The Summer Of Aaron - 1. Chapter 1

I put the car in park, turned off the ignition and got out. I walked to the front and stepped over the concrete barrier, ignoring the “KEEP BEHIND THE BARRIERS” sign, and walked those few feet—about eight really (distances never seemed the same when you actually walked them)—to the edge and looked down. Even with the tide out, the distance to the bottom was hardly a fatal one. Just far enough for an injury or two, depending upon how fast I was going when I hit the barrier. I’d need a good running start to accomplish more than a rather pathetic little plunge and a few scrapes. Though maybe the car would flip over. No seat belt would get me a good bump on the head. Maybe enough to knock myself unconscious—which had potential if the tide was in.

Not that I would do it, kill myself. Not really. But the thought had occurred to me. I can’t deny that. It had occurred to me all along the drive from the apartment Jeremy and I shared to this ocean-side parking area where I now found myself. Mostly at busy intersections, where I imagined myself ignoring the red light and ending up stuck in the grate on the front of a tractor trailer. And once at a railroad crossing when the signals started to flash and I imagined sitting there on the tracks staring down an oncoming train. But fantasizing about my somewhat voluntary death really wasn’t an auspicious start to the first vacation I had taken since the year Jeremy and I first met.

Fourteen years without a real vacation. Jeremy didn’t like to travel so we ended up staying close to home. Oh, we’d go camping at the lake once in a while or fishing in one creek or another, and once or twice we went to Six Flags for the day. And there was the weekend we went skiing—just the one, though, since Jeremy broke his ankle and put his foot (the one without the broken ankle) down and had declared winter sports to be “spectator only” from then on. And really, it was always what Jeremy wanted. I’d never minded that.

But when he left, I decided I‘d take a real vacation, one that would last the entire summer. I could do that. It was one of the benefits of being a teacher—having the summer off. The summer off without Jeremy. And here I was, standing on the edge of a cliff (ok, it was more of a “high edge”) contemplating the degree of injury I could possibly sustain by plunging over it.

No, all in all, not an auspicious start.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”

I turned around, a bit startled. I’d been fairly lost in my thoughts and hadn’t heard him approach. “It is,” I said after a moment. It was. Even on a fairly gray day. Even when all I was really noticing was the distance down.

“When the tide is in it’s a bit of a mind fuck when you look down, though. The way the water froths and swirls around the rocks, it looks like one of those hypnotist’s wheels you see in old movies.”

I smiled. I could picture those wheels with the black and white spiral, spinning and spinning to the, well, hypnotic voice of the...hypnotist. Yes, I taught English. Apparently I’d left my mental thesaurus at home.

He was young. Probably not much older than the kids I taught. Maybe not older at all. His light brown hair was short and spiked, highlighted blonde on top—which might have been from the sun. His tanned skin certainly spoke of time spent in the sun.

“Shame the tide’s out then. I’ll have to come back when it’s in and have a look.”

“You should, unless you are feeling suicidal or get vertigo or something.” His eyes smiled more than his lips, which turned up only slightly at the corners. Pretty eyes, I thought. Blue, but nothing cliché, no “robin’s egg blue” or “sky blue” or “baby blue.” Just blue. And pretty did work for him, though I suspected he wouldn’t care much for that word.

“I should probably pass on it then,” I said, feeling my own eyes responding to his smile.

I could tell by the way he tipped his head slightly and raised an eyebrow that it was in his mind to ask whether I had vertigo or was suicidal. I didn’t want to encourage him to ask, so I turned back toward the ocean, this time looking toward the horizon.

“You staying in town?”

Was I?

“Maybe. Depends on whether there are any vacancies or not, I guess.” I hadn’t made reservations, mostly because I didn’t have any idea where I was going when I packed the car and headed off. I just threw the Rand McNally in the car and headed east. I figured somewhere between home and the Atlantic would catch my eye. Nothing really had, I had just run out of land.

He made a tut sound. “I don’t know. Things book up pretty quick this time of year. Though last week was probably worse since it was the Fourth.”

I shrugged. “I’m not committed to staying here, so I suppose I’ll have a look around and if there’s nothing, I’ll just go somewhere else.” Like somewhere with a bit more drop and a smaller barrier. Or maybe further south. Or further north. Or wherever.

“If you don’t mind spending a chunk, the Seagull Resort might still have something.”

I turned to look at him. He had a little furrow between his brows, as if he was really trying to come up with a solution for me. Maybe kids were nicer here. Maybe his folks owned the place.

“Thanks. I’ll try there if all else fails.”

I didn’t mind “spending a chunk.” Fourteen years of no real vacations had at least kept my bank account comfortable. That and Jeremy had always had a thing about being the one responsible, financially. Made me feel a bit like a wife sometimes. Which hadn’t always felt like a bad thing. I had never minded being “taken care of.” Though it was never a financial thing with me.

I smiled at him. “Well, I guess I better get my ass in gear if I want to find a place to stay tonight. Thanks, again.”

“Hope you find something. See ya,” he called after me as I walked past him and got into my car.

* * *

The street that ran parallel to the ocean was lined with hotels and motels of all sizes and shapes. But as expected, the signs in front of the ones on the ocean side of the street all proclaimed a polite but firm “NO VACANCY.” And for a while it seemed that all of the ones on the other side of the street were similarly boasting. So when I spotted a “VACANCY” sign, I put my blinker on and turned into the parking lot. I pulled into one of the open parking slots—and sat there. It was my first vacation in fourteen years. Did I want to spend it in a small strip motel with an outdoor pool that looked like it remembered when bikinis were the latest thing? I backed out of the parking spot and pulled back out into traffic. It would be my backup plan—if the Seagull Resort didn’t have anything.

It did. At $180 a night. But they had weekly rates. And were more than happy to give me a slight discount if I paid for the entire summer—up front. I could have paid the rent on my apartment for six months with what it cost me, but it faced the ocean, had a balcony and a “sitting room” with a couch and a table and a big-screen TV and free cable. It should have come with live entertainment and a 24 hour open bar for that price. But it didn’t matter. And it promised to have all the amenities.

And the view from the balcony was spectacular.

* * *

“Hello, again.”

I looked up from the book I was reading.

“The parking area? You were looking over the edge? Remember?” If I had forgotten, I remembered when he smiled.

“Hello, again,” I replied with a smile of my own.

He looked at the chair next to me and I gestured slightly with my head—toward the chair opposite me, instinctively putting just that little bit of distance between myself and someone I didn’t know.

With a lift of his brow, he sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “Glad you found a place to stay. This was the only place available then?”

“No, there was another; but this one looked nicer.” Nicer, like Waterford crystal was nicer than a plastic cup.

He nodded and looked around. “It’s supposed to be the best of the best.”

He fidgeted a little, as if he was trying to think of what to say next. I wasn’t that helpful. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why he was talking to me.

“I’m Aaron, by the way,” he said at last. He looked at me and smiled what I could only describe as an encouraging smile.

“Justin,” I replied, automatically extending my hand. It was when he released my hand, letting his fingers slide slowly over my palm as he pulled his hand away that it dawned on me. He was hitting on me!

No. I was reading way too much into things. He was just being…friendly? Were boys his age normally friendly to guys my age? Guys my age! God! That sounded…old. I wasn’t old. Thirty-eight was not old. But it wasn’t young. Not young enough to be hit on by a kid.

I must have been giving him an odd look because his expression changed. The openness seemed to close off a little and he pulled back into his chair. It was a visible withdrawal. I wondered what he had read into my expression. I found out with his next words.

“Hey look, I’m not one of them, you know.”

”One of whom? I frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

He looked around and nodded. I followed his eyes to a table about four tables away that was occupied by a well-dressed older man and an equally well-dressed—if much less dressed boy about Aaron’s age. Light dawned on me immediately. Aaron was not one of them, not one of the boys that picked up older, financially well-off men and offered themselves in exchange for being well kept for a little while. Of course, I could see why he might think I thought that. Well, now I could, I hadn’t until he mentioned it. After all, he had been the one to suggest The Seagull Resort, if I didn’t mind “spending a chunk.” And here I was, obviously willing to spend that “chunk” that I obviously must have.

Well, that was a nice slap in the face. By telling me he wasn’t “one of them,” he was damned sure pointing out to me what I was.

“Glad to hear it. But you might want to change your tactics a little next time around. The thought never occurred to me until you mentioned it.”

He flushed to the roots of his hair, which made the blue in his eyes appear darker. “I-I don’t really have any tactics. I guess I’m not that great at trying to pick up guys. You’re kind of my first attempt.”

My lips twisted into something of a smirk. His first attempt? I doubted it. Not with his looks. Just as I doubted his lack of tactics. But then… He looked genuinely embarrassed. I glanced over at the boy who was one of them. Doubtless he could have pulled of a “genuinely embarrassed” look fairly easily. My smirk turned to a self-mocking smile. Oh, I was an easy enough mark, that’s for sure. Alone and vulnerable. I must have been wearing that sign big and bright enough for even a novice at the game to notice.

But it didn’t matter either way, because I wasn’t interested.

“Well, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested in anything at the moment.” Truth in those words. I wasn’t interested in anything, not just not interested in him. I don’t know what made me add, “And I’m sure you can do much better.”

Ok, maybe I did know why I added that. I hadn’t been feeling all that great about myself—getting dumped after 14 years will do that to you. And I was a bit stung by my realization that he considered me one of those “older guys” who might be vulnerable to a young, tan body and pretty eyes. Even if he wasn’t one of them.

But it gave him an opening.

“Why do you say that? Why do you think I could do much better?”

It was obvious to me. “Go look in a mirror,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

“Maybe you should look in one, too.”

I laughed outright. “Oh come on! Don’t even try that line.” I looked at him. I could still feel the laughter in my eyes. He met my gaze directly and I knew he was smiling by the sparkle in his eyes.

“So tell me, why aren’t you interested? Don’t you find me at all attractive?” His voice carried just a hint of a pout, and I noticed he had changed his expression to match. But his eyes still smiled, still sparkled. God! If he wasn’t one of them, he should really consider it. Could set himself up comfortably for life!

“You’re very good looking, and you know it.” He had to.

He frowned. “Sure, you say that now that I’ve backed you into a corner. You’re just being polite. It’s my nose, isn’t it?” He ran a finger down the slope of his nose then covered his nose with his hand. “It’s the bump, I know. But I’m going to have that fixed at some point. Really I am.”

I laughed. “Your nose is fine as it is.” I hadn’t noticed a bump. If it was there, it didn’t hurt a thing.

He nodded very seriously. “It’s my ass, then. I know it.” He stood up and turned his head as if trying to look at his ass. He wiggled it a bit. “Is it too small? So you prefer a bigger one?” he whined. “I can eat more. I like to eat. In no time I could have it as big as you want it to be.”

He looked at me and sighed deeply, dramatically, and ran a hand over his ass. “No, that’s not it. It’s too big, isn’t it? And you are just too kind to tell me. I know it. I can make it smaller. I won’t eat for a week, longer, if that’s what it takes.”

He sat back down and smiled at me, still that amazing smile that made his eyes sparkle. “Come on, tell me what it is and I’ll do my best to fix it.”

I grinned, a bit ruefully, and shook my head. Nothing about him needed fixing. Except maybe his age.

“I’m too old for you.”

I was. I wasn’t old, but I was too old for him. Every rational cell in my body was screaming that loudly, telling me to just get up, back away, say a firm “no thanks” and turn and run like hell—before I made a complete fool of myself. But another part of me kept me sitting right where I was.

“Do you mean I’m too young for you?” He looked at me closely, and I could almost see him poised on the edge of his seat, waiting for my response.

“Same thing,” I said with a slight shrug. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

“No, they aren’t at all the same thing!” he pounced on my words almost triumphantly. “If you are saying I’m too young for you, then there’s nothing I can really do about it.” He grinned. “Except maybe pine away for a few years until I reach whatever magic age you want me to be.”

He leaned forward, reaching out a hand to touch mine for just a second before placing it next to his other hand—and I noticed how long his fingers were as he splayed them out on the table top. “But if you are saying you’re too old for me, then I’m going to stop you right there, because only I know what is and isn’t too old for me.”

I looked at him for a moment. There was something in what he said. Not that it mattered because he was too young for me even if I wasn’t too old for him. And I wondered just how old this boy was who was implying that I was not too old for him. Though why I had to ask, I didn’t know. But I had to.

“How old are you, anyway?”

He sat back in his chair and smiled. I got the strong impression he thought maybe I was weakening. “Legal. That’s all that matters, right?”

No. Well, it did matter. I didn’t want to spend my vacation in some jail cell with someone named Bubba. But legal could still be…well, young. Too young. Not that I was actually contemplating anything, of course.

“No, it isn’t all that matters.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m eighteen.” He grinned suddenly. “We met on my birthday actually. Was thinking it was a nice birthday present, running into you like that.”

“Christ! Eighteen? How old do you think I am?” Why did I ask that? Did I really want to know that answer?

He shook his head. “Why does it matter? Should I pick a number out of my head? Why? I’m attracted to you. Why does it matter how old you are?”

I stared at him in disbelief—and not a little shock. He was attracted to me? Was he mad? “Good God, why? You say you aren’t one of them, so what is it? You’re attracted to middle aged men with pale skin, glasses and love handles?” I shook my head. “And I have never been able to figure out why they call them that. There is absolutely nothing to love about them at all.”

He smiled, not the bright, sparkling smile he had been smiling right along, but a softer smile, an almost diffident smile. “No, I’m attracted to grey eyes that exactly matched the color of the sky on the day we met, eyes that looked like they saw things I couldn’t see.” His eyes traveled over my face and I felt my skin warming. “And I’m attracted to smiles that linger and leave their traces around the eyes they light up.”

I felt my mouth dropping open, not quite like an awestruck goldfish, but like someone poised on the edge of uttering something he would regret later. Either he was very sincere, or he was very good.

He looked into my eyes for a moment longer, then he laughed, a soft chuckling laugh. “Do you have love handles? I didn’t notice. That’s good. Great to hold on to and even nicer to bite.”

I laughed outright. God! This was insane. “You are crazy, do you know that?”

Crazy and beautiful. But I wasn’t that masochistic. Borderline suicidal, maybe, but not masochistic. I knew I was way too vulnerable at the moment. Jeremy’s leaving me had left me with a whole psychology text book full of issues and insecurities. I didn’t need to scrape at them. But I didn’t say any of that to him.

“Thanks, really. You’ve made my day in an odd way. But no thanks. Really, I’m sorry.” I was.

He nodded and stood up. “Ok. I guess I get the message.” He smiled again, an apologetic smile framed by cheeks that were definitely pinker than they had been. “Was still nice to meet you, Justin.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Aaron.” It was. And as he turned and walked away, I thought to myself that if he had said “Ok, how about we just fuck once anyway?” I might have said yes. Hell, he was well past cute and heading toward gorgeous—even if he was young enough to be one of my older students. And the fact that he wanted to fuck me or me to fuck him—one or the other—could have been a major ego boost—at least on a short-term basis.

But it was better as it had worked out, better that he walked away.

* * *

Summer at the beach. Alone. There are only so many days you can spend lounging on the beach trying to look like you want to be there. The beach wasn’t really my thing anyway. For one thing, I didn’t really tan. Just didn’t have the genetics for it. The best I could do was a healthy summer “glow” (as my mom called it—though moms have a tendency to know how to phrase things so you feel good about just about anything) by the end of the summer. But it was still early and at the moment I only “glowed” in that not-too-flattering “glow in the dark” way. And for another, the sun was too bright to read, which is really what I liked to do in my spare time. I tried, but I ended up getting a headache.

And it wasn’t like there were throngs of people looking to make conversation with me. Though I suppose making a point of not looking up when anyone walked near me might have given off something of a “do not disturb” signal. So really, I was well caught in my own net. I was bored sitting or lying alone on the beach—but at the same time, I didn’t actively try to alter that situation and probably even encouraged it. But really, what was I supposed to do? Just sit there and smile like an idiot at everyone who walked by, pat the sand next to me invitingly and… And then what? I had nothing to say past hello. Nothing of interest. No one was ever interested in the things I was. Not even Jeremy, really.

That was something I came to realize while spending those seemingly endless hours doing nothing on the beach. Jeremy and I had never really had much in common. Not that he would ever have noticed that. He was fairly self-absorbed. But to be fair, I had always made a point to blend into his life, do things he enjoyed, like things he liked. I suppose I had become something of an extension of him—which was probably why he dumped me. He reached a point in his life where he wanted to reinvent himself, that classic “mid-life crises,” most likely. That made me something of an appendix. A piece of him he had outgrown, didn’t really need any longer. If he had ever needed me. I had needed him. But it had probably never been as mutual as I had thought.

Summer on the beach. Alone. Way too much time to think. Which is why I decided to do something, anything. There was a rack of brochures in the hotel lobby, so I just took one of each back to my room and went through them.

Which is how I ended up at the museum. It wasn’t a museum on a grand scale, not by any stretch of the imagination. But as soon as I walked through the doors I smiled. It had that smell that older museums have. They smell like old libraries, really, that combination of slightly musty old paper, dust and wood polish. It was a nice smell. And the old wood floors creaked like old rocking chairs, the creaks echoing in the almost empty rooms. It was an odd place to go when on vacation in a beach resort town, but it felt comfortable to me.

After wandering around looking at glass cases filled with arrowheads, old iron tools and pottery, I ended up looking at the museum’s “newest” exhibit (which they had placed as far from the front entrance as possible—most likely to ensure that the other exhibits got at least a passing glance).

”’Hypsibema Crassicauda. This ornithopod lived during the late Cretaceous period, about 83-73 million years ago.’”

I turned and looked with surprise at the person who spoke—surprised by the fact that I hadn’t heard him approach, but even more surprised that it was him.

“I think they are stretching with this one, don’t you?” Aaron continued, a serious expression on his face—but the sparkle of a smile in his eyes. “Only a few of the bones are actually real. And they have it as a hadrosaur, a duck-billed dinosaur. If you ask me, someone made an awful lot of inferences from those bones. Wouldn’t you need at least a bone or two from the head to imply that it was a duck-billed dinosaur?”

“What are you doing here?” I could have phrased that a bit differently.

He laughed, and his laughter echoed in the room that was empty but for the two of us—and the dubious fossil. “What? Don’t I look like a person who hangs around in museums?”

I felt myself smiling. “No?”

He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips a little and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I happen to enjoy museums. I find them…interesting. Everything is so nice and old and…” he sniffed, then sneezed, “and dusty,” he added, laughing again.

He really looked amazing when he laughed.

“Yes, you have actually mentioned your attraction to some old things.” Not that I was old, precisely. Certainly not museum old.

He grinned. “There are posters all over town advertising the ‘new and exciting exhibit.’ Couldn’t possibly resist that. And I’ve always had a thing for dinosaurs, ever since I was a kid.”

Posters all over town? I hadn’t seen one. My lips twisted into a wry smile. “Since you were a kid? Which was what, two weeks ago?”

“Since I was about four, actually,” he clarified, still grinning.

Four. Fourteen years ago. The year I had met Jeremy. His interest in dinosaurs began the same year as my interest in Jeremy. That put an odd, somewhat uncomfortable perspective on things.

He must have seen something in my face because he reached out and touched my hand that was resting on the brass railing that separated the Hypsibema Crassicauda from its adoring public. “I have a two-for-one coupon for the museum cafeteria. They do great fries. Really, most people don’t come here for the exhibits—they come for the fries, which are as greasy and salty as you could want.”

I smiled. “Well, everyone knows that’s why you buy fries—the potatoes are just the host for the grease and the salt.”

“Exactly!”

True to his word, they were the greasiest, saltiest fries imaginable. And as we sat in there washing them down with soda that was allegedly a cola of some form (not that you could really tell, but it was vaguely brownish in color), he told me about some of the museums he had been to.

“The coolest one was in Niagara Falls, on the Canadian side. It was the Ripley’s Museum and had things from ‘Ripley’s, Believe it or Not.’ Some things were beautiful, like a collection of butterflies from the Victorian era—seems they had a thing for collecting just about everything. But what really caught me was the two-headed kitten.” He shook his head. “It was the cutest little thing. I just wanted to take him home and take care of him. He looked so alive and so pathetic there all alone.”

His face became animated as he spoke of the things he had seen. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice, the genuine appreciation, the wonder. He wasn’t pretending to enjoy dusty old museums to impress someone, he did enjoy them. But what struck me even more was the look in his eyes when he spoke of the kitten. And I wondered if maybe I had looked pathetic and alone. Maybe I had. Maybe that was what attracted him to me—more than eyes that “exactly matched the color of the sky on the day we met.”

I thought in that moment that I should feel differently about that, about the thought that he had maybe seen me as “pathetic and alone.” More annoyed, more hurt. After all, no one wanted to be thought of as pathetic. Except I was. Alone and about as pathetic as I could imagine. But I didn’t think he’d made that connection. I didn’t think he thought of me as pathetic and alone. He just felt attracted to me and attributed it to a whole different set of reasons. Not that it mattered, because he was eighteen and I wasn’t.

“So what are you going to do tomorrow? There’s a pirate museum about 10 miles from town, but it doesn’t really have anything that special. A few cannon balls, some pistols and swords. The usual things, really. Its only real attraction is that everyone who works there is dressed in period costumes. “

Did I want to discuss my plans with him? “I have quite a few brochures to look through. I did see one ‘Haunted Tour’—“

“Hey, if you want a tour of all the interesting things around here, you could do worse than me as a tour guide, you know,” he interrupted enthusiastically. “I’ve lived around here all my life. I could show you the things that are really interesting and not just the tourist traps.” He grinned. “And I’m much cheaper than the ‘tours’ in the brochures.”

I smiled and shook my head. I thought he would more likely be very expensive. I told him so. “I think you would end up costing me a lot more than the tourist trap tours.”

I said it with a smile, but I could see his eyes darken, which made me look at his cheeks. Yes, they were pink again. I hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. Why had I said that? I could have just said thanks, but no thanks and let it go at that. I almost reached my hand out, to touch him, to apologize for being an ass. But he had stood up and I could feel the change, the closing off, the withdrawal.

“You’re probably right. But hey, it was good to see you again. Hope you enjoy whatever it is you decide to do.”

“Well, Justin, you won’t have to worry about running into him again,” I thought to myself. Which was probably for the best.

* * *

The brochure promised a trolley tour of “Seven sites of spooky spectral sightings.” A catchy hook line, I guessed. Whoever had done the brochure had at least passed “Alliteration 101.” But the stops that were highlighted in the brochure did look fairly interesting.

“Visit the haunted home of Captain Matthias Gregg, a bloodthirsty pirate known for taking no prisoners. Gregg reputedly plundered over 100 merchant ships, mercilessly slaughtering their crews. His ghost is said to haunt the master bedroom of his home, where he was murdered in his bed on his wedding night—by the beautiful Spanish woman he had captured along with her father’s ship and had forced to be his bride. It was said hers was the only life he ever spared—something he must have considered ironic in his final moments.”

My lips twitched. I doubted the concept of irony would have occurred to a “bloodthirsty pirate,” but at least the brochure’s author had a sense of humor.

“Cemeteries are final resting places of the dead—but the residents of this early 19th century cemetery are not all resting. Occupied largely by the victims of a cholera epidemic in 1809, many of them young children, visitors have reported sighting several small specters…”

Again with the Alliteration 101…

“…running amongst the headstones—as if at play. And more than one woman has reported feeling a small hand tugging on her skirt accompanied by a small voice crying, ‘Mama, mama.’”

That wouldn’t be too bad. I wasn’t a woman and I wasn’t wearing a skirt, so I wasn’t likely to experience a “close encounter of the ghostly kind.” And I actually enjoyed looking through old cemeteries, whether they were reputedly haunted or not. Jeremy had called me a ghoul on more than one occasion for that. But it wasn’t the “death” aspect of the cemeteries that fascinated me; it was just the age of things, the sense of time the old stones captured. Jeremy never understood my love of old things.

“Everything is so nice and old…”

I felt myself smiling. Aaron would have understood. I almost wished he would suddenly pop up, and found myself actually looking around for him. I shook my head and forced myself to read the rest of the brochure.

But there wasn’t much more to the brochure. Except for a mention of a section of the boardwalk that supposedly would “bleed” at the stroke of midnight on random nights, the rest of the “seven sites of spooky spectral sightings” were lumped together under an all-encompassing “and more!” at the bottom of the second page. And the rest of the brochure was an ad for the “Ghost Ship Miniature Golf,” including a coupon for one free round with the purchase of another.

I smirked as I shoved the brochure into my pocket and sat down on one of the benches next to the first hole to wait for the trolley. A haunted trolley tour that took off from a miniature golf place… I supposed this might just be one of those “tourist traps” Aaron had mentioned. But I was here and at the very least, I could play a rousing round of miniature golf after the tour—if I wasn’t too overcome by the “spooky spectral sightings.”

The trolley arrived and I noticed it was already half full. Apparently there was either another pick up location or it picked up eager tourists along the way. I stood up and made my way to the trolley with the few others that had been waiting. After letting the two old men and the three women go ahead of me, I handed the driver my ticket and turned to find a seat. With a smile and a shake of my head, I took a seat opposite a couple who were about my age and obviously a “couple”—by the way they were already starting to bicker at each other.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I would suspect you were stalking me,” I said to the boy sitting next to me, the boy with the blue eyes and light brown, spikey hair with blonde highlights.

“Nah, if I were stalking you I’d run into you at odd places like the patio of your hotel or a museum or.. “ He stopped and grinned. “Oh, wait, I have actually turned up in those places, haven’t I? But it’s perfectly natural, really, not at all a stalker thing. It’s a small community and it seems we happen to like similar things. But even if we didn’t, we’d be bound to run into each other at least once or twice.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Or three times? In three days? And on a tourist trap tour like this one? Now, I might believe the museum, because of the new exhibit. But you’ve lived around here all your life—as you said to me. Why would you take a tour like this?”

He grinned. “Good to know you remember my words. But it’s like people who live in New York City and never go to the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty. I’ve never been to see any of the ‘haunted’ places.”

“Right… And you just happened to get the urge after I mentioned I was thinking about going on a haunted tour.” I supposed it could be one of those coincidental things. Perhaps my mentioning it had just made him think of it. Yeah, right.

He shrugged slightly and his grin softened into a smile. “I didn’t have anything else to do today and I saw the trolley coming and decided to be spontaneous.”

His smile faded suddenly and a little furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “But if it bothers you… I mean, I can get off…”

I shook my head. “No, it doesn’t bother me.” It didn’t. In fact, I didn’t mind at all.

He smiled again, bringing the sparkle back to his eyes. “Good, because it’s always good to have someone to talk to on these things.” He leaned a little closer to me and bumped my shoulder with his. “Especially when it comes to the scary parts. I’ve never seen a ghost before. I might get scared.”

I had a sudden image of him clinging to me, burying his face in my neck. It warmed my entire body. I didn’t say anything, I just lingered over that image for a while.

But as it turned out, the most exciting thing that happened on the entire tour was when the couple we were sitting opposite from on the trolley decided they had apparently had enough of each other and started getting physical—resulting in the woman’s pushing the man over one of the headstones in the cemetery. The subsequent laughter was probably enough to keep any mama-crying ghosts away, if the yelling had not already driven them off. The pirate’s home was likewise a non-event, as was the bloody boardwalk—though in all fairness, it wasn’t supposed to be bloody until midnight and it was only afternoon.

By the time we got back to the Ghost Ship Miniature Golf, we were both glad it was over.

“Well, I guess today just wasn’t a good day for spooky spectral sightings,” I said as I stepped off the trolley and stood for a moment, stretching and stifling a yawn.

“No, guess not,” Aaron agreed. “Though I’m tempted to check out the bloody boardwalk come midnight.” He flashed me a smile that could only be described as inviting. “You could come with me.”

He was persistent. Had to give him that. “A boardwalk, a bloody boardwalk, at midnight with a stalker?” I smiled and shook my head. “Do I look like someone who’s that crazy?”

He laughed and grabbed my hand. “No, but you look like someone who is just dying to play miniature golf,” he said as he pulled me inside the building. “Come on,” he grinned, “we can use the buy one, get one coupon. Can’t let those go to waste.”

I laughed. “I’m going to start thinking you’re printing those coupons yourself.”

“You’ve caught me now! I’m a stalker who prints coupons.” His grin was infectious. “Gotta give me credit for being a bit different at the very least.”

“Oh, that you most definitely are,” I laughed in return.

* * *

“You only beat me because they make the sides of the green things too low and my ball kept bouncing over them.”

“Aaron, miniature golf is a game of finesse, a game of inches and angles. You aren’t supposed to hit the ball like you are taking a slap shot.” I grinned at him as we sat in the hotel restaurant eating dinner. I had beaten him two games to one, mostly because he seemed to put every other ball into the water that surrounded the “ghost ship” holes.

He took the umbrella from his drink and poked my hand with it. “You beat me because you cheat. You kept adding in extra strokes for me. I saw you.”

“Ow!” I pulled my hand away. “Poke me again and I’ll tell the waiter you aren’t really old enough to drink,” I threatened with a smile. “And you get penalized a stroke every time you hit the ball outside of the green—or, in your case, into the water.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet and took out an id and flashed it at me. “See? It says I’m twenty-one, in case anyone asks, which they won’t—because I know the waiter and the bartender.”

I looked at it and shook my head. It was a good fake. Would have fooled me. If he’d told me he was twenty-one in the beginning, would it have made a difference? Twenty-one or eighteen—they were still far from thirty-eight.

“So you obviously don’t spend much time playing miniature golf,” I began, picking up the umbrella from his drink and poking his hand with it. “What do you normally do to keep yourself busy—when I’m not around for you to stalk?”

I thought I saw a brief look cross his face, but the light in the restaurant was dim, mostly lit by candles. But the smile never left his lips. “In the summer I mostly just hang out. I spend a lot of time on the beach, I guess. Though that gets old about midway through the summer. Sometimes I do some reading or some writing.” He shrugged a little. “Sometimes I just walk around, just to keep moving.” He laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t sit still that well.”

I had noticed. He was seldom completely still. There was a bounciness about him; but it wasn’t hyper or annoying, it was just exuberant.

“Don’t you have any friends you hang out with?”

Again, that look crossed his face. He shrugged again. “There are a couple of people I hang with once in a while. But sometimes I just want to be by myself.” He reached out and touched my hand. “Or with someone different, someone who…”

“…can kick your ass at miniature golf?” I finished for him. I could feel where his words had been about to go, and I wanted to keep them from going there.

He smiled as he pulled his hand away—slowly, letting his fingers brush over mine. But I could see understanding in his eyes. “Hell yeah, and you have no idea how many guys I had to go through before I found one who cheats as well as you do.”

“So what are you doing tomorrow?” He asked over his glass as he finished the rest of his drink.

I laughed a little. The quick change of subject wasn’t necessarily to a better one. “You’re my stalker, you tell me.”

He shook his head, a little sadly it seemed. “I’m not stalking you,” he said softly. He looked at me and reached his hand out again, just touching my fingers. “So there’s no chance then? I haven’t managed to completely knock you over with my wit and charm—or my miniature golf skills?”

He’d knocked me over. Maybe not so far over that I couldn’t get up again. But far enough over that I wasn’t sure I wanted to get up. Which wasn’t a good thing, all things considered. And it wasn’t something I wanted to admit to him.

I smiled what I hoped was a gentle smile—because I really didn’t want to hurt him. Not for one moment did I want to hurt him. “I like you. And I have to give you extra points for persistence. And I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve spent together.” More than I would have expected. More than I wanted. “But—“

“But I’m too young for you,” he interrupted, “I know.”

I sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He stood up and took out his wallet and put some money on the table. I pushed it toward him. I wasn’t going to make him pay for anything. But he shook his head. “I’m not one of them, remember?”

I winced. I hadn’t meant to imply anything like that. Though maybe if he had been one of them, things would have been a hell of a lot easier. At least I wouldn’t feel like I was being a total prick by rejecting him—over and over.

“I like how it sounds when you say my name,” he said quietly. He met my eyes for a moment and smiled slightly. “Night, Justin.”

I watched him walk away and wondered whether it was just good-night or whether it was finally really good-bye. “I like how it sounds when you say my name, too,” I whispered to no one.

* * *

Of course, I hadn’t told Aaron what I planned to do today. And when he had left last night, I had the impression it was not just good-night, but good-bye. But I felt pretty much the same thing the two previous nights—only to have Aaron show up both days. So as I wandered in and out of the shops that lined the boardwalk, I didn’t expect to see him pop out from behind the display of salt water taffy or from behind the rack of colorful beach towels or the boogie boards. But I still looked for him. And when it started to rain and I decided to visit the aquarium, I didn’t really expect to see him peering at me from the other side of the shark tank. But I was still disappointed when he wasn’t there.

I had dinner on the hotel patio. I brought my laptop with me, thinking of doing a little writing, but mainly so I could sit there and look like I was actually doing something—as opposed to just sitting there waiting for…for what? For Aaron to show up as he had before? Yeah, that was what I was probably hoping for, even if I didn’t quite form those words in my head. But he didn’t, and I found myself just sitting there watching the sunset and thinking.

Except I ended up not really thinking. Or maybe, more accurately, thinking I really didn’t want to think. I really didn’t want to think about being alone—which I was. And I really didn’t want to think about going home and stepping back into my life, trying to go on like nothing was different. Or trying to make what was different still work for me. After fourteen years, I wasn’t sure I knew how to be myself. I’d been an extension of Jeremy so long that I wasn’t sure how to be anything else. How was I even going to go to the damned grocery store without thinking about what Jeremy would want for dinner? How was I supposed to just stop and change everything that had become normal for the past fourteen years? No, I really didn’t want to think about that.

But beyond all that, I didn’t want to think about Aaron. Especially not about how easily I felt his absence—when I‘d only “known” him for a few days. But I couldn’t deny that I felt it. Nor could I deny that I was attracted to him, sexually. Despite the fact that he was way too young. Despite the fact that I could come up with a whole list of reasons why anything at all between us could only lead to my making a great fool of myself.

It was dark by the time I realized I had spent hours not thinking. I could have gone straight from the patio into the hotel, but instead I decided to walk along the boardwalk to the other side of the hotel. There was a small flower garden on that side and I wanted something to distract my senses, something to distract my thoughts. So I paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Flowers smell different in the night air. It’s as if the headier blooms take over, the deep reds, the purples so dark they’re almost black—the night blooms. I inhaled their fragrance deeply, and wondered how my own garden was faring during my neglectful absence.

“Hey.”

I frowned and turned toward the sound, which came from the shadows between the garden and the side entrance to the hotel. I recognized the voice with just the one word.

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up today.”

I smiled. “It’s ok. Though I‘ll admit that I found myself looking around, half expecting to find you popping out from behind one thing or another.”

He backed into the shadows as I started walking toward him.

“I…have to go. I just didn’t want you to think I had given up stalking you—not that I was, of course.” He laughed and I heard a catch in his voice that sounded wrong.

I stepped into the shadows, and even in the darkness I could see the cut and swollen lip and the black eye and the way he held his right arm across his middle, his right hand holding his left side by his ribs.

My hand instinctively reached out to touch the livid bruise that stained his cheek. “God! What the hell happened?”

He pulled away slightly, shaking his head. “I’m ok. It’s just a few bruises. Really. It’s nothing major.”

I frowned. “You look like someone beat the shit out of you.” I wanted to take him into my arms and hold him. “Who did this to you?”

He shook his head again. So he didn’t want to tell me what happened? Ok. For now.

“You should go to the hospital, just to get checked out. Let me take you—“

“No, no hospital,” he interrupted.

I frowned more. “Can I take you home then? If you won’t go to the hospital? But really, you should let me take you—“

“No,” he interrupted again. “Really, I don’t need to go to the hospital. And I really can’t go home.” He laughed a little, and again I could hear the hitch in his voice. “I’m staying with…friends, though one of them wasn’t so friendly.” He gestured to himself. “I don’t think he’d be any friendlier if I showed up right now.”

I shook my head and put my arm around his shoulders and started leading him toward the door. “Then you’re coming to my room and no arguments.”

He didn’t resist. Not that it would have mattered if he had. I would have picked him up and carried him if I had to. Once in the elevator I took another look at him—and winced. He looked like hell.

“I’ve had some first-aid training, the school where I work requires it. So I’ll have a look at you when we get to my room.” I frowned again and put both my arms around him, holding him lightly, not wanting to hurt him. “But if anything is broken, if I even think anything might be broken, I’m talking you to the hospital. Period.”

He leaned against me and smiled faintly. “Fair enough, because nothing is broken.”

Once in my room I had him remove his shirt and his shorts—which were pretty well covered in blood, which I assumed was from his nose and his lip. I had him stand in the bathroom where the light was best and looked him over thoroughly. His pupils were even, which was a good sign that he didn’t have a concussion. His gums were a healthy pink—so there was probably no internal bleeding. I ran my hands over his ribs and couldn’t feel anything to indicate a break. If any ribs were cracked, they weren’t obviously so. But the fact that Aaron could take a deep breath without nearly passing out was a good indicator that he was likely just bruised.

“See, just bruised. Nothing broken. Nothing major,” he said and I nodded. Just bruised, but the bruises were livid.

“Ok, I agree; I don’t think anything’s broken.” I ran a washcloth under the cold water then wrung it out and folded it up and pressed it gently against his lip. “Hold this there for a minute. I’ll go get some ice and be right back.”

I grabbed the ice bucket and went down the hall to the ice machine. I was back in a moment. I found Aaron sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, I wanted to sit down. I felt a little woozy.”

I sat down beside him and had a second look at his eyes. They still seemed ok. And I supposed feeling a bit woozy was a fairly natural thing after getting the shit beat out of you.

“I think you’d be better off lying down.” I got up and opened my suitcase and took out a small bottle of pills. “Are you allergic to any medications that you know of?” I asked him. He shook his head. I got a glass of water and handed him two of the pills. “They’re hydrocodone, like Vicodin. They’re leftover from some dental work I had done. They’ll help with the pain and will help you sleep.”

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly and I interpreted that as a smile. He took the pills and took a sip of the water and handed the glass back to me. “Thanks. I do hurt a bit.”

I set the glass on the nightstand and shook my head. “A bit?” I held out my hands. “Stand up for a minute.” He took one of my hands and used the other to push off the bed as he stood up. I quickly turned down the covers. “Ok, into bed with you.”

I saw the corner of his mouth lift again and this time his eyes sparkled. “Ordering me into your bed? Nice. So forceful.”

I laughed. “I can still take you to the hospital, you know.”

I picked up the washcloth and wrapped it around a couple pieces of ice. I sat down beside him and just looked at him for a moment, then I handed him the washcloth. “Hold it on whatever hurts the most,” I said with a shake of my head. His lip, his cheek, his eye, his nose… They all had to hurt the most. I noticed he held the cloth so that it touched a bit of each of them.

“I don’t really live here,” he said after a moment, meeting my eyes for a second then looking down. “I told you I lived around here all my life. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. I have lived around here, about 10 miles away. But we’d always come here to the beach and stuff every summer.”

He paused and looked up at me again, just a quick look from under his eyelashes that made the breath catch in my throat. Even bruised and swollen he was still beautiful.

“When school ended this year I was supposed to go right on to college, early admission. But I…things…I just needed a break, you know? Just wanted to be away from…from everyone.”

He looked up at me again, his chin raised almost defiantly, as if I might criticize his decision—but at the same time his eyes seemed to plead with me to understand. I nodded. I understood the need to get away from everyone.

He smiled slightly and continued. “So I just took off. Came here and found an ad in the paper, someone looking for a roommate. Ended up sharing an apartment with two other guys.”

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back against the pillow. I laid my hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me about everything after you’ve had some sleep,” I suggested softly.

He shook his head and opened his eyes. “No, it’s ok. The guys seemed nice enough. We hung out once in a while, but mostly we all just did our own thing. I don’t know if they knew I was gay or not. It never came up, you know?” He frowned and that little furrow between his eyebrows appeared. “I didn’t try to hide it or anything, it just never came up. So last night…after I left…I went to one of the clubs downtown. I had a few more drinks and was a bit wasted when I got home.” He laughed. “I was a LOT wasted, I guess. Wasted enough to hit on Mike. Major mistake. He called me a ‘fucking faggot freak’ and trashed me. Really, I can fight ok, but Mike is BIG and I was SO wasted.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes again. “I woke up in the alley, no clue how I got there. But I figured going back inside wasn’t a plan, at least not while Mike was there. So I sat there and waited for him to leave. When he finally did it was late in the afternoon and…” he opened his eyes and smiled crookedly, “and I realized I didn’t have my key. So I was pretty well fucked. And I didn’t want to hang around and wait for Tom because I didn’t know what Mike might have said to him or how he would react. Didn’t really want to go for round two.”

He laid his hand on my thigh, flexing his long fingers. “I didn’t know what else to do, I just thought of you and…” He met my eyes and I could see his eyelids flutter as he fought to keep them open. “And I swear I didn’t do all this just so I could get into your bed—though I might have given it a shot if I‘d thought of it.”

I laughed softly and covered his hand with mine. “Aaron…” I shook my head and leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You need to get some sleep.”

I started to stand up, but his fingers clenched at my leg. “No…don’t…I mean…can you stay with me? I mean…just until I fall asleep?”

I smiled and nodded and settled myself more comfortably on the edge of the bed next to him.

He smiled sleepily at me. “Thanks, Justin.” He wrapped his fingers around mine and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost immediately. I sat there for a few moments, holding his hand, tracing his fingers with mine. Then I got up, careful not to disturb him, and walked out onto the balcony.

I couldn’t help feeling that this was partly my fault. If I hadn’t rejected Aaron yet again, if I had maybe just made plans to meet him today and do something together… After all, I did enjoy his company. I wouldn’t even bother to deny that. And just because two people spend time together doesn’t mean they have to end up in bed together. But no, I had a stick up my ass and pushed him away—and set in motion everything else that happened to him last night.

I sighed and went back inside. The suite had one king size bed instead of two double beds. I briefly thought of sleeping on the couch. But I’d done what I could to keep Aaron out of my bed, and he ended up there anyway. It seemed Fate was a bitch with a taste for irony, and I didn’t feel like tempting her any further.

I got undressed and got in bed next to Aaron. It was a king size bed. More than big enough for two people to share without any need for any…contact. Which was a good thing, right? I looked over at Aaron as I reached for the switch to turn out the light. It would be so easy to just slide closer to him and take him in my arms and…

I switched off the light and moved as close to the edge of the bed as I could. Yes, a nice, big king size bed was a very good thing.

* * *

When I woke up, Aaron was snuggled against me, his head on my chest and his hand on my stomach. I was holding him, my arms wrapped tightly around him, much the same way Jeremy had often held me. It was a good feeling, and not just in a sexual way—though the warmth of his breath on my skin and the hardness of his morning erection pressing against my hip definitely had my body taking notice.

But I wasn’t lying there thinking of fucking him. I was lying there thinking of holding him, of protecting him. I almost groaned out loud. I really didn’t know what to do with this feeling. I had never felt that way about anyone. In all my relationships, I had been the younger one, the one being held, being protected—and not just because I was younger; it wasn’t an age thing, it was a need thing. I’d always had a very strong need to feel safe, even more than I needed to feel loved. I pressed my lips against Aaron’s hair. Was that what he needed? Was I just responding to his needs? Or was I maybe responding to my own needs, needs that had maybe changed? Maybe I needed to be needed more than I needed to feel safe. Maybe Jeremy had felt that.

I slipped out from under Aaron, as carefully as I could and went into the bathroom to take a shower and to take care of my own morning needs. As the warm water ran over me, I allowed myself the release of fantasy.

When I stepped out of the shower, I took a look in the mirror. I was not a person who obsessed over my looks. I’d always been decent looking, maybe slightly better than average. But I’d never felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I still didn’t, even if that skin now belonged to a thirty-eight year old man whose lover had just left him and who now had an eighteen year old boy in his bed, one with sparkling blue eyes and a body that could bend a straight man.

And I didn’t look…old. No, I didn’t. My hair was still as black as it had ever been, no gray’s that I could see. And I didn’t have wrinkles, not yet. Just a few lines around my eyes—when I smiled. And maybe one or two around my mouth—again, when I smiled. Surely there was nothing old about “smiles that linger and leave their traces around the eyes they light up” or around the mouth. And despite those “love handles” I laid claim to, I was still in decent shape. Not eighteen year old shape, but nothing I had to be embarrassed about. But there was still no denying I was thirty-eight. I scowled at the mirror and wrapped a towel around my waist.

He was sitting up in bed, still under the covers when I came out of the bathroom. He looked worse, in the way bruises always looked worse the next day. But his lip looked less swollen, making the grin only slightly crooked as he spoke.

“You look good in the morning.”

I grimaced. “I look like shit in the morning. The mirror in the bathroom was just pointing that out to me.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

He ran his hand over the bulge clearly visible under the sheets. “Horny.”

I laughed. “God! Eighteen is great. In your place I’d be lying there moaning and feeling like I couldn’t get up.”

He grinned and his eyes sparkled. “I could be moaning, especially if you want me to be.” He grabbed my hand and rubbed it over the bulge. “But I don’t think I have a problem getting up.”

I pulled my hand away and stood up, shaking my head. “I saved you some cold water for your shower.”

He laughed and flung the sheets back. I could see him wince as he slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he stood up without help. “Pity you already had your shower,” he said as walked by me, brushing against me very slightly. “We could have shared.”

I turned away and busied myself getting some clothes from the dresser, not really wanting Aaron to see the effect he was having on me. But his soft, chuckling laughter as he turned on the shower made it pretty clear he knew.

I opened the door to the balcony to check the weather. It was already warm and it was just past eight. I shut the door and changed the shirt I had first chosen for a dark blue tank and put that on along with a pair of blue swim shorts. Definitely not a day to be overdressed.

I tried to ignore the sounds Aaron was making in the bathroom. It wasn’t like he was loud, but apparently the bathroom was anything but soundproof. And I suspected I was meant to hear those sounds.

“I’m going to order room service,” I said through the bathroom door. “What do you want?” I heard him turn off the water and I moved quickly away from the door.

A moment later the bathroom door opened and Aaron emerged with a towel around his waist, rubbing another one over his hair. “I’m not all that hungry. Maybe just some French toast and some bacon and some orange juice.”

My lips twitched. Not all that hungry? “No eggs, home fries or a side of beef to go with that?”

He flicked me with the towel. “No, just coffee, thanks. You said my ass was too big; I’m trying to cut down.”

I laughed. “I never said your ass was too big. Nor too small. Your ass is just fine as it is.” Very fine. Damned fine. I picked up the phone and added an order of French toast for myself and some fresh strawberries and some grapefruit juice. Breakfast wasn’t a meal I usually even bothered to eat—but they say food is often a substitute for sex.

“Um…” Aaron began as soon as I had finished. He was still standing just outside the bathroom wearing just a towel. I ran my eyes slowly over him, but instead of admiring his lean, toned and tanned body, I found myself taking inventory of his bruises: one on the front of his left thigh, one on his left side near his ribs, one on the left side of his jaw, one on his left cheekbone, a black eye, a swollen nose and a cut lip. It was pretty obvious this Mike was right handed. And I could imagine how it had played out, the shit punching Aaron, knocking him down and kicking him. I frowned and I could feel my mouth tightening. He should press charges. A beating like that was more than just a fight—it was an assault.

“Um..” Aaron said again and I noticed he was looking at me and looking a little embarrassed; the parts of his face that weren’t purple were a deep pink. “I don’t have anything to put on. My clothes from last night are a bit…”

They were bloody and dirty. I had left them in the bathroom, but they really needed to be thrown out. I smiled at him. “You can wear something of mine for now, and we’ll go get your things later.”

He gave me a look. “I don’t really need… There’s nothing I can’t replace.”

But I shook my head. “No, we’re getting your things. And if this Mike wants to cause any trouble that I can’t handle, we’ll call the police and press charges against him.”

I might be a thirty-eight year old, nearsighted English teacher with a slight suggestion of love handles (really, they weren’t that obvious unless I was completely naked—or so I hoped), but I was in decent shape and had boxed in college. Ok, that was a few years ago, but it wasn’t something you forgot how to do. And really, there was a very primitive side of me that really hoped this Mike would give me even the slightest reason to hurt him like he had hurt Aaron.

Aaron smiled and his flush deepened a bit. “Thanks, Justin.”

I smiled in return and gave him a pair of my swim shorts. “Better tighten the strings or you’ll be walking out of them,” I said as he pulled them on. He wasn’t that much shorter than I was, but he was smaller around. The t-shirt fit him a little better since his shoulders were broad and more muscled than the rest of him. He probably spent that time at the beach swimming and not lying in the sun.

When he was dressed he walked over to me and brushed his lips against my ear. “My boys are in your shorts where your boys have been. That is so damned hot.” He breathed the word “hot” right in my ear and I groaned and moved away.

“Yeah, I’ll never wash them and I’ll sleep with them under my pillow,” I said with a roll of my eyes. Was I kidding? Maybe not.

* * *

After breakfast, we drove over to the apartment Aaron shared with Mike and Tom. The guy who came to the door when I rang the bell was a little smaller than Aaron. Obviously Tom, not Mike. That primitive side of me was disappointed, though I could see relief on Aaron’s face. Just as I could see shock and revulsion on Tom’s face as he looked at Aaron.

“What the fuck, man! You get hit by a truck?”

Aaron managed a laugh. “Yeah, a truck named Mike. Look, Tom, I don’t wanna get into it. I just came to get my things.”

Aaron went into his room and Tom followed. I didn’t. Somehow the idea of going into Aaron’s room felt too…intimate. Which really didn’t make sense since we had just slept in the same bed. But that bed was in a hotel room and wasn’t really my personal space. So I waited in the living room. Though when I heard Tom ask again what had happened, I took a step closer to the door and listened for any signs that Aaron needed some help dealing with this Tom. But Aaron’s voice was calm when he spoke again, so I moved away, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation. But I stood close enough that I could hear the tone of their conversation, if not the words. That primitive part of me was still lying in wait—just in case.

Aaron emerged from his room without incident a few moments later carrying two suitcases. Tom followed with a box. I took one of the suitcases from Aaron and we carried everything out to the car.

“Look, I’m sorry, man,” Tom said as Aaron got into the car, “Wish I’d been home. Mike’s a shit hole at times.”

I thought that was probably the biggest understatement I had ever heard, but he sounded sincere. And it seemed to make Aaron feel a little better because he gave Tom a smile as they said good-bye, and he was still smiling as we pulled away.

“You know what he said to me when we were in my room?” Aaron asked me as we headed back to the hotel.

“No, I wasn’t listening.”

He shook his head, that smile still playing on his lips. “He said he wished he had been home—because he wouldn’t have minded if I’d hit on him.”

I smiled. “I’d be more surprised if a guy did mind if you hit on him.”

“You minded,” he said quietly.

I looked at him and shook my head. “No, I didn’t. You caught me by surprise and there are a whole host of reasons why I didn’t want you to hit on me, but I never minded. Not for one moment.”

As I turned my attention back to the traffic, I noticed a small smile lift the corner of his lips. I smiled, too. Even the smallest of his smiles were contagious.

The day was turning out to be even hotter than it had promised to be. Everywhere I looked I could see people either already on the beach or heading toward the beach. As we carried Aarons things up to my hotel room, I asked him what he felt up to doing.

He sighed a bit. “Nothing? I feel pretty stiff.”

I cast him a quick look and figured he must be hurting to let that one go buy without his customary grin and sparkle. “The pool is heated and there’s a hot tub. Might make you feel a little better.” And there wouldn’t be as many people inside on a day like this. Fewer eyes to stare and question.

He nodded and smiled. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good. Then afterward I want to look at the paper and see if I can find someplace to stay.”

I nodded. The sooner we got on that, the better chance he would have of finding something decent.

He decided to change into his own swim shorts before we went down. He laughed as he wiggled his hips a bit and my shorts fell right off him. “No chance they’d stay up in the pool; and if I’m going to do a strip, I’d much prefer to give you a private show.” The grin was back, as was the sparkle.

The pool area was fairly deserted, as I thought it would be. Not many people preferred an indoor pool to the ocean on a beautiful day. But there were a few people there. I set my towel down on one of the chairs and took off my shirt. Aaron did the same and I heard one of the teenaged girls say something to her friend. The full array of bruises was more than enough to make the girls stare—though Aaron was someone teenaged girls would stare at anyway.

Any concerns I had about Aaron’s feeling self-conscious were dispelled as he walked past the girls and stepped into the pool. “Take a picture, babe, it’ll last longer,” he said with a smirk.

I smiled and followed him into the pool. Aaron was completely at home in the water; that much was obvious. Even hurting he moved through the water with ease. I was a decent swimmer, but Aaron barely seemed to make an effort as he rippled across the pool under the water, swimming like a fish, his arms scarcely moving. I took a lap across the short distance and complimented him on his swimming.

“I’m on--I mean I was on the swim team in school. Could swim before I could walk, or so my mom brags to all her friends. I love the water.”

We were both leaning against the side of the pool, standing pretty close together. A man about my age walked by and looked at Aaron. It was just a look, but it was an unmistakably critical one, and it hit me wrong. What did he think gave him the right to look at Aaron like that? I was about to open my mouth when Aaron looked up at the guy and stepped closer to me and pressed his mouth against my shoulder, rubbing his teeth against my skin.

“He likes it rough. He’s such an animal,” he said to the guy, gesturing toward me with his head.

I felt my cock stir, as much from his words as the feeling of his teasing bite. I stifled a groan and put my hand on his head and pushed him under the water. He was laughing when he came up. “See? Such a brute.”

I laughed too, as much at the look of complete disgust on the guy’s face as at the look of complete wickedness on Aaron’s.

The pool was relaxing, though I think it was more Aaron’s company than the water. And by the time we got back to the room we were both feeling lazy and hungry. We ordered a pizza and some wings and I made a run to the convenience store to get some beer while Aaron took a look to see what was on TV.

“Hey, there’s some great movies on tonight!” he exclaimed as I walked into the room. I smiled, wondering what he considered “great” movies.

“What’s on?” I asked, putting all but two of the beers in the fridge. Whatever they were, I’d watch them and at least pretend to like them. And I told myself that was because Aaron was hurting. I handed him a beer and popped mine open.

He grinned up at me from the couch. “The Creature from the Black Lagoon is on in 10 minutes, and after that is The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. I haven’t seen that one in a long time.”

There is a certain feeling you get when something catches you by surprise in a good way. Not in that “Oh, a surprise party for me?” way, but in a “You remembered lilacs were my favorite” way. It was a flutter that started in the pit of my stomach and tickled all the way up until it put what I knew had to be an incredibly stupid smile on my face.

The pizza came just then, which gave me a moment to try to turn down the stupidity level on my smile. Try. I don’t think I succeeded because he looked at me and raised one eyebrow. “What? They’re great movies,” he said with a grin. “There’s blue cheese with the wings, right?” he asked, reaching for the box with the wings. “Oh, good. Celery, too. Can’t really have wings without the blue cheese and celery.”

“Careful of your lip,” I cautioned as he grabbed one of the wings and dipped it in the blue cheese.

He nodded, taking a careful bite. “Um, yeah,” he said, taking a quick drink of beer. He wiped his lip with a napkin. “Hot sauce and cuts don’t mix that well.”

I frowned and got up and got a washcloth with some cold water. I handed it to him. “Here, might help a bit.” I noticed he was still eating the wing. “Since I see you’re going to eat them anyway.”

He smiled and dabbed at his lip with the cloth. “Hey, it’s wings. And it’ll only sting for a little bit.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Come on, the Creature’s going to be on in a minute. You don’t want to miss any of it.”

Yeah, the stupid smile came back. “You know,” I said as I sat next to him. The couch was big enough that I didn’t have to sit that close, but it was easier to reach the blue cheese that way—or so I told myself. “I can’t even count the number of times I’ve seen that movie. It’s one of my favorites. I have all three of them on tape.”

He bounced a little. “Revenge of the Creature and The Creature Walks Among Us? I can’t believe you have all three! God! That is so cool. You NEVER see The Creature Walks Among Us on TV. I’ve only seen that one once.”

“I found it on ebay.” I laughed. “Yeah, I actually went looking for it. How sad is that? But I love the old monster movies. Especially the ones that are so bad—“

“—they’re good,” he finished with a grin. He put his arm around my shoulders and bumped his shoulder against mine. “Now, if you tell me you have Reptillicus, I am going to have to stalk you until you marry me, you do understand that, right?”

I laughed out loud and reached for a slice of pizza. “Just the American version. I haven’t been able to find a copy of the Danish version—though I wouldn’t understand a word of it. But I’ve read that the special effects are different.”

He shook his head and looked at me with a look that seemed half amused and half amazed—which was a bit like I was feeling. “Damn,” was all he said.

We spent the evening pointing out the “good parts” to each other. And we both ended up nearly rolling on the floor when we both, at the same exact moment and in our best “South American” accents blurted out, “Miss Kay, Miss Kay, you’re too far from the boat, Miss Kay!”

It was late by the time both movies were over, but neither of us were really that tired. So we sat out on the balcony and watched the ocean in the moonlight.

“Thanks,” Aaron said after a little while of silence.

“For what?”

“For going with me today. And for being there last night.” He smiled. “And for being ready to rise to my defense in the pool.”

I chuckled softly. “You caught that, did you?”

His smile deepened and he nodded. “Yeah. You’re very protective, you know. It’s nice.”

Was I? Maybe I could be.

“And thanks also for…for holding me.”

I looked at him. I had gotten out of bed without waking him. I didn’t know he knew I had been holding him.

He looked out toward the ocean. “I woke up and you were asleep. I looked at you for a while, you know, watched you sleep.” He looked at me quickly, a self-conscious smile on his lips, then looked down at his hands. “Your lips flutter when you breathe. Did you know that?”

I didn’t.

“I wanted to kiss you so badly. But you said you didn’t want me that way,” he continued quietly.

I hadn’t. I had said I was too old for him. I had never said I didn’t want him.

“But I wanted to be close to you even more badly than I wanted to kiss you. So I snuggled against you. As soon as I did you put your arms around me. I looked up, looked at you, thought maybe I had woken you. But you were still asleep.” He looked at me again and smiled a little sadly. “It was nice, being held like that.”

He looked away and sat there in silence for a moment, then he stood up and walked over to the far end of the balcony and looked down the beach.

I knew what he meant. It was nice to be held, to feel someone’s arms around you, to feel safe. I wanted him to feel safe. It was something I wanted very much. I stood up and walked over to stand behind him. I laid my hands on his shoulders, tentatively because I was almost afraid he might pull away. He didn’t, but he froze. I could feel it. It wasn’t a tensing, but a freezing, as if he were holding his breath. I slid my hands down his arms and wrapped my arms around him, gently, not tightly, mindful of his bruises.

I heard him sigh as he seemed to release the breath he had been holding and relaxed against me. I pressed my face against his hair and rubbed my nose against the back of his neck. We stood there, neither of us speaking, for a very long time. Then, as if with common thought, we both turned and walked inside.

“No,” he stopped me as I started to close the balcony door. “Can we leave it open? I love the sound of the ocean at night.”

I smiled and nodded. I loved the sound, too, and the night was comfortable so there was no real need for the ac. He stood next to the bed for a moment, just looking at me, then he took off his clothes and got into bed. I turned out the lights and did the same. He chuckled slightly, and I knew it was because I had turned off the lights before getting undressed. I lay back on the pillows and sighed. It really was stupid to undress in the dark. He had seen me with just my swim shorts and nothing hidden under them was anything I needed to be insecure about. But he was eighteen and I was thirty-eight and…well, there really wasn’t a need for an “and” after that.

He reached over and ran a finger over my lips then put his hand on my stomach. I covered his hand with mine and he moved closer to me, snuggling against me as he had the night before. I put my arm around him and closed my hand around his.

“You’re so protective,” he had said. Maybe I was, at least with him, because the feelings that swept over me as I held him were not sexual. They could be, though. My body would respond to his in an instant. But for the moment, there was nothing sexual in what I was feeling for him.

I brushed my lips against his hair, and I felt him brush his against my chest. I tightened my arms around him and he moved closer against me. “Night, Aaron,” I whispered against his hair.”

“Night, Justin,” he murmured against my chest.

I fell asleep to the sound of the ocean and the feel of Aaron’s warm breath against my skin.

* * *

He was out of bed before I was awake. I’m normally a light sleeper. Jeremy always said a loud thought would wake me up. But as I lay there listening to the sound of Aaron in the shower, I felt like I’d had the best sleep of my life. I hadn’t woken up once, not even partially.

I sat up and was stretching when Aaron came out of the bathroom. “Morning,” he said with a bright smile. “I tried to be as quiet as possible; I didn’t want to wake you. You were so asleep.”

I laughed and ran my hand through my hair. “I haven’t slept like that in as long as I can remember.”

He grinned. “See? I’m good for you.”

Maybe.

He sat down on the bed beside me. I reached out and touched him, brushing my fingers around but not against the bruise on his side. “How do you feel?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, the grin slipping into a softer smile. “If you keep touching me like that, the answer is going to be ‘horny’ again.”

I pulled my hand away and smiled, shaking my head. He laughed and leaned against me a little. “I’m feeling ok. I’m sore but not dying. I’ve hurt worse before.”

I frowned a little, wondering what “before” had involved.

He noticed my frown and rubbed his thumb over it. “Nothing like you are probably thinking,” he answered my unspoken question. “I fell off my horse once. He fell, too, right on top of me. I broke my leg and one of my ribs. It hurt like a bitch.”

I smiled. “You have a horse?” I could picture him riding. I glanced at his hands. Long, sensitive fingers. They would be soft on a horse’s mouth.

He sighed. “I used to. My mom got rid of him after that.” He rolled his eyes. “Should have heard her bitch at my dad for buying him in the first place. Thought she was going to get rid of my dad, too.” He shook his head. “I’m going to get another horse someday. You can’t ride without falling sometimes,” he continued with a defiant lift of his chin that made him look much younger than his eighteen years. “My mom doesn’t get that. I swear she thinks I should be wrapped in bubble wrap 24/7.”

I could see her point. But at least his “worse” hadn’t been from any of the scenarios I had immediately envisioned. He had parents who loved him—one enough to buy him a horse and the other enough to get rid of it.

I smiled at him and touched his cheek with one finger. “Mom’s eventually let their sons grow up. Just give her ten or twenty years.”

I was still waiting for my mom to acknowledge that I could actually manage to take care of myself. When she heard Jeremy had left, her first words to me had been, “I’m coming to stay with you.” Which had probably influenced my sudden decision to take a vacation.

Aaron picked up a copy of the local paper while I showered and dressed. Aaron “wasn’t that hungry” again, so we had omelets and toast and some strawberries while he looked through the paper and I looked online for a place for him to stay for the rest of the summer. Part of me wanted to just tell him to forget about looking for something and stay with me for the rest of the summer. It was nearly over, really, which made going through all the trouble of moving into another place seem a bit pointless. Except that the reasons why he shouldn’t stay with me were obvious. At least to me. For one—and it was a big one—I was twice his age. For another, I was… I let myself use the term fond; I was fond of him. And I wasn’t sure it was right for someone who could understand his mom’s desire to wrap him in bubble wrap 24/7 to feel that way.

So I didn’t suggest anything. I just looked through the online ads and found reasons why none of them were right for him. By the time we were done with breakfast, though, Aaron had several ads circled. But it seemed that just about every place he called was already taken. Even the ones with rents that raised my eyebrows were already gone. After all the calls were made, the list had dwindled down to two “roommate wanted” situations.

“Do you want to get involved with sharing an apartment again?” I asked. Living with someone, even for a short while, required a certain amount of trust. After his experience with Mike, I wondered if Aaron would be comfortable with a roommate.

He shrugged. “I don’t really have much choice. I’ll just be a little more careful about who I hit on,” he added with a grin that I noticed did not reach his eyes.

I gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, let’s go have a look then.”

He looked up at me in surprise. “You’re going to come with me?”

“I said I’d help you look. So unless you’d rather I didn’t come with you—“

“No, no,” he interrupted quickly, reaching for my hand. “I want you to.”

I wrapped my fingers around his and squeezed. “Then let’s go see what we can find.”

* * *

What we found was that people who were looking for roommates when the summer was better than half over probably would still be looking when next summer came around. The first place we went turned out to be one step from a crack house. Ok, that was my perception, but the guy who answered the door was obviously stoned, as was the half-naked girl who wrapped around his neck and declared, “He’s a cutey, Dave, can he share our room?” And the second place wasn’t much better. The apartment was in a nicer building, but the guy who answered the door had probably not had a shower since the last time he’d been caught in the rain.

Had it been a week ago, I suspected Aaron might have gambled on either one. But experience had maybe given him a better sense of what was safe and what wasn’t. Which was a good thing. He was looking pretty dejected, though, as we headed back.

“Maybe I should just go home,” he said as we rode the elevator up to the room. “I’m going to have to face everyone eventually anyway.”

Face everyone? That sounded like there was a little more to his “vacation” than just wanting a break.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. I sat next to him and took one of his hands in mine. “So should I assume there’s a bit more to why you left home for the summer other than just wanting a break?” I asked gently.

He leaned against me and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I was more running away than anything else.” He laughed bitterly. “Which is just going to make you think of me more like a kid than ever. I’m so all grown up and mature that I ‘run away from home.’ ”

I squeezed his hand. “Sometimes you have to get away from everyone you know, breathe some different air.”

He nodded “Yeah.” He was silent for a few moments then he shook his head and sighed. “You know, I’ve always sort of known I was gay. But I never told anyone. It just didn’t…fit, you know? Not with how things were supposed to be.” He shrugged. “So I did what everyone expected of me. I went out with girls, acted like an ass when I was with a bunch of guys, you know, just normal high school stuff.”

I did know. I nodded.

He shook his head. “No one knew. Not my parents. Not my friends. No one. Then this new guy comes to our school. And I could tell, you know? And he could tell, too. Must be that ‘gaydar’ shit is real.” He flashed me a rueful smile. “Even if it malfunctions sometimes and makes me hit on straight roommates.”

I smiled and he met my eyes for a moment then looked down. “It wasn’t like I thought it would be. I mean, it felt good and all…” I could see his cheeks flush. “But I thought it would be…different. I don’t know why I did, but I did.” He looked up at me and I could see an almost pleading look in his eyes. “I mean, I didn’t think he would be a jerk like…” he laughed a little, “well, like normal guys. I thought because we were both guys, both different, there would be some sort of…feeling. I mean, I wasn’t looking for the love of my life, but I thought it would be more than just sex. Friendship at least.”

He laughed again and looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “But man, was I off on that one. At first I thought he was just trying to protect me…because I wasn’t…out. You know, not let anyone see we were…together…like that. So when he didn’t talk to me at school the next day, I was cool with that. But he kept doing it. He would fuck me and the next day it was like I didn’t exist. He would even push me out of the way when he passed me in the hall.”

He sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes. “And when I asked him what his problem was, he would just say there was no problem, he just didn’t want anyone to know he was gay. Which I SO bought into. Until I saw him kiss Jimmy Tallan, right there in front of his locker, right in front of everyone in the hall.”

Aaron laughed and lay back on the bed, letting go of my hand and covered his face with his arms. “God! I was so stupid! I lost it. I acted like a girl, for chrissakes. Outed myself to the entire school in less than a minute. Was wonderful.”

He sighed and then sat up again, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “You wouldn’t think it would matter, not to people I grew up with, to people who had been my friends forever. But it did. Not to all of them, but some of them. My best friend Tony…” he paused and swallowed hard, and I could see the pain on his face. “Tony wouldn’t even talk to me. Guess he wasn’t really a friend, best or otherwise. Some of my other ‘friends’ felt that way, too. Some didn’t care, though.”

He smiled a little. “So it’s not like I lost all my friends in one moment of tragic drama. But it felt like that. And my parents…” he paused for a moment. “…my parents suddenly had a gay son.” He rolled his eyes. “Good news travels fast. I got home and walked into a Greek Tragedy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they didn’t disown me or anything. And they still love me. But I know I’ve disappointed them. And then I said I wasn’t going right on to college this summer after all.” He laughed shortly. “When I left they were still arguing over whose fault it was that I was ruining my entire life.”

He smiled a crooked smile. “So that’s what I have to go home to, have to face up to. Which I suppose in the grand scheme of things isn’t exactly Hell. But…but I really wish I didn’t have to go home just now. I was hoping I could find something for the rest of the summer… Just put it off for a little while longer.”

I sat there and looked at him for a long moment. I could see resignation in his face. And something else. It might have been wistfulness. But it definitely wasn’t hope. And there was no sparkle in his blue eyes. I wanted to fix that.

I brushed my fingers over the bruise on his cheek and brushed my thumb over his cut lip. “Maybe you could stay with me for the rest of the summer.” The look that came into his eyes warmed me to my very soul. I smiled and laughed a little. “Besides, if you go home looking like that, your mom will wrap you up in so much bubble wrap you’ll look like the Michelin Man.”

Aaron laughed and wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, just a quick kiss—it’s hard to kiss when you’re grinning. Then he bounced up and walked around the room like he was the Michelin Man. “I’d make a great Michelin Man. My ass is already big enough.”

I laughed with him. “Your ass is NOT big,” I grinned.

He laughed a little longer then frowned slightly. “I don’t want to impose on you though. I know how you feel about…things. And you’ve already been so good. I don’t—“

I interrupted him. “Like you said, you’re good for me. And I’ve gotten used to having you around.” It would feel…strange without him.

He put his arms around me again. This time I put mine around him, too. I closed my eyes and rubbed my cheek against his hair. Things would feel wrong without him. And I realized in that moment the full sum of my feelings for Aaron. Not that I hadn’t seen it coming. I had.

I smiled and pulled away slightly. “I want Italian tonight. Let’s go out and get some.” They did say food was a substitute for sex.

He grinned and let go of me, but not before he rubbed against me very slowly and carefully. “Have I mentioned that I’m Italian?” he said with an absolutely wicked smile.

* * *

That night was much like the other nights we had slept together. Aaron snuggled against me and I held him. But I could feel that something had changed. Acknowledging my feelings for Aaron—if only to myself—made me more…aware of him. I noticed the way his breath felt like warm, tender fingers softly stroking my skin. I noticed the smell of his hair—coconut—as it tickled my chin. I noticed how the warmth of his body pressed against mine made everywhere he wasn’t touching feel incomplete, like something was missing. And I noticed I didn’t fight the thoughts and the fantasies that slipped into my mind as I drifted off to sleep.

Nothing in Aaron’s behavior changed, however. He still teased me in the same way as he had. His brushing against me or stepping out of his clothes right in front of me or making suggestive comments were always accompanied by a grin that made his eyes sparkle. And when his fingers brushed over mine there was still that same look of resignation in his eyes, the same slightly sad smile on his lips.

And every morning as the warm water washed over me and I let my mind indulge in the fantasy of what I denied my body, I wondered what I would do if he asked just one more time.

We spent the days pretty much trying to visit every tourist attraction within driving distance. Over breakfast we would look through the stack of brochures I had gathered up and decide on something to do that day. And if a place sounded “tourist trappy enough” (Aaron’s words), we would go. We even ended up going to one place called The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party which boasted “the largest collection of teapots in the country.” But it didn’t matter where we went or what we did. I just enjoyed being with Aaron. He made me feel…lighter, as if my lungs were filled with helium instead of air.

The summer crowd started to thin out and the beaches became less crowded. I started to feel less like I glowed in the dark and more like I had that “healthy summer glow” that was as close as I ever got to “tan.” And Aaron’s bruises had just about faded away. We marked the coincidence of these events by spending more time on the beach. We spent some time actually swimming in the ocean. I could see why Aaron had been on the swim team—he was even more like a fish in the ocean than he had been in the pool. Water was his element. I told him he should move to California and take up surfing. He laughed and asked if I would go with him. I laughed and made some smart ass comment, but there was a flipping in the pit of my stomach. Though I wasn’t sure if it was the thought of going with him or the thought that he would eventually go—somewhere, anywhere—without me that I was feeling.

And that was really what I could feel most as the summer went on, the anticipation of the end. Though I was determined to enjoy each day, and did, the nights became longer as they grew shorter. I found myself lying awake longer just so I could savor the feel of him lying against me. I would wake up in the middle of the night and sometimes he would be awake. I wouldn’t open my eyes, I would just lie there and try to keep my breathing slow and regular as I felt his fingers stroking my stomach—back and forth, softly, slowly—as his lips would caress my chest or my shoulder. And sometimes he would get up and go into the bathroom and I could hear him relieving his erection—and I would lie there and relieve mine, as well. I knew he had to know, had to know I was awake, that my body wanted his as much as his wanted mine. But we never spoke of it. Not then, not in the morning, not at anytime.

Would it have been different if one of us had spoken? Could I have denied myself—could I have denied him?

We spent a lot of our time on the beach talking. We would walk along the water’s edge and he would tell me about his plans for the future. He wanted to be a writer but his dad was an architect and he had always planned to follow in his footsteps. He figured he would get his degree, work in his dad’s business until he could establish his own—and do some writing on the side. And he wanted to do some traveling, wanted to see the places he had read about so that maybe someday he could write about them, too. He said he would like to minor in archeology. He figured archeology, architecture and writing were the perfect combination.

I told him how I had wanted to be a writer, also. But while I had been at college I’d tutored some other students and discovered I enjoyed teaching. There was something about passing on the understanding, the love of the words and the language to others, getting them to not just learn the structure but to feel it as the pulsing, living thing that it was… That caught me. And it kept me. I told him how my life with Jeremy had taken the edge off my desire to write. I had settled into his life and had forgotten some of the things that had once been important to me. Such as writing and traveling and thinking of things deeper than our (always “our,” never “my”) plans for the week.

“So will you write now that you’re no longer together?” he asked me as we were sitting on the fishing pier watching the sunset.

“Maybe. It’s been a long time,” I replied with a sigh. I wasn’t really sure if I had any “writing” in me. I hadn’t really made any attempts at writing anything but a poem or two since Jeremy had left. I had no “great experiences” I could draw from, there had been nothing in my life to inspire words. And “write what you know” had always seemed the best advice. What did I “know”?

He picked up my hand and held it. “You should write. Even if it is only a blog. There is so much inside you, so much you don’t say that I can feel.”

It was always difficult after our talks. Difficult to just go on with the day—with the night. While we talked I could lose myself in our conversations, forget who I was, who he was…forget the things that kept the invisible wall between us. We were just two people, two people growing closer with every word.

I wondered if he felt that, as well.

* * *

I was lying on a blanket on the beach. It had rained the previous two days and it felt good to get some sun—which is what I was doing, just lying there getting some sun, trying to deepen that “healthy glow” I had acquired. I could count the days on one hand now, the days until I had to go home—or to whatever my apartment was now. Aaron was cooling off in the ocean, doing some body surfing. I raised myself up on my elbows and watched him. His hair was nearly completely blonde now, his skin tanned to that classic deep “Coppertone” tan I had always envied while growing up. I closed my eyes and pictured his eyes, how the blue was in danger of going from “just blue” to a “cornflower blue,” their color subtly altered by the changes in the background of his face.

I was lost in the warmth of the sun and the image of his eyes—and didn’t hear him coming.

“Hey!” I yelled and opened my eyes to see Aaron standing over me shaking his head, showering me with drops of water that felt like ice. I reached up and grabbed his arm and pulled him down. I did it without thinking. It was just a reaction

He fell on top of me and as his cold, wet skin pressed against my hot, dry skin a sensation like an electric shock shot right through my body. I could tell by the breath I heard him take that it had done the same thing to him. We both lay there for the longest time, his body against mine, mine against his, neither of us really breathing. Then he let go of my hand and brushed his fingers over my cheek and down my neck and over my shoulder. My hands sought his skin, running down his sides and around his back, pulling him closer to me. Our eyes met and he pulled away and stood up, taking my hand and pulling me up with him. I picked up the blanket and we walked along the beach in silence, his hand still in mine.

The sun was setting. The clouds that had brought the rain for the past two days were forming again, turning the sunset into shades of silver and bronze. It was an unusual color for a sunset, an almost sad color for a sunset, as if the summer sun was saying good-bye.

He stopped and I stopped, and we stood there for a few moments, both of us looking out at the ocean, watching the steady bands of black roll up onto the shore then slowly slip back into the sea. He turned to me, still holding my hand, and laid his other hand on my chest. He didn’t raise his eyes to mine, he just stood there, looking at his fingers as they traced small circles over my skin. I leaned forward, wanting to feel his hair against my face, wanting to let the smell of coconut fill my senses. But at that very moment he looked up at me, his lips parted slightly, his eyes dark as they looked into mine. I didn’t stop, I didn’t pull back. I slipped my free hand around to the back of his neck, my fingers brushing against the soft ends of his hair and I kissed him.

I felt his fingers flutter against my skin as if they trembled, and he pressed his body closer to mine. My fingers tightened around his as our kiss deepened, and I heard a soft sound vibrate against my lips as his tongue sought mine. It felt like the world around us was standing still, even the ocean seemed to pause in its progress, wrapping us both in a silence that was ours alone.

He broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, letting the gentle ocean breeze pass between us as his hand slid down my chest and rested on my waist. He looked at me. I looked at him. He seemed blurry, unfocused around the edges. And there was a question in his eyes, one he asked without words. I answered it silently, my palm cupping his face, my thumb brushing over his lips.

We walked back to the hotel, the silence still holding us within our own world. Once inside the room, Aaron slipped his arms around my waist and pressed against me. But instead of kissing me, he pressed his face against my neck. “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

He looked up at me then, a little furrow between his brows. “I don’t want to be a regret. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life trying to forget me.” He pressed closer against me and closed his eyes, rubbing his nose against my neck. “I don’t want you to forget me.”

Forget him? I slipped my fingers under his chin and raised his face to look into his eyes. “Forget you, Aaron?” I asked softly. “I could never forget you.” I breathed the words against his lips. “And you could never be a regret.”

His lips parted and he ran his tongue over the inside of my lip, teasing me with the taste of him. I pulled him closer against me as I walked us both to the bed, my lips never leaving his. His hands slid inside my swim shorts and pushed them down over my hips. My erection sprang free and I heard him catch his breath as his fingers brushed against it.

He pulled away slightly and ran his fingers over my shoulders and my chest. “Wait,” he said softly. I looked at him, my brows knitting slightly. He smiled and shook his head and rubbed his thumb over the area between my eyebrows. “No, I just want to open the balcony door. I want to hear the ocean.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my shorts off the rest of the way. He was only a moment and then he was standing in front of me. I smiled up at him and I could see his cheeks flush slightly as he stepped out of his swim shorts. I reached for him, my hands sliding down his sides, resting on his hips, and I pulled him closer to me. He moaned softly as I brushed my lips against his chest, trailing a line of kisses down over his stomach. He laid his hands on my shoulders and I could feel his fingers trembling.

He took a sharp breath and his fingers tightened on my shoulders as my lips brushed softly over the tip of his erection. I smiled and teased him with my tongue and his cock twitched and he moaned again.

I gently pulled his hands from my shoulders and pulled him down onto the bed beside me. I retraced that line of kisses, this time from his stomach up over his chest, lingering at the base of his throat for a moment before following the line of his jaw to his lips. As we kissed, Aaron moved further onto the bed until he was lying down. I knelt beside him and he wrapped his fingers—long, sensitive fingers--around my cock and stroked me gently. I moaned softly, but I pulled his hand away. I didn’t want that, not just yet.

“Justin, what—“ Aaron began, but I cut him off, covering his lips with mine before he could ask me why I had stopped him. I deepened the kiss, sliding my tongue slowly, sensually over his. He sighed into my mouth and his arms went around me. I pressed my body against his and he arched his back and rubbed against me. I could feel how hard he was, and I groaned and ground my cock against his for a moment before pulling my body away—just a little.

“Easy, Aaron,” I murmured against his lips. “We have all night.” I didn’t want to rush this.

I pulled my lips slowly from his, catching his lower lip in my teeth for just a moment. I smiled into his eyes and shook my head a little as I took off my glasses and set them on the nightstand. “They get in the way at times, fall off at the most awkward moments,” I murmured as I trailed a line of soft kisses slowly, very slowly from his chin to his ear. I tugged on his earlobe with my lips, letting my warm breath caress his ear.

He whimpered and his fingers pressed into my skin as he raised his hips and rubbed against me again. “Jusstiiinnn…” he drew my name out, turning it into a plaintive whine.

“Patience, baby,” I whispered in his ear, “Patience, my sweet Aaron.”

I could taste the salt from the ocean on his skin as my tongue teased a path from his ear down to his nipple. I made a soft “mmm” sound as I ran my tongue around the little pink bud. The ocean and Aaron’s skin. It was a heady taste and I wanted more. I ran my tongue across his nipple, and he moaned deeply as I took it into my mouth and began sucking.

“Ohhh, that feels soooo good,” he breathed, his fingers running through my hair while his other hand rubbed hard against my ass.

I tugged on his nipple with my teeth, and he gave a soft cry as I bit a little harder before letting go. I played with his other nipple with my fingers as my lips moved down over his stomach. “Mmm,” I murmured as my lips found the tip of his cock. “Does this feel good, too, Aaron?” I asked as my tongue circled his head.

“Yessss,” he breathed, arching his back.

I licked and sucked on the tip of his cock, drawing the droplets of pre-cum into my mouth. I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was sweet and salty and I wanted to taste more of him, to taste all of him.

He gasped as I took him fully into my mouth and I groaned deeply in response. The taste of him was intoxicating and I let it just drown my senses as I moved my mouth over him, my tongue massaging his shaft as I urged him toward his climax. He moaned with every stroke, both of his hands now clutching my shoulders as he began bucking his hips upward, thrusting into my mouth.

He reached his climax quickly, his body tensing for a moment then shuddering as I felt him release into my mouth. I made a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan as I pulled my mouth from him and ran my tongue slowly over him, licking away the last traces of his cum. I raised myself up and looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips parted, his eyes closed. I knew I had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful than Aaron in that moment. I kissed him gently, slipping my tongue between his parted lips, sharing the taste that overwhelmed my senses with the one it belonged to.

I pulled back and looked at him again. I traced his lips with my fingertip and he opened his eyes and smiled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair and caressed my face with his other hand. I ran my fingers over his forearm as I pressed against him, my erection aching as it rubbed against him. He closed his mouth around my fingertip and rubbed his tongue against my finger, much as I had run mine against his cock. I groaned and pressed harder against him. I wanted him. I wanted to be inside him, to take him, to join our bodies completely. But I hadn’t thought…The thought that I would be having sex with anyone hadn’t entered my mind when I’d packed. I pulled away from him and groaned. He asked the question with a raise of his eyebrows. “I don’t have anything…” I said and could feel myself flushing.

He laughed softly and wrapped his legs around my waist. “It’s ok. I was a boy scout when I was a kid—you know our motto--‘Be Prepared.’” He reached over and opened the drawer of the nightstand. “I had hopes,” he said with a flush of his cheek and a little smile.

I looked in the drawer and I laughed as I saw a big box of condoms and a big tube of lube. I ran my hands over his thighs and leaned down and kissed him. “You had a lot of hope, I see.”

He nodded and brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Hopes, dreams, fantasies.” He dropped his hand down, letting his fingers brush over my chest and my stomach before wrapping them gently around my erection and giving it a slow, gentle stroke.

I groaned and reached into the drawer. He took the condom from my fingers. “No, let me,” he whispered.

I watched as his fingers opened the package. Beautiful fingers. Long, sensitive fingers. And I ran mine over his as he slipped the condom over my erection. He lingered there, stroking me softly, his legs still wrapped around my waist. I slipped my hands under his thighs and he pulled his knees up, exposing his entrance, raising his hips and offering it to me.

I caught my breath and leaned down and brushed my lips lightly over his entrance and he made a sound of surprise. I laughed softly and ran my tongue along the back of his thigh as he held his knees against his chest. I put some lube on my finger and touched my finger to his entrance, rubbing it lightly. He moaned deeply as my finger slipped inside him and I answered him with a moan of my own as I felt him tighten around my finger. I withdrew my finger and rubbed my cock against him. I hesitated for a moment. I was sure of what I wanted. And I was fairly certain it was what he wanted, too. But still I hesitated, my head running, once again, through all the reasons why it was wrong, why I shouldn’t.

But then he rubbed his ankles against my hips and his feet against my ass. “Please, Justin…” he moaned, as if he was aware of my thoughts, aware that I needed him to say it. He took my cock in his hand and moved so that the tip was pushing against his entrance. He stroked me firmly and moaned my name again. “Justin…please…”

I groaned and pushed the tip of my cock inside him. He gasped and I felt him clench around me. I nearly pulled away, afraid I would hurt him, but his hands went around my waist, his fingers digging into my ass as he held me tightly, pulling me forward against him, pulling me deeper inside him.

I held my breath as I felt his tight heat surround my aching cock; and I closed my eyes and ran my hands over his legs as I released my breath slowly. He slid his legs up and I wrapped my arms around them holding them close against me. I was holding the moment as tightly as I was holding his legs. I knew that soon the feeling of being inside him, of being inside this beautiful boy with the smile that made my heart flip as much as it made his eyes sparkle, would be lost in the act, in the need, in the release. So I held onto it as long as I could, savored it, committed it to memory—then surrendered myself to the desire that I had denied us both for so long.

Aaron moaned and writhed beneath me as my movements went from long, slow, aching strokes to quick, hard, deep thrusts as I came to my climax. And when my body tensed and shuddered with release, he wrapped his legs around my waist and pulled me down against him, his arms wrapping around my neck, his breath hot as he murmured my name against my ear. I pressed my face against his shoulder, my lips brushing over his skin as I answered his murmurs with my own.

Afterwards we lay there in silence, and I listened to the sound of the ocean and the sound of Aaron’s breathing as he drifted off to sleep in my arms. But as I followed him to sleep, I couldn’t stop myself from counting the days, counting the days before I would lose this boy I had fallen so deeply in love with.

* * *

Aaron was still asleep when I woke. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was early, not quite six. It had gotten warmer during the night and Aaron was lying next to me on his stomach with his arm draped across me. A corner of the sheet covered barely a few inches of him, teasing more than concealing.

I lay there for a few moments, letting my gaze wander lazily over him. I wanted to follow my eyes with my fingers, to feel the silky softness, and with my tongue, to taste the salty sweetness of his skin. I knew I could. I knew I could do that, just reach out my hand and touch him, run my fingers down his back and over the tight, smooth cheeks of his ass. And I could lean over him and brush my lips against the back of his neck and let my tongue wander across his shoulders. The invisible barrier that had kept us close but separate had been breached in the night, and I knew he would welcome my touch as much as I would welcome his. But…

I stopped myself in mid thought and slipped out from under Aaron’s arm, taking extra care not to disturb him, and padded to the bathroom. I needed to wash my thoughts away. But as the cool water rained down upon me, I found I could not. Aaron was eighteen and I was thirty-eight. There could be nothing in that combination that would work for longer than an instant. Though why that should matter was another issue. It shouldn’t. Did every sexual encounter have to result in a relationship? Did every relationship have to be forever? What was wrong with a summer dalliance, a vacation from reality—if it was mutually desired? I could vacillate from one side of that debate to the other with equal conviction. Which made the whole thought process useless.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Aaron was standing by the side of the bed, stretching. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him. He was truly beautiful. And the smile that he turned on me melted my insides.

He walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Morning,” he murmured against my lips. I slipped my arms around his waist and held him against me for a long moment as we kissed. I didn’t have to look to confirm the desire I felt in his kiss, I could feel it pressing against my thigh.

I pulled away slightly. “Morning,” I said with a smile.

His reaction was immediate, the little furrow appearing between his brows. I could see the confusion in his eyes. He had not expected me to pull away. Not after last night.

“Aaron, I-“

He shook his head and pressed his fingers against my lips. “No. Don’t say it. Please. I don’t want you to say it.” He looked at me, his brow wrinkling, the corners of his lips turning downward.

“No,” he shook his head again. “I know, what you’ll say. I can see it in your eyes. You’ll say that it can’t work. That you have your life and I have mine, and I’ll go home to my parents and then off to college and you’ll go home and back to your job—and there is nothing we can do about that. And I know, I do--that part is true enough. But it could work. It could,” he continued in a rush, as if he expected me to interrupt him.

“I know what I need and you are what I need. And you’ve said I’m good for you, so maybe I’m what you need, too.” His eyes were pleading.

“Haven’t we had fun together? And I don’t mean the sex last night.” His eyes softened and he caressed my cheek with his fingertips. “That was beautiful, wonderful, intense. It’s what I’ve always imagined it could be like.”

He smiled and his eyes sparkled for a moment. “But I mean the things we have done together, the museum, miniature golf, the pool, just talking… It’s all been better than anything.”

I couldn’t disagree with that. “Better than anything” would have been the words I would have used, as well. I couldn’t remember ever having had more fun than I’d had doing those things with Aaron. But---

“And don’t shake your head like that,” he interrupted my thoughts before I could even form them, “because I know how old you are. I saw your driver’s license when you paid for dinner at DiCerbo’s. You’re thirty-eight and I’m eighteen.” He laughed shortly. “There, I’ve said it—and I didn’t burst into flames and you didn’t turn to dust.”

My lips twitched at that image and he smiled and stepped closer to me, pressing against me and rubbing his nose against my neck. “I don’t care about that,” he said against my ear. “You aren’t too old for me.”

He tugged on my earlobe with his teeth. “Only I can decide that, remember? And from the way things were last night, I’m not too young for you. Not if you are honest with yourself.”

He pulled away and looked at me for a moment before looking down. He laid his hand on my chest, right over my heart. “You made love to me. You didn’t just fuck me. I could tell the difference. You made love to me.”

He looked up at me and his eyes were pleading once more. “Please, Justin. Don’t make everything all wrong, because it’s not.”

I looked at him for a moment before sighing and covering his hand with mine. I couldn’t say it, couldn’t say any of the things he didn’t want me to say—because I couldn’t feel them. I could think them. I could think all the reasons why it was wrong. I could think all the reasons why it would never work, could never work. But I couldn’t feel them. All I could feel was the truth in what he had said. I had made love to him. Because despite all the things that were also true—that he would go home to his parents and on to college and then onward through any one of the infinite doors that were open to him, while I would go home to my empty apartment, to my life that I needed to find a way to rebuild—at this moment we shared something that was greater than all the things that separated us.

I took him into my arms and held him close against me. After a moment he slipped his hands inside the towel that I had wrapped around my waist and pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor. He smiled and took both of my hands in his and led me to the bed. I smiled back. I went with him willingly, without hesitation, because whatever there was between us, whether it lasted for the rest of the summer or the rest of our lives, at this moment in time it was something that bound us together, something we both needed. And nothing else mattered.