The Original Gay Porn Community - Free Gay Movies and Photos, Gay Porn Site Reviews and Adult Gay Forums

  • Welcome To Just Us Boys - The World's Largest Gay Message Board Community

    In order to comply with recent US Supreme Court rulings regarding adult content, we will be making changes in the future to require that you log into your account to view adult content on the site.
    If you do not have an account, please register.
    REGISTER HERE - 100% FREE / We Will Never Sell Your Info

    To register, turn off your VPN; you can re-enable the VPN after registration. You must maintain an active email address on your account: disposable email addresses cannot be used to register.

Coming soon

C

ChrisGibson

JUB Addict
Joined
Jan 18, 2019
Posts
4,143
Reaction score
323
Points
83
Location
South Bend
COMING SOON​


But tonight they weren’t going to either of those halls. They cut a line for Saint Basil. That night they went to Saint Basil Hall because that was where most of the track girls had boyfriends. He liked Basil Hall best because there was always some shy quiet boy there who reminded Fenn of Dan and made him think it was time to have a boyfriend again. It was a quiet place where you could get a drink—or several. Half the boys were on the soccer team.
“Look at you!” Fenn greeted his friend.
Tara was in black trousers with suspenders over a white shirt. Like Fenn, she wore a fedora.
“I look good, don’t I?” she demanded, tipping her black hat over one eye. “All dressed up and no one to fuck.”
“Not on this campus.”
Tara looked around. “Definitely not on this campus.”
“Oh my God!” Jaime Roberto screamed. “Tara, you were so good! God, wasn’t she good?” She grasped Fenn’s wrist.
“She always is,” Fenn said.
“I mean, I saw your first mete. Hell, I covered it, and I was like, this girl is going to go far this year. And here you are. I mean, you even had Jill beat. This is your year.”
“Jill’s good,” Tara said.
“Jill is good. Jill is the best and you better say it loud because her boyfriend is here, but this year you can be the best too. Right Fenn? Fenn?”
Tara turned to her friend.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded.
“I’m not looking at anything.”
Tara followed his glance and said, “You’re looking at that boy.”
“Which boy?” Jaime said. Then: “Oh, Fenn, you have to be careful. If he comes from California or New York he might have that AIDS.” She cupped a hand to his ear and whispered: “They even have it in Indiana now.”
Fenn was half irritated, but the other half of him wanted to laugh.
“You can’t get AIDS by looking. Anyway, he’s gone now.”
“Don’t worry,” Tara told her friend. “I’ll remember him,”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Fenn told them. “He could have just been visiting.” He sighed, but he was surprised that it hurt a little. He was suddenly very aware there hadn’t been someone in his life since Dan, and now Dan was definitely, certainly bound for the priesthood.
“He was little. He had lots and lots of dark hair. He needed a shave. He had soccer shorts and looked really shy, like you like ‘em.”
“Oh. Those kinds won’t give you AIDS,” Jaime said, relieved.
And then she said, “I think I know who you mean. Did he have blue shorts on, and a Chicago Cubs cap?”
“Yes!” Fenn said.
“I didn’t know if he was gay or not. He’s really quiet. I don’t think he’s into girls. He’s really shy. He’s sweet.”
“But does he have a name?” Tara asked, becoming impatient for Fenn’s sake.
“Oh, yeah,” Jaime said. “That’s Tom Mesda.”


TO GET TO THE END, YOU HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING

THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD: THE CONCLUSION OF THE ROSSFORD BOOKS​
​
 
I definitely think you won't be disappointed. There'll be new surprises in the present and new revelations about the past.
 
That night they sat in Grandma Lula’s large house on Prince Street, the one where, after her divorce from Leroy, Anne had come to live.
“I need someone to take care of me and you need someone to take care of you, so what’s the problem?” her mother demanded.
Tonight they sat around the too large table in the seldom used dining room. Fenn found himself beside Hoot, and across from his sister with Nell Reardon on the other side of her. Beside Adele sat Nell’s husband, Kevin. Grandma and Mama made eight.
“That was a lovely dinner, Grandma Houghton,” Hoot told her.
Lula Houghton ignored him. Fenn looked across to this sister who had the usual look of trepidation when she brought her husband around her family.
“Didn’t you have some news?” the boy on the far end of the table demanded.
He was tall for his age, pale and all angles with a thatch of wild, spiky, black hair. His green eyes were ringed in shadows.
“Why did you bring him?” Adele asked Nell.
“Mom couldn’t watch him.”
“I don’t need to be watched,” the boy said.
“Mom thinks you do, Todd,” Nell said, and there was an end of it.
Todd was nearly fourteen, and he did not think this was the end of it, so he lay back lower and lower in his chair until Adele yelped. Then he sat up quickly.
“You kicked me!” Adele said.
“I didn’t mean to!” Todd looked terrified. “I was trying to kick Nell.”
Hoot had a protective bulldog look on his face and Fenn, who at twenty-one was the same height as Todd, thought that leaning over and smacking the boy on the head would suffice.
“See,” Fenn told them. Now everything’s taken care of.”
“Hitting boys isn’t the answer, Fenn,” Kevin chided.
“No?” said Fenn. “What about hitting men?”
Fenn liked Kevin Reardon less than he liked his own brother-in-law. Kevin was tall and bespectacled with a dimple in his chin. He would have been good looking. But there was something wrong about him that Fenn could never pinpoint.
“And now for the news.” Anne put her hands together as Lula came in with a large chocolate pie she had made that afternoon.
“Great,” Nell said, “and then I have news too.”
“I’m pregnant,” Adele spat it out, not wanting to risk any more interruption.
“You got a bun in the over!” Todd exclaimed.
Fenn drew in a weary breath and vowed to never have children.
“Sis,” he said, reaching across the table to touch her hand while her mother hugged her. Kevin immediately reached across the table to shake Hoot’s hand, something Fenn had never thought of doing. After all, Hoot’s part had been minimal. But Fenn came around and shook his hand and then so did Todd, and Fenn noted that Todd had hung back from doing it, waiting for Fenn.
“It’s going to be Fenn if it’s a boy,” Adele said, conspiratorially, touching her brother’s hand.
He smiled, but said, “And what if it’s a girl?”
“We took a class on Arab lit,” Adele said, “and I sort of fell in love with Fatimah, Aliyah or Zoraya.”
“I don’t like Zoraya,” Fenn said.
“I don’t like any of them,” Todd said, frankly.
Adele prepared something to say to this boy, but Todd continued, tapping a skinny finger on the table while Fenn noticed Kevin looking at him with approval.
“There’s a better name, and it’s from an Arabian story too,” Todd said.
“If it’s a girl name her Layla.”


TO GET TO THE END, YOU HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING

THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD: THE CONCLUSION OF THE ROSSFORD BOOKS​
 

When Fenn Houghton was closer to sixty than he was to fifty, he took off his sandals and walked over the hot sand of Hartigan Beach. The sand slipped under his feet and squeezed through his toes until he reached the wet, hard packed shore. This was a pebble beach, and under his feet the tiny rocks were purple, blue and pink. He sat on the sand, right before the wetness, and rolled up his trousers.
“Like J. Alfred Prufrock.”
He let the water wash over his feet.
Fenn’s reached into the water and gathered sand and pebbles in his hands.
Closing his eyes and murmuring a prayer, he drained the water from his hands until all that was left was wet pebbles. These he put in a pocket of his cargo pants.
“Dad! Dad!” he heard.
These days the boy was quicker than light or perhaps lighter than quickness. Arms airplaned out like when he was a child, blue jeans rolled up his white legs, Dylan Mesda ran in a polo shirt, sailing toward him, and then crashing at his side, gathering his knees to his chest the same way his father sat.
“Were you ready to leave?” Fenn asked his son.
Dylan shrugged.
“I could stay here all day.”
Fenn yawned.
“I don’t know if I could stay here all day now. But fifty years ago I could. And I did.”
“I don’t believe you did anything fifty years ago,” Dylan Mesda said. “I can’t believe you were around fifty years ago.”
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”
Dylan threw an arm around his father, and pointing down the horizon he said, “Tomorrow, we’re going to go there. We’re going to the Sears Tower.”
“Willys Tower now.”
“I’m just going to ignore that. And we’re going to go up and down the Magnificent Mile and look at all the greedy, confused and spaced out people. And then we’re going up State Parkway to see Casey and Chay.
“Or we can just do the north.”
Fenn looked north now, the beach curved in and you could see brick apartment buildings going out to the shore. The north was Evanston, Wilmette, Winnetka, Lake Forest, towns sizable but quiet, mansions with lake front property. Once it had been home.
“Right now I’m feeling like the North.”
Dylan placed his head on his father’s shoulder.
“I am twenty-two today.”
“Yes, you are.”
Fenn looked at his son, and Dylan sat up.
“Do you know who was twenty two once?”
“You?” Dylan raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I guess anyone who’s twenty three,” said Fenn. “But the first time I ever went out with your father I told him, I am going to Chicago. Come with me. We took the South Shore and we sat on this beach. And we were both the age you are now.”
Dylan smiled about this, and then said, “Maybe I’ll have those stories to tell one day.”
“You have plenty of stories to tell my son.”
“Most of them are not stories I want to tell to my children.” Dylan added, “Or to my father for that matter.”
“Come now, Hamlet,” Fenn said, “The Prince of the North paints himself a little too black, I think.” Fenn raised an arm. “Help me up, child. I’m old.”
Dylan bounced up, reached down a hand and pulled up his father.
“You are not old,” Dylan said.
“And you are not the person that you feel so bad about,” Fenn said. “I see that look come over your face sometimes. It isn’t right. The past is the past, and who you are is my boy.”
“Fair enough,” Dylan said, a smile coming across his handsome face.
They walked on the edge of the water, watching the afternoon turn to evening. Dylan’s hands were out like someone walking a beam, and Fenn’s were at his side when suddenly the older man gave a shout and fell into the water.
“Dad!”
Fenn bobbed back up, laughing.
“It’s a sand bar.”
Dylan reached for his father, and Fenn reached up. But to pull him in. Dylan fell into the water, spluttering.
“See!” Fenn said. “You’ve been baptized. The past is the past. Every day is a new day. Scratch. New!”

ALL GOOD THINGS MUST COME TO AND END..... THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD
 
Well, don't get sad yet. It hasn't even started. And people have ways of popping up in different places.
 
There was her father, Milo, and his whole family, including not only her great grandmother but, misfortune of misfortunes, Ed’s stepmother Meredith who was step sister and close to Maggie’s own stepmother, Dena, whom she had made her enemy with a great deal of teenage concentration. She paused over this, doing the family tree in her head. This made Meredith her cousin. Her possible stepmother-in-law one day, but definitely her cousin. She hadn’t known what a stupid idea it was to make an enemy of Dena Affren. She had not known the Affrens were so tangled in with Dena’s family. At the time she didn’t know that Ed would become her true boyfriend, and that his first cousin was raised in the home of Dena’s uncle, basically his son. She’d had no idea of the borderline incestuous ties of the residents of Rossford, Indiana or how when you screwed one over, you screwed about a hundred. Over time it had leaked out that she’d also encouraged a girl to sleep with and pretend to be pregnant by Bennett Anderson and who was Bennett Anderson? Well, it just turned out his girlfriend, equally long memoried and capable of vengeance, was the first cousin to her stepmother Dena, the foster sister of good ole cousin Dylan. And who loved them both and looked after them? Elias Anderson, one of the scariest motherfuckers she’d ever met. And in some way, all of these people should have been her friends. They should have been family. Things were, at best, uneasy between her and them. It probably, she had to admit, had something to do with the fact that she had never said she was sorry. No one knew how hard that was, though.
“Call your mother!” Maggie said at last, so loud Ed almost choked on his doughnut. “For fucks sake, call her!”
“Alright, already,” Ed said, with a laugh. He had no idea what the stakes in this were for her.
They didn’t have a landline, which Maggie thought they should get. She wasn’t so convinced that she had sprung for one, though. She wanted them to go in, jointly. Her mother had stopped paying for the apartment, and she refused help from Milo.
Ed took out his phone and called his mother.
“Hello.”
“It’s me.”
“You?” Then she said, “Ed? Ed, Lord, what have I told you about that ‘It’s me’ garbage.”
“It’s Edward, Mother,” Ed Palmer said. “Maggie said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes,” Meg remembered. “Yes, I did. By the way, have you had her doughnuts?”
“Yeah,” Ed looked over at Maggie. “They’re delicious,” his voice was louder.
“Oh she must be sitting right next you,” Meg said. “Well, they aren’t bad, that’s true. But they could be a little lighter. I’m coming over next week to teach that girl how to cook, so you all need to figure out a good time for me to do that. But that’s not why I called.”
Ed was reaching the wearisome point he often did with his mother, and he said, “No, mother, it isn’t. So,” he prompted, “why did you call?”
“Well, you’re friends with Dylan, right?”
“We’re not close,” Ed said. “We talk, though. I guess we acknowledge each other.”
“Well, that’s what family does,” Meg said. “Look, I can’t blame him. Tom and Fenn are his parents and Eileen was so terrible to him. We just remind him of her.”
“Yeah,” Ed said. Personally, he was a little indifferent to his gay cousin’s personal drama.
“However,” Meg continued, “I need you to go talk to him for me.”
“Talk to Dylan?”
“Yes. Call him.”
“About what?”
“About his mother.”
“Oh, hell, Mom!”
“Just listen.”
“Mom, you want me to talk to a cousin who hardly acknowledges me about a woman he can’t stand.”
“Eileen is back. She’s here.”

ALL GOOD THINGS MUST COME TO AN END... THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD
 
Well, due to how many damn things I decided to run at the same time, you'll have to wait a little longer... but I just want to keep Rossford on your mind while the other stuff is happening.
 
“Guys, I’m sorry it took me so long,” Dan came into the common room looking exhausted. “I just basically put my mom to bed and told my sisters where to go for a good time.”
Then Dan rolled his eyes. “As good a time as we have in my family.”
“Is everyone in your family really good?” Tom said.
“We’re a tame bunch,” Dan told him.
Tom stood up and said, “I’m going to let you guys catch up.”
“That’s not necessary,” Dan waved it off.
Tom grabbed his jacket.
“Yes it is,” he said. “Besides, I already agreed to discuss music with your organist. Congrat’s Dan.”
Tom offered his hand, and Dan shook it, saying, “Thanks. That means a lot, Tom.”
Dan watched as Tom left, and Fenn waited, wondering what Dan was about to say, and then he turned to Fenn and said:
“You’re a real son of a bitch.”
“Excuse me,” Fenn said.
Dan grinned and sat down beside his friend.
“Why were you hiding from me all day?”
“It makes me nervous,” Fenn said, frankly. “I don’t know how to handle you, Father Dan.”
“Don’t call me that,” Dan sounded genuinely disturbed.
“I’m sorry.” Then he said, “But that’s what you are.”
“But it sounds like you’re mocking me when you call me that.”
“I’m not.”
Dan said, stubbornly, “I still just wish you wouldn’t do it. It’s enough really old people coming up to me shaking my hand and calling me ‘Father’. They don’t know me. They don’t even see me.”
“They’re not supposed to,” Fenn said.
Dan looked at him.
“Daniel, it’s not about you. Why do you think you’re wearing the same clothes that three hundred other men here are wearing? It stopped being about you the moment you walked into seminary.”
Dan just looked at Fenn.
“You knew that, though,” Fenn said.
“You are the only person who would ever say that to me.”
“I don’t go to church,” Fenn said. “And I don’t really care about priests. To me… you’re just you. That’s probably why you don’t want me to call you Father.”
“I’m enough though, right?”
“Huh?”
“I mean for you,” Dan said. “Me is enough. You don’t need me to be more.”
“That’s a funny question,” Fenn said. “Of course I don’t need you to be more. How could you be more? You and Tara are my dearest friends. I love you, you idiot.”
He looked down and saw that Dan was fiddling with something. He was fiddling with his rosary beads. He looked up at Fenn.
“Of course it’s not about me. Of course it’s about God. It’s about giving up me. It’s about serving. But I need to know that to someone I’m me. Just me. Just Dan.”
Fenn nodded and then stopped nodding. Dan kept looking at his black rosary beads, and Fenn kept looking out of the window.
“You’re thinking something,” Dan said.
“Well… yes.”
“Which is?”
“Daniel,” Fenn said. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve wanted to be seen as a priest. You’ve wanted to be something more. Today Tom said you didn’t smile at all during your ordination and now that you are, like it or not, Father Daniel Malloy, you don’t want it. You just want to be you.”
Dan shook his head.
“That’s sort of true. I mean it is true.”
“Then what?”
Dan placed a hand on Fenn’s shoulder. He looked, though still very handsome, suddenly a little old.
“Where we are concerned,” Dan said. “no matter what we do, we are always what we are right now. Plain Dan. Plain Fenn. And we love each other.”
“Yes,” Fenn said, nodding as the room darkened and evening began. “Yes, and always.”


He knew who the girls were. They were Dan’s sisters. They waved at Tom, giddy on the day of their brother’s ordination. But they couldn’t have possibly known who he was. He waved back and continued his trot to Overmyer Hall where the organist he had earlier criticized said they would meet.
“So my music could have been improved?” the dark haired young man said, coming down the steps to meet Tom. He was tall and aquiline, dark haired and olive skinned with flashing white teeth. The young musician wore a jaunty fedora and Tom chuckled, reminded of Fenn.
“That’s not what I said.”
“I distinctly heard your friend Fenn say to the newly ordained priest that you said my organ playing could be better.”
Tom blinked.
The dark haired young man chuckled and rubbed his jaw, which was stylishly unshaved.
“He didn’t know I was there.”
“I was feeling rude,” Tom apologized.
“No matter,” the other man shrugged. “You have a little free time?”
“I think,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, “I have all night.”
“Your friend?”
“I might as well put this out there,” Tom said. “Fenn is my partner. We’ve lived together for eight years.”
“Oh,” the organist’s dark eyes rolled. Tom couldn’t tell if he was making fun of him or what.
“Then no need for me to hide, either, but I think we church organists and the like hide in plain sight. Never met a straight one yet. Come on, I’ll treat you to coffee.”
The sun had set. In the distance the noise of the town could be heard, and overhead the sky was a deep, gold filled blue with stars arising. The other young man’s strides were strong and long, and Tom had to catch up with him. When he turned to his side to look at the trim figure beside him, it hit him like lightning that this was the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen.
“By the way,” the other musician turned around, holding a hand out for Tom, “if I’m going to buy you a coffee, I should probably know you’re name.”
“Oh!” Tom began, and then chuckled, feeling foolish.
“Yes. It’s Tom Mesda.”
“Tom Mesda,” the other man said, cocking his fedora so only one gleaming dark eye showed while he shook Tom’s hand.
“It’s good to meet you, Tom.
“I’m Bryant Babcock.”

TO GET TO THE END, YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE BEGINNING, THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD
 
Kevin pushed Todd to the floor, and he lost his breath as Kevin yanked down his pants. He wanted this, didn’t he? This roughness. This is what he’d come for? Right?
There was the sound of Kevin hocking up phlegm. There was spit in is ass, being rubbed into his asshole and next he felt Kevin. It hurt so. It was just what he’d wanted. Kevin’s hands pressed on his shoulders sharply. Kevin’s cock was deep in his ass, the tip of it pressing someplace he didn’t even know existed until Kevin was there. He opened his mouth and, half of his face pressed to the rough carpet, he gave into it. It was gentle for all of a few moments. And then it was rough. While Kevin slammed into him over and over again, his two hundred pounds crashing on him, the thickness of his penis pounding deep into Todd, Todd realized there was so much Kevin needed to get out. This was deep and mutual need, and he realized, as his body began to hurt, as the carpet burned his face, how much Kevin hated him, and how much he needed that hatred.

“I had promise, once,” Kevin said.
They had moved from the floor to the bed.
“I had the wife, the kid. The respect. A nice little house. I had it.”
And then you got caught having sex with me, and that was the end of it. No wonder you hate me.
“Now I can’t even see my own daughter.”
This wasn’t exactly true. Kevin had never expressed much of a desire to see his Dena.
Kevin was beautiful naked. It was the way Todd had felt the first time they’d had sex, when he was fourteen and confused and the only thing he could know for certain was how manly, how perfect, Kevin looked. He still exercised. His arms and thighs and stomach were defined, like a runner’s. Hair went gently up and down his legs. Todd placed a hand on his thigh. Kevin removed it.
Darkly amused, Todd thought of all the men like Kevin he had been with since Kevin.
“You are a socially awkward person,” Todd said.
“What?” Kevin looked at him, as if he were just seeing him.
“You are doomed to spend your whole life alone. You can’t touch. You can’t be touched. You can only fuck and be fucked. That’s all you can do.”
Kevin looked like he didn’t know what to say.
Todd, who was still naked, and lay on his side on the bed laughed.
He was the opposite. He opened and was easily opened. For the first time he was a little proud of that. He had just been opened and pounded, his face was still red from rug burn, his ass sore from being fucked, his shoulders and back a little bruised.
While Kevin was still looking at him, Todd got up and began to dress.
“I need to leave,” he said.

TO GET TO THE END YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE BEGINNING

THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD, COMING AFTER THE HIDDEN LIVES OF VIRGINS​
 
Well, that relationship really is the backbone of the whole Rossford story in some way, and the chief reason I wrote this last book this way. So, i promise you, EVERYTHING about the past of Fenn and Tom will finally be revealed.
 
On the altar, small and not like they were in his room, were Radha and Krishna. Dylan found himself—and that was the only way to describe it—singing to them every morning. He did not understand Jesus, and suspected Jesus wouldn’t understand him. There was too much bloodshed turned into self pity turned into atheism and human service in Judaism, and there was too much virginity in Catholicism. Once he read the Gita Govinda. Krishna ravished Radha in the forest, eyes mad with passion. Dylan knew all about that. Elias filled him with a passion, and the most tender moment he ever felt was that afternoon when they had gotten a hotel room and Elias had made him fuck there all afternoon. He and Krishna were rather on the same path, so as they stopped singing, and night set in, Krishna was the only God that Dylan Mesda knew.

After the year of darkness, or rather the nearly two years—but that wasn’t as poetic—in which he had the affair with Ruthven, the foolishness in California, the random affairs, the affair with Rick Ferguson, he needed something. After fooling around with men three times his age in bathrooms and parks, he needed something. After the intense affair with Lance which ended in a shame he couldn’t describe even now, and the death of his great-grandmother something was needed.
When he was barely fourteen, heading to visit Ruthven in California, recently confirmed and indifferent to his father’s Catholicism, someone in class had said that religion was the need for comfort, or that people needed to “believe in something.” He would have agreed to this while still thinking the explanation fell short of the truth. But during those nights when he taught himself Sri Guruvastakam and locked himself in his room with the Bhagavad Gita he knew that was not it. Dylan had no center, and nothing he had seen could be his center. Fenn, in his quiet way, had given him an Upanishads, a Bhagavad Purana and a Dhammapada as well as the album Sri Guruvastakam had come from. To some people the time after Lula’s death was “the time he dated Ruthven” but not to Dylan. For him that was the time of Krishna Das and Ravi Shankar albums.
“If that’s what interests you,” Layla had told him, “you need to go talk to Radha.”
Radha Hatangady, now called Radha Turner, told him, “I grew up in church, my family’s Christian, and I hardly ever go to the Hindu temple around here. But I will take you.”
He watched her and learned to set up altars and sit quietly. The day she and Matt went to the temple with him, looking very much like outsiders, and Fenn had come along, he had felt something for the first time. In the face of these strange staring deities, he felt something, and when the fire, the aarti it was called, swished past them as the bells rang, it was like all the shit dropped away from him.
“I’m going to do this, Dad,” he said, later on.
Fenn nodded.
“You really don’t mind?”
“Did you think I would?”
“Dad won’t be pleased.”
“It’s not about him,” Fenn said.
“Dad gave me the Church, and Todd gave me Sabbath and Rosh Hoshanah,” Dylan said. “But none of that’s me. This is me,” he said, holding up a Ravi Shankar CD. “Even that temple isn’t me. I understand why Radha doesn’t go that often. This is me. Just me and God and sitting on the floor.”
Fenn said nothing while Dylan spoke, and then Dylan said, “I have a favor to ask you?”
“Yes?”
“You went to church with Dad, and you went to temple with Todd, and none of those things helped either one of us. But… really, I learned this from you. You didn’t force it on me. You just showed me.”
Dylan looked very shy, then he said, “Could you do it with me?”
“Yes,” Fenn told him.


“I do wonder how it works, though,” Fenn said when he and Dylan were sitting together, and Elias had gone to bed.
“I mean, you and Elias are such a couple. Where does Lance fit in?”
“He’s not here that often, so I guess one day we’ll figure it out,” Dylan said. “But right now it’s like… I feel the same way about Elias as you do about Todd.”
“What about Lance?”
Dylan thought about it.
“The way you do about Dad, probably. It’s different. Maybe like the way you feel about Dan Malloy.
“And then Elias and Lance have their thing. It’s very different from what I have with Lance, or what I have with Elias. And then we have our family thing. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“I think you’ve described it just fine.”
“I don’t tell anyone else stuff like this because they don’t get it. They don’t really listen. I’ll be honest. I’m not saying stuff doesn’t happen—”
“Dylan.”
“I was just about to say, ‘But I’m also not going to burden you with the details.’”
“I do appreciate that,” Fenn said. “I’m not stupid, or without imagination, and I hope you all do have a good time together, but…”
“Let’s talk about something else?”
“Well, really, let’s talk about anything else.”


THE ENDS OF ROSSFORD
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top