This story is fiction. The characters are adults in adult situations. Warnings: The only person you can ever hope to truly know is yourself. Trust no one; use condoms. If you are not of legal age or in a jurisdiction in which this document is illegal, go way. This is my story. Please respect the copyright. Sojourn1950@yahoo.com
The rest of the ride home was spent complaining about army life. I explained that everything I got issued was a holdover from World War II. At least he was given newer uniform items. We finally did agree that the chow hadn't changed. I told him I actually missed S.O.S. It was actually chipped beef in a cream sauce. Usually served over home style biscuits or toast. Soldiers referred to it either lovingly or disparagingly as, S.O.S... "Shit on a Shingle".
"You're in luck Bill, I picked up a jar of chipped beef. You can have it for breakfast tomorrow... if we've taken the kitchen by then. We may have to attack on two fronts. How close can we get the trailer to the back door?"
I displayed my mental acuity to its fullest, "Hardy Har Har."
We rode in a comfortable silence. The sun was sinking and the glare was making me squint. I reached over to pull my aviator sunglasses from the glove box. Bill tried to push himself through the back of the seat to avoid my hand. When I saw his reaction, I returned my hand to the steering wheel. Bill was breathing in short gasps. His chest was heaving. His gaze was fixed at the point where I had pulled my hand back. He stared as if it was still there.
One time, I threw a garter snake in a girl's lap at a church picnic. The look on her face was the same as Bill's, except hers ended in a scream.
His fixed gaze turned to me. His eyes were filled with panic. "I... wheeze... can't... wheeze... can't ... wheeze... breathe!
He was begging me to help him. I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. I jumped out and ran around to his side of the truck. I jerked open his door and told him, "You're alright Bill. You're alright. Turn around and put your feet on the running board." I extended my hand... the same hand that started this "episode".
Bill grabbed it like he was going down for the third time. "I wheeze... can't... wheeze... breathe!"
"Bill, trust me. We're gonna fix this. I want you to turn around and put your feet on the running board." Bill was all but incoherent, mumbling about "not touch". I wanted to get his head between his knees so he wouldn't pass out. He was too tall to do that in his face forward position. He was holding my hand so tight it was beginning to go numb. Using my left hand I freed my right and grabbed onto his left knee to pull him around. When I did he stopped breathing... he glared at my hands on his knees and passed out. His head flopped back and hit the cab behind the seat. His whole body relaxed and slid down in the seat a little. I checked to make sure he was breathing and had a pulse. I took his right hand in mine and patted it, calling his name. As long as he was breathing I knew he would most likely be ok.
I had seen this before... hyperventilating. My college roommate had it. Usually it hit before a big test or when he tried to kiss a girl. He lasted a semester before he dropped out. I had a lot of practice catching him before he fell and waiting for him to come around. It got to where I kept a small paper bag in my hip pocket.
Just like I knew he would, Bill came around. When he saw I was holding his hand I thought he was going to go out again. I placed his hand on his thigh and patted it. "Bill, you're alright now. You just fainted. You're alright. Bill, do you understand? Bill, what's my name? Who am I?"
"Josh, I know who you are, but what happened? We were riding along and it got hard to breathe. What happened?"
"I am not sure, but something made you hyperventilate. Have you done that before?"
"No!" Bill lied. I knew it. He knew it. He knew I knew it.
"Well, you're alright now. Let's get you home." I closed his door and went around the truck and got in.
Once we were back on the road and at cruising speed, Bill spoke. His voice was soft and his head hung down. "Josh, I lied. It has happened before. It's part of why I left the Army. I just, I just can't talk about it."
I felt such relief when he said all that. "Bill, I can accept you're hyperventilating. I can take you're not wanting to talk about it. I can't take... you lying to me. I just can't. You can tell me anytime something is none of my business or you don't want to talk about it, but just don't lie to me. I can't take that... not from you. You understand."
"I'm sorry Josh, I understand. I give you my word it won't happen again."
"Fair enough."
I turned onto the gravel road that passed my place and two other farms before it hit another two lane blacktop. When I turned into my drive the porch light was a welcoming beacon. I was tired. We unloaded the groceries and put up what was needed. I showed Bill around the house.
I've lived most of my life right here on this one hundred and twenty-three acres. I wasn't born in this house but I reckon I was conceived in the very bed I sleep in, horse hair mattress and all. The house was a two story, rambling monstrosity. The front porch was deep and wrapped around both corners. The double doors opened onto a hall way that ran the depth of the house. There were screen doors hung in the warmer months to encourage the breeze and discourage bugs. I had re-hung them just the day before. The first room to the left was a sitting room. Behind that was Mamma's sewing room. Whatever the room had been before, half was taken for a bathroom and closet for the master bedroom. The master bedroom, now mine, opened into the hallway and onto the back porch, sometimes referred to as the sleeping porch.
The sleeping porch was screened with rollup canvas blinds that can block the sun, most of the wind, rain or snow. Even now there was a fold away half bed that I had slept on for the last three nights. It had been unseasonably warm and it was nice to hear the night sounds. There were three more cots covered with canvas. These were used when relatives came to visit. No matter what the season the kids would sleep on the porch. You always had plenty of cover and hoped your bed partner was younger and didn't wet the bed. The younger one could be bullied into getting the bed warm. Once warm, the cold night air made for good sleeping. I have awakened more than once to find snow on top of my covers. I don't ever remember waking up cold. In the summer I always slept on the sleeping porch.
The sleeping porch could be accessed from the backyard of course and by doors leading from the master bedroom, the hallway and the kitchen. The kitchen shared the back of the house with the sleeping porch. Forward of the kitchen was a butler's pantry and then the dining room. Next was the den and at the front was the library. One man does not need all that space. When my folks were alive I had the upstairs.
Bathrooms were added and remodeled over time. A full bath was in the master bedroom. A powder room, accessible from the hall, butted against the butler's pantry. A third and full bath was upstairs.
Since it had been warm over the last week I had set up one of the half beds on the sleeping porch and had slept there instead of my bedroom.
I had done two years in the Army. That was followed by four years at state university ... wanted to be a math teacher. Already had a job lined up ready to move to Cleveland, when Daddy got hurt. An only child, an only son has obligations. I didn't and don't resent the decision to come back and help around the farm. Strange that Daddy's broken leg was the first in a series of setbacks. Like all those years of life unobstructed had to be paid for. Mama stressed about Daddy not getting any better until he finally went back to the hospital to find out why his leg wasn't healing. Turns out bone cancer can hold back healing as it spreads into your lungs and elsewhere. I never saw Daddy walk again after that break. He was gone within six months. Mama didn't even live to see Daddy pass. She worked herself to a frazzle and had a massive heart attack carrying dinner to Daddy. Daddy died three weeks and four days after we buried Momma. Some folks insisted they were so close they wanted to go together. To me it just happened. I still miss them both.
I didn't tell Bill any of this about my parents. I explained that I leased out the land. Something else I didn't tell him was that I made my living off writing trashy romance novels. You know the kind you never notice in the drugstore or supermarket. They have some rendering of a handsome man in a dominant pose with a usually compliant, buxom female at his feet. Yep, that's what pays the bills and taxes. I didn't start out that way. I was submitting Sci-Fi stories to magazines when I was a teenager. I was in the Army, Fort Gordon, Georgia, when a publisher contacted me. Seems someone on his staff read one of my stories that had a steamy encounter between my hero and a sexy alien female. Long story short three novels a year and I make more than a teacher and a farmer combined... Loosely translated, it pays the bills. I sit in the library four hours in front of my old Underwood typewriter. It's either four hours or two chapters. It's my job. I don't cheat. Some days it's diamonds, some days it's dirt... but I'd sit there. It's my job.
While I was toting out the things that Bill said had to go. He was busy boiling eggs and chopping stuff. By the time I finished he had a chef's salad ready. He mixed some oil and vinegar and it was really good. It's home to me but it seemed somehow better with him here. It was almost family again. While Bill cleared the table, I had time to think.
This had been a strange day."
I don't like people. Aside from a plumber and a roofing crew there has been no one in this house except me, in almost four years. Yet, here I was watching a stranger move around my kitchen as if he were home. Watching him wasn't the problem. The problem was how I felt watching him. It was like I had been doing this... all my life, as if I had been waiting... for Bill. I tried to think about how I felt... Was he like a brother? A friend? What? Thinking about it didn't seem to get anywhere... He would move a certain way or he will look at me and smile and I become too distracted to think. I figured he was just happy to have the promise of enough money to move on. He had food and a roof over his head. For the moment he was content. In two weeks he would be gone.
"Ok, now what." Bill was sitting across the table from me. A dish towel draped across his left shoulder. He had that half smile.
"What do you mean, now what?" That sounded defensive, even to me, and didn't know why.
"You been really concentrating. I figure you were trying to decide how `best to use my talents'." The smile blossomed into that face splitting dazzler. I got lost for a minute, just enjoying the feeling.
Finally I said, "Bill, I told you." I looked down looked at my hand as my thumb stroked my fingertips. "I told you, I don't want you to lie to me. I guess I have to own up. I am not sure why I brought you home. I don't like most people. Hell, I can't think of anyone, outside of family, that I ever cared for... except maybe one other. Bringing you here was, is so strange. It's not like me. I never done this kind of thing before. I wish I understood why I don't think of you as a hitchhiker I just picked up alongside the road." I was still watching my thumb.
Silence, modulated by normal spring night sounds, held for a long moment. I had to see his reaction. I looked up to see him staring at me. He was scanning my face, as if reading a road map to find his location.
"Joshua, I can't say how you feel. I can tell you that from the moment I saw you I felt like I was meeting an old friend. I mean right from the time I walked up to your pickup window. That was a strange sensation. I don't... I can't trust people. Shit, I can't trust myself. Not after, not, well. I just can't. This place... you... make me feel comfortable. I think that if either of us begin to feel uncomfortable with the situation, we should let the other know and I'll leave. I won't be any worse off than I am right now."
"Josh, I called my folks after I was robbed. They wanted to send money. I figure I better write and tell them where I am and that I'm ok. Mom will worry. Of course she'll worry more that I am not ready to marry Charlene more than anything else." A slight chuckle, then silence.
I could have told him I didn't feel the same, when we met. Truth is I didn't. I remember seeing him and taking stock, as I would any man. That same feeling of "an old friend" came to me too. Just a little slower. Standing there waiting to say goodbye, it was like family leaving after a really good visit. Like back when I was a kid and life's rough parts were still in the far distant future. When he hyperventilated because of my hand, I wanted to cut it off. I don't even want to think about why I would think such a thing. Truth is I didn't understand it any better than he did.
"Fair enough. We better get you a bed set up. I sleep where I showed you on the sleeping porch. It's cool in the early morning, but you won't get cold. We'll set up a bed for you tonight. Tomorrow I'll show you my old room upstairs. If you decide to, you can move your stuff and sleep up there. It'll give you some privacy. Down here, we'll share the shower in the big bedroom. You can put your ditty bag in the powder room. That will be your bathroom. Towels are under the sink, in both bathrooms."
That smile, and then, "Fair enough."
I turned on the light on the sleeping porch and turned out the lights in the kitchen. I asked if he needed a shower. I showed him where everything was and made up his bed with clean sheets. Our beds were about ten feet apart. They could have been twenty. It was close enough, without being too close for comfort. Army barracks gave you about four feet... six if you were lucky. Undressed, I draped my clothes across the chair I had set by my bed for that purpose. When it came to me he would need the same, I went into the kitchen and turned on the lights. Looking around I realized that Bill's presence had already made a difference.
Our... my kitchen looked like it was ready for action. Ready for someone to start breakfast. Bill had set up the drip coffee maker... I saw one in a fancy shop in New York. The coffee was so good. I had to have it. I have not regretted the price. I showed Bill how to set it up. He's a fast learner. I grabbed a chair and turned off the lights.
Moving back to the porch, I froze. Bill had his back to me. I could see his skin was lightly tanned except where swim trunks had covered his ass. His broad shouldered torso tapered down to a slim waist that rode above a firm and full backside. His skin was perfectly smooth, except on his right butt cheek there was a scar, still a little pink. It was an "X". I wondered how he got it. Thought about asking but that would be like saying, `hey I was just looking at your ass.'
I watched as he dug into his duffle bag and pulled out a neatly folded tee shirt and a pair of boxers. He shook the boxers to straighten them. I let the chair drag against the floor. He turned toward me. I could see his cock was long and the foreskin hung over the head and formed an almost nipple where it came together. Even soft it was an impressive piece. He pulled up his draws. As he pulled his tee shirt on, I had time to notice his chest was filled out nicely. His front was almost as smooth as his backside. A line of brown hair, darker than on his head, lead from his navel to his boxer's waist band.
When I looked up to meet his eyes. There was a blushing smile on his face. I found myself and moved with the chair to stand beside him. He smelled of Lifebouy and... I reckon it was Bill. I sat the chair against the wall and pointed toward my draped clothes. His eyes followed my pointing finger and he nodded. He draped his clothes as I had mine.
I cleared my throat and moved to my bed. Mine was near the master bedroom door. There was a light switch within reach so I could turn the lights on and off, from my bed. Once he was in bed I turned out the lights and we said goodnight. I rolled away from him onto my stomach. Only then did I realize I had a hardon. Further, I could feel the cool wetness of precum on my boxers. I wondered how long I had been hard and if he had noticed?
As dawn crept in, I half awakened to the image of Bill passing my bed. I think I saw his manhood hanging outside his boxers. Half hard and protruding. It was longer and thicker than last night. I surrendered to Sleep as I thought, what a nice dream.
When I awoke, it was to Bill nudging my shoulder. "Josh, Josh. Wake up. I have breakfast ready. You have to wake up. I am about to vacuum. Wake up. Here take this coffee. You were right. It's the best coffee I've had since Europe. Now, here sit up and take this. He pushed aside my clothes and sat facing me. I noticed he was still only in his boxers. The fly was cracked open and I could clearly see part of his cock and brown pubic bush. I scooted up into a seated position. He handed me my coffee. I watched as his eyes crawled across my chest. I looked down to see if there was something to draw attention. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked up. My head movement must have drawn his attention his eyes met mine and he blushed. His smile was not the one that warmed... it was almost to weak too earn the title.
"Thanks, Bill. How did you sleep? How long have you been up?"
"I slept great. I got up about five. I have swept the hall and all the rooms. The large area rugs need to be vacuumed. I'll hang the smaller ones out on your clothesline. I'll beat the dust out of them. I've collected all the dirty clothes and have done two loads. One is in the dryer. I thought you said you picked up after yourself. I found enough clothes in your closet and under your bed to almost make a load."
Under my bed?... Now, it was my turn to blush. I kept a hand towel under there to clean myself up... Ok, I blushed, alright. Now, the shithead gives me his face splitting smile. He knows! Great! Fucking great!
"Come on Bill. It's not like I'm going tell on you. We all need relief sooner or later. You look kind of funny when you get embarrassed. Makes me want to do it more often. You should work on that... Try not to encourage me." With that he stood and slapped the inside of my right thigh. I had bent my knee to hide my piss hard. Had he seen that too? Shiiit!
As he walked away he said, "Now get up. Breakfast is ready. The biscuits are hot and I can't keep adding milk to the S.O.S. We have to eat now. Let's go."
I didn't really want to get up while he could turn around and see my piss hard already aligned with my left thigh. It would tent my boxers and embarrass me, even more than his finding my cum rag.
"You go on in and I'll take a leak and join you in a minute."
His smile faded, "Ok, just don't dawdle." He had turned to face me. His eyes, his eyes were looking at me... as if he was wanting to remember what he was seeing. He shook his head. Then, "Eggs will be ready in a minute. So, piss and come to breakfast." He headed back into the kitchen and I padded into my bathroom to take a leak.
In the kitchen, when he asked how I liked my eggs, "Sunny side up, yolk runny with the whites solid."
"Sit, sit. I'll bring it to you." I refilled my coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. I watched as he moved. Nothing hurried, not a wasted movement, smooth as glass.
All too soon, he presented my plate. He had split two biscuits and poured the chipped beef in cream sauce over the biscuits. On top of that were two fried eggs looking good enough to have their picture grace any restaurant menu. When he sat the bottle of Tabasco sauce next to the salt and pepper shakers, my dream breakfast was complete. I dug in with relish. It was the best breakfast, hell, probably the best meal I had eaten in years. I didn't praise his efforts between each bite... I was too busy eating. I didn't finish everything. But, I did a helluva lot of damage with my attack. I patted my belly in approval.
My hand slide up and idly scratched my hairy chest and right nipple. Bill caught my attention. I realized that he had his fork halfway to his mouth. It didn't move. I looked at his face. His mouth was opened to receive the bite. His eyes were locked onto my hand. It took me a moment to realize he may be having a seizure. "Bill?... Bill?... BILL!" When I shouted, he shook his head and met my gaze. "Bill, are you alright?"
His eyes got wide, fearful. He exploded out of his chair, knocking it over. He stumbled backwards until his back was pressed against the wall. That was when I saw a wet spot on the left leg hem of his boxers. My eyes were drawn by motion. Moving up I saw his cock throbbing against the cotton fabric.
He saw me looking at it. In one movement he was up and out the door and onto the sleeping porch. When I got to him he was jumping into his jeans.
Even as he zipped and buttoned he was half mumbling, "I gotta get out of here. I should never have come. This wasn't right. It isn't right. It can never be right."
Quickly he began stuffing whatever was his, into his duffle bag. He literally ran to the bathroom to retrieve his ditty bag. When he came back he was still mumbling, "I was crazy... to hope. It can`t ever be."
I swear all this time he didn't have a clue I was alive, let alone, right next to him.
"Bill? Bill? BILL! GODDAMNIT!" I moved to grab him, to shake some sense into him. He must have been more aware than I thought. He jumped back against the wall and stared at my hands, as if my very touch would burn him. He looked at my face and melted and slide down the wall. When his ass hit the floor his hands covered his face and he wailed. He cried, but I mean he wailed the most mournful sound I ever heard a human make. If I'd had a dog then, it would have howled in sympathy with Bill,
I was afraid to touch him. The day before my `almost' touch set him to hyperventilating. Just now my attempt to touch turned him into a wailing, heartbroken mess.
I went back to the Kitchen and wet a towel. I figured a wash cloth was not big enough for this kind of misery and a bath towel was over kill... NO! I didn't think of a hand towel... I was worried, ok.
I couldn't figure it out. Bill was this big, handsome, intelligent, humorous guy. Then he was either panicky or a bawling mess. He was all man and suddenly... like a frightened child. What made the difference? What made him like... like this? Yesterday I didn't even touch... him... touch him. Touch him!
"Bill, does it bother you when I touch you?" I had to repeat it over and over again. Finally it penetrated his misery. His sobs diminished to significantly less than gut wrenching. He'd taken the towel I had dropped on his hands and wiped his face. He tried to speak. He had to defeat the sobs before he could really talk. I saw he was regaining some control. "Bill, why don't you get up and lie down on the bed. I'll get you some water."
He moved to get up. I hurried to the kitchen partly to get the water but also to keep from helping him get up, to keep myself from touching him. I absently wondered what it was about me that inspired such misery. I filled a glass under the tap and hurried back onto the sleeping porch. Bill had gotten up. But, instead of lying on the bed he was getting dressed. His sobs were all but gone. He didn't look me in the eye. He accepted the water with a muted, "thanks".
`Bill, are you leaving?"
"Josh, it's best if I just go. I can find my way back to the highway. I'll catch a ride and be gone. Maybe you can forget about the idiot who fucked up your life for a couple of days. I can't stay. Not after this. I just can't."
He dropped whatever was in his hands and sat on the bed. I didn't know what to do. I never saw a grown man cry. I can't remember when I last cried. It wasn't what men did. I just didn't know what to do. I sat on the bed alongside of Bill. I wanted to comfort him. Tell him everything was going to be alright. But, I didn't know what was wrong. I couldn't hold him. I couldn't touch him. How could I help him? How could I make it right. How could I when I didn't know why he was hurting. I had never felt so utterly helpless... so desperate... so alone.
My eyes burned. I was empty inside. It was a void so frightening I would have sold my soul to fill it. I was empty and angry. Seething anger began to wash my insides, filling the void. As the anger built the emptiness diminished. Soon the anger became a burning rage. I wanted to hit something, to beat something. I wanted to.. NO! I had to destroy something, anything to feed the rage so the emptiness could not return. Oh, God! Anything but that emptiness.
I jumped up and looked around for something to destroy, something to feed the rage. Anything to crush, mangle, mutilate and destroy. Anything that would keep this pain away. The first thing I saw was the chair I had brought out for Bill last night. His clothes were all packed. He was leaving, the chair would be useless again... forever.
I moved around bill and grabbed the chair. I jerked it up into the air and caught it on the fly. I thought about smashing it against the floor. I turned facing the screens. Throwing it through the screen was not enough destruction. I needed more. I was desperate, I had to smash it... NOW! The more time passed the more enraged I became. I thrilled at the very thought of destruction. The wall shared by the sleeping porch and the kitchen caught my eye. It seemed an Ideal anvil for my hammer. I could pound this fucking chair to splinters. In a blind fury, bent on destruction I roared as I charged. I stopped just short enough to slam the chair against the wall. I swung hard for deep centerfield. The first blow did nothing, oak is a tough wood. I redoubled my efforts on the second blow. A leg broke off and bounced to the floor. Concentrating all my strength I slammed it into the wall again. This time two legs and spindles flew away. The fourth leg wasn't worth the effort. I wanted to crush the seat and break its back.
Even as I stood looking down at the still defiant chair. I thought about taking what was left outside and running it over with my truck. I could see it happening... I could feel the delightful rage building as I revved the engine... The shudder of the truck as I popped the clutch The tires squealing for traction... I heard my own maniacal laughter as I bore down on the inert remains... As the chair disappeared from view and was about to be crushed beneath my wheels... the vision dissolved.
Suddenly I realized I was standing over a broken chair. A chair that I broke. I knew I broke it. I just didn't understand why.
I was weak. My knees were trembling so bad they made my shaking hands look rock steady. I leaned against the wall I had so brutally pounded. I turned to it to hide my shaking hands and strengthen my wobbly knees. I lay my face against the cooling wall and let the sobs take me. I slide down the wall to join the splinters and broken broken chair.
I thought about how I should have known it would come to this. Get close to someone, anyone and my rage would surface. I loose control. The last time, really the only other time, I had felt it completely take control... Other times... oh, I'd felt it before. It would seethe just below the surface, barely under control. It was always there... now it was back. My rage had gained control. My worst fears were confirmed. I couldn't mix with people, not without loosing control.
I suppose I fell asleep or passed out. I'm not sure. When I regained myself, Bill was gone. There was no sign he had ever been here. He could have been a dream or nightmare. I knew he was real.
My body was stiff. I got up slowly. I walked to the front door to see if maybe he was still here. Maybe he had changed his mind. standing on the porch I could see no sign of him. I checked the grandfather clock in the hall way, almost ten... how long ago did we have breakfast? How long ago did he leave. I had to find him. I had to know that he was alright, that I didn't hurt him. If I could see he was unharmed I could go back to the way things were. I knew, just as I had for years, I couldn't trust myself around people. Still, I had to know that Bill was alright. I had blacked out... what if? I had to see for myself that he was alright, that I hadn't hurt him.
I stepped off the porch and headed for my truck. I was still clad only in boxers. Moving quickly to the sleeping porch, I didn't take time to dress. I just pulled on my jeans and ran barefoot to the truck.
At the end of the drive I wasn't sure which way to go. Had Bill gone the opposite way that we came in so he could throw me off and maybe get a ride before I could catch him. Somehow I reasoned that Bill would take the more familiar route. He would head back to the highway and catch a ride. Had he enough time to get to the blacktop and worse, catch a ride?
Almost every driver picked up soldiers. It was like a small act of patriotism. I hurried on desperate to know that he was alright. I just wanted to see that he was not hurt. If he was still walking I would simply pass him by. I would slow down and look at his face, just to make sure he was ok. The loose gravel bumped and dinged against the under carriage as I raced along scanning the road ahead. I thought about stopping to check for boot prints along the edge of the road. I didn't dare stop. I didn't dare slow down. There were curves and rises along the road. The truck slide coming out of one curve and became air borne toping a rise. Still, I couldn't slow down. I had to see Bill. Finally in the distance I saw him. He was less than a quarter mile from the blacktop. I could see traffic moving along on the highway. If he made it there he would surely get a ride quickly. I didn't slow until I was almost upon him.
He had heard my approach. He had looked back. Recognizing my truck he had picked up his pace. He was trying to get away. To escape me... and my rage.
The emptiness came creeping back. My insides felt like I had never eaten, never had a heart in there, never had anything inside except the goddamned emptiness. I slowed even more. By the time I was upon him I was in first gear. As the truck passed him he didn't look up. He studied the ground in front of his feet. He looked tired, but unharmed.
I was going to accelerate, I was going to leave him behind, let him catch a ride out of my life. I was going to, except I couldn't. Instead of passing him, I cut the wheel to the right and blocked his path. I almost put the right front wheel into the ditch that ran alongside the road.
When I got out of the truck I cussed the fact I had not even put on shoes. It only distracted, it did not deter me. By the time I gingerly stepped my way around the back of the truck, Bill had dropped his duffle bag from his shoulders and was watching my approach. I carefully picked my way through the gravel and was standing only a few feet away from him.
"Your shoes were under the chair you didn't bust up. Your shirt," at this his eyes roamed up and down my chest. I had stripped my belt out rather than take the time to buckle it. Now my jeans were riding low on my ass. I followed his eyes and realized the top of my pubes were showing. I tugged up my pants. That motion brought his eyes back to mine. He continued, "Your shirt was hanging on the same chair."
He was dressed the same as yesterday, sans jacket. I noticed how the blue shirt made his eyes light up. I tried to focus. He was obviously ok. I should get back in the truck and let him leave. I half turned away. Glancing back I saw his face had fallen. His eyes were moist. I turned back to him. "Bill, I had to make sure you were alright. I didn't mean to frighten you. I know my rage is ugly. I've only felt it that strong once before. It was a long time ago. That's the real reason I live alone. I can't trust myself around people. I'm afraid I might hurt someone... again."
"Josh, you had every right to be angry. I told you I would stay for two weeks, you spent all that money and the very next day I tell you I'm leaving. I am sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you and I'm sorry you broke your chair. I'm just sorry." That last "sorry" sounded more like a judgment than an apology.
My voice came out a whine, "Bill, I can't make you stay. If I thought I could, I'd try. My temper scares me sometimes. I don't blame you, it was reason enough to leave."
Bill was straining now to maintain control, "Look, that's not the reason. I have to leave... I have to leave... I have to leave and that's all. I just have to." It sounded to me like he was trying to convince himself.
If he was trying to convince me. It wasn't working.
"Bill, you don't have to leave. You can stay for the two weeks, continue cleaning and cooking and more."
At that his head snapped and his face scowled, "What do you mean, More?"
"I wasn't sure what he meant by the question. I, I uh, I mean yard work. Organizing the tractor shed. Getting the barn squared away ... lot's of things... What did you think I meant?"
"Look, Josh. You might as well know..." His eyes searched my face. With a defiant look, I'm... I'm... queer." His voice faded out and it was hard to hear him. There were no other sounds, the occasional whish of traffic was too faint to affect our conversation. The blood rushing through my head made it hard to hear.
"Bill, what did you say? I don't think I heard you right."
Some readers have contacted me asking if I had other stories on Nifty. I have "Gordy comes Home" in Adult Friends and "Not yet Doc" in Relationships. I answer all emails good or bad.