Return to Sender

by Ashlyn Kane

  I’m not sure I believe that you can so completely charm men into falling over themselves to ask you out.

  It just seems silly to sign a photograph like it was a painting, is all.

  More illustrations to inspire your kids’ book writing—two dogs this time.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Awesome. I just booked our spot in the surf school. Don’t forget to pack your sunscreen. You know how you get.

  I am not sure if Morgan is gullible or just horny. He is a teenager, after all. I did no such thing as fly into a jealous rage to break up the make-out session. Actually, I may have attempted to steer people away. It’s nice to see Morgan coming out of his shell a bit. Er. Pretend that didn’t sound absolutely filthy, will you?

  You will have to wait ’til you are here, and then you will see me in action. I am unstoppable. No one can resist. No one!

  Ahem.

  Emerson, you make an adorable dog. The glasses are a nice touch. I’m still ironing out the details of the manuscript, but we can talk about that in more detail when you come visit.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  Yes, Mom, I promise to pack sunscreen. I may be pale, but I do live in Texas. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how I burn.

  Um, yes, gladly will forget. Though well done on supporting gay, horny teenagers as they attempt to get laid.

  The prospect of seeing you in action has me feeling somewhat alarmed.

  I am not a dog :P Though I’m glad you like the drawing. Figured that would please you.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  It’s just that if you die of skin cancer, then I’ll have no one to mother. Well, Natalie, but she’s so grown up and hardly needs it.

  You are so the dog, as you will realize when I finally get around to sending you a manuscript. In the meantime, one of the librarians is on maternity leave, so I’m picking up some extra hours at the library and am actually writing this while hiding in the broom cupboard that serves as our break room. I have to go back out and brave the wilderness that is the Thursday night book club in a few minutes—mostly bored housewives who, from what I gathered before Kelly went off on maternity, are all sleeping with each other’s husbands—and I am not subjecting myself to that for a moment longer than I have to. I am wearing my ugliest shirt, just in case.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  “Die of skin cancer”? Gee, aren’t you cheerful.

  Hrm. I look forward to reading this story.

  Umm. I think it’s very important that you tell these bored housewives as soon as possible about your gorgeous boyfriend whom you love dearly. I’m thinking bored housewives are much more likely to be persistent in their pursuit than teenage girls are, and seriously, the prospect sounds ten times more frightening.

  In other news, I’m now being asked to make a sculpture out of found objects. That is, anything I want so long as it’s never been in an art store. My prof is totally pushing junkyards and secondhand shops for this one.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Ray of sunshine, that’s me!

  So far only one of the housewives has attempted to cop a feel. I am trying to decide if it’s because she was drunk—she always shows up at meetings with a Coke can, and it’s always already open, and I could swear it smells like Jim Beam, but I could be wrong. If I was a bored housewife, I’d be an alcoholic, too, so I don’t know if I can actually blame her, but my ass is my own. I really don’t want to have to file a sexual harassment report at work.

  I put a copy of the dog picture on the bulletin board behind my desk at the library and drew a big heart around it in red crayon. So far it seems to be working. Fingers crossed.

  The found objects assignment sounds awesome. I’m totally buying whatever you make, so bring it with you in June.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  You always were too cheerful.

  She tried to cop a feel? Shudder. Seriously, they cannot pay you enough to deal with that! They certainly couldn’t me, and not just because they’re women.

  Jonah, you haven’t even seen what I’m going to create. You can’t promise to buy it! That’s just ridiculous. You’re so—I don’t know how to describe you.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Finally had to talk to my manager at the library about the harpies. It was either that or start wearing the codpiece, and frankly it doesn’t fit like it used to. She actually had to make a public announcement at the beginning of each book club about sexual harassment of library employees, since obviously I couldn’t do it myself as no one would listen. Bethany kept looking at me when she delivered the news to the teen group, and poor Morgan just turned this god-awful shade of red; he probably thought he’d been caught snogging the page or something.

  I never thought I’d say this, but why can’t I have ten groups of four-year-olds?

  Too late—I can and did promise to buy it. I hope you make a giant penis. As for your difficulty in describing me, I can think of several words that would work—handsome, clever, insightful, dashing, heroic, modest, etc. I could go on.

  Jonah

  §

  “WHATCHA doing?” Emerson had been sitting at his drafting table minding his own business when suddenly Eve had plastered herself against his back with both arms wrapped around his neck.

  “Reading my e-mails.”

  “Ooh, is that one from Jonah?” She gasped in his ear. “Is he talking about codpieces? Emerson, honey, why is your mystery man discussing his junk with you?”

  Emerson blushed. “He’s not discussing his… junk,” Emerson tried to protest.

  “‘It was either that or start wearing the codpiece, and frankly it doesn’t fit like it used to,’” Eve read over his shoulder. “Oh, he’s a dirty boy! I like him,” she said with satisfaction before she continued on the main point. “That certainly sounds to me like he is talking about the size of his junk. I repeat, why?”

  “He wasn’t—he was just referencing an old joke about the codpiece,” Emerson argued feebly.

  Eve let out a laugh. “Honey, he just told you about how his junk no longer fits inside his codpiece!”

  “Jonah has no sense of personal boundaries,” Emerson mumbled, mortified. He was very thankful that it was a quiet time of day in the studio and no one else was within hearing range. “Jonah likes to over-share.”

  “You know you like it!” Eve argued good-naturedly. “You want to know all about his junk. Don’t deny it! I know you, Emery!”

  Emerson felt himself flush brighter. Okay, so what if he did want to know about Jonah’s… junk? He didn’t really want to have this discussion with Eve.

  Flipping his laptop closed, Emerson turned to look at the face still perched on his shoulder. “How about we go get some lunch?”

  “Are you trying to bribe me into forgetting what I just read?” She let out a gasp but then tilted her head, considering. “Buy me a mango-berry juice, and I’ll forget everything.”

  “Deal.” Emerson slid his laptop into his bag and moved his art supplies into his lockbox. Then they were ready to go.

  When Emerson wrote back to Jonah later that week, he refused to address the codpiece remark further. He refused to even mention it in order to drop the topic, not wanting to let Jonah know he was ignoring it on purpose.

  §

  A FEW weeks later, Emerson opened an e-mail from Jonah and nearly swallowed his tongue. There was a picture of a naked man on his computer. Well, a naked torso—there was no head or anything below the hips, but it was still naked man. A very hot naked man. A young, well-muscled, tanned, and gorgeous naked man.

  Emerson sat for a moment, his mind boggling. Why was Jonah sending him pictures of hot naked men? Curiosity finally spurred him into taking his eyes off the picture and reading the text. The e-mail st
arted off the same as usual: Jonah responding to Emerson’s last e-mail, with nothing to explain the soft-core porn.

  Until: I keep telling you that I’m not a skinny little kid anymore, but it seems that you need proof. Forgive this crappy photograph; I had to take it with my computer’s built-in webcam, so it’s kind of grainy. And taking a picture of yourself is kind of awkward.

  Oh. Right. Last week, in response to Jonah contemplating eating junk food to ruin his good looks and thus not have to suffer unwanted attentions, Emerson had written that it would take massive amounts of junk food for that to work. He had been pretty sure that Jonah would be unable to eat enough junk food to counteract his hummingbird-like metabolism. Jonah had always had a sweet tooth and had always been a beanpole.

  Emerson stared. Stared at the text and then at the photo. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between the two. His heart started thumping faster. Jonah hadn’t been ugly when he left—Emerson had years of crushing on Jonah to attest to that—but he had been a kid the last time Emerson had seen him and had looked the part. This wasn’t a kid; this was a man—a well-built man.

  Oh God. Just what Emerson needed: more to fuel his fantasies and to keep his crush alive.

  Unbidden, the image of Jonah’s head attached to a gorgeous torso entered his mind’s eye. Emerson could picture it: Jonah with the body of this fit, sexy man. Oh, Emerson could picture it all too well. There was a reason that the men Emerson gravitated toward were often tall and lean and into sports.

  Emerson looked at the picture again and swallowed hard. Then he realized that he was hard. As a rock. He glanced down at the prominent bulge in his jeans and bit his lip, considering. He glanced back up at the photo and thought about it. A part of him thought he would feel a little skeevy about it afterward, if he did this. On the other hand, Jonah wasn’t here, and he wouldn’t ever know if Emerson….

  He frowned and hesitated for another moment before reaching down and unbuttoning his fly.

  His bottom lip kept clenched between his teeth, he slowly eased his pants down his hips and his cock out of his underwear. Right now, Emerson was feeling very relieved that he had received this e-mail late at night, after everyone had gone to bed.

  Emerson looked back to the photo and then noticed the text of the e-mail and suddenly felt dirty again. Desperately, he opened the picture in a new window. Then he grabbed his lotion and reached once again for his cock.

  Eyes locked on the picture, Emerson let his imagination run wild as he slowly started to stroke himself. He imagined that gorgeous body attached to the familiar face. He thought about how much stronger than him Jonah would be. He could picture Jonah pulling him close, pushing him down or hovering over him on a bed. Emerson began to pant harshly as his hand picked up speed.

  He was still biting his lip, now trying to stifle the moans that wanted to come out. He really didn’t want to be overheard, but he had forgotten how hard it was to be totally quiet doing this.

  Emerson’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let his head tilt backward. His strokes were fast now, and he was so close. Panting hard, he desperately brought his left hand up to cover his mouth. He’d learned long ago he could never stop all the moans from forming. When he came, he was whimpering urgently into his palm.

  As he sat there panting harshly, he once again caught a glimpse of the picture. And felt himself blush hotly as embarrassment filled his belly. God, he had just jerked off to a picture of his best friend.

  Mortified and sleepy from both the hour and the orgasm, Emerson decided to delay his response.

  The following morning, Emerson discovered that being well-rested made little difference: it was very difficult to write a message to your best friend concerning the photograph of him that you had jerked off to.

  Emerson stared at the blinking cursor on his screen. He had replied to most everything else in Jonah’s last e-mail, but now he was faced with having to acknowledge the picture. He couldn’t ignore it; that would be too conspicuous. So, he had to address the picture, that was certain, but what should he say?

  He couldn’t very well tell Jonah that the man in the picture was hot, so hot in fact that Emerson hadn’t been able to keep his pants on. Telling Jonah that he had jerked off to fantasies about him was not an option. Which meant that acknowledging the picture as being Jonah was a fine and difficult line to walk. If he said it was Jonah and agreed that he was more muscular than he had been, then how could he not make a comment about Jonah’s insistence that he was now irresistible?

  Emerson decided to take the easy way out. He was, for a long moment, thankful that there was no face in the picture. So he called Jonah a “lying liar” and insisted that he had not been fooled by Jonah’s ploy. There was no head and thus no proof that it was Jonah.

  Rereading what he wrote, he felt satisfied with it. There was no hint that Emerson appreciated the picture whatsoever.

  §

  “YOU sure you packed everything?” Zack’s voice was amused as he watched Emerson look over the contents of his suitcase one last time. Emerson ignored him. While he might be willing to admit to himself—in the privacy of his own head—that he was maybe being a little obsessive and anal about his packing, he wouldn’t give Zack the satisfaction of admitting as much.

  In a few short hours, Emerson would be in San Francisco seeing Jonah for the first time in two years. Emerson was feeling pretty nervous about that. He wasn’t quite sure what it would be like to see him again after so long. He wondered if Jonah would be as dorky and sweet as he remembered. He also wondered if Jonah would really look like the picture he had sent.

  “You sure you don’t need a ride?” Zack asked as he walked into the room and settled down on the bed.

  “Yeah. Dad says he wants to; he wants to take me to breakfast first.” Emerson shrugged.

  “Fine, fine,” Zack said. “When’s he getting here?” The doorbell rang before Emerson could respond. He grinned at his dad’s perfect timing.

  “Now.” Emerson slammed his case closed and zipped it shut.

  “See you in a week?” Zack asked as he rose from the bed to follow Emerson.

  Emerson nodded. “Have fun at your parents’.”

  Zack pulled a face. “I’ll pick you up from the airport,” he reminded him, then wrapped both arms around Emerson’s shoulders. “Be good, Emma. Have fun.” Then he let go of Emerson so that they could walk down the stairs unhindered.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, Mr. Blackburn,” Zack greeted behind him; he nodded at them both in return.

  “You ready to go?” His dad was smiling at him and reached out to grab Emerson’s suitcase as Emerson moved to put on his shoes.

  “Yup.”

  “I thought we could grab some pancakes at Guy’s,” his dad said, and Emerson grinned. Guy’s Diner had the best pancakes.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Emerson said goodbye to Zack, and then he and his dad were out the door and making their way to the car.

  Then things went as they normally did with his dad. He asked about Emerson’s life, wondered how his summer was going, how his friends were. He even offered delicately phrased questions about Emerson’s prospective boyfriends. By the time they reached the diner and started eating, Emerson was relaxed and no longer actively fretting over his vacation. Sure, he was still feeling nervous about it, but his dad’s presence went a long way to keeping him calm.

  “So, you better go check out the Golden Gate Bridge while you’re there. It’s a landmark—you can’t go to San Francisco and not take a look at the bridge,” his father told him. “Then, once on the other side, you really… you really should go to the park….” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. He lifted a hand up to rub at his shoulder. His face took on a pale hue.

  Emerson’s throat constricted. “Dad?” he croaked. “Dad? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, but he began to rub at his chest.

  “Dad…?” Emerson could feel the chills
and tremors in his limbs. “Dad!” His voice rose in pitch. He was starting to feel panicked now.

  “Emerson, I’m fi- fine.” He went paler still and clutched at chest.

  “Da-dad…? Something’s wrong. Dad, I—I need… help!” Emerson looked around desperately. Something was definitely wrong. This was—oh God, his dad was having another heart attack.

  “Stacey, call 911,” a voice called to the woman behind the counter. And then there was a woman standing by their table saying, “Hi, I’m Becky, I’m a nurse.” Then she was taking over, asking his dad if he carried any aspirin or other medication with him, working to make sure he was still alive when the paramedics arrived.

  Emerson sat there frozen, terrified and uncertain and unable to move. When the paramedics came and bundled his father onto the stretcher, it was all he could do to get to his feet and stumble after them. It was Becky who told them that Emerson was to go too.

  At the hospital, they sat Emerson down in a waiting room, and then an administration secretary was in front of him asking him questions. Was that his father? What was his name? Was his mother in town? What was the phone number to call her at?

  Numbly, Emerson gave all the information they needed. He didn’t hesitate, just told her everything she wanted to know.

  He stayed that way, numb and listless, until his mother ran into the room, frantic, and wrapped both arms around Emerson to hold him tight.

  It was then that Emerson started to cry.

  Chapter 12

  NOW

  WHEN the door opened, Jonah looked down. Then down some more.

  Then he remembered to take off his sunglasses so he didn’t look so intimidating and crouched down a little too. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, his heart beating double-time in his chest. It was no wonder Emerson had assumed… the kid really did look just like him. Same hair, same eyes. But there was no way, and it was still no excuse. His stomach twisted. “Is your mom home?”