September 8, 20—
Second Street
6:51 A.M.
“You’re leaving today and I feel that we’re just getting things started between us,” Toby says against Jim’s hairy chest. He has his head planted between the actor’s pecs and his mouth is only inches away from one of Jim’s firm nipples.
“I’ll be back. You know I will. There’s something irresistible about you that I can’t put a finger on.”
“We’re kind of meant to be together, even though we’re not. What do you think about that?”
“I think that I’ve loved you for a while now, but my career, the distance between us, and you and your boyfriends throughout the years have deterred us from being together. That’s what I think.”
“We could never make a relationship work. You’re too far away and I’m too needy.”
“That’s not true. We could make a relationship work, but only if we both wanted to. As for you being needy, I don’t think so. You’re one of the easiest guys to get along with.”
Toby chuckles. “You just called me easy.”
“If the latex fits, wear it, my friend.”
They kiss. To Toby it feels like something out of a male with male romantic novel. Shivers of warmth gather at his spine, his cock hardens, and his heart becomes frantic inside his chest. Following the kiss, he says, “I should have let you fuck me moons ago. Why didn’t I?”
Jim laughs and admits, “I already told you why. The distance, my career, and…”
“I hear you.”
“Of course you do, but you’re not listening to me.”
“It’s a man’s prerogative not to listen. Women can’t get away with that.”
“Shut the fuck up and blow me,” Jim says, and pushes Toby’s head down to his waist for a twenty-minute suck and lick job.
* * * *
They make love—it’s not sex or fucking Jim tells Toby, its hunger for each other that they share—for the next hour, shower together, and have breakfast at a diner called Shirley Swirly’s. And after breakfast, loaded up with carbohydrates and saturated fats, Toby talks Jim into taking a walk through Templeton Park and they ride a seesaw, swings, and climb a metal rocket that is five stories high. At the top of the rocket, jailed by bars and a low ceiling, some fifty feet above the earth, they take in the view together: pine and maple trees, a giant sandbox for local kids to play in, and two slides.
Jim clutches one of Toby’s hands within his own. “I’ll miss you when I leave today. I don’t think I’ve ever not missed you.”
“Why would you go and do a silly thing like that?” Toby huffs, half laughing, rolling his eyes.
“Sometimes you can’t help who fall for.”
“Do you mean that, Jim?”
“I do mean that. You’re my guy, and both of us know this.”
They kiss for the longest of time at what feels like the top of the world. When they eventually pull away from each other, Jim says, “I have to get to the airport. Will you drive me?”
“I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go, Millard LeCarre.”
“I like that name. You should start calling me that instead of Jim Bone. Millard LeCarre sounds real, like the relationship we have with each other.”
“Millard LeCarre it is,” and they kiss again, climb down the five ladders inside the barred rocket, and make the trip to the Templeton Airport, which is mostly in silence and somewhat melancholic.