THEY HAD dessert. John insisted. Who knew when this boy—young man—would eat well again? John had the purple yam ice cream, and Blue tried the green tea flavor. He surprised John by offering him a taste. When he held out his spoon with the pretty light green blob of ice cream, John’s lifetime fear of—what? Germs?—sharing utensils hit him, and…. And he looked into Blue’s face and thought, Oh fuck it, and let Blue slide the spoon into his mouth. It was one of the most intimate things John had ever done. It made his heart do something strange and his cock shift in his slacks. Again!
So he shared a taste of his yam ice cream and barely even thought about it when he put the next spoonful in his own mouth. Hey! Despite Vivian getting him to share his Coke at the movies, this was new for him. Vivian was right. They’d made out. What germs should he have been afraid of? Still, that was Vivian—he didn’t know Blue! But then he watched as Blue licked his own spoon with the tip of his pink tongue and quite suddenly wondered what that tongue would taste like.
What was Blue doing to him?
They finished, and John took Blue straight back to Four-Footed Friends to see Chewie, but just as Elaine had predicted, the dog was still out, resting peacefully.
“Take me home,” Blue said, yet another tear slipping down one of his cheeks.
“I’ll need the address,” John said.
Blue looked at him with an unexpected expression—startled?—and after a blink or two, he gave John his address and then mumbled something that sounded like “I thought you were taking me to….”
To what? John wasn’t sure what Blue meant.
Home was a shock for John.
He saw the old house immediately for what it was—an abandoned house. Blue was a squatter. Of course. John felt stupid. Now it made sense. And what a place: weathered and gray, some windows broken, shutters cockeyed, some gone, the gutter on one side of the house hanging down from one end, the first step up to the porch missing.
God. Blue lives here?
(And dammit, he still hadn’t asked if Blue was his real name.)
John put the car in park and saw that Blue was studying him. Was looking at him thoughtfully, as if examining him or getting ready to ask a question. Blue opened his mouth—here it comes—but then shut it, and then he thanked John. Without warning, he leaned in and gave John a light, quick kiss. But this one was directly on the mouth.
John was rendered speechless—not that he spoke reams to begin with—but…. But his blood! John could feel it zinging through his veins, hot and cold by turns.
“Thank you, John,” Blue said, so close John could feel the heat of his breath, smell the scent of orange juice and vodka and ginger and green tea ice cream.
John trembled and felt an almost overwhelming temptation to place his hand on the back of the young man’s neck and pull him forward into another kiss—this one not nearly as chaste.
“Thank you so much,” Blue said. “Thank you for everything.”
Blue pulled back, and they locked eyes, and dammit, John couldn’t read what he saw. Was… was that hurt? Did I do something wrong? Was it confusion? Damn! He couldn’t read this young man, and that was what he was good at. What he used so well in business. He felt he was missing something important—very important!—and in the next few seconds, it was going to be too late.
Blue slumped, then sighed, opened his car door, and jumped out—all in one swift, fluid motion. “Good night,” Blue said and then turned, leapt over a half-crumbled cement step up to the property’s yard level, and dashed up the walkway to the house. He made a second leap over the missing wooden porch step. Blue stopped for one instant, peered over his shoulder, and—
John was electrified as he thought of that first time Blue had looked at him the same way.
—gave him a simple childlike wave and disappeared into the house.
John sat there for what felt like a decade, although when he finally glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard, he saw it had not been more than a moment or two. He found himself touching his lips very carefully, perhaps to see if his lips felt somehow different.
I didn’t ask him if Blue is his real name!
But that was followed by something almost profound.
What difference does it make if that’s his “real” name? That’s what he calls himself. That’s what matters.
But….
Why that for a name? Why Blue?
Blue as in bright blue and beautiful and lovely? Or blue as in sad?
John wanted to believe the former.
And for one long moment he considered—was tempted, was near seduced into—getting out of his car, running up to that house, knocking on the door, and asking.
But then the moment was gone.
I can’t do that.
It would be crazy.
John Williams didn’t do shit like that.
All that was followed by one more thought as he pulled his car away from Blue’s house. It wasn’t decorum or modesty or even shyness that kept him from knocking on that door. His wife—ex-wife now in every way except on paper—was right.
Boring.
I’m boring.
I’m too fucking scared to knock on a door.
Because if he did, everything in his life would change. And he didn’t like change. He didn’t like waking up in a hotel room, even in the Virgin Islands or the bottom of the Grand Canyon. He wanted his coffee and his back deck and always knowing where his bedroom slippers were. Always.
Blue had hitchhiked west all alone and picked apples in an orchard and learned Spanish with Mexican workers. Imagine doing something like that.
Boring. Vivian is right. I’m boring.
But I don’t have to be.
I could take a chance.
I could go knock on that door.
A door that right now seemed as far away as a three-day hitchhike.
And God! The idea was near terrifying.
Because he knew as he looked back toward Blue’s house that if he did knock on the door, it was very likely that an incredible change would take place in his life. He was just too afraid, and that made him feel very sad.
No.
Worse.
Lonely.
Perhaps more lonely than he’d ever felt in his life.
BLUE STEPPED into the foyer, remembering to avoid that six-foot-by-six-foot area to the right of the door where the floor was rotted out from the rain that came down from the leaky section of roof above. No one had fallen through yet, but someone very well could. It was getting gloomy, the corners and ceiling filling with shadows, so he knew he should light some of his candles that he always kept handy—normal candles, mostly bought from the Dollar Store, and not his penis ones. Those he rarely lit at all.
He went upstairs, struck by how Chewie-less the house felt already. No happy bark. No doggie toenails clip-clipping on the floor. No shaggy, incredibly soft head nudging under his hand for a scratch behind the ear or a pat on the head. And Blue hadn’t even climbed into his empty bed yet.
Goddamn, it hurt.
It hurt knowing he was responsible, no matter what Hound Dog or Elaine or even John said.
John.
The thought of the big man came with its own hurt.
I thought he liked me. And then I thought he only wanted me for sex. And when that wasn’t the case…. When that wasn’t the case, he didn’t know what was worse. Because right now he could use that big (wonderful) man in his bed.
Being wanted was important to Blue. Even if all anyone—men—wanted from him was sex. His mouth, his ass. Rarely his company.
That was something, at least.
Because the people in his life who had really mattered to him hadn’t seemed to want him at all, had they? They’d gone away.
Tonight, company might have been exactly what John wanted. Yet John just dropped him off and left.
Neither company nor sex. Not being wanted for his company Blue was used to. But to be rejected sexually as well? Sex was where things always ended. It felt so strange that this evening had ended without it.
It all made Blue feel so… untethered. Like he might simply float away.
Or fade away.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt that way before.
God! He needed company. He ran up the stairs while he could still see well enough to do so, calling for “Ruby?” and then “Gavel? Sly? Anybody home?”
But there was no response, and when he checked their bedrooms, no one there.
In fact, Gavel and Sly’s room looked stripped.
He stepped in and checked, and… damn… everything was pretty much gone.
They were gone.
They’d packed up and left. Moved. Vamoosed. Hit the road. Yet two more people who had simply gone away.
Blue was alone.
No Chewie.
No Ruby.
No Gavel or Sly.
And no John.
There was a sudden and very loud crack of thunder, so loud it shook the house, and he jumped and nearly peed himself.
And quite suddenly Blue felt more alone than he could remember feeling in a very long time.
THE INSIDE of John’s car had never felt as big and empty as it had when Blue left. It was a ridiculous feeling, but nevertheless, it was how John felt. Blue, as small as he was, had filled the car with his presence. Now all there was in this preposterously large car was boring old John Williams.
Worse than boring.
I’m an asshole.
An asshole because he had so enjoyed being with Blue despite the fact that the kid was worried desperately about his dog. Enjoyed holding Blue despite the fact that he’d been crying, grieving. Enjoyed that kiss despite… despite what?
Despite it all.
I got a hard-on while he was feeling pain. What kind of a creep does that?
He was startled when the first plunk-plunk-plunk of heavy raindrops hit the windshield and then actually let out a strangled shout when a crack of thunder as loud as any he could remember in a long time shook the Lexus. A half block away a car alarm went off—Wee-ah-wee-ah! Whoop-whoop-whoop!—and then another, followed, of course, by the barking of dogs near and far.
John switched on his radio, and as if it were preordained, the words poured from the speakers. “…severe storm warnings lasting until one o’clock, with rain possibly turning to snow as temperatures drop down into the lower thirties—” John snapped it off as quickly as he’d turned it on and—
Shit! Blue’s in that old house in this weather?
—he didn’t even know he’d made the decision until he’d turned the car right at the first street, right again at the next, drove what he hoped were enough blocks—
That house didn’t even look like it has power. Of course it doesn’t. It’s abandoned!
—and turned right and right again.
He’d made a perfect choice of where to turn, as the house was only a half block down. He was out of his car with no thought to the rain, which was growing heavier by the minute, managed the broken cement step and the missing wooden porch step, and without waiting even to knock, opened the door and stepped inside the house. He didn’t even think about what he was doing until that moment. How crazy this was. What would Blue think of him busting in here without so much as knocking?
The foyer was dark, lit only by a few candles, and to the right was a huge room—even darker—probably a living room. When he stepped that way, ready to call out Blue’s name, the floor sagged alarmingly, sending John’s heart into his throat and his feet a good two inches into the hardwood (or in this case, soft wood!). John stepped back as quickly as he could and found sure footing again. He looked up, saw where the ceiling had fallen through and rain was already dripping heavily.
Shit! Blue lives here?
Small candles lit the way to the staircase on the back wall, thank goodness. This place was a frigging deathtrap.
Fuck, how crazy this was. He had to find Blue! Find him and at least for one night get him out of this wretched place.
BLUE LAY on his mattress, blanket pulled up around his ears, miserable.
Not so much from the cold, although he could feel it getting colder. It was the lack of Chewie, for one. Of friends. Of company.
He’d spent the whole afternoon with John, counting meeting him and making a fool of himself at Four-Footed Friends. But John hadn’t seemed to feel he was foolish. Hadn’t seemed to. John had been so kind. Seemed genuinely interested in him, although he still wasn’t sure if John was gay or not. He was married, although that seemed to be only technical at this point. His wife had left him.
It seemed like there had been something. The way John looked at him. Really looked at him. It made Blue’s skin tingle and his heart skip. He couldn’t figure the man out! Was he just a sweet man, or was he sexually interested in Blue?
But who cared if he was gay or not? John had paid attention to him. Better, he hadn’t taken him to some hotel the minute after they found out Chewie was okay and then bent him over a bed. He’d taken Blue home. Hadn’t used him like some piece of Kleenex, like Mom said men did.
All that made Blue feel even lonelier. He’d had some real human contact, and he didn’t get a lot of that. He put people off for some reason—well, he knew why—and that made for a lonely existence.
It was the whole airheaded thing. It attracted people to him long enough to help him out—although that often came with a price—but they soon got bored with him. Wanted to get away. Was that what had happened with John? Even though they’d laughed about Star Wars and cars and seemed to be having fun. Fun, even with the horrible, awful way the day had started. Had Blue finally just gotten to be too much for John?
He fought off the memories of his family and how wondrous his childhood had been—making cookies with Mom, playing catch in the backyard with Dad, running around naked all weekend out at that hippy camp his parents loved so much, and the skinny-dipping and the freedom, freedom, freedom of being a part of the McCoy clan—before he went to live with his grandparents and lost his—
There was another cracking ka-BOOM of thunder, and he jumped and whimpered and cursed himself for being such a little girl.
Tonight in this old house, with the rain coming down heavier by the moment, all he could do was remember and try not to be lonely and—
“Blue!”
Shit! He was starting to hear things. For a second there, in the echo of that thunderbolt, he actually thought he’d heard his name being called out. Well, it certainly wasn’t Gavel or Sly. They were gone. Apparently forever. And he couldn’t imagine that Ruby, out for the evening, would be home so soon.
“Blue!”
He sat bolt upright on his mattress. Somebody was calling his name!
“Blue!”
Was… was that John?
Blue sprang off his mattress and dashed into the hall.
And there he was. John. It was John! Standing there at the top of the stairs, and thank God he’d lit a candle at the end of the hall because it cast just enough light to show off John’s handsome face. Seeing a dark silhouette like that without being able to see who it was would have been something right out a horror movie.
John! It’s John!
It was all Blue could do not to sprint down the hall and leap into John’s arms. (And he could tell the big man could have caught him and held him tight and maybe even grasped his ass with those big hands of his and….)
And then he went right ahead and did it.
Ran, but not so fast as to maybe knock John down the flight of stairs. And he did jump, and damn if John didn’t catch him as effortlessly as if he were a teddy bear and hold him just as easily. John’s hands weren’t on his ass, but they supported his upper thighs, and it was only with the greatest effort that Blue didn’t wrap his legs tightly around John’s waist. John would have felt his growing erection then, and Blue wasn’t sure how the man was going to react to something like that—those damned mixed messages—and then, then, Blue felt John growing hard against the base of Blue’s own cock and he breathed an inward sigh of relief, forgetting all about how he’d felt when he decided at the restaurant that John only wanted to sleep with him.
John trembled then and let Blue go but didn’t drop him, allowing him to slowly slide down his body. He cleared his throat and backed off, and Blue grabbed his arm to keep him from going too far and toppling down the steps.
“I… I….” John cleared his throat again and then said, “I think you should come home with me tonight. If…. That is, if you trust me.”
He trusted John. He did.
Blue nodded, and then John followed suit, and Blue warned him about a spot on the downward side of the steps that might break under John’s weight. Once outside, they ran for John’s car—it was pouring the proverbial cats and dogs—and not five minutes later (but an entire world away), they were at John’s house.
It turned out to be as gorgeous on the inside as the outside, and Blue supposed that bank presidents must make really good money. There was lots of hardwood and glass and paintings and prints and bookcases and rugs (instead of wall-to-wall carpets) and a huge tank of saltwater fish (now how could anyone think that was boring?). The kitchen (where John made hot chocolate for them both “To warm our bones after that downpour!”) was twice as big as Blue’s room, with two ovens set into the wall and an island with copper pots and pans hanging over it and more counter space than Blue had ever seen. When John barely touched one of the cabinets, it lit up from within. John went into a little room off the side of that enormous kitchen, and when he came back, he brought a big T-shirt and a pair of pink sweatpants.
“Sorry about the color,” John said. “They’re my wife’s, and I think mine would be ridiculously big on you. I thought you might want to change. We’re both soaked.”
“I like pink,” Blue assured him, and John pointed the way to a little bathroom off the other side of the room (finally, something small about this house!). Even it was gorgeous, with a sink that looked like a big glass bowl, and damn if the toilet wasn’t one of those silent kind that muffled sound (although Blue didn’t know that until he used it).
When he came out, he saw John had changed into something similar (it kind of turned Blue on to know he was wearing John’s shirt; it was so big on him that it had to be John’s), and he was just finishing up the chocolate. He told Blue to sit down at a barstool along one of the granite counters. Blue tried not to look, but he couldn’t help it, and he saw quite a bulge in the front of John’s sweats, which made the front of Blue’s begin to tent out as well. He sat down quickly before John noticed. In some situations it would have been just what they needed to get the ball rolling, but again there were those mixed fucking messages! One minute he thought John wanted him, and the next it felt as if the opposite were true.
He did get hard when he was holding me at home. He got hard at Temujin’s too!
But did that mean anything? His wife had left him. Maybe he was just horny as hell and his body reacted to Blue’s against his.
They sat in silence and drank their chocolate, and John apologized that it was instant, which made Blue laugh. Did anyone make real hot chocolate anymore?
“I should have offered you a hot shower,” John said quite suddenly. “You’re probably freezing. God, I didn’t even give you a towel for your hair.”
“It’s okay,” Blue said, and then John did ask if he would like a shower. Oh, that would be nice. A hot shower. It had been a week since Blue had washed off with anything other than the hose from his next-door neighbor. And if it turned out that John did want him, wouldn’t he want to be clean? Completely clean? So he told John that would be nice, and John led him upstairs and then hesitated in the hall. Was he having second thoughts?
“Here,” John said with a nod, and they went into a big bedroom with an enormous bed—the master bedroom, surely—and then to a bathroom with a shower and step-in tub that included Jacuzzi jets. It was an almost imposing room, and Blue wondered what it would be like to live life with a bathroom like this. Even the towels—surely John didn’t want him to use one of those towels!—looked luxurious, as if one or two swipes would be all it took to have the water sucked off his body. What would they feel like?
With a nod, John left the room—
Guess we won’t be showering together.
—and closed the door.
Blue got the shower going, and it was amazing. Hard not to stay in it half the night, because when was he ever going to shower like this again? He got hard but didn’t do anything about it. There was still the possibility that maybe John wanted him, and Blue was surprised by just how much he wanted John. He’d read somewhere once that it was pretty common to want sex when thoughts of mortality were in the air, and every time Blue’s mind strayed to Chewie, thoughts of mortality were indeed present. Was that it? Did he want John so much because of Chewie? Instead of being relieved that maybe, just maybe, someone was simply being nice?
When Blue was dressed again—the towels had been like heaven and had indeed dried him as if by magic—he found that the bed had been turned down on only one side, and he called out to John and found him across the hall in a smaller bedroom with a much smaller bed.
“You’re sleeping in here?” Blue asked with a pang of disappointment.
John gave a single nod and then laid an eBook reader of some kind on the bedside table. “I have been since….” His voice faded away, and Blue realized what he’d probably been about to say.
Since my wife left.
So no reason to ask if John wouldn’t want the bigger bed. Blue glanced out the door to the hall, beyond which lay a bedroom with a gigantic (empty) bed, and realized he was sleeping alone. He sighed and bit back a surprising desire to cry.
Instead he thought of all that John had done for him, and he smiled and went to him and bent and kissed him lightly on the mouth. At John’s tiny gasp, he backed off. With a “Good night, John,” he quickly left the room and went to be alone.
And realized he really wasn’t.
Because for the first time in as long as Blue could remember, it seemed that someone was helping him with no ulterior motive at all.
So he crawled into the huge, gigantic bed (at least it felt like that) and stared up at the ceiling. Even shadowed as it was, he couldn’t help but compare it to his own. This one was pristine white, his own blotched and stained and smelling slightly (or not so slightly, depending on the month) of mold. Thank God he wasn’t allergic. And he wondered if John wanted him or not—why John hadn’t pulled him into his own bed. Why hadn’t John taken the advantage that was his? After all, he had given Blue a better place to stay and fed him and even let him take a wondrously hot shower. Didn’t John have a right to his body?
He thought John wanted him.
John had gotten hard at least twice.
Was it possible that…? Could it be as simple as—
God.
—that John was a gentleman?
A short pause was all it took for Blue to realize it was more than possible.
And maybe it was time to show John one more time, for sure, that Blue wanted him.
At least for a night.