He didn’t have to say it twice. I had never done it before, but I knew how it was done. It surprised me, however, when he took it so easy the first time, as if he was meant for it. Or had done it before? With John, one never knew. I had never considered that he might have sex with guys as well as girls, but taking me seemed so easy for him, I had to wonder.
It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I don’t even know how to describe it. Being inside him. Being inside that beauty. Feeling his body from the inside.
“I love you,” I said. I couldn’t help it.
“Just fuck me,” he replied.
The word startled me. I had been making love to him. Didn’t he know that? No, I guess not. I guess for him, it was all about the sex.
So I didn’t say anything more, just enjoyed the moment. I had bypassed joy and gone straight to bliss. I thought I might pass out from feeling so outrageously good! Once again in my life, I thought I might simply explode.
Then I did.
Chapter 33
It became a regular thing.
Chapter 34
And just like that, without me hardly understanding how it happened, I suddenly had a sex life. Not a surrogate sex life with Matt, often pretending he was John or Harper and him pretending god knows what. Not a just-short-of-sex life with Harper who acquiesced to my desire to touch him but had his limits. No, now I was having real honest-to-god sex with John, my Beloved, usually one or two nights a week. I was afraid our parents would get suspicious of how often I was spending the night with him, but we had become so much like brothers by then, I guess it just seemed natural to everyone.
Well, almost everyone.
“Are you doing my brother?” Matt asked me when we were for some reason alone in his house a few minutes. I had not had sex with Matt in a while when he asked, but we had never said we never would again. We just hadn’t.
Should I tell him? Unlike with Matt, I had made no promises with John. I was free to tell if I wanted to. I figured he wouldn’t have asked the question unless he already knew.
“Yeah.”
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“That’s kind of perverted in a way. Don’t you think?”
“No. It’s all good.”
Matt looked at me. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
I didn’t answer.
“We haven’t done anything in a while,” Matt said then. “Now with you doing it with my brother, I think it would be too strange. My girlfriend dumped me two days ago, and I was thinking about hooking up with you again for a while. I know you were knocking on my door one night, so I expected you would be up for it. But now I don’t think so. Should we just officially end it between us?”
I wasn’t expecting the question. There was nothing between us. I didn’t know why we had to officially do anything. If we didn’t want to do anything ever again, we just wouldn’t. No need to talk about it.
“I guess,” I said.
“Okay then. Over. It was fun.”
Matt laughed when he said it, but it didn’t sound like a happy laugh. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Matt looked at me, a look I’d never seen before, and just walked away.
But I felt bad about it for some reason. He had been there for me when I wanted him. I felt I owed him. In the middle of the night I snuck out of my house for the first time in my life, walked down the street past some barking dogs in backyards, and quietly knocked on Matt’s door. No answer. He must be sleeping. I started to go home, but then I changed my mind and knocked louder.
Within a few seconds, Matt opened the door. He stared at me. He stepped aside. I walked in.
Matt didn’t have sex with me that night; this time he made love to me. And after making love to me, he stopped me from going home, tightly holding me in his arms for perhaps ten minutes, blowing his breath across my ear. Then he made love to me again. His experience with his girlfriend had taught him a few things. He knew what he was doing and made love to me with confidence. I loved it both times, but I couldn’t get my mind off that boy on the other side of the house. I knew this would be my last time with Matt. I may have owed Matt this night, but I owed John my future. If he wanted it.
Walking back home, sneaking in, I thought about Harper. He never would have done something like I did tonight. He was too good for me. I had always known that, just had never allowed myself to admit it. And I wondered if that’s why he had waited all these years, to see how I would turn out, to make sure he was not making a mistake by investing too much of his passion into someone who didn’t deserve it.
That would be me.
I felt as if the next time Harper saw me, he would be able to tell just by looking at me that I didn’t deserve him.
And even if he couldn’t see it, I think I would have to tell him. I loved him too much to give him less than he deserved. He deserved better. I just wasn’t good enough.
John, on the other hand, was just my speed.
“I’m sorry, Harper,” I said to him in my bed that night. “You tried to raise me right, but I’m not like you. I’m not that strong.”
As I drifted off to sleep, however, Harper was no longer in my thoughts. All I could think of was living the next day of my life with John.
Chapter 35
I couldn’t get enough of John. I think it was in Brokeback Mountain when one of the cowboys, probably Ennis, said about their sexual relationship something about riding it as long as you can. That’s how I was feeling. I knew sex with John probably wouldn’t last the rest of my life. No way. The guy was into girls too much. But I sure as hell wanted it to.
John, I had noticed, seemed a bit troubled lately, but he didn’t tell me what was going on. I hoped it had nothing to do with me. When I asked, he just said, “Girl problems.” I let it go.
I had to go out of town for a week to visit relatives with Mom, then when we returned, we brought my cousin with us to stay for a week. So for almost three weeks I had been without John. The first chance I got to be alone with him again was on a weekend night, and I could hardly wait for his family to all go to bed so that we could go to bed ourselves and have sex. I had become an addict.
I was too excited. I knew John was excited too, but I was overboard. I wanted something from him he’d never given me, although he’d given me plenty. I wanted to kiss him while I made love to him. So when night finally came, when I got up from my bed and walked over to his, when John, on his stomach, moved over to make room for me, instead of immediately crawling into bed beside him and then on top of his back, I flipped him over. He resisted. He knew what I wanted and he didn’t want it. Or at least he pretended not to.
Too bad. I really wanted this.
So I forced it. I made love to him and kissed him. He tried to push me off, but I just kept doing him. He tried to turn his head to the side but I held it in place and made him take my tongue.
I basically ravished my John Beloved.
And he basically loved it.
Somehow I knew that.
Chapter 36
After that first time, John never resisted again when I tried to kiss him. I knew it had all been an act. I still thought of him as a straight guy, but more and more, when it came to our relationship, I began to think of us as lovers, with him liking the sex and everything that came with it, including kissing, just as much as I did. Did I say liking? I should have said loving. We were both pretty much in heaven when I was inside him. For me it was like entering a holy temple, sacred ground, sanctuary. For him, I couldn’t tell you, but one thing was clear: John was enjoying our sex life together more and more each time it happened. It almost seemed every time was better than the last.
Chapter 37
I suffer from depression. It’s not something anyone except my mom and my doctor know about me, not even John. Well, unless he’s noticed. I’m on meds, and they keep me on a pretty even keel. But growing up, I would cry for no reason. I just couldn’t help it.
&nbs
p; I guess that’s why holding John as he cried in his bed that night made me love him even more. I understood. It didn’t matter what the cause was, I understood the sadness that makes one cry so hard one shakes. How many times had I been there? I guess when I was younger the meds available were not as good, or maybe I’ve just gotten better. Since I’ve known John, I’ve been able to keep it under control. Just having him as a friend helped a lot.
Now that John is into sex with me, he is far more passionate than his brother Matt. This came as no surprise. John as a person is far more passionate, and compassionate too for that matter, than his brother. Sometimes I think he struggles with the idea that he is having sex with a guy. Sometimes I feel certain he wants to use sex to punish himself for whatever crime he thinks he committed. That is why I knew he wouldn’t mind when I forced the issue that time. But sometimes, quite frequently in fact, he just gives himself up to his passion, and when he does that I respond in kind, and we make love as passionately as anyone on the planet. Sex just can’t get any better than that.
Between John and Harper, my depression seems to be receding into the past. I am something of a new person.
Mom noticed.
“Moving here has been good for you,” she said one night as we watched a singing competition on television together. “You’re much happier now. I can tell.”
I smiled.
“Having John has been good for you,” she continued. “I really like that boy.”
I smiled even wider, probably beamed.
Chapter 38
Time flew. John and I became closer and closer. It seemed to me that it was happening at an odd time in John’s life. All the time I had known him, he had always played the field with girls, never having a serious girlfriend. Lately, though, he had become pretty steady with this girl named Mary. I had to share him. But he had shared me too and didn’t even know it. I still felt bad about that, keeping that from him, but a promise is a promise.
Life for me was John, even if I had to share him. Spending any time with him at all was heaven. Life was sex with John, riding the trails with John, riding horses with John, going to the lake with John, and doing other things with John.
It was great. I wouldn’t change a thing. Except having to share him.
Chapter 39
I was about to turn eighteen. I had never forgotten Harper’s promise, but I knew he wouldn’t be in town. And that’s what he had promised me: He would go all the way with me if he was in town. I always knew there was that stipulation, but I had always assumed that somehow he would find a way to be in Weston for me.
He wasn’t.
But John was, and John had something planned. As it happened, on my birthday John’s parents and Matt were all out of town. He had the house to himself.
He called me up and told me to come over. When I got there, he’d left the front door unlocked, and I found him naked in his bedroom, a stick-on bow stuck to his pecs, and the words “FUCK ME” written across his chest in magic marker. Pink Floyd’s “Atom Heart Mother” was playing, one of our favorite songs.
Even though I preferred to think of what we did together as making love, not just “fucking,” I had to admit, the scene before me couldn’t get any sexier. Even the word, in the context of his chest, was pretty darn sexy.
“My present?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“I love it.”
“You haven’t even opened it yet.”
I opened him up twice. The second time, before I came, he whispered in my ear, “Come on my face.” This was a first, but it was something I had fantasized about doing for a while now. So I was happy to oblige, and I messed him up real good. I was in his hair, dripping from the tip of his nose, running down his neck, drizzling into his left ear. He made me kiss him in this sloppy state and then actually put some of the jizz on his tongue and kissed me again. I didn’t mind. It was hot. Then he did the hottest thing ever.
And I mean EVER.
He let me watch while he ate all my cum he could scoop off his body.
I sat there and watched my Beloved eating me, holy communion. He ate it all, running his finger back over his face, neck, and hair over and over trying to find one more drop.
“Best birthday present ever,” I told him.
Best fucking person ever. My John Beloved.
It’s strange how one can get accustomed to using that word so easily, so quickly. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s what we had been doing, for sure. We had been making love, or at least I had, and we had been fucking.
I loved him so much I wanted to cry. I felt myself starting to cry. So I said “take me for a ride” because I desperately had to get out of there before I died from the depth of my feeling.
On the bike I caressed him under his shirt, still feeling overwhelmed.
“I love you,” I kept saying, over and over and over. “I love you, John. I love you.”
We zoomed down the blacktop, two boys and a passion.
I was eighteen, a full-grown man.
Chapter 40
I loved fucking John. Fucking loved fucking John. Nothing in my life had ever been sweeter. I had loved messing around with him before he let me fuck him. I had loved giving him hand jobs, sucking him off, playing with that big cock of his. I had even fallen in love with his cock, which had a presence all its own. But none of that compared with fucking him. This was the real deal. This was true ecstasy. I could not get enough of him.
We began having sex at least three or four times a week. Some weeks it was every night or every day, even if it meant doing it outdoors in a clearing somewhere when we were riding the trails. I just had to fuck him.
John obviously didn’t mind.
John obviously loved it.
I liked coming inside him, but I also liked messing up his face, and that’s what John preferred. He liked to eat me. He claimed to love the taste of my cum, claimed he wished he could eat it for desert every night of the week. So if we had sex three times in one week, two of those times I’d come on his face so he could have a nice meal, and the other time, I’d squirt deep inside his body while kissing him lustily or staring into his eyes.
I was wondering how he was spending all this time with me and still managing to see his girlfriend. I didn’t ask. He didn’t mention it. Maybe he didn’t mind. Maybe he liked this better.
I could always dream.
The beauty of it was overwhelming, being inside him, hugging him, kissing him, smelling him, pushing deeper, gouging, gouging, loving, loving, loving.
Loving.
It was too much for me. I had never expected it. I didn’t deserve it. But I had it. I had John, to hold, to cherish, to honor, to worship, to serve, and to stick my dick into over and over and over again, thrust after thrust, night after night, week after week, month after month.
I prayed each night that it would last forever.
Chapter 41
And still, when not with me, John had sex with his girlfriend and other girls, and still talked about it, appearing not to notice how insanely jealous it made me.
Senior year took John and me through some of the best and worst times of our lives. I am pretty sure I can speak for him too when I say that.
On the best side were all the times together, the progression of our sex life, culminating in the most unexpected thing that’s ever happened to me—but I’ll get to that.
On the worst side were some situations we got ourselves into that were totally messed up. Some serious stuff went down and both of us made bad mistakes. I tried to test his love. My plan backfired, and John got hurt. That was hard for me to live with. The dude who hurt him was a complete jerk who wouldn’t have been involved in our lives at all if I hadn’t had the stupidest idea of my life.
I’ll spare you the details.
I don’t even know all the details, I’m sure of that. I know John well enough to know when he doesn’t want to talk, so I never asked for the details. Besides, I know enough to k
now I wouldn’t like whatever else there is I don’t know, so what is the point in asking? Like I said, I know when John doesn’t want to talk about something. Like that night many years ago when I held him in my arms as he shook and cried in his bed. Like the time he was beaten up and even worse—even worse--because of me. I can spare you the details because I don’t know the details.
There were other things going on too with some young people in the church. We all stopped going.
I don’t like to think about it even now. I know too many of the details and wish I didn’t. I can’t stand it when people are cruel to children or animals.
I just can’t stand it.
I try to stay calm. It helps stave off depression. It helps me breathe. Besides, that’s what people do now. Stay calm. I’ve heard a recording of the Hindenburg explosion from 1937, the radio announcer’s frantic screaming live on air. I have also read the radio transcript from when Pacific Southern Airlines Flight 182 ran into a private Cessna over San Diego and crashed, killing all 137 people aboard the two aircraft and another seven people on the ground:
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