Aubrey
The world as I had known it was spinning madly out of control.
Or maybe that was just my libido.
As I hung off Hoyt like some sort of ravenous cowboy-eating vine there were little bells ringing in my alarm command center.
Tiny. Perhaps crystal bells being chimed by the abbot as he tried valiantly to remind me of my vow of chastity.
With this gorgeous man holding me like a delicate Ming vase I burrowed into his thick neck to suck a mark on it that could have rivaled the fading bruises on his left shoulder and throat.
The tinkling of glass bells ceased to be replaced by an air raid siren. Panic, unjustified and totally irrational, overtook me. I pulled away from his neck as the room began to siphon down to just me and that fucking word. Wriggly. Hank used to say that to me when he was…when he was…
“Stop. Stop. Stop. Put me down. Down.”
Hoyt immediately released me. My knees folded. I went to the floor hard, trying my best to suck in enough air to not black out.
“Aubrey…” His voice was soft now, worried, as he knelt beside me on the floor. Something snapped inside me. A soft little whimper escaped before I started weeping like a child.
“Sorry, oh my stars…so sorry…my…please don’t…don’t hate me,” I choked out then buried my face into my hands. “So sorry. Sorry. This is…you hate me.”
“No, hey, no, I don’t hate you. I like you.”
I shook my head so hard my glasses flew off. The tears continued. The poor man must’ve thought he’d made friends with a lunatic. Obviously he had. I was so embarrassed.
“I’m fretting. I’m fretting so big,” I cried out and bless his cotton socks, he slid his good arm around my shoulder.
I rolled to the side slightly so I could hide my face in his shirt.
Soft, flannel. Not like anything Hank would have worn.
Holy Hannah what the hell was I doing here?
“I’m fretting.” I curled into the smallest ball I could, tight to his side.
“Fret away,” he cooed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’m really sorry for doing something that set off a fret.”
I lifted my face from his shirt. Met his sad, sad brown eyes, and felt even more badly.
“You didn’t do this,” I assured him around a gasp and a sniffle. I must’ve looked like hell. What was wrong with me? “This is…me. Me. Fretting. I get upset too easily. He always said so, told me to stop wriggling when he was…when we were…when he was…”
“Shh, hey, I think I get it. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have used that word.”
“No, no,” I wanted to stay tight to his side but he needed to see me saying this to him. So I sat up, swiped at my tears, and eased myself back on my heels. “That word is…I’m stupid.”
He cupped my face in his right hand, staring deep into my eyes.
“You are the smartest man I have ever met. And I mean that. You are the farthest thing from stupid. Now me, I’m stupid.
I never went to college, hell, I didn’t even graduate, so that makes me pretty damn dumb.
Look at my poems. Four lines. About a horse. They’re dumb.”
That one made me a little angry. I put my skinny ass right on his thighs, took his face in my hands, and made him see what I was saying.
“A degree does not make a poet. You are either born with the gift of creative arts or you are not. Look at me.” He glanced toward the window over my shoulder then came back.
“You are a wonderful poet. No, hey, no, trust me. Look at me. I know all kinds of technical things about what makes a poem a poem. I can quote great works and tell you when this poet released that collection. But I cannot create a poem. I’ve tried.
I’ve wailed and wept and raged at the gods but what I scribble out lacks soul.
It’s cold, academic, blasé. Your words. Oh, Hoyt, they are filled with so much emotion, life, yearning.
It was beautiful. Do not ever let anyone tell you that your poetry is less. ”
“Abel told me only fags write poems. Then he burnt my notebook of works.” I could tell he hadn’t meant to let that slip. His eyes flared after his confession.
“Abel is your father?” I asked, still cradling his face. I never wanted to let go. A pox on Hank and his heavy-handed ways. May his prick go soft and stay flaccid forevermore.
“Yeah. That’s…this ain’t about me.”
“Mmm, I think this about both of us. Our baggage. Our pasts. I am so very sorry for leading you on then not delivering.” I kissed him softly. He moved into the kiss, slipping an arm around my back to cinch me closer but not too close or not too roughly. “If you want I’d be happy to suck you off.”
“Nope, no, that’s…nope. We’re not doing nothing out of a feeling of being obligated.
That’s not how this works. You’re allowed to change your mind, Aubrey.
No matter what or when or where. I gather someone was unkind to you, maybe held you down or something?
” I nodded as my hands fell from his face to rest on his shoulders.
I began to pick nervously at the sling tight to his left clavicle.
The bruising was fading, and I could see the tip of the red scar where his shoulder had been pieced back together.
“Hey, look up here.” I peeked upward. He was so handsome.
Why had I ruined what should have been an incredible sexual encounter by being a stooge?
! “I am so sorry someone abused you that way. We do not have to ever do that. Penetration isn’t the ultimate goal.
There are so many ways to show affection, to please each other.
If it’s too frightening for you then we skip it. ”
“I just…I never really cared for it. Anal. But he did, he loved it, and so he sort of…when I didn’t want to he would…”
“You don’t have to go into detail. That will never happen with us. I’m not that sort of guy. I want you to be happy and satisfied.”
“I mean I would if you insisted…”
“Nope. Never going to happen. What we do is perfect.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am ten thousand percent sure.”
“You’re the best man I have ever met.”
His eyes lit up as if I had handed him…well, something a famous bull rider would have owned that would be a fabulous present.
“Not so sure about that.”
“It’s my truth. Just know that I want to kiss you a lot. And do more. I just…I’ve been telling myself I would never give anyone my heart again and then you came along and…well, I liked you so much. I freaked out. I am sorry.”
“Nah, don’t apologize. Please. Maybe not riding the full eight seconds was a good thing.
Sometimes being tossed to the dirt teaches you a thing or two.
Like to take things slow and gentle. I never want to make you feel scared of me.
I know I’m pretty big compared to you. I will never rough you around or make you do anything you don’t want to do. ”
“I know. I sense that about you. May I kiss you?”
“Please.”
So I did, a long exploratory kiss that led us from the floor to my bed, fully clothed, eager to touch arms and chests through our clothes.
“Can we cuddle?” I asked, averting my eyes in case his grew hard like Hank’s used to whenever I asked for a hug.
“Sure. Get on in here. Let me take this off.” He went to remove his sling.
“Let me help.”
He did, with a soft smile, and soon we were curled on the bed, me on his lap, lying on him as if he were a big, flannel cowpoke tatami mat. I’d found my glasses on the floor and returned them to my face as he watched with approval.
“Does your shoulder hurt? Would you like another pillow?”
“No, it’s good. This is…perfect.” He dropped a kiss to my hair. “I like your glasses. And your face. They look good on you.”
“Thank you. It took me an hour to decide on these frames.” My cheek lay on his right pectoral, my arm across his firm belly.
Since I’d been such a ninny earlier I made sure not to get my fingers anywhere near his crotch.
Not that I didn’t want to touch his dick—did and badly—but tonight was not the night for that.
“Would you like some coffee, or tea, or maybe a little snack?”
“Aubrey, this is about as fine as anything in my life has been for a long, long time. Stay put and stop fretting over me. If I’m thirsty I know where the faucet is.”
“Yes, right, sorry. I just want you to be happy.” I ran a finger over the back of his left hand.
There were scars scattered over his knuckles, raised and white with age, that I traced with a fingertip.
The house was quiet. Somewhere nearby Roberto was crowing.
I hoped he was in the shed and not on a tree limb.
I had to get him settled into a coop with some lady chickens soon before something came along in the night.
Same with Ruggerio. I wanted to get him indoors at night at the very least. That would come after he was neutered.
“I am. Stop fretting.” He rubbed the space between my shoulders.
“This is very nice.” He made a sleepy sound of agreement. “Can you tell me about your other poems? Are there lots?”
“Nah, not really. A few. I didn’t do much on the road.
Didn’t want anyone to see me doing something so feminine.
” I made a face but remained silent. As if there weren’t a ton of famous male poets.
Why was anything that dealt with deeper emotions than stab, kill, punch considered girly?
It was stupid, and sexist, and denied so many men the chance to enjoy great works.
“I just started back up since I returned to Snow Creek.”
“I see. I was hoping you had more on you. The first one was so good.”
“Maybe I got one in my head. I mean…it’s not even on paper so, well, and I’m not great with grammar and such but I could maybe…if you wanted to—”