Date: Thu, 2 Jun 2011 20:28:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: jim ford <sojourn1950@yahoo.com>
Subject: Unclaimed Hearts chapter 2

This story is fiction. The characters are adults in adult
situations. Warnings: The only person you can ever hope to truly know is
yourself. Trust no one; use condoms. If you are not of legal age or in a
jurisdiction in which this document is illegal, go way. This is my
story. Please respect the copyright. Sojourn1950@yahoo.com



The rest of the ride home was spent complaining about army life. I
explained that everything I got issued was a holdover from World War II. At
least he was given newer uniform items. We finally did agree that the chow
hadn't changed. I told him I actually missed S.O.S. It was actually chipped
beef in a cream sauce. Usually served over home style biscuits or
toast. Soldiers referred to it either lovingly or disparagingly as,
S.O.S... "Shit on a Shingle".

"You're in luck Bill, I picked up a jar of chipped beef. You can have it
for breakfast tomorrow... if we've taken the kitchen by then. We may have
to attack on two fronts. How close can we get the trailer to the back
door?"

I displayed my mental acuity to its fullest, "Hardy Har Har."

We rode in a comfortable silence. The sun was sinking and the glare was
making me squint. I reached over to pull my aviator sunglasses from the
glove box. Bill tried to push himself through the back of the seat to avoid
my hand. When I saw his reaction, I returned my hand to the steering
wheel. Bill was breathing in short gasps. His chest was heaving. His gaze
was fixed at the point where I had pulled my hand back. He stared as if it
was still there.

One time, I threw a garter snake in a girl's lap at a church picnic. The
look on her face was the same as Bill's, except hers ended in a scream.

His fixed gaze turned to me. His eyes were filled with
panic. "I... wheeze... can't... wheeze... can't ... wheeze... breathe!

 He was begging me to help him. I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the
side of the road. I jumped out and ran around to his side of the truck. I
jerked open his door and told him, "You're alright Bill. You're
alright. Turn around and put your feet on the running board." I extended my
hand... the same hand that started this "episode".

Bill grabbed it like he was going down for the third time. "I
wheeze... can't... wheeze... breathe!"

"Bill, trust me. We're gonna fix this. I want you to turn around and put
your feet on the running board." Bill was all but incoherent, mumbling
about "not touch". I wanted to get his head between his knees so he
wouldn't pass out. He was too tall to do that in his face forward
position. He was holding my hand so tight it was beginning to go
numb. Using my left hand I freed my right and grabbed onto his left knee to
pull him around. When I did he stopped breathing... he glared at my hands
on his knees and passed out. His head flopped back and hit the cab behind
the seat. His whole body relaxed and slid down in the seat a little. I
checked to make sure he was breathing and had a pulse. I took his right
hand in mine and patted it, calling his name. As long as he was breathing I
knew he would most likely be ok.

I had seen this before... hyperventilating. My college roommate had
it. Usually it hit before a big test or when he tried to kiss a girl.  He
lasted a semester before he dropped out. I had a lot of practice catching
him before he fell and waiting for him to come around. It got to where I
kept a small paper bag in my hip pocket.

Just like I knew he would, Bill came around. When he saw I was holding his
hand I thought he was going to go out again. I placed his hand on his thigh
and patted it. "Bill, you're alright now. You just fainted. You're
alright. Bill, do you understand? Bill, what's my name? Who am I?"

"Josh, I know who you are, but what happened? We were riding along and it
got hard to breathe. What happened?"

"I am not sure, but something made you hyperventilate. Have you done that
before?"

"No!" Bill lied. I knew it. He knew it. He knew I knew it.

"Well, you're alright now. Let's get you home." I closed his door and went
around the truck and got in.

Once we were back on the road and at cruising speed, Bill spoke. His voice
was soft and his head hung down. "Josh, I lied. It has happened
before. It's part of why I left the Army. I just, I just can't talk about
it."

I felt such relief when he said all that. "Bill, I can accept you're
hyperventilating. I can take you're not wanting to talk about it. I can't
take... you lying to me. I just can't. You can tell me anytime something is
none of my business or you don't want to talk about it, but just don't lie
to me. I can't take that... not from you. You understand."

"I'm sorry Josh, I understand. I give you my word it won't happen again."

"Fair enough."

I turned onto the gravel road that passed my place and two other farms
before it hit another two lane blacktop. When I turned into my drive the
porch light was a welcoming beacon. I was tired. We unloaded the groceries
and put up what was needed. I showed Bill around the house.

I've lived most of my life right here on this one hundred and twenty-three
acres. I wasn't born in this house but I reckon I was conceived in the very
bed I sleep in, horse hair mattress and all. The house was a two story,
rambling monstrosity. The front porch was deep and wrapped around both
corners. The double doors opened onto a hall way that ran the depth of the
house. There were screen doors hung in the warmer months to encourage the
breeze and discourage bugs. I had re-hung them just the day before. The
first room to the left was a sitting room. Behind that was Mamma's sewing
room. Whatever the room had been before, half was taken for a bathroom and
closet for the master bedroom. The master bedroom, now mine, opened into
the hallway and onto the back porch, sometimes referred to as the sleeping
porch.

The sleeping porch was screened with rollup canvas blinds that can block
the sun, most of the wind, rain or snow.  Even now there was a fold away
half bed that I had slept on for the last three nights. It had been
unseasonably warm and it was nice to hear the night sounds. There were
three more cots covered with canvas. These were used when relatives came to
visit. No matter what the season the kids would sleep on the porch. You
always had plenty of cover and hoped your bed partner was younger and
didn't wet the bed. The younger one could be bullied into getting the bed
warm. Once warm, the cold night air made for good sleeping. I have awakened
more than once to find snow on top of my covers. I don't ever remember
waking up cold. In the summer I always slept on the sleeping porch.

The sleeping porch could be accessed from the backyard of course and by
doors leading from the master bedroom, the hallway and the kitchen. The
kitchen shared the back of the house with the sleeping porch. Forward of
the kitchen was a butler's pantry and then the dining room. Next was the
den and at the front was the library. One man does not need all that
space. When my folks were alive I had the upstairs.

Bathrooms were added and remodeled over time. A full bath was in the master
bedroom. A powder room, accessible from the hall, butted against the
butler's pantry. A third and full bath was upstairs.

Since it had been warm over the last week I had set up one of the half beds
on the sleeping porch and had slept there instead of my bedroom.

I had done two years in the Army. That was followed by four years at state
university ... wanted to be a math teacher. Already had a job lined up
ready to move to Cleveland, when Daddy got hurt. An only child, an only son
has obligations. I didn't and don't resent the decision to come back and
help around the farm. Strange that Daddy's broken leg was the first in a
series of setbacks. Like all those years of life unobstructed had to be
paid for. Mama stressed about Daddy not getting any better until he finally
went back to the hospital to find out why his leg wasn't healing. Turns out
bone cancer can hold back healing as it spreads into your lungs and
elsewhere. I never saw Daddy walk again after that break. He was gone
within six months. Mama didn't even live to see Daddy pass. She worked
herself to a frazzle and had a massive heart attack carrying dinner to
Daddy. Daddy died three weeks and four days after we buried Momma. Some
folks insisted they were so close they wanted to go together. To me it just
happened. I still miss them both.

I didn't tell Bill any of this about my parents. I explained that I leased
out the land. Something else I didn't tell him was that I made my living
off writing trashy romance novels. You know the kind you never notice in
the drugstore or supermarket. They have some rendering of a handsome man in
a dominant pose with a usually compliant, buxom female at his feet. Yep,
that's what pays the bills and taxes. I didn't start out that way. I was
submitting Sci-Fi stories to magazines when I was a teenager. I was in the
Army, Fort Gordon, Georgia, when a publisher contacted me. Seems someone on
his staff read one of my stories that had a steamy encounter between my
hero and a sexy alien female. Long story short three novels a year and I
make more than a teacher and a farmer combined... Loosely translated, it
pays the bills. I sit in the library four hours in front of my old
Underwood typewriter. It's either four hours or two chapters. It's my
job. I don't cheat. Some days it's diamonds, some days it's dirt... but I'd
sit there. It's my job.

While I was toting out the things that Bill said had to go. He was busy
boiling eggs and chopping stuff. By the time I finished he had a chef's
salad ready. He mixed some oil and vinegar and it was really good. It's
home to me but it seemed somehow better with him here. It was almost family
again. While Bill cleared the table, I had time to think.

This had been a strange day."

I don't like people. Aside from a plumber and a roofing crew there has been
no one in this house except me, in almost four years. Yet, here I was
watching a stranger move around my kitchen as if he were home. Watching him
wasn't the problem. The problem was how I felt watching him. It was like I
had been doing this... all my life, as if I had been waiting... for Bill. I
tried to think about how I felt... Was he like a brother? A friend? What?
Thinking about it didn't seem to get anywhere... He would move a certain
way or he will look at me and smile and I become too distracted to think. I
figured he was just happy to have the promise of enough money to move
on. He had food and a roof over his head. For the moment he was content. In
two weeks he would be gone.

"Ok, now what." Bill was sitting across the table from me. A dish towel
draped across his left shoulder. He had that half smile.

"What do you mean, now what?" That sounded defensive, even to me, and
didn't know why.

"You been really concentrating. I figure you were trying to decide how
`best to use my talents'." The smile blossomed into that face splitting
dazzler. I got lost for a minute, just enjoying the feeling.

Finally I said, "Bill, I told you." I looked down looked at my hand as my
thumb stroked my fingertips. "I told you, I don't want you to lie to me. I
guess I have to own up. I am not sure why I brought you home. I don't like
most people. Hell, I can't think of anyone, outside of family, that I ever
cared for... except maybe one other. Bringing you here was, is so
strange. It's not like me. I never done this kind of thing before. I wish I
understood why I don't think of you as a hitchhiker I just picked up
alongside the road." I was still watching my thumb.

Silence, modulated by normal spring night sounds, held for a long moment. I
had to see his reaction. I looked up to see him staring at me. He was
scanning my face, as if reading a road map to find his location.

"Joshua, I can't say how you feel. I can tell you that from the moment I
saw you I felt like I was meeting an old friend. I mean right from the time
I walked up to your pickup window. That was a strange sensation. I
don't... I can't trust people. Shit, I can't trust myself. Not after, not,
well. I just can't. This place... you... make me feel comfortable. I think
that if either of us begin to feel uncomfortable with the situation, we
should let the other know and I'll leave. I won't be any worse off than I
am right now."

"Josh, I called my folks after I was robbed. They wanted to send money. I
figure I better write and tell them where I am and that I'm ok. Mom will
worry. Of course she'll worry more that I am not ready to marry Charlene
more than anything else." A slight chuckle, then silence.

I could have told him I didn't feel the same, when we met. Truth is I
didn't. I remember seeing him and taking stock, as I would any man. That
same feeling of "an old friend" came to me too. Just a little
slower. Standing there waiting to say goodbye, it was like family leaving
after a really good visit. Like back when I was a kid and life's rough
parts were still in the far distant future. When he hyperventilated because
of my hand, I wanted to cut it off. I don't even want to think about why I
would think such a thing. Truth is I didn't understand it any better than
he did.

"Fair enough. We better get you a bed set up. I sleep where I showed you on
the sleeping porch. It's cool in the early morning, but you won't get
cold. We'll set up a bed for you tonight. Tomorrow I'll show you my old
room upstairs. If you decide to, you can move your stuff and sleep up
there. It'll give you some privacy. Down here, we'll share the shower in
the big bedroom. You can put your ditty bag in the powder room. That will
be your bathroom. Towels are under the sink, in both bathrooms."

That smile, and then, "Fair enough."

I turned on the light on the sleeping porch and turned out the lights in
the kitchen. I asked if he needed a shower. I showed him where everything
was and made up his bed with clean sheets. Our beds were about ten feet
apart. They could have been twenty. It was close enough, without being too
close for comfort. Army barracks gave you about four feet... six if you
were lucky. Undressed, I draped my clothes across the chair I had set by my
bed for that purpose. When it came to me he would need the same, I went
into the kitchen and turned on the lights. Looking around I realized that
Bill's presence had already made a difference.

Our... my kitchen looked like it was ready for action. Ready for someone to
start breakfast. Bill had set up the drip coffee maker... I saw one in a
fancy shop in New York. The coffee was so good. I had to have it. I have
not regretted the price. I showed Bill how to set it up. He's a fast
learner. I grabbed a chair and turned off the lights.

Moving back to the porch, I froze. Bill had his back to me. I could see his
skin was lightly tanned except where swim trunks had covered his ass. His
broad shouldered torso tapered down to a slim waist that rode above a firm
and full backside. His skin was perfectly smooth, except on his right butt
cheek there was a scar, still a little pink. It was an "X".  I wondered how
he got it. Thought about asking but that would be like saying, `hey I was
just looking at your ass.'

 I watched as he dug into his duffle bag and pulled out a neatly folded tee
shirt and a pair of boxers. He shook the boxers to straighten them. I let
the chair drag against the floor. He turned toward me. I could see his cock
was long and the foreskin hung over the head and formed an almost nipple
where it came together. Even soft it was an impressive piece. He pulled up
his draws. As he pulled his tee shirt on, I had time to notice his chest
was filled out nicely. His front was almost as smooth as his backside. A
line of brown hair, darker than on his head, lead from his navel to his
boxer's waist band.

When I looked up to meet his eyes. There was a blushing smile on his
face. I found myself and moved with the chair to stand beside him. He
smelled of Lifebouy and... I reckon it was Bill. I sat the chair against
the wall and pointed toward my draped clothes. His eyes followed my
pointing finger and he nodded. He draped his clothes as I had mine.

I cleared my throat and moved to my bed. Mine was near the master bedroom
door. There was a light switch within reach so I could turn the lights on
and off, from my bed.  Once he was in bed I turned out the lights and we
said goodnight. I rolled away from him onto my stomach. Only then did I
realize I had a hardon. Further, I could feel the cool wetness of precum on
my boxers. I wondered how long I had been hard and if he had noticed?

As dawn crept in, I half awakened to the image of Bill passing my bed. I
think I saw his manhood hanging outside his boxers. Half hard and
protruding. It was longer and thicker than last night. I surrendered to
Sleep as I thought, `what a nice dream`.

When I awoke, it was to Bill nudging my shoulder. "Josh, Josh. Wake up. I
have breakfast ready. You have to wake up. I am about to vacuum. Wake
up. Here take this coffee. You were right. It's the best coffee I've had
since Europe. Now, here sit up and take this. He pushed aside my clothes
and sat facing me. I noticed he was still only in his boxers. The fly was
cracked open and I could clearly see part of his cock and brown pubic
bush. I scooted up into a seated position. He handed me my coffee. I
watched as his eyes crawled across my chest. I looked down to see if there
was something to draw attention. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked
up. My head movement must have drawn his attention his eyes met mine and he
blushed. His smile was not the one that warmed... it was almost to weak too
earn the title.

"Thanks, Bill. How did you sleep? How long have you been up?"

"I slept great. I got up about five. I have swept the hall and all the
rooms. The large area rugs need to be vacuumed. I'll hang the smaller ones
out on your clothesline. I'll beat the dust out of them. I've collected all
the dirty clothes and have done two loads. One is in the dryer. I thought
you said you picked up after yourself. I found enough clothes in your
closet and under your bed to almost make a load."

Under my bed?... Now, it was my turn to blush. I kept a hand towel under
there to clean myself up... Ok, I blushed, alright. Now, the shithead gives
me his face splitting smile. He knows! Great! Fucking great!

"Come on Bill. It's not like I'm going tell on you. We all need relief
sooner or later. You look kind of funny when you get embarrassed. Makes me
want to do it more often. You should work on that... Try not to encourage
me." With that he stood and slapped the inside of my right thigh. I had
bent my knee to hide my piss hard. Had he seen that too? Shiiit!

As he walked away he said, "Now get up. Breakfast is ready. The biscuits
are hot and I can't keep adding milk to the S.O.S. We have to eat
now. Let's go."

I didn't really want to get up while he could turn around and see my piss
hard already aligned with my left thigh. It would tent my boxers and
embarrass me, even more than his finding my cum rag.

"You go on in and I'll take a leak and join you in a minute."

His smile faded, "Ok, just don't dawdle." He had turned to face me. His
eyes, his eyes were looking at me... as if he was wanting to remember what
he was seeing. He shook his head. Then, "Eggs will be ready in a
minute. So, piss and come to breakfast."  He headed back into the kitchen
and I padded into my bathroom to take a leak.

In the kitchen, when he asked how I liked my eggs, "Sunny side up, yolk
runny with the whites solid."

"Sit, sit. I'll bring it to you." I refilled my coffee and took a seat at
the kitchen table. I watched as he moved. Nothing hurried, not a wasted
movement, smooth as glass.

All too soon, he presented my plate. He had split two biscuits and poured
the chipped beef in cream sauce over the biscuits. On top of that were two
fried eggs looking good enough to have their picture grace any restaurant
menu. When he sat the bottle of Tabasco sauce next to the salt and pepper
shakers, my dream breakfast was complete. I dug in with relish. It was the
best breakfast, hell, probably the best meal I had eaten in years. I didn't
praise his efforts between each bite... I was too busy eating. I didn't
finish everything. But, I did a helluva lot of damage with my attack. I
patted my belly in approval.

My hand slide up and idly scratched my hairy chest and right nipple. Bill
caught my attention. I realized that he had his fork halfway to his
mouth. It didn't move. I looked at his face. His mouth was opened to
receive the bite. His eyes were locked onto my hand. It took me a moment to
realize he may be having a seizure. "Bill?... Bill?... BILL!" When I
shouted, he shook his head and met my gaze. "Bill, are you alright?"

His eyes got wide, fearful. He exploded out of his chair, knocking it
over. He stumbled backwards until his back was pressed against the
wall. That was when I saw a wet spot on the left leg hem of his boxers. My
eyes were drawn by motion. Moving up I saw his cock throbbing against the
cotton fabric.

He saw me looking at it. In one movement he was up and out the door and
onto the sleeping porch. When I got to him he was jumping into his jeans.

Even as he zipped and buttoned he was half mumbling, "I gotta get out of
here. I should never have come. This wasn't right. It isn't right. It can
never be right."

Quickly he began stuffing whatever was his, into his duffle bag. He
literally ran to the bathroom to retrieve his ditty bag. When he came back
he was still mumbling, "I was crazy... to hope. It can`t ever be."

I swear all this time he didn't have a clue I was alive, let alone, right
next to him.

"Bill? Bill? BILL!  GODDAMNIT!" I moved to grab him, to shake some sense
into him. He must have been more aware than I thought. He jumped back
against the wall and stared at my hands, as if my very touch would burn
him. He looked at my face and melted and slide down the wall. When his ass
hit the floor his hands covered his face and he wailed. He cried, but I
mean he wailed the most mournful sound I ever heard a human make. If I'd
had a dog then, it would have howled in sympathy with Bill,

I was afraid to touch him. The day before my `almost' touch set him to
hyperventilating. Just now my attempt to touch turned him into a wailing,
heartbroken mess.

I went back to the Kitchen and wet a towel. I figured a wash cloth was not
big enough for this kind of misery and a bath towel was over kill... NO! I
didn't think of a hand towel... I was worried, ok.

I couldn't figure it out. Bill was this big, handsome, intelligent,
humorous guy. Then he was either panicky or a bawling mess. He was all man
and suddenly... like a frightened child. What made the difference? What
made him like... like this? Yesterday I didn't even touch... him... touch
him. Touch him!

"Bill, does it bother you when I touch you?" I had to repeat it over and
over again. Finally it penetrated his misery. His sobs diminished to
significantly less than gut wrenching. He'd taken the towel I had dropped
on his hands and wiped his face.  He tried to speak. He had to defeat the
sobs before he could really talk. I saw he was regaining some
control. "Bill, why don't you get up and lie down on the bed. I'll get you
some water."

He moved to get up. I hurried to the kitchen partly to get the water but
also to keep from helping him get up, to keep myself from touching him. I
absently wondered what it was about me that inspired such misery. I filled
a glass under the tap and hurried back onto the sleeping porch. Bill had
gotten up. But, instead of lying on the bed he was getting dressed. His
sobs were all but gone. He didn't look me in the eye. He accepted the water
with a muted, "thanks".

`Bill, are you leaving?"

"Josh, it's best if I just go. I can find my way back to the highway. I'll
catch a ride and be gone. Maybe you can forget about the idiot who fucked
up your life for a couple of days. I can't stay. Not after this. I just
can't."

He dropped whatever was in his hands and sat on the bed. I didn't know what
to do. I never saw a grown man cry. I can't remember when I last cried. It
wasn't what men did. I just didn't know what to do. I sat on the bed
alongside of Bill. I wanted to comfort him. Tell him everything was going
to be alright. But, I didn't know what was wrong. I couldn't hold him. I
couldn't touch him. How could I help him? How could I make it right. How
could I when I didn't know why he was hurting. I had never felt so utterly
helpless... so desperate... so alone.

My eyes burned. I was empty inside. It was a void so frightening I would
have sold my soul to fill it. I was empty and angry. Seething anger began
to wash my insides, filling the void. As the anger built the emptiness
diminished. Soon the anger became a burning rage. I wanted to hit
something, to beat something. I wanted to.. NO! I had to destroy something,
anything to feed the rage so the emptiness could not return. Oh, God!
Anything but that emptiness.

I jumped up and looked around for something to destroy, something to feed
the rage. Anything to crush, mangle, mutilate and destroy. Anything that
would keep this pain away. The first thing I saw was the chair I had
brought out for Bill last night. His clothes were all packed. He was
leaving, the chair would be useless again... forever.

I moved around bill and grabbed the chair. I jerked it up into the air and
caught it on the fly. I thought about smashing it against the floor. I
turned facing the screens. Throwing it through the screen was not enough
destruction. I needed more. I was desperate, I had to smash it... NOW! The
more time passed the more enraged I became. I thrilled at the very thought
of destruction. The wall shared by the sleeping porch and the kitchen
caught my eye. It seemed an Ideal anvil for my hammer. I could pound this
fucking chair to splinters. In a blind fury, bent on destruction I roared
as I charged. I stopped just short enough to slam the chair against the
wall. I swung hard for deep centerfield. The first blow did nothing, oak is
a tough wood.  I redoubled my efforts on the second blow. A leg broke off
and bounced to the floor.  Concentrating all my strength I slammed it into
the wall again. This time two legs and spindles flew away. The fourth leg
wasn't worth the effort. I wanted to crush the seat and break its back.

Even as I stood looking down at the still defiant chair. I thought about
taking what was left outside and running it over with my truck. I could see
it happening... I could feel the delightful rage building as I revved the
engine... The shudder of the truck as I popped the clutch The tires
squealing for traction... I heard my own maniacal laughter as I bore down
on the inert remains... As the chair disappeared from view and was about to
be crushed beneath my wheels... the vision dissolved.

Suddenly I realized I was standing over a broken chair. A chair that I
broke. I knew I broke it. I just didn't understand why.

I was weak. My knees were trembling so bad they made my shaking hands look
rock steady. I leaned against the wall I had so brutally pounded. I turned
to it to hide my shaking hands and strengthen my wobbly knees. I lay my
face against the cooling wall and let the sobs take me. I slide down the
wall to join the splinters and broken broken chair.

I thought about how I should have known it would come to this. Get close to
someone, anyone and my rage would surface. I loose control. The last time,
really the only other time, I had felt it completely take control... Other
times... oh, I'd felt it before. It would seethe just below the surface,
barely under control. It was always there... now it was back. My rage had
gained control. My worst fears were confirmed. I couldn't mix with people,
not without loosing control.

I suppose I fell asleep or passed out. I'm not sure. When I regained
myself, Bill was gone. There was no sign he had ever been here. He could
have been a dream or nightmare. I knew he was real.

My body was stiff. I got up slowly. I walked to the front door to see if
maybe he was still here. Maybe he had changed his mind. standing on the
porch I could see no sign of him. I checked the grandfather clock in the
hall way, almost ten... how long ago did we have breakfast? How long ago
did he leave. I had to find him. I had to know that he was alright, that I
didn't hurt him. If I could see he was unharmed I could go back to the way
things were. I knew, just as I had for years, I couldn't trust myself
around people. Still, I had to know that Bill was alright. I had blacked
out... what if? I had to see for myself that he was alright, that I hadn't
hurt him.

I stepped off the porch and headed for my truck. I was still clad only in
boxers. Moving quickly to the sleeping porch, I didn't take time to
dress. I just pulled on my jeans and ran barefoot to the truck.

At the end of the drive I wasn't sure which way to go. Had Bill gone the
opposite way that we came in so he could throw me off and maybe get a ride
before I could catch him. Somehow I reasoned that Bill would take the more
familiar route. He would head back to the highway and catch a ride. Had he
enough time to get to the blacktop and worse, catch a ride?

Almost every driver picked up soldiers. It was like a small act of
patriotism. I hurried on desperate to know that he was alright. I just
wanted to see that he was not hurt. If he was still walking I would simply
pass him by. I would slow down and look at his face, just to make sure he
was ok. The loose gravel bumped and dinged against the under carriage as I
raced along scanning the road ahead. I thought about stopping to check for
boot prints along the edge of the road. I didn't dare stop. I didn't dare
slow down. There were curves and rises along the road. The truck slide
coming out of one curve and became air borne toping a rise. Still, I
couldn't slow down. I had to see Bill. Finally in the distance I saw
him. He was less than a quarter mile from the blacktop. I could see traffic
moving along on the highway. If he made it there he would surely get a ride
quickly. I didn't slow until I was almost upon him.

He had heard my approach. He had looked back. Recognizing my truck he had
picked up his pace. He was trying to get away. To escape me... and my rage.

The emptiness came creeping back. My insides felt like I had never eaten,
never had a heart in there, never had anything inside except the goddamned
emptiness. I slowed even more. By the time I was upon him I was in first
gear. As the truck passed him he didn't look up. He studied the ground in
front of his feet. He looked tired, but unharmed.

I was going to accelerate, I was going to leave him behind, let him catch a
ride out of my life. I was going to, except I couldn't. Instead of passing
him, I cut the wheel to the right and blocked his path. I almost put the
right front wheel into the ditch that ran alongside the road.

When I got out of the truck I cussed the fact I had not even put on
shoes. It only distracted, it did not deter me. By the time I gingerly
stepped my way around the back of the truck, Bill had dropped his duffle
bag from his shoulders and was watching my approach.  I carefully picked my
way through the gravel and was standing only a few feet away from him.

"Your shoes were under the chair you didn't bust up. Your shirt," at this
his eyes roamed up and down my chest. I had stripped my belt out rather
than take the time to buckle it. Now my jeans were riding low on my ass. I
followed his eyes and realized the top of my pubes were showing. I tugged
up my pants. That motion brought his eyes back to mine. He continued, "Your
shirt was hanging on the same chair."

He was dressed the same as yesterday, sans jacket. I noticed how the blue
shirt made his eyes light up. I tried to focus. He was obviously ok. I
should get back in the truck and let him leave. I half turned
away. Glancing back I saw his face had fallen. His eyes were moist. I
turned back to him. "Bill, I had to make sure you were alright. I didn't
mean to frighten you. I know my rage is ugly. I've only felt it that strong
once before. It was a long time ago. That's the real reason I live alone. I
can't trust myself around people. I'm afraid I might hurt
someone... again."

"Josh, you had every right to be angry. I told you I would stay for two
weeks, you spent all that money and the very next day I tell you I'm
leaving. I am sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you and I'm sorry you broke your
chair. I'm just sorry." That last "sorry" sounded more like a judgment than
an apology.

My voice came out a whine, "Bill, I can't make you stay. If I thought I
could, I'd try. My temper scares me sometimes. I don't blame you, it was
reason enough to leave."

Bill was straining now to maintain control, "Look, that's not the reason. I
have to leave... I have to leave... I have to leave and that's all. I just
have to." It sounded to me like he was trying to convince himself.

If he was trying to convince me. It wasn't working.

"Bill, you don't have to leave. You can stay for the two weeks, continue
cleaning and cooking and more."

At that his head snapped and his face scowled, "What do you mean, More?"

"I wasn't sure what he meant by the question. I, I uh, I mean yard
work. Organizing the tractor shed. Getting the barn squared away ... lot's
of things... What did you think I meant?"

"Look, Josh. You might as well know..." His eyes searched my face. With a
defiant look, I'm... I'm... queer." His voice faded out and it was hard to
hear him. There were no other sounds, the occasional whish of traffic was
too faint to affect our conversation. The blood rushing through my head
made it hard to hear.

"Bill, what did you say?  I don't think I heard you right."



Some readers have contacted me asking if I had other stories on Nifty. I
have "Gordy comes Home" in Adult Friends and "Not yet Doc" in
Relationships. I answer all emails good or bad.