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The Summer of Aaron - NC 17
This is NC-17 because there is sex that is reasonably graphic, yet not without taste. This is about a male/male relationship, so if that offends you, stop reading now.
This story is property of the author and is not to be copied or posted elsewhere without written permission of the author. All characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance is strictly coincidental and should be noted as such. The only thing real in this story is the Ripley's Museum. It is very cool--you should go there.
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 6:49 pm
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Re: The Summer of Aaron - NC 17
It was only a few feet more. Five, maybe six. Maybe less. All I had to do was hit the gas pedal instead of the brake. Well, there was the matter of the concrete barrier… But it wasn’t very high and it looked like it had been moved more than once—perhaps by people with similar thoughts. I closed my eyes and let my foot off the brake—and let the car roll forward, just to see what it would feel like. And maybe, just maybe, the concrete barrier would fail and the car—and I with it—would go plunging over the edge and into the ocean below. Of course, the car stopped with not even much of a bump.
I put the car in park, turned off the ignition and got out. I walked to the front and stepped over the concrete barrier, ignoring the “KEEP BEHIND THE BARRIERS” sign, and walked those few feet—about eight really (distances never seemed the same when you actually walked them)—to the edge and looked down. Even with the tide out, the distance to the bottom was hardly a fatal one. Just far enough for an injury or two, depending upon how fast I was going when I hit the barrier. I’d need a good running start to accomplish more than a rather pathetic little plunge and a few scrapes. Though maybe the car would flip over. No seat belt would get me a good bump on the head. Maybe enough to knock myself unconscious—which had potential if the tide was in.
Not that I would do it, kill myself. Not really. But the thought had occurred to me. I can’t deny that. It had occurred to me all along the drive from the apartment Jeremy and I shared to this ocean-side parking area where I now found myself. Mostly at busy intersections, where I imagined myself ignoring the red light and ending up stuck in the grate on the front of a tractor trailer. And once at a railroad crossing when the signals started to flash and I imagined sitting there on the tracks staring down an oncoming train. But fantasizing about my somewhat voluntary death really wasn’t an auspicious start to the first vacation I had taken since the year Jeremy and I first met.
Fourteen years without a real vacation. Jeremy didn’t like to travel so we ended up staying close to home. Oh, we’d go camping at the lake once in a while or fishing in one creek or another, and once or twice we went to Six Flags for the day. And there was the weekend we went skiing—just the one, though, since Jeremy broke his ankle and put his foot (the one without the broken ankle) down and had declared winter sports to be “spectator only” from then on. And really, it was always what Jeremy wanted. I’d never minded that.
But when he left, I decided I‘d take a real vacation, one that would last the entire summer. I could do that. It was one of the benefits of being a teacher—having the summer off. The summer off without Jeremy. And here I was, standing on the edge of a cliff (ok, it was more of a “high edge”) contemplating the degree of injury I could possibly sustain by plunging over it.
No, all in all, not an auspicious start.
“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”
I turned around, a bit startled. I’d been fairly lost in my thoughts and hadn’t heard him approach. “It is,” I said after a moment. It was. Even on a fairly gray day. Even when all I was really noticing was the distance down.
“When the tide is in it’s a bit of a mind **** when you look down, though. The way the water froths and swirls around the rocks, it looks like one of those hypnotist’s wheels you see in old movies.”
I smiled. I could picture those wheels with the black and white spiral, spinning and spinning to the, well, hypnotic voice of the...hypnotist. Yes, I taught English. Apparently I’d left my mental thesaurus at home.
He was young. Probably not much older than the kids I taught. Maybe not older at all. His light brown hair was short and spiked, highlighted blonde on top—which might have been from the sun. His tanned skin certainly spoke of time spent in the sun.
“Shame the tide’s out then. I’ll have to come back when it’s in and have a look.”
“You should, unless you are feeling suicidal or get vertigo or something.” His eyes smiled more than his lips, which turned up only slightly at the corners. Pretty eyes, I thought. Blue, but nothing cliché, no “robin’s egg blue” or “sky blue” or “baby blue.” Just blue. And prettydid work for him, though I suspected he wouldn’t care much for that word.
“I should probably pass on it then,” I said, feeling my own eyes responding to his smile.
I could tell by the way he tipped his head slightly and raised an eyebrow that it was in his mind to ask whether I had vertigo or was suicidal. I didn’t want to encourage him to ask, so I turned back toward the ocean, this time looking toward the horizon.
“You staying in town?”
Was I?
“Maybe. Depends on whether there are any vacancies or not, I guess.” I hadn’t made reservations, mostly because I didn’t have any idea where I was going when I packed the car and headed off. I just threw the Rand McNally in the car and headed east. I figured somewhere between home and the Atlantic would catch my eye. Nothing really had, I had just run out of land.
He made a tut sound. “I don’t know. Things book up pretty quick this time of year. Though last week was probably worse since it was the Fourth.”
I shrugged. “I’m not committed to staying here, so I suppose I’ll have a look around and if there’s nothing, I’ll just go somewhere else.” Like somewhere with a bit more drop and a smaller barrier. Or maybe further south. Or further north. Or wherever.
“If you don’t mind spending a chunk, the Seagull Resort might still have something.”
I turned to look at him. He had a little furrow between his brows, as if he was really trying to come up with a solution for me. Maybe kids were nicer here. Maybe his folks owned the place.
“Thanks. I’ll try there if all else fails.”
I didn’t mind “spending a chunk.” Fourteen years of no realvacations had at least kept my bank account comfortable. That and Jeremy had always had a thing about being the one responsible, financially. Made me feel a bit like a wife sometimes. Which hadn’t always felt like a bad thing. I had never minded being “taken care of.” Though it was never a financial thing with me.
I smiled at him. “Well, I guess I better get my ass in gear if I want to find a place to stay tonight. Thanks, again.”
“Hope you find something. See ya,” he called after me as I walked past him and got into my car.
* * *
The street that ran parallel to the ocean was lined with hotels and motels of all sizes and shapes. But as expected, the signs in front of the ones on the ocean side of the street all proclaimed a polite but firm “NO VACANCY.” And for a while it seemed that all of the ones on the other side of the street were similarly boasting. So when I spotted a “VACANCY” sign, I put my blinker on and turned into the parking lot. I pulled into one of the open parking slots—and sat there. It was my first vacation in fourteen years. Did I want to spend it in a small strip motel with an outdoor pool that looked like it remembered when bikinis were the latest thing? I backed out of the parking spot and pulled back out into traffic. It would be my backup plan—if the Seagull Resort didn’t have anything.
It did. At $180 a night. But they had weekly rates. And were more than happy to give me a slight discount if I paid for the entire summer—up front. I could have paid the rent on my apartment for six months with what it cost me, but it faced the ocean, had a balcony and a “sitting room” with a couch and a table and a big-screen TV and free cable. It should have come with live entertainment and a 24 hour open bar for that price. But it didn’t matter. And it promised to have allthe amenities.
And the view from the balcony was spectacular.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 6:52 pm
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wanderingsoul
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“Hello, again.”
I looked up from the book I was reading.
“The parking area? You were looking over the edge? Remember?” If I had forgotten, I remembered when he smiled.
“Hello, again,” I replied with a smile of my own.
He looked at the chair next to me and I gestured slightly with my head—toward the chair opposite me, instinctively putting just that little bit of distance between myself and someone I didn’t know.
With a lift of his brow, he sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “Glad you found a place to stay. This was the only place available then?”
“No, there was another; but this one looked nicer.” Nicer, like Waterford crystal was nicer than a plastic cup.
He nodded and looked around. “It’s supposed to be the best of the best.”
He fidgeted a little, as if he was trying to think of what to say next. I wasn’t that helpful. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why he was talking to me.
“I’m Aaron, by the way,” he said at last. He looked at me and smiled what I could only describe as an encouraging smile.
“Justin,” I replied, automatically extending my hand. It was when he released my hand, letting his fingers slide slowly over my palm as he pulled his hand away that it dawned on me. He was hitting on me!
No. I was reading way too much into things. He was just being…friendly? Were boys his age normally friendly to guys my age? Guys my age! God! That sounded…old. I wasn’t old. Thirty-eight was not old. But it wasn’t young. Not young enough to be hit on by a kid.
I must have been giving him an odd look because his expression changed. The openness seemed to close off a little and he pulled back into his chair. It was a visible withdrawal. I wondered what he had read into my expression. I found out with his next words.
“Hey look, I’m not one of them, you know.”
”One of whom? I frowned a little. “What do you mean?”
He looked around and nodded. I followed his eyes to a table about four tables away that was occupied by a well-dressed older man and an equally well-dressed—if much less dressed boy about Aaron’s age. Light dawned on me immediately. Aaron was not one of them, not one of the boys that picked up older, financially well-off men and offered themselves in exchange for being well kept for a little while. Of course, I could see why he might think I thought that. Well, now I could, I hadn’t until he mentioned it. After all, he had been the one to suggest The Seagull Resort, if I didn’t mind “spending a chunk.” And here I was, obviously willing to spend that “chunk” that I obviously must have.
Well, that was a nice slap in the face. By telling me he wasn’t “one of them,” he was damned sure pointing out to me what I was.
“Glad to hear it. But you might want to change your tactics a little next time around. The thought never occurred to me until you mentioned it.”
He flushed to the roots of his hair, which made the blue in his eyes appear darker. “I-I don’t really have any tactics. I guess I’m not that great at trying to pick up guys. You’re kind of my first attempt.”
My lips twisted into something of a smirk. His first attempt? I doubted it. Not with his looks. Just as I doubted his lack of tactics. But then… He looked genuinely embarrassed. I glanced over at the boy who was one of them. Doubtless he could have pulled of a “genuinely embarrassed” look fairly easily. My smirk turned to a self-mocking smile. Oh, I was an easy enough mark, that’s for sure. Alone and vulnerable. I must have been wearing that sign big and bright enough for even a novice at the game to notice.
But it didn’t matter either way, because I wasn’t interested.
“Well, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested in anything at the moment.” Truth in those words. I wasn’t interested in anything, not just not interested in him. I don’t know what made me add, “And I’m sure you can do much better.”
Ok, maybe I did know why I added that. I hadn’t been feeling all that great about myself—getting dumped after 14 years will do that to you. And I was a bit stung by my realization that he considered me one of those “older guys” who might be vulnerable to a young, tan body and pretty eyes. Even if he wasn’t one of them.
But it gave him an opening.
“Why do you say that? Why do you think I could do much better?”
It was obvious to me. “Go look in a mirror,” I said with a roll of my eyes.
“Maybe you should look in one, too.”
I laughed outright. “Oh come on! Don’t even try that line.” I looked at him. I could still feel the laughter in my eyes. He met my gaze directly and I knew he was smiling by the sparkle in his eyes.
“So tell me, why aren’t you interested? Don’t you find me at all attractive?” His voice carried just a hint of a pout, and I noticed he had changed his expression to match. But his eyes still smiled, still sparkled. God! If he wasn’t one of them, he should really consider it. Could set himself up comfortably for life!
“You’re very good looking, and you know it.” He had to.
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 6/18/2006, 6:57 pm
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 6:55 pm
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wanderingsoul
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.
He frowned. “Sure, you say that now that I’ve backed you into a corner. You’re just being polite. It’s my nose, isn’t it?” He ran a finger down the slope of his nose then covered his nose with his hand. “It’s the bump, I know. But I’m going to have that fixed at some point. Really I am.”
I laughed. “Your nose is fine as it is.” I hadn’t noticed a bump. If it was there, it didn’t hurt a thing.
He nodded very seriously. “It’s my ass, then. I know it.” He stood up and turned his head as if trying to look at his ass. He wiggled it a bit. “Is it too small? So you prefer a bigger one?” he whined. “I can eat more. I like to eat. In no time I could have it as big as you want it to be.”
He looked at me and sighed deeply, dramatically, and ran a hand over his ass. “No, that’s not it. It’s too big, isn’t it? And you are just too kind to tell me. I know it. I can make it smaller. I won’t eat for a week, longer, if that’s what it takes.”
He sat back down and smiled at me, still that amazing smile that made his eyes sparkle. “Come on, tell me what it is and I’ll do my best to fix it.”
I grinned, a bit ruefully, and shook my head. Nothing about him needed fixing. Except maybe his age.
“I’m too old for you.”
I was. I wasn’t old, but I was too old for him. Every rational cell in my body was screaming that loudly, telling me to just get up, back away, say a firm “no thanks” and turn and run like hell—before I made a complete fool of myself. But another part of me kept me sitting right where I was.
“Do you mean I’m too young for you?” He looked at me closely, and I could almost see him poised on the edge of his seat, waiting for my response.
“Same thing,” I said with a slight shrug. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
“No, they aren’t at all the same thing!” he pounced on my words almost triumphantly. “If you are saying I’m too young for you, then there’s nothing I can really do about it.” He grinned. “Except maybe pine away for a few years until I reach whatever magic age you want me to be.”
He leaned forward, reaching out a hand to touch mine for just a second before placing it next to his other hand—and I noticed how long his fingers were as he splayed them out on the table top. “But if you are saying you’re too old for me, then I’m going to stop you right there, because only I know what is and isn’t too old for me.”
I looked at him for a moment. There was something in what he said. Not that it mattered because he was too young for me even if I wasn’t too old for him. And I wondered just how old this boy was who was implying that I was not too old for him. Though why I had to ask, I didn’t know. But I had to.
“How old are you, anyway?”
He sat back in his chair and smiled. I got the strong impression he thought maybe I was weakening. “Legal. That’s all that matters, right?”
No. Well, it did matter. I didn’t want to spend my vacation in some jail cell with someone named Bubba. But legalcould still be…well, young. Too young. Not that I was actually contemplating anything, of course.
“No, it isn’t all that matters.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m eighteen.” He grinned suddenly. “We met on my birthday actually. Was thinking it was a nice birthday present, running into you like that.”
“Christ! Eighteen? How old do you think I am?” Why did I ask that? Did I really want to know that answer?
He shook his head. “Why does it matter? Should I pick a number out of my head? Why? I’m attracted to you. Why does it matter how old you are?”
I stared at him in disbelief—and not a little shock. He was attracted to me? Was he mad? “Good God, why? You say you aren’t one of them, so what is it? You’re attracted to middle aged men with pale skin, glasses and love handles?” I shook my head. “And I have never been able to figure out why they call them that. There is absolutely nothing to love about them at all.”
He smiled, not the bright, sparkling smile he had been smiling right along, but a softer smile, an almost diffident smile. “No, I’m attracted to grey eyes that exactly matched the color of the sky on the day we met, eyes that looked like they saw things I couldn’t see.” His eyes traveled over my face and I felt my skin warming. “And I’m attracted to smiles that linger and leave their traces around the eyes they light up.”
I felt my mouth dropping open, not quite like an awestruck goldfish, but like someone poised on the edge of uttering something he would regret later. Either he was very sincere, or he was very good.
He looked into my eyes for a moment longer, then he laughed, a soft chuckling laugh. “Do you have love handles? I didn’t notice. That’s good. Great to hold on to and even nicer to bite.”
I laughed outright. God! This was insane. “You are crazy, do you know that?”
Crazy and beautiful. But I wasn’t that masochistic. Borderline suicidal, maybe, but not masochistic. I knew I was way too vulnerable at the moment. Jeremy’s leaving me had left me with a whole psychology text book full of issues and insecurities. I didn’t need to scrape at them. But I didn’t say any of that to him.
“Thanks, really. You’ve made my day in an odd way. But no thanks. Really, I’m sorry.” I was.
He nodded and stood up. “Ok. I guess I get the message.” He smiled again, an apologetic smile framed by cheeks that were definitely pinker than they had been. “Was still nice to meet you, Justin.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Aaron.” It was. And as he turned and walked away, I thought to myself that if he had said “Ok, how about we just **** once anyway?” I might have said yes. Hell, he was well past cute and heading toward gorgeous—even if he was young enough to be one of my older students. And the fact that he wanted to **** me or me to **** him—one or the other—could have been a major ego boost—at least on a short-term basis.
But it was better as it had worked out, better that he walked away.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 6:58 pm
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wanderingsoul
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Re: The Summer of Aaron - NC 17
* * *
Summer at the beach. Alone. There are only so many days you can spend lounging on the beach trying to look like you want to be there. The beach wasn’t really my thing anyway. For one thing, I didn’t really tan. Just didn’t have the genetics for it. The best I could do was a healthy summer “glow” (as my mom called it—though moms have a tendency to know how to phrase things so you feel good about just about anything) by the end of the summer. But it was still early and at the moment I only “glowed” in that not-too-flattering “glow in the dark” way. And for another, the sun was too bright to read, which is really what I liked to do in my spare time. I tried, but I ended up getting a headache.
And it wasn’t like there were throngs of people looking to make conversation with me. Though I suppose making a point of not looking up when anyone walked near me might have given off something of a “do not disturb” signal. So really, I was well caught in my own net. I was bored sitting or lying alone on the beach—but at the same time, I didn’t actively try to alter that situation and probably even encouraged it. But really, what was I supposed to do? Just sit there and smile like an idiot at everyone who walked by, pat the sand next to me invitingly and… And then what? I had nothing to say past hello. Nothing of interest. No one was ever interested in the things I was. Not even Jeremy, really.
That was something I came to realize while spending those seemingly endless hours doing nothing on the beach. Jeremy and I had never really had much in common. Not that he would ever have noticed that. He was fairly self-absorbed. But to be fair, I had always made a point to blend into his life, do things he enjoyed, like things he liked. I suppose I had become something of an extension of him—which was probably why he dumped me. He reached a point in his life where he wanted to reinvent himself, that classic “mid-life crises,” most likely. That made me something of an appendix. A piece of him he had outgrown, didn’t really need any longer. If he had ever needed me. I had needed him. But it had probably never been as mutual as I had thought.
Summer on the beach. Alone. Way too much time to think. Which is why I decided to do something, anything. There was a rack of brochures in the hotel lobby, so I just took one of each back to my room and went through them.
Which is how I ended up at the museum. It wasn’t a museum on a grand scale, not by any stretch of the imagination. But as soon as I walked through the doors I smiled. It had that smell that older museums have. They smell like old libraries, really, that combination of slightly musty old paper, dust and wood polish. It was a nice smell. And the old wood floors creaked like old rocking chairs, the creaks echoing in the almost empty rooms. It was an odd place to go when on vacation in a beach resort town, but it felt comfortable to me.
After wandering around looking at glass cases filled with arrowheads, old iron tools and pottery, I ended up looking at the museum’s “newest” exhibit (which they had placed as far from the front entrance as possible—most likely to ensure that the other exhibits got at least a passing glance).
”’Hypsibema Crassicauda. This ornithopod lived during the late Cretaceous period, about 83-73 million years ago.’”
I turned and looked with surprise at the person who spoke—surprised by the fact that I hadn’t heard him approach, but even more surprised that it was him.
“I think they are stretching with this one, don’t you?” Aaron continued, a serious expression on his face—but the sparkle of a smile in his eyes. “Only a few of the bones are actually real. And they have it as a hadrosaur, a duck-billed dinosaur. If you ask me, someone made an awful lot of inferences from those bones. Wouldn’t you need at least a bone or two from the head to imply that it was a duck-billed dinosaur?”
“What are you doing here?” I could have phrased that a bit differently.
He laughed, and his laughter echoed in the room that was empty but for the two of us—and the dubious fossil. “What? Don’t I look like a person who hangs around in museums?”
I felt myself smiling. “No?”
He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips a little and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I happen to enjoy museums. I find them…interesting. Everything is so nice and old and…” he sniffed, then sneezed, “and dusty,” he added, laughing again.
He really looked amazing when he laughed.
“Yes, you have actually mentioned your attraction to some old things.” Not that I was old, precisely. Certainly not museum old.
He grinned. “There are posters all over town advertising the ‘new and exciting exhibit.’ Couldn’t possibly resist that. And I’ve always had a thing for dinosaurs, ever since I was a kid.”
Posters all over town? I hadn’t seen one. My lips twisted into a wry smile. “Since you were a kid? Which was what, two weeks ago?”
“Since I was about four, actually,” he clarified, still grinning.
Four. Fourteen years ago. The year I had met Jeremy. His interest in dinosaurs began the same year as my interest in Jeremy. That put an odd, somewhat uncomfortable perspective on things.
He must have seen something in my face because he reached out and touched my hand that was resting on the brass railing that separated the Hypsibema Crassicauda from its adoring public. “I have a two-for-one coupon for the museum cafeteria. They do great fries. Really, most people don’t come here for the exhibits—they come for the fries, which are as greasy and salty as you could want.”
I smiled. “Well, everyone knows that’s why you buy fries—the potatoes are just the host for the grease and the salt.”
“Exactly!”
True to his word, they were the greasiest, saltiest fries imaginable. And as we sat in there washing them down with soda that was allegedly a cola of some form (not that you could really tell, but it was vaguely brownish in color), he told me about some of the museums he had been to.
“The coolest one was in Niagara Falls, on the Canadian side. It was the Ripley’s Museum and had things from ‘Ripley’s, Believe it or Not.’ Some things were beautiful, like a collection of butterflies from the Victorian era—seems they had a thing for collecting just about everything. But what really caught me was the two-headed kitten.” He shook his head. “It was the cutest little thing. I just wanted to take him home and take care of him. He looked so alive and so pathetic there all alone.”
His face became animated as he spoke of the things he had seen. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice, the genuine appreciation, the wonder. He wasn’t pretending to enjoy dusty old museums to impress someone, he did enjoy them. But what struck me even more was the look in his eyes when he spoke of the kitten. And I wondered if maybe I had looked pathetic and alone. Maybe I had. Maybe that was what attracted him to me—more than eyes that “exactly matched the color of the sky on the day we met.”
I thought in that moment that I should feel differently about that, about the thought that he had maybe seen me as “pathetic and alone.” More annoyed, more hurt. After all, no one wanted to be thought of as pathetic. Except I was. Alone and about as pathetic as I could imagine. But I didn’t think he’d made that connection. I didn’t think he thought of me as pathetic and alone. He just felt attracted to me and attributed it to a whole different set of reasons. Not that it mattered, because he was eighteen and I wasn’t.
“So what are you going to do tomorrow? There’s a pirate museum about 10 miles from town, but it doesn’t really have anything that special. A few cannon balls, some pistols and swords. The usual things, really. Its only real attraction is that everyone who works there is dressed in period costumes. “
Did I want to discuss my plans with him? “I have quite a few brochures to look through. I did see one ‘Haunted Tour’—“
“Hey, if you want a tour of all the interesting things around here, you could do worse than me as a tour guide, you know,” he interrupted enthusiastically. “I’ve lived around here all my life. I could show you the things that are really interesting and not just the tourist traps.” He grinned. “And I’m much cheaper than the ‘tours’ in the brochures.”
I smiled and shook my head. I thought he would more likely be very expensive. I told him so. “I think you would end up costing me a lot more than the tourist trap tours.”
I said it with a smile, but I could see his eyes darken, which made me look at his cheeks. Yes, they were pink again. I hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. Why had I said that? I could have just said thanks, but no thanks and let it go at that. I almost reached my hand out, to touch him, to apologize for being an ass. But he had stood up and I could feel the change, the closing off, the withdrawal.
“You’re probably right. But hey, it was good to see you again. Hope you enjoy whatever it is you decide to do.”
“Well, Justin, you won’t have to worry about running into him again,” I thought to myself. Which was probably for the best.
* * *
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 6:59 pm
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The brochure promised a trolley tour of “Seven sites of spooky spectral sightings.” A catchy hook line, I guessed. Whoever had done the brochure had at least passed “Alliteration 101.” But the stops that were highlighted in the brochure did look fairly interesting.
“Visit the haunted home of Captain Matthias Gregg, a bloodthirsty pirate known for taking no prisoners. Gregg reputedly plundered over 100 merchant ships, mercilessly slaughtering their crews. His ghost is said to haunt the master bedroom of his home, where he was murdered in his bed on his wedding night—by the beautiful Spanish woman he had captured along with her father’s ship and had forced to be his bride. It was said hers was the only life he ever spared—something he must have considered ironic in his final moments.”
My lips twitched. I doubted the concept of irony would have occurred to a “bloodthirsty pirate,” but at least the brochure’s author had a sense of humor.
“Cemeteries are final resting places of the dead—but the residents of this early 19th century cemetery are not all resting. Occupied largely by the victims of a cholera epidemic in 1809, many of them young children, visitors have reported sighting several small specters…”
Again with the Alliteration 101…
“…running amongst the headstones—as if at play. And more than one woman has reported feeling a small hand tugging on her skirt accompanied by a small voice crying, ‘Mama, mama.’”
That wouldn’t be too bad. I wasn’t a woman and I wasn’t wearing a skirt, so I wasn’t likely to experience a “close encounter of the ghostly kind.” And I actually enjoyed looking through old cemeteries, whether they were reputedly haunted or not. Jeremy had called me a ghoul on more than one occasion for that. But it wasn’t the “death” aspect of the cemeteries that fascinated me; it was just the age of things, the sense of time the old stones captured. Jeremy never understood my love of old things.
“Everything is so nice and old…”
I felt myself smiling. Aaron would have understood. I almost wished he would suddenly pop up, and found myself actually looking around for him. I shook my head and forced myself to read the rest of the brochure.
But there wasn’t much more to the brochure. Except for a mention of a section of the boardwalk that supposedly would “bleed” at the stroke of midnight on random nights, the rest of the “seven sites of spooky spectral sightings” were lumped together under an all-encompassing “and more!” at the bottom of the second page. And the rest of the brochure was an ad for the “Ghost Ship Miniature Golf,” including a coupon for one free round with the purchase of another.
I smirked as I shoved the brochure into my pocket and sat down on one of the benches next to the first hole to wait for the trolley. A haunted trolley tour that took off from a miniature golf place… I supposed this might just be one of those “tourist traps” Aaron had mentioned. But I was here and at the very least, I could play a rousing round of miniature golf after the tour—if I wasn’t too overcome by the “spooky spectral sightings.”
The trolley arrived and I noticed it was already half full. Apparently there was either another pick up location or it picked up eager tourists along the way. I stood up and made my way to the trolley with the few others that had been waiting. After letting the two old men and the three women go ahead of me, I handed the driver my ticket and turned to find a seat. With a smile and a shake of my head, I took a seat opposite a couple who were about my age and obviously a “couple”—by the way they were already starting to bicker at each other.
“You know, if I didn’t know better, I would suspect you were stalking me,” I said to the boy sitting next to me, the boy with the blue eyes and light brown, spikey hair with blonde highlights.
“Nah, if I were stalking you I’d run into you at odd places like the patio of your hotel or a museum or.. “ He stopped and grinned. “Oh, wait, I have actually turned up in those places, haven’t I? But it’s perfectly natural, really, not at all a stalker thing. It’s a small community and it seems we happen to like similar things. But even if we didn’t, we’d be bound to run into each other at least once or twice.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Or three times? In three days? And on a tourist trap tour like this one? Now, I might believe the museum, because of the new exhibit. But you’ve lived around here all your life—as you said to me. Why would you take a tour like this?”
He grinned. “Good to know you remember my words. But it’s like people who live in New York City and never go to the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty. I’ve never been to see any of the ‘haunted’ places.”
“Right… And you just happened to get the urge after I mentioned I was thinking about going on a haunted tour.” I supposed it could be one of those coincidental things. Perhaps my mentioning it had just made him think of it. Yeah, right.
He shrugged slightly and his grin softened into a smile. “I didn’t have anything else to do today and I saw the trolley coming and decided to be spontaneous.”
His smile faded suddenly and a little furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “But if it bothers you… I mean, I can get off…”
I shook my head. “No, it doesn’t bother me.” It didn’t. In fact, I didn’t mind at all.
He smiled again, bringing the sparkle back to his eyes. “Good, because it’s always good to have someone to talk to on these things.” He leaned a little closer to me and bumped my shoulder with his. “Especially when it comes to the scary parts. I’ve never seen a ghost before. I might get scared.”
I had a sudden image of him clinging to me, burying his face in my neck. It warmed my entire body. I didn’t say anything, I just lingered over that image for a while.
But as it turned out, the most exciting thing that happened on the entire tour was when the couple we were sitting opposite from on the trolley decided they had apparently had enough of each other and started getting physical—resulting in the woman’s pushing the man over one of the headstones in the cemetery. The subsequent laughter was probably enough to keep any mama-crying ghosts away, if the yelling had not already driven them off. The pirate’s home was likewise a non-event, as was the bloody boardwalk—though in all fairness, it wasn’t supposed to be bloody until midnight and it was only afternoon.
By the time we got back to the Ghost Ship Miniature Golf, we were both glad it was over.
“Well, I guess today just wasn’t a good day for spooky spectral sightings,” I said as I stepped off the trolley and stood for a moment, stretching and stifling a yawn.
“No, guess not,” Aaron agreed. “Though I’m tempted to check out the bloody boardwalk come midnight.” He flashed me a smile that could only be described as inviting. “You could come with me.”
He was persistent. Had to give him that. “A boardwalk, a bloody boardwalk, at midnight with a stalker?” I smiled and shook my head. “Do I look like someone who’s that crazy?”
He laughed and grabbed my hand. “No, but you look like someone who is just dying to play miniature golf,” he said as he pulled me inside the building. “Come on,” he grinned, “we can use the buy one, get one coupon. Can’t let those go to waste.”
I laughed. “I’m going to start thinking you’re printing those coupons yourself.”
“You’ve caught me now! I’m a stalker who prints coupons.” His grin was infectious. “Gotta give me credit for being a bit different at the very least.”
“Oh, that you most definitely are,” I laughed in return.
* * *
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 7:00 pm
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“You only beat me because they make the sides of the green things too low and my ball kept bouncing over them.”
“Aaron, miniature golf is a game of finesse, a game of inches and angles. You aren’t supposed to hit the ball like you are taking a slap shot.” I grinned at him as we sat in the hotel restaurant eating dinner. I had beaten him two games to one, mostly because he seemed to put every other ball into the water that surrounded the “ghost ship” holes.
He took the umbrella from his drink and poked my hand with it. “You beat me because you cheat. You kept adding in extra strokes for me. I saw you.”
“Ow!” I pulled my hand away. “Poke me again and I’ll tell the waiter you aren’t really old enough to drink,” I threatened with a smile. “And you get penalized a stroke every time you hit the ball outside of the green—or, in your case, into the water.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet and took out an id and flashed it at me. “See? It says I’m twenty-one, in case anyone asks, which they won’t—because I know the waiter and the bartender.”
I looked at it and shook my head. It was a good fake. Would have fooled me. If he’d told me he was twenty-one in the beginning, would it have made a difference? Twenty-one or eighteen—they were still far from thirty-eight.
“So you obviously don’t spend much time playing miniature golf,” I began, picking up the umbrella from his drink and poking his hand with it. “What do you normally do to keep yourself busy—when I’m not around for you to stalk?”
I thought I saw a brief look cross his face, but the light in the restaurant was dim, mostly lit by candles. But the smile never left his lips. “In the summer I mostly just hang out. I spend a lot of time on the beach, I guess. Though that gets old about midway through the summer. Sometimes I do some reading or some writing.” He shrugged a little. “Sometimes I just walk around, just to keep moving.” He laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t sit still that well.”
I had noticed. He was seldom completely still. There was a bounciness about him; but it wasn’t hyper or annoying, it was just exuberant.
“Don’t you have any friends you hang out with?”
Again, that look crossed his face. He shrugged again. “There are a couple of people I hang with once in a while. But sometimes I just want to be by myself.” He reached out and touched my hand. “Or with someone different, someone who…”
“…can kick your ass at miniature golf?” I finished for him. I could feel where his words had been about to go, and I wanted to keep them from going there.
He smiled as he pulled his hand away—slowly, letting his fingers brush over mine. But I could see understanding in his eyes. “Hell yeah, and you have no idea how many guys I had to go through before I found one who cheats as well as you do.”
“So what are you doing tomorrow?” He asked over his glass as he finished the rest of his drink.
I laughed a little. The quick change of subject wasn’t necessarily to a better one. “You’re my stalker, you tell me.”
He shook his head, a little sadly it seemed. “I’m not stalking you,” he said softly. He looked at me and reached his hand out again, just touching my fingers. “So there’s no chance then? I haven’t managed to completely knock you over with my wit and charm—or my miniature golf skills?”
He’d knocked me over. Maybe not so far over that I couldn’t get up again. But far enough over that I wasn’t sure I wanted to get up. Which wasn’t a good thing, all things considered. And it wasn’t something I wanted to admit to him.
I smiled what I hoped was a gentle smile—because I really didn’t want to hurt him. Not for one moment did I want to hurt him. “I like you. And I have to give you extra points for persistence. And I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve spent together.” More than I would have expected. More than I wanted. “But—“
“But I’m too young for you,” he interrupted, “I know.”
I sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry, Aaron.”
He stood up and took out his wallet and put some money on the table. I pushed it toward him. I wasn’t going to make him pay for anything. But he shook his head. “I’m not one of them, remember?”
I winced. I hadn’t meant to imply anything like that. Though maybe if he had been one of them, things would have been a hell of a lot easier. At least I wouldn’t feel like I was being a total prick by rejecting him—over and over.
“I like how it sounds when you say my name,” he said quietly. He met my eyes for a moment and smiled slightly. “Night, Justin.”
I watched him walk away and wondered whether it was just good-night or whether it was finally really good-bye. “I like how it sounds when you say my name, too,” I whispered to no one.
* * *
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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Of course, I hadn’t told Aaron what I planned to do today. And when he had left last night, I had the impression it was not just good-night, but good-bye. But I felt pretty much the same thing the two previous nights—only to have Aaron show up both days. So as I wandered in and out of the shops that lined the boardwalk, I didn’t expect to see him pop out from behind the display of salt water taffy or from behind the rack of colorful beach towels or the boogie boards. But I still looked for him. And when it started to rain and I decided to visit the aquarium, I didn’t really expect to see him peering at me from the other side of the shark tank. But I was still disappointed when he wasn’t there.
I had dinner on the hotel patio. I brought my laptop with me, thinking of doing a little writing, but mainly so I could sit there and look like I was actually doing something—as opposed to just sitting there waiting for…for what? For Aaron to show up as he had before? Yeah, that was what I was probably hoping for, even if I didn’t quite form those words in my head. But he didn’t, and I found myself just sitting there watching the sunset and thinking.
Except I ended up not really thinking. Or maybe, more accurately, thinking I really didn’t want to think. I really didn’t want to think about being alone—which I was. And I really didn’t want to think about going home and stepping back into my life, trying to go on like nothing was different. Or trying to make what was different still work for me. After fourteen years, I wasn’t sure I knew how to be myself. I’d been an extension of Jeremy so long that I wasn’t sure how to be anything else. How was I even going to go to the damned grocery store without thinking about what Jeremy would want for dinner? How was I supposed to just stop and change everything that had become normal for the past fourteen years? No, I really didn’t want to think about that.
But beyond all that, I didn’t want to think about Aaron. Especially not about how easily I felt his absence—when I‘d only “known” him for a few days. But I couldn’t deny that I felt it. Nor could I deny that I was attracted to him, sexually. Despite the fact that he was way too young. Despite the fact that I could come up with a whole list of reasons why anything at all between us could only lead to my making a great fool of myself.
It was dark by the time I realized I had spent hours not thinking. I could have gone straight from the patio into the hotel, but instead I decided to walk along the boardwalk to the other side of the hotel. There was a small flower garden on that side and I wanted something to distract my senses, something to distract my thoughts. So I paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Flowers smell different in the night air. It’s as if the headier blooms take over, the deep reds, the purples so dark they’re almost black—the night blooms. I inhaled their fragrance deeply, and wondered how my own garden was faring during my neglectful absence.
“Hey.”
I frowned and turned toward the sound, which came from the shadows between the garden and the side entrance to the hotel. I recognized the voice with just the one word.
“I’m sorry I didn’t show up today.”
I smiled. “It’s ok. Though I‘ll admit that I found myself looking around, half expecting to find you popping out from behind one thing or another.”
He backed into the shadows as I started walking toward him.
“I…have to go. I just didn’t want you to think I had given up stalking you—not that I was, of course.” He laughed and I heard a catch in his voice that sounded wrong.
I stepped into the shadows, and even in the darkness I could see the cut and swollen lip and the black eye and the way he held his right arm across his middle, his right hand holding his left side by his ribs.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 7:02 pm
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My hand instinctively reached out to touch the livid bruise that stained his cheek. “God! What the hell happened?”
He pulled away slightly, shaking his head. “I’m ok. It’s just a few bruises. Really. It’s nothing major.”
I frowned. “You look like someone beat the **** out of you.” I wanted to take him into my arms and hold him. “Who did this to you?”
He shook his head again. So he didn’t want to tell me what happened? Ok. For now.
“You should go to the hospital, just to get checked out. Let me take you—“
“No, no hospital,” he interrupted.
I frowned more. “Can I take you home then? If you won’t go to the hospital? But really, you should let me take you—“
“No,” he interrupted again. “Really, I don’t need to go to the hospital. And I really can’t go home.” He laughed a little, and again I could hear the hitch in his voice. “I’m staying with…friends, though one of them wasn’t so friendly.” He gestured to himself. “I don’t think he’d be any friendlier if I showed up right now.”
I shook my head and put my arm around his shoulders and started leading him toward the door. “Then you’re coming to my room and no arguments.”
He didn’t resist. Not that it would have mattered if he had. I would have picked him up and carried him if I had to. Once in the elevator I took another look at him—and winced. He looked like hell.
“I’ve had some first-aid training, the school where I work requires it. So I’ll have a look at you when we get to my room.” I frowned again and put both my arms around him, holding him lightly, not wanting to hurt him. “But if anything is broken, if I even think anything might be broken, I’m talking you to the hospital. Period.”
He leaned against me and smiled faintly. “Fair enough, because nothing is broken.”
Once in my room I had him remove his shirt and his shorts—which were pretty well covered in blood, which I assumed was from his nose and his lip. I had him stand in the bathroom where the light was best and looked him over thoroughly. His pupils were even, which was a good sign that he didn’t have a concussion. His gums were a healthy pink—so there was probably no internal bleeding. I ran my hands over his ribs and couldn’t feel anything to indicate a break. If any ribs were cracked, they weren’t obviously so. But the fact that Aaron could take a deep breath without nearly passing out was a good indicator that he was likely just bruised.
“See, just bruised. Nothing broken. Nothing major,” he said and I nodded. Just bruised, but the bruises were livid.
“Ok, I agree; I don’t think anything’s broken.” I ran a washcloth under the cold water then wrung it out and folded it up and pressed it gently against his lip. “Hold this there for a minute. I’ll go get some ice and be right back.”
I grabbed the ice bucket and went down the hall to the ice machine. I was back in a moment. I found Aaron sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, I wanted to sit down. I felt a little woozy.”
I sat down beside him and had a second look at his eyes. They still seemed ok. And I supposed feeling a bit woozy was a fairly natural thing after getting the **** beat out of you.
“I think you’d be better off lying down.” I got up and opened my suitcase and took out a small bottle of pills. “Are you allergic to any medications that you know of?” I asked him. He shook his head. I got a glass of water and handed him two of the pills. “They’re hydrocodone, like Vicodin. They’re leftover from some dental work I had done. They’ll help with the pain and will help you sleep.”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly and I interpreted that as a smile. He took the pills and took a sip of the water and handed the glass back to me. “Thanks. I do hurt a bit.”
I set the glass on the nightstand and shook my head. “A bit?” I held out my hands. “Stand up for a minute.” He took one of my hands and used the other to push off the bed as he stood up. I quickly turned down the covers. “Ok, into bed with you.”
I saw the corner of his mouth lift again and this time his eyes sparkled. “Ordering me into your bed? Nice. So forceful.”
I laughed. “I can still take you to the hospital, you know.”
I picked up the washcloth and wrapped it around a couple pieces of ice. I sat down beside him and just looked at him for a moment, then I handed him the washcloth. “Hold it on whatever hurts the most,” I said with a shake of my head. His lip, his cheek, his eye, his nose… They all had to hurt the most. I noticed he held the cloth so that it touched a bit of each of them.
“I don’t really live here,” he said after a moment, meeting my eyes for a second then looking down. “I told you I lived around here all my life. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. I have lived around here, about 10 miles away. But we’d always come here to the beach and stuff every summer.”
He paused and looked up at me again, just a quick look from under his eyelashes that made the breath catch in my throat. Even bruised and swollen he was still beautiful.
“When school ended this year I was supposed to go right on to college, early admission. But I…things…I just needed a break, you know? Just wanted to be away from…from everyone.”
He looked up at me again, his chin raised almost defiantly, as if I might criticize his decision—but at the same time his eyes seemed to plead with me to understand. I nodded. I understood the need to get away from everyone.
He smiled slightly and continued. “So I just took off. Came here and found an ad in the paper, someone looking for a roommate. Ended up sharing an apartment with two other guys.”
He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back against the pillow. I laid my hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me about everything after you’ve had some sleep,” I suggested softly.
He shook his head and opened his eyes. “No, it’s ok. The guys seemed nice enough. We hung out once in a while, but mostly we all just did our own thing. I don’t know if they knew I was gay or not. It never came up, you know?” He frowned and that little furrow between his eyebrows appeared. “I didn’t try to hide it or anything, it just never came up. So last night…after I left…I went to one of the clubs downtown. I had a few more drinks and was a bit wasted when I got home.” He laughed. “I was a LOT wasted, I guess. Wasted enough to hit on Mike. Major mistake. He called me a ‘****ing faggot freak’ and trashed me. Really, I can fight ok, but Mike is BIG and I was SO wasted.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes again. “I woke up in the alley, no clue how I got there. But I figured going back inside wasn’t a plan, at least not while Mike was there. So I sat there and waited for him to leave. When he finally did it was late in the afternoon and…” he opened his eyes and smiled crookedly, “and I realized I didn’t have my key. So I was pretty well ****ed. And I didn’t want to hang around and wait for Tom because I didn’t know what Mike might have said to him or how he would react. Didn’t really want to go for round two.”
He laid his hand on my thigh, flexing his long fingers. “I didn’t know what else to do, I just thought of you and…” He met my eyes and I could see his eyelids flutter as he fought to keep them open. “And I swear I didn’t do all this just so I could get into your bed—though I might have given it a shot if I‘d thought of it.”
I laughed softly and covered his hand with mine. “Aaron…” I shook my head and leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You need to get some sleep.”
I started to stand up, but his fingers clenched at my leg. “No…don’t…I mean…can you stay with me? I mean…just until I fall asleep?”
I smiled and nodded and settled myself more comfortably on the edge of the bed next to him.
He smiled sleepily at me. “Thanks, Justin.” He wrapped his fingers around mine and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost immediately. I sat there for a few moments, holding his hand, tracing his fingers with mine. Then I got up, careful not to disturb him, and walked out onto the balcony.
I couldn’t help feeling that this was partly my fault. If I hadn’t rejected Aaron yet again, if I had maybe just made plans to meet him today and do something together… After all, I did enjoy his company. I wouldn’t even bother to deny that. And just because two people spend time together doesn’t mean they have to end up in bed together. But no, I had a stick up my ass and pushed him away—and set in motion everything else that happened to him last night.
I sighed and went back inside. The suite had one king size bed instead of two double beds. I briefly thought of sleeping on the couch. But I’d done what I could to keep Aaron out of my bed, and he ended up there anyway. It seemed Fate was a ***** with a taste for irony, and I didn’t feel like tempting her any further.
I got undressed and got in bed next to Aaron. It was a king size bed. More than big enough for two people to share without any need for any…contact. Which was a good thing, right? I looked over at Aaron as I reached for the switch to turn out the light. It would be so easy to just slide closer to him and take him in my arms and…
I switched off the light and moved as close to the edge of the bed as I could. Yes, a nice, big king size bed was a very good thing.
* * *
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 7:03 pm
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When I woke up, Aaron was snuggled against me, his head on my chest and his hand on my stomach. I was holding him, my arms wrapped tightly around him, much the same way Jeremy had often held me. It was a good feeling, and not just in a sexual way—though the warmth of his breath on my skin and the hardness of his morning erection pressing against my hip definitely had my body taking notice.
But I wasn’t lying there thinking of ****ing him. I was lying there thinking of holding him, of protecting him. I almost groaned out loud. I really didn’t know what to do with this feeling. I had never felt that way about anyone. In all my relationships, I had been the younger one, the one being held, being protected—and not just because I was younger; it wasn’t an age thing, it was a need thing. I’d always had a very strong need to feel safe, even more than I needed to feel loved. I pressed my lips against Aaron’s hair. Was that what he needed? Was I just responding to his needs? Or was I maybe responding to my own needs, needs that had maybe changed? Maybe I needed to be needed more than I needed to feel safe. Maybe Jeremy had felt that.
I slipped out from under Aaron, as carefully as I could and went into the bathroom to take a shower and to take care of my own morning needs. As the warm water ran over me, I allowed myself the release of fantasy.
When I stepped out of the shower, I took a look in the mirror. I was not a person who obsessed over my looks. I’d always been decent looking, maybe slightly better than average. But I’d never felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I still didn’t, even if that skin now belonged to a thirty-eight year old man whose lover had just left him and who now had an eighteen year old boy in his bed, one with sparkling blue eyes and a body that could bend a straight man.
And I didn’t look…old. No, I didn’t. My hair was still as black as it had ever been, no gray’s that I could see. And I didn’t have wrinkles, not yet. Just a few lines around my eyes—when I smiled. And maybe one or two around my mouth—again, when I smiled. Surely there was nothing old about “smiles that linger and leave their traces around the eyes they light up” or around the mouth. And despite those “love handles” I laid claim to, I was still in decent shape. Not eighteen year old shape, but nothing I had to be embarrassed about. But there was still no denying I was thirty-eight. I scowled at the mirror and wrapped a towel around my waist.
He was sitting up in bed, still under the covers when I came out of the bathroom. He looked worse, in the way bruises always looked worse the next day. But his lip looked less swollen, making the grin only slightly crooked as he spoke.
“You look good in the morning.”
I grimaced. “I look like **** in the morning. The mirror in the bathroom was just pointing that out to me.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
He ran his hand over the bulge clearly visible under the sheets. “Horny.”
I laughed. “God! Eighteen is great. In your place I’d be lying there moaning and feeling like I couldn’t get up.”
He grinned and his eyes sparkled. “I could be moaning, especially if you want me to be.” He grabbed my hand and rubbed it over the bulge. “But I don’t think I have a problem getting up.”
I pulled my hand away and stood up, shaking my head. “I saved you some cold water for your shower.”
He laughed and flung the sheets back. I could see him wince as he slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he stood up without help. “Pity you already had your shower,” he said as walked by me, brushing against me very slightly. “We could have shared.”
I turned away and busied myself getting some clothes from the dresser, not really wanting Aaron to see the effect he was having on me. But his soft, chuckling laughter as he turned on the shower made it pretty clear he knew.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/18/2006, 7:05 pm
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