The Lovers in Rossford

[ChrisGibson]

So, of course, five years skipped from the last book to this one, and last time we saw Dylan he was a little boy and now he's fifteen and Fenn has just discovered him in bed with Lance. Now is the time when we finally get to look back and all that's gone on behind that. We've heard about Ruthven before, but now the whole story is about to come out.

 

[ChrisGibson]

BIRDS DO IT
CONTINUED


The first time he saw porn, at Sheridan’s apartment, Sheridan
moved around doing work, and Chay was at the desk while
Dylan sat there by himself, heart palpitating, mouth dry, his
penis becoming harder and harder, so hard it almost hurt. It
was amateur porn, no real plot, just guys interviewed by Casey
who immediately started fucking. And there were so many
things they did, so many things he didn’t know could be done,
that left him breathless and aching. When it was over, when
one guy had shot a load of white semen across the other one’s
back, and the camera trailed to his perfect buttocks, Dylan
wanted to touch himself. He wanted to watch this thing all by
himself in the privacy of his room and do things to his own
body.
“Well, that’s it,” Sheridan said in a business like way,
shutting his laptop.
“Do you guys do stuff like that?”
“To each other?” Sheridan said, as he took the laptop away.
“Yeah.”
“Yes,” Sheridan said, baldly. Whatever questions about his
past sex life did to him, he was completely secure about the
present.
“And it feels good? Like it felt to the guys in the video?”
“Yes,” Sheridan laughed, putting a hand on Dylan’s
shoulder. “It feels very good. Because we’re in love.”
“Those guys weren’t in love.”
“No, I guess not. But it was Kirk and Brent, and they like
each other.”
“So liking is enough?”
“For porn being paid is enough. But for sex, for enjoyment,
yeah. Liking someone is sufficient.”
Dylan nodded.
Sheridan waited for him to say something more, but he
didn’t. Whatever was in the twelve year old’s head he kept to
himself.
That night Dylan went home and positioned himself on his
bed, around his pillows over and over again, trying to get to
sleep, trying to be comfortable. At last he made a mound of

the pillows and fucked them till he came. That night, slick with
the semen he’d never seen before, he slept.
“What is your mom like?”
“She’s like crazy is what she’s like,” Ruthven said.
“Mine too.”
“Well, yeah, you said she gave you away to your dad. I still
don’t get that story.”
“I guess I was a test tube baby,” Dylan said. “And then it
turned out my mother didn’t really want me, and Tom was my
real dad and he did want me, but then he decided that Fenn,
my other dad, should be my dad too.”
“But Fenn’s always been with Todd.”
“Well, once he was with Dad, with my other dad. But that
was a long time before me.”
“Well then why is Fenn your dad?”
“Doesn’t he feel like my dad?” Dylan said. “I can’t imagine
him not being my dad. I mean, I love my other dad, but
sometimes I feel like it’s the other way around, like I come
from Fenn. Which I know is impossible.”
“Yes,” Ruthven said, chuckling as he looked at Dylan and
thought of Fenn.
“So, I don’t know why Fenn adopted me. I think he had
something to do with me being born. That’s what I think he
said. Or Tom said it.” Dylan shook his head, trying to
remember. “I think he’s the best dad in the world.”
“I think my dad is too,” Ruthven said, and both boys
nodded.
“After my mom left, Dad never cried, or I didn’t see it. He
just did everything she ever did. Only he did it better. He used
to drive a truck, but he stopped so he could be with me. And
then he moved us back to my grandparents. But he never liked
my grandpa,” by which he meant Todd’s father, “so when
Grandma died, Dad just up and brought us here, and now
we’re living in Miller, and I love it.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back to California?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ruthven said. “If I did I would have
the beaches and the water. The waves.”
“Is the Pacific really that different from Lake Michigan?”

“Yes!” Ruthven said in the same scandalized tone the Pope
would have used if someone said, “Do you really think Jesus
Christ is the Son of God?”
“And the weather’s great too.
“Of course,” Ruthven added, “If I went back I wouldn’t
have my family. And I wouldn’t have you.”
“Well, that’s true,” Dylan acknowledged. “But family could
always visit.”
“Would you visit?”
“Of course!”
“Well, that’s what matters. I’d hate to think of a life without
you, Dylan.”
Lance Bishop had been staying over at Dylan’s for months.
The first time they stayed up all night and went through illegal
downloads of Guy McClintock, Casey Williams Online and
Corby Studios. The best part about Casey Williams was you
could see people you might see in real life. Casey had stopped
doing regular films a while ago, but he still put in an
appearance on his work, and this blue eyed sex god was so
different from the bespectacled seemingly skinny guy who
wore a uniform of baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirts, that
these were Dylan’s favorite movies.
“You know him?” Lance said in a breathless voice.
“My family does. I see him sometimes.”
There were children who had to learn manners and children
who did not. To Dylan it seemed natural that when Lance
stayed over, he would always yield the bed to his guest.
Tonight, as he lay on his pallet, Lance said into the dark, “Why
don’t you come up here?”
“Huh?”
“Dylan,” Lance said. “Come up here.”
So Dylan climbed out of his bed pile and climbed into his
bed, then Lance pushed his long body into Dylan.
“Do you like this? We can be like this,” Lance said. “It’s
warmer.”
It was warmer, and it felt so good and he could feel Lance
stiff against him, but Lance didn’t seem to care and so Dylan
went hard and then they pressed themselves together closer

and closer, moving slowly, writhing a little now and again,
Lance moaning. And then Lance’s tongue was in his mouth,
and it was a shock, but it felt so good. And they were pressing
together, slowly undressing. That night they moved under the
covers until the covers were gone and then slowly,
remembering all he had seen in those movies, remembering
what they had seen tonight, Dylan began to try this and try
that. Lance felt so good in his mouth and how the other boy’s
body tightened, the noises he made, his fist clutching the bed
was sacred. And then there was what Lance was doing to him.
They exploded, Lance first, Dylan second. He’d never come so
much, all of Lance’s belly up to his chest was slick in the little
light yielded by the computer screen. Breath heaving, bodies
shaking, both of them with their hands still in the air, they said
nothing.
Eventually, when Lance trusted himself to speak, he said,
“Dylan, was that sex?”
And Dylan, who had just turned thirteen, said in a voice
still shaking, “Yeah, I’m sure it was.”
Once Dylan had heard his father utter the phrase, “The cat’s
out of the bag now.” He was pretty sure Fenn had been talking
about sex, though he wasn’t sure in what context.
“You’re angry with me,” Ruthven said.
“I’m not,” Dylan lied.
“You’re mad cause I’m going back to California.”
“You said you would stay here. You said you and your dad
were here to stay.”
“I know.” Ruthven sat down on the bed. “I’m sixteen.
What am I supposed to do? If you’re mad, get mad at my dad.
No, what am I saying? Don’t get mad at him. He has to go.”
“You could stay here!” Dylan said quickly. “You could stay
here with Todd or Nell or Dena. You could keep on being
right here.”
“And be away from my dad?” Ruthven raised an eyebrow.
“Then go,” Dylan said, coldly.
He didn’t want to admit that what he hoped was that
Ruthven would think he was enough. How could he make up
for someone’s father? He knew better than that. He knew if

someone had said leave Fenn, leave Tom forever… But still it
hurt that he didn’t matter enough to Ruthven.
“Dill…” Ruthven said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t do that,” Dylan wriggled away.
“You’re my best friend.”
“I told you everything,” Dylan said. “I gave you everything.
You know everything about me.”
“And you know everything about me, Dylan,” Ruthven
said. “And you’ve got Lance.”
“I hate Lance.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” Dylan allowed, at last. “I don’t. I shouldn’t have said
that. But…”
“You and Lance… He’s your friend.”
“I used to think he was my best friend, but you’re my best
friend.”
“You and Lance… Aren’t you guys doing it?”
“It’s not serious,” Dylan said. “It just feels good. It’s just
something we do sometimes when I stay the night. I mean, I
know he does it with girls, and I don’t have anyone.”
“Well, you have me.”
“That really isn’t the same, now is it?”
“No,” Ruthven admitted, tentatively. “I guess it isn’t.”
“It’s worse now,” Dylan said. “Cause sometimes when me
and Lance fool around I… I come quicker thinking about
you.”
Ruthven bristled and moved away from him.
“You shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why?”
“You just…. It blurs lines,” Ruthven said.
Dylan hid his shame by shrugging and saying, “Alright.”
“Don’t ever talk like that again,” Ruthven told him.
Dylan nodded, and they sat rigid on opposite ends of the
bed.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Interesting to read even more of Dylan's history. He has been through a lot that I didn't know about. Hopefully Fenn isn't too mad at him for what he and Lance do. I know they are underage and everything but they aren't harming anyone. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well,there is much more to come. You haven't met the half of it.

 

[ChrisGibson]

BIRDS DO IT

CONTINUED

A few days later Ruthven was gone.
Dylan emailed:

I said what I said because you told me you liked guys too. You said you
felt that way about guys sometimes so I thought it was okay to tell you
that.
-Dylan
From California, Ruthven wrote back:
It’s okay to tell me anything. I didn’t mean to overreact. It just made me
feel funny.
-Ven
Funny how?
- Dill
Ruthven wrote back.
Funny horny-
Dylan pondered this for a while, and then he decided to IM his
friend. He didn’t want to call him. He wanted this in print, and
he wanted it quicker than e-mail. Ruthven replied quickly.
What’s up?
It’s what you said.
Okay?
You said that what I said—about thinking about you—made you horny.
Yeah, I guess.
Does that mean you want to have sex with me?
Dylan, don’t.
You have to explain it. You have to explain us.
I love you. You’re my cousin, and I love you.

I’m not really you’re cousin. Even if I was Fenn’s biological son, I
wouldn’t really be your cousin. We’re not related.
No, I guess not.
Why don’t you tell me what’s up, you’re confusing me.

It was a while before Ruthven wrote back, and then it came
in a pile of sentences.
I’m not like you. It couldn’t be like you and Lance. I think Lance is a
fucking pinhead anyway. I’ve been with guys. I topped one of my friends
last summer and I let him fuck me. But that’s just fun. Or curiosity, or
whatever. I mean I like it, I do. But… not with us.
I didn’t say we should do it.
You kind of did.
Fuck you.

Dylan closed the computer slowly, fighting his rage, and
decided to go out with Laurel.
When he got back home, he opened his laptop, half hoping,
half afraid there would be a message from Ruthven. There was,
and it said only:

I’m afraid because I know I’m supposed to be like your brother. But every
time I’m with you I want more, and I think that I know I’m in love with
you.
-R.

After that, life simply became easier. There wasn’t any appeal
in what he had been doing with Lance. In fact, he felt a little
ashamed of it. He thought of how his parents would feel, how
his friends would feel. He knew he couldn’t tell Laurel. She
would be so shocked, and why shouldn’t she be? Up until now,
Dylan never thought of how, if someone his age had told him
they’d been sexually active with another thirteen year old, he’d
feel strange about it. The things he did with Lance, Lance who
was currently fucking girls and would probably get one
pregnant, embarrassed him.

But the thought of Ruthven did not. Ruthven was turning
seventeen at the end of the school year, and please could Dylan
come to California and visit for a few weeks? Neither one of
them talked about what would happen. They couldn’t. It hung
in the air like some glowing cocoon that, if touched too soon,
would be ruined. Dylan didn’t ask Tom about the trip. He
asked Fenn, sensing that Fenn understood matters of the heart
even when they weren’t fully explained. And Dylan couldn’t
explain this.

“Can I go to California and visit Ruthven?”
Fenn said yes.
Fenn had added the caveat that he had to ask Tom and blah
blah blah, but the answer was yes, and on the last day of school
Tom and Fenn had driven him to Chicago. They’d gone to
O’Hare and seen him off. He felt protected by them, but the
moment he was going to the gate and on the plane, he felt free
and independent. Dylan Mesda wanted to shout “Wee!” as
they went into the air.

He had forgotten what Ruthven looked like. No, he had
forgotten what it was like to be in his physical presence. As
soon as they saw each other that evening, they crashed
together, clasping, back clapping like any other two boys. But
Ruthven felt so good. He was in faded jeans and a yellow tee
shirt, and he felt so real and he was reddened, as usual, by the
sun, and now he had a little growth of beard. Dylan wanted to
put his arms around his warm friend and hold on and not let
go. They drove all around town and Dylan thought that
California was hot and full of sprawl. He wanted to see where
Ruthven and his father were living now.
“It’s great. We’ve got a hot tub. Let’s go. Oh, you want to
shower off first.”
Dylan did, and Ruthven had some trunks laid out for him.
He grabbed Dylan’s arm and, laughing, dragged him back
through the house to the tub.
“Ouch!”
“It’s not that hot,” Ruthven said.

“No, but it’s hotter than I thought it would be. Do you use
this in the day?”
“Just the night. We’re close to the desert so it’s cold
enough.
“How was your year?”
“It was alright. I mean, nothing happened. Not really.”
“Yeah, I know. School’s a fucking drag.”
“You got any friends?’
“I always have friends,” Ruthven said. “But not like… folks
I’m close to.”
Dylan was about to point out that technically this made
them acquaintances. This was the legacy of being the son and
stepson of two English majors.
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Well…”
His foot kept touching Ruthven’s, and suddenly Ruthven
grinned and approached him. It was so off putting, seeing
Ruthven look flirtatious, cock his head, grin at him, look, for
lack of a better word, a little bit gay.
“Why are we talking about all this?” Ruthven said, his
hands on Dylan’s hips.
Dylan instantly felt his penis lifting, curving up, becoming
hard.
“I dunno,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Can we kiss?”
Not waiting for an answer, Ruthven wrapped his arms
around Dylan and pressed his mouth to the younger boy’s. It
felt so good.
It felt so good to be in Ruthven’s arms, kissing him,
pressing his hands into his hair, kissing up and down each
other’s chests, pressing their bodies together. It felt so good to
wrap his thighs around Ruthven’s waist, and his legs were
gently bringing Ruthven’s trunks down.
Ruthven smiled at him, and then kissed him again. He bent
down, and then Dylan let him remove his trunks. He let
Ruthven take the thickness of his penis into his mouth and he
closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the tub while Ruthven
sucked on him, licked up one side of his shaft and then the
other, taking him in.

“Do it to me,” Ruthven said tenderly, and Dylan did. He
was amazed at how wonderful it was to have his friend in his
mouth, to try to take him as far as possible, to listen to his
moans, to Ruthven’s fingers loose in this hair, tightening on his
scalp, murmuring, “Oooh, ohh, Dylan, Oh, baby… Oh, Dylan,
I love you.”
And then when they faced each other, trunks down, bodies
pressed together, still kissing, Ruthven’s voice was barely
audible over the motor of the hot tub.
“Fuck me?” he said.
Dylan kissed him, and pressing his face into Ruthven’s
chest. Feeling the strength and the heat of his arms he
murmured, “Yes.”

Ruthven’s father didn’t come home until the middle of the
next day, but by the morning things were already odd. Dylan
woke up by himself, and when he found Ruthven, he was
making breakfast. He went to hug him from behind and
Ruthven received it stiffly.

“I hope you like pancakes,” he said, and his voice was
strange because, though it was high and happy, there was
something lacking in it, like a tinny recording. They ate and
Dylan thought against touching Ruthven in any way. And then
they washed dishes together and Ruthven said, “You wanna go
out to the pool?”
“Of course.”
Dylan thought that maybe what had begun yesterday would
continue, but Ruthven only lay on the side of the pool. He
looked so beautiful to Dylan, his mouth half open, black
sunshades over his eyes, and he lay only in the small briefs
Dylan had pulled away yesterday. When Dylan flicked him with
water, he didn’t get angry, but he did say, “Hey, knock it off a
bit. Just let’s chill out.” Dylan shrugged and dipped into the
pool himself, doing some laps. When he came out of the water
he leaned over Ruthven. His lips were so red and perfect, he
bent down and kissed them.
“Dylan, that’s enough.”
“You’re right,” Dylan said. “That is enough.”
He went across the concrete patio, and pushed open the
door. “Where’s the phone?”

Ruthven sat up, pushing his shades off and looking a little
drunk.
“Wha? You know where the phone is.”
Which was true.
“Whaddo you need the phone for?”
To say this: “I’m going to call home. If it’s going to be like
this, why stay?”
Dylan had already perfected the art of storming out in as
masculine a fashion as possible. Ruthven hopped up and
caught his wrist as they came into the living room.
“Don’t do that, Dill. please. I’m sorry.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“I’m just trying to do right.”
“Last night we… And then now… How are you being
right?”
Ruthven looked miserable.
“Last night I caved in to my temptations and today I’m
trying to remember myself. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“It was alright.”
“I think it was statutory rape for one thing. I’m your cousin
for another. I don’t care about the whole gay thing. But…
We’re supposed to be more than this. And yesterday I just got
so horned up.”
“Horned up?” Dylan pulled his wrist away. “That’s what
yesterday and last night was about?”
“That’s not all it was about,” Ruthven explained. “But,
obviously that’s what some of it was about. I wanted you so
bad.”
“And you had me. Or let me have you,” Dylan said. “And
apparently that’s what you wanted so…”
“Please!” Ruthven begged, balling his hands into fists and
shutting his eyes.
“No! You asked me to come out to California, and we both
know what for. And then I come out and do everything we
did. We make love last night and sleep in the same bed and
then when I wake up you’re gone and you’re making pancakes
and—”

“I’m seventeen and you’re fourteen. I’m a grown man and
you’re a kid. We’re practically related. In what the fuck world is
this right, Dylan?”
Dylan gritted his teeth and blew out his cheeks.
“I don’t know. Look, I know lots of things that happen
everyday between lots of people who shouldn’t be doing them.
But you said you loved me and I said I loved you, and that
should count for everything.”
“But it doesn’t,” Ruthven said. “And I’m scared.”
“Well…” Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know what the fuck to
do for you.”
“Stay with me,” Ruthven said. “Stay with me. Last night it
was so intense, and then this morning, just like watching a
porno or something I could see it all from a distance. I could
see me asking you to do what you did. I could see us doing it,
and I could see myself out of control. And…” Ruthven shook
his head.
“Please Dylan…”
“You’re supposed to be the older one,” Dylan said. “That’s
all the fuck you’ve been talking about. Well, if you’re the older
one, why don’t you help yourself?”

Dylan turned around and went toward his room. That was
supposed to be Ruthven’s room too. They could have had all
day together without explaining anything to his father, and
here Ruthven was, screwing it up. Shoving a ball cap on his
head, Dylan went out the door, and on his way.
Dylan didn’t go far because he didn’t know where he was, and
soon Ruthven’s truck was pulling up beside him.
“You had your dramatic scene then, a’right? Now you can
get in the car. I played along. I followed you.”
Dylan stopped.
“Get in the car.”
Dylan shrugged and climbed in while Ruthven said, “I
doubt Lance would do that for you.”
“Lance can’t drive.”
“Are we good?”
“How can you ask that? Of course we’re not.”
“Dill, we’ve got our whole lives. Can we take it slower? Can
you…? Is it enough for you to know how I feel, and we can
just take it slower?”

“If I was fifteen would you feel different?”
“Maybe. But when you are fifteen I’ll be eighteen. You’re
still a kid.”
“And you’re not?”
“That’s not the point,” Ruthven said as he turned the truck
around on the wide, abandoned road. “The point is that we’re
both kind of still kids and, like I said, the feelings that us
having sex bring out in me, they scare me when it’s over. The
whole idea of what we’re doing scares me. I realize you don’t
get scared of anything—”
“I never said that,” Dylan said.
“Then what?”
“I’m scared of a lot,” Dylan said. “But… even when I’m
scared of the sex, it’s like a roller coaster. I’d rather be scared
than not take the ride, and I’ve only been with Lance until
now. I wanted us to be together all this time and… I’m not
scared of us. Why should I be?”
As they neared the house, Ruthven said, “Dylan I love
you.”
“Well, I love you too.”
“No, I mean, I wish I could be more like you. I want to be
more like you.”
Here was an area of scrub and a few large houses, white in
the sun. They were so close to being in nowhere. Dylan said,
“Just… I want to wake up with you. Don’t promise anything
else except you’ll come to me tonight, and sleep in bed with
me. So we can be together.”

Sun reddened, the little streak of caramel colored beard on
his chin, and the day’s growth of moustache looking sweet to
Dylan, Ruthven looked at him so tenderly Dylan was almost
afraid they’d drive off the road.
“I can do that,” he said.

 

[CharmedFan28]

You were right there is a lot more to the story of Dylan's past. I don't know where this story is going but I am enjoying it. Ruthven is being a bit confusing but I can see why he is that way with the age difference. Great writing and I look forward to the next portion!

 

[ChrisGibson]

NOTE: IF RESPONSES COME LATE INTO THE NIGHT, I MAY NOT BE ABLE TO REPLY UNTIL POSTING TIME TOMORROW




Todd’s brother came back that afternoon, and he took them
out for pizza without beer.
“You’re not even close to old enough,” he said to Dylan,
taking the beer menu away.
Dylan shrugged and frowned, and Ruthven whispered,
“Dad lets me do it.”

“Sometimes,” his father lifted a finger. “Sometimes.”
“So, how’s my brother and sister?” Ryan asked.
“Todd’s working on a new film.”
“Well, I knew that. He didn’t tell me much about it.”
“He didn’t tell me anything about it either,” Dylan said. “I
guess I should have asked.”
“I guess there is no reason you would have,” Ruthven’s
father noted. “There’s no reason teenagers should care about
what grown ups do.”
“Grown ups don’t really care about what we do,” Ruthven
pointed out.
“That’s not true,” his father said.
“Well, you. But you’re different. And you still have to be
gone half the time.”
While Dylan was coming out of the shower that night, on the
other side of the door he heard Ruthven and Ryan talking.
“Are you sorry we moved here?”
“No. We had to.”
“There were other things. It could have been different.”
“I’m fine.”
“I can’t be here all the time. I wish I could, guy. It’s not
right.”
“I told you, it’s fine. And… the pool and everything.
And… there’s a party tonight. Parties every night.”
“You’re taking Dylan?”
“Yeah.”
This was news to Dylan, and he suspected it was news to
Ruthven, that he’d just thought of it.
There was silence for a while on the other side of the door
and Dylan, hair sticking up, remembered to continue drying
himself.

“A boy should have a mother,” was all Ryan said.
They drove into town that night, Ruthven’s van skipping over
rocks and jumping over the sand as it turned into the crowded
front lot of a house with all the lights on and music blaring.
“Just stick by me,” Ruthven said.
Ruthven took his hand and moved Dylan through the cars
and into the house where the bright lights shown on people
who reminded Dylan of depressed versions of all the hot girls
and guys on the sales banners in an Aeropostale store. Just like
in those stores he felt like he didn’t belong. He felt like he
didn’t know where he was, and when he looked around, he
realized Ruthven looked just like everyone else. He wanted to
cling to him and knew he couldn’t, not here. Ruthven’s hand
was on his back, steering him about, and suddenly a dark
haired guy, and a red headed guy called to him.
“This is my cousin,” Ruthven introduced him. “Dylan.”
Well, cousin was the only description that really made sense
in a pinch, and they could have been related.
“From Indiana?” Robb offered his hand for a low five.
“Alright!”
Dylan didn’t know Indiana was so exciting.
“Who wants a beer?” Kirk said. Kirk was taller than
Ruthven, longer faced with green eyes, a little hot in a strange
way. “Dylan wants a beer.”
They reminded him of Chay and Sheridan, not because they
looked like them, but because he missed older guys who took
care of him, who he crushed on a little bit.
“Where’s Lena?” Ruthven asked.
Robb shrugged.
“Somewhere around here. This house is fucking crowded.
“I’m gonna go get some beers, and the den is pretty not
full,” Kirk told them. “Oh, by the way, there’s a little tokey
tokey in my pocket.”
To Dylan, Kirk looked like he was holding a flute, and he
looked at Ruthven who explained, “Weed, Dylan.”
“You feeling it yet?” Kirk smiled at Dylan.
“Yeah,” Dylan said, passing the joint. “A little.”
Ruthven shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
“A little,” Dylan protested.
“You usually have to do it a few times before you really
start to feel it,” Robb said. From the look of Robb, Dylan
knew he was feeling it.
“I hardly ever do it at all,” Ruthven explained.
“Ey, come here,” Kirk said to Ruthven.
“What?”
“Come here,” Kirk said. But it was Kirk who came to
Ruthven.
“Open your mouth.”
Ruthven did, and Kirk leaned forward and exhaled grey
smoke into his mouth. His mouth closed on Ruthven, who
pulled his face back and said, “Not here, man.”
“Oh,” Kirk shrugged. “Well,” he backed off. He pointed to
Dylan. “You and him got something going on?”
“No!” Ruthven protested so fast that it hurt. And then he
caught himself and said, “What if we do?”
“Isn’t he your cousin?” Robb said, his voice thick as he
took a toke deep into his lungs.
“We’re not really related,” Dylan found himself explaining.
White smoke left Robb’s lungs as he said, “Yeah…
Complicated.”
Even as the smoke was dissipating, Kirk laughed, and then
he crawled onto Robb and began kissing him. Dylan frowned
and looked at Ruthven.
Ruthven said nothing, but as Kirk’s mouth moved away,
Robb shrugged and said, “Kirk’s sort of bi, you know? He’s
crazy.”
That was all the explanation he gave, and the two of them
were making out on the sofa, Kirk’s blue jeaned thighs
wrapped around Robb.
Dylan’s face prickled. He didn’t look at Ruthven. Well, if he
had fooled around with Lance, he imagined that these were the
guys Ruthven had fooled around with.
Kirk turned away from Robb whose face was red and
intoxicated looking.
“You guys wanna get something going?” he said.
“Uhhh…” Dylan’s throat was dry.
“No,” Ruthven’s refusal was gentle. His protective hand on
Dylan’s was gentle as well. “We’ll just… let you guys get to it.”
He stood up and gestured to Dylan.
Dylan looked back to the sofa where he saw Kirk leaning
over Robb, his blue jeaned butt in the air, and Robb was
pulling up Kirk’s shirt.
“Shut the door on your way out guys,” Robb said, and
Ruthven nodded, pulling out Dylan and then shutting the
door.

They were back in the party. Dylan was quivering because
half of him wanted to go back in there, hear it. Watch.
“Let’s get something to drink.” Ruthven pulled Dylan
through the crowd to the table.
“Ven, who’s the cutey?” a girl with breasts falling out of her
shirt said.
“My cousin, Dill.”
“Hey, Dill. If you’re around for a while you might call me
sometimes.”
“He’s fourteen,” Ruthven bellowed over the crowd.
She shrugged.
“And you’ve got a boyfriend.”
“What he doesn’t know…” the girl shrugged. She kissed
Dylan on the forehead and moved away.
“Who was that?”
“Vanessa,” Ruthven told him.
“Is her boyfriend here?”
“Yeah,” Ruthven said. “It’s Kirk.”
When Dylan blinked at him, Ruthven said, “Everything’s
not always so clear cut.”
“I guess.”
Then Dylan said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“I guess.”
“You got a girlfriend? Girlfriends?”
“Me. No. Not really. I know how I feel.”
“You and Robb and…”
“Do we have to talk about that?”
“No,” Dylan decided. “I kind of wanted to stay,” he said.
Ruthven looked at him.
“I didn’t want to do anything with them. But… I wanted to
stay. Maybe do something… With us. I dunno.”
Ruthven’s hand gripped his in the crowd.
“I was scared, but I was curious. I’m still curious. I want to
see,” said Dylan.
Ruthven pulled him through the crowd again and back
down the hall to the room. He put a finger to his lips and
pushed the door open slowly. Dylan came in behind him,
closing the door and locking it, wondering why Kirk and Robb
hadn’t done so. Did they want to be caught? Thought left him
as he saw Kirk and Robb, naked and sweaty and making love,
lips locking, mouths touching bodies, pressing themselves
together.
“You guys came back,” Kirk looked up, his face sloppy
drunk, and he crawled on his hands and knees and Robb was
coming behind him.
“Make it good, Robb.”
Dylan’s dick was hard. He told Ruthven, “Turn out the
light.”
Ruthven nodded and almost as soon as he did, Dylan put
his hands to Ruthven’s waist and he started kissing him. He
started unbuckling his belt. They were going to do this, right
here, right now.
Dylan woke up in the grey darkness, not wanting to move. The
house was silent. His hip hurt a little from the weight of the
thigh draped across it, but he wanted that warmth. His mouth
was half open into someone’s hair and, after wiping the hair
away, he closed it a little, his arms wrapped around a back.
Another body pressed toward his, an arm pulling him a little
closer.
While he and Ruthven had been at it, Dylan became
vaguely aware that Kirk and Robb had stopped and, in the
midst of their pleasure, were now watching them. And then he
wasn’t sure who it was at first began nuzzling the back of his
neck. He found himself between Ruthven and another and
Ruthven, at first, stopped, shocked. Then he kept on. Soon
Dylan blinked and saw that, behind him Kirk was kissing
Ruthven’s neck, opening his mouth and running it up and
down Ruthven’s body. Now he knew he was with Robb and
Robb was gently laying him on his back and lying his body
across him. Somewhere in the middle of this, when Robb had
sat astride Dylan and, planting his hands on Dylan’s chest, took
him deeper and deeper inside of his tightness, in the middle of
the hot, shocking pleasure, Dylan turned to see Ruthven
fucking Kirk accordion style, his face set firmly in lust, and
dripping with sweat. He turned to Dylan, looking more with
pleasure and adoration than anything else. He leaned away
from Kirk, kissed Dylan savagely on the mouth, and kept
fucking Kirk. Dylan closed his eyes and on his back, let Robb
take him. In less than an hour he had planted his face deep in
Kirk’s ass, and still a little later, on hands and knees on the sofa
he was letting Robb fuck him, feeling Robb’s hands pull his
hair back. More of Robb’s fingers entered his mouth, where he
sucked them. All that night, until they were worn out and
exhausted, curiosities satisfied and lust fulfilled, there wasn’t
anything they didn’t do.
By feel he understood it was Ruthven’s body he was hugging.
It smelled of bread and heat and funk. Beyond Ruthven he did
not know, because he did not know who was holding him, but
that one got up and stretched, naked. Dylan watched him. He
went to the side bathroom, scratching his ass. The yellow light
poured weakly onto this floor and Dylan heard him piss. He
pulled himself up. He had to go too, and all of him was excited
and curious.
Casually stepping into the bathroom, he peed too, and it
was Robb beside him, chuckling a little.
“You’re still fucking stiff,” he said, touching Dylan’s cock.
“You still ready to go?”
“A little,” Dylan admitted.
“Fucking insatiable,” Robb commented, flushing the toilet.
“Well, you fucking stink. But if you get in the shower with me,
we can fuck around a little.”
Dylan had never known this absolute, stringless freedom, a
freedom Ruthven had brought him to. There was something
exhilarating about it all, and in the shower, he discovered what
free love really was. To have good sex with another person,
you couldn’t hate them. To do the things Robb was doing to
Dylan in that bathroom, you couldn’t be apathetic. There had
to be love, even if it was fragile and impermanent and wouldn’t
last the night. There had to be love even if its main fuel was
lust, and it would be ashamed of itself in the morning.
But in the morning, as they left the house and Ruthven drove,
neither one of them said anything about last night.

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an interesting and hot portion! I did not know what was going to happen at the party but I am glad Dylan had a good time. I don't know if things are going to last between him and Ruthven but I am enjoying the ride. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

A while ago a reader wrote commenting on another story that isn't here, "This is a lot to process," and that was one of my favorite responses, because I never wrote anything to be not a lo to process or to be unambiguous. I know its a very erotic portion, and because I'm writing it from Dylan's viewpoint, it ought to be, but on the other hand, and a hand that is much bigger, it doesn't really matter that Dylan had a good time or a hot time because he is a child and the child of my main protagonist. I don't mean for things to be good or bad or simple, I really mean for them to be uncomfortable because life is uncomfortable and uncertain. No one in these stories goes off to have sex as "fun" or a good time because, for the most part, in real life, no matter what we say, no one has sex for those reasons either. I never set out to make statements about how people should feel. I a not a moralist or a didact, but I have said how the characters feel. You just have to read carefully and not on the surface.

 

[CharmedFan28]

You are right, I did feel a bit uncomfortable because of Dylan's age and didn't bring it up. Nothing is simple about this story and I am sorry if I was oversimplifying my comments.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, it's really no need to feel sorry, and I'm about to post the rest of this interesting chapter. The truth is Dylan's parts are both hot and odd. He is shrewd and very grown up and passionate, and yet grown up a little too fast.

 

[ChrisGibson]

CONCLUSION OF

BIRDS DO IT




Ruthven asked, “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” Dylan admitted. “Mostly sleepy though.”
“I know what you mean. You wanna stop at Mc.Donalds?
There’s one outside of town.”
They stopped at McDonalds. In the car they ate flaky,
greasy breakfast sandwiches, and then came in the house and
talked to Ryan a little.
“You guys weren’t joking. You all are partied out!”
“We were coming home at around eleven. But then some
stuff started, so…”
Dylan found it curious that Ryan Meradan didn’t even think
about asking if there were drugs.
“We’re going off to bed.”
Somehow, in his actions, Ruthven made it very clear that
Dylan was not to follow him, and Dylan was too tired, and too
satisfied, to think much of it right then. He’d deal with it later.
He’d deal with it very efficiently.
He dreamed with such an intensity it was like he was there. He
couldn’t believe he wasn’t there upon waking. In his sleep he
was in Lance Bishop’s room, just waking up with him, the sun
on his long body, and nothing was complicated, Lance was
looking at him, his blue eyes full on Dylan, and a light smile on
his face.
“I love you, Dylan,” he was saying.
And then Dylan Mesda woke up.
His dick was hard with yearning. His heart hurt right now. No
complications. None of this foolishness. He went down the
hall to Ruthven’s room and opened the door. He locked it
behind him. Ruthven was deep in sleep. His snores came up
pronounced. Dylan, in shorts and tee shirt, crawled into bed,
pressing his back into Ruthven’s hot, naked body.
In only a few moments, Ruthven’s snoring changed, and he
shook, moaning, “Dill.”
“Listen,” Dylan said, sharply. “I don’t regret last night. I
think last night we didn’t harm anyone and no one harmed us.
We just did what we wanted. And how many people get to do
that? Even if all three of you can’t look each other in the face, I
don’t regret a fucking thing. I wish you’d stop doing
something, and then getting angry and embarrassed and
turning away from me. I don’t care what you and I do, I never
regret it. I don’t go into anything that I think I’ll regret. I’m not
like that.”
Ruthven was still looking at him with mild wonder.
“Now…. Just move over,” Dylan said, “and give me some
space on this bed.”
And so Ruthven moved over, and while Dylan pulled off
his clothes, Ruthven pressed his body to him, embracing him.
He spent this strange summer having sex with Ruthven, and
before that he’d been sleeping with Lance. Sex was very much
a part of his life, and he had no intentions of it going away. He
didn’t want to be like those born again people or, worse yet,
born again gays, born again sluts, who spent all their time
telling you what they shouldn’t have done, what they wished
had never happened.


Thinking about this summer, thinking about what it felt like
to be with Ruthven, a grown man, a filled out adult as opposed
to Lance, his body cried out for physical contact. He wanted to
touch everything. He wanted to fuck everyone. He didn’t
understand those dreary people who said that once they’d had
sex they were over it. He didn’t understand Sheridan’s
headshaking regret about his past. He did understand the total
zeal that filled Casey Williams, at least in his ads. Would he go
on camera and film his sexcapades? No. Would he want to
make a living screwing people, like Sheridan’s ex, Logan?
Again, no. But could he understand the appeal, the delight in
man after man, and was he tired of just thinking about it?
Indeed. After Ruthven broke things off, he had been hurt, and
he had been angry, but it didn’t stop him from wondering what
it would be like to be with a Black man, an Indian, a tall man, a
short man, the rough looking trucker, that music teacher. He
began to become a young man of desires.


Before he had been gone from Ruthven a month, Dylan
put up an ad, as old looking of a picture of himself as he could,
on Manwave, and before a day was out he was hit up by losers
who used for their profile pictures shots of small penises,
deflated asses or horribly nude bodies, and thought that the
phrase “Can i fuck u in ur ass?” was a come on. Ruthven had
not contacted him or returned his calls, and with an adult dose
of pragmatism, Dylan had moved on.
At first he was amazed at how quickly his Manwave inbox
filled with adoring messages. If Dylan admitted the truth to
himself, he had been feeling distinctly unlovable. But now he
was dismayed by the bad catches that came his way, and by the
end of two weeks, when he was about to get offline and just
end the whole thing, he got a note from an attractive man.
Before he opened the note he looked at the picture. He
seemed to be, perhaps, Todd’s age, maybe a little younger. He
had beautiful, fierce blue eyes that sent a jolt through Dylan,
and straw colored hair that was a little messy. He was in a
purple dress shirt a little tight fitting, and he wore a slim tie.
Dylan imagined he was a professor of some type.
“Would you be interested in meeting me?” was all the note
said.
That could mean a million things, and Dylan knew it.
“Yes,” he wrote back.
This was going to be, gratefully, a game of e-mail tag, long
enough to think about meeting and rethink about meeting and
even cancel out.
“Good,” was the email that came that night. “Where would
you like to meet?”
“There’s a coffee shop on Salem?”


There was the whole business, of course, of going
someplace where no one who knew Dylan would be. And then
there was the fact that, possibly, this man was thinking the
same thing and, added to that, Dylan would have to be home
by nightfall. In the end, there was a coffeeshop on the other
side of the Strip, in Willmington, and Dylan could easily take
the Number Nine from there all the way back to Dorr Street.
“It’s a nice coffeeshop,” the man said when Dylan reached it.
“Yeah,” Dylan stood there with his hands in his pockets.
He remembered himself and sat down.
“I like how in coffeeshops people just leave you to
yourself,” the man with the messy blond hair said.
Dylan nodded.
“So are you a student?”
“Over in Chicago,” Dylan lied. “Why?”
“Nothing,” the man said. “Just I’m a teacher. Have to play
it discreet.”

Well, now that was the most fucking indiscreet thing you could have
said, and God knows I’m not here for your mind or your character!

Dylan nodded.
“You got a name?” he said.
“Ferguson. I teach jazz.”
“Um,” Dylan remarked. “I didn’t know they had jazz class
at Loretto.”
“I didn’t say it was Loretto.”
“Well, where else would it be? Around here?”
The man shrugged.
Dylan took another sip of his coffee. He hadn’t sugared it
because he didn’t really care about it. They were in a booth,
and this was the perfect place for murmuring, “What do you
want to do?”
“How do you mean?” Ferguson said.
Bold, or tired, Dylan reached under the table and felt the
thick knob of Ferguson’s erect penis.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
While Dylan squeezed the pulsing thickness of his erection,
Ferguson leaned forward and confessed, breathlessly, “I want
to fuck you.”
“Good,” said Dylan. “Where at?”
“My car.”
“It’s four in the afternoon and I don’t do that crap.”
“There’s a motel down the road.”
“That’s better.”
“I’d pay,” Ferguson said.
“You’d have to.”




“IS THAT YOUR MACHINE gun?” Dylan gestured to the
case.
“No,” Ferguson said. “This is the gun that I shoot to get
through the day.”
He opened it up.
“Well, holy Armstrong,” Dylan exclaimed, chuckling. “You
really play? Can I hear you?”
“I don’t play like Louis Armstrong,” Ferguson said. “But
yeah.”
Ferguson sat on the edge of the bed, and he took out the
trumpet. As he did, Dylan’s eyes went from the shiny brass to
the bulge in Ferguson’s well fitting khakis.
Whatever he called good, Dylan was instantly hypnotized
by the rapid syncopated rhythm of a song he had heard on
Lee’s stereo once. He hadn’t known it, but he loved hearing it.
What was more, as he listened, he wanted to play it. He wanted
to move up out of himself. He was in a new place, a freer one,
and when Ferguson was finished the teacher grinned at him
and said:
“The jazz bug has gotten you.”
Dylan looked like he was coming off of orgasm, and he felt
that way too, a little. He nodded.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well, is that all you wanted to do,” Ferguson said, putting
the trumpet in his case and the case under the bed.
“No,” Dylan said. “Hell no. Now I’m just a little more
stolted for what I want to do.”
Ferguson came into his arms and his mouth was greedy on
Dylan’s. Their hands were firm on each other, insistent. They
pressed their bodies together.
“If today works out,” Dylan said, “you wanna teach me
trumpet.”
Ferguson smiled down at him.
“What a strange question.”
“Will you, though?”
“Yes,” Ferguson decided. “But first, let’s make today work
out.”

That afternoon, in a room in Willmington down the street
from the coffeeshop, Dylan marveled at the joy of undressing
another man whom he had never known. He thrilled to the
beauty of an adult body, the hair on his chest and down his
stomach, the light hairs on his buttocks, the thick lifting of his
cock, how the clothes on a normal man came off to reveal the
lover within, and quickly Dylan put him in his mouth and tried
to take his penis to the back of his throat. He waxed it with his
mouth the way he’d seen in the pornos, and licked his balls and
they went to the bed and Ferguson did the same to him. He
closed his eyes while Ferguson’s wet mouth sucked on him,
pulling the seed out of his cock, and his body trembled with
the first orgasm he’d had with a total stranger, the first sex
without baggage. When Ferguson had the condom on, Dylan
moved himself to sit on him, to take him in. At first, he held
his breath with the stiffness, the pain arriving in his ass. He sat
down for a while, rocking the cock into him.
“Are you alright?” Ferguson whispered tenderly.
“Yeah,” Dylan said, lifting up and then down, lifting up and
then down.
“Yeah… I’m real alright.”
Dylan closed his eyes, planting his hands on Ferguson’s
chest and took him deep, deep inside. He began to rock him
slowly, deeper inside of him.
And so they began.

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I think Dylan is playing with fire looking for sex at his age online. Maybe it will work out though I don't know. Ferguson seems like a nice guy so at least there is that. Excellent writing and I look forward to more in a few days! I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, Dylan is a very smart cookie, too smart for his own good but don't forget 1.) this whole chapter is in the past so we already sort of know how Dylan turns out and number 2.) we've already met Ferguson earlier on (but also later on because its in the present) He certainly isn't a molester. He has no idea that Dylan is fourteen/fifteen, but what Ferguson is: who knows?

 

[CharmedFan28]

I thought Ferguson was familiar. I must keep remembering what is in the past, sometimes I forget lol.

 

[ChrisGibson]

It would be easier to remember n book form. When Bryant becomes chair of the music department, he has a momentary flirtation with Ferguson, the married man at Loretto College who is in Bryant Babcock's department.

 

[ChrisGibson]

SIX

FENN DOES IT


Fenn came down the stairs slowly, and no one down below
was paying attention because, not knowing what he had seen,
why would they? He was still holding the blanket to his middle,
and Todd looked up at him in concern when, suddenly, Lance
Bishop, half dressed, half tumbled down the stairs looking
terrified, looking at no one, then bolted through the side of the
house and went out the door.
“What the hell’s going on?” Layla said.
Fenn put the blanket down on the landing while the rest of
them went to look out the side windows at the form of Lance
sprinting into the night, and Fenn sat down heavily in the
nearest chair.
Todd came to him.
“I need to go upstairs,” Fenn murmured, dazed. “I need to
go check on him.”
“Fenn?”
Fenn put up a hand, and then he pulled himself up. He
looked, for the first time, old, past fifty, with pains in the
knees. He turned around, and took himself up the steps.
Dylan’s door was still open, and it was dark in his room.
Fenn could hear his son sobbing into the pillows, and as he
came in, by the hall light he could see Dylan, covers to his
neck, curled in a terrified ball. Dylan moved further from him,
still trembling. Fenn approached, and placed his hand on the
boy’s head.
“Dylan, look at me.”
When Dylan wouldn’t, when he just went on weeping and
trembling, Fenn said. “Well, then don’t look,” as he stroked his
son’s hair. “You just go to bed right now. You just calm down.
We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
When Dylan’s sobbing grew louder, Fenn said, “Or we
won’t.”
And then he added, “And we won’t tell Tom.”
Dylan stopped and turned around. In the dark all Fenn saw
was the wetness of his face.
“Hold on,” Fenn said.
He stood up and went out of the room. A moment later he
came back and said, “Show me your face.”
When he had, Fenn put his cold cloth against it. He wiped
his son’s face and he kissed the boy on his forehead. Fenn
pulled Dylan to him. Dylan was limp, but he felt heavy.
“You know sooner or later we have to talk about
something. You can’t completely leave me in the dark. When
have you ever left me in the dark? And when does not talking
to your father help? Go to bed,” he said, tenderly. Standing up,
after he had run a hand over his son, he went out of the room
and closed the door. He couldn’t let himself think about this
too much. He had to ride above this for a little while.
Coming down the steps he saw that everyone else had
returned to real life, and Layla was on the phone. She put the
phone to her chest as she saw her uncle coming down the
steps.
“It’s Brendan.”
Fenn held out his hand and Layla brought it to him.
“Bren. Hey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing good. I got this case. It’s the big one, I think.
Tied to the governor and everything. Well, anyway, I’m at the
office right now—”
“It’s eleven o’clock at night.”
“Yes. Well… the point is I’m going to be here a lot of
eleven o’clocks. I haven’t seen Kenny in three days. And you
know what I walked in on him doing?”
“He’s a grown, lonely man and he can masturbate as much
as he wants to.”
“No!” Brendan waved that away. “He was crying. He had…
don’t you dare tell him I said this, cause Kenny’s not flamy and
all that. But he’s having such a breakdown here. He hates it,
and he’s so lonely and—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fenn said, “We’ll be there in the
morning.”
Brendan paused.
“Really?”
“Yes, Bren. Really. Not Layla, cause she’s been called in to
read. But, we’ll be there in the morning.”
He handed the phone back to Layla and told Todd, “I’ve
got to go to bed.”
“That’s great, babe,” Todd said. “But I don’t know if I can
do tomorrow morning.”
“Can you get me up to the train station in Miller?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Fenn said. “That’s what matters.”


When Fenn woke up the next morning, before he went to the
bathroom, while his bladder was still stabbing him, he reached
over Todd and took his cell phone. He called Tom quickly, and
then hung up.
Walking on his feet first thing in the morning hurt, and he
needed to rub and stretch them out a little. Wrapping the
housecoat around what he considered a body of lessening
glory, he went to Dylan’s bedroom, pushed open the door and
then, sitting on the bedside, shook his son and whispered,
“Wake up.”
Dylan grunted a little, but he opened his eyes.
“Time to get up.”
“School isn’t for—”
“You’re not going to school. We’re going out of town.
You’re coming to Chicago with me. Get showered and
dressed. I’ll make breakfast.”
Fenn got up and went to the bathroom before waking up
Todd, and then going downstairs to turn on the coffee pot.
Ordinarily he would come back upstairs and sleep some more,
or even put the coffeepot on the timer so that it would have
been ready when he got up, but this morning he dozed in a
chair and listened to the shower water running that said Dylan
was in it.
When Dylan came down, Fenn pushed a mug of coffee
before him and said, “I made my specialty, frozen waffles,”
while Todd, newly arrived, yawned and set a pot to boiling for
poaching eggs.
“The train leaves in about an hour and a half, and it will
take us half as long to get to the station.”
“Where are we going?” Dylan said.
“I told you.”
“Chicago’s a big city.”
“We’re going to see Brendan and Kenny. Or more
specifically: Kenny. He’s down in the dumps, and when you’re
feeling down, the best thing to do is bring someone back up.”
Fenn touched his son’s head and then poured creamer into
his red coffee mug.
“Where are my cigarettes?”
Todd handed him one.
“Great… I’m going upstairs to finish what I started.
Where’s that book I was reading?”
No one knew it, so no one found it, and Fenn took his cup
of coffee, his cigarette, and an ashtray and headed up the back
stair.
When he was gone, Todd, who had been looking at Dylan,
said, “You alright?”
“I’m embarrassed,” was all Dylan said.
“Yes,” Todd said. “It can be embarrassing. Getting caught.
Being young. Being above your head.”
Dylan nodded. He said, “When Dad opened that door I
thought I was going to die. I wish I had.”
He took a sip from his coffee. “I still feel that way.”



When Julia Amanetti walked into her new Dean of Music’s
room she said: “Alright, what the fuck are you so cheerful
about?”
“Such language,” Bryant said, pinching her cheek and
kissing her. “Why not be happy on a day when the world is
new and the sun is shining and I’m about to give my first
lesson in history of Chant?
“And when I am finally learning about jazz. I should have
learned about it years ago.”
Julia put out a hand. “Alright, help me because my queerdar
is spinning, and it’s about to fucking fall apart. You and
Ferguson?”
“I’m having a great time with him.”
“You all aren’t—” Julia started, and then she cut herself off.
“You know what, it’s really none of my business.”
“No, it really isn’t,” Bryant told her with a smile. “But
you’re cute when you want to be interfering.”
The phone rang.
“You can get that,” Julia said while he looked at her.
Bryant shrugged and picked up the phone.
“Uncle BJ?”
“Shelley.”
“Yeah… I was about to head out the door to the store, and
my back hurts like hell. So I wanted to know now, before I buy
the food, are you still coming to dinner?”
“Yes, I’m coming to dinner. But if you’re feeling bad, I’ll
just stay home.”
“Even if you stayed home, Claire and her brother and Kirk
and Julian and the kids would still be coming. So don’t stay
home on my account.”
“Well, then I’ll be there. But… Do you want me to get
anything for you?”
“Yeah, I want you to get off the phone. I’ll see you tonight.
Oh, bring some of that pretentious music major wine.”
“Shelley, sometimes I think you have no respect for what
most of your family does.”
“Only sometimes?” she said. “See you tonight, Beej.”
She hung up the phone and then Bryant, still holding the
receiver, said, “Julia, you were in the middle of telling me
something.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes you—oh,” Bryant remembered. “No, I was in the
middle of saying something. I was in the middle of wondering
why my relationship to Nick Ferguson mattered so much.”
But before Julia could answer, someone else walked into
the room. He was the same height as Julia, shorter than Bryant,
compact and handsome with a five o’clock shadow.
“Chad,” Bryant said.
“Dr. Babcock,” Chad North said.
“Welcome to the department.”
There was quiet and then Julia said, “This will be just like
old times.”
“No, I don’t see that,” Bryant said.
Chad said, “Well, it will be just like these times, Julia. And
we’ll start all over again. We’ll be starting from scratch. That’ll
be exciting,” he added.
Julia, making an apparent effort at brightness, agreed.
“It’s going to be something, alright. I think with you back
and Bryant back it’s really going to—”
“Give energy to the department,” Bryant joined in.
Chad blinked at him. Apparently Bryant was playing along.
“Uh…” Chad decided to play along as well, “you all were
talking about Nick Ferguson.”
“Right?” said Bryant.
“THE Nick Ferguson?”
“We didn’t know there was a the Nick Ferguson.”
“Yes,” Chad said, glad to be able to make conversation.
“Well known in the music field as is his rivalry with the literary
critic, Jane Ferguson.”
“Um,” Bryant stuck out his lip. “He’s got a sister.”
“Huh?” Chad blinked at the same time Julia was about to
open her mouth.
“He may have a sister,” Chad allowed. “But Jane Ferguson
teaches here in the English department. And she’s his wife.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am glad Dylan did not get into too much trouble. Poor Kenny, I hope the visit from his friends can help him with his depression. Looks like Bryant has learnt that his crush is married and from Chad of all people. Its going to be interesting to read what happens with him. Great writing and I am enjoying this story a lot at the moment! I look forward to the next part soon. I hope you are having a nice weekend!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Oh crap, I thought I had responded. Well, yes, now there is a great deal going on, with Bryant and Chad, with Kenny and Brendan and especially with Fenn For Fenn I just kept thinking about the times when I wished my parents had been better parents and kept their thoughts to themselves. Fenn is going through a great deal, but has put it aside to be a parent, which is what I hope I would do. This story is called the Lovers in Rossford, but can you guess one of the most important relationships that I had in mind?

 

[CharmedFan28]

Maybe the relationship between Fenn and Dylan but I could be wrong. It just seems like a relationship that is central to the story at the moment.