Life in a Northern Town - 10. Chapter 10

I walk in the back door and leave my sneakers on the tray and enter the kitchen. To my surprise, I am nearly swallowed in Ken's arms. That's right, Ken. And he's crying.

“Thank God you're all right,” he says. I look at John with bewilderment plain for anyone to see – but John is not amused. His face moves between anger, relief and something I can't identify – then starts all over again.

“We were worried sick! Where were you? Why would you run away?” Ken asks as he leans away but holds me by the shoulders.

“Uh,” is all I can muster. Ken?

“Officer, thank you for coming. I suppose we can take it from here,” John says to the uniformed cop who is levering himself up from the table.

“Kid, you worried your dads sick. That wasn't too nice of you,” the cop says. He tips his hat to John and Ken and heads out to his car.

Ken fusses and I stand awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. In the past I'd have simply raged, but now I know I have no grounds. I feel it, pulling on its leash, but I know I can't reach for it. Even if it would make me feel better for a few moments – even though I'd feel in control – getting angry, letting it off the leash, isn't control. It's a lack of it.

“We're all tired. Adam, why don't you go to bed and we can discuss this in the morning with clearer heads.”

“Okay, John,” I reply and put my coat in the hall closet before going to my room. The house feels alien for the first time in a long time. Lately it has felt like home and I have trashed that in my mistaken belief I was saving my relationship with my boyfriend. I am such a fuck up. I am somewhat surprised Joe and Scott aren't at their doors watching the spectacle of me arriving after the cops were called. I change for bed and lie awake, replaying Nick's words. It sounded like utter bullshit and I start to believe he never cared at all...but there were the kisses. The tender words. The romance of him saying I could kiss him anytime I wanted to...I have never felt so stupid and trust me when I say I've felt plenty stupid an awful lot.

Sunday morning comes and I am awakened at 8 with a curt knock and an order to get up. I hadn't slept well and I feel lower than whale dung about my decisions and how everything has gone. How stupid can you be to think a blow job has any lasting effect on a relationship? And why would I accept such advice from Joe, whose relationship is a fake? Error upon error.

I put on last night's clothes and join everyone for a somber breakfast – I keep my head down and mind my own business. Chores are assigned and we are all separated. I have the downstairs bathroom and I trudge in with the cleaning caddy. I pop the window open to vent the fumes from the nasty chemicals I am about to spray when I hear John's voice outside telling someone I can't have visitors today.

Randy.

I run out of the bathroom and through the kitchen. As I bang out the back door John turns and his look of surprise at the sudden noise quickly changes to one of anger.

“No! No way,” he says. “Back inside.”

I stop and gain control – no yelling. John steps closer and says my name with a tone of warning.

“John. Can...May I just tell you something before I go?” I ask. I do my level best to be respectful without actually doing what he'd told me. His face goes from angry to annoyed and then to thoughtful. He nods.

“You know I've been better about talking and I promise to answer every question you have if you let me talk to Randy for five minutes.”

He stares at me. He doesn't just say no, so he must be weighing it. I already know he doesn't like to bargain, he likes rules – structure. So I stand quietly and do my best to look small, hoping to elicit a tiny bit of sympathy. Finally he nods. “Five minutes.” Then he goes past me and into the house.

“What happened?” Randy asks as he closes the distance between us.

I seize him, squeezing him to me and burying my face in his neck. I just hold him and he puts his hands on my back, rubbing up and down.

“Rand, I fucked up.” I say into his neck.

“Okay, I guess you must have. What happened?”

I pull back and out of his reach – not so fast as to be rude, but I'm not too sure he'll like me all that much when he hears the latest in my self destructive world tour, especially considering how his family is working so hard to make a home for me. But I'll tell him, in a minute.

“How'd your date go with Tiffany Walsh? Did she punch your 'V' card for you?”

“You're avoiding the subject,” Randy says tiredly.

“Oh, come on. I just want to know if my best friend got his pee pee wet.” I smile at him, but my stomach turns sour at the thought of him doing that slut.

“No, Adam. We talked, that's all.” He frowns. “Now, spill. What did you do?”

“I took some bad advice and I snuck out to go see Nick last night.”

“Okay,” he says slowly.

“The cops got called, they were here when I got back.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it,” he says neutrally.

“Rand, I know you are mad at me and I hope this doesn't screw things up...”

“Mad? Yeah, I guess I am. A little,” he says and scuffs the toe of his sneaker into the sidewalk. “I mean, you were doing so well, and everyone's bound to fuck up sometime, right? I just wish yours hadn't been so fucking huge...”

“If you're going to go, go big. Right?” I say, hoping he'll smile. He does, weakly.

“So...did you work things out with Nick?”

“I guess you could say that,” I reply. “He says he has some psycho problem where he falls for busted up wrecks of humanity like me.”

“That's a fucked up thing to say,” Randy frowns.

“He tried to say that because I was doing well and now I'm all confident or something that I'm not attractive to him anymore. Can you believe that?”

“No, I can't,” he says and stares in my eyes. “Adam...this might be the wrong time to say this, but I'm not really sure when the right time is with you anymore.”

Here it comes. I'm not sure I can take this. I'm not even sure what it is, but it feels bad.

“I didn't say anything before, but how come I found out you were gay at the same time Nick did?”

“What?”

“Seriously. You know him for, like, five minutes and you come out. Me? Years we're together and you keep this little nugget to yourself. What, was I not worth it, not hot enough for you to come out over?” he says derisively.

“Rand...I thought you'd be weirded out,” I say, honestly puzzled. “Of course you're hot – way beyond it, actually. You're beautiful inside and out, the kindest soul I know. I just figured, you know, you're one of those people everyone thinks is hot. I figured I wasn't gay. I just...you know,” I shrug, “I figured having a thing for you and no other guys kind of supported that.”

“So, wait, let me make sure I have this,” Randy says, holding his hands out flat. “You're trying to say you thought I was so hot that, what, you were only gay for me?”

“Well...yeah.”

“You...stupid...” Randy was turning from side to side, hands jammed in his pockets. He points at me suddenly and says, “You have to be the dumbest smart guy I know.” Then he turns on his heel and starts walking up the street.

“Randy! Wait,” I say and run down the sidewalk to catch him, but John is bellowing from the door and I stop. I watch Randy as he walks away from me without looking back and I wonder what just happened. I walk back to John, stunned and feeling like a zombie as I reenter the house. John nudges me and I start, then go back to my chore in the bathroom. I work robotically, my mind trying to make sense of Randy and that bizarre conversation. I just wasn't sure what I'd done wrong!

I rinse the sink out and spray the toilet bowl cleaner. Grabbing the brush I start to scrub and think through the conversation. I guess I can understand why he'd be mad I hadn't told him, but couldn't he understand how bad that could have been? I mean, how could he think he wasn't hot enough to come out over? Was this a confidence thing? Another thing, why is he mad now? I mean, right now? I put the brush away and flush then replace the cleaners. After mopping, the bathroom looks good again, and John is waiting for me in the nook. I know this because he crooks his finger at me and points to a chair. I take it, steeling myself for the uncomfortable conversation to come.

“You hurt us last night. Scared us both. My husband,” John said with a hitch in his breath, “was crying and wondering why you'd run away from us.”

I lick my lips and open my mouth to reply, but John holds up a finger to silence me.

“I don't think I have to tell you how disappointed I am with your decision. But everyone screws up, Adam. What bothers me is that I thought you cared about us and knew that we care very much for you. You frightened us – do you understand? We were frightened in our own home that you were gone. Could be hurt. Could be hit by a car in the dark, bleeding on the side of the road.”

I feel horrible. I also think he is being a tiny bit melodramatic, being familiar with acting that way myself, but I can't fault him. Because one thing is abundantly clear – he did care. He isn't mad, he's sad.

“John...I can give you an explanation. It isn't going to be enough to make that...feel any better,” I say slowly, choosing my words. “But I am honestly and truly sorry I hurt you. I know you and I have, you know, made some progress. But I realized how wrong I was when Ken was crying and hugging me.”

“Ken cares about you – we care – because we saw you grow from that poor, damaged kid into who you are now. That kind of...it's why we do this.”

John blinks back a tear, inhales deeply through his nose and places both hands on the table, one over the other. He waits and I decide to just let it come out.

I tell him I’m sorry for scaring him and Ken, but that I’d thought I could get back without anyone having known I was gone, so hadn’t expected anyone to be scared. That’s I’d never have wanted to hurt either one of them. I tell him about meeting Nick, about how things had been so good and then gone so bad. I tell him about walking in on Scott and Joe – which he doesn't even flinch at – and the relationship advice Joe gave me. I tell him what I had intended to do – what I thought I had to do – and that I thought it would all be okay because Nick and I loved each other.

I tell him with watery eyes how Nick rejected me and how crushing that felt. How Randy walked away from me this morning and how I felt like everything that was about to happen for me – that I had just thrown it all away. We sit at the table, both of us kind of a mess. He pushes a few napkins toward me and I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

“I could tell you that what you did was foolish and that I wished you'd talked to me about it, but I think you probably understand that now.” John runs a hand through his hair and then strokes his goatee.

“Do you think I just screwed up my chances of going to the Proctor's?”

“Well, I don't think we should worry too much about that. You definitely have some fences to mend with Randy, but I know you'll do that and he loves you too much to leave you behind.”

“You think so?” I ask, hope blossoming.

“I do. But I think you guys need a serious heart to heart first to get all these unspoken things out of the way. Of course, I can't let you slide on last night, either.”

“I know, John. I understand.”

“So do I, you know,” John says and smiles at me. “I was young once, too. I know what it feels like the first time you really fall in love. I also remember what it feels like the first time your heart breaks. You've been worrying about this relationship and there has to be a certain amount of relief that you don't have to worry anymore – it's done.”

“I don't really feel relieved,” I say, and then realize I'm not really sure how I feel.

“No, because you moved on to the next thing to worry about. Adam, you screwed up. It took you a while, longer than I thought it would, but you did. You're a teenage boy and you are going through your first breakup – and it hurts. I'm not happy with the mistake you made, but I'm very happy with the way you're handling it afterward.”

“The, um...really?”

“Yes. It's exactly why you're ready to step down from a group home. Don't worry about the Proctor's, I'm sure that will work itself out. In the meantime let's get the house clean.”

We have a late lunch I am somewhat surprised about the continued quiet at the table and glance around at Scott and Joe. Joe is looking nowhere but his plate and Scott is staring into space as he chews, but he has red marks all over his face. Scott glances at me and goes back to looking at nothing. Despite my own turmoil, I find myself curious about what's going on here.

That evening Joe stays in his room, which is bizarre in itself. Scott is in the living room, but he's not even paying any attention to the TV; in fact, his eyes are focused somewhere on the wall. I sit on the couch and ask him what's wrong.

“Huh?” he says, his eyes moving to me.

“I said you seem kind of out of it. What's wrong? And what happened to your face?” I say, pointing at it in case he doesn't know where his face is.

“Jesus...I guess it doesn't matter, now. We'll probably be kicked out tomorrow, so you can gloat all you want.”

“Kicked out? Jesus, why? I ran away and no one said anything about kicking me out - wait, are we all being kicked out?”

“You?” he snorts, “The golden child? I don't think so. Just us deviant fucks.”

“Golden child? Whatever! Make sense, Scott!”

“Like I said, it doesn't really matter now.” He leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows on his knees. “Obviously you know Joe was sucking me off, and it has been decently regular. He's been talking about me pegging his ass lately and last night we went for it.

“So here I am, buried balls deep in his fucking boy-pussy and he starts to cuss and swing his hands and he kicks me in the face.” He points to his face, likely indicating the red marks and not showing me where his face was, in case I'd missed it.

“You actually...fucked him?”

“Yeah. I know, it kinda seems weird when you picture it, right? He's this big guy, looks like a football player, maybe? And me, first string water boy – you'd think if anyone was getting it in the old brown eye it'd be me, right? Nope – not only do I not want that, he does. Or did.”

“This makes no sense.”

“Well, turns out Joe's old man used him like a cum dumpster and he started having flash backs or some shit when I was pounding away, so he freaked out. Woke up the old guys in the next room. There was so much commotion they eventually wondered why the fuck you didn't wake up, so they checked on you.”

Wow. I'd gotten caught not because of anything I did, but because of something they did.

“That's...wow. I don't know what to say.”

“Nothing to say. I guess Joe and I were on this spiral for a long time. Now I suppose they'll stick us both in Stone Hill Farm until we turn 18 or something. I don't know.” Scott hangs his head and says softly, “I hear bad things about that place, what happens to small guys like me. I had it good here.”

Wednesday, I get called down to the office. I am genuinely confused as to why, since I have been as good as I possibly can be. When that evil witch Mrs. Teetling points to the office with her broomstick – I mean finger – and sends me in to the principal's office, I am greeted with a large group. Mr. Swanson is standing out from behind his desk. In front of him is Mr. Bergman, John and Ken and Mr. Proctor.

“Come in, Adam.”

“Sure, Mr. Swanson,” I reply. I have stopped calling him by his first name; the guy doesn't deserve my shit. “What's going on?”

“I have some bad news. I'm afraid there isn't any easy way to tell you this, Adam.” Mr. Swanson puts a hand on my shoulder and solemnly says, “Your mom was found today. I'm afraid she's passed away, son.”

“Passed...she's dead?” I can't wrap my head around it. It doesn't have meaning to me – it just, I can't – there is no processing it. I must be in shock because I don't feel sad or happy or anything. That's it, I feel nothing. Maybe a little stunned. “How?”

“There will be an autopsy, but it appears she...let's say she had far, far too much to drink and leave it at that.” Mr. Bergman meets my eyes briefly and I know the drink was just the instrument, that her death hadn't been a simple alcoholic haze that allowed her to drift to sleep and not wake. I don't ask for details.

“I think you should probably take the afternoon off,” Mr. Swanson tells me. “John and Ken will take you home.”

“Can I talk to Randy before I go?” I ask quietly.

“That's fine with me,” Mr. Proctor says. I glance at him in curiosity.

“How come you're here, Mr. Proctor?”

“I can answer that, Adam,” Mr. Bergman says. “One of the obstacles to placing you with the Proctors was your mother. We'd have done it months ago, due to your progress, but your mother was rabidly opposed to it. With her passing we are prepared to go to court next week and recommend you step down in care and live with the Proctor's.”

“Oh. Oh, well,” I smile at Mr. Proctor, “that's a good thing in all this...what do they call it, a silver lining?” I feel like shit - shouldn't I feel more about my mother dying? Things weren't always bad between us.

Mr. Bergman and Mr. Proctor leave, the latter giving me a long hug before going. John and Ken tell me they will wait in the lobby for me. Mr. Swanson keeps me company until Randy walks into the room, and then excuses himself to give us a minute.

“Jesus, Castle, what did you do now?” Randy asks in exasperation.

“Rand. I know you're not really happy with me right now,” I say. He snorts but stays where he is. “I just need you - like I always do – to put that aside for a minute 'cause I need my best friend right now.”

Randy shoots me a frustrated look, but does as he always does, and Saint Randy nods his head and says, “What's wrong?”

“They found my mom. She's dead, Rand.”

“Oh my God.” His hands come up automatically and then falter, unsure perhaps if his touch would be welcome since we've been – I don't know, fighting isn't really the right way to describe it – disagreeing or something. “I know this sounds stupid, but are you okay?”

“I don't feel a lot right now. Isn't that wrong, Rand? Shouldn't I be, I don't know, all broken up?”

“I...I don't think there is any one way you have to feel, Adam. Stuff like this, it's complicated and personal. This isn't the same as when your dad died, you guys were different together. I mean, like, your relationship was different, compared to the one you had with your mom.”

“I worry I'm broken, somehow. Like I don't feel things the way I should. Randy...” I desperately want him to hug me, but I know his heart isn't in it. He's doing all he can to get over his own issues and be my friend. “Rand, I don't have anyone left but you. Whatever else happens, please, I can't lose you. Promise me that you'll never give up on me, even if you stay mad at me the rest of your life. Please, please.”

He sighs, a ghost of a smile crosses his face. “We'll work it out, somehow, Adam. I just don't know how, right now. It's hard because I can't remember a time I couldn't talk to you about something, but now I just can't find the right words. So, let's just kind of set that aside for a little while and try to, you know, be friends.”

“Okay,” I say. It's the best I can ask for. He stays true to his word, he's there for me, but the elephant in the room remains.

I go back to John and Ken's and we talk. I tell John all about my problem with Randy and my alarming lack of emotion about my mother. He and I talk through a lot of it, but it's mostly me.

That Saturday I'm allowed in the house to get a few things. I glance across the street at Nick's house. The curtains to his room are open, but I don't see him. I wonder for a moment where he is and then realize I don't care and turn my back to his home.

That evening I am sitting in my room, looking through a box of my dad's old photos. In some he is very young, long before I was even a glimmer in his future. He was bowling, dancing and kissing Mr. Canfield. Wait, what? It can't be! I stare at the picture, flip it over to see if there is any inscription on the back – there isn't – and I just stare. My moms words come back to me, the things she was screaming about my dad. Was Canfield his...well, he was at some point I guess.

John drives me to their house, his last official act as my foster parent. Ken has already cried on me at the group home and I had let him. He isn't such a bad guy, I guess, I just didn't connect with him like I had John.

“So, how nervous are you?” John asks.

“A little. Not too bad,” I tell him.

“Well...”

“I'll miss you, John,” I say while looking down at my hands. His hand appears in my field of vision and takes one of my own.

“You can come over and talk whenever you want to, Adam. Just because you don't live with us physically...” he exhales a shaky breath and continues, “trust me when I say you're with us all the time.”

I don't trust myself to speak. I'd say something inexcusably maudlin, so I hug him awkwardly across the center console and then step out the door. I take my bag from the back seat and turn to face my first night with the Proctors. I mount the steps and the door opens before I can knock, Mr. and Mrs. Proctor are smiling down at me and Randy stands behind them.

“Welcome home, Adam,” Mr. Proctor says and pulls me in the door. I get a double hug from them and try to return it. “You know where your room is – the old spare room you never actually slept in. Why don't you put your bag up there. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Hi, Rand.”

“Hey. Hurry up, I'm hungry,” he says before turning into the living room and going back to the TV. I feel hurt and a little angry at his snub, but I tamp that down. Instead I go up to the spare room – my room – and am a little surprised when I open the door.

Previously this room had a single bed, true, but it was also crammed with boxes and odd bits of furniture that weren't being used anywhere else – or couldn't be. It was part of the reason for not sleeping in here; it wasn't really all that functional. Plus, half the fun of a sleepover was staying up past lights-out and giggling under a sheet at whatever.

But now...not even the old bed was here. It was a new set, all wood and it had a very modern style – called Danish Modern – that I had always liked. That was my first clue that Randy and I would be okay because he was one of the few people I'd ever told that I wanted a house with furniture like that some day. I mean, it's not like it's a state secret, but there weren't all that many people I'd ever talked with about future furniture choices.

The bed is made with new sheets and a thick comforter. The dresser is long, has six drawers and a nice mirror mounted to it with beveled edges. A solid desk with chair for doing homework is against the wall with the small closet next to it and a thick Persian-style circular rug in the center completing the room. I put my bag on the floor and walk to the bed, sit down and just look at it. No one had ever done so much for me, not like this.

The door squeaks on it's hinges and Randy is framed in my doorway. “You like it?”

“I love it. Thank you,” I say.

He shrugs. “Whatever. Dinner is ready, come on.”

“Randy...”

“I'm hungry,” he says and walks away. I look around the room once more as a reminder that he's hurt and doesn't really hate me and I walk down to dinner.

It's pleasant around the dining room table, nothing like having Scott and Joe there. Randy's parents ask questions about what I think of the room and let me know exactly what I thought I knew – that Randy was their chief advisor in setting the room up. I glance at him with a smile and he returns just a ghost of it.

“He does know me better than anyone,” I tell them.

“It was pretty comical,” his dad says. “We must have looked at a hundred sets - easy – before he approved of this one.”

“I think this would be a good time to lay out some rules,” Mrs. Proctor states. “Bedtime on school nights is ten, weekends is eleven. When I say that I mean you will be in bed by then, not that you start to get ready at that time.”

“Seig heil,” Randy mutters and I smile.

“You will brush your teeth morning and night,” she continues, ignoring him, “and you will floss before bed. Homework is to be done when you get home from school, and there will be a snack then, too.”

“Honey, you do sound like a warden right now,” Rand's dad chuckles. She gives him a wry smile and then turns it on me.

“I love you dearly, Adam, but I also remember how much trouble you can get up to. I want to put these things out there to help you stay out of trouble. I don't mean to sound...institutional,” she smiles a little wider, “but my goal is to raise you into the fine man my son and husband think you will be. So, no slacking!” she says with a smile and points her fork at me.

I click my heels under the table and give her a sloppy salute, but I'm smiling and she laughs at me. Sobering, I say to her, “I'll do my best. I know I'm going to screw up sometimes, but I'm counting on your forgiveness and helping me to fix it when I do.” My eyes drift to Randy. His eyes briefly meet mine and seem to shimmer with moisture – maybe my imagination - and then his gaze drops to his plate.

“We'll be here,” Mr. Proctor assures me.

After dinner I help clear the dishes and am going to help wash them out of habit, but Mr. Proctor shoos me away. We watch a forgettable movie together and then it is time for bed. I get changed into sweats and a tee and lie in bed and listen to the sounds of this new house as it settles in for the night. I think I hear the distant sound of the dryer exhaust as it blows into the night, but there is no dishwasher chugging or coffeemaker gurgling like at John and Ken's.

I wait, thinking about Randy across the hall and how he is hurting, as am I. Fault didn't really matter, now, neither of us was trying to hurt the other – just bad timing I guess. What matters is that he is there and I am here and it whatever is wrong isn't going to get resolved this way. I climb out of bed and pad to the door. Seeing that his parents door is closed I move across the hall on bare feet, noting the dim light under Randy's door. He is awake; is he waiting for me?

I don't tap on his door, just step into the room and close the door noiselessly. I lean against the door frame and have my breath taken from me as I look at him. He is on top of his comforter in his underwear. He looks startled and slightly embarrassed as he reaches for the cover, but then gives up and drops the cloth back, leaving himself exposed. He looks resigned and not like he is pleased to see me. Maybe I've interrupted him before a nightly jack off or something. I have seen Randy dressed down like this before, but only in the changing room, not like this. Not...

His compact frame is well balanced and his skin glows in the light of the dim bedside lamp. My eyes drink in from his feet – taking time to note the slender, individual toes and the change in color from the pale sole to the tanned top of his foot – to the ankle and the shin with its tiny hairs to the breathtaking thighs that end at his sunshine-yellow briefs. The high sides give me such a view of his legs from toe to hip that I can feel my mouth warring whether to go completely dry or salivate uncontrollably.

The bulge in the middle of the briefs only makes my mouth vacillate more fervently.

His happy trail runs up to his belly button; beyond that to his flat but not ripped stomach and my eyes feast on his pecs, which I'd known were developed but not artificially so - exactly the way I like them. His nipples are hard. His eyes, when I finally bring mine to his lovely, lovely face, are almost as hard.

“What?” he says, pitched low.

“I...” I gather my wits and try to leash my now raging libido. “Randy, I love you. No matter what happened before, that has never changed. I know I hurt you, and I truly didn't mean to.”

“Adam...” he says and I cut him off.

“You know I never meant for things to happen the way they did, Randy. Maybe I am stupid, but I never once thought I was gay when it was just you and me. I just figured that anyone that could look at you and not...want you...they had to be jealous of you. And if they knew you, like I did, and still didn't then they were just lying to themselves.

“When I say it out loud,” I say and pause to wet my lips, “I know how dumb it sounds. But try to understand – you're the only guy I ever really noticed. I thought it was just because you were so, so special. I never really thought I was gay until Nick came along and I realized that I could be attracted to someone – some guy – other than you.”

I place my hands in front of my face, mimicking prayer and take a step towards him. “But there is a world of difference between you two. I loved you not just for how you look, but for what was under that...jaw-dropping body.”

His face colors a bit and he squirms. What is for him simply a movement caused by his embarrassment is, from my point of view, something incredibly seductive.

“No matter what happens here or in the future, I will always be your friend. Even if you won't forgive me.” I say softly, almost reverently.

“Adam...it's...” He sighs, his chest expanding with the heavy breath. Since first seeing him when I entered I’ve been aroused, and now I feel myself grow more turgid than I’d have thought possible. Can your penis explode? I mean, in a way that doesn't involve copiously cumming? I pull the reins tight, again, and focus on him and try to ignore my aching dick.

“You don't owe me an apology. I probably owe you one.” He turns and rests on an elbow and lets his eyes drift up towards mine. “Yeah, I wish you'd have told me. You're my best friend,” he says. My heart leaps that he says this in the present tense. “I really do understand that it was just bad timing, cosmically bad timing.”

I take a tentative step toward him and his eyes lock me in place, his gaze so focused. I want to do something to finish making this right and I feel like it is so close to being solved that I can just taste it. Considering his state of undress a very stiff part of me hopes that I will, very soon, taste him as well.

“But I have a confession to make.” His eyes are still boring into mine.

He pulls a foot back and uses it to rub against the back of his calf, and the only sound – besides the thunder that is my heartbeat – is of skin rubbing against skin. I feel the drool of pre-cum hitting my leg.

“Okay,” I say to him, “whatever it is, just say it.”

“It's kind of...hard to say, after the way I've been acting. That's kind of what I've been struggling with – you know, putting it off. I had no right to be, well, mean.”

“Randy.”

“Okay, I know, I'm stalling.” He takes a deep breath and wets his lips. “The truth is, Adam, that I wished you'd told me how much you...liked...me...”

“I don't think 'like' is the term you want, Randy,” I admit.

“Can I finish here? This is awkward for me, you know – hey, do you want me to cover up?”

“No. Fuck no, I do not want you to cover up.” I roll my hand at him, “Continue.” I wonder if he's uncomfortable because he's nearly naked and I'm still fully clothed?

“Adam...”

“Randy, I promise, I'm – okay, look, will this make it easier for you?” I decide that if it's a choice – and I don't know that this is the problem – between him putting clothes on or me taking them off, well... I rip off my shirt and shove my sweats to the floor, awkwardly pulling my feet out of them and standing in just my boxers. Oh, I suppose he can see my raging hard on now. An the wet spot. Balls.

“That – no, it's not easier,” he says. I reach for my shirt and he hisses, “Stop! I said it wasn't easier, I didn't say...oh, fuck.” He throws his head back on his pillow and let one hand punch the bed.

“What?” I whined.

“Dammit, Adam.”He sits back up and dangles his legs over the edge of the bed and looks up at me. “I was mad because I missed my chance with you. I wanted you to fall in love with me because I was already in love with you.”

“You...” My heart soars.

“And now it's all for nothing.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because you fell in love with Nick! You just broke up, what, two weeks ago? Now the boy that I love is right across the hall and...”

“Randy,” I say as I bend down to put us at eye level and take his face in mine. “Rand. I will not lose you to the doubts that complicate your mind. Nick was a poor substitute for you, and he could never mean as much to me as you do. I always thought you were...well, I thought you were straight for one thing! If I'd have known that you wanted me...this wouldn't have taken so long.”

I pull him forward and kiss him. He pulls back and asks, his voice trembling, “Are you sure? This isn't...is this real?”

“You tell me,” I reply and pull his face to mine. Kissing Randy versus kissing Nick is amazingly different – and Nick pales in the comparison. When he'd kissed me I was vulnerable and weak and so it had been an inherently unbalanced relationship. I had been too intoxicated with the newness, the possibilities, to see it. Now, after Nick's revelation, it is painfully clear to me.

Something else is clear, also. With Nick, the love I felt was different from this. The love with him was more pristine, more calculated, more chaste. Even when I snuck out to win his love, I had reservations. Here, now, with Randy, I feel none of that. Instead, I want what my hormones are telling me to do, and I have no reservations at all about doing it. What if feel is visceral, vital and very real.

With Randy, he wants me as I am. I, of course, have always wanted him. When we surface from the kiss we are both breathless. Randy's lips are swollen from me crushing my lips to them, shiny from my tongue touching them. I am going to ask if that is proof enough that it is real, but before I can he has pulled me to him – and on top of him. The kissing is the pent up frustration of the last several months coming to a head. We ride it in waves, the kisses first hard and pressing and then settling into soft and loving.

But I am not to be sated by just his kisses. He and I have both waited far too long, circling one another in this dance for month upon month. With all the obstacles now gone – I am determined to leave nothing on the table. For years we two have demonstrated our love, strengthening and supporting the other through divorce and death and my numbskull antics. Now, it is all about the physical; all about the now.

I tug at his briefs in a fury, wanting to see what has been hidden from me for so long, and yet I slow quite suddenly as it bobs on it's thatch of curly hair. I relish the hot, silky skin and the way it slides over the hardness within. Clear fluid dribbles from the tip, dripping to my fingers and I swab it with my thumb. Randy hisses and twists under me, then whimpers and whispers my name. I look into his eyes and read the desire for me, for the now, for us.

I kiss him again, then move down and engulf him, stroking whatever isn't in my mouth as my lips move up, and release as I descend. My tongue races and licks – I glance up at his face, not slowing my pace – and he bites his lower lip, a soft groan trapped in his mouth. Then he is squirming and he unravels for the first time with me.

I explore every inch of Randy; I have dreamed of this and then some. From his ear lobes to the hollow of his neck, I attack with my kisses. I move on to his pecs and nipples with my tongue, teasing them into hard studs. I rove down with my tongue over each rib and to the softness of his belly, and kiss the front of each hip, licking the hot flesh. From the rind of his perineum to the meat of his inner thigh to the soles of his feet, nothing goes untouched, untried. Then it gets serious.

I wont lie, it hurts. At least it does at first. I watch his face, the ecstasy. It gets better, so much better. We find a rhythm, bodies, breaths and hearts all moving together, satisfying a need we had for each other.

We lie in the dim light, spent and splattered, and my fingers trace a lazy pattern over his stomach and up his chest. I don't mind running my finger through the cooling evidence of our first time – well, times - together and dragging it across his skin. Through my euphoric haze over what we'd done physically and what we'd achieved emotionally, I am the most at peace I can ever remember being. I run my fingers down, letting the pads trail up and down his thigh – thighs that I have longed to touch like this since I first saw them. The fine hair slips out from under my fingers and in between is the hot, silky skin. Unsatisfied, I press my whole palm to his thigh and indulge myself in the texture of his leg.

I move down to the heat of his inner thigh and trail my finger tips along his scrotum. His dick twitches with the first signs of new growth.

“Adam...I know it may sound a little fake after every wonder-fucking-ful thing we just did, but I love you.”

I move my fingertips up his shaft and back down to this balls, then back to his lovely leg. I pull my hand up and us it to tilt his lips to mine. After a brief kiss I press my forehead against his and reply, “I love you too. I'm so glad I don't have to hide it anymore – I feel so unbelievably free...oh, oh no,” I murmur as I sit up.

“What?” he says, running his fingers along my side. It is wonderful how we feel the need to make continual small touches. Yet, there is a problem.

“What about your folks, Rand? How long do you think we can hide this from them?”

“Hide it from them?” Randy giggles and pulls me down on top of him. He kisses the tip of my nose and says, “I told my dad I was in love with you a year ago. He's known this whole time how hopelessly devoted I am to you...” he hesitates and then says, in a very sappy tone, “beautiful, sweet Adam.”

By then I was ready to go again and this time it was my turn. Now we both understood the others pleasure – the heat, the completeness, the feeling of joining together that felt so powerful, surely it wold never come apart. He urges me onward, and I whisper his name in passion, repeatedly. He pins me deep inside him with his legs as I release and I feel his own wet heat splashing across my stomach.