by Marie Sexton
“No.” I put my fingers on his lips to stop him. “I don’t hate hearin’ it.” And it’s the truth. I love to hear him say it. Wish I could say it back without that fuckin’ bird beatin’ me to death. “I just, I can’t….” I stop. Not sure how to finish. But I don’t need to.
He puts one hand on each side of my face, looks into my eyes.
“You don’t have to.”
“Hate it when you’re mad at me.”
“Don’t you see, though, Ang? That’s the problem. Because I’m never mad at you.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m trying to trust you and to let you set the pace. But
I wish you would trust me back. I hate feeling like I can’t even say what I feel without you assuming I’m trying to push you into something.”
I know he’s right. I been doin’ everything my way and runnin’ away every time he tries to be close to me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Ang. Just don’t be so scared of me, either, okay?”
“I’m tryin’, Zach. I’m tryin’ so hard.” I have tears in my eyes now, and I fight them. I don’t want to cry in front of him.
“I know.”
“I can’t be like them yet.” And he doesn’t ask who I mean, so he must know it’s Matt and Jared. “I want to, though, eventually. I really do.”
“I understand.”
“Can you wait for me?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Will you hate me for it?”
“Never.”
“Will you say it for me now?”
“I love you like crazy.”
“Zach?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He does. And it’s gentle and so sweet. He pushes me back on the bed, just keeps kissin’ me, his hands soft and lovin’, movin’ all over me. Never demandin’. Just givin’. And he whispers in my ear again that he loves me. And suddenly some wall inside me comes crumblin’ down. Before I know it, I’m cryin’ for real. Don’t want to, but I just can’t stop all those tears. So much emotion I didn’t quite realize I had, all crammed up inside. I’ve been sure for so long that he couldn’t really love me. That he loved some idea of what he wanted me to be. Now all that tension and fear and anger—it all just comes out. All I can do is hang on to him, and still he just kisses me and holds me until the tears finally dry up. Until finally all that’s left is desire.
I get our shorts off, then roll us over so I’m on top. Get the tube out of the drawer and spread some on him.
“You’re not a bird at all,” he says suddenly.
I smile down at him. “No kiddin’.”
“You’re an angel. You’re mom must have known, too, because that’s what she named you.”
“No angel ever did this,” I say as I push down onto him, all the way, feel him fillin’ me. I lean down to kiss him, but he stops me.
“Ang, are you planning to fly away?”
When we’re like this, him inside of me, it’s like the bird in my chest doesn’t exist at all. I love him so much. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No. I’m not flyin’ anywhere.”
Zach…
THINGS between us got a lot better after that night. Angelo quit being so skittish. He came to my house almost every night and stayed through the night more often than not. Geisha even ended up back at my house, although she still didn’t want anything to do with me. Angelo still had times when he had to get away—usually only one or two nights a week but sometimes more. I never complained, but when he finally came back, I always told him how much I had missed him. And he would just kiss me and say, “I know.”
Business at A to Z was good. Angelo had been going crazy buying all kinds of movies online to add to the collection. We were slowly getting everything together for the theater portion of A to Z.
We bought the projection equipment and had it installed. We debated for a week between big, cushy, home-theater-type seats or tables with restaurant style chairs. In the end we did both: we had two rows of theater seats at the front, and had an elevated stage constructed behind them with the tables and chairs there. I found a caterer to serve dinners. We were still waiting for the food and alcohol licenses to be finalized but were planning to open on Thanksgiving weekend.
I was just getting ready to close the shop one Wednesday afternoon when Angelo called. “Will you pick me up at Matt’s on your way home?” he asked. We took turns closing Monday through Thursday, and he had left at two that day.
When I got there, Jared answered the door.
“They’re back there,” he said, pointing down the hall. There was a strange buzzing sound coming from that direction. I turned and headed towards it. “Brace yourself,” Jared said jokingly. I wondered what he was talking about, but I didn’t have to wonder for long.
I found Matt and Angelo in the bathroom. The door was open, and Ang was leaning over the sink. The buzzing sound was an electric hair trimmer. Matt had just finished shaving Angelo’s hair off. They had used an attachment, so it wasn’t as brutally short as Matt’s, but it was still a huge shock to see all that hair lying in the sink.
“I’ll go get the broom,” Matt said and went past me, leaving me standing in the doorway staring at Angelo.
His hair was now only about an inch long all over and stood straight up. “Hey, Zach,” he said happily, smiling at me. “What do you think?”
I couldn’t help but grin back. I reached out and touched it. It seemed thicker and courser now that it was so short. “What made you do it?”
He shrugged, still smiling. “Why not? Haven’t cut it in a while.” He looked even younger now, with all that hair out of the way. His eyes seemed so big. They were the deepest shade of brown, ringed with long black lashes. “Do you hate it?” It was a casual question. It had nothing to do with vanity. He wouldn’t have cared if I said yes.
“No.” It made me want to touch his cheekbones and kiss him and just look into his eyes forever. I was wishing like crazy that we were at home alone, rather than in Matt and Jared’s bathroom. “I like it,” I told him. “I can actually see your face.” That made him laugh.
Matt came back with the broom, and I had to move out of the bathroom to make room for him. Jared came up behind me, his own wild blond curls hanging loose around his face.
“You look good,” he said to Angelo.
Ang held the trimmer toward him. “Your turn.”
Matt moved so fast, I almost wondered if he had super powers.
He grabbed the trimmer out of Angelo’s hand and yanked the plug out of the wall all at once. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled, and Jared laughed.
We were just leaving when Matt suddenly said, “Wait, Angelo!” He went back down the hall and came back out a minute later with a book, which he handed to Angelo. “This is the one I was telling you about. You’ll love it. Trust me.” Angelo didn’t look enthusiastic. In fact he actually looked a little bit green. Matt didn’t seem to notice. “Keep it as long as you want.”
“Thanks,” Angelo said, but his heart definitely wasn’t in it.
He was quiet the whole way home, just staring at that book like it was a snake that might bite him.
You always hear about those kids who get through high school without learning how to read, but I knew he wasn’t one of them.
Yes, he had dropped out at sixteen, but that certainly didn’t make him illiterate. I had seen him read the blurbs on the back of the DVD cases and write an inventory list, and I had read notes he had left for me. His spelling wasn’t great, and he seemed to have no idea what an apostrophe was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t read.
“You want to talk about it?” I asked.
“’Bout what?”
“The book.”
“Nothin’ to talk about.”
“Okay.” I knew it was still bothering him, but I also knew he w
ouldn’t say anything until he was ready, so I waited. Once we were back at my place, I went in the kitchen and started making dinner—lasagna. I had been cooking dinner a couple of nights each week. I couldn’t believe how good it felt to have a real house, with a real kitchen. And Ang there with me, for tonight at least. I opened a bottle of wine and was just pouring a glass when he came in.
For a while he just watched me. I waited. I got the noodles out of the water and browned the sausage, and still I waited. Finally he said, “Can’t read it.”
“Why not?”
He slumped against the counter, and he looked so young and so dejected, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or put my arms around him. “Just can’t.”
I waited again, but nothing else seemed to be forthcoming. I put down the cheese I was grating, turned around so I could face him and leaned against the counter. “If you don’t want to read it, don’t read it. But if you’re choosing not to read it just because you think you can’t, I’m not sure that’s a good reason.” He looked at me skeptically. I racked my brain, drank a little wine, and finally managed to pull something out of my memory. “It’s like when Luke
Skywalker is first learning to use the lightsaber. Ben puts that helmet on him, with the visor down, and Luke says he can’t do it.
But once he decides to trust Ben, and he tries it, and it works.” I smiled at him triumphantly, and he grudgingly smiled back.
“Pretty proud of yourself for that one, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “I am, actually.”
But as quickly as it had come, his smile was gone again.
“Don’t want Matt to know I can’t read it.”
“I’m still not sure why you think you can’t.”
He sighed, walked over, and leaned against me, looking up at me. It was strange to be able to see his face, instead of having all that hair in the way. “Have to be smart to read books.”
“You don’t think you’re smart?”
He shook his head. “Never even finished high school.”
Finally we were getting to the real issue. But it pained me to see that he actually believed what he said.
For the first time ever, I didn’t have to brush his hair out of the way before looking into his eyes. “I don’t even know where to start on that one. First, you don’t have to be smart to read books. Lots of idiots read books. Trust me, the ability to read does not necessarily mean the ability to think. Second, whether or not you graduated from high school or ever went to college has nothing to do with how smart you are. Yes, you dropped out, but Ang, you’re not stupid.
And something like this—it’s exactly the kind of thing that you’re good at.”
“Reading?” he asked in confusion.
“Not reading, specifically, but understanding things. Finding the deeper meaning.”
He shook his head at me and said honestly, “Don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay I’ll show you. What was that movie we watched the other night, with Mel Gibson?”
“Signs.”
“Right. What was it about?” Because, truly, I didn’t get it. I
just thought it was weird.
“Faith.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Really?”
“Yeah, man.” I could tell that he didn’t understand why I was asking, but he went on anyway. “See, his wife died in that freak accident. But she lived just long enough to give him a message. And even though he lost his faith after that, that message ended up bein’ what saved him and his family. So maybe it wasn’t a freak accident after all, right? Maybe it was meant to be. And that little girl was all freaky ’bout her water, but that’s part of what saved them too. Little things that all ended up savin’ them. It’s like his brother said; you can look at it as coincidence, or you can trust that it has a meaning. So in the end, he gets his faith back.”
“Ang, you know what I thought it was about?”
“What?”
“Aliens.”
He laughed at me. “Well, yeah, but not really.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Angelo. I was in honors English in high school and took literature classes in college, but all that shit about themes and symbolism—I never got any of it. I thought it was just bullshit. But you get it.” He actually looked thoughtful at that. I could see the wheels turning behind his dark eyes. “I can count on one hand the number of books I’ve read since college, so I won’t think any of less of you if you don’t want to read it. But I think you should try. I think you might like it. It might open up a whole new world for you.” I almost had him convinced. I could tell. He wanted to believe me. “Just read the first chapter and see what happens. If you don’t like it, then quit. What have you got to lose, Ang?”
And suddenly he smiled at me, really smiled, with no more doubts in his eyes, and it was beautiful to see it. “Zach….” He put his arms around my neck, and looked into my eyes, and I knew what he was trying to say. He even opened his mouth, but it was like the words just couldn’t make it past his throat.
I put my arms around him and kissed him. “I know.”
He put his head on my chest, and for a minute we just stood there. Then suddenly he smiled up at me and started to unbutton my pants. That made me hard immediately. I tried to kiss him, but he pulled away and went down on his knees in front of me. He pulled my pants down just far enough to be out of the way, and then his mouth was on me.
I was convinced that nobody in the world could give a blow job like Angelo. It was unbelievable. I’ve never been able to do the whole deep throat thing, but he could. He sucked me all the way in, and I had to grab on to the counter behind me to keep myself upright. He had this mysterious way of making it feel like his tongue was constantly teasing the sensitive spot right below my slit, even when I was so deep in his mouth that I could feel his nose against my pubic bone. I let go of the counter with one hand but then didn’t know what to do with it. I wanted to touch him, but I knew better than to touch his head. I settled for grabbing a handful of his shirt.
His hands were moving, from my thighs, up my hips, over my stomach, and back down. It was amazing, his warm mouth, and whatever he was doing with his tongue. I wanted to tell him before I came, but I only managed to choke out his name before it hit me.
It seemed like ages later, when I came down from it. He was standing in front of me, half-way holding me up. My shirt was unbuttoned, and he was kissing my chest. I put one arm around him and reached with my other hand for his belt. “Tell me what you want, Ang. I’ll do anything you want.”
He looked up at me then, and it didn’t matter what he could or couldn’t say with words, because it was all in his eyes. He pushed my hand away from him. “You already did, Zach.”
I finally got the lasagna together and took my glass of wine into the living room. He was on the couch. And he was reading.
…Angelo
I WAKE up in Zach’s bed, early Sunday mornin’. We moved apart in the night like we always do.
I don’t sleep here every night. Sometimes I still have to go home. The nights are the hardest, tryin’ to keep that damn bird in my chest quiet long enough for me to fall asleep. But the mornin’s are easy. I love wakin’ up and hearin’ him breathin’ next to me.
For a minute I just watch him sleep. He’s startin’ to get tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He swears he found a gray hair the other day. He laughed, but I could tell it really did bother him a little.
I’ve seen pictures of his dad. He’s got the same dark hair that Zach has but with gray mixed in at the sides. I know that’s how Zach’s will be too. He’ll still be cute as he is now but somehow a little more distinguished. I think it’s gonna be sexy as hell. I like thinkin’ I’ll be here to see it.
I scoot closer, nudge him a little. He wakes up enough to wrap an arm around me and pull me tight against him. Spooning. Such a stupid word. I’d never say it out loud. But that’s what it is, and it’s my favorite
part of the mornin’. I love the way he fits against me, the way he sighs a little as he relaxes into it, and the way I can feel it when he starts to wake up for real and gets hard against me.
I wait for him to relax, for his breathin’ to slow again. Then, just barely, I push my hips back against him.
He makes that sound I love so much: halfway a sigh, halfway a moan. His arm tightens ’round my waist, and then he pushes back.
“Hate to wake you,” I say, smilin’.
I can tell he’s smilin’, too, when he answers. “Liar. You love to wake me up.” And of course he’s right.
I push against him again, and this time he really does moan. “I can stop and let you go back to sleep.”
Sometimes that happens. Sometimes we just tease each other a little before driftin’ off together. But today he chuckles and says,
“Not a chance, angel.” He calls me that now sometimes. It’s silly, but it always makes me smile.
We go on like that for a while, just pushin’ against each other.
Eventually he reaches down and pushes my boxers off, then his. He rolls me slowly onto my stomach. His weight on my back is so perfect. “Ang,” he asks quietly, “is this okay?”
He always asks. Kinda funny, really, but sweet too. “Yes.”
He gets the lube out of the drawer. He’s still on top of me, kissin’ the back of my neck, and then I feel one of his fingers slide into me. My breath catches, and he moans in response. Sometimes he’ll tease me to climax this way, just usin’ his fingers on that sweet spot inside while I grind against the bed, but not today.
His finger is gone, and then his cock is pushin’ against me. He goes incredibly, agonizingly slow. Not thrustin’. Just gently pushin’ in, one tiny nudge at a time. He’s still kissin’ my neck and whisperin’ that he loves me. Just barely, barely movin’ against me.
It’s the sweetest torture in the world. I resist the urge to push back against him, but the anticipation makes me whimper a little.
“I love when you do that,” he says and pushes in another fraction of an inch.