Learning-to-Feel by N.R. Walker

culprit with happy brown eyes, a toothy grin and a long, slobbery pink tongue.
    Bentley.
    Groaning, I got up, changed into some sweats and sneakers. Reluctantly, I left the sleeping man in my bed and went downstairs. Bentley bounded happily out before me, and we set off for our morning run. I went further on the trail this morning, figuring Bentley could use the exertion before a three and a half hour car trip, and I used the run to clear my head.
    I loved running through the woods that hugged the Bay. It sure beat pounding on a concrete pavement or running fruitless miles on a treadmill. The air was crisp, the ground was damp and the sounds of the living forest spurred me on. We'd easily covered several miles, and when we finally got back to the house, we were both panting.
    Bentley's long coat was wet and kind of dirty, but he looked rather pleased. My shirt was soaked through with sweat, and my hair wet with the damp, forest air. When we walked through the back glass doors, Trent was fixing himself a coffee. He looked at the both of us and asked, "Did you run or swim?"
    I leaned over, resting my hands on my knees and caught my breath. "Cardiovascular workout," I told him, "you should come with us next time."
    Trent laughed loudly at me. "It gets my heart going enough just watching you," he said.
    And it was comments like that that confused me. But it meant nothing to him, the sexual innuendos, the flirting, the nonchalance about it all. I knew that was just him, always joking about sex and feelings and never being serious.
    Maybe that was how I should be with him.
    So I took off my shirt, and he watched me, his eyes raking over my naked torso. He smirked at me, so I twisted the shirt in my hands and flicked it at his ass. It connected with a resounding thwack, and he spilled his coffee. "Ow."
    I laughed. "I’m the Master Towel Flicker," I told him. "Growing up with Brendan, I have years of practice."
    He pouted and rubbed his ass. I chuckled at him, "Would you like a doctor to have a look at that for you?"
    He grabbed the dish towel from me, twisted it, aimed it at me and told me to piss off, but I just laughed at him and raced upstairs to the bathroom.
    When I was showered, shaved and packed, I went back downstairs. I dropped my bag in the foyer and headed toward the kitchen to find Bentley, looking very excited at something behind the open laundry door.
    I walked past him, and when he barked, I turned to find Trent behind me, armed with a twisted tea towel. "Oh Bentley," Trent scowled, "you gave me away."
    I laughed incredulously. "Because he’s my breakfast buddy," I said as I patted and rubbed the dog. "He sticks up for me.
    "He’s a traitor," Trent said with a pout, but his lips twisted, trying not to smile.
    "It’s a shame," I told him. "I’d have let you rub my ass, too."
    He groaned and threw the towel at me. I smiled at him and asked, "You ready to go? I have a surprise for you this afternoon," I told him, and his eyes widened. "Can’t be late."
    He was a little more than shocked. My suggestion of a surprise had thrown him. "I’m packed," he said quietly. "I'll just grab my bag."
    I found an old blanket and fixed it to the backseat of my car. Trent came out with his bag and some strap looking thing, which he called a harness, for Bentley. Ten minutes later, we were on the road.
    We stopped at Portland for coffee, and so Bentley could pee in the park. Conversation was easy. The changing scenery prompted changes of topics, and there was rarely silence. Bentley laid down and napped while we talked, and my fears of having to clean the car of dog urine smell went unfounded.
    We overtook a bus that was advertising for men’s cologne, and our conversation went from male models, to sports stars, to body image, to piercings and tattoos.
    I asked him about the tattoo, a solitary star, that I’d seen on his hip.
    "Is it a Texas thing?" I asked, and he chuckled.
    "No, it’s a gay thing," he said with a smile.
    I was