Violet's Present

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

Violet’s Present

funeral was a small one. Aunt Violet—really, Great-

great-aunt Violet—had long since outlived her husband, her
only  daughter,  and  most  of  her  friends.  Her  more  distant
relatives lived too far away to do more than send flowers. She
had  spent  the  past  few  years  confined  to  Pleasant  Valley
Nursing  Home,  waiting  patiently  for  her  body  to  catch  up
with her mind’s wish to move on. Matt had said his goodbyes
to  Aunt  Violet  months  earlier,  when  he’d  visited  her  in  the
home, and he hadn’t really intended to fly back to Nebraska
for  the  service.  But  his  mother  had  been  tearful  on  the
phone, and when Matt realized that she needed someone to
stand at her side, he'd booked the next flight to Omaha. The
airfare  took  a  good  chunk  out  of  his  savings,  but  it  was
worth  it  when  he  stood  at  the  graveside,  his  mother’s  hand
clutching his, her teary eyes looking at him gratefully.

After the funeral, he took her out to dinner at Olive

Garden,  which  wouldn’t  have  been  his  choice,  but  she
adored  the  place.  She  liked  to  gobble  the  breadsticks  and
salad  and  then  bring  most  of  her  entrée  home,  where  it
would last her for at least another two meals. Matt, however,
simply  picked  at  his  grilled  chicken  and  wished  he  were
already back in Oakland.

“You look tired, Matty.”
“Jet lag.”
“But it’s only two hours earlier in California.” Her blue

eyes were as sharp as ever. “What’s wrong? You’re not upset
about Aunt Violet, are you? She had a good life, and it was
her time.”

“I know, Mom.” He took a sip of his iced tea and wished

for something stronger.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“It’s that Brandon, isn’t it?” She always called him that

Brandon, her lips pursed disapprovingly. She had never even

met him but had long ago concluded that he wasn’t good
enough for her son.

“I told you. Brandon and I broke up four months ago.”

Four months, one week, and two days, but who’s counting?

“But you haven’t moved on. Come on, Matty. You’re

twenty-seven years old, you’re very handsome, and you have
a  good  job.  There  are  plenty  of  other  fish  in  the  sea,  and
most  of  them  are  lots  better  than  that  Brandon.  But  you
can’t  expect  them  to  just  hop  into  your  net.  When  was  the
last time you went out somewhere?”

He supposed there were worse fates in the world than to

be stuck at a chain restaurant in Omaha, discussing his sex
life with his mother, but he couldn’t think of any just then.
“I’m not a hermit, Mom. Vanessa and I went for drinks after
work on Friday.”

“Unless you’re switching teams, that’s not what I’m

talking about and you know it.”

Some of Matt’s gay friends envied his family’s

acceptance  of  his  sexual  orientation  and  wouldn’t  believe
him when he said there were downsides. Like when he came
home  the  summer  after  his  freshman  year  in  college  and
outed  himself  to  his  mother,  and  then  three  days  later  she
and  his  Aunt  Violet  tried  to  set  him  up  with  Aunt  Violet’s
gardener. Carl was a nice guy, but huge, hairy, and prone to
leather and tattoos. So not Matt’s type.

“I just want you to be happy, Matty,” his mother said,

interrupting his brief and unpleasant reverie.

“I am happy, Mom. Really. Just tired, is all.”
She made a face that said she didn’t believe a word, but

then the waiter arrived with the dessert menu and she
changed the subject, instead involving him in a debate as to
whether she should order the tiramisu or the mousse cake.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

He drove them back to her one-bedroom condo in his

rented Ford and walked her to the door, carrying her bag of
leftovers.

“Are you sure you won’t stay with me, dear? A hotel is

so expensive,” she said. “I can sleep on the couch and—”

“It’s fine, Mom. Really.” He wasn’t going to be

responsible for her waking up with a sore back, and the
couch was too short for his long legs. “Besides, I have an
early flight home and I don’t want to wake you.”

“You could stay another day or two,” she suggested.
“Gotta get back to work.” Not that the world would stop

spinning if he missed a few more days—he was an animator,
mostly hack work for commercials, but he hoped to someday
get a job with one of the studios. He liked his job, and
Omaha hadn’t felt like home in a long time. Besides,
Brandon was back in California, and maybe this time— No,
he reminded himself sternly. That was over.

Matt bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “’Night,

Mom. I’ll call you when I land in Oakland.”

She nodded and unlocked the door. He was halfway to

the parking lot when she called after him. “Matt! Matty!”

“What?” he called back, pausing on the sidewalk.
“I forgot! I have something for you.”
With a sigh and a fervent hope that she didn’t intend to

give  him  yet  another  web  address  for  gay  online  dating,  he
trudged back to the door. Her condo was tiny, affordable on
her  teacher’s  salary  while  freeing  up  money  for  the
Caribbean cruises she looked forward to every December and
July.  As  always,  she  had  books  everywhere:  overflowing
shelves, piled precariously on tables, scattered across chairs,
and  in  stacks  on  the  floor.  Matt  smiled  at  the  disorder  and
felt  camaraderie  in  this  particular  trait  he'd  inherited  from
her. He’d lost two roommates over his literary addictions but
decided  he  liked  his  books  better  than  them  anyway.  His
mother  dug  through  a  closet  until  she  produced  a  white

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

plastic grocery bag containing something that looked like a
large book. “Aunt Violet gave me this several months ago,
right after your last visit. She really took a turn for the worse
after that.”

“Sorry.”
She reached up to pat his cheek. “Don’t be. You visited

her, and she knew you thought about her.” She set the bag
on the kitchen counter; the plastic made little crackling
sounds when she smoothed it with her palms. “Now, you
know Aunt Violet never had much money, and she spent all
her savings on her care during the last years.”

“I wasn’t expecting an inheritance.”
“I know, dear. She had a few pieces of jewelry for me,

and your Uncle Bob got all her furniture when she moved to
the home.”

Matt tried to picture Aunt Violet’s furniture in his

modern  apartment:  ancient  wooden  farmhouse  pieces
marooned  in  all  that  chrome  and  glass.  He  smiled.  “Did
Uncle Bob get those hideous dishes too?” Aunt Violet used to
serve  him  cheese  sandwiches  on  those  dishes—always  with
the crusts cut off, as his younger self had preferred—and her
special butter cookies with the jam in the middle.

“Uncle Bob said he likes the dishes,” his mother said

with a chuckle. “He always has had terrible taste. But Aunt
Violet had something for you too.” She patted the bag.

Matt carefully removed the book from its wrapping and

then grunted slightly in surprise as he recognized it. “Her
photo album!”

“She remembered how much you used to enjoy it when

you were a boy.”

When Matt was little, he and his mother would spend

long  afternoons  at  Aunt  Violet’s  house.  He  was  much  too
young  to  realize  it  at  the  time,  but  his  mother  was  there  to
receive  consolation  over  her  deteriorating  marriage.  Matt
would  bring  along  his  toys  and  coloring  books,  but

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

eventually  those  interests  would  be  exhausted,  and  as  the
women  continued  to  talk  over  endless  cups  of  tea,  he  often
ended up leafing through the thick leather volume that held
Aunt Violet’s photos. Even when he grew older, a sullen teen
wishing he was spending the day with friends instead of old
people,  he’d  end  up  putting  his  science-fiction  novels  aside
and perusing the black and white images.

Now his mother’s face looked drawn and tired. “If you

don’t want it, let me keep it. It’d be a shame just to throw all
those pictures away.”

For a moment he considered setting the album aside.

But his fingers were already stroking the soft black leather,
and he shook his head. “No, that’s okay, Mom. I want it. It
was nice of her to think of me.”

His mother pulled him down for a kiss on his cheek and

a ruffle of his ash-blond hair. “You’re a good boy, Matt.”

There didn’t seem to be any purpose in pointing out that

he was, in fact, a man. So he simply slipped the book back
into the bag, gave his mother a one-armed hug, and headed
out to the car.

Holiday Inn Express was indistinguishable from

hundreds  of  similar  hotels  anywhere  in  the  country,  but  it
was close to the airport and not too expensive. The girl at the
front  desk  was  relentlessly  perky,  even  when  Matt  dragged
himself  through  the  lobby  with  a  six-pack  of  Heineken,  the
photo  album,  and  a  scowl.  “Have  a  good  night,  sir!”  she
chirped, and he managed a forced smile in her direction.

When he got to his room, he plopped the beer onto the

dresser and the plastic bag onto the little desk, then kicked
off his shoes and peeled off his jacket, shirt, and socks. Yes,
the  room  was  nicely  air-conditioned,  but  it  was  still  in  the
upper  nineties  outside,  and  his  years  in  the  Bay  Area  had
robbed  him  of  his  tolerance  for  heat  and  humidity.  He  felt

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

sticky  and  stinky  and  generally  out  of  sorts;  he  considered
taking a shower, but the beer was calling him, nice and cold.
He  pulled  a  bottle  from  the  cardboard  carrier  and  used  the
opener  on  his  keychain  to  pop  the  top.  His  first  swallows
tasted  bitter  and  sweet  at  once,  the  coolness  soothing  him
from the inside out.

He could check his e-mail, he thought. He

should check

his e-mail. But he put his iPhone on the nightstand without
bothering  to  unlock  it,  because  he  knew  there  would  be  no
texts  or  e-mails  from  Brandon—and  nothing  else  really
mattered. “Damn it!” he said out loud. He was the one who'd
dumped  Brandon,  after  catching  him  fucking  around  once
too  often.  Brandon  was  all  about  the  thrill  of  the  moment,
while  Matt  had  been  daydreaming  about  settling  down,
being… a family. So why was Matt still mooning around like
a  lovesick  teenager,  hoping  Brandon  would  come  chasing
after him?

The remote control was close at hand, and Matt clicked

through all the channels, finding nothing worth watching. He
drained  his  bottle  and  started  on  a  fresh  one,  considering
putting  on  some  shorts  and  heading  to  the  fitness  center.
But  no,  he  didn’t  feel  like  working  out  either,  even  though
his muscles were restless and twitchy.

It was probably inevitable that his gaze eventually fell on

the plastic bag. He walked the few steps to the desk, plopped
into one of the green chairs, and pulled out the photo album.
The  cover  was  plain,  worn  from  decades  of  handling.  He
sniffed  at  it,  half  expecting  to  catch  a  whiff  of  Aunt  Violet’s
coffee  cake—cinnamon  and  butter—but  all  he  smelled  was
leather  and  dust.  He  wiped  his  hands  on  his  jeans  before
opening to the first page.

It had been a long time since he’d seen these pictures,

but they were still familiar. Bony people standing defiantly in
front  of  farmhouses  and  jalopies,  daring  the  world  to  make
them  flinch.  Children  in  uncomfortable-looking  clothing
squinting  up  at  the  camera.  Women  in  hats  behind  tables

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

full  of  food,  men  in  suits  even  when  they  were  sitting  in
armchairs  in  their  own  living  rooms,  teenagers  who  seemed
oddly old for their age. And men in uniform, of course. Quite
a few of those.

He could still recite the intricate ties between himself

and  these  people.  Aunt  Violet  used  to  enjoy  explaining  the
connections, telling him little stories, and sharing gossip that
had a longer life than the long-dead relatives. He knew if he
leafed through the book far enough the pictures would be in
color, albeit faded,  and he’d find baby  photos of his mother
and  her  brother,  school  pictures,  even  a  few  pictures  of
himself.  If  his  aunt  had  ever  possessed  a  wedding  photo  of
Matt’s  parents,  she’d  removed  it  from  the  album  before  he
ever saw it, and that was fine.

But Matt didn’t skip ahead to those prom and Little

League snapshots near the end. Instead, he paused where he
always used to, on a page crowded with small, square photos
of people in brush cuts and white shirts. The bottom photo,
the one on the right, showed a young man in an army
uniform. His hair looked very dark in the picture, maybe
even black, but his eyes were startlingly light. He had sharp
cheekbones; a square jaw; the hint of a curve to his nose, as
if he’d broken it once. His lips were full and seemed to be the
sort that curved into a smile only rarely—certainly not in the
photo, but Matt had the idea that the man’s smile had been
radiant when it did appear.

His name was Joseph. He had been a cousin of Aunt

Violet’s,  which  Matt  supposed  meant  he  was  a  very  distant
cousin  to  Matt,  as well.  He  was  nineteen  and  newly  drafted
when the photo was taken in 1942. He died two years later
on a Normandy beach. At the time this photo was taken, he
couldn’t  have  known  what  his  fate  would  be—didn’t  all
nineteen-year-olds  think  themselves  invincible?—yet  Matt
had  always  thought  he  could  see  the  shadow  of  death  in
those  pale  eyes.  And  for  some  reason,  the  gaze  in  this  one
photo  had  always  seemed  focused  directly  on  Matt  himself,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

as if Joseph were looking at him across the decades, as if
Joseph were trying to communicate something important.

Matt had spent many hours staring at that photo when

he was a boy, and its power hadn’t dimmed. Sitting in his
bland hotel room now, still wearing his suit trousers and
with a bottle of beer sweating near at hand, he felt the same
sorrow he always had: that he’d never had a chance to meet
the man who had died forty years before he was born.

He slammed the book shut and drained the beer, setting

the empty bottle back on the table with a clatter. He decided
maybe some time on a treadmill wasn’t such a bad idea after
all.

hotel bed was more comfortable than Matt had

expected,  and  there  were  certainly  plenty  of  pillows,  but  he
never  slept  well  in  new  places.  He  tossed  and  turned  for  a
long  time,  knowing  he’d  feel  like  shit  by  the  time  his  flight
arrived  in  Oakland  late  the  following  evening.  Finally,  he
turned to the one method he was sure would knock him out.
Feeling  slightly  guilty—Aunt  Violet  so  recently  in  the
ground—he  reached  under  the  waistband  of  his  boxers  and
began to stroke his soft cock. The feel of his own hand was
depressingly  familiar;  he  hadn’t  tried  for  even  a  quick
hookup  since  Brandon.  Not  because  he  wasn’t  horny—God,
definitely not that—but because he knew those kind of fucks
would be empty and unfulfilling, like eating Jell-O when you
really  wanted  prime  rib.  So  he’d  been  beating  off  more
regularly  than  since  he  was  a  teenager,  and  if  it  was
Brandon’s  handsome  face  and  wiry  body  he  pictured  while
he spanked the monkey, well, nobody had to know.

Brandon had medium-brown hair artfully gelled and

spiked, brown puppy-dog eyes with a hint of green edging
the irises, thin lips that twisted easily into both grins and
sneers. Tonight, though, it wasn’t his ex-boyfriend’s face that

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

came to Matt unbidden as his cock slowly hardened. Instead
he was seeing short black bristles and irises like glaciers; a
slightly pouty lower lip that begged to be sucked on and
nibbled; smooth skin gone tan from a summer working on a
farm.

It was pervy to be jacking off while thinking of a long-

dead  relative,  Matt  told  himself.  But  his  cock  didn’t  care;  it
was  fully  erect  now,  warm  and  solid  under  his  hand.  He
thought  about  retrieving  the  miniscule bottle  of  hand  lotion
from  the  bathroom  but  then  decided  he  didn’t  need  it.  A
droplet or two of moisture had already leaked from the tip of
his cock, slicking the heated skin a little.

Joseph probably wasn’t very tall—Matt had inherited his

height  from  his  father’s  side  of  the  family—but  his  photo
hinted  at  sturdy  muscles.  Not  Bowflex  muscles,  not  abs
sculpted  by  a  hundred  daily  crunches,  but  honest  strength
earned  from  hauling  hay  and  wrestling  machinery,  from
digging  fence-post  holes  and  lugging  sacks  of  grain.  Hard
muscles,  smooth  skin,  the  whispery  brush  of  buzz-cut  hair
against  Matt’s  neck,  against  his  chest  and  belly.  Joseph’s
teeth  wouldn’t  be  orthodontically  perfect,  but  they  would
flash  white  against his  tan  skin,  and  he’d  nibble  cleverly  at
Matt’s nipples before he used those soft lips to suck the little
sting of pain away.

Joseph would smell of sunshine and earth, of dust from

the  fields.  He  would  make  tiny  sounds as  he  worked  Matt’s
body,  little  whimpers  and  moans  of  happiness  as  he
discovered  what  he  could  do  to  another  man,  the  power  he
could wield with one swipe of his tongue.

Joseph’s hands would be hard, his calluses scraping as

he stroked Matt’s arms and hips. Matt would splay his legs
wantonly as Joseph finally stopped teasing and licked at
Matt’s aching cock, as Joseph fisted himself in rhythm with
his bobbing head, as one broad finger worked its way behind
Matt’s balls and down his perineum. Just the barest scrape

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

of a fingernail against sensitive skin, and then that fingertip
would be pressing insistently at the little ring of muscle.

As soon as the first spurts of come hit Joseph’s palate,

his  body  would  jerk  and  writhe,  and  he’d  climax  in  tandem
with  Matt,  leaving  them  both  sweaty  and  spent.  He  would
slither  his  way  back  up  Matt’s  body,  and  heedless  of  the
mess, they would spoon together, Joseph in Matt’s arms and
Matt’s  nose  buried  in  the  soft  bristles  of  his  hair;  their
breaths would become slower and smoother as they both fell
asleep.

Matt lay slightly breathless in his rented bed. He wiped

his hand on one of the extra pillows and slipped into sleep,
alone.

ATT

usually dreamed in vivid color—he was, after all, an

artist—but  he  couldn’t  remember  any  dreams  this  detailed.
He could see the scratches in the Formica tabletop in front of
him, the dust motes that danced in the sunlight that poured
through  the  diner’s  front  windows.  He  smelled  the  smoke
rising from the cigarettes held by men in overalls, men who
were  bent  over  newspapers  or  seated  in  small  groups,
chatting about weather or crop prices or war. He tasted the
coffee from his plain white cup. It was strong and bitter, and
he burned his tongue.

“Made up your mind yet?” asked the waitress.
He looked down at the printed cardboard in his hands.

“Um, ham and eggs, please.” According to the menu, that
would set him back fifty cents.

“How do you want the eggs?”
“Over easy.”
“Potatoes? Toast?”
“Toast please.” He finally looked up at her, and then

couldn’t stifle a gasp. She was probably in her midtwenties,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

although it was hard to tell with her hair gathered into a bun
and tired circles under her eyes. But he recognized her, even
if the last time he’d seen that face it was creased with
wrinkles, the firm jawline gone soft with age. “Aunt Violet?”
he squeaked.

She winked at him and turned toward the kitchen.
He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing

a  pair  of  tan  pleated  trousers,  a  plain  white  shirt  with  a
starched  collar  and short  sleeves,  and  a  navy  blue  tie.  He’d
only  worn  a  tie  twice  in  recent  memory:  to  his  last  job
interview and to Aunt Violet’s funeral. A suit jacket and hat
were  hanging  on  a  hook  nearby,  and  his  shoes  were  shiny
and black. “I look like an extra in Death of a Salesman,” he

muttered.

Aunt Violet returned soon afterward, carrying a plate

heaped  with  food.  The  egg  yolks  were  bright  orange  instead
of pale yellow, the ham steak was thickly cut and glistening
with fat, and the toast was plain white bread. She gave him a
quick smile before running off again, this time to clear away
the  plates  from  a  group  of  farmers  in  the  corner.  Matt
sprinkled salt and pepper on his eggs and slathered his toast
with  strawberry  jam.  He  groaned  at  the  first  bite  of  eggs—
they were much more flavorful than the Safeway specials he
was used to. The ham turned out to be tastier than expected
also, but the bread  was nowhere near as good as the Acme
bread he usually bought. He’d never tasted food so strongly
in a dream before, but decided to enjoy the calorie-free treat.
Maybe he’d even order a slice of one of those pies displayed
behind the counter.

He was still working his way through breakfast when

the bell over the door jangled merrily. His back was to the
entrance, and he couldn’t see who had entered, but he heard
Aunt Violet when she greeted the newcomer. “Crowded
today, Jojo. You’ll have to share with someone.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“C’mon! I told you not to call me that, Violent.” The

man’s voice was deep and pleasant, but with a slight
childlike petulance in his inflection.

Somehow, Matt wasn’t surprised when he looked up

from his plate and saw Joseph standing beside his table,
Aunt Violet at his side. “You don’t mind sharing with my
bratty cousin, do you?” she asked.

Joseph’s eyes were even more amazing in person, in

color. They were somewhere between gray and blue, a shade
that Matt hoped he could reproduce with his paints. Joseph
wore blue jeans and a red-and-white-checked shirt, and
looked both annoyed at Violet and intrigued by Matt.

“Sure,” Matt said, his mouth suddenly so dry that he

had to take a quick swallow of the cooling coffee.

Joseph plopped down in the opposite seat and grinned.

Matt’s heart almost stopped. “Pancakes and bacon,” Joseph
said to Violet. “With the bacon done—”

“Really crispy. I know.” She cuffed him lightly on the

shoulder before she walked away.

“Where are you from?” Joseph asked. His gaze was so

piercing that Matt felt a little like an exhibit at the zoo. “And
does everyone there have hair like that?” He gestured at
Matt’s head.

Matt ran his fingers self-consciously through his waves.

He'd never had the patience for goos and creams like
Brandon used, and he tended to go too long between cuts.
“California. And yeah, a lot of guys do, I guess.”

“California! I always wanted to visit there. Can you

really pick oranges right off of trees? Do you know any movie
stars? Do you lie on the beach all day?”

“Yes on the oranges but no on the celebrities. And the

beaches near me are damn cold.”

Joseph leaned back in his chair, not even looking over

when Violet plopped a glass of milk in front of him and then

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

sailed away. “What’re you doing in the middle of nowhere?
And how come you ain’t in uniform?”

“I’m… passing through. On my way home after a funeral

in  Omaha.  And  I’m…  I’m  disqualified  from  the  military.”
Which was true enough, he supposed. In 2012 they might be
celebrating  the  end  of  “don’t  ask,  don’t  tell,”  but  back  in
1942  he  would  not  have  been  welcomed  into  the  military,
wartime or not.

Arctic eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened in

realization

before

narrowing

again

speculatively.

“Disqualified, huh?” Joseph said.

“Yep.”
There was a brief pause. Joseph sipped his milk, giving

himself a very faint mustache that Matt longed to lick away.
Three farmers at a nearby table erupted into hacking laughs
at some joke while Violet slammed plates down in front of an
older couple who looked like they hadn’t smiled since the
previous century.

“I’m going in next week,” Joseph finally said, very

quietly. “Army.”

Matt’s heart clenched and his gut twisted. Could you

puke in a dream? “I guess you have to,” he said.

“I wanted to get a deferment while I went to college, but

Mom and Dad couldn’t afford the tuition and… and here I
am. Ready to do my duty. I guess.”

“You’ll get to travel. See places way more interesting

than California.” And bleed your life away onto foreign soil,
he didn’t add.

Joseph’s eyes went dark, as if he knew exactly what

Matt was thinking. Then he shrugged slightly. “Yeah.”

Violet arrived shortly after that with Joseph’s food and a

refill for Matt’s coffee. Joseph poured about half a gallon of
syrup over his pancakes and dug in as if he were starving. In
between bites he asked questions about California, which
Matt answered carefully, not wanting to break the framework

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

of  the  dream  by  introducing  anachronisms.  Joseph  also
chatted  about  his  family—Matt’s  family  too,  so  the  names
were  familiar—and  about  the  old  truck  he  was  trying  to  fix
up; about the hailstorm that had recently damaged the roof
of  his  parents’  house;  and  about  his  high  school  football
team, where he’d played running back but hadn’t been good
enough  to  interest  the  Cornhuskers  and  get  a  scholarship.
He didn’t mention a girlfriend.

He was sweet and funny, but there was a constant

depth of sorrow to him, unsuited for someone so young. He
seemed,  Matt  thought,  like  someone  who  knew  in  his  heart
that  his  hopes  would  never  be  attained.  Nobody  should  be
thinking  such  a  thing  at  nineteen,  not  even  if  it  was  true.
Matt  wanted  to  hold  him  tight  and  fill  his  head  with  false
assurances  that  everything  would  be  all  right.  Hell,  Matt
wanted  to  do  something,  to  actually  make  everything  all
right.  But  he  just  smiled  and  watched  Joseph’s  beautiful
face.

When Joseph’s plate was clean—he used a piece of toast

to sop up the leftover syrup and grease—he leaned back
again and smiled. “You don’t have to head out right away, do
you? I could give you a tour of town. It ain’t much, I know,
but maybe all those movie stars’d think it’s… quaint.”

Matt laughed. “A tour sounds great, thanks.”
Joseph beamed, and his smile was even more delicious

than Matt had imagined. Violet came by just then, and Matt
dug out his wallet. He insisted on paying for Joseph too—fair
compensation  for  the  tour,  he  joked.  He  pulled  out  an  old,
battered  five-dollar  bill,  which  was  enough  to  pay  for  both
breakfasts and a tip big enough to earn a grateful squeeze to
his shoulder. “Thanks for visiting,” she said as he rose to his
feet.  He  was  certain  she  was  referring  to  more  than  his
dining at the restaurant.

As Joseph led him outdoors into the bright light, Matt

had to remind himself that this was a dream. Everything
seemed so authentic: The few blocks of Main Street with

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

battered cars and trucks parked along the edges. The barber,
the drugstore, and the shop with the windows full of dresses,
pots and pans, and wooden toys. The women who passed by,
dressed  in  cotton  prints  and  wearing  hats  or  headscarves.
The faint smell of manure, and the feel of warm sun on his
face.  Joseph  pointed  out  local  landmarks:  the  movie
theater—showing  a  western  with  Errol  Flynn—the  high
school, an ugly statue of some guy on  a horse. Matt smiled
and  nodded  and  made  occasional  appreciative  comments,
but mostly he was watching the other man’s animated face,
appreciating  his  wide  shoulders  and  narrow  waist,  the
confident strides of his strong legs.

They ran out of downtown pretty quickly, but Matt

didn’t complain as Joseph continued to lead him onward,
past little houses with hollyhocks and chickens in their front
yards. They turned down an unpaved side street that was
really more of an alley, and then Joseph stopped in front of a
ramshackle building that might once have been a small barn
or a garage.

“Um, very scenic,” Matt said.
Joseph pried a few long splinters off the weathered trim.

“This was my Uncle Andy’s place. But he married some girl
from Valentine and moved out of state to run one of her
father’s feed supply stores. His old house burned down a few
years back, but his workshop’s still here. Nobody uses it.”

“Uh-huh.” A guy shouldn’t feel nervous in his own

dream, Matt told himself.

Joseph opened the unlocked door, its hinges creaking,

and preceded Matt inside. There were small holes in the roof
that allowed light to slant in, but there was nothing much to
look  at  aside  from  a  warped  workbench,  a  few  rusted
remains  of  tools,  and  a  lot  of  mouse  droppings.  Joseph
sauntered over to one corner and dug around in a pile of old
quilts,  smiling  when  he  achieved  his  goal.  Magazines,  Matt
saw  when  Joseph  held  them  up—Physique  Pictorial  and

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

Tomorrow’s Man, with covers featuring black-and-white
photos of muscle-bound men in togas and loincloths.

“Last year me and a couple of buddies went to Chicago,”

Joseph was saying, his cheeks darkened with a faint blush.
“Farthest I’ve ever gone. I found these at a newsstand near
the train station.”

Matt realized he was blushing too. “They look…

interesting.”

Joseph chewed that delectable bottom lip for a moment,

shifting his feet a little on the hard-packed dirt floor.
“You’re… you’re… one of them, ain’t you? That’s why you
ain’t fit for the army.”

Matt sighed. “Yeah, I’m gay.”
Joseph nodded a little and swallowed. “I think…

maybe… me too.”

Gay in rural Nebraska in 1942. Matt shuddered at the

thought.  No  way  the  poor  kid  could  come  out  to  his  family
the way Matt had, no way he could build up a retinue of gay
friends,  or  straight  ones  who  didn’t  give  a  crap  which  team
he  batted  for.  Even  if  he  moved  to  Chicago  or  New  York  or
San  Francisco,  Stonewall  was  a  generation  away,  and  he’d
be forced to live a life of innuendo and half-truths. In 1942,
he  would  get  fired  from  his  job  if  people  knew.  He  could  be
sent  to  prison  or  even  to  a  mental  hospital.  What  was  Matt
supposed to say to him? It gets better?

“That’s rough,” Matt finally said. “But it’s okay, you

know?”

Joseph’s answering smile was heartbreaking.
And then Matt had a thought. “Why don’t you tell the

draft board or whoever? Then you wouldn’t get sent away.”
To die, he almost added, but didn’t.

“But then everyone would know,” Joseph said sadly.

“My brothers would beat the shit out of me, Mom and Dad
wouldn’t talk to me anymore. My friends… everyone— I

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

can’t. And I can’t go nowhere. I’m just a farm boy. What
would I do with myself in a city?”

Matt had an inkling of what a lot of boys like Joseph

had done to survive when they’d fled to the cities. It wasn’t a
pretty scenario.

Joseph crouched to hide the magazines under the quilts

again,  and  when  he  stood  he  took  a  step  closer  to  Matt.
“Look. I’m gonna put on that uniform and do my duty. Make
my family proud. And if—when I come back, I’ll probably end
up  marrying  Betty  Halvorsen  ’cause  she’s  real  pretty  and
nice, and she figures I’m a gentleman ’cause I don’t feel her
up when we go to the movies. I’ll get a part-time job at Pete
Svoboda’s  garage  and  I’ll  help  out  on  the  farm  and…  and
maybe I’ll teach myself to be happy. Maybe I’ll even get that
vacation in California. Check out the beaches.”

“Joseph—” Matt began.
“But next week I’m going away and I ain’t never… you

know…  with  a  man,  and  I  probably  ain’t  ever  gonna  get
another  chance.  And  you’re…  God,  mister,  you’re  really
handsome.  Ain’t  ever  seen  nobody  like  you.  Can  we…  just
this one time…. Please?”

A small voice in Matt’s head protested that this was

wrong.  But  he  ignored  it.  Not  only  because  he  wanted
Joseph  very  badly—had  wanted  him  since  he  was  old
enough  to  realize  he  was  attracted  to  boys—but  this  was  a
dream,  not  real  life.  More  than  that,  though,  Joseph’s
handsome  face  was  hopeful  and  desperate.  And  Matt  knew
that the boy would probably never get another chance.

“Okay,” Matt said, and he couldn’t help matching

Joseph’s smile with his own.

Joseph grabbed Matt’s hand and tugged him closer to

the pile of quilts. And then his fingers were hovering near the
button of his jeans, obviously unsure what to do next. Matt
finally gave in to the temptation he’d been ignoring for so
long: he reached out and drew Joseph into an embrace,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

pulling the shorter man against him; bending his head a
little, Matt captured Joseph’s pretty mouth in a kiss.

Joseph tasted of maple syrup. His hair was short but

hadn’t yet been cut to military specs, and Matt threaded his
fingers through the dark strands. Joseph clutched at him
and made soft noises at the back of his throat, noises that
went straight to Matt’s groin.

“What do you want?” Matt said when they’d pulled apart

a little. “If you just want to make out, that’s okay, but if—”

“I want you… um… in me,” Joseph whispered. Matt

could feel the heat under those sharp cheeks. “’Cause I’ve
never…. Men do that, don’t they? Homosexuals? And it feels
good?”

Christ. “It feels fantastic. But only if you want it. We

could do other things, you know. Lots of things. And they
can be pretty goddamn nice too.”

Joseph bit at his lip again, probably considering what

those things might be, and then shook his head. “No.
Please.”

“Okay,” Matt said a little shakily. “But if you change

your mind and want me to stop—”

“I won’t.”
Matt smiled. His family was renowned for stubbornness.

It looked like Joseph had a good bit of that in him.

Matt kissed him again. He had to remind himself to slow

down, even though he was aware that he could wake up at
any time. It had been a very long dream already. But he
didn’t wake up, not yet, and they lingered at their kiss until
they were both breathless, until Matt’s cock was aching and
he felt Joseph’s answering hardness digging into his hip.

After they pulled apart, Joseph began to undress,

fumbling at the buttons of his shirt until he grew impatient
and just yanked the shirt and undershirt over his head. Matt
was a little more deliberate with his own clothing, but he
chuckled, remembering how frantic he’d been about sex

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

when  he  was  nineteen.  And,  Christ,  Joseph  was  a  virgin.  If
Matt’s  own  early  experiences  were  anything  to  go  by,  they
had  better  take  things  slowly  or  else  they’d  be  done  before
they began.

Joseph stood naked and a little shy, his chest moving

up and down quickly. He had only a light sprinkling of hairs
on his chest but a dark line leading from his belly to the nest
of  curls.  His  cut  cock  was  at  half-mast.  The  dappled  light
created golden patches on his skin, and as Matt watched, a
bead  of  sweat  dripped  between  Joseph’s  pecs.  Matt  hurried
his  own  undressing,  tossing  the  damn  tie  into  the  corner.
Joseph watched. When Matt was naked, he stood so Joseph
could get a good long look at his body, at his jutting cock.

“Oh,” Joseph said.
“Everything all right?”
“I ain’t never seen…. My brothers of course and the guys

in the locker room, but not… not like this.” He tilted his
head, clenched and unclenched his hands. “Can I touch?”

“Of course.”
The hands trailing down Matt’s chest were as calloused

as  he’d  imagined,  but  Joseph’s  handling  of  him  was
tentative,  tender.  One  palm  landed  on  Matt’s  hip  while  the
other wrapped itself around his shaft. He had to fight not to
buck  into  the  sweaty  grip.  “Can  I  touch  too?”  Matt  asked
quietly.

The answer was hoarse. “Yeah.”
They stood for some time, Joseph’s forehead against

Matt’s neck, feeling one another’s lengths. Joseph’s cock was
a little smaller than Matt’s but every bit as hard, and Joseph
gasped and jerked a little when Matt rubbed his thumb over
the slit. “Okay?” Matt asked.

“Yeah. It’s just…. It feels so different when it’s someone

else’s hand.”

Joseph’s sense of the newness of it all was almost

enough to make Matt come. He’d never caressed a shivering

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

virgin partner, not even when he himself was a virgin. In his
late  teens,  Matt  had  gone  for  guys  in  their  twenties,  guys
with the experience and confidence to show him what to do.
Now  he  supposed  he  was  one  of  those  guys,  and  it  was  a
heady realization, especially when he knew—but tried not to
acknowledge—that  for  Joseph  he  would  likely  be  the  only
guy.

Suddenly, Matt wanted to give the beautiful, youthful

body  the  worship  it  was  due.  He  dropped  to  his  knees—
thankfully,  onto  the  quilts—and  buried  his  face  in  Joseph’s
groin, inhaling the clean scent of Ivory soap and the pleasant
musk of sweat and lust and man.

“Are you gonna… gonna….” Joseph seemed afraid to ask

the whole question, afraid even to touch Matt with his
hands.

“If you want,” Matt answered, deliberately allowing his

breath to puff against the crease of Joseph’s leg.

“Jesus, yes!”
Matt chuckled and took Joseph’s cock in his hand

again, then slid the meaty head between his lips.

“Oh, God,” Joseph rasped, and he clutched at Matt’s

shoulders,  hard  fingers  digging  in  as  though  he  might  have
toppled  over  otherwise.  Matt  didn’t  mind  the  pain—and  he
wondered  if  he  could  form  bruises  in  his  sleep.  The  bit  of
pain made the scene seem even more real; so did the taste of
Joseph’s  slick  glans  on  his  tongue,  salty  and  smooth  and
feeling so fucking alive.

With his left hand keeping Joseph’s hips steady, Matt

crept the fingers of his right hand up the inside of Joseph’s
thigh. Joseph shifted his feet, widening his stance a little,
and moaned when his balls were cradled in Matt’s hand.
Matt rolled them around a bit and gave them a slight tug, all
the while working his lips and tongue along Joseph’s length.

“G-God,” Joseph stuttered. “That’s… that’s….” But

whatever he was going to say was lost in a sharp gasp when

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

Matt brushed one fingertip against his tight sphincter. Matt
was  going  to  ask  whether  it  was  all  right,  whether  the  boy
was  having  second  thoughts,  but  then  Joseph  spread  his
legs  even  more,  inviting  more  exploration,  and  Matt
supposed  that  was  answer  enough.  He  traced  gently  along
the  little  pucker,  feeling  it  twitch  under  his  touch,  hearing
Joseph’s breath come in harsh pants.

And then Joseph wrenched himself backward, away

from Matt’s mouth and hands. “You’d better….” He grinned
and blushed. “That was almost too good.”

At nineteen, Joseph could probably come and be ready

for action again within minutes. But Matt didn’t want to be
greedy, and he knew that somewhere a clock was ticking,
waiting to wake him to catch his flight to Oakland. “Okay.
But if you want me to fuck you, we’re gonna need something
for lube.”

Ice-blue eyes went very round, either at Matt’s blunt

language or at the reality of what was about to happen. But
Joseph nodded and dropped to the ground to dig under the
blankets again. Matt licked his lips at the round ass bobbing
so temptingly right in front of him. When Joseph knelt
upright again, he was clutching a squarish tin container.
“Bag Balm,” he announced. “I stole it from home to use when
I, um….”

“Flog the bishop?”
Joseph snorted a laugh. “Yeah. Will it work?”
Matt had once dated a serious bicyclist who competed in

occasional  road  races.  That  guy  smeared  Bag  Balm  on  his
ass and nuts before a long ride; he claimed it helped with the
chafing.  They'd  never  used  the  stuff  as  lube  since  it  was
incompatible with condoms, but Matt figured it would do the
trick  in  this  situation.  He’d  never  barebacked  before,  but
safe sex wasn’t necessary in a dream. “Sure.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

He got another of those thousand-watt grins, and then

Joseph dropped onto all fours and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Okay. You can do me now.”

“Not so fast, Jojo,” Matt said, squeezing a handful of

muscular glute and ignoring the glare resulting from his use
of the nickname. “We have a little prep work to do so I don’t
hurt you.”

“Prep?”
Christ, how little did this kid know? Matt squeezed

again, comfortingly this time. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

And his prophecy turned out to be true, as Matt worked

one  slick  finger  into  Joseph,  then  two,  then  three.  Joseph
stopped  clenching  against  the  intrusion  and  began  fucking
himself  on  Matt’s  fingers,  his  mouth  running  a  constant
litany  of  blasphemy  and  pleas.  But  only  when  Joseph’s
smooth  skin  was  covered  in  sweat  and  his  back  arched  in
pleasure  did  Matt  align  his  cock  against  the  boy’s  hungry
hole. “You sure?” he asked, not certain he could stop himself
if Joseph said no.

“Yes! Please!” Joseph nearly sobbed.
Slowly, almost teasingly, Matt pushed his way in.
He knew he was in a dream and wondered whether skin

against skin with no latex between really felt as good as this
did. Joseph’s channel was tight and silky, hot as a furnace.
Matt rocked his hips, just a little, watching his cock move in
and out of Joseph’s ass until the sight was too much for him
and  he  had  to  close  his  eyes.  But  that  didn’t  block  out  the
other sensations: the scents of rodents and wood and old oil,
the  sounds  of  their  bodies  moving  together  and  a  crow
cawing  softly  nearby,  the  feeling  of  smooth  skin  and  hard
muscles under his hands.

“Can I… can I touch myself?” Joseph’s voice was as

rough as gravel.

“You can do whatever you want,” Matt answered. But

before Joseph had a chance to shift his position, Matt

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

reached around the narrow waist and took the boy’s stiff
cock in his own hand.

Joseph immediately bucked into his grip, then pushed

his hips backward, impaling himself more fully on Matt. And
then his arms collapsed so that his head and shoulders were
digging into the quilts. Pistoning his hips faster, Matt bent
over the tanned back and licked the sweat from the knobby
spine.

Joseph shouted something, but the words were muffled

by  the  blankets.  Matt  probably  couldn’t  have  processed
language  just  then,  anyway—not  when  Joseph  began  to
shudder  beneath  him,  not  when  Joseph’s  inner  muscles
spasmed  and  clenched  him  even  more  tightly  than  before.
Matt  cried  out.  He  didn’t  quite  see  fireworks,  but  lights  did
flash  behind  his  clenched  lids  as  he  emptied  himself  into
Joseph.

Matt slumped over Joseph’s back for a few minutes as

they caught their breath, then he withdrew his softened cock
and  they  both  collapsed  to  their  sides,  facing  one  another.
He  couldn’t  help  a  small  chuckle  at  his  own  expense;  he
hadn’t  had  a  wet  dream  since  he  was  fifteen  years  old,  and
they  had  never  been  this  good  before.  Hell,  his  fully  awake
sex had never been this good before.

“Is something wrong?” Joseph asked. “Was I… was I

okay?”

Matt drew Joseph’s body flush against his. They were

both sweaty and sticky, streaked with dirt, smelling of spunk
and Bag Balm. “You were incredible. Really.” Matt kissed
Joseph’s shoulder. “Goddamn incredible.”

He couldn’t see Joseph’s face so close to his, but the boy

did a self-satisfied little wiggle and mouthed briefly at the
center of Matt’s chest. “It was. Thank you. If I’d never known
what— Well, thank you.”

“Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

They laughed together then, quiet sounds like music in

the  darkness  of  the  shed.  Then  they  subsided  into  silence,
and  Joseph  squirmed  around  so  Matt  was  spooned  against
his  backside.  God,  they  fit  together  so  well,  like  pieces  of  a
puzzle.

“Do you think you’ll pass through here again?” Joseph

whispered after a while.

Matt’s breath caught in his throat. “I don’t know.”
“’Cause if you do, and… and I’m not here… maybe you’ll

think about me, huh?”

“Jojo, I’m gonna be thinking about you every day for the

rest of my life.”

As answers went, it wasn’t enough, not for either of

them.  Matt  felt  the  yawning  cavern  of  loss  and  emptiness
that lay ahead of him, and even though Joseph was a dream,
he  thought  that  maybe  Joseph  felt  it  too.  But  that  promise
was  all  he  could  offer,  that  and  the  comfort  of  his  arms.  At
least he knew it was a promise he would keep.

FTER

Matt returned to Oakland, he tried to concentrate on

work.  The  new  assignment  was  a  step  up  from  the  usual.
Instead of slaving over cartoons to advertise a car dealership
or appliance store, Matt had been given the task of creating
an  animated  video  to  accompany  a  local  band.  The  Deeper
Souls  already  had  a  recording  contract  and  a  pretty  big
following in the Bay Area, but they wanted to upload a video
to  YouTube,  hoping  to  get  some  national  or  even
international  attention.  Maybe  somebody  at  Pixar  would
notice Matt’s drawings; even if they didn’t, the gig paid well,
which made his boss happy, and it was a hell of a lot more
interesting than making talking refrigerators.

So Matt took his work home most nights and begged off

on drinks with Vanessa or Paul and Enrique or any of his
other friends. He was too busy to be lonely, and if the star of

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

his cartoon-in-progress had short black hair and iceberg
eyes, who was going to complain?

It was late in the evening and he was taking a break,

considering heating a can of soup, when he was startled by a
knock on his door. He didn’t often get visitors and it was too
late for salesmen or Jehovah’s Witnesses. He padded to the
door and flung it open impatiently, only to discover a smug,
handsome, familiar face.

“Hi,” said Brandon. He wore tight jeans and a tighter

tee. A new tattoo was just visible beneath his left sleeve,
something involving twining vines.

“Hi,” Matt answered.
“Gonna let me in?”
Matt stepped back and waited for Brandon to enter the

apartment. Once inside, Brandon looked around, probably
cataloging the few changes since he’d been there eight
months before. “Looks like you’re busy.” He waved a hand at
the paper-crowded drafting table.

“Actually, yeah.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you want?”

Brandon glanced at a drawing and shrugged. “I missed

you.”

“Bran—”
Brandon prowled closer, a half smile on his handsome

face. He stopped well within Matt’s personal space and
pitched his voice low. “Haven’t you been missing me, baby?”
He was wearing a new cologne, something with sandalwood.
It made Matt’s nose itch.

“C’mon, Brandon. We’ve been through this already.

What I want—what I need—just isn’t what you want.”

“Monogamy. You want… what? A mortgage, white picket

fence. Maybe adopt a kid—or find some donor one of us can
knock up. Or, I don’t know. Buy a kid on fucking craigslist.
Is that what you’re looking for?”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“Maybe. Some of that, anyway.”
Brandon’s face twisted and he stepped away. “Why?

Why do you need all that shit? You had me, baby. We were
good together.”

“Not really.” Matt’s voice was calm, nonjudgmental. “If

we were so good together you wouldn’t have been fucking
other guys.”

“That was… nothing! Just fooling around, having a good

time. Nothing serious.”

“That’s the problem, Bran. It was nothing serious.”
“Look, maybe if we worked at it—”
“We’d just end up making each other miserable.” Matt

sighed. “You’re a great guy, Bran. And really hot. But the two
of us don’t match.” He wished he could say the rest of what
he was thinking, that he’d felt more passion, more of a
connection with the dream of a ghost than he'd ever had with
Brandon. But Brandon wouldn’t understand. Heck, Matt
wasn't sure even he understood.

“We don’t have to match, Matt. We’re not a fucking set

of dishes. We can just have fun.”

“But it isn’t fun anymore. Not for me.”
Brandon looked like he was going to argue some more,

so Matt grasped his shoulder and steered him back to the
door. “Good luck, Bran. Take care.” He closed and locked the
door between them before Brandon could respond.

When Matt was in college, he and a couple friends had

gone hiking. Miles from anywhere, Matt had fallen off a rock
and  dislocated  his  shoulder.  Luckily,  one  of  his  pals  was
training  to  be  a  nurse;  the  guy  had  taken  a  close  look  at
Matt,  who  was  in  agony,  decided  that  Matt  was  going  into
shock, and shifted the joint back into place. Now Matt stood
in  his  cluttered  little  living  room  and  smiled  to  himself,
because he felt exactly as he had on that hiking trail: a rush
of  terrible  pain  followed  by  immediate  relief.  Maybe  a  little
ache  afterward,  but  not  much.  He  and  Brandon  really  were

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

over, and Matt wasn’t just okay with that, he was happy. He
didn’t know when or if he’d ever find the man he was looking
for—if he’d ever fall in love with someone who wasn’t a
dream—but he didn’t feel the desperate need he once had.
He could be patient.

Aunt Violet’s photo album was conspicuous among the

art books and graphic novels on his bookshelf. Matt stared
at the leather spine for a few minutes, considered taking the
book down and opening it to his favorite page. But in the end
he headed for the kitchen and that can of noodle soup
instead.

BELLYFUL

of warm soup made Matt sleepy enough that he

decided to call it a night. He shut down his computer and got
ready for bed, yawning widely the entire time. He was asleep
minutes after his head the pillow.

The small village he was walking through must once

have been full of life, with a market in a small square, maybe
a fountain, where old men sat on benches and argued while
children shouted and kicked at balls. Now it was nothing but
rubble, the broken stones of the houses shining in the
moonlight like bleached bones.

Matt was wearing a faded green uniform. The fabric was

stiff with dried sweat and dirt, and his boots were heavy on
chafed feet. His footsteps should have echoed loudly, but
they seemed muffled, as if this place begrudged any signs of
life.

He turned the corner to find a man leaning up against

the  ruins  of  a  church,  smoking  a  cigarette.  Most  of  the
church’s  walls  were  intact  and  so  was  part  of  the  roof,
although  the  steeple  and  stained-glass  windows  had  been
destroyed. The man was wearing a uniform similar to Matt’s,
but  his  face  was  shadowed  by  his  round  helmet.  Matt
stopped several yards away.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“Sarge’ll have my balls if he finds out I fell asleep on

duty,” the man said in a familiar deep voice.

“But it’s my dream,” Matt responded. “Not yours.” He

came a few steps closer, then paused.

“Nah. You wouldn’t dream of this shithole. You’re sitting

pretty in California, eating oranges off the trees. Having
cocktails with Rita Hayworth and Cary Grant.”

“I dream of you all the time, Jojo.” He did. Although only

once before had the dream been this vivid.

“Nobody calls me that anymore. Only Violent, when she

writes me letters.” Joseph pushed his helmet farther back on
his head, allowing Matt to see the white flash of his smile.

“I thought you didn’t like that name.”
“Don’t. ’Cept when it’s you saying it.”
Joseph dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his

boot  heel.  Then  he  unbuckled  his  helmet  and  bent  to  set  it
on  the  cobbles  next  to  him;  he  carefully  placed  his  rifle
beside it. When he stood again, Matt finally had a clear view
of his face. Joseph looked much older, even though not more
than a year or so could have passed. New lines had settled in
around his mouth, and his eyes had gone flat and reflective,
like  a  sheet  of  ice  over  a  lake.  His  hair  had  grown,  too,  so
now  it  was  almost  as  long  as  Matt’s.  But  it  was  greasy  and
dirty, pressed oddly from the helmet. Joseph’s face was dirty,
too, showing grime where a tan had once been. It must have
been  a  long  time  since  he’d  had  the  opportunity  to  bathe,
Matt thought.

“I think about you,” Joseph said quietly. “That morning

in Uncle Andy’s shed. Think about it all the time, ’specially
when things are… bad….” His voice drifted away.

Matt swallowed. He didn’t want to know what kinds of

bad Joseph had been through. “It was a good morning. The
best,” he said.

“Yeah. I ain’t…. The other fellas, they find girls

sometimes. Tried it once—didn’t take. I guess there’s boys,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

too, when you know where to look, but I ain’t been looking.
Wouldn’t be… as sweet.”

Closing the last few feet between them, Matt put his

hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “How’ve you been, Jojo?”

But Joseph just narrowed his eyes. “Stupid goddamn

dream. I know you can’t really wear that uniform.”

“You could still get out of wearing yours. If you told

them—”

“Ain’t gonna tell anybody.” He laughed hollowly and

turned slightly away. “Betty Halvorsen got married a few
months back. Guess she got tired of waiting for me.”

“I’d wait for you.”
When Joseph didn’t react, Matt pulled him closer and

nuzzled the crook of his neck. He smelled like smoke. “God, I
miss you,” Matt said. “You’re not even real and I miss you so
much.”

“Hey! You’re the figment, mister.” Despite his bit of

bluster, Joseph melted against Matt’s body. Joseph felt more
frail than he had in the shed. Vulnerable.

But he was strong enough to pull away slightly and then

jerk  his  head  toward  the  battered  church  door.  “Seventeen
grunts  in  there,  snoring  away.  If  I’m  lucky  enough  to  be
having this dream, I don’t want to dream about waking them
up.  C’mere.”  He  grabbed  Matt’s  hand,  and  Matt  allowed
himself to be towed away, down the broken street, around a
corner,  and  into  what  had  once  been  a  narrow  street
between shops. Now the street was choked with debris, but
Joseph  picked  his  way  through  despite  the  darkness;  he
either  had  better  night  vision  than  Matt  or  had  more
experience finding his way through wreckage. He led them to
a  small  clear  spot.  “Guess  we’ll  be  okay  here,  for  a  few
minutes, at least. Then I gotta wake up. Wouldn’t wanna be
snoozing if Jerry dropped in for a visit.”

Maybe he was going to say more, but Matt didn’t let

him. Instead, he swooped in for a tobacco-flavored kiss.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

Joseph’s lips were as soft as ever, as deliciously giving when
Matt nibbled at them.

“Fuck!” Joseph gasped when their lips parted. “You

don’t know how bad it is with all these other guys around all
the time. Can’t even jerk off in peace. Only place I have to
myself is in my head.”

Matt nuzzled at him again, thinking that solitude wasn’t

so great all the time, either, not when body and soul pined
for someone you couldn’t have.

“I know why I’m dreaming about you tonight,” Joseph

said a little breathlessly.

“Why?”
“I got a letter from Violent the other day. She writes me

pretty often, which is really nice. I mean, sometimes it kinda
hurts when I’m sitting here and reading about all the normal
stuff going on so far away, but it’s a good hurt, you know?”

“You’re homesick.”
“God, yes. But it’s also good to know that… whatever’s

happening here, back home Mom’s winning a ribbon at the
fair for her corn relish and my niece Annie is getting over the
chicken pox and… all that stuff. Makes me feel that what…
what I’m doing here, that it’s worth it. That there’s a reason.”

“It reminds you that you’re helping keep them safe,”

Matt  said,  and  Joseph  nodded  against  his  shoulder.  Matt
squeezed  him  tight  and  remembered  what  Aunt  Violet  had
told  him  about  wartime.  “They’re  thinking  about  you,  you
know. Every damn day.”

Joseph nodded again and sniffed a little. “I’m not gonna

fucking cry in my sleep.” He sniffed again and tilted his
head, his face close enough that even in the dark Matt could
see the shine of his eyes. “Anyway, this last letter from
Violent, it was kinda weird.”

“Weird?”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“Yeah. She said she’d been real sick, but she wasn’t

anymore. Maybe she was still kinda weak ’cause her
handwriting was all shaky and wobbly, like an old lady’s.”

A shiver ran up Matt’s spine. He remembered that

handwriting, how it sent him good wishes every year on his
birthday—accompanied by a ten-dollar bill and, when he got
older, newspaper clippings about safe-sex practices.

But Joseph was continuing to talk about his letter. “And

she  said  some  weird  stuff  too.  That  everyone  back  home
loves  me  and  everyone’s  thinking  about  me—just  like  you
said—and  that  I’m  brave  and…  shit  like  that.  And  she  also
wrote… she said she had a special present for me.  Told me
she’d given this present to me once before and would again,
and that if I concentrated real hard right… right when things
get  really,  really  bad,  I  could  have  it  one  last  time.  Don’t
know what the hell she means. Maybe she had a fever.”

Matt felt a little light-headed, which was strange. He’d

never felt dizzy in a dream before. He tried to keep his voice
even. “She wants you to be happy.”

“She always has. I think… sometimes I think she knows

that  I’m…  you  know.  Not  normal.  She  ain’t  never  said
anything  about  it,  but  she'd  give  me  these  looks
sometimes….”  Joseph  sighed.  “Anyway,  she  might’ve  been
out  of  her  mind  when  she  wrote  that  letter,  but  I’m  gonna
remember  what  she  said.  And  if  I  get….  Oh,  fuck.  I’ve  seen
so many guys hurt bad, dying. When it’s my turn, I’m gonna
remember  Violent’s  promise  and  I’m  gonna  remember  you,
and that’s gonna make it all right.”

Matt wasn’t going to cry in his dream, either. Instead,

he  kissed  Joseph  again.  Tenderly  at  first,  but  soon  his
hunger  grew.  Joseph’s,  too,  because  he  grabbed  Matt’s  ass
with  both  hands.  Matt  threaded  his  fingers  into  Joseph’s
hair  and  held  on,  and  then  they  were  grinding  their  hips
together and moaning into one another’s mouths.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

Matt had never been so very aroused so quickly. He and

Joseph  fumbled  at  belt  buckles  and  buttons  and  zippers.
There was no space for the kind of coupling they’d had back
in Nebraska, and anyway, neither of them had the patience
for  that  right  now.  As  soon  as  their  pants  and  boxers  were
pushed down their thighs, they crashed together again, Matt
wrapping  his  long  artist’s  fingers  around  their  cocks  while
Joseph  fucked  his  mouth  with  his  tongue.  Matt  pushed
against  Joseph’s  shoulders  with  his  free  hand,  so  that
Joseph  was  slammed  back  into  a  wall.  It  probably  would
have  hurt,  if  Joseph  had  been  paying  attention.  He’d
probably  have  scratches  and  bruises  on  his  ass  in  the
morning.  And  although  the  small  part  of  Matt’s  brain  that
remained  rational  knew  that  the  other  man  wasn’t  real,  he
still  felt  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  knowing  that  Joseph  would
have a physical reminder of him the next day.

Joseph’s fingers were digging into Matt’s ass-cheeks,

and their cocks slid together wetly from precome. The need
for friction, for just a little bit more, was driving Matt crazy.

There was nothing romantic about their ruined little

street. Shattered red roof tiles and splintered furniture lay
strewn about, the detritus of broken homes and broken lives.
The reek of blood and decay stained their uniforms, poisoned
the air. But it didn’t matter, for a few minutes it just didn’t
matter, because the two men who rutted and groaned and
writhed against each other were alive.

Chest against panting chest, bodies so close Matt could

hardly tell where one ended and the other began, they
rocked their hips and clenched their muscles. Just for those
few stolen moments they tried to crawl into one another’s
skin, to unite, to escape misery and pain and loneliness with
a shared taste of ecstasy.

Matt couldn’t even tell which of them came first.
Afterward, they leaned shuddering against each other

until their hearts and lungs slowed. When they pulled apart,
Matt brought his hand to his mouth—fingers and palm

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

sticky with their spend—and slowly, deliberately, licked it
clean. Joseph watched, wide-eyed.

They didn’t speak as they tucked themselves back into

their  pants  and  refastened  everything.  Joseph  led  them  out
of  the  tiny  street  and  back  to  the  ruined  church.  He  pulled
out  a  cigarette  and  a  lighter  and  took  a  few  puffs,  then
picked  up  his  helmet  and  set  it  on  his  head.  He  slung  his
rifle strap over his shoulder. “I gotta wake up now,” he said.

“I don’t. I can… I can stay here and maybe if

something… if you—”

Joseph shook his head. “Nah. You belong back with the

palm trees and Rolls Royces and sandy beaches. You don’t
belong here.”

Matt knew he was right, but still he said, “Neither do

you.”

A tiny curl of lips, just the ghost of a smile. “So next

time we do this, I’ll dream us in California, okay?”

ATT

woke up with the taste of ashes in his mouth and the

scent of smoke on his skin. Dried semen flaked on his belly
and in his pubic hair, making him itch. And when he padded
into the bathroom to shower it all away, he caught a glimpse
of his naked self in the mirror, and there were fingerprint-
shaped bruises on his hips.

He brooded over that for a few days.
His mother was on one of her cruises, seven days of all-

you-can-eat and origami towels on the bed and the company
of her best friend, who shared her affinity for the seven seas.
She called Matt the day after she returned and told him
about how she’d parasailed in Cabo and bought earrings in
Puerto Vallarta and even considered smuggling an extra
bottle of Don Julio back into the States but chickened out.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“That’s good, Mom, ’cause if you end up in a Mexican

jail, I’m not bailing you out.”

“Pfft. I’d only have to pay a fine.” She sounded happy,

relaxed. “How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m good. Hey Mom? Is there, um, any history of mental

illness in the family?”

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the margaritas, but

she wasn’t alarmed. “Not really. Even your father’s side has
their feet pretty firmly on the ground. Why? Were you
planning a psychotic break?”

“I hope not. But… no delusions?” No dreams so real the

dreamer wakes up sticky and sore?

“Mmm, no. Your father thought he could make a fortune

in the stock market, but I think that was just stupidity, not
insanity. Why the sudden concern with mental health,
Matty?”

“It’s nothing. I just… I had a couple of weird dreams

with Aunt Violent in them—uh, Violet—and—”

But his mother was laughing. “That was her nickname

when she was a girl. Did she tell you that? All her brothers
and cousins used to call her that. She said it used to drive
her to distraction.”

“Oh.” He glanced across the room toward the bookshelf.

“Just a slip of the tongue, I guess.”

“Well, maybe she wouldn’t have minded if you’d called

her that. You were her favorite relative—she told me so
herself. ‘Such a nice boy. So sweet and thoughtful.’”

“That’s great, Mom. Nothing a guy likes to hear more

than that the geriatric crowd thinks he’s nice.”

She made an impatient little noise, and he smiled,

picturing the exact look of fond irritation she’d have on her
face. Nobody else in the whole world made that face at him.
“Don’t be a brat,” she said. “She cared about you. Even when

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

she was so sick, there at the end, she was worried about
you. You needed someone to love, she said.”

“Least she didn’t try to fix me up with Carl the gardener

again.”

He could tell when his mother laughed despite herself.

“That really was awful, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, honey. We were
trying to be helpful and supportive.”

“I know. Thanks. I guess.”
“Well, you should probably be thankful that Aunt Violet

was bedridden at the end. She told me she planned to make
sure you found the right man. Not that Brandon.”

“Brandon’s ancient history,” he said, but his voice

sounded far away, like it was someone else’s. “Hey Mom? I
gotta go, okay?”

“Impending hallucination?”
“Maybe. Aren’t you worried about me?”
“You’re an artist, dear. You’ve always had an active

imagination. I’m not worried.”

After the call disconnected, Matt spent several minutes

standing  in  the  middle  of  his  living  room,  which  seemed  to
be  pitching  from  side  to  side,  as  if  he  were  on  his  mother’s
cruise  ship  during  a  storm.  “Aunt  Violent,”  he  finally
whispered.  Then  he  made  his  way—carefully—across  the
room and pulled the photo album from the shelf. He took the
book to his drafting table and opened it to the only page that
mattered.  There  was  Joseph,  young  and  serious  in  his
brand-new uniform. Did he look like a guy who’d had sex in
a shed a few days earlier? Matt couldn’t tell.

He sat down and picked up a pencil, then opened his

sketchbook  to  a  blank  page.  He  did  a  lot  of  his  work  on
computers,  of  course,  but  he  always  began  a  project  with
old-fashioned  graphite  and  wood  pulp.  His  muse  seemed  to
like that better.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

He didn’t have to look at the photo to draw the sharp

cheekbones  and  square  jaw,  the  slightly  crooked  nose,  the
full  lips.  In  any  case,  the  photo  was  no  longer  quite  right,
and the Joseph that he created on paper had long dirty hair
and  a  grime-smudged  face.  He  had  tired  circles  under  his
eyes and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
His  uniform  had  long  since  lost  its  pleats,  and  those
smudges on his chest and legs—smudges formed by the edge
of  Matt’s  pencil—they  might  have  been  mud  or  might  have
been something worse.

But this Joseph wasn’t leaning up against a wrecked

church. Instead, he sat on an Ikea couch in an Oakland
apartment, with a shelf full of art books behind him and a
bottle of Fat Tire in his hand. And despite the cigarette, his
lips were slightly curled. Just the beginning of a smile, as if
he were in the process of discovering something wonderful.

Matt put the pencil down and went to bed.

ATT

had never been a fan of war movies, but Brandon had

once talked him into watching Saving Private Ryan on DVD.

Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks and a forty-inch flat-screen
TV had done nothing to prepare him for waves that washed
red on the long beach, or the smell of gasoline and hot metal
and thick smoke, or the roaring of engines and shouting of
men, the startling bursts of machine guns and artillery. And
the bodies that were slumped on the sand or floating in the
shallows, those weren’t extras who would get up at the end
of the day and change back to jeans and T-shirts and drive
home for dinner; they were real people, real corpses.

He stumbled unevenly across the damp beach, the sand

giving beneath his boots. He suspected he should probably
find some kind of shelter to cower behind, to avoid the flying
bullets and shrieking shells, but that would only slow him
down, and he didn’t know how long he had.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

His heart stuttered in his chest when he came across a

broad-shouldered  man  sprawled  prone  on  the  sand,
facedown  in  a  puddle,  dark  hair  flecked  with  debris.  The
man’s hands were trapped under his torso and his uniform
was wet. He still wore a life belt around his waist—little good
it  had  done  him—and  his  gun  was  lying  at  his  side.  But
when  Matt  gently  turned  the  body  over,  the  sightless  eyes
were brown instead of blue, the face unfamiliar.

Matt’s relief left him feeling light-headed and guilty. This

dead  man  was  someone’s  son.  Maybe  a  brother,  a  lover,  a
father. He’d never again laugh over a dirty joke or listen to a
baseball  game,  get  sweaty  mowing  the  lawn,  whisper  in  his
girl’s ear. Thousands of miles away, people’s lives were going
to  be  shattered  when  they  learned  of  his  death,  and  then
he’d be just another fading photo. But he wasn’t Joseph, and
so Matt was glad.

He couldn’t tell how long he searched—it seemed like

forever—and still the battle raged around him and men died.
Nobody  paid  him  any  attention,  but  he  guessed  that  under
the  circumstances,  anyone  who  wasn’t  trying  to  kill  you  or
didn’t need to be killed by you didn’t much matter.

Eventually he found his way to a rough field hospital,

up where the sand turned to small stones. A few small tents
had  been  erected,  but  most  of  the  patients  seemed  to  be
arranged  on  the  ground  outside.  The  stink  here  was
terrible—blood  and  piss  and  shit  and  scorched  flesh—and
the sounds even worse: moans, screams, sobs, pleas.

When Matt finally found the object of his search, he

collapsed to his knees.

Joseph was lying on a stretcher. Someone had wrapped

cloth  around  his  leg  and  ripped  open  his  shirt  to  bandage
the  mess  there,  but  dark  blood  had  already  saturated  the
white  gauze  and  nobody  was  tending  to  him.  The
experienced  medics  must  have  abandoned  him  in  favor  of
patients they might actually have some hope of saving.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

Joseph smiled up at Matt, red staining his teeth. “Was

thinking… of you,” he said in a voice as thin and fragile as
tissue paper. Every rattling breath was clearly a great effort.

“Jojo,” Matt groaned and moved a lock of hair from his

lover’s face.

“It’s okay… doesn’t hurt. Can’t… feel anything.”
Matt’s eyes burned, and his throat clenched with the

effort  not  to  cry.  He  looked  at  the  awkward  way  Joseph’s
unmoving  hands  were  curled  and  decided  to  keep  touching
Joseph’s  face,  tiny  little  strokes  of  his  fingertips,  as  if  they
could smooth injuries away. “God, Jojo.”

Joseph was still smiling. “Finally… made it to… the

beach…. But it’s still… Omaha.” His laugh sounded too
much like a death rattle.

“I love you, Jojo. You know that, don’t you? I don’t know

how… how the hell all this…. But I love you.”

“Good.” Joseph exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, and

for a moment Matt didn’t expect him to inhale again. But he
did and his lids fluttered open, his irises so startlingly light
against the dirt and blood on his skin. “Me too…. Good old…
Violent.”

When you’re dying on a cold beach very far from home,

the impossible becomes fully plausible. And when it’s the
man you love who’s dying right in front of you, you can
believe in anything.

“Violent gave me a present too,” Matt said. “I plan to

keep mine.”

Joseph tried to smile, but his breath caught and his

shoulders shuddered. His eyes went very, very wide.

Matt wound long black hair around his fingers and

hung on tight. “Stay with me, Jojo. Stick with me.” He made
his voice very firm, as if he were an officer barking
commands. “Stick with me.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“…’kay…” came the answer, just a whisper of a syllable

on his very last breath.

ATT

woke up in his bed in Oakland with hot tears in his

eyes. He didn’t want to wake up, not yet; he wanted just a
few more moments with his Joseph. Maybe if he burrowed
under the covers and—

A startled shout almost sent him tumbling off the bed.
Joseph was kneeling on the other side of the mattress,

gasping in shock. He wore the tattered, dirty remains of his
uniform, but his body was whole. Matt reached out
tentatively to touch his chest. Joseph was alive and
wonderfully, undeniably real.

“W-w-what the

fuck?” cried Joseph.

Matt couldn’t find the words to respond, so he simply

threw his arms around him and held him close.

“Is… is this heaven?” Joseph whispered.
Matt couldn’t help but laugh, remembering that scene

in Field of Dreams. “No. It’s California.” God, Joseph was so
solid in his embrace, so warm and good.

“But… I was…. How…?”
How could Matt explain when he really didn’t

understand himself? “I love you, and Aunt Violent gave us a
present, and… and you’re safe now. ’Cause I’m not letting
you go.”

Maybe Joseph liked that sentiment, because he

clutched Matt just as hard as Matt held him and he hid his
face against Matt’s neck. He was crying, but then so was
Matt, and that was all right. It was a good time for tears.

When their sobs died down, they pulled apart, and Matt

rubbed a little at the tearstains on Joseph’s cheek.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

“Is this…. Am I dreaming?” Joseph asked, his gaze

darting around Matt’s bedroom, taking in the TV screen, the
iPhone dock with the digital clock, the framed prints of some
of Matt’s drawings.

Matt knew there would be long and complicated

explanations:  to  Joseph,  to  Matt’s  mom,  to  the  authorities
who issued paperwork, to everyone. He had no idea how he’d
get through all of that. And Joseph was going to have a hard
road  ahead  of  him,  adjusting  to  the  fact  that  everyone  he’d
known was long gone, that he was in an unfamiliar city in an
unfamiliar  time,  a  time  when  everyday  technology  was
beyond  his  wildest  imagination.  But  he  had  good  surprises
waiting for him too: his war was over, the bad guys defeated.
He  had  a  world  of  choices  ahead  of  him  now,  choices  he’d
never  had  back  on  the  farm.  He  could  go  to  college  if  he
wanted  to.  He  could  be  open  about  being  gay,  and  while
some  threats  and  hatred  remained,  most  people  would  just
take it in stride. And Matt would be there with him the whole
time, loving him.

Maybe Joseph sensed some of what Matt was thinking,

because while his eyes remained a little wild, he grabbed
Matt’s hand and squeezed it tightly, a hint of a smile
beginning to form at the corners of his mouth.

“No more dreaming now, Jojo,” said Matt with an

answering grin. “Thanks to Aunt Violent, we’re finally both
wide awake.”

About the Author

IELDING

is very pleased every time someone calls her

eclectic. She has migrated back and forth across the western
two-thirds  of  the  United  States  and  currently  lives  in
California,  where  she  long  ago  ran  out  of  bookshelf  space.
She’s  a  university  professor  who  dreams  of  being  able  to
travel  and  write  full-time.  She  also  dreams  of  having  two
perfectly  behaved  children,  a  husband  who  isn’t  obsessed
with  football,  and  a  house  that  cleans  itself.  Some  dreams
are more easily obtained than others.

Kim can be found on her blogs:

http://kfieldingwrites.blogspot.com/

and

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fie
lding/blog

and on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Kim-
Fielding/286938444652579

Her e-mail is

dephalqu@yahoo.com

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Catt Ford

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America
June 2012

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-652-5

Document Outline