Beginnings by Harlequin Templer_032537@TarrNet.Com
Slam, the backdoor came to, as rapid, light footsteps came toward the kitchen.
"I'm home," the voice, quick, light, like the rest of him.
"In the kitchen," as I put the casserole in the oven and started clearing away the preparations mess.
"Hi," as David came into the kitchen, his smiling eyes underscoring the one on his face. He plunked his lunch bucket down on the table as I walked into his arms, enjoying the smell of wood shavings and sweat on him.
"Ummmm, glad to see me?" as his arms wrapped around me.
"What do you think," as I kissed him thoroughly.
"Man! I guess so." I could feel him swelling as he pushed against me, not to mention what was happening with me. He let out a gusty breath and we broke apart, gazing at each other, desire smeared all over our faces.
"Guess I better take a shower before supper."
"I suppose," I reluctantly let go of him.
He slid a devilish look at me, heading for the stairs, "Want to watch me get undressed?"
"Do I get to help?"
"You always get to help. You're the best part of my day."
"So are you," as I fell into step beside him.
I sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled off his shoes and socks, turned and faced me and started unbuttoning his shirt while I started lower down.
"How did work go today?" as I worked the zipper of his pants.
"Oh, fine, we're almost through with the project over on the west side of town." He pulled off his shirt, I hooked my thumbs in his waistband and started pulling them down.
"Careful, there, young man, that's loaded," as he stood smiling down at me.
"I always did like playing with guns. Don't worry about it," I smiled up at him and finished pulling his pants and shorts down, reveling as I always did at the line of dark hair exploding out of his bellybutton, descending to the thick bush of dark, dense hair. He stepped out of his clothes, moved closer and I buried my face in him, loving the smell of him. I stood up and he looked at me, quiet, observant.
"What?" I smiled..
He shook his head and came into my arms, pushing his face into the hollow of my neck and shoulder, and in a whispered rush of words, "Oh, God, Paul, I love you so much, " his arms went round me and held on tightly. I felt the sting in my eyes.
And in a whisper that I could hardly get out, "And I you, David. Oh, so much I do."
"You know, all the time at work, I keep thinking about you and wonder what you're doing and what you are thinking about."
"And whether I'm thinking about you? And the answer is yes, I think about you about every third or fourth breath."
"Third and Fourth? What happened to the first and second breath?"
"Well," rubbing my hands across his bottom, "During the first and second breath, I'm trying to calm down from the sheer excitement of thinking about you during the third and fourth breaths."
He laughed. "You make me smile all over."
"Well, c'mon, smiling, smelly, loved one, I'll wash your back and parts unknown -- at least to the public -- they are unknown to the public, aren't they?"
David looked at me for a moment and then gave me a slow, infuriating smile, "Parts unknown sounds like fun," as he padded off to the shower, his round, compact bottom smiling at me with every step.
I emptied his pockets and put his clothes in the hamper. Then I sat on the edge of the bed looking out the window thinking how happy I was, how lucky; and, I must admit, how frightened I was. What the Gods give . . .
"I'm reeeaaaady," he called.
I undressed and stepped in the shower.
"What's for supper, I'm starving?" as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
"David, you are always starving, which I find hard to believe. There certainly was one thing a minute ago that didn't look too starved. In the shower. Remember?"
David grinned, "Oh, him. He's always been healthy."
"Yeah, and downright fat, too."
"Yeah, but it's not him that's starving, it's the rest of me. What's for --"
"Yes, I heard you the first time. Your favorite," as I checked the casserole in the oven.
"The one with shrimp? Oh, wow. Thanks, Paul, you know how much I love it."
"Yes, and you're welcome as always; and also, it's ready." I set the casserole on the table. "You want to get the salad out of the frij and set the table." I started slicing bread and tomatoes while David busied himself with the salad and the table setting.
"What do you want to drink?" as I was getting some last-minute things out of the refrigerator. Two to one he says milk, I thought.
"Milk."
See!
"Let's eat," I said. I reached across and took his hands in mine. "Your turn to say Grace."
He did his usual hurry-up version with one eye on the casserole, caught my accusing look and gave me a sunny smile and managed to say Amen in the middle of it all. No mean accomplishment, that.
After first bites and ooohs and aaahs were out of the way, "David, how much longer are you going to be on this project?"
"Oh, probably another week or so. Oh, Paul, this is really good," around a mouthful. "Why?"
"Do you have to start another one right away?"
"Well, there's some preliminary stuff on a new job, but I don't have to be there for that. Why?"
"Well, I was thinking maybe we could get out of here for a while."
David said: "That's funny, I was thinking about that the other day, too. It would be nice to get away for a while."
"Any ideas?"
"Oh, as long as we're together, I don't care. Completely out of the state, though."
"Well," I said, "Money isn't a problem anymore. We could go wherever we want."
"Well, one of the guys at work the other day was talking about a trip he and his wife took to the Grand Canyon. They went with a group on horseback down into the canyon, camped out, gone several days. He said it was fantastic" Another slice of bread and more casserole disappeared. "I've always wanted to go on one of those horseback trips. We could get good pictures of all the scenery and wildlife. It would be so quiet. All you would hear would be the sound of the water, wind, and wildlife."
And I started laughing, "And the sound of the Davey Bird and his call, 'When Are We Going To Eat, When Are We Going To Eat?' "
He gave me a grin, "Yeah, yeah. But you gotta admit, it would be great fun."
"You're right, it would. Let's do it, then. You'll probably fall off the horse, though."
"I will not. When I was a kid at the orphanage, they used to take us to visit one of the farms. They had a lot of horses. I spent the whole day riding. We used to go there two and three times a month during the summer. What about you?"
"About the same thing, my uncle used to invite me to his farm during harvest. I was too young to help with harvest so I spent most of my time on horseback."
"Can we do it then?" David asked.
"Sounds good to me." Actually, I could think of better things to do but I could see that David was plainly excited at the prospect. And anyway, as long as we were together, that's all that mattered to me.
"We'll be around the same people all the time we are on that trip. You think you can contain our mutual friend and yourself that long?" with a bit of a leer in my voice.
"Oh, you mean like keeping my hand out of your shorts and things like that?"
"Yes, especially when I'm in them, as much as I will miss those magic hands of yours. We won't be able to do anything at night, either."
"Oh, well . . . Then I'll have to love you during the day with my eyes." Then, with a wicked grin, "But there's gonna be hell to pay when we get back to the motel."
"Probably wreck the bed," I laughed. "Well, find out the first date you don't have to be at work and we can spend the day packing and getting ready and start the next morning. I'll make reservations and get a rental car reserved. You need to let your people at work know you're going to be gone for at least a week to ten days."
"Yeppers, will do. What's for dessert?" he asked, all smiles and expectation.
"What dessert?" playing dumb intentionally.
"There's nothing for dessert? Oh, maaaannn."
"Oh, well, keep your pants on, let's see what I can wrestle up."
"That's hard to do with you around."
"How would some brownies tickle your fancy," as I placed a plateful in front of him.
"You tempt me to explain, but they will do nicely. At least for starters." The first had already disappeared, the second one on its way and the third was in jeopardy. I got us coffee, sat down and barely managed to get the last one before the plate reverted back to its original virgin shine. I finished, lit a cigarette, gazed at David in between slugs of coffee.
"Yes?" and smiled as he caught my gaze.
"Can't help looking at you. You give me this warm smile from the inside out. Such a neat feeling."
His face lit up, "Thank you. I feel the same."
"You're welcome. C'mon, let's get the kitchen cleaned up."
"Do we need to buy our own gear for this?" David asked as we finished and headed for the living room and sat down.
"I probably better call the park service out there and get information and rates."
I picked up the newspaper and started looking through the entertainment section, "Want to go to a movie tonight? We could sit in the back row and fool around with each other."
"I'd rather get naked with you and crinkle on the sofa."
I looked at him a moment, "you mean 'cuddle,' don't you?"
"Paul, when you put your arms around me, I crinkle all up."
"Leave it to you to come up with an original definition. Although I got to admit the idea of 'crinkling' with you beats anything I can think of," as I shucked my clothes.
I lay back on the sofa while David got the comforter from the chair. He lay down facing me, my arms loosely wrapped around him; our standard TV position. His body moved against mine and I could feel a very male and warm prominence against my leg. We don't watch a Hell of a lot of TV.
"What's pushing against my leg?"
"Hmmmmm," smiling into my face. I reached forward, kissed him as I felt his warm, magic hand sliding down my chest, stomach . . .
"Guess what I just found," he whispered in my ear.
"He wasn't exactly in hiding," I whispered back.
"Why are we whispering?" he whispered.
"It's more romantic," I whispered.
"Oh."
And suddenly out loud, "Wow, it's hard as a rock," David informed me. Rather unnecessarily, I thought. "Must be anticipating something," rubbing his face on my chest, his whiskers sending electrics all up and down my body.
"Something hot and sweet in bed later?" I ventured.
"Later? LATER?" Oh, all right. But I'm going to hang on to him in case I start to fall."
'Oh, give me control,' I thought. He turned onto his back and snuggled into a comfortable position while keeping a firm grip.
"What are we watching?" swiveling a glance up at me.
"Some sci-fi flick, I think," I said.
His head was just below my chin and I could smell the scent of soap in his hair. His body, in my arms was warm and pleasant and so peaceful. I lifted the edge of the comforter and stole a glance at his body, the hair on his chest, stomach, thick line from his bellybutton descending to the thick heavy bush around his penis, now half erect.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"None of your business, watch the movie."
"You're peeking, that's what you're doing," looking up at me.
"Uh-huh, at my buddy. Wanted to make sure he hadn't got mad and walked off."
"Nooooo, he's hanging around. Still. Hoping for later. Of course, I have hold of something that's not going to get away."
"Yeah, you practically got a mechanic's lien on him. I'll have grip marks by the time this movie is over."
David looked up at me with a smile that'd dissolve concrete, "We could go to bed early."
"Ummmm, yes, I suppose." God, I loved playing hard to get.
I didn't say anything.
David didn't say anything.
"WELL?" he hissed.
Lord, his hands were driving me nuts. "Let's go." I threw off the cover and clicked the remote. "Shall we walk up the stairs hand in hand," I grinned at him.
"Like Hell," and with that, he tore up the stairs at a dead run.
Glad he remembered to let go of me, I thought. I started up the stairs calmly, which lasted for all of one step and chased right after him.
"Light the candle. C'mon, Paul, hurry up, it's a sin to waste this. I AM READY NOW. C'mon on!"
I lit the candle and jumped into bed. "You were born ready, David."
"Yeah-I-know-you-want-to-be-first-or-second?" as he came into my arms, all kisses, fire, and urgency.
"Oh, definitely. Wow, David."
I met David in a bar, which in itself was strange as I don't frequent the bar scene much anymore. But I had been rather at loose ends for several days. Most of the crowd I ran around with were busy doing other things and getting involved in their own relationships. Besides, I suspected, many of them know of the problems that I had been having and figured it was a good time to avoid me. I had been invited to a couple of parties but I've always had problems with stupid conversation and assorted noise.
What I really wanted was company of my own kind without conversation and in a quiet place. I'd heard about this bar as being a pretty decent place. What the person mean by 'decent,' I didn't know but figured it was worth checking out.
It looked okay from the outside, located on a side street with little traffic. It looked like one of those places that only a few people knew about.
I walked through the door and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was a rather ordinary bar. There was none of the 'last word in decor,' proclaiming its tackiness in strident shades of hot pink, chartreuse and various combinations of clash, complete with cute boys in tight shorts, enhanced crotches, playing at being waiters. Wow, what a sentence. Anyway, the bartender was fully dressed, complete with bow tie.
He looked up as I entered. "Hello, what can I get for you?"
"Gin and tonic would be fine." I looked around at the patrons. Predominantly older men with a few young faces here and there.
Most of the stools around the bar were occupied and I really didn't feel like talking to anyone. I paid for the drink, looking around for some place that offered a little peace and privacy. I spotted a booth along the back wall that seemed remote and headed toward it. As I sat down, I noticed a half-finished drink opposite me. I hadn't seen it in the semi darkness of the bar. Someone else was sitting there. I picked up my drink and started to get up.
"Hi," almost a question. I looked up and into the face of a man I estimated to be about my age. Not bad looking, I thought. Couldn't really tell in the semi darkness. Then, no, no, no. Not again. Not this time.
He continued, "I bet you thought no one was sitting here. I was in the bathroom," adding this vital piece of information as he slid into his seat. Probably going to tell me what he was doing in there, next, I thought.
"Sorry. I'll find another booth," and started to walk away.
"It's okay. Join me if you'd like."
"No, but thank you for the invitation," as I moved towards another booth.
I sat down and wriggled into my little world of desperation and wondered how my life could have gotten so ugly. What had I done to mess things up so much. Real victim thinking here, I thought, and you're wallowing in it like a pig in fresh mud.
"Could I sit with you?" a voice from the side and slightly behind me. The guy from the booth.
I glanced up as he came around in front of me. I didn't want this. "I guess so," not finding the words handy to say no diplomatically.
"If you'd rather not, I can sit elsewhere," as he paused, unsure.
I might as well talk to someone, I thought. "No, that's quite all right. My mind was elsewhere. I didn't mean to be rude."
He slid in opposite me. "And where was your mind?"
"What? Oh, I guess I was wondering if there were any people left who still believed in the old values, that -- oh, never mind," not wanting to involve a stranger with my personal stuff.
He looked at me without smiling, "like honesty, loyalty, falling in love, commitment, someone to share your life with, someone to belong to?"
"That obvious?" a little surprised that he so accurately put his foot right in the middle of all the sore spots.
"No, not exactly. But I've been kind of hung up on some of the same things. And from that standpoint, it is obvious, at least to me. And I do believe in the old values, as you put it. My name is David."
"I'm Paul."
Another serious look, and a pause as though he was trying to decide something. Finally, "I got to tell you something and I don't quite know how to go about it."
"Why don't you just say it and we can take it from there."
"Yeah. Right. Well, can you accept the fact that I Have to say this?"
"I'll try," wondering, and then, "is this something that someone put you up to?"
"No. It's something that I have to say to you, just you. I have to say this. You understand?"
"I guess." I didn't, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. I waited.
"Oh, lord, this is going to sound crazy. I'm falling in love with you."
"No shit? How nice for you." Oh great, I thought, another import from granolla-land, just what I need.
"I'm serious," no smile, "it's not a pickup line."
"Well, you're right about one thing," I said, "it does sound crazy. But I am not interested. Not tonight or any other night. Please, just leave me alone."
"I'll leave you alone if that's what you really want but I don't think you do."
"Well, pardon me for pointing out the obvious, but you hardly know my name, much less anything else about me."
"No, but I will. Very well. And I am falling in love with you," again with that no-smile gaze.
"Is this an upcoming plan of yours or has it already begun?" sarcastically. I didn't need this, not tonight.
"I guess I would have to say yes to both," he said.
"Oh, wonderful, I do love clarity."
"There will be a time when I will be in love with you. And I am starting to fall in love with you right this instant. So, yes to both," he said.
"How many guys have you managed to snare with this line?" trying to get onto a different subject. Maybe he'd get bored and leave.
"I've been in here a total of five times and you are the first person I've talked with other than the barkeep," he kept looking at me, serious as all get out. "And you are the only person I've ever said this to. "And," he continued, "the only person I will ever say this to."
"Why me?" I asked, thinking that I was not exactly at my scintillating best but curious. Somewhat.
"Because when you got up from where you sat down in my booth, I saw an expression on your face and in your eyes and suddenly, I knew that you were the one. I can't explain it, but I knew. I didn't come over earlier because I was afraid you'd say no, you didn't want company and I wouldn't know what to say next and then I'd have to leave and I would have missed my chance. But then I decided I had to take that chance regardless. So I came over."
A mystic nut, not just your everyday run-of-the mill variety. But I did believe him -- at least I believed he was telling the truth about his belief which I sure didn't share. How do I get rid of him without making him feel like a jerk and me too for having done it to him?
As if reading my mind, he said, "Maybe we should talk about something else for a while?"
"Definitely."
"Love at first sight?" with a grin.
I smiled, "pick another subject."
He looked at me for a moment, "We could go to my place and have sex."
This conversation was getting under my skin. "No, I gave up the one-nighters a long time ago."
"Me, too."
"Then why did you just suggest it? Did something go by me here?"
"Just checking," he said. "Wanted to find out if my original assumption about you was correct."
"And?"
"Batting a thousand so far."
"Swell, jeeze, I'm happy as hell for you. Glad I could help."
He looked at me for an instant, then said, "Look, I think it'd be best if I left. Maybe some other time." He started to get up.
I couldn't help but hear the bitterness and despair in his voice and somehow I couldn't just ignore it. I had been there myself. "Wait. Don't go. I'm sorry. I have no reason to be so damned rude. It's just that I can't quite keep up with you. That and the fact that I'm not in the best of moods."
He sat back down, "I think I can imagine how you feel. Tell you what: Let's go to my place and just talk. I'll make something to eat and we can get acquainted and try and enjoy each other's company. Would you be willing to do that?"
"Just talk?
"Just talk. Leave any time you feel like it. Won't try to get you in bed, put my hands in the wrong places or anything like that." Then a grin, "But I'll be thinking about it."
I thought about it, thinking my only other alternative this evening was mainly by myself regardless of what I did. Unappealing.
"Okay," I said, "Where do you live?" He gave me an address somewhere on the east side not far from where I lived. We got up, left the bar and started walking toward the small parking lot, not speaking. Finally, "You will come, won't you?"
"I'll be there. I promise."
"Good. See you soon." He got in his van and drove off.
I started in the general direction he had given me and when a gas station appeared on my right, I pulled in and starting filling up, thinking about the events of the evening. Falling in love with me? Lord, even science fiction doesn't require that much imaginative stretch. I ought to go on home, I thought. Yet, there was something about him that was different, I thought. He had said something about the expression on my face and that he 'knew.' How did he know and what did he know? Oh, well, it isn't late yet and I don't have anything better to do and I did promise. Besides, I wanted some answers. I paid for the gas and left.
I found the address and got out and locked the car. The house was no different than any others in the neighborhood, being neither exclusive nor low income.
I rang the doorbell and heard quick, light footsteps. The door opened, the hallway dark, "I didn't think you'd show," he said as I entered.
"Well, I won't deny I had some second thoughts about it. Third ones, too." We walked down the hallway and into the living room.
He started arranging cushions on the sofa, his back to me. "I know. I figured you'd probably go on home and that would be the last of it." The living room was subdued lighting, comfortable and quiet. "I'm glad you didn't."
"I almost did," I said.
"What changed your mind?" not turning around, straightening up slowly.
"I'll tell you later." For some reason, I was not at ease with this guy, the tension between us was almost tangible. I'll stay for a while, I thought, and try to get some answers to the questions I had about him.
"Very well. I'll make some coffee. Come talk to me while I get it going," and started towards the kitchen. I followed, a couple of steps behind him, not feeling quite right about being here and wondering why.
I walked into the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks. "My God, don't you ever do dishes?" I asked. I wouldn't have thought someone living alone could have so many dishes. All of them dirty, in stacks on the cabinets, the floor, the table, even dirty plates on top of the refrigerator.
He had his back to me and kind of shrugged, "I don't like doing dishes. Whenever I run out of clean ones, I just go out and buy some more. I'm not interested in dishes, I like doing other things."
This I can't stand, I thought. "Start gathering them up and get them over here. Let's get this place cleaned up. I'll help. You got the coffee going yet?"
"Just about." Then, a snap of the coffee pot lid and the clatter of dishes as I filled the sink and he started laying them down on the drain board. I finally found some dish soap, added it and discovered a dishcloth peeking out from underneath a skillet.
"I'll wash, you dry or rack 'em, whichever. You got any dishtowels?"
"I think so." I could hear him rummaging around in one of the drawers on the other side of the kitchen.
So, for our first 'date,' David and I washed dishes. I handed them to him, our hands touching occasionally. I could feel his eyes on me from time to time but didn't turn to face him. That's strange, I thought, I haven't even seen his face except in the semi dark outline of --
Suddenly, a smash as something hit the floor. I turned to see a coffee mug in a multitude of pieces and David on his hands and knees, his back to me, picking up the pieces. I dried off my hands and knelt beside him and started helping. I turned toward him to ask where the trash can was and got half the sentence out, for there looking straight at me were a pair of the clearest, the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. He was beautiful. I suppose if you took each component by itself, it would not have been that great a thing but when you added them together, the green eyes, eyebrows, auburn hair, straight nose, determined mouth, it was breathtaking. It was certainly taking my breath away. I squatted there, looking at his face, thinking all kinds of things, I guess, but mainly just gazing into his face and losing myself in the green of his eyes.
"Sorry about the cup," he said as we stood up.
"It's okay." I kept thinking about his face.
I finally figured out a reason to have to turn toward him, "I thought you had brown hair and eyes." My conversational talents were still out to lunch.
He smiled, "No, I don't."
"Yeah." At the rate I'm going, all I need is to finish my sentences with 'Duh.'
Truly, this was a conversation fit for idiots but it did accomplish one thing: the tension was gone. We started talking, tentatively at first, then a joke here and there, smiling back and forth at each other. Our hands kept touching.
We finally finished, wiped everything down and headed for the living room along with the pot of coffee and mugs. Clean ones.
He sat facing me on the sofa. I smiled at him, he returned it. "Thanks for helping me with the kitchen," he said. I kept looking at his face and eyes. I finally realized a response was called for, "Oh, you're welcome." He reached over and took both my hands in his strong, warm hands. I pulled back.
"There wasn't anything said about not holding hands," he said. "Besides, we were practically doing it washing dishes." And then I noticed something about him that I have come to cherish: David talked with his face. Some people talk with their mouths, others with their eyes; and some, like David, when speaking, are an animated work of art. His eyes lit up, danced, his eyebrows moved up and down, his mouth managed to smile and speak at the same time and I'm sure his ears must have been insanely jealous for not being in the act. Man, I thought, I could fall in love with a face like that.
Which brought me coldly to my senses. "How could you possibly be falling in love with me when we don't even know each other?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
"Definitely."
"All right. The answer is, I don't know. And it's the best I can do. And I am telling you the truth. All I know is that when you got up, I could see something in your face and in your eyes, it was like part of me recognized something, I guess. I couldn't figure it out and I couldn't let it alone, either. Maybe it was just the recognition of some of miseries in someone else that I was having. I kept thinking it was sadness, loneliness, desperation; perhaps all of those or perhaps something entirely different. I really don't know. All I do know is that I sat there thinking about it and all of a sudden, it came to me. I knew. It wasn't a blinding flash of light with violins in the background or anything Hollywood. It was just the recognition of a quiet knowing, a certainty. It hadn't been there before but all of a sudden, it was. It was almost like God had whispered in my ear, You are the one that I will fall in love with. And I had no choice, I had to approach you and say something. Except I didn't know what to say and I was scared that I would make an ass of myself -- and I guess I did -- and you wouldn't talk to me -- and you almost didn't . I almost didn't come over. And," he stopped, looked to one side, unable to continue and he gripped my hands harder, the emotions running all over his face.
I believed him. I was somewhat astounded that I did, but he totally believed and accepted the urgings of this so-called inner voice.
I kept looking at him, not knowing what to say, what to think even. I opened my mouth, started to say something, then forgot what it was and shook my head.
"What?" he asked.
"I don't know what to say. I'm completely at a loss for words. I've never had anyone tell me anything like this, even close to it, and I've never known anyone that had 'voices' or whatever, telling them things."
"I know. It must be a real shocker. It was a difficult thing for me to learn to accept."
"It is that," I said. "Well, at least tell me about yourself."
"Okay. My parents died when I was a baby. There were no relatives and I was raised in an orphanage until I was eighteen. I went to work for a carpenter, a cabinet maker, when I was fourteen. Spent the day with him learning the trade. What he paid me, part of it, anyway, I had to give to the orphanage for room and board. The rest I kept to buy clothes and tools and then later to attend special education classes in woodworking."
"Where did you go when you were eighteen?"
"To an apartment here in town. Phil, he was the carpenter, he got it for me. By that time, I knew I was gay -- at least I knew I was not interested in women. I'd had several experiences with guys at the home and liked it. When I got the apartment here in town, I started going to the gay bars. Got picked up any number of times. It was fun and exciting at first but somewhere along the way, I began to realize that something was missing. I kept thinking that there ought to be something more than just the sex. At least, I hoped there was. About that time, I started to notice the married couples, men and women, and I don't know, it just seemed like they had more between them than any of the contacts I had had. I got to paying more attention, to their conversations, private jokes, the looks exchanged, that sort of thing. I finally realized that what I wanted most was to be married, to have that sort of relationship, but with a guy. To not be lonely. You can have all the sex in the world and still be lonely. And I didn't know whether that was possible or not. I mean, for two guys to love each other the way a man and a woman can. I've been searching ever since. And I believed -- I didn't know this, but I believed that I would find this someone. Then tonight, the knowing was suddenly there. He's the one, he's the one. I was so excited and happy and I wanted to take you in my arms and so scared all at the same time and -- What's wrong?"
My inner turmoil must have been displayed all over my face. "I don't know. I don't know what to say. It's like my heart is saying one thing and my head another. And somewhere in there, I'm caught in the middle. You know?"
"Yes, I know," he said. "Tell me what your heart is saying."
I started to and then started stumbling all over the place. I started again, "Part of me," I stopped.
His hands tightened around mine. "Part of you," he began.
"Part of me," I said, "part of me wants to say yes, yes," I finally got it out.
"And the other part," his eyes seeming to look practically inside me.
"And the other part is saying I'll get hurt all over again. All the misery, the sickness, the trying to get back on my feet again after I get involved and you decide you want somebody else. Then trying to convince myself I want to live again when most of me doesn't. I don't think I could survive all of that again."
He looked at me for a moment, I assumed, thinking about what I'd said, then, "Do you like scrambled eggs?:
"What?"
"I said," as though he were addressing a somewhat slow child, "do you like scrambled eggs? They come from --"
"I know what scrambled eggs are!" Damn! I had told him things about myself that I had not revealed to any other person and this lunkhead is wanting to know how I like my eggs. Ah, hell, it's time to get out of here. But those green eyes.
A sunshine smile and, "Good. I'm hungry. Let's have some eggs," and he got up, pulled me to my feet and headed for the kitchen with me firmly in tow.
"But, but . . ." Oh, great, I thought, nothing like brisk debate to clear the mind.
"We can talk afterwards. And tomorrow and the next day and for the rest of our lives." How nice that my life has just been put in order. All cut and dried.
He let go of my hand as we entered the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator. "Why don't you do the toast, it's over there," as he shut the refrigerator door, an egg carton in his hands.
I got busy doing the toast but decided to sulk about not being understood while doing it.
All of a sudden, I could feel him standing behind me. "You know something?"
I glanced over my shoulder at him, then back as the toaster popped up, "No, what?"
"I'd like to make love to you right here, right now."
"Well, God Dammit!" and I slammed the loaf of bread down on the counter, "We were just going to talk, remember? You promised."
"Yes, I remember," his voice rising, "But you've been having some of those feelings towards me, haven't you?" There was an edge in his voice and his mouth was in a tight line.
I turned and faced him. "All right, yes, I have. But that doesn't mean I'm going to jump on top of you. Is that what you want? Right now? Right here? Another quickie? What shall we call it, Splendor in the Eggs? I thought you wanted something more than that." I was mad, hurt and, at the same time, very attracted to him.
He continued looking into my eyes, then finally dropped his gaze. "Yes, I want something more than that. Much, much more than that. I want a lifetime with you." Then another smile, "That's not a bad title, though."
I smiled in spite of being angry. "Then why?"
"Yes, I know, I'm sorry. It was wrong. It's just that I'm so sure about this. Seemed like the right thing to do at the moment. Sorry."
I looked at him for a moment trying to decide. "Ahhhhh, forget it, it's okay. This whole evening has been utter confusion. At least for me."
"I know. It's been nerve racking for me, too." We stood there looking at each other, the tension growing. Finally, "Would you do something for me," his face a picture of green-eyed sincerity.
How could I say no to a picture like that? "Yeah, I guess. Yes, I will."
"Would you put your arms around me and just hug me. I know, I promised that we'd just talk, but I really need this."
I started to object and then, "I'd be glad to," and I was.
He came into my arms like he'd been there all my life, his face in the crook of my neck. And you know something? I think he had been there most of my life. Certainly there had always been a 'somebody' in my dreams, my desires, my hopes -- the ones that I'd given up on. All I could think of, as we stood there with our arms wrapped around each other and our bodies pressed tightly together, was that he smelled so good -- nothing fake -- just a good soapy-clean, warm, male smell. And the feeling came to me then and it is with me now as I write this, that I'm home at last. It was so good, so right, so natural, as we stood hugging each other there in the kitchen. And I think I started falling in love with David right then.
Oh, the eggs? Oh, they promptly burned on the stove.
"Ah, damn," as David stood there, with a skillet full of charred eggs. "There's a diner a couple of blocks from here. Let's go and get some breakfast."
"Sounds good to me," I said, trying to suppress a laugh and getting a bit of a glare from David.
So, there you have it. That's how we began our courtship, if that's the word for it. We spent our evenings and weekends together. We went to movies, the library, church, picnics, restaurants, swimming, and a lot of time at David's reading, talking and listening to music. But mostly talking and listening.
He would call me at noon when he knew I was at home working. When his voice came through the line sunshine came right along with it and lit up the room. I wondered if the phone company knew about their unusual phone. But we kept talking and we both made an effort to listen to each other. Always drawing closer. And while we hugged each other or held hands quite a lot, we never made love during all this time, never slept together. It was as though David somehow sensed that I had reached a point beyond which I could not go until I gained more confidence -- in him? myself? both? I don't know. I did realize that I was approaching something -- a bridge perhaps -- over which I must cross in order to be free of the past and move forward.
We had been sitting on the sofa watching an old movie and right in the middle of a love scene, it was though some sort of subconscious switch abruptly turned on and suddenly, it was time. I was ready. I started talking about the past. At first, in bits and pieces, partial sentences, explaining, trying, trying to reach some kind of flow so I could just let go and explain. I could feel David looking at me, wondering what was going on. Then suddenly, he understood what was happening. He grabbed the remote and switched off the TV, moved up against me and took both my hands in his and held on. How he held on.
"Just let it out, just let go. I've got you. Everything's going to be okay."
And I finally got the words to come out in some sort of sensible way. I first started talking about home, my mother, my dad leaving, never to come back. How hurt she was. Her working and the sacrifices she made to raise me and put me through school. My experiences in college, my confusion about myself and my first affair. The bad way in which it ended, the notoriety, the name calling and the shame for something I later came to realize I couldn't help nor change. Then after college, getting the job I had hoped for. Bright new future, bright new beginnings. But the process repeated and I fell in love with a man older than I, but the seeds of destruction were there from the beginning. And eventually, in tones of condescending superiority, he told me how I could never be part of his life, it would never work between us and he left.
I got drunk and wandered the streets that first night. I was beaten up by some wandering skinheads out for a good time. I was their "good time." They left me in the alley. A bag lady told a cop and he called an ambulance. I spent a week in the hospital with a broken jaw, concussions, cuts and bruises all over my body, broken ribs. I felt like I had all the pain in the world and I wanted to die and thought that surely I was going to get my chance.
I had been in the hospital only three days when my boss came to see me with a look on his face of having to do something distasteful. I was the distasteful part. Apparently he had read the police report and the cop's speculation about my probable solicitation and wanted to know if it was true that I had been found in "that section" of town. I could only nod since my jaw was wired shut. He informed me that he didn't want someone like me working for him and that he would have to replace me and that he would be mailing my paycheck and turned and walked out of the room.
I was dismissed eventually from the hospital along with inadequate medical insurance, a whopping medical bill, and not enough money to pay it. I knew I had to scramble to get another job and quickly as funds were fast running out. But employers in my field had been alerted as to who Paul 'really was' by my old boss and the interviews, if they went at all, went badly. No employment was in the offing.
Finally the underlying despair got the better of me. I quit trying. Shortly after that, I quit trying to live. They found me in a parked car, unconscious from overdose. Again, I was taken to the hospital, stomach pumped and put into intensive care. This time, eventual dismissal and into the hands of a psychiatrist, wellfare, and the forever of psychotherapy and the agonizing self-examination, the days of despair, the multitude of prayers asking for death. Finally, I began to realize that I was getting better and that some of my attempts in trying to help myself had paid off. Somewhat.
Supposedly, I was making progress towards rehabilitation and getting ready to rejoin society as a productive member. But it wasn't so much the fact that I was ready to be a productive member as it was the fact that somewhere along the way, I had developed a deep burning hatred for what had happened to me, what had been done to me. I had made a decision. No more would I seek the love and companionship of another man and no more would I get involved with anyone. I would live by myself for the rest of my life and I would work, work, work and I would succeed and I would make some money. I left the psychotherapy sessions over the doctor's objections that I wasn't ready yet and went back to school for further education in my field. I would keep so busy that nothing would slip through my guard and cause the emotional destruction that had happened before and had taken so long in healing. I didn't realize that the healing was not finished.
I could feel and hear the shakiness in my voice and realized that I was close to losing control and somehow, I knew I was not going to be able to push it away as I had in the past. The explaining, as factual and matter of fact as it had been had also brought along with it all the old emotions, the hurts, fears, and hates. But mainly the hurt.
I stopped and looked down at my hands being held tightly in David's big strong ones as he had been holding them during my entire story. But I couldn't face him knowing that he knew what a mess I'd made of my life. Or worse, to see in his eyes that he did not care.
A shaky intake of breath caught me off guard and I looked up. David sat there, eyes bright and tears running down his face. He started to speak but couldn't. He started again, swallowed, then, "Paul," he managed to choke out. "Paul, I love you. With all my heart." He choked back the tears, "Paul, I will always love you, no matter what. I've loved you from the very beginning but I couldn't tell you, you weren't ready to hear it. Oh, Paul," as he began losing control, his words coming out in a rush, "Can't you see? Can't you understand how much I love you, Oh, Paul, you're everything I've ever wanted, Oh, Paul, I love you so much."
I dove into his arms, hiding my face in his collar so he wouldn't see me falling apart. And then I simply quit fighting and just let go and held on to David as tight as I could. I cried and David held me in his arms that evening. I cried for all the hurt, all the wrongs, all the hate. He didn't say anything, just wrapped me up in him even tighter and rocked me back and forth.
And finally, with the release, the blessing of understanding. David had given me his heart and, not quite realizing it, somewhere along the way, I had given him mine. And then I began to realize just how much I loved him. But at the same time I was profoundly afraid of our unknown future.
That night we slept together for the first time. We didn't make love. We talked and dozed off then talked some more and finally in the early hours, in each other's arms, we slept.
When I awoke the next morning, David had already gone to work. As I started to get out of bed, I noticed a piece of paper on the nightstand with a Daffodil on top. I picked up the sheet of paper:
Here's a key to the house. Get your things and move in.
I'll come home at noon and help you.
Paul, today begins the rest of our lives together.
I love you so much.
David
P.S. Man, I am horny!
Don't know how this will appeal to all of you but hope that you will care for it. Obviously, this is a work of 'wishful thinking.' It's not something that happened to me . . . but I wish. Please let me know what you think. Good thoughts, criticism, suggestions, whether you liked it or were bored shitless. Should I give up this little venture or continue? Friends of mine have said that there were not enough 'graphics' in it. Perhaps not, but from my standpoint, this is a story about love, about beginnings, trust, loyalty, and many other things. The nitty-gritty, which I believe is secondary, will come later in some of the other stories. --Harlequin, October, '99