A Surplus of Light

by Chase Connor

  When I saw the creek ahead, bathed in blue moonlight, I smiled and stomped out my cigarette, my pace increasing. I heard splashing in the distance and my smile grew even wider and I found myself jogging towards the creek. But before I got to the creek, I stopped myself. If I burst through the trees and ran to the bank of the creek and found my friend, he’d know how desperate I had been to see him. That that had been my plan when I walked out there that night. So, I lit another cigarette, took a deep breath, and then strolled casually towards the creek.

  Keeping a smile off of my face, I approached the creek bank, trying to look as casual as possible. I looked down in the creek, expecting to see my friend. And I did. But he wasn’t alone. It took a couple of moments for everything to register in my brain. I turned quickly and walked back into the woods. But I didn’t go far. I sunk down behind a tree and stared out at the night. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, occasional splashing coming from the creek behind me. Then everything was quiet.

  Minutes…maybe hours…later, I heard someone moving through the woods. I glanced over to see the dark shape move through the woods, walking back towards town. But it was just the one figure. And it wasn’t Ian. When I was sure that the guy was gone, I slowly rose from my spot at the base of the tree and headed back towards the creek. When I approached the bank, I looked down into the creek again. There was only one figure in the creek now.

  Ian was standing in the water, completely naked, the water providing a little modesty as he stared up at the sky.

  “I can see the glow of your cigarette.” He said softly.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Are you coming in?” He asked after a beat.

  I didn’t get in. I stomped out my cigarette and made my way back through the woods. When I got home, I wasn’t angry. I was aroused and curious, and…jealous. I didn’t try to see my friend again for the rest of the school year. I had learned my lesson.

  Chapter 7

  Mike

  Summer Before Junior Year

  Sophomore year ended. And I went to find Ian. I didn’t hesitate this time. I didn’t worry about whether or not he wanted me to find him. The long days of summer were beginning—and this was what we did. Summer was our agreement. The season with the most light, we were allowed to be friends. So, I didn’t pretend that I didn’t know where I’d find him. I made my way past the creek to the trail where I had first seen him throw a punch. A punch that left a psychological and emotional scar for him.

  Ian was sitting at his tree again. His sketchpad was against his knees and he was peacefully sketching. Just like always. The cut over his eyebrow was still angry and raw looking. The cut he came to school with a few days before school ended. I went directly to him and sat down, just like I always did, and waited for him to finish his sketch. The charcoal scratched across the paper for a few minutes, then he finally looked up. His expression was blank as those iceberg eyes stared out from their milky pools.

  “I didn’t watch,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “What was that about?” I asked. “Is it love?”

  He just looked at me.

  “Or was it just lust?”

  “It was neither.” He replied.

  “Then what was it?” I demanded.

  “Solace.”

  We stared at each other for a very long time. And just as Ian had taught me over two previous summers, I held his gaze. I didn’t lose my resolve. I didn’t back down.

  “Who are you even?” I tried to control myself, but it came out as a whimper.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you go out of your way to hurt me?”

  “How did I set out to hurt you, Mike?”

  “Don’t play games. We only play one game—and this isn’t it.” I spat. “You know that I saw what happened, so don’t play dumb.”

  “I do know that you saw it.” He nodded, calm and collected. “But I didn’t invite you into the woods. We had agreed that we wouldn’t meet up during the school year. You gave me your word on that. I had no way of knowing that you’d wander out into the woods to find me. So, what you saw…that’s your fault. Not mine. I didn’t set you up to be hurt, Mike. If you had stuck to our agreement, you’d be none the wiser.”

  “You know that I’m…that I’m…”

  “You’re in love with me?”

  “Yes!” It came out so angrily that I scared myself.

  He nodded. “I do know that.”

  “Then why?” I reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

  It was the dumbest thing I’d ever done. If Ian had wanted, he could have laid me out with one punch. Blackened an eye. Knocked out a tooth. Wailed on me until I was left broken and bleeding on the trail. His expression didn’t change as I shook him by his collar and screamed in his face, my eyes never leaving his. After I started to wear myself out, he raised his hands and gently pried my fingers away from his collar. He barely had to put forth any effort. I had torn his shirt. His eyebrow cut was seeping blood. He held my hands for a moment, then he pulled off his tattered shirt, wadded it up and pressed it to the cut to staunch the flow of blood, his expression not changing, though I knew it had to hurt.

  “Because you are more than solace to me.” He said finally, staring back. “You aren’t just comfort or one single need. You’re all of them. That’s why.”

  “Why can’t I be…that…too?” I was crying.

  Ian used his hand that wasn’t holding his shirt to his head and ran a thumb under each of my eyes, wiping away tears as they came. He pulled the bloodied shirt away from his head. The cut was no longer bleeding. I sat there crying as he stood up and dropped the destroyed t-shirt at his feet. He kicked off his flip-flops and his hands went to the button of his shorts. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Then he shoved them to his ankles and stepped out of them. Next, he slid his boxers off.

  Ian stood there, naked, in broad daylight next to the tree just off the trail, I stood up quickly, in complete shock. His torso and legs were littered with bruises of varying shades. I didn’t even want to see his back.

  “If you think that will fix…this…then fine.” He shrugged and held his arms out. “Give me solace, Mike. Fix me.”

  The last two words were like a hammer to my gut. I went to Ian, but I didn’t touch him in the way that he said I could. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into me. I hugged him. Ian’s face was in my neck, and he made no noise, but I felt his tears burning a hot trail down my neck and pool near my collarbone. Ian was so broken. And I wasn’t helping.

  An hour later, I had made a trip back to my house and returned with a fresh t-shirt for Ian. I was cleaning the cut over his eyebrow with peroxide and cotton balls as he sat in front of me, no longer nude. He didn’t wince or grimace, he just sat there, his hands in his lap as I cleaned the wound. The peroxide was bubbling like crazy, so I knew it had to hurt. He didn’t show it on his face. But his hands clenched every now and then.

  “Is your dad in the Gulf now?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you let him do this to you?” I wasn’t asking Ian, I was asking the wind.

  But Ian was the one who answered.

  “I don’t like hitting people who aren’t my father.” He said. “It’s even harder to hit him.”

  “Someone who fights like you?” I said. “It’s hard to believe that. But I do.”

  “Thank you.” He closed his eyes as I patted at the wound.

  “But I really meant—he wouldn’t be able to lay a hand on you if you didn’t allow it,” I whispered. “He wouldn’t have the chance. So, why do you let him land any?”

  “It’s better me than my mom.” He replied. “If he wears himself out on me, then I put an end to it, he’s too tired to fight anymore.”

  It made sense, but in the worst way.

  “I’ll fucking kill him.”

  It was the first time I had said something like that. And the weight of how much I truly meant it
scared me.

  “Don’t. Not right now.” A single tear slid down Ian’s cheek.

  “I don’t want him to hit you anymore,” I said firmly.

  Ian looked up at me. I stared back, pushing that message into him with the fierceness in my eyes.

  “Okay.” He said.

  “If he hits you again, I won’t be your friend anymore,” I mumbled.

  “He won’t hit me anymore.” Ian agreed, his eyes sliding closed again.

  Ian knew what I meant. He wasn’t to allow his father to bruise or batter him anymore. He could knock his dad out all he needed to, but if he held back and let his dad break him again, our friendship was over. That’s how much I loved Ian.

  “And if you need solace…just don’t need solace.” I said.

  “Will you hug me when I need comfort?” He whispered.

  His voice came out sounding like he was his actual age for once.

  “Yes.” I exhaled. “Anytime. Any place.”

  “Okay.” He opened his eyes as I pulled the cotton ball away from his brow. “I’m sorry, Mike.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Ian,” I replied.

  Then I put triple antibiotic on his cut and covered it with a bandage. Ian fell into me, wearing my favorite t-shirt, and wrapped his arms around me. I wrapped my arms around him and held him against me. It was way past dark before we let go of each other and went our separate ways to our own houses. That night, I slept soundly, confident that when Ian’s dad came back from the gulf at the end of summer, he would be in for a shock. His son, my best friend, had made me a direct promise. Ian would not allow himself to be hit anymore by his father.

  For the first part of summer, Ian and I camped more, swam more, and he taught me even more. His well of knowledge about everything seemed bottomless. At night, we’d lay under the stars in grassy fields and he’d point out constellations and explained how navigation can be done by the stars. During those nights, he’d let me hold his hands, run my fingers along his palm, lace my fingers between his. On hot days, he introduced me to the sweet nectar of honeysuckle. Once, when some honeysuckle nectar dribbled onto my chin, without thinking, he licked it off of my chin with a laugh. When he realized what he had done, he blushed, then immediately changed the subject to something else. One night he showed me how to hitch a ride to the next town over so that we could sneak into one of the only few drive-ins left in the area.

  Then we walked miles to the lake and he showed me how to fish. He taught me which fish were good to eat, which ones were too small and had to be tossed back to the lake. How to scale and clean a fish. How to roast it over an open fire. How to bait a hook even. All of these things I’d never been taught. He took me with him when he changed the oil in an older neighbor’s car for her and showed me how to do that. How to change a flat tire. He taught me more about being a man than my own father had.

  And he was always willing to sketch anything that I asked him to sketch. One day, as we were sitting by the creek on a Sunday morning, when it was free of other kids, he was sketching a bird for me. That’s when I broached a topic I had not yet been brave enough to bring up.

  “What’s it like?” I blushed.

  “Drawing?” He didn’t look up.

  “Having sex?”

  A nervous laugh escaped my throat. He didn’t laugh at me or tease me.

  “I think it’s different for everyone.” He answered earnestly. “Like masturbation…but warmer, more sensual, more exhilarating. Intimate. Uncomfortable. Awkward. Explosive. Joyful. Gross. Arousing. It’s everything wrapped into one.”

  I sat there and watched him draw a little while longer.

  “You’ve had a blowjob, right?”

  “Mmm.” He answered simply.

  “Have you…given one?”

  “Mmm.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Do you want to find out?” He asked, looking up from his sketchpad.

  “Hell yes.” I laughed loudly.

  I made to move towards him.

  He held a hand out and stopped me with a laugh. His charcoal black fingers smudged my t-shirt. I didn’t care.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Tease.”

  “I can get you a blowjob.” He grinned. “You’re bisexual still, right?”

  “Yes…”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s meet at the creek tomorrow. Noon.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to find out what a blowjob is like?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Well…I…think so…yes.” I was confused.

  “Creek. Tomorrow. Noon.”

  That whole night, trying to sleep was impossible. I stayed aroused off and on throughout the night, wondering what my friend had in store for me at noon the next day. I was turning seventeen in a few days—I knew about sex and girls and boys and all of that stuff. And I wanted to experience it all. But it made sleep nearly impossible when I thought about what Ian might do to me the next day. The most arousing thoughts I’d ever had flashed through my head all night. Even when I did manage to sleep, my dreams were X-rated.

  The next day, I made my way to the creek, just as Ian had instructed me, at noon. When I got to the creek, it took me a moment to spot Ian, but he was standing next to his tree, talking to some girl that I knew was a grade ahead of us at our high school. When I came out of the tree line and approached the bank of the creek, Ian spotted me, then pointed and said something to the girl. She looked over at me, kind of shrugged her shoulders, then waved me over. I wanted to be offended by the “yeah, I guess so” gesture…but I was too enthralled and excited.

  Ian gave me a wink and sat down by his tree and started sketching as the girl took my hand and led me into the woods. And, a hundred yards away from screaming and swimming teenagers, I had my first blowjob. It didn’t last long. But it was exciting and scary and uncomfortable and embarrassing and the best feeling I’d had in my life. When the girl and I parted ways, I admitted that it was one of the best things ever, no matter how embarrassed I was. However, it wasn’t everything, as Ian had said. Because it was with the girl—whose name was Catherine, which I didn’t find out until days later. I had wanted it to be with Ian—so it wasn’t the best thing ever. It wasn’t everything.

  When I got back to the tree, Ian was still sitting there, sketching a figure jumping into the creek. He looked up at me, his hand pausing on the paper, charcoal pinched between his fingers. He cocked an eyebrow at me, I gave him a nod, and he smiled. Then he went back to his sketch. I sat down across from him and watched him sketch. And we never spoke of it again.

  I met that girl several more times throughout the summer, but not just for blowjobs. I got to touch boobs for the first time, learned how to finger and perform oral sex on a girl, learn how to put a condom on at the girl’s instruction, have actual sex for the first time—and yeah, there were plenty of other blowjobs. But…most of all, I finally understood solace. After a while, I began to wonder if Ian had set things up so that I could learn about sex…or solace. Either way, he had found another way to teach me, without even being present.

  No matter the lesson, halfway through summer, I had decided on one thing. I wouldn’t have sex again. Until it was with Ian. And I knew that I would wait as long as it took. Sex was great…but the main lesson I learned was that it had to be even better with a person that I cared about. A person I loved. So, my sights honed in on the person I knew I loved more than any other. Who I would love more than anyone else in my entire life. Ian.

  Ian Chambers.

  I was seventeen years old at the end of summer and his name was still my mantra. The mere thought of his name could arouse me. Not actually give me an erection or anything—that would have been crazy—but it did something to the innermost parts of me. It made me tingle. Warm. His name, when it went through my head late at night as I was waiting for sleep to overtake me, made me close my eyes and smile in rhapsody.

  Ian Chambers.

  It was almost too mu
ch for my teenage mind and body to handle. I found myself wondering if he knew the effect he had over not just my body but my mind.

  Ian.

  Ian.

  Ian.

  Waves of pleasure flowed through my body, that no orgasm would ever match, when I merely thought of his name late at night. My belly fluttered and ached when I thought about how many hours I’d have to wait to see him again. The last time that I had sex with that girl, I did it angrily, bitterly. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t solace. It was frustration being released. It was anger and frustration with Ian. He was denying me the one thing that would make me feel like a complete person. Even when I finally released at the end of my thrusting into her, I wanted more. But not from her. She would never be enough. She was a nice enough girl. Sexually liberated and open. Always kind to me. Never said or did anything to intentionally make me feel awkward. But she wasn’t Ian. And she never would be.

  I’d find myself wracking my brain, wondering why Ian was denying me. Was he taunting and teasing me? Was he playing a game with me? He’d let me stare at his body, he’d shown himself to me naked, he let me touch him in ways that no other boy had. But there were limits to that generosity. Always boundaries. He’d let things go just this side of too far, then retreat. Why would someone do that to another person? Either give yourself over completely or not at all!

  Then, one night, it struck me like a punch to the chest as I waited for sleep to overtake me in my bed. Ian was giving me what he was mentally and emotionally capable of giving me. When he pushed back, I hadn’t reached his boundaries. I had long gone past them. He was doing everything he could to give me as much of himself as he could. He wasn’t trying to be cruel—even if he inadvertently was—he was trying to make me happy. That frustrated me more than anything. The anger rose up within me and made me fume.