The Joshua Tree Prophecy: The Scent of Intrigue
The Joshua Tree Prophecy
By Lucas Boulderguard
The Scent of Intrigue
Before I reached the top of the stairs, I felt _off—_this loopy, dizzy, out of my head sensation. Clammy-skinned, sweating, heart-racing sickness, like that moment when you know you're taking the flu but you're not quite barfing yet. I knew I wasn't myself coming down the stairs.
When I reached the landing, a smell like witch hazel overwhelmed me. Sharp and biting, like someone had spilled gallons of it. I crinkled my nose, staggered, and grabbed the wall to steady myself. I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and rested my forehead against the door jamb, and snickered about how I felt so much like Rapunzel. With shorter hair and a penis, of course, but had that locked-away feeling, like my entire life existed behind thick walls and closed doors.
_Yoga Plank Man—_whatever he called himself—stirred something inside of me that felt wonderful and forbidden at the same time. Even then, with just a few passing glimpses of him, my fantasies ran wild with images of flesh pressing flesh, lips savoring lips, and bodily crevices being explored. I craved his touch, but I couldn't just bumble up to his doorstep all “oh, captain, my captain!” And even if I could, there remained an unwritten rule of carnal nature: guys like him weren't interested in guys like me.
Mom's heels on the kitchen tile rattled me from whatever daydream that had hold of me. Coffee drizzled into her cup. The pot clang against its burner. “Joshua?” She called out to me with a volume that suggested she heard me come down the stairs.
“Yeah Mom?” My voice soft and quiet.
Her heels clicked on the tile as she strode across the kitchen. “What are you...” She poked her head out into the foyer and saw me leaning against the wall. “...doing?”
“Oh, uh...” I raised my head and made eye contact. Her frown sent me into retreat mode. “I'm just doing... calisthenics.”
I waited for 'why?' She turned back into the kitchen.
“What's that smell?” I called after her.
“Coffee, I guess.”
“No, not that.”
“I don't smell anything...Aren't you going to the gym today?”
“Maybe.” Realizing I was still slightly hard from ogling Yoga Man, I checked my cock between my legs and waddled into the kitchen. My eyes went to the window at once and “fuck” slipped out my mouth.
Mom followed my gaze to the window and glanced out on the burly beast that had stripped his shirt and strapped a large chest of drawers across his back. “It's okay, Josh.” She sipped her coffee.
“Is it?” I asked without breaking my stare.
“His name's Nicolai,” she said.
“Huh?”
“The one you have your eye on.”
“Mom...”
She knew about me. Not just from late night conversations and the proverbial coming out talks. You live with someone long enough and you see how they respond—to shirtless muscle men who glisten in sweat.
She poured me a mug of coffee and brought it to the table. “The other guy's Jurien.”
“You know this how? They just showed up out of nowhere.”
Mom shook her head. “No, the lady stopped by the other day.”
“You met? You didn't say anything.”
She shrugged. “Slipped my mind I guess.” She checked her watch. “I need to shove off for work.”
She snatched her briefcase from the table and scooted for the door. “Oh...” She made a half-turn back to me. “There's an apple crisp and the fridge.”
I settled into a chair by the window. “So?
“So, maybe go over later. Introduce yourself to the neighbors.”
“And take them a fucking apple crisp?” I let out a cackle.
“What?” She scowled at me. “What's so funny?”
“You've lost your mind.”
“Suit yourself.” She crossed the foyer, fumbled with the door, stepped out, and closed the door behind herself.
“Fucking apple crisp,” I cackled again, took a gulp of my coffee, and returned my attention to the neighbor's driveway.
Nicolai paused near the rear of the moving truck and jutted his chin forward and sniffed at the air. He lowered a kitchen table to the ground and leaned against. A subtle change came over his face that reminded me of a dog sniffing at strangers—that brief moment of uncertainty where intrigue and wariness meet.
His posture shifted. His legs bent as if he may have needed to spring into action at any second. He shuffled backwards and raised his arms in front of him.
“Nicolai!” The blond woman's voice carried down the driveway. “Nicolai, Elle n'a pas la poison!” Whatever she told him—perhaps in a foreign language—fell on my ear as a babble of sounds.
The clap of Mom's car door closing echoed from the front of the house. The ignition whined and sputtered. Repeated. The hum of her BMW amplified as she accelerated. The gears shifted pitch as she drove away.
Nicolai straightened himself and took a few steps back. His reflection appeared in the passenger window as he stared into the truck's cab. I studied his reflection as his jaw lowered, his shoulders eased, and his scowl faded from his face.
His hips pressed back toward me, his back arched, his knees bent. I couldn't help but glimpse his tight round ass.
“What are you looking at?” I muttered.
A grin cracked his face. He leaned toward the glass. His lips quivered, then puckered.
“The hell?” I shifted in my chair and gasped. Like sunlight parting clouds, it hit me. He wasn't looking into the truck's cab at all; he was watching the reflection in the glass. And he wasn't smiling at himself. He was smiling at me.
My chair tipped back and crashed to the floor as I launched to my feet and bolted out of the kitchen.