Dearest Milton James

by N.R. Walker

My very dear, very heterosexual brother and sister were the perfect children, quickly working their way up from the entry-level jobs, working hard, producing 2.5 grandchildren and picket fences in suburban houses with responsible mortgages. Me, on the other hand, had just blown another job, went on a bender, spent a cosy night in a Kings Cross police station holding cell, and was released into the very responsible custody of my still pissed-off father.

“Your mother insisted I give you one last chance,” my father said. I’d almost forgotten he was talking. The incessant drone tended to fade away after several hours. “This is your last chance, Malachi.” I resisted sighing. Yes, getting my shit together was probably a good idea. But all those crap office jobs he’d insisted I take were not for me. Every time I tried to explain that, he refused to listen, spouting lines about ‘not always getting what we want’ yadda yadda, blah blah blah, and in the end, I just stopped trying to reason with him. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Either everyone here was used to a certain kind of crazy or I’d walked into an episode of the Twilight Zone. I was beginning to think it was the latter.

How on earth was it that exciting and rewarding to send someone their mail? I had no clue, but it was. And I even tried to tamp down my enthusiasm. “Can I do another one?” I asked.

“Any hot dates?” Denise asked with a wink at the same time that Julian walked in. He went straight to the kitchenette and proceeded to make himself a coffee. I proceeded to pretend not to check him out. I sipped my coffee. “No. Unfortunately my standards exceed the availability pool. It’s been that way for a while now.”

I stared at him. Did I call him attractive? Again? Fuck. I think I did. Dear brain, Please disengage all talking operations. Actually, just shut down all mouth functionality. Cease all operations. Error 404, file not found, something to make it stop. I’d even take a fatal error, blue screen of death right now . . . “You okay?” he asked. “You look kinda green.” I put my hand to my forehead. “I’m trying not to talk. Because when I open my mouth, stupid shit comes out. As I’m sure you just witnessed. Exhibit A in all its glory.”

But Cherry was my favourite. Her introverted goth matched my extroverted rainbow like two sides of one coin. I found myself drawn to her more than the others, and I could be so bold as to say we were becoming friends.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your work.” “Yes, I am! Well, I ate the arse of a cat cake this morning and we toasted the birth of a dead woman whom I never met, and that wasn’t even the weirdest part of my morning.” Julian met my eyes and laughed. “Do I want to know what the weirdest part of your morning was?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Considering it’s not even 9am.”

“I catch public transport.” I shrugged. “Weird is a given. Though this morning’s specialty was what I could only assume was the walk of shame for a guy wearing a silver sequin dress and dirty work boots. He had amazing calf and thigh muscles, and from his shoulders and hands, I think maybe he’s in construction. I was going to ask where he kept his wallet, but he smelled of bourbon and regret and I didn’t want to wear his vomit.”

“You wanted to see me about something? And if I’m not getting fired . . .” “Oh, yes, right.” He cleared his throat and sat forward in his seat. “What you said the other day in the car. It struck a chord with me.” I tried to think back. “I said a lot, and I’m going to need you to narrow that down for me. I have a verbiage condition around attractive people. As we’ve discussed a few times now.” His smile produced a dimple. A fucking dimple. Okay then. Hang up my lilac boots and cover me in carnations. It’s all over for me. Then, because I wasn’t dead enough, the fucker took off his glasses. He just took them off and slid them onto his desk like he took out a machete and cut me in half. That’s how dead I was. He mowed me down in my fucking seat.

I blinked, surprised, to be honest, that my eyeballs still worked. “I’m sorry, what?” My voice squeaked. Clearly my brain and my mouth were struggling. Who knew? Who knew that I could fly past the word-vomit stage into the speechless idiot stage with a dimple and the removal of glasses? Who fucking knew?

The two of us. Working together. Me and Mr Sexy. He chewed on the inside of his lip, his brows furrowed. “How are you at keeping secrets?” I sat forward, eyes wide, excited. “Absolutely terrible. Do not tell me anything.” Julian laughed. “I kinda figured that’d be the case.”

“Is that . . . um, what?” He smirked at me. “Malachi, in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve told me twice that you are honest to a fault, and you’ve displayed, on several occasions, the ability of spectacular word verbiage.”

“Julian, I can’t deal with angst and sadness. It kills me. I’m not kidding. I totally cry during pet insurance ads on TV.” He chuckled. “I mean it. I might look a little feisty on the outside, but I am complete marshmallow on the inside.” He seemed to find that amusing. “Feisty marshmallow. Got it.”

“I cherish every moment with you, though every touch is bittersweet knowing they are numbered.”

But my real first love was my best friend in high school.” “Really?” “Yep. Ended tragically. And when I say tragically, I mean that I helplessly pined after him while he slept his way through three netball teams and the senior girls basketball team.” “Ouch.” “It was all rather awful, but I was going for the full teen-angst experience and he really helped with that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. Did I offend you? I’m sorry if I did.” “I’m not offended. I’m also not that old. How old do you think I am?” I looked at him, horrified. “I absolutely will not answer that question. I know entrapment when I see it. I don’t care how old you are. In fact, I like older guys. Never really explored the whole daddy concept before, but I’m not opposed. I have the whole twink vibe going on, whether I like it or not. Given I’m twenty-seven but I look young and I have weirdos legit disappointed when they find out I’m not sixteen. I mean, honestly, how many sixteen-year-old boys have the beginning of crow’s feet.” I pointed at the corner of my eye, desperately wishing my mouth would shut the fuck up.

Did I really just tell him I’d never explored the daddy scene? And that I’m a twink? Fucking hell, Malachi. I met his eyes, horrified. “I’m just going to take the liberty of pretending I never said any of that, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t hear it either.”

“Thirty-four isn’t old. And yes, while you might have a tinge of grey in your hair, you’re not a silver fox. Yet. Maybe a baby silver fox. Is there a gay term for that? I’m not up to speed. But being a daddy is more of a mindset than an age, don’t you think?” He stared at me, unblinking, smouldering, filthy-sexy. It set my blood on fire and everything inside me tightened and yearned . . . I was half a second away from sprawling myself on his desk and telling him just to fuck me right here.

Cherry walked in. She wore black and pink today and smiled at me like a gorgeous goth Bratz doll. “Morning,” she said quietly, her eyes bright. “So what happened between you and Julian last night?” I almost spat out my first sip. “What? Nothing. Why?” She took her cup from the cupboard, smiling like she knew some delicious secret. “Because he’s wearing blue.” I blinked. “What?”

“Mr Brown, Mr Beige, Mr Every Shade of Taupe That Exists is wearing blue.” “Blue?” Cherry nodded and poured boiling water into her cup, the teabag dangling precariously over the side. “I would say it’s a pale sky blue or even a powder blue. I’m not sure. And his pants are—” She met my eyes. “—navy.” I swallowed. “He’s wearing blue.” She nodded again. “Obviously something cosmic happened to him, and you two stayed late last night. I know you think he’s handsome, and I’ve seen him look at you.” My eyeballs almost popped out of my sockets like grapes. “I . . . uh . . . what? No I don’t, and he doesn’t . . . I mean, does he? Look at me . . .?”

“Your smile is a little frightening. Could you turn the wattage down a bit? I have sensitive retinas.”

Julian blinked and shook his head, a little confused. “Um, that was a lot of information. I’m not sure where I should start . . .” I took a step backwards, bumping into my cart. “Sorry. You know, nervous rambling, grandmaster level. Seldom few achieve it.”

He picked up a box from his cart. “I better keep going with these. This here box contains a soccer field for a fish tank so your goldfish can play soccer. Quality, life-changing stuff.”

He smirked and made a low grunting sound of approval that lit me up inside. His eyes went to my lips. “So what was I doing to you in this dream?” Holy fuck. He was playing me like a violin. I needed to resume some control or I was going to climb him like a freaking tree. “You were washing the dishes and vacuuming the floors. It made me really happy because I hate housework. You were just about to clean the bathroom when I woke up.”

“Can I ask you what you meant last night? When you were leaving, you said something like, ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’” For the first time, he looked a little embarrassed. But his eyes met mine and he pierced me with his gaze. “I wondered how you’d respond. How you’d taste.” Oh, holy fucking fuck. My knees felt wobbly. “And?” “And it was as good as I thought it would be.”

I put my hand to my forehead and took a deep breath. The only reason I didn’t have a hard-on right now was because my brain had short-circuited from the rest of my body. 404 Error. Erection Not Found. Being able to walk and talk wasn’t looking too good either.

“Technically, I can lie. I just look like I’m being Tasered while trying.” “Tasered?” “Yes. High voltage impairment of physical function. A glitch in my matrix, an error 502 Bad Gateway kind of response.” He laughed and I pouted. “I also had the same reaction when you kissed me last night and when you did all that dirty talk today about doing the dishes and vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom. That was when Cherry knew something was up because I was still malfunctioning when she found me.”

“Well, you’re cute. I can’t help it.” “I’m cute?” “Yes. You told me, to my face, that I was attractive. Why can’t I say the same about you?” “Because I have very little control over what comes out of my mouth, and that’s not an excuse you can use.”

“Can you see me without your glasses?” He smiled. “Yes. You’re the most beautiful blur I’ve ever seen.”

“Tomorrow night you could come to my place. I’ll make you dinner,” he said, brushing his lips against mine. “I’d love to taste more of you.” My knees did that wobbly-jelly thing again. I let out a breathy laugh. “I’ll have you know, I normally conduct myself with some modicum of decency, but you talk to me like that, and you touch me, and I turn into Insta-ho.” He laughed before kissing me with smiley lips. “Is that your superpower?” “Uh, more like my kryptonite.”

“Your place is beautiful,” I said. “Very grown-up. Makes my retro vintage seem rather childish.” He chuckled. “Your place is very you.” “What, childish? Or second-hand and cheap?”

Julian laughed and rubbed my back, kissing the side of my head. “Did you want to get some fish and chips while we’re on the Northern Beaches? We can sit and watch the ships on the ocean.” I pulled back and wiped at my face. “That would be perfect. Sorry for crying.” He lifted my chin and kissed me sweetly. “Don’t ever apologise for having a heart, Malachi.”

“Awww,” Denise said. “He called you a nice couple.” “We are a nice couple,” I replied. “Well, Julian’s nice,” Cherry said. I gasped, offended. She rolled her eyes. “Malachi, I’ve heard the judgemental commentary you give on Drag Race after a few wines. Nice is not the word I’d use.” I took a deep breath and rose above a snarky reply. “I’ll be putting out expressions of interest for a new work-wife. Please stay tuned.”

“That’ll be us one day,” he murmured. “Fifty years from now.” I would never tire of hearing him say stuff like that. “Yes, it will,” I replied. I had no doubt. We were absolutely perfect for each other, in every way. I nodded to the photo. “I’ll be the cute one.” Julian laughed. “Yes, you will be. And I’ll be the one who looks after the cute one.” “Yes, you will.” He sighed and kissed the side of my head again. “Forever, Malachi.” “Hmm, my second favourite F-word.” He laughed. “Get to work.” I grinned. “Yes, boss.”