Some of the stories herein integrate socially political statements. Some are laced with a bit of humor, and others are sensitive and poignant. One story is twilight zone in nature. The settings range from small town, big city, rich, poor and in between. All are Gay male stories based on the search for love, lust and for general fulfillment, and the character’s struggles to attain them. As with all people, love is the ultimate goal and theme of this book. Enjoy!
Bill Moretini
The bulk of my career has been in one form or another of design. The designing, writing copy, and production of brochures, and later as an art director. I evolved into woodworking where I did custom designing and production of fireplace mantels, cabinetry and furniture. Some of my furniture was in the Southwest mode of design. My design education was at the Institute Of Design at the Illinois Art Institute Of Technology: a Chicago branch of the famous Bauhause School Of Design in Germany. I am now putting my creative skills to work in the field of writing. This book is a collection of fifteen short stories. I have a novel in the working stage, and am considering a three novella book.
BLOOD RIVER BRIDGE
In late October of nineteen forty-seven, Sally Davidson birthed a squalling eight pound fourteen ounce boy. James wanted his son named Carlin, after his own grandfather. With sparse money to spare for a doctor, Leona Woods helped as midwife. Leona and Robert Woods were good friends of the Davidson’s, and just two months earlier, Leona had given birth to a boy they named, Bailey. Leona had, of course, brought baby Bailey with her to the Davidson’s, and placed him in his wicker basket near Sally’s bedside. So it was natural that Carlin and Bailey played, schooled and grew up together. When other friends wanted to do something with one of them, the other was automatically included. When the boys were four years old, James and Robert took them to the small tributary river that bordered the north side of the Woods property to teach them how to swim. It took only one try for Bailey to learn, and twice for Carlin, and four more times before their fathers trusted them to go without observation. Occasionally, they went a few yards farther downstream where the water was deeper and cooler and no houses were near, and skinny-dipped. In nineteen fifty-two, when Carlin was five, he helped his dad hoe row after row of cockleburs in their three fields of stunted corn while most farmers in surrounding counties owned cultivators for their tractors. Because James’ farm was on the south portion of a seventy square mile plain of tough red clay that produced poor crops, he could never afford a cultivator or a washing machine for Sally. James hated the fruitless soil of the poorest county in Tennessee. Said the red clay was good for nothing but turning pots. Carlin was given the task of planting watermelon seeds, keeping them hoed, and selling them for fifty cents each from the back of his father’s pickup truck on weekends. With the money, he bought a used bicycle. Now, he and Bailey both had bikes. On a cold Saturday in February when they were nine, Carlin had spent the afternoon at the Woods house playing checkers with Bailey when a sudden snow storm hit with a vengeance and the temperature dropped to twelve above. Leona called Sally and got permission for Carlin to eat supper there and stay over, saying that Carlin could wear an old pair of Bailey’s pajamas. At bedtime, Sally followed them upstairs and found the pajamas.
“Yur a bit smaller ’n Bailey, so these old ’ns should fit,” she said, handing them to Carlin. “Now you boys sleep tight, and do’n talk all night,” she said, and kissed Bailey, and left.
Snow arched across the bottom of the only window, and frost was forming. The boys shivered when they were undressed. The only source of heat came from a small vent in the floor which allowed some heat to rise from the wood-burning stove on the first floor.
“Heck, it’s cold!” said Carlin. “The floor is like ice.”
“If ya think it’s cold now, wait till morn’n. Those old jammas of mine shore fit ya tight. Ya look goofy! Get in bed quick like! I’ll turn out tha light. Dern sheets are cold, but they warms up once yur in a while. I get tha outside!”
It was a small twin bed, crowded for two, even though they were only nine.
“Burrrr,” said Carlin. “Let’s snuggle.”
“Ain’t right fur two boys ta snuggle.”
“Don’t care! I’m cold!”
“Spose ya want a kiss too,” said Bailey, then sniggered.
“You got one! I didn’t!” Again, they sniggered. “Dare ya, Bailey!”
“Ya knows better ’n ta dare me!”
“Dare, dare, dare!”
They lay on their backs looking at each other. Suddenly, Bailey reached across and grabbed Carlin and pulled him and simultaneously kissed him on the lips.
“Uuuuh! Not there!” said Carlin, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
“Ya dared me! Now you kiss me back.”
“Think I won’t?”
“Dare ya,” said Bailey, grinning.
“If I do, my pecker’ll get hard.”
“Bullshit! Yur jus a chicken. “Sides, I ain’t no girl.”
Carlin grabbed Bailey and planted a wet one on his lips. “There, I’m no chicken!” he whispered. “I’m still cold. I’ll turn my back and you snuggle up tight against me.”
“Oh, alright.”
They spooned it, and Carlin pulled Bailey’s arm around him. “Night, Bailey.”
“Good night, girlfriend.”
That set them giggling so loud that they pulled the covers over their heads, for fear they might be heard. They settled down, and Carlin lie thinking about how naughty they had been, but how good Bailey’s body felt against his own, and how strange it felt to feel Bailey’s chest undulate against his back, and his breath against his neck. He wondered what Bailey might be thinking if he weren’t already asleep.