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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: Stolen Love The third and final installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
33
The Ways of Passion and the Discovery of Great Fortune
Paul and I trooped down to my kitchen where I presented Paul with a green tea and a glass of water to help him wait. I got myself a cup of coffee and started programming ingredients into the culinarian.
I'd decided on a couple prime rib roasts and a couple roast chickens to feed the sixteen residents currently on the estate. I included Cellarius in my count. I knew he'd object to eating with us, but I didn't much care. We needed each other, all of us, and Cellarius was one of us, whether he wanted to be or not.
I was busy mixing up a dry rub for the prime rib when Paul asked me if he could ask a question. "Young man...I...uh...I wonder if I could ask you something?"
I took my hands out of the bowl of seasonings and dusted them off so I could focus on Paul's question. It was another situation where I realized what he was about to say was important to him, and I didn't want to be distracted while he said it. I raised my eyes to his and waited. Paul seemed to grow uncomfortable with the eye contact and dropped his gaze to the countertop of the island he sat behind. I ventured to reassure him before I knew why he needed reassurance.
"Paul...I don't know what you want to know, but you can ask me anything you want, and I won't think you're weird or judge you for it. I think we've pushed you pretty damn far outside your comfort zone and you're handling it better than I think I would under the same circumstances. If I can tell you something that will help you in any way, just ask whatever it is. Nothing...no topic is off limits."
Paul met my eyes with his and nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I am, as you say, outside my comfort zone and everything I see is new and so much of it wonderous." He pointed to the culinarian at my back. "I just watched you take a raw roast from that machine over there and my mind tells me it's part of a cow, but you tell me it's somehow created from that plant powder you call `base.' It would be overly simplistic for me to call that a miracle, but I have no other way to explain it to myself."
I glanced at the culinarian and then back to my friend. "Is that what your question is about? I don't like to disappoint you, but I have no idea how it works. That's a gift horse I refuse to look in the mouth."
"No...I would certainly like to know how the machine functions, and I presume the information is available, but that is not what I wanted to discuss. No. My question is of a far more...uh...personal nature."
Paul hesitated again. I almost offered more reassurance to get him talking, but I perceived that if I waited, he'd make up his mind to say what he wanted. He hemmed and hawed a bit more and played with his water glass on the counter, then he finally asked what he wanted to know. "When you and your brother-in-law, Bem, were speaking, when we were in the dining room just moments ago, you did something very intimate with him and he seemed to grow quite flustered by your action. Would you explain that to me?"
The question surprised me at first, but I don't know why it should have. I wondered what was behind Paul's question. I wondered why he wanted to know. I wondered if it was intellectual voyeurism, or if there was something deeper behind it. Joe had once asked me what it was like to bottom for a man. The answer I'd given him was vague at best. I'd skirted the issue because I was uncomfortable having that conversation with my brother.
My lack of detail with Joe didn't matter much in the long run, because Joe was being an intellectual voyeur. He'd just found out his son was gay, or he suspected it, I forget where his question fell in that timeline, and he didn't understand the nature of the pleasure. Since it wasn't something I supposed he'd ever be interested in experiencing, I didn't trouble him with details. Paul's question seemed different than Joe's. He seemed to be asking out of genuine curiosity and maybe something else I couldn't identify.
Paul must have realized I was working something out when I didn't answer him right away, and he read me to see what was slowing me down. My thoughts seemed to unsettle him even more. "You see," he dropped his eyes from mine again as he tried to explain his question, "I have very little experience. Almost none. In fact, the only person I was ever `with' in that way was my Bernita. So, you see, my knowledge of things is rather limited. Earlier, when we were outside the window of Andy's apartment, and..."
I held my hand up and yelped to get Paul to stop talking. He fell silent at my raised hand. I understood what he was asking, and I wanted to answer him, but I wasn't sure how to do it. I asked for time. "Would you give me a minute please, and stay out of my head while I think about this?"
Paul nodded without speaking. I busied my hands, as that usually helped to move my thoughts. I applied the rub to the two roasts and readied them for the oven. I washed my hands and went back to face Paul. I had a rough framework of what I wanted to say worked out in my head, but I knew I'd be making up a lot as I went.
I tried to approach the discussion like it was a talk about technique, like I was explaining the basics of stick welding or something equally mundane. I knew I had to avoid sounding embarrassed and it was important that I didn't talk around things or leave details out like I had with Joe. I guessed Paul was considering an eventuality where sex would become part of his life and he worried if he'd measure up. That was a very natural concern for someone who'd been celibate for most of their life.
I tried to premise my talk with what I assumed he knew and build from there. "I suppose your experience with your wife was fairly vanilla." I said to open my speech. Paul seemed to want to object to my characterization, but I didn't let him. "I'm not saying that it was lacking in any way. I'm certain it was beautiful, and a great way to demonstrate your love for each other, but I assume from a technical standpoint, pretty basic. Would you say that's fair?"
"Yes." He agreed.
"OK." I agreed and was pleased with his honesty. "What I've learned, since I came to this world and started my physical relationship with Shawn, is there are two types of eroticism. One is purely physical, and the other is mental, usually with some physical. I would assume that what you did with your wife was largely physical. The mental stimulation was limited to the love you had for each other. That's great, but only part of what's possible."
I took a breath and dove into the deep end of the conversation. What I was about to tell Paul was very private, but not a secret. I blew the breath out, sucked in another one, and started talking. "What I did with Bem earlier, I'm sure to him it feels good, but hands and fingers aren't a traditional erogenous zone. For Bem, the act of teasing his hands is more mental stimulation.
"Bem gets excited by the image of watching me worship his hands. When Shawn and I both did it to Bem together, it completely blew his mind. Shawn and I have done it to each other, and we both like it, but not to the same extent that Bem does.
"I think it's a power thing. It's a form of submission, where I submit myself to Bem. I get to enjoy doing what he wants me to do, and he gets to enjoy feeling powerful. Along with that, the mouth and tongue are always sexy. Teasing his fingers, it's a similar visual to oral sex on a man, and it feels good. All those things together are very erotic. Does that make sense?"
Paul nodded tentatively, like the concept made sense, but the execution remained unclear to him. "Is what Comitis did to Andy the same thing?" He asked.
I felt my jaw clench as an automatic response to Paul's question. I resented my nephew and his boyfriend for creating the situation where I'd be stuck explaining a rim job to a priest. I wondered how in the hell I was going to explain the mind-fuck and full body simmering sensation of being on the receiving end of a rim job. Then I wondered how in the hell I could explain the raw sexual energy it took to look at an ass and greedily dive into it face first.
Those things weren't easily explained to someone who'd never experienced them. I thought it was very much like trying to describe a color to a blind man. A rim job was something that had to be experienced. That thought led me to an idea. It was an idea that was the nineth level of hell on the scale of embarrassing things, but it was something that I assumed would work far better than any number of words I could utter.
I called up the memory of my last marathon session with Shawn and focused on the acts that Paul was curious about. I made sure I had the memories in the forefront of my mind and that I wasn't being distracted by outside thoughts. I shut my eyes to sharpen my concentration and almost lost myself in a wave of melancholy.
Since I'd found out Shawn's father was involved with his kidnapping, I'd felt better, because I assumed that made Shawn safer, but safer' wasn't the same as safe.' He wouldn't be safe until he was back in my arms. There was still a very real chance that something could happen to him. The idea of it terrified me.
That wasn't the point of the memory though, to torture myself with useless conjecture. The point was to explain something to Paul. I gripped my bracelet to remind myself that Shawn was alive and safe-ish and that we were doing everything we could to get him back. I used that reassurance to soothe my frazzled nerves and refocused on the memory that Paul was interested in.
With my eyes still closed, I turned my face toward Paul, and tapped my temple. "Go ahead." I offered. "This is the only way I know to explain."
I felt Paul's presence when his mind entered mine. I focused on the memory and did my best to relive the experience from both sides of the act. After a few minutes, Paul withdrew from my mind. I shook the memory off to get myself into the present and opened my eyes.
Paul was flushed and breathing harder than usual. He even looked a little sweaty. "Oh my." He gasped and played with his hands on the countertop. "That's quite...I didn't know. Is that something that only...uhm...is that exclusive to...oh my."
I guessed what he was trying to ask. He wanted to know if the act was exclusive to male only intimacy. I answered the question he was stumbling over. "From what I understand, gender doesn't impact the pleasure of the act."
"Oh my." Paul muttered again and wiped a large hand over his overheated face. I passed him a napkin and went back to fiddling with the culinarian to give Paul a moment of relative privacy to recover himself. I asked the culinarian for two chicken roasters so I could start prepping them.
Paul seemed ready to speak again by the time I had the chickens ready for the oven. "Baked potatoes or mashed, do you think?" I asked him.
"Baked." He said.
I took a moment to toss the potatoes in the oven on the middle rack without bothering to do anything to prep them. I figured I'd give them a half hour head start before I put the roasts in, then let them have a half hour head start before I put the chickens in. I set a timer and returned my attention to my friend. He was breathing normally and the color in his face was almost normal.
"I didn't know such things were done." Paul observed with his eyes on the countertop.
"A lot of possibilities open up when you add the mental to the physical." I explained. "I didn't know either until I met Shawn. He taught me so much, and Bem taught the both of us. He's vastly experienced.
"So you know, Bem and I don't have sex anymore...not since he started his relationship with my sister. I think if it were only up to him, we still would...of course, as I say that, I'm reminding myself about his religious fervor, so that's probably not the case anymore. If it was, though, it would make me uncomfortable and I know it would make Mary uncomfortable, so we haven't and don't."
"Then why," Paul asked, "were you...carrying on with him earlier?"
I debated for only a moment before I decided to continue my policy of being completely honest with Paul. "The people who took Shawn, I want them dead, and Bem agrees they should be killed. He was going to kill them himself, but I asked him not to. I was trying to show him that his hands have better uses than bringing death, even to those who deserve it."
I didn't need Paul's clairvoyance to know the strain on his face meant that he didn't agree with killing. I didn't want to tell him it was none of his business, but it wasn't, and he needed to understand that. "Paul...I think I know what you think you should say, and I'd like you to skip it. I told Bem I didn't want him doing any killing and he agreed. We will turn anyone we capture over to Shawn's Uncle Ars, and he will determine what to do with them.
"I assume that will mean death for some of them and long prison terms for others. Shawn's uncle is a ruthless man and suffers from none of the hypocrisy that plagues most high officials. Whatever he decides to do with the people that kidnapped his nephew, is fine with me. I would ask you to put yourself in my place before you judge me. I know from what you've told me these last days, you've been roughly where I am, and I know what you thought about it at the time."
Paul lowered his eyes from mine and spoke into the countertop. "I won't say the obvious things to you. You seem to know the arguments I would make. As a man of God, who has tried to live according to his teachings, I believe that killing begets more killing. That said, as a man who has lived in the world...while Jesus teaches that no man is beyond salvation, it is far less likely for some than it is for others. I appreciate your honesty. I appreciate you not trying to hide your intentions from me. It means a great deal."
"I'd like not to have secrets from you...Paul." I almost said `Father' because it felt like that type of conversation, but I remembered at the last moment and stumbled over the man's name instead of his title. "Secrets...everyone I've ever kept secrets from, I ended up hating, or at least resenting them because of the secrets I kept.
"I don't want any ill feelings between us. If you feel I'm doing something wrong, I want you to tell me, but if you tell me, and I make the decision to proceed with whatever that `wrong' thing is, I want you to respect me enough to let me do it without comment. I don't want you to censor yourself around me either, but...I think you know what I'm getting at. Is that OK?"
Paul nodded with his eyes on mine. "I can agree to that. You are your own man, and I am not your father. As your friend, I can have an opinion, but also as your friend, I have to let you live your life." Paul looked at the palms of his hands, with his fingers splayed out in front of him. He brought the fingers together and put the hands in his pants' pockets.
"I've been thinking," he announced, "thinking a great deal these last days, since you announced the gift of the apartment and citizenship here." Paul dug in his pants pocket and drew out a worn, tri-fold leather wallet. He selected his new Protectorate identification from it and held it up to me. "I've been staring at this, whenever I'm alone. Paul Molendinum it says. My Latin tells me that means `Miller.' It lists my occupation as retired and shows an address I have not been able to decipher."
"It's the equivalent of a post office box in Oppidum. They won't deliver out here, so the official address of this house is the post office in town." I held my hand out for the card and showed Paul, how by touching a spot on the back of it with his thumb, it would show him the balance of his assets.
Paul took the card and pressed his thumb to it. Red numbers lit on the back of the card. He examined them and muttered to himself as he worked out the sum. "Five hundred and three, four, five, six, seven, eight zeroes. Five and eight zeroes. That's...let's see. Hundreds, thousands, ten-thousand, hundred-thousand, million, ten-million, hundred-million...five-hundred-million. FIVE HUNDRED MILLION!" He thundered.
Paul looked from the card, to me, and back again several times, then he laughed. "That's wonderful. Five hundred million...pennies, right? Even that would be a staggering sum. A wonderful joke, young man. What is the actual figure?"
"Five hundred million is the actual figure." I explained and tried to deadpan my expression as much as possible so Paul wouldn't think he was being teased. "Shawn and I talked about it. Since we didn't know if you'd be staying or if you'd want to stay with us or travel around or what you wanted to do, we wanted to make sure you were adequately provided for.
"It's hard for me to explain how to translate that figure, because things here aren't worth the same as they are on Earth. Values are different, so...like convenience store stuff, a sandwich, or a candy bar, it's different here and costs are different.
"The example I usually use is our four-unit apartment building in Epistylium, Shawn bought that for fifty thousand, but that was almost twenty-years ago. I think the money here is about twice as valuable as dollars, but I haven't been on Earth in a long time to know how prices have changed so..."
Paul stopped my rambling with a desperate look and a pleading groan. He held the card out toward me. "Are you telling me...it's not possible...a half-a-billion dollars, on this little card?"
"Credits actually." I shrugged. "The way Lenis has been making money for us, we have more of the stuff than we could ever use. We, Shawn and I, didn't want you feeling like the poor relation or to make you have to ask for money like you're on an allowance. This way you can do just as you like."
"I don't understand." The old priest stared at the numbers on the card.
"Paul." I called his name and waited for his attention. "That card is your freedom. For the rest of your life, or at least as much of it as you decide to spend here, you can do just as you like. You don't owe anyone anything. You have no responsibilities but those you create for yourself. You can stay here and live with us, or you can travel, see the whole world. I didn't want you to think that staying on Solum meant staying here. You're my friend and I take great pleasure in your company, but your life is your own.
"Stay, if you want, or leave, if you please. That sum is not the limit either. I don't think you could run through that if you tried, but I have a...I guess we could call it an overdraft alert, set up on your account. If you run low, below ten million, it will debit my account for another five-hundred-million, so you actually have a billion credits at your disposal. If you run through that, we'll have to have a talk, but I doubt I'd want to stop you even then."
Paul stared at the card like he didn't believe it was a real object. Each time the red numbers winked out, he pressed his thumb to the spot that would illuminate them again. As I watched him perform the cycle several times, I worried that I'd broken him with my announcement. I decided to give him a few minutes to process and tried to get back to my meal preparations to keep dinner moving.
I turned from the island but didn't make a full about-face when a strong hand grabbed my wrist so hard it hurt. The grab stopped me in my tracks and turned me back toward Paul. His face was a study of emotion. It was like his expression couldn't decide how it felt. "Why?" He asked in a voice that made the question sound like a desperate cry for understanding.
"Why?" I parroted. I extracted my wrist from Paul's crushing grip and crossed my arms over my chest to protect myself from his penetrating gaze. I leaned back on my hips and raised my eyes to the light panel ceiling.
My time in therapy hadn't helped me achieve complete comfort when sharing my emotions with people. Certain ones shared easier than others. Gratitude and love were two I struggled with. I did my best to address Paul's question. "There are three people in my life that have done things for me, things I can never repay. Four actually, but the fourth one is dead. There's Shawn, who I love with everything I have. The second one is Bem, who believed in me when no one else did. The third...is you."
Paul tried to object to the great importance I assigned to him, but I didn't let him. "I spent my entire youth in mortal terror of all things holy. Between my folks and the old priest and the fire and brimstone and hell and damnation they preached; I knew I was doomed to burn in hell for sins I didn't even understand. When I got older, the fear turned to hate. I hated my parents for making me afraid and I hated God for making me what I am and then telling me it was wrong. You're the one that changed that."
Paul tried to interrupt again, but I talked over him. "The first mass I went to in twenty-six years was the one Joe brought me to at your church. I fought him over going. You have no idea the argument we had that morning. Shawn had to persuade me and even then, I almost didn't come in from the parking lot. It took him and Bem to get me into the building.
"I still remember the sermon you preached that day, about accepting people as a package, their good traits and their flaws, about celebrating what each individual brings to the human experience. I didn't know it was possible for a Catholic priest to even hold those views let alone express them in a lesson.
"The day I came to see you, at the rectory, I thought I was on a fool's errand. I didn't think there was any way in the world a man in a black suit and a backwards collar would listen to my story for long enough to have an opinion, or believe me if he did, or help me if he did both of those things. You welcomed me in and listened to me. You believed me and you wanted to help. You...wanted...to...help."
I leaned down and tapped the countertop with each word to emphasize the point. "I was a complete stranger and you wanted to help me. The fact that you did help me, and my family, isn't as big in my mind than the fact that you believed my story and wanted to help me."
I stood up and recrossed my arms to finish my monologue. "And I know exactly what you're going to say, that I don't owe you a thing, but you're wrong. I owe you a big chunk of my happiness, and my nephew owes you his wealth and his fashion empire, and my brother owes you his place in this household. If I can repay the kindness you showed me, if I can give you back a fraction of the happiness you made possible for me, I'll do it and no amount of money would be too much and no amount of time spent would be too dear.
"Earlier this week, or was it this morning?" I asked myself as much as I asked him. "You worried about what difference you made as a priest. I am certain you touched dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of lives for the better, but if you want just one example, you can look at my life and know you made a difference to it."
Paul was dumbstruck. I used his silence to consider whether the speech I'd given answered the question he'd asked. I had to think for a second to even remember what that question was. "And that's why." I said when I remembered. I uncrossed my arms and leaned my hands on the countertop.
"I don't know what to say." Paul sounded like he was about to burst into tears.
"You don't have to say a single thing. I don't expect, or even want a thank you. I want you to stay and I want you to be happy, but I don't want you to feel obligated to stay. If you decide to go back to Earth, I'll be disappointed, and I'll miss you, but I'll understand."
"I want to stay," Paul said like he was begging for permission, "but I don't know what to do with my vows."
I recognized the stumbling block of those vows. They were what I'd been worried about from the beginning. I'd probably thought about them as much as Paul had. I told him what I had worked out. "I don't know what you promised, and to who, but it seems to me that you've given what you promised to give.
"You gave your productive life to the church. Maybe that's a rationalization, it probably is, but you gave your dedication, your energy, and your sexuality to God for forty years. The fact that you will now live much longer than you planned, and that your energy and capacity for physical affection are going to return is no fault of yours. You don't owe God your second chance at life. You already gave him the first."
Paul seemed to collect himself as I spoke, and he leaned back in his chair. "I admit, my thinking on the matter runs along similar lines. I have much more thinking to do, but rest assured, young man, much like when we wanted to get your brother to Solum those years ago, I'm very much looking for the right reason to justify what I already very much want to do."
"I'm glad." I announced, and I was. "Are you OK for a few minutes? If I don't get this meat in the oven, we won't be eating until midnight."
Paul chuckled at me and nodded his head. "Yes, I think I'll just sit here and try to decide how I feel about being a millionaire."
I grinned at him and set about getting the roasts in the oven.