by B. G. Thomas
Such a sweet man. Quiet. Had he ever heard the man say anything but “Hodor”?
He seemed so lonely.
Could he be as lonely as me?
Quite suddenly, and with a small gasp, Wyatt realized something.
Wyatt realized that not only was he lonely, but…
…he’d been that way for a very long time.
A lot longer than the last several months.
He’d been lonely long before Howard had kicked him out of their home.
So lonely.
And gods, he needed to be not lonely. If for only one single night. To be held.
Wyatt was torn.
Should I go down there? Screw being alone? He had a deep feeling that Hodor would want him to come. Hadn’t he seen it in his eyes?
He’d always thought Hodor was hot.
Of course, he’d thought a lot of men where hot. He’d been with a lot of men. Howard had seen to that. Encouraged it.
Howard….
Howard who had convinced him that his dreams of finding fairy-tale love were total bullshit. Convinced him that his dreams were silly. Talked him into doing things he hadn’t wanted to do. Made him believe that it was fun.
But wasn’t it?
“We’re men, Wyatt. The only reason you want monogamy is that’s what you’ve been taught. It’s cultural brainwashing. That you’re supposed to be with only one person. But that is so medieval. Monogamy was invented so a man would know his heir was his kid. But you and me? Gay men? We can’t have kids. And when you see a guy who turns you on? And he’s willing? You should be able to have sex with him. You should have that right. You should be able to go for it. All men are different. We like different things. We’re shaped different. We have different-sized cocks. Some are cut, some are uncut. God! Think about it! You’ve got jocks and bears and cubs and chubs and pups and muscle men and leathermen and twinks and lumberjacks and otters, and that’s not even counting black men and Asian men and men from the Middle East and Latinos. And there is all they like to do. Some men like to fuck. Some like to be fucked. There’s role-playing and rough sex and spanking and watersports and sounding and orgies and….”
And somehow Howard had convinced him.
To be fair, he’d had a lot of fun. Done all kinds of things with all kinds of men. He’d had real adventures to make any homebound dreamer and writer of the stories at Men on the Net or Nifty Archives or Literotica green with envy. He happened to know for a fact that a lot of those men, many of them married, were way too terrified to ever have real gay sex. They were men who wrote about their dreams and fantasies when their wives were asleep or at work instead of actually living and experiencing the lives they would have liked.
And maybe I’m being too judgmental?
Maybe.
And maybe not.
How many people were miserable because they’d been too afraid to be who they really were? How lonely must that be?
Maybe Hodor could use a night of not being lonely.
Wyatt looked down the path again.
But then, out of nowhere, a memory filled Wyatt’s mind, a memory of a drunken night hanging out at Domi’s tent. A night he’d made a pass at Hodor. And gods….
Hodor had turned him down.
(“I… I can’t, Little Bear. I… I don’t fool around with married men….”)
He’d tried to convince Hodor. Tried to convince him that men couldn’t get married (or they couldn’t then) and so why should they bend to the rules of a society that hated them? Why shouldn’t they fool around?
But Hodor had still turned him down.
(“I’m going to regret this Little Bear… but I can’t.”)
Gods.
He said that he was going to regret not having sex with me.
Wyatt swallowed hard.
Hodor wanted more than a one-night stand. He wanted more than sex. He turned me away because he wanted something more than a drunken night of sex.
Could Hodor want the fairy tale that Howard said didn’t exist? Howard had laughed at his desire for happily ever after. And Wyatt had been so desperate to be with Howard—so afraid to lose him, to be on his own—he’d forsaken his dreams. Was Hodor holding out for the fairy-tale ending after all?
But then Wyatt remembered something else. Remembered a slowly growing conviction.
A real thought that had filled his mind more than once lately.
What if there really were some strange cosmic order at hand? What if the Universe only allowed so much love to go around? What if him having Howard all those years had somehow blocked his friends from finding love? What if their finally finding love—love they deserved to have—meant that he needed to be single? That the cosmic balance had shifted. What if his even walking down to Hodor’s cabin somehow endangered his friends’ happiness?
Wyatt thought about how lonely and hurt and grieving Sloan had been until he met Max. Had he ever seen Sloan so happy before? The image of Sloan and Max standing on his porch all flushed and happy not so long ago filled his mind. Imagine. Sloan having sex! He had finally gotten over his ridiculous crush on Asher and made a life.
How could I stand in the way of that?
And speaking of Asher, he had found love. Asher! The man who had more sex in one year than Wyatt had had in his whole life—and that was saying something. Asher who laughed at love. A man who could be so damned selfish and conceited had found love. Sweet love. Asher catered to Peni in a way that reminded him of the Harlequin Romances that Wyatt’s mother had read by the truckload (until his father had forbade them). Books that Wyatt had smuggled and read and dreamed of a strong handsome lover who would take him away and love him forever.
What if even flirting with Hodor somehow jinxed Asher and Peni? Could he live with himself if that happened?
And Scott. Goddess. What about Scott? Wyatt had never known an angrier and more pessimistic man in his life. Sure, his parents had been horrible. Wyatt knew all about horrible parents. But Scott hadn’t found someone to take care of him—even a “someone” who turned out to be a man who would later reject him (at least Wyatt had had love). Instead, Scott had transformed from a man who scoffed at anyone’s religious beliefs to a tree-hugging believer in manifesting your own destiny and seeing the Divine in every blade of grass. And the love of a good man—Cedar—had helped.
What if Hodor tried to kiss Wyatt? Like in his vision? What if a kiss could send out some kind of shockwave into the Universe and Scott and Cedar broke up? How could he look at himself in the mirror if something like that happened?
No.
He couldn’t.
His friends deserved some happiness. They’d been alone too long. Now it was his—Wyatt’s—turn to be alone. And really, as long as he had this land, and friends like Gryphon and Saff, and of course best friends like the Fabulous Four plus three, he wouldn’t be alone.
And yet that sense of loneliness threatened to settle over him. He thought of Hodor, so close. Would it hurt his mission to seek out a little company? But no. Wyatt sat up straight, thrust out his chest, stiffened his jaw, and made up his mind.
He would not go see Hodor. He would turn his back on that vision.
If the gods really had decreed that he should be single, then that’s the way it would be. It was time he learned to love himself.
And hadn’t he heard that was the greatest love of all?
If the gods had something else in mind—if the Queer Spirits had some other destiny planned for him—he doubted he would be able to change it.
You’re being silly, an inner voice told him. There’s no such thing as a cosmic “love balance.” People break up. You and Howard broke up. How many relationships have you seen come to an end? Plenty. Both gay and straight.
For a moment Wyatt didn’t say anything. Didn’t even think anything. How did he answer himself? Because wasn’t the idea that his and Howard’s love had blocked anybody from finding love pretty crazy?
There was a sudden howl of cold wind t
hrough the trees. Wyatt’s short hair ruffled nonetheless. He shivered. Then laughed. Answered the wind with a long raspberry.
Cosmic love balance.
Silly!
He took a deep breath. Looked southward down the path. Thought of Hodor. Shivered again.
With that came a tiny little flake of snow. It drifted down like an oversized piece of dandelion fluff, floating, floating…. Then came another. And another. One caught in his eyelashes, and he absently wiped it away.
The snow had begun.
Within moments the air was awhirl with it. Wyatt sighed in wonder. Lovely! He’d never seen it snow at Camp. He’d always been there in the warm months—dancing around barefoot (even naked)—and worshiping the sun. Literally.
But this!
This really did look like something out of a fairy tale. And as it fell thicker, he could almost imagine Snedronningen, the Snow Queen, walking out of the woods, surrounded by her great swirling swarms of snow bees, waving her arms and orchestrating this fall of snow with her magick.
Wyatt smiled. Stood until he was coated, like a sugar-powdered cake, with white. Then he shook himself off and went inside.
He had plenty of wood. He added some to the fire. The snow would be nice.
And hadn’t Gryphon said there would only be a few inches?
He couldn’t wait to wake up and see.
IN THE dream he got up from his bed and went to Hodor’s cabin. He knew it was a dream because all he was wearing was his bearskin, and he didn’t feel the cold of the falling flakes. He was even barefoot, and he was walking through the snow, and then… then he was… was dropping to his hands and knees and bounding down the path on all fours. He was a bear! He could see that his hands were covered in deep dark brown fur and they ended in large black claws.
It was wonderful! He wanted to laugh it felt so good, but what came out were strange noises that he imagined were those a bear would make.
He dashed down the path, flew past North 2, went around a bend, and saw North 1 down at the end. The windows facing him were lit up, and he could see Hodor. He wasn’t wearing his shirt, and even from there Wyatt could see the flexing muscles and the hair on his chest. Desire filled him.
Then Hodor was looking out the window. He saw Wyatt. Saw him coming.
He left the room and came out onto the porch of his cabin and was naked, and he was holding out his arms.
With a mighty leap, Wyatt was on the porch and rising up and throwing his huge hairy arms around the man and then… then they weren’t hairy. They were his own arms, and the bearskin was wrapping around them both and they pressed their bodies together and they kissed. They opened their mouths to each other, tongues plunging and lashing together.
Kevin picked Wyatt up, and somehow they were going through the cabin door, and when they went inside, it was Wyatt’s cabin, although the stove was now a roaring fireplace. The bed—big, much bigger, with a huge headboard carved deep with the figures of two mighty bears—was covered in furs. Then they were on it, Hodor over him and taking him, and even though Wyatt knew it was a dream, it felt so real!
He came in his sleep, something he hadn’t done since he was twelve, and it was powerful and it was good and he awoke and he smiled and then he fell gently back to sleep and if he dreamed again, he didn’t remember.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WYATT WOKE to darkness.
What time is it? he wondered.
He glanced in the direction of his alarm clock but couldn’t see it. Where was it? He reached out and felt for it. It must have gotten turned around. But when he did find it, turned it this way and that, he saw that it wasn’t working.
Had a circuit blown? Had he lost power?
He got up and stumbled around. It wasn’t pitch-black. There was cool white light coming from around and under the shades he’d drawn. So it was morning, then. He found the chains that hung from the combination light and ceiling fan and pulled the one with the little plastic fairy attached to the end and… nothing. He pulled it again. Still nothing.
Had he turned the light off with the switch by the door?
Wyatt made his way there. His eyes were adjusting, and he could now make out the ghost images of the little table, chairs, the bunk beds against one wall, the two beds by the door. When he got to the door, he flicked the switch and again, nothing.
What?
He looked outside to see if the big yellow light over the porch was on. Flicked switches. Nothing.
That was when he saw the snow.
He gasped.
“Goddess,” he whispered.
He opened the door.
“Oh!” he said with a little cry and thought once again of Snedronningen, the Snow Queen.
It was no two inches of snow.
No, what he was seeing was at least two feet of snow. Maybe three. Why, there was a foot piled like little white walls on the porch railing. He could hardly see the stove, even though it had been sheltered under the porch awning. Snow was piled at least a foot against the screen door. It was almost scary-looking.
He pushed at the screen door, trying to open it. The screen bowed, making him worry it would break. It didn’t. And he managed to get it swung to the side enough for him to stand sock-footed on a pie wedge of cleared porch and look down at the south-facing steps. It was a slope. He couldn’t see steps at all. The slope went about halfway down and then leveled out into a vast plain of white. The bear he’d placed there was only a slight hump. He couldn’t see anything but trees and snow. The chairs around the fire pit to the south of the cabin were only bigger humps.
“Oh my…,” he said to the early morning air, and his words turned into a white fog about his face.
Wyatt glanced up at the porch light again.
“The power lines must be down,” he said aloud and was once more enveloped in white fog.
A sudden realization came to him then. The famous “ridge” everyone at Camp talked about. The one south of Sanctuary. It had fucked with the weather patterns before. He remembered a Memorial Day event at Camp where it had rained nonstop for four days, the only letup being a fine mist, but usually a constant downfall. The weathermen had forecast a few hours of possibly severe thunderstorms on Friday. The so-called “ridge” had trapped the weather formation and kept it raining the whole holiday weekend. It had been miserable, saved only by the parties and shows under the pavilion up top.
White, white, white, as far as he could see. There was not so much as a bird hopping across the surface. No little paw prints of squirrels or raccoons or other woodland creatures. It made him feel lonely again. Surreal. For a moment he wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming a new dream.
That made him remember his dream with Hodor, and it was then he realized he had come in his sleep. He could feel where his semen had dried on his belly and in his pubic hair, and he scratched at it. That was when he heard the mild mechanical roar coming from the south. It was either a snow blower or…. A generator, Wyatt thought. Gryphon and Saff must have a generator. They would have lights and heat and…
Shit! I’m letting my heat out!
He went inside and closed the door, then fumbled to the stove and put several logs inside. The very hot coals seemed to attack them with hunger, and the wood caught while he watched. He left the door open long enough to find a candle and then made a makeshift match with a twig and lit it. He had no idea where his lighter was. That’s what happened when you didn’t smoke. You misplaced lighters.
He held the glass pillar candle high and walked around the room, trying to spot more candles. He found a few stubby votives, burned mostly up, and two half-used taper candles on a window ledge, and that was it.
I guess I should have paid attention to Other Person Lady, he thought. And brought the candles that Ut-naps-ism—
“Utnapishtim!” came the echo of the old lady’s voice.
—the candles that Oot-nah-pish-tim told me to bring. Green candles and not the purple ones, of course. Because
Utnapishtim said…
“He says that forest green are best.”
Right now he just wished he’d brought any color of candles.
Then he discovered that even with all the shades pulled, there really was quite a bit of light in the cabin. It wouldn’t help tonight, but that was okay.
Wyatt’s stomach rumbled. He was hungry.
But there was no power. So no microwaved eggs this morning.
His eyes went to the little wood-burning stove. Of course, he thought. And there were a few frying pans. Buried in the snow on the porch maybe, but…. But no, there they were hanging on the wall over the stove. Had he brought Pam? Yes. He knew he had. Butter flavored.
Hey. This could be fun if he let it! He fought back the feeling of loneliness and the sneaking wave of melancholy that threatened. No! What was Max always saying? It was okay to feel something, but he didn’t have to let it control him. He would not let that feeling take him over. He would experience this to the full. Another adventure. After all, he wasn’t in danger. He had heat. He had some light at least. He had food. He had food he didn’t need to cook and a stove to cook the rest.
His iPod would last for hours, so he had music even if he couldn’t blast his boom box. He had an emergency charger. Had bought one after Pride one year when his cell phone had run out. Howard hadn’t remembered to ask about it, and Wyatt hadn’t volunteered it for the Great Divide.
Wyatt smiled. It wasn’t like he was trapped after all, right? Surely Gryphon would be using the Bobcat to clear the snow away. A day or so. And hadn’t he also said that when the lines had come down in the past, the longest Camp had been without power was a day or so?
No. He would make the best of it.
It really could be fun.
KEVIN WOKE up shivering. He sat up, the covers half falling off him, and shivered all the more. “Freezing!” he said aloud. He swung his big legs out of bed and reached for the light chain that he knew hung there, pulled it, and nothing happened. He tried again.
He knew right away what had happened.