Shelter from the Snow

He gave me a quizzical look. "Why would it matter if the park was clear of snow?" But then he laughed. "You thought I lived there, didn't you? You thought I was with the group of homeless guys you saw on the path there the other day."

"Um, yes. You weren't?"

"Oh, God no. I shoot hoops with some of those guys occasionally. I don't live there, though. I'm not homeless. When I told you I knew where the Berklee College of Music was is because that's where I go to school. I live over near it. You thought I was homeless, didn't you? You brought me here to get me out of the cold, not just to fuck me, didn't you? I thought it was just to fuck me."

"If you're not homeless... you're not nineteen either?"

"Yes, I'm nineteen. When I was in the park the other day, it was after I realized that I'd lost my keys to Rodney's apartment--to where I live. I don't even have a key to the apartment house entrance. He'd gone to New York on business. He will be back this afternoon."

"Rodney? Your father?"

"No, Rodney's one of my teachers at the music school. But he's also my lover. I live with him. He fucks me--just not as often as I'd like it. You gave it to me good while I was here. That's really nice that you were worried about me being out in the cold, though. I'm sorry if I came on to you the other night and you didn't want me to. I thought you were only thinking about fucking me."

"I'm not sorry. But all the rest of it--the book and the library?"

"Rodney reads your books. I recognized you in the park. I did want to get in from the cold and I didn't have enough money with me for food before Rodney came home. And, well, you're a real hunk and I was horny. Hooking up with you seemed to be something to try. It worked."

"And you're happy with this Rodney, are you?"

"Quite happy, yes."

"Your name isn't Hank either, is it?"

"No, it's not."

I waited for him to give me a name, but he didn't. That seemed to be a decision point. What I'd gotten was all I was going to get from this delicious guy. Pity.

After he dressed and was gone, I went to the study and tried to write, but I couldn't. What I could do, to my surprise, was to get hard again at the mere thought of what the guy not named Hank and I had done for a day and a half. He was a firecracker--and I had gone completely off the wagon on my determination not to go after nineteen-year-olds. I either had to try to climb back on that wagon or...

I dressed and prepared to go back to the historical society to resume my research into the lifting of the Boston siege in 1776. On the stairs to the street I was determined to take a taxi to the library. There still was snow piled around and I'd already mused that maybe the park I usually walked through might not be cleared out. It remained, though, that the homeless men there might be in as dire straits from the weather as I'd thought Hank--or whatever his real name was--would be in if he returned to the park.

When I reached the street I didn't even make an attempt to flag down a taxi. I strode off toward the park.

The paths in the park were cleared, but snow was piled up on the grass and the bushes. Homeless guys were standing around in clumps, blowing on their hands, jiggling from one foot to the other, and producing clouds of condensation. As always, I got propositions. I turned them all down, with a smile, until I got to the middle of the park and was approaching a young man who was both angelic in appearance and obviously miserable in the cold.

As I came abreast of him, he reached out with an ungloved, quaking hand and touched the sleeve of my quilted jacket. "Blow job for the cost of a lunch, sir?" he asked plaintively.

"You look like you're about to freeze," I said, stopping and letting him retain his hold on my arm. "How old are you, son?"

"Nineteen, sir. I give good blow jobs. We could go over behind that--"

"I was just going home to lunch," I said. I wasn't, of course. I had been on my way to the library. It wasn't far off lunchtime, though. "Come home with me and I'll feed you and you can get in from out of the cold to thaw out. You can even shower and we'll get your clothes clean, if you like."

"And I'll give you blow job?" the young man asked, as I reversed my direction of walk, laced my arm in the young man's, and started moving him back toward the Boylston Apartments.

"Oh, I think you can give me much more than that, son," I said as we walked arm in arm, the young man securely under my control.