Before The Rain

Part 1

Barometric pressure drops, air becomes less dense.  Like my bones turn to balsa wood, I feel lighter.  Incredible physical responses during those seconds. 

It's said microbes give off spores before a storm.  Their scent heightens my senses; invigorating.  Half-musky, half-woodsy herbal aromas wend as leaves exude their oils.  Fleeting moments of sweet introduction to the coming storm.  I'll take those mystical moments before the rain.  They restore a shriveled soul.

* * *

Could say I was the first squall at the age of two.

Fell into the lives of my grandparents though I probably didn't smell mystical.  Sickly boy--enlarged adenoids they said.  Stayed abed my early years, head wrapped in flannels, reeking of menthol and camphor.  During the worst bouts I only remember staring out the window and taking pills.  After each episode I was skinnier--the puny kid would become a puny man.

During holidays, my parents and brother returned from distant countries.  Dad was in the diplomatic corps, Mum held gracious teas, hosted tombolas for approved charities.  Their lives were dictated by protocols and proprieties.

Brother Honoré was a rascal, got kicked out of boarding school in Leeds for the “pressed ham" incident at the headmaster's window.  He returned to attend schools in those distant cities, supervised closely by my parents.

Honoré lived a real life in the real world, while I was medicated, listening to my heart pounding through the fluid in my ears.

* * *

Brother and I were opposites in most ways yet we loved each other.  He never wrote a letter, like me.  He'd package a crazy tee shirt or a strange trinket and drop it in the mail.  My grandmother found the juju doll he sent.  She hid it, "That's pure nonsense."  

I found it in her closet and kept it under my mattress to spark my imagination about Honoré’s next escapade.

* * *

My parents were respected by the diplomatic corps, they were intelligent, sophisticated and unfortunately had no choice about their assignments. Political storm clouds gathered globally.  They were transferred to a conservative nation--an extremely religious society.  About that same time my brother decided to practice his newly realized homosexuality.  Dad immediately sent him to my grandparents to keep his first-born safe.

Honoré coming to live with us was the best medicine ever--I was more alert, happier though my grandparents still hovered protectively over me and my adenoids.

He arrived the year I was eleven and took the house by storm.  Grandparents weren't upset or distraught, we were delighted.  Rock music, crazy words, friends over on weekends; Honoré deluged us with youthful verve.

My older brother was handsome.  Thick black hair, tanned skin, full lips and a big smile.  Him being seventeen, I aspired to be just like him.  Wondered if I'd ever have his confidence, his courage.  Almost like he sensed my thoughts, he insisted we share a room like most brothers around the world.

He taught me what my grandparents didn't explain clearly to me.  Every night, a sensual lesson.

He said I was the best sucker ever.

Part 2

The outer bands of clouds in the hurricane of my life began when my parents returned to the states and bought a place in Florida with my grandparents.  I'd finished my studies and was working in public health--not a doctor, a statistician.  Unglamorous career and it left me time to write.  I kept a detailed journal.

Kept my grandparent's home, enjoying the muguet, porch swing, my old bedroom with the window looking over the back.  That old house, everything there felt an ancestral embrace; the land had been in our family for over a hundred years.

Got a small flat in the city, close to work; spent the weekends in my childhood home.  Quiet, peaceful until a few years later when the water began to rise.

* * *

At the age of thirty, Honoré had attended five universities and had yet to graduate, campus life inflicted severe ennui he said.  He was an excellent salesman, started moving through Fortune Five-hundred companies, rubbed shoulders with people whose names appeared in gossip columns, on the covers of business magazines.  

I never was envious, but glad he was doing well, proud of the golden boy of our family.

First hint of stormy weather was when Honoré called.  He usually arrived unannounced:

"You gotta help me."  In a low, rough whisper.

"What's going on?"

"Got a friend who misunderstood my--well, can't comprehend my philosophy."  He was covering the phone to keep someone from hearing him.

"Just explain yourself.  You're glib."

"You don't understand, he wants love, romance, all the hearts and flowers.  I don't."

"Tell him that."  

"He's too young to understand.  Calm him down, smooth it over for me.  I've got two clients coming into town tonight."

"Calm him down?  How?"  Honoré was already at the door with Anthony.

Young Anthony was the first of many.  You'd think prostitutes would be the easiest path for Honoré.  No, he wanted fresh meat to corrupt.  Anything after that was tedious, superfluous.  

* * *

Next few years I honed my tea and sympathy skills.  My brother liked toying with emotionally inept boys; the easily misled, inexperienced.  I became the landing pad for dependent, depressed, clingy boys he deceived and crushed.  

They thought my brother would be their lover/husband/savior/partner, at least a friend.  Didn't happen.

Again, and again, didn't happen.  All the doting I received as a child, I doled out on the boys.  Came to like it; some of them did too.

Not all, though.  Found out a lot about human nature and fortitude.  Some boys were ingenious, clever.  Others, quite artful, and most, with encouragement, resilient enough to pick themselves up and put their lives back in order before Monday morning.

The rest of them?  Online resources for the boys who needed more help recovering from Honoré's hazing.  Handed out more than several bucks to keep their mouths shut while I reinforced the fact that at least fifty percent of their heartache was their fault.

Through the next eight or nine years I met some beauties: Dustin with his hazel eyes and freckles, Gerald, the dark boy with tiny pink ears who wouldn’t stop crying.  Falwell and his frustration with his voice changing, he loved to sing.  Donny, the horny boy who constantly rubbed his groin--had a huge package I hoped he'd grow into.  So many.  They came and left wiser.

Did I take advantage of their plight?  No, I only admired their smooth skin, enjoyed their brief company in my single life.  Rubbed ointment on chapped rears; bag and hose with a few.  They would explain how they were roped in by Honoré.  Almost every one repeated the same technique Honoré had used on me years ago--updated and customized for efficiency.

I'll admit my brother was an excellent salesman when he was a kid, and better as an adult.  Grandfather had quietly called Honoré manipulative.  That word skipped through my dealings with brother, vaguely, in the back of my mind.

Flattered and teased, boys easily offered themselves with expectations of more.  Then, they defined the sudden crash of their dreams, the lightning strikes to their hearts.  Their stories filled my journals with their transformations to adulthood as I compiled a detailed record of each.

Part 3

Brother's “philosophy” took its toll.  Honoré, at the age of forty-five appeared jaundiced, constantly exhausted.  Had a proclivity for alcohol; his increasing paunch revealed his self-indulgences.

"Brother, time to get some help.  Go to a spa, or somewhere.  You need to get yourself back in shape or buy life insurance and make a will."  I joked and was surprised when he took a month off at a private spa near Iguazu.  Came back thinner, sagging skin was surgically eliminated, his teeth appeared over-sized, and he was smiling.

We visited the family in Florida.  Brother was subdued, turned down the brandy, spicy jerk pork.  Ate salt and fat-free dinners along with our grandparents. Told us he wanted to go into management, "Sales quotas are killing me.  Time to move into management.  Have to find someone, settle down...."

After years of handling the fallout of his exploits, I wondered if he was serious.  Doubted he had the grit for a long-term relationship and I couldn't say anything.  He was the only love of my life; couldn’t see myself with anyone else but him.

* * *

Noted the date in my journal to record how long his changes would last.

Less than thirty days, Honoré was back on the bottle.  Two weeks later, he showed up with a boy, "Stay with my brother Gil.  He'll help you get going.  Got a client in Seattle, I'll be back next week."

"Glad to meet you, Gil."  The young man extended his hand.  This boy stood with composure, air of equanimity about him.  Not cocky or demanding, clearly not strung-out or emotionally off-kilter.  "I'm Jorah.  Hope I'm not imposing, been down on my luck lately."

Unusual name, Jorah.  "Welcome, would you like a soda?"  I responded to his civility as brother made a hasty exit.

Delightful boy, looked around twelve, maybe thirteen.  Younger than the boys I fostered before.  This one had grace in his movements, the way he turned his head, went to the kitchen to wash his hands.  

Ashy-blonde hair fell into his eyes as he surveyed my place.

Over sandwiches, he told me he didn't need a lecture, "I know your brother has issues.  Never figured he'd leave me with his little brother.  That’s a new one."  He took a sip of his soda, "What are you going to do to help me get going?  Do you give me the tip your brother forgot?"

This kid was smart, he got to the point quickly.  "No tip.  You got paid in cash, right?"  I was baffled, Honoré had moved on to rent-a-boys?  Made me wonder about my brother's mental state, this wasn't his routine.  Honoré has "issues."  What did that mean?

"Yup. Still got his DNA on my rear.  I could scream rape."  He felt me out for a second sum.

"On your butt?"  That's not where Honoré left his evidence; I gave him a questioning look.

"Your brother couldn't keep it up.  He got his money's worth."

Forced to say it aloud: "I'm just the clean-up man.  Scream rape if you want, you were whoring, that's a crime as well."  I looked at the small slut, "Look, it's my brother's philosophy--any issues are part of his ingrained lifestyle."

"Clean-up man?  You're his enabler."

* * *

After we ate, I got a blanket, tossed it on the couch, "Decide where you want to go, I'll drop you off in the morning."  Sat at my computer, journaling this perplexing new entry.

"I need a ticket to LA."

"Family out there?"

"Seldom rains, plenty of high rollers."

"Don't you want to finish school, get a good job and vacation in Paris, Bali, all the exotic places instead?  LA's not safe for a kid alone."

"Where's it safe for toy boys?"  He snorted.

"Belgium, but they have age requirements in the brothels."

"Fly me there?"

"You could finish school from the boy's shelter, get a scholarship...."

"Already graduated."

"How old are you?"  Swiveled from the keyboard--already graduated?

"Don't use the `m' word."  Cocked his head, "I'm eighteen.  May gain another inch, but probably not." Hint of defensiveness between his words.

Nodded quietly, the kid must have taken some hard knocks being right under five foot tall.

I was wrong.  Jorah explained a childhood similar to mine.  No adenoid problems, only being small and it limited his life.  Furniture, security peep-holes, most standard equipment disallowed his use in childhood.  Said his parents shored his self-esteem with educational camps, upping his academics.  Sports were out unless he played with younger children; his strategies and coordination were beyond them.  Yes, challenged by stature, though he described a decent childhood.

"Had a bike; I rode for hours.  Every day...."  Smiled as he told me about pedaling for miles through the woods with his sisters.

"Did you race other boys in those special games?"

"Please.  No `special' anything."  He rolled his eyes.

Journaled with my pants at my ankles while he showered and I spied on him with my hidden camera.  Had some good footage of naked boys.  I was curious if he had the genitals of an eighteen years old; he didn't.  Everything on his body was in proportion.  Small feet, hands, fingers, the childlike wide eyes and small nose, pink, cherubic lips.  Cock looked like a thirteen-year-old cock.

* * *

During breakfast, "Where do you want to be dropped off?"

"Anywhere near downtown."

Those words singed my conscience.  Though I hadn't gotten him into this situation, it seemed wrong to just turn him out on the curb.  He had the cash he earned and probably wouldn't keep it if he was mugged.  "I'm going to the country. There's an old BMX in the garage.  We'll get some of that flat-fixer stuff if you want to ride."

"Won't your wife mind?"  Giving me a sly grin.

"You know there's no woman here."  I glanced at my basically-furnished surroundings.  "You like the gals?"

"I'm like you, queer."

"Queer, am I?"

"Your brother says you're a latent homosexual."  He ate his toast nonchalantly.

Never felt like a gay man and sure, I considered this boy’s ass had to have a grip to remember.  "You said you were down on your luck.  I'll pay if you'll help get some things done around the old place."  His insolence interested me.

* * *

On the way, I stopped for groceries while Jorah found the goop.  Bought him a few extra things.  Half-gallon of rocky road ice cream was in order.

Opened the windows, put the groceries away while Jorah explored outside. Met me in the kitchen, sweaty and breathing hard from trying to open the old wooden garage doors.  Went out to help him to find local kids had been inside drinking.  Beer bottles, pizza trash, smelled like urine.

"Pick up this mess and hose it down; pay for your ride."  I left him to his work.

Went to my old bedroom where Honoré slept.  Memories came of when I was inducted into sexuality, recalled the sweaty nights, the intense intimacies.  He’d never left his jizz on my butt, he seeded me deeply.  

We were so close, for a while.  Thought of my love for him and was repulsed when I remembered-- "Clean-up man; enabler.."  The words stung. 

Began to realize how I depended on my brother for thrills in my life.  That forced me to see the coward I'd been.  Coward, that's all I was, a quaking hyena living off the scraps he tossed.  Journals, covert videos, genital paramedic were my addictions while I waited..

Fleetingly overwhelmed with the emptiness of my life.  Saw that juju.  Anger rose holding the crude figure.  Beady-eyed, skinny, ragged juju doll--that's what I was on the inside.  Twisted the doll, threw it against the wall and kicked it under the bed.

* * *

Looked out the back window and watched Jorah working on the BMX.  Went down to distract myself from my life, myself.

Jorah had cleaned and greased the chain.  Sunlight danced through his light hair; skin glistened with sweat as he grabbed the bike and turned it over, "Hold it upright."  

Watched as he read the directions on the can of goop, shook it and carefully held the tip to the valve, pushing the pin down.  Both tires filled on the first try.

Soon, he flew down the drive, short legs pumping, hair flying.  At the end of the drive, he took his shirt off and barreled back toward me.  I turned on the hose and began rinsing the garage out.  When he neared, I squirted him.  He laughed, sending ripples of happiness across the grasses, through the trees.  Back and forth, we played like innocent children.  New experience for me.

* * *

Before lunch I walked around the property, overgrown meadows surrounded by pines.  Took the hoe with me and began poking around on the ground at the corner of the yard.

"Looking for snakes?"  Jorah stood nearby.

"Checking the cover on the old well.  Don't want anything falling in."  Roots, freezing, heat and shifting earth had partially uncovered it.

"How deep is it?"

"Not sure, but wide enough for an adult."  Using the handle of the hoe, we slipped it through the metal handle of the lid and recovered the hole.

"Have you drunk water from it?  Bet it tastes good."

"My grandparents and great grandparents did."  From there I regaled him with stories my grandfather had told me about my family.  

Asked about his grandparents.  Said he liked visiting his grandparents, though freedom was restricted in the big city where they lived.  "My sisters and I stayed with them while my parents discussed divorced."  He'd hit the curb at eighteen only a few months ago, wouldn't go back to the tensions at home.

* * *

No cable in the country, we played chess.  Equally matched though I was rusty.  We tried distracting the other from blocking moves, joking; had a fine evening.  Some time that night, my mind adjusted to him being eighteen though he appeared much younger.  Found he had more common sense than I imagined, but something nagged me:

"Why were you hooking?  You can get a real job.  Won't take you long to move up the ladder."

"I tried.  People think I'm lying, even when I show ID.  They think I bought it."

Seemed plausible, "No other options?"

"Weren't you horny when you were eighteen?  I figured I could turn bucks and get all the cock I wanted.  Easy money and plenty of men wanting a boy." He tilted his head and fluttered his eyelashes.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

His angelic face clouded.  "Guys think I'm disabled or jail bait.  They want an average size man or bigger.  You know, they don’t want to be seen with a shrimp."

As gorgeous as he was, and couldn't find a lover?  He knew the score; lots of vain men who wouldn't or couldn't be seen with an teen.  Honoré's perversion was low-hanging fruit.  Still, there had to be some legit work for Jorah.

I told him where the riding mower and gas can were.  "Front and back yard tomorrow.  Don't mow near the well, I'll clip it later."

Figured out a pay rate and I'd give him cash and the bike when I took him back to town.

Part 4

He took the couch that night.  I went to my childhood bed.  Jorah came later, saying the old house creaking spooked him.  Crawled in beside me.

Felt strange at first; felt good after that.  Don’t think either of us were sleeping when my dick began to chub at his rear. I turned to cradle him when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.  Grabbed it and listened for a moment.  Jorah woke when I began speaking.

Put the phone down, "The grocery's a couple of miles down the road--get what you want, put it on the Harrelson account.  Have to leave for a few days."  That was curt, "I mean, if you want to stay here, I'd appreciate it if you'd wait for me to take care of this emergency."

"What happened?"

"We'll talk later."  I was dressed, keys in hand.

* * *

At the ER, and found Honoré took a bad fall in his condo.  

Doctor was serious; "We found a whitish, powdery residue on upper lip, testing it now.  Do you know what other drugs he used recreationally?" 

"No."  Brother lay on a gurney.  Head bandaged, oxygen mask, wires, tubes everywhere.  Lifted the sheet to see he was naked from the waist down.  Wondered, but didn't ask who called the ambulance.  Dark cock looked exhausted laying on his huge balls.  Always envied his junk, generously endowed man.

"Don't mention the drugs to our parents, please."  I made the calls; told Mom and Dad not to fly in yet, "Let's see what the doctor says."  

Called them back later, made the arrangements, took leave from work.  Honoré didn't make it to sunrise.

Broke a sweat after a few moments with the funeral home director--I was still the clean-up man.  Sped to Honoré's condo to remove anything revealing to Mom and Dad.  

Stacks of porn, bottles and baggies of pills and powders without labels.  Got it all discretely bagged and in the dumpster along with several battery-operated devices.

Grabbed his laptop, his cock rings and found piles of small briefs, each neatly rolled and held with rubber bands.  Each small brief was wrapped around a stack of "instant photos," the old kind, accompanied by notes, letters, cards, drawings from his conquests.  Recognized the boys' faces in the few rolls I opened.  Mementos, trophies, sexual souvenirs... had to stop myself.  Time was short.

Gathered all of the erotic memorabilia I could find and threw it in an old suitcase with a broken zipper.  I bound it shut with a belt and tossed it in the trunk of my sedan.  Sprayed air freshener all over, I think I got everything perversion-related out.  Checked again.  Anything overlooked must have been "left by a visitor."

* * *

Mom and Dad came, tearful but not too sad--we'd all half expected Honoré would be the first to go.

Local attorney handled all my family's affairs, Dad was notified of Honoré's will.  Surprised us he made one.  Not much in his accounts, condo partially paid for, in arrears with a few stores.  Then, quite a sizable life insurance policy naming me as beneficiary.

Sudden and unexpected funds--hard to comprehend the impact to my life.  I was still trying to mentally grasp the loss.  Honoré was gone?  Forever?  That really rattled me.  Licentious libertine that he was, I loved him.

Made a few phone calls to his former employers, no one seemed interested in attending his memorial service.  Couldn't get into his phone.  Dad listed the condo with an agent, and we went out to dinner.  Ashes to be forwarded to Florida.

The entirety of Honoré's physical and material life was deleted in several days.  Took hours of morose journaling to record it all.

* * *

With a moment to think clearly, I called Jorah.  "You okay, buddy?"

"Hey, I'm talking on a phone with a wire to the wall."  Sounded in good spirits.

"It's called a landline.  Everything going alright?"  Had to chuckle.

Mowed, swept, cleaned the kitchen, straightened the garage and hosed off the outside windows; he'd taken on several extra chores.  Said people were nice at the store, around the cluster of businesses we called town.  Then, "I’m gonna need a reference."

"What kind?"

"Employment.  There's a guy in town at a bike shop, he needs help two days a week."

"A real job?"

"Almost.  It’s part time--Saturday and Sunday, by the entrance to the state park.  Canoe and bike rentals.  When are you coming home?  I’m gonna grill out tonight...."

Forgot all he said before.  First time in my life someone asked me when I'd be home, someone wanting to see me, be with me.  "Leaving now."

* * *

On the way I considered what to tell Jorah.  Explaining Honoré's death, I could do that tactfully.  Doubtful that would bring any storm clouds yet some of my brother's boys were on the edge of severe depression.  Reminded myself Jorah was eighteen and streetwise.

Couldn't pull into the garage, two bikes stood in front of the open doors and my short friend was holding pliers.  "I need an adjustable wrench--do you have one in the trunk?"

Honoré's suitcase....  "No.  No tools, I call the car club.  Where'd you get this second bike?  Looks too big for you."

"The owner of the bike place said I could have it to fix up.  Had to true the rims, adjust the  spokes."  He described complicated tasks.  "Thought it might fit you."

"Me?"  Had to grab it.  Slung my leg over the seat and hit myself in the nuts.  Hard.  Heard the kid laughing as he took the pliers to the seat clamp.

A few fails and I was able to make it to the road and back.  Jorah jumped on the old BMX and led the way.

Clear skies, sun was hot, we took off along the dirt roads around the woods--this is what I missed as a kid.  No wonder Jorah loved biking.  Energized with the wind in my face, thighs straining, slipping beneath an archway of birch limbs.  All the way to town, pedaling hard.  We raced, neck and neck, back to the garage.

Went straight to the fridge, drank till we cooled.  Made sandwiches while Jorah told me about the job he'd found:  

"Everything's barcoded.  I just rent them out.  When people bring the bikes back, I check them over for damage.  Gerrich handles the rest--and he's going to train me on bike repair."  

Mr. Gerrich owned the shop; I knew his reputation though never met him.  "How'd you meet him?"

"Rode my bike around town, he was outside; waved me down."

"You didn't meet him in the restrooms over on the jog trail?"  Watched Jorah’s face.

He took a while to answer, "I got the chance to work a few days every week.  He says there's a room upstairs where I can stay."

"Not berating your ambition but you could get stuck in a bad situation you can't get out of easily."

"I thought about that, but I want a job.  Like you said, a real job."

I did say that, dammit.

* * *

Made lunch, "Sit down.  I've got some news about Honoré.  The emergency was about his death.  He fell and hit his head.  Really miss him."  My eyes began burning.

Lunch on the table, we didn't eat.  Jorah came beside me, put his arm around my shoulder, "He was your only brother?  I'm sorry.  You probably feel all alone."

That described me, partially.  Big hole left where my brother had been, a huge empty space.  " A bit, but not lonely.  Glad you're here."

Did I just get the tea and sympathy treatment?  "Riding with you got my mind off my brother.  This afternoon we'll ride down and check out Gerrich and this job--make sure it’s a real job."

* * *

After lunch, I cut off a pair of ancient jeans and we took off.  

At the bike rental, I approached the old man, "Gerrich, my name's Gil, I live in the old Harrelson house."

"Glad to meetcha."  Didn’t bother with a handshake.

"Heard you want to hire Jorah two days a week.  Sounds great.  Just curious about a few things--will this become a full-time position?  Will he get a whole package?  You know, minimum wage, health insurance, breaks, overtime?  Dental and vision coverage would be good."

"Only the best for my workers."  Never knew of him to have any employees.

"And a room, too.  Generous offer.  I'd like to see this room.  Can't let Jorah stay anywhere, he has another employer depending on him."  Leverage to pry out the truth.

"Yeah?  He didn't tell me that."  Gerrich took us upstairs in the back of the old wooden building to an empty room; army cot, chair and a blanket.  

Dusty, mouse droppings in the corners; bitter whiff of roaches wafted.  I poked around; the bathroom was filthy--no shower.  "Might need some work to pass code."  I touched the toe of my shoe to push an empty condom wrapper toward Gerrich as a strand of pluck tightened alongside my spine.

"I'll have it ready by Friday."  Gerrich was eyeing me more closely.

Smiling, I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator, "Let's see here; minimum wage, two days a week, sixteen hours... then the cost of utilities for the room, and I assume, board….  Employment costs....  Business-wise this looks like a losing proposition," I kept touching numbers on the screen. "Could we review his job description?  We want Jorah to know exactly what he's getting into."

Gerrich was onto my scheme.  He smirked

Tilted my head back, looked down at Gerrich, "Can't take advantage of a young person making their way."  Let my eyes wander downward.  Gaze stopped on his groin, "Won't let it happen."

Conversation ceased for a moment.

"You say he has another job?  He may have more opportunities there."  Gerrich

turned away.  I stepped forward, and stood behind him:

“Want boy ass?  Buy it.  This kid’s worth more than minimum wage and an old goat.”

* * *

Jorah laughed all the way back as we pedaled slowly enjoying ourselves. "What's my other job?"

"Stay at the house, help me with the light maintenance."

We went to bed that night.  Jorah got up after midnight, went downstairs.  Blue light flickered in the stairwell, he was on the computer 

Part 5

Kept my statistician's job for a while longer closing out several projects and gave up my flat for my childhood home.  

Still hauling around all Honoré's mementos, crossed my fingers that no one would rear-end me on the freeway.  Ordered a heavy-duty, sealable black plastic bag, parked behind an empty building and packed all of the memorabilia inside the bag, tossed the luggage.

That weekend, I told Jorah to clean the gutters.  While he was at the front of the house with the ladder, I drug the bag to the well.  Pushed the heavy cover aside and stuffed the bag inside, it didn't fall to the bottom, got stuck about half-way down.  Quickly, I put the cover back on and noticed a shadow on my arm.

"What did you put in the well?"  Jorah asked.

"Thought you were cleaning gutters."  Wiped the sweat off my forehead.

"Almost finished.  What did you put down the well?"

"Bag of sand."  I scrambled for an answer.  "Safety measure."

Honoré was still manipulating me; I was still his clean-up man.

* * *

Jorah and I fell into a habit through the next few days.  Evenings, we rode several miles, came home and cooled off on the porch swing together.  One night, I recall clearly--we rode through an incoming storm; winds had whipped us; thunder chased us home.

On the porch, we talked about getting him a cell phone. I asked about the charges on the landline bill from last month, several long-distance calls.

"Called my dad."  He moved beside me, "Have you been by Gerrich's lately?  He's selling the bike shop.  I want to buy it; Dad's going to invest.  I can increase income with electric scooters and bikes, maybe rafts, paddle boats.  Have to update the helmets and life jackets...."

"Wait--wait.  Buy the building and the business?"

"I'll show you online.  Everything's listed--"

"You plan on moving to town?"

"Rickety old place, but I can remodel a room at a time."

Put my arm around his narrow shoulders, "Think you can make enough money?"

"Not a lot at first, and I think so, eventually.  I can always sell it."

Kissed his hair, smelling molecules of the oils from the plants before the rain, his scent.  Low, dark clouds brought an early nightfall.

Rain coming; that smell rose.  Air became still, light, barometric pressure dropped.  Fully felt my body as a slight shiver ran up my legs and arms.  Sparked when he leaned his head on my shoulder, kissed my neck, "Thanks helping me."

"Love the smell before a rain...."  Grabbed his hand, led him upstairs, "Love the way you smell."

Nuzzled against me, kissed my neck.  Upstairs and lay him on my bed; sat beside him, gently removing his shoes, socks, all his clothes.  Naked, tanned arms and legs, white torso, angelic face, pale nipples and his delicate treasures.  Balls like tiny bird's eggs; his sat in a faint brown nest of hair.

Tongue itched; I hovered over his groin.  Stopped myself.  "May I?"

"I've been waiting."  

In a heartbeat I sucked his shaft in, breathing his sweat through my nose.  Few hairs, pale and scattered across delicate skin tickled.  Creamy, damp skin on my lips; rubbed my face across the short space between his hips, pressed the tip of my nose into his belly button.  Kissed and took his dick that hardened, lengthened to hit my uvula.  

Slightly salty.  The skin on his rod was satiny, the spongy helmet-shaped knob enticed me.  Licked his slit and began sucking earnestly, taking all he had.  His shaft held no secrets from my tongue.  

Every smell, every taste… offered to me.  Not stolen or bought but given.  

His testicles tightened at my chin, and the taste on my tongue changed.

Semen.  Pulling my hair, moaning, his body arched then slumped, twitched.  Five, six shots of cum--like a drug, it electrified my brain, my body; hot bursts of jizz shot out of my hard cock.  No warning.  Moaned as my body emptied itself.

Intoxicating, the feeling of his skin against mine as heavy raindrops bounced off the window sill, brought unexpectedly cool splashes.  Unexpectedly rich sex--real sex, not vicarious but mine.

* * *

Held him against me, pressing his face to my chest, his body against mine for quite a while.  "You've been waiting?  For me?"

Long silence, he finally spoke: "Thinking about letting time filter the duds out of my life."

Strange comments, "Duds?"

"When I go to the bars, put a hit on a lot of guys, hoping I can get one, he didn't come because he wanted to.  He came because I chased him, and he's thinking I'm a quick fuck.  I'd be wasting time because I want more than that.  

“Better to wait--let time filter out the duds.  If a guy sticks around, shows me he wants more than my ass, then he's worth more of my time.  Being short is going to make a relationship with me different, I have to find a man who sees me as another man."

He looked at me, "Understand?"

Squeezing him against me, "I think so.  How did you come to this philosophy?"

"When I talked to my dad, he said he wished he'd met someone like you when he was eighteen.  He said you were shrewd about Gerrich.  Dad said I might have been sold--Gerrich was in debt to the state."  

He paused and it seemed difficult for him to say aloud: "You never scold me like a kid or call me `pipsqueak' or anything.  You treat me like a man and that makes  me feel stronger."

* * *

Couldn't sleep that night, even with Jorah beside me.  Lay awake thinking about my brother and me.  Honoré had never made me feel strong.  Loved my brother deeply, and kept thinking he'd come to me when he was finished playing the field.  Never did finish, never came.  He only wanted me when I was a boy--a stupid, naive boy.  The best sucker ever.

Latent homosexual?  I was a latent human, until now.  The man beside me had been waiting.  For me.  His size?  Didn’t matter to me when everything about him was what I wanted.

Took all my journals, videos and tossed them into the well with Honoré's things.  End of cleaning-up, addictions, enabling.

Epilogue

Jorah's father came to live with us for several months; helped his son get his business going.  Hammers, nails and paintbrushes, his sisters came to help remodel the old bike shop.  Crazy, noisy days filled with young people, laughter, neon colors, smells of good food and bouquets of wildflowers from the back yard.  The drought of relationships in my life ended.

I became a silent partner in the rental business which did well with all kinds of skateboards, electric scooters.  We raked the bucks in when Jorah's father had an old caboose hauled in; turned it into a cozy, bright-red café next door to the shop.  "Shortie's Coffee Caboose," he was a few inches taller than Jorah.  

Both he and Jorah were sharp businessmen--they’d never be millionaires and we couldn’t have bought better lives.

State built an interpretive center in the park, guaranteeing future income.  Jorah did well; I did well.  Jorah's father and sisters came often, staying during the seasons when business was brisk.

* * *

Floored my parents when I invited them for holiday dinner.  Wonderful to smell turkey roasting in the old oven, the buzz of everyone decorating the house. Lights twinkled, music played, excitement ran high and my parents brought the old snapshots to share.  

We were a healthy, smiling crew that was enough of a family for them; torrents of happiness flooded the old house that year.  

* * *

After a hearty meal, the women were in the kitchen while Jorah and I cleared the table.  Overheard the gals talking about shampoos, conditioners, things I knew nothing about.  

Mom offered her advice to the gals:  "When I was a girl, we had the best rinse.  No chemicals, all organic--well water.  There's an old well out back where my sisters and I filled a jar and kept it in the bath.  Let's get a bucket and rope...."