Page 19 of Constantly Cotton
Would wonders never fucking cease.
He finished and had managed to stand up and wash when a tentative knock sounded at the door.
“Jason? Are you done?”
His knees went a little weak. “Yeah, Cotton. I’m sorry. Lost in thought.”
“No worries. Just wanted to shower. Here, if you’re washed up, I’ll help you back to the bed, if you don’t mind my gym-stink.”
Jason opened the door for him and Cotton stood there, flushed and sweaty as promised, dark hair slicked back behind his ears, his perfectly muscled, slender body looking profoundly defined.
God, oh God. He was so pretty. And suddenly Jason wanted a seven-course meal of sex with sex wine thrown in, as long as it was Cotton in the bottle.
He allowed Cotton to take his arm, irritated and frustrated that he needed the support, and tried to think of something to say.
“So, uhm, Randy said that Billy is staying somewhere else?” God, he was nervous—like a school kid, if truth be known. Life was so unfair. What was the use of being thirty-six years old if he couldn’t at least pretend to some maturity?
“Yeah.” Cotton gave a bit of a laugh. “I guess last week was a big one for people getting hurt. Another friend of Jackson’s got out of the hospital a few days ago, I guess, and he’s going to need some help. Billy signed on because the inflatable mattress was killing his back.”
Jason smiled a little, relieved when they rounded the corner and he could sink onto his mattress. “You guys seem pretty on board to help. That’s sweet of you.”
Cotton shrugged. “Some of us are just happy to have a place to stay and people who will miss us.”
Jason blinked at him, his curiosity a living thing. “Why… how did everybody come to be living here? And where is here, anyway?”
Cotton glanced away, avoiding Jason’s eyes while he went rooting through the big dresser that sat between the two twin beds. “We all model at the same place. Somebody—I mean, we think we know who, but nobody’s said anything to him—somebody leased this apartment about five years ago, and it’s been sort of a revolving flophouse for guys who need a place to stay since. If someone shows up needing an apartment, sometimes for a night, sometimes for years, John or Dex sends them here, and we figure out rent and food and bills every month. It’s very….” He squeezed his eyes shut like he was searching for something inside his brain. “Communal,” he said, popping them open. “It’s very communal.”
Jason blinked, frowning a little. “That’s… that’s sort of odd. Wonderful, I guess, but….” Cotton was still not looking at him, but he had rounded up a clean set of clothes, which he rested on top of the dresser. Maybe it was that those fathomless old/sad eyes weren’t on him anymore, but he suddenly thought of a question. “Who do you all model for, anyway?”
Cotton sucked air through his teeth. “Uhm… nobody told you?”
Jason yawned and stood to pull the covers back on the bed. “No, but—”
“Here, let me do that.” Cotton helped him into bed, shucking the covers and helping him lie down, and he cursed the fact that he was too weak to so much as go to the bathroom himself without needing a nap.
After a moment of shuffling and pillow plumping and pulling the covers up to Jason’s chin, Cotton stepped back and grabbed his clothes.
“Cotton,” Jason said softly, “I didn’t know it was a sensitive question. I’m sorry. Is there a mystery there or—”
Cotton blew out a breath and turned to face him, his eyes shiny and bright. “Porn models, Jason. We’re all—or some of uswere—pornography models for Johnnies. That’s who we think leased the apartment: John Carey, the owner. Because he didn’t want his models out in the rain or living homeless.” He sighed and looked away. “It’s why we’re all so eager to help, you know? Because John gave us a break when we needed it, and we want to give back.”
And with that, Cotton fled the room—even Jason could see it was a retreat—leaving Jason only a little surprised but very confused.
WHEN COTTONreturned, freshly showered and smelling so good, he had a tea tray with him.
“I guess Randy started the pot and then weenied out because he didn’t understand any teabagging that didn’t come with a testicle.”
Jason snorted. “Oh my God!”
“Sorry,” Cotton mumbled, sounding embarrassed.
“Don’t be! You guys have been so much fun to listen to over the last couple of days, but I couldn’t figure out why every reference was sex. Now I know.”
Cotton gave him a sideways look. “You don’t really think that.”
“Think what?” He was so tired, but he didn’t want things like this between them. Cotton was the one person he felt comfortable with here, in this place where everybody was young and happy and well-laid. So, well, yeah—his magic fantasy flophouse wasexactlythe flophouse of his dreams, including the oozing sexuality that practically permeated the place, but that wasn’t Cotton’s fault.
He had no claims on Cotton, on his person or his body. He was just lucky the kid—or kids, really—had such a developed sense of service, of kindness.
