Bloodlines - 4. Chapter 4

July 3, 1998

I was leaving early, much earlier than I needed to, but I wanted to get to Claremont, Ohio and check into my hotel. There was apparently some big fucking festival there and everything had been pretty much booked up. I'd gotten lucky, someone canceled a reservation, and I'd been able to score a room for tonight at the only nice hotel in town: The Claremont Plaza. It sounded all fancy, just what those hicks in southern Ohio would name a dump that wouldn't be good enough to be a Motel 6 in a city of any size.

I headed south on Interstate 77, kicking the GMC up to 75, cruising along on a beautiful, sunny morning. It was about 75 degrees already, just the kind of weather that made it awesome to crank the windows down and crank the sound system up. I hadn't heard from Kelso after that night, but I hadn't expected to. Letting him fuck me had served two purposes. It had gotten me off and gotten rid of him. But Cam was still in Michigan, and aside from that encounter with Kelso, I'd been dry. I was fucking horny as hell. I pulled out a joint and lit it with the cigarette lighter, letting the pot calm and relax me so I could just chill on the road and listen to the tunes.

I cruised past a semi and looked up at the driver through my wide-open sunroof. He was young, with light brown hair and big hulking biceps. He nodded to me; I smiled and nodded at him. I kind of stayed next to him, just making eye contact from time to time, as we grinned at each other. He really was cute. Some dipshit was driving slow in the fast lane and forced me to hit the brakes and slow down. The truck passed the guy on the right and then the idiot moved over. I was feeling playful so I pulled off my shirt and cruised back up next to the truck driver.

He looked down at me and got a really big grin on his face. He mouthed the word “hot” and I smiled at him. I dropped back then, laughing at the disappointed look on his face, until I was behind him. I set the cruise control and pulled my shorts off, then headed back up next to him. He looked down this time and got this expression on his face, the expression that said he wanted to fuck me. While he watched me I pulled my boxers down, releasing my hard cock, sprawling there naked in front of him. He pointed emphatically at the side of the road and I saw an exit sign so I dropped behind him and followed him off the road.

There was a gas station there, with a parking area in back for trucks. It was all but deserted at this time of the day, so he parked and I parked next to him. I slipped on my boxers and my shorts, made sure I had my condoms and lube, then jumped out and walked up to his truck. He rolled down his window.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back. He just stared at me, nervous. “You gonna show me your truck?”

“Sure,” he said, and opened his door, then climbed in the back. I climbed in, closed the door behind me and looked around. It was the first semi I'd been in, and it was pretty cool. A bouncy seat for the driver, and a traveling bedroom in the rear. It had an air freshener which didn't entirely hide the smell of body odor. I climbed in back with him and he closed the curtains. “Nice,” he said, as he ran his hands across my chest.

I moved up and kissed him but he pulled away. I guess he wasn't into that. Kissing was too gay. Whatever. I unbuttoned his shirt. He was really muscular and kind of chubby, the whole look making him seem super strong and really masculine. “You wanna suck my dick pretty boy?” he asked in a slutty way that almost made me laugh.

“Yeah,” I said. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled out a nice dick. I took it in my mouth, all six inches, and worked him, getting him really excited. I stopped then and took off my shorts and my boxers. I grabbed one of the condoms and pulled it out.

He looked at me nervously. “What are you doing?”

“I'm gonna put this condom on you, slap on some of this lube, and then you're gonna fuck me, stud,” I said.

“I ain't never fucked another guy,” he said.

I had the condom over his dick now, and pulled out the lube. “I think you're gonna like it. I know I am,” I said, looking up at him with as slutty a look as I could. I turned around and pulled his dick to my hole, almost forcing him. Then he got into it and pushed in. He wasn't all that thick, so I took him easily.

“Oh fuck that's good,” he said.

“Fuck yeah, a big stud like you with a big dick, you make me feel good, fucking good,” I said, catching his mood, picking up on his thing for talking. “Yeah big guy, that's it, plow that big cock into me. Feels so fucking good.”

He began to grunt and pick up his pace, so just like with Kelso, I brought myself off, blasting my load all over his sheets. His cab would smell like my jizz until he washed them, I thought smugly. Then he pushed as deep into me as he could and pumped his load into the condom. As soon as he popped out I grabbed my boxers and shorts.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, and jumped out of his truck, into mine, and headed down the road. Around noon I stopped for lunch on the outskirts of Claremont. It was weird to think that my biological mother lived no more than 150 miles away from me. All those years, and she'd never seen me, and apparently never had the desire to. I pulled out a copy of the letter I'd sent her and read it again, proud of my work.

Dear Birth Mother,

My name is Matt Carrswold. I'm writing this letter for a few reasons. The first is to tell you a little bit about myself and my life, and the second it to tell you why I want to meet you. I figure when you get this you'll feel guilty for putting me up for adoption. Don't. I have great parents, fantastic parents, who have given me a loving home and provided me with more than I needed, more than I could even want. Being raised by them, having them as parents was like winning the lottery. I bear you no ill will for that, only gratitude, so if you have any guilt, put it aside.

I just turned 18, but then again, I guess you knew that. I'm a good student and a good athlete. I graduated from University School in Cleveland with honors, and I was one of the Assistant Captains on our hockey team. This fall I'll be going to college in California, at Stanford University.

I don't want to come in and disrupt your life, and if you have a family, I don't need to meet them. I don't even know if I want a relationship with you, and I don't know if you want a relationship with me. But I do want to know who you are, and I do want to meet you. I'm betting that you're kind of curious to meet me too. So consider it, consider spending an hour or two with me. Meet me at a restaurant, or a coffee shop, or wherever. Please.

Matt

I wasn't all that sure it was a masterpiece until I got a letter last week from Catholic Charities. Apparently my mother had decided I was harmless and agreed to meet with me. Mrs. Laura Ingraham, of Claremont, Ohio. She was going to meet me at a place called Dino's, some bar downtown, for drinks at 4:00pm today. And that's absolutely all I knew about her.

I paid my bill and drove the rest of the way into Claremont. It wasn’t really all that special. There was one tall building with the name CRAMPTON on it in big letters. Everyone in Ohio had heard of Crampton Construction, I just didn't know that they were headquartered here. I assumed they'd be in Columbus. Claremont looked like a typical Ohio city. Once thriving and bustling, then deserted and blighted, and now trying desperately to re-energize itself, to renew itself.

The Plaza Hotel was in one of the older neighborhoods, a place full of big, old homes. This must be where the rich people in Claremont used to live. It was Claremont's version of Shaker Heights, I thought with a grin. There was a huge Victorian house with a sign in front of it that said ‘Claremont City Museum’. I laughed out loud at it. It was massive and hideous. It was incomprehensible to me that people would appreciate that style, even back in the 1800s. The hotel was close by. It was on the small side, but was surprisingly nice inside. It reminded me of those small, boutique hotels you find in cities, and just like them, it had updated but small rooms with shitloads of soaps and stuff. I had lots of time so I unpacked and took a nice long shower, washing the grime of the road off my body and the lube off my ass.

Dino's wasn't exactly crowded at this time of day, but there were plenty of people there. Laura had told them to tell me she'd be wearing a blue shirt and white pants, which made sense since it was the 4th of July and all, but there were several women who wore the same colors. I was ten minutes early but I scouted the bar to see if she was here. As I walked toward the back there was a woman wearing the appropriate outfit, sitting alone, drinking what looked to be whiskey on the rocks. She was staring straight at me, and I knew right away that it was her.

I walked to the table and saw her panic, as if she realized that she'd made a huge mistake and she wanted to escape at all costs. I smiled, trying to disarm her. “Laura?” I asked. She nodded. “I'm Matt,” I said, holding out my hand. She shook it like I had the plague.

“You're very handsome,” she said. Her drawl was more West Virginia than Ohio.

“Thank you. Now I know where I got my looks from,” I said. She smiled at me.

“I thought you'd hate me for giving you up for adoption,” she said. I looked into her eyes and saw the pain this whole thing had caused, the guilt she'd carried for over 18 years.

“No. I have a great life. My father owns a chain of eye-care clinics that specialize in LASIK surgery. Life is good. I'm not mad at you, not even irritated. I am curious though. Why did you put me up for adoption?”

“I was so young, still in high school when I got pregnant with you. I thought about an abortion. I'm sorry. What a horrible thing to say,” she said, covering her mouth.

“It's not horrible to think about it, but I am glad you didn't do it,” I told her. She gave me a slight smile, because it was slightly amusing, and because she appreciated me trying to make her feel better.

“I was raised Catholic, and we're not allowed to do that anyway. So I went away for the rest of my junior year and had you, then came back and finished up high school.”

I nodded. “Are you married now?”

“I am. My husband's name is Charlie. He's a good man, and a good father.”

“So you have kids too?” I asked. I don't know why that surprised me; I'd thought about it before.

“A boy and a girl. The boy is just 15, and the girl is 13. They're good enough kids, for teenagers,” she said.

“So I have a half-brother and a half-sister,” I mused.

“I suppose you'll want to meet them,” she said nervously.

“Look, I told you that you didn't have to introduce me to them, and I meant it. Sure it would be nice to meet them, but that's not why I'm here,” I said firmly. “Are you going to tell them about me, that you had a baby before they were born?”

“I don't know. Maybe when they're older,” she said.

“Is Charlie my father too?” I asked. “I said half-brother and half-sister, I just assumed that he wasn't but...” She cut me off.

“No Matt, Charlie isn't your father. If Charlie and I would have been married or even dating when you were conceived, I would have kept you. Although if I had you wouldn't be dressed so nice,” she joked. I laughed with her then, warming up to her.

“So who is my father?” I asked.

“I was in high school, dating this guy. He was tall and handsome, and he was kind too. He played football, a punter. I really loved him. I really did. When I found out I was pregnant, I wasn't unhappy, because I thought he was the kind of guy I could spend my whole life with.”

“What happened?” I asked, confused.

“He's a faggot. Got caught doing half the football team. I gave my heart to him, I loved him, and he was just playing with me. He was a God damn faggot,” she said, too loudly. She attracted attention.

“What was, what is his name?” I asked quietly, reminding her by my example to keep her voice down.

“Robert Hayes, but he always went by Robbie,” she said. “His family is still here in Claremont. A bigger bunch of white trash you never saw,” she said scornfully.

“But he doesn't live here?” I asked.

“No. I hear he lives out in Malibu, out in California with all the other queers, with his boyfriend. That's about all I know. I don't care, and I don't pay much attention when I hear folks talk about him,” she said bitterly. I ignored her slurs on gay people and blocked the fact that my biological father was gay too. Maybe it was hereditary? She was still hurt, she really had loved him. Charlie must have been a rebound.

“I'm really sorry. Meeting me must bring up some really unhappy memories,” I said with genuine compassion.

“Yeah, it kind of does, but they're just memories, and I should have put them out of my head by now,” she said, shaking it off.

“So do you live in town?” I asked.

“No, we live about ten miles out, on about a hundred acres. Charlie works here in the mill when it's running, and farms the rest of the time. It's not an easy life, but we get by,” she said.

“You know Laura, I wasn't mad at you, but I wasn't sure if I'd like you. I was so nervous about meeting you. But I'm really glad I did,” I said sincerely.

“I always wondered what happened to you. If you found a good home and if they treated you well. If you were happy. If you were healthy,” she said.

“I won on all of those but the healthy part,” I said uncomfortably.

“You look fine. What's wrong with you?” she asked, a whole myriad of emotions on her face: concern, suspicion, fear.

“My kidneys are failing. I need a transplant.”

“So is that why you came looking for me, cause you want one of my kidneys?” she demanded, with no small amount of irritation in her voice.

“If I said I didn't I'd be lying, and I'm not gonna lie to you,” I said. “It's how I found out I was adopted.”

“What do you mean?”

I swallowed hard. “Both of my parents tested negative, they couldn't be donors. They had to tell me why.”

“So they were willing to give you a kidney?” she asked.

I thought about that. The issue never really came up, but I knew the answer. “Yeah, they would have. They're like that. They love me, and I love them.”

“I don't know what to say,” she said, clearly confused.

“Look, I didn't expect to even mention that to you, but you asked about health and I want to be open and honest. Even if I didn't need a kidney, I'd have wanted to meet you. I don't even know if we're compatible, if you could be a donor,” I said.

“I guess we could get tested for that,” she said.

I looked at her and took her hand. She flinched at the contact, and then relented. “I've got an idea, if you're willing. I was thinking that if you got tested, we'd know whether or not you even could be a donor. I've got some time, probably a year, before I have to start dialysis.” That was a lie, but she didn't need to know there was no way to predict how long this would last. “If you are, then you can think about it. You've already given me my life; you don't have to give me a kidney if you don't want to, OK?”

“Alright. Let me give you my phone number,” she said. “You make the arrangements and tell me where to meet you.”

“Well well well, look who we have here?” I looked up to see a really drunk, really big guy staggering over to the table. He looked vaguely familiar, but I didn't know why. “Laura Mercer.” Mercer must be her maiden name, I thought, filing that away in my memory.

“It's Ingraham now Fred. Go away,” she said rudely, but with a little fear.

“Where's Charlie? He know you're with this pretty boy?” he said drunkenly, pointing at me. “Who the fuck are you anyway?” he asked.

“Matt Carrswold,” I said slowly, keeping my body poised to jump at him if I had to. “And you are?”

“About to kick your ass if you don't get out of my seat,” he said rudely.

“That's fine Fred, we were leaving anyway,” Laura said.

“He's leaving, you're staying. I want to look at your pretty face for a bit,” he said.

I stood up then and got right in his face. “You're fucking leaving, or your teeth are gonna be all over that table,” I said.

He laughed. “Oh yeah, who's gonna do it? You're a punk, probably never been in a fight.”

“I'm a hockey player,” I said proudly.

“That makes you a fag,” he said.

“Oh, do you play hockey too?” I asked innocently. It was funny to watch his slow mind try to process that, and then I saw him start to get pissed. He lunged at me, but he was drunk and slow, so I darted to the right and he fell on the floor.

He pulled himself up and charged at me. I got into my karate stance. I'd taken lessons to help me fight better during hockey. I never really used the moves then, but I did now. He lunged at me and my hand shot out, connecting with his nose. I recoiled and hit him again, this time in his mouth, feeling his teeth against my knuckles. I felt something warm on my hand and knew that he was bleeding, and maybe I was. He recoiled and I swung around, giving him one massive kick in the face, then a knee to the groin. He collapsed on the floor.

“Are you ready?” I asked Laura, offering her my hand. She smiled at me and laughed at Fred, and I walked her out to her car. As soon as we left the bar I rubbed my hand. Damn it was sore. That fucking hurt.

She walked up to an old pickup and made to get in, then stopped. She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks Matt, for everything. Call me and tell me about the test.”

“You got it,” I said, smiling.

July 4, 1998

I wanted to go home, but Laura had asked me to meet her at the festival today, so I figured I'd do that, and then split. This town sucked. There wasn't anything to do here except sit in your hotel room and beat off, which I did. That, and ponder the whole issue of my father. So he was gay and lived in Malibu with his partner. He must be pretty successful. I don't think there's a ghetto in Malibu. I began to wonder what he was like, and if he was really into Laura or just using her to get off. Kind of like I was with Ashley. That freaked me out.

I checked out of the Claremont Plaza, left my GMC parked there, and walked the few blocks down to the festival. It was hot and muggy, and the place was teeming with sweaty blue-collar people. Sweaty and smelly people.

A limousine pulled up and two guys got out, both older, both cute. One was short and blond and looked pretty dorky. The other was taller, with strawberry blond hair, and was as gay as you could get. He even walked with a swish. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow appreciatively. I winked back at him and he giggled. Then he walked up to me.

“Now I know I have never seen you here,” he said. “I am Stefan Schluter.”

“Matt Carrswold,” I said, extending my hand. He let his fingers linger seductively in a way that was both funny and hot at the same time. A large man appeared next to him, assuming a defensive posture. A bodyguard. A look from Stefan relaxed him, and he faded into the background.

“You are from here?” he asked.

“No, I'm from Cleveland. I'm just visiting here.”

“Why?” he asked, and that made me laugh.

“I have no fucking idea. I keep trying to leave,” I joked.

“That, Matt is the story of my life. In fact, I am still not entirely sure why I'm back here.” He glared at the short guy who seemed to be his partner.

“JP Crampton,” said the short guy and held out his hand. He had a firm handshake, a perfect handshake, just like my father.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, refusing to let go of his hand and making him blush.

Stefan laughed. “Keep us company Matt.” He turned to JP. “Do you think you can get Matt into the Crampton tent?” That seemed to be a private joke between them.

“Very funny,” he said. Crampton! Of course, what a dolt I was. The short guy must be one of THE Cramptons. And the other guy, Stefan. Why did his name sound familiar?

“I've heard your name before,” I asked Stefan. “Where?”

“Probably in the 'Best lovers in the world' hall of fame,” he joked.

“Really?” I asked. “You're one of the best lovers in the world?” JP chuckled.

“What? Why is that funny?” Stefan demanded, glaring at JP. “You do not think I'm the best lover in the world?”

“No Stef, you definitely are,” JP said.

“I don't believe you,” I told him. “Prove it.” They both stopped and stared at me, then at each other.

“You are too young for me,” Stefan said. Oh he was fun to flirt with.

“You just can't handle me. You are a fraud,” I told him. I'd never been with an older man, but these two were cute, and I was bored and horny. “Come on.” I gestured back to the limousine.

“We just got here,” JP said. I leered at him and pulled my shirt up to use the end to wipe off my cheeks, flashing my abs and pecs at them. Stefan turned and grabbed my hand, leading me back to the limo, with JP in tow. “Drive around,” he told the driver, and put up the privacy screen.

Once we were in the car, they actually seemed nervous, so I moved up to Stefan and kissed him. Wow. This guy was one amazing kisser. I pulled off my shirt, then my pants and boxers, showing off my young body, offering myself to them. I saw JP staring at me and I held my hand out to him. He took it and I pulled him in, kissing him next.

The limousine drove around for an hour, and in one hour those two guys taught me more about sex than I'd ever dreamed of. I'd never fucked another guy before, I'd always been the one taking it, but I got to do both of those guys, and it was amazing. I couldn't believe how good that felt, and how good they were. They were so cute and so different. Stefan truly was an amazingly skilled lover. Every move, every twitch of his muscles, seemed designed to drive me wild. JP was different. He was smooth too, almost as smooth as Stefan, but what made him fun was the way he absolutely let himself go. Once my dick was in his ass, he was a mad man. Two orgasms later, the car deposited us back at the fair. God, I felt great. I had focused so much on bottoming; I never dreamed that being a top would be that much fun.

“Now we're late,” JP groused.

“I wasn't worth it?” I flirted. I'd never been like this, this open, this out, with other guys. It was a blast.

“No Matt, you were worth every minute. I'm sorry, I'm just a little anal retentive sometimes,” he said.

“But not all the time,” I observed. Stefan cracked up. They got me a wrist band at the tent and then wandered off on their own, while I went to find Laura. She was right where she said she’d be, with a tall, thin rake of a man standing next to her.

“Matt!” she said cheerfully, waving me over. “You made it!”

“I said I would,” I replied, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“This is my husband Charlie,” she said.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” I said, trying to get the right balance of politeness and deference down.

“Nice to meet you too,” he said. “Laura told me about your fight in the bar, how you stood up for her. Thanks.”

“It was my fault she was there. It was the least I could do,” I said.

A table miraculously opened up near the refreshment stand so we grabbed it and I bought us all some Cokes. We just sat there in the sweltering heat, having a great time. I told them all about growing up in Shaker Heights, and about Stanford. They told me about their kids, two young hellions if they were telling me the truth. I decided that we'd had enough get-acquainted time for one day and I started making excuses to leave, then stood up.

“I wasn't too keen on her meeting you. I'm thinking I was wrong about that,” Charlie said. She looked at him, stunned, which made me think he didn't admit he was wrong too often.

“I'm glad you think so. It was nice to meet you both. You have my number Laura, if you need anything.”

Charlie shook my hand warmly, while Laura gave me another kiss on the cheek, and then I was free to leave. But I didn't want to leave. I wanted to go back and find Stefan and JP. I felt myself getting hard again and laughed.

I was heading back to the Crampton tent when I felt someone grab me from behind. He bent my arm up behind me, hard, and it hurt like hell. “You and I are gonna have a little talk pretty boy,” he said. It was that Fred guy from the bar, now with a grossly swollen face. I could smell the beer on his breath. What an idiot, to do this in the middle of a crowd.

“OW!” I screamed. “Let go of me you pervert!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. People all around me stopped and stared. “Get your hands off of me!” At first he didn't seem to realize people were around us, then he did, and he let go of me. He looked around, kind of in a panic, when a cop walked up.

“You again, Hayes. You causing problems?” Hayes? Was this one of my white trash relatives? Christ.

“No officer, no problem at all,” he said.

“He almost broke my arm, tried to steal my wallet,” I said.

“I didn't try and steal your wallet you little shit. I was just gonna kick your stupid ass.” The cop looked at him.

“Well now, that would be assault and battery.” He looked at me. “You want to press charges?”

I stared at this goon, eyeball to eyeball, and he blinked. “I drop the charges, we walk away, and I never see you again. Deal?” I asked.

“Deal,” he said. The cop looked at me, I nodded, and we all went our own ways. God, what a shitty town this was. I headed to the tent and found JP and Stefan.

“You guys here for a while?” I asked.

“No, we are leaving,” Stefan growled. JP looked like he was going to argue, but he relented and went over to say goodbye to a few people. “I hate this fucking town.”

“Me too, and I've only been here for a day,” I said. JP came up and I walked out to their limo with them. “I'm thinking you could show me the town one more time.”

Stefan motioned me inside. I fucked them both again, a total rush, and then collapsed into the back seat, all three of us panting. “You know, JP, I think Matt was the only pleasant thing about this whole trip.”

“I needed to see my brother and work out that stock deal,” JP groused as he pulled his pants up. “But I agree with you about Matt.”

“If you make it out to California, call me,” Stefan said, handing me his card.

“OK, that should be in a few weeks,” I said.

“Really? Now that is exciting! Where are you going?” Stefan asked.

“I have to make a trip to Malibu,” I said.

“Lucky for you I have a house there. You will stay with me,” he said, an order, not a request.

“That's awesome,” I said. “Thanks!”

“It is not a problem. I have lots of room, and I am not there too often. I live in Palo Alto most of the time, or I should say we live in Palo Alto,” Stefan said.

“Oh, I'm going to Stanford in the fall,” I told him. Stefan started laughing while JP glared at him. “You don't want me around?” I asked JP, flirting shamelessly as I moved up against him.

“JP is at Stanford as well,” Stefan said, barely, as he kept on laughing.

“I'm the Chairman of the History Department,” he said reluctantly, glaring daggers at Stefan, who was laughing so hard he was rolling on the floor of the limo.

“I'll come see you,” I said, and nibbled at the back of his ear. I'd learned he liked that. “I've got some ideas for extra credit.”

That actually made JP grin and blush. He was so cute. They dropped me off at my GMC and I hit the road, anxious to get back to Shaker Heights.