Dreams

Dreams is a collection of three consecutively linked stories, each with a different pair of protagonists introduced in the previous story. The original versions of these comprehensively amended and reedited second editions were previously published individually. This volume contains: A Dream Come True, Another Dream, and Dreaming of You.

A Dream Come True:

Mike is thrilled when his old university crush turns up at his door in answer to a roommate advertisement. Wes doesn’t remember Mike at all, or even realize Mike’s gay, but that doesn’t stop Mike from pursuing a determined campaign of seduction. The trouble is, Mike isn’t ready to give up his free and easy lifestyle and settle down with just one man.

Mike isn’t comfortable with public displays of affection. Wes doesn’t like anything resembling the proverbial closet, but Mike’s still buried deep inside one where his family is concerned. Will Wes have the patience to deal with Mike’s issues, or will their dream come true end up a nightmare?

Another Dream:

When a shy, twenty-nine year old virgin erotica writer with a tool belt fetish crosses paths with an outgoing carpenter, the fireworks soar. Introverted Larry has an active imagination, and extroverted Marty is just the man to draw Larry out of his shell. Larry makes new friends and faces a jealous rival for Marty’s affections while helping Marty reevaluate an impulsive decision, made twenty years earlier. A scheme is hatched that rewinds the years of Marty’s life and takes the new lovers on a cross-country road trip together. From hot to humorous, their expedition is a journey of personal growth for Larry, an overdue resolution to Marty’s long-ago rash actions, and a trek down a path of self-discovery for both of them.

Larry worries about the motivations of his own feelings as he tries to gauge Marty’s. Marty is tired of the single life. He’s ready to settle down and has been looking for Mr. Right. Will their personality differences complement each other to make another dream come true, or will Larry’s insecurities keep him from seizing love?

Dreaming of You:

Trevor’s upset when the man he’s been chasing for years chooses another. He’d come to terms with losing Marty, but his hopes had been recently renewed and freshly dashed. While he’s trying to drown his sorrows, the man he considers to be the cause of his distress approaches him.

When Quinn startles Trevor with an insightful revelation, will Trevor be able to put aside their differences and give love another chance?

Below are the promotional videos I made when I released the first editions of A Dream Come True and Another Dream. The editor and publisher information in the credits no longer apply in this collection of second editions, and of course the covers shown at the beginning no longer apply, but the story ideas conveyed in the videos will still give you a good feel for the first two stories in Dreams, and "Trevor," who is alluded to in the Another Dream video becomes the star of Dreaming of You, the third story in this collection.

Excerpts

From A Dream Come True:

Wes kicked a loose stone on the pavement as he opened the door to his car. He kicked it hard, but the stress release he sought from the reflexive punt eluded him. He was still pissed, and now his toe hurt, too.

Thomas H. Palmer once said “’Tis a lesson you should heed, try, try again. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” Usually Wes agreed with this philosophy, but right now he felt like the old saying was mocking him.

That had been the third one. There was no doubt he’d been rejected because he was gay. The man had seemed interested enough in him as roommate material until Wes had disclosed that little tidbit. Then suddenly the man remembered another guy he’d interviewed and would let Wes know his decision in a few days. Fucker. Did the fool really think Wes would try to put a move on someone he knew was straight?

A lungful of fresh air helped Wes regain his composure as he drove to the next appointment. If he could help it, Mike, the guy he was seeing next, would never know Wes was gay. Mike would have no excuse to reject him now and no excuse to kick him out later. Wes hated closets with a passion and felt the restricting walls of this one closing in on him already.

But the price was right for this place, and it was close to the hospital where he’d be working. As Wes pulled into the parking lot he saw nicely trimmed crape myrtle trees producing attractive pink blooms planted around the perimeter of the clean brick building. Wes took a deep calming breath as he walked past the well-maintained flower beds full of colorful annuals edging the parking lot and walkway.

Three years. He could live in a closet for three years. He’d be too busy for hook-ups anyway. Wes trotted up the concrete steps, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the door.

* * *

Mike’s first two roommate prospects hadn’t been very promising. He was not going to live with a stoner, and just knew he’d be nuts within a week if he accepted the chatterbox.

He was listening to Paul Simon sing Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard when his third and final interview for the day knocked on the door. He plastered a friendly smile onto his face and opened the door.

The smile froze on Mike’s face. It was him. It was definitely him. What were the fucking odds? Mike blinked twice as the man on the other side of the doorway gazed back curiously.

Mike coughed slightly in a weak attempt to cover for his indiscretion, but continued to gape at the green-eyed, sandy-haired Adonis as he found his voice. “Uh … hi, I’m Mike Evans. You must be Wes.”

“That’s right.” The man held out his hand. “Wes Shaw. I hope the room is still available?” Mike appreciated that Wes was apparently going to pretend not to notice Mike’s odd behavior. Mike swallowed and gave himself a swift mental kick. It was time to pull it together and act normal.

Mike shook the proffered hand and gestured Wes into the apartment. “Sure is. Come on in.” Wes smiled and stepped inside. “Great. Thanks.”

Did Wes recognize him? Hopefully not. Wes had probably thought he was a complete fool. He’d been so flustered and deeply closeted when they’d crossed paths back in college. What was that, seven, eight years ago?

Mike took a deep breath and launched into his well-rehearsed spiel. “Well, Wes, we already talked about price on the phone. The bedroom is furnished, but if you have your own furniture, I can put that stuff down in my storage unit. I’m not using that space for anything else, so it doesn’t matter to me either way. How about I just show you around, then you can tell me if you’re still interested?”

The entryway opened directly into the living room. Mike motioned with his arm and continued. “This is the living room.” Brilliant. Jesus, even if Wes didn’t remember him, the man would still end up thinking he was a complete fool if he yammered on without pausing and couldn’t string two coherent sentences together.

Mike swallowed and pushed on. “It’s decent-sized, I guess. I like that it’s kinda separated from the bedrooms by the kitchen and eating area, so that’s good if one of us is up and the other’s trying to sleep.”

The living room was decent-sized. All of the rooms were. Not to mention colorful. Not the walls—they were all basic apartment white—but the furniture and accessories were all vibrantly colored. He had a red couch covered with blue and yellow pillows, a royal blue recliner, and a crazy-patterned, multi-colored, overstuffed chair, in addition to a small black entertainment center and yellow-painted bookcase.

Apparently Mike’s decorating style didn’t faze Wes. There was a spark of curiosity in his eyes, but his smile was sincere. “Hey, that’s great. I should mention that I’m starting my residency at University Hospital next week. I may be coming in and out and sleeping at odd hours.”

“That’s cool.” Mike smiled, feeling more at ease with Wes’ calm demeanor. “I’m quiet in general anyway, and a pretty deep sleeper. I won’t mind being extra quiet when I know you’re home sleeping.”

“Awesome. I was hoping you’d be okay with that. I really like the location of this place. It’s pretty close to my work.”

“Yeah? Mine, too.” Mike led Wes toward the hallway. “Anyway, here’s the kitchen and dining area. If we have the same tastes, we can work out a food budget and just share everything instead of each keeping separate food stores. That worked out well with my last roommate.”

“Cool. I was wondering how we’d handle that.”

The song changed on the rather eclectic music mix CD Mike was playing and the Ditty Bops started singing Wishful Thinking. Wes didn’t appear to notice.

They walked down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “I’ve got a washer and dryer behind these doors,” Mike pointed out. “Here’s the bathroom. It has two doors, one out to the hallway and one into my bedroom, since it’s the master bedroom. This’ll be your bedroom here across from the bathroom, and that’s mine there at the end of the hall.”

They entered the spare room that would be Wes’ and looked around. It was roomy and furnished with a double bed, a bedside table, a dresser, a small blue-painted bookcase, and a wooden desk with a swivel chair. Again, the decorating was cheerful. There was a brightly colored green, yellow, and red checkerboard cotton bedspread on the bed, and matching red-based lamps on the bedside table and desk. Otherwise, he’d emptied the room of all personal effects.

“This is terrific.” Wes walked around the room, feeling the mattress and looking in the spacious closet. “And you said this furniture can stay if I want it? I’ve been living in student housing, so I don’t really have any furniture of my own yet.”

“So you think you’d like to take it?” Mike held his breath. “Absolutely. Can I use this bedding, too, or do I need to furnish my own?”

“You can use this. There’s a linen closet in the hallway with extra sheets and blankets.” The music changed again and the Soggy Bottom Boys started singing I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow. Wes’ mouth hung open and his eyes glazed over for a moment, but apparently it wasn’t a deal breaker. He regained his composure quickly. “Great. Thanks. Hey, are there any rules I should know about?”

“Nah, no rules per se, other than what I stated in the ad—no drugs and no smoking. I think if we just communicate well and are basically considerate, then stuff’ll just fall into place.”

Wes smiled and sat on a corner of the desk. “Terrific, no problem there. I think that’ll work out fine.”

Mike couldn’t suppress a wide grin. “When do you want to move in?”

“How soon can I move in? I’m set up in temporary quarters at a motel so I’d love to move my stuff in tomorrow, if not this afternoon.”

“Cool. I can help if you want to move this afternoon. Tomorrow I’m working. I’m a structural engineer, so my work days are just your basic Monday through Friday, with the occasional Saturday thrown in.” Wes nodded. “Great. I don’t really have that much stuff to move, but enough to appreciate the offer. Boxes of books, my clothes, and computer stuff, mostly.”

“Great.” Mike cocked his head toward the door before Wes could change his mind. “Let’s go.”

Mike pondered the situation as they walked out to their cars. Was Wes back in the closet in general? He’d been pretty active in the GLBT organization back in school, and Mike had gotten the impression that he was more of a ‘get the info out there so there aren’t any misunderstandings’ kind of guy, rather than an ‘I’ll just mention it if and when the subject comes up’ man.

Mike could play dumb if that was what Wes wanted, but should he make a point of telling Wes that he was gay, or should he take his cue from Wes and let the subject arise naturally in the future sometime?


From Another Dream:

Shit, Larry, think of something to say. Shit, shit, shit. He gazed around the large room, hoping for inspiration. Fuck, he never had any trouble thinking of things for his story characters to say. Damn, what would Rhys say?

“Interesting décor … flashy,” he blurted out. Fuck, Rhys wouldn’t have said anything that lame. Hektor would’ve tossed him out on his ass long ago if he’d been that fucking pathetic.

But Marty smiled at Larry, and his smile reached his eyes, he wasn’t being condescending. “Yeah, it is pretty flashy, isn’t it? That crazy disco ball … it’s wild.”

The waiter returned with their drinks. Oh, thank God. They sat and sipped their beer and ginger ale while watching the dancers. Somehow the lack of conversation didn’t seem awkward.

The song changed, and Marty’s face lit up. “Hey, Larry. We could do a little push-pull single-step swing to this beat. It’s a really, really simple step, and I can lead you through it. You won’t have to improvise, and it’s not at all complicated. What do you think, hun?”

Oh, God. Marty looked so eager. And again with the “hun.” What did Marty mean by that? He must be one of those guys that used the word casually, ’cause there was surely no way it could be meant as an endearment.

The last thing in the world Larry wanted to do right then was disappoint this beautiful man who’d been so thoughtful to him. Fuck, he was petrified that he’d make a complete ass of himself out on the dance floor, but he could think of nothing to say except, “Okay.”

Marty’s smile broadened, and he put out his hand. Larry took it, and Marty led him out onto the fringes of the dance floor. The song did have a good steady beat. Maybe it wouldn’t be too hard to follow. Thankfully, he found that he wasn’t completely without rhythm, and after just a couple awkward steps he was able to follow along smoothly as he grasped the tempo of the music. Marty was right, too. He didn’t have to improvise anything. Just as the name of the dance implied, Marty pushed and pulled him through the steps.

He was amazed at the fact that not only was he not making a total fool out of himself out there, but he felt like he was actually doing okay. Certainly not doing anything that would draw negative attention to himself. Jesus, he was actually having fun, and couldn’t help smiling up at Marty as he was pulled back in.

Marty’s smile beamed back as Marty continued to effortlessly guide him through the dance. Marty was looking at him so intently. It was as if Marty could see right into his head and know what he was thinking. Fuck, he sure hoped Marty couldn’t read his thoughts, because they were anything but PG rated.

He imagined that beautiful mouth coming down onto his own. What would that be like? What was it that he’d had Rhys think the first time Hektor had kissed him? Something about ‘waves of desire and longing coursing through him as he pressed his body against Hektor’s solid length.’ Fuck, he was bordering on that right now with just Marty’s hands holding his as Marty tossed him through the dance.

Thankfully the song ended, because he was having a hard time pulling his mind out of the gutter and was afraid he was going to spring a full damned boner out on the dance floor. Marty held his hand captive as they walked back to the table. Ray and Ronald had returned to the table as well, smiling like loons at each other.


From Dreaming of You:

Trevor’d opted to avoid the obvious holiday costuming so many of the revelers dancing at Snayque’s were wearing. A red tee shirt was good enough for him. Ragged jeans and a tee shirt. He was practically a bum, but he’d found it hard to get motivated to glam up to his usual degree of immaculate turnout. Hell, he hadn’t even spiked or glittered his bleach-tipped blond hair.

He didn’t feel like cruising after all. He felt like sitting alone at the bar and drinking himself numb. He’d spent the day in lonely introspection and was disheartened by the realization that he was tired. Tired of cruising and tired of being alone.

There wasn’t a single soul in whom he’d feel comfortable confiding the fears that had nagged him all day. That, in and of itself, was near the top of the list of scary things he’d admitted to himself that day.

He had more acquaintances than he could count and more hookups in his history than he wanted to tally. There were several he called friends, but were they really? If he didn’t feel comfortable opening up and really talking about his hopes, dreams, and fears with someone, were they really a friend? Hell, he felt more comfortable talking with his co-workers than his so-called friends.

The pilsner in front of him was empty, and he signaled the barkeeper for another beer. A fresh glass was placed in front of him, but he didn’t get the chance to pick it up before his thoughts were interrupted by a voice that reflexively got his back up.

“Hey there.” The voice was irritatingly cheerful. “Trevor, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you, Quinn.”

Trevor didn’t bother turning to look at the man but could sense his continued presence. Fuck. Most men would know enough to leave someone the hell alone after a greeting like that, but not Quinn. Fuck no. Fucking cowboy just stood there.

Scratch that. He sat down on the next barstool.

“Well now, I guess I could take it as a good sign that you know my name.”

Christ. Trevor turned to level a scorching look at his new arch enemy. “And do you take the ‘fuck you’ as a good sign too—Quinn?”

Quinn had the audacity to look puzzled but grinned through it. “Was it a request?”

Trevor choked. And sputtered. Was Quinn obtuse? He certainly had some big hairy balls. “What are you, insane as well as a liar? Leave me the hell alone. You’ve done enough damage.”

Trevor turned back to his beer, determined to simply ignore Quinn until the man left. Except Quinn didn’t leave. He settled in with a beer of his own and then had the nerve to bring up the issue himself.

“So you have a thing for that Marty fella, don’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

“What, you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”

Christ. “Leave me the hell alone, Quinn.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Trevor, but Marty loves that Larry dude. Larry’s a nice enough little guy. They seem like a pretty sweet couple to me.”

That was too much. Trevor spun to face Quinn. “That why you made out with the little cheater in the restroom then lied to Marty about it?” Trevor felt his face heating up as his temper rose. “I accept now that Marty will never care for me like that, but he still deserves someone who’ll be true to him.” Trevor wanted that last sentence back as soon as it was out. What in the world had possessed him to admit that to fucking Quinn, of all people?

“I don’t lie, Trevor.” Quinn remained maddeningly calm. “I told Marty the truth about what happened with Larry.”

Yeah, right. That comment wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Trevor rolled his eyes and turned back to his beer.

“You wanna know what happened?”

No, just go away.

“I was cruisin’ last night and thought that little dude, Larry, was kinda sweet lookin’. I also thought he was alone. Ran into him on the way to the bathroom and put a move on him. Thought he was interested, but he’s just kinda green—inexperienced in the cruising scene. He didn’t realize I was gonna kiss him ’til I did. He pushed me away as soon as I started, but you walked in right at that moment.”

Shit. The little mouse did seem pretty naïve. Trevor didn’t say anything, still hoping Quinn would take the hint and leave him alone.

No such luck. Quinn continued. “So your timing sucked. I can see why you thought what you did, but it wasn’t like that. Poor little guy was practically hysterical and thought he’d get dumped. Figured the least I could do was explain things to his boyfriend and hope I wouldn’t get punched out for my efforts.”

Jesus, Quinn did have some big hairy balls. Trevor couldn’t think of a single one of his ‘friends’ who would have made that right. They’d have thought it was funny and left Larry to deal with the fallout himself.

Trevor sighed and stared at his glass as if the amber liquid in it was the most interesting thing he’d seen in years. “Guess that was nice of you then.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing too. You were wrong, but you thought you were saving your friend from a bad relationship choice.”

Had that been his motivation? Most people who knew him would’ve come up with a more selfish reason for his actions. Quinn was right, though. He’d already begun to accept that Marty had finally fallen for someone and that it wasn’t him.

There might have been a glimmer of hope Marty’d switch his affections to Trevor after ditching Larry, but mostly? Yeah, Trevor’d just wanted to make sure Marty didn’t get hurt more in the long run by continuing a relationship with someone who’d cheat on him.

Trevor shrugged his shoulders in reply. Something about Quinn made it easy to confide things he’d regret later, so he kept his mouth shut.

“You’re going about it all wrong, you know.”

Going about what all wrong? “Mind your own business, Quinn.”

“How’re you going to attract someone who loves you if you hide who you really are behind all that phony attitude?”

That was all Trevor could stand. He pushed his beer away, pissed because he was nowhere near numb yet, slapped some bills down on the bar, and left.

© 2011 Addison Albright

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