by Kim Fielding
She winked at him and turned toward the kitchen.
He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing a pair of tan pleated trousers, a plain white shirt with a starched collar and short sleeves, and a navy blue tie. He’d only worn a tie twice in recent memory: to his last job interview and to Aunt Violet’s funeral. A suit jacket and hat were hanging on a hook nearby, and his shoes were shiny and black. “I look like an extra in Death of a Salesman,” he muttered.
Aunt Violet returned soon afterward, carrying a plate heaped with food. The egg yolks were bright orange instead of pale yellow, the ham steak was thickly cut and glistening with fat, and the toast was plain white bread. She gave him a quick smile before running off again, this time to clear away the plates from a group of farmers in the corner. Matt sprinkled salt and pepper on his eggs and slathered his toast with strawberry jam. He groaned at the first bite of eggs—they were much more flavorful than the Safeway specials he was used to. The ham turned out to be tastier than expected also, but the bread was nowhere near as good as the Acme bread he usually bought. He’d never tasted food so strongly in a dream before, but decided to enjoy the calorie-free treat. Maybe he’d even order a slice of one of those pies displayed behind the counter.
He was still working his way through breakfast when the bell over the door jangled merrily. His back was to the entrance, and he couldn’t see who had entered, but he heard Aunt Violet when she greeted the newcomer. “Crowded today, Jojo. You’ll have to share with someone.”
“C’mon! I told you not to call me that, Violent.” The man’s voice was deep and pleasant, but with a slight childlike petulance in his inflection.
Somehow, Matt wasn’t surprised when he looked up from his plate and saw Joseph standing beside his table, Aunt Violet at his side. “You don’t mind sharing with my bratty cousin, do you?” she asked.
Joseph’s eyes were even more amazing in person, in color. They were somewhere between gray and blue, a shade that Matt hoped he could reproduce with his paints. Joseph wore blue jeans and a red-and-white-checked shirt, and looked both annoyed at Violet and intrigued by Matt.
“Sure,” Matt said, his mouth suddenly so dry that he had to take a quick swallow of the cooling coffee.
Joseph plopped down in the opposite seat and grinned. Matt’s heart almost stopped. “Pancakes and bacon,” Joseph said to Violet. “With the bacon done—”
“Really crispy. I know.” She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder before she walked away.
“Where are you from?” Joseph asked. His gaze was so piercing that Matt felt a little like an exhibit at the zoo. “And does everyone there have hair like that?” He gestured at Matt’s head.
Matt ran his fingers self-consciously through his waves. He'd never had the patience for goos and creams like Brandon used, and he tended to go too long between cuts. “California. And yeah, a lot of guys do, I guess.”
“California! I always wanted to visit there. Can you really pick oranges right off of trees? Do you know any movie stars? Do you lie on the beach all day?”
“Yes on the oranges but no on the celebrities. And the beaches near me are damn cold.”
Joseph leaned back in his chair, not even looking over when Violet plopped a glass of milk in front of him and then sailed away. “What’re you doing in the middle of nowhere? And how come you ain’t in uniform?”
“I’m… passing through. On my way home after a funeral in Omaha. And I’m… I’m disqualified from the military.” Which was true enough, he supposed. In 2012 they might be celebrating the end of “don’t ask, don’t tell,” but back in 1942 he would not have been welcomed into the military, wartime or not.
Arctic eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened in realization before narrowing again speculatively. “Disqualified, huh?” Joseph said.
“Yep.”
There was a brief pause. Joseph sipped his milk, giving himself a very faint mustache that Matt longed to lick away. Three farmers at a nearby table erupted into hacking laughs at some joke while Violet slammed plates down in front of an older couple who looked like they hadn’t smiled since the previous century.
“I’m going in next week,” Joseph finally said, very quietly. “Army.”
Matt’s heart clenched and his gut twisted. Could you puke in a dream? “I guess you have to,” he said.
“I wanted to get a deferment while I went to college, but Mom and Dad couldn’t afford the tuition and… and here I am. Ready to do my duty. I guess.”
“You’ll get to travel. See places way more interesting than California.” And bleed your life away onto foreign soil, he didn’t add.
Joseph’s eyes went dark, as if he knew exactly what Matt was thinking. Then he shrugged slightly. “Yeah.”
Violet arrived shortly after that with Joseph’s food and a refill for Matt’s coffee. Joseph poured about half a gallon of syrup over his pancakes and dug in as if he were starving. In between bites he asked questions about California, which Matt answered carefully, not wanting to break the framework of the dream by introducing anachronisms. Joseph also chatted about his family—Matt’s family too, so the names were familiar—and about the old truck he was trying to fix up; about the hailstorm that had recently damaged the roof of his parents’ house; and about his high school football team, where he’d played running back but hadn’t been good enough to interest the Cornhuskers and get a scholarship. He didn’t mention a girlfriend.
He was sweet and funny, but there was a constant depth of sorrow to him, unsuited for someone so young. He seemed, Matt thought, like someone who knew in his heart that his hopes would never be attained. Nobody should be thinking such a thing at nineteen, not even if it was true. Matt wanted to hold him tight and fill his head with false assurances that everything would be all right. Hell, Matt wanted to do something, to actually make everything all right. But he just smiled and watched Joseph’s beautiful face.
When Joseph’s plate was clean—he used a piece of toast to sop up the leftover syrup and grease—he leaned back again and smiled. “You don’t have to head out right away, do you? I could give you a tour of town. It ain’t much, I know, but maybe all those movie stars’d think it’s… quaint.”
Matt laughed. “A tour sounds great, thanks.”
Joseph beamed, and his smile was even more delicious than Matt had imagined. Violet came by just then, and Matt dug out his wallet. He insisted on paying for Joseph too—fair compensation for the tour, he joked. He pulled out an old, battered five-dollar bill, which was enough to pay for both breakfasts and a tip big enough to earn a grateful squeeze to his shoulder. “Thanks for visiting,” she said as he rose to his feet. He was certain she was referring to more than his dining at the restaurant.
As Joseph led him outdoors into the bright light, Matt had to remind himself that this was a dream. Everything seemed so authentic: The few blocks of Main Street with battered cars and trucks parked along the edges. The barber, the drugstore, and the shop with the windows full of dresses, pots and pans, and wooden toys. The women who passed by, dressed in cotton prints and wearing hats or headscarves. The faint smell of manure, and the feel of warm sun on his face. Joseph pointed out local landmarks: the movie theater—showing a western with Errol Flynn—the high school, an ugly statue of some guy on a horse. Matt smiled and nodded and made occasional appreciative comments, but mostly he was watching the other man’s animated face, appreciating his wide shoulders and narrow waist, the confident strides of his strong legs.
They ran out of downtown pretty quickly, but Matt didn’t complain as Joseph continued to lead him onward, past little houses with hollyhocks and chickens in their front yards. They turned down an unpaved side street that was really more of an alley, and then Joseph stopped in front of a ramshackle building that might once have been a small barn or a garage.
“Um, very scenic,” Matt said.
Joseph pried a few long splinters off the weathered trim. “This was my Uncle Andy’s place. But he married so
me girl from Valentine and moved out of state to run one of her father’s feed supply stores. His old house burned down a few years back, but his workshop’s still here. Nobody uses it.”
“Uh-huh.” A guy shouldn’t feel nervous in his own dream, Matt told himself.
Joseph opened the unlocked door, its hinges creaking, and preceded Matt inside. There were small holes in the roof that allowed light to slant in, but there was nothing much to look at aside from a warped workbench, a few rusted remains of tools, and a lot of mouse droppings. Joseph sauntered over to one corner and dug around in a pile of old quilts, smiling when he achieved his goal. Magazines, Matt saw when Joseph held them up—Physique Pictorial and Tomorrow’s Man, with covers featuring black-and-white photos of muscle-bound men in togas and loincloths.
“Last year me and a couple of buddies went to Chicago,” Joseph was saying, his cheeks darkened with a faint blush. “Farthest I’ve ever gone. I found these at a newsstand near the train station.”
Matt realized he was blushing too. “They look… interesting.”
Joseph chewed that delectable bottom lip for a moment, shifting his feet a little on the hard-packed dirt floor. “You’re… you’re… one of them, ain’t you? That’s why you ain’t fit for the army.”
Matt sighed. “Yeah, I’m gay.”
Joseph nodded a little and swallowed. “I think… maybe… me too.”
Gay in rural Nebraska in 1942. Matt shuddered at the thought. No way the poor kid could come out to his family the way Matt had, no way he could build up a retinue of gay friends, or straight ones who didn’t give a crap which team he batted for. Even if he moved to Chicago or New York or San Francisco, Stonewall was a generation away, and he’d be forced to live a life of innuendo and half-truths. In 1942, he would get fired from his job if people knew. He could be sent to prison or even to a mental hospital. What was Matt supposed to say to him? It gets better?
“That’s rough,” Matt finally said. “But it’s okay, you know?”
Joseph’s answering smile was heartbreaking.
And then Matt had a thought. “Why don’t you tell the draft board or whoever? Then you wouldn’t get sent away.” To die, he almost added, but didn’t.
“But then everyone would know,” Joseph said sadly. “My brothers would beat the shit out of me, Mom and Dad wouldn’t talk to me anymore. My friends… everyone— I can’t. And I can’t go nowhere. I’m just a farm boy. What would I do with myself in a city?”
Matt had an inkling of what a lot of boys like Joseph had done to survive when they’d fled to the cities. It wasn’t a pretty scenario.
Joseph crouched to hide the magazines under the quilts again, and when he stood he took a step closer to Matt. “Look. I’m gonna put on that uniform and do my duty. Make my family proud. And if—when I come back, I’ll probably end up marrying Betty Halvorsen ’cause she’s real pretty and nice, and she figures I’m a gentleman ’cause I don’t feel her up when we go to the movies. I’ll get a part-time job at Pete Svoboda’s garage and I’ll help out on the farm and… and maybe I’ll teach myself to be happy. Maybe I’ll even get that vacation in California. Check out the beaches.”
“Joseph—” Matt began.
“But next week I’m going away and I ain’t never… you know… with a man, and I probably ain’t ever gonna get another chance. And you’re… God, mister, you’re really handsome. Ain’t ever seen nobody like you. Can we… just this one time…. Please?”
A small voice in Matt’s head protested that this was wrong. But he ignored it. Not only because he wanted Joseph very badly—had wanted him since he was old enough to realize he was attracted to boys—but this was a dream, not real life. More than that, though, Joseph’s handsome face was hopeful and desperate. And Matt knew that the boy would probably never get another chance.
“Okay,” Matt said, and he couldn’t help matching Joseph’s smile with his own.
Joseph grabbed Matt’s hand and tugged him closer to the pile of quilts. And then his fingers were hovering near the button of his jeans, obviously unsure what to do next. Matt finally gave in to the temptation he’d been ignoring for so long: he reached out and drew Joseph into an embrace, pulling the shorter man against him; bending his head a little, Matt captured Joseph’s pretty mouth in a kiss.
Joseph tasted of maple syrup. His hair was short but hadn’t yet been cut to military specs, and Matt threaded his fingers through the dark strands. Joseph clutched at him and made soft noises at the back of his throat, noises that went straight to Matt’s groin.
“What do you want?” Matt said when they’d pulled apart a little. “If you just want to make out, that’s okay, but if—”
“I want you… um… in me,” Joseph whispered. Matt could feel the heat under those sharp cheeks. “’Cause I’ve never…. Men do that, don’t they? Homosexuals? And it feels good?”
Christ. “It feels fantastic. But only if you want it. We could do other things, you know. Lots of things. And they can be pretty goddamn nice too.”
Joseph bit at his lip again, probably considering what those things might be, and then shook his head. “No. Please.”
“Okay,” Matt said a little shakily. “But if you change your mind and want me to stop—”
“I won’t.”
Matt smiled. His family was renowned for stubbornness. It looked like Joseph had a good bit of that in him.
Matt kissed him again. He had to remind himself to slow down, even though he was aware that he could wake up at any time. It had been a very long dream already. But he didn’t wake up, not yet, and they lingered at their kiss until they were both breathless, until Matt’s cock was aching and he felt Joseph’s answering hardness digging into his hip.
After they pulled apart, Joseph began to undress, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt until he grew impatient and just yanked the shirt and undershirt over his head. Matt was a little more deliberate with his own clothing, but he chuckled, remembering how frantic he’d been about sex when he was nineteen. And, Christ, Joseph was a virgin. If Matt’s own early experiences were anything to go by, they had better take things slowly or else they’d be done before they began.
Joseph stood naked and a little shy, his chest moving up and down quickly. He had only a light sprinkling of hairs on his chest but a dark line leading from his belly to the nest of curls. His cut cock was at half-mast. The dappled light created golden patches on his skin, and as Matt watched, a bead of sweat dripped between Joseph’s pecs. Matt hurried his own undressing, tossing the damn tie into the corner. Joseph watched. When Matt was naked, he stood so Joseph could get a good long look at his body, at his jutting cock.
“Oh,” Joseph said.
“Everything all right?”
“I ain’t never seen…. My brothers of course and the guys in the locker room, but not… not like this.” He tilted his head, clenched and unclenched his hands. “Can I touch?”
“Of course.”
The hands trailing down Matt’s chest were as calloused as he’d imagined, but Joseph’s handling of him was tentative, tender. One palm landed on Matt’s hip while the other wrapped itself around his shaft. He had to fight not to buck into the sweaty grip. “Can I touch too?” Matt asked quietly.
The answer was hoarse. “Yeah.”
They stood for some time, Joseph’s forehead against Matt’s neck, feeling one another’s lengths. Joseph’s cock was a little smaller than Matt’s but every bit as hard, and Joseph gasped and jerked a little when Matt rubbed his thumb over the slit. “Okay?” Matt asked.
“Yeah. It’s just…. It feels so different when it’s someone else’s hand.”
Joseph’s sense of the newness of it all was almost enough to make Matt come. He’d never caressed a shivering virgin partner, not even when he himself was a virgin. In his late teens, Matt had gone for guys in their twenties, guys with the experience and confidence to show him what to do. Now he supposed he was one of those guys, and it was a heady realization, espe
cially when he knew—but tried not to acknowledge—that for Joseph he would likely be the only guy.
Suddenly, Matt wanted to give the beautiful, youthful body the worship it was due. He dropped to his knees—thankfully, onto the quilts—and buried his face in Joseph’s groin, inhaling the clean scent of Ivory soap and the pleasant musk of sweat and lust and man.
“Are you gonna… gonna….” Joseph seemed afraid to ask the whole question, afraid even to touch Matt with his hands.
“If you want,” Matt answered, deliberately allowing his breath to puff against the crease of Joseph’s leg.
“Jesus, yes!”
Matt chuckled and took Joseph’s cock in his hand again, then slid the meaty head between his lips.
“Oh, God,” Joseph rasped, and he clutched at Matt’s shoulders, hard fingers digging in as though he might have toppled over otherwise. Matt didn’t mind the pain—and he wondered if he could form bruises in his sleep. The bit of pain made the scene seem even more real; so did the taste of Joseph’s slick glans on his tongue, salty and smooth and feeling so fucking alive.
With his left hand keeping Joseph’s hips steady, Matt crept the fingers of his right hand up the inside of Joseph’s thigh. Joseph shifted his feet, widening his stance a little, and moaned when his balls were cradled in Matt’s hand. Matt rolled them around a bit and gave them a slight tug, all the while working his lips and tongue along Joseph’s length.
“G-God,” Joseph stuttered. “That’s… that’s….” But whatever he was going to say was lost in a sharp gasp when Matt brushed one fingertip against his tight sphincter. Matt was going to ask whether it was all right, whether the boy was having second thoughts, but then Joseph spread his legs even more, inviting more exploration, and Matt supposed that was answer enough. He traced gently along the little pucker, feeling it twitch under his touch, hearing Joseph’s breath come in harsh pants.
And then Joseph wrenched himself backward, away from Matt’s mouth and hands. “You’d better….” He grinned and blushed. “That was almost too good.”