Read Online On Archimedes Street by Jefferson Parrish - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jefferson Parrish
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off for the day the following Friday, Ed was in a state of quaking, advanced rut. All that week, he had felt Elwood’s eyes on him as Ed worked hauling branches and feeding the chipper. Twice he had caught Elwood giving him a concentrated, calculated stare as Ed climbed one of those funny slope-edged tree ladders. And did Elwood always do that much nut relocation? Seemed that whenever he looked, Elwood was moving his balls around in his pants, shifting them this way and that. Suggestively? Hard to say, Ed thought. It was hard to sort out his wishes from reality.
Every night, Ed waited nervously, hoping this was the night for his gumbo to get slimed. And every night, if Elwood retired first, Ed had to go through Elwood’s bedroom to get to MeeMaw’s old room, temporarily Ed’s, the caboose in the train of rooms. By a quirk of fate, MeeMaw’s room held two reproduced photographs showing the oval face, full lips, and soulful eyes of Mother Cabrini. When he first saw them, Ed felt he had been led to that room through her intercession. But now he gazed at her image in turmoil, having another recently viewed image permanently implanted in his visual memory bank. Elwood would sleep in the raw, of course (to torment him?), and Ed, passing through, tried to glue his gaze to the door of MeeMaw’s old room. Except for the past two nights, when he’d shot hot, short glances at Elwood, invitingly sprawled, one leg straight and the other askew, long cock on thigh, and balls puddled on the sheet. Was that a soft hard, or was he just big?
And now Elwood stood in the kitchen, just out of the shower, towel around his waist, and about to write in his green journal. A drop of water clung like a diamond stud to his ear. Ed fought the urge to catch it on his tongue as it fell and then capture the entire ear in his mouth. Elwood flung himself in his overstuffed chair and picked up the notebook and pen. One leg went over the arm of the chair, and Ed could make out one furred ball under the towel. What a fucking cock tease!
“I can’t take it anymore.” Ed strode to where Elwood slumped in concentration, tore the notebook from his hand, and ripped out a page from the back. Elwood, hit smack between the eyes, looked at Ed with astonishment. Then Ed plucked the pen from Elwood’s hand and sat at the kitchen table to write. “Please let me”—he winced internally at the words taking shape under the pen—“suck you. I’ll do anything you want.” He flared in shame. I can’t write that. Jesus. What am I doing? Furious at himself, he balled up the page and plucked out another from Elwood’s journal. “Please let me,” he wrote. Yes, better. They could back out of that one pretending they both weren’t wise.
“I need this job, and I know I’m going to regret this,” he said to Elwood as he handed him the note. He didn’t even fold over the paper to hide from himself.
Elwood looked at the note with the beginning of a frown. Ed studied his face, waiting for the first flicker of interest or fury or amusement or smugness or disgust to quicken across it.
Elwood maintained the frown, with something like resignation in his eyes. “Lawd. Look. How ’bout a drink? I needa drink. You drink whiskey?” But before Ed could answer, Elwood said, “Nah. Shit. We bin stuck in dis house too long. You like Chinese? Let’s go get Chinese.” He was out of the room and back in under a minute. Black jeans accentuated his big box and taut, round ass. The scruffy boots—and the shapely feet inside them—were innocent of socks, Ed knew. A blindingly white tee, not too tight, set off Elwood’s dark, tanned arms and brightened the white blaze in his chestnut hair. Ed had never seen him look so hot. “C’mon.” Elwood jingled keys, and Ed followed, in a state between panic and elation.
Elwood was quiet on the drive. Ed broke the silence: “You saw the note?”
“Yeah, I seen the note.”
“Well?”
“Well, we gotta talk.”
At least
Every night, Ed waited nervously, hoping this was the night for his gumbo to get slimed. And every night, if Elwood retired first, Ed had to go through Elwood’s bedroom to get to MeeMaw’s old room, temporarily Ed’s, the caboose in the train of rooms. By a quirk of fate, MeeMaw’s room held two reproduced photographs showing the oval face, full lips, and soulful eyes of Mother Cabrini. When he first saw them, Ed felt he had been led to that room through her intercession. But now he gazed at her image in turmoil, having another recently viewed image permanently implanted in his visual memory bank. Elwood would sleep in the raw, of course (to torment him?), and Ed, passing through, tried to glue his gaze to the door of MeeMaw’s old room. Except for the past two nights, when he’d shot hot, short glances at Elwood, invitingly sprawled, one leg straight and the other askew, long cock on thigh, and balls puddled on the sheet. Was that a soft hard, or was he just big?
And now Elwood stood in the kitchen, just out of the shower, towel around his waist, and about to write in his green journal. A drop of water clung like a diamond stud to his ear. Ed fought the urge to catch it on his tongue as it fell and then capture the entire ear in his mouth. Elwood flung himself in his overstuffed chair and picked up the notebook and pen. One leg went over the arm of the chair, and Ed could make out one furred ball under the towel. What a fucking cock tease!
“I can’t take it anymore.” Ed strode to where Elwood slumped in concentration, tore the notebook from his hand, and ripped out a page from the back. Elwood, hit smack between the eyes, looked at Ed with astonishment. Then Ed plucked the pen from Elwood’s hand and sat at the kitchen table to write. “Please let me”—he winced internally at the words taking shape under the pen—“suck you. I’ll do anything you want.” He flared in shame. I can’t write that. Jesus. What am I doing? Furious at himself, he balled up the page and plucked out another from Elwood’s journal. “Please let me,” he wrote. Yes, better. They could back out of that one pretending they both weren’t wise.
“I need this job, and I know I’m going to regret this,” he said to Elwood as he handed him the note. He didn’t even fold over the paper to hide from himself.
Elwood looked at the note with the beginning of a frown. Ed studied his face, waiting for the first flicker of interest or fury or amusement or smugness or disgust to quicken across it.
Elwood maintained the frown, with something like resignation in his eyes. “Lawd. Look. How ’bout a drink? I needa drink. You drink whiskey?” But before Ed could answer, Elwood said, “Nah. Shit. We bin stuck in dis house too long. You like Chinese? Let’s go get Chinese.” He was out of the room and back in under a minute. Black jeans accentuated his big box and taut, round ass. The scruffy boots—and the shapely feet inside them—were innocent of socks, Ed knew. A blindingly white tee, not too tight, set off Elwood’s dark, tanned arms and brightened the white blaze in his chestnut hair. Ed had never seen him look so hot. “C’mon.” Elwood jingled keys, and Ed followed, in a state between panic and elation.
Elwood was quiet on the drive. Ed broke the silence: “You saw the note?”
“Yeah, I seen the note.”
“Well?”
“Well, we gotta talk.”
At least
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