Helpful Hiker

I moved slowly and quietly over to the table and pulled the pack off my back and gently lowered it to the floor. I leaned my butt against the table next to him and placed a hand tentatively on his forearm. He twitched once and there was another slight sob, but I could feel him calm down, tension starting to drain out of him from the mere contact of skin on skin. His head was still hanging down, his eyes cast toward his crotch. My eyes were drifting there too, and I could feel the increasing tightness in my own crotch.

“Fine? I wasn’t sure from seeing you in the window that . . . sure you don’t want to talk with someone about it . . . whatever it is?”

I moved my arm around his shoulder and he just sort of collapsed into me, his face buried in my chest.”

“Vince. Vince and I . . . Vince thought . . . convinced me. . . . Life is such shit.”

“There, there,” I cooed, and I started an almost imperceptible rocking of our bodies. The young man seemed to like this. I could feel the tension flowing out of him. “A beautiful young man like you? How could life—”

“Up to our necks in debt, and nothing going right—”

“Vince doesn’t take care of you?” My mind was racing. Vince obviously was the key; Vince obviously was the dark one. “You’re with Vince? Vince is your lover?”