Read Online King Perry by Edmond Manning - Free Book Online Page A

is. I massage his neck and spine with one hand and rub the back of his head with the other, using short, soft strokes. Through his leather jacket and heavy shirts, I can feel he’s tight, of course, but his body tells me that he’s not completely overtaken by fear. He’s more angry than afraid.
    Actually, he should lose the coat.
    “Take off your coat so I can work your back muscles.”
    He kneels and yanks it off, using jagged movements to communicate his feelings.
    I think we’re okay.
    I work his upper shoulders for a few moments and feel some of the tension actually leave, which is nice. I massage his shoulders with intention, putting my love into him, letting him feel something else for a split second, something other than fear.
    “Holy fuck,” he says, and this time there’s a hint of excitement, just a hint. “Who spends the night on Alcatraz?”
    “I do,” I say in an injured tone. “Roll onto your side so I can work your chest and stomach muscles.”
    “You’ve done this before?” he says with surprise.
    “Massage? Sure.”
    I like being dense with him. Teases his irritation to the surface.
    “ Slept here. ”
    “Yeah.” I wrap my arm around his chest and note his heartbeats. “Let’s snuggle. I’ll rub your tummy.”
    “Wait,” Perry says.
    His body stiffens briefly against mine but then melts in smaller degrees.
    He says, “You’ve slept here before tonight?”
    “The night I met you, I only intended to duck into the art gallery for a few minutes before catching the last ferry to Alcatraz. But you were so sexy in your peach shirt and peach tie, I stayed. I thought you looked like a lawn furniture model. In my head, I called you Lawn Furniture Guy.”
    He says nothing.
    “I missed the last ferry on Tuesday. But I had my sleeping bag in the rental, so I slept in Duboce Triangle. It’s a good park.”
    “Oh my God,” Perry says.
    “I could afford a hotel, but I like camping.”
    “You, you camp here,” Perry says. He laughs at normal volume but immediately covers his mouth.
    “Sometimes. C’mon, man. Don’t make me ask again. It’s snuggle time.”
    We lie in the cold, dark grass, and Perry asks whether I’ve ever been caught, if the guard patrols down here, what time the first boat comes in the morning, and other questions that he thinks are relevant.
    “Hold all questions, please,” I say in my best Disney voice, “until the Alcatraz tour comes to a complete stop.”
    I may have to repeat that line a lot this weekend, depending on how many questions he asks. Best to set up a standard reply now so he stops pushing.
    He grouses more about how he was deceived, and encourages me to think of a plan to get us both off the island. He falls silent because he undoubtedly realizes leaving before morning is impossible unless we depart by police boat; I think he’d prefer transportation with fewer flashing lights.
    I stroke his hair, strum his chest, and occasionally kiss his shoulders and neck, more gestures of affection than any serious intention, feeling his body torque itself into grudging acceptance. Once his heartbeat returns to normal, we’re ready.
    “Let’s go, pardner,” I say in my best cowboy delivery, shaking him as if to wake him up. “Rise and shine, little doggie.”
    I stand and stretch.
    “Where?”
    “We have to follow the night guard for a few laps, get to know his patterns.”
    “We can’t do that,” he says.
    “We must. How else are we going to know how to avoid him?”
    Perry refuses to stand up with me but sits up and watches me as I touch my toes and perform the stretches I sometimes watch joggers do. I bet the implication of strenuous activity does not please him. I should start jogging. I should lose some weight.
    He says, “No.”
    “Yes. We can do this. Trust me. Get up.”
    He won’t.
    I cross to a rock and dig behind it, coming back with a plastic bag containing a few black items, one of which I toss toward him, a few feet away.
    “Get up,