Going through the motions…
“Zeke, time to call it a day,” said TJ.
Zeke stepped out from under the old Mercury and looked over at his boss standing in the door to the office. “Okay, I just need to fill Mrs. Washington’s car with oil and it’ll be finished.”
“Sounds good. She’ll probably be here first thing in the morning, wanting it.”
“You want me to pull down the doors when finished?”
“No, I’ll do it. Get the car done, then get out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeke replied, smiling at having another week behind him.
He had been working for TJ since he was sixteen, part time hours during school, then full time after graduation. It had been three years since he graduated. It felt longer, a lot longer. It seemed like he had been working at the shop then isolating himself at home for all his life.
Zeke closed the hood on the Mercury, wiped his hands of the worst grime, unzipped the coveralls halfway down, and headed to the office to clock out. TJ was behind the front counter checking the next day’s appointments.
“Mrs. Washington is all set,” said Zeke as he logged into the other computer to clock out.
“Thanks Zeke. When you come in on Monday, I want you to take Mark Godwin’s Jeep. Buddy can do Matt’s truck.”
“The black Chevy I was to put a head gasket on?”
“That’s the one.”
“Okay. Does Buddy know?”
“He will when he comes in Monday,” TJ replied in a humorous tone. “Now, get out of here and try to have some fun this weekend.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeke replied, knowing he sounded a bit sarcastic, but it was too much to expect. He didn’t know the last time he had real fun.
Crossing the concrete apron seeing the patch where gas pumps once resided, he made his way to the 1984 Chevrolet C10 pickup. The dark blue paint was faded and scratched, the tailgate was rusting along the lower edge, and the front bumper was bent down on the passenger side where he lost control during the freak snowstorm three winters ago and hit a telephone pole. Despite its rough look, it ran well, and more importantly, as of last June was paid for. He could finally save a few dollars from the midmonth paycheck.
He drove out of Farmoor, the small town nestled in southern Georgia, heading south to his home ten miles out in the country. It was the only area he had ever lived, and over the last three years wondered why he stayed. There was a whole world out there he could go explore, move from place to place, taking whatever job paid enough to put a roof over his head and food on the table.
As he left the town’s limits, he passed a Toyota Tacoma, and it made him think of it. The birthday party for Jeffrey McCullough and how everyone ended up in the pasture behind the barn sitting around a bonfire. Except for Bailey and him. They had been in Bailey’s Tacoma on the pretense Bailey wanted to show him a new hunting knife, but they had sat in the dark truck not even talking.
The remembrance came to Zeke, vividly, of a hand on a thigh, then the pulling away, and everything ruined. He ran off the road and eased back on it aggravated something that at times seemed so minor could still haunt his memories. Nothing had happened, but Bailey betrayed him, got him labeled a faggot, and ostracized only a month before graduation.
As he motored south along 109, he berated himself for allowing it to still get to him. But he couldn’t stop imagining how some in town still looked at him. Judgmental. Damning. Despite all their Christian proclamations of loving one’s neighbor and not judging others, and ‘live and let live’ mantras, their actions spoke differently.
TJ had never said anything about it, but he had to know what had been said. It spread through the town like wildfire, out of control, consuming all that heard it. A population of about nine thousand in town and another couple of thousand around it, and it seemed everyone had heard the rumor after only a couple of weeks.
Zeke slowed and turned on Firetower Road, heading west until he came to the drive to his place, a dirt lane that meandered through a stand of trees until he came to his home that faced away from the drive, instead looked across the open fields to its west. The fields and house had been all part of his family’s land. When his father passed suddenly, his mother sold the fields to Jasper Brown, getting enough to cover the debt from the farm. He had been in the tenth grade, and it had felt like a betrayal, that nothing would last. His mom had feared they would remain in debt after the sale. The auction for the equipment didn’t cover half of it for the equipment loans, and there had been no guarantee the land sale would cover the rest. During the auction, three of the community farmers had bid against each other until the price was just enough.
Six months after his graduation, his mother left to take care of her mother leaving him the house and the three acres it sat upon.
Easing up to the back of the old farmhouse, Zeke looked at the familiar place with its lap siding and plain windows and small porch. He pictured the front of it, the porch that covered the living room windows and front door, a door no one had entered since his father’s funeral. It was home in every physical sense, but emotionally, it felt hollow.
As he crossed the yard he went over what needed to be done over the weekend. Wash his clothes, mow the yard after he changed the oil in the push mower, repair the faucet to the tub, and if he felt energetic, maybe start on the painting of the living and dining rooms, something he had been wanting to do for over two years and kept putting off. At times he wondered why he should bother, for no one would ever see the results of his efforts.
New frontiers…
The old dark blue Ford Highboy was almost fifty years old, but it rumbled down the two-lane road with authority, powered by its small block V-8. At a stop sign in some unknown place that no doubt had been given a name, Oliver Larson pulled away, shifting through the four gears until back to speed, motoring along lost to his thoughts. When a song came on he really liked, it would be a diversion for a few minutes with him singing out of tune and tapping the steering wheel, then he would fall back into the deep well of his thoughts, wondering if he was heading for new frontiers, or just running away.
He was twenty-five years old, out of a job as a farmhand for Jake Hansen, and no one wanted anything to do with him. The Hansen farm was outside of Hardin, Montana, a dull small town of less than four thousand people struggling to survive, but the place had been home for the last six years.
He was from Hemmington, Nebraska, one of three boys on a farm operation he knew when he graduated high school, could not support him. It took some time to build up his courage to search for a job with another farm, then six months to find the position in Montana.
Jake said he was a good worker, increasing his pay three months after starting, and giving him more responsibility as time went on. But all of that came to end when he was caught with Keith Wallace behind the Ford Dealership. It was owned by Keith’s father, Bob, thus the name over the wide expanse of windows facing the street: Bob Wallace Ford. Keith was eighteen, but still just a little boy in his father’s eyes, so all the blame for the two boys caught fucking in Keith’s Explorer fell on Oliver. He was still considered the outsider, that boy from Nebraska, who had come to their peaceful god-fearing town and defiled Keith Wallace. Within twenty-four hours, he had lost his job at the Hansen farm and was given an eviction notice by Karen Thomas, saying he violated the terms of his lease by doing illegal activity on the premises. A lie but one Oliver knew there was no reason to push back. It would prove futile. So, he packed what would fit in the back of his truck and in the cab and headed out, going east, destination unknown.
He drove into South Dakota, then south finding himself going up the ramp to get on Interstate 90, laughing at himself for his foolishness, for he could have already been on it all the way from Hardin. But the drive through the open country, passing trucks and tractors, seemed to give some final notice to his leaving. He drove past Rapid City and once coming upon Sioux Falls, decided he needed to head south, because he did not want to go to Chicago. So, he merged onto Interstate 29 motoring south as the sun shined in through the passenger side window.
To the Sound of Cicadas…
Zeke sat on the front porch looking over the field of cotton. It was a sea of green all the way to the tree line on the horizon. The flowering had not yet occurred. He sipped a bottle of beer and stared at the horizon. A hawk flew over the field, and he could hear the cicadas loud rhythmic droning. He sat mindlessly, not letting himself focus on any thought as the sun descended in the west. To start letting his thoughts develop would lead to him thinking of it. It would drive him mad. There was no going back, and some part of him knew if that night was to be re-lived, the same mistakes would no doubt happen again. They had been eighteen, men in their eyes, but he knew they had been anything but men. There had been a lot to be learned, and he didn’t know if Bailey would ever truly understand what he had done or how it affected him over the last three years.
Zeke turned the bottle up, drank the last of the beer and sat it on the porch next to his chair. He sat back, head against the wall and continued to stare across the field. Another day was coming to an end, and he felt some longing he dared not consider. Beyond the horizon, he knew there were places where he could go and live as he wished, but could he have a life out there. Could he support himself, put a roof over his head, and find a decent job. He had doubts it was within his reach.
Zeke closed his eyes and imagined someone sitting with him on the porch. He pictured them talking to him about their day, telling him about some humorous event at their work. He pictured them in the kitchen helping to prepare dinner, one chopping onion while the other stirred something on the stove top. He pictured them in his bed, moving over him, touching him, kissing him, fucking him, and he opened his eyes returning back to reality. To a hawk gliding over the field. If only he could feel as free.
Dirty Back Roads…
Somewhere between Kansas City and St. Louis Oliver decided on a destination. He had a first cousin in Jacksonville, Florida. He had not seen Cheryl since a funeral brought her back to Hemmington and they had hung out after the service, Cheryl talking about living in Jacksonville working at the port and her boyfriend a contractor, and he about his job as farmhand, pushing past her question about a girlfriend. She had told him to come down, maybe in winter when it was so brutally cold in Montana.
He refrained from calling her to let her know he was on his way. He didn’t know why, but it would seem to formalize his destination, and traveling without one had taken him this far, and it had given him a sense of freedom he had never felt before.
In St. Louis he merged on Interstate 64 heading east. Then it was Interstate 57 followed by 24 until he found himself driving into Nashville. He had been staying in cheap motels, but in Nashville he got a room at a decent place just out of downtown and spent the late afternoon and evening roaming the streets, grabbing dinner, then hitting a couple of bars. It made him restless to be in the straight bars, around guys who were looking to hook up with women, not noticing his stares of longing.
A little after midnight, Oliver found a small gay bar south of downtown, and he ventured in to just to be around other guys who were gay. He met Sam and Frank, and Wyatt, another guy just traveling through. Oliver got Wyatt back to his hotel and into his bed.
“What do you want?” said Oliver as he moved on top of Wyatt.
“Everything,” Wyatt replied.
“Good,” said Oliver as he penetrated him. He fucked until his body was sweaty and he was gasping for air. He got Wyatt into another position and buried his cock in the ass and fucked. Fucked to cum as Wyatt begged for it.
“Fuck my ass. Fuck me. Harder,” Wyatt pleaded.
Oliver held him down, hands pinned to the bed and legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped cock in the ass. He moved with determination, working his hips until sweat rained down on Wyatt. Then he hammered his spurting cock into him until spent.
Wyatt sucked his cock clean then got it hard again.
“Come on, cowboy, fuck me again,” said Wyatt.
Oliver pouched on Wyatt, held the head face down into the bed as he sank his cock in the ass. He fucked slow, then fast, then slow again. He pulled Wyatt to his knees, and with an arm around the neck, he bent him back against his chest and fucked his ass. Fucked while Wyatt jacked off. Fucked until their bodies rubbed slickly against each other. And Oliver kept fucking while Wyatt shuddered with release, spraying cum across the bed, then he pushed him face down into the largest wet spot and fucked until filling the ass with another load.
Wyatt got dressed and left as Oliver lay on the bed watching him. It was unfulfilling, this quick fuck then Wyatt heading out the door. But what could he expect when just passing through. It was just a fuck. Nothing more.
The next day, Oliver drove out of Nashville and two hours later he was skirting Chattanooga. Less than two hours later, he was navigating the worst traffic he had ever been in. The interstate went from four lanes to six, then twelve lanes. It was unimaginable to him that a place could have so much traffic. He started to take the by-pass but wanted to see downtown, so he motored straight into the city until moving at a crawl.
Eventually, he came out on the south side heading towards Macon. He had been on Interstates since Rapid Falls and was sick of it. An exit appeared and without knowing where it would take him, he slipped into the exit lane and up to the two-lane road that bridged over the interstate. He would wait on a semi pulling a trailer, a couple of pickups, then he turned left and headed east. After a few miles, his instincts saying to go south, not east, he turned again and motored through the Georgia countryside. He drove through woodland, past farms, and through small towns. He listened to old rock ‘n roll music and drove south wondering where he would come out.
Just another day…
Zeke pulled Ted Jordan’s Mustang out of the garage bay and into a parking space at the edge of the property. He climbed into Emily Cassidy’s Chevrolet Cruze and pulled it into the bay. The car had been idling rough and her dad said it had to be the old spark plugs, for he had no idea when they had been replaced, if ever.
He popped the hood then looked around at the interior. Lipstick was in the cup holder, a necklace hung from the rearview mirror, and two empty soda bottles lay in the passenger footwell. He could smell the perfume she wore, picturing the young girl five years his junior, and he wondered what someone would smell if they climbed into his old truck, imagining it would smell of grease, sweat, and dirt. He climbed out and moved to the front of the car, raising the hood to get started.
Thunder rumbled and a wind began to blow, swirling through the garage doors cooling the interior. Zeke glanced around the hood and smiled at the relief the winds provided, but hoped it wouldn’t be too severe, but the dark clouds to the southeast spoke of just such a storm approaching.
“Zeke!” exclaimed Steve, one of the other mechanics.
“Yes?”
“Let’s close up the shop so we don’t get rain blowing in.”
“Okay,” Zeke replied, disappointed for he wanted it to blow in.
As the last door closed, drops of rain blew against it. The wind picked up, blowing even harder, and it began to rain in earnest. It muffled the sounds in the shop. Steve’s radio could no longer be clearly heard.
Zeke went back to the Cruze, pulling the last two spark plugs. If the storm was like the others, it would rain hard for about twenty minutes, then settle into drizzling rain for some period after. All it meant to him was the shop was no longer unbearably hot.
He worked steadily, installing new plugs and wires, then did a quick check of the fluids and belts, and closed the hood. He looked over and saw Steve had beaten him to Mrs. Harris’ Volvo, the car being pulled into the next bay.
“Is John Michael’s truck next, or is it that old Caprice,” said Zeke as he wiped his hands.
“Check with TJ; I’m not sure,” said Steve.
“I think it is the Caprice,” said Buddy coming out of the small parts room behind the office.
Zeke walked around the raised Volvo and went into the office to find TJ on the phone. A quick nod of acknowledgement, TJ went back to his computer to set up an appointment for someone. Zeke leaned on the counter and looked at the old Navy tattoos running up both arms, wondering what it had been like for TJ in the Iraq war. He tried to remember what it was called, then remembered Desert Storm and how the United States routed the Iraqi military. He had heard TJ mention it, but never going into detail, only saying it was not pleasant coming up on burned out tanks.
The bell on the door tinkled and Zeke turned to see Charlie Baldwin come in. They were the same age and went through school together, although were never close friends and when Bailey betrayed him, Charlie had been one to join in on the bullying. As Charlie came in, balding and out of shape, looking as if he had put on forty or fifty pounds, he pictured the younger Charlie, standing with others asking him he liked to suck dick and take it up the ass.
“Zeke, how’s it going?” said Charlie as if they were old friends.
“Good,” said Zeke, then he went back into he shop to wait for Charlie to leave. He busied himself cleaning up his bay, wiping down the tools he had used on the Cruze and putting them away, then sweeping the area out, glancing up often, watching for when Charlie would leave. Seeing him made the memories come back. The hand on the thigh. The thigh jerking away. The stammering of confusion and embarrassment, then the jumping out of the truck and running off.
Charlie walked out of the office and Zeke went to the garage door to look out through the small window. Charlie went to a Ford Escape idling in the drive, climbing in the passenger seat, then the vehicle turned around and drove away, Dana, Charlie’s wife, behind the wheel. In the parking lot, he quickly picked out Charlie’s F-150, then headed back to the office.
“TJ, is it Michael’s truck or the old Caprice that is next?” said Zeke.
“The Caprice,” said TJ, sliding the keys across the countertop.
A stranger from a faraway land…
Zeke closed the hood on the old Jeep wishing everything was as easy to service. He pulled it out of the bay and parked it next to Jason McKinley’s Dodge truck, the next vehicle to be serviced. Climbing out of the Jeep, he glanced up at the clear blue sky, the expanse seeming to be infinite. He saw a jet flying high overhead, just a tiny outline visible. It looked so alone, nothing around it for as far as the eye could see. Then he considered where it could be going on its southern trajectory. Miami or Puerto Rico or maybe Brazil, someplace far away and exotic.
The Dodge truck hoisted up in the air, Zeke pulled the oil pan plug. As black oil drained out, he checked the suspension, looked at the exhaust system, then pulled the oil filter, draining it before tossing it into the barrel.
As he lowered the truck, he heard the rumble of a V-8 pulling in, then saw a Ford Highboy pull into a parking space. Steam billowed out from under the hood. The driver climbed out and rushed across the drive and into the office.
Zeke sized him up. He couldn’t stop himself. About his height of five foot ten, maybe an inch or so taller, lean build but the arms showed him not to be skinny. Plaid shirt, worn jeans, work boots, and a baseball cap pulled low on the head.
A minute later, TJ came to the door of the shop. “Zeke, come to the office.”
“What’s up?” said Zeke as he came in and stood by TJ behind the counter. He looked over it at the guy standing on the other side. Smooth tanned skin tone, the face boyish, with dark brown eyes starring back.
“This is Oliver Larson and he thinks the thermostat locked closed or the water pump has bit the dust on that Ford truck. He’s on the road passing through, so can you finish up McKinley’s truck and look at it?”
“Sure; I’m almost finished up.”
“Thanks,” said Oliver.
“Where you from?” said Zeke.
“Montana. Hardin, Montana.”
“Damn, you are a long way from home,” said Zeke.
“Yeah, it was time for a change of scenery.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Jacksonville. I have a cousin there. I thought I’d surprise her.”
“Zeke,” said TJ.
“Sorry, I’ll get finished up and pull your truck in to see what is wrong,” said Zeke.
As he raised the hood, he uttered the name under his breath. “Oliver Larson.” He looked toward the door of the office wondering what it was like to road trip it across the country. He looked at the old Ford, with its square framed headlights, egg-crate grill, and badge on the front fender below the dent line and knew it was a 1976 model. The badge would be above the dent line the next model year, a small detail, but one that distinguished the models.
Zeke checked the thermostat to find it was working. Once the truck cooled enough, he started it and heard the pump making a whining noise, and knew it was the culprit. He called the parts store to see if they had one for it.
In the office, Zeke came around to TJ. “The water pump needs to be replaced but the auto parts store doesn’t have it. It’ll be tomorrow before they can get one here.”
“Okay,” said TJ. He looked over the counter at Oliver sitting on the old sofa reading a twenty-year-old hunting magazine. “Oliver, I’m afraid it is the water pump. The store will have it here tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir.”’
Zeke saw Oliver exhale slowly and look down. When Oliver looked up, he smiled with resignation.
“Then there is nothing else to do but wait until it gets here. Is there a motel nearby I can get a room.”
“Oh, you don’t want to stay in of those, not here. They’re pretty bad,” said Zeke.
“There’s a small hotel on the south end of town,” said TJ.
“How far is it? Can I walk?” said Oliver.
“If you can wait until we close, I can give you a lift to it,” said Zeke, imagining the possibilities of getting Oliver alone. Then he pictured the hand on the thigh and the thigh jerked away, and he blinked.
“What is the hotel so I can call ahead and reserve a room.”
“No need,” said TJ. “We close in thirty minutes, so Zeke can head on out and take you. Zeke, give him a ride to the hotel.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeke replied, suppressing the desire to smile.
“I’m the old Chevy,” said Zeke, pointing at his dark blue truck.
“What is that? An 83?”
“84.”
“Those are good trucks. What’s under the hood? The 350?”
“I wish; it’s the 305.”
“At least it’s not that horrible diesel they put in them back then.”
“True,” said Zeke, unlocking his door and climbing in. He unlocked the passenger door and watched Oliver climb in. The tall lean body, one he realized was taller than him, at least six foot, maybe taller, settled on the bench seat. It seemed to fill the cab and Zeke forced himself to stop staring as he started the engine.
“This hotel, is it near a restaurant?”
“There’s a couple of fast-food joints near it, but I’d stay away from the seafood one. They keep getting a bad health rating from what I hear,” said Zeke as he pulled out of the parking lot onto 90, heading south.
“Great; I’ve been eating fast food for the last two days.”
“There’s a bar-be-cue place in downtown. I could take you. I’ve not been in a while and…I mean, if you like bar-be-cue.”
Oliver smiled. “That would be nice. But are you sure it’s no trouble?”
“No, not at all. If you’ll just let me run home and get cleaned up, I’ll come back, pick you up and we can go.”
“How long will you need?”
“It takes fifteen minutes to get to my place down below town.”
“So, at least an hour. That’ll give me time to get cleaned up too.”
As Zeke drove along 90, they rode in silence for a few blocks.
“Are you from here?” said Oliver, breaking the silence.
“Yes. I sometimes think I should move away, but…I just don’t. You’re from Montana?”
“I’m originally from Nebraska, but a few years ago I moved to Montana to take a farmhand job.”
“Why did you quit?”
“I was fired. It seems I messed around with the wrong person, and it cost me my job and my lease.”
“That sucks. The girl’s daddy didn’t take too kindly to you?”
“Something like that.”
While driving across town their conversation continued about trivial aspects of their lives. What it was like in Nebraska and Montana compared to life in southern Georgia. The hotel came up on the right and Zeke turned in, pulling to the Porte cochere to let Oliver out.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” said Zeke.
“See you then,” Oliver replied, then closed the passenger door and headed into the lobby as Zeke drove away.
Zeke glanced into the rear-view mirror to watch Oliver step through the automatic door wondering if dinner was going to be a mistake. He was attracted to him, gave thought to ending up in Oliver’s hotel room having sex. He wondered if he could do it, if Oliver was willing. Could he let go of his past embarrassment and fears.
Zeke and Oliver sat at a small two-top table along the side wall waiting on their food. Half finished beers sat on the table as Oliver talked of being a farmhand in Montana. Zeke would look from the brown eyes across from him to the eyes of the dining room staring at them. The dining room was full, every table occupied, and at one time or another, it seemed as if someone at every table would look at him with judgment. He wondered how they viewed Oliver, a stranger, someone just passing through, but to most probably an online hook up. Zeke didn’t know whether he should feel embarrassed or defiant. In the end, he did his best to ignore the stare of others and focus on Oliver, letting himself think of it.
But it was obvious he viewed this dinner differently. He was dressed neatly, with a white shirt and his best jeans, and he had done his best to comb his unruly hair. He hoped Oliver didn’t notice, then he hoped he did take notice as he fantasized about something happening between them.
Their food arrived and another beer was set on the table.
“Thanks,” said Zeke to the waitress who gave him a weak smile and headed back to the kitchen.
“Not very friendly,” Oliver observed.
“It’s me; none of them like me.”
“What? Why?”
“I…huh…long story; can we just enjoy our dinner and not talk about it.”
As they ate, Oliver asked about the beaches to the south along the Florida gulf coast, Atlanta to the north, and Savannah, St. Augustine, and Disney World. Zeke told of going to Fort Walton Beach and Panama City a couple of times, but not since graduating from high school, then he confessed he had not been anywhere too busy with work making just enough in the small town to get by.
Zeke didn’t notice how Oliver looked at him, at first as someone met in passing and finding out their story, to something that made his features soften. To look at Zeke as someone familiar.
“…been working for TJ since I was sixteen because mom needed help,” said Zeke finally talking about the farm and how they lost it.
“I’m sorry,” said Oliver. “It sounds tough.”
“Yeah, well, most around here have it tough.”
“Don’t diminish yourself.”
Zeke looked across the table at Oliver, not sure how to reply.
“Why are you not married or seeing someone? I get the impression you’re alone a lot,” said Oliver.
“I haven’t found…I…don’t know.”
“You should at least live for the day. You know have some fun on occasion.”
“That would be nice.”
A foot touched Zeke’s foot and he froze. He wanted to push back, to acknowledge it, but maybe it was just an accident, and it meant nothing. The foot pressed against his foot again. Then he had a flashback of a hand on a thigh. Of Bailey putting a hand on his thigh making a pass and he freaking out. Had Bailey been testing him, trying to out him so he could make fun of him. He had jerked away and looked at Bailey in shock. Then he tried to apologize for it, tell Bailey he was sorry and didn’t mean to pull away. But it had been too late. Bailey jumped out of the truck and took off, heading back to the bonfire. By the time he got there the betrayal had occurred. He was suddenly a pariah to his classmates and within two weeks to the town.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver blurted out, staring across the table red faced.
“No, it’s…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Zeke didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to admit he wanted something to happen, but in the restaurant with so many eyes upon him, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.
“Let’s finish and you can take me back to the hotel,” said Oliver.
“Okay,” Zeke replied but it was anything but okay.
Zeke watched Oliver go through the automatic doors into the lobby of the hotel. He wanted to call out to him. He wanted to follow him into the hotel, but he had fucked it up. Why did he let what happened years before become such a burden, something to live in constant judgment. It didn’t have to be this way. He could live the way he wanted and tell everyone to fuck off; be defiant against their perceived norms.
How would he face Oliver the next morning when he already felt such regret.
He put his truck in gear and pulled away.
Does life have to be so complicated…
Oliver entered his room, tossed keys and wallet on the chest of drawers and turned on the television. Mindlessly he flipped through the channels trying not to think of Zeke. But time and time again, the lanky muscular build came to mind, the face that he could still see some of the teenager Zeke had been. He saw the thick wavy black hair that needed cutting, the dark brown eyes, the same color as his own, but revealed someone different, someone holding back, concealing themselves from everyone around them.
What did it matter, he repeatedly told himself. But he had been so sure Zeke was gay. The way Zeke looked at him with such longing. Maybe he had been wrong. He certainly thought so when Zeke jerked back and looked shocked, but the way Zeke stammered and apologized made it seem as if Zeke was just uncertain of himself. He was sure of it when he climbed out of the truck because of the way Zeke stared at him, as if imploring him to make another pass. What if he had asked him up to his room; would things have played out differently. Maybe it was the public place that caused Zeke to reject his clumsy pass. He should have been more straight forward, spoke to Zeke like a confident adult instead of some footsy pass under the table.
He striped down to his boxers preparing for bed. But he knew sleep would be long in coming. He went to the window and looked out at the back of the fast-food restaurant next door and the small pool down below. The entry was on the other side of the building.
A knock, two short raps, and barely loud enough to hear. Oliver wondered if someone was lost or maybe it was hotel staff who came to inquire about something. He went to the door, not bothering to put on his jeans. He slipped the door guard and opened the door enough to see around it.
“Zeke?”
“Hey, I’m sorry but…I wanted to…I messed up and…”
The voice trailed off and Oliver realized Zeke was trying to say it. To admit what he wanted, but the words would not come.
“Do you want to come in?” said Oliver swinging the door open and standing before him in just his light blue boxers.
“Yes,” Zeke uttered as he looked Oliver up and down.
It was obvious, so blatantly obvious what Zeke wanted, and Oliver reached out. Zeke looked up and smiled, then took his hand to let himself be pulled into the room.
Oliver pulled Zeke past the bathroom and to the foot of the king size bed. He turned to him, moving up close.
“It’s okay you know. No one needs to know.”
“But I want them to know. I just…”
“Shhh, it’s okay Zeke,” said Oliver. He cupped the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss.
Zeke felt the lips against his own, gentle, just a simple kiss, then it grew more passionate and he kissed back. Hungrily, desperately, revealing the longing that had been consuming him. He reached out and touched the stomach, firm and flat, and he wanted to move his hand down, but he moved it upward until rubbing the chest. A hand touched his stomach, then slid down until groping him. He gasped for breath and moved his hand down, over the stomach and to the waistband of the flimsy boxers. He raked his fingers along the waist, then he moved down to the crotch where he could feel the cock. Another man’s cock and it responded to his manipulation as his own tried to stretch out within his jeans.
Zeke found the fly and slipped his fingers through it touching the bare cock, feeling it harden at his touch. Oliver moaned and pushed against his fingers.
“Have you done this before?” whispered Oliver.
“No,” Zeke replied, feeling embarrassed at his confession.
“Let me show you what it is like,” said Oliver.
Oliver undressed Zeke. Slowly, gently, one garment then the next, until Zeke stood naked and half hard. Oliver kissed him, on the lips then down then neck as he reached for the cock. He stroked it feeling it elongate and thicken. Zeke moaned.
“Please don’t stop,” Zeke whispered.
Oliver pushed Zeke to get on the bed, and he watched the lanky muscular body back to it then eased down until Zeke was sitting propped up on elbows staring back. He pushed his boxers down and stepped out of them and climbed on the bed next to Zeke. He guided him to turn, and they lay side by side. Another kiss, more passionate, physical in a way only two men could be, and Oliver felt a tentative hand touch him, first on the stomach, then down until fondling his cock. Then Zeke slid down the bed until down at his waist. He watched him take his cock and hold it up. A kiss to the head, then the lips slipped over it and part of the way down the shaft, making him gasp. He lay still letting Zeke suck at his own pace. At first, slow and out of rhythm, then as if finding himself, Zeke sucked with a steady pace, moving lips up and down his cock until he was ready to cum.
“Zeke…I’m going to cum.”
It spurned Zeke to move with more determination. The head moved up and down, the mouth taking his cock until he lay back, closed his eyes, and just as he was going to erupt, shove upward, pushing to the back of the mouth. He came, and Zeke nearly choked, but took it every wad as he ejaculated into the suctioning mouth.
Zeke moved up next to Oliver and kissed him. Tongue slipped into his mouth, and he knew Oliver captured the taste of his own cum. Then Oliver pushed him to his back and before he knew it, he was laying back, eyes closed, as Oliver moved on his cock. Lips worked up and down it. Tongue swirled around the head. He was growing so aroused he was breathing hard. Then he felt fingers toying with his nuts, tugging and manipulating them in the tightening sack. He spread his legs wider apart for he wanted it. The fingers rubbed downward, below his nut sack until touching him there. He spread his legs further apart for Oliver was doing what he had imagined so often over the years. Oliver was touching him in a manner he had wanted Bailey to do but had been too scared to let him.
As lips moved up his neck then tugged on his earlobe, a finger penetrated him and he moaned and tried to push his ass on it. The finger worked his tight opening as lips and tongue moved around his ear.
“You’re not going to stop me, are you?” whispered Oliver.
“No. Keep going,” Zeke uttered breathlessly.
Two fingers penetrated him. Three fingers, stretching him open, preparing him to be fucked. He slid his left foot up, raising the knee and angled it outward spreading himself open for the manipulation.
“Oliver. Fuck me,” he uttered as he clutched at the bed.
Oliver moved and he watched him get between his legs and he held them up. Oliver took each, holding them at the ankle, and spread them wide apart. Cock slapped his ass, raked across it, then pressed against his opening. He looked up at Oliver. He stared with desire and want, then gasped as cock penetrated him. A man’s cock bore into him, and he shuddered with every inch that sank into his depths. It was more than he had ever imagined and he didn’t want it to stop.
Zeke rocked with Oliver’s fuck. A steady rhythm that made him breathless, and yet he knew Oliver wasn’t fucking him with every inch of his cock, and he wanted it. He wanted every fucking inch thrusting into his depths. He lay flat, head tilted back, and moaned, then begged Oliver to fuck him harder.
Oliver pushed his legs down until thighs were tight to his chest and his ass angled upward. Cock bore into his depths until hips pressed against it.
“Fuck. Fuck me,” exclaimed Zeke, knowing he now had every inch.
And Oliver fucked.
Oliver pushed down on his legs until it was hard to breath and fucked him. Fucked him until the sound of hips smacking against his ass echoed in the room. Fucked him so hard he gasped for breath, as if the cock was pushing the air out of his lungs. He reached out and felt the undulating body, the skin slick and hot to the touch. He looked up and saw dark brown eyes staring back. He saw the sweat trickling down the face and the parted lips as Oliver sucked in air. He scanned the body, muscles knotted tight and skin glistening with sweat and watched how it moved as cock was pushed into him.
“I’m going to cum,” Oliver exclaimed.
Zeke felt the full weight of him, how Oliver bore down on his legs and fucked harder, faster, hips hammering his upturned ass. Then Oliver shoved into his depths and shuddered with release.
How long had they laid across the bed, Zeke didn’t know but their breathing had settled to normal and he had Oliver hard again. He slow stroked the cock watching the thick shaft slide through his hand.
“Will you do me again?” whispered Zeke.
“Of course,” said Oliver.
Zeke lay on his stomach and Oliver moved over him. Cock dragged up his right leg then moved over his ass. He reached back and spread his cheeks and the cock slipped between them and Oliver pumped it along the crevice, then put it to his wet hole. Another push and he moaned as the cock penetrated him again.
“Fuck; feels so good,” uttered Oliver.
“Yes,” Zeke moaned as the cock bore into his depths.
Oliver lay on his back and worked the cock inside him, grinding hips against his ass. It was a slow fuck, body on body, with a gentleness and physicalness that made his own cock grow erect beneath him. He felt the undulating body. Then Oliver laced fingers through his own and held him down, pushing upward until hovering over him, and fucked faster, working cock inside him until he was gasping for breath and pushing his ass upward trying to get that cock deeper inside him.
Oliver’s fuck lasted a long time. Oliver fucked until both were gasping for breath and their bodies felt feverish, rubbing slickly against each other. It went on and on, body on body. But far too soon, Oliver was jamming the cock into his depths, trying to push even deeper as cock ejaculated wad after wad into him.
Oliver guided him to roll over, and his hard cock flopped against his abdomen. He assumed Oliver would suck him off again. He was shocked to watch him move over his waist, take his cock and ease down on it. He watched inch after inch disappear into the ass until Oliver was seated fully on it.
“Fuck, this feels good,” said Oliver.
Zeke could only smile as he watched Oliver begin to move, to rise upward then drop back down, working the ass on his cock. Oliver moved slowly and Zeke could feel that ass along every inch. Then Oliver increased his pace, moved with wild abandon, and Zeke just clutched the bed and held on as the ass moved on his cock with such a rhythm the surge of release shuddered him. He cried out, shoved upward into the ass as it dropped down, and came.
Then it was over and Zeke wondered if he should leave. Oliver lay next to him, silent, breathing finally back to normal. He had no idea of the time and knew this was a one-time thing. Just a hook up with a passing stranger, something not to happen again. He sat up and reached for his boxers.
“Don’t go,” whispered Oliver. “Shower with me and stay. You have to take me back to the shop anyway. Please stay?”
Oliver offered him what he wanted. He had wanted the sex until it made him feel breathless and now, he wanted to sleep with him, to feel another against his body, and to wake with them, snuggled together in a warm bed.
“Okay.”
Zeke woke confused at first. Nothing looked right, then there was the body against his back with an arm wrapped around holding him tight. He smiled when he remembered. He remembered the sex, the showering together, then the getting into bed. He had worried about laying awake all night, some old nervousness that would keep him restless. But as they settled together, at some point he had drifted off to sleep. Now he found himself more rested than he had been in a long time.
“Good morning,” uttered Oliver.
“Good morning,” Zeke repeated.
“What time is it?”
“Six twenty.”
“What time do you need to be at work?”
“Eight. And I need to run home to get dressed. I can swing by on the way back and pick you up.”
“Okay.”
Zeke dressed and eased out, making his way down to the lobby and out to his truck. He let the engine idle a minute while he replayed the night before. He smiled. He wanted to yell. He wanted to roll down a window and tell the world what had happened. Then he frowned at the realization that Oliver would be gone as soon as he got his truck repaired. He thought about ways to delay the repair. Maybe say the part was wrong and they would need to reorder it. It was foolish, and he knew it. He put his truck in reverse and pulled out of the parking space, then drove out of the lot heading home, resolved to what he had to do. Get Oliver’s truck repaired so he could be on his way.
Zeke was wiping his hands as he watched Oliver drive away, heading south toward his destination in Jacksonville. He felt like something was taken from him, like a child who has a favorite toy taken by an older child.
“Hey Zeke, Bill Henderson’s Jeep is next,” said TJ.
Zeke turned and saw his boss standing in the door to the office and he nodded and headed toward the office to get the key for it.
This is crazy…
Oliver drove through southern Georgia replaying the night before. Not just the sex, although it had been satisfying in a way he couldn’t describe, but dinner with Zeke, their showering together, then sleeping together. All simple acts between two people. Nothing of note in most situations, but for someone who had never had a relationship that could be open and normal, it seemed to be a preview of what could be.
He pictured Zeke. The brown eyes that had a gold reflection. So light brown the iris was visible. Hair that was black, thick and wavy, tousled in a way that looked slovenly at times, but when Zeke had been laying on the bed taking his fuck, staring up with desire, the hair had made him look wildly sexy. Then there was the body. He was shocked when he got Zeke naked. Such a lean muscular body and the dark skin tone. And the cock, nice and thick when erect. Any one aspect was alluring but taken as a whole, Zeke had been the perfect southern boy down to the drawl.
If only things had been different. If only they were in the same town or close enough to make dating feasible. The idea of dating to better know Zeke was such a fantasy, Oliver admonished himself for thinking it.
He arrived in Jacksonville late in the afternoon. He pulled up in front of his cousin’s place and wondered how long he would stay. The city had been larger than he expected, too large for someone like him. He climbed out and greeted his cousin who made him feel at home.
Three days is all it took for Oliver to become restless. He had gone out the night before and no matter how tempted he had been by the guys at the gay bar only a few blocks from the river, he found himself stepping back, good naturedly refusing each guy who hit on him. He had been tempted but he let Zeke creep into his thoughts, and it dulled his desire to hook up.
Sometime before one, Oliver was strolling back to his truck shaking his head at how he was going to leave alone. “Fuck,” he uttered to himself as he unlocked the door and climbed behind the wheel. “What are you going to do, asshole?” he said aloud.
Zeke tried not to show how he was feeling. He forced a smile when someone made a joke or some sarcastic comment and when finally, alone, under the hood of a customer’s vehicle or on the drive home, or sitting on the porch looking over the field, he would sigh and exhale out his frustration. He knew Oliver wasn’t the only man out there. There were plenty of others. He just had to put himself out there and find one of them. Maybe the guy from Albany. It wasn’t too far to the west. They could meet somewhere halfway between them, like Tifton or Sylvester, small towns with little to offer except a place to grab lunch or dinner. In Tifton, they could get a hotel room for a night.
There were two guys up in Macon whose profiles caught his eye. Maybe one of them would want more than just a one-night stand.
One day since Oliver left became two, then three. A week passed and Zeke found himself settling back into his old routine, isolated and alone.
The next Friday afternoon, thunder rumbled to the southwest, then the winds picked up. Then the rain came, at first just a drizzling rain, then it fell harder. The potholes filled quickly and rivers of storm water ran down the drive and along the street.
Zeke was watching Bryan Madison’s 4Runner as he lowered it back to the floor when he heard a rumbling. At first, he thought it was the storm, but it lasted too long and grew louder. Then an old Ford Highboy pulled past the open garage door and parked.
He got the 4Runner on the floor and turned to see Oliver standing just inside the garage door, wet despite the short distance across the drive.
“You’re back?”
“Yeah, I, huh…”
“Is there something wrong with the work we did on your truck,” said TJ coming out of the office.
“No, sir, not at all.”
“Is there something we can help you with?”
“I was wanting to talk to Zeke a minute.”
“I see,” said TJ.
Zeke saw it, a recognition about the situation. A confirmation about the rumors so long ago. TJ knew, and he watched him nod his head and step back into the office.
“What are you doing here?” said Zeke.
“I’ve interviewed for a farmhand position nearby. It is one of those farms set up for the public to pick their own vegetables or strawberries or in the fall, their own pumpkin and they were looking for help.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I called them three days ago and told them about my experience. I had an interview yesterday and…they made an offer.”
“Are you going to take it?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
Oliver came closer, close as he dared, and Zeke looked over at Buddy who turned back to the Dodge truck he was working on. When he looked back at Oliver, he didn’t know what to say.
“Zeke, if I take the job…do you think we could maybe go out.”
“Like on dates?”
“Yes.”
“You want to go out with me?”
“Yes, and I hope…I hope you want to go out with me.”
“That would be nice.”
“So, I should take the job?”
Zeke smiled. He looked over at Buddy who was staring at him. A nod of the head, then Buddy leaned back down beneath the hood. Zeke sensed the possibility and he wondered if he could really do it. He had endured the ostracization and nasty comments for years and hadn’t done anything to earn it. He’d earn it this time he amusingly thought.
“What’s so funny?” said Oliver.
“It’s just…never mind. Take the job.”
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