The Flyer (The Flyer Series Book 1)

by Frédérick S. Parker

  Once my heart rate normalized, I took another look at the subtitle. “A… tantalizing… tale… of… time-management.” It shamed me to have to read like a little kid, but at least I made it to the end.

  “I chose this book ‘cause there’s a lot of repetition.” Aaron said, opening it up to the first page. “Keep that in mind.”

  My eyes automatically went to the pictures. They’ve always been my crutch in understanding the written world. On the first page there was a picture of a baby bunny with her mother. It looked like they were trying to hang a banner. Turning my attention to the large text, I began to read.

  “‘Pickles wants a pink powder party. But where to start? By picking precious pink balloons? ‘No,’ says her mother. You don’t plan a pink powder party by picking precious pink balloons.’” The story went on from there. For the most part I didn’t have too much trouble. When I did get stuck, Aaron patiently helped me through. By the end, I was reading with barely any pauses.

  “That was great!” he said, giving me a hearty pat on the back. I appreciated his encouragement, but the blow to the shoulder blade made me realize I’d lost track of time again. The throbbing wasn’t too bad, but I’d need to find a place to let my wings out soon.

  “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked as I got to my feet.

  “Bathroom.”

  When I got back, Aaron was returning the book to the shelf. As I approached, his deep green eyes assessed me. They started at my middle before working their way up. He lingered on my face for several seconds, then turned his attention to the bookshelf.

  “Is everything okay?” His voice was casual, but I could hear the underlying curiosity. I don’t know what changed, but over the last few days, his interest had peaked.

  “Everything’s fine.”

  He nodded. “Ready to get something to eat?”

  “Definitely.”

  We went to a Mexican restaurant a couple streets over from the Castle. It was a little past three so the lunch crowd was gone. Now only the occasional late diner pebbled the restaurant. After the waiter took our drink orders, Aaron read the menu to me. Despite my strides at the library, I didn’t feel comfortable reading. Especially not here. The patrons may be few, but they weren't far between.

  When my boyfriend finished going over the options, I decided on the fajitas while he chose a burrito. While we waited for the waiter to return, Aaron stuck up a dialogue.

  “So, do you have any memories of France?”

  “Not really.” I still had memories of my world, but they were vague. Mainly I remember being picked on. As a Flyer, I was mute and illiterate and the other kids teased me mercilessly. I have no fond memories of home.

  “You must remember something.”

  “I remember getting bullied.”

  Aaron’s eyebrows went up. “I can’t imagine anyone bullying you.”

  “I wasn’t always this big.”

  “Why did you get bullied?”

  “Because I was different. You know how kids are.”

  “How were you different?”

  I cleared my throat. “Can we talk about something else? Those aren’t exactly fond memories.”

  “Of course. What would you like to talk about?”

  I hesitated. “Gay sex.”

  “What about it?”

  “How does it work?”

  “You don’t know?” Now I had Aaron’s full attention.

  “Not really. I mean, I’ve never been with a guy before.”

  “But you know how it is with a girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we take a more back-door approach, so to speak.”

  “So, you’re saying…” I broke off. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? I’d heard the term butt-fucker once in passing. I just never knew what it meant. That’s how gay guys get it on? By sticking their dicks in each other’s…

  “You okay?” Aaron asked, looking wary. Like maybe he’d said too much.

  “So, you just stick it in there?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That seems… messy.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “And that feels good? Having someone inside you like that?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Aaron replied, his eyes sparkling. “Nothing like getting your prostate pounded. Or so I’m told.”

  “Interesting…” I mulled that over for a second.

  “Does that freak you out?”

  Images of sinking into him invaded my mind. How I longed to feel him, to feel his heat, his tightness. “No, not at all.”

  “Really?” My boyfriend gave a coy smile as he peered up at me from under thick dark lashes.

  I nodded. God, he’s sexy! It took every ounce of energy not to lunge across the table and take him right then and there. The thought of tearing down his pants and taking him from behind consumed me. How many other guys have sampled that fine ass? I want a taste. My dick ached at the very notion. I had to shift my hips just to ease the pressure. Seeming to notice my arousal, Aaron started to look equally turned on, but right what I was about to suggest we forget about lunch and find someplace more private, he abruptly sat back in his seat.

  “What else is on your mind?” How does he do that? Why does he do it? Aaron always says and does things that are obviously sexual or suggestive, then at the last second pulls away! It’s borderline teasing! He must be just as turned on as me, but he always rein himself in. I was on the verge of bursting and in the blink of an eye, he had complete and utter control.

  “Uh, what’s it like having a little brother?” I asked, forcing back both my disappointment and arousal.

  Aaron shrugged. “Okay. He can be annoying sometimes, but he’s alright.”

  "How old is he?"

  "Ten."

  “He seemed okay with us. Is everyone in your family that accepting?”

  “God, no!” Aaron shook his head. “My brother is pretty much the only one. My mom pretends it’s not true and my dad checked out years ago.”

  “Checked out?”

  “He’s a sports fan. He wanted a son he could share that with. When he learned I’d rather play dress-up than go to a baseball game, he basically faded into the background.”

  “So, you do like wearing women’s clothes?”

  “I don’t not like it. It’s just something I do from time to time.”

  “Why?”

  Aaron looked mildly embarrassed. “What, you’ve never felt the urge to throw on a skirt?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I don’t do it often. Just for parties.”

  “You go to parties as a girl?”

  “I go dressed like a girl. There’s a difference. And only to certain parties.”

  “Can you take me to one of these parties?”

  Aaron practically choked on his drink. “You want to dress up like a girl?”

  “No, but I’d like to see you dressed like one.”

  He laughed and ran his fingers through his copper-colored hair. “Alas, I don’t have the figure for that anymore. Unless I go as a knocked-up stripper or something.”

  “You look great.”

  “It doesn’t matter either way. I don’t go to parties like that anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  Aaron paused and I got the feeling we were getting close to that personal past he didn’t like talking about. “My ex-boyfriend is the one who throws them.”

  “You stopped going after your break-up?”

  “No, not really. I mean, I still attended them, but it was hard seeing him with other guys having fun.”

  “Why did the two of you break up?”

  “Mainly because we were polar opposites. We started dating when I was still in the closet—”

  “What does that mean? In the closet?” Aaron shot me the cute smile that’s reserved for when I ask something obvious.

  “It means I hadn’t officially told anyone I was gay.”


  “Am I in the closet?”

  “I don’t know. Your mom has kept you pretty isolated. Do you have anyone to come out to? Anyone who would care?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then you’re fine.” He took a sip of his drink before continuing with his story. “Anyway, I was still closeted and Tyler was the most flamboyant boy at my high school. He wanted our relationship to be out in the open while I wanted to keep it a secret.”

  “And that’s why you broke up?”

  “No, I did eventually come out thanks to a really good friend, but by then it was too late. Tyler had moved on and I was all alone.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “We broke up last summer.”

  “You broke up a year ago?”

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “Just trying to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Who you’re still hung up on.” At this Aaron made a face and I could practically see him crawl back into his shell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Enough about me,” he said, plastering that goofy grin back on. “What about you? Has anyone ever broken your heart?”

  “No. I’ve never gotten close enough to anyone to get my heart broken.”

  “But you have dated?”

  “Yes.” I realized it would be difficult, if not impossible, to explain the complexities of my dating history without mentioning flying. The main reason my relationships didn’t work is because I didn’t really start dating until my mother moved us out of the city. When I was thirteen I had a girlfriend, but we were just casual. Of course I wanted to sleep with her, but she was nowhere near ready. When my mother yanked me out of public school, the most I’d gotten was a few kisses. My first girlfriend never let me touch her boobs. When I was fourteen, my mother would take me into the city from time to time so I could keep in touch with my friends. That’s how I acquired my second girlfriend. I saw her a couple times a week during the day thanks to my mother and flew into the city to see her almost every night. After about a month, I got some over-the-shirt action, but before long she dumped me after accusing me of cheating. She called herself my Monday/Thursday Girl. Despite the fact that I came to see her almost every night, she wanted to know who I was spending my other daylight hours with. My third girlfriend was at fifteen and while she let me take off her bra and stick my hand up her shirt, that relationship also withered and died. My last relationship was when I was sixteen. I’d gone from being able to keep my wings in for eight hours to only six, so I had to be extra careful. I was getting rides into the city from my mom during the day, but that didn’t make things any easier. I was still on the Monday/Thursday schedule. Fortunately, my fourth girlfriend didn’t care. I was with her for three months and our relationship was going good. But the night we planned to consummate our bond, her mother came home early from a meeting. She walked in on us stripped down to our underwear. Enraged, she called my mom who immediately whisked me away. On the drive home, she gave me the worn out speech about what would happen if someone found out my secret while reminding me that there was no point starting a relationship on Earth. I just listened in silence like I always did. Back then I didn’t have the stones to argue with her. She told me she would no longer be giving me rides into the city. Not until I earned back her trust. I wasn’t too worried. With the ability to fly, I could still go at night. Much to my surprise, however, I woke up the next morning to find that she’d clipped my wings. I was literally grounded. We got onto a huge argument. I accused her of a lot of things. I told her she was over-barring, suffocating and a control freak. I said that she was ruining my life. I ended that argument demanding why she was always threatening our imminent move when nothing ever changed. In any case, without the ability to fly, my fourth and final relationship was effectively over. It took about three months for my feathers to grow back and I did start flying again, but I was too scared to return to the city at night.

  “What happened?” Aaron was watching me with those beautiful deep green eyes. I must have zoned out because he looked worried.

  Once again a half truth would have to suffice. Though this was more of a three-quarters lie. “All my relationships have ended with my mother scaring my girlfriends away.”

  “Just like she tried to do with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That sucks.” Aaron looked pensive for a moment. “My mother never accepted me being gay, but she’s never chased off any of my boyfriends.”

  “How many have you had?”

  “Serious boyfriends?”

  “Sure.”

  “One.”

  “Tyler?” he nodded. “And not serious?”

  He hesitated. “Two.”

  I wanted to ask who his last boyfriend was, but I could already see him becoming guarded. When we finished eating, Aaron sat back in his seat with a groan.

  “I think I over-did it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His hand want to his middle. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much. I’m trying to lose weight.”

  I glanced around at the almost empty restaurant before switching over to his side of the booth. He’d made more comments about his weight today than in the past week combined and it was all my fault. I should never have introduced him to my mother. Scooting over so there was no space between us, I leaned over and kissed him. As our lips met, I slid my hand down his chest, letting it come to rest on his midriff. Like the first time I touched him there, I felt him recoil. Only this time he actually reached down and pushed my hand away.

  “I’m sorry about my mother. Don’t let her get into your head. She’s been doing that to me for years.”

  Aaron looked at me with his sad green eyes. “It’s not her, it’s me. I’m disgusting.”

  “What makes you say that? I think you look great.”

  “That’s what people say when they’re trying to be nice. Of course I don’t look great. I look like a pregnant hippo.”

  “That’s crazy!” His insecurity was really freaking my cheese. “So, you have a little extra padding. I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, right,” Aaron scoffed, his voice dry and humorless. To make matters worse, he completely pulled away from me. There was no way my mother’s obnoxious looks would inducing this level of self-loathing. Someone else had seriously messed him up. Who could instill such strong self-disgust? Aaron wasn’t bad looking. If fact, I’m pretty sure he’s what most girls call hot. My first thought was that his lack of self-esteem was an after-effect from his break-up with Tyler, but that was a year ago. Surely he wasn’t still hung up on him now. I got the feeling Aaron’s weight gain was within the last six months. Maybe less. Whatever the time-frame, something had happened that shook him to his core. Was it a relationship or something else? I wanted so badly to ask him, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me. I also wanted to eradicate his pain, but I didn’t know how. How do you convince a beautiful person that they’re still beautiful?

  “I want to help you, but I don’t know how.” I reached over and ran my fingers along his jaw. “How do I convince you of what I know is true?”

  Aaron looked at me his face still marred with sadness, however, his eyebrows did go up sightly at the sound of my voice. For several seconds we just stared at each other. I was trying to read his mind and I think he was trying to read mine. If he were a Flyer, we’d be able to communicate telepathically. I’ve never had the opportunity to connect with another using only my mind, but I’ve often wondered what that would be like.

  “Please talk to me,” I whispered when the silence began to weigh on me. “Tell me what you need.”

  Aaron opened his mouth, but no words came out. He seemed to be wrestling with himself. Right when I thought he would take the leap, the waiter came with our bill and Aaron’s expression abruptly changed.

  “There’s this art show on 9th street I thought we could check out.”

  Damn it! “Whatever you want.”

 
Leaving the restaurant, we walked side by side toward 9th street. The place where the artists had set up their work was near a small park. The far side of the park was bordered by a small wooded area. There were dozens of people milling around inspecting the maze of artwork. Aaron and I fell into step along with them. Giving him his space, I stood a few steps back as he went from piece to piece, inspecting every detail. Art isn’t really my thing, but I didn’t want to ruin this for him. Especially knowing how fragile he was. My boyfriend is good at putting on a brave face, but his armor is paper thin. I was so lost in thought that when the throbbing first started, I though it was stress from trying to figure Aaron out. It wasn’t until the pain went up a notch that I noticed it. Shit! What time is it? I looked at my watch. 6:04! Not good, not good! We were at the restaurant longer than I thought and when we left, I was too distracted to check the time. I looked frantically around for a bathroom, but couldn’t see one. Just a hoard of art goers.

  Noticing my frenzy, Aaron looked away from the painting he’d been admiring and a quick look at his own watch told him what was going on.

  “The bathrooms are near the entrance,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him. When we arrived, my heart nearly stopped. There was a ridiculously long line for both the men’s and the women’s bathroom. There’s no way I was getting in there in the next minute. As each second ticked by, the pain continued to mount. I was now actively suppressing my wings. If I didn’t let them out soon, they would emerge on their own. A shutter went down my spine. That’s just what I need, my wings springing forth in front of a bunch of artists.

  “Uriah, tell me what’s wrong!” Aaron’s voice was elevated. As I turned in circles trying to decide what to do, he grabbed my arm. “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing.” Pulling away, I took off toward the small grove of trees. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only place close enough where people weren’t swarming. As I ran I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Aaron was hot on my heels. What do I do?! I would have to try and lose him in the trees. Speeding up, I darted into the woods. To my relief it wasn’t difficult ditching my tail. Before long, Aaron had to stop to catch his breath. Pushing on a few more yards, I came to a place where I couldn’t see city from any direction. Perfect. Now I can… There was a sudden explosion of pain as my wings burst out. I let out a silent cry, falling to my knees. Tears gushed down my face as the light blue feathers appeared around me. Please, no! This can’t be happening. Not now! My muscles trembled, causing my plumage to quiver and shake. The pain was mind-numbing, but I couldn’t make a sound. All I could do was wait. If I was lucky, I’d be able to retract my wings in three days. If I was unlucky, they wouldn’t go back in at all. When I don’t try to stop them, their arrival is smooth and painless. Like when I’m asleep. But if I try to repress my wings, the pressure builds. Usually I’m able to let them out before it gets too high, but from time to time I can’t stop their brutal arrival. Like now. My wings don’t force their way out very often, but when it happens, I’m always scared they’ll stay out for good.