The Lovers in Rossford

[CharmedFan28]

He just seemed a bit off to me like he was on something or ill. Maybe I was just reading too fast.

 

[CharmedFan28]

I think I was just reading too fast. I still think Logan doesn't get how serious Sheridan and Chay are.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, I think that's definitely true. Or maybe more true (this is a guess because I don't entirely understand Logan even if I created him) he not only doesn't think of Sheridan and Chay as serious, he doesn't care. He knows he wants Sheridan and so it doesn't matter. Of course, this also begs another question: how serious is Sheridan about Chay? I will have to read this again myself because I don't really know the answer.

 

[ChrisGibson]

FRIDAY
CONTINUED

As he drove to class, he went from being effusive to flat out
drained and tired. By the time he reached Loretto, he wanted
to go to sleep, but this thwarted the purpose of leaving Logan.
He got his books and went to class. He even participated. He
was thinking of how he should have been exhilarated after
such a night, but he was tired and he wanted class to be over.
He was sorry for Mondays and double booking them for the
pleasure of free afternoons, and he yawned his way from
Renaissance Lit to German and then dozed in the back and
stumbled through the wide main floor of the Arts and Letters
building out of the west entrance toward his car.
“Sheridan!”
shit.
He contemplated ignoring whoever was calling, and then
turned around. There was no pretending he hadn’t heard his
name and there were no other Sheridans he could pretend
people were calling?
“Dr. Babcock?”
Bryant trotted toward him.
“Good to see you, Sheridan.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m back here,” Bryant said. “I just got the job as chair of
the music department.”
“Well…” Sheridan’s wits were slow, “that’s great.”
He wasn’t terribly close to Bryant, though he used to fuck
his niece, something Bryant didn’t know and didn’t need to.
“You doing well this semester?”
Please let me go!
“I’m alright,” Sheridan said. “I can’t complain.”
He affected a yawn that turned out to be real enough and
said, “I was up all night.”
“Oh, yes,” Bryant said. “So was I.”
Sheridan looked Bryant Babcock up and down. He was still
a handsome guy, and it was well known he’d gotten with Chad
North when he was the same age Sheridan was now. Bryant’s
up all night could have been as wild as Sheridan’s. He put that
out of his head.
“I should let you go,” Bryant said, touching him on the
shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Sheridan. And maybe I’ll see
you in a class.”
“Don’t count on it,” Sheridan said gracelessly, and covered
his mouth.
Bryant cracked a smile.
“I mean… what I meant is jazz is more my style. I mean, I
like it, and I only had one music credit to do, and I used it for
jazz last semester.”
“Jazz?” Bryant said.
“Yeah,” Sheridan told him, stifling a real yawn this time.
“Who teaches jazz here?”
“Professor Jay,” Sheridan said. “He’s great.”
And then, because Bryant didn’t seem to be going
anywhere, Sheridan bowed his head, and headed toward his
car.
He lived on the other side of campus and when he parked
under his apartment, he ran in as soon as possible and threw
himself face down on the bed. There would be another class at
two, the last of the day, and that was a while off. He wanted
the radio. He wanted the bathroom. He reached forward and
fumbled with the radio. He didn’t go to the bathroom because
it was too far off. At last, as Diane Rhems went into her
second, warbling hour, his bladder and bowels won out, and
dizzy and half blind, he stumbled to the toilet. He came back,
passed out into blackness, and was surprised when he felt his
shoulder be shaken.
“Hey, wake up!”
It was the most beautiful face in the world. Cream colored,
brown eyed, red lipped, curtained by his thick dark hair, little,
smelling faintly of a cigarette. Chay. His Chay.
“Come on.”
“Come on, what?”
“We’ve got lunch with Meredith.”
“Oh…”
“Remember?”
“What time is it?”
“One.”
“I… I’ve been asleep for two hours?”
“I guess so,” Chay said. “Are you alright?”
Sheridan sat up.
“Do I smell bad?”
“Your breath is kind of rank. You know what? I’ll let you
sleep. I’ll just tell Meredith that you’re tired.”
But as Chay was walking away, Sheridan caught his hand.
“No.” Sheridan used Chay as a lever. “I’ll be right back.”
He went into the bathroom, rinsed, gargled, and came out.
“Chay,” he said, tenderly. He stooped down, pulled Chay to
him and kissed him on his mouth.
“I love you.”
“I know that. I love you too.”
“Come on. How soon are you moving in?”
“Uh…” he shrugged. For some reason, maybe because of
his little shoulders, when he shrugged, Sheridan was reminded
of his fine bones, of the smoothness of his perfect cream
colored body, of the laughs they shared, of the strange
chemistry of living with Chay and being his very best friend.
Who knew him like Chay? Who opened him and opened to
him like Chay?
Chay cocked his head.
“You look sweet like that,” he told Sheridan.
“Come on,” Sheridan told him. “Let’s go eat.”
“So,” Meredith took a sip of her drink and looked from
Sheridan to Chay, “when are you guys moving in together?”
“Why’s that so fascinating to you?” Chay wondered.
“Is Sheridan even awake?” Meredith looked at him.
Sheridan made a vague gesture while yawning, and Chay
said, “He was up all night.”
“Oh?” Meredith raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, none of that!” Chay said. “I was in bed by ten. All he
could do was study.”
Sheridan felt his skin pricking and sweat lifting up on his
head. He wondered if anyone could see it. He couldn’t let the
lie go, not completely.
“I wasn’t studying,” he said. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“And now all you want to do is sleep,” Meredith said.
“Chay, you should have told him to stay in bed.”
“That’s exactly what I told him,” Chay said. “But he
insisted on coming.”
“Ah, Sheridan. I would have understood. Just cause we
don’t have the same classes this year doesn’t mean I wouldn’t
have understood.”
“How’s that marriage thing going?”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Sheridan said, waking up a little. “Let’s shift the
convo from me and Chay to you. By the way, Chay’s coming
to live with me tonight.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Chay said, but he looked like he had forgotten.
“Well, I don’t know,” Meredith said. “Not about you all.
That’s great. About me and Mathan, I mean. At first I
wondered why I didn’t want to do it. I mean, I seriously
thought about how I didn’t really want to do it. And now I just
feel like I’m too young.”
“Have you even told Mathan any of that?”
Meredith shook her head and took another sip.
“Not a bit.”
When her friends looked at her she said, “Yes, I should I
know.
“But… everyone we know has been with whoever they’re
with forever. And me and Mate have been together forever,
and he’s good and I’m good, so it really does seem like not
getting married is just stalling the inevitable.”
“Ouch—” Chay said.
“Ouch what?”
“She said the inevitable, didn’t she?” Sheridan smirked.
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s just…” Chay said. “There’s no… steam in that. It’s
not hot.”
“Do you all have heat?”
Before Chay answered, Sheridan squeezed him and said,
“You have no idea.”
When he watched Chay blush, Sheridan realized how true it
was. Whatever Logan and last night had been, it was a fluke.
What he had with Chay was the real thing.
But as he was thinking that, his thigh buzzed and he
thought of ignoring it, but Meredith said, “You better get.”
Sheridan shrugged and pulled it out.
“Who is it?”
It was Logan, of course, and Sheridan immediately lied.
“It’s work.”
“Then get it, goof,” Chay said, shoving him out of the
booth.
Irrationally, Sheridan was irritated with Chay, and he
flipped open the phone saying, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Logan effected a constipated voice.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yeah. I’m missing you, boy. So… I just called to make
sure you remembered to come over tonight.”
“Uh…” Sheridan looked back at Chay, who was chatting
with Meredith. “That can’t happen.”
“Why, because of Chay? Look, I’ll talk to him.”
“No!”
“We were friends. But you were with me, Sheridan. I want
to see you tonight.”
“It’s not like we’re going to just talk.”
“Well, maybe we will.”
“Doubtful.”
“Come over,” Logan said.
Sheridan took a breath, but didn’t respond.


Come on,” Sheridan told him. “Let’s go eat.”
“So,” Meredith took a sip of her drink and looked from
Sheridan to Chay, “when are you guys moving in together?”
“Why’s that so fascinating to you?” Chay wondered.
“Is Sheridan even awake?” Meredith looked at him.
Sheridan made a vague gesture while yawning, and Chay
said, “He was up all night.”
“Oh?” Meredith raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, none of that!” Chay said. “I was in bed by ten. All he
could do was study.”
Sheridan felt his skin pricking and sweat lifting up on his
head. He wondered if anyone could see it. He couldn’t let the
lie go, not completely.
“I wasn’t studying,” he said. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“And now all you want to do is sleep,” Meredith said.
“Chay, you should have told him to stay in bed.”
“That’s exactly what I told him,” Chay said. “But he
insisted on coming.”
“Ah, Sheridan. I would have understood. Just cause we
don’t have the same classes this year doesn’t mean I wouldn’t
have understood.”
“How’s that marriage thing going?”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Sheridan said, waking up a little. “Let’s shift the
convo from me and Chay to you. By the way, Chay’s coming
to live with me tonight.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Chay said, but he looked like he had forgotten.
“Well, I don’t know,” Meredith said. “Not about you all.
That’s great. About me and Mathan, I mean. At first I
wondered why I didn’t want to do it. I mean, I seriously
thought about how I didn’t really want to do it. And now I just
feel like I’m too young.”
“Have you even told Mathan any of that?”
Meredith shook her head and took another sip.
“Not a bit.”
When her friends looked at her she said, “Yes, I should I
know.
“But… everyone we know has been with whoever they’re
with forever. And me and Mate have been together forever,
and he’s good and I’m good, so it really does seem like not
getting married is just stalling the inevitable.”
“Ouch—” Chay said.
“Ouch what?”
“She said the inevitable, didn’t she?” Sheridan smirked.
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s just…” Chay said. “There’s no… steam in that. It’s
not hot.”
“Do you all have heat?”
Before Chay answered, Sheridan squeezed him and said,
“You have no idea.”
When he watched Chay blush, Sheridan realized how true it
was. Whatever Logan and last night had been, it was a fluke.
What he had with Chay was the real thing.
But as he was thinking that, his thigh buzzed and he
thought of ignoring it, but Meredith said, “You better get.”
Sheridan shrugged and pulled it out.
“Who is it?”
It was Logan, of course, and Sheridan immediately lied.
“It’s work.”
“Then get it, goof,” Chay said, shoving him out of the
booth.
Irrationally, Sheridan was irritated with Chay, and he
flipped open the phone saying, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Logan effected a constipated voice.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yeah. I’m missing you, boy. So… I just called to make
sure you remembered to come over tonight.”
“Uh…” Sheridan looked back at Chay, who was chatting
with Meredith. “That can’t happen.”
“Why, because of Chay? Look, I’ll talk to him.”
“No!”
“We were friends. But you were with me, Sheridan. I want
to see you tonight.”
“It’s not like we’re going to just talk.”
“Well, maybe we will.”
“Doubtful.”
“Come over,” Logan said.
Sheridan took a breath, but didn’t respond.
“Sher…”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight. Around nine. Like we said… Come over,” Logan
said.
Then he hung up.


“But what are you going to do with it?” Will said when he
came home from lunch.
“Do with what?”
“The book.”
Layla sat there, looking at him.
“Look, Lay,” Will said, touching her wrist. “I love you and
I’m the closest thing you have to a husband, and that’s why I’m
saying this: you just can’t let the book sit here. You’ve got to
do something with it.”
“Like go on a book tour?”
“God no!”
“I don’t even think they would do that for poems. And
certainly not for mine.”
“No, you’re right,” Will sat down. “But what are we going
to do?”
“I don’t know, Will,” Layla said. “But are you ready to go
to Julian and Claire’s.”
Will nodded and he said, “Julian’s a clever man, and I bet
he can think of something.”
“My brother? Managing my career?”
“Can you think of anyone better than Julian?”
“No,” Layla realized. “He’s about the most level headed
thing I know.”
As they drove across town to Claire and Julian’s, Will said, “I
read once about this poet who used to print his lyrics and tape
them to walls. Bathroom walls, office building walls, whatever.
And he would leave copies of the books lying around. He
became this sort of cult poet.”
“Too bad Lawrence Ferlinghetti isn’t around.”
“We could to that!” Will clapped his hands and lost control
of the wheel.
“Baby!” Layla put her hand on the wheel to control the car.
“I got excited.”
“I know.”
“What about opening a book shop? What about opening a
book shop and having readings and-”
“That’s a very long term plan.”
“Well, you asked for a plan. You didn’t say it had to be
long or short term.”
“Actually, I didn’t ask for a plan.”
“Look, Lay!” Will told her. “I’m not going to be with a
woman who’s not going to have vision.”
“Shit!” Layla said.
“Huh?”
“The playhouse. We use it for all sorts of things. We could
use it…”
“For poetry readings.”
“And shit like that.”
Will patted her leg. “There’s my girl. There’s that vision I
knew you had.”
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“You just ran a red light.”
He nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yup.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

It looks like Logan might complicate things between Sheridan and Chay but that is not surprising. I hope Layla does open a book shop. I think that would suit her. That was a well written portion! I look forward to the next one and thanks for sharing as usual!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Logan knows what he wants and what he cares about, and what he doesn't care about is Chay's feelings. Definitely some new things are about to happen.

 

[ChrisGibson]

FRIDAY

CONCLUSION OF CHAPTER THREE

“I don’t want to go with him to the movies.”
“You know what I don’t want?” Laurel said, “I don’t want
to have a whole lunch time discussion devoted to boys.”
When Kim and Amanda looked at her, Laurel said, “That’s
all we talk about.”
“You never talk about boys,” Amanda told her.
“Well, when I mean all we talk about is boys, it’s my nice
way of saying that’s all you talk about. The world is filled with
so much more.”
“Like your hot cousin.”
Laurel raised an eyebrow.
“Dylan’s coming this way,” Amanda said.
The boy was trotting toward them, blazer open with that
trumpet he eternally carried in his right hand. Eternally, no,
only a year, really. But he was so good and it was such a natural
fit. Well… Amanda was still talking.
“You know,” Amanda said, “the two of you aren’t really
blood related so...”

“That’s disgusting,” Laurel said, and swinging around in her
seat turned to await her cousin.
Objectively she noted that Dylan Mesda, with his buzz cut
hair, dimples and brown eyes would have been good looking in
another world. He had come out to Fenn when he was
thirteen, and Fenn of all people had told him that in high
school, when he was still not quite grown up, it was foolish to
run around telling people he was gay. Much to Laurel’s surprise
the entire family agreed.
“I will not have my son endangered for the sake of a
principal,” Fenn had said.
Dylan sat down, a smile on his face, and Laurel said, “What
the hell happened to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Last time I saw you, you were so snarly. And now you’re
so happy.”
“I was dealing with Ruthven. You know he called again?”
Laurel raised an eyebrow.
“No, it’s alright,” he said. “He wanted to talk. I said later. I
wasn’t ready. Then I just called Dad and we talked for a long
time and… now I’m all good. Dad makes me all good.
“So, ladies,” Dylan addressed them, “who feels like going to
the four o’clock dollar show?”
“Are you paying?” Kim asked.
“Am I a mogul?”
“It’s just four dollars,” Kim counted around them.
“Well, then you shouldn’t mind that I’m not paying.” He
stood up, and dropped a kiss on his cousin’s head. “Lance is
coming with me. I’ll see you gals later.”
As Dylan walked away, Amanda commented that it was
nice to see him walk away and Kim said, “But he is impervious
to your charms.”
Amanda stuck out her lip in mock despair.
“However,” she said, “at least Lance is coming along. How
lucky are we? I mean, how often do hot guys travel in pairs?”
Laurel snorted and restrained the urge to say, “Only when
they’re gay.”
“What are you chuckling over?” Denise demanded.
“Irony,” said Laurel Houghton.



The whole time Sheridan was driving, he felt a little upset with
himself. He felt like he lacked imagination. He’d been trying to
come up with so many other things to do, and so many reasons
it didn’t make sense to go to Logan. But here he was, on
Monday night, going across town.
and now he had said it to himself. He was going to Logan.
All that evening, after dinner, Sheridan had helped Chay move
his things into the apartment, and now here he was, going
across town, while Chay rested in his living room.
When he knocked on the door, Logan answered almost
immediately. He looked so good. He was in a ribbed tank top.
Sheridan knew he was wearing it for him.
“I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“Chay’s at the apartment.”
“He moved in?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“I said I would.”
“But after last night? After this morning?”
“Yes,” Sheridan said.
“And after.. I mean you’re back here now.”
“Yes.”
“You need to stop saying that,” Logan told him. “You need
to stop saying that and come inside.”
Sheridan nodded, walked in, shut the door behind him.
“I wanted you to stay with me tonight,” Logan told him.
“I can’t do that.”
“No,” Logan agreed. “No you can’t. Not with Chay over
there. Not while you’re making him think you’re a couple. Are
you a couple? What are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Would you feel right about telling him you were here?”
“No.”
“Then it seems like you’re a couple,” Logan said. “And if
we had what we had last night and this morning, then why
would you be a couple?”
“What we had...” Sheridan began, “was sex.”
“Yes, that was what you call sex,” Logan said, mockingly.
“It certainly was sex.”
“It wasn’t a relationship. It was for the night. It was… out
of the natural realm of things.”
“Out of the natural…” Logan began with a scornful look.
He cackled, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“That it makes no sense,” Sheridan said, getting in his face.
“But when it’s all over, I go back to Chay and he makes sense.
He fits in with the rest of the world. The stuff we’re doing: it’s
on the side. It…”
“It doesn’t matter?” Logan guessed.
“It’s passion,” Sheridan said. “Of course I’m attracted to
you. You’re Logan Banford. You’re a pornstar. Lots of guys
are attracted to you. I don’t know why you feel the same about
me. But… it’s not real. It’s just passion. That’s it.”
“Really?” Logan said. “Then why are you here?
“Why are you here right now, in this room if it’s just
passion, and it isn’t important and I’m not important.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t important,” Sheridan told him.
“And by the way, why are YOU here? You could be in Miami
or LA, but you’re here, at Casey’s podunk place. Why are you
here?”
“For you.”
Sheridan let out a long breath, and then he put up a hand.
“I’m sorry then,” he said. “That’s too bad.”
Logan said nothing.
“We don’t have a future,” Sheridan told him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because its true.”
“Fine, Sheridan,” Logan said in the tone that meant he’d
heard it all from Sheridan before. “Fine.”
Sheridan didn’t nod or move. He didn’t know what to do.
“If there’s no future, at least there’s a present. Take off
your clothes.”
Sheridan blinked.
Logan was undoing his belt, and then he pulled it from its
hooks slowly and laid it on the bed. Unbuttoning his jeans he
charged Sheridan, “Take off your clothes.”

When they lay facing each other in fetal position and Sheridan
was looking at Logan’s body, shiny with the light glistening of
sweat, Logan told him, “You better get back home.”
“I don’t want to move.”
“It’s because you love me.”
Sheridan didn’t say anything.
“I wish you trusted that,” Logan told him. “Get dressed. If
this is what we’re going to have for now. I think it’s enough.”
“You’re happy with this,” Sheridan rolled off of the bed,
looking for his underwear. “Me coming here or… you’ve got
to get a real place soon, and just us… doing this. you’re happy
with it?”
“Happier than when we’re not,” Logan said, sitting up.
“Now go home. I wouldn’t want Chay to think he’d misplaced
you.”



“Now that’s just a stroke of fucking genius,” Claire said, sitting
down on the edge of the chair and folding her long skirt under
her leg.
“In fact,” Julian added, “here’s a better one. We actually
start a bookstore in the theatre. It’s big enough, and you’ve got
all sorts of things in there.”
“Yeah,” Milo said, “and it’s Fenn’s.”
“It’s not like he’d say no.”
“True,” Dena agreed. “But we’ve made all these plans for
the first floor of Fenn and Tom’s theatre.”
“I don’t see why they’d say no,” Layla agreed with her
brother. “Besides, they’ve got enough to worry about with
Dylan.”
“Whaddo you mean enough to worry about with Dylan?”
Claire murmured.
“Funny stuff,” Layla said, nonspecifically. “I don’t really
know. He’s just being a teenager. I’m talking to Laurel right
now. She’s texting me from the movies.”
“About?”
“Do we really want to hear about teenage drama?” Julian
said.
“I do,” Claire told him.
As Julian shrugged, Layla continued, “Well, Dylan was odd
the night the book came out, odd about Todd’s nephew, and
now Laurel says he’s at the movies with that Lance boy. Being
odd.”
“I thought you said he was with Laurel.”
“It’s Laurel, a bunch of other girls and Lance,” Layla
clarified, looking at her brother like he was a little dense.
And then she added, “And Laurel says that Dylan just got
up and went to the bathroom… And then when he came back
he changed his seat and sat next to Lance. Oh, damn!”
“What?” Claire was caught up in the drama.
“I lost reception. Well, I’ll learn everything later.”
“You worry about Dylan and your niece too much,” Milo
said.
“If your parents had worried about you more, I bet you’d
hate them less,” Layla replied.
“I don’t hate my parents,” Milo attempted to protest, but
Dena noted, “I think you do… A little bit.”
There was a knock at the door.
“It must be reality,” Claire said, getting up, but when she
answered, there stood the very tall, very dark form of Mathan
Alexander, and he entered the house with uncharacteristic
fever and a note in his hand.
“What, Mate?” Dena sat up a little, and he handed her the
note saying, “It’s from Meredith. She says she can’t marry me.
And she’s gone!”



Chay was stirring from sleep when Sheridan opened the door.
“Go back to bed,” Sheridan whispered, and then he said,
“You’re not even out of your clothes.”
“I was waiting for you,” Chay told him.
“Well, I’m back now.”
“I better get up,” Chay shook his legs and stomped on the
floor, awakening his limbs. “I got an exam. I’ll put some coffee
on.”
“No,” Sheridan said. “I’ll get the coffee.”
Chay nodded. “Alright.”
“And why don’t you get in the shower?”
“Why? Do I smell that bad?”
Sheridan grinned at him and touched him on the cheek.
“You don’t smell bad at all. Go heat up the water, though. I’ll
join you.”

The water did not warm right away, and Chay was only
lathering his cloth when Sheridan stepped into the water and
embraced him.
“You’re nuts,” Chay said tenderly.
“Have I told you I’m in love with you?” said Sheridan,
kissing his neck and then his shoulders. “Every time I come
back into this place, every time I see you again, I realize I am in
love with you.”
Chay turned around and he let Sheridan kiss him.
“Can you forgive me for being a real hard core dumbass?”
Sheridan asked. “Can you forgive me for taking so long, so
often, to understand how much I love you?”
Chay touched his face to Sheridan’s chest and said, “Yes. I
think I can.”

Sometimes Sheridan snored so deeply that he woke himself
with a scratching snort. He lay in bed, thinking maybe it was
Chay. But no, it had been himself, and he had to pee. And he
had to not let his life be so complicated. This moment was so
tender right now. Right now he was so happy, and only a few
hours ago he had been with Logan. He had been happy then
too, but it didn’t do to think about that. Not right here. What
was he doing? And weren’t things with Logan just wrong?
Weren’t they poisonous?
Well, poisonous was probably too strong a word.
He went to the computer and turned it on. He checked email.
One from Meredith: he would check it in the morning.
How big could it be? He typed ‘Logan Banford’ into the
browser, to see what came up. Logan’s name came up a few
times, and he would have to pay for most of them. He
wondered if he went to Dogfile, would he find Logan? He
searched. There he was.

He had the option to watch or option to download.
Watching was best, he turned the volume down.
It was Florida, maybe California. No trees, too much sun,
low buildings, wide streets. Sheridan didn’t understand why
people liked those parts of the country so much. An
interviewer whose tattooed arm was the only thing he could
see was talking to some guy Sheridan had seen in pornos
before, who was telling his plans for the future.

“Me and my lady are gonna do these videos where we’re
doing shit like fucking in grocery stores and movie theatres,”
the pornstar said. “Just us doing real public stuff.”
“Well that sounds hot,” said the douche bag with the
microphone, and this shit went on for a long time while
Sheridan wondered if he’d typed the wrong thing, if this really
had anything to do with Logan at all.
But now a guy came walking across the street. He had on a
tank top and a happy go lucky look, and it was Logan trying to
act.
“Yeah, I live down the street. Under my grandma. She lives
in the top apartment.”
“So where’s a good place to get some groceries?”
And Logan told them, and then they asked if they could
follow him.
“Sure thing.”
“We’ll just get some groceries and eat. You really don’t
mind us following you around?”
“Not at all,” Logan assured them.
In the fruit aisle, while Logan held a basket full of bananas,
strawberries and other good things, the director of the video
asked the first guy, Burt, what else he wanted.
“I want Logan to suck my cock,” he said.
“What?”
To his credit, Sheridan had to admit, Logan did a good
impression of shock and disgust.
“Fuck no. That’s just… No!” Logan protested.
“Com’ on man,” the director said in a sleazy voice, “I
thought we were friends.”
“I’m not doing that. I’m not…” And then Logan said: “But
I might let Burt do it to me.”
“Good, drop trow my man.”
“Oh, my God,” Logan looked around, his blue eyes shining
with glee, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “In the grocery
store?”
“Yeah.”
“No. We’ll get caught.”
“But wouldn’t it be the wildest thing to say you got blown
in the grocery store?”

So the next moment they were in an abandoned aisle with
people walking in the distance, and Burt was undoing Logan’s
jeans and unfolding his penis. He was blowing Logan and then,
after Logan looked around nervously, Logan lifted up his own
shirt, stroking his flat stomach and excellent chest in pleasure,
and shoving himself into Burt’s mouth. A few moments later,
Logan’s hands were on Burt’s back and Burt’s bubble ass was
perched out while Logan fucked with the same piston
precision, the same intense look of serious pleasure Sheridan
remembered when Logan was fucking him.
“Oh, my God, someone’s coming!” the director whispered
hurriedly, and Logan and Burt dressed again, looking nervous.
They went into a stock room, and Burt mounted Logan’s cock
and for the next ten minutes all Sheridan saw was Burt riding a
cock and a chest, Burt turning around to ride the cock and
then Burt jacking Logan off. You heard Logan moan and
shudder and saw the semen spurt out of him, and then the
camera went all over his stomach and his chest following the
progress of jizz to Logan’s red, half bemused face.
“Sheridan.”
Sheridan was startled by Chay coming into the living room.
He was confused by his confusion, by a sort of betrayal he felt,
and by the firmness between his legs.
“You should have some coffee with me,” Chay said as
Sheridan paused the video at Logan, semen all up and down
him, the stupid look on his face.
“You’re right,” Sheridan said, closing the browser.
“There isn’t anything for me on here.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an excellent portion! I hope that Layla gets the go ahead with her bookstore. Sheridan seems to be a bit confused about what he wants. I hope he figures out exactly what that is before people get hurt. Great writing and I look forward to more soon! I hope you have a great week!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, actually everyone's going to be hurt, and everyone's going to be hurt in big ways. All sorts of shit is going to hit the fan. It's going to be a real mess, and at times it's going to get inexpressibly sad. Everything you dread happening is about to happen. After all, this is a story.

 

[ChrisGibson]

FOUR
MOSTLY ABOUT LOVE


Dylan Mesda loved his father—by which he meant Tom
Mesda—but sometimes, times like this, he wished he were at
the home of his other father. He knew he could explain
himself to Fenn, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to just
now, but he felt so good. He felt confused but happy, and
maybe this was the happiness he needed.
Tonight, in the theatre, while Laurel had been texting
away—and who else could she be texting but Layla?—Lance
had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and Dylan waited a long
time before finally he got up too, fidgety, feeling stranger about
Lance than he had in a long time. He went up to the top of the
theatre, and when the door swung opened letting in light, it
was Lance. He was grinning and he said, “You surprised me.”
“I was just wondering what happened to you.”
“I wanna sit by you.”
“I can ask Amanda to move over.”
“Cool,” Lance said.
They went down the steps, and why was Dylan’s heart
beating? Why was he humming like this, why were the two of
them acting so foolish? They moved back into their seats, the
disappointed Amanda moving a little so that Dylan could have
her old seat, and on one side of Dylan was his cousin and on
the other, in the darkness, was Lance. The energy of Lance’s
closeness was making him shake. He was trembling with it, the
sound of his breath, the smell of it. He wanted to touch him.
Then, in the dark, Lance Bishop’s hand lifted up and went
lightly to his thigh. Dylan’s hand lay over Lance’s holding it
there. It felt so good like that, and then Lance began stroking
his thigh, moving up. Suddenly Dylan’s breath was catching.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He took Lance’s hand and
opening his legs, he placed his hand there. Lance gave a little
groan, and Amanda turned over and looked at him before
Lance just smiled in the dark.
And then Lance’s hand was touching him there, stroking
him, making him feel so good, and he slipped his hand over in
the dark, and they closed their eyes. The movie didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered. They were doing this to each other. They’d
done things before. If no one else knew about them, they knew
about each other. They’d been friends since they were twelve.
Lance was why Dylan knew he was gay. As a noise escaped his
mouth and Laurel, whose eyes missed nothing, turned to him
and saw his flushed face, looked long enough to see Lance’s
hand where it was, Dylan turned red.
Laurel turned her head as if embarrassed, and Dylan closed
his eyes letting Lance continue. Why tell him to stop? Lance
didn’t know they’d been caught, and Laurel wasn’t any type of
snitch. She was his best friend, and when she had fooled
around in the dark and he’d seen it, he’d kept her secrets?
Right?
On the way home she said, “So it’s Lance?”
Dylan went so red he looked sick.
“I’m not judging,” Laurel said. “I was just asking.”
“Look,” Dylan said in a lower voice, as they approached
Denham Street, “It’s not like this is new.”
“I know,” Laurel said. He had never told her, but she knew
him after all. “I just didn’t know how far it went. I didn’t know
how serious it was. You know I try to give you your privacy.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Well, usually it’s just stuff that makes
us feel good but he’s still just Lance. I mean he’s my friend,
but… I don’t know. Today....”
“Are you falling in love with him?”
“I hope so,” Dylan said. “I’d like that. I’ve tried to.”
Laurel smiled.
“I have. And… being in love with Lance means not being
in love with Ruthven.”
“Ah…” Laurel nodded.
Then she said, “You live that way and I live the other. Are
we going to stand here, or is one of us going to walk the other
home?”
“You could call your mom and tell her you’re staying with
me?”
“Alright,” Laurel agreed, and they went up Row Street.
“I just want to get Ruthven and everything that happened
with him out of my head, and Lance would be sensible. I mean
the way we were vibing with each other. I wish it could be like
that all the time. Maybe it will be.”
It was just beginning to be chilly, but the air was filled with
the late summer chirping of insects. A car passed by slowly and
Dylan said, “Laurel, are you still a virgin?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you ever ask me questions like that?” Dylan
asked her.
Laurel said, “Because I don’t really want to know.”
“But what if I want to tell?”
Laurel felt more uncomfortable than she expected.
“I want to think that you are, and that we’re equally
innocent,” she said. “And I get afraid cause I don’t know all
the things you do, Dylan. But I think it’s more than a little
experimenting. I think… I think the truth might kill Fenn.”
“It’s not as bad as all that,” Dylan said. Even as he said this,
he felt like he was lying. At least a little.
“Me and Lance sleep together,” Dylan said. “We have sex
sometimes.”
Laurel didn’t say anything.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Dylan said. “I know you
didn’t want to know. But I had to tell someone.”
“We’re fifteen,” Laurel said. “You’re fifteen.”
“I know that,” Dylan said.
“And it’s not like we can get pregnant. Or even get diseases
for that matter. It’s just… It happens off and on. A sort of one
thing goes a little further and then the next thing you know…”
“But you were acting like you had never really done that
much with him.”
“No,” Dylan said. “I said I never felt that much for him.
That’s what I mean, Lor. We… we’ve had sex with each other
and it’s nice. I mean it’s real nice and a little confusing. But I
don’t feel like I’m in love with him. Not anymore than I’d feel
in love from having a really good backrub. It’s just bodies
rubbing together. But… the last few times. And today…”
“There’s a spark?”
“There’s a spark. And I see the way he looks at me…. And
his eyes. And the way he touches me. It’s… I really think we’re
falling in love.”
Because Laurel Houghton didn’t know what else to say she
said, “I hope so.”
“I hope so too,” Dylan told her, and for him it was true.


When Sheridan woke the next morning, Chay was already up
and getting dressed.
“I want to finish this exam up,” Chay declared, “and then
I’m going to come back here and crash, no doubt.”
Sheridan knuckled his eyes, went to the bathroom and
stayed there for about five minutes. When he came out Chay
saw saying, “I hope you sprayed or something.”
“Shut up,” Sheridan said, negligently, and went to pour
himself a cup of coffee before sitting in front of the computer
screen.
“I got an email from Meredith. Let’s see what she has to
say.”
Chay nodded while he combed his hair, and then Sheridan
said, “Shit!’
“What?” Chay turned around.
“She’s left Mathan,” Sheridan told him. “And she’s left
town, too!”



One thing that had not changed at Loretto was the Music Hall.
The music program was still relegated to one of the oldest
buildings on campus, and there was something nice about the
yellowed walls, the pinging and dinging radiators, and the
drafts that sometimes rattled the large pane windows. They
were so far removed from the rest of the campus, certainly
from the new, shiny marketing and business building, that here
there was some justification for the phrase “ivory tower.”
“If it’s not ivory, but it’s something,” Bryant was saying, as
he stacked books around his new office.
This had been Dean Brigham’s office when he was here,
and now it was his, and his with tenure. Imagine living out his
academic days here. He was forty-seven. The wide windows
looked over campus. A great walnut fan turned lazily in the
molded, high ceiling, and on the bulging and bending shelves
that surrounded him, all of his books could be added to the
ones Dean Brigham was leaving. He stopped piling up books,
rubbed the knot in his back, and then pushed his fist into his
palm.
“Dean Babcock.”
He sounded out the word, “Babcock!” He said it making
the words pop and taking delight in the silliness of the
syllables, “Dean-Bab-cock.”
“Dean Babcock!”
Bryant jumped up and recovered as a man, possibly in his
late thirties, entered after tapping on the lentil of the door.
“Yes? I mean, hello.”
“Jack Ferguson,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m part of
your faculty.”
“Yes,” Bryant said, shaking his hand. “I saw you at the
welcoming party the other day.”
This was an understatement. Jack Ferguson was a hard man
for Bryant to miss.
“Well, welcome to the music department, and I’m probably
brown nosing by being the first one to show up. I am the first,
right?”
“You’re certainly the first.”
“Well good. I had a bet going with Julia Amanetti. She in
charge of the choir around here.”
“Julie’s my friend. She was just an adjunct when I was
here.”
“You did classical music?”
“Did and still do. I’ll be taking the advanced classes. Well,
actually, I do classical singing and a lot of church music. Did
you know they teach jazz here now?”
Ferguson’s eyebrow raised and then he said, “For a few
years.”
Bryant chuckled, “What next?”
“Rock and roll probably,” Ferguson laughed.
“Hip Hop!” Bryant joined in. “Advanced hip hop classes!
What was the school thinking? Jazz?”
“I dunno,” Ferguson laughed. “Louis Armstrong!” He blew
out his cheeks.
“Right! What after that? AP Wynton Marsalis! I mean, com’
on!”
` “Right! Right! Well,” Ferguson said, still chuckling, “I think
we certainly know where we stand. Or at least I know you a
little better. We should get on very well. You have a good day,
Dr. Babcock.”
“Oh, no,” Bryant waved it off, grinning. “Bryant.”
“Alright.”
“Though I’ve been called by other names.”
“Really?” Ferguson said in a tone Bryant couldn’t quite
guess. “I can’t believe that.”
And then he was gone.
“Nice guy,” Bryant reflected. He lifted the box before him,
set it on the old scarred desk and, looking out at the chapel,
began to unpack again.
“Damn,” he heard someone swear behind him.
“Julia?” he guessed.
“In the flesh, babe,” Julia Amanetti answered, and Bryant
turned around to embrace her.
“Well, how the hell are you?” he asked.
“I should be asking you. After you disappeared like that.
You should have been dean years ago.”
“Well… Everything happens for a reason.”
“Ferguson just beat me in here, I see.”
“Yeah. We were laughing about the direction the music
program’s gone in.”
“How do you mean?”
“The whole jazz thing. I was telling him what a joke it was.”
Julia Amanetti froze.
“What?” Bryant said, parting from her, “I thought you were
doing choir, not jazz.”
“I’m not the jazz teacher,” Julia said.
“Well, good—”
“Jack Ferguson is.”
After a long space of silence, Bryant Babcock said, “Shit.”
“Shit is right, you moron,” Julia slapped him, and then she
hit him again. And then, for good measure, she hit him again.
“You can stop any time.”
“He’s one of our most important professors, and you’ve
just gone and…”
“He must think I’m an ass.”
“Well, hell, Bryant, I think you’re an ass! And a snob too. I
can just here you now,” she affected a nasal British accent,
“Jazz, how gauche! You’re such a fucking homo!”
“Takes one to know one,” Bryant said. “Oh, well, I better
go apologize.”
“Yes, do that,” Julia Amanetti said. “But…”
“But what?”
“Don’t do it until I give you another piece of fun news?”
Looking at the predatory expression on his old colleague’s
face, Bryant wondered, “Am I really going to want to hear
this?”
“No, probably not,” she said, gleefully.
“Well, alright.”
“We hired a new classical teacher. We hired him before you
got the job. He’ll be doing all the undergraduate classes
alongside you.”
Bryant, leaning against the desk, stuck his lips out and
nodded, “Alright?”
“It’s Chad North.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Julia said, beginning to genuinely feel bad for him.
“Shit, indeed.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

So Dylan is sleeping with Lance and maybe developing some feelings? Good for him! I hope Meredith is ok. I am a bit worried about her now that she broke things off with Mathan and suddenly left town. Poor Bryant, if only he could have come back without having to see Chad. Lots of drama on all fronts to come in this story it seems. Great writing and I look forward to more soon! I hope you had a nice night!

 

[ChrisGibson]

From minors who aren't legally allowed to do much of anything having fully fledged sexual relationships under their parents noses, to disappearing Merediths and cheating Sheridans, nothing good is going to happen. Everyone's going to hell and you should probably get ready for fireworks. It's about to get deeply fucked up. Except for Layla's bookstore. Thanks for reading. Have a lovely night.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Chapter Four

Mostly About Love

Continued




“Bryant’s stressing out,” Todd said as he put the phone to his
chest.
“Well, he should have used sense before opening his
mouth,” Fenn said. He shook his head. “I do love him, but
sometimes I think he’s part jackass. Is he still on the phone?”
Todd lifted the phone from his chest and the sound of
Bryant’s frantic chatter was still rattling.
Fenn looked at Dylan, who raised his eyebrow, and then
Fenn reached for the phone and Todd handed it to him.
“Bryant… Bryant…” Dylan could hear his father trying to
get a word in edgewise. “Bryant!”
Now Fenn spoke. “Bryant! Todd has to go take Maia out,
and Tara will raise hell if he’s late. Go make amends with this
man. Fix him dinner at that nice new place you have—”
“That’s a great idea. Don’t you like the ceil—”
“And let him teach you about jazz. You all should watch
that Ken Burns documentary.”
“You’re a brilliant man, Fenn.”
“Of course I am. Apologize to him. Call him now. Be
charming. But first get the hell off of our phone.”
Before Bryant could say anything more, Fenn said, “Good
night.”
He hung up the phone and Todd said, “You can be very
direct.”
“You have to go so I can have father and son night.”
“Alright, alright,” Todd said. “You know, I think Bryant’s
half in love with this guy.”
“Well, good for him. And let’s hope he has the sense not to
say anything stupid when he sees him again.”
When Todd was gone, Fenn said, “What do you have for
me?”
Dylan grinned and went to the plastic grocery bag. As he
did, Fenn thought, “Who loves me like this boy? How can you
not want a son? How can you screw up things with your
children so? He thought of Leroy, dead four years now, and
how little the death of the old man had affected him.
“All right,” Dylan said, “I was thinking of caramel and
cheese, but I can never get it to taste like Chicago mix, right?
So I’m using kettle corn and cheese.”
“Ah,” Fenn took the bag from him. “And what do we call
it?”
“Rossford mix.”
“But do you think it will be as good as Chicago mix?”
“Well, now you know, Dad, there’s only one way to find
out.”
Fenn pushed himself off of the sofa
“Was that an old man grunt?”
“If it was, I’ll never admit it,” Fenn said, gesturing for his
son to follow him into the kitchen.
“You pick the movie out?”
“I got Killer Klowns From Outer Space.”
“Then the popcorn was the right choice,” Dylan said as
they entered the kitchen.
Fenn reached up for a bowl. Dylan grabbed it and Fenn
looked at him, surprised.
“What?” said Dylan.
“You’re as tall as me.”
“Well that’s not saying much.”
Fenn tapped Dylan in the arm.
Dylan opened one bag and poured half of it in, and then
half of the other and began stirring it.
“And now for the microwave.”
“Yes, indeed.”
As the microwave began to hum, Fenn said, “So are you
going to tell me about Lance?”
“What?”
“Your face is so red!”
“Has Laurel been talking to you?’
“Laurel’s been talking to Layla. Layla’s been talking to me.
Now what about Lance?”
“Nothing yet, Dad.”
“Alright.” Fenn shrugged.
“Thank you for respecting my privacy.”
“I have to. In forty years you’ll be the one wiping my ass
and sponge bathing me.”
“That…” Dylan said as the microwave went off, “is too
much to picture.”
“Speaking of too much to picture—ouch!”
Dylan slapped his father’s hand, “That’s what you get for
touching it right out of the microwave. Hold on. I’ll get glasses.
You want pop or what?”
“I want water.”
Dylan nodded. “You were saying… speaking of too much
to picture…”
“Sex. Your sex life.”
“Dad!” Dylan wailed.
“Well, not talking about it isn’t going to make it not
happen. And you’re fifteen. Almost sixteen and… Well, I just
don’t want you to ever be afraid to tell me anything.”
Dylan stopped and looked at Fenn.
“I love you, Dad.”
“Are you evading the question?”
“No,” Dylan said, kissing his father on the cheek. “I swear
I’m not. I just really, really love you.” He touched his hand.
“Now, let’s go watch a movie.”



“I feel really educated right now,” Bryant said as the credits
began to roll.
“Really?” Jack Ferguson said. “I was beginning to feel like
you might think it was too long.”
“No, Ken Burns’ stuff is just like a movie. For me at least,”
Bryant said on the other end of the couch. “I officially feel
stupid-”
“I thought you said you felt educated?”
“I feel educated enough to know how stupid I was for the
things I said,” Bryant told him. “That music was some of the
most beautiful… does beautiful make sense—?”
“I think beautiful always makes sense,” Jack Ferguson said,
sitting back. He was a tall man, only a little rough, slightly
dragonish with very blue eyes and a wide smile. He looked like
he’d be a tender, lazy lover. Calm and mellow. Bryant decided
he’d better stop thinking about that.
“Well,” Bryant said, “then it was beautiful. I never
appreciated any of that stuff. I was going to say Louis
Armstrong, but they didn’t even talk about Louis Armstrong. I
was just really… Say, you have any of that music?”
“Yes,” Jack Ferguson said. “Who do you want to hear? You
remember anyone in specific?”
“That Jelly Roll Morton… That would interest me. And,
heck, any ragtime?”
“I do have ragtime,” Ferguson said. “I can bring you some
of that.”
“Nice,” Bryant nodded. “Nice.”
Ferguson blinked. “I better go.”
“Why?”
“It’s getting late,” Ferguson said. “I can’t stay here forever.”
He stood up and stretched and Ferguson said, “Should I
come tomorrow night? You wanna see part two?”
“Definitely.”
Ferguson said, “Are you a Republican?”
“What?”
“Are you a Republican?”
“I’m gay, Jack.”
“They have gay Republicans.”
“I am not a Republican, and I have no idea why you would
ask that.”
“More to see the expression on your face,” Ferguson said
with a grin.
He headed to the door and said, “You know what…? I
think you are. Deep inside.”
Bryant stared after him in amazement as he went to the
door. When he opened it, Jack Ferguson said, “Good night,
professor.”
And then he was gone.


“Do you know what time it is?” Todd yawned. He covered his
mouth and his hair was sticking up.
“Goddamnit, go to bed!” Bryant heard Fenn’s voice
croaking in the background.
“Seriously, Bri.”
“He came over,” Bryant was whispering into the phone.
“Is he still there?” Todd sat up, straighter.
“No.”
“Then why are you whispering?”
“I really don’t know,” Bryant said in a more normal voice.
“I definitely got a vibe. Something was definitely
happening.”
“Did you kiss?”
“No.”
“Well then not too much is happening.”
“The first time you and Fenn went out, what happened?”
“Well, hell that was over twenty years ago.”
“But do you remember it?”
“Yeah, Bri: the same thing that happened the first time you
and I went out.”
Bryant turned red and said, “Well, but you already knew
Fenn.”
“I didn’t know you. We just went back to your house and...
you know.”
“I forbid you,” Fenn’s voice came over the phone, “to talk
to Bryant about fucking Bryant while you are sleeping in my
bed.”
“Anyway,” Todd said, rolling his eyes, “what makes you
think something was happening?”
“His eyes. His eyes and the electric!” Bryant sang. “And…
everything. I’ve never known anything like that.”
“Well, what do you know about him?”
“I don’t even know if he’s gay.”
“Oh, hell!”
“I don’t really have the whole ‘able to tell’ thing. I’m
thrown off.”
Suddenly Fenn reached for the phone, said, “And I’m
throwing you off. Goodnight.”
And then he hung up the phone and said, “Well, that’s
that.”

Tom was on the treadmill, running hard, when Fenn and Tara
came to get Dylan. They exchanged sarcastic faces, but Fenn
admitted to himself that the sight of Tom in little shorts and a
sweaty tank top wasn’t entirely displeasing.
“He’ll be down in a minute,” Tom was telling them.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tara said.
“Keeping myself in shape.”
Tom stopped and dabbed his temples with a towel. “I’m
fifty. We’re fifty.”
Fenn shook his head.
“It might not hurt you to do a little treadmill now and
again,” Tom touched Fenn’s belly with a finger.
“It might hurt you to try that shit again though,” Fenn told
him, punching Tom lightly in the side.
“It hurts me right now,” said Tom.
“But really,” Tom told them, “when people see me and
Dylan together, they think we’re like brothers or something.”
“That’s complete bullshit,” Fenn said. “They might think
you’re like… a man who had a son before he was forty, I’ll give
you that. But you don’t look like a fifteen year old’s brother, no
matter how many times you inappropriately use the phrase
‘like’, or how short your shorts are.”
“My shorts aren’t that short.”
“I can see your shit hanging out,” Tara pointed to his
crotch.
Tom closed his legs and went red.
“It’s not bad shit, though,” Tara said.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Dylan came down the stairs. “What’s
everyone talking about?”
“How sad it is when people get old and don’t want to admit
it,” Tara said while Tom opened his mouth in protest.
“Oh, Tara, you’re not that old,” Dylan said, and Tom
snorted.
“Come here, Son.”
Dylan came to his father. Tom shook his son by the
shoulder and kissed him on the cheek.
“Mind your father,” Tom instructed. “Brush your teeth. I
know Fenn always forgets to tell you.”
Fenn shook his head.
“And go to bed at eleven o clock. Even if you’re not in my
house, you’re still my son.”
Dylan nodded. “All right, Dad.”
“Tom, I do know how to raise a child,” Fenn said.
“I know you do.”
“And I don’t pretend I could pass for his brother.”
“What?” Dylan began.
“Nevermind.”
“Of course you couldn’t pass for his brother,” Tom said.
“You’re Black—Ouch!”
“It was a grey hair,” Fenn explained, innocently while Tom
touched the top of his sore head. Fenn put a hand on Dylan’s
shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
From the backseat Dylan said, “Do I really have to go to bed
at eleven?”
“No, but you really do have to make Tom think you did.
And you do need to brush your teeth. I’ve lost half of my teeth
from lack of oral hygiene.
“Oh, and you do have to listen to Todd go through his
Torah portion again. Rosh Hoshanah’s only a week away.”
“All right,” Dylan said. He yawned
Tara asked, “Why are you yawning?”
“Went to bed late last night.”
“Aha!” Fenn, in the passenger’s seat, brandished a
triumphant finger. “All this blaming me, and it’s your knuckle
head father who’s keeping you up at night.”
“I have this huge science project.”
“The one with the atomic model?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t explode, does it?” Tara asked.
“Well that’s for extra credit. Say, Dad, you remember that
time when you set Tommy Peterson’s volcano on fire?”
“And then threatened to set his father’s truck on fire too?
Yes.”
Dylan smiled. “I always chuckle a little thinking about that.”
“Thinking about how crazy your father is?”
“Well, as long as it’s crazy for me, and not crazy against
me.”
“Never crazy against you.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“You and Dad, you know, Tom, you all love each other,
right? You all are friends, right?”
“Yes. You know that.”
“Well, I love Todd, and I love Lee. But… why aren’t you
and Dad together?”
“Your father and I hadn’t been together for years when you
came around. You know that.”
“I know, but…. he asked you to be my dad too. Even
though you all weren’t together anymore. So he must have
really loved you. And… if you all used to be together, then
what happened?”
Tara groaned.
“Did you love my dad as much as you love Todd? I know
he loves Lee, but he loves you too. And you love him.”
“You don’t wish we were together, do you?” Fenn said.
“No,” Dylan said. “That would be odd, and like I said, I
love Todd and Lee. But I’m just curious. What happened to
you guys?”
“If I told you that the love ran its course, what would you
say?”
“I’d say that’s bull.”
Fenn nodded.
“Well, you’d be right. Something did happen. But maybe it
happened because the love ran its course. I’m not free to talk
about it right now, Dylan.”
Fenn turned around. They were at a red light.
“You are old enough to know, but you have to ask your
father. He’s not going to want to talk about it, but you can ask
him, and let him know it’s okay with me if you know.”
The light turned green again, and as Fenn turned around,
Dylan murmured, “Well, now I’m not even sure if I want to
know anymore.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great and well written portion! I like where things are going at the moment. I don't think Dylan's parents are going to be pleased when they find out he has been lying to them about the fact that he is having sex. Hopefully not too mad. Seems like Bryant really likes this new guy. I hope he doesn't come on too strong. I also hope that Chad doesn't interfere with his life now. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Which of these plotlines has you most thrilled, I wonder. Oh, so much is going to be happening, and you will be shocked and surprised and hopefully eventually delight. But not tomorrow night. I am taking Wednesday night off for Rossford and tomorrow will be a double portion of The Beasts

 

[ChrisGibson]

“Blessed art thou, eternal our God, king of the universe, who
causes the earth to yield grain,” Todd murmured and Fenn
murmured, “Amen”, and then passed the hot bread to Melanie
who took some and handed it to Tara, and then Tara handed it
to Dylan.
“So,” Dylan said, looking at the cross on the wall, “What
should I do?”
“Whaddo you mean, what should you do?” Todd said.
“Religion wise?”
Todd looked at Fenn and Fenn said, “I need you to explain
that a little, Dill.”
“Well, Dad is Catholic,” Dylan said. “And you are too.
Sometimes. But you go with Todd to temple and… I’m not
clear on what I’m supposed to do.”
“You’re supposed to do whatever feels right to you,” Fenn
told him while buttering a bit of warm bread.
“What if nothing feels right to me?”
“Nothing?” Maia said between Melanie and her mother.
“I’ve done nothing,” Melanie told Dylan. “It’s not that
great.”
“I don’t mean being an atheist,” Dylan said. And then he
said, “I don’t know, maybe I do. I never thought of it.”
“Well, I can’t think of it for you,” Fenn said.
“You really don’t care what I do?” Dylan said in
amazement.
“Well, of course I care what you do,” his father said. “But I
can’t control it, and I don’t want to. You have to find these
things for yourself.”
“I feel stupid,” Dylan said. “I used to care. I used to
wonder about things like that. You’re supposed to get smarter
as you get older. Not the other way around.”
“Does that make me smarter than you?” Maia said, not
blinking.
Dylan grinned at her. “Possibly.”
Fenn said, “It may make her smarter than us all,” Fenn said.


Lance Bishop did not think of himself as particularly attractive.
Oh, he knew people said he was, and he almost believed it. But
what he saw was a forehead that was too high and a body that
was too thin. He was also keenly aware that even though he
was on track and played basketball, most of the guys at Saint
Barbara’s referred to him as a faggot behind his back, and few
of them really liked him.
He always felt different. Lance always felt like he didn’t get
it, like he wanted things no one else wanted, liked things no
one else liked. It wasn’t just the whole liking boys thing. He
wasn’t stupid. It was a lot of guys who had done things with
each other. But he was just the odd man out. He was always
coming in a little too late. He could do the part of butch. He
could be a guy. But it just made him so tired. Sometimes he
wanted to just lay down and… No, don’t say that. Don’t even
think it.
Riding his bike so hard that his thighs hurt and he was
nearly out of breath, he raced up Calverton to turn on Jamaica
Street. Jamaica ran straight south of Dorr and was filled with
little brick houses and trees.
When he was eleven and big eyed and big foreheaded, he
came to Saint Barbara’s with his clothes not fitting. It was two
years ago that he’d become attractive, that girls had wanted
him, which is what matters. Back then his first friend was
Dylan, and Dylan was so different. Dylan was so… Dylan was
perfect, really. He had slightly long hair like his father who
used to come and pick him up. Lance was too young back then
to realize how Tom made him feel. Some men made him feel
that way. He wasn’t too young to fiddle around on the
Internet, to look through magazines and start to wake up a
little. It was a fierce awakening, a violent one that ruined his
bedsheets and plastered his sex to the side of his leg. He knew
about it from a distance but now, having a friend the same age,
going through the same things, he began to understand.
“I’m gay,” Dylan said one night and Lance said, “I think I
am too.”
Then he added, “You can’t run around telling everyone
that, though.”
“That’s what my dad said.”
“Tom?”
“No,” Dylan said. “Fenn.”
“Oh.”
Lance thought that Fenn, who had set Tommy Peterson’s
volcano on fire a few years back, would be the last person to
say that.

Being with Dylan was the first time he’d felt free. Dylan
was the first person he could be himself with, and Dylan’s
desires and curiosities were rising at the same speed as his own.
The first time something had happened, and they had been
staying at Lance’s house, it had felt so good neither of them
had been able to stop and they came at the same time,
trembling, almost being ripped out of their bodies, showering
everything with more come than was possible. It left Lance
rung out and exhausted. They fell asleep like that, and even
though their relationship changed then, it was still their
relationship. They weren’t ashamed.
Or, at least, they weren’t ashamed around each other. Lance
was afraid. He was afraid that somehow people would know,
that they would hate him even more. If he hadn’t been so
afraid or so stupid he could have worked out something with
Dylan, he could have made Dylan his boyfriend. But instead he
had told Dylan his plan to date Eileen Jackson.
“She’ll be my girlfriend, and we can just be friends. You
know? Who do what friends do.”
Since, today at the age of sixteen, Lance was pretty sure
friends didn’t fuck each other, as he turned onto Versailles and
headed north he thought how this was the dumbest thing he’d
ever said. He compounded this stupidity by fucking Eileen
Jackson. He knew everyone would know, and then no one
would think he was gay, which he was. But what happened was
everyone thought that he was the gay guy who fucked Eileen
Jackson, and though girls still liked him, he couldn’t get away
from himself, and now there was that, and now there was the
knowledge that he had hurt Dylan. He knew he’d hurt Dylan
badly.
This next block was the last block, toward Dorr. This next
block was Dylan’s dad’s house.
But then that fucking Ruthven had shown up. Ruthven had
always been around, but after Eileen Jackson, Lance knew that
Ruthven had taken his place. Ruthven Meradan—and that was
a stupid name anyway—had come between Dylan and Lance
and what Dylan did with him, Lance couldn’t say. Did they
fuck? Lance couldn’t imagine Dylan fucking anyone else. But
in all honesty he couldn’t believe that they hadn’t.
He threw his bike in the grass and went across the night
dewed yard. He began crawling up the side of the house, his
long, strong limbs spider like, and then he hefted himself onto
the gable and tapped on the dormer window. Now Ruthven
was gone. Now stupidity was gone. Now Dylan was his. Now
they could finally be what they were supposed to be. His palms
were dimpled with the roughness of the roof tiles. So what?
He knocked on the darkened window. The lights did not
come on, but the curtains parted and in the dark he saw
Dylan’s perfect face.
Dylan opened the window and helped him in. Dylan was
tall enough, but Lance was taller and he stood there, breathing
heavily and smelling like the nighttime. He bent over
enthusiastically, nearly taking the breath out of Dylan’s mouth,
filling his mouth with his tongue.
“I love you,” he said, when he parted from Dylan.
Grinning, Dylan closed the window, pulled Lance’s face
down, kissed him and whispered, “I love you too.”
And then, bringing him to the bed, fiercely, they swiftly
began to undress each other.


“Sheridan, are you all right?”
Chay was combing his hair, pulling out the tangles, and half
dressed for his presentation.
“Yeah.”
“You’re acting really weird, and I want to be the attentive
type, especially now that we’re living together. But I have a
presentation in about five minutes, so if something’s going on
you need to tell me. Like now.”
“Like nothing,” Sheridan said with a hooked grin.
“Go blow everyone away with your unique knowledge of
history, and I’m going to blow myself away with my unique
ability to sleep.”
Chay stopped combing, came to the bed and kissed
Sheridan on the top of his head.
“I love you. You have a good day.”
“We need to find out what happened to Meredith.”
“Does she want to be looked for?” Chay said. “Or does she
just want time by herself? If she wants time by herself, then
we’ve got to respect it.”
“I don’t think I want to respect it.”
“Me neither, and I’m sure Mate doesn’t. Oooh, crap,” Chay
remembered. “Go see Mate.”
“I’ll do that. I’ll do that as soon as I’m properly out of
bed.”
When Chay was gone, Sheridan still lay in bed blinking at
the ceiling, drifting off a little, but not enough for it to matter.
Finally he got up, got dressed, and while brushing his teeth
turned on the computer. He did an image search for Logan. He
searched for Logan’s videos. Logan and Ricci, Logan and
Michael. Logan, Bolt and Tyler Threeway. After he had dressed
he sat before the computer linking from site to site, forgetting
about all else, moving through varying states of hardness.
There was a link that said, “Bret Skye, formerly known as
Casey Williams’ Logan.” And here were more pics, magazine
pics. Logan was going to be a model. Logan was going to be a
semi-nude model. Logan was going to be a model with his
cock out.
He could go see him on his way to comfort Mathan. He
could finish this all up right now.



“A’right, A’right, A’right,” Todd gestured with a long finger for
Haley to come forward. She crossed the stage. “I see what
you’re getting at, but see what I’m getting at.”
She nodded for her director to continue.
“Just imagine, when you’re crying about your sister being
dead… She was your home.”
Haley looked at him for a while.
“She was your home and everything in it,” Todd said again.
“Now let’s try it again?”
Haley went back and Todd said, “All right, all! Here we
go.”
Man could not live by documentary alone, and about the
same time Fenn had gone back into acting in small films, Todd
had gone into directing them. He figured directing was
directing, which wasn’t quite true. But it had landed him at the
playhouse and now here he was. Fenn had told him something
about how once upon a time there were no formal directors.
One of the characters would step up and direct, so this wasn’t
an impossible skill to pick up, and Todd did.
“All right, that’s great guys. That’s making me really proud,
and…” Todd stopped. His eyesight wasn’t what it had been.
He wore black rimmed spectacles much of the time now, and
he squinted a bit at the guy who had entered the theatre now.
He was coming forward quickly as Todd stood up, and even as
he neared him, Todd’s mouth opened in surprise.
“Hold on folks. Practice among yourselves,” he said.
Approaching the stage, and then jumping onto it with one
hand, was a young blond man with a bit of a goatee.
“Uncle Todd!”
Surprised, but having more tact then to simply demand
what he was doing here, Todd looked at his broad shouldered
nephew, tall as himself now, fully a man.
“Ruthven,” he said.
“I just got out of summer classes,” Ruthven was tugging on the
strings of his thin, open sweat jacket. “And I decided I’d come
up here. I’ve been gone for almost a year.”
“I know,” Todd said. “You don’t have to tell me that. We
all know it.”
“Are you talking about Dylan?”
“No,” Todd said. And then, “Yes. What happened between
you guys?”
“Whatever happened, part of the reason I’m here is to
repair it,” Ruthven said, pushing a hand through his uncut hair.
“It can’t be done over the phone.”
“Fenn thinks you guys had something.”
Ruthven blinked. His face was reddish, not from
embarrassment, but from being sun scoured.
“I said that Dylan might have had a crush on you, but he
told me that Dylan is a beautiful kid and you might have had
something for him.”
“Dylan is a beautiful kid,” Ruthven said. “Girls must be
knocking at his door.”
“Are you pretending you don’t know Dylan is gay?”
“Are you pretending you’re not asking if Dylan was my
boyfriend?”
Todd shrugged.
“Dylan wasn’t my boyfriend. I’m too old anyway. Dylan is
my brother.”

Todd realized that Fenn had been too old for him once. It
would have been impossible for him to have that relationship
with Fenn when he was fourteen their age difference was so
great. But with other men, Dena’s father chief among them,
age had not mattered. Todd looked at his nephew, whose past
was as troubled as his own.
“I am not Dylan’s boyfriend,” Ruthven repeated.
“No,” Todd said, and then added, just to see the look on
his nephew’s face, “Lance Bishop is.”


“Sheridan,” Logan said in a voice like he was ready for
anything. He had to be, because anything could happen
whenever Sheridan came.
“You know what I just spent the night doing?”
“After doing me?” Logan said.
“Oh, you’re so funny,” Sheridan told him. “You’re so
hilarious, cause sex and tearing up people’s lives is hilarious.
It’s all scripted. It’s all a joke.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Grocery Store Goodies.”
“You saw that?” Logan snorted, and put a hand to his
mouth.
“Yeah, I saw it. What’s so funny about it. You getting
blown by that douche Derek.”
“Derek is a douche,” Logan agreed.
“And then fucking him in the baked good’s section and
letting him pump a load out of you.”
“He’s a douche who knows what he’s doing.”
Sheridan clapped his hands to his head. “You don’t seem to
hear what I’m saying.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Sher. I just don’t know what it’s
supposed to mean. You spent the night watching my pornos,
which is making me feel a little weird. But why?”
“You’re doing the same stuff with these people that you’re
doing with me. And then you’re telling me you love me.”
“Hold up!” Logan put up a hand and closed the door,
which he remembered was still open. “When did I ever fuck
you in a grocery store? When did you ever suck my dick in
front of the chocolate chips, and please tell me when you
jacked me off in a stock room. Or at all. You’ve never done
that.”
“That’s not my point.”
“Alright, Sheridan!” Logan said, beginning to lose his
patience. “I gotta go meet Casey in a bit. I’m going to stay at
his place for a few days until I get my own, and I’m gonna do a
little something for him. So I need you to tell me just what
your point is.”
“That’s my point!” Sheridan said. “That the little something
you’re doing for Casey is fucking someone in a porno, or
possibly, since it’s Casey, fucking him.”
“Yeah! Maybe, Sher. We might fuck each other and then
high five and go on. It’s business.”
“And is business all that other shit you do? How can I be
with someone, how can I leave my boyfriend for someone
who, every time I have sex with him it’s just what he does for a
living? You see what I’m saying? You see that?”
He didn’t know what he expected Logan to do. But
suddenly Logan’s face went dark and twisted.
“This is bullshit, Sheridan,” he said.
“It isn’t—”
“This is bullshit, and you’re bullshit. Get the fuck out.”
Logan moved to open the door and, gently for someone as
strong as himself, pushed Sheridan out, locking the door
behind him.


They were having what Laurel Houghton considered a good
day. She and Amanda were eating lunch on the steps of the
little alcove into the church of Saint Barbara’s, and on the brick
wall, in their navy pants, Lance and Dylan sat, facing them, legs
swinging, Lance almost looking too tall for his uniform. Now
and again Laurel caught what Amanda could not, how Lance
and Dylan’s hands would almost touch and then go back to
their laps. It was all sweet, and simpler than anything had been
in a long time. She hoped it stayed that way.
And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that it
wouldn’t.
Because there HE was.
“What?” Dylan said.
“Well, shit,” Laurel thought. He had seen it. He had seen
her turn and look over there and he had seen her face, and
now he followed her and stopped.
“What, bud?” Lance said, touching his hand openly.
“Nothing,” Dylan said quickly, and started swinging his legs
again. He smiled at Lance, and Lance relaxed.
They had been family too long. Laurel got up and went to
the fence, knowing this was what Dylan would have her do.
On her way there, Maia called out from a group of seventh
graders, but Laurel put a finger to her lips and gestured for her
to stay back.
Maia made a face, but she knew Laurel. She must have had
a good reason.
So Laurel Houghton moved along the fence, away from the
view of Dylan, and especially away from the view of Lance,
120 CHRIS LEWIS GIBSON
knowing that Ruthven, on the other side, would have the sense
to follow her lead.
“Why are you here?” she begged.
“To see Dylan.”
“You’re a grown up, and this is a playground. You could be
arrested.”
“In Rossford?”
“What do you have to tell him? That’s Lance. You can’t
show up right now.”
“Did Dylan send you?”
“Yes. Sort of.”
“I… I wanted to say something to his face. I wanted to talk
to him.”
“Well….” Laurel, always prepared, reached into her
cardigan and pulled out a paper and pen. “Write it down. I’ll be
back in five minutes.”

I saw you on the playground in that blue jacket and those pants. Do you
know what you look like now? You look like a grown man. You look so
beautiful. I shouldn’t say things like that, but that’s what I mean. Dill,
I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for not being able to handle things in
the past. I saw you next to that Lance guy. God, he’s got a big forehead!
But he’s not bad looking. If he makes you happy, if having some good
undercover Catholic school boyfriend makes you happy, well then good. I
shouldn’t say that. That was wrong to say. I should be wishing you all the
best. I have no right to wish you less than the best. I don’t deserve you, but
I miss you. Laurel’s only given me a few minutes to write this. I miss you.
Really, I love you. I’ve never written that down on paper. I have tried to
get you out of my mind. I’ve tried like shit to do the right thing. I don’t
know, maybe this is the right thing.

If things were right between us, then I would stay with Todd and
Fenn. Then we could be together. But they aren’t right. I’ve come to make
them right. So, until they are, I’ll be at Dena and Milo’s place. All right.
You know where to find me. I hope you find me. I’ve left my number. It’s
my cell, so I’m easy to reach, and I’ll always leave it on. I’ll leave it on and
in the pocket of my tight, tight jeans. Just playing! Sort of.
-Ruthven


Laurel had been loyal enough to not look at the letter. In
the hallway she stood beside Maia, at a distance, watching
Dylan read it, and then Dylan slowly crumple it up as a look of
distaste crossed his face.
“Dill?” Maia started.
Lance was coming down the hall toward them, and Dylan
had been about to throw the wadded note in the trash when he
thought better of that and simply jammed it in his pocket.
“Dylan,” Lance said.
But Dylan lifted his messenger bag over his shoulder, and
still upset, walked away from them all toward choir practice.

.
Meredith Affren could feel the grease in her hair. She was
yawning and tired, and her back hurt from the sharp springs of
the motel bed. Here the roads were pebbly, and as she
approached the first real house at the end of the procession of
trailers, she turned onto the noisy driveway, and then sat in the
car a while.
“If I don’t get my ass up,” Meredith Affren murmured to
herself, “he’s going to come out of there, or someone’s going
to come out of there, and wonder why the hell I’m just sitting
in this driveway.”
So putting her purse over her shoulder, she opened the car
door, stepped out and, looking around at the open sky and the
wide branched tree in front of the old white house, thought,
“This is a long way from Long Island.”
She had hardly knocked on the door when he answered.
“Meredith.”
“Kip!”
“You look like the surprised one.” He pushed open the
door. “Come on in.”
“It’s just that you look so different,” Meredith was
explaining as she entered the comparative darkness of the
living room.
“Well, five years do that. And I’m not doing the hair gel
thing anymore.”
Meredith supposed everyone looked different in time, and
now Kip Danley’s hair had grown out and soft. He looked a
little like a rough angel.
“As soon as you were free, I had to come see you,”
Meredith told him.
“Yeah,” Kip Danley chuckled, and waved his hand around
the living room that looked, somehow, exhausted, “This is
what freedom looks like.
“So, how’s your life?”
“Good. College is going well.”
“Great,” Kip said. “All that small talk out of the way. And
Mathan?”
Meredith blinked.
“Did I hit a sore note?”
“I broke up with Mathan.”
“What for?” Kip sounded truly upset, and this upset
Meredith.
“Because, Kip,” she said, “since you’ve gotten out, every
time I’m supposed to be thinking about Mathan Alexander, I
think about you. Now,” she frowned, “why the hell do you
think that is?”



“And so Lee says, ‘I just don’t understand this city anymore,’”
“Which is when Fenn admits he never understood it in the
first place.”
“Well, I don’t understand why my damn water bill keeps
going up, and the water’s not any better,” Fenn agreed. “Not
to mention the quality of education’s going down, and going
down at Saint Barbara’s as much as at Rossford Public.”
“As much?” Chay said, doubtfully.
“Well, at the same rate,” Fenn amended, rising to head
upstairs.
“Last time when we went up to the city,” Will said, “what
was half comforting, and half sad to know was that things are
just as bad there.”
“I know,” Fenn acknowledged from the foot of the stair.
“What you want to hear is that it’s better some place else. And
what you dread hearing is that it is better some place else.”
“Well, now,” Layla said, “in my world, I guess I’ll be
opening up the new poetry room at the theatre?”
“Right,” her uncle agreed. “Right.”
“That sounds duller than it really is,” Layla noted. “Maybe I
can do something in Chicago. Are you still going up to see
Brendan and Kenny?”
“In a few days. Right after Rosh Hoshanah,” Fenn said.
“And what about—” Layla put a hand to her mouth and
whispered, “Ruthven?”
“I don’t even know anything about that,” Fenn said. “And
what about me finally going upstairs.”
Fenn turned and went up to look for the old comforter he
was going to stick in the washer, and when he’d come out of
his and Todd’s room with it, he heard a sharp grunt and a
moan.
Eyebrows up, he went out of his room and down the hall.
But now he heard it again. It came frantic and painful from
Dylan’s room and he remembered once, when a bookshelf had
fallen on his foot and Mama wasn’t home and Adele wasn’t
home and he remembered times when he had cried and no one
had heard him, and so he went immediately to open his boy’s
bedroom door.
Everything stopped. Fenn Houghton stood dry mouthed
with the blanket in his hands. On the bed, sweaty, hair sticking
up and legs wrapped around a naked Lance who stopped in
mid twist on top of him, was Dylan, mouth open, face aghast,
looking up at him.
Smoothly, Fenn picked up the comforter, gathered it to his
stomach and, turning his back, walked out of the room, closing
the door behind him.

END OF PART ONE

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great end to part one! Looks like Fenn has finally found out what is going on with Dylan. Its going to be interesting to read what happens next with them. It was nice to read more about Lance, I am liking him more now. Looks like Logan and Sheridan are done with whatever was going on between them. I can't say I am surprised really. I am glad Meredith is ok. Who knows what is going to happen with her and Kip. Another part I am excited to read about. Great writing and I look forward to more in a few days! I hope you are having a great night and have a nice weekend!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, this has been a night of part ones. Part one of another story--one which I don't think you've read--just wrapped up on another site. It's been a pretty full week, actually. Now our Rossford folk are in full gear and a great deal of secrets are out, but as you will learn on Saturday, just a few. We've kind of only just begun. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a great weekend.

 

[ChrisGibson]

PART TWO

ADVENTURES IN LOVE



CHAPTER FIVE

BIRDS DO IT


Around the same time that Dena was getting bigger and bigger
with the impending birth of Rob, over five years ago, Nell
called the house and asked Fenn in a hushed whisper, “Is Todd
around?”
“He’s around, and why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know,” she continued to whisper. “I… can you put
him on the phone? I’ve got news for him.”
“Bad news? Oh, never mind. Let me go get him.”
“Thanks, Fenn.”
Todd had been playing with Maia, and now he came to the
phone, the smile still half on his face.
“Todd, it’s about Dad.”
“Dad?”
Philip Meraden had been as absent from his son’s life as
Leroy had been from Fenn’s. He had left Todd and Nell’s
mother a few years before Nell’s disastrous first marriage, and
he had married some woman they’d never seen and had a life
they didn’t know anything about. On dim occasions, Fenn
remembered Todd had a father somewhere, but then he also
remembered that it was something Todd might like to forget.
And so he did too.

“Well, not him, per se,” Nell told her brother. “It’s his son.
I mean we have a brother. He’s here. Right now.”
“Here?”
“Yes, Todd. At the house. At my house.”
“Should I come over?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, how do you like these apples?” Dena was saying when
Todd arrived. She looked like an apple, round and ripe, and
she sat on the couch between Meredith and Milo, a stuffed
animal perched on her belly. Todd didn’t ask. It didn’t matter.
There was a funny looking tall blond guy with rings around his
eyes and a reddened nose and finally Fenn gestured to Todd
with a hooked finger and said, “He looks like a blond version
of you.”
“He looks like Shaggy off of Scooby Doo,” Todd
protested.
Todd has always been tall, thin, messy haired and vaguely
unshaven and slightly stoop shouldered with dark ringed eyes.
Fenn did not point this out.
“I’m your brother,” Shaggy came toward Todd.
“That is more and more apparent as I keep looking at you,”
Dena said as an aside.
Todd, still a little taken back, said, “I’m Todd.”
“I’m Ryan Meradan.”
“They look just like each other,” Dylan said from behind
Fenn.
When Todd looked at him, sharply, Dylan clarified,
“Except for you’re not blond.”
“I’m thirty-eight, so that must make us about the same
age.”
Todd was trying to get himself together, and be a somewhat
civil person.
“About,” he said. “I just turned—”
And then a tall, blond boy ran into the living room, tagged
Dylan on the head and said, “You’re it.”
“Ven!” Ryan said.
“It’s another kid,” the boy justified his action. “Someone
else to play with. And he’s It.”
“No, I’m Dylan,” Dylan said a little sharply, rubbing his
head.
“Great,” the boy said, indifferent to Dylan’s reprimand.
“I’m Ruthven.”
“So how did you get that name?”
“My dad says it’s Scottish and our family is part Scottish
so…” Ruthven shrugged.
“I think it’s a cool name.”
“I don’t. He calls me Ven so that nobody calls me Ruth.
But really, wouldn’t it have just made more sense not to name
me Ruthven in the first place?”
“My name is Welsh,” Dylan said.
“Are you Welsh?”
“I don’t think so,” Dylan frowned. “But I do like my
name.”
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“You seem older.”
“Well, I’m almost eleven and my dad lets me stay up late.”
Ruthven nodded.
“How old are you?” Dylan asked him.
“Thirteen. I’m in junior high.”
“Do you kiss girls?”
“A few. I have some friends who…” Ruthven stopped.
“What?” Dylan perked up.
“Well,” Ruthven said, turning red, “you ever seen a dirty
movie?”
“No,” Dylan said.
“Well, don’t,” Ruthven said, sternly, and Dylan had the
sense that the course of the conversation had been changed.
“But… I know some friends, and…. they’re already having
sex.”
The word sex electrified Dylan. It shot a bolt down to his
groin and melted him there. He’d only heard of it, seen it in
pop up books and, yes, heard it from the bedrooms of his
parents.
“Do they like it?” Dylan had read books that he didn’t tell
anyone about it. They were full of “penetrations”, “meltings”,
“explosions” and “comings” that made his face hot.
“I think so,” Ruthven said. “But they don’t talk about it.”

“Um,” said Dylan. Because this was all he knew to say.
“Hey,” Ruthven went on, “you wanna be friends? Because
my dad was like, we don’t have any real family, and after my
mom left he was like, let’s come up here so we can meet our
family. And houses are cheap in Indiana so, he’s just going to
move up here, I think.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. Then, “I don’t really have a lot of
friends.
“Your mom left?” Dylan clarified.
Ruthven nodded, playing with the toe of his sneaker.
Dylan said, “Mine left too.”
Having two fathers, Dylan Mesda always assumed he would be
gay. After all, the closest thing he had to a sister had two
mothers and a gay father. And when he went to school, Dylan
also realized that things that came naturally to his mind, the
words would naturally fall out of his mouth, were not
welcomed. Coming to eleven, reaching twelve, he knew the
way he felt about Ruthven, and he knew the way he felt about
the tall, high foreheaded Lance Bishop.

Lance Bishop’s family had locks on everything, and a
control on the computer as well as controls on the television.
Everything was a world of thou shalt nots. Dylan didn’t know
anything about that. Everything was open to him, but now he
began to realize that some of the things that were open to him
must have been powerful. They must have been so dangerous
that the Bishops shut them off from their son. One night,
staying up late at Tom’s house, he stumbled across the first of
the dangerous things, startled by the man and the woman
undressing. It was a foreign film on cable, not porn. He sat in
the night darkened room, growing stiff as a board as he
watched them make love, saw the man’s naked buttocks as he
slid in and out of her, and her thighs twisted around him.
Hands involuntarily in his pajama pants, he pressed himself to
the pile of blankets he’d made and lightly humped it until he
felt asleep.
“Chay, can you show me sex?”
“Show you what?”



Chay sits up while Dylan explains, “Well, you work for
Casey, right?”
“I worked for Casey.”
“Didn’t he used to be your boyfriend?”
“Yes, and it used to be a secret,” Chay told him.
“Well,” Dylan disregarded this, “I just want to know what
you know about sex. Or about porn. Or about any of it. I want
to see it.”
Chay stood up. He was the same height as Dylan now,
though Dylan was only twelve.
“Hold on.” He put out a finger.
Dylan noticed all sorts of new things about Chay now,
about how, even though they were the same size, Chay had a
man’s body, about the way Chay’s faded jeans fit to that body.
He imagined that if he touched them, if he ran his hands over
them, the fabric would be so soft.
A moment later Sheridan came out and Chay said, “We just
want to know what brought this on.”
Sheridan shook his head, “Growing up brought it on, Chay.
Dill’s got feelings and stuff, and he’s curious.”
See, yes! Sheridan understood him.
“Sheridan, how old were you?”
“When I had feelings like you’re having?”
“No, when you started having sex.”
Sheridan went red. Dylan could pick up on his discomfort.
He added, “My cousin Ruthven—who isn’t really my cousin—
he says that there are kids he knows who are thirteen who are
already doing it.”
“Dylan, have you talked to your parents? I mean either one
of them?” Sheridan said. “They would both tell you what you
need to know.”
“One thing you need to know is thirteen is too young,”
Chay said.
“Oh, I know,” Dylan said, quickly, though privately he had
been thinking about how close he was to thirteen, and how it
might not be that young at all.
“And fifteen is too,” Sheridan added. “And eighteen.
There’s something to be said for being a grown up. That’s
really the ideal time to even worry about all of this. Not when
you’re still a kid.”
“Were you a grown up?” Dylan asked.
When neither one of them said anything, Dylan said, “I
know you weren’t. I’m not stupid. Everybody thinks they can
keep me in the dark.”
“Dylan, no one’s trying to keep you in the dark. We’re all
just trying to protect you.”
“Well, stop trying to protect me,” Dylan said. “And start
telling me the truth.”
They were both very quiet, and Chay and Sheridan looked
at each other. Then Sheridan said, “No, I won’t tell you the
truth. Because there’s no way you’ll understand it.”
Dylan opened his mouth, but Sheridan put up his hand.
“You might be a little too like us,” he continued. “We were
fast. I was fast. You didn’t ask anyone else about this but us,
did you?”
Dylan shook his head.
“I could tell you to slow down and not be stupid, Dylan.
You’re smart and you’re curious and you would break your
parents hearts if they knew you were running around doing
stuff.”
“I’m not running around doing anything!”
“But you want to,” Sheridan said. “I started when I was as
young as possible, and it screwed me up so bad, and you don’t
want to hear that and you’re not going to get it until it screws
you up too. I thought I had to have sex so bad it was the most
important thing in the world, and then I didn’t know what to
do with myself.”
“I’m tired of hearing about it,” Dylan said. “And the only
stuff I see is guys and girls. On TV. Late at night. I want to see
a boy and a boy. I want to see what you all do. I want you to
show me that. I just want to see it, alright?”
Chay muttered something and put a hand over his face.
“You were the same age,” Sheridan reminded him.
Chay shrugged.
“You’ll show me something?”
“I’m not going to take you by Casey’s house to see it in
person,” Chay said. “But yeah.”
As Dylan left, he heard Sheridan say in a worried voice,
“What’s wrong with us? We’re showing Fenn’s son porn?”

 

[CharmedFan28]

Sorry I took so long to read this portion I lost track of time! It was very interesting indeed to read about some things that happened in the past. Seemed like a younger Dylan was too curious for his own good. This development with the new brother of Todd's Ryan is going to be also interesting to read about. I hope you are having a wonderful weekend and I look forward to the next portion!