The Trombone Player

From Part 3

Tom was the only man I had ever met who made me feel happy just by being in the same room.

I prayed for God to give me strength.

Each evening, except the ones that Tom picked me up for our therapy session, I waited for a text message that he had finished work and was on his way home. We shared the same interest in movies and would often watch them while eating a meal and texting interesting points to one another.

After our therapy meeting, we’d get something and eat in the car and talk more about the points that were brought up. We usually ended up kissing, and although it was awkward because of the console between the seats, sometimes one of us would give the other a hand job.

Sundays were our days to explore. I loved to get food ready to cook in his grandparents’ home or to take with us as we walked around the pasture or through the small woods on the property. Late in the afternoon, we would head upstairs for a brief nap; however, we never slept.

I found that pleasuring Tom with my tongue wrapped around his short, but always hard as a rock, cock was a true way of letting him know how much he meant to me. I varied my technique, but I avoided any semblance of penetration. Once, as I rubbed my finger around his aperture, I pushed. Although the pressure was slight, his reaction frightened me.

He clenched his teeth and tightened his sphincter. In an odd voice, he begged me not to hurt him. Later, when I asked him about it, he could only tell me how terrified he felt at that moment.

With a little research, I discovered a position that would allow Tom to insert his erection into me. I knew that it would be a challenge, but any mention of anal sex seemed to cause him to withdraw. Anytime I sensed that reaction, I kissed him on his temple and reminded him of how much I loved him. He always pulled me to him and reminded me that he loved me as well. Once, he told me that he felt dead before he met me.

That was just one of the things that made me worried for the man that I was falling more and more in love with. Our family therapist wanted him to see a specific therapist whose specialty was childhood trauma; there weren’t appointments available until two months out. I tried to pretend that it was no big deal, but I hoped that whatever help that Tom needed was not as severe as it sounded.

While we were waiting for this personal therapy to start, I hatched an idea to demonstrate my commitment to Tom. I knew he was committed to me, he had started bringing a few clothes and leaving them in the car when he came over on some nights. He would pretend to be too tired, and he retrieved the clothes. He always brought too many, so he’d leave some. It was so cute; how I loved and appreciated every little gesture he made. In secret, I had talked to a mortgage company to arrange to buy his grandparents' home. I figured that if he knew about it, he would insist that his siblings would lower the price, and he would just not receive a portion of the sale. But I wanted it to be a surprise. I also wanted to talk to his siblings so they could not discuss the sale with him.

Things were going almost too well. I had the money for the down payment; there was enough money to do some needed repairs. I asked to meet with Ray, Emily, and Carolyn before making my offer. Although Tom had mentioned me while talking to them on the phone, we hadn’t met.

The day of Tom’s meeting his new therapist was approaching. Tom had become more sedate. There were times he would sit next to me and put his head on my chest and hold my hand. He’d remain that way for an hour or more. When I asked him to tell me what he was thinking, he’d usually say, “Nothing, really.”

On one occasion, he asked me if I remembered when the therapist asked us about our earliest memory.

“Yes, I remember.” I smiled at my little joke.

Tom wasn’t smiling. “How come I can’t remember anything before eighth grade?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some people just don’t.”

“But you remember stuff from when you were three.” He looked up at me. “Stevie, I’m scared.”

I wanted to tell him about the house, tell him how we were going to make it no matter what, but the fear in his eyes was so real that it frightened me. I pushed the hair from his eyes. “There are two possibilities, Tom-tom. Either nothing happened or something happened. And if something happened, you lived through it the first time; you’ll live through the memory of it. Plus, this time, you have me and you have the doctor.” I kissed his temple.

On the day of his first single therapy session, I had a meeting with his siblings about the house. I dropped Tom off; his session was two hours long. I’d be back in plenty of time.

I pulled into the parking a little early; I went inside feeling confident that everything was going to work out for the best. I wasn’t sure how Tom would feel after his first independent session, but I would surprise him if he was feeling down, and if he were feeling good, I would hold onto it for a little while. Three cars arrived almost simultaneously in the parking lot. I waited at the front door to the real estate office as a man and two women parked and exited their cars. They nodded and said hello to one another. As they approached the door, I spoke up. “Hi. I’m Steve Hopkins.”

“Nice to meet you. Ray Spencer. “These are my sisters, Emily and Carolyn.” We shook hands. “Let’s go inside and hear your proposal.”

I followed them in, and we sat in chairs in front of the realtor’s desk, and I began. “I’m not sure you recognized my name.” They looked at one another. “I’m Tom’s boyfriend. Your brother Tom.” I saw Ray raise an eyebrow. “I know that Tom wants your grandparents’ farm, but he’s not in a position to buy it right now. I’d like to buy it for him, but I don’t want him to know until it’s done and I can give him the keys. I’ve already arranged financing, so I’m not expecting any concessions or anything.”

Carolyn squirmed in her chair; Emily took a deep breath. Ray looked down at the floor. “That’s not going to be possible,” said Carolyn as she stood up.

“May I know why? Perhaps we can arrange something else.” My request seemed to fall on deaf ears. Carolyn walked out of the office. Emily seemed embarrassed and fixed her eyes on the floor. She got up and left. I looked over at Ray.

He stood up and stepped toward me. I stood up. “Keep him away from that farm. It’s not good for him.”

I was confused. “But he loves it there. We had our first date there.”

“Keep him away. How often has he been going there?

“We go every Sunday,” I admitted. “What’s wrong? Why is it bad for him?”

Ray put his hand on my shoulder, and we went outside. “There are things that Tom doesn’t know, and it’s best that way. Just keep him away from there.” Ray walked to his car and drove away.

I pulled my phone out and checked the time. That took less than fifteen minutes. Once inside the car, I deflated. Not only was my surprise for Tom not going to work, but now I was even more worried for him. There was something about his grandparents’ place that would hurt him if he knew about it. I wanted to scream. Maybe I could find another place to buy that would make Tom even happier, some land with a farmhouse and some trees. Or did he just want land and a farmhouse because he was emotionally tied to it? Maybe he would prepare to live near the ocean. Too many unknowns; the only thing that was known is that I wanted to be with him.

The speakers in the car came alive with a loud ring. Someone was calling me. I lowered the volume and answered the phone.

“This is Doctor Everly’s office. I’m trying to reach Steve Hopkins.”

“This is he.”

“Dr. Everly would like to talk to you; he understands that you’ll be picking Mr. Spencer up from his appointment.”

“Yes, that’s right. Is he ready early? I can come now if he’s ready to go.”

“Will you come now, then. He isn’t ready, but the doctor wants to speak with you?”

“I’ll head there now.”

Our therapist warned us that the psychiatrist may give him medication during his sessions; he’s likely a little woozy, I thought.

Ten minutes later, I was opening the door to Dr. Everly’s office. Modern, sterile with two chairs and a desk with a laptop. A pleasant older woman sat at the desk. She looked directly at me. “Mr. Hopkins?”

“That’s right,” I nodded.

“Just a moment.” She stood and left the room.

A moment later, a man in his forties with a handsome face and a fairly athletic build came into the waiting room. “Steve?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Judson Everly. I have a few questions for you.”

“Tom’s OK, isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not. I think he needs some serious therapy, Steve. On his paperwork, he gave you the authority to hospitalize him.”

“You already want to commit him? You’ve just started talking to him.” I started to cry. I’m not sure whether I was angry, scared, or confused. Maybe I was all three.

“I’ve had the benefit of the notes of your previous sessions. His reactions to my first few questions indicate severe trauma. In my experience, we need to investigate it under more controlled conditions and with some daily sessions.”

I nodded. “Just tell me what I need to do.” My poor Tom. What had happened to him, and why did I think his brother and sisters had something to do with it?