Noah Carter Williams
Noah drove into town with no destination in mind. He had been home for four days from college, home for the summer break and found himself stir crazy. He felt trapped in his room, in his home, and as he drove past the small strip center, even in the town. He was a going to be a junior come next fall, and each semester away made him feel less of a connection to the town. He knew the reason, what fed this sense of no longer belonging. He was gay in a conservative southern town where most viewed him as damaged, psychologically unwell, someone who made a choice that was evil.
Driving by the high school the last four weeks of his senior year came back to him with all its emotional baggage. He still felt anxious when thinking of it. The getting outed. Then dealing with it with his classmates and teachers, then his family.
It had been a fluke, pure dumb luck. It had been April, getting close to their graduation when he had finally got the courage to make contact with a gay guy who was a senior at another school in the next county. It seemed a safe bet. He went to the guy’s town and out on what he considered his first real date. They went to a steak house down in Greenville, then to a movie, one of the hero franchise flicks. Then they went out two more times.
But everything went sideways when Mark asked him who he was hanging out with the previous weekend. Noah didn’t think about it, considered it nothing of importance. There was no way anyone in his school knew him. Joshua Aiken.
Emily overheard, asking if it was Joshua from Buford. That few seconds played over and over since that afternoon. The realization someone at his school did know Joshua. Emily’s first cousin from Buford had told her about Joshua Aiken, the openly gay guy at their school. An openly gay guy he had been seen with. The association quickly evolved into a realization that he too was gay.
There was the ostracizing by some and the support by others, and the division was surprising. His friends split between the two groups; therefore, some were no longer his friends. He had to come out to his family dealing with the emotions and the fact he was not who they thought, their only son. Dealing with his family caused him to fuck up his relationship with Joshua, something he had since apologized.
Turning on Fifth Street, still no destination in mind, Noah sped back up then changed the radio to another station, frowning at how nothing playing was appealing. After the playlists of the college station, so much of mainstream radio seemed redundant.
He passed the hardware store and the small warehouse facility for one of the drink companies, then the old shopping center anchored with a grocery store and drug store. Just past the center he saw the library, built fifteen years ago. He was too young to remember but had heard some talk about what a big deal it had been for the town to get it. He had not been inside it since high school and realized it would be a good place to kill some time. He slowed to turn in, then eased through the small parking lot to a space near the front. Maybe he would read magazines or newspapers or just browse the stacks.
Ren Copeland
Ren roamed the stacks, circling down aisle after aisle, at times dragging his finger across the spines. He found himself in biographies, scanning the names of people who were famous for some reason, thus deserving at least one book on their life. He read some of the names looking for one he could feel a connection. Just one would be enough. Anyone he thought could be a reflection of his own life, as short as it had been. Only fourteen, still a kid in the eyes of his parents and other adults. Just a kid. A kid hiding in plain sight.
Name after name passed under his finger, and not one reached out to him. Not one spoke to him of his isolation, his sense of not belonging. Not one.
Ren came to the end the aisle, and headed toward the back of the library, skipping the remaining sections of biographies and autobiographies. He passed the African American section and wondered if Paul or Phyllis had ever checked books from the section. Had they ever searched for a book within its shelves that spoke to them about race and the asinine way some used it to divide. How some claimed superiority over those that had a dark skin tone. He thought of Curtis and his father, the two of them riding around in that old Ford truck with a Confederate flag in the rear window. Ren was afraid of Curtis, avoided being in close approximation to him. The bullying of anyone Curtis thought weak or different seemed to radiate from him. Like some disturbance in the air that made it hard to breathe.
Ren had never been in this section of the library, and he moved cautiously, scanning the labels describing each section. It had been over a year since he had come to the library and all the visits prior had involved his mother going around with him. She said she wanted to help him find something suitable to read, and she had pulled book after book, until he finally agreed to one of her suggestions. In hindsight, Ren knew she was censoring what he read. He knew when he got home, she would want to see what he checked out, and back on the table by his backpack lay two books to show her. Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky and The Martian by Andy Weir. Science fiction that he was interested in reading, a genre he enjoyed for it let him forget. And they would be safe, books his mother would have no objections.
LGBTQ Literature and Studies. The sign seemed to glow, the black letters on the white background seemed larger than the other signs. He felt his heart race and breathing become shallow. He looked toward the front to see if anyone was looking, then ducked down the aisle and began to scan the spines of the books.
Could he actually check out one of the books? What would the woman at the front desk have to say about a kid laying one of them down for her to process. The books were here, in this library so someone must be checking them out. But who? Could it be someone in his class, or maybe one of the older boys. Ricky or Nathan or maybe the senior who lived next door. The tall muscular Travis Holden with perfect blonde hair and blue eyes and a body that seemed to be trying to escape the tight clothes he always wore. He smirked, knowing he was being ridiculous to think any of those boys would be looking at a book with a gay storyline, especially Travis.
A few books were turned revealing their front covers and one captured his eye. He picked it up and read the description. Then he looked at the cover again, quietly reading the title aloud.
“Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.”
He read the author’s name: Benjamin Alire Saenz, and there was no recognition. He held the book like something forbidden, some temptation, then he held it to his thigh, close, the cover hidden from sight. He was determined to check it out. He moved further down the aisle and was shocked to see a Young Adult section. He browsed the titles slipping one or two out to read their descriptions. Eventually he came to be holding Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan and he held it on top of Aristotle and Dante, knowing if he could get one checked out, he could get two. At the end of aisle where it opened onto the main aisle, he looked toward the front to see if he recognized anyone. With the coast clear, he rushed to the table where the other books lay. He slipped his backpack over the right shoulder, stacked the books, the gay themed books on bottom, and headed to the front desk.
He came to the front desk where Ms. Rebecca Kozlowski was checking books back into the system. As he came close, she looked up and smiled.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” Kozlowski asked.
“Yes, mam, I think so,” Ren replied, and he could hear the nervousness in his voice.
“Well, let’s see what you have today,” reaching out to take the four books. “Oh, these two have been really popular, and these…” She hesitated, looked up at Ren, then back at the books. “Well, these should be really good too.”
Ren came out of the library and stood at his bicycle. He just stood there for a long time, looking straight ahead but not seeing the passing motorist, or Sheila Harris walking her German Shepherd, or how the sun was hitting him in the face as it descended in the western sky. He only saw an opening, some doorway to a secret he desperately wanted to discover. He took a deep breath, then smiled. Ms. Kozlowski had checked out the books and handed them to him with a smile and nothing more. As simple as that and he had them buried in the inner pocket of his backpack with the other two in the main section.
Noah
The library was quiet, only a few other patrons at the tables positioned to one side and a few others browsing the stacks or at one of the computers. It was all so familiar, a place that had not changed since he last visited. The community board had a new display and the man at the desk was new, but despite these differences, everything else was as expected. A familiar place, one that offered knowledge, adventure, or comfort.
Noah scanned the magazines, looked through a couple of them, then strolled past the newspapers seeing headlines he had no desire to know more. He had heard the headlines earlier and it seemed to be the same chaos, the same cruelties, or simply something so mundane he couldn’t believe anyone cared. Glancing around, he looked at two guys reading at the tables. One was near the far wall, away from everyone else and the other sat at the end of a table adjacent to the center aisle, looking up at anyone who entered.
Noah imagined their stories, the one furthest away someone seeking isolation, tired of the routine of life. The trying to meet someone, the drudgery of daily life at some smalltown job, using the library as a place of solace, a place to seek a better life. Noah saw the books scattered in front of him and pictured books for some class at the nearby community college, the first step of escape for some in the town.
Then Noah looked at the other guy, how there was this constant looking up, checking out everyone who came in or passed by. A young guy came in, backpack slung over one shoulder, and the guy seated watched him, head turning to follow the other’s movement toward the computers. Noah imagined how this guy was looking to meet someone. He was using the library, instead of the coffee shop, or the grocery store, or the hardware store to cross paths with other guys. It seemed desperate, but then again, were they all not desperate to some degree. He had the college environment, and it had provided him with opportunities to date or to simply hookup when his roommate was gone long enough. Looking at the two guys with his imagining of them being like him, he could see the difficulty of life in this small town if he had not left for college.
He didn’t want to continue watching what he imagined was happening, so he strolled down the main aisle, looking at the labels for Literature, Biographies, History, eventually turning down the aisle for Science Fiction/Fantasy. Moving slowly along the narrow aisle, eyes scanning the titles, some familiar but most unfamiliar, Noah expected one to jump out at him. The perfect summer read that would announce itself in some intriguing title that it was the one he sought. At the end of the aisle, hands still empty, he moved along the outside aisle. Skipping two aisles, he came to the one labeled LGBTQ Literature and Studies. It tugged at him, lured him in with promise. Stories he could relate to, or stories that gave him hope, or a thrill of what was possible. Despite being out he still looked around to see if anyone was looking.
Old habits die hard.
He moved slowly down the aisle, past books dealing with sociological issues, psychological issues for those abused or suffering harsh discrimination, then he came to the memoirs and literature sections, and he scanned the titles, seeking one to check out.
It was on the bottom shelf, a shelf that was barely off the floor, and Noah got down on his knees to get a better look at the spine. It had looked crude and once he was down in the floor and the book pulled out an inch or so, he saw it was not just crude, but hand made.
Black fabric glued to a cardboard cover, and in white paint, the title. No author’s name, just the title. Blue Bird.
Noah opened the little book, about four inches wide by six inches high, and saw a title page. There was no blank page or frontispiece, just a crude title page.
Blue Bird
By anonymous
2018
Noah found it odd that someone would be bold enough to put their book, one created by their own hands, in the library, but not have the courage to put their name on it. Then he reconsidered, thinking of the section he was within. Then he knew what he held. A confession; the story of a life in turmoil. He flipped to the next page and saw the printed text, realizing the pages were normal eight and a half by eleven paper turned sideways and folded in half, then half again, cut to make four leafs. Something any home computer and printer could create. He looked at the words, words that were combined into sentences, sentences that made up a story. Then he read the opening paragraph.
In the library, I found a section of books by gay men. It was such a discovery. I’ve read several of the books and found them comforting, even when talking about bad times. To know others have endured the same or worse, makes me feel better about the place I find myself.
This book is my story, one I hope makes me feel better just by my writing it out. I’ll not use any names, for I can’t go that far. To reveal myself now would be disastrous. I’m fourteen, just finished eighth grade, and will be in my first year of high school this fall. I dread…no fear it. I know I’m not the only one to feel this way and that helps, but that doesn’t stand with me when I enter that building this fall.
I was born in 2004 at the hospital in Greenville, Alabama. My parents are native to the area, for our family has been here for generations. I’m the youngest of three and the one my father has the least expectations. I can tell he wishes I weren’t born into this world. I see it in his eyes, in how he looks at me, demeaning me as weak, comparing me to my older brother.
I find myself hating him.
Mama tries.
Noah stops reading for he knows he can’t read this story in such a public place. He tucks the little book in a pocket of his cargo shorts, then looks at the shelf for something to check out. He sees a book that has come up in conversations and on lists of recommendations. He slips the book from the shelf and looks at the cover, voicelessly saying the title: On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous.
A quick look at his watch and he sees it is nearing five. He will check the book out, then ride over to the Mexican restaurant on Hillsborough Street for tacos. It’ll give him some time alone to look at the other book, the one that intrigues him the most for it seems so personal, and it was created here, in this town.
Ren
Ren sits on his bed, back against pillows propped against the headboard, knees ups to rest his book against them. He reads with a rush, eager to get to the conclusion of the story, even though he doesn’t want it to end. It’s there, a possibility he couldn’t have imagined a couple of months before. This is his sixth novel from the LGBTQ section of the library. He’s read it in two days, devouring every word, every page, while outside rain falls in a slow drizzle.
Twenty minutes later he is closing the book and sliding it back into his backpack, down in the back compartment away from prying eyes. It’s just another secret he must keep.
He sits staring across the room, considering how the author’s put so much into their memoirs or stories. How they wrote of such intimacy, expressing emotions that made him feel short of breath. He had found an interview with one of the authors and read it twice, then went back and read one part for the third time. It was the part where the author described how writing allowed him to process his past. To put away those memories that needed putting away, and to cherish those that needed cherishing. And to develop an understanding of himself, regardless how others may see him.
Ren wanted that. He wanted to understand why and how and maybe find a what for or be able to look in a mirror and know who is looking back.
It seemed so simple at first. But after fifteen minutes the screen is still blank on his computer. Not one word has been typed. He knows he will be no great author, not at fourteen, but he wants to do this. He needs it. He puts his fingers to the keyboard and decides to start at the place he considers the beginning. The library.
For weeks he sits in his room typing with his index fingers. He can’t type fast enough to keep up with what is in his head. There are notes and outlines scrawled in a notebook, and he uses it to keep himself on the storyline of his life. There isn’t much to tell, but he pours himself into it, at times tears blurring his vision. When he types of the first time his brother called him a faggot and his father just frowned, not at Robert, but at him, he had to stop for the night and cried himself to sleep. It was more painful than he could ever imagine, but once it was on the screen, these confessions and outpourings, he felt something unwind within. Something that had been pressing on his chest finally stopped. He could breathe.
Ninth grade had been in session for a month, and fall gave a hint of its impending arrival with a drop in temperature and the air feeling drier. Ren is at the office supply store in Greenville. His mother shopping two doors down at the dollar store, enabling him to slip away from her with the lie of needing some stuff for school. He had a pack of graph paper and a ruler lying on the counter next to the copier. The decoys of his deception. His flash drive was downloading forty-one pages, each one eight pages of his memoir once it is folded and cut and bound together. The store could have bound it for him, but that would have let Becky Richard’s older sister see it. He could imagine Ruth going home and telling Becky that Ren Copeland was printing out gay stuff at the store. It would give them evidence to support their accusations.
Back at home, the house was quiet for his parents had turned in, his older brother out on a date, and their sister in college. It was when he could work on his book without the fear of interruption. The pages were folded, cut, and put in order. It had been such an ordeal to get them set up correctly, with the right page on its half of a sheet of paper. It was the third time he had printed it, the first two times all mixed up when he tried to put it together.
On the side of his desk the cover was laid out, the black fabric he got from his grandmother glued to the cardboard. He had found the white fabric paint at the department store for writing out the title. He had gone through so many ideas and sketched up images he wished he had the talent and resources to accomplish. In the end he just wrote the decided upon title on the cover and spine. There had been such a temptation of putting his name on it, then an alias, but it would have been a signing of a confession he was not yet prepared to do. He looked at the lettering, knowing it was crude and amateurish, but it was his creation, and he was not going to be daunted into stopping now.
How many titles had he considered he couldn’t remember. In the end he chose the one that seemed to be the vaguest, but if someone read his book, they would understand it. He leaned over and blew over the wet paint trying to get it to dry. Then he looked at what he had created, mouthing the title silently to himself: Blue Bird.
Noah
The restaurant was busy, wait staff rushing from the kitchen to different tables. The smell of meat sizzling in hot iron skillets and the sound of traditional music filled the air. As Noah waited to be seated, he surveyed the room. Along the far wall four of his old high school classmates were finishing their dinner. A wave of acknowledgement, then everyone moved on, the four falling back into their conversations and Noah back to watching the host seat a couple.
Noah was acutely aware of the book in a pocket of his cargo shorts, the weight of it making that side hang heavier. A shift in his stance and the book would bump his leg. It tempted him to take it out, but he knew he should wait until seated. It was such a personal thing, despite its crude nature, for it had been an outpouring of someone who lived nearby, therefore not just for anyone’s eyes. He didn’t feel special or deserving but he had a sense of what the author would say.
“We have a table ready for you,” said the guy working the host station.
“Thanks,” Noah replied as he followed him to a small two-top in an adjacent room. It was a small room, only seven or eight tables sitting around its perimeter, his table was at the front window that looked into the fenced in patio.
“Will this do?” asked the host.
“Yes, it’s perfect,” Noah replied.
He sat down then watched the host walk away, sizing him up. Mid-twenties, average height and build, dark brown hair and eyes that were green, or maybe gray. A black apron hid most of the body from view, but not the way the ass filled out the pants. Doable was his final judgement.
He looked through the arched doorway back into the main dining room at a young Latino guy bus a table, then a waiter approached a table, and back at the bar, an older man, early forties, maybe, filling a beer from a tap. Noah considered them, each one different, but each one doable. He smirked at how he seemed to be giving every man in the place a positive score in his little game. The summer was going to be a long one. Then he saw a waiter approach his table, one he had not noticed before. Tall, lean build, with dirty red hair, short on the sides and long enough on top to fall over the forehead and down into the eyes. Then he noticed the long fingers, the smooth arms, the left one circled at the wrist by a tattoo. An inch wide and a pattern that contained some Celtic symbols. He found himself staring at it.
“Can I start you with something to drink?” asked the waiter.
The husky voice captured Noah’s attention and he looked up at vivid blue eyes staring down at him.
“Yes…yes, sweet tea.”
“I’ll let you look over the menu while I get your drink. Tonight’s specials are Chilorio and Cochinita Pibil.”
Noah watched the waiter walk away sizing him up. Another specimen to tease himself with lustful desires. A minute later, the waiter came back to his table with his drink.
“Have you decided on something?”
“The specials, I don’t know what those are, but would you recommend one of them?”
“The Cochinita Pibil is my favorite.”
“I’ll try it.”
“I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Noah watched the waiter head to the kitchen, then glanced around the small dining room. Each table was engrossed in their own conversations. He was the only one alone and seemed to be ignored for the most part. He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts for the book, bringing it out into the open. It seemed such a ritual that he lay it gently on the table and eased it open. He looked at the first page, then flipped a few pages into it. Just a random place within the book, and he began to read. The pages were short, quickly read, and he turned page after page imagining the author at the mall in Montgomery, roaming the bookstore, an electronics store, then a men’s clothing store, watching other guys, at times having to divert his eyes as one or another seemed to become aware of his stare. He recognized the descriptions, the longings and desire for a connection to one of the guys. Beneath the confessions lay the loneliness and sense of isolation that made Noah feel breathless.
“Here’s your…” the waiter was at the table staring down at the book. A moment, maybe a whole second passed, then the waiter placed the plate in front of Noah, “…your order. I trust you’ll enjoy it. I’ll refill your glass in just a minute,” the waiter finished, then walked away.
Noah looked at the book then at the waiter as he passed through the arched doorway. Maybe he just stammered a bit when he saw the crude book. It was an interesting sight, not something you’d see often. Picking up his fork, he tried a bite of the pork. It was tender, rich in flavor, citrus and garlic and other flavors he couldn’t place.
The waiter returned, refilling his glass.
“How is it?”
“It’s great. This is really good. Thanks for recommending it.”
“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Then I’ll let you enjoy your dinner,” the waiter replied, taking two steps back before turning to walk away.
Noah returned to the book as he ate, reading of the author checking on the whereabouts of his parents, then how he went to the men’s room that was located at the back of the mall. A section where shops were struggling, and few shoppers milled around. He described how he wanted to find a place away from people, desperate to be alone. He entered the toilet, shocked at the smell of strong cleaner trying to mast over the odor of urine and a stagnant odor that hung in the air. He went to the last stall, locking the door and undid his jeans, sitting with everything around his ankles.
Noah read the words as fast as he could, how the author described being horny, cock hard, and how he felt shame and fear at his response to watching guys in the mall. How his imagination ran wild with desire toward them. Then described how he masturbated, quickly, rushed to just get off. How he leaned forward and sprayed cum against the door and across the floor.
Noah squirmed in his seat, feeling aroused by the description but also embarrassed by it. It wasn’t meant to be erotic, but he felt it, how the author must have felt, with an uncontrollable arousal.
“Would you like dessert?” asked waiter.
Noah had not seen him approach, so engulfed in the book as he were, and he looked up surprised.
“OH, no, thanks. Just the check,” and watched the waiter set it on his table.
Noah had signed his check, leaving a nice tip, and was heading toward the entrance. He saw his waiter at the bar and suddenly it felt like he had seen the guy before. It wouldn’t be surprising, for sooner or later, a person probably crossed paths with most of the residents of the town and outlying areas. But it felt more than that, something that would nag at him until he remembered where.
Ren
Two years had passed since he put his book in the library. He entered the front doors and moved straight to the back to the aisle where it resided. He checked to see if it was there every time, he visited the library. It was such a mixed emotional response to see it still there. Glad to know it was still there, safe, and whole, but disappointed no one seemed to care enough to check it out. As he neared the aisle, he saw there was someone standing in it, and he turned into one three before, finding himself looking at historical books. He scanned the shelves, trying to kill enough time for the guy in back to move on.
Civil War, WWI, WWII, Vietnam. War after war after war, Ren couldn’t help but think too much of history was all about people killing people. Couldn’t there be another metric to frame history? Scanning the volumes, he knew he would never be suitable for military duty. Others may find the service appealing or something they wanted or needed. But he could never see himself firing a gun, especially at another person.
Finally at the end of the aisle, Ren turned into the side aisle and looked through the shelves, finding the LGBTQ aisle empty. He moved to it, this place he now felt a strong connection. The stories by others who were like him, and tucked into one of the bottom shelves, his little book, crude as it may be, sitting among them.
It was still there.
Satisfied to find it, Ren begins to look for something to check out. At the beginning of the aisle there is a shelf with the latest arrivals, and he finds two books from his recommendations list. He grabs both, grinning with the joy of finding two books in the small-town library. His weekend is planned out now, for he’ll immerse himself into one book, then the other.
Heading to the front desk, he sees a guy come in. Tall with a muscular build and he wonders about his identity. Is he from the town and if so, why hadn’t he noticed him before? The high school was large enough to make it difficult to know everyone, but he thought he would recognize anyone in the grade above him. To know someone two or three grades above was difficult for the way the grades were separated at the school. The guy could be local and already out of high school. He sizes him up as he nears the desk. Black hair and brown eyes, and arms with biceps large enough to stretch the sleeves of the black t-shirt. The guy looked jock, and Ren wondered what he was doing in the library. Jocks didn’t read, did they?
At the desk, Ren stood close enough to gauge the guy’s height. Five foot eleven, maybe even six foot. With the guy leaning on the counter, it was hard to tell exactly, but he knew the guy was just slightly shorter than his six foot two. Looking on the counter, he saw two stacks of books. One was thrillers, no doubt the books the guy was checking in. In the other, a book on top he knew well. He had read it twice. No way the jock read that one.
Laying the two books down, Ren is suddenly conscious of the jock looking at them, then turning, and heading toward the stacks. He knew it was natural to be curious what others were reading but he wondered if there was some judgment there too.
“Ren; let’s see what you have today,” Mr. Henderson said as he pulled down the two books.
Books in hand, Ren headed for the entrance, but not before he looked back across the library. The jock was walking down the central aisle, going past the fiction. For a second he imagined the jock going all the way back, all the way to the LGBTQ aisle. He imagined him reading about gay men’s lives, seeking a reflection of his own life. It was outlandish to consider, but weren’t most fantasies?
He turned and pushed through the doors, not waiting to see where the jock went.
Noah
Pulling into the library parking lot, Noah felt like he there to give up something precious. He didn’t’ need to do it, for no one would know otherwise. It wasn’t like the little book with its black fabric cover and handwritten title in white was an official library book. There was no tag on the spine, no stamp inside to indicate it was property of the library. It was a free book; one he could just as easily keep for himself. Blue Bird could be his. He just had to leave it on the passenger seat when he went inside.
Parked at the outer row of spaces, Noah looked at two women enter the library leading three young children inside. He opened his door, reached across the console, and picked up the little book. Tucked into the pocket of his cargo shorts, he crossed the parking lot and entered the cool interior.
Passing the front desk, a young woman smiled in greeting and Noah smiled back, foolishly thinking she could see he was up to something if she just looked closely. It had to be on his face, some indication of what he was about to do. He cut past the tables, the copier, and the shelves with magazines and newspapers, entering the outside aisle along the wall. It was less visible making Noah feel more comfortable with his endeavor. Past fiction, science fiction, history, and the other categories, until he came to the aisle labeled LGBTQ Literature & Studies. He found himself alone on the aisle and he moved to the place he had found the book. He took it out, held it reverently in his right hand, tempted to put it back into his pocket. He stooped down, looking at the titles of the books on the bottom shelf. He chose a spot between two books and slipped Blue Bird between them.
When he stood up, Noah debated whether, or not to pick a book from the aisle. But he knew he had been obsessing over what it meant to be gay, to desire another of the same sex, and after reading Blue Bird over and over, he decided it was time to read something else. A story that would take his mind off Blue Bird and the confessions that were so familiar.
Back in the science fiction aisle, he browsed the shelves trying to remember titles he had made note of in the past. He eventually comes across a title he recognized. The Left Hand of Darkness. It was a book from the sixties, but one that hit lists of recommendations. He pulled it from the shelf and headed to the front desk.
Little did he know, the author Ursula K. Le Guin had created a story with a main character that would add to his journey of understanding himself.
Book in hand, Noah enters the Mexican restaurant. He had the hamburger joint in mind, but when he left the library, he had driven straight to the Mexican restaurant without really thinking about it. It was late for lunch, and he found it not nearly as busy as before. The hostess sat him at a booth in the main dining room and he surveyed the room. An elderly couple at the front window. He saw the husband smile, then the wife laughed aloud. It seemed like an intimate moment between them, something that happened frequently between them. He wondered if he would find himself in such a place when he was their age.
Looking around the dining room, he saw the other couples, the family at the large table that dominated the center of the room, and through the doorway to the smaller dining room, a guy eating alone. A woman approached his table with black apron and small pad for taking orders.
“I’m Emily and will be your server. Can I start you with something to drink?”
“Sweet tea, and I’m ready to order.”
Okay, what will you have?”
Noah watched Emily cross the dining room heading toward the kitchen. Another waiter came out carrying a couple of plates. It was the one that waited on him last time, and he watched the tall lean figure head toward the front and place a plate in front of the elderly woman, then the elderly man. A few comments passed between the waiter and the couple, then he turned to head back to the kitchen. Noah saw him look his way, briefly, just a quick glance, then stroll back to the kitchen.
The front door opened, and two guys came in. They were about his age, average builds, both dressed in the typical attire of guys in the town. Jeans, plaid shirts hanging open revealing a t-shirt underneath. Both wore ballcaps, one for one of the state’s universities and the other a tractor company, the yellow patch bright and vivid on the green cap. Noah sized them up, trying to decide why he was telling himself no. They were attractive, but there was something about them that seemed to give a warning, some aspect that said not to mess with them. The hostess led them past his table to the booth behind him. He heard the familiar southern drawl as he saw them up close, one blue eyed and one brown eyed. He saw the patchy beard one was letting grow in and the other was baby faced, cheeks glowing red. Behind him, he heard their conversation and realized his internal warning had been accurate.
“…John said some faggot hit on him at the hardware store.”
“No, what did he do?”
“He waited outside, then beat the shit out of the faggot.”
Laughter, amused by the assault of another person.
Noah pushed the novel to the side, knowing he would never be able to concentrate on it, not with the two assholes behind him. He heard their conversation switch to a girl one of them was dating, graphically talking about what he got her to do. Lunch was going to be a long unpleasant affair, and when the server brought his food, he asked for his check telling her he would be in a hurry to leave.
Ren
Ren pulled into the parking lot and sat for a long time watching the men repainting the library. It was going to be an earthy green with a light rose and grey trim. All the colors muted, soft to the eye. Comforting. Perfect for the library. As he watched the men paint the trim around the windows, he thought about all the time he had spent at the library. It had been his oasis, a place to escape. One more year, he thought, as he contemplated being seventeen and a senior in high school. This time next year, he would be in college, and in an environment more accepting, tolerate of differences between people.
He got out, slung his backpack over the right shoulder and headed to the entrance. His parents had taken off the day before to visit his brother at the university, leaving him alone for the weekend. It was a respite from his father’s constant disparaging comments and criticisms. The constant comparison to his older siblings, especially his brother.
Stepping into the interior, he felt the relief of the cool air and familiarity of the place. The old wood tables scratched and worn, the hardwood floors that squeaked near the copier and down the central aisle at the third, fifth and last aisle, and the front desk with its fliers, posters for the latest arrivals taped to the front, and sitting behind it, Mr. Henderson. Older, hair thinner on top, and now wearing glasses, Mr. Henderson was a fixture of the library, someone who seemed to be there more often, than not.
Ren moved down the center aisle, as he did every visit, going to the last aisle. He had to see if the book was still there. He moved down the aisle always expecting to see it gone, but as he neared its hallowed place, the crude white lettering stood out against the black fabric spine. Most of the time, he just looked for it then moved on, but this time, his time remaining in the small town limited, his departure within sight, he stooped down and touched the spine.
“I always wondered who put that book there.”
Ren looked around to see Mr. Henderson standing behind him.
“NO, I mean…”
“It’s okay. Ren, it’s alright. Ms. Bishop and I have pulled that little book off the shelf time and time again telling our selves it was time to remove it. But we kept putting it back.”
“Why?”
“It seemed important to be there. It is your book, isn’t it?”
Ren saw the gentle smile of the man who had checked out so many books for him. A man who knew more about him than anyone else, simply based on what he was reading. He nodded.
“Well…I’m sorry if I startled you, but I was curious, you see. I just had to know if it was you who put that book there.”
“Could there have been someone else who done it?”
Mr. Henderson smiled. “What you want to know is whether, or not there are others who check out the books on this aisle. Boys like yourself.”
“Yes.”
“More than you might expect, and some very surprising, if I do say so myself.”
Ren considered what Mr. Henderson had just implied. He wasn’t as isolated as he feared. He wasn’t the only one. He assumed as much, or there would be no need for the section in the library, but to hear it stated as fact, it made it real. He smiled, then looked up at Mr. Henderson.
“How long?”
“How long? What do you mean?”
“How long will you let my book stay here?”
“Until it has served its purpose, I suppose. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the front. I imagine Ms. Stacy is probably wondering where I have gotten off to and wants to check out by now.”
Ren watched him leave the aisle, heading toward the front desk. Then he stood up, felt his long lean body stretch out, the muscles in his legs tighten then relax. He turned to the shelf with the latest arrivals, looking for his next read. A book with a colorful front cover captures his eye. He starts to open it to read the description, but closes it, knowing it is the one. He has developed a sixth sense about the books. The ones to read and the ones to skip over. This is one to read, so with book in hand, he heads to the front desk.
Noah
It’s Saturday before the fourth. A national holiday that Noah wonders if something is lost in the fireworks and grilling out. He knows the constant talk of freedom and individual rights rings a bit hollow when so many don’t enjoy the same freedoms as the main segment of society. He wonders what it’ll take for some in society to give up their bigotries. He knows some need their scapegoats, a physical group to blame for the hardships in their lives, or the perceived wrongs, or worse of all, their sense of not being the ones in control.
Driving through town, he knows he’ll end up at the library. The last book he checked out sits on his nightstand, the bookmark showing he is two thirds of the way through it. The library will be closed on Monday for the Fourth, so he intends to check out another book to have something to read during the holiday.
He browses the table of the newest releases in fiction. A couple of books capture his eye, but today he in not interested in mainstream fiction. He heads to the last aisle, moving past the tables, then row after row until at the last one. He moves down the aisle until he can see the little black book on the bottom shelf. Blue Bird sits where he left it. He feels a need to hold the little book, to open it and look at the words knowing any phrase he reads will bring back the section to him. He bends down to the lower shelf and slips the book out. Standing in the last aisle, the quiet almost physical in the way it surrounds him, he holds the book.
He’s tempted to take it. But he bends down to the bottom shelf and returns it to its place. When he stands, he stares at it, letting passages flush from his memory.
“You put it back?”
Noah turns and see the waiter from the Mexican restaurant. Without the black apron the proportions of the body are visible. Long legged, tall, and lean, he finds himself sizing up the guy again. Then the question comes to him, the implication of it.
“It’s your book? You wrote it?”
The guy looks around sheepishly, then down to the floor, nodding his head slowly.
Noah wondered what to say. He could see the guy was flustered, embarrassed at his confession; what was within the book and his acknowledgement of writing it. He knew the guy wrote it when he was fourteen, but how old was he now or how long had the book been on the shelf. Noah had no idea, but he wanted to know.
“When did you put it in here?”
“As soon as I finished it.”
“Okay, but…when was that? How old are you now?”
“Eighteen. I just finished high school.”
“Four years? The book has been here four years…and I just found it this summer.”
“I think you’re the first person to take it out.”
“I’m the first to read it?”
The guy smiled, looking Noah in the eye for the first time. “I think the librarians have read it.”
“And they kept it on the shelf?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Noah.”
“Noah? I’m Ren.”
“When I check out, I was going to grab lunch in town. Would you like to join me?”
“What?”
“Lunch? Would you like to join me for lunch, or do you have someone…”
“No, no, I could go with you.”
Ren
Ren grabbed up his keys and wallet and eased out the back door, not wanting his mother to notice and start asking her barrage of questions.
Where are you going?
What are you going to do?
Who are you hanging out with?
Are you going to that library again?
He walked across the dirt drive to his nine-year old Accord. It had a lot of miles on it when he bought it but it had been well taken care of and still looked good. He eased down into the driver’s seat and started it up. His mother came to the back door, and he waved as if she wasn’t trying to ask him where he was going. It embarrassed him how she tried to mother him. He knew she meant well, but he was eighteen and come fall he was leaving for college. Would she expect him to call her every time he was going out to do something?
It started when he came home with bruises, a busted lip and bleeding nose. He’d been in ninth grade two weeks, just two weeks, when the bullying escalated. Fortunately, one of the teachers saw it and the principal had to crack down on the two boys. He knew if it had been his word against theirs, nothing would have been done to stop it. Jocks were popular. Weak boys who were called faggot were not.
He drove into town, heading straight for the library. It was rare he had a Saturday off from work, it being one of the only days he could work before graduation, and after, it was the day the manager needed as many as she could get on the floor.
He had slept in, the first time in a long time, and once up, quickly dressed and slipped out. He was becoming more anxious about sitting at home. Like a caged animal, he sought release, and knew very soon it would happen.
Turning on Fifth Street, he drove to the library. The parking lot had a few vehicles in it, no more than usual, and he pulled into a space along the outer line of spaces. There was a white Ford sedan two spaces over. It had an Auburn University bumper sticker on it, something that caught his eye, for it was where he would be enrolled come fall. It wasn’t unusual to see in the town, but it still captured his attention when he saw one.
Entering the library, the cool conditioned air was a relief after walking across the hot parking lot. He nodded at Mr. Henderson, then headed down the central aisle.
He was going to see if his book was still gone from the lower shelf. It had disappeared about a week before, then turned up in possession of Noah Williams. He had checked the name against the high school yearbooks, then searched social media for him. He didn’t know much but knew Noah had been a senior when he was in the ninth grade, and there had been some incident a few weeks before graduation. What had happened was something left vague, Noah’s posts stopping for a long time. But having seen Noah with his book made him wonder if Noah was gay. He wouldn’t be the first jock to be gay. There were men from soccer, football, and baseball who had come out gay, so Noah Williams could be gay too. Or maybe he had just been curious about the book, trying to figure out who would write such a thing. But he knew the truth. For Noah to find it, he had to be on the last aisle. Noah had to have been browsing books by gay authors or biographies of gay men.
He assumed the book would disappear after seeing Noah with it. That it would be lost forever, probably dumped into the trash and forgotten. So, it seemed a fool’s errand to keep looking for it to return to its place on the lower shelf.
He didn’t notice anyone on the aisle until he turned on it. Noah Williams was stooped down putting the book back on the shelf.
“You put it back?” Ren asked as he freezes, watching Noah Williams stand, then turn toward him at the sound of his voice.
Ren follows Noah out to the white Ford, wondering if he should follow him, or will they ride together.
“Did you drive here?” Noah asked.
“Yes. I’m parked there,” pointing at his Accord.
“It’ll be okay here. Ride with me.”
Ren moves to the passenger side feeling like he should say something.
Are you sure you want to be seen with me?
Are you gay too?
He eases down in the seat and needs to push it back to keep his knees from hitting the dash. Noah is behind the wheel and the motor quietly idles as he turns down the radio.
“I thought we could go to Greenville to that café in town. Do you have time?”
“Yes; I have the day off.”
“The Mexican restaurant.”
“Yeah…are you home from college?”
Noah backs out of the space, then heads toward the street. “Yup, summer break.”
Ren was nervous, unsure what to say to a college jock who had just invited him to lunch. He felt like a kid next to Noah, who was muscular and handsome. But he saw the quick glances and the serious look. A look of someone trying to figure out something.
Noah drove out to the interstate, sped down the ramp and onto the north bound lanes. It was only a few miles to the exit for Greenville and they rode in silence until Noah guided the Ford onto the off-ramp.
“What made you do it?” asked Noah.
“Do what?”
“The book. What made you write it?”
“I don’t know,” Ren replied, not sure he could express in words what drove him to do it. But he looked out the passenger side window and slowly, quietly, replied. “I was so lonely. A ninth-grade kid entering high school who was the class faggot. The one to bully and disparage. I finally got the opportunity to check out the LGBTQ aisle at the library and suddenly I wasn’t alone anymore.” Ren laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was scared shitless when I went to the front desk the first time to check out a book from that aisle. But they checked the books out to me like they were any other.”
“Yeah, I remember when I finally got the courage to check out books from that section.”
“I read book after book, discovering I wasn’t the only one who had endured…”
Noah remained silent, waiting for Ren to continue.
“It revealed so much. I mean…I saw the television shows and movies with gay characters, but they always seemed like a fairy tale, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah. Like it was happening in some faraway place and could never happen in some small town, especially in the south.”
“Exactly.”
Noah drove down the two-lane road heading toward downtown. They passed the hospital, then the cemetery, slowing down as they approached the downtown district. Ren felt like he needed to answer the question before Noah got to the café. He needed the ability to look at passing scenery and Noah focused on driving and not on him.
“Some of the authors had talked about how writing gave them an outlet to make sense of their lives. A way to get the bad memories to stop, or at least not be so consuming. I knew it was dumb for a fourteen-year-old kid to think he could write anything decent, but I knew I had to do it.”
“I don’t think your book was dumb,” Noah whispered as he pulled past an empty parking space, then began the maneuver to parallel park within it.
Noah
Parked in front of the house on Patterson Avenue, Noah went to the small porch and rang the doorbell. He had not felt so nervous in a long time. Dressed in a white shirt and jeans, he waited as he heard someone moving through the house approaching the front door. It swung inward and a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and large brown eyes stood in the opening.
“Mrs. Copeland, I’m here to pick up Ren.”
“You must be Noah. Come on in, Ren is still getting ready.”
She led Noah into the small living room. It was neatly furnished with enough clutter to show it was lived in, a room that lived up to its name, unlike the living room at his home that had furniture rarely sat upon and a neatness and order that spoke of it never having been used.
Noah sat on the sofa that backed up to the front picture window as Ren’s mother sat opposite in a side chair.
“I wish I wasn’t so shocked to see you here.”
“Excuse me?” Noah asked.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound so hard. Ren has been my child I’ve worried about the most, the one that didn’t fit in at school like his older brother and sister. Instead, he was the one that got bullied. I knew. I knew what the problem was for him, but for as long as he didn’t say it, I pretended I was wrong.”
“But eventually he did come out to you?”
She laughed nervously, shaking her head.
“I found some of the books he was checking out from the library. Then I found…”
Noah saw the guilty look. “You found his book.”
“Yes. It was such a crude thing, but…you found it too?”
“Yes. Did you read it?”
She nodded.
“That had to be tough.”
“You can’t imagine a mother reading something like that. When it disappeared, I wondered what he did with it, assuming at first, he must have thrown it away. But I know Ren. He could never throw something like that away. I knew he had done something with it, so I went to the library one day while he was in school. And I went down that aisle in the back and…”
“Found it on the bottom shelf.”
“Yes. Did he tell you why he titled it Blue Bird?”
“No.”
“When he was twelve, he loved to sit in his room and watch the blue birds fly around the yard. One day there was only one sitting on the fence. He said it looked lonely and needed a home. So, I gave him these kits for blue bird boxes, and he built that bird he thought was lonely, and four more homes.”
“What are you two talking about?” Ren asked nervously from the doorway.
“Just getting to know Noah is all.”
“You ready to go?” Ren asked Noah.
“Yes.”
“You boys have a good time,” said Ren’s mother walking with Noah to the front door where Ren waited.
Ren
It was surreal. He tried to make sense of it. He, Ren Copeland, had been on three dates with Noah Williams. A junior at college, out with an eighteen-year-old kid. They had driven all the way to Montgomery and over dinner Noah admitted to asking his mother if it was okay, they stay overnight. All through dinner talking about mundane aspects of their lives, then of him going to Auburn in the fall where Noah would be a junior, he struggled not to think of it.
Now they walked down the corridor of a hotel. He felt self-conscious about how it must look. Did the front desk know why they were there. Did the two couples waiting to check in? A room with one king size bed. Noah had asked for it. One bed. Two guys. From the front desk to the elevator, he felt anxious, but as soon as the elevator doors slid open on their floor, he suddenly felt excited. Even a little aroused, thinking of getting Noah Carter Williams in a hotel room alone.
Noah led him into the room, one with a view toward the Alabama River and the old train station across Water Street. It was still light out, the sun low in the western horizon, and no one bothered to close the curtains. No one could see in even if the light was right to do so.
Noah came to stand in front of him and they kissed, and touched, and pressed bodies together. He felt his taller height as the more muscular body pressed against his own. Then Noah pulled back and began to undo the buttons of his shirt.
“Let me,” Noah whispered.
Ren stared into the eyes that were focused on him. He felt the fingers working each button free, then a hand grazed his chest as his shirt was pushed open, slid from his shoulders, and down his arms. A kiss, lips touching his chest, then over a nipple. Another kiss, a rake of the tongue, then a nip of the teeth and he moaned, pushing his chest against the lips.
As Noah kissed his chest, dragging lips and tongue over the smooth skin, Ren felt the tug at his belt, it loosened, then fingers worked the jeans open. A hand moved down his stomach, beneath his boxers, fingers combing through his pubic hair, then wrapping around his cock. They stroked his elongating cock, rubbed along its length, and toyed with the head. He felt his growing arousal and pushed his jeans and boxers down until they settled around his ankles.
“Noah,” he uttered breathlessly as lips moved down his chest, over his stomach to his cock. He felt them touch the head, move along the shaft then back to the head. He shuddered when he felt his cock slip into the warm mouth, lips sliding along the shaft until a nose was pressed into his abdomen.
Noah guided Ren back to the bed and playfully pushed him down on it.
They giggled like young mischievous boys, then Noah worked each shoe off, tugged the socks off, then worked the jeans and boxers over each foot until Ren lay naked. His cock lay over his stomach hard as rock. He felt his nakedness, how the air moved over his skin. He saw how Noah’s eyes did the same.
“You’re beautiful,” Noah uttered in a whisper.
Ren watched Noah undo his own shirt, how each button freed let the shirt open a bit more, until he hung open, revealing a muscular chest and flat stomach. Noah worked his arms free, and every movement caused muscles to flex. Then Noah undid his jeans and stripped out of them and the boxers. Naked, cock half hard, Noah stood at the foot of the bed for a moment and Ren looked at him, every curve, every masculine aspect of his body. The nickel size nipples with hard nubs, the stomach that flexed with muscle, the sparse pubic hair over a thickening cock. A cock thick and growing thicker with an arrow shaped head.
Noah moved down to his knees and dragged Ren down the bed until his legs hung over the side and Noah could reach his cock. A hand encircled it, stroked it until he was pushing upward, then Noah leaned down to it and took it in his mouth again.
Noah sucked his cock, worked lips up and down its length until he was gasping for air. He clutched at the bed and pumped upward. Fingers toyed with his sac, tugged on his balls, then raked over the skin down to his opening. He put his feet on the edge of the mattress with knees spread. He opened himself to Noah’s ministrations, wanting to experience everything two men could do.
Noah’s head moved up and down between his thighs as fingers toyed with his opening. Then one penetrated him, pushed through the tightness, and bore into him. He felt it move within his hole, twisting and turning. His cock flexed in the mouth, and he gritted his teeth. The finger pulled out, and two penetrated him, stretched him open even further. and he moaned. When Noah stretched him open with three fingers he cried out.
“Fuck.”
Ren felt the fingers twist around stretching him open. Then the other hand rubbed over his stomach and chest, and Noah’s mouth kept working up and down his cock. His arousal increased until he was clutching the bed with white knuckles.
“Noah…NOAH…I’m going to-“
Shuddering with release, Ren bucked upward, shoving cock deep into Noah’s suctioning mouth. With every ejaculation, he shuddered and pushed upward. He was breathless as his cock filled Noah’s mouth. Then he fell still gasping for breath as Noah drew out the last of his load.
“Ren, will you let me?” Noah asked as he came to his feet, stroking a hard thick cock.
Ren looked up at the pleading eyes, down the muscular body to the cock curving out and up and the hand stroking it.
“Yes. Do me,” he pleaded as he raised legs letting Noah take each at the ankle.
Noah dragged Ren down until his ass was right at the edge of the bed, then spread the legs wide apart.
“Perfect,” Noah whispered as he put his cock to Ren’s hole.
Ren felt the initial touch, then the pressure of cock trying to penetrate him. He threw his head back and pushed against it. It breached his tightness, stretched his opening, and sank into his depths. He moaned at the fullness of the penetration. Noah pushed into his depths, all the way until their bodies were against each other.
Noah held tight to his ankles keeping them spread. It caused him to really feel his nakedness for the first time. Laying before another, hard cock exposed, nothing hidden from view.
“Fuck,” Noah uttered.
Then Ren felt the slow tug outward. Inch after inch of Noah’s cock pulled through his tightness until he was sure it would slip free. Instead, it slowly sank back into his depths. Over and over, Noah moved inside him, let him feel every inch as it tugged and pushed through his tight opening until he was fully loosened to it.
Noah pushed his legs forward, folding him in half. Thighs pressed against chest pinning him to the bed then he felt the weight of Noah’s body as it moved over him. With ass angled upward, he savored the feel of Noah’s cock buried in his hole, the feel of hands now at the back of his knees, grip tight, pushing down. Noah leaned down until their lips pressed together, then Noah kissed along his jaw and around his neck. He reached up and held Noah by the waist as Noah began to move. To pump cock inside him, pushing inward, tugging out, over and over, faster and faster, until the bed rocked in rhythm to their fuck.
“Don’t stop…fuck…fuck…me,” Ren uttered as he dug his fingers into Noah’s sides.
Noah undulated on top of him, body hot against his own. Soon every contact was wet with sweat. It slickened their skin, made Noah’s movements over him more intense. He felt feverish and shuddered with the manipulation.
Suddenly Noah was on his knees between his legs.
“Roll over,” Noah asked breathlessly.
Ren rolled to his stomach, pinning his hard cock against the bed. Noah climbed on top, sunk cock into his depths and began to fuck. Hips bounced off his ass with a loud smack and his own cock ached for release. He felt the physicality of Noah’s fuck, the strength in every thrust into his depths. The undulation against his back made him mirror the movement. Then an arm came around his neck. It was twice as thick as his own and it held him tightly, pulling his head up.
“Take me…goddamn it, take me,” Noah uttered.
“Yeah, give it me,” Ren replied breathlessly.
They undulated against each other, fucked relentless until gasping for breath. Then Ren felt Noah shove into his depths and shuddered with release.
Noah rolled off Ren to his side. Skin glistened wetly in the dim light and his cock was still hard. Ren ran a hand over sweaty chest and down over the undulating stomach until holding the cock.
“Do me again?”
Before Noah could respond, Ren was on his knees straddling him. He rocked his ass back and forth over the hard slick cock. It rubbed over his loosened opening making him want it even more. He rose on knees and held the cock to his opening. Down, all the way, he sat on it, then with no hesitation, his unbridled lust overpowering, he rode it. Up and down, he moved on that cock. It tugged at his opening as he moved upward and when he dropped down, the fullness made his own cock flex and drool on Noah’s stomach.
Fingers dug into his thighs, and it urged him on. Faster and faster, he moved on Noah’s cock. Down so hard his cock smacked wetly on Noah’s stomach.
“Fuck, Ren, keep going. Keep going…I’m going to cum again,” Noah uttered.
Ren leaned back, resting on one hand, using the other to stroke his own cock. He moved relentlessly, slamming his ass down on Noah, over and over, as his hand moved in a blur. With head bent back, he sucked in breath after breath feeling his arousal increase.
“Ren, I’m going…” Noah exclaimed, shoving upward with his release.
Ren felt every shove upward and it rocked him roughly and pushed him over the edge. He cried out, slammed his ass down on Noah’s spurting cock and came. Cum rained down on his chest and stomach, hot against his skin, and he stroked until his hand moved slickly along his cock.
Gasping for breath and skin glistening wetly, Ren fell to his back over Noah’s legs. He felt cum trickle over his sides, and he absentmindedly ran his fingers through the pools on his stomach.
“Fuck, that was…” Noah whispered, then fell still, closing his eyes.
Ren stood under the hot spray. He felt the water cascade down his body while hands rubbed over his stomach and chest. He held his head down as Noah rubbed against his back. Hard cock pressed between his cheeks and one hand moved down and toyed with his cock making it harden. He pushed back as the hand on his cock began to stroke it.
“Fuck…put it in me.”
Ren reached back and took Noah in hand. He bent slightly and put the cock to his hole and felt Noah push against his tightness.
Noah held his waist, fingers digging into his sides, and pushed. Cock breached his tightness and slowly sank into his hole. His own cock flexed with his arousal as Noah penetrated him deeper and deeper, until pressed against his ass.
Noah held him tightly, kissing the back of his neck. Then began to fuck.
Noah piston inside his hole, slowly sinking into his depths, then tugging outward. He could feel every inch. Every thick inch pushing through his tightness, then tugging outward. But the pace was too slow for Noah, and soon he moved faster, thrusting harder and harder, until their bodies smacked together.
All too soon, Noah slammed into his depths and shuddered with release once again.
Noah slipped free and turned to lean against the wall. His cock hung thick and dripping.
“Ren?”
“Yeah,” Ren replied as he took his own cock in hand.
“Do me.”
Ren looked over not sure he heard correctly. He looked at the muscular body, one that he considered more a man than himself. Then he saw the hungry look in the eyes. Noah turned to the wall bracing on his hands. He stepped back, angling his ass out.
“Come on, let me feel you inside me.”
Ren realized it was real, Noah wanting to be fucked. He moved behind him and watched Noah take his cock and guide him into place. Noah pushed back and he pushed forward. He felt the squeeze on his cock as it penetrated the tight hole. He shivered with the feel of it as he pushed deeper and deeper. Like Noah had done, he held him by the waist with a tight grip and increased his pace. Faster and faster, he fucked. Fucked until hips smacked against firm round ass. Fucked until Noah was moaning and grunting, then begging him to fuck harder.
Forehead resting on the broad back, Ren slowed to keep from coming too quickly. He dragged his cock through the tightness until Noah was pushing back. He raised up, tightened his grip, and increased his pace once again. He fucked with a brutal pace, slamming into Noah’s depths.
“Fuck…keep going. Pump that shit in me,” Noah exclaimed.
Ren threw his head back, slammed into Noah’s depths all the way, and came.
End of Summer
Ren loaded the last duffle bag into his car. His mother stood by his side as he closed the trunk.
“Do you have everything?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Noah waiting for you?”
“Yeah, I’m going to follow him.”
She smiled, knowing the relationship that had formed between Ren and Noah. She had reservations, Noah being older and in his last year, but she had never seen Ren happier.
“You be careful, and study hard.”
Ren smiled at her. “I will.”
“I worry about you, you know?”
“I know, but I think everything is going to be fine.”
Ren saw her look, still doubtful, but he didn’t feel any doubt.