CHAPTER TEN
THINGS TURN
Bryant Babcock was surprised by the phone ringing. Dan and Keith had just left, and who else would be calling, he couldn’t guess. Maybe Tina? Maybe best to simply pick up the phone. He was surprised when it read ADELE DAVIS, and he said, “Good morning?”
“I just called,” Adele said in the voice of something half drowned, “to make sure you were alright and hadn’t done anything stupid.”
“I’m fine, Adele.”
“Good,” she responded with a finality that implied a hang up.
“Adele?” said Bryant.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” said Bryant.
Adele said, “You’re welcome.”
And then she hung up.
Bryant reflected that this should not have been totally unexpected. Adele Lawden—well, Adele Davis, now—was a good person. And then he remembered that he had things to do, and got on the phone to make a call.
“Hello.”
“Yes, I need you to come here.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you at the office?”
“No, I’m at my house. I’ll expect you in an hour.”
“Is this work related?”
“It’s very work related,” Bryant said.
“I’ll see you soon. Good bye.”
He hung up and went to lay out his clothes and take a shower.
Bryant was fully dressed when Nick arrived. Nick Ferguson, not knowing what to say, said, “You look terrific.”
“Thank you.”
Bryant had on a wine dark shirt and a black silk tie. “I was supposed to play organ this morning at Saint Barbara’s.”
“But now you aren’t?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
“It hardly matters,” Bryant said. He hadn’t thought of it. He’d merely called in sick. Let them figure it out for once. Let Tom do it.
“Well, that’s probably—” Rick began.
But Bryant said, “Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
Bryant looked at him.
“Take off your clothes,” he told him.
Rick stared at him, still deeply confused. But he began to unbutton his shirt, and when it hung open, Bryant said, “And now your pants. I want to see your underwear.”
Nick unbuttoned his trousers and let them down enough to reveal snug, black briefs. Bryant could see the his sex through them. Bryant approached him. He put his hands in Nick’s briefs, feeling him, stroking him, feeling him grow hard and hearing him whimper. He moved his hands to caress Nick’s hot ass, to stroke him and run his fingers over the hot crevice. His hand went between Nick’s legs, sliding in and out of the warmth, running over his balls while, slack jawed, Nick Ferguson endured it.
He moved his hand away and now Nick undressed, trembling, quickly, the jangling of his belt buckle pronounced as it hit the floor.
“Against the door,” Bryant said. “I want you against the door.”
Nick obeyed and Bryant went to his knees delicately, stroking Nick’s balls. Running his hand over Nick’s penis, he made it grow, and then he took it in his mouth. He took it deep to his throat and made love to it while Nick groaned. Bryant’s hands went up his chest, planted themselves on his breasts and kneaded his nipples. They went down the small of his back and cupped his buttocks. With his mouth, he held all of Nick hostage, and under Bryant’s control, Nick buckled and moaned.
“Turn around,” Bryant commanded, breathlessly. Nick did, and Bryant planted his face in his ass, lapping, sucking, touching him in secret places so that Nick’s eyes shut and his hands went open in ecstasy. A string of sweet curses went out of Nick’s mouth while Bryant ate him and, pulling his own pants down Bryant started to stroke himself.
“Suck me,” Bryant told him, suddenly, standing up. And now he pushed Nick’s head on his cock, fucking Nick’s mouth, fucking it harder and harder and then he gasped and said, “Now you stand up. We’re going to the living room. And I’m going to fuck you.”
In the dining room, with Nick’s hands planted to the table and Bryant’s hands planted to his, he fucked him harder and harder. The sweat sealed their bodies together, part of him, seeing Nick’s red face, hearing Nick’s groans, knew that Nick had been dying for this.
“Are you about to come?” Nick gasped.
Bryant fucked him harder and suddenly, in a gasp, he felt himself spilling. It took him in waves and he shuddered at the ball aching orgasm, at the wonder of the semen shooting from his stiff cock, deep into Nick.
For a while they both were like that, and then Bryant came out of him, his dick still hard. To his surprise, Nick, big and naked before him, exhausted and red faced, turned around and immediately started sucking his dick. It felt so good, and then they both went to the floor face to face.
At last Bryant said, “This is the way it has to be. I’m not going to be powerless. If you start this, I’m going to finish it.”
He sat up.
“I don’t give a shit about your wife, or your kids or anything. You come when I call. I control this. I’m not going to be controlled. Alright?”
Still exhausted, breathing heavy, Nick, on his side, nodded.
“Whaddo you want to do now?” Bryant said.
“Go upstairs,” Nick told him, touching Bryant’s hip. “That felt so good. I’ve been wanting that so long. Can we just go upstairs and keep having sex?”
“You’d like to fuck me, wouldn’t you?” Bryant said.
“Yes.”
“You have condoms?”
“No.”
“Well, I do.”
“We didn’t use them just now.”
“I know where I’ve been,” Bryant said. “You don’t come inside of me without a raincoat.”
Bryant thought of saying, “You don’t come inside of me at all.”
Chad, Tom and Todd were the only men who had ever spilled inside of him. And Paul. He’d made that trucker come on his back. But who knew? He might change his mind.
Bryant stood up, dick still dangling, half hard. He held his hand out to Nick Ferguson.
“Come on, Nicky,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs. Let’s fuck.”
Dylan Houghton Mesda felt on top of the world. Well, no, he felt at peace with the world. Everything had been rocking almost to the point of falling apart, and he had been so stressed about the love he shouldn’t have but couldn’t help feeling. He had been bent over double, sometimes, literally, trying to love Lance more than he could and, finally, he was at the end of all that, and Ruthven was at his side, and they were on the train, waiting to come into Miller.
In Michigan City the train halted a while, and when the conductor came down the aisle, she told them, “The train coming in from Chicago is ahead of schedule. We have to move over for them.”
A few moments later, Dylan could see a train whizzing in the direction of South Bend, and then they were back on track again and soon in Miller. When they disembarked, Dylan felt Ruthven slip his hand inside of his own.
“Really?” Dylan said.
“Do you care?” Ruthven said, smoothly. “Cause I don’t.”
Dylan’s fingers tightened around Ruthven’s and he said, “I don’t either.”
They were coming off the train, and Dylan was concentrated firstly on Ruthven and secondly, on the tricky steps and the door, when he heard the voice of his father say:
“Mr. Mesda, I hope you enjoyed your trip.”
Standing before him, expressionless, with Brendan Miller on one side of him, and Carol Miller on the other, was Fenn Houghton.
“I’m sure Todd will deal with you on his own time,” Fenn was telling Ruthven. “For now Dylan sits by me, and I’m going to deal with him. Right now.”
Dylan had, to put it mildly, a sinking feeling as he and Fenn got into the middle of Todd’s Jeep and Ruthven sat beside Todd. Carol and Brendan were in the back and it seemed to make no difference at all to Fenn that he was about to dress his son down before them.
“You’re grounded. simple as that,” Fenn said, casually. “You go to school, you come home, you stay home until I say you don’t, and God help you if you try to defy me. You’re grounded for disrespecting your father. I found out about you and Tom. You’re grounded for running off and taking a train to God knows where—”
“Beverly Shores,” Ruthven and Dylan began.
“Beverly Shores?”
“We caught the wrong train and were on our way to South Bend, so we just stayed there for the night.”
“Well, then considering east is pretty easy to tell from west, you’re also grounded for being a pair of dumbasses,” Fenn added.
He continued: “And you are grounded because I am not going to have my son running around at the age of fifteen, hopping in and out of beds and doing whatever he wants to like he’s a grown up. I know they say you can’t put the cat back in the bag, but goddamnit, I’m going to try.”
“Dad, can I speak?”
Fenn looked at him.
“I respect everything you’re doing—”
“Well, that’s what matters,” Fenn said in a deadpan voice.
“But… can I get the chance to see Lance? To tell him it’s over?”
“Firstly, it should never have started. Secondly, no.”
“Dad!”
Fenn clapped his hands. “Yes! That’s the voice I want to hear! Now, go ahead and tell me I’m not fair.”
Dylan chose to keep his mouth closed.
“Well, wait, because here’s something that’ll make you talk,” Fenn went on.
Dylan blinked at his father.
“You know that modeling gig? You’re not doing it.”
“No!” Dylan cried out.
“Yes,” Fenn said
“No, Dad. Really,” Dylan looked at him desperately. This was Fenn. Fenn understood everything. Fenn accepted everything. “I was going to be good at this. This was going to be my thing. I was going to make money at it.”
“With Logan at the head of it.”
“Logan introduced me to it, but he’s not at the head of it.”
“Logan and Casey Williams and who knows who else.”
“It’s not porn. It modeling.” Dylan said.
“Modeling for a gay magazine allied with porn. My eighteen year old half dressed, then not dressed and then being asked to do all sorts of things.”
“Sorts of things like what?” Dylan fired.
“Like getting your dick sucked, Dylan!” Fenn said, when they were back on Versailles Street.
”Like being asked to have sex with your director, like escorting, Dylan. I’m not stupid. I’m not far from that world.”
“And you think I would do that?” Dylan said.
Fenn looked at him.
“Dylan, you haven’t given me anything to say you wouldn’t.”
Dylan's face contorted, but Fenn went on.
“I love you, and you are good and sweet. But I had to deal with the fact that you were sleeping with Lance at age fifteen and now I hear that you’ve been fooling around with all sorts of men since you were thirteen. You are a danger to yourself, and you’re behaving stupidly. I believe if someone threw a check at you, you're the type of person who’d go out and make a porno, or escort, or pimp yourself.”
“No, I wouldn’t!” Dylan shouted. “How could you say that about me?”
“How could I not?” Fenn said, hopelessly.
“Now,” Fenn continued, “I can’t make you something you’re not, but I’m not going to make it easy for you to keep on being what you are. You stay in this room. I’m not Tom. I’m not going to have a fighting match with you and let you run off. My word is law, and it is laid down. And I am finished.”
Dylan looked red faced and his mouth moved around.
“What?” Fenn said.
Dylan took his hands through his hair.
“Alright, alright. So you know. So what do you think is going to happen? You think I’m not going to have sex for the next three years? You think I’m just going to sit in my room and read the Bible or something?”
Fenn said nothing.
“You think I’m not going to fight you on this?” Dylan said, a new fierceness in his voice.
Fenn raised an eyebrow and came closer to Dylan.
“I think,” Fenn said, “that you got your father’s looks but my brain, and I think we’re going to fight a lot. But I also think that you will have the sense to pick your battles carefully. And this moment, right now, is not one where you want to fight me.”
Dylan looked as if he were, indeed, choosing if he wanted to fight or not, and then he nodded.
“When can I go out again?”
“I don’t know.”
“I love Ruthven. You know that right?”
“We’ll have that discussion later,” Fenn said. “Right now you’re being punished.”
Dylan went to go sit down on the bed because he had always known that Fenn was not to be crossed. Nothing had really changed. Fenn had always given him a long leash. Look what he’d done with it. And now, here he was and Fenn’s word was law. It always had been.
