![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eric_daltonI wander slowly through the crowds in Chinatown. I need to find something to immerse myself in, to forget. No bookstore this time, and San Francisco already has more than enough quirky little stores. I’m trying to find inspiration here and then I’ll move on, probably to someplace smaller.
I sigh and fondle an apple in a display. What I really want is someplace like Wellington, which, sadly, I think is unique. The seller is glaring at me so I quickly pay for the fruit and start munching it. Let’s be honest here, the appeal of Wellington is the people, especially one certain person, and I let myself have the indulgence of thinking about him, his mischievous grin, his long beautiful legs, his passion, before I firmly push him out of my mind. My injuries have healed but I don’t know when the ache for him is going to pass, the wanting of him, buried deep in me. Not the time for that.
Time to move on.
But I pass a shop selling Japanese puzzles and I can’t resist going in. And of course, I find something totally perfect for him. It is shaped like a multi-pointed star, made of three types of wood, all sanded to silky smoothness. I hold it up, turning it in the light, feeling the weight of it, the wood becoming warm in my hand and I debate with myself. He would love this, he’s so tactile, those long fingers of his touch everything he sees, learning what they can about his world. A wave of lust curls through my belly at the memory of his hands learning my body.
I put the puzzle down hurriedly, squashing my feelings. I can’t send it to him. He’ll know where I am and if I know anything about him, he’ll track me down. But I could send it to Ben. . . . No! I stroke a longing finger over a walnut point, before turning away, but then I curse under my breath as I pull out my wallet. This is so hard, but I still love him and I want him to have this.
My cell phone rings as I ramble, and it’s Jerry Boseman, a friend from college who’s big into real estate on the West Coast. I reactivated my American citizenship a few weeks ago, luckily New Zealand is still on the list of acceptable countries, and Jerry is trying to find someplace for me to settle.
“Salem, Oregon,” he says as soon as I answer. I’ll take his word on it. I told him what type of place I was looking for and I’ll trust that he found a somewhere that suits my needs.
Later I find a bar, a club really, to rest in for a while. My stamina isn’t what it once was and I hate feeling weak the way I do sometimes. I spent too much time on my feet and I don’t want to think about the package I posted to Wellington this afternoon.
I stare into my Scotch and wonder how their battle goes . . . and if we’d ever know, here, if they fail. Sometimes, I think Morgoth wouldn’t need to battle for control of this planet, he just needs a hit TV show and everyone would follow him. And when I see the American president pushing his macho agenda, I wonder what he would do if someone told him that the real struggle for the safety of this world isn’t being waged by those men and women he so thoughtlessly sends to die in the desert, but by a bunch of actors, one of whom, at least, is one of those homosexuals he has so much contempt for.
The bar is typical San Francisco, too many ferns and weird drinks. But the patrons are easy on the eyes and when one of them keeps getting in my line of sight I don’t object. We strike an easy shallow conversation, and I resolve to let him pick me up. His name is John.
Unfortunately, a trailer for Doom comes on the television over the bar and I freeze, staring, drinking in the sight of him. John notices and smiles casually.
“He’s a hottie,” he says, touching my shoulder, bringing my focus back to him. “Don’t tell me you have a celebrity crush! I’ll ever so disappointed if you’re fanatising about him when you should be paying attention to me!”
I don’t tell him how close he is to the truth, but fob it off with some vague statement about fellow Kiwis and all, and let him lead me back to his place, where he expertly brings me screaming to orgasm in no time.
The night is deep and rain falls against the windows. I leave him in the bed and stare out across the city, where the trees and the weather are getting ready for autumn. But my body is expecting Spring. I’ll have none this year, another winter for me, here in my self-imposed exile.
I sigh and fondle an apple in a display. What I really want is someplace like Wellington, which, sadly, I think is unique. The seller is glaring at me so I quickly pay for the fruit and start munching it. Let’s be honest here, the appeal of Wellington is the people, especially one certain person, and I let myself have the indulgence of thinking about him, his mischievous grin, his long beautiful legs, his passion, before I firmly push him out of my mind. My injuries have healed but I don’t know when the ache for him is going to pass, the wanting of him, buried deep in me. Not the time for that.
Time to move on.
But I pass a shop selling Japanese puzzles and I can’t resist going in. And of course, I find something totally perfect for him. It is shaped like a multi-pointed star, made of three types of wood, all sanded to silky smoothness. I hold it up, turning it in the light, feeling the weight of it, the wood becoming warm in my hand and I debate with myself. He would love this, he’s so tactile, those long fingers of his touch everything he sees, learning what they can about his world. A wave of lust curls through my belly at the memory of his hands learning my body.
I put the puzzle down hurriedly, squashing my feelings. I can’t send it to him. He’ll know where I am and if I know anything about him, he’ll track me down. But I could send it to Ben. . . . No! I stroke a longing finger over a walnut point, before turning away, but then I curse under my breath as I pull out my wallet. This is so hard, but I still love him and I want him to have this.
My cell phone rings as I ramble, and it’s Jerry Boseman, a friend from college who’s big into real estate on the West Coast. I reactivated my American citizenship a few weeks ago, luckily New Zealand is still on the list of acceptable countries, and Jerry is trying to find someplace for me to settle.
“Salem, Oregon,” he says as soon as I answer. I’ll take his word on it. I told him what type of place I was looking for and I’ll trust that he found a somewhere that suits my needs.
Later I find a bar, a club really, to rest in for a while. My stamina isn’t what it once was and I hate feeling weak the way I do sometimes. I spent too much time on my feet and I don’t want to think about the package I posted to Wellington this afternoon.
I stare into my Scotch and wonder how their battle goes . . . and if we’d ever know, here, if they fail. Sometimes, I think Morgoth wouldn’t need to battle for control of this planet, he just needs a hit TV show and everyone would follow him. And when I see the American president pushing his macho agenda, I wonder what he would do if someone told him that the real struggle for the safety of this world isn’t being waged by those men and women he so thoughtlessly sends to die in the desert, but by a bunch of actors, one of whom, at least, is one of those homosexuals he has so much contempt for.
The bar is typical San Francisco, too many ferns and weird drinks. But the patrons are easy on the eyes and when one of them keeps getting in my line of sight I don’t object. We strike an easy shallow conversation, and I resolve to let him pick me up. His name is John.
Unfortunately, a trailer for Doom comes on the television over the bar and I freeze, staring, drinking in the sight of him. John notices and smiles casually.
“He’s a hottie,” he says, touching my shoulder, bringing my focus back to him. “Don’t tell me you have a celebrity crush! I’ll ever so disappointed if you’re fanatising about him when you should be paying attention to me!”
I don’t tell him how close he is to the truth, but fob it off with some vague statement about fellow Kiwis and all, and let him lead me back to his place, where he expertly brings me screaming to orgasm in no time.
The night is deep and rain falls against the windows. I leave him in the bed and stare out across the city, where the trees and the weather are getting ready for autumn. But my body is expecting Spring. I’ll have none this year, another winter for me, here in my self-imposed exile.
