by Jay Bell
“Hey.”
Tim looked up from his canvas. “Yeah?”
Ben licked his lips, his chest rising and falling a few times. “I love you.”
The breath caught in Tim’s throat. His mouth opened, ready to reply, then snapped shut again.
That bastard! Tim had never doubted that Ben loved him, but the timing was no coincidence. Maybe Ben wouldn’t play that card now, but it wouldn’t be long before he used it to define Tim’s sexuality. Still, hearing him finally say it felt amazing.
“Come here,” Tim said softly.
“Won’t that ruin the—”
“Just come here.”
Ben got off the stool and walked toward him, standing next to the canvas. His eyes searched Tim’s, waiting to discover what his response would be. Tim dipped the paintbrush into the yellow paint without breaking eye contact.
“Hold still,” he said. “Please.” Then he brought the paintbrush up to the center of Ben’s forehead and pulled down, making one fat stroke of yellow between his eyes, over his nose, and down to his chin.
“What was that for?” Ben spluttered.
“To make you prettier,” Tim said before laughing.
“You’re such an asshole!” Ben swung at him, Tim dodging easily and laughing some more. Ben chased him around the canvas a few times, swearing in frustration. On one of his rounds, he noticed what Tim had painted and stopped.
Despite all the distractions, Tim was proud of what he had managed. The painting was just Ben’s nose and lips. So far he had put most of the detail into the lips, working out his obsession with kissing Ben. The painting needed more work, but it had serious potential.
“Those are my lips!” Ben exclaimed. “I mean, they look exactly like mine!”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I don’t mean it like that.” Ben stared a little longer. “I like it, but why?”
He looked at Tim, who let his eyes dart down to the real thing. His own lips moved a little in response.
“Oh, I see,” Ben said knowingly. “You like what these lips can do.”
“Yeah.” Tim gave a sly grin. “I guess so.”
“You know so.” Ben grabbed a tube of blue paint, squeezed a glob on his fingers, and smeared it over his lips. Then he moved menacingly toward Tim. “Well? Come kiss me, baby!”
“No thanks.” Tim backed up until he felt the wall behind him, staring horrified at the blue fish puckers coming toward him.
“If you love me, you’ll kiss me,” Ben said.
Well, it beat having to say it. Tim closed his eyes and braced himself for the sloppiest kiss of his life.
* * * * *
“Are you sure your parents aren’t home?” Ben whispered as Tim unlocked the front door.
“Positive. They’re never home on Valentine’s Day. Usually they shack up in a bed and breakfast somewhere.” Tim did a double take. “Wait, I thought you wanted to meet them?”
“Not like this!” Ben gestured to his face where the yellow and blue paint had smeared together, making it look like green slime had leaked from his nose before drying.
“You’ve never looked better,” Tim said. “Ouch,” he added when Ben slugged him.
Tim must have looked just as bad. He could feel paint crusted on his mouth where Ben had kissed him. Hopefully it was non-toxic. He imagined the newspaper story, complete with a color photo of their bodies lying next to each other, their mouths stained with the same green hue. Paint Fetish Kills Gay Couple!
Tim grabbed a beer for himself and a Coke for Ben, but the war paint had weirded him out. “Come on, Benjamin. It’s time for your bath.”
As romantic as a candlelit bath sounded, the tub was barely big enough for them both, and Tim would have a hard time doing half the things he wanted to. So he turned on the shower and let the water get hot while he undressed his boyfriend. Ben was wearing a tangerine dress shirt Tim had never seen before, probably bought for this occasion. He slowly undid each of the buttons, adoring how Ben had trouble meeting his gaze at times like these. Crazy, considering everything they had done together. As wildly brave as Ben could be, he still had a bashful side, and it came out every time Tim touched him.
Tim wasn’t so ceremonial with his own clothes. As soon as Ben was nude, he tore off his clothing so they could get in the shower. Ben was under the water first, holding his head up to the stream, green water swirling around his feet. Then he switched places with Tim. When they were both warm and wet, Tim grabbed the shampoo and squirted some into his hands.
“Come here.”
“Oh, no!” Ben replied. “I’m not falling for that again.”
“I’m just going to wash you.” For some reason, Tim found the idea erotic. After a couple more suspicious looks, Ben came close. Tim met him halfway, letting their bodies press together as he worked shampoo into Ben’s hair. They both laughed at the process, but it turned Tim on like crazy. He went for the liquid body soap next, letting his sudsy hands rub all over Ben’s body, running them into every nook and cranny.
“Now I’ll wash you,” Ben said. He hadn’t rinsed off yet. Instead he grabbed Tim and pulled him into a hug, the soap acting as lube, Ben’s thin body squirming against his muscles.
“Way better than a loofah sponge,” Tim said, leaning back to squirt more soap between them.
Ben’s hand found their cocks, squeezing them together before he started pumping. Tim went for those lips he was so crazy about, but after a few kisses Ben turned around, having something else in mind. That was another first that had happened during Christmas, and they didn’t do it often, but Tim would never turn down the offer.
He grabbed the real lube, a small bottle he kept hidden behind the cluster of shampoos and conditioners. Ben was already going wild, grinding his butt against Tim’s crotch. Only when Tim moved away to apply the lube were they both more cautious.
Tim let his fingers explore first, whispering into Ben’s ear occasionally. “You okay? Does that feel good?” All he got was nods and moans in response, so Tim added more lube to his dick before he pushed inside a little bit.
This killed him every time, just as much as Ben’s songs did. There was something so undeniably emotional about the act, so bonding, that it was a miracle he hadn’t already let loose those three magic words. Tim could say them without lying, if he really wanted to. If they woke up tomorrow to find the rest of the world obliterated, Tim imagined it’s all he would say.
“Harder,” Ben hissed.
That was new! Tim wrapped his arms around Ben’s torso, hugging him tight as he pumped faster. He chewed on Ben’s earlobe, then rested his head against Ben’s neck like they were spooning, but of course they were doing much more. Tim was ready—had been for the last five minutes—but he held back, monitoring how tense his boyfriend’s body was. When Ben’s breathing quickened, Tim held back no more, his timing perfect. They came in unison, but Tim didn’t let go of Ben until their fingers and toes were wrinkled like prunes.
“Next weekend,” Tim said while they were toweling off.
Ben was getting the water out of his ears like he couldn’t hear, but said, “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll ask my mom to make chile rellenos. She always makes too many. You show up spontaneously, and I’ll ask if you can stay. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” Ben smiled. “You won’t be sorry.”
Looking into those sweet cocoa-brown eyes, Tim couldn’t help believing him.
* * * * *
The smell of battered peppers frying in canola oil filled the house, making Tim’s stomach grumble. Or maybe it was churning because of nerves. He paced the front room, wondering what was taking Ben so long. Dinner was going to be served any second, and if he didn’t get here—
The doorbell rang, Tim sprinting to answer it. Ben looked good. Almost too good. They were supposed to be catching a movie, or so the story went, with Ben showing up a little early. But the dress shirt he wore, while smoking hot, seemed too dressy for two
guys catching a flick together. Two straight guys, anyway.
“Get inside!” Tim hissed.
“And hello to you too,” Ben said.
“Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Tim dashed to the kitchen. His mom was singing in Spanish while poking at the peppers in the frying pan, occasionally turning or moving them to a dish lined with paper towels.
“Hey, Mom,” Tim said, coming up beside her. “Smells good!”
Ella smiled and kept singing. She always got like this when preparing Mexican food, the sights and smells whisking her back home again. Maybe that’s why she always made too many.
“You know that friend I’m going to the movies with? Well, he showed up early and hasn’t eaten.”
His mother stopped singing.
“I keep telling him what real Mexican food tastes like and how it’s different from the Tex-Mex around here, so I thought maybe he could stay.”
“Why don’t you ever bring your girlfriend by for dinner?”
Tim’s stomach sank. “Because she eats like a bird. So what do you think?”
His mother was quiet a moment.
“Please?”
Ella dropped a couple more peppers into the oil. “Set another place at the table.”
“Thanks!”
Tim kissed her on the cheek and ran back to the entryway, feeling twice as nervous now. Ben didn’t seem too comfortable, either. He was staring at the stairs he had snuck up so many times at night, but when he saw Tim, he put on an easy smile.
“How’d it go?”
“We’re good. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving!”
Tim took a deep breath. “Look, I was thinking. Just let them get to know you this time. Don’t play the gay card. Not tonight.”
“Tim—”
“Some other time, okay?”
Ben’s expression was grim, but he nodded. The knot in Tim’s stomach loosened slightly. Then he remembered he had to set an extra place at the table. He was doing so when his father came in the dining room, followed by his mother a second later, carrying the peppers.
“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Ben.”
His father’s brow furrowed.
“He’s staying for dinner,” Ella explained. “Gordito, get the rice from the kitchen. Your friend can bring the salad.”
“See?” Ben said when they were in the kitchen. “I’m part of the family already.”
Tim didn’t laugh. Was it too late to bail? Couldn’t they slip out the back door and disappear? The atmosphere at the table felt tense when they returned and were seated. Ben had met his match this time, Tim was certain. At least Ben was prepared. Tim had coached him as best he could, starting with the way his family said grace. Without any prompting, Ben bowed his head before reaching for any food, intoning the words seamlessly along with the rest of his family.
“And thank you to the Wymans for being kind enough to share this food with me,” Ben added at the end.
Tim glanced at his parents. His mother appeared pleased or amused, but his father watched with stoic puzzlement. Tim helped his mother serve. Ben made a big deal over how good the food tasted, launching into a big speech about how interested he was in Mexican culture, and how he had done a paper for school about Mexico City, where—surprise!—Tim’s mother just happened to be from. To Tim it all sounded phony, but his mother laughed at all the right moments and seemed genuinely flattered by his interest.
Tim was sure they were doomed when Ben started talking sports with his father, but that went even better. Ben got Thomas raving about the Kansas City Chiefs—a smart move since it meant Ben spent most of his time listening and nodding. Tim stopped waiting for the world to end and focused on stuffing his face. Really, this was nice. Usually when Tim ate with his parents they spent most of their time talking to each other. Now, with Ben playing moderator, they were treated like the couples his parents occasionally entertained.
“It is so nice to finally meet one of Tim’s friends,” his mother said. “He’s been so protective of his social life since Kansas.”
“Not protective,” Tim said. “I just like going out instead of staying home. I’m too old for sleepovers, you know.”
Ben’s mouth twitched with amusement, but he hid the smile, thank god. They weren’t playing a game here!
His mother turned to Ben. “Do you know his other friends? His girlfriend?” Mrs. Wyman asked.
Tim nearly choked on his food. He hadn’t thought to brief Ben about this. Romance was his mother’s passion. She loved her husband more than anything, more than him, so the one aspect of Tim’s world she always inquired about was his love life. If he didn’t have a girlfriend, she obsessed over it, so it was easier to lie and say he had one. “Of course he knows Krista!”
Ben didn’t miss a beat, even if his voice was strained. “She’s really pretty. Popular too.”
Tim’s mother was pleased. “And what about you? A fair-haired boy like you must also have a pretty girl.”
“Well, actually—”
Ben had that look on his face, so Tim kicked his leg under the table. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Krista? that look said. For that, I’m telling them. And to drive the point home, Ben kicked him back.
“I have a boyfriend.”
The words were out. Forever. Ben had spoken them and couldn’t take them back. His mother appeared puzzled, maybe wondering if her near-perfect English had failed her. His father cleared his throat repeatedly like he had swallowed a bug.
“He’s really great,” Ben pressed on. “Goes to the same school as we do.”
Tim was sure Ben was going to out him to his parents, right then and there. But then Ben started talking about Mexican cuisine, as if the bomb he had dropped was nothing more than idle chitchat. And Ben kept talking, tossing out subjects that his parents grasped on to because they were much more comfortable. By the end of the meal, it was like none of it had happened.
“If I knew one of Gordito’s friends was coming by,” his mother said, “I would have made tres leches.”
“Three milks?” Ben tried.
Tim chuckled. “It’s a type of cake.”
His mother smiled. “And it’s your favorite, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Tim said. All right, enough weird family time. “We have to get going or we’ll miss the film.”
Ben insisted on staying to help clear the table, Tim practically shoving him out of the house afterwards. Not because he was upset, but because he couldn’t wait to be alone. He kissed Ben the second they were in his car.
“That was awesome!” he said.
“Yeah.” Ben gave a humble nod. “I think I did okay.”
“You were incredible! You got more conversation out of my parents than I have in the last ten years.”
Ben smiled. “They didn’t seem so bad.”
No, they didn’t. Maybe the silence over the years had been Tim’s fault. He could learn a lot from Ben. Tim started the car and revved the engine.
“Where are we going?” Ben asked.
“To the movies.”
“On a Saturday night where everyone can see us?”
Tim grinned at him and nodded. Why the hell not? Ben had been right this whole time. There wasn’t anything to be scared of. Once they were cruising down the street, he reached over and took his hand.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Ben said.
“What?”
“Why did your mom keep calling you Gordito?”
Tim groaned. “It’s just a pet name, like how your mom calls you ‘honey’ in English.”
“Oh.” Ben mulled this over. “Well, doesn’t gordo mean fat?”
“Mm-hm.”
“So your mom is basically calling you ‘fatty?’”
“I was a big baby!” Tim said defensively.
“A fat baby?” Ben asked before laughing.
Tim smiled. “Hey, all this muscle had to come from somewhere!”
* * * * *
When Tim returned home that night, his parents were still awake. That wasn’t so strange, considering the hour, but normally they would be in their bedroom by now, watching TV or whatever else they got up to. He was glad that he and Ben had decided to play it safe tonight, because his parents had been waiting for him.
“Sit down.”
His mother was already seated on the living room couch, his father standing over her with arms crossed as he waited for Tim to do what he was told.
“What’s going on?” Tim asked.
Ella patted the couch. “We just want to talk to you.”
Tim took a seat at the opposite end, turned slightly so he could see her.
“We’re concerned about the kind of people you are associating with.”
Tim’s insides became a void that he tumbled into. He knew it had been too good to be true.
“He’s just a friend,” Tim said, wishing his voice had more power, but it never seemed to. Not when his parents were unhappy with him.
“He’s a homosexual,” his father said.
“Yeah. He didn’t exactly hide that fact.”
Thomas huffed. “Is that accepted at your school?”
Tim tried to meet his eyes and failed. “Not really. He has a hard time. But you saw him. He’s a nice guy.”
“He was very polite,” his mother chimed in, “but you know it’s a sin.”
“Not to mention how this reflects on our family.”
How it reflects on them. That’s what his father truly meant to say. But Tim had to try. For Ben’s sake, he had to say something.
“Didn’t you like him? Everyone got along so well during dinner.”
“We’re not barbarians,” his father snapped. “We don’t treat our guests poorly.”
“We did like him, Gordito, but unless you think he can change his ways, he’s going to Hell. There’s no way around that. It breaks my heart to think of a sweet boy like him there, but you can’t argue with God.”
Tim looked at his mother, at the tears in her eyes. She possessed as much sympathy as his father did anger, but was so wrapped up in her religion that Tim knew he could never change what she believed. He wished he could see her, just once, without his father and without her faith, because he was certain she’d be amazing.
