[Coming of Age (February 1989-Summer 1990) tells of transitions made due to the inevitabilities of aging, time, personal change and the need to adjust. As are all the stories in the series, this part is fiction, imagined from life incidents but not actual in the details and persons.]
The spring of 1989, I look back at now as the happiest time of my life, and not just for me. Everything seemed to be going well for everyone in my circle. We seemed free of anxiety and full of contentment.
Geo put the finishing touches on his memoirs. He wanted to give it his final edit while he was still in the working mode at San Felipe. I didn't know in any detail what kind of autobiographical book it would be. But, though the most minor of writers compared to Geo, I knew enough from my own experience as a scribbler not to intrude on his endeavor until he was ready to share it. I did gather, however, that it was an intellectual memoir, more attuned to the development of Dok's thought than reporting his highly provocative lifestyle.
I was writing too, only what I produced were just bawdy gay limericks. Somehow, I'd gotten started on them. I'd be working around the house or yard, turning the lines over in my head, trying for the beat, rhyme, and revelatory surprise. Then, suddenly, I had it. I'd run to pen and paper and get it down before I lost the thread of it. I wrote 48 of the little buggers in fifteen days before I came to the conclusion that you can only rhyme fuck and suck so many times before it gets damn repetitive and its likely all been done before. But here's a few.
The former hate monger, Abenda,
railed for years against our agenda:
'To be gay is sin,'
he'd always begin
till catching his son in Rajendra.
In malls, I take the elevator,
eyeballing a full moon's equator;
a butt is inviting
and so damned exciting
when I'm welcomed to be his vibrator.
The toy manager, not believing his sight,
it gave him the strangest delight
when Carlos rushed in
to the terrible din,
watching Andy humping Teddy last night.
Guys without women get smarmy
as proven in church, subs, or army;
butts start to look good,
or what's under the hood,
so men, do not let it alarm ye.
A randy cub stud by name Dallas
sought a juicy tight slot for his phallus;
then he scored at casino
in hot downtown Reno,
yelling, 'Fuck me again!' in the Palace.
Geo and I liked to sit out in the warm evenings and sometimes take a stroll along the sea. He was at the height of his affection for me, and I for him.
We didn't care about the world any more and what they thought. We'd hold hands or walk arm in arm. People probably thought Geo was my doddering old father. Well he didn't dodder in bed, though we snuggled more than we fucked. Geo didn't work on the weekends, and being more rested, he wanted to fuck then. In all our time together he only fucked me a half dozen times.
I think Geo saved himself for those times he could give me his best shot. Each of those rampages, I imaged I could feel his hard, thick cock giving me full measure, the knobs on his palang exciting more lust and pleasure in me than with any man I had ever enjoyed. I'd bolt, bucking against his elephantine delight, even scream with the fullness of him in me, clutch the sheets and call through the intensity, 'Don't stop, never stop.' I thought of the old novel, My First Ten Thousand Years and Cartapha's often-repeated expression, "unendurable pleasure, indefinitely prolonged."
We went back to Hidden Lake in the spring, early enough to celebrate, though quietly, my birthday in April and to witness Kirk and Ali presented in their prom outfits. We sat in the gallery in the high school gym where each couple was introduced. Kirk had spent a lot of his hard-earned money on a traditional tux, dinner at the Pirates Cove, flowers and the dance after. Nick and his girl accompanied them, thanks to the use of Glenn's car. He had a new Pontiac Grand AM. I was amazed how tall and adult Kirk looked, that was the best part.
These mid-American teenage mating rituals, like prom, always set me off to question them, their purpose, necessity and horrible expense. But Geo got a kick out of all the dozens of "fine, young men" while I scoped the audience for the fathers, most about 5-6 years older than me. As it happened I was glad for Geo, he had never seen anything like this, and talked about it for weeks afterwards.
Geo was not very steady that April and May. He did not have his usual energy, gave up drinking entirely, and fell asleep in his chair each evening as we watched the sunsets over the lake. In June, he was hospitalized with pneumonia. It never got better, and I regret that he never came home again but died in an oxygen tent in the hospital.
When you're in love with a man nearly twice your age, why not expect these things? I knew it was all down hill that spring. But once again as when Wallace suicided, Geo and I never participated consciously or personally - man to man - in our own parting. Still I had a better grip on myself this time than with Wallace.
Geo had distant cousins and the children of cousins somewhere, sprinkled around the world, but his will left everything to those he knew best. Glenn and Ben received co-equally the deed for Hidden Lake, and I received the one for the house at San Felipe. Geo split his deposit bank accounts between us so that the available cash would pay the inheritance taxes. I never knew what kind of money Geo had; I imagined he lived so high that he spent it all.
Because he'd been a itinerant priest in third world countries for the first twenty years of his adult life and then taught in a seminary where the poverty mentality prevailed more rigorously than the celibacy one, I didn't imagine he had anything like a retirement pension. I couldn't imagine that he made much on his books and other writings. They were all so technical. Was I to be surprised.
Geo set up a trust into which all his royalties were to be paid. Glen, Ben and I were administrators of the trust, but the beneficiary was Kirk. We were to administer it for his education and afterwards as a stipend or annuity. All Geo's books were in print, existing in several translations - about half of them made by his own mind and hand - and were routinely used as textbooks and supplemental reading in seminaries and graduate programs around the world. And those books were expensive.
His blockbuster work on the pre-Nicean church listed at $70 in 1989. His book, Saint Paul and the Phallus, an examination of the early church and the sexuality of the first century Mediterranean world, though a $15 paperback, was the big money maker. His Towards a Theology of Equality and Justice Based on Love, the only one I had read, primarily on countenancing same-sex relationships, was an underground classic. In his younger days he had written a half dozen books for children, three on saints and three on Christianizing princes, and these sold prodigiously with every generation of new children, even in Communist countries. The money just rolled in.
Geo was cremated at my decision; we had talked about that. Geo was always one of a kind, and cremating his body had an added anomaly. The mortuary had asked if there was any metal in his body - pacemakers or any other device. 'He has a palang through the penis' head,' I said as flatly as I could. So they removed it prior to the cremation, and returned it to me in a little box, separate from his ashes. I was dumfounded what to do with it and even thought I have the bar thrust through my own lonesome rod out of some kind of exaggerated memorial to him. I just stashed it in my duffle.
I arranged a memorial service at St. Aloysius where Georgias had been a long-time and revered member, noted for the large number of men he brought along to mass on a regular basis. The little church overflowed with people and flowers. The octogenarian Father Justus led a barebones service and Glenn, Dr. Jamison Jones, and I each spoke briefly and to the point. Glenn surprised me at his sincere, well-chosen words of welcome in celebration of Dok's life; Jamison talked on Dok's contributions to scholarship, ecumenism and inclusiveness, and I spoke of his understanding and generosity. When I'd paid the estate taxes, and several hundred dollars remained from his bequest to me, I gave it all to St. Aloysius in his memory.
Kirk was most undone by Geo's death, tongue-tied and morose for weeks afterwards. Glenn's birthday party was going forward, but I couldn't bear to be part of it without Geo and had to go back to San Felipe anyway to settle things in Mexico. Kirk asked to spend the weekend alone with me at Hidden Lake before I left.
'We're going to take Geo's ashes to Sturgis,' Kirk said. 'He wanted to go next year, and we're going to take him there.'
'I don't have any argument with that,' I said. 'I've been stewing about what should be the appropriate...' I groped for a word, not wanting to say 'disposal.' 'Action,' I said.
Kirk said, 'Geo made me, you know; you and Geo did. I'd be a j.d. or worse if it were not for you two.'
'You are doing the work, I figure. We just helped.'
'A lot,' he said, 'and I love you for it, more than either my biological father or my adoptive father. You two have been my real fathers.'
'Thank you, Kirk; I'm sure Geo recognized that, too, that he felt that way.'
'And I want to thank you, too, for your patience with me last summer, when I was in a funk over A.J. I still think about him and I think about that night. But it's okay now, and you helped me out even though I didn't think so or know so at the time.'
I smiled. 'I'm glad, I said.'
Kirk kicked the ground. 'I'm more sexually rounded now, too.'
I wondered what he meant and asked, 'Rounded?'
'Yes. I've had sex with a female.'
'I see.'
'It took a while, a lot of making out, but prom night, Ali let me into her coozie.'
'Coozie! That's a rather old-fashioned word coming from you.'
'Oh, maybe so. I learned it from Geo.' We laughed. I didn't want to probe, but Kirk said, 'I want to tell you what I learned about sex.'
'Okay.' This I had to hear.
'Part of sex is pleasure and part of it is intimate connection. I liked the halfway sex with A.J. far more than planking Ali in the back seat of Glenn's Grand AM on prom night. We went all the way; she screamed and cried for more, and I came buckets and the sex felt great. But it wasn't close, wasn't intimate. Now she's conniving to have me fuck her all the time, and I don't want to.
That she's a girl and A.J. was more engaging is not the point. It's that I don't really like her snooty ways and her snob friends, and her wanting to be the perfect American wife and mother with me tied to her. Besides, she's on the pill, and I think she's been around the block a time or two before me. Jeez, Louise, we're only 17 years old.'
'What you say makes sense to me. Are you breaking up with Ali?'
'Well, Lance, I hope to let her down easily.'
'Good, if you can do it.'
'I have to try,' Kirk said. 'Let's go for a swim.'
We swam nude. Talk about fine, young manhood. Kirk was in the first full flush of his youth, not only tall and well endowed, but magnificently proportioned. All his athletic activities, hiking and biking had given him broad shoulders, well-muscled arms, but not over developed, well defined, high pectorals, and legs to die for. His hair, more auburn than the sandy-reddish of Ben had spread to his chest. He must have shaved himself smooth for some reason, because it was stubble length, but nonetheless fetching. I'm afraid I ogled him, and he caught me at and said, 'Yeah, Dad, I've come to look as good as you. Except I'm taller.'
I realized those days were the first I had been alone with Kirk for any extended period of time. And everything took on a different perspective. He was becoming an adult, showing his initiative and wanting to make decisions and be a part of what was going on around him. He was fixated on the possibilities of his future, nothing specific as to career, but moving in the direction of preparing himself for a wide range of possibilities.
He started to make arrangements for Sturgis, studying the map, plotting our route, and having me make reservations for where we would stay-all a year ahead of time. He also decided that he wanted to start visiting colleges and hit upon me taking him along on my return to San Felipe so that we could make visits in southern California.
We returned to Little Falls, and Kirk relayed his plans to Ben. Glenn sat in and gave his support for the college planning. Typically, Ben was suspicious; he always had a hard time with any departure from what he thought was the given plan. I'm sure he thought that I'd be free to seduce his kid even though he hardly owned up to being Kirk's father except with grudging acceptance.
But Kirk was firm, persistent and remarkably persuasive. He needed a couple days to separate himself from his jobs, inform his friends of his plans, and explain to Ali he'd be gone for up to a month. I realized he didn't need to be gone that long, but he wanted this much distance from her.
Still missing Geo, I appreciated the company Kirk provided for the long drive to the Baja. Sharing the same sights and trading off on the driving was both energizing and comforting. We didn't really push it, but made good time - first to North Platte, then Las Cruces, and the rest of the way by the third evening. We'd stayed in cheaper motels, but ones with two double beds. To ward off any temptation, I jacked off twice a day when Kirk showered at night and I in the morning. Remembering myself as a horny teenager, I assumed he did the same.
Faithful Marianna and Iago, who always kept everything in order at the Baja location, were still grieving Geo's death, but gave their attention to comforting Kirk and me. We cried together, reminiscing in Spanish over Geo's kindnesses and demonstrated interest in others as people. Taking on the house was going to be a psychological burden. I settled in one of the guestrooms; Kirk occupied his usual one, the smallest.
For a week, I was busy with attorneys and officials over the estate. Kirk rode my motorcycle around, visited his old school, made new friends with neighbors and in town, and read books from Geo's library. 'What are you going to do with all these books?' he asked.
'Give them to you, I guess.'
'That would be wonderful.'
'Would it be all right to go through them now?' The thought of raiding Geo's library unsettled me.
'To do what?'
'I want to get a better understanding of what all is in it. I'd like to take a few books that appeal to me right now. Maybe do some rearranging. I'd put the books I'll be reading in my room.'
'Okay,' I agreed.
Kirk's enterprise over the library gave me incentive to tackle Geo's study and then our bedroom. I saw that Geo's tidiness stood behind his very productive career. He had finished every article he set out to write and kept all his calendars, daybooks, and correspondence in rigorous order. I was amazed at the volume of his personal papers, filling eight 5-drawer, 90-centimeter deep filing cabinets and two 6-shelf, 90-centimeter wide bookcases.
His own books in their various translations filled another case. He also kept at hand in the study a core of reference books in another two cases - Bibles, indexes, dictionaries, and collections of the church fathers in another couple cases. I realized this room represented the core of Geo's professional life: it should go to some university.
When I went to the bedroom that we had shared, I stood inside the door and just stared at the bed where we so lovingly consorted and cavorted. Tears welled in my eyes, and I couldn't do any more. I just closed the door and went to the other guestroom.
A couple weeks later, after the Fourth of July, Kirk and I set off for a round of campus visits. It was exhausting amidst all the crowding and traffic, but in five days, we saw twelve campuses. Kirk was bound to make a good impression, had me cut his hair and made sure we both wore pressed or wrinkle-free shirts and ties. He always made sure that my tats and piercings didn't show and made me take the rings out of my ears. As we went along, I passed as his father, something that thrilled me. No one questioned that I was Mr. Davids and he was Kirk Donnelly.
Everywhere we visited, Kirk was excruciatingly polite, articulate, and complimentary. He asked a lot of questions and always wanted to see typical classrooms, freshman dorm rooms, the library, the theater department, and zeroed in on their scholarship information.
It was hot and humid during the summer in San Felipe, but I was glad to get back again to minimal shorts, bare feet and being shirtless. That last week, Kirk was with me before I took him to the San Diego airport was given to quiet conversations about my life and his. He had a lot of questions about what my experiences had been as a gay man, not the sex, but the life and what I thought about it.
Kirk expressed understanding of what I said about my own experience, very accepting. But I could tell he wanted something more for himself, something that came from chosen endeavor. What had I ever set out to be or become, anyway, than to please others as I went about pleasuring myself?
Kirk and I did a lot of swimming in the pool - we wore Speedos until dark, then nothing - sitting outside with iced tea, playing non-combative chess, and hiking around town. He'd stopped shaving his chest, and, oh ye gods, he looked fine. I wanted to run my fingers through it down to his bush and whopper. As single as I was, I found myself sexually attracted to him, but kept my hands off of him. When it was time for bed, we kissed goodnight and went to our separate rooms. Likely he jacked himself as much as I did myself.
Contrary to most touristas we did not have a boat, and we did not go fishing. Kirk had discovered Blake, Byron, Whitman, and Auden and in the evenings read me poetry, and some of his own.
Here's one: Crystalline Witness
Crystalline witness becomes the poet's eye: Distilled being to a snap In lightning flashes of tourbillion Rights words to spark the chain reaction Of ink-caught thought.
Tell the truth quickly as you snag it - Neither story, lesson, nor log - Just the moment of recognition, Cusp caught, mid synapse, saved vagrants >From loss, drowning or banishment.
Broken shards catch an instant Of chaotic times, ideas, open world; Mounded fragments stand-in for wholeness, Coarse splinters refracting at all angles What's real, what's good, what's new.
And here's one of mine that Kirk prompted me to write: Spring Rain
It comes, the first fresh scents of spring, misty drops of sweet, earth spice cool, wet world in cleansing spray bathed, transfused, reborn; Moisture glistens on bud and blade as eager robins, invigorate, hustle and chirrup, from the distance, promises of the new green wonders yet to rise.
In the middle of the night before Kirk left, I woke surfacing to consciousness that someone was in bed with me. I felt his body pressed alongside me against mine, his hand stoking my inner thigh. 'Dad,' he said, 'I want to show my love and affection for you; I want to express intimacy.'
My heart pounded me awake, not from lust but from fear that I had corrupted his thinking. 'Kirk, we don't want to do anything we'd have to lie to your father about.'
'Ben, you mean? You're my actual father. Forget about Ben.'
I sat up, barely seeing him in the light from the clock radio and the filtered moon. 'I can't forget. He always suspects I'm up to shenanigans anyway, and I've assured him I don't go for boys.'
'Don't you think I'm a man?'
'Not legally.'
'Just let me cuddle with you,' Kirk persisted. 'I want to give you this for all you've done for me. I want to show that I love you, Dad.'
'Kirk, I know you love me. I hope you know I love you, too, in a fatherly way.'
'I accept, just let me be physical with you just this once, just like I was with A.J. last year.'
I didn't say anything but stretched out again, and turned on my side away from him. He curled against me, his hand over me, feeling my chest and nipples, running down my abdomen, lifting my cock and nuts. He hummed contentedly, and I felt his boy prong hardening at my back door. 'Mmm.' he whispered, 'there's nothing like the smell of a man. Just let me adjust myself, Dad, and then we'll fall asleep.' I said nothing, foolish coward that I am. He shifted awhile and then I felt his moistened cock enter past the first sphincter. 'There, Dad, that's all I want.' He kissed the back of my neck, and moved a little farther in me. 'I love you, Dad.'
'I love you Kirk. Son.'
'Good,' he whispered. He caressed my shoulders and chest, nuzzling against my neck, softer and softer until his hand went limp, and I heard nothing but his breathing and mine. And so we slept.
We'd come apart and shifted in the night. Yet when I woke, I was still tumescent and looking down at Kirk saw that he was half-hard too. My God, I thought, you dirty perverted bugger, not your own son, and 17 at that. I remembered having sex with Glenn when I was 17. One recruitment led to another; the homophobes were right. I went into the bathroom to toss off, realizing that I now fantasized about sex with Kirk. Guiltily, I came anyway, and while I was still in the shower, Kirk came into it with me.
'Morning, Dad,' he said. 'I trust you slept well.'
'Morning son,' and I held him under the spray and kissed him, but not too deeply. 'Time to get going,' I said. 'There's time to beat off if you want.'
'Jeez Dad,' Kirk didn't sound too exasperated, 'what do you think I do when you're in the jon pounding away 'til your eyes pop out?'
I stayed in San Felipe for the rest of the hot summer after seeing Kirk board his plane. He returned to writing weekly and I replied. I tried to be busy and as bent on self-improvement as he was so that our correspondence, from my side as well as his, would have some content to it. I wandered a lot. I had not been on my own for so long a time since I was twenty, when meeting and moving in with Wallace on the same weekend.
Heavy reading didn't hold me. I rode my Harley a lot, wandered the beach, went to movies and sat at outside cafés trying to look buffed up and single.
I realized my whole life I had relied on my contacts to meet other gay guys, excepting the happy accident of meeting Wallace. I was hoping for some kind of wonderful fortuitous accident like that again. Finally I decided to go for a spin in Tijuana, reputedly sin-city Mexico, but on the way I stopped in Mexicali.
I went to a bar called Exstasis or something like that, really a little hole in the wall. I wore jeans with a concho belt, western boots, and my bar vest over an open, tattered black shirt with capped sleeves so my flagrant tats showed. Not too obvious. I was nervously smoking the Marlboro lites I'd brought and into my second beer, when this rather tall guy came up to me. I noted his bushy eyebrows and heavy mustache, slightly graying black hair, and his macho bearing and dress, equivalent to mine. He wore leather chaps and heavy biker boots.
'Is that your Harley outside?' he asked in Spanish; he had a German job, he said. We chatted bikes for a while, before I stumbled over the language, and he said, 'You American?'
'Yes, you?'
'British; I've a place here, in Mexicali, rather just outside.' Then, 'You visiting?'
'Mmm,' I said nodding as non-committal as possible; I didn't want to say we were neighbors. I almost said, My partner just died, but I caught myself before committing a downer.
'I'm Hal,' he announced extending his hand.
'Lance,' I said. We shook hands with our biker gloves still on.
We chatted through a couple more beers about the state of the world, checking one another out sub rosa as to how we stood on things - free expression, health and exercise, differences in customs and cultures, masculinity, sexuality and who turned us on. It was John Cougar Mellencamp for him, Sean Connery for me; or, in other words, we were each other's dreams. By the time we were to the dregs, he was feeling me up and I had my hand on his thigh as we sat facing, his leg, my leg, his leg, my leg.
'Come home with me for a real drink,' he invited.
'Sure,' I said.
'Okay, follow me, then. It's about 4 kilometers south of here on 5. I'll make sure you're behind be before I turn off the highway.'
I thanked him, explaining, 'I hadn't planned to go fast or far with these beers in me.'
His place was on a crest overlooking the Sea of Cortés, a single guy's version of a hacienda - one floor, a sweeping porch on each side and lots of windows. The furnishings were local, rustic, and very masculine. 'Bring your kit in,' he called from the porch. I gathered he meant my duffle. Inside, he took it and led me to the bedroom, tossing it on the bed.
'You get comfortable. Take your boots and whatever off and go out on the seaside porch. I'll bring the drinks. Vodka all right?'
'Thanks,' I hoped I sounded cheery since I usually didn't drink this much.
'Good. I'll make it a tall one.'
I shucked my clothes down to my jock strap, found one of Geo's warn Hawaiian shirts that I had co-opted and left it open - most of the buttons were gone anyway - and picked up the cigarettes and lighter. I was lounging on a cushioned, bentwood when he came out with the glasses, he wore a kimono, open. I could see how hung he was, a beautiful, fully curved cock halfway down his thighs. Those Tom of Finland black and whites had nothing on him.
'How is it that good-looking stuff like you is running around single?' he started.
'I could ask the same of you,' I countered.
'I asked you first; you are sexy.'
'I'm between partners,' I evaded.
'Bust up?' Hal was not to be avoided.
'Death did us part.' I wondered if I was beginning to sound drunk.
'Ah, sorry. Been long?' He sounded serious but chatty, and certainly kept to the point.
I collected myself. 'A month.'
'Been with anyone since?' Hal was either nosey or this was his way of being friendly.
'Just too busy; details.'
'How long were you partnered?'
'Only three years.' I saved myself from saying, this time.
'Too bad; and before?'
'Sixteen years with Wallace.'
'Well, Lance, baby, you must be monogamous. I'm not. You been with other guys?'
'Yes, a few.'
'Me, too. I remember most of them. I'm 50 now, been going at it since boarding school, then my cousin, Sir Gerald he is now, and through the navy, Cambridge, and all the way around the world. A few Mexican numbers, too - rent boys can be a thrill but you don't know where they've been, and I've been off of them since the epidemic began. I am clean by the way; I gather you are too. We don't have to play safe do we?'
So that was the reason for all his questions. 'No, not me.' I began to relax, sipped my vodka, and started another cigarette. 'Beautiful place you have, Hal.'
'I like it. Won it in a poker game in B.C. I've been down here summers for seven years now. I teach in Victoria. You want to come out to my hot tub?'
'Okay.'
'Lance, are you always this damned agreeable?'
'About most things, Hal.' I followed him out to the edge of the porch where he turned on soft lights surrounding the pool in a sunken ring. Soft string music came on, and I could hear the surf. Quite romantic. He stepped out of his robe and I from my shirt and jock. The water was warm and beginning to bubble. I lit another cigarette, and he sat opposite beginning to play footsie with me.
The short of it was that by the end of my 'tall one' I was looped and he was over to my side, licking me all over and finally packing into me. I was up out of the water on my back. Hal held my legs and feet in the air and fucked me hard for all he was worth, a rougher job than was my custom. I held my rod, and accustomed as I was to masturbation of late, flogged it so that I came when he came in me. Hal fell on me for a moment, but revived to lick up my spent cum, slap me on the butt, and say, 'I hope you can walk back to the house all right.'
I managed, the two of us going back naked, and we got in bed and cuddled together in the middle. In moments I was asleep. It was bright lights outside when I stirred awake. I found shorts and a UND t-shirt and conscious of my breath, brushed my teeth for about five minutes. I made my way to the porch where Hal was sitting over coffee and The Times of London. 'Good morning,' he greeted as I sat opposite him and immediately a uniformed maid, rather a young woman, showed up with a bloody Mary for me. 'Hair of the dog,' he said.
'I hope I wasn't too rough on you last night; I'm afraid you made me get carried away.' Hal the dozer was used to being topman, I was sure; rough was his style.
'I survived,' I said. 'Thanks,' I said, 'you are a good host.' I felt appreciative of his attention, however heavy it was. Sometimes you have to be willing to play rough or stay home.
'We must get together again some time, Lance. Leave me your address, I do a real bang up bash for the Queen's birthday. Sorry, you missed it this year.'
'Thanks, I will, but I expect to be gone next June. Maybe after that.' I doubted I could take his massive attacks on a regular basis, but his assault on me was just the diversion from self-absorption that I needed.
'Too long; I don't want to forget you. You want to meet some of the locals, local gay guys, I mean. I could arrange a little supper party. I know, Guy Fawkes Day, November 5. Okay?'
'Thank you, very thoughtful of you.'
The maid, Rosanna, brought me a vegetable-cheese stuffed omelet, a rasher of bacon, scones, marmalade, coffee, cream - the works - all very much tastier than the British reputation. Before I finished, Hal excused himself. 'Thanks ever so, Lance; so glad to meet up with you. Leave your address then, and I'll send you the details.' I stood to shake hands or kiss or whatever he expected, but he kind of saluted and disappeared. I realized I didn't have his full name.
I left my address on his pillow when I dressed to leave. I intended to go on to Tijuana, but my rectum bothered me so much that I turned around and went home to rest up from the British invasion. I did note his address before leaving and sent "Hal" a cheery thank you note, my address prominent again. Primarily, I'd likely had enough of Hal, but his offer to connect me with others in the community was just what I wanted.
I spent my fall figuring out how I was going to continue paying to keep a house going. I had to sell my nursery in Minnesota, a tidy profit with all those acres of maturing shrubs and trees, and my novel, The Youth Finder, that my sleaze publisher paid $250 for a year before, I sold adaptation rights to another gay publisher (Meatmen) to turn it into a comic and got $1,000. He talked about a souped-up porn flick out of it, but I never heard any more of that. But that gave me the idea to translate my two novels into Spanish.
I'd go to a café every day between breakfast and lunch and work on the text.
Whenever I'd get stuck on some idiom or colloquialism, I'd ask one of the waiters for help. Those guys made it very authentic and I think Camino Cinquo de Baja and Dos Orsos en Tiempo, both by 'Leon Diegas' turned out fuller and more artistically satisfying than the originals. Selling them required a lot of scouting, but I got an advance that carried me over and started to produce royalties. I also sent in a few stories to bear magazines, but they didn't sell.
After Hal, because of writing, I didn't venture forth in search of 'any friend of Dorothy,' as I had heard male companionship of our persuasion called. It wasn't virtue, nerves or that I was saving myself. I was just too busy and wanting to be busy.
That fall Gregor Masalkis wrote me that he wouldn't be coming down with Ben, but that he wanted to come anyway. Could he? I told him that Ben would likely be present, in trade off for my being at Hidden Lake in the spring and summer, so it was up to him. I wasn't sure if I could take several weeks of Gregor madly fucking me and driving me just as mad, but we'd see. Already in anticipation, I was missing the guy, and we'd only commingled once.
Mid-October, Hal's invitation to a Guy Fawkes Day gathering came. Hal turned out to be Dr. Harold Lloyd Greville, Ph.D. I didn't know what to expect exactly except that we were to arrive 3ish, bring beach wear, pool wear, casual wear, liquor to share, and prepare to sleep over. He was inviting eight friends and me; he was sure I'd like them. I replied to his R.S.V.P., saying I would bring gin and wine.
I drove up in my jeep. Well, they were a cheery and buddy lot, but at 39, I was the ranking youth - typically all right with me. One, Hans Grudner, a German émigré, I'd met at Geo's Christmas parties, and I wondered why he'd never come round to call. There were two native Canadians, three more from the states, one of whom was Black, another Britisher, rather Scot, and an Australian. No Mexicans! Perhaps it was the language thing. Not everyone knew everyone else which required a lot of getting acquainted within a relaxed and fluid atmosphere.
So we chatted, strolled the beach, lolled in the hot tub, swam in the pool, drank and ate canapés, drank and had delicious lamb, luscious fruits, and Yorkshire pudding. Hal gave a patriotic talk on the origins of Guy Fawkes Day and we went out for the bonfire and fireworks. I learned calling guys "guy" comes from the effigies of the villain burned in celebration of the foiled Gunpowder Plot to blow up Parliament, kill the homo King James (VI and I) and the Lords and Commons with him. At dinner I sat between Hans and the Australian, Kenneth, whom I rather liked. I had an inkling there would be pairing off, and I had hopes for Ken.
I asked if he smoked. 'Socially,' he said, and I asked him to take a turn down the lane to the highway with me so we could smoke and walk off the effects of our afternoon binge. 'Most agreeably,' he said. The night had cooled and we walked slowly, chatting. Halfway down, when we finished our cigarettes, Ken stopped and turned to me, embracing me in a big bear hug. We kissed, exploring with our tongues, and he groped me front and back.
Ken asked, 'Will you three-way with me and Ronald; we're together, but we're open.' 'Ronald is...;' I thought I knew. 'He's from Phoenix, Ethiopia originally.'
'I see, if it's okay with Ronald.' I thought of Geo's time in Ethiopia, recalling the black guy from earlier in the day.
'We've already discussed it, he picked you.'
I didn't know whether to thank him or not. 'I see. Fine, but I need this walk. Let's continue to the highway then back.' It gave me time to smoke a couple more cigarettes.
We had a screened gazebo, air mattress on the floor and extra padding with quilts below the fitted sheet. I really didn't want to spend the night in a cold, sloppy bed. Ronald was naked under the covers in bed when we got back. He sat up and we got acquainted. He was Amharic, the ruling class that had been driven out of Ethiopia after the fall of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974. Ronald, his American name, was wonderfully nut brown, black in the dim light, incredibly smooth and lithe with long arms and legs and a gorgeous cock that had escaped circumcision and looked heavy for such a slender guy.
When Ken stripped, I saw that he was stocky, thatched with hair, and of moderate member. Like me, they must have washed well but didn't use deodorant or cologne, and had manly smells. Between the three of us, it was quite heady as we huddled, though we were open to the air through the screens.
We kissed, stroked and blew one another in turn, the classic three-way. 'Ron likes to be fucked,' Ken said. 'And he gives good head. You hit him high and I'll hit him low.' We proceeded to our business with Ronald bent over the back of a deck chair so that he could be fucked from each end, Ken and I each standing up. I had to pretend it was my time with Gregor to get my gonads going. At any rate, we kept a clean bed. Afterwards we took a soothing soak in the hot tub, and when we nestled in bed, Ronald between us, that was the best of all.
At breakfast, Hans said, 'I missed you last night. We must get together.'
I looked him full in the face and said, 'You know where I live; drop in.'
A week later, I picked up Gregor at the San Diego airport. He was visibly glad to see me and hugged and kissed me right in the terminal. As we drove, he told me about his current situation. Ben had dumped him for a younger man; someone on his crew. Gregor was tiring of Ben anyway, his demands and unpredictability. Gregor worried about the health consequences of Ben's roving dick, much as I had been uncertain before.
Gregor was doing less construction carpentry and more furniture making. He offered to give my house a going over. I told him my financial situation and he said, 'It won't cost you a red cent for me to take a look-see.'
'Okay, thanks,' I said.
When we got to the house and while still parked in the drive, I asked, 'Do you want a room of your own or with me?' I was still in the guestroom, but had been readying Geo's room. Since Ben would be coming, and he was used to the one I had fled to, it was time to go back where I belonged. I hoped Gregor's presence would help get used to the change.
'Lance, I came here to be with you.'
'You're always super polite,' I answered.
'I know last time was at Geo's suggestion; you don't have to put on anymore.'
'Hey!' He said it protesting. 'Suggestion? It was a request. But I liked it, making it happen with you. I really like you, and over the summer I realized I wanted to know you better, be with you on our own.'
'Well, Gregor, go easy on me. I mean psychologically; I've been jerked around by events too much in my life. I put a lot into personal attachments, and I come to count on them.'
'Okay, I understand; that's cool with me.' He punched me on the shoulder like a good buddy, and we went inside to install him in my room, Geo's room that I'd reoccupied.
Gregor's offer was as good as his word. 'I'm no designer,' he said, 'but this house is a jumble. It looks like something pieced together over a long time, understandably I suppose. And it's not you. I think I can do it over for you at cost.' I was dumbfounded.
What he said was certainly true, but to enter the massive changes he suggested meant betraying Geo, whose presence throughout this simple, homey dwelling I still felt. 'I have to think about that. Can you show me some plans as to what you are suggesting?'
He nodded vigorously. 'Sure, boss.' Even when I saw the plans on paper, I had a hard time moving in the direction of so big a change. But they did make sense to me, and I knew I needed to make these choices.
Our sex together was equally agreeable; the tempest bull I knew him to be was also a gentle and gracious lover. Being in his arms allowed me to forget everything else for those moments.
I'd been communicating with various possible universities and seminaries about taking Geo's core collection - everything in his study - and finally Catholic University of America in DC sent a consultant to look it over. Dominic Spoto was a Jesuit scholar, linguist, and rare book librarian in his own right but did a lot of contract work like this, presumably on a good budget. He drove down from Phoenix in a rented car and stayed in the best hotel in town.
I gather that he quickly picked up on my living situation, but went about his business very professionally and after a morning in the study asked if he could look around the rest of the house. Two hours later, he told me that he would recommend that CU take the whole study full. 'Many of the books are standard, but they contain Dr. Noressian's marginalia, and that makes them an important component of the whole,' he said; and he gave me a value of half a million dollars that I could take off future taxes as a deduction.
'You also have many rare books in the house. I suggest you get in touch with a dealer, or I could appraise them for you at 10% of the purchase value.'
I graciously stumbled over a thank you, telling him I have to consult with my 'son' on the matter since I'd promised the books to him. I invited Dr. Spoto to lunch, and he loosed up some, cassock and all. We had a nice discussion about Hispanic craftsmanship throughout all of the old Mexico meaning what also included the present southwestern U.S. states. I was surprised how energetically Gregor joined in the conversation, his comments and questions of someone more expert than he. Father Dominic helped us identify several authentic and quality indigenous pieces in the house.
Within the week, Catholic University had the papers signed and sent a truck and curator to remove Geo's materials. Spoto must have impressed them with the value of the collection, and they didn't want to waste a minute securing it for fear of losing to some other research library. The took the filing cabinets, but boxed what was on the shelves.
When gone, the empty room gave Gregor space to begin his renovation, the major part of which was what he called 'alignment.' That is, after a room was scrubbed and the walls painted, he moved shelves of similar dimensions and appearance from around the house, put them side by side and faced them with molding so they looked a unit. He'd done all four of the second floor rooms when the guests started to arrive. Geo's study still had his worktable in it, but had become another bedroom.
Ben introduced me to his new boyfriend, Miles Frahm, a nice enough tan and black haired chap, about 25, who'd been working for Clarke Construction a couple years. From the start he seemed as unquestioning and slavish to Ben as Dirk had been to Geo all those years ago. Miles, when I first met him, had a sheepish look, seemingly docile and unsure. He looked at you always out of the corner of his eyes, not direct. He was tall like Ben, lithe but muscled from all the construction work, no doubt, and the rigorous humping Ben liked a couple times a day.
Ben treated Gregor as though they'd never met but berated me for having him there. 'First Geo, now Gregor; are you going to go after Miles next.'
I just smiled innocently at Ben. 'Not likely, I said.'
They were out of the house a lot, riding the bikes Ben had once more toted. Weekends, they liked to crawl the Mexicali bars in their leathers and crash with whoever picked them up. More adventuresome than I wanted.
Glenn flew down with Kirk. Glenn had not been down to Geo's Baja place for years, and never while I was there. Kirk had matured even more in the half year since I'd seen him, looking adult for his almost eighteen years. He had completely broken up with Ali and was doing a lot of casual and group dating among his friends. He knew he was going to major in philosophy and classics and wanted the University of California at San Diego. These early career choices helped when he saw what we were doing to the house.
He tackled sorting the library in earnest once he figured he would never learn any of the Slavic or Middle Eastern languages that took up about a third of the books. Also, Kirk had become serious about religion, a radical departure from all the rest of us pagan gays. He'd been reading the Bible in English and to teach himself Greek, and he come across C.S. Lewis, going from The Screwtape Letters to the Narnia series then Mere Christianity and God in the Dock. In Little Falls, he participated in both the Methodist church, where friend Nick's father was pastor, and a Lutheran church, as well as the Metropolitan Community Church, a small group meeting in St. Cloud.
Glenn had changed, too. He worked so much that he really needed a long rest. Mostly, he needed a change of pace from it always being 'show time' in the real estate business to being more relaxed. As it turned out, he helped Gregor and me finish on the downstairs rooms. Glenn talked a lot about his financial future. He figured he had ten years before he could retire and he was consumed with worry that he wouldn't have enough to live on.
I gathered Glenn still had sex with Ben, but he didn't seem to be his old chaser self. However, when Hans dropped in to ask what I was doing for the holidays, Glenn made a date with him for the weekend of the 22nd - 23rd, and Hans invited us all for New Year's Eve, the Sunday after Christmas.
We had a quiet Christmas and carried over many of Geo's traditions including simple, but inventive gifts to one another, and going to midnight mass this time at Kirk's insistence. Kirk showed his intensity to experience religion to know with all his being what it was about; yet he was no prude. In fact, he blatantly asked that for his Christmas we all contribute what we would otherwise spend to his minino fund; he wanted to hire a prostitute for New Year's eve night while we were all over to Hans' bash.
I was aghast and Ben was enraged; Gregor laughed and Miles stood with his mouth open. Glenn, however remained calm. 'If Kirk wants to sample pussy, and girls his age, being heavily chaperoned here are out of the question, this makes sense. We ought to make sure that he gets a clean one.' How are five exclusively gay guys going to do that, I wondered. 'I'll ask around,' said Glenn.
Hans had a large crowd, and a friendly one. I met many more locals, and one of them, the painter José Aguardo, turned out to be a real find. Hans Gruder had a couple of Aguardo's self-portraits that he took us to look at. One of José in his younger days, when his hair was long and loose, revealed the Indian side of his Mestizo background. He was smooth skinned in this picture and at home against a breathtaking canyon background. In the other, more recent portrait, José showed his Spanish origins, close, groomed hair, bearded, and hirsute in a manscaped way. Here he was the hunter, a rifle in his hand. In both he wore a jocksock, filled with his heavy genitals, the lusciously packed outline of which showed against the fabric of his dong bag. Gregor and I scheduled a time to visit his studio.
It could have been a boring party since, being with Gregor, I was obviously not available, and certainly not hustling. However, I preoccupied my mind with Kirk, bothered that he was all right. Who knew about the possible dangers of the sex trade? And there also was dancing, my second favorite physical delight, and Gregor and I mixed it up on the deck, sweating with our shirts off by the end of the evening. We got home late, Kirk's door was closed, and from the sounds inside, he and la prostituta went at it every couple of hours. We never saw her. When I finally rousted him to get ready for the flight back, he was on the bleary side. 'Well?' I fished.
'Nice,' he said, 'but no cigar.' I wondered what that meant.
Ben and Miles went back in February and Gregor and I admitted to one another how glad we were to see them go. We spent a couple months driving out to small villages to look for indigenous arts and crafts to finish off the decorating. I'd sold off the unwanted books to a theological specialist dealer for $65,000 thanks to their rare book status and the demand for them created in the Balkan conflicts' destruction of libraries there. Result: a lot more room on the shelves.
When we visited José Aguardo's studio, we immediately liked his figures of strong, semi-clad or tastefully nude men, and bought a picture for each bedroom that was just what we wanted. On the spot, we decided to commission other work for downstairs. That took a little conferring on the themes and content we wanted, that is what I wanted, informed by Gregor's consultation.
I could pay for all these renovations and even gave Gregor $5,000 besides, something he at first refused but took it when I insisted that to do so would relieve my guilt.
Gregor even turned a couple of the least attractive bookcases into an outdoor table and benches for under the pergola between the back porch and the pool. All the main room walls except the bathroom and kitchen were now a light blush rose (not pink!) that subtly changed in hue with the sunlight during the course of the day from the look of a Minnesota dawn to white Zinfandel.
We kept the quality Mexican pieces Geo had acquired over the years but redid all the beds. Gregor built frames and powerful looking headboards with recessed panels and carved finials. We got all new mattresses - I sold some of Geo's gold jewelry that I'd never seen him wear but he must have acquired in the flashy seventies - king size for every room but the smallest that Kirk used.
Mexican furniture pieces were the highlights of each room with ceramic vases and figures added to the shelves of books for wall décor. A variety of other artists contributed in the riotously colored florals and abstracts displayed above sideboards, chests, and couches.
I wasn't sure as spring approached how Gregor and I would continue to relate to one another. I expected to go back to Hidden Lake for the summer and with Ben around, I worried over aggravating him with Gregor's continued presence in my bed. But Gregor solved it. 'Would it be all right with you if I stayed here this summer?' he asked. 'I like to see if I can get established making furniture down here.'
'Gregor, I'm glad for you, something that would be good for you to do. And you can watch the place for me. I'd appreciate it.'
'We'll keep in touch,' he said. 'I'm not much of a writer, but I'll send you notes.'
He said he would buy a used pickup with the $5,000 I'd given him. I decided to leave my (Geo's) old Harley for him to ride and I'd buy a new motorcycle for our upcoming trip to Sturgis. Gregor and I celebrated my fortieth birthday, just the two of us, the day before I was to leave. Ah, what a guy! 'Life begins at forty,' I said as we toasted one another and our future. We parted after a final fuck and I headed back to Minnesota to open up the place at Hidden Lake. Ironic, I thought, that somehow I was still toadying for Glenn and Ben. But I thought about Kirk on the way back, and I didn't want to miss any of the triumphal finish to his high school years.
Because of a poor earlier start, Kirk did not graduate at the top of his class, but he did make it into the National Honor Society, and lettered in soccer, track, speech, theater and band. He was offered scholarships at the University of Southern California, UCLA, Pepperdine, and La Jolla, which he took for its classics program, his first choice. Ben offered to buy him a new Harley or whatever else he might wish. Kirk asked that whatever he would spend be put into savings for him and that when he got his B.A., he'd get the money plus interest for a trip to Europe. Such forethought!
Ben, making up for four years of reluctant parentage, gave him a graduation party at the house in Little Falls for his friends and their families. I was there, a very sedate affair, but it was informative to meet Kirk's classmates and co-workers from his various jobs - all very bright and polite the way Kirk had become. And I met some of Kirk's family. His mother, Lilly Donnelly, was there, a quiet and pleasant woman, with her current boyfriend. Though younger than me, she looked very middle aged, likely from a hard life. Ben's sister and her family, husband and Kirk's cousins, attended as well. I saw no family resemblance there.
Then Ben threw a party for him at Hidden Lake, definitely wilder and more sensual. We all gave Ben erotic-related gifts: condoms, cock rings, posing wear, gay and hetero porn - videos and zines - dildos and KY. Ben, Miles, Glenn, Dr. Jameson, and some of the other regulars chipped in on leathers - bar vest, chaps, boots - and a gift certificate at Korés for when he wanted tats and piercings.
Kirk accepted all this in a good spirit, and we all laughed a lot. When all the gifts were opened, Kirk said, 'So Ben, I'd like one more thing.'
'Oh yea,' Ben said lighting a cigarette, 'there's no coozie here.'
'No, not that,' Kirk said calmly. He got up, walked over to Miles, and pulled him up by the hand. 'Come on, Miles, I'm going to fuck you.'
Ben was no more aghast then the rest of us as Kirk led Miles, toy boy that he was, but not unwilling, out of the room. Watching Kirk lead Miles out to his cabin, I went over to Ben to quell any outburst.
'Come on, stuff, let's do it ourselves for old times sake.' I picked up a fist full of condoms that Kirk had left behind, and Ben came along with me, eager and grinning, diverted from anger by his continuous lust to have it all.