by Van Barrett
I chuckle and pat him on his shoulder blade. “It's okay, dude. He was an author. I'll make you read The Trial someday.”
“Okay.” He grins, but it's a kind of disbelieving grin.
“The point is, I let all that talk get to me. And I had a miserable year because of it, and then we missed the playoffs. And then the bleating about my game, and the questions about my brand of leadership, grew even louder. To the point where I couldn't even go on anymore. I was honestly ready to retire – in my mid-20's. Because I felt like I was being choked from the inside, walls closing in all around me. And I knew if I wanted to continue, I had to stop caring what people said about me. I had to tune everything out completely.”
He nods. “Okay ... sure. I get what you're saying. But I still think my case is different. I mean the guys might not wanna play with me. Look at what happened in Winnipeg, for God's sake. They straight up traded me within a matter of hours. You know? I can't just magically tune out the general manager when he tells me to pack my bags because I've been traded.”
“True. But I'll tell ya right now, obsessing over the social media crap isn't going to help you. How much better do you feel right now, compared to a couple hours ago at the hotel?”
“So much better. Worlds better.”
“There you go. Don't you think you'll play better if you're in a good mood?”
I can tell Callan still doesn't get it. His lips purse and his eyes crinkle up as he struggles to comprehend what I'm trying to tell him.
“People see what they wanna see, man. You can't change that. If they wanna be bigoted, fuckin' assholes, then fine. Let 'em! You don't have to listen or care. All you can do is be yourself. If the GM wants to trade you because you're gay, make that decision hard as hell for him. Go out and be the best damn player on the ice and make him look like an idiot for giving up on you just because of who you happen to like in your own personal time.”
He sighs. “Yeah, okay.”
“I told you I've got your back and I meant it, Cal.”
“Well, thanks,” he says quietly. “I want you to know how much I appreciate this, Tyler. Really. And I'm sorry about the trouble I've caused. I know it's been pretty crazy ever since I came here.”
“We needed it!” I laugh. “Seriously, the room was too bland, too content, before you came on board. We needed a mix-up. We knew what we were getting with you. That's why we wanted you, man.”
“Thanks.” He dips his head and accepts the compliment humbly.
We sit quietly and watch the Sun as it lowers on the horizon. A cool breeze is starting to pick up, and once the Sun sets, we might even be a little chilly.
“Shouldn't we head back?” Callan asks. “Lord knows the last thing I need right now is to miss curfew.”
I try to hide my smile. “I already took care of it.”
“What?” he gasps. “Took care of what?”
“C'mon.” I stand up, dust the sand off my butt, and roll up my beach towel. “Let's head back to the car. I bought some more stuff from that store, remember?”
“Oh Ty ... the hell are you planning ... it's already getting late.”
I head up the stairs that trail up the rocky coast and lead us back to the path. Callan follows behind me and hurries to catch up. The air under the cover of the trees smells fresh, and it's cooled down a lot. We get goosebumps and hurry through the rest of trail until we re-emerge in the parking lot.
I pop the trunk and pull out the giant tent I bought.
“Check this out,” I grin, showing him the tent I got. “I got a big one, dude.”
“A tent!” Callan shouts, bewildered. “We can't stay out here, Ty, we have a curfew tonight!”
“I said I took care of it.”
“No. No no no no.” Callan hurries to the front of the car, climbs into the passenger seat and slams the door shut.
I chase after him and try his door handle. He's locked it. He's staring straight ahead, his arms crossed. He looks so pissed off. It's kinda cute. I chuckle and tap on the window.
“Cal, get out here. C'mon.”
He turns to me and mouths the word 'NO.' I walk around to the driver's seat and get in.
“Cal.”
“I can't camp out here, Tyler. With everything that's going on? What the fuck? No. No way. And you shouldn't either! What's wrong with you? What are you even thinking?”
I laugh. He's right, in a way. “I guess I'm thinking I don't care anymore.”
“What?” He looks at me like I'm crazy. “That doesn't even make sense.”
“Maybe not.” I take a long, deep breath and look over all the scenery. “But everything I told you earlier was true. When we lost that game and the fans turned on me, a big part of me stopped caring. My heart hasn't been in the game since then, Cal. I love hockey and that'll never change. But all the bullshit around the sport – the politics, the money, the media, the gossip and the rumors – it's so goddamn aggravating. When I think about it, it honestly makes me never wanna play another game again.”
“I dunno what this has to do anything ...” Callan stares at his feet and fretfully shakes his head. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here right now.
I pat my hand on his knee to calm him.
“What I'm trying to say is ... you changed that for me, Cal. You made me feel young again. You made hockey fun for me again.”
“But—”
“But you're looking down the barrel of a gun, blah blah blah. I know. Don't you see? The same crap you're facing right now is the same crap that made me wanna retire. I'm sick of it, Cal. Sick of what it does to good people.”
“But if the team found out—”
“They don't need to know what we're up to.”
“But I don't want special treatment—”
I can't take it anymore. I lean over the center console, cradle the back of his head, and bring his face to mine. He looks surprised as hell, and I guess he should be. He tries to push me back, but then my lips bump into his and his wide eyes softly and instinctively shut.
I lose myself in those lips. He tastes like the outdoors: the salty but fresh air. The brine of ocean water. A savory hint of kelp and seaweed. His sun-kissed sweat, baked into his upper lip. The tastes are so delicious, so right, I only wanna kiss him deeper.
Callan tries his best to resist me, no doubt trying to save me from myself – but I don't care and I won't stop. His lips are thick and full and I kiss him the way I wanted to kiss him back on that roof-top if only I would've let myself.
The taste of the beach on those stubbornly stiff lips is irresistible, and I can't help myself – I need more. Fuck it if he doesn't want to kiss me back. I kiss and suck at his lips, which fluff up and soften with each wet embrace – and then, with a whimper, I feel all his built-up tension break. And at last, his lips melt and he lets me in.
And slowly, he awakens, and he kisses me back – slowly, cautiously. But with each kiss he awakens a part of himself. And he can't resist what's happening any longer. His lips come alive, and then his hand finds its way to the back of my head, and we're pulling ourselves deeper into each other, and we're breathing the same air – the same new-vehicle-smelling air.
It's a realization that seems to hit us both at the same time. We both start laughing, and we come apart, shyly retreating to our own seats like embarrassed teenagers when a parent happens to walk in at the precise moment a hand starts to wander up a thigh.
“All that beautiful nature out there, and we're doing this in here,” Callan laughs softly.
“Yeah. I know,” I chuckle quietly, a hand against my flushed cheeks. “That's why I got the tent.”
“You're serious.” It doesn't sound like a question, but more of a statement.
I shrug. “Yeah. So are you gonna help me? Or do you really wanna head back? Because I'll take you back if you really want to go.”
He looks out his window and shakes his head. I hear him take a few deep breaths. Then he turns back at me and smiles.
“I'd love to. As long as you're sure.”
“I am.”
He grins and reaches for his door handle. “Then let's go.”
37.
Blue Hour
Callan
I climb out of the car. We're both quiet – there's nothing to say now. But it's an excited, electrically charged kind of quiet. The calm before the storm. When we do speak, it's with as few words as possible, spoken in hushed and muted tones.
“Need help?” I ask as Tyler grabs the tent bag.
“Got it,” he says.
Now, God bless him for being so thoughtful, but the swim trunks Tyler bought me are probably a size or two too small. I don't normally show this much thigh, and I usually prefer a little more, ahem, room. And as we walk through the State Park, with the other fellow campers ambling by here and there, I have to stuff my hands into my too-shallow swim trunk pockets to try to hide what I've, uh, got going on.
Because Tyler's kiss got me hard as a rock and anyone who looks will know it. There's a giant bulge that protrudes down my left leg.
I wonder about him? I take a peek out of the corner of my eye. That's when I notice he's carrying the tent bag so that it covers his crotch.
Ha ha, I laugh quietly to myself.
But I have to say, I'm confused ... about us, I mean. I thought what I'd been through with Tyler before – on the roof-top – was nothing more than the case of a curious straight guy who'd had one too many drinks. Like I've said, it happens, whatever 'it' is, or whatever 'it' means.
I definitely never expected anything else to happen, though.
So all I can do while we walk through the park – this time taking a different path, one that forks off and leads to the camp grounds – is bite my cheeks and try not to smile too big. Because whatever's happening is uncharted territory for me.
This is definitely a first. And I don't wanna get my hopes up too much.
We reach our camp site. We're isolated from the other campers. We're nestled in a tight spot with the trees all around us, right on the coast, overlooking the bluffs and the ocean below. It's a breathtaking spot.
“Damn, Tyler,” I huff quietly. “This is perfect.”
“Yeah.”
He lays down the gear. Pulls the tent out. He bought a big one, a fancy one that could easily sleep a few more people – hence the huge bill, I guess. But when he pulls it out of its bag, we're looking at a bunch of different poles and parts and cables and a set of instructions that looks like a phone book.
“Heh,” he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “Guess I shoulda got a smaller one, huh.”
“Why didn't you?”
“I guess I thought bigger was better ...” he says whimsically.
“Size queen ...” I rib him.
Yeah, he probably should've got a smaller one. But oh well.
We put the instructions on a tree stump and crouch around it to study it. I flip the booklet open and start reading the instructions aloud.
“Okay ... first we have to lay everything out ...”
But I get the distinct impression that I'm the one taking this seriously. Slowly, Tyler sidles behind me, reading the instructions over my shoulder. I can feel his presence over me, his warmth against my back.
“Uh huh,” Tyler says. I can hear his smile and feel his breath hot on my neck, and I know he's up to no good.
I try to stay focused. “Then we have to screw the poles together and work them through the support holes ...”
“Screw our poles together,” Tyler says irreverently. “Uh huh. Got it.”
“C'mon, be serious,” I say. And then I feel his hand on my side. My bare side. His touch takes the air right out of my lungs. “Tyler!” I gasp. “We've – we've gotta pitch our tent first ...”
He laughs. “Now you're throwing me alley-oops on purpose.”
“No, really!” I pant. “I don't want anyone to see us!”
His hand slides lower. Over my muscled obliques. He lays his index finger in the 'v' line that trails down my hard abdomen. His finger slowly follows the etched valley, making my sensitive skin tingle.
“Tyler ...” I gasp again, losing my resolve.
He presses his lips against my neck. His prickly stubble sends me into a ticklish fit. But he soothes me when his hand snakes under the waistband of my trunks and creeps down to my crotch. He finds my hardness and wraps his fingers around it.
I let out a breathy groan. “Oh.”
“But Callan,” he begins sarcastically, “it looks like you've already pitched your tent!”
He leans forward and drapes himself over my back. I feel his hardness against my lower back.
“Looks like you did too ... guess we didn't need any instructions for these, huh.”
He chuckles. “I'd hope not.”
He sits behind me, watching, peering over my shoulder as he reaches into my trunks and pulls my cock out. It throbs in his hands, in the cool air. The breeze whisks through the pine trees and their needles all around us.
“Tyler ...” I sigh as he slowly jerks me.
He stares intently, watching his own handiwork. I lean back against him, my body going weak in his hold. I love the feel of his cock, hot and achingly hard against my back.
“We really shouldn't be doing this,” I gasp. “Someone might see us out here.”
“So what?” he whispers in my ear, his breath warm on my lobe. “I don't care.”
“Oh god ...” I pant, melting between his muscled forearms.
His grip is loose on my shaft. He tugs slowly, pulling from the base until his fingers glance over my throbbing glans. Then he pulls back down again.
He whispers in my ear again. “I never told you how turned on I got when I saw you jerking it in the shower, Cal.”
“Oh shit,” I gasp as a jolt shoots up my spine and makes me tremble. “Tell me.”
“Your big hard cock. Damn, Cal. I wanted it. I didn't even know it at the time ... 'cause I was in such heavy denial. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Like ... at all. I was so torn up about it, too.”
His hands grip me a little tighter. He tugs me a little faster, a little heavier.
“Oh god,” I sigh. “Tell me more.”
“When you shot your load all over the glass door? I was right in front of you. You hit the glass right in front of my face. And, the crazy thing is ... I had this image flash right through my mind. What if the door wasn't there? I saw what would happen. I felt the force of your load. Spurting all over my face, my mouth. I could taste it, too. The salty sweetness, trickling down my lips.”
“Oh my fucking god.”
I had no idea Tyler Vance was so dirty. My body lilts against him. My back melts into his muscular pecs and abs. He wraps his free hand around my chest to hold me up. His manly scent overcomes me. His other hand jerks me off faster and harder, until his tight fist is a blur on my shaft. My hips pump without my consent, thrusting my cock into Tyler's hand. A rumbling builds up inside me. My mouth falls open, but not a single sound can come out.
“And the other thing I never told you ... I stayed in that bathroom a bit longer ... I couldn't move! And then, you weren't even done, you started to beat it aga—WHOA DUDE!”
Surprised, Tyler shouts as a streak of my cum shoots against my abs. My seed spills down his fingers.
“I wasn't expecting that!” he yells. He aims my cock forward instead. I spasm and thrust myself into his fist helplessly. A salvo of my seed shoots into the grass, rains down on the tree stump, and even showers our tent instructions.
“Sorry!” I gasp as I regain control of myself. Random shockwaves ripple through me and I shiver against his hold. “I would've warned you, I just ... couldn't manage ...”
“It's okay,” he laughs. He lowers his voice and picks up the tainted tent instructions. “... That was pretty hot, honestly.”
I close my eyes and bask in the moment. But the ever-present hardness against my back reminds me: I've got to re
turn the favor. I reach behind me and stroke him.
“Now it's my turn.”
But Tyler grabs my hand and pulls me away. “No way, dude.”
“Wha'?”
“Out here? In public? Who do you think I am?”
“Dick!” I roar and tackle him into the grass.
He cracks up. “I'm just kidding, man. But if we don't build this tent now it's gonna be dark and we won't be able to see what the hell we're doing.”
“Oh. Yeah. Good point. Let's do it.”
WITHIN AN HOUR WE'VE got our tent built. We head back to the car to get some more supplies. Padding, sleeping bags, fire starting tools.
We make it back just in time for the 'blue hour' to set in – that time during dusk when the Sun has already set, and it's not quite day anymore, yet not quite night, either. The sky, the landscape, the trees – everything takes on a lovely blue hue.
Me and Tyler sit side by side and watch the whole world go blue.
As lovely as it is, it's also something of a bittersweet reminder to what I'm trying to run away from. My future is in the blue hour, too. I'm not quite sure if it's beginning or ending. Or what.
“Hey,” I say, breaking up the quiet after a long, reflective silence. “Thanks again, man. For bringing me out here.”
“No problem. Beautiful night, isn't it?”
“Sure is.” I nod.
I take a deep breath. “I just want you to know ... that whatever happens to me? I'll keep quiet about this – about us. No matter what happens. You can trust me on that.”
He bobs his head thoughtfully. “I appreciate that,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
We sit shoulder to shoulder, taking in the majesty of the coast, the soothing rhythm of the waves coming to shore and then heading back out again. And soon, the blue hour is over, and the stars begin to turn on above us.
I stand up first. “Come with.” I grab him by the hand and lead him into the tent.
38.
Perfecto
Tyler
Truth be told, I didn't have a plan in mind when I brought Cal out here. I wasn't sure how things would go.
