By Mickey S

If you are under age, or live in an area where reading stories that include sex between males is illegal, or if you're not into this type of story, please leave. This is a fictional story and all characters and events are a figment of the author's imagination. My thanks to Tim and Drew for all of their help. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at

Chapter 3

I'd been so lost in the past that I hadn't paid much attention to the drive, except to notice that there were several new shopping centers and even more new traffic lights on the highway, which meant it took much longer than it used to to get to Sussex. As I entered the borough I glanced to my right toward the hospital which was only a block away.  There was no reason for me to stop there. My appointment with Dr. Patel was the next morning at nine. Visiting Dad during this trip wasn't a part of my plan at all so I continued through town. The cows and their distended udders were my only priority.

North of town nothing had changed much. Route 23 was still two lanes and Wantage Township looked even more rural than when I was growing up, but maybe that was only because I'd spent the last 12 years in Manhattan. When I turned off onto the county road I saw that it had been repaved and widened slightly. Every now and then there was a large new house. At the turn into my road I came to a complete stop and gaped,. The Millers' farmhouse was still on the corner and the barn a ways behind it, but the lane leading back to their fields was now a paved street complete with curbing and storm drains. And lining the street on both sides were at least a dozen McMansions, big new houses with three car garages. There wasn't a tree on any lot and the whole thing looked like ugly boxes sitting in the middle of a field. On the other side of the road the Brink farm hadn't changed at all. I wondered how Mr. and Mrs. Brink liked looking across the road at those monstrosities.

I drove another quarter of a mile and the road curved as it crossed the creek that marked the beginning of my family's property. The house came into sight and I breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had changed at all. As I parked in the dirt driveway next to the house I did notice one change. All of the buildings needed painting. I left my bag in the car and half-ran across the road to the barn. The cows must have heard me work the latch because they began to moo. When I got inside I was surprised to see that there were only six of them. When I was a kid we always had close to 20 and even when I left we had 12. I wondered how Dad was making a go of the farm with only a half dozen milk cows.

Most of the larger farms in the area had switched over to milking machines decades before but Dad felt the cows preferred the human touch, and as small as our operation was, we could still manage milking by hand. With two of us at it, three before Barbara left, it took us less than an hour. Now, with only me and 6 cows I figured I could still do it in that time, even as rusty as I was. It only took a minute for my hands to remember the right motions to go through and soon I had six contented cows. After storing the milk I cleaned up behind the cows and replenished their food and water. Thank God Dad had managed to do all that before the heart attack the night before. Even so, the cows couldn't have been happy skipping their morning milking.

Feeling very tired I went back to the car, grabbed my bag and walked to the back door of the house, hoping Dad still kept a key hidden in the old spot. I'd tossed my old keys out years ago. As I took the key from under the flower pot on the back porch, I glanced over at the chicken house and decided I might as well make sure they had food and water as well. There were still about a dozen hens, the same as we'd always had. After taking care of them I collected the eggs and went back to the house.

Going into the kitchen was like stepping back in time. It was exactly the same room as when I left with the exception of a microwave on a counter. Mom had never wanted one of those. She'd been a great cook and made everything from scratch the old-fashioned way. I opened the refrigerator to put the eggs away and was surprised to find very little in it. I looked in the freezer and it was packed with frozen dinners. Mom would have had a stroke if she'd seen them. I couldn't imagine how Dad could eat them after having Mom`s home cooking for so many years.

I took my bag upstairs and hesitated outside the closed door to my bedroom, wondering what I'd find inside. I pushed the door open and was surprised to see the room was exactly as I'd left it. I mean exactly. A couple of drawers were still open and some of the clothes I'd taken from the closet but didn't have room to pack in my duffel were still lying on the bed. There was a thick coating of  dust on everything and the air smelled stale. I opened the window to air the room out.

Just then I heard a car in the driveway. I went into Barbara's old room, noticing it was nearly as dusty as mine, and looked out the side window. There was an old white pickup truck parked behind my rental. I started down the stairs and before I got to the bottom there was a knock on the front door. When I opened the door I saw a very familiar stout gray-haired man about sixty on the porch.

"Uncle Frank!" Frank Perry wasn't really my uncle but he and his wife had owned the next farm down the road since long before I was born and they were my parent's best friends. He held out his hand but I ignored it and threw my arms around him in a hug. When I released him he looked embarrassed.

"Damn, Silas, you're a sight for sore eyes.  I didn't expect to see you here."

"You're looking pretty good, too, though you've got a few more gray hairs than I remember. You've put on a little weight, too." Frank had always had a pot belly and I'd always teased him about it.

"Well, with you not around there's no one but me to eat all of Mary's baking." He stopped joking and looked serious. "How's Sam? I saw the ambulance here last night and came by as they were taking him away. I called the hospital today but they don't give out much information to strangers."

"He's stable, that's about all I know. I'm meeting with his doctor in the morning."

"So where have you been all this time? How have you been? I gave up on asking Sam about you. He wouldn't ever say a word, wouldn't say what had happened between you two, just changed the subject whenever I asked."

"I live in New York City. And Dad and I haven't spoken in years so he couldn't have told you anything about me even if he wanted to."

"Well, all families have their squabbles, I guess. It's a shame it takes a crisis to bring folks back together but it's sure good to see you. I came by this morning and looked after the cows and was just about to do it again. I suppose you've taken care of them now."

"I was wondering why they weren't putting up more of a fuss when I got here. Come on into the kitchen and I'll see what there is to offer you."

When we got to the kitchen Uncle Frank pointed to the cabinet to the left of the sink.

"The Jack Daniels is there. I like it over ice."

I got out the bottle and two glasses and poured each of us a drink.

"So what do you do in the big city, Silas?"

"Public relations." It was my standard answer. It was vague and boring enough so that few people asked for more details.

I quickly changed the subject, just in case, and asked Frank about his family. He had two daughters about Barbara's age and when he got on the subject of his grandchildren he talked on and on. The only thing I could add to that conversation was to tell him what little I knew about my niece and nephews. I refilled our glasses once and was about to do it again when Frank stopped me.

"I've got to get back home. Mary thinks I'm just milking a few cows and will be calling the state troopers to look for me if I'm not back soon."

"Be sure to give her my love."

"I will. And come by the house real soon. She'll be thrilled to see you."

After he left I went through the house to see what changes, if any, Dad had made. The biggest was that he had moved to the downstairs bedroom off the kitchen. It didn't look like anyone had been upstairs in years, not that he did a very good job cleaning downstairs. I unpacked my bag, vacuumed and dusted my room, changed the bedding and cleaned the bathroom across the hall. I wasn't a neat freak but living with a slob like Jeff had taught me to appreciate a clean home.

I went back to the kitchen and after looking through the Hungry Man dinners in the freezer decided to scramble some of the eggs I'd brought in. Dad had some bacon in the fridge so I fried some of that, too. I didn't think eggs would go well with whiskey so I had a glass of water instead.  Only after cleaning up the kitchen did I pour myself another Jack Daniels on the rocks and go into the living room. I turned on the TV and saw we still only got the two channels I'd grown up with. I didn't watch a lot of TV but with my varied schedule I liked being able to catch the news on cable 24 hours a day.

I turned off the TV and took my drink upstairs. It was early but it had been a long stressful day. I stripped down to my boxers, set my drink on the night stand and got into my old bed. I looked around the room as I sipped, thinking the place looked smaller. I thought I'd never see that room again, but here I was in the bed I'd slept in for twenty years. I picked up the book I'd brought with me, a Donald Strachey mystery, and began to read.    

Either the whiskey or the stress of the day, maybe both, got to me after half an hour so I set my old alarm for five, put down the book and turned out the light. I lay there thinking about my first day in the city. I'd been so overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise. Now I was feeling overwhelmed by the silence. I'd forgotten how quiet the country was. Even as tired as I was it took a while to fall asleep.

Five o'clock came way too soon. In the past twelve years in the city that had been my bedtime far more often than a time to get up. I went into the bathroom, peed, splashed some water on my face, then went back to my room to dress. After emptying the cows I let them out into the pasture and went back to the house. While making another round of bacon and eggs I decided if I didn't go to the supermarket today my cholesterol would soon be through the roof.  After cleaning up it wasn't even seven o'clock so I still had a couple of hours before my appointment with Dad's doctor. I decided a tour of the farm was in order.

My first stop was Mom's half-acre garden where she'd grown all of the veggies we ate, plus most of the herbs she used in cooking. I was shocked to see nothing planted there at all. It was completely overgrown. Mom would have been heartbroken to see the plot she so lovingly tended packed with weeds. I had assumed Dad wouldn't have grown as much for just himself but I thought he would have planted something. From the abandoned garden I walked up the hill to the orchard. The apple and pear trees were still there, it would have been hard to do much damage to them through neglect, but it looked like they hadn't been pruned the fall before, maybe not even the year before that.

When I went on to the fields I wasn't surprised to see Dad was only growing about half the corn and alfalfa he used to. After all, he had far fewer cows to feed. Still it was depressing to see so much land lying fallow. As I walked back to the house I realized how much I still cared for the farm and how sad I was to see it in decline.

Before leaving for the hospital I took inventory of the kitchen and pantry. The shelves that used to hold dozens of jars of vegetables and fruit that Mom put up each year held only a handful of cans of store-bought soup. It was pretty clear that Dad did almost no cooking but then the kitchen had been Mom's domain. Maybe he didn't even know how to cook.

At five to nine I was at the nurse's station of the intensive care unit. A red-haired nurse told me that  Dr. Patel was examining Dad and said I could join them. I politely refused, saying I'd prefer to speak to the doctor first. The nurse looked like she thought that was odd, and it was, but she directed me to the waiting room and said she'd let the doctor know I was there. After a few minutes a short, balding dark man in a white coat came into the room.

"Mr. Willson? I'm Dr. Patel." He held out his hand and we shook. He sat in the chair next to the one I'd been sitting in and I sat back down as well.

"How is he, doctor?"

"We still have some tests to run but he's in very bad shape. I wish he'd come in to see us before and we might have been able to prevent this myocardial infarction, or MI, but now we'll just have to work with what we have."

"And what is that?" The doctor's tone didn't make it look good. I was hoping that some medicine, treatment and a little rest would have him back on his feet able to take care of himself again. Then I could slip out of the picture and get back to my life in the city.

"Basically, he has congestive heart failure, probably brought on in part by his uncontrolled high blood pressure. He also has very high cholesterol which complicates any heart condition." I thought of the eggs I'd been worrying about that morning.

"Heart failure? Does that mean he's dying?"

"Not necessarily. It means the heart isn't pumping as much blood as the body needs. To make up for it, the body retains salt and water to make more blood, and the heart beats faster and gets larger. For a while the body can compensate and the patient doesn't even know anything is wrong. But eventually the heart starts to wear out. Fluid builds up in the body and the patient feels weak and out of breath all the time."

"How did he get this?"

"Any number of things can cause it - hypertension, coronary artery disease, heart attack. He's had the first two and has gone untreated for years, and as of Saturday he's had the attack as well."

"So what does he do now?"

"First we have to find out how far gone his heart is. Now that he's stable we're transferring him to our Denville facility for a heart catheterization. We can treat his hypertension and cholesterol and there are even some drugs for the heart failure itself. And if he quits smoking and improves his diet he might have several years ahead of him, although he will be somewhat disabled. Just how much depends on the damage already done to his heart."

"What kind of farm work do you think he'll still be able to do?"

"It's too early to tell and I'm not familiar with farm work, but my best guess is that it's time he retired. Any strenuous labor will be out of the question."

Retired? Farmers don't retire. They just continue to do what they can and have the next generation pick up the slack. But in our case the next generation wasn't a farmer, he was an escort.

"Visiting hours for ICU don't start until eleven but as long as you're here would you like to see him?"

"No!" I said it much more abruptly than I meant to. "I mean, he and I are estranged. We haven't spoken in years and if you're interested in what's best for your patient it might be a good idea if he didn't even know I was here."

"If you're on such bad terms, what are you doing here?"

"To be honest I'm just a stand-in for my sister. She's on the West Coast and can't be here to speak to you so I'm acting as a go-between."

"Maybe she should just call me then. No need to put you out if you're not really concerned." He definitely didn't like my attitude.

"Look, I'm not saying I don't care about him. He's my father. We've got our problems but nothing can change that. And I meant what I said about it being better if he didn't know I was around. I'm sure it would upset him and that can't be good for someone in his condition."

"If you say so." His attitude softened a bit, but not much. "He'll be taken by ambulance to Denville this afternoon and the catheterization is scheduled for tomorrow morning. If you call my office after noon you can find out how it went."

He handed me his card as he got up. I took out my card case and gave him one of mine as well, double checking to make sure it was one that had my name, address, phone numbers and email on it. I also had business cards in the case that just said "Dream Date #5" in a fancy font and the web site url and office phone number of the escort service. Ed believed that we shouldn't have names, just numbers. So many clients' fantasies came with a set idea of a name for their dream date so we let them name us. We were who they wanted us to be. I was a different name to each of my clients and none of them knew me as Silas.

It was too early to call Oregon so I did some shopping at the supermarket, picking up some staples and produce. I also bought a fistful of daisies in the floral department.

Heading north I passed the turnoff for the farm and continued another half mile until I came to Clove Cemetery. I followed the narrow winding drive up a small hill and parked at the top. It took me a minute to find the granite stone that wasn't there on my last visit. A lump formed in my throat as I read the inscription.

Sarah E. Willson
Loving Wife and Mother
March 18, 1943-June 1,1997  

I carefully laid the daisies on the ground against the stone and sat down on the grass facing it.

"Hey Ma, sorry it's taken me so long to come visit but I'm sure you understand. I don't know what you were thinking when you told him about me. You can't have believed he'd be okay with it. I've done okay though, better than okay. I've got a good life for the most part. But I don't know what to do about Dad."

I heard a noise to my left and looked and saw an old man getting out of a car about a hundred yards away, too far for him to notice I was talking to the grave, although that probably wasn't too out of the ordinary here.

"You'd hate what the farm looks like. I hate it and I've been living in the city for years. I guess Dad just couldn't keep up with it. Now I don't know what he's going to do. If he can't work at all he'll have to sell the place. But I can't see him ever doing that. He was born there and so were his father and grandfather. I can help for a while, or I could if we could somehow both live on the farm without bumping into each other, but I have a job and a life in the city."

Just mentioning my job in front of Mom made me feel uneasy. Over the years I'd occasionally tried to define my idea of heaven. Lots of people said that those who were in heaven saw everything we did here on earth. That was a scary thought. I couldn't imagine Mom watching me while I was with my clients. But for that matter if I were in love and in a monogamous relationship I wouldn't want to think that  Mom could be watching me then either. I preferred to think that those in heaven only saw what we wanted them to see, just like those here on earth. Hey, my beliefs can be whatever I want them to be. Yours can be whatever you want.

I sat in silence for a little while, lost in memories of Mom before she got sick. Finally I got up and drove back to the house. When I got there it was still too early to call Barbara so I checked in with Karen instead.

"Hey, love, how's tricks?"

"That's what I should be asking you, Silas, except I know you haven't had any since last we talked. Unless you've been freelancing and you know that's taboo."

"And you know how well I obey the rules."

"What do you think of Ed's plan for the Townsend twofer Thursday night?"

"Sorry, I haven't read it. I haven't had access to my email lately. I'll check it when I get back tonight."

"Back? Where are you?"

"Wantage." I gave it a French pronunciation trying to make it sound exotic. "It's the latest hot spot on the Riviera."

"The Hudson Riviera?"

"Actually a little west of there. Bumfuck, New Jersey to be exact."

"Sounds like your kind of place."

"I had a little family situation but I'll be back in time for Steve McQueen's debut tonight."

"Family? Dream Date #5 has a family?"

"We all do, dear, try as we might to forget them."

"Well, I hope everything is all right with your 'situation'. I have a date for you Friday night, if you're available."

"That depends. What is it?"

"It's your old friend, Mr. Ramsey. He really must like sucking your lollypop."

"Ramsey? Doesn't sound familiar."

"The one who likes your leather outfit, the one you call PDB. Only he wants you for something completely different this time. Is your tux clean?"

"It should be. I'll check when I get home. What's this one all about?"

"A gala charity fundraiser at the Met. You like opera?"

"Which one?"


"That'll do. Email me the details."

I was resigned to having to commute to work from the farm for the time being. As long as I could take care of the cows every twelve hours or so, the rest of my time was available for work. Unfortunately with most of my dates in the evening in the city and the cows needing to be milked at 5 AM, I was going to have to grab sleep whenever I could.

I fixed myself a large salad for lunch and finally decided it was time to call Barbara. I passed on as much of what the doctor told me as I could remember. She agreed that Dad would rather die than sell the farm, but she said she had no idea what his financial situation was.

"I know that Mom's medical bills, even with the insurance, pretty much wiped him out. He got quite drunk after you left and said something about the funeral taking the last of his savings. That was a lot for him to say, considering how he doesn`t talk about money."

"So I doubt if he was able to save up much after that."

"Yeah, I guess."  I thought she was about to add something to that but didn't.

"It looks like he hasn't been able to do much around the place lately. He's down to six cows."

"The last time I was there was three years ago and he had nine. He seemed to have slowed down some but I figured it was just old age. He was sixty-seven, after all."

"Well, until they finish the tests we won't know just how bad he is. If he gets rid of the cows and can rent the fields to other farmers maybe he can afford to stay in the house by himself."

"It's a thought but you know how he is. Everything's got to be his way. I can't see him allowing someone else to farm his land."

"Well, I don't know that he'll have much choice. I can stay here and take care of things as long as he's in the hospital but once he's able to come home I've got to be out of here. There's no way we can be in the same house. Besides, this place is just out of comfortable commuting range of the city."

"Well, I'll think about our options. Keep me posted."

"I will. And I'll keep thinking, too."

"And thanks, Silas. I know this is hard for you."

I called Livy, got her voice mail and left a message, summarizing Dad's condition and letting her know that I'd be out of town for at least a week although I'd be back for dates now and then.

A list of farm chores appeared in my head as if I'd never left, but as I'd been up hours earlier than I was used to and I was going to have a late night I decided a nap was in order. The farm chores had been waiting for Dad for the last few years, they could wait for me.

I was back on the road into the city at five. It was rush hour but as I was going against the flow traffic wasn't too bad, at least not until I got to the back-up at the George Washington Bridge. No matter what time of day it was there were plenty of people trying to get into the city. It was nearly seven when I got to my apartment.

My outfit for Steve McQueen was pretty basic. A white tee, jeans and the leather jacket and Doc Martens boots from the other day with PDB. I practiced my attitude in the mirror for a few minutes. Imaginary fantasies were so much easier to do than real ones; there was a lot more leeway. When someone had a fantasy about an actor, like Paul Walker or  Steve McQueen, chances were the client had seen their movies over and over and knew just what they looked like and how they acted, in detail. I couldn't do much about the looks so the gist of the impersonation was in attitude and mannerisms.

Steve McQueen had been a heavy smoker so that was a part of his presence, but having grown up around Dad I hated the habit and I couldn't bring myself to smoke. I'd come up with a compromise, however, having an unlit cigarette dangle from my lips with another tucked behind my ear. It took me a little practice so that I could talk without letting the cigarette fall out of my mouth but the end result made me appear even more like the macho star.

The client's apartment was on the Upper East Side so I left the rented Altima in Chelsea and took a cab. Even though it meant having to come back afterwards, I didn't have all night to look for another parking place. The apartment was in a high rise and I had the doorman announce me as just Steve. I was greeted at the door by a short, thin man about 50, with a receding hairline. He introduced himself as Marty. Karen had told me he was a CPA and he looked his part as well as I looked mine. He wanted more than sex from me; he wanted to spend time hanging out with his idol. So we spent an hour or so talking about my films and costars over drinks before adjourning to the bedroom.

Just once I wished a client would surprise me and want to turn the tables on a macho film idol, making him roll over and take it like a man. But Marty was completely predictable. He wanted to be ravaged by his idol, fucked and fucked hard, and I had no problem filling that role, and filling him as well. I even managed to get the job done without losing the cigarette dangling from my lips. I left a very satisfied accountant behind.

The cab dropped me off in front of my apartment about ten thirty. I went up, checked that my tux and accessories were ready for use, then packed more clothes and supplies in a bag. I caught up on my emails and printed out Ed's scenario for the twofer. I considered bringing my laptop but as there was no Internet access on the farm and I had no idea if there was a wi-fi hot spot anywhere in the county, there wasn't much point.

I was feeling tired as I drove back to the country. About halfway I realized I hadn't had anything to eat since my salad at lunch but it was late and the idea of a happy meal at a drive-through wasn't very appetizing. I spent most of the drive lost in thought about Dad and the farm, wondering what could be done. I was surprised to realize that I would also be terribly upset if the farm was sold. Even though it was a part of my past, it was as much my life as anything else. The idea of strangers living in that house, farming that land, bothered me almost as much as the image of our fields full of big ugly McMansions.

I was halfway between Hamburg and Sussex when, as I rounded a curve, a big buck jumped out of the woods into the road. I stomped on the brake and swerved. The car skidded toward the side of the road as the deer leaped away. Just before coming to a stop on the shoulder the right front fender grazed the animal but not very hard because he continued to scamper back into the woods. I sat gripping the wheel with both hands, trembling. After a few seconds I realized I was an easy target for any car coming around the curve behind me so I started up again even though I was still shaking. A minute later I was in town and decided I could use a drink to steady my nerves, so instead of taking the little bypass around the center of town, I went up Main Street and parked in front of the Blarney Stone, Dad's old hangout. The farm was less than five minutes away and I could have waited until then, but I felt the need to be around people.

There were only a few patrons in the bar itself when I went in and Mr. Monahan, the owner, was behind the bar. From the sound of it a party was breaking up in the side room. I sat at the bar and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. It wasn't my favorite booze but I'd had some the night before and this wasn't the kind of place that would make a good Cosmo.

I downed the shot and asked for another, a double this time and over ice, something to sip now that I'd had a belt to calm my nerves.

"You're Silas Willson, aren't you?" Mr. Monahan asked as he put the drink in front of me. I hadn't been old enough to drink when I'd left home but Dad was a regular here and Mr. Monahan had had to call me to come get him a few times when he'd had too much to drink. I nodded.

"How's your Dad?"

It was a small town and I wasn't surprised that he'd heard about the attack.

"He's stable. They transferred him to Denville today for tests so we'll know more soon."

"I'm surprised to see you here." I wondered what Dad had told him about me. Not much, I imagined, if he hadn't said anything to Uncle Frank.

"Not as surprised as I am to be here."

He got called to the other end of the bar and that was fine with me. While I wanted to be around people I didn't feel especially social. I just didn't want to be alone. I sipped my drink, my mind going back to the problem of Dad and the farm. I drained the last few drops from the glass and I looked up to order another. I was stunned to find myself looking across the bar into the most intense blue eyes.

"You're Declan Kelly!" I blurted.

"And you're Silas Willson," he grinned back at me. "How the hell are ya?"

I couldn't answer at first. All through high school I'd been so intimidated by his beauty that I had been a babbling idiot whenever I was around him, and nothing seemed to have changed there. Not that I had ever allowed myself to be close enough to talk to him back then. As shocked as I was to see him behind the bar, I was more shocked that he knew who I was. I'd made such a point of being a nobody in school. He added some ice to my glass and poured in more whiskey.

"Are you okay?" He was adorable with the look of concern on his face.

"Um, uh, yeah, I guess. I just didn't expect to see you here. I was expecting to see Mr. Monahan. So you work here now?" I was kicking myself for asking the obvious, but at least words were coming out of my mouth.

"Well, it's not my day job but I give Uncle Pat a hand when he needs some help. I heard about your Dad. How's he doing?"

I went through the brief description I was getting used to reciting. Declan nodded, appearing to hang on every word.

"I haven't seen you around in ages. I thought you'd left the area for good."

"So did I. I've lived in the city for a long time now."

"I go in for a show or concert now and then but I don't think I could live there. I'm still a small-town country boy."

"Well, it's a very different life but I've adapted pretty well."

I didn't know if it was the booze or the company, but I was having trouble concentrating and keeping the conversation going. I decided to leave before I made a complete fool of myself. As I stood and put a twenty on the bar the room started spinning. It probably hadn't been a good idea to drink so much on an empty stomach.

"Whoa, why don't you sit for a while and I'll get you some coffee."

"No, that'd just keep me awake half the night. I'll be fine. I've only got a couple of miles to go."

"You'd better let me give you a ride home."

"No way. I'm more tired than drunk."

"If you've been living in the city you're probably not used to driving sober, much less tipsy. Besides, if you get into an accident I'm liable for having served you."

"But you're working. You can't leave." The idea of Declan taking me home made my head spin more than the whiskey.

"I was only here to help out with the party and that's been over for a while. So let's go."

I didn't want to raise a fuss so I gave in. I felt bad to put him out, especially when I really hadn't had all that much to drink, but maybe he was right. As I followed him to his car I was feeling tipsy. I kept staring at his tight, round denim-encased butt and had to exercise restraint not to grab it.

Declan did all the talking on the short ride home. He updated me on half our high school classmates. They had been his friends, but they weren't much more than names and faces to me. It only seemed a minute later when he pulled into the driveway, stopped and smiled at me.

"Home, safe and sound. Do you need a lift back into town to get your car tomorrow?"

"No, I'll manage," I stammered. I couldn't ask him to help out again, even if it meant walking into town the next day.

"Well, if you need anything give me a call. I'm in the book, the only Declan Kelly in Hamburg."

"Say, how'd you know where I lived?" It suddenly occurred to me he hadn't asked for directions.

"I've given your Dad a ride home a few times over the years." He smiled. "Better take some aspirin before you go to bed or you'll have a big head in the morning. And not the good kind of big head," he added with a wink. I nearly melted in my seat.

"Th-thanks for the lift." I opened the door and carefully got out of the car, trying not to appear as wobbly as I felt.

"No problem. It was good to see you again. I hope things turn out okay with your dad."  

I waited until he drove off before I staggered to the house. Jeez, I'd only had a few drinks. I usually held my liquor better than that. Maybe I was just tired and stressed. Or maybe it was lust. Damn, Declan had been a hot kid in high school but he'd matured into an even better looking man.

The last thought I had before falling asleep was his smooth, white bubble butt. That was one high school memory that I knew would be with me until the day I died. Even so, I was more than a little surprised when I awoke in the middle of the night, having had my first wet dream since puberty.