It was rather simple, JC mused, as the old man took him back to the trail. As the sand kicked up at his feet and the arid wind whipped around him. The plan was being explained, all the while images of Lance dripped through his head. Strong images. Powerful pictures. Sensual and erotic in nature. Pleasing his eyes -- his mind -- his soul. “So,” the old man said, pausing to sit on a bench. “You head to New York. You have one night to lure Lance to you. One night. I’ll put the pauses in, since you’re a nice kid. Got a helluva voice.” JC was sweating, his palms, his hairline. His essence. Saturated with nervous energy. Wondering if he dared climb through the portal to this other world. He rubbed his hands off on his jeans and sighed into the air. “And if I can’t?” The old man smiled and looked up. “I get your voice. You won’t sing or speak ever again.” JC bit his lip and looked away, stared out over the dusky mesas that caressed the blue sky. He gazed at them until his vision blurred and his eyes felt cross. To lose his voice. It was mad. Just for Lance. And he was terrified because he wasn’t sure he could even *get* Lance. Wasn’t sure Lance would go for him. Especially with Laura around. He was nervous, scared to death to deal. “Lance never said love,” the old man crooned wickedly. “Never said “I love Laura” did he? He only said it was comforting to have her around.” JC spun on his heels and glared, searching the vacant eyes of the stranger, challenging him to explain it to him. Explain what he meant by mentioning that. And how the fuck he even knew. It was beginning to make his stomach hurt. All this talk. So he turned to walk away from it. To disappear down the same dirt path he’d come up. Get back in the car and drive away. Forget the premiere and hide at home with a bottle of Whiskey. “Screw you,” he hissed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. And as his body began to travel with anguish backwards, he heard a slithering voice. A rumble. A tickle in his ear crying for him. Moaning in orgasmic delight. Whimpering his name lowly, extending it in a long sob. Begging him for more. To make him come. To fuck him. JC froze as he listened. Lance. Lance having sex in his head -- in his ears. He could feel the hot stream of phantom breath lick at his ear, and smell the erotic scent of Lance’s cologne. As his eyes fluttered shut, he could feel Lance there beside him. It was a cruel joke, a twist of his soul. A digging at his gut as he knew Lance was not there. As he realized this mysterious man held powers of evil. But it felt so damn good, to have Lance coil inside of him like that. It gave JC a glimpse into what a night would feel with Lance. To sprawl him out on a California King bed. To undress him slowly and gaze into those big eyes. To have candles illuminating the room, making  Lance’s skin glower. To kiss his lips, and massage his skin. “Fuck!” he screamed, dropping to his knees. His blood was blazing just fantasizing about it. His pants bunched unmercifully where an erection had begun. His toes tingled and his mouth ached for those lips. “God! Help me!” He prayed silently, at his wit’s end. Weakened by powers beyond him. Wishing he had more faith to fight. A hand landed on his shoulder and JC winced. “So I’ll set it up then?” the old man laughed. “You’ll not be sorry, Joshua. Lance is even more delectable than your mind has allowed you to think. His skin alone ...” “Shut up,” JC growled, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Shut. UP!” He was begging, pleading on his knees in the hopes this man would go away. Take his offer away. Leave him. “He’s sweet,” the man spoke softly into JC’s ear. “He’s kind and warm. He’ll make you brownies and hot cocoa on chilly winter nights. And rub your back when you’ve been hunched over the piano too long. He’ll suck your dick like no other -- and curl into your back to sleep faithfully. You’ll never want with Lance. He’ll bring you flowers and you’ll make love, not fuck. He’ll be your soul Joshua. Make you whole.” JC sobbed into his fist as the man moved away. His gut wrenched at the mere thought. He was torn, ripped up inside. “You’ll be the only one hurt if it doesn’t work,” the man cooed. “Only your voice. Not your creativity. And if you win ... well, the treasures are immeasurable.” The sun sailed down on him, beat his will away with it’s stifling heat. He pressed his palms against the grainy sand and nodded, lashed into submission by the prospect. He longed for happiness. For some shred of it. And he just *knew* in Lance he could find it. “Good then,” the man said, clapping JC hard on the back. “You go to New York then. You dress real nice and use that fancy cologne of yours. I’ll be in touch.” JC whimpered as he struggled to rest back on his heels, as he could feel the entity walking away. He felt cold and alone, like he was playing a trick on himself. Encouraging himself to a future that held no promises. It would be up to him, JC thought, as he was left alone with the desert flowers. Up to him to convince Lance that they were supposed to give a relationship a try. To lure him into his bed. To secure a place in his heart. He gasped for air as he stood, and felt weary as he headed down the sandy footpath back to the spa -- where he planned to pack and head home. Sink into the Jacuzzi on his back deck and think about this deal with the devil -- this odd situation he couldn’t have dreamed of. As JC prepared to leave his room, his cell phone jingled. He juggled his bags in one hand while pulling the phone out to check the ID. This time, he saw Bobbee’s name and number with his own eyes, blinking hard at the letters and numbers. Certain it was her, he dropped his bags in the hall for the porter and sighed a hello into the receiver. “JC! Goddammit!” JC winced as the high pitched squeal made it’s way across the line and he leaned against the wall, not ready to deal with Bobbee’s antics. “I just called Beth and apparently I’m not going to Lance and Joey’s premiere? What the hell is going on?” JC saw the porter wander down the hall, and he nodded toward his bags, smiling to himself as things already seemed to fall into place. Whoever, and he knew it had been the old man,  had arranged Bobbee not going had let him off the hook. It was something he dreaded in everyday life -- telling her no. She didn’t take it well. “Sorry, honey,” he chirped. “I’m sure Beth tried.” “Fuck that,” the screams continued. “JC! Don’t you want me there? I mean, God! I never get to see you as it is and ..” “Baby, no. It’s not that.” JC was master at telling her what she wanted to hear. Not to be mean. Never meaning to hurt her. Just ... not so in love with her. “I’m sure it’ll get straightened out,” he lied, swinging the door open and waiting as the valet climbed out of his car. “I just wanna be with you, baby,” she whined. “That so bad?” “No, Bobbee,” JC said wearily. “It’s not.” He said his good-byes and roared off toward Los Angeles. Toward home. Letting his hair blow in the wind and his mind sail away. Preparing for the journey of a lifetime. continue menu