Something Like Summer (19 page)

“
Wait! Wait!” he giggled,
making a show of carefully setting his glass down before sprinting
out of the room, Tim in close pursuit.

They chased each other
arou
nd the hall, laughing and holler
ing,
and finally kissing once Tim caught Ben. The joking subsided as it
became clear that Tim intended to carry through with his idea.
Their heat was broken momentarily by a puzzled conversation on what
they were supposed to use for lubrication. They knew there was
supposed to be something, but their knowledge on the subject
stemmed mostly from gay jokes. Ben shot down Tim’s suggestion of
Crisco, and a raid on Mrs. Wyman’s bathroom failed to manifest any
Vaseline. In the end they found some fancy facial crème and decided
to make do with it.

“
Do you want to go up to
your room?” Ben asked uncertainly.

“
Nope. It’s Christmas.”
Tim took him by the hand and led him to the living room, which was
dark except for the Christmas tree lights.

“
Here?” Ben was bemused as
he was pulled down onto a bed of wrapping paper.

They began kissing each
other while trying to undress, twisting into odd positions in order
to remove clothes without their lips breaking contact. Ben went to
work on pleasing Tim, part of him hoping to satisfy him before
things escalated to the next level, but he only succeeded in
bringing the moment closer. Once worked up there was no stopping
Tim, who rolled over on top of Ben while fumbling with the lotion
in one hand.

Tim broke away from kissing
Ben to ask, “You ready?”

“
Yeah,” he replied, even
though he was anything but.

The first attempt resulted
in pain like Ben had never known, as if someone was twisting a
knife deep within his gut. Tim apologized, but didn’t hesitate to
try again. This time he managed to get it all the way in, but Ben
forbade him to move in the slightest as he tried to grow accustomed
to the feeling. He knew Tim was hung, but now it felt three times
as big as it looked.

Eventually Tim started to
move slowly. Just a tiny fraction of an inch at first, and then
more as the physical sensations overtook him. Ben gritted his teeth
and wondered how he would survive the experience as Tim’s thrusting
intensified. He had no choice. Ben would have to ask him to
stop.

He opened his eyes to do so
and saw his lover above him, his body bathed in the eerie blue
light of the tree. He face was lost in passion and more handsome
than ever. Ben was so taken by this ethereal vision that he forgot
his discomfort and relaxed. The pain disappeared, replaced by
something akin to pleasure. Ben reached down to touch himself and
the pleasure multiplied. Soon the chorus of Tim’s moans was joined
by his own.

He reached up with his free
hand to pull Tim in for a kiss, bringing their bodies closer
together in the process. Their movements became one, increasing in
need and intensity until they exploded together. Tim collapsed onto
Ben, his heavy bulk warm and comforting. They lay there several
minutes, catching their breath before they both started laughing
with mad joy at what they had discovered.

* * * * *

Streams of purple, green,
and blue rushed from three sides of the canvas, gathering together
wild and free before attempting to continue their journey
eastwards. The colors were halted by a dull grey barrier that
couldn’t be broken, even though all three streams had joined forces
against it. Was that how Tim felt? Was that why this painting hung
on his wall, surrounded by superficial contemporaries of car and
sports posters?

“
Do you want to see more?”
Tim asked from behind.

Ben started, not having
noticed that the sound of the shower had ceased.

“
See more
what?”

Tim regarded him cautiously
while toweling his hair dry. “Do you want to see my paintings? In
my studio.”

“
Of course I
do!”

“
Good. We can get some
breakfast afterwards.”

Ben expected the studio to
be somewhere in the house, but instead they drove to an office park
on the edge of the city. Tim unlocked a nondescript door in an
equally dull building and disarmed an alarm system by punching a
code into the keypad.

“
This is one of my dad’s
offices,” he explained as he ushered Ben inside.

“
What does he do,
exactly?” Ben asked as he peered into a shadowy sea of
cubicles.

“
Provides medical
supplies. It’s boring, but he makes a lot of money doing it. Over
here.”

At the end of a hall filled
with doors was one with its window obscured by paper. Tim used
another key on this door and flipped on a light switch. The room
was small but well lit, thanks to the large window occupying one
wall. Ben could see the backs of two easels that faced the window.
Before them was a small desk topped by large pieces of paper
drooping over the edges, each decorated with charcoal sketches. He
looked at Tim, tacitly seeking permission to proceed. Tim nodded,
but stayed by the door.

Ben moved to the desk first
to examine the sketches. They all featured the exteriors of
buildings. Some were more technical than others, but all of them
experimented playfully with shape and form.

“
Sometimes I think about
becoming an architect,” Tim explained.

“
They’re really good. This
one is really great!” Ben held up what looked like a skyscraper
that gradually widened the further up it went.

“
That’s supposed to be a
water tower.” Tim frowned to show his dissatisfaction. “I don’t
know.”

“
You should be proud!” Ben
said as he set it down and moved to the easels.

Work had only began on one
canvas, and the style was much different than Ben’s birthday
present or the art in Tim’s room. This painting was realistic
rather than abstract, and portrayed a man covering his face with
both hands.

“
Self portrait.” Tim
chuckled nervously. “I’ve been working on that one forever. Hands
are really hard to do.”

“
I bet. Why your hands and
not your face?”

“
Don’t read into it. It’s
just a part of me I can easily see. Maybe I should get a big mirror
in here or something.”

“
Or maybe I could model
for you,” Ben joked.

“
Why not? That would be
cool! Of course I would insist on painting you nude.”

“
In that case you should
probably opt for the mirror.” Ben smiled. “It’s cool that your dad
lets you use this space.”

“
Mom insisted. Some of my
paintings get pretty messy. C’mon. Let’s get out of
here.”

Once he was away from the
studio, Tim felt free to talk more openly about his art, his hand
clasped tightly to Ben’s the entire way home. Ben felt he had been
through a rite of passage, allowed to see a side of Tim that was
even more intimate than sex, no small feat considering what they
had done yesterday.

The revelation came then,
in a quiet moment when Tim was parking the car, one that should
have been accompanied by the swelling of music. His love for Tim
was real. Ben had lusted after his body, yearned to belong to him,
and later simply enjoyed whiling away the hours with him, but all
that had evolved into something much more meaningful. He wished the
current situation was appropriately romantic so he could say those
words to Tim, but it wasn’t. He would wait until the right time.
Until then, Ben would resign himself to expressing his love in a
way that didn’t involve words.

__________

Chapter 13

With the coming of a new
year, Ben felt himself reinvented. He enjoyed more freedom than
ever, was in an increasingly serious relationship, and had even
found employment. Ben had taken a part-time job at Zounders, a
local supermarket, handling menial tasks such as bagging groceries
or stocking the shelves. This earned him enough pocket money that
he no longer had to beg his parents, even though they now gave him
money twice as often in appreciation of his efforts. All in all, he
felt very much like an adult.

Even the world seemed less
lonely for an out-of-the-closet teenager. Evan, one of Ben’s
coworkers, was a year older than he was and went to school in the
neighboring city of Conroe. Evan was like a long-lost brother. They
even looked alike, both being thin and blond, but Evan had a wicked
sense of humor that was all his own. He was still in the closet but
wasted no time in coming out to Ben when he found out about
him.

Evan’s experiences at his
school were even more limited than Ben’s. He’d only had one sexual
encounter after loitering outside a gay bar one night, but hadn’t
enjoyed the experience and hoped to find something more meaningful.
He was cute and transparently interested in Ben, but he couldn’t
hold a candle to Tim. Ben made it known that he was dating someone,
but kept the details a secret, an attitude closeted Evan could
understand.

Ben’s adult life reverted
unwillingly to childhood for the five periods he suffered at school
everyday. He still skipped first period, but he did so now with
full confidence. His report card from the previous semester had the
standard “C” that he always received in P.E., and showed no
indication that he hadn’t been present for months. His name was
simply one among the many that the coaches ignored in favor of more
talented athletes and would likely remain so.

Spanish class was also out
of the picture. With his minimal language requirements met, Ben was
free to choose another elective. He chose journalism, in the hopes
that it would fuel his occasional interest in writing. At the least
it was guaranteed to be more enjoyable than struggling with a
language he was unlikely to ever use effectively.

Journalism started slow,
with tedious textbook studies of what constituted a good story and
the formula for writing one. By the second month this gave way to
preparing articles and photos for the school newspaper. The first
few articles Ben submitted received good grades but didn’t get
published. Feeling particularly sappy in the spring weather, he
then submitted a love poem that the teacher immediately suggested
should be printed in the next issue.

Ben was thrilled, not only
because his work was appreciated, but because it had been a very
progressive decision on Mrs. Jones’s part. His poem played the
pronoun game and remained fairly neutral until the last couple of
lines which were blatantly homosexual:

He looks into my eyes,
mine mirrored in his,

and we each see a boy,
lost in pauper’s bliss.

Mrs. Jones was no spring
chicken and didn’t seem the type who would publish something so
potentially controversial in a high school paper, but her
enthusiasm suggested she was determined to go through with it.
Perhaps literary types were simply more open-minded, Ben
mused.

Two weeks later and his
poem was in print. Ben grabbed a copy of the paper from the
newspaper machines on his way to second period, only having time
before class to check that it had actually been printed. The poem
was there, right along with his name and everything. As class
started, Craig whispered that his girlfriend had really liked it
and that he was surprised Ben had written it. Ben decided to take
that as a compliment. He received more good words in journalism and
a few jeers on the way to lunch, but they didn’t bother him. He was
most eager to hear what Allison thought.

“
Did you read it?” he
asked as she sat down next to him, the paper in one
hand.

“
Not yet; it’s been a
crazy day. I will now though.”

She dug through her lunch
bag and slowly nibbled on carrot sticks as she read. Her eyes were
wide and interested as they worked their way over the lines. Until
the end, that is, when her face scrunched up in
puzzlement.

“
What?” Ben prompted, his
stomach suddenly nervous.

“
It’s good,” was Allison’s
answer, her face still reflecting confusion. “I’m just surprised,
that’s all.”

Exactly what Craig had
said. “I don’t get what’s so surprising,” Ben insisted, starting to
feel defensive. “Straight people aren’t the only ones capable of
romantic feelings.”

“
That’s just it,” Allison
said, thumping the paper. “You wrote about a guy and a
girl.”

“
What?” Ben grabbed the
paper from her, hands clenching as he read the final
lines:

She looks into my eyes,
mine mirrored in hers,

and we each see a
soulmate, lost in pauper’s bliss.

“
The bitch changed it,”
Ben snarled. “This isn’t what I wrote!”

“
Who?”

“
Mrs. Jones,” he
explained. “My version was gay, but she changed it to this.” He
shoved the paper away from him, not wanting to look at it any
longer.

“
And she didn’t even talk
to you about it first?”

“
No! I would rather it was
never published than for her to ruin it like this.” He thought of
Tim, the source of his inspiration. Had he read it? Would he think
that Ben was more closeted than he had previously claimed? Or did
it make him think of Krista Norman and miss what they had
together?