Bigger Love

by Rick R. Reed

  “What, um, what do you like to do?” Truman asked, voice shaking, wanting this, all of this so bad, and at the same time, desperately afraid he would somehow screw things up.

  Or Mike would have a change of heart.

  Or a blinding spotlight would illuminate the truck’s cab as one of Summitville’s finest pulled up.

  “I want to, you know….” Mike was breathless, barely able to speak, Truman thought. As some kind of indicator, he grabbed his cock, pulled it forward, and allowed it to slap back against his hairy belly.

  The action almost made Truman come. He felt those first tentative shivers and had to draw on some very extreme will to stop himself.

  “Do you wanna fuck me?” Truman asked. He imagined himself sprawled across the seat, Mike standing outside, between his legs, pounding away, with Truman’s calves on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he drew the scene from his own fevered imagination of if he’d seen it on one of the porn sites he had bookmarked on his laptop.

  Either way, he wanted it to happen.

  And happen now.

  Mike tousled his hair. “Oh, buddy, I’d love that.” He cocked his head. “You got a condom?”

  “No. No, of course not. I don’t carry them around. What do you think I am? A Boy Scout?” Truman popped open the glove box and rummaged around. “Don’t you keep some in here?” He knew how desperate he sounded, and he didn’t care. When he realized his search was futile, he said, “Maybe we could do bareback, just this once.” He knew his libido was doing all his talking—and all his thinking—for him, but he felt he’d passed a point of no return. “It’ll be okay. What are the odds either of us has anything?”

  “You’re right. But still….” Mike let his words trail off.

  He didn’t think it was possible, but for just a second or two, the voice of reason spoke up and Truman knew he shouldn’t take the risk, no matter how experienced or inexperienced each of them were. After all, he imagined Stacy’s line of thinking landed her where she was right at this very minute.

  “Yeah, we should wait,” he said, knowing how disappointed he sounded.

  Mike nodded. “And not just for condoms.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah, if we’re gonna do that, let’s hold out until we have some privacy, a bedroom, and even a bed.”

  “Candles and soft music?” Truman asked, snickering.

  “What are you laughing for? You don’t think a big lug like me can be romantic?”

  Oh God, he’s romantic too. What did I do to deserve this? Truman thought the time for talking was over, and he got to his knees on the truck’s bench seat, positioned his head over Mike’s cock, and taking a deep breath, went down. He swallowed Mike in one magnificent gulp. If he could have smiled, he would have—at the gasp of sheer pleasure that came out of Mike.

  Mike cried out again at the warmth and wet of Truman’s mouth, his tongue.

  And he came within a few seconds.

  So did Truman, without even touching himself.

  And, in the distance, a tugboat sounded its horn. It was as though it knew and was acknowledging their almost simultaneous orgasms.

  Chapter 14

  DESPITE POTHOLES and crooked brick streets, Mike felt like he was driving Truman home on a cloud. He didn’t notice a single jolt or shimmy. He was aware only of Truman’s head on his shoulder, his body pressed close.

  He worried about the moment that was soon coming—when Truman would have to exit the truck and he’d go inside his own house, leaving Mike alone with his dick, which had risen again only minutes after his climax.

  Maybe there’s a way Truman can sneak me into his bedroom.

  They pulled up in front of Truman’s. Mike was surprised to see Truman’s ma and his own dad, sitting side-by-side on the front stoop, a shared blanket thrown over their shoulders. Mike drew his gaze away from them and grinned at Truman. “So much for asking you to sneak me in for round two.”

  Truman sat up a little straighter. “Oh, ready for more?”

  Mike grabbed Truman’s hand and placed it on his crotch. “What do you think?”

  Truman laughed, sliding away from Mike. “Stop! Our parents are right over there!”

  “Oh, so now you’re gonna go all Mary Poppins on me.”

  “C’mon, Mike.” Truman turned his head to look at the two of them. His mom waved. And Mike’s dad, true to form, took a drag off his ever-present cigarette. Mike supposed the cloud of smoke he blew out could be taken as a form of greeting.

  “They’ll probably spend the night together,” Mike said. “It’s not fair.”

  “They’re old.” Truman opened the door a little, more when Odd Thomas rose up and waddled over to the truck. “Do you want to come inside?”

  “I thought I just did.”

  “Don’t be crude. You can come in for a bit. I’m sure it’ll be okay, if you keep your hands to yourself.”

  “You’re no fun.” Mike laughed.

  Truman hopped out of the truck and squatted down to show Odd some love, scratching him behind the ears.

  Mike got out of the truck, not sure he’d be able to abide by Truman’s rules, especially if he got a moment alone with him. It was amazing how a little sex seemed to unleash all his inhibitions and longing. He had dreamed of Truman, fantasized about him, but reality was so much more, so much better.

  Both Truman’s mom and his dad sauntered over to the truck.

  Truman’s mother said hello to Mike and then said to Truman, “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

  Truman stood up from his dog. “Fast friends.” He grinned at Mike. “We met at play practice. Mike gave me a ride home.”

  His father eyed him. “Son, this is my lady friend, Patsy. Patsy Reid.”

  “I know her last name, Dad. Same as Truman’s. How come you never said anything about dating before?”

  George squeezed Patsy’s shoulder. “Wanted to make sure she was a keeper.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. So did Patsy. “You sure you want to hang out with this jerk?”

  “Hey!” George cautioned.

  Patsy said, “I’m still deciding. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mike. I’ve been telling your dad for weeks for him to bring you by. I’m glad you’re getting to know Truman! And I’m also glad you got him home in one piece. I hate to think of him walking home by himself from the high school.” She glanced at Truman. “It isn’t safe. Too dark. And there are no sidewalks for most of the way! I don’t want to see my little guy become roadkill.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” Mike said softly. He raised his hand, just a little, to place on Truman’s shoulder. Then he thought better of it and dropped the hand back to his side.

  He’d yet to come out to his dad, although back in Shoreline he’d often wondered if Dad suspected something going on between him and Aubry. Before the move, God knew the two of them were inseparable. Mike thought their relationship was pretty obvious. To everyone, that is, but parents in deep denial. He’d been going to tell his dad about a thousand times, but the words always seemed to stick in his throat. And his mom? Well, he didn’t care so much about her, because she didn’t appear to care so much about him.

  “You guys want to hang out? There’s some leftover chili in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

  Truman looked at him. “Sure. I can always eat.”

  With Truman in the lead, they headed for the front door.

  Patsy called out, “We’re gonna go sit out back. Holler if you need something.”

  “Oh, I need something, all right. I need to make you holler!” Mike whispered into Truman’s ear as he pressed close at the front door.

  “You’re insatiable,” Truman said. They, along with the dog, practically tumbled together through the front door and into the living room, where the TV was already going, tuned to the Food Network and an episode of Chopped. Truman snatched up a remote off the coffee table and turned the TV off.

  “You want some of that chili? My mom makes a
mean one. And even if she didn’t, you can rest assured she brought some home from the diner. Theirs is pretty good, but not as good as Mom’s. She puts a little cinnamon in hers, and it makes all the difference.”

  Mike grabbed Truman and gathered him up in his arms, kissed him. “All I want is you. You wanna show me your bedroom?”

  Truman, disappointingly, edged away. “I better not.” He laughed. “I might get raped.”

  “Can’t rape the willing,” Mike countered.

  “Yeah, well, both of our parents are just beyond that wall.” Truman pointed to the back wall of the house, which was also part of the kitchen. “Let me heat us up some supper. I’m starving—for food—even if you’re not.” Truman gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

  Mike realized he needed to let go—at least for the moment—of his raging libido. Truman’s house could certainly work as the place, but it definitely wasn’t the time. He plopped down on the couch, put his feet on the coffee table, and snatched up the remote. He turned the TV back on. Scanning through the channels, Mike was amazed once again that there could be so many, yet so few he actually wanted to watch. When an old movie caught his eye, he set down the remote. A group of schoolchildren were running from a pack of attacking blackbirds.

  “Oh my God,” Truman said from the stove. “The Birds. I love this one.”

  Mike turned to look at him. Truman was busy stirring the chili in a battered white-speckled black pot, his face almost hidden by the steam rising up. There was something so homey about the image that it touched Mike’s heart, and for just a second, he imagined the two of them alone… and that this humble little house was theirs.

  And they were a couple.

  He closed his eyes briefly, the feeling of contentment rising up as something not commonplace but wondrous, maybe even miraculous. Could he and Truman one day—

  “Have you seen it before?” Truman asked, yanking Mike out of his playing-house bliss and reverie.

  “Have I seen it? Only like a million times.” Mike watched as the scene unfolded, chilled by it.

  Truman came and sat next to him, perched on the edge of the couch. He watched with Mike in silence for a few minutes. Without taking his gaze from the screen, Truman said, “The first time I watched this, I was only about five years old, believe it or not. I had this crazy old babysitter, Gert Dalrymple, from down the street. She was a bit of a drunk but had a good heart. She’d let me watch whatever I wanted. Probably because she was already halfway through her first six-pack of the day by the time I started fiddling with the TV.” Truman snorted. “I still remember watching this one rainy day….” Truman’s voice drifted off, and his eyes went a little faraway as Mike watched him slip into memory. It made Mike smile.

  “Patsy was going through her blonde phase then, and she had a fall.”

  “She fell?” Mike asked.

  “No, silly, a fall, a hairpiece. Gert let me wear it that day, around the house.” Truman smiled shyly at Mike. “I pretended I was Tippi Hedren.”

  At the admission, something went dark inside Mike. The smile vanished. He flashed on Truman at the back of the high school auditorium, in the dress and the big hat, and shuddered. He tried not to, but felt his lips turning down in a frown. He looked away not only from the TV, but from Truman as well, directing his gaze at a spot on the wall above the TV.

  Truman must have picked up on his expression, and he laid a hand on Mike’s knee. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?”

  Mike suddenly didn’t want to be touched. He worried that Patsy and his dad would walk in on them and see Truman sitting close, his hand practically on Mike’s thigh. He moved his leg ever so slightly so Truman’s hand would drop away.

  “Nah. You’re cool.” Mike picked up the remote and turned the volume up a little. “Hey, you know what? That chili’s gonna burn if you don’t start paying attention.”

  Truman stared at him curiously for a moment, head cocked, and then jumped from the couch. He headed back into the kitchen area.

  Mike listened as he took down bowls and opened a drawer. Spoons clanged against the ceramic tile counter.

  In moments, Truman was back with a tray upon which were two bowls of chili, paper towels for napkins, two spoons, and two glasses of cola. Mike would have preferred a beer—in fact he longed for one—but couldn’t ask.

  “Thanks,” Mike said. He let Truman set down the tray before them on the coffee table. Mike wasted no time to begin eating, eyes glued to the TV. Tippi Hedren herself was front and center in a new scene. Watching her, all Mike could think of was Truman in a blonde wig, or whatever he’d called the hairpiece, and prancing around this very room. He didn’t see a little boy in his mind’s eye, but Truman at the age he was right now, swinging his hips, holding one hand aloft, and gingerly patting a blonde bun at the back of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image from his head.

  “It’s good, isn’t it? This is Patsy’s own.”

  Mike didn’t want to talk. He continued to stare at the screen, shoveling food in. He wondered if Truman was picking up on his sudden shift in mood.

  You dick! Of course he is. Quit it.

  The movie was almost over, the dishes were in the sink, and there was a sense of tension—palpable—in the air when Mike decided he needed to say something. The sentence was like some kind of animal inside him, burrowing and chewing its way out.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Mike aimed the remote at the TV, shut it off. He stood and cleared his throat.

  Truman cocked his head. “Of course.”

  “Do you really need to be in that play?”

  Truman paused as though taken aback, which he most likely was. “Well, yeah.” He pushed some of his hair off his forehead and then reached down to finger the remote control lying between them. He yanked his hand away. “I’m not sure how we could go on.” Truman glanced quickly at Mike. “You know Stacy left, and somebody had to fill the part.”

  “And it had to be you.”

  Truman, always pale, turned a little whiter. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I knew all the lines.”

  Mike nodded. “So that’s why you have to do it? Because you, um, know all the lines? For this female character?” Why are you doing this to him?

  “Well, there’s that. Plus, I want to do it. I’m good at it. Don’t you think?” He smiled.

  Mike frowned. “I don’t know. Who am I to judge? I don’t know nothin’ about acting, about—” Mike groped for the right words.

  And Truman found them for him, it seemed. His face changed, hardened. “About parading around in women’s clothes?”

  “Well, no, not actually.” Mike watched as the anger or hurt built up in Truman. His spine stiffened, and his arms moved up to cross his chest. Mike had to admit to himself that the right answer, the true one was, “Well, yes, actually.” But Mike couldn’t bring himself to say the words, knowing how much they’d hurt Truman.

  But it didn’t matter what Mike said, because Truman apparently heard an affirmative answer to his question regardless of Mike’s actual words. “Does that scare you? Turn you off? Make you think… less of me?” Truman leaned back against the couch. And Mike hated to see the face he’d come to care so much about close like a flower, Truman’s lips drawn together in a thin line, his eyes wary.

  “No. No, no, of course not, Truman. I just think, you know, it’s just gonna cause you more trouble in the long run. They’re gonna tease you and bully you. I’m not pointing something out you don’t already know.” Mike sighed. “I’m sure there’s some chick who’d love to take over that part. And then you’d be off the hook.”

  “Chick? Really, Mike?” Truman spat out the words. “Off the hook? I don’t want to be off the hook! This little fish likes being on the hook.” Truman shook his head, his features screwed up in anger. “Besides, we’re only a few days away from opening night. I couldn’t betray Mr. Wolcott, the rest of the cast, the crew—which, just in case y
ou need reminding, includes you—like that.”

  “I know. I know. But think of how people will look at you. And it wouldn’t be so hard to get a replacement. So what if a girl carries a script around on stage? You think anyone’s gonna care? You and me both know the audience is all gonna be family and friends.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “What’s the point, then?” Mike sat back down on the couch. He wished he hadn’t opened his big mouth. But now that the truth was out, he wanted Truman to use some common sense. He wanted to protect the guy. In his head Mike could hear the waves of laughter in the audience when Truman came out, literally, all gussied up in women’s clothes.

  And Mike knew they’d be laughing at Truman, not with him.

  “The point is, I want to do this. I’ve dreamed of doing it. I’m sorry I had to get the part the way I did, but hey, life works out that way sometimes.” Truman smiled, but there was a glimmer of something cruel in it, and yes, something a little hurt. “You don’t get it. And that makes me sad.”

  “What don’t I get? Educate me.”

  Truman touched Mike’s face briefly and then took his hand away. “I’m me. I like me. I don’t want to be someone else. It hasn’t always been easy, living in this little backwater town with its small minds, but I’ve kind of come to embrace who I am. I thought you got that about me.” He stared off as though there were something projected on the wall across from them that only Truman could see. “I may not be your idea of what makes a normal boy, but normal for me and normal for you are different things.”

  “Not so different.”

  “What? Because you’re gay?”