Dilly and Boz

by John Inman

  He edged closer, moving slowly as if approaching a skittish colt. He eased his hand around Dilly’s wrist, cradling it gently like he was afraid it would snap if he squeezed too hard. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want me to be here? I can leave if you want.”

  Down below, Grace weaved figure eights around their ankles, still dragging her bigass teddy bear along with her. Boz thought it was cute before. Now he was too worried about Dilly to care about the cat.

  He slid his thumb through the hair on Dilly’s forearm. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Instead of doing that, Dilly gently twisted his wrist from Boz’s grip and walked away, heading for the kitchen. “You still have four beers here,” he called back over his shoulder. “You want one?”

  “Sure,” Boz said. “Let’s have a beer. I guess that means I can stay, right?”

  Dilly poked his head around the doorjamb. He looked a little calmer now. Lightning wasn’t shooting from his eyes, at least. Boz could only assume that was a step in the right direction.

  “Yes,” Dilly said. “You can stay.” He delivered the words while returning with two bottles of beer. He motioned for Boz to park himself on the couch, then sat as well. Like he had the other night, he sat as far to the other side of the sofa as he could. But this time Boz wasn’t having it. He immediately scooted across and pressed his hip alongside Dilly’s.

  He offered Dilly a sneaky grin. “Too needy?”

  Dilly shook his head. Boz was pleased to see he didn’t seem as shy as he had before. His gaze skidded to Boz’s face and just as quickly skidded past. “No. Well, maybe a little.”

  Boz let his smile widen. “You do realize I’m not moving, right? You’re stuck with me here, squeezed up against you like a carbuncle on a ship’s keel. And a nice keel it is too.”

  At long last, a smile touched Dilly’s face. “Thanks. And yeah, I sort of figured you weren’t leaving anytime soon.”

  For the first time, Dilly turned his eyes freely on Boz, and Boz at long last saw a smidgeon of welcome in them. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.

  Boz spotted an interesting entity on the side of Dilly’s neck. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He leaned in close and pulled down the side of Dilly’s collar. “Is that a hickey?”

  Dilly’s ears reddened, but his smile didn’t fade, so Boz figured he was still on solid ground.

  “Did I do that?” Boz asked.

  Dilly rolled his eyes. “Well, it wasn’t the cat.”

  “Thank God. Bestiality is against the laws of nature, you kn—”

  “Puffer saw it right off,” Dilly interrupted. “He’s been teasing me about it ever since.” He beetled his eyebrows like Boz was in trouble now. But his smile hadn’t really budged, so Boz still wasn’t worried.

  When Dilly laid his hand on Boz’s knee, Boz worried even less.

  “Dilly?” Boz whispered, his finger still stroking the hickey on Dilly’s neck.

  Dilly squirmed under Boz’s touch, but he didn’t try to pull away. “Hmm?”

  “You were wonderful the other night. I just want you to know that.”

  “So were you,” Dilly said, and as he spoke the words, he gave a little shudder, like someone had walked over his grave. “I liked Leon too.”

  “Yeah, Leon’s a hoot. Umm, by the way,” he ventured, “I guess I’m sorry about the hickey. And the razzing you got from your boss.”

  Dilly eyes rolled over like a pair of breaching whales. “You don’t sound sorry. And besides, it was the highlight of Puffer’s week.” After a beat of silence and a glance down at the beer in his hand, Dilly added in a hushed, wary voice, “As a matter-of-fact, it was pretty much the highlight of my week too.”

  Boz liked the sound of that. “Do you remember how we talked about maybe seeing each other again?”

  Dilly’s eyes were on the cat now. She was in the corner, trying to wrestle the teddy bear up onto a chair. Boz watched Dilly’s eyes remain on the cat when he muttered, “Uh-huh.”

  Boz waited for more, but nothing came. “Well? Is it all right if we do?”

  “Do what?” Dilly asked.

  And with that, Boz took a fistful of Dilly’s collar and dragged him close enough that Boz’s lips were brushing Dilly’s ear. He growled like a friendly bear, figuring the time for acting coy was over. “Is it all right if we see each other again?”

  “We’re seeing each other now,” Dilly said, his voice bland. He was still staring at the fucking cat, and Boz was seriously considering chucking the cat through the window if he didn’t stop.

  Boz hooked a forefinger around Dilly’s chin and dragged his head sideways until they were facing each other. “You’re killing me here. You know that, right?”

  A dimple made a brief appearance in Dilly’s cheek. “You do seem a little tense.”

  Boz huffed in exasperation and without further ado clamped his mouth over Dilly’s, hurling himself into a kiss whether Dilly liked it or not.

  Taken by surprise, Dilly tensed at first, then began to relax. When Dilly’s tongue slipped out, seeking admission, Boz gave him the go-ahead, and their kiss immediately soared off into all new territory.

  “This is more like it,” Boz mumbled around Dilly’s tongue.

  Dilly relaxed even more, like a candle melting in the sun, softening around the edges, maybe even getting a little gooey inside. Or so Boz hoped.

  Dilly’s fingertips wiggled between the buttons on Boz’s shirt and immediately found a nipple to stroke. Boz’s heart gave a lurch at the same moment his dick did. It was rather an odd sensation, but Boz enjoyed it thoroughly. He enjoyed it even more when Dilly’s eyelashes brushed his cheek. Dilly’s breath was sweet, and his lips tasted like candy corn, one of Boz’s favorites.

  “Your mouth is yummy,” he muttered, still inside the kiss.

  “So is yours,” Dilly muttered back.

  “You’ve got a bag of candy corn stashed somewhere, don’t you?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Call it a lucky guess.”

  Boz was feeling fairly cramped in the crotch area by now, so he shifted his ass around on the couch to ease the pressure. He didn’t break the kiss, though. It didn’t even dawn on him to try. He was having way too much fun.

  At long last, for reasons of an impending neck cramp and possible brain damage due to oxygen deprivation, Boz eased his lips free. With his eyes still closed, Dilly let him go. He immediately dropped his forehead to Boz’s shoulder and let out a sigh.

  “I like kissing you,” Dilly said. When he raised himself up to gaze at Boz’s face again, his lips were still moist. The supple tip of a pink tongue slipped out as if to relive the taste, so Boz did the same, tasting Dilly’s kiss on his own lips all over again.

  “I like kissing you too,” Boz whispered. They sat quietly in each other’s arms, foreheads touching, eyes closed. Boz was sort of hypnotized by the way they were breathing at the same rate of speed, like two engines calmly chugging along together. His pulse was still a gentle patter in his ears, his cock still aching with need down below. Nothing gentle about that. If boners could kill, he would have died about three minutes back.

  To his surprise, Dilly asked, “What happened with you and your ex-boyfriend?”

  “You mean Bobby?” Boz asked, his happiness starting to drain away from simply uttering the name. “Did I tell you about him?”

  “You mentioned him. How long were you together?”

  “Not long. Maybe ten months.”

  With their foreheads still touching, Dilly laid his hand along the side of Boz’s neck. “What happened, Boz? Why did you break up?”

  Boz sighed, remembering back. “He started taking crystal meth, and he’d go a little crazy. He’d get violent, sexually and otherwise. He hit me a few times, and I put up with it because I thought I loved him.”

  “And you finally decided you didn’t?” Dilly quietly asked.

  Boz’s fingers found the tail of Dilly’s shirt. He wadde
d it up in his fist, just hanging on, sort of like a drowning man grabbing a friend’s life vest. “One night he raped me. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want it, but he didn’t care. He overpowered me and did it anyway. When I screamed like a banshee, he laughed and forced himself inside me. With no lube or anything. I’ve never known such pain in my life. And I swore I’d never know it again.”

  Dilly’s fingers moved soothingly under Boz’s ear. Their foreheads were still pressed together. Their mouths still only inches apart. “So you left him.”

  “Yes. As soon as I could get away, I did.”

  Silence settled around them. The only sound to be heard in the room was the muted purring from Grace, lying sound asleep in the arms of her stuffed bear.

  “I’m sorry he hurt you,” Dilly breathed.

  “Me too.”

  “Were you surprised he let you go?”

  “I didn’t give him a choice. I left the next day while he was at work. Took everything I owned and ran like a rabbit.”

  “Does he know where you live now?”

  Boz squeezed his eyes shut again, trying not to think of Bobby’s visit the other night. “Yes. He knows.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dilly repeated.

  This time Boz opened his eyes and gave Dilly a wink. “He won’t bother me anymore,” he said, hoping it was true. Trying to put a brave face on adversity. Then he shot for a little humor to lighten the mood. “Besides, I’m concentrating on someone else at the moment.”

  Dilly’s dimple made an encore appearance. “Oh, really.”

  For some reason the sight of Dilly’s dimple made Boz extremely happy. Pushing thoughts of Bobby aside like the bad dreams they were, he snuggled closer to Dilly and pulled him tightly into his arms.

  Gazing over Dilly’s shoulder at the contraption buried in the wall on the opposite side of the room, he murmured, “You know, I’ve never in my life slept in a Murphy bed. Are they comfortable?”

  Dilly grinned. “They have their uses.”

  Boz grinned back. “I’ll bet they do.”

  “This conversation just took a turn for the dangerous, I think.”

  “Dangerous as a coronary,” Boz agreed. Or a love affair, he pondered silently.

  Before he knew what was happening, Dilly was on his feet, tugging him across the room.

  Just as Boz suspected it would, the bed squeaked coming out of the wall. After that, it squeaked even more, and for a very long time, but Boz was far too busy to notice.

  Chapter Twenty

  BOBBY MAYFIELD rolled over on his reeking sheets that hadn’t been changed in weeks and barfed into a bucket placed strategically at the side of the bed for just such a purpose. After emptying himself out, he lay draped over the edge of the mattress, gulping down air. His eyeballs felt like two mud clods stuck in his face. He could barely breathe after all the meth he had snorted over the last few days. When he extended his hands and stared bleary-eyed at them, it was almost scary the way they shook. Would he even be able to work today? And why were his knuckles scabbed over? Did he get into a fight last night?

  Then he remembered decking Angel’s roommate. Splitting the little fucker’s lip wide open. Well, what else could he have done? The little beaner wasn’t going to let him in.

  Bobby scraped his eyelids closed and prayed he would feel better in a minute. When he only felt worse, he threw his bare legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

  He felt the silence of the mansion looming over his head. The owners were gone. Vacationing yet again. Bobby lived on the premises year-round in a guest apartment renovated from the mansion’s basement. He served as a sort of permanent house sitter for the two gay men who owned the place. It was a sweet deal, with almost free rent and use of the pool and grounds. It was here he had shared his life with Boz, until Boz threw it back in his face.

  Now, instead of feeling lucky to be here, the emptiness of the place settled over him like a dead weight. Sometimes in the heavy silence, he could still hear the echo of Boz’s laughter ringing in the shadows.

  Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the memories.

  Finally shaking himself back to the real world, he looked down and realized how much he stank. Jesus, when was the last time he showered? He had fucked Angel without a condom the night before too, then stumbled home and slept with his unwashed dick like some filthy homeless person.

  Standing naked, ignoring his morning boner, he squinted at the clock on the dresser. He’d have to get ready for work soon. He had been warned more than once by his hardass boss that if he didn’t start showing up on time, the VA would have no choice but to fire him.

  Christ. He could call in sick, but without a doctor’s slip, that would get him fired too, and where the hell was he going to get one of those? Besides, his financial situation was screwed up enough, what with his connection hammering up the cost of crystal meth every time he turned around. Well, it wasn’t really the cost of meth going up; it was the fact that Bobby was using more of it. Lots more. And when he snorted the meth, he smoked constantly too. That was another expense. Goddamn cigarettes cost a fortune.

  Speaking of which.

  Bobby dragged his dirty blue jeans off the floor and collapsed onto the bed. Flat on his back, he ruffled through the pants. His wallet was there, thank God. And in a front pocket, along with nail clippers, some loose change, and his cigarette lighter, he found a tiny plastic baggie of crank. Nestling inside, the little clump of white powder looked very fetching indeed.

  Bobby tapped it, making it settle so he could see how much shit was there. Not much. Maybe enough to get through the day if he doled it out. But no one knew better than Bobby Mayfield that doling it out never worked. He needed everything that was in the bag to get himself moving this morning.

  Clutching the baggie in his hand, he rolled over on his side, still ignoring his hard-on even though he really had an urge to jack off. The crank did that. Made him so damned horny all the time, it was all he could think about. All he ever thought about.

  Oh, screw it.

  Giving in to the urge, he sprawled once again on his back and wrapped his hand around his dick. He was so hard it felt like an iron rod clamped in his fist. He pumped it a couple of times, just to say good morning, and then he closed his eyes and lost himself in his own hungers.

  As his hand traveled up and down the length of his cock, and with his other hand gently cupping his balls, as tight with need as he had ever seen them, he thought of Angel. But only for a moment. As always, it was the other one who really nailed his attention.

  Boz. Boz Jenkins. The guy who should have been with him right now. The guy who should never have left.

  Bobby stopped stroking himself as the image of Boz’s handsome face filled the spaces in his head. Bobby supposed he loved Boz. Why else would he feel like this? He still couldn’t understand why Boz left him. Or maybe he did. He supposed that last time they made love, Bobby had been a little brutal. But the little faggot always liked it. That was the thing. He liked a little pain. At least he’d never bitched about it before.

  And Bobby had never known a better fuck than Boz. Had never had a more beautiful boy fall in love with him either. And Boz had loved him. At least for a while.

  Bobby’s hand began to move again as he remembered the feel of Boz’s sweet ass impaled on his dick. His hand moved faster and his hips rose up from the reeking mattress as the sexual feelings surged inside him.

  He thought of Boz at those other times, sucking him to orgasm. How the kid had loved it when Bobby filled his mouth with hot come. He remembered Boz stroking himself while he made Bobby thrash around beneath him. And then how, when Boz starting coming like a freight train, Bobby would flip him around and swallow him whole, savoring every spurt of Boz’s sweet juices.

  That thought was too much.

  Bobby cried out as a rope of come exploded from his dick, slinging itself across his chest, his chin, and up and over the pillow beneath his head. Bobby stroked and stroked, n
ot wanting the sensation to end. But of course it did.

  His heart banged in his chest, and his pulse thundered behind his aching eyes. And still he thought of Boz. Still he needed Boz. Lying there beside him. Spilling his own juices. Screaming out at his own release. Giving himself to Bobby. Like he used to do.

  As the spatters of come began to dry on his skin, Bobby continued to milk the last fat drops from his wilting dick. He dipped his fingers in a puddle splashed across his belly button and carried the warm liquid to his mouth, where he sucked his fingertips, savoring the bitter sweetness, imagining it came from Boz.

  When his need began to quiet, he let his come-drenched hand fall to the bed. He sat up again, staring around at the bedroom where he and Boz had shared so many nights.

  Bobby Mayfield’s anger began to build. Almost like the need for a second orgasm rising up, the rage swelled inside his head. Fury. Fury at himself for hurting Boz bad enough to make him want to leave. Anger at Boz for giving up on Bobby so quickly the minute he made one little mistake.

  For the second time that morning, Bobby threw his long naked legs over the side of the bed. This time he pushed the stinking bucket aside and dropped to his knees in front of the nightstand.

  With hands still trembling from the drugs and from the orgasm, which had left him as weak as a kitten, he carefully opened the tiny plastic bag and tipped out most of the crystal meth onto the tabletop. With a razor blade that still lay there from the night before, he chopped at the white powder until it was as fine as talc. He then arranged it in three small lines. Holding his breath so he wouldn’t blow any away by accident, he gathered up a rolled dollar bill, also still there since the last time, and neatly sucked all three lines into first his left, then his right, nostril.

  He gasped at the burn. Tears blurred his eyes. As his vision began to clear, he found himself staring at the photo in the little wooden frame that sat beside the lamp on the nightstand. It was a picture of him and Boz. Laughing. Boz was holding a teddy bear Bobby had won for him at the county fair. Both Boz and Bobby looked happy and healthy and very much in love.