Beverages
I stopped at Mike's Bar on the way back to the rehab center, but Mike had stepped out, so I just bought a couple of bottles of beer to go and got back on the road. When I finally arrived, visiting hours were over, but the staff knew me and didn't bat an eye when I walked in. Ben was sitting up in his chair, watching a documentary on fungi and crocheting away on his latest doily. “There you are!” he smiled. “How was Kevin?”
“Typical moody teenager, bickering with his dad, and thinking he knows everything.”
Ben chuckled. “Some things never change.”
“Well, I've got something new for you. At least new since your injury.” I pulled the two bottles of beer out of my bag and handed one to him. “I think you've recovered enough for one of these.”
He gave me a sly look. “Who's been a naughty boy? Did you smuggle these past Nurse Ratchet?”
“At great personal risk too. I know you'd prefer some wine, but beer is more portable, and let's be honest, cheaper.”
“So I'm a cheap date now, am I.”
“That's not what ...”
“No, no, I can see the writing on the wall. First it's cheap beer, then it's TV dinners and tap water. I mean nothing to you, Nothing!” He threw his arm over his brow in an overly dramatic gesture, then dissolved into laughter. “But seriously, I'm not sure how alcohol might interact with the meds they're giving me. We should probably check.”
“I hadn't thought of that,” I admitted.
“You can go ahead and drink yours if you want.” he offered, trying not to kill the moment.
“Why don't I just smuggle them back out past Nurse Ratchet, and save them for a time when you have the all clear? It'll give us something to look forward to.”
“I suppose, but only if you promise to buy cheap pretzels to go with them.”
“Of course, what's cheap beer without cheap pretzels?” I leaned over and kissed him as I picked up his bottle.
“There was something I wanted to ask you,” he said once I had settled down. “What was it? Oh yes, of course.” The sparkle came back into his eyes. “How did you end up with a lap full of cum if the cruising area was a bust? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“That's an easy one,” I answered. “While the kids were up here visiting you, I took some time to relax on the patio and fell asleep. I seem to have had a wet dream. That's all.”
“A wet dream? How anti-climatic, pardon the expression.” He snickered at his own joke. “So, barring real experiences, tell me about the dream. Wet dreams are usually quite sexy”
“It was very vivid,” I admitted, “But it's strange. I thought it was just my imagination running wild all tangled up with the experiences of the day. But after talking to Kevin tonight...”
“Kevin? You dreamed about Kevin? Are you turning into the gay version of a cougar?”
“I didn't dream about Kevin,” I explained. “I dreamed I was Kevin.”
He thought for a minute before saying, “That is strange.”
“I thought that maybe I was imagining myself as him because of a fear of growing older or something. But then I found out that what I dreamed actually happened.”
“It actually happened?”
“Yes, I dreamed about Kevin and Mike doing the first mentoring session. But when I talked to Kevin, he told me some of the details of what happened, and they matched exactly. It was like I was there.”
Ben was silent for a moment. “You have experienced this before, you know. But there was always a ghost involved.”
“True, and it was always a vision of the past. This was a current event, probably experienced in real time. And as far as I know, there are no ghosts here, at least none that have made themselves known to me.”
“Weird. Did you tell Kevin?”
“What? And have him think of me as the mad voyeur until the day I die? I don't think so.”
“No, quite right.”
“I mean, there is a haunting going on at the cottage, but it feels more primal, more like an elemental or something, not a regular ghost. Although, there was that voice that stopped the growling thing. But I have no idea who that was or where it came from.”
“'Tis a puzzlement,” Ben interjected.
“You've been watching too Many British murder mysteries,” I chided. “So that's what you've been getting up to when I'm not here!”
“Well, they beat game shows. Besides, Miss Marple has nothing on me, at least when it comes to trees and forests.”
“True,” I chuckled.
“Shall I ring for tea, then, or would you prefer something more boozy? I understand there is an excellent cheap beer to be had.”
“It's good to see the real you again,” I mused as I took his hand and squeezed it.
“It's a struggle,” he admitted quietly. “But the lucid moments seem to be getting stronger and more frequent.”
We sat in silence for a moment, then I asked, “What would you like to do tonight?”
He took his time in responding, “This.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Just this. I want to sit beside you and grow old with you. We don't have to 'do' anything.” This time he squeezed my hand, and we turned our attention to the documentary that was droning on in the background.
When he finally began to doze, I called for the night nurse and helped him put Ben to bed. I could smell the man's musk and feel the heat from his body, but my attention was on Ben so I hardly thought about his dick. The thought of it just passed through my mind and, being more concerned with Ben's well being than anything else, I let it go instantly.
“Are you staying or going tonight?” the nurse asked with a smirk.
“Why?” I asked. “Were you planning on watching?”
“Don't think the idea hasn't crossed my mind,” he chuckled. “No, I just wanted to know whether I should close the door tightly on my way out.”
“I really do have a dirty mind, don't I?”
“Probably no worse than the rest of us.”
I leaned forward and kissed Ben on the forehead. “Do whatever works best for you,” I said. “I'm heading home for the night.” The nurse accompanied me to the elevator, and just before it opened, I asked, “Umm, for future reference, Do any of his medications have any restrictions? You know, like alcohol or cough drops or something?”
He gave me a knowing look. “Not at the moment, we've been taking him off of the more hardcore medication. His condition has been improving by the hour.” Then glancing down at my bag, he added, “But I wouldn't recommend it quite yet. Alcohol is a depressant, and who knows what that would do to his mood swings. Besides, it's against our policy to allow alcohol into the facility unless it's some sort of special occasion and it has been pre-approved by the doctor.”
“Good to know,” I said rather awkwardly. As the door slid open and I stepped in, I added, “Thanks.”
He gave me a wink as he replied, “Anytime.”
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