Practice Run: An MPreg Story Ch. 01

Frank hated the music in this place.

He'd never been one for loud, pounding bass music, even when he was young enough that it didn't make his ears throb. His wife had been the adventurous one--she'd gone to Coachella, Woodstock, even been a Dead Head for a few years before they met--but she'd never pushed him to get outside of his comfort zone.

That was one of about a thousand things he missed about her every day.

This new music seemed like it was designed to be irritating, with a loud, repetitive chorus and endless thumping that made Frank's teeth rattle. What was he doing in a place like this at his age, anyway? At 60, he should be halfway into bed by now, cuddling up on the couch and watching Jeopardy with his wife like they did every weeknight.

Only she was dead, and he was alone, and the thought of being in the home they'd shared for almost 40 years by himself, surrounded by memories of her, made him want to jump in the Hudson River.

So here he was.

"Can I get a Yuengling?" he said to the bartender, a young black man in a mesh tank top, young enough to be his grandson.

The man winked at him. "Sure thing, pops."

Frank tugged on the hem of his flannel, uncertain whether the nickname was meant as a dig. He had plenty of gray in his hair and beard, so he wasn't hiding his age, unlike some men. That had to count for something, right? Or maybe coming to a gay bar at all was a sign of desperation, a pathetic attempt by an old man to explore something he should have let rest a long time ago.

"First one's on the house," the young bartender said as he handed him an ice-cold beer. "Welcome to Rocks."

Frank took the beer and smiled, which was rare for him. "Thanks. I'm happy to pay--"

"It's your first time here, right?" The man started polishing one of the glasses lining the bar. "I haven't seen you around."

Frank nodded. "Yes."

The bartender grinned, clearly amused at Frank's meager attempts at conversation. "You new to town or something? Traveling?"

Frank shook his head. "I've lived here for almost forty years. Moved here right after college."

The man blinked in surprise. "Wow. What brought you to Albany?"

Georgia's beaming face entered his mind, the excitement that poured out of her when he carried her over the threshold into their home in Westmere. Those early days, when she could still teach at the local grade school, shepherding kids like cattle and growing more and more beautiful every year.

"Is it always this dead in here?" he asked, changing the subject.

The bartender laughed. "It's 8 o'clock on a Tuesday. We're only busy Thursday through Sunday, and even then, not till at least 10."

Frank nodded dumbly. "Right."

The bartender smiled at him again, only this time there was a touch of pity in it. "First time at a gay bar?"

Frank had had about enough of pitying looks to last a lifetime. He tilted his drink in a show of appreciation. "Thanks for the beer."

He walked away, leaving the bartender shaking his head. He knew he seemed rude, but he was used to people thinking he was an asshole. In his line of work, you needed a hard exterior. Georgia was the only one who saw the sensitive underbelly, the one he'd kept locked away until she taught him it was okay to be seen.

Jesus. If he kept thinking about her at this rate, he might as well just go home.

"There you are!"

Another middle-aged man, bald and with a bit of a paunch, walked over and clapped him on the back. "How ya doin', Frank? Find any young studs yet?"

Frank's cheeks turned ruddy under his beard. He looked around, but there was no one around. Hell, there was hardly anyone in the bar at all.

"No, John. I was waiting for you to arrive."

John chuckled. "Don't you worry, Frank. I'm an excellent wingman. So--what kind of guys are we looking for?"

Frank shrugged. "I dunno, man."

"Come on, indulge me a little. It was shocking enough to hear you liked guys. I'm still not convinced you're not pulling my leg."

Frank sighed. "I'm not picky. I just want someone... nice. And clean. Someone who's not gonna make fun of me or expect me to be something I'm not."

John nodded. "All right, all right. So no drunks, no tweakers. Any age preference?"

"I'm... not sure. Probably not over 50, I guess."

John elbowed him, grinning. "I'd expand your horizons a little. You know, young guys go crazy over guys like you. You'd be a daddy, according to the gay lingo."

Frank frowned. "What does that make you?"

"I'm a bear. But that's neither here nor there. I'm not looking, you know that. Pretty sure Adam would kill me. And he's a doctor, so you know he could do it in a way where you'd never know it was murder." He laughed at his own joke, then scratched his head. "But I should tell you, I promised him I'd be home by 10. Hope that's all right."

"I don't even think I'll make it an hour," said Frank. "This place is dead as a doornail."

John squeezed his shoulder. "That's why we're here on a Tuesday. I wanted you to get your toes wet in a safe environment, you know. If I threw you to the sharks right off the bat, hell, you'd never come back!"

Frank smiled. John really was a good guy, even if he didn't know him that well. Truthfully, John and Adam had been more Georgia's friends than his. But he was the only gay person Frank knew, or at least the only one he felt comfortable admitting his attraction to men to.

He must have had a faraway look on his face, because John's voice got quiet and he said, "She'd be happy for you, ya know. Being here."

Frank frowned. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Why? She was a very accepting woman."

"I think it's different when it's your husband."

"Well, you were faithful to her, weren't you?"

Frank narrowed his eyes. "Of course."

"Then there's nothing to worry about! You loved her; anyone could see that. Just because you're also attracted to men doesn't take away from that."

Frank noticed a young man enter the bar, the first new arrival since John. He was tall and Asian, with curly, jet-black hair and wide eyes that roamed the bar. He was wearing a large black overcoat and nervously fiddling with the buttons. Suddenly, his gaze landed on Frank and held there.

He smiled. Frank looked away.

"I think I'm too old for this," Frank grumbled. "I should just accept that my love life is over. Georgia was my soulmate, and now she's gone. Why ruin a good thing by going after something I don't even know I want?"

"If you didn't want it, you wouldn't be here," John pointed out.

Frank took a sip of his beer and was surprised to find he'd finished it. He hadn't even remembered drinking much of it. Maybe he was more nervous than he thought.

"Man, I'm telling you," John said with a sigh. "If we were here on a Friday at midnight, the guys would be all over you."

Frank huffed. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious! You're fresh meat, you're handsome, you've got the whole daddy thing going on--"

"I'm 60 years old, John," said Frank. "I'm a senior citizen."

"And I'm 56, and I don't know about you, but I'm in my sexual prime!" He let out a loud guffaw. "But seriously, man. You're in great shape, you look like a lumberjack... You just need a little confidence, that's all."

Frank ran a hand through his thick gray beard. He had made an effort to keep in shape over the years, more to be healthy than to look good. Georgia was always into him, no matter how he looked, even when he'd put on a bit more weight around his midsection in later years. He supposed he had what might be called a "Dad bod," albeit with a bit more muscle than most.

"Excuse me."

The sound of the man's high, light voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. He turned to see the young Asian man standing before him, smiling. He'd taken off the coat and was wearing a colorful button-down shirt with a shiny texture, the top two buttons open to reveal his pale chest.

Frank leaned back, regarding him carefully. "Can I help you?"

The boy's smile stretched into a small laugh, showing rows of round, white teeth. "Oh, no. I was just wondering if I could get you another drink?"

He gestured back at the bar, the sleeve of his shirt long enough that it bunched into his palms.

Frank frowned. "Are you a waiter or something?"

Embarrassment flickered across the boy's face. "No, I..." His smile started to falter, but he pushed through with a last-ditch effort. "I just wanted to buy you a drink."

"I'm good, thanks." Frank turned his back to the kid, facing a bewildered John.

His friend glanced behind him, waiting for the boy to leave, then turned to Frank with wide eyes. "What the hell was that?"

"What?"

John looked at him like he was an idiot. "Are you kidding me? Some hot young guy comes up and offers to buy you a drink, and you treat him like he's a fucking tax collector?"

"He wasn't interested in me."

John laughed in disbelief. "You can't seriously be that bad at flirting. That guy was 100% into you! Helen Keller could see that!"

Frank looked behind him and saw the boy sitting at the bar now, facing away. He was thin, his long legs crossed under the bar. He sat alone.

"He probably just wanted a sugar daddy or something. Isn't that what they call 'em?"

John shook his head. "Okay, A: if that was the case, you should definitely take that deal, and B: guys who want a sugar daddy don't usually offer to pay for drinks."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Why would a guy like that even be into me? I'm old enough to be his grandfather."

John took a deep, meditative breath as if to keep from exploding. "Holy hell, do I have my work cut out for me."

He grabbed Frank's shoulder and turned him toward the bar. "I want you to go over there, sit down next to him, and offer to buy him a drink."

Frank's eyes went wide. "What? No way!"

"Yes! It's time for some exposure therapy. Think of it as fun, harmless flirting. A chance to exercise a muscle that you haven't used since the '80s."

"I don't want to lead him on. What if he thinks I want to go home with him?"

"How about you just start with 'Hello' and go from there?"

After a minute or so of fruitless arguing, Frank found himself walking toward the young man at the bar, dreading every step. He felt like an idiot, going over to flirt with a guy who looked to be barely out of high school, but when he turned around, John was grinning at him like an idiot and giving him two thumbs up.

Finally, he was at the bar, and there was nothing to do but dive in.

"I'll get another Yuengling," he said to the bartender. He tilted his head at the boy in the seat next to him without looking at him and said, "And another one of... whatever he's having."

Frank sat down, forcing himself to turn and face the young man.

The boy was smiling at him, his cheeks pinched into dimples at the corners of his lips. "It's a vodka cranberry," he said, "although I've barely had a sip of this one."

Frank turned red under his beard. "Um... well, you don't have to drink it--"

"What's your name?" He put a hand on his chest, which was smooth beneath the open buttons of his shirt. "I'm Crisanto. People call me Cris."

"Frank." Frank stuck his hand out, which Cris stared at in amusement.

The boy slid his smooth hand into Frank's and shook it over-formally. "Nice to meet you, Frank," he said in a fake deep voice.

Frank's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. God, everything he did made him seem like an out-of-touch old man. He wanted to run home and jump into bed. Cuddle up with his wife's Grateful Dead t-shirt, which he couldn't bear to give away, the one that still smelled a bit like her if he held it long enough. But he knew John would just make him come back and do this all over again.

"Crisanto," he said awkwardly. "That's uh... is that..."

Cris smiled again. "I'm Filipino," he said.

Frank nodded. "Cool. I'm... like a bunch of Western European stuff mixed together. I don't really know."

Cris nodded in amusement. "Fun. So... what brings you to Rocks on a Tuesday night?"

My wife died.

I've never been with a man before.

I stupidly thought that 60 wasn't too old to explore being bisexual.

"I'm just here with my friend," he said, aiming a thumb back at John.

Cris's smile faltered slightly. "Oh... is that your boyfriend? Or, husband?"

Frank shook his head quickly. "No, no. He's just a friend. He's got a husband of his own, great guy. His name's Adam. Real sweetheart, doctor, great with kids."

"I feel like I know him already," Cris joked.

Frank scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry. I'm rusty at this."

Cris smiled sympathetically. "Me too."

"Really?"

"It's been a few years since I've been to a gay bar," he admitted.

Frank frowned. "Was it even legal for you to be in a gay bar a few years ago?

Cris laughed. "I'm 28 years old."

"Sorry," said Frank. "Anyone under 30 is like a kid to me."

"Well, my frontal lobe is supposed to be fully developed by now," Cris said teasingly. "Not that I let that stop me. I've made a few mistakes in my youth, let's say."

"You say that like you're an old man."

"Takes one to know one."

Cris winked at him. Frank felt a flush along his neck and up his face.

"I'm 60," he said out of nowhere. "Just so you know."

"Good to know."

"So, I'm not like... available. To date."

Cris raised an eyebrow. "60-year-olds don't date?"

"Not 25-year-olds, they don't."

"28," Cris corrected. "And who said we were dating? I thought we were just sharing a drink at a bar."

Thankfully, the bartender chose that moment to bring them both another drink. Frank took it and drank a big swig, eager to calm his nerves. He hadn't anticipated actually talking to any men tonight, so to be here flirting with a stranger, a man, was a big step for him.

"Can I ask you something?"

Frank looked up to see Cris gazing at him with those big, round eyes. He nodded.

"You're not married, are you? Because a lot of guys say they don't want to date when secretly they're hiding a wife and eight kids at home."

Frank felt his throat get tight. He cleared it and said, "No, I'm not married."

Cris smiled again, and it almost made Frank want to smile too.

Almost.

"Good. Because you know what they say: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me seventeen times..."

Frank did laugh at that one, which made the boy light up even more. He was starting to relax, whether because he was more comfortable or because he was halfway through his second beer, he didn't know.

"What about you?" he asked. "You don't have a boyfriend or something waiting for you at home?"

Cris's smile lessened. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Then why haven't you been to a gay bar in a few years?"

Cris wrapped his hands around his drink, swiveling a little in his chair. "Why don't we talk about something else? What do you do for work?"

"I'm retired."

Cris nodded. "Right. I guess that's one of the perks of being 60, huh?"

"Most people don't retire that young," said Frank. "I was lucky."

"I was just kidding," Cris said with a smirk.

Frank felt stupid again, but his embarrassment was cut short when Cris asked, "What did you do before you retired?"

"I was a police officer."

Cris sat up straight. "Oh, wow. I didn't realize I was sleeping with the enemy."

Now it was Frank's turn to practice teasing. "Who said we were sleeping together? I thought we were just sharing a drink in a bar."

Cris's face stretched into another wide grin. "Oh, you're good, Frank. Did you learn humor at the police academy?"

"I arrested a lot of standup comedians over the years," he said smoothly.

Cris laughed.

"I was a police lieutenant," Frank continued. "Worked in the homicide department."

"Ah, so you only locked up killer comedians."

"If their jokes were bad enough."

Cris turned toward him in his chair, crossing one leg over his knee. "I heard a really good one the other day, wanna hear it?"

Frank shrugged. "Sure."

"If you don't laugh, you have to promise not to arrest me."

"I told you, I'm retired."

"So's William Shatner. Did you know he opened a lingerie store?"

Frank furrowed his brow. "Really?"

Cris nodded. "It's called Shatner Panties."

It took Frank a moment, but when he got it, the laughter billowed out of him like smoke.

"Oh, fuck. Shat in her panties, that's a good one!"

Cris wiped his brow in mock exaggeration. "Phew. I thought I was gonna get handcuffed there for a moment."

Frank came down from his laughter and took a swig of his beer. "Is that something you're into?"

The energy shifted immediately. Cris's face went still, and for a moment, Frank thought he'd gone way too far.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to--"

"No," Cris said. "It's fine. To tell you the truth, I was just picturing it, and..." He fanned himself dramatically. "Wow. Yep, I just came. Thank you, Frank. I think I have what I came for."

Frank laughed again, half out of humor and half out of relief that he wasn't blowing this.

"I'm sorry about all that back there," he said after a moment. "With the drink and stuff. I guess I was just surprised, is all."

Cris nodded. "Most people are--I'm extremely hot."

Frank laughed. "Seriously, though. I don't know why a 26-year-old would be interested in a guy more than twice his age. I feel like you should be in school, or something."

"First of all, I'm 28," Cris said again. "Second of all, I haven't been in school for six years. And third of all, I approached you because I thought you seemed nice."

Frank snorted. "Guess I popped that bubble real fast, huh?"

Cris frowned. "I think you are nice, Frank. And handsome, even if you are twice my age. Because you're twice my age, actually."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "It's true, then? About younger guys liking older men?"

Cris shrugged. "I can't speak for everyone, but... yeah. I like older guys. A lot."

Frank gave him a small smile. "I like you. I mean, uh, I think you're cool. You seem like a good guy."

"And devastatingly beautiful?"

Frank knew he was kidding, but as he looked at the young man now, his words felt like the unvarnished truth. He was the polar opposite of Georgia, who had been short and light-haired, not to mention a woman. But Cris was beautiful in his own way, masculine in some ways and feminine in others. His jaw was sharp and well-defined, his eyes doe-like and innocent. There was something about looking in them that made Frank feel unsettled, but in a good way. Like Cris was seeing something in him he thought he'd gotten good at hiding.

"You're a good-looking dude," he said finally. "But you're way too young for me."

Cris nodded. "Of course. I'll hit you up when I get my AARP card, and maybe we can try this again?"

Frank chuckled. He wasn't going to make this easy on the old man, was he?

"I don't think I have what you're looking for," he said.

"How do you know what I'm looking for?"

"Don't young guys like older men because they want someone... you know, experienced?"

"Sometimes." Cris raised an eyebrow. "You don't have a lot of experience?"

Frank took a sip of his beer. "Try zero."

Excitement flashed over Cris's eyes. "Are you a 60-year-old virgin?"

"No, of course not," Frank said irritably. "I've just... never been with a man before."

"I got that," Cris said teasingly. "Kinda from the moment you walked over here."

That gave Frank pause. "What gave it away?"

"If I say the flannel, will you take that the wrong way?"

Frank looked down at his red-and-black checkered shirt. "What's wrong with the flannel?"

Cris shook his head, smiling sweetly. "Absolutely nothing."

Frank couldn't help but feel like he was the butt of the joke again. He was used to guys at the precinct ragging on each other, but that was different. He didn't care what they thought of him, so he didn't take anything personally. With Cris...