If I Should Fall: The Second Book of Geshichte Falls

TEN

LIKE

A

GROWN UP

Nehru Alexander closed his eyes and bit the pillow, letting the feeling thunder through him. His voice rattled and went to another ululating place and he grasped tighter Brad’s hands as they grasped his. Brad Long fucked him so hard, so thoroughly their bodies smacked and while swears and half formed noises escaped their mouths becoming shouts, the bed cried out with them. Brad’s mouth fell on Nehru’s neck, murmuring this and that into it, kissing him, bruising him, and Nehru reached back to urge him on. On the little table there was a small red capped bottle and Nehru reached for it, unscrewed it. While Brad slowed down he inhaled into one nostril and then into the other and drew Brad’s head down, drew all of Brad to him as he screwed shut the bottle.

Nehru didn’t want it to ever end, and it felt like it was happening forever, this hammering, this being entered and bruised and made to throb in a place he hadn’t even known existed, and Brad was strong, full of stamina, could fuck forever. They were both surprised when he screamed and his body lifted up and then fell down, when, whimpering he came inside of Nehru, his voice sounding like begging as he came, and came and came.

He rolled from Nehru onto his side, looking himself, bruised and crushed, though Nehru looked neither of the two. His cheeks were red, his face was flush, his caramel skinned glowed. Brad came so deeply inside of him, nothing came out of him. Brad’s body was long and red and he breathed heavily, looking to Nehru, then to the ceiling, and Nehru lay on his side in contentment, admiring the long body, admiring the trunk like penis, that had penetrated him so, still half hard,.

Bradley Long turned over, lit the joint that was half burnt, and then, motioned to Nehru and blew the smoke into his mouth and gently mounted him, his hand working him slowly, kissing him, smoking him, stroking him, working him until Nehru quaked and moaned in surprise as they both watched him ejaculate, semen the color of lemonade in the late summer light, an arc rising impossibly high, falling, rising, falling, showering them both.

 

Nehru had gotten off work from the office at Soubirous around two and Brad had picked him up. They often went to Brad’s house because Brad felt too old in Nehru’s home and in Brad’s basement Nehru never had to see Brad’s parents. But now it made more sense. Nehru could not have imagined having any kind of sex in his bedroom in a house where his mother might or might not come in and out during the day, or where sounds might or might not be heard. Brad’s basement apartment was the perfect place for everything.

“Did you eat yet?” Brad had asked. Brad always asked. Brad always looked out for him. Brad talked a lot, about the music, about Marissa, about movies they had seen. He was, for a very tall thirty one year old man, very shy though he said, “I was never this shy with girls.”

Today, exhausted after sex, they lay on their backs and then curled together. They were, if anything, more serious about their music now that they were fucking, and they were playing tonight at their first gig outside of town. It meant they needed to meet everyone at around seven, which meant practicing their songs with each other at five, maybe five thirty. And Brad thought they should go out for tacos, just the two of them. It was, unbelievably, already four o’ clock. They dozed, but not without hugging and kissing and having frantic sex, and then showering together.

Brad sat on the bed in his jeans. Those were the ones Nehru had wondered about several times in the past, that were worn to the consistency of silk and clung to the shape of his body. The first time he and Brad were together, without even unzipping them, he’d slid out of them like a snake, his penis springing up from the soft dark bush, balls hanging. Now, as he sat, his narrow chest bare except for all of his rich black hair, playing guitar, his unbrushed hair sticking up in gelled spikes, Nehru, in the bathroom, hummed. He had always been shy of his body, and did not mind being naked by himself, but was getting used to being naked in front of someone else. He thought he looked better completely naked, or completely clothed, and coming out of the shower, he chose nudity as he brushed his teeth and with the towel draped around his shoulders, returned to the bed, singing:

 

I am beginning to see you
because I have stopped to open my
eyes

how often was I stumbling

fair is the morning and
fair is the night
no more wailing
I stood at the door a long
time weeping

 

Brad was mumbling the song, but their voices came together at “weeping” and together they sang:

 

I am beginning to see you
because I have stopped to open my
eyes

I am beginning to see you
because I have stopped to open my
eyes…

 

And how, in a few short weeks, had they gotten from Brad’s surprised kiss at the Noble Red to this, the two of them making love every day, bodies meeting, voices soaring?

 

Smoking outside the Noble Red, Brad had said, “What will I do if she comes?”

“Do what you would have done.”

“But we just—”

“I know. I was there.”

“I always knew I was bi,” Brad said. “Deep down.”

“I knew I was something. I don’t know what to do with it, though.”

“Business as usual?” Brad said.

Nehru’s eyes tightened. He was actually, at that moment, almost violently frightened of being more than friends with Brad.

“Yes,” he said. “I think so.”

 

Nehru blamed himself because, though Brad was thirty and smart about many things, Nehru knew he had more sense. He was better at looking ahead. He always looked ahead. Everything he did was so measured. There were only two things that had surprised him recently, the afternoon when Brad swooped down and kissed him, and how good it felt.

Unlike Brad, Nehru’s sexual experience was limited, and it might have remained so forever. But now, late at night, when his parents had gone to bed and he knew no phone calls were going to come to ruin his connection, he got online, waiting for the little yellow man to go through all three boxes, listening to the hissing and squeaking of his computer connecting to this world wide web, and then he looked up things he’d never be able to look up in a library and saw things he never dreamed he could see.

There were movies—they took a very long time to download—that you could watch and SEE people, real people having REAL sex. And there were videos where you could see real MEN having sex with other men, doing all sorts of things he’d only heard the slang terms for in locker rooms. Seeing them played out in his room, on his computer screen, a blue light cast about the one a.m, darkness, was like seeing into a country he dimly knew existed, and that he knew in the very back of his mind he desired.

The Web was a new country. There was one movie he watched over and over. It played in fits and starts… buffering… it was called, and then after two hours you could play it all the way through. He had tried to do this earlier, but there was always a phone call or his parents always picked up the phone and killed the connection. Once you’d gone all the way through the video, you could play it straight through for a few days. But then you had to do this all over again. It was only at the end of the summer he learned that DOWNLOADING meant you only had to go through this once, and then you had the video on your computer forever.

To Nehru, his relationship with Brad was perfect. He loved him. They loved each other. They were the closest of friends. It didn’t make sense to say closer than brothers, cause neither one of them knew what having a brother was like. And brothers did have sex with each other. The sex didn’t make him love Brad anymore than he already did, and when he was making out with Brad, he didn’t feel loved any less than he ever had. Nehru, who had never really had a romance, and had very little sex, did not think of what he and Brad were doing as romance. It was just…. What they did, and when he watched those movies, he knew he wanted to do those things with Brad too.

So, one of those summer afternoons, Nehru said they would go to his house instead. No one would be there. His mother wasn’t home till five, and he felt powerful that day. He felt like this was a special day. Brad was unsure and maybe Nehru needed him to be, needed to be the master of the situation. Brad played the guitar a little, and Nehru hummed, but he put one of the movies on the computer.

“What the fuck is this?” Brad said softly, his eyes moving toward the screen, his playing growing lazier.

Nehru, ever cautious, had already locked the door. He was more afraid than he knew. He pushed past that and put his hand on Brad’s dick. Brad didn’t seem to know what he was doing at first, but when he did, he looked at Nehru, not in anger or surprise, but the same way he would if Nehru asked him for a quarter or was reaching for his hairbrush and Brad was closer to it. And Brad, who almost never wore underwear, swiftly pulled down his jeans and his cock came out of them, heavy and dark from the patch of black hair. His balls, man’s balls, hung between strong thighs covered in black down and then, before either of them understood it, Nehru was on his knees and Brad was down his throat.

Nehru wasn’t sure what he had planned. But well before his mother came home it seemed like they had spent two eternities tasting each other and then Brad had given in and pinned him to the bed and they spent a mattress squeaking time fucking, Nehru’s shoulders pressed by Brad’s palms.

That first time Brad came silently, his face turned to the window and the heat of the day, and when he opened his eyes they saw the sun through green leaves, while the orgasm rocketed from the depths of his balls through his cock, deep into Nehru while his palms kneaded his friends back and Nehru moaned low into the pillow. As he kept shooting, filling him up while they were covered in late day light, the memory of discontent, of Debbie, Marissa, looking for the job, walking the beach in frustration, searching, searching, searching was answered by a certainty that hummed from his anus to his balls to the tip of his cock, all through his body, to his lips which pressed against the back of Nehru’s head.

This is what I’ve been looking for…. This…

 is what I’ve been looking for…