The following narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you shouldn't be reading such things, don't.
This is a work of fiction. No similarity between the characters here and any real person is intended or should be inferred. Lake Polk is a fictional town, though I fear it is like all too many real communities.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Thanks, as always, to Tommy, Patrick, Mickey, Evan, and Ash.
Timmead88@yahoo.com Chapter 7
November is one of the nicest months in central Florida. Hurricane season is over. The daily thunderstorms are gone for the winter. High temperatures are in the mid seventies with low humidity. Nights are cool. One mid-November evening a few days after their return from Key West, Stan and Doug were having gin and tonics on Doug's screen porch. Doug had made lamb stew, which was simmering in the kitchen, and Stan was relaxing after his day at city hall.
"Doug, how discreet do you think that hot little piece at Friday's is?"
Doug pondered a second. "Oh, you mean Adam?"
"Yeah."
"I have no idea, really. He seems a nice enough kid. And he always gets a big tip from me, both because he busts his butt to earn it -- and because he's so damned cute." He paused for a moment. "Why are you asking?"
Stan held up his tumbler and examined the clear liquid and ice cubes it contained. "First, have I told you about Aaron?"
"Oh, the intern from Lloyd?"
"Yep."
"Let's see. Small. Lots of piercings. Cornrows. Dyed hair. And very swish?"
"That's Aaron. Of course, he's also very smart and very reliable. Makes great grades. His supervisor, Molly Rennick, says he's really helpful and learns quickly."
"OK, Stanley, so what is the connection between Aaron and Adam?"
"I don't know that there is one."
With a snort of exasperation, Doug said, "Come on, Stan. You are being melodramatic -- and inscrutable. What's the problem?"
"Today Aaron knocked on my door. When I told him to come in, he stepped inside and nudged the door closed with his ass. He was carrying an armload of file folders. I was pretty busy, couldn't think why he was in MY office, so I just said hi' and asked him what was up. He said he wouldn't take up much of my time, but that he wanted to tell me how absolutely wonderful' it was that I had a boyfriend. Then he said that was `majorly cool,' managed to get the door open without dropping the folders, and swished out of my office and down the hall. While I sat there with my jaw on my desk."
"Oh, shit!"
"My sentiments exactly."
DOUG:
The Sunday after Stan and I had been in Key West, I was scheduled to read the lessons and serve the chalice at the early service along with Hilda Crain. Everything went smoothly until the Eucharist. You need to understand that, if for some reason the communicants kneeling at the altar rail don't wish to receive the wine, they cross their arms over their chests. That happens sometimes, but not very often.
That Sunday there must have been ten of the fifty or so people I served who did that. And all of them failed to look at me, whereas communicants usually look up at the server when he/she approaches them. I thought that was strange, but then, you never know what's on people's minds.
In the vesting room after the service, I asked Hilda how many she had who had done that. She said no one had. Ten on my side, none on hers.
Later that week, when I was spending the morning on the reception desk at the Gardens, several of the Council members were in and out to see Bruce about one thing or another. Jane Martin, the president of the council, is usually very friendly. A vivacious woman in her fifties, still a redhead with the help of a very good beautician, Jane was the wife of a prominent local doctor. She usually stopped by the desk to chat for a few minutes on her way in or out. That morning, however, she refused to look at me on her way in or, an hour later, on her way out. I spoke to her both times, but she ignored me.
Strange.
STAN:
The day after Aaron dropped his bombshell in my office, I called his supervisor, Molly, and asked her to send Aaron up to see me.
"Has he done something wrong, Mr. Mason?" I could almost feel her tense up. For one thing, I had asked everybody around city hall to call me Stan, and they seemed comfortable with that. Here in the South, things are pretty casual. Unless, as Doug notes, you are talking with one of the older Mountain View people.
The folk in Lake Polk were by and large open and affable. At least the natives were. But that pleasantness could be a pretty thin veneer sometimes. If you weren't the right kind of person, they managed to let you know it. Doug told me that most of the natives and many of the people from up north who had moved to Florida year `round really seemed to resent the "Snow Birds," the ones who came down only for the winter months.
No use in pointing out how much those thousands of winter residents contributed to the local economy. The year `round residents resented the snow birds for creating lines at popular restaurants and clogging up the highways. One popular bumper sticker says, "When I get old, I'm going to move up north and drive REAL SLOW."
To get back to Molly. When she called me "Mr. Mason," I knew it wasn't a term of respect. I was being put firmly in my place.
"No, Molly, I just want to talk to him. I won't keep him away from his work long."
"Well, I'd sure hate for him to be in any trouble or anything," she said. I didn't prolong the conversation. It would have looked as if I were trying to persuade her to comply with my request.
About forty-five minutes later, Aaron tapped on the frame of my open door.
"Oh, hi, Aaron, come in and shut the door, please." I stood up, walked around the desk, and gestured him into one of the upholstered chairs. I took one facing him.
His eyes were big as he said, "Whassup, Mr. Mason?"
"Relax, Aaron. You aren't in any trouble. I've been hearing good things from Ms. Rennick about you."
He visibly relaxed. "Is there something you want me to do?"
"Well, yes. The other day when you popped in here to congratulate me for having a `boyfriend,' you really surprised me."
Aaron didn't say anything, but he smiled.
"Aaron, men who have `boyfriends' are likely to be gay, right?"
"Uh huh." He twinkled at me.
"And you know that many people in these parts don't like gay people and look down on them, right."
He rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it!"
"There's a question I can't legally ask you, maybe you know what it is."
"Oh, sure. I don't mind. I'm gay. I've known it since I was a kid, and I've never pretended not to be."
"Well, my friend, I admire you. But it must have been tough sometimes hasn't it?"
His face turned serious.
"Oh, yeah. I've always gotten a lot of nasty things said to me. Sometimes the kids in school punched me and knocked me around. But it's not as bad as it was now that I'm in college. Oh, I get remarks and dirty looks sometimes, but nobody pounds on me anymore."
"That's terrible. I hope nobody here at city hall has given you a hard time. If they do, will you tell me about it?"
"Oh, everybody here's pretty cool. Except some of the cops look at me funny when they come in. I'm kind of glad the po-lice station is down the street and not in this building."
"Police, city workers, whoever. If anybody gives you any trouble, you be sure to come to me, OK?"
"Yes, sir. Thanks." He looked as if he thought we were finished.
"Now, Aaron, there's something else I need to ask you."
He looked at me expectantly.
"I am not asking you to get anyone in trouble or anything like that. But where did you get the idea I have a boyfriend?"
His face lighted up. "Oh, that's easy. Everybody's talking about it. I guess I first heard about it in the mailroom, but people are gossiping about it in the hallways, too."
"About what, specifically?"
He grinned at me. "What they are saying is that you and this other older dude were in a real lip lock on the docks at Key West one Saturday evening not long ago. That is SO cool!"
Busted!
"You don't know who is supposed to have seen this happen, do you?"
"I haven't heard anybody say, man, uh, Mr. Mason."
Well, I supposed the damage was done. It really didn't matter, except as a matter of curiosity, who had seen us. We had been seen. That was what mattered. And, of course, whoever it was that saw us was a busybody who obviously couldn't wait to get back here and start spreading the news. I suppose that's human nature. Inhumane nature!
"Aaron, you grew up here, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Sure did."
"What do you think would happen if word were to get around the community that the new city manager might be gay?"
He thought about that for a minute. "You know, people here at city hall have been nice to me. Maybe because I am like totally out and always have been. Maybe because I'm some sort of token. You know, being Black and gay is probably what got me this internship." He paused. "But man, like you're probably gonna be in deep shit."
What could I say? Suddenly I felt what I should have felt from the beginning. Aaron and I were brothers. He'd been honest with me. Did I dare be honest with him?
"Aaron, I appreciate your honesty, man. Now. When Ms. Rennick asks you what went on at this meeting, and you know she will, what are you going to tell her?"
He gave me this beautifully innocent look and said, "I'll just tell her she'd better ask you if she wants to know that."
I chuckled. "Good man! Thanks, my friend, for your advice. And for your discretion." When I stood, he stood. We shook hands.
He winked at me and said, "Count on it, dude!" He started to leave, then turned back toward me and said, "I hope you do have that boyfriend. We all need us a good man. If you've got one, you better hang onto him!" With that, he was gone.
DOUG:
I was planning butterflied pork chops, a salad, and some boiled new potatoes which the supermarket miraculously had, even though it was fall.
When Stan got to my place, he gave me a hug and a kiss. He felt tense in my arms. I knew he had been planning to talk with Aaron that day, so I suspected what was the matter.
He fixed himself a scotch/rocks; I opted for merlot. I asked if he wanted nibblers, but he said no. There wasn't anything I needed to do about dinner yet, so we went out on the screen porch.
"OK, Stanley, spill. What happened?"
"Well, so far as I know, Adam isn't the culprit. But we're outed, babe. Aaron says everyone at city hall is yakking about how some `older dude,' as he put it, and I were seen in a lip-lock (again, his words) on the dock at Key West."
That was just what I feared had happened. "I'm sorry, baby. This is likely to cause a lot more trouble for you than for me."
"I hope so, Doug. Damn! I wanted that trip to be so special, a kind of honeymoon for us."
I pulled him out of the chair he was in and over to the glider, where we could sit together. I put my arm around him. "It WAS special, Stanley."
He grinned, his cobalt eyes flashed, and he said, "Yeah, it was, wasn't it?"
We sipped our drinks and were quiet for a few minutes. The mocking birds who had built a nest in the camellia next to the porch were off foraging or something, and it was very quiet. We could hear the traffic on the main highway, even though it was a mile away across the lake.
Finally, he swiveled around to face me, pulling one knee up onto the glider cushions. "So, as I see it, we have three options."
"Spoken like a true lawyer," I said, reaching over to put my hand on his cheek.
He took my hand, kissed the palm, and continued. "Well, we could ignore the rumors and the gossip, just pretend it isn't happening and try to go on as usual. Second, we could indignantly deny the whole thing."
"Stan, I know you, studly. You're using the order of climax, aren't you? So tell me what the third choice is, the one you want us to do."
He chuckled. "It's a good thing you love me, Dougie. I'd hate to have somebody who knows me that well as an enemy."
"Never happen, sweetheart. So. The third alternative is that we should come out and take the consequences, right?"
He looked straight at me. "We DO know each other, don't we? And you're right, of course. That's what I think we should do. I wish this hadn't happened. Though it's nobody's business but ours, I think we ought to stop being sneaky about what we've become to each other, babe."
"I love it when you are in your John Wayne mood! And I agree that it would be great not to have to pussyfoot around all the time to hide our relationship. But had you thought about how our lives will change here in Lake Polk as a result of all of this?"
"That's all I've been thinking about since I talked with Aaron. Dammit, Doug, I hate that I've come into this town and spoiled the nice, quiet life you had going here. Whatever happens, your life here will never be the same."
I went to the kitchen, grabbed both the merlot and the scotch in one hand and the ice bucket in the other and came back to the porch, where I replenished our drinks. We sat there, rocking gently, enjoying the waning of the light, the coming on of evening.
I knew that, whatever happened, Stan was always ready for his meals, so after the second drink I rose to go into the kitchen. He excused himself to go to the john and then came to the kitchen, where we got the supper ready together. I can't remember how it tasted, but there were no leftovers.
After dinner was over and the dishes were in the dishwasher, we went back to the porch. It was cooler, and I pulled on a sweater. Stan didn't seem to mind the temperature. We sat and talked about what would happen next for us. We agreed that coming out would be both difficult and liberating, but that that was the only reasonable choice we had.
Before we went to bed, we had decided that we wouldn't "take out ads in the newspapers," as Stan put it, but that whenever the question came up or people asked, we would just admit that we were gay and that we were a couple.
"After all, sexy," he said, giving me a squeeze, "how bad can it be?"
It didn't take long for us to begin to find out.
One morning a few days after Stan's talk with Aaron, I got a call from Bruce Porter, the director of the Ridenour Gardens.
"Hi, Bruce, what's up?"
"Doug, we need to talk. Could you drop by here some time today?"
"No problem. You know I don't live far away. Suppose I get there in about half an hour. I was going to run some errands anyway."
"Great, Doug. Thanks. See you soon."
When I got there, Bruce closed the door leading into the main hallway and also the one leading in the office of Gracie, his assistant and general factotum.
He gestured me to a seat.
I liked Bruce and had enjoyed his company the few times we had been able to have lunch or dinner together, and he was an easy guy to work for as a volunteer. He was, however, a very busy man. Today, as usual, there was no beating around the bush.
"Doug, several of my friends over the years have been gay. And that's fine with me."
I could imagine what was coming. "But . . . ?"
"Well, my friend, I'm getting a lot of flak, mostly from the rich, older female members of the Board of Trustees."
"I'm going to make you say it, Bruce. About what?"
"Tell me first, did you and Stan Mason go to Key West weekend before last?"
"Yes."
"I'm not just being curious, here, you know. I have a reason for asking. Did you two do what the rumors say you did?"
I chuckled. "Bruce, I've only heard one rumor, and that was about a kiss. If that's what you mean, yes. But we did things that were much more shocking -- and much more fun, even -- than that kiss."
He laughed. "Good for you, Doug. I'm happy for you and Stan. You're both great people, and I hope you will find happiness together. However. I hope you won't be too pissed with me if I ask you not to work the reception desk for a while, at least until this blows over."
"Blows over? There's an interesting image."
He laughed again. "Well, you know what I meant. You are doing lots of things for us, and I'm grateful. But some of the old biddies with clout are scandalized that we'd have a homa-sexyul at the front desk."
"Bruce, that's one of the reasons why I haven't come out at this point. I knew my being gay wouldn't matter to you, but I also know what this town is like. I certainly don't want to embarrass the Gardens. I'll do whatever I can to help, but obviously for a while, at least, I need to do it behind the scenes."
"Thanks, Doug. You know I really hate this! My conscience says what I'm asking you to do is wrong, wrong, wrong! But as director, I have to consider what's best for the Gardens. Now, let me ask you something else."
"OK."
"Have you thought about the reaction you might get at church?" (Bruce attended St. John's, too.)
"The reaction seems to have set in there as well. I had ten people refuse the cup the last time I served. That was before I knew Stan and I had been outed, and I was puzzled. I see now what has happened."
"Maybe you had better have a talk with Father Dave."
"Good idea, Bruce. I guess I'd better call and make an appointment to see him."
"Doug, thanks for being understanding. Maybe some evening you, Stan, and I can have dinner together."
"If you aren't afraid of being branded a queer, that would be great."
He laughed. "I hope even here in this benighted town people know it isn't contagious."
"Birds of a feather, they say. You would be welcome to come to Stan's house or my house, and we could all fix a meal together. And then no one would know you were consorting with us perverts."
He laughed again. "Sounds like a plan. Let's make it happen."
We shook hands, and I left. As I walked past Gracie's office, I waved and said "hi." I got a very cool "hello" in return.
That evening, Blair, Mary, his girlfriend for over a year, Sam, and a redhead were sitting in their favorite pub. Blair was having a coke. The rest of them had beer.
"Soccer season's about over, Blair. Sure you don't want a beer?" Sam asked.
Blair smiled at his buddy. "Give it up, Sam. You know I just don't much like beer."
"Yeah, Sam," Mary said, "that's getting old. Quit ragging on Blair because he's not a beer drinker."
"So maybe we should change the subject, you guys," said the redhead. "Hey didja hear about the city manager being a queer?"
"What's that?" Blair asked, startled.
"What's wrong, Blair, is Mason a friend of yours?" Sam asked.
"No, not a friend. But he did come to one of our soccer games. Seems like a nice guy."
Sam puckered his lips and made kissy noises at his friend. "Watch it, Mercier, or we'll be thinking you have the hots for that queer."
"Who says he's queer?"
"Sweetheart, even I heard that rumor," Mary said, putting her hand over Blair's. "Where've you been?"
"Well, would somebody please tell me?"
"Well," the redhead said, tossing her curls, "the way I heard it was that Mason and some other old guy were making out on the street in Key West. It must be true, it's all over town. Everybody's talking about it."
"Do they say who they other guy was?" Blair asked.
"The way I got it," Sam said, "this guy was taller than Mason, maybe a little older, thin, with brown hair that had some gray in it. But I haven't heard the dude's name. Yet."
Blair had a sinking feeling. He thought he knew the dude's name.
After he got home from seeing Bruce, Doug called the church and made an appointment to see Father Dave at 10:00 the next morning. He had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang.
"Hello."
"Douglas, this is Hallie. How are you?"
Figuring she didn't really want to know, he said, "I'm fine, thanks, Hallie. How are you?"
"I'm just fine, dear. I realize this is terribly short notice, but I wondered if you could have lunch with me here tomorrow. You could come over after you finish work."
"Actually, Hallie, I won't be working the desk tomorrow, and I'm free for lunch, so I could come any time."
"Oh? Well, in that case, come around noon. There'll just be the two of us."
Lord help us,' Doug thought. She knows already! Tomorrow's shaping up to be quite a day.'
STAN:
About 4:00 that same day I called Doug. I got his voicemail, so I knew he was online. I called his cell and he picked up immediately.
"How you doing, studly?" I asked.
"Stanley, it's been quite a day, but I'm OK. How are you?"
"Well, it's pretty frosty in some quarters around here, but most folks are going on with business as usual."
"You think they haven't heard or they don't care?"
"Oh, I think every one has heard. News travels quickly around here. I'm assuming the ones who aren't either hostile or decidedly cool are OK with the news." I paused a moment. "What I'm calling about is to say that I don't want you to have to fix supper for us tonight. Why don't you meet me at my place at 5:30 and I'll see what I can scrape up?"
"Better still, why don't we run into Winter Haven? We could go to one of the chains, someplace like Applebee's, where probably we wouldn't see anyone we know."
"Doug, babe, we're out, remember? It doesn't matter if we are seen together any more. Why don't we go to Friday's? We can have a quick bite, ogle Adam a little, and come home. We have to compare notes."
He laughed when I mentioned Adam. "Sounds great, Stan! Come by here when you leave the office. Since you are driving, I think I'll get drunk at Fridays!"
"Yeah, right! See you about 5:30, babe."
I left the rag top up on the T-Bird when I went to get Doug. It was drizzling rain, a rarity in November in this area. (I have the optional metal top for the Bird, but I hadn't ever gone to the trouble of putting it on.)
When we arrived at the restaurant, there was a pretty good crowd. We weren't seated at one of Adam's tables, though we saw him busily taking care of his customers. At one point he looked over, gave us a thumbs-up, flashed us a smile, and scurried toward the kitchen.
We didn't see anyone else we knew. As we sipped our drinks (Doug was drinking Maker's Mark and I was having Black Label), we talked about the day. He told me about the meeting he'd had with Bruce Porter, the meeting he had scheduled with Dave McCord, and the summons to lunch with Hallie Hall the next day.
"Stan, she's perfectly right to be furious with me. I doubt that she knows what a 'beard' is, but she will certainly think I've been using her."
"Have you?"
"Look, I love Hallie. She's lots of fun. She has wonderful taste. I've always enjoyed doing things with her. I think of her as a good friend. I think we agreed a couple of months ago that neither of us was looking for any sort of `relationship.' But I suppose she has always provided a sort of cover for me, too. I feel guilty about that."
"Dammit, Dougie." I lowered my voice. "Sometimes we just can't get a decent break. Society forces us to hide who and what we are, and then accuses us of deception and duplicity when we come out or are outed. It makes me so fuckin' mad!"
He looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes and said, "Yeah, Stan, me too."
About that time Adam stopped by our table for a minute. "Hey, guys, I just wanted to say I think it's cool you quit holding each other at arm's length and got it together!"
Doug grinned at him and said, "You don't miss much, do you, Adam?"
"Not with my special people, I don't," he said grinning at both of us.
"Young man, you're a shameless hustler," I said, winking at him.
"I guess you could say that. But seriously, I am glad you two are together. Don't worry about what people say or the shit they'll try to throw at you. Just hang in there and be glad you've got each other!" With that, he flashed us another smile and was gone.
In the car on the way home, I asked if Doug would spend the night with me, since I had to go to work the next morning and he had nothing until he met with the priest at 10:00. I offered to drop him by his house so he could pick up his car.
"Think about that, lover. Do you want my car sitting in front of your place overnight?"
I chuckled. "I suppose that would be rubbing their noses in it. OK, You have everything you need at my place, so I'll just drop you home tomorrow on my way to work."
Of course Doug hadn't gotten drunk at Friday's. He'd only had the one drink. But he wanted more bourbon at my place. "Since all this came up, we've been drinking less wine and more of the hard stuff. Have you noticed?"
I told him I had and that perhaps we should cool it. He said we would go back to wine, "starting tomorrow."
It was too cool to sit on my patio, so we sipped our drinks in the family room. The tv was on CNN, but I don't think either of us was paying any attention. Finally, Doug rinsed his glass, put it in the dishwasher, and came back to where I was sitting. He got down on his knees and put his head in my lap. There wasn't anything particularly erotic about it. It was more like a little kid wanting to be hugged. I put my hands on his head and rubbed his short hair. When he started talking, however, he was talking directly into my cock, and that was sexy. He was saying something about how sorry he was that my career was being jeopardized by our relationship.
I began to laugh and squirm. I told him he could talk if he insisted, but that he had better quit blowing hot air on Sluggo, or I wouldn't be responsible for what happened. So he began first to nuzzle me, and then, as my cock got hard, to sort of chew on it through the fabric of my khakis.
"OK, Curtis. That does it. Into the bedroom. Now!"
He looked up at me. There was a spot on the front of my pants wet from his slobber and, probably, my precum. I just jerked my head in the direction of the bedroom.
He got up, held his hands out to me and pulled me up when I gave them to him. We scooted off toward the bedroom, where we rapidly shed our clothes. He pulled down the bedspread and the top covers. Then he pushed me onto the bed and attacked Sluggo. As good as that felt, I wanted dick in my mouth, so I turned around into a 69 position, and we had at it.
Later, after a shower, we were lying in bed, just holding each other.
"Dougie," I said.
"Yes?"
"Back there in the family room you apologized for what has happened."
"Uh huh."
"Remember this. You have been in this town for four years. You've made a pleasant life for yourself here. I'm the interloper. I came in here and ruined everything for you."
He rose up on one elbow, grabbed me by the balls and squeezed hard enough that I grunted.
"There will be no more of that, Mason! You came in here and loved me. You came in here and made me happier than I've ever been. Whatever happens from now on, I wouldn't give up what we have for anything." He gave them an extra squeeze. "Got that?"
"Yeah," I croaked. "Now would you ease up your grip on my jewels a little?"
He laughed. "Just so you heard what I said."
"I hear ya, babe!" Then I pulled him down into a long kiss.
DOUG:
All those erotic dreams stopped after Stan and I got together. I think finding my soul mate and ideal sex partner took care of whatever was prompting the dreams. The next morning I woke up about 6:30 feeling great. My beautiful muscular hunk was sleeping peacefully next to me. I said a quick prayer of thanks. Whatever we had to face in Lake Polk, we could do it because we were together.
I noticed that Sluggo was making quite a tent in the sheet covering the lower part of Stan's body. I pulled the sheet back, and quickly had the tentpole down my throat.
"Now THERE'S a wake-up call a guy could get used to!"
I took my head off his cock long enough to say, "So get used to it!" Then I went hungrily back to work. When I had him thoroughly wet, I straddled him and slowly lowered myself onto his pole. I did it facing him so I could look into those blazing blue eyes.
"Why don't we just run away someplace and fuck the rest of our lives?" he asked.
"Sounds tempting, but you know neither of us would be happy living as sybarites. Now shaddup and forget Lake Polk. Let me take you away from it all right here in this bed."
"Oh, Douglas, you are doing that, baby."
That little adventure taught me something about myself I didn't really want to learn. By the time I had brought him off, my thighs were pretty sore. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should join the Y and work out with him.
Anyway, he came copiously and seemed to enjoy my ministrations. The strain on my thigh muscles acted as a counter-stimulant, so I never came. I don't think he noticed.
After we snuggled a while, we showered together. While he dressed, I fixed juice and coffee and defrosted some cinnamon rolls I found in his freezer. We ate together, and while he cleaned up, I pulled on my clothes. We were out of his house with just barely enough time for him to take me home and get to work on time. It wouldn't do for the city manager to be late, especially when everybody in the city government suspected he was home screwing his new lover.
After he dropped me off at my place and we had a quick kiss in his car (the top was still up though the rain had quit sometime in the night), I went inside, shaved, showered, and dressed in fresh khakis and a long-sleeve blue button-down Oxford shirt. I felt kind of horny, since I hadn't come that morning, but I decided to save it for that night, wherever it was that Stan and I would be fucking -- his place or mine. Then it occurred to me that, if we stayed in Lake Polk, and that was a big IF, we might as well live together instead of maintaining separate domiciles, now that we were out anyway.
At 10:00, I showed up in the office at St. John's. Bea, the secretary (elsewhere she would have been called the `parish administrator,' but not in Lake Polk), told me Father Dave would be with me in a moment and offered me a cup of coffee. I had had the strong black brew at St. John's before and declined. My nerves didn't need any stimulation that morning.
I could hear Dave talking on the phone. When he finished, he came out to the waiting room.
Dave is about my age, graying, balding. He wears glasses. He keeps fit. I understand he loves golf, but he must work out. He's not muscular, you understand, just trim. He wasn't wearing a jacket over that black shirt thing he wears, and it had short sleeves. His arms were tan, I noticed. But then the arms of most Floridians are tanned.
He smiled, shook my hand, and shepherded me into his office. When we were seated, he made some small talk, a typically southern trait. Here one doesn't come straight to the point. Ever. One must show one's concern for the other guy first. Show that they have what Carl Rogers would call "bridges of relevance."
Anyway, when he deemed it appropriate, he asked me why I had wanted to see him. As if he didn't know. But I was the one who had sought his time, so I was the one to announce the subject of the meeting.
"Dave, how confidential is this talk we're about to have?"
"I can be pretty discreet, Doug."
"No, I mean, is what I say to you in confidence here something you are morally and legally bound to keep to yourself?'
He smiled, thought about it a moment, and said, "Doug, unless you are about to confess a sin to me, the principle of confidentiality of the confessional doesn't apply. If you have something you want to confess, then it would."
So much for that faint hope. "Dave, I am not about to confess a sin. Not that I am perfect, by any means. But what I'm here to talk about is nothing I can accept as sinful."
He didn't say anything. I was sure he knew why I was there. I have always liked Dave and admired the way he did his work as parish priest. I even admired some of his sermons, though they tended to be poorly organized. They seemed spontaneous, even though I understood that he did actually work on them most of Fridays.
I took a deep breath. This man was my age, no better educated than I, probably no more intelligent than I. But he was my priest, and that still carried a lot of weight with me. "Dave, I think I am a problem for you and for St. John's."
He smiled and nodded encouragingly, but didn't say anything.
Shit. He was going to make me do all the work here. "OK, look. It's all over town that Stan Mason and I are lovers. We were seen kissing in public on Key West a while back, and someone from Lake Polk must have seen us."
"Yes, Doug. I know."
"I'm not surprised. Everyone seems to know. Last Sunday, ten people refused the chalice from me. On the other side, no one did. Have you gotten any flak over all this?"
"I'm afraid I have. Several members of the vestry have been to see me."
"And they were upset, of course."
"Well, one of them came to tell me that your sexual orientation is between you and God and that I should stay out of it. Several others wanted me to ban you from serving. One asked me to get you excommunicated."
"Whew! So, Dave, what are you going to do?"
"Doug, I've always suspected you might be gay."
"Yes? Do I act faggy or something?"
"Not at all. But you are at the age where, never having been married, one is inclined to suspect."
"Isn't that the fallacy of stereotyping, father?"
He smiled ruefully at that reminder of his training in logic in seminary. "Of course it is, Doug, and I apologize. On the other hand, I was apparently right, wasn't I?"
"Oh, yes, Dave. You are right."
"Well, see, as long as I didn't KNOW, there was no problem. Your involvement in the parish life here is something for which I'm grateful. You've either led or participated in a number of excellent discussion groups, and I'm grateful for your work as an LEM."
"Tell me this, Dave. Is the problem now my sexual urges, or my sexual activities?"
He thought about that a moment. "I see what you mean." He smiled. "You're asking if it's worse to be having sex with a man than merely being turned on by men."
"Exactly."
"Doug, I honestly don't know. You are the first LEM in all of my experience in the church who is now, at least, openly gay. I'm reluctant to go to the bishop about this because we both know what his position is."
I thought the bishop's position was that he had his head up his ass, but I decided not to say that to the rector. "Well, tell me this, Dave. What do YOU think? Am I condemned to perdition because I'm a `practicing' homosexual?"
"Doug, what is the source of most of our beliefs as Christians?"
Yeah, I figured that was coming. "The Bible."
"And I am sure you know what the Bible says about the subject."
"Yes, father, I know the damning passages, especially in Leviticus and in Paul."
"So, Doug, it's a matter of how much faith we have in the Bible as the Word of God."
"Yeah, I suppose it is. I don't believe the earth is flat or that it has four corners or that God made it in six days. And I don't believe that a just and loving God who made us as we are, gay or bisexual or straight, would then condemn us to hell for being the way he made us."
"Doug, I have a problem here. I understand what you are saying. As a priest, however, I have to be very careful about disregarding the strictures in the Bible. I think I have to do some thinking, some wrestling with the problem, and some praying. Would it be presumptuous of me to suggest that you do the same?"
"Father, I have done all that. Years ago. I know who I am. I can't help the way I am. Would you suggest that gays who are chaste are somehow less sinful than those who aren't, even though those who aren't may by in loving, committed relationships?"
"Well, that is the current position of the Church."
"Meanwhile, what do you suggest we do about my role here at St. John's?"
He smiled. "It seems that the problem is more mine than yours. I have to figure out where I am on all of this. Meanwhile, would you be really upset if we replaced you on the LEM roster for a month or two? Until I can get my own beliefs sorted out here?"
"I understand your dilemma, Dave, really I do. But what will I tell my friends who ask why I am not serving once a month any more?"
He took a deep breath. "Whew, Doug. I don't know. Any ideas?"
"Well, I COULD tell them that I am persona non grata at St. Albans."
"Ouch! That wouldn't be true. You have many friends here, Doug. And, by virtue of your baptism, you ARE an Episcopalian, whatever else is true about you. How about the truth? If anyone asks either you or me, suppose we say that you have withdrawn from LEMing in order not to embarrass the church until we can work our way through our dilemma?"
"Dave, you should run for office. That is brilliantly devious."
He smiled. "Thanks, I think."
"It's something I can live with for a while, so long as a lot of fuss isn't made over it."
"We'll just quietly take your name off the LEM rotation and find others to fill in. How's that sound?"
"OK."
"Now, Doug, there's one other matter."
"Yes?"
"When we sent the bishop your application for an LEM's licence, there was a statement that you were a person of good morals, or words to that effect."
"Oh, yes. You said at the time that that meant that I wasn't having sex out of wedlock, or something of the sort."
"Precisely."
"Oh, shit! Woops, sorry, Dave."
"I understand your feeling. If word gets to Bishop Wenn that you are a `practicing' homosexual, he may revoke your license to be a Lay Eucharistic Minister."
"Sheesh!" I thought about that for a minute. "Dave, this is nothing against you. But if that nasty old homophobe does that, I may have to speak out. You understand, all bets would be off."
"IF it happens, Doug, you do what you have to do."
"Dave, I don't want to embarrass St. John's. I have felt more at home here than any church I've ever attended. I have -- or had -- many friends here. But if Bishop Wenn wants to pull my license, then I'm prepared to make an issue of it. I'll go public, use every resource at my disposal to call attention to what he's done, so be warned."
He looked worried. Then he smiled. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that, Doug. I appreciate your concern for not embarrassing the parish. And, for what it's worth, I don't see any need right now to say anything to Bishop Wenn. I could be in big trouble, mind you, but I think I'll just keep quiet and see what develops."
I handed Dave a small booklet bound in blue. "Dave, do you know Michael Hopkins?"
"I haven't met him, but I know who he is. He used to be the president of Integrity, didn't he?"
(Integrity is an organization of GLBT Episcopalians and their straight friends.)
"Yes. Since I've read all the relevant scriptural passages, could I ask you to read this booklet? As you can see, it's title is "The Bible, Authority, and Contemporary Homosexuality." It will give you a few things to think about, I hope."
"Sure, Doug, I'll get at it soon, I promise."
I stood and offered him my hand. He came around the desk and hugged me. "Doug, I'll be praying over this. I wish you well, my friend."
"I'll be praying, too, father. Thanks."
I just about had time to go home, check the answering machine and the email, take a leak, wash my hands, and get over to Mountain View for lunch with Hallie at noon.
Hallie hadn't dressed up. She was wearing khaki slacks, a loosely-woven sweater, and sneakers. I supposed she figured if I was gay, she didn't need to look good for me any more. But she looked good anyway. She had a great figure for a woman her age, and her skin was obviously well cared for. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which accentuated her fine features.
Sometimes she hugged me when I went to her house, but this time she didn't. Was it because I was in the dog house or simply because she figured a gay guy wouldn't appreciate the hug? I was finding that being out had all sorts of complexities I hadn't anticipated.
Lunch was a treat, as always. She had fixed a salad of field greens, feta cheese, and pine nuts to go with a spinach quiche. (Was there a comment about "real men" in her choice of quiche?) With the salad and quiche she served a crisp, well-chilled sauvignon blanc.
During lunch we chatted about Lake Polk things, the excellent year the Buccaneers were having (in Lake Polk, everyone is a Bucs fan), the early onset of the dry season. We tap danced around the reason for my being there.
When she brought out honeydew melon with red grapes and a scoop of lime sorbet, she seemed to steel herself for the topic of the day.
She picked up a grape with her fingers, popped it into her mouth, and chewed it as she fixed me with her gaze. "Doug, let's not pretend here. Word is all over town that you and Stan Mason are getting it on. Is that true?"
I had always admired about Hallie that she could cut to the chase when necessary. Her southern gentility and her Ivy League education didn't prevent her from zeroing in on the heart of the matter when it suited her purpose.
I put down my fork to play for time. "Hallie, I think it's outrageous that the people in this town have nothing better to do than talk about things that are none of their business. What Stan Mason is doing in his time off is no one's business but his. And I am a private citizen, answerable to no one but myself."
"And your friends, Doug?"
"Touche, my dear, up to a point. Whatever I may do in my bedroom is, I think, no one's business."
"So you and Stan ARE lovers!"
"I didn't say that."
She looked exasperated. "You didn't deny it!"
"What I said was that it's nobody's goddam business."
I regretted that outburst instantly. Hallie and I had been good friends. I was taking a week's frustration out on her.
"I thought you told me the day we went to the museum in Lakeland that you weren't gay. Did you lie to me?"
"Not really. At worst, I equivocated with you. I told you I hoped you didn't think I was telling you I was gay."
She smiled for the first time since I had arrived. "Douglas Curtis, that's pure casuistry!"
She was right, of course. "OK, Hallie. Let's start over. I've been bandying words with you when I should have been apologizing. Yes, I'm gay. Yes, I'm in an affair with Stan Mason. I'm deeply in love with him and hope to spend the rest of my life with him."
She took a drink of water. "Thanks, Dougie, for being honest with me. Finally."
"Hallie, I love you. You are a wonderful friend, and I have always enjoyed doing things with you, being with you. You're smart, you're sensitive, and you're lots of fun."
"Really?"
I was struck that this woman with more money than she knew what to do with, this woman who, with her husband, had been all over the world, who was so smart I sometimes felt humbled by her intellect, looked at that moment so vulnerable.
"Really. As I said, I have always felt blessed in our friendship. Since coming to Lake Polk, I've been living like a monk. There have been no men in my life. None. You have been my social partner of choice, and I've been damned lucky that you have been willing to spend time with me. And I am so ashamed that I have deceived you. I know now that was a rotten thing to do."
"Yes, it was rotten."
"So long as I'm fessing up, though, I have to tell you that with Stan I am happier than I have ever been. I never thought I'd find a guy who would make me feel the way he does."
She grinned the old Hallie grin. "Dougie, you sound like a teenager."
"My dear, I feel like a teenager."
Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. She produced a Kleenex from somewhere and dabbed at them.
"Still, I can't help feeling a little betrayed."
"Hallie, I thought that one day we agreed that neither of us was interested in an `entangling alliance.' You DID say that, didn't you?"
"Doug, a single woman my age with the kind of money I have has to be very careful. It becomes a habit. You have to fend off the guys who are angling to get into your bed and get control of your brokerage account. What I said to you was what I have felt about so many guys who have seemed to be interested in me since the divorce."
"I'm afraid I don't understand. Are you angry with me because I'm gay and didn't tell you? I was at least honest when I said I wasn't interested in an entangling alliance with you. What would have happened to our friendship if I had told you then that I was gay?"
She dissolved into tears. I panicked. I have absolutely no idea what to do when a woman cries, so I leaned across the table toward her and made sympathetic noises.
She took a tissue and blew her nose. Then she smiled a rueful smile. "I never wanted you to see me like this. You still don't have a clue, do you?"
I had to admit I didn't.
"Dougie, I said that thing about alliances because I make a practice of saying that to guys. But a girl can always hope, you know, and in your case, I sure was hoping."
To be continued.