Apr. 17th, 2005 09:22 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 78 
 
  
 
“Boyd,” Brian said, and then repeated himself. “Boyd! What the fuck are you doing?” 
 
Boyd looked up from where he was trying to gingerly pick up shattered glass from a rainbow pool 
of tinted water, depositing it in the waste basket. “I’m cleaning up this mess. I really need a 
broom and a dust pan and a couple paper towels.” 
 
Brian put a hand on his elbow, urging him to stand. “Hazel, let it go. You’re going to cut yourself. 
I’ll explain to Debbie that I accidentally hit one of the bottles when I reached over to flush and it 
knocked down the others and the chaos effect took over. Let’s face it, the net value of the whole 
catastrophe may reach a buck ten.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “There could be a sentimental value attached to this kitsch, you know.” 
 
“The good thing about Debbie’s house, you lose some kitsch, there’s at least three more layers of 
it to fill the void.” 
 
Boyd laughed and looked in the mirror to smooth his hair, and check out whether he looked 
pulled together. “This is a remarkable collection of vintage, uh…” 
 
“Junk?” Brian completed the thought, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his 
waist, nuzzling the back of his head, burying his nose in Boyd’s fair hair.  
 
“Well, unkindly, yes, junk. But it must have sentimental value to her. She’s very Technicolor, 
herself. I couldn’t see her in Phillipe Starke.” 
 
“Neither could Phillipe,” Brian quipped and turned Boyd around to kiss him. “Are we okay?” 
 
“We were never not okay, Brian. You need to be more secure with me. You think one hug with 
your ex is going to send me screaming into the night? Yeah, I got jealous and I’m sure I’ll be 
jealous again. But I love you. It’s going to take a lot more than that to make me bail. In fact, I’m 
not sure what it would take. I can’t ever imagine leaving you.” 
 
Brian sighed and rested his forehead against Boyd’s. “Don’t think of scenarios that lead to that. 
Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me.” 
 
Boyd wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist and whispered. “I’m not going anywhere unless 
you’re right there with me.” 
 
They kissed again. Brian said, “Tell me how I’m supposed to act around him. I don’t know 
anymore. Before, I was so hurt and so resentful, I just froze him out. Now, with you in my life 
and with the perspective I’ve gained about myself, I don’t feel that anger when I look at him. In 
fact, I’m grateful to him. Not that he left me. I haven’t become Mother Theresa. But that he 
chipped his way into my heart and maybe that chip made it possible for my heart to open up to 
you.” 
 
“Then I’m grateful to him, too. Brian, act any way that feels natural to you. If it bugs me, I’ll deal 
with it. Let me be a little jealous, it’s a normal reaction, but don’t feel that you have to curb your 
behavior to make sure ol’ Boyd doesn’t get grumpy. Boyd may indeed get grumpy. But we can 
handle that when we’re alone.” 
 
“Are you sure?” 
 
“Mind you, I’m not suggesting you rekindle the flame, my largesse doesn’t extend that far, but 
short of that, yes, I’m sure.” 
 
“You got my flame in a bottle, Boyd, and you’re the one with the stopper.” 
 
“God, that’s so romantic,” Boyd said with a smile, spreading his hand on Brian’s cheek as a rap on 
the door interrupted their moment of calm affection. 
 
“Listen, you two, the lasagna is ready to cut, the garlic bread is warm, get your oversexed asses 
downstairs! You can hump each other senseless on your own time and just what the hell did you 
break in there? I heard something fall!” Debbie’s shrill command penetrated the barriers. Brian 
sighed and opened the door, smiling sheepishly at her. She looked around him at the glass and 
the puddle of glowing water on the tiles.  
 
“Uh, Deb, I accidentally…” 
 
“What the fuck?” She pushed past him, hands on hips, glaring at the mess and then at them. “Do 
you know how hard it is to get that color out of the grout? Not to mention your pants, Brian. 
Good luck with that.” 
 
Brian looked down at the splash of stain that traveled to his discarded pants when the disaster 
struck. “Shit! You know what these cost? I’ll never be able to wear them again.” 
 
Boyd chuckled and Brian glared at him. “You think it’s funny?” 
 
“Yeah, I do. I mean I’m sorry about the mess and the damage, Debbie. I insist that you let us 
make good on the cost, but it’s only fitting that we take some of the collateral damage.” 
 
“We?” Brian repeated? “That would be me. I don’t see any dye on your pants, counselor.” 
 
“You want to trade?” 
 
Brian smirked at him. “You couldn’t get your fat ass into my pants.” 
 
“Oh yeah? I’ve been in your pants more times than you can count.” 
 
“Time out!” Debbie intervened. “This is really cute, listening to you too go back and forth, but 
meantime my grout is being dyed. Brian, go downstairs and get my whisk broom and dust pan 
and a roll of paper towels. Boyd, see if you can find the Clorox in the laundry room and tell the 
others to hold their fucking water.” 
 
The couple went downstairs to follow her orders and Michael glared at Brian as he entered the 
kitchen and directed Boyd to the laundry room. “What happened to you? What’s on your pants?” 
 
“I broke something, Mikey,” he said, squatting to retrieve the whisk broom and dust pan from 
under the sink. He then took the paper towels off the roller and Michael said, 
 
“Nice! You come over here and destroy my mother’s house with your little games?” 
 
Brian laughed. “I broke a ninety-nine cent bottle of colored water, Michael. Not exactly the 
destruction of the treasure of the Incas.” 
 
“Doing what, as if I didn’t know?” 
 
“What do you know?” 
 
“You were fucking him!” Michael whispered, leaning close to Brian to make his accusation. Brian 
smiled and replied, 
 
“Wrong. Tell everyone to chill. We’ll all be down in a few. Boyd, did you find the bleach?” 
 
Boyd held up the bottle and they went back upstairs, trailed by Michael’s baleful glare. “And so?” 
Emmett joined him in the kitchen. “What was the clatter? Did Boyd throw something at Brian? Is 
he bleeding? I say it was raucous fucking, but Ted thinks they got into a row. Who wins?” 
 
“You’re both total losers,” Justin proclaimed, coming into the kitchen to pour himself more wine, 
beginning to feel the buzz. “As always, living vicariously through Brian’s exploits. Wouldn’t it be 
more fun to live your own fucking lives? Oh, wait, maybe not. “ His mobile rang and he smiled as 
he recognized the number. “Hi. I’m at Debbie’s. She’s having a dinner party for Brian and his new 
boyfriend. The usual drama. How are you? You are? Why? No, that’s great, but why? Well come 
on over. We haven’t even started eating yet. Of course there’s enough. She cooks enough for a 
battalion, you know that. Okay, good. Right. Bye.” He punched end. “Ethan’s coming over. He got 
back early. Technical problems at the concert hall caused them to cancel a performance.” 
 
“Oh this should be good,” Emmett said with a plotting smile and Justin rolled his eyes at him and 
returned to the others. When Debbie, Brian and Boyd came downstairs together, they entered a 
room of inquisitive stares and sudden silence. She glared.  
 
“What’s everyone staring at? One of my decorative flacons broke. BFD.” 
 
“Flacons?” Brian repeated with a laugh. “Have you been watching the Shopping Channel again?” 
 
“You are on my shit list already, Kinney,” she warned. “Don’t push your luck.” 
 
“Deb, Ethan got back early so I invited him over. Hope that’s okay,” Justin looked from Debbie to 
Brian, who was impassive. She shrugged.  
 
“What’s one more? Are we supposed to wait for him?” 
 
“No, he’ll catch up. Let’s do it.” 
 
As they walked towards the kitchen en masse to fill up plates and take them to the table, Justin 
fell in step with Brian. “I hope you don’t mind about Ethan.” 
 
“That’s a loaded question. Mind about Ethan overall, or mind that he’s coming to dinner?” 
 
“Both.” 
 
“I mind about Ethan, Justin. I’ll always mind about Ethan. He was a conniving little bastard who 
went after a guy who was already in a relationship. So he’s never going to get out of that, not for 
me. But do I mind that he’s coming to dinner? No. Why shouldn’t he? He’s your partner now,” 
Brian reached for Boyd who was a half step in front of them and took his hand. “And my partner 
is here with me. So go for it.” 
 
Boyd smiled at him, kissed his cheek, and Justin nodded, taking it in. 
 
“I’m sittin’ with Boy’,” Gus announced as his mother filled a plate for him and was depositing him 
on the chair boosted with two phone books to increase his height. The high chair was reserved for 
his younger sister. Gus considered himself too old for such babyish contraptions. Lindsay smiled. 
 
“Boyd may not want to sit next to a messy eater who is armed with tomato sauce.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Are you kidding me? I’m so used to being a life-sized napkin for kids that for 
years I could identify my wardrobe by the stains. One day I’d wear the spaghetti and meatball 
shirt, another day the ketchup tie, and my personal favorite, the pepperoni pizza jeans.” 
 
“I always loved you for your fashion sense,” Brian teased, pulling him into a one-armed hug and 
Boyd smiled at him. 
 
“You’re the label queen in this duo, Brian.” 
 
“And proudly so.” 
 
Emmett and Ted exchanged a look, trying to decipher how they should call the bet. The couple 
seemed far too loving to have had a knock down drag out fight, and yet they were very touchy 
feely, suggesting that sex hadn’t been completed. They silently agreed to a draw.  
 
Ethan came in as the last diners were filling plates. Justin went over to greet him with a hug and 
a kiss that Brian deliberately didn’t follow, but Boyd did. He also noticed Brian’s avoidance. He 
was introduced to Boyd, who was surprised by him. He expected someone who was more of a 
Brian clone, but this kid was his opposite. Short, dark, decidedly unfashionable, attractive in a 
swarthy, gypsy way, but not at all like his predecessor. Ethan greeted the others with a global 
wave and then zeroed in on Brian. 
 
“I wouldn’t think they’d let you travel.” 
 
“I’m wearing one of those ankle bracelets that alerts the authorities if I run outside the perimeter, 
“ Brian quipped and Ethan looked surprised. 
 
“You are?” 
 
Justin put a hand on his arm and shook his head as Brian smirked. “No, Ian, I’m not. Christ.” 
 
“It’s Ethan, Brian. Ethan. Your calling me Ian is so incredibly childish.” 
 
“Really? I thought it was Ian.” 
 
Boyd looked at his lover and smiled. “Brian’s terrible with names.” 
 
“No, he isn’t,” Justin countered. “Only with Ethan’s name. Why is that, Brian?” 
 
“I guess he just doesn’t register on my radar screen of what’s important enough to remember.” 
 
Emmett made the sound of a hissing cat and clawed the air as Boyd placed his hand over Brian’s. 
Brian glanced at him and felt embarrassed. He shouldn’t let Ethan get to him the way he did. It 
didn’t matter anymore. But he truly disliked this guy. Justin or not, he just disliked him. He 
noticed Daphne was giggling, suggesting she had never gotten over her dislike of him either. He 
liked Daphne, he really did. 
 
“Sorry,” Brian whispered to Boyd, nuzzling his cheek and then said to Ethan, 
“I’ll make a note of your name. Won’t happen again.” 
 
“I honestly don’t give a shit.” 
 
“Give a shit,” Gus repeated with a tomato saucy grin and Boyd reached over and offered him a 
crispy crust of garlic toast.  
 
“That’s a silly thing to say. Say this instead. Rubber baby buggy bumpers.” 
 
Gus stared at him. “Rubber buggy bumpy babies.” 
 
“No, rubber baby buggy bumpers.” 
 
That went on until Gus was laughing, Boyd was grinning at him and Brian shook his head at their 
shenanigans. But it worked. The expletive no longer had power for Gus.  
 
“You are so good with kids,” Lindsay observed and Debbie added, 
 
“Is there anything sexier than a man who knows how to treat a kid?” 
 
Carl leaned close to her and said, “My kids adore me. Does that turn you on?” 
 
“Your youngest is thirty, Carl. Not a turn on at thirty.” 
 
“I don’t think adults should talk down to kids,” Ethan observed. “My parents always treated me 
respectfully, mindful of my IQ. I was listening to Bach and Beethoven and Rachmaninoff from 
birth.” 
 
“That explains a lot,” Brian muttered. Boyd patted his arm and said to Ethan, 
 
“You have kids?” 
 
“No. I’m gay.” 
 
“We’re all gay,” Boyd swept the table with a gesture. “Except our hostess and Carl, of course. But 
several of us have kids. One doesn’t preclude the other. Speaking of klds, where’s Hunter?” 
 
“Date,” Ben responded. “At his age, dates trump family dinners.” 
 
“Less hassle for me,” Brian observed and Boyd went on. 
 
“Until you have kids of your own, Ethan, it’s presumptive to tell people who have been there how 
they should act with their children. There are times to respect their intelligence, as you put it, and 
there are times to just be silly with them. Both are important, in my opinion.” 
 
“Hear, hear,” Ben agreed and Lindsay reached across her son to pat Boyd on the shoulder.  
 
“Isn’t he super?” 
 
Brian laughed, but his pride was evident in his gaze as he fixed it on his lover. “No, he’s 
Superman.” 
 
Boyd winked at him as Debbie raised her glass. “This is to welcome Brian home, to wish his 
mother better health and to welcome Boyd into our effed up family of misfits and malcontents. 
Cheers!” 
 
They all raised their glasses and Brian leaned over to kiss Boyd on the lips as the toast ended. 
Justin stared and then felt Ethan slip an arm around him, reminding him that the past was dead 
and that the present was sitting next to him at the table.  
 
“Boy’ is Superman?” Gus asked, his eyes wide, and Boyd smiled and said, 
 
“No, more like Mighty Mouse.” 
 
“Here I come to save the day-y-y-y!” Emmett broke into a line from the Mighty Mouse theme 
song, beginning a round of the jingle as Brian leaned close to Boyd and whispered, 
 
“Are you asleep?” 
 
Boyd beamed at him. “You too.” 
 
Their private declaration of love went past with uncomprehended stealth.  
 
Current Mood:  amused 
 
 
 
Apr. 18th, 2005 04:50 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 79 
 
  
 
As they were clearing the table between dinner and dessert, Brian got a call on his mobile and he 
left the room, carrying the call out to the backyard. Boyd thought Brian looked concerned, but he 
sensed he didn’t want to be followed, so he let him go alone. He would check later, to make sure 
he didn’t need him. For now, he helped carry the dishes into the kitchen, watching Michael stack 
them on the counter.  
 
“They’re easier to wash if you don’t stack the dirty plates on top of each other. Then you have 
two dirty surfaces, not just one,” Boyd offered a suggestion and Michael glared at him. 
 
“I think I can do this without your help.” 
 
His mother came by and smacked him on top of the head as she snapped, “Listen to him. He has 
brains.” 
 
“Why don’t you wash them if you’re such an expert?” Michael baited him and Boyd shrugged and 
rolled up his sleeves.  
 
“Fine. Who wants to dry?” 
 
“Oh no you don’t,” Debbie nudged Boyd away from the sink. “You’re a guest. Michael, you wash, 
I’ll wipe, Vic, you put away.” 
 
Boyd gratefully escaped the family production line and on his way to the living room, Ethan 
intercepted him. “Did he kill that guy?” 
 
Boyd stared at him. “Yeah, he did. Let me reveal the sad truth to you, someone I don’t know and 
who obviously doesn’t like Brian. Excuse me.” 
 
Ethan took his arm and Boyd stopped, pulled free, glared at him. “You’re crazy to get mixed up 
with Kinney. He was the biggest whore in Pittsburgh. And he’s still hung up on Justin. Even after 
he left town, he’d still get drunk and call him at all hours. It’s ridiculous. He was always too old 
for him, too jaded. He never gave Justin what he wanted and needed, so it was easy for me to 
step in and fill the void. He’ll fuck you over, too. It’s just what Brian does.” 
 
“Let me be very clear with you, Ian.” 
 
“It’s Ethan, for shit’s sake!” 
 
“Whatever. I don’t care what Brian did in the past. I don’t care how Brian treated Justin. I don’t 
care what Brian thought about Justin before he met me. And I don’t care what you think of his 
character. All I care about is how he is now, with me. And I couldn’t be happier. Excuse me,” he 
went into the living room and sat next to Emmett on the sofa. The girls and the babies left after 
dinner, the little ones too tired to stay up. Emmett reached an arm over Boyd’s shoulders and 
gave him a little squeeze.  
 
“So far so good, honey. You’re almost through the first dinner at Debbie’s. Other than that little 
fiasco in the bathroom, about which I expect details, you’ve performed like a real Southern 
gentleman. Makes me proud to hail from south of the ol’ Mason-Dixie line.” 
 
“Dixon, Emmett. Mason-Dixon.” 
 
“Who is Mason Dixon anyway?” 
 
“Two people, Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon. They were surveyors. They settled a boundary 
dispute between Maryland and Pennsylvania by surveying a dividing line over two hundred miles 
long. This was back long before the Civil War so slave and non-slave had nothing to do with it. 
Hostile Native American tribes in the area made it difficult to finish their chore, but they did.” 
 
“How do you know that?” Ted demanded and Boyd shrugged. 
 
“I guess I learned it in school. I have a great mind for trivia.” 
 
“Who wants coffee?” Debbie barked from the doorway and Rodney asked, 
 
“Do you have cappuccino?” 
 
“No,” she said firmly. 
 
“Decaf?” 
 
“I have coffee and I have more coffee. Who wants it? Dessert is tiramisu. Vic made it, so it’s 
good.” 
 
“Why is your arm around my boyfriend?” Brian teased Emmett as he came in and plopped down 
on the other side of Boyd. Emmett dramatically removed his arm as Boyd looked at his lover, 
silently questioning whether all was well. Brian nodded to reassure him and ordered coffee from 
Debbie. Justin watched this exchange with a tense smile from an easy chair across the way. 
Ethan was perched on the arm of it.  
 
“Is there any lasagna left after this horde of queer locusts swarmed?” Hunter suddenly burst in, 
bringing a somewhat shell-shocked friend with him. The poor boy looked around as if he had 
suddenly awakened in a carnival fun house. “Come on,” he held the kid’s hand as they started 
towards the kitchen, and then he stopped to stare at Brian. “That’s him,” he said to the boy 
whose eyes got even wider as he gave Brian a long once over.  
 
“Oh. Wow,” the boy said and Brian frowned.  
 
“What is that supposed to mean, you rude little shit?” Brian asked Hunter, who shrugged. 
 
“Nothing. C’mon.” 
 
“How rude is that?” Brian demanded of Boyd who smiled.  
 
“Kid stuff. Ignore it.” 
 
“I won’t ignore it, it’s rude.” 
 
“He’s probably just told him how hot you are.” 
 
Brian considered that. “You think?” 
 
Boyd nodded. Ben intervened. “Want me to have a word with him, Brian?” 
 
“No, Boyd’s right. Let it go.” 
 
“Is Boyd always right?” Justin piped up. “I mean, he seems to be the acknowledged expert on 
child raising, he knew where lasagna originated, and he even knows all about the Mason-fucking-
Dixon line. What doesn’t he know?” 
 
“He knows not to be a pissy little shit in the middle of a dinner party,” Brian countered and Boyd 
sighed.  
 
“It’s okay.” 
 
“No, it’s really not okay, Boyd. You don’t have to put up with that crap.” 
 
“Brian,” he placed a hand on his lover’s arm. “It’s not important. Drop it.” 
 
Brian turned his palms up in a gesture of surrender as Justin said, “You are so dickwhipped, 
Brian. I never thought I’d see the day.” 
 
Ethan laughed at that and Brian shrugged. “There you go. Learn something new every day. Today 
you learned that I value Boyd’s opinion and that I don’t really care what you, or what any of you, 
think about the two of us. What matters is what we think.” 
 
“I think you guys are great together,” Emmett said and then winced. “Sorry Justin, I…” 
 
“Why are you apologizing to him?” Ethan insisted. “Why do you think he cares if they’re a couple 
or not? He walked out on Brian two fucking years ago. Long over. The votes are counted. Brian 
lost.” 
 
“Really?” Brian replied. “Then why do I feel like a winner?” 
 
“You mean because you traded up?” Justin drilled and before Brian could answer, Debbie came in.  
 
“Okay, enough. Brian, Justin, you two meant too much to each other for too long to let the fact 
you took different paths in life turn you against each other. Justin, you made your decision two 
years ago. Brian, you found someone who seems to be perfect for you. I’ve never seen you 
happier. Everybody wins. So stop this crap. It’s not right. I think the two of you ought to take 
your coffee out on the porch and have a talk. Alone. This is about your friendship, now. Don’t 
blow it.” 
 
“I think you should mind your own business for a change,” Ethan snapped and she walked over to 
him, her larger than life presence looming above the diminutive musician.  
 
“This is my business, cupcake. I’ve known Brian Kinney since he was your size. And I adore Justin 
like he’s my own kid. I rooted for them to make it when no one else would give them a chance. 
Well, they didn’t make it. But I still love both of them. And I welcomed you into my home as 
Justin’s partner. Now I have the pleasure of welcoming Boyd as Brian’s partner. If you’re so 
scared that you can’t let that boy spend a few minutes of quiet time with a man he’s known inside 
and out, well, you may as well fuck yourself because no one else will be around to do it, not for 
long. Trust. Try it, you might like it.” 
 
Ethan stood up. “Let’s go, Justin.” 
 
His lover stared at him. “Deb’s right. I do want to talk to Brian. Alone.” 
 
“I’m leaving.” 
 
“Then I’ll see you at home, later.” 
 
Ethan paused in front of Brian and Boyd and said to Boyd, “You’re a damned fool if you think 
Kinney is over him. A fucking idiot.” 
 
He stormed out and Brian felt the silence descend like a thick fog. He smiled. “Well, Deb, you 
haven’t lost your knack for stopping a party in its tracks.”  
 
“Quit being a smart ass and go talk to him.” 
 
“If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather talk to Boyd, first. Excuse us,” Brian took Boyd’s hand and 
led him out of the house. They sat on the porch swing. He kissed him and then said, “I did warn 
you. Drama Queens R Us.” 
 
Boyd laughed and smoothed his knuckle down Brian’s cheekbone. “I’m enjoying myself in a 
morbid kind of way. That phone call, was it about your mom?” 
 
“No, it was Bo. He wants to talk to me. We set up a call for tomorrow.” 
 
“Can you tell me?” 
 
“No, I really don’t know much, yet.” 
 
“I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.” 
 
“I would’ve asked if I were you.” 
 
“Brian, I have no problem with your speaking with Justin alone. I do trust you. And frankly I’d 
rather you have that inevitable conversation with him here, with all of us inside, then have him 
drop by the loft or something when you’re really alone.” 
 
“What you’re saying is your trust goes just so far?” 
 
“What I’m saying is that contrary to what Ian said in there, I’m not an idiot. I don’t believe in 
tempting fate. I don’t think you’d cheat on me with him, but I don’t even want to worry about it, 
okay? Does that make sense?” 
 
“I’m not sure I have anything I really need to say to him.” 
 
“I think you do.” 
 
“Such as?” 
 
“I’m not putting words in your mouth, Brian. I can’t tell you that. But the emotions are running 
high. Talk to him. Find out where his head is, where yours is, where your hearts are.” 
 
Brian pressed Boyd’s hand to his chest. “Here’s my heart. Under your palm. Get it?” 
 
Boyd smiled and leaned forward to kiss him again. “I get it. So talk to him. I’ll go back in and 
send him out here.” 
 
“Boyd, you’re a good man.” 
 
“So are you, Brian.” 
 
Brian smiled and watched him go inside the house. Boyd looked at Justin and said, “Go ahead.” 
 
“I really don’t need your permission, you know?” 
 
“I know. Neither did Brian, but I gave it to him just in case.” 
 
Justin left and Boyd sat down heavily, feeling his face grow red under their stares. Debbie thrust 
a plate of tiramisu at him, her voice thick with emotion as she said, “Eat, you skinny ass. God, 
Brian got a good one. Unbelievable.” 
 
She planted a kiss on his cheek, glaring at her son’s angry expression and shaking a warning 
index finger at him as she walked back to the kitchen. Hunter came in, tailed by his friend, their 
plates overloaded with leftovers. He sat by the window and peeked between the blinds at the 
porch. Boyd came over and closed the slats, shaking his head at Hunter as he said, “Don’t be that 
way.” 
 
“Just looking, can’t hear them.” 
 
Boyd shook his head again and Ben chimed in. “Hunter, behave.” 
 
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Somebody shoot me if I ever have a boyfriend.” 
 
“I’m not your boyfriend?” The other said with a tremulous lower lip and Hunter quickly recovered, 
offering him copious reassurance as Boyd and Ben exchanged a skeptical smile. Boyd returned to 
the couch and Daphne sat next to him.  
 
“I know Justin seems like a brat sometimes, but he isn’t. You just don’t know all that he went 
through with Brian. You don’t just let go of those kind of feelings. I mean, he’s happy with Ethan 
and all, but still. You understand what I’m saying?” 
 
“I do, Daphne. I’ve been in love before. I still harbor intense emotions towards my ex. It doesn’t 
make me love Brian less.” 
 
“Conveniently, your ex is dead,” Michael said, and Daphne looked surprised. 
 
“What happened?” 
 
“I’d rather not say.” 
 
“AIDS?” she winced as she thought of Ben and Vic, but neither showed any reaction. 
 
“No, suicide. Can we change the subject?” 
 
Emmett stared at Ted and Ted gave him the “later” signal as Daphne began filling the void with 
aimless chatter, and they all pretended not to care what was happening on the porch. 
 
 
 
Current Mood:  cranky 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 20th, 2005 04:53 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 80 
 
  
 
“I don’t like being told we have to talk, like we’re naughty children being forced to figure out how 
to divide the pie,” Brian observed as Justin came out onto the porch, and sat on the top step, 
looking up at his former lover. The warm summer breeze rifled their hair and chased away the 
stagnant heat of the day. Justin nodded.  
 
“I’m surprised you agreed to Debbie’s demand. The old Brian would just say ‘fuck that’ and walk 
off.” 
 
“The old Brian must have been a real asshole,” he said with a smile. Justin laughed.  
 
“He had his moments, but overall, he was okay. Not so sure about this new model. Still has some 
flaws. Not intuitive on how it operates. Sacrificed some of its old charm for new and improved 
bells and whistles that really don’t seem to do a damn thing.” 
 
“Is that how you see it?” 
 
“Bad analogy, but yeah. I’m not sure I like the new you. I’m not sure I buy the new you.” 
 
“I’m not sure I care if you either like me or buy me. I’m not making changes in my life to 
accommodate you or anyone other than myself, Boyd and my kid. I don’t have anything to prove 
to you. Or to anyone in that room, other than my partner. So like it or don’t like it. This is who I 
am, now, at this phase of my life, and I hope I’m moving towards greater improvement. So let’s 
talk about you.” 
 
Justin frowned. He didn’t think he appreciated being told that his opinion no longer mattered to 
Brian Kinney. He knew he didn’t appreciate having the spotlight turned on him. “Are you happy, 
Brian?” 
 
“I’d be happier if I wasn’t suspected of Murder One, but otherwise, yeah. You?” 
 
Justin glared at him. “I know you think I’m miserable with Ethan.” 
 
“And are you?” 
 
“No,” 
 
“Happy?” 
 
“Yes, mostly. You’re in the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Boyd, Brian. If you last, 
you’ll see it’s not all sex and giggles that makes a relationship work. Why are you smiling?” 
 
“Because you’re the kid telling the old lion about life.” 
 
“I’ve always been more mature than you.” 
 
“No, that’s something you say that I disagree with. You always wanted a traditional relationship 
more than I did. That doesn’t make you more mature, just philosophically opposed. But I’ve come 
around to your way of thinking, so I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. Or maybe, in my 
case, you can teach an old dog not to chase new tricks.” 
 
“You’re not tricking?” 
 
“No.” 
 
“And you don’t plan to?” 
 
“Right, that’s the plan. Who knows? Shit happens, but that’s the plan.” 
 
“Why? What makes him so special that you suddenly want to be monogamous?” 
 
“It’s not that I suddenly want to be monogamous, Justin. It’s that I want a relationship with Boyd 
and that’s not something he wants to go through, again. So you give things up in order to make it 
work.” 
 
“Things you would never give up for me.” 
 
“Right. Different time, different Brian. Your bad luck. His good luck, I don’t know. Maybe no one is 
lucky. Maybe it’s just timing and fate. Doesn’t mean I didn’t care about you. I credit you with 
giving me the tools to try and make this work with Boyd. But the simple fact is, he’s the man I fell 
in love with at this moment in time, and he’s the one I hope to spend at least a big hunk of my 
life with. I hope it’s a life that will include you, too, because you’ll always be important to me. But 
if not, I understand that, too.” 
 
“And just like that I’m out of your life?” 
 
“Justin, what are you asking of me? You left my life two years ago, remember? Your choice.” 
 
“If you were like you are now…” 
 
“But I wasn’t. That wasn’t our dynamic. Who knows? Maybe it never could have been, maybe that 
wasn’t our karma. You’d never have been with Ethan, and he may be the one you were meant to 
end up with. Just as I may be pre-destined to end up with Boyd. Who the fuck knows? What I do 
know, is that was then and this is now. Where do we go from here?” 
 
Justin leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the canopy of stars. “Ethan and I are both artists. 
Maybe we all had it right before. You and Boyd are both business types. Maybe mixing up the two 
is healthier.” 
 
Brian laughed. “Can’t see Boyd with Ethan.” 
 
“Would you be serious? You know what I mean. He was with an artist before and so were you. 
Maybe that’s the right blend. Did you ever think about that?” 
 
“No. I don’t give a shit what Boyd does for a living. He’s creative enough for me and vice versa. 
Are you saying two temperamental artists under one roof is too much?” 
 
Justin laughed. “As if Ethan could ever be more temperamental than you.” 
 
“I’m not temperamental.” 
 
He rolled his eyes. “You’re a completely manic drama queen.” 
 
“You’re the drama princess.” 
 
“No, you.” 
 
“Rubber, glue,” Brian said with a laugh. “Tell papa. Trouble in paradise with The Fiddler, Robin?” 
 
“Shuddup.” 
 
“Tell me.” 
 
“Would it make you feel better? Sorry, Brian. I love Ethan. We have our moments, but I love him 
and he loves me.” 
 
Brian was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. “Good. Then I can quit worrying about you.” 
 
“You worried about me?” 
 
“Of course. Didn’t you worry about me?” 
 
“Yeah. Still do.” 
 
“Let’s both stop.” 
 
“What do you want from me, Brian?” 
 
“Only your friendship. I care about you, Justin, I always will, and I’ll always be here if you need 
me. I don’t want to throw away all the good feelings we’ve had for each other, I just want to re-
channel them. You think we can do that?” 
 
“I don’t know. Do you?” 
 
Brian smiled. “I don’t know either.” 
 
“Willing to try?” 
 
“I am if you are.” 
 
Boyd suddenly joined them on the porch, looking serious as he glanced from Justin to Brian. “I’m 
sorry, but…” 
 
“It’s okay,” Brian teased him. “Blow job over, ass fucking done, hand job complete…” 
 
“Brian,” Boyd interrupted. “Claire called me.” 
 
Brian stared at him, his fixed grin fading fast. “And?” 
 
Boyd sat beside him on the swing, taking his hand between his. Brian withdrew. Boyd took it 
again and held firm. “It’s your mom, Brian.” 
 
Brian leaned back, letting the shock move through him, cooling his pain, leaving him comfortably 
numb. “She…” Boyd started to say, but Brian held up his hand to stop him.  
 
“Don’t. I get it.” 
 
Boyd rubbed Brian’s biceps in a comforting motion and Justin got up, staring at the couple. 
“I…I’m so sorry.” 
 
Brian shook his head. “Will you tell…all of them…I think we should go.” 
 
“I’ll handle it,” Justin assured him and Boyd slipped an arm around Brian’s waist as he said, 
 
“Give me the keys, I’ll drive.” 
 
“Why did she call you instead of me?” Brian asked as he dropped the keys in Boyd’s outstretched 
hand.  
 
“She thought maybe I could soften the blow for you.” 
 
“Ah. That’s extremely humane and un-Claire like, to think of anyone but herself, especially me.” 
 
“I know there’s nothing I can say to make it better, Brian. But I’m here. I’ll be here. We’ll get 
through it together.” 
 
Brian pulled him into his arms, holding tightly to him, and Justin felt his eyes well up with tears as 
he went inside, leaving them their privacy as he prepared himself to break the news to the 
others.  
 
At the hospital, Claire was twisting her hands and shredding tissues, her eyes swollen and red 
from crying. When she saw the two men, she flung herself into Brian’s embrace, setting off a 
whole new round of sobbing. Her two sons sat nearby in sullen silence. “I wouldn’t let them take 
her away until you got here,” she said in a broken stutter of emotion. “She’s gone, Brian. 
Mother’s gone.” 
 
“She’s gone or she’s here?” he asked, confused and not thinking clearly.  
 
“I mean she’s dead!” 
 
“I got that, Claire.” 
 
Boyd helped Claire sit down and went to a vending machine to fetch a bottle of water, placing it in 
her hand. He then walked back to Brian and rubbed a small circle between his shoulder blades. 
“Do you want me to go in with you?” 
 
“No,” Brian said, shaking his head for emphasis. “No, just stay close to my crazy sister in case 
she decides to flip out or something.” 
 
“I’ll take care of her. Are you sure you want to be alone?” 
 
Brian nodded. “This won’t take a minute. I’ll just hold a mirror up to her nose to make sure it 
doesn’t fog and stick a pin in her arm to see if she flinches.” 
 
Boyd spread a hand on his cheek and sighed. Not funny, but if it made him feel better, he’d let 
him handle his grief in his own way. He had that right. “Take all the time you need.” 
 
Brian kissed him, drawing a groan from his older nephew, and then went into ICU. A nurse 
escorted him to his mother’s room and left him there with the curtains drawn for privacy. Looking 
down at his mother, he realized she looked better in death than when he first saw her here, in 
this bed. All the invasive tubes and leads that kept her alive were now disconnected and gone, 
leaving behind only a few bruises and some stray glue from the tape. Her face looked relaxed, not 
twisted with pain and contorted by the stroke. Her color was pale, but not waxy and ill. If he had 
to find one word to describe her present condition, it would be “peaceful”. 
 
He rarely saw his mother at peace.  
 
He drew a chair up to the bed and took her still hand in his. It seemed so old, so frail, and now, 
so lifeless. “Well, old lady, at least you never had to live through the ignominy of seeing me sent 
to jail. Or would that have been sweet revenge for you? Your hell-bound faggot son led off in 
chains? But then again, you never had to have the disappointment of seeing me acquitted, either. 
Bitter over my ability to escape the consequences of my sins, yet again. Which is it, Mom? The 
lady or the tiger?” He leaned back, still holding her hand. “How can you hate me? How can you 
hate someone you gave birth to? Someone you fed, bathed, dressed and cradled? You wiped my 
ass and my nose and bounced me on your knee. You hated me because I love men instead of 
women? How does that work? I can’t think of anything that Gus could do that would make me 
hate him. If he was a serial killer I might hate what he did, but I could never stop loving him. 
How did you do that? Why did you do that? Did it make your life better somehow to cut me out of 
it? To wish me to hell? I needed you, so many times. Just a kind word. A pat on the back. A kiss 
on the cheek. The belief that in your house, I could be safe. But I never had that. Why? Do you 
think I chose to be the way I am? No more than you did. But I’m not ashamed of it, either. I try 
to be a good man. I try to help people when I can and not go out of my way to hurt them. I’m no 
saint, but I’m not a demon, either. I’m just a man. And why was that never enough for you? 
What more did you want from me?” 
 
He stopped as his throat grew tight around his words, burning as he inhaled a strangled breath. 
He was an orphan now. It seemed funny at his age to think of himself that way, but he was. Snip, 
snip, that last big tie to his past had been severed. His phone vibrated. He looked at the text 
message through blurry eyes. From Boyd. “Can I help?” he wrote. 
 
“Come in,” Brian wrote back with trembling fingers. When Boyd entered the space, he rushed 
over to his lover, standing beside him and pressing Brian’s face to his belly as he stroked his 
hands through his hair and let him cry. Finally, Brian regained control and wiped his face on his 
sleeve as he looked over at his mother and whispered, 
 
“Are you asleep, Mom?” 
 
Boyd winced as he squeezed Brian’s shoulders gently and responded, “She loved you, too.” 
 
“Get me out of here,” Brian pleaded, standing up, his world wobbling off it’s normal trajectory as 
Boyd wrapped him in his arms and held him until he became steady on his feet. Only then, did 
Boyd take his hand and lead him away. 
 
Current Mood:  crushed 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 21st, 2005 05:38 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 81 
 
  
 
At two in the morning, Boyd and Brian returned to the loft. Brian’s numbness was back, bred by 
exhaustion. He passed through the phase of raw emotion to a cold acceptance of duty as he took 
over the tasks of arranging for his mother’s transport to a funeral home and the preliminary plans 
for her services. Claire was sent home, unable to deal, and Boyd was a rock, stepping in when 
Brian seemed to falter at seemingly simple decisions. Now they were alone, the tasks completed 
for now, the summer night warm and lazy outside the air conditioned still of the loft.  
 
Brian sat down heavily on the sofa, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a 
headache began to pound at the base of his brain. Boyd sat beside him offering him a bottle of 
water and a couple emerald green Advil gel caps. He took them with a swig of Evian and smiled 
slightly at his lover. “How did you know?” 
 
“Your eyes take on a certain look when you have a headache. They get a little more gold than 
green.” 
 
Brian shook his head. “No way.” 
 
“Way.” 
 
“You notice that?” 
 
“I notice everything about you.” 
 
“Stalker,” Brian said with a smile and Boyd nodded, reaching over to manipulate the tight muscles 
of Brian’s neck with his fingers.  
 
“You’re right, I am. I’m obsessed with you.” 
 
“Mutual.” 
 
Brian closed his eyes again as the rhythmic squeeze of Boyd’s hands relaxed his tension. “I 
should be feeling free,” he observed. “My parents were really a mill stone for me. I got no 
emotional comfort from them, just the opposite. I was always shooting my Dad cash and my 
mother was a great conveyor of guilt. They were a strange tether to Pittsburgh that’s gone now. 
Other than Gus and some friends, what holds me here? Nothing.” 
 
“Claire?” 
 
“Christ, if I could leave no forwarding address where Claire is concerned, I’d be happier. The 
woman’s a complete mess. I suspect Mom never changed her will, too much planning involved, 
and so we probably share the estate fifty-fifty. She didn’t have a lot, but the house is worth some 
money and there were annuities she was living on. I plan to just give mine over to Claire and 
those monsters of hers. I don’t need it and I don’t want it. There’s a few things that were mine, 
just stupid leftovers from childhood that I’ll collect, but she can have the rest. I just want to be 
severed from all things Kinney.” 
 
Boyd urged him to lie down with his head in Boyd’s lap. He stroked through his hair as he said, “I 
know you had a shitty childhood, Brian. But I have to be somewhat grateful to your parents 
because even if they did everything wrong, it resulted in being part of who you are now. You may 
have been terrified of commitment, but when you made up your mind to do it, you’re a wonderful 
partner. You’re independent, a self-starter, an entrepreneur, ambitious, creative…all of that had 
some roots in your family life. You’re a survivor. I can’t write them off as horrid because they had 
to do something right to have you end up as you are. Even if it was because you learned early 
how to overcome adversity.” 
 
Brian sighed. “The only thing I learned from Jack was how not to be a father. From Joanie, I 
learned God isn’t about forgiveness, and perfection doesn’t exist even when you act like it does. I 
wonder if I’m getting the flu. I ache all over.” 
 
“That’s the hangover effect of shock, Brian. Let’s go to bed.” 
 
“No, I’m too buzzed to sleep.” 
 
“Then just lie there and I’ll give you a rub down.” 
 
“Boyd, I…” Brian hesitated and Boyd smiled. 
 
“Not that kind of rub down. I’m not completely perverted. I’m not asking you to fuck me. Come 
on, let me try to help you relax.” 
 
Naked, on his stomach, Brian sighed as Boyd straddled his body and rubbed a softly scented oil 
into his skin with an expert blend of pressure and delicacy. He felt the soreness recede to be 
replaced by a deep ennui. His cock steeled up, but he didn’t have the mental impetus to press 
that agenda. It ultimately relaxed, unsatisfied, and within minutes, Brian was asleep. Boyd leaned 
down to kiss the back of his neck and carefully withdrew from the bed, walking into the bathroom 
to rinse the oil off his hands. A persistent knock at the loft door startled him and he pulled on 
Brian’s robe and rushed to answer it before Brian awoke.  
 
Michael was standing there with two paper bags. “My mom sent over some food and stuff. I want 
to see Brian.” 
 
“Michael, do you know what time it is?” 
 
“I’ve been calling! Does he check his messages? You can’t have been home very long.” 
 
“I just now got him to sleep. He’s utterly done in. I think it’s very sweet of Debbie to send food 
and of you to bring it by, but I’m not letting you wake him up. I’m sorry. He needs to rest.” 
 
“Then I’ll just sit down in the living room and wait until he gets up.” 
 
Boyd stared at him. This was tense. He knew Michael was special to Brian, for reasons Boyd found 
difficult to identify, but that wasn’t his call. He knew Michael disliked him intensely for his place in 
Brian’s affection, a fact he couldn’t control. He didn’t want to make trouble, but there was no way 
Michael was coming in, not tonight. He took the bags from him and said, “Go home, get some 
sleep. I’ll be sure Brian calls you as soon as he wakes up.” 
 
“But…” 
 
“Thanks to Debbie, again. And thanks for bringing this over. G’night, Michael.” 
 
He shut the door, locked it, and put the containers in the fridge before shedding the robe and 
climbing back in bed with his lover. He’d probably pay for that, but he didn’t really care. The one 
thing he knew he could do for Brian during this difficult time was protect him from the horde. 
 
When Boyd awoke, sun was streaming in through the sheers and Brian hadn’t moved from the 
position in which he first fell asleep. Boyd glanced at the clock, confirmed it was almost ten, and 
got up. He showered and shaved, and when the phone rang, he answered it on the first ring, 
cradling the receiver on his shoulder as he made coffee.  
 
“Brian?” 
 
A familiar inflection, an accent Boyd missed. “Bo? It’s Boyd. Brian’s asleep.” 
 
“We have an appointment to talk. Could you wake him up?” 
 
“His mom died last night.” 
 
“Oh no. I’m so sorry.” 
 
“Do you think it can wait?” 
 
“Absolutely. I’ll let Rod know so he can inform the court. When is the service? Where? I want to 
send some flowers, have a novena in her honor. Is he Catholic? Irish lad.” 
 
“She was. I don’t have all the details yet. Let me call you with them later. Bo, is there anything 
you want me to tell him?” 
 
“Can’t go outside that privilege, son.” 
 
“Right. Of course. Sorry. How’s everything down south?” 
 
“Hot and clammy. Nothing new there. Expecting more rain, so the crop is in peril. Your baseball 
team lost to that Lafayette team, without your pitching skills.” 
 
“Sorry about that.” 
 
“How’s he taking it?” 
 
“Very Brianesque. Huge swings of emotion.” 
 
“Poor guy. He’s had so much shit heaped on him lately. Must have a strong back to carry it all. 
And a strong partner, that helps.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “I do what I can. Feel pretty helpless right now.” 
 
“You’ll be doing more than you think, son. Take care of him, we’ll talk later.” 
 
“I’ll call you with the arrangements.” 
 
“Do that.” 
 
Boyd hung up, and the phone rang immediately. He punched in. Debbie said, “Which B is it? Brian 
or Boyd?” 
 
“Boyd. He’s asleep.” 
 
“I didn’t tell that idiot son of mine to go over there in the middle of the night. That was his lame 
brain idea. How is he?” 
 
“He took it pretty hard, Debbie. Thanks for the food, by the way.” 
 
“More to follow. Poor baby. That old bitch, may she rest in peace, doesn’t deserve a single tear 
from him, but I understand the ties that bind. I’m so glad you’re there for him, honey. Sorry your 
first exposure to our motley crew turned out to be a drama fest.” 
 
“It was interesting.” 
 
“You did good, holding up to them. That Ethan is a piece of work, isn’t he? Don’t see the 
attraction, but not my call. And Michael means well, he loves Brian, he’s just a jealous little boy at 
times. Try to overlook it.” 
 
“No problem.” 
 
“What can I do to help?” 
 
“Nothing right now, Debbie. We’re meeting Claire at the church in an hour to go over the funeral 
mass with the priest. And then there’s the flowers, the clothes for his mom to be buried in, the 
viewing, I don’t know. Brian said no wake, that Joanie wasn’t the wake type. I think Claire wants 
to have people over to her mom’s house after the burial. I thought I’d ask Emmett to cater it.” 
 
“Good idea. Don’t let him go off the deep end, Boyd. Brian tends to get crazy when he’s in pain, 
makes a lot of dumb mistakes to cover up his feelings.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “So far so good.” 
 
“Make sure he eats.” 
 
“I will.” 
 
“Poor baby,” she said again, tears in her voice as she hung up the phone. Boyd sighed, filled two 
mugs with coffee and carried them both into the bedroom. He sat on the side of the bed and 
placed his mug on the table, freeing one hand to stroke Brian’s silky skin. Brian finally stirred and 
when he squinted up at Boyd, Boyd pressed a mug into his hand.  
 
“Drink.” 
 
“What time?” 
 
“It’s getting late. We have to meet Claire at the church.” 
 
Brian moaned and sat up to sip the hot brew, scrubbing his fingers through his disorganized hair. 
“Can’t you just attach superheated nipple clamps to me and jam a cattle prod up my ass? I’d like 
that better.” 
 
Boyd smiled at him. “Don’t go giving me ideas.” 
 
Brian laughed. “Freak.” 
 
“Perv.” 
“Did I hear you on the phone through my half asleep haze?” 
 
“Bo called, Debbie called, you have a bunch of messages waiting for you, Michael came over last 
night after you fell asleep. I wouldn’t let him in. I’m sure you’ll hear about that.” 
 
“I can handle that one. I forgot about Bo.” 
 
“He said it can wait.” 
 
Brian handed him his half empty mug and said, “I have to piss.” 
 
He went into the bathroom and when he returned, Boyd knew the look. “We don’t have time,” he 
said automatically and Brian shrugged. 
 
“So we’re a little late. Hell won’t freeze over.” 
 
“You can’t be in the mood.” 
 
Brian reached down and lifted his lengthening but not yet erect cock on his palm. “Feel how 
heavy this is. Not my fault. It has a mind of its own.” 
 
“How I know that,” Boyd said with a smile. “And it’s a dirty mind, too.” 
 
“Really dirty,” Brian paused in front of him and used his cock as a felt-tip, moving it over Boyd’s 
cheekbone, his temple, across his forehead and down to his parted lips. Boyd moaned and closed 
his eyes, replacing Brian’s hand on it as he took it deep within his mouth. Brian rested one hand 
on Boyd’s shoulder, the other on the back of his head, watching his handsome face devour his 
hard dick. His ass clenched as he thrust deeper into his mouth and throat, closing out all other 
thoughts as he let Boyd extinguish his emotional pain with the bliss of hot sex.  
 
When he came, Brian cried out with pleasure, the release shooting endorphins throughout his 
beleaguered body, replacing tension with relief. He then pushed Boyd back on the bed, opening 
his robe to bury his face in golden pubes and hard cock, returning the favor with enthusiasm.  
 
Dressed, solemn, the joy of their sexual interlude faded by the events they were facing, they left 
the loft and drove to the church. On the way, Brian gave Boyd a full confession about the priest 
and Boyd smiled and shook his head. “Is there any gay man in Pittsburgh you haven’t hit?” 
 
“Only the ugly ones.” 
 
“Of course,” Boyd laughed.  
 
“You asked.” 
 
Claire was still a mess, still crying, an endless stock of tears available to her use. Brian sighed, 
exchanged a stilted greeting with the priest and Boyd subtly checked out the former competition 
as the Kinney orphans planned their mother’s send off with as little bickering as they could 
manage. As they left, Claire agreed to pick out the clothes for Joan to be buried in, and they 
agreed to meet at the funeral home later to finalize things there. Alone at last, Brian let Boyd 
drive, directing him back to familiar streets. 
 
“Where are we going? Want to get some lunch, brunch, whatever?” 
 
“We’re going home to change and then to the gym for a real workout and after that, I thought we 
might drop in at Woody’s for a beer before we meet up with Claire again. I could stand some 
fortification.” 
 
“Do you know Emmett’s number?” 
 
“Why?” 
 
“I thought we could get him to cater the get together after the services.” 
 
“Good plan,” Brian punched in an auto-dial on his mobile and handed the phone to Boyd. “You tell 
him. I don’t want to talk to anyone.” 
 
Boyd nodded, explaining to Emmett what they needed and Emmett was pleased to accept. When 
he asked to talk to Brian, Boyd said, “He’s kind of in retreat right now, Emmett. Can he call you 
later? Yeah, I’ll tell him. Thanks.” He ended the call. “Emmett says…” 
 
“Yeah,” Brian cut him off. “I know, I know.” 
 
They parked in front of the loft and Brian groaned as they went up in the creaky elevator and the 
doors opened to reveal Michael standing by the entrance of the apartment. “Fuck me,” Brian 
murmured to himself and Boyd squeezed his hand in empathy. 
 
“Be nice,” he whispered. “He’s just trying to help.” 
 
“Which doesn’t help at all,” Brian observed, but some things were just beyond Michael’s 
comprehension and this was one.  
 
Current Mood: awake 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 22nd, 2005 04:00 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 82 
 
  
 
Lisette sighed and pressed her fingertips to her closed eyes as her brother told her about Brian’s 
loss. She was in her office, and she swiveled towards the windows overlooking the river, 
wondering how much more Brian Kinney could be challenged with. “How are both of you holding 
up?” 
 
“He’s being very brave and I’m being over protective.” 
 
“Don’t smother him, Sissy Boy. He’s not the type.” 
 
“He needs me right now, Lis.” 
 
“He’s always going to need you. Just give him breathing room. Where is he now?” 
 
“We just got back from the gym. He’s in the shower.” 
 
“I want to come up for the service. I know I never met his mother, but I want to be there to 
support Brian. Do you think he’d be alright with that?” 
 
“Of course. You don’t have to, but it would be wonderful, Lis. I could use the cover. He has some 
nice friends here, but he also has some sharks.” 
 
“As do we all.” 
 
“Will Petra come with you?” 
 
“She will if her schedule permits. You know how it is with doctors.” 
 
“Brian’s loft doesn’t really have guest facilities.” 
 
“Last I heard Pittsburgh has hotels. You have enough to worry about. Let me worry about finding 
a room. I’ll call you when I have all my arrangements made.” 
 
They hung up and Lisette asked her secretary to begin making reservations as Bo walked up and 
rapped on the frame of her open doorway. “Can an old man take a pretty lady to lunch?” 
 
“I’d love it, Bo. Thanks. But I get to pay.” 
 
“That’s not how it works in my world, Ms. Coulter.” 
 
They ended up at The Gumbo Shop, over large white china bowls of steaming shrimp gumbo and 
a basket of crusty French bread and butter. Midway through the meal, Lisette sat down her 
spoon, leaned back in her chair and covered her face with both hands as her body shook with a 
sudden sob. Bo reached over and placed a hand on her arm, his expression intense. “Hey now, 
what’s a hard bitten lawyer doing crying into her gumbo?” 
 
She sighed and struggled for control before she wiped her napkin over her face and said, “It’s just 
so fucking unfair!” 
 
“What is, honey?” 
 
“Boyd and Brian. They’ve both been through so much in their individual lives, and then they find 
each other and love each other like crazy. Even under the stress of this fucking bullshit murder 
charge. Now Brian has to lose his mother. How is any of this fair? Why can’t they get a break?” 
 
“Lisette, they’ll get through this. They have each other. That’s double strength, and this bullshit 
murder charge is just that. Bullshit. I’m sorry Brian lost his mother, but it’s part of life. We all lose 
our mothers, some time, and it’s never easy. But that young man is made of strong stuff and he’ll 
soldier on. Boyd will see to that,” 
 
“I know I’ve been blackballed from the defense, Bo, but please, tell me. Is Brian going to buck 
this charge?” 
 
Bo sighed and picked up the bottle of Tabasco sauce, shaking a few fiery drops into his soup and 
stirring it into the blend. “I’ve seen Rod work miracles with a lot fewer facts than we have here. I 
was just de-briefing him on some new developments. I think Brian will be fine. We’re going to be 
able to show all kinds of suspects, if not outright solve this mystery before he even goes to trial. 
But then what, Lisette? Is Brian going to stay in Louisiana? Is Boyd going to leave his job and his 
kids and follow him north? The challenges for those two boys are going to come around when this 
is over.” 
 
“At least those are the normal challenges any couple faces. I can’t imagine they’ll let this go. It 
seems to be the real deal, Bo.” 
 
“Even the real deal can be a hard thing to handle when life intervenes.” 
 
She sighed and started eating again, wondering what news Bo gave her boss, annoyed that her 
own carelessness resulted in her being excluded from this information. But then, as emotional as 
she was about her brother and his lover, perhaps having her there at the counsel table would be 
a bad idea. Lawyers required objectivity to be effective and her objectivity on Brian was pretty 
well shot. “So how’s Charlie?” 
 
“Charlie who?” 
 
“Don’t even try to be coy, Mr. Prudhomme. You can’t pull it off. I mean Charlene, the erstwhile 
D.A. of Canard Rouge.” 
 
Bo paused, smiled slightly. “Why are you asking me?”  
 
Lisette shrugged. “Since you’re her boyfriend, I just thought…” 
 
“First off, no one my age is a ‘boyfriend’. Second off, what the hell? You dogging me, girl?” 
 
She smiled. “You aren’t the only snoop in the great state of Louisiana, Bo. How you two manage 
it, given the opposite sides of the street you travel, is beyond me. But I’ve always adored Charlie, 
she was kind to me when I needed her most, so despite her wrong-mindedness about the law, I 
couldn’t be happier for you both.” 
 
She enjoyed seeing her old comrade blush like a schoolboy and he busied himself by buttering 
bread, unsure of what to say to that, so he chose to say nothing at all.  
 
******************************************************** 
Brian and Boyd sat together at the bar in Woody’s, sipping beer and listening to the chatter of 
others, underscored by the music on the juke box. It was early so the crowd was sparse. “I’m 
going to be so sore tomorrow,” Boyd said to break Brian’s thoughtful silence and Brian sighed. 
 
“Good. It’s good for you. Want to shoot some pool?” 
 
“I don’t shoot pool,” Boyd said with a smile. “Unless it’s for money.” 
 
Brian grinned at him. “How much?” 
 
“Twenty?” 
 
“Easy money. Stripes and solids?” 
 
“Fine. Let’s go, sucker.” 
 
They retrieved pool cues and brought their beer with them, placing it on a nearby table. Boyd 
broke and Brian watched him rapidly sink three balls, realizing this would be a hard earned 
twenty bucks. “I think you should tell your sister not to come up here,” he said, taking over the 
table and knocking in the four ball. “I mean I really appreciate her thinking of me, but…” he 
knocked in another, and angled for the third. It hit the pocket and veered off. Boyd took his turn 
as he said,  
 
“She wants to come. Is there a problem?” 
 
“I don’t want her to meet my crazy sister and creepy nephews and all my motley friends. I guess 
I’d rather retain her high opinion of me in isolation.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Don’t forget, she met some of them already in Canard Rouge. She’ll be fine, 
Brian. Lisette is pretty hard to shake. She wants to be here.” 
 
Brian shrugged, watching Boyd sink a few shots and then he had another chance. He liked that 
his lover was a good pool player. He enjoyed the game and hated to play with amateurs. Boyd 
provided a challenge. “Okay, but she’s been warned. Jesus, I hope Melanie doesn’t make a fool of 
herself over Lisette. She’s as fatally attracted to blondes as I am.” He groaned as the wrong color 
ball careened off the bumper to fall into a pocket. He handed a twenty-dollar bill to Boyd who 
pocketed it and then racked the balls for another round.  
 
“Eight ball or are you too broke and too scared to play me?” 
 
Brian smiled. “I’ll play you any day, redneck. I’m just doing the pool shark thing and pulling you 
in before I take you down.” 
 
“Good luck with that, Yankee boy,” he paused. “Do we have time?” 
 
“We have time.” 
 
“Loser shoots first,” Boyd invited, flipping open his mobile as it vibrated. “Boyd Coulter.” Brian 
half-listened to him as he took several successful shots before passing the table to his lover. Boyd 
hung up and said, 
 
“Congratulations, Mr. Kinney. That was the Diocese. You are now the proud owner of a fee simple 
in a defrocked church in New Orleans. We need to fund in thirty-six hours. They accepted our 
counter.” 
 
Brian grinned at him. “Seriously?” 
 
“Would I shit you?” 
 
Brian pulled him into a bearhug, kissing him on the lips, drawing the notice of everyone in the bar 
who wasn’t already staring at the handsome couple. “There’s a sweet irony to my becoming 
owner of a church just as my mother knocks on those pearly gates. The good news for her is she 
won’t have to deal with Jack up there. He’ll be roasting his sorry ass in another place.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “I may be Catholic, but I prefer the Hindu idea that we come back in another life as 
a representative of how well we lived this one. Just think of how many people we know who came 
back as termites.” 
 
“Especially in your profession.” 
 
“Yeah, because ad men are known for their ethics.” 
 
Brian took the cue from him and kissed him again. “Let’s call it a draw and go back to the loft for 
a few before we do the family nightmare.” 
 
Boyd kissed him back and then a voice interrupted. “There you are!” Emmett. They both groaned. 
He picked up on none of that as he grabbed Brian away from Boyd and hugged him despite 
Brian’s stiff-armed attempt to avoid his embrace. “I am so sorry, honey.” 
 
“Yeah, okay, unhand me, Emmett. I can’t breathe.” 
 
“We need to talk wake, boys. Menus. Here’s what I was thinking. We do an Irish theme, an 
homage to the Irish wake and to your mom’s heritage. Now most believe the Irish have no 
cuisine, but that’s just not true…” he herded them to a table and the couple linked hands as they 
sat there and finished their beer, their idea for how to spend the afternoon lost to discussions of 
oat cakes and salmon.  
 
******************************************* 
 
Claire cornered Brian in his boyhood bedroom as Boyd sat on the bed, watching him go through 
the contents of a trunk. “What are you doing?” she demanded of her brother and he sighed. 
 
“Looking for something.” 
 
“Like what?” 
 
“Like none of your business, Claire. Why are you in my room?” They reverted to old childhood 
battles over territory. She sighed. 
 
“We still have some things to talk about.” 
 
“Such as? We got all the funeral shit ironed out, didn’t we? Emmett’s in control of the after party. 
What more do we need to discuss?” 
 
“This house, for one thing.” 
 
“What about it?” 
 
“It’s free and clear, Brian. It’s in a decent school district. I know you own half of it now, but I was 
thinking I could sell my house, get out from under that mortgage and move in here. The boys 
could have a better school and my finances would be improved. I could pay you some rent…” 
 
Brian sighed, opening a cigar box and sifting through the hidden boyhood treasures. A pack of 
matches from a gay bar in Philadelphia, representing an early foray into tricking, a picture of 
Patrick Swayze cut out of a magazine, ancient jerk off material, a couple condom packages, 
hardened with age, a roach clip, the spare remains of a tube of cheap lube, and a key to a locker, 
long forgotten. Okay, maybe this wasn’t deep childhood, more like late adolescence. He shut it 
and kept looking as he said, “Claire, you can have the fucking house and everything in it, but my 
stuff. I want my stuff boxed up and sent to me. Can I send it to the mill house, Boyd?” 
 
“Sure.” 
 
“You mean the furniture, too?” 
 
Brian looked at the maple bedroom suite and winced. “Uh, no thanks. It’s all yours. Just the junk. 
I’ll box it up before I leave town. Damn, where is that damn thing?” 
 
“What are you looking for?” 
 
“Nothing,” he said to her, and then added. “I don’t want rent, Claire. You can have my interest in 
the house, my interest in mother’s estate. Send your monsters to reform school on me. I don’t 
need it and I really don’t want anything to do with Joanie and Jack.” 
 
“How can you be so cold, Brian?” 
 
“Easy. I had great role models.” 
 
She sighed and went over to his closet, removing a red and white jacket with a big felt letter 
sewn on the front and his name and number as a player on the sleeve. “You were such a good 
athlete. Daddy was really proud of that, remember? He went to your games and bragged about 
you to everyone.” 
 
Brian laughed. “He went to two games in my entire career of playing ball, Claire, and he was 
kicked out of the second one for being drunk and abusive to the referee.” 
 
“You always see everything so negatively.” 
 
“Maybe I’ll go downstairs and get a Coke,” Boyd offered, but Brian stopped him. 
 
“Stay. No secrets. Don’t reinvent history with me, Claire. I lived here. If it makes you feel better 
to pretend everything was swell with the family, then do that. But don’t try to move me into 
Pleasantville. I recall things differently.” 
 
“You think you were an easy son to raise, Brian? You think my boys are brats? Maybe you’ve 
forgotten what a pill you were. Kicked out of parochial schools for fighting and being disruptive, 
suspended twice from high school for smoking and cutting class. Going to those awful bars on 
fake ID’s, and then lying about it to Mom and Dad. Letting Daddy think you were such a stud with 
girls when you really only wanted to go out with other boys. You were sullen and sarcastic and 
aloof.” 
 
“They got enough drama from you, Claire. Some crisis always had you in tears.” 
 
“Do you think it’s easy to have a little brother who’s two years behind you in school and all the 
girls in your own class are whispering about him because he’s ‘so cute’ and ‘so hot’ and ‘so cool’. 
Do you think I liked having girls befriend me just because they wanted to take a crack at you? 
And there you are with your pick of anyone you want and you don’t want any of them, while I 
can’t even get a date for my own senior prom? The girl is supposed to be the pretty one in the 
family, Brian. Not the boy. You got all these smarts, athletic ability, and that…that face! How fair 
is that? You think I liked hearing Mom talk about how Brian is the ‘pretty one’? Finding out you 
were gay was the greatest day of my life because it allowed me to realize you had a flaw! My 
perfect appearing brother wasn’t so perfect after all.” She fled from his room after throwing his 
jacket on the floor and Brian looked at Boyd with an expression of complete confusion. 
 
“She’s cracking up.” 
 
“Go after her, Brian.” 
 
“I don’t go after anyone, Boyd.” 
 
“You’ve come after me.” 
 
“Okay, except you. She’s off her I-beam.” 
 
Boyd stood up and kissed him on top of the head where he knelt before the open trunk. “I’ll let 
you examine the Ark of the Covenant, Indiana, while I talk to Claire.” 
 
“What do you intend to say to her?” 
 
“I don’t know. I’ll probably just listen. You would be a hard act to follow. I feel for her.” 
 
Brian rolled his eyes and returned to his search, unable to understand Claire’s pain since he never 
saw himself as much more than a victim as he was growing up in this house. The Brian she 
described was all smoke and mirrors. If Claire couldn’t see that, it was her problem, not his. He 
found a small, battered, terry cloth giraffe at the bottom of his trunk. It was missing a black 
beady eye and most of its yarn mane had been lost to wear. Once blue, it was now a faded shade 
of gray. He smiled as he touched it to his cheek, remembering the baby name he called it when it 
was his constant companion for years. Sometimes, even as a teenager, when he was feeling 
vulnerable, he would seek out this toy and put it under his pillow, soothed by it’s presence. Even 
now, it seemed to calm him as he inhaled its familiar scent.  
 
He put it in a Prada shopping bag he brought with him, hiding it under the black silk shirt that had 
been his favorite clubbing outfit when he first started life as the hot ticket of Liberty Avenue. A 
framed photo was uncovered. He picked it up. His mother and father were standing in front of a 
new Chevy Malibu, Nassau blue and shiny. She was holding a pretty baby bundled up for winter. 
The baby was gripping a pale blue stuffed giraffe. The father’s hand was holding onto the baby’s 
pudgy arm. Brian sat back and stared at their happy, smiling faces, and the grin on the baby’s 
face. Pretty family, pretty baby, pretty car. Pretty life. None of it real, except the car, and that got 
repossessed when Jack went on strike. He still talked about losing that car, even when Brian was 
a teenager. 
 
He took the picture out of the frame. On the back, his mother’s handwriting read, “Jack’s new car 
and baby Brian”. Baby Brian. Brian turned it over, only then noticing Claire, a toddler at the time, 
standing so far to the rear of the car that only two-thirds of her was in the frame. Her hair was 
straggly and impossible to style. She had knobby knees and a grumpy expression. Her down coat 
made her look fat. She looked completely out of place with the attractive young family pictured 
together. She didn’t even make the legend on the back. The car got bigger billing than Claire. He 
put the picture in his bag and stood up, going in search of his sister, suddenly understanding 
exactly what she meant.  
 
 
Current Mood: busy 
 
 
 
Apr. 23rd, 2005 05:09 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 83 
 
  
 
NOTE FROM AUTHOR: I borrowed the “jewelry” from Randall, with permission. 
 
 
 
Brian found his sister downstairs. She was seated on the couch, sniffling into a tissue while his 
lover held her hand and talked quietly to her. As Brian entered the room, unnoticed, he heard her 
say, “…and now he has you. Even when things are going badly for Brian, they aren’t all bad. I 
know he didn’t kill anyone. He’ll get out of that, and then he’ll have you and the two of you…” 
 
She stopped when she saw him and Brian met Boyd’s gaze and gave him a slight tilt of the head 
towards the door. Boyd nodded, stood and patted Brian’s shoulder as he passed him and headed 
upstairs. Claire looked tensed for a fight as Brian sat down on the far end of the sofa, staring at 
her. Finally he spoke. 
 
“I don’t see anything to be gained by measuring who was hurt more by our psycho parents, 
Claire. Let’s just call it a draw. We both lost. But now they’re dead and the Kinney clan is down to 
you and me and three boys. This can either be a finish line for us or we can try and find a way to 
continue to have some link, without the ghosts of Joan and Jack to poison us. I can go either way. 
Man, I never thought I’d hear myself say those words.” 
 
Claire smiled a little at his joke and said, “I do appreciate what you said about letting me have 
the house, Brian. I think a better school will really help the boys. I know it wasn’t perfect for you 
growing up. I know how hard Daddy was on you, especially, and I know it hurt you when Mother 
rejected you after she found out you were gay. I never told her, you know. You have to give me 
points for that.” 
 
He nodded. “I know.” 
 
“And the whole thing with John when he accused you…that was just a horrible mistake.” 
 
“Can we not even talk about that?” 
 
Silence and then she said, “Boyd is wonderful.” 
 
“I know.” 
 
“How did you get so lucky?” 
 
“I don’t know. Fate, I guess. Claire, do you date at all? You’ve been divorced a long time now. Do 
you ever go out?” 
 
She sighed. “With who? I never meet anyone and look at me. I’m a mess. I was never much for 
dating, but now? Between work and being a mom, I don’t have time to take care of myself. I 
don’t know anyone suitable to date. Everyone’s married or gay at my age.” 
 
“There are ways to meet people. I’m no expert in breeder dating rituals, but shit, there are online 
services that match people up if nothing else.” 
 
“Computer dating? Would you ever do anything like that? I mean before Boyd?” 
 
Brian thought back to the many “dates” he picked up online, men who would come over for sex, 
no strings attached. He assumed his sister wouldn’t find that option appealing, even if there were 
a straight equivalent. “It’s different in my world. I’m just saying you’re not even forty yet, but 
you’ve given up. Get out there. You’ve got to have a life of your own, not just a life as jailer to 
those brats of yours.” 
 
“I know, but…do you know any straight guys?” 
 
He smiled. “Probably. But I never pay much attention to them. I can’t help you there. And besides 
which, once this stupid trial is over, I’m moving to Louisiana for awhile.” 
 
She looked stunned. “To be with Boyd?” 
 
“He’s a consideration, that’s true. But I’m starting a business in New Orleans. I’ll be living there 
while I launch it. Not sure for how long.” 
 
“What about your kid? Your friends? You’re just leaving Pittsburgh?” 
 
“I’ll still come up here to visit Gus and…others. And he can come down to see me. Hell, you can 
come down, Claire. New Orleans is a great place to visit.” 
 
“What about your loft?” 
 
“I’ve decided to keep it. Lease it. I think it will only appreciate in value.” 
 
“It’s so strange to think of you living in the south.” 
 
“Well, I fell for a southern boy. What can you do?” 
 
She smiled at him. “This is the real deal for you?” 
 
“As real as it gets.” 
 
“What about that young blond guy you were with before?” 
 
“Justin. His name is Justin. We broke up before I left town. He’s with someone else. We’re friends, 
now.” 
 
“Brian, I need help with the boys. Especially John. Their father is non-existent, and they’re 
getting to an age where they need a male presence in their lives. I worry about them, but I don’t 
know what to do.” 
 
“First step? Get them to counseling, Claire. You too. I’ll pay for it. Lots of women raise boys 
without men just fine. You can too. But you need to get some skills that neither one of us have 
because we were raised by jackals. Gus is doing well only because he has a surplus of mommies. 
I have no talent for being a parent. How could I?” 
 
“I’ll look into it. You may be right.” 
 
“If I had any confidence in them, I’d see a shrink myself. But I don’t.” 
 
“Are you going to be alright with that stupid charge against you?” 
 
“I didn’t do it, Claire.” 
 
“I know that. Whatever else you are, you’re no murderer.” 
 
“Did Mom think I was guilty of it?” 
 
“No. She prayed for you, and for the real killer to be found. She knew you didn’t kill anyone, 
Brian. Don’t let yourself think she died believing that about you. She could never let go of the fact 
you were gay and going to hell for it, but she never thought you were a killer.” 
 
He sighed, annoyed by how relieved he felt by that mixed dispensation. “There are a few things of 
Dad’s and of hers that I’d like to have, just as some kind of strange souvenir of my roots, but the 
rest is yours.” 
 
“Anything you want.” 
 
“I’ll have my lawyers draw up the legal transfer of my share of the estate to you.” 
 
“Are you sure you can afford that, Brian? What with your legal fees and a new business and all?” 
 
“I’m sure. I made a lot of money when I sold Kinnetic. I invested a hunk of it in the new business 
and will be investing more, but I’ve already set aside my defense fund, I’ve funded a trust for my 
son so he’ll be taken care of no matter what happens to me, and I still have plenty left to live on. 
Don’t worry about me.” 
 
“Brian, do you remember Kitty Weber?” 
 
He frowned, thinking back. “Was she that tall blonde girl you were buddies with in high school?” 
 
“Yeah. She had the biggest crush on you. She told me that when my brother grew up, he would 
be a huge success and a Romeo, because success and love always comes to the prettiest people.” 
 
He laughed. “I’ve been dead broke in the last few years, as well as fat and happy. Feast or 
famine. I wouldn’t say it was easy. As for love, that’s not been my experience, either, until recent 
years. Lots of lonely nights under my bridge. Random sex only fills so many minutes. Where’s 
Kitty now?” 
 
“New York. She turned into a lesbian in college. She lives with some actress in Greenwich 
Village.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Figures. That would explain why she was so hot for me. She sensed a fellow 
traveler and she was still confused about how to express her feelings. Did she come on to you?” 
 
Claire laughed. “Well, just between you and me, there were a couple nights when…you don’t want 
to know.” 
 
He winced and held up a hand. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.” 
 
“I was afraid maybe there was something wrong with me, but you know, I guess it was just 
experimenting. I never really felt right about it.” 
 
Brian shook his head, trying to stop the image tormenting his brain. “What secrets these walls 
contain. Well, I’ll get some boxes from the garage and get Boyd to help me box up the shit that I 
want to keep. Why don’t you go get some rest before all the fun starts at the viewing and the rest 
of this ritualistic bullshit?” 
 
She nodded and stood up, pausing in front of him as she said, “I’m glad you’re happy, Brian. I 
like him a lot.” 
 
“Thanks. He likes you, too.” 
 
That seemed to please her and she left him there. Brian let his gaze move over the unwelcoming 
furniture/ There was a sheen of dust that had accumulated since his mother fell ill, because 
Joanie never tolerated dust in her home. The framed photos were of a family hiding behind false 
smiles. Sighing, he stood and started up the stairs to join his lover, ignoring the pain that 
demanded expression.  
 
Boyd looked up at him as he re-entered his boyhood bedroom. “Did I hear Claire leave?” 
 
Brian nodded.  
 
“Is everything okay?” 
 
“Yeah.” 
 
Boyd held up a pair of jeans with an artfully ripped knee, thigh and ass. “Did you really wear 
these?” 
 
Brian laughed and snatched them out of his hands. “I burned it up in these jeans, asshole. The 
boys loved them.” He held them up to his hips, glaring at his image in the mirror. “Damn, I was 
skinny.” 
 
“You still are,” Boyd came up behind him and wrapped him in his arms. “And you still burn it up 
and the boys still love you. But they can’t have you. You’re mine, now.” 
 
Brian grinned at their joint image in the mirror. “I don’t like to be possessed by someone.” 
 
“Tough.” 
 
“What comes next? A brand? An ear tag? A tracking device?” 
 
“Worse. This,” Boyd reached in his pocket and withdrew a small red box. Cartier. Brian looked 
askance.  
 
“If this is a wedding ring…” 
 
“Just open it.” 
 
He did so, revealing a triple band, one white gold, one yellow gold, one rose gold. The bands 
floated over each other with graceful design. “It’s not a wedding ring. It’s not even an ear tag,” 
Boyd explained. “It’s just something I wanted you to have. For me, the rings represent our past, 
that led us to become who we are today, our present, and our future.” He took it out and slipped 
it on Brian’s ring finger, left hand. “Do you like it? Does it make you feel trapped? I don’t want 
you to feel trapped.” 
 
Brian looked down at the subtle, elegant jewelry and smiled. “It’s Cartier. How could I not like 
Cartier? Of course I like it. I love it. Come here,” he pulled him into an embrace and a long kiss. 
The packing would have to wait. 
 
 
Lisette waved to her brother as she left the secured area at the airport. He took her bag as she 
kissed his cheek. “No Petra?” 
 
“She couldn’t get free on such short notice. She sends her love.” 
 
“The flowers you two sent were beautiful, Lis. Brian was very moved.” 
 
“Where is he? How is he?” 
 
“At the funeral home. Viewing is tonight. Such a weird custom. Viewing the dead.” 
 
“You look tired, Sissy Boy.” 
 
“I’m okay. A little, maybe. It’s been a roller coaster of emotion, as you can imagine. How are 
things in the swamp?” 
 
She laughed as she climbed into his rental. “Hot. Wet. The usual. I’m staying at the Four 
Seasons.” 
 
“I know, your secretary gave me the 411. So this is Pittsburgh. What do you think so far? It’s not 
as bad as Brian painted it, but it’s no New Orleans.” 
 
“No, far too civilized. What’s this? Did I miss an occasion?” She rapped a ring on his finger and 
watched him blush.  
 
“I gave Brian this ring, so he decided I had to have one too. Next thing we know, we’re in a 
Cartier store, and this is the result.” 
 
“What does it signify?” 
 
He shrugged. “It’s just a personal thing.” 
 
She thumped him on the temple with her middle finger and thumb. “Bitch, you can tell me.” 
 
“I can, but I won’t.” They checked her into the hotel and she changed into more somber navy 
blue linen trousers and blazer with an ecru silk shell and navy slings, before she asked him to 
help hook her string of pearls.  
 
“Do we have time to eat something? No food on the plane of course, and I’m starving.” 
 
“We have time for a quick bite. Diner, maybe?” 
 
“Fine.” 
 
When Boyd walked into the Liberty Diner with his striking sister, Debbie greeted him with a 
bearhug and then said, “Who is this gorgeous creature?” 
 
Boyd introduced them and Debbie sat down in the booth with the siblings. “Shit, genes run in 
your family,” she stated the obvious. “Sweet of you to come all the way up here, Lisette.” 
 
“I adore Brian.” 
 
Debbie rolled her eyes. “A common and thankless malady. Yo, Marilyn! How about some service? 
This is your station and these people are in a hurry.” 
 
A transvestite dressed up like Marilyn Monroe if Marilyn was a transvestite diner waitress, came 
over and scowled at Debbie. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 
 
“I am officially off the clock. I have to go home and change before I go to the funeral home. But 
for now, you can bring me a Coke float and don’t be cheap on the ice cream. I need the 
fortification.” 
 
He took the order from the other two occupants of the booth and left with a Marilyn pout, as 
Lisette smiled at Debbie. “So, you seem to know Brian. What do you think of my brother stealing 
his heart?” 
 
“Lis…” Boyd warned and Debbie grinned at him. 
 
“I think your brother is a doll. I adore him. And despite these sad circumstances, in all the time 
I’ve known Brian Kinney, which is most of his life, I have never seen him so happy. But you 
better not fuck him over, Boyd, or let him run you off. That’s Brian’s pattern. When the going gets 
tough, he runs them off.” 
 
“Them?” Boyd asked. “You mean Justin, right?” 
 
She shrugged. “Yeah, he never let anyone else come close.” 
 
“Justin left him, Debbie.” 
 
“Because Brian opened that door and gave him a shove. But look, that’s ancient history now. 
Justin has a boyfriend, Brian has you, all’s right with the world. Well, except that murder thing. 
Are those pearls real?” 
 
Lisette touched her necklace. Each pearl was identical in size and luster. “Yes, I got it in Hong 
Kong. Pearls are much more reasonably priced in Asia.” 
 
“I’ve always wanted a string of real pearls,” Debbie said wistfully as she reached for the plastic 
beads decorating her throat. They were interrupted by Melanie, who stopped at their table. She 
spoke to Debbie after greeting Boyd, but her gaze was fixed on Lisette, who was staring back at 
the petite brunette.  
 
“Linds wanted me to pick up some lemon bars to bring to Brian’s. We know how he loves your 
lemon bars. Who’s this?” 
 
Boyd made the introductions and Debbie went to box up the lemon bars as Melanie took over her 
seat. She was still staring at Lisette and Boyd looked from one woman to the other and sensed a 
little trouble brewing. Brian called it. Melanie liked blondes. This was the last thing they needed 
right now with all the other drama swirling. “Melanie is Lindsay’s partner,” he said to his sister. 
“You remember, Lindsay, Lis? The pretty blonde lady? The mother of Brian’s son?” 
 
“Of course,” Lisette said with a smile. “You two make a lovely couple.” 
 
“Lisette’s partner couldn’t make it,” Boyd went on, declaring territory. “She’s a very successful 
doctor. You know how that is.” 
 
His sister glared at him and said, “Are you through?” 
 
“What?” 
 
“Making sure we all understand the playing field.” 
 
Boyd blushed and shrugged, relieved by the interruption when the food arrived. It shifted the 
emphasis from him, but the little connection between the two women continued to bubble, and so 
did his unease over that fact. 
 
Current Mood:  calm 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 24th, 2005 01:28 pm - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 84 
 
  
 
“What is THIS?” Michael zoomed in on Brian’s ring like a heat seeking missile aimed at Cuba. 
Brian snatched his hand away.  
 
“What does it look like?” 
 
“A wedding ring?” 
 
“It’s not a wedding ring, Mikey. It’s three bands, count ‘em. It was a gift from Boyd, okay? Let it 
go.” 
 
“A gift? Like handcuffs?” 
 
“This isn’t the time or the place.” 
 
Michael looked around at all the flowers lining the bier along with the lit candelabra, and realized 
the only thing missing was the corpse. “Where’s your Mom?” 
 
“I sent her back,” Brian said as he slumped down in one of the chairs on the front row, twisting 
the bands on his finger. Michael sat beside him, reaching over to smooth Brian’s tie. Brian 
slapped his hand away as Michael said, 
 
“You sent her back?” 
 
“Her makeup was all wrong. They had her painted like…well, like Debbie. My mother never wore 
makeup like that. I made them take her back and do it over.” 
 
Michael smiled. “Even now, you are such a fag.” 
 
Brian smiled back. “Surprised?” 
 
“No. I came by before but your boyfriend wouldn’t let me in.” 
 
“It was the middle of the night, Mikey. I was mentally and physically exhausted. He was right to 
do that.” 
 
“I wasn’t going to wake you.” 
 
“It’s weird to think of you sitting there while we sleep. What’s wrong with you?” 
 
“Usually you come to me when there’s a disaster in your life, Brian. Your dad dies, Justin gets 
bashed, you turn to me.” 
 
“I have a partner now. I turn to him. Just as you turn to Ben. Do we have to keep having this 
conversation? I love you, Mikey. Love me back. But get your hands off of my throat. I can’t 
breathe. Please.” 
 
There was silence, and then Michael said, “Where is he now?” 
 
“Picking up his sister.” 
 
“His sister? Why is she here?” 
 
“To support me. She’s family, now. She cares about me.” 
 
“The blonde dyke?” 
 
“Yeah.” 
 
Michael shrugged, signifying his mistrust. “Whatever.” 
 
“Brian, honey!” Debbie blew in like a tornado, trailed by Horvath. She pulled Brian up out of his 
chair to hug him in a tight embrace. He winced, wriggling free of her arms. 
 
“You’re squeezing the dots off my tie, Debbie.” 
 
“I have some food in the car for you.” 
 
“If I get any more food, I’ll have to rent a new place.” 
 
“Where’s your mother, God rest her soul?” Debbie crossed herself and Brian sighed. 
 
“Touch up. She’ll be along shortly. She has nothing better to do.” 
 
“Stop, Brian,” she repressed a smile. “You’re terrible.” 
 
Claire walked in with her sullen progeny and the boys sat down and immediately began playing 
pocket electronic games. “It keeps them quiet,” she semi-apologized. Jennifer came in next with 
Molly, greeting Brian with a kiss on the cheek. Justin trailed them and when his mother moved 
on, he hugged Brian, who said, “Molly is hot.” 
 
Justin laughed. “You’re a complete perv.” 
 
“I know. But she’s safe from me. My nephew, who can’t take his eyes off of her, I’m not so sure 
about.” 
 
“That monster? Over my dead body. Whoops, sorry. Speaking of, where is the guest of honor?” 
 
“Putting on her makeup.” 
 
Justin grinned. “Haven’t lost your wicked sense of humor.” 
 
“Did you think I would?” 
 
Boyd and his sister came in and Brian went over to greet Lisette with a hug and a kiss, before 
slipping his hand over Boyd’s. Justin watched and then noticed the rings. His expression went 
from confused to grim. Michael walked up to him and said, “I see Boyd has one, too.” 
 
“Did they…?” 
 
“No, I don’t think it was anything formal. Brian said it was a gift. He denied it signified a wedding. 
He failed to mention Boyd has one, though.” 
 
“What do you think it means?” 
 
“I have no clue. Maybe it means Boyd struck while Brian was most vulnerable. That’s my guess.” 
 
“He does seem to do that.” 
 
“I’ve noticed. Wonder when Brian will wake up and smell the coffee? OW!” he flinched as Debbie 
slapped the back of his head. “Why’d you do that?” 
 
“You two bitches need to stop bad mouthing a man you claim to care about and downgrading his 
relationship. The fact is, he’s met the man of his dreams and they’re together and you had damn 
well better get on the bandwagon and support him in this or you’re both going to lose him 
entirely. And I for one wouldn’t blame him. You make him pick between you and Boyd? You’re 
gonna lose. So get a brain.” 
 
“Ma, could you mind your own business for once?” 
 
“Brian is my business. You’re my business, and so are you, Sunshine. Where’s Ben? He can 
usually keep you in line, Michael.” 
 
“He’ll be here as soon as his class ends.” 
 
“Good. And Ethan?” 
 
“He’s not that two-faced, Debbie,” Justin said. “It’s not as if he’s friends with Brian.” 
 
“That’s for sure. Man, is Boyd’s sister beautiful or what?” 
 
They looked up as Brian led Lisette away from the fray, wondering what private conversation they 
had slipped into as Boyd sat down by Claire. Brian held Lisette’s hand as he said, “Thanks for 
coming. You didn’t have to.” 
 
“Yes, I did. You’re family.” 
 
“Thanks for that, too. I couldn’t have gotten through this without Boyd. All of it, not just Mom’s 
death. The coming back, the facing old wounds, the whole experience.” 
 
“He adores you, honey.” 
 
“I know. I believe that. And I feel the same way.” 
 
“You’d better.” 
 
“I do. Lisette, can you do me a favor while you’re here?” 
 
“Anything.” 
 
“My sister Claire is a mess. She needs help. You’re so pretty, so stylish. Do you think you could 
help her, you know, have a makeover? Take her shopping? Re-style her? I’ll pay for it.” 
 
She glanced at Claire and shrugged. “ A Queer Eye for the Straight Girl moment? Brian, don’t you 
think she may be insulted by that?” 
 
“No, I trust your finesse. I think she’d be grateful. She must have some Kinney genes under all 
those bad decisions. Never thought I’d ask a lesbian to give fashion and makeup advice but 
you’ve taken the lipstick lesbian thing to new heights.” 
 
She laughed. “That old saw about all lesbians being unfashionable and dowdy and masculine is so 
wrong. Just as the old saw about all faggots being hot and cut and stylish is bullshit.” 
 
He raised a brow. “Present company excepted, of course.” 
 
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “If it feels natural, I’ll help her spend your money, Brian. But 
the timing is odd and it’s really up to her.” 
 
“Let me work it.” 
 
“You’re a nice man.” 
 
“I feel sad for her, and more than that, I feel like I’m abandoning her. She really has no one but 
those two awful kids.” 
 
Lindsay came over, holding Gus, who transferred himself into Brian’s arms. She gave Lisette a 
little hug in greeting. “How nice to see you again.” 
 
“I met your partner today at the diner,” Lisette said with a smile. 
 
“She told me. She’s on her way as soon as the sitter arrives for JR. I felt like Gus should be here,” 
they watched Brian carry his son back to the seats. Someone from the funeral home approached 
him to come and see if he approved of his mother’s makeup so he handed his son off to Boyd and 
asked Claire to come with him. Brian’s younger nephew wandered over to Boyd and Gus. 
 
“Is that Brian’s kid?” 
 
“Yes, this is Gus.” 
 
“Looks like him.” 
 
“I think so too.” 
 
“How does a gay guy make a baby?” 
 
“Same way a straight guy makes a baby. With a woman.” 
 
The boy frowned. “But gay guys don’t do yucky stuff with women, do they?” 
 
Boyd wondered how he lucked into this uncomfortable discussion. “Maybe your mom should tell 
you.” 
 
“My mom doesn’t know anything about that stuff. So will Gus be gay since Brian is and his 
mother is too?” 
 
“Who knows? I don’t think it’s hereditary, though. Does it really matter if he’s straight or gay?” 
 
“Gay people go to hell.” 
 
“No, they don’t. Bad people go to hell. Intolerant people go to hell. If a gay person is bad or 
intolerant, than yeah. But not because they’re gay.” 
 
“How do you know?” 
 
“Because I believe God is all about love, not hate.” 
 
“Do you love Brian?” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“Is that why you kiss him?” 
 
“Yes, that’s why I kiss him.” 
 
“Yuck. Kissing is yuck. Even kissing girls is yuck.” 
 
“Give it a few years and you may think otherwise.” 
 
“What are you doing?” Brian asked suspiciously of his nephew as he returned and Boyd smiled. 
 
“Don’t worry. We were having a nice chat. How are things?” 
 
“It’s showtime,” he said, taking Gus as the funeral home director readied the room for the long 
awaited viewing.  
 
Brian was surprised by the number of people who filed in to see his mother in her very costly box. 
He didn’t know many of them, reminding him again of how isolated from her life he had become. 
They seemed to know Claire, who burst into a new round of tears with each expression of solace, 
but they mixed up Boyd for Brian, more than once. Tall, handsome, queer, Brian supposed 
faggots were all interchangeable to these people. When it ended, finally, Lindsay and Mel invited 
people over to their house for an informal buffet. Brian didn’t think he could stand another dinner 
with the gang, especially with Lisette and Claire in attendance, too, but he agreed to go “for a 
few”.  
 
On the way over, he said to Boyd, “I’m not doing a repeat of the Debbie dinner party.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “You mean the bathroom?” 
 
“That was the best part.” 
 
“It’ll be fine. They’ll all be on best behavior. We don’t have to stay long. You have a big day 
tomorrow, they know that.” 
 
“I thought these were your friends. Aren’t friends supposed to be a haven during difficult times?” 
Lisette asked. The men exchanged a look and said nothing. She went on. “How long have Lindsay 
and Melanie been a couple?”  
 
“Why do you ask?” Boyd looked over the seat to glare at her and she returned his glare with a 
shrug as Brian said, 
 
“Since dinosaurs roamed the earth. Decades. At least it seems that long. Maybe just one decade.” 
 
“Will you feel that way after we’ve been together for a decade?” Boyd teased. Brian grinned at 
him. 
 
“I’ll be too old to feel anything.” 
 
“That had better not be true,” Boyd ran a hand up his thigh as Lisette said,  
 
“Boys, please. We’re about to eat food. Let my stomach be at peace.” 
 
“Muncher,” Brian accused her with a smile. 
 
“Cocksucker,” she shot back and balance returned to their universe.  
 
Current Mood:  drained 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 25th, 2005 04:31 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 85 
 
  
 
Brian found himself upstairs with an arm across his eyes midway through the evening. His head 
was killing him. Brain tumor? Encephalitis from those damned mosquitoes in Louisiana? Lesions? 
Or just stress. Stretched out on this bed where unspeakable acts occurred, he could hear the 
murmur of voices from below. He only planned to take a piss, but then he thought if he went 
prone for a few, maybe he could kick the pain. He was sick of the sarcasm and jokes about the 
rings, wishing everyone would just go away. Why couldn’t he and Boyd have something nice 
between them without others having to poke fun and make remarks about how he had changed? 
Of course, if had been anyone else, he would have been equally scathing, if not more so.  
 
Why should he expect better behavior from them? 
 
He felt the bed shift as someone sat down. He knew it was Boyd. He could sense him, now. Smell, 
feel, something, whenever he was nearby, Brian just seemed to know. Boyd rubbed his knee 
gently. “Are you okay? Want to be alone?” 
 
“Head hurts. No, don’t go.” 
 
“Let me get you some Advil.” 
 
“Already took it. Hasn’t kicked in. Percodan on you? Morphine?” 
 
“Clean out of it.” 
 
“What kind of a boyfriend are you?” 
 
“An undeserving one, apparently.” 
 
Brian raised his arm to squint at Boyd with one eye. “Meaning what?” 
 
Boyd stretched out beside him, snuggling against his shoulder. “Just the usual sarcasm and 
barbs. I’m getting tired of it, Brian. I try to be nice, I was raised to be polite, even under 
adversity, but I’m over it. If not for the circumstances of your Mom’s passing and because these 
people are important to you, I’d show them the dark side of southern gentility.” 
 
Brian smiled at him. “Don’t hold back on my account.” 
 
“Not worth it. I guess what bothers me most is that I feel they disrespect you. They may not 
agree with your choice in lovers, I may not be a worthy successor to Justin in their eyes, but you 
made the choice. I didn’t shoot you with a trank and drag you into a cage.” 
 
“Stop trying to turn me on.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “I’m serious.” 
 
“Look, isn’t it just the two of us who really matter? And it’s not all my friends, it’s just a couple, 
right?” 
 
“Mainly, but even those who aren’t attacking us as a couple have a way of being very dismissive 
of you.” 
 
Brian reached over and covered his hand with his own. “That’s just our dynamic. We’re a bunch of 
bitchy queens, even the women. But fundamentally, we care.” 
 
“Okay, I’ll shut up. I’m tired, too. Probably not thinking clearly.” 
 
“Let’s go home and fuck ourselves blind.” 
 
“I thought you had a headache?” 
 
“So? It doesn’t travel to my dick.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Of course. What was I thinking?” 
 
Brian kissed him and they were interrupted by Melanie’s voice. “This is our bedroom, and our bed, 
where two men have obviously decided to make it their own.” She was showing Lisette around 
the house and Lisette grinned at them.  
 
“They’re like a couple of bunnies. Jackhammering each other every five minutes.” 
 
Brian shrugged. “I’m just honing my skills for prison. I figure I’ll survive by being someone’s 
bitch.” 
 
“That’s not even funny,” Boyd replied and Melanie led Lisette out, telling her she’d take her up to 
see Lindsay’s studio.  
 
“Joke,” Brian said as Boyd sat up on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hair with both hands.  
 
“Not funny.” 
 
“If I don’t joke about it, I’ll go crazy.” 
 
“Then please do it when I’m not around.” 
 
“Boyd,” Brian rested a hand on his shoulder blades. “Lighten up.” 
 
Boyd looked over his shoulder at him, his eyes swimming with tears. “You think this isn’t always 
at the back of my head? You think I don’t lie awake in terror that there could be a miscarriage of 
justice and I could lose you? You think I’m not as sick about the whole thing as you are? Well 
think again, Brian. I’m terrified for you! For us.” 
 
Brian sat beside him, pulling him into his arms. “Don’t be. It’s going to be fine. Everyone tells me 
that. Bo said he has some new shit. I didn’t do it, Boyd. That means someone else did. 
Something will break.” 
 
“You know how many crimes go unsolved? How many innocent people get convicted?” 
 
“Stop. Let’s not do the whole disaster movie script. I’m burying my mother tomorrow. One 
melodrama at a time.” 
 
Boyd pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it before smoothing Brian’s lapel. “Sorry. I 
know. I can’t believe I’m making you comfort me.” 
 
“The Advil kicked in. Feel up to facing the horde or do you want me to close the door and…?” 
 
Boyd smiled and stood up. “I don’t want to be responsible for breaking up another room. Come 
on. By the way, I sent Debbie some Waterford perfume bottles to take the place of what we 
broke. She should get them in a couple days. Saw them in the gift shop at the Four Seasons.” 
 
“I’ll pay half.” 
 
“Shut up,” Boyd said with a laugh, looking back as Mel and Lisette came down the stairs behind 
them. As the evening wore towards a polite conclusion, Brian found himself in the kitchen, 
searching for a beer, when his sister came in. She had stopped her interminable crying and was 
even laughing at Emmett and Debbie and their ability to tell a tale. Many of which featured Brian. 
 
“I’m going to take the boys home, Brian.” 
 
“Yeah, okay. I’m leaving soon, too.” He popped open the can and took a long draw as she said, 
 
“You have some nice friends. They seem very fond of you.” 
 
“In their own toxic way, I guess so.” 
 
“It’s strange, but gay people in a group like this really aren’t that different from straight people.” 
 
“Must you leave on an insult?” He asked with a smile.  
 
“Lisette wants to take me to lunch before you guys leave town. She’s nice and really pretty.” 
 
“You should go.” 
 
“You don’t think she…” 
 
Brian smiled. “No, your virtue is safe, Claire. She has a partner.” 
 
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. This will be hard, Brian.” 
 
“I know. But we’ll get through it.” 
 
“Will we?” 
 
He nodded. She pulled a VHS tape out of her purse. “This is for you.” 
 
“What is it?” 
 
“Mama had a bunch of the family videos put on tape. I made you a copy. It’s pretty weird, seeing 
us as kids and teenagers and it’s hard to look at Mama and Daddy now. Knowing they’re gone. 
But…maybe later.” 
 
He reluctantly took it. A video record of his miserable childhood was not exactly his idea of a good 
time. “Thanks.” 
 
She gave him an awkward hug and left the room.  
 
When Brian and Boyd were back at the loft, the tape was a siren’s call to Brian, silenced only 
when he and Boyd were having sex. As soon as the sex was over, the call began again. He got up 
and pulled on a robe, taking it into the main room and plugging it into the player. He lit a joint 
and sat down on the couch with the remote control. Boyd joined him and sat next to him, taking 
the chub from between his lips, and then passing it back.  
 
“I thought you were asleep,” Brian said, not pushing play. 
 
“I woke up when you left. What are we watching?” 
 
“We are not watching anything. You are going to bed.” 
 
“I’m not five, Brian. I know it’s Claire’s tape.” 
 
“Then why did you ask?” 
 
“That damned southern politesse again.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Okay, you can watch, but no laughing.” 
 
“No promises.” 
 
Brian pushed play. There was no continuity, no dialogue other than the voices on the tapes, no 
storyboards to identify the action. Half of them, he had never seen. He watched his family be 
revealed before his eyes on the flat screen of his television set. Joanie and Jack, young and 
pretty, Claire as a little one and then Brian as a newborn. Birthdays, holidays, vacations, a few 
other events, less and less as the children grew older. Dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween at 
age five, Brian aimed his gun at the camera and fired. His father said, 
 
“Damn it, Sonny Boy, I told you not to fire those caps! I have a god damed hangover.” 
 
Brian smirked at Boyd. “Jack’s normal secondary complaint. He was either drunk or getting over 
being drunk.” 
 
“You were such a cute kid.” 
 
“Of course,” Brian said with a smirk. 
 
“You look so much like Gus.” 
 
“Yeah, I do, don’t I? Amazing.” 
 
A year later, his mother was carrying a homemade birthday cake with six candles into the dining 
room where Brian was seated with a bunch of little boys wearing party hats.  
 
“Is Mikey there?” Boyd inquired. 
 
“Pre-Mikey.” 
 
“Make a wish,” his mother said as Brian hovered over the candles and his father, behind the 
camera asked,  
 
“What did you wish for, Sonny Boy?” 
 
“I wish I was in Venice.” Brian replied and both he and Boyd burst into laughter. “God, even then 
I was such a fag,” Brian observed. There was a montage of Brian playing soccer as a boy close to 
John’s age. He was tall and thin with long hair and a Botticelli face. Even then, he showed the 
potential for the beauty he became. While filming, they could hear Jack’s take on the game, his 
shouted criticism at his son, his disagreement with the referee and even the beginning of when he 
was thrown out for being abusive. The camera picked up Brian’s shocked and humiliated 
expression before it went dark on that sequence. Boyd patted Brian’s hand as he sighed. 
 
There was a scene in which Brian was in high school, wearing a tux, dressed for a prom. His 
father asked, “Who are you taking to the prom, Sonny Boy?” 
 
“Merilee Wilson,” Brian deadpanned, his expression broadcasting his contempt for this whole 
thing.  
 
“The cheerleader?” His father prompted. 
 
“Yes, Dad. The cheerleader. Would you mind not being a total perv?” 
 
“Are you in love with Merilee?” Jack teased and Brian put his hand over the lens as he replied,  
 
“I’m in love with myself.” 
 
“Did you do her?” Boyd asked as his lover winced. 
 
“The prom date was enough masquerade. Don’t put me in the backseat with that bimbo.” 
 
Then there was the graduation from high school, showing Brian with his arm around a beaming 
Mikey as they posed in cap and gown. A younger Debbie got into the frame, looking slim and 
wearing her natural hair, which was blonde, not red. “She was so pretty. She still could be if she 
didn’t go overboard,” Boyd said and Brian sighed.  
 
“One makeover at a time.” 
 
Finally, the scene where Brian was loading up the car to go to college. “Would you turn that 
fucking thing off, Dad?” He grumped. Brian smiled at Boyd and said, 
 
“I had a big night at Babylon the night before. Wasn’t feeling too well.” 
 
“You aren’t too big for me to smack, smart ass,” his father said and Brian responded. 
 
“Yeah, Dad. I am.” 
 
“You were so beautiful, Brian. I see the torn jeans. Very nice,” Boyd teased and Brian shrugged.  
 
“What can I say? No class.” 
 
His mother came into the frame, handing him a bag of cookies. “In case you get hungry during 
the drive.” 
 
“Right,” he snapped. “I can go without food for a couple hours, Mother.” 
 
Brian grimaced. He was so completely sullen and difficult. His mother looked hurt, and then she 
forced him into a hug. He looked uncomfortable in her embrace. “Be careful and call me. I love 
you, Brian.” 
 
“Whatever, I’m not going that far. Dad, would you please move? You’re in my way!” He 
straightened his shades and his father said,  
 
“How about a hug for the old man?” 
 
“Pass,” Brian slid in behind the wheel and the camera followed the departure of the car, and then 
focused on his mother who was crying.  
 
“What’s wrong with you, woman? The last one is out of the house. Be glad.” 
 
“Shut up, Jack. Turn that thing off. I’ll miss Brian. I worry about him. He’s my baby.” 
 
“Yeah, you did your best to make a fucking sissy out of him.” Jack was obviously drunk. 
 
“You think you made him a man by beating him?” 
 
“Someone had to toughen him up.” 
 
“You’re disgusting,” she walked away, and Jack mumbled some curse as Brian stopped the action 
and turned off the television. 
 
“And that is the Kinney family. Nice, huh?” 
 
“Come here,” Boyd opened his arms to Brian who allowed himself the comfort of a hug. “I’d tell 
you that you’re a Coulter now, but it’s no improvement.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Let’s be like the British Royals and just choose a moniker. How about Windsor? 
Boyd and Brian Windsor.” 
 
They both laughed. “Perfect for a couple of drama kings. Come on, your highness, let’s go to 
bed.” 
 
Brian tossed the remote aside and let Boyd lead him to the bed, drawing ever closer to shutting 
the door on his broken childhood, determined to end it tomorrow when they put his mother in the 
ground.  
 
Current Mood:  distressed 
 
 
 
Apr. 26th, 2005 05:15 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 86 
 
  
 
Brian shook Boyd awake. It was still dark, and Boyd was confused, his deep sleep hard to escape. 
“Whas’ wrong?” he sat up in bed, feeling Brian rocking back and forth beside him. The ambient 
streetlight behind the sheers showed him that the heels of Brian’s palms were pressed to his eyes 
and his legs were crossed in a semi-Lotus position, as he rocked with pain. 
 
“My head is killing me,” he moaned. “I had a nightmare. I need something. I need some drugs. I 
need to get out of here. I swear to God I’m having a stroke.” 
 
Boyd flipped on the low wattage lamp beside the bed and put his arms around Brian’s shoulders, 
resting his lips against his sweaty brow, as he reassured him, “It’s okay. Relax. Just let go of it, 
Brian. You’re safe.” 
 
“No, it’s not okay. You don’t fucking get it!” 
 
Boyd hugged him. “Then tell me.” 
 
“My brain…it’s coming out of my eyesockets, I can feel it burning in my skull.” 
 
Boyd wrestled Brian’s hands down and kissed each closed eyelid. He felt him relax a little and 
then Brian reached for Boyd and pulled him against his body. “Hurts!” 
 
“Let go of it, Brian,” Boyd smoothed Brian’s hair with his hands. “Let go.” 
 
“No,” Brian croaked and Boyd pulled him down with him in the bed, holding fast. 
 
“We’re alone. Let it go.” 
 
“I’m never going to see my mother again after tomorrow, Boyd. Never again. Nothing got fixed. 
Nothing was resolved between us. And now it’s too fucking late. It’s too late.” 
 
“I know. I’m sorry.” 
 
“She used to make this double fudge…” Brian hesitated, unable to complete the sentence as his 
throat grew tight. “…just for me because she knew…” he paused again, turning a cry into a cough. 
“…my favorite.” 
 
“She loved you, Brian.” 
 
“Never taste it again.” 
 
“But you’ll always remember it.” 
 
“They’re putting her in the ground, in the ground, Boyd, for good and always and that’s the end 
of that tune. You know what I’m saying? The fucking fat lady fucking sang!” 
 
“Just her body, Brian. Not the mother in your head, for better or worse.” 
 
“She never forgave me and I never asked her for her forgiveness, but now that I can’t have it, I 
want it, Boyd. I want her to forgive me and it’s too late. Too late.” 
 
He collapsed in Boyd’s embrace and Boyd held onto him, not letting him go until the storm passed 
as rapidly as it began. Brian lay still for a moment, recovering his calm, and then he sighed. “I 
don’t know what’s wrong with me. I must be losing my mind.” 
 
“It’s called grief. It’s normal, Brian. In the old days, you’d bottle it up and let it chew at you while 
you tried to work it out with tricks. This expression of your feelings is a lot healthier than 
pretending everything is business is as usual. You’ve been so out of touch with your emotions for 
so long, every time one hits, you don’t know what to think of it.” 
 
“It doesn’t feel better, it feels worse.” 
 
“But it feels. You see the difference? It feels. You feel. You let yourself feel. That’s a wonderful 
thing.” 
 
Brian glanced at his lover and smiled. “I fell in love with a writer of inspirational books.” 
 
Boyd smiled back. “Only inspired by you.” 
 
“Okay, maybe this is good. I’ve felt like there’s a volcano building up in me. At least it finally blew 
the lava load. Now I know I can be perfectly calm at the funeral. That’s what really matters. 
Being calm in front of all of them.” 
 
Boyd sighed. “Fuck them. You be however you feel like being and if they don’t like it or don’t 
understand it, fuck them.” 
 
“You do have this prickly side,” he said with a smile.  
 
“You said ‘prick’,” Boyd gave his best Butthead and Beavis imitation and they both laughed. 
 
“I’m hungry.” 
 
“I’m sure there’s some of Emmett’s goodies in the fridge.” 
 
“Let’s go out. The diner serves breakfast twenty-four hours. Deb won’t be there.” 
 
The post-club set had straggled into the diner, looking like zombies, working their way back from 
too much sex, drugs and rock and roll, searching for their missing workday personas.  
 
“Brian Kinney,” a handsome young man reached out to him as he and Boyd walked towards a 
back booth. Brian paused, trying to place him. Someone he tricked with, he supposed. “Is it true 
what they say?” 
 
Brian tensed. Was what true? That he was a murderer? The guy went on. “You’ve turned into a 
mono-fag? A muncher boy? Is that your wife?” 
 
Boyd watched his lover smile and then Brian said, “You get blown in your church, I’ll get blown in 
mine.” 
 
They sat down as Boyd laughed. “The legend dims.” 
 
“Too old to be a legend. Not in this culture. Go out while you’re still on top, that’s my theory.” 
 
“I applaud my timing.” 
 
They ordered from the transvestite, and then Brian saw Boyd’s expression change, become 
confused followed by shock as he stared towards the doorway. “What is it?” Brian asked, looking 
over his shoulder at a group of club kids, pretty little twinks who knew their power over this 
group of men and worked it with disdain, all taut bodies and nice asses and faux glamour. He 
started to ask Boyd what was so fascinating about them, but then he understood. His jaw set in 
an angry line and he stood, ignoring Boyd’s attempt to intervene. He walked over to this pack of 
cubs and clamped his strong hand on the back of the neck of one of them, as a compatriot 
laughed and said.  
 
“Chicken hawk warning!” 
 
“What the fuck are you doing here at this hour with these sluts?” Brian demanded of his nephew 
as the other boys complained about being called sluts. John looked devastated, and then he got 
defensive. He had moussed up his hair and in a form fitting wifebeater, jeans slung low on narrow 
hips to reveal a firm tummy, and a touch of glitter, his nephew looked far older than he was and 
far gayer than Brian thought possible. He pulled free of Brian and sneered, 
 
“Fuck off, perv.” 
 
When the others tried to get involved, Brian cut them off saying, “He’s fourteen years old, you 
know that, right? Contributing to the delinquency of a minor, boys. Stay the fuck out of this. It’s a 
family matter. Get your skanky ass up, John, or I will drag you out of here by your over-
processed hair.” 
 
John looked at Brian and he knew not to argue. He knew that look of black, Irish rage. His friends 
were asking him to deny or confirm that age accusation, but he waved them off and slunk out of 
the booth, following Brian to the back of the diner with his head hung in embarrassment. 
Slouched in the booth across from his uncle and his uncle’s lover, John ate the bacon off Boyd’s 
plate as he faced them with a defiant glare.  
 
“You want to tell me what you’re doing out with a bunch of boy toys at the crack of dawn? 
Obviously tweaked? Hanging out God knows where?” Brian drilled him as he cut into his omelet. 
John sipped his coffee with a grimace at the bitter flavor and added more sugar.  
 
“None of your business.” 
 
“I’m making it my business, John. Spill.” 
 
“So I went to some clubs, so what?” 
 
“Gay clubs,” Brian clarified and John shrugged.  
 
“Gay clubs have the best music and dance floors. Everyone knows that.” 
 
“And they let you in? At fourteen?” 
 
“I’m tall and I have a fake ID.” 
 
Brian sighed, recalling his own jaded past. That was how it started for him. Tall and a fake ID. 
“Your mother know you’re out all night?” 
 
He huffed at that. “My mother thinks I’m spending the night with a friend. And don’t even look at 
me like that. You think I don’t know how you lied to your mother? You didn’t even tell her you 
were queer until you were old.” 
 
“This isn’t about me. This is about you. What’s the statement, here, John? You experimenting? 
You testing it? You gay?” John leaned back, thrusting a sword into Brian with his glower. Brian 
put down his fork and stared back. “Jesus Christ. You are gay.” 
 
“Shut up!” John bolted to his feet. “I’m not queer! I just know these cool guys and they take me 
to the clubs and I don’t care if they’re gay or not, they just seem cool to me and I like the club 
and I like to party with them and fuck you! Who are you to say anything to me, you fucking 
faggot! You think I don’t hear the stories about you? How you were the king of the backroom? 
How you were the numero uno homo? How you’ve fucked every boy in Pittsburgh? You’re 
legendary around here, Brian. A legendary faggot! So don’t go calling me names!”  
 
He started to storm out, but Boyd caught him. When he tried to pull free, Boyd held firmly to him 
and John quit struggling when he knew it was no use. “Sit down and calm down,” Boyd said to 
him. “No one is attacking you, John. No one is accusing you. Just sit down.” 
 
John collapsed into the booth again, refusing to look at Brian who glanced at his lover. Boyd 
covered his hand with his own and squeezed gently, silently telling him to tread lightly. Brian 
nodded, message received. There was no conversation for a few minutes. Coffee was refilled. 
Boyd and Brian finished their food. John sulked and gnawed on his thumbnail, recalling a habit of 
his uncle’s.  
 
“Are you being safe?” Brian finally asked and John glared at him. 
 
“Now what? An afterschool special on safe sex? Spare me.” 
 
“Are you being safe?” Brian persisted and John shrugged. 
 
“Mostly.” 
 
“There is no ‘mostly’. There’s only yes or no. What is with you kids? You think you’re invincible? 
That you can’t get it because you’re young?” Brian knew how old that made him sound, but right 
now he couldn’t let that matter.  
 
“I don’t take it up the ass if that’s what you mean.” John sneered and Brian nodded, not sure he 
believed him.  
 
“It just takes once.” 
 
“I really don’t need you to give me the rules, Brian.” 
 
“I think you do.” 
 
“I’m not queer.” 
 
Brian sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Don’t yank me, John. I’ve been around too long for 
that. I’ve heard that too many times from someone before he crammed my dick down his throat 
or took my dick up his ass. I don’t care what label you choose to give yourself. If you’re playing in 
this schoolyard, you need to know the rules.” 
 
“The ‘rules’?” John asked with a smirk and Brian nodded. 
 
“The rules. Rule number one, jizz kills. Never without a condom. Period. Rule number two, never 
take any drug from someone you don’t know. Rule number three, never go home with a trick. 
Stay on neutral ground until you have your own place. Don’t make yourself vulnerable. Rule 
number four, don’t fuck where you eat. Don’t be exposed to people you go to school with or work 
with. Fuck elsewhere. Rule number five, never do the same trick twice, they get possessive. Rule 
number six, you can break all these rules except rule number one. Rule number one is inviolate.” 
 
“Even when you’re just sucking or being sucked?” 
 
Brian shrugged. ”Smart money says yes, even then, but I can’t lie to you. If I were sucking 
strange cock, I might use a raincoat. But if it’s my cock being sucked, forget it. I think the risks 
are minimal.” 
 
“When did you start?” 
 
“When I was your age.” 
 
“Did you know…that you were gay?” 
 
Brian nodded. “I’ve always known.” 
 
“I’m not sure.” John looked suddenly very young and very scared. “I don’t know.” 
 
Brian slapped some money on the table and nodded towards the door. “Let’s get out of here. We 
can talk at my place.” 
 
Boyd slid out, followed by Brian and finally John joined them. As they walked past the booth 
containing his friends, one of them called out, “A three-way with the seniors, Johnny?” 
 
John answered with a one-fingered salute as they left the diner to walk out, framed in gold by the 
rising son. Today he would bury his mother, Brian thought as they walked towards the car. And if 
his sister found out about her precious son, they would be burying her tomorrow. “What did I do 
to deserve this?” He muttered to Boyd, who linked his fingers through Brian’s, imparting courage.  
 
Current Mood:  blank 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 27th, 2005 03:56 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 87 
 
  
 
In the car, John fell asleep in the back as Brian drove. Brian confirmed the kid was out before he 
said to Boyd, “Can you believe this? Fourteen and catting around the clubs? Obviously sucking 
dick or being sucked or whatever.” 
 
“And you were how old when you started?” Boyd gently reminded him. “And Justin was how old 
when you de-flowered him?” 
 
Brian frowned. “You’re supposed to be supportive.” 
 
“I am being supportive. Just don’t go all Righteous Citizen on him. That won’t accomplish a 
damned thing and you’ll look and feel like a hypocrite. He’s doing it, that much we know. And we 
also both know once you start being sexually active, there’s no turning back to the simplicity of 
your own fist. He’s a beautiful kid, Brian, especially now that I see him all glammed up. He’ll be 
lethal.” 
 
“I don’t want him to be lethal. I want him to be a kid! And this would put Claire in the looney bin, 
I promise you.” 
 
“Why does Claire have to know? Certainly you can’t tell her. It’s his life. It’s up to him to decide 
how and when and to whom he comes out. For all we know, he’s not gay. He’s just going through 
a phase, experimenting, you know? He’s young.” 
 
Brian shot him a sideways glare. “You mean like that marriage phase you went through?” 
 
“I’m a late bloomer,” Boyd said with a smile. “I’m not a Kinney. I didn’t turn into a stud at 
fourteen. Or ever, for that matter.” 
 
“You seem pretty studly to me.” 
 
Boyd reached over to pat his lover’s firm thigh. “Hold that thought.” 
 
“He’s not going through a phase, Boyd. You know it and I know it. He may not want to admit it, 
but if he likes cock enough to go out hunting for it with the twink brigade, that book is closed.” 
 
“Not necessarily. Maybe it was for you. But it may not be for him.” 
 
“Now what do I do? I can’t take him home. How do we finesse that with Claire?” 
 
“Take him to the loft. Let him sack out on the couch. We’ll give him a few hours to sleep and then 
drop him off at the end of her block when it’s time for him to get ready for the services. He can 
wash off the glitter and the mousse before he goes.” 
 
“Jesus, my own flesh and blood wearing glitter. The boy needs serious counseling about the 
correct aspects of being a fag versus the glaring mistakes in presentation.” 
 
Boyd smiled at him and said, “Maybe he likes my side of the sheets better than yours?” 
 
“No Kinney is a bossy bottom. Kinney’s are tops.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “This is hilarious. You’re even choosing which role he should prefer. Trust me on 
this one, Brian. If he wants to be a bossy bottom, he will be, and there’s not a damned thing you 
can do about that.” 
 
“At least he doesn’t share my last name.” 
 
“I use the Kinney name when I go out,” John grumbled from the back. Brian rolled his eyes at 
having been duped into thinking John was asleep. “It has power in the community. They all ask 
me if I’m related to you. They like it when I say yes. And for the record, no one is sticking his dick 
up my ass. And thanks for sharing the disgusting news about who is doing who between the two 
of you. And if you ever tell my mother, I’ll just leave Pittsburgh for good and go hustle 
somewhere to make a living.” 
 
“Don’t be such a drama princess, you little eavesdropping faggot.” 
 
“And just how old was Justin when you de-flowered him?” John demanded. “He looks younger 
than I am now.” 
 
“Legal, unlike you,” Brian responded, glaring at his lover, who winced. 
 
At the loft, John showered while Brian went through his phone messages and then his email, and 
Boyd borrowed his computer to check his own mail. When he emerged from the bathroom, a 
denim shirt open over his wifebeater, his hair flat, the glitter gone, John looked all of fourteen 
again and as innocent as a lamb. Which, in Brian’s opinion, he never was. He went to the fridge 
and opened a can of Diet Coke before flopping on the couch and reaching for the remote. Brian 
took it out of his hand and Boyd signaled that he could leave the room, but Brian shook his head, 
so he stayed. 
 
“How long have you been doing this?” 
 
“Doing what?” John demanded causing Brian to roll his eyes. 
 
“Don’t fuck with me. You know what.” 
 
“Last summer, at Boy Scout Camp,” he paused and laughed at himself. “Last summer at band 
camp…” he quoted a catch phrase from a teen movie and Brian groaned.  
 
“Yeah, I saw American Pie, too. Go on.” 
 
“One of the counselors showed me how it was to suck dick. At first I was scared, but then I 
realized it was hot. Either way was hot, getting it or giving it. After that, it was pretty much all I 
ever thought about. I came over here with my Mom once when you asked her to supervise the 
packers who put your personal stuff in storage before you leased the place. I managed to borrow 
some of your gay porn.” 
 
“Borrow?” 
 
He shrugged. “So what? You didn’t want it. I learned a lot watching it and mostly I learned it 
turned me on a lot more than straight porn.” 
 
“What if your mother finds that in your room?” 
 
“She won’t,” he said simply. “I’m not stupid.” 
 
“God knows you’re devious. Why did you do that to me if you already had these feelings, John? 
Why did you accuse me?” 
 
“Because I was mad at you and because I was scared of being like you! I knew how Grandma 
turned her back on you because you were queer. I knew she thought you were going to hell. I 
was scared of the stuff that went on in my head, I felt like it was a family curse or something. I 
wanted to hurt you because I sort of blamed you for making me the way I am, but I know that’s 
not right, now. Anyway, you were always such an asshole. It was kind of nice to see you sweat.” 
 
Brian’s jaw clenched. “Accusing me of molesting you is not kind of nice, John. It’s psychotic. I live 
my life by one overarching rule: I’m deadly honest.” 
 
John laughed. “Bullshit.” 
 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” 
 
“You aren’t honest. How old were you when you finally told Grandpa? Grandma? You lived a lie a 
long time, Brian. Don’t try to tell me how honest you are.” 
 
Brian frowned. “I never accused someone of a crime they didn’t commit.” 
 
“Seems to be your luck, doesn’t it? Here you go again.” 
 
“Christ, you’re a nasty little piece of work!” 
 
John shrugged. “You don’t know what my life is like. You don’t know jackshit about me. You never 
took an interest. You were too busy chasing dick to care about any of us. So fuck you, Brian.” 
 
“What am I supposed to know about your life?” 
 
“Like my father disappeared when my little brother was two and suddenly I’m supposed to be the 
man in the family at age five? Like my mom had to work two jobs just to feed us and house us 
because my old man never pays child support or alimony? Like the kids at school used to call me 
‘sissy’ and ‘fag’ when I was younger, and I had to beat up bullies on a regular basis before they 
backed off? Like I play football only as a cover because people think if you play football you can’t 
be queer? Like I listen to my grandmother and mother talk about you and how you’re lost and 
going to hell because you like dick and I sit there and know they would hate me and probably kick 
me out of the house if they knew about me? Like I can’t tell anyone except the twinks I’ve met 
about me or I’ll be ruined for life? You don’t get it.” 
 
Brian sighed, digesting all that and re-living so much of his own life through John’s perspective. 
His nephew then said, 
 
“And finally knowing I have an uncle who would get it, who may even be able to help me, but he’s 
too good for any of us, and he hates me for what I did when I was a kid, so I can’t even talk to 
him about it.” 
 
Boyd looked at Brian, knowing how that confession had to hit him. He wanted to go over to him, 
but he refrained. Brian finally spoke. “We all have shitty childhoods, John. I had a shitty 
childhood. Boyd had a shitty childhood. It’s not fair and it’s not right, but that’s life. I was lucky. I 
had a best friend and a best friend’s mom who would shelter me. I’m sorry you feel so cut off. 
But that doesn’t give you license to turn into a lying little thieving sneak. Everyone in prison has a 
sad story to tell about how they were raised, but so what? Get over it. Your grandmother is dead 
and I think you’re selling your mother short. She’s known about me for years, and she kept my 
secret from the parents. The problems I have with Claire are not because she judges me for being 
gay. I’m sure Mom was an influence on her, but that’s over. She loves you, and if you learn 
anything from my example, don’t wait until it’s too late to square things with your mother.” 
 
“I’ll never tell her.” 
 
“Okay, let’s table it for now. Claire doesn’t need any more pressure at this point in time. Let’s talk 
about you. What do you think, John? Are you going through a phase? Do you like girls, too? Is it 
just easy with guys? I saw you checking out Molly at the viewing.” 
 
“Who’s Molly?” 
 
“The girl with the blonde woman.” 
 
John smiled. “I wasn’t checking out Molly. I was checking out Molly’s shoes. She had on great 
shoes.” 
 
Brian and Boyd exchanged a look. The verdict was in. No point in going any farther down the path 
of sexual confusion. Brian was now worried that John was not only gay, but he wasn’t sufficiently 
butch to carry on the family torch. “Be honest with me, John. What have you done with guys?” 
 
“What have you done?” He shot back and Brian smiled. 
 
“Everything. But I’m twice your age.” 
 
“You’re more than twice my age, dude,” he reminded him, causing his uncle to frown and his 
uncle’s lover to laugh.  
 
“Whatever. What have you done?” 
 
John shrugged. “Hand jobs, blow jobs, and last week, this guy rimmed me.” 
 
Brian thought back to his first night with Justin and winced. It looked very different now that he 
was seeing it from the perspective of protector rather than seducer. “You know you can get STD’s 
from oral, right?” 
 
“That’s why they invented antibiotics.” 
 
Brian groaned. “Bad answer. Even if you’re the one being blown, you can get it from the other 
guy’s mouth.” 
 
“I know all the horror stories, Brian. But they haven’t proven AIDS can be transmitted orally so 
the rest of it can be fixed.” 
 
“So you’re still…virgin?” 
 
John smiled. “I told you, no one has put their dick in me.” 
 
“And vice versa?” 
 
“Never done that. Not yet.” 
 
“Why not? I mean surely people have tried. You have a nice ass.” 
 
“Really? Thanks. Yeah, they try. One guy even lubed me up and gave it a push, but it hurt so I 
wouldn’t do it. And yes, he had on a condom.” 
 
“John, it’s real easy to meet men who won’t stop when you ask them to, you know that, right? 
Especially at the clubs. Do me a favor. Hold off on that for a couple years. Get comfortable with 
who you are and what you want before you make that decision.” 
 
“Bullshit. I’m not promising you anything. I’m not saying I will, but I’m not saying I won’t, either. 
I will promise you I’ll be safe when I do it. Either way.” 
 
“It’s much more dangerous to your health to be a bottom.” 
 
“You never roll over for it?” 
 
Brian glared at him. “This isn’t about me.” 
 
“I’m asking you.” 
 
“There’s nothing I haven’t done, short of letting some guy stick a fist up me. But I’m a top, that’s 
what I do.” 
 
“Fine. But what I do is my decision.” 
 
“You’re too fucking young to be making those decisions!” 
 
“Shut up with the young shit, Brian. You were my age. Would you have let someone tell you to 
stop having sex?” 
 
“Bingo,” Boyd put his hand over his mouth as his lover glared at him when the word slipped out.  
 
“Ok, listen. Your grandmother is getting buried today. Lots of angst. Let’s just call it a day and 
we’ll pick it up later. I’ll commit to you that I’m telling your mother nothing if you commit to me 
that we can finish this discussion before I leave town.” 
 
John shrugged, his boyish features imparting such fresh innocence that Brian felt a cramp in his 
heart. So much was in front of this boy, good and bad, and there was so little he could do to 
make it better for him. Brian tossed him the remote and said, “Watch television while we get 
changed.” 
 
He closed the sliding doors around the bedroom area and then waltzed Boyd into the bathroom 
and closed that door before pulling him into his arms. “Kill me now.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “You were pretty good, Uncle Brian.” 
 
“Don’t make me hurt you.” 
 
“Do you even know how much I want to suck your dick right now?” 
 
Brian held him out at arm’s length. “Why?” 
 
“Because you’re so fucking hot when you’re trying to be a family guy,” Boyd’s hand dropped down 
to massage the heavy roll of Brian’s cock through the faded fabric of his jeans. Brian closed his 
eyes, feeling the blood rush to his groin and pound in his dick. It lengthened as Boyd opened the 
buttons of his fly and reached inside. Brian groaned when he felt Boyd’s fingers touch his bare 
flesh. He pulled him close and thrust his tongue into his mouth, shaking his hips so his jeans slid 
to his ankles. He wore no underwear. 
 
Boyd continued to manipulate him with his hand as their tongues parried and the heat intensified. 
Finally, he dropped to his knees, taking Brian deep into the cavern of his mouth, stoking with his 
tight fist any portion of dick that was not immediately devoured, and then slipping his hand to his 
balls, caressing them as his lips slid all the way down the shaft.  
 
Brian clenched his ass and threw his head back as his eyes closed and his body reacted to Boyd’s 
familiar expertise. “Yeah, like that, baby,” he whispered. “Just like that.” 
 
Boyd danced his tongue against the head of Brian’s cock as he sucked, slurping off the pre-cum 
that oozed with increasing flow, and then he gripped Brian’s butt and went deep, burying his nose 
in his pubes with each downward thrust. Brian panted as his lust went wild, feeling the ejaculation 
build in his balls and travel the tubes to be released. He cried out when he came, but even though 
he shot a heavy load, his dick was still stiff when he pulled it out of Boyd’s mouth. Boyd looked at 
it and smiled, shaking his head in wonder. 
 
“You’re not human.” 
 
Brian smiled and began stripping his lover, as he responded, “Revenge of the machines. Let’s do 
it.” 
 
Out came the lube and the condom and soon he was banging against Boyd’s ass, his dick planted 
deep within his lover’s body. Boyd held to the towel rack to keep his position, feeling Brian nibble 
the back of his neck and nip his shoulder as he reached around to jack him. Brian may not want 
his nephew to bottom, but he didn’t fully understand the incredible turn on it was to have an 
expert dick like Brian’s pounding your prostate and fucking you into oblivion. If he did, he 
wouldn’t deny this pleasure to anyone.  
 
They both shot wad in a crescendo of orgasmic release and then collapsed against each other, 
heaving, sweaty, stinking of hormones and cum. “I love you,” Brian whispered and Boyd smiled 
and turned to kiss him. 
 
“I know. I love you, too.” 
 
He turned on the shower and stepped inside, joined by Brian, who stood under the spray and let 
it beat down on his head and body, washing away the revelations of the day. 
 
Current Mood:  anxious 
 
 
 
 
 
Apr. 28th, 2005 03:34 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 88 
 
  
 
During the mass, Brian noticed many things. He noticed Boyd was much more comfortable going 
through the rituals of the church than was he. Of course, Boyd went to mass regularly in 
Louisiana, while Brian hadn’t been in too many years to count. He noticed there was a good 
crowd, if badly dressed. Joan’s fellow church goers, some of Jack’s union and drinking buddies, 
relatives Brian barely remembered, a few friends of Claire’s, and his gang. He noticed the flowers 
were beautiful, at least the ones he arranged to have sent. Some of the floral gifts from others 
were pretty tacky and he made sure they were pushed towards the back. He noticed his former 
trick, the priest, did a pretty good job of eulogizing his mother, although Brian hardly recognized 
the woman he described. He noticed his nephew, John, looked like a kid in his suit, trying hard 
not to cry or show any emotion as he sat between his younger brother and his weeping mother.  
 
Brian sat on the other side of Claire, with Boyd to his left, their hands linked. He was sure all the 
church ladies and Jack’s buddies would talk about that plenty, later. Brian noticed everything 
because he didn’t want to think about that box that was covered in a spray of white roses, who 
was in it, the finality of all this. The failure. The regret. He didn’t want to think about it because 
he didn’t want to chink his stoic façade with emotion. Claire was wailing enough for the whole 
clan. He didn’t need professional mourners with his sister in full voice.  
 
He tried to participate in the rituals, despite feeling hypocritical, because he believed it was the 
one last thing he could do for Joanie. Making the sign of the cross seemed as alien to him as 
slicing a “Z” in the air, like Zorro, and equally effective. He even took Communion, smiling slightly 
as his former trick met his eyes and finally got to put something in his mouth. Not what he 
wanted to put in his mouth in the backroom, but as close as this one was going to get. In the 
limo, on the way to the cemetery, he lit up and inhaled deeply. Boyd reached over to pat his hand 
while Lisette, looking lovely in a plain black linen sheath and her string of pearls, slipped on dark 
glasses and gave them their privacy. 
 
“How are you holding up?” Boyd asked and Brian shrugged. 
 
“How do I look?” 
 
“Look? You look great. What do you mean?” 
 
“Then I guess I’m holding up.” 
 
Boyd smiled and shook his head, linking his fingers through Brian’s. “It was a nice service. Well 
attended.” 
 
“Boyd, don’t talk just to fill up the silence,” Brian snapped and Boyd nodded, letting him have his 
grumpiness. He tightened the hold on his hand and they rode in heavy silence the rest of the 
way.  
 
The grave was next to Jack’s, and Brian had arranged flowers for his father’s grave, for the first 
and only time. It began to sprinkle midway through the service, but then it stopped and the sun 
broke out with brilliant clarity. Brian did pretty well until the very end. The plan was that he and 
Claire and her two boys would each put a white rose on the box. Gus was too small to participate. 
But Brian took him from Lindsay when his turn came to do it, and Gus held tightly to him, 
confused by all the sadness and the ceremony. Standing there with his son slung over his hip, 
staring down at the box containing what was left of his mother, Brian was grateful for his shades 
as his eyes swam with tears and the hand holding the rose began to quiver.  
 
This was it. The last time he would ever share airspace with his mother. He remembered the 
videotape, how bereft she looked when he left for college, how cold he had been, how miserable 
they all were. He knew his friends were all there watching for a crack in the formidable Kinney 
control, and he wouldn’t give it to them. Couldn’t give it to them. But then, he couldn’t seem to 
do anything, even let go of the rose. He heard the nervous murmur behind him. Gus, with the 
unerring radar of young children, sensed Brian’s pain and reached up to lift his sunglasses, pulling 
his face into a tragic mask as he saw his father’s grief for the first time.  
 
“Daddy, don’t cry,” he pleaded as he threw his arms around Brian’s neck, hiding his face on his 
shoulder. Brian inhaled sharply, lowering his glasses, teetering on the edge of control versus 
surrender. He was gripping the stem of the rose so tightly that a thorn bit into his flesh and a 
rivulet of blood began to stream down his palm to drip onto the blanket of Astroturf hiding the 
displaced dirt.  
 
Boyd walked over to him and placed an arm across the small of Brian’s back. That gesture 
seemed to rouse Brian out of his grief induced stupor and he threw the rose on the box with more 
force than he intended, handed off Gus to Boyd, pressed a handkerchief to his bleeding hand and 
walked off, alone, towards the limo.  
 
When the others began to disperse, Boyd asked Lindsay if Gus could ride with them and she 
agreed, offering Lisette a ride with Melanie and her, so that Boyd and Gus could be alone with 
Brian. Brian was ensconced behind the tinted glass of the limo, and when Michael started to 
approach the car, wearing the pained expression he had perfected through years of practice, 
Boyd intervened.  
 
“Don’t.” 
 
“I want to talk to Brian.” 
 
“Not now. Let him have his moment. You’ll see him at the house.” 
 
“I’m getting really tired of your trying to come between Brian and me.” 
 
“You’d better get used to it, Michael. I’m not going anywhere.” 
 
“Come on, Michael,” Ben walked up, nodding at Boyd. “He’s right. Let Brian be.” 
 
Boyd helped Gus into the car and then he got in, motioning for the driver to go. Brian was seated 
near the window, gnawing on his thumbnail as he stared at acres of nothingness signifying death.  
 
“Daddy is you okay?” Gus asked sweetly, and Brian pulled him onto his lap, sniffing his baby hair 
and squeezing him like a doll as he whispered, 
 
“Daddy’s sad.” 
 
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Gus said, spreading his small hand over Brian’s, and Brian responded, 
 
“I know.” 
 
When they neared Joan’s house where the invited guests would gather, Boyd gauged Brian’s level 
of control and said to the driver, “Take the block. Once around.” 
 
As they neared the park, Brian suddenly said, “Can you stop here for a minute?” 
 
They got out of the car and Brian told Gus to go play for a few, watching him climb the ladder of 
the slide as he sat down heavily on a swing. Boyd stood behind him, holding onto the chain with 
both hands. Brian leaned against him with a lingering sigh. Boyd reached down and combed his 
fingers through Brian’s hair, feeling his tension that was so thick it was almost visible. Suddenly 
he took a step back and said, “Hold on.” 
 
“Huh?” Brian asked.  
 
“Hold onto the chain.” 
 
Brian automatically did so and Boyd gave him a push at his lower back, setting the swing in 
motion. Brian lifted his feet off the ground and looked over his shoulder at Boyd. “What are you 
doing?” 
 
“Pushing you. Relax.” 
 
“Are we five again?” 
 
“You just buried your mother, Brian. Yes, you’re five again. Hold on.” 
 
Brian relaxed and soon he was soaring, fueled by Boyd’s strong arms, reminded of easier, earlier 
times, different days, in this park with his parents, his friends, his youth sailing past with each 
pass. Gus came over to occupy the swing next to his father, asking Boyd to push him too, and 
soon Boyd had both of the Kinney men airborne. Gus was giggling and eventually Brian was 
smiling too, feeling the wind against his face, erasing his pain. 
 
When they landed, Brian stood up and pulled Boyd into his arms, holding tightly to him without 
saying anything. By the time they arrived at the house, most of the others were there already 
and Brian looked relaxed and at peace as he walked in with Gus in his arms and Boyd’s hand on 
the crook of his elbow.  
 
Emmett’s Irish “wake” was determined to disprove the notion that the Irish lacked cuisine. 
Delicate cabbage rolls encircled lean corn beef, tied off with a thin rope of pimento and spiced 
with a horseradish-laced dipping sauce. Fresh shaved salmon was served on brown bread toast 
points with red onion and capers. Fresh roasted lamb was carved and accompanied by a piquant 
mint chutney. For the sweets, there were oat cakes and Irish coffee. Brian ate none of it, but he 
did thank Emmett for his inventiveness. He was able to breathe now, but his stomach was still in 
a knot.  
 
Claire remained a mess, still crying, and he finally just deliberately avoided her, unable to cope. 
Gus was playing with some distant cousin’s small son and as Brian walked through the kitchen to 
go into the backyard to smoke, he heard Hunter saying to John, “I’ve seen you before. You were 
at Boy Toy.” 
 
John was foraging in the refrigerator for a Coke and he glared at Hunter. “I don’t know you.” 
 
“Dude, you looked different, but it was you. You had on this way cool black belt with silver studs 
and I asked you where you got it and you told me to fuck off. Jeez, you look like a total kid today. 
But you looked older at the club.” 
 
“Hunter, go bother someone your own age,” Brian interrupted and Hunter smiled at him and 
smoothed his lapel.  
 
“I prefer the senior team.” 
 
Brian brushed his hand away and replied, “The living room if full of seniors. Go pester them.” 
 
He left the kitchen and Brian glanced at his nephew, nodding for him to join him in the back. He 
did so, sipping from the canned soft drink as Brian lit up. “Better get used to it,” Brian said. “It’ll 
happen more and more, if you keep hitting clubs.” 
 
John shrugged. “I can handle it.” 
 
“That belt he described. It’s mine, isn’t it? I wore that thing years ago.” John nodded. Brian shook 
his head. “What else of mine have you stolen?”  
 
“I didn’t ‘steal’ it. It was with that shit they packed up for you. You didn’t want it anymore.” 
 
“Isn’t it a little out of date?” 
 
“It’s retro,” John said, causing Brian to wince. The things that were once cutting edge for him 
were now retro and in style again. Ouch.  
 
“You can’t be going to clubs at all hours and lying to your mother, John. Your grandmother would 
say you’re on the highway to hell. I’d put it another way. You’re going to get caught and then the 
heavy rain is going to come down on your head, because you aren’t nearly as clever as you think. 
Next will be boarding school away from all this temptation, that I’ll be asked to pay for, of course, 
and then God knows what.” 
 
“I’m not getting caught.” 
 
“John, you don’t have long to be a kid. Once you’re an adult, you’re stuck for life. Can’t you just 
take a couple years to do kid stuff and pick this shit up later?” 
 
“You think riding a bike or trading Japanese anime collector’s cards is more fun than getting your 
dick sucked?” 
 
He had a point, Brian realized. And he probably had the Kinney libido to go along with it. He 
thought back to being fourteen and sexually active. No force on earth could convince him that 
what he was doing was wrong. And every force on earth seemed to try. This wasn’t going to 
work. So what would? What could he do that was helpful? What did he wish he had from an adult 
when he was John’s age? Brian handed him a business card that had his name, his cell phone 
number and the name of the corporation he created to handle his investments, BK Investments, 
Inc. “Keep this. You can reach me twenty-four hours. If you’re ever in a situation you aren’t 
comfortable with, or if you ever need to talk, call me. It doesn’t matter if I’m in Pittsburgh or 
Singapore. I’ll be here. I can help.” 
 
John looked at it and then put it in his pocket. “Ok. Thanks.” 
 
“Two things, John, and then I’m shutting up. First, safe sex, I’m saying it again,” he took the 
requisite two condoms from his wallet and put them in John’s pocket. “Second, being a fag is a 
sexual orientation, not a livelihood. You need to do well in school, go to college, get a degree and 
have a profession if you don’t want to be one of these pathetic fags who dance their asses off in 
clubs and then trudge into the Big Q to stock shelves when the sun comes up. And yes, I do mean 
like my friend Mikey did before he became an entrepreneur. You understand that? Don’t be a dolt 
who is only driven by his dick. Success is an aphrodisiac. Plus it funds the wardrobe you need to 
stand out in a crowd.” 
 
John chuckled at that. “You are so weird.” 
 
“Maybe, but I’m right, too.” 
 
“Okay, Uncle Brian.” 
 
“Third thing, don’t call me ‘uncle’ again, or I’ll knock you into Tuesday.” 
 
John laughed. “Grandpa used to say that.” 
 
“Grandpa used to do that,” Brian corrected him and they looked up as Debbie walked out and 
grabbed Brian in a bearhug. He pretended to protest, but at that moment, he needed it. Deb was 
the only mother he had left. She looked almost subdued in a black pants suit and pearls that 
looked almost real.  
 
“How you doing, honey?” She asked and John waved and went inside as Brian said,  
 
“I’ll live, which is more than I can say for my mother.” 
 
She touched his face. “We love you, you know that. You have family here.” 
 
“I know, Debbie.” 
 
“And it would appear you have a nice family in Louisiana, too. I love Boyd to death and his sister 
is quite a lady. Do you know she gave me these pearls? They’re real, too! Took them right off her 
neck and said they were just what I needed to finish off my look. I said, don’t forget to get them 
back and she said she wanted me to have them. For all I’ve done for you over the years,” Debbie 
dabbed her mascara with a rumpled handkerchief and snuffled. “That was so sweet, and you 
know they must be worth a thousand bucks! I can’t keep them, but I’m wearing them for awhile.” 
 
Brian took her hand and smiled. He knew the pearls were worth at least five times that number, 
probably more. “Keep them, Deb. She wants you to, and she can afford it. For all you’ve done for 
me, you deserve at least a string of pearls. I’ll make good with Lisette.” 
 
“Being good to her brother is all she wants from you, Brian.” 
 
“She has that. I love him, Deb.” 
 
“I know you do. And I couldn’t be happier for you, honey.” 
 
He kissed her cheek and then rested his chin atop her red Dynel curls, his eyes closing as he 
reminded himself that he may have lost his natural mother, but the woman who gave him 
acceptance and shelter and tough love since he was John’s age was still here and she still cared. 
That meant a lot. “Thanks, Deb,” he said with a sigh and she patted his back as she replied, 
 
“Honey, you may be a royal pain in the ass, but it was worth every minute of pain you’ve caused 
me, because I love you and I’m proud of the man you’ve become.” 
 
Brian said nothing, continuing to hold onto her as he took solace in the maternal love he though 
had gone missing from his life, never to return. Families weren’t just genetic accidents. Families 
were made, chosen as well as born into, and the chosen families were no less important than the 
blood link. Sometimes the chosen family was more important, more critical to survival and 
happiness. From inside, the sound of voices raised in song, old Irish songs, filtered out and Brian 
winced. Get some liquor in the Irish and song was inevitable. He held Debbie at arm’s length and 
said, 
 
“That’s beyond my tolerance level. You go in. I’m going to smoke a joint and mask the noise.” 
 
She patted his cheek and went inside, passing Boyd on the way. He sat beside Brian on the steps 
as Brian lit a joint and gave him first hit. “Why is Debbie wearing my sister’s pearls?” 
 
“Lis gave them to her.” 
 
“Oh. That’s nice.” 
 
“Nice? You don’t think it’s a bit extravagant?” 
 
He shrugged. “That’s how she is. She doesn’t really get attached to material things.” 
 
The rich, Brian thought to himself, really are different. He rested his temple against Boyd’s 
shoulder and they passed the smoke between them, finding conversation an unnecessary 
intrusion.  
 
Current Mood:  sad 
 
 
 
Apr. 29th, 2005 04:28 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 89 
 
  
 
While Lisette took Claire out for a shopping spree and lunch the next day, planning to turn it into 
the makeover Brian suggested, Brian went to the lawyer’s office to sign over his interest in his 
mother’s estate to his sister. Following that business, he picked up Boyd and drove over to 
Claire’s house where he found John and his younger brother slumped in front of the television, 
watching a Kung Fu movie.  
 
“You seen the latest Jet Li movie?” Brian asked and both boys said they wanted to but hadn’t. 
“Let’s go,” Brian switched off the television, and they piled in the car, John’s expression relaying 
his suspicion over his uncle’s largesse. At the multi-screened cinema, Boyd and the younger of 
the siblings got out, but Brian stopped John. “You and I are going somewhere else, hot shot.” 
 
“No way.” 
 
“Way. I’ll pick you up out front when it’s over. Have fun, boys.” 
 
Boyd smiled, nodded and shut the door as John climbed over the seat to sit in front, glaring at 
Brian. “What the fuck?” 
 
“I’m hungry. Lets go eat.” 
 
“I don’t want to eat. I want to see that movie!” 
 
“Life sucks.” 
 
At the diner, John was still scowling as he sat down in a booth and glared at the limited menu. 
“The food here sucks.” 
 
“But it’s home,” Brian reminded him and Debbie came over, greeting Brian with a hug before she 
sat down beside him.  
 
“How are you doing, honey?”  
 
“Fine.” Brian noticed the pearls didn’t look quite as good with her t-shirt as they had with her suit. 
 
Her maternal smile went edgy when she focused on John. She had been through the false 
accusation nightmare, and while she blamed Brian’s mother and sister for most of the bad 
behavior directed at him, this kid played a central role. “What is this delinquent doing here?” 
 
John smirked at her as Brian said, “Deb, John’s apologized in his charming way for what 
happened before, I consider the matter closed and hope you will, too.” 
 
“Sure honey, if that’s what you want,” she said, but her expression was still venomous.  
 
“My nephew has decided he’s one of our tribe.” 
 
“Brian!” John protested, but his uncle raised a single brow and replied, 
 
“You come in here with your twink gang, John. It’s inevitable that Deb would find out.” 
 
“Isn’t he a little young to be deciding anything about those matters?” Debbie was confused, and 
Brian shrugged. 
 
“Sure he is, but I was his age when I got started. Can’t stop the tide.” 
 
“If you mean you and Michael jerking each other off in his room…” 
 
“We never jerked each other off,” Brian corrected her as his nephew laughed.  
 
“I saw you with your hand down his pants, Brian.” 
 
“Yeah, you interrupted the one time we might have done it and we never went back to it. I’m not 
talking about boys being boys. I’m talking about full homo fun and games. I was an early 
bloomer. It seems to run in my family.” 
 
“Was Michael an early bloomer?” Debbie looked stricken. 
 
“You’ll have to ask him that,” Brian said, then reconsidered and answered, “But no, he wasn’t. He 
was a chicken shit.” 
 
“Why are you telling her all this? Some waitress?” John interrupted. 
 
“Waitress?” Debbie reached across the table to smack him with a menu. “I am the Liberty Diner, 
you little shit!” 
 
“You’re big enough to be.” 
 
“He has your lovely personality, Brian. You must be so proud.” 
 
Brian sighed. “John, behave. Debbie’s been a surrogate mom to me and to a much lesser extent 
to all the gay boys who come in this dive. She has a good heart under those rude slogans. She 
smacks, but she loves.” 
 
Debbie smiled up at him. “Thanks, sweetie.” 
 
“Anyway, Deb, my sister doesn’t know about John. Not sure when or if she ever will. That’s his 
call. But I’ll be in Louisiana for awhile, maybe a long while if things don’t go well, and I want to 
know that he has someone he can turn to for shelter. Someone to tell him to go home if he shows 
up here late. Someone local he can call if he gets in trouble.” 
 
John winced. “I wouldn’t call her!” 
 
“You listen to me, pork chop,” Debbie counseled him. “Until you need someone, you don’t know 
what you would do. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still a thieving little rat, but you’re Brian’s 
nephew and he wants me to give you a chance, so I’m giving you a chance. If you don’t find me 
here, this is my number and address,” she wrote it on her order pad and handed it to him. “I 
personally think you’re way too young to be fooling around with anyone, but if you’re going to 
anyway, you’d damn well better be safe about it.” 
 
“I’ve already heard that from him a thousand times.” 
 
“Now you’re hearing it from me. But if you get in trouble, you need a home for awhile, a place to 
run to, a ride, a shoulder, call me. I may want to smack you, but I’ll be there.” 
 
“You’d better not tell my mother.” John universally mistrusted adults. She shook her head, took 
their order and walked away to resume her duties. “She looks like a clown.” 
 
Brian reached across the table and grabbed his arm in a tight vise, squeezing until John cried out 
in pain. Only then did he release him. “Listen to me, you fucking brat. Debbie Novotny was there 
when Jack would beat me up and I’d run out of the house to keep from getting a broken bone. 
She bandaged me up, fed me, gave me a safe place to stay. Over the years, she’s helped every 
one of us, even when she didn’t have a pot to piss in. There are good people in the world and 
there are bad people. You’ll meet both and make your own judgments. But now hear this. Debbie 
is on the side with the angels and you will respect her.” 
 
John rubbed his throbbing arm and sighed. “Okay, whatever. Brian, I was thinking…” 
 
“Dangerous precedent.” 
 
“Why couldn’t I go down to Louisiana and spend the summer with you and Boyd?” 
 
“Yeah, that would be fun. You could sit in the courtroom with me and hear them describe how I 
murdered some hustler and fed him to the gators.” 
 
“That would be awesome!” 
 
Brian shook his head and blocked a laugh. “Sick kid. No way, John. I have enough problems right 
now. The last thing I need is to keep track of a sexually curious adolescent. Besides, your mother 
would cough up a lung if you even asked.” 
 
“Please?” 
 
Brian noticed the change in tone and peered at his nephew’s suddenly anxious face. “What’s the 
problem?” 
 
“I just want to get away from here. At least for awhile. I need to get away. I hate it here. I hate 
living with Mom. I hate my school.” 
 
“You’re out of school for the summer, and you’ll be changing schools in the fall when you move 
into Mom’s house. Everyone hates living with their mother, at your age. Johnny, I’ll make a deal 
with you. If I’m acquitted of this bogus charge, I’ll be living in New Orleans for awhile, putting a 
business in play. If you keep your nose clean and stay out of trouble, you can come down and 
visit me, okay?” 
 
“New Orleans? Cool!” 
 
“But between now and then, you have to be cool, yourself. Your mom needs you to be good. She 
has enough issues right now.” 
 
“Okay, okay. Brian, no way they could send you to jail, right?” 
 
“Innocent men get sent to jail every day, John. But I’m doing everything in my power to avoid 
that trap.” 
 
“I don’t want you to go to jail.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Thanks, I don’t want to go to jail, either.” 
 
“Are you and Boyd living together?” 
 
“Not formally, but as good as.” 
 
“He seems like a nice guy,” John conceded. 
 
“Seems like and is. I got lucky.” 
 
“Don’t you miss it?” 
 
“Miss what?” 
 
“You know, the excitement of new men, the clubs, the whole scene you used to rule.” 
 
“Sometimes,” Brian admitted. “But it’s all still new and shiny for you, John. For me, been there, 
made the t-shirt into an oil rag. I’ve proved to myself countless times that if I put my mind to it, 
there aren’t many men I can’t trick. Now I’m trying to prove to myself that I can make one man 
happy. The stakes are a lot higher for me in this contest, because if I miscalculate on a trick, 
another one would come along. If I lost Boyd, there aren’t any replacements.” 
 
“Weird.” 
 
Brian smiled. “More weird than you know. But you’re a kid. You should experience all that life has 
out there, before you settle down, if you settle down.” 
 
“I don’t want a boyfriend. I just want to have a good time.” 
 
Brian nodded, hearing those words as he said them more than once. Their food arrived and they 
began to eat. A young, handsome man came over to the booth and zeroed in on John as he said, 
“Hi, doll. Remember me? Boy Toy? A few nights ago? You tasted as sweet as honey and I was a 
hungry Pooh bear.” 
 
“And I’m trying to digest my food,” Brian interrupted. “Shove off.” 
 
“Aren’t you a little old for him?” The young man hissed and Brian smiled. 
 
“He’s fourteen. Ever heard the term jail bait? And he’s my nephew. Beat it.” 
 
“Brian!” John protested as the other man withdrew with a horrified expression. “Don’t go telling 
people how young I am! I’ll get banned.” 
 
“If it’s that easy, I’ll take out an ad. The sad fact is, that truth would be even more appealing to 
many of the pervs around here. You pulled that guy?” 
 
John shrugged, nodded. Brian smiled. “Hot.” He quickly swallowed the sense of pride he felt, 
resuming his avuncular attitude, but not before his nephew took it all in with a smile.  
 
 
That evening, Claire and her sons joined Brian and Gus and the Coulter siblings for dinner at a 
high-rise restaurant offering a view of both the city and the river. Brian and the Coulters were 
returning to Louisiana in the morning and he wanted to close the gate before he went.  
 
“I want to say again how nice you look, Claire,” Brian raised his wine glass to his sister. She may 
not be beautiful, but an up to date hairstyle and color, some makeup tips and a great outfit made 
a vast improvement. The improvement seemed to extend to her attitude as well. She beamed at 
her handsome brother. 
 
“It’s all because of Lisette.” 
 
“Not at all,” Lisette deflected the compliment. “You made all the right choices.” 
 
“You look lovely, Claire,” Boyd agreed as the handsome waiter cleared their plates and handed 
out dessert menus. Throughout the meal, he went from Brian to Boyd to John and back again 
with his flirtatious smiles and overly solicitous service. Only the women and the little ones 
avoided his notice. In another life, Brian would have done him. He was that cute. But tonight, he 
had other things to pre-occupy his energy. They ordered dessert, coffee, and Brian asked for a 
neat single malt instead. John got up to go to the bathroom and Claire said, 
 
“I’m worried about him, Brian. I think he’s gotten in with a bad crowd. He looks tired so often and 
he’s so surly. And secretive. And he seems to do what…you know, what boys do, all the time, if 
the laundry is any witness to it.” 
 
Brian smiled. “At his age, there’s no such thing as too much jerking off, Claire. Let him have his 
fist. He will, anyway, even without your permission.” 
 
“What’s jerking off?” His younger brother asked and Claire winced.  
 
“Never mind. Here comes your cake.” 
 
A server began distributing the desserts and Brian excused himself and went into the men’s 
room. It was small, if elegant, with only one closed stall and two urinals that fronted a plate glass 
window. He stood there for a moment, taking it in, and then planted a firm kick on the closed 
door of the cubicle. The metal banged against the wall and bounced open. The waiter was 
standing there with his back to Brian, his pants around his ankles as John sat on the toilet and 
serviced the man’s hard cock. John’s hand wrapped his own dick as he worked the waiter orally 
and all action stopped as Brian said, 
 
“Excuse me, but could I have some more water? At the table?” 
 
Horrified, the waiter zipped up and escaped as John reluctantly stopped fondling himself. At his 
age, erections didn’t disappear in fear quite so easily. Brian glimpsed it before he covered it up 
and took a mental note that the old Kinney big dick genes had not gone unused in this 
generation. “Are you nuts?” He demanded and John frowned at him. 
 
“He was hot.” 
 
“Your mother is sitting out there. Your brother. My kid.” 
 
“So? They can’t see me.” 
 
Brian realized this was something he would have done, had done, too many times to count. The 
boy’s bold fearlessness and rampant libido reminded him so much of himself that it made him 
cringe. “I’m going back out there. You finish that thing off and join us. You can’t walk out with 
your compass needle pointing due north.” 
 
He left and gave his lover a knowing look as he downed his Scotch in one long gulp. Later, as he 
and Boyd rode up in the elevator to the loft, alone at last, Brian was still complaining about the 
scene in the bathroom. “I hear what you’re saying, Boyd, but he’s just a kid.” 
 
“I agree. But what can you do? Have the waiter arrested? He’s not much more than a kid himself 
and it sure doesn’t sound as if he was forcing John into anything. You’re over-identifying with 
him, Brian. You have to give yourself some space from it and…” he stopped as the doors opened 
and they saw Justin sitting on the top stair, smoking, his gaze fixing on Brian. 
 
“I wanted to talk to you before you left,” he said. 
 
Brian unlocked the door and waved him in. “Can we just sit here and talk? Alone?” Justin pleaded. 
 
Boyd nodded, waved at Justin, and went inside, closing the door behind him. Brian sat down 
beside his former lover, lighting a cigarette of his own, curious to find out what this unexpected 
visit signified.  
 
Current Mood:  confused 
 
 
 
Apr. 30th, 2005 9:52 pm - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 90 
 
  
 
“Wassup?” Brian sat down on the step beside Justin who smiled, but his eyes weren’t laughing. 
 
“How are you doing?” 
 
“I’m fine,” Brian was adamant about that. It was over. He had no plans to wallow in grief over the 
woman who condemned him to hell. He had done enough.  
 
“Of course you are. You’d say that no matter what.” 
 
“Then why did you ask if you already knew the answer?” 
 
“Maybe to see how far you’d take this changed man routine of yours.” 
 
“I can’t say it was a complete metamorphosis.” 
 
Justin moved his hand to Brian’s knee, feeling the familiar bones beneath taut skin, held by 
muscle developed on the playing fields and kept honed in the gym. He had almost forgotten the 
hard, spare feel of Brian and that thought made him sad. Brian made no move to pull away, but 
his expression was curious. Justin’s melancholy was almost palpable. He gave him time and 
finally he said, “I have an idea.” 
 
“What’s that?” 
 
“Let’s go to Venice. We always talked about going to Venice. Let’s just sneak downstairs and get 
into a cab and go to the airport and fly to Venice. You could assume a new identity. They’d never 
find us there. None of them. I could paint and you could…be a man of leisure.” 
 
Brian smiled and covered his hand with his own. “And we could go to Carnivale and ride up and 
down the Grand Canal in a gondola laden with purple velvet and gold lame, luring beautiful men 
to our villa overlooking the Campanile.” 
 
“Exactly. And you could wear the mask of Adonis and I’d wear the mask of Pan.” 
 
“You’re much too cute to be a goat god.” 
 
Justin laughed. “What happened to those fantasies, Brian?” 
 
“We grew up. Apart. You fell in love with Ethan, You left me. I went away. I fell in love with Boyd. 
Ethan will have to take you to Venice, Sunshine. He can play the violin for you in St. Mark’s 
Square.” 
 
Justin collapsed in on himself as a sigh racked his body. “It wouldn’t be the same,” he whispered.  
 
“I could never play a note on a violin. Sounds ridiculously romantic to me. He can serenade you in 
a gondola as you cross under the Bridge of Sighs.” 
 
“Can you understand when I say I don’t want to lose you, Brian? That I want to have everything? 
I want him, but I want you, too.” 
 
Brian smiled and shook his head, removing Justin’s hand from his knee. “No, you just don’t want 
anyone else to have me. For two years, you had no use for me, Justin. That was fine, you knew I 
was around, you knew I was alone. But when you suddenly realized I took myself off the market, 
the game changed. Suddenly you weren’t so sure about things.” 
 
Justin scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I sound like a horrible person, don’t I?” 
 
“No, just very young and very human.” Brian took his hand between his own. “Tell me the 
absolute truth, Justin. Does he make you happy? Is he the one?” 
 
Justin looked into Brian’s hypnotic hazel eyes as he whispered, “Would it matter to you, would it 
change anything if I said no?” 
 
Brian paused for a minute, and then shook his head. “No. Not for you and me, it wouldn’t. The 
one for me is Boyd. I know that now. But would it matter? Yes, it would matter. Because I love 
you enough to want the best life has to offer. I want you to find happiness and do the things you 
need to do in order to be complete. Don’t settle. You’re worth far more than that, kid.” 
 
“I don’t want to be alone.” 
 
Brian smiled. “You’re too young to worry about living your life as a loner. You’re an artist. Artists 
do their best work when they have life experiences to inspire them. Give yourself some space. If 
he really loves you, he’ll let you have that time. If he won’t give you time, what does that tell 
you?” 
 
“Would Boyd give you time?” 
 
Brian nodded. “Yes, I really think he would, if I needed it.” 
 
Justin sighed. “So I get my own place and run into him everywhere I go and see the same old 
faces at every gay place in the city? How is that going to give me any perspective?” 
 
“It won’t. You have to leave. For awhile. It helped me, it can help you. Go to Venice. Alone. Go, 
Justin. Experience life.” 
 
“I can’t afford to go to Venice,” he said with a smile and Brian shrugged.  
 
“What about that Art Institute you used to talk about that’s located in Venice? Go there for a 
semester. Give yourself that distance, let your relationship percolate.” 
 
“I’d lose him if I left.” 
 
“Don’t be too sure.” 
 
“It’s crazy talk, Brian. I don’t have the money to do that.” 
 
“I know a fund that grants scholarships to promising young artists.” 
 
Justin laughed. “The Brian Kinney Checkbook fund?” Brian shrugged and Justin shook his head. 
“No. It’s bad enough that I’ve let you pay for PIFA. Venice is a little much to ask.” 
 
“It’s a loan. I would expect repayment after you got paid for touching up the Sistine Chapel.” 
 
Justin leaned against Brian’s shoulder as he softly scolded him. “You’re going to die a pauper 
you’re so overly generous with your money.” 
 
“The good thing about money? Unlike oil, it’s a renewable asset. I keep making more of it. Let me 
worry about the money.” 
 
“You don’t owe me anything. I’m the one who walked out on you.” 
 
Brian lifted his chin on his fingertips and said, “I owe you everything. When I saw you there under 
that streetlamp, it never occurred to me that you were sent to me to change my life, but change 
it you did. You opened me up like Jack the Ripper. You took out my guts and strung them around 
the room and ran off in the night, but you know what? Up until you, I thought I was incapable of 
feeling anything for anyone. I thought I had a fatal flaw. I thought I had nothing to offer anyone, 
never would.” 
 
“Then why didn’t you offer it to me?” he pleaded and Brian shrugged. 
 
“I was blocked. Falling in love was only part of the equation. I had to be hurt, too. I had to know 
the pain of loss. I had to experience how horrible it was in order to understand how important 
those feelings can be. So you gave me both. And for that, I’ll always owe you, because without 
that, I could never have been open to Boyd nor understood how important the feelings we share 
really are.” 
 
Justin sighed. “Do you know how that makes me feel?” 
 
“Like shit?” 
 
“Pretty much.” 
 
“I don’t know what else to say. It’s true.” 
 
“So you want to buy off the guilt?” 
 
“Guilt?” Brian smiled. “Don’t misunderstand me. I did a lot of rotten things to you, I was an idiot 
so much of the time we were together, but guilt? No. I don’t feel guilty about our time together. I 
feel guilt over drawing fire at the prom, but not for our relationship. This isn’t about guilt. This is 
about opportunity. Do you know how happy I would be if they stick me in a jail cell to know that 
you’re floating down the Grand Canal in a gondola?” 
 
“They aren’t sticking you in a jail cell.” 
 
“You never know.” 
 
“I need to think about this, Brian.” 
 
“Sure, think all you want. You know how to reach me.” 
 
Justin looked up at the metal door leading to the loft, the memories flooding his brain like a stuck 
faucet. He shook them off as tears threatened. “I want you to be happy, too, Brian.” 
 
“I believe that. And oddly enough, I am.” 
 
Justin took his former lover’s face in both hands and kissed him on the lips. “Stay that way. I’ll 
call you about the other.” He stood and started to walk away when Brian called his name. He 
looked over his shoulder and Brian said, “Don’t wait too long. It’s so easy to settle.” 
 
“What if I go to Venice and fall in love with a rich and beautiful Italian count? How would you feel 
then?” 
 
“If he loves you, too, I’ll dance at your wedding, Sunshine.” 
 
Justin kissed his fingertips and turned them towards Brian as his eyes filled with tears. He then 
turned and trotted down the stairs. Brian sat there, listening to his retreat until the echoes faded 
to silence.  
 
**************************************** 
 
On the plane to New Orleans, Boyd didn’t inquire about Brian’s solemn silence. He didn’t ask what 
he and Justin had talked about, what subject was raised that made Brian so quiet and lost in his 
own thoughts. It was killing him, he wanted to know, but he knew the man well enough to realize 
he had to give him room. Suddenly, Brian reached over and rested his hand on Boyd’s arm. 
 
“Thanks.” 
 
“For what?” 
 
“Everything. I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “You would’ve. It may have been harder, but you’re a survivor, Brian. If I did 
anything to make it better for you, that’s what being a partner is all about. It was nothing.” 
 
Brian laughed. “Yeah, that’s what being a partner is about if you’re Mother fucking Theresa.” 
 
“Those are fighting words, son. I’m not a short homely saintly women.” 
 
“You aren’t? Fuck! The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you have a dick!” 
 
“A dick?” Boyd looked shocked. “I’ve explained that to you. It’s just an alternative breathing 
mechanism, a snout, and you have to puff on it fairly often to keep it operational.” 
 
Brian groaned. “You are a sick puppy. You know that? The truth comes out under stress.” 
 
They both laughed. And then Brian said, “I offered to pay his way to Venice.” 
 
Boyd looked surprised. “Venice? You’re paying for a vacation for him? Help me with that.” 
 
“Not a vacation. School. There’s an art institute he wants to attend in Venice, but it’s really more 
than that. More than Venice. More than any school. He needs a break from his situation. He needs 
some space to figure out what it is he wants and needs. I feel like he’s struggling right now. He’s 
not happy. I suspect he’s not unhappy, but he’s restless. He’s so damned young. Why does he 
have to make any lifetime decisions right now? Why shouldn’t he live a little before he makes 
those calls?” 
 
“Took another run at you, did he?” 
 
“Don’t boil it down to anything that simple. I’m just a symptom of his restlessness. He’s searching 
for something. I’m not the answer, but I suspect Ethan isn’t either.” 
 
“Is that fair, though? Doesn’t he need to find those answers internally? A partner, no matter how 
perfect, can’t solve all your problems.” 
 
“That’s my point. He needs to get out there and live. And I’m paying to send him to Venice if he 
chooses to go. End of story.” 
 
“I’m not asking you not to, it’s your money. You can set it on fire for all I care.” 
 
Brian peered at Boyd’s profile and then smiled. “Yeah, I can tell it doesn’t bother you at all.” 
 
“Okay, maybe it bothers me a little. I’m human. But I’ll get over it.” 
 
“How long do you think it will take you to get over it?” 
 
Boyd glared at him. “Is there a prize if I get over it within a certain amount of time?” 
 
“There’s no prize for either of us if you don’t.” 
 
Their eyes met and they both laughed. Boyd interweaved his fingers with Brian’s and said, “I 
can’t stay mad at you. I try but you make it impossible.” 
 
“Do you really mind if I pay for him to go?” 
 
“Do you think he will go?” 
 
“I’m not sure.” 
 
“I can live with it, Brian. Are you nervous about going back to Canard Rouge?” 
 
“Yeah.” 
 
“It’ll be okay.” 
 
“Yeah, now all I have to do is try to keep them from frying me like alligator toes.” 
 
“No one is frying anyone, Brian. Comes to that, we’ll just split and be outlaws in South America,” 
 
“My second offer to become a fugitive in so many days.” 
 
“I don’t think I want to ask about that other offer.” 
 
“I don’t think you do either,” Brian said with a smile, leaning back in his seat as Pittsburgh grew 
distant and clouds obscured their path home.  
 
 
 
Current Mood:  hopeful 
 


May. 1st, 2005 09:19 pm - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 91 
 
  
 
They took a detour while in New Orleans, in order to close the transaction on the church. 
Following the paperwork and the funding, Brian, Boyd, Ted and Lisette went over to inspect the 
new property.  
 
At the lazy end of a narrow block of clubs, storefronts, cafes and guest houses, the usual blend of 
businesses in this sector of the Quarter, the church was a citadel of stucco and hope behind a tall 
brick wall with a black wrought iron double gate. It was abandoned for it’s original purpose years 
ago, and since then served as a temporary school, overflow lodging for visiting priests, and, 
briefly, it was the backdrop for a horror film depicting voodoo practices in the region. When they 
unlocked the arched and peeling wooden door to go inside, the musty heat and damp of a New 
Orleans summer blasted back at them like a living and angry beast. 
 
They shed what clothing they could as perspiration broke out in a wash. Standing together at the 
end of the long central aisle, they stared through the dust mites and gloom at the interior. Brian 
was the first to speak. “This is the way I see it,” He threw off his shirt, wearing only a white 
wifebeater with his jeans as he motioned to the pews. “All of these benches are removed, sold 
off, except a few we may use for decorative purposes. This big area becomes the dance floor. The 
bar goes up here,” he walked to the apse and gestured at a space under the fine stained glass 
windows. “And in that choir loft we put the DJ, while in that one we have the go-go boys. I’d 
move this pulpit or lectern or whatever you call this stand to the front, where the doorman stands 
and vettes the crowd. We leave the confessionals along the wall for some hot and private action.” 
 
Ted groaned. “I’m not even Catholic and I can feel the wrath of God warming up.” 
 
Brian ignored him. “We combine the men and women’s rooms down that hall into one big, sexy 
bathroom with lots of couches for sex. The priest’s dressing room becomes offices and there’s 
plenty of storage. Come on, look at this.” They followed him down stone steps behind the altar to 
the cooler, dank interior of the crypt. Brian switched on a light, sending insects and rodents 
scurrying for cover. Ted repressed a cry of fear. The honeycombs where coffins once resided were 
cleared of remains, and the room was a large, empty cavern with stone walls and floor and the 
scent of decayed flowers and maybe something more that lingered in the heavy atmosphere. 
“Doesn’t it remind you of a dungeon?” Brian said with a smile. “We make it into an outrageous 
backroom, with toys and some artificial barriers and the like. Maybe keep a couple of those slots 
open in case someone has the balls to slip inside one to fuck.” 
 
“You are making my goosebumps have goosebumps, Brian,” Ted complained as Brian laughed. 
 
“Lighten up, Theodore. Use your imagination. We’ll pipe the music in, install condom and lube 
dispensers, and let the boys have their way. What do you think?” 
 
“I think fags have more fun than dykes,” Lisette complained as her brother smiled. 
 
“I’m in love with a man with a vision. A twisted, insane, salacious vision, but a vision 
nevertheless. What next, Brian?” 
 
He led them back up the stairs and through a full kitchen to the gardens enclosed by the walls, 
behind the chapel. “We string it with colored lights and fans and wrought iron furnishings and 
serve light meals and a wine list. Open all night.” 
 
“That complicates your necessary licenses,” Boyd reminded him. “Operating a kitchen is a whole 
other set of rules and Health Department bullshit and inspections.” 
 
“You’ll figure that out for me. Come on, look at this,” he took Boyd’s hand and led him to a 
separate building, using another key to unlock the iron gate and then the front door. It was a 
gracious coach house with wide plank floors, tall windows that opened top down, a marble 
fireplace, and four bedrooms and bathrooms along with the usual amenities. Many interesting 
touches like claw footed bathtubs and leaded glass light fixtures and a kitchen with a brick oven 
as well as the conventional appliances added charm to the old place. “Wouldn’t this make a great 
residence? These walls are thick stucco so the noise from the club would be muted and look, 
there’s a private garden back here, with this little fountain and everything. It’s overgrown, but it 
has so much potential.” 
 
Boyd looked around at the garden behind the tall brick walls and smiled. The fountain was full of 
bracken, the broad banana leaves shadowed the smaller plants, stunting their growth, but Brian 
was right. It could be beautiful with a little planning and work. “It’s wonderful, Brian.” 
 
“Yeah, and you can lock the gates so no one can come in or out, no wandering around by drunk 
faggots. Private.” 
 
Lisette stood there, hands on hips and said, “As someone who has restored a townhouse in the 
Quarter, I just want to warn you about something. No matter what they tell you, it will take twice 
as long and cost twice as much as the estimates to fix this place up. I’m going to put together a 
portfolio of things we learned and people to use and to avoid, all from experience. That might 
shave off a few hundred thou’. You have a great property, Brian, but it’s going to take a lot of 
work and financing to get this place up to code.” 
 
Brian shrugged. “I never do anything the easy way. If I can turn a defunct gay bathhouse into a 
premium advertising facility, I can convert this church into a gay club. And this rectory into a 
home. With a little help from my friends, of course.” 
 
Ted sat down on the brick lip of the fountain, fanning himself with the folder containing the 
closing documents. “This heat is deadly. Can we go somewhere civilized to talk about this? 
Somewhere with air conditioning?” 
 
“I need to get back to my office,” Lisette said. “And you need to check in with the court in Canard 
Rouge, Brian.” 
 
Reality slammed into them and Brian frowned. His enthusiasm over his new project was 
extinguished by this reminder of his current predicament. Boyd slipped an arm around him and 
nuzzled his cheek as he whispered, “It’ll be fine.” 
 
“Meanwhile back in the swamp,” Brian grumbled and the silence that followed spoke volumes.  
 
 
 
As the city landscape fell behind and the highway turned to a country road, Brian began to feel 
the oppression of the swamp closing in on him. Leaving his friends behind in Pittsburgh was a 
relief in some ways. It meant he was free to pursue his life with Boyd without constant censure 
and interference by people who claimed to have his best interests at heart. It meant he could 
concentrate, perhaps selfishly, on his own issues, not his nephew or his former lover or his sister. 
But it also meant he was cut off again, from familiar comforts, from the touchpoints he knew as 
home. He was back among the enemy, and these enemies he didn’t know well enough to have 
sharpened his defenses against them. He gnawed on his thumbnail as Boyd reached over and 
patted his shoulder. He could sense Brian’s fear and he hated that his hometown was the place 
that caused him such concern. 
 
After dropping Ted and Brian off at the Bed and Breakfast, Boyd went to see his children. Talking 
to them daily on the phone failed to fill the void of being without them. One of the differences 
between Brian and himself was that Boyd couldn’t imagine being an absentee father the way 
Brian was with Gus. He knew the circumstances were different, and he didn’t judge his lover, but 
he just couldn’t bear to be separated from his kids.  
 
The feeling was mutual as they ran into his arms when he showed up at Bonnie’s house after 
calling ahead to tell her he was on his way. He went down on one knee to scoop them up in a 
hug, his eyes closing as he absorbed the simple joy of being with them.  
 
“You aren’t supposed to go away, Daddy!” Mac scolded him as Belle hung on to one of Boyd’s 
arms, refusing to let go. 
 
“Daddy has other things to fill his time and interest now, kids,” their mother said and Boyd glared 
at her.  
 
“Nothing more important than you guys are. Brian’s mother became very ill and then she died, so 
Brian needed me to be there with him because he was sad. You understand that, don’t you?” 
 
Belle teared up. “Brian’s mommy died?” 
 
Boyd nodded. Belle flung her arms around her father’s neck. “Poor Brian. Can I see him, Daddy?” 
 
“Sure, but not now. He’s just getting settled at the B&B. How about I take you two to get some 
pizza?” 
 
“Can I play Whackamole, Daddy?” Mac pleaded and Boyd smiled.  
 
“A few games, okay, Mac?” 
 
“You might ask if it’s alright with me if you take them to dinner, Boyd,” Bonnie complained and he 
shot her a glare.  
 
“I presumed it was fine since I haven’t even seen them in days. Go put on some shoes, Belle. 
Make sure Mac goes to the bathroom.” 
 
As they left the room, his former wife shook her head. “Things were so nice and peaceful with you 
gone. You always rile them up.” 
 
“How do you mean?” 
 
“Was it really necessary to tell them about his mother? They don’t know her. Kids are terrified of 
something happening to their parents. Why do you have to put that fear into them?” 
 
“It’s real life, Bonnie. People get old, get sick and die. It doesn’t hurt for kids to be made part of 
that cycle. Besides, I never know what you’re telling them. For all I know, you’re telling them I 
left to join the circus or Brian and I ran away together to avoid the long arm of the law.” 
 
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” she scoffed. “I told them you were out of town on business.” 
 
“Why lie?” 
 
“Why not lie, Boyd? How does throwing death in their faces improve their lives? Isn’t there 
enough death around here?” 
 
“Who died?” Belle asked nervously as she came back in the room and Boyd shook his head.  
 
“No one. Come on, Mac.” 
 
His son came in, pulling up the fly of his jeans and Boyd asked if he washed his hands. When he 
nodded, his sister glared at him until he broke and ran back into the bathroom to wash up. “Boys 
are gross,” Belle observed as her mother laughed and said, 
 
“Your father is the last person to agree with that statement.” 
 
Boyd let that pass, refusing to get into a fight with her in front of his kids. At the pizza place, Mac 
was whacking moles and Belle was being a race car driver when Boyd flipped open his mobile and 
called Brian. “Are you alright?” 
 
“What’s all that noise?” 
 
“I’m at the pizza joint with the kids.” 
 
Brian laughed. “A likely story.” 
 
“Yeah, my life is so wild and crazy. Can I come by later or do you want some time to yourself to 
level out?” 
 
“What do you think?” 
 
“Tell me, Brian.” 
 
“I-want-you-to-come-by,” Brian said with sarcastic emphasis on each word. Boyd laughed. 
 
“Ok, asshole. I’ll come by. Want me to bring you a pizza?” 
 
“Are you trying to kill me?” 
 
“It’s not that bad.” 
 
“I’m going to have to take a pass, but thanks.” 
 
“I’ll see you in a little while. Leave a light burning for me.” 
 
“I’ll have something burning, anyway. Tell the kids hi for me.” 
 
“Will do,” Boyd hung up and watched his children at play, wondering how his life would be 
ordered around both them and Brian. Brian lived in a very different world, even when he was 
interested in becoming monogamous, he still had plans to run an outrageous gay club and live on 
the premises. Even if there were no geographical issue, would Boyd be able to bring his children 
into that atmosphere? Did Brian even contemplate his children playing more than an occasional 
role in their lives? Was that going to be a problem? 
 
They had come a long way, but they still had a lot of issues to resolve between them, even 
assuming Brian’s charges were dropped. Or he won at trial. They were so fixated at getting past 
that critical signpost that they seldom ventured into what life would be like after the criminal 
complications went away. “I need another quarter, Daddy,” Mac begged and Boyd smiled and 
pulled him into the booth.  
 
“You need to sit down and eat your dinner before the pizza gets cold.” 
 
“But Belle gets to play!” 
 
“Only until she crosses the finish line.” 
 
“Mean Daddy,” Mac pouted as Boyd pushed a triangle of pizza at him and Boyd sighed, wondering 
just how mean he might have to become to make this family of his work. 
 
Current Mood:  anxious 
 
 
 
May. 2nd, 2005 06:11 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 92 
 
  
 
Brian waited. Back in his slightly feminized, sparkly clean suite, he tried not to think of it as a 
faggot’s dream jail cell. In a way it was. He was under house arrest and this was his world. When 
his mobile rang, he reached over to the bedside table where it was charging and said, “Yeah? I 
still want you to come by.” 
 
“Brian, it’s Bo.” 
 
“Oh. Sorry, Bo.” 
 
“How you doing, son?” 
 
“I’m fine, thanks. And thanks for the flowers, you didn’t have to do that.” 
 
“I wanted to. Losing a mother is never an easy thing for any of us. I’m sorry to jump you the 
minute you get back, but we need to meet. When’s a good time?” 
 
“Boyd’s on his way over, can we meet in the morning?” 
 
“That would be fine. Why don’t you meet me at the diner at nine?” 
 
“See you there. Is it good news, Bo?” 
 
“It’s interesting news.” 
 
“Can’t wait,” Brian said drolly as they said goodbye and ended the call. Interesting was an 
interesting word. It was always completely non-committal. Something horrible could be 
interesting, just as something wonderful could be. He suspected this interesting news was 
neither, rather it was just one more twist in an already circuitous path. He ground out the 
remains of a joint, waiting for the fragrant smoke to do it’s magic, but his body and his mind were 
not giving up tension easily tonight. His long fingers slipped down his belly and over the bulge at 
his fly. He could masturbate. He could always masturbate. Even though his lover was coming over 
soon, and he would have a more exciting alternative to offer, masturbation was still good and he 
never had problems getting hard again. He squeezed his dick and felt it respond, but a knock at 
his door interrupted that idea. He smiled, liking the alternative even more.  
 
“Get in here,” he called out, then frowned as it was Ted, not Boyd, who entered. Ted winced and 
waved at the smoke scent that lingered in the atmosphere.  
 
“Jesus, Brian, it’s like a hashish den in here.” 
 
“What the fuck is a hashish den? Isn’t that opium that gets done in dens? What do you want, 
Theodore? I’m expecting company.” 
 
Ted noticed the fact Brian looked even better hung than usual under those tight jeans and 
wondered if it was an optical illusion, or anticipation. Despite himself he felt that little shiver of 
sexuality that Brian Kinney seemed to cause even when he wasn’t trying. “It’s about Jimmy 
Chang.” 
 
Brian rolled his eyes. “Your little fortune cookie of love? What about him?” 
 
“We left it where I’m not sure if I can still bring Jimmy on as an assistant. You were so pissed off 
before. What’s the verdict? He needs the work and with all that you have planned for the church, 
I need the help.” 
 
“I think it’s a real bad idea to fuck the help, Ted. I don’t intend to put someone on payroll so they 
can suck your dick. You have to pay for that out of your own pocket.” 
 
“I understand that, Brian. This isn’t about our sexual relationship. I really do need help and 
Jimmy needs a job and if it doesn’t work out, he’s gone.” 
 
“How much?” 
 
“He’ll work dirt cheap. What he was making at the florist shop is nickel and dime. We could get 
him for that plus expenses.” 
 
“I’ll give it a try, Ted. But if I get wind that he’s just taking up space and relying on his 
cocksucking skills to earn his paycheck, he’ll be gone. Make sure you get that and make sure he 
does too.” 
 
“Understood. Brian, one thing,” he sat on the edge of the bed and Brian moved his feet to avoid 
contact. “Jimmy told me something interesting, I’ve been meaning to share it. You know that 
Barney Fife deputy?” 
 
“Fergus?” Brian scowled, remembering the rude pip-squeak who made his one stay at the jail so 
unpleasant. “What about him?” 
 
“He’s queer. Jimmy’s had him.” 
 
Brian winced. “Doesn’t that make you feel special? Anyone who would suck that waste of space 
must be desperate.” 
 
“It’s a small town. Slim pickings.” 
 
“I’d go straight, first. Well, maybe not. But I’d prefer my own touch,” he squeezed his package for 
emphasis, bringing another little tingle to Ted. “Why haven’t you told me before now?” 
 
“Other things happened. I forgot. Does it matter?” 
 
“I don’t know what matters anymore. Did he do Greg?” 
 
“He says he and Greg were competitive.” 
 
“A non answer. Okay, Theodore, hire your playmate, but if it goes bad, I’m blaming you.” 
 
“Of course you are.” 
 
Boyd walked in, smiling at the two of them. “Trying to beat my time, Ted?” 
 
Brian laughed, reaching out to yank Ted down and into his arms as Ted struggled to get free. “I 
couldn’t fight it any longer.” 
 
Ted stood, smoothing over his clothes as he glared at his boss. “You’re a riot, Brian. See you 
guys.” He shut the door behind him and Boyd smiled as he flopped down on the bed beside his 
lover. “You know Ted wouldn’t mind it if you were serious about that embrace.” 
 
“You call that kind of remark a prelude to sex? Because it’s not working for me.” 
 
Boyd chuckled. “I’m just saying.” 
 
“Did Jimmy Chang ever come on to you?” 
 
“What’s that? Quid pro quo? Talk about your saltpeter.” 
 
“Is that a yes or a no?” 
 
“Jimmy Chang was so terrified of Bonnie that he wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole. As for 
me, I have never been drawn to queens. I go the other direction.” 
 
Brian reached up and rubbed a knuckle down the slope of Boyd’s cheekbone. “You don’t know 
what you’re missing.” 
 
Boyd smiled and grabbed his hand, slipping a finger between his lips and sucking on it before he 
said, “Who you calling a queen?” 
 
“If the glass slipper fits…” 
 
“I’ll show you queen.”  
 
Boyd sprang on top of Brian, pinning his wrists to the bed and weighting him down with his body 
as he ground his pelvis against Brian’s and kissed him. When he broke the kiss off, Brian smiled 
up at him and said, “If you think this is getting you inside my ass, guess again. Don’t go thinking 
you’ve become the top in this relationship because I’ve let you visit the bat cave on occasion.” 
 
Boyd drug his kisses down Brian’s neck and licked his collar bone before he said, “Don’t act like 
you don’t like it.” 
 
“I do like it. But I like this even more,” Brian pulled a hand free to grab Boyd’s ass and squeeze. 
He bucked his stiff cock up against Boyd’s pubis and Boyd moaned at the combination.  
 
“I’m weakening in my resolve as a top.” 
 
“Because you’re fundamentally my bottom baby and you know it,” Brian teased, reversing the 
dynamic by rolling Boyd under him and using the strength of his body as a full length caress. 
“And you want my cock up you. And I want my cock up you. And we both want it bad.” 
 
Boyd sighed his assent as Brian began removing clothes, his and Boyd’s, throwing them to the 
floor as he exposed skin. Naked, the ceiling fan soothed his heated flesh as he plunged his tongue 
into Boyd’s mouth and rubbed cock to cock, feeling an overwhelming need to shoot. He raised 
himself to his knees and took his cock in hand, waving it close to Boyd’s face. Boyd reached out 
his tongue to touch it and Brian moaned as he felt the wet caress where he needed it most. “I 
can’t hold it. Suck me off, first.” 
 
“Gladly,” Boyd agreed, doing just that. He propped another pillow behind his head to give him a 
better angle and Brian leaned forward, doing most of the work, moving his erection in and out of 
Boyd’s mouth, fucking him orally. Near the end, Boyd said, “Do it on my face.” 
 
Brian smiled, pleased to deliver the gay man’s version of a facial to his lover. Boyd closed his 
eyes to avoid the sting as Brian pumped out a heavy flow of semen, moving the aim of his cock to 
spread the seed to maximum territory. Boyd felt the warm, slick liquid hit his face and then he 
sighed as Brian leaned down and began to lick it off, his silky tongue as cleansing as a mother cat 
bathing a kitten. He took away every trace of his lust, leaving behind the bracing sensation of 
saliva and semen, but not the mess. Boyd’s lust was pounding and when he touched Brian’s cock, 
he wasn’t surprised to find it still had a spine and the spine was stiff. “How do you do that?” he 
whispered and Brian shrugged. 
 
“Just lucky, I guess,” he reached for a condom and Boyd unrolled it over his cock, anxious to feel 
him penetrate, to be one with him again. Brian gave him that wish, following his own intensive 
need.  
 
Afterwards, they soaked in the oversized tub together, lit only by candles and enjoying the heavy 
laziness of extreme release. Brian was against the back of the tub and Boyd was in his arms, his 
head just beneath his chin, his back to Brian’s torso. Neither spoke, just enjoying the warm, 
scented water and the sensation of being together. Inseparable. Boyd finally said, 
 
“So now you’re back. Are you okay with it?” 
 
“I’m okay with this.” 
 
He smiled. “You know what I mean.” 
 
“Frankly my dear, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.” 
 
“Thank you W.C. Fields.” 
 
“What are you getting at?” 
 
“Nothing.” 
 
“Hey, did you know Fergus was queer?” 
 
Boyd winced. “Don’t make me have that image in my head. I never thought Fergus was anything. 
I never think of Fergus period. Why is Fergus queer?” 
 
“I don’t know. Why are any of us queer?” 
 
“You know what I mean, Brian. How do you know?” 
 
“Apparently Jimmy Chang was doing him.” 
 
“Now I am going to be ill. Jimmy’s at least cute. Why would he do Fergus?” 
 
“Bored, I guess. You wouldn’t tumble him.” 
 
“I wonder if Fergus is queer or if he’s just using Jimmy to get his cock sucked because God knows 
no woman would ever go near Fergus.” 
 
“You know, I never got into that distinction. I knew plenty of daytrippers into Queerville who go 
home to wifey and kiddies later, or who just want a little walk on the dark side, but in my book, 
they’re queers without convictions. They want dick but they don’t have the balls to take the bad 
with the good. The public censure, the impact on their careers, their lives.” 
 
Boyd winced. “Ouch. Are you talking about me?” 
 
Brian was silent, then sighed. “I wasn’t, but I get your point. However, I think you weren’t 
daytripping. You really tried to go straight and then became a monk or whatever the hell you did. 
And anyway, you’re out now. With a vengeance. So you don’t count.” 
 
“I still have some issues, Brian. Mac and Belle. I can’t pretend there won’t be issues there.” 
 
“Your kids like me.” 
 
“Sure they do. But they’re little and the whole queer bashing thing is still to come. But beyond 
what they think, how about you? What are your feelings about my kids being part of my life?” 
 
“I’m not trying to come between your kids and you. Where is this coming from?” 
 
“I’m not saying you are, I know you’re not.” 
 
“Let me up,” Brian left the water and wrapped in a towel before seeking his robe. Boyd watched 
him leave the bathroom and then followed, wearing his own robe as he sat beside him on the 
bed.  
 
“Don’t get mad.” 
 
“I’m not mad.” 
 
“Yes, you are. I’m not accusing you of anything, Brian. But when you get me you get my kids too, 
and we’ve never really talked about that in any depth.” 
 
“I told you from the first, I know how you feel about your kids and I’m never going to make you 
choose between us or put you in the position of hurting them or losing them.” 
 
Boyd rested his hand on Brian’s thigh. “Just the fact we fell in love puts me at risk with them, 
Brian, and we both know it.” 
 
“So what are you saying? You’re the one who kept running after me and who wouldn’t let me 
push you away. Now you’re saying I’ve put your relationship with your kids at risk?” 
 
“No, no, no,” Boyd held onto him when Brian tried to pull free. “Stop twisting it. I love you, Brian, 
I would never give up what we have together. But I need to know how you feel or how you see 
our future in terms of my children.” 
 
“That’s your business.” 
 
“No,” Boyd persisted. “If you’re my partner, truly my partner, that makes it your business, too.” 
 
Brian met his eyes and drew his lips into a slim scowl, working his way through that statement 
and the myriad of emotions it aroused in him. Boyd said nothing, letting him think, knowing this 
was one conversation that couldn’t be rushed.  
 
Current Mood:  horny 
 
 
 
May. 3rd, 2005 04:42 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 93 
 
  
 
Boyd scrubbed a towel through his damp hair as he followed his lover back into the bedroom. 
Brian didn’t look up as he crawled between the sheets and lit a cigarette.  
 
“Brian?” Boyd prompted and Brian sighed. 
 
“My father always told me never go out with women who have kids. Too complicated.” 
 
“You aren’t going to joke or glib your way out of this one, Brian,” he slid into bed beside him and 
switched off the light, watching the trajectory of Brian’s lit cigarette as it went from his lips to his 
hand and back again. 
 
“What do you want from me?” 
 
“I want you to tell me how you feel about having two kids in your life that you never expected?” 
 
“You want brutal honesty?” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“I don’t know how I feel, Boyd. I haven’t allowed myself to think about it very much.” 
 
“Why?” 
 
“Maybe it’s because I felt like a pariah around your kids when we first got together. I was that 
crazy aunt in the attic. Couldn’t be around the children. Had to pretend I wasn’t there. Don’t want 
to piss off Bonnie. I guess I learned pretty early to fence myself off from that part of your life. It 
seemed to be what you wanted. And then things got blurred. Suddenly, they were around more. 
We got closer. Shit happened. Now I’m talking about living down here, even if it isn’t on the 
state, and that’s a complication. I know that. I viewed it as a complication with us, not with them. 
But I see your point.” 
 
“I know you love Gus, but you’ve never been a …” Boyd hesitated. “How do I put this? A constant 
presence in his life. The circumstances are so different. You were a sperm donor, I was married to 
the mother of my kids. I’ve always had a legal right to them. For you, your rights are really what 
his two mommies are wiling to grant. So I’m not being critical of you, please understand that. My 
kids are a big part of my everyday life, even when I don’t have them for the weekend. I see them 
all the time. I take them to dinner, to school, to buy shoes. I’m just there for them.” 
 
Brian stubbed out his cigarette and turned on his side to face Boyd. “I can make this easy for 
you. I wasn’t expecting you to pull up stakes and move in with me in my place in New Orleans.” 
 
“You weren’t?” 
 
“No. Did you think I was? I know you have a job here. I know you have kids here. The way I see 
it, I’ll visit here, you’ll spend as much time there as you can, we’ll work it out. We don’t have to 
live in each other’s back pocket to be a couple. Do we?” 
 
Boyd reached out to touch his face. “I don’t want to be a weekend lover, Brian. I don’t want to 
live apart from you. I guess a lot of what I’m saying now is just expressing my own fears and 
insecurities aloud. Maybe we do view things differently. Because I was very much thinking I’d be 
living with you in New Orleans. If that’s not what you envisioned, we need to get that straight 
between us.” 
 
Brian paused. “You’d do that for me?” 
 
“If we could work out the details with the kids, yes. My so-called job here is half the job I could 
walk into in a large firm in the city. My family won’t be sad to see me go, now that I’ve come out. 
It’s the Bonnie factor and the day to day separation from my children that vexes me. And every 
solution I come up with that involves them spending more time with me in New Orleans is by 
rights an invasion into your life.” 
 
“Your kids aren’t an invasion to me, Boyd. I’d be glad to have the chance to know them better. 
But I see your dilemma. I guess having a house adjacent to a gay club, even a house separated 
by walls and gates is less than optimal.” 
 
“Bonnie would make it seem so even though I know we’d never expose them to anything that 
could hurt them, emotionally or any other way. Of course, I could always get a place outside the 
Quarter. A house in the Garden District, perhaps. We could stay there when the kids visited. 
Thing is, I want you to be around them when they’re with me, Brian. I want them to know my 
partner and love him, the way I do.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Not exactly the way you do.” 
 
“Shut up,” Boyd responded with a laugh. “What I want to know is whether you have any interest 
in knowing them?” 
 
“Of course I do. I like kids the way I like adults. It depends on the person. Your kids are likeable. 
Some kids should be put in a burlap bag and dropped in the swamp.” 
 
Boyd knuckled his biceps. “Not funny.” 
 
“You know, of course, Bonnie would fight you every step of the way.” 
 
“I’m prepared for that. Are you?” 
 
“Bring it on.” 
 
“Did you really expect me to stay here after you made the huge concession to move from 
Pittsburgh to New Orleans? And did you really think I had any plans for you to stay in Canard 
Rouge?” 
 
“I figured you knew I couldn’t live in this fishbowl. I wouldn’t let myself believe you’d shake up 
your life just to live with me.” 
 
“No job could keep me apart from you, Brian. My children’s happiness is another story, it’s 
something I have to balance with my own happiness. But the job is a meaningless draw. The 
other, we’ll find a way to make it work if you’re willing to open up your life to the possibilities.” 
 
“I think one of the reasons I love you is because you’re such a good dad, Boyd. I never saw that 
model in my life. You wouldn’t be the caring and thoughtful person that you are if you didn’t have 
such a strong interest in your kids. I never saw myself as a stepdad, but I never saw myself doing 
a lot of things I’ve done since I met you. I’ll do my best. I don’t know what else I can offer.” 
 
Boyd reached for him, pulling him into his arms. “That’s more than enough, Brian. Your best is 
better than anyone I know. I love you.” 
 
“Yeah, yeah,” Brian rubbed his cheek against Boyd’s face and said, “What do you use on your skin 
to make it so baby soft?” 
 
Boyd laughed. “It’s great stuff but the container is pretty hard to handle.” 
 
“You said hard,” Brian teased and Boyd groaned and silenced him with a kiss. 
 
 
Bo looked up as Brian entered the diner and sat down with a heavy sigh. He wore dark glasses 
and when he tucked them into his pocket, his eyes looked tired. The waitress brought over a 
steaming mug of café au lait and rambled off the breakfast specials.  
“Just bring me some fresh fruit and a bowl of oatmeal,” he said, patting his stomach as she 
walked away. “Watching what I eat.” 
 
“You look beat, son.” 
 
“Late night,” Brian replied. 
 
“Where do you go in Canard Rouge to have a late night?” 
 
“We didn’t go anywhere. We just had a late night.” 
 
Bo nodded, prying no deeper. None of his business. “You ready to talk business?” 
 
“Hit me with it.” 
 
“The bats. That was Belle’s latent print on the bat, and there were other prints, too smudged to 
recover. So someone stole her bat and used it to kill Willis, or she did it. I know, I know, I’m 
kidding. But something strange is going on. I want to talk to Belle. I found out she was still using 
a kid’s bat in practice, so it’s not as if Bonnie switched it and gave her Boyd’s bat, not knowing 
the difference between the two. His bat is still MIA. Where did Belle get the second bat? Who 
gave it to her?” 
 
“You can’t just question a kid. Bonnie wouldn’t allow it for one thing.” 
 
“No, but Boyd would.” 
 
“Not without being there and you have a big deal about privilege.” 
 
“I’ve talked to Rod. He thinks it’s worth risking if Boyd will allow it.” 
 
“Is it really necessary? I don’t want to yank his kids into this mess.” 
 
“Someone else already did that when they took her bat to kill a man, Brian. Boyd’s enough of a 
lawyer to know that.” 
 
“Let me break it to him.” 
 
“Okay, but today. Right? You have a court date coming up.” 
 
“I do? When?” 
 
“Rod will hear about it today. It’s in ten days.” 
 
“How did you hear about it first?” 
 
Bo shrugged. Charlie let it slip that she had calendared the trial with the court, but he didn’t want 
to share that with Brian. “I keep my ear to the ground.” 
 
“Jesus, I’m not ready for that.” 
 
“We will be. One other thing. Seems our boy Greg had a regular racket going on around here. 
Shakedowns, blackmail, using his assets to seduce people and then using his devious nature to 
blackmail them for it. Most of his marks were small time, not a lot of big money in Canard Rouge, 
but it adds up. Town seems evenly divided between those who hated him for blackmailing them, 
and those who were willing to pay any price for his other talent. He had two favorite places where 
he’d meet men for blow jobs. The park and the swamp road on the plantation property. Women 
he’d usually do at their homes while their old man was at work. When he wanted some random 
fun, he’d go to New Orleans and hit the clubs. He didn’t seem to hustle there, maybe because he 
wasn’t familiar enough with how things worked, maybe because he was using it as an escape. I 
heard a rumor that he was talking about moving there when he concluded some big score. He 
had already started pulling back from his regulars. He told one of them he couldn’t afford to get 
outed, that he had a reason to keep his nose clean. More than one regular didn’t like that news. 
They weren’t ready to give it up. But Greg said he was leaving town soon anyway. He had a big 
score coming up and then he was gone for good.” 
 
“He was eager enough to suck my cock and he never asked for money.” 
 
Bo smiled. “I think that one was nothing more than an instant attraction. You seem to do that to 
people.” 
 
“Lucky me. I can tell you he was weirdly frantic about being outed. I thought to myself, who 
cares in a town like this, but he was desperate to keep it quiet. Willing to let me take a fall for 
forcing myself on him if need be. Knowing what we know now, how did he think he could get 
away with that? I could’ve had half this town testify to his willingness to suck cock.” 
 
“I think desperate is the right word, but why? And what was the big score? Was it a final pay off 
from a rich trick? Did that pay off go badly and he got offed in the process? Was he where he was 
because he was meeting someone at his usual spot for giving a blow job? How many men knew 
about that spot, had been there with him? Someone who went there knowing they would bash in 
his head with a bat they had previously stolen from Belle? Where is the money in this town, 
Brian? It’s with the Coulters.” 
 
Brian leaned back and glared at him. “Stop right there. If you think Boyd was involved in this, 
you’re wrong. He was with his kids that night. All night. And if he was going to kill Greg Willis, do 
you really think he’d steal a bat from his own daughter and then leave it in his own bag in his own 
car? Even if Boyd were the murderous type, which he’s not, he’s not the stupid type.” 
 
“I don’t mean Boyd.” 
 
“His Dad? Rex? I always thought Rex was bi-curious at least. He cruised me at the cabin. And you 
have goods on him from the Army.” 
 
“Definitely can’t make the case against dear old Dad. For one thing, he’s been impotent since he 
had surgery for prostate cancer four years ago.” 
 
“How did you find that out? Boyd never told me that.” 
 
“Boyd probably doesn’t know. I found out because I spoke to a woman who is social friends with 
the old man’s wife and when she complained about the impotency, the woman recommended 
Greg’s services.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Are you suggesting Boyd’s mother was a paying customer?” 
 
“No. No evidence of that. The woman said her reaction was shock and that she told her she was 
glad her husband was ‘past that’ nonsense and she didn’t miss it at all.” 
 
“Yeah, I can believe that. She looks frigid to me. I didn’t realize that surgery made you 
impotent.” 
 
“It usually doesn’t. But it depends on a lot of factors. He could be lying to his wife just to avoid 
her, but somehow I doubt it.” 
 
“So back to Rex, Luann, or Lisette. Trust me, not Lisette.” 
 
Bo smiled. “No, not Lisette. No evidence I could muster on Luann. Her life seems to revolve 
around her country club activities and her kid. Rex, now there’s a good mark. He has a history of 
sexual ambivalence. He’s a player. He has some kind of relationship going with Bonnie, but I 
haven’t been able to pin it yet. I could see the two of them put their heads together to implicate 
Boyd. He went out jogging that night. And Bonnie didn’t have the kids, Boyd did, so she could’ve 
been anywhere. Maybe she was suspicious of Rex and she followed him and saw him with Greg 
and lost it. After all, she’d already been humiliated by her husband preferring a man over her. 
She’s a big homophobe. Maybe seeing Rex act it out with Greg put her over the top.” 
 
“She’s tiny. We’re talking two big, healthy men. They couldn’t defend themselves against her?” 
 
“The element of surprise, Brian. Who knows?” 
 
“Pinning it on Bonnie is just too sweet, Bo. Too good to be true.” 
 
“I’m not saying that she did it, I’m just rolling scenarios. That’s one. I feel Rex is involved in it. 
But I have one more rabbit trail to hop down before I start reeling him in.” 
 
“What’s that?” 
 
“I want more on the unnamed source for Greg’s sudden desire to be scandal-free. I’m running 
some leads in New Orleans. And I want to unravel this potential affair or whatever it is with 
Bonnie and Rex.” 
 
“Do you like what you do?” Brian suddenly asked and Bo smiled. 
 
“I love it. Why?” 
 
“It sucks.” 
 
“It may just save your fine ass, Mr. Kinney.” 
 
Brian leaned back with a grin, unable to deny the importance of that fact. 
 
Current Mood:  confused 
 
 
 
May. 4th, 2005 04:11 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 94 
 
  
 
Homer Dhue read over his will with grave deliberation. Boyd refreshed his client’s ice tea from a 
pitcher of tea brewed by his assistant. Homer chuckled as he peered at him over the rim of his 
reading glasses. 
 
“Seems funny, you waiting on me.” 
 
“You’re the boss, Homer. You paid for that document.” 
 
“A measley part of what you’d have charged anyone else, and don’t think I don’t know it.” 
 
“It’s not a complex estate, Homer. I’m happy to do it and if you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t 
have charged you a dime. After all that you and Madam Dhue have done for my kids and me? It’s 
the least I could do.” 
 
“A man does the work, a man gets paid, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. I get paid for what 
I do, and so does Madam.” 
 
“Not for a fraction of what you both do, Homer.” 
 
“It’s good to make this a formal document. That old handwritten will I had was from before we 
had kids. Probably ain’t worth the paper I wrote it on.” 
 
“Handwritten or holographic wills are effective, Homer. But it’s best to get all the formalities 
covered and be sure there’s no open issue,” he hesitated, then said, “Everything’s alright with 
you, isn’t it? Health wise?” 
 
“For a man older than Egypt, I guess I’m fine. Not planning on dying today or tomorrow, but 
ready for it spiritually if it happens, and now I got the legal part of it covered when I sign this 
here will.” 
 
“What edits do you have?” 
 
“Not a single one. You done exactly what I asked.” 
 
“I’ll get my secretary in here when you’re ready to sign. You need two witnesses.” 
 
“Before you do that, how are things going with you?” 
 
Boyd met his solemn brown eyes and sighed. “You mean since I dropped that bomb on the 
family?” 
 
Homer nodded.  
 
“I’ve had little time to think about it. Brian’s mother got sick and died, we’ve been away handling 
that business, it all happened very quickly.” 
 
“Sorry to hear about that. Madam would’ve sent some food over, but you boys was gone before 
we heard. How is Mr. Kinney? That’s a hard loss.” 
 
“He’s dealing with it. He wasn’t very close to his mother.” 
 
“Weren’t close to my mother either, but still a hard loss. That man has the trials of Job on his 
back, don’t he?” 
 
“Luckily he has a very strong back.” 
 
“Boyd, I never understood much about that kind of thing, about men being together with men, it 
just don’t make a lot of sense to me. But a lot of things don’t make sense to me. I don’t get how 
them big airplanes get off the ground and stay in the air, either, but they do. So I don’t waste a 
lot of my time pondering why things like that happen. I just accept that they do. And what 
matters to me is that for the first time since I know you, I think you’re really happy with yourself. 
With him. You two is good for each other. I see it in him, too. I believe that each of us has a 
person chosen by God to be our true mate. Doesn’t mean times will always be good, there’ll still 
be tears and pain. But this person is the one to guide you through life, be there for the bad times 
and good, share your little dreams. Then God plays this little trick on us and throws us in the 
middle of all sorts of people with all kinds of confusing feelings and we have to find that right one 
among all the bad choices. Sometimes we do, and sometimes we miss, and the right one gets 
away.” Homer smiled as he slipped his reading glasses into his pocket. “If he’s the right one for 
you, and I think he is, don’t let him get away. Don’t let wrong-minded people saying things about 
you, about him, make you question if you’re doing the right thing. Always be guided by your 
heart.” 
 
Boyd smiled at him, touched by his quiet acceptance. “Thanks, Homer. I do believe Brian and I 
are fated, and I won’t let him get away. I love him.” 
 
“Two handsome boys like you,” Homer shook his head. “There must be some women out there 
claiming bullshit over that loss.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “I think there are some women out there who dodged a bullet. Or two.” 
 
“Talking of bullshit, he’s gonna beat that murder rap, ain’t he? That boy didn’t kill Greg Willis. I 
know that. Hell, half this town had reason to kill Greg Willis. He probably had the least reason of 
all, him being a newcomer. They won’t even try him, I bet.” 
 
“I don’t know, Homer. I’m off the case. I do know he’s innocent. But this is Louisiana and Brian’s 
a northerner and a faggot. You know how it is to be a black man in this justice system of ours. 
The truth and the punishment don’t always coincide. It’s the same with queers, regardless of 
color.” 
 
Homer looked strained, knowing exactly what Boyd meant. He never crossed the line in his life, 
but he had been hassled on numerous occasions, merely because he wasn’t white. He could see 
that the same kind of prejudice applied to homosexuals. “You know I never carry tales on the 
family, Boyd. But sometimes when a young man like your Mr. Kinney is fighting for his life, well, 
you gotta wonder what’s more important.” 
 
“What do you mean, Homer?” 
 
“I mean there was some kind of friendship between Mr. Berenson and that Willis boy.” 
 
“How do you know? Did you see him with Rex?” 
 
“A couple of times, I was out in the car, on the swamp road at night, and you know Mr. Berenson, 
he like to run along that road. I see that old car of Willis’s parked there at the cypress grove more 
than once. Lots of times some other car is right there with him, different cars, different people. I 
think maybe he dealing drugs, but maybe he was dealing something else, I realize now. Once I 
seen Mr. Berenson walking away from that car. Willis was standing there, watching him, smoking 
a cigarette. Mr. Berenson give me a glare as I rolled by. Then once I was taking in Miss Luann’s 
car for an oil change at the Texaco, and Mr. Berenson is walking out of there, with Willis, both of 
them smiling and kind of…friendly. He gets cold when he sees me, says he stopped in to get his 
tires checked, that one was low. Now I take care of all the family cars, as you know. Them tires 
was just fine. I check ‘em regular. After Mr. Berenson leave, that Willis boy says to me, ‘you’d 
best keep them boot lips of yours shut tight, old man’.” 
 
Boyd glared at the slur, but Homer had heard much worse. He went on. “Again, I think to myself, 
Mr. Berenson is buying drugs from this old boy. I’ve heard him and Miss Luann fight before about 
how he spends so much money on things she never sees and he says he’s making investments 
for their future, but I begin to wonder if that money ain’t going up his nose or something. Now I 
wonder if that money didn’t go to some other part of his body.” 
 
“Have you told this to the police? To the D.A.?” 
 
“I told you, Boyd. I don’t tell tales on the family. You is the family. So I’m telling you. You talk to 
Bo about it if you want. You do what you think you need to do with it, to protect Mr. Kinney. If it 
helps at all. But unless some cop or such asks me straight on, I ain’t volunteering nothing about 
the Coulters.” 
 
Boyd sighed, understanding Homer’s loyalty, realizing he was more loyal to Boyd’s family than 
was Boyd. At least he felt no loyalty at all to Rex Berenson, and if that meant Luann got hurt by 
collateral damage, maybe it would be good for her in the long run. Certainly a little pain in her 
marriage was no barter for Brian’s freedom. He wasn’t sure how this could be used, but he was 
convinced he would tell Rod and Bo about it. Homer said he was ready to sign his will, and after 
he did so, Boyd dismissed his secretary to make a copy for him and Homer spoke again. 
 
“One last thing, Boyd, and this is a tough one. Before you and Miss Bonnie split up, when Mac 
was very little…I come across Miss Bonnie and…” 
 
Boyd interrupted. “I know Homer. I know she was catting around with her doctor.” 
 
Homer nodded. As Boyd suspected, most if not all of Canard Rouge was aware of that affair. “You 
was all out at the plantation for your mama’s birthday. We had a cookout, you remember that?” 
 
Boyd remembered oppressive late summer heat, a horde of buzzing insects and the scent of 
barbecued meat. Mac was a bawling infant and Belle was a demanding toddler. “That was a 
miserable event.” 
 
“Little Belle wanted to ride that damned pony. Remember?” 
 
“Always wanted to ride the pony. She loves that pony, still does, and it’s such an ornery little 
creature,” he smiled. “As is Belle.” 
 
“She’s a strong one, that’s for sure. Anyway, I was helping Madam by keeping an eye on the 
grills, but when Belle kept at it about the pony, I went to the barn to fetch it for her. I come 
across Miss Bonnie and Mr. Berenson in the tack room of the barn. The door wasn’t all the way 
closed and they was…well…together.” 
 
Boyd shook his head. The doctor hadn’t been enough for her? Was she that oversexed or just that 
angry at her plight with her disinterested faggot of a husband? The joke was on her. Boyd had no 
doubt Rex would rather have been buggering him than his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 
 
“Would that have made your life better, Boyd? You with two little kids? They seen me and they 
just smirked at me and kept on doing what they was doing. They knew I wouldn’t say anything to 
anyone. Later, Mr. Berenson threatened me anyway, if I didn’t keep my silence. I told him he 
best not be making them threats to me, because I had no fear of him. I said only the fact I don’t 
want to hurt Mr. Boyd or Miss Luann was keeping me quiet.” 
 
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Homer.” 
 
“I’m sorry you did, Boyd. When you divorced that woman, the Madam and me both said, ‘praise 
the Lord. One down and one to go’. But Miss Luann just won’t give up on him, I guess.” 
 
“Maybe she will. She’s still young. I’d love to see her with someone who deserves her devotion.” 
 
Homer nodded and took the envelope from Boyd’s secretary as she returned to the inner office 
with it. He thanked her and shook hands with Boyd. “I’ll keep this in a safe place. Sorry to heap 
all this hurtful information on you, Boyd, but I don’t want to keep no secrets that might help Mr. 
Kinney.” 
 
“I appreciate that more than you know, Homer. Thanks.” 
 
When he was alone, Boyd stared at the phone, wondering whom to call first. Finally, he made a 
choice, and punched in a number. 
 
******************************************************* 
 
Brian was at the gym at the church again, this time without Ted. His elderly fellow athletes were 
also missing, so he had the place to himself. He used the time to work hard, pushing the creaky 
equipment to the limit of its endurance, as well as his own. The basement was close and humid 
with no fans to stir the air or dry the perspiration as he worked. Soon he was soaking wet, and he 
threw off his t-shirt and pulled on some lifting gloves as he moved from aerobics to weight 
training. The heavier weights at the end of the row of dumbbells were seldom used by the few 
who patronized this facility. Brian picked up two forty pound weights and began repeating 
hammer curls, giving his body a critical gaze in the mirrors on one wall as he labored under each 
lift. He watched his pecs tense, his biceps bulge with each repetition.  
 
Fifteen lifts with each arm, putting a strain not only on his biceps, but also his abs, his back, his 
chest. “Now that’s what I call a body,” a voice interrupted, and Brian sat the weights down on a 
bench as he wiped a towel across his face and turned to look at Rex Berenson, who was dressed 
in gray drawstring shorts and a sleeveless shirt.  
 
“You don’t have a gym at the old plantation home?” Brian said with a glare as he felt Rex crawl all 
over him with his stare. 
 
“Yeah, but I get tired of that view. This one’s so much more interesting.” 
 
Brian shook his head and picked up the weights again, watching in the mirror as Berenson 
watched his muscles work. His stare was so raw, Brian felt suddenly naked and for once, that was 
a bad feeling. As handsome as Rex was, Brian was repelled by him. “Congratulations on pulling 
my queer brother-in-law out of the closet, finally.” 
 
Brian said nothing, counting off his rep’s in his head.  
 
“He shook up dear mummy and daddy, I can tell you that. You know what I say? Fine. More for 
Luann and her family.” 
 
“Isn’t there a rock down by the shore where you should be sunning with the rest of the reptiles?” 
Brian said, returning the weights to the rack as he went to the Smith machine and inclined the 
bench after adding heavy weight discs to the bar. Rex laughed, following him over, letting his 
gaze wander Brian’s reclined body, his tongue tracing his lips.  
 
“You know his money is all tied up in trusts for those brats of his, right? That was part of his 
divorce settlement. You’ll never get your hands on his fortune.” 
 
“Are you talking about me or about your own plans for Luann?” Brian turned the bar to free it 
from the pins that held it in place and pushed it all the way up, above his chest.  
 
“I can see why Boyd decided to come out, at long last. You got the goods. But your plan’s a 
miscalculation. He may be blinded by your cock, but he’s like all the other Coulters when it comes 
to money. Pure greed and selfishness.” 
 
Brian lowered and lifted the bar twice before he responded. “If you think I’m going to engage in a 
conversation about Boyd with you, you’re as stupid as you look. And if you don’t take your eyes 
off my package, I’m going to teach you a few moves you may not know. And you may not like,” 
he sat up as he replaced the bar on the pins. “And you of all people should leave the remarks 
about the closet behind. You seem to be living there yourself.” 
 
“I’m not in the closet. I’m not queer. Oh, I like the occasional cock, who doesn’t? But I like pussy, 
too. Lots of it. Come on, Brian. Man like you. Can you tell me you aren’t getting bored with the 
same ol, same ol?” he squeezed the bulge at his crotch. “You want a piece of this?” 
 
Brian got up, retrieved a fresh towel and said to Rex, “I don’t know. Why don’t you show it to 
me?” 
 
Rex smiled and untied the drawstring, pulling his shorts down to reveal his thong-styled jock and 
then lowering that to reveal his cock. He was already semi-erect and Brian sat on the bench, his 
legs spread, his long torso glistening with sweat as he said, “Get it hard.” 
 
“You get it hard for me.” 
 
“I’d rather watch you do it.” 
 
Rex began to stroke it, and Brian watched him get hard, harder, feeling like a living pinup as Rex 
used him to inspire his excitement. Brian signaled him closer. “You want me to suck it, don’t 
you?” 
 
“Yeah, suck it,” Rex insisted, the pulling on his cock getting more rapid as Brian smiled.  
 
“You’re leaking.” 
 
“Taste it.” 
 
Brian took the towel and wiped it over Rex’s dick, making sure his flesh never touched Rex’s 
flesh. Just that much contact brought Rex to the edge of orgasm, and Brian withdrew his hand 
and stood up, smiling at Rex as he picked up his soggy, discarded shirt and said, “You know, now 
that I see it, it’s so much smaller than Boyd’s that I guess I just can’t get inspired.” 
 
“What the fuck?” 
 
Brian laughed and left the gym, left Rex standing there with a rampant erection, and left with 
Rex’s DNA firmly implanted on the towel. It may not be pretty, he realized, and Boyd may not like 
how he got it, even if he didn’t really do anything, but it worked. Right now, as the reality of a 
trial pressed in on him, any tactic he used was fair game. 
 
Current Mood: busy 
 
 
 
May. 5th, 2005 03:54 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 95 
 
  
 
Boyd held up the zip-lock bag containing a cheap white towel and gave Brian a confused look. 
They were alone in Brian’s room, their lunch awaiting them in brown bags Boyd brought with him, 
stopping by the diner on the way over. “It looks more like a towel than a clue, Brian.” 
 
“It’s both,” he said with a smile. “It’s what’s on the towel that’s the clue.” 
 
“And what would that be?” 
 
“Jizz.” 
 
Boyd wrinkled his nose and handed the package back to his lover. “You shot in a towel and it’s 
supposed to be evidence? Of what? Your extreme sexuality?” 
 
“My extreme sexuality played a big part in this, smart ass.” 
 
Boyd sat back on the bed, loosening his tie as he stared at Brian with a bemused smile. “I’m 
waiting.” 
 
Brian sat beside him and told him the whole escapade exactly as it happened. Boyd wore his best 
trial face, giving away no emotion as he listened. When Brian finished, he said, calmly, “You 
rubbed his cock with this towel and that’s how you got his pre-cum on it?” 
 
“Yeah.” 
 
Boyd nodded. He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Am I supposed to like this?” 
 
Brian shrugged. “Not really. I didn’t like it myself. He’s a fucking pervert. But I saw an 
opportunity and I took it. It’s not as if I had sex with him. I never touched him. He never touched 
me. Well, I guess I sort of touched him that once, but only with the towel and only for a second.” 
 
Boyd had to take a minute to work his way through this. His initial reaction was jealousy over his 
lover being in a sexual situation with anyone, especially with his brother in law. His next reaction 
was anger over Rex’s infidelities, not only with his former wife, but now this attempt with his 
current lover. Finally, the legalities played into his thoughts. “There’s no way we could prove a 
chain of custody.” 
 
“What the fuck is that?” 
 
“Show that this jizz that came from Rex.” 
 
“Look, they can test it and see if it matches the jizz Greg swallowed before he died. Then they 
can do the tests themselves to link it to Rex. If indeed it matches.” 
 
“I guess you need to get it to Rod.” 
 
“I am. I’m handing it off to Bo.” 
 
Boyd sighed, picturing that scene. “Great. ‘Here Bo, have a jizz stained towel I got while my 
lover’s sister’s husband was trying to seduce me in the gym at the church’.” 
 
Brian shrugged. “I don’t think anything I do would surprise Bo. Not anymore.” 
 
“Nothing you do surprises me, either.” 
 
Brian leaned into his lover’s shoulder and said, “You mad?” 
 
“I don’t know. I’m mad at him. What a dirtball. I don’t like the fact you inspired such lust in him 
or that you touched his dick, even with a towel.” 
 
“Would you like it better if I told you that I told him your dick was so much bigger than his that I 
just couldn’t get interested?” 
 
Boyd smiled. “You didn’t.” 
 
“I did. And it is.” 
 
He laughed and leaned over to kiss Brian on the lips. “You’re a lethal weapon, Brian Kinney.” 
 
“So I’ve been told.” 
 
“I wonder if Rex will try to spin this story another way. I don’t see how. Whatever he says, it still 
suggests he was drooling sperm, so it’s not as if he was the straight guy approached against his 
will by some predatory faggot.” 
 
“I don’t think he’ll say a word, not until the evidence forces him to come forward, if it does.” 
 
“I’m not enough of a criminal lawyer to know how they’ll use this, but you’re doing the right thing 
getting it to Rod. I had an interesting morning too. I had a long talk with Homer. No body fluids 
were exchanged, but it was still a useful conversation. I shared it with my lawyer so he could 
share it with Rod.” 
 
“What did Homer have to say?” 
 
Boyd told him and Brian took his hand when he finished relating the conversation. “I’m sorry. 
That had to hurt.” 
 
“Honestly, it just confirmed my own suspicions and made me realize again what a total skank she 
is and so is Rex. I know they’re somehow involved with this murder, Brian. At least Rex is. Maybe 
Bonnie, too, who knows? I wish I could be happier about that, but there are innocent people who 
would be hurt by that fact, not the least of whom are my children, followed by my sister and my 
niece.” 
 
“I know, Boyd, and I hate that.” 
 
“Don’t feel bad,” he reached over and squeezed Brian’s hand. “If they are involved, they made 
those bad choices themselves, and they’ll have to pay. I’ll take care of my kids, and Luann will 
have to grow a spine.” 
 
“Do you think she knows?” 
 
“She has to know Rex is a player. He’s so obvious about it. Whether she knows he plays both 
sides of the street, I doubt it. Whether she knows about Bonnie, I’m not sure. She never liked 
Bonnie. But then, Bonnie isn’t exactly loveable.” 
 
“Right, in the way that a dog suffering from hydrophobia isn’t exactly loveable.” 
 
They both laughed. “Boyd, I have to believe all of this shit with Greg would’ve happened even if I 
never came to town. It seems there were already lots of ripples emanating from him and this end 
result was no surprise.” 
 
“I think you’re right. Maybe his arrest had some role in it, I’m not sure, but Greg drew his own 
fire,” Boyd paused as his mobile rang and flipped it open. “Hi, Marc.” The caller ID announced it 
was Sheriff Carter. Boyd spoke to him briefly, and then ended the call with a frown. “I need to 
meet that moron Fergus downstairs for a minute.” 
 
“Why?” 
 
“He’s delivering papers on me.” 
 
“Papers?” 
 
“It would seem Artie Hall is suing me to recover Jared’s paintings.” 
 
Brian groaned and fell back on the bed. “Jesus, are we single-handedly funding the full 
employment for lawyers bill in Louisiana? We each have a criminal defense team, you have a 
domestic law shark on the custody issue, I have a real estate expert working my buy of the 
church, and now this?” 
 
Boyd kissed him and then stood up to go downstairs. “I was expecting this. You stay put. It won’t 
take long.” 
 
“I’m eating my lunch and if you don’t hurry, I’m eating yours, too.” 
 
Boyd smiled and paused at the door to say, “Any excuse to have to spend more time in the gym 
to work it off. You seem to have such fun there.” He ducked the pillow Brian threw at him and 
closed the door behind him as he left. 
 
Fergus was smirking at Boyd as he delivered the papers with the officious air of a man delivering 
a royal proclamation. Only in a town this small could the sheriff’s department be used to perform 
this duty, for a fee. “You’ve been served,” Fergus announced unnecessarily and Boyd glared at 
him. 
 
“You think? Anything else, Fergus?” 
 
“Who knew when you got appointed to defend that fag from Philadelphia that you’d end up 
meeting your future wife? In our humble jail?” 
 
Boyd nodded and said, “He’s from Pittsburgh. Not Philadelphia. And he’s my partner, not my wife. 
And if I were you, I’d worry more about how Marc Carter will take the news that his apparently 
homophobic deputy likes to get his undoubtedly pathetic dick sucked by a certain Chinese man in 
the back of my former wife’s shop and maybe even by a certain recently deceased hustler. How 
about that?” 
 
Fergus turned a ghastly shade of green, and then stuttered, “I-I-I could sue you for that, Boyd 
Coulter! You can’t make those kind of claims about a man!” 
 
“Truth is an absolute defense, Fergus. Now get the fuck out of here. You’ve done your job.” 
 
“You’re a lying sack of shit and if you tell Sheriff Carter, or anyone…” 
 
Boyd laughed and turned around to go upstairs, but Fergus grabbed his arm with a spindly, 
monkey-like hand and jerked him back. Boyd pulled free, warning him off with a glare. Fergus 
was in full rage now as he said, “Lies! Fucking faggot lies! All of you stick together and lie…you 
won’t get away with it! All you fucking Coulters think you own this town, think your shit don’t 
stink, and you can run right over anyone you want. Well, fuck you, Boyd! I always hated you! You 
were such a do-gooder in school, and then you went to that fancy ass private school because 
Coulters are too good to go to school with the rest of us and still the girls all wanted you. Little 
did they know what it was you wanted.” 
 
“Fuck off, Fergus. We’re not in high school anymore. Get over the fact everyone thought you were 
a total geek. It’s done. Move on.” 
 
“You take back what you said about me!” 
 
“It’s the truth and you know it.” 
 
“I’ll show you the truth, you piece of shit cocksucker!” His hand was poised above his holster and 
Boyd tensed. Was the little freak that crazy? Suddenly the door to the porch opened and a calm 
voice said, 
 
“By the time you draw that weapon, I’ll have blown a hole the size of Georgia through the back of 
your head, Deputy,” Bo entered the room, moving aside his jacket so Fergus could see that he 
was armed.  
 
“You threatening a peace officer?” Fergus was afraid of Bo Prudhomme. He knew his reputation in 
the state and that he had credibility with law enforcement that Fergus could never hope to equal.  
 
“Nope,” Bo said with a smile. “I’m telling you that you draw down on an unarmed man and I’ll 
defend his right to keep breathing.” 
 
“This isn’t over, Coulter,” Fergus spluttered as he left the B&B. Boyd stared at Bo and then 
shrugged.  
 
“I think he’s nuts.” 
 
“You make a little friend, did you?” 
 
“I called him on his shit.” 
 
“You think that was wise?” 
 
Boyd looked sheepish as he responded. “Probably not. Shit. Things are in high drama today. Are 
you here to pick up Brian’s evidence?” 
 
“Yeah, and from the sound of it, I hope he has it wrapped up in something impermeable. I don’t 
think I care to touch it.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “It’s in a Hefty bag.” 
 
Bo grinned at that. “How hefty?” 
 
“According to Brian, not all that hefty.” 
 
They shared a laugh and went upstairs together. Brian was finishing off his barbecued shrimp 
poor boy sandwich when the two men came in together. “Damn it, Boyd,” he quipped. “I told you, 
save the three-ways for the weekend. We’ll never get any work done if we keep indulging in these 
mini orgies.” 
 
Bo shook his head at him. “I hear you’ve been collecting sperm samples, Mr. Kinney.” 
 
Brian tossed the bag at him and Bo caught it, gingerly turning it over in his hands to examine the 
towel through the plastic. “Alrighty, then.” 
 
“Sorry it wasn’t more, but I wasn’t real interested in having him fire his magazine at me, if you 
get my drift.” 
 
“More than I ever wanted to get it, Brian. You two boys enjoy your lunch. I’m on my way to New 
Orleans with a purloined towel. Who knew the fitness center at the church could be such fun?” 
 
“I’m becoming partial to having fun with churches,” Brian said and Bo winced. 
 
“I’m not even asking. Later, boys.” 
 
He left and Boyd opened the bag containing his lunch and bit into his sandwich. Brian watched 
him and then said, “Are you going to eat or are we going to fuck?” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“Yes what?” 
 
“Yes both.” 
 
“Then eat up, eat up.” 
 
Brian finished his own sandwich and tossed the sack in the trash. Boyd told him about Fergus and 
Brian looked intense. “Should you have said that?” 
 
“Probably not.” 
 
“He can’t just pull a gun on you, the crazy fuck. You need to turn him in.” 
 
“He didn’t really get to pull the gun, and honestly, I don’t think he would have. He was just trying 
to scare me and let’s face it, it would take a gun to do that.” 
 
“Sounds like he has a temper and he’s also terrified of being outed.” 
 
“Sounds like.” 
 
Their eyes met and Brian laughed. “This town makes Peyton Place look like Gary, Indiana.” 
 
Boyd smiled at that. “Yeah, and for all these years, I thought Canard Rouge was a pretty dull 
place.” 
 
“I see why that duck turned red, now. He was embarrassed by all the goings on.” 
 
Boyd threw away his half eaten sandwich and pushed Brian back on the bed as he said, “Let’s 
give them something to talk about.” 
 
Brian smiled and closed his arms around him, blocking all the swirling water that lapped at their 
feet by retreating into the calm center of their own private world.  
 
Current Mood: determined 
 
 
 
May. 6th, 2005 04:28 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 96 
 
  
 
Rod glared at Bo across his desk as the bag containing the stained towel stood out on the 
expensive burled wood like a whitehead on a movie star’s cheek. “What’s wrong with him?” Rod 
demanded and Bo shrugged. 
 
“Nothing. He’s on trial for his life. He’s trying to cover every base. The opportunity presented 
itself, so he took it.” 
 
“Is everyone in that town queer?” 
 
“Doesn’t seem to be rubbing off on me. Not yet, anyway.” 
 
“If it does? Please don’t tell me.” 
 
“Now Rod…” 
 
“I’m not homophobic, I just don’t need that picture burned into my brain. He’s not a murderer, I 
know that, but shit, he’s pretty damned dangerous even without any killer intent.” 
 
“How you mean?” 
 
“Look how he’s disrupted things. Boyd’s suddenly out with a vengeance. Lisette is making dumb 
mistakes that she would never ordinarily do. Now this old boy is leaving his scum on a towel so 
we can type him. All because Brian has a way of stirring shit up.” 
 
“Doesn’t seem very fair to Brian, Rod.” 
 
“You disagree?” 
 
“I think I do. Lisette is overly involved in this because of her feelings for her brother. Boyd fell in 
love. It happens. And that Rex Berenson is just plain bad. Brian didn’t make him that way.” 
 
“Odd thing is, Brian doesn’t even seem queer to me. If I met him on the golf course or 
something, I’d never suspect he wasn’t a cooze hound.” 
 
“I suspect his ability to blend is part of his charm. Both to other gay men and to the business men 
he made his financial success with. I think Brian Kinney, for all his smart-ass back talk and citified 
manners, has a good heart. I think he’s an honest man. And I think he was pretty damned smart 
to get this sample for us.” 
 
“You think it happened the way he said or do you think he just had sex with that old boy?” 
 
“I think it happened exactly the way he said. I think if it happened the other way, he would have 
said so. Although, watching him with Boyd, there’s not enough room between them to slip a sheet 
of paper in the gap, let alone some ol’ boy like Berenson.” 
 
“Is that how it is with gays?” 
 
“Why are you asking me?” 
 
“I thought they partied all the time, unless they were too old. Then they got a permanent gig.” 
 
“Christ, Rod, sometimes it’s best if you just say nothing at all, despite how much you get paid 
every time you open your mouth.” 
 
They both laughed and Rod’s assistant interrupted, explaining the courier had arrived to take the 
evidence to the lab for testing. Rod dropped the plastic bag into a box, that she carried out with 
her. Once they were alone, Bo said, “You gonna get this boy off?” 
 
“I think I need for you to explain exactly how you mean that.” 
 
Bo settled back in his chair, crossing his boots on the edge of Rod’s desk. “We gonna dance like 
this all evening?” 
 
“I could riff on that, but I won’t. You know me, Bo. I never comment on the possible outcome of a 
trial.” 
 
“Bullshit. We’ve never had a trial where we didn’t have a bet riding on either the guilty versus 
innocent verdict, or in the big losers, how much time the perp would get. What do you say? I’m 
saying innocent.” 
 
“I’m betting a plea bargain to a lesser offense and a reduced sentence based on his clean record, 
but some jail time.” 
 
“How much money? The usual?” 
 
“Yep,” they produced one hundred dollars each and placed it under a paperweight on the desk. Bo 
then reached for it and pretended to put it in his pocket. 
 
“You already lost.” 
 
“How you figure?” 
 
“Brian will never plea. And he will never accept any bargain that has jail time attached. He’s 
innocent, he won’t admit to guilt if he doesn’t have cause, and he’s terrified of being imprisoned. 
He’s also a gambler. He’ll roll the dice.” 
 
Rod glared. “You snookered me. You know him better.” 
 
“You let yourself be snookered, my friend. That’s not like you. I’m counting on you to get this boy 
acquitted. I’ve grown fond of the two of them.” 
 
“Soft on queers. Who would’a thought?” 
 
“That’s the difference between this ol’ coon ass and your fancified version of a coon ass. I like the 
beat down people. Always have. Colored folk, plain women, poor folk, handicapped people, and 
yes, even gay people. I find a lot of integrity comes from having to put up with bullshit from the 
ruling classes on a daily basis. Either that, or they just go all the way bad. But for the most part, 
they’re good folks. You, on the other hand, with your fancy ass law degree and your fancy ass law 
practice, making all that fancy ass cash, you’ve decided you ain’t a coon ass at all, anymore. But 
underneath the social clubs that let you ride on their floats at Mardi Gras, and that big ol’ house 
in the Garden District near that woman who writes about vampires, and your picture in the paper 
and on the news, you’re still that scared coon ass kid who came crying to me when you was 
seventeen because you done run over your Daddy’s prize bull. Three times. So he could get the 
insurance money on that slab of beef. You were afraid you’d be found out and arrested.” 
 
Rod laughed. “Black Flag, that was that ol’ bull’s name. I remember that. Killing that son of a 
bitch was like driving my old truck into a brick wall. The bastard just would not die. And it had to 
look like an accident. I remember what you told me when I came to you. You said go get liquored 
up and then get your daddy to poke you in the eye and go to the bar and let everyone see you 
and tell ‘em you got drunk and hit that bull and your daddy beat you half to death,” he chuckled. 
“You told me you investigated shit for a living, but you didn’t give a rat’s ass about insurance 
fraud. Insurance companies made their hump fucking people out of what was due them, so let 
them pay for that bull. It helped send me to college, that insurance money did. I guess my whole 
career is based on larceny, if you look at it like that.” 
 
“You and every other lawyer I know. Except Lisette, of course. And maybe one other,” he smiled 
as he thought of Charlie. “Oh, and Boyd. He’s an honest guy.” 
 
“Okay, Bo, let’s go to Arnaud’s and you explain to me who did the killing in this case and why. I 
have a hearing in ten days. We’re going to be discussing physical evidence and disclosure. I want 
to be well armed.” 
 
“I thought that was a trial. Your girl said ‘trial’.” 
 
“She said court date. You presumed trial.” 
 
Bo frowned, perhaps it was Charlie who misspoke. “Let’s go then. I have a couple theories, both 
of them good.” 
 
Rod nodded, always interested in what Bo had to say about any trial he was handling. “You still 
banging that D.A.?” He asked casually and Bo went to steel on him.  
 
“Where’d you hear that and what did you hear?” 
 
“You aren’t the only one with connections. How can we use her to our advantage, you old 
scoundrel?” 
 
“We can’t,” Bo said with such finality that Rod let it drop.  
 
As they walked towards the famous old restaurant, Bo suddenly paused. “Well slap my ass and 
call me Sally. Isn’t that Brian over there? With Boyd?” 
 
Rod frowned. “What the fuck is he doing outside the jurisdiction?” 
 
“Let’s find out.” 
 
They approached the other two men, who looked like truants collared by the cops. Boyd quickly 
said, “Brian has business here. We did call your office, Rod. You were in conference, but your 
paralegal said she’d handle it with Charlie.” 
 
“This ain’t a game, gentlemen. They were very lenient to let Brian go home to Pittsburgh to bury 
his mama. You can’t just keep abusing this privilege.” 
 
“I do have business here and we did call,” Brian responded with an obvious edge. “And I hope to 
hell you aren’t billing me for this little stroll.” 
 
Bo smiled as Rod glared at him. “I just might do that. We’ve been talking about your case non 
stop.” 
 
“I just might not pay it, too. Talking about my case doesn’t include strolling the Quarter, or dining 
at one of the many fine establishments in the area, or pondering what you might argue on some 
obscure legal point while you’re seated on the porcelain throne.” 
 
Rod started to respond, but Bo took his elbow and moved him forward. “Have a nice evening, 
gentlemen. We’re on our way to dinner. On me.” 
 
“In that case I’m happy to pay for it, Bo,” Brian said with a grin and Bo tipped his hat to him and 
kept on walking as Boyd laughed.  
 
“What are the chances of running into them?” 
 
“Well, I did call, so fuck him.” 
 
“He’s on your side, Brian.” 
 
“Sometimes I wonder, cocky little bastard.” 
 
“Don’t wonder. He is and he’s the best.” 
 
“So you keep telling me.” 
 
They paused at the doorway leading to Lisette’s home and Boyd rang the bell. A tall, slim, dark 
haired woman with slanting, feline eyes opened the door and grabbed Boyd in a fierce hug. He 
hugged her back, and Brian smiled, identifying her as the mostly missing in action Petra by the 
green hospital scrubs she was still wearing. “And this is your beauty, Brian?” she transferred her 
embrace to him. “What a lovely, lovely, man! Come in. Sorry to be dressed this way, was just 
headed upstairs to change. Lis got held up at the office but will be along shortly. I rushed from 
the hospital without putting on my civvies so I could get the lamb in the oven. Make yourselves 
drinks, you know the bar, Boyd. I’ll be down in a few.” 
 
Brian watched her go and then slumped down on one of two overstuffed red paisley chairs as 
Boyd went to the bar to mix a couple drinks. “She’s hot,” Brian said. “Kind of exotic looking.” 
 
“I know.” 
 
“My mind temporarily blinked on an image of her in bed with your sister, and I have to tell you, I 
felt it down below.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Surprise. You feel everything down below, Brian.” 
 
“True, but muncher sex? Christ. I must need to get laid.” 
 
“Yeah, it’s been a couple hours,” Boyd handed him a drink. Brian pulled him down on his lap and 
said, 
 
“That’s too long. I can’t stop thinking about later tonight. Sure you want to do it?” 
 
“Positive,” Boyd let his tongue trace Brian’s ear, feeling him stiffen beneath his hip. “I can’t wait.” 
 
“Neither can I.” 
 
“You two are at it again?” Lisette teased as she came into the room and dropped her briefcase on 
the table. She went straight to the bar as her brother leaned against his lover and said, 
 
“Can I help it if thinking about you and Petra having sex gives him a boner?” 
 
Brian laughed as Lisette replied, “Thinking of Brian having a boner gives me a boner. How pervy 
are we, anyway? Something smells good in there. I guess Petra made it home in time to start the 
lamb,” she smiled at the snuggly pose the two of them were sharing. “What little secret are you 
two hiding?” 
 
Brian nuzzled Boyd’s neck as he said, “Some little secrets aren’t meant to be shared.” 
 
“Be that way,” she said with a laugh and took her drink upstairs with her as she went to change. 
The two men reluctantly separated as they both realized the arousal level was becoming 
uncomfortable.  
 
“Hang in there,” Boyd encouraged him. “It’s only for a couple more hours.” 
 
Brian sighed and squeezed his engorged cock, finding a couple hours to be an ice age when his 
dick was in gear.  
 
Current Mood:  nervous 
 
May. 7th, 2005 05:44 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 97 
 
  
 
Brian held Boyd’s hand tightly in his as they left the dance floor and the thumpa-thumpa of the 
music became muted by distance and the separation between the rooms. Their eyes had to adjust 
to the relative dark of the backroom. Brian inhaled familiar scents: sweat, sex, poppers, smoke. 
The area was segmented by walls arranged like a maze, providing surfaces and differentiation for 
the players. Strangely enough, he considered it a busman’s holiday to bring Boyd back here. He 
was trying to discern what the local gay culture wanted and expected from a club, and this was 
the most successful gay venue in town, to date.  
 
A few predators reached for them, but they avoided contact, taking in the various sex acts they 
passed with increasing interest. Finally Boyd tugged on Brian’s hand and stopped him at a wall, 
pulling him close and kissing him. “I gotta have it,” he said in a hoarse whisper, thick with 
passion, and Brian leaned into him, plunging his tongue between his lips. Boyd moaned as he 
sucked at it, moving his arms up to rest around Brian’s neck. The fact that other men cruised, 
andwatched the two handsome lovers embrace only added to the thrill. They rejected any 
intervention from others, wanting only to be together in this exclusively gay place, watched and 
admired but not interfered with.  
 
“I want to suck your cock,” Boyd whispered to him, unbuttoning his shirt as he roved his hand 
over Brian’s firm torso. Brian smiled and squeezed Boyd’s crotch. 
 
“I want you to suck my cock. So do it.” 
 
He pushed Brian’s back against the wall and went down on his knees before him, unbuttoning his 
fly as he reached in to grab his cock and pull it out of his jeans. It was already hard, had been 
hard off and on all evening, and a man standing nearby, being fucked from the back by a strong 
stud wearing leather, observed and said, “Nice dick.” 
 
Brian laughed as Boyd replied, “It is, isn’t it?” And then he concealed it from view, slipping it deep 
within the warm enclosure of his mouth and throat. Brian groaned with pleasure, keeping his eyes 
open so he could watch the action around him, inspired by it. He didn’t need any of these men to 
touch him to be excited by the commonality of seeking sex from each other in a place that 
belonged only to them. Boyd was what he needed, what he wanted, and when a pretty young 
man came over and rubbed a hand down Boyd’s back, Brian sent him away with a gruff, “Fuck 
off.” 
 
After he shot his load, he traded places with Boyd, sucking him with equal precision and skill. 
Boyd tried to hold onto it, also excited to be having his lover in this less than private setting, but 
he couldn’t. The act of fellating Brian combined with the sex acts going on around them and his 
own needs, pushed him past control and he came with a cry and a series of shudders. Brian stood 
and kissed him so he could taste the remnants of his seed. “Let’s go,” he whispered to Boyd. “I’ve 
seen enough.” 
 
They held hands as they left the club, but when Rampart was left behind for Bourbon and the 
more touristy parts of the Quarter, they automatically let that grip go, trained to avoid the 
censure of heterosexuals. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with my sister?” Boyd gave him 
one more chance for free room and board before they checked into an expensive boutique hotel 
on Chartres.  
 
“No, it’s just too confining,” Brian led him past doors that opened onto an open, bricked 
courtyard. The offices and public rooms were on one side of the corridor, the guest rooms on the 
other. They checked in, having retrieved the one small duffel they brought with them from Boyd’s 
car. Their room was on the second floor, with a wrought iron balcony overlooking the quiet, 
mostly residential street. The furnishings were antiques, but the bathroom was sleek and modern. 
Brian fell back on the mattress, tucking a couple pillows that were covered in fine European linen 
shams behind his neck as he smiled at his lover. “I like New Orleans.” 
 
“Everyone likes New Orleans until you live here awhile, and the heat and the humidity and the 
tourists and the crime start to eat away at you,” he pulled off his shirt and stretched out beside 
his lover, casually resting his hand on Brian’s stomach. 
 
“Thanks for that, Mary Sunshine.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Voice of experience.” 
 
“You didn’t like living here?” 
 
“Of course I did. The heat and humidity are home to me. It seems big and challenging after the 
funereal quiet of Canard Rouge, but I enjoyed the excitement. My relationship with Jared, the 
good and the bad, left an impression that was imprinted onto the city. Some things recall happy 
memories, some recall misery.” 
 
Brian kissed the top of his head. “I want to make new memories with you. I want you to see 
something and think of Brian being with you, instead of Jared.” 
 
“Everything I see now reminds me of you in some way, Brian. I think ‘Brian should see this’, or ‘I 
can imagine what Brian would say about that’, or ‘maybe Brian and I should come to this place’. 
It’s hard for me to view anything without making it about us.” 
 
Brian smiled at that. “I never thought anyone would feel that way about me, could feel that way. 
I’m such a bad bet.” 
 
“You’re my ultimate, Brian. I’ll never let you down.” 
 
“I wish I could say the same. I will say I’ll try my damndest to never let you down, Boyd. I do 
love you, you know.” 
 
“I know.” They kissed and Boyd said, “Would you do me a favor?” 
 
“Sure, typical, hit me when I’m vulnerable,” Brian teased. “What?” 
 
“Will you go with me to be tested?” 
 
“HIV?” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“Why? Are you worried?” 
 
“No. I want you raw, Brian. I want to feel your flesh up my ass, without the intrusion of latex. I 
want to feel that hot rush of body fluid shoot up my hole and roll back down my thighs. I want us 
to be together completely and I know you won’t do it unless you feel one hundred per cent sure 
we’re both safe.” 
 
Brian winced. “I haven’t had raw sex since, shit. I can’t even remember. I think I was seventeen 
and drunk. I was terrified that I got the bug, later, even though I was pitching. When I tested 
clean, I vowed I would never be stupid again.” 
 
“Times have changed. We’re together now. We’re exclusive. Aren’t we?” 
 
Brian smiled and kissed his forehead. “You don’t leave me enough sperm to spread it around to 
others.” 
 
“I’m serious.” 
 
“You know I haven’t stepped out on you, Boyd.” 
 
“And are you planning to?” 
 
“No.” 
 
“Don’t you want to bareback with me?” 
 
“I don’t know. It scares me.” 
 
“Why?” 
 
“I’d rather cut off my dick than infect you with it. I know it’s not a reasonable fear if we both test 
negative, but…” 
 
Boyd raised himself on his elbow to stare down at his lover. “I know what you’re thinking, Brian. 
It’s a handcuff, in a way. You say you won’t cheat on me, and you mean it, but you know things 
have a way of happening and you fear you might slip up and then what do you do? Suddenly start 
using condoms with me again? How could you explain that? But I have faith that you won’t slip up 
and even if you did, you aren’t stupid enough to have unprotected sex with a trick.” 
 
“Boyd, I’m tired of tricking. I was tired of tricking before I left Pittsburgh. I’ve done it, okay? I 
was over it when I tricked Greg Willis, and look where that got me. I want to be honest with you 
and I am being honest with you, but it’s still a fear for me. A superstition, almost.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “I grew up in Louisiana, Brian. The home of voodoo and gris-gris and juju dolls. I 
know all about superstition. Mostly, I know it’s bullshit. We get clear bills of health on our tests, 
we don’t worry that some hidden, undetectable stealth AIDS virus is lurking in our semen, waiting 
to explode. We just put down the condoms and fuck each other the way nature never intended, 
according to the Christians.” 
 
Brian laughed. “You really are a persuasive little prick. I should have kept you on as my 
mouthpiece.” 
 
“You mean you didn’t? I seem to be spending a lot of time giving you a piece of my mouth.” 
 
They laughed and the sound of jazz drew Brian to the balcony. He leaned over the railing, 
listening to the distant sound of blue notes played well. On the building across the street, strings 
of green, purple and gold lights decorated the balconies, the colors of Mardi Gras. The clip-clop of 
a mule’s hooves on the cobblestones announced the passing of a tourist buggy. The heat of the 
night was softened by a cool breeze that originated on the surface of the Mississippi River and 
blew inward to breathe against his naked torso. He felt Boyd come up behind him. Boyd’s long 
fingers opened the waistband of Brian’s jeans and a hand slipped inside to fondle his cock. 
 
Brian’s eyes closed as he responded, feeling Boyd’s lips trace his spine from his neck to between 
his shoulders. “You’re making me crazy,” he said and Boyd laughed against the back of his neck, 
resting his forehead on the cushion of Brian’s hair as he replied, “I want to fuck you. Right here, 
right now.” 
 
Brian tensed as Boyd’s hand moved over his tits, his belly, stroking his skin while the other 
massaged his cock. 
 
“In front of God and everybody?” Brian teased and Boyd laughed. 
 
“There’s no one out on this block. Just us and it’s inky dark up here.” 
 
“You fixed?” 
 
Boyd took Brian’s hand and placed it on his dick so he could feel the condom. Brian smiled over 
his shoulder at him. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, stud?” 
 
“I really want to fuck you, Brian. Bad.” 
 
“Then I guess you’d better.” 
 
Brian’s jeans pooled at his ankles and Boyd jerked his lover’s dick as he entered his body with a 
smooth thrust. Brian tightened his grip on the balcony railing, bracing himself against Boyd’s 
eager ramming. It bothered him how much he liked feeling his lover inside his body, how easy it 
was to give it over to him, how he could slip into this role that had always been tense and 
uncomfortable to him before. He felt safe with Boyd. He felt that his place in their relationship 
was secure and that this concession could never tip the balance of power. They shared that power 
equally, and that was the way it had to be in order for both of them to be satisfied with it. Brian 
may prefer the top and Boyd the bottom, but mixing it up when there was absolute trust between 
them only made it more exciting and delicious.  
 
Brian found he could even relax and really enjoy the feeling of being penetrated, unlike his prior 
experiences, where he was tense, uncomfortable, anxious for it to end. He liked feeling the piston 
pumping of Boyd’s cock inside his rectum, the pressure against his prostate, the alien sensation 
of truly being fucked. “Fuck me,” he urged Boyd as his own orgasm built in force. “Fuck me 
harder!” 
 
Boyd obliged, yanking Brian’s dick with the rough urgency they both wanted and Brian watched 
as his ejaculate sailed between the bars of the balcony to land silently on the abandoned 
pavement below. Boyd came soon after, collapsing his weight against Brian’s back, their sweat 
sealing their flesh as they both heaved for air.  
 
“Encore!” A voice came out of the dark. They heard the applause of a single pair of hands. They 
looked to the left where a form emerged from the dark of the neighboring balcony. She was a tall, 
slim, elegant black woman in a turquoise caftan brightened by a paisley print sewn from metallic 
gold thread. They separated, but didn’t immediately fumble for their clothes as she leaned on the 
rail separating their two spaces and said, “I was just having my nightly rum punch before turning 
in and I was treated to that very lovely display of young lust. Thanks for that.” 
 
“You might have made your presence known,” Brian grumbled, reaching down to pull up his jeans 
as she smiled at him.  
 
“Where’s the fun in that? My, but the dark waters are swirling around you, my handsome friend. 
Danger from so many sides. The dead reach out from the waves to pull you under with them 
while the living seek to punish you for crimes you never committed.” 
 
Boyd had slipped away and returned wearing his own jeans and smoking a cigarette. He passed it 
to Brian who inhaled deeply from it. “Who the hell are you?” Boyd insisted. 
 
“My name is Pearl. Perhaps you know me as Lady P.” 
 
“The fortune teller?” 
 
She laughed. “That’s like saying you boys are just a couple of ordinary fags, and we know that’s 
not true, now don’t we? You’re extraordinary in every way, as am I. I’m a mystic and a witch. 
Yes, I can intuit the future in many cases, but not all. Yes, I’ve made a nice living for myself by 
helping the wealthy make smart investments based on my readings and by advising the lonely 
and down hearted about the true path to happiness. Everything I do is for the good. My governing 
rule is to do no harm. No curses, no evil spells, no love by ambush. Give me your hand,” she said 
to Brian, who hesitated. 
 
“You don’t know where this hand has been, lady.” 
 
“I have no fear about the male body, especially those as lovely as yours and your lover’s. Give 
me your hand.” 
 
Brian reached across the rail and felt a physical jolt of power as she took it in her long, elegant 
palm and squeezed. After a moment, she said, “You’ve had much pain in your life, interspersed 
with moments of ecstasy, and so you doubt your right to happiness. Don’t doubt it. You’re 
correct. You’ve found your mate and he’s standing right there. Trust in it. It’s meant to be.” 
 
“Will he be convicted?” Boyd asked and she smiled.  
 
“The outcome will be a surprise to all. More than that, I cannot say, except to say you two will be 
together.” 
 
“She means you’re going to jail with me,” Brian quipped, removing his hand, as she smiled at 
him. 
 
“And you and I shall have our own link, my darling boy. I’ve been waiting for you.” 
 
Brian shrugged. “Sorry, but I don’t do women and I’m taken, anyway.” 
 
“I have no need of a man, especially one twenty years my junior. But there’s money between us, 
much money. That I do see.” 
 
“How do you mean? I already have an investment counselor. Granted, he doesn’t use a Ouija 
board, but…” 
 
“Scoff. It’s no import to me. I’ve seen that incredulity all my life. You’ll be convinced in time. You 
have a vision for this Vieux Carre. Your vision is accurate. And I will play a part in it. I’m staying 
here while my home is being refurbished. As will you, while your home is being made ready. We’ll 
discuss this later. Plenty of time. Once again, thank you for the stimulating visual, boys. Bon 
nuit.” 
 
She went inside and Brian looked at Boyd and laughed. “This is what I love about New Orleans, 
and Louisiana in total. So many colorful creepy people.” 
 
“Brian, Lady P is a renowned psychic, author and practitioner of white magic, no pun intended 
about her race. She’s legendary here, the positive successor to the famous practitioner of the 
dark side, Marie Levueax, who died a long time ago. Serious people, important people, consult 
Lady P on their daily lives. She’s made a fortune off of her skills. She’s written books, been on 
television. She’s a real local celebrity. If she takes an interest in your business, it’s big.” 
 
Brian smiled and kissed his lover. “The witch’s stamp of approval on Burn? Interesting. I think 
she’s more interested in watching boys hump.” 
 
“That was embarrassing.” 
 
“But kind of hot.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Kind of, yeah. Come on, perv, let’s go to bed.” 
 
“What do you think she meant about a surprise conclusion to this murder mess?” 
 
Boyd shrugged. “Willis maybe whispered something in her ear from the other side.” 
 
“From what I know of Greg, it was a shakedown.” 
 
They both laughed and went into their room, leaving the magic of the late night to percolate 
outside their French doors.  
 
 
 
 
Current Mood:  hot 
 
May. 8th, 2005 07:13 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 98 
 
  
 
An elderly black man in a crisp white jacket and pressed black trousers brought Brian and Boyd 
breakfast on a tray. He set up the fine china on a linen cloth on the small metal table on the 
balcony. The house breakfast consisted of rich chicory coffee, fist-sized homemade buttermilk 
biscuits with fresh butter and apricot jam, along with a selection of fresh fruit and a carafe of 
freshly squeezed orange juice. Dressed in robes, a day’s growth of beard shadowing their faces 
and their hair messed by sleep, they were silent until the first cup of coffee was poured and 
ingested. As the caffeine kicked in, Brian said, “My ass is sore. Happy?” 
 
Boyd chuckled at that. “Cry me a river. How many mornings do you think I wake up with a sore 
ass after you’ve hammered me with that hard nine inches of yours a few times the day before?” 
 
“Yes, darling, but that’s your role in life,” Brian said with a sarcastic smile. “Daddy’s not supposed 
to hurt.” 
 
Boyd reached over and punched his lover’s biceps. “Daddy hasn’t learned the meaning of pain, 
yet. But I can fix that.” 
 
“Maybe the straights are right. It’s supposed to be used as an exit only.” 
 
“Sure, Brian, you want to give it up?” 
 
Brian leaned over the table to kiss his lover on the lips. “Only when they put me in that final box, 
babe.” 
 
“Maybe we should invest in a lube company.” 
 
“You remember when you first started jerking off and lube was something like the hand lotion you 
stole from your mom or soap?” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Or Vaseline.” 
 
“Amazing when you find the real thing. They’ve improved it so much. This self-warming stuff is 
great, or superglide…what are we doing? We’re discussing lube over breakfast. We’re sick, you 
know that?” 
 
“I’m more worried about the morning we wake up and neither one of us has a sore ass and we no 
longer care about the properties of lube.” 
 
“You mean we no longer want each other?” 
 
“Or we’re too old to do anything about it if we do.” 
 
Brian held up his wrists. “No irons on either of us, Boyd. You get sick of it, you walk. I don’t want 
you hanging around because you feel some kind of fucking obligation.” He stood and walked over 
to the railing, leaning his elbows on the top bar, his back to his lover as Bill Withers’ plaintive 
voice complained about the lack of sunshine when his lover went away, wafting from the open 
doors of a distant apartment. Boyd watched him for a moment, reading his tension, and then 
walked over to him and slipped an arm across his back in a gentle, non-sexual imitation of their 
passionate pose the night before. 
 
“I love you, Brian. I’ll always love you. What’s wrong?” 
 
“Nothing,” a gruff response, his gaze still fixed on the street.  
 
Boyd’s hand traced up his back and massaged his neck gently. “Tell me.” 
 
“I love you too much,” Brian finally said and Boyd smiled at that. 
 
“How is that possible?” 
 
“It’s possible,” he turned to look at Boyd, reaching up to smooth down his fair hair, and then let 
his palm rest on his stubbly cheek. “It’s too much if I think of what my life would be like without 
you and I can’t even breathe because the pain is so harsh.” 
 
“Then don’t think about it,” Boyd whispered, turning to press his lips to his palm. “Because it will 
never happen, Brian. The only way we won’t be together is if you leave me. I give you that 
power, okay? I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I won’t go anywhere. No other man, no job, no 
family or public censure, not even my own children, nothing can keep me from you. Except you. 
You understand what I’m saying?” 
 
Brian pulled him against his body, burying his face in his hair as his eyes closed. “Is this what 
they call ‘unconditional love’?” 
 
“This is it.” 
 
“I think I like it.” Boyd squeezed him snugly and then Brian said, “I just don’t want to fuck it up, 
Boyd. I have an ability to do that.” 
 
“We all do. And we all make mistakes, Brian. I expect we’ll have our bumps along the road, but 
we’ll get through it. Together.” 
 
“Boyd, if you love me, really love me, you’ll let me have that extra biscuit.” 
 
Boyd leaned back to smile at him and said, “And if you really love me, you’ll split it with me.” 
 
“Ok, King Solomon, let’s eat it before it gets cold.” They returned to the table and Boyd split the 
last biscuit into perfect halves as Brian poured more coffee for them and said, “Did I dream that 
last night about some witch watching us fuck?” 
 
“No, it happened. The famous Lady P. She took quite a shine to you.” 
 
“Is she a tranny?” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Not everyone has a dick, Brian. She’s a woman.” 
 
“I knew this so-called mystic in Pittsburgh who called herself Mysterious Marilyn. Ugliest damned 
tranny you’ve ever seen and couldn’t predict a snowstorm in February.” 
 
“Lady P is not a fake.” 
 
They saw the same waiter who brought their breakfast set up the table on their neighbor’s 
veranda, only the food he set up differed from what they were given as the only breakfast offered 
by the hotel. There was shrimp and grits, coffee, and a basket of flaky croissants. The two men 
exchanged a look signifying their second-class treatment as the witch made her appearance. She 
was dressed in sharp black linen pants with a red sleeveless blouse that displayed toned arms. 
Her age was indeterminate, in that way that many African-American women were able to project, 
a timeless and elegant woman. Boyd recognized red and black as voodoo colors, but Brian just 
thought she looked good.  
 
“Good morning, gentlemen,” She said with a smile, her eyes concealed behind large, dark 
glasses. “Thank you, Charles, perfect as usual. Thank the kitchen for me.” 
 
“Our pleasure, Lady P,” the waiter left her there and Brian leaned over the back of his chair to 
ask, 
 
“How did you rate that breakfast? They told us the breakfast was always the same here. Biscuits, 
fruit, coffee and juice.” 
 
“One need only ask,” she replied with a smile. 
 
“Probably one need only ask if one is Lady P,” Boyd observed and she said nothing as she sipped 
at her pink grapefruit juice.  
 
“You have the advantage of knowing my name. What are yours?” 
 
“I’m Boyd Coulter, he’s Brian Kinney.” 
 
“Even in the bright light of morning, you two make a lovely couple.” 
 
“Thanks,” Boyd said and Brian added, 
 
“You’re dressed and ready to go very early. Big plans? I would think witches did most of their 
work at night.” 
 
She laughed. “What do you know of what witches do, Brian Kinney?” 
 
“I’ve known a few in my time. I was raised by one.” 
 
“Don’t confuse a witch with a bitch. Two different creatures. I have a television interview to tape. 
I do a regular gig on a local station, giving a general read out on the vibes overhanging this city.” 
 
“No way.” 
 
Boyd nodded. “I love that bit. I always watch for it.” 
 
“Like a Weekly Update on the mystical currents rather than the weather outlook?” Brian quipped 
and she laughed. 
 
“You’re not far off.” 
 
“Only in New Orleans.” 
 
“You need to understand these things about New Orleans if you hope to succeed here, Brian. It’s 
a very magical town. Lots of superstition. Blended beliefs. Boyd, there’s a very angry young man 
on the other side who wants you to protect his legacy from the enemy. This man wronged him 
greatly and now he seeks to wrong you. What’s that about? Do you know? He’s very strong, very 
outraged.” 
 
“Jared. His brother is an asshole. Jared was an artist, entrusted me with his work and now his 
brother is suing me to get it away from me. I want to donate it to museums so Jared’s talent can 
be enjoyed across the ages by the public, but his brother wants to sell it and get richer off of his 
talent. I know he never wanted Artie to have it, because Artie never did anything to help him 
when he was struggling.” 
 
Brian shook his head. ”Stop it, Boyd. She can’t know about Jared. Don’t buy into this. They give 
you something vague and global and then you step in and fill in the blanks and give it credibility.” 
 
Lady P smiled at that. “Your cynicism is common among those on the outside, Brian, but Boyd’s a 
Louisiana man, he knows.” 
 
“Is Jared at peace?” Boyd ignored Brian’s objection. 
 
“Not yet, he’s wandering, his mission is still at risk. He’s looking to you to settle it for him so he 
can rest.” 
 
“Cut it out,” Brian snapped at her. “You’re playing on his emotions. It’s cruel. He has enough 
pressure over those fucking paintings.” 
 
“You have your private wars and so does he, Brian. This one is important.” 
 
“He committed suicide. Where does that put his soul?” Boyd asked as Brian groaned. 
 
“Boyd, how can you even ask a question like that? It’s bullshit and you know it.” 
 
“Brian, please,” he pleaded and Lady P responded, 
 
“Your presumptions aren’t necessarily correct, Boyd. Don’t be so quick to accept what you were 
told.” 
 
“Meaning what?” 
 
“Meaning everything isn’t always as it appears.” 
 
“Christ, what crap!” Brian got up and went into the room and to the bathroom to shower. Boyd 
watched him go, and then said to her, 
 
“He’s very pragmatic.” 
 
“It’s fine, Boyd. He’ll come to see the truth for what it is as we come to know each other better. 
Watch yourself with this enemy. Greed makes men do terrible things.” 
 
Boyd nodded and bid her goodbye as he followed Brian into their room. 
 
At noon, Brian, Boyd, Ted, Jimmy and three competing contractors met at the abandoned church. 
Jimmy took copious notes as Brian walked them through the work he wanted done. “Ted Schmidt 
is going to manage the project, I have some personal business to take care of, but I’ll be bird-
dogging it, so it has to be right. I want to see written bids including everything you think needs to 
be done to bring it to code and to accomplish what I want accomplished. I’m taking the best bid, 
not necessarily the cheapest bid. All of you were highly recommended as honest and skilled 
contractors, bonded, professional, so the race is on. Time is of the essence. Every minute this 
place is closed costs me money. You have one week to give me a complete package. If I don’t get 
it in that time frame, you’re eliminated. We understand each other?” 
 
“You want it on the whole property, correct? The house as well as the church?” 
 
“All of it, yes.” 
 
“It won’t be cheap, Mr. Kinney.” 
 
“I don’t want cheap, I want good, but I do expect it to be right. Perfect. Quality.” 
 
When they broke, all were hot, sweaty and the four of them went to Café Sbiza for lunch, settling 
into the air conditioning, ordering lemonade laced with white rum. A mural of beautiful people at 
a bar with a red devil dropped in their midst overlooked the room and Jimmy said, “Why a devil?” 
 
Brian sighed. “It’s to point out that evil lurks everywhere, Jimmy.” 
 
His eyes widened and Boyd laughed and elbowed his lover. “Stop.” 
 
“How you know if art is worth big bucks?” Jimmy asked. “Does the artist have to die first?” 
 
“Jimmy,” Ted ran his hand across his neck in the classic “cut it out” gesture, but Jimmy went on, 
not heeding the warning. 
 
“Like your old boyfriend, Boyd. He had to die before his work was expensive, right?” 
 
“Jared was developing a following before he died, Jimmy,” Boyd said patiently. “But when an 
artist dies, by definition, there can be no more work from him. Nor can his work decline in quality, 
because he’s not there to take any detours. So there’s a fertile opportunity for his work to 
increase in value, yes. Look at Van Gogh, he never sold a painting until after his death. His 
brother, who supported him in life, was repaid by suddenly finding his sibling’s unwanted work 
going for a price.” 
 
“Like your boyfriend’s brother?” 
 
“Unlike Jared’s brother, who never helped him. Who never had faith in him.” 
 
“But he said his work would be worth more with Jared dead.” 
 
Boyd looked confused. “How do you know that?” 
 
“I heard him.” 
 
“You heard him where? How?” 
 
“He said it to Miss Bonnie.” 
 
“When was that? Where?” 
 
“Long time ago. On the phone. At the shop. I picked up the extension, not knowing she was on it, 
and she was talking to him, I knew his voice. He called before. New Orleans way of talking, you 
know? I heard him say that and I hung up.” 
 
Boyd looked at Brian, who covered his hand with his own and a thick silence settled over the 
table. 
 
Current Mood:  weird 
 
 
 
May. 9th, 2005 04:06 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 99 
 
  
 
Charlie reached across the table to slap Bo’s hand as he reached for the butter. “What did the 
doctor tell you about your cholesterol? You put more butter on that cornbread, old man, and I’ll 
take off a finger.” 
 
“Is that anyway for an officer of the court to talk?” he snapped back at her, then added, “Your 
cornbread’s too dry, anyway. If it wasn’t so dry, I wouldn’t be adding butter to it.” 
 
“You know where the kitchen is. Get your lazy ass in there and cook your own damned 
cornbread!” 
 
Bo smiled and stood up, carrying his empty plate into the kitchen, pausing to pick up a beer on 
his way out. “Who’s that pie from? I know you couldn’t have made a pie that pretty on your best 
day.” 
 
“You guessed that right,” Charlie said, joining him on the sofa in front of the television. “Madam 
Dhue brought it by the office. They were doing a fundraiser at the church and I bought one of her 
Shoo Fly pies. Don’t even think about eating it. It would kill you.” 
 
“Then who’d you buy it for? Your other boyfriend?” 
 
“I bought it to help out the church, but I plan to take it by the animal shelter and let the folks 
there enjoy it.” 
 
“Thanks for having it around to tempt me.” 
 
“Self-control. Try it.” 
 
He shushed her and turned up the volume, watching Lady P give her mystic outlook for New 
Orleans and the surrounding area. He felt Charlie watching him and when she said, “You don’t 
believe in that hoodoo do you?” He waved for her to be quiet. When the bit ended, Bo muted the 
sound and looked at her.  
 
“What did you say?” 
 
She shook her head. “So tell me, is it the hoodoo bullshit or is it the pretty woman that holds 
your interest, you superstitious old Cajun.” 
 
“I know that girl.” 
 
“You know Lady P? Now there’s a story.” 
 
“Despite the way she looks and the way I look, we’re about the same age.” 
 
“Damn, I want some of her gris-gris. She from New Orleans?” 
 
“She’s from my home parish. She lived on the other side of the bayou with the Creole black folk 
while I lived with the Cajuns. In those days, the color of your skin still made a damned big 
difference. Everyone knew her family, though. They weren’t your typical Creole black family. They 
hailed from Haiti and had long roots in voodoo. Papa P, her grandfather, was a famous voodoo 
practitioner who scared the holy shit out of every redneck in the region. No one fucked with Papa 
P, no matter how racist they may be otherwise. And then her mama was a healer and a maker of 
love potions and binding spells. But her aunt, Jezebel was her name, was a black witch who put 
out curses for a fee, and caused all kinds of bad goings on around the parish. She moved to New 
Orleans and kept making mischief until she was found dead one night in St. Louis Number One 
cemetery, near the grave of Marie Laveaux, the voodoo queen. She was all cut up with ritual 
marks and bled out on the steps of that tomb, like a sacrificial chicken. The murder was never 
solved, but there were rumors it was a rival voodoo cult. Lady P went the other way with her 
talents, learning that lesson.” 
 
“So you knew her as a child?” 
 
Bo shrugged. “I knew her.” 
 
“What was she like?” 
 
“As beautiful as she is now, if not more so. But like I said, the color of your skin meant everything 
back then. You can laugh at her if you want, but I’m telling you that woman has a gift and you 
laugh at your own risk and peril.” 
 
Charlie covered his hand with hers. “How well did you know this girl, Bo?” 
 
“Don’t go making shit up in your head, Charlie. Listen now, what was that you said about a trial 
for Brian being in a few days?” 
 
“The evidentiary hearing? His team, your team, filed a Brady motion for disclosure. It’s a bullshit 
move, typical of a city law firm, just ginning fees against the perp. I know the law under Brady. I 
don’t retain any exculpatory information in my files. They ask for it, they get it. But these city 
boys have to make it seem to their clients that they’re earning their hump, so they demand these 
hearings. Waste of time and money, if you ask me.” 
 
“Charlie, I know we never discuss this shit, but you’re fucking up on this one.” 
 
She glared at him. “Stop right there, Bo.” 
 
“I don’t want to see you made a fool of and I don’t want to see Brian put through it. He didn’t kill 
that old boy. This is going to make you look like a homophobe at best, and at worst like a fuck up 
or someone trying to protect the money in the town.” 
 
She reached over him and turned off the television. “You can’t do this. You can’t talk to me about 
this.” 
 
“Then you make a formal appointment with Rod and let’s all sit down before this goes too far. By 
tomorrow, I’ll have evidence that will blow up your case. Get Sheriff Carter there. Get the state 
police. You need to do your homework. Someone out there is killing people and it ain’t Brian 
Kinney.” 
 
She stared at him, taking in his uncharacteristic behavior, stunned and worried, all at once. “Bo, I 
always want to do the right thing, you know that. But I’m not emotionally involved with this kid 
and I think you are.” 
 
“You’re wrong about that, Charlie. I care about Brian, sure, but it isn’t about my feelings for him. 
It’s about the facts. Set up that appointment.” 
 
“Let’s watch Law and Order,” she deliberately changed the subject.  
 
“You’ve seen them all twice.” 
 
“They’re still better than anything on television.” 
 
Bo let her have that diversion, knowing the line he crossed wasn’t fluid with Charlie, and not 
wanting to hurt their chances of making her understand. 
 
************************************************* 
 
Brian felt the oppression of the swamp close in on him as they passed the sign that welcomed the 
world to Canard Rouge. A vandal had recently shot a small caliber shell through the eye of the 
duck decorating the sign, making the welcome seem even more hollow. He slumped down in the 
seat as Boyd cast him a glance. “You okay?” Jimmy and Ted were following in the rental car, so 
they were alone.  
 
“It’s starting to get to me. I feel claustrophobic. I feel like they’re choking me.” 
 
Boyd reached over and rubbed his lover’s arm gently. “I know. Someday it will all be behind us 
and then you’ll have to lie and tell me it was worth the pain just because it brought us together.” 
 
“I can tell you that right now. It wasn’t.” 
 
Boyd stared straight ahead and Brian laughed, “Christ, you are so easy.” He reached over to 
nuzzle Boyd’s neck. “It was worth almost anything, but I can’t help but wish we had found a 
better way to meet.” 
 
“I can’t argue with that.” 
 
“I’m going to say this once, and then I’ll shut up, because I know you’ll freak. But listen to me. If 
I get convicted, if I get sent to jail, there’s none of this waiting for me to get out crap. Because I 
won’t get out, Boyd. If they let me out one day, I won’t be the same person. I won’t see you if 
you come to visit me, I won’t write you back if you send me a letter, you’d just have to bury me 
and move on.” 
 
Boyd let the silence ring for a beat and then said, “Are you done?” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“First of all, you aren’t going to jail. Second of all, if you did go to jail, you wouldn’t stay there, 
you’d get out on appeal. And finally, as long as we’re still sharing this planet, I’m going nowhere. 
Don’t see me, don’t write me, I don’t care. I’d still come every visiting day and I’d still write you 
and send you packages.” 
 
Brian was glad it was dark so Boyd couldn’t see the tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes 
before he could blink them away. “Stalker,” he said in a thick voice and Boyd smiled at his lover’s 
profile.  
 
“I know.” 
 
They pulled up to the mill house and walked in together, saying nothing until they were in the 
quiet enclosure of Boyd’s home. The message indicator blinked on his phone and he punched a 
button to retrieve messages. They played from the oldest forward. His secretary called to confirm 
some calendared appointments. His father’s law firm wanted to meet about his role on the 
management committee at the mill. Artie Hall suggested one more opportunity to settle the 
matter without all the expense of lawyers. And then Bonnie, “I’ve taken the kids on vacation. I’ll 
call when we return. Please put an extra five hundred in my account to cover incidental 
expenses.”  
 
Brian saw his tense expression as he looked up from the machine. “Can she do that? Just take 
them out of town and tell you nothing?” 
 
“No,” Boyd dialed her mobile, got her voice mail and left a message to call him.  
 
“And fuck her ordering you to put money in her account to pay for a vacation she didn’t even 
clear with you.” 
 
“It’s unlike Bonnie. Who’s running the shop for her? And this is the biggest season she has for 
weddings. Why now? The kids are in summer programs. I don’t get it.” 
 
Brian wrapped his arms around Boyd’s waist in an effort to soothe him. “Maybe she just decided 
to take a couple days breather. Is there a place she would most likely take them?” 
 
“We took them to Disneyworld once. Bonnie hated it, spent all her time by the pool. She always 
wanted to go to Italy, but I don’t see her leaving the country with them. She’d really be toast if 
she did that. I don’t know. It’s strange.” 
 
“We can’t settle it tonight. I’m sure they’re fine. Maybe they just went to New Orleans.” 
 
“She hates New Orleans,” he freed himself of Brian’s embrace and dialed a number. Bonnie’s 
father answered and his gruff greeting grew even more strained when Boyd identified himself. 
 
“Bonnie left me a message that she took the kids on vacation. Do you have any idea where they 
went?” 
 
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” 
 
“Do you?” Boyd persisted. 
 
“When did you decide to turn queer, anyway? Is that a recent thing with you or were you never a 
man with my girl? Is that why she was never happy? Because you were out taking it up the ass 
instead of giving her what a woman needs?” 
 
Boyd glanced at Brian and deliberately controlled his reaction for his lover’s benefit. “I don’t think 
we have anything to say to each other, but if you know where my kids are, you’d best tell me 
because she broke the terms of our custody agreement by taking them out of town without telling 
me first.” 
 
“Fuck you, faggot.” 
 
He hung up. Boyd shook his head as he returned the phone to the cradle. “Sometimes I forget 
the way Bonnie was raised. It’s no wonder she’s a she-wolf now. I cringe to think my children 
have that genetic code working in their bodies.” 
 
“Don’t worry, Boyd. They have your genes, too, and in their cases, I think the good trumped the 
bad.” 
 
“I hope so. I need to know where they are, Brian. I feel like something’s wrong. I’m worried.” 
 
Brian went over to him and held him gently, rubbing soothing ripples across his back. “Don’t be. 
She’d never hurt the kids, you know that. She’s just fucking with your head.” 
 
He held tightly to him, his eyes closing as he tried to believe that was true.  
 
The next morning, they were awakened by the persistent ringing of the phone. Boyd reached over 
Brian to answer it, and Brian groaned and turned on his side, his back to his lover.  
 
“Yeah?” Boyd said as he squinted at the clock. Six a.m. 
 
“Daddy,” Belle’s voice was almost a whisper. “Will you come get me? I don’t want to be here.” 
 
He sat up, suddenly awake, and climbed over Brian to look at the caller ID code on the machine. 
It merely said, “Out of Area”. Damn! The activity awoke Brian and he raised himself to his elbows, 
watching his lover pace over to the windows, standing naked in the golden glow of the early 
morning sun. “Where are you, honey? Is there a number on that phone you’re using?” 
 
“It’s a mobile phone.” 
 
“Mama’s phone?” 
 
“Will you come here, Daddy?” 
 
“Where is here?” 
 
“I don’t know. Texas.” 
 
“Texas?” He scrubbed fingers through his hair. “Where in Texas, Belle? What city? What address? 
I need more information.” 
 
“Daddy!” She sounded frustrated and frightened. “Please just come here! I want to go home.” 
 
“Calm down. Are you in a hotel?” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“Is Mama asleep?” 
 
“I think so. The sun’s just coming up.” 
“Look around, Belle. Hotels always have some information on the desk or table or by the 
television or even on the door about who they are. See if you can’t find something, and read it to 
me. But be quiet about it.” 
 
“Ok, wait a minute.” 
 
“What are you doing?” A man’s voice, distant, too distant for Boyd to recognize it.  
 
“I’m talking to my Daddy,” she said.  
 
“Belle!” Boyd called out to her, but the phone went dead. “Fuck!” He threw the handset onto the 
bed and Brian stared at him.  
 
“What happened?” 
 
“Some man is there with her.” 
 
“With Belle?” 
 
“With Belle, with Bonnie, I don’t know. Fuck! She sounded worried, Brian. She wanted me to 
come get her. She’s in Texas for fuck’s sake!” 
 
“Why?” 
 
“I have no idea.” He picked up the phone and dialed Bonnie’s mobile. It went to voice mail. He 
said, “Listen, you’d better call me right away, Bonnie, or this is going to get real ugly real fast. 
You understand? My next call is to my lawyer.” 
 
Brian got up and went into the kitchen to put on the coffee. He heard the shower, and when Boyd 
came out, he was dressed. Brian handed him a mug of fresh brew and Boyd thanked him and sat 
down heavily at the table. “I need to go.” 
 
“Where? Last I heard Texas is one big motherfucker. You can’t just drive around and hope to run 
into two little kids.” 
 
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.” 
 
“You pay for Bonnie’s cell phone?” 
 
“I pay for everything, Brian.” 
 
“Then call the company and get her call detail.” 
 
He looked at his lover and sighed, then smiled. “I guess this is why I keep you around.” 
 
“I keep telling you, I’m not just a pretty face.” 
 
Boyd went to retrieve a cellular bill from his file as he called over his shoulder to Brian, “No, 
you’ve got a mighty fine body, too.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Get your mind out of the gutter and call on that detail. My body will still be here 
later.” 
 
He watched Boyd begin the process, wishing he could do more and trying not to show the tremor 
that affected his Irish instincts, sensing a danger that he couldn’t yet quantify. 
 
Current Mood:  anxious 
 
 
 
May. 10th, 2005 05:16 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 100 
 
  
 
Author’s notes: Just a moment to thank you for sticking with this story for one hundred chapters. 
I’ve learned much from writing this fantasy, thanks in large part to the discipline demanded of 
daily posting and also due to the comments you have all been generous enough to share with me. 
I hope you’ve had some fun with it, I know I have. Thanks again, Brian 
 
********************************************************* 
 
Ted read Brian’s tension as they met to discuss the Burn project. He knew not to ask. When Brian 
was in a thorny mood, it was best to stick to the agenda and not inquire about his personal 
issues. Brian kept checking the screen of his cell phone, as if to make sure he didn’t miss a call. 
He had already charged it, to eliminate any chance that a technical hitch could cause him to be 
unreachable.  
 
When the phone rang, Brian jumped as if shocked by the technology. He fumbled it to his ear and 
said, “Brian.” 
 
“Brian Kinney?” A woman’s voice, unfamiliar and very Southern.  
 
“Yes,” he was getting impatient.  
 
“This is the Crescent City Health Center in New Orleans. I’m calling with your test results, Mr. 
Kinney.” 
 
“Go ahead.” 
 
“You tested negative for HIV. There’s no evidence of HIV antibodies in your blood sample. This 
test is considered 99.3% accurate. However, the United States Health Organization would remind 
you that other sexually transmitted diseases, or STDs, can be transmitted via unprotected sexual 
contact, so…” 
 
“I get it, yeah. Thanks. And my partner? Boyd Coutler? How is his test?” 
 
“Mr. Kinney, for privacy reasons, we can’t disclose any information about any other person.” 
 
“Understood. Thanks.” He hung up and punched Boyd’s office on his speed dial. Boyd’s secretary 
answered. 
 
“Law Offices of Boyd Coulter.” 
 
“Hi, it’s Brian. Is he available?” 
 
“He’s with a client, Brian. Should I interrupt him?” 
 
“No, just put me into his voice mail.” After the recording prompt, Brian said, “Boyd, it’s me. The 
clinic called. I tested negative. They wouldn’t give me your results. You may want to call yourself. 
Let me know what you’ve heard about the kids, right? Um, love you,” he said the last words very 
softly, his back turned to Ted, who swallowed a smile. As soon as he ended the call, his mobile 
rang again. 
 
“Boyd?” 
 
“No, Brian, it’s Bo.” 
 
“Oh. Hi, Bo.” 
 
“Rod’s setting up a meeting with the DA.” 
 
“About?” 
 
“Our view of the case. You won’t be invited. He wants to talk to you first. He wants to be sure you 
understand what he’s going to say and do and why.” 
 
“Why do this? Why tip our hand?” 
 
“Perry Mason’s dead, Brian. The game ain’t played that way. Surprises are few and far between 
and generally mean someone dropped the ball. We’ll tell them the holes in their case, suggest 
other suspects, get them to throw out the dragnet and bring in a real killer.” 
 
“Is he pointing a finger at Boyd? Because if he is…” 
 
“Nope.” 
 
Brian calmed down. “So what do you want from me?” 
 
“Right now, just a little of your time. Free for lunch?” 
 
“Depends on Boyd’s schedule. Did he ask you about his kids?” 
 
“Yes, and I’ll tell you what I told Boyd. While this case is on, I can’t help him. But I did give him 
some common sense advice about what to do.” 
 
“Do you think the kids are in danger?” 
 
“No, Brian, I think it’s the typical bullshit screwing around between his ex-wife and some ol’ boy. 
The kids are just collateral. They’ll be fine. She wouldn’t call and tell him she’s leaving town if she 
was on the run.” 
 
“Did you get that DNA identified? The stuff on the towel?” 
 
“Not yet, maybe today. Find some time for me, son.” 
 
“I’ll call you.” Brian ended the call and Ted said, 
 
“What’s going on, Brian? It sounds very important.” He flinched as Brian shot him a glare. 
 
“This is your business because…?” 
 
“Just being a friend. Taking an interest.” 
 
“Well don’t,” Brian snapped and Ted surrendered as they went back to the project called Burn. 
 
******************************************************** 
 
Boyd knew he should be listening to Mrs. de Carlo’s problems with her neighbors’ cats, who were 
unnaturally attracted to her herb garden, which they were using as a toilet. She seemed to think 
this feline invasion was worthy of ultimate resolution in the Supreme Court of the United States. 
He just couldn’t get into the issue.  
 
He kept re-playing the tension in Belle’s voice. The cellular company was no help. Bonnie’s phone 
hadn’t been used since yesterday morning and that was to place a call to a floral wholesaler. The 
mobile Belle used did not belong to her mother. When he was finally alone, he listened to his 
messages, pausing and re-playing the one from Brian. He dug up the card he was given at the 
clinic and called the number on it. After confirming the status of his test, he listened to his other 
messages and then called Brian. 
 
“I’m completely lacking in disease,” he said and Brian laughed.  
 
“Not including the psychological illnesses, of course.” 
 
“Obviously. I’m partnered with you. I must be crazy.” 
 
Brian laughed. “Any news?” He carried the call to the front porch, away from Ted’s prying ears. 
He sat down heavily in a wicker peacock throne chair, closing his eyes as the weather threw an 
unwelcome blanket over him.  
 
“No, and I’m going crazy with worry. It wasn’t her phone that Belle used. My attorney says that 
while Bonnie is technically supposed to clear with me before she takes the kids out of town, no 
cops would consider this a kidnapping. Especially since she called and let me know she was going, 
which was pretty much what our original divorce decree required. No cause there to send out the 
Mounties. Belle wanted to come home, but I can’t say she was endangered. She wasn’t crying, 
but she seemed stressed to me and that makes me worry.” 
 
“They’ll be fine, Boyd. Bonnie’s a bitch, but she’s not going to endanger your kids.” 
 
“You don’t know that.” 
 
“Boyd…” 
 
“I just feel so helpless.” 
 
“I know. I’m sorry. Me too. Meet me at your place for lunch, okay?” 
 
“Should I swing by and pick you up?” 
 
“No, I’ll meet you there.” 
 
“How will you get there?” 
 
“I’ll get there. Meet me.” 
 
“Okay, Brian. I’ll see you there at noon. Do you have your key?” 
 
“Yes, mom.” 
 
Boyd laughed and hung up. Talking to Brian made him feel better. Talking to Brian always made 
him feel better, but he had no intention of doing nothing about his daughter and son. He just 
wasn’t sure what action to take. 
 
At noon, Boyd parked in front of his home. He walked up to the door and paused at the sight of a 
silver ice bucket sweating at the threshold. A note in Brian’s handwriting invited, “Drink me.” 
Boyd smiled and opened the lid, revealing a crystal stem filled with brut champagne and 
surrounded by crushed ice to keep it cool. He lifted the stem, took a sip of the fine wine and 
walked inside. At the foot of the stairs, a nosegay of gardenias wrapped in green florist’s paper 
and white ribbons was waiting. “Smell me,” the note said. He picked it up and inhaled the dense 
fragrance of the delicate pink-tinged white blooms. At the top of the stairs, a glass tray of rich 
chocolate truffles rolled in dark cocoa urged, “Eat me.”  
 
Boyd popped one into his mouth, rinsing it down with more of the champagne. Inside the house, 
he was greeted by bluesy music. The room was decorated with a bevy of balloons, each tied off 
with white ribbons. On closer inspection, he realized they were inflated condoms, not balloons. 
Laughing, he made his way through the airy condoms to the bedroom. Brian was naked on the 
bed, one knee raised, one arm propped behind his head while his other hand held a note that 
read, “Fuck me.” 
 
Boyd smiled at him. He drained the champagne, noticing the bottle and another glass were beside 
the bed. He put the tray of chocolates and the flowers beside it as he said, “Tell me Alice, does 
something get bigger now that I followed the instructions on the cards?” 
 
“It damned well better not get smaller,” Brian gave him a Cheshire Cat grin as Boyd began to 
undress.  
 
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a romantic devil?” 
 
“Only when they left off the ‘romantic’ part.” 
 
“Then they didn’t know you at all.” Naked, Boyd stretched out beside his lover, kissing him on the 
lips. Brian leaned back, running his tongue over his mouth as he said, 
 
“Dom Perignon and Godiva. Nice.” 
 
Boyd relaxed in his arms. “I love you, Brian.” 
 
“You too.” 
 
“Are you sure about this?” 
 
“I am if you are. There’s still that .7% chance of error.” 
 
“I can accept those odds, can’t you?” 
 
“I want to be in you, Boyd. Raw.” He pulled Boyd down with him, kissing him while his hands 
roamed his torso, his hips, his groin. Brian’s fears of contaminating the man he loved with his 
own bad choices and profligate life still nagged him even though reason told him he had nothing 
to fear. Boyd managed to overwhelm that final doubt when he began stroking Brian’s bare cock 
with lubricant, slicking it for entry, not just to glide his fist for masturbation. Suddenly, Brian felt 
free.  
 
He felt free of his doubts, of his past, of his constraints. He was able to give himself completely to 
this man without worry for his health or about his not being there later when he needed him 
most. No manmade contraption would come between them and when the head of his cock made 
contact with Boyd’s tight hole, the sensation of pressure and the stroke against his nerve endings 
was so intense, he had to pause and control his reaction in order to keep from ejaculating 
prematurely. Slowly, deliberately, he let his shaft follow the head inside Boyd’s body, savoring 
each inch of enclosure that took them from being two separate beings into one heaving organism.  
 
Brian felt like it was a restoration of his virginity, a first time, all over again. The sensation was 
that intense, that renewed. His entire body got into the act, each muscle tensing and relaxing 
with every lunge, all of his nerves firing and throbbing, his groin building the ejaculation of a 
lifetime. He covered Boyd’s hands with his own and bit into the back of his neck as he lunged 
against his hips. They did it doggie style for maximum penetration and Boyd freed a hand to 
reach down and jerk his own cock when the sensation went too far.  
 
Finally, Brian couldn’t contain it any longer and he felt the orgasm grip him and release, grip and 
release, as he shot his wad in multiple firings, feeling the thick, warm liquid seep around his own 
cock and flow back along the passage and down Boyd’s thighs, more copiously as Brian 
reluctantly withdrew. He collapsed on the bed, and Boyd fell over him, covering him, both of them 
gasping, their skin adhered with sweat and cum.  
 
“That was…” Boyd started to say and Brian interrupted. 
 
“I know.” 
 
“I mean really.” 
 
“I know.” 
 
“Wow.” 
 
“Yeah.” 
 
They looked at each other and laughed. “Incoherence or stroke?” Brian teased and Boyd 
shrugged.  
 
“Both, maybe.” 
 
“What a way to go.” 
 
“I’m already gone.” 
 
They held onto each other and then Boyd reached for the champagne. They drank it straight from 
the bottle, passing it from one to the other. “Where did you find Dom, Godivas and gardenias on 
such short notice?” 
 
“The ladies who run the B&B are always stocked for a moment of romantic bliss, at a price, of 
course.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “Of course. Did they ask the occasion?” 
 
“I said it was in honor of our first barebacking encounter.” 
 
“Brian!” 
 
“Joke. They asked, I glared, they dropped it.” 
 
“That was so hot, Brian.” 
 
“I know. I was part of it.” 
 
A mobile rang. Boyd scrambled to answer it, expecting his daughter, but it was Brian’s phone. He 
handed it to his lover, who said, “Bad timing.” 
 
“Brian, it’s Bo.” 
 
“Can I call you later?” 
 
“Rex Berenson left that little gift inside the stomach of our victim.” 
 
“Well now,” Brian said with a smile at his lover. “Sweet.”  
 
Current Mood:  loved 
 
 
 
May. 11th, 2005 03:43 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 101 
 
  
 
Brian watched Boyd as he posed before the mirror in the bathroom, turning to the side to 
examine his reflection, and then back to the front, his hands spread on his naked abdomen.  
 
“What are you doing?” Brian finally asked as he scrubbed his hair dry with a towel and slipped 
into a robe. Boyd shrugged. 
 
“Just wondering how I’d look pregnant. Now that we were careless.” 
 
Brian stared at him for a split second and then they both dissolved in laughter, followed by a hug, 
a kiss, a touch that promised more. Boyd groaned and slithered out of his embrace, holding up a 
strong arm to stop Brian’s advance. “We have to get a grip. I’m already going to be late for some 
afternoon meetings and you’re supposed to get with Bo.” 
 
“I want to get a grip. I want to get a grip on your crank,” Brian batted at Boyd’s crotch, but Boyd 
eluded him with a smile.  
 
“Later. Besides, I need to keep after this thing with Bonnie. I want to know my kids are alright.” 
He went into the bedroom to dress and Brian followed him there, lighting a cigarette as he sat on 
the bed and watched his lover prepare to leave him. Every time they parted, something within 
him died, revived only when they were together again. “Sure you don’t want me to drive you into 
town?” 
 
“I’ll be fine. I’m meeting Bo here, so he can drive me, or I can always call for my chauffeur, 
Theodore.” 
 
They both smiled at that. “Thanks for making this so special, Brian. I love the condom balloons, 
by the way.” 
 
“Waste not, want not. And Emmett thinks he’s the party planner among us.” 
 
Boyd leaned over to kiss his lover on the mouth. “I’ll see you this evening. I’ll call if there’s any 
news on the kids. Let me know where to meet you.” 
 
“I may just stay here, if that’s okay.” 
 
“Mi casa, su casa,” he kissed him again.  
 
And then Brian was alone.  
 
He fell back on the bed, smoking, reliving the pleasure of the afternoon with a smile plastered on 
his face, unaware. When his mobile rang, he expected it to be Boyd. He always expected it to be 
Boyd. “Brian, it’s Justin.” 
 
Not this time. Justin went on, “Is this a bad time?” 
 
“No.” 
 
“You sound like I just woke you up.” 
 
“No, I’m not that indolent. Whassup?” 
 
“I want to go to Italy. I can get into the art school during the second summer term. I thought I 
might just bum around until then, see the country.” 
 
“How is Ethan handling this?” 
 
“You called him ‘Ethan’.” 
 
“Isn’t that his name?” 
 
“Yeah, but…never mind. We’re parting company.” 
 
“I’m sorry, kid.” 
 
“No, it’s for the best. I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be checking in frequently to see how things 
are going for you down there with that murder charge. I won’t bug you, but I’ll get the scoop 
from Ted or others.” 
 
“It’s going to be fine. You just bury yourself in hot Italian men and forget this crap.” 
 
Justin laughed. “We’ll see how that goes. Thanks for clarifying this for me, Brian. I’m ready now, 
ready to move on with my life.” 
 
“As you should.” 
 
“And I don’t want any money from you.” 
 
“Then how do you plan to finance this gig? You have a great ass, but peddling it on the Grand 
Canal is so bourgeois.” 
 
Justin laughed. “I got a grant for the tuition and I have enough saved for some traveling time. My 
mom used airline miles to get me a ticket, so I’m set. I’ll be fine. I really want to do this on my 
own. Your generosity was typically great, Brian, but I need to do this.” 
 
Brian smiled. “I understand. I really do.” 
 
“Thanks again. I’ll send you postcards.” 
 
“From the edge? Great. Let’s just hope they aren’t to the penal colony.” 
 
“They won’t be.” 
 
“When do you go?” 
 
“Tomorrow.” 
 
“That’s sudden.” 
 
“I shouldn’t hang around here, I don’t think. Get on with it.” 
 
“Stay in touch, Sunshine.” 
 
“I will. I love you, Brian.” 
 
He smiled. “You can do better.” 
 
“Not really. But I found that out too late. Anyway, this isn’t about regrets. I’m looking forward to 
this adventure.” 
 
“You should be. You be careful, and if you need anything…” 
 
“I know.” 
 
“Don’t be too fucking proud to ask.” 
 
“I won’t.” 
 
“Drink a Bellini at Harry’s Bar for me as you overlook the Canal in Venice.” 
 
“Okay, Brian. Thanks again. Take care,” he hung up and Brian ended the call, feeling suddenly 
melancholy. He was glad Justin made the leap, he knew this break was what he needed and at his 
age, it should all be about adventure. But part of him would always feel some regret for what was 
lost between them. No matter how happy he was now, that was a failure that would always burn. 
On a whim, he called information and asked for a number. When he got it, he punched one to 
complete the call and a woman answered. 
 
“Coulter Mills.” 
 
“Rex Berenson, please.” He had no intention of talking to him, he just wanted to know if he was 
in town, or if he was on the road with Bonnie.  
 
“Mr. Berenson’s office,” another woman’s voice. 
 
“I’m Zach O’Toole, with the IRS. I need to speak with Mr. Berenson, please.” 
 
“Mr.Berenson is out of town on business, but I expect that he’ll be calling in this afternoon. Would 
you like to leave a call back number, Mr. O’ Toole?” 
 
“No, I’ll call again. When is he due back?” 
 
“Monday.” 
 
He hung up, and then called Boyd who was just leaving his car. “Rex is out of town.” 
 
“How do you know?” 
 
“I called over there. Said I was with the IRS.” 
 
“What if he picked up?” 
 
“I’d hang up. So, what do you think? He’s due back Monday, she said.” 
 
“It’s worth a shot. I’ll make some calls.” 
 
“Boyd, don’t tip about the DNA.” 
 
“Christ, Brian, you didn’t fuck the sense out of me.” 
 
Brian laughed. “So you say. Hey, are you asleep?” 
 
“Permanently.” 
 
They hung up and Brian forced himself out of bed and waded through the condom balloons to go 
to the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. When Bo arrived, Brian was eating a sandwich and drinking a 
bottle of water, while still draped in his robe. Bo looked around at the balloons and shook his 
head. 
 
“I won’t even ask.” 
 
“It’s a gay thing. You wouldn’t understand,” Brian smirked, sitting down on the sofa as Bo sat 
across from him in a chair.  
 
“Where do you get the energy?” 
 
“I don’t know. It’s one of the great mysteries of the universe. Where do crop circles come from 
and how does Brian Kinney get it up so often?” 
 
“Viagra?” Bo asked and Brian laughed. 
 
“Not yet. Took it once, thought my boner was going to be perpetual. The only thing that brought 
it down was an unexpected visit from my mom,” he winced as her death hit home again. Bo 
sighed.  
 
“You doing okay with that?” 
 
“Sometimes it comes out of left field to hit me. So what’s up, Bo? What do we think this evidence 
about Rex means?” 
 
“Other than the fact he had motive and opportunity? A down low relationship with a male hustler, 
a close in time sexual encounter, access to Bonnie and the bat? All it takes is reasonable doubt, 
Brian. Even in Canard Rouge, how can they not find that doubt with a set up like this one posed 
as an alternative? The thing is, it’s going to blow Boyd’s family wide open. The gay aspect of it, 
the affair with Bonnie, all of it will come out. Much pain for everyone.” 
 
“What can I do about that, though? 
 
“Nothing, but you have to get easy with it, Brian, because this is your freedom we’re talking 
about now. You can’t get squeamish because of your feelings for Boyd.” 
 
“As long as Boyd himself isn’t in your cross hairs, I can deal. So you think Rex did it?” 
 
Bo shrugged. “Could be. Makes more sense than you doing it. I see it like this. Willis comes to see 
you, has sex with you, leaves your place in a huff, as witnessed by Homer Dhue. He meets Rex 
on the swamp road, as they have before. Rex admits to running that road. They have sex. 
Something goes wrong. A fight, something, and Rex bashes him in the head.” 
 
“One thing. So Rex is just jogging along with a fucking baseball bat that he stole from Belle?” 
 
“I’ve thought of that.” 
 
“And?” 
 
“Not sure. Maybe he wasn’t jogging. Maybe he was in a car. Or maybe Bonnie came along, saw 
them together, went into a rage, which she seems very capable of doing, and she bashed in 
Greg’s skull. Rex was her accomplice in ditching the body.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Yeah, I like that. Burn that bitch along with him. But then I tell myself she is Belle 
and Mac’s mother, for better or worse, so how cold is that for them?” 
 
“It’s cold, but they have Boyd. And now they have you, too. It’s a theory that needs some 
tweaking, Brian, but it’s a theory. She obviously has issues with the whole gay thing, after Boyd, 
and her temper is established.” 
 
“I don’t know, it all sounds pretty convenient, Bo.” 
 
“I’ve learned that sometimes the easiest and most obvious answer is the only answer. Not 
everything is covered in layers of gauze.” 
 
“Rex is out of town until Monday. Boyd is checking to see if he might be with Bonnie. He’s really 
worried about his kids.” 
 
“Understandably. Boyd can’t let on about anything, Brian. It’s critical to your defense.” 
 
“He knows that,” Brian paused, and then asked, “Do you think Rex or Bonnie did it?” 
 
“I don’t know. I just know you didn’t do it, and the evidence implies a connection. A compelling 
connection.” 
 
“In that case, Boyd’s kids could be on the road with two very desperate people.” 
 
“She’s still their mother, Brian,” Bo reminded him. “Why would she hurt her own kids?” 
 
“Happens every day, in one form or another,” Brian said with a wistful smile and Bo read his pain 
and let silence settle between them. 
 
Current Mood:  contemplative 
 
 
 
May. 12th, 2005 04:08 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 102 
 
  
 
“What the hell are you up to?” Rex launched an attack on Brian as soon as he heard his voice on 
the phone. “Zack O’Toole? You think I don’t know he’s a gay porn star? And my assistant told me 
it was a 412 area code. It’s not too hard for me to figure out who called me when I put Pittsburgh 
and gay porn together. What the hell do you want?” 
 
Brian wondered why he hadn’t been smart enough to block his number when he called Rex. Too 
late now. “Where are you?” 
 
“None of your fucking business!” 
 
“Wow, such hostility, Rex,” Brian kicked aside a condom balloon with this toes as he sat on the 
couch and talked to a potential killer. “Can I speak with Belle?” 
 
Rex paused. “Belle? What are you talking about?” 
 
“Belle Coulter, Boyd’s daughter.” 
 
“I know who Belle is. Why would Belle be here?” 
 
“You mean she isn’t?” 
 
“In Lafayette? Why would Belle be here?” 
 
“You’re in Lafayette?” 
 
“I’m at a meeting of the sugar industry about the crop projections for this and the next growing 
season. What’s the purpose of this call, Kinney?” he paused. His voice became lower, more 
intimate. “Wait a minute. You been thinking about that day at the gym? Are you wishing you 
handled it differently? Because…” 
 
“Berenson, there’s no handling going on between that thing of yours and me. I don’t think we 
should even be talking. I just wanted to know where the hell you are because Bonnie took Boyd’s 
kids out of town and he’s frantic about it.” 
 
Rex laughed. “The stupid bitch.” 
 
“Is that anyway to talk about your lady friend?” Brian couldn’t let it go by. Rex said, 
 
“Maybe you’ve picked up on the fact that ladies lack an attribute I find attractive. You, however, 
have it in spades.” 
 
Brian shook his head. “What is it about ‘no’ that you can’t understand?” 
 
“Maybe you just aren’t very persuasive when you say it, Brian. Maybe I know how boring that one 
horse town can get and as hot as Boyd may be, men like you and me get tired of playing in the 
same old sandlot every summer.” 
 
“Maybe you don’t know me at all and you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe you don’t have it 
in you to be honest with someone you care about. It’s an acquired skill, Berenson, but you should 
give it a shake. I’ve enjoyed acquiring it, myself.” 
 
“You’re still newlyweds. Come see me after the heat burns the fat off the grill plates.” 
 
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to check out what the rules are for conjugal visits while you’re in the pen.” 
 
“Last I heard, you were the one going on trial for murder.” 
 
“Stay tuned, Rex, stay tuned.” He ended the call and then flinched as Boyd’s landline phone rang. 
Thinking Boyd was trying to get him, and found his number engaged, Brian picked it up. “Hello?” 
 
“Daddy?” 
 
Brian’s heart leapt up high in his throat. “Belle?’ 
 
“Daddy, come get me!” 
 
“Belle, it’s Brian. Who’s with you? Where are you?” 
 
“Mac is with me,” Brian was calling out on his mobile as he spoke to her. When Boyd’s secretary 
answered he insisted she interrupt him immediately.  
 
“Where are you, Belle?” Brian asked again. 
 
“At the MacDonald’s.” 
 
“Is your mother there?” 
 
“No,” 
 
“Who is? What adult?” 
 
“There are lots of adults here, Brian. Man letting me use his phone is an adult.” 
 
“Put him on,” after a brief discussion, Brian heard an elderly, masculine voice. 
 
“Are you the father of these children?” 
 
“Brian! What’s wrong?” Boyd’s voice relayed his fear. Brian said to him, “I have Belle on the 
landline, hold on.” He picked up the other receiver. “Sir, please hold on one second.” 
 
“But…” 
 
“Please!” 
 
“Boyd, what do we do? Belle says she and Mac are at some MacDonald’s without Bonnie. I asked 
her to put the man who let her use the phone on the line. Hold on.” He switched to mobile. “Sir, 
my name is Brian Kinney. I have the childrens’ father on the other line. Are they alone?” 
 
“They certainly appear to be. Who would let two little things like them alone in a place like this, 
so close to the highway?” 
 
“Ask him WHERE!” Brian heard Boyd say and so he did. 
 
“How familiar are you with Dallas?” the man drawled and Brian sighed. 
 
“Not at all, but give me an address.” 
 
“It’s in Lewisville, I reckon, outside of Dallas, on the highway to Oklahoma.” 
 
“Brian, tell him to call the police,” Boyd insisted and Brian relayed that message. 
 
“What for?” the man asked and Brian frowned.  
 
“Because these children are in danger.” 
 
“I ain’t getting involved in this shit.” 
 
“Sir, you already are. Please, put the manager of the restaurant on the phone.” 
 
“Do you know how much this call is costing me?” 
 
“I’ll personally give you a thousand dollars, cash, if you get those kids safely delivered to the 
cops.” 
 
“Why should I believe you?” 
 
“Because I don’t lie. Please, these kids are innocent. Don’t be reading about them in the paper 
tomorrow because you refused to act.” 
 
“Brian, I have to speak with Belle, please!” Boyd pleaded. Brian went back to the phone.  
 
“Boyd, calm down. Right now, it’s more important that we get the manager involved and the 
police on the way.” 
 
“Where the fuck is Bonnie?” 
 
“I don’t know.” 
 
“She just dumped my children in a fast food restaurant on the highway?” 
 
“Boyd, I don’t know. Calm down.” 
 
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Who is this old boy with the phone?” 
 
Brian could feel Boyd begin to spiral as his fear overcame him. He forced himself to remain very 
controlled, in contrast. He wanted to bring Boyd back to ground. “It’s not important. He’s helping, 
Boyd. Hold on.” 
 
“I’m Billy Barnett,” a young and cheerful voice came onto the landline. “I manage this here 
MacDonald’s establishment. How can I help you, sir?” 
 
“Brian, add me on,” Boyd said, and Brian asked Billy to hold as Boyd walked him through how to 
add a caller onto the call. When they were all on the line together, Brian said, “Billy, Boyd is 
Belle’s dad. Shit, too many B names. Anyway, we’re in Louisiana. Are the kids alone?” 
 
“They walked in quite awhile ago, barefoot and had forty dollars in cash. They ate a big meal and 
have just been sitting here, waiting, ever since. Go to the bathroom occasionally. The little boy 
has now fallen asleep in the booth. Nice, quiet kids. I was beginning to get worried though.” 
 
“Jesus Christ,” Boyd exhaled and Brian winced, wishing he was with his lover to comfort him. 
 
“Billy, call the police. You tell them those kids were snatched or abandoned or whatever it takes 
and that their Daddy is on his way to get them. What’s the closest airport?” 
 
“DFW, I suppose.” 
 
“Boyd, tell your secretary to book the next flight and if there isn’t one soon, tell her to charter a 
jet. You can afford it. She can do that while we talk.” 
 
Boyd got her started on that task and then said to Billy, “Would you let me speak to my daughter 
while you call the police? Here are my numbers you can give them. I’m a lawyer. Have them call 
me.” 
 
Finally he was able to talk to Belle. Brian felt the effort it took for Boyd to keep his voice even as 
he said, “Hi, kiddo.” Brian’s throat grew tight as Belle whimpered, 
 
“Daddy, please come get me.” 
 
“Sweetheart, I’m on my way.” 
 
“Hurry,” she said and Brian knew they would.  
 
Current Mood:  distressed 
 
 
 
May. 13th, 2005 04:42 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 103 
 
  
 
The Falcon 7X was the epitome of luxury. But neither of its two passengers were enjoying the 
taupe leather captain’s chairs, the burled wood tables, the deep carpet and elegant bathroom. 
The only thing that mattered to them was that they were going to retrieve Boyd’s kids. By leaving 
the state without first getting permission, Brian would be classified a fugitive if this trip were 
discovered. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let Boyd go through this alone and Boyd was too 
fractured to focus on that risk. They sat facing each other with their feet interwoven between 
them. Brian was wrenched by the pain that etched Boyd’s face. 
 
He leaned across the gap to squeeze his hand. “They’re fine, Boyd. The police have them.” 
 
“I don’t understand. Where’s Bonnie? Who is she with? How could she just abandon our children? 
Bonnie may be a lot of things, but this isn’t like her.” 
 
“We don’t know yet, Boyd. Just wait. Don’t eat yourself up hypothesizing.” 
 
“What if Rex is lying?” 
 
“He is in Lafayette. Bo made a couple of calls for me. It’s confirmed.” 
 
“Did you tell me that already?” 
 
Brian nodded and Boyd rubbed his fingers over his scalp, as if searching for his memory. “I’m 
losing it.” 
 
“No, you’re stressed out. Understandably.” 
 
“I’m just trying to make some sense of it.” 
 
“I know.” 
 
“Brian, I’m sorry that what started out as such a great day for us got so dark so fast.” 
 
“The sun will come out tomorrow, Orphan Annie. We’ll have lots of opportunities to have wild, 
animalistic, unprotected sex together.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “If you put it that way…Jesus, Brian!” 
 
“What?” 
 
“You can’t leave the parish!” 
 
Brian looked out the rectangular window and sighed. “Judging by the topography below, I think 
we’re already over Arkansas, somewhere, so it’s too late to jump.” 
 
“It’s not a joke.” 
 
“You need me. Let them revoke my bail. We’ll live.” 
 
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. We’ll call Rod as soon as we land.” 
 
“I did think and I’m okay with it. Put your seat back and try to rest, Boyd. It’s going to be a long 
night.” 
 
“I can’t. Too nervous.” 
 
“Try,” Brian reached over to recline the back of Boyd’s seat. He kept his hand on Boyd’s knee as 
his lover’s eyes closed. Despite his prediction, he drifted into exhausted slumber almost 
immediately.  
 
When Boyd awoke they were taxiing to the small terminal at Love Field in Dallas where private 
jets were serviced. They were met by a pre-arranged limo driver, who was to take them to the 
police department in the City of Lewisville, Texas. Neither one of them felt up to negotiating 
unfamiliar roads in a rental car under these circumstances.  
 
If Brian thought the swamp was hot, Texas in summer was a deep circle of hell. Even in the early 
evening, when the sun had dipped below the plum horizon, the oven blast of hot air wavered 
above the pavement like a mirage. He felt his shirt stick to his back in the short walk from jet to 
car, and he cranked up the air conditioning the moment they were behind the tinted glass of the 
Lincoln.  
 
Brian’s knowledge of Dallas was limited to the assassination of the President that he studied in his 
history class, the legacy of the Cowboys and of the camp television series that still cropped up in 
eternal re-runs. What he saw was a network of highways and six lane roads choked with traffic, 
strip shopping centers, a distant skyline that looked like something out of Oz, and beautiful 
homes secluded behind brick walls and towering double-trunk live oaks. No Stetsons, no horses, 
no Neiman-Marcus. 
 
Before long, they were on a straight shot of highway linking Oklahoma and Texas. Huge 
evangelical churches that looked more like supermarkets than houses of worship welcomed 
sinners with neon signs promising salvation. Brian felt completely unwelcome in this buckle on the 
bible belt of America. His kind weren’t welcome here and he knew it. The sooner they were out of 
this god-forsaken place, the happier he’d be.  
 
He held Boyd’s hand in silent testimony to his concern, but Boyd was completely lost in his own 
fears and confusion, staring out the window and seeing nothing. Lewisville was a small town 
outside Dallas, too distant to be considered a suburb. The local high school called its team the 
“Fighting Farmers” which said something about how rural the area once was. Now, the high costs 
of housing in the city had pushed working people beyond the fringe communities of Dallas, and 
tract housing had cropped up all over Lewisville, providing more affordable homes to offset a long 
commute.  
 
Boyd cranked his head as they passed a MacDonald’s on the highway. He looked at Brian, who 
shrugged. Maybe, maybe not. Even Lewisville had multiple Mickey Dee’s. The police station was a 
squat one-story cinder block building fronted by two parked panda cars and some private 
vehicles. Boyd carried the small duffel bag in with him, having gathered some things for the kids. 
After they identified themselves and showed proof of who they were, they were shown into a 
room with a single window lined with wire mesh, a metal table and a few stiff-backed chairs. A 
sign warned them not to smoke in big red letters. Harsh fluorescents turned the walls egg yolk 
yellow.  
 
“It’s going to be fine,” Brian placed an arm over Boyd’s shoulders and his lover allowed himself to 
lean against him for a moment.  
 
“I couldn’t do this without you.” 
 
“Yeah, you could, but you don’t have to.” 
 
Boyd had brought his file of important papers on his children with him, not sure what they would 
want to see. He had their birth certificates, his divorce decree and settlement, even a couple 
family photographs. When the door opened, he moved out of Brian’s embrace as three people 
entered, a woman, a uniformed cop and a plain-clothes cop dressed in a short-sleeved dress shirt 
and loud tie. The woman introduced herself as a social worker, and had the kindly face of 
someone who had seen much but didn’t let it get her down.  
 
“Is this your lawyer?” One of the cops motioned to Brian and Boyd shook his head. 
 
“I’m a lawyer. Brian’s my partner.” 
 
The men exchanged that look both Brian and Boyd knew so well, but the woman was unbothered 
by that fact. “Mr. Coulter, what can you tell us about your wife’s taking the children out of 
Louisiana?” 
 
“Ex-wife. Nothing. She called and left me a message saying she was taking them on vacation. 
She asked me to put some money in her account. Can I please see my kids? Where are they?” 
Brian covered his hand with his own, squeezing gently, and Boyd sighed. 
 
“Soon. They’re just fine, Mr. Coulter, don’t you worry about that. Did you put money in her 
account?” 
 
“No. I wanted to talk to her first, find out what the hell she was doing. I left her multiple 
messages on her cell phone.” 
 
“Unreturned?” 
 
“Yes. And then I got this call from Belle, my daughter, and she asked me to come get her, said 
she was in Texas. I couldn’t trace where the call came from but I heard some man tell her to 
hang up. I don’t know who it was. I checked with my lawyer, but they didn’t think there was 
anything we could do about it, that the police wouldn’t pick it up, there just wasn’t any threat 
there. Belle called again the next day, and Brian picked up the call. You know the rest.” 
 
“Does your ex-wife have a boyfriend?” 
 
“I don’t know. I thought she was seeing someone on the sly, but apparently he’s on some 
business trip somewhere else, that’s been verified. So I don’t know who she’s with. Look, I’ve had 
my issues with my ex. But she’s never endangered our kids. That’s never been the problem. 
Something bad is happening. This isn’t like Bonnie.” 
 
“Is this Bonnie?” she held up a photo he brought that showed the four of them in happier times. 
 
“Yes, a little younger, but that’s her.” 
 
“May we borrow this?” 
 
“Sure.” 
 
She gave it to the uniform, who left with it. “Mr. Coulter, my concern is for the welfare of your 
children. Your domestic issues with your former wife, and any police matter she may be involved 
in, are up to others. But I have to be sure the children aren’t endangered.” 
 
“I appreciate that.” 
 
“These two young kids wandered into a highway fast food establishment, barefoot, alone, with 
forty dollars in cash. That tells the state that they’re not being properly looked after. I think you 
know what horrible things might have happened to them, how anyone could have picked them 
up.” 
 
“Do you have to parade the horrors past him?” Brian intervened. “Hasn’t he been through 
enough? It’s not as if he abandoned them there! He’s been working his ass off trying to find 
them. If you want to bitch at someone, bitch at that flaky ex-wife of his! Boyd is just trying to be 
a good father. He doesn’t deserve to be beaten up over this.” 
 
“Brian,” Boyd closed his hand over Brian’s arm, and Brian sighed, retreated. The social worker 
nodded. 
 
“I appreciate your concern for your partner. But you have to understand that we need to be sure 
the wife wasn’t fleeing an abusive situation with the former husband and that we’d be releasing 
these kids into another endangerment.” 
 
“I have never been in trouble with the law, nor have I ever abused Bonnie in any way. Certainly 
not my children.” 
 
“I know, Mr. Coulter. We did check you out and you do have a flawless record. Did you bring 
shoes for the children in that bag?” 
 
“Shoes, clothes, a couple favorite toys.” 
 
“I’ll see that they get changed while you fill out the paperwork. There’s a lot of it. Do you think 
your wife is in danger?” 
 
“Ex-wife,” he corrected her again. “I don’t know what to think.” 
 
She nodded, leaving them with the file to be filled out and signed. When all that was done, they 
waited. And waited. Finally, the door opened again. The woman reappeared, holding the hands of 
Boyd’s children. Boyd rushed over to them, going down on one knee and opening his arms to 
them as they ran into his embrace. Brian watched his lover grip his children in a tight embrace, 
as if they might blow away if he let go. Belle looked over Boyd’s shoulder to wiggle her fingers at 
Brian, who smiled.  
 
“Brian!” Mac saw him too and slithered free of Boyd to climb onto Brian’s lap. Brian closed an arm 
around him as he said, 
 
“Hi, Mac Attack.” 
 
“Are you taking us home?” 
 
“We are.” 
 
“But we never got to see Six Flags!” 
 
Boyd wiped unexpected tears on the sleeve of his shirt and held tightly to Belle’s hand as he 
turned to look at his son and lover. “Some other time, Mac. Right now, let’s just go home.” 
 
The uniform was back, and he placed a hand on Brian’s chest as they started to leave. Mac looked 
confused, pulling on Brian’s hand, but the cop gently persuaded him over to his father. “Mr. 
Kinney, put your hands on the wall and spread your legs.” 
 
“What the hell are you doing?” Boyd demanded as Brian followed instructions. The cop patted 
Brian down and then grabbed a wrist and cuffed him, linking it to his other wrist. 
 
“Not in front of the kids,” Brian pleaded in vain, as Belle began to cry.  
 
“You violated the terms of your bond, by leaving the jurisdiction. You’ll be held here until the 
State of Louisiana extradites you.” 
 
“I have a jet! I’m taking him back with me now!” Boyd insisted. “Why should the state have to 
pay to transport him? He’s going back right now!” 
 
“He’ll go back when the state claims him. By leaving, he became a flight risk,” the man said. 
Brian gave Boyd a helpless look as he was led away, with Belle’s frightened sobbing echoing in his 
ears. 
 
“You can’t do this!” Boyd protested and another cop informed him, 
 
“You keep it up and we’ll get you, too, for aidin’ and abettin’. “ 
 
“Get the hell out of here,” Brian yelled over his shoulder at Boyd. “Take them home. Call Rod!” 
His voice grew progressively more distant as he was led into the bowels of the building. The 
uniform grunted a laugh as he said, 
 
“Listen, boy, pretty little faggot like you, you’d better hope those coon ass lawyers of yours get 
you back in Louisiana ‘toot-sweet’ before these ol’ boys in lockup teach you some new dances.” 
 
Despite the terror inspired by those words, Brian forced a smug, Kinney smile as he said, “There’s 
no dance step some ‘ol’ boy’ can teach me that I don’t already know.” 
 
“Yeah? Then welcome to the prom,” he said as he unlocked the iron gate leading to the hold.  
 
Current Mood:  scared 
 
 
 
May. 14th, 2005 05:15 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 104 
 
  
 
The Mansion was a boutique luxury hotel on Turtle Creek, the most exclusive real estate in Dallas. 
Boyd wanted to erase the specter of Brian being led away in chains on top of his children's own 
horrible experience, so he chose the most expensive hotel he could find, and took a two-bedroom 
suite to accommodate them. Even before they checked in, he was on his mobile with Bo, Rod, 
Lisette and Ted, making arrangements. With his children safely in his custody, he was able to 
focus on what was now important, and that focus was Brian. Whatever was happening with 
Bonnie mattered, but not as much as what was happening with Brian. Not to Boyd, anyway. 
 
After bubble baths in the huge marble tub and fifteen-dollar hamburgers, the children wanted to 
watch a Disney movie on pay-tv. They were sound asleep long before the little fish went missing. 
Boyd turned it off, and covered them up, noticing how little space they occupied in the vast king-
sized bed. His heart ached as he thought of how much worse this might have been for them and 
for himself. He closed their door so the inevitable conversations after the others arrived wouldn’t 
awake them.  
 
His sister showed up with a leather duffel and greeted him with a hug before she slung her bag 
down on the sofa and said, “They’re booked. Rod and Bo are sharing a room. Ted got the last 
single. Either I’m sacking out in the bed with you, the way we did when we were kids and we’d 
summer at the beach house, or you’re sacking out on the sofa. Pick.” 
 
He knew there was no use arguing that since he was paying for the suite, she could have the 
sofa. That’s not the way he was raised to treat women, and he had the added guilt of knowing 
they were all there due in large part to his own stupidity. “I pick bed. Why not? It’s not as if we’re 
from the fucking Ozarks and even if we were hillbillies, we’re both queer. If I had a brother, and 
we were hillbillies, he might have cause to worry.” 
 
She winced, thinking of Luann and shoving that mental image out of her head. “How could you be 
this dumb, Boyd?” 
 
“I called Rod.” 
 
“After you landed! Brian is a slick ad man, he thinks he can finesse anything, and that rules are 
made to be bent. But you know better, Boyd. You know the law. I know you were worried about 
your babies, but holy shit! What a dumb move!” 
 
“Would you not make me feel worse?” 
 
“Sure, you feel bad while tucked away in a six star hotel suite, but your partner is feeling bad in 
the hold with a bunch of perverts.” 
 
Boyd glared at her. “Are you done?” 
 
“Maybe,” she sat down on the couch, crossing her legs that were clad in faded denim. “How are 
the kids?” 
 
“Shell shocked but coming out of it. Will you stay with them so I can go down to the jail?” 
 
“You aren’t going anywhere, Sissy Boy. It’s way out of your feeble hands, now. Rod and Bo are 
handling the lock up situation. It’s not pretty. There are no guarantees that they can work out a 
deal to get him back to Louisiana under Rod’s control, as an officer of the court. Even on a private 
jet. It all depends if the Texas magistrate will listen to Rod’s explanation and then you still have 
the issue of whether the Louisiana court will revoke bail.” 
 
“I thought they already did that.” 
 
“Christ, did you go to law school, Sissy Boy?” 
 
“I can write a springing interest in real property. Can you? Just because I’m not a criminal 
specialist doesn’t mean I’m not a good lawyer.” 
 
“He was charged with leaving the jurisdiction and a warrant was immediately issued. It’s another 
crime, by the way. Bail jumping. He’s entitled to a hearing on bail revocation back in Canard 
Rouge.” 
 
“So what is Rod doing?” 
 
“He’s pleading special circumstances and let me tell you, Boyd, he’s taking a personal black eye 
on this. He’s saying he dropped the ball and that Brian did call, but Rod was unavailable. Not a 
lie, but an implication that it was done before he left. The fact is, Rod didn’t pick up your message 
until much later. Rod doesn’t like to admit that he made a mistake. You both are going to so owe 
him. I am going to so owe him. Frankly, he wouldn’t be doing this personally if not for me and for 
the fact Bo has become so fond of Brian. Rod’s personal touch and connections may be the only 
way to get Brian out of this.” 
 
“You don’t have kids, Lisette. You don’t know what it’s like to fear for their safety. You don’t think 
straight, you don’t think at all. You just know that you’d move heaven and earth to get them 
home.” 
 
She glared at her brother. “Right. Because I don’t have children, I can’t feel your terror over 
those little ones being endangered. I don’t love them, haven’t loved them since the day they were 
born. I don’t give a shit what happens to them.” 
 
“I’m not saying that.” 
 
“What I don’t have, Boyd, is testosterone, that little hormone farmers use to poison meat. You 
and Brian, on the other hand, seem to have a perpetual factory of it. Fine when you use it to 
crawl up each others’ asses, but when you let it think for you, I have a big problem with that.” 
 
“Do you have to turn everything into a women are superior to men rant?” 
 
“Daddy stop fighting!” Belle came out from the bedroom looking pale and troubled. When she saw 
Lisette, she ran to her and cuddled up in her lap. Lisette stroked her fair hair and kissed her 
forehead as she said,  
 
“We weren’t fighting, honey. Remember, your Daddy is my little brother, just like Mac is yours. 
You have arguments with Mac, don’t you? They don’t mean anything.” 
 
“I heard enough yelling before Mama told us to go away. I hate it. And I want Brian to come 
home! When can Brian come home?” 
 
Boyd sat beside them, and Belle migrated to her father’s lap. “I want Brian home, too, honey. 
This is all a horrible mistake. He didn’t do anything wrong.” 
 
“Why are people so mean?” 
 
“Honey, what do you mean your mama said you should go away?” The children had been so 
bothered by the events that Boyd chose not to question them. He knew the authorities had 
already done so, and he would get what he could from them later, but Lisette let it rip with that 
question. 
 
“She woke up me and Mac and made us get out of bed right then and put on some clothes. She 
was dressed herself. But before we could all go, when Mama was looking for the keys to the car, 
he started waking up. So she put some money in my pocket and pushed us out the door and told 
us to run somewhere and call for help. Call you. Don’t come back there no matter what. We didn’t 
even have our shoes on, but she made us go! It was early in the morning. We didn’t know where 
to go, so we just went to the MacDonald’s down the street. Later on, I seen his car. So I made 
Mac come hide with me in the bathroom. We stayed there awhile, but when we come out, the car 
was gone. I kept thinking Mama would come back for us without him, but she never did.” She 
reached up to hug Boyd’s neck. “Where is Mama? Is she okay? I don’t like that man.” 
 
Boyd looked at his sister, who grimaced, and then he said, “Who is this man? Do we know him? 
It’s not Uncle Rex, is it?” 
 
She looked confused. “Uncle Rex? No. Why? This man don’t live in Canard Rouge, Daddy.” 
 
“ ‘Doesn’t’ live,” Boyd automatically corrected her grammar. “Where does he live?” 
 
She gave an expansive shrug under the weight of a question she couldn’t answer. “I dunno.” 
 
“What’s his name?” 
 
“Mama calls him Mars.” 
 
“Mars? Like the planet?” 
 
She nodded. Boyd gave his sister a confused look and she shrugged. Something about the name 
stuck with Boyd, other than the fact it was an unlikely choice, but he just couldn’t place it. Belle 
was getting sleepy again, so Boyd carried her back to bed, after pausing so she could kiss her 
aunt. When he returned, he hugged Lisette before he dropped down and stretched out with the 
back of his head on her lap. 
 
“Sorry I was an asshole.” 
 
She stroked through his hair. “I’m sorry you were an asshole too, Boyd, but if Petra were in 
lockup, I’d be going nuts. I get it.” 
 
“Yeah, especially given all those hot chicks behind bars movies.” 
 
Lisette giggled and pulled on a hank of his hair. “You seen Oz, baby brother? Lots of hot sex in 
that, too.” 
 
He winced. “If they touch Brian…” 
 
“What?” 
 
“I don’t know. They’d just better not. He wasn’t fleeing, Lisette. You know that. He was just trying 
to support me.” 
 
“Of course I know that.” 
 
A knock at the door interrupted and Boyd rushed to answer it. He saw Brian before he even 
noticed Rod and Bo. Boyd reached for him, but Brian avoided his embrace. “I want to take a 
shower,” he said flatly, his skin as pale as eggshells. Boyd nodded and started to walk into the 
bedroom with him, but he added, “Alone.” 
 
Boyd watched him go and Brian shut the door behind him. Boyd then turned to Rod, who told 
him, in a cold voice, “Sit down.” 
 
He did so, but his attention was on Brian, on Brian’s appearance and mood. He didn’t want to be 
in here with them when Brian needed him. Bo finally squeezed his shoulder and said, “Give the 
man some space. Rod needs you to hear this.” 
 
“There was a procedural error in the way Texas pulled his warrant,” Rod said. “Add to that my law 
school friend, Buddy Thayer, who’s now a magistrate here and I was able to convince Texas they 
were better off not fighting for Mr. Kinney’s presence in their fair state. That’s the only way I got 
him released in my care. My care, not your care, Boyd. Tomorrow, he has to appear before the 
judge in Canard Rouge for a hand slapping. He is one lucky Mick, you hear me? One lucky Mick. 
He ain’t getting a second chance at freedom, Boyd. He pulls this shit again and they will slam him 
into a cell until his final appeal is over. We want to show this is a prime citizen, a non-violent 
man, a trustworthy business tycoon, not a sleazy operator who is always trying to outsmart 
authority. This has got to stop. No more dead mamas, no more secretive trips to the Big Easy, no 
leaving the motherfucking state of Louisiana, I don’t care how meritorious the reason for doing 
so.” 
 
“I hear you.” 
 
“You heed me. That’s two fucking private jets you’re paying for now, hot shot, and he’s going 
back on mine.” 
 
“Ok.” 
 
“And tonight? He goes nowhere.” 
 
“We weren’t planning on clubbing, Rod. I have two sleeping kids in there.” 
 
“Don’t be holier than thou with me, Boudreaux. You fucked up. You both did. You just got lucky is 
all.” 
 
Brian came out of the bedroom, his hair slicked back, a hotel robe concealing his body as he went 
to the bar and poured himself a tall scotch. Boyd noticed his color was still blanched. Bo and Rod 
stood to go and Rod said to Brian, “Seven a.m. downstairs. Be there.” 
 
Brian nodded and then they were gone. Lisette patted Brian’s shoulder, feeling him flinch as she 
said to her brother, “I’m going to bunk in with the kids. They don’t take up much room.” She 
picked up her duffel. “Y’all get some rest.” 
 
When they were alone, Boyd balled his hands into fists to keep from forcing his arms around 
Brian, who had erected an invisible fence. “You want me to order you some food?” 
 
“I couldn’t keep it down,” he said, swigging the liquor. He refilled his glass when it was empty and 
sat down heavily in a chair rather than on the sofa beside Boyd.  
 
“Brian, I…” 
 
“I don’t want to talk, okay?” 
 
“Okay.” 
 
“Are the kids alright?” 
 
“Scared, but yes. I paid a reward to Billy, the manager at the Mickey Dee’s, and to the old 
gentleman who let Belle use his phone. He’s a regular there. Billy said he would get the money to 
him and I believe him. He seems like an honest kid.” 
 
Brian nodded, reaching up to squeeze the bridge of his nose, something he did when he was very 
stressed or in pain. Boyd couldn’t stand it. He walked over to him and knelt before his chair, 
spreading his arm over his thighs. “It’s okay, Brian, it’s over.” 
 
He noticed the red bands on Brian’s wrists where the tight cuffs had abraded his skin. He leaned 
forward to kiss one, but Brian pulled back. 
 
“It’s not okay!” he suddenly said, anger and frustration fueling his voice. “It will never be okay!” 
 
Boyd tensed, wondering if this was just Brian being tired, stressed and dramatic, or if something 
more had happened. Something he was not yet ready to discuss.  
 
Current Mood:  stressed 
 
 
 
May. 15th, 2005 06:44 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 105 
 
  
 
In the bedroom, with the door closed to insulate them from any wakeful children, Boyd cradled 
Brian in his arms as they stretched out in the dark together. At first Brian resisted, but when 
Boyd refused to let him go, he relented. Finally, he clung hungrily to Boyd, as if he would drift 
away if he loosened his grip. They smoked, but didn’t talk for awhile, despite the whirlwind of 
questions flying through Boyd’s mind.  
 
Eventually, he had to ask, “Did someone touch you?” 
 
“What do you mean?” 
 
“You know what I mean, Brian.” 
 
“Jesus, Boyd, do you bring out the anatomically correct dolls now and have me point out where 
the bad man touched me? I’m not a fucking child. This isn’t an afterschool special.” 
 
“I’m just trying…” 
 
“Boyd, despite the fact they tried to scare the shit out of me by indicating I would be locked up 
with a bunch of bubbas with hard-ons, I was put in a holding cell with no other roomie. It wasn’t 
exactly a Hilton, but other than the cockroaches and the smell of stale urine, it wasn’t any worse 
than the lock up in Canard Rouge. It’s Lewisville-fucking-Texas, for chrissakes, not San Quentin.” 
 
Boyd felt more relief than he expected over that explanation. And then he wondered, “Would you 
tell me if you were…if something happened?” 
 
“No, Boyd, I’d continue to have unprotected sex with you as if nothing were wrong, so we could 
both roll the dice. What do you think? How can you even ask me that?” 
 
“I wasn’t looking at it that way. I just felt you might be embarrassed or something.” 
 
“Not embarrassed enough to kill you.” 
 
“Then help me understand what’s bothering you so much.” 
 
“What’s bothering me is that they threw me up against the wall in front of my lover and my 
lover’s small children and then they handcuffed me and led me away like a fucking criminal. 
Maybe you can put that image out of your head, but can they? The kids? No. How do I face your 
children now? What must they think of me?” 
 
“I’ll tell you what they think of you, Brian. Mac thought it was too cool that you were in cuffs and 
wanted to know if you could keep them.” 
 
Brian chuckled at that. “You didn’t mention the cuffs that Daddy and Brian have in Daddy’s room 
when we want to play the naughty game, did you?” 
 
“No, I didn’t and neither will you. As for Belle, she’s been crying off and on all night because she 
wants ‘Brian to come home’. She’s more concerned about your coming home than she is about 
her own mother, who’s apparently being dragged around the country by a man named ‘Mars’.” 
 
“Mars?” 
 
“Mars.” 
 
“Like Kenneth Mars? The guy who played the local cop in Young Frankenstein?” 
 
Boyd stared at his lover. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” 
 
“I love that movie. He had that fake arm, remember? Kept twisting it into funny positions.” 
 
“Brian, focus. I’m telling you my kids love you and they’ll be fine with what happened. As for me, 
when he told you to hit the wall and spread your legs, I have to admit, I got a little chubby.” 
 
Brian stabbed an elbow into Boyd’s side. “Shut the fuck up.” 
 
“No, really. You looked hot all spread out up there, that fine ass in those jeans, those long legs, 
oh yeah, baby, come to Daddy. I have a nightstick just for you.” 
 
Brian reached up to kiss him. “Anyone who can make me laugh at a time like this, I have to love 
him.” 
 
“I’m sorry it happened. I feel like I let you down. My sister correctly pointed out that I should 
have known better.” 
 
“Why? Your mind was on your kids, where it should have been 
 
“My mind is better than that. I can multi-task.” 
 
Brian nozzled his way deeper into Boyd’s shoulder and said, “I didn’t want to tell anyone and risk 
being prevented from going. I knew you needed me. So when all the drama leaves our lives, 
assuming it ever does, will we be so bored with each other that it won’t last?” 
 
“You tell me.” 
 
“I don’t know, Boyd. I never thought about my life in terms of the marathon versus the sprint.” 
 
“I’ll be there at the finish line. I hope I’m not standing there alone.” 
 
“That’s not my plan. My plan is to run the whole race right beside you, but who the fuck knows? 
No one. Either one of us could twist an ankle along the route.” 
 
“It’s nice to hear that’s your plan, at least.” 
 
“Did you doubt it?” 
 
“No, not really.” 
 
Brian’s hands roved Boyd’s back and side and then he said, “They won’t even let me fly back with 
you.” 
 
“I know, but it’s okay. We can race. The last one home has to take it up the ass.” 
 
Brian laughed. “Like that’s a disincentive for you.” 
 
“You have that hearing, you know. You have to be contrite. You have to be sorry. You have to 
convince the judge that you learned your lesson.” 
 
“Whatever.” 
 
“I mean it, Brian. I know this judge. You need to sell him or he will slam your ass into the jail.” 
 
“I’ll be a complete puss.” 
 
“Damn, I wish I could be there.” 
 
“Back to this Mars thing…” 
 
“You know everything I know. Belle said Bonnie calls him Mars.” 
 
“What does he look like?” 
 
“We didn’t get that far. I’m trying not to push her.” 
 
“Do you think Bonnie’s in danger?” 
 
“I don’t know, Brian. I think something is wrong. She wouldn’t do that to the kids.” 
 
“What if Mars is a nickname? A shortened name?” 
 
“From what? Full name ‘Martian’?” 
 
“Full name Marshal, maybe. Hey! What if it’s that dumb ass cop, Fergus?” 
 
“Fergus has neither money nor sex appeal. No way Bonnie would waste it on him, but thanks for 
making me shudder at the visual.” 
 
“Want me to try to put it out of your mind?” 
 
“You can’t possibly be horny.” 
 
“Why can’t I?” 
 
“After all we’ve been through? You’ve been through?” 
 
“What does one have to do with the other?” Brian sighed. “Boyd, if I lose this thing, and they 
send me to jail, I won’t survive. I mean it. Being locked up like that, treated that way, I just can’t 
do it. I know that makes me sound like a coward, and I am. I am a coward. I’d rather be 
executed than locked up. At least it would be over fast that way.” 
 
“Don’t ever say that again,” Boyd took his face in both hands. “Not ever. First of all, you’d be in 
jail for years, exhausting appeals, even if you were up for the death penalty. But that’s not the 
issue. The issue is you’re a survivor, Brian, you always have been. You never give up and as long 
as you’re alive, there’s hope. You aren’t going to jail, but God forbid, if you did, you’d survive that 
too. We both would. Together. How do you think I could go on if something happened to you?” 
 
“The same way you did before we met.” 
 
“Are you the same person you were before we met? I’m not.” 
 
Brian smiled at him. “No, I’m not the same person. I’m much more stressed out, hassled, scared, 
pursued, you name it.” 
 
“Happy?” 
 
“Yeah, that too.” 
 
“Whatever happens, we’ll walk it together, Brian. It’s what we do.” 
 
“Don’t make me slap the nice out of you,” Brian teased and Boyd laughed as he pulled Brian down 
on top of him, putting his fears out of his head as he lost himself in the pleasure of Brian’s return.  
 
 
When Lisette didn’t get a response to her knock the next morning, she slowly opened the door to 
her brother’s room to find him entwined, naked, with his lover, their long limbs akimbo. Brian’s 
face was pressed against Boyd’s neck as they slept in perfect harmony. Pretty picture. She 
walked over and slapped Brian’s bare butt with her palm.  
 
“Wake up,” 
 
He squinted one eye at her and growled, “Go away.” 
 
“You have to meet Rod downstairs in fifteen minutes. Get dressed. I’m putting this mug of coffee 
on the bedside table for you, but don’t go back to sleep. Sissy Boy, make sure your boyfriend 
gets his quite attractive now that I see it ass downstairs on time.” 
 
“Mmm,” Boyd moaned as she left them alone and closed the door.  
 
Soon Brian emerged, dark glasses concealing his eyes, a stubble of beard shadowing his face. He 
started to refill his coffee cup from the carafe on the table where Lisette had an array of breakfast 
choices set up, but Belle launched herself at him with a gleeful, “BRRRRIIIAAAN!” 
 
He stumbled back a half step and lifted her up so he could hug her. She slung her legs around 
him and said, “Did they put you in jail?” 
 
“Yep.” 
 
“Did you wear a striped suit with a number on it?” 
 
“No, we never made it to the uniform stage. But they gave me a harmonica to play the blues.” 
 
She giggled and lifted his glasses, causing him to wince at the light. “Where are you going?’ 
 
“I have to fly back to Louisiana.” 
 
“Without us?” 
 
“You guys are following later on your own plane. I’ll see you there.” 
 
“I want to go with you.” 
 
Lisette pried her out of his arms and said, “You’re going with your Daddy, girlfriend, and then you 
and I are going to have a talk about unavailable men. No sense in seeing you make your mother’s 
mistakes.” 
 
Brian laughed at that. “She has the right genes to counteract the others. Tell Boyd I said ‘later’. 
Better run. Bye, Belle and thanks, Lis.” 
 
“Stay out of trouble, hot ticket. At least for awhile,” Lisette warned and he nodded as he left the 
suite.  
 
“Not nearly as nice as Boyd’s jet,” Brian observed when he settled in with Bo and Rod on a 
smaller Lear. Still luxurious, it lacked the headroom and seating capacity of the Falcon. Rod 
glared at Brian’s attempt to restore his own dignity with aloof sarcasm.  
 
“I own this jet. Boyd leased the other.” 
 
Brian just smiled, not expressing his opinion that the Coulter family could probably buy a fleet of 
these babies, but old money seldom spent the stuff the way new money did. After they were 
airborne, Rod swiveled his chair to face Brian’s seat and Bo watched.  
 
“Here’s what I know,” Rod began. “I know you think you’re smarter than everyone else, 
smoother, slicker, able to talk the spots off a cheetah. That may work with some. It don’t work 
with me. I don’t like you, Brian. I know Bo does, I know Lisette does, and God knows Boyd does. 
But I don’t.” 
 
“Gee, Rod, why does it not make me feel all warm and fuzzy to know that my lawyer hates me?” 
 
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. But I think you’re an innocent man and I intend to get you 
off.” 
 
“Now we’re talking, although Boyd and I are exclusive. Thanks for the offer, though.” 
 
Rod glared at him, after he put together what he meant. “See, this is what I don’t like about you. 
Can you keep that alligator trap shut for a few while I tell you what my theory of your case is 
shaping up to be? We’re talking about your life and freedom here.” 
 
Brian crossed his legs and mimed zipping his mouth shut so he could hear the case Rod planned 
to offer to the DA in exchange for Brian’s release. It must be a good one, Brian though to himself. 
 
Rod said, “I have two potential suspects and neither of them are you, but both have superior 
motive and opportunity for killing Greg Willis.” 
 
Brian leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. No longer did he have to feign interest. At this 
moment, his curiosity was in high gear.  
 
Current Mood:  curious 
 
 
 
May. 15th, 2005 12:06 pm - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 106 
 
  
 
Boyd awoke and reached for Brian. The sheets were cold, from the air conditioning, and the bed 
was empty. He sat up, his heart hammering as he took a moment to figure out where he was and 
why his lover was missing. As he calmed himself, remembering, he focused on his son who was 
standing beside his bed staring down at him.  
 
“Hi Daddy.” 
 
“Hi Mac. Why are you naked?” 
 
“You’re naked.” 
 
Boyd pulled the sheet over his hips. “Well…I…why are you?” 
 
“Because I wet the bed.” 
 
Boyd winced. The Mansion was probably not accustomed to having bedwetters as guests, and this 
was a problem Mac had outgrown long ago. The sudden reappearance of it concerned his father. 
“It’s okay, champ. They’ll change the sheets and we’re checking out today anyway. I’ll just pop 
you into the tub. Or you want to take a shower with me?” 
 
“No, you take a bath with me, Daddy. I don’t like all them little needles falling on my head.” 
 
“ ‘Those’ little needles, not ‘them’. Ok, a bath it is. Where are your sister and aunt?” 
 
“Watching television and eating breakfast. They didn’t see me walk by.” 
 
Boyd filled the tub with bubbles at his son’s request. Once they were submerged, facing each 
other over a froth of suds, Boyd said, “Why do you think you wet the bed, Mac? That’s not like 
you. Are you worried? Did you just not wake up in time? What do you think?” 
 
“I dreamed I was already at the potty. But I wasn’t.” 
 
Boyd smiled. He remembered a few of those dreams himself. “Well, you were overtired, have 
been through a lot. Your schedule is off. Don’t worry.” 
 
“Don’t tell Belle. She’ll laugh at me.” 
 
“I won’t let her laugh at you.” 
 
“Will Mama ever come home?” 
 
“Sure she will. Of course she will, Mac. Don’t you worry about that.” 
 
“I don’t think she will,” he said, his expression solemn as he met his father’s eyes. “I think Mars 
won’t let her come back. I don’t like Mars.” 
 
“What can you tell me about this Mars guy, son?” 
 
“He’s not a nice man.” 
 
“Has he ever hurt you?” 
 
“No.” 
 
“Your mama?” 
 
He shrugged. “I’m not suppose to say.” 
 
“There’s nothing you can’t say to me.” 
 
“Daddy, do you love Brian like a girl?” He had the child’s ability to completely shift gears in the 
middle of an important conversation. 
 
“No, I love Brian like a man.” 
 
“But who’s the mommy?” 
 
“We don’t have little roles like that, Mac. I’m your Daddy, that’s all that should matter to you. 
That, plus the fact both Brian and I both love you. And we love each other very much.” 
 
Mac took a moment to float the soap between the bubble peaks and then he said, “Is that what 
‘queer’ means? Cuz Mommy says you’re queer.” 
 
“Queer is not a nice word. Brian and I are gay, Mac. It means when one man loves another man 
instead of a woman. Or two women, like your aunt Lisette and Petra.” 
 
“Am I gay because I love you, Daddy? And Brian?” 
 
Boyd smiled. “No, that’s a whole other kind of love, kid.” 
 
“I don’t like girls either, Daddy.” 
 
“No boy likes girls at your age, Mac.” 
 
“Because girls are yucky?” 
 
”Because girls are mysterious. Mac, this Mars guy. Does he look like me?” 
 
“Nope.” 
 
“Like your uncle Rex?” 
 
“Nope.” 
 
“Is there anyone you know who he does look like? Is he the same color as Homer Dhue or as 
me?” 
 
“Nope.” 
 
“Nope what?” 
 
“He ain’t the same color as either one of you.” 
 
“Don’t say ‘ain’t’. Is he green like a Martian?” Boyd teased and Mac giggled. They were 
interrupted by a knock. Lisette came in and smiled at what she could see of them through the 
bubbles.  
 
“Belle and I decided we should all go to Six Flags for awhile before we get on that plane.” 
 
“Yeah!” Mac stood up and clapped his hands as his father grabbed his arm to steady him. Boyd 
frowned at his sister. 
 
“Shouldn’t we get back?” 
 
“Sissy Boy, these kids deserve a frigging day at Six Flags. We’ll get back in plenty of time. Kick 
back, for once. Nothing you can do in Canard Rouge, anyway. Rod has it.” 
 
Boyd nodded, unable to disappoint his children after that set up.  
 
Ted was given the choice of going to Six Flags with the group, flying commercial back to 
Louisiana, or waiting at the executive terminal for them to arrive. He chose Six Flags, deciding he 
could tolerate the blistering heat of a Texas summer and the horde of children, in exchange for 
some unfamiliar fun. He was wrong. After the first ride made him nauseous, he sought out an air 
conditioned café and took over a table, telling the Coulter brood to sweep by for him when they 
were ready to leave.  
 
As he sat there, watching families trail past with their food on a stick and cheaply made but 
highly priced souvenirs, Ted felt like he had landed on an alien planet. Where were the queers? 
Where were the queer families? Other than Boyd and Lisette, he saw none. But then, would he 
recognize Boyd and Lisette as gay if he didn’t know? Probably not. He’d just dismiss them as an 
attractive, if oddly similar in appearance, couple with two lovely kids. Gays blending into the 
mainstream depressed him a little. He wanted the acceptance that was being denied his kind on 
every front by the right wing and the religious fanatics, but at the same time, the outlaw element 
of homosexuality was still exciting. What would Brian lose when he stopped being the poster child 
for outlaw homos? What would he gain in return? And whose business was it but his, anyway? 
 
His mobile rang and he picked it up, hearing Brian’s voice. “Boyd’s not answering.” 
 
“He probably didn’t hear it amid the terrified screams while being dropped thirteen stories from a 
platform, hurtling towards earth only to be braked at the last moment before impact.” 
 
“What are you smoking?” 
 
“We’re at Six Flags, Brian. With the kids.” 
 
“Oh. Good. Well, put him on.” 
 
“I’m not with him. He and Lisette and the children are riding rides in the melting heat. I’m in an 
air conditioned café, sipping beer.” 
 
“Then tell him we’re here, on our way to Canard Rouge. I’ll fill him in later.” 
 
“Okay, Brian. Are you alright?” 
 
“Fine, Theodore. Oh, tell him he owes me a pay off.” 
 
“I’m sure he’ll know what that means.” 
 
“Yep.” 
 
“And I have no need to know.” 
 
“Right.” 
 
“Goodbye, Brian.” 
 
They disconnected. 
 
At the courthouse in Canard Rouge, Brian was contrite, as instructed, while his lawyer explained 
the situation to the judge. Charlie listened impassively and then made the state’s argument for 
revoking bail. Brian felt that her plea was less than impassioned, as if it were something she had 
to do. The judge said to Brian, 
 
“You know a murder charge isn’t jaywalking, Mr. Kinney. You’re lucky that Louisiana has such 
expansive right to bail laws, or you’d never be out in the first place.” 
 
“Yes sir.” 
 
“But this is the way I see it. Boyd Coulter’s a good man, a friend of mine, and I know he’s a good 
father. Not sure what this ‘partner’ stuff between you two means, I don’t keep up with people’s 
social lives around here, but I can add two and two. I’m going to buy that you and Boyd were so 
concerned about those kids that you weren’t thinking right, and that you fully intended to return. 
However, you technically violated the terms of your bond and I’m within my rights to revoke it. 
Here’s what I plan to do, instead. I’m going to give you twenty-four hours on the town of Canard 
Rouge, to enjoy the fine hospitality of our jail. I want you to get a good feel for what it would be 
like to live there between now and the time you go to trial. After twenty-four hours, you’ll be set 
free to resume the restrictions of your bail. One more slip-up, Mr. Kinney, and there’s no mercy. 
You get that, son? One more time and you’re in for the duration.” 
 
Brian grimaced at the idea of spending a night in the jail at Canard Rouge, but he knew it could 
be worse. He assured the judge he understood and Rod arranged to surrender him. As they left, 
Rod said to Charlie, “I’ll meet you at the diner in thirty minutes for that talk.” 
 
She nodded, exchanging a look with Bo as they parted. On the way to the jail, Brian lit a cigarette 
and asked, “Why do I have to spend the night in jail? What is this? Scared straight?” 
 
“You got off light, boy. I suggest you shut up about it. Not like this jail is a hotbed of vice.” 
 
“It’s not the Ritz either. Been to both.” Rod didn’t get it, Brian realized. Right now even one night 
in a relatively benign lock up was one night too many.  
 
Amelia was welcoming as they arrived, shifting her bulk in her chair to grin at the handsome 
returning prisoner. “You again?” 
 
“Just for the night,” Rod explained and she chuckled. 
 
“I know. We got the call from the court’s clerk. Don’t you worry, Mr. Kinney. I already have some 
lunch ordered for you.” 
 
Brian smiled. “At least I can recommend the cuisine here,” he said, his smile fading as he had to 
face Fergus. The officious little prick took his personal effects and put them in an envelope. “I 
counted those cigarettes,” Brian warned and the deputy glared at him. 
 
“I knew you’d be back here. Your kind always is.” 
 
“My ‘kind’?” Brian pressed. “What kind is that? The kind who sucks dick, because you’d know 
about that kind, now wouldn’t you, Deputy?” 
 
Fergus turned crimson as he felt Amelia’s inquisitive stare land on him. “What the fuck are you 
saying? You take that back, you son of a bitch!” 
 
“Hey, hey,” Rod intervened, placing a hand on Fergus’s chicken chest. “Back off. You go off on my 
client, I’ll get your badge.” 
 
“Don’t you worry none about him, Mr. Rodrique,” Amelia assured him. “He’s all piss and no 
vinegar. Mr. Kinney will be just fine.” 
 
“He’s out at exactly one-ten p.m. tomorrow,” Rod reminded them and she nodded. 
 
“We’ll take care of it.” 
 
“I’ll come see you before I leave town,” Rod said to Brian, who hated to see the little bantam 
rooster leave. Strangely enough, he felt protected when Rod was around, despite the fact Rod 
told him how he felt about him. Fergus escorted him to the same cell he was in before and locked 
the door behind him with a flourish. He held onto two bars as he leered at Brian and said,  
 
“Amelia goes home at six. Don’t you be feeling too safe in there, hot shot.” 
 
Brian grinned at him. “I’m all wobbly with fear just thinking about it, Barney.” 
 
Fergus gave his pathetic package a lift with his palm before he said, “Maybe you should be.” 
 
Brian stretched out on the hard cot and crossed his arms behind his head, his eyes closing as he 
refused to be intimidated by the little man’s Napoleanic complex. Fergus watched him for a 
minute, taking in his long legs, the bulge in his jeans, his flat abs and solid pecs. Brian Kinney 
was a beautiful thing. He often had fantasies about beautiful things being locked up, helpless, in 
his jail. He played with himself as he dreamed about the things he could make them do. Now he 
had one, a prime one, and he decided he just might work late. That smart-ass lawyer of his 
wouldn’t spend the night in town, he was far too fancy for that. Sooner or later, he’d be alone 
with Brian and maybe then he could show Boyd Coulter how little his money and power mattered 
when it came to protecting his precious boyfriend. He stopped thinking about it when he realized 
he was getting hard. As he turned and walked away, Brian opened his eyes, feeling a shudder 
start at the base of his spine and travel north as he realized just how much that little creep 
spooked him. 
 
Current Mood:  nervous 
 
 
 
May. 16th, 2005 03:56 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 107 
 
  
 
Boyd sent his children home with Lisette when they reached New Orleans. He had an errand to 
run, and only a few minutes to get it done before the bank closed. He assured them he would pick 
them up on his way out of town. Ted continued to Canard Rouge in his rental car, carrying a 
message for Brian from his lover: “Hang in there, I’m on my way. I love you.”  
 
Since they confiscated Brian’s mobile phone, Boyd had no other way to reach him. At the bank, 
Boyd went straight to the vault. He carried his box into a private room, closing the door before he 
looked inside it. Slowly, he unrolled the art that they recovered from the crypt. Something about 
what Belle said drew him to this cache. Each masterpiece stunned him, as if seeing Jared’s 
mastery for the first time. But time was short, and the bank was closing soon. His memory hadn’t 
yet been jogged by a painting, as he hoped would happen. But then…he stared at the swirls of 
color, that at first seemed to have no particular order, but there was always a plan to everything 
Jared painted and this one was no different. He rolled it up, put the rest away in the vault, and 
locked up the box as he left, just before the bank locked it’s doors for the night.  
 
In Canard Rouge, Brian looked up, expectantly, disappointed to see that his visitor was Ted, not 
Boyd. Ted felt the deputy’s hostility as he escorted him back, let him into the jail cell, and closed 
it behind him. When Fergus walked away, Ted said in a low voice, “I understand why they have to 
search you before they let you come back here, but if he searched me any more thoroughly, I 
might have given him a surprise he didn’t expect. He couldn’t keep his hand off my dick. I think I 
was starting to like it.” 
 
Brian grimaced. “I was already having trouble digesting the shrimp etoufee from lunch. That’s not 
helping. Where’s Boyd?” 
 
“Hang in there. He’s on his way. He loves you. That’s his message to you. He had an errand to 
run in the city, he said. Why are you in jail? I don’t understand.” 
 
“Fear factor, I guess. Make me realize the error of my ways. It’s working. I really want out of 
here, Ted.” 
 
Ted looked around. “It does resemble a set I had constructed when I was in the porn game for a 
flick called ‘Cell Block Studs’. Only you would be wearing some low slung denim shorts and no 
shirt and the guard would be a big beefy type with a huge…nightstick.” 
 
“I’m warning you, Theodore, if I throw up, it’s on your head. Literally.” 
 
Ted backed off, literally, and sat down on the cement floor with his back against the bars. “When 
do you get out?” 
 
“Tomorrow.” 
 
“What a pisser.” 
 
“Hey you,” Fergus was back, and he addressed Ted. “You want to go get his meal at the diner? If 
you don’t, I have to go and I can’t leave you back here.” 
 
“Sure, I’ll go.” 
 
“No,” Brian reached out and grabbed Ted’s arm. “I’m not hungry. Don’t go.” 
 
“You get the meal whether you want it or not. It’s paid for,” Fergus said and Brian frowned.  
 
“Okay, but come right back, Ted.” 
 
Ted smiled, taking that as a sign of affection from Brian, proof that he wanted his company. “I 
will.” 
 
“I mean right back.” 
 
“I promise. It’s just a couple blocks.” 
 
Ted was let out and Fergus gave Brian a sneer as he locked the door again. Just as Ted left, 
Amelia called out goodbye from the front, and Fergus said to Brian, “It’s just you and me now, 
boy.” 
 
“Cue the banjo from Deliverance,” Brian quipped with more confidence than he felt. 
 
“Are you making fun of me?” 
 
“Well, yes, Deputy, I guess I am. I have fifty pounds of muscle on you, and about six inches of 
height, not to mention my other superior measurements. So your threat of whatever it is you’re 
threatening really falls soft.” 
 
“I got something you don’t got though,” he patted his holster. Brian rolled his eyes.  
 
“You’re a living testament to why there are laws out there for gun control. Aren’t you supposed to 
use that weapon to protect the public, not to force people to give you what no one would ever 
give you by choice?” 
 
“You fucking cunt!” Fergus fumbled with the keys to get the door open and Brian stood, prepared 
for anything. Anything, except for what happened next. A long, lean hand reached around from 
behind Fergus and encircled his throat, pulling him back. Fergus coughed and struggled, wiggling 
free to whirl around and find himself facing Homer Dhue. Homer balanced a pie plate perfectly in 
his free hand. Despite his age and being handicapped by juggling the pie plate, there was no 
doubt Homer was more than Fergus’s match.  
 
Everyone in town afforded Homer the dignity he inspired, and Fergus was no stranger to the fact 
that Homer was a popular folk figure among the good people of Canard Rouge. “Maybe you ought 
‘ta go and cool off some, Deputy,” Homer said calmly. “But first let me in here to give this here 
pie Madam Dhue made for him to Mr.Kinney. Bring back a plate and get you a slice for yourself, 
Deputy.” 
 
“I…I was just…” Fergus stammered and Homer smiled. 
 
“Yes sir, I imagine you was just doing your job. Sometimes a man gets a little too wrapped up in 
his job. You go get that plate now. Nothing a man gets wrapped up in that can’t be helped by 
Madam Dhue’s shoofly pie.” 
 
Homer was admitted into the cell, and Fergus left, looking suitably sheepish. Brian stood and 
shook his hand. “Thanks,” he said and Homer patted his shoulder, sitting beside him on the cot.  
 
“Sometimes it don’t pay to mock a small man about his small life in a small town, Mr. Kinney. You 
see, this is all the power that little man will ever know and that’s just sad. Taking down folks like 
you because you got everything going on for you that he never will, or folks of my color because 
he likes to tell himself that at least he’s still superior to the niggers, well, that’s the way these ol’ 
boys live with themselves. And when one of us or one of you makes ‘em see clear how small their 
own life is, that’s when things turn ugly.” 
 
Brian peeled back the foil covering the pie as he nodded. The pie had been sliced into perfect 
triangles and there were several plastic forks and a few napkins included in a plastic bag. He used 
a fork to take a bite from one wedge, looking up as Fergus returned with plates. Homer carefully 
placed slices on all three plates and Fergus left with his without a word to either of them. Brian 
exhaled, and leaned back on the cot, suddenly left without an appetite. 
 
“Tell Madam Dhue thank you, but I don’t seem to be able to eat.” 
 
“I’m leaving it right here. Your appetite will be back. Mr. Boyd said his kids are fine. Not so sure 
about Miss Bonnie. Things sound a little touchy there.” 
 
“You know some man named Mars?” 
 
“Can’t say that I do.” 
 
“Homer, I can’t stay in jail. I’m climbing out of my skin. I can’t do this.” 
 
“I’d be dead worried about ya if’n you liked being in jail. No right-thinking man likes being locked 
away. But you’re made of stronger stuff than you think, and I expect this whole mess is coming 
to a close soon anyway.” 
 
“Why do you say that?” 
 
“Because I have a feeling. Nothing more, just reading the wind, I suppose.” 
 
Brian smiled. “You know Lady P? The witch?” 
 
Homer smiled. “Know her? She’s my cousin.” 
 
“Seriously?” 
 
“Sure is. Blood of my blood. We all island people, the Dhues.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Small world in the swamp.” 
 
“Very small,” Homer said with a smile, noticing how Brian reached for his unfinished pie and 
began to eat. 
 
“You believe all that witchy stuff?” 
 
“I’m a good Christian man, Mr. Kinney. I believe in God and the Holy Mother Church. But I been 
around too many years not to know God made all kinds of people and some of them see things 
more clearly than do others. Pearl, Lady P, is one of those souls who was given that special gift of 
clarity. She don’t do nothing bad with it, never has, so I don’t see no harm in her, but my 
woman, well, she never thought much of Pearl.” 
 
“Why not?” 
 
“Plenty of folk from the swamp steer clear of that branch of my family. Their reputation may not 
be all that perfect, so…they take no chances.” 
 
“Homer, do you…I mean, are you…?” 
 
He smiled. “I see some things clear enough. I guess I’m enough of a Dhue to make people a little 
uneasy about me. I like to read the bones.” 
 
“The bones?” Brian asked, certain his own interpretation of boning would not comport with what 
Homer meant by the term. 
 
“Dried chicken bones. It’s an age-old custom. Can tell a lot about what’s what by throwing the 
bones and reading the signs, if you know what it is you’re looking for.” 
 
“And you do?” 
 
Homer shrugged. “I believe I do, yes, sir, I do.” 
 
“Lady P told me I would be alright and that there would be a surprise conclusion to all this 
trouble.” 
 
“Then that’s what will happen. Pearl ain’t wrong very often. I’m going to leave you with your pie. 
Eat as much of it as you want, it was made with love. I hear your man arriving with your supper. 
I need to meet Mr. Boyd at the mill house when he gets there with the children. I have a picnic 
basket of food for them.” 
 
“Homer,” Brian sighed. “Thanks.” 
 
“You watch that lip, boy. Gonna get you in trouble some day.” 
 
“Already has.” 
 
Ted and Homer passed each other on the way, the unlocked door to the cell allowing Ted easy 
entrance. “You eat it, whatever it is,” Brian said. “I’m stuffed on shoofly pie.” 
 
“Soft shell crab, lightly breaded and sautéed in garlic butter until crisp, Spanish rice and fresh 
asparagus with a lemon dill sauce,” Ted announced and Brian stared at him and shrugged. 
 
“Ok, maybe a taste.” 
 
Ted stayed with Brian until Boyd showed up. Only then, would Brian let him leave. Fergus was 
clearly annoyed with having to allow people in to see Brian. Especially Boyd. “I leave here at ten,” 
he announced. “And when I go, you go.” 
 
Boyd nodded. ”Until you go, would you just go away?” 
 
He hesitated at the doorway and announced, “No funny business in here, either. I’ll come back 
and check and none of that faggot shit in here!” 
 
“Not without you,” Brian murmured under his breath, and Boyd hugged him tightly when they 
were left alone. 
 
“Shouldn’t you be with your children?” 
 
“Homer and Madam Dhue are feeding them and will stay with them until I get there. We need to 
talk. What do you think of this?” He unfurled the painting and Brian stared at the bold brush 
strokes and sighed.  
 
“It’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. No doubt about it. It looks like asteroids, sort of.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “Not too far off.” 
 
“What are you doing? Bringing it to me to brighten my lovely environment?” 
 
Boyd looked around. “Could this place be any better than it is?” 
 
“You’re right. Never screw with perfection. Seriously, Boyd, what is the relevance of the 
painting?” 
 
Boyd watched Brian study the painting and then said, “The relevance is, it tells us who Bonnie is 
with.” 
 
“And how does it do that?” 
 
“The name of the painting is Zodiac, Brian. I remember when he painted it. He said it was a 
family portrait.” 
 
“I don’t see either a zodiac symbol or a family face in it.” 
 
“I know. But it’s all there, at least for him. These swirls represent different signs of the zodiac, 
and each sign represents a family member. He said his mother was into that stuff. She had that 
Creole flavor, and she called them by their birth month in French, each of her children. Jared was 
Juin, for June. Artie was Mars, for March,” Boyd indicated different swirls representing each 
person. “I totally forgot about it until the kids said Mars. Something went off in the back of my 
brain, and I knew I had to see his art, that something in it would tip me.” 
 
“And so it did.” 
 
“Yes, his mother called Artie Mars. Bonnie is with Artie.” 
 
“Why? And where? And why did the kids feel so endangered?” 
 
“One answer at a time. I haven’t put the rest of it together. But I talked to Lisette who talked to 
Rod who talked to his magistrate friend in Texas. While all agreed there was nothing to charge 
Artie, they could charge Bonnie with child endangerment, and put out an APB on her.” 
 
“What good would that do?” 
 
“At least it will get them looking for her, and they’ll look for him as her accomplice. If she is in 
trouble, maybe they can get her to a safe place.” 
 
“Very diabolical.” 
 
“I want to help. She may be a bitch, but she’s the mother of my kids and they’re worried.” 
 
Brian sighed and pulled him into his arms. “Of course you do, Boyd. I know you want to help.” 
 
“I’m scared for her.” 
 
“Me too. Of her, too.” 
 
They kissed and Boyd let his hand drift down to Brian’s crotch. “Despite what Deputy Dawg said, I 
really want to touch your cock.” 
 
“You are touching my cock.” 
 
“I want to touch your cock until it gets very messy and wet.” 
 
Brian moaned, going from zero to sixty in one second flat. “Take it out.” 
 
They kissed and Boyd began fumbling with the buttons on Brian’s fly when a voice intruded, “Stop 
right there. There are some things that defeat the privilege,” Rod glared at them and Brian 
sighed. 
 
“Can you give us five minutes alone?” 
 
“No sport. But your boyfriend is gonna have to give me five minutes alone with you, because we 
do have privilege issues. And then you can have him back.” 
 
Boyd sighed and reluctantly re-buttoned Brian’s fly, feeling the urgent push of his erection at the 
denim barrier. “Sorry,” he whispered and Brian winced. 
 
“Come back.” 
 
Boyd nodded, smiled at both Bo and Rod, and then walked past them and out of the lock up. 
 
Current Mood:  uncomfortable 
 
 
 
May. 17th, 2005 04:19 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 108 
 
  
 
Rod ignored Brian’s obvious predicament as he said, “Your boyfriend added a layer to this show, 
Brian. The Artie Hall factor was one that didn’t seem all that important, but now it may be. We 
know there’s a history of mental illness in his family, at least Jared Hall suffered from a bi-polar 
condition, so what if he was not the only Hall so afflicted? Boyd thinks Artie may have been 
involved in Jared’s death, for the profit from his artwork. Now there are more paintings. A link to 
Bonnie. Circles within circles. Bo is going to New Orleans with me to do some checking.” 
 
“How did it go with the D.A.?” 
 
“She listened. She was polite, thoughtful, said she would think about it. Talk to her investigators. 
I think she knows she has a soft case against you, but she’s yet to reel in a…” he glanced at 
Brian, then smirked as he said, “…hard suspect. I gave her Rex Berenson and why. I gave her 
Bonnie and why. And now I’m going to give her one more. If I can pin down the why.” 
 
“Beginning to feel like a member of the party in the Murder on the Orient Express. Everyone stuck 
a knife in him.” 
 
“Everyone but you, and we’re in good shape.” 
 
“And Boyd.” 
 
“Yes, Brian. And Boyd.” 
 
“So what happens next?” 
 
“You stay in town, right?” 
 
“Besides that.” 
 
“We see how it plays out. We see if they pick up Artie and Bonnie.” 
 
“And then?” 
 
“Assuming they do, there will be a lot of questions headed their way.” 
 
“Why me, Rod? Am I not the least likely suspect?” 
 
“But the easiest, and the cops always look for the easy solution.” 
 
“Even when it’s stupid,” Bo added. “Speaking of dumb cops, is that moron Fergus bothering you?” 
 
Brian shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle. Let’s just say he thinks I’m marked down prime rib at 
the Safeway and he has a coupon.” 
 
Rod laughed. “I don’t expect he’ll go too far with that. You look capable of defending your honor 
against that wimp.” 
 
“No one with a gun and no sense is a wimp, Rod,” Bo reminded him. “I’ll have a word with him 
when we leave.” 
 
“Please don’t, Bo,” Brian pleaded. “I already look weak enough. Just let it go. All I ask is that 
someone be here to let me out the minute the clock runs.” 
 
“Already handled, Brian,” Rod said, then patted his shoulder. “Get some sleep.” 
 
“Send Boyd back in here.” 
 
“Word of advice. An open cell is not the best place for romance. You boys should hold out until 
you get home for that. Your troubles started with a public lewd bust. Don’t give them any 
ammunition and remember, Boyd lives in this town. Has family here. Be a little discreet.”  
 
Brian sighed and nodded as they left. Within minutes Boyd returned and sat beside him on the 
cot. “I already got the same lecture from Rod,” he said. “I’ll behave.” 
 
“Rod’s a natural cooler. They could use him in Vegas to bring down the winnings on a hot table,” 
Brian quipped. 
 
“He’s right, of course.” 
 
“I guess so. I suppose I can survive twenty-four hours without humping you in some form or 
fashion.” 
 
“What if I promise to jerk off thinking about you tonight? Would that help?” 
 
Brian leaned against him. “It wouldn’t hurt. Now go home to your kids. Take the pie. They’ll enjoy 
it, and I don’t have much appetite.” 
 
“I’d stay with you if they’d let me, Brian.” 
 
“Yeah, you would. I know you would. You’re that weird.” 
 
He laughed. “That weird?” 
 
“It’s weird and you know it.” 
 
“Sleep tight, Brian. If you sleep, it’ll be over quicker.” 
 
“Come see me in the morning?” 
 
“I’ll bring you your breakfast.” 
 
Boyd’s cell phone interrupted their kiss. He expected it to be one of his children. It wasn’t. “Boyd, 
are the kids with you? Are they safe?” Bonnie. Almost a whisper. 
 
“Bonnie, where are you?” 
 
“Tell me!” 
 
“Are you safe?” 
 
“Tell me, god damn it!” 
 
“Yes, the kids are with me. They’re fine.” 
 
“Oh thank God, thank God.” 
 
“Bonnie are you with Artie?” 
 
“I have to go.” 
 
“The police are looking for you. Are you in Texas?” 
 
“No police, Boyd! No! He’ll…I have to go.” 
 
The call ended and he repeated it to Brian as he tried to retrieve the number but it had been 
blocked. Brian frowned. “Get that information to Rod and Bo before they go, or at least call them 
in the car.” 
 
“Okay.” 
 
“Boyd, don’t do anything heroic.” 
 
“I won’t if you won’t.” 
 
“Deal. Hard to be a hero in jail.” 
 
Brian managed to drift into a light sleep but he awoke when Fergus ran his nightstick over the 
bars. He sat up, glaring at the little man. “What the fuck?” 
 
“I’m leaving. You’re on your own, Kinney. You’re not worth the trouble I could get in with you. 
That red button on the wall is a panic button. You use it only if there’s a fire or an extreme 
emergency. It rings both me and the Sheriff. You don’t want to be crying wolf. You don’t want to 
make me mad.” 
 
“Yeah,” Brian turned over on his side facing the wall. “Whatever works for you. Turn off the lights, 
would you?” The lights went off and Brian heard the deputy’s heels click on the linoleum as he left 
the jail. In dark silence, Brian sat up, suddenly terrified. He was locked in a box in a warm, humid 
building, with nothing but a tiny window that overlooked an alley to provide a ray of moonlight 
that beamed in through the bars, striping his skin with shadow. He crossed his arms over his 
chest as he rocked back and forth, feeling the sweat break out on his forehead, his upper lip, his 
chest, his armpits.  
 
In a fire, he’d be left to burn. Panic button or no panic button. He could get sick, have a heart 
attack, no one would know. He tore off his shirt, finding it impossible to breathe. He wiped it over 
his face and chest and neck, pacing the length of the cell and back again. Back and forth he went, 
touching one wall and then the other. “Let me out,” he whispered, holding onto the bars and 
shaking them slightly. “Let me out,” he said aloud. 
 
He heard a noise in the anterooms of the building, not his imagination, not a mouse, but a real 
noise. Footsteps, a person was there. Someone had invaded. Brian flattened himself against the 
back wall, the rough cinderblock abrading his naked shoulders as a dark shadow approached.  
 
“Brian,” the voice chased his dread and he could barely stay standing as he realized who it was. 
“You okay?” 
 
“Boyd!” He ran to the bars, reaching through them for his lover. Boyd clamped onto his arms and 
kissed him as well as he could with the barrier between them. “Open the door,” Brian pleaded. 
“Open it, Boyd!” 
 
Sensing his panic, Boyd held tightly to him and said, “Baby, I can’t. I don’t have the key and I 
didn’t see it out there. They don’t care if you can break into the jail I guess, the front doors were 
unlocked, they just care that no one breaks out. But look, wait…” he released him so he could 
open a wicker basket he brought with him. He lit a candle that bore the faint scent of gardenias 
and the illumination added a soft glow to the dank atmosphere. He opened a bottle of wine and 
handed Brian a glass filled with chilled chardonnay. He sat on the other side of the bars, 
motioning for Brian to join him there. His Ipod, that was plugged into a portable speaker system, 
softened the silence with gentle jazz. Brian sat down Indian-style and leaned his head against the 
bars, relaxing as Boyd reached over to smooth his hair.  
 
“Who’s watching the children?” Brian whispered and Boyd smiled as he pressed his forehead to 
Brian’s. Their warm skin interspersed with the cold metal bars was strangely arousing.  
 
“The Dhues stayed over. I couldn’t relax. Drink your wine.” 
 
“Could you get arrested for this?” Brian asked, sipping the wine, letting it soothe the vestiges of 
his panic.  
 
“Maybe, I don’t care. I wanted to see you. I had to see you.” 
 
“Just in time. I was beginning to understand why they take away your belt and your shoe laces.” 
 
Boyd reached through and stroked Brian’s bare arm and shoulder. “What happened?” 
 
“Panic attack, I guess. I can’t stand this place, Boyd. I can’t stand being locked up.” 
 
“I know, but it’s almost over.” 
 
“For now. Just for now. I could be looking at years of this. Years of it. I can’t do it, Boyd.” 
 
“It won’t happen, Brian. It won’t.” 
 
“You called me ‘baby’.” 
 
“No, I said ‘Brian’.” 
 
“A minute ago, you said ‘baby’.” 
 
Boyd laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?” 
 
“Don’t call me baby,” Brian said with a smile. “It doesn’t fit me.” 
 
“It did a minute ago.” 
 
“Boyd, you’re a complete goof to come over here like this and I love you for it.” 
 
“I love you, too.” 
 
“How much?” 
 
Boyd smiled. “Enough. I think the bars would make fucking difficult, if not possible, but I could 
jerk you off. Or suck it. What do you think?” 
 
“I think that sounds right.” 
 
Brian raised himself to his knees, unbuttoning his jeans and taking out his cock. Boyd reached for 
it, spreading one hand on his naked abdomen and cradling his dick in the other. Brian grabbed 
one bar and let the other hand rest on Boyd’s face as he leaned over and began sucking. Brian 
felt his blood move, coursing towards his groin. The familiar fire replaced his fear and isolation. 
Boyd slid as far down the shaft as the bars allowed and Brian thrust as far forward as he could, 
for maximum penetration. “This is so hot,” Brian moaned, and Boyd smiled but didn’t stop. When 
he was ready to shoot, he grabbed Boyd with both hands and let it go, watching his lover swallow 
the flow of his semen.  
 
“Your turn,” Boyd insisted, assuming Brian’s position on the other side of the cell. Brian smiled 
and leaned over to take Boyd’s already erect and exposed cock into his mouth.  
 
“I feel so ‘Fags in Chains’,” Brian teased as he licked the length of Boyd’s shaft and Boyd let the 
tingle work up his spine before he laughed.  
 
“I was thinking Oz myself.” 
 
“’Biker Boys Do Time’,” Brian took him deep and Boyd arched his back, thrusting into his lover’s 
mouth as the jokes faded into raw lust. When the orgasms were over, they sat together, their 
hands interlocked, the wine bottle drained and music providing the only sound over their 
breathing. They touched their heads together, and Boyd said, “Close your eyes, baby. Go to 
sleep.” 
 
“You called me baby again,” Brian whispered as Boyd smiled. 
 
“Sorry.” 
 
“Don’t care,” Brian said softly, exhaustion hitting him like a wall. “Don’t mind.” 
 
“I love you, Brian.” 
 
“I know. You proved it.” He curled up on the cement floor next to the bars, one arm under his 
head, the other holding onto Boyd’s hand as he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.  
 
Current Mood:  calm 
 
May. 18th, 2005 04:17 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 109 
 
  
 
Amelia heard the music, playing on a continuous loop when she came in the next morning. 
Lumbering to the jail area, she paused when she saw the two young men curled up as close as 
they could be with a wall of bars between them, sleeping on the inhospitable floor. Their hands 
were linked and foreheads were almost touching. Brian wore no shirt, his sleek torso gleaming in 
the early morning light. Boyd was fully dressed, but the two of them posed this way reminded her 
of puppies seeking the comfort of each other in a corner of the pound.  
 
“Fellas,” she said, and then a little louder. “Boys! You’d better be getting’ up, guys. Get rid of that 
bottle and the rest of this stuff. You don’t want the Sheriff or Fergus to know you was here, Boyd, 
and you can’t be bringing alcohol in to the prisoner. You know better than that.” 
 
Boyd sat up, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings, the large woman with the kind face, the 
image of his lover stretched out on the floor with morning wood tenting the front of his jeans. He 
suspected that image wasn’t lost on Amelia either. No chance of doing anything recreational with 
that erection, he thought with a sigh. Every bone in his body ached as he began packing up the 
wicker basket. Man was not made to sleep on a cement floor. Not even a young, fit man.  
 
He watched Brian stand, curse, arch his back with his hands at his spine, wincing with a similar 
set of pains to what Boyd was feeling. He glanced at her and announced, “Sorry, but I really need 
to take a piss.” 
 
She walked away at her slow pace, her back to him as he went over to the toilet to offload last 
night’s wine. He did so, not without some difficulty, since his plumbing was in a frozen state. “I’ll 
go over and get your breakfast and bring it back.” Boyd volunteered. “Then I need to go get the 
kids ready for their day and I’ll be back over when you’re released. Will you be okay until then?” 
 
Brian buttoned his fly as his body relaxed a little, and he retrieved his shirt from the floor. “Would 
you bring me a fresh shirt? A toothbrush, toothpaste and comb?” 
 
“Sure.” 
 
“Boyd,” Brian walked over to the bars and reached for him. “Thanks. I couldn’t have made it 
without you.” 
 
Boyd kissed his lover’s fingertips and said, “You owe me big time for making me sleep on a 
cement floor.” 
 
“I know. I’ll make it up to you.” 
 
“You bet you will. Later…baby,” his blue eyes twinkled as he said that last word and Brian 
grimaced while he watched him go, feeling that the cover of their love would get him through 
these final hours.  
 
 
Arriving at the mill house, Boyd found his kids enjoying a breakfast of banana crepes and fresh 
squeezed orange juice. “Look what the cat dragged in,” Madame Dhue said as she shook her head 
at his bedraggled appearance. “Mr. Boyd, you look like you done slept the night away on the floor 
of a bus station!” 
 
“Weren’t that nice,” her husband said under his breath with a knowing smile and Boyd kissed 
each kid on the top of their heads and then announced he was going to take a whirlpool, since 
every bone still ached, along with most of his muscles, tendons, and maybe even his hair. The 
warm, agitated water was just beginning to relax him when a knock intruded. Sighing with 
disappointment, he asked,  
 
“Who is it?” 
 
“Mr. Boyd? Can I open the door?”  
 
“Sure, Homer.” 
 
Homer stepped in and closed the door behind him. “There’s some gentlemen here to speak with 
you. Louisiana State Police. Looks serious. I didn’t want them saying nothing around the kids. My 
wife took the little ones back to get them dressed. Maybe you better come on out here.” 
 
Boyd felt a glimmer of fear as he stood and wrapped in a terrycloth robe, following Homer into 
the main room where the two men stood in obvious discomfort over being there. One was white, 
one black. They wore bright blue uniforms with yellow piping, and they held Mountie-styled 
matching blue hats. Their shields were shaped like the state of Louisiana, and their weapons were 
holstered in black leather.  
 
Boyd felt underdressed, vulnerable. He wanted Brian by his side, but was glad that at least Homer 
was there. “How can I help you boys?” 
 
“Are you Boyd Coulter the third?” 
 
“I am.” 
 
“Is your wife’s name Bonnie Coulter?” 
 
“Former wife. We’re divorced. Did you find Bonnie? Is she alright?” 
 
“You may want to sit down, Mr. Coulter.” 
 
“No, I don’t want to sit down. What is it?” 
 
“When was the last time you spoke with your former wife?” 
 
“Yesterday.” 
 
“What time was that?” 
 
“Probably around seven, six-forty five or seven. She called my cell phone. I tried to track the 
number, but it was blocked. Look, is she okay? Just tell me that.” 
 
“What did she say?” 
 
“Only wanted to know if our kids were safe. She sounded very stressed out, even frightened. She 
couldn’t stay on the line, wouldn’t say where she was. I reported all this. I told my partner’s 
lawyer and he called it in to the Texas authorities, who were already looking for her. Why? What’s 
happened?” 
 
“I’m sorry to inform you that a body we believe to be that of Bonnie Coulter was found last night 
near Baton Rouge.” 
 
Homer walked over to Boyd and put two strong hands on his shoulders as Boyd felt an icy chill 
pull all the blood from his extremities to pound in his torso. His head was light, and his hearing 
was suddenly impaired by the pulse that roared through his ears. “W-What happened to her? An 
accident?” 
 
“No sir. Could you identify her for the local police?” 
 
“I…”  
 
“Sit down, Boyd,” Homer insisted, pushing him down into a chair. He put a glass of orange juice 
into his shaking hand, but Boyd didn’t raise it to his parched lips as he said in a low voice, “There 
must be some mistake.” 
 
“Would you prefer that we get in contact with her parents, since you’re divorced from the 
woman?” 
 
“She’s the mother of my children.” 
 
“Yes sir. Could you get dressed and come with us, then, sir?” 
 
“I need to see to my children. I don’t want them frightened. Could you wait downstairs for me?” 
 
“Yes sir.” 
 
He glanced at Homer and said, “Will you go with me?” 
 
“Of course I will, Boyd.” 
 
“Can Madam Dhue help with my kids? I’m calling Lisette to come out here and she can coordinate 
with Brian, too, if I’m not back when he gets out. I don’t want my kids to hear it from anyone, 
Homer. Not until we know, and then I’ll be the one to tell them. I want them to go to their 
summer program just like it was any other day. I’ll get dressed and call Lis. Can you talk to your 
wife?” 
 
“Mr. Boyd, I’m so sorry.” 
 
“It may not be her,” Boyd snapped. “Let’s not just suppose it is.” 
 
“Right, son. Get yourself dressed.” 
 
************************************* 
 
Brian was dressed in a clean shirt, his teeth brushed, his hair combed, his mood sanguine as he 
waited for his sentence to run. He had no watch, no clock, so he was just guessing at passing 
time, probably underestimating the hours, so keen was his desire to get out. At precisely the hour 
appointed, Fergus walked back, all spit and polish as he swaggered for the unseeing benefit of 
Lisette Coulter. Brian knew something was amiss as soon as he saw her face and noted that Boyd 
wasn’t with her. 
 
“Where’s Boyd?” He asked as Fergus let him out and she put a calming hand on his and replied. 
 
“Wait.” 
 
He knew to do just that. After they got his personal effects and were alone in her black Lexus 
sports car, did she slip on her shades and announce, “I think Bonnie’s dead.” 
 
“Quit trying to cheer me up. Now where is Boyd?” 
 
“It’s not a joke. Boyd’s in Baton Rouge, identifying the body.” 
 
”Alone? He shouldn’t be alone! Drive me there.” 
 
“Hello, Mr. Don’t –Leave-the-Jurisdiction? What is wrong with you?” 
 
“Then you go be with him!” 
 
“He wanted me here with his kids and with you. He wants us at the mill house. And he’s not 
alone. Homer is with him.” 
 
“Thank God for that. Baton Rouge? I thought they were in Texas?” 
 
“We live in a mobile society, Brian.” 
 
“Do they have Artie?” 
 
“Doesn’t sound like it.” 
 
“What happened?” 
 
“You know everything I know, so far. He has his phone. He said he’d call when he can.” 
 
“Well, if it is Bonnie, at least they can’t pin this one on me. I was in lockup from the time she 
called Boyd until…now.” 
 
“And where was Boyd?” 
 
“With me,” Brian quickly volunteered. She looked confused. 
 
“In the jail?” 
 
He shrugged. “He came over about the time Fergus left. He stayed with me the whole night.” 
 
“They let him?” 
 
“No, but he did it anyway. And when Amelia came in this morning, he was still there.” 
 
“So you’re his alibi?” 
 
“Does he need an alibi?” 
 
“I don’t know, Brian. But I think some will find it odd that he spent the night with you in the jail.” 
 
“I don’t really care what others think.” 
 
“Lying about it to help him is no help at all, Brian, and it implies you think he has something to 
hide.” 
 
“I’m not lying about a god damned thing. He came over to the jail right after Fergus left. He 
couldn’t find the keys to the cell door. We drank wine, we talked, we listened to music, we had 
sex, we slept. Boyd was with me the whole night. And he was there at whatever time Amelia 
comes on board the next day.” He glared at her. “And I don’t appreciate being called a liar.” 
 
“Okay, I’m sorry, it’s so improbable a story that it has to be true. Unfortunately, you’re in love 
with him and I’m not sure how seriously anyone would take it.” 
 
“The truth shall set you free.” 
 
“Sounds better as a principle than how it works in real life. Here we are. It’s very important that 
when the children get home, we act as if everything is perfectly normal. It’s not our place to tip 
them to any trauma.” 
 
“Right. Why does Boyd have to do this? They’re divorced.” 
 
“I guess she listed him as next of kin on her identity. I’m not sure. Maybe she had him down as 
her emergency contact. I don’t know how she was found, or where, or what was with her. Are 
you okay? You look a little green.” 
 
“This is the shits. I couldn’t stand that woman, couldn’t see what Boyd ever saw in her, but she 
had two pretty great little kids and this is going to rock their world off it’s axis.” 
 
Lisette reached over to pat his arm as she said, “I know. They’ll need both of you, now. Welcome 
to a ready made family.” 
 
“Not sure how cut out for that I am,” he said with a wince and Lisette examined his handsome 
profile with a sharp look as she responded, 
 
“Frankly, Brian, neither am I.”  
 
Current Mood:  surprised 
 
 
 
May. 19th, 2005 04:17 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 110 
 
  
 
The white limestone castle on the banks of the muddy brown Mississippi River had once been the 
state house for Louisiana. The eccentric architecture had been recently renovated to become a 
museum. When Boyd first went there as a child, accompanying his father who was in town to 
lobby for a bill benefiting mill owners, it was still decrepit. His father told him the basement had 
once been a morgue and was haunted by the ghosts of executed prisoners who were kept there 
before burial.  
 
The new morgue was sterile and located in the bowels of a boring government building with no 
architectural significance and no view of the river or of anything at all, other than a parking lot. 
Boyd supposed it was never good, whether the morgue was at a hospital, a government building 
or a shrine. It was still just a place to store dead people. He remembered reading about how the 
bodies of forty Branch Davidians killed in the Waco stand off, mainly women and children, 
liquefied into soup when the cooler at the Texas morgue where they had been stored failed in the 
midst of a Texas summer. Some said the plug was deliberately pulled to obscure the causes of 
death, while others insisted it was a tragic accident.  
 
The dead were seldom given the dignity they were due. Was that why so many of them came 
back to vex the living and reclaim their humanity? At least, many people in Louisiana believed 
that the dead still walked among them. Boyd was operating on nicotine and nerves by now. He 
knew if he saw his image in a mirror, he’d be chalk white, so he deliberately avoided reflective 
surfaces. More than once, he had wished his ex-wife a speedy death, but now that he could be 
facing the reality of that death, he regretted those angry thoughts. Having Bonnie dead could 
only mean heartache and misery for his children. Whatever benefit it might mean for him, that 
small victory paled in the long shadow of their unhappiness. 
 
Boyd practiced civilized, non-medical, business law. He didn’t have to watch autopsies being 
performed in order to understand human anatomy for personal injury cases, he didn’t have to 
view gory photos of victims of violence while defending a criminal, he just had to understand bid 
rigging and wills and trusts and corporate governance. Dealing with cops and going into morgues 
to identify bodies was not a common experience for him. Especially not when asked to identify 
the body of the one woman he had slept with, the woman who bore his children. 
 
He could almost feel the temperature drop as the elevator descended. They were accompanied by 
the same two state cops, who signed them in at the front desk. When the doors opened onto a 
foyer of beige linoleum floors and ecru painted walls, Boyd shuddered under a chill. No Branch 
Davidians would be liquefied in this frigid storehouse for bones.  
 
After going through the identification game again, they were led into a small viewing room with a 
vinyl couch, low lights and a curtained wall. Boyd slipped his hand inside Homer’s, squeezing the 
old man’s long, limber digits with more power than he intended. Homer didn’t flinch. The drapes 
were opened and Boyd saw a small woman on a table under a burgundy drape. He sighed, 
relieved.  
 
“That’s not her.” This poor woman’s dark hair was matted and in disarray. Bonnie’s hair was 
always perfect and clean. This woman had a crooked nose. Bonnie’s nose was straight and perky. 
This woman was much older, appearing to have been rode hard and put up wet. This woman’s 
upper lip was bigger than her lower lip, giving her a duckbill appearance, unlike Bonnie’s small, 
cupid’s bow mouth. This woman’s features were puffy and her skin was blotchy, while Bonnie had 
porcelain skin and delicate bone structure. “That’s not her,” he said again, but when Homer 
continued to hold onto his hand, Boyd looked curiously at his old friend. Homer’s expression was 
tense. 
 
“Look again, Mr. Boyd,” Homer suggested. “You never seen your woman beat up. Look closer.” 
 
Only then did Boyd realize how many of the traits he was seeing were caused by a severe 
beating, not because she had been born looking like that. He squinted at her, and put on his 
glasses, then said, “Bonnie has a birthmark on her left forearm. It’s small, tan, shaped like a 
crescent moon.” 
 
The cops called for an attendant to come up behind the glass and uncover her left arm. The 
attendant held it up. The marks at her wrist were from bindings. Bruises mapped her ivory skin. 
Even with that damage, the birthmark was visible and Boyd felt his control slip as the full 
realization of what he was seeing took hold. “She had a Caesarian when she gave birth to our 
son. A bikini line scar,” he said and the attendant nodded, confirming that fact. Her scars had 
already been catalogued. “Jesus,” Boyd crossed himself, as did Homer, and then Homer helped 
him sit down on the sofa, asking one of the cops to bring him some water.  
 
“Sir, can you identify this person as Bonnie Coulter?” the remaining cop asked and Boyd 
whispered, “Yes, that’s Bonnie,” before cradling his face in his hands as he tried to restore his 
equilibrium. The water was produced, the curtains were closed and Homer was seated beside 
him, rubbing the back of Boyd’s neck.  
 
“You want me to call your Daddy or someone to come here, Boyd?” 
 
“Absolutely not,” Boyd responded. He shifted his attention to the cops. “What happened to her?” 
 
“Her skull was fractured. She was left alongside a run-off ditch in East Baton Rouge. There had 
been rain, so there was water in the ditch that may have made the killer think it was a tributary 
to the river. But here, them ditches drain fast, so she was left high and dry after it ran off.” 
 
He nodded. A familiar M.O., apparently, bashing in skulls and dumping the body in the water. 
“What do I do to make arrangements to bring her home?” 
 
“Talk to the front desk, but she won’t be released until the M.E. finishes with the autopsy. That’ll 
more’n likely be awhile. They’ll be wanting you to sign some papers while you’re here.” 
 
“After that, can I go home? I have children to tell. I don’t want them hearing something on the 
news or some other way.” 
 
“We’ll drive you back. Mr. Coulter, where were you yesterday?” 
 
“In Canard Rouge,” he said with a glare. “Get me out of here.” 
 
 
 
When Homer and Boyd returned to the mill house, Brian knew immediately what had happened. 
Boyd’s face said it all. Homer gathered his wife and left, while Boyd went into Brian’s open arms 
and held tightly to him. He hadn’t called them on his way home. He had called Bonnie’s father 
and that talk went so badly, he hadn’t been able to make another contact. The kids were still at 
their summer activities and Lisette said she would go get them, not wanting to risk that they’d 
hear it from someone else.  
 
Brian poured a scotch for Boyd and one for himself, as he sat beside him on the sofa. He 
massaged his shoulders gently and said, “What can I do?” 
 
“You’re doing it. You’re here.” 
 
“I’m so sorry, Boyd.” 
 
“Things have been bad with Bonnie for so long, but she’s still their mom, you know? And they’re 
so little.” 
 
“I know. But they have you. They’re lucky for that.” 
 
“I can’t make up for their mother.” 
 
“Maybe not, but you love them and you’ll give them your best shot. I know you will.” 
 
“Artie beat the shit out of her, Brian. I guess it was Artie. Do you know how little she is? Was? 
What kind of man would do that?” 
 
“A crazy one. The same kind of man who would kill Greg Willis with a baseball bat.” 
 
Their eyes met and Boyd sighed. “I wonder if he killed Jared? Something about that suicide never 
added up for me. What if he had a hand in that killing, too?” 
 
“They can only hang him once.” 
 
“Jesus, Brian, this could put you in the clear.” 
 
“Or not. Let’s not think about that now, Boyd. Let’s think about how you plan to handle this with 
your kids.” 
 
They were interrupted by a loud banging on the door and Brian asked who it was before he 
opened it. He was told it was Lou Robichard, who Boyd identified as Bonnie’s father. Brian 
glanced at Boyd for direction. Boyd nodded, so he opened the door and said, “Come in.” 
 
Robichard pushed past Brian and confronted his former son in law with a look of rage that was so 
well mimicked by his late daughter. “Where are those babies?” 
 
“W-what?” Boyd asked, confused and the man yelled, 
 
“My grandchildren, you son of a bitch! Where are they? Belle? Mac?” He went from room to room. 
Brian followed and said, 
 
“They aren’t here. Maybe you should go home and sober up before you see them.” 
 
He shoved Brian aside, refusing to acknowledge him, as he wagged a finger in Boyd’s face. “You 
think I’m leaving those kids of hers with you and your fucking deviant boyfriend to live around 
your fucking deviant lifestyle? Then you have no fucking clue what’s about to happen, Boyd 
Coulter! Them kids will be raised in a Christian home with Christian people, not with a couple of 
fucking cocksuckers who are going straight to hell!” 
 
Brian put an arm over the man’s shoulders and held tight when he tried to break free. “I have a 
lot of experience with drunken, abusive fathers, old man, and you need to get the fuck out of 
here before I throw you out.” 
 
“No skinny, fucking faggot is gonna throw me anywhere!” He wrenched free and Brian smiled 
coldly and flexed his arms, preparing to do just that when Boyd interrupted by standing between 
them. 
 
“Please stop it, both of you. Brian, you can’t afford the trouble right now. And Lou, if you think 
some court would find you a more suitable guardian to my children than I am, then I suggest you 
file a lawsuit and good luck to you. I think you’ll find grandparents have virtually no rights. And I 
already had joint custody of my kids. But for now, you need to leave my home. I won’t have them 
walk into this drama when they’re already subject to such heartache. Try thinking of them for a 
change, instead of your own homophobic bullshit.” 
 
The man sized up the two young, well-built men and decided he was too old and too drunk to 
push it. He gathered what was left of his dignity and puffed out his chest as he said, “We’ll see 
what a Louisiana court thinks about how good a daddy a cocksucker can be.” 
 
He left and Brian locked the door behind him and then pulled Boyd into his arms. “One step at a 
time, Boyd. Don’t try to resolve all the potential nightmares at once. Just focus on what you can 
say to your children to help them understand.” 
 
“How do you make someone understand that their mother is dead?” Boyd winced. “Brian, I’m so 
sorry, I…” 
 
Brian kissed him and then drew him into an embrace. “Don’t be stupid. It’s completely different. 
I’m not a child, and my mother and I had massive issues. It’s not the same thing at all. If you 
told me my mom just died when I was Belle’s age, I would have been inconsolable.” 
 
“I need you so much, Brian,” Boyd whispered against his lover’s neck and Brian responded,  
 
“You got me.” 
 
After that, they just stood there and held each other, no words needed.  
 
 
Boyd had fallen asleep that night with both of his children in his bed, leaving Brian and Lisette to 
share the twin beds in the children’s room. Unable to sleep, even though he was exhausted and it 
was past midnight, they left the lamp on and talked across the gap between the beds. 
 
“It’s been a long time since I slept with a woman,” Brian joked and she smiled at him, propping 
herself up on one elbow.  
 
“I can’t say that.” 
 
“Did you ever sleep with men?” 
 
“Yes, I felt like it was my civic duty to find out how the penis worked before I swore off of it for 
good. So I did. I never found it particularly difficult to attract men.” 
 
He laughed. “No shit. You’re gorgeous. I’m sure straight men everywhere went into mourning 
when you became a muncher.” 
 
“Joining the straight women mourning over you?” 
 
He shrugged. “Maybe a few.” 
 
“Boyd did great with the kids, didn’t he?” 
 
“Yes. I was impressed by how he managed to stay pretty matter of fact about it, even when they 
were bawling. I don’t think I could’ve kept my cool. I didn’t keep my cool. My excuse to go 
outside and smoke was really so I could regain some composure.” 
 
She smiled at him. “Yeah, you fooled no one with that one, Kinney. If only you were as hard as 
you think.” 
 
“Hey, no one has ever complained about my lack of hard.” 
 
“Is that why my brother has a permanent limp?” 
 
“We shouldn’t be kidding around at a time like this, I guess.” 
 
“Sure we should. Look, we all know Bonnie was the Wicked Witch of the South. The only thing sad 
about this is that some maniac bashed her head in and that she left two wonderful kids 
motherless. Otherwise, for all her greed, homophobia and just plain meanness, fuck her.” 
 
“No thanks. The question is, how did Boyd ever manage it?” 
 
“Homosexual panic.” 
 
Belle came into the room, squinting at the light and looking from Brian to Lisette and back again. 
“Daddy kicks.” 
 
Brian smiled. “Tell me about it. I’m a mass of bruises.” 
 
“Can I get in bed with you, Brian?” 
 
“Cuddle with me for a minute,” he said, folding the sheet back. He was wearing shorts and a t-
shirt to bed, rather than his usual skin. “And then you can sleep with Lisette,” he gave Boyd’s 
sister a knowing look and she nodded. He wasn’t sure about the propriety issues, but he knew 
that there was something unsavory about Boyd’s daughter sleeping in his bed. Not that there was 
a safer haven than a devout homosexual. She wrapped herself up in his arms and closed her eyes 
as she said, 
 
“Your mama went to heaven, didn’t she, Brian?” 
 
“That’s right,” he said, unwilling to darken her world view with his real thoughts on that subject. 
 
“Do you miss her?” 
 
“Sometimes, but it’s a little easier when you’re grown up, Belle.” 
 
“It makes me so sad that Mama is gone, Brian.” 
 
“I know. I’m sad for you.” 
 
“Are you going to go away, too?” 
 
“You mean die? We all die, Belle.” 
 
“I mean leave my Daddy. Leave Mac and me.” 
 
“Not by choice, no.” 
 
She sat up and stared at him with that penetrating look that kids do so well. “What does that 
mean?” 
 
“It means if I have a choice, I’m not going away. But sometimes we don’t always have a choice.” 
 
“You’d better not be leaving us, Brian!” 
 
“Belle, come here,” Lisette invited her over and she went to her aunt, still glaring at Brian. “He 
means that he loves your Daddy and loves you and Mac, but sometimes things happen that we 
can’t control so he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep.” 
 
“I don’t want Brian to go away, too!” She wailed and began to cry. Alert to the misery of his 
children in this precarious time, Boyd was soon there with them and Belle shifted into his arms as 
he sat on the edge of Brian’s bed, leaning back as Brian began to stroke his shoulders.  
 
“Did you tell her you’re going away?” he asked his lover, who sighed. 
 
“Of course not, Boyd. She’s just raw nerves.” 
 
“Come on, honey. Brian’s not going away. Let me put you in bed with Mac. You need to sleep.” 
He came back alone and slipped in with Brian, snuggling close to his body. “What a fucking 
night.” 
 
“I didn’t mean to upset her, Boyd.” 
 
“I know that. Anything upsets her right now.” 
 
The phone rang. Boyd reached for the extension and a voice asked,  
 
“Where are your children?” 
 
”Huh?” 
 
“You’ll be wonderin’ that, you don’t do what I say. Where are they, Boyd? Safe and sound?” He 
laughed, but it was a hyena’s laugh, not quite human. “I’ll be in touch.” 
 
The phone went dead. Brian saw the look on Boyd’s face and took the receiver from him, hanging 
it up. “Who was it?” 
 
Boyd shuddered and ran both hands through his hair as he responded, “If I were a betting man, 
I’d say it was Artie.” 
 
Current Mood:  numb 
 
 
 
May. 20th, 2005 04:07 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 111 
 
  
 
Boyd, accompanied by his sister, met the Baton Rouge police at his law office. He didn’t want 
them around his children, who stayed home to watch Shrek 2 with Brian, in an effort to keep 
them isolated from curiosity and to keep them distracted. Boyd reported his late night telephone 
conversation with the man he believed to be Artie. He agreed to give them access to all his phone 
records, mobile and wired, without a warrant. He also agreed to a blood test to screen whether he 
was responsible for any of the forensic evidence they found on Bonnie during her autopsy.  
 
“How would you feel about participating in a sting operation?” One of them asked. “To lure this 
Hall guy in?” 
 
“I’m not interested in anything that would endanger my children. And I’m not feeling favorably 
about helping the cops, not when my partner is charged with crimes he never committed merely 
because it’s expedient.” 
 
The two detectives exchanged a look. “We don’t control what happens in this parish.” 
 
“There’s a link and you know it. I believe Artie also killed his brother. Jared, Greg and now 
Bonnie. He’s on his way to being a serial.” 
 
“We all know how these things work, boys,” Lisette unfurled her long, shapely legs that were 
elegant beneath a short red linen shift. When she crossed them, the detectives were glued to her 
movement while praying for a Sharon Stone revelation. They were disappointed, but not really. 
Just her legs were enough to justify their attention. Boyd found it amusing that his sister could so 
completely entrance straight men. She knew what she had and she used it to her benefit 
whenever the situation required that extra oomph. “You may not control this parish, but the case 
they have against Brian Kinney is bullshit. A little profiling from you big city boys that suggests a 
link in these crimes could go a long way in getting Brian dismissed from charges that are 
complete crap.” 
 
“Excuse me, but what do you know about it, again?” 
 
“My law firm represents Mr. Kinney.” 
 
“And him, too?” The cop motioned to Boyd. 
 
“No, he’s my brother. I’m just here to support him and because I know how you boys work.” 
 
“What law firm is that again?” 
 
“I work for Ernesto Rodrique.” 
 
They looked at each other, well aware of Rod’s influence. The fact that Kinney had Rod on his 
case was a complication to an already complex matter. Lisette bore in. 
 
“You and I both know Boyd’s cooperation on this case, voluntarily, can make things go so much 
faster and so much smoother. The test, access to the phone records, all of it. If he decided not to 
participate, absent exercising his due process rights, it will take you awhile to get it all done, now 
won’t it? It’s called quid pro quo, gentlemen. Look it up.” 
 
“M’am, we haven’t completely eliminated your brother as a suspect, let alone his ‘partner’.” 
 
“You’d better get cracking on that. It would be a shame to be investigating him when the obvious 
killer is after his children. As for his partner, he was in lock up for twenty-four hours when Bonnie 
was killed, so that’ll be a tough one to prove.” 
 
They were silent, and then one said, “We’ll be in touch.” 
 
Before they could leave, Boyd asked, “When will they release Bonnie?” 
 
“You’d have to call the coroner about that, sir.” 
 
When they were alone, Lisette said, “Surprised they’re releasing her to her ex rather than to her 
parents.” 
 
“Once ol’ Lou Robichard found out the expenses he’d have to pay to transport her and then bury 
her, he suddenly decided maybe I’d better pick her up, after all. And once he found out that any 
estate Bonnie owned, including her insurance, will go to her kids, he was less interested in taking 
them on to raise, godless fags or no godless fags.” 
 
“You’re a good man to pay all those expenses, Sissy Boy.” 
 
“Even if we didn’t have children to consider, I’d never let them bury her in some cheap 
pasteboard box in that fucking swamp cemetery where her people rot. She was a Coulter. She’ll 
be entombed with the rest of our family in the vault in New Orleans.” 
 
Lisette stared at his pained expression and then said, “So now you think you let her down too, 
right? Just like you let Jared down. You failed to protect both of them. It’s all about the blame 
with you.” 
 
“I’m not in the mood, Lis. Don’t.” 
 
“You’re such a fucking martyr, Boyd. Stop it. Queers are such blame eaters. We feel guilty about 
everything. You didn’t make that Hall family produce children with severe mental problems. You 
didn’t make Artie a psycho killer. You didn’t make Bonnie a greed monster and God only knows 
what else the bitch got into with him. Exposing her children to that danger. No excuse for it. So 
let go of the blame, Boyd, and move forward. This is all good for Brian. No way they’re going to 
keep him charged. The circumstances are too juicy against his guilt.” 
 
“Then they need to let him go!” 
 
“You’re a lawyer, Boyd, act like one. You know these things take time and that the state won’t 
release one suspect until they feel they have a lock on another.” 
 
“I just need something to go right for us right now, Lis.” 
 
She crossed over to his desk and tilted his chin up so he would look directly at her. “Listen to me, 
Boyd. You found yourself a gorgeous, smart, hard working and devoted man who loves you. You 
have two kids who are wonderful and who are going to be yours, now. Completely. You have 
money, you have health, looks, opportunity. Yes, you’ve had some trouble, but if many more 
things go right for you, I’m going to hate you myself.” 
 
He stared at her and then they both laughed, quietly, not wanting their affection to be interpreted 
as disrespect towards the mother of his children. They were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of 
Rex Berenson, who looked alarmed to find them together.  
 
“I’m sorry, Mr. Coulter, he…” Lorene tried to explain, but Boyd waved her out and glared at 
Berenson. 
 
“What do you want?” 
 
“I’m not going to be blamed for any of this, Boyd, and if you think you can put it off on me to 
save your fucking boyfriend, guess again! I will not be outed by you! I will not have my marriage 
fucked up and my job endangered, you hear me? I didn’t do anything you haven’t done a million 
times!” 
 
Boyd laughed. “A million may be a little high, even since meeting Brian. But we’re working on it. 
The difference is, sport, neither one of us are married or passing for straight, or fucking my ex-
wife on the side, as well as Greg Willis. You really don’t know whether to bend over or throw her 
down, do you?” 
 
“You have no idea what you’re talking about and if you talk that crap about me to others, I’ll take 
every penny you have.” 
 
“Oh do shut up, Rex, you himbo!” Lisette intervened. “Who do you think you’re fooling? Truth is 
an absolute defense and the truth is you’re at least bisexual. For god’s sake, we got your cum on 
a towel when you came on to Boyd’s partner! What’s your problem? You fatally attracted to 
Boyd’s lovers?” 
 
“You’re such a little man, Lisette,” he sneered back. “The only thing you lack is a fucking cock and 
maybe that’s what you need. A big thick one up your twat or down that big mouth of yours.” 
 
“You know anyone with a big thick one, Rex?” She whipped back. “Because from what I’ve heard, 
you came equipped with the compact model.” 
 
“You cunt!” 
 
“Enough,” Boyd said, too tense to sit through this battle. “Stop, both of you. If you know 
something, now’s the time to tell it, Rex. They aren’t fucking around with this anymore.” 
 
He sat down heavily in a guest chair, still glaring at Lisette as she sat down across from him. 
Boyd remained at his desk, fiddling with the buttons on his phone, his hands flitting over the 
clutter before him as if to burn nervous energy. “Okay, so I liked the way Greg Willis gave head,” 
Rex said. “I wasn’t the only one in this shitty little town who paid to get his cock sucked on a 
regular basis by Willis. That’s a fact. You don’t know what it’s like to be married to one of these 
man-hating Coutler harpies,” he shot a venomous glance at Lisette, who laughed. 
 
“I like men just fine. I just hate you. As for my sister, I think she probably likes men even more 
than I do, certainly differently than I do, but after spending so much time with you, she’s 
probably become a card carrying member of that club, you’re right.” 
 
“Lis, please,” Boyd pleaded and she shrugged at his entreaty. Rex went on. 
 
“Did you kill Greg?” Boyd asked and Rex looked pained. 
 
“Kill him? I loved him.” 
 
“You what?” 
 
“I loved him, Boyd. I didn’t intend to fall in love with him. It was supposed to be kicks, that’s all. 
And then it got a little more than that and we plotted against some of the rich ol’ boys he was 
blowing, blackmailing them into paying him money every month, for the sex and for his silence. It 
was like a game at first. We talked about going to New Orleans, living together, screwing around 
together, but one day it stopped being funny. It started being serious. At least for me it was. We 
knew we needed one big score so we could get the hell out of here. Away from that shrew sister 
of yours. Away from my dead-end job in the mill where I do all the work and your fucking family 
holds all the cards. Away together.” 
 
Boyd and Lisette looked at each other and then Boyd asked, “What was that big score, Rex?” 
 
“You were.” 
 
“Me?” He felt the shock like a physical blow.  
 
Rex nodded. “Rich, closeted, monk-like, you had to be horny, Boyd. But you never would tumble 
for Greg.” 
 
Boyd shook his head. “No shit. I could spot a hustler a mile away and I didn’t need that kind of 
trouble.” 
 
“You certainly wouldn’t put out for me. I’ve been trying to get your ass for years. And then I 
thought about the fact you had that aggressive little bitch of an ex-wife, and what motivated her 
is what motivates me. Money.” 
 
“So Bonnie joined your little threesome? Interesting considering how homophobic she is,” he 
winced. “Was.” 
 
“She wasn’t part of it. Bonnie and I, we’ve had our fun together from time to time, a lot of it 
when you were married to her and couldn’t be bothered to fuck her.” Boyd shook his head at that 
and ignored his sister’s groan. “I’m not as narrow-minded as the two of you. At least not until I 
got with Greg and started feeling something for him other than sex.” 
 
“So you started up with Bonnie or what?” 
 
“I talked to Greg and we agreed that if anyone could get to you, it was Bonnie, because of your 
kids.” 
 
“Yet another dumb decision.” 
 
“We decided to go after those paintings of yours by that nigger you used to fuck.” 
 
Boyd glared at him. “Don’t even think about calling Jared that again.” 
 
“Whatever. I let her think I’d be there for her, leave Luann, and when she got the paintings, we 
could sell them and go somewhere away from here, together.” 
 
“With my kids?” 
 
“With them, without them, I don’t give a shit. I was never going to give her the money anyway. I 
had a connection, this guy who was going to sell them for me. Instead of bringing the money 
home, to her, Greg and I could leave together.” 
 
“Was that connection Artie Hall?” Boyd asked and Rex nodded.  
 
“Bonnie introduced me to him, the first time, but Artie’s a player. He’s just looking for the best 
deal for him, so we reached our own agreement, Artie and me, on how to sell the art. I told Greg, 
I wasn’t going to risk it all on some fucking gigilo. Some obvious faggot. We’d have to live on the 
down low. He said he wanted to give it up. He said he didn’t want anyone but me.” 
 
Boyd huffed at that. “How much did you think you’d get for Jared’s paintings?” 
 
“A couple million each.” Boyd realized he had done his homework. That was a fair estimate of 
their value, especially his large, later works. 
 
“So what happened?” 
 
“You know what happened! That bitch wife of yours blew the negotiations to get the paintings 
from you, but was still pressuring me to leave with her. Next thing I know, Greg gets busted for 
blowing your boyfriend in the service station.” 
 
“He wasn’t my boyfriend at the time. But go on.” 
 
“It made me mad.” 
 
“Mad enough to kill him in a jealous rage?” Lisette suggested and Rex glared at her. 
 
“Mad enough to tell him if he went to trial or got convicted, we were over. I don’t want to be 
some outlaw faggot like you two. Or like Lisette and her bimbo. He knew that. That was the deal.” 
 
“Like you two could ever fool anyone, Rex.” 
 
“Shut up, bitch. I planned to meet him that night, where we often met on the swamp road. We 
were just going to catch a quickie. I asked him if he talked to your boyfriend about the criminal 
charges. He was supposed to make Kinney understand he wouldn’t cop a plea and that he was 
going to put the blame on him. He told me Kinney wasn’t playing. He was being stubborn.” 
 
Boyd smiled. That’s Brian. “What did you do?” 
 
“I told him maybe I could talk some sense into him. I’d visit him.” 
 
“Like that would work.” 
 
“I didn’t know how stubborn he could be. So Greg was standing in the open door of the car and I 
was seated, facing out. I started giving him head. He had already done me. We were pretty far 
into it when all of a sudden, out of the blue, I see this baseball bat take a swing and,” he paused, 
shuddered, recalling the sound of bat against bone. “Blood was everywhere! I fell back in the 
front seat, and Greg fell down dead.” 
 
Rex leaned back, shaking his head at the image that would be forever burned in his brain. An 
image of a murderer standing over the twitching, dying body of the man he loved, a man who 
was already dead, with just his nerve endings firing final shots before they became forever quiet. 
An image of a wooden bat dripping blood and brain matter onto the marshy ground.  
 
“Did you see who did it?” Boyd asked and Rex nodded. 
 
“Was it Artie Hall?” 
 
“No, it wasn’t Artie Hall.” 
 
“Then who did it?” 
 
“Bonnie,” Rex said softly. “I guess that bitch lost one man too many to cock.”  
 
Current Mood:  pissed off 
 
 
 
May. 20th, 2005 09:06 pm - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 112 
 
  
 
“Are you telling me that Bonnie killed Greg Willis?” Boyd said as Lisette exhaled slowly and leaned 
back in her chair. Rex nodded. 
 
“She suspected I was seeing someone else. I guess she was lying in wait. What she didn’t expect 
was that I was seeing another man. She lost it. You know how her people have these tempers, 
her old man’s useless and she’s always been a hothead. I don’t think she meant to kill him. She 
just took a swing and it hit him in the wrong place. He collapsed. The back of his head was like 
sponge.” 
 
Boyd’s regret over Bonnie’s death faded as he thought of all she put Brian through when she 
knew he was innocent. And then, to make it perfect, she tried to frame Boyd as well, by placing 
the murder weapon in his bag. “Why tell us this now?” 
 
“That crazy nigger is after me, now, and I have to get out of here. I need money, Boyd. You have 
to pay me money. I’ll sign a statement saying your boyfriend didn’t do it, but you have to give 
me running money.” 
 
“Why do I have to give you jack shit? You knew all this and you let Brian go through hell?” 
 
“I don’t know him. He doesn’t mean anything to me.” 
 
“What about Greg? You say you loved him. What about avenging his death?” 
 
Rex looked nonplussed as he said, “Nothing I could do for Greg. He was dead.” 
 
“Did you help her get rid of the body?” Lisette asked. “I can’t see someone as small as Bonnie 
hauling Greg Willis’s dead body around the swamp. Did you cut him up for her?” 
 
“No one cut him up. Either the gators or a boat engine’s blades did that,” he shuddered at the 
thought of it. “I put him in the car. I was going to take him to the hospital. But I saw right off 
that he was dead. No need for hospitals and all the questions that would bring. She was right 
about that. She said both of us would be ruined by it if it got out. Bonnie said to just take off the 
brake and push the fucking car into the swamp.” 
 
“So you did?” 
 
“I didn’t know what else to do! She was making all kinds of threats about ratting me out to my 
wife and to your old man! I was in shock. I wasn’t thinking right.” 
 
“When do you ever?” Boyd scoffed as his sister shook her head. 
 
“You have to tell the police this. You understand that, don’t you, Rex?” 
 
“Will that make me an accessory or something?” 
 
“Maybe the safest place for you to be is in jail, if Artie is after you.” 
 
“Well fuck that! I ain’t going to jail, Boyd. They can fry your boyfriend’s fine ass for all I care!” 
 
“Sit down, Rex, don’t be a bigger idiot than you already are,” Lisette said with a cool smile. “We 
can make this work. Why is Artie after you? I assume he’s the crazy person you refer to. And I 
assume he’s the one who was going to fence Jared’s paintings?” 
 
“Yeah, he’s the one, the psycho. I think maybe he and Bonnie decided to double cross me, the 
bastard.” 
 
“You mean the way you and Greg decided to double cross her?” Boyd baited him and Rex 
shrugged.  
 
“He was playing both sides of the deal, maybe. Figures she’d turn out to be a nigger lover like 
you. Look where it got her. Those people aren’t human.” 
 
“’Those people’?” Boyd repeated. “What people would ‘those’ be? Black people in general or just 
the Hall family, who was of mixed race, just to be real clear about it.” 
 
“A little flavor in the coffee don’t make it milk, Boyd.” 
 
Boyd shook his head. Some things never changed. “I’ll take Homer Dhue’s humanity over yours 
any day of the week.” 
 
“Are you going to give me money? If not, I’m just outa here and good luck getting your boyfriend 
cleared of murder charges.” 
 
“You aren’t going anywhere, Rex. Come on in, Lorene.” 
 
They all looked towards the door as it opened and Boyd’s assistant came in, accompanied by 
Sheriff Carter. Rex, who seemed to pride himself on his race, turned a whiter shade of pale. “W-
what the fuck?” 
 
Boyd disengaged a button on his phone. “My intercom. I threw it open when this started. Lorene 
could hear every word you said.” 
 
“I took it all down on the computer while he was talking, Boyd. And I added on Sheriff Carter, so 
he could hear what was being said on his mobile while he walked over here.” 
 
Carter grinned at Rex’s ghastly expression. “Just one of your ‘less than human’ public servants 
here to place you under arrest, Mr.Berenson.” 
 
“For what?” 
 
“Accessory after the fact, lying during an official investigation, extortion. I’m sure some other 
things might come into my sub-human mind after I think on it awhile.” 
 
“Look, Marc, you know me. We play Booray together. I like black folk just fine!” 
 
“Hands behind your back, Mr. Berenson. You have the right to remain silent,” he cuffed him and 
began the Miranda recitation as Rex turned to Lisette and said, 
 
“I want to hire you to defend me!” 
 
“Sorry. Conflicted out.” 
 
“This way, Mr. Berenson,” Marc pushed Rex forward and Rex gave Boyd a last, desperate look.  
 
“You gotta do something, Boyd!” 
 
“I’ll send some soft music over to the cell. Might just put Fergus in the mood.” 
 
“Now that’s just cold, Boyd,” Sheriff Carter said with a smile, as he led Rex out of the office. 
 
Boyd looked at his sister and one word was uttered, “Brian.” 
 
She flipped open her cell phone and replied, “I’m already on it.” 
 
********************************************************* 
 
Brian hated to admit it. He really, really hated to admit it, he was mortified to admit it, but he 
loved Shrek 2. He loved Eddie Murphy as the donkey. He loved Rupert Everett as the Prince. But 
most of all, he loved Antonio Banderas as Puss in Boots. He laughed as hard as the kids, and was 
disappointed when it ended. The adult references overcame any cartoonish, sophomoric slant and 
when Mac asked to watch it again, he was sorely tempted, but he said,  
 
“No, your Dad said one movie and then no more television. I’m going to go offload this quart of 
lemonade I drank, and then I need to go through those papers Ted brought over. You two need to 
do something more mental than watching the tube.” 
 
“Can we play downstairs?” Mac tempted him and Brian rolled his eyes. 
 
“You think I’m that stupid? I know that place is a hazard zone. No. You can’t play outside, either. 
You can’t leave the house. That was your Dad’s other rule. He’ll be here soon. You can read, you 
can color, you can play a board game, you can play with your toys, but no computer games and 
no television.” 
 
“Brian!” Belle whined and he shrugged.  
 
“I don’t make the rules, your Dad does. I just enforce them. I’ll be right back.” As he went into 
the bathroom off the bedroom, the kids were squabbling about what they wanted to do and 
where. When he came out of the bathroom after relieving his bladder of the lemonade, the first 
thing he noticed was the quiet. Were they in their bedroom or were they sulking? Either way, he 
was fine with it, because they were quiet and he needed some peace to go through his portfolio 
on the Burn projections. 
 
And then he saw the reason for the quiet and his stomach rolled. Seated on the couch, between 
the two kids, with an arm spread over the shoulders of each was a man Brian identified as Artie 
Hall due to his resemblance to Jared. He wore expensive clothes, but they were wrinkled and 
soiled. Even from where he stood, Brian could pick up the scent of unwashed flesh. On his lap, an 
evil looking black Glock rested like a sleeping cobra. The children were as still as garden gnomes, 
their faces betraying their terror. Brian felt the rage rise in him with the unbridled power of a 
tsunami. This man not only killed Bonnie, in all likelihood, but Boyd felt sure that he also killed 
Jared, and now he was menacing Boyd’s innocent children. These facts overwhelmed Brian with 
anger.  
 
Artie smiled. “Boyd does have a way of picking pretty people. Don’t get any ideas, hot shot. Just 
do what I say and everyone will be just fine.” 
 
“You let the kids go to their room and I’ll do what you want.” 
 
“You’ll do what I want with them right here,” he squeezed them in a parody of a hug and Belle 
began to cry. Brian’s hands balled into fists as his jaw twitched. “These little ones are my friends, 
aren’t you, ma petit? We been all over creation together.” 
 
“You hurt my Mommy, Mars!” Mac said angrily and Artie laughed. 
 
“No I didn’t, Mac. I just gave your Mommy what was coming to that bitch.” 
 
“Stop it!” Brian hissed at him. “Do you have any decency at all?” 
 
“Shut the fuck up, you fucking faggot. I want you to take down my brother’s paintings and 
carefully remove each one from the stretchers and roll the canvas up into a cylinder. Do the ones 
in here first, and then we’ll all go into the bedroom together and you can do the ones in there, 
too. Where are all of the other paintings he recovered?” 
 
“In a bank vault in New Orleans. You think he’d just leave them lying around?” Brian thought of 
the last canvas Boyd brought home, the one that tipped him to who Mars was. Where was it now?  
 
“Start with that one over the fireplace.” 
 
Brian took it down, noticing the canvas was stretched taut over a wooden frame and the loose 
and unpainted portions of the fabric were stapled to the wood with heavy duty fasteners. “I’m 
afraid I’ll tear it trying to get this off. And I can’t do it with my bare hands. These are major 
staples.” 
 
“It’s just the perimeter, not the painting, you idiot. Get a screwdriver and pry them off. Do it!” 
 
Brian dug around in the kitchen, wondering how good a weapon a screwdriver might be, but he 
feared it would endanger the children if he tried to be a hero, and he couldn’t take that chance. 
He also felt certain that Artie had no intention of releasing the children, unharmed. Brian believed 
they were in at least as great a danger of being kidnapped and used as shields or bargaining 
tools, as they were of being shot.  
 
He managed to pry the painting off the stretchers and roll up the supple canvas, tossing the 
empty stretcher frame aside. “Now that one,” Artie said and they repeated the process and 
eventually went to the bedroom. Artie stood in the doorway with one arm over both kids, his gun 
in his free hand.  
 
“Brian, I have to go potty,” Mac complained and Brian, who was standing on the bed to take down 
the painting, glared at Artie. “For fuck’s sake let the kid go pee. What’s he going to do in there? 
Bring out Boyd’s hidden machine gun? Call 911 on the shower phone? You want him to pee on 
your Gucci loafers, which could stand a polish, by the way?” 
 
“Leave the door open,” Artie said as he released Mac, but kept a tight grip on Belle. Brian knelt on 
the bed, loosening the staples and he glanced at Mac who was in his line of sight as he stood at 
the toilet and peed. “Window,” he mouthed the word, his back to Artie, and Mac looked up at the 
window above the toilet and nodded. It was a drop, but Brian knew there was a cypress tree that 
scraped that window with it’s branches, often with annoying regularity, and someone as small, 
fearless and nimble as Mac could make the scramble down that trunk.  
 
“Don’t forget to flush and wash your hands,” Brian said aloud, wanting the noise of running water 
as cover. He wasn’t sure where the kid would choose to hide, but it had to be safer than being in 
this house. Mac climbed up on the tank, cranked open the window and gave Brian a sad little 
wave before he climbed out onto the reaching limb. No sound of falling, no sound of wood 
cracking, it was all good. Now Belle.  
 
“Get that brat out here,” Artie demanded and Brian loosened one arm of the stretcher frame and 
rolled the length of wood inside the canvas, disguised by the roll. He hopped down and called out 
to no one, 
 
“Come on, Mac. Turn off that water and get out here.” 
 
He walked towards Artie, who tensed, and then Brian held the cylinder out, just beyond Artie’s 
reach. Artie had to either lower the gun or release Belle to take it. He released Belle and Brian 
yelled, “Run, Belle! Get the hell out of here and don’t look back!” At the same time, he swung at 
Artie with the concealed wood and connected with his temple. Belle screamed as she ran for the 
front door. Artie faltered back but didn’t fall. Blood was coursing down the side of his face as he 
raised the gun in the direction of the fleeing girl. He sneered at Brian, 
 
“You just killed that little bitch!” 
 
Brian took a dive at the hand holding the gun, wrenching it away from Belle’s trajectory. The first 
round went into the wall. He struggled with Artie to force him to release it, but the second round 
was fired, and this one hit Brian. It felt like a fist slammed into him, more than a bullet, as it 
penetrated his side and tore through his torso. The impact was so intense that it knocked him flat 
on the floor. Artie gave him the death’s head grimace as he stood over him and raised the Glock 
to settle his aim between Brian’s eyes. He said, “This one’s for you. And then I’ll hunt down those 
little rats and send them off to see their mama on my way out.” 
 
Brian thought of one word as the noise of a gun being fired at close range filled his head with 
sound, and that one word was “Boyd”. And then, his world went black. 
 
 
Current Mood:  scared 
 
 
 
May. 21st, 2005 05:44 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 113 
 
  
 
Boyd and Lisette pulled off the road and onto the drive leading to the mill house. They were 
sharing a guilty laugh about Rex’s stupidity, but then Boyd shook his head. “I think he’s lying 
about Bonnie. I don’t see her killing anyone. I think he did it. He had access to Belle’s bat by 
hanging around her mother. Greg was probably blackmailing him over the sex or something. It’s 
easy to blame Bonnie, now that she can’t defend herself.” 
 
“I hope you’re right. Sorry for Luann, but I don’t want your children to grow up with that 
additional trauma, hearing their mother was a killer. But Rex is weak. If he did it, he’ll break 
down eventually. I still don’t get an answer at your house or on Brian’s mobile, Sissy Boy. Maybe 
he took them out.” 
 
“On foot? Besides which, I asked him to stay indoors.” 
 
Suddenly, Lisette yelled for Boyd to stop. He automatically braked before he saw what she had 
seen. His son, bleeding from a scraped knee and crying, ran out of the stalky reeds where he had 
been hiding. “What the fuck is Brian doing?” Boyd said angrily as he got out of his car, and 
grabbed Mac, pulling him into his arms. The little boy circled his father’s waist with his legs and 
held onto Boyd as he sobbed. 
 
Lisette walked over, patting Mac’s back, the tension apparent in her voice as she asked, “What 
are you doing out here by yourself, honey?” 
 
He buried his face on Boyd’s shoulder, unable to answer. Boyd saw his sister gasp and then 
suddenly begin running towards the house. She met Belle halfway and the little girl collapsed 
against her sobbing, “He shot Brian! Mars shot Brian! He killed Brian!” 
 
Lisette looked at Boyd who felt his world tilt. He put Mac in the car, motioned for his sister and 
daughter to get in and handed Lisette the keys. “Call for help on your way into town. Get them 
out of here.” 
 
“Boyd, no! Wait for the cops!” 
 
“Do it now! Get an ambulance!”  
 
Lisette knew it was senseless to argue with him, and the children had to be taken to safety. As 
she backed up and turned around, she called for help on her cell phone and silently cursed her 
brother’s foolish bravery.  
 
Boyd ran like he was in high school, with a clear field between him and the goal line. His 
daughter’s cry echoed in his ears with each footstep. “He killed Brian!” He prayed as he ran, 
begging God to spare his partner. He prayed that Belle misunderstood what happened. He just 
prayed.  
 
He had no fear for his own safety, he only feared for Brian. He had no plan for what he would do 
when he got there, he just knew this was where he had to be. When he arrived at the house, he 
called out for Brian as he ran up the stairs, but there was no response. The smell of gunpowder 
hit him the moment he reached the open door, underscored by the metallic scent of spilled blood. 
He saw a body lying face down in a pool of blood, a segment of his skull missing. But the body 
didn’t belong to Brian.  
 
“Brian!” He paused when he saw a man kneeling over a second person, who was sprawled on his 
back in the doorway to the bedroom. The care giver was applying pressure to the victim’s side 
with a folded towel that had once been white, but was now blood red. Brian was unconscious, his 
shirt, side, and the floor beneath him stained crimson. His face was ashen, and only the slow rise 
and fall of his chest assured Boyd that he was alive. He dropped down beside him, taking his limp 
hand in his as he looked at the one holding the towel to his wound. He looked familiar, but from 
where? 
 
“I’ve called for an ambulance. He’s losing a lot of blood. That bastard would’ve killed him. I had 
no choice.” 
 
Boyd glanced at what was left of Artie and then at the other man. It suddenly hit him. “You’re 
that cop. Jared’s friend. The one who gave me the letter.” 
 
“Frank Lewis.” 
 
“What the hell are you doing here?” 
 
“Something I should’ve done a long time ago. Killing Artie Hall.” 
 
************************************** 
 
The hospital in Lafayette was a hotbed of cops, reporters, and the morbidly curious. Boyd was not 
alone as he awaited Brian’s fate in a secure area. Bo was with him. So was Ted, and Lisette joined 
him once the kids were settled and Homer and Madam Dhue were with them in their mother’s 
house. She rushed over to him and hugged her brother, taking in his pallor and the blood stains 
on his clothes that did not come from within.  
 
“How are my babies?” he asked and she nodded and urged him to sit beside her. He looked as 
fragile as a butterfly wing.  
 
“Fine. The doctor came and went. Nothing but a scraped knee for Mac. He sedated Belle, she was 
so distraught. They’re sleeping now, honey. Don’t worry about them. The Dhue’s are with them. 
What are they telling you about Brian?” 
 
“Bullet wound to the flank at close range. They did a CT scan and they say that it seemed to miss 
his major organs, but it lodged perilously close to his spine and they have to get it out. So he’s in 
surgery. He’s lost a ton of blood.” He shook his head, unable to go on. She stroked the back of his 
neck.  
 
“Petra’s on her way. She can interpret doctor-speak for us. She says not to worry, that these 
things often seem far more scary than they are and that Brian is young and in tip-top shape 
which improves his chances considerably.” 
 
“Why would Artie shoot Brian?” 
 
“Because Brian saved Belle.” 
 
“What do you mean?” 
 
“Brian told Mac to shimmy down the tree outside your bathroom window and run. He signaled this 
to him, unknown to Artie. And then I guess Brian was taking down Jared’s paintings for Artie and 
he hit Artie with the rolled up painting and yelled for Belle to run. She said Artie was going to 
shoot her and Brian grabbed the gun and she heard it go off as she ran. Another man came in 
and reached for her, but she just kept going. She heard another shot as she ran down the stairs, 
and she figured Artie killed Brian. The poor little thing was hysterical.” 
 
Boyd clenched his jaw as he shook his head. “So Brian’s life is on the line because he was trying 
to protect my children.” 
 
“Would you expect him to do anything less? Brian’s a good guy, honey.” 
 
“I should have been there.” 
 
“Who could predict this would happen in the little bit of time it took you to meet with the cops and 
then Rex?” 
 
Petra came in, her dark hair tied up in a bun, her burgundy silk pants and shell flattering to her 
exotic coloring as she kissed Lisette and grabbed Boyd in a hug. “I’m going to see what I can find 
out,” she told them and disappeared down the hall. Boyd looked at his sister. 
 
“If anything happens to Brian…” 
 
“It won’t. God’s not that cruel. I know you’re scared and worried, Sissy Boy, you’ve been through 
hell, but you have to believe this is the worst of it.” 
 
Ted wandered over and asked if he could get anyone a drink or something to eat. They declined. 
“I called his sister, and his friends in Pittsburgh. I told them not to come down, not yet. That I 
would let them know when he was out of surgery.” 
 
Boyd nodded. “Thanks.” 
 
“I’ve known Brian Kinney a long time, Boyd. He’s as tough as nails. It would take more than this 
to bring him down.” 
 
“I need to walk around. I need to be alone. I’ll be back.” Boyd got up and Bo took his place, 
holding Lisette’s hand as Ted sat on the other side of her.  
 
“How’s he doing, beautiful?” 
 
She wiped a tear and said, “He’s held together with tape, Bo.” 
 
“I know. What a ride he’s been through. Just talked to some buddies on the force. Seems Frank 
Lewis has been on a private crusade to prove Jared didn’t commit suicide. At first, the guilt he felt 
for being unable to save him, for leaving a gun around him, it paralyzed him. His friends all said 
to give up the foul play angle and accept the obvious truth. But he could never let go of it. He did 
a lot of investigating on Artie Hall. Artie shared Jared’s mental issues, but his form of it didn’t turn 
into self-destructive behavior, as did Jared’s. He was given to harming others. Had a record, had 
a temper, was as much a player with women as Jared was with men. One thing he didn’t have 
that his brother did was talent. Another thing he had, a gambling addiction. He was in to some 
heavy hitters for a big wad of money and he was desperate.” 
 
“That’s why he was so anxious to get Jared’s work?” 
 
“He had some Asian buyers willing to pay huge sums for that work, but he needed the good stuff, 
the big paintings, the later works. Lewis was tailing him. Saw him meeting with Bonnie on more 
than one occasion. Usually here in Lafayette. At first he thought it was just some kind of love 
affair, they’d meet at a hotel. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but the main focus of it was to get 
those paintings from Boyd.” 
 
“Why didn’t they just steal them out of his home?” 
 
“Because Jimmy Chang let it slip that Boyd found a trove of his work, thanks to you, Ted,” he cast 
a glare at Ted, who winced. “So Artie wanted the big score. I reckon his plan was to hold Bonnie 
and those kids in exchange for ransom, or maybe she was going to go along with it as a hoax, but 
then Artie went into one of his little mental declines. It was enough to scare her into sending her 
kids away. He had to know that Boyd wasn’t likely to give him big bucks for a bitter ex-wife. My 
guess is once Artie reconciled himself to the fact he wasn’t going to get those kids back, he went 
crazy on her. Beat the shit out of her and killed her. He probably didn’t mean to kill her, but he 
did. After that, he just disintegrated mentally. Lewis lost him in Texas, and then he got wind that 
Artie was in Baton Rouge. He knew he was Bonnie’s killer when he heard about it, and he told the 
Baton Rouge cops that. But he had no hard evidence, just a hunch and his own observations of 
their time together.” 
 
“That had to be worth something. He’s a cop after all.” Ted said and Bo shrugged. 
 
“A Big Easy cop who’s been on and off administrative leave for depression since Jared’s suicide. A 
cop who is an out faggot. Maybe the force hires out faggots, especially to work the gay areas, but 
don’t kid yourself that these ol’ boys accept these men as comrades.” 
 
Ted frowned, nodded. “Typical.” 
 
“How did he happen to be at Boyd’s place?” Lisette asked. 
 
“He says it was pure serendipity. That he was going to tell Boyd what he knew, to warn him. 
Because he knew Artie had killed Bonnie, that he was on the run, that he was desperate and 
psychotic. He believes very strongly that Jared and Artie had a confrontation on the night Jared 
died. That Artie had that note Jared wrote from long ago, when he was in one of his moments of 
despair. That he kept it. He believes Artie was in trouble with a gambling debt, once again, he did 
enough research to pull up evidence of that chit being out there. He asked Jared for help, for 
some of his work, and Jared told him to pound sand. They fought, and Artie killed him. With 
Lewis’s gun. He then went to the studio, cleaned out his work, and only then did he pretend to 
find the note, pretend to find Jared. The cops didn’t do much with it. After all, Jared attempted 
suicide before. He was unstable. And even when Lewis tried to press it, they just shrugged him 
off as a desperate lover.” 
 
“Christ, he’d kill his own brother for money?” Lisette asked and Bo shrugged.  
 
“That’s what Lewis thinks, and it makes sense now.” 
 
“So he was going to talk to Boyd and he walked in on Artie?” 
 
He said he heard a gun shot. He walked in with his weapon drawn and Belle went running past 
him. He heard Artie say, ‘this one’s for you’ and point the gun at Brian’s head. So he killed him. 
Obviously, it would be to his advantage if Brian can corroborate that story, since he shot him in 
the back of the head. Since he’s been on a crusade to burn Artie. Since it could look like murder. 
He said he called 911 and began applying pressure to Brian’s wound after confirming he was 
breathing and his heart was beating.” 
 
“In a funny way, it all comes back to Jared, doesn’t it?” Lisette said and Ted excused himself as 
his mobile rang, saying, 
 
“No Deb. Not yet. I promised I would call as soon as I know.” 
 
Petra walked up to Boyd when she saw him standing in the small outside atrium. Decorative lights 
shining on plants threw him into shadow. She took both of his hands and said, “You listen to me, 
Boyd. He’s in very good care. I know this surgeon, and he’s a fine doctor. His scans are as good 
as they could be. Broke a rib on the way through but it didn’t penetrate the peritoneum which is 
very, very good. These penetrations often lead to infections that are difficult to control. Brian has 
excellent muscle tone and the strength of his body held the bullet on a straight trajectory. His 
strong heart kept pumping even as he lost a massive amount of blood. So there’s no brain 
impairment. The bullet missed his spinal column by a hair. If it had cut that canal he could have 
been paralyzed. No major organ was badly injured, just a nick to his lung, which collapsed, but 
they’ve re-inflated it after patching it up. They will force him into a chemically induced coma to 
allow his body to heal without trauma, so that will be very scary for you. But it’s standard 
procedure. And when the time is right, they’ll bring him back. They’ve filled him up with blood, 
which often causes some side effects, but nothing they can’t handle. They’re closing him up now. 
He had no traumatic event on the table, and they were all marveling at just how strong he is. The 
next twenty-four hours are absolutely critical, and he’ll be in ICU. But there’s no reason to believe 
he won’t make a full recovery and that you’ll be taking him home in a week or ten days.” 
 
Boyd nodded and then pressed his hands to his face as the weight of everything seemed to cave 
in on him. Petra pulled him into a strong embrace, cooing to him in Russian as he held to her and 
cried. They stood that way for awhile and when he was able to regain control, he lit a cigarette 
and inhaled deeply as the warm breeze of a summer evening dried the tears on his face. She 
smiled. “Enjoy that cancer stick, Boyd, because you need to stop smoking around Brian. He will 
have to stop, too. His lung needs to heal. And you should support him on that. And you shouldn’t 
smoke around kids anyway.” 
 
“Of course. Just this one.” 
 
She smiled. “I think you’re entitled to that one, under the circumstances.” 
 
He touched her pretty face. “I couldn’t have gotten through all this without my sister. Thanks for 
letting me have so much of her time.” 
 
“Don’t be silly, Sissy Boy. You keep her out of trouble.” 
 
“No one can keep Lis out of trouble.” 
 
“I heard that,” Lisette said with a smile as she joined them and kissed her lover in greeting, 
slipping an arm around her slim waist. “Daddy’s here, Boyd. He wants to see you.” 
 
“I have nothing to say to him.” 
 
“Honey, I think he wants to be supportive of you. Give him that chance.” 
 
Boyd sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. How likely was that? “When can I see 
Brian, Petra?” 
 
“My guess, within the hour, but not for long.” 
 
He nodded and ground out his cigarette as he went back inside. Lisette looked at her lover and 
asked, “Is Brian going to make it?” 
 
“Touch and go for twenty-four hours, mainly due to the massive loss of blood, but I’d say his 
chances are better than even. He has that man’s love to get him through and as a doctor, I’ve 
seen love work miracles.” 
 
“You old romantic,” Lisette said with a smile and Petra laughed and touched her cheek to 
Lisette’s. 
 
“You made me what I am today.” 
 
Holding hands they went back in, prepared to support Boyd against any negative reaction he 
might get from his father. Like Boyd, Lisette didn’t entirely trust the old man’s sudden 
beneficence. Junior always had an agenda, and it usually had everything to do with Junior and 
very little to do with his children. No reason to think these tragedies would change his focus. And 
no reason to think Boyd’s sheer mental and physical exhaustion would enable him to withstand an 
attack. So the lesbians would be there as his enforcers, because in the end, solidarity mattered. 
 
Boyd gave his father a reserved greeting as the older Coulter said, “Are you okay? You look like 
hell.” 
 
“How could I be okay, Dad?” 
 
“Of course, of course. I know you’re getting hit from every side, which is why I’m here. Your 
mother and I talked and we want to help you out.” 
 
“How?” 
 
“We want to have Belle and Mac come stay with us at the plantation. You know they love it there, 
so much to do, and it’s isolated from all this attention and Homer and Madam are there to help 
out. Give you time to work through all these problems, to take care of…him, if he makes it. To 
bury your wife. Get them out of that unhealthy environment.” 
 
Boyd looked at him and smiled. In other families, he would be thrilled by this offer. It would be 
great for the kids to get away from the trauma. He would like time alone with Brian to help him 
recover. He could be grateful and appreciative, but this clan wasn’t like it was in other families. 
This was the Coulter family. So he shook his head. “And then, when I came to get them, I’d be 
slapped with papers telling me you and Mom were suing me for custody, right? Because of the 
unhealthy environment I was providing for them.” 
 
His father’s eyes narrowed. “The fact is, your faggot boyfriend almost got those kids killed.” 
 
“The fact is, my faggot boyfriend saved their lives at the risk of his own.” 
 
“You’re a selfish little bastard, Boyd. You’re putting yourself before your children.” 
 
Lisette intervened. “Fuck you, Junior. You’ve never put one of us before you. You’re not putting 
Boyd before you, now, when he most needs it. No, instead, you’re threatening to take away his 
kids. Well, I agree with you, Daddy. I think Boyd will need some time with Brian, too. That’s why 
Petra and I are going to take Mac and Belle for awhile, get them out of Canard Rouge, maybe 
take them to Disneyworld, we all need a break. Because Boyd has a family, and it isn’t you. It’s 
me. It’s my partner. It’s Brian. It’s Homer and Madam, who raised us. It’s Belle and Mac. It’s Gus, 
Brian’s son. And it’s all our friends, gay and straight, who love us and who accept us and who 
want the best for us. You just try to intervene in Boyd’s parental rights and we will rip this family 
apart in the press with such details that you’ll never be able to show your ass at the country club 
again. You understand me, Junior? Because you not only sired two gay kids, but you sired two 
damned good, connected lawyers, who will gut you like a dead hippo.” 
 
Her father stared at her in silent, apoplectic shock, as Boyd managed a smile. “Maybe you should 
go, Daddy.” 
 
“You can see Mr. Kinney, now, sir, but only for ten minutes, and he won’t know you’re there,” a 
nurse in scrubs interrupted and Boyd nodded. 
 
“He’ll know I’m there,” he said, following behind her. “Not sure how, but he’ll know.” 
 
Lisette turned back to her father who stormed out of the hospital, and then she said to Ted, “Call 
the troops in Pittsburgh. Tell them they aren’t rid of Brian Kinney yet.” 
 
He smiled and nodded, suddenly feeling very pleased to be part of this strange and disparate 
tribe.  
 
Current Mood:  drained 
 
 
 
May. 22nd, 2005 06:02 am - SWAMP FEVER, Chapter 114, the finale 
 
  
 
Brian was thirsty. Groggy. Thirsty. Confused. Thirsty. In urgent need of a piss. Thirsty. Confused. 
He opened his eyes to a darkened room, strange noises, funny smells, and then it came back to 
him. “Belle!” His voice was a croak, unfamiliar, and instantly he felt Boyd’s touch on his arm. Out 
of the shadows, Boyd emerged and Brian focused on Boyd’s welcome features, a brush of reddish 
gold stubble, his hair disarrayed by sleep.  
 
“She’s fine. Belle’s fine, Mac’s fine. You’re going to be fine. Relax.” 
 
“I need to piss. Help me up.” 
 
“You can’t get up and you’re already pissing, Brian. You have a catheter. You’re just feeling the 
pressure of the tube.” 
 
Brian thought about that and then grimaced. He wasn’t in pain, in fact he was comfortably numb, 
but he did have a catalogue of irritants. Throat was dry, sore, side was stiff, breathing was a 
challenge, and he couldn’t get comfortable. He felt nauseated, too, hungover. He could move his 
toes, feel his limbs, make a sentence, so he supposed the damage wasn’t too extreme. “Water.” 
 
Boyd held a cup of crushed ice up to his lover’s dry lips and said, “No liquids, but you can suck on 
this.” 
 
Their eyes met. Brian smiled. “This is what you offer me to suck on after what I’ve been 
through?” 
 
“No solids, either,” Boyd said with a smile as he ran his fingers through Brian’s hair. “Glad you 
finally woke up. I was getting bored.” 
 
“How long?” 
 
“Forty-eight hours, give or take.” 
 
“You’re kidding me.” 
 
“Nope, but you’ve been coming up to the surface and then diving back down for the last few 
hours. They let me sit in here with you, despite the rules. I love you.” 
 
“You too. What did they do to me?” 
 
“Took out a bullet.” 
 
“Where was it?” 
 
Boyd touched his side, careful not to disturb the dressing. “In here, nicked your lung and ended 
up near your spine. But no permanent damage. The lung collapsed but they re-inflated it. No 
smoking.” 
 
“How long?” 
 
“We’re both going to quit.” 
 
“Fuck that.” 
 
Boyd smiled. “I’m not going to argue with you while you’re so pathetic.” 
 
“Why not? This is when I’ll wield the most power over you. While you feel sorry for me.” 
 
Boyd rubbed his hand up Brian’s arm. “You saved my kids’ lives. There is no way I can ever find a 
way to thank you, Brian.” 
 
Brian reached up and touched his face. “I’ll think of something.” 
 
“I’m serious.” 
 
“So am I. Now get me some California rolls and a bottle of rice wine.” 
 
“I just happen to have that in my back pack.” 
 
“Why aren’t you home with your kids?” 
 
“Because I’m here with you. The kids are with Lisette and Petra in New Orleans.” 
 
“Go get them, they should be with you.” 
 
“I’m with you, Brian. You need me right now.” 
 
He smiled. “Why do I need you? I got all these medical types hovering around.” 
 
“Okay, then I need to be with you, how about that?” 
 
“You look like hell.” 
 
“Not as bad as you.” 
 
“How badly will I be scarred?” 
 
“Badly enough that I’ll be the only one who will ever want to touch you,” he teased and Brian 
smiled. 
 
“Kind of a Phantom of the Opera thing?” 
 
“Right, you’ll have to wear a half mask across your torso.” 
 
Brian laughed, then winced as that action caused pain. Boyd rested his hand on his lover’s face. 
“Are you alright? Do you need something?” 
 
“I need a cold beer and a cigarette.” 
 
Boyd shook his head. “You’re incredible.” 
 
“What happened? I thought Artie was going to blow my brains out. I heard the shot. How could 
he miss at that range?” 
 
“Are you sure you want to hear this now?” 
 
“I am. I do.” 
 
Boyd pulled his chair closer and held Brian’s hand as he began to tell him everything he knew. 
When he finished, Brian asked, “What about the criminal charges against me?” 
 
“Dismissed. You’re free and clear.” 
 
“Even the illegal blow job charges?” 
 
“Everything, Brian.” 
 
“So if I want to go to Rio, I’m free to go?” 
 
Boyd laughed. “You may want to get the tubes removed first.” 
 
They grew silent, their hands still linked as a nurse came in, checked Brian’s vital signs and leads, 
notated the chart, then said, “I’m going to sedate him in a half hour, Mr. Coulter. You may want 
to sleep in your own bed tonight. One more night in that chair, you’ll end up in a full body cast in 
a bed in the next to his.” 
 
Brian smirked at her. “How did you know that was a fantasy of mine?” 
 
She laughed. “I’m beginning to miss the quiet times with you, Mr. Kinney.” 
 
“I hear that,” Boyd teased and then they were alone.  
 
“Go home,” Brian insisted. “Get some sleep.” 
 
“I have a hotel room near by. I’ve seen it on occasion.” 
 
“Go see it now. For eight hours, at least.” 
 
“They won’t let anyone else stay with you. I don’t want you to be alone.” 
 
“She’s going to trank me in a few. I’m fine.” 
 
“I’ll stay until you’re asleep.” 
 
“Boyd, are you asleep?” 
 
He smiled. “I am.” 
 
“I love you.” 
 
“I love you, too.” 
 
They grew silent, their hands interwoven as they took comfort from the presence of the other.  
 
 
Brian’s private room at the hospital was a hothouse of fresh flowers. Crayon drawings by Mac and 
Belle, cheerful messages of love and to get well were tacked up to the wall. A drawing of stick 
figures representing Brian and Gus and signed by his son joined them. They weren’t likely to draw 
the greed and tragedies inspired by Jared’s masterworks, but they meant a lot to Brian as he 
recuperated. His friends had sent very different messages in the rudest, most suggestive get well 
cards they could find, and Brian kept them on display just to bring a guilty giggle from the 
nurses.  
 
He was seated by the window, watching the rain, his navy silk robe tied loosely over his hospital 
gown. Sipping from a Coke on ice and supposedly reading some papers that Ted brought him, he 
looked up when Bo entered his room. “You up to some company?” 
“Always, if it’s you, Bo. Have a seat,” he motioned to the other chair.  
 
“Raining like a motherfucker out there.” 
 
“I noticed. Maybe it’ll break the heat.” 
 
“No, just simmer it a little. Here, this is for you. I had to guess at the size. I haven’t worn 
anything close to it in quite a few years.” He handed Brian a box wrapped in blue tissue paper. 
Brian smiled as he opened it, withdrawing a black alligator belt with a silver buckle. It was supple, 
fine quality, and just the right size. “Remember that old bull gator we pulled out of the swamp 
together that day?” 
 
“I do. My first gator hunt. How could I forget it?” 
 
“Well, that belt used to be a strip on that ol’ boy’s belly. You had that fake alligator belt. I can 
promise you this one is the real deal.” 
 
Brian patted the gauze covering a portion of the lower quadrant of his torso. “I may have to wait 
for awhile before I can wear it, but thanks. This will always mean a lot to me, Bo. Thanks for all of 
your support and help on this case. Thanks for believing in me.” 
 
Bo smiled and squeezed Brian’s shoulder. “You had to convince me, and you did. You’re a decent 
man, Brian. I’m sorry the great state of Louisiana put you through this. I guess you can’t wait to 
get out of here.” 
 
Brian shrugged. “There are a lot of places I’d rather be, that’s for sure. Even Pittsburgh is looking 
pretty good to me, right now. But one thing makes leaving impossible.” 
 
“What’s that?” 
 
“Boyd Coulter the third.” 
 
Bo smiled. “Trapped, huh?” 
 
“Well, Boyd lives here and he has kids who have been through hell, and it doesn’t seem right to 
uproot them right now. So, I could leave, and travel somewhere more hospitable, but it’s pretty 
hard to function without a heart. Besides, I have a business in New Orleans where a hunk of my 
money is sunk.” 
 
“I’m sure you guys will come to some accommodation, son. As much as you two mean to each 
other, I suspect whatever decision you reach, it will be the right one.” 
 
“Being in love, it’s not always so horrible, is it, Bo?” 
 
“Doesn’t have to be. Can be scary, but sometimes it’s pretty damned wonderful.” 
 
Brian looked up as Boyd came in. He was clean-shaven, dressed in khaki shorts and a pink polo 
shirt, with rubber flip flops. His hair glistened from the rain and he smelled of the storm and the 
summer as he leaned over to kiss Brian after waving at Bo. Brian smiled at his lover and said, 
“You’re dripping on me. And you’re dressed like the summer issue of Fag Quarterly.” 
 
Boyd laughed as he stood and opened a paper bag, withdrawing some soft gray sweats. “Put 
these on. I’ll help you. I’m taking you home.” 
 
“We’re breaking out of this joint?” 
 
“They said you’re good to go. Up to it?” 
 
“Sure, why not?” 
 
“I’ll leave you to it,” Bo paused at the door. “Stay in touch, you hear? Lots more gators where 
that one came from.” 
 
Brian nodded. “Good, I need some shoes.” 
 
“Have to work for your shoes around these parts. Speaking of which, you’ll be getting my bill. I 
hope you still want to hunt gators with me after that.” 
 
“Worth every penny,” Brian said, slipping an arm around Boyd as Bo winked at them and left the 
room. “I love that guy,” Brian said to Boyd who was helping him out of his clothes. “We need to 
get him laid.” 
 
“I think he’s getting laid on a regular basis without our help.” 
 
“Yeah? Who?” Brian winced as he stepped into the sweatpants. His side was still bandaged, the 
staples that held his wound closed had been removed and he was assured the fiery red scar 
would fade. The site was sore, and he was weak, but otherwise he noticed no symptoms other 
than a craving for nicotine.  
 
“Charlie. They think they’re clever about it and people don’t know, but it’s a small town. Word 
gets around. Be careful, put one arm in and then the other, very carefully.” 
 
“Charlie? That dyke?” Brian winced again as the soft fleece brushed his wound. Boyd zipped up 
the jacket and produced a pair of rubber thongs, similar to his own, for Brian’s feet.  
 
“Well, you won’t be photographed for the Man on the Street column in GQ, but you’ll pass. 
Charlie’s not a dyke, she just looks kind of manly.” 
 
“You should look so manly,” Brian quipped and Boyd laughed.  
 
“I’m going to start packing up your gear. I know you’ll want the cards and drawings, but are you 
okay with telling the staff to distribute your flowers? I really don’t want to deal with taking them 
home.” 
 
“I don’t want them. I was beginning to feel like I was lying in state.” He sat down, suddenly 
exhausted, just the effort of getting dressed taking it out of him. He wondered how long before 
he was back to full strength. Watching Boyd pack, following his tight body in those shorts, staring 
at his firm ass as he bent over to place some items in a suitcase, Brian felt some movement in his 
cock. Familiar, warm, encouraging. He smiled. “I’ve missed you.” 
 
“I’ve spent every minute of every day here.” 
 
“No, I mean I’ve missed you,” he emphasized the word and Boyd smiled. 
 
“Incorrigible. You aren’t ready for that.” 
 
“Maybe not for the full court press, but I could sit back and watch you work on me.” 
 
“Let’s discuss that when we’re home.” He paused. “Are you okay going back to the mill house 
after what happened?” 
 
“I’m not superstitious. Did you clean up the blood?” 
 
Boyd laughed. “You so suck.” 
 
“I need to do something for the nurses here. They were really nice to me.” 
 
“Already handled. I made a contribution to their benevolent fund and I had two big boxes of 
Godivas delivered along with a year’s worth of Starbucks for their break room.” 
 
“That works, thanks. And Frank Lewis? What can I do for a man who saved my life?” 
 
“I gave him Jared’s painting, the one that identified Artie for me. I felt like he should have it. 
You’ll notice all the other paintings are gone when you get to the house.” 
 
“Did I fuck them up when I took them down?” 
 
“No. I’ve found a major museum, the High Art Museum in Atlanta, who wants to sponsor a 
permanent exhibit and is going to fund an ongoing program in Jared’s name to assist young and 
promising artists who are struggling to stay alive as they paint. I kept one. The others are 
donated. It was time to exorcise the ghosts, for both me and my children, and even for you. 
Every time I looked at those paintings, it would all come back to me.” 
 
“What did you do with the one you kept?” 
 
“I gave it to Homer and Madam. It’s a fuck you chip. They decide they want to leave the ol’ 
plantation, they can sell it and say fuck you very much to my old man. Are you ready?” 
 
“Boyd, you gave away tens of millions of dollars. You aren’t that rich, are you?” 
 
He shrugged. “Frankly, yes, and anyway, it’s deductible.” 
 
Brian smiled and hugged him gingerly as he helped him stand. “Beauty, brains and money. I hit 
the jackpot.” 
 
A nurse brought in a wheel chair, explaining it was hospital policy for him to ride out, as she left a 
stack of papers for him to sign on his bed. She said she would be back in a few to help. Brian 
looked at his lover and asked, “So now what do we do?” 
 
Boyd smiled as he helped him over to the chair. He leaned down to kiss him and whispered, “Now 
we get started on the rest of our lives, without the drama, I hope. But knowing you, that seems 
unlikely.” 
 
“Who you calling a drama queen, Sissy Boy?” 
 
“If the tiara fits…” 
 
“Boyd,” Brian grabbed his hand. “I’m afraid. I’m not sure I know how to do this. How to be a 
partner, a stepdad, all of that shit.” 
 
“I know. But I have more faith in you than you do.” 
 
“Will you be patient with me? Will you give me some room to make mistakes? Because I will.” 
 
“So will I, Brian. We’ll learn together.” 
 
Brian stared up at him. He smiled and then said, “Are you asleep?” 
 
“I love you, too,” Boyd responded and they both turned towards the window as a rainbow 
spectrum striped the bed, reflecting the arch that followed the rains on the hem of the sun. They 
looked at each other and Brian laughed. 
 
“I told you God was gay.” 
 
“Let’s take this as an omen.” 
 
Brian started signing his release forms after Boyd kissed him and went down to get the car. He 
was to pull up in the front while the nurse wheeled Brian down to the lobby. “You must have a 
very low opinion of Louisiana, Mr. Kinney,” the nurse said with a smile as she took his papers and 
began the journey to the elevator. 
 
Brian disagreed. “Deciding I had to see the swamp was the smartest detour of my life.” 
 
“After all you’ve been through, how can you say that?” 
 
“Must be swamp fever,” Brian replied with a smile as the elevator doors opened on the lobby and 
he saw Boyd waiting for him at the end of the corridor. 
 
 
Rex looked up as Fergus entered his cell. “It’s Sunday,” Fergus said with a smirk. “That leaves 
just you and me, Berenson.” 
 
“What do you want?” Rex asked nervously. Tomorrow he would take a lie detector test. His 
lawyer recommended against it, but Rex had no fear. He didn’t doubt that what he couldn’t be 
truthful about, he could finesse on the test, and that was just as good. They wanted to test him 
on his theory of how Greg died and while the test wasn’t something that could be forced, he 
wanted to do it. He had confidence in his ability to trick the test if need be. He’d been a smooth 
operator all of his life. No reason to think his cool would fail him now.  
 
“I’ll tell you what I want,” the officious little deputy said. “I want what I used to get from Greg. I 
want what you took away from me when you took Greg off the market. I want your pretty mouth 
on my cock.” 
 
Rex started to laugh, but then he saw that Fergus wasn’t kidding. “Greg never touched you.” He 
couldn’t believe Greg would take a measly pay off from this little rat in exchange for a blow job.  
 
“Like clockwork,” Fergus said, removing his gun from his holster to use as a threat as he lowered 
his fly. “And I miss it. I miss him. I know you killed him, not Bonnie Coulter. I know you’re 
pinning it on her, but you did it.” 
 
“Not true. I loved Greg,” he backed up as far as he could go in the cell and felt the cinderblock 
against his shoulders as Fergus said, 
 
“You don’t love anyone. You just love the money. And now you’ve lost that since the Coulters 
don’t want nothing to do with you. You’re going to jail, Berenson. You may as well get used to 
sucking unfamiliar dick, because you’re going to be doing a lot of it. Starting now.” 
 
“No,” Rex said with a whimper, but there was no one there to hear it except his aggressor, so he 
slumped down to his knees on the cement floor, acknowledging defeat. 
 
Outside, the cicada droned in the late afternoon heat, as a light mist hovered over the swamp, 
trapped by the heat and a surfeit of moisture following the rains. An alligator broke the murky 
surface of the water with the ridges of his spine and made a bullfrog his tasty snack. Cypress 
trees waved limbs laden with lacy, gray Spanish moss at the cars that invaded this primeval 
place. A baseball game was underway at the park’s diamond, missing a pitcher since Boyd Coulter 
was busy with his boyfriend. Luann Coulter and her daughter drove past the game on the way to 
the airport in New Orleans. They were going to spend the rest of the summer in Europe and then 
Luann planned to look at a more permanent placement for them, away from Canard Rouge and 
the scandals created by her husband.  
 
“Day broke nice,” Homer Dhue said as he drove them past the jail and Luann said, 
 
“It’s always nice when you’re leaving Canard Rouge.” 
 
“I hope we never come back here,” her daughter emoted the usual teenaged angst as Homer just 
smiled and said, 
 
“But you will. The swamp has a lure that’s hard to resist.” 
 
Neither of them responded as they drove past the duck with the shot-out eye on the sign 
welcoming strangers to the town. The sign failed to warn about the mythic secrets that simmered 
under the murk, but it didn’t really matter. Swamp fever was something that had to be 
experienced, it couldn’t be described in a civic brochure. It wasn’t an illness, Homer knew that the 
swamp was a state of mind. He reached across the seat and handed Luann a little doll with a clay 
face, stick body, beads for features, a hank of horsehair and a faded rag for a dress.  
 
“Take this with you, Miss Luann. Positive magic.” 
 
“A juju doll?” She asked with a smile. 
 
“Blessed by my powerful Grandpere his own self, and you know about him. It’ll keep you safe.” 
 
Her daughter rolled her eyes, but Luann tucked it in her purse. She knew. Grandpere Dhue was a 
powerful doctor in the old religion. No one from the swamp would refuse such a strong talisman. 
“Thank you, Homer.” 
 
“Just looking out for the family, Miss Luann, the way I always do,” he said as he pulled onto the 
highway and they left the swamp behind. 
 
END 
 
 
Current Mood:  content 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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