Uncle Charlie

It was a really a short drive, about an hour most days, but it was long enough for Ashley to think about his life and his dreams for his future. High school was behind him as of last week, and in two months, he would leave for college. He was all set with his registration completed, a dorm assigned, and tucked into his closet and in the back of the garage an assortment of things he would need. He was excited about leaving for college, of the sense of independence it would provide him. Austin, his older brother was at South Carolina and reveled him with stories of life on campus. But he was also anxious about the future, his future where he was not the same as Austin, and how that difference would define him.

There were similarities between him and his brother. Both had their mother’s black hair and brown eyes, but Austin had their father’s darker skin tone while he had their mother’s fair white skin. They were both tall, Austin six foot and he six foot two, but where Austin was muscular, broad shouldered, he was skinny, something accentuated by his height. But the thing that separated them, the difference he had not dared to admit, was he was gay.

The drive from Lincolnton to Matthews would have been quicker if had taken 321 to I-85 into Charlotte, then out 74 to Matthews, but he was in no hurry and knew the interstate would be maddening on a Friday afternoon. So, he took 27 into Charlotte and would pick up 74 off the internal freeway around downtown. It gave him time to think, to reconsider once again coming out to his family. The anxiety he felt about doing so would evaporate, but then there was the fear of the response he would receive. All through high school in the small town, he had hung out with friends, tried to play basketball (a bit too uncoordinated to be first string), and pretended to be just one of the guys. But some sensed he was hiding something. Michael and Emily had both pushed him about his refusal to invite Eva to the prom. He had come so close to telling them the truth, but in the end, he just lied, as he always did, and said he just wasn’t interested in going to the prom.

His mother saw it, how he was down, had been for some time. She tried to pull him out of it, pushing a camping trip with Austin, home from college for the summer. She gave him a surprise birthday party when he had made no mention of wanting to invite friends over for one. He had been surprised and for an afternoon forgot everything. But he could not let go of his anxieties about his secret.

It was his father who suggested it, a week with his grandparents down in Matthews. It had seemed a silly thing at first but after a couple of days, he agreed. He had not spent an overnight at their house since he was thirteen. Maybe a couple of weeks at their house allowed to sleep in, eat what he wanted, and hang out with his grandfather going fishing on Lake Twitty or Lake Monroe, or just going into downtown to browse in the old hardware store would not be such a bad idea.

 

Ashley continued down 74 to the exit for 51 cutting back to the west. It was a short drive to John Street where he turned left heading toward town. It had only been two weeks since he was last there, a Sunday dinner with all the family, but it felt different driving alone into town, seeing the new brewery and restaurant, and how it was constantly changing. Just below downtown, he turned right and made his way to his grandparent’s house.

Driving into the neighborhood, he realized more houses had been renovated and flipped. They stood out from the others by having their brick facades painted, typically a grey with white trim. When he pulled into the drive of his grandparents, he looked at the brick ranch style house with its low roof and black shutters and felt a comfort in how it had not changed much since his first memory of it. The only change was the trim was a different shade of tan and the shrubbery had filled out more. He looked at the three oak trees in the front yard, suddenly realizing how large they had become over the years.

He climbed out of his Ford Escape, a car his mother handed down once he turned seventeen. He realized it was her way of helping each of them get their own wheels. Austin had her previous Explorer and Abigail had gotten the Explorer before that one. It allowed his mother to splurge for a new vehicle, the last a Lincoln Nautilus.

Moving to the rear, he retrieved his overnight bag and the duffel bag with his video games, a couple of books, and the journal he had been secretly keeping since he was fifteen. The journal allowed him to write down those things he could not say to someone. To express his fears and anxieties, to feel the severity of each lessen with each word written down.

“You made it,” his grandmother called out.

“Yes,” Ashley replied, looking up to see her standing in the drive at the end of the house. It was where the mudroom came out, the room they always entered through instead of the front door into the small formal foyer.

“You need help getting your things?”

“No, I got it. Where’s granddad?”

“I sent him to the grocery store. I thought I would make a pot roast for dinner.”

“That sounds great,” Ashley replied as he closed the tailgate, picked up the duffel bag, grabbed the handle on his overnight bag, and headed in.

He followed her through the mudroom, through the kitchen where he saw she was cutting up vegetables, through the family room where the television was on a game show, and down the narrow hall.

“I made up your father’s old bed for you,” said his grandmother as she went int first. He knew the bedroom that had been a guest bedroom when his father and uncle were teenagers had become her sewing room once his father, the youngest, had left home. He had stayed in the room often when younger, always tempted to play to with his father’s models. The cars and military tanks on the shelves and suspended from the ceiling on his father’s side of the room, airplanes. There were baseballs in plastic cubes signed by professional players for the Braves, a box of trading cards, and a football from his high school days. His father’s side of the room spoke of someone who was a jock in high school, not interested in reading, instead it was all about sports.

“I’ll let you get settled in,” said his grandmother as she backed out of the room and disappeared down the hall.

He rolled the overnight bag to the end of the bed, dropped the duffel bag on the foot of it, and sat down. The familiarity of the room was comforting. He looked at the posters over the two beds, his father’s side one of a scantily clad model and a poster for the Charlotte Panthers. On his uncle’s side, a poster for Joy Division’s Love Will Tear Us Apart and the movie Brazil. Instead of models, there were books, vinyl records, and cassette tapes. The difference had always been noticeable but now it seemed such a stark contrast, he tried to imagine what it was like for Charlie and his father as teenagers sharing a room. Looking at the books, then up to the posters, his uncle became more of an enigma. An unknown he wished had lived long enough for him to get to know. But his uncle had been taken from them the year of his birth. His grandparents would talk of Uncle Charlie, what he had been like as a child, then a teenager. They would tell of Uncle Charlie leaving at eighteen, right after high school, and for over a year had heard nothing from him. When he had called right before that Christmas he was living in Denver. A few years later, there was a life in Atlanta, running a used bookstore. Ashley could picture his grandmother or his grandfather talking about his uncle in a tone of sadness and regret. It was his father that eventually told him of the stormy night at the end of January of that year. How Charlie had gone to visit a friend in Blowing Rock and on the way home in the freezing rain, lost control on one of the mountain roads.

Sitting on the bed, looking at his uncle’s side of the room, it felt like he did not have the full story. Who was Uncle Charlie? What happened to the bookstore? Was it still there? Why had Uncle Charlie left at eighteen, the thing he wanted to know the most. It seemed like an act of rebellion. At times, he considered doing his own act of rebellion.

He climbed to his feet and crossed the room to Charlie’s desk with its shelves above. He scanned the books again, like he had done so many times before, but this time he really noted the titles and the authors. Some he knew, but most were books he knew nothing about, even if he recognized the author’s name.

Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

The Cider House Rules by John Irving

Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

The Piano Teacher by Elfriede Jelinek

Paradise Lost by John Milton

The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco

Age of Reason by Thomas Paine

The Iliad by Homer

King Lear by William Shakespeare

Maurice by E. M. Foster

The Two Treatises of Government by John Locke

Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

It was so much to take in, so many titles, he began to read just the name of authors. Faulkner, O’Connor, Dostoevsky, Atwood, Asimov, Baldwin, Woolf, and Vonnegut. That was just one shelf. There were two more above it, filled with books. Hardback books worn and frayed, some stamped as discarded from a library, or appearing almost new, only the dustjacket showing some wear, and paperback books that had some wear and tear, and others showing they had been read many times.

Ashley knew some of the novels from movie adaptations, knowing no movie could fully capture an author’s story. Then he considered his uncle and what this collection of books might say about him.

 

Ashley helped his grandmother set the table, placing the pot roast and vegetables in the center while she brought the other side dishes. Everyone sat on one end of the table where they talked of family, of the neighbors, and of Ashley leaving for college in the fall. Ashley played his role, the dutiful grandson, but he felt like a bit character in some movie or play. He played the role expected of him while feeling like a fraud.

Once he had helped his grandmother load up the dishwasher, then clean up the kitchen, they gathered in the family room to watch television. The sunlight faded until gone and the lamps seemed to glow brighter as night settled over them. They sat up late watching movies and quietly talking about the family and inquired further about his preparations and expectations for college.

With the credits of the movie starting to roll across the screen, his grandfather turned off the television saying it was enough for one night and they all eased out of the family room down to their bedrooms.

Ashley lay on the bed that had been his father’s looking across the dark room at the shadowed outline of his uncle’s bed, desk, and the shelves above. Once he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of going into classrooms where everyone stared at him but didn’t talk to him, of reading books but not understanding them, and of guys asking him out and he finding he had lost his voice and couldn’t reply.

 

Ashley woke on Saturday morning to the sound of his grandmother talking on her cellphone in the hall. She was telling one of her friends about him staying with them for a couple of weeks and how nice it was to have someone around. It felt like he was eavesdropping hearing her talk about him to one of her friends. He rolled to his back, threw the cover off, and stretched, then he looked at his cellphone to see it was nearly ten o’clock.

As he expected, his first day was a lazy day, lounging around reading, then watching television. In the late afternoon, he set up his video game and played until his grandmother called him for dinner. Sunday arrived and he watched his grandmother pull out of the drive heading to church. His grandfather was in the yard on his knees moving along the flower bed along the back fence, pulling weeds out of it.

Showered and dressed, he went to the back sliding glass door and stepped out on the small deck.

“Grandfather, you need some help?”

“No, I’m just killing time.”

His grandfather had not stopped pulling weeds, didn’t even turn to look back. It was obvious just a chore he gave himself to keep busy while his grandmother was at church. It made him wonder as to his grandfather’s faith. Or was it something more superficial that kept him from going with her to the church.

He went back to the bedroom and stood in the middle of it trying to picture his father at fourteen or fifteen and his uncle at sixteen or seventeen, a time just before Uncle Charlie had taken off. Looking at the books, he tried to see if one of them would speak to the reason for running away. He went to the desk again, sitting in the wood straight back chair, identical to the one at his father’s desk, and began to open the drawers. The top drawer, front and center, had the usual array of pens, short pencils from being sharpened too much, paperclips, rubber bands who had lost their elasticity, note cards, all blank except two with neat notations. One a telephone number, the other a page number with the title of a book noted below, no doubt some reference for a paper he had been working on in high school. Running a hand to the back of the drawer, he dragged the contents hidden from sight into the light. A cigarette lighter, a few coins, mostly pennies, bookmarks advertising one of the regions bookstores, and a ring with three keys on it. One was the key to the house, and Ashley wondered if the ring had been put in the drawer on the day Uncle Charlie took off.

He closed the drawer and opened the deeper drawers along the side of the desk. The top drawer held a bin with pennies in it, more pens and pencils, and two small notebooks, both empty of any writing. The next drawer held two paperback books, a GQ magazine, and a mix of receipts and ticket stubs from the cinema. In the bottom drawer there was a cassette player with the headphones wrapped around it, a couple of empty cassette boxes and three more paperback books, and beneath them a photo album.

Laying across the bed, Ashley thumbed through the photo album. The first images were Charlie and James, his dad, as teen boys. They were at the beach, both shirtless revealing the skinny bodies of boys. A couple pages later, Charlie in the mountains with a couple of other boys, hiking some trail. There was an image of Charlie standing on a wood deck in front of a waterfall, and Ashley thought he looked sad.

As he flipped through the pages, Charlie and James grew older and taller. James showed up with less frequency for Charlie was more often with his friends. In downtown Lincolnton, hanging out at a pizza joint, hiking trails in the mountains, or in someone’s Mustang cruising around town. Near the back were photos of trees, mountains, overlooking valleys, and one of just the sky with one lone cloud drifting through it.

The album was never finished, the last six pages empty of photos. A couple of pages out of a magazine were tucked into album on the last page. One was an image of the Golden Gate Bridge with San Francisco in the background. The next showed Seattle, the Space Needle prominent in the skyline, and finally, there was an image of Mexico City, an aerial shot that showed the immensity of it.

Ashley wondered if these were Charlie’s planned destinations, knowing he ended up living in Denver for a few years. How long had he planned on leaving? Ashley wanted to ask his grandparents, but something in the way they always talked about Charlie held him back. He set the album on the nightstand and looked around the room wondering if it held anything else of Charlie’s that would give him some clue to the person.

At the closet, he looked in the shoe boxes, finding ticket stubs from football games in Charlotte, concerts, and the plane ticket from when his dad flew with some friends to DC. In the bottom of the closet were boxes of extra dishes, old clothes, and papers his grandparents kept stored away, he found a football, a pair of rollerblades, and tucked in the back corner, two hiking sticks. But there was nothing that would reveal more about his uncle.

He turned toward the chest of drawers, knowing most held winter clothes that belonged to his grandparents. Sweaters, long sleeves shirts, gloves, wool socks, and other garments filled the top four drawers. He looked in them anyway to see if anything was tucked beneath the clothing, but all he found was two of his grandmother’s Bibles, Christmas and birthday cards from family and friends, and receipts from a furniture store. Ashley realized they were for the living and dining room furniture that had been purchased when he was six or seven years old. Furniture he and his brother had been forbidden to sit on.

In the bottom drawer he found jeans and shirts, and one look at the size of the jeans, he knew they belonged to Charlie, who had been taller than his dad. He lifted each garment out revealing another below, until finally at the bottom of drawer. Neatly laying across the bottom were two magazines, two more novels, and a leather-bound journal. He stared at the magazines, then the novels, for they revealed an aspect of Charlie that he had only dared consider when feeling his most lonely and isolated.

The magazines were Advocate magazines, both from early 1987, the year Charlie ran away. They had been well read, the cover creased on one, both with folded edges. He picked up one of them, thumbing though it wondering what article drew his uncle’s attention the most. He put the magazines back into their place and picked up one of the novels. It took only a few seconds to realize it was gay erotica, as was the other one. Sitting in his dad and uncle’s bedroom within his grandparent’s house, the books seemed such a taboo, so he put them back. Then he picked up the journal, untied the leather strap and opened it to the first page.

September 3, 1984

Several of the authors I’ve read kept journals, talking about how it helped them. I’m going to try to keep this journal for I need something. I feel like I’m living such a lie. I pretend to be one of the guys with the same likes and dislikes. But they talk about girls, of flirting with them, and I don’t. I look at my friends with the desires they express for girls. I know I’m gay, have for some time, and know there are places where someone can live openly. I look at the ads in the weekly newspaper for entertainment, ads by guys looking to meet other guys and feel so tempted to respond, but I can’t even drive yet, so I just look and wonder what it would be like.

James keeps asking what is wrong. What do I tell him?

 

Ashley puts the clothes back in the drawer but kept the journal out. He got on the bed and started to read it. He goes from 1984 to the middle of 1985 when he hears his grandmother come in. He closed the journal, slipped it under the pillow, straightened the blanket, and goes to meet her to help get lunch on the table.

 

As soon as the dishes are loaded in the dishwasher, Ashley heads back to his bedroom to continue reading about his uncle. The expressions of loneliness, of longing, feeling isolated. All emotions he had been feeling. Then reads of his uncle meeting a boy, one who lived only a few streets away. The riding of bikes to the burger joint in town, of riding out into the rural areas south of town and sneaking out at night to meet. There were hints, insinuations of more between his uncle and the boy that remained nameless. Ashley imagined them in some dark place kissing and touching, then he tried to imagine the two of them going further. Charlie never wrote of more, never gave any detail that would make it so, but in the insinuations, the little hints that resided between the lines more so than within, Ashley knew there was much Charlie was leaving out.

Ashley wanted ask Charlie why? It was his private journal, so why not reveal the whole truth of events. But then he thought of where the journal had been found, knowing his grandmother was the one who had placed it there. Maybe Charlie knew she would one day see it.

Maybe Charlie wanted her to see it.

 

The next Saturday, Ashley drove into Charlotte, out to the park in Dilworth. He parked near the tennis courts on the north end of it and strolled down the wide sidewalk that followed the creek until he came to the bridge that would take him over to the main area of the park. A small lake surrounded by a walk with a band shelter on a small island facing a terraced hillside. Nearby there were a couple of pavilions and picnic tables scattered all around. He made a couple of loops around the lake, then went up on the terraced hillside and sat where others were picnicking. Others were reading, and some were in small groups talking animatedly. Ashley sat with legs outstretched watching the people. His eyes fell on one guy after the next, sizing them up, making a judgement of would he or wouldn’t he. To his right about forty feet away sat a guy reading a book. The guy lay on his side, stretched out, with the book spread open on the ground.

A page is turned, then a dog barking captures the guy’s attention, and after watching the little dog being led along a sidewalk, he turns back to his book. Another page is turned, then another, and Ashley finds himself staring at the guy unable to look away. Brown hair that was long enough to hang down into the guy’s face and over the ears. A plaid shirt in blues and whites and jeans that were faded and worn. The feet were bare, a pair of sandals lying nearby. When the guy looked up, distracted from his reading, Ashley saw the shadow of a beard coming in along the jaw. Ashley had no idea how long he sat watching the guy read. It seemed such a short time and he was disappointed when the book was closed and the guy sat up with knees up and arms around them. Ashley looked across the park wondering what he was looking at or if he was just lost in thought. Maybe he was thinking about his novel, the story unfolding in it. The guy turned, looked his way and Ashley stared back, unable to look away as he always did in the past. The guy smiled. He smiled back, tempted to wave, then feeling foolish.

The guy climbed to his feet, slipped on his sandals, and started walking toward Ashley. He watched him approach, thinking there was no way the guy was coming over to say hello. He had to be heading to the upper parking lot behind him. But the guy came right up to him, stood only a few feet away.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good.”

“I’m Owen.”

“Ashley.”

A moment of silence, one that stretched on too long. Ashley realized Owen looked as nervous as he felt. He had to say something.

“What are you reading?”

“The Sweetness of Water. Have you heard of it?”

“No; is it good?”

“I think so.”

“I’m currently reading my uncle’s journal.”

Ashley had no idea why he was telling Owen, a stranger, about the journal. He wanted to think it just slipped out, but he knew that was not the truth. He wanted to tell someone, anyone, even a perfect stranger about it.

“Your uncle’s journal? Is it full of adventure and behaving badly,” Owen joked.

“No…it’s more like he was…” Ashley stammered, unsure how much to admit. Then he realized Owen was someone he would probably never see again so what did it matter. “My uncle was working out being gay and feeling lonely.”

“OH, that must be tough reading. Where is he now?”

“He got killed in a car wreck the year I was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’d like to have known him,” Ashley uttered, and he saw Owen’s eyebrows rise, arch up over the dark brown eyes. Then Owen’s expression softened.

“Hey, I was going to walk back home and get something to drink. You want a soda or something? I don’t live far away,” said Owen.

 

Owen hadn’t lied. Ashley had walked with him to the south end of the park, then up the street only a block, turning left. A few houses down, he followed Owen up the drive, around to the back of the two-story house and through a door that opened into a large room, kitchen to the right, living area to the left.

“My parents are in Raleigh visiting an aunt. What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having will be fine.”

“Two sodas coming up.”

Ashley saw the UNC coffee mug on the counter. “Do you go to UNC?”

“Yes. I’ll be a sophomore this fall. What about you?”

“I’ll be a freshman.”

Owen held out a glass of soda and their fingers touched.

“You’re gonna love it. It is so much better than high school.”

“I hope so.” Ashley heard the tone of his own voice, how it gave so much away Owen moved closer, leaned back against the countertop only a foot away.

“Has it been tough for you? Which school did you go to? One of the religious private ones?”

“No, I’m not from here. I’m from Lincolnton. I’m staying with my grandparents for a little while down in Matthews.”

“Lincolnton? I guess the school in that small town could be tough.”

“Yeah,” Ashley whispered, turning away from Owen.

“Have you been with a boy?” Owen asked.

Ashley was shocked at the bluntness of the question. The straightforward nature of it. He looked at Owen and saw no mischief or bad intent; just the openness of someone wanting to know.

“No…and you?” Ashley finally replied, asking Owen the same to put it back on him. He wondered if Owen would answer.

“Yes, with one boy here in the neighborhood, then at college I hooked up with a few guys. Nothing serious, mind you.”

“I can’t wait,” Ashley uttered. He was about to push off the countertop and walk into the living area just to move around when Owen grabbed his arm.

“You want to try it with me?” Owen asked.

 

Ashley found himself standing by Owen’s bed. The room was a pale blue with darker blue curtains. The bed was unmade the blanket pulled across the foot of it and the sheet twisted and pulled to one side. It was a boy’s room by every measure, including the posters on the walls and the arrangement of items on the desk in front of a window. He surveyed the room, suddenly nervous and unable to face Owen with his thoughts. The thoughts of how he agreed to come to Owen’s room, the intent plain despite being unspoken. Eventually he looked back to Owen standing in front of him. Patient, eyes soft and inviting, and the gentlest smile.

“You okay?” asked Owen.

“Just nervous.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Owen replied while taking a step toward Ashley. “If you want me to stop, just say so,” he whispered as he reached out to Ashley’s chest.

Ashley felt the touch. The firmness of the hand against his chest, then its roaming over it, then down his stomach, back up moving over his shoulder until cupping the back of his neck pulling them together. He closed his eyes as lips touched his own. As one hand held him in place, another began to undo the buttons on his shirts. He felt the tug and pull down the front, the shirt opening down his chest then stomach. Then the touch of the hand against his bare flesh. The warmth of it, and how it moved over his skin. Fingers light in touch, then physical, firm, as they manipulated one nipple then the other. He sucked in a deep breath, then softly cried out into Owen’s mouth.

Ashley heard Owen’s last comment, that he could stop what was happening. He couldn’t imagine it, stopping what felt so good and right. His shirt was slipped from his shoulders, and he held his arms down letting it fall to the floor. He stepped back and watched Owen undo his jeans, first the button, then the tug downward of the zipper. Owen became inpatient, pushing boxers and jeans down together. Ashley felt the exposure, his cock out in the open between them. He saw Owen’s stare at it while stooping down. He lifted one foot then the other, letting Owen slip his jeans and boxers from each.

Naked, cock thickening and getting longer. He shivered, not from being cold, but from his excitement. Exposed to another, so exposed it arouses him. He sees his cock flex as it angles outward. He watched Owen move to it, head down, then coming up, mouth open, taking him. He shudders as his cock is enveloped in the heat of Owen’s mouth. He grabs Owen’s shoulders to brace himself, feeling as if he could fall.

“Owen,” Ashley whispers.

Owen moans around his cock, then manipulates it with tongue, then with the movement of lips pulling along its length. He grows erect in the mouth, and it doesn’t stop. Owen keeps working lips along the hard shaft, over the flared head. Owen tongues the head, then sinks the cock back into his mouth, and Ashley cannot stop himself. He pumps with his hips, pushing into Owen’s mouth. Soon he is moving in a steady rhythm, Owen holding his head steady, letting him fuck his cock through the wet lips.

“Fuck…Owen,” Ashley utters as he watches his cock move through the lips. The feel of it is too much, but to watch…

“Owen!” Ashley exclaims as he tries to pull back. Owen holds him by the waist, preventing him from slipping his cock free. He shudders at the feel of tongue and can’t control himself, pumping it faster through the lips. “I’m going to cum,” he whispers, then shudders and jerks with ejaculation after ejaculation into Owen’s mouth.

 

Ashley is on Owen’s bed. His feet rest against Owen’s upper chest. Owen is naked. Owen is so hard his cock angles upward, and Ashley watched him push it down aligning it with his hole. He feels the touch, the wet rub over it, then the push against it. He clutched the bed and shivered with Owen’s penetration. He felt the thick cock sink into his hole. It felt twice as big as it fills him.

Owen began to fuck, pushing into Ashley’s depths, and for Ashley it was a connection, an intimacy he had been desperately seeking since finding his uncle’s journal. To feel the touch of another, the caress, the kiss, the baring of himself for sex. Fully exposing himself to another, nothing hidden. He ran his hands along the undulating torso as cock bore into his depths.

Owen fucked with a steady rhythm, moving over Ashley until his skin glistened wetly. He moved over Ashley pushing legs down until thighs pressed against chest, pinning Ashley to the bed. Owen increased his pace, moved with urgency, of need. Ashley clutched at the bed feeling his own arousal, how his cock was bumped and touched by the undulating body. He desperately wanted to take himself in hand but his position, pinned to the bed, prevented it.

“Roll over and get on your knees,” Owen uttered.

Ashley realized Owen was suddenly on his knees between his freed legs. He touched himself, let Owen watch as he stroked his leaking cock. Then he moved as Owen wanted.

Ashley was on his knees being pushed to lean over as cock raked across his ass. He went to his hands and knees and held his head down. He was breathing hard and looking down along his body, he saw his cock flex with his arousal, then drool with its slick. And he saw Owen move closer. Cock touched his ass, a hand pulled one cheek over, then the cock touched his opening. A rub, then the push, the cock penetrated him again.

“Fuck,” Owen uttered in a breathless whisper.

Owen began to fuck, to push into Ashley’s depths. Over and over, Ashley felt the fullness of the penetration and the press of hips against his ass. He rocked with Owen’s rhythm, the steady movement of their fuck. A hand came to his shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh, then pulling him to stand on his knees. He rose and saw himself in the mirror over the dresser. Skin glistened in the light. Cock sticking straight out flexing with his arousal. And he was rocking in that steady rhythm of Owen fucking his ass. He saw Owen lean over his shoulder and felt the kiss to his neck as he saw it happen. Then the tug on his ear, then the soft caress of lips moving against it.

“Take me…take me Ashley.”

Owen reached around his waist and took his cock. He felt the firm grip then the slick stroking. He watched Owen stroke his cock as they moved as one with their fuck.

“Owen…Owen, I’m going to come,” Ashley uttered as he began to work his hips with a desire for release.

Owen moved a hand to Ashley’s neck and pulled him back until their bodies pressed together. It stretched Ashley’s body, pushed his cock outward through the fist. Another stroke of his cock, another thrust of cock into his depths, and Ashley shuddered with release.

Cum spurt from Ashley’s cock, thick wads arching out over the bed. He shuddered and jerked with each ejaculation. Owen cried out and shoved into his depths. He felt Owen shuddering against his back and knew Owen was coming too.

 

They lay naked for a long time, stretched out over the bed. There were soft caresses, fingers tracing lines over drying skin, a hand rubbing over a chest or stomach, or lips touching cooling skin or pressing against lips.

“I know you’ll leave soon, but I’m glad you came over and we…” said Owen, letting his voice trail off.

“Me too. I’ve been so confused and not sure about anything. But this…I think this will make it easier when I go home. Make this summer before I leave for college tolerable. You know?” Ashley asked, wanting to know if Owen felt the same.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Ashley was to leave in a week to go back home. A week that passed far too soon. He was with Owen every opportunity that presented itself. Sometimes just hanging out, grabbing a burger in town, and when they could be alone, submitting to the intimacy sex gave them. And afterward, laying naked, fully exposed, Ashley found himself talking about his uncle and the things written in the journal. The loneliness and confusion and the feelings associated with being different. To read it, this reveal of one’s inner thoughts made him realize things were not as bad as he imagined, that he had been letting his own fears creep in too much, control him too much. Late at night when his grandparents were turned in, he pulled out his own journal and put everything down in writing. To express the words that described how he felt. A confession that did make him feel better.

The night before he was to leave, he picked up his uncle’s journal and made his way to the family room where his grandparents were watching television.

“Can I ask you about this?” holding up the journal for them to see.

Ashley saw it, the expressions that spoke to them knowing what he held, then the soft smiles of acknowledgement.

“Yes, of course,” said his grandmother.

Ashley moved to the sofa sitting next to his grandmother. He handed the journal to her. “You’ve read this, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you read it before the accident?”

“What you want to know is did we know our son was gay and how we responded to it,” said his grandfather.

“Yes,” Ashley replied.

“He ran off and we didn’t hear from him for so long. I had searched his room looking for some clue as to where he would go. I found this in the closet, hidden beneath the blankets on the top shelf.

“We knew something was wrong, and honestly, we knew what was going on with Charlie. We just didn’t know how to approach him and…things were different back then. It scared us to think our oldest wasn’t like other boys. It was even affecting James. He knew something was wrong and it made the boys get into fights. I saw how it hurt James and how for Charlie, he just got more depressed, which was so different from the happy little boy he had been,” said his grandmother as she absentmindedly flipped through the journal.

“The journal; it revealed the truth,” whispered Ashley.

“Yes. When Charlie finally called…I…huh…”

“We begged him to come home. That everything would be alright,” said his grandfather.

“But he didn’t come home?”

“He did, but only to visit. By then he had made a life for himself. When he first arrived, he was withdrawn at first, but when James came over and we all talked, our happy little boy came back to us,” said his grandmother.

“Dad was okay with Uncle Charlie being gay?”

Ashley saw it, the expressions that spoke of a knowing. He grandfather gave his grandmother a slow nod, barely perceptible. She turned to him, placing a hand on his arm, a gesture meant to make the physical connection speak of so much more.

“Ashley, I think what you want to know, the thing we’ve been skirting around for nearly two weeks, is if your dad would have a problem with you.”

Ashley was holding his breath as he nodded.

“Of course, he would be okay with it. You’re his son and honestly, both of your parents thought this was why you had become so reserved and stopped talking to them. It was why they suggested you come stay here.”

“You put the journal in that drawer knowing I’d find it.”

“I thought you might find it, yes.”

“And if I’m like Uncle Charlie-“

“Then you’re like Charlie and that is nothing to be ashamed or worried about,” said his grandfather.

“What about his life in Atlanta?”

“Charlie met Raymond in Denver. Raymond was eight years older and had his own little business in town. We saw them on occasion, Raymond and Charlie coming home every other year for Christmas, alternating visits with Raymond’s parents. A few years later, they moved to Atlanta where they could pursue their dream of owning a bookstore. It had been a perfect life for them.”

“But Uncle Charlie died in the car wreck.”

“Yes. It had devasted everyone. It hurt your father more than he could ever admit, and Raymond, he became withdrawn. We still hear from him, talk occasionally on the phone.”

“Does dad talk to him?”

His grandmother smiled, nodding her head. “Yes, probably more than he will admit.”

“Why didn’t I know this?”

“First it was thought you were too young, then suddenly one day you’re a fifteen-year-old who is withdrawing from everyone. It really bothered your parents, and they wondered how to approach you, to let you know it was okay. They thought you might be like Charlie, but they feared if they were wrong and it was something else, they would make it worse.”

“I just knew they would reject me and didn’t want to see how wrong I had been.”

“But don’t blame yourself for that.”

“Can I keep this?” Ashley asked, pointing at the journal.

“Yes, I’d love for you to have it,” his grandmother replied, closing the journal, and setting it in his lap.

 

Owen came over the afternoon he was leaving to go home. There were the usual goodbyes, the promises of keeping in touch, to come visit before the summer ended, and Ashley knew with Owen, he would do so. Owen was someone he could say anything, reveal anything, and it would be okay.

 

Over the days that followed, Ashley found himself watching his parents, really seeing them for the first time. To see them as human, not just his parents with unrealistic expectations, but as people with the same fears and feelings as anyone else. As with that first day back from his grandparents when they had talked late into the night, making him feel like he could breathe again. Like it was okay to be different. Austin and he became closer, hung out together more often.

For Ashley, the thing he felt the most was confidence. A confidence to be himself, even in a small town where most would not accept him.

 

One Saturday, Ashley ventured into town on his bicycle, circling the town square then going down one side street after the next. He rode casually, just enjoying being out. It was nearing one o’clock and he knew he had to eat something. He rode back into town to the small restaurant that faced the courthouse. He locked his bike to a guardrail and went inside to eat. The waitress led him to a small table in the middle of the dining room. He slipped off his backpack, setting it in the other chair. He fished out the novel he was reading then took his seat.

The novel laid out in front of him, he didn’t open it at first. Instead, he scanned the room, curious to see if he knew anyone. There were two girls from his high school in a booth, one giving him a little wave, making the other look around and smile in his direction. In the next two booths were adults he recognized but didn’t know. He looked across the dining room, to the other side. Most he didn’t recognize and wondered if they were from the town or had driven in some an outlying area. At the front window, he saw a couple of guys and girls he knew were younger, probably sixteen and out for the day. At the far table he saw two guys that were a year older. Bill had been the proverbial school jock. Muscular and outgoing, always flirting with the girls. He had been on the baseball and football teams. Wynn had been one of those guys who didn’t stand out. He played baseball, but not football, and was always on the periphery of the guys in his class. Ashley remembered crossing paths with them in high school, how he found both attractive, and much to his disappointment in high school, how they had been closer to his brother than toward him. Austin was a year older and a senior and Ashley knew the two of them looked up to his brother and the other seniors, wanting their approval. Being younger and not playing any sports, caused him to be invisible to them.

“Hey Ashley, how’s your summer going?”

Ashley looked up to see Emily standing by his table, pad in hand ready to take his order. She had been in his class, and someone always friendly toward him.

“Really good. And you? You like working here?”

“It’s good. I’m working to earn spending money for the fall. You’re going to UNC.”

“Yes.”

“You ready to go?”

“Definitely,” Ashley replied, smiling at her.

“Well, I guess I need to get your order. Another couple just sat in my area.”

 

Emily brought his drink, then food, each time asking him about college, seeking his advice on some aspect. While waiting then eating, he found himself looking more and more at Bill and Wynn. Wynn sat to where they could make eye contact, and at some point, they caught each other’s eyes. Wynn had given him a slight nod and a smile. So, he did know him, Ashley thought, wondering if it was as Austin’s little brother, something he had heard far too often in high school.

When he finished eating and paid, Ashley slipped the novel back into his backpack and headed out. As he unlocked his bike and shadow fell over him.

“Your Austin’s brother, Ashley.”

Ashley looked up to see Wynn standing next to him. He was grateful Wynn hadn’t said ‘little brother’ and he stood up seeing he was a bit taller than Wynn.

“Yes, and you’re Wynn.”

“I guess you’re preparing to leave for college. Are you going where Austin went?”

“No, UNC. What about you?”

“I’m up at App.”

Ashley saw it, the eyes looking down then up at him. The look of longing, then the look around them of nervousness, afraid someone would see.

“Where’s Bill?”

“He had to get home.”

“I see.”

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” asked Wynn, and Ashley heard the nervous tone.

“I was going to ride around then just hang out.”

“You want to come over to my house and play video games? Bill couldn’t and my folks are gone and it’d be nice to have someone to play with and-“

“Sure, I’d like to come over.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m parked around the corner, and we could put your bike in the back.”

“Okay.”

Ashley saw Wynn walk up to a Dodge truck, then help him place his bike in the back. He buckled in the passenger seat, Wynn pulled out and they were soon headed north, just outside of town. They rode in silence, Ashley unsure what to say to they older boy, but a glance over from time to time, he saw Wynn appeared as nervous as he, looking over then back to the road never saying anything.

Wynn pulled into the drive of a brick ranch, neat shrubs around the perimeter and a storage building just behind it. The drive pulled around to the garage doors on the back side of the house with the concrete drive extended out to the storage building where Wynn parked.

“We can put your bike in the garage,” said Wynn as he climbed out.

Ashley followed Wynn into the garage who pushed his bike in and propped it against the wall. Through the door, they passed through a mudroom into a kitchen.

“Come on, let’s go to my room,” said Wynn.

The room was typical. Could have been Austin or his room, or any other male. The walls were white with pale green curtains and a bedspread to match. Wynn went to the low console with a flat screen television and a gaming system on an open shelf below.

“You want to play Elvenar?” asked Wynn.

Ashley was surprised to see a fantasy game in lieu of one of combat.

“Sure.”

He saw how Wynn was fumbling with setting up the game. There was a nervousness and hesitancy to his every move.

“You okay?” asked Ashley.

“Yeah, yes, of course. It’s just…”

“You didn’t invite me here to play video games.”

“Huh,” Wynn uttered turning to look up at Ashley.

“I think you invited me for something else,” Ashley whispered.

Wynn nodded then looked away.

“Does anyone know…about you?”

“Yes, but only at App. I can’t bring myself to tell anyone here.”

“But you knew about me?”

“Bill and I ran into Austin. He had talked about you before, something being wrong, but he’d never tell us what.”

“But he told you this time?”

“No, but something in the way he said you were good and how the family was good too made me realize you were gay.”

“So, what now?”

“I just…I just want to be with someone. You know? I’m not asking for a commitment or anything. The summer is nearly over, and I’ve been feeling lonely. I think it is being home and not able to be myself.”

“Your parents don’t know?”

Wynn shook his head.

“You want to have sex with me?” Ashley asked, feeling emboldened.

“Yes,” Wynn replied, then he looked up with such a serious expression. “But we can just hang out if you prefer. I just wanted to be with someone who understands, and if you’re not interested, we don’t have to do anything.”

Ashley stepped closer. “But I do want to mess around with you. I know it’ll be just this one time but if that is enough, and if you’re willing, then why not. Do you really want to have sex with me?”

“Yes. I thought about it before.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Back in high school. I imagined you were like me. It was the way you were always outside the different groups.”

“What do you want to do with me?”

Wynn looked up locking eyes with Ashley. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Ashley stepped closer to Wynn, right up next to him where he was on his knees, controller in one hand.

“Put the game down and show me,” said Ashley.

Wynn lay the controller next to the gaming box, then turned to Ashley. He looked up, then back down and Ashley could feel the eyes looking at his crotch. His cock flexed with the thought of Wynn staring at it with desire.

Wynn moved to him, pressed his face right on his crotch, pressing against his cock. He flexed with the touch. He watched Wynn mouth his cock through his shorts making him grow erect. Hands raked up his bare legs, the touch by the fingers light and teasing.

“Fuck, you’re making me excited,” Ashley uttered as he watched Wynn’s mouth move on his cock, along the shaft and to the head. Wynn held his mouth over the head and worked his lips on it, increasing the pressure, then releasing it, over and over, making him grow harder and harder. It was too much.

Ashley grabbed Wynn by his hair and pulled his head back. “You want my cock?” It wasn’t really a question. Wynn exhaled heavily, then nodded his head. “Take it out,” Ashley uttered knowing what Wynn wanted was the physical sex.

Wynn fumbled with his shorts until they spread open and fell to his ankles. His boxers tented outward, and he was pleased to watch Wynn not waste more time toying with him. Hands took the waistband and worked the boxers over his erection and down until they would fall on top of his shorts. Wynn held his cock at the base and sank the head into his mouth. Ashley moaned as the mouth worked the head. The hand let go and Wynn sank his mouth down as far as he could.

Ashley stood naked before Wynn. He felt it. Savored the feeling, the exposure, nothing hidden. He watched his cock come into view, wet and glistening, then disappear as Wynn pushed forward. He felt the tongue toy with his cock making him clinch his hands into fist and slowly push against the mouth. He grew hard quickly, too quickly, and he pushed Wynn off his cock. Wynn was gasping for breath and drool trickled down his chin. His cock flexed in Wynn’s face as he watched the drool drip from Wynn’s chin.

“Stand up,” Ashley commanded.

Wynn came to his feet as Ashley stepped back until he felt the bed hit his legs and he eased down on it, leaning back on elbow. His cock angled upward, and Wynn’s eyes stared with a pure lust.

“Take off your clothes,” Ashley whispered.

Buttons were undone, then a shirt fell to the floor. Another button freed, a zipper tugged down and jeans were soon laying by the shirt. Boxers fell on top, and Wynn stood naked. Cock half hard and already leaking, Wynn was the imagine of the horny male. Just a little more stimulation and there would be no going back.

“Will you sit on this?” asked Ashley as he held his cock straight up and slowly stroked it.

Wynn said nothing. Instead, he looked at Ashley for a couple of seconds, then moved to him. He straddled him, rubbed his ass over Ashley’s cock. Back and forth increasing their arousal.

“Fuck yeah, that ass feels good,” Ashley uttered. He had never been so vocal. It seemed to add another layer to their sex. To say aloud what he wanted. He took Wynn’s cock in hand and stroked it. His hand became slick, and Wynn moved erratically over his cock.

“Fucking whore, you like it,” Ashley uttered with amusement. Wynn looked down and smiled, then rose on his knees.

“I want to feel you inside me,” Wynn whispered as he reached back and held Ashley’s cock.

Ashley watched Wynn move down to his cock. He felt the pressure on the head as Wynn’s tight opening denied him a quick penetration. Instead, he felt the tight squeeze on his cock head that slowly moved over it. It seemed to take forever before the head of his cock was inside Wynn, then he watched as inch after inch of his cock disappeared inside him.

Wynn had over half of his cock when he began to move up and down. Agonizingly, painfully slow. Up, then down, slowly taking more cock until finally sitting on his hips. The ass ground down on him, rocked back and forth and he felt his cock flex inside of Wynn.

“Fuck,” Ashley uttered as Wynn slowly moved upward once again, tight opening sliding up his cock until the head slipped free.

“Fuck,” Ashley repeated as he felt his cock breach Wynn’s opening again and disappear into him.

Wynn began to move faster, to fuck himself on Ashley’s cock. The bed rocked and squeaked as he moved with an urgency. Up, down, over and over, he moved on Ashley’s cock.  

Ashley watched Wynn move on him as he ran a hand up the chest, feeling the heat of the slick wet skin. He rubbed over the nipples feeling the hard nubs of each. Then he held the narrow waist as Wynn rode his cock.

The feel of that tight ass working up and down his cock. The weight of Wynn over his hips. The utterances, the moans, and grunts, primitive, desperate. It was too much. He sat up, hugged the naked body against his own, then rolled Wynn to his back.

Wynn held his legs spread apart as Ashley got on his knees. Scooting forward, he soon had his cock at Wynn’s loosened hole. He pushed half his cock into it and began to fuck.

“Fuck…fuck me…fuck me harder,” Wynn uttered.

Ashley fucked until he felt feverish. The room closed in around them and grew hot. Sweat trickled down his face and chest. He pumped cock into Wynn’s depths, deeper and deeper until the sound of flesh smacking against flesh echoed in the room. He leaned forward until resting on his hands, body hovering over Wynn and began to long dick him. Hips up until cock hovered over the hole, then a shove down, breaching the opening and sinking all the way into Wynn. Over and over, until his arousal was too much. He sank into Wynn and fucked faster, harder, making the bed squeak and rock beneath them.

Then he threw his head back and cried out, jerking and shaking with every ejaculation.

 

Wynn lay on his back still breathing hard as he watched his cock sink into Ashley’s mouth. He clutched the bed and pushed upward. He was so aroused, his body so heated up, he couldn’t hold back. He watched Ashley’s head move up and down until he felt the surge of release, then he closed his eyes and shuddered with ejaculation after ejaculation, as the suction on his cock increased.

 

Ashley toweled Wynn off, then gave the towel to Wynn to dry him. They had showered together, kissing, touching, then talking with a jovial silly tone. They giggled about what they had done, the physical nature of it. For Ashley, it was so different from the sex with Owen. With Owen it had been about the discovery of sex, the intimacy of it. With Wynn it was the physical nature of it. The pure lust of it. Afterward with Owen had been serious, their conservation evolving into what they expected in the future, the relationships they hoped to have, but with Wynn, with their continued joking around and giggling at the silliest things, it was more about finding the simple pleasure of it.

Back home, he lay on his bed reading the journal, seeing the mindset of a teenager struggling as he had done but never finding anyone to support him. If his uncle had only been able to open up to his family, how would things be different? It was three weeks until he had to leave for college, and he grew more excited with every passing day.

 

It was a Wednesday evening, his mother in the kitchen and his father in the study going over some paperwork. Uncle Charlie’s journal in hand, he went to the study, knocking lightly on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure son, what is it?”

Ashley entered the small room going up to the desk that sat in the center of it with his father seated behind it. He laid the journal down on top of the paperwork laid out.

“That’s Charlie’s,” his father whispered.

“So, you recognize it?”

“Yes.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yes, I, huh…”

His father sat up and gently picked up the journal looking at the leather cover as if he could see through it to what was contained inside.

“I thought mom had gotten rid of it.”

“She had put it away in the dresser.”

“It was in the dresser,” his father replied sounding surprised. “All these years and it was still in our room. What are you doing with it?” his father asked then a change of expression, one of revelation. “She gave it to you.”

“Yes. I found it and read it. I had to ask her about it. She admitted having read it. Then we talked…about Uncle Charlie and me.”

“So, this is what did it.”

“I think Raymond should have this,” Ashley blurted out, wondering if his father would argue against it. He took a quick breath and continued before his father could reply. “I was thinking of going to Atlanta this weekend and looking him up and-“

“Ashley,” his father interrupted with a soft quiet tone.

“Yes, sir?”

“I think that would be wonderful idea.”

 

Ashley drove into Atlanta until parking along a street in downtown. He ambled down the sidewalk with the journal in his backpack until he came to the little bookstore. Through the old narrow double doors, the hinges squeaking and a bell ringing out his arrival, he entered the narrow space. Dark woods, high tin ceiling, and bookshelves along both walls, with shelves down the middle. About twenty feet from the door, a counter was visible, sticking out from the right wall. No one was behind it.

He moved deeper into the store, until past the counter where he saw a young woman putting books on a shelf in a niche labeled Science Fiction. She looked up as if aware of his presence behind her.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was wondering if Raymond is here.”

“He’s in back; I’ll go get him.”

He watched her go to the rear wall and pass through a door. It was only a few seconds and she returned.

“He’ll be right out once he finishes with his phone call.”

“Thanks.”

He began to browse as the woman went back to stocking the shelves. He strolled past shelves barely perceiving what they displayed until he came to LGBTQ Studies and he stopped, scanning the titles. He read titles of the books amazed at the abundance of topics.

“You asked to see me?” came a voice from behind.

He turned, surprised to have been caught unawares. Raymond stood behind him. An older man, his short hair completely grey. He was dressed casually in khakis and a blue shirt, but still held a formal appearance. He struggled on what to say, where to start, until he grew embarrassed.

“You’re James’ son, Ashley,” said Raymond.

“Yes…and you were Uncle Charlie’s partner.”

“So, you’ve finally got the whole story,” Raymond chuckled.

“Will you tell me about my uncle?”

Raymond smiled. He turned to the young woman.

“Silvia, can you watch the store for a little while?”

“Sure,” Silvia replied.

“Let’s go in back where we can talk.”

 

For over an hour, Ashley listened to Raymond talk about his life with Charlie. How they met, their life in Denver, then the move to Atlanta. When Raymond got to the night of the wreck, his voice faltered, tears came to his eyes forcing him to wipe them.

“It was hard for a long time afterward. God, years went by and before I knew it, I was fifty years old and still acting like a grieving widow.”

“Dad said you did eventually meet someone.”

“Yes,” Raymond replied with a smile. “I should have tried sooner to move on, but its funny how things worked out. Mark worked down the street in this outdoor clothing and gear shop and…well, it was nice to have someone who enjoyed hiking and camping.”

“Are you still together?”

“Yes,” Raymond replied, then he leaned back tilting his head back while taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t mean I don’t miss Charlie. I miss him every day. But I had to move on. I would tell anyone the same if they were to be unfortunate enough to lose someone special to them.”

“There is something I think you should have; if you’ll accept it.”

Raymond looked at Ashley with a questioning expression as Ashley pulled his backpack into his lap, unzipped it down each side, then pulled out the leather journal.

“This was Uncle Charlie’s. He had kept it when a teenager until he left.”

“OH,” Raymond uttered.

“I read it and it helped me…a lot.”

“James said you came out to them this summer.”

“Dad called you about it?”

“We still talk every other week or so, and when you returned from your grandparents and told them, he called me that night.”

Ashley held the journal out until it was hovering in the space between them.

“Shouldn’t you hold on to this?” asked Raymond.

“I thought so at first, but after thinking about it, I think you should have it. You knew Uncle Charlie after he left, knew him better than anyone I would think. This will give you Uncle Charlie before you met him.”

Raymond took the journal, ran a hand gently over the leather cover, then he opened it to a random page. As he began to read, he gasped, then settled himself and continued to read while wiping away the tears.

 

Ashley and Raymond strolled down the sidewalk heading back to the bookstore. They had gone for dinner, meeting up with Mark. It had given Ashley a sense of closure, one he hadn’t known he needed. Now they talked of books, music, and what he should expect in college, the learning of new subjects, but more importantly, the meeting of new friends, and if he is lucky, someone who’ll be special in his life.

They came to a stop at the darken store, Silvia having closed for Raymond. Raymond surprised Ashley with a long hug, then stepped back.

“Please keep in touch. This has been an unexpected surprise and…well…thanks for giving me the journal. I can’t express my gratitude in words.”

“You’re welcome. I should be going,” Ashley replied. He looked into the darken store picturing the journal on Raymond’s desk. He pictured Raymond reading it, cover to cover, just as he had done.

He had stayed longer than intended and it was getting late. He considered getting a hotel room, but then thought about the drive back to Lincolnton in the late night, how it would let him think, replay conservations with Raymond and consider what they meant when it came to his uncle, and who he had been.

 

Ashley came out of his dorm and into the small open area between the buildings. There was one spot the sun was able to shine upon, a little circle of open grass with a bench to one side. He carried his latest novel, one marked about a third of the way in, and sat to one end of the bench. Despite slightly cool temperatures, the sun was warm, comforting, and he sat back absorbing its heat as he picked up where he had last stopped. Soon he no longer noticed others coming and going from the dorms, guys coming out with bicycles to take a ride, or the small group gathering to go play football. He was back into the story, turning page after page, until the sun descended enough to put him in shade.

Suddenly chilled and realizing he was hungry, he marked his place and headed back to his dorm. The lobby was busy, with a group in the lounge area watching a football game. He went to the elevator willing to wait for its slow descent from whatever floor it now resided. He was on the fifth floor and didn’t want to take the stair.

The numbers lit up, four, three, two, and finally one, and the bell chimed, and the doors slid open. Ashley had to wait for five guys to exit the cab, then he stepped in, surprised no one else was entering with him. He pressed the fifth-floor button and stepped back waiting on the doors to close. They began to slide together, when suddenly a hand slipped between them causing them to slide back open.

“Hey,” said the guy entering.

Ashley had seen him around but didn’t know anything about him. He watched the guy press four, then move to stand on the opposite side. The guy was nearly his height, about the same build, with brown hair and a baby face complete with rosy cheeks. He found him attractive, but he found most of the guys in the dorm attractive. The problem was which ones were gay. The odds said he couldn’t be the only one, in fact there were two guys on the third floor who were openly gay and dating. For his part he had come out to the guys he hung out with on his floor. He had expected it to be more of an event, like some big reveal, but the guys had taken it in stride, and none of them had come out gay. A quick glance over and he saw the guy cut his eyes away, then turn back to him.

“You’re up on five, John Harrigan’s roommate, Ashley” said the guy, and Ashley heard the nervous tone.

“Yes; you know John?”

“Not really. I know Paul that is across the hall from you. I’m Tracy, by the way.”

“Tracy,” Ashley repeated.

“Are you going with the guys to Mac’s to watch the game,” Tracy asked, referring to the sports bar in town.

“No, I don’t really care about the game.”

“Would you like to go to dinner; with me?”

Ashley heard it, the way Tracy said, ‘with me’. He turned to him, knowing if Tracy knew Paul, then he knew about him being gay. Ashley grew emboldened, a welling up of a confidence he would not have possessed before last summer.

“Are you asking me out for dinner?” asked Ashley, smiling at Tracy.

Tracy looked surprised, then he relaxed and smiled back.

“Yes…I’m asking you out.”

“Then it’s a date.”