The Skin of Things

[ChrisGibson]

I can't really communicate how much everything you said means to me. I am so glad you are enjoying reading, and I try to put a little bit of something up every night before bed, so continue enjoying. As usual, I am slapping my own wrist and telling myself not to give anything away.

 

[ChrisGibson]

The skin of things part two

it was an autumn
and this in winter
late december cold

heated when i remember the shine of your face
and the gloss of your face
and the sweat all on your face,

-Donovan Shorter








YOU'RE SO GUARDED ABOUT THINGS,” Brian said when they sat on Donovan’s sofa, drinking coffee after dinner.
“I’m not guarded. I’m discreet,” Don differed, “because I don’t think everything has to be talked about.”
“But you’ll talk to me. About this guy?”
Don raised an eyebrow.
“The one you think you aren’t talking about all the time. Who’s gone for the summer. Or finding himself.”
“Yes,” Donovan said. “Then, sure. His name is Cade Richards.”
“And what’s he like.”
“He’s a lot younger than me.”
“So the opposite of me.”
“He’s about sixteen years younger than me.”
“Then actually pretty much our age difference. And we still happened.”
“Yes,” Donovan said. “We did happen. But Cade isn’t happening at all right now. In fact, he’s on the other side of the country coming to terms with himself. As I suggested. I told him he should go. I thought it would be a week or two. It’s turning into months.”
“That’s awkward.”
“It’s something.”
“I guess,” Donovan said.
Then he said, “I have lived like a monk for some time now, and I don’t see the point in that since the person I was with is nowhere around and doesn’t seem to be coming back, so the question I ought to ask is what are we doing tonight?”
“What we would be doing all the time if we lived in the same place,” Brian said.
“So are we happening?”
“Yes,” Brian said, “we’re definitely happening.”




The first time Donovan had ever talked to Brian was online, and Donovan was wistful for those days when meeting someone online actually worked, when you could be meet someone golden. Being queer was more of a revelation than people understood. It wasn’t simply that people spent years telling you that you were unacceptable, and then told you, embrace the fact that you’re unacceptable, and then told you that what was unacceptable was now acceptable, you were also almost non existent. After all, how could something seen nowhere else exist? If you could not see yourself in the mirror, how could you exist? And if the feelings that rocketed through your body were full of danger, how could you understand them, speak of them, celebrate them?
The Internet was a boon. All the networks to meet men on a computer in your parents house were a boon and this day, when Donovan was barely eighteen, typing to Brian was the biggest boon of all.
The first time he had met Brian, he was waiting for him in a restaurant back home.
“You look just like I thought you would, just like your picture!” Brian announced, sitting down in front of Donovan.
“You look better.”
Brian burst out laughing. “I knew I’d like you. What should we get?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not hungry either. Or thirsty. But we’re supposed to get something. Right?”
“Water?”
“Will that make them mad?”
“Do you care?” Donovan asked.
Brian discovered he did not.
When the waters came, they talked about this and that only for a little while before Donovan said, “This is awkward. Isn’t it? Just sitting in this café, chatting like we’re on a date.”
Brian leaned across him and said, his voice quieter. “The two of have chatted everyday. All the important stuff I know. I feel silly sitting here shooting the breeze.”
Donovan smiled at him and reached into his bag. He took out a notebook, ripped out a scrap of paper and wrote on it:

Would you feel less silly if we just went across the street and got a room?”

Brian blinked at the paper. He smiled. He took the pen from Donovan’s hand and wrote:

Yes.

 

[xander-n-ky]

Re: The skin of things part two

Uh-ohh, I'm not quite sure I like the end of that conversation between Donovan and Brian and what it could be implying. On the other hand Brian reminds Donovan how he always seems to be talking about Cade.

I can't wait for Cades return and hopefully he comes back at peace with himself. Plus the chemistry between Donovan and Cade is to good to be apart for so long.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

Well, don't forget, this part is in the past, so Donovan hasn't even met Cade yet

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

We continue into Donovan's past with Brian Vaughn.

Everything Donovan Shorter had learned in Catholic school he had jettisoned. He had learned it too late anyway. There was this glorious prize, more or less between his legs, and it wasn’t to be given to anyone but a spouse. This, of course, meant a woman. For a long time this hadn’t been a real issue in his life. Most of his teen years were spent reading books, sketching, sculpting, praying, living in his head. But after seventeen, he and Jason had come closer and closer, and then, after eighteen, one day at his house, he and Jason had begun to kiss, and when they knew that both of them liked it, Jason got up and locked the door and they kept at it. They took off each other’s shirts and kept at it until Donovan closed the blinds and locked the door. They took off their pants and kept at it. They took off their underwear and kicked off their socks, wrapped their arms around each other, pressed their bodies together and kept at it. They discovered love and fell asleep together.

“We weren’t supposed to do that,” Jason said, later on, in the darkness.
“I don’t really care,” Donovan told him. “And I don’t think God does either.”
“No,” Jason said. “I feel the same.”
He and Jason were a none too steady item, and even before they had broken up forever, there had been a few others. Donovan knew who to stay away from. For many people sex was a shameful thing. They tried to keep it tamped down and then now and again it exploded in some crazy and dangerous manifestation. They walked away hating themselves or in some cases murdering you. In school, Donovan had heard about how some people were celibate for love of God and gave themselves to the world that way, but this made no sense. When he wanted to give himself to the world, he gave himself to the world. When he wanted to make love he did it.
He sensed that Brian was much the same. In the motel across the street. when Donovan took out his credit card, Brian said, “Don’t you dare,” and he handed his to the man at the desk and then, with no shame at all, walked Donovan up to the room. He opened the door, closed it and grinned down at him.
“We should have just done this,” Brian kissed him on the mouth, and Donovan, flung his arms around his neck.
“My old friend,” Brian said, his voice half a gasp. They stood there, kissing and running their hands through each other’s hair, down one another’s backs, over belt buckles, back up again. Donovan held Brian’s face in his hands.
“You are so beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Brian said. And they kissed again.
And then Donovan began to undo his shirt, and Brian helped him. Brian undid his pants and Donovan helped him, and soon they were naked and coming to the bed, kissing and tasting and touching, and then lying there linked together.
Donovan lay on his side, looking at Brian lying on his side. He ran his hands over Brian Vaughn’s side, stopped at his hip. He kissed Brian. and Brian waited for the kiss sweetly. He kissed his chin, his throat, he sucked his nipples and Brian moaned. He went down his belly. It had been so long since he had tasted a man, he never got tired of tasting men, he placed his face in the softness of the hair under Brian’s stomach and then, tenderly kissed the shaft of his penis, kissed down, while Brian shuddered, tasted, licked, took him slowly in his mouth.
Brian opened and closed his eyes, and the light through the curtains filled him. Donovan, down below. was pulling light and fire from him. He felt, his hands on Donovan’s back. And hair, so loved, so accepted, so, yes, naked. Then Donovan’s face was before him, and he kissed it.
They stopped, breathing lightly, Brian’s body across him.
“What?” Brian said.
“Nothing,” said Donovan. “Only... I’m so happy now.”
“I know what you mean.”
Brian’s penis, tapered, was firm between Donovan’s thighs. Donovan rubbed his hands through Brian’s sweat damp hair. Brian’s longer, taller.body was warm and moist on top of him.
“Brian?”
“Yes?” Brian’s voice was soft.
“Fuck me.”
Brian sucked on his throat, and then kissed him, thrusting his tongue deeply into Donovan’s mouth. He pressed his body hard against Donovan, hugging him. He placed his cheek on Donovan’s chest.
He said, “Yes.”

When it was over they both lay trembling and shaking, Donovan’s thighs around him, his hands deep in Brian’s hair. They didn’t want to leave that position. They didn’t want to stop holding each other. Slowly Brian turned over, lying on his back, his side pressed to Donovan’s. They didn’t speak right away.
“I haven’t been with… anyone. Not for a while. not like that,” Brian said. “People don’t understand. They think…”
He stopped talking.
Finally he turned around and looked at Donovan.
“Are we friends, or are we not? Because I think we are.”
“I think we are too.”
“I’m just saying there’s nothing casual about casual sex. People don’t understand, you’ve got to be comfortable with someone to do what we just did. And I don’t really know who I can talk to about this and they’ll understand.”
Donovan turned on his stomach, and he put his chin on Brian’s stomach while Brian grinned and tapped out a piano tune on Donovan’s head.
“They will say, oh my God, you met someone online, and then you all just went back and had sex. Oh, my!”
Brian laughed.
“I figure, who cares. If we’re both having a good time. If we’re both giving each other pleasure. God knows no one on this earth wants to give anyone pleasure anymore.”
Donovan could still feel Brian in him. He kissed his stomach, and his navel and his right hip and his left hip, saying:
“Well, you did. You gave me great pleasure, and as long as you’re here we can keep giving each other pleasure. We will pleasure the hell out of each other.”
“I like that,” Brian said.
Donovan came back up and lay his head next to Brian’s.
“How long are you free?” Brian said.
“Till seven.”
“It’s nearly six. Will I see you again?”
“I just said you would.”
“People say so much. Men are so brave… For all of thirty seconds.”
“I’m always brave,” Donovan said.
Brian, hair rumpled, looked at Donovan with deep consideration.
“Of course you are,” he said.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two



The Skin of Things. The Weekend Portion


How are you?

I’m great. What about you?

Good. Happy.

How did whatever you had to go to last night turn out?

It turned out great. Everything’s really great right now.

Are you in class right now?

I am between classes. I am about to go to Eighteenth Century British Lit in a moment.

Oh, that’s good. I should have gotten more lit in my system.

Speaking of lit, I really enjoyed yesterday. I’m glad it happened.

What?”

Donovan typed quickly.

We should get that out of the way, if you were wondering. I’ve actually been thinking about it all day, since it happened.

Me too.

Then, a moment later:

I haven’t been that free with someone in a long time. I keep thinking about it too.

How much longer are you in town?

I don’t know. I shouldn’t have been in town, anyway. I was headed to Maine.

For?

It’s a long story. I could tell it. If you wanted to hear it.

Do you want to get together again?

Quickly the response came.

Yes.

It was followed by:

I wasn’t sure if you would. Or how to ask. Or anything. But yes.

When?

I’m staying with a friend, and he might not be here, but then also, he might

Right.

Then Donovan typed:

My home.

You don’t live alone. You can’t.

I live with my father, but he should be keeping the store. And if anything unexpected happens. then I’ll just have to make you climb out the window. Don’t worry, I’m on the first floor.


The next day, from where he sat on the porch, Donovan waited for Brian’s car, and when he saw it, waved. A moment later a tall, dark haired professional looking man in silver grey slacks and white shirt crossed the street and climbed the porch. Donovan opened the door and let him in. Now, in his father’s house, Donovan was aware of how tall Sena was, and how he smelled of good cologne, and how he was the no child, had to be at least thirty-five. He didn’t dare ask his age. He thought, I will always be with someone much younger, or someone much older.
They looked at each other for a time, and then Donovan brought Brian’s face to his and began kissing him, feeling Brian’s tongue thrust into his mouth, feeling the stubble of Brian’s cheek, Donovan’s hands went to Brian’s gelled hair, down his sides. Brian pulled him tight and through his thin slacks, Donovan felt the hardness of Brian’s penis.
“Come on,” Donovan said, taking Brian’s hand and leading him through the front room, through the dining room, down the hall, and then into his bedroom where, kissing him again, he pushed Brian a little against the door, shut the door, and then locked it.

“I am always getting into trouble,” Brian said, stretching out on his stomach. “And now, to make matters worse, you’re getting me into trouble.”
“I don’t now what you mean,” Donovan told him, He was squatting on his hams, but then he stretched his body out beside Brian, and ran his hand over his shoulder blade, down the small of his back, over the softness of his buttocks.
Lazily, Brian turned and looked at him.
“Do you know that I was in high school when you were born?”
“Does that bother you?” Donovan said lightly.
“Well, yes. A little. Sometimes.”
“Um…” was all Donovan said.
Brian sat up. “Everything about this is just confounding.”
“But you’re smiling when you say that,” Donovan reminded him. “Reality television and our current government is wrong. This is just strange.”
“And what are you?” Brian went on. “You’re not a boyfriend.”
“No. no, I’m not.”
“You’re not, strictly speaking, just a friend. What are you to me?”
“You are awfully concerned about these things.
“I’m me. I’m not your anything.”
At the look on Brian’s face.
“I don’t even know you’re name.”
“You’re Brian Vaughn.”
“Well, I know that.”
“And it just proves,” Donovan went on, “that I’ve listened more to you than you have to me.”
“No, it just proves that you never told me your name.”
“It actually slipped my mind. I thought you knew. I mean, it’s in my screenname.”
“Shorter really is your name?”
Brian’s arms went around him, and he smelled of salt and earth, and his breath was milky. He whispered into Donovan’s ear, “Don’t take this the wrong way—“
“That already sounds bad.”
“Please shut up,” he sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, even though I know I have to go in a few days, even though I can’t stay, even though I would never dream of holding onto you—”
“You wouldn’t? You wouldn’t even dream about it?”
“I’m going to ignore that, and finish saying what I’m trying to say, which is I hope we’ll always be good friends. I hope we’ll always be close like this.”
Donovan reached back so that his hand was in Brian’s thick hair, and he moved around Brian’s head, and then bent back to kiss him on the scalp.
“The two of us, you and me, properly speaking, we are not a relationship. So, maybe it’s just that, improperly speaking we’re a relationship.”
“Yes, and you’re the first real man I’ve been with, and you’re hardly out of childhood—”
“As you keep reminding me, and that’s hardly true.”
“But you’re the first one where I haven’t felt insane. A little crazy. but not insane. What’s his name?”
“Huh?”
“Well, there is someone else. I mean, there is some guy. You don’t have him yet, but he’s there. Or maybe you’re just beginning to know him. It’s not that Jason. You’re over him. Who’s the new guy?”
Donovan pushed himself back against Brian so that both of them lay on the bed and Brian was holding him. He turned to look at the other man and, touching his cheek, said, “On so many levels, talking about another man while I’m bed with another man is so unsexy.”
A small, predatory smile crossed Brian’s lips as his penis stiffened. He kissed Donovan lightly, and squeezed his hips.
“You wanna be sexy right now?”
“Yes,” said Donovan, turning to kiss him. “I want to be sexy.”

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

But after Brian left, he felt so good. That night, in his bedroom in his father's house, he felt like he was melting. He wanted to be with Brian again. Donovan lay on the bed, and reaching for his journal, opened it. He scribbled and crossed out until he had produced a poem.




t h a t

d a y

I remember one leg in the east
another in the infinite west
and you
thrusting through my Mississippi
or my Nile or my Euphrates
threatening to break me with the force of
your sex
with the youth of your sex
and the power of that thing called love

it was an autumn
and this in winter
late December cold

heated when I remember the shine of your face
and the gloss of your face
and the sweat all on your face,

down your eternal body
paused in the illusion of its
middle at the small of your back

relaxed

sighing

that day I was like the goddess enthroned
enthroning
and you were, shaking
quaking
coming,
coming home



The IM on his computer whistled and he jumped up.

HI!

Hey. You. I miss you. Or is that too much to say?

No. I was just thinking about you.

Donovan was about to type, I’m getting hard just thinking about you.

I promise I won’t leave without coming to say goodbye.

You better not.

I will be. I’ll talk to you soon, Don.

Yes, you will, Brian.

The night before he left, Brian Vaughn came over. He crawled through the semi open window and made quite a racket squeezing through.

“I’m going. I’m going tomorrow,” he said. “And then I won’t see you.”

“You can always come back.”

“And I will.”

Brian hugged him quickly and then kissed him. And then they were hugging and kissing and hot and Brian said, “I didn’t know we’d do any of that.”

“I didn’t know we would either. But I hoped we would.”

Kneeling on the bed in the dark of night, Donovan Layton held the lapels of Brian Vaughn’s collar in his hands and Brian looked at him uncertainly.

Then they kissed hard, running their hands through each other’s hair and bodies, gently removing clothes. Donovan had been thinking of how he would regret Brian’s absence with the regret of his body, which was deeper and more aching that any other regret he knew, not taking off these clothes, not running his hands up and down the soft warmth of his skin, not delighting in the light hairs that went up and down Brian, not taking pleasure in pressing his face to the throat and sternum and breast and stomach, and inhaling him with deep breaths. He would have ached with grief if he didn’t have this lovemaking and tasting and taking.

“Do you want me to sleep here?” Brian whispered when their bodies were pressed together, and Brian’s long legs were wrapped around Donovan’s shorter ones.

“Yes,” Donovan said, feeling safe and happy.

“Do you want to be in me tonight?” Brian whispered. “You’ve never been in me. I want you to if you want to.”

Donovan nodded. “I do.”

“Good,” Brian said. “I think I’d be sad if that never happened. I think I want that very much tonight.”

He took a deep breath and squeezed his thighs tighter around him. He hugged him tightly and said, “I love you. And if you love me even a little bit like I do you, then that’s good.”

Donovan, his hands in the soft featheriness of Brian’s dark hair said, in a tone of discovery, “I’m certain I love you at least as much as that.”


Theme Song Blur: Song Two

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

“I hope one day the way you are always there for me, you feel that I am always here for you.”

- Cade Richards








Cademon Richards met his sister in Coloma, and they planned to go on toward New York. He was relieved to not have to talk while he drove. Her husband was leaving her, and she couldn’t carry a child to term. She wondered if she would ever find love. How was Simon? Well, that was too bad with gay marriage being legal and everything. You would have thought that would have taken care of everything. Cade didn’t know what to say to that.

Past eleven o clock they came into Greenfield, and though they had both agreed to stay at the Motel 6 there was, up the street, an old one-story hotel with curtains all along its glass wall and a half-abandoned parking lot. There was a hooded driveway and the light was on.

“It looks so…” Lyssa began.

“Seedy.”

“Let’s stay.”

And so, they did. It wasn’t seedy. The lobby was quiet. The bellhop said there as a pool.

“Will you need two beds or one?” he asked, and Lyssa turned to Cade, not for confirmation, but because the boy with the dark hair and scruff was frankly eyeing Cade.

“We’re friends,” Cade said. “Two beds.”

“A room with two twin beds it is. There’s a pool by the way.”

“We’ll only be staying the night,” Cade said as Lyssa picked up her bag.

“That’s too bad. Here,” the boy in the white shirt and jacket came around the desk. “Let me lead you to your room.”

“There’s nobody else here?” Lyssa heard Cade say.

“Not at this time of night. It’s not like anyone’s coming. This is Greenfield Not Chicago.”

“And I bet even in Chicago the night manager isn’t busy at this time.”

Lyssa thought of adding something, but also thought that this would be out of place.

“And here you go,” the young man said. “Hopefully you noticed the pool. We passed it. It would be a shame not to enjoy it.”

“I’m going to enjoy a long shower,” Lyssa said, walking into the room. “And a good night’s sleep. You can enjoy the pool. I’m going to bed.”

“You hit the shower first,” Cade said, tapping the manager on the arm as he slowly turned to leave. “I’ll go in next and then maybe I will visit that pool.”

“Good for you,” Lyssa said, opening her suitcase and taking her toiletries into the bathroom.

“What time is it now?” Cade asked the manager.

He looked at his watch, raised an eyebrow and said, “It is exactly 11:38.”

“Well,” Cade cleared his throat. “I guess that means I’ll come to that pool at exactly 12:20. It’ll be open then, right?”

“Oh, yes,” the manager said. “It’s open all night.”

“And no one ever comes?”

“Nope,” the manager sighed. “You might say it’s the most private place in the hotel.”

Cade was surprised that Lyssa was asleep by the time he got out of the shower. Towel wrapped about him he went to check his phone and saw that it was ten past twelve already. He dressed casually in shorts and a tee shirt and looked at himself for just a moment. He had avoided looking at himself naked in the mirror. He was twenty-six and though he felt thrown away, he also knew he looked good. He also knew the trick to everything was not to think too much about it. In unassuming red trunks and a v neck t shirt he made his way to the pool and entered the chlorine scented space where fluorescent light shone on the limpid blue pool. He sat down on the edge of the pool and dipped his legs in the water, kicking about slowly. Only a moment later, the door opened to the pool room and the night manager entered.

There was a ripple of water as Cade pulled out his legs and looked up at the night manager, a guy who was good looking, not tall, wavy haired. Pleasant. Suddenly he laughed and the night manager did too.

“I’m Joseph,” he said.

“And you’re free right now?” Cade said.

“I’m as free as I need to be.”

Cade chuckled at that and then said, “I’m Cade. He stood up and he was not quite a foot taller than Joseph.

“You have very nice eyes,” Cade said. And then he said, “In fact, you’re nice all around.”

“Thank you, Cade. Thank you,” Joseph said.

“I wish I could offer you….” Cade gestured to the natatorium, “hospitality. But… as you can see… As you know… I don’t really have a room for such things.”

Joseph gave a small laugh and nodded, touching Cade’s elbow.

“Cade…”

“Richards. I’m not one of those whose afraid to have a last name. Of Wallington, Indiana.”

“Well, Cade Richards of Wallington,” Joseph said. “You are in luck because I happen to be the night manager and that means I have several rooms in which to offer you hospitality. If you’d let me?”

Cade nodded.

“I would be honored to let you.”

 

[Autolycus]

I can't really communicate how much everything you said means to me. I am so glad you are enjoying reading, and I try to put a little bit of something up every night before bed, so continue enjoying. As usual, I am slapping my own wrist and telling myself not to give anything away.

Give nothing away but please do not keep us waiting too long for more

 

[ChrisGibson]

See, your request is already fulfilled!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

The Skin of Things, continued


Cade’s alarm went off and grey light was coming through the curtains into the hotel room. He stretched out in it, turned over on his back and then pushed up and went to the bathroom to piss loudly before collapsing on his back. A half hour more. He wasn’t quite ready to leave a king-sized bed and return to his room with Lyssa.

Last night, or really, five hours ago, Joseph had made polite conversation, and then, when they’d gotten to the room Joseph had reached for his shorts, tugging at them, and Cade had stopped him, to undress him, to pull his trousers and his underwear down and put him on the bed and take his erection into his mouth. He’d needed to suck a cock, and Joseph’s was perfect. He pulled the boy’s clothes off and admired his perfect body. There were so many boys who were perfect and didn’t know it, who didn’t know how soft their skin with a little bit of hair was, how round and firm their asses were, how good the shape and girth of their cocks. Joseph moaned in pleasure until Cade turned him over, and buried his face in his round ass, surprised by the sweetness of it. Joseph had prepared for this it.

He was also surprised when Joseph ended up fucking him. His legs were over his shoulders, and the boy was fucking him rhythmically, desperately. All sex was desperate, that was what made it worthwhile.

“I need to go. I need to go. I should get back,” the boy kept saying while he fucked him, but Cade’s hands were on his thighs and on his firm ass while Joseph’s hands rested on his shoulders, went down his chest, needing to knead him, to feel another man.


They had lain in the dark, and Joseph said, “You don’t have to leave, Cade. You can stay in here tonight as long as you’re gone by seven.”

“Thanks for that,” Cade said. “I didn’t really want to leave.”

There was no snuggling with Joseph, no real pressing body to body. Cade was old enough, had been with enough men to know that the sex having been done. Joseph didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“I better get back to the desk,” Joseph said, climbing out of bed.

Joseph had not bent to kiss him during sex, and so Cade had not kissed him. Or touched his perfect hair.

“I had a… thank you, Cade,” Joseph said, politely.

Cade used to assume that the weirdness that often occurred in sex was because there were so many closeted fags who couldn’t handle what had just happened. But he had talked to enough women, enough straight people by now, to realize no one could really handle intimacy. Sex was the cigarette even after the cigarette was banned, the bad thing you needed to have, wanted to have, would have, but would feel bad for later, would want to be twenty miles from the person you’d been with later. He had thought it was gay men afraid of their lusts because society was afraid of gay men. Now he realized that all of society was afraid of all of desire.

“Goodnight, Cade,” Joseph said.

He opened the door, closed it and left.

It was the dirty ones who were the best lovers. It was the ones who hit you up with a picture of their cock and said they wanted to fuck who stayed around. The polite ones could not last. Sex was not a polite business, and when Cade had pulled on his shorts and tee shirt and left the room, he was not surprised that the person at the front desk was someone new and Joseph had already left.

 

[Kyanimal]

Lovin' the story, and the way you're writing it, Chris. Please keep it UP!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Thanks a lot. I appreciate that. Glad you're reading.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

The Skin of Things continued


You ought to be able to let people go. You can ache and pine and think of the times you had, and the love you made, but after a time you have to do what you don’t want to do, which is let them go. You can make the resolve to do it eventually, or right away, in times when they or you are in danger, or again and again every day. But you have to let them go. These are the things that Donovan Shorter told himself, and even after what happened that day, while Brian was still with him, while he still smelled of Brian’s cologne, and the unique salt smell of Brian’s skin, he never changed his mind from this resolve. It’s always good. Always true. But that afternoon he got the letter and he read the letter. Brian was out on a run then, and when he came back, later on, before they ate dinner, he showed the letter to Brian.

I haven’t written or called, and I’m sorry for that. There isn’t much to say and then it’s been so long since I’ve called, I don’t really trust my words. I have lied so much. Not to you, but to myself maybe. The voice lies so much. It’s almost as if you can’t stand to hear yourself say certain things.

You probably want to know what I’ve been doing? Maybe you wondered if it was interesting, or if I should have taken you. I don’t really wish to talk about everything because the truth is in most of those places they would have been better taking you., In a lot of places I sat there wishing someone was with me. It wasn’t Simon, though he shared my life for so long. I wished for my companion who would understand me, who I hope I understand. That was you, of course.

And do I understand you? I hope I do. Or if I don’t, I hope I do one day. I hope one day the way you are always there for me, you feel that I am always here for you. I hope one day you don’t mind singing corny songs to you.

Do you know the worst part of a letter? You’re always trying to justify them, make them long enough, wonder if you’ve said everything you need to say. The longer the letter gets, the more you think, I need to write more. More must be written. I am leaving a hotel that I stayed the night at on my way to New York State, not the city. I was on my way to the city when it seemed sort of unfair, shitty really, to go there without you. I was thinking about you so very much that I just sat down and wrote this letter, and then I left these lines right here because I heard the song, and it made me think of you, and in the end this here is really the gist of everything on my mind. If I had to send this in a ******** I would send you these words. And I would hope you’d understand.


Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?

-Cade.

P.S. Even as you read this, I am on my way home.





As Donovan, fully forty, stood in the shower with Brian, washing his back, turning around to let an old friend and very old lover administer to him before he left town, Brian said, “And was that your Cade who called last night?”

“He’s not my Cade.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be anyone else’s. Listen.”

“Huh?”

Brian smacked Donovan’s ass, and Don turned around in the shower while the taller man, his salt and pepper hair plastered to his head, looked down at him.

“When he asks you to do something, do it. I know how you look on him.”

“And how is that?”

“The way you look on me. Only I’m going to be gone in a half hour.



You are my home, he will say. You are my home.

I am not at that age anymore where I can be fucked by a nice boy and walk away unscathed, walk away not feeling wounded when he disappears and connection that could have been is cut. I am tired of roaming. There is the road sign that says Wallington, ten miles out, and here is the key you left me in my pocket, and I will come home tonight. And maybe you will be asleep. I will not wake you. I will not even presume to come to the bed. I will stretch out on the couch and sleep. I am coming home.

 

[Autolycus]

Yet more of this wondrous tale! It just gets better. Great characters and action

 

[ChrisGibson]

More to come early tomorrow morning.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

The Skin of Things, continued


(Kokobeam) I think it would be a wonderful idea if you and I got together.

(Calypso) haha glad you think so.

I really do.

Crudely put, i'd love to get on my knees for you.

I definitely wouldn't mind that.

A little fun every now and then is definitely cool by me.

we'll have to arrange something

only every now and then?

Haha I don't get out much.

A shame I believe in fun whenever possible

What all are you into?

I'm into putting my head between your legs and making long circles with my tongue while I lick your balls and run my tongue up and down your gooch for starters.

Donovan is online with Calypso, the young artist he has been talking to for quite some time.
Their sex is muffled moans and small cries of surprise and pleasure. When Calypso comes to the door to be let in, he is in snug brown pants and his well muscled arms come from a shirt that is also brown in the high moonlight. He is thin, red bearded, and handsome, blue tattoos like ivy leaves up and down his arms. He comes into the apartment and quietly they move about looking at Don’s art, murmuring about life until, at last, Don, also known as Kokobeam, puts hand on the red head’s thigh. The man looks to him, and Donovan unzips his pants, and then moves to his knees and quickly begins to suck him, his head moving up and down, then around in circles while the Calypso closes his eyes, grips the side of the bed and arches his neck, staring blindly at the ceiling.

In the midst of such pleasure, neither man hears the door opening below, or quiet feet coming up, or then door to the very living room open. Neither sees the tall traveler, home from roaming, from finding himself.

Cademon Richards will later remind himself that Don is not Penelope and he is no Odysseus. Cade first hears whimpering in the dark. By the moonlight through the open windows he sees the white back of a man about Don’s size, sees him curled up, his buttocks flexing as he pushes and pushes, sees Don’s dark legs curled around him, sees Don’s arms reaching about the man’s waist as, mouths full they struggle and moan and, occasionally swear. Cade’s hands slip into his shorts. He pants but doesn’t leave. It’s all too much. As one of them groans and one of them mutters, mouth full, “Oh… fuck…” in the midst of watching their sixty nine Cade can’t stop touching himself. At the same time as Don grapples to pull this man deeper into his mouth, Cade feels like he is the one shamed, exposed, a little jilted, still full of lust. As they both moan and stagger, and Don and Calypso’s bodies shake, Cade stops himself from making noise, feels his hands slick with come, dazed and confused by his reaction, steps back to slowly close the door behind him resolved to head down the stairs, to sit in his SUV, stuck to himself until the man leaves and Cade can make a better entrance. turns back to bed knowing he’ll wish to get up and wash off, and knowing he is stuck here with himself, and stuck to himself, literally. Yes, as Cade leaves, his hand sticky, he hears the two men in the next room separating, whispering to each other, and he knows this is his punishment for being gone so long, for fucking Joseph, for getting fucked by Simon before he left. For blowing a trucker in Michigan, for being totally without resolve though he is always deeply in love.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Re: The skin of things part two

THE SKIN OF THINGS... WEEKEND PORTION




Donovan remembers being seventeen, one evening dressing three different times. There were things he knew would just be silly to wear. He wasn’t going to wear a tie, for instance. But it was winter, and he was walking. Well, he couldn’t wear that big, ugly, poofed coat. He wished he could drive. He wished he’d called Antonia and asked her to drive him. But then he’d have to explain. Well… He’d just take the moped and wear the pea coat with the face mask. That would look hot, and keep him warm. He thought about cologne, and then thought against it. Then he thought that spraying it lightly on his clothes, on the thin checked shirt over his under shirt was a good idea. He moussed his hair and spiked it at the top.
“You got a hot date or something?” Father popped his head in the bedroom.
“Something,” Don said with laugh. Father didn’t push it. Don didn’t know what he would have done if he had.
Then he was off with a lightness of heart, whizzing through the old professorial houses of Colby Street, and out onto Twychenham, remembering the directions to the apartments.
There were no street names, just letters. D5 and D6, and you had to find D8-5, some nonsense like that. He’d been given very detailed directions. He whizzed around a little frustrated, and a little cold before he arrived at the newly built D9-5, and a few minutes later, on the second level, a door came open and there he was. Taller, better looking than in his pictures. Even with his glasses. Don laughed to see that though his hair was blond it was moussed and spiked the way his was, and he had a very straight, upright bearing, a little like Father’s. He was wearing a green canvas coat like English men in the moors did in those BBC movies.
“Shorterwriter?” he said.
“Ezekielize?”
Ezekiel Anders grinned.
“You wanna take my car? It’s the Landrover over there.”
“It beats my moped.”
“All right then,” Ezekiel said, offering a nervous smile. He lead Don over to the Land Rover, taking his keys out, and there was a little siren sound as he unlocked Don’s door first, and then climbed in. They sat together.
“I’ve got roommates,” Ezekiel explained.
“I know what you mean,” said Don.
Ezekiel turned around as he pulled the stick shift, and they reversed from the parking lot, swiveling out through the graduate student apartments to Mason Road.
“Okay, now, you’ll have to direct me,” Ezekiel said, “because you know this town better.”
“Just go straight down Mason,” said Don, “until you get to Arabella. It’s the second light. Then you go north. Everything is up north.”
Jerkily, the Land Rover turned around and then leapt down the road. Neither of them said anything, but Ezekiel slipped his hand into Don’s, holding it firmly.
“So,” Don said after they stopped at the light on Arabella. “We could go to a coffee shop, or breakfast. Or… what would you like?”
“I think I’d like…” Ezekiel began, paying even closer attention to the road as his sweating palm gribbed Don’s more firmly.
“You said something about we could get a motel room?”
Ezekiel didn’t betray any expression. His light turned green and, jerkily, they turned left, heading north.
Don placed his hand on Ezekiel’s thigh. He stole a look at him and then, looking away, let his hand go higher. Ezekiel seemed shaky and nervous. If he wasn’t lying, and he seemed not to be, then Ezekiel was ten years old than him.
“I was thinking—” Ezekiel began, and then gasped as Don’s hand went higher.
“I’d like that,” said Don. “A room.”

“You get the room from today until noon tomorrow,” the woman was saying.
So much of his younger sex would take place in these motel rooms with slightly older, and then increasingly younger white men.
Looking around, Don thought this had to be the most sterile Motel Six in the world.
“Yes,” said Ezekiel, handing her his credit card. “This is my little brother, Giles. We’ve been out on the road all night. From Georgia.”
The woman nodded as she handed him a receipt to sign.
“Ice is over there, and there’s a continental breakfast served in the morning, but I-HOP is right down the street. With a Dennys and Burger King.”
“Oh, thanks, we don’t know this town at all…” Ezekiel lied.
From the corner of his eyes Don observed him. They were the same height, though Ezekiel might have been a little thinner, and he was very pale. His hair was reddish gold, Don saw that now, and he had very long hands. His eyes were a nice blue through his brass rimmed spectacles. He was wearing a fawn blazer over a white shirt and some dark pants. He didn’t have a tie on though. This Ezekiel was one of those hot dorks you saw in the movies who, once they took off their glasses, would be beautiful. But he talked too much. The secret to a good lie was to say as little as possible, and the secret to a good liar was to be one only when necessary.

On their way to the room, going up the jangling metal steps, they caught hands tentatively. Then Ezekiel unlocked the door, and opened it with a grunt. Don came in and shut it behind him.
Ezekiel stood there face to face with Don. He cupped the boy’s face in his hands worshipfully.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
Don’s face turned hot. He thought he must be really red.
Ezekiel sat on one of the twin beds like someone studying something rare. He looked very much like a PhD candidate right now. He stroked his chin.
“We should take this slow,” Ezekiel was murmuring, as if to himself. “I want to be so gentle with you.”
“I don’t want you too,” Don heard himself saying. “I don’t want you to be gentle at all.”



“Oh—YES!”
Sweat dripping into his eyes, hands planted on the surface of the wooden dresser drawer that banged against the wall, Ezekiel slammed into Don over and over again.
“Oh!” Don gasped. “Oh, God!”
His face red and wet with sweat, he reached behind him, running his hand over Ezekiel’s damp head, running it down his back, pulling him in.
“Fuck me,” he whispered. “Fuck me!”
Ezekiel shook his face and growled something, fucking Don harder and harder.
Ezekiel chanted between a gasp and a growl: “Jeees… Jesus! Jesus fuck Jesus Fuck Jesus—”
Until he rose up on the balls of his feet and, with a shout, Ezekiel came.

 

[Kyanimal]

Damn, Chris! Touching and So HOT!

I love the way you write, bud! Please keep it UP!
Chaz

 

[ChrisGibson]

Chaz, thanks a lot! You have no idea how much I appreciate that.

-Chris