Christopher Conlon - Savaging the Dark

He shrugs. “It’s okay.” But I can see that he’s cold. Now that his coat is off I notice that he’s shivering.

“Connor, it’s not.”

“I wanted to come,” he says as I hang up his coat. “I need the money.”

“Of course,” I say.

“So what’s the job? Is it outside?”

I look at him. “Connor, you’re in no shape to work. You’re too cold. Let me get you something hot to drink.”

“I’m okay.”

“Connor, you’re going to drink something hot.”

He shrugs again. “Okay. I wouldn’t mind.”

I seat him at the kitchen table. “Do you like hot tea?”

“Sure. Okay.”

I microwave two cups of water, drops bags of mint tea into them, keep up some sort of line of chatter as I do so. I bring the hot tea and then go back for the sugar bowl. “I don’t know how sweet you like it,” I say. “Put in however much you want.”

He puts in quite a lot. Finally he sips.

“Good?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, still quivering. We don’t talk for a minute or two. The house suddenly strikes me as extremely quiet, shockingly quiet. There is no sound but the rain and that seems far away.

Finally he says, “What’s the job, Ms. Straw?”

“Connor,” I say, my breath short, “you need to get out of those wet things. You’ll catch cold.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at me. After a moment he sips his tea again.

“I’m okay,” he says at last.

“Don’t be silly. You’re shivering.” I stand finally. “You can use our bathroom. I can give you a robe. We’ll put your things in the dryer. They’ll only take a few minutes.”

He stands, slowly, looking down at the table.

“C’mon,” I say, taking him by the hand. “Use this bathroom.” I open the door for him, switch on the light. “Just take off your stuff and I’ll get you a robe. We can’t have you getting sick,” I say brightly.

I close the door, stand there breathing fast. My stomach hurts suddenly. I feel as if I’m going to vomit. But it passes. I move off to the bedroom, grab a robe of mine for him to put on. He’ll look silly in it but it’s just for a few minutes, until his clothes are dry. I return to the bathroom. I stare at the doorknob. Has he locked it? If he has, I decide, I’ll just knock gently, say, “Connor, I have your robe, just open the door a crack so I can pass it to you,” and that will be that. He’ll put it on, come out complaining that he looks stupid in this thing, we’ll dry his clothes and I’ll start him on his job. (What job? I haven’t even thought.) He’ll work, I’ll give him a snack, the clothes will dry and he’ll go back into the bathroom and lock the door behind him to put them on, he’ll come out again, we’ll watch a movie. All innocent, a comedy of errors, nothing important, just Ms. Straw hiring that Connor Blue kid to do some more work, that’s all.

The door is unlocked.

I open it.

He’s standing in the middle of the bathroom floor, facing away from me. He’s taken off his pants, which are heaped next to him. His socks are gone, too. He’s wearing his red-and-white striped shirt and a pair of white shorts.

“Here’s your robe, Connor,” I say, my voice oddly husky.

He doesn’t move, just stands there with his hands at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do. I place the robe on the counter.

“C’mon,” I say, moving to him. “Let’s have your shirt too.” I take it at its hem in both hands, as I do with Gracie’s, pull it up as briskly and efficiently as a nurse would. I stand staring at his narrow white shoulders, the little freckles dotting it. He’s so skinny. I drop the shirt, try to control my breathing.

“You’re still shivering,” I say quietly, touching his shoulders. “You should take a hot shower. Or do you take baths?”

“I don’t take baths,” he says, his voice small, strange. “I’m not a little kid.”

I push my lips to his wet hair. He’s shorter than I am; I have to lean down. “I know. I know you’re not, Connor.”

My hands, practically outside my conscious control, move to his shorts and slide them down. The shorts are at his feet now. I notice that they’re not completely clean. For some reason this charms me, fills my heart. I stroke his shoulders, his back, his bottom, all of them covered in goose bumps.

“You are cold,” I say.

He has virtually no hair on his body anywhere. What little he does have is sparse and so white against his white skin as to be nearly invisible. He has no pubic hair at all yet his erection is surprisingly big, like a man’s. I reach around him slowly and touch it, stroke it gently.

“What are you doing?” he says, his voice shaking.

“Nothing,” I whisper.

It takes only a few moments and he suddenly cries out as if in pain. His hips sway, his body shakes. He ejaculates wildly, spraying the floor and spattering the side of the bathtub. His knees buckle, he starts to collapse, I hold him closely, tightly. His legs quiver. His balance seems uncertain. I support him. We stand there together a long time as he regains his strength, his equilibrium.

Then, to my amazement, he begins to cry. His face contorts and big tears run down his cheeks and snot trickles from his nose. I turn him around then, press his face to me, kiss him, stroke his hair, say, “It’s all right, Connor, shh, it’s all right, sweetheart.” It takes several minutes of gentle words and touching and reassurance for him to begin to calm. Finally I pull his head away from me and look at him, into his eyes. He glances back, looks away, sniffs, laughs a little.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“How do you feel?”

His voice shakes. “I never did that before.”

“With a girl, you mean?”

“No. Like, ever.”

I study him. “You’ve never masturbated, Connor?”

He shakes his head, looks away. “Some guys talk about it,” he says. “They call it jacking off.”

I laugh a little, gently. “Well, did you like it?”

He laughs too. “Yes.”

“You should take a shower now, sweetheart,” I say, smiling. “You’re kinda messy.”

“Okay.” He glances shyly at me.

I let him go and he turns, stares at what’s on the floor. I can see that he’s astounded at what’s come out of his body. He leans down and touches it with his fingers, studies it. Then he looks back up at me, grinning, blushing.

“Go on,” I say, patting his bare bottom. “Get in. Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess. Do you know how the shower works?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping over the tub’s edge.

I smile at this little naked boy and pull the shower curtain closed. After a moment he starts the water. I use toilet paper to clean things. Steam rises in the room. I step out for a moment to throw his things into the dryer, switch it on. When I come back I hear him turning the water off.

I pull a fresh fluffy towel from the drawer and open the shower curtain. “C’mere,” I say. “Be careful.” He steps out and into the waiting towel. I rub him. He giggles. “Am I tickling you?” I ask.

“A little.”

“Well, let’s see if I can tickle you a little more!” I goose him in his sides, run my fingers over his belly and thighs while he shrieks and tries to escape.

Finally we stop, breathless.

“Come in here,” I say. Leaving the towel behind I take his hand and lead him into the guest bedroom. Smiling, I pull back the sheets on the double bed. “Sit.”

He sits carefully at the edge of the bed. I drop down next to him. I lean him back, our heads touch the pillows. He blushes, giggles nervously. I kiss him, at first gently. After a while my tongue touches his and he draws back, eyes wide, a shocked expression on his face.