Give Me What I Need

GIVE ME WHAT I NEED

by Tabatha Christi

GIVE ME WHAT I NEED

Tabatha Christi

TabathaChristi.com

All Rights Reserved ©2017 Tabatha Christi.

First Printing: 2017.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Author’s Note: All characters in this story are 19 years of age or older.

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Chapter One

I slammed my fist down against the warm dashboard of my car. Sun-kissed biceps flexed out in response.

In my rearview mirror, red and blue flashing lights flickered off while the police car kicked up gravel and dust as it sped away.

Go on, give someone else a speeding ticket.

I wouldn’t say this solidified my decision, but it didn’t hurt. I still wasn’t sure if speeding was logical for what I was about to do. My face twisted into a slight smile. Nobody would call my plans rational but I always was different from the other men in my hometown.

I wadded the yellow piece of paper into a ball and flicked it out the window.

Won’t be around.

My foot went down on the gas pedal. The speed limit sign zoomed past, and I glanced at the blocky, black-and-white numbers - 55. The cruise control lurched on and I let my mind flow into the past. Not sure why I’ve been thinking about my hometown lately. I suppose if there’s one thing that the open road gives you, it’s time to think.

And away from people and plans that’ll never happen.

My hometown was twenty years ago, and nothing special. The only exception there was John. I angled the rearview mirror and stared at my reflection.

For somebody of my, ahem… ‘older years’, I didn’t think I looked bad. Some might use the term ‘rugged’. I still had my full head of dark hair − just long enough to look unkempt if I wanted. Genetics gave me the ability to keep my muscles and my eyes were just as blue as ever. John used to call them sea blue like his, but he always had a way with words.

And he couldn’t keep them to himself.

I forced the dark memories away and resumed my thoughts between spots of driving. Even if I looked good, I could see the years in my face. Not bad, but not young. With my kind, younger is better. Still couldn’t say if that was just a guy or a gay thing.

The clubs were filled with young adults − kids really. Sure, they were legal, but way too young. Sometimes I wondered if I had any animosity. Not at the difference in years per se, but in what they had. In my time, just a whisper of homosexuality was enough to get your ass kicked.

Or worse…

My eyes widened, and I swallowed hard even as it burned to do so. I wouldn’t say the club kids had no problems, but at least they could come out.

Well… more than they could in my day.

My cell phone’s buzzing pulled me back from the past. The tiny, slightly round face image of my sister greeted me. Besides the obvious differences in sexes, we were opposites in different ways. She was short and I tall. Genetics and an attempt to fit in better at the nightclubs gave me a hard and chiseled physique. She was soft around the edges. Not skinny nor ‘not overweight’ as I told her many times. Just in the middle. Hell, she was my sister. It’s not like I could see her as hot.

I’d tell her she looked ‘fine’ but that never worked. Just fine? was always the retort. I mentally shrugged to nobody in particular. Everything I knew about attractiveness with women was intellectual or by pop culture osmosis. I could guess at what straight men find attractive but it’s all guesswork.

I glanced down toward the phone. If I still cared, I’d keep track of where I could text and drive. That’s the trouble when you’re driving across country. You’re never sure what’s legal. One minute chatting on the phone is fine. Then you pass a state line and you’ve got an Arizona state trooper waiting with a ticket.

I suppose part of me didn’t care if it was just that. However, I didn’t need something that might put me in a holding cell somewhere.

I bit my lip in thought. Is that what I need? The logical side of my brain said what I planned was beyond stupid. Wasteful maybe? Even selfish. The emotional part said I’m already a fuck-up. What’s one more?

I tapped the phone and stared at the text message as it glowed under the desert sun.

Rick & Alex R back together.

My voice was louder than I intended. Good. See if I care. The long sigh escaped despite my attempt. Rick could date whomever he wanted now. I wasn’t in the picture anymore nor would I be. Still… Alex? That’s who he picked? Rick’s better than Alex. If there is a way to say Alex’s name as a slur, I probably did.

Again I shrugged towards nobody. Rick wanted a family. That other guy would jump at the chance of getting anybody.

I frowned to my dark-haired reflection in the mirror. My phone buzzed again. It was just one word, but I got the hidden message behind it. Anything?

Translation, aren’t you going to fight for him? Why in the hell are you going cross-country? Why couldn’t you make it work?

I suppose if she wanted to be nasty, she could send the often repeated question. Why don’t you just come out already?

Technically I was – kinda. If pressed, I admitted it but told people not to repeat it to others.

Rick was one of those gays that had to announce it to the world. He wanted photos of us together and mentions on Facebook. Hell, he’d be the kind that would post the wedding announcement in the papers, Instagram, and whatever kids used these days.

We never got serious enough to discuss marriage, but it’s my fault.

Not sure what was the reason. He asked if I was seeing someone else. That was the only thing that could explain my reluctance to setting down. I’d never cheat but maybe he was right. There was another man I loved.

***

Chapter Two

I drove for another hour just until I was approaching Albuquerque. Just sparse enough to see bits of red and brown with the occasional decoration of green brush along the long desert highway. Occasionally, I’d see a small clump of abandoned sun-bleached buildings before zooming by.

Still wasn’t sure what I expected when I started this trip. Whether it was impromptu or planned depended on perspective. I was supposed to make this cross-country trip twenty years ago, but never got around to it.

In my side vision, I looked for hitchhikers and saw far fewer than I expected. Not sure if things would’ve been different years ago. I saw a few, and immediately got a bad vibe or danger sense tingle, which I suppose is ironic.

Maybe I didn’t care about coming to an end, but the analytical part of my brain said why suffer? Maybe I wanted that last bit of self-control where I could do everything my way – like it should be.

I already got cheated once. Why cheat myself out of this too?

My gaze went straight ahead toward the two-lane highway and I saw a lot of nothing. It was another thirty minutes before I saw a little black dot slowly grow into the shape of a young man with every passing mile. Once I got within a fourth of a mile, he stepped onto the road and held a black briefcase up high. I couldn’t make out the finer details but he was a muscled blond with a healthy glow on his skin.

Sunburned, I’m sure.

I slowed down further as I approached. As I did, I felt my eyebrow go up in a sharp arch. His build was perfect for his white body-hugging tank top. Just tight enough to outline every sharply defined bicep, chest muscle, and six-pack stomach. He wasn’t so young he’d be illegal – early twenties at least − but enough to make certain thoughts obscene.

His hair was blond-brown although the blond was dominant. I couldn’t tell if his hair was originally dark or if the sun lightened it. Judging from the brownish-red skin stretched over his muscles, he’s no stranger to the sunshine.

He leaned down presumably to tie his shoe. Even in the distance, I could still see his developed back muscles push out against the tank top. I gave a slow nod of affirmation. Any man can work on their biceps or legs. Somebody that had a hard, rippling back was somebody that worked out everywhere.

From his physique, I wondered if he played baseball, although I could see him as a surfer. That would explain why he was hard all over. He didn’t have the thick bulging biceps, but what he had was nice. Long, lean, and sinewy.

Always my favorite.

The stubble along his jaw had a day’s growth if I had to guess. It was darker than his brown-blond hair.

Wonder what color he is down there?

I’m sure it was only a few seconds, but I debated my options. I didn’t get a danger vibe from him, but there was something I couldn’t put my finger on. Despite the slightly disheveled look, he didn’t look homeless. Just had that look most college kids get after a few days of camping.

I know plenty of people who enjoy the desert, but I wasn’t one of them. Neither was he, I guessed. Instead of camping equipment or even a backpack, all he had was a black weathered briefcase.

I can’t.

I inhaled deep and felt my shoulders go up. Maybe it was selfish of me to not offer somebody a ride. It’s not like they won’t call me an asshole afterward. Even now, I shook my head mentally at how blasé I could be about it. Well, I’ve obviously never done this before nor could I ask anybody who has.

I suppose I could’ve treated myself to the finest hotels and ate whatever I wanted. Either I figured why bother or it didn’t seem right somehow. I already had upcoming marks against me. Why add to it?

I mouthed a sorry as I slowly drove around him.

He held his hands out and even that was enough to make his bronze biceps bulge out. I don’t think the briefcase was that heavy. More like whatever muscles he had just couldn’t help but flex.

I couldn’t read his expression but if I had to guess it was almost amusement. The edges of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he shook his head. In the rearview mirror, he jerked his head toward the car and I heard the muffled yell of Mister Asshole over the car engine as I drove away.

My forehead scrunched and yet I wasn’t sure why. This was my journey, and it felt wrong to have a stranger share it. I was supposed to take this trip twenty years ago, with somebody else. Now it’s just me.

One half of the equation.

Guess it makes sense since I’m ‘half-assing’ it.

For the next mile, I didn’t think, at least with words. My mind filled with the image of that young, muscled blond man as he stood in the desert.

There was just something about him I couldn’t put my finger on.

I wondered if he was gay. Unfortunately, I’m one of those men born without a functioning ‘gaydar’. Whatever ability most gays have isn’t in my genetic code. At least the reverse was true, and I didn’t broadcast my flame, as the kids would say. Although, once you get to be my age and you’re never married, questions start.

Maybe he is gay.

I should go back.

Isn’t the time for caring about things over?

What if something happens to that kid?

I swallowed hard as I thought.

What if some homophobic asshole gets him?

I shook my head in annoyance. I guess he did nothing wrong, but I was already bothered by him.

A lurch and jerk to the right took me out of my thoughts. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. The front of the car shimmied and my biceps bulged out as I involuntarily drove toward the side of the road.

I suppose a week from now it wouldn’t make a difference but not on the side of an Arizona highway.

Although that’ll make the insurance claim easier.

I skidded off the sun-faded asphalt onto the red and brown caked dirt. Rocks and sagebrush pelted the underside of my car. I wasn’t going over sixty but with three tires, any speed is problematic. I skidded to a stop and leaned back into the head-rest.

Just like with the ticket earlier, it didn’t cause my decision, but it solidified it. Just a lifetime of things going wrong. Admittedly, I stayed in my seat for another minute while I felt sorry for myself.

Yeah, well, that won’t help.

I stepped outside and winced at the wave of heat that raced over my face. It was a searing heat that dried your skin instantly. Almost like opening an oven door. I heard people talk about a ‘dry heat’ but it didn’t make it pleasant.

I frowned at the melted-looking tire around the silver rim.

I mumbled an old joke. Doesn’t look bad. It’s only flat on the bottom.

It took less than a few minutes to pull out the weathered spare and tire iron from the back of the car.

I steadied the end around the lug nut and yelled in pain as I pulled. My scream was loud and yet I’m sure nobody heard. I looked at my gnarled hand and my taut fingers. I wasn’t old, but I had the beginnings of arthritis. That and a younger me that punched things when angry aggravated the pain.

I used my non dominant left hand but the lug nuts stayed fixed. I lost track of how long I tried with both hands, and even my feet before I felt a slow shadow creep over me.

I looked up and didn’t see him per se. More like a silhouette against the bright glaring sun. Perhaps there were other things to think about like Hey, that hitchhiker you passed and ticked off is right next to you.

Instead I fulfilled an old stereotype. I stared up at the hard outline of his muscles. They were already impressive to look at but thanks to the angle, his body and features darkened against the yellow-white sun glare. Every sharp and defined bicep cut against the light blue sky as yellow and white spots of color from the sun danced in my sweaty vision.

I couldn’t see his shadowed expression well, but his tone sounded almost amused. Well… it’s Mister Asshole.

I nodded either in acceptance or defeat. I got it.