New Age Superstar

Reunited

Willow River isn't very far from Prince George. According to the smiling person behind the rental car desk, it should only take me half an hour. As she handed me my keys and paperwork, I noticed that the incomplete (and badly kerned) tag on her jacket's lapel implied the possibility that her entire name might be simply My Name Is.

Half an hour. Barring any flat tires, engine failure, or sudden encounters with forest fires, grizzly bears, or mudslides, I should be in Xander's arms in no time at all.

So many thoughts were swirling through my head. Xander and I were going to be reunited (finally!) after being apart for two long, long weeks. As excited as I was by the thought of seeing his beautiful deep brown eyes again, I was more than a little nervous that our point of reconnection was going to be in the middle of God-knows-where, rather than back in Vancouver, as originally planned. For as long as I could remember, I'd always felt a sense of unease and wariness whenever I found myself surrounded by wilderness. As I drove boldly into the depths of the forest, I hoped Xander's familiar touch would be enough to soothe my mounting mental discomfort.

I was definitely no longer in New York, or even Vancouver, for that matter. My palms started to sweat. I noticed a shortness of breath. As I turned left from Yellowhead Highway and headed north on Upper Fraser Road, I realized that even though I'd never been to Northern British Columbia, the scenery looked pretty much as I'd expected it would. Misty skies punctuated with grey clouds, trucks, trailers, gas stations, random chainsawed animal sculptures, and, oh yeah—so many trees. An endless sea of green stretching out in every direction. I guess it was all very pretty, in its way, but it was that brand of prettiness I didn't quite know how to trust. That certain type of beauty that tries valiantly to hide its dark side, but inevitably fails, leaving me unimpressed and unconvinced.

Just after passing the ever-so-tiny town of Willow River, I spotted the yellow shack that Xander had mentioned during our phone call last week. That dilapidated structure was my landmark, my signal to take the next turn and head down the overgrown and gradually disappearing gravel driveway. He had given me such detailed descriptions of each twist and every turn that I felt I must have somehow driven this route before. I bumped along for a good kilometer or so before I came to a grouping of half a dozen A-frames. As I pulled up, Xander came bounding out from the closest doorway.

He was already opening my car door before I'd even come to a complete stop. Oh my God, we screamed in unison as I threw the gear into park and jumped into his arms. I couldn't believe how amazing it felt to once again kiss my one true soulmate. My lifetime parter. The man of my dreams.

We stood lost in each other. I remembered the last time I had seen him, held him. It was before my wonderful week and a half with my friend Anton in New York, and before my brief, yet disturbing-as-always visit with my brother, Monty. We knew two weeks would feel like a long time. And it had. But now, here I was—there he was. It was as if no time had passed.

As wonderful as it was to see Xander, touch him, smell him, I couldn't get the thought out of my head that these physical surroundings were more than just a little disquieting, ominous, dangerous. I mean, there we stood, miles from anything resembling civilization. It was all just so foreign. Even in the middle of the afternoon, the forest felt dark, impenetrable. The air was filled with such unfamiliar sounds—unseen and unidentified animals making their threatening little noises…

I heard a muffled snap in the distance.

I broke away from our kiss as my wide eyes scanned the ridge of a nearby mountaintop.

What was that? A yeti? I asked, my voice constricted with alarm.

Don't worry, Xander said reassuringly as he pivoted his muscular body behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest. As we both stood gazing toward the ridge he added, It was probably just a deer. And anyway, you definitely won't be running into any yetis around these woods. Or Bigfoot either, for that matter. Over my shoulder, I could feel a smile land on his lips as he bent down to whisper directly into my ear. Around here, he's called Sasquatch!

He growled, licked my ear, and tickled me as I broke free from his arms. Oh, and by the way, keep an eye out for the diamondback rattlesnakes! They've been waiting for you! He laughed and chased me as I ran up the stairs to the front porch with fingers pressed into my ears.

La-La-La, I can't hear you…

I began nervously eyeing the front yard for snakes as he went out to get my bag from the car. Rejoining me on the porch, we kissed again. With my suitcase in one of his hands, and my butt cheek in the other, he said Guess I should give you the grand tour.

Instead, we made a beeline to what must have been his bedroom, falling onto the blanket-covered futon. The same blanket that had covered his bed back at our dorm in Switzerland.

It was hours before we resumed our tour of the house.

2

Into The Woods

So, who's staying in the other bedroom? I asked nodding toward the flowery, light blue towel being used as a makeshift door.

Oh, that's Angel and Phil, he answered, walking from the kitchenette over to where I sat on the living room couch. I'm sure I've told you about them? he asked as he handed me a glass of red wine. (Technically, it was a jar of red wine—I could tell things were going to be a bit rustic out here!)

It was funny, For most of the summer, ever since Xander started his job, I had heard so little about what happened during his hours at work. Even though he claimed to love what he was doing, he rarely talked about it in much detail. And lately, we hadn't really had much of a chance to talk about anything, seeing as I'd been in New York visiting Anton.

I thought for a second before answering uncertainly, Yeah, maybe you've mentioned them? Phil works with you in Vancouver, right?

Yes, he's kind of like my almost-boss, but really we're more on the same level. But he tends to get a little bossy sometimes 'cause I'm still new, he stated with a laugh. Angel is his girlfriend—fiancé. You'll probably be seeing her a lot this week since she's just up here visiting as well.

That's cool they let you bring along your girlfriends and boyfriends when you go on work assignments, I observed. Do they have some sort of official Bring Your Spouse To Work program or something?

They want to keep us happy, he said with a smile.

Oh, I intend to keep you very, very happy this week, Mr. Sexy, I said, repositioning myself as I began to straddle him on the living room couch.

Didn't you just 'make me very, very happy' oh, about twenty minutes ago? he asked while pretending to consult his nonexistent wristwatch.

Mmmm… time flies, I said leaning forward as I pushed him backwards into the couch.

As we kissed, I took the wine jar out of his hand and managed to blindly find a nearly-level place for it on the braided rug.

I was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt when the front door opened.

I head a woman's voice giggle, and a deep, male voice call out, Dude… That little stud climbing your flagpole better be Clint, or you've got some 'splainin' to do!

Phil, Angel… Xander replied calmly, clearing his throat, I'd like you to meet my little stud.

Angel ran over, hugging me from behind. We've heard sooooo much about you! she squealed as she joined me on Xander's lap.

Xander pretended to buckle under the weight and joked that we might want to try a different position if this was going to turn into a 3-way.

They were obviously very comfortable with each other. I immediately liked both of them.

Over that next week, I got to know Angel pretty well. She and I spent several long, rainy summer days at the little living room table in the A-frame. We'd pass our time smoking (Angel), day-drinking (me), and talking as our men ran around in the woods. They were technically at work, but Xander and Phil seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. Every morning they'd grin like school kids as they layered on rain gear and sloshed across the driveway to one of the mud-splattered pickup trucks. Angel and I were happy to stay put, warm and comfortable in the same sweat pants and t-shirts we slept in.

Now, let me see if I have this story straight, began Angel as she gathered her thoughts and lit another American Spirit. She narrowed her eyes, trying to mentally reconstruct a coherent chronology from the random facts she'd learned during the short time she'd known Xander.

You guys met a year and a half ago at a Broadway show. The two of you had a mutual friend, the same one you were just visiting in New York for the past few weeks, right? Anyway, it was Christmastime in the Big Apple, 1979, the snow was falling, seasonal cheer filled the air… blah, blah. It was a perfect night, the holiday lights were all glittery and surreal, you and Xander looked into each other's eyes and it was love at first sight, right?

Yeah, pretty much, I agreed. "Maybe it wasn't exactly 'love' love that very first night, but by the end of the first week we had both definitely fallen into 'the love zone.'" I held up the romantically-engraved bracelet Xander had given me that first Christmas as my indisputable proof.

Hmmm… snorted Angel. "Exhibit 'A.' Sickeningly sweet. Noted. For me and Phil? We met at some nondescript package store. I'd lost my fuckin' wallet. Phil paid for my twelve-pack of Molson which led to a drunken make-out sesh in the frozen cab of his pickup truck. And some funky stains on my favorite leather jacket that NEVER came out… Ah, the good ol' days!"

But, back to you, she continued, blowing out a long, steady stream of poison smoke to focus her thoughts. After your magical, weeklong Christmas romance, you leave New York and head back to school in Switzerland. You and Xan become long-distance, lovey-dovey boyfriends. Flash forward to September, Xanadu finds a way to join you and do his senior year at your boarding school. A few months ago, both of you graduate, and end up in Vancouver. Xan The Man gets a job at UBC, meets Phil, and then they both have a work assignment in Willow River, and decide to invite the wives for a week to join the fun.

And… she took a drag and paused dramatically, here we are. Did I leave anything out?

Well, there were a few missing details here and there, I reflected, but, yeah, those are the broad strokes.

To hear you tell it, it all sounds so damn easy, I laughed as I got up to pop a couple of Pop-Tarts into the toaster. But I guess the next chapter is the weird one, the part that might get a little… I searched for the right word.

Dicey? Fucked? offered Angel.

Cumbersome? I mused. But yeah, I could easily see it veering into dicey/fucked territory!

I continued. Tomorrow, Xander and I head back to Vancouver for a month.

And then we come back here… even though she already knew all of this, I couldn't stop myself from rehashing the whole thing out loud. …where we'll live, here in this A-frame, for the next FOUR YEARS while Xander works on his degree!

Well, you skipped over the best part, she interjected. Phil and I will be living right here with you guys for at least three of those years, until he graduates.

I just wish we were all living in Vancouver instead of out… here. I handed one of the piping hot cherry Pop-Tarts to Angel and set mine down on the table. I had already lost my appetite.

I know, I know, city boy, she playfully chided, you hate the woods, hate the isolation, hate nature in general…

I do NOT 'hate nature in general' I'll have you know, I disagreed unconvincingly. I happen to have a bit of a soft spot for… I hesitated, trying to think of a way to fill in my pregnant pause. …Fiddlehead ferns? I concluded with the first thought that sprang to mind.

Fiddlehead ferns aside, you and Xanski need to talk about this, Clint. Otherwise, you'll be sneaking off to Vancouver all the time for a secret urban fix.

We've talked about it plenty, I frowned. It always ends with him pouting and me apologizing for making a fuss and then the two of us promising we'll work it out somehow.

Angel eyed my untouched, cooling piece of frosted preservatives and chemicals. I pushed it toward her and added, I just keep wanting to convince myself it won't be a problem.

Maybe it won't be, she said between bites. Maybe once you settle in, find a job, get into a routine…?

Yeah, yeah. I'm sure we can work it out somehow.

Sitting there, watching Angel's face disappear and reappear in the shifting cloud of smoke, I couldn't help but think of my chain-smoking childhood friend, Mrs. Concertina. When I was growing up, so many afternoons were spent at her house, just across the street from mine. I'd often go straight there after school, where the two of us would listen to music, watch TV, and dream about what we'd like to do when we grew up. (At 28, she was twice my age, but we had so much in common, our age difference hardly mattered.) As much as I liked hanging out with Angel, and appreciated how comfortable and familiar it all felt, I was a little bummed out to be seeing so little of Xander. This was supposed to be OUR week, our time together.

By the time the guys got home from work that night, Angel and I had actually managed to put together a nice dinner for us all to share. We had gotten dressed in real going-outside-the-house clothes, found the key for the rental car I had picked up earlier in the week, driven into Prince George and rustled up an ambitious collection of groceries. Even with our limited kitchen skills, we were able to toss together a not-unattractive batch of pasta primavera, vegetarian minestrone, and cucumber/tomato/avocado salad.

That night, after the plates were cleared and the leftovers were safely ziplocked into various bags and bins, Phil started rolling dessert. Living here in the heartland of BC Bud, this was a pretty typical way for us to end an evening. Before too long, Angel started to reference our earlier discussion. I was just in no mood to get into anything, so I successfully changed the subject a good three times before she gave up (or simply forgot). We started discussing one of my pivot topics—ironing out some nebulous plans for when we all got back to Vancouver the following week.

As I grew mellower and mellower, I just remember sitting back and staring across the quiet table into Xander's eyes. Even though the room was dark, lit only by the fading fireplace, I was convinced he was picking up the message I was wordlessly attempting to relay into his brain. We can work it out somehow. We can work it out.

A few days later, we said goodbye to our roommates and drove back to the airport in Prince George. I was driving, as always, since Xander (growing up in New York) had never gotten a driver's license.

Out of the blue I looked over at him with a puzzled look. Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask you—why did you want me to rent this car when I got here last week?

What do you mean? he asked. So you could drive?

Well, I mean, through your company you had access to at least three working trucks parked outside the A-frames… Wouldn't it have made more sense to ask Phil or Angel to come and pick me up at the airport or something? It's not like I'd be doing a lot of driving around last week.

You're right. I had an ulterior motive, he admitted.

I was curious and quietly waited for him to continue.

I just wanted it to feel good for you. Everything, I mean. I know you're feeling dubious about this whole deal. I get it, and I want to make it feel OK. I wanted you to have options. I just thought you'd feel better if you knew you could easily drive back to the city any time. Just in case, you know, you ended up hating it out here.

I smiled. That was actually such a sweet thing to do. It was true, at the end of the week I still did hate it out there as much as I'd feared, but it had indeed made me feel better to know that escape was only an eight-plus hour drive away.

I mainly wanted to give you a decent introduction to the area, and hoped you'd be left with a good impression, and, I don't know—by the time September rolls around, maybe even be a little excited about the idea of living 'way out here in the sticks' with me?

I smiled again as I realized that when he'd said drive back to the city, he'd been referring to Prince George, not Vancouver, the only likely city that had made an impression in my head.

Plus… it'll only be four years? he offered in the cutest voice, with the most adorable smile as he ground his head into my shoulder. Four super-quick years. I'll do my best to make it worth your while.

Hey, don't make me run us off the road. I gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head.

Now, I exaggeratedly re-grasped the wheel. Help me keep an eye out for yetis.

Sasquatch, he corrected.

3

Our House, In The Middle Of Our Street

After my one week crash course on our future life in the boondocks, I was happy and relieved to fly back to Vancouver with Xander.

Even though we'd only had our apartment in the city for such a short time, (and I'd been in New York for part of that) I already knew I loved living there. Yes, the weather was usually grey and dismal. Yes, it was hard to get used to wearing a long sleeved wafer shirt and hoodie when the calendar read June. Yes, Xander spent way too much time at work. Yes, our postage-stamp-sized basement apartment was only slightly bigger than one of our old dorm rooms at St. Othmar Academy. But we were building a home. Our first home together.

The two of us really appreciated each other's company. Weekends and evenings always felt so satisfying. We'd spend hours walking around the vast city—exploring Stanley Park, the beaches, and even venturing into the endless suburbs. There was just so much to experience at every turn, so many new discoveries every day. It felt like we were finally living the life we had been dreaming about.

There was only a week or so left of July, and August was just around the corner. Somewhere along the line, Xander came up with the idea that our schedule wouldn't really leave me enough time to find a summer job. September would be here in no time. Before we knew it, our time in Vancouver would come to an end, and we'd be off to Willow River.

I readily agreed with his train of thought. There'd be plenty of time for me to search for employment once we'd made the move.

With Xander at work, most of my weekdays were spent exploring the city, either on foot or by bus. I loved looking through stacks of books at the library, and checking out the record stores along Seymour Street, Vancouver's Record Row. A&B Sound, A&A Records and Tapes, Odyssey Imports, Track Records, Sam The Record Man, and one of my favorites—Zulu Records, which was south of the water, closer to home. Since Xander and I were both trying to be careful about acquiring things we'd just have to pack up and move in a short time, I rarely made any purchases.

Several times a week I'd pass the afternoon seeing a movie. The Capitol 6 was about the only place in town that regularly showed the quirky, low budget, short-run films I especially enjoyed. The aging theater had obviously seen better days. Old and run down, it wasn't exactly the cleanest place in town (by any means)! The crumbling walls had clearly experienced more than their fair share of water intrusion. A severe, dank mustiness permeated the air, taking root in the upholstery of the theater seats, before seeping deeply into the threadbare carpet. The odor was so pervasive that it even found a way to transfer itself onto my clothes. Sometimes on my bus ride home, I'd need to crack a window after feeling a wave of hygienic self-consciousness wash over me.

Oh, and the bookstores… There were so many of them, both new and used. I could busy myself for hours browsing the tables and shelves, looking through all the new titles. I especially liked Banyen Books, just down the street from our apartment. I loved finding some quiet corner where I could spend a rainy afternoon flipping through travel guidebooks and music magazines.

One day at Banyen I overheard some people talking about a interesting place near the university—the same university where Xander worked. The friendly-sounding strangers seemed to be in agreement about a particular beach that was easily the most beautiful spot in British Columbia, and perhaps the entire west coast. I made a mental note, and when the weekend rolled around, I told Xander I had a special place I wanted to take him.

That Saturday morning as we waited for the bus, he said So, you said this place would be special? You do realize I wait for my bus right here every morning of the week, right?

Yes, I do realize, I replied, rechecking the schedule, but today, we're taking the 27.

Umm, I take the 27 every day, sweetheart…

"But, according to this," I countered, displaying the section of the bus schedule shaded in orange, this is the Weekend Service—totally different and special!

Smiling, yet unconvinced, he was a good sport nonetheless. As we took our seats near the back door, he leaned closer and said you're right—this IS special. I don't usually get to ride along West 4th Avenue with such a handsome boy. He lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a quick kiss. The severely-dressed church lady sitting in the adjacent bank of seats took note, stood up, and arthritically clawed her way to a more suitable pew up front, near the driver. As she began to tell her captive transit conductor about the contents of the pamphlet she was tucking behind his sun visor for future reading, at home, with your wife, Xander looked at me and laughed as he went in for a kiss. A real kiss.

I have a boner, Xander whispered into my ear.

I stole a glance. It was true.

We smiled lewdly at each other. After another block or two, I pulled the yellow stop cord. Xander looked over at me with a raised eyebrow.

This is our stop, Guv'nor, I said using my best faux-Brit accent.

Stepping off the bus, he adjusted the front of his pants and looked up and down NW Marine Drive.

OK, now which way?

Down, I advised as I pointed toward the water, which seemed to hover at a much, much lower elevation than where we now stood.

We winded our way down the trail, turning switchback after switchback and hobbling down flight after flight of stairs made from a forest's-worth of weathered railroad ties. He still didn't know where we were headed until he saw a brown and white sign by the side of the trail.

WRECK BEACH

Clothing Optional

(Photos only with consent)

Oh, he stopped in his tracks. Really? I've wondered about this place.

You've heard of it? Cool. I just found out about it the other day. Seemed like something we should check out, I said, taking his hand and leading us on.

The trail ended where the rocks and sand began, and it was everything I had imagined it would be. Naked people from seaside to tree side. And mostly men, from the looks of it. Dicks, dicks, and more dicks. Every color and shape swinging back and forth from one end of the beach to the other. I felt a little faint.

Xander asked if I was alright. Umm, yeah. I managed. You?

There's a spot over there, he motioned to an empty stretch of sand between two beach logs. We can put down our stuff and chill.

We'd been sitting on our towels for less than a minute when a well-built (buck naked) young man came flopping by. A strap ran behind his neck, supporting the cardboard tray of chilled beers that balanced against his left hip. He was totally nude except for the change belt he wore around his waist. The belt was cleverly pushed way over to the right side, so as to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. He had obviously been born to play this role, and I (for one) mentally applauded his career choice.

So guys, what'll it be, he suggestively purred over every syllable. I've got cold beer, cold beer, or.. oh yeah, cold beer?

Yeah, I think what you've got looks just perfect, I stated rather insipidly, as if on autopilot. I could tell by the way Xander's eyes whipped to give me that look that I'd just presented myself in a more juvenile manner than he was used to hearing.

Uh, two beers please, Xander said with an embarrassed glance into the shoe where he'd just stashed his wallet.

You two need anything else, anything at all, just let me know, he winked as he made his way to the next customers. I'll be here all day…

My eyes followed as he walked away. Xander noticed my interest. That strap around his neck is going to leave an unusual tan line, he observed with a chuckle.

I hadn't exactly been looking at his neck.

We stayed there all afternoon. The scenery was fascinating. After several visits from our alcohol-vending friend, (whose name was Mario—I had to ask) Xander and I decided to brave the very chilly waters of the Salish Sea. Running into the waves, we grabbed each other by the hand, abandoning all of our clothing, shoes, and worldly possessions on the sand, along with half a dozen empty beer cups.

I had never heard Xander laugh quite that hard. The cold water cut right through us as we threw ourselves together in a desperate, warmth-conserving hug. See, I told you today would be special, I semi-screamed through the frozen tears seeping from my wide eyes. After thirty seconds or so, we both settled down and began to somewhat acclimate. You know, I could get used to this, Xander said as he drifted onto his back, his temperature-shriveled cock breaking the surface.

I noticed two guys on the