Winter break was cold and dull. I was broke enough to have to leave New York and have to go back home to New Hampshire. Hanging around my parents all day was frustrating in and of itself, and the lack of just about any fuckable guy for miles was icing on the cake.
This was what, in the end, made me invite Ben to stay up with me for a few days. I knew it was a terrible idea from the start; Ben wanted us to be more than friends, and I simply couldn't commit to that. Not when there were so many other beautiful guys to fuck. I knew inviting him over would only make him believe we were closer to entering a relationship (what a horrible word), but I needed to get laid or I'd go crazy. And, well – I missed Ben. I wanted to see him.
So Ben came on a rainy January afternoon, and I pointedly introduced him to my parents as my friend; he slept in the guest bedroom. Of course, he tiptoed to my room in the night, where we fucked each other brains out several times until the early hours of the morning. I got barely any sleep that night but still woke up more refreshed than I've felt in weeks.
In the morning, at breakfast, my mother and Ben and I discussed where I could take Ben around town that was interesting (answer: nowhere). It was my mother's idea that we should see Fergus.
"He's been so lonely ever since Mark left, and Victoria's away – I'm really worried about him, you know," my mother said, clicking her tongue.
Fergus was the father of Victoria, my best friend from middle and high school. We had become friends, in fact, precisely because Victoria had two fathers; some of our classmates in middle school teased her mercilessly when they found out, and a few teachers chose to turn a blind eye. I, however, already well aware of my gayness by then, had reached out to Victoria and we became instant friends. We were well-suited; I loved Victoria's dry wit and she loved my boldness, and our friendship lasted through high school and survived going to different colleges. I talked to Victoria, whether chatting on Facebook or via Skype, most days.
Victoria's two fathers, Fergus and Mark, were one of those couples that seemed based on the principle that opposites attract; Fergus was an enormous, strapping Scottish expat, a good 6'4" tall, with pale skin and thick dark hair, while Mark was small and slim, blond-haired and very neat-looking. As a kid I had a massive crush on Fergus; he coached Victoria's soccer team, and I remember all too well many afternoons I spent watching him from the sidelines where I was ostensibly supposed to be cheering on my friend. Instead I spent all Victoria's games and practices staring at her father's curvy calves and enormous thighs in his shorts, muscular, veiny, pale and covered in thick dark hair.
A few months ago, in November, Mark had left Fergus for another, younger man and moved off to Florida; according to my mother, who was a good friend of his, Fergus was crushed. Victoria was spending the year studying abroad on Barcelona; she had wanted to drop out and come home straight away, but Fergus convinced her not to. It was no surprise, then, that he'd be lonely.
"He's very fond of you, Nick," my mother said. "Maybe it would cheer him up if you visited. Bring Ben, too," she said.
I was fond of Fergus too, so I agreed. Ben was happy enough to oblige, always in his element when people needed support of comfort.
When we arrived at his house and Fergus opened the door, I was astonished by how bad he looked – he was pale, with grey circles under his eyes, scruffy and unshaven. He wore dress pants, a shirt and a tie, which were neat enough, but they only emphasized his look of weariness. He was still the same mountain of man, tall, broad-shouldered, bulging biceps struggling under the thin fabric of his shirt, but he looked like a ghost. He was about fifty, and for the first time I've seen him looked every last year of it.
"Nick!" he said, smiling. It didn't exactly light up his face, but it was an improvement. "Good to see you. Come in!"
"This is my friend, Ben. We thought we'd drop by," I said, a little awkwardly. Ben and Fergus shook hands, and Fergus lead us into the living room. It wasn't dirty, but it was dusty and cluttered, as if nobody cared about keeping it neat – which, in all likelihood, nobody did.
"Will you boys have a couple of beers with me? I was going to go into work this morning but I felt like having a mental health day," he said with false brightness, "so I'm very glad you boys could join me."
We agreed to the beers, and Fergus disappeared into the kitchen. Ben leaned towards me.
"Does he always look this miserable?" he whispered.
"No, not always. He's taking Mark leaving pretty hard," I said.
"Poor guy," Ben said, with feeling.
Fergus came back with the beers. We sipped them slowly, without talking for a moment, then Fergus rubbed his neck and swung his head around.
"Aah," he said, "I don't know if I slept on it badly or what, but I just feel so tense."
In an instant, I had an idea. My kind of idea.
"Ben gives great neck rubs," I said.
"I do?" Ben said, but I shut him up with a fierce look.
Fergus eyed Ben curiously, and Ben looked at me blankly.
"Why don't you massage Fergus's neck a little, Ben?" I asked sweetly. "He certainly could use it."
Ben glared at me through narrowed eyes, but could hardly say no. "Sure, if you'd like me to, Mr. Scott," he said.
"It's Fergus," Fergus said. "And, sure, why not? Not sure if anything can help me, though," he said, smiling lopsidedly.
Ben walked around to stand behind the wide sofa Fergus was sitting on, and looking awkward, he began to knead the skin around Fergus's neck and shoulders. He looked uncertain at first, but then, slowly, became more intent. His eyes clouded over a little; I could guess that he could smell that smell I remembered from all those soccer games of yore, the sweaty musk of the rugged Scotsman.
"Aww, that's really nice," Fergus said. "Nick was right, this is very good."
