by V. L. Locey
“It’s hard to cheat at croquet, pigeon.” Mr. Rook chuckled then looked at his son. “Maybe you two will find your special someone this weekend. You both must be tired of hanging out with each other all the time.” Garrison and I exchanged an uneasy look. I took a bite of a deviled egg. “It happens when you least expect it, you know. That’s how your mother and I met. I just bumped into her at the library and knocked her books out of her hands. When we bent down to pick them up we looked into each other’s eyes and that was that. I bet there’s a young lady sitting there on the sands waiting for you to show up, Garrison.”
The bite of deviled egg in my mouth grew sticky and dry. I shot Garrison a sideways look. He was staring at the two burgers on his plate as if seeking guidance from them.
“I’m gay.” Garrison blurted out.
The backyard fell into silence so complete my ears started to ring slightly as they sought out some sound. My gaze stayed on my macaroni salad but my hand slid over to rest on Garrison’s thigh. The muscles under my palm were tight as banjo strings.
My father, bless his heart, was the first to speak.
“We’re so glad you feel safe and loved enough to tell us that, Garrison,” Dad said then asked Mr. Rook to pass the mustard. As you can imagine, the lighthearted air of the cookout changed dramatically. Garrison gripped my hand and held it so tightly my fingers started going numb.
“Emily, take your food and go inside,” Mr. Rook said.
“Oh please, Daddy, I know he’s gay. He and O’Malley have been hooking up for close to two months now,” Emily announced then decided to tack on, “they were in love back in high school.” My gaze leaped from my salad to the young miss with the incredibly big mouth. She took a bite of her burger and chewed merrily. Mr. and Mrs. Rook looked like someone had hit them in the back of their heads with the croquet mallets lying in the yard.
“Maybe O’Malley and I should go home.” Dad interjected into the tension.
“No, stay.” Garrison barked then lifted our clasped hands out from under the table. He dropped our hands between our plates defiantly. “This is me now. This is me and O’Malley being a couple so if there are any girls down on the beach, they’ll have to look at some other dude.”
“Garrison.” Mrs. Rook gently called and her son looked at her just as I did. “There’s no need to be insolent, we’re just – well – we’re shocked, to be honest. When did you realize you were gay?”
“Years ago, I just had sex with women to keep up the façade. All those chicks I slept with were beards, I guess.”
“Emily, take your food and go to your room,” Mr. Rook said again.
“Daddy, I know all about gay sex and beards. I want to be here to show Garrison my support.” She raised a fist into the air. A nervous laugh escaped and everyone looked at me.
“Sorry.” I mumbled then returned to admiring the celery chunks in my macaroni salad. The conversation skidded out of control for a few minutes with Mr. Rook and Emily bickering while Garrison and his mother were discussing the difference between insolence and determination.
“Perhaps we should all just take a deep breath and let Garrison know that we love him and hope that he and O’Malley are happy together. I’d really like some mustard,” my father loudly said. I smiled at my salad and then lifted my head.
“Son,” Mr. Rook said after he gave my father a nod of agreement. “Your mother and I don’t care if you love a man or a woman. We just want you to be happy.”
“And if O’Malley makes you happy, then we’re fine with you and him dating. Lord knows he’s like our second son and we love him to bits.”
“Eww, that makes it super creepy,” Emily said between bites of burger.
Garrison started crying. I shook my fingers free from his death grip and threw my arms around his shaking shoulders. I don’t recall ever seeing Garrison Rook cry as much as he had over the past eight weeks. Even as a kid if he fell down, he hardly ever cried unless it was a wound that required an emergency room visit followed by a cast or stitches. There had been a couple of trips like those for both of us. Sure, he’d moan and hiss, but not cry. Me, I cried at the drop of a hat as we touched upon earlier. Mr. and Mrs. Rook left their seats to embrace their son.
“I was so sure you would hate me.” Garrison coughed and pulled his parents and me closer. I started sniffling, as did Mrs. Rook. His parents assured him that they could never hate him. He cried harder. I held him tighter. Emily grabbed my hand and squeezed it. My father got up and got the mustard himself. It was a beautiful moment.
***
The rest of that meal was interesting, to say the least. After the tears subsided, the Rook family kind of pulled rank around their eldest child, and that was completely understandable. Mr. and Mrs. Rook sat with Garrison at the picnic table, Emily on the table, her long legs in a lotus, and they all talked. Dad and I cleaned up. As we did, we kept exchanging anxious smiles. While I was glad to have this out in the open and thrilled for Garrison, I was growing anxious to get moving. Kiawah Island waited, as did a day of spa treatment and a night or two of having Garrison. Every time I thought about what lay ahead for us, my body reacted strongly. Washing dishes helped keep the boners at bay.
After we had the kitchen tidy, Dad and I slipped back to our house. We chatted while I packed for the weekend away. Thirty minutes later, I was pacing back and forth beside Garrison’s Silverado, my bag in the back seat. When the front door opened, I jogged up to meet Garrison on the front porch. He had Tipsy on her leash.
“Mal, can you take her around the block quick? It’s Emily’s turn to walk her but she fell asleep. I need to grab some clothes and then we can roll.”
The sun was just setting and the sky was aflame with the colors of passion fruit and mango. The colors settled like watercolors on Garrison’s dark hair. Obviously, someone’s mind was already on the villa by the lagoon. I couldn’t wait to order a slushy rummy drink in a tall, fancy glass. I also could not wait to make love to Garrison in a plush bed with a warm breeze off said lagoon blowing over us.
“Of course.” I lifted the leash from his fingers then leaned in to peck his scruffy cheek. He snorted then pulled me in for a fast hug. God and all the angels rejoiced inside my head. We had a PDA on his porch! “Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah, they’re good. Still a little shaken up but good,” he said then released me. “Go walk her. I’ll be ready when you get back. We can talk on the way.”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes.” I told him then took off with Tipsy at my right. Our neighborhood was settling in for the night. Most of the picnics would take place later this weekend. It was just a typical dusk settling over Willow Glen and its inhabitants.
Tipsy stopped at every tree and sniffed but no package dropping happened. We had just rounded the corner when a familiar loud vehicle ambled around the corner behind us, the exhaust loud enough to rattle windows. As soon as I heard the noisy dual pipes, I groaned and braced myself for what was to come. It was only a matter of time until this band of bigoted baboons caught up with me, I supposed. At least now, I had a few more pounds of muscle on me. Crocker Arnold wouldn’t be shoving me into lockers as easily as he had back in ninth grade.
“Hey, hey, look what’s come back to Willow Glen. It’s the town faggot.” Crocker shouted, his voice deep and gravelly. Probably from all those packs of Marlboro he smokes. The truck crept up beside me. Masculine laughter rolled out of the silver pickup. Ah, yes, he had his apes with him, of course. Tipsy glanced at the truck creeping alongside us and gave them a warning ruff.
“You walking the streets looking for a dick to suck, O’Malley?”
“I thought you were down in Florida with all the rest of the queers.”
“Hey, gay boy, you ain’t ignoring us, are you?” Crocker shouted then cut the engine to his truck.
I pulled up short and turned to face the men exiting the Ford pickup. Crocker strolled over to me, his gait slow and easy. A lit smoke dangled from his lips. He ha
d always reminded me of that protagonist from the movie Christine. Not the car, of course, but the hoodlum, Buddy Repperton. Crocker had long dark hair, always wore tight jeans, and had a real fondness for concealed knives. I’d seen his switchblade on more than one occasion back in school. He was fond of showing it to people he preyed on. Pony Mitchell and Allen Jones rounded out his trio. The rest of his gang was probably in jail. Hell, maybe they were dead. Tipsy gave Crocker another low ruff. I stepped in front of the dog. Lord knows these three would think nothing of kicking the old girl just for showing good taste in the people she disliked.
“It’s hard to ignore a six foot tall walking pile of shit,” I replied while Tipsy began growling. I felt her soft fur on the back of my knees. Pony Mitchell, so named because a pony kicked him in the face when he was a kid and broke his nose, threw a deadly look at Tipsy.
“Shut the fuck up, dog.” Pony snarled and lifted his foot as if he planned to kick Tipsy. I gave Pony a shove to the chest that sent the short, portly bully backward off the curb. His flat ass hit the quarter panel of Crocker’s truck.
“If you lay a hand on this dog I will beat you senseless.” I growled while lifting my fists defensively.
“Well lookie here.” Crocker chuckled as his lackeys spat at the ground by my feet. “Guess the fag finally grew a set. Hey, Allen, you think he shaves his nuts like a chick shaves her legs? Oh, maybe you get yourself one of them bikini waxes like my girl does. I bet so,” Crocker said while his buddies chortled at his taunts. I kept my fists up and my sight moving between the three. “I bet you got balls as bare as a baby’s ass so them fag boyfriends of yours can suck them and not get hair between their teeth.”
The trio of morons laughed long and hard at that one.
“Damn, Crocker,” Pony said after the laughter dwindled. “I think he likes hearing you talk about his balls. I think I seen him eyeballing your crotch and licking his lips.”
All the humor left Crocker’s long face. I made sure my thumbs weren’t tucked into my fists, just as Garrison had taught me so long ago. Tipsy barked again. Pony’s pale blue eyes darted to the dog as a sneer lifted one side of his face.
“You’re this close to me carving out those fag eyeballs of yours, O’Malley.” Crocker snarled then reached for his front pocket.
“Evening, boys,” I heard Garrison say. Pony and Allen startled slightly. Crocker, he never took his hateful dark eyes from me, even when Garrison stepped up beside me and faced the talking pile of shit. “Been awhile since we caught up proper,” Garrison said then draped an arm around my shoulder. I still kept my fists up and ready for action. My mouth was dry, my upper lip damp, and my heart was beating triple its normal speed. “Seems to me that last time we had a visit I ended up sending you three to the ER. Since O’Malley and I are going on vacation for a few days, I’d hate to have to spend the next several hours telling the police chief all about how I can still kick all three of your asses.”
“Fuck you, Rook. You and he probably suck each other off.” Crocker snarled as his hand hovered by his front pocket. Headlights swept over us. Crocker and the Wonderfully Stupid Twins both spun around. Mrs. Rutherford, who works for the township, drove by at a crawl, her gaze drinking in the gathering.
“Why don’t you head on back home, Crocker, before you end up on the bad end of another ass stomping?” Garrison asked then lifted a hand to wave at Mrs. Rutherford.
“Yes please, get moving before the zookeepers come looking for you,” I said as Tipsy woofed loudly in agreement.
Crocker threw a look at our neighbor sitting in the street, idling. His sight flew to Garrison and me and the hatred in his eyes was frightening.
“This is just the beginning, Queer Boy. We don’t like fags roaming our streets looking for little boys to feel up.”
With that, he threw up a middle finger for Mrs. Rutherford, whistled for his trained monkeys, and climbed back into his truck. Smoke poured off his tires. The dual pipes roared, and the Bigot Brigade flew down Magnolia Lane, hung a left, and then disappeared from view.
“Are you two boys okay?” Mrs. Rutherford called from inside her Honda Accord.
“Just fine, ma’am,” Garrison replied with a smile. She nodded and drove off. “You can lower your fists, Mal.” He told me a moment later. My hands uncurled and fell to my sides. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I told him after I made enough spit so that I could swallow. “I could have handled them, Garrison. I’m not ten anymore.”
“I know, but you know the rules. Where O’Malley goes…”
“Garrison is sure to follow,” I replied from memory. That had been our pledge to each other way back in first grade. And it had stuck until that night when everything had gone to hell in a handbasket way above the Rook’s backyard. “I thought you were packing.”
“I did. Then I came looking for you so we could get going.” He gave my neck a tug. “Come on, let’s hit the road.” I craned my head to give the darkening street that Crocker had made his smoky exit on one last look. Tipsy ambled out from behind me. Garrison reached down to ruffle her ears and praise her for being so fierce. Tipsy then led Garrison and me back home with her nose held proudly in the air.
Twelve
“Would you look at this suite?” I gushed as our porter carried our two duffel bags into our villa. Garrison whistled appreciatively. My gaze roamed over the airy villa, touching on the soft beige walls of the living room then flickering over the long white sheers that rustled gently on a cool night breeze. The couch was dark tan with tons of pillows embellished with embroidered seashells. Two brown chairs faced the sofa. A 42-inch TV hung on the wall to the right of the grouping.
You could hear the ocean from where we stood in the living room. Garrison slipped the porter, a pleasant young man named Julius, five bucks. Julius smiled widely and informed us that breakfast ran from seven to nine in the Plover Room just across the lagoon. I suspected that the three hour drive to this wonderful low-country coastal community was going to prove to be completely worth it.
“Was that enough of a tip, you think?” Garrison asked as I bolted through the small but modern kitchen. I peeked around a wall that separated the living room from the kitchen.
“Yes, I’d say so. Garrison, we can cook in here.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass on the cooking and eat out. I can’t make a grilled cheese sandwich without burning it,” he said then picked up our bags and disappeared down a hallway. I hurried after him.
“Remember that time I slept over and you burned our grilled cheeses so badly you set off the smoke alarm,” I asked, and he nodded. We passed a small guest bedroom with a single bed, which also had natural colors like sand and ivory on the walls and windows. I got just a glimpse into the bathroom. The walls in there were a light green.
“Yeah, my father came racing downstairs with a glass of water ready to put out the flames.” Garrison chortled then pushed open what had to be the door for the master bedroom. I stepped around him after he walked into the room. “Wow, this is amazing.” Garrison murmured as our bags hit the thick carpeting.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. The room was large and open, with a king-sized bed covered with a softly swirled smoke-colored comforter. The carpeting and walls were off white. A huge cherry dresser with another massive TV sat across from the foot of the bed. Dark gray blinds covered a huge window to the left of the bed. A pair of double doors with matching but smaller gray blinds called to us. Garrison pulled the doors open and we stepped out onto a patio that overlooked the lagoon. Small torches lit the edge of the water. The five other villas were dark, as it was close to midnight now. The roar of the ocean was even louder out here. I thought about sitting down in one of the tasteful wrought iron chairs and calling room service for a rummy fruity drink in a tall glass, but Garrison stepping up behind me then wrapping me in his arms kicked the lounging idea right into the lagoon.
His cock rubbed against my ass, the hard length of him telling me the
man was not thinking about kicking back to enjoy a cold one after the drive.
“I can’t believe my life is going so well,” he whispered beside my ear. I leaned back into him and allowed my eyelids to drift downward. “It’s all because of you, Mal. Everything good that has happened to me in the past couple months is all because of you.”
I shook my head gently. He pressed his lips to my neck. “No, that’s not true,” I said while rubbing my hands on his thick forearms. “All the good things happened because you made them happen. You stopped hiding and stepped into the gay man that you are.”
“I would have never done that without you by my side.” He insisted then ran his teeth over my jugular. A trembling chill went through me. My cock started to plump up. “You gave me the courage I needed.”
“This is probably the most romantic moment in my life.” I sighed as he began a slow pumping motion that began to unravel my already dulling thoughts.
“Let’s go inside.” He purred while pushing his erection into my ass. “I know you want to soak up the romance, but I need to have you in me, Mal. I want that more than I want to pull in another breath.”
I wanted that too. Desperately, frantically, urgently, wildly and any other word you wished to staple LY onto. I wriggled around in his arms and took his face in my hands. The flickering torch light made him even more handsome, more Garrison, more the man that I would lead as tenderly as possible into what was to come next for us. Suddenly the thought was a little overwhelming. I had never initiated anyone into the Bottoms Up! Club before.
Sure, my erotic fantasies had been amazing. No pain, no remorse, no begging off or freaking out, just hot, slippery sex with Garrison playing the part of the perfect bottom, willing and shy, begging for more of my cock then whimpering about its size. My balls felt heavy and my cock was hard and ready. What if I fucked this up? What if I hurt him badly, or made him hate anal sex for the rest of eternity? What if I botched this up so badly he decided to be straight just to avoid a dick in his ass ever again? What if—