“It’s just one Christmas,” Ben reassured her. “It’s not going to become a tradition.”
“There’s only one Christmas left before you move to who knows where,” his mom pointed out. “And what about your grandparents? They won’t get to see you at all!”
There was no winning with her, so in the end Ben promised to stay for Christmas dinner, which wasn’t so hard considering it took place in the early afternoon. As it turned out, he was glad he stayed. Aside from being there to receive even more presents from his relatives, he also was provided with enough leftovers to keep him and Tim fed for a week. In fact, it was too much to carry when Tim’s present was added to the equation, and Ben had to accept a ride from his dad just to make it there.
Tim was in a solemn mood when he arrived, which was no surprise considering the situation. Ben stowed away the food before kicking the house into gear. He put Christmas music on the stereo and sang to it while walking around the house and turning on all the decorative lights. He added his present to the multitude under the soulless, department store tree.
Not that the tree wasn’t attractive, but like all store-front trees, it lacked a certain personal touch. There weren’t any homemade ornaments and it was actually standing up straight. Who‘d ever heard of a straight Christmas tree? All the lights were the same color too, and as much as he liked blue, they lacked the multicolored gaudiness that was expected this time of year.
The holiday cheer that Ben was spreading like mad finally infected Tim, who regained his usual smile. He slow danced with Ben to the mellow parts of Bing Crosby’s song, Happy Holiday, and laughed as Ben did a jig to the up-tempo segment in the middle. A plate of leftovers, which Tim devoured ravenously, further soothed his spirits. Watching him chow down on ham and mashed potatoes faster than even Wilford could manage was oddly endearing.
“You ready for some presents?” Ben asked once he had finished.
“Oh, yeah!” Tim answered enthusiastically.
They adjourned to the living room where they started pulling out package after package. All of them were for Tim, which was quite shocking. Ben had assumed that they were for the whole family. Obviously the Wymans were trying to compensate for leaving their son alone.
“The haul was huge like this last time, too,” Tim explained as he unwrapped a new stereo. “At least it shows they feel guilty.”
The better part of an hour passed before all of his gifts were opened, leaving only two presents under the tree: the one from Ben and another small box wrapped in snowflake themed wrapping paper. Tim handed this to Ben somewhat shyly.
“You shouldn’t have,” Ben lied, accepting the present with curiosity. As he unwrapped it, a wonderful scent reached his nose. He knew it was designer cologne before he could read the label.
“I almost bought that for myself,” Tim explained. “The smell drives me wild, but you can never really smell it once you spray it on yourself. It’s kind of cool having a boyfriend that way. Now I can smell it all the time.”
“Oh, I like it!” Ben said as he sprayed some on.
Tim leaned over and inhaled, growling with pleasure. He attacked Ben, playing biting his neck before kissing him.
“Hey, cut it out!” Ben laughed. “You have to open yours now!”
“Later,” Tim insisted.
“No, now!” Ben pushed him away with a smile. “We have the whole night to snuggle up and stay warm.”
“Yeah, right,” Tim said as he righted himself and reached for his gift. “We could practically go for a walk in shorts and flip-flops. Texas winters are crazy. Don’t you ever miss the snow?”
“Sometimes,” Ben admitted. “We visited my uncle in Minnesota once and--” He trailed off as the paper came off Tim’s gift. He was nervous about what he had chosen.
There were two topics that were forbidden with Tim. Sexuality was one. The most Ben could get him to say was that he was bisexual, but he had only said it once to appease Ben and put an end to a heated argument. The other taboo subject was his painting. Tim had never openly admitted this hobby of his and met any inquiries about it with dead silence. That made Ben’s choice of present this year somewhat risky.
Tim examined the wooden box full of paintbrushes. They were very expensive, the best that Ben could afford. Tim’s face was guarded, but his eyes were impressed. Next he looked at the four tubes of paint: red, green, white, and ice blue.
“Christmas colors,” Ben explained.
Tim looked up at him, his eyes questioning.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ben said. “I just want you to know that I love the painting you gave me and I think you are exceptionally talented.”
He swallowed, waiting for some reaction from Tim, who remained very still. Ben was on the verge of apologizing when the silence broke.
“These are really good,” Tim said, holding up the brushes. “I’ll do my best with them.”
Ben gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“You are a very persistent person, Benjamin Bentley.” Tim said. “Pretty soon I won’t have any secrets left.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Maybe. Hey, do you want a glass of wine?”
“Um, okay.” Ben had never actually had wine before. Aside from some cheap booze that tasted like spiked Kool-Aid, he hadn’t done much drinking at all.
They left the giant mess behind and went into the den, where Tim chose the bottle that he felt most certain his parents wouldn’t want him opening. He poured two glasses, handed one to Ben and held up the other.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” he toasted with a broad grin.
“Merry Christmas,” Ben responded, taking a sip gingerly. The taste was bitter, but it wasn’t too bad. “What?” he asked when the grin failed to diminish on Tim’s face. “Am I holding the glass wrong or something?”
“No, no. I was just thinking about something you said on your birthday.”
“What’s that?”
“How did you put it?” Tim feigned deep thought. “I think you said that there was quote ‘nothing you couldn’t do that a girl couldn’t’ unquote.”
“Yeah, so?” Ben didn’t see where this was leading.
“I thought we could put that theory to the test tonight.”
Ben’s second sip of wine almost went through his nose. He had given some thought to anal sex before, but it honestly wasn’t something that he ever fantasized about. Even when he had experimented by himself, it really hadn’t done anything for him. And now Tim was suggesting they try it? For the first time Ben wasn’t leading the bull by the horns. That wouldn’t do at all.
“All right,” Ben said. “I’ll fuck you. Bend over.”
“What? That’s not what I meant!”
“Sure it is! Don’t be shy,” Ben taunted. “I promise not to hurt you!”
“We’ll see who gets fucked,” Tim threatened. He set his wine glass down and launched himself at Ben, who almost spilled his drink all over the carpet.
“Wait! Wait!” he giggled, making a show of carefully setting his glass down before sprinting out of the room, Tim in close pursuit.
They chased each other around the hall, laughing and hollering, and finally kissing once Tim caught Ben. The joking subsided as it became clear that Tim intended to carry through with his idea. Their heat was broken momentarily by a puzzled conversation on what they were supposed to use for lubrication. They knew there was supposed to be something, but their knowledge on the subject stemmed mostly from gay jokes. Ben shot down Tim’s suggestion of Crisco, and a raid on Mrs. Wyman’s bathroom failed to manifest any Vaseline. In the end they found some fancy facial crème and decided to make do with it.
“Do you want to go up to your room?” Ben asked uncertainly.
“Nope. It’s Christmas.” Tim took him by the hand and led him to the living room, which was dark except for the Christmas tree lights.
“Here?” Ben was bemused as he was pulled down onto a bed of wrapping paper.
/> They began kissing each other while trying to undress, twisting into odd positions in order to remove clothes without their lips breaking contact. Ben went to work on pleasing Tim, part of him hoping to satisfy him before things escalated to the next level, but he only succeeded in bringing the moment closer. Once worked up there was no stopping Tim, who rolled over on top of Ben while fumbling with the lotion in one hand.
Tim broke away from kissing Ben to ask, “You ready?”
“Yeah,” he replied, even though he was anything but.
The first attempt resulted in pain like Ben had never known, as if someone was twisting a knife deep within his gut. Tim apologized, but didn’t hesitate to try again. This time he managed to get it all the way in, but Ben forbade him to move in the slightest as he tried to grow accustomed to the feeling. He knew Tim was hung, but now it felt three times as big as it looked.
Eventually Tim started to move slowly. Just a tiny fraction of an inch at first, and then more as the physical sensations overtook him. Ben gritted his teeth and wondered how he would survive the experience as Tim’s thrusting intensified. He had no choice. Ben would have to ask him to stop.
He opened his eyes to do so and saw his lover above him, his body bathed in the eerie blue light of the tree. He face was lost in passion and more handsome than ever. Ben was so taken by this ethereal vision that he forgot his discomfort and relaxed. The pain disappeared, replaced by something akin to pleasure. Ben reached down to touch himself and the pleasure multiplied. Soon the chorus of Tim’s moans was joined by his own.
He reached up with his free hand to pull Tim in for a kiss, bringing their bodies closer together in the process. Their movements became one, increasing in need and intensity until they exploded together. Tim collapsed onto Ben, his heavy bulk warm and comforting. They lay there several minutes, catching their breath before they both started laughing with mad joy at what they had discovered.
* * * * *
Streams of purple, green, and blue rushed from three sides of the canvas, gathering together wild and free before attempting to continue their journey eastwards. The colors were halted by a dull grey barrier that couldn’t be broken, even though all three streams had joined forces against it. Was that how Tim felt? Was that why this painting hung on his wall, surrounded by superficial contemporaries of car and sports posters?
“Do you want to see more?” Tim asked from behind.
Ben started, not having noticed that the sound of the shower had ceased.
“See more what?”
Tim regarded him cautiously while toweling his hair dry. “Do you want to see my paintings? In my studio.”
“Of course I do!”
“Good. We can get some breakfast afterwards.”
Ben expected the studio to be somewhere in the house, but instead they drove to an office park on the edge of the city. Tim unlocked a nondescript door in an equally dull building and disarmed an alarm system by punching a code into the keypad.
“This is one of my dad’s offices,” he explained as he ushered Ben inside.
“What does he do, exactly?” Ben asked as he peered into a shadowy sea of cubicles.
“Provides medical supplies. It’s boring, but he makes a lot of money doing it. Over here.”
At the end of a hall filled with doors was one with its window obscured by paper. Tim used another key on this door and flipped on a light switch. The room was small but well lit, thanks to the large window occupying one wall. Ben could see the backs of two easels that faced the window. Before them was a small desk topped by large pieces of paper drooping over the edges, each decorated with charcoal sketches. He looked at Tim, tacitly seeking permission to proceed. Tim nodded, but stayed by the door.
Ben moved to the desk first to examine the sketches. They all featured the exteriors of buildings. Some were more technical than others, but all of them experimented playfully with shape and form.
“Sometimes I think about becoming an architect,” Tim explained.
“They’re really good. This one is really great!” Ben held up what looked like a skyscraper that gradually widened the further up it went.
“That’s supposed to be a water tower.” Tim frowned to show his dissatisfaction. “I don’t know.”
“You should be proud!” Ben said as he set it down and moved to the easels.
Work had only began on one canvas, and the style was much different than Ben’s birthday present or the art in Tim’s room. This painting was realistic rather than abstract, and portrayed a man covering his face with both hands.
“Self portrait.” Tim chuckled nervously. “I’ve been working on that one forever. Hands are really hard to do.”
“I bet. Why your hands and not your face?”
“Don’t read into it. It’s just a part of me I can easily see. Maybe I should get a big mirror in here or something.”
“Or maybe I could model for you,” Ben joked.
“Why not? That would be cool! Of course I would insist on painting you nude.”
“In that case you should probably opt for the mirror.” Ben smiled. “It’s cool that your dad lets you use this space.”
“Mom insisted. Some of my paintings get pretty messy. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
Once he was away from the studio, Tim felt free to talk more openly about his art, his hand clasped tightly to Ben’s the entire way home. Ben felt he had been through a rite of passage, allowed to see a side of Tim that was even more intimate than sex, no small feat considering what they had done yesterday.
The revelation came then, in a quiet moment when Tim was parking the car, one that should have been accompanied by the swelling of music. His love for Tim was real. Ben had lusted after his body, yearned to belong to him, and later simply enjoyed whiling away the hours with him, but all that had evolved into something much more meaningful. He wished the current situation was appropriately romantic so he could say those words to Tim, but it wasn’t. He would wait until the right time. Until then, Ben would resign himself to expressing his love in a way that didn’t involve words.
Chapter Thirteen
With the coming of a new year, Ben felt himself reinvented. He enjoyed more freedom than ever, was in an increasingly serious relationship, and had even found employment. Ben had taken a part-time job at Zounders, a local supermarket, handling menial tasks such as bagging groceries or stocking the shelves. This earned him enough pocket money that he no longer had to beg his parents, even though they now gave him money twice as often in appreciation of his efforts. All in all, he felt very much like an adult.
Even the world seemed less lonely for an out-of-the-closet teenager. Evan, one of Ben’s coworkers, was a year older than he was and went to school in the neighboring city of Conroe. Evan was like a long-lost brother. They even looked alike, both being thin and blond, but Evan had a wicked sense of humor that was all his own. He was still in the closet but wasted no time in coming out to Ben when he found out about him.
Evan’s experiences at his school were even more limited than Ben’s. He’d only had one sexual encounter after loitering outside a gay bar one night, but hadn’t enjoyed the experience and hoped to find something more meaningful. He was cute and transparently interested in Ben, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Tim. Ben made it known that he was dating someone, but kept the details a secret, an attitude closeted Evan could understand.
Ben’s adult life reverted unwillingly to childhood for the five periods he suffered at school everyday. He still skipped first period, but he did so now with full confidence. His report card from the previous semester had the standard “C” that he always received in P.E., and showed no indication that he hadn’t been present for months. His name was simply one among the many that the coaches ignored in favor of more talented athletes and would likely remain so.
Spanish class was also out of the picture. With his minimal language requirements met, Ben was free to choose another elective. He chose journalism, in the hop
es that it would fuel his occasional interest in writing. At the least it was guaranteed to be more enjoyable than struggling with a language he was unlikely to ever use effectively.
Journalism started slow, with tedious textbook studies of what constituted a good story and the formula for writing one. By the second month this gave way to preparing articles and photos for the school newspaper. The first few articles Ben submitted received good grades but didn’t get published. Feeling particularly sappy in the spring weather, he then submitted a love poem that the teacher immediately suggested should be printed in the next issue.
Ben was thrilled, not only because his work was appreciated, but because it had been a very progressive decision on Mrs. Jones’s part. His poem played the pronoun game and remained fairly neutral until the last couple of lines which were blatantly homosexual:
He looks into my eyes, mine mirrored in his,
and we each see a boy, lost in pauper’s bliss.
Mrs. Jones was no spring chicken and didn’t seem the type who would publish something so potentially controversial in a high school paper, but her enthusiasm suggested she was determined to go through with it. Perhaps literary types were simply more open-minded, Ben mused.
Two weeks later and his poem was in print. Ben grabbed a copy of the paper from the newspaper machines on his way to second period, only having time before class to check that it had actually been printed. The poem was there, right along with his name and everything. As class started, Craig whispered that his girlfriend had really liked it and that he was surprised Ben had written it. Ben decided to take that as a compliment. He received more good words in journalism and a few jeers on the way to lunch, but they didn’t bother him. He was most eager to hear what Allison thought.
“Did you read it?” he asked as she sat down next to him, the paper in one hand.
“Not yet; it’s been a crazy day. I will now though.”
Something Like Summer Page 13
