Baba and Timur have gone to get a burger. Mama, Aysel, and Mary will get dinner after the tasting. I’m left to fend for myself, but since Gabe’s dad is working late, I’m skipping dinner in favor of dessert. Special dessert.
I head over to Gabe’s house for our happy hour. Well, two hours, we’re hoping.
He greets me at the door by yanking me in, slamming the door, and planting a long, wet, hard, probing kiss on me.
“Hold up, cowboy. Slow your horses,” I say. “I like this a lot, but we’ve got two hours. I don’t want to be thrown from the bull too quickly because the operator has run out of power.”
“Listen to you with your country and western bar patter.” He kisses me again, this time more gently. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Hungry for you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He cradles his arms around my chest and fakes trying to sling me over his shoulder. “Damn, I was going to take you to my cave, Neanderthal-style, but you’re too manly man for me to lift.”
“Go on with your crazy self.” I smack him gently across the cheek. “Ah’m just a wee wisp of a boy.” I bat my eyelashes at him.
Gabe rolls his eyes. “Enough. Let’s get going. I’ve got moves for you you’ve never even imagined. And Dad might get home early, so we need to get crackin’.”
We get up to his room. We’ve spent a lot of time at the pond the last two weeks, but this is our first time truly alone, in private, together. I cross the threshold of his bedroom, and instantly I’m apprehensive. It’s easy to joke in the entryway downstairs, but this is push-comes-to-shove time. Will I please him? Will I know what to do? Will I be a good student for all he plans to teach me?
He turns to face me, pushing the door shut. He looks into my eyes. I know he sees the fear I’m experiencing.
“It’s okay. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. All that talk downstairs? Bravado. Translate: bullshit. Pure, unadulterated BS from someone who’s as scared as you are. Yeah, I have some technique that you, inexperienced you, don’t have. But all I want is to make you happy. And that’s a lot of pressure.” He begins to unbutton my shirt. A simple act. How can it provide so much pleasure? I start to tingle all over. “Slip off your shoes,” he commands.
“I’m taking this nice and slow,” he says as he unzips and unbuttons my jeans. I lift each leg as he pulls them off me. “If you want me to stop at any time, say the word.” He buries his nose against my brief-covered crotch. Instantly I grow. “Hm,” he hums. “I love the way you smell. It’s not just a man smell. It’s a Kerem smell, and it’s intoxicating,” he whispers.
He stands. “Slide under the covers. I’ll be right there.” As I head for the bed, I hear him behind me, securing the lock on the door.
This is it. What I’ve waited for, longed for, thought about for years. This is what I’ve fantasized about ever since the strange new kid spied on me at prayer in the woods. Please, Allah, allow me to please him.
Gabe slides under the covers, and he takes me into his arms. For a moment, we lie there, cheeks touching. Tears flow down my face.
He breaks away. “What’s the matter? Are you not ready for this?” There is naked, raw alarm in his voice.
I shake my head. “These are tears of joy, not sorrow.” He smiles as the visible tension falls away from his face.
He kisses me. A kiss full of meaning. Full of “I love you” and “I want you” and “I need you.”
His head disappears under the covers. He plants tiny little spark-making kisses down my body. I feel him remove my briefs. His breath is hovering over me, there.
I shudder as his lips take me into his mouth. His softness is warm and enveloping. His tongue is masterful. He begins to draw me out.
I try to hold it back, but I feel it rumble from deep inside me, and suddenly I burst, shouting, “Allah! Allah! Allah!” over and over. At last there is nothing left. I relax into the mattress, and silently pray. Forgive me, Allah, if using Your Name was inappropriate. But oh, Allah, thank you for this.
Gabe, by now, is lying beside me. We are both staring at the ceiling.
“That was amazing. You are amazing,” he says. He adds, “Babe, you make me so happy.”
“No, you make me happy. Now I will try to please you as much as you’ve pleased me,” I say, adding, “inshallah.” I start to dive under the covers.
“Whoa!” He pulls me back. “We’ve got time for that. Right now, let’s just enjoy each other’s company a minute. Build our strength back up.” He kisses me; then he pulls his legs from under the covers. “Is it hot in here?”
“I’m hot. Hot for you,” I say, not believing that I even know that phrase.
He laughs. “You’re a quick learner, babe.”
Several probing kisses later, and we are both ready again. It is my turn to pleasure him. A bit of apprehension hits me as I lean down toward his middle. Will I be as good at this as he is? Have I learned enough already to try this?
I pull his stained and wet briefs off him. His penis is pointing toward the ceiling, rigid.
“You’re circumcised,” I say, without even thinking. Anatomical talk could kill the mood, I instantly realize.
“So are you,” he says.
“But it’s a Muslim thing.”
“Babe, it’s a lotta men thing. Jewish men are always cut. And doctors used to believe that it was healthier to be cut, so parents had their little boys trimmed soon after birth. I was one of those lucky cherubs.”
“I can’t believe it. I’m supposed to be smart. And I thought only Muslims were circumcised.”
“Another lesson learned. Now could we quit talking before I lose my mojo?”
Uh-oh, what I feared was happening. Why can’t I learn to keep my mouth shut? Speaking-wise, that is. For, staring at Gabe’s root once again, I have no plan to close my mouth.
I take it into mine, and instantly, as I run my tongue down it, stuffing it farther and farther into me, I wonder if I will gag. But I don’t. Because this is the most exquisite feeling I’ve ever had—next to the previous feeling Gabe pulled from me just a few minutes before.
Feeling totally inadequate, I try to work the magic that Gabe worked on me.
“Yeah, babe, yeah. Slower. Slower. That’s right. Uh-huh. Oh, oh.” Gabe seems to be in a trance as he guides me, and I keep doing what I’m doing. I’m sure there are techniques I can study up on, but for right now, it seems like I know what I’m doing simply by instinct.
I really don’t want to stop, but Gabe has had all he can stand. It feels good to know I’ve brought him to this. I kiss his abs, all the way up to his neck. I nibble on his ear, and then I kiss his lips, over and over, gently, lightly. At last, I rest my head on his chest.
“Babe, you’ve been taking lessons, now, haven’t you?”
What? He thinks I’d cheat on him? That I’d do this with someone else?
Then he laughs. “Just funnin’ you.” My heart starts slowing down from the race it was running. “That was fucking awesome.”
I look up at him. “You really think so?”
“Not much I can teach you in that department, babe. You’re a master already.”
“So no more lessons, huh?”
“We-e-e-el-l.” He draws it out seductively. “There’s some more I can teach you, but that’s for another day, another time.” He whispers into my ear.
“Normal people really do that?”
He nods.
“I thought it was just something that porn stars did. Doesn’t it hurt?”
“It can. But not if you’re prepared for it. And we’re talking Nirvana when two guys are totally into it. But you always use a condom. Big risk if you don’t.”
“You’re clean, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Sure, but you don’t know if everybody else is.”
“But I don’t plan to do it with anybody else.”
“Nor do I.” He kisses me again. “But you never know. If your life takes a different
path, stop by the drugstore first.”
“Okay,” I say, knowing my path has been laid right here, right now.
We spend more time together, here in bed; then reluctantly I say, “I guess your dad could be home any minute, huh?”
With disgust in his voice, Gabe answers, “Yeah. Time to get back to the real world.”
He gets out of bed, grabs a clean pair of briefs from a drawer, slips them on, and then he starts to dress. I do the same thing.
“Thank you,” I say.
“No, thank you,” he answers.
We go downstairs and after a goodbye kiss, I say “Salaam Alaykum.”
“Wa-Alaykum.” There’s devotion in his eyes.
I’m floating across the street, wishing I could have spent the entire night in his arms.
I enter the family room and Timur says, “Where you been? It’s almost time for evening prayers.”
“I was over at Gabe’s house.”
“Good time?” Baba asks.
With lips closed, I nod and hum a mute version of uh-huh. I don’t trust myself to speak.
We perform the prayer ritual; then Tim and I head up the stairs together.
“What do you two do? You’re over there all the time these days, it seems.”
I quickly think. “Homework, watch TV, visit.”
“Well, don’t forget our family needs you to help prepare for this wedding,” he says.
I want to say my family, but I realize how hurtful that would be to him. And after all these years, I suppose it is his family too.
“Aysel knows she can count on me. And Mama too.”
“It’s not right for a non-Muslim like that Mary woman to be nosing in on a Muslim wedding.”
“That Mary woman, as you call her, is a very nice person, and she only wants to help. Besides, without her, Aysel wouldn’t have the dress she wanted.”
“Whatever. I just pray the wedding goes off without a hitch. Hasan’s family is very traditional. This wedding will please them, inshallah.”
“Quit worrying. Pleasing Aysel is more important. It will be her big day. You know how she is.”
“I do, I do. She’s changing, though, thank Allah. She is becoming more and more devout each day.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Tim. A lot of that is a show—for Hasan and his family. Yes, she is embracing their traditions, and it will be good for her, for if she’s marrying into that family, she has to become a part of it. But our family’s ways are just as much a path to heaven as theirs. As Baba says—”
“It’s between you and Allah.” And in a rare display of humanity, Timur laughs at that. His laugh is not one of derision; it is one that shows he loves and respects Baba. Is Tim more human than I ever imagined?
This conversation has been taking place outside my closed bedroom door, so I turn the knob as I say, “Good night, cousin.”
He says good night also, and we retreat to our rooms. He, I’m sure, will be googling whatever the hell he googles incessantly. I, however, plan to instantly fall asleep so I can dream of Gabriel, my angel.
I must remember to tell him that he is named after the angel Gabriel, from his Bible, the same angel who brought Islam to Muhammad, PBUH.
An appropriate name for someone who has brought such happiness to me.
I SPEED through school the next day, doing all the right things, I hope. I wouldn’t know because my mind is filled with Gabe, Gabe, Gabe. I even look for him in the hallways between every class. I go to places I never go in my quest just to catch a glimpse of him. Once or twice, our paths cross, and he flashes love to me as we pass in the hall.
He doesn’t follow me to afternoon prayers because he has swim practice. I thank Allah for the gift He has given me.
When I get home, Mama is sitting at the dining table, tweaking the seating chart for the reception. I’m not sure how she’s doing that because all the RSVPs aren’t in yet. But Aysel has been working with that chart for at least a week already. She seems to think she knows just who will accept and who will decline.
“Where is everybody?”
“Your sister is still at school, Timur is at work, and your father took a much-needed afternoon off to golf with Dr. Hill. Your baba works far too much. I’m so glad he managed to get away for a few hours.”
“What ya doin’?” I ask, to make small talk more than anything else. It’s obvious what she’s doing.
“Trying to make sure your Aunt Àgata and your Aunt Octàvia are seated across the room from each other. You know how my sisters are. Ten minutes together, and they are at each other’s throats. The latest argument involves who has the most luxurious car, for Pete’s sake.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Not much, but I would love for you to make me a cold glass of water. And then sit and visit while I review the entire chart. I’m good at multitasking.”
I get her water and bring it back to her. I sit at the end of the table, she right next to me at the side.
“How was the cake tasting?”
“It was scrumptious. Aysel liked the chocolate malt cake. Hasan liked the carrot cake.”
“So they’re getting chocolate malt, right?”
She looks at me and smiles. “You know your sister well.”
“And Hasan is smart, giving in to her. His family may be orthodox, but I have a feeling that he’s already figured out Aysel will not be a subservient wife.”
“Poor Hasan. I love my daughter, but she can be a handful.”
“And Mary. Was she amused by Aysel last night?”
“Gabriel’s mother is a jewel. She just smiles and seems to understand Aysel’s every mood.”
“She does seem nice. And wow—did you ever figure she’d get the dress done in less than two weeks?”
“Heavens no. I figured she’d be fitting it on Aysel right up until she met Hasan for the vows. And that was not an easy dress to make. The details she put into it are incredible.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“I’d bet. Brothers always are eager to see their sisters in their wedding gowns. My theory is that they are glad they are finally leaving the nest.”
I laugh at that. “I have been thinking of converting her room into a home gym.”
“Sure, sure, my son.” She looks at me wistfully. “You’ll soon be leaving yourself. First college, and then you’ll find someone to love.”
I feel the blush rise in my cheeks.
“But that last has already happened. Hasn’t it, love?”
How do I answer that question? I stare at her, speechless.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Gabe lately.” What? “And you come back always looking so contented, so much in love.”
My eyes grow wide. There has to be terror in them. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. From my own mother’s lips, no less.
She smiles slyly. “What? You don’t think I know?”
Again, I’m so not believing what I’m hearing that I can’t answer her.
“Kerem, love, I knew long ago that you were gay.”
Finally I find my words. I have to respond to this revelation. “How?” is all I can muster, though.
“A mother knows, love.”
She lets that sink in; then she continues. “When I first met Gabriel, I thought, ‘Now there’s a boy my Kerem could love.’ Oh, I didn’t know if he was gay, but as you two seemed to bond, my heart swelled, knowing I’d made the right match for you. I was overjoyed when his mother agreed to make Aysel’s dress, for I knew that would give you and Gabriel more time together, with the families bound together at last. I have to tell you, it was a dark time for me when his cousin was hurt and you and Gabriel quit seeing so much of each other. I prayed.”
Never in my short gay life would I have predicted I would be listening to my mother say these things.
“So tell me, love—I’m right about it all, correct?”
A weight lifts and suddenly I want to talk. “Yes, you are right. Gab
e is the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, and we are very much in love.”
She throws her hands in the air and proclaims, “Praise Allah!”
Then my apprehension floods in again. “But how will Baba take this? His son homosexual. And not only that, in love with a non-Muslim.”
“He will embrace you and Gabriel both and tell you ‘that is between you and Allah.’”
Will he? I don’t really know. I hope so. I expect so. But I don’t know so.
“But, love, let me ease those fears I see in your eyes: we won’t say a word to him until after the wedding. Okay? He has enough on his plate, giving away his daughter. If he has any misgivings—” She quickly adds, “and I know he won’t have any—about his son being gay, then he will be more receptive when the stress of all this hoopla is over.”
I want to accept her affirmation that all will be well with Baba. I feel it will, but I won’t know for certain until I tell him. And I’m glad I have a two-week reprieve from that task. I can enjoy attending Aysel’s wedding and loving Gabe without worry. Inshallah.
Then I will have mustered the courage to tell Baba. And he will be as overjoyed as Mama.
He will.
Won’t he?
Chapter 15
Timur
THEY THINK I don’t know. About them. What they do.
Like I said, I’m a good lurker. I’ve followed them to the pond. They sit in the shadows of the trees, kissing. It’s disgusting.
I can’t get close enough to hear what they say, but I can imagine. If Amca knew, he would be so angry. He would be so very hurt as well. What father wouldn’t be?
His son, a sodomite.
If this becomes known, it will ruin Baba. It will destroy our family.
The golden boy is a filthy homosexual. Allah will rain down fire on him. It may not be soon, but it will be—eventually. If not in this world, in the next. My perfect cousin will never sit with the virgins in heaven. He will burn eternally for this.
I fear this has gone far past the kissing. Homework? TV? Visiting? Who does he think I am? Some gullible fool? They’re visiting all right. The two of them were alone over there last night. There is not a doubt in my mind what they were doing.
You Can't Tell by Looking Page 13
