Chapter 15 #2
The way he handled that knife was impressive.
I guess he’s done it a hundred times before.
The only food I know how to cut is toast.
I’m pretty good at cutting fire wood though.
“Wanna know a secret?” he grins. “I always double the butter. No matter what I’m making. Butter makes everything taste good.”
I’m trying so hard not to stare at his mouth.
But he keeps looking at mine.
This is not how I expected the day to go.
I think I’m gonna love it here.
It’s not like I’ve never had a crush before.
Nothing mutual though, not in a town like Jundah.
And not like this.
“Always flavour the pan before you add anything,” he instructs. “A nice hot surface to sear the eye fillet without losing any of that moisture. You want it tender, falling apart in your mouth.”
I can think of something tender I'd like to have in my mouth.
Ugh, I need to stop doing that.
This guy could recite the phone book, and I’d find a way to make it erotic.
And it’s not entirely my fault.
I’m sure he’s doing it on purpose.
“You wanna taste it?” he murmurs softly.
More than you know, I sigh.
Porter holds a spoon in front of my mouth.
“How about I let you hold it for a while?” he offers.
Please do.
Let me hold your long, thick... skillet handle.
This one’s similar to the pans I’ve washed for Rocco.
Heavier though.
“That's it. Give it a flick,” he says.
And I flick it.
“Uh huh, just like that. Move your wrist. Let those juices run down the side.”
Fuck, stop talking before I...
“You're a natural,” he smiles. “Don't let Franko see.”
“Why not?”
“Cos he might get rid of me and give you a raise.”
I'll give you a damn raise, I think.
You give me plenty.
Maybe it’s the close proximity.
His body brushing against mine, standing right behind me.
Maybe it’s the warmth from the stove.
But something wild has unleashed within me.
And I know I’m in trouble.
Deep, juicy trouble.
When I turn my head to ask a question, Porter is right there.
Our faces are inches apart, neither of us stepping away.
Eyes locked on me, he reaches for the knob and gives it a twist.
“Can't let the flame burn too long,” he grins. “Things might get out of hand.”
I hold the pan until my fingers ache, too mesmerised to put it down.
His mouth hovers closer.
The silence burns between us, a most delicious heat.
I feel his lips brush against my cheek.
And again, I don't step back.
Instead I slip a hand around his waist, pulling him toward me.
But then I hear it.
A shuffle of boots on the staircase.
A dull thud on the other side of the door.
Someone heaves a box of produce onto the counter.
“Not down here,” Porter whispers. “Not in front of the boys.”
The words sting, even though I understand.
“Blondie, whatcha cookin' for me?” booms the man who bursts through the door.
“Oh hello. Is this our country bumpkin, Mark?”
“Meet Franko, your new boss. Total wanker, aren't ya, Franko?”
His voice and demeanor have shifted suddenly.
Blokey and rough.
Not the Porter I’ve gotten to know one on one.
“Total wanker, that's me. Don't wanna scare you off too soon though, do we?”
Franko holds out a hand and I shake it reluctantly.
This middle aged hairy brute really went to school with Beth?
And he had a crush on her?
She was right to give him the brush off.
But he must be alright if she sent me here.
“See you buggers at sunrise,” he hollers, hanging his apron and clipboard on a nearby hook.
My shoulders soften as I hear him roam down the corridor.
◆◆◆
Sunrise comes and goes.
My first day is a little nerve wracking.
More fast paced than the previous kitchen.
But similar enough that I soon get the hang of it.
“Don't leave the pots on the draining rack,” Porter whispers.
“Why?”
“Franko likes them dried and put away.”
I nod. Good to know.
The first two weeks pass in a blur.
Early mornings, late nights.
Six days on. Mondays off.
The kitchen closes between two and four every afternoon.
Just enough time for me to explore the city.
I find the library on my second day there.
Holy shit, it’s gigantic.
Easily the biggest building I’ve ever stepped foot in.
Carrying heavy stacks of books up the hill becomes a regular thing.
I often return to work with pink book-shaped indentations on my arms.
◆◆◆
The only time I really see Porter upstairs is in the bathroom or the hallway.
And if anyone is watching, as they often are, he barely nods hello.
Until the following Monday.
The blokes have headed across town to play a game of footy.
Last week, we joined them.
I can throw a ball around as well as any rural lad.
But this time, both of us have stayed home.
“Too tired,” I hear him mumble when they invite him.
“Maybe next time,” I shrug, when someone knocks.
His door is shut when I venture out into the corridor to take a shower.
Maybe he’s taking a nap.
Or not.
There he stands, completely naked next to the mirror.
Toothbrush in his hand.
Towel crumpled at his feet.
Did it slip all of a sudden when he heard me walking toward him?
We stand there for a moment, eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirror.
I should get in the shower.
I should look away.
My thoughts catch alight.
Quit staring at his ass, you fool.
“You're allowed to look,” he says.
Then he turns slowly.
His cock is swollen and erect.
So damn beautiful.
First time I’ve ever seen a penis, aside from my own.
Not counting the stuff on my phone.
“Nothing like a little morning wood,” he smiles.
And with that, he saunters back to his room.
The towel has been abandoned.
I scoop it up, hanging it on the nearest hook.
My fingers fumble with the loop.
Locking myself in the cubicle, my breath is ragged.
“Fucking tease,” I moan.
Thick pearlescent cum circles the drain.
Gone are the days when I shower just to wash.
Should I stay home and cause trouble?
Or leave, and keep my promise to behave?
I can’t risk this job.
Not over some stupid crush.
I’d never hear the end of it from Beth.
So I pack the essentials, sunblock included, and dart down the stairs.
◆◆◆
Standing on the platform at Roma Street, I’m still thinking about him.
I count the minutes until my train arrives.
Beach day has finally come.
Might have been sooner if I hadn't been so distracted by boys.
One unclothed boy in particular.
“Come on,” I groan. “Think of literally anything else.”
Think of the sand.
Think of the waves.
I’ve been dreaming of that white sandy shore for more than a decade.
“Wish you were here, Ma” I whisper.
The same five words I wrote at the end of my letter last week.
I addressed the envelope to Mrs Ambrose next door.
Safer that way.
No return address.
Made a vague reference to living on the coast.
No mention of the city though.
The thought of my dad showing up here makes my stomach lurch.
So the less she knows, the better.
He has a way of getting information out of her.
“Fortitude Valley,” announces the intercom.
That place was a disappointment.
No leafy valley. No stars.
Too many bright lights to see anything.
Just a bunch of night clubs and tattoo studios.
Not my scene at all.
I feel naive for assuming that my starry sky would follow me here.
Never imagined that anything could possibly shine bright enough to tame it.
Sometimes I draw galaxies inside my notebook instead.
How odd to grieve the sky.
The one slice of Nowhere Land that I’ve pined for the most.
Here’s what I miss.
Mum, obviously.
Beth, obviously.
Her chicken pie.
Her plum cobbler, too.
But most of all, the stars.
Not the city boy kind.
Real stars.
I also miss Beth’s hugs.
Haven’t had a hug in weeks.
I know someone I’d like to hug though, in a more than friends way.
“Springfield,” a speaker announces. “Arriving now, on Platform Two.”
Stepping forward to the yellow line, I nudge my sneaker across it.
Lines are there for a reason.
Lines keep us safe.
I drag my shoe back again.
I’m fighting it.
Fighting to resist the memory of Porter's naked body.
How could I possibly forget?
The subtle bounce of his cock as he walked past.
The way I wanted to touch him so bad.
The way I want him to touch me.
Hopping off the train at Virginia station, I catch bus 306 to Nudgee Beach.
It’s the closest beach to the city, or so I was told.
Lovely for bird watching, said the librarian.
She didn't seem like the sort of woman who sunbathes.
But I don’t have a car, and I’ve spent all morning thinking about dicks.
So an afternoon trip is all I have time for.
Would people laugh if they knew that it’s my first time seeing a beach?
My very first glimpse of the ocean?
“The edge of a continent,” I whisper.
It sounds so magical.
Any moment now, I’ll see it.
I think about the first beach picture I saw when I was a kid.
Golden sand.
Turquoise waves.
Now I’m living the dream.
We made it, Little Mark.
We made it.
Shame about the weather.
Those dark clouds are looming.
It was sunny an hour ago.
Queensland skies can be so fickle.
“Why are you cloudy? Today of all days,” I mutter.
I’ll just have to make the most of it.
I’m sure it will still be wonderful.
Sadly, it turns out to be anything but.