The following narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you shouldn't be reading this sort of thing, don't.
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.
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 fictional. Wouldn't it be a shame if there were any real towns like it?
Patrick and Tom W. were especially helpful with this chapter. Thanks guys! And, as always, I'm grateful to Ash, Evan, and Mickey for encouragement, suggestions, and support.
Timmead88@Yahoo.com Chapter 9
STAN:
I had told most of the people at city hall they could leave at noon on the day before Thanksgiving. Only a skeleton staff of essential services people would stay until 5:00. I hung around until about 2:00 to see that everything was quiet, and then I went to Doug's.
He told me about the rector's call. As he did so, I could tell that something had changed with him. There was no sparkle in those sexy brown eyes. Although he had told Father Dave that he would fight if his LEM license were revoked, he didn't seem to have any fight left in him.
With everything that had been going on, we hadn't even talked about what we were going to do for Thanksgiving. Doug and I both keep a fair amount of food in our pantries and freezers, but neither of us had done any shopping for the big food orgy that was supposed to take place on Thursday. I was going to ask what he'd like to do about that when his phone rang.
He answered it. I heard him talking to his next door neighbor, Reggie Price. He thanked him for helping with the cleanup earlier in the week. Then he listened for a moment or two, and said, "Reggie, thanks, my friend. That's very generous. I am really lucky to have neighbors like you and Beth. But Stan and I have other plans." Reggie apparently said something else. "Oh, I'm sure he would be. And, as I said, you two are the greatest. You don't know how much I appreciate your invitation. It means a lot to both of us, you know, that you would want to share your Thanksgiving with us, especially in view of everything . . . well, you know. OK, my friend. You folks have a wonderful time! And thanks again." He hung up.
"Doug, what plans do you and I have? Don't tell me you turned down an invitation for dinner tomorrow with the Prices!"
"Sorry, babe. I just don't feel like being sociable. I'd rather stay here and have peanut butter sandwiches than have to be `up' for a festive meal tomorrow."
"Hey, what's happened to you? Where's my feisty lover? What happened to not letting the bastards get you down?"
He smiled a sweet, sad smile. He came over, sat next to me, and put his arms around me.
"I'm sorry you're disappointed with me, Stanley. Now I've ruined your Thanksgiving, along with everything else. You want me to run to Publix and get a turkey and the fixins? I'll make us a traditional dinner tomorrow if you want. I just don't want to be with anyone but you right now."
"Doug, had you considered that Reg may have thought you turned him down because he is African-American?"
"Oh, my God! No, I hadn't thought of that. Damn! Do you honestly believe he might think that?"
"I don't know the Prices as well as you do, babe, but you surely wouldn't want him to think that, would you?"
"Of course not. So, what can I do now?"
"Hey, call him back, tell him we've cancelled our `plans,' and ask him if the offer still stands."
He called, got Beth, and told her that we'd love to come if it was still OK. He said she seemed genuinely pleased. He asked if we could bring anything. Apparently she said we could bring dessert if we wanted to.
Doug moped around all evening. There was a college football game on television which he pretended to watch with me, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it.
That night, for the first time since we'd been together, he didn't want to do anything sexual. He went to sleep in my arms.
The next morning, we slept in. After I was wide enough awake that I couldn't lie there any longer, I got up, did my bathroom things, and put on the coffee. Doug stayed in bed until I made him get up and come to the table. We had grapefruit halves and cinnamon rolls with coffee.
After he had gotten his shower and shaved, Doug made a pecan pie, and I made a German chocolate cake.
He was very quiet all morning, not his usual self at all. I knew why, of course. But I was surprised to see how quickly the fight had gone out of him. Apparently the revocation of his license was the last straw. It was only then that I began to realize how much it meant to Doug to be a lay reader.
Except for worrying about Doug, I enjoyed the afternoon next door. Besides Doug and me, there were only Reg, Beth, their ten-year-old son Chad, and Rita, Reg's mother. Or Mama, as he called her. The three Price adults were warm, thoughtful, gracious hosts, hugging both of us when we arrived and fussing over us the whole time we were there. They obviously knew that Doug and I were a gay couple, and I was touched that they had gone out of their way to be so accepting.
Beth and Mama had outdone themselves putting on a feast with all of the traditional Thanksgiving fare. You know, oyster stew, turkey, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, cranberries, cornbread stuffing with oysters, green beans, and -- new for me -- collard greens.
Reg sat at one end of the table, Beth at the other. Chad and Doug sat on one side, Reg's mother and I on the other. Reg carved the turkey at the table, doing a skillful job of it. The rest of the food was passed, and soon all our plates were heaping. Even Doug filled his plate and, despite his depressed mood, managed to eat everything he took.
Mama had also made yeast rolls to die for. I asked for her recipe. She told me she didn't have it written down, but that if I would come to her house some day, we could make them together and she'd show me just what to do.
Beth laughed. "Good luck with that, Stan. I've been trying to make Mama's yeast rolls for years now, and mine are never as good as hers."
It was Mama's turn to laugh. "Hush, girl. You know that's not true. Your rolls are fine!"
"If I could make rolls half this good, I'd be happy, Mrs. Price. So I'd love to take you up on your offer sometime."
"Just let me know when you want to come over, honey. And no more of that Mrs. Price stuff, you hear me? It's Mama. That's what all of Reggie's friends call me."
Doug, who had been pretty silent, told Beth that he hadn't had collard greens that good since he was a boy when his grandmother made them."
Beth said, "That's because people don't put bacon drippings in their greens any more."
Mama Price laughed. "That's right, Beth, honey, everybody's so afraid of cholesterol, their food just doesn't taste right these days!"
So, the meal went on. Beth, Reg, Mama, and I kept the conversation going. Chad didn't say much, though he put away an amazing amount of food, especially mashed potatoes and gravy. After having two helpings of the chocolate cake, he excused himself to go to his room.
Doug seemed to come and go mentally. He was obviously listening to the conversation and would occasionally say something, but he also seemed preoccupied, far away from that festive table at times.
When we finally finished our meal, we all helped carry food, plates, glassware, etc. from the table back to the kitchen. After that, the women shooed us away and said they would finish up.
After Reg, Doug, and I were sitting in the family room Reg said,
"Uh, Doug. A member of the homeowner's association board best left nameless told me about that letter you got. I want you to know, man, I think that sucks. And, by the way, I gave him a piece of my mind about them sending it to you. Damn, man, it was vandalism, not neglect on your part. Sending you that letter in those circumstances was just plan meanness. I also pointed out that they had done nothing about that tacky-looking piece of property on the other side of you, despite our complaints. I told him if anything like that letter happened again, I thought I could round up some neighbors who'd come with me to the next board meeting and we'd have some serious issues to talk about with those folks."
Doug looked at Reg through teary eyes. "Reg, thanks for that. I can't tell you how much your friendship and support mean right now. Having Stan and me here when we're practically pariahs in the neighborhood, hell, in the whole damned city . . . ." At that point he stopped and swallowed. "Well, I guess what I'm saying is that it's times like these when you find out who your friends are. It doesn't seem like enough just to say `thanks.'"
"Hey, my friend, you two guys don't deserve what's happening to you. You haven't hurt anybody in this development or in this town. I know a little bit about bigotry, and now you all are learning about it, too. I hope you are going to fight back, and I hope you will let me help any way I can."
I heard Mama in the kitchen say to Beth, "Mmm hmm! I KNEW I taught that boy something!"
Since Doug seemed unable to speak at the moment, I stepped into the conversation.
"Reg, you and your family have been wonderful to both of us. I'm moved by your offer of support. But I think you might be smart to keep your distance. This fight isn't over. These people are smart and apparently well organized. I'd hate to see you and your family on the receiving end of the kinds of crap Doug and I are getting thrown at us."
"Oh, I mean to protect my family, Stan. I just want you to know I'm on your side and will help in any way I can. Now, what plans do you have for fighting back?"
"Well, first of all, there isn't a lot we can do unless the police come up with the people who vandalized my car and Doug's yard."
"What happened to your car?"
I told him about that.
"Damn, man, that's sick! And they did it right there in the city hall lot?"
"Yeah, but the police haven't been able to find anyone who saw that happen, just as they haven't found anyone who saw the trash-dumping on Doug's yard. You'd think that they'd have made SOME noise putting all that stuff there."
"They must have been pretty quiet, Stan. At least Beth and I didn't hear anything, and, as you know, there's no one living in the house on the other side of Doug's."
"What about the neighbors across the street?"
"Well, let's see. Leola lives alone, and I think her bedroom is at the other end of the house from the side that faces our street, so she probably didn't hear anything either. The Johnsons might have heard something, though. I wonder if the police talked with them."
"I'm going to get with the Chief of Police Monday. I'll suggest that he ask them. They'll probably come here to question you, too. I hope you won't mind."
"I wish we could tell them something helpful."
"Yeah, well, you see, there we are. Doug and I are dealing with a faceless nemesis. I'm so pissed with these bastards I'd like to strangle them. But I don't know what to do. The only arena where we might be able to fight back is in the church."
During all of this, Doug had been staring out the sliders at the Price's back yard. He turned and looked interested at the mention of the church.
"What about the church?" Reg asked. "I guess I don't know all the misery that's been heaped on you guys, do it?"
I explained about the yanking of Doug's LEM license.
"Yeah," Reg said, "I can just imagine what the higher-ups in MY church would say if they found out an elder was gay. We don't have lay readers. Nobody gets to be in the spotlight but the preacher." I heard Mama clear her throat loudly at that point.
Reg glanced toward the kitchen and smiled. He continued, "But I can just imagine how your bishop might have reacted. Hey, wait a minute. Haven't I read that your church is supposedly more accepting of you guys than most churches are?"
"Yes, well, that's true in some parts of the country. But the Diocese of Middle Florida is one of the most conservative in the country, and Bishop Wenn is notorious for his stand on gays."
"You and Doug just can't win for losin', can you? It's been a long struggle for my people. We have come a way. We have a way to go. You guys are in the same kind of struggle, it looks to me. At least no redneck bigot has ever called me a sinner because I'm Black. If there's anything I can do, you will let me know, won't you?"
"Amen to that!" Mama said from the kitchen.
"Reg, you're the greatest! Thanks, again, my friend, for your friendship and moral support. I don't know what Doug and I are going to do, but we are determined to fight all of this somehow. We're not just going to tuck tail and run."
Reg smiled. "Right on, brother!"
Soon after that, Doug and I said our thanks and our goodbyes, and there were hugs all around. Then we went back to his house.
Doug went to the bathroom, where I heard him peeing and then brushing his teeth, after which he went out and sat on the glider on the porch. It was a mild day and comfortable there. I sat beside him and put my arm around his shoulders.
"You've been a zombie this afternoon, Dougie, you know that?"
He leaned his head on my shoulder and said, "Yeah, I suppose I have. I'm sorry, babe. Do you just want to go back to your place and forget about me?"
I shoved him away from me. With a hand on each of his shoulders, I held him at arm's length.
"What the fuck is the matter with you, Curtis? You've been in some other dimension all day? What changed? Yesterday you were full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on Lake Polk and the world."
He looked at me and smiled that sweet smile. I looked into those chocolate eyes and didn't know whether to kiss him, slap him, or fuck the daylights out of him.
"Stan, I have caused the ruin of your career and probably any future you might have in this town. Can't you understand how guilty I feel?"
I started to refute that, but he put his finger on my lips.
"Let me finish, sweetheart. I have to tell you, I've been thinking along the lines of what I heard you telling Reg this afternoon. We're fighting an unseen enemy. I don't see any way of getting back at them or undoing the damage they've already done. Don't you see, it's Cranmer all over again? If I had stayed there, I'd always be thinking I heard people calling me Professor Fudgepacker wherever I went. Dr. Rimmer. The English Department's resident cocksucker. And it will be the same here. You and I are suddenly the town queers. There MUST be others of us around, but you and I are all at once the poster boys for gaydom. And all I wanted when I came here was a quiet life, not the spotlight."
I pulled him back against me. "Baby, I know it's hard. I lie awake at night thinking that I'm the one who caused you this second round of pain and embarrassment. Tell you what. I'll quit the stinking job and we'll vamoose. We'll shake the dust of this town off our feet and go live large, wherever you want. How does that sound?"
He smiled, reached up and ran his hand through my hair, and said, "It makes me feel like a kept man, babe, but I love you for offering."
"So, dammit Dougie, what DO you want to do? Name it, sweetheart. I just can't stand to see you so miserable."
"I want a piece of your cake Beth sent home with us. Then maybe I could think straight. Want some?"
"Sure."
"Coffee?"
"I'd rather have milk if we have some."
"You got it."
He went to the kitchen, and I followed. Working together, we both had plates of cake and glasses of milk. It had gotten chilly outside, so we sat at the breakfast table and ate.
"I know that wasn't what you meant when you asked what I wanted, Stan. I'm really sorry I've been such a nelly. I get furious when I think what they've done to you. I was just going through a round of feeling sorry for myself. This is Cranmer revisited, only much worse. Can we just go to bed and deal with it tomorrow? You don't have to work, so we'll have all day to figure out what comes next."
We finished our cake. I told him I wanted to call Mark, and then I'd join him in the bedroom.
I had called Mark the previous weekend, so he had had a hint of the trouble Doug and I were having, but he hadn't heard the latest. I didn't want to spoil his holiday, but I thought he needed to know that things weren't getting any better.
Mark told me that the whole brotherhood plus Lori had been invited to the Jones's house in Shaker, and that Angel had outdone herself putting on a magnificent Thanksgiving spread.
He and Lori were just sitting there in his apartment (now THEIR apartment, apparently) and mellowing out. I gave him the gist of what had happened that week.
"Dad! You don't need to put up with that shit! Get the fuck out of there. Come back to Meadville and bring Doug with you until things die down or you can figure out what you are going to do!"
I told him we hadn't decided yet, but that I thought we were going to stay around and try to fight back by staying present and proud, though that might depend on Doug.
"Pops, is there anything I can do? You know I'd be there in a minute if there was. For that matter, all of us could come down. We could afford to miss a few classes."
"Oh, no, pup. No missing classes. You stay there and keep the GPA up. If anything changes and Doug and I need you, we'll let you know. Now, give that gorgeous woman a hug for me. I'll talk to you again this weekend."
"You know, you could email me if there's any news."
I chuckled. "Yeah, I keep forgetting that. I promise I'll keep you informed, stud."
"You'd better! Pops, I love you. Tell Doug you're both in my prayers. I'm dying to meet the guy, you know."
"You're gonna love him, Mark. And, yeah, I'll tell him. Love you."
When I got to the bedroom, Doug had brushed his teeth, taken off his clothes and was lying naked in bed. He was on his side with his back to me.
I quickly shucked out of my clothes and slid in beside him, spooning up to him.
"I hope Mark had a nice Thanksgiving."
"He did. And he sends his best. He offered to come down here and help us and bring the whole damn brotherhood if we wanted them to come. He also said he was dying to meet you."
"Yeah, I am eager to meet him, too. And that was nice about bringing his friends. I really want to meet them all whenever, wherever we can. Right now, though, sweetheart, will you just hold me? I promise I'll be better tomorrow."
So I held him. We didn't go to sleep right away. Resting against Doug's crack, Sluggo got hard. Doug never reacted, though, and eventually I could tell by his steady breathing that he was asleep.
The next evening, the day after Thanksgiving, Mary and Blair were sitting in their favorite hangout. Sam had gone home for the holiday weekend, so he and the bimbette du jour were missing. Without Sam there to encourage them to drink, Mary had a cola and Blair was drinking coffee.
"You seem depressed, honey, what's wrong?" Mary asked.
"You really want to know?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
Blair took a deep breath and sighed. "I just can't believe Doug Curtis is gay."
"Why not? Because he doesn't have a limp wrist and a lisp?"
Blair chuckled. "Yeah, I guess. Something like that. He was always so great when we were together. I would have been very uncomfortable working there in his garden alongside him if I'd known he was queer."
"Watch your language, stud. `Queer' is a very negative word. You should know better."
Blair ran his fingers through his blond hair. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It just surprises me that, after gardening with him, going to eat and to the movies with him, I didn't have a clue."
"You think because he's gay he should have come on to you?"
"Well, when you put it like that . . . ."
Mary slapped the hand that was resting on the table. "Shame on you! What if I just assumed that all straight guys were going to come on to me?"
"Don't they?" Blair asked, smiling for the first time.
Winking at him, she said, "That's for me to know and you to find out. But, seriously, sweetie, that's stereotyping, and you know better."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"You guess? You KNOW!"
"Mary, think of it this way. If Doug were a mafia boss or an embezzler, I wouldn't want to be his friend. Why is it wrong to be uncomfortable that he's gay?"
"For one thing, what Doug is doesn't hurt anybody. He's not a criminal, Blair. From what you tell me, he's a good man."
"Yeah, I think he is."
"He must have a lot of self-control not to come on to you all that time. I don't know how he kept from jumping your bones."
Blair laughed. "Well, thank goodness! I guess I'm just not his type."
Taking both his hands in hers, Mary said, "Let's get serious again for a minute. Now that you know he's gay, what are you going to do?"
"Do? What should I do? I don't ever have to see him again if I don't want to."
Mary let go Blair's hands and leaned back in the booth. "Blair Mercier! I don't believe you!"
"Whaaaat?"
"Has the man been decent to you or not? Has he ever been anything but a friend to you?"
"Well, yes, he's always been `decent,' a friend, I guess."
"You know the whole town is talking about the nasty things that have happened to him and his partner, the city manager."
"Yeah."
"Well, baby, put yourself in their place. It looks like the whole town is out to get them. Don't you think the right thing to do would be to call him or talk with him and at least tell him how you feel?"
"Mary, sweetheart, I don't know how I feel. You know what the Church teaches about homosexuality. And it seems pretty gross to me. How can I get around that?"
Mary sniffed. "With all due respect to Holy Mother Church, it seems to me they condemn homosexuality and protect the pedophiles. Not that all gays are pedophiles, mind you. Couldn't you give your friend some moral support without necessarily approving his lifestyle?"
Blair finished his now-cold coffee, made a face, and said, "Yeah, Mare, I see what you're saying. Let me think about it."
"Think about what?" It was Sherrie Carruthers, a fellow student at Lloyd.
"Hey, Sher," Mary said, "sit with us."
Sherrie sat and asked again what they had been talking about. Mary filled her in.
"Oh," Sherrie said, "have you heard the latest about those two?"
"So, give," Mary urged.
"Well, according to my Uncle Bob, who's on the vestry at their church, one of them was a lay reader. But he can't do that anymore because their bishop cancelled his license, or something like that. Uncle Bob said he felt sick just thinking about taking communion from a gay guy."
"Oh," Blair said, "that's Doug. He'll be really unhappy about that. Being an LEM in his church meant a lot to him. We talked about that several times."
"And you're just going to let him twist in the wind?" Mary asked, looking Blair directly in the eye.
Blair looked back at Mary and said, "No, Mare. I can't do that, can I? Doug may be gay, but that has nothing to do with his faith. For all I can tell, he's a good and decent man, and I'm beginning to feel sorry for him and for Stan Mason."
"You go, babe!" Mary said enthusiastically.
"All the stuff that's been happening to those guys is stupid, mindless."
"It's bigotry, Blair."
"Wow!" Sherrie said. "You mean you actually feel sorry for those guys?"
"You'd better believe it!" Mary said.
Blair looked at Mary, sat up a little straighter, and seemed resolved when he said, "Yeah, Sherrie, I do."
DOUG:
I woke up at first light on the morning after Thanksgiving. Stan, still sleeping soundly, was lying on his back beside me. His chest was bare because the sheet and light blanket we slept under were thrown back but tented with his morning erection. One arm was at his side, the other flung across his eyes.
I propped up on one elbow and stared at the man who had become so important to me in such a short time. I drank in the sight of his short, curly, salt-and-pepper hair, the neatly-trimmed mustache and goatee, the silver hair on his chest, his abs that were defined like those of a much younger man -- and, of course, the nicely-pointed upheaval in the bedcovers.
I couldn't help thinking how lucky I was. After the mess with Rick and Cranmer, I had almost given up ever finding a man whom I could love who loved me. And the night before, Thanksgiving night, Stan had been caring, generous. At one point he offered to do ANYTHING I wanted, just so I'd be happy. And he wasn't talking about a blow job. He would move away from Lake Polk and we could go anywhere I wanted. And I had whined and felt sorry for myself.
I turned back the sheets and took his rigid tool in my mouth. I just held it there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of having Stan inside me.
I felt his hand in my hair. "Mmmm! Nice way to wake up, lover."
"Mmmm hmmm," I agreed as I began to move my head up and down slowly.
"That's amazing when you hum as you're doing it, Doug. Don't stop!"
So I hummed and licked and bobbed and sucked. In due time, Stan came, copiously as always, and I managed to swallow it all.
"OK, professor, it's your turn," he said, twinkling up at me as he reached for my hard cock.
"I think I'll go for a run. You can get your shower while I'm gone, OK?"
He stuck his lower lip out like a sulky kid. "Dougie, you're neglecting your conjugal duties, babe."
I laughed. "Stanley, I need my run. It clears my head, helps me get things straight sometimes. This afternoon or tonight, whenever you want, I'll fuck you silly or you can fuck me silly. I promise."
He sparkled at me with those cobalt eyes and said, "OK, toots, I'm gonna hold you to that."
It was my turn to laugh. "Just hold me up against you and I'll be happy. Now, you shower, I'll run."
As I was tying a shoelace, he said, "I just thought of something. You and Tim Mead both run. He was on the cross-country team at Kenyon, and he still runs. That isn't an English professor thing, is it?"
"No, and I am not a cross-country runner. Don't usually run that far. I've just done it most of my life because I like to, it makes me feel better. Besides, these days that and the garden are the only exercise I get."
"Well, I think you and Tim will still have a lot to talk about when you finally get together."
"I'm looking forward to meeting Tim and all of Mark's friends at Christmas." Then it occurred to me: "If we are still here at Christmas, that is."
"Don't worry about that now. Just enjoy your run."
"Right. Later, babe."
I did enjoy my run. I went out of my development, around the lake, and back into the development -- a little over five miles altogether. Although it was a cool morning, I had worked up a nice sweat. Even though I had not been specifically thinking about the recent nastiness in Lake Polk, I did feel better about everything by the time I got back home. At least I wasn't in such a funk as I had been the day before.
"Mmm! Smells good in here," I said as I came into the house. Stan had showered and was obviously fixing coffee and sausage.
He came over and gave me a kiss. "Doug, you have been breathing good , clean Florida air for nearly an hour, and you've still got cum breath."
"It's your cum, stud."
He grinned, gave me a swat on the rear, and said, "Go get your shower. And use some mouthwash! I'll not put the eggs in the skillet until you get back. He handed me a glass of o.j. to take to the bedroom with me.
After breakfast, Stan said he had to spend the morning at his house catching up with housekeeping tasks like paying bills, doing laundry, changing the bed (though it had been nearly a week since either of us had slept in it), and running the vacuum. He said he'd be back for lunch.
I needed to do some grocery shopping. Stan and I had felt as if we had been under siege for the last week, so we hadn't gone to restaurants, and the pantry was getting to look pretty empty. I didn't want to go to any of the local supermarkets, so I drove into Cypress Haven and stocked up on food. I couldn't see that we were going to return to the Lake Polk restaurant scene in the near future.
That afternoon we watched a college football game. I popped corn, and we sat with our feet up on the coffee table eating, making occasional comments about the game, and generally relaxing. I think we both needed to do that. THE topic never came up.
Just as the game was ending, the doorbell rang. It was Chad. Beth had sent over a big plastic container with leftovers from the previous day's feast.
Chad must have decided that we were OK, because he smiled broadly at me and said, "Hi, Doug. Mom said you guys might not feel like cookin' this evening."
As I took the tray, I said, "Thanks, Chad. Will you do something for me?"
He looked startled, and then said, "Yes, sir."
"OK, first of all, I'm Doug, not `sir,' OK?"
He grinned. "OK."
"What I would like you to do is give your mom a big hug and tell her it's from Stan and me."
"For real?"
"Yeah. Is that so bad?"
"Well, I guess not."
"Great! Be sure and do that now. And tell your folks we really enjoyed getting to spend Thanksgiving with you all."
"Got it! See ya!" And he was gone.
After our dinner of leftovers -- which were as good as they had been the day before -- Stan said, "OK, Doc. Now we gotta talk."
He put his hand in the small of my back and propelled me toward the family room.
We sat in our usual places, one in an easy chair, the other at right angles on the sofa.
"Dougie," he began, "you gotta help me, babe. I don't know where you are. I don't know where WE are. I'll do anything you want, but I need to know where we're going."
Well, there it was. And I lost it. Tears began to stream down my face. I've managed on my own for over fifty years, doing what needed to be done. I've taught thousands of students. I am usually pretty much self-contained. Right then, however, I felt like such a shit.
I'd found a guy who could affect my heart rate when he smiled at me, whose career had been ruined because he loved me, who had offered me literally anything I wanted from him. And, instead of telling him how grateful I was, how patient and generous he was, I acted like a spoiled kid.
"Doug, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't cry."
"No, Stan, you don't understand. I'm just feeling like such a jerk because I've been selfish and insensitive. I am so grateful to you, so lucky to have you. I hope you know that."
He motioned for me to come over and sit by him on the sofa. When I did, he put his arm around me.
"Dougie, we support each other. You have given me an emotional safe harbor. I hope I can at least do the same for you." He paused for a moment before he continued, "Not to mention that you are sexy as hell."
"Don't you forget that when we get to the bedroom, hunk! But right now, I need to say something to you, OK?"
"Sure, fire away."
"First of all, I want to apologize for being such a baby yesterday. I was a real wuss. I hope the Prices aren't offended because I was so quiet."
"No need to apologize to me, Doug. I know what you were feeling. And I think the Prices had a good idea of your emotional state yesterday, too."
"They're great people. As the saying goes, it's at times like this when you find out who your friends are. Now. As for where we go from here."
Those eyes bored into mine. "Yeah. I need to hear about that."
"Well, I admit that I am as uncomfortable here in Lake Polk as I was after the Rick affair at Cranmer. I hate to think of going to the grocery store, the Gardens, or St. John's, for that matter. But I think we have unfinished business here. I don't want to just slink away."
He was watching me carefully.
"Don't get me wrong, Stan. I'd love to walk down the Castro with you, our arms around each other. And maybe we can do that sometime. But right now, I want to stand up to all these bigoted bastards. I don't quite know how we can do that, but I want them to know we aren't just going to fold our tents and sneak away."
Stan pulled me over and gave me a fiery kiss. When we finally broke apart, he chuckled and said, "I love it when you get masterful, Douglas."
I laughed. "Yeah, right."
"Do you have any specific ideas about how we can fight back?"
"It doesn't look as if the police are going to be able to get the vandals who ruined the top of your car or, for that matter, the ones who dumped all the garbage out front. But we can fight back, and this will be hard for me, by going on as usual. You do your job. I'll keep on working for the Gardens. I'll make myself show up in places where people are used to seeing me."
"Yeah, well, I guess that's OK for now."
"There's something else. I'm thinking of bearding the lion in his den."
"Meaning . . . .?"
"What if I made an appointment to see Bishop Wenn?"
"You don't think he'd change his mind, do you?"
"Probably not. But I think it might be good to tell him what an arrogant, small-minded, uncharitable thing it was he did."
"Go, Doug!" Stan said, grinning.
"Of course," I said, "he may be a mean-spirited son of a bitch, but he IS our bishop."
"Well, he's abusing his authority, if you ask me. And he needs to be called on what he's done. But you won't go in there and call him names, will you? That just doesn't sound like you."
"Stanley, I'm not even sure I'm going to do it. I just suggested it as a possibility."
"Give it some serious thought. Whatever you decide, you know I'm with you, baby."
That night, as threatened/promised earlier in the day, we fucked each other. And it wasn't slow and tender. It was hot, wild, and enormously satisfying.
The next morning Stan wanted to go to his office to get some work down while he knew he wouldn't be interrupted. He said he'd bring something for lunch and I wasn't to fix anything.
About 9:30 the phone rang. It was Blair. He asked if it would be all right if he came over in a few minutes. I couldn't imagine why, unless he was furious about working for me when I hadn't told him I was gay. You know, the Hallie thing again. But I told him I would be there all morning. He was there in fifteen minutes.
"Blair, it's good to see you. Would you like some coffee? Have you had your breakfast?"
"Yeah, Doug, thanks, I've eaten. But I'd love some coffee if you're having some anyway."
I put on a fresh pot. While it dripped, I asked him about his Thanksgiving. I had expected him to be with his family for the whole holiday. He said he had been there for Thanksgiving Day but had come back to Lake Polk the next day. Said he had a term paper to work on. When the coffee was ready, we took our mugs into the family room.
He sat where Stan usually sits, on the end of the sofa.
"Blair, you know I'm always glad to see you . . . ." I mentally kicked myself the moment I uttered those words. Now that he knew I am gay, I was afraid he'd think I was coming on to him. "What I mean is, uh, well, that is . . . ."
Blair grinned and said, "Relax, Doug. I'll tell you why I'm here, OK?"
Relieved, I said, "OK."
He took a sip of his coffee and set the mug on a coaster on the coffee table.
"I know what's been going on. The whole town does. I just came to say I'm sorry. I think all that sucks."
I was choked up there for a minute. "Blair, I feel guilty that I never told you I was gay. You don't know how much it means to me that you aren't pissed with me."
"Well, look, Doug. At first I was pissed. But then Mary helped me see that you just about had to stay in the closet in this town. What's happened to you and Mr. Mason proves that, doesn't it? I admit the first thing I thought about was how much we had worked together in your yard. But then I realized that you had never done anything like coming on to me. So I had nothing to be angry about, did I?"
"I'm relieved you see it that way, Blair. I was afraid I had completely lost your respect and friendship. I haven't, have I?"
He smiled. For a moment all of those fantasies I'd had about him came flashing back. I took a deep breath and quelled them. "No, I guess you haven't. But can I ask something?"
"Sure."
"What are you and Mr. Mason going to do about all this? Is there some way you can stand up to these people?"
"I don't know, Blair, whether the vandals will ever be caught. Stan isn't even sure the police department is trying very hard, though he intends to look into that first thing Monday morning."
"I heard you can't be an LEM at St. John's any more. Is that right?"
"Yes, I'm afraid it is."
"But your being gay has nothing to do with your being a sincere Christian, does it? I KNOW you. I'm not sure yet how to be comfortable with you guys being gay, but I know you. And you are one of the good guys. It's a shame you can't do that any more. I know what it means to you. We talked about that last summer."
"Well, Blair, on that front, there is something I can do. I've about decided to make an appointment to see Bishop Wenn and confront him about his revoking my license."
"Wow! I don't know whether anyone could get away with that in my church or not. Bishops are pretty powerful people."
"Bishops are just priests with administrative responsibilities, Blair. And, as William Countryman says, we all have our priesthood, every one of us Christians."
He thought about that for a moment. "Hey, I like that concept. But I don't think I'll mention it to Father Figurez. He'd probably have a seizure."
"Maybe not. I think that idea was promulgated in some form at Vatican II. Getting back to my bishop, though, I don't know how he'll react. In view of his well-known anti-gay beliefs, I doubt that I'll get very far. But I am coming to feel that I need to call him on what he's done, let him know that he is in a way denying me my rights as a baptized Episcopalian."
Blair grinned. "Hey, man, I like it when you get that way. I hope you will go see the bish. Now," he took another swig of his coffee and set the mug down, "is there anything that Mary and I can do to help?"
Again, I almost choked up. "Blair, it means a lot to me, guy, that you are here right now offering your support. But there may be something."
"Yeah?"
"It's not very dramatic. But when you hear people putting down gays, you might just confront them about it, if you feel you could do that."
"I probably couldn't have before all this started, but, man, I will do it now. Especially if I have Mary with me. She's something else."
"I've only met her the one time. I hope when things calm down, I'll get the chance to get to know her better."
Blair finished his coffee. "You WILL call the bish, right? And let me know if there's anything else Mare and I can do to help?"
"Sure will, my friend. And thanks for hanging in there with Stan and me."
He stood and thanked me for the coffee. I was tempted to hug him, but thought that gesture might be misunderstood. So we shook hands, and he left. I could hear the thump, thump of his car radio as he drove away.
I went to my pc, booted up, and wrote a letter to the homeowner's association board in response to their letter, pointing out that the debris in my yard was the result of vandalism and that it had been there for only a few hours before I cleaned it up. I also reminded them none too gently that they had done nothing about the derelict house next door despite urgings from Reg Price and me. I could only conclude, I said, that their letter was motivated by some sort of hostility or spite and that I couldn't imagine that I had done anything to any of them to justify such an attitude. In fact, I said, it looked a lot like harassment. It was with some satisfaction that I sealed and stamped the letter and put it into the mailbox for pickup. I was beginning to think it might feel good to fight back.
On Monday morning I called the diocesan offices in Waltersburg and asked to make an appointment to see the bishop. I got transferred to another desk. Father somebody or other, who told me he was the bishop's secretary, said that the bishop was happy to see members of his diocesan flock. He wanted to know if I could come the next day at 3:00. I said that would be fine. Then he asked my name. I thought I heard a murmured reaction, but I couldn't be sure. But he said my name was on Bishop Wenn's calendar for Tuesday at 3:00. He also mentioned that I was scheduled for no more than a half an hour.
That evening, Stan got a call from Tim Mead. He said Tim had heard from Mark the problems we were having, and he wanted to express his concern and support. Tim told Stan to tell me he was looking forward to meeting me, that he knew the two of us would have lots to talk about. And, Stan said, Tim had repeated Mark's offer that a bunch of them would come down here if they could be of any help. It was nice to know that we had such a support group, even if they were way up in Ohio.
At lunchtime on the Monday after Thanksgiving, Hallie Hall was entertaining three friends. They were a committee working on publicity for the Ridenour Gardens' Holiday Gala. The women had concluded their business and were having lunch of crab salad, finger sandwiches, and a chilled Gundlach Bundschu Gewurtztraminer. The conversation had turned to the hottest gossip topic in Lake Polk.
"I don't suppose you girls have heard the latest," said Evelyn, biting the end off a sandwich.
"So tell," urged Trish. "Hallie, darling, this crab salad's wonderful. You must give me your recipe."
"Oooh, and where did you get this wonderful wine? I've never seen it at Publix," added Barb.
Hallie smiled her thanks to Trish and Barb. "What is the latest, Evelyn?" she asked.
"You know I'm on the board of the Colony Heights homeowners' association? Well, I got a phone call from Pete Spurgeon one day last week. Wait, do you all know about the garbage that got dumped on Doug Curtis's front yard?"
The all nodded that they did.
"What Pete was calling to say was that he'd talked with the other board members and they'd decided to write Doug a letter reminding him that allowing your property to look disreputable was a violation of our covenants."
"But . . . , " Hallie exclaimed.
"Yes, dear, exactly. I told Pete I thought that was a nasty thing to do, but he said he had the votes to do it, and he was just informing me as a courtesy. Can you imagine the nerve of that man?"
"Evelyn, are you by chance the only woman on the board?" Barb asked.
"Uh huh," Evelyn replied, rolling her eyes.
"Sounds to me like you have a bunch of good old boys on that board," Trish said.
"Hallie, you and Doug Curtis have been pretty good friends. Did he tell you about that letter?" Evelyn asked.
"No. I haven't seen Doug in over a week. I knew about the garbage in his yard. I think everyone knows that. But I didn't know about the letter. That's really pretty mean, isn't it?" Hallie took a sip of her wine.
"Well," Trish said raising her eyebrows, "I don't hold with homosexuality, but I also don't believe in jumping on folks when they're down. That letter your board sent, Evelyn, was positively un-Christian!"
The others nodded.
"Hallie, sweetie, you know we're all your friends, so I just have to ask this. It must have been a blow to you to find out that Doug is gay. Or did you know?" Barb asked.
Evelyn gasped and Trish stifled an exclamation.
"Oh, it's all right, girls. I don't mind talking about it." She turned to Barb. "I'll tell you what I told him. I've known a fair number of gays and lesbians in my lifetime, starting when I was in college. Most of them are nice people. Their sexual orientation is none of my business. But when I'm dating some guy regularly, I think I have a right to know if he's gay."
The others nodded their agreement.
"What really hurt me, though, was that he didn't trust me. I really like Doug. He and I have always had good times together. I thought we were close friends. But the son of a bitch couldn't bring himself to tell me."
Trish reached over and put her hand on Hallie's.
Barb said, "I can see why that would hurt, Hallie."
"Hallie," Evelyn said, "in view of all the sick things that have happened to Stan Mason and Doug in the last couple of weeks, had it occurred to you that Doug knew what he was doing when he stayed in the closet? Maybe he was quiet because he could foresee what would happen if he ever came out in this town."
"Well, yes, Evelyn. I hadn't thought of it that way . . . . But still, he could have told me. I would have kept his secret."
DOUG:
Stan offered to take off work and come to Waltersburg with me to see Bishop Wenn. I thanked him but told him this was my fight. We had lunch together that day. Afterward he kissed me, gave me a pat on the tush, and wished me luck. I rehearsed in my mind all the things I was going to say to the bishop as I drove to the diocesan headquarters.
When I found my way to the bishop's outer office, I was told by a young cleric that Bishop Wenn apologized, but that something had "come up" and he wouldn't be able to see me. I was to see Canon Smathers instead. I protested that I didn't want to see Canon Smathers, that I had driven all the way from Lake Polk with the assurance that the bishop would see me. The young man seemed flustered, but said the bishop wasn't even in the building. He excused himself, picked up the phone, and pressed a button. After a pause, he said, "Mr. Curtis is here, and I think you had better come out. Yes, I'll tell him."
Then, to me he said, "Canon Smathers asks if you'll have a seat. He'll be with you in a few minutes."
I didn't want to kill the messenger, so I stifled my anger at being put off. "Father, I didn't come here to see the canon. I am not about to be kept waiting. So, I'll just be on my way."
Just then a door to one side of the reception area was flung open so quickly I suspected that canon had been listening on the other side to see how I'd react.
Approaching me was a tall man about my age, balding, with a fringe of reddish hair liberally sprinkled with gray. Even in his clericals he looked to be extremely thin. Not offering to shake hands with me (perhaps he was afraid to touch a homosexual?), he said, "Mr. Curtis, I'm Canon Smathers. I've put aside my work so we can talk. Please come into my office."
I followed him into an office that was surprisingly sterile. There was a cross on one wall and a picture of Bishop Wenn standing with the presiding bishop on another. I felt momentarily sorry for the presiding bishop.
Smathers asked me to sit. Then he retreated behind his desk and sat, leaning back in his chair and looking me over.
He made a remark or two about the weather and then asked how long I had lived in Lake Polk.
"Canon Smathers, if you know I live in Lake Polk, you obviously know something about me, and you must then know why I am here. I came to see the bishop because I wanted him to tell me himself why he had revoked my LEM license."
He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, resting them and his forearms on the desk. He cleared his throat. Then he made an effort to smile, but it looked grotesquely insincere.
"Well, you must understand that Bishop Wenn is a very busy man, and that things DO happen which cause him to have to alter his schedule."
"In that case, the bishop might have had someone call me so we could reschedule the meeting."
He picked up his phone and pushed a button. "Frank, when did the bishop learn that he couldn't meet with Mr. Curtis?" He paused a moment, said "Thanks," and put down the phone.
"Apparently someone tried to call you, but we got no answer. I assume you had already left Lake Polk for Waltersburg."
"OK," I said. "When CAN I see the bishop?"
"The bishop has delegated me to talk with you."
"Are you telling me that the bishop won't see me?"
"As I said, I am here in the bishop's stead. I am familiar with your case. Now, shall we proceed?"
I supposed it was just possible something had come up which required the bishop's attention, but I didn't really believe that. I was pretty sure his fobbing me off on the canon was a way of putting me in my place. I tried not to be angry with this man. He may have been no happier about being there than I was. However, I didn't at all like the sound of "my case."
"Very well, Canon Smathers, let's proceed."
"Do you really need me to explain anything to you, Mr. Curtis, or are you merely here to complain?"
"I'd like you to tell me, please, exactly why my license was revoked."
He sighed. Then, in a tone one might use with an obstinate child, he asked, "You are aware, aren't you, that you signed an application to become a lay Eucharistic minister, one in which you affirmed that you were a person who strove to lead a moral life?"
"Yes."
"And you are a homosexual, flaunting your homosexuality?"
I laughed. "I wouldn't say I was flaunting it. Stan and I have separate residences and are very discreet."
There was more a smirk than a smile on his face as he said, "Tell me, Mr. Curtis. Is an open mouth kiss on a public street being discreet?"
"It might not have been considered so in Lake Polk, Canon, but we were a long day's drive from there. We thought we could reasonably assume that no one we knew would be in Key West."
"Well, the point is that you are apparently having sex with someone and you aren't married."
"Aha! First of all, a kiss doesn't necessarily mean that sex will follow. But Stanley and I are indeed having sex. We love each other. You know, Canon, I think Stanley and I would be perfectly agreeable to being married. Would you like to perform the ceremony?"
He appeared shocked. "The Church does not sanction homosexuality and does not allow for same-sex marriages. You must know that."
"Tell me, Canon, are you aware of the Claiming the Blessing conference that took place in St. Louis a few weeks ago?"
"Yes."
"And you know what that meeting was about?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well, sir, from what I've heard, as a result of Claiming the Blessing, at the next General Conference, there's a very good chance that the Church will agree to come up with a ceremony for blessing same-sex unions."
"I sincerely hope you are wrong. I hope there will be enough right-thinking Episcopalians to dismiss this idea once and for all. You people are going to cause a deep schism if you aren't careful. Homosexuality is clearly evil."
I started to respond to that, but he held up his hand.
"Wait. I mis-spoke. There seems to be a good deal of opinion these days that you people can't help your, uh, `urges.' But homosexual practices are clearly evil."
"Most debates over that issue wind up being matters of Biblical exegesis and interpretation, Canon. How literally we take many things in the Old Testament is an issue for most thoughtful, intelligent, educated Christians today. But that's really not the point, is it? What you and Bishop Wenn and others like you seem to overlook is that by virtue of our baptism, gay and lesbian Episcopalians are just as much members of the church as you are, just as entitled to the benefits of being Episcopalians as the bishop."
"Yes, well. When members of the flock are perceived to be sinning, it is the bishop's responsibility to reprimand them."
"All in the name of caritas, of course."
"Caritas, Christian love, Mr. Curtis, is something that I'd hardly apply to gay or lesbian sex."
"And I'd hardly apply it to the censorious attitude you and the bishop have toward your fellow Episcopalians. Let me suggest something for you and the bishop to think about. How do you feel about anal sex between heterosexuals, Canon?"
He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Anal sex?"
"Yes. Suppose the man puts his dick in the woman's ass. Or she puts a dildo up his. For that matter, do you know what rimming is, Canon?"
"Um, no."
"That's licking around the anus or even inserting the tongue into the anus. I understand that a fair number of straight couples enjoy it."
"I can't even imagine that."
"I take it you would disapprove."
"Well, yes."
"Tell me, Canon, would those things be a sin?"
He thought about that for a moment. "I don't think we'd go so far as to call it a sin. The church is inclined to assume that what committed couples do in the privacy of the bedroom is their own business."
"'Committed couples.' You mean committed straight couples, of course."
"Of course."
"So, you're telling me again that what these straight couples do is not a sin and can exist in a marriage that has been blessed by the church. But if a same-sex couple does it, it's sinful because they are not in a relationship that has been blessed by the church? But the church refuses to bless such relationships? What kind of sense does that make?"
He seemed disconcerted. "I'd never thought of it quite that way."
"Well," I said, standing. "I hope you have the integrity to put it to Bishop Wenn that way when you talk with him about this meeting. Now, I take it that the bishop refuses to see me."
"I'm afraid so, yes."
"Then I shall think of how I might be able to persuade him of the error of HIS ways. I expect you to report accurately the content of this conversation. Who knows, Bishop Wenn may see the light. Good day, Canon."
As I drove home, I fumed about the canon. The supercilious, condescending son of a bitch made me furious.
I began to think of a plan to take this struggle to the next level . . . .
[To be continued.]