by John Rechy
“You don’t care?”
Lyle shook his head and smiled wider.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“And Lyle—”
“Yeah, Raul?”
“—a lot of times, I imagine what it would be like—please don’t be mad at me, but I have to say it, because I keep rehearsing it—a lot of times I imagine what it would be like, you know, to … kiss you—” He shot up and braced his feet firmly, preparing to run away. He winced, as if he was already being pushed away, even hit. He managed to say, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that, I—”
“Why not?”
“My God! You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“You understand what I told you?”
“Sure, yeah, I do.”
“I mean—” Then Raul ran away.
Damn! Someone else running away from him after calling him strange and telling him how much they liked him.
After that, Raul avoided Lyle, dodging away along the hall. That saddened Lyle because he preferred that they be friends. It saddened him even more deeply that the kid no longer tried to imitate him as he walked along, that he walked as if he was trying to hide from others, but mostly himself.
2
A fierce rivalry stirs in Rio Escondido.
“You’re still very beautiful, I’ve seen you at a distance but never this close, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tell you that I’m not going to give Lyle up,” Maria said to a startled Sylvia Love on her porch.
“Who the hell do you think you are, yelling for me to come out?” Sylvia paled with anger at the sight of the pretty dark-haired girl before her.
“I didn’t yell. I called out because nobody was answering the door when I rang and knocked, and I saw you looking out the window.”
Clarita, who had been the one peering out the window, as she often did, and had recognized the girl but decided it was best not to answer her, thought aloud, “Why am I such a blabbermouth?” Earlier, alone, she had felt a chill that augured something—or someone—moving in a dangerous direction.
“Whoever you are, you move your feet because you’re stepping on the vine I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time cultivating,” Sylvia ordered the girl—thank God that today she had decided to pretty herself up. Of course she recognized the girl from Clarita’s description. She had to admit she was pretty—well, somewhat pretty. Beyond her control, she felt a pang of admiration for her, so defiant, a reminder of herself, before—before so much had happened. In acknowledgment of that memory, a smile fluttered on her lips.
“I just want to be fair in all this,” Maria persisted. “I know that Lyle loves you a lot—so much that he won’t sing your song to me—”
“What song?”
“That Amazing song.”
“Amazing Grace!” Sylvia’s heart warmed. Lyle knew she cherished that song, although she had never heard him sing it. She would have hummed the melody, right now, if it wasn’t that the girl was rushing on.
“—and he should love you,” Maria was enunciating her words carefully. “We should all love our mothers, but they shouldn’t interfere with our love lives. Why shouldn’t Lyle sing me a song just because you love it?”
Clarita began a series of promises to the Holy Mother Guadalupe: “If you allow this to end without violence, I will say twelve novenas in your honor, I will light twelve candles for the souls in Purgatory.”
“Who are you?” Sylvia pretended bafflement.
“My name is Maria. I love Lyle, and he loves me, and it is entirely possible that, very soon, we will become intimate, whether you like it or not—and I’ll make sure he sings me your song!”
Sylvia’s anger surged; it was her song, the song she had sung to Lyle, that he had listened to so attentively, the song that had silenced all the beauty contestants into attention when she’d sung it. How dare this girl think she could take away her song, replace her in Lyle’s affection! Whatever vagrant admiration she had felt for this girl’s reckless audacity vanished. “You get the fuck away from my house—now!” she demanded. It had been a long time since she had used Lyle the First’s favorite word, which sometimes he said when he was making love and sometimes he said when he was angry at someone, never at her. She was glad she had reserved the angry word for this occasion.
“Consider yourself warned,” Maria said, and moved away, her dignity intact.
3
A warning justified. Rose is heard from again.
There she came, Maria, probably delayed by one of the teachers who had attempted to stop her from joining Lyle in his lot, where he spent more and more time moodily practicing on his guitar and composing songs in his mind. She looked so beautiful that he knew he had to do something to express his feelings before he even talked to her. He stood up and applauded as she approached.
She laughed joyously at his greeting. She clapped back, welcoming the sight of him. She ran up to him. He grasped her by her tiny waist, raised her, and spun her about.
“Oh, I forgive you for what happened the last time we were here, I forgive you, I forgive you, because I want to make love to you, wonderful love, delicious love, memorable love, passionate love,” she gasped.
“And I want to make love to you,” Lyle said, still whirling her around, and grateful that she hadn’t added “strange love.”
She managed to release herself from his spinning, but she held both his hands close to her. She pressed her body against his, and looked up at him with eager eyes, one leg bent, the way she had seen so often on television. She understood why that happened, though, it was as if a part of her body was electrified with anticipation.
“Let’s.” He brushed her face with his lips, as if he was redrawing her face on her, the way he saw her, the way she was.
“We shouldn’t.” She cocked her head so that his lips would touch hers, just the edges.
“Why?” He kissed her on the lips, wanting to open his mouth on hers, pry hers open with his tongue. Oh, thank God for Rose. God bless you, sweet Rose, terrific Rose. Now he would know what to do.
“Why shouldn’t we? Because we’re not married, and I’m a Catholic. But, oh, oh, Lyle, how I wish to break those sacred sacraments, for you, for you, oh, oh!” She opened her mouth, greeting his tongue, which darted in and then quickly out. “But we would be committing a grave sin, my beloved,” she breathed huskily.
“I’ll marry you and become a Catholic.” He pressed his lips on hers, keeping them open. Their tongues touched, in dabs. This felt even better than with Rose—no, it was different, not better, Rose would always occupy a special place in his heart. What was different with Rose was that she had been guiding him—well, most of the time. Now he would be on his own. He faltered, a tinge of apprehension piercing desire. He heard Rose’s voice, Not too fast, just hold your lips there, and now your tongue—When Rose had pushed her tongue into his startled mouth, he thought he would explode, and was glad he didn’t, because he pushed his back into hers right away, and thought, again, he would explode.
“I can’t wait. I’m a progressive woman. You don’t have to become a Catholic first. Let’s make love now.” Maria said.
“Here?” He didn’t care who saw, because this was beautiful, and wonderful.
“No, in my house. My mother’s at work, my father doesn’t live with us most of the time—and so, oh, oh, Lyle, we shall sin together!”
They went to her house, attractive house, in a good neighborhood, two stories, with a garden.
Lyle followed her up the stairs.
She stood looking down at her bed. “This is so wonderfully strange!” she gasped. “Isn’t it, Lyle, isn’t it?”
“Yes!” he answered emphatically and quickly, to hurry other things along. He did. He lifted her, kissed her, and, responding to memories without antecedent, images of what this would be like, rehearsals elicited from yearnings, all falling into place, naturally, logically—but, no, no, no, no, that wasn’t so, he was resp
onding to Rose’s guidance—he eased her back in her bed. He stood back, studying her. “My God, oh, my God,” he said. He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want to move in a way that would thwart his full view of her, fully, fully, as she lay in her bed. Delight in it all, Rose reminded, cherish the anticipation, look, watch, and let her see you.
Maria cocked her head. Her black hair kissed one side of her face. She parted her lips, and she crossed her legs, as if to emphasize what she covered. One hand touched one of her breasts, and the other reached out toward him, inviting him.
He came closer. “Oh, my God, my God!”
“Oh, my God,” she echoed him this time. “This is wonderful, wonderful, terrific, oh, my God.”
He leaned over her and started to raise her skirt. (Whoa, whoa, not that yet, leave it for a little later.) He parted her blouse. He stared at what he had revealed, beautiful breasts, perfect flesh, not large like Rose’s. (Don’t be disappointed if you don’t see better ones than mine.) But they were perfect. The pink nipples strained to be kissed. She slowed him with her hands. Had Rose instructed her, too? Of course not. Her fingers roamed over his shirt, pulling carefully but urgently at the buttons, letting her fingers discover his flesh.
Lyle inhaled, and touched each of her nipples with one finger, once, then both, again, with another finger—(stay there, cowboy, and let her hands explore, let my hands explore)—to connect the sensation, try to grasp the enormity of all this. (There’s nothing like it, cowboy, nothing.)
She touched his chest, the light brushing of hair there.
He lowered her skirt, slowly, slowly, to enhance the expectation. (Increase the longing, cowboy, touch here, touch there, and then you’ll be touched there and here, too—just like I’m touching you, oh, my, yes.) He was about to erupt with desire and love, burst, burst—(What a shame that would be—too soon, too soon!) Now his body pressed against hers, both still half-dressed. His cock assumed its own urgency, pushing out of his pants. (Hold on, cowboy, we’re just beginning.)
“Oh,” Maria said, “look at that. I always wondered what it would look like. Oh, look at that. Lyle! Is every man’s that big?”
“I don’t know,” he said. It was true, he didn’t. (Lordee, cowboy boy, lordee, you’ve been blessed!) At school when they took a shower after physical activities, he never joined the other young men snapping towels at each other’s butts, and he hadn’t thought much about it when one of them, looking down at him, said, “Jesus Christ!” So he said to Maria, “But I’m sure not every woman’s body is as beautiful as yours.” (Thank you, cowboy, for saying that, my body’s not as good as it was once but it’s still damn good.) Without removing his lips from her, he pulled off her skirt. He got up and placed it carefully on the carpet. He returned to her body—which was there for him, as his was there for her. (Remember: Share and share alike, do unto others as you would have them do unto you.) Slowly, slowly, slowly, he pulled down her panties—and stood up, to look at her, to look at this most wondrous spectacle of her, naked. (Really something, isn’t it, cowboy? God’s gift, isn’t it? Look here, see this? That’s what it’s all about, finally, getting in there—and now look there, at yours, that’s what goes in it; basic as that, cowboy. Of course you know that, just wanted to emphasize for you. Excite the senses, excite anticipation. Yeah, like that. No, no, stay back a little. Yeah. Okay, okay, come ahead. Whoa, cowboy, don’t ride too fast, you’re gonna spoil it for yourself, and for me and her.)
He shook his head and laughed deliriously with pleasure, laughter bubbling with longing and yearning.
“It’s so wonderful,” she said, “even before—”
He leaned over her. He blew his breath between her legs, arousing the delicate puff there, then touching it. (Hey, cowboy, who taught you that? I didn’t. Do it some more, and now bring your lanky body over here so I can do it back to you. That’s the whole thing of it, see? You and me, me and you. For now we’re the whole world.)
“Let me, too,” Maria said, and she put her hand on his cock, letting her fingers circle it, travel from its tip—it was slightly moist!—to his balls. “Oh, my God!” she said. “Oh, my God!”
He kissed her, and then his lips traveled down to her breasts. “Oh, you are beautiful,” he said to them, “so soft yet firm, and your nipples are so wonderful, and, look, my hands are touching them.” (Don’t know where you learned that, cowboy, but it’s good, talk along, doubles the sensation. … Let me talk for a while, okay? Got your big rod in my hand, gonna rub it up and down.)
“My hands are touching you, there—” Maria cupped his balls, lightly, “and, oh, oh, how strange and wonderful. Please, Lyle, do something more. I don’t know what. Please, please do something more, anything!”
He stopped his movements, waiting. (Pretend you don’t know what’s next, and then surprise me. Yeah! Like that!) He straddled her carefully, parting her legs—and she parted them herself—and he put his cock at her opening, just the opening, and remained there, rubbing around, around. (Stay there, stay here, anticipate, make it know that’s where it belongs. Soon you’re gonna feel my sweet honey kissing your cock, let her feel your cock sweetening her honey.)
“That’s where it belongs,” Maria spoke aloud, “and it’s going to go into me and pull in and pull out, and I’m so excited, and I feel the head of it right against my parting—”
“—and my cock is pushing in—”
“—gently, gently—” (Make her feel it inch by inch, and that way you can feel it inch by inch, and, cowboy, you gotta lot of inches to make feel. … Gently, but gradually deeper, and then not quite as gently.)
“There, it’s in, just the head of it—” (Not yet like that, slow, slow. Otherwise you’ll ruin it. Then you won’t be able to ride me like a cowboy. … I told you, ma’am—uh, uh—that I’m not a cowboy, never rode—uh, uh—a horse. … Doesn’t matter-um-mmmmmm—you know how to ride-um, cowboy. Riiide! Whoa! Yippee-yah!)
“Hold it there, please, just there, a little more, Lyle, so I can feel it—oh, my God, oh, Jesus, oh, oh—”
“Now more of it is in. It feels like nothing else in the world, it feels like—like—like nothing else in the world—” (That’s a fact, cowboy, and when you do it again, it’ll feel even better, thanks to me—maybe not better, but different.)
Thank you, oh, thank you, Rose!
“—like nothing else except when you put it in more—”
“—more, more—”
“—all the way in now, yes—” (Now ride, ride, mount, mount, colt, stallion, go, go, up, down, up—down, down, down, deep!) He stopped, she had winced. (I just winced to prepare you, that might happen, pause till I signal.) She smiled, nodding that it was all right, and he pressed again, into her.
“I’m inside you, and our naked bodies are pressed against each other, as close as they can be. No, not yet, I’ll pull out and then pull in, inside you—”
“—inside me. Now kiss me, and raise yourself at the same time, and kiss me—”
“I’m pulling it out, and back in, and kissing your lips—” (Don’t need any more teachin’, cowboy, you sure as hell got the gist of it!)
“Lyle!” Again, she had turned away in pain, but now she faced him with beautiful eyes full of yearning, and—
“Maria!”
“Lyle!”
“I love you! In—in—in—!”
“I love you! More, Lyle, more, mo—”
“Ohhhhhh!”
“Oh, oh, oh!”
He burst inside her, her body contracted—once, twice, again!—their lips together.
She closed her eyes as he eased off her. He lay back. “Wait,” she whispered to him. She stood and disappeared.
He sat up, waiting for her.
“I bled,” she said.
“Maria! No!” He stood up, to get help, to—
She laughed. “It always happens, the first time.” She eased him back down beside her.
“You’re sure you don’t hurt?” (Might bleed a littl
e—I don’t, see, because I’m broken in, but, cowboy, you made me feel like a virgin again, God love you for it.)
“I’m sure,” she told him. They lay back together on the bed.
“I love you, Maria.”
“I love you, Lyle. I shall always love you, until I die.”
“Me, too,” Lyle said, not knowing what else to add to her declaration.
4
An odd connection, and a loving acknowledgment.
Before her mother would arrive, Lyle walked down the stairs with Maria—kissing her each few steps. He saw on a table in the living room a photograph of a man.
“That’s my father, most of the time he lives in another city,” Maria said, following his gaze.
Lyle moved closer to the photograph. The man looked familiar. Very familiar. Who was he?
Outside, Lyle went out of his way to walk past Rose’s porch. There she was, resplendent with her red rose. She smiled and waved in a way that convinced him that she knew that he had just followed her expert instructions and that in his mind he had included her.
To assert that, he blew her a spectacular kiss, which she returned, a kiss just as spectacular.
5
A startling possibility?
“He’s after me, he says he’s going to kill me!” the distraught girl screamed at Clarita.
It was late afternoon. Clarita had been napping, her daily siesta, but she sprang into action to save this young girl from the perils of Pancho Villa, who was again on his rampages to pluck away the pretty girls.
“Come with me, and I’ll hide you in the hills!” Clarita almost toppled over the porch. Where had this odd porch come from? Where were the hills? Where was she? Oh, about to save this young girl—
“The hills? There aren’t any hills in Rio Escondido, Clarita. Just hide me inside your house,” said Maria.
Oh, it was that beautiful girl she had run into once or twice, and talked to, the girl who was so enamored of Lyle, the girl to whom she had told more than she wanted to, even about the song Sylvia cherished. No, she wasn’t back in Chihuahua. “Who’s chasing you?”
