Harry had been kissed before, but never like this.
He’d shared sweet, curious kisses behind bleachers and in soda
shop booths, one or two more daring ones in cars parked on dark suburban
streets, but the girls he’d kissed had never filled him with the
desperation that erupted from Louis’ touch. He parted his lips and
pulled him closer, as though he could breathe Louis straight into his
lungs, as if he could swallow him. He wanted to consume Louis the way he
consumed the body and blood of Christ. He wanted to place Louis on his
tongue and feel him dissolve into a frothy mess of starch and saliva. He
wanted to gulp him down until his teeth were stained purple and he was
drunk on him. He wanted him in some violent holy way that made his hands
shake where they were twisted in Louis’ shirt.
In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only
life he’d known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his
truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn
together. Isolated on Louis’ farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows
to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves
they’ve spent their lives hiding away.