Friends come and go, but I’d always expected Brock to just keep on going, and to be honest, I didn’t blame him for it. No one in this town really wants to stay here I suppose–well, perhaps other than me, but whether that’s because I’m too lazy to work my way free or too stupid to know any better is anyone’s guess. I’m a couple of years older than Brock, but we’d been neighborhood friends for years–he always thought of me as an older brother I think, since he didn’t have any brothers of his own, just a little sister. Still, I knew that he was going places–he always had all these questions! I never knew the answers, and never really wanted to know them, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied here–you could just tell.
So I graduated high school and did what some guys did–got trained in heavy equipment for construction work, and I’ve been making decent money doing that now–enough to afford a little trailer of my own. Fuck, Brock was always so envious of me, that I had a place where I could be all by myself! He’d want to come over and drink with me, but I never let him get too out of control. He was top of the class, naturally. The full ride scholarship to the big state university in the city was hardly a surprise either. He said he’d miss me, when he left–but I knew he wouldn’t and I was alright, with that, I really was. He was going to do big things–bigger than I was capable of, and I…I didn’t want to hold him back.
Sure enough, next summer he came back and he was…different. He’d gotten a taste of another life, and he wanted it. Nice shirts and shoes, looking fucking handsome, I have to say it was the first time I’d actually want to fuck him. Yeah, I’m a gay roughneck–it’s not that strange, trust me. Don’t need a boyfriend, but I got plenty of trucker fuckbuddies, and even a few guys on the crews who get a hankering for cock like me. anyway, Brock was pleasant with me, but there were miles between us now. I never begrudged him any of it–he’d earned it and I was happy for him. The next summer, he only came back for a couple of weeks, and then he was back in the city for the rest of the summer, working. I think I saw him once, mostly in passing. Honestly? I figured we’d never see him again after that, but after his Junior year…well, I never did find out what happened before all of this. This is about what happened when he came home.
I was surprised when he rang me up and wanted to come over and hang out. He hadn’t shown much interest in me, my trailer, or my life since he’d gone to college, but I was more than happy for the company–and when he showed up on my stoop…fuck, my cock nearly popped the fly of my jeans open, seeing him standing there…looking like that. He’d been handsome before, but he’d gone from handsome to fucking hot. Brock had always been a wiry kid, all bone and tendon–but he’d made up for it with wit and bravery. Standing there now though, it looked like he’d packed on close to fifty pounds of beef, both muscle and fat, and hell if he didn’t even look taller, too. He gave me a big hug, and I nearly creamed myself–then he pushed in and made himself at home, hauling out a beer and chatting away like we’d never been apart.
I asked him how school was going, and he…dodged the question entirely, which was odd. He said he didn’t want to talk about that shit–”shit”, not “stuff” like he would have said before–he wanted to come home for a while, where everything felt a bit easier, less stressful–and he’d been thinking about me a lot he said, which was flattering. I asked him why, and he shrugged. He’d always felt close to me, he said, like a brother, and he felt…well, he couldn’t really describe it well, but he’d been feeling out of sorts for a few months, and he’d always felt better around me, so here he was.
We both drank a bit more than we should have, and after a few hours, he hauled a cigar out of his pocket and started smoking it. I was surprised, and asked him when he’d started doing that. He blushed, and wouldn’t–or couldn’t–answer specifically. In fact, he was dodging around a lot of what I was asking, and far more interested in what I’d been up to back at home, so I told him. He wanted to know if I’d found a boyfriend, and I said I didn’t have time for boys, which made him laugh this deep, sexy guffaw, and I started to wonder if he was coming onto me, but before I could explore that possibility, he’d stumbled up from my couch and took off out my front door, telling me he needed to get home.
I offered him the couch, since he was a bit too drunk to drive, but he didn’t seem to care–if anything, he suddenly seemed like he really wanted to be away from me, like something had spooked him. Still, it wasn’t too far to drive to his parents, so I figured he’d make it. He peeled out in the gravel and took off down the road, and I just watched him go, confused as all hell at the entire evening, and wondering if I was just getting signals crossed.
He came over every day after that–he couldn’t seem to stay away. I was working of course, but often I’d come home and find him sitting on the stoop of my trailer, waiting for me to arrive, beaming at me when I’d gotten out of the truck, eager to chat and shoot the shit and have a beer or six. I…appreciated the company, I suppose, but I couldn’t shake the fact that something about Brock just seemed…off. He was scared, but every time I tried to pry, he’d get evasive, or just flat out leave. But one night, once he’d gotten more drunk than usual, I did work something out of him, finally.
“I just…I’m gonna need a friend here soon. A good friend. I can…I can trust you, right Hunter?”
Bracken's Corner 