Chapter Eight #3
“Oh, Jesse, these stairs are practically crumbling beneath us,” Arthur said from behind him.
“Arthur . . . I wonder if we should . . . maybe we could try a walk in a park instead.”
“In the snow?” Arthur asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Well, I know how much you like the snow and—”
“Jesse,” Arthur said, meeting him on the same stair. He leaned in close. “I would like to spend some time with you in private. I thought that was what you wanted as well.” He took a pause and wet his lips, his beautiful eyebrows pinching. “Do you want that?”
Jesse swallowed thickly. Yes, he tried to say, but the word wouldn’t come, his worry over their economic inequality seemingly having transformed his tongue into lead. Or some other, cheaper metal.
In an instant, Jesse was transported back to Illinois Industrial, where Percy had so frequently made little comments about their relative financial and social statuses, pointing out the patches on Jesse’s clothes or the poor state of Jesse’s luggage or even the cheapness of Jesse’s handful of personal care products.
Before meeting Percy, Jesse had known, on some level, how poor he was compared to some, but he hadn’t really internalized it. Not in such an intensely negative way.
What would someone as rich as Arthur Hughes think of his home?
Before Jesse could force a response, potentially to reiterate that he’d rather they spend their time elsewhere, Arthur’s lips found his.
And they were insistent and warm and hungry and perfect.
With a soft moan, Jesse surrendered himself to it, first letting Arthur explore his mouth and then letting Arthur push him back against the wall.
Jesse’s heart sped up as he began kissing Arthur back with an equal amount of passion.
Arthur’s gloved hand came to rest on his cheek, and even with the leather between them, Arthur’s touch still made Jesse weak in the knees.
When they parted, both men were slightly breathless. Jesse looked into Arthur’s kind, pleading eyes, the blue of his irises barely visible in the low light spilling into the stairwell from the floor above, and their beauty emboldened him to take Arthur’s hand and lead him upstairs.
Once they reached Jesse’s living space and Jesse caught sight of the tiny kitchen area, with its chipped floor tiles and rickety kitchen table, he once again found himself wanting to ask Arthur to leave.
It was as though the shame he felt over his little life in Bridgeport and the shame he felt over his failure to finish college and escape this kind of life, too, had coalesced and come to a crescendo, one that roared in his ears, each note of the sonata of inequality telling him that Mr. Arthur Hughes must have pitied him.
Jesse then turned toward Arthur, ready to protest him staying, but Arthur’s mouth crashed into his.
And the kiss was so eager, so passionate, that every ounce of Jesse’s shame vanished as he melted into Arthur’s embrace.
Continuing their kiss, the men began to walk to Jesse’s bedroom, neither of them even bothering to remove their outerwear before they shuffled through the main room.
Droplets of recently melted snow fell from the bottoms of their pant legs as they stumbled their way past a small sea of slightly beat-up furniture.
Jesse tripped twice on the way, but Arthur caught him.
He could barely believe that he was kissing Arthur Hughes.
The Arthur Hughes. The same Arthur Hughes whom he had once read about in one of the city’s newspapers, Arthur’s name listed alongside other important men in the city—sons of Chicago’s most prominent families who would someday inherit their parents’ wealth.
As soon as Arthur and Jesse were both across the threshold and inside Jesse’s bedroom, Arthur kicked the door shut with his heel. And Jesse silently thanked God that Giuseppe was still in the middle of his shift at the steel mill.
Kissing intermittently, they began removing their winterwear. Arthur snatched Jesse’s hat and flung it away, chuckling. That made Jesse smile, too, though a low level of nervousness was still percolating inside him, insecurity nipping at the heels of his fast-rising arousal.
Arthur began to play with Jesse’s hair, and Jesse let out a happy hum, Arthur’s playful-yet-lustful touch temporarily protecting him from his worries like an emulsion of beeswax and oil protecting skin from the cold.
Soon, both men were only wearing their long-sleeved shirts and pants.
Craving more of Arthur’s warm and validating touches, Jesse hooked his thumbs through Arthur’s suspenders to remove them, his member hard and throbbing in his pants.
But then Arthur suddenly pulled back.
“Wait, Jesse . . .”
Jesse’s heart plummeted to the floor as his breath caught in his throat. Every one of his muscles tensed as he waited for Arthur to continue, bracing himself for the inevitable rejection.
But then, Arthur said, “I’ve never been with a man before.”
And it was so much the opposite of what Jesse had expected Arthur to say that he couldn’t even be sure that he had heard the man correctly.
“You’ve—”
“Never been with a man. Ever. Not even once.”
Jesse let out a long breath, practically wilting in relief. Arthur’s cheeks reddened, and he looked away.
“I know that might seem strange to you since I pursued you so . . . earnestly,” he said.
“It’s not strange,” Jesse replied, instinctually trying to offer him some comfort, even though it was a little strange that Arthur had leapt into things so freely.
Arthur had been so brazen, so cavalier. Although, knowing Arthur as Jesse knew him now, perhaps that was simply Arthur’s nature.
Arthur looked up shyly, and Jesse managed a warm smile in response.
Sympathy pulled at his heart. Jesse could still remember his first sexual experience.
It had been with Percy. How terrified he had been.
And Percy hadn’t been the most caring person throughout the ordeal (regretfully, that seemed to be the best word for it, looking back now).
He took Arthur’s hand.
“Come here, Arthur,” he said, pulling Arthur toward the bed.
Together, the men lay on the mattress facing each other. Arthur took off his spectacles and set them on the nightstand. Jesse reached up to stroke Arthur’s cheek, his insecurities continuing to fade the more he witnessed Arthur’s obvious trepidation.
Arthur asked, “Have you been with other men?”
“Only a few.”
Arthur nodded a couple of times, seemingly thinking this over.
Then, he said, “I’ve only been with women. One woman. Her name was Ella.” Arthur took a pause and inhaled a trembling breath. “She’s my wife. Was my wife. But she . . . passed. During childbirth.”
Jesse’s eyes widened, and he reflexively covered his mouth with his hand.
“Tragic, I know,” Arthur said. “I probably shouldn’t have brought it up right now. But, well, I couldn’t let us continue things without you knowing this very important matter, horrible though it may be.”
Arthur’s truth settled in Jesse’s chest. His heart ached. Dammit, he hadn’t known that Arthur had experienced something so truly horrific in his life. In truth, he’d selfishly let himself think that people like Arthur might have been immune to tragedy.
“Jesse,” Arthur said, taking Jesse’s hand and removing it from his mouth.
“I know how shocking that must be to hear. For a multitude of reasons. I mean, to learn that I had been with a woman, and yet now I’m here with you, a man.
And then to learn that I once had a wife and that she passed in such a tragic way.
Oh, it must be a lot. But I’m fine now. Really.
Ella died a little over sixteen years ago.
I’ve had plenty of time to mourn. And then some. ”
“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled half-heartedly. “Thank you.”
But Jesse couldn’t yet bring himself to smile back. Guilt twisted itself around his hurting heart, and he looked away.
“I feel horrible for bringing you here.”
“Don’t,” Arthur pleaded. “I want to be here, Jesse. I’m so happy that I met you. I’m so happy to be here with you.”
But Jesse had trouble believing it. After all, everything was happening so fast. And Jesse . . . he was only a compositor. Why would Arthur choose to be with him, even only for right now, even only temporarily? Out of all of the men and women in Chicago—
Arthur cupped Jesse’s chin and lifted it, interrupting Jesse’s spiraling thoughts.
“I like you, Mr. O’Connor. And I want to be intimate with you.
I promise.” Arthur pressed a soft-but-insistent kiss to Jesse’s lips.
“I only mentioned Ella because everything I know of sexual intimacy, I only know because of her. And not only was Ella a woman, but our intimacy, it had . . . consequences. Ella and I were married in haste only a couple of months after we first went to bed together. Our intimacy brought shame on our families. Yes, they tried to pretend that our early marriage was planned, but everyone in our circle knew the truth, especially once we had Emma. And then Ella passed, and as a result, her parents moved away, too, leaving me to raise our child essentially by myself, though of course I had my staff and a wet nurse to help. Anyway, being with someone like this—intimately—it will be . . . a lot for me. And I needed you to know that before we continued. Because I need you to know me.” He paused, worry lines creasing his forehead.
“And I hope that you still want me now that you do.”
Jesse shook his head in bewilderment. Arthur was worried that he wouldn’t want him?! How absurd it seemed.
Jesse reached up to caress Arthur’s cheek. “Of course I still want you, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled. “Alright, then, shall we continue? But, ehm, more slowly?”