The Mating of Michael (9 page)

“I love dogs! Do you pet Margaret?”

“Oh, yeah. We watch TV together at night, and she sits on my lap. I pet her a lot. That doesn’t bother me,” Lem said in a rush.

Michael’s heart ached for Lem, but at least he was getting some affection in his life. Thank God for animals.

“Then maybe you could try touching my hand the way you pet Margaret. See what you think of it.” Michael carefully placed his hand, palm up, on the sofa between them.

Lem glanced at it and then away. “You have a n-nice hand.”

“Thank you.” Michael left it there.

Lem put the cup down and rubbed his eyes. He turned his body, which was stiff with tension, slightly on the couch toward Michael. With his eyes fixed on Michael’s hand, he licked his lips and then reached out and touched Michael’s palm. He kept his fingers tightly together and petted Michael’s palm three times before putting his hand back in his own lap.

“That was nice,” Michael said gently. “It felt good. You doin’ all right?”

“I’m okay,” Lem whispered.

“Good. Would you like to try it again? And this time, I’m going to give you an assignment, all right? I want you to describe for me how it feels—the texture, the way it looks, anything that comes into your mind.”

Lem took a deep breath and licked his lips nervously. He reached out and stoked Michael’s palm again, this time with his index and middle finger taking a more active role.

“Your… your skin is cooler than mine,” he said. “But then, I’m, uh, I’m really w-warm right now.”

“Your fingers do feel warm. What else can you tell me about how it feels?”

“It’s softer than I thought it would be. Softer than my hand. Maybe you use lotion?”

“I do use lotion. What else?”

“You have a lot of lines in your palm.” Lem stroked them lightly. “Is that supposed to mean you’re an old soul or something?”

Michael smiled. “I’ve heard that. I don’t know if I believe it. Do you?”

“I don’t have much of an imagination, I’m afraid,” Lem said regretfully.

“Being practical is good. Sometimes, I wish I were more practical. Is there anything else you notice about my hand?”

“You have very l-long fingers. Long and thin.”

“Do they feel bony to you?” He elevated his index finger so Lem could get around it.

“Um….” Lem felt it cautiously.

“It’s okay. You can say whatever comes into your head. I won’t be insulted.”

“Maybe a little bony. But not in a bad way. More like, I dunno, a bird or something.”

Michael smiled. “That’s a lovely image. And the back of my hand?” He turned it over.

Lem took a deep breath of a sigh, but he seemed to be a little less nervous. He stroked it repeatedly. “Softer than your palm. I can see your veins. That means you’re in good shape. I mean, I can tell that just by looking at you but… veins are good. You have wide nails.”

“I do have wide nails. How do you feel inside when you touch my hand?”

“All right.” Lem kept petting the top of Michael’s hand as if it was, indeed, a Pekinese. “But I’m not really thinking about it like… like… you know.” He couldn’t get the words out, and just thinking them made him blush scarlet again and pull away his hand as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Like something sexual? That’s okay. It would be awesome for you just to get used to touching someone. You don’t have to think about it in a sexual way right now.” Michael turned his palm back over and left his hand on the couch.

There was a tentative pause before Lem reached out and touched Michael’s palm again. By his elevated breathing, and the blotchy affect appearing on the back of his own hand, Michael would put money on the fact that Lem was thinking about sex this time. Michael felt a little touch of arousal as Lem stroked his palm. He could go with it and get hard if he wanted to, not because he found Lem physically attractive, but because the man was sweet and he tugged hard at Michael’s empathy. But Lem was far from needing an erection from Michael, and if he sensed there was one, it would probably scare the poor guy to death. Michael took a deep breath and willed it away.

“That feels really nice,” Michael said gently. “Would you like to talk about how it makes you feel when you think about sex?”

Lem huffed. “Bad.”

“Bad how?”

“G-guilty. Like it’s wrong to think about it. To want it. Like I’m a bad person.”

“When you pet Margaret, do you feel guilty about that?”

Lem looked insulted. “No. But I don’t feel that way about her. I mean, she’s a dog.”

Michael smiled. “I know. But it’s affection. You give Margaret affection, and she gives you affection in return.”

“I guess so.”

“Do you think she likes it when you show her affection?”

“She loves to be petted.”

“And you feel happy when she licks your face and shows you she loves you?”

“Sure. She’s my best friend.” Lem smiled at the words. He really did love that dog.

Lem was petting Michael’s palm, calmer now, and Michael let his fingers curl up just a little so they brushed against Lem’s hand as it moved.

“That’s not something to feel guilty about, is it? Giving affection to your dog and getting it in return.”

“No. But that’s different.”

“It is different. But when you really like a person, and they really like you, then it’s natural to want to show each other affection. And sex is a great way for two people who really like each other to show affection and make each other feel good, feel happy. You don’t need to feel guilty about making someone happy, or even making yourself happy.”

“That’s what Dr. Halloran says. He says my body was made for it, or I wouldn’t have those feelings. I wouldn’t be able to… you know, if my body wasn’t made to do that. It’s just like it was made to breathe or eat and digest food and eliminate waste. That means it is by definition natural and being natural means it’s not wrong.”

Michael could tell Lem was a logical thinker, and this reasoning brought him some comfort.

“Well, Dr. Halloran is a hell of a smart guy.”

Lem frowned, looking conflicted. “I know that’s all true in my head. That is, I know it
now
, but it’s hard to change your thinking. My mom…. She always told me I shouldn’t… t-touch myself and stuff because it was a sin and God found it disgusting. She found it disgusting.”

Lem’s voice shook a little, and Michael knew there was a tidal wave behind those words, years of rants, years of belittling. God, some people should never be parents.

“What about your father, Lem?”

“He died when I was ten,” Lem said calmly, not looking up.

“I’m sorry to hear that. It is hard to change your way of thinking, but you’re your own person, not your parents, and you said you’d like to have a relationship someday?”

Lem swallowed. “Yes. I really do. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Then you can do it. I have faith in you. Dr. Halloran is a really good doctor. And I’d like to help.”

“Thank you,” Lem said to Michael’s hand. “You seem like a very nice person. This is….” He expelled a heavy sigh. “This is the first time I’ve ever touched anyone like this. I’m still nervous but… it’s not bad.”

“Yeah?” Michael felt a swell of pride and pleasure. God, he was such a basket case. It meant more to him to hear someone like Lem say holding his hand was “not bad” than having some good-looking leather daddy plow him in a club’s bathroom. By a million miles.

He tried very hard not to sound as moved as he was. “Well, I think you’re doing great, Lem. Would you like to hold my hand now? We can just sit here and chat while we do that. I’d like to hear more about what you like to do for fun.”

Lem froze, his hand hovering over Michael’s. “I guess that would be all right.”

It was clear he wasn’t sure how to go about it, so Michael interlaced his fingers with Lem’s and placed their paired hands on the couch.

“There. Okay?”

Lem gulped. “Okay.”

“So tell me what TV shows you like to watch….”

L
EM
P
ETERSON
stayed for another half hour of talking and holding
hands. After he left, Michael typed up some quick notes for Jack on their progress and e-mailed them off. Then he flopped down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He ran the fringe from the shawl on the back of his couch through his fingers. Mr. Peterson was a very sweet man. He’d make someone very happy someday if he could get
past the number his mom did on his head. Michael sincerely hoped he could.

Even Lem, as shy as he was, wanted to find love. And considering Michael’s track record, he’d probably find it before Michael did. He felt sorry for himself for about five minutes before he made himself put a stop to it. Shit, this thing with J.C. Guise had really gotten under his skin, and it didn’t seem to be fading.

The thing was, he couldn’t shake the idea that J.C. needed him too, that he was used to pushing people away and getting away with it, but that it wasn’t what he wanted at all. Michael could be wrong, but what if he wasn’t?

Marnie was right. He needed to give it one more try.

A
T
TEN
o’clock on a Monday morning, someone pounded on James’s front door. It wasn’t a tentative knock, either. It was a “get your ass out here now” kind of knock. James couldn’t imagine who would be knocking on his door like that unless it was a neighbor with an emergency or possibly his friend Lance, who had the world’s stupidest sense of humor.

He was shocked when he opened the door to find Michael Lamont standing on his doorstep. “Um….”

“What am I doing invading the sanctity of your home? I know!” Michael said in frustrated anger, gesturing widely with his arms.

“Excuse me?”

“You stopped going to the pool!” Michael said in the sort of tone one might use to say “
You killed my dog!”
or “
You cheated on me!”

James was momentarily too surprised to react. Then it sank in that Michael Lamont was standing on his front doorstep—the guy he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, the guy he’d blown off so rudely and had since regretted. He wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled or freaked out, but thrilled seemed to be winning by a wide margin.

James drove his wheelchair back a foot. “Please. You have me on tenterhooks. Do come in.” He stuffed down any trace of interest, using his droll voice.

“I….” Michael hesitated. “No, I really don’t want to invade your private space. I just came to say—”

“
Come in
. It’s cold with the door open.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Michael looked abashed. He stepped inside and closed the door. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw myself at you again. I came because
you stopped going to the pool
! That is so wrong. And I’m so upset that you did that. And that I did that. It’s really good for you to go to the pool!”

James’s mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut, feeling inexplicable mirth bubbling up inside him at the absolute absurdity of the situation.

He swallowed it down and glowered. “How is that any of your business?”

“Because it’s my fault!” Michael said in frustration. “I stalked you at the pool, and now you stopped going! I just came here to tell you that I won’t go there again. I promise. But I can’t stand that I took that away from you. The guy at the desk said you’d been going there daily for years. If I swear that I won’t go there again, will you go back? Please?” Michael looked at him beseechingly.

It was James’s turn to talk, but he was busy drinking in Michael’s appearance. Geez, he looked better than James’s very active and overexercised imagination had remembered. He was wearing a light jacket over a rust-colored embroidered tunic shirt that looked like J.Crew and India had had a 60s love child. Very skinny jeans hugged his slender thighs. His dark hair fell swoopingly over one brow as he regarded James, apparently waiting anxiously for a verdict.

It was sort of sweet that he cared so much, really. In a strange, stalkerish way. “I’ll go back,” James said at last.

Michael looked relieved. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Good. Because I know you probably just think I’m weird, but I really admire you, and if I screwed things up for you, I’d never forgive myself.”

James cocked an eyebrow and waited with an expectant expression.

Michael looked guilty. “Bet you want to know how I found your address.”

“I had wondered, yes.”

“Right. Well, I went back to the pool this morning. I wanted to apologize. No—sorry. That’s a lie. I wanted to see you again. This friend of mine… never mind. Anyway, you weren’t there so I asked the lifeguard, and he said you hadn’t been back in a few weeks! And then I felt so awful thinking I’d ruined the pool for you. So I found out from the guy at the front desk that your real name is James Gallway—sorry. Is that creepy? And then the online white pages gave me this address.”

James nodded calmly. He knew he should be pissed, he did. But his body did not seem to be getting the memo. A feeling of happiness constricted his chest. It was so foreign he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
Michael had cared enough to look for him. He hadn’t been scared off
.

“Good to know,” James said with faux calm. “Guess I should look into that online white pages thing.”

“Maybe you should,” Michael agreed. “Because, you know, you wouldn’t want some fan just showing up.”

“No, that would be bad,” James quipped. But he could not for the life of him stop the smile that hijacked his mouth. He told his lips to knock it the fuck off, but they wouldn’t cooperate.

Michael was watching him closely, and his brown eyes just sort of… melted. He tentatively smiled back. “You know, I’m not usually this forward. But then, it isn’t normally this difficult either. You meet a guy you like, you mutually agree to lunch or a movie. You go on a date.”

James swallowed hard, the smile fading as his emotions shifted into something far more desperate and wanting and a little unnerved. He wasn’t sure quite how to respond, but he could feel his cheeks heat.