Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 23

It was about four hours drive to the cabin on the Louisiana side of the Toledo Bend Reservoir and the boys knew from experience that it was a largely featureless journey along narrow highways until they reached the magnificent Sabine Forest. Therefore, they left as early as they could on the following Friday and knew it would be dark by the time they got there.

It was a no underwear weekend, but Colton varied this decree enough to allow himself to add one jockstrap to his rucksack that contained but a couple of tee-shirts, a hoodie and his electric toothbrush. Tristan was made to take the same. Tristan's new cooler was packed with meat for the grill, however Tristan secreted some fruit and vegetables and other things when Colton's back was turned. Colton packed his fishing gear and finally slung his guitar onto the back seat with a sheepish grin.

Tristan was looking forward to the drive as much as anything else. It would give him an uninterrupted window in which to talk with his roommate and he hoped that he would be forthcoming.

They talked about the house, which was so much on Tristan's mind. "You know, the windows in the loft will be all double glazed and the place with be practically soundproof."

"Y'snoring ain't that bad, Tris," said Colton with his feet up on the dash and his baseball cap pulled low.

"I don't snore and I was thinking more of your singing."

"So you don't want me to take out m'guitar this weekend?"

"No, no, I take it back!"

"I thought so. If it ain't my singin' an it ain't your snoring, could it be that you like to holler a heap when I ram my piece up y'cunt?"

"Cheap but dirty. I like it when you talk like that, Quarterback."

"Well, y'can act out y'fantasies this weekend. Anythin' y'like."

"Well, I'd like you to fuck me like you fucked that Cheltenham girl."

"Jemma Swire? I don't know if I can reproduce m'performance from that par'tic'lar occasion 'xactly, dude, cause she was right complicated as I told y'all." He went on to reprise some of her salient characteristics as he recalled them from London.

"Well, I just thought it was hot that you kept it up for so long."

"Fifteen hours at least. I suppose that is somethin'."

"But I'm pretty sure I don't want to dis you or slap your face."

"I'm glad to hear it. She liked me to slap her tits--some chicks get off on that--it ain't all lovey-dovey."

Tristan was silent for half a mile. "Why is that, do you think?"

"Y'mean biologically?" asked Colton, now sitting up.

"Yeah."

"Well, there's a well-known connection between pleasure n' pain in the brain--they're not opposites. Most women look for a man strong 'nuff to protect 'em and provide more food n' stuff for the family than other suitors can. Y'all notice chicks is often attracted to risk takers--bad boys. Maybe they's attracted to strength, even if it's used agin 'em--lots o' women stay hitched to violent bastards and we often wonder why, but there is clearly a reason. Perhaps it is more social than biological."

"Perhaps biology gives rise to social mores."

"Yeah. It's not really my field."

"What do men look for?"

"Hetro men? Dunno. Someone who will bear their children and pass their genes on--you know, young, healthy, wide hips, big tits."

"Someone faithful?"

"Yeah, but females can only reproduce slowly. One man can impregnate many females on a good weekend, so women should be more worried--more jealous--and perhaps they is as a rule."

"And someone who'll make his dick feel good?"

"Yeah, we don't think very deep, but you might ask why that is. But also men look for someone who will care for them like their moms."

"Interesting stuff."

Then they then fell to talking about London and Science. "Are you still set on majoring in Sports Medicine?"

"Funny you should say that, Tris. Lately I've been thinkin' more 'long the lines of biological research. See, I never knew you could do that until I came here. I've been talkin' to Dr Leith."

"You know who else you could talk to? Iain Macpherson. I know he's an historian, but he's a sort of friend and he knows how academia works."

"Maybe," replied Colton who then turned to the window, maybe contemplating the cattle and corn, but possibly thinking of his own future. Tristan shut up.

It was Colton's turn at the wheel when the reached the State Forest, changing drivers opposite a large roadside billboard advertising Jesus as if He were breakfast cereal. America was a strange place, Tristan said to himself, as his heavy eyes closed in sleep.

A bump awoke him and he looked into the dark to find they were on the rough road to the group of holiday `cottages' that included his father's luxurious log cabin. Then they were there, Colton leaping out with his backpack and guitar. Tristan got out too, but stood stock still looking at the silhouette of the place in the moonlight, but apparently lost in thought.

"What's the matter, Tris?" asked Colton when he saw that Tristan was not following him.

"Oh, I was just thinking of Dad and then Mum--you know."

Colt did know and it was only a week earlier that Tristan had taken the step of phoning his mother in England when he had not heard from her since his baby half-sister had been born. The ribbon-bedecked card that accompanied the baby clothes picked out by Cylvah had not been answered. Tristan insisted--even unreasonably so--that Colton must sit next to him when he made the fateful call.

Colton could only hear one end of the conversation.

"Hullo, Mum, it's Tris. How are you?" began his roommate with full frontal cheeriness. Colton knew that it must be an effort. "Yes, I'm really good, thank you, but I heard that you had a rough time of it. You all right now? There was a long pause. "And little Alice, I bet she's cute." A sideways look from Tristan showed that he was being insincere. There was a long pause. "Well, send me some pictures. I'd love to have a picture of my little sister...well yes, of course she's my sister and I'm her big brother. When she's 18 I be able to take her out clubbing--I'll be 37, but that's not old you always said." There was another long pause while his mother was obviously onto a new topic. "Why, what's wrong?" There was a further gap. "What did the School say?" More silence and Colton shot Tristan a questioning look, but Tristan was too preoccupied to respond. "No, Mother, I do not use anything. Look, I barely know him." Colton could see Tristan's brow furrow and the muscles on his neck tense. "I feel sorry for him, but it is clearly something that has developed recently. I've been here for more than a year and I haven't seen Jago for longer than that. As far as I knew, he was fine. It's nothing to do with me; it's happened on your and Rodger's watch." Colton was starting to feel alarmed and Tristan clutched at his hand. "Get him some help, Mum. Colton works for the student clinic here and they have very good services for kids like Jay." Colton sat up when he heard his name mentioned. "Colton Stone, I've told you about him, Mum--he's my roommate and my best friend...No, that's not the name of our university, I've told you that before...No, I'm not shouting...No, I'm not accusing you of anything. I just don't see how I have anything to do with Rodger's son using ice...All right, both your son now...Perhaps he has problems, have you thought of that?...Perhaps he is jealous of the baby--he loves his dad...Yes, I know you have a `special relationship' with him too...No, I am not angry."

Tristan seemed to deflate. "She hung up. And I am angry. They found Rodger's eldest with a quantity of ice at his school--possibly he's been supplying his mates. Mum thinks I've been a bad influence on him. It's crazy, I'm not even there!"

"Could your mom have post-natal depression?"

"No, she's just a bitch and it's pathological."

Tristan slumped into silence and it was in one of those silences now as he stood before his father's cabin. "Come on, Roomy, let's get inside."

They found the place much as on their earlier trip. Outside the black windows the lake could be sensed but not seen. There was no fire in the fireplace, but no real need for one on this night. They made some coffee and found some cookies but decided to go up to bed. Tristan had been looking forward to this, but found he was slightly depressed. "Want to take a shower?"

"In the mornin'. Get naked and into m'bed," commanded Colton with a grin.

Off came Tristan's tee-shirt and down went his shorts. He heeled off his trainers, which he wore, following Colt's example, without socks. He jumped onto the big bed.

"You know, this still doesn't feel as I imagined your night was with that Jessica. Perhaps I'm not in the mood."

"Y'talking like a chick, dude, dudes is always in the mood. It was different with her. It had been a slow burn and she'd be making moves on me since Heathrow."

"And you hadn't?"

"Well, I can't help but flirt--'specially when she makes y'feel the man, so yeah, I was probably givin' off vibes even in the Natural History Museum when m'conscious mind was on other stuff."

"I see."

"And when we did get together on the last night, well, we'd made each other so riled up that we simply tore our clothes off an' went for it. Fact is I'd fucked her an' she had swaller'd me afore I realised I still had m'Vans on. When I pulled them off, she went down on my sweaty feet like a..."

"Slut?"

"Ain't the right word. `Like one po-ssessed'."

"Your story strangely moves me, stranger." They both looked down at Tristan's incipient erection.

"Perhaps if Colty was to do one of his little dances it'd get yur motor runnin'."

"Wouldn't hurt."

Colton went into the bathroom to undress and then reappeared amid a fanfare, sliding into the bedroom on the polished floor just wearing a jockstrap, a towel serving as a surfboard.

"Wow!"

Colton then performed to music on his phone. The dance was not quite like Salome's, but more a repertoire of body building poses combined with dance moves.

It was hot and Tristan applauded and called out suggestions. "Helicopter!...Touch your toes...Flex y'titties...Brooklyn Bridge"--feet and hands on the floor and back arched--and so on. "Dumb jock boy!" This was a favourite where Colton thrust out his groin with feet apart and somehow looking down with a finger in his mouth conveying the required imbecility (if that is a word).

Colton moved closer. "Just off the farm an' I can't make the rent, mister."

Tristan found five dollars in the pocket of his shorts and stuffed it into the jockstrap, groping Colton as he did. A few more moves and the jockstrap was removed for the last time and Colton finished, his cock erect and a stalactite of dumb-jock dribble oozing from its hooded terminus.

Tristan went wild with applause and whistled and cat called and they were both were weak with laughter. Colton leapt onto the bed. "Feelin' better?"

"Yeah and I bet Jessica didn't get that show."

"Nope. Too conscious of her position. We didn't have a barrel o'laffs. Go in the bathroom and clean y'self out."

Tristan did while Colton fiddled on his phone. "Come here sexy English dude."

"I'm not sexy, Colt."

"You is too. Y'just don't realise it. I'm not attracted to dudes, dude, but even I can see y'all got sex appeal."

"I'm too thin."

"Y'all a long streak o'tap water but it's better than bein' a lard barge like Boone. Y'little beard thang's cute..."

"I don't want to be cute, I want to be hot."

"Work with what y'got, Tris."

"Do I have a girl's arse?"

"Nope. Small and tight, but not like Rachel's."

"I want to be blonde."

"Now y'soundin' like a chick. Y'got nice black hair, Roomy. Bein' hot is about attitude. Look at Jada," he said naming a black shot-putter in their dorm. "She's as big as a house and y'could screen movies for an army camp on her ass, but she believes she's a hot mamma and she sorta is. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, she's full of confidence and doesn't take shit from anybody."

"And don't take shit from nobody neither."

Tristan was lost in thought. "So I'm not ugly, but you aren't attracted to me?"

"I like gettin' off with y'all, Tris, y'knows that, but I'm not gonna pick you up in a bar. Least ways, not when there's sexy chicks hot f'me."

"And that makes you hot for them?"

"Naturally."

"Ones like that Jessica?"

"Yeah. `Lerk, ektully this isn't going to werk, because I so have to meet my parents for lunch at Tendido Cero and, lerk, I'm sorry, but I literally hate chavs and Americans so its weird that you're even here. This had really better be gerd because I'm so rat-arsed and raleigh need the biggest ferking'."

"That's very good! She talked like that?"

"Yeah, engraved on m'memory. What's a `chav'?" Tristan didn't answer. "Anyway, there are sexy nice ones like Yumi. Remember her?"

Tristan nodded. "So the best thing is for me is to think you're hot stuff?" It was Colton's turn to nod. "Well, that's easy."

Tristan picked up Colton's left foot and ran his tongue the length of the sole, pressing hard and in the hope that he was doing it better than Jessica Swire. The taste was of sweat combined with the rubbery flavour of the Vans. He then worked on the individual toes of each foot. The taste was strong but not unpleasant and made exciting because they were Colton's toes.

Colton had closed his eyes in pleasure but made to slide his straining jockstrap off. Tristan, with a mouthful of big toe, grunted his disapproval and Colton stopped.

Tristan worked his way up the muscular calves and thighs. The blonde hair covering the muscles and tendons was wiry and Tristan thought of the power that lay beneath, the source of his success on the football field. When he got to Colton's abdominals he found his tongue was dry so he pulled off for a moment until he felt saliva developing in his mouth. He then let it dribble on the rippling muscle and proceeded to spread it around the grooves and ridges with his tongue. Colton jumped and gave out snorts of laughter when the tickling became unbearable. Tristan moved past Colton's recuperating right nipple but did not spare the left one.

"Yeah, chew on that sucker!" moaned Colton with his eyes closed. His pecs seemed a vast area to wash when viewed from such proximity, but Tristan did a thorough job, only pausing when his mouth became dry. Then he reached the quarterback's broad shoulders. Wherein lay the essence of masculinity?' Tristan asked himself. Perhaps it was not in the penis; most guys loved their cocks, but always regarded them as slightly separate avatars of themselves--often remarking that they had a mind of their own.' No, Tristan thought a man's fundament was his chest and shoulders. Football brought this out. One noticed Colton's upper body first and then glanced down to check out his bulge.

Colton brought his arms up behind his head, exposing his armpits where the hair was the colour of honey and the day's sweat was tangy but not yet rancid. Tristan attacked them in an abandoned way. Colton seized Tristan in a headlock and held him in deep. Tristan wondered if he'd pass out, but he didn't.

"Y'makin' me feel sexy, Roomy. Y'all ready for y'man to be inside ya?"

It was a cheesy line but Tristan was swept up by it and he nodded and found himself, what could only be shamefully described as, whimpering.

Tristan was flipped over and Colton disappeared from view. "Fuck that looks hot!" He was admiring the largest of the butt plugs that Tristan had been suffering for most of the day. "How do you do it, dude?"

"I've worked up to this one. I like the weight of the stainless steel pulling on my rectum. I've got used to being stretched. I really want to be gaping to please you, Colt."

"And y'all do. Can't wait to slide my meat up there, but I want to inspect you first."

Colton got really close and had Tristan raise his knees to his chest. He gripped the base if the silver invader and eased it slowly out. Tristan whimpered again but urged him to keep going. When the widest part was stretching the sphincter to its maximum, Colton cruelly paused just so he could admire the stretch.

"Fuck, fuck fuckity fuck!" Tristan uttered in pain and then the narrow tip slid smoothly out of its own accord and he let out a relaxed sigh."

"I thought I trained hard," said Colt in admiration, "but y'all been training y'pussy for the O-lympics. I can see right inside y'all--its pink n'soft lookin'. Gonna feel great on my cock."

Tristan was not inclined to think of Colton's cock for a few minutes but instead said: "I don't think I'll be able to close it up."

"Sure y'will. That's the job o'muscles. Look it's closing already." He aided this `return to normalcy' (as the late President Harding might have put it) by giving the bloated anus three light smacks with the flat of his hand.

"You like it?" asked Tristan from the bed.

"Yeah. Of course a chick's pussy can look kinda gross--some more n'others."

"Is that what I have now? Not a guy's arsehole but a gay boy's pussy? A man cunt? Would it help you to think of it that way?"

"Dunno. Don't think I need any help. Guys just like to put their dicks in holes."

Tristan accepted this simple wisdom. Colton found the expensive lube they used and applied it to the surgical steel plug and slid it in and out for several minutes, watching the muscles and rectal tissue and listening to the noises that his friend made.

"Spit for this one," he said at last, flinging off his jock strap and forcing his thick cock into Tristan's mouth. "Y'got enough lube up there and a bit of pain is a turn on."

Tristan protested impotently with his jaws around Colton's cock. "All right, no pain--it jus' sounded an excitin' thang to say." Tristan was trying to get it as wet and slippery as possible. "Y'know y'special, Tris. I do y'bare. Don't do that for no chicks." Tristan tried to convey that he knew he was being honoured.

"Ready?"

Colton slid in surprisingly easily.

"Oooh! That is so damn fine!

Tristan groaned in pleasure. "Slowly, big boy, but I want it deeper."

These were words Colton was hoping to hear and he manoeuvred with practiced skill over some minutes and he penetrated his roommate's descending colon. "No chick can take me this deep. Feels fuckin' fantastic. Squeeze y'puborectalis muscle."

"Huh?" said Tristan, feeling that he might lose the moment if it became too clinical.

"Y'ass. Squeeze it to make y'man feel good."

"I'm trying."

"Yeah, I can feel it now. We'll do exercises."

After this, Colton swung into stud-mode and gave Tristan as good a fucking as he had to the Cheltenham graduate in her room in the vicinity of Russell Square. He considerately paused at intervals to apply more lube or to give Tristan a sip of water from a plastic bottle. By repeatedly battering of Tristan's prostate he caused his roommate to cum and after that he oozed semen and he could no longer be sure if it were an official orgasm or something different.

Colton shot deep inside Tristan and, without missing a beat, continued to fuck until he came again, this time on Tristan's face. They lay side by side panting. "Fuck that felt good," gasped Colton. "I can be rough with y'all an' y'don't get all resentful. Good for you?"

"Yeah. Love seeing your muscles working and you all dripping with sweat and--I don't know--being under your power."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, don't ever change that."

"On y'knees. I want to take y'doggie style."

"Horse style, y'mean. Fuck, I feel it dripping out."

"I'll go so deep this time it'll never come out."

Colton was as good as his word. He brought Tristan to orgasm twice more, once with him barley touching his own aching cock, and climaxed on his own account three times more--one of them in the dead of night when Tristan was barely awake.

When the early morning light filtered through the forest and into the dishevelled bedroom, Tristan found himself clasped to Colton's chest, but some rudimentary exploration revealed that Colton's cock was hard, with the skin slid back expectantly. Tristan wriggled down and took the slimy organ into his mouth, trying not to think about the taste, and he pleasured his lover into waking.

"Ya got a hot mouth, Tristan, and I sure 'ppreciate a hungry boy."

He took over with his fist and miraculously produced a modest load for Tristan to savour. They lay side-by-side, recovering and lost in thought. Presently Colton spoke: "I reckon I've got a high sex drive, Tris. I really need t'get off a whole heap or I can't think straight--can't think of nothing but sex."

"So this weekend is good?"

"Shit yeah. It's plum nec'sarry."

"You know, when the house is finished you'll be able to fuck me just like when we're here."

"Yeah, sound proof."

"And there will be a `shower shot' for douching--I bought one on-line, but you have to be really careful and not do it every day."

"You stick a hose up y'ass?"

"Sort of. The shower will have all the features you like here."

"But not too much privacy?"

"Yeah, just like our own locker room."

"Works for me. Want to take a shower now?"

"Yeah, if we're together."

They made their way to the luxurious timber and stone bathroom with its view of the forest. The taps were turned on and water sprayed from all directions. It was delightful and even Colton, the starting college quarterback, squealed when the stinging needles attacked his flesh. The pressure was reduced and Tristan began to lovingly soap Colton's body, making circles of foam with his palms.

"Piss on me, stud."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's my fantasy."

Colton did as was demanded. It was neatly done, striking Tristan's body then disappearing down the drain.

"That was hot," said Tristan at last.

"Ninety-eight point six."

"That's not what I meant. Come on, it's time for breakfast."

Colton was pleased that Tristan had brought eggs which supplemented the sausage' (which Tristan called sausages') that were fried, at Colton's insistence, on the hotplate in the outdoor kitchen. Amid the tang of pine trees, it was a very pleasant place to have an al fresco meal. Tristan plugged in the coffee maker and took two enamelled mugs from a cupboard below the granite counter.

They ate and drank in comfortable silence as Colton shot envious glances at the kitchen set up. "What's that?" he said at last, indicating a stainless steel door set in the rockwork.

Tristan got up and opened the door. "Steam oven, I think."

"I don't think we need one of those."

"And I don't think we need a kitchen in the backyard that it better than the one in the house."

Colton looked hurt. "We're in Texas and we like to cook out--it's part of our cultural identity."

It was a fair point, but Tristan merely said, "Texas is over there," he pointed across the lake, "we're in Louisiana."

"It's still the same."

"Okay," said Tristan, realising that his antipathy to the thing probably had something to do with his parents and their suburban world. "We'll build one. Take some photos and measurements. You'll be able to play patio daddy-o, I promise."

Colton found a tape measure and pen and paper and set to work, while Tristan, like June Cleever, did the washing up in the sink.

Tristan felt happy but sore, even after putting some ointment on his abused rectum, so the prospect of sitting on the hard seat of a rowboat was not immediately appealing, but Colton was childishly enthusiastic and so the two of them took one of the vessels from the boathouse out onto the lake.

The day was grey and still. Tristan knew one was not supposed to talk when fishing, but he found it difficult, as he was bored.

"I liked last night," he said softly.

"Know y'did. Can't be any cum left in y'balls."

"You didn't kiss me like when we did it when we were camping."

"Well, y'all didn't kiss me neither."

"I didn't know whether it was allowed."

"So y'think I might think it forward of you if you kissed me, but sucking my cock is just like a handshake?"

"Well, kissing is an intimate act--people who love each other kiss; all sorts of people just fuck."

"And you think I don't love you?"

"Well, I know you like me."

"I do love you, more'n I ever loved a chick or a buddy, but ..."

"I know, your not `in-love' with me and you can't help that," completed Tristan wearily. "It was exactly the same in Fraternity Sissy. It's a story old as time."

"Why, what happened in that story?" asked Colton, rebaiting his line.

Tristan précised the saga while Colton listened.

"Would they really have a basement set up like that in a frat house in Oberlin?"

"I don't know."

"An' dressin' up a linebacker in lacy panties and a bra is just weird--I mean how could he have made that winning touchdown?"

"But you're missing the point about Grayson and Mason."

"Which is?"

"Grayson loved Mason--he realised it after homecoming night--but Mason couldn't admit that he loved Grayson because he would lose the respect of his family--and remember his father was a Baptist preacher--and he'd forfeit his position as captain of the team if he dated a transvestite, even if he was the linebacker."

"Then there was the photographs that Coach used as blackmail to get Grayson to `pull a train' of his gross buddies in Vegas."

"Yes, a further plot complication"

"How did it end?"

"It got silly when aliens were introduced."

"I see. Well, I do love you, Tris, and I promise there'll be more kissin'. Y'all can initiate it, 'cept when I'm watchin' a game, o'course." Colton leaned over and kissed him on the nose. Tristan tried not to smile, but he couldn't help it and a giggle erupted out of nowhere.

"Oh God, I'm such a fag!" he ruefully lamented.

A coupe of hours later saw Colton with a haul of three fish: two striped bass of about ten inches and a white crappie of about five. He had Tristan photograph him holding the bass and grinning, while he took a photo of Tristan with the crappie before throwing it back. He fiddled with his phone as showed him the message he'd sent to Hollis. `Tris only has a little one'.

"Very funny," said Tristan sarcastically.

A ping alerted them to a message. "Holly said he's seen you in the showers often enough."

"Bastard!" said Tristan trying to hit him, but missing and only causing the boat to rock dangerously.

The fish were grilled outside and served with potatoes to constitute lunch. Colt was feeling frisky and it was an easy matter to lure Tristan to the bedroom with the promise of an afternoon jack off. Tristan spent a long time between the quarterback's legs and was quite happy to have his head scissored between Colton's muscle-bound thighs that usually completely filled out the leg holes of his shorts. He eventually fell asleep with his nose pressed into Colton's pubic hair, Colton softly telling him to `get familiar with his man's stink'.

When Tristan awoke the sun was setting and Colton was gone. With his `man stink' still in his nostrils, it took some minutes to detect the smell of grilling steak and onions coming through the French doors. Colton was at the barbecue and had uncorked a bottle of red--declaring it not as good as the wine from his own vines, but quite acceptable under the circumstances.

The meal was consumed and the dishes stacked into the outside dishwasher and the glasses were refilled. Colton sat back on an Adirondack chair and picked up his guitar. He looked at Tristan and began picking out a simple tune. It sounded very familiar, but it wasn't until he started singing that it came to Tristan in a rush. "It's Fast Car... by...er...Tracy Chapman!" Colton nodded as he continued to sing in a light voice. He fluffed a few lines and had to go back once when he got confused, but he had done a marvellous job of memorizing the complex lyrics. His voice cracked on the high notes, and he laughed, but pressed on.

Tristan listened carefully to the lyrics and tears flooded from his eyes. The humanity and the injustice of the humble narrative struck a chord inside his breast just as surely as Colton struck the chords on his instrument. It came to an end and Tristan was still weeping. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "They will never get out of the shelter, will they?" Colton tightened his mouth and gave his head a little shake. "Life is so unfair for some people." Tristan couldn't help more tears flowing. He gulped. "You know, there's a poignancy to everyday struggle that would be missed if it wasn't for the song bringing it out. I hate America!" he said with passion.

"Don't say that, Tris," said Colton gently. "There's kids from fucked up homes livin' in shelters in lotsa places--even in Britain."

"Yes, I suppose so," admitted Tristan, sniffing. "You just made it so sad and so beautiful, Colt."

"Glad y'liked it."

"Shit, is there nothing you can't do? Play football, dissect animals, lecture the Linnaean Society, catwalk model, ride a horse, counsel the ill, play guitar, sing..."

"Y'didn't mention fuckin'--m'love makin's won me medals, y'know"

"Yeah, on stage at the County Fair, no doubt."

"Maybe behind it."

Tristan's eyes had dried by now.

Colton said: "You know that movie with Ralph Finnes in it that won a heap of Academy Awards about twenty years ago?"

"Schindler's List?"

"No, after that. A chick flick that Mom loved--long film..."

"Ah, The English Patient?"

"That's it. My guitar teacher loved it and taught me an old tune from it. I'm a might rusty."

It was a slow ballad and Colton made a couple of false starts before he got into it.

It seems we stood... He stopped once more and realised the danger that lay ahead and commenced again, with a cough, an octave lower.

It seems we stood and talked like this before

We looked at each other in the same way then

But I can't remember where... or when

The clothes you were wearing were the clothes you wore

The smile you were smiling you were smiling then

But I can't remember where... or when

Some things that happen for the first time

Seem to be happening again

And so it seems we have met before

And laughed before and loved before (and here Colton's voice broke on the high note)

But who... knows... where... or when.

"Wow!" cried Tristan and brought his hands together. "You really know how to pick songs with beautiful lyrics. You know Larry Hart was gay?"

"Wrote the words? No, was he?"

"Yeah and it really fucked him up. Richard Rodgers called him `a little fag'."

"How do you know all this?"

"Well, at School we had a proper little theatre and every year we'd do a pretty ambitious production. When I was I tenth year we did their--The Boys from Syracuse--it's based on The Comedy of Errors and I looked him up."

"I thought you went to an all-boys school."

"No, co-ed. We've had girls for ages. In fact some of my best friends... Anyway, I played The Tailor, so no solo, thank God--just singing with the whole company. It was fun and, you know, I was going through a bit of stuff at the time and I always felt that Hart spoke to me in his words, just like when you sing."

"I'm working on another song, but I haven't mastered it yet. Colton picked out a few chords and began to sing in a husky voice: When your legs don't work like they used to before... Then he stopped and slammed his palm on the guitar in frustration. "Nope, can't get it. Ed Sheeran's real hard."

"Maybe this'll help." Tristan filled Colton's glass with shiraz.

Colton fiddled around with the strings for a while.

"How about a Texan song?"

Colton paused. "Well, Jimmy Webb was born in Oklahoma and Glen Campbell in Arkansas... but here goes."

There was a strummy introduction for just a few bars then a haunting and plaintive wail, Galveston, O Galveston I still hear your sea winds blowin'....

Colton was able to get a slight yodel into his voice and the song suited him. Tristan found himself joining in and that his eyes burned and his lips trembled when it got to the part about the soldier cleaning his gun and dreaming of home. He broke down again.

Colton lay the guitar aside and surprisingly motioned for Tristan to sit on his lap. "No one here to see y'Roomy and I don't like to see y'all so upset. It's just a song," he said quietly.

Tristan made an odd figure on the quarterback's lap. Tristan was five foot-ten to Colt's six-four, but he was thin (at least compared to his bulky and muscular friend) and was therefore all arms and legs when sprawled awkwardly on Colton. However, he found Colton's breadth comforting and was glad Colton didn't fuss or make it a joke. It was what he needed at that moment. He curled slightly sideways and drew his knees up. All he needed to do was suck his thumb, but he didn't.

Tristan could hear Colton's slow, metronomic heart beat beneath the broad shield of his well-developed pectoral muscles. When Colton talked softly, Tristan could feel the vibrations in his chest. It calmed him.

When Tristan was feeling better he rolled over onto his back and Colton clasped him in his arms--those arms that could throw a football great distances. "Thanks, Colt, I feel much better now."

"Sometime we just need t'let it all out." He tightened his grip around Tristan and rocked him gently. Tristan knew this was the moment to tell him that he loved him, but he didn't. Presently Colton said, "Open another bottle, we need to get a little drunk out here in the woods."

Tristan got up and came back with more wine. It was getting cooler so he went back and brought out a rug for each of them.

"What's going to happen in the future?" asked Tristan after a long silence.

"I ain't got the foggiest notion."

"I mean, who in a hundred years will know we ever lived?"

"Do y'all need t'be remembered?"

"We all fear being forgotten, don't we?"

"I don't. We live for a spell. Things happen. We die and that's it. Other dudes go on livin'. Isn't it great enough without men wantin' to be gods?"

"I suppose so. I'll try and think like that. But other people...?"

"Course we should feel for other people, care for 'em, have empathy for sufferin', do good. Don't have to believe in the supernatural for that."

"Perhaps when people say things are happening for a greater purpose, it's just a way of sidestepping the injustices of the here and now?"

"Yeah, Roomy. Also takes the edge off of the joys n'sorrows of the present--guilt for enjoyin' somethin'; excuse for doin' nuthin' when there's evil."

"So there's no greater purpose?"

"There's just you n'me an' the mosquitoes."

They finished the bottle and started on another when, in the gloom, Colton said, "Come on Tris, beddy-byes. I want y'real close tonight, but I'll spare y'ass. We can just jack off like we did on that first night, remember? God, I need to piss bad."

Tristan remembered then, brightly, "Hey can I hold it?"

Colt snorted with laughter. "That's usually the job o'the waterboy, but I'll let y'all as y'showing y'man such re-spect."

Colton sauntered back indoors, his arm casually flung about the smaller figure of Tristan.

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.