“It’s admirable, I think. You’re braver than most people here.”
At this statement, Fred raises an eyebrow, and my brother lets out a scoff. “What? You’re defending his faggoty interests?”
God, I wish my brother would stop using that word. It’s like his automatic go to insult around me, as if he associates me specifically with the word.
“Why not? You’re taking the easy option, doing the family business without even needing to think ‘bout it. Jake here’s pursuing his interest, choosing something for himself. Even with you being a dick about it, and others probably frowning at him for his choice. He’s braver than us.” Richard puffs out his chest, as if daring Terrance to continue the matter.
“I think he’s a fool,” Terrance snaps, “and it’s a waste. Wasting a perfectly good chance at a life here for some dusty piece of art, drawing shit that no one cares about, acting all high and mighty and fancy cos he can draw a few lines. It ain’t right.” He shakes his head.
“Least you can do,” Richard says quietly, “is respect your brother, even if you don’t agree with his life choices. It’s his decision. You ain’t him. What you want ain’t what he wants.”
“I still think it’s stupid.” Terrance scoffs again and rides ahead, ending the conversation.
“Woo!” Fred says then, scratching at his dark brown fuzz of a beard, “getting hot in here, ain’t it?”
“What do you think, uncle?” Richard strokes his horse, starting to act a little skittish, and the animal calms down.
“Well, it ain’t my place to say. Boy can make his own choices. People need to be allowed to try things and make mistakes. Dunno if his choice is a mistake, but he won’t know til he tries, right?”
I sigh. Part of me feels incredulous that Richard jumped to my defense like that. I’m supposed to be on the warpath right now, hating him, but for a moment, I saw my old cousin there, the one who genuinely cared about me, and defended me from my brother with an almost fierce rigor, bludgeoning him with matter of fact observations until he lets out a snide, finishing remark, not willing to let anyone have the last word on him. We learned that to our amusement one time, seeing if we could actually finish an argument without him adding anything.
And, nope.
“Probably why he can’t hold a woman for long,” Richard had joked about it, “you need to let them have the last word or they gonna dump your ass in a week.”
I miss those days when we were tight like that. Before what happened. Richard gives me a wink. “Hey, cuz. Remember, your brother’s an ass, and you’re just plain awesome.”
“Fuck off,” my brother says from the front, and I exchange a grin with Richard, before I then add, “Well, that’s true. I’m pretty awesome, unlike my numbskull of a brother.”
“Only numbskull here is you,” my brother shoots back, and Richard and I have a good silent laugh at baiting my brother, since he always needs to make it about himself and get the last word in. Always.
My uncle more or less ignores the behaviour.
With the cattle safely reunited, Richard is beaming as we take the horses to the stables, dismount and take off their saddles. “Just like old times, eh, cuz?”
When there’s no one in earshot, staring directly into his dark eyes, which are like black holes at this point, I say, “It will never be like old times. Those bridges are burnt.”
Something flickers in my cousin’s eyes, dark and sad, before it’s iced over by that familiar, mocking smirk. “Well, guess we’ll have to work real hard at going back to those old times. Who knows when my mouth will slip, after all? Why, just about anything could set it off these days…”
“Seriously, why do you have to be such an ass? How can I possibly be friends with you, knowing you’re holding this over me? You’re delusional.”
“Because you won’t talk to me otherwise. And I’m sure it must be super easy for you to just forget everything we ever shared and act like an idiot when all we did was just nothing, really. Nothing to damage what we had between us.”
“I’m not gay,” I say, puffing up, hands trembling as I walk away from the stables, and my cousin skips to catch up with me, strolling by my side. “I’m not fucking gay.”
“No one’s saying you are! God!” Richard throws up his hands. “You’re the one blowing it all out of proportion. What we did was nothing to do with that! Look, I did it with my friend as well, he wanted to know how to masturbate properly, and I said I’d help. That’s all.”
“You what?” I hesitate for a moment, glaring at him. “You did that with your friend, too?”
“Course. Ain’t nothing weird about it. What’s weird is your reaction. Why are you so scared?” Richard holds his hands palm up, as if trying to implore to my good senses. My heart’s stuttering frantically, and I want nothing more than to run away from this conversation, but my cousin isn’t giving me room to breathe. “Tell me, Jake. Why the fuck are you acting like this? What are you so afraid of?”
His repetition hammers the fear into my brain like a nail. I’m actually shivering in fear, I feel the shock coursing through me, my brain melting from the impact. “Fuck off. I don’t wanna think about it.”
“You can’t run,” Richard hisses then, grabbing me by the shoulders. I instantly try to shrug him off, and his fingers pinch tighter. “You can’t run! You need to talk ‘bout this if you wanna handle it. I just want us to be friends again. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life having you give me the cold shoulder. And it’s so damn confusing. Like you acted okay with it, and then, what? You just freeze me out? I deserve to know. I deserve this!” He shakes me vigorously. “If you ever cared about me at all, you tell me. How do we fix this?”
For a moment, I consider the crazy idea of just looking at him and saying, “It’s fine. We can forget about it.” But that thought melts away in place of a deep sadness. He releases me, waiting for my answer, dark eyes earnest.
“There is no fixing this. We can’t reset the clock.” I regret the words the instant I say them, but I can’t take those back, either. My heart’s still pounding at a million miles an hour, and my brain’s already panicking, wanting to run off before I say anything more that I regret.
His black eyes collapse then, and it’s like I can see the lights going out. “I see.” His voice comes out flat, emotionless. “Then I guess it’s over.”
Richard turns his back on me, and something snaps inside me. I didn’t even realize I was at any breaking point, but I blurt out, “I can’t go back because I liked it!”
Richard freezes on the spot, his whole body turning into metal.
Scared, I add, “I liked it and I shouldn’t like it. I’m not supposed to like you in that way. But I do, and I know you don’t. So I can’t. I’m not the same. And I’m sorry, but I can’t be like what my da and brother think I am.”
Fuck sake. Fuckity fuck. I’ve ruined it. A huge lump in my throat, I spin on my heel and sprint, away from Richard, away from my shame and embarrassment, wanting to swallow those words right back inside me, because if there was ever a way to fuck it up with my manly cousin, this would be it. I can almost see the disgust raising over his face, hear the scorn in his breath, imagine the cold fury and flat hate I’ll endure. Like I’m some kind of disease ridden animal, not worth scraping off the bottom of a shoe.
I’m finished. It’s out. And all I can do is run.
Chapter Four
The fears and emotions don’t leave me when I sleep. I see Richard in the background, smiling in the firelight, eyes twin balls of darkness, reflecting nothing, as he leans close to me and says, “Don’t worry. No one’s gonna be mad at you. Course we’re gonna be curious, and safer to test things out then plunge into a girl, right?”
Because I’m stupid, and because part of me has an odd longing, one I can’t ever acknowledge, I nod, and smile nervously. Maybe it’s because of all the drink I’ve taken. I’ve downed so much in my belly, I’m sloshed out of my skull, almost. Anything se
ems like a good idea. My cousin’s had a bit as well, but he can tolerate more than me.
Maybe that lack of inhibition did it. Maybe that was what impaired my judgement.
“That’s it,” he whispers then, helping to pull down my pants, giving me an encouraging nod, a wink. He reveals a semi limp appendage, then casually asks me how I get it going. I hesitantly demonstrate, and he watches the motion like a teacher, two fingers grasping his chin. I’m useless at it, because I’ve never been watched in action before, all I do is jerk back and forth and it doesn’t seem to be getting up.
“Here, let me help with that…” He reaches forward to grab me there, and I freeze as someone else’s hand closes around my dick, and he quite deftly lets his palm glide over it, soft and rough at the same time, and before I know it, I’m standing to attention, and my balls are twitching in anticipation. There’s a sweet pain there, and I’m so shocked that I like this that I say nothing. I just shiver as he continues to stroke me, telling me that some guys like it different, that they can like it hard or soft, slow or fast, and that some people are too sensitive to be touched at the tip, but once it’s wet enough, it becomes less painful.
I’m partially mesmerized as he does this. I’m sat there in my jeans and shirt, with my boxers and jeans pulled partially down, my hands braced on either side of me as he caresses my dick, to the point where it becomes almost unbearable. And holy fuck, I think, I want this. And knowing that makes me even more afraid, because if I admit that to anyone, then I’m finished. I’ll be disowned. I so desperately don’t want to be like this, to enjoy what’s happening to me, that it makes me want to scream in frustration. How can I like this?
Is it because I’m exactly what people think I am? Or have I always wanted Richard to do something to me? I mean, of course I knew he was handsome. Anyone with two eyes and a brain can see that. Midnight eyes, sandy blonde hair, a chin that can punch through solid walls and a body mass that made you doubt taking him on in any kind of situation, along with his easy manner and charming smiles. God, of course I noticed that. But friends can say someone looks good, and mean nothing by it.
I cant…
But apparently, I could, as Richard kept showing me, kept describing, until he heard me gasp and whimper. A devilish smile entered his lips, and he told me how else he could “help” me. I sat there, frozen like a rabbit in headlights, as he lowered his face to my throbbing dick, wrapped his mouth around it, giving me a mix of hot and wet sliding over my groin, making me gasp out. I didn’t think at this point that friends did this at all. I was just about ready to accept that maybe you would help jack off or something. But this… no. This was too intimate. This was a warm, glorious feeling, his mouth tight around me, moving back and forth as he gave me a blowjob.
It made my heart want to explode, and it made me want to sink into the moment forever. Both of us nineteen years old at the time, I wouldn’t say I grew to love him or anything, because truthfully, I’d always loved him – just not in this way. I think. I hope.
The experience lit up every synapse in my brain, and I shivered in arousal and pleasure as he worked on me, those black eyes fixed on mine, pupils fully blown.
I wanted more. Not just us in our clothes, but us fully naked. I wanted that bulge of his straining against his pants to be out and exposed, so I could see his excitement for myself. I wanted to touch it as well. I wanted to feel how soft it might be, how strong he might be, and to make him gasp.
I wanted to take him into my mouth the same way he did with me, maybe grab his cheeks and force him to kiss me as well, because why the fuck not. Maybe he could teach me how to kiss better, too.
Except, just as I felt myself coming into his mouth, as my balls contracted, and my limbs shivered, and I spurted out, I heard a noise in the background. My father’s voice. Asking where I was.
Richard didn’t seem so concerned when I jerked out of his mouth, and stuffed my rapidly shrinking erection back into my boxers and pull everything up. He didn’t seem concerned either when I didn’t talk to him, and ran my hands over my face, making sure I wasn’t sweating or hot with lust or shame. Richard wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and said, “Well, that’s how you do it properly. You liked it?”
I didn’t answer him. I chose instead to get up and leave, ignoring as he called for me behind, until I broke out into a run. Already, the excitement had faded. Already, the shame burned through me until there was nothing left.
When I finally made it into my private room at last, I actually broke down and wept. I might not have cried for over a decade, but I cried then, because I felt absolutely certain that everything between me and Richard was ruined forever, with no coming back.
And whatever happened there, needed to stay a secret.
I woke up after remembering the whole scene, and saw, to my horror, that I was already erect in bed. Of course, I couldn’t admit this to anyone. Of course, I made excuses as to why I let myself go along with it. I was drunk, I was naïve, I didn’t know he was going to go further than just the handjob, I was lonely and never had a girl to sleep with… every excuse under the sun tried to explain what had happened.
The only one I didn’t want to accept was that I was a faggot.
Seeing my dick stand to attention, what people like to call “morning wood,” hesitantly, I reach down to touch it, and slowly caress myself to an orgasm. Remembering how he touched me there. Remembering how it felt. I tried so hard to erase it from memory, soaked myself in porn video after porn video to try and get myself to come from those, instead. But the straight guy videos bored me. I always found myself eventually clicking on the man on man videos, even though I felt furtive every single time. Like I was doing something so wrong, yet I kept gravitating towards that shit because it was the only thing that got me off. I even tried to blame Richard for that. Because the experience with him wiped everything else out of mind.
I always dwelled on him sooner or later, or invoked him when I wanted to come. I hated myself every single time, but I couldn’t stop it. I was sure Richard would hate me for it, because well, he said it himself. It was just what friends did.
Nothing more. Except, I didn’t exactly see him as a friend after that. I saw… I saw more. And he didn’t. I tasted that forbidden fruit, the one that’d surely kill me if my family found out, and it turned out I was everything they thought I was.
And I hated it. I hated they were right. I fucking loathed the fact that I was mocked relentlessly for years over it, I got bitchslapped by people at school over it, my family – and it turns out to be exactly right.
Which is why I have to never admit it, take it to my grave, and try and force myself to run a normal relationship.
Except, I just kind of told Richard the other day.
I blank the stress out of mind long enough to focus on coming, and when I do, I don’t really feel relieved. Sure, the endorphins are swimming their way, and I go to wipe my hand off in the sink – but all I have waiting for me is the summer, more Richard, and the wedding, where I’m sure my brother will manage to sneak in yet more gay jokes, and my da’s probably going to go on a tirade about it, and I have to sit there and smile and nod and pretend that I actually agree with it. All the while feeling like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. That I am not the ideal son.
Jake Miller, twenty-one years old, slowly waiting for judgement day.
The day after my impromptu confession to Richard passes without hindrance. The bachelor’s party is tonight, though the “party” is focusing on a fishing trip in the Montana wilderness for a few days, before the groom, my cousin’s father, returns. The bachelorette’s party is being held in a hotel in the nearby town, where I believe they’re planning to use topless waiters to serve meals and go out clubbing for the night, being slightly inebriated during the process.
The wedding’s the day after that. Richard goes to the bachelor’s party, and no one presses the issue to bring me over as well, which gives me some merciful time to myself. I
think it’s well known through all of them that I can’t stand fishing trips, because I simply don’t feel the excitement of fishing rods, lures, fish habitats and the techniques involved in catching fish, along with the extreme patience required. It’s the type of activity to crack a beer to and have long, deep conversations, and it’s where I’ll feel most out of place. My da and two uncles, my brother, my cousin and the friends they have – none of it is something I want to do. I suppose the last fifty trips we’ve been on is a clear indicator of this.
I’ve never really been a fan of sitting still without having something to do for long. It’s ironic, I suppose, since art itself requires a lot of patience, but I feel like every second is worthwhile, because I’m furiously spilling my brains out onto paper, deciding where the lines are going to go. Archaeology’s another time consumer, but I like the feel of digging into our planet’s secrets and finding out the lives that were lived before.
Other people would find that boring, of course, so I suppose I can’t really complain about the choices people like to make. The few days I did have to myself, along with helping some of the ranch hands, wasn’t nearly as relaxing as I’d hoped. When I wasn’t worrying about what Richard might say, if he wasn’t already telling everyone on that damn fishing trip that I was gay, that I’d liked what he took as something casual, that really, I might have liked my cousin in that way for longer than I’ve dared to admit.
I didn’t want to lose the initial friendship we’ve preserved for all these years, though. The more I came to realize that I was turning out like the thing my da and brother hated, that girls didn’t do it for me but when I snuck onto guy on guy porn, it did…
Some part of me wanted my cousin to do what he did. But one – he’s my cousin. Like, how weird is that? Two – he’s a manly man, the kind that has woman fainting after him, with his purpose clearly thought out in life. Something like what he did to me is no big deal for him, but it was the world to me.
To Love A Hitman Page 11
