Declarations

Quinn drove along State Road 24, a four-lane highway that ran from somewhere west of Fayetteville all the way to the coast, almost to Morehead City. He was going nowhere near that far. Driving around Autryville, his drive was nearly over. One more small town to bypass and five more miles and he would turn off and head north to Deer Springs, a small farming community anchored by a church and volunteer fire department. Typically of the region it was made up of small farms, a scattering of homes on large parcels, and a mobile home park nestled into the woods backing up to the swamp to the east. On the north side of the community was his parent’s home, a modest brick ranch house on ten acres with the two barns lined up behind it and one of his dad’s fields running along the south side of the property.

He had not been to visit in over six months, busy with construction projects in Charlotte, a city growing at an impossible rate. He worked with Catawba Electric, a small family-owned company doing electrical installations in new construction, currently one apartment complex after the next. The repetitive nature of it was maddening at times, but it let him fall into a rhythm that allowed him to think about other things while pulling wire or installing j-boxes or setting a load center cabinet. To think about his life in Charlotte, able to go out with other men, hang out in a bar or brewery, or just ride his bicycle with some of the guys.

Other times he imagined where his life would be if he had stayed on the farm. His dad had offered, knowing two incomes was hard enough with his older brother already farming with their dad. But to try to squeeze three out of it would have been impossible and truth be told, he didn’t want to farm. He enjoyed certain aspects of it, but the things he didn’t like overwhelmed that enjoyment. Being gay and wanting to live as such where he could meet others and have a social life also meant leaving Deer Springs and the farm.

When he had talked to his dad about doing something other than farming, his dad had encouraged him to go to one of the major universities in the region, but he had enrolled at the community college over near Clinton and two years later took a job in Charlotte with Catawba Electric.  

He smiled at his luck, doing a job he enjoyed and earning a decent wage, the last pay raise allowing him to buy a 3-year-old truck. He still rented, just outside Charlotte in Mount Holly, but he was close enough to the city that going out was not a problem. He just hadn’t met the right one. A guy he could see himself living with for the rest of his life. He had no problem getting a date, guys all the time hitting on him in one of the bars or messaging him on one of the hookup sites, but none were looking for something long range, a serious relationship that would lead to sharing a home and a life. But he was in no hurry for he was only twenty-two, and a glance in the mirror was a reminder he was still young and attractive. He was six-foot tall with a lean muscular build that made him feel good and like a man, unlike his high school years when he was a skinny teenager, long armed and long legged, and so uncoordinated he never dared try out for sports.

But he knew most of the guys in high school had been the same in some way. Imperfect, not yet men. It was true of Brice Collins, the person that had been his best friend since kindergarten, the guy he had done everything with until he fucked it up in the eleventh grade. He pictured Brice, from when he had been just a skinny teenager too, but shorter, about five foot eight, but to him so cute it took his breath away. The dark hair that was thick and wavy and the greenish-gray eyes that had such depth unlike his own dark brown eyes. It was during the summer between eleventh and twelfth grades that a physical change occurred, Brice coming back to school with a muscular body. A lean muscular body that changed things for Brice. Gained him attention by some of the popular girls and inclusion with the jocks. It had been another widening between them, one that hurt more than he could ever admit.

Quinn knew what drove Brice to work out, to build up his muscles, and it had been his clumsy approach the night he kissed him. He had just known Brice was into him as he was him, but he had been wrong, thus ending their friendship. Being hit on made Brice question his sense of masculinity. Quinn had seen it, this fear that something about himself signaled gayness, that some aspect of his personality was different. Brice never stopped to think that being attractive and familiar was enough.

Quinn saw the sign for the business district for Roseboro and he glanced at his watch seeing it was nearly one. He was going to be even later in his trip, but he finished sooner than he had anticipated and headed out mid-morning. It was not far to his old home, but it was the weekend of his parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary, and he didn’t want his mother to fuss over him preparing a late lunch, so he merged into the right turn lane to drive into Roseboro. He was so hungry he was running through all the places he could grab lunch. The fast-food joint right on 24, or the pizza place before it, or the deli at Edgewood Shopping Center just past it. But he knew as soon as he thought of Julia’s Diner downtown that was where he was heading.

 

 

Quinn sat in a booth near the back of the dining room, sweat tea glass in front of him and his order placed with the waitress. He leaned back, stretched his legs, then surveyed the room, noting the ones he recognized. Susan Richards (or that was her maiden name) with two women he didn’t know, Mr. Hanks at the front window with his youngest son, Jerry, or Jeremy, or something like that, and at a table on the opposite side, Mr. and Mrs. Gibson eating dessert. Quinn turned his attention back to Mr. Hanks and his son, looking at the boy realizing he had to be sixteen, maybe even seventeen. What was it like for him? Did he fit in, was he part of the popular groups, or did he isolate himself, keep apart from the others. Quinn was projecting and he chastised himself for it, turning away in time to see his food being brought to him.

Nearly finished, Quinn looked up when someone came into the diner. It was Brice. Dirty jeans, a plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off revealing muscular biceps, and a ballcap that was frayed and dirty. Obviously, Brice had come from one of their fields for a late lunch. Quinn watched as discreetly as he could, at times from the corner of his eyes, as Brick pulled his cap off revealing matted down dark hair, cut short on the sides, shorter than Quinn had ever seen it, and there were sideburns leading down to an unshaven face. Quinn looked at Brice, how he didn’t look like a teenager but like a man, and his longing for him resurfaced, painfully, making his heart race.

“Check please,” said Quinn to the waitress as she walked by.

 

 

12:35 AM.

Quinn sat at his desk in his old room, one that served double duty as a sewing room for his mom and a guest room for when Quinn or other family came to visit. It was crowded, the bed pushed against one wall and his desk tucked into a corner and no matter how he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, it surprised him to think it was no longer his room. The only personal effects of his from his grade school years were on the desk. A row of novels, ticket stubs from concerts in Raleigh, a photograph album with shots he had taken at the Outer Banks or in the mountains back west or down in Florida when he was fifteen. He pulled his laptop from his backpack and set it up. He surfed the news and then social media looking at posts by his friends back in Charlotte. Without thinking, he hit the ‘Friends’ tab on the side of the screen and saw those looking to be confirmed, then the suggestions, those that he might know. The first one was Brice Collins.

Brice’s page opened and Quinn saw the photographs of Brice, standing an old CJ5, with his parents, and with Amanda Kahler, his girlfriend since their senior year. Then he saw the photographs of the siblings, Jessica, Benny, and Lily. He closed the page without really looking at the photographs, knowing it was stupid to dwell on the lost friendship.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Did Brice still hold a grudge, and for a kiss. Just a kiss. It’s not like he groped him or tried to get a hand down inside his pants. And he never told anyone what happened, letting Brice tell his version of why they were no longer friends. Was Brice bigoted against gays, or was it just him?

It was maddening.

He pulled up his email account and tried to remember Brice’s. It had been over five years since he used it, and back then all he had to do was type the first letter and it came up.

BCollins256?

BCollins235?

BCollins356?

The last one, he was sure of it.

Hitting ‘compose’ a blank email came up and he typed in the email address, the one he was sure belonged to Brice.

Brice.

I saw you today at Julia’s Diner.

What to say, and how?

Are you still angry with me? I’ll say I’m sorry again if it helps. I don’t like how things ended with us and I never meant to insinuate you were gay. You were there for me so often and I felt so drawn to you because of it, it blinded me to the reality that for you it was just friendship.

Can he ask Brice to meet? Should he and if so, shouldn’t he tell Brice to bring Amanda. He knows Brice never told her about the kiss back in high school. He didn’t tell anyone. Everyone thought they had a fight about something neither wanted to discuss, and Brice had made it seem like a betrayal of some sort.

Can we meet?

Quinn.

That’s how he ended it after erasing sentence after sentence. There was nothing to say, not until Brice showed a willingness to meet. He hit ‘send’ and closed his laptop. He got from the desk and headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

 

 

The next morning, Quinn had breakfast with his parents, then refilled his coffee cup and went back to his old room. With the door closed, he pulled up his laptop. He went straight to his email account and saw there were six messages. Three emails were spam, two were from friends asking if he made it alright, and one was from BCollins356. For a few seconds he let his fingers hover over the keys, almost afraid to open the email. Then he tapped the key like it was hot and watched it open.

Quinn, I was surprised to hear from you. It has been some time since what happened? How do you feel about it?

It was vague, noncommittal and Quinn felt so frustrated by it he started to just discard it and close his laptop. What was Brice playing at? All he had thought about since that night is how it made him feel. What the fuck does Brice mean? Is he looking for an opportunity to renew old grudges?

Quinn hit ‘reply’ and let his fingers hover over the keyboard wondering what tone to take in his response. How far could he push Brice and was there a limit. It’s not like things could be worse between them.

What do you want to know? It was pretty obvious that night how you felt. Disgust comes to mind, and a threat to kick my ass if I mentioned it.

How do I feel about it? Honestly, still confused about why you freaked out. Seriously, it was just a fucking kiss. I’m sorry to have bothered you.

Was it too blunt? Quinn reread what he had typed out and couldn’t bring himself to change it. He hit ‘send’ and closed his laptop expecting never to hear from Brice again.

 

 

Quinn came into his bedroom wiping his face with his t-shirt as sweat continued to bead up and trickle down his face and torso. He had mowed his parents’ lawn including the area around the barns, then still feeling frustrated, he pulled out his old bicycle and took off for a ride. He rode north all the way to Bonnetsville Road then east, not turning until in the center of Bonnetsville. It consisted of a convenience store and an auto repair shop surrounded by a cluster of homes. From there, he rode south all the way to Elizebeth Street, finally turning west to circle back.

Now he stood in his room feeling his heart beating rapidly and the heat of his body, and how it helped with his frustration. He no longer felt ire at Brice. He just wanted to forget about him, enjoy his time with his parents, then head back to Charlotte to resume his life.

He wanted a cool shower but knew he needed to cool down first or he would get out and start to sweat again. He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, wondering what his friends back in Charlotte were doing that night. He knew it was Jason’s birthday party and everyone was supposed to go. While they partied at the Irish pub he would be celebrating his parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary. The screen came on and he clicked on his emails. One from Jason, Ryan, and BCollins356.

“Fuck.”

Quinn stared at the email, then clicked on the one from Jason. After reading it, he clicked on the one from Ryan, seeing it mirrored what Jason had written. He regretted missing the party, for he knew everyone would have a good time. Then he clicked on BCollins356, holding his breath as it popped up on the screen.

 I’m sorry for I didn’t mean to seem flippant. You asked before if we could meet. Yes, I think it’s time.

I know you have your parents’ anniversary party tonight. How about lunch tomorrow? There is a new restaurant in Clinton right across from the courthouse on Wall St. Cherokee Purple, after a regional tomato variety, I think. Meet me there at 11:45.

Flippant? What was Brice thinking. It’s like he forgot what happened and how he reacted.

“Asshole,” Quinn uttered under his breath, not really meaning it. He was actually glad Brice replied and didn’t seem as angry. More like he was confused about everything. He hit ‘reply’ and started typing.

The place and time are good for me. I’ll see you there. Quinn.

 

 

Quinn drove by the restaurant and smiled at how he couldn’t miss it. The front was painted bright purple, and the sign was yellow trimmed in red. Through the storefront with its low sill, not more than a foot high, he could see tables and chairs with white table clothes each side of the entry. All the parking spaces along the block were occupied so he drove straight down to the next block where he was able to park in the last space on the street.

Walking back up the block, he tucked his T-shirt into his jeans smiling at how he had ironed a white dress shirt to wear. He had it neatly ironed when he realized he was thinking of lunch as a date and embarrassed by his foolishness, hung the shirt up in his closet and pulled out the T-shirt. He crossed Main Street and strolled past the restaurant on the corner with its outdoor seating area railed off on the sidewalk, the jewelry store, two empty storefronts, and a barbershop.

He entered the restaurant looking around at the light-yellow walls with artwork on each one and a high suspended ceiling that gave the look of an old tin one. Tables at the front windows, then down both walls, all of them four tops, and he scanned them looking for Brice.

“How many?” asked a waitress.

“Two. I’m waiting for someone who doesn’t seem to be here yet.”

“We can go ahead and seat you; this way.”

She led Quinn down the right side to a table near the back, and he took a seat facing the front so he could watch for Brice.

Quinn checked his watch. 11:46 AM. Brice was only a minute late, nothing to worry about, but he fiddled nervously with his napkin then fork all the while keeping his eyes on the entrance.

11:51 AM.

11:57 AM

He’s not coming, Quinn thought as he debated on whether to leave or just eat alone. He looked back searching for his waitress. He watched the two at the drink station, then looked at the door to the kitchen wondering when she would come out. Then he heard the front door open and turned to see if it was Brice.

“Shit.”

Quinn uttered it under his breath and hoped no one heard him. Standing at the front looking around the room was a tall lean boy, or that is how he considered him, for it wasn’t Brice, but Benny, his brother.

Benny finally saw him and headed his way. Quinn felt embarrassed by the realization it was Benny, not Brice, he had been trading messages. Benny. The kid brother. The last time he saw Benny, he was fourteen years old and just some tall skinny kid. Coming toward him was the same person, but even taller, a bit more filled out, but still lanky in build. And he had darker hair than Brice, jet black, and thick and wavy. As Benny drew near, Quinn noticed the dark brown eyes and the good humored expression that made him nervous.

“Hey, Quinn.”

“Benny; what are you doing here?”

“Can I sit?”

Quinn shook his head, wondering what was going to happen. “Sure; sit.”

Benny sat opposite, leaning forward with forearms stretched out, and Quinn couldn’t stop sizing him up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Quinn.

Benny smiled. “That you were messaging me instead of my brother.”

Quinn sat back and laughed, feeling foolish and defeated. By a kid.

“I’m the one you should be talking to, not my brother.”

“What?”

“Look, Brice isn’t like he had been back in high school, and you should talk to him. Renew your friendship. I know he would want that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I know when that kiss happened. It was Saturday night, March the sixteenth. After a shower of rain the day before, it was cool, down in the forties that night, and my brother, Brice Collins came home and rushed into his room at eight o’clock, where he stayed until lunch the next day.”

“You remember that?”

“Yes, because the next day, I came out to him. I can’t really say why, but it seemed important at the time.”

“What did he say?”

“That I was wrong. I wasn’t gay, then refused to discuss it further.”

Quinn could picture it, the look of shear terror and disgust that Brice had displayed after the kiss, and he wondered if Benny had gotten the same expression.

“Brice began to hang out with different people and toward the end of the school year began to work out, a lot.”

“Yeah, I remember what he looked like when we returned to school for our senior year. Does he still…have you talked about you being gay since then?”

“Yes. It was during the summer. He told me it was okay, and he wouldn’t tell anyone, but it didn’t matter, that little pledge of silence, for I came out to my friends before school started and the next October, I told our parents.”

“Wow.”

“Have you told your parents?”

“Yes. Right after graduation.”

Quinn looked at Benny. Saw him lean back and stretch out those long legs until a foot brushed against his right foot and he moved it away.

“And you’re the one I should be talking to?” said Quinn.

“Yeah…I’m the Collins that is gay, not Brice.”

“But you’re a kid.”

“I’ve graduated high school, turned eighteen back in July, and will start college in the fall…in Charlotte,” said Benny, smiling with a certain smug satisfaction.

“Charlotte? You’re going to-“

“Yep. Studying Architecture. I’ve been registered since the end of my tenth-grade year and got officially accepted after they reviewed my grades.”

“Must be pretty good grades.”

“Four-point-oh.”

“That is…damn, are you serious?”

Benny laughed. “Yes.”

Quinn couldn’t imagine such a grade point average. His wasn’t bad, but nowhere near perfect.

“Let’s order lunch and talk,” said Benny.

“Okay, but I’m not going out with Brice’s little brother.”

“You really need to let that go.”

“Excuse me, we’re ready to order,” Quinn called out, ignoring him.

 

 

For two nights after lunch with Benny, Quinn did what he promised himself he wouldn’t do. What he told Benny wouldn’t happen. He thought of it. Every quiet moment, during the movie he tried to watch with his parents, walking around the property with his father and Lamar, his brother, or when laying in bed trying to fall asleep. He pictured Benny, now eighteen, soon to be in college. He pictured the tall, lean build, the jet-black hair, the dark brown eyes, and the dimples when he smiled, the hands with their long fingers, and the slightly long neck. He remembered the way Benny moved, gestured with his hand, or smiled during an awkward moment.

What would Brice say if Benny and he went out? He couldn’t imagine it. Brice would be furious with him, accuse him of taking advantage of his little brother.

 

 

With plans to leave the next morning, Quinn went for a drive, pulling out after breakfast in his dad’s old work truck, a Ford F250 that was twenty-eight years old. It was blue with darker blue side panels and had a manual transmission. With the windows down, the early morning was warm but not unpleasant. It rumpled and billowed his T-shirt as he drove down one road then another, eventually driving past his old high school that was north of town, then he turned heading south until he was in town. He cruised down Roseboro Street, through the small downtown, then circled around the south side of town heading back east.

Eventually he found himself coming to the Collins’ place. He slowed as he drove by their brick ranch house, looking to see what vehicles may be parked in back as he passed the drive. He came to their barns and saw a pickup parked in front of the larger barn, which was nothing more than a pole supported roof with no walls. Under the roof, there was a large flat bed truck, a tractor, a combine, and Brice Collins standing at the back of it.

Without thinking, Quinn hit the brakes and turned into the drive, easing to the barn where he parked just out from the combine. Brice watched him from the shade of the barn while he got out and strolled toward him trying to figure out what to say.

“Quinn.”

Brice’s voice gave no indication of how he felt, or what he might say next.

“Hey Brice, I saw you and…can we talk?”

“It’s about what happened?”

“Yeah, and, look, I’m sorry. I know I should have said it before but…doesn’t matter now. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Benny said he met you for lunch.”

“What? No! I mean, yes, but I thought it was you. I had emailed and –“

“Quinn. Quinn, I know. The little bastard tricked you into showing up,” said Brice and he smiled, then laughed. “I would have given anything to see the look on your face when that brother of mine walked into that restaurant.”

“You knew he tricked me?”

“Oh yeah. He came back grinning from ear to ear, so I made him tell me what he had done. Actually, I think he couldn’t wait to tell me.”

“I’m not going to go out with him. I promise.”

“Quinn, look, it freaked me out when you kissed me, but I’m over it. I’m not holding a grudge or ill feelings, and truth be told I wanted to call you and tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I figured you had gotten mad at me for the way I responded. The way you looked at me when we returned for our senior year. I just knew you were so angry.”

Quinn kicked at the ground and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t angry. I was scared. Scared to death you were going to out me.”

“I can see how you might have thought that, but Quinn, I wouldn’t have done that to you no matter how angry I had been.”

“Is it a problem now?”

“What? With you being gay?” Brice laughed, shaking his head. “My little brother would kick my ass if I were. And no, it isn’t a problem.”

“I’m heading back to Charlotte in the morning but what about we get together for dinner. You and Amanda and me. I hear you’re engaged.”

“Yep, and the wedding is next April. We can talk about it during dinner. Let’s go up to Vicksburg to this new place in town.”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you guys come by mom and dads about five and we can ride together.”

“Okay.”

“Well, I’ll be going and let you get back to work.”

Quinn went to his dad’s truck, swung the door open and was about to climb in.

“Hey Quinn.”

“Yes?”

“It would be okay, if you wanted to.”

“Wanted to? What?”

“Go out with Benny.”

“---”

“I know this may sound crazy, but he’s not a little kid. He’s taller than both of us and…if you were to want to go out with him, I would be okay with it.”

“I, huh, thanks…I think.”

“Just putting that out there.”

Quinn chuckled, then looked up at Brice. “Yeah, Brice, whatever.”

 

 

Quinn drove along one narrow two-lane highway after the next after circling Fayetteville and keeping to a due west heading. It would take longer than if he had gone south to 74, a four-lane highway, but he was in no hurry. The extra time gave him the opportunity to think, to replay dinner with Brice and Amanda and how it had been better than he could have hoped.

It was Amanda who told him that Brice had regretted his reaction soon after it happened, but his acceptance of someone being gay took some time and happened mostly due to Benny. Since then, Brice had not been reactive to anyone who was different, not the kids that showed up in dark clothing and tattoos at the steakhouse and lounge, not the guys who hung out at the coffee shop or burger joint on the east side of town, immersed in their role-playing games, or the guys who were gay that hung out with Benny.

Quinn smiled at the idea of Benny having a few gay guys over and Brice hanging out with them.

Benny.

“It would be okay, if you wanted to.”

“Go out with Benny.”

It seemed surreal replaying Brice saying it was okay to ask Benny out. Did he know Benny had already asked him out and hadn’t taken no as an answer.

Would it be so strange to go out with Benny? There were only four years between them. There were a lot of couples in Charlotte with a greater age difference. There were three years between his mom and dad, and his maternal grandparents had eight years between them. But Benny was Brice’s little brother, picturing all the times Benny had tried to hang out with them, and Brice telling him he was too young, just a little kid.

Quinn chuckled to himself at the reference. Little kid. Brice was five foot eight or nine, something he had noticed when he had grown to six foot tall and Benny had to be six foot four inches tall, for it was apparent when they had left the restaurant. Benny’s height seemed even more pronounced by his lean build.

And he was cute, cuter than Brice if he was honest. It was the black hair, darker, truer black than Brice’s, and the dark brown eyes, and the dimples when he smiled, or smirked when something dumb had been said.

Brice’s little brother.

Benny.

Cutting through Uwharrie National Forest on 27, Quinn had himself worked up, wondering if he was crazy for considering it, then wondering why he was fretting over it. He went over the Pee Dee River, the expansion joints a steady rhythm until back on solid ground and smooth asphalt, telling himself he would just wait and see if Benny tried to contact him again, or if it was just a short-lived infatuation that was probably already forgotten.

 

 

Sitting on the tailgate of Mr. Simpson’s truck, their boss on the site, Quinn opened his lunch box and took out one of two sandwiches he made that morning and the zip lock bag of chips. He began to eat, looking up at the five-story apartment complex where they were doing a wiring job. The job site was quiet, most contractors on their lunch break, but he could see a couple of guys moving around on the second floor, one pointing at one wall or another while the other followed with a roll of drawings.

His phone chimed with a message, and he took it out of his pocket and slid his finger across the screen to open it. It was from Brice.

How’s it going? I guess you’re back on a job site. Have you spoken to Benny? He moved into the dorm yesterday.

“Damn,” Quinn uttered under his breath, smiling at how Brice was pushing him to go out with Benny. He set his sandwich down and typed a quick reply.

Good and yes, back at work. I have not spoken to Benny.

He had just set the phone down and picked up his sandwich when it chimed again.

Call him. His number is ___-___-____.

Quinn laughed, took a bite of his sandwich, then typed a reply.

Okay, maybe this weekend.

The reply was quick, as if Brice expected his response.

Why wait?

Quinn replied with the truth, knowing he should have made up some excuse.

I’m still not sure it is a good idea to ask out Brice’s little brother. 😊.

Holding the phone up, Quinn waited for the reply he knew was soon coming. His phone chimed and he opened the message.

I’ll have him call you.

Quinn just shook his head and slipped his phone back in his pocket, not daring to reply. He had less than fifteen minutes left of his half hour lunch, and he focused on eating.

 

 

Quinn drove down 74, the old four lane highway that ran parallel to the interstate. The interstate was impossible this time of day, even though he got off at four, not five. He switched radio stations looking for one playing music in lieu of talking nonsense. Once again, it made him reconsider satellite radio. He crossed the Catawba River on the old narrow bridge, accelerated up the grade then slowed as he came into traffic. Turning on Park Street seeing the fast-food joints along the roadside, he wondered what to do for dinner. He had leftovers from the night before and just wanted to get home, so he kept driving. When he drove over the interstate he looked at the backed-up traffic below glad he hadn’t taken it.  

As he passed the hospital’s rehab center his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he did know the area code, one from back home. One that Benny would have.

“Hello.”

“Hey Quinn, it’s Benny. Brice told me to stop waiting on you to call and just do it myself.”

“Benny, yeah, hey.”

“Are you heading home from work?”

“Yes, almost there,” Quinn replied, slowing to turn right.

“I’m just hanging out at the dorm until classes start on Monday.”

“Monday.”

“Yep, classes start on Monday. Quinn, tomorrow is Friday. Do you have any plans?”

“Plans…I…huh…no, no plans.”

“Will you go to dinner with me. I could come that way, maybe meet in Belmont. One of the guys on the floor said there were a couple of good places in downtown.”

“Yes, there is.”

“How about that sports bar, the one across from the bookstore? Bryan says it is good and has a nice atmosphere.”

“I guess…yes, okay. What time works for you?”

“Let’s meet at seven. I’ll come on over and browse in the bookstore and check out the town until then.”

“That will give me time to get home, rest a bit, and get cleaned up.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”

The connection ended. It felt like Benny wanted to end the call quickly, probably to prevent him from changing his mind. He slowed when coming up on the entry to the marina complex, turning left to stay on Tuckaseege Road and after a short distance, another left into the apartment complex that he called home.

Engine shut off; Quinn just sat behind the wheel staring straight ahead. He wasn’t paying attention to anything in front of him, too lost in thought about what he was about to do. He was going to meet Benny for dinner on a Friday night.

It was a date.

He smiled despite his reservations.

“What are you doing Quinn Sanders?”

He climbed out and headed to his apartment. He would eat dinner, watch a little television, then go to bed early. If he got up earlier than usual, he could get finished with the floor of the apartment building by two or three o’clock, letting him leave early.

 

 

Quinn squirmed in the booth again, shifting uncomfortably, tugging on the crotch of his jeans. He tried to focus on what Benny was saying, something about his class schedule for the fall term, but all Quinn could think about was Brice’s little brother was sitting across from him. It didn’t make sense, especially thinking of Benny as little. Six foot four, four inches taller than his own six foot. It was crazy, Benny Collins wasn’t a kid, and ever since that lunch back in Clinton he had to keep reminding himself of this fact. It wasn’t so hard to do when Benny was before him. He looked at the dark brown eyes, the jet-black hair, and how Benny kept pushing it out of his face, at times revealing earrings in each lobe. There were the long fingers of each hand, perfect musician hands and he wondered if Benny still played the piano. He knew there had been lessons for both boys, but Brice had quit in the nineth grade, and he wondered if Benny had given up on them at some point.

“Quinn?”

“OH, I’m sorry, what was it you were saying?”

“I asked if you wanted to come to the football game next weekend. It’s a home game.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll go.”

What was he thinking? Just falling in with Benny with such ease, and he had to admit he wanted to go with him to the football game, or to a concert, or just out to eat. He found himself relating to him, enjoying their time together over dinner, now waiting for their dessert to be served.

Looking around the room at the other patrons out on a Friday night, he felt a part of them, all dressed pretty much the same. Jeans for the most part, and simple shirts or T-shirts, all very casual and relaxed. But across the table, Benny made him feel underdressed. A bit shabby, if he was honest, for Benny wore a banded collar pullover, solid white, with black jeans that accentuated the long legs and narrow waist, and black boots with soles far thicker than Benny Collins would ever need. He knew Benny was trying to make a good impression, not intimidate him. But he did feel intimidated. With the way Benny was dressed and by his natural good looks. And the smile, one that made him smile easily in return despite his nervousness.

Fuck, he thought to himself, wanting so much more from this first official date.

“Hey, you want to go back to my place and watch television or something?” asked Quinn.

Benny smiled, leaned forward with elbows on the table. “I’d love to come over. I honestly didn’t think you would ask.”

“I didn’t either,” Quinn confessed as they sat back to let the waiter place their desserts before them.

 

 

Benny followed Quinn, up the stairs, and through the door into his apartment. Flipping the light on, he felt embarrassed at how his place looked. The only thing on the wall was a flag for the Carolina Panthers over the sofa and a picture his mother gave him of a mountain scene hung over the small dining table. There were no photographs, no mementos of vacations or silly knickknacks on the tables. The only thing that gave any sense of personality was the bookcase next to the console for the television. It held the one thing he loved to do when alone; read. There were novels of the Sci-fi genre, dystopian future storylines, and gay storylines, of men coming out, of men having relationships, stories he could get lost in, imagining himself in such situations.

Benny went straight to the bookcase and scanned the shelves. He pulled out one of Quinn’s favorite books, flipping it open to the inside jacket cover with the story description.

“I’ve not seen this book, but it looks good.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Sure.”

The book was carried to the dining table so Benny wouldn’t forget it.

“You want something to drink?”

“No. Can we just sit and talk a minute.”

“Sure,” Quinn replied, feeling his stomach knot up, wondering what Benny would want to talk about, and would it be too serious after just one date. He eased down on the sofa, right up against the left arm and Benny sat next to him, close but not touching.

“I enjoyed dinner,” said Benny.

“I did too.”

“Do you enjoy my company?”

“Yes…why?”

“You seem standoffish. I’m not sure if you are still struggling with me being Brice’s brother, or if-“

“Yes, I mean…well, I do keep picturing you as his kid brother, but not as much as before. I’m beginning to think of you as someone who I find attractive, and…”

And what? Quinn didn’t know where to begin.

“You find me attractive?”

“Of course.”

A hand came down on Quinn’s knee.

“Do you look at me sexually?”

“I…yes,” Quinn replied, and even he could hear how pathetic he sounded.

“I’ve always thought you were cute and imagined doing all the things two guys could do. Go on dates, travel together, go to a game or a concert, or sleeping together,” said Benny sliding the hand up Quinn’s thigh.

“Oh,” Quinn uttered as fingers touched him, grazed the denim fabric right over his cock. His heart was racing, and he wanted to tell Benny to stop. He wanted to tell Benny to keep going, not to stop, not for anything.

“Can I stay tonight?”

The voice was different. Deeper, huskier, seductive, and Quinn felt the hand tugging on his shirt, pulling it from his jeans. He leaned back, submissively, letting the shirt be pulled free and the hand slipped beneath it, touching his stomach, then rubbing upward over his chest, across hardening nipples. Lips touched his neck, tugged softly on his earlobe, then moved along his jaw and he turned to them, bringing their lips together. They kissed. They kissed slowly, with passion and desire as Benny moved over Quinn’s lap, legs folded either side of him.

“You can’t say no to me,” Benny whispered.

Quinn didn’t know if it was a statement of fact or if it was a command, something he wasn’t to do. He knew both were true.

 

 

Quinn didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know what Benny would want, but he found himself laying back on his bed, naked, cock so hard it hovered over his stomach. Standing between his legs, Benny stood just as naked, stroking a long cock and he watched the hand move from the arrow shaped head down the shaft to its base.

He looked at the tall lean body, a teenager maturing into a man. He looked at the nipples, how they stood out on the chest, and below the flat stomach and narrow waist.

“What do you prefer?” asked Benny.

Quinn couldn’t find the words, so he showed Benny. He raised his legs, held each behind the knee, spreading himself open before him. He was panting and his heart raced in his chest. Benny smiled and he felt his cock flex with his arousal, then drool its slick until pooled on his abdomen.

“Horny bastard,” Benny joked, then moved on him, took each leg, and pushed forward and down until thighs pressed against Quinn’s chest.

Cock was raked across Quinn’s ass, then pushed up along the perineum then over the tightening sac and by the hard cock. Benny pumped it slowly, letting it rub against Quinn’s until it left a slick trail over the abdomen. Then he pushed it down and pumped it along the perineum and over the tight opening, pumping, pumping, until Quinn reached for it and held it against his tight opening.

“Benny…please…”

Benny breached Quinn’s tightness. Slowly, pushing inch after inch through it. Benny penetrated Quinn making a connection between them with cock buried in ass, and he began to slow fuck. To tug outward, then push inward with a slowly building pace. A slow fuck became a fast one. Hands pushed down on legs. Cock thrust into the depths of the ass, all the way until hips smack against it.

“Fuck…fuck…don’t stop,” utters Quinn breathlessly.

The bed begins to rock, to squeak, then bang against the wall, its rhythm matching the rhythm of their fuck. The sound of it echoes in the small bedroom, matched by the sound of hips smacking against ass, and Quinn’s soft pleadings and obscene utterances.

Benny pulls out and Quinn feels the emptiness and has to force himself not to yell out NO! He’s manhandled into a different position, flipped to his stomach and legs kicked apart. Cock rubs his ass, up and down, and he raises it up for Benny to penetrate. He wants it so badly he is clutching the bed and burying his face into it to keep from crying out, begging Benny to do it. He knows Benny can’t keep it up, not this teasing of his ass, and soon enough the cock aligns with his opening and bores into his depths, all the way, for what seems an impossible depth, and he takes it, every goddamn inch.

Benny fucks. Fucks hard. Cock is pushed into Quinn’s depths. Hips bounce off his ass and every push inward grinds his own cock into the bed. It’s painful how it is worked into the bed, and far too pleasurable for words. And Benny fucks. Fucks hard.

Quinn feels it, the surge of release building, building, until he is gasping for breath. His body tightens and his cock flexes, then swells thicker. He shudders and jerks with the first ejaculation. The bed becomes slick around his spurting cock as his ass spasms around the cock fucking it.

“Don’t stop, keep going,” Quinn exclaims as his cock spurts wad after wad and his spasming ass takes Benny, the push and tug through it until Benny finally slams into his depths, all the way and shudders with his own release.

 

 

Quinn wonders for just the briefest moment how Benny got him into a different position. It was all a vague and blurred movement and he found himself on his back, legs wrapped around Benny’s waist and cock once again buried in his ass.

“Fuck, I want you,” Benny whispers in Quinn’s ear as he moves in that familiar way, hips pumping cock into Quinn’s depths. “Do you like me?”

“Yes,” Quinn confesses as he rubs his hands along Benny’s back and adjusts his legs until his feet slip down between Benny’s thighs. He feels how Benny moves, the rise and fall of the ass and the lips touching his neck, face, eventually coming back to his own lips. He hungrily kisses back, tongues dueling, then Benny nipping at his lower lip giving it a playful tug. He moans and tries to push his ass up, seeking the penetration.

Benny gets on his knees and pulls Quinn to his all fours, quickly resuming their fuck. The thrusting into the depths of Quinn’s ass, until hips banged against it.

Quinn feels the tight hold on his waist, fingers digging into the flesh. Then one hand slides up his back following his spine until fingers comb through his hair. A fist, a rough tug back, and Quinn’s head is pulled back making him cry out.

“Fuck me.”

As his own cock flops between his thighs, Quinn feels Benny inside him, up against his ass, and tugging on his hair. Their fuck is physical, an exertion that makes them sweat. Quinn is breathing hard. Then he is crying out when the hand lets go of his hair and the other snakes around his waist, rubs over his sweaty skin until it finds his cock. Fingers wrap around it, stroke its full length, and smear its drool over the head and back down the shaft. He shudders with the manipulation.

“Benny…please.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me. Pump it in me. Don’t stop.”

But Benny is too close, right on the edge, and he strokes Quinn roughly with no rhythm as he hammers his ass. Then he comes. Jamming hips against Quinn’s ass, he pushes his spurting cock all the way inside him and keeps jamming his hips against the ass trying to go deeper.

Quinn feels the way Benny comes inside him and it pushes him over the edge. He cries out, pushes back on the spurting cock, then pushes forward through the hand and comes.  

 

The shower runs hot, hot enough to remove cum and sweat and the ache of muscles from their exertions. Quinn has his head under the spray, tilted down with eyes closed, letting the water cascade over his head and down his body. Soapy hands move through the water over his chest, stomach, and half hard cock. He has to brace himself on the wall and finds himself pushing his ass back against Benny’s hardening cock. The cock nestles between his cheeks, and he moans when Benny pumps it upward until rubbing his lower back. He rests his forehead on the wall and reaches back spreading his ass, letting that cock rub over his opening.

Benny chuckles, then presses against his back kissing his neck.

“You want me?” said Benny.

“Yes,” Quinn utters.

The cock centers on his opening, then penetrates him again. It sinks slowly into his depths letting him feel every inch. He pushes back against the abdomen until he has all of the cock.

“Fuck…do it, fuck me.”

Benny holds his waist and begins to fuck. To tug outward, all the way, then punching back through the closing opening boring into his depths. Over and over until in the rhythm of a fuck. Until Quinn has to put his hands back on the wall to brace himself as Benny hammers his ass. His own cock swings freely between his thighs as Benny hammers his ass, and he savors the feel of it, their fuck.

How long it goes on, Quinn has no idea. The water cools and Benny has slowed and sped up numerous times. But far too soon, Benny reaches around his waist and takes him in hand. He is so aroused he shivers with the manipulation, then he shudders with release, painting the wall with cum.

Benny pushes him against the wall, rubbing his cock in the slick of his load, and thrust forcibly into his depths. Then Benny shudders against his back and he knows he is taking another load.

 

 

Quinn opens his eyes and sees it is almost eight o’clock in the morning. Light bleeds through the blinds illuminating the bedroom in a soft glow of morning light. He is intimately aware of Benny nestled against his back with an arm holding them together. It’s an intimacy he had dared not to consider in the past. A warm exhale against his neck and the masculine nature of a morning erection against his ass makes him smile. He lays still not wanting to wake Benny. He’ll let him sleep as long as he wants, then make breakfast and walk him to his car. He pictures the normal nature of it, two lovers parting after a night together.

Benny stirs, pushes against his ass, then kisses his neck.

Quinn pushes back, forgetting breakfast and any notion of walking Benny to his car. He reaches back, slipping his hand down between them taking the hard cock. He holds it at his opening waiting on Benny to push through his tightness. He pictures their sex, the intimacy of it, then he moans as cock penetrates him.