I.
Wesley drove into Laurel Hill hearing the tires splash through the standing water on the uneven road, feeling like an intruder rather than someone who lived all his life in the region. He maneuvered along First Street up to the four-way stop and looked both ways at the empty street. It was 9:45 P.M. and the town looked deserted. He turned left, easing toward the next intersection where one of two traffic lights in the town shined bright red in the gloomy night. He knew it would change soon and as he neared, he could see the reflection on the shield over the light for Second Street, initially green, then yellow, and as he pulled up to the intersection, it went to the top light reflecting red. Commerce Street, the main road through town turned green, so without stopping Wesley swung left.
On his left the bank building with its brightly lit ATM on the side wall, and on his right, an empty building then his destination, The Wagon Wheel Tavern. The front doors were open, and he glanced into the dark interior as he rolled past, seeing the light over a billiard table, then the lights over the bar, the remainder of the bar too dark to see. Just past it, he turned into the parking lot, an alligatored and broken up asphalt lot with no visible markings. He drove along the far side of the lot away from the bar and parked next to the yellow Wrangler that belonged to Harlan, the bartender. On the other side of the Wrangler was the old Grand Cherokee that belonged to the owner, Robert Taylor.
Wesley shut off the motor and sat in the quiet. He looked in the rearview mirror at the fourteen-year-old Chevrolet 2500 pickup that belonged to his brother, Brody. It was caked in mud where Brody had checked the small herd of cows at the end of the day while the rains moved in from the southwest. He could picture Brody inside at the bar, a beer half finished while brooding over something about the farm, or more likely, his girlfriend vacationing in Europe with friends, leaving him alone. Wesley knew Brody loved the farm, working the land and tending the cattle, usually walking the pasture with Winston and Cordelia, his two border collies. There was nothing Brody would rather do, and when he had finished high school two years prior, there had been no mention of college or military, as so many had done as a means of escape from the region. For Brody, it was all planned out, how he would expand the farm so it could support their parents and himself.
But life didn’t give Brody, or Wesley, the chance to adhere to their best laid plans. It had been hard enough losing their mother when Brody was seven and Wesley only five. The household was turned upside down with Matthew, their father suddenly running the farm, the home, and trying to raise two boys. But he made it work, and no one helped him more than his oldest son, who helped Wesley with everything from getting breakfast before school, to getting dressed, and at the end of each day, doing his assignments. It had been unspoken among the three of them, but over time it was obvious, Brody was going to farm, and Wesley was going to college and pursue a career in some field of his choosing.
But Matthew had a heart attack six months ago, leaving Brody and Wesley devastated. Brody suddenly was in charge, no longer able to rely on his father for help and advice. For Wesley, it was a lost chance to tell his father who his youngest son really was. The little kid who followed Brody everywhere, the kid who excelled at his studies and planned to go to the university, the one that would leave, only to come home for special occasions, was also gay.
Wesley stared in the mirror looking at the side of the bar with Brody’s truck parked between Mr. Gibson’s truck and a Honda Civic he didn’t recognize, wondering if he could tell Brody now. He had planned it out during last summer with his senior year of high school about to start, going so far to rehearse what he would say. He pictured how it would occur, late one night, probably raining outside, and Brody would be in his room going over some crop futures or a plan for the farm, a new tractor or implement or when he thought he could afford it, asking Nora to marry him. Wesley would slip into room unannounced, close the door and lean back against it, and just tell him.
Brody, I’m gay.
Brody would smile at him, tell him it was okay, maybe even say he already knew. Then he would go with Wesley downstairs where they would stand behind the sofa and look across the family room where their father would be reclined in his lounge chair. One empty beer bottle on the side table, Matthew’s nightly allowance before turning in. On the television, the news or a ball game, this time of year a baseball game, the Braves if they were on.
Dad, Wesley has something he needs to tell you.
Dad…I’m gay.
It would not have been that simple, not in a million years, but Wesley never imagined that the day would never come that he could tell his father. But he still needed to tell someone. To make that announcement, to admit aloud what he had been hiding from everyone for as long as he could remember first understanding he was gay. Fourteen? Maybe younger. Much younger when he knew he was different. Different from Brody, or from the other boys in his class at school.
Graduation was in three weeks, then one summer that would seem like a threshold, going from some kid to an adult, a young man entering college in the fall. Wesley kept telling himself it was time, way past time in fact, to tell Brody. He had excuses over the years to put it off, none more so than not to upset the balance of their home. But that balance got interrupted anyway. Devastatingly, suddenly, and nothing would ever put it back.
Wesley climbed out of his fifteen-year-old 4-Runner, his sixteenth birthday present that his father had bought off Ryan, Matthew’s oldest brother and Wesley’s uncle. Ryan had left the farm too, going to college, then working in banking, Atlanta initially, then Knoxville, Tennessee, and finally closer to home, up in Birmingham. He was an outdoors man, backpacking for weeks at a time and kayaking down rivers. And it was Ryan who tried to get Wesley to come stay with him after Matthew’s passing, but Wesley couldn’t leave yet, he had to be there for Brody, who had put on a brave face. Wesley knew it was just a façade. It had seemed so important to keep their home together, even if it was just the two of them. And Brody’s girlfriend, Nora, had spent many evenings with them, helping to cook and just being there for Brody.
Crossing the parking lot angling toward the sidewalk, Wesley thought about how their lives had changed. He was now fully in charge of the house, cleaning and cooking and doing laundry, while Brody did the farming, refusing to let Wesley do anything. Brody was afraid Wesley would come to love it as he did, and all their plans for Wesley’s future would come to nought.
Wesley, you’re going to college this fall and there is no need to get involved. I have to figure it out on my own and you have to go. It’s that simple.
Was it? Wesley understood at seventeen, soon to be eighteen, that it was never that simple.
Before he got to the door Wesley could hear the old country music blaring out of the juke box from inside. He knew some of the musicians the bar liked to play. Patsy Cline, Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn, Hank Williams, Jr, and of course Johnny Cash. But there were others he never bothered to learn their identities or their music. Even Brody listened to different music than what was typically played in the jukebox. But at the bar, the older patrons were the ones slipping hard earned money into the juke box to play their old favorites and the younger patrons like Brody never denied them that opportunity. The songs seem to reinforce the atmosphere of the old bar.
Wesley stepped into the dimly lit interior and saw it was nearly empty. No one was playing pool, just Brody, Mr. Gibson, and a man Wesley recognized but didn’t know, a trucker who came through about twice a month, sitting at the bar with Harlan working behind it. It wasn’t surprising to see the bar so empty, for it was a Tuesday night, a night few would venture out, especially when it was drizzling rain.
Wesley knew he should not be in the bar, but since their father’s passing there had been a couple of times Harlan, or Robert, the owner, had called him to come get Brody. So, they let him come in for he never tried to get served alcohol, only drinking a soda while sitting with Brody. What no one would admit was Brody shouldn’t be in the bar during the week either. Brody would rise before sunrise and being at the bar on a night before was a mistake, for he’d pay with a headache for much of the morning.
Wesley crossed the room and slid on a stool next to him.
“Hey Wesley,” said Harlan. “Coke?”
“Yes, please.”
“What are you doing here?” said Brody.
“Just keeping you company.”
“Wesley, you have school tomorrow.”
“And you have to get up and go to Greenville for those parts.”
Brody looked around and smirked, shaking his head. Then he picked up his bottle and took a sip.
“Are you ready for graduation?” said Harlan, sitting a plastic cup of soda down in front of him.
“Yes, ready to get it over with.”
“I remember thinking the same.”
“You’re not going to give me that speech about how I’ll miss it are you?”
“Hell, no. I’m glad that it’s behind me. All those little clicks and everyone trying to fit in and be something they’re not.”
“Shit, Harlan, what did you want to be,” said Brody jokingly.
“I wanted to be you,” said Harlan in such a sarcastic tone, the two of them busted out laughing.
When they grew quiet, Wesley leaned toward Brody. “Hey, you coming home after this one?”
Brody sighed, then nodded his head.
“You promise?” said Wesley.
“I promise, little brother, now you get home and to bed.”
“I’m going. See you, Harlan.”
“Good night,” said Harlan.
Wesley turned to leave when a guy came out of the small storeroom behind the bar. Wesley couldn’t help himself; he sized the guy up. A bit taller than his own five foot ten, lean build revealed by the skintight T-shirt and jeans, with dark hair, possibly black, with close cropped beard coming in along the jaw and chin despite looking young.
“Wesley, this is Oliver, Robert’s nephew. He’s working here until the fall,” said Harlan. “Oliver, this is Wesley, Brody’s little brother,” he added smiling at Wesley.
“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. I think you’re the first person I have met who isn’t old like Harlan and the others,” said Oliver.
“We’re only two years older, asshole,” said Harlan as he wiped down the bar again.
“Hey. What brought you to Laurel Hill?” said Wesley.
“That is a bit complicated, but I’m living with Uncle Robert until I start classes in the fall at Auburn.”
“You’re going to Auburn? Me too.”
“Hey, maybe we can help each other with last minute arrangements.”
“I’d like that,” Wesley replied, sensing Oliver was looking at him differently. The stare of eyes that looked gray in the dim light. A look he wished was more than just a guy being friendly.
“Let’s hang out sometime.”
“Robert said he was going to work your ass off, so I’m not sure you’re going to have time for any socializing,” said Harlan.
Oliver shook his head at Harlan, then he turned back to Wesley. “I will have to work a lot but give me your number and I’ll call when I have time.”
II.
Wesley was on the back porch fanning gnats from his face while watching Brody bush hog around the fence near the barns. He mindlessly watched as Brody eased the tractor along the fence as close as he could get to it. What he was thinking about the most, the thing he had thought about all day after going to the bar last night, was the new barback. It was something the bar never had before, Harlan and Robert always doing all the work required to run the place.
There was the initial introduction and Oliver approaching him, hand out. The firm grip of a handshake, then the short conversation finding out they were going to the same college in the fall. But it was the look in the eyes, the way they stared back that he remembered the most. They were the same age, but Oliver looked older with the close-cut beard, despite up close it was apparent the beard was not fully filled in and didn’t extend up by the ear to the hairline. And Oliver wasn’t very muscular, but then again, neither was he.
There were all the times he had stood in front of the mirror and looked with such a critical eye at his own body. Brody was more muscular, had been even as a teenager having played football and baseball, something Wesley had had no interest in. Therefore, he was lean, only one hundred thirty-four pounds at five foot ten inches tall. Then he rolled through his stats he had seen guys use online when looking to hook up. Light brown hair, so light it would get streaks of blonde by the end of summer. Brown eyes, dark brown, so dark the pupils were not visible within the iris. A seven- and half-inch cock, and he felt his face flush hot by how often he had measured it, checking and double checking to see if he would get that other half inch. It had seemed important. And he was embarrassingly smooth, barely any hair on his legs and arms, barely any under his arms and a sparse fan of pubic hair over his cock. He had looked with envy at Charles and Bill in the locker room after P.E., the two of them with hair on their chest, thick under each arm, and down each leg and arm. They looked like men, whereas he looked like a boy.
But so did many of the others, like Frank and Stacy, and the cutest boy in his class, Paul with his perfect blonde hair and vivid blue eyes, but all of them with bodies that were lean and boyish.
Stretched out, legs crossed at the ankles, Wesley looked at his sneakers. Size 12. He knew the notion spread as fact. Big feet equal big cock, but he knew that was not always the case. Stacy had small feet, size seven or eight, but one of the biggest cocks, or so Wesley believed based on how long it was flaccid. Another locker room reveal.
What would Oliver look like naked?
The question floated around him, a constant inquiry with no way to get an answer. Oliver would never be in the locker room at his school. He had checked him out, looked at the bulge in the crotch, trying to make out the cock.
He knew he was obsessing over Oliver. It was an easy thing to do. He had long since written off the guys at his schools, those in his class, and those one year behind. There had been a false hope back in the winter when he saw Paul in town with another boy. A cute boy, with wavy red hair. A boy that turned out to be a cousin visiting from North Carolina. It had left him feeling his old sense of isolation and loneliness even stronger. A false hope quickly squashed. Now there was Oliver, and there had been that stare, those eyes seeming to see him, the real him…or so he wished with all his might.
Wesley’s cell phone pinged, and he slipped it out of his pocket and saw a message from Oliver.
Harlan is letting me have the night off Friday. Would you like to go with me to Main Street Tavern in Geneva? I’ll drive.
Wesley smiled. This Friday night he could hang out with Oliver. He typed quickly and hit send.
Yes. What time?
Less than a minute, Oliver’s reply. It felt much longer for he had waited while holding his breath.
6:30. What is your address?
Wesley leaned forward and began typing. He hit send.
2496 Deer Lane. It’s off 52 on the west side. Harlan knows how to get there, so ask him.
“What are you grinning about?” said Brody coming up the walk toward the porch.
“Nothing.”
“Huh-uh. What do you want to do for dinner?”
“I don’t care. You want me to cook?”
“Let’s go to the Mexican place in town. They have good margaritas.”
III.
Brody stood at the door of the barn watching it rain. A steady downpour that quickly created the usual puddles across the yard and drive. A lightning strike, the flash so fast he couldn’t perceive how the lightning went from the ground up somewhere in the pine stand to his south. He was thankful he had laid the crops by and all he had to tend to for a while was the cows and the small garden in the plot next to the barn.
Looking across the rear yard, he saw Wesley’s bedroom light come on, then movement behind the curtains, and he felt that worry and anxiousness that plagued him since their father’s passing. He knew it was not nearly as bad as he tried to make it out to be, and everything had been going pretty well with the farm, and keeping up the house, and Wesley maintaining his grades. The latter was one thing he knew there was nothing to worry about. Wesley was as focused on his grades and graduating as he had been before. Mrs. Simpson had stopped him in Green’s Store wanting to know if Wesley was going to be valedictorian, or if Elizabeth Holmes had gotten the honor. At the time, he honestly had no idea Wesley was doing so well in school, and when the school announced it, naming Wesley, he still wasn’t sure he could believe it. He had had nothing but B’s and C’s, something Wesley never had.
His father had warned him, more than once, that he was like his grandfather. A worrier. Someone who fretted over everything, even when times were good. He knew the truth of it, for even now, crops laid by, he had been thinking about the next season, if he should switch up to something else, peanuts maybe, then he had to consider the cost of special equipment. He worried about the weather. Would it be too wet in harvest season, or too dry in the growing season, even as he watched it rain.
Wesley’s graduation was approaching, so there would just be summer to get final preparations done for college in the fall. He had no idea what he should do. In a little over a week, Nora was back from her vacation with her friends, having gone to Paris then Rome for three weeks. It seemed like she had been gone longer. He knew there were times he took her for granted, assuming she would always be there for him, but her being away made him realize how much he relied on her, if nothing else, just to be there to talk to.
Brody had heard some adults talk about someone being their rock. He had thought the analogy silly, but in the last few months, he understood it all too well. Nora really had helped keep him grounded, pushed him past his doubts and fears, encouraging him when he needed it and chastising him when he needed that.
Nora was going to help Wesley with getting supplies he would need, having helped her own brother last year, and she even offered to go shopping for clothes, which Wesley politely rejected. Brody had never cared much about what he wore as long as it didn’t make him look like a sissy or someone weird, like Kenneth Gregory with his goth look. His closet was all plaid shirts, blue jeans, and T-shirts with his favorite bands or the places along the coast he had been printed on them. But Wesley had always cared, to the point their grandparents gave him money for clothes instead of attempting to buy him some shirt or sweater for Christmas.
Wesley was soon going away to college. Something no one in his family had done. It seemed like something others would do, not someone in their family. It was why their father had been so adamant, time and time again, that nothing was to get in the way of Wesley going. There had been times when Brody had been helping his dad in the barn repairing a tractor or preparing the combine for a harvest, a time when they talked more than any other time. There had been plans for the farm, how to expand it so it could support two families, not one, and eventually, the conversation circled back around to Wesley going to college. Brody could hear his father’s words.
You know this life is not for him. He’s different from you and me.
We get him through college and who knows, maybe one day he’ll be taking care of us.
He has to go. Nothing should stop him from pursuing his dream. You told me you wanted to farm, and I’ve seen nothing that says otherwise. This is your dream. But it’s not Wesley’s.
I just want both of you to be happy, and for Wesley, it is somewhere else; not here.
Brody often thought of those conversations, and how their father understood them. Understood them more than either of them could admit. Farming was a hard life, one of uncertainty. The price giving for a crop and the weather they would have during the growing season were things completely out of their control. But it had its own rewards. To work the land, be your own boss, and when everything fell into place, it was good. It was a life so few could afford. Only the son of a farmer could really make it. Someone with the land in place, or at least enough to get started, and equipment bought over two generations, the cost spread out over time. And a knowledge of the land.
He wondered how Harlan did it, staying in the area, working at the bar long hours, most evenings until midnight, even later Friday and Saturday night. But Harlan was his closest friend, and he didn’t know anyone who was more easy going and comfortable within their own skin. The only thing that troubled Brody was how Harlan had not dated anyone since eleventh grade when Becky had broken up with him, then spread rumors that Harlan didn’t really like her. She had made Harlan out to be the bad guy, and much to Brody’s dismay, let her do it, telling him to let Becky save face, that he didn’t really care what the others thought. He wondered if Harlan was just a loner, or maybe he was seeing someone. He couldn’t bring himself to really consider it, who Harlan would be dating or…it was best not to think of it, or so he told himself.
The rain slacked up and Brody ran across the yard to the back porch. He sat down in the chair his dad had always used to remove dirty boots before going inside, just as he was doing now. He set them neatly by the chair then leaned back watching the rain once again fall heavily across the property. He knew it would rain and drizzle the rest of the day and into the night, but the forecast promised clear skies the next day.
There was always the promise of a better day. There was no other way.
IV.
Wesley watched the scenery pass as Oliver drove spiritedly down State Road 33. Down shifting as they approached a curve, Wesley could feel Oliver accelerating in the curve, shifting to a higher gear as they hit the straight. He glanced over to the speed odometer seeing they were not much over the limit.
“When do you think we’ll get our dorm assignments?” said Oliver as he maneuvered around a sweeping curve with a descent down.
“I have no idea. I just hope I don’t get some frat boy or jock.”
Oliver chuckled as he straightened up for the approach to the bridge over Bushy Creek. The car bounced over the rough transition from asphalt to concrete but stabilized quickly, then bounced once as Oliver accelerated off the bridge and up the other side.
“Have you started buying supplies?”
“No. Brody’s girlfriend said she would help me. She had to help her brother last year get his stuff, so she has a good idea what I’ll need.”
“Brody has a girlfriend?”
Wesley turned to Oliver smiling with some disbelief. “You sound surprised.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I know Harlan…doesn’t have a girlfriend, and the way Brody has been coming in some nights, just assumed he didn’t either.”
“I can see how you would think that. Since she left for Paris for three weeks, he has moped around. But it’s not as bad as when dad died. There are times I really didn’t know what to do for him.”
“He seems to be under some pressure.”
“Most of it is unnecessary. He frets over everything, even me getting to college. Dad had put money away for my college and Brody will get the life insurance policy to settle as much of the debt on the farm as he can.”
“The policy won’t cover all of it?”
“I don’t think so, but from what Brody will say, it’ll take care of most of it.”
Oliver slowed to a stop, waiting for a pulp wood truck to pass, then pulled out accelerating quickly, shifting through the gears.
“You really like driving this thing,” said Wesley.
“I love this car. I debated trying to find an old GTI, or even a Type R, but the prices were crazy for the type R and every GTI I found was ragged out.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Wesley, making Oliver laugh.
Wesley saw the familiar sign welcoming them to Geneva and he felt Oliver slow down as they passed the 25-mph limit sign.
The restaurant was busy, mostly young couples out on a date and groups of guys sitting in the bar area so they could watch the Braves on one of several televisions scattered around the room. Wesley followed Oliver up to the hostess stand, glancing around to see if anyone was staring, wondering if anyone could see it on his face that he wanted this to be more than just two guys hanging out.
“The dining room is a forty-five-minute wait, but I can seat you in the bar at one of the tables now if you’re okay with the noise,” said the hostess.
“Wesley, you want to wait for a table or sit in the bar?”
“The bar is fine.”
Seated at a small 2-top at the back of the bar, a waitress was quickly at the table taking their drink order and dropping off menus. When she went to get their drinks, Wesley turned from staring into the dining room back to Oliver.
“This may be noisier but at least it is not full of families with young children,” said Wesley, nodding his head toward a young man allowed to run around the dining room.
“No shit.”
“What are you majoring in at Auburn?” said Wesley.
“Architecture. And you?”
“Earth system sciences, and if I can swing it, a minor in Natural Resources Management.”
“That sounds intense.”
“And Architecture isn’t? I’ve heard the comments about the department. One of only two buildings on campus never locked, that students are there all hours of the night.”
“Yes, but Earth science? I see a lot of chemistry and biology classes.”
Wesley smiled, nodding his head. “I guess it would seem a bit daunting, but I enjoyed those classes in high school.”
What would you do with the degree…or degrees?”
“Not sure yet. I know I want to travel. I want to have a job that has me going to locales all around the world.”
“Is there such a job?”
“Yeah, but they are tough to get and don’t pay well.”
“I can see the allure.”
“What about architecture? You going to design apartment complexes and sports stadiums?”
“Hell no,” Oliver replied. “I’m looking to do studies in affordable housing, how we build our towns and cities, make them livable, walkable, you know, a place where the people have a better chance at being happy.”
“The pursuit of happiness!”
The waitress returned with their drinks, took their order, and headed to the next table to check on four guys just seated.
“I just hope to find someone who’ll have the same values I do,” said Oliver.
“And in my case, share in the suffering of a poor life.”
Oliver leaned forward, resting on his arms, and when he spoke his voice was lower, huskier. “Would it be so poor?”
Wesley knew what he meant. “If there is someone to share it with, not at all.”
“Have you been dating anyone?”
The question came out of left field, a change of subject Wesley was not expecting. He expected the question in some form to come up eventually, but not at that moment.
“N-n-no.”
“I dated someone for a short time.”
“What happened?”
“My folks found out about Brian and told his parents. Brian freaked out and broke up with me and I got sent to Uncle Robert’s to live.”
Wesley was shocked at the admittance. The way Oliver said so much in just two sentences. It felt like a test, a way to feel him out.
“OH, that is…I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
“That your parents sent you away.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t surprised but it still hurt. You know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“Do you have a problem with me being gay?”
Wesley saw the opportunity to say it. To just say it out loud to another person. He lost his opportunity to talk with his father and it seemed more and more difficult to find a way to talk to Brody. Now he had an opportunity that felt safe, one where there would be no strife or rejection. All he had to do was just say it.
“Wesley?”
“Yes. No. I mean…I don’t have a problem with it, not when I’m gay too.”
Oliver sat back and smiled. “I thought so, but I would never presume it about someone.”
“Really? What made you think that?”
“The way you looked at me when we first met. It looked the way I felt when I first saw Brian.”
“Are you going to try get back with Brian?”
“No, that is over. He kind of threw me under the bus, trying to control the fallout with his own parents.”
“That is rather sad.”
“It is and most unfortunate for Brian, he got steered to go to some Christian college up in Tennessee by his church and parents. So, he is going to pretend none of it happened and try to force himself to live a lie.”
Wesley saw the expression pass over Oliver’s face, then disappear just as fast. One that looked troubled and sad. Then Oliver began to smile again.
“Enough about Brian, for he is beyond my help. What about you? Have you not tried to meet someone?”
“No. I look online and just can’t bring myself to go through with it. I feel…”
“Inexperienced and naïve?”
Wesley saw Oliver was not picking on him but was serious. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Brian and I figured out the other was gay by finding our profiles online. It made for an awkward day at school, and for a long time it had been this silly adventure, a relationship kept secret from our classmates, something taboo to so many of them.”
“You still going to that school?”
“Yep, I’m not running away from it. Brian is there too which makes it awkward as fuck, but Uncle Robert told me to focus on finishing and getting my diploma, that nothing else matters.”
“He’s right.”
“I know. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
Someone different brought their food, placing it before them, asking if they needed anything else, then took off for the kitchen to retrieve the next order.
“You haven’t told Brody.”
It was stated as fact and Wesley knew it was obvious with Oliver around Brody over the last week or so.
“No, and I feel like an idiot for it.”
“Don’t feel like that; tell him when you are ready.”
V.
Harlan smiled as he maneuvered through traffic, for he had been given the night off from the bar by Robert, who would work Friday night if Harlan took Sunday night. Robert was going to take off on Sunday for a three-day vacation at Seaside, Florida.
Harlan turned on Liberty Avenue heading toward the center of Geneva for a night out. Evan was in the passenger seat checking emails from work that came in late in the day.
“When’s the last time we had a date night on Friday,” said Evan, looking away from his cellphone.
Harlan glanced over at Evan and smiled. “I don’t remember.”
They chuckled, then grew quiet. Harlan felt like the luckiest guy in the world. He loved his job despite the hours. The socializing that was part of bartending played into his extroverted nature. Brody, his best friend, had questioned it time and time again, never able to understand it. Brody was introverted and not as outgoing. And there was Evan, whom he met when he was still a senior in high school and Evan was twenty-five. It was such a brief interaction, the two crossing paths at a Fourth of July celebration in Geneva. He had followed Evan around, knowing he would never get the older man’s attention. He had been with Brody and several of their friends, cutting up and being teenagers about to graduate from high school, and there was no way a twenty-five-year-old wanted anything to do with them.
Three weeks after graduation, they crossed paths again, this time while biking, Harlan coming from Laurel Hill and Evan coming from Geneva, and both alone. They ended up riding together then going to Geneva for lunch. During their lunch of turkey sandwiches and salad, he had grown bold.
Would you go out with me?
What makes you think I’m gay?
I don’t know, but would you?
Evan had busted out laughing, then commented on his boldness. Then to Harlan’s surprise, said he would love to go out with him. They dated from that weekend until two months ago when Harlan moved in with Evan. His only regret was not telling Brody about his life with Evan. He had kept his sexuality secret for so long, it seemed almost impossible now to tell Brody. He didn’t know if Brody would be hurt in finding out his best friend was gay, or if it was Harlan’s not telling him for so long, keeping such an important part of his life from him.
Harlan eased past Main Street Tavern seeing a few people leaving and a couple heading toward the door.
“Looks busy,” said Harlan.
“It’s Friday night,” said Evan. “But the wait is usually not too bad.”
“If it is, we’ll wait at the bar.”
Harlan turned on Washington Avenue and pulled to the parking lot behind the tavern. He pulled his yellow Jeep next to a Honda Civic seeing the Si badge on the back. It looked like Oliver’s car and wondered why he would be in Geneva. Robert lived on the west side of Laurel Hill, but maybe Oliver was out with some of the guys he had befriended since moving to Laurel Hill. Oliver was outgoing, friendly, so it would not be surprising to see him inside at a table with four or five others.
“Let’s go see how long the wait is,” said Evan, swinging his feet out and sliding down to the ground. At five foot six, the lifted Jeep made getting in and out a bit of a chore. For Harlan, at five foot ten, it wasn’t such an effort, but it was still a climb up or down for him too.
Harlan strolled next to Evan tempted to take his hand like they did in Atlanta or Miami or Key West or any other locale that was far more tolerant, but he knew it would tempt someone with primitive views of human diversity. Give them an excuse to be their worst, and it was date night, and he didn’t want anything to ruin it.
Just as they reached the entry doors, one swung open.
“Harlan?”
“Hey, Mr. Gardner, how are you?”
“Good, good. Nancy and I are out for dinner.”
“Same. This is my friend, Evan. Evan, this is Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. He comes into the bar on occasion.”
“I make him get out of the house,” said Mrs. Gardner with a wry smile.
“She says I drive her nuts hanging around the house,” said Mr. Gardner.
“Are you boys meeting anyone here?” said Mrs. Gardner.
Harlan knew what she was asking. Where are the girls. They should be going out with girls, planning on getting married, having kids, living the life expected by the community.
“No, it is just the two of us tonight,” said Evan.
“Nothing wrong with that,” said Mr. Gardner. “You boys enjoy your night. Come on, Nancy, let’s get home.”
“Goodnight,” said Mrs. Gardner.
The bar was crowded, and the foyer had two couples waiting. Harlan checked in with the hostess, then led Evan to the bar. A couple of women got up from the front side of the bar and they took the two empty stools, sliding up to the highly polished bar.
“What can I get you?” said the bartender.
“Old fashion,” said Evan.
“Manhattan,” said Harlan.
“Coming up,” the bartender replied, moving away to prepare the two cocktails.
“I guess with me leaving on that business trip Sunday afternoon, having to work that night is no big deal,” said Evan.
“It’ll get me out of the house. I hate it when you’re gone.”
“Three, maybe four more years and they promised me a desk job.”
“Can you still work from home?”
“I hope so, otherwise it’ll be a move to Atlanta or Denver.”
“If necessary, you know I’ll move.”
“I know, but let’s hope I don’t have to do that.”
“Gentlemen, your drinks,” said the bartender, setting two cocktails down on the bar in front of them.
“Thanks,” said Evan.
Harlan took a sip, then looked around the bar, naturally curious to see who Oliver was with, knowing he had to be inside the bar somewhere. There was a couple across the bar he had seen at The Wagon Wheel on occasion, but Oliver wasn’t where he could see him. He leaned forward to look across the back of the room on the other side of the bar.
“There he is,” said Harlan, leaning back to look at Evan. “Oliver is over there.”
“Robert’s nephew?”
“Yeah. He’s with someone.”
“Well, guys today have the internet to find others, no matter what remote place they find themselves.”
Harlan was curious, wondering if someone that came into the bar was sitting with Oliver. He leaned forward just as the other person did the same at Oliver’s table, coming into view.
“Shit!” Harlan uttered, suddenly feeling like he saw something he wished he had not.
“What is it?”
“The person with Oliver is Brody’s brother, Wesley.”
“Wesley?”
“Yeah.”
“You did say Wesley gave you the impression he might be-“
“Don’t say it. I know what I said, but I really didn’t think it could be true.” It was worrying for how would Brody take it when he found out.
“Maybe he is just hanging out with Oliver. There may be nothing going on.”
“Maybe,” said Harlan, not believing it for a minute.
Evan sat back, sated, his plate cleaned off. Harlan took one more bite of his dish, then set his fork down.
“I’m stuffed,” said Harlan.
“Me too.”
“I’m going to hit the bathroom.”
“I’ll pay and meet you up front.”
Harlan moved through the dining room to the back wall where a corridor ran from both the bar and it to restrooms at the back of the building. He entered the dimly lit corridor, turned the corner to head toward the back when he saw the Men’s door swing open and Wesley came out.
“Oh, hey Wesley,” Harlan stammered.
“Harlan?”
Harlan saw it, the fear he recognized from others he used to hang out with. The fear of being recognized while out with a guy. He knew Wesley’s heart would be pounding in his chest and he would feel short of breath.
“Wesley, relax. It’s okay.”
“What…what do you mean?”
“I don’t mean anything. Just forget you saw me.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to eat. Evan…my friend, is getting the check and we’re heading out after I hit the Men’s room.”
Wesley eased back a step, looking unsure whether to head on back and Harlan wasn’t sure if he should say more. Harlan didn’t like doing this to him. Didn’t want Wesley to be freaking out, laying awake tonight wondering if he would tell Brody about seeing him.
“Wesley, look…Evan is my boyfriend, and we came here for a night out since I rarely have Friday night off.”
“Boyfriend? Does Brody know?”
Of course that is the first question Wesley would ask.
“No, he doesn’t, and I regret it all the time but…”
“No time seems right?”
“Yeah, something like that. But look, I’m not making any judgment about you being here with Oliver.”
Wesley looked like someone found guilty at trial, someone ready to make one last confession.
“It’s what it looks like.”
“Huh.”
“Oliver and I…out together.”
“I see. Look Wesley, if you ever want to talk, you can come to me.”
“And you won’t tell Brody?”
“No, never. That is for you to do.”
“Thanks.”
They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, then Wesley suddenly began to move, to make his way past Harlan.
“Oliver is waiting for me.”
“You guys have fun,” said Harlan to Wesley’s back.
Evan was outside on the sidewalk watching the traffic pass the restaurant. Harlan pushed through the double doors and strolled up next to him.
“You ready?” said Evan.
“Yes, let’s go.”
“What is it? You sound funny.”
“I ran into Wesley coming out of the bathroom.”
“Oh, and?”
“He was surprised to see me, but we talked, and I think we’re good.”
“So, what’s bothering you?”
“He’s gay, so there is two of us keeping secrets from Brody. It feels wrong.”
“Maybe you should tell Brody about us.”
“I was wondering the same.”
Harlan pulled into the drive of the house he shared with Evan. It was a Victorian with a round turret on the right front corner, and full width porch with a rounded corner under the turret then extended down the side to the expanded kitchen at the rear. It had been run down and thus cheap for few in Geneva could afford such an undertaking. Evan had spent a fortune renovating and expanding it on the rear with a new kitchen and great room facing a landscaped rear yard.
It was intimidating for Harlan at first, to move from a small farmhouse to the two and half story Victorian, and he worked hard to help clean and maintain it, taking pride in what Evan had been able to do with it.
He pulled down the drive to the garage at the back of the property.
“That was nice,” said Evan as he climbed down.
“Yes, it was,” said Harlan.
He followed Evan along the sidewalk to the screen porch and into the mudroom, kicking off his shoes as Evan did the same.
“You want anything?” said Evan.
“You’re joking?”
Evan laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry, old habit.”
“There is something I want,” said Harlan coming up behind Evan and wrapping his arms around him pulling them close together.
They playfully raced up the stairs and down the hall to the primary bedroom at the back of the house. As Evan pulled the bedding from the top of the bed Harlan began to strip. There was no playing around for both were soon naked. They kissed and touched and whispered naughtily to each other. Fingers grazed over skin, manipulated one nipple then the other. Fingers moved lightly down skin, over stomachs until fondling growing cocks.
Harlan pushed Evan backward until legs bumped the bed, then he playfully pushed him on it and crawled over him, kissing, and nipping at the skin, tugging on the sac, tonguing the cock. He moved upward between raised knees kissing the stomach, the chest, then one nipple. He tongued it, then nipped at the hard nub making Evan moan.
“Fuck, don’t stop,” said Evan.
Harlan kissed the neck, tugged on an earlobe…whispered softly into the ear.
“I love you.”
Evan’s legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed along the jaw until pressing against Evan’s lips.
Harlan felt a hand come between them, take his cock, and pull it toward its target. He pushed against the tightness, pushed until he felt the squeeze on the head as he breached the tight opening. Evan shivered beneath him.
“Put it in me,” said Evan breathlessly.
And Harlan pushed, sinking inch after inch into Evan’s depths.
It didn’t take long, and Evan loosened to the penetration and began to move beneath Harlan. Harlan knew he was ready and began to fuck. To tug outward, then push back in, over and over, building up his pace until moving rhythmically, steadily, pumping cock inside Evan.
Harlan lifted himself up on his hands and increased his pace, hammering Evan’s insides harder and harder until the bed rocked beneath them, and Evan’s cries and moans echoed in the room.
Harlan shifted, hooked his arms behind Evan’s knees and folded the body beneath him. With thighs pressed against chest, he held Evan down and fucked. Hips bounced off upturned ass, and Harlan increased his pace until the sound of hips smacking ass were as loud as Evan’s moans and grunts.
“Fuck…fuck…I’m going to cum,” said Harlan.
Evan threw his head back and moaned as Harlan slammed into Evan’s depths and kept jamming hips against ass while he came. Every thrust inward, his cock ejaculated another wad, and Harlan kept fucking, pumping cock through its own cum.
They lay in a sweaty heap, both breathing hard with cocks still hard, Evan not yet experiencing a release, and Harlan still hard, wanting, aroused by the idea of more sex. He pushed Evan to his back and straddled the narrow waist.
“My turn,” said Harlan.
Evan smiled watching Harlan ease down on his cock.
Harlan moaned, threw his head back and cried out, as he stretched to take Evan’s cock. Inch after inch sank into his ass until he was seated on it.
“Baby, you have me,” said Evan.
Harlan moved on Evan’s cock, up and down, building up his pace. His own cock flopped heavily, at times smacking Evan’s stomach, keeping him aroused to the point he had to take it in hand. He stroked his slimy cock while riding Evan’s. Faster and faster, ass slamming down on Evan’s cock while his hand was a blur on his own.
“Harlan,” said Evan.
“OH…me too,” said Harlan.
As Evan shuddered with release, shoving upward with each ejaculation, Harlan rocked with each shove then slammed his hand down to the base of his cock and came. Wad after wad rained down on Evan’s chest, then stomach, and Harlan shivered and shuddered with each ejaculation.
Water droplets still clung to Evan’s shoulders where he missed them while drying off from their shower. Harlan kissed them, sucking up each one, then led him to their bed. They slipped into it and against each other. As one drifted off to sleep the other soon followed.
VI.
Wesley came downstairs to find Brody in the kitchen cooking eggs and bacon. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and on the dining table in the breakfast nook, sat three gift wrapped boxes and a blue envelope.
“Happy Birthday, little brother. Grandmother sent the green wrapped gift and Harlan sent the one wrapped in white.”
“So, the blue one is from you?”
“Yeah…hope you like it,” said Brody scooping up eggs out of the iron skillet. “I’m sorry it’s not like it was with dad with a party and all.”
“That’s okay. I’m more excited about graduating than turning eighteen.”
“I bet. I know it’ll be starting college in the fall that will be the most exciting thing.”
Wesley sat at the table and unwrapped the gift from his grandparents. In the box was a small card. Slipping it out of the envelope, he saw it was a gift card that he could use for a new cellphone.
“Wow, how did they know?”
“She called and asked what you wanted and made it a point to say not what you needed but what you wanted.”
“I’ll call her after we eat.”
Wesley slid Harlan’s gift over and looked at it for what it represented. For the last two years, Harlan had given him a birthday and Christmas present.
“He really didn’t have to do this,” said Wesley tearing the gift wrap from the box.
“You know Harlan,” said Brody bringing two plates to the table. “What did he get you this time?”
“It’s…” said Wesley, opening the box, “cologne. It’s Versace.”
“Who?”
“Never mind; just know it is nice cologne. Now let’s see what you gave me,” said Wesley smirking at Brody as he slid the last box over.
He tore the paper off then opened the box to find a smaller one inside. “Very funny,” said Wesley as he pulled it out and opened it. Another smaller box. “Seriously.”
Brody smiled and started to eat. “You better hurry up or your breakfast will get cold.”
Wesley opened the next box and found gift cards inside. One was to an outdoor clothing store in Montgomery and two other cards were for the two best department stores in the mall. Each one was $300.
“Whoa, you…”
“You need new clothes for college. I’m tired of seeing the same three shirts all the time.”
“Thanks Brody.”
“You’re welcome. Now eat.”
Gifts sat aside, Wesley started eating, all the while thinking about how he had planned to tell Brody he was gay, that today would be as good as any, but now he knew he couldn’t do it. What if Brody got upset, and it was his birthday. He would wait until after Nora got back and tell Brody then with her present. He just knew she would be accepting.
VII.
It was a warm muggy night, insects flying into his headlights as he headed toward town. It was nearly ten, early for a Saturday night, and Wesley was going to the bar with the stated purpose of seeing if Brody was there and needed a ride home. His real reason was to see Oliver.
Parking next to the bar, he strolled back toward the entrance, hearing the music coming from inside go so low he couldn’t make out the song. As he neared the entry a new song began and he could hear more clearly, every word being sung just as he reached the door and swung it open entering the dark interior. It was a Patsy Cline song, one he recognized but didn’t know the title. He scanned the room, and saw Harlan at the bar, alone, wiping down the top. In the back of the room at the pool table was Brody and Mr. Gibson, the latter lining up a shot. Sitting at one of the tables watching them was Roy, Lisa, Curtis, and Jane. They were couples who enjoyed a night out together on occasion. Harlan said they were reliving their college days on their nights out.
It made Wesley think of Nora, Brody’s girlfriend who wasn’t due back from Europe until the end of the week. But as the day drew close, Brody seemed to be returning to himself. At that moment Brody was smiling about the poor shot Mr. Gibson took. A shake of the head, a little chalk on his cue stick, and he moved into position to take a shot.
Wesley looked for Oliver, knowing he was working tonight, but Oliver was nowhere to be seen. Wesley ambled over to the bar as Harlan sat a coke down for him.
“What brings you out, and don’t tell me its to check on Brody,” said Harlan.
“Okay, I won’t. Isn’t Oliver working tonight?”
Harlan smiled, leaned on the bar getting close to Wesley.
“He’s in back getting ice. Should be out any minute.”
“Come on, Harlan stop grinning at me like that.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”
“See what?”
“Brody’s little brother likes boys.”
“Sshhhh, don’t say that out loud.”
“Relax, they’re over there. I’m not going to say anything in front of them.”
“Hey, Wesley, when did you get here,” said Oliver coming from the back carrying a bucket of ice.
“Just now.”
“Did you get the beer put in the cooler,” asked Harlan.
“Yep.”
“And the bathroom cleaned up from where that asshole puked in it?”
“Yes, it’s clean.”
“Well, bring me a case of Bud Lites, then you can take off if you want,” said Harlan, looking from Oliver to Wesley.
“Seriously,” said Oliver.
“Yes.”
“Wesley, you want to come back to Uncle Robert’s and watch television?”
“Sure.”
Wesley followed the little blue Honda out of town, heading west on Third Street that would become 252 heading northwest toward Monroeville. He wondered what to expect when he got to Robert’s place. Oliver said Robert was down at the beach and they would have the house to themselves.
Robert lived in a brick ranch style house, one built in the late sixties that spread out across its site. The house was U-shaped, with a courtyard inside it, with the kitchen, family room and primary bedroom all opening onto it.
After a short drive on 252, Oliver turned into the asphalt drive and Wesley followed. Oliver parked inside the garage and Wesley pulled up behind him.
Oliver headed toward the door leading inside and Wesley followed him, feeling excited and anxious. They moved through a mudroom into the kitchen.
“You want anything to drink?” said Oliver.
“No, I’m good.”
Oliver smiled, then reached out to take Wesley by the hand. “Come on, let’s go to my room.”
Oliver left most of the lights off, and Wesley held to the hand as Oliver lead him down the dark hall to the last door on the left, a bedroom on the front corner of the house.
“This is my room,” said Oliver.
Wesley followed Oliver into the bedroom that was illuminated by the lamp on the nightstand. It was simply furnished, with a twin bed, two nightstands, a dresser and, at the front window, a desk. On the wall, framed photos of local scenery or landmarks, and Wesley found himself staring at one of the old tobaccos barns up in Monroe County.
“Who took these?” said Wesley.
“Robert. You didn’t know he did photography.”
“No; I had no clue.”
“I told him he should put some of it in a gallery, but he said it wasn’t something he wanted to put out there for criticism. It was for his pleasure…or something like that.”
Wesley turned his attention to the desk, seeing a few novels, a laptop, and textbooks, notebooks, two flash drives, and a scattering of pens. On one nightstand, a photograph of Oliver standing on the bank of a river, and one of Robert and him sitting at a table on a patio, and Wesley knew it had been taken at the house in back.
“Not a lot of personal stuff, but everything happened so fast and I just…had to go quickly.”
“Have you talked to your parents since then?”
“Just once when Robert carried me back. Initially it was to get my parents to take me back in, but then it was just to get what stuff I needed and get out of there.”
“That sucks.”
“Well, I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I told Robert it was a waste of time, but he was sure he could straighten out the situation.”
“And when he failed, he brought you back,” said Wesley, moving to the dresser where three bottles of cologne were lined up, one of which was familiar. It was the same as what Harlan had given him.
He looked at the names of the other two, wondering which one Oliver wore the most, when arms circled his waist and Oliver pressed against his back.
“Can you stay tonight?”
“No, I have to go home or…”
“Brody will know we’re more than friends?”
“I’m sorry, but- “
“Wesley don’t be. You’ve done nothing wrong. You tell Brody when the time is right.”
“But I’m afraid I’ve waited too long, that I should have already told him.”
“Have you talked with Harlan about it?”
“Harlan? Why?”
“He might help you with telling Brody.”
“Because he is gay too? No, I can’t drag him into it.”
“Fair enough, but enough about Harlan and Brody and all everything out there.”
A kiss to the back of the neck. A tightening of the arms around the waist. A press of groin against ass.
“Can we?” said Oliver in a soft whisper.
“Yes.”
Wesley felt hands move across his chest, up the neck where fingers began to undo buttons. Oliver worked slowly and steadily down the front of the shirt, undoing one button after the next until it fell open. The hands touched his bare skin. Softly moving over the chest, over the stomach, then as one hand worked a nipple, the other moved up taking Wesley by the chin turning his head. Lips touched his jaw then his lips. It aroused him to be touched like this. Then he moaned when Oliver twisted his right nipple enough to send a shiver down his spine.
With chin held in place while they kissed, the other moved down, over the stomach until grazing the skin just above the waistband of his jeans. Then a tug, slipping the button free. Another tug, this one down, and the zipper separated to its base letting the jeans spread open. Wesley felt his cock move within his boxers no longer confined by his jeans. Then fingers slipped into his boxers and touched it. Bare fingers of another touched his cock and he moaned and felt his cock flex with his arousal.
“I want you naked,” said Oliver.
“Yes,” said Wesley breathlessly.
Oliver moved in front of him and slipped the shirt off his shoulders and he held his arms down letting it drop to the floor. Oliver took his jeans and boxers and tugged them down as he squatted. With jeans and boxers around his ankles, his cock rose up half hard in Oliver’s face.
He had never been exposed like this to another. Never let another see him aroused to any degree. But now his cock flexed and rose higher out in front of him right in Oliver’s face. Mere inches between cock and face, and Wesley watched how his growing arousal became such a physical thing. He watched Oliver reach up and take his cock, stroking it a few times, then held it at the base. For a precious second, a long time defying second Wesley looked at Oliver staring at his cock, then he gasped, sucking in a lung full of air when Oliver kissed the head, then tongued it, dragging the wet thing over the head and down the shaft to the hand holding it tight.
“Oliver,” said Wesley revealing his excitement.
“Fuck, I want this,” said Oliver.
And Wesley watched Oliver take his cock; slip lips over the head and push forward until nose pushed into his pubic hair. He was naked, exposed while Oliver was still dressed, but he couldn’t focus on it, for all he could focus on was the mouth on his cock. The mouth that moved back and forth on it until he was rock hard.
As Oliver sucked his cock, Wesley felt fingers manipulate his sac, working the nuts around, then tugging on it until his cock flexed in Oliver’s mouth. Then the other hand moved around his waist, slipped fingers between his ass cheeks. Another first, one of many to happen over the course of the night, as Oliver’s fingers touched his tight opening. The fingers rubbed over it until he was pumping cock into Oliver’s mouth and moaning and grunting. Then one worked his tightness, rubbing over it, pressing against it, and then, suddenly, slipped through the tightness penetrating him.
“Slow down…I’m getting close,” said Wesley, feeling the buildup for release.
The finger bore into his depths as far as it could reach, and Wesley shoved forward. The finger began to fuck him, to pump through his tightness until he loosened to the penetration.
“Oliver. Please.”
Wesley didn’t know if he wanted Oliver to stop and let him come down from his near release, or if he wanted Oliver to push him over the edge.
Oliver showed Wesley he was determined to get him off.
Two finger penetrated Wesley, twisting and turning, loosening his opening as the mouth worked his cock. When three fingers penetrated his tightness, Wesley cried out, shoved forward, and came.
Wesley shoved forward with every ejaculation, pushing his spurting cock to the back of the mouth. Oliver took it, every thrust, every wad of cum, keeping lips tight around the cock.
Wesley stood gasping for breath with a very hard, very wet cock, as Oliver stood in front of him. Jeans fell around the ankles, then boxers dropped on top of them as Oliver tugged his T-shirt over his head. There had been no playful foreplay, no slow strip tease. Oliver just stripped as fast as he could, as if he knew Wesley was desperate to see him naked. Wanted them both to be naked.
“What do you want to do?” said Oliver, taking Wesley by the hand and leading him to the bed. “I’ll do what you want.”
Wesley didn’t know where to start. He wanted to experience everything. He moved over Oliver and felt a hand take his cock, stroking it as he hovered over him.
“I…want to do everything.”
Oliver smiled up at him, then leaned up and kissed him. “We have all night.”
Wesley moved over Oliver, pumped his cock through the fist, then laid over the prone body and pumped it along side Oliver’s cock. He felt Oliver’s legs wrap around his waist and hands rub over his back. He heard soft utterances, pleadings to keep going. His cock slipped down below the nuts, and he pumped it along the perineum not knowing how his cock rubbed over Oliver’s tight opening. But he heard the increased moans and grunts, then felt a hand slip between them taking his cock and aligning it with the opening.
“Put it in me,” said Oliver.
Wesley pushed, feeling the tight squeeze on the head of his cock. He shuddered with the feel of it, then pushed through until sinking deeper and deeper into Oliver.
“OH, yeah; fuck me,” said Oliver.
And Wesley began to fuck. To drive his cock deeper and deeper as he built up his pace. He fell into a steady rhythm, one that left him breathless, pumping his cock inside Oliver until he had to stop or come. Hands grabbed each of his ass cheeks and squeezed.
“Don’t stop,” said Oliver breathlessly.
“But I’m going to come too quickly if I keep going.”
“Do it. Do me. We won’t stop until we’re both spent.”
Wesley considered what Oliver was suggesting, that they would fuck until both of them couldn’t fuck another stroke. He knew how often he had masturbated when really aroused, how many times he could come in one night, and he renewed their fuck. Tugged outward then pushed back into Oliver’s depths, and this time he didn’t slow or stop. He fucked until the pleasure of it left him gasping for breath. He fucked until his cock ached for release and his body felt feverish, burning up with his exertions.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” uttered Oliver as Wesley’s pace increased.
“I’m close,” said Wesley.
He lifted himself up on his hands and Oliver shifted legs against his shoulders. He renewed their fuck, working his hips faster and faster, until smacking against the upturned ass. As the sound echoed in the room, he didn’t slow, didn’t let up. Sweat trickled down his face, down his torso, and rained down on Oliver. He was gasping for breath and so close, his fuck lost its rhythm. Then he slammed into Oliver’s depths and shuddered with release.
Wesley lay on his back, his cock still rock hard, as Oliver gripped each of his legs behind the knee. He didn’t feel his old anxieties about how his first time would be, none of the fears, instead he only felt desire. He wanted it. Wanted it so badly he clutched the bed and waited impatiently for Oliver to fuck him.
Oliver pushed his legs down until his thighs were against his chest and his ass turned upward. Then he felt cock touch it, rub over it, then push against his opening. Oliver had fingered him, preparing him for the penetration, but he knew he was still tight, especially for the thick cock pressing against it. He tightened his grip on the bedding and threw his head back closing his eyes.
“Fuck me.”
Wesley shuddered and moaned as cock stretched him open, pushing through the tightness. Then he shivered as he felt the cock slowly sink into his depths.
“Fuck…you have me,” said Oliver.
“Yes,” said Wesley as he pushed upward as best he could trying to get that cock deeper into his ass.
Oliver began to fuck. Slowly, gently, letting Wesley feel every inch push and tug through his opening. Wesley felt himself loosen to the penetration and at the same time, Oliver increased the pace of his fuck. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until Oliver was hammering against Wesley’s ass.
“Fuck. Fuck,” said Oliver.
And Wesley lay there taking Oliver’s.
Suddenly Oliver was up on knees between his legs and he looked up at the sweaty body, the hard cock flexing up and down, and the look of pure bliss in the face.
“Roll over,” said Oliver.
Wesley lay on his stomach feeling Oliver move over him. He felt that thick cock rub up one thigh, over his ass, then pump between his ass cheeks. The tease of it was too much and he reached back and spread his ass cheeks apart. Oliver kissed the back of his neck, along the right shoulder, then put the cock to his opening and pushed into it all the way. He shuddered and moaned and pushed his ass up to take it.
Oliver lay heavily on his back, hot sweaty skin against hot sweaty skin, and moved in such a way as to rub and undulate making him acutely aware of every touch, of the cock fucking him, of the urgent kisses. He moved with him, pushing ass up and raising his head to utter desperate pleas for Oliver not to stop, to keep going. To fuck him.
An arm around his neck held him tightly as Oliver’s rhythm increased, hips slapping down on his ass as cock pushed into his depths. He felt it, the piston motion of the cock as it moved inside him, creating this most intimate connection. He wanted it to last forever.
Oliver buried his cock inside Wesley, ground hips against ass, then shuddered and jerked with release.
The shower ran hot, and Oliver bathed Wesley, running soapy hands over every inch of his body. Under the arms, around the neck, down the chest and back, around the hardening cock, handling the sac, then along the ass. Oliver shampooed his hair, then kissed him while guiding him under the shower.
It made Wesley hard. His cock stuck straight out, and his arousal made his heart race. He turned to the wall, braced himself with each hand as he rested his face against the cool tile.
“Do me. Do me again.”
Oliver moved up behind him, rubbed cock across his ass, then up and down between the cheeks.
“You horny bastard. You’re driving me insane,” said Oliver.
Wesley smiled, knowing the truth of it. He was horny, more so than ever before. He bent his back pushing his ass out as the cock penetrated him. He pressed his hands against the wall as the cock bore into his depths, and when hands held his waist, he turned his head until only his forehead was against the wall and looked down at his own cock. As Oliver began to fuck, his cock flopped up and down. It pushed his arousal, made him want Oliver’s fuck even more, and he heard himself plead for Oliver to fuck harder.
As hips smacked against his ass, his cock flopped roughly between his thighs. He moaned and grunted and fought the urge to take his cock in hand. He wanted to feel it flopping around with Oliver’s fuck. But a hand moved from his waist to his cock, taking it in a tight grip, using it as a handle to pull him back another step. He was bent over further, far enough he had to brace himself with his hands. Oliver kept up the pace of their fuck, hadn’t slowed, and Wesley watched the hand on his cock loosen then stroke him. As cock plunged into his depths, Oliver stroked his cock.
“Oliver!” Wesley cried out, then he came, cock flexing with every ejaculation. Then Oliver shoved into his depths and shuddered with release.
Wesley started his old 4-Runner as Oliver stood at the open garage door waving goodbye. Their first night together was over and he had to get home. But he hesitated, tempted by Oliver’s begging him to stay. He waved, thinking of their plans to get together the next day, and the one after that, and…
He didn’t think it could be like this, not really. He dreamed of it, had late night fantasies of it, but to truly feel this way toward another. It really did seem like a fantasy become real. The only problem was he was still closeted. Still hiding a part of himself from his brother.
VIII.
Harlan drove across the countryside, leaving Geneva, heading toward Laurel Hill. He was driving out 22 heading west where he would pick up 33 going north to town. The road ran parallel to the interstate to just to its south, and on Cemetery Hill, he could see the four-lane highway with its traffic heading toward Mobile or Montgomery. It was too early to be heading to work, but he had laid awake night after night for the last three days worrying about Wesley and Brody. Sooner or later, Brody was going to figure out Wesley hanging out with Oliver was more than just two guys bumming around, for there was no doubt even Brody could do the math on that one. He could think of all the clues, from never dating girls, of being a bit of a loner since turning fourteen, and now being tight with Oliver. It was his fault, having told Brody why Oliver was living with Robert after getting outed.
Revealing that to Brody made him feel responsible. He never imagined Oliver and Wesley becoming an item, but it was obvious that was the case. He needed to do something. He thought of the phrase he had seen by a guy down in Florida who did YouTube videos on foreign and national policy and local issues. If you have the means, you have the responsibility. He knew what he had to do to prepare Brody for finding out his younger brother was gay.
Slowing down to turn, Harlan looked to his right, reminded of how beautiful the Phillips’ farm was. The field in cultivation, the crops waist high and covering the space between each row. Then the woodland that ran along the stream that cut across the property. He pictured the pond among the woods, nestled in a low area with its long narrow shape, and so deep in the middle it was hard to touch bottom. Brody and he had tried to touch it when they were thirteen until they got caught by Brody’s father. The pond was a fishpond and known for having snakes in it.
Passing the white mailbox, Harlan turned on the gravel drive that cut through the woods. A wooden bridge crossed the stream, then after a short distance, one of the pastures came up on the left. Easing along the drive as it ran along the edge of the woods, he could see the old farmhouse straight ahead with azaleas framing the yard, huge bushes, over seven or eight feet tall, blocking all view of the side and rear yards. Nearing the house, the later additions came into view, a garage on the right and a primary bedroom suite and family room on the left, a place where he had spent many a night watching movies or ballgames with Brody.
He followed the drive to the right where it would circle around the house to the rear yard, looping back to the garage and branching off to the two barns at the rear of the yard. He knew Brody would be at a barn or a pasture or in the garden, and he drove out to the old barn where the main doors stood open. As he neared it, he looked over to the right where the garden was planted each year seeing Brody with a hoe moving along a row of okra.
He parked under one of the oak trees and headed toward the garden seeing Brody look up, recognize him, and head to the end of the row.
“Harlan, what brings you out?”
“I wanted to talk.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Maybe…maybe not.”
Harlan saw the look, one surprised by his reply. Brody moved toward him as the expression changed to one far too familiar; stoic, revealing little.
“Let’s go up to the house and have a beer,” said Brody walking past him.
Harlan followed Brody, his best friend in the world, wondering if they would still be friends after their talk. Brody used the hoe like a walking stick, swinging the end of it out in front of him every two steps as they crossed the lawn. Harlan kept pace with him, following Brody to the sidewalk and up to the screen porch.
“I’ll grab us a couple of beers,” said Brody, propping the hoe against the wall and going into the house.
They sat in the rocking chairs, slowly rocking as they took one drink then another. Brody remained silent waiting on Harlan, and Harlan was building up his courage, still searching for the right words. It was insane how many words were in the English language and not one seemed right in this moment.
“I guess there’s no other way to say this but to just come out with it,” said Harlan. He took a drink then rocked slowly while taking a deep breath. “Brody, I’m gay.”
“I knew it,” Brody uttered his breath.
“What?”
“Harlan, I’ve tried to deny it, have since we were seventeen and I saw you drooling over that Dawson boy who was a year older.”
“Christopher Dawson? I’ve not thought of him in two…three years.”
“I knew something was up and I’m not stupid. I see how it is in the cities. Hell, I went to Atlanta with Nora last year while they had their Pride thing going on and got right in the middle of it. Nora thought it was great and pulled me to follow as she made her way down this street blocked off and lined with vendors.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I made her promise not to tell. You know how some around here are.”
Harlan was beginning to realize he underestimated his friend, and he took another drink waiting for Brody to continue.
“There were all these little clues but there was one big one that should have settled the matter.”
“What was that?”
“When you moved in with Evan. God, I knew when you said Evan was letting you rent a room it was bullshit. But there was that bit of doubt, just a little doubt, so I didn’t say anything.”
“So, you’re not mad at me, or going to…”
Harlan couldn’t say it, bring himself to say what he feared the most; Brody’s rejection of him.
“Going to what? Reject you?” Brody chuckled, then took a long drink. He sat the empty bottle down and stared across the rear yard.
“No, you’re my best friend and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Harlan held his breath and fought back the tears. He exhaled slowly and looked over at Brody who turned to him and smiled.
“But Harlan, what I don’t understand, or don’t think I do, is why now?”
“Huh?”
“Why tell me now.” Brody climbed to his feet. “Finish that beer and I’ll get us one more.”
As soon as the door closed leaving him alone for a minute, Harlan took a couple of deep breaths, then smiled, chuckled, laughed aloud. The door swung open, and Brody came out with a beer in each hand.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, my friend. You always surprise me.”
“Okay Harlan, whatever.”
Brody sat and soon the two of them were taking long swallows from their bottles and rocking almost in unison. Brody didn’t turn his head toward Harlan, didn’t raise his voice, or stop rocking when he spoke next.
“You’re telling me now is because of Wesley.”
Harlan headed back toward town not sure he believed the conversation he had with Brody. To accept he was gay, even having some suspicion about it was one thing, but to suspect Wesley was gay too caught him off guard. It shouldn’t have surprised him, for all the clues Brody had seen from him over the years must have played out the same with Wesley. For anyone looking, it was obvious. And Brody had been looking, first at him, then Wesley.
It was too early to open the bar but too late to drive back to Geneva, so he drove past the bar, turned on Commerce Street, and headed down to the Mexican restaurant at the end of the block. He would have a quiet dinner alone while replaying the conversation with Brody, then he would figure out what to say to Wesley. Brody wanted Wesley to come to him, to make the confession when he was ready. But Harlan knew Wesley was terrified his stoic brother, someone who rarely expressed an opinion, would reject him. He felt it was his responsibility to give Wesley that little push, the encouragement Wesley needed to talk to Brody.
The restaurant was getting busy, two couples and a family entering just in front of Harlan. Inside the lobby area, he wanted while the hostess sat them, then followed her to a table. It was in the bar area, one of four two top tables that sat along the middle of the narrow room, booths along one side and the bar on the other. He faced the main dining room and browsed the menu.
The waiter came for his drink, then came back for his order. It wasn’t long and a hot plate was placed in front of him. The smell of cooked meat, onions, and peppers, mixed with spices made him acutely aware of his appetite. He dug into his meal while watching other patrons come and go and occasionally, he would look over the bar at the soccer game on the two televisions.
He was watching the television when movement pulled his attention around where he saw the hostess setting two menus on the table two over, then he saw Wesley and Oliver behind her ready to take a seat.
“Hey guys,” said Harlan.
“Harlan? Are you by yourself?”
“Yep. I…had an errand to run before going to the bar, so I’m here for a quick dinner.”
“Same here,” said Oliver.
“You guys get your orders in, but Wesley, I want to talk to you a minute.”
“About what?”
“Brody.”
“OH,” said Wesley, and it was apparent he had a clue as to what Harlan wanted to talk about.
Harlan finished, paid the waiter, then stepped forward to Wesley and Oliver’s table. The bar was busy, with a white noise of conversation, televisions showing the game, and music coming from the main dining area. It gave Harlan some protection from eavesdroppers, but he leaned down close to Wesley.
“Wesley, trust me when I tell you to talk to Brody.”
“Seriously? You honestly think I should talk to my brother about…” said Wesley, looking at Oliver in lieu of saying it aloud then back up at Harlan.
“Yes.”
“You guys talked about it,” said Oliver.
“You did?” said Wesley.
“Yes, NO…not really. I didn’t go there to talk about you, but about me, and he brought it up.”
“He knew?”
“And he’s waiting for you to come to him. I know both of you, and if one of you isn’t pushed, you’ll go to your graves not talking about it,” said Harlan.
It elicited a smile from Oliver and a smirk from Wesley, then a nod of acknowledgment.
“I’ve got to go. See you at the bar,” said Harlan, looking at Oliver.
“See you later,” said Oliver.
“Harlan,” said Wesley, getting his attention one last time. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’d want someone to do the same for me.”
Harlan headed out, going through the dining room past a table with some noisy children, then out onto the sidewalk where it was far quieter, just the sound of a truck passing and a couple talking amongst themselves in a low tone, too low to understand them. He stood still for a short time, just enjoying the late afternoon in town. The sky was changing, getting darker, especially in the east. He thought about how the afternoon played out, all the fretting and worry for nothing. He smiled, then headed to his Jeep.
IX.
Wesley watched Oliver drive away, heading to the bar, wishing they had the night together. But Oliver had to work, and he was on a mission, one put into motion by Harlan. He turned toward home and drove in near silence, the radio turned so low he could barely hear it. By the time he got home it was dark enough to need his headlights on and as he pulled around the house, he saw Brody had turned the exterior lights on for him. He pulled into his spot and headed in, passing through the screen porch, then into the kitchen. He flipped off the outside lights and the kitchen light as he headed into the family room where Brody was on the phone with Nora.
“…still in place. I can’t wait for you to get back.”
Brody looked up at Wesley, nodded in acknowledgment while listening to Nora over the phone.
“Wow, really? I can’t wait to see the photos. Are you sure you don’t need me to pick you up at the airport? I can drive over to Atlanta…okay, I get it. Your dad wants to pick you up. Let’s plan on getting together for dinner the next night. Okay….be careful and I love you.”
Brody ended the call and looked over at Wesley on the sofa who was channel surfing.
“There’s not shit on tonight.”
“I see that.”
“Have you had dinner?”
Wesley started to lie, tell Brody he grabbed a burger at the fast-food joint out by the interstate, but he realized there was no need to lie, not anymore.
“I went to dinner with Oliver.”
“Oliver…Robert’s nephew.” It was stated as a fact and there was no surprise in Brody’s voice.
“You’re not surprised.”
“No.”
“So, you already know.”
“I wasn’t sure for a long time, but yeah, I know.”
“And you’re not upset by it?”
“No. Not you, or that friend of mine,” said Brody, looking over at Wesley with a smirk.
“So, we’re good?”
“Yes, little brother, we’re good. But what about Oliver. Is this a fling before college, or something more serious?”
“It may be more serious; too soon to tell.”
“Fair enough,” said Brody, then the room fell silent, only the television filling the space with sound. After a long pause, Brody shifted, then looked over at Wesley, getting his attention.
“I don’t know what it is like for you, but if you ever need to talk, you can come to me. You know that right?”
“Yes, I do now.”
“And you should tell Nora when she gets back next week.”
“I will.”
Wesley lay in bed listening to the old house settle and creak in the silence of the late hour. Brody had gone to bed an hour ago, and he followed. Despite the late hour, he could not fall asleep. He was wound up, too thrilled by how everything was playing out. He wanted to call Oliver but knew Oliver would probably be in bed by now, exhausted from working at the bar.
“Oliver will be college with me in the fall,” Wesley whispered in the darkness.
“Brody knows, and also knows about Harlan and Evan.”
“I’m gay. Charles Wesley Phillips of Oak Grove, Alabama, population 84, is gay,” said Wesley in a louder tone so he could himself say the words. Words he had been terrified to say before. “And I’m dating Oliver Rian Taylor.” He smiled, then laughed in the darkness. He rolled to his side and replayed the day’s events until sleep finally overtook him.
X.
Wesley stirred awake, opened his eyes to the empty bed across the dorm room, then he snuggled back against Oliver, feeling the warmth of the naked body against his own. Since arriving on campus there had not been a night they didn’t sleep together. Not a night that passed without the intimacy two young men could share within the privacy of their dorm room.
A door shut in the corridor, then two muffled voices passed their door. Wesley wondered who was up already, for it was Saturday morning and he knew most of the guys on the floor had stayed up late. The arm draped around his waist moved, the hand rubbed his chest, then down over his stomach until the fingers were wrapping around his morning erection.
“Good morning,” whispered Oliver.
“Good morning.”
“What time is it?”
“8:25.”
Oliver snuggled up to Wesley’s back pushing hard cock against him while continuing to stroke his cock. Lips touched his neck, moving around to the side, and he turned his head so they could kiss. It was gentle, a simple gesture, but the hand kept manipulating his cock and it made things not so simple.
“You want to fuck then go get breakfast?” said Oliver.
“Yes,” said Wesley.
Wesley rolled to his stomach with Oliver moving over him. He reached back and spread his ass. He moaned when cock rubbed over his opening, then he shuddered as it penetrated him. His fingers dug into each ass cheek as cock bore into his depths, inch after slow inch, until Oliver was pressed against his ass.
“Fuck,” said Oliver in a hushed breathless voice.
Wesley felt lips touch his neck, then the weight of Oliver on his back as hips ground cock into his depths. He moved his hands either side of him and clutched at the bed.
“Fuck me,” said Wesley.
And Oliver began to fuck.
Oliver moved inside of Wesley, undulated over him, kissed and nipped at his skin, and whispered obscene utterances then intimate pleadings.
Wesley ground his cock into the mattress with every push into his depths. He pushed his ass up and clutched the bed and pleaded with Oliver to fuck harder. Faster. Anything to increase the pleasure of their fuck.
Then Wesley felt empty as Oliver rose to knees between his legs.
“Roll over,” exclaimed Oliver.
Wesley flipped to his back and held his legs up. Oliver took each behind the knee and pushed forward and down until thighs were tight to his chest and cock buried in his ass. He reached for Oliver’s thighs, digging fingers into the flexing muscle as Oliver fucked him with a rapid pace. He rocked with the physicality of it. Felt cock hammer his insides and Oliver smack down on his upturned ass. Eventually the bed rocked beneath them.
“Oliver.”
Wesley was close, so close he was breathless. He looked up at Oliver, face red, gasping for breath, sweat trickling down it, and knew he too was close.
“Fuck…take me,” exclaimed Oliver.
Wesley felt the force of it, how Oliver slammed cock into his depths, then kept smacking down on his ass and knew Oliver was pumping cum into him. It pushed his own arousal, and he slipped a hand between them and with just a few strokes came. A wad hit his chin, then a thick rope of cum landed on his chest, and he kept coming as Oliver kept fucking.
The shower ran hot, steaming up the small bathroom, as Wesley bathed Oliver. He ran soapy hands over every inch of the now familiar body, then he pushed him against the wall and kissed him.
Four weeks, Wesley thought, amazed it had only been four weeks since arriving on campus. He wondered if the next four years would be like these first four weeks. He hoped so.
XI.
Si Fah drove the old truck up the narrow mountain road with the engine whining noisily as the grade steepened. Sitting in the passenger seat, Oliver looked at his GPS working out the route to the site in the northern mountains of Thailand. Sitting in the back was Chongrak and Wesley who were pouring on the latest data from environmental samples taken over the last month.
“We should get to the village in about eight kilometers,” said Oliver.
“Okay,” said Wesley, not looking up from his monitor. “Shit.”
“What is the problem?” said Chongrak.
“The stream is worse than we thought. Did we bring the…”
“The purifier and purification tablets are loaded up.”
Wesley smiled, not surprised Chongrak had everything under control. Si Fah was new to the team, but Chongrak had been with them since arriving in Thailand a year ago. He hoped Si Fah was as competent and so far, he had been.
They were setting up new villages in safer areas, moving some of the people away from environmentally contaminated areas. They built housing using local materials and methods but designed to be better for protection from the elements and interior environments with good ventilation. They dug wells, set up water systems with purifiers, and sanitation systems that actually worked. Their biggest problem was clean water, which was a problem everywhere it seemed, even back in the states, especially the southwest. Wesley considered the other areas with water issues, southern regions of Louisiana, areas in cities that had had heavy industry, and areas heavily farmed at a corporate scale, places that should be getting the same studies and efforts they were doing in other countries.
The truck rocked roughly over a section of road where the asphalt was broken and washed out and everyone looked up to see how much of the road was going to be rough.
“Hang on, this road is bad,” said Si Fah, grinning over at Oliver at the challenge he faced in navigating the old road.
Oliver laughed, then looked back at Wesley and winked.
It made Wesley consider what their lives had been like over the last ten years, since graduating from college and getting the kind of jobs they wanted. First with the World Health Organization for experience of a major relief organization, then with their current organization Safe Housing International, which was nothing in size or backing of the major organizations. But with its focus on housing and environmental sustainability, it was quickly gaining support.
They had worked in the Amazon, Malawi, and Madagascar before coming to the northern regions of Thailand. Like most countries, even the United States, some rural areas had been left behind by the progress made in urban areas, remaining poor and vulnerable to pollution and the effects of climate change. It was difficult work, camping in remote areas, having to pack in all their supplies, check every water source, and just endure the different environments. But Oliver had been there with him through it all. He didn’t know anyone he would rather spend his life with.
Wesley’s notepad binged with an incoming message, and he scrolled to his inbox and saw it was from Nora and Brody.
Hey little brother. How’s Thailand? Just wanted to say thank you for the gifts. Lucy and Charley loved them. I still can’t believe Lucy is twelve and starts sixth grade in the fall. Tell Oliver hello and we look forward to seeing the two of you at Christmas.
Love Nora and Brody.
Wesley smiled, knowing Nora wrote the message, for his big brother was the same stoic person he had grown up with, the same man who kept his emotions in check and concealed how much he knew. It made him remember the days when, first Harlan, then he came out to Brody and how Brody acted his usual nonchalant self, already knowing and unfazed by the confession.
“Was that Abrie checking in with us?” said Oliver, referring to the head of their organization back in Geneva, Switzerland.
“No, it was Nora and Brody letting us know the kids loved our gifts.”
“I can’t wait to see them during the holidays.”
“Me too.”