The creek lay in front of me, docile now in comparison to how it had looked after those heavy storms. Moving geometric patterns of sunlight lay on the slow-moving water. I stood on one foot, removed my sandal, and repeated. The bank here was low with a deep bend. Someone had laid down a little walkway of stones. If I stayed on them I could do this. I could get to the other side. I could do this.

  Toes squishing in sticky reddish mud, I set my sights on the opposite shore. Ten feet—maybe fifteen—separated me from Khalid. Using my toes to locate the slick rocks, I placed one foot down, making sure to breathe. My erratic heartbeat made yogic breath kind of hard. And then I scrambled back up the bank, too scared to attempt to wade through the water alone. How I would I ever reach Khalid? I paced that bank for the longest time, chewing on my thumbnail, telling myself that I had to try. Maybe I should go back and try to get over the bridge again? Yes. That might work. I was calmer now. I could do this. I snorted, the sound reminding me of a pug dog my great Aunt Trixie had owned. Rugger, that was his name, would make a sound that made you think he was harking up a lung as he inhaled between barks whenever the mailman was sighted. He also bit. I have the scars on my left calf to prove it. I really hated that dog.

  Dear God, just end me know because I have become Rugger. Rugger the dog, who was so terrified of everything and everyone that he barked and snorted and bit.

  A fly landed on my nose, took off, and then landed by the corner of my eye. I swatted madly and then ran back to the bridge, determined to get myself over that water and be like Rugger. Slapping a hand to the weather-worn railing I slid my feet onto the first board, my pulse wild and erratic, my mind manically searching for something to drown out the voice of Phobos whispering in my ear. It found lyrics to the song Khalid had whispered to me as we had moved as one in a slow dance over this miserable bridge.

  “Don’t burn my wings away from me. Don’t burn my wings away from me. I leapt from the tower and fell to the sea. Don’t take my love away from me.”

  With each line of the song, I placed a trembling foot on another board.

  “I made these wings with broken dreams and days that never end, with the hope I’ll see you soon at peace with the time for us both to mend.”

  Halfway across, my heart ready to beat itself free from my chest, I had a second of complete panic when the next line wouldn’t come to me. Eyes shut and fingernails gouging into the rail, I reached out mentally until I located the lyrics again.

  “Don’t burn my wings away from me. Meet me under the willow tree and soothe my burning skin. Time and patience are just out of reach, I’m tired of losing, just let me win.”

  That last line…so true, so incredibly where I was right now, struggling to make it to the other side to find the one who held my heart. Just let me win this one time…

  “I leapt from the tower and fell to the sea. Don’t take my love away from me.”

  “Dane!”

  A quick inhalation got me valuable air. Khalid was suddenly right there, pushing through the haze of the mental fog I’d slipped into. He hugged me hard, arms around my middle, and guided me the last fourteen steps and off the bridge.

  “You’re okay,” Khalid was saying, his hand rubbing my back reassuringly. “You walked across by yourself. Alhamdulillah.”

  “Go me.” I folded like a cheap lawn chair, relief flooding me. James raced up to us, his face flushed with exertion. “I had to find you…” The morning fell on me like a baby grand piano. When I thought it could not get any worse, tears showed up.

  “I know, love, I know. You were amazingly brave to cross on your own.”

  “Had to get to you. Somehow, I had to cross somehow…”

  His side was firm and obviously designed for me to rest against it, my sweaty head on his shoulder. “James came to find me. He told me about the row with your parents. Fuck but I’m sorry to be the one who did this to your family.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Nothing about this is your fault,” I said into his skin.

  We sat on the grass, my legs a little too unstable to take me further right now. The three of us sat there until I was composed enough to get to my feet. More than a little wobbly, I shuffled along beside Khalid, James staying at my side, his face tight with concern. I was soaked with perspiration that was now clammy and sticking to my clothes. I glanced back at the creek—and the bridge that spanned it—and sniffled in triumph.

  Emerging from the strip of woodland left along the creek, we skirted the chain-link fence around the tennis courts. When we moved past the pool which was also fenced for safety, I looked skyward and inhaled. The smell of chlorine was on the air. The high dive climbed right into the clouds it seemed. A small wave of vertigo set in. I swayed into Khalid, who slipped an arm around me while keeping me moving as best he could given my feet felt like they were tied to pizza boxes.

  No one said much of anything as we hurried along, up a rather small incline of thick grass and picked up a gray gravel path that led us down into a small gulley where two massive log cabins rested, their backs literally jammed up against the woods. Lodge employees milled around outside, smoking and talking, some dressed for work, many in street clothes.

  Khalid touched my arm to get my attention. “We’re not supposed to bring women into the guy’s cabin.” He reached up to pat my head. “Rules say nothing about having a dude in your room.”

  The worry over me being a guest among the staff ate at my now sour stomach. There was really nothing much said as the three of us entered the men’s cabin, although we did pull a few curious looks. Once inside, I gawked at the main floor. Rough wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling. There was a huge stone hearth which sat empty that faced a huge commons area packed with couches. About forty doors, which I presumed were all bedrooms for the employees, lined all three walls. It reminded me of a summer camp I’d attended when I was ten.

  The counselors were sure my fear of water would go away if I just got into the lake so two of them threw me in. Which did nothing to cure me of my aquaphobia, but it did help to make it that much worse. Thanks a heap for that, Ken and Bob, you assholes. I went home that day after my parents raised holy hell and threatened to sue. That was back when they thought I was a normal boy and still loved me.

  “Drew’s at the pool.” We slipped into room number six. It was a spartan room with two twin beds, two dressers that had been well used, two chairs piled full of dirty clothes, and a window that was open. James stood by the bed near the door, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. That fact he was so quiet was a sign of just how distressed he was. Khalid dug around in the dresser closest to the window then handed me a ball of clothing. “Get changed. We can hang your wet stuff up and then talk. I work from two to closing, so we have time to figure things out.”

  I nodded and handed him my dripping backpack. I stripped, turning my back to the others in the room, and handed my wet clothes to James as I peeled them off. Khalid’s clothes were soft and worn, the shorts down past my knees and the bright yellow tanks hem covering my ass, but they were rich with the scent of his skin. I lingered there beside his bed, barefooted and watching them spread my wet stuff over the backs of chairs or the windowsill to dry, feeling wretched and sickly and utterly helpless. What was going to happen now? Would my parents hate me, take the cash for college away and tell me to get my flouncy ass out of their God-fearing home? Where would I go then? How would I survive?

  I fell to the nearest bed—the one by the open window—and buried my face into the flat pillow. Khalid’s scent enveloped me, and I let the tears flow yet again.

  Someone sat down beside me, lifted me from the bed and cradled me to his chest. I rolled into him, the sobs slowing and then fading off into miserable little hiccups. Using his shirt to dry the tears, I blinked at the space where James stood just a few minutes ago.

  “Where did he go?” My voice cracked. Khalid’s hand came to rest on my head, his fingers moving down to my scalp.

  “He went back to your cabin to tell your parents you were safe and with me.” I nodded and blew out a long breath trying to get my shit together. “Want some music?”

  “Please.”

  He flipped on an old radio—one of those boom box things my mother talked about owning when she was young—and fiddled with the tuning knob. Resting on him, feeling his quiet strength seeping into me, I sighed a little when the Purple Cows broke through the static.

  “This song is this summer,” I announced, snuggling into him and pressing tightly to his body, as tightly as I could get and not be physically inside him. “Whenever I hear this song I’m going to think of us, and no matter where we are, I’ll find you or call you or text you.”

  He stopped toying with the radio, his fingers coming from the big purple monstrosity to my chin. He lifted my face and stared down into my eyes. His lashes swept downward and he kissed me. Gently—even timidly—because we were raw. Maybe because of the gaping wound or maybe simply because I worshiped him, I grew bold, taking his mouth, shimmying up and over him, pawing and desperate in my clumsy, inexperienced way. I didn’t let him say “Maybe we should talk instead” or “Maybe this isn’t the time for this” because it was the time and talking could happen later. Now was the time for us, him and me, Dane and Khalid, to know each other intimately. This I needed more than words or oxygen. This I needed to solidify who I was and what I had stood up for.

  His mouth on my throat made me wild. Maybe even rambunctious as my mother would say at times. I reached down to find the bottom of his shirt and yanked it roughly over my head. Khalid sat under me, my knees on either side of his thighs, my fingers now diving back into his hair. I kissed his face, placing small, light pecks to his eyelids and his nose—that magnificent nose that was so much a part of him that I could not imagine him ever getting it “fixed” as he wished to.

  “Never change a thing about you,” I panted then let my lips wander from his nose upward, between his eyebrows to his brow. I rubbed my cheek on his high forehead and then peppered it with kisses. “Never change a thing.”

  His hands roamed over my bare back…touching, rubbing, inching me closer to him, easing me firmly yet tenderly upward and into him so that my cock would soon rest on his chest by his heart. Two throbbing organs, filling with blood and life. He began lapping at my nipples, wetting them then blowing over them as I arched higher and back, my hands gripping his hair, locking his mouth to my flesh. Never in the hundred dreams over the course of a thousand nights had I ever dreamt this moment could be so perfect. It was more than the physical aspect of two young men coming together because that could be found anywhere, at any time. No, there was the spiritual aspect.

  The glory of knowing that the passions and desires that I’d lived with years had led me to this place and this time and this man. The touch of his tongue on my shoulder and the rasp of his soft whiskers on my skin moved me to near tears because here was what I was, what I had been born as. Here was what I had battled against, prayed to be saved from, asked God to change me into a “normal boy” to avoid and had never been able to escape from. Here, in this cramped room with wet clothes strewn around, here was the truth of Dane Forrester. Here was a gay man loving another gay man. Here was Dane loving Khalid. Oh, and it was right, and it was perfect, and it was rapture. Here I was. Here was Dane. Here. Was. Dane. Here was Dane…

  “Promise me nothing will ever change,” I gasped, lost in the hot rush of desire.

  “I promise,” he said into my chest, playfully tugging on the few sparse hairs with his teeth.

  I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but it was too soon. He might draw back if I said the words unspoken right now, so I kept them to myself. The right time for them would come and when it did, I wanted them to be fresh like linen on the line. I wanted them to be words filled with sunny scent and tender touch just as those sun-dried sheets are when you slide between them at night. I didn’t want them to be tainted by this mornings grief. He undid my fly. I bucked and writhed to aid him in pushing my shorts down over my hips to free my cock.

  “Ah, look at you.” Was he disgusted by my body? Had my cock somehow revolted him? “I’ve not been with an American before.”

  “What?” What did he mean? I squeezed my eyes shut, fear now rushing through my veins side-by-side with lust.

  “You’re uncut,” he murmured then kissed my chin. “It’s sexy, different, sexy though.”

  “Show me,” I said, pulling back just a bit from him and looking downward, the gutting fear gone now that I understood what had brought on his comment. “Show me your cock. Lay it next to mine.”

  “I love how you arrange words. It’s poetic. You should be a poet.”

  “I’m no poet. Poets have passion in their breasts,” I replied, wiggling back so that he could tug off his shorts. “All I have in my heart is fear. Fear of water, fear of bridges, fear of being who I am…”

  “Dane, you have more passion than most, it’s just never been freed.” He laid down then, and I lifted my ass from his legs, and we both tugged at his shorts until his cock was out. I was speechless at the sight. A circumcised prick. I’d never seen one up close and personal. Sure, there had been sightings in showers after gym but this was one was touchable. I sat down again, this time my ass on his knees and I touched his foreskin gently with one finger. A shudder ran through him. He braced himself up on his elbows, dark eyes fixated on me and what I was doing. “Can I play with it?”

  “My foreskin?” I asked. He bobbed my head up and down. “Yeah, go on then just don’t tug it down too hard.” My words were ragged and breathy. He gently pulled the skin down, eager to see the cockhead emerge. A tingle in my balls warned me that I was close to coming all over his thighs just by the mere touch of his fingers, but I had to learn more about my lover. My lover. My lover! MY LOVER! I wanted to shout those words from the high dive.

  “Do you like it when I do that? Does it hurt?” he asked on a raspy whisper.

  “Love it. Touch the head now. Easy though, yeah, nice,” I replied.

  His eyes glowed hot like melted chocolate. He ran his finger over the tip of my cock, working the thick droplet into my skin. “Work up here, just a bit. Yeah, nice. There.” I sat on his hips now. “Want to get off this way?”

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  He shook his head. “No, not now. We don’t have stuff and you’re not ready.”

  “I am. I am ready.”

  “No, Dane, no you’re not. This isn’t the right time for that. Not even sure it’s the right time for playing about. Trust me. You trust me, yeah?”

  I nodded because I did trust him. With everything that I was or would ever be. I leaned down to kiss him with all the trust I had inside. When the kiss ended, Khalid smiled, a soft smile that made me adore him even more.

  “Want to get off this way?” he asked again.

  “Yes, yes, I do.” He took my cock in his hand then pressed it against his. That tingle in my balls intensified, sending fingers of sensation to the base of my spine. “Help me, Dane, take hold of us. Yeah, that’s brilliant.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his hand. Together we stroked upward and then down, my foreskin slick now with our joined precum, it slid up and back with ease. I couldn’t look away. Hell, I might die a thousand deaths if my eyes left the sight of our dicks and hands joined.

  “Oh, no, fuck.” The orgasm dropped down on me like an unexpected twister on a clear Kansas morning. “I don’t want to come now. I want this to go on forever.”

  “Let it come, Dane.” His thighs shook, his head snapped back, slapping soundly into the thin pillow. He bit down on his lower lip, his fist pumping away, and came with me. I tried to keep my gaze on him, but the majesty of this moment overwhelmed me, and my eyes shut as my cock kicked. Hot, slick cum coated our hands. We jerked even harder, gasping and rutting, balls contracting, throats dry from primal grunts and groans.

  I dropped down onto him, my nose flat to his neck. He held me close. I ran my tongue along the thin chain around his neck then pressed a kiss to the crescent moon and star that was so much a part of the man I adored. Like his nose or his amazing feet or the fall of his hair around his ears, this symbol of his faith was Khalid.

  He palmed my head, fingers resting by my temples, his chest and mine smeared with semen, and he held me there, my lips resting on that warm metal, my spine and limbs lax, my cock growing flaccid.

  “We’ve got us a right mess, Dane.”

  Was he speaking of the cum we’d just spurted all over ourselves or the situation back at the Forrester cabin across the creek?

  “I know.” I let my eyes drift shut and pretended that there was nothing outside of this room. Khalid and Dane were the whole universe. Two heavenly bodies. “Just hold me a little longer.”

  Chapter Eight

  We lounged in his room until he had to go to work. Touching, kissing, talking, planning our future. Our future. His and mine. Together. We’d see each other every weekend as I’d suggested, switching who drove to whom every week. We were clever lads, he said while changing into trunks and a white tank top, his beautiful feet which I’d kissed and stroked while we laid abed still tacky with dried spunk.

  “Why clever?” I sat up to catch the clean shirt he tossed at me. We’d used the previous one to wipe ourselves clean with.

  “Been four hours and we’ve not touched on your row with your parents.”

  I looked from him to the window, my shorts draped over the sill, still damp but not dripping anymore.

  “I’m not sure what to do about that,” I admitted then tugged the blue tank down over my head.