Chapter 12 - Indian Take Out.

For the next few days, the two inhabitants of the house observed a cautious routine. Brian would get up, eat his own breakfast alone, but leave all the fixings out. Then he'd retreat back upstairs to his room to work on his book. When he came back downstairs to refill his giant-sized, travel coffee mug, the rest of the breakfast would have been consumed and the kitchen tidied. In the meantime, Brian’s new editing assistant would have been busy online, following along as Brian wrote, making comments or catching typos, and sometimes even venturing to add a sentence or two of his own creation. Brian found that he and Justin worked well together, their writing styles similar enough that it wasn't at all obtrusive to have the boy shadowing him.

They would break around lunchtime, and after a quick bite, Brian would move on to his second project - the house renovations. Brian didn't know exactly what his ghost boy got up to in the afternoons. Although, when he did venture down to the basement or garage to get tools or carry trash out, he could hear a lot of movement and sometimes even hammering going on behind the hatchway to the crawl space. Meanwhile, his own efforts on the house remodelling were coming along nicely, albeit at a slow pace. He really liked the way the house was shaping up and he liked doing the work himself. It gave him a sense of accomplishment just as satisfying as any work he’d done back in his life as an Ad Exec. His hope was to have the majority of the work done by Christmas so he could invite the entire family out for a big celebration - Debbie would get a kick out of that. At this point it looked like he should be able to make that deadline, even if he might be cutting it close.

In the evenings, Brian would stumble down to the kitchen, worn out by all the physical labor he’d done, and find his dinner waiting for him on the table. The first night, Brian found the food there but no ghost boy and he promptly texted him, ordering Justin to come join him before the food got cold. The boy appeared at the entrance to the kitchen a few minutes later, looking shy and worried. Brian didn’t say anything, he just waved to the seat next to him and waited for Justin to sit down before he started serving out the Taco Salad Casserole that Gloria had sent over for him the day before and which the boy had heated up. The next night, and all subsequent nights, Justin was waiting in the kitchen with the dinner.

The only thing that was bothering Brian about this arrangement was that Justin never said anything while they were together. When they were texting or chatting online while working on Brian’s novel, the boy was gregarious and witty. When he had something to say, he could wax on for a good couple of paragraphs even. But in person, Justin always seemed so scared and self-effacing. It was like he wanted to hide even when he was out in plain view. And beyond just staying mute, the youth’s body language and posture spoke of someone trying not to be seen, as if he was still afraid of something. Brian hoped it wasn’t him that Justin was afraid of. But, in part because of this odd behavior, Brian never pressed for more dinner conversation and their meals together remained silent affairs. Mostly, Brian was just glad the kid was eating regularly again, and hoped it would help put some weight back on him, so he wasn’t about to do anything that might keep Justin away from his dinner.

After they ate, if Brian didn’t have plans to go out, the two of them would gravitate to the living room couch and Brian would turn on the television or put in a movie. Justin never voiced any opinion about what Brian chose to watch. However, he did, over time, become a little more relaxed around Brian. The second evening they sat together, Brian noticed that the boy had brought one of the sketchpads Brian had bought for him and spent his time curled up on the couch, the afghan wrapped around him, happily scratching away at another drawing while the movie played in the background. Once Brian relaxed as well, he found these quiet, comfortable evenings together quite pleasant.

Strangely enough Brian didn't find this weird silent dance he and Justin were doing around each other every evening to be at all awkward. In a way, it was oddly relaxing and peaceful. There was no need to make inane conversation. No useless chatter. No noise just for the sake of noise. And yet, at the same time, the boy’s calm, resolute, presence was reassuring. The mere fact of having another body present, sitting next to him on the couch every night, made Brian feel slightly less lonely. Which was ridiculous, seeing as the boy had always been there, whether or not Brian had known him to be real or not.

Still, he was a little concerned that the boy never said anything at all. He hoped Justin would eventually open up a little. Seeing as the kid hadn't had anyone to talk with for months, if not years, you'd think he'd have a shitload to say, right? But not Justin.

The third night they sat together on the couch, Brian ended the evening, as he usually did, with a polite ‘goodnight’ as he got up to go to bed. Justin, of course, didn't respond. As soon as Brian got upstairs, though, his phone beeped, indicating he had a new message.

GhostBoy Taylor: Goodnight, Brian.

Brian smiled at his phone, inordinately pleased with his boy’s progress. So, maybe the kid hadn’t spoken to his face, but this was something at least. It gave Brian hope that maybe he was breaking down those walls the boy had put up around himself, if only figuratively. He resolved to keep up the pressure and, hopefully, he’d pull down the walls Justin was hiding behind in the real world too.

??

The following night progressed in a similar fashion. Brian and Justin had dinner together in silence and then moved out to the couch to watch one of Brian’s favorite old movies, ‘Key Largo’. He’d always been a sucker for Bogart’s tough guy characters and this was one of the actor’s best. He couldn’t help echoing much of the dialogue as the movie progressed, which didn’t seem to bother Justin even though it violated their unspoken vows of silence. If anything, the boy seemed amused by Brian’s enthusiasm for the dramatic story. When the movie came to it’s happy, and sort of romantic, ending, the boy even offered Brian a small, tentative little smile. Brian, who was still caught up in the fantasy of the film, didn’t even think about it when he reached out to touch Justin’s shoulder affectionately as he got up from the sofa and said goodnight.

Unfortunately, the innocent little touch came along with an unintended zap of static electricity. It wasn’t really anything major and couldn’t have hurt that bad, but Justin jerked away from the touch as if he’d been electrocuted with jumper cables attached to a car battery. He cringed against the arm of the couch, curled up into a little ball of fear, whimpering and panting on the verge of a panic attack. Brian was so surprised he just stood there for several seconds, not really knowing what to do.

“Justin? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Brian asked, coming over to kneel down in front of the couch so he could be on the same level as the boy.

Justin only cowered further back into the couch cushions, saying nothing and not meeting Brian’s eyes. This over the top reaction was baffling. That little shock shouldn’t have caused this. But maybe it was more than that? Either way, Brian didn’t think it wise to try and touch Justin again. He didn’t think it would help and might even scare the boy further. Unfortunately, he didn’t think anything he could say would help much either.

Getting back up to his feet with a sigh, Brian resigned himself that there was nothing he could do for Justin. Anything he offered would likely just make things worse. The boy would have to work through whatever this was on his own. Or ask for help if he needed it.

Brian tried to infuse the sad smile he gave the boy with empathy without being burdensome. “I’m going to head on up to bed, Justin. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Goodnight.”

He plodded up the stairs with heavy steps. All the enjoyment he’d felt earlier while watching the movie had evaporated. As he climbed under the covers on his bed, all he could think about was the terror-filled look on the boy’s face. And, because he was so busy brooding, he was still awake about a half hour later when he heard the *ping* from his phone announcing a new message.

GhostBoy Taylor: Sorry about that. I didn't mean to chase you away. I overreacted. It was rude. I just really suck at this whole being human thing. But that's no big surprise - I'm bad at pretty much everything. Anyway, sorry and goodnight.

Brian didn't know how to respond to this message. He didn't know if he COULD respond without going ape shit. The entire thing made him so furious that he wanted to hit something. He was furious at the fact that this blameless boy felt he was so worthless he had to apologize for being hurt and scared. He was furious at Craig Taylor. He was furious at Jack Kinney. He was furious at drunken, homophobic, abusive fathers everywhere. He was furious at a world where they were allowed to subject their children to all their blind hatred. Fuck all the Jacks and Craigs everywhere.

And he was furious at himself because he didn't know how to fix it.

Kinney-Tastic: No biggie. Goodnight, Justin.

Brian shot off the terse reply. He didn't know what to say to the boy. He didn't know how to make it better. He sometimes felt like he was pretty bad at the whole being human thing too.

Then he set aside his phone, rearranged his pillows to make himself more comfortable, and continued to brood about all the abusive fathers he’d like to kill for at least another hour before he finally fell asleep.

The following day, it was like nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary had happened. Justin was online with Brian as he was writing, following along with him and making comments just like usual. Justin’s comments might have been a bit less animated than Brian had come to expect, but other than that, there was no other sign that the kid had had a total melt down the night before. Brian didn’t know what to think or how to react, so he did nothing. But when he came up to get a shower after his afternoon’s work, he noticed that there was a new addition to his desk.

Sitting in front of the computer was a simple yet functional desktop organizer shelf. It had been constructed out of another scrap of the junk wood that Brian would have normally thrown out. It had a little tray for paper clips and pens, a stand where he could prop up his phone, and it was raised so that his keyboard would fit under it when he wasn’t typing. It was perfect. And very thoughtful.

Kinney-Tastic: So this is what you’ve been working on with all that noise you’ve been making? Nice. Thanks.

GhostBoy Taylor: 

Brian liked the smile he got back from the boy almost as much as he liked the present. If only he could get a real smile out of his ghost. And maybe a real word or two as well.

Brian already had plans to meet up with the gang that night, so he had left off his renovation work early and planned to head out as soon as he was done cleaning up. He only stopped into the kitchen long enough to tell Justin he was going out for the night. He thought Justin seemed a bit crestfallen at the news, but it was hard to tell because the boy rarely even looked directly at Brian, let alone said anything. Brian warned him not to let the dinner that was already waiting on the table go to waste - he, himself, would eat out with the boys - and reminded Justin that he’d picked up some atrociously fattening chocolate cookies for dessert. Then Brian grabbed his wallet off the kitchen counter and was out the door, on his way to a night of happy debauchery.

“Yoo Hoo! Brian! We’re over here, Sweetie!” Emmett hollered at him before Brian had even taken two steps past the front door at Woody’s.

“You don’t have to yell, Emmy Lou. It’s not like you guys ever sit at a different table you know. And even if you did, I’m pretty sure I could find you. This place isn’t THAT big,” Brian chided him, without any real heat to his words, as he slouched into the seat that was waiting for him.

“I just didn’t want you to get side tracked by any of the scrumptious offerings between here and the door, Honey,” Emmett explained with a facetious smile at the big Stud. “Michael is running late, you see, and he made me promise that I wouldn’t let you disappear with your first trick of the night before he got here.”

“What does it say that Brian can’t go more than five meters without finding a trick and I’ve been walking around here all day . . .” Ted complained quietly into his long island iced tea.

“Now, now, Teddy. Don’t be so hard on yourself. What about that little hottie you hooked up with Saturday night at Babylon. What was his name? Blaine?” Emmett replied, trying to be supportive.

“It was Blake, actually, and we did have a great time. But I doubt anything will come of it. He’s way too cute and smart and young for me.”

“Stop being such a wet blanket, Theodore,” Brian ordered as he poured himself a beer from the waiting pitcher. “You’re not completely unattractive. If you weren’t so down on yourself all the time, you’d get laid a lot more often. And if this chicken likes you, you should go for it. Who cares how old he is. Maybe he likes prime, aged meat,” Brian advised with his usual mix of insult and wisdom.

“Thanks, Brian . . . I think.” Ted shook his head. “But he’s really young. I think he’s about ten years younger than me. That kind of thing never works, you know. And I don’t want to set myself up just to fail.”

“Chronological age doesn’t matter, Teddy. It’s how old you are on the inside that counts,” Emmett insisted knowledgeably.

“Yeah, that’s not going to help much, Emmy Lou. If you go by mental age, Theodore’s about a hundred and thirty five,” Brian ribbed his friend. “But, I have to agree with Honeycutt. As long as the guy’s legal, it shouldn’t matter how old he is. If you get along, you get along. As long as the two of you don’t mind that you’re twelve years apart, why should anyone else care.”

“Well, we’re not that far apart,” Ted corrected. “He’s twenty-five, so that’s only about nine and a half years between us. Twelve would be a bit much I’d think.”

Brian found himself scowling into his beer at this pronouncement, but he didn’t bother to argue his point further. Twelve years wasn’t that big a difference. What did losers like Ted and Emmett know about shit, anyways, right? Luckily, Michael arrived just then and all the talk of age differences between couples was forgotten.

“Brian! You made it! I'm so glad. It’s been so long since we saw you, I was beginning to think you were being held captive in your cursed house by the ghost,” Michael teased as he leaned over the table to give his old friend a kiss hello.

“Fuck you, Mikey. My house isn’t cursed,” Brian argued, strangely offended by his friend putting down his house.

“When are you going to give it up with that ghost talk, Michael,” Ted refuted the outlandish claims. “We’ve talked about this before. It’s nonsense.”

“It’s NOT nonsense, Ted. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Pretty much every time I’ve gone out there, something has disappeared right out from under my nose. It’s GOT to be a ghost. There’s no other explanation. Right, Brian?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Brian, waiting for his opinion on the matter. But Brian was strangely reluctant to refute his friend’s assertions. Obviously, his house wasn’t haunted, unless you counted the wholly corporeal and solid young blond that occupied it. Brian wasn’t sure, though, that he was ready to explain about Justin to the gang.

First of all, he didn’t know what they’d think about him harboring a squatter. Ted, probably, would insist that he immediately have the kid evicted, or even towed into jail for theft or some such nonsense. Michael would, of course, back Ted up while being outraged on Brian’s behalf at the way Justin had used Brian and abused his generosity. And Emmett . . . well, Emmett would no doubt think the whole story was cute and romantic and be all annoying about everything. None of those approaches appealed to Brian. Besides, what he chose to do about Justin wasn’t any of their business. It was his house and he could let anyone he wanted stay in it, right? If he told the guys his story, they’d just cause problems and stick their noses in and mess everything up.

So, Brian lied.

“Don’t be talking shit about my ghost, Mikey. He and I have an understanding. Besides, he doesn’t JUST take stuff - he brought back the keys to the freezer, remember? He’s actually quite handy to have around and I think I’m going to keep him.”

“Awww! That’s so sweet, Brian. So, how’s the plan to teach him to give blow jobs going?” Emmett asked, sticking to his priorities.

That little joke got everyone off Brian’s back about the matter, and they all moved on to the usual talk of sex acts, tricks and cock sizes, which was par for the course for a night out on Liberty Avenue.

Four hours later, they were all leaving Babylon together after a satisfying - well, for Brian, at least, it had been satisfying - night of dancing, drinking and dick. Brian had made good use of the backroom with a string of willing tricks and was feeling refreshed and re-energized. When the others demanded that they stop by a local Indian food restaurant for take out to cure their post-club munchies, Brian went along. But, at the last minute, he saw something else he would rather have that wasn’t on the menu. And, while the others headed home with their food, Brian took home the yummy looking Indian waiter.

He didn't know what it was about this guy - the soft-looking, coffee-colored skin, the guy’s graceful, slight build, or the long, thick, black hair that looked like it would be fun to pull on while he pounded into him from behind - but Brian was starving and more than ready to dig into his Indian take out long before they made it all the way out to the West Virginia house. As soon as the Jeep was parked, he was around the front, pulling open the passenger-side door, with his lips attached to the trick’s mouth as if he could eat the man alive from the inside out. They stumbled up the front walk like that, not bothering to speak except for the man whispering things to him in Hindi. The exotic words and soft voice were driving Brian mad. He fumbled to get the door open and then tugged the trick inside with him without even looking where he was going . . .

. . . Only to surprise his resident ghost boy in the middle of a hot and heavy session of his own, with another of Brian’s porn flicks playing on the TV, while he whacked off on the couch.

Justin, who had been surprised in mid whack with his pants pooled around his knees and his hand on his dick, stared at the newcomers with guilty surprise. There was a little bit of fear there too. That was quickly dispelled though when Brian broke out in a hearty laugh at the unanticipated scene.

“Don’t mind us, Ghost,” Brian insisted as he dragged his trick over to greet the boy. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt. In fact, maybe we’ll join you. I love this part.” Brian pointed to the scene playing on the television screen, which coincidentally showed the actors bent over the back of a couch and going at it like lusty bunnies.

“I do not mind a threesome,” the Indian Take Out spoke up. “But is he not a bit young.”

“Not that I'd mind either, but Justin here isn't really a joiner,” Brian reassured his Take Out. “That shouldn't be a problem, though. It's a big couch and we only really need the back. GhostBoy doesn't even have to move.”  

Brian towed his trick around to the back of the couch, tore off the Indian man’s shirt, and bent Take Out Boy over the back of the couch, mimicking the scene flickering away on the television set. Then, with a confident tug, he pulled the man’s pants down over the slim hips with one hand and fished a condom out of his pocket with the other. Justin, meanwhile, sat there frozen on his end of the sofa, watching all this with a shell-shocked expression.

“Mind handing me the lube, Ghost?” Brian asked, pointing to the bottle waiting on the floor at Justin's feet.

In a daze, the blond boy held out the lube. Brian cupped his hand around the pump top dispenser and pushed with his thumb until a nice sized puddle filled his palm. Then he nodded agreeably to his assistant, letting Justin know he was good, before applying the slippery substance first to his sheathed dick and then to Take Out’s ass. Take Out Trick seemed okay with the arrangement, and happily began moaning out his approval of Brian's excellent fingering technique. Brian worked quickly so that his partner was ready for him to slip inside in time to catch up with the couple on screen. And, before you could say ‘Butthole Bingo’, Brian was pounding into his Indian Take Out in time with the porn actors, pulling at that long black hair with wild abandon, while poor Justin sat there still wondering what the fuck was happening.

If Brian hadn’t been so busy, he might have taken the time to laugh out loud at the Ghost Boy’s expression as his head swiveled back and forth from the porn playing out on the television to the porn happening in real time just in front of his eyes. The youth’s countenance showed such an amazing array of emotions that it was downright comical. The overwhelming emotion, as you might expect, was confusion, which was evidenced by the slack jawed mouth and the wrinkled brow. But there was a lot more going on in there: shock, disbelief, disapproval, guilt, and maybe a little disgust. There was even some of that fear Brian had glimpsed earlier, which he still didn’t understand completely. But there was also curiosity and a touch of respect for the audaciousness of the man who was staging this spectacle. And beneath it all, there was a flicker of lust that started out so small it was almost invisible, but which gradually grew until it became an overriding compulsion. Before the kid even knew what he was doing, Brian saw his hand drifting back down to his refilling dick, the fingers beginning to play tentatively along the sensitive tip of the boy’s pretty pink pecker.

Once Brian saw that his resident spook was finally starting to enjoy himself, the Stud let himself go. He started to really work Take Out’s ass, adding in more finesse to the fuck so that he was nailing the guy’s sweet spot on every thrust. Take Out Boy’s moaning crescendoed exponentially. And so did Brian’s enjoyment level. Not only did he have the pleasure of a tight ass wrapped around his dick, but he was being entertained by the erotic antics of a truly inspired porn team on the television, at the same time as he was treated to the first glimpse of his little ghost's lusty masturbatory fun. Triple the pleasure, triple the fun!

The couple on the television were the first to finish, shooting their loads on cue with the staged perfection of any good porn performance. Take Out, who must have been watching while he was being fucked, followed immediately after, his ass pulsing around Brian’s cock in the perfect rhythm to bring the Stud to that exquisite pinnacle where pleasure erupted all around and inside and everywhere he looked. Brian took one last thrust, held the trick’s hips still, gave a heartfelt groan, and then let the electrical short circuit of his orgasm wash over him. Just as the last wave of pleasure began to ebb and Brian was once again able to open his eyes, he was rewarded with another jolt of pleasure as Justin’s cock exploded with the boy’s own burst of release.

“Not bad!” Brian pronounced when the fireworks were over and he was able to pull out of Take Out’s ass.

Brian smiled at the plucky phantom boy who politely offered him a cum towel with downturned eyes and a self-effacing manner. The kid really was too fucking sweet. Brian thanked him, used the towel and then handed it off to Take Out, who needed it a lot more than him if the cum dripping down his chest was any indication. Justin meanwhile looked like he was trying to melt out of existence, apparently embarrassed now that the fun was over and people were looking at him. Brian still found it strange that such a bright, otherwise personable young man, would act so afraid of normal human contact. The mystery surrounding this boy was almost palpable. Brian felt compelled to keep at it until he’d figured the kid out.

“You know what?” Brian turned to his Indian Take Out. “I thought I was in the mood for an exotic, all night, all-you-can-eat, Indian feast, but . . . I’m really not hungry any more. You might as well get dressed and I’ll call you a cab.”

Take Out voiced a complaint, since apparently he WAS still hungry for more of Brian, but the Stud ignored him. Instead, he picked the man’s abandoned clothing up off the floor, tossed them at Take Out’s head, and then quickly dialed the number of the local cab company on his cell phone. While all this was taking place, Justin had discreetly got up, pulled up his own pants and started to put away the incriminating porn DVD. When it looked like the ghost boy was about to scamper off back into hiding, Brian halted him with a gesture, pointing the kid back to the couch. Justin sighed and, with an expression like a dog who expected to get beaten, shuffled over to the sofa and resumed his seat. Brian just shook his head at the silly little drama princess before joining him on the couch.

Without another word, Brian switched the TV to a station that played old black and white movies and settled back against the cushions. The Take Out’s cab arrived a couple of minutes later. Brian barely acknowledged the trick’s goodbye or the slip of paper the guy left on the table by the door with his phone number and an offer to do it again sometime. As soon as the door closed behind the Indian man, Justin sighed in relief. Brian smiled over at the shy boy, pulled the afghan up off the floor where it had fallen and flung it over his ghost’s thin shoulders.

“So, that was interesting, huh?” Brian commented.

And when the boy shrugged noncommittally, Brian took it as a win. At least he was responding in some fashion. It was progress, right?