#bom10daychallenge

Connor, 

I don’t really know why I’m writing this. I think I’m a bit lonely and this almost feels like I’m talking to you again. It’s almost midnight, which is funny, because this is when we used to sneak outside and talk about everything that we were gonna do. And I don’t know about you, but I haven’t done anything that I said I was going to do. I hope you have though. You deserve it. You deserve the world. 

You definitely deserve more than me, and I’m sorry. I never meant to care for you so much, I never meant to fall in love with you, but I did. And I know that you didn’t mean to feel like you did either, and I’m sorry that I led you on for two years only to leave you behind. I didn’t want to, not really, but I was scared of who I was when I was 21. 

And I’m not anymore. I know who I am and what I want. But it doesn’t matter, because we’re both 10 years older and I hope you’ve moved on. I hope you found someone and married him. I hope he’s able to give you everything that you told me you wanted when we were in Uganda. 

And I’m sorry that I wasn’t that person. 

Kevin does not remember hunting (the now married) Chris Thomas down on Facebook and begging him for Connor’s address, or even taking the letter to the post office. 

“I’m worried about you, buddy,” Arnold says. He is sitting on the rusted fire-escape of a motel in Kampala, drinking a plastic cup of waragi. He is wearing the beginnings of a proper bedhead and no shirt. There are scratches across his chest and a fading bruise against his neck. Kevin does not want to know why, though he’s sure he could guess. “You’re drinking booze out of the bottle in a BYU parking lot. If someone sees you, you’re totally expelled.”

Kevin shrugs. “I think maybe I want that.”

“Do you? ‘Cause no offense, Kev, I find that a little hard to believe.” Arnold reaches to adjust his laptop - a gift from his overly concerned mother when she learned he was in no rush to come home - and for a blessed second Kevin gets a detailed view of Arnold’s lap. He’s wearing very tight, very small boxers that sit low on his hips; Kevin can make out the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. “You sat before a disciplinary council and restored your standing with the church, just so you could go there. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure that wasn’t very fun for you. Considering.”  He motions with a hand, sending a splash of gin over the lip of his cup. Arnold swears, and licks it off his arm. Kevin shifts in his seat.

“Considering what?” He frowns, propping his phone up on the dashboard. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Arnold snorts, staring into what’s left of his drink. “Okay, sure, I believe that; but I also believe you didn’t tell them everything.”

“Well, yeah, I wasn’t there because of everything. I was there because of your stupid play.” The second he says that, Kevin feels bad. The play wasn’t stupid, it was beautiful; and helped him put a lot of things into perspective. Like how some things are just meant to be symbolic; a catalyst to push you towards greater purpose, and nothing more. Arnold’s play was that for Kevin. After, he no longer wanted to help people by baptizing them into the church, he wanted to help them by providing a sustainable solution to their problems. “I had no part in that, anyway, so it wasn’t exactly hard for me to apologize.”

“Uh huh, sure.” Arnold rolls his eyes. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to be a practicing Mormon, again.”

“Am I, though?” Kevin holds up the bottle of gin.

Arnold sighs; “Whatever, Kev.”

“Look, it’s really not that hard to understand. I love my family, pal. That’s all there is to it.” He thinks Arnold should have been able to figure that out on his own, considering he understands conditional love more than anyone. “Can we talk about something else?”

“I guess.” Arnold moves to sit cross legged, setting his drink down beside him. Kevin watches it tip over. “Why don’t we start with this: what are you wearing?” He offers Kevin an exaggerated wink, that Kevin rolls his eyes to.

“You can see me, Arnold.” Kevin waves a hand down the front of his shirt, which has BYU emblazoned across the front and a hole along the seam of the neckline.

“Not the bottom half.” Arnold lifts his laptop, tipping it so Kevin can see the outline of his dick. “There, you’ve seen mine, now let me see yours.”

“I thought you were worried about me getting expelled?” Reaching for his phone, Kevin complies. He is wearing jeans that leave everything to the imagination. He grins, as Arnold sighs in disappointment.

“Um, yeah, no – that’s not fair.” Arnold leans forward, tapping the screen. “Give me something to work with, Kev! I miss you, like, so fucking much; and we only get to do this once a month.”

This is news to Kevin, considering Arnold made no real effort to keep Kevin with him; and as far as Kevin knows, he still goes to bed with Nabulungi every night. Still, it’s flattering to know he still has this effect on Arnold. He thinks he’d like to keep it that way, even though he is not the only one. Tossing the phone onto the dashboard, Kevin unzips his jeans and tugs them down over his hips. He’s not wearing a single thing under them. Arnold better appreciate this.

“Uh, huh, yeah, that’s way better.”  Arnold lifts a hand to his mouth; it is clear he is smiling behind it. His cheeks are flushed with something other than drink, and it brings Kevin back to Uganda, to the pit latrine where he gave his first blowjob. Arnold’s eyes had been so dark, they were almost unrecognizable; it has scared him and thrilled him all at once.

“Your turn,” Kevin says, wetting his lips. “Fair is fair.”

Arnold looks hesitant, glancing over his shoulder at the building right behind him. “I don’t wanna get arrested, Kevin.”

“And I don’t particularly want to get expelled. Just go inside, then, if you’re scared.” Kevin watches intently as Arnold shuffles to the far corner of the fire-escape, sliding a hand over the bulge between his legs. He’s always been up for a challenge. Kevin’s skin feels like it’s on fire. “Come on, come on, come on,” he urges. The windows of his sedan are fogging up.  

“Were you always this impatient?” But Arnold complies, sitting up on his knees as he shoves his underwear over his hips and down his thighs. He’s already hard; Kevin is not far behind him. “’Cause, I’m pretty sure patience is a Mormon virtue or whatever.”

“You never gave me a chance to be,” Kevin says, sliding a hand down his stomach. Arnold watches intently as Kevin takes himself in hand. “You were always real eager.”  

“Kevin.” Arnold whines, his eyes trained on Kevin’s hand. “Fuck.”

It does not take either of them very long; just a few strokes until Kevin is coming, head tipped back as he spills over his fist. Arnold swears, again, and follows soon thereafter. It gets on his screen.

“Gross,” Kevin laughs as Arnold tries to wipe it off, managing only to spread it around.

“Would you think so if it was on your face?” Arnold grins impishly, and waves before quickly logging off. Kevin wipes his hands on his jeans, once the call disconnects. He’s tired; from coming and just from being here, drunk in his car at BYU. He wishes he were anywhere else. He wishes he was with Arnold in Uganda, on that fire escape, even if they were just drinking gin and talking; because this once a month thing - it’s not enough.