by B. G. Thomas
There wouldn’t be anyone there now. Except for the caretakers, he would most likely be alone if he heeded the call and headed down there. Then again, he was usually alone anyway, so that wouldn’t make all that much difference. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t just jump in his truck and leave. What was keeping him?
But why? Why this feeling? Why this urge? He wasn’t even sure Camp would be open this time of year. Would they have the water turned on for the shower house, what with the very real possibility of the pipes freezing and bursting?
Kevin closed his eyes, breathed in deep, let it out slowly.
Shower. Coffee. Check the calendar and make sure he didn’t have to be anywhere today.
But he knew he didn’t. He always knew. He was too conscientious for anything else.
So….
He left his bedroom, crossed the living room to the counter that separated it from the small but efficient kitchen, and booted up his laptop.
Everything was white. He liked that. White walls, white carpet, white kitchen with white appliances. Only the furniture was dark to hide dirt. Because that was sensible—and if Kevin was anything, he was sensible. Black suede couch, black chairs, black end and coffee tables. And he had plants, of course: the big Ficus, the huge angel wing begonia, and a few ferns. Somehow they made him feel like he could breathe easier.
The prints on the walls were his only concession to color (along with the plants), and they had black frames. All of them were photographs he had taken himself. Several came from Camp, including a gorgeous (to him) picture of a nearly-full moon in a sunny sky. Maybe they weren’t masterpieces, but he liked them. Other people did too. Cauley and Theresa and one or two others. His few friends.
Friends were all he had right now. He definitely wasn’t dating anyone. Or pursuing any one-night stands. He hadn’t been with a man in over a year. That was okay. Sometimes (a lot of the time) it was lonely. But nothing compared to being left alone after a night of passion with a stranger he might never see again—almost never did see again. The sex wasn’t worth it. The aloneness he felt after those men left was often worse than what he’d felt before they arrived.
While his computer booted up, Kevin went into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and pulled out a bag of coffee beans he’d gotten from Sweetleaf, a funky Queens coffee minichain. He ground them, put them in his coffee maker, and started it up. He’d used a french press for a short while; it made the best coffee—his friend “Poof” from Festival had taught him that. But it created such a mess. Kevin didn’t like messes.
The coffee was brewing, and the aroma was already waking his senses.
By then his computer was wide awake, and a quick glance at his calendar—which he could have checked on his phone with one of the apps he’d created, but he needed to turn on the computer anyway—showed him that he was right. Nothing for today. Gym, of course. That was marked in. It was legs day. But no business. Good.
He knew he should call his ex—Cauley wasn’t doing very well lately. He’d find out if he should drop by. Cauley’s mother said the visits helped. He hoped so. If a few hours here and there did as much as she claimed it did, who was he not to help? He had the time after all.
Shower.
He loved his bathroom. It was big, and he was a big man. Big tub and a shower with multiple showerheads and some of the only other color in his whole condo—stone tiles of tan and umber and beige on the walls and floor. And the large staghorn fern, of course. He stepped out of his Calvin Klein underwear (red, he liked red—he didn’t stick with white and black when it came to clothing) and started the shower, flossed while he waited for the water to heat (it wouldn’t take long), and left brushing for after the coffee. When the water was steamy hot, he got in, shifted the water to the massage setting, and reveled in it.
The pulsing woke Kevin the rest of the way, made him feel so good and vital and alive. He even considered jerking off. But no. Nothing sexual on a whim, not even masturbation. He wasn’t even truly horny. And the coffee would be ready.
So he soaped up, shampooed, shaved the strip of beard down the middle of his chin (which gave him an almost muttonchop look), rinsed, dried himself with thick towels. Macy’s Hotel Collection MicroCotton—expensive, but he didn’t consider them an indulgence. They soaked up the water and didn’t feel wet afterward and besides, they felt good.
Kevin had a code of sorts when it came to money. In some ways he indulged—he could, after all—and in some ways he didn’t. The money Google had offered—too much to refuse—had made him quite comfortable. But this was New York, and he’d spent nearly three quarters of a million on his condo—a good chunk of his money. But that was an investment, and property values didn’t go down in New York City.
Still, why buy a Tommy Hilfiger flannel shirt at seventy dollars that looked just like one from Walmart, which cost less than twenty-five? A brand name meant nothing to him unless it also meant quality. Better that money could go to something like Children’s International instead, where it would help. A brand itself meant nothing to him personally. But those Macy’s towels? He liked them for what they were and not “who.” Um, um, good.
After Kevin dried, he padded back to the kitchen without dressing because he liked being naked. Being naked felt better even than Macy’s towels. It felt good to let his dick sway. He liked the sensation when he sat down on his suede couch and his balls settled first, and he liked his bare feet on the carpet. He liked being naked at Camp as well, loved the sun on his skin and the grass under his feet, and he didn’t give a shit that most men who saw him whispered about his big balls and his below-average-sized cock. They hadn’t seen how big he got when he was hard after all (only one man at Camp ever had), and what mattered more in the end? And it wasn’t like he was small when he was soft for God’s sake. He just didn’t flop from knee to knee like Bruce “Rat Bastard” Douglas, for instance. But then, who did have a bigger cock than Bruce? Kevin had wondered more than once what you could even do with something so large!
The coffee was ready and filled the condo with its heady rich scent, and he poured it into one of his big mugs and went back to his computer to check e-mails. There were two stools next to the counter—mahogany with suede upholstery that felt good on his bare ass (and his balls; oh yes, his balls), and he always felt one should appreciate life’s little pleasures. One of his favorite authors, Malcolm Kane, had helped him learn that.
Most of the subject lines for his e-mails showed they were junk, and he deleted them quickly without opening them. Oh, look, the country of Monterosia owed him two hundred million dollars—delete. “Obama Is Killing Our Country!”—delete. “Cialis and Viagra Cheap from Canada!”—delete. “You Qualify For A $500 Gift Card from Best Buy”—delete. He could delete a lot of his Facebook notifications too, but he opened anything from the comedian who called himself “God” because those postings were always good.
Today he read several he enjoyed: “Just because you can’t figure out how ancient civilizations built stuff doesn’t mean they got help from aliens” made him laugh out loud because he always thought those von Däniken theories were bullshit. A Cheesus Christ cheese grater. And finally (and he loved this one), “Hi, I’m God. All religions got it wrong. Let’s start over. Just be cool to one another. The End.”
That really said it all, didn’t it?
Kevin smiled. Poured more coffee. Sipped cautiously.
Knew that he had got it right.
Life was good.
Wait. What was this? An e-mail from [email protected]?
Big Sir? From Heartland Queer Men’s Festival?
Weird. To be thinking about the Land and then get an e-mail from Big Sir. What the hell could he possibly want?
He almost deleted the e-mail—Big Sir was far from his favorite attendee—but then that tickle happened. The one Kevin had learned to pay attention to. That little tingle that started at the base of his skull and shivered out over his scalp. His curiosity was captured now, and if he
was wrong, he was wrong. But if he was right….
Kevin had learned to trust the tickles.
He opened the e-mail.
Hey Dude!
This is Big Sir also known as Howard. Not sure which you would remember me by.
I just wanted u to know I am free! I have finally dumped my loser lovers ass! I know you would not even think of getting with me while I was with Little Bear, but now i can tell u that it is no longer a worry. He is out of my life.
So I was wondering if you would want to get together sometime? We could have a LOT of fun I can tell! You are so freaking HAWT and I KNOW the sparks have been flying between us but you wouldn’t be with me while I was with Little Bear. I might be in New York next week. Could we hook up? You and me! Would be most hot.
Ok. Looking forward to hearing from you.
Howard aka Big Sir!
Kevin could scarcely believe his eyes. Howard (he had never been willing to actually call the man “Big Sir”) wanted to get together with him? Howard from Festival? Howard thought there were sparks flying between them? How in the world had he ever gotten that idea?
Kevin shuddered. He couldn’t stand to be around the guy. He’d never liked the way Howard stared at him, flirted with him in the shower (“Want to wash each other’s backs?”), and acted in ways that the jerk obviously thought were sexy.
Kevin shook his head and hit the delete button. He wasn’t even going to dignify the e-mail with a response.
Sex with Howard?
He grimaced.
It wasn’t that he thought Howard was physically gross. He liked guys with some padding. But what was ugly about Howard was his heart. There was something in his eyes, something… dark. And he didn’t like the way he treated his lover—well, apparently now his ex-lover.
And on the tail of that came…
So Wyatt is single now?
Well damn! He had never expected the two of them to split up. They seemed forever married. At least, that was the way Wyatt appeared to feel about Howard. He was always looking at the man as if he was so in love it almost hurt. And somehow Kevin figured that was how it had always worked. With Wyatt loving Howard desperately, and Howard hurting Wyatt. He was pretty sure Howard had been fucking around behind Wyatt’s back. That’s what Lorax, another Festival brother, had told him a few years back.
“It’s pathetic is what it is,” Lorax—who bore a striking resemblance to the Dr. Seuss character—had said one night in his cabin.
“But how can he cheat if the two of them have an open relationship?” Kevin had asked.
Lorax had looked at Kevin in wide-eyed surprise. “You speak!”
Kevin shrugged and hoped that Lorax hadn’t noticed him blush by the glow of the strings of Christmas lights that were their only illumination that evening. This was Queer Men’s Festival after all, and get-togethers should be festive.
“That’s the most I’ve heard you say all week, Hodor.”
Which was an exaggeration, surely. Kevin didn’t like to talk all that much and had gratefully accepted his Faerie name—his nickname—which allowed him a way to speak as little as possible.
Lorax gave a shrug of his own and then explained. “You’re more naïve than I thought a man your age could be, especially one who comes to Festival every summer. It’s cheating if Big Sir isn’t following the rules they made. An open relationship doesn’t necessarily mean a free-for-all, unless that’s what a couple negotiates. Most nonmonogamous people have rules. Like veto power.”
Kevin had just looked at him, unsure of what that meant.
“Like, if you and I were a couple and you were hot for someone, and I wasn’t comfortable with you fucking that guy, or I just didn’t like him, I could veto you playing with him. Well, I know flat out that Little Bear said he’d vetoed someone I happened to know Howard was fucking.”
Kevin had only been able to shake his head in barely contained disgust and sympathy. It broke his heart that anyone could treat Wyatt that way. “It’s why I could never do an open relationship,” Kevin had said then in another uncharacteristic rush of words. “If someone—
(like Wyatt, sweet, adorable Little Bear)
—wants to be with me, then he has to be with only me.”
“People make mistakes, though,” Lorax said. “You couldn’t forgive a mistake?”
A stab of pain pierced his heart then. “I’ve forgiven.” He leaned back on the bed he was sitting on. “But in my experience, once a cheater, always a cheater.” Even if there were other things involved.
And God! Why was Wyatt with that asshole? How could he love that man?
If Wyatt were mine….
How could he stay with a man who cheated on him so many times? Who didn’t honor him? Didn’t love him? A man who cared so little for his welfare? A man who was a complete and total ass.
Wasn’t there some story going around about how Howard had practically raped some kid—young man? What better reason for Wyatt to dump the asshole. But he hadn’t. And now the sweet little guy was probably devastated that Howard had left him. Getting out from under Howard’s control was the best thing that could have happened to him, but somehow Kevin knew Wyatt was probably sitting around grieving, tearing at his hair and clothes.
Sad. Really sad.
Wyatt was so sweet and sexy: short, rounded just the way Kevin liked (padded), with a lightly hairy chest, adorable round plump butt, and the darkest eyes—puppy-dog eyes. How often Kevin thought it would be fun to cuddle with Wyatt in a hammock under a shady tree or on a blanket on the beach. But Wyatt would have wanted more than cuddling, and Kevin didn’t get involved with married guys, even if they were in an open relationship. It always felt wrong to him. Plus he didn’t want to take a chance that he would start feeling something for Wyatt. Not when Kevin couldn’t have anything more. Sexual intimacy did that to him. He couldn’t help it. More than once he’d felt a bond with some one-night stand, which was part of what made him feel so alone when they went their way after sex. He guessed he was an old-fashioned type of guy. He’d heard gays pontificate on sexuality and how it was castrating gay male nature to assimilate into straight culture’s ideas on what sexuality should be. That free-for-all sex was a gay man’s right and a big “fuck you” to anyone who said men couldn’t have sex with other men. But please! How was not sticking his dick in every ass that presented itself castrating himself?
So okay, that made him old-fashioned. Sex was special to him. It was the ultimate intimacy. He couldn’t do that with just anyone. And anytime he broke that rule, he wound up regretting it.
His mind went back to Howard’s e-mail. So the SOB had broken up with Wyatt?
Wyatt was single now?
Hmmmm….
Kevin felt a little rush. Wyatt. Single. Wow. Next year’s Festival might be nice. Especially if Wyatt didn’t get back with Howard in the meantime. That thought bothered Kevin. Because Wyatt could do so much better than Howard. Getting back with Howard was a horrible idea. He needed to be completely away from that man.
Hmm….
So Wyatt was single.
Kevin smiled.
Because he found the idea of a single Wyatt appealing.
WHEN HE called Cauley, it was Lois—Cauley’s mother—who answered.
“Oh Kevin, I’m so glad it’s you.”
Kevin’s heart tripped in alarm. “Is Cauley all right?”
Lois paused. “No, Kevin. He’s not. It’s not bad… but it’s not good.”
Shit. “Do you want me to come by?”
“Oh, could you? Would you? I could make lunch—if Cauley will eat, that is.”
Not eating again? “That bad?” he asked aloud. God.
“Soup,” Lois said. “Cauley will eat my soup. He likes the tortilla the best, but he can’t always keep that down.”
Shit. That wasn’t good.
“What time? Can I bring something?”
“Why not right around noon? I like to keep him on schedule, you know? I think that
’s important.”
She was keeping him on schedule? “Are you staying with him?” he asked, concerned even more.
“I—yes. Been here a few days. Thought I would stay at least a week.”
A week. “Okay.”
“And bring him some flowers? Nothing much, okay? Don’t make a big deal. But he loves them so. They make him feel better. Even a single daisy.”
“No problem, Lois. I’ll find something.”
“You’re a dear.”
A dear. Really. And she used to hate him. But that was a long time ago now. Back when she thought he was the one who made her only son sick.
Kevin dressed after that—black jeans and a heavy red plaid shirt (Cauley had always liked him in flannel, he’d had a thing for lumberjack types), and his high-tops. Checked his reflection quickly, fixed his hair a bit. Finally, filling a travel mug with the last of his coffee, he headed out the door. He took the elevator down to the garage and climbed into his Ford F-150 (big and also white) and headed for Club Fitness on Broadway. A workout always cleared his mind and made him feel good, and he wanted to be feeling good when he faced his ex.
His workout went well; he liked the gym a lot. It was the best gym he’d tried in Astoria—which included Blink, NYSC, and Synergy—with several floors and plenty of machines, free weights, and cardio equipment. There was even a boxing ring, although he never used it, and two men’s locker rooms, which included a Jacuzzi, steam room, and sauna. He liked the juice bar as well, and especially the rooftop, which was open in the summer. And since it was close to the gay bars, it was one of the more gay-friendly gyms as well. It was nice to know he didn’t have to worry about some straight guy starting trouble (although he did have to fend off a grope more than once in a while in the Jacuzzi).
CAULEY LIVED in Rosebank on Staten Island, near the Verrazano Bridge—which was only about a forty-minute drive from Long Island City, where Kevin lived—and he got there just before noon. He’d visited a couple of places on the way: picked up his dry-cleaning, dropped off his DVD at a Redbox (a Joe Hill movie; it wasn’t all that good but he thought Daniel Radcliffe was adorable), and then stopped at a flower stand and bought a big bright sunflower he thought Cauley would like. He suspected, though, that it was something else he’d grabbed that would bring his ex more joy.