Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

2

Violet’s Present

T

HE

funeral was a small one. Aunt Violet—really, Great-

great-aunt Violet—had long since outlived her husband, her
only daughter, and most of her friends. Her more distant
relatives lived too far away to do more than send flowers. She
had spent the past few years confined to Pleasant Valley
Nursing Home, waiting patiently for her body to catch up
with her mind’s wish to move on. Matt had said his goodbyes
to Aunt Violet months earlier, when he’d visited her in the
home, and he hadn’t really intended to fly back to Nebraska
for the service. But his mother had been tearful on the
phone, and when Matt realized that she needed someone to
stand at her side, he'd booked the next flight to Omaha. The
airfare took a good chunk out of his savings, but it was
worth it when he stood at the graveside, his mother’s hand
clutching his, her teary eyes looking at him gratefully.

After the funeral, he took her out to dinner at Olive

Garden, which wouldn’t have been his choice, but she
adored the place. She liked to gobble the breadsticks and
salad and then bring most of her entrée home, where it
would last her for at least another two meals. Matt, however,
simply picked at his grilled chicken and wished he were
already back in Oakland.

“You look tired, Matty.”
“Jet lag.”
“But it’s only two hours earlier in California.” Her blue

eyes were as sharp as ever. “What’s wrong? You’re not upset
about Aunt Violet, are you? She had a good life, and it was
her time.”

“I know, Mom.” He took a sip of his iced tea and wished

for something stronger.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

3

“It’s that Brandon, isn’t it?” She always called him that

Brandon, her lips pursed disapprovingly. She had never even

met him but had long ago concluded that he wasn’t good
enough for her son.

“I told you. Brandon and I broke up four months ago.”

Four months, one week, and two days, but who’s counting?

“But you haven’t moved on. Come on, Matty. You’re

twenty-seven years old, you’re very handsome, and you have
a good job. There are plenty of other fish in the sea, and
most of them are lots better than that Brandon. But you
can’t expect them to just hop into your net. When was the
last time you went out somewhere?”

He supposed there were worse fates in the world than to

be stuck at a chain restaurant in Omaha, discussing his sex
life with his mother, but he couldn’t think of any just then.
“I’m not a hermit, Mom. Vanessa and I went for drinks after
work on Friday.”

“Unless you’re switching teams, that’s not what I’m

talking about and you know it.”

Some of Matt’s gay friends envied his family’s

acceptance of his sexual orientation and wouldn’t believe
him when he said there were downsides. Like when he came
home the summer after his freshman year in college and
outed himself to his mother, and then three days later she
and his Aunt Violet tried to set him up with Aunt Violet’s
gardener. Carl was a nice guy, but huge, hairy, and prone to
leather and tattoos. So not Matt’s type.

“I just want you to be happy, Matty,” his mother said,

interrupting his brief and unpleasant reverie.

“I am happy, Mom. Really. Just tired, is all.”
She made a face that said she didn’t believe a word, but

then the waiter arrived with the dessert menu and she
changed the subject, instead involving him in a debate as to
whether she should order the tiramisu or the mousse cake.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

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He drove them back to her one-bedroom condo in his

rented Ford and walked her to the door, carrying her bag of
leftovers.

“Are you sure you won’t stay with me, dear? A hotel is

so expensive,” she said. “I can sleep on the couch and—”

“It’s fine, Mom. Really.” He wasn’t going to be

responsible for her waking up with a sore back, and the
couch was too short for his long legs. “Besides, I have an
early flight home and I don’t want to wake you.”

“You could stay another day or two,” she suggested.
“Gotta get back to work.” Not that the world would stop

spinning if he missed a few more days—he was an animator,
mostly hack work for commercials, but he hoped to someday
get a job with one of the studios. He liked his job, and
Omaha hadn’t felt like home in a long time. Besides,
Brandon was back in California, and maybe this time— No,
he reminded himself sternly. That was over.

Matt bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “’Night,

Mom. I’ll call you when I land in Oakland.”

She nodded and unlocked the door. He was halfway to

the parking lot when she called after him. “Matt! Matty!”

“What?” he called back, pausing on the sidewalk.
“I forgot! I have something for you.”
With a sigh and a fervent hope that she didn’t intend to

give him yet another web address for gay online dating, he
trudged back to the door. Her condo was tiny, affordable on
her teacher’s salary while freeing up money for the
Caribbean cruises she looked forward to every December and
July. As always, she had books everywhere: overflowing
shelves, piled precariously on tables, scattered across chairs,
and in stacks on the floor. Matt smiled at the disorder and
felt camaraderie in this particular trait he'd inherited from
her. He’d lost two roommates over his literary addictions but
decided he liked his books better than them anyway. His
mother dug through a closet until she produced a white

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

5

plastic grocery bag containing something that looked like a
large book. “Aunt Violet gave me this several months ago,
right after your last visit. She really took a turn for the worse
after that.”

“Sorry.”
She reached up to pat his cheek. “Don’t be. You visited

her, and she knew you thought about her.” She set the bag
on the kitchen counter; the plastic made little crackling
sounds when she smoothed it with her palms. “Now, you
know Aunt Violet never had much money, and she spent all
her savings on her care during the last years.”

“I wasn’t expecting an inheritance.”
“I know, dear. She had a few pieces of jewelry for me,

and your Uncle Bob got all her furniture when she moved to
the home.”

Matt tried to picture Aunt Violet’s furniture in his

modern apartment: ancient wooden farmhouse pieces
marooned in all that chrome and glass. He smiled. “Did
Uncle Bob get those hideous dishes too?” Aunt Violet used to
serve him cheese sandwiches on those dishes—always with
the crusts cut off, as his younger self had preferred—and her
special butter cookies with the jam in the middle.

“Uncle Bob said he likes the dishes,” his mother said

with a chuckle. “He always has had terrible taste. But Aunt
Violet had something for you too.” She patted the bag.

Matt carefully removed the book from its wrapping and

then grunted slightly in surprise as he recognized it. “Her
photo album!”

“She remembered how much you used to enjoy it when

you were a boy.”

When Matt was little, he and his mother would spend

long afternoons at Aunt Violet’s house. He was much too
young to realize it at the time, but his mother was there to
receive consolation over her deteriorating marriage. Matt
would bring along his toys and coloring books, but

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

6

eventually those interests would be exhausted, and as the
women continued to talk over endless cups of tea, he often
ended up leafing through the thick leather volume that held
Aunt Violet’s photos. Even when he grew older, a sullen teen
wishing he was spending the day with friends instead of old
people, he’d end up putting his science-fiction novels aside
and perusing the black and white images.

Now his mother’s face looked drawn and tired. “If you

don’t want it, let me keep it. It’d be a shame just to throw all
those pictures away.”

For a moment he considered setting the album aside.

But his fingers were already stroking the soft black leather,
and he shook his head. “No, that’s okay, Mom. I want it. It
was nice of her to think of me.”

His mother pulled him down for a kiss on his cheek and

a ruffle of his ash-blond hair. “You’re a good boy, Matt.”

There didn’t seem to be any purpose in pointing out that

he was, in fact, a man. So he simply slipped the book back
into the bag, gave his mother a one-armed hug, and headed
out to the car.

T

HE

Holiday Inn Express was indistinguishable from

hundreds of similar hotels anywhere in the country, but it
was close to the airport and not too expensive. The girl at the
front desk was relentlessly perky, even when Matt dragged
himself through the lobby with a six-pack of Heineken, the
photo album, and a scowl. “Have a good night, sir!” she
chirped, and he managed a forced smile in her direction.

When he got to his room, he plopped the beer onto the

dresser and the plastic bag onto the little desk, then kicked
off his shoes and peeled off his jacket, shirt, and socks. Yes,
the room was nicely air-conditioned, but it was still in the
upper nineties outside, and his years in the Bay Area had
robbed him of his tolerance for heat and humidity. He felt

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

7

sticky and stinky and generally out of sorts; he considered
taking a shower, but the beer was calling him, nice and cold.
He pulled a bottle from the cardboard carrier and used the
opener on his keychain to pop the top. His first swallows
tasted bitter and sweet at once, the coolness soothing him
from the inside out.

He could check his e-mail, he thought. He

should check

his e-mail. But he put his iPhone on the nightstand without
bothering to unlock it, because he knew there would be no
texts or e-mails from Brandon—and nothing else really
mattered. “Damn it!” he said out loud. He was the one who'd
dumped Brandon, after catching him fucking around once
too often. Brandon was all about the thrill of the moment,
while Matt had been daydreaming about settling down,
being… a family. So why was Matt still mooning around like
a lovesick teenager, hoping Brandon would come chasing
after him?

The remote control was close at hand, and Matt clicked

through all the channels, finding nothing worth watching. He
drained his bottle and started on a fresh one, considering
putting on some shorts and heading to the fitness center.
But no, he didn’t feel like working out either, even though
his muscles were restless and twitchy.

It was probably inevitable that his gaze eventually fell on

the plastic bag. He walked the few steps to the desk, plopped
into one of the green chairs, and pulled out the photo album.
The cover was plain, worn from decades of handling. He
sniffed at it, half expecting to catch a whiff of Aunt Violet’s
coffee cake—cinnamon and butter—but all he smelled was
leather and dust. He wiped his hands on his jeans before
opening to the first page.

It had been a long time since he’d seen these pictures,

but they were still familiar. Bony people standing defiantly in
front of farmhouses and jalopies, daring the world to make
them flinch. Children in uncomfortable-looking clothing
squinting up at the camera. Women in hats behind tables

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

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full of food, men in suits even when they were sitting in
armchairs in their own living rooms, teenagers who seemed
oddly old for their age. And men in uniform, of course. Quite
a few of those.

He could still recite the intricate ties between himself

and these people. Aunt Violet used to enjoy explaining the
connections, telling him little stories, and sharing gossip that
had a longer life than the long-dead relatives. He knew if he
leafed through the book far enough the pictures would be in
color, albeit faded, and he’d find baby photos of his mother
and her brother, school pictures, even a few pictures of
himself. If his aunt had ever possessed a wedding photo of
Matt’s parents, she’d removed it from the album before he
ever saw it, and that was fine.

But Matt didn’t skip ahead to those prom and Little

League snapshots near the end. Instead, he paused where he
always used to, on a page crowded with small, square photos
of people in brush cuts and white shirts. The bottom photo,
the one on the right, showed a young man in an army
uniform. His hair looked very dark in the picture, maybe
even black, but his eyes were startlingly light. He had sharp
cheekbones; a square jaw; the hint of a curve to his nose, as
if he’d broken it once. His lips were full and seemed to be the
sort that curved into a smile only rarely—certainly not in the
photo, but Matt had the idea that the man’s smile had been
radiant when it did appear.

His name was Joseph. He had been a cousin of Aunt

Violet’s, which Matt supposed meant he was a very distant
cousin to Matt, as well. He was nineteen and newly drafted
when the photo was taken in 1942. He died two years later
on a Normandy beach. At the time this photo was taken, he
couldn’t have known what his fate would be—didn’t all
nineteen-year-olds think themselves invincible?—yet Matt
had always thought he could see the shadow of death in
those pale eyes. And for some reason, the gaze in this one
photo had always seemed focused directly on Matt himself,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

9

as if Joseph were looking at him across the decades, as if
Joseph were trying to communicate something important.

Matt had spent many hours staring at that photo when

he was a boy, and its power hadn’t dimmed. Sitting in his
bland hotel room now, still wearing his suit trousers and
with a bottle of beer sweating near at hand, he felt the same
sorrow he always had: that he’d never had a chance to meet
the man who had died forty years before he was born.

He slammed the book shut and drained the beer, setting

the empty bottle back on the table with a clatter. He decided
maybe some time on a treadmill wasn’t such a bad idea after
all.

T

HE

hotel bed was more comfortable than Matt had

expected, and there were certainly plenty of pillows, but he
never slept well in new places. He tossed and turned for a
long time, knowing he’d feel like shit by the time his flight
arrived in Oakland late the following evening. Finally, he
turned to the one method he was sure would knock him out.
Feeling slightly guilty—Aunt Violet so recently in the
ground—he reached under the waistband of his boxers and
began to stroke his soft cock. The feel of his own hand was
depressingly familiar; he hadn’t tried for even a quick
hookup since Brandon. Not because he wasn’t horny—God,
definitely not that—but because he knew those kind of fucks
would be empty and unfulfilling, like eating Jell-O when you
really wanted prime rib. So he’d been beating off more
regularly than since he was a teenager, and if it was
Brandon’s handsome face and wiry body he pictured while
he spanked the monkey, well, nobody had to know.

Brandon had medium-brown hair artfully gelled and

spiked, brown puppy-dog eyes with a hint of green edging
the irises, thin lips that twisted easily into both grins and
sneers. Tonight, though, it wasn’t his ex-boyfriend’s face that

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

10

came to Matt unbidden as his cock slowly hardened. Instead
he was seeing short black bristles and irises like glaciers; a
slightly pouty lower lip that begged to be sucked on and
nibbled; smooth skin gone tan from a summer working on a
farm.

It was pervy to be jacking off while thinking of a long-

dead relative, Matt told himself. But his cock didn’t care; it
was fully erect now, warm and solid under his hand. He
thought about retrieving the miniscule bottle of hand lotion
from the bathroom but then decided he didn’t need it. A
droplet or two of moisture had already leaked from the tip of
his cock, slicking the heated skin a little.

Joseph probably wasn’t very tall—Matt had inherited his

height from his father’s side of the family—but his photo
hinted at sturdy muscles. Not Bowflex muscles, not abs
sculpted by a hundred daily crunches, but honest strength
earned from hauling hay and wrestling machinery, from
digging fence-post holes and lugging sacks of grain. Hard
muscles, smooth skin, the whispery brush of buzz-cut hair
against Matt’s neck, against his chest and belly. Joseph’s
teeth wouldn’t be orthodontically perfect, but they would
flash white against his tan skin, and he’d nibble cleverly at
Matt’s nipples before he used those soft lips to suck the little
sting of pain away.

Joseph would smell of sunshine and earth, of dust from

the fields. He would make tiny sounds as he worked Matt’s
body, little whimpers and moans of happiness as he
discovered what he could do to another man, the power he
could wield with one swipe of his tongue.

Joseph’s hands would be hard, his calluses scraping as

he stroked Matt’s arms and hips. Matt would splay his legs
wantonly as Joseph finally stopped teasing and licked at
Matt’s aching cock, as Joseph fisted himself in rhythm with
his bobbing head, as one broad finger worked its way behind
Matt’s balls and down his perineum. Just the barest scrape

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

11

of a fingernail against sensitive skin, and then that fingertip
would be pressing insistently at the little ring of muscle.

As soon as the first spurts of come hit Joseph’s palate,

his body would jerk and writhe, and he’d climax in tandem
with Matt, leaving them both sweaty and spent. He would
slither his way back up Matt’s body, and heedless of the
mess, they would spoon together, Joseph in Matt’s arms and
Matt’s nose buried in the soft bristles of his hair; their
breaths would become slower and smoother as they both fell
asleep.

Matt lay slightly breathless in his rented bed. He wiped

his hand on one of the extra pillows and slipped into sleep,
alone.

M

ATT

usually dreamed in vivid color—he was, after all, an

artist—but he couldn’t remember any dreams this detailed.
He could see the scratches in the Formica tabletop in front of
him, the dust motes that danced in the sunlight that poured
through the diner’s front windows. He smelled the smoke
rising from the cigarettes held by men in overalls, men who
were bent over newspapers or seated in small groups,
chatting about weather or crop prices or war. He tasted the
coffee from his plain white cup. It was strong and bitter, and
he burned his tongue.

“Made up your mind yet?” asked the waitress.
He looked down at the printed cardboard in his hands.

“Um, ham and eggs, please.” According to the menu, that
would set him back fifty cents.

“How do you want the eggs?”
“Over easy.”
“Potatoes? Toast?”
“Toast please.” He finally looked up at her, and then

couldn’t stifle a gasp. She was probably in her midtwenties,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

12

although it was hard to tell with her hair gathered into a bun
and tired circles under her eyes. But he recognized her, even
if the last time he’d seen that face it was creased with
wrinkles, the firm jawline gone soft with age. “Aunt Violet?”
he squeaked.

She winked at him and turned toward the kitchen.
He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing

a pair of tan pleated trousers, a plain white shirt with a
starched collar and short sleeves, and a navy blue tie. He’d
only worn a tie twice in recent memory: to his last job
interview and to Aunt Violet’s funeral. A suit jacket and hat
were hanging on a hook nearby, and his shoes were shiny
and black. “I look like an extra in Death of a Salesman,” he

muttered.

Aunt Violet returned soon afterward, carrying a plate

heaped with food. The egg yolks were bright orange instead
of pale yellow, the ham steak was thickly cut and glistening
with fat, and the toast was plain white bread. She gave him a
quick smile before running off again, this time to clear away
the plates from a group of farmers in the corner. Matt
sprinkled salt and pepper on his eggs and slathered his toast
with strawberry jam. He groaned at the first bite of eggs—
they were much more flavorful than the Safeway specials he
was used to. The ham turned out to be tastier than expected
also, but the bread was nowhere near as good as the Acme
bread he usually bought. He’d never tasted food so strongly
in a dream before, but decided to enjoy the calorie-free treat.
Maybe he’d even order a slice of one of those pies displayed
behind the counter.

He was still working his way through breakfast when

the bell over the door jangled merrily. His back was to the
entrance, and he couldn’t see who had entered, but he heard
Aunt Violet when she greeted the newcomer. “Crowded
today, Jojo. You’ll have to share with someone.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

13

“C’mon! I told you not to call me that, Violent.” The

man’s voice was deep and pleasant, but with a slight
childlike petulance in his inflection.

Somehow, Matt wasn’t surprised when he looked up

from his plate and saw Joseph standing beside his table,
Aunt Violet at his side. “You don’t mind sharing with my
bratty cousin, do you?” she asked.

Joseph’s eyes were even more amazing in person, in

color. They were somewhere between gray and blue, a shade
that Matt hoped he could reproduce with his paints. Joseph
wore blue jeans and a red-and-white-checked shirt, and
looked both annoyed at Violet and intrigued by Matt.

“Sure,” Matt said, his mouth suddenly so dry that he

had to take a quick swallow of the cooling coffee.

Joseph plopped down in the opposite seat and grinned.

Matt’s heart almost stopped. “Pancakes and bacon,” Joseph
said to Violet. “With the bacon done—”

“Really crispy. I know.” She cuffed him lightly on the

shoulder before she walked away.

“Where are you from?” Joseph asked. His gaze was so

piercing that Matt felt a little like an exhibit at the zoo. “And
does everyone there have hair like that?” He gestured at
Matt’s head.

Matt ran his fingers self-consciously through his waves.

He'd never had the patience for goos and creams like
Brandon used, and he tended to go too long between cuts.
“California. And yeah, a lot of guys do, I guess.”

“California! I always wanted to visit there. Can you

really pick oranges right off of trees? Do you know any movie
stars? Do you lie on the beach all day?”

“Yes on the oranges but no on the celebrities. And the

beaches near me are damn cold.”

Joseph leaned back in his chair, not even looking over

when Violet plopped a glass of milk in front of him and then

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

14

sailed away. “What’re you doing in the middle of nowhere?
And how come you ain’t in uniform?”

“I’m… passing through. On my way home after a funeral

in Omaha. And I’m… I’m disqualified from the military.”
Which was true enough, he supposed. In 2012 they might be
celebrating the end of “don’t ask, don’t tell,” but back in
1942 he would not have been welcomed into the military,
wartime or not.

Arctic eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened in

realization

before

narrowing

again

speculatively.

“Disqualified, huh?” Joseph said.

“Yep.”
There was a brief pause. Joseph sipped his milk, giving

himself a very faint mustache that Matt longed to lick away.
Three farmers at a nearby table erupted into hacking laughs
at some joke while Violet slammed plates down in front of an
older couple who looked like they hadn’t smiled since the
previous century.

“I’m going in next week,” Joseph finally said, very

quietly. “Army.”

Matt’s heart clenched and his gut twisted. Could you

puke in a dream? “I guess you have to,” he said.

“I wanted to get a deferment while I went to college, but

Mom and Dad couldn’t afford the tuition and… and here I
am. Ready to do my duty. I guess.”

“You’ll get to travel. See places way more interesting

than California.” And bleed your life away onto foreign soil,
he didn’t add.

Joseph’s eyes went dark, as if he knew exactly what

Matt was thinking. Then he shrugged slightly. “Yeah.”

Violet arrived shortly after that with Joseph’s food and a

refill for Matt’s coffee. Joseph poured about half a gallon of
syrup over his pancakes and dug in as if he were starving. In
between bites he asked questions about California, which
Matt answered carefully, not wanting to break the framework

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

15

of the dream by introducing anachronisms. Joseph also
chatted about his family—Matt’s family too, so the names
were familiar—and about the old truck he was trying to fix
up; about the hailstorm that had recently damaged the roof
of his parents’ house; and about his high school football
team, where he’d played running back but hadn’t been good
enough to interest the Cornhuskers and get a scholarship.
He didn’t mention a girlfriend.

He was sweet and funny, but there was a constant

depth of sorrow to him, unsuited for someone so young. He
seemed, Matt thought, like someone who knew in his heart
that his hopes would never be attained. Nobody should be
thinking such a thing at nineteen, not even if it was true.
Matt wanted to hold him tight and fill his head with false
assurances that everything would be all right. Hell, Matt
wanted to do something, to actually make everything all
right. But he just smiled and watched Joseph’s beautiful
face.

When Joseph’s plate was clean—he used a piece of toast

to sop up the leftover syrup and grease—he leaned back
again and smiled. “You don’t have to head out right away, do
you? I could give you a tour of town. It ain’t much, I know,
but maybe all those movie stars’d think it’s… quaint.”

Matt laughed. “A tour sounds great, thanks.”
Joseph beamed, and his smile was even more delicious

than Matt had imagined. Violet came by just then, and Matt
dug out his wallet. He insisted on paying for Joseph too—fair
compensation for the tour, he joked. He pulled out an old,
battered five-dollar bill, which was enough to pay for both
breakfasts and a tip big enough to earn a grateful squeeze to
his shoulder. “Thanks for visiting,” she said as he rose to his
feet. He was certain she was referring to more than his
dining at the restaurant.

As Joseph led him outdoors into the bright light, Matt

had to remind himself that this was a dream. Everything
seemed so authentic: The few blocks of Main Street with

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

16

battered cars and trucks parked along the edges. The barber,
the drugstore, and the shop with the windows full of dresses,
pots and pans, and wooden toys. The women who passed by,
dressed in cotton prints and wearing hats or headscarves.
The faint smell of manure, and the feel of warm sun on his
face. Joseph pointed out local landmarks: the movie
theater—showing a western with Errol Flynn—the high
school, an ugly statue of some guy on a horse. Matt smiled
and nodded and made occasional appreciative comments,
but mostly he was watching the other man’s animated face,
appreciating his wide shoulders and narrow waist, the
confident strides of his strong legs.

They ran out of downtown pretty quickly, but Matt

didn’t complain as Joseph continued to lead him onward,
past little houses with hollyhocks and chickens in their front
yards. They turned down an unpaved side street that was
really more of an alley, and then Joseph stopped in front of a
ramshackle building that might once have been a small barn
or a garage.

“Um, very scenic,” Matt said.
Joseph pried a few long splinters off the weathered trim.

“This was my Uncle Andy’s place. But he married some girl
from Valentine and moved out of state to run one of her
father’s feed supply stores. His old house burned down a few
years back, but his workshop’s still here. Nobody uses it.”

“Uh-huh.” A guy shouldn’t feel nervous in his own

dream, Matt told himself.

Joseph opened the unlocked door, its hinges creaking,

and preceded Matt inside. There were small holes in the roof
that allowed light to slant in, but there was nothing much to
look at aside from a warped workbench, a few rusted
remains of tools, and a lot of mouse droppings. Joseph
sauntered over to one corner and dug around in a pile of old
quilts, smiling when he achieved his goal. Magazines, Matt
saw when Joseph held them up—Physique Pictorial and

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

17

Tomorrow’s Man, with covers featuring black-and-white
photos of muscle-bound men in togas and loincloths.

“Last year me and a couple of buddies went to Chicago,”

Joseph was saying, his cheeks darkened with a faint blush.
“Farthest I’ve ever gone. I found these at a newsstand near
the train station.”

Matt realized he was blushing too. “They look…

interesting.”

Joseph chewed that delectable bottom lip for a moment,

shifting his feet a little on the hard-packed dirt floor.
“You’re… you’re… one of them, ain’t you? That’s why you
ain’t fit for the army.”

Matt sighed. “Yeah, I’m gay.”
Joseph nodded a little and swallowed. “I think…

maybe… me too.”

Gay in rural Nebraska in 1942. Matt shuddered at the

thought. No way the poor kid could come out to his family
the way Matt had, no way he could build up a retinue of gay
friends, or straight ones who didn’t give a crap which team
he batted for. Even if he moved to Chicago or New York or
San Francisco, Stonewall was a generation away, and he’d
be forced to live a life of innuendo and half-truths. In 1942,
he would get fired from his job if people knew. He could be
sent to prison or even to a mental hospital. What was Matt
supposed to say to him? It gets better?

“That’s rough,” Matt finally said. “But it’s okay, you

know?”

Joseph’s answering smile was heartbreaking.
And then Matt had a thought. “Why don’t you tell the

draft board or whoever? Then you wouldn’t get sent away.”
To die, he almost added, but didn’t.

“But then everyone would know,” Joseph said sadly.

“My brothers would beat the shit out of me, Mom and Dad
wouldn’t talk to me anymore. My friends… everyone— I

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

18

can’t. And I can’t go nowhere. I’m just a farm boy. What
would I do with myself in a city?”

Matt had an inkling of what a lot of boys like Joseph

had done to survive when they’d fled to the cities. It wasn’t a
pretty scenario.

Joseph crouched to hide the magazines under the quilts

again, and when he stood he took a step closer to Matt.
“Look. I’m gonna put on that uniform and do my duty. Make
my family proud. And if—when I come back, I’ll probably end
up marrying Betty Halvorsen ’cause she’s real pretty and
nice, and she figures I’m a gentleman ’cause I don’t feel her
up when we go to the movies. I’ll get a part-time job at Pete
Svoboda’s garage and I’ll help out on the farm and… and
maybe I’ll teach myself to be happy. Maybe I’ll even get that
vacation in California. Check out the beaches.”

“Joseph—” Matt began.
“But next week I’m going away and I ain’t never… you

know… with a man, and I probably ain’t ever gonna get
another chance. And you’re… God, mister, you’re really
handsome. Ain’t ever seen nobody like you. Can we… just
this one time…. Please?”

A small voice in Matt’s head protested that this was

wrong. But he ignored it. Not only because he wanted
Joseph very badly—had wanted him since he was old
enough to realize he was attracted to boys—but this was a
dream, not real life. More than that, though, Joseph’s
handsome face was hopeful and desperate. And Matt knew
that the boy would probably never get another chance.

“Okay,” Matt said, and he couldn’t help matching

Joseph’s smile with his own.

Joseph grabbed Matt’s hand and tugged him closer to

the pile of quilts. And then his fingers were hovering near the
button of his jeans, obviously unsure what to do next. Matt
finally gave in to the temptation he’d been ignoring for so
long: he reached out and drew Joseph into an embrace,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

19

pulling the shorter man against him; bending his head a
little, Matt captured Joseph’s pretty mouth in a kiss.

Joseph tasted of maple syrup. His hair was short but

hadn’t yet been cut to military specs, and Matt threaded his
fingers through the dark strands. Joseph clutched at him
and made soft noises at the back of his throat, noises that
went straight to Matt’s groin.

“What do you want?” Matt said when they’d pulled apart

a little. “If you just want to make out, that’s okay, but if—”

“I want you… um… in me,” Joseph whispered. Matt

could feel the heat under those sharp cheeks. “’Cause I’ve
never…. Men do that, don’t they? Homosexuals? And it feels
good?”

Christ. “It feels fantastic. But only if you want it. We

could do other things, you know. Lots of things. And they
can be pretty goddamn nice too.”

Joseph bit at his lip again, probably considering what

those things might be, and then shook his head. “No.
Please.”

“Okay,” Matt said a little shakily. “But if you change

your mind and want me to stop—”

“I won’t.”
Matt smiled. His family was renowned for stubbornness.

It looked like Joseph had a good bit of that in him.

Matt kissed him again. He had to remind himself to slow

down, even though he was aware that he could wake up at
any time. It had been a very long dream already. But he
didn’t wake up, not yet, and they lingered at their kiss until
they were both breathless, until Matt’s cock was aching and
he felt Joseph’s answering hardness digging into his hip.

After they pulled apart, Joseph began to undress,

fumbling at the buttons of his shirt until he grew impatient
and just yanked the shirt and undershirt over his head. Matt
was a little more deliberate with his own clothing, but he
chuckled, remembering how frantic he’d been about sex

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

20

when he was nineteen. And, Christ, Joseph was a virgin. If
Matt’s own early experiences were anything to go by, they
had better take things slowly or else they’d be done before
they began.

Joseph stood naked and a little shy, his chest moving

up and down quickly. He had only a light sprinkling of hairs
on his chest but a dark line leading from his belly to the nest
of curls. His cut cock was at half-mast. The dappled light
created golden patches on his skin, and as Matt watched, a
bead of sweat dripped between Joseph’s pecs. Matt hurried
his own undressing, tossing the damn tie into the corner.
Joseph watched. When Matt was naked, he stood so Joseph
could get a good long look at his body, at his jutting cock.

“Oh,” Joseph said.
“Everything all right?”
“I ain’t never seen…. My brothers of course and the guys

in the locker room, but not… not like this.” He tilted his
head, clenched and unclenched his hands. “Can I touch?”

“Of course.”
The hands trailing down Matt’s chest were as calloused

as he’d imagined, but Joseph’s handling of him was
tentative, tender. One palm landed on Matt’s hip while the
other wrapped itself around his shaft. He had to fight not to
buck into the sweaty grip. “Can I touch too?” Matt asked
quietly.

The answer was hoarse. “Yeah.”
They stood for some time, Joseph’s forehead against

Matt’s neck, feeling one another’s lengths. Joseph’s cock was
a little smaller than Matt’s but every bit as hard, and Joseph
gasped and jerked a little when Matt rubbed his thumb over
the slit. “Okay?” Matt asked.

“Yeah. It’s just…. It feels so different when it’s someone

else’s hand.”

Joseph’s sense of the newness of it all was almost

enough to make Matt come. He’d never caressed a shivering

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

21

virgin partner, not even when he himself was a virgin. In his
late teens, Matt had gone for guys in their twenties, guys
with the experience and confidence to show him what to do.
Now he supposed he was one of those guys, and it was a
heady realization, especially when he knew—but tried not to
acknowledge—that for Joseph he would likely be the only
guy.

Suddenly, Matt wanted to give the beautiful, youthful

body the worship it was due. He dropped to his knees—
thankfully, onto the quilts—and buried his face in Joseph’s
groin, inhaling the clean scent of Ivory soap and the pleasant
musk of sweat and lust and man.

“Are you gonna… gonna….” Joseph seemed afraid to ask

the whole question, afraid even to touch Matt with his
hands.

“If you want,” Matt answered, deliberately allowing his

breath to puff against the crease of Joseph’s leg.

“Jesus, yes!”
Matt chuckled and took Joseph’s cock in his hand

again, then slid the meaty head between his lips.

“Oh, God,” Joseph rasped, and he clutched at Matt’s

shoulders, hard fingers digging in as though he might have
toppled over otherwise. Matt didn’t mind the pain—and he
wondered if he could form bruises in his sleep. The bit of
pain made the scene seem even more real; so did the taste of
Joseph’s slick glans on his tongue, salty and smooth and
feeling so fucking alive.

With his left hand keeping Joseph’s hips steady, Matt

crept the fingers of his right hand up the inside of Joseph’s
thigh. Joseph shifted his feet, widening his stance a little,
and moaned when his balls were cradled in Matt’s hand.
Matt rolled them around a bit and gave them a slight tug, all
the while working his lips and tongue along Joseph’s length.

“G-God,” Joseph stuttered. “That’s… that’s….” But

whatever he was going to say was lost in a sharp gasp when

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

22

Matt brushed one fingertip against his tight sphincter. Matt
was going to ask whether it was all right, whether the boy
was having second thoughts, but then Joseph spread his
legs even more, inviting more exploration, and Matt
supposed that was answer enough. He traced gently along
the little pucker, feeling it twitch under his touch, hearing
Joseph’s breath come in harsh pants.

And then Joseph wrenched himself backward, away

from Matt’s mouth and hands. “You’d better….” He grinned
and blushed. “That was almost too good.”

At nineteen, Joseph could probably come and be ready

for action again within minutes. But Matt didn’t want to be
greedy, and he knew that somewhere a clock was ticking,
waiting to wake him to catch his flight to Oakland. “Okay.
But if you want me to fuck you, we’re gonna need something
for lube.”

Ice-blue eyes went very round, either at Matt’s blunt

language or at the reality of what was about to happen. But
Joseph nodded and dropped to the ground to dig under the
blankets again. Matt licked his lips at the round ass bobbing
so temptingly right in front of him. When Joseph knelt
upright again, he was clutching a squarish tin container.
“Bag Balm,” he announced. “I stole it from home to use when
I, um….”

“Flog the bishop?”
Joseph snorted a laugh. “Yeah. Will it work?”
Matt had once dated a serious bicyclist who competed in

occasional road races. That guy smeared Bag Balm on his
ass and nuts before a long ride; he claimed it helped with the
chafing. They'd never used the stuff as lube since it was
incompatible with condoms, but Matt figured it would do the
trick in this situation. He’d never barebacked before, but
safe sex wasn’t necessary in a dream. “Sure.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

23

He got another of those thousand-watt grins, and then

Joseph dropped onto all fours and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Okay. You can do me now.”

“Not so fast, Jojo,” Matt said, squeezing a handful of

muscular glute and ignoring the glare resulting from his use
of the nickname. “We have a little prep work to do so I don’t
hurt you.”

“Prep?”
Christ, how little did this kid know? Matt squeezed

again, comfortingly this time. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

And his prophecy turned out to be true, as Matt worked

one slick finger into Joseph, then two, then three. Joseph
stopped clenching against the intrusion and began fucking
himself on Matt’s fingers, his mouth running a constant
litany of blasphemy and pleas. But only when Joseph’s
smooth skin was covered in sweat and his back arched in
pleasure did Matt align his cock against the boy’s hungry
hole. “You sure?” he asked, not certain he could stop himself
if Joseph said no.

“Yes! Please!” Joseph nearly sobbed.
Slowly, almost teasingly, Matt pushed his way in.
He knew he was in a dream and wondered whether skin

against skin with no latex between really felt as good as this
did. Joseph’s channel was tight and silky, hot as a furnace.
Matt rocked his hips, just a little, watching his cock move in
and out of Joseph’s ass until the sight was too much for him
and he had to close his eyes. But that didn’t block out the
other sensations: the scents of rodents and wood and old oil,
the sounds of their bodies moving together and a crow
cawing softly nearby, the feeling of smooth skin and hard
muscles under his hands.

“Can I… can I touch myself?” Joseph’s voice was as

rough as gravel.

“You can do whatever you want,” Matt answered. But

before Joseph had a chance to shift his position, Matt

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

24

reached around the narrow waist and took the boy’s stiff
cock in his own hand.

Joseph immediately bucked into his grip, then pushed

his hips backward, impaling himself more fully on Matt. And
then his arms collapsed so that his head and shoulders were
digging into the quilts. Pistoning his hips faster, Matt bent
over the tanned back and licked the sweat from the knobby
spine.

Joseph shouted something, but the words were muffled

by the blankets. Matt probably couldn’t have processed
language just then, anyway—not when Joseph began to
shudder beneath him, not when Joseph’s inner muscles
spasmed and clenched him even more tightly than before.
Matt cried out. He didn’t quite see fireworks, but lights did
flash behind his clenched lids as he emptied himself into
Joseph.

Matt slumped over Joseph’s back for a few minutes as

they caught their breath, then he withdrew his softened cock
and they both collapsed to their sides, facing one another.
He couldn’t help a small chuckle at his own expense; he
hadn’t had a wet dream since he was fifteen years old, and
they had never been this good before. Hell, his fully awake
sex had never been this good before.

“Is something wrong?” Joseph asked. “Was I… was I

okay?”

Matt drew Joseph’s body flush against his. They were

both sweaty and sticky, streaked with dirt, smelling of spunk
and Bag Balm. “You were incredible. Really.” Matt kissed
Joseph’s shoulder. “Goddamn incredible.”

He couldn’t see Joseph’s face so close to his, but the boy

did a self-satisfied little wiggle and mouthed briefly at the
center of Matt’s chest. “It was. Thank you. If I’d never known
what— Well, thank you.”

“Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

25

They laughed together then, quiet sounds like music in

the darkness of the shed. Then they subsided into silence,
and Joseph squirmed around so Matt was spooned against
his backside. God, they fit together so well, like pieces of a
puzzle.

“Do you think you’ll pass through here again?” Joseph

whispered after a while.

Matt’s breath caught in his throat. “I don’t know.”
“’Cause if you do, and… and I’m not here… maybe you’ll

think about me, huh?”

“Jojo, I’m gonna be thinking about you every day for the

rest of my life.”

As answers went, it wasn’t enough, not for either of

them. Matt felt the yawning cavern of loss and emptiness
that lay ahead of him, and even though Joseph was a dream,
he thought that maybe Joseph felt it too. But that promise
was all he could offer, that and the comfort of his arms. At
least he knew it was a promise he would keep.

A

FTER

Matt returned to Oakland, he tried to concentrate on

work. The new assignment was a step up from the usual.
Instead of slaving over cartoons to advertise a car dealership
or appliance store, Matt had been given the task of creating
an animated video to accompany a local band. The Deeper
Souls already had a recording contract and a pretty big
following in the Bay Area, but they wanted to upload a video
to YouTube, hoping to get some national or even
international attention. Maybe somebody at Pixar would
notice Matt’s drawings; even if they didn’t, the gig paid well,
which made his boss happy, and it was a hell of a lot more
interesting than making talking refrigerators.

So Matt took his work home most nights and begged off

on drinks with Vanessa or Paul and Enrique or any of his
other friends. He was too busy to be lonely, and if the star of

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

26

his cartoon-in-progress had short black hair and iceberg
eyes, who was going to complain?

It was late in the evening and he was taking a break,

considering heating a can of soup, when he was startled by a
knock on his door. He didn’t often get visitors and it was too
late for salesmen or Jehovah’s Witnesses. He padded to the
door and flung it open impatiently, only to discover a smug,
handsome, familiar face.

“Hi,” said Brandon. He wore tight jeans and a tighter

tee. A new tattoo was just visible beneath his left sleeve,
something involving twining vines.

“Hi,” Matt answered.
“Gonna let me in?”
Matt stepped back and waited for Brandon to enter the

apartment. Once inside, Brandon looked around, probably
cataloging the few changes since he’d been there eight
months before. “Looks like you’re busy.” He waved a hand at
the paper-crowded drafting table.

“Actually, yeah.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you want?”

Brandon glanced at a drawing and shrugged. “I missed

you.”

“Bran—”
Brandon prowled closer, a half smile on his handsome

face. He stopped well within Matt’s personal space and
pitched his voice low. “Haven’t you been missing me, baby?”
He was wearing a new cologne, something with sandalwood.
It made Matt’s nose itch.

“C’mon, Brandon. We’ve been through this already.

What I want—what I need—just isn’t what you want.”

“Monogamy. You want… what? A mortgage, white picket

fence. Maybe adopt a kid—or find some donor one of us can
knock up. Or, I don’t know. Buy a kid on fucking craigslist.
Is that what you’re looking for?”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

27

“Maybe. Some of that, anyway.”
Brandon’s face twisted and he stepped away. “Why?

Why do you need all that shit? You had me, baby. We were
good together.”

“Not really.” Matt’s voice was calm, nonjudgmental. “If

we were so good together you wouldn’t have been fucking
other guys.”

“That was… nothing! Just fooling around, having a good

time. Nothing serious.”

“That’s the problem, Bran. It was nothing serious.”
“Look, maybe if we worked at it—”
“We’d just end up making each other miserable.” Matt

sighed. “You’re a great guy, Bran. And really hot. But the two
of us don’t match.” He wished he could say the rest of what
he was thinking, that he’d felt more passion, more of a
connection with the dream of a ghost than he'd ever had with
Brandon. But Brandon wouldn’t understand. Heck, Matt
wasn't sure even he understood.

“We don’t have to match, Matt. We’re not a fucking set

of dishes. We can just have fun.”

“But it isn’t fun anymore. Not for me.”
Brandon looked like he was going to argue some more,

so Matt grasped his shoulder and steered him back to the
door. “Good luck, Bran. Take care.” He closed and locked the
door between them before Brandon could respond.

When Matt was in college, he and a couple friends had

gone hiking. Miles from anywhere, Matt had fallen off a rock
and dislocated his shoulder. Luckily, one of his pals was
training to be a nurse; the guy had taken a close look at
Matt, who was in agony, decided that Matt was going into
shock, and shifted the joint back into place. Now Matt stood
in his cluttered little living room and smiled to himself,
because he felt exactly as he had on that hiking trail: a rush
of terrible pain followed by immediate relief. Maybe a little
ache afterward, but not much. He and Brandon really were

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

28

over, and Matt wasn’t just okay with that, he was happy. He
didn’t know when or if he’d ever find the man he was looking
for—if he’d ever fall in love with someone who wasn’t a
dream—but he didn’t feel the desperate need he once had.
He could be patient.

Aunt Violet’s photo album was conspicuous among the

art books and graphic novels on his bookshelf. Matt stared
at the leather spine for a few minutes, considered taking the
book down and opening it to his favorite page. But in the end
he headed for the kitchen and that can of noodle soup
instead.

A

BELLYFUL

of warm soup made Matt sleepy enough that he

decided to call it a night. He shut down his computer and got
ready for bed, yawning widely the entire time. He was asleep
minutes after his head the pillow.

The small village he was walking through must once

have been full of life, with a market in a small square, maybe
a fountain, where old men sat on benches and argued while
children shouted and kicked at balls. Now it was nothing but
rubble, the broken stones of the houses shining in the
moonlight like bleached bones.

Matt was wearing a faded green uniform. The fabric was

stiff with dried sweat and dirt, and his boots were heavy on
chafed feet. His footsteps should have echoed loudly, but
they seemed muffled, as if this place begrudged any signs of
life.

He turned the corner to find a man leaning up against

the ruins of a church, smoking a cigarette. Most of the
church’s walls were intact and so was part of the roof,
although the steeple and stained-glass windows had been
destroyed. The man was wearing a uniform similar to Matt’s,
but his face was shadowed by his round helmet. Matt
stopped several yards away.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

29

“Sarge’ll have my balls if he finds out I fell asleep on

duty,” the man said in a familiar deep voice.

“But it’s my dream,” Matt responded. “Not yours.” He

came a few steps closer, then paused.

“Nah. You wouldn’t dream of this shithole. You’re sitting

pretty in California, eating oranges off the trees. Having
cocktails with Rita Hayworth and Cary Grant.”

“I dream of you all the time, Jojo.” He did. Although only

once before had the dream been this vivid.

“Nobody calls me that anymore. Only Violent, when she

writes me letters.” Joseph pushed his helmet farther back on
his head, allowing Matt to see the white flash of his smile.

“I thought you didn’t like that name.”
“Don’t. ’Cept when it’s you saying it.”
Joseph dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his

boot heel. Then he unbuckled his helmet and bent to set it
on the cobbles next to him; he carefully placed his rifle
beside it. When he stood again, Matt finally had a clear view
of his face. Joseph looked much older, even though not more
than a year or so could have passed. New lines had settled in
around his mouth, and his eyes had gone flat and reflective,
like a sheet of ice over a lake. His hair had grown, too, so
now it was almost as long as Matt’s. But it was greasy and
dirty, pressed oddly from the helmet. Joseph’s face was dirty,
too, showing grime where a tan had once been. It must have
been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to bathe,
Matt thought.

“I think about you,” Joseph said quietly. “That morning

in Uncle Andy’s shed. Think about it all the time, ’specially
when things are… bad….” His voice drifted away.

Matt swallowed. He didn’t want to know what kinds of

bad Joseph had been through. “It was a good morning. The
best,” he said.

“Yeah. I ain’t…. The other fellas, they find girls

sometimes. Tried it once—didn’t take. I guess there’s boys,

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

30

too, when you know where to look, but I ain’t been looking.
Wouldn’t be… as sweet.”

Closing the last few feet between them, Matt put his

hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “How’ve you been, Jojo?”

But Joseph just narrowed his eyes. “Stupid goddamn

dream. I know you can’t really wear that uniform.”

“You could still get out of wearing yours. If you told

them—”

“Ain’t gonna tell anybody.” He laughed hollowly and

turned slightly away. “Betty Halvorsen got married a few
months back. Guess she got tired of waiting for me.”

“I’d wait for you.”
When Joseph didn’t react, Matt pulled him closer and

nuzzled the crook of his neck. He smelled like smoke. “God, I
miss you,” Matt said. “You’re not even real and I miss you so
much.”

“Hey! You’re the figment, mister.” Despite his bit of

bluster, Joseph melted against Matt’s body. Joseph felt more
frail than he had in the shed. Vulnerable.

But he was strong enough to pull away slightly and then

jerk his head toward the battered church door. “Seventeen
grunts in there, snoring away. If I’m lucky enough to be
having this dream, I don’t want to dream about waking them
up. C’mere.” He grabbed Matt’s hand, and Matt allowed
himself to be towed away, down the broken street, around a
corner, and into what had once been a narrow street
between shops. Now the street was choked with debris, but
Joseph picked his way through despite the darkness; he
either had better night vision than Matt or had more
experience finding his way through wreckage. He led them to
a small clear spot. “Guess we’ll be okay here, for a few
minutes, at least. Then I gotta wake up. Wouldn’t wanna be
snoozing if Jerry dropped in for a visit.”

Maybe he was going to say more, but Matt didn’t let

him. Instead, he swooped in for a tobacco-flavored kiss.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

31

Joseph’s lips were as soft as ever, as deliciously giving when
Matt nibbled at them.

“Fuck!” Joseph gasped when their lips parted. “You

don’t know how bad it is with all these other guys around all
the time. Can’t even jerk off in peace. Only place I have to
myself is in my head.”

Matt nuzzled at him again, thinking that solitude wasn’t

so great all the time, either, not when body and soul pined
for someone you couldn’t have.

“I know why I’m dreaming about you tonight,” Joseph

said a little breathlessly.

“Why?”
“I got a letter from Violent the other day. She writes me

pretty often, which is really nice. I mean, sometimes it kinda
hurts when I’m sitting here and reading about all the normal
stuff going on so far away, but it’s a good hurt, you know?”

“You’re homesick.”
“God, yes. But it’s also good to know that… whatever’s

happening here, back home Mom’s winning a ribbon at the
fair for her corn relish and my niece Annie is getting over the
chicken pox and… all that stuff. Makes me feel that what…
what I’m doing here, that it’s worth it. That there’s a reason.”

“It reminds you that you’re helping keep them safe,”

Matt said, and Joseph nodded against his shoulder. Matt
squeezed him tight and remembered what Aunt Violet had
told him about wartime. “They’re thinking about you, you
know. Every damn day.”

Joseph nodded again and sniffed a little. “I’m not gonna

fucking cry in my sleep.” He sniffed again and tilted his
head, his face close enough that even in the dark Matt could
see the shine of his eyes. “Anyway, this last letter from
Violent, it was kinda weird.”

“Weird?”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

32

“Yeah. She said she’d been real sick, but she wasn’t

anymore. Maybe she was still kinda weak ’cause her
handwriting was all shaky and wobbly, like an old lady’s.”

A shiver ran up Matt’s spine. He remembered that

handwriting, how it sent him good wishes every year on his
birthday—accompanied by a ten-dollar bill and, when he got
older, newspaper clippings about safe-sex practices.

But Joseph was continuing to talk about his letter. “And

she said some weird stuff too. That everyone back home
loves me and everyone’s thinking about me—just like you
said—and that I’m brave and… shit like that. And she also
wrote… she said she had a special present for me. Told me
she’d given this present to me once before and would again,
and that if I concentrated real hard right… right when things
get really, really bad, I could have it one last time. Don’t
know what the hell she means. Maybe she had a fever.”

Matt felt a little light-headed, which was strange. He’d

never felt dizzy in a dream before. He tried to keep his voice
even. “She wants you to be happy.”

“She always has. I think… sometimes I think she knows

that I’m… you know. Not normal. She ain’t never said
anything about it, but she'd give me these looks
sometimes….” Joseph sighed. “Anyway, she might’ve been
out of her mind when she wrote that letter, but I’m gonna
remember what she said. And if I get…. Oh, fuck. I’ve seen
so many guys hurt bad, dying. When it’s my turn, I’m gonna
remember Violent’s promise and I’m gonna remember you,
and that’s gonna make it all right.”

Matt wasn’t going to cry in his dream, either. Instead,

he kissed Joseph again. Tenderly at first, but soon his
hunger grew. Joseph’s, too, because he grabbed Matt’s ass
with both hands. Matt threaded his fingers into Joseph’s
hair and held on, and then they were grinding their hips
together and moaning into one another’s mouths.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

33

Matt had never been so very aroused so quickly. He and

Joseph fumbled at belt buckles and buttons and zippers.
There was no space for the kind of coupling they’d had back
in Nebraska, and anyway, neither of them had the patience
for that right now. As soon as their pants and boxers were
pushed down their thighs, they crashed together again, Matt
wrapping his long artist’s fingers around their cocks while
Joseph fucked his mouth with his tongue. Matt pushed
against Joseph’s shoulders with his free hand, so that
Joseph was slammed back into a wall. It probably would
have hurt, if Joseph had been paying attention. He’d
probably have scratches and bruises on his ass in the
morning. And although the small part of Matt’s brain that
remained rational knew that the other man wasn’t real, he
still felt a thrill of satisfaction knowing that Joseph would
have a physical reminder of him the next day.

Joseph’s fingers were digging into Matt’s ass-cheeks,

and their cocks slid together wetly from precome. The need
for friction, for just a little bit more, was driving Matt crazy.

There was nothing romantic about their ruined little

street. Shattered red roof tiles and splintered furniture lay
strewn about, the detritus of broken homes and broken lives.
The reek of blood and decay stained their uniforms, poisoned
the air. But it didn’t matter, for a few minutes it just didn’t
matter, because the two men who rutted and groaned and
writhed against each other were alive.

Chest against panting chest, bodies so close Matt could

hardly tell where one ended and the other began, they
rocked their hips and clenched their muscles. Just for those
few stolen moments they tried to crawl into one another’s
skin, to unite, to escape misery and pain and loneliness with
a shared taste of ecstasy.

Matt couldn’t even tell which of them came first.
Afterward, they leaned shuddering against each other

until their hearts and lungs slowed. When they pulled apart,
Matt brought his hand to his mouth—fingers and palm

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

34

sticky with their spend—and slowly, deliberately, licked it
clean. Joseph watched, wide-eyed.

They didn’t speak as they tucked themselves back into

their pants and refastened everything. Joseph led them out
of the tiny street and back to the ruined church. He pulled
out a cigarette and a lighter and took a few puffs, then
picked up his helmet and set it on his head. He slung his
rifle strap over his shoulder. “I gotta wake up now,” he said.

“I don’t. I can… I can stay here and maybe if

something… if you—”

Joseph shook his head. “Nah. You belong back with the

palm trees and Rolls Royces and sandy beaches. You don’t
belong here.”

Matt knew he was right, but still he said, “Neither do

you.”

A tiny curl of lips, just the ghost of a smile. “So next

time we do this, I’ll dream us in California, okay?”

M

ATT

woke up with the taste of ashes in his mouth and the

scent of smoke on his skin. Dried semen flaked on his belly
and in his pubic hair, making him itch. And when he padded
into the bathroom to shower it all away, he caught a glimpse
of his naked self in the mirror, and there were fingerprint-
shaped bruises on his hips.

He brooded over that for a few days.
His mother was on one of her cruises, seven days of all-

you-can-eat and origami towels on the bed and the company
of her best friend, who shared her affinity for the seven seas.
She called Matt the day after she returned and told him
about how she’d parasailed in Cabo and bought earrings in
Puerto Vallarta and even considered smuggling an extra
bottle of Don Julio back into the States but chickened out.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

35

“That’s good, Mom, ’cause if you end up in a Mexican

jail, I’m not bailing you out.”

“Pfft. I’d only have to pay a fine.” She sounded happy,

relaxed. “How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m good. Hey Mom? Is there, um, any history of mental

illness in the family?”

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the margaritas, but

she wasn’t alarmed. “Not really. Even your father’s side has
their feet pretty firmly on the ground. Why? Were you
planning a psychotic break?”

“I hope not. But… no delusions?” No dreams so real the

dreamer wakes up sticky and sore?

“Mmm, no. Your father thought he could make a fortune

in the stock market, but I think that was just stupidity, not
insanity. Why the sudden concern with mental health,
Matty?”

“It’s nothing. I just… I had a couple of weird dreams

with Aunt Violent in them—uh, Violet—and—”

But his mother was laughing. “That was her nickname

when she was a girl. Did she tell you that? All her brothers
and cousins used to call her that. She said it used to drive
her to distraction.”

“Oh.” He glanced across the room toward the bookshelf.

“Just a slip of the tongue, I guess.”

“Well, maybe she wouldn’t have minded if you’d called

her that. You were her favorite relative—she told me so
herself. ‘Such a nice boy. So sweet and thoughtful.’”

“That’s great, Mom. Nothing a guy likes to hear more

than that the geriatric crowd thinks he’s nice.”

She made an impatient little noise, and he smiled,

picturing the exact look of fond irritation she’d have on her
face. Nobody else in the whole world made that face at him.
“Don’t be a brat,” she said. “She cared about you. Even when

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

36

she was so sick, there at the end, she was worried about
you. You needed someone to love, she said.”

“Least she didn’t try to fix me up with Carl the gardener

again.”

He could tell when his mother laughed despite herself.

“That really was awful, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, honey. We were
trying to be helpful and supportive.”

“I know. Thanks. I guess.”
“Well, you should probably be thankful that Aunt Violet

was bedridden at the end. She told me she planned to make
sure you found the right man. Not that Brandon.”

“Brandon’s ancient history,” he said, but his voice

sounded far away, like it was someone else’s. “Hey Mom? I
gotta go, okay?”

“Impending hallucination?”
“Maybe. Aren’t you worried about me?”
“You’re an artist, dear. You’ve always had an active

imagination. I’m not worried.”

After the call disconnected, Matt spent several minutes

standing in the middle of his living room, which seemed to
be pitching from side to side, as if he were on his mother’s
cruise ship during a storm. “Aunt Violent,” he finally
whispered. Then he made his way—carefully—across the
room and pulled the photo album from the shelf. He took the
book to his drafting table and opened it to the only page that
mattered. There was Joseph, young and serious in his
brand-new uniform. Did he look like a guy who’d had sex in
a shed a few days earlier? Matt couldn’t tell.

He sat down and picked up a pencil, then opened his

sketchbook to a blank page. He did a lot of his work on
computers, of course, but he always began a project with
old-fashioned graphite and wood pulp. His muse seemed to
like that better.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

37

He didn’t have to look at the photo to draw the sharp

cheekbones and square jaw, the slightly crooked nose, the
full lips. In any case, the photo was no longer quite right,
and the Joseph that he created on paper had long dirty hair
and a grime-smudged face. He had tired circles under his
eyes and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
His uniform had long since lost its pleats, and those
smudges on his chest and legs—smudges formed by the edge
of Matt’s pencil—they might have been mud or might have
been something worse.

But this Joseph wasn’t leaning up against a wrecked

church. Instead, he sat on an Ikea couch in an Oakland
apartment, with a shelf full of art books behind him and a
bottle of Fat Tire in his hand. And despite the cigarette, his
lips were slightly curled. Just the beginning of a smile, as if
he were in the process of discovering something wonderful.

Matt put the pencil down and went to bed.

M

ATT

had never been a fan of war movies, but Brandon had

once talked him into watching Saving Private Ryan on DVD.

Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks and a forty-inch flat-screen
TV had done nothing to prepare him for waves that washed
red on the long beach, or the smell of gasoline and hot metal
and thick smoke, or the roaring of engines and shouting of
men, the startling bursts of machine guns and artillery. And
the bodies that were slumped on the sand or floating in the
shallows, those weren’t extras who would get up at the end
of the day and change back to jeans and T-shirts and drive
home for dinner; they were real people, real corpses.

He stumbled unevenly across the damp beach, the sand

giving beneath his boots. He suspected he should probably
find some kind of shelter to cower behind, to avoid the flying
bullets and shrieking shells, but that would only slow him
down, and he didn’t know how long he had.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

38

His heart stuttered in his chest when he came across a

broad-shouldered man sprawled prone on the sand,
facedown in a puddle, dark hair flecked with debris. The
man’s hands were trapped under his torso and his uniform
was wet. He still wore a life belt around his waist—little good
it had done him—and his gun was lying at his side. But
when Matt gently turned the body over, the sightless eyes
were brown instead of blue, the face unfamiliar.

Matt’s relief left him feeling light-headed and guilty. This

dead man was someone’s son. Maybe a brother, a lover, a
father. He’d never again laugh over a dirty joke or listen to a
baseball game, get sweaty mowing the lawn, whisper in his
girl’s ear. Thousands of miles away, people’s lives were going
to be shattered when they learned of his death, and then
he’d be just another fading photo. But he wasn’t Joseph, and
so Matt was glad.

He couldn’t tell how long he searched—it seemed like

forever—and still the battle raged around him and men died.
Nobody paid him any attention, but he guessed that under
the circumstances, anyone who wasn’t trying to kill you or
didn’t need to be killed by you didn’t much matter.

Eventually he found his way to a rough field hospital,

up where the sand turned to small stones. A few small tents
had been erected, but most of the patients seemed to be
arranged on the ground outside. The stink here was
terrible—blood and piss and shit and scorched flesh—and
the sounds even worse: moans, screams, sobs, pleas.

When Matt finally found the object of his search, he

collapsed to his knees.

Joseph was lying on a stretcher. Someone had wrapped

cloth around his leg and ripped open his shirt to bandage
the mess there, but dark blood had already saturated the
white gauze and nobody was tending to him. The
experienced medics must have abandoned him in favor of
patients they might actually have some hope of saving.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

39

Joseph smiled up at Matt, red staining his teeth. “Was

thinking… of you,” he said in a voice as thin and fragile as
tissue paper. Every rattling breath was clearly a great effort.

“Jojo,” Matt groaned and moved a lock of hair from his

lover’s face.

“It’s okay… doesn’t hurt. Can’t… feel anything.”
Matt’s eyes burned, and his throat clenched with the

effort not to cry. He looked at the awkward way Joseph’s
unmoving hands were curled and decided to keep touching
Joseph’s face, tiny little strokes of his fingertips, as if they
could smooth injuries away. “God, Jojo.”

Joseph was still smiling. “Finally… made it to… the

beach…. But it’s still… Omaha.” His laugh sounded too
much like a death rattle.

“I love you, Jojo. You know that, don’t you? I don’t know

how… how the hell all this…. But I love you.”

“Good.” Joseph exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, and

for a moment Matt didn’t expect him to inhale again. But he
did and his lids fluttered open, his irises so startlingly light
against the dirt and blood on his skin. “Me too…. Good old…
Violent.”

When you’re dying on a cold beach very far from home,

the impossible becomes fully plausible. And when it’s the
man you love who’s dying right in front of you, you can
believe in anything.

“Violent gave me a present too,” Matt said. “I plan to

keep mine.”

Joseph tried to smile, but his breath caught and his

shoulders shuddered. His eyes went very, very wide.

Matt wound long black hair around his fingers and

hung on tight. “Stay with me, Jojo. Stick with me.” He made
his voice very firm, as if he were an officer barking
commands. “Stick with me.”

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

40

“…’kay…” came the answer, just a whisper of a syllable

on his very last breath.

M

ATT

woke up in his bed in Oakland with hot tears in his

eyes. He didn’t want to wake up, not yet; he wanted just a
few more moments with his Joseph. Maybe if he burrowed
under the covers and—

A startled shout almost sent him tumbling off the bed.
Joseph was kneeling on the other side of the mattress,

gasping in shock. He wore the tattered, dirty remains of his
uniform, but his body was whole. Matt reached out
tentatively to touch his chest. Joseph was alive and
wonderfully, undeniably real.

“W-w-what the

fuck?” cried Joseph.

Matt couldn’t find the words to respond, so he simply

threw his arms around him and held him close.

“Is… is this heaven?” Joseph whispered.
Matt couldn’t help but laugh, remembering that scene

in Field of Dreams. “No. It’s California.” God, Joseph was so
solid in his embrace, so warm and good.

“But… I was…. How…?”
How could Matt explain when he really didn’t

understand himself? “I love you, and Aunt Violent gave us a
present, and… and you’re safe now. ’Cause I’m not letting
you go.”

Maybe Joseph liked that sentiment, because he

clutched Matt just as hard as Matt held him and he hid his
face against Matt’s neck. He was crying, but then so was
Matt, and that was all right. It was a good time for tears.

When their sobs died down, they pulled apart, and Matt

rubbed a little at the tearstains on Joseph’s cheek.

Violet’s Present * Kim Fielding

41

“Is this…. Am I dreaming?” Joseph asked, his gaze

darting around Matt’s bedroom, taking in the TV screen, the
iPhone dock with the digital clock, the framed prints of some
of Matt’s drawings.

Matt knew there would be long and complicated

explanations: to Joseph, to Matt’s mom, to the authorities
who issued paperwork, to everyone. He had no idea how he’d
get through all of that. And Joseph was going to have a hard
road ahead of him, adjusting to the fact that everyone he’d
known was long gone, that he was in an unfamiliar city in an
unfamiliar time, a time when everyday technology was
beyond his wildest imagination. But he had good surprises
waiting for him too: his war was over, the bad guys defeated.
He had a world of choices ahead of him now, choices he’d
never had back on the farm. He could go to college if he
wanted to. He could be open about being gay, and while
some threats and hatred remained, most people would just
take it in stride. And Matt would be there with him the whole
time, loving him.

Maybe Joseph sensed some of what Matt was thinking,

because while his eyes remained a little wild, he grabbed
Matt’s hand and squeezed it tightly, a hint of a smile
beginning to form at the corners of his mouth.

“No more dreaming now, Jojo,” said Matt with an

answering grin. “Thanks to Aunt Violent, we’re finally both
wide awake.”

Get the whole package at

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About the Author

K

IM

F

IELDING

is very pleased every time someone calls her

eclectic. She has migrated back and forth across the western
two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in
California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space.
She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to
travel and write full-time. She also dreams of having two
perfectly behaved children, a husband who isn’t obsessed
with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams
are more easily obtained than others.

Kim can be found on her blogs:

http://kfieldingwrites.blogspot.com/

and

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fie
lding/blog

and on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Kim-
Fielding/286938444652579

.

Her e-mail is

[e-mail]

.

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Copyright

Violet’s Present ©Copyright Kim Fielding, 2012

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Catt Ford

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America
June 2012

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-652-5