20. Cameron
CAMERON
They pulled into a dirt parking lot just off the main road, where nobody and nothing drove by. They were in the middle of the desert, at some isolated location no one had probably ever heard of.
Cameron looked around.
He was pretty sure this was where they had filmed all those The Hills Have Eyes movies. Nothing but desert and rolling hills as far as the eye could see.
Was this where he and Basher got murdered? Was a small child going to appear out of nowhere, ask for help, then lock them in a cellar somewhere, forcing them to watch as they make skin suits out of their previous victims?
Okay, perhaps he needed to stop watching horror movies alone late at night. Clearly, they were filling his head with paranoid thoughts and delusions. Murders like that didn’t happen.
This was America after all.
The land of freedom and security, where nothing even remotely dangerous ever happened anywhere.
Cameron could almost hear his inner thoughts laughing at him.
Okay, perhaps they weren’t living in the safest, most loving country in the world.
Cameron looked up at the large sign posted next to the front door of the old farmhouse.
Maggie’s Pottery Designs.
Cameron looked at Basher, still unsure where the fuck they were. At least Maggie didn’t sound like the type of person who enjoyed wearing skin suits.
“Maggie’s Pottery Designs?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s a pottery-making class. Apparently, they teach you how to make clay bowls and vases and shit.”
A flash of excitement burst through his body.
“Oh! I’ve always wanted to try making my own pottery!” Cameron exclaimed, excitement lighting up his face.
Grabbing Basher by the hand, he immediately began tugging him toward the door. “Come on, let’s go!”
Basher burst out laughing and allowed himself to be happily dragged toward the entrance.
The bell overhead dinged as Cameron threw open the door and stepped inside the old farmhouse.
“Wow.” Cameron gasped, taking in the space around him.
Just inside the front entrance sat a small reception desk where guests were greeted.
Beyond it, the space opened up into a large room filled with tables, chairs, and an assortment of pottery-making tools.
At least, Cameron assumed they were pottery-making tools.
For all he knew, some might have been medieval torture devices, but they certainly looked like they belonged in an artist's studio.
“Hello?” Cameron called, glancing around for anyone looking like a Maggie.
A middle-aged man wearing a bright purple-and-green apron, fastened over a pair of blue, paint-stained jeans, walked out of what Cameron could only assume was the kitchen area.
“Oh! You made it!” the man screeched, throwing his arms up into the air as he appeared to praise the powers that be.
“It wasn’t hard to miss,” Basher grumbled in his usual, friendly, angry-man manner.
“Ooh, aren’t you just a burly beast of a man!”
Cameron couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend. He doesn’t people very well,” Cameron explained.
The man nodded as if he completely understood.
“Strong, silent type. I dig that. Makes guys like us feel safe, knowing that the big, strong cavemen are around to protect us and bring us food and sustenance when we need it. I’m Nelson, by the way,” the man said, extending his hand to Cameron.
“I’m Cameron, and this is Basher,” he introduced, taking the man’s hand and giving it a friendly shake.
“Basher? Wow, you’re going to kill me with all this rough-man toughness.”
Basher’s cheeks flushed.
“Umm, I’m the one who called about the lessons,” Basher finally said, his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at the colorful man graciously greeting them.
“Yes, my husband told me you’d be stopping by. And I have to say, taking someone to a pottery class as a date is just so romantic!”
Nelson turned to look at Cameron. “This one’s a keeper.”
Cameron chuckled. “I sure hope so.”
“Okay, enough embarrassing the burly caveman. Right this way, gentlemen!”
They followed Nelson into the living room and sat behind one of the tables, where two pottery wheels were set up, one next to the other.
“Okay, so today I’ll walk you through the basics and then help you both as you design your pottery masterpiece.”
Cameron looked over at Basher, who was busy poking the piece of clay Nelson had plopped down in front of him. It was cute to see the childlike fascination with which Basher seemed to be playing.
Basher glanced up at him, his cheeks blushing when he realized he had been caught playing with his clay.
“Okay, so first you’re going to dip your fingers in the bowl of water beside you to get them nice and wet. This will help keep the clay lubricated while you manipulate it as it spins on the wheel. Don’t worry, if your clay fucks up, you can always start again.”
Cameron and Basher both wet their hands, then placed them on the small piece of clay.
“Okay. Now you are going to activate the wheel by pressing down on the pedal beneath the table.”
They both pressed down and jumped when the wheel began to move and the clay ball suddenly started turning.
Basher’s ball immediately squished together and poured out from the top of his hands.
The look on Basher’s face—you would have thought he had squeezed a puppy to death. Cameron couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Umm, I guess I squeezed it too hard,” Basher said, pulling the clay mush back together and trying to force it into a ball as the wheel beneath him continued to turn.
Cameron’s clay was starting to take shape, slowly rising toward the ceiling, like a storm funnel coming alive.
“Oh! I think I’ve got it!” Cameron cheered just as the firm cylinder decided to collapse, falling to the left and dying a horrible death.
Beside him, Basher gave a snort.
“Was that a chuckle?” Cameron asked, turning and glaring at him.
“Umm, not at all. More of a stifled laugh, contained by my desire not to be murdered on our first date.”
Cameron couldn’t help but laugh. The guy was a huge dork.
Next, Basher added more water. Working his hands in a circular motion, he slowly hollowed out the center as he worked the clay upward.
Cameron watched in amazement as the object began to take shape, looking more and more like a miniature vase.
“Now, I want you to use the wire to cut away the bottom of the clay,” Nelson instructed. “Then slowly lift the vase with both hands.”
Basher did as instructed, sticking his tongue out to the side as he focused on using the wire to cut the vase. Slowly, he began lifting the object, then stopped partway with a confused look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Cameron asked, stepping off the pedal of his wheel and leaning over toward Basher.
Basher held up the vase, then tilted so he was looking through the top and out the bottom toward Cameron.
Cameron burst out laughing.
When Basher used the wire to cut the base, he must have made the cut a little too high, basically cutting off the bottom of the vase. What Basher had now was a long, hollowed-out tube.
“Well… umm… that’s a good first try,” Nelson encouraged. “It might not hold that much water for your flowers, but art is subjective… so… you never know.”
Basher and Cameron both chuckled as they stared at one another.
He threw his failed vase attempt back on the wheel and began mashing it into a clay ball.
They spent the next forty-five minutes laughing and joking, watching one clay-filled disaster after another unfold before their very eyes.
Seeing Basher smile like that, so unguarded and at ease, was like looking up into the evening sky and seeing the stars for the very first time.
Basher was… absolutely… beautiful.
There was no other way to describe it.
Seeing the man’s walls fall away and watching the youthful boy he’d kept hidden and suppressed for all these years finally come out and just enjoy himself was like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life.
Cameron was simply enamored.
By the time their two-hour session was over, they were covered in clay and staring down at their… questionable creations. Cameron had made a mug—the rim slanted downward, and the handle was crooked—while Basher had made what looked like an ashtray on crack.
“You two are the cutest things,” Nelson said as he carefully lifted their creations and placed them off to the side. “I’ll let these… masterpieces harden over the next few days and then mail them back to you when they’re ready.”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Cameron said, wiping his hands with a rag and wondering how on earth he was going to get the rest of his clothes clean.
“Oh, I’ve got a hose out back you two can use to clean up,” Nelson offered, amused as he watched them both struggle to get clean.
“Yeah, that might be a smart idea,” Cameron agreed.
Nelson led them out back, then thanked them again for coming and hoped they had a good time.
“Actually, that was surprisingly fun,” Basher admitted, pulling off his shirt and rinsing it under the hose like he was doing laundry in his own backyard.
Nelson and Cameron exchanged glances.
“I’ll give you two some privacy. Holler if ya need anything,” Nelson called as he walked back into his house.
“Here, let me help.” Cameron tossed Basher’s shirt over a clothesline to let it dry, then grabbed the bottle of bodywash Nelson had given them.
He drizzled some soap into his hand, then took the hose from Basher and nodded for him to stand against the wall. Cameron squeezed the nozzle, laughing as a jet of cold water slammed into Basher’s chest. Basher jerked back, like he’d been shocked out of his skin.
Once Basher’s face and chest were good and wet, Cameron dropped the hose, then walked over to him with his hand full of soap.
Their eyes stayed locked as Cameron carefully worked the clay from Basher’s chest, then moved to his neck, cheeks, and forehead, taking his time as he enjoyed the moment.
“Jesus, you’ve managed to get this stuff everywhere.” Cameron chuckled as he wiped a piece of clay from the corner of Basher’s beard.
“What can I say? I like to really get in there when I’m using my hands.”
“I won’t argue there. Lean forward.”
Cameron began spraying Basher’s face and chest, trying his best not to get the man’s jeans wet with the wash. That might make for an uncomfortable ride home.
“So was this all part of your masterful plan to take your shirt off in front of me and seduce me with all your tattoos and muscles?” Cameron asked, glancing up at Basher’s face as he began to shake his head like a dog.
Basher stood up and flexed his chest, making his pecs dance before him.
Cameron laughed. “You’re such a nerd.”
“Yeah, but do I make you horny?” Basher asked, pumping his eyebrows like that would somehow make Cameron’s trousers drop.
“Always…” Cameron whispered, meeting Basher’s soft, pale eyes. Something about the way he looked at him made it impossible to pull away. He was hooked—completely, helplessly drawn in—and he knew, with a quiet certainty, that saying no to this man was going to become harder every time.
He hoped Basher would never realize just how much power he held over him—because if he did, Cameron wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to think for himself again.
Releasing the trigger on the hose, Cameron handed it over to Basher.
“Okay. Now it’s my turn.” He pulled off his shirt, then lowered his jeans so the top of his ass was peeking out at Basher.
He smiled when he heard Basher let out a growl.
Hmm, perhaps he had a hold over Basher as well.