Red Dirt Heart

by N. R. Walker

  He studied me for a long while. “You didn’t finish your degree,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  I shook my head again. “No. My dad was sick but never told anyone, apparently. Then it was too late. I got a phone call from George telling me he was real sick, and by the time I got home, he was gone.”

  Travis sat up then and frowned. “Shit. Did you speak to him when you were at college?”

  “Yeah, it was okay. I mean, it was never going to be…” I started to explain then stopped. “I came home over Christmas breaks when I was in Sydney,” I said with a sad smile. “Dad wasn’t exactly an emotional man, but we were… okay.”

  “Did he know you… you know, liked boys?”

  I snorted. “Uh, yeah.”

  Travis was quiet and he seemed awfully interested in his hands. “He didn’t take it too well?”

  “Not exactly.” I imitated my father’s voice. “It’ll be over my dead body that a fairy runs this station. It takes a man’s man to survive out here.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said those words out loud. To someone else. I shook my head and sighed.

  “Jesus,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  I tried smiling at him. “Those weren’t the last words my father ever said to me.”

  “But he said them?”

  I nodded. “Right before he packed me up and shipped me off to Sydney.”

  “And you were never close after that?”

  “Or before it.” I scoffed. “When I turned eighteen, the boys took me into Alice Springs, you know, thinkin’ they’d get me drunk and get me laid. Well, that’s exactly what happened, but probably just not the way they thought.” My smile faded. “But then George caught me in the bathroom stalls of some bar with some guy. When we got back here, my old man knew something was up. George never said anything to him, but I had guilt written all over me and decided, in some foolish, wishful-thinkin’ moment, that he might be okay with it.”

  Travis just listened, not saying a word, not taking his eyes off me.

  “But having your one and only son, the heir to your well-respected station, as a faggot wasn’t on my father’s wish list apparently,” I said, not even trying to hide the bitter taste to those words. “Hell, it wasn’t even on his toleratin’ list.”

  I exhaled loudly. “He packed me up and sent me to Sydney, enrolled me in college and told me I had four years to get it out of my system. Then I could come back and help him run the station, find a woman, get married, have kids and be a son he could be proud of.” I smiled sadly at him. “At least he never had to live through such a disappointment.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Travis said quietly. “And you’re no disappointment, Charlie. Far from it. I bet if your father could see how you run this place, he’d be proud.”

  “Well, I doubt that, but thanks.”

  Travis opened his mouth and closed it a few times, obviously not sure what to say. I don’t know why I unloaded all that on him. I’d never told anyone what I’d just told him, and I was kinda mad at myself for doing it.

  Then breaking a long silence, he said, “You know there’s nothing wrong with being gay?”

  “I know that,” I answered quickly with more anger than I should have.

  I could feel his gaze burning into me and after a long while, he said, “Do you?”

  I looked at him then, questioningly.

  His eyes fell to his hands. It was the first time I’d ever seen him unsure. “It makes sense now.”

  “What does?”

  He took a little while to answer. “I wondered what demons lurked in those eyes of yours. And that’s what it is. You carry your father’s words around with you.” He stared at me with something I couldn’t quite place. “I can’t imagine the weight of them.”

  I tried to say something, but if he was aiming for a hard truth, his words hit their mark.

  He must have taken my silence for a reason to keep talking. “I’m sorry he said that to you. I’m sorry he didn’t understand. I’m sorry you’ve carried that for so long.”

  “I can’t change who I am,” I said with a shrug. “I know that. I tried. But I also can’t be who I really am. I can’t run Sutton Station as Charlie Sutton, the gay farmer.”

  “Why not?”

  I barked out a humourless laugh. “My father was right about one thing. You can’t have no fairy faggots runnin’ farms. Not out here.” I looked across the flat red landscape. “Men out here don’t deal with men like that.”

  Travis sat up and pointed his finger at me. “That’s bullshit,” he spat out; his anger was surprising. “Bull. Shit. I’ve got news for you, Charlie, but they’ve been dealing with a gay man for years, and they respect you. They admire you. Like your neighbour Greg, he was so grateful for you today.”

  “They respect me because I’m my father’s son, and they admire me for coming back and not walking away when others would have. Should have. But if they knew—”

  “If they knew, what difference would it make?” he said. “You’d still drop everything to go and help them. You’d still offer your time when you didn’t have it to give, like today. Jesus, Charlie, give people like Greg some credit. What you do in your bedroom and what he does in his ain’t nobody’s business.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” I asked.

  He looked up to the sky and sighed. “I just hate seeing you completely resigned to being miserable for the rest of your life.”

  “Who said I’m miserable?”

  Travis looked at me, daring me to argue, then he shrugged. The fight in him was gone. “Well, you’re not miserable now, because I’m here.”

  I snorted. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He was quiet for a moment, and then he sighed loudly. “I don’t mean to argue with you, and I don’t want to make you feel bad. I’m not criticising or judging you.”

  I raised an eyebrow to differ.

  He shook his head. “Really, I’m not. I know it can’t be easy. Actually, I can’t even imagine how hard it is. But I just wish… I wish they could see you the way I do.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What?”

  “The Charlie that you are around me. The one that laughs and tells really bad jokes. The Charlie who’s carefree and happy and who’s really smart and kind. How you are around me.”

  “I’m not any different really,” I mumbled quietly, knowing it was a lie.

  Travis’s eyes went wide. “Some people who’ve worked with you for two years have never heard you laugh!”

  “That’s staff, and that’s different.”

  “I’m on your staff, and I was here for one day and you were laughing with me.”

  “I was laughing at you. That’s the difference.”

  His mouth fell open, and I shot up and into the water. He ran after me and jumped on my back, pushing us both into the waist-deep water. I came up for air resting on my knees but Travis, keeping hold of my neck, swung himself around and straddled my hips. I wrapped my arms around him. Water dripped from his hair, his eyes were bright and he kissed me with wet, smiling lips. “I’m different to you and you know it.”

  “Are you always so…”

  “Right?”

  “I was going to say smug.”

  He kissed me again, slower and deeper this time. “Tell me I’m right.”

  I leaned in to kiss him instead of answering, but he pulled his face back. “Tell me I’m right.”

  “You’re right,” I told him.

  He laughed and shook his head. “No, say I’m right about being different to you.”

  My smile died and my heart rate spiked at having to speak this truth out loud. “You’re right,” I admitted before I lost my nerve. Right there, in the cool blue water and the red ochre rocks, I told him, “I’m different around you. I can be me around you. From the second I saw you sitting in Ma’s kitchen, I knew I was in trouble.”

  He leaned in and softly pressed his lips to mine. Then like it wa
sn’t enough—like it would never be enough—he deepened the kiss. He kissed me like he needed it, like I was air and he was drowning. I could taste emotion on his tongue and feel it in the way he clung to me.

  I carried him until the water shallowed and gently laid him down, pressing him into the sand as I lay on top of him. The water barely covered him, lapping over his skin, ebbing and flowing in time with our bodies.

  Our kisses were slow and warm, with gentle lip bites and his signature nose-nudges that gave me butterflies.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, kissing down my neck.

  I hadn’t realised I was smiling. “The way you do this,” I said, softly nudging his nose with mine.

  He rolled us over so I was in the water. I opened my legs for him and he settled his weight on me, then rolled his hips into mine. “I happen to like kissing you,” he said gruffly. “And that’s going to include these,” he said, nudging my nose again.

  “I happen to like it when you do that,” I told him.

  He bit his lip and stared into my eyes for a long, heart-thudding moment. “We probably should get going,” he said finally, almost a whisper. “If we jizz in here, you might get funky-looking frogs.”

  I burst out laughing, and Travis knelt up off me, palming his hard-on through his undies. He looked down at me, then at my crotch. “But if you want to stay…” He licked his lips.

  I gave my dick a squeeze and hissed. “You can explain to Ma while we’re late for dinner.”

  He leapt to his feet, grinning spectacularly, and held out to his hand to help me up. “Come on. Dinner first, you making me come three times later.”

  “Three times?”

  “Too much? Not enough?”

  I just shook my head. “Both.”

  * * * *

  Dinner consisted of Travis using his hands and recounting our helicopter mustering day to the entire table, making people laugh the way he usually did.

  I spent an hour or two after dinner with George going over the chopper while Travis looked on. We refuelled and cleaned her down and filled in the logbook, and when we were done, George called it a day. When we went back inside, seeing the house was dark and quiet, I’d barely got my hat on the rack when Travis pulled me into the hall and grinned at me.

  “Up for round one?”

  He didn’t even give me time to answer. His mouth was on mine and he pushed me backward into my room, shutting the door behind us with his foot. He pulled my shirt over my head and he was urgent, passionate. Desperate.

  I pulled away from him, needing air and a minute to make sense of the jumbled mess of thoughts in my head.

  He undid his jeans and squeezed his dick. “Charlie,” he whispered. “I’ve been on edge all damn day.”

  God, he was desperate. I kissed him softly and sweetly, setting the pace where I wanted it. Where I could make him feel so damn good.

  I pushed him onto the bed. He fell on his back and I gripped the legs of jeans and pulled them off him. He took his own shirt off and then his briefs as I undressed myself.

  “I put the box of rubbers in your drawer,” he said, scooting up on the bed. He took his dick in one hand, and after bringing one foot up to his ass, he found his hole with his other hand and he slipped one finger in.

  “Please, Charlie.”

  I grabbed a condom and the bottle of lube and threw them onto the bed beside him. He was working himself over, and it was turning me on just watching him. I’d never seen anything so hot.

  I knelt between his legs, rolled the latex sheath down my cock, smeared lube on my hand and took over. “Let me.”

  “I shouldn’t have stopped us at the lagoon,” he said, bucking his hips. “I’m so fucking horny.”

  I smiled and slipped his cock into my mouth. He groaned and flexed under me and it was then I slipped my finger in his ass.

  “Oh Jesus,” he moaned, gripping the sheets beside him.

  I sucked his cock and finger-fucked his ass until he was writhing and begging and finally coming in my mouth.

  I drank down everything he gave me, and while he was still convulsing with waves of pleasure, I pushed his legs up to his chest and sunk my cock inside his arse.

  His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open in a silent scream. I leaned over him, planting my mouth over his, letting him taste himself in my mouth. He was trembling and made a high-pitched whimpering sound in his throat that I’d never heard before. I thought it might have been too much for him, too much sensation, too much pleasure, but he clung to me. His arms were around my neck and his feet locked behind my back, keeping me there, and I oh so slowly thrust every inch into his arse.

  I wanted to draw out every fibre of pleasure he had in him; I wanted him to come again.

  I pulled my mouth from his to lean back a little. His lips were red and swollen and his eyes were still wide. Resting on one elbow, I slipped my other hand between us and took his cock in hand.

  He shook his head quickly, no no, no, like it was all too much.

  “I want you to come again,” I told him, still jerking him off.

  He grabbed my face and pulled our mouths back together, his tongue invading my mouth, and he tightened his legs around me. “Oh fuck,” he whispered into my mouth.

  I continued to work his cock between us as I rocked into him, as slowly and as deeply as I could. Then he cradled my face so he could stare into my eyes. It was intimate and beautiful, and a whole lot like making love.

  My hand stopped, my eyes closed and my head fell down, not wanting to see that look in his eyes.

  But he pulled my face up. “Look at me,” he whispered. Then he rocked his hips, urging me to keep moving. I pushed in again and again, making him gasp with each thrust, and his eyes got wider and he lifted his hips and he started to shake and tremble. His cock swelled in my hand and he arched under me, crying out as he came again.

  I let go of his cock so I could grip him under the shoulders, and I slammed into him. His whole body convulsed and jerked, and he groaned louder and louder.

  I covered his mouth with mine to keep him quiet and as soon as my tongue filled his mouth, I came.

  He clung to me as my orgasm swept through me, and when the room and my head stopped spinning, I pulled out of him and rolled us over. He whimpered and it was then I noticed he was still all twitchy and his hands were shaking.

  Instinctively, I pulled him against me and wrapped my arms around him. “Jesus, are you okay?”

  He laughed. It sounded a little maniacal. “Oh. Oh fuck.”

  I pulled back to look in his eyes and put my hand to his face, his forehead. “Travis?”

  He opened his eyes and they were swimming; he looked drunk. “I’ve never…” he said drowsily. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

  He was smiling and all pliable, still a little shaky, obviously more than fine. I pulled him back against me. “I think I found your prostate.”

  “Twice,” he said with a laugh. A shiver ran through him and he twitched again. He snuggled into me, tucking his hands to our chests, and I tightened my arms around him. He chuckled again. “Fuck. I’m still shaking.”

  I pulled the sheet up over us and kissed the side of his head. “Do you feel okay?”

  “I feel so fucking good right now,” he murmured. “So good.”

  I smiled into the darkness. I ran my hands over his back and he was so quiet, so still, I thought he’d fallen asleep.

  Then he pressed his lips to my chest. “I had the best day today.”

  I smiled and closed my eyes. It’d had been a great day. One of the best, if I was truly honest. It was a hot night, the ceiling fan not making a lick of difference to the air in room. And as hot as it was with him in my arms, I didn’t want to move.

  And when I woke in the morning, he was still in my bed. He was on his stomach, his head turned to face the wall and the sheet down to his waist. I marvelled at the lines of his back, that so-soft hair at the nape of his neck, and the curve of his ass under th
e sheet.

  My bed smelled of him, I smelled of him, and even though I knew he shouldn’t spend the night in my bed—it was too high a risk of being caught—I didn’t care.

  The sight of him in my bed, sound asleep with sex-sleep-tousled hair, was something I’d never forget. I took in everything: every line, every muscle, the way the colours changed on his skin as the room grew lighter, and I burned it into memory.

  I wanted to be able to recall, with perfect clarity, everything about this moment in five, ten or fifty years. Because I knew once he left, once he went back home to the States, I’d never have this again.

  * * * *

  Travis was having a Skype conversation with his mum. It was on my laptop, which I’d happily handed over when he said it was his mother’s birthday. From the kitchen, I could hear him telling her how much he was enjoying it. I didn’t think twice about it, I made him a coffee, walked into the lounge room, handed it to him and sat down beside him.

  “Mum, this is Charlie,” Travis said.

  That was when I looked at the screen and saw a woman’s smiling face on it.

  “Shit,” I mumbled and stood up, careful not to spill my cup of tea. I didn’t realise it was a video call; I thought he just meant a Skype voice call.

  Travis grabbed my hand and pulled me back down to the lounge. “He’s not normally this shy.”

  I planted a smile on my face and whispered to Travis, “I thought it was just a call. I didn’t know she could see me.” Then I looked at the screen and smiled politely as I could, given my mouth was suddenly very dry. I took a sip of tea. “Hello, Mrs Craig. Sorry to intrude. I didn’t realise it was a video chat, and I apologise.” I cleared my throat. “I hear it’s your birthday. I hope you’re having a good day, ma’am.”

  There was a slight delay and the screen jumped, but the lady on my laptop screen smiled. “Hello, Charlie. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, her accent mirroring that of her son. “It is my birthday, and seeing Travis is the nicest surprise.”

  “Well, I hope you have a lovely day,” I started, trying to get out of this conversation.