Porterville

This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read this story by law.

This story is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.

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Mark Stevens

Porterville 1_c

Britt Williams drove slowly through the small Oklahoma town of Porterville. He parked his car in front of the post office. Shutting the engine of his car off, he swung the door open and stood to his feet. He looked around him. Some things never change, he thought. Although he had been gone nearly twenty years, with the exception of coming home once a year to visit his mother, he could close his eyes and feel like he was back living there in Porterville, felt like he had never left home at all.

Being an author now of a dozen or so books was the main reason he had returned to his hometown. For quite some time, now, he had been toying with the idea of writing a story about people who lived in a small town. His publisher had liked the idea very much and had talked Britt into accepting an advance for the book and into returning to his hometown to gather the information he needed to write the story.

At first, Britt didn't want to return to Porterville. He had been going through a rough time and really, wasn't keen on coming home, let alone writing a story. When he had discovered Bruce four years ago, he had fallen for him with everything he had. From the moment Bruce walked into his life, Britt had loved him with every ounce of his soul. After a few months of dating, they had decided to move in together, and it looked as if they would be together the rest of their lives. At least Britt thought so. The next four years were the happiest years of his life. That's why when Bruce told him two months ago that he had found someone else that made him happier than Britt, and that he thought it best they both move on, Britt had been crushed. For two weeks, he never left his apartment, and refused to even think about any writing commitments he had. During this time he thought he was going to die, and many times, wished he could have.

So, when his publisher approached him a month ago with the idea of doing the Porterville story, he had no interest in coming to town and researching for story material. It had taken Carl almost a month to talk him into coming home.

"Just go check it out," Carl told him. "You know what it takes for good reading material, Britt. If you find yourself dead-ended, then we'll cut our losses and you come home. Besides, Britt, you need something to help you forget about that good for nothing that doesn't have a clue what he gave up when he walked out on you. Just promise to think about it, all right?"

Carl had won out in the end, and that was why Britt was in Porterville today, standing in front of the post office. He had decided that perhaps Carl was right, that just maybe being back home, and keeping busy researching material would make him forget all about Bruce.

A voice suddenly brought Britt to the present. "Is that you, Britt Williams?"

His thoughts interrupted, Britt studied the stout gray haired woman stopping in front of him. He recognized Edith Wilson, his English teacher from back in his high school days. He smiled at her as he took her out stretched hand between his own fingers. "Miss Wilson, how in the world are you?"

"I'm retired now," she told him. "Walking to the post office these days seems to be the height of my excitement. Everything else just seems to take care of its self."

"Retired? That doesn't seem possible."

"You remember you've been away from this place for years, do you not?"

"It has been a while," Britt agreed. "Almost twenty, if I haven't lost count."

"You've become quite a writer. I've read everything you've written," she told him, her eyes twinkling.

"Little did I know or appreciate how valuable your teachings would be. At least not at the time."

"Nonsense, you were always a good student, Britt. Trust me, I had some real characters during my thirty-four years in the classroom. You always had it together, always walked with a purpose, as I remember. And, it has paid off for you. Literally, I might add."

"Thank you. Coming from you, Miss Wilson, that is a great compliment."

"So, are you just back for a visit? To see your mother? Or do you have something up your writer's sleeve?"

Britt laughed. "Well, yes, I am going to be staying with Mom. It's been almost a year since I've been home. I have another reason for coming back. I've been entertaining the thought for quite some time about writing a book on life in a small town. My publisher loves the idea and he sent me here to do some research and come up with a fictional story, yet based, maybe, on some of the lives here in Porterville."

"How exciting, I must say. How long do you plan to be in town?"

"I'm really not certain. It will depend, I guess, on where things lead from here."

"Good. Personally, I hope you end of spending quite a bit of time here. I'm sure your mother will love it as well."

Britt smiled, thinking of his mother. "Maybe she will. Who knows, about her?"

When Britt had told Catherine Williams his intentions of coming home and gathering facts for a new story, he had been surprised at her response. Ever since he had expressed the desire for writing, she had always been there, backing him up all the way. When he had told her his reason for coming back to Porterville, she had not been very happy. "Are you sure that's wise?" she had asked her son.

"What's that, Mom? Wise that I come back home and visit you and my hometown?"

"All I'm saying, Britt, is that maybe some people will frown on you digging into the past. Sometimes it's just better to leave things alone, and just concentrate on the here and now, along with the future."

"Mom, what are you saying? Do you think any of the people in this small town have anything to hide? I don't think so. Most of these people have lived here their entire lives, and everyone else around them knows everyone else's entire life story."

"That sounds boring," his mother had said. "If that's the way it really is, then why are you even coming back? I'm sure you could write a better story, conceiving lives and characters from somewhere in the depths of your brain."

"Mom, if I didn't know better, I would think you don't want me to come home. Are you afraid of what might turn up? Do you have a sordid past?" This last he had said in teasing, trying to lighten the moment up between them.

"Of course not," she had answered over the phone. "I just say people might not approve of you nosing into their affairs, their lives. That's all."

"Well, good luck with whatever it is you are here to do," Edith Wilson said, giving Britt's shoulder a pat.

"Thanks, Miss Wilson. Who knows, I might drop by and take you out for a meal while I'm here. After all, I know you have lived your entire life here, so I'm sure you carry a world of knowledge around with you."

"What, a handsome young man like you taking an old lady like me out for dinner?" Again, her eyes held a twinkle as she added, "Any time. Just give me a call."

"I'll do that, Miss Wilson. It was great seeing you." Britt gave her a smile and watched as she made her way down the sidewalk.

He turned and headed up the steps of the post office. Coming inside the lobby, he walked over to the window. He didn't recognize the man standing there.

"Can I help you?" The man asked with a smile.

"Yes, my name's Britt Williams. I'm going to be staying at my mothers for a time, and I want my mail delivered to her address. Catherine Williams."

"Britt, is that you?" The question was asked by an older gentleman coming up behind the counter.

"How are you, Mr. Thompson?" he greeted the postmaster.

"So you're going to be staying with us a while, are you?"

Britt took the card handed him by the clerk. "Yes, I'm going to be staying at my mother's."

"So what's a famous author like you, doing here in Porterville?"

"Killing two birds, I guess. Want to spend some time with my mother, and I'm also going to be working on a new book."

"Well, I guess Porterville is as quite a town as you can get. Guess that's good, huh?"

Britt finished filling out the address card and handed it back to the clerk. "That's for certain, Mr. Thompson. Thank you," he said to the clerk. "Be seeing you around, Mr. Thompson.

Britt hurried back to his car and drove to the house where he had spent all his growing up years. His father had died four years ago, and his mother had remained in the home place.

A few minutes later, he pulled into the drive and hurried up to the door. He stuck his head inside the door and called, "Mom, you home?"

"In here," Catherine Williams called from the kitchen. She turned from the sink as he came inside the big kitchen where he had eaten many delicious meals when he was younger.

"Hey, Mom, how's it going?" He gave her a hug and kissed her cheek.

"It's good to see you, Britt!"

"It's good to be here."

"You're welcomed here any time you want to come." Whether she meant for it to or not, her words sounded somewhat like a reproach to Britt's ears.

"That's good, Mom. I'm going to be here so long this visit you are going to get so tired of me being around."

"I doubt that. Let me look at you." She stepped back and looked him over from head to toe. "Are you eating right? You seem too skinny."

"I'm fine, Mom."

"You're better off, you know."

"Better off?"

"With Bruce out of your life. I never did like him, you know."

Britt nodded. "I know."

"You deserve better, Britt."

"That's what you keep telling me."

"Well, find the right one and I will be happy. That's all I want, is for you to be happy."

"I know, Mom."

Britt headed for the door. "Is my old room ready? I've brought a few things to put in it."

"It's clean and ready for you."

Britt brought his clothes and laptop computer in and headed down the hall to his old room. It was at the end of the hall, and it felt somewhat strange, yet at the same time, familiar as he came inside the room. He looked around. It still looked the same as it had twenty years ago when he had struck out on his own, fresh out of college and ready to make his mark in the world.

A few minutes later, he rejoined his mother who was sitting some food on the kitchen table.

She looked up as he came in the room. "Are you hungry? I've cooked us a meal of sorts."

"Sure," he assured her. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and sat down at the table.

Over their food, his mother brought up the main reason he had returned to Porterville. "So, you think you're going to find something to write about, do you?"

To himself, Britt thought, Damn, here we go again! Aloud he said, "You never know, Mom, what will turn up. Who knows, maybe nothing. If that happens, then I guess I'll just have a good visit with you. Would that be all right?"

"Britt, you are always welcomed here. I love having you home, you know that." Catherine Williams took a sip from her tea glass. "In fact, I wish you would come home more often. It always seems as if you just get here, then you're off again."

Finished eating, Britt pushed his plate to the side. "I know I've sort of neglected you, and I'm sorry for that. I will try and do better."

"Nonsense," his mother replied. "I know you're very busy with your writing and all. I know it's a full time job for you." She looked past him, staring into space for a few seconds. "I just don't want you upsetting people's lives by digging into the past. Like I have already told you, sometimes it's just best to leave things the way they are, in the past."

He finished his tea. Sitting the glass down, Britt looked across the table at his mother. "You keep saying that, Mom. Just what is it you are afraid I'm going to `dig up' as you put it?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Everyone has a secret or two they don't want out in the open, I'm sure."

Britt smiled. "What about you, Mom, do you have any secrets?"

"My life's an open book, always has been," she assured him.

"What about your son?"

"What about you?"

"How many people have you told I'm gay?"

"That's no one's business," she said.

"Are you ashamed of the fact I am?"

"Britt, all I have ever wanted was for you to be completely happy. I think you know that."

"Do the people here in town know that I'm gay? Have you ever mentioned it to any of your friends?"

"A few of my closest friends know. Other than that, I don't feel it's anyone else's business."

"Good. Just in case it comes up while I am here in town, and if someone confronts me, I just want you to know that I will be completely honest in what I say. Are you okay with that?"

"Of course."

Britt got up from the table. "If you will excuse me, I'm going down to the newspaper office. There's some researching I need to do, so might as well get started."

"Will you be back in time for dinner?"

Britt was thoughtful for a few seconds. Finally, he said, "Tell you what, Mom, I will be here this evening. I think it would be nice to spend my first evening home with you. After this, however, let's play it by ear, okay? I don't want you to tie yourself down being here and waiting on me. Just go about your normal activities."

"Very well. Three days a week I meet with the ladies at the Center and do quilting. That's Monday, Wednesday, and Friday."

"Good, just do what you usually do, and I will try now and then to not get too bogged down where we'll spend some time together. This book is very important, but not nearly as important as you."

Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm, and even though she tried to hide the way she felt, she was pleased by his words. "You certainly have a way with words, don't you?"

Britt laughed. "That goes with the territory. Later, Mom."

He hurried down the hall to his room, dug out a notebook from his bag and headed out to his car. Even though it was early June, the weather had already turned hot, with plenty of humidity to make it seem even hotter.

Britt backed his car out into the street and headed for the business district of Porterville. The courthouse was in the middle of the square surrounded by different businesses on each side. One such place of establishment was The Beacon, which was the local town newspaper. Britt had decided to start there with his research, then perhaps going to the courthouse after that.

A few minutes later, he was "downtown". He found a parking spot just down from the office of The Beacon. He hurried inside the building where a cool office and a very pleasant woman greeted him with a smile.

"May I help you?"

"I hope so. My name is"

"Britt Williams," she finished before he could say his name.

"That's right. And who, might I ask, might you be?"

She smiled at him again and held out her hand. "I'm Alice Cooper. It's so nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you, and I've read all of your books."

Britt was thoughtful for a moment or two. Finally, he said, "Cooper, are you any relation to Tom Cooper?"

She nodded. "He was my father."

"Was?"

"Yes. He died when I was seven."

"I'm sorry. Your mother's name is Margaret, right?"

"That's right."

"Is she still living?"

"Yes, however, she isn't able to stay by herself any longer, so a couple of years ago I moved back to be with her. Her mind is not real clear some days."

"That's good of you. I've often wondered how I will handle something like this. Although my mother is in excellent health, she is getting up in years, and I'm not sure what I will do."

"Guess you could write here as well as anywhere else."

"Maybe, who knows?" Britt took a chair in front of Alice's desk. "Which brings me to why I am here. You see, Alice, I'm needing to do some research for a new book, and thought I'd start here at The Beacon."

She was plainly surprised and puzzled. "Here?" she asked.

Britt nodded. "That's right. You see, my publisher has been after me to write a story about small town life, so to speak. He knows I come from a relatively small place, and he would like for me to write a fictional story based on actual happenings."

"That sounds exciting," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "This boring town, however? You think you can find something here to write about? I've been here most of my life, and it seems too peaceful for much of a story line."

Britt laughed. "You sound like my mother. When she found out what I was going to do, she told me she thought everyone already knew everything there was to know about everyone else. She also thought perhaps they might not appreciate having their story in print. What do you think?"

"Oh, I think everyone will love it. After all, even though you will probably change the names and that sort of thing, I would think most people would be thrilled to have their lives written about."

"Well, guess we'll see."

"So, how can the newspaper be of help to you?"

"I thought I would start by looking into past issues. How far back do you go?"

"Well, actual paper copies aren't as popular as they use to be, although we do still have some. We go back about twenty-five or so years on those. However, everything, and I do mean everything that has ever been printed from this office is on computer file here. In fact, when I first started this job, that is what Sam Taylor had me do. I spent months getting everything that was on the old `fiche' files transferred to computer files. Sam decided he would keep additional paper copies twenty-five years back for whatever reason."

A man in his middle sixties came up from the back of the building. "What about Sam Taylor?" he asked.

Britt recognized the newspaper publisher. He held out his hand. "Sam, it's good to see you."

Sam squinted his eyes a bit. "Is that you, Britt Williams?"

"In the flesh. How the hell have you been?"

"Can't complain, I guess. What brings you back this way? Finally decided to give your mother some of your valuable time?"

"I see she's been talking to you about me," Britt grinned.

"She's a good woman, your mother. She misses you."

"I know, and I wish I could change that, but I know for a fact she won't move to the big city, and I can't make a living here in Porterville."

"I hear you're a big time writer now. Wrote several books, they say."

"Maybe you should check the library out. I have heard from a reliable source that everyone of them are on a shelf there."

"Don't have much time for that sort of reading. The paper keeps me busy reading the stuff here I have to."

When Alice could get a word in, she told Sam the reason for Britt's visit to the newspaper.

"You don't say," he declared when she had finished. "So, you're going to write a book about the people of Porterville, are you?"

"Maybe. Depends on what I come up in my search. Is it all right with you if I search some of your past publishing's?"

"I guess it would be all right. After all, everything I have is open to public viewing. How far back do you want to go?"

"How far back do you have?"

Sam didn't have to even think about it. "1901. You want to start from the very beginning?"

"Might as well," Britt answered. "Are your files on disk or CD?"

Alice laughed. "Get real here, Britt. We do have computers, but all the files are on discs. Trust me, I know. I entered every last one of them."

"Do you have a spare computer, or do I need to go get my lap top?"

"There's one in the file room," Sam answered.

"Do you have a problem with me copying some of them if they sound interesting, Sam? You have my word, if I use any of your material, proper credit will be given you."

Sam shook his head and said, "I have no problem at all. I might suggest that you bring your laptop down here just in case you find anything of interest. I would rather you not take any of the files out of here."

"I appreciate it, Sam. I think I'll go pick my computer up before I even get started. By the way, what time do you guys get out of here?"

"Around five or so," Alice answered.

"I'm usually around most of the time until six or after," Sam said.

Britt looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. If he hurried home to his mother's, he would be able to get two to three hours under his belt. Heading for the door, he called over his shoulder, "I'll be back shortly. Thanks for your help."

Before three o'clock arrived, Britt was seated at a big ancient looking, dust-covered desk in the file room of The Beacon. A box containing many years of files was beside his computer.

As he pushed the first disc in, Britt felt a flutter of excitement course its way through his body. What he was looking for, he had no idea. Where this story would head was also a mystery to him. The plot was nowhere in the confines of his mind, at least not yet.

As he opened the first few files, Britt found himself being caught up in the rapid growth of Porterville's history. According to the early newspaper accounts, Samson Porter and Amelia Sands were married June fifteenth, 1900 and moved out in the general direction of the soon to be founded Porterville shortly after their marriage. They and a few of their friends found their way into new unclaimed territory and soon staked their claim on land. During the week of September tenth, three businesses and the still operating United States Post Office opened for business.

"Well, this is interesting data," Britt thought to himself. "Just not interesting enough to write about, I don't think."

He had read several more files and had even written some things in his notebook when he was startled by Sam Taylor's sudden appearance in the doorway.

"Find anything interesting?" Sam asked.

"Not much I didn't already know," Britt admitted. "It is interesting reading some of this stuff. Some I have heard all my life, but some, especially the dates they happened, I didn't know before."

"I hope you're not too disappointed, Britt. Like I told you earlier, this is a pretty quiet little town, and not much has happened over the past hundred years worthy enough of telling."

"You could be right, Sam. You could be right."

Britt looked at his watch. He was surprised to find it was nearly six o'clock. No wonder Sam was standing in the doorway. He was wanting to call it a day. "Give me a couple more minutes, Sam, and I'll be out of here for the day."

"No problem. I've got a few more things to do in the press room." He turned and disappeared, and Britt made a note where to begin his search the next day when he started once again looking for what, he really wasn't sure.

A few minutes later he called out, "Goodnight, Sam", and walked through the empty front office and out to his car.

When Britt arrived at his mother's, once more he found her in the kitchen. She smiled as he came into the room. "I was wondering just when you'd return. Dinner won't be ready for half an hour."

"Good. I've been working all afternoon in Sam Taylor's dusty file room. I think I will take a quick shower."

"There's plenty of time."

Britt went down the hall to his room, and once inside, placed his laptop on his old study desk. He discovered his mother had unpacked his bags while he was gone, and his things had been placed in drawers, the very same way she had kept them when he was living at home. He couldn't help but smile as the thought went across his mind that here he was, back at home, however short a time it would be, he was almost forty-two years old, and still his mother unpacked and put his clothes away.

He pulled some clean clothes from the drawers and headed down the hall for the bathroom. He adjusted the water, and as the steam from the shower slowly made its way inside the room, Britt stripped out of his clothes and stepped inside under the hot spray. He hadn't realized just how tense his body was after its afternoon of searching and looking up facts. As the strong needles massaged his skin, he began to feel the tension gradually leave his body. By the time he had rinsed his body and dried off with one of his mother's giant bath towels, he was once more feeling like he was going to survive.

Britt stood before the wide mirror behind the sink. He studied his reflection. Not bad, he thought, for someone pushing fifty. Not bad at all, he decided. He had not a trace of a gray in the thick brown hair on top his head. The shadows that had surrounded his eyes after Bruce had left were finally gone. He looked at his body. He had always tried to take care of himself, stay in good condition. So, what had he done to drive Bruce away? For weeks he had been plagued by those thoughts until finally he had convinced himself it was nothing he had done. Bruce had just been ready to move on, and that was the only real explanation there was.

Britt thought about what his mother had said earlier at the lunch table. About there being someone out there for him. The right someone, as she had put it. Was she right? Britt wondered. Was there another gay guy out there willing to love him for whom he was, what he was, and willing to commit for a lifetime? That's all he wanted in a guy, that he love him unconditionally, and that he was willing to commit to a relationship. He had had his share of one night stands, even relationships, if that's what you'd call them, lasting for a week or two, or perhaps a month at a time. He was through with all that. What Britt Williams wanted was simply one man to love for the rest of his life, and for that one man to love him in return. There had to be someone somewhere wanting and needing the same thing.

Britt dressed in a hurry, and soon rejoined his mother back in the kitchen. "Smells good," he smiled.

"It's ready. Would you like something to drink with your meal other than tea?"

"What do you have, Mom?"

"A little wine is about all I keep in the house these days."

"Red wine?"

She nodded, and he told her he'd take a glass.

She poured two glasses and set them on the table. "Everything's ready, let's eat."

Over their meal, Britt talked a little about his afternoon. He had decided that he was not going to bring much up about it, only perhaps answer any questions she might ask about the project, and that's pretty much what he did. He told her about the early accounts in the newspapers about Samson Porter founding Porterville, and that was about all he said. Other than that, they ate their meal in peace, enjoying the other's company.

The meal over, Britt helped his mother clean up the kitchen. When the dishes were done, he followed her into the living room. Taking a seat in one of the big oversized chairs that had been in his mother's living room for as long as he could remember, he said, "So, Mom, what is it you do with your evenings?"

"I sew some, read a lot, especially when my favorite author has a new book out on the market." Her eyes twinkled as she made the last comment.

Britt laughed. "That's good. I'm sure your `favorite author' appreciates all the support you can give him."

They visited for an hour or so, then Britt asked if she minded if he stepped out for a while. "I'd really like to get some fresh air."

"Britt, you do whatever you need to do. I don't need you entertaining me. I'm use to doing for myself."

"I know, Mom, I know. I just didn't want you to think I was coming to town and then ignoring you."

Catherine Williams laid the needlepoint she had been working on in her lap. Looking at her son, she said, "Listen to me, Britt Williams. I know you take your writing seriously, and I know you put all you have into your writing, so, please, don't apologize for anything you might do or say while you are here, all right? Just be yourself, do what you have to do. Am I clear?"

Britt nodded. "Very clear. That's good, because, even though I would like it another way, I will be tied up a lot while I am here, especially if I do find a definite avenue I want to pursue."

"I understand, and it's perfectly all right."

Britt stood to his feet. "Thanks for understanding. I think I'll go out and see who all is out on a night like this. Who knows, might find some good strong leads while I'm out."

"Well, while you are out looking for these `leads' as you call them, try and enjoy a little time for your self too."

"I will, Mom. Don't wait up for me."

As Britt pulled into the parking of the Fox Den a short time later, he could hear the loud music, and it sounded as if quite a lot of activity was going on behind the doors. He locked his car and walked up the walk, stepping inside the club. He found the music much louder, and alcohol and cigarette smoke heavy in the air. There were some empty stools around the bar, and he grabbed on to one. He ordered a beer and sat back, looking around him. There were two pool tables, and each table had a game going. He didn't know any of the guys playing pool. There were couples either sitting around tables or in booths, but he didn't recognize any of them either.

"New in town?" It was the bartender, and he was asking the question to Britt.

"Not really," Britt answered. "Was born and raised here, but don't get back very often." Britt took a swig from his bottle. "Name's Williams. Britt Williams."

"Got family living here in Porterville?"

Britt nodded. "My mother lives here. Catherine Williams."

"I know her. She's quite a classy lady."

Britt smiled, hearing his mother described that way. ""I guess she is," he agreed.

Someone sat down on the stool next to him.

"Hey, Devon," the bartender greeted the newcomer. "The usual?"

"Bill, how's it going? Yeah, you know what I want."

Britt ordered another beer. He smiled at the fellow called Devon and said, "Can I buy you a drink?"

Devon looked surprised. Then he said, "Sure, why the hell not?"

Britt held out his hand. "Britt Williams here."

The fellow hesitated the briefest of a second before he took the hand offered him. "Devon McKenzie."

It was Britt's turn to be surprised. "Not The Devon McKenzie?" he asked, laying a bill down on the bar.

Devon McKenzie tipped his bottle and swallowed some of the cold liquid in the bottle. Sitting it down on the bar, he said, "Just Devon McKenzie is good enough for me."

"Elaine McKenzie is your mother, right?"

Devon nodded. "That's right. How do you know her?"

"I was born and raised here. My mother still lives here. Out on Cherry Lane Road," Britt added.

"I know her." Devon looked closely at Britt. I can't say I know you, but your name sounds familiar. Have you been away from here very long?"

"Almost twenty years," Britt answered.

"You're lucky. I have never left here. What year did you graduate from high school?"

"Eighty-two," Britt said with a grin. "A lifetime ago."

"Eighty-nine for me. Guess I was just far enough behind that I can't remember you."

"I went away to college the fall of eighty-two, and by eighty-six I was completely away from here."

"What do you do?" Devon asked. He finished his beer and ordered another.

"I'm a writer," Britt replied. He finished his own drink and ordered another as well.

"That's why your name sounded familiar. Here, Bill, take my money," Devon McKenzie said, pushing a twenty toward Bill. "Britt Williams. The writer," he added.

"And you're Devon McKenzie, son of John McKenzie, CEO of Porter Textile Company, and of Elaine Porter, McKenzie, whose great grandfather founded the town of Porterville."

"I see you have your facts," Devon remarked.

"I hope I do," Britt told him. "You see, I'm back in Porterville for a specific reason. My publisher wants me to come up with a story line for a new book that deals with small town life."

Devon's face showed shock value. "Here in Porterville? You have to be kidding. What, if anything ever, could make this hick town exciting enough to write about?"

"You don't seem very happy to be here."

Devon tipped his bottle and drank over half of his beer before answering. When he sat his bottle back down on the bar, he said, "Let's just say I've never had the balls to leave."

"The balls? Is someone or something keeping you here?"

"Oh, you might say that." There was strong emotion in his voice. He continued, "Between the family business, and my mother, that's two pretty strong forces for starters."

"No brothers or sisters?" Britt asked.

"Nope, just me to carry on the family business. I've heard those words so damn many times."

"You're not happy in the business? Britt asked. He studied his empty bottle wondering if he should order another one, or just sit back and relax a bit first.

"What the hell is this, twenty questions?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to rile you," Britt apologized. "Like I told you earlier, I'm here to work on a story, and I'm just trying to get the facts of Porterville straight in my mind, that's all. "Sorry," he repeated once more.

Britt was surprised when he felt Devon's hand covering his own. "I'm the one who's sorry, Britt. Didn't mean to be so edgy."

Britt didn't try to pull away. Instead, he said, "It's okay. I really am serious. I didn't mean to upset you. Hell, I have no friends in the town, and I could sure use one. All the people I know living here are much older than me and hardly classified as friends."

Devon suddenly removed his hand. "I'd like that," he said. "I could use a good friend."

"You've never left here, you should have lots of friends," Britt remarked.

"Not really. Usually if anyone wants anything from me, it's always something I can do for them, whether it's a job, or a donation, something like that."

In spite of himself, Britt felt his face become flushed. "Devon, I would like being your friend. As for wanting something from you, I've made no bones about it, I'm here to try and come up with a fictional story based on small town facts, and if that offends you, then, please, tell me up front."

Devon called for the bartender. "Let me buy my new friend here another beer," he said.

Britt grinned. "Okay, but I need to warn you, your new friend is getting a little tipsy here."

"Good. I like a friend who's tipsy." Devon paid for the drinks and said, "Britt, there's a booth over there. Shall we take it? It's a little more private, and a hell of a lot more comfortable."

Britt followed Devon McKenzie across the room and sat down across from him in the booth. His head was swimming a bit, but he was enjoying finding out about his "new friend". He took his bottle, held it out, and gave a toast. "To good friends."

"Good friends," Devon echoed, returning the toast.

"It's hard to believe someone your age has not at least left this town, for even just a short time," Britt said.

"Oh, I've been away on short trips," Devon told him. "I've been away enough to know there is much more out there than here in this hell hole."

"Tell me what you've seen," Britt invited.

Devon was quiet for a moment before he said anything. "Well, for one thing, I have been away enough to see things, and I know when a guy finds me interesting. Am I correct, Britt, in assuming that you find me attractive? Your eyes certainly seem to be saying as much."

For the second time in less than an hour, Britt felt his face go hot. God, I must be drunk, he thought. He wondered if he had heard right. Finally, deciding to take a chance, he said a simple, "Yes."

"Yes?"

"I find you very attractive, very hot. I was pretty sure you were gay the way you placed your hand over mine at the bar, but thought it best not to say anything."

"Why?"

"Why? My God, Devon, I am sitting here drinking with probably one of the most influential men in Porterville, and I'm wondering if he's making a pass at me. Don't you think I realize his status in the town, in society? I don't want to do anything to embarrass him."

"What about yourself, Britt?" Devon asked quietly.

"What about me?"

"Do the people in town know your life style? How about your mother, does she know?"

"As for my mother, yes, she knows. As for the town, I really don't know, and I'm really not concerned with what they think, long as they don't mistreat my mother because of me, of who I am."

"I can certainly understand that," Devon said.

"What about your friends? And your family, do they know?"

"Like I told you earlier, I have no close friends, so to speak of. As for my parents, they are pretty certain I am gay, but they don't discuss it. My mother is constantly setting me up with dates if only to make it look like I am out there in the social world. She tells all her friends that I just haven't found the right person yet."

"That has to be hard," Britt sympathized. "I'm lucky in that respect, I guess." "You are lucky," Devon agreed. He was thoughtful a moment or two. Finally, he said, "Britt, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Fire away."

"Is there anyone special in your life at the moment?"

Britt shook his head. "No one. I thought I was going to have someone to share the rest of my life with, but he decided he loved someone else more than he loved me."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Devon reached over and placed both his hands on Britt's. "I hope this doesn't offend you, but he must have been an asshole to let someone like you slip away from him."

"For weeks after he left I blamed myself for Bruce's leaving. I was sure it was because of something about me, or something I had done. I began to doubt my self worth, thinking I could not hold any man's interest, that I wasn't worthy of love."

"That's bullshit, plain and simple," Devon declared. "You have so much to offer."

"So, how long have you known you were gay?" Britt asked.

"Ever since I was old enough to admire other guys," Devon answered with a grin. "From about the age of seven or eight, I guess. How about you?"

"About the same, I guess. When I was in high school, I dated a few girls, just to make it look like I thought it should. I even took a girl to the high school prom. Then in college I also dated now and then, but usually I tried to throw myself completely into my studies, using that as an excuse not to date."

"Been there, done that," Devon agreed. "I know exactly what you're saying."

The evening flew by as Britt and Devon exchanged information with each other. As Britt listened to Devon tell about his life, he felt like he was listening to a repeat of his own. He was surprised to discover the many ways they were both alike. Before it seemed possible, the bar was closing, and they walked out to their cars. Devon stopped in front of his vehicle. He reached out to give Britt a handshake. "I have really enjoyed this evening, Britt."

"Likewise," Britt answered, returning the handshake. He released Devin's hand and said, "I'll see you around town, I'm sure."

"Oh, you can count on it."

"Night, Devon."

"Goodnight, Britt Williams."

Britt watched as Devon McKenzie drove off in his car. When his tail lights disappeared from sight, Britt turned toward his vehicle. Just as he reached to open his car door, he felt something touch the toe of his shoe. He looked down and discovered a black object on the pavement. When he picked it up, he saw that it was a man's wallet. When he opened it up, Devon McKenzie's photo stared back at him.

"Devon's wallet," he said speaking the words aloud. "Must have slipped from his pocket," he decided.

Britt sat behind the wheel of his car and tossed the wallet on the seat beside him. He would get hold of Devon the next day and return it to him.

Britt pulled into his mother's drive a short time later and hurried up the walk. He let himself in with his key. Catherine Williams had left a light on in the hall, same as she always had, as far back as Britt could remember. He locked the door, turned off the lamp, and hurried down the hall just as if nothing had changed, that twenty years hadn't passed.