Rewriting Singularity Ch. 09

I don't know how long we held each other in that bed. The house quieted. My heart stilled. Our whispers muffled until I fell into a deep sleep wrapped in his arms.

My slumber was confused yet untroubled-- laced with two reoccurring dreams: one, a dream I'd had since adolescence where naked men throw pickles at me (big, fat koshers-- not the dainty gherkins I detest); the other, a dream I'd had since I'd graduated from college where I search for a story I'm writing on my old Pentium Pro. I click on the file and instead of my story, the Wheel of Fortune appears on my monitor with Vanna White asking for a vowel. I type an A, then a buzzer sounds. The old computer does the Bill Gates shuffle and starts its search all over again. I spin again. Vanna repeats. Each time I ask for a different vowel, but there aren't any. I'm doomed in Microsoft hell.

I woke up feverish from my word processing conundrum, but life was good. I smiled as I tucked my leg over his. His response: he snuggled closer and sighed as his forehead pressed against my neck. I counted his pulse beats as I pulled the quilt tighter around us. Within seconds, something akin to panic came over me. What if this wasn't real? What if none of this was? I touched his nose. Felt real. Those limbs intertwined with mine were solid and warm. That early morning wood was real too. This near, dear intimacy terrified yet elated me-- I had never felt this passion for anyone, ever. As my finger traced his freckles in the moonlight, Hec woke: his eyes fluttered then opened wide. That lopsided grin greeted me, then lips turned to a frown.

"Are you ok?" he asked. He felt my head with the flat of his hand; I felt the cool of a ring. "You're sweating. God, you're burning up." He sat up in bed, flicked on the lamp, then looked at the clock. It blinked 3:12 a.m. "It's time for more Tylenol. I'll get you some water. Stay right here."

I watched him pad off, then closed my eyes. He was real. I was real. No doubt that what I felt for him above and below the waste was real. I was dizzy, my mouth was dry, and my cock was hard; I knew I was in love with Hector Lodge.

I opened my eyes to the mural of porn above and began to laugh. I counted twenty-two acts in all between my hysterics. I recalled there was some sort of significance to that number, but in my state, I couldn't place the import. I held back another fit of laughter and studied the figures carefully for the first time. Henry had a gift, that was certain-- each form was gracefully carved. I wondered if he carved this bed before or after Johann-- I'd assumed from the diary it was before, yet something in me wondered if maybe some of these figures might be them. I had to admit the voyeur inside me liked the idea.

I hadn't noticed the facial expressions until that moment, which ranged from coy bliss to outright ecstasy. I touched two lovers above me in the fourth frame just as Hec stepped back into the room, his face a picture of concern. He retrieved the Tylenol from the night stand, then felt my forehead again.

"Take these," he said, handing me the cool glass. I did as I was told-- swallowed my medicine-- not good to cross your nurse. He sat next to me, eyes flicking to what had caught my interest.

"Four looks intriguing to me," he said, licking his lips. I nodded. Great minds think alike.

"Want to try it?" I added.

"I think we should wait-- at least until your fever goes down." He slipped in beside me, and I tried to hide my disappointment. "We could do number six before--"

I studied six. Legs over shoulders, mouths together. I wasn't that flexible-- but maybe Hec was--

"Six?"

"Four is good. We could do it before--"

"Bingo!"

"What?" he blinked.

"B-four. Like, you know, in Bingo!"

"Where's that thermometer? I think you're seriously ill--"

"I don't think so. I mean, you could take my core temperature," I said wickedly. I thought about having him take it rectally, but no, that might be pushing Nurse Hector too far.

"But what about Bingo?" he asked, shaking his head doubtfully.

"I'm not delirious. I thought I was hearing and seeing things, but you seem to be under the same delusion so I figure I'm fine other than a touch of the flu."

"But Bingo? That's a dog, right? The dog that ate the baby?"

I slid my arm around Hec's back, pulling him close to me. His head fit perfect on my shoulder. Time to explain the facts of life according to Bingo-ology to Hec. It might get messy. "No, that's a Dingo," I explained. "Haven't you ever been to a Bingo hall? No? Well, that's where this secret society plays this game called Bingo. These chain-smoking old ladies play with chips and cards. Some of them even win money. And then there's the song with the dog, 'B-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-O!' You weren't a Cub Scout, were you? Hmm, guess not. Now, the dingo that ate the baby? Hmm... wasn't there an Australian couple who got convicted of killing their child and said a dingo did it?"

"And all that time I just thought it was a fictional band."

"Band?"

"The Dingo Ate My Baby is that band in Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

I frowned into his hair. Hec beat me at TV trivia. He must be right-- I must be seriously ill. Time to get out the rectal thermometer. Had to one-up him-- "The dingo really did kill their baby. I remember."

It didn't impress.

"I was thinking," Hec said, throwing his leg over mine.

"Um, yeah?"

He tucked the covers under our chins.

"What did you say in the stairwell-- to my sister?"

My tongued knotted up. No more Bingo stories.

I blushed. Maybe it was the fever, maybe the heavy quilt or maybe his hot aura. I cleared my throat. He turned his head and looked me square in the eyes.

"Can I have another sip of water?" I asked sheepishly.

Coward, I'm such a coward.

"No," he said slowly. "I'm sure that's not what you said to my sister."

"Do you mean 'no' I can't have any water, or 'no' that's not what I said to your sister?"

"Yes, I'll pass you the water. No, that's not what you said to my sister."

"Could you pass me the glass? I'm parched."

He shook his head as he sat up to get the glass. "Who says 'parched'?"

He handed me the water. "Um, me?" I answered. Even with shadows falling on his face, I could see he was still waiting for my answer. I gulped the rest down along with my panic attack.

"Well?" he asked. He watched me wipe off my mouth with the back of my hand, all white-knuckled and holding the glass. He stopped me before I could wipe it again; he held my wrist tight in his grip. He bit his lip, waiting, waiting.

Here goes---

"I told your sister... I told her... oh hell-- I told her that I think I love you," I admitted.

His eyes twinkled as he took the empty glass out of my hand. "Good, 'cause I think I love you, too."

We both flopped down into the deep mattress.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked.

"Glad I could help."

"Thanks. I hoped I heard you right."

I smiled.

"I heard enough," he said.

"Enough?"

"Enough to share my pillow." Hec switched off the light. I traced the ringlets on the back of his neck with my fingers; my reward was hiccups.

"Shit," Hec swore, giving another hic. "Always get em when I'm nervous."

"It's ok to be nervous," I said. "I am too."

I kissed the back of his hand. He rolled over.

"Perfect fit," I mumbled as I rubbed his back.

"Mmm, perfect," he yawned. "Feels good."

I felt the familiar stirring between my legs, then hugged him closer.

He pushed back against me. "Keep that up," he joked, "and we'll be doing number four."

Tease. It only took one more minute before his hiccups turned to snores.

I should be used to disappointment.

-------------------

I woke. The sun was out, the spot next to me vacant. The clock blinked 7:36 as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

He stood next to the window, holding a coffee mug was in one hand and pulling the curtains back wide with the other. The light of the morning warmed his face-- he looked younger with freckles shiny across his nose and gold flecks in his hair. He was dressed in the same well-worn jeans and the flannel shirt he'd worn the day I met him.

"Feeling better?" he grinned behind the mug as he took a sip.

I scratched my chin and nodded. I needed to shave, but my fever was almost gone.

"Hungry? Kate made pancakes." He pointed to the tray next to the bed on the night table with one of the free fingers from around the coffee mug. My stomach answered with a growl. "I hope you like them smothered in maple syrup."

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"Lucky guess, Mr. Sweet-tooth." He smoothed the curtains with those long fingers, then turned to face me, leaning against the window frame. He studied me over his mug while I ate.

I grabbed the tray as he started to walk over. He sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled with the handle of the mug. "Um, it's late," he said, "and I've got work to do. Just take it easy. I'll be back in about an hour to check and see if you need anything."

"Like number four?" I asked hopefully, stuffing a fork-full of blueberry pancake into my mouth. Mmmm, number four, on all fours. My mouth watered from more than Kate's cooking.

He laughed. "I guess you are feeling better."

"Yeah, a lot better."

He tipped his mug up and finished it. It was then I noticed the glint of the ring.

He was wearing it.

Why was he wearing it? He left before I could ask. Shut the door. Out of the room. Down the hallway. A metaphor for my life. He left me thinking of rings and pancakes and maple syrup. Kate sure was a great cook-- these pancakes were light, fluffy... and the syrup... God, it was sinful. I closed my eyes and imagined Hec drizzled in it. Bet he would taste better than Mrs. Butterworth. Christ, for now the buttermilk pancakes would have to do.

As I finished them off, I spied my laptop on his desk. Curiosity got the best of me, and I set the tray aside and was out of bed. My found my shoes next to the dresser with my socks stuffed in them.

I flipped up the lid of my laptop and turned it on-- the familiar hum answered. Amazing the battery still worked. No Vanna White pop-up or flying pickles appeared on the screen. I opened up our sitcom. No changes-- I shut it down.

I have to admit I'm a natural-born snoop. My hand instinctively went for his drawers-- or should I say, my drawers since my briefs and my t-shirts were neatly folded inside his dresser. I pulled out the drawer underneath-- there were my jeans next to Hec's.

He'd moved me in-- I assumed Hec moved me in-- my laptop, my clothes. For some reason I wasn't happy. The panic I'd felt last night returned.

I had to do something so I opened the music box.

The diary was back in place, wrapped up snug. I lifted it out. It was all there. I unwrapped it. The ring was still there-- the inscription the same. Must be Hec wasn't wearing it; my imagination got the best of me there. I'd never noticed him wearing one before. And the band was simple like this ring. Curious, I slipped it on. It fit. I slowly looked up into the mirror, and I looked back. Nope, not invisible-- so it's not The Ring. Ha. Too bad, not that I wanted some evil one-eyed villain to come after me like Frodo, but a one-eyed snake? Well, if it belonged to Hec? Um, sure, come on.

I carried the diary over to the bed and read through the early pages with more care then I had before while I waited for Hec to return. I was interested in finding more out about the bed and the rings, but nothing else was in the diary about them that I'd missed. I twirled the ring around my finger and thought more about our counterparts, and what the whole thing could mean. I could almost believe I was Johann.

I shut the diary and looked back at my laptop. I'd almost forgotten about why I was here. Almost forgot the sitcom. Singularity or whatever new name we came up with. All this other stuff-- learning about Hec, the haunting, falling in love, moving me in-- it all just happened.

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.

Seems every time I've planned for something to go one way in life, it'd go the other-- why should this be any different? Maybe I should just let it be, let it happen and stop planning so damned much. Maybe I should quit analyzing everything-- like my socks in his dresser next to his boxers. Like now. What the fuck was I doing? I was analyzing my life. Now that I was pretty certain that Hector wasn't some supernatural being casting some strange spell over me-- um, I could relax-- and what was I doing instead? Picking everything apart. So what if he moved me into his room-- it didn't have to mean anything serious or permanent-- after all, he hadn't moved Pete in too. That would be moving too fast.

That would be permanent.

The door opened, and the man walked through.

With Pete.

I told myself to breathe easy.

Pete, swinging in his little cage.

Breathe in. This whole head-over-heels in love was new to me.

And that paper bag Hec had in his other hand? Had to be Pete's belongings.

Breathe out. No wonder I'd panicked. So what if it was happening at warp speed.

Stop analyzing. Let it happen.

I'd never lived in laissez-faire land before--

Only one thing to do.

"Ready?" I asked. Yeah, just let things happen. Small things. Big things. Real big things. Really big, hard things. Don't good things happen in fours? Or was that threes? No reason why good things couldn't happen in fours too. After today, good things could happen on all fours.

Drop your drawers and assume that position.

I'm on my hands and knees, ass in the air. I throw him a hot look. Or feverish, depending on the angle.

He quickly placed the cage on the stand by the door. I turned around, head facing the headboard, eyes closed in anticipation. I moved my ass.

For effect.

It worked.

I heard the slap of his belt coming off fast, the change in his pockets jingle as his jeans hit the floor.

Kiss my ass and send me to heaven with a hard-on.

Breathe.

The bed bounced with his weight.

Breathe.

He barely had time to slap the condom on, slather on lube before he slammed into me. It fucking hurt so good.

I bucked back into him as he pressed his chest into my back, reached around for my dick, and rammed me again.

I swore. Hec hollered. I swore some more and praised the god of spur-of-the-moment, impromptu, half-dressed fornication. He grabbed my hips and pumped harder. Sweat poured off me but I didn't care. I loved his big, thick dick pounding me. I loved how his dick stretched my ass. Yes, my ass was made for his dick. I honest to god never felt this turned on in my life. I kept yelling "harder, harder, harder" and he obliged. I was close, so achingly close. But then he stopped, my ass literally throbbing around his cock. He let go of my dick, and rocked into me oh, so slowly, making me beg and whimper under him, bringing me close to the edge again. Then he stopped and began again. I was crazy to come. I was so close. I shook and pleaded for him to take me over the edge.

At last he angled his cock just right, hitting that sweet spot inside me, and whispered, "Come for me, Jake."

That was it--

I yammered some nonsense as I felt my balls tighten and my ass clench around him. His hand wasn't even on my cock, and I shot all over creation with him right behind.

We collapsed in a sweaty, gooey mess on the bed.

Afterwards I heard peep, peep, peep.

It was Pete.

Hmm, he was watching.

My little yellow voyeur, my feathered-friend.

Hmmm.

I know why the caged bird sings.