OUR WYOMING SUMMER
[Author's note: This story takes place in the mid-1960's and is the final part of a trilogy. For background, you should first read Part 1: "One Glorious Weekend" and Part 2: "Who Can Know What Will Be?"]
I met Jose at the Greyhound bus station on a balmy day in early June, the day after the last final exam of my freshman year in college. My mood was a mixture of relief that the arduous school year was over, excitement about returning home to Wyoming, and anxiety over how Jose would adapt to a summer that was quite the opposite of New York City, the only environment he had known in his seventeen years of life. His mood contrasted with mine; it was pure, uninhibited enthusiasm. Not only did he look forward eagerly to the adventure but he had achieved -- at least for the summer, I had often reminded him -- his wish of being with me.
I had no doubt that he was sincere when he said he loved me. I suspected, however, that his feelings were due only to the fact that I had been kind and respectful toward him and he hungered for that after running away from home where his parents were his only source of unconditional love. He had known privation as a street hustler. He had tired of being kept as what is now called a "boy-toy" for a lascivious old man and his equally selfish friends. Was he grasping for and clinging to the only thing in his life that offered a way out and up? Would the love he professed for me fade as he matured and found not only life's opportunities but other, more desirable companions?
I was also conflicted over my own feelings toward him. I was sure that I cared for him enough to help lift him out of his tragic background. I respected his character and ambition. I was also grateful to him for giving me intense sexual satisfaction, a need that had gnawed at me for years. But was that enough to justify the emotional leap to acknowledging that I loved him?
Perhaps, I hoped, my doubts would be confirmed or shattered by the end of summer.
The bus was crowded until we got to Chicago so we had little chance to talk about what was on our minds. Instead, we chatted about safer topics: the scenery (He thoroughly enjoyed the window seat.) and what to expect when we arrived at my parents' ranch: a very modest house surrounded by acres of land; ceaseless and exhausting work; but plenty of fresh air.
The bus west from Chicago was only sparsely filled. We sat in the back, gratefully isolated from the other passengers up front, where we could cuddle, kiss, and talk more freely.
Night had fallen and the driver turned off the interior lights to allow the passengers to sleep. But sleep was not foremost in Jose's mind.
"By the way," he whispered in my ear. "I'm legal now."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Today's my birthday. I'm eighteen. You don't have to worry about having sex with a minor any more."
"I wish I had known, Jose. I'd have bought you a birthday present."
"You have," he said and kissed me. "This trip. Nothing could be better than spending the summer with you."
"Still," I replied. "We ought to celebrate your coming of age. How's this?" I gave him a very long, very passionate kiss.
He snuggled into me even more tightly. A few miles further on, he said, "I know what you're thinking."
"You seem to always know what I'm thinking. What's your guess this time?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he unfastened my belt and began to unzip my fly.
"Not here! Not now!" I protested.
He smiled at me. "It's dark. Nobody can see us. Am I right? Is this what you were thinking about?
"Well ... almost," I conceded as he reached down into my boxers to fondle me.
My resistance and better judgment completely failed me. I lifted my hips, an invitation to pull down my pants so he had unobstructed access. With my pants down around my ankles, he skillfully applied his talent for the next several miles
I muffled my groans of ecstasy, and, after a brief recovery, kissed him.
"That wasn't fair!" I whispered. "It's your birthday but you gave me a present."
"Well now," he said and chuckled. "What can we do to make it fair?"
I took the hint and gave him his present. We both enjoyed it -- Jose for the crescendo of stimulation and the exploding conclusion -- me for making him happy and, to be honest, the thrill of doing it in the back of a moving bus.
"Thanks," he said. "I really needed that. I've been saving it all up for you."
We snuggled together blissfully for the remainder of the night. Sleeping on a bus is neither comfortable nor restful but with Jose's arm around my waist and his head on my shoulder, I was more than contented.
We awakened when the bus made a 30-minute stop for breakfast and a bathroom break. Jose and I argued about who would buy breakfast. I was astonished when he said, "Ray, my customers paid me well and I didn't have anything to spend it on. I have several hundred dollars. That's probably more than you have."
Reluctantly, I yielded to his insistence on buying breakfast.
When we got off the bus in Cheyenne, my parents were waiting to meet us. They had insisted on driving the four hours down highway 87 from their ranch near Casper because it would have been a six hour layover in Cheyenne. My parents gave me a hug and warmly welcomed Jose to Wyoming as I knew they would.
On the long ride home, both Jose and I were peppered with questions. A few of the questions were land mines; if I answered fully and honestly, I would be revealing the true nature of my relationship with Jose. Fortunately, I was able to give partial answers and lead the conversation in other directions. Jose was quick to follow my lead when asked about school, his home life and parents, and what he had been doing since high school. I admired the way he avoided many details by giving a short answer and then changing the subject.
When we arrived home, it was late. My mom offered to fix us a meal but I said, "If you don't mind, it was a long trip and we'd like to go to bed."
"I understand, dear," she said. Turning to Jose, she said, "We only have two bedrooms. I hope you don't mind sleeping with Ray."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Ray explained that to me. I'm sure we'll be comfortable."
I almost laughed because, for a change, I knew what Jose was thinking.
Jose and I took our luggage to my room. It was upstairs in what was once the attic but had been remodeled into a bedroom when I outgrew my crib. Its location assured a degree of privacy that I appreciated while growing up and even more so now. It was spacious -- larger than my parents' bedroom -- but the sloped walls limited the usable floor space. We wasted no time unpacking and got into bed naked for some serious love-making.
After breakfast the next day, Jose and I spent all morning and most of the afternoon helping my dad clean out the stalls in the barn ("I never warned you about shoveling shit all summer," I joked with Jose who only laughed.) and repairing the sagging barn door. Dad was typically silent for most of the time except to tell us what had to be done and how to do it ... and to ask Jose some questions from time to time. The questions were, on the surface, a friendly interest in his life in the "big city," his background, and his interests. However, a few questions made us both nervous because they might have required Jose to admit to being a hustler. I thought he handled the questions admirably.
It was our custom to shower off the day's grime before supper. Dad, for no particular reason except custom was always the first to shower. Although I wanted to shower with Jose, I thought it best to suggest that he take the second shower and I would shower after him.
While Jose was in the shower, my dad took me aside and said, "That friend of yours is a good worker, especially for a city boy. Tell me again how you met."
Knowing my dad, I suspected there would be many more questions. "It was during Spring break. I went down to the park to read. Jose happened by, we struck up a conversation."
"So how is it that you became friends?" my dad asked.
The line of questioning seemed to be zeroing in on things I was not ready to disclose. "I took a liking to him. He's bright, personable, ambitious ... he's not like the typical New Yorker. He's authentic ... not like the self-centered, snobby students at school. I just like talking to him."
"Is that why you invited him here for the summer?"
"That's part of it. But, if you haven't guessed already, he comes from a miserable background. His parents love him but he's lived in poverty, surrounded by drugs and crime. He had the courage to get out of that environment. I think he needs help, dad. I thought spending the summer here would be good for him."
My dad looked at me for a few moments, making me slightly uncomfortable about what the next question would be.
"And what will he do in the fall when you go back to school?"
"I don't know yet. Get a job. And a place to live. One thing's for sure. I'm going to help him over the summer studying for the GED exam so he can get his high school diploma."
"I'm proud of you, son. Helping a young man who deserves help is something more people should be doing."
It seemed I had successfully satisfied my dad's curiosity and averted having to divulge more than I wanted to. "Can I ask a favor, dad?"
"Sure."
"Could you and mom not pry into his background? Right now, I think he's embarrassed and ashamed of where he comes from. When he gets over that, I'm sure he would be willing to talk about it."
"Deal!" he said moments before Jose returned from the shower.
A week later, Jose and I were sitting on the steps of the front porch watching the sun set over the Laramie Mountain Range. Mom and dad had gone in to Casper shopping.
"So what do you think of the Wild West?" I asked.
Jose didn't answer for a few minutes. I wondered whether he was deciding how to tell me he didn't like it. The work was hard. As I predicted, he had suffered from sore muscles and blisters. He may be missing New York City's constant array of sights and sounds.
"I like it, Ray. It's completely different than New York. And different than what I expected. But I like it here. I like your parents. They've been wonderful to me. It's no wonder that you're so kind and accepting of a ..." His voice trailed off.
"Of a what?" I asked.
"You told me never to call myself that again."
"Because you aren't," I said emphatically. "You did what you had to do. Besides, that's all behind you now. We have to think of the future."
"Sure," he said. His mood changed suddenly. He had been enthusiastic about my parent's treatment of him but his expression turned sullen. "You have a future. You'll finish college and get a job. When summer's over, I'll go back to being a ... to being what I was."
"Not if you don't want to, Jose. Not if you choose to be part of my future."
He looked at me with a mixture of confusion and astonishment. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Remember when you said you loved me? I said then that I couldn't think of anybody I'd rather share my life with. But I also said I needed time to think about committing to a permanent relationship. Well, I've had time to think about it. I've finally realized that I love you and I want to be with you for as long as you'll have me."
He looked at me as if in disbelief. His eyes began to water. He grabbed me in a hug, laid his head on my shoulder, and cried. I hugged him back. That moment of togetherness was heavenly. Yes, I had helped a boy at a tough time in his life but that paled in comparison to the fulfillment I felt in having a courageous, bright, and caring young man to love and to return that love. I had made the emotional leap. I could no longer deny my love for him. I wanted nothing so much as to be with him, to show my love and accept his, and to dedicate my life to making him -- no, both of us as partners -- happy.
"Oh, Ray," he blubbered through his tears. "I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. I'm probably the happiest person on earth."
"It won't be easy," I cautioned. "I have to finish college. When we go back to New York in the fall, you have to get your GED ... a job ... and a place to live. Then, when I graduate ... wait ... I'd better ask you. How do you feel about living in Wyoming?"
"I love it here," he gushed. "But I love you more. I'd live anywhere to be with you."
"That brings up another issue," I said. "My preference is to live somewhere near Casper. I don't want to be a rancher like my dad but there are a lot of places in town where I could work. If we live around here -- and that may not happen because we can't predict the future -- it's inevitable that my parents will find out about us. It's better that we tell them. Your parents already know but we have to decide when and how to tell my parents."
"I suppose so," he replied. "I'm just afraid they'll hate me when they find out. For corrupting you, I mean."
"I don't think so," I said without full confidence because they may express their disappointment by focusing their anger on Jose. He didn't need that. I didn't want that. Trying to inject an optimistic tone, I continued, "They are not particularly religious so that should not be a big problem. They'll be surprised and maybe disappointed but, given time, I think -- I hope -- they'll accept it."
"You would risk hurting them? For me?"
"I love my parents dearly, Jose, but I love you more. In a different way, of course."
"When do you think we ought to tell them?" he asked.
"I don't know. Let's both think about that for a while."
Within a few weeks, Jose had been introduced to nearly every chore that a ranch requires. He worked hard and learned quickly, which impressed my dad. We were both tired at the end of the day but always had time to express our love when we went to bed. Gradually, he came to be treated almost as a member of the family. That meant that dad would speak sharply to him (as he did to me) whenever he did something wrong or dangerous. That bothered Jose at first but I convinced him that it meant he had been accepted and reminded him that my parents often treated him kindly.
The ultimate vote of confidence came in early August. My dad asked me if, with Jose's help, we could take care of the ranch over the weekend. He wanted to take mom to visit her sister in Cheyenne, leaving Friday night and returning Monday night. It had been over a year since they visited my aunt, he explained, and they needed a little vacation. Of course, I agreed. There wasn't that much to do beyond routine chores that could be finished well before noon. Jose and I would have plenty of private time, which we had been able to enjoy only in brief periods -- at bedtime and occasionally when we were working alone away from the house and barn.
When my parents drove down the lane toward the highway on their way to Cheyenne, Jose grinned at me and said, "I know what you're thinking."
"You always seem to know what I'm thinking," I said, faking irritation.
"You're thinking about all the sex we can have while we're here alone."
"That's only part of it, Jose. It isn't just sex any more. Sure, we'll have lots of sex but it's different now. It's a way of expressing our love for each other. The love part of the equation is what really matters."
It was a glorious weekend. We hugged and kissed whenever we wanted. We showered together. We had sex anywhere in the house, the barn, or outdoors in the shade of a tree whenever the mood struck us. We went skinny-dipping in a small tributary of the North Platt River that ran through a corner of the ranch. We worked hard in the morning but mostly to finish the chores so we could play together the rest of the day.
I was always sure to spend an hour or two each day helping Jose prepare for his GED exam using the books and notes I had used in high school. He was a quick learner and soon became confident that he could pass the exam for his diploma. I no longer had to remind him to write to his parents; he had so much to tell them and wanted them to know how happy he was.
It was during that weekend that I became more convinced the Jose and I belonged together. But the problem of returning to New York was looming ahead of us. I would return to college but Jose's immediate future was uncertain.
As we cuddled together one night in bed, I said, "Jose, I've been thinking."
"I know what you're thinking," he said and laughed. "Not really. I'm joking."
"In a few weeks, we'll have to go back to New York. I have a few ideas and I want to know what you think about them. First, I'll be living in the dorm. I suggest that you move back in with your parents while you look for a job."
"You want me to go back to the South Bronx?" he objected.
"Temporarily. When you have your diploma and if you get a Social Security number, I think there's lots of places that will hire you. On weekends, we can look for an apartment. All we need is a clean one-bedroom apartment or studio apartment. Close to campus."
"We?" he interrupted with a puzzled look.
"Yes, we. That brings me to the next part of my plan. I'm committed to living in the dorm for at least the first semester. But if we find the right apartment and share the rent, it would cost them no more than the dorm."
His expression brightened considerably. "Then we can live together? As a couple? Really?"
"Yes, really. Can you put up with that?"
Rather than answering my question, he smothered me with a kiss that was almost violent.
"There's one more wrinkle in my plan, Jose. I'll have to explain to my parents why I'm moving in with you. That probably means telling them the truth about us."
"Oh," he said as his expression turned sour. "How do you think they'll take it?"
"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I'm still trying to figure that out. But one thing I am sure of. They like you. They like you a lot. Both mom and dad have told me how much they admire you."
"How do you want to tell them? And when?" he asked.
"The how' I don't know yet. The when' seems pretty obvious. It's not the sort of thing you tell your parents in a letter or on the phone. It has to be done in person. That means we tell them before we go back to New York."
"There's that `we' again," he said. "You want me there when you tell them?"
"Only if you're willing," I said. "But I'd really like you to be there."
"Okay," he said. "But will you do the talking?"
"Most of it. They may have questions for you and you should feel free to say anything you want."
Although I knew we had to break the news to my parents, I dreaded it. When August turned into September, I realized the time was growing short. I had given a lot of thought to how to tell my parents but none of the options were appealing.
On a Friday evening, just ten days before Jose and I would be returning to New York, we were finishing supper when my dad said, "Jose, you and Ray will be leaving soon and I want to tell you something before you go. It's been a real pleasure having you here. I really appreciate all the work you've done on the ranch. You're a fine young man and I understand why Ray likes you."
My mom quickly added, "I couldn't agree more. This summer has been like having a second son in the house. I hope you'll be able to come visit us again."
Both Jose and I were pleased with the expression of admiration and friendship. It seemed like a golden moment -- the perfect opportunity to reveal the truth about my relationship with Jose. "Mom. Dad." I began, "I'm glad you see what a terrific person Jose is. And I -- that is, we -- have something to tell you. We're more than just friends. There's no easy way to say this so I'll come right to the point. We love each other. We want to spend the rest of our lives together. As a couple. And before you ask, that means that we are homosexual. We love each other just as deeply as you two love each other. We can only ask that you understand that our love for each other is genuine."
I paused to study my parents' reaction. Their expressions gave little clue as to how they felt. There was no hint of a smile or, for that matter, any evidence of displeasure. Was it confusion? Disbelief? I hungered for some kind of reaction but there was none.
I glanced over at Jose. He had been caught off guard. He knew that we would be coming out to my parents but I had not told him that this would be the time. I regretted that but it seemed the right time to say what I did. I thought I saw fear in his eyes. And why wouldn't he be afraid? In addition to my triggering a potentially explosive situation, my parents' reaction might jeopardize our relationship.
My stomach was churning and my hands were shaking as I awaited some clue about their reaction. It was a long, uncomfortable, and fearful moment before dad said, "Are you telling me that you two are queer?"
I was somewhat relieved that his tone was not confrontational; it was quizzical. "That's the common term but yes, we're homosexual. And we're in love."
Dad stared at me for a few more awkward moments. I had no idea what he was thinking but I feared the worst. Would he think his only son being queer would challenge his concept of masculinity? Finally, he said, "How can you be sure, son? You're a young man. Your hormones are in overdrive. It may be just a stage you're going through."
"No, dad. I've known for years that I'm attracted to men. Girls don't interest me; they never have. I've kept it a secret thinking that maybe it was just a passing phase but my feelings have only grown stronger. It's not a phase or a sickness or a sin. It's who I am, dad. When I got to know Jose, I admired him from the start. The more I leaned about him -- his courage, integrity, and ambition, the more I was sure that he was the one I wanted to share my life with."
"Well," he said, now turning aggressive. "I never would have guessed. You've lied to me."
"No, dad. I haven't lied to you. Everything I've ever said to you is the truth. Except when I was a little boy and wanted to keep out of trouble. I've kept a secret from you, yes, but I haven't lied. And I'm not lying to you now. I love Jose. He loves me. We plan to spend our lives together."
Dad turned to mom and said, "Did you know about this?"
"No," she said. "But I guess I'm less surprised than you are. Mothers sense things that fathers don't. Call it intuition ... call it a hunch ... I can't explain it but I sensed a bond between Ray and Jose. Until this minute, I thought they were just very good friends. I never suspected they were more than that."
For the next fifteen minutes, using what I had read in the public library over the years, I tried to convince my parents (mostly my dad) that homosexuality was far more common then he thought, that it wasn't a choice I made, and that it wasn't something that can be `cured.' I concluded by emphasizing that our decision to live together was based on our love for each other.
I don't think he was fully convinced. He took the conversation in a new direction. "What about your education? Your mother and I had hopes for you. You're too intelligent to be a rancher like me. You have promise. You can't give up on your education and making something of yourself."
"I don't plan to give up my education. And believe me, I know what you have sacrificed to make it possible. What you've taught me about independence, hard work, and responsibility enabled me to win the scholarship. I love you for what you've given me. I'll always love you for it. I just hope you can understand that I am what I am. If I've disappointed you or hurt you, I'm truly sorry but I had to be honest with you."
A few more awkward moments of silence passed. I was glad my dad hadn't exploded in rage and my mom hadn't collapsed in tears. But I knew the discussion was not over.
Finally, dad said in a surprisingly calm voice, "Go out to the barn. Both of you. Change the oil in the tractor. Take your time. Your mother and I need to talk."
His request (command?) was completely unexpected. It brought an abrupt end to a conversation with no clear resolution. I rose from my chair. Jose followed my lead. "Whatever you decide to do to me," I said, "I want you to know that I love you both and always will."
Jose and I left the kitchen and walked wordlessly to the barn. Not knowing what my parents would decide to do felt like hanging by a thread above a dark pit. We sat on a bale of straw in the barn.
"I know what you're thinking," Jose said to break the silence.
"Of course you do," I said with too much sarcasm.
"You're thinking of all the bad things that can happen. Losing the love of your parents. Having to drop out of school. Not being able to see me ever again. Well, STOP IT! Think about what just happened. Your parents didn't get angry with you. That means they love you even after what you told them. You can finish college even if it means working and going to school part time. Most important, we have each other."
"If only it were that easy," I said.
"Listen, Ray. With your help, I was able to put that queer whore boy behind me and become a somebody. With my help, you can be an even better somebody. We help each other because we love each other. Sure, we will have problems but together we can solve them."
His encouragement didn't erase my anxiety but it did remind me of how lucky I was to have his love. I kissed him and said, "Thanks, my love. Shall we get to work?"
We changed the oil in the tractor while speculating to each other what my parents might decide and exploring our options for what they might do. We finished the oil change and sat down, continuing to guess what would happen to us and lay plans for any outcome of my parents' discussion.
It seemed like forever before we heard dad call from the house to come inside. Expecting the worst, hoping for the best, and nearly incapacitated with nerves, we joined my parents in the living room. My mom smiled at us. That was a good sign. My dad looked at us sternly. That was not good.
"Your mother and I have tried to take in what you told us," my dad began seriously. "Obviously, it was a surprise. I might even say a bit of a shock. We've talked it over and come to a few conclusions. First of all, we disapprove of your living together. Not because we think it's sinful but because you're going to face a lot of problems. You'll suffer a lot of hurt from other people. No parent wants to see their son hurt or unhappy."
I was relieved that they didn't think a homosexual relationship was disgusting. But I was still afraid of what else my dad would say.
"Second, we love you. Your decision to live with Jose doesn't change that. And finally, we have some questions."
My dad was like that. He didn't have a lot of formal education but he was very wise. He always sought out as much information as he could before making an important decision.
"You've told us that you want to live together and that you want to finish college. How can you do both?"
I explained our plan. I would live in the dorm for one semester. Jose would get a job. Together we would find an apartment. In January, I would move into the apartment until I graduated. Then we would move to Wyoming.
"Hmmm," my dad said. "Sounds like you've thought things through. Can you afford rent, food, and school expenses?"
His question implied that he would no longer pay for my education. That was one of the things Jose and I had discussed in the barn. "We've thought about that," I replied. "Half the rent on an apartment would be less than the cost of a dorm room. If you don't want to help me through school, I would understand. In that case, I would also get a job and finish school part-time. It would take longer to get my degree. But I would be with the man I love."
Dad's expression changed slightly into a frown. Bad sign! He looked at Jose and said, "You've been very quiet, young man. Do you have anything to say?"
The question caught Jose off guard but only momentarily. "Yes, sir," he replied. "You may doubt how much we love each other. I don't blame you for that but I do love your son. He's thoughtful, considerate, and wise. No just smart; he's wise. Since I've been here, I found out why he's that way. It's because you taught him about honesty, hard work, and helping other people. You have every reason to be proud of him. And to love him. The same reasons I have for loving him. I only hope I can make him as happy as he has made me. I would do anything to be with him. I'll work two jobs if I have to so he can finish school."
That last part about working two jobs took me by surprise. We had not talked about that and I would have objected if we had. However, it seemed to impress my dad. A smile crossed his face for the first time since supper.
Dad looked over at mom. She nodded. I had no idea what that meant until dad said, "I don't have much education but there's two things I know. I know ranching and I know people. I'm convinced that you two have a very strong affection for each other. I also think you're a fine young man, Jose. Neither me nor my wife will stand in your way. We don't like the idea of your living together as a couple because of the hatred and insults you will suffer through. But I'm sure you've thought that through also. You've made a big decision. You're not little boys anymore. You have to make your own decisions and live with the consequences."
"Thanks, mom, dad, for understanding. I love you both."
Jose turned to me and asked with a silly grin, "Is it okay if I love your mom and dad, too?"
I had to laugh. Then everyone laughed. It seemed to be the perfect tension reliever. I felt like hugging and kissing my lover but didn't want to embarrass him or offend my parents.
"There's one more thing, son," my dad said. "You must not drop out of school. I don't want you going to school part- time, either. We will continue to pay your school expenses. Even when you're in an apartment and not the dorm. But you have to promise me one thing. Keep your grades up!"
Love was a constant in my family as I grew up but expressing that love with hugs and kisses was extremely rare. In spite of that, I walked over to mom and gave her a long hug that she returned. Then I hugged my dad (who didn't return the hug) and said, "Thanks for being the most wonderful parents on earth. I love you both."
Mom surprised us all when she said, "Jose! Don't we get a hug from you, too?"
Jose blushed (the first time I had seen him do that), hesitated, but gave my mom and dad a quick hug.
"It's been quite an evening," my dad said. "It's late. Morning will come early." He stood and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Mom got up and started clearing the table.
"Let us do that, mom," I said.
She looked at us for a moment and said, "You know how your father is. He may not say that he loves you but he does. All he wants is for you to be happy. It took some convincing but I think he realizes that you'll be happy with Jose." Then, turning to Jose, she added, "You're a wonderful young man, Jose. If we didn't admire you so much, things might have been quite different tonight. We've always wanted the best for Ray and I think he's found it in you." Then, seeming to act on impulse, she hugged Jose and said, "Welcome to the family."
Jose was in tears. I was close to it. Mom turned and walked down the hall. I suspect she was also close to tears. When she was out of sight and the bedroom door closed, I hugged and kissed my life-partner.
"I know what you're thinking," I said.
"Hey! That's my line," Jose objected.
"You're thinking the same thing I am. You're thinking how wonderful my parents are. You're also thinking of the lifetime we can spend together, loving each other."
"You're right," Jose grinned. "Pretty good for an amateur mind-reader."
We celebrated our good fortune that night with a long, meaningful coupling in bed. Our union had been accepted by Jose's parents and mine. Our future was still uncertain but one thing we could count on: our complete dedication to each other and our resolve to withstand any misfortunes that we may face.
For the next few days before returning to New York, my parents treated Jose with even more admiration and affection. Life was good! Until the tearful goodbye at the bus station. Even my dad, whom I couldn't remember ever showing more than a modicum of emotion, hugged us and wished us well.
EPILOG
As I look back more than forty years to my chance encounter with a street hustler, to losing my virginity and my heart to a courageous young man, to the triumph of parental love over insidious prejudice, and to decades of contented partnership with Jose, I often wonder why I have been so lucky.
Jose went beyond his GED to earn a degree from the University of Wyoming in Laramie where we settled after my graduation. Jose spent a career in Human Resources at an oil company while I worked for a regional bank and rose to an executive position. We're retired now. While our love- making is far less frequent than in our youth, our love has only deepened and strengthened.
Only our closest and most trusted friends know of our true relationship although I'm sure there are suspicions and rumors among our acquaintances.
I may have helped a destitute youth escape from poverty and life as a hustler but, in my mind, he has given me far more -- companionship, constant encouragement and inspiration, and an appreciation of the power and rewards of genuine love.
The end