Trespass

The miles passed by unnoticed, mile markers, exits, major rivers that carved their way through the landscape and the bridges that span them as the concrete joints echoing through the cab of the Jeep. Ryan just drove through it all music blaring as his mind rambled. He was going home for the weekend, the first since leaving for college back in August. It had been everything he had hoped, and in some ways, everything he feared. He thought being on his own would be easier, able to make his own decisions and engage the pursuits a college atmosphere afforded. So far life on campus provided him those freedoms but it also made him feel cornered. The dorm with its small rooms, each one shared, gave no real privacy and for all the talk of independence, of ‘being your own person’ he found it stifling in its uniformity with this unspoken demand to fit in.

Ryan knew that was the problem, for he didn’t fit in, not really. He knew it for a long time.

Glancing in the mirrors to make sure the left lane was clear he eased over to pass a slower car, the hum of tires increased, their rhythm reflecting his speed as he moved past the car and eased back over in time to let another car, some foreign sports car, pass the two of them. The clock indicated it was five sixteen. He had been on the road for nearly two hours and had about an hour left before arriving home. The sun sat low on the horizon, nearly out of sight behind the tree lined hills. Darkness would ink its way across the sky quickly once the sun fell below the horizon.

Ryan had felt a frustration the last week that gnawed at him, kept him anxious around the other guys. For weeks, he saw them get dressed to go out, come in at all hours and later the next day brag about their night, the girl they went out with or picked up at one the hangouts around campus. They bragged about the sex, the things they did and he had listened, tried to imagine what it was like while he realized it sounded alien to him, something so normal for the others but to him it was something alien, not desired. He knew this frustration revolved around a loneliness he couldn’t express. It was made all the worse being in the dorm where guys paraded up and down the corridor nearly naked, or like Charlie at the end of the hall, completely naked. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, gazed at their bodies, the various builds, skin tones, hair colors and other characteristics that made one or the other desirable.

As each week grew worse he found it difficult to sleep and he lay in bed looking over at Mike, his roommate. Mike would toss and turn in his sleep till the blanket was wrapped around his body. By morning legs and arms stuck out or the blanket was wrapped around his waist, or chest or just twisted around one leg. It was most difficult when Mike’s waist was uncovered, the cheap boxers he wore tented obscenely with his morning erection. So many times Ryan wanted to cross the narrow space between their beds and touch it, to be brave enough to tell Mike he would do anything to hold it in his hand, to feel the girth of the shaft fill his palm. He imagined himself on his knees by Mike’s bed leaned over and taking it, sliding his mouth down the length of it.

It didn’t take long. The opening of eyes to see him staring or that quick turn away. Mike knew Ryan wasn’t like the other guys, saw it on his face, the expression of longing Ryan couldn’t hide. Then the worst that could happen, for last Monday Mike woke to find him lying on his side facing him with his erection protruding out the fly of his boxers. Ryan tried to make light of it, say it was just a morning erection but Mike knew, could see it in his face. The confusion, the longing for something out of reach. The weekend couldn’t arrive fast enough. Ryan knew it was time to go home for a break, a chance to get away, cool off, get some distance from that dorm floor crammed with the male body, each one tantalizing and dangerous, none more so that Mike.

He passed a sign indicating Exit 53 in one mile. His exit, the one that would put him on the two lane road that led to Burnsville, the community he called home. As the exit lane peeled off to the side he slowed and eased over following it down the hill. He waited for a pulpwood truck and two cars behind it to pass then eased out heading back underneath the interstate and toward home. It made him think of his recent life here, in this place and those whom he went through school. He thought of where some of them were now. College, military, or just gone, moved away to pursue some new life. He thought of his growing up here and how it had not been that hard. He hadn’t been bullied, had not be ostracized or treated badly. But he had not been honest with himself. He had not allowed himself to live. It hadn’t seemed important, silly even, for his small county school just seemed to be something to get through, to make the grades, pass to the next year till you finally graduated and left, moved on to pursue your life.  But those moments when he knew he was different came back to him, some like they were yesterday.

He remembered the first time he looked at another boy in a way different from the other boys. It was the first day of second grade, his first day attending this rural county school since his father had moved them to his old childhood home to take up farming. The bus had picked him up that morning and he sat in the third row, to the first seat he came to that was empty. The other kids stared at him as he got on, all of them sitting two to a seat, obviously friends. The bus lurched forward and eased down the road, stopping wherever someone stood in their drive waiting. They passed the Baptist church, the cemetery next to it, went down a steep incline, crossed the bridge, the bus bouncing over the concrete sections that made up its length, then up the other side. The bus driver shifted down a gear keeping their speed down. The road curved to the right, a long sweeping curve that lay on the incline back up to the next plateau that formed the boundaries of Smithville, the next community. Near the top of the incline just before the road leveled out the bus came to a stop at a drive. Ryan looked at how it wound into the woods that densely covered the land to their right.

Only a few feet from the edge of the pavement he saw the boy standing next to his mother. She looked different to Ryan, the long jet black hair and darker skin. And she wore a dress that was different, with a pattern cutting across the front and on each wrist multiple bracelets and rings on several fingers. The boy had her features, the exotic nature of it with long dark hair. Ryan watched the boy move forward and disappear for a moment as he stepped up into the bus, then rose into view and turn to come down the narrow aisle. Ryan looked at him as he passed and for a moment he thought the boy was cute. He didn’t understand this judgement, the determination that he found this boy attractive. But he understood the feeling, the way he wanted so much to turn around and look at him, to study those features that made the whole appealing. At the school that morning when his teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, called roll he found out the boy’s name: Quinton Jackson.

Ryan turned left on Highway 264, the highway that led to his home. Shifting though the gears he accelerated to road speed as he thought of Quinton and how that first day of school he began to realize he was different. He had not understood it but he knew to keep it to himself. He heard the taunts, the insults cruelly used by the bullies and among them were ‘queer’ and ‘fag’. Their real meaning was lost to him at the age of seven but he knew they meant someone who was different. And he knew being different was not a good thing.

As he drove through Smithville he looked at the fields of picked cotton, remnants of cotton still clinging to some plants and blown into the fences along their edge. It was late fall and the harvested fields leaved them looking cold and barren, ready for winter.  As he neared the break in the plateau, the place where the road would follow the steep incline down and cross the creek, he thought of those grade school years where grade after grade Quinton and he never were friends. He was introverted, shy, and the knowledge he was different from most of the other boys only made it worse. Quinton, on the other hand, had been outgoing for several years, friendly with everyone, close to many in their class. He was cute as a young boy and each year passed he matured, grew more fit, more attractive. And Ryan had been scared to approach him, to grow truly friendly with him for he feared how he felt toward Quinton, this attraction he just knew was wrong. But something happened to Quinton during the summer before ninth grade. The community gossiped that Quinton’s father was an alcoholic and abusive toward his wife. There were times the sheriff was seen coming from their place. That summer she left. The gossip was she tried to take Quinton with her but Jasper wouldn’t let her. There was a custody battle. She was up in North Carolina with her family and the distance, not being a part of the local community and worse, being a Native American, had worked against her. Many admitted it had been wrong, the prejudice against her but by then it was too late. Jasper had custody of Quinton and when school started Quinton was different.

Ryan unconsciously slowed as he neared the dirt drive, the ditch grown up till the culvert was hidden from view, remembering once again that first day of ninth grade and he was on the bus and it coming to a stop to pick up Quinton. Quinton had been standing in the drive alone, a jacket on with its hoodie pulled over his head. It seemed odd for the day was hot, the heat of summer not yet passed. Even the way Quinton stood was different, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his worn frayed jeans. He looked more impoverished than before. The bus stopped, the doors swung open and Quinton had hesitated for a moment before climbing the two steps up into the bus. He moved down the narrow aisle awkwardly, head down with only his mouth visible. It was sad, the edges turned down and the lips tight together. Ryan had been sitting five rows from the rear, far enough from the front to not be with the younger kids but far enough from the rear that the older students would not pick on him as being too young for the very back rows. Quinton had moved passed to the row behind him, sitting on the opposite side. In passing he had looked up and saw Quinton’s face and the reason he had the hoodie pulled down; a black eye. The doors slapped shut and the bus moved forward. He had sat frozen in place unbelieving in what he had seen but knowing his eyes were not deceiving him and instantly knew Quinton’s dad had done it. He wanted to confirm what he had seen, had to see it one more time so he had leaned forward and looked slowly over his right shoulder. His eyes cut hard to the side as he eased his head around looking past Elizabeth and Sarah till he got to the seat Quinton was in. He looked over Sarah's shoulder and saw Quinton looking back toward him with a look of pure fury.

It had embarrassed him to have been so obvious, the way he had looked around knowing he looked guilty as he did so.  All during that first day he avoided Quinton, sat on the opposite side of the room in shared classes, avoided him in the corridors thankful his locker was at the opposite end of the ninth grade section. Quinton had avoided everyone, refused to discuss his black eye or his mother leaving that summer. Slowly, over those first few weeks, a routine fell into place, Ryan keeping to himself, something he had been doing all along, and Quinton now doing the same as part of some new routine, one that took time to set, time to ostracize himself from his friends. But by October all of the others moved on, kept their cliques going, the usual groups within their class. A herd mentality willing to let the weak, for whatever reason, fall to the side, to be left behind, forgotten.

Ryan slowed and looked up the drive, the rutted dirt track going into the dark shadows of the trees, the perimeter grown up severely not allowing much light to filter in beneath the trees. He knew there was a house in there, hidden among the trees. He couldn't picture it having never seen it, never heard any description of how it looked. It was a mystery. For a moment he thought about calling Quinton up, acting like an old friend, see if he wanted to go into town and grab a burger or something. The idea was so silly he had to smirk as he sped up and drove around the sweeping curve and over the bridge heading to his home.

That evening he lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling not really seeing anything for he lay lost in thought. Replaying events from ninth grade, then tenth and eleventh, those times his path had crossed Quinton's, those moments when the barrier between them could have been eroded, even if just a bit. Precious moments he should have acted upon, made some gesture of friendship. He fantasied about it now, let one scenario play out after another. But the reality of the past crushed each one and the truth would resurface. The day Quinton pulled Charles off him, the class bully who enjoyed tormenting him more than anyone else. Quinton showed a voraciousness he had never seen before, one that even scared Charles. He had been too embarrassed to look at Quinton, instead running off to the bathroom to hide from view till he could get himself pulled together.

And there had been many small instances. Picking up a dropped book, finding themselves in a line together in the cafeteria or sitting near each other at a school function. But it was in Biology class that Ryan felt was his biggest mistake. A lost moment never to be retrieved. The teacher had assigned them to work together and for five days there existed a friendliness between them. Ryan had been afraid to push it, afraid his own inner demons would surface and sabotage everything. He would have settled for a simple friendship, just the opportunity to spend time with Quinton. But he had been so afraid, afraid he would give himself away, some gesture or comment that would reveal his true feelings. That had been in eleventh grade, late in the year. Then the school year ended and summer arrived. Ryan had fantasized all summer, one scenario after the next how he could have done things different, not lost this opportunity. He fantasized about the coming fall, considered it a new beginning, a new opportunity to get closer to Quinton, become his friend. The idea of it played out till eventually he dreamed it would become more, much more.

But Quinton didn't return to school, instead he had dropped out. The gossip said Quinton worked with his father planting pine in the winter on the land clear cut the year before. Some even said Quinton did all the work himself, his father having gotten worse. Every time he had passed that drive disappearing into the woods he wondered about what could have been. He had wondered how Quinton’s life was going, what really was going on with him. Twelfth grade seemed to pass so slowly, each day dragging on and on. But suddenly spring arrived then graduation. Summer had been a blur of activity as he prepared for college in the fall. Ryan had been at the university doing final arrangements for the fall term when his mother had called to see how he was doing. They had talked for several minutes on what he had accomplished and what he had to do the next day before returning home. They were at that quiet moment, neither having anything else to say and about to say 'goodbye' when his mother had brought up Jasper and Quinton, just an offhand comment about Jasper being rushed to the hospital over in Greenville where he had died.

"I doubt there will be a funeral or anything. It's just that boy Quinton now" she had said before saying goodbye. For Ryan it has been a heartbreaking comment, something that saddened him as he thought of Quinton alone.

Like the house buried deep in those woods Quinton was a mystery now, someone who existed in the eleventh grade then vanished. Simply ceased to exist in the world. He tried to imagine what Quinton would look like now. In elementary and middle school, he had that long dark hair, hair like his mother with the same dark skin tone. Quinton had many of his mother's features. Only his stature was inherited from his father. Once his mother was gone it was obvious Jasper exercised complete control over Quinton for his long hair was cut leaving him with short hair, roughly cut, jagged along the edges. And within a short period, his clothes became more threadbare, dirtier and wrinkled in a way that indicated not simply a lack of ironing. Now that Jasper was gone would Quinton's hair be long again or had he kept it short. It seemed like such an important thing to know. Ryan tried hard to picture him, to imagine what he looked like after nearly a year had passed.

Rolling over facing the wall he wondered how he could see Quinton, what realistic options he had that he could do during this short stay at home.  Tomorrow was Saturday and he had to head back on Sunday. Whatever he was going to do had to occur tomorrow.  Could he just drive up to his house? Why not? He wondered about why not till he thought the whole idea was silly. He might not even be living in there. He had seen no sign of life around the place since he had been home.

When did this attraction become an obsession?  Even away at the university he couldn’t get Quinton out of his mind. There were moments he could be distracted, times the course work made him focus on it or when he was with some of the guys on his floor out for dinner, just hanging out and joking around. But the thoughts would return as soon as he was alone. It seemed insane, crazy even, for he knew that most of the grade school years Quinton had only been a physical attraction, something to look at with desire. But that changed in that last spring during science class when the two of them had to work together. He knew the moment, the very moment when it happened.

The last day of the lab work and most of the other groups were finished and they had been struggling all period to get their final experiment to come together. They had started over twice after realizing mistakes that would doom the outcome. Quinton had remeasured everything and he has slowed down, made himself focus on the task of mixing each chemical, the slow heating at certain points in the process. He remembered how everything around them became blocked out, the talking of classmates, the stirring around as others put their equipment away and the teacher pacing the room. It became just the two of them. They made the last step and watched the reaction, the change in color then the crystallization. Success finally came to them and they looked at each other smiling. And Quinton’s hand came to rest on his thigh, the fingers lying over the curve of it down between his legs. So close, so very near; he felt a sense of arousal. He felt something change between them and he froze turning away embarrassed. He was afraid one of their classmates would look over, see Quinton’s hand on his thigh and see his reaction. He just knew it was obvious on his face how he felt about this contact.

But he had been wrong.

Only Quinton saw his reaction and pulled quickly back turning his head away. After that nothing he did could bring back that moment. Quinton seemed to drift away completely afterward and after the year was over he was gone.

Ever since he wondered how things would be if only. If only he had not flinched. If only he had not pulled away. If only he had not looked away…only to turn back around and see Quinton turned away from him. It was embarrassing how much it hurt, how much he longed for some miracle, some do-over, to go back and correct his mistake. For the last few weeks left of the school year he tried to talk to Quinton, tried to figure out how to approach him and apologize, or admit how confused he had been, or harder still, admit how he felt, how he was more than physically attracted to him. Or so he thought.

Then he wasn’t so sure anymore. Was it something else now, some crazy obsession he needed to get over, some desire for something he couldn’t have therefore he wanted it more, selfishly, greedily, wanted it more than anything else.

“Fuck” he uttered within the silence of his room. The word cut through the air, harsh in its abrupt ending. No lingering sound, no echo, just a quick return to silence and his loneliness. Rolling over on his back he stared up at the ceiling, a faint white glow in his dark room, and he schemed, plotted, ran different scenarios in his head till he ached with the effort. Exhaustion overtook him, settled him down, eyes finally closing, sleep overcoming consciousness.

Ryan opened his eyes to the morning sun hitting him in the face, the rays of light coming in through the blinds he left open. Rolling over he reached for his cell phone. It was seven thirty. He knew he would not fall back asleep so he eased up, stretched his arms and twisted his torso back and forth. It felt good to feel the pull of his muscles. He got up and within fifteen minutes he was out the door. He was going into town where he would grab breakfast at the diner. And when he finished breakfast he would drive back over to Quinton’s place and make his move. Whatever it was going to be.

Ryan lay on the ground, his face pressed into the dirt, leaves and twigs stuck to his skin, the only thing he can see is the dirt, the sparse grass and a dandelion broken over with the stem empty of its seed. The only thing he can feel is the barrel of the shotgun pressed to the back of his head. Sweat trickles down into his eyes and as he breathes in rapid panicked breaths he smells the dirt, a dry metallic odor that fills his nostrils. The barrel of the shotgun pushes against his head pressing his face down in the dirt. He is forced to close his eyes as he wonders if he is about to get shot. Would he hear it, this final moment of his life.

“Benjamin Ryan Wallace, what are you doing snooping around here?” an angry voice uttered, each syllable forced through clinched teeth.

“Quinton…please…I was…”

The barrel of the shotgun jabbed at the back of his head cutting him off as his face is pressed into the ground.

“Please?…please what, Ryan?”

Ryan raised his hands up, held out spread open and shaking uncontrollably. The shotgun pulls back and he raised his head off the ground spitting once to get dirt out of his mouth.

“Quinton, let me explain.”

“Explain what, Ryan?  You snooping around on my property, and what?” Quinton barks as he pokes Ryan in the back with the shotgun.

Ryan rises up slowly turning to look up at Quinton. He is still shaking but sure Quinton isn’t going to shoot him. “Quinton…please.” He sees Quinton relax, his features soften as the gun is brought down to his side. “Can I get up?”

“Yeah, come on, get up off the ground.”

Ryan sat on the bed for there was nowhere else to sit. The interior of the camper Quinton was living in was small, not much longer than twelve feet he imagined. A bed along the rear, a short kitchen, maybe four feet long and what was probably the toilet at the front but he had not seen within that small space before Quinton pushed the door closed as they came in. Quinton stood, leaning against the kitchen counter looking down at the floor. They were frozen in their positions for a long time, both quiet, letting the tension of earlier drain away. Ryan sensed movement by Quinton and looked up to see him put a hand to his mouth and run it down his chin and neck as eyes cut back toward him. ‘What to say?’ he wondered, the quiet suddenly too much, the room claustrophobic.

He thought how odd things were in this place, the way the old house in front of them was falling apart, the porch collapsed on front, the rear one sagging dangerously and some of the windows boarded up. When they had walked past he had looked in through one of the remaining windows and saw the room was still furnished, curtains hanging each side of the window, a shelf inside with photos and some odd items sitting on it and a bed, the covers pulled back to the foot as if someone had climbed out that morning. As they rounded the old house the camper can into view, parked under a shed along with a tractor and a SUV, one nearly new by the looks of it. It was odd seeing the SUV and the camper, both clean and shiny among all the other things that were so run down, battered from hard use, nearly used up. A pickup sat under a tree to the far end, the bed a different color from the body, the front bumper and grill missing. It was obviously the vehicle Quinton used for his job.

“This is a nice camper, although a bit…”

“Small? Yeah, well it is just me. Besides it’ll pull easy.”

“Pull? Pull where?”

“Where ever I decide to go” Quinton replied as he stood up and looked out the window in the door. “Anywhere but here” he added in a soft whisper.

“You’re leaving?”

“Aren’t you? In fact, I think you have made your first move, have you not…college boy?”

Ryan knew Quinton was right. He was aiming to leave the rural countryside and go to some place more urban, a city that would give him the things this place didn’t seem to offer. To be himself living in a place where he wouldn’t be judged. He was majoring to be a nurse. He knew a doctor was too much for him, but a nurse, that was something he felt he could do and be good at it. He looked up at Quinton wondering what he was going to do if he left. What life would he look for in some place away from this one?

“You’re right” Ryan replied looking down unable to look at Quinton. He took a breath, felt a dryness in his mouth as he struggled to find the words he wanted to say. “Quinton, I want to leave for I can’t…be myself here. I need to move somewhere more progressive. Ya know?” looking up imploring Quinton to understand what he was saying.

“You’ve always held back haven’t you? Never really…” Quinton stammered as he turned around in the small kitchen, opened a cabinet pulling down a bottle of bourbon. He held it out toward Ryan, a way of asking if he wanted a drink.

“Yeah, I could use some right now.”

Pouring a couple of fingers in each glass he let his words pour out too, “I use to love it here, back when mom was here, before she left. You know she died the summer before our senior…your senior year?”

“No?”

“Yeah, cancer. The old man wouldn’t admit it but he still cared for her in his own messed up way for he drank worse afterward. So much worse…I had to take over.” Looking around toward Ryan holding out one glass, “that is why I didn’t return. God…I worked my ass off, doing the contracts my old man had signed on and taking care of him.”

“That last few weeks of eleventh grade…I tried to fit in better, tried to ignore all the nasty shit people were saying, then we got teamed up in science.” Quinton leaned back on the counter, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. “I thought I knew myself, believed I knew who I was, but…”

“Quinton, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to do what? What did you do Ryan that was wrong?”

“I…”

“Yeah” Quinton said when Ryan couldn’t say more. “All through school I just wanted to be like you and the others. Just one of the guys. Not someone who was different. Not the half-breed bastard everyone made fun of and certainly not…” he stopped, stood up and went to the door looking out. “And not someone different in other ways.”

“I’m sorry I pulled away. I’ve tried so many times since... I can’t stop thinking about how I…wanted it and was at the same fucking time…scared of it.” Ryan stood up, set his glass down on the countertop and moved up behind Quinton. Hand shaking, he reached out wanting to touch Quinton, to have his fingers make contact. But he froze, once again paralyzed by his own fear. Quinton suddenly turned and saw his hand held out and the way it quivered in the space between them.

“You remember? You remember that final day of the experiment?”

Ryan hesitated for what seemed a very long time before whispering, “yeah”.

Clothes lay strewn across the small room from the door to the bed. Shirts, shoes, jeans, socks and boxers lay scattered as Ryan pushed Quinton back across the bed. Following him down he lay on top of Quinton, their bodies pressed together. Shifting around while kissing and touching each other they shifted around on the bed. Ryan felt his body settle down between Quinton’s legs. He felt the heat of contact, flesh against flesh. All sensation seemed to be touch, hands moving over each other, the movement of legs against each other and the kiss, the nip, the feel of tongue. Ryan pumped his hips and felt his cock, already rock hard, slide long Quinton’s body. It felt it push along the curve of hip, through the soft pubic hair and along Quinton’s own erection. He pushed down and the pressure made his cock flex.

Quinton shifted beneath him, legs rose up either side of his hips and suddenly his cock was pushing downward rubbing beneath Quinton’s sac and down over the tight opening. He pumped his hips feeling the head of his cock stroke along the smooth skin causing Quinton to moan.

Ryan slipped down between Quinton’s legs, let his body drop off the bed till he was on his knees, Quinton’s legs either side of his body and he ran a hand up each thigh, softly, barely touching the flesh and he felt the shiver that ran through the prone body before him. He let his hands move up either side of the erect cock before him, framed it with his thumbs and index fingers watching it flex, the head swell up thicker with a clear bead pool in the slit then drool down the shaft. Leaning forward he dragged his tongue up the shaft feeling the smooth skin covering the rock-hard shaft. He tasted Quinton, the odd sweetness of it as he moved up the shaft till he was swiping his tongue over the head. Quinton clutched the quilt tightly in each fist, moaned loudly, pushing up with his hips. Ryan knew what he wanted, the way he pumped his hips and how his cock flexed with its hardness. Moving to the head again he let his lips encase the head and he sucked on it, hard, till Quinton cried out, then he moved downward, slowly, letting inch after inch slip into his mouth. He had nearly all of the shaft in his mouth and when he didn’t think he could take any more but Quinton pushed upward, begging him to take it, all of it, and the last inch pushed into his mouth and he felt the head push into his throat. He held still, let the warmth of his mouth heat up Quinton. He felt the slow pumping movement, the push up and the slow pull back, and he held his tongue tight to the shaft letting it slide slickly over it. He pushed downward one more time, took every inch and as he held it in his mouth he slipped his fingers under Quinton, let them glide along the cleft between the cheeks of his ass till he felt it, Quinton’s opening, and he rubbed it, worked a finger around the wrinkled opening and when he felt Quinton push with his hips he breached the tight opening and sank his finger into soft warm depths. Quinton worked his hips moving himself on the penetrating finger as his moans reverberated in the small room.

“Fuck…put it in…come on Ryan…do me” Quinton begged and Ryan rose.

Ryan rose up slipping his arms under Quinton’s legs and lifted them. They slide along his arms till he was able to grasp each one behind the knee and he pushed forward folding Quinton in half, ass lifted and turned up toward him. He pushed his cock down to the tight opening and pushed against it till Quinton pushed back. They worked together to make this penetration. Ryan pushing inward as Quinton pushed upward with his hips opening himself to the penetration. Ryan kissed Quinton, moved his lips along the jaw till he was manipulating an ear, lips tugging on the lobe then lightly nipping it. He tongued the curve of it and brought his mouth right up against it.

“I want you” Ryan whispered as he pushed again sinking further into the depths of Quinton’s body, inch by inch, till his hips pressed tightly to Quinton’s ass. He felt the quivering body beneath him, the heat of it, and the the tight ring of Quinton’s opening grasp the base of his cock..

“You okay” Ryan whispered, his lips grazing over Quinton’s ear as he held still.

“Yes” the soft whispered reply came as hands moved along his sides, around and over his back pulling them together. “Fuck me” Quinton begged, his voice urgent with need. Ryan moved his hips, pulled upward and drove back in, all the way, slowly, feeling how every inch was milked when it slid through the tight opening. He moved to a primitive rhythm, slowly, struggling to control his desires, the impulse to drive his hips faster. He kissed Quinton on the neck, let his tongue move over the firm flesh. He inhaled deeply as he pushed in again capturing the scent of him, that of a male exerting himself, skin quivering with the effort, muscles taut beneath the firm skin. It was maddening, this desire, and he moved faster, urgent in his need to feel this penetration, over and over and over. It drove him mindlessly, unaware of anything else. Eyes closed he sensed Quinton beneath him by touch, scent and by sound, the moans, the grunts and the soft whispering, pleading and begging for him to fuck harder.

He rose up holding each calf down either side of Quinton’s chest and he began to fuck, fuck hard. His cock ached with its hardness, every move, every touch so sensitive he could barely breathe. He felt his hips smash into the upturned ass, heard the smack of their bodies coming together and the vibration of the bed as it shook with their fuck. The whole camper seemed to squeak and vibrate as he piston his cock into Quinton.

He didn’t hold back, held nothing in reserve and too soon he felt it, every fiber of his body tightened, his whole body ached for release and he shoved inward, slammed down against Quinton and released. He pulled up and shoved inward again releasing his second, then third release, each one buried deep within Quinton. He felt his cock spasm with each release, each time pushed into the depth of Quinton’s body till he was spent. He eased down on top of Quinton releasing his legs. He lay breathing hard, suddenly aware of the heat of his own body, the slick feel of his skin against Quinton.

How long they lay still neither knew nor cared but Quinton eased up, rolled Ryan over on his stomach and straddled his thighs. Ryan raised his head up and looked over his shoulder at the hard cock angled up from Quinton’s crotch, flexing up and down, the head wet, glistening in the dim light. He looked into Quinton’s eyes, seeing the lust in them, the desire he had felt only moments before and he nodded his head.

Quinton moved over him, pushed his slick wet cock down and let it rub over his opening till he was wet and pushing upward, his whole body undulating on the bed eager for Quinton’s fuck. He held his head down as Quinton pushed into him, breached his tight opening stretching him open as inch after inch slipped into him. He felt Quinton pump his cock, inward then out, over and over, each time pushing in further. Quinton moved over him, a hand on either side of his shoulder holding himself up over his prone body and he felt it, the urgency of it, Quinton’s fuck, the driving of cock into his depths. Quinton fucked with wild abandon, roughly, moving him up the bed inch by inch with each shove inward. He felt his own cock, once again hard, pressed into the mattress, the rub on the soft fabric. The bed squeaked, the cabin rocked as Quinton hammered his hole, bodies smacking together and each crying out.

Quinton couldn’t hold back, felt the need for release quickly surge through him and he cried out, shoved upward with his hips then pushed down into the mattress. The release took his breath, made his whole body shiver and he felt the spasm of his opening around the thick shaft that piston through it.

“Jesus…fuck” Quinton cried out as he shoved inward and held still and Ryan felt the thick cock flex in his hole as it released into his depths.

Quinton pulled free and fell down next to him, both breathing hard, their skin glistening with sweat, bodies over heated from their exertions. Ryan felt a hand touch him on the lower back, gently, fingers splayed out. He felt it move upward, felt the way it followed the curvature of his back, moved over each shoulder blade then up to his neck where fingers combed through his hair. He shifted over till he was spooned up next to Quinton, over heated or not, he wanted to feel the touch of their bodies.

 ***

Ryan re-positioned his heavy backpack on his shoulder and crossed the street leaving campus. He made his way down the busy sidewalk, other students leaving campus same as he and others headed toward it for some afternoon class. At the bottom of the hill he turned up Bay Street till he came to the old apartment complex that sat at the top. At the front office, he ducked in to the foyer where the mailboxes were located and pulled the day’s mail out. Back out on the sidewalk he made his way to Building 4 near the back, thumbing through the mail along the way. Mounting the stair, he made his way to the third floor and down the short balcony to 4312. Door unlocked, he went inside flipping the light switch to illuminate the interior. Grabbing a drink from the frig he settled at the dining table opening the backpack. He had four hours before Quinton got off work and he wanted to have the day’s assignments completed before Quinton got home. They were to go a movie and afterward out to the bar across town to meet friends, another gay couple like themselves who were living together. They shared their experiences, how things had changed for them when they came out. And what it was like when Quinton moved to the small town getting work at a dealership’s repair shop while he attended classes. Some guys wondered if they had settled down too soon, should meet other guys, but for them it was enough. There had been enough lost time, and no need for more.