It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  A mist rises around the car where the rain hits it and bounces up. I bump into the passenger side, the rainwater seeping through the front of my sweater, my jeans, in an instant, leaving me deliciously cold. Dan’s right behind me and I roll away, still laughing, so he can unlock the door. “Hurry!” I tell him between giggles. “I’m all wet.”

  The look he throws my way grabs me below the belt and squeezes until I’m hard and aching all over again. “I thought you wanted to wait until tonight,” he jokes, opening the door. I have no answer for that, but fortunately he stands aside as he holds the door so I can slide into my seat.

  Inside the car is dry and cool and dark from the clouds outside. Rain pounds the steel body like whips, lashing at the windows, the roof. Water runnels down the glass, streaking the world outside, the too-green grasses, the overly-brown trees. Everything out there has intensified, all the colors bleeding like too much oil on a canvas, wet and beginning to seep together around the edges. I swear I can see the bruised sky running into the black branches, into the battered land.

  Dan runs around the front of the car, fumbles with the key in the lock and the rain comes down harder as he struggles with the door. Then it’s open, and icy air curls around my damp legs, my heavy sweater as he gets in. “Whew,” he sighs, almost breathless with another laugh. “Chance of rain, isn’t that what they said this morning?”

  I don’t know, but I laugh with him. The sound of the rain hammering around us is almost deafening in the closed car. He puts the keys in the ignition but doesn’t turn the engine over yet, just sits there and waits, staring out the windshield at the downpour. The way it’s coming down now, we could float home. “Maybe we should wait for it to ease up,” I say, my voice hushed. A glance at the dashboard clock tells me it’s still early enough to be considered morning, but the clouds have erased the sun from the sky and inside the car it feels like late afternoon, it’s that shady. Almost unconsciously, my hand snakes between the seats to find Dan’s. His fingers closing over mine are a warm comfort. “We might not make it home in this,” I worry.

  “We’ll be fine,” he assures me with a squeeze of my hand. He turns the key and the car comes alive around us with a quiet hum. As if in competition, the rain seems to pick up a bit, flinging down with a fierceness that’s almost beautiful. My lover puts the car into gear and eases back onto the road, which I can’t see through the rain so I have no clue how he thinks he’s okay to drive on it. It’s not blacktop, it’s a swirling river now. Remembering his wipers, he turns them on full speed but they do little to clear our vision—water pours down our windshield in buckets and the wipers just cut right through it, clearing a swath across the glass for a brief second before its filled again with more water, more rain. What’s so bad with waiting this storm out? Just cuddling up in the back seat, watching the world rage around us while we keep each other warm?

  But Dan has a mission—he is going to get us home. I can almost hear his thoughts, we’re back to where we used to be, thank God, he’s thinking that he needs to get me back to Evie’s, he has to keep me safe. His hand clenches mine like he’s holding on for dear life, he won’t let go, won’t let me drift away again. With one hand on the steering wheel, he turns the car around in the middle of the road, driving all of five miles an hour, cursing beneath his breath because the heat has begun to fog up the bottom of the windshield. “Just head back the way we came,” he mutters, leaning close over the wheel and squinting out at the rain. I don’t mention that if someone is barreling down the road, they’ll hit us broadside, they won’t even see us in this mess. “We can’t get lost if we just go back the same way we got here, right?”

  It’s a rhetorical question so I don’t reply. Instead I kick on the defrost and, watching Dan from the corner of my eye to make sure he doesn’t see me, I check my seat belt to make sure it’s secure. Beneath us, the road feels as slick as ice or oil and if we start to hydroplane, the last thing I want is to go flying from the damn car because my seat belt comes undone.

  Halfway through the turn, we do start to skid and I let go of Dan’s hand the same instant that he shakes free to grip the wheel. “Baby,” I caution, my heart in my throat. The world dips away dangerously and I clutch the door, my seat, anything to hold onto while the car threatens to pull out from under us. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea—”

  Dan’s reply is caustic. “Michael, please,” he snaps. I purse my lips in a frightened grimace but stay silent. He knows what he’s doing, I tell myself. He won’t hurt me, he’ll keep me safe. Though I can’t help but wonder why we can’t just sit this out on the side of the road, would that be too much to ask?

  He turns into the skid and for a few heart-stopping moments, I don’t think we’re going to make it, we’ll go out in a spin and get all turned around and end up in the grass on the side of the road, alive if we’re lucky and if we’re not…but Dan bullies the car into straightening out, the black river of highway fills the windshield and the grasses stay on either side where they belong. I don’t dare breathe yet, though. It’s not over. I have a feeling I won’t draw air into my lungs again until we pull onto the lawn at Aunt Evie’s where we belong. With a long, shuddery breath, Dan relaxes slightly, his shoulders loosen, he sits back from the wheel a little and sighs. “Okay, there. See? We’re good to go.” He looks away from the road long enough to give me a wink. “Not a problem—”

  The car fishtails and he overcorrects, sending us dangerously close to the muddy shoulder. “Watch the road,” I tell him.

  “I am,” he answers. He’s leaning close to the windshield again, as if he can see through the shit pouring down out there if he just squints hard enough. “I’ve got it.”

  You’re going to get us killed, I think, but I press my lips together and keep the words inside where he can’t hear them and I don’t have to apologize for them. He’s so tight, hunched over the wheel like that, he’s going to be a bundle of hurt when we get back to the house. My hand trails up his arm, over bunched muscles, around his shoulder and up the back of his neck. Raindrops stand out like dew in his close-cropped hair—they dissolve beneath my palm when I brush over them gently. My fingers rub through the tight bristles and come away flecked with water. His hair is that short, so close to his scalp that it’s almost a pelt when it gets wet like this, it lies down in tiny little waves like a dark sea. It’s a fine, light brown when he lets it grow out—I know not because I’ve ever seen it long but because I’ve seen the rest of his body, and the hair that curls at his crotch and trails down his legs is a fuzzy tan color that’s darker than mine. Though mine’s dyed, at least on top, bleached to a shade that makes me look like I spend my days bumming down the shore. But it’s naturally that dirty blonde shade that on children seems to darken as they grow. I wonder if mine never did that because I never have grown up. I’ve never put the past behind me, I’ve never considered myself an adult until this weekend. Until now, actually. Now Stephen is behind me, Dan is my future, and my family…well, I’ll just deal with them as I have to, that’s all. We’ll deal with them, together. And that makes me feel okay about it, I know I’ll handle anything my parents or my aunts might throw at me, simply because I know Dan will be right beside me the whole time.

  I’ll make it through the funeral tomorrow, I know I will. Because of this man beside me. Because of Dan.

  He relaxes at my touch. His breathing evens, he leans back into my hand, he smiles, though this time he keeps his eyes on the road. “That feels nice,” he murmurs. “If I wasn’t driving…”

  “I told you to pull over,” I laugh as my hand finds the top of his ear and I trace the curved flesh, pinch the cartilage playfully. “We don’t have to rush back, you know. Just park somewhere on the side of the road to wait it out.”

  “And do what?” he challenges. He shivers when my fingers slip behind his ear—he’s tender there, almost ticklish, and I know for a fact that it turns him on something horrible when I play like this. When I want him hard in a hurry
, all I have to do is blow in his ear a little bit, or bite his earlobe, or lick the sensitive skin at the top of his ear and he melts in my arms. Sometimes in the middle of making love, I’ll thrust deep into him, as far as I can go, and hold it there while I nuzzle his ear—I’ve brought him to tears that way before, I’ve made him beg for release. Now he squirms away and warns, “Michael, I’m trying to drive.”

  “If you listened to me,” I tease, “then we wouldn’t be on the road in this mess. We’d be snuggled up in the back seat and out of these wet clothes—”

  Dan laughs. “Why didn’t you bring this up before?” he asks. “I was open to suggestions.”

  A spot of color has appeared high up on his cheek, just below his eye, where the skin is starting to pink with excitement. Me playing with his ear, that’s what it’s from. “You seemed so gung-ho to get home,” I counter. “I thought you had a hot date, or something.”

  “You and me in that back room,” he says. “That’s the only thing I’m riding on here. You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

  I’m well aware of the effect I have on him—I can see his arousal beginning to tent the front of his jeans, I’m thinking the back room, too, and the sheets wrapped around our legs, the two of us beneath the covers in the dark, the only light whatever sun filters in through the single window, rain like tears tracing watery patterns down the glass. But the storm is easing up a bit—the roar outside has abated somewhat and when the wipers cross the windshield, the path they clear doesn’t seem to fill in as fast as it did before. “Picture this,” I say, and I pause for so long that he dares to look away from the road and at me again, a quizzical expression on his face. “Didn’t Aunt Bobbie say something about a hot tub downstairs?”

  His lips pull into a slow grin. “Someone mentioned it,” he says, turning back to the road. Up ahead the Sugar Creek town sign materializes from the fog and rain like a lighthouse on the edge of rough seas. My heart swells inside my chest and there’s a sense of homecoming so strong that it threatens to choke me. This is where I belong, I think suddenly, the thought simple and pure and true. Right here, Dan beside me. I can live anywhere else but this is where I’ll always be. This is home. As if he can hear my thoughts, my lover rubs his cheek against my wrist, still on his shoulder, and says softly, “Almost there.”

  The torrents trickle off to a light rain and the world looms up around us from the wet landscape, houses drenched and darkened, yards verdant, shrubbery overripe. Leaves drift like tiny boats in rivulets of rainwater, sailing to clog in gutters and drains, those already raked into piles now soggy and clumped together. Here and there a few children splash in puddles or run along with a stick caught in the current, follow the leaves down to wherever it is they’re off to now. These kids wear bright raincoats, yellows and reds and oranges, Day-Glo colors too vibrant to be real. I almost think that I could roll down my window, stick my hand out into that damp world, brush my fingers along the coats, the grass, the sky, and come away slick with fresh paint.

  On our left, Grosso’s slides by, almost there. Maybe if I’m lucky, we can sneak inside without anyone knowing that we’ve returned, we can slip into the back room without being seen, I won’t have to share him with anyone else just yet. It looks like I might get my wish after all, because when we round the bend and the house comes into view, the porch is empty, there’s no one outside. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding—I guess there was some part of me that almost expected to see Caitlin out on the swing, or my dad ready to put Dan to work, or even Ray with that damn bag of warm milk still in his arms. But we’re still alone. It’s just the two of us against the world, thank the Lord. As Dan glides the car into the spot we vacated hours before, I tweak his ear and am only half joking when I suggest, “Maybe we can wait here for the rain to let up.”

  “It’s not so bad,” he starts, cutting the engine, but then he turns and sees the look of lust I know shines in my eyes. Before I can laugh and break the moment, he rolls into my arms, crawling onto me, pushing me back to my seat as his lips find mine. “Right here,” he murmurs, and my hands grasp at his back, his neck, his ears because I know he’s worked up and it’s all my fault. Gloriously, this is my fault, and I’m all too willing to admit it this time. “We’re still alone,” he sighs between kisses, his hands already beneath my sweater and plucking at my hardened nipples, sending shivers of delight through me. I moan beneath him and he shifts above me, trying to find a more comfortable position—it’s hard in these bucket seats. I know, I’ve been in his position before, I’ve been the one kneeling over him and it’s hard on the legs, we really should head inside…

  Fuck that, I think, and the thought makes me giggle. “What?” Dan wants to know—I can feel him grin against my neck. “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” I whisper. I get one hand between us and work his zipper down. Instantly his erection pokes out at me, straining at his boxers, he’s ready to go. Wrapping my hand around his shaft, I start working him harder, squeezing at him, kneading until he hisses against my neck and thrusts at me. My fingers get into the fly of his briefs, I feel warm flesh, kinked hair, the tip of his cock already damp in my palm. My hand encircles him, slides down to the base, the heel against his soft balls, my thumb rubbing at the magical spot in between that makes him whimper with need. “You like that?” I purr—I know he does, he doesn’t have to nod against my throat where he sucks at me, he’s close to coming, I can feel it.

  Suddenly the seat falls out beneath me as Dan finds the release and lays me down. I start giggling again and tug at him harder, faster, like I’m trying to jerk him into the back seat with me to do that cuddling thing I was thinking about earlier. With each squeeze he thrusts into my hand, and with each thrust, he growls deep in the back of his throat. He’s not kneeling over me anymore, he’s stretched out like the sky above me, a blanket that covers me completely, a protective lover. I want him now. I don’t want to wait until we get inside, I don’t want to wait for the hot tub or our bed, and I sure as hell don’t want to wait until we find the condoms packed away in our suitcase. I want to enter him, I want to possess him, I want to feel his dick against my stomach as I take him again. He’s had me today—now it’s my turn. “Baby,” I moan as his lips find a tender spot on my throat. Between us my hand is moist with sweat and pre-cum, and the musty scent of sex fills the car. I’ve got less than a minute to get my own throbbing erection out of the confines of my pants and into his before he comes and the moment is lost.

  A thin tapping on the window startles us. “Fuck,” I sigh as Dan sits back.

  My sister stares in at us, her hands cupped to the glass. “You guys aren’t getting it on, are you?” she hollers, her voice muffled through the window.

  “We were hoping to,” my lover mutters. He starts to sit up, then remembers that he’s hanging out below and instead buries his face in my neck as if hiding away. “Tell her to leave us alone,” he whispers. “I’m this close.”

  I know—tell me about it, I know, I have him in hand and practically quivering with release. “Caitlin,” I shout. When she just grins, I pound the window with an angry fist. “Go away.”

  She steps back but doesn’t leave. “Looks like you guys are busy getting your fuck on in there,” she laughs.

  At least she’s not right up on us anymore, she can’t see anything when Dan sits up enough to jam himself back into his pants. “I’m getting sick of this,” he mutters, zipping up his jeans, which look as if they’ve shrunk two sizes in the rain. That has to hurt.

  “The minute we’re inside, those are coming off,” I tell him.

  Outside my sister kicks at the car. “You two coming out or what?”

  “Oh no, she did not just kick my car.” I try to sit up, the splayed-out seat hindering me, but Dan pops the door open and grabs my hands, tumbling both of us out into the wet grass. Glaring up at my sister, I threaten, “You are so dead.”

  She has the audacity to laugh. “So I take it
things are cool with you guys again. Did you get laid? Because you needed it, Mike, I’m telling you—”

  “Dead,” I promise, scrambling to my feet. She turns and races for the house, her laughter streaming out behind her, enticing us to give chase.

  Chapter 36: Interrupted

  I reach her first, a few yards from the front porch. The rain has stopped for the most part but there’s still a fine mist hanging in the air, though I can’t tell if it’s something falling or something kicked up as Caitlin runs ahead of me. Every few feet she looks over her shoulder and, seeing me right behind her, starts to laugh again. “You guys are so slow,” she calls out, and damned if she doesn’t spur on ahead faster, how does she do that? She’s sixteen, I remind myself, racing to catch up. This is nothing for her. Another nine years and she’ll be out here wheezing like me. As if I’m that old.

  With a burst of speed that surprises me, I close the distance between us and reach for her. I get a handful of her t-shirt before the black material slips free of my grip and I go down, the grass slick beneath my feet. As I land on one knee, bright pain shoots up my thigh like a bolt of lightning and somewhere behind me, Dan calls out my name, alarm sharp in his voice.

  Caitlin slows, starts to turn, and that’s all the time I need. I launch myself at her legs in a halfhearted tackle and manage to bring her down. “Michael!” she shrieks, laughing in spite of her anger. She claws at the ground, digging deep, dark gouges in the damp grass, her legs kick against my arms and chest but she’s lost, I won, I caught her—I whoop loudly in victory even as she struggles beneath me. “Let me go,” she mutters bitterly, then she laughs when my hands find her waist and I turn her over…ticklish, I think, how fun. “Michael, get off me! Let me go!”

  “Who’s slow now?” I ask, tickling her. She giggles uncontrollably, swats at my hands but I can’t help it, her bare midriff practically begs for the torture. “Who said you could interrupt us like that? While we were getting our groove on, huh?”