Hank whips his head around to look at what he thinks is ayoung man leaning on a pair of crutches.  His peripheral vision has played a trick on him, however, and when he looks at him directly, he can see that the kid is leaning on the metal frame of a backpack, and not crutches. Having turned to look, it is the kid’s eyes that hold his attention.  They are dark and almost animal-like, darting back and forth, as if he is on the lookout for a predator, or maybe even for prey.  Hank initially thinks he reminds him of a wolf, but there is a frightened vulnerability about him that also suggests a deer that has wandered out of the woods and now finds itself in a very unfamiliar environment.

The second thing Hank notices is that the kid is soaking wet. His wet clothes cling to his body and his dark wet hair is matted against his head.  He has sort of olive colored skin and what Hank judges to be a gentle face.  His wet blue jeans stick to his legs and reveal a compact and well proportioned body.  Hank wonders how long he has been out in the rain.  Even his backpack looks as if it is soaked through and heavy with water.  Standing in the checkout line waiting for his groceries to be rung up, Hank tries to catch his gaze, but the young man’s eyes never seem to light in any one place for more than an instant. 

The kid is standing by the automatic doors that lead out of the store, and Hank wonders if he is waiting for someone, or if he has just come inside to get warm.  He doesn’t appear to have come in to go shopping. Hank finds himself staring at him, and wondering what had brought him to Jackson Hole.  He is pretty sure that he is not a local resident.  His backpack suggests transience, and Hank wonders if he is part of the first wave of twenty-something ski-bums who show up about this time every year to make some money as lift operators and ski instructors and bar-tenders during the busy winter season.  Somehow, this guy doesn’t quite fit the mold.  As so often happens with Hank, his mind wanders and he finds himself starting to make up a story about this guy in his head, and he is startled when the clerk behind the cash register asks him how he wants to pay for his groceries.

The Albertson’s grocery store is usually Hank’s first stop on the way to the house from the airport when he arrives in Jackson Hole each November, but he had arrived so late the night before that the store was already closed, and he’d had to defer his shopping until this morning.  He’d flown from Provincetown to Boston to Denver to Jackson, and had faced weather delays at every stop along the way.  It had been a miserable day of travel, and he had been half hung-over from the Halloween party he’d hosted the night before he left.  When he finally made it to the house after midnight he’d collapsed into bed and fallen fast asleep.  This morning another drenching rain is soaking the valley and the mountains are completely covered by the clouds.  The weather in November is always unpredictable here, and while there has already been some snow in October, the temperature today is in the upper 40s.  According to the guy on the radio, this rain is supposed to be the last of a big pocket of moisture moving from west to east, and it is supposed to clear out overnight and be followed by colder clear weather and some sunshine.  Hank looks forward to his first glimpse of the mountains.  It is disappointing to arrive in Jackson and not be able to see them.

As Hank approaches the automatic doors with his shopping cart, the kid is still standing there.  Hank decides to venture a conversation, hoping to find out something more about him.  “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” Hank asks. The kid looks directly at Hank and neither of them speaks.  Hank again experiences the intensity of his eyes as the two men stare at each other in silence.  Hank grows increasingly uncomfortable but finds he can’t pull himself away. 

Finally, the kid speaks.  “No.  Thanks.  I’ll be all right.” Hank thinks that is an odd reply—one that sort of suggests that he won’t be all right or at least that the issue of being all right is in play.  For a moment Hank wonders if he is a runaway, but decides he is too old—he guesses he must be in his early twenties at least.  But maybe he is on the run from something? Hank keeps turning it over in his mind as he walks out into the rain.  He found the boy kind of haunting, and he has a hard time explaining that feeling or what caused it.  Never mind, he thinks, and tries to dismiss him from his thoughts. 

For the last several years Hank has spent the months of November and December in Jackson Hole in a house that is owned by his publisher.  Those two months are about as off-season as you can get in this town and Hank likes the solitude.  It is usually productive writing time for him, and after the crush of people in Provincetown during the summer, he longs for the quiet.  He also longs for the mountains.  He has settled into a routine that he enjoys—the summer and early fall on Cape Cod, late fall in Wyoming, and winter and spring in New York City, where he teaches a second-semester writing class at NYU.  The house his publisher owns in Jackson Hole is up by the Spring Creek Ranch resort, about ten minutes out of town, and is set up on top of a butte amidst a handful of other very high-end vacation homes.  It is more house than he needs, but he enjoys having the whole place to himself.  The thing that makes the house special for Hank is the fact that it commands amazing views of the Grand Tetons across the valley.  Hank likes waking up with the mountains right outside his window.  He has seen lots of mountains in his life, but the Tetons, more than any others, move him and fill him with a sense of awe even now after all these years. 

This morning is dedicated to knocking out his errands so that he can return to the house and not have to leave for several days.  He keeps a post office box in the town of Jackson to which he forwards his mail while he is in town.  He has to stop by the post office and let them know he is in town, and clean out the stray junk mail that will have accumulated since last year. He also has to stop at the hardware store and pick up a new snow shovel—he has learned to always carry a snow-shovel in the back of his car in Jackson Hole.  Last year they had nineteen inches of snow in October before he even arrived and he’d had to shovel his way to the front door just to get into the house the first time.  He is driving a brand new Jeep Cherokee that he is leasing from a local rental office for the two months he is in town.  He will be flying back to New York in time to attend his sister’s annual New Year’s Eve party, but he doesn’t intend to leave Jackson between now and then.

After completing his errands, Hank is looking forward to getting settled in the house and maybe even starting work on a new story—maybe even a story about the kid in the grocery store.  As he drives out of the town of Jackson he keeps thinking about him.  He has left a strong impression on Hank, and Hank has a hard time clearing him out of his mind.  Hank tries to imagine his circumstances.  One of his favorite games is to pick out a person on the street and try to fully imagine a life for that person.  This process of invention often leads him to a story, but just as often it ends in frustration.  He always experiences it as a personal failure when he can’t come up with a satisfactory life for someone, but it is always a worthwhile and challenging exercise, and it is one that he uses often with his writing students at NYU.  

Hank is just about to pull onto Route 22 to head up the mountain to Spring Creek when he sees the kid again.  He is standing by the side of the road, in the rain, with his thumb out.  The temptation is too great to resist, and Hank slams on the brakes and pulls his rented jeep over to the side of the road.  His heart is racing.  He watches in the rear view mirror as the kid comes running up to the car.  Hank swings the door open.  “Hop in! Throw your pack in the back!”  Hank is trying to do his best Marlboro Man with flannel shirt and jeans and a mustache and two days of beard growth impersonation. Without even really thinking about it, and for reasons he would be hard-pressed to explain even to himself, he is trying as best he can to disguise his true identity as a New York City/Provincetown homosexual.  Wyoming is so straight, he always finds himself slipping into playing a straight man when he is here. Maybe it has something to do with Matthew Shepard, and the horrible way he died tied to that fence by the side of the road.  In any event he doesn’t want his homosexuality spilling over in the front seat while he is picking up hitchhikers. The kid starts to climb in and then he stops, recognizing Hank from the grocery store.  “Come on!  Hop in!  It’s pouring rain!” Hank yells at him this time and he responds.

The kid climbs up into the passenger seat tentatively, throwing his pack in the back seat.  “Uh, thanks.” 

“I’m Hank,” Hank announces, holding out his hand. “We’ve sort of already met.”

“Yeah.  I’m Jeremy.”  He shakes Hank’s hand timidly.  The kid’s voice is soft and raspy, as if he might have a cold, or he might just be scared.  Hank tries to place his accent but can’t.  It almost sounds southern.

“You’re wet.”  Hank is trying to sound relaxed, but in fact he is scared. 

“Yup.”  Hank is struck again by how good looking this kid is.  He is lean, almost skinny, but wiry and solid.  His face is weathered a ruddy color from sun and wind.    The car seems to steam up with the possibility of sex.

“Where are you trying to get to?”  Hank has pulled out onto the road.  He is kind of surprised that Jeremy has jumped into the car without negotiating a destination first.

“Denver.”

“Denver?  This isn’t the road to Denver.”

“I was afraid of that.”  Jeremy looks around for his pack, as if he is going to bolt.  Hank holds his breath.  He doesn’t want to lose him just yet.

“I’m heading up the mountain here.  You interested in getting out of the rain for a bit and drying off?”  There is a long silence before Jeremy speaks.

“Sure.”  He speaks so softly that Hank can barely hear him. Hank lets out a sigh of relief.  He doesn’t know where this is going, but he wants to find out.

“You been on the road long?” Hank asks, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Where you coming from?”

“Alaska.”

“Alaska?  Wow.”  Hank is genuinely impressed.

“I was teaching up there.  Left in June.  Been working my way down ever since.”  There is a charged silence in the car and neither of them speak for a few minutes.  Hank doesn’t want to say anything to spook him. Finally, Jeremy continues.  “You live here?  In Jackson?”

“Staying here.  House up the hill.”  The conversation is stilted and awkward, as if they are on a first date.

“Cool.”  They are both play-acting confidence, but in fact they are both scared, and there is a certain manly bravado that arises out of that fear.  With Jeremy sitting in his front seat Hank is suddenly very self-conscious about his age and his body.  Hank is forty-two, and fit.  He isn’t looking for a boyfriend and he isn’t even really looking for sex—there has been plenty of that in Provincetown—but somehow in the course of running his morning errands, he’s managed to pick up a kid who is almost half his age.  Jackson Hole is supposed to be a respite for him from this sort of thing.  It is supposed to be a time to be alone.  He almost regrets pulling the car over for the kid, but now he needs to know what is going to happen next—he needs to know how the story will end.  Hank is uncomfortable with the silence, so he starts asking more questions.

“Where in Alaska?”

“Up on the Yukon River delta, up above Bethel?  Do you know Alaska?”

“Not really.”

“Small Eskimo village up there.  Pretty far out in the bush.  Only about 400 people in the town.”

“Wow.”  Hank is doubly impressed. After living in New York City for so many years, he thinks of Provincetown and Jackson Hole as small towns.  He can’t imagine living in an Eskimo village.  “How long were you there?”

“Two years.  I went up right after I graduated from college. This is the first time I’ve been back to the lower forty-eight.”  That would explain some of his deer in the headlights look Hank thinks.  And some of his intensity.  Hank respects extremes of all sorts.

“Does it seem weird to be back?”

“Kind of.  I’ve been trying to ease back in slowly.  It’s taken me almost five months just to get this far.”

“What made you go up there?”

“I dunno.  I was looking for an adventure I guess.  Was looking to get away…”  His voice trails off.

“Well you certainly got away.”  Hank is afraid that his homosexuality is creeping back into his voice.  “Did you like it?”

“Yeah.  It was…it’s hard to describe.  The people I met were great for the most part.  But there’s a lot of problems up there.  Drinking. Suicide.  Poverty.  It’s beautiful country, but there’s a lot of problems. Some of the kids…it’s hard…seems like they don’t have much of a chance.”  Jeremy sounds sad, but Hank feels that finally the ice has finally been broken. Jeremy is talking. 

“What was the hardest part about being up there?”

“The hardest?  The winter darkness I guess.  Where I was, in December, we would barely have a couple of hours of dusky light.  In June it was light all night, but in the winter, it kind of got to you.”

“What made you decide to leave?”

“It was time I guess.  I wanted to do something else.  I might go back some day.  There’s other things I want to see.  Other things I want to do.  And it was kind of isolating.  I was looking for that at first, but not now.”  Hank is pulling into the driveway of the house and it is still pouring rain.

“You want to give me a hand getting these groceries into the house?”

“Sure.” 

It is cold and it is wet and it feels as if the temperature is dropping.  Hank has stocked up on staples for the season while he was at Albertson’s and it takes them several trips to get everything inside.  By the time they are finished Hank is nearly as wet as Jeremy, and they are both shivering.  Hank walks into the front room and turns up the heat.  “I’m going to light a fire.  You should get out of those wet clothes.  You want to shower?”

“Um.” Jeremy is tentative, and seems to be weighing his options.  His body stiffens, and he stands in the doorway on red alert.  He reminds Hank again of a deer—an animal alert to every possible danger just before it takes off crashing into the woods at the sound of a human footfall nearby.

“I don’t bite.  I promise.”  Hank knows that is a ridiculous thing to say.  He is trying to sound harmless.  He wants Jeremy’s confidence. “You look like you could use a hot shower.”

“OK.  Sure.  That would be great.”  Jeremy seems at last to decide in favor of Hank, and Hank is relieved.    

“You can do your laundry too if you’d like.” 

“Thanks.  I think everything I own is dirty and wet.”

Hank goes to the linen closet and grabs some clean towels. “I’d lend you some dry clothes to wear, but I don’t think anything of mine would fit you.”  Hank is nearly five foot nine, and weighs almost one hundred and eighty pounds.  Jeremy looks as if he is barely five foot five, and probably doesn’t even weigh one-forty.  “But I think I can probably come up with a bathrobe for you to wear until your clothes are dry.  They keep this place stocked like a hotel.”

As Jeremy shuts the bathroom door behind him, locking it, Hank is acutely conscious that on the other side of the door, Jeremy is taking his clothes off.  Hank lights a fire in the fireplace and then steps into the front bedroom and strips down out of his own wet clothes, savoring the idea that they are now both naked under the same roof.  He would love to step into the hot shower with Jeremy, but the door is locked and he’s certainly received no signals suggesting that would be a welcome advance.  Hank’s radar seems to be jamming this morning but Jeremy’s wariness convinces Hank that he is straight.  Hank has not even unpacked his own clothes yet, and he rummages in an open duffle bag looking for something to wear.  He finds a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and an old sweater to pull on and then he stands in front of the fire to warm up before going back to the kitchen to put the groceries away.  The shower runs for a long time, and when he finally emerges, Jeremy is barefoot and wrapped in the white terry-cloth robe Hank has given him.  His bare feet pad across the kitchen floor and Hank tries not to stare.  Jeremy’s feet are beautiful—almost delicate—with high arches and long toes.  Hank wonders if he should offer him a pair of his socks, and then selfishly decides against it. 

Something about the shower seems to have transformed Jeremy. He seems to Hank to have relaxed a little bit.  Perhaps whatever fear he’s harbored about Hank abated when he wasn’t jumped and pushed to the floor as soon as Hank had him inside.  At the moment, however, Jeremy seems surprisingly unselfconscious parading around in a bathrobe in front of Hank, while Hank, on the other hand, is incredibly unsettled by the prospect.  In Provincetown or New York, this near naked strutting would clearly be a deliberate prelude to sex, but in Wyoming it is just as likely a prelude to nothing at all. 

Like a newly acquired puppy, Jeremy patrols the borders of the kitchen, as if trying to determine the boundaries of his new home.  Hank forces himself to make small talk, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible as he finishes putting away the groceries.   Jeremy continues to prance, widening his circle into other rooms and poking his nose into corners farther and farther from the kitchen.  The house is indeed quite a showplace. It is a large house built for entertaining.  The living room, which the owner pretentiously calls the Great Room, has a high vaulted ceiling with wood beams and a big stone fireplace, and there are lots of bedrooms to accommodate skiers in the winter and hikers in the summer.  Jeremy chats with Hank intermittently as he investigates the house and his pacing brings him periodically back through the kitchen.  His robe is loosely tied, and his chest and legs are exposed as he walks.  Hank is struck again by the animal-like quality that Jeremy brings into the house.  It isn’t just the intensity of his eyes, but also the roiling energy just below the surface that seems barely harnessed.  It is almost as if, beneath the bathrobe, his body is aquiver.

Groceries secured, Hank shows Jeremy where the laundry room is, and then watches as Jeremy dumps the contents of his wet backpack on the floor and starts sorting.  The dirty clothes release a pungent damp musky smell that Hank recognizes from countless locker rooms and dormitories—he thinks of it as the distilled essence maleness, and its intensity now almost makes him swoon.  He knows that if he had his nose in Jeremy’s crotch, this is what it would smell like.  Afraid that he will do or say something inappropriate, Hank makes himself walk out of the laundry room, leaving Jeremy to sort out his dirty laundry in peace.  Standing in front of the hearth in the Great Room, Hank is completely distracted by the knowledge that just a few feet away, under the robe, Jeremy is naked.  Hank throws another log on the fire. 

“You hungry?” he yells into the laundry room.

“Yeah.”

“You eat meat?”  He smiles to himself even as he says it.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll make some sandwiches.”

Ten minutes later they are sitting in front of the fire eating ham and cheese on rye.  Even sitting down, Jeremy is never completely still, and he wiggles his toes as he talks.  He tells Hank that he has been offered a job teaching at the International School of Rome, starting in January, replacing someone who is retiring mid-year, and that he has decided to use his semester off to backpack down from Alaska.  So far he’s been through the Yukon, British Columbia, Alberta, Montana and Idaho, and now finally Wyoming.

“How long have you been here in Jackson?” Hank asks.

“I just got in last night.  Got a ride down on a truck. Always wanted to see this place.  But the weather is so bad.  I thought I might as well try to go on to Denver.”  Hank doesn’t want him to go, but decides he will drive him to Denver himself if he has to rather than say goodbye just yet.  In just a few short hours, Jeremy has managed to get completely under his skin.

“You’ve never seen the mountains here?”

“No.”

“You should stay.  Wait for the sun.  It’s supposed to clear out overnight.  The Tetons are awesome.  There is a great view from this house.  You’re welcome to stay overnight if you want.  There are lots of bedrooms in this house.”  Hank regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth.  Without intending to he has almost immediately taken the conversation into the bedroom and raised questions about who might be sleeping where. 

After an awkward silence while they both chew, Jeremy eventually resumes the conversation without directly responding to Hank’s overture.  “This isn’t your house, right?”

“No.  A friend’s.  But I usually stay here this time of year.”

“What do you do?”

“I write.  And teach.”

“Really?  Cool.  We’re both teachers.”  Jeremy plays with his toes as he talks.  It is making Hank squirm.  “What do you teach?”

“I don’t teach full-time.  Just a writing course in the spring.  At NYU.”  Jeremy’s bathrobe has loosened even further, and his hairless chest and abdomen are exposed nearly to his navel.  The room has suddenly become very warm, and Hank feels as if he is having a hard time breathing.

“Where do you live when you’re not here?”  Jeremy finally seems curious to know something about Hank.

“I sort of split my time between New York and Massachusetts.” 

“Wow.  You get around.”  Jeremy has finished his sandwich and sets his plate on the floor, and as he leans back into the couch he stretches his arms up and arches his neck, extending his body up in an almost leonine fashion.  The stretching causes his robe to open even further, so that where the belt gathers just above his waist the two sides of the robe barely touch, and it seems that only the shadows cast by the fire actually conceal his naked crotch from Hank’s view.

“Yeah.  I get around.”  Hank’s mouth is dry and he can barely speak.  “So do you, it sounds like.  Get around.”  Hank seems to choke. “I mean traveling.”  He feels the need to clarify his meaning.

“Are you OK?”  Jeremy seems legitimately concerned.

“I’m fine,” Hank says reaching for his water.  “It’s just a little…warm.”

“The fire’s nice.”  Jeremy extends his bare feet toward the fire, stretching his toes and exposing his soles to the flames, as if toasting them.

“It’s a hot one.”  Hank’s gravelly voice is barely audible.

“Yes.  Feels good.  I was freezing.”

Hank is starting to sweat.  It takes all of his concentration to be able to form words and carry on the conversation.  “You’ll have good weather in Italy.  In Rome.  In the spring.”

“I hope so.  Different from Alaska anyhow.”  Jeremy pulls his feet back from the fire and rearranges himself on the couch, curling his legs and tucking his feet up underneath him so that only his knees show.  Hank is vividly aware that beneath Jeremy’s robe, his toasty warm heels are now pressed up against his naked butt cheeks.

“I love Italy.”  I love you.  He almost says it.  In his mind his tongue is laving a naked Jeremy on the couch in front of the fire, the veiling bathrobe pulled hastily aside. 

“I’ve never been.  But I’m really looking forward to going.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy over the years.”  Hank’s mind fills suddenly with the image of Giovanni da Giambologna’s great marble Rape of the Sabine Women in the Loggia dei Lanzi of the Piazza della Signoria in Florence.  That great rounded powerful marble man ass had moved him and aroused him the first time he had seen it as no other sculpture in Italy had.  Now in his mind instead of the Roman conqueror carrying off a Sabine woman, Hank imagines himself carrying a struggling Jeremy off to the bedroom, Hank’s powerful ass naked for all the world to see.

“You’ll have to tell me what I should see when I am there.”

“Sure.  Um.  Listen.”  Against his better judgment, Hank is about to go out on a limb.  He can’t help himself.  “There is a small sauna here…If you want, I can fire it up.”

“A sauna?  In the house?”

“Yeah.  I know.  It’s over the top.  But it’s great after a day of skiing.  Or even a day like today.  In the rain.”

“Um.” Again Jeremy hesitates and Hank immediately regrets the overture.  Finally Jeremy consents.  “Sure.  I could be up for that.”

“Good.  Well why don’t you go change your laundry around and I’ll stoke the sauna.”

Hank goes down a set of wooden stairs and flips the switch outside the sauna door.  He can hear the immediate click and hum as the heating elements come to life.  Back in his bedroom, he pulls off his t-shirt and sweat pants, and slips a white robe around himself that matches the one he has given Jeremy.  He can’t tell where this is headed, though he knows where he wants it to go.  The sauna is actually one of Hank’s favorite things about this house, other than the views of the mountains.  He likes to sit naked in the sauna, but he brings a pile of towels with him in deference to his guest.  He meets Jeremy in the laundry room and leads him down to the sauna.  Outside the sauna door Hank casually steps out of his robe, leaving him momentarily naked, and then pulls a white towel from the pile and wraps it around his waist.  Jeremy, seemingly un-phased, does the same thing, hanging his robe on the peg next to Hank’s.  For one brief moment Hank glimpses Jeremy’s slim firm round ass, and his knees nearly buckle. 

Inside the sauna, Hank loosens his towel so that it drapes over his crotch but is no longer secured around his waist.  The sauna is tiny, so as they sit at right angles to each other their knees nearly touch.  Hank is nervous, and tries to relax into the mounting heat, but there is a palpable tension in the small room.  The two men sit in silence, almost as if in a chapel, and Hank thinks again of the Giambologna sculpture, and of the brief glimpse he’s had of Jeremy’s naked ass.  He sits, unmoving, as the sweat begins to bead on his forehead.  Both men stare at the floor, as if avoiding each other’s eyes.  Their silence stands in marked contrast to the easy chatter they had fallen into in front of the fireplace, and defines this space as somehow different. Hank fights the urge to move, to touch himself, but ultimately there are certain sauna and steam room behaviors that are so ingrained and long-practiced that Hank finds them almost impossible to repress.  Finally, he can no longer resist the temptation and he reaches beneath his towel and scratches his balls in a very deliberate Marlboro manly sort of way.  He wants to test the waters in a way that allows him to back out gracefully if there is no response.  As he moves, he is keenly aware that Jeremy is watching his hand intently.  Hank rests his hand in his own crotch, cupping his balls.  He holds his breath.  Then he moves his eyes up to meet Jeremy’s.  Jeremy holds his gaze, unmoving, and then, slowly, moves his own hand under his towel and scratches his own balls. 

And so the ballet begins.  They sit, each man cupping his balls in one hand, their eyes locked.  Eventually, Hank moves his other hand and pulls his towel a bit looser, so that his balls are partly exposed to Jeremy, and after a moment has passed, Jeremy does the same thing, pulling his own towel partly open.  Hank feels his cock growing thick beneath his towel and is relieved to see a lump forming under Jeremy’s towel as well.  Hank begins to slowly thumb his own cock through the towel with his free hand, still gripping his balls with the other.  Jeremy watches, and eventually follows suit, thumbing his own thickened cock through his towel. 

Sweat pours off of them as they surreptitiously rub their cocks, watching each other intently.  Hank wants to pull his towel away completely and free his erect cock, but he holds back.  He is afraid of pushing this too far too fast.  Jeremy seems content to rub his cock through his towel, and Hank leaves it to him to pull the towel away first.  Once again Hank finds himself staring at Jeremy’s bare feet as he rubs himself, and he moves his own right foot over a few inches so that his big toe is almost touching Jeremy’s foot. He holds his breath, but Jeremy doesn’t pull his foot away, and if anything, he seems to increase the intensity of the motion of his thumb over the top of his cock. 

Jeremy comes first, and seems surprised by the suddenness and force of his ejaculation as it wracks and convulses his slender body, almost as if he had not come in a long time.  Watching Jeremy shoot into the towel is the only trigger Hank needs.  He shoots hard, gripping his cock beneath his towel and curling his toes down hard onto the wooden floor of the sauna.  Afterwards, they sit there in silence, sweating, trying to catch their breaths.  Finally Jeremy speaks.  “I’m getting too hot.  I gotta get out of here.”  He stands up and bolts out of the door, pulling his towel tightly around him as he leaves. Hank follows Jeremy out of the sauna, watching his ass cheeks move under the towel.

“Jeremy?  Are you OK?”

“I’m fine!”

“Jeremy?”

“Leave me alone!”

Fuck, Hank thinks.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  There is something about being in a steam room or sauna that always pushes Hank’s buttons.  It is a matter of sport with him to be able to make another man cum in the sauna—straight, married—it doesn’t matter.  He can almost always do it. Whether the other guy wants to or not.  He seldom fails.  Hank knows that somewhere deep within himself—or maybe not even so deep within—there lays a sexual predator.  He has never touched anybody without their consent, but he has certainly made men cum against their will.  Once he starts playing with his own cock they can’t look away, and then their own cocks grow thick, despite their best attempts to fight it, and before long they’re stroking their cocks and shooting up on their bellies and then bolting out of the sauna, mortified, embarrassed, filled with remorse and regret, scared to death of being seen or getting caught. 

For Hank, it is a simple addiction.  It leaves him feeling emotionally and physically empty but he can’t stop.  In some ways it is the single strongest motivator in getting him to the gym every day—the promise of wanking with some reluctant straight guy after his workout.  It has nothing to do with what he considers to be his real emotional and sexual life, with real people—with other men who openly love other men—but this furtive, pathetic sauna wanking is a habit, and a challenge.  Any sauna, anywhere in the world, Hank prides himself in being able to find a willing victim—some straight guy whose only opportunity to see other naked men is in the locker room at the gym.  The sad reality is that the world is filled with such men—men so lonely that these stolen locker room intimacies might make up their only source of real human contact—and Hank picks them off one at a time, recognizing their vulnerability as if it is a stench they carry with them. 

In this way Hank knows himself to be a sexual bully, and he hates that part of himself, but he can no more walk away from the locker room than his sauna partners can—he and his locker room buddies are addicts to something that is more powerful than they are.  Usually Hank doesn’t fret much about the aftermath, feeling with some confidence that every adult chooses his own forms of pleasure and pain pretty carefully, and also feeling with even greater confidence that on the huge spectrum of sexual bad behavior, his dirty little habit is way over on the harmless end of the scale.  But every once in a while he knows that he has pushed someone when he shouldn’t have, just as he knows now that it was not right to make Jeremy cum.  Had he set out to get a naked Jeremy into his sauna from the moment he pulled the car over this morning?  He can’t say for sure that the answer is no.  Now he feels terrible, and he is pretty sure that Jeremy feels terrible as well.

“You want to shower?” Hank calls chasing after him.  He is hoping against hope that somehow everything is all right and that maybe a playful Jeremy will suggest they shower together.

“NO!” Jeremy shouts as he disappears into Hank’s bedroom slamming the door behind him.  Hank’s heart sinks as he hears Jeremy click the lock on the door to prevent Hank from following him into the bedroom.  Standing naked and sweaty in the hallway staring at the closed door, Hank feels almost sick to his stomach.  Hadn’t he known this is where this story would end up even as he stood in the checkout line of the grocery store this morning?  But Jeremy is barely more than a kid.  It had been a huge leap of faith on his part to get into the car, and then to agree to come into Hank’s house, and Hank had abused that trust and he knew it. 

“I’m sorry Jeremy!”  He finds himself shouting at a silent door. 

Not sure what else to do, Hank decides that he will take a quick shower to wash off the sweat and sticky half-dried cum that is making him feel particularly grungy and ugly at the moment.  Standing in the shower he wonders what he should do.  He wants to make things right with Jeremy.  He will apologize again.  He wonders what Jeremy’s story really is—he isn’t getting anything like a clear signal from Jeremy, though the outcome of the sauna thing was pretty clear.  And then, as he rinses himself off, he finds himself thinking again about Jeremy’s toes.  He still wants to taste his toes, and he knows in his heart that his desire to befriend Jeremy is not at all pure.  When Hank emerges clean and dry from the shower and wrapped again in one of the hotel-plush terry white robes, he goes searching for Jeremy and finds him on his knees in the laundry room, dressed awkwardly in half-dry clothes he’s pulled from the dryer and forcefully jamming wet and dry clothes alike into his backpack.

“What are you doing?”

“Listen, I need to go.  I’m sorry.  You’ve been nice.  But I need to go.  What happened in the sauna just now…I’m not…I mean I don’t…I’m not…I need to go.  I’m sorry.”

Hank doesn’t want to lose him, at least not on these terms. He doesn’t mind so much if Jeremy goes, but he doesn’t want him leaving thinking that he is a jerk.  “Jeremy.  It’s pouring rain.  Your clothes are still wet.  The sauna…what happened…was nothing…I’m not…I’m not going to…I won’t…oh fuck!  Go if you want!  You’re free to go.  You’re free to stay.  Guys wank Jeremy.  It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know that.”  Jeremy seems abashed, and stares at him in silence. 

Hank speaks gently.  “Take those wet clothes off.  Let’s at least finish your laundry and send you out with clean dry stuff.  Why don’t you go take another shower and let me work on your laundry?  When your clothes are dry I’ll drive you back down the mountain if you’d like.”  There is another silence, and then Jeremy walks out of the room, toward the bathroom.  Soon after that, Hank can hear the shower running.

When Jeremy eventually emerges from the shower he confesses that he is exhausted—that he hasn’t had much sleep in several nights—and that what he would really like to do is take a nap.  Hank says he is welcome to take a nap, and offers him his own bed, both as an act of selflessness to make up for his selfishness in the sauna, and as a matter of practicality and expediency as it happens to be the only bed in the house with sheets on it at the moment. Jeremy accepts the offer and disappears into Hank’s bedroom again, and again Hank hears the click of the lock after the door closes and he feels another wave of nausea and self-repulsion, and yet he knows he can hardly blame Jeremy for wanting to feel safe.  Hank knows that if he were in Jeremy’s place, he would lock the door as well.

Later, Hank takes Jeremy into town for dinner.  They go to the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar and Steakhouse—about the straightest place in town he can think of in what is admittedly a very straight town.  Jeremy gets a kick out of the saddles on the bar stools.  They order cowboy steaks and pitchers of beer.  Jeremy has a hearty appetite and no small thirst, and seems to be putting away the beer.  Hank orders a second pitcher.  The drink makes Jeremy chatty, and he talks to Hank about his family and his schooling, telling him about growing up in New Mexico and then later, in high school, in Texas.  Jeremy’s heritage is a mix of Mexican, Native American, Irish, and German, which, Hank thinks, explains the lovely color of his skin and the deep color of his eyes. Jeremy has attended college at Tulane in New Orleans.  Hank would have guessed he was schooled back East, but Jeremy says he has never lived on the East coast, and in fact has never been east of Chicago or New Orleans. 

When they step out of the restaurant two hours later the rain has finally stopped, and it is much colder.  They hurry back to the car and Hank drives carefully up the mountain.  As he pulls into the driveway, Hank suggests that they take a walk up the road beyond his house.  He wants to clear his head from the beer, and with the clouds clearing out, he says, the stars will be awesome.  Jeremy agrees, and they walk to the end of the driveway and turn left.  There aren’t many houses on the road, and none of them have any lights on.  Most of them are empty this time of year.  They walk in silence for a while and then Jeremy says “I really have to pee.”  Hank likes the way he uses the word “pee” instead of “piss.” 

“So pee.  There’s no one around.”  Jeremy turns his back to Hank, unzips his jeans, and pees off into the sagebrush.  When he finishes, after the sound of his long, forceful steaming stream of piss hitting the ground ends, the silence of the night is all the more intense.

“Much better,” Jeremy announces as he joins Hank back on the road. They continue walking up the hill, talking about the stars.  Jeremy actually knows quite a bit more than Hank about astronomy, and he points out several constellations that Hank has never been able to find before.  He shows him where Cassiopeia is just about to dip below the horizon for the winter before returning next spring and where the three stars of Orion’s Belt light up the sky in a tight row of light.

Hank is impressed, but as much as he is enjoying this excursion, he is freezing.  He hasn’t worn a warm enough coat.  He is reluctant to turn back and foreshorten this camaraderie, but he wants to be in front of the fireplace more than he wants to be looking at stars.  “I’m cold,” he announces finally, and suggests they head back.  Jeremy readily agrees and they turn around, walking again in silence until Jeremy’s voice rings out:

“Ow!  Fuck!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.  I just…shit…shit…I think I twisted my ankle.”

Hank is at Jeremy’s side.  “Are you OK?”  Jeremy is standing on his left foot with his right foot up against his left shin.

“Yeah.  I think so.  I stepped off the edge of the pavement into the gravel and turned my ankle over.  There’s a little drop-off that I didn’t see.  It hurts like hell.  But I think I’m OK.  It just startled me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  Let’s go.  I’m cold too.”  They start back to the house again.  Jeremy seems to be walking more slowly than before.  In the dark Hank can’t tell if Jeremy is limping or not.  He wants to offer to lend his shoulder or arm to support him as he walks, but after the sauna he is afraid to initiate any physical contact, even now.  The walk back seems longer than the walk out. Now Hank too has to pee, but he doesn’t want to stop and make Jeremy wait.  In the light from the front porch Hank can see that Jeremy struggles a bit with the stairs.  Once they are all the way inside, Hank can see that Jeremy is definitely limping.

“You want me to take a look at that for you?”

“No.  I’m fine.  Really.  What I really want is to go to bed.  I’m so tired.  All that beer, and the cold air…I’m ready to collapse.”

Hank had hoped they could sit together in front of the fire for a while, but he isn’t going to push it.  He hasn’t given much thought to the sleeping arrangements, but Jeremy seems to have made himself at home in Hank’s bedroom, and he can’t think of a reason to make him sleep somewhere else.  “OK.  Sure.  Why don’t you take my bedroom?”

“Where will you sleep?”  Hank knows Jeremy is making it clear that they will not be sleeping together.

“Well, there are lots of rooms.  I can make up another bed somewhere else.  The bed in my room is all made up.  And it has the best views of the mountains in the morning.  Just take it.”

“OK.”  Jeremy does not engage in further debate.

“You need anything?”

“No.”

“You want some ice for your ankle?”

“No.  I just want to go to bed.  Maybe some water.  I’m really thirsty.  That was more beer than I’ve had in a long time.”  Hank gets him a big glass of cold water, and shows him where the extra blankets are in the closet.  He wants to offer to help Jeremy take off his shoes and undress, but he knows that is out of the question.  After asking one more time whether he is sure he doesn’t need anything else, he leaves Jeremy to get himself to bed. Jeremy closes the door as Hank leaves, and Hank notes with some relief that for whatever reason, he doesn’t lock it this time.

Hank finds he is exhausted too.  He doesn’t feel like making up another bed so he just steps out of his clothes and lays down on the couch in front of the fireplace, pulling a big afghan over himself.  He is surprised how tired he is.  Having Jeremy in the house is starting to stress him out.  He lays there watching the dying embers in the bottom of the fireplace and wonders if maybe he never should have stopped to pick Jeremy up this morning.  Just what was he thinking?  He worries that sometimes he confuses his imagination with the real world.  He is concerned about Jeremy’s ankle, and about having this young man about which he knows virtually nothing sleeping in his house, but despite his anxieties, sleep overcomes him.

Several hours later he wakes from a deep sleep with a start.  Where is he?  What is that noise?  He hears it again.  Hank leaps off the couch and bolts for the bedroom.  When he throws open the door and flicks on the light he sees Jeremy on the floor.  “Jeremy?  What’s wrong??”

“It’s my ankle.  Fuck.  Fuck!”  He is pulling his knee to his chest and moaning.

“What happened??”

“I had to pee.  I jumped out of bed.  I forgot about my ankle.  Fuck.  It hurts.  I jumped out of bed and landed on my right foot and the pain just shot through my leg.  I don’t think I can walk on it.  And I have to pee.  I really have to pee.  Fuck.”  Hank is kneeling on the floor next to him.  He has no idea what to do, so he simply scoops Jeremy up in his arms and carries him to the bathroom.  He sets him gently down on his left foot in front of the toilet and helps him balance on one foot while he pees a big long hard stream of piss.

“Man.  You really had to go.”

“I know.  All that beer and all that water.  I completely forgot about my ankle until I landed on it.”  When he finishes peeing, there is an awkward moment as they both wonder what to do next.  They are both standing in their underwear and bare feet with Jeremy balancing on his left foot and Hank holding onto his shoulder so that he doesn’t topple over. 

“We should probably take a look at that ankle.”

“Yeah.  I’m afraid it might be sprained.”  Hank bends down and again scoops Jeremy up in his arms, putting one arm behind his knees and one arm behind his shoulders.  Jeremy seems to rest comfortably in his arms, and what could be awkward somehow seems very natural.  He carries him into the living room and sets him down on the couch where his hastily cast off afghan lays in disarray.  “You were sleeping on the couch?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to make up a new bed.  It’s fine.  It’s pretty comfortable.  Let’s take a look at your ankle.  Does it hurt now?”

“No, actually.  Only when I try to stand on it.”

“Here, stretch your legs out so your feet are next to each other.  Show me where it hurts.”

“Right here.”  Jeremy points to the outside of his foot and ankle.

“It really isn’t very swollen.”

“I know.”

“It looks like you might get a little bruise right here.”

“Yeah.  I think that might be where I landed on it.  I just twisted it pretty good I guess.  I think it should be OK if I stay off it for a little bit.  What do you think?”

“Yeah.  I guess.  I don’t know.  I feel badly that it happened.”

“It’s not your fault.  I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom.  There might be an Ace bandage in there.  And I should get you some ice.  You want some whiskey while I’m getting ice?  We could both probably use a shot.”

“Sure.  And water.  I’m thirsty.”

“Then you’ll just have to pee again.”  Hank is teasing him.

“Then you’ll just have to carry me to the bathroom again.”

Hank goes into the bathroom and finds an elastic bandage in the first aid kit, and carefully wraps Jeremy’s ankle, leaving his heel and his long toes exposed.  He wants to bend down and take Jeremy’s toes into his mouth but he doesn’t.  Instead he holds Jeremy’s foot in his hand rather longer than he should.  He is afraid that Jeremy will pull away, but he doesn’t.  He seems to be letting Hank make decisions for him at the moment, and seems willing to play the part of the passive patient, at least for now.  After bandaging Jeremy’s ankle, Hank brings whiskey and ice and water from the kitchen.  He fills a zip-lock bag with ice and wraps it in a towel and places it on Jeremy’s bandaged ankle, and then he pours them stiff drinks.

“I don’t normally drink whiskey,” Jeremy says, sipping his drink, “but this is good.”

“Welcome to Wyoming, where real men drink whiskey.  Are you cold?”

“A little bit.”  Hank throws another log on the burning embers and it catches almost immediately.  They sit and sip and talk for almost an hour before Hank thinks to look at his watch.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“No idea.”

“Almost three in the morning.  We should get you back to bed.”

“OK.  I’m sleepy.  I feel stupid not being able to get there by myself.”

“You’re a guest in my house.  I’ll carry you to bed.”  For the third time, Hank scoops Jeremy up in his arms.  This time Jeremy seems almost to sink into his arms, the way a tired child sinks into his parent’s arms.  Hank sets him gently down onto the bed, trying not to jostle his ankle.

“I’m not fragile.  I won’t break.”

“I know.  But I don’t want to hurt you.”  And then, without really thinking very much about it, Hank bends his face low over Jeremy’s and kisses him on his cheek.  To his complete surprise, Jeremy turns his face and kisses him back on the lips.  Hank eases himself down onto the mattress as their mouths open to each other.  Jeremy’s skin is like silk in Hank’s hands.  Hank moves his open mouth over Jeremy’s face, licking his chin, his ears, and his neck.  Jeremy stretches his head backwards and arches his neck as Hank’s tongue plays over the surface of his Adam’s apple.  Hank continues to lick his way down Jeremy’s body, laving his chest, his nipples, his arm pits, and his navel with his outstretched tongue.  Jeremy’s body seems to melt beneath him, yielding to his touch, willing Hank to take more of him in his mouth.  Hank pulls Jeremy’s underwear down over his hips, over his hard, inviting cock, but Hank avoids taking his cock into his mouth, choosing instead to lick his nearly hairless balls, rolling them in his mouth.  Hank continues to move his mouth, trying to taste every inch of Jeremy.  He trails his tongue down the inside of his thighs, behind his knees, and along the hard line of his shins.  Then he takes Jeremy’s un-bandaged left foot and raises it to his mouth.  He licks the sole of his foot, tracing the high curved arch with his tongue, and then the rounded mounds of the ball and heel, and then he takes Jeremy’s toes one by one into his mouth, sucking gently on each one.  Jeremy curls his toes up in pleasure into the roof of Hank’s mouth, and Hank responds by sucking those long slender toes even more rigorously.

Hank crawls between Jeremy’s legs and gently lifts them up onto his shoulders, being extra gentle with his bandaged right ankle.  Then Hank begins to tease the crack of Jeremy’s ass with his tongue, flicking it back and forth between his two cheeks.  Hank can hear small sounds escaping from Jeremy’s mouth, and they seem to urge him on.  He pushes his tongue deeper between Jeremy’s ass crack and then he uses his fingers to separate the two cheeks, exposing Jeremy’s tight hole.  There is a moment when Jeremy puts his hands on Hank’s head as if he is going to push it away, but then he changes course and pulls him deeper between his legs.  With Jeremy’s bandaged ankle resting on his back, Hank begins to probe his tight asshole, first darting his tongue over the wrinkled surface, and then pushing his tongue into its center so that it opens to him.  Jeremy begins to moan as Hank tongue-fucks him more rigorously, moving his long tongue in and out of Jeremy’s ass.  Jeremy’s hips move against Hank’s face rhythmically, and both men pull on their own hard cocks while Hank continues to push his tongue into Jeremy’s hole.  Jeremy’s moaning increases in intensity and urgency, and Hank’s head bobs more rigorously between his legs, rimming Jeremy’s sweet ass.  Finally, Jeremy comes, his left heel pounding on Hank’s back and his asshole tightening like a vice on Hank’s tongue.  Hank, in turn, pulls hard on the head of his own cock and shoots a huge wad up onto Jeremy’s chest. 

They collapse down onto the mattress, a sweaty pile of tired bodies.  By now it is nearly four in the morning, and they are both exhausted. Hank is relieved that the story has taken this turn.  He was surprised by Jeremy’s eagerness and enthusiasm in bed.  After the sauna, he thought Jeremy might be straight, or might be holding onto the idea he was straight, even if he wasn’t.  But now, Hank isn’t sure just what Jeremy is or isn’t.  This clearly is not the first time he has been naked in bed with another man, and it clearly isn’t the first time another man has played with his ass.  Hank knows that he has a tendency to perseverate over details like this and he makes himself stop.  There is no sense in ruining a good thing before it even gets going.  Their bodies had fit together perfectly, and, despite the urgency they had both felt, there was a tenderness about Jeremy and about their love-making that was almost always absent in the men Hank picked up.  This one could be different, he thinks, and then he makes himself stop again before he goes any further down that path.  He decides to try to simply enjoy the moment, and enjoy Jeremy’s company for as long as it lasts.  But Hank is not good at simply enjoying the moment, and even in his happiness and his sated state, he begins to worry that Jeremy will be filled with remorse in the morning.  Well at least with his injured ankle, Hank thinks, it isn’t likely that Jeremy will bolt or try to make a run for it before Hank wakes up.  He smiles to himself, a little unsettled, as he thinks of Kathy Bates and James Caan in Misery.  Sleep finally overcomes him and his mind quiets.

The next morning Hank in fact wakes before Jeremy.  As soon as he opens his eyes, he knows from the quality of the light in the room that the sun is out and the mountains are visible.  He eases himself out of bed as carefully and quietly as he can and pads lightly down the hall to the bathroom to take a leak.  When he returns to the bedroom he gently pulls the curtains back to reveal the mountains.  It is a sight that takes his breath away every time.  He sneaks back into bed and lays on his back, watching the morning light play on the stony surface of the mountains, and he listens to Jeremy breathe. He is prepared for Jeremy’s remorse.  He anticipates the worst—a conflicted and angry morning-after, a repeat of yesterday’s sauna fiasco.  But when Jeremy wakes, he rolls toward Hank and cuddles against his arm, as if they had been sleeping together for years.  “Nice mountains,” he whispers.

“I thought you might like them.  This view is why I come back every year.”

“I can see why.”

“How’s the ankle?”

“Fine.  At least laying here like this it’s fine.  But that’s about to end.  I hate to say it, but I have to pee.”

“Of course you have to pee.”

Jeremy tries to gingerly put some weight down on his foot, but it hurts too much and he confirms that there is no way he can walk on it yet, so Hank carries him to the bathroom again and helps him balance on one foot while he takes a leak, and then Jeremy leans against the wall for support while Hank pees.  This time there is no awkwardness with their nakedness or their peeing in front of each other, and in fact they both kind of like the intimacy of it.  As Hank shakes off the last drops from his pecker he says, “You know, if you really can’t walk, we should maybe try to see a doctor.  If nothing else I bet they would give you a pair of crutches.”

Jeremy smiles.  “I know, but then you’d quit carrying me around.”

“Not necessarily,” Hank replies, scooping Jeremy up in his arms.  “I kind of like hauling your naked ass around here.”

“You do, huh?  Well I kind of like having you haul my naked ass around here too.”  By this time they are back in the bedroom, and Hank sets Jeremy back down on the bed.

“You better not be faking this,” Hank teases, “just to get a ride to the bathroom every time you have to pee.”  He is laughing now.  He leans down and kisses Jeremy on the mouth, and Jeremy kisses him back eagerly.

“It’s not a bad place to be laid up for a while,” quips Jeremy, coming up for air.

“Yeah, the service is pretty good here.  Speaking of which, how about if I rustle us up some breakfast in bed?”

“That sounds perfect.  Make strong coffee.”

By Hank’s reckoning, the day that unfolds is nearly perfect in every way.  They eat toasted brioche and butter and jam in bed with their strong coffee while they watch deer outside the window nibbling on frozen sagebrush with the mountains in the background.  After breakfast, Hank carefully un-bandages Jeremy’s ankle and carries him to the bathroom where he draws a hot bath in the big ovoid spa tub and they soak and wash each other’s hair and play with their soapy cocks and kiss and tease until the bathwater has cooled to nearly lukewarm.  Hank helps Jeremy dry off and then carries him back to the bedroom and helps him dress in clean dry clothes fresh from the laundry room.  They decide to make good on Hank’s promise to take Jeremy sightseeing despite his turned ankle.  Hank bandages Jeremy’s foot again with the Ace bandage and then eases two big white athletic socks carefully over the bandage to keep his foot warm.  The socks over the thick bandage create a look not unlike a cast, Hank thinks, and he is generally pleased with the overall effect, despite the fact that Jeremy’s toes are now hidden from view.  Given the temperature outside, it is the only thing that makes sense.  He wonders what Jeremy would look like with a real cast on his ankle.

Hank fires up the Jeep Cherokee and they head out after Hank carries Jeremy out to the driveway and eases him into the front seat.  Jeremy says he feels like a fool not being able to walk on his own, but he seems completely at home in Hank’s arms each time Hank lifts him.  Hank has quietly begun to worry whether Jeremy’s ankle might be more than simply sprained, and he is almost certain that they should have a doctor’s opinion, but Jeremy seems so confident in his own diagnosis, and seems to have so little anxiety about his own ankle that Hank tries to put those thoughts out of his mind.  Wouldn’t a broken ankle be more swollen, or purple, or painful, or something?  And if it were broken, then what?  He chooses to ignore these questions because he doesn’t want to do anything that might disturb the unlikely happiness that the two of them have stumbled upon in the last twenty-four hours. 

The day is truly spectacular, and Jeremy can see that everything Hank has said about the mountains and about Jackson is true.  Bright sunshine and a deep clear blue sky make every view of the snow-capped mountains look like a postcard.  Hank starts their trek by driving back toward the airport, through the elk preserve, where literally thousands of elk have come down out of the mountains and into the valley for the winter.  As they drive closer, what at first looks like rocks or bales of hay turn out to be the elk themselves, many of them still lying down in the frosty field as the sun climbs higher in the sky.  Isolated males with great huge racks of antlers stand among clusters of females that are almost as big as the males.  The elk are always bigger than Hank remembers.  A few miles out of town Hank turns off the main road onto a gravel road and begins the long slow ascent up to Slide Rock Lake.  He points out the bison in the distance, grazing, and promises a close-up with them on their way back.  Slide Rock, or the Gros Ventre slide as it was properly called, is this amazing place where a hundred years ago half a mountain gave way and slid across the valley floor damming a river and creating a beautiful mountain lake.  The road up is gravel and winds its way through some of the most beautiful landscapes in the entire region.  They have the mountain to themselves, passing only one pedestrian hiking the roadway with her dogs.  From the lookout near the top of the bluff, Jeremy and Hank neck in the front seat of the parked Jeep and then they pee against the rocks before driving back down into the valley.  The view of the mountains as they approach from this direction, framed over the lake with the fertile valley beyond reminds Hank of a Bierstadt painting from the Met.

Hank drives toward the distant herd of bison, knowing from experience that these creatures are reliable and predictable in their habits this time of year.  With some luck there will be a group of them near the side of the road that they can watch while they eat the sandwiches that Hank has prepared.  As he drives off the main road onto the park service road he can see them up ahead, right where he has expected to find them.  He drives into the middle of the herd and pulls the car over onto the soft shoulder.  The big animals are on both sides of the road and surround the car on all four sides. Hank turns off the motor and rolls down the windows and they can hear the bison chewing and snorting and snotting as they munch on the frozen grass.  They are big, and ugly, and strangely compelling, and as many times as he has seen them before, it is hard not to be fascinated by them anew.  As sleek and elegant as the elk are, the bison are awkward and squat and almost prehistoric.  For all of Jeremy’s outdoor worldliness and Alaska experience, he too is fascinated by the herd of bison, and sits with his mouth open, ignoring the sandwich in his hand.  Every now and then a bull moves a few paces forward, and the cows rearrange themselves around him, but for the most part they are stationary, and the presence of the car and human beings seems not to bother them in the least. Every now and then a low moaning sound comes from one of them, like a cow’s moo only deeper, and less happy, but mostly they drool and snot and the main sound they hear in the car is the nasal in-out of their breathing.

On the way back into town, against his better judgment, Hank again raises the question about whether they should visit a doctor.  Jeremy is vehement in his opposition to the idea.  Hank tries futilely to reason with him.

“But Jeremy, you can’t walk!”

“Hank, I said no!”  Hank feels as if they are back in the sauna all over again and he is being accused of doing something wrong.  For a time they ride in silence.  Finally, Hank speaks.  He tries to make his voice sound calm.

“Jeremy I don’t understand what just happened back there.”

“Hank, you’re making a big deal of this for no reason.  I just twisted my ankle.  If I stay off of it, it’ll eventually get better.”

“I’m just trying to help…a doctor might at least give you a pair of crutches…you could stay off your ankle, and be more independent…”

“I’m sorry I’m such a burden.  Listen, you don’t have to carry me everywhere.  I’m not crippled.  I can hop.  I can get around on my own!”

“I know you can Jeremy.  That’s not what I meant.  I’m sorry.  Let’s not spoil things.  We had such a nice day.”  They drive on in silence, up the hill toward the house.  Hank is pulling into the driveway before Jeremy speaks.

“Listen, Hank, I’m sorry.  You must think I’m an asshole.  I just…listen, I don’t have any health insurance, and I don’t really have any money…I can’t afford a big medical bill…I just…it’s embarrassing…”

Hank is not convinced.  For the first time he begins to wonder if Jeremy is telling the truth.  The insurance objection sound like something he has just thought up.  It sounds to Hank’s ear like obfuscation and subterfuge.  “Jeremy if that’s all you’re worried about, forget it.  I can pay for this, whatever it costs.  I’d rather have a doctor look at that ankle.”

“No!”  Jeremy’s voice is sharp.  “You’re not paying for anything.  I can take care of myself.  I don’t need your charity, or your sympathy, or anyone else’s!”  Hank is taken aback.  What the fuck is this about?  He has no idea, and he has no intention of pushing this any further to try to find out. 

“Fine.  Skip it.  Forget I mentioned it.”  Hank slams the car door on his side though he hasn’t really intended to. He scoops Jeremy up roughly from the other side and carries him inside, setting him down on the couch.  He isn’t at all sure what is going on.  This isn’t quite the story he has imagined.  He isn’t sure what to do next.  He is afraid that Jeremy is going to turn out to be someone other than who he has imagined he is.  He remembers the sense he had had in Albertson’s that Jeremy was on the run.  “Why don’t I light a fire?  And maybe pour us a drink?”

“That would be nice.”  Jeremy seems subdued, and all of the anger seems to have gone out of him. 

When Hank comes back into the room with the whiskey, Jeremy has stretched out on the couch and put his feet up.  He has also pulled the white socks off his right foot, so that his toes and the ace bandage are exposed again.  “How’s the ankle feel?” Hank asks as he sits down next to him with the drinks.

“It kind of aches, actually,” he says, taking a sip of the whiskey.  “Mmm.  That’s good.”

“We probably overdid it today.  Can I kiss it and make it better?”

“You can try!”  Jeremy is giggling, and his toes are wiggling, teasing Hank, daring Hank to taste them again.  Hank very gently and very deliberately kisses each toe on Jeremy’s bandaged foot, and then makes a second pass, opening his lips this time and taking each toe in turn inside his mouth.  Jeremy seems calm, and almost languorous on the couch in front of the fire.  Hank decides that there is a catlike quality about him with his mood swings and the graceful way he moves and drapes his body.  They spend more than two hours in unhurried love-making, sipping their whiskey, as Hank slowly undresses them both, tasting and relishing each new inch of Jeremy’s skin that he exposes.  They both end up quite naked, except for the bandage on Jeremy’s ankle, and Hank thinks that the firelight playing on Jeremy’s skin reminds him of the way the late afternoon sunlight plays on the mountains that surround them.  Inevitably Hank’s mouth finds its way between Jeremy’s legs, and this time he takes Jeremy’s cock in his mouth and sucks it expertly, teasing Jeremy close to the edge and then pulling back and making him wait.  When he moves his fingers between Jeremy’s ass-cheeks and starts to push, Jeremy grabs his wrist firmly and hisses “Don’t!”  Hank freezes.  The cat is back.  Hank returns his mouth to Jeremy’s cock, and Jeremy again melts down into the couch, moaning with pleasure as Hank brings him to the edge again and again.  Finally, Hank lets him cum, eagerly sucking Jeremy’s jism into his mouth and throat.  Hank himself comes almost immediately after, jacking his own cock and creaming through his fingers onto Jeremy’s smooth chest.

Later, Hank makes pizza and they eat it while sitting naked in front of the fireplace.  Later still Hank carries Jeremy to bed, and they cuddle under the feather comforter, their cocks slack and sated.  “This is really a great house.  I can see why you come back every year.  How long have you been coming here?”  Jeremy is whispering hoarsely.

“I guess this is my fourth November here.  I first came in 2001.  I had never even been to Wyoming.  It was right after 9/11…”  His voice trails off and they lay there in silence for a while before he picks up his narrative.  “I was still in Provincetown on September 11^th.  I was having coffee in town when the news came over the TV.”  There is another silence.

“I was a senior at Tulane.  I was in class.  Someone came running into the room.”  Jeremy’s voice is barely audible.

“From the moment I heard I wanted to get back to the city, back to Manhattan.  All my friends, my apartment…at the time I was seeing a guy who worked in the financial district…but of course no one could get into the city.  They weren’t letting anyone in.  But as soon as they opened things back up I went back.  They were letting residents back.  The last weekend in September I went back.”

“I’ve never been to New York.”

“Well it’s a wonderful city.  Even now.  But at the time…I somehow felt guilty for not being there when it happened, for being in Provincetown.  And then when I got back, I felt so out of place, so displaced really.  My place is in Chelsea and the smoke from the World Trade Center site drifted right over my neighborhood…I had to keep my windows shut.  The guy I had been seeing…they never found him.”

“Oh Hank.”  Jeremy squeezes Hank’s hand under the covers.

“Well the irony is we didn’t really even like each other that much.  I picked him up in a bar one night…Robert…and then I saw him again in Provincetown…and we dated…but we saw other people…it wasn’t like we were in love…but when he disappeared…so many people I knew had someone they knew who died…every time I walked out of my apartment I would find myself walking down toward the site…I wouldn’t intend to…but then there I was, walking downtown, staring into the ruins.  And it wasn’t even Robert.  But it was like a magnet. I couldn’t write.  I’d sit down to write and nothing would come.  No words.  I actually decided I would never write again.  I started to feel like I was losing my mind.  New York was some alien place.  Everyone was struggling.  I wanted to be there but I wanted to be almost anywhere else.  I was going to go back to the Cape for a few months, but my publisher offered me this house.  He told me to get away.  Go to Wyoming.  So I did.  I didn’t even think very hard about it.  He opened a desk drawer in his office and handed me the keys to the house and later that day I went online and bought an airplane ticket and I flew out here.  It was probably the best thing I ever did.  When I got here it was so beautiful, and so peaceful, and so quiet.  I started writing.  Well, and I’ve come back every year.  I think of this as one of my homes.  And New York is fine now.  I love my winters in New York City.  But I love this place maybe even more.  I kind of…well it’s corny…but I kind of found myself again when I came here.”

“It’s not corny.  It’s just true.  I know what you’re saying.”  Jeremy is holding Hank’s hand.  “Alaska was kind of like that for me.  I don’t mean about 9/11, though I guess maybe in retrospect that was part of it, but I had to…I had to get away…as far from New Orleans as I could…there was a counselor I was seeing…he had worked in Alaska…he said I should go…and I did.  I haven’t been back to New Orleans…I don’t know…someday…but I don’t think before I go to Italy…”  Jeremy’s voice trails off again. 

Hank leans over and kisses Jeremy gently on the lips.  “Well I’m glad you wandered into Wyoming.”

“Me too.”  Jeremy kisses him back.  “Thanks for a great day.  You are a great host.  I’m sorry to be such a lame houseguest.” 

“Lame indeed.”  Hank laughs.  “Well maybe tomorrow that ankle will feel better.”

“Maybe.  I hope so.  I think it will.”  Not very much time passes before Hank can hear the rhythmic breathing of sleep from Jeremy. 

The next morning Hank is up well-before Jeremy.  As much as he likes this adventure with Jeremy, he is feeling the need to spend some time alone.  He slips out of the bedroom without waking Jeremy and pulls the door shut behind him.  He makes strong coffee and then sits in the living room in front of the big picture window watching the sun rise.  The dusky gray sky gives way to gentle soft light, and the dark outline of the mountains against the darkened sky begins to emerge clearly.  He waits with the anticipation of a small child for the moment when the first ray of sunlight from the east will suddenly gild the highest peak.  That first golden touch of daylight melts into a copper rose as it moves down the mountain, lighting the snow caps and the dark stone crevices with a slow sweeping motion that eventually paints the whole mountain range in dramatic morning raiment.  There is a heavy frost covering the ground and he can see that the sky is again going to be blue.  On his way back to the kitchen for more coffee, he pokes his head into the bedroom, and Jeremy is still sleeping soundly.  It is a gift, Hank thinks, seldom appreciated until it is gone—the sound morning sleep of a young man that can last until noon.  Hank believes that he has not slept past 6:30 or 7 in many years, and envies Jeremy’s current oblivion.  With hot coffee in hand and his loins girded with one of the many white bathrobes that live in the house, Hank fires up his laptop for the first time since he arrived and tries to write.  Jeremy remains a bundle of contradictions in his mind.  There are still so many parts of his life that he can not yet fully imagine.  Hank knows that he wasn’t ready to write about him yet, and he decides to look at email instead.

When Jeremy finally wakes up, he calls out for Hank, almost as a child calls for his parent.  He says he still can’t walk on his injured ankle, and inevitably he has to pee.  He reaches up for Hank, and Hank stoops to lift him, wondering who this boy-man in his arms really is.  Things have taken an odd turn, and Hank doesn’t know what to do.  He is happy to carry Jeremy from the bedroom to the bathroom and back again as many times as Jeremy wants him to, but his old assumptions about what is actually going on have begun to shift.  He wonders again if he should try to convince Jeremy to see a doctor. Or even insist. 

Over breakfast, Hank again makes the case for seeking out a doctor, and this time, unexpectedly, Jeremy yields.  Having won that battle without a fight, Hank realizes that he doesn’t have a plan.  Hank has never been to see a doctor in Jackson.  He doesn’t even know where to begin to look for one and considers reaching for the Yellow Pages.  It dawns on him that the simplest thing might be to drive to the emergency room.  Certainly here in Jackson they must be prepared to deal with an injury like this.  He marvels at the thought of how many injured skiers must have limped into the emergency room here over the years.   He recommends that course of action to Jeremy, who says it seems like overkill for a sprained ankle, but agrees to go.

They shower together, with Jeremy balancing on one foot as Hank steadies him.  There is an easy intimacy to the routine that has developed between them that is hard to explain.  Hank shaves while Jeremy sits on the edge of the tub and watches, and then Jeremy shaves what little stubble he has while Hank stands behind him so that he doesn’t topple over.  Hank feels self-conscious bandaging Jeremy’s ankle knowing that a doctor or nurse will be the one to un-bandage it later this morning. 

It is only once they are in the car and on the way to the hospital that Hank begins to worry about what will happen at the hospital.  How should he represent himself?  Hi, I’m a dirty old man and I picked up this young hitchhiker to lure him into my sauna and then, unfortunately, he twisted his ankle.  He asks Jeremy if he would mind if he says that he is Jeremy’s uncle. “It will explain why I am paying.  You were out visiting me.  You’re between jobs, with no insurance.  I mean it might be easier than trying to explain, you know, I mean I’m not sure it’s worth it to explain…”

“Yeah.  It’s OK Hank.  You can be my uncle.  Whatever you think will make this easier.”  That too went over better than Hank had imagined.  He is unsettled by Jeremy’s easy cooperation this morning.

As they pull into the hospital parking lot, Hank can see Jeremy visibly tense up.  Jeremy sucks in his breath and clenches his fists as Hank pulls into a parking space.  “Hank,” Jeremy suddenly blurts out, “I don’t know if I can do this.”  Uh-oh, thinks Hank.  Here it comes.  Faced with a real medical opinion that his ankle is fine, his story is about to crumble.

“Can’t do what?”

“I don’t…I don’t know if I can go in there.”

“Jeremy, it’s fine…they’re just going to look at your ankle…I thought we agreed…”

“Hank.  There’s something…I should have said something…I was gonna say something…” 

“What is it Jeremy?” Hank is prepared for his confession that this has all been a ruse.  He is not completely unhappy about it.  It has been fun, but he is relieved that Jeremy is not really injured.  He’s not sure what Jeremy’s motivation has been, but he has already decided not to be angry.

“I…when I left New Orleans…the reason I left New Orleans…the last time I was in an emergency room…Hank fuck it all anyhow.  I was raped.  My senior year.  Somebody was waiting in my apartment.  I was bound and gagged and raped.  My boyfriend found me hours later when he came home.  I was…bleeding. The police came.  An ambulance.  It was awful.  As you can imagine.  They never found the guy.  I was afraid I had AIDS.  I don’t.  But I couldn’t…everything changed.  My boyfriend, Nick-Peter, he couldn’t…he said everything would be fine…but he couldn’t…stay.  It weirded him out.  I was, that night, in the ER for hours, waiting.  They treated me like it was somehow my fault.  That’s what you get for being gay.  Three doctors were looking at my ass.  Taking semen samples.  Trying to stop the bleeding.  Afterwards.  I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t study.  Couldn’t work.  I barely graduated.  I was seeing a counselor.  He said…he said I had to change my environment.  Go far away.  So I went to Alaska.  I try not to think about it.  It’s not…it’s not pretty.  I’m scared Hank.  I know my ankle’s hurt, but I can’t…I don’t think I can face the doctors again, touching me, examining me…I know we should go in there…but I don’t know if I can do it.  I’m sorry to throw all of this at you.  I should have…we should have talked about it before we got here…I don’t…I don’t know how I’ll feel in there…how I’ll be…I might have to leave…if I tell you I have to leave, will you take me home?”

“Oh Jeremy.”  Hank’s voice is shaking.  He can barely form words.  “Of course we will go home.  Just tell me.  I’ll stay with you.  The whole time.  I promise.  No one will hurt you.  I am so sorry.  They won’t…if we say I’m your uncle, they’ll let me go in with you.  Oh Jeremy.”  Hank is overcome with remorse—for doubting Jeremy’s injury, for dragging him into the sauna, for trying to push his finger up his ass. 

“Thanks Hank.”

“Jeremy, listen…if I’d known…I mean I didn’t know…I couldn’t have known…but the other night…on the couch…I feel awful…I feel sick about it Jeremy.  I would never have…”

“I know Hank.  I know.  You wouldn’t have.   I know that.  I should have told you.  You’ve been…perfect to me.  And I’ve been impossible.  I wanted to tell you.  But I haven’t…told anyone since I left New Orleans. Haven’t slept with anyone.  Haven’t cared to…until now.  You were…perfect…gentle…with you I wasn’t afraid…I just…it’s gonna take me some time…”

Hank leans over and kisses Jeremy gently on the cheek.  “I will take care of you Jeremy.”

“I appreciate that.  I don’t need you to take care of me. But I appreciate the offer.”

“I know you don’t need me Jeremy…but there is the distinct possibility that I need you.”

“Hank.  Don’t treat me different now.  That is the worst part.  Everyone treats me different once they know.”

“I promise Jeremy.  Now.  If you’re ready.  We should get you inside I think, so we can get you home.  I could carry you in.  Or I can go in and see if they have a wheelchair I can use.  It might be a more dignified entrance.  What do you think?”

“A wheelchair, huh?  Go for it.  I’ll be here.” 

Pushing Jeremy in the wheelchair through the slush in the parking lot is harder than it looks. Hank watches Jeremy curl his toes down tight against the cold mountain air.  He is self-conscious about having to tell the lie about being Jeremy’s uncle, but under the circumstances, he is confident that it is the right thing to do. 

As soon as they are inside the clinic door and out of the cold, Jeremy’s body seems to stiffen, his nostrils flaring like a frightened horse.  The wheelchair stops just inside the door, and as Hank tries to push, Jeremy fights the forward movement, dragging his good foot on the ground.  He turns a panicked face toward Hank and whispers hoarsely “Take me home!” 

Hank comes around to the front of the chair and kneels down.  “I can take you home Jeremy, but that’s not going to help your ankle. You’re OK.  You’re safe.  I’m not going to leave your side.  I promise.  I think we should try to see a doctor as long as we’re here.”  He reaches out and takes Jeremy’s hand in his and squeezes.  Jeremy closes his eyes, shutting out Hank, shutting out the entire hospital, but after a long pause, he squeezes back.

At the counter, no one questions that he is indeed Hank’s uncle.  It turns out they don’t have to wait very long at all.  Hank imagines that at the height of ski season the wait must be hours.  A very young man with a white lab coat over jeans and sweater greets them with a firm handshake, introducing himself as Dr. Sims.  He looks at the forms on the clipboard he is carrying and then looks at Jeremy.  “I understand you twisted your ankle.”

“Yeah.”  Jeremy’s face is a storm of emotion.  He is clearly afraid.  He looks at Hank with his eyes wide, and his face reveals the sting of memory he clearly feels. 

“Tell me what happened.”  The young doctor’s voice is gentle, and even soothing.

“I, um, stepped off the road the other night and turned it over.  I guess I need to stay off it for a few days.  It actually feels a bit better today.”  Hank can see that Jeremy is working hard to elide this visit with the doctor.  “I don’t…I don’t want to waste your time…maybe I could just borrow a pair of crutches from you, just for a few days…Hank…my uncle…wanted me to come…but it’s nothing.”

The doctor’s voice continues, mild and generous.  Hank is impressed with the way he handles Jeremy.  “If you really can’t walk on it Jeremy, someone should evaluate it.  Come on…why don’t the three of us go back to an exam room and let me take a look at it for you.”  He takes Jeremy’s silence for consent and takes control of the wheelchair, pushing Jeremy ahead of him, but motioning Hank to follow.  Hank wonders what the doctor thinks. 

Inside the small exam room, the doctor continues to speak soothingly.   Hank sits on a chair in the corner and the doctor helps Jeremy stand up on his left foot and then helps him hop up onto an examination table.  Hank flinches when the doctor touches Jeremy, and he realizes how possessive of Jeremy he has become. He is surprised when the doctor asks Jeremy to slip his jeans off, and stands up to intervene, but Jeremy looks at him as if to say that it is OK, and Hank sits back down. 

“Now, you said you turned your ankle over.  Show me with your other foot how you turned your ankle.”  The doctor takes Jeremy’s left foot in his hand.  “Did your ankle turn out, like this, or in, like this?”  The doctor moves Jeremy’s uninjured ankle gently, rolling his foot to the outside, and then to the inside.

“In.  It turned in.  Like I was walking and I stepped off the edge of the roadbed and my foot rolled, like the top of my foot rolled under and I stepped down on it, like this.”  Jeremy twists his foot to show the doctor.  “It hurt at the time, and I stumbled, but it didn’t hurt a lot.  In fact I walked back to Hank’s…my uncle’s house…without much of a problem. Later, when I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, when I stepped down on it, that’s when it really hurt.”

“Does it hurt if you’re not trying to put weight on it?”

“No, not really.  Just if I try to walk on it, or stand on it.”

“Well let’s take a look.”  He gently unwraps Jeremy’s right ankle, neatly rolling the ace bandage as he unwinds it. 

“See.  It’s not even very swollen,” Jeremy says.  “Barely even sprained I guess.  I’m sorry to take up your time.  You must be busy.” Hank can see Jeremy trying half-heartedly to wiggle out of this examination even now.

The doctor carries on conducting his exam, moving carefully with his fingers up and down Jeremy’s foot and ankle.  Then he begins gently moving the ankle and foot, this way and that, asking Jeremy to tell him when it hurts.  “Well I agree with you, Jeremy.  You appear to have sprained your ankle.”  Hank sits on the edge of his seat, again feeling guilty for ever having doubted Jeremy. “You see this right here?” the doctor says, drawing his finger along the outside of Jeremy’s ankle.  “That’s your deltoid ligament, which you probably tore a little bit when you turned your ankle over.  Now, let’s see what kind of weight you can bear today.  I want you to hop down here on your left foot.” 

The doctor helps Jeremy off the table.  “Now, hold my hands.  Standing on your left foot I want you to put your right foot on the floor and very slowly begin to shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot.  Tell me when it hurts.”  Jeremy starts to slowly shift his weight from one foot to the other, and he appears to be able to put some weight on his right foot.  As he continues to shift, however, he suddenly cries out and stumbles.  The doctor catches him.    

“I’m sorry!” Jeremy blurts out, as if he had done something wrong. 

“I would say weight bearing is still quite painful for you today.  Would you say that is about the same, better, or worse than the pain you’ve experienced since you first twisted your ankle?”

“About the same…there’s a point where it just hurts like hell.  I could maybe put more weight on it today than yesterday, but at a certain point, the pain just shoots.”  The doctor guides Jeremy back down into the wheelchair.  Hank is acutely conscious that Jeremy is sitting there in his underwear, and wishes that the doctor would hand him his jeans.

“I’d like to take some x-rays.” 

“X-rays?”  Jeremy’s voice is quavering.  “You, um, you just told me I have a sprained ankle.”

“I think you do Jeremy.  Your symptoms are consistent with a sprained ankle, but with your inability to bear weight, x-rays are routine in this situation.  The x-rays don’t hurt.  Your uncle can wait here and I’ll bring you back when we’re done.”  Hank stands up to protest, to insist that he be allowed to go with them, to honor his promise to Jeremy to not leave him alone, but Jeremy looks over at him and nods, as if to say that it is OK.  The doctor helps Jeremy into a flimsy hospital gown and then helps him sit back down in the wheelchair.  When he wheels him out of the room, Hank is left sitting by himself and feeling very much alone.  He is keenly aware of his mounting fear of losing Jeremy and has to fight the panic that is rising up in his chest.

It is about twenty minutes before Jeremy is brought back. He is wheeled in by someone other than the doctor, a young man in scrubs who leaves them alone as soon as he has positioned the wheelchair next to the exam table.

“Hey,” Jeremy says weakly, once they are alone.

“Hey back at you.  How are you?”

“I’m OK.  He took a lot of x-rays.  How are you?  You don’t look so good.”  Indeed Hank was pale.

“I’m OK.  This is all just a bit overwhelming.  And I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

“It’s OK.  I’m glad you’re here.”  Jeremy’s naked injured ankle is propped up on the metal leg support on the chair so that it sticks out in front of him.  Hank experiences a momentary desire to kneel in front of the chair, supplicant, and take Jeremy’s toes into his mouth.   

“Well I’m glad…glad I can be here…I hope…”

Just then the doctor walks in carrying some x-ray films which he pops into a light board mounted on the wall alongside the exam table. He throws the switch illuminating the opaque panels.  There are just two pictures that he slides into the clips on the light board, and Hank instantly recognizes the skeletal outline of a foot and ankle that he assumes belong to Jeremy.  He finds it kind of spooky in an almost Halloween way to see the x-ray image of part of a human skeleton lit up on the wall.  It reminds him of the plastic human skeleton that hung in his high school biology classroom.

“Well,” Bruce said, letting out a big sigh, “I have some bad news I’m afraid.”  Hank and Jeremy are both sitting bolt upright.  Hank can see Jeremy’s fists clenched in his lap and Hank’s heart is racing.  What kind of bad news could he have?  “In addition to spraining your ankle, you’ve fractured two bones.” 

“Fractured?” Jeremy blurts out.  “Two bones?”

“Broken?” Hank spits out his questions on top of Jeremy’s. “Two of them?”

The doctor moves his finger to one of the x-rays.  “Right here,” he says, pointing, “there is a piece of bone that has pulled away from your distal tibia…when you rolled your ankle the deltoid ligament actually pulled this piece of bone off.  Also, here, in your foot, you’ve broken your fifth metatarsal.” 

“My foot?” Jeremy is trying to make sense of what the doctor is saying.

“His fifth meta-what?” Hank is as confused as Jeremy.

“This is the long bone on the outside of your foot,” the doctor says, moving his finger along the surface of the x-ray, “the bone that ends in your fifth toe.  You’ve fractured it right here, near the base, close to your ankle.  When you rolled your foot over and came down on your foot you broke this bone.  It is actually a classic combination of injuries, almost textbook.  It’s called an avulsion injury.  Your foot rolled in and your ankle rolled out and you tore the ligament, that’s the sprain part, and then the wrenching of the ligament pulled a piece of bone away from your tibia here, and that twisting motion, that torque, also fractured this bone here in your foot.” The doctor is demonstrating with his hands how Jeremy’s mechanics of Jeremy’s ankle collapsed.  “We often see these three things together.” 

“You can’t be serious…” Jeremy stammers.

“I’m very serious Jeremy.  You’ve broken your foot and your ankle.”  Hank is dazed.  It is almost more than he can take in.  He wants to be supportive of Jeremy, to say something helpful, but there are no words that come to him.  He remembers suddenly, awfully, that first glimpse of Jeremy he had in the grocery store when he thought he was leaning on a pair of crutches that turned out to be his backpack.  He begins to believe that somehow this is his fault, that he has made this happen, like some bizarre orthopedic Firestarter. He is horrified at the prospect.

“So…now what?”  Jeremy is very focused on what will happen next.

“Now what?  Now I’m going to put your leg in a cast.”

“My leg in a cast?”  Hank’s heart is beating so hard in his chest that he thinks he might be having a heart attack.

“I’m also going to refer you to an orthopedic surgeon.”

“A surgeon??”  Hank can hear the panic in Jeremy’s voice.

“It doesn’t mean you need surgery.”  The doctor is quick to try to reassure him.  “I’m not an orthopedist, and there isn’t one on service here.  I am just an ER doc.  We can immobilize your foot and ankle with the cast, but the fracture is a little bit complicated.  I’d like to have it looked at by someone else.  There is a great guy here in the valley.  He’s busy in the winter, as you can imagine, but this time of year, it should be easy to get in to see him sometime this week.  I’ll give you your x-rays to take with you when you go to see him.  Meanwhile, you need to stay off your ankle.  Even with the cast I don’t want you putting weight down on your foot.  You’re going to have to use crutches.”

“How long…I mean how long will he be laid up?”  Hank has walked across the room to stand between Jeremy and the doctor, protectively.

“It all depends.  The surgeon will be able to give you a better idea.  Most broken ankles heal pretty well in six to eight weeks.”  He redirects his conversation back to Jeremy.  “If there aren’t any complications, you should be back on your feet before the new year.  The important thing is to stay off of it now so that it heals properly.”

“I understand.”  Jeremy is subdued.

“OK!  Let’s get you into a cast so you can be on your way!” The doctor helps Jeremy up onto the table and then raises a small bar up from the middle of the table and places Jeremy’s right knee over the top of it so that his foot and ankle hang freely above the table.  “Are you comfortable like that?” he inquires.

“Sure.  I’m fine.”  Hank thinks that Jeremy sounds scared. Hank is fascinated by the prospect of getting to watch the casting process.  He has never had a cast, and doesn’t really have any idea how a cast is even made.  He watches with fascination as the doctor fills a small tub with water and then begins pulling supplies out of a locked metal cabinet.  First he cuts off a length of what looks like a big tube sock without toes from a big roll of the stuff and pulls this onto Jeremy’s foot and up the length of his lower leg all the way over his knee.  The excess material hangs over the ends of his toes, completely covering them.  When the doctor pulls the material up over his leg it looks less like a tube sock and more like the leg from a pair of the tights or leotards that his sister used to wear when they were growing up. Next, he begins opening up packages of what look like rolled cotton padding. He opens six in all, and sets them on the table next to Jeremy’s butt.  Then he begins wrapping Jeremy’s foot and ankle with the cotton padding, starting at the end of his foot just above his toes, and unrolling the padding, wrapping up toward his ankle, overlapping the padding as he goes and pulling on the cotton to smooth and tuck as he works so that there are no wrinkles.  He continues wrapping upwards with a second roll, covering Jeremy’s heel, and then his ankle, and then his shin, ending just below the knee.  Then he takes a third roll and wraps figure eights over and over again over Jeremy’s ankle joint.  He takes a fourth roll and starts at the top, rolling down in the same methodical overlapping way, and then finishes wrapping the fifth roll down to the base of his toes and back up over his foot one more time.  Then he carefully positions Jeremy’s foot so that it is at exactly a ninety degree angle to his leg.  “Now hold your foot exactly like that and try not to move at all,” the doctor tells him.   Hank watches with fascination as the doctor pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and takes a foil pouch from the tray, ripping it open with his teeth. He takes a role of fiberglass tape from the pouch and plunges it into the tub of water, and then, squeezing it out slightly, begins to wrap Jeremy’s foot. 

“Relax Jeremy.  This isn’t going to hurt.”  The doctor is clearly trying to put Jeremy at ease, and Hank is grateful that he is so gentle.  Hank watches as the doctor wraps the fiberglass tape over the cotton padding, starting just above Jeremy’s toes and working up, carefully overlapping with each wrap, just as he had with the padding.  As soon as he finishes one roll, he begins another, working up over his ankle toward his knee.  Jeremy begins to squirm, and he looks at the doctor quizzically.  “Feel hot?  That’s normal.  There is a heat exchange as the fiberglass hardens.” 

“Yeah.  Wow.  I can feel it getting hot.  I can feel the cast getting hard too.”

“Pretty cool, huh?”  The doctor continues to wrap methodically, taking one roll to wrap figure eights over his ankle and heel and upper foot, just as he had with the padding, making that area the thickest part of the cast.  After the third roll, he stops and folds the stocking and extra padding that extend over Jeremy’s toes back onto the cast, and then does the same thing with the material that extends up over his knee, and then he opens another roll of fiber and begins wrapping again, neatly covering all but about three-quarters of an inch of the folded material, leaving a soft clean border at either end of the cast.  The doctor finally finishes wrapping, having used five rolls in all.  The cast is pretty fat, particularly around Jeremy’s foot and ankle—fatter than Hank thought he remembered similar casts he had seen. “Wiggle your toes for me,” the doctor direct, and obediently, Jeremy wiggles his toes.  “OK.  Perfect.  A beautiful cast if I do say so myself.  I need you to sit here for another 20 minutes or so until it dries.  I’ve got to go see another patient but I will be back.”

Once the doctor leaves them alone, Hank is embarrassed.  Even after all of the naked time they have spent together, he is self-conscious about Jeremy sitting there in his underwear, and somehow the cast on his bare leg makes him look even more naked.  Jeremy looks up at Hank sheepishly.  “Hey Hank.”

“Hey Jeremy.”  Hank walks over to the exam table where Jeremy is laying with his casted leg splayed out in front of him.  Hank seems to be having some trouble breathing. 

“Are you sure you’re OK Hank?  You still don’t look so good.”

“Yeah.  I’m OK.  Just surprised.  I didn’t…I didn’t expect this.”  Hank reaches his hand out tentatively and places it on the bend of Jeremy’s newly casted ankle, and then he touches the bottom of the sole of his casted foot.  “It seems like a big cast for just a twisted ankle.”  He is trying to joke, trying to be light, but it falls flat.

“I broke my ankle.  And my foot.” Jeremy says this with disbelief in his voice.

“Yeah.  I know.  I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.  It just happened.  An accident.  No one’s fault.”

“I know.”

“I um…he said…he said I’ll have to stay off of it for at least six weeks.”

“Yeah.  I heard.”

“I guess that puts an end to my hitchhiking.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Are you OK being here?  I mean in the hospital?”  Hank is concerned.

“Yeah.  I guess I’m fine.  It freaked me out at first.  The smells…it was just like in New Orleans.  I thought I was gonna throw up.  But then that sort of went away.”

Hank’s hand is still resting gently on the cast.  He looks quickly to the door and then bends over and kisses Jeremy quickly on the lips. “I can’t believe you broke your ankle.”

“I can’t believe it either.  My ankle and my foot.  All I did was step off the road….”

“Well.  That’s quite a cast.”

“Yeah.  It’s fat.”

“Well it is supposed to protect your foot and your ankle.”

“Everything is…everything will be harder.”

“We’ll manage.  I’ll take care of you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“It feels…I feel like I want to move my foot.”

“But you can’t.”

“No.  I can’t.  But I can wiggle my toes.”

“I can see that.”  Hank moves his hand to Jeremy’s toes. 

“I definitely can’t drive.”

“No.”

“Or swim.”

“No.”

“Or ski.”

“No.  But in this town, you look like you’ve been skiing.”

“Skiing badly.”

“No.  Skiing fast.”

“Like I came down the mountain on a sled with the ski patrol and my leg in a splint.”

“Exactly.”

“But all I did was twist my ankle.”

“Well you gave it a good twist.”

“Apparently.  So good I broke my foot.  And my ankle.”

“Something like that.”

“He says I need to see a surgeon.  I don’t want surgery.”

“He said you might not need surgery.” 

“I hope not.  This is bad enough.”

“You know you’re…you’re welcome to stay with me…at my place…as long as you like…as long as you need to.”  Hank holds his breath.

“Thanks Hank.  I’d like that.  At least for a while.  Until I can get back on my feet again.  This wasn’t…I wasn’t planning on this…on any of this.”

“Me neither Jeremy.  Me neither.”

“I’m not sure…what else I would do…what I’m going to do now.”

“Well you don’t have to decide.  You know you can stay with me.”

“I know.  I appreciate that.  I don’t know where else I’d go.”

“I don’t leave Jackson until the end of December.  That’s two months”

“I’m supposed to go to Italy.”

“You probably still can.”

“I can’t travel like this.”

“That’s more than eight weeks away.  Let’s see how you get along.”

“This wasn’t what I planned.”

“Me either.  But you can’t always plan.”

“No.  Apparently not.”

“Is there…is there anyone we should call…anyone you want to call…let them know where you are…let them know what’s happened?”

“No.  There’s really not.  My mom…she’s not expecting me. She thinks I’m hitchhiking.  I’ll call her.  But not yet.  She won’t be worried yet.  I don’t…there isn’t anyone.”

Just then the doctor walks back into the room.  He is carrying a bunch of stuff, including a pair of crutches, and some hospital scrubs.  Hank quickly pulls his hand from Jeremy’s toes.  “Here.  You’re going to have to put these on until you get home.  Your jeans will never fit over that cast.  Hank, why don’t you help him get dressed.  Here.”  The doctor hands the soft green cotton pants to Hank, and Hank fumblingly helps Jeremy pull the loose pants up over his cast and hips. 

“How’s that cast feel?,”  the doctor asks.

“Um.  Fine.  I guess.  It’s big.”

Hank returns to the chair in the corner of the room and sits down heavily.  He wants nothing more than to pick Jeremy up and carry him to bed.  He wonders if the doctor saw his hands on Jeremy’s toes when he walked in.  The doctor is still talking.  “Now, Jeremy, slide your butt to the end of the table.  Ever use crutches before?”

“No.  I never have.”

“Well let me show you a few things.  Now, you’re probably going to have some throbbing for a few days until the swelling goes down.  Try to stay off your feet and keep your cast elevated.  Also, you’re going to be tempted to try to rest your toes on the floor.  Don’t do it.  That’s going to put pressure on your broken metatarsal and interfere with the healing.  You really need to keep all of your weight off of this for at least six weeks. You’re also going to need this when you bathe, to keep the cast dry.  Whatever you do, don’t get it wet.”  He hands Hank what looks like a big clear rubber sheath with a plastic ring on it.  “Now, hop down here and let’s see you practice.”

Jeremy is awkward as he tries to use the crutches, but with a little practice and a few pointers from the doctor he seems to get the hang of it.  Hank thinks that watching him crutch is  the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—the way the cast swings between the crutches, the way his long toes stick out, the way his shoulders hunch up above the crutches—he finds all of it strangely erotic and sensual.  Even the heft of the cast seems to make his dick grow thick.  That he and Jeremy will soon be alone in the house with this cast is almost more than he can stand.

“Here is the referral to the surgeon.  Albert Gillette.  I’d like you to call and make an appointment to see him this week.  And I don’t want you putting any weight on that foot.  Got it?”  The doctor is clearly wrapping things up.

“I got it.  Thanks, by the way, for seeing me...for your help…for taking care of this for me.  I appreciate it.”  Jeremy sticks his hand out to shake the doctor’s hand.

“I’m glad to be able to help…to help you…and...your uncle.”

“Thanks.”  Hank is up now, and he too reaches for the doctor’s hand.  “Thanks a lot.”

The three of them make their way slowly back down the hallway toward the exit and the parking lot.  Jeremy moves haltingly and deliberately on the crutches, trying to get the hang of them.  Hank and the doctor walk behind him.  Hank is transfixed.  The doctor bids them farewell at the door and the two of them slowly cross the parking lot to the car.  It has started to snow and the wind whips against their faces.  Hank has to help Jeremy up into the Jeep.  After an aborted attempt to lift him up into the front seat, Hank finally elects the back seat so that Jeremy can stretch out. The snow is coming down hard and fast, and Hank has to run the wipers and the defroster to be able to see.  From the driver’s seat, Hank can see the cast and Jeremy’s toes in the rear view mirror.  He has to keep reminding himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead of him as he drives.  The driving is becoming increasingly difficult in the blowing snow and Hank has to concentrate on the road. 

By the time they get home, the snow is already several inches deep in the driveway and the driving wind is already pushing the snow into small drifts.  Hank recognizes the beginning of a big snowfall in Wyoming. This will be the first of the season.  As he helps Jeremy out of the back seat and into his arms, he tries to lean over him to shelter him from the pelting snow.  He hurries with Jeremy in his arms to get inside.  The heel of Jeremy’s cast rubs gently against his upper thigh as he walks, and he can see that Jeremy’s toes are curled down tight over the lip of the cast against the cold and the snow.  Once inside, he carries Jeremy to the living room and eases him gently down onto the couch.  He arranges the throw pillows in a pile so that Jeremy can prop his cast up on them and turns to light a fire.

By this time it is mid-afternoon and they are both starving.  Hank makes sandwiches and heats some soup as the mountains outside disappear into the blizzard.  The snow falls all afternoon and into the night. By the time it is over almost twenty inches of snow will fall and the drifts against the back of the car will be more than three feet deep.  This is how winter begins in Jackson.  The ground will be covered with snow between now and April, or even May. 

Hank and Jeremy spend the day on the couch in front of the fire.  Hank sits with Jeremy’s cast in his lap, the heel of the cast resting in his crotch, and his hand resting on Jeremy’s toes.  They talk, and nap.  When it gets dark Hank pours whiskeys and makes dinner.  Later still, he carries Jeremy to bed and the two men snuggle, naked, under the feather comforter, Hanks bare foot tracing the contours of Jeremy’s cast.  Neither man seems to care that the crutches are out in the Jeep, under two and a half feet of snow. There will be time enough to get them later, after the storm passes.  Tomorrow, or the next day, Hank will dig the car out, and the plows will open the roads, but for now they are happily stranded by the advent of winter.