"You have evolution toe." I had his foot in my hand and looked up at him with a smile.
"What the hell is 'evolution toe'?"
"It's when the second toe is longer than the big toe. It's supposed to be a sign of intelligence." That got a big chuckle out of him.
He stopped laughing when I stood up and began to shampoo his crotch. He closed his eyes and sighed as I soaped his golden curls and massaged his balls in my slick hand. I moved on to the shaft and the soap made a perfect lubricant that allowed me to slide both hands up and down his rigid cock. I watched in fascination as it twitched and engorged. I could see his pulse in the swollen veins along the length of him and I thought, not for the first time, that I had never seen a more perfect man.
"Oh God that feels great." He began to move a bit against my hand and then stopped. "I think I'll save that for a little later. The poor guy needs a little rest period."
He brought my hands up and took his turn washing me. His touch was soft and gentle, then firm and insistent against my muscles. There was no tension left in me, but he massaged my shoulders anyway and my flesh relaxed in gratitude against his hands. I was completely clean and in an almost trance-like state when he finished.
As we dried off, Tristan told me about the plans he had for the day.
"I'm going to take you to Oak Park so you can see the house I grew up in." He shot me a sidelong glance, gauging my reaction.
First his father, now his childhood home. He wasn't kidding about opening up about his past. I was thrilled, but now that the moment was finally upon me, it was a little frightening. Tristan was serious about showing me what made him tick. He expected it to make a difference in the way I dealt with him. I wasn't so sure. It could answer the questions, perhaps, of why he felt the way he did but what difference would that make? If the rules remained the same, we'd be back to square one.
"I'd love to see it," I finally answered him.
As we waited for the valet to bring the rental car around, I looked at the expanse of Lake Michigan, angry with autumn winds that were threatening off shore. Above our heads the sky was brilliant and cloudless and the air had a comfortable morning nip to it. Chicago rose from the lake shore boldly, brash and modern. It seemed somehow . . . cleaner than New York. Maybe it was the effect of the lake washed air or the glint of the thousands of silver windows glinting in the morning sun.
It was rather odd to see Tristan slide into the driver's seat. The last time I'd seen him take the wheel was in the Berkshires and I had become accustomed to Kwan driving us around.
"No Kwan today?" He had been on the plane and I assumed he'd be shadowing us as usual.
"No, I sent him to go prowl Boystown. He's probably boinking in the bath house by now. I think we'll be fine on our own. This was a very spur-of-the moment trip. No one knows I'm here." I was reminded once again that 'security' was a perpetual and permanent part of his life. How easy that was to forget in the heat of Tristan's arms.
The Bentley convertible had the top down so I wound my scarf around my head as we took off down Michigan Avenue.
"This is known as the Magnificent Mile. It's every bit as great a shopping district as Fifth Avenue and frankly, I think it's a lot prettier."
"I agree. I don't know why I pictured Chicago so differently. I didn't expect to find it so elegant."
"You're seeing the elegant parts, but you'll see the other Chicago now as well. I'm going to skip the Eisenhower expressway and take Madison all the way out to Oak Park. That way you'll get to see the city more. It'll take a while even though we're only going about ten miles. Are you in a hurry?"
"I do have a hot date tonight." I smiled. I thought how considerate it was to want to show me the city and then I recalled that his mother had died on the Eisenhower. I found myself wondering what his real motivation for the route was until I got caught up in watching Chicago roll by.
We passed through a gritty industrial area when we left the downtown 'Loop'. "Looking a bit less elegant now, isn't it?" The industrial area gave way to a rather depressing residential area with plenty of vacant lots, boarded up buildings and just plain slummy looking brick buildings that had seen better days.
"This is known as the near west side. We'll pass through several miles of this before we move a little more up market. The sixties and seventies hit this area hard. Chicago did not bend easily to desegregation and there was a lot of white flight."
We passed through a beautifully maintained park and on the other side, the condition of the buildings improved a good bit. When Tristan announced that we had reached Oak Park, I expected mansions, but what I saw were mostly quite middle class looking older homes. Earnest Hemingway was born in Oak Park and Frank Lloyd Wright had begun his career as an architect there. The Kings had bought one of his early masterpieces.
As we got further into the obviously most well to do area, the lots got bigger and the houses a little grander, but still nothing even I would have called a mansion. The streets were immaculate and there were majestic hardwoods approaching the peak of their autumn color. We pulled over to the curb in front of a two story brick house that I recognized as the 'prairie style' architecture that made Wright famous.
Tristan hadn't said more than 'uh-huh' and 'hmm' to any of my comments since we entered the village. He sat in the car for many long moments before he spoke. "This is the century old 'Arthur B. Heurtley House'. It is a very good address."
"It's an amazing house. That brick work is fantastic." I marveled at the way Wright had woven bands of different shades of brick into the design. The whole building had a texture all its own.
"The main living area is on the second floor. My parents threw some great parties in the rooms up there. But my favorite place was my very own playroom on the lower floor." Tristan got out of the Bentley and came around to my side. He opened my door and took my hand. Then he leaned back against the car and drew me to him. I looked up at his face as he studied the house that rose from the expanse of green lawn in front of us.
"When Wright designed this house in 1902, he broke a lot of rules. The style at the time was the Queen Anne."
"Like the Victorian homes around here?"
"Yes, exactly. Wright did away with tiny rooms, he opened up the interior space with all those windows you see, and by putting the living space on the second floor he gave a measure of privacy you don't get otherwise. Notice there aren't any curtains? None needed."
"Is this what gave you your yearning for the house in the woods that you described to me when we first met? The one designed with lots of glass so you could 'run around naked in the trees'?"