Page 29 of Sweet T

Evan’s arms were weighty, muscular, as was his chest, the right pectoral firm and round, sporting a tattoo of Greek comedy and tragedy masks beneath a light, furry down. He was petite enough height-wise to fit in Tucker’s bathtub with his feet raised, but his breadth was substantial, making the fit snug. His appearance seemed a contradiction, or an optical illusion perhaps, like someone had taken a big hairy muscle man and reduced him in size by two-thirds.

When Tucker lowered his other arm, Evan’s eyes remained closed. Tucker continued his circular motion with the sponge, rounding Evan’s other nipple, pink, swirled with suds and chest hair. Above it was a tattoo of a man in a leather jacket with brooding eyes. It was an iconic image that Tucker recognized but could not name. The reason he recognized it was because his Daddy P was a big fan of classic movies. They had watched them often on videotapes and DVDs when Tucker was little. Daddy P had been infatuated with that actor from an era that predated all of their births. As Tucker observed the tattoo on Evan’s chest, he understood why.

He reached beneath Evan’s head and lifted.

“Lean forward.”

Evan did as he was told and hunched forward. Tucker raised the sponge high and squeezed, letting the warm water trickle down Evan’s back. He used the soap again, circling there, and Evan raised his legs a bit, resting face-in-arms on his knees as Tucker washed his back. There was a much larger tattoo there, one line of scrolled text, spanning the width of Evan’s shoulders.

All the world’s a stage.

Tucker recognized the phrase, something he vaguely remembered from high school.

Beneath it were two wings, outstretched.

Tucker reached as low as he could with the sponge, grazing the sudsy water without going much further. He returned up with his gentle circular motion, taking his time.

“That feels wonderful,” Evan said.

“Good. That’s what we want. For you to feel better.”

“Are you going to ask me about the tattoos?”

“No. Not unless you want me to. I’m more curious about how often you work out. You’re small, but solid for someone that just got beat up. I’m a little surprised you didn’t take the dude down.”

“I’m not much of a fighter. He also backhanded me before I knew it was coming.”

“Ah. The element of surprise.”

“More like the elephant of surprise. After the first blow, I didn’t know what was going on. I kept trying to get up, and he kept–”

Evan’s voice rose in pitch.

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” Tucker said. “Are you a trainer? Weights? Cross-fit?”

“No. I tend to immerse myself in things to escape.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I was in technical school, in Augusta... because my parents think I’m wasting my time.”

“Wait a minute,” Tucker reached for the shampoo, squeezing a dollop into his palm before massaging it into Evan’s hair. “You lost me.”

Evan relaxed his head in Tucker’s pulsing fingers. “Yeah? You’re losing me too. That feels amazing.”

“Good.”

“I love acting. The past two years I’ve done community summer stock in Augusta, five plays in three months. I’m also a member of Scarlett’s Web, a chat group online. We do readings and critiques. I love it, Tucker. Nothing makes me feel more alive... and I think I’m good at it. At least others have told me that.”

“And your parents don’t approve.”

“No. Not at all. So, I’ve been in tech school studying web development–” He emphasized the words distastefully. “–to fall back on, as they would say. I hate it. I mean, I’m good at it, but I–”

“It’s not your passion.”

“Exactly. My parents insist because there’s no money in acting... in Augusta, Georgia, anyway. They think that I’m indulging in frivolous activities.”

“Their words?”

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