I don't know how long we held each other in that bed. The house quieted. My heart stilled. Our whispers muffled until I fell into a deep sleep wrapped in his arms.
My slumber was confused yet untroubled-- laced with two reoccurring dreams: one, a dream I'd had since adolescence where naked men throw pickles at me (big, fat koshers-- not the dainty gherkins I detest); the other, a dream I'd had since I'd graduated from college where I search for a story I'm writing on my old Pentium Pro. I click on the file and instead of my story, the Wheel of Fortune appears on my monitor with Vanna White asking for a vowel. I type an A, then a buzzer sounds. The old computer does the Bill Gates shuffle and starts its search all over again. I spin again. Vanna repeats. Each time I ask for a different vowel, but there aren't any. I'm doomed in Microsoft hell.
I woke up feverish from my word processing conundrum, but life was good. I smiled as I tucked my leg over his. His response: he snuggled closer and sighed as his forehead pressed against my neck. I counted his pulse beats as I pulled the quilt tighter around us. Within seconds, something akin to panic came over me.
What if this wasn't real? What if none of this was?
I touched his nose. Felt real. Those limbs intertwined with mine were solid and warm. That early morning wood was real too. This near, dear intimacy terrified yet elated me-- I had never felt this passion for anyone,
ever
. As my finger traced his freckles in the moonlight, Hec woke: his eyes fluttered then opened wide. That lopsided grin greeted me, then lips turned to a frown.
"Are you ok?" he asked. He felt my head with the flat of his hand; I felt the cool of a ring. "You're sweating. God, you're burning up." He sat up in bed, flicked on the lamp, then looked at the clock. It blinked 3:12 a.m. "It's time for more Tylenol. I'll get you some water. Stay right here."
I watched him pad off, then closed my eyes. He was real. I was real. No doubt that what I felt for him above and below the waste was real. I was dizzy, my mouth was dry, and my cock was hard; I knew I was in love with Hector Lodge.
I opened my eyes to the mural of porn above and began to laugh. I counted twenty-two acts in all between my hysterics. I recalled there was some sort of significance to that number, but in my state, I couldn't place the import. I held back another fit of laughter and studied the figures carefully for the first time. Henry had a gift, that was certain-- each form was gracefully carved. I wondered if he carved this bed before or after Johann-- I'd assumed from the diary it was before, yet something in me wondered if maybe some of these figures might be them. I had to admit the voyeur inside me liked the idea.
I hadn't noticed the facial expressions until that moment, which ranged from coy bliss to outright ecstasy. I touched two lovers above me in the fourth frame just as Hec stepped back into the room, his face a picture of concern. He retrieved the Tylenol from the night stand, then felt my forehead again.
"Take these," he said, handing me the cool glass. I did as I was told-- swallowed my medicine-- not good to cross your nurse. He sat next to me, eyes flicking to what had caught my interest.
"Four looks intriguing to me," he said, licking his lips. I nodded. Great minds think alike.
"Want to try it?" I added.
"I think we should wait-- at least until your fever goes down." He slipped in beside me, and I tried to hide my disappointment. "We could do number six before--"
I studied six. Legs over shoulders, mouths together. I wasn't
that
flexible-- but maybe Hec was--
"Six?"
"Four is good. We
could
do it before--"
"Bingo!"
"What?" he blinked.
"B-four. Like, you know, in Bingo!"
"Where's that thermometer? I think you're seriously ill--"
"I don't think so. I mean, you could take my core temperature," I said wickedly. I thought about having him take it rectally, but no, that might be pushing Nurse Hector too far.
"But what about Bingo?" he asked, shaking his head doubtfully.
"I'm not delirious. I thought I was hearing and seeing things, but you seem to be under the same delusion so I figure I'm fine other than a touch of the flu."
"But Bingo? That's a dog, right? The dog that ate the baby?"
I slid my arm around Hec's back, pulling him close to me. His head fit perfect on my shoulder. Time to explain the facts of life according to Bingo-ology to Hec. It might get messy. "No, that's a Dingo," I explained. "Haven't you ever been to a Bingo hall? No? Well, that's where this secret society plays this game called Bingo. These chain-smoking old ladies play with chips and cards. Some of them even win money. And then there's the song with the dog, 'B-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-O!' You weren't a Cub Scout, were you? Hmm, guess not. Now, the dingo that ate the baby? Hmm... wasn't there an Australian couple who got convicted of killing their child and said a dingo did it?"
"And all that time I just thought it was a fictional band."
"Band?"
"The Dingo Ate My Baby is that band in Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
I frowned into his hair. Hec beat me at TV trivia. He must be right-- I
must
be seriously ill. Time to get out the rectal thermometer. Had to one-up him-- "The dingo really did kill their baby. I remember."
It didn't impress.
"I was thinking," Hec said, throwing his leg over mine.
"Um, yeah?"
He tucked the covers under our chins.
"What did you say in the stairwell-- to my sister?"
My tongued knotted up. No more Bingo stories.
I blushed. Maybe it was the fever, maybe the heavy quilt or maybe his hot aura. I cleared my throat. He turned his head and looked me square in the eyes.
"Can I have another sip of water?" I asked sheepishly.
Coward, I'm such a coward.
"No," he said slowly. "I'm sure that's
not
what you said to my sister."
"Do you mean 'no' I can't have any water, or 'no' that's not what I said to your sister?"
"Yes, I'll pass you the water. No, that's not what you said to my sister."
"Could you pass me the glass? I'm parched."
He shook his head as he sat up to get the glass. "Who says 'parched'?"
He handed me the water. "Um, me?" I answered. Even with shadows falling on his face, I could see he was still waiting for my answer. I gulped the rest down along with my panic attack.
"Well?" he asked. He watched me wipe off my mouth with the back of my hand, all white-knuckled and holding the glass. He stopped me before I could wipe it again; he held my wrist tight in his grip. He bit his lip, waiting, waiting.
Here goes---
"I told your sister... I told her... oh hell-- I told her that I think I love you," I admitted.
His eyes twinkled as he took the empty glass out of my hand. "Good, 'cause I think I love you, too."
We both flopped down into the deep mattress.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked.
"Glad I could help."
"Thanks. I hoped I heard you right."
I smiled.
"I heard enough," he said.
"Enough?"
"Enough to share my pillow." Hec switched off the light. I traced the ringlets on the back of his neck with my fingers; my reward was hiccups.
"Shit," Hec swore, giving another hic. "Always get em when I'm nervous."
"It's ok to be nervous," I said. "I am too."
I kissed the back of his hand. He rolled over.
"Perfect fit," I mumbled as I rubbed his back.
"Mmm, perfect," he yawned. "Feels good."
I felt the familiar stirring between my legs, then hugged him closer.
He pushed back against me. "Keep that up," he joked, "and we'll be doing number four."
Tease.
It only took one more minute before his hiccups turned to snores.
