Loving Noah

by Kenna Knight

“Thanks.”

  I stand and make my way back into the house picking up his clothes as I go. First, is his Nike t-shirt that says ‘Just Do It,’ then a sock, and his shorts, and finally in the kitchen, his boxers.

  When I return, he slides the boxers up his legs and pads back into the house. “You don’t think anyone saw me do you?” he asks.

  “No, your neighbors aren’t exactly night owls. Pretty sure they all went to bed seven or eight hours ago.”

  “What are you two doing up so late?” Kitty says entering the kitchen and stopping short when she finds us almost naked. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, just go back to… to whatever it was you were doing.” She turns and starts back down the hall, but Noah calls her back.

  “Kitty, it’s not what you think. Come back, I need to ask you something.”

  The scuffling of her slippers stops, and she pauses before coming back down the hall. “I’m a psychiatrist, Noah, and I’m straight. I don’t think I’m the one to ask about…” She waves her hand in the direction of our torsos, and I can’t help but smile. She’s too much.

  “Oh my God, Kitty, I’m not asking a sex question. I wanted to know if you can remember when I stopped sleepwalking.”

  She frowns and jerks her head back, “Sleepwalking, you haven’t done that in forever. Why do you ask?”

  “I just found him by the pool naked, asleep, and talking to himself.”

  “Naked?”

  “Yes. I never took my clothes off when I was sleepwalking, did I?

  “Heavens no, and you never went outside either.”

  Noah turns to me. “What was I saying?”

  “You said don’t make me go, but you didn’t just say it once, you were chanting it over and over. When I spoke to you, you thought I was your mother.”

  “My mother? Are you sure? I haven’t thought about her in years.”

  “Liam is part of your past and so is your mother. Most likely his presence is making you think of your life back in Ohio,” Kitty says.

  “Did I say anything else?”

  I lean against the counter and glance down at my feet. “Nothing much.”

  “What is it, Liam? Please tell me what I said.”

  “It wasn’t important. You don’t want to rehash any of that stuff. It’s ancient history.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that, what did I say?”

  “You begged your mother not to send you away. You told her you weren’t sick, and you told her you didn’t want to leave your friends, me in particular.” I tried to protect him from the pain of reliving that moment, but he asked for it, so I gave it to him.

  Now the stricken sad expression on his face tells me I should have kept my big mouth shut. But I know Noah well, and he would not have let up until I told him.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to open old wounds.”

  “I’m going back to bed now. Kitty, do you still have the bells?” he asks ignoring my apology. Kitty looks back and forth between Noah and me with concern.

  “Yes, I think they’re in the storage closet with the Christmas decorations.”

  “Could you hang them on my doorknob in case I try to take off again?”

  “Of course, dear. Not to worry, I’ll catch you if you try to leave again.”

  Bells on the door, that’s their alarm system? Good God, it’s a miracle Noah hasn’t drown or been hit by a car yet. How are they sure he quit sleepwalking? Kitty snores like a banshee, and Noah would have been asleep.

  Noah wanders down the hall, and when I hear his door click shut, I confront Kitty.

  “How can you be sure he hasn’t been doing this all along? What made you think he stopped years ago?”

  “He used to be tired all the time, especially in the morning, and when he was doing it regularly, he woke up in odd places that he didn’t go to sleep in. When he started feeling more refreshed every morning, and he wasn’t waking up on the couch or under the dining room table, we thought it stopped. As I said, it’s probably related to having you back in his life. Give him time, and he will work through it. He’s stronger than you think.”

  “I don’t doubt his strength or ability to cope, I’m more concerned that he will hurt himself. Would you mind if I looked into something more sophisticated than bells on his doorknob? Surely there’s something better.”

  “I don’t mind at all but…” She sits down on a bar stool at the island and fiddles with the fringe on the sleeve of her nightgown.

  “But what?”

  “Liam, are you two going to make a go of this relationship?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “I assume Noah will be going to Washington, D.C. with you since you have a career there, and if that’s so, what would be the point of having some fancy expensive security system put into my house?”

  She has been preparing herself for this, for losing her surrogate son. She is planning for the future the way Noah and I should be doing. Instead, we are floating along through this week in a dream world not making a single plan for what will happen next.

  I wonder if he is sure about moving in with me. He seemed adamant about it when we talked the other day, but this is a life-changing decision, and Noah doesn’t do well with change.

  “You’re right, I need to talk to him about this some more to be sure it’s what he wants. In your professional opinion, do you think he will be okay moving? I know he’s made a lot of improvement this week, but he’s here where things are familiar, and Washington, D.C. is very different from Miami.”

  “I believe, in my professional opinion, that wherever you are is where Noah should be. He will adapt. I’m not saying it will be easy, change never is for anyone, but with your love and support, I think he will blossom and finally live the life he deserves.”

  “You’re putting a lot of faith in me, Kitty. I don’t want to disappoint either of you. Being Noah’s magic bullet carries a heavy weight of responsibility.”

  She slides off the stool and rounds the island to give me an awkward I’m wearing nothing but boxers, and she’s my boyfriend’s aunt/mother hug. When she pulls away, she pats my cheek. “You’re a good man, Liam Stone. Take good care of my baby.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  17

  Noah – Meant To Be

  When I used to sleepwalk, I could never go back to sleep and tonight’s no exception. Laying on my back staring at the time on my ceiling, I can’t help but wonder if I will ever get over what my parents did to me.

  If it was only about them sending me away for being something they didn’t understand, maybe. But it wasn’t like that. I can’t remember a time when my father wasn’t abusing me in one way or another.

  He knew I was different early on. I didn’t care for sports, and I couldn’t understand why he expected me to play with trucks and guns or wrestle the neighbors’ kids. I wanted to read a book, play with my stuffed animals, or take pictures of nature, and I had no interest in girls.

  Mom was more tolerant of my choices. When I was young, she would defend me and tell my dad he was too hard on me. The older I got, the clearer it became I wasn’t going to change my ways, and she stopped having my back. My dad was relentless in his efforts to get me involved in masculine activities, and when I wasn’t good at them, I got my ass beat.

  The day-to-day verbal abuse was more painful than the beatings. He called me names and degraded me at home and in public. He told me I would never amount to anything, and he never once congratulated me on my perfect grades or the awards I received for my photography. He came to a couple of track meets until he decided that running was for sissies, and he wasn’t going to waste his precious time attending.

  I don’t know why I wanted to stay with them—it was a horrible environment to live in—but it was all I knew. When their lack of love for me was validated by sending me away, it crushed my soul and broke my heart.

  Why couldn’t they look past my sexual orientation and see the handsome son who had a 4
.0 GPA and a promising career in photography? I was kind and loving, and I never got into trouble. They could have gotten worse like David Briar who stole his mother’s car and mowed down three kids on a sidewalk killing them all when he was fifteen years old.

  Honest to God, I think they would have taken David over me. Being a juvenile delinquent was more acceptable than being gay. The boys-will-be-boys thing worked for David but not for me.

  I am a leper, a castaway who was disowned by his family because my heart chose to love men instead of women.

  I look up when my squeaky door opens a crack. “Care if I come in?” Liam asks.

  “No, come in, I’m awake, probably will be the rest of the night.”

  He opens the door all the way and crosses the room still dressed in only his boxers. He sits on the bed next to me. “You okay?” he asks.

  “I’m all right, thanks for looking for me. Why were you awake anyway?”

  “I feel responsible for this. I got up to change my clothes and put my phone on the charger. When I came back, you were gone. If I hadn’t disturbed you, you’d probably still be sleeping.”

  “It’s not your fault, and I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

  “I do worry, though, and we need to talk about whether or not you are going to come to Washington, D.C. with me.”

  “What do you mean whether or not, have you changed your mind?”

  “No, but you haven’t made up yours yet, and I want you to be sure.”

  “How do you know I haven’t made up my mind? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in my head who knows what I feel. And I’m coming with you if the invitation still stands.”

  “It does, it always will. If you’re sure, we need to start preparing. You have things to pack, we need to hire movers, we need to get your driver’s license switched over, your mailing address changed, medical records sent to a new doctor, close bank accounts…”

  “Okay, okay, I get what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything. I just want you to realize what a significant change this is going to be if you’re serious.”

  I throw off my covers and roll out of my bed on the opposite side near my computer. I sit down and start tapping keys, pulling up moving services, address change forms, and a request to close my bank account. When I’m finished making arrangements, I swivel my chair around and look at him with a confident expression. “Is that good enough for you? The only thing left is to get a Washington, D.C. driver’s license and have my medical records sent to a new clinic. I’ll pack up my computers and clothes tomorrow and fly home with you on Monday.” I’m not usually much of a planner, but I have been dreaming of this day since I was in the eleventh grade.

  Liam looks impressed and pats the bed next to him. When I sit with him, he turns his cheek to me and taps it. I kiss him there, he taps his opposite cheek, and I kiss that one as well.

  “We’re moving in together,” he says with serious eyes.

  “We are moving in together,” I confirm.

  “Washington, D.C. is cold. Are you sure you want to give up your tropical paradise for me?”

  “Positive. Snuggling by a fire with you and building snowmen in the winter sounds perfect. Shuffling through the fall leaves and drinking pumpkin spice latte’s in the fall, sounds even more perfect. The smell of rain when we take walks through the park in the spring and visiting museums and having picnics by the Washington monument in the summer—perfect, perfect, perfect.”

  “Noah, nothing is that perfect.”

  Gah, I want to shake him and order him to be over-the-moon happy like I am, but instead, I prod him for information. Something has him hesitating, turning everything into an obstacle instead of solving problems.

  “Again with the negativity. Did some wizard come and steal your optimism? Did he pour out your glass that was always half full? Will you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Am I that bad?”

  “Yes, lately, you are.”

  He takes my hand and pulls us both down on our backs next to one another staring at the ceiling. “I have never been in a serious relationship. I like things my way. I’m a control freak, and sometimes I’m downright opinionated, judgmental, and difficult to be around. What I’m trying to say is I have been on my best behavior this week because I’m on vacation, and I feel like we are in this perfect cocoon where nothing can go wrong. I don’t want you to be disappointed when you get to Washington, D.C., and I have to go back to real life. What you just described sounds like a dream and dreams aren’t real. I don’t want to uproot you from your life and have you hate me for it someday when you’re sitting in the living room by the fireplace alone because I’m stuck at work and the snow is ten feet deep.”

  Now that’s just ridiculous. I pop up off the bed and crawl into his lap straddling his hips so I can look him straight in the eyes when I say what I’m about to say. “Liam, I love you. It doesn’t get any better than what we have together. I don’t give a shit if you’re a grumpy ass when you get home at midnight from work. I don’t care about the weather or your controlling, judgmental, opinionated personality traits. I know you, and I love you, and that’s it, no more.”

  The corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly, and his hands wander along my bare thighs. “I like this bossy, take-control Noah, he’s hot.” His eyes are dark, and his cock is growing hard for me, which is making me hard, too.

  “Your pessimism was getting out of control, and you needed a little roughing up.” I place my hands on his sculpted pectorals and sweep my thumbs across his nipples.

  “Oh, now you’re going to roughen me up? Tell me more.”

  He called me out, and now I have a bright red heat crawling up my neck to my cheeks.

  “Come on, don’t get shy on me now. Punish me for being Debbie Downer, teach me a lesson.” He winks and my cock twitches in my boxers. I have no idea how to punish him or what he even means by that, but I want him, and since I seem to be in control, I’m taking what I want.

  He watches me as I place my hands on either side of him and move off the bed. I drop my pink, polka-dotted briefs and lean over him to pull his off as well. His cock stands straight and proud begging me to wrap my lips around it, but I’m supposed to be punishing him. Withholding is punishment but that’s punishing me, too. I don’t want to wait, I want him, so I say screw it. “Scoot back on the bed,” I say and go to lock my door. I’m pretty sure Aunt Kitty won’t walk in on us, but locking it makes me feel better.

  When I return to him, I crawl up the bed between his legs and kiss the inside of his thighs. When I reach his sack, I suck and lick until he’s practically begging me to blow him. I drag my tongue along his veiny shaft all the way to the tip, but when I’m about to take him, he stops me. “Wait.”

  “You’re kidding, right? What am I waiting for?”

  “Turn around. I want to taste you.”

  Turn around. He wants to sixty-nine. Oh my God, this is going to be good. I do as I’m told. Somehow he has taken control of the situation as he always does, but I don’t care when his hands spread my ass apart, and his warm mouth engulfs my cock.

  I moan with pleasure almost forgetting to fulfill my end of the deal. It’s not easy to concentrate on him when fireworks are exploding between my legs, but I’m no quitter.

  We find a rhythm. He takes all of me while I swirl my tongue around his tip, and then we switch, he sucks me to the tip, and I take him so deep he’s hitting the back of my throat. I wish we could do this forever, but it’s all too much. He knows I’m going to cum from the cues my body is giving him, and I feel him grow thick in my mouth.

  We cum together sucking, swallowing every last drop until I collapse on my side, and he props himself up on one elbow. “You’re not very good at punishment. That was fucking amazing.”

  “I have no idea how to punish you. I’m still learning the basics here. I might need a lesson or two, or three or four.” I smile, and he sits up and
turns onto his side, so we are mirroring each other.

  He cups my cheek and pierces me with his serious dark eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, too.” I’m assuming he is thanking me for a great blowjob, but it feels like more.

  “Not for the blowjob, although that was amazing like I said, but thank you for loving me for who I am.”

  I reach out and wind my hand around the back of his neck and thread my fingers in his hair at his nape. “I could say the same thing. I come with a lot of baggage, but you seem to believe it’s worth hauling around.”

  “It is. Your baggage is now my baggage.”

  “We should go on a trip with all that baggage.”

  “Maybe we will someday, like a honeymoon.”

  Honeymoons come after weddings and weddings come after proposals. Is he proposing? I don’t know if I’m ready for a proposal, or marriage, or a honeymoon.

  “Don’t look so scared. I’m not proposing or anything, yet.”

  Oh boy, I almost sighed with relief until the ‘yet.’

  “You’re freaked out, aren’t you? Does the idea of marrying me scare you that much? I hope not because, Noah Benjamin Miller, I’m going to marry you someday. It might not be for a couple of years, but I will ask, and I expect you to agree.”

  “I will.” The words spill out of my mouth without thinking. He all but proposed to me, and I all but said yes, just not for a few years. I can’t imagine loving anyone else the way I love Liam. There’s no sense in avoiding the inevitable, we are the definition of ‘meant to be.’ And so we shall be.

  18

  Liam – Until Next Time

  Noah’s room is a mess, his aunt is a mess, and his life, in general, is a mess. He has never moved before. When his parents sent him to Florida, they didn’t send much. He told me he had a suitcase full of winter clothes that he could never wear and a couple of baseball hats his dad forced him to take.

  He told me the story of how he and Aunt Kitty burned the clothes and the hats in a fire pit as therapy one night. He said he loved her for that. He loves her for so many things. She was the mother and the father he never had. Her interest in his well-being went far beyond his parents’ expectations. She loved him so hard Noah says he wondered if she did it to prove a point. She made sure he knew that he was valuable and worthy of love. She taught him to be proud of who he is, and she fostered the things he enjoyed doing, not the things she thought he should enjoy.