Riding with Brighton

by Haven Francis

  “So you’re really involved?”

  “As much as I can be,” I tell him, stopping at the first overlook, which faces the east side of the field. From here you can appreciate how much art is actually on this property. It looks like an alien landscape: strange masses set down randomly on the ground. It’s beautiful. “I’m good with power tools, and I can fabricate metal. But like I said, the best part is giving the tours. I spend a huge chunk of my summers here.”

  “Sounds nice,” he says, the agitation still clear in his voice.

  “It is nice.” I turn and proceed with our upward climb.

  “It’ll probably be even nicer, maybe even heavenly, with Samuel here.”

  There it is.

  It’s kind of cute the way he gets jealous so easily. I’m pretty sure even me kissing a girl got him a little worked up. Although, if I were actually dating him, I know from past experience, it’s not cute at all. “It probably won’t change anything. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who needs my assistance erecting whatever it is he’s gonna be putting together.”

  “Yeah, I guess not. So when Maggie said he was like Harrison…. Is that your ex?”

  “Yup,” I say, trying not to sound annoyed. I can talk about Samuel, but I don’t really want to talk about Harrison.

  “When she said Samuel reminded her of Harrison, did she mean his looks? Is that your type—burly mountain men in dirty clothes, their hands covered in veggie balls?”

  I look away from him so he doesn’t see my smile. He’s too damn cute for his own good. “I don’t know what she meant. Yeah, Harrison sometimes dressed like he was the outdoorsy type. Sometimes he had a beard. Sometimes he didn’t. But she could have been talking about the artist thing, or the older thing, or the vegetarian thing. I mean, I’m gonna take a guess that if a guy is making veggie balls he’s a vegetarian, right?” I ask, turning to look at Jay as we get to the ladder that will lead to the crow’s nest.

  His face is blank as I stare at him. “Yeah… veggie balls… vegetarian. Sure. You like vegetarians?”

  I laugh. God, it’s weird to see him, Jay Hall, looking at me like that. Like I’m breaking his heart. Jay.

  “Sure. I don’t really care what someone eats. You know, as long as it’s not kittens, dogs, or bunnies. You ready?” I ask, taking the first few steps up the ladder.

  “You’re the one who’s afraid of going up rickety ladders, not me.”

  “I built this ladder. It’s not rickety.”

  “So who was the artist that you were working with on this?”

  “Her name is Sarah, and she’s probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You know, one of those people who are so good it makes you hate yourself. It sucked when she left.”

  “Holy shit,” he says when he takes his final steps into the little deck that feels more like a room with its colorful bench swing, wind chimes and the window frame all hanging from the pitched roof. I walk to the frame and look onto the perfect view of a giant, glistening heart in the distance. “Wow, it’s like a picture on a wall.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Her husband made it six months before he died. Sarah was living here with him, but she didn’t think she was an artist. And then she had the vision for this masterpiece. She built all of this just so she, and anyone else who climbs up here, can get the perfect view of his heart.”

  “Jesus, it’s like you live in some fairy-tale world built on the vapors of true love—your parents, Doc and Betty, and now Sarah and her husband. No wonder you dream about going to the school dance. I suppose you’re gonna get there in some pumpkin-turned-carriage.”

  “Are you calling me a princess?”

  “Not exactly. Just a reference to the whole true-love thing.”

  “I guess you’re right. I’ve seen true love quite a few times. All stages of it… even the aftereffects. I guess that’s not something everyone gets to see.” I let out a breath so I don’t lose it. “It’s hard to think about Sarah. She was completely broken after she lost James. But the months we spent putting this thing together—watching the care and love she put into every detail while she told me about their lives—was amazing. And by the time we were done, you could see it: like she had been cleansed and was ready to move forward with her life.”

  “I didn’t mean to get all sarcastic about it. It really is amazing,” Jay says.

  “Yeah,” I quietly agree, backing away to sit on the swing.

  He joins me, and we rock in silence, looking out the frame and onto the heart reflecting the sun.

  “I’m sorry,” he eventually says, “for acting like a jealous asshole. I’ve just never felt that before, you know? This,” he says, loosely gesturing to his surroundings, “is something I want. And I guess right now I’m picturing some fairy-tale romance with you, but if that’s never gonna happen, I still want you to find what all those other people have. Even if it’s with Samuel.”

  I laugh at the pissy way he says Samuel’s name. “Wow, Jay, you’re evolving right in front of my eyes. You’re picturing a happily ever after with a guy, huh?”

  “I know, right? Jesus, the cast of characters living inside of me… I had no idea.”

  “The good news is, everyone’s true love is out there somewhere. The bad news is, you told me you’re sorry so now you gotta dance.”

  He laughs. “I’ll give you five bucks instead.”

  “I don’t want your money. I want to see you move your hips. I bet you’re a sexy dancer.”

  “Not even close. And the last person I want to see me dance is you.”

  “What if I dance with you?”

  He turns to me, curiosity in his eyes. “Here?”

  “Yeah, here.”

  “There’s no room.”

  “I’ll hold you really close, I promise.” I stand and offer him my hands.

  “Fine.” He takes my hands and I pull him up and he’s right—there’s not a lot of room. He falls against me, and I fall back into the pillar, his body resting on mine.

  “Shit,” he says through his laughter, “sor—”

  “Maybe after you get danced with properly, you’ll actually want to say the word.”

  “I’m sorry,” he tells me with a smirk.

  I stand upright, and his body moves with mine. I let go of his hands so I can wrap mine around his shoulders. I let my fingers feel the muscles there. They’re strong and big, and they turn me on. “Wrap your arms around my waist,” I say, and my voice comes out too husky. He does what I say, gripping my hips so tight it feels possessive. “How does that feel?”

  “Really fucking good,” he whispers, resting his forehead on mine and letting his fingers splay out so they round the top of my ass.

  I always envied girls one thing. If they’re turned on, the person that’s turning them on doesn’t necessarily have to know about it. But shit, here with his hands on me, his body pressed up on me and his mouth so close to mine I can practically taste it, I literally spring to life. The only consolation is that I know he’s turned on too.

  His hips start swaying against mine. I’m guessing it’s to create some friction, but I tell him, “See, you’re a natural. I don’t even gotta tell you what to do.”

  “I guess I can see it now.” His voice sounds drunk with desire, and his fingers press harder into me. “How dancing is sexy. How it’s the best form of foreplay.”

  “It’s definitely dangerous.” I close my eyes and let my hands run up his neck and into his hair. I pull on it, forcing his face away from mine. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me and the look in his eyes is clear—he’s begging me.

  I remember that feeling. I remember wanting so damn badly to be kissed for the first time. And I suppose this is like a first for Jay. I mean, I know how I felt when Josie kissed me today—it was pleasant, but it didn’t satisfy or create any desire inside me. And if Jay is gay—if he’s not bisexual or bi-curious or just a confused straight guy, if he is just straight-up gay—then he’s never really been kissed. �
�I want to be the first guy that gets to kiss you,” I whisper.

  “Fucking do it, then,” he practically moans, and I like it. I like his passion and his aggression. I like it way too much.

  I push my fingers farther into his hair and grip hard, pulling him close to me—pulling his lips close to mine. His hands slide up me, and he grabs on hard to my waist, pulling me into him, our hard-ons colliding. Fuck. I almost lose all self-control, but I meant what I said. I’m not gonna mess around with someone who already belongs to someone else. Not that I’m not messing around with him right now, but….

  Slowly, I lean in and brush my lips against his. His mouth tries to push into mine, but I retreat before biting down gently on his lower lip, feeling the flesh pass between my teeth until it pops free. I move my hands down to his shoulders, and I gently push off of him, creating some necessary space.

  He looks a little dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me?”

  “It was a punishment, right?” I tell him with a smirk, trying to make light of this situation that he clearly doesn’t find amusing.

  “So you’re trying to torture me? You’re totally fucking with me?” He takes a step back and runs his hands through his hair. His face is tense, and I’m wondering if I took it too far. “Is this all some joke to you? You think it’s funny that I might be gay? You want to see how far you can push me, then you’re gonna… what? Go running back to your friends and tell them how stupid I am and laugh about all the fun you had fucking with me all day?”

  My head actually retracts at those words. What the hell? “Wow, Jay. Really? I opened up to you, showed you all kinds of pieces of my world, and that’s what I get for it? You think I’m some kind of sadist who would get pleasure out of torturing some kid who might be gay?” I can’t help but put some emphasis on those three words because it just proves how not ready he is for any of this. “And then run back to my friends and brag about being some asshole? You’re fucking ridiculous,” I say, pushing past him and climbing back down the ladder.

  “Brighton,” he calls after me. His tone isn’t pleading but pissed. I hear him clatter down the ladder, and I walk faster. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you do that? I mean, fuck, do you know how completely vulnerable I feel right now? I didn’t grow up in a family like yours. I haven’t surrounded myself with open-minded, diverse people. I have nothing to relate to. I have a lifetime of self-hatred and confusion inside my head, and when you do shit like that to me, after you know what I’m dealing with right now, it feels cruel, and so yeah, I’m trying to figure out why you’re being so damn cruel.”

  I’ve made it out of Maggie’s sculpture now, and I’m stomping across the field trying to stay pissed at him… but I can’t. What he said was wrong, but I know he didn’t mean it. What he just told me is the truth.

  When I realize this, I stop and turn to him. He’s resting against Maggie’s ship, looking totally drained, and now I feel like an asshole. I walk back to him and stop when I’m within a few feet. I grab on to both of his hands and try to pull him to me, but he resists. “Come here.”

  “Why? Are you gonna give me a friendly hug or pat on the back because, honestly, Brighton, I’m not in the mood.”

  “No, Jay. Come here.”

  Chapter Five

  Jay

  I CAN detect at least twelve emotions running through me, and I probably haven’t even scratched the surface. Mentally, I wasn’t prepared for the roller-coaster ride this day has taken me on and, honestly, I’m tired of it. At least the parts of the track that I’m sure Brighton is snapping into place on purpose.

  But as he whispers the words come here for the second time, I can’t help but trust that if I do what he says he’ll make it worth it. If he doesn’t, then, seriously, I’m gonna want to tear his damn balls off. I won’t, because that would mean this day that I’m having with him will have to come to an end, but I’ll definitely want to.

  I relent and let him pull me to him. His strong hands grip hard to mine, leading them behind his back so we are pushed up against each other. He holds my hands, and therefore me, in place and then he ducks his head and kisses me lightly on my throat.

  Oh Jesus, God, Buddha, Mohammad, Warren Jeffs, L. Ron f’ing Hubbard…. His teeth on my lip, that was one thing, but this—his wet mouth on my skin—sends a rush of shivers to parts of my body I didn’t even know I had. “Fuck,” I whisper, and he laughs against my throat and even that feels damn good. “If you’re teasing me again,” I try to threaten, but my voice sounds way too breathy and deep.

  He kisses, bites, and licks his way up my neck and when he gets to my ear he whispers, “No.” He bites my earlobe and licks and kisses it and, seriously, there are weird white lights flashing in front of my eyes, and I hear myself groan. “I’m not teasing you. I’m gonna let myself kiss you. Just once.”

  “Now, Brighton,” I demand ’cause I legitimately feel like I might pass out.

  “Yeah, Jay, now.”

  And then his lips are on mine. And my lips are so fucking on his. Immediately, I feel crazed, like I’m on drugs or some crazy alien has taken up residence in my body. My mouth is attacking his, and all I want to do is scream because finally… finally… he’s kissing me. So grunts and moans and whimpers are coming out of my mouth, and thank God, they’re coming out of Brighton’s mouth too. Our tongues are moving in some frantic motion that could be war or some kind of perverse sexual dance.

  With my hands still held firmly in his behind his back, he takes a step forward and backs me up to Maggie’s sculpture, and when he does this, it’s like my entire body just got invited to the face-sucking party. My head starts moving with the rhythm of my tongue, I rip my hands away from his so I can grab on to his ass, and my hips press into his like they’re Sandy and he’s the Haitian coast. Hell, even my legs are doing some weird long-limbed form of groping. I lose myself in it all. If I could, I would be howling. (Metaphor—wild fucking animal, feral beast.)

  Way too soon, Brighton pulls away and takes a step back, running a sleeve over his wet, swollen lips. “Holy shit,” we mutter at the same time. He laughs, and it takes a minute for me to come back to reality and catch my breath, but eventually I laugh too.

  “So are you still thinking you might be gay?” he asks with a cocky expression on his face.

  He knows damn well I’ve never been kissed, or have kissed, anyone like that, but in my current state I can’t come up with any witty, or even smartass, comments. So I just tell him, “Yeah. I’m pretty damn sure.”

  He grabs ahold of my waist. “Good, because I’d be pretty damn disappointed if I never got to kiss you again.”

  “It was a onetime deal, though, yeah? Until I get my shit figured out?”

  “Until you know what you want for sure. I’ll help you, Jay, if you want it.”

  “I want you, Brighton. I know that. There’s no gray areas.”

  “I didn’t say who you want, I said what you want. If you really knew what you wanted, if you wanted all of this and not just a physical situation with me, you wouldn’t have said what you did. I know you didn’t mean it, but that’s all your fear coming out. It’s the straight you hating on the gay you. I don’t expect you to figure it out in one day. But now, at least you’ll have some real-life material to work with instead of just the Internet.” He smirks at me, and for some reason I want to slap him.

  “I don’t know how to speed this process up. I mean, shit, right now I’m ready to tell anyone who wants to listen that I’m gay just so I can kiss you again but obviously, when reality starts setting in and I wake up tomorrow without you, I know I’m gonna be scared shitless.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It’s a process. It takes time. Like I said, if you want my help, I’ll be here. But you have to do all of this on your own terms when you’re ready.”

  “Can we come up with some kind of reward system?” I ask him, partially in an attempt to lighten the mood and partially out of desperation. “Like if I buy a rainbow bumper stic
ker for my truck I get to lie with you in your bed. Or if I tell Maggie and Samuel and your family I’m gay, you have to play all your favorite music for me. Or if I school myself on gay slang and figure out what lies beyond the bears, I get to dance with you again.”

  He gives me the cutest goddamn smile just before growling at me and grabbing ahold of the sides of my face. “Jesus, how the hell am I gonna be strong enough to stay away from you?” Before I have a chance to answer, he releases me and turns around. “Come on, let me show you my second favorite piece, and then we should get going.”

  As I watch his jean-clad ass walk away from me, I’m trying to come up with a legitimate answer to his rhetorical question. How the hell am I gonna make sure he’s not strong enough to stay away from me?

  We walk across the field, and he points out some of the sculptures, telling me how they were made or what the artist was trying to accomplish. Slowly, my one-track mind starts opening up, and I can feel the magic of the place I’m at. It’s inspiring. “It’s crazy that this whole other world exists in the same town I live in and I wasn’t even aware of it. It’s like I just discovered a door in my backyard that leads to some awesome fantasy land.”

  “Add it to your list.”

  “What else are you gonna show me today?”

  “This beautiful thing, for one,” he says, grabbing on to my hand—which, yes, excites the hell out of me—and leading me around a large piece of plywood. On the other side is a huge photograph of a naked lady lying in the sun. In front of it are tiers of flowers flowing down and around it, like they’re actually moving, like they’re falling out of the picture. “You like it?”

  “Yeah, I like it. It feels like more than the other pieces, you know?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I guess it’s because there’s a person. I mean, it’s not just an object. There’s a real person.”