Author: Michael Thomas Ford
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/michael-thomas-ford/page,15,56261-the_road_home.html
“The digital one first,” said Burke.
Sam removed the camera and handed it to Burke. “Do you need me to do anything for you?”
Burke shook his head. “I’ve been practicing my one-handed method,” he joked. “But if you wouldn’t mind standing by in case I decide to fall over, that would be great.”
Sam took up a position to Burke’s right as Burke fussed with the settings on the camera. “This would be so much easier without these damn casts,” Burke complained.
“‘Nothing in this world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficult—’”
“Thank you, Mr. Bartlett,” Burke interrupted testily.
“Actually, it was Mr. Roosevelt who said that,” Sam replied. “Teddy, not FDR.”
“Just keep me steady,” said Burke.
He bent down as far as he could without losing his balance. He felt Sam’s hand on the small of his back and relaxed a little. He knew he could trust Sam to catch him if he started to fall. With that worry gone, he began taking pictures.
“That should do it,” he said after shooting a dozen images. “Now I want to try it with the Hawkeye and the Yashica-Mat.”
Again, Sam assisted him, taking the cameras out and acting as Burke’s bodyguard during the shooting. Burke was done within fifteen minutes, but even that amount of effort had tired him. “Do you mind if we leave?” he asked Sam.
“Not at all. I don’t see Tess or Peter anywhere around here, anyway. Just the two boys.”
“Now we have another mystery to solve,” Burke said. “Who was Thomas Beattie, and why is he here?”
They made their way back through the cemetery to Sam’s car. Once he was sitting down, Burke felt better. He couldn’t wait to get his casts off and tried not to think about how much longer he had to have them on. He distracted himself by trying to puzzle out who Thomas Beattie might be.
Then he remembered the picture he’d found in Jerry’s collection, the one that was labeled as possibly being of Amos Hague and Tess Beattie. There had been that second, unidentified man. “Maybe it’s Thomas Beattie,” he said aloud.
“Maybe who is?” said Sam as he started the car.
Burke told him about the photograph. “Now that I think about it, the guy and Tess do sort of look alike.”
“We can look him up back at the library,” said Sam.
As they drove, Burke took the digital camera and reviewed the pictures he’d taken. Not a single one showed any ghostly figures. He wondered what would appear on the film in the cameras. He was anxious to develop it.
“I need to shoot at the farm again,” he told Sam.
Sam nodded. “By the way,” he said, “I think you should do something with these photographs.”
“Like what?”
“Show them,” Sam elaborated. “They’re really beautiful. I think they’d make a great show. You can call it the Ghosts of War, or something like that.”
Burke laughed. “Yeah. They’d just love that in New York.”
“Who said anything about New York?” said Sam. “I’m talking about here.”
“Here? Where would I do a show here?” Burke said.
“I can think of half a dozen places,” said Sam. “The library, for one. It would be a great local interest thing. But what I’m really thinking is that you should do it at my friend Colton’s gallery in Montpelier.”
“Gallery?” Burke said. “What kind of gallery?”
“Art,” Sam said. “What kind do you think?”
“I don’t know. It just never occurred to me that there would be a real gallery up here.”
“Oh, it isn’t a real one,” said Sam. “He just sells cross-stitch samplers and finger paintings of maple trees. But they’re really good.”
“You know what I mean,” Burke said.
“Sure I do,” said Sam. “You mean that we can’t possibly have any real culture up here in the sticks. Your big cities have the monopoly on real art.”
Burke shrugged. “Well, we do.”
“We?” said Sam.
“I’m just saying, I don’t see myself doing a photography show here,” Burke said testily. “I’m sorry if I insulted the artistic community of Vermont.”
Sam looked at him. “You’re a real snob, you know that?”
Burke, taken aback, objected. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are,” Sam insisted. “You really think things are only worthwhile if people in New York or Boston or wherever say that they are. Isn’t it enough if you think they’re worthwhile, or if someone like me thinks they’re worthwhile?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Burke argued. “If your mother likes your drawing of a duck and hangs it on the refrigerator, that doesn’t mean it’s good.”
“Snob,” Sam said.
“Stop saying that!”
“I will,” said Sam, “when you stop being a snob.”
Burke, annoyed, settled into a resentful silence. He hadn’t expected such an attack from Sam. He’d thought they were friends. But now Sam was lecturing him as if he were a child. Where does he get off being so high and mighty? he thought.
Unexpectedly, it began to rain. As the first drops hit the windshield, Sam turned on the wipers. Within a minute they were working overtime, sweeping the water from the glass as it relentlessly battered the car. Burke watched it running down the window beside him.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said after a few minutes.
Burke grunted.
“I’ll take that as an acceptance of my apology,” said Sam.
Burke nodded. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“It’s just that I think you’re overlooking a great opportunity,” Sam continued. “Think about it?”
“Sure,” Burke said. He had no intention of considering doing a show, but he feared Sam wouldn’t shut up about it if he didn’t at least pretend he would.
“I’ll mention it to Colton,” said Sam.
Please don’t, Burke thought.
“Actually, let’s have dinner,” Sam said brightly. “I’ll invite a couple of people. Would you want to do that?”
Burke absolutely did not want to do that. The idea of talking about his work with people who probably wouldn’t know an Arbus from an Ansel Adams was not his idea of a pleasant evening. But he found himself nodding and saying, “That would be nice.”
“By ‘nice’ I assume you mean ‘excruciating,’” Sam replied. “But I’m holding you to it. How about this Friday?”
“I’ll check my appointment book,” Burke said.
Sam coughed, and for a minute Burke thought he heard him utter “Snob” under his breath, but when he looked over, Sam was only watching the road.
“You know, there’s nothing inherently virtuous about living in the country,” Burke said. “Some people might even say your attitude about cities is reverse snobbery.”
“True,” Sam admitted. “But I would argue that there’s a difference. People who look down on us poor country folk usually won’t admit that anything worthwhile can come out of here. We, on the other hand, admit that occasionally something good can come out of a city.”
“What’s wrong with cities?” Burke asked.
“Nothing,” said Sam. “If you like crowded, noisy, dirty places that cost way too much to live in. How did Thoreau describe them? Right. ‘Millions of people being lonesome together.’”
“Snob,” Burke said.
Sam laughed. “I’m just playing with you. Cities are fine. I’m happy to visit them. I just don’t want to live in one.”
“Because they’re crowded, noisy, and dirty,” Burke said.
“Well, yes,” Sam said. “At least to me they are. I’m sure other people find them beautiful and stimulating.”
“I do,” said Burke. “They’re alive.”
“Meaning places like Wellston and Sandberg are dead?”
“More like asleep,” Burke said. “Or afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” said Sam.
<
br /> “Changing,” Burke replied. “Anything new. I don’t know. Don’t you ever feel like you’re just standing still?”
As Sam seemed to consider the question, Burke listened to the sound of rain pounding on the roof. It was pleasant being inside the car, racing through the storm, as if they were in a protective bubble. For some reason it made him sleepy, and he closed his eyes.
“I don’t know about standing still,” Sam said, his voice quiet beneath the drumming of the rain. “Sometimes I think it makes it easier to make excuses for why you haven’t done certain things.”
Burke started to respond but found that he couldn’t. The rain was lulling him to sleep. Sam’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, and the rhythmic wush-wush-wush of the wipers drowned it out until it became just a whisper.
CHAPTER 20
“What was my dad likein high school?”
Will looked up from between Burke’s legs, where he was teasing the head of Burke’s cock by running his tongue slowly around the edge. They were in Will’s bed, in his room above his parents’ garage. Burke, already nervous about being there, felt his excitement wane even more.
Will tugged on his dick. “Well?” He shifted position on the bed, nuzzling Burke’s balls with his nose. He was lying on his side, his back and ass pressed against the length of Burke’s cast. His own cock jutted out, resting against his thigh.
Burke stared at it, trying not to picture Mars’s dick. It looks just like his, he thought. “I don’t know,” Burke said. “He was like most guys that age. Thought he knew everything.”
Will snorted. “He still does,” he said, running a hand up Burke’s stomach. “Did the two of you ever get it on?”
Burke flinched. “No!” he said. “Why would you think that?”
Will grinned. “You wanted to, though, didn’t you?”
“I never really thought about it.”
“Like hell you didn’t,” said Will. “I’ve seen his yearbook pictures. He was hot.”
“Can we not talk about your father while we’re . . . you know?”
Will pushed his nose beneath Burke’s balls and flicked his tongue against Burke’s asshole. Burke closed his eyes and groaned. For a guy who was new to man-on-man sex, Will had taken to it with a vengeance. When he placed a hand beneath the knee of Burke’s good leg, Burke let him push the leg back. Will probed deeper into Burke’s exposed ass.
“I want to fuck you,” he said when he came up for air.
“Uh-uh,” Burke said. “I don’t get fucked.”
Will laughed. “What do you mean, you don’t get fucked?” he said.
“I’m a top,” Burke told him. “I do the fucking.”
Will looked at him with a puzzled expression. “That’s fucked up,” he said. “What difference does it make who does what?”
Burke shrugged. “It just does,” he said.
“Have you ever been fucked?” asked Will.
“A couple of times, I guess,” Burke answered.
“Then what’s one more time?” said Will. He tickled Burke’s asshole with his finger, pressing against it.
Burke tensed up. “Not with my leg and everything,” he said nervously.
Will lay beside him. “You took my cherry,” he said. “I think it’s only fair you be my first, too.” He pressed his hard cock against Burke’s leg. “I’ll be gentle,” he said.
Again, an image of Mars, his dick sticking out of his pants, came to Burke’s mind. Pretend it’s Mars, he told himself. A moment later he rolled onto his side. Will pressed against his back. Burke heard him spit into his hand. Then the head of his cock was thrust between the cheeks of Burke’s ass.
He’s not wearing a condom, Burke thought vaguely, but he said nothing.
Will fumbled with his dick as he located Burke’s asshole. When the head was in position, he pushed forward, sliding inside. Burke gritted his teeth at the pain.
“Holy shit,” Will whispered, his breath hot against Burke’s ear. “It’s so tight.”
Burke closed his eyes. His thoughts went back to that night at the lake, and to what he would have liked to have happened. He and Mars were in the backseat, making out. Their clothes were on the floor, and Mars was on top of him. “I want to fuck your ass,” he said, his breath smelling of beer.
Burke felt Will moving in and out of him. Will had one arm around Burke’s stomach, his fingers wrapped around the base of Burke’s cock. As he pumped himself in and out of Burke, his hand matched the strokes.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped. “Oh, fuck, I love your ass.” But it was Mars’s voice Burke heard.
Will came with a groan. He pulled Burke to his belly and held him tight as he unloaded in Burke’s ass. When he was done, he pulled out slowly and rolled onto his back. A moment later he laughed. “That was fucking hot,” he said. He looked over at Burke. “You didn’t come.”
Burke was stroking himself, still thinking about Mars. When Will reached over and took over, Burke put his arm behind his head and thought about the taste of Mars’s cock in his mouth. He came not long after, covering his chest with cum. Will milked the last drops from him, then bent down and licked some of the cum from his belly.
“Now, don’t tell me you didn’t like that,” he teased Burke.
Burke didn’t reply. He was looking for tissues with which to wipe himself clean.
Will tossed him his T-shirt. “Use that,” he said. “I’ll keep it as a souvenir of my first time.”
Burke wiped the cum from his chest and dropped the shirt on the floor.
Will lay on his back beside him, his leg tossed casually over Burke’s. “I could do that fifty times a day,” he said.
Burke remembered a time when he felt the same way himself. When you were his age, he reminded himself. When had the thrill gone away? He recalled those early nights in the bars, looking for someone to go home with. Every man had been a potential lover; every encounter, another opportunity to experience the dizzying thrill of touching another man’s body, tasting his cock, fucking his ass. Just a glance on the street could send him reeling as he imagined the possibilities. Often he’d run home and beat off, thinking about what might have been.
Now here he was, in bed with a man half his age. A very attractive man who enjoyed making love with him. And it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as he thought it should be. He’s just excited because I’m his first, he thought. It’s not as if there are a lot of options for him. In the real world he’d never look at me twice.
“Why do you think guys suck cock better than girls do?” Will asked.
“I guess because we know what we like to have done,” said Burke.
“If I were a girl, I’d be sucking every cock I could get my mouth on,” said Will. “Fuck, I’d take on the whole football team at one time.”
Burke ran his hand through Will’s hair. “Careful,” he said. “You don’t want to get a reputation as a bad girl. No one will marry you, then.”
He imagined Will with a lover. It would probably be someone as young and handsome as he was. Gay twins, Gregg called them, men who so similarly resembled one another that they might as well be making love to their own reflections. They usually managed five or even ten years together before they looked at one another and, frightened by the signs of aging they saw mirrored in one another’s faces, they split up.
Sometimes seeing the changes in one another had the opposite effect and actually comforted them. Seeing that they weren’t alone in growing older, they stopped caring, or at least caring so much. But often this seemed to be accompanied by a kind of neutering, a gradual disappearance of anything remotely resembling sexuality, until finally the men in question were more like kindly old aunties than men who liked to fuck other men.
Burke sometimes feared he was heading for something in between. He’d never been particularly interested in men like himself, and he had no partner with whom to grow older. Like many men his age, he occupied a kind of limbo, not young enough to be the new face in the bars
that everyone wanted and not old enough to be—and didn’t want to be—the funny old queen whose jokes everyone laughed at. Instead, he was just middle aged and alone.
“Hey, maybe I’ll come visit you in Boston,” said Will, interrupting Burke’s dreary thoughts. “That would be fun.”
Big fun, Burke thought. Especially when you go home with some hot young guy and I spend all night wondering what you’re doing with him.
“Sure,” he told Will.
Will glanced at the clock on his dresser. “Shit, I’ve got to be somewhere in an hour. We’ve got to go.”
Burke dressed as quickly as his casts would allow. After checking to make sure Will’s parents weren’t around—Burke felt like a teenage boy slipping out of his girlfriend’s bedroom window in the middle of the night—they got into Will’s truck. Ten minutes later Burke was standing on his father’s porch, watching Will drive off.
“There you are,” Lucy said as he walked into the kitchen. “Did you have a good afternoon?”
“It was pretty good,” said Burke. “I took some pictures. Nothing amazing.”
“Well, your friend Gregg called,” Lucy told him. “Maybe that will cheer you up. He said he’ll be home all evening if you want to call back.”
“I will,” said Burke. The thought of talking to Gregg really did make him feel better. Finally, he could talk to someone from his real life. Then he remembered that his cell phone didn’t get reception there and that he would have to use the phone in the kitchen.
“I’ve got to run out to the store,” Lucy said, as if on cue. “I’ll be gone about forty-five minutes or so. Is there anything I can pick up for you?”
“Thanks,” Burke said. “No, I don’t need anything.”
“Your father is off doing God knows what,” said Lucy. “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” She winked at Burke as she picked up the car keys.
“I think I can manage,” he said, thankful for her kindness.
When she was gone, he dialed Gregg’s number and waited for him to pick up. On the fourth ring he almost hung up, as he expected Gregg’s machine to pick up and he didn’t feel like leaving a message. At the last second, though, Gregg’s voice came through the phone. “I break the door down to get to the phone and it’s you?” he said.