Page 14

Glenn

BJ had a business trip to make, and he invited me to go.

It was just one day of meetings, and he wanted to fly out the night before then head back the following night.

“So it probably will be boring for you,” he said after blurting out the invitation while we were having dinner in my kitchen.

“Never mind. I was being selfish, just wanting your company.”

“That’s not selfish,” I said, pulling him onto my lap, balancing us both on the stool. “I’m glad to come and keep you company.”

“I just didn’t like the idea of going all the way to New Jersey without you. Silly, huh?” He leaned his head on my shoulder. “It won’t be much fun.”

“Did you say New Jersey?” I gave him a big squeeze, thanking my prior self for some research I’d done with him in mind. “Why, that’s where the crayon museum is. What town are we flying into?”

“The crayon museum?” His jaw dropped. “I’ve always wanted to go there, but it’s so far away from here…I forgot it was in New Jersey.”

Turned out, it was just an hour’s drive from the hotel where we’d be staying for his meetings, so we added a day to the trip and planned our first out-of-town adventure together.

I had never been crazy about flying, and my work didn’t require it, but I did have points from various trips to visit family and such, and we were able to upgrade to business class without any additional cost that his company might have frowned on.

We’d spent time together on dates and daddy/little playing, and he’d seen me in work mode, but this was my first experience with BJ as a businessperson, and he was…

hot. On the plane, he dressed comfortably, as did I, but the next morning while I sipped room service coffee in bed and he got ready for his meetings, he transformed into someone I hadn’t met yet.

Someone I wanted to call back to bed, unzip those neatly creased slacks, pull out his cock, and…

“I have to go now, Glenn. I’ll be back in time for dinner. Sure you won’t be bored?”

“No. I am going to lie around here until I get tired of that then go lie by the pool for the rest of the day.” I lifted my face for his kiss then slumped back down. “Have a good day, BJ.”

Honestly, I was usually on the run for my own job, and at BJ’s urging, I’d told my staff that I was not available unless something was on fire or they damaged a Picasso, and it was the first day in a long time where I wasn’t trying to put out figurative fires and dealing with employees and contracts and all sorts of things.

I had been worried about boredom, but by the time he came back for dinner, I was relaxed, a little sunburned, and starving. It was a good day.

The next morning, after I’d had a chance to show him just how sexy I found BJ the business guy, I woke to find the BJ who loved crayons leaning over me, wearing a shirt emblazoned with crayons and bouncing on the edge of the mattress. “Daddy, are you awake?”

He wasn’t in full little headspace, but close enough for his enthusiasm to spill over and have me up and getting dressed much faster than my usual morning persona would allow. The museum didn’t open until nine, and it was only seven, but we decided to eat along the road to kill a little time.

I drove the rental car while BJ watched for somewhere good to have pancakes. “When I was little, and we went on trips, my dad always found the best pancake houses,” he explained. “And I still like to do that if I can.”

“I don’t suppose your dad ever brought you to New Jersey, to this area?

” I asked. We’d been driving for a while, and the only things we’d seen were the typical chain places off the highway.

I didn’t want him to have to settle for fast-food hotcakes.

Not that they were bad, but they didn’t have the atmosphere of the diners and roadside dives he described to me.

“No.” He seemed downcast, and I was worried but then he brightened. “But lots of times, we had to leave the highway to find them.”

“Do you want to risk not being at the museum when they open?” There was no telling how far we’d have to go.

“Yes,” he decided. “But I think we’ll get lucky if we get off…here!”

I barely had time to change lanes safely and exit the highway where a sign held the international symbol for food available.

At least I thought it was international.

We followed the arrow to the right and drove past three fast-food places, the ones the sign likely referred to, before coming to an empty stretch of highway.

Farms on either side of the road. Sometimes I forgot New Jersey had farmland.

BJ had been so sure we’d find a place to eat, but it wasn’t looking good.

Then, as I was about to suggest we return to the highway and try somewhere else, he shouted, “There it is!”

Sure enough, in the distance, there was a sign with a picture of pancakes drenched in syrup, with big pats of butter melting into the golden-brown stack.

It took another minute before we were close enough to see what the letters said, but then we knew that it was an ad for The Pancake Shack only a mile away.

Shack? I had my doubts, but BJ was bouncing again, and when we pulled up to a place that was not strictly a shack but not that much different from one.

The wooden board walls were sun-bleached, the windows could use a scrubbing, but there were cars parked up and down the road on both sides.

Truckers, cops, a small tour bus…all the people whose presence indicated either really good food or cheap prices or both.

And we hadn’t taken two steps inside before we knew at least one of those things were true. The scent of melted butter and maple syrup hung heavy in the air. Bacon, sausages, fried eggs… As we seated ourselves at one of the few empty tables, we breathed in the deliciousness.

BJ ordered the endless stack and, at my urging, a couple of eggs for more protein. I got pigs in a blanket, something my dad loved, and together, we filled up on the sweet and savory taste of nostalgia, reveling in our first trip together.

We took a couple of selfies of us holding up our plates with their mountains of carbs and fat and awesomeness. Joking that they’d make a great Christmas card, I paid the bill and we left the table for some of those who were now lined up out the door.

“Can you believe there were so many people there in the middle of nowhere?” I mused when we finally got back to the highway. “Who’d have thought it?”

“Me.” BJ leaned back in the seat and rubbed his food-baby tummy. “Seems to me, those places Dad found were often way more crowded than the location would lead you to expect. If you make the great food…”

“Diners will come?”

“Right.” He chuckled. “Now to the crayon museum. Are we there yet?”

“Almost.”

The museum was wonderful, for sure. BJ loved the giant crayons lining the pathway to the front door and the historical display of different styles of crayons and their packaging over the years.

There was a coloring page that took up the entire floor and walls of one room, one that could be cleaned off every night and refreshed for the next day’s visitors.

BJ and I were not the only adults who took advantage of the opportunity to color there.

In fact, I didn’t see anyone old or young who wasn’t enjoying it.

The entire facility was bright, colorful, and it was impossible not to smile while crossing the bridge over the indoor stream with its multicolored waters.

How they made that happen, I’d never know.

They even had a garden of flowers in the colors of over a hundred different crayons.

Finally, we stopped in the gift shop for a souvenir to remember the day. BJ chose a single crayon from the glass display case. “I have all the others,” he explained when I offered to treat him to more. “This is the one in that set I need.”

We skipped lunch, still stuffed from our breakfast, but by the time we were headed back to the hotel, we were hungry again, and we might have stopped at The Pancake Shack for dinner. Okay, we did.