A paradox

Orange, red, yellow and rusty browns blanketed the landscape. Vivid colors against a blue sky that Charles never tired.  For years there were fall trips to the mountains, and in the last four a little place his first big commission made real. Tucked high in the Appalachians of North Carolina, it was paradise. Quiet, cooler than back in Atlanta and some connection back to nature that we humans were just beginning to understand.  He pulled off his reading glasses and laid them on the small table next to the manuscript of his next novel. He glanced at the stack of paper trying not to reconsider so many aspects of the story he had created, one that he would claim after it was published, was fiction, nothing to do with his real life. It would be about the concepts he mentioned on the dustjacket, the ideas of human nature he saw in all of us, and not something specific to himself.

It would be a lie.

It had so much to do with his life. The first book too. Threads of truth woven through the story, hidden tidbits of his past, the things that influenced him, made him the person he was today. The protagonist of this story, so real in his own mind. A character that delved into his past. He had avoided it in his first novel, steered clear of letting it become so personal. But it had haunted him, made him consider the lost opportunity to really express something so important to him. He thought of the person, then the place, and how the two were so intertwined.

It was in there he found his way. The path he would take in life, the decisions made during that fateful summer that would lead to this moment. When he considered the passage of time, it seemed a long time ago, but the memories were still vivid. At times they rose up as if yesterday. He remembered everything about that day, the first encounter with that boy. His initial impressions, all so wrong.

The day had been partly cloudy, hot, no rainfall for days. Soybean fields were reduced to stubble from harvest, waiting to be tilled for the next crop. It was the first week of summer after graduation, his last summer before heading off to college. He’d been anxious, so stir crazy after only a week he couldn’t stand it. He had grabbed up his keys and taken off, just driving around the community as he tried to focus his mind. What was important, his plans for the fall, and when he would take that first step of acknowledging his own person. The person he kept hidden away, thinking he would reveal them in high school, then in Senior year before graduation, finally pushing it back to the fall when he would arrive on campus honest about himself for the first time.

16 Years Earlier

He drove fast enough to feel the shift in the car’s weight, and his own, when navigating curves. He drove hard shifting through the gears. He liked the interaction, this action that changed the car. Made it faster. Down the steep grade, accelerating to eighty, he flew over Red Creek Bridge. The car made the smallest bounce over the rough joint between concrete and asphalt. Back up on the plateau, he moved toward the center of the road, feeling the tightness in the steering.

He had had the car a week, a new 3 Series to replace his old one, a graduation gift from his parents. The engine rumbled as he slowed, shifting down one, two, finally three gears, entering the hard s-curve at the Graham farm. He held tight to the centerline, feeling the nose of the car plant itself, dig in and follow the path he had chosen. As the road straightened, he accelerated, seeing the tach flip around the dial to the redline before each shift. It was exhilarating, and it kept his mind occupied, focused on driving instead of something else.

Turning on Highway 87, the main road coming from town, he headed south, away from town and back toward home. He accelerated on the long straight, feeling the car surge ahead. Then the steering felt wrong. It didn’t want to hold the line, then it pulled to the right.

“What in the hell” Charles uttered as he slowed down, then eased onto the grassy shoulder to stop. He climbed out and moved around the front of the car, anxious of what he would find. He heard it before he saw it, a metal rod protruding through the sidewall with air hissing out quickly. It took only a few seconds and the hissing sound stopped and the tire was completely flat.

“Fuck” he uttered, tempted to scream it. He stared at the flat trying to will it to go away, replaced by a good tire. Looking at his watch, he decided it would be quicker to change it himself. He popped the trunk and went to the rear of the car. Searching around the trunk, he realized there was no spare. Hands on the rim of the opening he stared into the empty trunk wondering if the day could get any worse.

He heard a vehicle behind him, the roar of heavy treaded tires on the asphalt, change in pitch as it neared and slowed. He turned to see an old Chevy truck pull off the road and stop behind him. The driver’s door squeaked open and a guy climbed out, ballcap pulled low on his head, ratty clothes filthy with dirt and grease. A “local” Charles thought as the guy approached, the derogatory term his classmates used all the time to describe those that didn’t go to Monroe Latin, but instead had to make do with the public schools of the region.

“What seems to be the problem?” A southern drawl that was embarrassing to Charles. Thick, the vowels coming out slow.

“A flat.”

“A flat? I thought these things came with run flat tires?”

The guy moved closer and Charles saw his face clearly for the first time. Scraggly goatee, and light brown hair, so light it was almost blonde, curled out around the ballcap. He looked boyish in the face, small upturned nose and prominent cheeks below eyes that looked brown; later on, he would realize they were green. He was dressed like so many of the other rural boys of the area. A shirt with its sleeves torn off revealing long lean arms, with just a hint of muscle. The shirt hung loose over jeans, worn, faded, both knees blown out. Clothes Charles wouldn’t be caught dead in.

“Well, look for yourself” said Charles in an exasperated voice.

The guy walked past him, moved through the grass without a care, not looking for snakes, or broken bottles, or any other dangers that might be lurking there.

“Damn. I’ve not seen a tire messed up like that in a long time” said the guy, taking off his cap and wiping his brow with his forearm. “How’d you do it?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I was just driving along and…” Charles stopped, not sure he should admit to how he was driving, admit the rich kid of the community was our joy riding in his new BMW. He could imagine the reaction. “I just need to call a tow truck to come get the car.”

“There’s no need for that?”

“What?”

“I can fix it.”

“You can fix it?”

“Yeah. I work at the tire store up on Garden Street, you know the one out by the Massey Ferguson dealership?”

“No.”

“Well, we can jack it up, take the wheel back to the shop, put a new tire on and have you back on the road in no time.”

It was so simple. The guy so confident in what needed to be done. No second guessing himself. No wondering if someone had to be called first, working out the available options.

“Do you need to call someone? Anyone expecting you right away?” asked the guy as he started back to his truck. He watched the guy pull out his cell phone, ask for Robby, then telling him he would need a new tire ready to put on, rattling off a series of letters and numbers that meant nothing to Charles. He came back lugging a large jack and a toolbox. The jack went under the car and Charles watched him jack till the front lifted just a bit, with the wheel still on the ground. Toolbox open, the guy ran his hand down a row of sockets, picked one from the lineup, popped it on the tool and went to loosening the lugs. Charles stood behind him watching him work. He couldn’t help it, suddenly aware of the guy’s masculinity. He watched those lean arms flex with his exertions. He was suddenly aware of the smooth skin, with its natural tan, and the sparse hair under each arm. He looked at the long neck and the hair curling from under the ballcap. In a squatting position, the guy fell to his knees to finish jacking the car up. He rose up straight and pumped the handle till the wheel lifted off the ground.

“You…need some help?” Charles asked, hearing the tone of his own voice, the pathetic nature of it, feeling like he couldn’t change his own tire.

“Nah, I got it” as the wheel slide off the bolts and onto the ground.

The guy stood, bent over keeping a hand on the wheel. He looked up at Charles, smiled, his white teeth such a contrast from the rest of him. They were clean, pure white, contrasting sharply with the dirty skin and clothes and the hair that had been sweaty at some point earlier today.

“I’m Wade by the way. You want to ride with me back to the shop? The old truck doesn’t have air, but it’ll be cooler than out here on the side of road.”

“Wade…” Charles repeated the name, one he had not heard before, then glanced at the old truck. It looked worse than the maintenance crew’s truck that mowed and trimmed around his parent’s house, and he thought it looked rough. White faded paint, the wheels missing their hubcaps, and the front bumper bent down on one end. “I, uh, can wait.”

“Oh, come on, get in. It’s too damn hot to stand out here. Come on, the truck looks rough, but the interior is clean. I promise” Wade replied sensing part of the problem. He knew a private school boy when he saw one. This one had the uniform on to prove it. Khaki pants, blue dress shirt and the most uncomfortable looking dress shoes he had ever seen. How could they dress like this, in this heat, he didn’t know? “Come on, let’s go get this fixed.”

Charles followed Wade coming up with all kinds of protestations but uttering none of them aloud. He went to the passenger side and opened the door, hearing the same squeak on this side as the other. He looked inside the cab and it was clean, shockingly clean. The seat looked new, some vinyl bench seat in a color didn’t match anything else in the cab. The footwells were clean, albeit worn, the metal showing through in a couple of places. He saw the gear shifter, a long metal stick angling out of the floor and he wondered how anyone could drive such a crude beast.

He climbed up into the seat and fumbled with the seat belt as he felt the truck rock with Wade in back securing the toolbox. He looked through the rear window and saw his flat tire laying in the bed, Wade walk to the tailgate and jump down, lift it in place and come along the side to the driver’s door.

Wade climbed in and started the engine. It was loud, more mechanical sounding than his car. Wade gunned the gas a couple of times and the truck rocked with the increase in revs. “She looks like shit, but she runs good.”

Into first gear and they circled around heading back toward town. Wade shifted deliberately, working the long shifter into each gear before releasing the clutch. They were up to speed in no time, the hot summer air swirling through the open windows blowing his hair out of place.

“Hey, thanks for helping me” said Charles as they entered the town limits, slowing down to thirty-five mph.

“It’s no problem. Wouldn’t have been very nice of me to drive by leaving you on the side of the road when I work in a tire shop and know I can help.”

“I guess not.”

They drove past the two fast food joints and the corporate auto parts store, then came into downtown. Wade drove up to Garden Street and turned right.

“Sorry, but I didn’t catch your name?” Wade asked looking over, his expression friendly.

“Oh, sorry…I’m Charles. Charles Liddell.”

“Liddell? Your dad is the lawyer. You live out on Mill Creek Road.”

“Yes.”

“Well, damn. We live in the same community and have never met before. You went to that private school over in Monroe County?”

Charles nodded his head as he saw the Massey Ferguson sign come into view, then the tire store just beyond.

“I guess you’re all set. College and everything?”

“Yes. I start in the fall at Columbia.”

“South Carolina?”

“NO…I mean no, it’s in New York…in the city.”

“Whoa. Going to the big city. That will be crazy. Just think of all the things you can do.”

“Yes” Charlie replied, looking at the tire store as Wade turned into the drive.

Wade pulled around to the service doors, not stopping till he was inside one of the bays.

“I’m taking some classes out at the community college but having to work full time…let’s just say it’ll take a while to get my degree.”

“What will be your degree?”

“Automotive Mechanics.”

Charles couldn’t image it, something so blue collar. Something that required you to get dirty. He watched Wade shut off the truck and push open his door, as he considered how different the two of them were.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s get that tire fixed.”

“It’s Charles” he replied, climbing down.

Charles waited in the air-conditioned lobby, watching Wade through the window that faced the shop.

In less than thirty minutes they were back on the side of the road, Charles climbing out of the truck and moving toward the front of his car as Wade retrieved the wheel and his toolbox. Rolling the wheel with one hand and carrying the toolbox with the other Wade come to the front of the car, setting his toolbox down and easing the tire on its side.

“These are some nice wheels” Wade uttered in a low voice as he stood up straight and twisted his torso. “Damn, I’m stiff and tired.” Wade began to undo his shirt, quickly, slipping one button after the next free. Charles held his breath watching the shirt fall open, more and more, till it parted revealing the long lean torso beneath. He swallowed hard, and tried to make himself look away, but he watched Wade slip the shirt off, wad it up and wipe his face with it.

“It’s hotter than fuck” Wade exclaimed as he tossed the shirt on the ground next to the toolbox.

Charles stood staring. He’d seen plenty of boys in his P.E. classes completely naked, but now, on the side of the road, it was different. The sweaty body with its long lean torso was different. Not as soft as the boys from school. Rivulets of sweat trickled down the depression along Wade’s spine. The jeans pulled out loose from the narrow waist and he could see the white boxers beneath. He watched the lean arms move the tire, lift it sliding it in place. He stepped back, not trusting himself, fighting a desire to move closer, to get within arm’s reach. He wanted to slide his fingers over the hot sweaty skin so bad he felt his cock flex in his khakis. He grew erect fantasizing about seeing Wade removing more than just the shirt.

“That’s got it” said Wade as he lowered the jack.

“Oh…thanks” Charles stammered, turning away, afraid to let him see his face, or worse, the tenting of his khakis. He knew the desire was there. His longing for another guy. He glanced around watching Wade put the socket away and close the toolbox. “How much do I owe you?”

“You paid for the tire at the shop, and you don’t owe me anything.”

“No… I have to pay you something” fumbling to get his wallet out. “A tow truck would have been a hundred, easily. Here take this…please” holding out five twenties.

“I can’t take that” Wade responded, walking past Charles holding out the money. “Put it back in your wallet.”

“No… take it. Please. You’ve spent an hour helping me and…”

“Fine…I’ll take forty and you put the rest back in your wallet” said Wade, slipping two bills from Charles’ hand then heading to his truck.

Charles stood holding the three remaining bills, suddenly not wanting Wade to leave. It was crazy. This redneck, shirtless wearing jeans that should be tossed, who drives a ragged-out truck. He was nothing like the guys he fantasized about. Not in any way. He watched Wade climb up in the bed of the truck and secure the toolbox, then move to the side and bracing with one hand, hop over down to the ground. The driver’s door squeaked open and Wade stood on the sill, looking over the door frame at Charles still standing in the ditch.

“Charlie…good luck at Columbus.”

“Columbia…and my name is Charles” he mumbled the latter as he watched Wade get behind the wheel, start up the truck and pull away. Not till the truck was down the road, did he amble around his car and get in. The interior was an oven making him rush to get it started so the air conditioner could begin to cool it. He slipped the seat belt on, adjusted the air conditioner and took the steering wheel in both hands looking up at the empty road ahead. It made him feel alone to see the desolate road with that old white truck out of sight.

For days afterward Charles masturbated every moment he was alone. He was horny all the time, with images of Wade reshaping his fantasies. He saw that bare upper body come to him. Saw it move over his prone body or lay on his back, with the feel hot sweaty skin sliding over his own. He came so much it only dribbled out of his cock.

He tried to deny it. Told himself he was just lonely, more so than usual with his closest friends off to Europe or Southeast Asia or Australia for the summer. He looked at porn online, images of perfect boys, with neat haircuts, some even wearing ties. They did nothing for him. He tried to picture Lucas and Edward and Theodore from school, all boys he had lusted after since he was fourteen and knew what he really wanted. When it was late, his parents retired for the night and the house quiet, he went online and looked at boys on farms, driving tractors or riding in the back of trucks across pastures and fields. Then he would flip to a porn site and search for the same. And he watched till cum covered his stomach and hand.

By the next Saturday Charles had the worst of his obsession under control. He no longer thought of Wade in such vivid ways, fantastical ways, sexual, intimidate imaginings that left him gasping. He sat out by the pool, swam slow lazy laps, then retired to his room, laying across his bed, music low, reading. His mother was preparing for a dinner that night, planning the meal for Mrs. Simpson to prepare as Mrs. Jackson set out the dinnerware and made up the floral arrangements. It now seemed so trifling.

Around two he heard footsteps coming down the hall and knew immediately it was his mother. He knew the rhythm of her walk anywhere. Two sharp knocks and his door swung open.

“Charles, could you do something for mother?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Mrs. Simpson needs a few things from the grocery store but there is so much to do before dinner I’m afraid she hasn’t the time to go. Could you be a dear and go for us?”

He had been inside a grocery store so infrequently he didn’t know if he could find what they needed. He sat up, anxious over the task as his mother held out a slip of paper. He saw Mrs. Simpson’s neat cursive handwriting as the took it.

Light brown sugar

Mayonnaise 

Dozen eggs

5 lbs. bread flour, unbleached

Looking up at his mother, “Is this it?”

“Yes. Do you need some money?”

“I can use my credit card” he responded, stepping into his shoes by the bed and straightening his shirt.

The parking lot was busy, women pushing out carts full of bags, and a few men coming out, usually with only a couple of bags, one with a case of beer. He parked far away from the building afraid someone would let a cart get into his car and walked quickly across the hot parking lot to the entrance. The doors slid open and the cool air of the interior blew over him. He ambled inside and stood at the front wondering if he needed one of the carts or if he could just carry everything. He scanned the checkout lanes, seeing carts piled high and some with only a few items scattered across their bottoms.

He pulled one from the line, struggling to get it free, then headed to the right side. He circled through the produce till he could look back across the aisle behind the checkout lanes. He scanned the signs till he saw condiments and two past it, sugar and flour. This would be easy if three of the items were so close together.

We went down the condiment aisle till he came to mayonnaise. He froze, staring at the multiple options. Different makes, all in different sizes. He never knew there were so many. He thought of the jar he had seen Mrs. Simpson take out of the refrigerator, remembering the color of the label. Looking along the shelves he saw the one that matched his memory and reached for the large jar, one like he’d seen at home. He pushed the cart toward the back of the store, rounding the end of the aisle and over to the next one he needed.

He couldn’t help but look at the other customers as they casually browsed the displays, looking at different cuts of meat along the back wall, or checking out the specials at the cases in the back aisle. He rounded the corner to the aisle with sugar and flour watching a woman negotiate her cart with two small children clinging to it.

“Hey, Charlie; you’re grocery shopping?” came a familiar voice down the aisle, far too loud for Charles. He looked up and saw Wade coming toward him pushing his own cart. It all came back, all those imaginings of Wade he had tormented himself with for the last few days. He watched the real Wade approach. A loose tank top and jeans, worn and faded, but not the same worn and faded pair from the other day. For one thing, the knees were intact.

Wade strolled up to him and he saw the cart was half full of food. A bag of chips and a case of beer being the only unhealthy things in it.

“You can cook?” he asked before thinking how it would sound.

Wade laughed, shaking his head. “Of course, I can cook. How else do you think I feed myself?”

He was cleaned up, his exposed skin all nice and clean. He’d had a haircut and was clean shaven, his boyish face smiling back at him. Charles tried not to but he found himself staring till Wade moved, came a bit closer.

“No more flats, I presume?”

“Huh? Oh, no. No more flats.”

“All you’ve got is mayo?”

“I…huh…Mrs. Simpson needed just a few items to finish preparing mother’s dinner for tonight.”

“Mrs. Simpson?  She a cook or something?”

“Yes. Mother just organizes what she wants and….”

He stammered to a stop suddenly aware of how it sounded. The rich family with a cook, and his mother directing her on what to prepare.

“I’m sorry. That probably sounds…pretentious.”

“A little, but don’t be sorry. I’d have a cook myself if I wasn’t a poor bastard. Hey, I need to go. Having some friends over tonight. We’re going to make our own pizza, which reminds me I need this bread flour my sister suggested when she showed me how to do the dough.”

“Flour.”

“What?”

“I need bread flour too.”

They moved down the aisle, Wade backtracking, till they came to the flour.

“She suggested…this one” said Wade lifting a bag from a shelf. “Is this the one you need?”

“Yes” he replied reaching out for a bag. “Now I need light brown sugar.”

“That is over there, above the bags of white sugar. Those yellow and brown boxes” said Wade, pointing down the aisle to the opposite side.

“I see it.”

“Well, I’ll see you around?” said Wade.

Charles wandered around the grocery as if lost. He pushed the cart slowly along the aisles without concern of what was on display. He wasn’t shopping for anything. He was keeping Wade just in sight. Wade would be about to circle out of an aisle when he would come into it, getting another glimpse of the lanky frame. It was a screaming child and his mother threatening him that woke Charles from this trance. He looked around embarrassed, afraid everyone in the store had noticed him following Wade. He looked around to see where he was at; the frozen food aisle. He looked at his list to remind himself what was left on it.

Around the end of the aisle he came to the last one and saw it was dairy and eggs. He felt relief, the last item in reach. He would grab it, check out and get out of the store as fast as possible.

Back in his car, air conditioning blasting out on high, he rocked in his seat, softly hammering his head against it. “What are you doing” he stated out loud, then looked around to see if someone had seen him talking to himself. He watched the front of the grocery store, eyes jerking from one end of the vestibule to the other checking out every person coming out. None of them were Wade. He sat up and scanned the parking lot. So many trucks but none were Wade’s. He kept looking, turning in his seat to look back across the lot in front of the adjacent shops.

There it was, sitting just out from a barber shop. He’d not noticed it before. The red and white pole located under the canopy and its sign so small on the canopy, pathetic really, as to hardly be noticeable. But Wade’s truck sat in front of it. The haircut had been just before coming into the grocery store.

Looking back at the grocery store entry he saw Wade coming out pushing a cart with several bags. Along the sidewalk under the canopy past the drug store, a computer repair shop, then Wade cut out heading toward his truck. Charles wanted to watch him load up, then drive out, and then…

He couldn’t let Wade see him sitting here. He’d know why. It would be so obvious. He put the car in gear and eased through the parking lot to the far drive. He waited on a logging truck and two cars stuck behind it, then motored out, shifting through the gears till the shopping center’s sign by the road was out of sight.

The next week, he drove into town every day, just cruising around. And every time he would go by the tire shop out on Garden Street. He would cruise by three or four times during his time in town. He ate lunch at one or another of the greasy spoons in town, hoping Wade would come in. He also feared it. Afraid it would be too much, the diner too small to contain them both.

Friday found him at the diner on Main Street, sitting by the window. He kept looking out every time someone strolled by. He considered the other guys he saw, so many of them like Wade. The same lanky builds, the same mannerisms and when he heard one yell at someone down the walk, the same southern drawl, the slow stretched out sounds. But he didn’t know them. They hadn’t helped him. Came to his rescue. The image of it made him scoff. But it was the truth.

He tried to think of his reality. College in the fall and then off to destinations unknown. San Francisco, New York, or maybe London…no Paris. He would live a life much different than the one he had here. One that didn’t include redneck boys who worked on cars. He had to remind himself of this whenever he crossed paths with Wade. This reality. Sooner or later it would begin. He would leave and not come back.

Saturday began with a slow drizzling rain that had been thunderous storms during the night. By eight o’clock the skies cleared, a breeze blowing out the last of them and the blue seemed to be the whole world. Charles sat on the deck, coffee in hand, trying to wake up. He didn’t know why he got up so early, and now he regretted it.

He finished his coffee then went to his room to get the book he was reading. Back outside, he sat on the deck. The storm had broken the heat, and it was too pleasant out not to enjoy it. He read for hours, engrossed in the story unfolding on the pages. His shadow moved over the deck and onto the pages of the book. The air got hotter, getting near its normal highs.

When the door opened, he looked up for the first time in a long time. It was his mother.

“Charles, your father and I are going to that fire department fundraiser. We’ll be back sometime this afternoon.”

“Fundraiser?”

Then it hit him. The fire department was all volunteers and they raised money with cookouts and raffles. Every year his parents made an appearance at the cookout, with his father making a large donation. He had never gone before, not wanting to mingle with the redneck boys. He had thought of himself better than them, but he also knew he didn’t go for he was afraid of them too.  But everyone would be there. And everyone included Wade.

“I’ll come too. I’ll catch up with you after I get dressed.”

“Really? Well, okay, we’ll see you there.”

 He showered and brushed his teeth again. Looking in the mirror, his hair not yet combed, he tried to identify the person looking back at him. Charles Jefferson Liddell. Five feet ten, one hundred thirty-four, black hair, brown eyes and a trust fund. And a new BMW in the garage and more clothes than he could wear in a year. All just stats that said nothing of who he was. He stood up straight looking at his lean body, skin so fair and white. He thought he looked soft. He put a hand on his chest and raked downward over his bare skin feeling the softness of it. He raked over the left nipple and felt it harden. “I’m gay” he uttered aloud. “I like boys.” He thought of the time he kissed the boy from school, how it had been so exciting, only to become weird when the boy freaked out and ran off. He sucked in his breath, his stomach curving inward and the towel around his waist fell to the floor. He looked at his flaccid cock. He pictured the other boys he had seen for comparison, something he had done often in the past. He knew he was average, his cock hanging a couple of inches long over the sac. Just average. Nothing special. Did his father’s money really make such a difference?

He knew it did.

He started to touch himself, his hand hovering just above it. He wanted to do it. To make himself aroused, feel alive. But he knew he wouldn’t stop till he was covered in his own cum. He’d be late if he did. He reached out for his comb.

Inside his closet he thumbed through stacks of folded shorts, most of them khakis, but a few loud plaids like the boys from school wore. None of them seemed appropriate. Then he saw the cargo shorts, a pair bought last summer when they vacationed in Montenegro. He had needed the extra pockets for his camera. He pulled the faded brown shorts out and slipped them on. They still fit his narrow waist. Turning he began to flip through shirts looking for one that wasn’t a dress or polo shirt. He flipped past Monroe Latin t-shirts he would never dare wear around the community, trendy pullovers in black, gray and white, most V-necks and one baseball jersey from when he and his dad went to a Yankee’s game back in the spring. He flipped back a few shirts and pulled down a white pull-over.

He put on a pair of sandals, grabbed his keys, wallet and cell phone, and headed out.

The cookout was at the volunteer fire department, located by the water tower. As he approached, he saw the shoulder of the road was lined with trucks, SUVs and Jeeps. Slowing to a crawl, he wondered where he should park. He passed the first drive and saw the grass area there was jammed with vehicles. At the next drive he eased in, seeing it looked as crowded. Easing over the rough ground he made his way around the building to the back. He saw his father’s Range Rover under a tree at back surrounded by trucks and one old Jeep. He started to turn around and go back to the road when he heard someone calling out. A guy in a fire department ballcap was coming his way. Window lowered he leaned out.

“I’m going back out to park on the road.” He thought the guy had said something about there not being room to park.

“No need; just pull up here and park” the guy motioned toward the first of two garage doors, both open revealing the trucks inside.

Stepping out of his car he felt uneasy about parking where no one else had parked.

“You sure this is okay?” he called out to the man standing just inside the garage area.

“Oh yeah, you’re fine” the guy replied. “You’re Mr. Liddell’s son, right?”

There it was, the connection to his father. In the past he would have played it up. Now, he wanted to ignore it.

“Yes” he replied, taking off with a fast walk around the building.

He saw the looks by some of the others, and he didn’t know what to make of them. He knew very few of the people he saw, even though he had grown up nearby. He saw his father huddled up with several men, all of them dressed nicer than most. In the far distance under one of the few trees close by was his mother, sitting among other women talking about something that gave her pleasure, for she was moving her hands in an animated manner.

He ambled across the drive and lawn toward the tables set up to hand out food. He didn’t look at anyone, figuring he knew no one, so it was safer to just keep to himself. Eyes down, he moved to the back of the line and made his way through just as the others were doing. It moved quickly and he soon had a plastic plate with fried fish, fries and hush puppies. He reached for his wallet at the end of the line where the person with a cash box sat.

“How much?”

“Are you Mr. Liddell’s son?”

“Huh…I…yes. But how much is it?”

“Oh, your father has you covered.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, just go over to that table for a drink and you’re all set.”

Seeing others pulling out money and paying made it more awkward. Not one other person went through without paying. He made his way to a place with few others hanging out and sat on the ground with his back to azaleas which provided no relief from the sun with it directly overhead. But it felt safe, with the tall shrubs at his back. He ate quickly, wanting to leave as soon as possible. He didn’t feel comfortable for every time he looked up, he saw some staring his way. He asked himself why he came, why had he not stayed home like he had always done before. But he knew the answer to that.

Looking around he wondered where Wade was at, knowing he had to be here. He scanned the crowd by cutting his eyes up as he ate, looking around the lawn area. He was about to give up when he looked back to the side of the fire station away from everyone else. There sat a few vehicles. Two Jeeps, a truck with a large lift, a Cherokee and another vehicle slightly smaller he didn’t recognize and at the end a white fade Chevy truck. The tailgate was down, and three people were sitting on it, and up in the bed, three or four more, sitting on the sides of the bed.

It disappointed Charles to see them so far removed from the main crowd. Down below the fire station in an area he couldn’t pretend to be casually walking by. It would be obvious if he were to go down to where Wade was sitting. Too obvious.

As soon as finished eating, he looked around for a garbage to toss the plate and cup. There was a line of them in front of the fire station. He could toss his garbage, walk through the station and leave. Ambling across the lawn he fought the urge to look over at Wade, instead keeping his eyes focused on his destination.

Plate and cup tossed, he pulled out his keys and went through the open garage, walking between the two large trucks. Approaching his car, he unlocked his door. As he opened it, the build up of heat swirling out, he heard Wade’s voice.

“Hey Charlie, where ya going?”

“Home.”

“You just got here, didn’t you?”

“I’ve been here long enough to eat.”

“Why don’t you stay a while. Come hang out with us?”

“No…I don’t know anyone and…”

“Come on, what else do you have to do?”

“I…can’t” he responded, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “I really need to go.” He was battling his desire to stay, to hang out with Wade with this fear he needed to get away, put some distance between him and Wade before he did something, said the wrong thing or made a bad gesture that would reveal what he was thinking.

“Well, I’ll see ya around?” Wade replied as the door closed and Charles began to reverse away from the building.

Charles stayed home the next few days, wallowing in self pity and fighting his obsession over Wade. He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling wondering why someone he would normally have nothing to do is suddenly in his thoughts. Masturbating, in the shower masturbating again, lying in bed, touching himself imagining it was Wade. Wade manipulating him, stroking his cock, fucking him; all the images played out over and over.

Thursday morning his parents left for Montgomery to catch a flight to London. They were going on a vacation, leaving Charles to fend for himself. Mrs. Simpson prepared him a lunch, and he told her to leave early, that he would go into town for dinner.

He waited till nearly seven, knowing most of the locals eat early, and drove into town. There was the fish camp out on the outskirts of town, the Bar-be-que place at the shopping center and the diner on Main Street, and he debated where to go. He drove mindlessly till he found himself in downtown. “The diner it is” he uttered to himself as he shut off the engine and climbed out.

The diner was quiet, only a few patrons scattered around the small dining room. Charles ordered quickly, ate, paid the check and was back at his car before eight. He circled around downtown, the sidewalks empty and only a few cars parked along the street. He couldn’t wait to get to college where there would be something to do any night of the week. Finally heading out of town, he drove slowly, no hurry to get back to an empty house.

The road out of town was empty, and he drove with his lights on since it was getting dark. At the first turn he slowed, made the left maneuver and punched the accelerator for a few seconds just to feel the car push him back into the seat. Then he let off, completely, letting the car slowly drop back down to fifty-five, which he maintained. He crossed over Holland Creek and began the climb up the other side when he saw a deer lying in the road. Then he saw the skid marks that angled toward the shoulder. He slowed to a crawl, easing forward knowing the driver that hit the deer had gone off the road. He saw the path of the tires where they skidded through the grass, then down the embankment he saw the white Chevy truck on its side.

Frantically, he stumbled down into the ditch, cell phone to his ear waiting for 911 to pick up. Steam was billowing from the front and he could smell gasoline. It was obvious the truck rolled at least once, the top caved in slightly, angled over from the direction of the roll. The windshield hung loosely from the frame shattered into small pieces.

“911; do you need fire, police or medic?”

“Medic! Medic! Please hurry.”

“Where are you located?”

He stumbled to answer the simple questions. The location of the wreck just past the Holland Creek. Wade’s truck in the ditch. He scrambled to the cab as he talked to 911, peering into the cab seeing Wade lying against the door, seatbelt holding up him. Blood trickled down his face.

“OH Jesus…he’s bleeding” Charles cried into the phone.

The room was dimly lit, the only sound the constant beeping of the monitor. Wade lay in bed, sitting up slightly, forehead bandaged. Sitting in the only chair, eyes glued to him was Charles. It had taken over two hours for the emergency room to check Wade out, to stitch up the cut on his forehead and run x-rays. It was another hour and half before he was moved to a room, sharing it with an older woman who hadn’t moved since they came into the room. Charles kept the curtain pulled around Wade’s bed and watched for any sign of him waking up. The nurse said he could at any time.

Charles heard someone coming in, wondering if the staff had contacted Wade’s family and if it was them finally arriving. He knew nothing about them. Not even where they lived. The curtain pulled back and a doctor came to the bed. He watched the calm casual nature of the doctor, checking Wade’s vitals, looking at the bandage on his forehead and looking at the left arm, now dark purple with bruising.

“Your friend will be fine, but he will be sore for a few days.”

“What about his head?”

“Luckily, it appears he grazed the steering wheel and didn’t hit it hard. There is no swelling internally or externally. Just that nasty gash.”

“What about his family? Has anyone contacted them?”

“His family? Wade said there was none to contact.”

“Oh.”

Charles wondered what to do. Wade couldn’t be left alone, not like this. But would he want him around, someone he barely knew.

“When can he leave?”

“Since there’s no concussion, as soon as he wakes up and doesn’t show any problems we’re not aware of, he can leave. Probably in a couple of hours.”

“Can I leave now?” Wade mumbles looking at the doctor then over at Charles. “Hey, Charlie. Are you the one who found me?”

Wade was in the guest room bed, propped up with pillows, while Charles brought in some breakfast on a tray. He watched Charles set the tray down on a side table, pull over a chair next to the bed. Nothing was said as Charles brought the tray over to the bed, sitting it over his legs. He looked uneasy, like someone in ill-fitting clothes.

“Hey, Charlie, I should go home. I’m okay and…” said Wade stammering to a stop as he saw Charles’ expression.

“You may be okay, but you need help right now” Charles replied. Before Wade could respond, added, “the doctor said you had no family?”

“Oh…yeah, my mother left when I was seven and dad…well, he threw me out when I was sixteen.”

“Threw you out? Why?”

“I’d rather not get into it right now, okay?”

During the day Charles sat with Wade, watched him sleep through most of it, and when awake, got him to eat and drink something. During the middle of the afternoon, when the sun came in through the windows the most, Charles saw Wade stir under the cover then kick it off. He was sweating in his sleep. Charles got a pan of water and a bath cloth and gently wiped down Wade’s face, arms and chest. His hand shook as he moved the wet cloth over him.

“What are you doing?” Wade uttered in a sleepy voice.

“You were sweating pretty bad and I’m just wiping it off.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to. You helped me, once.”

Wade struggled to keep his eyes open. Charles sat back watching him slip back into a deep sleep.

As the light through the window moved across the floor then up the far wall Wade began to stir. Charles, on the other hand began to doze. As the light faded and the sole lamp became the only light in the room, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

Wade woke and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Charles sat in a large armchair, head tilted down, fast asleep. The only light was a lamp on the other side of the room. He had to piss in the worst way, and he eased out of bed, feeling slightly light-headed. He eased across the room into the bathroom easing the door shut. When he came out Charles was still fast asleep.

He looked at the sleeping form. Even in sleep, Charles was neat. His clothes not rumpled, hands perfectly laid one over the other in his lap. He wasn’t like any of the guys Wade knew. Wade moved close to him, pushed his hair from his forehead, hesitating to pull his hand back, fingers working a few soft strands between them.

For the last few years he had lived how the community thought he should, hanging out with the guys watching sports, going out for beer and working at his job. He had even tried to date a couple of the girls in the community. But it was a lie. He wasn’t into fashion, never having the money to do so, nor was he ashamed of his rural roots. But he was ashamed how he didn’t live the life he wanted. The one that got him kicked out by his father.

Seth was at his home, the two of them messing around in his room when his father came home early. It had been a disaster, Seth fleeing out the front the door, refusing to talk to him later that night, and his father pushing him against the wall, then tossing him out. He was still in his boxers when his dad forced him out into the front yard, followed by some of his clothes. It had scared him, embarrassed him to the point he hitched a ride with a trucker finding himself in this community some eighty miles away. Eighty miles he had never tried to retrace.

For the years that followed he slowly got on his feet, found his way, but not once did he attempt to live his own life. To truly be himself.

Then he met Wade on the side of the road. Helpless in changing a tire and so cute he couldn’t stop thinking about him. And their crossed paths since then had been weird. He wondered about Charles. Was he gay, or just effeminate with his privileged life?  And if he was gay, then what? He had considered it futile to consider any possibility. That is until today and he found himself being taken care of by Charles. Was he smitten in some way with him?

“Charlie…Charlie, wake up. You should get in bed. You’ll have a stiff neck sleeping in that chair.”

“I’m fine” Charles uttered, stirring awake, sitting up straight. “Besides this is a guest bed. My room is across the hall.”

“Well, go get in your bed.”

“You hungry?”

“What…huh, yes, a little.”

“Let’s go downstairs and see what Mrs. Simpson has left for us.”

“Mrs. Simpson? Oh the cook.”

“Yes” Charles replied as he stood up and motioned Wade to follow.

Their appetites sated Charles led Wade to his room. Wade is surprised to find it is smaller than the guest room, more intimate. A flat screen mounted on the wall and gaming controllers lying on the foot of the bed were the things that gave the room a sense it belonged to Charles.

“You want to play some games?” asked Charles.

“Sure; I love to play.”

Charles sat on the foot of the bed while Wade laid on his stomach next to him, feet up at the head. They played one game after the next, their competitiveness increasing with each game. They are within another game and Charles had a slight lead. Wade makes a daring move and see Charles react quickly. He bumps Charles trying to get him to make a mistake.

“Hey…no fair” Charles utters as he recovers quickly.

“Come on, mess up” Wade utters in a low voice, not really talking to Charles as he fights for advantage.

Charles leans over, unintentionally blocking Wade’s view of the left side of the screen, as he works his fingers as fast as possible. He sees an opportunity and takes it. Wade goes down.

“Hey…you cheated” Wade exclaims as he tosses the controller down and wrestles the surprised Charles down on the bed.

Charles struggles but Wade is strong, fast and experienced in wrestling around with someone. Charles is soon on his back with Wade on top. They are face to face, both breathing hard, Wade from his exertions and Charles from the closeness between them.

Charles feels the weight of Wade, the undulation of his breathing, and it arouses him. He feels his cock stir, painfully trying to straighten out within the confines of his khakis.

“Charlie…” Wade whispers, staring at him, so close he feels each exhale.

“Yeah.”

Wade leans down and kisses him.

There’s a hesitation, a moment of shock. Wade hovers over him, face to face. Slowly, Wade smiles and Charles feels himself relax, smiling back. He leans up and kisses Wade.

He feels hands roam over his body, tugging at his clothes, touching bare skin, manipulating  him till he feels his arousal. Finally, there is an exposure, a nakedness not felt before. Then there is the wet heat enveloping his cock. He opens his eyes and sees Wade’s head moving up and down. Struggling not to pump upward, he clings to the quilt as wet lips move on his cock. He watches Wade’s hands move up his sides then to each nipple. They pinch down on them, twist the hard nub and he shudders from the pain, the pleasure, of the torment. He pushes up choking Wade.

Another twist and he cums, hard, emptying into the suctioning mouth on his cock.

Wade rises onto his knees and pulls his shirt off, revealing the long lean torso. Charles watches him, one hand raking down the smooth skin of the chest then the stomach. The hand tugs on the bulge in the jeans, then undoes the button, tugs the zipper down and works them down along with the boxers. Wade quickly strips, and moves up between Charles’ legs stroking his erection.

“Roll over,” Wade whispers, and Charles flips onto his stomach.

Charles doesn’t need to be told what to do. He knows what Wade wants and he reaches back and spreads his cheeks exposing himself to him. He feels the bed rock then the feel of Wade pressing against his ass. He quickly realizes it is Wade’s face burrowing down between his cheeks. He feels the wetness of tongue raking upward, then back down till it is working him opening. He moans into the bed. The tongue bores into him and he wonders how deep it has penetrated him.

“Don’t stop” he cries out as he lifts up looking over his shoulder.

Wade looks at him and smiles, then moves back down and he feels the tongue drag over his opening. Clutching at the quilt he pushes his ass up trying to get Wade deeper inside of his body. He wants this penetration. He wants to feel Wade inside his body, deeper than the tongue could go.

“Fuck me…fuck me” he utters in a low hoarse voice as he buries his face into the bed.

Wade moves up over him, kicking his legs together. He feels Wade’s legs against his own, then a shift over his body. Finally, he feels it, the wet leaking cock pressing against his opening. It pushes against his tightness, then stretches him open as it sinks into him. He feels each inch move through his tightness till Wade is pressed tightly to his ass.

Wade lays on him letting him feel the full weight of his body. The trapped heat shared between them, the grind of hips against his ass as cock is held in his depths. Then there is a pull outward, thick cock tugging at his opening as it slides out till only the head remained inside. For a moment Wade holds still, then there is the push back inward, all the way. It fills him, connects their bodies. An arm comes around his neck and they are hugged together. The cock in his hole begins to move again. Outward, then back in, slowly for an agonizingly long time; then faster and faster. The bed rocks as he takes it. Every push inward goes all the way, and he wants it. Wants it so bad he begs Wade to fuck him harder. The body pulls up from his back and the thrusting cock moves faster. Wade smacks against his ass as their fuck grows more physical. The bed rocks against the wall, wood banging against wood as Wade smacks against his ass.

“I’m going to…” Wade utters then slams into Charles all the way. “Take me” he whispers as he cums, filling Charles with his load.

Wade drops down on the bed beside him, stomach rising and falling heavily trying to catch his breath. Charles watches him, studies the contours of his body, the lean torso, the small nipples, the recessed navel. He reaches out, wanting to touch him, but hesitating with his old fears. He doesn’t see Wade open his eyes.

“It’s okay. You can touch me” Wade whispers.

He touches the warm damp skin. It’s hot to the touch and he glides his fingers over it. Circling the left nipple, he feels the soft perimeter then the hard center that sticks out further from his manipulations. Downward he drags his fingers feeling them bump over the last few ribs till they are moving over the flat stomach. Leaning over he kisses the nipple, drags his tongue over it, then put his mouth over it, nipping the hard nub with his teeth. Wade inhales deeply.

Moving upward, lips dragging over the wet skin, tasting the saltiness of it, he makes his way to Wade’s neck, the left ear and back along the hard edge of jaw till he is kissing him. He moves over Wade, slips down between his legs. The knees come up and Wade lets him settle down between them. A hand comes between them taking him, stroking him till fully erect, then it guides him. He pushes against Wade’s tightness till he feel his cock squeeze through, then easily sink into the hot depths of Wade’s body.

“Oh yeah…fuck me” Wade utters as he pushes upward taking Charles all the way.

Charles can’t stop. This physical need to manipulate his cock within Wade, to feel it piston through the tightness, feeling the way it milks his cock drives him to fuck. He thrust into Wade as deep as he can. Over and over, pushing inward till he feels his body smack against Wade’s, hears it echo in the room and Wade grunt and cry out. And the sound of their fucking and Wade’s cries drives him onward. He fucks faster, drives into Wade’s depths harder. His cock so hard it aches. He feels everything. Every touch between them. He feels Wade run a hand through his hair, grasp it roughly and pull him down. They kiss, then Wade begs him, pleads, for him to fuck harder.

Never had something been so physical. Never had he been so aroused. He felt the exertion of his body, the heat generated making him sweat. He combed a hand through Wade’s hair, grasped it tightly and pulled his head back making him cry out. He kissed Wade on the neck, felt the Adam’s apple moved against his lips, felt the contours of Wade’s neck as he moved around it. He nipped at the skin, then sucked at it.

Wade clung to him, whispering in his ear.

“Fuck…fuck me…fuck me Charlie.”

Charles fucked till he ached all over. Every muscle burned. But he kept hammering his cock inside Wade, drove inward as hard as he could. Finally, after sweat poured down his face, his torso feeling on fire, he felt the surge of release. It coursed through him tightening muscle and breaking his rhythm. He thrust roughly into Wade and felt his cock thicken and grow so sensitive he didn’t think he could take it.

Then he came.

He was collapsed on top of Wade, short of breath and soaking wet. He slid over the naked body as he moved to sit up on the side of the bed. Wet hair hung over his forehead and he combed it back with his hand as he looked at Wade staring back.

“You want to shower with me?” Charles asked.

“Yes.”

The water was cool as it sprayed over their bodies. Wade bathed Charles, slowly running his soapy hands over every part of him. They kissed with Charles against the cool tile as Wade pressed against him. When they finally finished, Charles led Wade back to his bed. They settled within it; bodies intertwined. With the lights out the room was dark.

“Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re leaving for college in the fall, but I was wondering…” Wade stammered to a stop.

After letting the silence go on too long, Charles finally pushed Wade to finish. “What? Tell me.”

“I was wondering…could we like date till you leave?”

Date; the word seemed so alien at first. It was something his straight friends had done in high school but something that seemed inaccessible to him. Now it was available, even if for only a short time. He smiled in the darkness, wondering if Wade could sense it.

“I’d like that.”

The Present

Leaning back, Charles listened to the sounds of nature. The wind through the trees, bird song from so many different directions he didn’t bother trying to figure out from where, and the trickling sound of water, cascading down rock along the side of the cabin. It’d taken four months of searching before he found this property, then two more searching for an architect who showed a similar interest in the way a cabin would be incorporated into the landscape. It took over a year to get it completed. At times he had wondered if he was going too far, putting too much emphasis on things that took time to execute. Since its completion, he hadn’t had any regrets.

Glancing at his watch, he saw it was getting late in the day, and thought about what preparations for dinner should be made. To cook or to drive down to the village and eat at one of the small restaurants. From around the side of the house where the small garage was located, he heard the old sports car start up. The rumble of its engine as it was revved a few times. He heard the car coming down the drive which would cross in front of the cabin down below, following the angled drive down the steep grade to the road below. Looking through the rail he saw the little red Alfa Romeo ease around the cabin, pull down below the balcony and stop. The driver’s door swung open.

“Hey Charlie, let’s go into the village for dinner and a beer. What do ya say?”

“Let me take everything inside, slip on some shoes and I’ll be down” Charles replied as he looked down at Wade. Sixteen years it had been. They both had aged some, but to his eyes Wade was the same. The same lean body. The same mannerism and even the accent that traveling around the world could not suppress.