[Note: This work has six chapters, the posting of which should be completed by 15 January 2016.]
*****
Danny was concentrating on the probability examples in his textbook that he didn't realize that he had the dog tags in his mouth, sucking on them as was one of his bad habits, until he heard the chuckle from across the library table. He looked up into the smiling face of the guy he'd seen there several times earlier. He was always smiling at Danny—not concentrating on anything of his own, although he had papers fanned out in front of him. He was just smiling at Danny.
Embarrassed, Danny tucked the dog tags back inside his T-shirt. He didn't like showing them, even though they gave him comfort. The tags were all he had left of his dad—his real dad. They were all of his dad that had come back from Iraq and had been given to him. They were reminders of times more settles, happier, when he could have given a smiling definition to the word "family."
The man reached over and slid the book Danny had laying beside his school texts across the table, turned it to where he could read the title, and looked up and smiled at Danny again. it was a copy of Andrew Holleran's
Dancer from the Dance
that Danny had sneaked into his house. He kept it hidden at the back of the bookcase in his room behind his sci-fi fantasy books when he wasn't taking it out of the house to enjoy some place where his mother or Floyd wouldn't see it. But he didn't really have to hide it in the house, he thought. His mother was a crummy housekeeper; years ago she had declared she wouldn't come in his room again until he picked up all his clothes—and she'd kept to that promise. He didn't think that Floyd paid any attention to books—it was just the magazines and posters that he zeroed in on.
Holleran had opened up a new world for Danny. He'd had no idea the gay lifestyle could go on in the open like that—and so close to where he lived, in dull Plainview, the name of which explained it all. In Plainview, everything was in plain view and it was all tawdry and dull. They were practically in the suburbs of New York City, and Danny had never even gone that far from Plainview in his life. And to think, from Holleran's descriptions, that there was this whole other life, out in the open, in another direction from Plainview, but not even as far away as New York City was. Fire Island was settling in Danny's brain as some sort of Disneyland out there for guys who liked guys—and who did something about it.
But he was mortified that the man had seen what he was reading. Did the man know about the book—what it was about? His smile seemed to indicate that he did. Danny reached over and slid the book back to his side of the table and bent down and put it in his book bag. He tried to return to studying his probability book and not looking at the man. But he couldn't stop thinking about him. He'd been thinking about the man quite a bit the last couple of weeks. Whenever Floyd went at him, he thought about the man. The man was a lot better looking than Floyd—and younger too. He might be thirty or more or less. Danny couldn't tell, and he hadn't put a lot of thought into that question anyway. The man had a strong-featured face and all of his hair. Floyd didn't have all of his hair. He was trim and well-muscled and he dressed like he had money. Floyd was an auto mechanic—and dressed like one, and always had oil stains on him like one.
Floyd didn't compare in looks. Danny hadn't been able to avoid thinking how the man compared with Floyd in other respects. Danny had come to grips with his wants and desires—that his desires were for men. He just hadn't done anything with anyone but Floyd—yet—although he was building up to it. And it had taken him time to become resolved to getting it from Floyd. He was embarrassed now that he not only let Floyd do those things to him but that he looked forward to it. Still, there must be more than what he got from Floyd. The Holleran book had indicated that there was more—that it could be more satisfying, that it could be better, less humiliating.
Danny wondered if his mother knew what he and Floyd did—what Floyd came to him for. Danny didn't know the answer to that, but he did know that there wasn't anything he could tell his mother about Floyd. His mother thought that Floyd was the best thing that ever happened to them.
"He wants to be a father to you, Danny," she'd said when she told him that Floyd had finally offered to marry her—after nearly a year of sleeping with her here in the house. "And he wants to help you. He'll put you through the community college here—and god knows how we'd manage that without him. He makes good money. He's probably the best auto mechanic in town. Everyone wants him working on their car. He'll bring us some comfort."
And of course she was right about the stability Floyd had brought to them. He'd saved them from living from day to day not knowing if his mother's tips at the beauty parlor would be enough to carry them to the end of each month.
And Danny had never seen his mother this happy before. The nights Floyd put on Country and Western music had become a signal that they'd be bumping the headboard of their bed against his bedroom wall that night. Danny had come to hate the Country and Western music. The next morning after it had played, though, his mother would be humming and dancing around the kitchen when he got up to make the bus out to the community college. His mother was well fucked now. He'd have to give Floyd credit for that.
Yep, Floyd was taking care of them both all right. He didn't give any signals when he took Danny, though. He just did it. And, to Danny's embarrassment, if he went a week without doing it, Danny began to crave it.
Danny took a peek in the direction of the man sitting across from him again, intrigued and considering what the possibilities were. He hadn't had the opportunity—or, perhaps, the courage—to go with anyone else other than Floyd yet, although the Holleran book had given him ideas, urges. When Danny took that peek, though, the man wasn't there, across the table, anymore.
"If you're interested, meet me in the men's room on the first floor of the stacks. It will be private enough there. But if you want more, more privately, I will take you somewhere."
The man was standing beside Danny, bending low and whispering in his ear. He had a hand possessively on Danny's arm, right under his bicep, and that sent a shiver of thrill up Danny's spine.
"Excuse me?" Danny said, truly flustered.
"You know I've been watching you. I know what you want. I can give it to you. First floor stacks men's room."
The man was gone, leaving Danny to redden up. He gathered up his books with shaking hands and stuffed them into his briefcase. He was trembling as he found the stairs and descended to the first floor and then back to the stacks. He had no idea where the men's room was down here, but it didn't matter. He had no intention of meeting with this man either. He had his urges, yes, but now that he could act on them, he was frightened silly about doing so.
But then he was there, facing the door of the men's room. He reached out for the handle, but the motion was arrested by the giggling growing louder from the shelves to his left. Two young women and a young man emerged from down the dimly lit line of the bookcases.
"I'll catch up with you. Gotta stop here a minute," the young man said to the women. Danny stepped to the side as the man brushed past him and entered the men's room.
Danny turned and looked sheepishly at the two women. They smiled at him in passing. Then he turned and escaped down a line of shelves until he was at an exit stairway. He argued with himself all the way home. Someday he'd have the courage. He'd been right there; he would have gone in if the other guy hadn't shown up. He wanted to experience it all. But he just didn't know where—and how to start. As he walked, he thought about the Holleran book. Perhaps that was telling him where and how to start.
* * * *
"Come over here. Give me some sugar."
Danny's eyes opened wide in panic. It was daytime. Nearly noon on a Saturday. Danny was just coming back from studying in the library. His mother was going to fix him lunch. Floyd should be at the garage, working on people's cars.
But there was no sign of his mother in the kitchen, which opened out into this combined living room-dining room space. And Floyd was sitting in his recliner; pointed at the TV, where a college football game was playing. He was sprawled, beer in hand, and just in his briefs.
"Where's Ma? Why aren't you—?"
"Your ma got called into the parlor. They're shorthanded. We had a fire in bay one. The garage is shut down for the day. Sos I thought I'd watch Florida State get creamed and maybe get myself some of that there sweet young guy poontang. Had a hard time waiting for you. Didn't really wait, though."
He laughed and Danny's eyes went down to Floyd's groin, where a big, almost-black cock was laying in his hand outside of his fly, half hard.
"Floyd," Danny managed in a strangled voice. "It's afternoon. It's daylight."
