STORY EXCERPT

The mind is a wonderful organ. No, that isn’t right. The mind is a horrible, evil, trickster, who controls you. Some will tell you that you can take control of your habits and change your ways. I don’t believe that. I believe that at times the mind lets you do what you think is best, but in the end, it is still in control.

Micah Cassin sat in a beautiful rocking chair made of aged teak and handcrafted by a master craftsman. He knew this because Jameson had described in great detail every piece of furniture in the room. Micah only cared that the soft cream cushion hugged his body, and when he closed his eyes and let the chair move effortlessly back and forth, he no longer was awash in a tidal storm of confusion.

Earlier in the day, Jameson had handed him the new purple notebook and said, “Maybe it would help if you wrote your thoughts down. It doesn’t matter if it makes no sense to anyone else. You are the only one who will see those words unless you choose to share them with someone.”

Micah nodded, not sure if Jameson’s idea would help or be a boring, time wasting activity. Micah wasn’t sure of anything except that a month ago he had woken up in a hospital room, with a strange man sitting beside his bed, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t speak.

He was told he’d suffered a brain bleed and had been unconscious for ten days. Thank goodness, with drugs, the bleeding stopped and the doctors felt he wouldn’t need any surgery to fix things.

Micah disagreed. In his opinion they needed to fix a big something. He had no memories of anything prior to that nightmare morning. The doctors assuring him that he was unlikely to have any more bleeding in his brain was all well and good, but what about his lack of speech and memory? Telling him that the damage would never be reversed but his brain could redirect and there was a chance he could speak again, wasn’t good enough. With all their modern medical advances available, they should be able to make him normal again.

“How are you doing?” Jameson walked into the brightly lit sunroom and set a mug of tea on the small table next to Micah.

Micah looked at the glass of ice water in Jameson’s hand as the man folded his tall, well-built body into the green padded chair in the corner. Jameson kept giving him lemon tea and said it was his favorite beverage. It might have been last month, but now Micah would rather have the water.

Pushing his suitcoat farther open, Jameson took his cellphone out of an inside pocket and studied the screen. After a moment he slid it back into his coat.

Looking over at Micah, he smiled and said, “Do you feel up to dinner at Sampson’s or would you preferred to stay in tonight?”

The answer to that question was easy and Micah waved a hand around the room.

“Okay, you would rather stay in.” Lines formed across Jameson’s forehead and the corner of his mouth tightened. Micah noticed that most of the time when Jameson was around him, he had that pinched look. “I’ll have Mrs. Kampski make something. Is there anything you would prefer?”

Frustration built inside of Micah. He couldn’t figure out why Jameson kept asking him questions as if he could answer them. Did the man think he was faking it and the words would begin puking out of his mouth?

Micah shook his head and turned to look out the window. After a while, Jameson sighed and left the room. Guilt started eating at Micah. Yeah, he might have been abrupt and dismissed Jameson, but every little thing overwhelmed him and constant anger simmered just below the surface.

He didn’t know Jameson, or Mrs. Kampski. Heck, he thought they were both stuffy and way too uptight. They reminded Micah of the rooms around him that he found himself existing in. The apartment was nice looking with clean modern lines, but to Micah, they were cold and impersonal. The only warm and welcoming thing in the place, human or furniture, was the rocker where Micah sat.

“Mr. Micah, I have your dinner ready.” Mrs. Kampski stood in the doorway. “Mr. Jameson has been called away but left a message that he will be back later in the evening.”

Micah wondered how long he had been lost in his thoughts. Mrs. Kampski’s words registered and guilt began building inside. He shouldn’t be filled with relief at not having to spend another awkward meal sitting across the table from Jameson. But he did. The guy was a stranger.

Micah nodded and stood. Muscles in his back and legs ached from inactivity. As he followed the tall, thin woman out of the room, he made a decision. Tomorrow, he would blow this joint and go for a walk. Hopefully there was a park nearby, and he could enjoy some fresh air.

Frustration gained momentum and Micah clutched his fingers into fists. How did he know what a park was, not to mention modern decorating practices, but hadn’t known his own name until a stranger had told him?

ADULT EXCERPT

Micah turned the card over and fingered the rip.

“These are wishes of good will.” Jameson continued to explain and assure Micah that any decisions he made weren’t wrong. “You don’t have to open them. No one will get upset if you’re not ready.”

Micah ripped the flap off the envelope and slid the card out. Swirling shades of blue covered the front in what Jameson supposed was an artful display of color. When Micah flipped the card open, the inside contained a classic poem of get well soon. In the empty space at the bottom, a handwritten messaged had been added.

Please take care, Micah. I understand the doctors feel you need some time before having visitors. I will wait impatiently for one of your warm hugs. Love you, my friend. Penelope

Micah sat up and Jameson had no choice but to let the man slide off his lap. Hurt had him clearing his throat as he watched Micah leave the dining room without a glance or acknowledgement that Jameson existed. All of his words and support seemed to mean nothing. Down, but not out, Jameson followed.

He found Micah in his rocking chair swaying back and forth. Concern wiped the hurt away at the sight of the tears streaming down Micah’s face.

Jameson crouched in front of the chair. “Don’t cry, baby.”

Micah grabbed Jameson’s forearms and his lips parted. The man leaned forward. Micah’s mouth opened and closed a few times in an effort to speak. Jameson found himself willing the words to come out.

Micah let go of Jameson. He closed his eyes and shook his fists in the air before covering his face with both hands. Silent sobs shook Micah’s shoulders.

Tears clouded Jameson’s vision. Unable to stand Micah’s misery for a moment longer, Jameson scooped the smaller man up into his arms. Jameson carried a still sobbing Micah into his own bedroom. He ignored that he wore an expensive suit and shoes and climbed into bed. After a little maneuvering, he had them situated the way he wanted. For the first time in over a month, Jameson held Micah tucked up against him in a bed.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Jameson whispered. “I wish I could turn back time and somehow stop that vein from bleeding. Just know, I will try my best to be here for you as long as you will let me.”

Long minutes passed and Micah’s shoulders continued to shake. Jameson rested his cheek against the top of Micah’s head and held him tighter against his chest. In the past, when Micah had become emotional and started bitching at Jameson about something, Jameson had left the apartment. Now, all Jameson wanted to do was take away all the bads in Micah’s life and give him happiness.

Jameson waited and rocked Micah for what seemed as if it were forever before the man calmed. He reached over, grabbed up a couple of tissues, and shoved them into the now snotty nosed, sniffing man. Jameson winced when Micah handed him the damp and rumpled up tissues back.

Thoughts of asking Micah if he’d needed a drink of water fled when Jameson’s belt was unbuckled. Shock froze him in place as Micah opened his pants and cool fingers curled around the length of his cock.

“Micah, what are you doing?”

Shit. Jameson grimaced at the stupid, in so many ways, question. Micah couldn’t answer and they both knew what the smaller man was doing. The real question was, why?

Jameson let his eyelids drift shut and enjoyed Micah’s firm grip stroking the expanding shaft of his cock. How he had missed Micah’s touch. Should he stop the man? Maybe. Jameson couldn’t bring himself to end this bliss. He needed Micah. The man’s touch fed his soul. What a fool he had been to just realize this now.

Micah cupped Jameson’s balls, taking his breath away. Jameson looked down between their still clothed bodies to see the smaller man use his other hand to release his dick from his sleep pants and slide their pricks together. Both of their cockheads were flushed a deep pink, almost purple. A bead of precum decorated the slit of Jameson’s cock. A shiver shook him as Micah used his thumb to spread the shiny liquid all around his sensitive flesh.

“I’m not going to be able to hold on much longer, baby.” Jameson groaned and gritted his teeth in a hopeless effort of gaining some control.

Micah’s hand on Jameson’s balls shifted and a finger rubbed his hole. Damn. The pressure in his balls skyrocketed and desire surged.

Cum spewed. Jameson’s only saving grace centered on the fact that Micah’s orgasm was right there with his. White spattered Micah’s shirt and Jameson’s suit. Micah extended their excitement by milking their cocks with firm long pumps. The man turned Jameson inside out.

Jameson cocoon Micah in his arms and let his thundering heart slow. After a while, Micah’s stillness seeped into his consciousness. Jameson looked down to find the sweet man asleep. Tenderness flooded Jameson at the sight of the red mottled skin and tracks of tears staining Micah’s cheeks.

Needing to care for his lover, Jameson laid Micah back against the bed. He grabbed some tissues, cleaned his lover the best as he could, and pull his sleep pants back over his prick.