
    “Yeah, problem is, I only got this,” he said holding up a bottle of Astroglide.
    Chris couldn’t help but laugh. “What?”
    “I tried to find some essential oils, but I guess I ran out. Do you mind? It’s a little weird, but I promise it works exactly the same. I’ve done it before, but, I mean with...my ex,” Mason said.
    “No, no it’s absolutely fine .” Chris laughed, “It’s just the slippery oil, right?”
    He tried to sound casual about it, but admittedly, it was crossing the boundary just a little more. What the hell was really going on here? Chris felt his throat tightening with hope.
    Mason set the lube down on the coffee table, and then squatted by the bookshelf, removed a box of incense, and slid out one long, red stick. Chris stared at Mason’s pert butt and the exposed small of his back as he leaned over to grab a lighter and snap the flame under the tip. The top of his ass crack was just visible for a split second before he popped up.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” Mason said.
    “W-what?” Chris asked.
    “This isn’t that shitty head shop kind with a bright purple dye,” Mason said. Chris sighed as the man waved a few figure eights of curling smoke in front of the Buddha and said a little mantra.
    “You know, that awful s tuff you find teenagers burning:  Sex on the Beach, or strawberry incense. Why the hell should burning strawberries smell good? It