Finding Persimmon

Finding Persimmon By R. W. Clinger Tate Blackwood, if asked, would have admitted to anyone that he would never settle down with a guy, let alone marry one. He also would have confessed to enjoying one-night stands, s*x with a variety of men, and a life without commitments, boyfriends, and anything that could tie him down. Truth told—and there were a lot of f****d up truths in his life, none of which he considered embarrassed by or ashamed of—he couldn’t see himself with a husband or one man. All he could do was jump from one d**k or a jockish ass to the next, enjoying s*x for one simple reason—getting off. Tall, dark, and handsome, the guy could have passed as a walking cliché. Queer porn in West Hollywood would have loved for him to do a number of naughty films because of his six-two frame and one hundred and eighty pounds of compact muscles. His onyx-colored hair had a wave through it that some women, and most queer men, would have killed for, and his eyes were about as handsome as a model on the front of a paperback romance: bright blue with flecks of silver. At thirty-eight, he owned and operated his own company, the Steeping Tea Company (STC). His wealth had been gained through hard work, and a business degree and brains from Yale. His tea company just happened to be worth seventeen million dollars. Lots to brag about. Clean money made because of hard workers, just as he thought of himself. For the last eight years, he’d been running Tea, mostly with the help of his CFO, Catherine Mangel, and Vice President, Lee Stewart. Barely could he find time to relax because of his career, but when he did, he enjoyed hanging out at his flat that overlooked Lake Erie in Channing, Pennsylvania. There, alone, rarely, if ever taking a guy home to share his company with because he searched out s*x antics in other men’s flats and Cape Cods, Tate enjoyed reading Agatha Christie novels, choosing one after the next to. Hardly ever did he travel the globe for pleasure. Most of the time, he flew to Los Angeles for work. Collecting tea samples (mostly dried leaves in glass tubes) from around the world lacked personal pleasure. Instead, he worked three times as hard as most people, gaining success and usually exhaustion. Because he was busy with Tea, and traveling, he couldn’t fit a boyfriend or husband into the mix. One, he didn’t think it was fair to be trotting the globe and leaving his lover behind to fend for himself. Two, Tate refused to open his heart to a man, learning to love someone as much as he loved himself. And three, he didn’t need the drama in his life. Singlehood worked best for him. Always. There was no reason to change his ways now. No drama meant a happy life. A happy life meant no hassles. Bottom line: Tate Blackwood wanted to stay single for the rest of his life, enjoying his one-night stands and a variety of men in the sack. Who could blame him, right? No one he knew, of course.