Rentboy

could
    help it.
    The man looked straight ahead as he said, “Will you give me a blowjob? I’ll pay you.”
    That didn’t take long. Fox looked at the windscreen, rain belting against it. The wind had
    picked up, whipping trees and sending branches hurtling across the road. He did not want to be left
    out in this mess trying to find another lift. “I don’t want money. I just want to get to Mitton. If I have to
    suck your cock for it, I will. But I’d rather not.”
    For the next ten minutes the only sound in the cab was the rain lashing the windows and the wind
    screaming. There was very little traffic; people probably had more sense than to be out in a storm.
    When the traffic thinned to almost nothing, the driver pulled over into a lay-by. Without a word he
    opened the fly on his greasy jeans and leaned back against the headrest. One more glance at the storm
    and Fox decided there was no getting out of this. He unfastened his seat belt and leaned over.
    The smell of unwashed cock met his nose before the feel of wiry pubic hairs tickled his face.
    Holding his breath, he took the cock in his mouth and sucked hard, but he refused to squeeze the balls
    or help the man orgasm. Typical of a straight bloke, he lasted about ninety seconds before flooding
    Fox’s mouth with his hot sperm. Even as the serial killer look-alike filled his mouth, Fox was
    grabbing blindly for the kitchen roll. He sat up and spat the fluids into a wad of paper, wiping his lips
    as he did so in an attempt to erase the taste of the man from his mouth. The only cock he wanted to
    taste was Eddie’s. The only smell he wanted in his nostrils was Eddie’s. Eddie’s mouth on his.
    Eddie’s tongue down his throat. Only Eddie.
    Panting, eyes still closed, the man handed him a bottle of water from the door pocket. Fox drank
    most of the bottle with gratitude, washing the taste from his mouth. He fastened his seat belt again and
    waited.
    “I love you,” he whispered.
    “That’s nice, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing you again, kid,” the man said.
    “I wasn’t talking to you, mate. I was talking to my boyfriend.”
    The man glanced over his shoulder before looking at Fox. “Oh, right.”
    Within minutes they were on the road again. Looking straight ahead, the driver slid a CD into the
    player. “This is an American CD. Truckers for Jesus .” The cab was blasted with a woman who
    sounded like Dolly Parton warbling a sentimental hymn, “The Road Ahead Is Straight, and My Lord
    Leads Me Down it.”
    “No shit,” Fox said. “Did Jesus like blowjobs?”
    “Hey!” The man looked at him. “I won’t have any blasphemy. I’ll leave you at the next service
    center if you say things like that.”
    Both hands held up, palms out in a gesture of defeat, Fox watched the road, thinking of Eddie.

“Just get me to Mitton.”

    * * * *
    Except for the muted light filling the kitchen and living room windows through the closed

    curtains, the farm lay in darkness when Edward drove into the courtyard. In an attempt to make it look
    like he wasn’t there he parked the small rental car over by the barn. Covering his head with his
    carryall to ward off the pouring rain, he ran to the house and let himself in, punching in the alarm code
    at the door. Only when he had wandered through the house, checking every room, did he acknowledge
    that his parents were not there. They were in France. They had said they were going, and they went.
    His mum had phoned him last night to verify their departure and to assure him that the timed burglar
    lights and the alarm were activated.
    Ever since he could remember, even though he knew something to be so, in his mind’s eye
    Edward always saw what he had seen the last time or what he saw most times. Home always meant
    his parents at the door happy to see him.
    “You are thirty years old. Grow up, Edward,” he said into the stillness. The way his mind
    worked had always confused him. How was it possible to be so intelligent and yet so naive, to
    understand complex information so well and yet not understand a joke or truly grasp that his parents
    were not home until he checked every room?
    In the kitchen he opened the fridge. Mum had been shopping for a siege as usual. With a packet
    of cold meat in hand he took a loaf from the bread bin and put them on the table before setting the
    kettle to boil on the AGA.
    In almost every instance Edward had the ability to put distracting thoughts from his head in