Queermance Anthology, Volume 2

by Queermance Anthology- Volume 2 [MM-FF] (retail) (epub)

  So, I’ll definitely see you in six years, Colin O’Ryan? It’s a date and don’t you dare forget to turn up. I’ll be there. Whatever happens, I’ll be there. You remember that. I don’t want to be stood up for my first kiss.

  Whatever happens… And yeah, Sebby was there, right there, where the old Rose and Thorn Pub used to be, and he was keeping their date, just as he said he would. He’d always been there, Col just hadn’t known. Colin had scanned that stupid country newspaper for years and never seen Sebby’s memorial. Col’s gaze had probably passed over a few pictures of Daniel Halstead in that time, because everyone in Marwillbah got their photo in the local paper sooner or later. Hal had probably been some kid in a checked shirt and dirty jeans, helping out at a cattle auction, or at the local agricultural show, or in a photo celebrating who knew what at the local high school. Or the kid who’d almost come first in the state with his marks in the HSC. Small events, small and big battles, and every day Hal must have gotten up and fought some tough battles. And won some too. Fought them alone, because they were his battles to fight, just as Sebby had fought alone for that agonising last year of his life. And Sebby had never given up, of course he hadn’t, he’d just changed what he was fighting for, who he was fighting for.

  Col had toasted Sebby Andersson with fine Irish whiskey and with good beer, bottled water and some pretty ordinary wine over the years. He’d drank to the memory of a brave boy, who’d always fought, never realising exactly how bloody amazing Sebby Andersson had been, and all he’d done. It didn’t matter, what mattered was that Sebby Andersson did get his first kiss and he did do amazing things in the world.

  ‘Thank you.’ Col wasn’t sure he could talk for a moment, and he had to clear his throat before going on. ‘It can’t have been easy sharing all of that with a stranger. But you have no idea what it means to me. Because for years I’ve been convinced I did something terrible, and maybe I did. But maybe some good came out of it. Though I suspect Sebby would have got there anyway, without a word from me. But it’s kind of you to let me think that maybe I had a hand in this, that maybe I didn’t really fuck up. Or maybe I did, but it worked out.’

  ‘You had more than a hand in it, Col, otherwise why would I be sitting here tonight? I mean, the pub isn’t even here. I almost didn’t come in here, because that’s crazy, right? But I had to be sure, so I came in. And here you are, so not so crazy after all. Tonight was about Sebby telling you it did matter, to tell you what he thought you needed to know. That you deserved to know what a great thing you did for him. For both of us.

  ‘And I wanted to thank you, for both of us. For Sebby, and for me���’

  What could Col say? Even if he could find his voice, what could he say to that?

  ‘Here.’ Hal was holding out a handkerchief. ‘It’s clean. I made sure I brought a few spare. Just in case.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. Really.’ Because what Col felt right then wasn’t the need for tears, what he really felt was the need for laughter, wild ridiculous laughter. He wanted to laugh out loud. Talk about a love story, because that was what it was, Hal and Sebby, a hell of a love story, and it deserved to be celebrated.

  Col wanted to dance. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to celebrate Sebby Andersson, and his first kiss and his bloody amazing life. And he wanted to celebrate Hal, too, and his amazing life.

  And for a moment, Col looked into a pair of whiskey-coloured eyes, under untidy brown hair, and just for a moment Sebby looked back, grinning.

  Hal obviously found Col’s silence and expression a bit unnerving. ‘Okay, that’s what I needed to say. Thank you for listening. Oh, before I go��� I’m sorry in advance, but Sebby would never forgive me if he didn’t get his birthday kiss.’ Hal launched himself forward across the table, and there was that fierce wicked grin, which was all Hal and none of Sebby, and right then and there, Col O’Ryan got his first kiss. Not a first kiss in the sense that he’d never been kissed before, but the first kiss in his life that really mattered, and the kiss he was never, ever going to forget.

  ‘Well���’ Hal looked flustered as he sat back down, blinking at Col, as if puzzled. ‘Right, well, I really should get going. It was good to see you again. I mean to really meet��� if you know what I mean.’

  ‘And you. It was good to see you again, Hal. And thank you again for keeping���the date.’ Col felt so odd, so strangely removed from the situation. Of course he was being stupid, it had been a kiss between near strangers, nothing more, on top of a highly charged emotional situation. Of course it had seemed to be something more than it actually was. Back to fucking imagining things already, Col? Would he never learn?

  Hal nodded, and stood up, then looked at Col, head tilted, still looking puzzled and uncertain. ‘Col - do you want to get out of here? Maybe, I don’t know - go out dancing?’

  Col looked at that suddenly shy smile, which was at odds with the wild, hot light in Hal’s eyes, feeling displaced and just as flustered. ‘I���’

  ‘Right. Sorry. Stupid idea. I’ll just go.’ Hal walked away a few paces, and then he swung around and came back, standing there, leaning over Col, almost pressing against him, staring him down. ‘Just say yes, Col. Please? Or I’m going to stay right here, in the middle of this bloody tapas bar and I’ll kiss you again. With everyone staring. And I don’t bloody care.’

  There was the weirdest prickling all over Col’s skin, as if… as if what? His Gran would have said somebody had walked over his grave, which was a morbid thought, especially on this night. But no, it wasn’t like that, it was as if someone had thrown their arms around him tightly for a moment, and just gently pressed a kiss on his cheek and laughed softly in his ear.

  ‘In that case, I-I’d, yes, I’d really like to go out dancing, Hal.’ And Col suddenly felt a curious, fragile hope bloom, looking at Hal, the hope that in an amazing life, there might just be room for one more love story.

  WAITING

  Isabelle Rowan

  Breath puffed against his neck. It was barely a whisper, simply a soft flutter of air that could have been ignored or mistaken for the gentle breeze stirring the curtains of his bedroom window, but Jeremy knew it wasn’t. The fine hair of his arms rose as goosebumps spread along his skin. He closed his eyes to whisper, ‘You’re here aren’t you?’

  There was no answer except for the light brush of lips below his hairline. Kisses trailed slowly down his spine, lingering briefly over the dusting of freckles between his shoulder blades. He moaned softly and reached back, but like so many times before, his fingers met only empty air.

  The soft kisses continued their downward path and a shiver vibrated through the length of his body. He exhaled a shaky breath. ‘When can I see you?’ he began to murmur, only to cut short when the familiar tongue dipped below the hollow of his lower back. His fingers tortured the fine cotton of his sheet and he pleaded, ‘Tell me please. When can I see you? When can I touch you?’

  Jeremy woke with a start.

  His heart raced in rhythm with his shallow breaths while he tried to anchor disoriented thoughts. The dimly lit room didn’t house his beloved books or treasured mementoes, and his computer didn’t blink its presence from the chaos of his desk. In their place were sterile pastel “artworks” and a phone that sported too many buttons to be functional. He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. The reality of the hotel room gradually forced its way through the remnants of his dream. It wasn’t welcome.

  The chill of the air conditioner stung his sweat-beaded skin, but still he kicked off the crumpled sheet and walked to the window. Glass filled the expanse of the wall with no means to actually open. The fresh night air of home was far away and how much he missed it frightened him.

  He rested his forehead against the cold glass and he stared at the concrete surfaces far below.

  An airport shuttle spilled passengers arriving for a chance to sleep before early morning flights - one step closer to their final destinations.

  ‘Final d
estination? Is that where I’m going?’ he muttered to the empty room. ‘Will we be together then?’

  Jeremy’s palm pressed against the unforgiving glass while his other hand absently caressed his needy flesh. He’d asked the same questions many times in his dreams, never getting an answer, but watching the lights of a plane disappear into the distance he heard a single word.

  Soon.

  Another flight, shorter this time, but Jeremy still blamed his foggy thoughts on jet lag. He glanced around the terminal, searching for eyes he’d not yet seen, or lips he’d only felt. Gazes met his for an instant. No recognition or even interest. They quickly returned to checking luggage tags or staring at the silent television screen. People generally wore the same expression in airports - anticipation blurred with weariness, each in their own bubble of personal space. But still he looked. From one to another he looked, searching for any hint of familiarity. A young man smiled, but those weren’t the lips that brushed his skin in the dead of night. He smiled back, an obligatory smile that said little more than, I see you and acknowledge you.

  Bright sunshine broke through the clouds to stream into the concourse and Jeremy understood. The time was not right.

  Plastic beads sparkled their green, purple and gold from a souvenir shop, ready to adorn the necks of tourists, but he walked past them with little more than a glance. That wasn’t why he’d made his journey to New Orleans.

  With no luggage to collect, Jeremy was the first to reach the shuttle bay. He smiled tiredly at the driver who took his voucher and he huddled in a seat near the rear of the bus. Jeremy had never been to the French Quarter - in fact he’d had never left Australia until he boarded his flight at Tullamarine - but he watched the passing buildings with a growing sense of home. The anxious knot in his stomach was replaced with a totally different sensation.

  The shuttle bus wove through narrow streets, past shopfronts both elegant and tacky, until it reached his hotel. A uniformed doorman stepped forward to take his luggage, but he shook his head. The contents of his cabin bag were all he carried.

  The old world elegance of the lobby spoke of a different time. Jeremy heard the swish of petticoats and skirts whisper somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Gilt-edged mirrors hinted at reflections of men in frock coats and tall hats. But they all vanished when the doe-eyed boy at reception asked if he was checking in. Jeremy fumbled through an answer and handed over a printout with his booking details. The boy smiled and politely asked about his holiday plans. A reasonable enough question, but how could he explain that he’d just quit his job and flown from his home in Melbourne to meet a man who’d been visiting his dreams in one way or another for as long as he could remember? Jeremy simply smiled back and gave the standard tourist answers that instantly satisfied the boy’s dutiful interest. Jeremy heard only half the spiel about room keys, guided tours and complimentary breakfasts, but thanked him anyway and followed his directions to the elevators.

  An elderly couple with matching oversized suitcases waited patiently, listening to the rattles and clanks descend to the lobby. ‘Do you think it’ll make it up to our floor with everything you packed?’ the man teased, only to receive a good-natured slap on his hand.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said to Jeremy. ‘I did overpack. This is our first big trip and I didn’t know what to bring.’

  ‘So she brought her whole wardrobe,’ her husband added.

  The elevator announced its arrival with a shudder and a ding. They bundled into the tiny space and smiled apologetically at another couple who would have to wait for the next one.

  ‘What floor?’ the man asked.

  Jeremy looked at the already illuminated button and replied, ‘Same as yours.’

  ‘Ah, I thought you were another Aussie. I’m Pam and this is Bill. We’re from Myrtleford, what about you?’

  ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Jeremy and I’m from Frankston,’ he answered and glanced at the floor number display, willing the elevator to go faster.

  ‘Oh, we used to drive through Frankston on the way to Rosebud, although we never actually stopped there. When the kids were little we’d haul the old caravan down to the foreshore. Actually, Myrtleford was our other caravan spot until we decided to retire there.’

  Pam rattled on as much as the elevator until the doors mercifully opened. They bid each other farewell and walked in opposite directions. Jeremy could still hear her chatter when he slipped his key-card in the lock and disappeared behind his door.

  The room was silent other than the steady hum of the air conditioner. Heavy wooden furniture dominated his vision. A tall ornate wardrobe stood sentinel between two small windows that looked down on Bourbon Street. Quiet now, but that would change when the tourists hit the bars to consume their Hurricanes and Huge Ass Beers, wearing their plastic beads, alerting everyone that they weren’t locals. But Bourbon could relish in its tacky delights until the sun rose and the bars closed - Jeremy would not be part of them.

  It was so tempting to dump his bag and flop on the bed in the hope that sleep would lead to dreams, but Jeremy knew that he slept too. He sat on the edge of the mattress and sighed. ‘Soon,’ he whispered into the solitude of his hotel room, only to be wrapped in the comfort of a familiar scent.

  He’d known the visitor his entire life - well, at least as far back as he could recall the details of his dreams. Even as a small child the invisible man, as he called him then, was part of his dreams. Not in a frightening predatory way, but simply there watching and waiting from a distance. Little Jeremy would explore his childlike dreamscapes and smile happily in the direction of the unseen man, safe in the knowledge that nightmares would always be chased away. It wasn’t until Jeremy reached manhood that the nature of the dreams changed and he felt the soft touches. Gentle and tentative at first, but they became so much more when Jeremy invited the hands and lips onto his skin, and when sated he slept peacefully with the presence settled lovingly at his back.

  As far as his parents knew, the invisible man faded along with childhood. Jeremy kept him close and kept him secret. But still his mother worried about him. He was always a little out of step with the rest of their world. Not really connecting with those around him, even though she encouraged her other sons to involve him in all their games. Jeremy didn’t join the local football team and informed her that he didn’t see the point of running from one end of the track to the other at Little Athletics. ‘Why is it good to run faster than the other kids?’ he’d asked, and he meant it.

  High school was no better. He rarely dated and the few dates he had were never repeated. So she’d stopped encouraging him to go out and left him with his books. ‘It’ll be better when you’re out in the workforce mixing with different people,’ she’d consoled him.

  It wasn’t. He also wasn’t happy. So when her middle child announced he was leaving them to travel to New Orleans, she didn’t question it, but hugged her son tightly and quietly told him that she hoped he’d find what he was looking for.

  Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. ‘I hope so too, Mum.’

  He spent lunch in a cafe by the river, like every good tourist should. He sipped his drink and swirled the straw to watch the ice spin, but the icing-sugar smothered beignet remained untouched. A passing waitress stopped and asked if everything was all right with his food and Jeremy assured her everything was fine; he was just a little jetlagged and his appetite was still on Melbourne time. In truth, his stomach churned with the seemingly endless wait for nightfall.

  Jeremy sat for a while longer then texted each of his brothers in turn. He called his mum to let her know he’d arrived safely and was the happiest he’d been for a long time. It wasn’t a lie. He left a generous tip and spent the remainder of the day wandering the streets of the French Quarter, sampling both the historic and lurid elements of the area, all the while waiting impatiently for the sun to set.

  As if on cue, the neon lights of the bars and clubs sparked into life. The Quarter took on an entirel
y different aspect. Jeremy made his way along the street, watching the natural light fade along with the day. Night came slowly. His fingertips tingled in anticipation as the sky darkened and tiny pinpricks of stars appeared through gaps in the cloud cover. He stopped walking and stood beneath an illuminated streetlamp amid the bustle of a busy corner. It struck him for the first time that he didn’t know where he needed to be.

  You will find me.

  The voice echoed through his mind and caught him off guard. He searched the faces around him, but none felt right.

  ‘Hello again.’

  A hand settled on his shoulder and his heart all but burst through his chest.

  ‘It’s just us,’ Bill said.

  ‘We thought it was you. Did you have a nap? We went out like a light for a couple of hours. It was wonderful to be able to stretch out after those airplane seats. What’s your room like? Ours is lovely, although I contacted house-keeping to bring up some extra teabags.’

  Further questions were thrown at him, but Jeremy quickly realised there were no gaps in the torrent of words so simply smiled and nodded.

  ‘We’re off to do a ghost and vampire walking tour,’ Bill interjected.

  ‘Ooh yes, come with us.’

  Jeremy looked around for an escape, but Pam’s arm was already linked in his and they turned the corner into Pirate Alley.

  A sandwich board surround by a small group of people promised that the terrifying secrets of paranormal New Orleans would be revealed - all in the span of two hours. A tall man in fine undertaker garb took Pam and Bill’s tickets then stood expectantly in front of Jeremy. ‘Are you joining us tonight, Sir?’ he asked with appropriate gravitas and leaned forward.