MY HEART RACED THE ENTIRE time I followed Ollie back to his place. At one point, I allowed myself to dream that “kissing” included his dick in my mouth. The image was so vivid I nearly rear-ended his car at a red light which made me think about a different kind of collision involving rear ends. “We agreed to kiss,” I said out loud to myself. “That means mouth-on-mouth action only.” I nodded in an attempt to convince myself even though I knew damn well I’d cave if Ollie made the first move toward something other than mouth-to-mouth action.
I expected Ollie to live somewhere inside the city limits, but I followed him north to a more rural setting where cornfields grew on either side of the country road. I bet it was a lovely drive during the day, but at night, it felt creepy as fuck and as foreign to me as if we had magically transported to another land. I was a city boy through and through; the only jungles I roamed were ones made of concrete.
Ollie slowed down to take a sharp curve to the left, so I did the same. Once we came out of the curve, the fields gave way to trees, and the once straight road wove its way up a curvy hill, reminding me of a roller coaster ride. Ollie flipped on his turn signal at the top of the hill, and that’s when I saw the driveway to the small, country church. It looked like it was built 200 years ago but had been lovingly maintained. The sign in front of the church was a new addition. It wasn’t one of those tacky ones where you could replace the letters daily or weekly, Ollie permanently and boldly identified Grace Fellowship Church as a place of worship for the LGBTQ+ community in rainbow letters. Ollie didn’t need glitter or unicorns to get his point across.
I followed Ollie down the gravel lane past the church to a small house sitting nestled in the woods. It was close enough for him to walk to work, but the trees surrounding the home afforded him privacy and allowed him to separate his work and his private life. The only downside to me living at Ryan’s Place was never fully getting away from my work and responsibilities. I was working on getting out more and reclaiming a life for myself. The man who exited his car and waited for me to do the same was a big reason for the change. At some point, I would need to admit meeting Ollie was the biggest reason I’d started emceeing the weekly fundraising events.
“Nothing below the neck,” I reminded myself as I turned off my car and got out to meet Ollie.
“I probably should’ve warned you just how far you had to follow me,” Ollie said sheepishly.
I would follow you anywhere. The thought came swiftly and out of nowhere as if some invisible narrator was telling my story instead of me. I didn’t know Ollie enough to know if I’d follow him anywhere. I hadn’t allowed myself to believe in that kind of blind faith in more than a decade, so the urge to get back in the car and drive to safety was overwhelming.
Ollie, sensing my nervousness, said, “Nothing will creep out of the woods and bite you, Arch. You’re safe here with me.” His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight, and I felt a whole lot like Little Red Riding Hood looking into the eyes of a wolf in pastor’s clothing.
“My, what kissable lips you have,” I breathily said once I stood in front of him. Ollie’s laughter bounced off the swaying trees and carried in the wind, breaking the tension gripping my body. My car headlights were programmed by the manufacturer to turn off automatically after a few minutes, allowing a person to get inside their home or wherever they went after dark. In this case, I’d only had enough time to reach Archie before they shut off. Our only light source was the moon which bathed Ollie its splendor, making him look angelic and pure until our gazed met and held. His dark eyes promised me devilish delights that were otherworldly and earth-shattering while his smile promised serenity and peace. I found I wanted all of those things, and I could have them if I would only take a chance.
Ollie extended his hand like an olive branch, and I reached out to accept it, knowing I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t try. Okay, Ollie, you win. I couldn’t blame a faceless narrator this time because I knew the words came from my soul. Ollie gently squeezed my fingers between his and guided me to the front of his house. I wished the walk was longer when he released my hand to unlock the door, but he reached for me as soon as he opened it. Did he think I was on the verge of bolting? I wasn’t.
Ollie flipped on a switch, and a lamp came on in the corner of the room, casting a soft glow around the living room instead of garish, overhead lighting most people used in their homes. The charcoal gray recliner looked well-worn, comfortable, and almost large enough for both of us. Down, boy, I said to my dick. A sofa in a fabric matching the recliner, a coffee table, and two matching end tables made up the rest of the furniture in the room. A large picture window overlooking the front yard took up most of the front wall, two other walls were painted in a warm, medium bluish-gray color, and the fourth wall was covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. My favorite feature in the room was the stone fireplace and roughly hewn mantle made from old timber. It was aged, warm, and inviting, contrasting with the flat screen television hanging above it. An ivory area rug with a modern pattern of blue, gray, and black covered the hardwood floors which looked to be original to the house. They’d been lovingly cared for just as the church appeared to be.
“It’s not much, but I love it,” Ollie softly said, sounding like he might be embarrassed.
“It’s a beautiful space,” I assured him. My eyes caught on the artwork hanging on the wall. I released his hand to inspect them closer. There were four framed sketches of the church showing how it looked in all four seasons. The artist had such incredible skill, and I felt like I was looking at black-and-white photos of the building instead of drawings. The shading and detail were some of the best work I’d ever seen, and although I was no expert, I recognized talent when I saw it.
“Don’t stare too close or you’ll see the imperfections.”
I snapped my head around and was shocked to see Ollie had joined me. I was so enraptured with the drawings and hadn’t heard him approach me. “Ollie, did you draw these?” He nodded, and I turned to look back at the art on the wall. I noticed the small signature at the bottom. Oliver Knight. Well, it was a big “O” then squiggles followed by a big “K” and more squiggles. “I’m speechless, Ollie. These are so fucking beautiful.” Then I gasped when I realized I’d dropped the f-bomb in a pastor’s house. “Sorry.”
Ollie laughed. “I’ve said that word myself a time or two. You don’t have to hold back your thoughts and feelings around me, Arch. You don’t need to put on an act or be anything other than yourself. I like you just the way you are.”
“You don’t really know me, Ollie.”
“I know you where it counts,” he countered. “The rest is just hot fudge on a brownie sundae.” Why did everything he say sound so damn sexual? “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
Ollie took my hand once more and led me down a short hallway with two doors on either side. I saw a neatly made bed through the open door on the right and a small, tidy bathroom on the left. The kitchen was bigger than I expected it to be, but then again, the space acted as both the kitchen and dining room. A large, round table made from a dark, knotty wood took up the far-right corner of the room and was surrounded by six chairs. One wall of the dining room was painted a deep red and acted as a backdrop for more of his drawings. The rest of the kitchen was painted a warm beige color. The countertops and cabinets were white, sterile, and would’ve looked utilitarian if not for the bright pops of color from the red canisters, coffee pot, and stand mixer. The appliances were new, state of the art, and polished stainless steel. They belonged to someone who enjoyed their time in the kitchen.
Ollie squeezed my hand before he released it. “Make yourself comfortable while I whip us up something to eat.”
I headed straight for the art. In his kitchen, he’d hung sketches of the wildlife I suspected inhabited the woods surrounding his house. Squirrels hoarding nuts, bunnies eating leaves, and birds flying, bathing in a fountain, or nesting all decorated his walls.
“You’re a gifted artist,” I said, breaking the silence. Ollie didn’t respond right away, so I looked over my shoulder and found him staring at me like he couldn’t believe I was standing in his kitchen nook. That made two of us. Clearing my throat seemed to break his trance.
“Did you ask me something?” he asked.
“Um, no. I was complimenting your artistic skills.”
“Oh,” he said, turning away quickly and crossing the room to open the refrigerator. “It’s just a fun hobby.”
“Paint by numbers is a fun hobby,” I said wryly. “This is…extraordinary. Please don’t dismiss it.”
Ollie turned his head sharply to look at me once again. “I’m not dismissing it, Arch. I just don’t see my work in the same way you do.”
I looked back at the drawings and noticed the finer details that made each one seem so damn lifelike while Ollie rustled around with ingredients for our late dinner. “You want some help?” I offered.
“No way,” he replied. “I don’t want you learning my secrets.”
“Secrets for grilled cheese?” I looked over my shoulder and noticed he’d pulled butter and a block of cheese out of the refrigerator, not a package of Kraft Singles like I used in my sandwiches. “I’ll let you keep your secrets…for now.” The last two words sounded like I had diabolical plans for him.
I sat at the table and watched Ollie move comfortably and efficiently like he’d made this soup and sandwich combo many times and could even do it in his sleep. “What made you decided to become a pastor?” I asked.
“Jumping in with the tough questions?” Ollie asked in good humor. “I like this about you, Archie. No games.”
“I’m surprised you feel this way after I ran so hot and cold with you over these past few months.”
Ollie’s hands stilled, and he looked over his shoulder at me. “I didn’t see it that way, Arch.”
“How did you see it then?” I asked, leaning forward to prop my elbow on his table and resting my chin on it.
“I knew your battle was an internal one and not purposely directed at me. I made you feel something you didn’t like, or perhaps didn’t want, and you weren’t sure how to react. Well, the first night was a kneejerk reaction to my vocation, but after that, I saw your struggle wasn’t meant to hurt me.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know, Arch. I’ve been on the receiving end of people who deliberately set out to hurt me, and there is a difference.”
“I don’t see how,” I said, shaking my head. “Hurt is hurt.”
“No, it’s not,” Ollie said. “I’ve learned over the years there are many levels of hurt, and they’re not the same. Our initial reactions to the plateaus of hurt are similar, but after time, emotional distance, and introspection, we can see the differences. It changes the way we process others’ actions and allows us to see things more objectively.”
“Give me an example, Golden Boy,” I said, completely enthralled by his line of thinking.
“For example, someone saying something off the cuff that upsets you versus someone deliberately being hurtful.”
“How are those types of hurt any different?” I questioned. “Someone telling me my ass looks big in my jeans is going to hurt my feelings whether it’s done deliberately or not.”
“It’s in the delivery,” Ollie said. “In the first scenario, someone might not come out and say your ass looks big in the jeans. They might’ve remarked about the cut or the fit which you assumed was meant to say you looked bad. The second scenario is a person coming out and saying your ass looks big in those jeans. Do you see the difference?”
I had to think about what he was saying, and I could see he had a point. The initial reaction to the comments would be similar because both hurt my feelings, but after time and contemplation, I could point out that the first person didn’t intend to cause hurt feelings. Unless they like to engage in passive-aggressive behavior, but that’s not what we were talking about here. The second person intended to be mean and hurt my feelings.
“I’ve never really thought about it until you broke it down for me, but yeah, I do.”
“It took some time, but I eventually recognized the reasons you ran from me were also responsible for the wall you built between us. I also hoped after some time passed you’d see there was no reason for you to fear me.”
I scoffed a little at that one. “I wasn’t afraid of you, Ollie.”
“Perhaps not physically.” Touché. “That’s why I kept coming back until you asked me not to.” Ouch.
“Okay, it wasn’t my finest hour,” I admitted. “I’m ashamed for the way I acted that night on the stage and later in the prop room.”
Ollie set down whatever he’d had in his hands and turned to face me fully. “Why were you ashamed? Was it because of the way you wanted me or the way you reacted to my attention?”
“Both,” I said softly. “I didn’t want the attraction I felt toward you, and I hated the crass way I treated you.”
“Interesting,” Ollie said then turned back to assembling sandwiches.
“Which part?”
“Both.”
“Are you going to expand on that?” I asked.
“Are you?”
“I already did, Ollie.”
I saw his shoulders shake with laughter before I heard the giggle bubbling from him. “This is some date we’re on.”
“Date?”
Ollie turned away from the counter and opened the drawer at the bottom of the stove. He held up an ancient-looking cast iron skillet. “If I’m busting out my good cookware then it’s a date.” He set the heavy skillet on the stove and turned on a burner. “I just find it interesting, amazing really, that we’re talking this way in my kitchen while I cook us food.” Ollie dropped butter in the skillet and pushed it around with the spatula until it melted. “I like it.”
“Are you ready to tell me why you chose to become a pastor?”
“Are you ready to tell me why it turned you off so much?” Ollie countered.
“It wasn’t your vocation alone which sent me running; it was the reservations I assumed you’d have about me.”
“Because of my faith?” Ollie asked while putting the assembled sandwiches in the hot skillet. “You thought I’d disapprove that you were a former drag queen?”
“And how I like to wear makeup on occasion,” I said, pointing to my face. “Even if you were as open-minded as your lusty gaze indicated, I assumed you would only be interested in clandestine fucks to get your jollies off. I never expected you’d want to be seen with me in public.”
I almost regretted the words because I didn’t want Ollie to look at me with pity. He said nothing while he emptied the can of tomato soup into the saucepan and added milk and a dollop of butter. Ollie whisked the ingredients together in the pan while turning on the burner beneath it. He still didn’t say anything until he checked the bottom of the sandwiches to make sure they weren’t burned. When he finally looked at me, I didn’t see the dreaded pity; I saw anger.
“Those cowards weren’t worthy of your time, Arch.”
“Golden Boy, you don’t have to say that. I won’t lie and say it’s water under the bridge, because I obviously still carry a chip on my shoulder, but these are my issues to work through.”
Ollie shook his head before he turned back to the stove and expertly turned over the sandwiches and stirred the soup. “I’m afraid to tell you the reason I became a pastor. It might change the way you feel about me.”
His statement caught me off guard. “That’s not possible, Golden Boy.” I stopped Ollie when he opened his mouth to respond. “Tell me after we finish eating. Your recliner looks comfy and big enough for both of us.”
Ollie nodded then continued toasting our sandwiches while I breathed in the delicious smell of bread, butter, and melting cheese. My mouth was watering by the time he carried our plates and bowls to the table. I knew without a doubt it would be the best grilled cheese sandwich I’d ever had, not just because of the ingredients Ollie used, but because he made it for me.
I was happy to see confidence in his culinary skills replace the insecurity I’d seen moments earlier. The confidence turned to something darker and sexier when I brought the sandwich to my mouth and took a bite. The moan escaping my mouth was pornographic and indecent.
“Perfect,” I mumbled around a mouthful of heaven.