by JD Chambers
Ted’s shirt is soft under my palms, and his hair smells woodsy, like he used some “Man” brand shampoo and not a normal scent. He doesn’t have much hair, though, so he probably doesn’t worry too much about it.
“You’re doing great,” he says, and I can feel his chest rumble against mine. “Are you ready to go in?”
I clasp his hand in mine and let him lead me inside. I avoid looking down, because I am too intimately familiar with the ground back here. I don’t want to look around either, so I focus on the back of Ted’s ear, trusting that he won’t run me into anything.
Inside the doors, my tension eases, and I shake out my arms. Ted tries to discreetly flex his hand, but I catch it.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“No worries. But if you were ever unsure, you have very strong hands.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest and I release it. I haven’t heard it in so long, it sounds wrong.
The break room has a banner that reads “Welcome Back Dave” and balloons. Ted has obviously prepared everyone, because Craig and Elijah both welcome me back, but do so from afar. I approach them and give them both hugs.
“As long as I’m the one doing the approaching, I’m okay,” I tell them.
My shift is normal and boring and wonderful. The only thing that even remotely triggered my panic attacks were the swaying balloons in the break room. The way they loom and shift in the corner of your eye made me constantly on edge, so Ted took them to his office. The fact that I told him what I needed is progress, but then, it’s Ted, and I know he’ll do anything for me.
Walking back to Ted’s truck at the end of the shift, my brain is on autopilot, and I’m in his truck and on the way home before I even realize what it is that I just accomplished. A smile splits my face and I look over to see Ted grinning like a fool as well.
Arthur and Kieran join us for dinner. I actually see Kieran at the house more than I do Jonathan, and Jonathan is the one who actually lives there. After dinner, I purposely sit as close to Arthur as I can. This time, when he moves around, I don’t flinch. I breathe and feel and remind myself that here, with these men, I’m safe. It doesn’t always work, but I’m proud of my progress.
When Kieran slips onto the couch on my other side, it doesn’t even make a blip on my radar. Of course, Kieran’s so small, I don’t think I would find him threatening anyway.
“I went by the store and noticed that you’re working the shift with Ted on the second Saturday in November,” Kieran says, keeping his voice low.
“Okay. Sure. Probably.” That’s a normal shift for me, but not Ted. I know it’s because he’s trying to stay with me.
“I’m planning a surprise party for his fortieth birthday.”
“That’s a great idea. If anyone deserves a celebration, it’s Ted.”
Kieran has a goofy, lovestruck smile on his face as he nods in agreement. “I am going to be calling him away for an ‘emergency,’ but really it’s to get him to the party. But that would leave you there alone and without transportation. So, I was thinking maybe you could see about trading shifts with someone else?”
“I’ll be there,” Arthur interjects. “I can stay with you while you close and then take you to the party.”
“Really?” Kieran’s eyes light up. “That would be so great. Thank you.”
“Sure, just let me put it on my calendar.”
Arthur shifts behind me to get his phone from his back pocket. It causes a jolt in my chest, but I grab onto Kieran’s hands and squeeze. Kieran has thin hands. Long fingers. And they’re so soft, like he’s never done a day of manual labor in his life. They are also covered in freckles.
By the time I stop obsessing over Kieran’s hands, I’m better. I lean back into Arthur and he plants a kiss on my temple.
“Good boy,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m so proud of you, Puppy.”
I’m proud of me too.
After cuddling during a show, another small victory, I escort Arthur outside, intent on at least seeing him to his car, but he stops and takes a seat on the top step, so I sit down next to him.
“I don’t want to push you,” he says, “but I’d like to spend some time with Blue as soon as you think you’d be able.”
My immediate pullback has him expounding. “Not for sex. We don’t even have to touch. But Blue was your happy place. A place where you could let go of the things weighing you down and be confident in yourself. I keep thinking that maybe revisiting those feelings could be good for you. I’m not a therapist, so I have no idea. But you’re so very much a wounded puppy right now, and I just want you to feel safe and loved.”
God, doesn’t that sound amazing. What I wouldn’t give to have those feelings again.
“I think you’re right.” I take his hand and press it against my lips and speak the words into his skin. “But give me a few days, okay?”
“Whatever you need.”
I touch my lips to his, breathing slowly, letting every breath that we share fill me up with his love and trust and care.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask shyly when I finally pull back.
“Absolutely.”
Arthur gives my hand a squeeze, then heads to his car, leaving me to watch after him from the front porch. He gives me a final wave before pulling away from the curb and heading into the night.
If I’m going to bring out Blue, I need my gear. I pull my phone from my back pocket and find my mother’s number in my contacts. I take a deep breath before hitting “send.”
“Hello.”
She doesn’t say it like a question the way most people do. She knows it’s me. It’s her passive-aggressive way of letting me know she’s pissed.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me, Dave. I need my stuff.”
“And what stuff would you be referring to?”
I can’t repress the sigh that escapes. Seriously? After everything, we’re still going to play this game?
“You cleaned out my apartment and stored everything. Where? I’ve got a lead on a new place, and I need my things.”
“And I need a son who respects his parents and does what they ask.”
“You want me to lie to people and say Dad is a great judge, when honestly I’ve never met a worse judge of character or beliefs in my entire life? Fine. And what about you? You want me to live at home and go on walks with you and gossip about the neighbors because Dad leaves you alone and you’re so goddamn lonely you’d rather keep your son in a strange time capsule than let him grow up and have his own life. You’re right. I don’t respect that at all.”
“Your father is a fine man.”
“My father is a womanizing bastard who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me, and even less than that about you. You have to know this. I’ve known since I was in high school. Why you don’t divorce him, I’ve never understood, but it would make the world a much better place.”
“David Seville Taylor. I–”
“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s the truth. Are you going to tell me where my stuff is or not?”
A dial tone is my answer.
A couple of days later, I received a surprise visitor at Ted’s – Kieran’s boss, a lawyer named Cameron. Apparently, Kieran mentioned my woes with getting back my belongings, and Cameron came to offer to write a letter to my family for me.
“If your father’s a judge, maybe it will be a tactic he will respond to,” Cameron said, and although I didn’t like it, I agreed to the letter.
That letter is the only reasonable explanation I can manage when my father walks through the doors of Game Over a week later.
“David,” he says, approaching the counter.
I’m thankful for all the progress I’ve made with my panic attacks, because I do not want to cower in front of my father right now. I don’t want to cower in front of him ever again.
“Is there someplace private we can talk?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m working. We can talk out here.”
Dad glanc
es around but doesn’t seem to think the two twenty-somethings or the middle-aged guy that still wears a chain wallet are worth noticing.
“Fine. I’ve come with the key to your belongings. But I wanted to make something clear.”
He pauses, and I wonder if it’s for him to gather his thoughts or if he’s trying to intimidate me. My guess is the latter, which only further strengthens my will.
“Go on.”
The smoothness with which I toss out the line surprises him. It surprises me, and I mentally give myself a “good boy” and a head scratch.
“If you stay here in Fort Collins, if you continue to pursue the activities that you were before, I will have to cut you out of my life. I can’t risk exposure for the campaign. Surely you don’t want that. You can still come home and do the right thing.”
Ah, so it was me my parents were talking about so long ago. The one that could ruin his campaign. I didn’t know they knew about Blue at the time, but now that I do, the dots are connected. My dad isn’t going to hurt me, not physically anyway, but I can hurt him. Suddenly, having all the power changes things.
“I’ll take that key now,” I say, holding out my palm.
It’s the second time a piece of metal has filled up a piece of me that was missing. And this time, it’s not disappearing ever again.
25
Arthur
Puppy: Can you help me run errands this afternoon?
Arthur: Sure, what’s up?
Puppy: My old apartments called with a vacancy. I have to go sign shit.
Arthur: No problem. Dinner at my place after?
Puppy: Only if it comes with dessert.
Puppy: I was trying for a euphemism, FYI. In case you weren’t sure.
We haven’t “had dessert” since Dave’s return. I’ve been waiting for him to tell me he’s ready, and now that he has, I think a freight train full of nerves just jumped the tracks in my intestines.
Arthur: Then I will make sure to have treats ready.
Puppy: Woof!
After his dad dropped off the storage key, we’d discovered that all of Blue’s things were gone, along with half of Dave’s furniture and other belongings. Basically, any item that could give eye-witness testimony that “gay stuff happened here.” I could tell that Dave was devastated. He hadn’t seemed ready to play yet, but I’d wanted to be prepared when he was, so I’d ordered him some new things online. A show tail and a tail plug. A new leather bone. A new hood, this time made out of leather and soft as fuck. I had it custom made in a variety of blues, so that the main hood is dark blue, but the muzzle and ears are accented in a lighter blue. He’s really going to be my blue puppy.
All of these, I place in a bag next to the couch. I want them available but not looming where he might think I expect it. I want him to be comfortable doing however much he can tonight. But there’s a final wrapped box that I place in the middle of the dinner table. It contains a blue, lockable, leather collar for puppy play, a sturdy silver lockable chain for all other times, and an engraved lock and key. The lock says Arthur on one side and Blue on the other. I’ve been waiting for the right time to show him everything, and I hope tonight is finally that time.
The apartment manager shows us the efficiency, and it’s a mirror image of Dave’s previous place. Dave’s parents told the complex to keep the security deposit that should have been refunded, just like they had Ted keep Dave’s final paycheck. The only reason we can come up with is that they didn’t want to share their address and have us track down Dave. Thankfully, the manager is an honest guy, and is letting Dave forward the residual money from his first apartment to this one, so he doesn’t have to put any money down. After signing through an inch-thick stack of papers, the manager hands him the key.
The look on Dave’s face – it’s almost like he finally believes that everything is going to be okay.
I understand why Dave wants to have his own place. I don’t like it. I wish he had agreed to my invitation to move in with me, but I understand it.
“If I always have you there to protect me,” he said, “then I’ll never trust that I can do it myself. I don’t want to use you as a crutch. I want you with me because it’s what we both want, not because either of us feel like it’s necessary in order for me to be safe.”
If a place of his own is what Dave needs to move forward, then a place of his own is what he’s going to get. But if he thinks for a second that I’m not going to be there with him every step of the way, he’s got a whole lot of surprises coming. Because that’s exactly what the contents of that wrapped box waiting back at home on my table means to me.
Once we’re back at my place, Dave helps me with dinner. It’s so blissfully domestic that I’m sad this won’t be an every-night thing. Someday. When he’s ready, I’m going to move him in and never let him go.
“What’s this?” Dave asks the second he spots the box on the table. “Treat?”
“No,” I say, because my heart and my love aren’t a reward for being a good boy. They’re unconditional. “But it is for you, and you do have to wait until after dinner for it.”
Dave sighs and eyes it the whole time we cook. Even while we eat and I attempt to carry on a normal conversation, he can’t go for more than a second before glancing at it, as if to make sure it’s still there. When I take my final bite, he’s already up, taking my plate from the table and rinsing it in the sink. He returns and stands by my side at the table. Waiting. I can even hear his sharp intake of breath when I pick up the box.
“Come on, silly pup,” I say with a laugh, taking him by the hand and leading him to the couch.
I had a big speech planned, but words have left me, so I present the box to Dave and he takes it carefully in his hands. He unwraps it as if he’s been given a treasure that includes the wrapping, until finally he’s left with just a box sitting in his lap. He peeks up at me and I give him a smile. I must look a sight because his lips curl under, as if he’s trying not to laugh at me, but fuck, I’ve never been this nervous before.
Dave lifts the lid and I hold my breath. His eyes fill with tears as he stares wordlessly at the box. Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say. I had thought to be subtle and charming, but maybe what Dave needs is forthright honesty.
“This is permanent. It means I want to keep you. Forever.”
“But I’m not the same as I was,” he says, trying to blink away the tears that fall down his cheeks anyway. I lean forward and kiss each one, then lick each one. He wriggles and puffs exasperated breaths through his nose. “You’re not a puppy.”
“Maybe I should be. Maybe you’d understand if I was.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. How can you still want me? I’m fucked up.”
“I want you because I love you, David Taylor. No matter what happens, I’m in it with you. I want you because you’re you. Because you’re kind and loving and silly and fun. Because you’re hurting and you’ve been hurt. Because you’re healing and brave. Because you’re beautiful. Because you love me too. I will always want you and I will always love you.”
I reach for the hem of his shirt, and he chokes back a sob.
“We’re going to do this together,” I tell him and guide his hands to the edge of his shirt and help him lift it over his head. A red line bisects his torso from his sternum to his belly button. Another, more jagged, scar extends off slightly to the right. And finally, a round red scar is prominent in his side.
“What a good boy you are,” I tell him, petting his chest and shoulders. I only avoid the scars because I know they can be sensitive and I don’t want to cause him any pain. “So brave and so pretty.”
His pent-up sob releases, and he shakes his head back and forth.
“You don’t think so? Well, I hate to tell you that you’re wrong, but sweet boy, you are so wrong. I’m going to put your collar on you now. If you want it,” I say, still petting him with one hand. I wait for his nod before reaching for the puppy collar fro
m the gift box with the other. “Maybe that will help you feel how much you are loved. What are your safewords?”
“Red and yellow,” Dave says between hiccups.
“That’s right. I’m going to go slow, and I’m not going to hurt you. But if anything I do makes you the slightest bit uncomfortable, I’m trusting you to let me know. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And right now?”
“Green.”
I still keep my body slightly away from him, so as not to seem threatening, and I take one hand and slowly slide it from his wrist to his neck. He closes his eyes and leans in to the touch. With the collar in my other hand, I do the same thing on his other side, but trace the collar from hand to neck, slowly wrapping it around his neck. His breathing stays even, except for the click when I put the lock into place, when he releases a sigh.
“Forever, Puppy.”
I reach for his hands again and guide them to his pants this time. I help him with the button, but he pulls them down on his own. He stands back up straight and meets my gaze. His chest heaves with deep breaths, but his eyes place all his trust in my hands. That trust brings me to my knees, both literally and figuratively.
“Hold onto me for balance, so I can get your shoes.” Dave’s hand lands on the top of my head as he lifts one foot and then the other, letting me remove his shoes and socks, and his pants all the way. He stands before me only in his boxers, and I bend down and kiss his toes, one by one.
I grab the bag with all the puppy gear. “I know you lost your things, but I’m hoping these make up for it.”
Dave looks through the bag and gasps. He lifts out the new hood and I once again lick away the tears that fall.
“Do you want your belt tail or do you want your plug?”
“Actually, I got something too,” Dave says with a shy smile. He goes to the front door where he dropped his backpack and returns with a small box. It has already been opened, and he pulls out a tail encased in a plastic cylindrical sheath. I recognize it from nights we spent wrapped in each other, showing each other toys we thought would be fun to play with. I also recognize what it means, because the tail can be removed and the sheath left inside, holding him open for easy access.
