Alec

by William di Canzio

there was something nuptial about Alec’s happiness. He was going to see Maurice; they would meet in the daylight, in the eyes of the park and the village; they would play together on the same team, these two who had spent the night breaking the law by loving each other. Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Morgan had made him a gentlemanly gift for his trip: a box of sandalwood soaps from Fortnum & Mason. He’d stored them away, but now he unpacked a cake and, rather than wake up the household by filling the bathtub, went to the boathouse to bathe. When he took off his shirt, he still could smell Maurice. He inhaled deeply, happily. And he smiled when he saw their spunk, dried on his belly and legs, on his chest and shoulders, plenty of it, all mixed together. He hooted and jumped into the pond where the stream fed it fresh, scrubbed himself from head to toe, then again, imagining what wicked fun they’d have if Maurice was here with him.