Between These Walls Page 6

  “The ladies?”

  Gabe inserted the disc into the boom box and hit Play. The sound of steel drums coasted through the speakers at low volume. His hand lingered midair for a moment as he turned. “Sure. There’s always a beautiful woman that ends up sitting beside you at the little grass-hut bar in the tropics, right?”

  “Oh, right,” Hunter said, humming to the drums before he could stop himself. He gave a halfhearted nod toward the boom box. “I like the music.”

  Gabe rubbed his hands together. To warm them up, Hunter assumed.

  “I’ll start at the top near the shoulders and work my way down,” said Gabe. “When I reach your back, I’ll focus more time there. Does that work for you?”

  “Sure.” Might as well. Hunter wouldn’t know what to suggest as an alternate plan. He removed his arms from beneath his chin and settled them flat upon the table, one arm parallel to each side of his body. Then he shut his eyes, focused on the music, and anticipated the relief he hoped would come.

  Gabe began at the lower edge of Hunter’s neck, rubbing in concentric circles. His slender figure belied the strength in his fingers, which felt determined and firm. As Gabe progressed, he incorporated his fingers, forearms and elbows along surfaces and crevices in creative ways. Hunter picked up the faint aroma of unlit candles from the nearby shelf. Though he couldn’t identify the scent, it contained a pointed, woodsy tone that kindled vibrancy in his senses.

  As Gabe’s arms brushed past Hunter’s face, once again Hunter picked up traces of his masculine, invigorating scent. The hair on Gabe’s arms possessed a wintry color tone, so fair that it glowed in the room’s dim light.

  Hunter sensed his physical tension heading for unseen exits. Muscles shuddered and settled inside him. He hadn’t realized how much tension he’d stored until now, as his body melted into relaxation.

  Though he kept his eyes shut, Hunter analyzed this massage scenario in the recesses of his mind. He probed the sensations and his responses to them.

  He’d never had another man’s hands or fingers on him like this. Well, that wasn’t accurate. Back in school, he’d experienced it from team staff members after extreme muscle pulls. But today marked the first time a man his own age had touched him for an extended period of time.

  This also marked the first time a man he’d found attractive had touched him like this. His belly quivered in a combination of sweet and sour. Hunter stifled it. What would Gabe Hellman think if he knew Hunter had enjoyed this moment for a reason that didn’t involve tension or discomfort? Though he’d admit it to no one, Hunter found himself searching for an innocent way to savor the moment. He had a rare occasion to dip his toe into this experience, a simulation of physical affection from another man, without anyone knowing it. Just one more secret to hide within the walls of his heart.

  After lying still and enjoying the contact for a few minutes, nervousness crept in—the sense he had treaded into territory he shouldn’t have entered. With a mental sword, he attempted to slice away the attraction he felt. He constructed a wall to guard his heart from further exposure.

  The salesman in Hunter couldn’t help but break the silence in the room. It would also distract his own attention and help prevent his mind from wandering again.

  “How did you get into this line of work?” Hunter asked.

  “Not what you’d expected, huh?” Gabe’s tone indicated he knew what Hunter had really wanted to ask—why a guy would become a massage therapist—and could appreciate the humor in it.

  “I guess you could say it goes against the stereotype I had.”

  Gabe chuckled. “Stereotypes aren’t always accurate, but they sure are convenient, aren’t they?”

  Hunter shrugged his shoulders but said nothing. His conscience reminded him of how much protection he’d found in the masculine, athletic stereotype over the years. It made for the perfect hiding place. Yet his greatest fear was that, one day, he would make a small—yet critical—error, and his house of refuge would come crumbling down on him.

  Once, in a college psychology class, the teacher had remarked that, according to statistics, those dealing with homosexuality are more likely to be individuals we would least suspect. For men, we build an image of limp wrists, curves around a voice, and flamboyant or feminine qualities. But oftentimes, the instructor claimed, a homosexual is a man’s man. Your favorite coach or star player. To this day, Hunter could remember his posture growing rigid in his chair at that remark. It had struck the fear of God into him. In that moment, the class of forty students felt much, much smaller. And in Hunter’s mind, all eyes had turned toward him, waiting for him to blink first and thereby shoot his whole masquerade to hell. Hunter didn’t know if the teacher’s claim was true, but it had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

  “Believe it or not,” Gabe continued, “my career started with a summer job. The summer after my junior year in college, a friend of mine got me a job working in a hotel in Akron—you know, to earn cash. She worked as a massage therapist at the hotel and made decent money with it. They had me doing laundry at the hotel, so I delivered towels and sheets to her office. One day, as we talked, I took a look around her office, and she convinced me to let her give me a demonstration. It felt amazing.” Gabe shrugged, working his way farther down Hunter’s back. “It seemed like I could get the hang of it if I tried, so she started showing me techniques. After graduating college, I needed an actual job. So she convinced the hotel to hire me as an assistant while I earned a certificate in massage therapy.”

  “So what’s your college degree in?”

  “Fine arts. My emphasis was on performance art—acting, stage production.” With a smirk, he added, “Not a lot of demand for actors in this area, and I needed to pay the bills. So years later, here I am, relieving the Hunter Carlisles of the greater Cleveland-Akron area.”

  Hunter sniggered. “And you couldn’t ask for a better client, right?”

  Gabe’s eyes darted to a clock on the wall.

  “For the remaining 37 minutes, you’re my favorite client.” Gabe continued with deeper, more prolonged motions in Hunter’s lower-back region. “What’s your field of work?”

  “I’m in sales. Computer software.”

  “Sales? No wonder you’re stressed.”

  “It’s been a tough few months,” Hunter said. Preferring not to delve into the details, he decided to tie up the loose end of the conversation. “But that’s part of the sales industry. You have ups and downs.”

  As little as Hunter had said about the pressure he felt on his job, it had felt so good to get it off his chest. The way Gabe nodded, the compassion in his eyes, calmed Hunter. He realized he was in the company of someone to whom he could talk, one with whom he could open up, if he wanted to. Hunter didn’t have friends who relished substance-based conversations. On the contrary, their conversations gravitated toward professional sports—which teams were in the lead in a division, which teams traded which players, the amazing play they’d seen in a game on television the prior night.

  Hunter suppressed a smile. He hadn’t realized how much he needed someone to talk to. He tucked away the notion for future reference.

  Hunter drew his arms toward his head again, crossed them, and rested his head sideways upon his forearms as Gabe continued the massage. By this point, Hunter’s bones had morphed into rubber and he’d started to breathe deeper. He kept his eyes open but retreated into his thoughts. He turned a candle into a focal point and examined its shade of anemic green. Without intending to do so, he found himself yielding to the massage and wading into its waters of vulnerability.

  The slide of his towel jolted Hunter back into the moment. Though the movement was slight and the towel had shifted less than an inch, the contact of Gabe’s fingertips on the flesh just below his waistline caught him off guard. Hunter jerked in reflex, which sent his body into one quick, full-scale flinch, the type of reaction that occurs when you catch yourself off balance.

  Hunter had
forgotten he wore nothing under the towel. He’d expected a female massage therapist and had given it no further thought. Until now.

  Gabe halted at the abrupt motion.

  “You okay?” Gabe asked.

  “Oh, sure. I …” Embarrassed at having drawn attention to himself, Hunter tried to appear calm as he recovered from his own awkwardness. “I’d forgotten about the … never been to one of these massage things before, so I just … reacted.”

  Gabe nodded like he understood. He changed the subject as if he suspected nothing. “The discomfort in your back might relate to your sciatic nerve, which is why it would extend below your waistline. For that matter, it might have originated below the waistline and worked its way up.”

  Come to think of it, that was, indeed, how the pain traveled.

  “When I address this area where the towel is,” Gabe continued, “I try to uncover only a small area at a time and focus on that area so my clients have privacy. Maybe I should’ve mentioned that in advance. Does that work for you?”

  More than you know. Relieved, Hunter replied, “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  It still felt strange. Then Hunter reminded himself that people came to this place every day to have this work done on them. Gabe was a professional. And there was nothing exposed that people in locker rooms hadn’t already seen. It went with the territory here, much as it had there. It just seemed more sensitive in this context.

  For Gabe, this was part of the massage technique for lower-back pain, a matter of going through the motions. But Hunter knew he had given Gabe a second glance earlier, which altered the scenario and rendered conflict within Hunter’s conscience.

  He decided to endure it, though. If Gabe didn’t have an issue with it, why should Hunter? And the whole point was to resolve the physical pain.

  So Gabe continued, one bit at a time, exposing a small patch of flesh, working a massage into it, then covering it up again before moving on to the next patch. He progressed along the left side, then moved toward the right.

  Hunter closed his eyes before he embarrassed himself again or caused suspicion. One side of him wanted to escape the moment. Another male’s hands on a sensitive area reminded Hunter that he lacked answers and didn’t have a clue how to begin to find them. At the same time, however, curiosity crept in. And so, while he used his closed eyes and deep breathing to signal neutrality toward Gabe’s touch, the opposite rippled beneath the surface. Hunter remained fully aware of each movement. He examined every detail as it occurred.

  Hunter had experienced a female’s touch many times in the past, especially before he’d become a Christian. The sensation of someone touching him, with his full approval, where no one else was allowed, sent his hormones into a rush. Especially as a young teenager and the groping involved during those years of discovery.

  But today? This was different.

  It wasn’t that Hunter didn’t enjoy those touches from women. He did.

  He just enjoyed this current physical contact more.

  The roots of his attraction to women rested not in their sexuality, but in their beauty and tenderness. Affection rather than physical urge.

  If the salesman in him were to convert his gender attraction into a percentage split, he would split it 60 percent to 40 percent. The needle hovered in both directions, but it tipped toward that 60 percent and toward the same gender. Such a close call. Unfortunately, those extra points caused him shame beyond words, and if it ever became public—well, Hunter didn’t want to think about what the backlash would be among his peers. If that needle could just tip toward the lower percentage, life would become easier overnight.

  Gabe had long hands, and the contact of his fingers sent solar warmth through Hunter’s arteries. As Gabe progressed around the towel-covered area, Hunter tracked each section like the hour markings on a clock. When Gabe reached the fleshy surface of the four o’clock mark, Hunter felt himself stir, relieved he was lying on his stomach and wouldn’t need to get up in the next few minutes.

  Hunter knew he wouldn’t forget any of today’s details. He had carved them into his memory, where they would resurface later, as had countless other innocent scenarios that had morphed into a form both confusing and complex.

  Hunter didn’t want to enjoy the moment. But in truth, he did enjoy it. He wondered how disappointed God might feel about him right now. That concerned him most.

  But in a short while, the moment ended with Hunter wishing it had lasted longer. With Hunter covered in full by the towel, Gabe moved south to the back of Hunter’s left thigh and began working the firm muscles in his legs.

  Hunter’s mind veered back to when Gabe had first entered the room. Now he looked behind himself at Gabe, whose eyes remained glued to Hunter’s leg, his jaw line firm as he worked, his face a portrait of concentration. Once again, Gabe looked familiar. Some people have one of those common faces, but that wasn’t the case with Gabe. Not only did Gabe not have one of those familiar faces, his was unique and memorable. Few individuals possessed strong Scandinavian features.

  “I can’t help but think I recognize you,” Hunter said, taking care to remain nonchalant. Granted, the question was genuine, but he didn’t want to give Gabe any clues of interest beyond the platonic. When Hunter found himself attracted to another man, he overcompensated to conceal his interest. While growing up, when he was unsure the sentiment was mutual, he had disguised his attraction toward girls in a similar manner. “Have we met before?”

  “The classic conversation piece.” Gabe grinned. “The you-look-familiar starter.”

  “Seriously, I think I recognize you. I didn’t try to sell you software, did I?”

  “Not to my knowledge. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t run into each other at some point.”

  “Did you grow up around here?” Hunter asked.

  “Yeah, down in Tallmadge.” An area not far from Hudson.

  “Did you play baseball? Maybe we played each other.”

  “I wasn’t exactly the jock type, and it doesn’t sound like you were involved in drama productions.” Gabe stopped the massage for a moment. “Besides drama, I kept involved in the youth group at my church down there.”

  Gabe was a Christian, too?

  A wave of shame hit Hunter. Christians consider themselves a family, showing brotherly and sisterly love toward one another. Hunter should have considered Gabe his brother in the Lord, yet he knew in his heart he’d lusted after him. Or had, at least, checked him out.

  “I suppose you could’ve seen me perform in a play.” Gabe continued with the massage. “Do you watch any of the community theater productions around here?”

  “Can’t say that I do …”

  “Then you couldn’t have seen me there.” Gabe shrugged. “The only other drama I’ve done was downtown in Cleveland at a big youth event, one of those regional events where youth groups from a ton of churches in Ohio come together. But that was so long ago.”

  Hunter went rigid with shock and looked over his shoulder at Gabe. “Was the event called Youth Vision?”

  Gabe halted, his face beaming with surprise. “Yes, that was the name of it! Ten years ago?”

  “Yeah! I was sixteen back then.”

  “I was fifteen, so we’re a year apart.” Gabe resumed his work, making his way toward the bottom of Hunter’s right calf muscle. “Wow, great memory! No wonder you’re in sales.” Then, in the subdued tone of an afterthought, he added, “Of all the people you could’ve noticed on that stage …”

  For a moment after that comment, Hunter’s guard shot up. He prayed Gabe didn’t interpret it as more than a random memory, but Gabe didn’t appear to have noticed. So Hunter relaxed again, resting his head on his arms to relish the final minutes of the massage.

  For Hunter, the coincidence regarding their past left him with a feeling of satisfaction and ease regarding his massage. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so relaxed.

  Gabe wrapped up the session by working his thumbs into the
balls of Hunter’s feet. Hunter glanced up at the clock on the wall and marveled at how fast an hour had passed. Gabe had the routine down to perfect timing.

  “You mentioned you’re not the type who makes massage appointments,” Gabe said when he’d finished, “but I hope you’ll consider coming back.”

  In that moment, Hunter could have sworn time slowed. Sincerity returned to Gabe’s eyes, and his gaze seemed to linger for a split second—or maybe Hunter’s wishful thinking had conjured an image all its own.

  Gabe thumped his fingers on the massage table, which barely made a sound on the padded, sheet-covered surface. “I’ll head out and let you get dressed.”

  With that, the men shook hands. Gabe headed for the door. As he took hold of the door handle, he peered back at Hunter. “Thanks for coming in. If you see Ellen before I do, tell her I said hello.”

  A final glance, a click of the door handle, and out walked Gabe. A pang hit Hunter’s gut.

  His skin prickled in the cool air as he removed his towel, slid down from the table’s heated surface, and got dressed.

  CHAPTER 6

  “An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels,” the group leader read from chapter 31 of Proverbs. “The heart of her husband trusts in her, And he will have no lack of gain.”

  Every Thursday evening for an hour, Hunter and fifteen other men met at one member’s house for this weekly men’s Bible study. The men ranged in age from early twenties to late fifties. Although they focused on specific books or topics, discussions tended to ebb and flow. Oftentimes, the group strayed off on a tangent, which led to spontaneous conversation in which members would ask questions or share their thoughts. By the end of each meeting, however, their focus came full circle and the group ended with prayer.

  The group leader, Dan, wore a wedding ring which gleamed beneath the table lamp in his living room. “The writer is talking about the value of a wife,” the man replied. “I think he’s saying when you find a good wife, it’s a gift from God. She completes you by filling an empty hole, the way Christ completes you when you give your life to Him. Maybe it addresses temptation, too: It can help keep our eyes from wandering. When it comes to romance, you find everything you need in her.”