Wesley
Chapter four
by Roy Reinikainen
Wesley rolled over and propped himself up with his elbows and watched Clifford who was lying on his back with his hands behind his head, seemingly lost in thought. He tilted his head slightly and grinned when he saw Wesley watching him.
"Happy," Wes asked, slowly running a hand over Clifford's chest. Cliff nodded slightly, wearing a crooked grin.
"Yes, I'm happy. None of this," he looked around the room with its slowly turning ceiling fan, and then through the open doors to the balcony and a lazily swaying palm beyond. Blossoms from a nearby tree littered the balcony and the polished wood floor of the apartment's bedroom. "None of this," he repeated himself, "seems quite real." Wesley raised his eyebrows in query.
"Even you don't seem real to me, Wes. I keep thinking that you and all this is like one long wet dream and I'm about to wake up." He sighed and took Wesley's hand, linking their fingers. "I've had a wonderful time." He ran a forefinger down the length of Wesley's nose and then over his lips.
"I especially enjoyed our walk on the beach the night I arrived." He got a mischievous look. "I'll never figure out how you were able to order-up a foggy night for the occasion." Wes chuckled, trying to snuggle closer, lying his head on Clifford's chest. Wes smiled when Clifford absently began running his fingers through his hair.
"You're a special man, Mr. Atkins. You are going to make someone very happy." Wesley's smile of contentment slowly faded.
"Are you any closer to finding what you were looking for when you arrived?" Wesley hoped Clifford wouldn't detect the waver in his voice as he asked the question, chiding himself that he couldn't bring himself to directly ask how Clifford felt about him.
'It's flattering to be told you're the star of a wet dream, but that's not enough,' he silently shouted. 'Tell me you love me, Clifford!' He sighed as Clifford, unaware of the argument going on in Wesley's mind, continued stroking his hair.
'Why am I shouting at him? I can't bring myself to say the same words to him.' He abruptly rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.
"Are you okay, Wes?"
'How can he sound so concerned, and not feel something? Wes bit his lip and nodded, still not moving his arm from his eyes.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just angry at myself, that's all." He moved his arm and glanced at Clifford who was watching him with a concerned expression. "I'll be fine."
Clifford rolled onto his side and pulled Wesley close to him. "You sure?" Wesley slowly nodded and tried to smile, but it was difficult to hide his disappointment in Clifford, and in his own inability to communicate.
"I'm looking forward to how you're going to conclude your 'Big Rock' story." Wesley propped himself up on his elbows. Clifford tilted his head forward and winked. "Here I am, lying in bed with the story's author and he hasn't given me a hint of how things will play out."
"Have any ideas?" Wesley nibbled on one of Cliff's nipples causing a tremor to pass through Cliff's body.
Clifford chuckled, "about the story, or about what I'd like to do with you?" He pulled Wesley close and kissed his cheek, then his chin, and finally his lips, pleased when Wesley opened his mouth for his tongue. When they broke their kiss, Wesley answered.
"Ideas about how the story should end. I'm going to assume the kiss you just gave me says something about what you'd like the two of us to do." Clifford grinned with a slow nod.
"I've got an idea about how I'd like to see the story end, but I don't want to interfere with the artist's creative process." He ended the sentence with a teasing note in his voice. "If you get stumped for an ending, let me know and I'll tell you what I think should happen After all, I feel as if I know both of the characters pretty well." He grinned when glanced at him.
"Would my characters be pleased with what you're thinking," Wes asked. Clifford nodded with a pleased expression.
"I know for a fact that at least one of them would be pleased. I'd like to believe that they both would." Wesley's eyebrows rose, but it didn't appear that Clifford would elaborate, other than to say how much he enjoyed happy endings. They silently laid at one another's side for a few long moments. Wesley was beginning to think that perhaps Clifford had fallen asleep when he suddenly slapped the surface of the bed and sat up.
"I should get up and shower. I have a plane to catch." He moved to his knees and leaned forward to kiss Wesley once again and then paused, looking into Wesley's eyes. "You are so handsome, Wes." He winked. "Thank you again for a wonderful weekend. I've loved . . . everything."
With that, he scrambled from the bed and headed toward the shower, not looking back.
Clifford inched down the narrow aisle of the airplane, stowed his carry-on bag, and scooted past the two people already seated with a look of apology, and sat down with a sigh. He fastened his seatbelt and absently returned the grin of the young lady sitting next to him before he turned toward the window, looking out to the airport building.
He was surprised how difficult it had been to say goodbye to Wesley. Neither had shed a tear but he had come close when he heard Wes sniff as they were hugging. He had swallowed past a lump in his throat and had blinked back the moisture in his eyes, determined to not cry in front of everyone.
Now, sitting in the plane he began to examine his feelings. He lay his head against the headrest and thought a moment while the flight attendant went through the requisite safety procedures, not paying attention to what was being said.
The plane began to move away from the terminal and he once again turned. 'Wesley's in there,' he thought. 'No doubt watching the plane leave.' Clifford sighed. Earlier in the day Wesley had asked if he was happy.
'Am I,' he wondered, sniffing once and wiping his eyes with an immaculately pressed handkerchief. 'Can I really be happy without Wes? Do I really know what I want?' The young lady in the seat next to his had apparently been watching him struggle with his thoughts.
"Are you having to leave a loved one behind," she asked, nodding slightly toward the handkerchief. He gave her a crooked grin and nodded, blinking once again, slightly embarrassed for her to see him struggling with his emotions.
"Are you leaving for good?" She paused, continuing to look concerned. "You look so sad, it almost makes me want to cry." It was her turn to give him a crooked grin. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding, it's just that saying goodbye is so tough for me." Clifford swallowed once with difficulty and paused a moment before he could respond.
"I . . . don't know if I'm leaving for good." He hesitated. "I . . . I hope not." He paused a moment and then sighed, looking at the young lady with an apologetic expression. "I've never found saying goodbye to be rough, until today." He glanced through the window at the now-distant airport terminal building. "This is the first time I ever felt this way." The plane trundled toward the runway with little bumps and jolts. "I guess it's the first time I've had to leave someone special behind." The plane came to a momentary halt while the engines roared, as if the plane were anxious to be away. A moment later it began to accelerate down the runway. Clifford once again glanced out the window as the landscape rushed past and the terminal disappeared from sight. He turned back to his traveling companion who continued to watch him with a sympathetic expression. "I think I've only now realized how special he is."
She put on a determined expression and patted his hand once and spoke in a matter of fact tone. "Then you'll just need to find a way to come back. Now that you've realized how special your friend is, you should be together. Life's too short to know where happiness lies and be unwilling to do whatever is necessary to get there." She blushed.
"Listen to me. All of a sudden I'm a philosopher, telling someone how to run their life." She blushed as she continued speaking. "My boyfriend is always telling me I should keep my nose out of other people's business." She gave him a diffident grin.
"Well, you can tell your boyfriend, you met someone today who appreciates your philosophizing. You've made me feel very much better." He smiled a genuine smile. She beamed at him.
"I'm glad."
Wesley took the long way home, reluctant to enter the apartment where he and Clifford had so recently made love.
He could barely think of anything but Clifford . . . the way he tried not to act self conscious when they were hugging at the airport; the way he tried to act macho and not show any emotions. Wesley snorted. 'Who am I to talk about trying to act macho? I'm just as guilty.' He jerked when a car behind him tooted its horn urging him to pay attention. He slowly accelerated through the intersection ignoring the irritated expression of the driver who passed him as soon as it was possible.
'If things weren't so awful, I would laugh,' he thought, not paying attention to the sailboats visible from the road. 'I couldn't bring myself to tell Cliff how I feel.' He paused a moment and then sighed in frustration. 'Even when it was dark, I couldn't do it.' He recalled the times he had opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to speak for fear of . . . what? Nothing Clifford could possibly have said would have made him feel any more dejected than he did at the moment.
'I wasn't alone in being unable to communicate,' he thought, shaking his head as he recalled how Clifford seemed comfortable to talk about anything but how he felt. 'We're quite the pair.'
He continued to drive through the flickering shadows cast by the passing palms. 'We're both lonely,' he thought. 'Why couldn't either of us let down his guard? Is it because we've built up a wall to protect ourselves from . . . from . . . everything and everyone? That has got to be it. We're afraid of being hurt.' He slapped the steering wheel in frustration.
"Damn," he said aloud. 'I have difficulty admitting, even to myself, that as much as I long for another relationship, I'm afraid.' He continued to try and sort out his thoughts. 'I'm afraid of being hurt and I'm afraid of saying something that might hurt someone else.' He bowed his head while he waited for another traffic light.
'When I was twenty, I wouldn't have had this fear.' He silently barked a laugh. 'When I was twenty, I wouldn't be feeling old, and undesirable. I wouldn't be feeling as if this were my last chance at finding happiness.' He slowly pulled away from the intersection. 'I wouldn't be feeling like I do now. Maybe this weekend was the last chance for both Clifford and me, and look how we bungled it!'
Wes turned down a shady residential street. 'If only he'd said something to let me know how he felt!' He shook his head, realizing he had once again shifted the responsibility of taking the initiative to Clifford.
It was near dark when Wesley arrived back at his apartment. He rushed through the living room, grabbing his laptop, and stepped onto his balcony prepared to continue his story. He looked into the distance for a moment with his fingers poised, ready to type. 'Maybe Howard, the character in my story, will know what to say since he faced a similar situation.' Wes paused a moment. 'Maybe by writing, I'll be able to sort out my thoughts.' He looked at his computer display and began typing.
'The Big Rock' ~continued~
Howard propped himself up on his elbows and watched the man next to him with the short tousled grey hair and straight nose. The mouth which could seem so serious when he was awake, was now turned up in a slight smile as he slept.
One of Charles' strong hands rested on his chest, the other at his side. Howard shivered, recalling the pleasure those hands could bring. Charles' long blunt-tipped fingers had driven him crazy as they probed him, massaging his prostate at the same time he deep throated Howard's penis.
He recalled sucking Charles' sperm off of those long fingers. He closed his eyes and sighed as he recalled the feeling of Charles sliding his cock free and then probing his hole with his fingers which he then offered to Charles with a wicked look in his eyes.
"You want to taste my sperm, don't you," he asked, holding his fingers close to Howard's mouth, but not close enough for Howard to lick them. "You like the idea that a moment ago I shot this up your butt hole, don't you?" He had groaned as Charles continued to tease him.
Howard cupped his own erection as he recalled how some of Charles' cum had dripped onto his chin as Charles finally allowed him to lick his fingers clean.
He ran his fingertips down the length of his penis as he watched Charles sleep, teasing it, just as Charles had earlier teased it with his tongue.
Charles shifted and moaned slightly. The gentle curve of his lips, and the stiffness of his nipples hinted at the pleasure he was taking in his dream. Howard smiled, shifting his gaze to his bed-mate's erection, straining at the fabric of the bed sheets. Once again there was a barely audible moan of pleasure. Charles shifted position and the sheet slipped lower on the bed exposing his erection, lying stiff against his stomach. Howard watched as the thick penis twitched and the testicles shifted in their hairy sac.
He reached out and gathered a glistening bead of precum from the end of Charles' erection and brought it to his mouth, tasting the evidence of Charles' dream. Charles sighed at the touch and rolled his head to the side, beginning to take deeper breaths as he rhythmically thrust his hips.
The sight was too much for Howard. He leaned forward and licked the length of Charles' penis, pausing at the tip and teasing the sensitive underside causing Charles to tighten his buttocks, pushing his hips forward, a silent demand for release. Howard licked the length of the penis once again, only this time instead of pausing at the end, he engulfed the widely flaring head and held it in his mouth.
"Ohhhhh, Howard," Charles breathed in his sleep, forcing more of himself into Howard's mouth. He thrust once and then paused. He thrust a second time and Howard felt the cock thicken a moment before sperm covered his tongue. Charles shuddered as his orgasm faded but didn't seem to awaken. He muttered something and lovingly ran his fingers over Howard's hair as he shifted position, pulling his softening erection from Howard's mouth.
Later, Howard gingerly moved into a position where he could snuggle close to Charles. Before drifting off to sleep with the taste of Charles still on his tongue he whispered into Charles' ear.
"I love you," he murmured once more, and then gently kissed Charles' cheek, pleased to see a hint of a smile. 'I love you, Charles, whether I can say it to your face or not . . . I do love you.'
He snuggled closer to Charles as the heavy scent of the tree blossoms outside the open balcony window wafted into the room. 'I love you,' he thought to himself, lying an arm over Charles' chest. He sighed as sleep engulfed him. 'If only you could love me.'
Wesley posted his shorter than normal chapter and shut down his laptop, sitting quietly on his apartment balcony. 'If only you could love me, Cliff,' he repeated to himself. The sea breeze ruffled his hair causing a few fragrant blossoms from the nearby tree to land nearby, but otherwise the night was still.
'I thought I was lonely before I met Cliff.' He silently snorted. 'Now that he's gone, I know what lonely means.' He sighed and then stood and wandered into the apartment, closing the doors to the balcony behind him, resigned to sleeping alone.
He turned off the lights to the apartment and walked across the bedroom. He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment before he leaned over and picked up the pillow Clifford had used the night before and buried his face in it while he hugged it to his chest all the while wondering what Clifford was doing.
Clifford stepped into his darkened home, shutting out the wind-whipped snow but not quite closing out the wavering drone of the wind. It had been a tough drive from the airport, taking all his concentration to stay on the slippery roadway. In one sense, he was thankful for the difficult drive. It had allowed him to concentrate on something other than his feelings for Wesley. When he pulled into the garage he sat for a few long moments, leaning against the headrest and closing his eyes. Thoughts of Wesley returned, along with a longing to be sleeping at his side.
'It's not just sex I'm going to miss,' Clifford thought. 'The companionship, the touching and the laughter are more important. The sex is quickly over; the companionship continues.'
The moment the door closed he heard Beulah's none-to-dainty footsteps thudding down the stairs. A moment later, she launched herself at his chest confident he would catch her. Clifford automatically held out his hands, welcoming the return to normalcy."
"Are you pleased to see me, girl?" He ruffled the fur at her neck and scratched her chin as she purred, happily drooling on his hand. He grinned and laid her on the chair as he hefted his bag and headed up the stairs. The howling wind vied with Beulah for attention, one with a deep growl, the other with a constant series of mewling cat sounds, most of which translated to, "feed me, quick."
Clifford emptied a fresh can of food onto her dinner plate and left her contentedly eating as he stepped into his office and fired-up his computer.
From: Clifford Grayson Subject: Thank you Date: November 14, 2005 To: Wesley Atkins
Dear Wesley,
Well . . . I'm home. Beulah greeted me with her usual enthusiasm. I really think she was pleased to see me only because she knows I'm a sucker and will feed her whenever she asks. The house is empty, the weather is awful, and I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. In other words, nothing here has changed.
I realized on the way home today how bad I was at expressing myself during my visit. I wanted so much for you to like me, and yet I didn't know what to do . . . or how to act. I've never tried to be liked before. I've never much cared what people thought. Since I didn't know how to behave, I was left being myself, which I fear may have scared you away.
I guess you're not the only one to have difficulty in these personal relationship situations. In my case it may mean that I am not relationship material . . . that I'm too set in my ways. I thought for a while that I was making a lot of progress. Imagine . . . me having sex outside! Yet, here I sit in a darkened room in front of a glowing computer display wondering if that behavior was an anomaly, and my current situation is the real me.
You are so kind and gentle, Wes. I expect you're sitting back in that big leather chair in your living room wondering just what happened during my visit. As for me, I guess I expected some sort of miracle to occur, transforming me into . . . what? Someone else? I wonder what you were expecting . . . and if you feel any more satisfied in how our time together turned out than I am. I find myself wondering what you're thinking right now, what you thought of our time together, and what you thought of me. Neither of us have very good communication skills, do we?
As far as what I think of you . . . I am caught between my hopes and my fears. You are wonderful. You are kind, and intelligent, and fun to be with. You are also sexy as hell . . . and I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of you because of the feelings I have for you and what they could mean to the Clifford I've been so comfortable with. I want to be the man who enjoyed walking hand-in-hand with you down the beach. I want to be the man who was thrilled beyond words to have sex with you on that same beach. Never mind that it was foggy . . . or dark. It was outstanding sex . . . and I was overcome with the belief that I could change, if only . . .
I am afraid, Wes. I'm fearful of letting go of the life I've always led. I want you. I want change, and yet I am afraid.
I don't know what to think. Truly, I don't.
I do know I want to thank you for an absolutely fantastic vacation. I don't know what else to say at the moment. I'm sitting here feeling like crap, and I don't even know why!
What a wonderful way to end what was intended to be a thank you note! I hope you'll accept this email message in the spirit in which it was intended.
I know my bed is going to feel empty tonight. :o( I tell you, Beulah is no substitute to having you at my side. Don't you ever tell her I said so. I'll swear on a stack of bibles I never said such a thing.
G'night, Wes. Thank you.
Cliff
PS: It's too bad that you're not ready to end your 'Big Rock' story yet. I know how I would end it. Hmm. Speaking of your story. I wonder if you might have posted another chapter. I am curious how your characters are relating to one another. I hope they're doing better than the two of us.
Once again, g'night, handsome.
Cliff
Clifford sent the email and leaned back in his office chair with his hands behind his head, listening to the droning of the wind and feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of his office.
After a few moments he leaned forward and called up the website hosting Wes' story. He smiled when he saw Wes had indeed posted a new chapter. 'He must have worked on it the moment he got home from taking me to the airport,' Clifford thought as he leaned forward and called up the story.
Beulah's rubbing against his legs went ignored as Clifford read the chapter. By the end he was silently shaking his head in wonder.
'He loves me,' he thought to himself, rubbing the moistness out of his eyes. 'He loves me?' He leaned back in his chair and then spun around and stood causing the cat to scramble out of the way.
"He loves me," he shouted, stretching out his arms to his sides and smiling into the darkened room. "He loves me!" He flopped back onto his chair and leaned forward bowing his head.
"I love you too, Wes," he murmured aloud. He took a shuddering breath and then once again wiped at his eyes. 'I've just now realized it. Ohhh, how I love you.'
He didn't notice Beulah watching him from across the room, as he absently rotated his office chair from side to side, the computer display illuminating his smile.
From: Clifford Grayson Subject: 'The Big Rock' Date: November 14, 2005 To: Wesley Atkins
Dear Wesley,
I won't be able to go to sleep unless I tell you how I believe 'The Big Rock' story should end. I know it's presumptuous of me to butt in on your story, but you know me. . .
I know Charles is not happy to be away from Howard. Not at all. I think he should tell Howard how much he loves him, but that wouldn't be like Charles, would it? What he can do is to tell Howard that he should take a walk along the beach to his favorite rock on Thanksgiving Day, just as the sun is setting.
I'm sure you'll be able to describe a beautiful sunset. Didn't you tell me that you were convinced Charles loves beautiful sunsets? I'm sure you must have, but in case you didn't, I'm positive he does. You know, I believe Charles is finally discovering his romantic side. It's about time, don't you think? Ah, a beautiful sunset and the two men meeting at the big rock. If I have anything to say about it, I'm sure Charles will no longer be unable to tell Howard how important he is, and how he can't imagine living without Howard being at his side every night.
Doesn't that sound like the perfect setting for the end of your story?
Now, that I've butted in, I'm happy. Beulah's nagging at me to climb into bed. Women . . .
Love,
Cliff
The sunset was all he could have wished for. A low bank of clouds hovered on the horizon, purple against the orange and mauve sky. The calm water took on the hues of the sky as it lapped gently at the beach, teasing the ever-present small sea birds scampering about at the edge of the water searching for morsels of food in the sand.
Clifford walked to the edge of the wooden boardwalk and stooped to take off his sandals. He stuffed them in the back pocket of his pale yellow shorts and stood for a moment looking out to the setting sun. He unfastened the buttons of his light short sleeve linen shirt, allowing the breeze to catch the shirt tails, thinking how closely they resembled the sheer draperies in Wes' bedroom. He smiled as a breeze ruffled his hair and looked to his right, smiling and nodding a greeting to a passing couple.
He was almost giddy with the new found sense of freedom he was experiencing. It was as if he had shed an old worn-out way of looking at things. He felt like a new man . . . the man he hoped to become when he first visited Wesley.
The sand was warm between his toes as he put his hands in his pockets and casually strolled to the water's edge, scattering the small birds and welcoming the caress of the warm water about his ankles.
He stopped from time to time to glance out over the ocean as the kaleidoscopic sky continued its show, or to chat briefly with other people who were enjoying the evening. All the while though, he headed toward the big rock. He could see his goal in the distance, a black smudge set back from the water's edge.
He was suddenly shy, knowing Wesley waited for him. He thought for a moment that it still wasn't too late to turn back and resume his old life. That's all it was though, a thought. He had come so far since his first communication with Wesley. He was a different person from the one who had to be encouraged to take his shoes off, and knew that no matter what, he would never be able to go back to what he had always been. He stood for a moment looking out to the horizon with his hands hanging limply at his sides. The sun had sunk below the horizon, but the twilight lingered as the sky changed from a lavender to a dark purple. He ran his fingers through his hair and then took a deep breath and continued walking. Suddenly he had reached his goal. He stepped around a clump of palms and there it was.
Wesley was sitting atop the big rock, his back straight and his arms wrapped around his knees which were drawn close to his chest. The breeze caught his hair as well as his shirt tails as he stared out over the water.
Clifford quietly approached and stood at the base of the rock, slightly behind Wesley, watching the last of the light play over his arms and legs.
"Hello, handsome," Clifford said, trying to speak without betraying the emotions which were threatening to overwhelm him. Wesley quickly turned, and his expression of pure joy was almost enough to make Clifford lose control of his emotions.
"I'm here to tell the most handsome man I've ever met how much I love him," Clifford said, no longer trying to control the shaking of his voice. "I also want to tell him that I've been a fool for not telling him earlier how I feel." Wesley slid down the side of the rock and into Clifford's embrace, wrapping his arms around Clifford's waist and burying his face against Cliff's shoulder.
"I do love you," he murmured as he held Wesley close, ignoring the tears coursing down his cheeks. "And now that I've found you, I'm never letting you go." Wesley sniffed and moved back slightly, tenderly rubbing his fingers over Clifford's cheeks, wiping away the tears.
"That better be a promise, Mr. Grayson," he said, trying to be stern, smile, and not cry at the same time. He sniffed once more as he melted into Clifford's embrace.
"I love you too, Cliff. I have since the moment you held me that night in the fog. I knew you were the man I wanted to spend my life with." He leaned close and they kissed. It was a long lingering, gentle kiss, not a kiss of passion but of love.
"Wow," Wesley breathed through a smile as their lips parted. "You do that so well." Clifford chuckled.
"Was my suggestion a good way for your story to end," he asked. Wes nodded against Clifford's cheek, and swallowed once before he could speak.
"It's good enough for the end of my story, but it's only the beginning of our story." The two men held one another in a tight embrace as the purple twilight transformed into a star-filled sky.
~ the end ~
Thank you for reading 'Wesley.' If you would like to read more of my work, the stories may be found in Nifty's Gay College section, and are entitled, 'Phalen,' 'Leith,' and 'Chris.'
I invite comments or observations. Your email is welcomed, and will always be answered. I may be reached at:
roynm@mac.com or suomalainen_abq@mac.com