Page 18 of Rhymes with Metaphor

R eg remained on the lawn smoking until dusk when a light came on in Joel’s bedroom. Reg went in, climbed the stairs, and tapped lightly on Joel’s door. After a minute that felt like an eternity, Joel opened it. He had changed into his grey scrubs.

“May I come in?” said Reg.

Joel let him in and sat on the edge of his bed.

He hadn’t been trying to sleep. His bed was still neatly made.

Moonlight shining through the stained glass cast emerald green and sapphire light across Joel’s face, and Reg could imagine him as some angelic creature that had graced him with its company, and he was filled with an almost reverent tenderness.

Reg sat on the desk chair, to give him space. “Are you all right?”

“It didn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re asking. Was it supposed to?”

“It was supposed to feel good. That’s how I hoped it would feel for you. Did it?”

“No one’s ever made me...before.”

“No one?”

Joel shook his head.

“So, that was your first time?” said Reg, feeling horrified. “Oh, Joel. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“What did you mean to do?”

“I wanted to touch you,” said Reg. “You see, when someone touches you like that, it—”

“I understand the physiological process,” said Joel, sounding affronted. “I’m in pre-med. I just...wasn’t expecting it.”

“I can buy you a ticket back to Canada, if you’d like. And pay for a cab to take you to the airport.”

“You want me to go?” said Joel.

“No.”

“Then why buy me a ticket?”

“Because I took you to a strange country and isolated you from your family, with no money and no means of escape, and I took advantage of you.”

“I see what you’re saying,” said Joel. “But it didn’t feel like that.”

“I don’t want to keep you against your will. Let me know if you do want to go. You can leave whenever you like.” Reg got up to leave.

“Reg?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t go yet.”

Reg sat down again. His heart was pounding now.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” said Joel. “I’ve never found men attractive.”

“Have you ever had wet dreams before?” said Reg.

Joel looked uncomfortable.

“Do you remember what you dreamed when it happened?” said Reg.

Joel shook his head. “I don’t think I’m gay, but...I liked what you did. I liked that you were the one who did it.”

“Would you like me to do it again?”

“I don’t know.” Joel stared at the floor. “I need time to process.”

“Time away from me?”

This time, Joel didn’t hesitate. “No. I want to stay, if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes,” said Reg, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You can stay as long as you like.” Reg got up to leave again. When he was at the door, Joel spoke.

“Reg?”

“Yes?”

“...are you attracted to me?”

“Yes. I thought that was obvious.”

“Not to me,” said Joel. “How could you find me attractive?”

“Oh, Joel...” Reg wanted to touch him again, to reassure him, but that would be treading on ground newly secured by truce.

“No one’s ever wanted me that way before,” said Joel.

“It’s likely they have, but you missed the signs.”

“How long have you been attracted to me?”

“Since the cottage,” said Reg. “That day you were sunbathing in your white scrubs. I hadn’t thought of you sexually before then. You were Juliet’s annoying little brother.”

“So...,” He could see Joel thinking, making connections. “When you bought me those shirts. When you cut my hair. Those were signs?”

“Yes,” said Reg.

“Are lime leaves an aphrodisiac?” said Joel.

“What? Not that I know of.”

“They’re mentioned in Chéri ,” said Joel.

“So they are.”

“You put them in my Pimm’s that night.”

“So I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Joel. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I wasn’t sure how you felt,” said Reg. “I can usually tell with other people, but you’re so very hard to read.”

“I liked when you cut my hair.”

“I liked cutting your hair.”

“You never touched me, apart from my hair that time,” said Joel.

“And when we held hands by the pool.”

“That was nice,” said Joel.

“Yes, it was.”

“But you didn’t try to do anything else then.”

“I was tempted, but I didn’t want to do anything without your consent.”

“Why today?”

“I was near you,” said Reg. “I could see you were aroused, and I thought it was because of me. But I should have talked to you first, made sure. I won’t touch you again without your consent.”

They stared at each other for a long moment in the near dark.

Joel was sitting hunched over on the bed.

Whether it was to conceal an erection, Reg couldn’t tell, but he had to make an effort to stop his gaze stealing to Joel’s lap.

He wondered if Joel was thinking of what had happened that afternoon, and if he wanted Reg right then.

Instead, Joel heaved a deep sigh. “I should get some sleep.”

Reg got up, and this time, Joel didn’t stop him. He turned at the door to watch Joel climb under the bed covers, and a surge of longing pulsed through him, mixed with a sudden, sweet feeling.

“Sleep well, Joel.”

“Night,” Joel whispered, and he turned onto his side and pulled up the covers.

Reg had a great deal of trouble falling asleep afterwards, so he stopped trying.

He sat at his desk, opened his sketchbook, and gazed at his drawing of Joel, perfect in its detail of his lap and his hands—but the face was blank.

He kept remembering the feel of Joel’s body, was haunted by the sound of Joel’s sudden, tender gasp, like a thumbnail piercing a plastic seal.

The thought of Joel sleeping in the bedroom below his was distracting and kept him awake, along with an intense curiosity about what would happen between them tomorrow and in the coming days.

He felt pleased. And guilty. And accomplished. He wanted to run in three directions at once: Down to Joel, up to heaven, and here in his room, in ever-decreasing circles.

He wasn’t aware of what he was doing until he found himself, pencil in hand, writing in his sketchbook about what had happened that afternoon.

Before, and for the past few weeks, inspiration had come in brief spurts.

But this was a full on torrent. Nothing could stop it, not his exhaustion nor the guilt that this wasn’t his story to tell.

Nothing. He wrote a long poem that night, continually stopping to lie down, only to be rousted from sleep by words that wouldn’t stop until the last line was written down, and he fell asleep at his desk.