Was it just a Dream?

From your Author:

This short piece will only make sense if you were one of the many who read Robby and Ryan. I am talking to only a few guys who have followed me and the hundreds of thousands of words I’ve written. I am just a man. RJC. 

I woke up kind of groggy smelling the salt air and hearing the sea lions on the huge rock about a hundred feet offshore. My head was on his chest and I knew where I was and whose chest I rested on. Was it all just a bad dream? Were the past ten thousand mornings I woke up just a dream?

I thought about all the pain I’d endured, the loss of him, my life without him? Had the last twenty-plus years been a dream or was this the dream? I rolled from his warm body to stand, looked out the window to the ocean, and the lions making such sweet sounds, still wondering.

Had it all just been a dream? My boys, Robin, my grandsons, was that all just a dream? I remembered waking up, or maybe that was the dream knowing I would live the rest of my life without him. Everything was so vivid, my grandsons living with me, the projects I’d done, the pain of waking up so… many times filled with sorrow?

I walked to the bathroom and relieved myself still wondering. Had Robby and I gone on that long weekend? I avoided the mirror not wanting confirmation, didn’t want to see if I was young or old. I stood on the deck as I had many times before looking down on the beach and remembered watching my boys play in the surf. Was that all a dream?

I didn’t remember last night; did we? Everything seemed so… real. I thought about all the things that were in my head, memories. Was all of it just a dream? I thought about Robby and what I remembered, the way we were that morning after our shower, what I told him.

Was this, that? Was it the next day, had we gone on a long weekend to the beach? Did he still live? Hands came around my front then up to my chest, “What are you thinking about, Rye?”

I looked down at the coffee in my hand and I knew. It was the hand of an old man, wrinkled, weathered, was this a dream? I turned leaning against the railing with my eyes closed, took a deep breath, then looked at him. It was Robby, twenty months younger than me. I remembered him aging, growing old with me.

Had it all been a dream? I thought about him a day ago when I told him I needed this, another day falling asleep next to him and waking up the same way. His hair was still the dirty blond, smile; something I always wanted to see. His hair had some white in it, wrinkles around the dimples, and his eyes.

I remembered searching for half my life to see that color blue, flecks of gold, the brightness of them. “What are you thinking about, Rye?” Came again.

I didn’t know how to answer. He stood naked in front of me, all his glory on display, my Robby. I felt the sting in my eyes looking at him, the hurt that filled my heart for so… long, my arms over his shoulders, and I missed him still.

His thumbs ran across my cheeks whipping the salt tears away, “Why the waterworks, Ryan?”

I felt the pain of not having him, the agony of his loss, but here he was standing before me. Had we done what I wanted? Had I left Robin and my boys years ago to have what I was looking at now? Did he not die, left me to morn him, leave my heart empty?

“Just remembering, Robby. Just remembering.” It was all I had.

“Come back to bed, Skate.” And his smile grew.

His hand took mine, pulled me to the place we slept, and I followed. Looking down on him with his arms reaching for me I saw them; the scars. It’s hard; so… fuckin hard. Love hurts sometimes. Loving an addict is beyond hurt.

Robby and I lived a charmed life, partied like it was 1999. Although the marks on his arms had faded, just red lines up the veins, you could still see them. I had watched them grow over the years; growth that pained me so. Was it all just a dream?

I took a deep breath as I sat next to him. His body hadn’t changed much, still lean, a six-pack that wanted to be seen under the years, and those eyes. I straddled his frame looking down, his lips full, begging me to taste them. Is this a dream?

Had the end years with Robin been a dream? Did I even have my grandsons? Then there were his lips. I anticipated the taste of them, something I remembered missing. His thumbs wiped away the salt as I leaned down with my wet eyes closing and his hands going around my neck. I kissed him.

The flavor, softness, the taste. It was Robby. His hands went to my ass parting cheeks, the part of him I remembered missing resting behind. I climbed off and asked, “Shower?” He followed.

As he came in behind me he said, “I need to eat before I take a shot” More tears from me. This was real.

His knees found the bottom of the tub, he bit my ass wanting me to turn around. What I remember missing, lips and mouth, locked on. Robby loved doing this to me, the sucking of my shaft, his ability to turn me to jello. Robby sucked me right up to the point I pushed him off; not cuming.

“We need breakfast,” I told his pouty face. I kissed him again as I got out.

“You can be a real ass, Rye.”

I knew he needed to eat. He needed a shot. His window had grown much smaller; I think. He could function just fine at 460 as easy as 50; blood sugars. That window today; 160 to 90. He developed juvenile diabetic more than half a lifetime ago. It was a cross he bared like a punishment for living.

I didn’t even dry and just walked wet footed to the kitchen. I made him his favorite; eggs, sausage, hash browns, and toast. I ate toast with apple butter.

“Are we going home for Labor Day, Rye?”

Home. Willow’s. I nodded. It was something we had done for forty years. Our home to the East. Willow’s was where we found each other. Well, it was the place we became, R&R. It was a grand house left to me when I was seventeen, but so…much more than a structure.

Willow was now well over two hundred years old; Bruno was gone. Robby’s ashes long ago sifted under our tree. Or was that a dream? I watched him eat, he’d break the yokes and use the sausage and hash browns to sop up everything.

“Ryan? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. Honest. I just love watching you eat breakfast.” And I did love that. I really did.

After; we stood on the deck. It was cantilevered back and you could look straight down 300 hundred feet to the beach. “Go take your shot, Rob.”

I looked down, thought about Willow, and what she and Robby meant to me. I remembered wanting to die there, searching but not finding him. Was it all a dream? Please don’t let me wake up.

“I’m good, Rye.” He said from behind.

Robby took my hand leading to the bed I woke up in this morning. He sucked my aged dick to a thickness that was from decades ago. Rob did as he had so many times before, his body, part of me deep inside; loved me in a way that doesn’t happen by accident.

Robby loved me. Everything about him showed that. The sometimes smiles and reaching for my hand, I don’t know how much time passed. It’s hard to judge time when you’re doing that we were. Later we walked the windy trail and along the beach. We ventured into caves that allowed during low tide, saw starfish with an array of colors, and we found a large piece of brain coral.

We sat quiet, for a while sitting in the sand leaning against a log. When I lit a fatty he looked at me, “Why won’t you let me in, Chancellor?”

I knew what he was talking about; why he couldn’t read my thoughts. Was this all just a dream? Again I wondered if life hadn’t dealt us a bad hand or if I was the only one holding shit cards. Right now I could have cared less. The thing that kept rolling around in my mind was Rob and I were going to the mountains.

This beach house was something Robin’s, stepdad, owned and we didn’t start coming here until after Robby died. I loved this place and we would leave in the very early morning so we could be here by lunch. Robin and would watch the boys comb the beach as we sat three hundred feet above not really talking till I found, Ryan’s little helper.

“Do you miss it, Rye?” He asked handing back the joint.

“You Fucker! Why are you pushing me on this?”

Then it was like we hadn’t even walked back up the windy trail and we were in bed. We did what lovers do, touched each other, laved on parts we loved, right up to the point we said good night.

His head was on my chest. “Sweet dreams, Jr.
“Love you, Skate.”

“I know.”

It’s funny when you wake up. I held my pillow, I knew it wasn’t him. I felt the cold spot next to me and saw his first Christmas present to me. ‘Every Moment That We Are Together.’

It was all a dream.