AN: Thanks to my beautiful busy beta KJ – thanks for finding the time!
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Brians POV
April 27, 1861
Looking out the window I see Justin making his way towards my front door and in a panic I run to it and lock it. It seems so strange to lock the door at all, and even more strange to intentionally lock Justin out. I've been sitting here with my heart and my head reeling from the kiss Justin and I shared this afternoon. I can not believe I did that! I can't fathom what he must think of me now. There is a small nagging voice in my head that keeps whispering to me that Justin kissed me back; but I brush that thought aside continuously as a ridiculous flight of fancy.
I have known for quite some time now that I am odd. I have never found women intriguing, appealing, or at all attractive. For many years I presumed that I was alone with these feelings and felt a great bit of despair most of the time. I knew instinctively that I could never change and it would be pointless to try; so I would never apologize for the way I feel but I would also chose to live my life alone. I could not live a lie with a woman and no one could ever know of the oddity of my feelings.
Then one day all that changed. An older man from my hometown, a widower, must have sensed the longing in me and approached me one day. We slowly developed a relationship of sorts. It was purely physical but that is all that I as a young man wanted. When he died a few years later he left me all of his possessions and his money, creating the scandal that caused me to leave and move here.
My thoughts of the past are disturbed by the sound of Justin attempting to turn my door knob. The sound echoes around the quiet space of my home and also manages to drown out the loud thoughts in my head momentarily. I am disappointed when he only tries once, does not knock or call out to me, and returns home without a stronger attempt to find me. Perhaps he doesn't really want to find me is the thought that plagues me at the moment.
I wasn't in this town long before I found Justin and once again my body longed for the touch of a man. The problem was this time that man for whom I longed was in fact still a boy, a seventeen year old boy, but a boy none the less. He seemed to latch onto me as an elder and a mentor. I learned that he had a tremendous artistic talent which he has kept hidden from his tyrannical father his entire life. I learned he had never had a girlfriend but did not dare to hope that he would share the same peculiarity that I do.
With the war coming we had spent many nights discussing how we each felt, how neither of us could stomach the idea of slavery, even if it did make sense from a business standpoint. There was one slave his father owned in particular that he had a fondness for; Harold. I had been trying to counsel him for some time to be his own man; to stand up for what he believed in. It was the incident when he helped whip Harold that broke the tenuous grasp I had on control of my own feelings regarding this issue. I was disappointed, disappointed in my Justin. I do not know when exactly I started thinking of him as my Justin in my head; but I do know that once I did think that way I never tried to fight it after that. It warmed my heart to think of someone as mine. All my other boyhood friends had wives they could call their own, someone to hold onto when the times got tough. I think that knowing this coming war would be some of the toughest times I've ever seen; I think I wanted to call Justin my own to provide a source of comfort. I suppose it is a ridiculous notion that anyone will ever be mine; I should learn to live with the simple fact that I will be alone forever.
Eventually my mind strays back to the dangerous territory of the afternoons' kiss. It was more wonderful than I had ever dreamed. The time I let Justin stay the night and was able to hold him secretly during the night was, I thought at the time, the best thing I would experience with this young man. I was wrong. The kiss was so tentative to begin with, I was sure he would pull away in disgust and our friendship would be over instantly. When he didn't pull away instantly, I began to wonder if it is just shock that keeps his lips pressed to mine or if he would let me explore his mouth further. I recall slowly running my tongue along his lips, trying with all that is in me to make this pleasurable for him. I was shocked when he began to kiss me back in earnest. My heart began to soar and then suddenly he was pulling away and then running away.
So now I sit here, sure that he realized what was happening and was disgusted. I presume that he returned to my house tonight to either say that he is off to war soon or that he no longer wishes to be friends. I knew that I just couldn't say good bye if he is off to war, and if it is the other that he wishes I do not know how I will bear that pain.
May 11, 1861
It has been two weeks since Justin left. I learned the next day that he did indeed go off to fight for the confederate states with some of the other boys from town. I am trying my best to understand his position and why he chose to fight for something he does not believe in. I suppose if I had cared at all what my parents thought of me I might have done the same thing.
There is a knock on the door which startles me because now that Justin is gone no one ever visits. Opening the door I am even more surprised to find the local letter courier at my door. Once he is gone I can only sit in my chair and stare at the letter. It is obviously from Justin given the markings and I recognize his script on the front.
After reading this letter I am even more concerned about our state of affairs than I was before. He made no mention of our kiss, like it never existed. Perhaps it didn't, perhaps it only existed in my mind. In truth I know it happened. I know my lips continued to tingle for quite some time even after he had fled. If I know it happened, and he must surely know it happened, then why doesn't he mention it?
I am convinced that he must think me an abnormality.
And since he must think me so, then why does he write? Is it simply because it is habit for him to turn to me? Is it because he feels he can not turn to his mother or father with his true feelings? Am I just a friend of convenience? Or is he perhaps just writing to me to show other soldiers that he does have someone to write to back home?
This constant questioning of his motives will drive me insane so I burn his letter and hope that it will fade from my memory. I will wait and see if anymore letters come. Perhaps an answer to at least one of my questions will be in those.
June 2, 1861
It has been over a month since Justin left, and three weeks since I received his letter. I have not gotten another one so I can only assume that the first was his way of slowly easing himself out of our friendship. I do worry though everyday that the lack of a new letter is actually an indication of death. Whenever I find myself thinking that way I have to relive our kiss just to feel something other than despair for a moment.
I'm once again interrupted by a knock and my heart soars at the prospect of another letter. It quickly plummets however when I open the door and look into Jennifer Taylor's concerned face. She doesn't look like a grieving mother I think, but I could be wrong. The first few seconds while we stand and stare at each other crawl by feeling like a year in every second. Finally, I step aside and motion for her to come in.
"Mr. Kinney, I know that you and my son are friends and I wonder if you have heard from him."
Justin didn't write his own mother? He wrote to me, but he didn't even write her a simple 'I am well' letter? This astounds me and my mind reels with the possible meaning this holds for me. I look up and realize she is looking at me waiting for an answer.
Selfishly I lie to her. I tell her that I have not heard from him. If he isn't writing to her he must have a reason. If he is still writing to me as a true friend than I will not betray his confidence; so I lie.
I feel bad when a tear flows down her face and she stands in my house wringing her hands together.
"Do you know if he is mad at me? For telling him he had to go to war or he had to leave our home?"
"You did what? You kicked him out and sent him to war? How could you do that? That isn't a mother's love!"
"I know Mr. Kinney. I was confused and scared. I felt pressured by my husband and his influential friends. I just hope Justin makes it through this and can eventually forgive me. If you do hear from him can you please keep me informed?"
"I can't do that Jennifer. If he wanted you to know what was going on with him he would write to you himself."
She gasps slightly as if I had struck her but she says nothing further. Dejectedly she turns back towards the door and makes to leave, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Jennifer," she turns around a look of hope ghosting across her face "If I hear from him I will write to him and tell him you came by and that you are concerned. That is the most I can promise."
July 9, 1861
I have read and reread Justin's most recent letter so much the edges have already become worn and frayed. I feel both at once elation and a tremendous fear. Justin feels something for me, something beyond a simple friendship. He was not disgusted by the kiss I initiated, he in fact speaks of us sharing pleasures and possibly a life together. This is one area that I can not advise him in, I am no wiser than he in the ways for two men to have a relationship.
Dear Justin,
If you were not aware already you are much braver than I. I received but did not respond to your first letter due to so many fears I can not innumerate them. I will tell you that I was afraid you would reject me after I kissed you. This is also the reason my door was locked to you the evening before you left.
You are so very brave for sending me this letter explaining your feelings. I have many feelings to confess for you. I have for some time now admired you. I have admired your strength, bravery, beauty, and artistic abilities. I do not know either if others will allow us to feel such things for each other. But I do also know that I don't care. I only care about how you feel.
I will confess to having known the pleasures of other men before. When I was not much older than you I had a type of relationship with a man from my town. I have also found some other men in recent years to use for pleasure. I know you are aware of the trips I made out of town for no obvious reason. Seeking the pleasure of another man was the reason for those trips. Justin, these men meant little to me other than an outlet for feelings I have long kept to myself. I wanted you to know however that I have experienced the pleasures you spoke of. I hope you keep this confidence to yourself as you have the other things I have confided in you.
Please keep writing. I get anxious when I do not hear from you. I fear the worst. I look forward to having you home again. Perhaps at that time we can discuss this again. In the meantime I do not think it is prudent for us to discuss it anymore this way. If someone should discover these feelings you would likely face a variety of repercussions. Please be careful Justin.
Oh and write to your mother.
Yours,
Brian K.