VIRGIN

Jessica Freely

www.loose-id.com

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Virgin

Jessica Freely

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by

Loose Id LLC

1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

Carson City NV 89701-1215

www.loose-id.com

Copyright © July 2008 by Jessica Freely

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-741-2

Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Vanessa Lillie

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

www.loose-id.com

Chapter One

Blake kept one hand on the steering wheel of the aging Oldsmobile and reached down with the other, trying to adjust his cutoff shorts into a more comfortable alignment with his masculine endowments.

The term “cutoff” had taken on a whole new meaning in the past eight hours of driving. These too-tight, too-short shorts were perfect for picking up johns, but less than ideal for a cross-country road trip. For the umpteenth time, he wished he’d been able to collect his meager belongings before fleeing the city in this old rust-bucket of a car, but there’d been no time for that.

There’d been no time for anything. The last thing Blake had intended to do last night was uncover the darkest secret of the most powerful pimp in the city, but once he had, he knew his only hope for survival was to run as fast and as far as he could, and hope that Gregor Walsh didn’t catch up with him.

So far, so good. He’d been driving for eight hours now and seen no sign of the silver limo that had idled nearby while Walsh drained the life from Blake’s friend, Randy. Blake pushed the horrible memory from his mind and forced himself into the present moment.

2 Jessica Freely

He took in the monotonous, desert landscape surrounding the two-lane highway down which he drove -- nothing but scrub brush, dirt, and rocks. He was deep in the sticks and he’d changed roads many times. Gregor was unlikely to find him now.

Relief drove the discomfort of his shorts riding up his crack and pinching his balls back to the forefront of his awareness. It was hot in the car, with no air conditioning and the midday sun beating down full force. The air rushing through the open windows was hot and his back was plastered to the vinyl seat with sweat but he was happy to put up with all of it, compared to what might have happened. Blake took a deep breath, relaxed, and turned up the radio.

Ka-chunk. The sound came from the engine compartment of the Olds, and a second later, the car shuddered, and stuttered to a halt.

“Crap!” Blake pounded the grimy steering wheel with both hands. Now what was he going to do? Instinct made him turn and look out through the rear window of the car, but the road was empty. That was something, at least.

He got out of the car and his legs nearly gave way. He had to hang on to the roof of the car to keep from falling. He’d been driving nonstop. No bathroom breaks. No stops for water or food. As the circulation returned to his legs, he realized how desperately thirsty and hungry he was. And he had to piss.

That, at least, he could do something about. He shut the car door and went around to the other side, unzipped, and took a whiz into the dry ditch beside the road. Lost in relief, he leaned back against the car and lifted his face to the sky. He’d gotten away. He might be facing heat stroke and god knows how he was going to get the car fixed, but at least he wasn’t in the inhuman hands of Gregor Walsh.

He shook himself dry and tucked back in. He still felt light-headed. He was horribly thirsty. He searched the car for a bottle of water, a candy bar, anything, but no. There was nothing. Blake swallowed against the dryness of his throat. He got behind the wheel and Virgin

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tried starting the car again. The engine made a sound like cats mating and there was another ka-chunk. He turned the ignition off again, afraid of doing even more damage to the aging car.

He popped the hood. That’s what you were supposed to do when a car broke down, right? Pop the hood and look inside the engine compartment? The edge of the hood was riddled with rust and it bit into his hands as he held it up, staring at the inner workings of the car. He had no idea what anything was, and no way of knowing what was wrong with it.

He let the hood drop and looked up and down the road, searching for a gas station or a fast-food restaurant or a motel, anything. The heat, thirst, and hunger made him dizzy, and the flat, desolate landscape tilted unsteadily around him.

The last place he’d seen was a gas station half an hour back. He’d thought about stopping but one of the Olds’ few virtues was an enormous gas tank, and he hadn’t wanted to take the risk. Blake leaned against the front of the car, shaded his eyes, and peered into the distance in the direction he’d been going. It was more of the same, except, about a hundred yards off there was a sign on the side of the road. He took the keys out of the ignition and went to investigate.

The sign read “Beulah, Pop. 375, 10 Miles.” Oh boy. Blake sighed, taking in his clothing: cutoff shorts and a red, bare-midriff T-shirt. His beloved straw cowboy hat did little to butch up the outfit, nor, for that matter, did the red cowboy boots. He was blond, tan, and yes, frankly, gorgeous. The tight-fitting T-shirt displayed his cut torso in all its chiseled glory. He had worked very hard for this body, and it had made him good money, but now…

Now he was alone in the middle of nowhere, with fifty bucks in his pocket, a broken-down Olds on the side of the road, and no place to go back to. And he was about to stroll into a tiny rural town looking like a one man Gay Pride parade. This could be bad.

* * * * *

4 Jessica Freely

Joam twisted the last of the lug nuts off the wheel of the Grand Am. He put the lug wrench down and grabbed the wheel. He held on tight, the hard rubber grating against his skin, the wheel digging into his chest, pressing against old bruises and sore ribs. He pulled, but the wheel was stuck. His muscles strained as he tried to rock the wheel back and forth, but it was rusted in place.

Christ, he was sick of working on this car. It was a piece of junk, but Higgs thought he could pass the parts off to some unsuspecting victim who brought their car in for repair.

Joam sprayed the axle with WD-40, sprayed it some more, and then went back to grappling with the wheel. He pushed and pulled until his muscles throbbed with pain. At last, he heard a grating sound and felt the wheel give. With a sigh of relief he slid it off and fell back, gasping, clutching the wheel to his chest with arms now too sore to move.

The shop lights above him were harsh in his eyes. The concrete of the shop floor was hard under his back and his head. He was covered with grease and rust and grit. But that was the last wheel and it was almost six o’clock. As soon as he could stand again, he could punch out and take a shower.

A shadow fell across his face. “Hey kid, what are you doing laying there? You’ve got to pull the radiator tonight.”

Joam squinted up at Mr. Barney Higgs, the owner of Higgs’ Auto Repair. Higgs was fifty-three, barrel-chested, bandy-legged, and thickly muscled. He wore blue duck trousers and blue work-shirts, and he was a bastard. No, correction, Joam was the bastard. Mr. Higgs was a prick.

“But it’s almost six o’clock,” Joam said.

He should have known better.

“Don’t give me that crap, you whiny little punk,” said Higgs. His work boot connected with Joam’s ribs, sending cascades of pain up and down his left side. Joam flinched but managed to stifle his yell. Goddamn it. He was so sick of this.

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“Get up.”

Joam schooled his features to stony blankness, shoved the wheel off his chest and scrambled to his feet. There’d be more if he didn’t do as he was told. He stood, staring at the grease-stained floor, waiting for Higgs to finish reaming him out. His side stung, but nothing was broken. Higgs knew what he was doing and exactly how much force to use. In the three years that he’d been working for him, Joam’d had a lot of bruises, but never a broken bone or any other injury serious enough to prevent him from doing his job.

“Don’t give me that long face,” said Higgs. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have nothing.

After what happened to your no-good momma, I took you in, and I never told nobody what I know about you. I gave you a job and put food in your useless belly and you repay me with backtalk and insolent looks. You may look like that fucking Injun father of yours, but you’re your mother’s son, one hundred percent.”

Joam swallowed and fought for calm. His hands wanted to clench into fists, and his eyes strayed to the lug wrench lying on the floor nearby. But attacking Higgs would just prove that the man was right about Joam after all.

There was a little pause while Higgs waited to see if Joam was going to snap. When he didn’t, Higgs turned and headed back to his office. “Get on with it, then,” he said over his shoulder as he left.

Joam sighed, collected his tools, and opened the hood of the Grand Am. He looked at the rusted monstrosity that was the radiator and bit down on the frustration that welled up inside him. The radiator was useless. There was absolutely no fucking reason why it should be pulled out at all, let alone tonight. It should be hauled off to the dump along with the rest of this carcass.

Joam risked a glance at the office. Higgs sat there, playing solitaire on the computer while he made sure Joam obeyed orders.

6 Jessica Freely

Usually he’d have left by now, off for a night of drinking with his buddies, Sam Chambers and Bill Freemont. Higgs, Chambers, and Freemont were lodge brothers as well as the three richest men in town. And they were always in cahoots with one another, ensuring that it stayed that way.

Their most recent project was to run Vanessa Withers out of town. Vanessa owned the salon on the corner across from Sam’s bar. No one knew why she suddenly packed up in the middle of the night and left, but before she did, she left the key under the doormat and the deed to the property in the mailbox, signed over to Sam Chambers. And Chambers just so happened to have plans for a new pool hall opposite his bar. Like always there was no proof, but somehow, things always went their way. It wouldn’t be long now before the whole town belonged to them.

One thing was certain, Joam belonged to Higgs, body and soul. It was shame that kept him here, even more than fear of what could happen if Higgs let out Joam’s secret.

Three hours later, Higgs was long gone and the rusted, cracked, useless radiator sat leaning against the stacked wheels of the Grand Am. The shop was dark except for the lights in the bay where Joam worked. He wiped his scraped, bloody palms against his grease-smeared jeans and shuffled off to his room in the back.

It wasn’t even a room, really. More of a corner next to the bathroom with a hot plate on a TV table and a cot. Shelves filled with parts lined one wall, and on the other, opposite the bathroom door, he’d put up his little bit of protection: a wall calendar from an auto parts dealer. As far as that calendar was concerned, it was still January 2005. Miss January wore too-tight, too-short cutoffs; a tight-fitting bare-midriff T-shirt; and red cowboy boots. A straw cowboy hat tilted down over her eyes as she reclined on the hood of a red Dodge Viper and gave her viewers a saucy grin.

Joam reached into the metal shower stall in the bathroom and turned on the water. It came out in a sluggish stream that never quite became hot. He peeled off his clothes, pausing to examine the spreading bruise on his side where Higgs had kicked him. Anger and Virgin

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hopelessness fought their usual battle for his heart and wound up at a standoff, both held in check by the ever-present fear of what he could become if he gave in to either.

Naked, he looked at himself in the cracked mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

At nineteen, he’d gained his full height, with no sign of ever filling it in. He was lanky, gaunt even, but not soft. Corded muscle stood out everywhere, with no fat to soften it. He worked too hard and earned too little for fat. Old bruises and new bruises, from work and from Higgs, mottled his skin and made him look even dirtier than he actually was. Grime made the straight, mouse brown hair hanging over his hazel eyes even lanker and more nondescript. He wished his hair was long enough to cover his nose, but nothing could ever do that. He could pretty much pass for white if it wasn’t for his classic Navajo nose, sticking out of his face like a goddamn tomahawk, courtesy of the dirtbag father who abandoned Joam and his mom when Joam was just five years old. Thanks, Dad.

Joam pushed those thoughts aside and opened the door again so he could see the calendar while he showered. He sighed as he let the lukewarm water stream down his body.

He washed his hair first. Hand soap was all he had, so he rubbed it against his hair until the water and the friction built up a lather. He rinsed his head and went to work on the rest of his body, running the slick soap up and down his hard, flat chest, ropey arms, and thickly muscled legs.

He leaned back against the shower stall wall and soaped up his balls and his penis while he stared at the calendar on the opposite wall. The calendar was protective coloring, because Joam couldn’t even begin to imagine what his life would be like if anyone knew he was queer. But nobody, not even Higgs, had to know that. And from this distance, it didn’t take much squinting for Miss January to become Mr. January -- a hot-blooded cowboy who rode into Joam’s fantasies nightly.

Joam started slowly at first, gently fondling his cock, rolling his balls around with his fingers while he pretended that it was Jasper January breathing featherlight kisses all over his privates. He was hard almost instantly but he forced himself to go slow. Long, slow, even 8 Jessica Freely

strokes of his soap-slicked fingers, sliding up and down his eager shaft as he imagined Jasper wrapping his full, soft lips around his cockhead and sucking. “Oohh.”

Joam breathed deeply, wanting to draw out the fantasy. This was his secret refuge.

Jasper’s tongue flickered ever so slightly, ever so briefly against the underside of Joam’s cock and Joam’s hips thrust forward involuntarily. “Uhh.”

Jasper’s hot, wet lips slid down Joam’s shaft, taking him in until Joam’s cockhead pressed against the back of Jasper’s throat. “Hhng.” Jasper reached up and cupped Joam’s balls, gently rolling them. One finger snuck back to play at the tight aperture of Joam’s asshole. “Ahh!”

Joam’s hand stroked steadily now, in a sure and easy rhythm, while in his mind, he was lying back against the warm hood of the Viper and Jasper bent down between his legs, sucking and sliding up and down Joam’s engorged cock until Joam was about to explode.

And then Jasper pulled off him and lifted Joam’s legs over his shoulders, and Joam gave him a bewildered look, though really, they’d done this many times before. “What are you…?”

But Jasper just gave him a wicked yet reassuring grin before his head sank back down between Joam’s legs and Joam felt, again for the first and never time, the touch of a hot, moist tongue at the puckered entrance to his body. “Ohh, God…”

At this rate, he wasn’t going to make it. Joam skipped ahead to the part where Jasper had flipped him over and he lay face down across the hood of the car. Jasper had a firm grip on Joam’s hips, holding him still as his thick, long, hard cock, slicked with lube, slowly sank between Joam’s butt cheeks to nudge insistently at his asshole. Jasper’s cockhead pierced him ever so slowly, ever so gently, widening him and widening him. Joam could feel every inch of Jasper as he penetrated him, stretching him open more and more to accommodate his massive cock, stretching him until it hurt. But Joam didn’t care. He didn’t think he could open this wide but he did. He felt like he’d tear in half but he just kept stretching, and then, Virgin

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all of a sudden, all resistance was gone and Jasper’s cock slid into him, filling him up with his massive length, pressing against that special place inside him. “Oh God!”

Jasper pulled back out, holding Joam firmly by the hips so that he couldn’t thrust backwards in his desperation to keep Jasper’s cock inside him. Jasper’s long, slow withdrawal left Joam gasping with need. Jasper paused, with just his cockhead still resting inside Joam.

“Hhhnnnn.”

And then Jasper slammed back inside him, filling him to the brim with his hot hard cock. “Aaahh!” He withdrew again, slowly, torturing Joam with his dick.

It went on like that for what seemed like hours. The long, slow withdrawals that left Joam empty and aching for fulfillment, and then the sudden, hard plunge and the tantalizing moment when Jasper’s cock rested fully seated within him, stretching and filling him, touching him everywhere that he needed so badly to be touched. And through all of it, Joam’s arousal became more and more intense without Jasper ever establishing a rhythm that would allow Joam to come. “Please,” sobbed Joam at last, undone past all pride, “please, just fuck me.”

Jasper leaned over and planted a kiss between Joam’s shoulder blades. “You asked for it,” he said, trailing one hand down Joam’s spine and making him shiver. He lifted Joam by the hips and pulled him back onto his cock and started pistoning into him.

His strokes, hard and fast, were at exactly the right angle to hit that mysterious spot inside Joam, over and over and over again. Joam screamed incoherently, lost in the onslaught as Jasper flew into his ass, battering him with his cock, pulling Joam onto him with that iron grip on his hips and slamming, slamming, slamming home. “Aaaaaaaaaah!”

The cum spurted from Joam’s cock in thick strands, coating his chest and hands. Joam milked his cock as the spasms rode his body. “Aaaah! Ah!”

Joam sagged against the cold metal of the shower stall, holding his already softening cock, feeling the pulsations ebb as the water streamed over him.

10 Jessica Freely

Joam blinked, breathed, and straightened again. He rinsed the cum off his body, no longer looking at the calendar, no longer lost in his mind. He turned off the water and poked around the bathroom for a towel without too much motor oil on it. He dried off and looked around himself at the tiny, grimy bathroom, at his sad little cot. He looked up at the calendar and Miss January smiled back at him. Jasper was in there, hiding behind her, waiting for the next time, but until then, Joam was alone.

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Chapter Two

Footsore and dizzy with hunger and thirst, Blake finally reached the Beulah city limits.

At least he assumed he’d arrived. It was after dark by now, but he could see the lights of a few businesses up ahead, and, at what surely must be the town’s major intersection, a blinking red traffic light.

The prospect of relief sharpened Blake’s thirst and he picked up his pace. He passed a gun and knife shop -- bad sign, but closed for the night at least -- and a tool rental place called Bill’s Rent-It. On the other side of the street was a large, tan brick building with a sign above the door that read BEULAH BENEVOLENCE SOCIETY LODGE, EST. 1897. Beyond that were a number of residences, and then he was at the blinking red light.

Blake’s thirst spiked at the sight of the glowing red letters in the window of the establishment on the near corner: SAM’S BAR. Across the street was a Safeway, its sign glowing red and white in the darkness. Kitty corner from where he stood was a place called Nan’s Diner. The fourth corner, the one he hoped would have a gas station with a repair shop attached, was occupied by a now-derelict hair salon. He could just barely make out the words of the faded sign: SHEAR HEAVEN.

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First thing first, he needed water. And food. He ruled out the bar. Dressed like he was, it was obvious he didn’t belong here and the last thing he needed was a bunch of drunks asserting their heterosexuality by beating the crap out of him. Instead, he crossed the street to the Safeway. Blake walked into the air-conditioned, fluorescent lit sameness of the Safeway and immediately began shivering. It was the contrast from the heat outside. That, and he was probably sunburned.

The place was almost empty. A guy in jeans, a western shirt, and a gimme cap with the words BILL’S RENT-IT on it was just leaving the check-out line. He spotted Blake and stopped, staring. Blake’s heart beat faster. He pretended not to notice the other man and turned down the first available aisle -- snack foods. He grabbed a bag of unsalted peanuts. He went down to the end of the aisle, found the coolers, and grabbed two gallon jugs of water. He looked around. There was no one in sight. He uncapped one of the jugs and drank.

The cool, clean water was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life. His whole body cried out for more and he drank as much as he could hold, almost half the gallon.

He picked up some bologna, bread, and three oranges, then made his way to the check-out counter, keeping an eye out for Mr. Gimme Cap. He was nowhere in sight.

The young woman behind the cash register had that vacant, openmouthed look he associated with bored apathy. That was fine. Bored apathy never mustered up the energy to bother you. She gave his half-empty water jug the fish eye but she didn’t say anything as she rang him up. Six dollars and seventeen cents. He winced. He could scarcely afford it, but he couldn’t do much else if he collapsed from dehydration and hunger. He paid up.

As he approached the exit doors, Blake gripped the full water jug in his right hand, ready to swing it if Mr. Gimme popped out at him in the parking lot. But there were no cars.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around at all. Blake found a spot around the side of the store, out of the light, sat down on a milk crate and opened up the bag of peanuts.

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With the first mouthful he felt energy return. With a little food and water in him, he felt a lot better. The world wasn’t swinging and swooping around him quite so much, and he could think straight.

He didn’t like the idea of sleeping rough tonight. He thought he’d outrun Walsh but there was no way to be sure. The image of his friend and fellow hustler Randy, limp and lifeless in the arms of that creature kept popping up in his mind.

A varnal. That’s what Gregor Walsh was. A shape-shifting monster capable of killing with either its teeth or by draining its victims of their sexual energy, like it had done with Randy.

No, the best thing would be to get his car fixed tonight and just keep going, if he could find a service station.

* * * * *

After his shower, Joam put on fresh clothes and went into Higgs’s office to get his pay so he could get something to eat. Fridays, he usually treated himself to a hot meal at Nan’s.

Higgs, of course, was long gone, but usually he left Joam’s money in a white envelope on top of his desk. Tonight, the desk was bare.

Joam stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the blank spot where his check should be.

Anger, strong and pure, rose up inside him. “Motherfucker!”

The next thing he knew, he was holding Higgs’ office chair over his head, ready to throw it through the glass window that looked out onto the shop floor. His hands gripped the chair with white-knuckle intensity. Deep inside, something long dormant stirred to life.

Do it, he thought as his vision began to blur. Just let go. Throw the fucking chair, go wild.

Better yet, go down to Sam’s Bar and teach that motherfucker a lesson he’ll never forget.

And prove to them all that they’ve been right about you all along, he thought.

14 Jessica Freely

Joam put the chair back down. He took a deep breath and his vision cleared. To his shame, tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He opened Higgs’s right desk drawer, where he kept the cash box, but of course, he’d taken that with him. He always did.

Joam didn’t have any money from last week. No pay meant no dinner. He supposed he could go down to Sam’s and tell Higgs he’d forgotten his money, but chances were Higgs would have some excuse not to pay him and he’d humiliate Joam in the bargain, and he’d already had one close call tonight.

Disconsolate, he turned to leave the office, and froze. Jasper January, complete with too-tight cutoffs and straw cowboy hat, stood in the doorway, peering at him hesitantly.

“What the fuck?” He was losing his mind.

“Uh. Hi. Um, my car broke down a few miles out of town. I need someone to fix it for me,” said Jasper.

* * * * *

The guy in the office stared at Blake with his mouth hanging open. He was young, not yet twenty by the look of him, tall and slender with a flat, broad chest and long arms and legs. His damp, ash brown hair hung in his eyes, and he had a long, prominent nose. Blake glanced at his hands. Long fingers too. He was just Blake’s type. Blake stifled the thought. He needed to get this guy to fix the car. Whether Blake’s remaining forty-three bucks and change would be enough to pay him was another issue for another time, but Blake wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d be able to work it out in trade.

The guy was still staring at him. Blake tensed, ready to throw the remaining water jug at him and run if having a stranded hustler standing in his garage turned out to be an unbearable insult to his masculinity.

The guy shook his head and walked out of the office toward him. Blake couldn’t help it. He backed away. The guy looked him up and down, and then, for some reason, he glanced toward the back of the garage, where Blake could see a little bed and a TV table and a hot Virgin

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plate. An auto-parts calendar hung on the wall, one of those ones with the buxom female models. Maybe he was looking for his assistant, but no one was there.

Back to the staring. And this time, the guy circled around behind Blake, which made Blake really nervous, but he forced himself to stand still. When the guy was facing him again, he spoke at last. “What’s your name?”

Blake blinked. “My name’s Blake. Blake Grant.”

The guy nodded slowly. “I’m Joam… Where did you come from?”

Blake licked his lips. “From the city.” Nerves made him laugh, and he said, “I guess it’s pretty obvious I’m not from around here. I’ll be moving on as soon as my car is running again.” There. You want me out of your hick town, yokel? Then fix my car.

The guy, Joam, blinked. His mouth opened in an ‘o’ of understanding, as if Blake being from the city was some kind of major revelation. “O-oh. You’re from the city. Your car broke down.”

Blake nodded, careful not to express the sarcasm he felt.

Joam hunched his shoulders and thrust his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and fisted them. If Blake didn’t know better, he’d think the guy was hiding an erection. “I, uh, I can fix your car.”

Relief flooded Blake. He smiled. “Oh great. Thank you so much.”

Joam nodded. For a moment they stared at each other. The look on his face was intense, but not, Blake realized, hostile. No, it was something else. Blake blinked. Was he imagining things? This would be a really bad time for his gaydar to go on the fritz but by that same token, he was a professional. It was his job to know when someone wanted him and right now, horniness was rolling off Joam in waves. Maybe he would be able to work off the repair bill in trade after all.

Still carrying the jug of water and the bag of groceries, Blake climbed into the passenger side of the tow truck. With the prospect of getting the car fixed, his hunger 16 Jessica Freely

returned. When Joam slid awkwardly behind the wheel -- still nursing that boner? -- Blake nodded to the bag. “I had to walk into town. Mind if I eat something?”

As Joam started the truck, his gaze darted to the white plastic grocery bag. “You’ve got food in there?” There was an edge to his voice. What was up with this guy, Blake wondered?

He was getting a strong wounded-bird vibe off him. Was it for real? “Yeah, you hungry?”

Joam’s hands spasmed on the steering wheel. “Yes.” His voice was thick. He put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot.

Blake read tension in every line of Joam’s body. Blake was going to have to be careful.

Even if Joam wanted sex with Blake, the situation could be very dangerous. If he was a closet case, who knew what kind of fucked up ideas he had swimming around in his mind? Guilt and shame could be just as dangerous as hatred, under certain circumstances. “I’ll make you a sandwich then,” Blake said evenly, trying to project bland calm.

Joam’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Okay.”

Blake handed him a bologna sandwich and watched as he wolfed it down in two bites.

“Mmmmnh,” Joam moaned, so overcome that his grip on the wheel slipped and the truck swerved on the dark, two-lane highway.

“Hey,” said Blake, swallowing a bite of his own sandwich. “You’re hungrier than I am.

Want another one?”

Joam nodded, back to gripping the wheel, his knuckles white.

“Why don’t you pull over for a sec so you can take your time and enjoy your sandwich,” said Blake, afraid they’d go off the road the next time.

Joam nodded and pulled onto the shoulder. He turned in the seat and watched as Blake put another two slices of bologna between another two slices of bread. The way he watched every movement Blake made…it reminded Blake of the way he was with a new trick, carefully observing every nuance, gauging his safety level from moment to moment. But what did this guy have to fear from him? Blake handed him the sandwich, smiling.

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Joam widened his eyes, seemingly surprised at the friendly gesture. He accepted the sandwich and took another huge bite. As he chewed, he closed his eyes in near ecstasy and slumped against the seat back. “Uuuummm.”

“Miss lunch?” said Blake, making conversation.

He nodded. “I’m out of money today. I was supposed to get paid tonight but…” His voice trailed off as he stared out through the windshield and a nerve jumped at his jawline.

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“How about another sandwich?” asked Blake.

Joam shook his head reluctantly, eyes straying to the package of bologna, betraying him. There were only two slices left. “No. I don’t want to eat all of your food.”

“That’s okay,” said Blake. “I’ve got oranges and peanuts too. Here.” He made another sandwich and handed it to Joam, who hesitated. Their eyes met in the dim light of the moon shining into the cab of the tow truck. “Go ahead,” said Blake. “Take it.”

Joam’s T-shirt stretched across his chest as he took a long, deep breath. As he exhaled, the expression in his eyes shifted from wary to worshipful. As he took the sandwich Blake noticed the grime under his fingernails, the calluses on his hands.

Joam took a bite and chewed it more slowly. “Thank you,” he said, and he smiled. The smile warmed his whole face and made him look completely different -- kind instead of sullen, and really, really hot. Blake looked away. He reached into the bag, took out an orange and began to peel it. Dessert.

This guy brought out the mother hen in him. He noticed how prominent the bones were at Joam’s wrists and collarbone, how they poked up under the thin layer of his white cotton T-shirt. It was obvious he did a lot of hard manual labor and didn’t get enough to eat.

A brief, lurid fantasy of him taking Joam with him, rescuing him from whatever awful situation he was in and the two of them embarking on a cross-country sex and food romp 18 Jessica Freely

flitted through his mind before he could stamp it out. None of that. You’ve got your own problems, he told himself sternly.

After they’d devoured both oranges and most of the peanuts, and washed it all down with generous swigs from the water jug, they drove on toward where Blake had left the car.

They were quiet the rest of the way there, strangely at ease with nothing but the silence of the night all around them. Blake allowed himself to relax a little. He was good at reading people. His life depended on it. He knew Joam was not going to hurt him.

* * * * *

With food in his stomach, Joam’s head had cleared and he could think a little bit beyond the ever-present arousal he felt in Blake’s presence. Blake, not Jasper. This was some guy from the big city, not his fantasy boy come to life. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

They reached the Oldsmobile Delta 88 and Joam gave the engine compartment a quick perusal. “Your timing belt broke,” he said, shutting the hood again.

“Oh,” said Blake. “Can you fix it?”

Obviously this guy couldn’t wait to put Beulah behind him. Who could blame him?

Joam shook his head, ashamed at the pleasure the answer gave him. “Not tonight. We’ll have to get the part from Greenville and the earliest that can happen is tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Blake looked around himself as if lost. “I’ll need a place to stay. I didn’t see a motel in town. I…uh, I don’t have much money.”

“There’s one on the other side of town,” said Joam. “The Easy Rest. It’s cheap. I can take you there after we get your car to the garage.” And stay, his mind continued, though he didn’t speak the thought. I can stay and we can make love all night long. His erection was back. Had Blake noticed? Was he even gay? He looked gay but appearances could be deceiving.

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He struggled with the issue all the way back to Beulah. Even if Blake was gay, he probably wouldn’t want him; and if he was a hustler, as Joam suspected, there was no money to pay for sex. Fresh anger at Higgs shot through him. He was going to miss out on probably his one and only opportunity to have sex with a real live man and it was all because of that asshole.

But wait…Blake had said he didn’t have much money. That meant he didn’t have much money for the car repairs either… Maybe they could work something out…

If Joam ever got up the nerve to say something. They were almost in town already.

Come on, he thought. A second ago you were ready to go a week without food for the sake of getting it on with this guy, what’s the hold up? Afraid he’ll say no? What’s another humiliation in the greater scheme of things? And he’s a stranger -- he’ll be gone soon, taking your secret with him. There’ll never be a better chance. “Why are you dressed like that?” he blurted.

All this time Blake had been silent, looking out the window, seemingly at ease, but now he tensed. There was a pause. At last he said, “I had to leave town in a hurry. I didn’t have time to change.”

Joam tried to ignore his disappointment. “So that’s not what you usually wear? You were at a costume party or something?”

Blake laughed, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. Joam knew it wasn’t a laugh at him even before Blake said, “Oh my god. I’m sorry. It’s just this situation. This is just so… Look. You seem like a decent guy, Joam, so I’m just going to tell you the truth and trust that you’re not going to beat me up and leave me by the side of the road --”

Joam just managed to stifle a gasp. Blake thought he might hurt him? He’d been in the doorway of the office. Had he seen Joam with the chair? Had he seen more? Joam had thought nothing more had happened but there was no way to be sure. He turned to look at Blake just as Blake was finishing his sentence.

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“-- I’m a hustler. A gay hustler.”

Joam couldn’t help it. He smiled then forced himself to look back at the road. They were in town now, just passing Sam’s. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ve been nice to me. You shared your food with me. I would never hurt you. I --” He glanced over again, his last words unspoken. I want to make love with you.

The worry lines creasing Blake’s forehead relaxed. He smiled back. “You’re a good guy, Joam. I’m lucky I found you.”

Sweating, Joam brought the truck to a stop at the blinking red light. The way Blake was looking at him -- so open and friendly -- he felt…seen, for the first time since his mom died.

This was better than Jasper January. Suddenly brave, he said, “I don’t have any money, but…I could fix your car for free.”

Blake blinked in surprise.

Not wanting to see the distaste on his face, Joam looked away and concentrated on pulling the truck into the parking lot of the service station. What was he doing? What if Blake agreed but only because he had no choice? What was he going to do then? Let Blake

“service” him because he held the power of car repair over him? Was that what he wanted?

Blake’s tenor voice came to him, sweet and warm. “I think I understand what you’re suggesting, Joam, and I think that would be lovely.”

The words unleashed a torrent of emotion inside him and undid the last of his restraint.

Lovely! He slammed the truck into park, heedless of the Olds on the hitch, which lurched forward with a crunch and a splintering of glass. The headlights. Fuck it. Higgs had some good ones, he’d steal ’em and install them when he did the other repair. His hands shook as he fumbled with his seatbelt and at last got it off.

He threw himself across the seat, grabbed Blake by the shoulders and kissed him hard.

Blake’s lips were soft and his stubble scraped against Joam’s cheek, igniting every nerve in his face. Blake’s shoulders beneath his hands were round and hard, like twin boulders. Their Virgin

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mutual arousal perfumed the close air of the truck cab and made Joam drunk. His dick, already sore from near-constant arousal, throbbed painfully. He took a deep breath and fought for control. It would be so easy to lose himself. As if of their own volition, his hands sought out the fly of Blake’s shorts. “What…what do we do first?”

Blake’s hands, warm and strong, closed over his fingers and squeezed, stilling their frantic efforts. “First, we go someplace private. Is there someplace we can go where we won’t be interrupted?”

His heart sank, thinking of his cot. He didn’t even have a curtain to close off the corner. Higgs could come in at any time and find them. Frustration brought tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” Blake’s voice was as gentle as the hand that stroked the side of his face. “What about that motel you mentioned? Could we go there?”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I have enough, for tonight anyway.”

Joam blinked, disbelieving. “But you’re… I’m supposed to pay you.”

“You’re going to fix my car, remember? Besides, I’m going to have to pay for the room anyway. I need a place to sleep tonight.” Blake’s voice and his gentle hands calmed Joam. “It’s okay.”

Joam believed him.

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Chapter Three

The door of the motel office chimed as Blake stepped through. A middle-aged woman with a halo of overpermed brown hair sat behind the counter. Her face was lined and weathered, with broad cheekbones and a pinched mouth. Her protruding eyes bulged even more as she took in Blake’s appearance, but instead of scowling, she cracked a smile. “You lost or something, mister?”

He relaxed and smiled back, marveling at his luck. In a place like this, he’d expected only glares, insults, or worse, and yet, the two people he’d needed to talk to had been friendly. Well, Joam was more than friendly…

Blake pushed those thoughts from his mind and focused on the woman behind the counter. “My car broke down,” he said.

She grimaced. “Bad luck. Watch out for Higgs over there,” she said, nodding in the general direction of the service station. “He’ll try to cheat you. The boy that works there, that Joam, he’s a strange one, but I think he’s okay.”

Blake nodded. “So do I.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“He towed my car in,” Blake explained.

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“Well, try and deal with him, if you can. And welcome to Beulah, though if I was you, I’d stay out of sight as much as possible. Some folks around here aren’t partial to strangers.”

She tilted her head and raised that eyebrow again, emphasizing her last word. Strangers, yeah, right.

He nodded. Message received.

The entrances to the rooms were all off of the parking lot. Blake left the door open a crack and took stock of the room. It smelled like mothballs, but the place was clean. He sat down on the bed and bounced experimentally. The mattress was soft, but there were no squeaky springs.

He got up and paced the room, thinking about the way that Joam had pounced on him in the truck. Just the memory of Joam’s desperate need got him so keyed up he felt like he could come with just a touch to that special spot on the underside of his cockhead.

He took another drink from the water jug. He looked at the door. They’d both agreed it would be better for Blake to sign for the room and for Joam to come over after, unobserved, but now doubt crept into Blake’s mind. Where was he? Was he coming? Had he changed his mind?

It wasn’t just that Joam had offered to fix his car in exchange for sex. Something about that guy got to him. By the time they’d reached the Oldsmobile, Blake had felt comfortable with him. And when Joam kissed him, Blake had felt something long dormant awaken inside. It wasn’t just lust, although Joam was hot and his obvious horniness was a powerful aphrodisiac. But there was more. Blake liked him. With uneasiness, he realized that liking could easily become a lot more.

At last, the door opened and Joam stepped inside. Blake stared. The tall, gangly mechanic wore a suit and his hair was combed. He held a deck of playing cards in his hand and the smell of aftershave rolled across the room. Blake blinked, dumbfounded.

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Joam took in his expression and blushed. This was the best light he had seen Joam in so far. His skin was tawny, eyes hazel, hair a beautiful, muted shade of soft brown. His prominent nose complemented his wide, fairly thin lips perfectly. It wasn’t a face most would call handsome in the conventional sense, but it balanced elements of strength and sensitivity in perfect harmony. Joam was beautiful.

The suit, on the other hand, was another matter. It was too small for him, for one thing. And the gray pinstripe did nothing for Joam’s coloring. Joam, still blushing, shrugged and looked at the floor. “I haven’t worn this suit in a while. I guess I shouldn’t have --”

“No. No, it’s fine.” Blake hurried to his side and shut the door before he bolted. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“These are for you,” said Joam, handing Blake the cards, which were encased in a plastic box.

He smiled and accepted them. There were grease smudges on the box, and the backs of the cards read “Gleeson Auto Parts, Since 1957.”

“I was going to pick you some flowers but I thought that was stupid,” said Joam. “You don’t give a guy flowers. I don’t know what you give a guy.” He looked at Blake from beneath his eyebrows. “So I had these and…”

Blake clutched the cards in his hand, his throat closing with emotion. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself as tears threatened to cloud his vision. When was the last time anyone had given thought to what he might like? But Joam had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to make himself up for Blake. He’d put thought into a gift for Blake, as if Blake were a debutante on the night of the ball. Someone to be courted, not a street whore that anyone could have for a few bucks.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. He rubbed his thumb across the scratched surface of the plastic before placing the cards carefully on the nightstand. He would cherish that deck forever.

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He turned and sat down on the bed. Joam stood by the dresser, staring at him, nerves written in every angle of his body. Blake wished he had some liquor. This guy needed a drink. But they’d just have to get along without it. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down next to me?”

Joam nodded. The bed sank as he sat down next to him, their thighs not quite touching.

Blake shifted position so that they did. Joam’s leg against his was warm, but the muscles were tense.

Joam bent his head, staring down at the floor beneath his feet, but occasionally, his eyes darted toward Blake. “Hey,” said Blake, reaching out and taking his chin in his hand, gently turning his face so that their eyes met. “It’s okay. I know what to do. You don’t have to do anything but relax, okay?”

“Okay.” His eyes were soft, dazed.

“Can I take your jacket off?”

Joam nodded.

Blake climbed onto the bed and knelt behind Joam, pulling the tight-fitting jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. He freed his wrists from the garment and tossed it aside.

He massaged Joam’s shoulders and smiled as he got a soft moan of appreciation from him.

“Your muscles are like rocks,” Blake told him. “You must work hard.”

Joam nodded, a deep breath expanding his chest. He let it out slowly. Atta boy. Blake could feel the tension easing in his muscles. He scooted closer, pressing his chest against Joam’s back and bringing his hands around to the front of Joam’s chest to work at the buttons of his shirt. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Nineteen.”

He rested his chin on Joam’s shoulder and slipped one hand inside his shirt to stroke his smooth, nearly hairless chest. His hand came to rest on one of Joam’s nipples and he circled 26 Jessica Freely

it. Joam gasped. “Nineteen,” said Blake. “Me too.” It was funny, he thought. He felt older than Joam. “Have you ever been with a guy before?”

Joam shook his head.

Blake nuzzled the back of his neck and finished unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled the garment off and then ran his hands down to Joam’s belly and up his sides. Suddenly, Joam jerked and gave a little gasp.

Blake looked where his hands had been. An ugly bruise purpled Joam’s right side along his ribs. How did he get that? Blake tilted his head to peer at Joam’s face. Joam looked away.

He was tense again. Sudden protectiveness flooded Blake. “Something tells me you didn’t get that changing engine blocks.”

Joam gave a little, jagged shake of his head. “It’s nothing. Just ignore it.”

He wasn’t going to ruin this for Joam by pressing him about it. In another day, his car would be fixed and he’d be leaving. Whatever was going on in Joam’s life, Blake wouldn’t be around to help him with it. It wasn’t fair for him to try to draw him out. Still, he wished things were different.

Instead he smiled for him. “Can I kiss you?”

Joam nodded solemnly and Blake shifted position so they were facing each other. What was he doing? He never kissed a trick. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Joam’s.

The kiss was soft at first, tender -- just velvety lips and the slightest slip of tongue. And in the next moment, they were delving into each other’s mouths, tongues hungrily exploring, tasting, licking.

Joam’s arms went around him, locking Blake in a tight embrace. Joam rolled and pushed Blake down on the bed and lay on top of him, his rock-hard erection pressing against Blake’s equally engorged cock. The sensation was exquisite. He could feel the heat of Joam’s cock like a burning brand. Joam’s hips bucked, grinding his shaft against Blake’s. From the Virgin

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guttural sounds Joam made Blake could tell he was going to come soon. “Wait,” said Blake, breaking their kiss. “Let me suck you.”

Joam nodded and lay back, his hands shaking as they fumbled at the catch of his trousers. Blake knelt beside him, stilling his hands and taking over. He undid the pants and pulled them down around Joam’s knees, grabbed the cuffs and pulled them the rest of the way off. Joam’s boxers quickly followed and then he lay there, full length on the bed, naked.

Blake drank in the sight. The tan, smooth skin was marred here and there with scars and old bruises. No, not marred, illustrated -- each one telling a story Blake might never hear. But he didn’t need to. He knew each and every one was a testament to Joam’s strength, his endurance, and the humanity that allowed him to live the life he’d led and still look at Blake with longing and trust.

Blake’s eyes strayed to Joam’s cock, bobbing in need. It was huge, proportionate with his nose and hands and feet. And it curved just a little to the left. Blake wrapped his fingers around it and relished the silky smoothness of the skin, as well as the moan that issued from Joam’s lips. Ignoring his own intense arousal, he swung around to kneel between Joam’s legs and lowered his mouth over the head.

* * * * *

Joam reeled, lost in a whirlwind of sensation. Everything Blake did felt so good. Now, as Blake’s hot mouth engulfed his straining cock, he thought he would lose his mind. The pleasure was so sharp it drew a harsh cry from him, a sound more like a bark than anything else.

He didn’t have time to be embarrassed, or to worry about losing control. Blake’s lips slid down his shaft with a feeling like wet velvet. His hot tongue swirled around his shaft and up to lap at his cockhead. Joam fisted his hands in the coverlet of the bed. He arched his back, thrusting up into that glorious mouth. Blake sucked him down again and set up a steady rhythm in time with the pumping of Joam’s hips.

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His hands left the coverlet and buried themselves in Blake’s hair. His fingers reveled in the soft texture of the thick blond locks. Blake continued to drag his lips up and down Joam’s cock, licking and sucking as he went. As if they had a mind of their own, Joam’s hips pulsed, driving his cock in and out of the devouring heat, faster and faster.

When Blake wormed one damp finger between Joam’s butt cheeks and stroked his asshole, Joam lost all control. “Please,” he begged, bucking helpessly, trapped between the suction surrounding his cock and the promised intrusion at his ass. “Please, yes!”

He wanted… He wanted everything. He wanted to make it last, but it was just too much. He felt his orgasm gathering in the pit of his stomach like a fist. His balls contracted.

And the sounds he made. Whimpers and groans, oaths, he didn’t care. He thrust up into Blake’s mouth and then back against his finger in a never-ending circuit of delight. The pleasure spiraled up and up. He felt pinpricks all over his body and little electric sparks going off up and down his spine.

Blake swallowed him, his throat muscles milking and massaging his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him. He tightened his grip on Blake’s head and thrust up, losing all sense of himself and the world as separate entities. He jettisoned sperm into Blake’s mouth in endless spasms and spun into oblivion, only to return gradually, to find himself still lying on the bed, with Blake resting his head on his thigh, gently squeezing his flagging erection.

Blake looked up and their eyes met. For once, Joam didn’t look away. For once, he wasn’t ashamed of who and what he was. Blake’s eyes were a brilliant, crystalline blue, like the waters of some far away mountain lake. Joam pretended that if he kept looking, they would both be transported to that place where they could live together in peace and make love all day long.

Suddenly feeling bold, Joam snaked one foot up to prod at Blake’s crotch. Beneath the denim, his cock was rock hard. Blake closed his eyes and groaned, his hips thrusting at Joam’s massaging foot. Hardly able to believe it was him taking charge like this, he reached down and pulled Blake up so they lay side by side. He undid Blake’s shorts and thrust his hand Virgin

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inside, running his fingertips up and down the heated length of his cock. Blake’s breathing was labored. Joam bit his lip, hesitating. “I guess, since I came, our arrangement is completed but…if you’d like…that is…I’d like…”

Blake gave a moan that mixed desire and confusion. Oh, to hell with it, thought Joam.

When was an opportunity like this going to come around again? “Want to fuck me?” he blurted.

At the words, Blake gasped and his cock pulsed in Joam’s hand. “A-are you sure?” he said. “I mean you’re…you haven’t ever done that before, have you?”

Joam blushed. “No, but…” He dragged his eyes away from the frank, inquiring gaze.

“I’ve always wanted…”

“Hey.” Blake touched Joam on the chin. “Hey, look at me.”

He obeyed. Blake looked serious. “I’d be honored to be your first. But you have to be patient, okay? I won’t take you until you’re ready for me, understand?”

Joam’s heart beat so hard he thought it would explode out of his chest. “Okay,” he said, in a rush, “whatever you say, just tell me what to do.” Already his flaccid penis was beginning to rally, just at the thought of it.

* * * * *

Blake kept condoms and a little tube of lube in the pockets of his cutoffs. He turned around to face Joam, lying on his back on the bed -- a lanky, virginal banquet of long muscles and tawny skin. Blake’s cock, jutting forth from the open fly of his shorts, pulsed at the sight.

Blake took a deep breath and fought for calm. “Roll over on your stomach.”

Joam obeyed. Blake ran his hands down his back and over his tight, rounded ass. He massaged the twin muscular globes until he felt them relax. Then he squirted some lube onto his fingers and gently inserted them between Joam’s ass cheeks.

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Joam tensed at first, in reflex, but then, as Blake gently caressed his asshole, rubbing it in circles with his slick fingers, a sigh escaped from the mechanic’s lips and Blake felt the tension leaving his body. He inserted the tip of his middle finger into Joam’s slickened hole, turning it this way and that, massaging the tight ring of muscle.

His ministrations brought a sharp gasp of pleasure from Joam, who pressed back against Blake, pushing himself onto the questing finger. Blake continued to explore Joam’s silken passage, searching for his prostate.

Suddenly Joam reared his head up off the pillow, shouting, “Oh! God!”

Found it. Blake grinned. He massaged the gland with the pad of his finger, eliciting more delicious cries from Joam. Blake applied more lube and wormed a second finger inside.

When he had worked in four fingers, thrusting and scissoring, twisting and turning, loosening Joam’s opening and reducing him to a quivering, moaning puddle in the process, Blake at last slid out of his cutoffs and knelt behind him. He tore open a condom package with one hand and his teeth. He rolled the condom down over his straining erection. “Get up on your knees,” he said, and Joam did.

Blake guided his painfully erect cock between Joam’s buttocks and pressed gently against his entrance. He had prepared Joam so thoroughly that there was no resistance, just a sigh from his partner as his cockhead slipped past the loosened ring of muscle and slid home.

The sensation of being enveloped in silky warmth was almost overwhelming. He had to pause to collect himself, to restrain himself.

Joam’s innocence, his passion, his body were so intoxicating, and Blake had waited so long, he felt like he could come at any moment. But this was Joam’s first time. He should make it last as long as he could.

Blake mastered himself, took Joam’s hips in his hands and began to thrust. Joam made a high, keening sound and Blake stopped. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No!” his voice was thick, frantic. “No, don’t stop, please!”

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Blake resumed his pace; short, even strokes designed to nail the prostate over and over.

From the sound of things, it was working. Joam started keening again, the animalistic cries interspersed with incoherent speech consisting mainly of the words “yes,” “please,” and

“God.”

The sounds alone were nearly enough to send Blake over the edge. And on top of that, Joam’s snug channel hugged him perfectly, milking his cock. Blake couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on. There was something about Joam, something beyond even his physical beauty and his intense need, something primal that ignited every nerve in Blake’s body and made him feel things he’d never known before.

His testicles contracted. His orgasm gathered like a storm cloud in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have much longer. He reached around and took Joam’s enormous, rock-hard penis in one hand and began to stroke it. His balls slapped against Joam’s thighs and he made his own sounds now, “Ah, ah, ah, ah.”

Blake’s thrusts grew faster, harder, rougher. He rammed into Joam, egged on by the other man’s pleading moans, driven by his own overwhelming need for completion. Every stroke brought him closer to a kind of union he’d never known before. This wasn’t just sex. It was spiritual.

Joam spasmed in his hand. Hot come gushed out over Blake’s fingers. The contractions of Joam’s orgasm pulsed around Blake’s cock, drawing his own orgasm out of him. Blake plunged all the way in one last time, losing all sense of where he ended and Joam began.

They slumped onto the bed together, Blake lying across Joam’s heaving back. His softening penis slipped from Joam’s body and dangled there, slack against Joam’s sweat-damp scrotum. The skin on Joam’s back was downy soft against Blake’s cheek, almost as if it were covered with short, fine fur, but the impression faded almost instantly, and Blake realized that it was just the velvety texture of Joam’s skin.

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After a time, Blake slid from Joam’s back and lay facing him. Joam turned and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight and trembling with aftershocks. Blake put his arms around him and held him back, marveling at the situation he’d found himself in. No one ever held Blake like this after sex. After his clients came, they were through with him and didn’t make any pretense otherwise.

But not Joam. Even though he knew what Blake was, he treated him like a lover, not a toy. Blake rested his head against Joam’s soft, silken hair and soaked in every nuance of the moment: the lingering smell of sex, the feel of Joam’s damp, flaccid cock resting against his thigh, Joam’s gentle hand, stroking up and down his back and finally coming to rest on his ass as his breathing deepened and he dropped off to sleep.

Blake stayed awake, thinking things he hadn’t thought in years. Dreams he’d abandoned when his family had abandoned him. Dreams he could ill afford while struggling to survive on the street. Now, tonight, in the arms of this stranger, they returned to him.

How he’d wanted to be an astronomer, and how that dream vanished like the stars at dawn when his mother caught him with Jimmy Lowenstein and kicked him out of the house.

Blake’s dad was an architect. Up until then, the fourteen-year-old Blake had always had everything he’d needed. Well, almost. And then all of a sudden, in one day, he had nothing. Blake scrunched closer to Joam and held him tight, closing his eyes to try to shut out the memory of those first days and months on his own.

But he’d survived, he reminded himself. He’d survived the way that you do on the streets, by developing emotional calluses. His heart was covered in those calluses, but somehow, this skinny mechanic in this Podunk town had worn them away in just one night.

What difference did it make if tomorrow they’d part ways? This, now, was real, and it could never be taken from him. Blake gave a deep sigh, let his head rest against Joam’s, and gave himself up to sleep.

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Chapter Four

Joam forgot where he was at first, when he woke up. He thought he was on his cot in the garage, but then the softness of the mattress percolated through his sleepy brain, and after that, the warm weight of Blake lying against him, half draped over his back. He kept still, not wanting Blake to wake up and move. He just lay there, relishing the feel of the other man’s solid, warm body against his.

Soon Blake would wake up, and then it would be time for Joam to fix his car; if he could get the part in Greenville today, then Blake would be gone by tonight. The delights of this bed in this seedy motel room were all but over. Joam’s heart sank at the prospect of his life returning to normal. He swallowed. He wasn’t going to be able to stand it.

Suddenly he knew: Blake’s last day in Beulah would be his last day, too. He couldn’t stay here any longer. It didn’t even matter if Blake wanted him, all he needed was a ride to the next big town.

If he stayed in Beulah, sooner or later he was going to wind up wrapping a tire iron around Higgs’ head, or worse. Something had been unleashed inside him. It burned in his heart and he knew that the day he took his years of mistreatment out on Higgs was a whole lot closer than it had been before.

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In a bigger town he could get a job some place that wasn’t run by an asshole like Higgs.

Joam was a good mechanic. He’d find work, and then he’d save his money and get on to the next place, and he’d just keep on going…if Blake wouldn’t have him.

If Blake would have him, he would save every penny he made in order to make a home for the two of them; he’d keep Blake safe and they’d make love every ni -- “Stop right now.

You’ll lose yourself in that dream, boy,” he whispered to himself. “Besides, sooner or later, you’d have to tell him the truth and then it’d be over anyway.”

“Mmm?” Blake murmured sleepily, rubbing his face against Joam’s back and then resting his chin on his shoulder. “Truth? ’Bout what?”

Shit. “Nothing,” he said, too loud, too nervous.

Blake propped himself up on one elbow and tugged on Joam’s shoulder, rolling him over onto his back. Rumpled and sleepy, Blake was more gorgeous than ever, and the fact that they’d already been intimate only made him hotter. Joam’s morning erection pulsed and then, when Blake leaned over and kissed him, came to full bloom.

Blake broke the kiss and gave him a crooked grin. “You got a secret?” He said it playfully, but the words robbed Joam of all joy in the moment.

What, exactly, did he think he was doing anyway? What made him think he deserved someone like Blake, even for one night? He swallowed his guilt and despair and licked his lips, attempting to formulate some sort of apology or explanation.

Suddenly, from outside, Joam heard voices. “He’s a paying customer. I won’t have you disturbing him.” It was Mrs. Shockwell, the owner of the Easy Rest.

“…fuck all you can do about it, Margery.” That was Higgs. Fuck. Joam jumped out of bed and cast about the room, looking for his clothes. Shit.

Blake sat up, sleepy confusion quickly becoming wide awake fear. “What’s going on?”

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“It’s my boss,” said Joam, retrieving his pants from the floor and pulling them on, foregoing underwear. Blake followed suit, pulling on his shorts and shrugging into his T-shirt.

The voices grew louder.

“I can call the cops,” said Mrs. Shockwell.

“Sure,” said another man, Sam Chambers. “I’m sure Sheriff Holt will be thrilled to hear you’ve got a hustler operating out of your joint.”

“Fuck,” said Blake, stashing the deck of cards Joam had given him in his back pocket and grabbing his hat. “Is there another way out of here?”

“No,” said Joam, his heart sinking. Blake was in serious trouble and it was all his fault.

They were just outside the door now. “You just mind your own business, Margery.

We’ll take care of this.” That was Bill Freemont. Great. Higgs, Chambers, and Freemont --

the unholy trinity of Beulah. This was getting worse by the second.

Joam cast about the room desperately, looking for some kind of weapon. He grabbed the lamp from the bedside table, ripped the lampshade off it and tore the plug from the wall.

He held the thing by the neck. The base was brass, heavy. He looked at Blake, who leaned against the wall on the far side of the bed, putting on his boots. “Go into the bathroom and lock the door,” Joam told him.

“What are you going to do?”

Joam turned away from him and stationed himself in front of the door. “I don’t know.”

All of his attention focused on the door as the knob turned.

The door swung open and Higgs stood there, flanked on either side by Chambers and Freemont. “Oh my God,” said Chambers slowly. “Will you look at this.”

Higgs had a look on his face like he’d just swallowed a bug. “This is bad news, fellas.”

Behind them and off to the side stood Mrs. Shockwell, uncertain, her eyes darting back and forth between the three men and Joam, who brandished the lamp. “Now look, guys,” she 36 Jessica Freely

began, but then evidently the futility of her words sank in and she fell silent, her plea unfinished.

Freemont looked at Higgs. “This changes our plans some, don’t it?”

“You reckon our friend’ll be unhappy?” asked Chambers, a note of fear in his voice.

What the hell was going on? Joam had expected mocking derision and brutal violence, not this…dismay. And who was this friend they were talking about?

Higgs gave Chambers a withering look. “Unhappy? Sure, if by unhappy you mean he’s gonna kill us all. He wanted a virgin, dipshit.”

“Well maybe they didn’t --” began Chambers.

“Oh, come on!” yelled Higgs. “Look at ’im! Look at the bed! Look at that, for chrissakes!” He pointed at the floor, where Blake’s used condom lay, slack and forlorn.

Joam felt himself blush in embarrassment, and that made him angry. Higgs took a step closer, causing him to tighten his grip on the lamp.

“You fucking asshole!” Higgs shouted. “All you had to do was stay a virgin one more night and you couldn’t even do that right!”

“So where’s the rooster in the henhouse, anyway?” asked Freemont.

“I’m right here,” Blake said as he came and stood next to him holding the ceramic lid to the toilet tank upraised like a weapon. Joam felt two things at once, sickening dread that Blake had put himself in danger, and elation that he’d come to stand with him.

The three men in the doorway exchanged looks. “Now look, boys,” said Higgs, plastering on a smile that wouldn’t fool a blind man, “we’re not here to hurt you.”

“Then why are you here?” said Joam, finding his voice at last. “What the hell are you talking about with all this virgin crap and who’s your “friend” who’s going to kill you all?”

Higgs’ jaw clenched and he was about to react, with an insult or a blow, but Freemont stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “It’s complicated, Joam,” said Freemont. “The important thing right now is to keep you and your friend here safe. This guy we’re talking Virgin

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about, he’s from the city, and he doesn’t fool around. He was going to adopt you, see. Send you to college so you could learn his business, but only on the condition that you were pure -- he’s very religious. Now, unfortunately, what you’ve done has jeopardized all that, and what’s worse, this man is likely to take his disappointment out on all of us, especially you and your friend. It’s not safe for you two to stay here. The best thing is for you to come with us to the Lodge, where we can protect you.”

Joam got a cold feeling in his stomach. He’d always suspected that Freemont was the smartest of the three. He talked a good line, but it was clear that he was just trying to placate them so he and Blake would go willingly to the Lodge, and not for the reason he was saying.

Joam looked at Higgs. “Why didn’t you ever mention this guy before?”

“He didn’t want to get your hopes up,” said Freemont. “In case it fell through.”

“Mister, you’re some smooth talker,” Blake said, “but that story is the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard. We’re not going anywhere with you, but if you go now, and leave us alone, then we won’t call the police.”

“You don’t understand how things work in this town, boy,” said Higgs. He reached behind him and pulled his Colt Python revolver from the waistband of his jeans and aimed it at Blake.

Freemont stared at Higgs and looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Higgs’ gaze shifted to Joam. “Now are you going to get your fuck buddy here to shut up and cooperate, or am I going to have to kill him and save our city friend the trouble?”

“He’s bluffing,” said Blake. “They want us alive for some reason.”

That did it. Higgs snarled and lifted his arm to pistol whip Blake. Joam swung the lamp and caught Higgs on the side of the head with the brass base. Higgs stumbled and dropped his gun. Chambers lunged forward and socked Joam on the jaw. Blake swung the toilet tank 38 Jessica Freely

lid at Chambers, catching him in the midsection and sending him careening into the television set.

While Chambers and the television crashed to the floor, Freemont wrestled Blake for possession of the toilet tank lid and Higgs scrambled for the gun. Joam swung the lamp at Freemont and hit him across the back. Blake lost his grip on the toilet tank lid at the same time that Freemont did and it landed on Freemont’s foot. “Aaaaah!” he yelled.

Chambers extricated himself from the television set and stood up. Higgs had his gun by now and he lifted it, but Freemont, grimacing in pain, grabbed it from him. “You idiot, we need them alive!”

Joam and Blake looked at each other. The doorway was relatively clear at the moment.

As if they were one body, one mind, they ran through the door and out into the parking lot.

Those first few strides in the open air with Blake beside him were the freest moments Joam had ever experienced.

And then someone hurtled into Joam from behind and sent him sprawling on the asphalt. He rolled over and Chambers leaped on top of him, straddling his waist. Chambers punched him in the nose, hard. Joam’s vision swam. He tried to break free but Chambers held him down with one hand on his shoulder, readying another punch with the other.

Time slowed down. There was some kind of commotion over by the door but all Joam could see was the fist coming at his face and then -- there was a flash of red and a cowboy boot connected with the side of Chambers’ face. He slid off Joam’s chest, moaning and rolling around, clutching his head.

Joam looked up to see Blake standing there in all his hustler glory -- cutoffs, cowboy hat, and yeah, red cowboy boots. He grinned and accepted the hand Blake held out.

But no sooner was he standing again than Higgs was on them. He had the lamp, and before Joam could do anything, he wrapped the cord around Blake’s neck and started to pull, Virgin

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choking him. Joam yelled and threw himself at Higgs but Chambers intercepted him with a punch to his gut.

Joam doubled over in pain and Chambers brought both fists down on the back of his head, sending him to his hands and knees on the gritty asphalt parking lot of the Easy Rest.

Joam’s vision swam. In the distance he could hear Freemont, still in the doorway of the room, yelling something about not killing them.

Kh-kh-kh. The sound of Blake choking drowned Freemont out. Joam turned his head and saw Blake’s red boots kicking in midair as Higgs strangled him. It didn’t matter what Freemont said. Higgs wasn’t listening. Blake was going to die if Joam didn’t do something about it right now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chambers getting ready to kick him in the head.

Time slowed down again, but it was different this time. Joam felt every pit and crack of the pavement beneath his hands. He felt the air on his skin, felt the currents in the air shifting as Bill’s foot swung toward him. He smelled the anger and the fear of the men around him. He felt his own breath expanding in his chest and as he released it, he let go of his façade of humanity and let his true being emerge.

* * * * *

The lamp cord bit into Blake’s neck, cutting off his air. He struggled, trying to land a kick, trying to pry the cord loose with his fingers. None of it worked. The guy easily withstood Blake’s increasingly feeble kicks. The cord was too tight. His vision narrowed and then grew dim. The last thing he was aware of, over the blood pounding in his ears, was an inhuman howl and shouts of dismay from the men.

When Blake regained consciousness, he was lying on his back on the pavement, his body a network of pain. He felt something cold and damp at his ear, and a second later, the warm, wet rasp of a tongue. Blake blinked and groaned, and opened his eyes fully at last…to behold a varnal standing over him.

40 Jessica Freely

Blake screamed and scrambled backwards. The creature backed off. Lean-bodied and long-legged, with a deep chest and pointed ears, the thing resembled a large greyhound. But the eyes bespoke a keen intelligence, and the front paws were long and delicate, almost like hands. Gregor Walsh. He’d found Blake after all.

Blake scrambled to his feet, expecting at any moment for this thing to spring upon him.

He knew that varnals fed on sexual energy. He’d seen what this one had done to Randy. In a moment that would be his fate too. Unless it decided to attack him with its sharp teeth instead. But the varnal didn’t spring. It just sat where he’d left it, watching him with a sad expression on its lupine face.

Blake thought of Joam. Where was he? He glanced about the parking lot, dreadfully afraid of finding him lying on the ground, drained and lifeless. But there was no one in the parking lot except for him and the varnal.

Breathless, he looked back at the creature. It had to recognize him as the guy who’d seen it kill Randy. Why hadn’t it finished him off already? Was it playing with him?

The creature made a low, soft, mournful cry. It stared at him for a long moment, during which Blake thought his heart would stop, and then it turned and loped off, head bowed.

What the hell? Blake stood there, at a loss to understand what had just happened. It didn’t matter, he told himself. What mattered was him getting the hell out of here before it changed its mind and came back for him. He looked around him, hoping Joam would appear around the corner of the office or from across the street. He imagined him in his stupid suit, trotting back to make sure Blake was all right. But he didn’t appear.

Blake knew he should get out of there. Just go. Walk or run and maybe hitch a ride once he was a safe distance from this freaky little town, but what about Joam? Blake pulled the deck of cards out of his pocket and stared at them.

He felt certain now that it was Higgs who’d given Joam those bruises. And all that talk about him being a virgin. Like they’d been trying to keep him that way for some big city Virgin

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contact they had. And then Walsh had shown up in varnal form, out of nowhere. Was Walsh the “friend” from the city they’d talked about? The situation reeked more and more of magic all the time. And somehow, Joam was right in the middle of it.

Blake shuddered. Nobody liked to talk or think about magic. And nobody with any sense wanted anything to do with it. What was he thinking? Why was he still standing here?

Joam was just a trick, right? He ran his thumb over the scratched surface of the plastic card case and remembered Joam standing in the doorway last night, awkward in his suit. He remembered their kiss and the way Joam had held Blake after they’d made love. No. Joam wasn’t just a trick.

What was he going to do?

Blake realized he wasn’t entirely alone. The motel manager peered at him from behind the drawn curtain of her office window. He remembered her trying to get the men to leave them alone. Maybe she could help.

The office door, when he tried it, was locked. He pounded on the glass. After a pause, she appeared and grudgingly let him in. “If I were you, mister, I’d get out of here,” she said, without preamble.

Blake shut the door behind him and turned the bolt again. “That’s going to be difficult.

I don’t have a car. Besides, I’m worried about Joam. Did you see what happened to him?”

She raised an eyebrow and studied him closely. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “Did those men get him?”

She took a deep breath and pursed her lips, staring at her hands as if making up her mind about something. “He got away, but something tells me he didn’t go far,” she said.

“What’s the deal with those guys?”

She stared at him. “You really care about Joam, don’t you?”

He nodded.

She stared at him. “He could use a friend.”

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“I thought so,” said Blake. “I want to help him.”

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Heaven help me for what I’m about to do,” she said, then looked back at Blake. “Higgs, Freemont, and Chambers are sorcerers. They’ve been working spells since we were all in high school together. It was pretty paltry at first, but they’ve worked up a repertoire over the years. Now, they pretty much run this town. It’s dangerous to go against them. Or to talk about them.”

Blake licked his lips. “What do they want with Joam?”

“That I do not know. I can tell you he’s been working for Higgs since his momma died when he was sixteen. Higgs is a bad man to work for, but Joam can’t quit ’cause no one else in this town will hire him after what happened. Personally, I don’t believe the rumors are true, but you know how people are.”

“What rumors?”

“About how Joam’s momma died. All anyone knows for sure is that Joam found her and she was a mess.” She looked down at her folded hands, then back up at Blake with that fish-eyed glare of hers. “Some say Joam did it, but I’m telling you, there isn’t a bit of that boy that could do such a thing, no matter what he is.” She shook her head. “I don’t dare say any more.

Just believe me when I tell you that if you care about Joam, you’ll find him and the two of you will get out of here and never come back.”

“Where can I find him?” asked Blake.

She looked at him, thinking. Then something behind him caught her attention. “Why, there he is right now. Coming back for you, I bet.”

Blake turned and saw Joam, dressed in coveralls, crossing the parking lot toward the office. Blake was out the door before he even had time to think. “Joam!” he shouted.

* * * * *

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Joam had no real hope of finding Blake after he changed back. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. The memory of Blake’s horrified expression and shout of fear stung worse than any of the injuries he’d sustained in the fight.

But when Blake spotted him, called out to him with such obvious relief, and ran toward him, he just didn’t have it in him to turn away.

Besides, they were still in danger, and two heads were better than one. He waited, watching Blake approach with something growing inside him, something like joy. For the second time that day, Joam let his feelings carry him away and he started to run toward Blake. But this couldn’t have been more different. Instead of unleashing his rage, he was running toward something he could hardly even identify. Something mysterious and elusive -- the hope for a better future.

And then Freemont’s van pulled into the parking lot and screeched to a halt between them. Joam saw Higgs in the driver’s seat and he doubled his pace, shouting, “Blake!”

He heard the door open on Blake’s side of the van. He heard the report of a rifle. When the van pulled away again, Blake was gone.

They wouldn’t kill him. Freemont said they needed them alive. Freemont had a tranq rifle. Joam had seen it. Blake was alive. He was just going to believe that. Aware that he had nothing, absolutely nothing, left to lose, he ran after the van and saw it turn down Vine Street. So they were taking him to the Lodge. Fine. He’d kill them all if he had to. No matter what, he was getting Blake out of this.

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Chapter Five

Blake came to again. His head throbbed. He was tied to a metal folding chair in the middle of a large room. The place looked a lot like the basement of the Knights of Columbus hall in his hometown: drop ceiling and fluorescent lighting, black support poles spaced about the room. The walls were paneled in wood and there was a bar to the left. It had a mirror behind it painted with the words BEULAH BENEVOLENCE SOCIETY LODGE, EST. 1897 in elaborate, turn-of-the-century-style script.

Along the wall on the left, where windows near the ceiling let in a little light, stood a wheeled rack filled with metal folding chairs like the one he was sitting in. The floor was covered with square tiles of brown Formica, and there was some kind of design painted on the floor.

Blake blinked and studied it. It was a seven-pointed star in a circle, and there were strange symbols drawn at each of the seven points. Holy fuck. It was one thing to hear the motel manager tell him these guys were sorcerers, it was another thing to wake up tied to a chair in the middle of a frigging magic sigil.

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He thought about all that talk about a virgin sacrifice and about Walsh suddenly showing up here. They’d talked about a friend in the city. Someone they were very afraid of.

Was that Walsh? Did Walsh want Joam for a virgin sacrifice?

If so, he was in for a rude awakening when he found Blake trussed up here instead. Did those guys really think they could fool a varnal, a being of such extraordinary sexual sensitivity?

Blake tested his bonds, but he was firmly tied up -- no chance of squirming free. He noticed that another rope had been looped around the legs of the chair, just beneath the seat, and the end of that rope trailed off, across the writing on the floor, the end resting not far from a door that stood almost directly across from where he sat.

He heard a door open, and then voices.

“Freemont, ’bout time you got here. I got the hustler, he’s downstairs. Everything’s ready.” That was Higgs.

“You got the hustler? What about Joam?” Blake recognized Freemont’s voice.

“Don’t worry. I got it all worked out.”

“Higgs you fucking jackass, why didn’t you tranq both of ’em? What the hell are we going to do with a fag hustler? You think Walsh is not going to notice?”

“I’m not trying to fool him. I’ve got my reasons. You can’t fool him that Joam’s still a virgin either,” said Higgs.

“That’s why we’re screwed,” said a third man. Chambers. “Walsh is on his way.”

On his way, try here, thought Blake. Didn’t they know that? Still, he felt sick at the confirmation of what he’d suspected. He’d walked right into the middle of Walsh’s out-of-town business.

“We should make a run for it,” finished Chambers.

“He’ll find us,” said Freemont. “Maybe we better think about trying to kill the varnal bastard instead.”

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“Are you crazy? You just saw what a varnal can do,” said Chambers. “I still say I should get stitches.”

“Stop being such a pussy,” said Higgs. “Take a look at what he did to my arm, will you?

“Quit bickering, you idiots,” shouted Freemont, an edge of panic in his voice. “You’re going to have a lot more than a few bites to worry about when Walsh gets here. He’s going to kill us. What are we going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Higgs.

“Wait,” said Freemont. “Is he awake in there?”

Blake quickly closed his eyes and bent his head, pretending to still be out. He heard footsteps. The door open and then shut again.

“I dunno, said Higgs. “He could be faking. Let’s take this conversation upstairs.”

* * * * *

Joam hid behind the septic tank at the back of Mrs. Young’s yard and watched the parking lot and back entrance of the Beulah Benevolence Society Lodge. The van was there and Freemont’s truck. Christ, they weren’t even trying to hide. What, did they think he wouldn’t guess they’d come here? Did they think he didn’t have the guts to come after them?

Joam watched the building, thinking over his strategy. He hated to do it, but the best chance for getting Blake out of there was to take varnal form before going in. He wasn’t sure if he could bear Blake’s horrified look one more time, but he knew for sure he couldn’t live with himself if he let Blake get hurt…or killed, probably.

So. Joam shucked off his clothes, wadded them up, and stuffed them under the tank. He crouched, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He tapped into his desire for Blake, and his hatred of Higgs, Freemont, and Chambers, of this whole fucking town, of his life. His fear and his rage and his frustration welled. And his love.

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He felt the change coming, building up inside him, and then his perceptions began to shift. The smell of the chemicals in the tank became overpowering, and he could feel every grain of the sand beneath his knees. He watched, fascinated and horrified, as the short, brown pelt grew across his arms and legs, as his body shifted form.

As a varnal, he could move much more quickly and quietly than he could in human form, especially when he was on all fours. He trotted silently across the parking lot and went around to the side of the building where there were windows with views into the basement.

He sniffed at the crack of the first one and smiled his long, toothy, varnal grin. Blake, and he was alone. There was something else, a smell he couldn’t identify, but he’d find out soon enough what that was. Joam extended a claw, cut a circle out of the glass, and reached inside to unlatch the window.

* * * * *

Blake heard a noise, a faint, scratching sound, from one of the windows high up on the wall. He looked just in time to see a circle of glass pop out of the window and fall to the floor, where it shattered with a light tinkling sound.

Joam. Blake’s heart lifted even as he feared for his new friend. But then a hand -- a long, furry, bony hand -- reached inside and undid the latch. The hand of a varnal.

Blake’s breath froze in his chest and sweat broke out all over his body. He watched, paralyzed with terror, as the window slowly opened and the creature crawled through. Its movements lithe and precise, it landed nearly soundlessly on the Formica tiles. It lifted its head and stared at Blake with its great, lantern eyes.

Blake couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t scream. All he could do was watch helplessly as the thing came toward him. It never broke eye contact with him. It was as if it was trying to tell him something with its eyes.

Why hadn’t it leaped upon him by now, Blake wondered? Why hadn’t it ripped his throat out or clamped its paws around him and drained his energy? For that matter, why had 48 Jessica Freely

it let him go the first time, and why was it sneaking in a window as opposed to walking in the door like the feared and honored guest it was?

It didn’t act like Walsh at all. Even in human form, Walsh was known to be brutal, ruthless, direct. But this varnal was none of those things. It just kept moving forward, slowly, as if it didn’t want to frighten him any more than was necessary. Light from one of the fixtures fell on its face and Blake saw its eyes gleam hazel. Hazel eyes.

The varnal approached, seemingly oblivious to the drawing on the floor, to everything except for Blake. It looked at him with the kind of focused, single-minded lust Blake had never experienced until he’d met Joam.

Joam’s eyes suddenly came to Blake’s mind. Hazel eyes, staring at him, drinking him in.

When Blake awoke in the parking lot, Joam had been missing. The men had fled, presumably because the varnal had appeared. Then Joam reappeared later, after the varnal had gone…”J-Joam?” Blake whispered.

The beast’s eyes widened. It stopped -- its front paws this side of the circle on the floor, its hind ones still outside it. The varnal dipped its head once, then again. Nodding.

Blake exhaled, unaware until then that he’d been holding his breath. He smiled with relief. “Joam.”

Joam broke into a trot and the second that his last foot crossed the circle drawn on the floor, the design came to life, glowing a brilliant blue and giving off a low hum.

Blake leaped in his bonds and wrenched his wrists badly. The magical inscription gave off no heat. It was just there, pulsing and glowing.

And then he didn’t have time to notice anything more, because Joam was upon him.

* * * * *

This was only his third time in varnal form.

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Joam’s previous, brief and violent, experiences as a varnal had not prepared him for the heightened sexual sensitivity he now experienced. He landed on the floor of the basement of the Lodge, got one whiff of Blake and there was only one thing on his mind. He tried to fight against it, but there was no more stopping his carnal instinct than there was stopping a waterfall.

Blake was terrified. His fear slowed Joam’s pace, but even then, he could not look away, could stop moving closer to the smell and the heat; the whole sexy pheromonal cocktail that was Blake.

The thing about heightened senses, he was quickly discovering, was that they didn’t all report equally all the time. It was a matter of focus. And right now, in a varnal body denied of sex for its entire, highly intermittent lifetime, his sexual sensitivity was in the fore, virtually drowning out all else. Joam hoped he would be able to keep from forcing himself on Blake, but he couldn’t be certain.

And then Blake recognized him. Recognized him and looked glad about it. That was all he needed.

He leaped and landed in front of Blake, between his bound legs. He was aware of a blue flash at the periphery of his vision, but little else as he ran his hands, their palms and fingers intensely sensitive, up the rough fabric of Blake’s jeans. Blake gasped. “Joam,” he said, his voice thick with a combination of lust and anxiety. “Don’t you think we should -- aaah!”

The sound of Blake’s excitement was like a warm wave of water, flowing over his head and down his body. He wriggled with pleasure.

The smell of Blake made Joam’s skin tingle. He had a rock-hard erection, but at the moment, all he cared about was reveling in that smell. He undid Blake’s fly and leaned forward, poking his nose through the opening while he unfastened the button of the jeans.

“J-Joam…” Blake panted. “Untie…”

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He broke off into a moan as Joam nuzzled at the hair at the top of his now open shorts.

Joam grabbed the waist and pulled them down. Blake’s erection stood straight and proud before him. He stroked it with his fingers, delighting in the velvety feel of the skin. He bent his head and ran his tongue up the underside.

It was like fireworks going off all through his body, and especially in his brain. Images, thoughts, feelings… Too many to keep track of, but every one of them potent. He ran his tongue up to the head of Blake’s cock and swirled around it. Blake’s ecstasy magnified his own. Joam was going to come just from this. He shifted his hips up, so he could rub against Blake’s leg.

Joam wrapped his fingers around Blake’s shaft, pumping him as he continued to lick and suck at the head of his cock.

“Joam! God! Joam!” shouted Blake. He felt him tumble into orgasm, the dizzying, selfless, thoughtless moment of dissolution. The reverberation of it nearly sent Joam over the edge, and then he got his first taste of Blake’s cum, jetting into his mouth and making him realize just what it was he’d always been hungry for. He exploded.

He was still licking up Blake’s luscious juice when the man shifted, knocking him in the cheek with a hip bone, and said, “Joam, for God’s sake, untie me.”

Oh. Oh yeah. Joam licked his chops, sat up, and noticed the circle and the symbols all around them, glowing with blue fire. Uh oh.

He untied Blake and then, not wishing to see the revulsion in his eyes as Blake realized what had just made love to him, returned to the edge of the circle. Experimentally, he extended on long-fingered paw over the barrier. Agonizing pain shot through his fingers and up his arm, sending him reeling back, yelping and shaking. It felt like his bones were on fire.

They were trapped.

* * * * *

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Blake had been a hustler for five years. He thought he’d experienced everything sex had to offer, from the heights of ecstasy to the depths of degradation, but when it came to getting head from a varnal, he was a total virgin.

His protests quickly died on his lips as Joam crouched before him and ran those odd, surprisingly soft and delicate hands up his legs. Their touch sent reverberations throughout his whole body. And it was more than just a physical sensation. Along with the warmth and the tingling was a feeling of…love. Joam’s love bathed every particle of his being, making him feel cherished. Despite the peril of their situation, he was instantly hard.

Then Joam began to lick him and there was no more thought. No analyzing, no noticing of details. Blake was lost in a sea of rapture, drowning. It was frightening, and yet he never wanted it to end.

Joam’s tongue slid up the underside of his shaft and circled the head. Blake thrust up, helpless to control himself. The fingers wrapped around his cock squeezed and stroked. Blake cried out, not even afraid, at the moment, that someone might hear them. He felt Joam’s cock rubbing against his leg and it only made the pleasure more intense. His breath came in shuddering gasps as the sweetness of Joam’s lovemaking invaded every cell in his body. It was too much. He was going to die. He didn’t care.

The feelings of love that had spread from his fingers to his toes and everywhere in between now gathered in the pit of his stomach. His balls drew up. He was close, so close.

Joam flicked his tongue over that spot just beneath his cockhead and Blake came undone. His orgasm ripped through him like an electrical storm, igniting every nerve.

Like the phoenix, he was reborn in that transformative blaze. He almost expected to see argent fire arcing from his penis as he came, harder than he ever had in his life. The aftershocks went on and on, leaving him spent and exhausted, though somehow, despite the situation, happier to be alive than he’d ever been before.

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When he was finally, fully in the here and now, and Joam had untied him and conducted one very unsuccessful experiment in leaving the circle, Blake discovered that he lacked the strength to stand. Had Joam drained him?

He looked at the varnal, now sitting a little distance off, staring at the ring of fire that surrounded them. Last night had been Joam’s first sexual experience with another person, that much Blake was sure of. It was possible he didn’t know about that aspect of his powers.

“How much do you know about being a varnal?” he asked him.

Joam turned his head and stared at him a moment. Then he began to shift and change.

Before Blake’s eyes Joam’s head changed shape, his body transformed, with no breaking of bones or popping of joints. Just a simple, fluid flow. In moments, Joam sat there in human form, naked.

Naked and ashamed. It was written in every line of his body as he sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, his head turned away from Blake. “Just that they’re monsters.

Killers. Just that I never wanted to be like that again.”

“So you haven’t taken varnal form much before.”

“Just one time, until today.”

Just once. The words of the motel manager came back to him. There isn’t a bit of that boy that could do such a thing, no matter what he is, and I don’t dare say any more. “But you changed twice today. Both times to save me.”

He didn’t answer him.

Frustrated with the distance between them, Blake tried to stand. His legs wobbled and he began to fall. Instantly, Joam was at his side, easing him down to a sitting position on the floor, supporting his back with one lean, well-muscled arm. “What did they do to you?” he asked, alarmed.

“They shot me with a tranq rifle,” said Blake, “but that wore off. No, this is --” He stopped, regretting his words, but it was too late. Joam looked down, his face a mask of Virgin

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shame. He scooted away, just keeping one hand on Blake’s shoulder to keep him from toppling over. “No, stop that,” Blake said, frustration getting the better of him. “I want to get closer to you, not farther away.”

Joam’s eyes widened. He stared at the floor. “Closer? But I’m a…”

“Varnal. You’re a varnal,” he said, the fact of it truly sinking in for the first time, and along with it a new realization: “I don’t care.”

Joam kept his head bent. When he spoke, his voice was thick and Blake knew he was fighting back tears. “But you’re all…” He waved his free hand, to indicate his weakened condition. “And it’s because of me. I did that to you.”

“It was an accident. You said you’ve only been in varnal form once before today, and I’m guessing you didn’t have sex that time.”

Joam shook his head, vehemently. His face scrunched. Tears flowed.

“This is all new to you. You didn’t do anything to hurt me on purpose and this weakness, it’ll pass.” He hoped.

Joam hid his face in the crook of his free arm. His shoulders shook. Using every bit of willpower he had, Blake managed to lift one hand and put it on Joam’s shoulder. “It was an accident. You’re not a killer.”

“Yes I am,” he said, so quiet Blake could barely hear him. “I am a killer and it’s not safe for you to be near me. If we get out of this, you should run away from me as fast as you can.”

“When we get out of this, I’m hoping we can do that again. As often as possible.” It was a joke, sort of, but it didn’t go over very well.

Joam sobbed openly and then lifted his head to glare at Blake, his face tear-streaked and savage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I did it before! I killed her, and if you give me half a chance I’ll kill you too!”

Blake managed to flex the hand he had on Joam’s shoulder. “Your mother, you mean.

Tell me what happened.”

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He stared at him, open mouthed. “You know?”

“The motel manager told me a little bit. She doesn’t believe you killed her, and neither do I. Tell me what happened.”

He took a deep breath. His vacant expression and detached tone of voice tore at Blake’s heart every bit as much as his tears. “It was a warm summer night, and I was out walking in the woods behind our house. I stopped to uh…” He looked away. “To jack off. I was in the middle of it and all of a sudden it felt different, better than it ever had, and I started changing. I didn’t know what was happening. I thought at the time that it was because of what I’d been doing, but now I know different. I know varnals are born, not made, and that the first change usually comes when you’re…you know. Anyway, at first, I liked it. I liked being able to run real fast, and how I could smell and see and feel stuff so intensely. I lost track of time. The next thing I knew, I was in my house and Ma was laying on the floor, her…her throat torn out, and Higgs was there, screaming at me, shouting ‘What have you done?’”

“You have no memory of actually killing her,” observed Blake.

Joam’s eyes were flat, expressionless. “I must have blacked out.”

“Because that happens to you a lot, right?”

He wrinkled his brow. “Huh?”

Blake leaned forward, overbalanced, and fell against Joam’s chest. He moved to push him upright and Blake said, “No. Don’t push me back again. Put your arms around me.”

Slowly, he obeyed.

“Now turn my shoulders so I can look at you.”

Blake was now resting on his side against Joam’s chest with Joam’s arms around him, and he could look up at his face. “You have a lot of blackouts, right? In human or varnal form. It’s a common occurrence?”

Joam narrowed his eyes. “No.”

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“Just that once, then. Right. Listen to me, Joam. You know that Higgs wants you for a virgin sacrifice, right?”

He nodded.

“Think about it, then. What if he killed her, but convinced you it was you? It would be a pretty good way to keep you under control all these years, wouldn’t it?”

He swallowed. Hope flittered in the back of his eyes. “I guess that makes sense, but…”

“It makes a whole lot more sense than you just killing your mother for no reason, varnal or no. When you were in varnal form and you saw me, did you want to kill me? Did you attack me now, or earlier? No, just the people who were hurting me, right? And you could have killed them but you didn’t, did you? You just drove them off.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“You didn’t do it. I haven’t known you for long but I know you well enough to know you didn’t kill your mother.”

For a long moment, Joam just stared at him. Then, with a gasp, he lifted Blake and held him tight to his chest. He buried his face in the crook of Blake’s neck and Blake felt his tears, hot and wet, against his skin. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you, thank you.”

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Chapter Six

His face buried in the crook of Blake’s neck, Joam basked in the knowledge that he hadn’t murdered his own mother. Somewhere, off on the sidelines of his mind, his rage at Higgs was waiting for its chance to express itself, but for now, he just felt relief.

All too soon, however, the reprieve was over. Joam heard footsteps and a moment later, the door to the room opened and Higgs, Freemont, and Chambers stepped inside.

“What did I tell you, Sam,” said Higgs. “We take the mate, and the varnal comes after him, just like that. Besides, now we know for sure that they’re in love. Our new plan will only work with a bonded pair.”

Joam helped Blake back into the chair and turned to face the men. He didn’t care that he was naked. He didn’t care that his face was streaked with tears or that they’d seen him holding Blake. None of those things felt shameful now. He looked at Higgs. “You killed my mother. And you lied to me about it in order to control me,” he said.

Higgs laughed. “You just now figured that out, dipshit?”

Anger rose within him, but Joam didn’t lose control. He just kept staring at Higgs, looking him in the eye. Something he’d never done before. There was nothing to say now, nothing to do. But the time would come when Higgs would pay for what he’d done to Ma.

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This Joam knew with every instinct he possessed, and it must have shown in his eyes because Higgs gave a nervous grin and looked away.

“We better hurry,” said Chambers. “Walsh will be here any minute now.”

“Right,” said Freemont, tossing a duffel bag onto the floor and bending to unzip it. The things he pulled out of there made Joam’s stomach twist. Handcuffs, rope, and a dowel rod with shackles on either end. Joam looked at Blake. He looked pale. The certainty Joam had felt a moment ago was gone now. What were they going to do?

The three men came toward them. They crossed the circle with no hesitation and no effect. Joam put himself between them and Blake.

Higgs grinned at him and without a word, swung his fist at Joam’s face. Joam ducked the blow, but by then, Freemont and Chambers had passed him. He turned to see them grab Blake, one on each arm, and lift him up. “No!” shouted Joam. “Do what you want to me, but leave him alone!”

Higgs tackled Joam from behind and he went sprawling to the floor. The other two dragged Blake away. Joam heaved Higgs off his back and sprang after them. He reached them just as they crossed the circle. The ring of incandescent symbols seemed to do them and Blake no harm whatsoever.

But it was a different story for him. Joam hit the perimeter of the circle as if it were a solid wall of electrified steel. The shock threw him back into the folding chair, which toppled beneath him. His whole body was on fire from the inside out. He screamed.

* * * * *

As the men dragged Blake across the floor, he heard Joam scream. He let his head fall back. From that vantage point he could see, albeit upside down, Joam rolling on the floor in agony and Higgs standing over him. The circle. It was some kind of barrier, not, as he’d assumed, for him, but for Joam. They’d planned this. He was the bait.

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And something more than bait, he realized, as the men cuffed his hands behind his back and pushed him to his knees. He tried to struggle, but he still had almost no control over his limbs.

The taller, thinner one -- Freemont -- attached the spreader to Blake’s ankles. The length of wood forced his legs apart. Blake was familiar with that particular piece of equipment from a client of his who liked S&M, but this was no scene. There were no safe words here. Blake fought the fear welling up inside him.

Joam howled. He was in varnal form now. He stood at the edge of the circle, snarling and yowling in fear and rage. Behind him stood Higgs, laughing. He had his gun in his hand.

Fear battered Blake’s mind. It was difficult to keep thinking; still, he forced himself to analyze the situation. Chambers and Freemont stood a few feet away, assessing their work.

Blake was bent over, his face against the floor, his arms shackled behind his back, his ass in the air, his legs spread. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was coming next.

But what purpose did raping him serve?

* * * * *

At the sight of Blake tied up, at the smell of his fear, rage overwhelmed Joam and he took varnal form. He had no idea how they were going to get out of this, but he knew he had to be at his most powerful. And he was. His strength flowed inside him like a living force of nature, a river or a storm. It fed his muscles, his senses, every aspect of his being. He wondered if what he felt was the extra energy he had drawn from Blake, but there was no time to dwell on that. He extended one finger over the circle that hemmed him in. The result was nearly as severe as when he’d slammed into it full force in human form.

As he recovered his senses, he heard a car pull up outside the lodge. Its door opened with a click and a smell rolled out that came through clear, all the way down here. Another varnal. This must be the out-of-town guest they’d talked about. The one they’d been planning to give him to as a virgin sacrifice. If he was a varnal, no wonder they were afraid Virgin

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of him. No wonder they were desperate to come up with a solution to the problem of Joam no longer being a virgin.

Human footsteps rang on the steps. The door opened, and a man entered the room. He was tall and thickly muscular. He wore an expensive gray silk suit with a black shirt and a purple tie. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lights, and dark glasses hid his eyes. He exuded a menacing, powerful sexuality, and he moved with the grace of a wild animal.

He and Joam locked eyes. The stranger’s nostril’s flared. He turned to look at Blake and then at the other men. “What’s going on here? Where is my virgin varnal?”

Freemont and Chambers looked scared enough to pee their pants. Despite everything, Joam felt a little spark of satisfaction at that. “Let me explain, Mr. Walsh,” said Freemont.

“There was an accident, but we’re going to fix it. You’ll get what you want, no worries.”

“An accident?” The stranger, Walsh, walked over to the men. He stood in front of Freemont and ran a hand down the side of his face. Freemont trembled. “You mean you let him get laid.”

“Nobody could have foreseen some hustler wandering into town and finding Joam, Mr.

Walsh,” said Chambers, his voice squeaky with panic.

“But we have a solution,” said Freemont. “In order to manifest your varnal powers in human form, you need a sudden influx of raw power. That’s why a virgin sacrifice seemed like the perfect answer. When a varnal that’s never had sex dies, all that pent-up energy is released.”

Walsh nodded, listening.

“But just think how much energy will be released when a varnal dies watching its life mate being defiled by others, while it’s powerless to stop us. You, of course, get to go first.”

Joam resisted the urge to throw himself at the circle again. All that would do was incapacitate him, and he couldn’t afford that. Behind him, he heard laughter.

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Higgs stood there, at the edge of the circle, where he could step over it and be safe. He smiled, and somehow Joam knew this new plan had been his idea.

“See, I know you, boy,” said Higgs. “The way you never turned that page on that calendar. You’re a romantic. ’Course nobody knew you were a fag but it ain’t no surprise you’d fall in love with the first piece of ass you ever got, boy or girl. And since you’re a varnal, that means you’re mated for life with that hustler there.” Higgs giggled. “S’funny.”

Joam choked back his rage. If he pounced on Higgs now, he’d just step across the barrier, unharmed, while Joam would be in agony again.

“‘Course, nothing’s as funny as your momma’s face when she was begging me not to kill her.”

Joam launched himself at Higgs, only this time, he aimed his pounce to land just inside the circle. His reaction was so swift, Higgs only had time to get one foot over the line. Joam grabbed his other foot with his front paws and pulled.

He really was stronger now. Higgs seemed to weigh no more than a sack of flour as he swung him by the leg and threw him at Chambers and Freemont.

“Holy fuck!” yelled Freemont, who saw what was happening in time to leap out of the way. But Chambers was watching Walsh, who had taken varnal form and was about to mount Blake. Higgs’ boot caught Chambers in the face as he flew, cartwheeling and screaming, through the air. Chambers went down, and a second later, Higgs’ head connected with one of the support pillars and made a sound like a melon bursting.

For an instant, the circle around Joam flickered. He leaped.

* * * * *

“…just think how much energy will be released when a varnal dies watching its life mate being defiled by others, while it’s powerless to stop us. You, of course, get to go first,”

said Freemont.

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In his position, all Blake could see was Joam in the circle, standing with his back to Blake and facing Higgs, who was saying something Blake couldn’t hear.

But Blake recognized Walsh’s voice when he said, “You’re sure they’re bonded?”

“The varnal came to rescue its mate,” said Freemont.

Blake heard footsteps, and then a large, strong hand fisted itself in his hair and pulled his head up, and he was looking into the handsome face of Gregor Walsh.

Walsh’s eyes widened. “You again,” he said and gave a bark of bitter laughter. “You just can’t stay out of my business, can you? I’m going to enjoy fucking you to death,” he said, and then he dropped his head. Blake managed to turn it in time to catch the impact on his cheekbone.

As he lay there, eyes watering, trying to catch his breath from the pain, he heard Walsh’s voice again. “Let’s do it.”

Blake saw Walsh transform, and then he disappeared from view as he trotted behind him. Blake shuddered at the touch of Walsh’s hand on his hip. With the other one Walsh drew lazy circles over the back of Blake’s thighs. Blake felt even weaker, though he wouldn’t have thought it possible.

The image of Randy’s lifeless form flashed in his mind’s eye. Then Walsh grasped the waistband of Blake’s cutoffs and ripped them, exposing his bare ass to the chill air of the room. Blake shivered.

Walsh reared up, his arms on Blake’s shoulders, his chest resting against Blake’s back.

He felt the brush of the varnal’s testicles against his bound hands for a moment and he thought of trying to grab at them, but he was too slow. Then he felt something damp and warm nudge at his opening. He squeezed his eyes shut and retreated into thoughts of Joam.

And the next thing he knew was the soft brush of short fur across his back and the breeze of something moving very fast, directly over him. Walsh yelped in surprise and then he was off of him.

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Blake heard more snarling and growling. He forced himself onto his side so he could see what was happening. It was Joam. Somehow he’d escaped the circle, and he and Walsh were now rolling around and around each other, locked in deadly combat.

He craned his neck, trying to see what had become of the others. He saw Higgs, lying lifeless on the floor near one of the support poles, a pool of blood around his head. Chambers sat nearby, shaking his head as if stunned, and Freemont -- he just caught a glimpse of Freemont, making for the door. He always had seemed like the smartest one.

Blake heard a yelp and he looked back to the varnals. It was hard to tell them apart, they moved so quickly and they were all over each other, but Walsh was the bigger of the two, and where Joam’s fur was brindled in muted shades of brown, Walsh’s was darker, a shimmering charcoal gray.

They danced around each other now, teeth bared, hackles up. Blake saw a gash on Joam’s shoulder and he winced. Walsh was older and much more accustomed to his varnal form than Joam. Walsh leaped at Joam, who snapped at his throat but missed as Walsh changed direction in midair and fastened his jaws around Joam’s throat.

“No!” Blake shouted and frantically searched the immediate area for something, anything he could use to help Joam. All he had was himself. He rolled toward them, picking up momentum as he went. He careened into Walsh, not hard enough to harm him but enough to distract him long enough to break his deadly grip. Joam latched his jaws onto Walsh’s shoulder.

Walsh howled and Blake found himself face down beneath the creature, his cuffed hands smashed between the beast’s belly and the hard rectangle of the deck of cards in their plastic box, still in the back pocket of his torn shorts.

A second later, Joam wrested Walsh off of him. Not sure what he was going to do with them, Blake pulled the cards out of his pocket. He needed to think of something fast. Walsh snapped at Joam and barely missed his face. There was no time.

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“Hey, Walsh,” said Blake, drawing on years of acting experience with clients, giving them what they wanted. Now he projected greed, opportunism, and cruelty. “Don’t be an idiot. You want to manifest your varnal powers in human form? You won’t accomplish that if you kill him this way.”

Blake opened the plastic box, held one half of it in his hand and rolled onto it while holding it edgewise. The weight of his body shattered the plastic, leaving him with a sharp fragment.

“You’re making a mistake,” he continued. “He loves me, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.” It hurt to lie, but it seemed to be working. The two circled each other, growling almost continuously, but softer now. Walsh seemed to be listening. Unfortunately, so was Joam.

Blake hid the shard of plastic in his hands and rocked back onto his knees. Some of his strength had returned. He was going to need it. “I’m tired of being a street hustler,” Blake went on, “and this scrawny mechanic isn’t going to get me where I want to go. Fuck me, Walsh. Fuck me and then kill him. I’ll help you do it and then, when you’re the most powerful man in the city, you can set me up in a nice apartment.”

He positioned himself so that Walsh could fuck him and still keep an eye on Joam. He knew it was the only way the varnal would go for it.

Blake watched, waiting. The heartbroken look on Joam’s face tore at him, but for this to work, Joam had to believe the betrayal, or at least pretend to believe it. Blake hoped he was pretending as Joam stopped circling and bowed, lowering his head in the universal canine symbol for submission.

Blake held his breath. Walsh had to believe it too. He was counting on Walsh’s lust and his greed for power overcoming any reservations he might have about Blake’s offer. If not, if Walsh attacked Joam now, he’d be defenseless. After a long pause, Walsh backed away from Joam and came around behind him. Good Doggie.

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To convince Walsh that he really wanted him, Blake imagined Joam, the night they’d shared, and their encounter earlier today, right here in this room. It was a skill he’d developed early in his career, this mental sleight of hand in which he imagined what he wanted to happen, so he could get through what was actually happening.

Now, he threw everything he had into it, in order to trick the varnal’s sexual sensitivity. It would know if he was turned on or not. “Come on. I’m ready for it. That virgin left me hungry for someone who really knows what they’re doing. Fuck me, Walsh. You’re so powerful. I need you.”

Walsh didn’t bother with any preliminaries this time, thank God. He put his hands on Blake’s shoulders. Blake gripped his shard of plastic as tightly as he could with the tips of his fingers. He was worried that it wouldn’t be long enough or that it would slip or that he wouldn’t have the strength he needed, but there was no going back now. As Walsh’s chest came down to rest against his back, and his hips came forward, Blake thrust the plastic shard into the varnal’s testicles.

Walsh howled in shock and pain. Blake threw himself upwards, pushing the wounded creature off of him. Walsh fell onto his side on the floor. Blake saw blood. A lot of blood.

And the next thing he knew, he was swept up in long, strong arms and Joam, back in human form, was carrying him and running headlong for the door.

They made it up the stairs and into the parking lot. They could still hear Walsh’s anguished cries from below. Joam threw open the driver’s side door of a Lincoln Town Car with a custom red paint job and shoved Blake inside. Blake scooted over, making room for Joam who slammed the door shut, checked the windows, locked the doors, and then reached beneath the steering column, pulling out wires until he had the two he wanted. He crossed them and the car started. He pulled out of the parking lot in a flurry of gravel and squealing tires.

As they sped down Main Street, Blake realized he was shaking. And crying. Why was he crying? They’d gotten away, right? He looked closely at Joam. He was naked. He was Virgin

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driving naked and somehow that seemed funny, and Blake laughed. Until he saw the gash on Joam’s shoulder, and then he started crying again. Once out of town, Joam risked a glance over at him. His face was etched with worry. “Once we get a ways away, we’ll stop, and I’ll get you out of those things, okay? Are you -- never mind. When we stop.”

“Your shoulder.”

Joam nodded. “It’s okay. It’s not going to kill me,” he said.

“Those things I said, Joam. They were lies. I was just trying to get Walsh to…”

Joam nodded, and gave him a quick look. It was enough for Blake to see the truth of what he said in his eyes. “I know. You did it to save me. I know.”

* * * * *

They put two states and a river between themselves and Beulah before Joam finally pulled off the road into a secluded area where he could get Blake’s restraints off. It was Higgs’

car they’d taken. He had tools in the back. Most importantly, bolt cutters.

Once he had Blake free, he wrapped the other man in his arms and held him close, resting his chin on top of Blake’s blond head. For a while, neither spoke. At last, Blake sighed.

“Are you okay?” asked Joam, dreading the answer, “Was I too late? Did Walsh rape you?”

Blake shook his head. “No. No, I’m okay, Joam. And I’ll be fine. It’s just…I’m just shook up, that’s all.”

“What you did was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do,” said Joam.

Blake smiled up at him. “Not as brave as you.”

Joam stared at Blake. It took him a moment to regain his train of thought. “It’s true what they said you know, about the bond. That’s how I knew you were lying to Walsh. I could tell that the feelings you were projecting…that they weren’t for him.”

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Blake nodded. “They were for you.”

Joam blushed. He hugged him again, never wanting to let him go. It was hard to imagine that just yesterday he had been pulling the radiator on that rusted out Grand Am and all he had for company was an imaginary cowboy named Jasper January. He thought about the auto-parts calendar back at the garage. Higgs was dead, and his hold on Joam was gone.

“Do you think Walsh will follow us?” said Blake.

Of course, that would be Blake’s biggest fear. On the long drive, he’d told Joam about the events that led to his flight from the city. “He’s a businessman, Blake. He’s going to have to go back to the city, at least for awhile. And then…I think he’s an opportunist. I think he’ll opt for some new solution, rather than pursue us for nothing more than revenge.”

Blake swallowed. “I hope you’re right.”

Joam nodded. “Me too, but don’t worry. If he does come, we’ll just beat him again.”

* * * * *

Blake rested against Joam’s broad flat chest, feeling…sheltered, loved, safe. Safer than he had felt since he’d left home, despite his worries about Walsh. And there was a lightness inside him. Something new and fresh that he couldn’t quite name. Hope maybe.

Joam’s stomach growled, and Blake suddenly realized he was starving. Neither of them had eaten anything since last night’s baloney and oranges. He sat back, and took in their appearance with wry amusement. “What are we going to do now?” he said. “We have no money and you’re naked, and I’m…” He gestured at his ripped shorts.

Joam grinned. “Go look in the trunk of the car.”

Blake did as he suggested. There, in addition to a filthy pair of coveralls, was a cashbox.

He took both items and brought them back to the front seat of the car. “It’s the till from the

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shop,” said Joam, taking the gray metal box in his hands. “Higgs always took it with him when he left for the day. He thought I’d steal it.”

It was no trick to snip the lock using the bolt cutters. The money inside amounted to three thousand dollars, not exactly riches undreamed of, but enough to get them proper clothes and to keep them fed until they found jobs. Enough to give them a new start together.

“First thing I’m going to do after we go shopping is burn this stupid cowboy outfit,” he said.

“No,” said Joam, a note of genuine pleading in his voice. “Please save it, for me. At least the hat and the top…and the boots.”

“You like it?”

Joam nodded emphatically. He was blushing. “It’s sentimental. I’ll tell you why…”

Jessica Freely

Jessica Freely writes m/m erotic romance. Visit her at http://www.friskbiskit.com, or feel free to drop her a line at jessicafreely@gmail.com. She loves to hear from readers.