My Savior

“But he dreamed of a new life almost as long as he had been alive…” 
-Donald Ray Pollock, The Devil All the Time

“If I had one day when I didn’t have to be all confused and I didn’t have to feel that I was ashamed of everything. If I felt that I belonged someplace. You know?” 
-James Dean as Jim Stark, Rebel Without a Cause

“Leroy! Leroy you better be getting your sorry ass dressed, ya here,” mama yelled up the stair.

“I heard ya the first time,” I yelled back, then kicked at the air, furious I had to go listen to one of them goddamn hell fire preachers. It was Monday night, and mama already made me go twice on Sunday and on Wednesday night, every week of my life. When could a person get a break from it? But there was this revival, you see, some traveling preacher from down in Yazoo, Mississippi come up to Jasper, Alabama to spread the good word, and no doubt pass the plate for people’s hard-earned money. Mama didn’t have much, daddy a drinker and all, but she never failed to put money in one of those plates. Even if I had to do without shoes or decent clothes.

I went to the small closet in my bedroom and pulled out my only Sunday clothes. A white shirt with the tie looped around the collar already tied, for I still didn’t know how to tie one of the damn things, me eighteen and all. I pulled out my black pants, knowing they were getting short in the legs but still fit my skinny ass. Mama had got them two years ago when I had to be one of the pallbearers for Hank Simmons. The ole bastard let that mule of his kick him in the head. It killed him dead, dropping him where he stood. So, now I wore them every Sunday and Wednesday night, with the white shirt and a tie I had snatched from daddy’s closet, and evidently, I now had to wear every night this week so I could accompany my dear hypocritical mama to that revival.

“Leroy, are you dressed!” mama yelled up the stair again. “We’re going to be late!”

“I’m getting dressed,” I yelled back, “Jesus, keep nagging and I’ll be up here all night,” I whispered as I buttoned the shirt, then pulled on the pants, frowning at how my white socks were visible. It was downright embarrassing to be poor. I don’t know how the others did it, but I seethed inside at how nothing could be nice. Nothing could be new or fresh. It was almost as bad as that other thing that stirred my insides into knots. The one thing I dared not mention to another living soul. I knew if anyone found out, it would spread like a wheat field fire, gaining momentum and heat until it snuffed me out, when it got back to mama.

I didn’t like girls, you see. Not a one. Had not an ounce of interest in them. Not even Clara Bell O’Connor with her flaming red hair and the biggest tits, in our class, could tempt me. If mama knew what Clara Bell had suggested during our senior year of high school, there would have been hell to pay. The suggestion I slip out at night and come pick her up, and we could go down to Rattlesnake Creek and make out, or I could pick her up on a Friday night and we could park behind the grain elevator. She said she would do anything for me, and I wasn’t so dumb as to not know what she meant. The problem was I didn’t want to do those things with her, but her older brother, well, let me tell you, that is another story. I would have rolled over and begged that big dumb bastard to do me. What all that entailed, I could only guess at.

Mama waited at the front door, foot tamping a regular furious beat. She had on her blue dress, white gloves, and a pocketbook hung on her right forearm she found down at the resale store in Frisco City. If she would only smile a little, she would look right nice, if I do say so myself.

“Well come on, boy, we’re gonna be late as it is.”

I drove our old Ford, a 1949 Standard Coupe it was called, but in 1957 it was just a rusty oil burning jalopy. Mama sat in the passenger seat, hands in her lap, anxious to get there. Where was papa you might be wondering. Well, he was lucky, you see, for he didn’t listen to mama’s proselytizing and requests he join us. Instead, he was down at Roy Hudson’s barn where some of the men gathered most nights to play poker, drink whiskey, and talk about their wives. I know this for I followed him one night to see for myself, deviously thinking there had to be more to it. What I expected, I don’t rightly know, but I hid behind some haybales and listened to them banter back and forth as they took drink after drink, while raising the stakes in a game, or cussing up a storm while folding.

I drove down Route 42, what the locals called buzzard lane. It’s a shame the state didn’t use the name for there was always roadkill on it, therefore a good number of buzzards. We rode past the Miller’s place, mama craning her head, trying to see if Stan’s new young wife was out in the garden or tending to the chickens. Stan’s first wife took off one night and a short time later, too short for mama and her judgmental ways, he had a new one, ten years his junior and a blonde, mama derisorily called a bleach job.

As we crested Hooter Hill, the big white tent came into view. There it sat in the Johnson’s pasture, among the tall grass and cow shit, it was a spectacle to behold. There were already cars parked to one side and more turning in as we pulled up. Right in front of us was the old widow Owens in her 51 Cadillac Fleetwood, something she would inform anyone who asked, or just gave her the opportunity to do so. It was a big thing, with shiny chrome trim contrasting with the blackest paint job, black like the widow Owen’s soul if anyone bothered to ask me. Of course, no one ever did. No one gave a shit what a Dawson thought.

“Who puts up the tent?” I asked mama.

“The preacher has two men who haul it around and set it up for him.”

I parked next to the Johnson’s 55 Bel Air, the car still looking brand new with its sky blue and white paint job. It was a pretty thing, but not as nice as the new 57 models. I had seen a turquoise one at the dealership and damn near ran off the road looking at the son of a bitch. Down below us an old Dodge flatbed truck, the one the tent gets hauled around on, no doubt.

Mama and I made our way into the tent where the smell of cow shit and cut grass hung heavy in the air, but no one seemed to mind, for they were there to hear about Jesus and Heaven, and more importantly to most of them, Hell, for the number of times they said someone was going there. I eased into the back row of chairs, taking a seat near the middle away, from those coming in, while mama marched herself down to the second row. She would have sat on the first, but I knew she was embarrassed about her old shoes and didn’t want some visiting preacher to see them, especially when he was telling her the good word.

Mama’s preacher came in with a man I assumed was our visiting preacher. The man towered over Rev. Wiggins, nearly a foot taller, with hair combed over to conceal a balding head, he looked like a man who had seen better days a decade ago. The two men ambled down toward the front and this young guy came in behind them and eased into the last row, sitting not two seats from me. He was tall, long legs stretched out under the chair in front of him, and he wore clothes not much better than my own, his pants being tan instead of black, thus showing some stitching at the knee where it had been repaired. He had on a white shirt, but no tie, but the thing I noticed first and foremost, was the dirty blonde hair that was cut close on the sides but was long on top, hanging down over his forehead and into his eyes. He was attractive and I forced myself to stop looking at him, afraid I’d look like the Garrison sisters who were across the aisle from us, staring over with such lust in their eyes I’m surprised one of the preachers didn’t say something. I had to stifle a laugh when the girls mother moved to sit between them and the aisle. My choking back a laugh drew the guy’s attention and he smiled at me.

“Hey,” he uttered in a low voice.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to think of more to say, but nothing, not one damn thing came to mind as I sat there staring back.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats, we’ll get tonight’s sermon underway. First let’s sing something to set the tone, shall we. Old rugged cross?” said Rev. Wiggins, starting the song so off key I cringed, then the congregation began and drowned him out.

A few minutes later, the Rev. Elijah Obadiah Matthews rose from his chair and stood behind the podium, towering over it. He held each side of it leaning toward the crowd. He talked low and calm, about mercy and love, but over time his voice rose, got higher, more intense and he began to talk about hell fire and eternal damnation. It riled up the crowd, earning him amens and nods of agreement. Then there was the reference to Sodomites and blasphemy. I tried to ignore it, especially that reference to Sodomites, knowing how close that one hit home. But I squirmed in my seat, wondering if I could slip out and mama not become aware of it. I glanced over at the new guy and saw him smile, shaking his head. He looked my way, leaned over close and whispered.

“The bastard really knows how to rile them up, doesn’t he?”

I was stunned he would say that, in the tent no less. Yes, I was thinking it, but to say it aloud was too much. What if someone heard? But he wanted a reply and I leaned toward him and whispered back.

“Yep.”

Suzy Cook turned with her sour dour face and hushed me.

I stared back making her turn back around. The guy laughed and I had to stifle my own. I had been checking the guy out, a quick glance whenever I felt I could get away with it, but now I wanted to know him. His name, where he was from and had he moved to Jasper. I knew I couldn’t hold a conversation with him, not with the Rev. Matthews up front wailing away about an apocalypse and a war that was a coming.

Finally, the sermon was over, the call for people to come get saved before it was too late, and some damn fools had to go down there making the night last even longer. Then the plates were passed around with people putting hard earned cash into it. I looked at my watched confirming what my ass was telling me. An hour. That bastard had preached for a solid hour. About halfway through his sermon, some men went around lighting lanterns around the inside of the tent for it was dark outside, and the smell of burning wicks were almost enough to drown out the smell of cow shit. Rev. Wiggins gave the final prayer as the Rev. Matthews made his way to the flaps that served as the front entry, and the guy next to me stepped out and followed the reverend.

“Amen,” Rev. Wiggins finally concluded, and a few amens echoed around the tent, then everyone moved to the center aisle to exit at the main entrance so they could shake hands with the Rev. Matthews and praise him for such a good sermon. I had no intention of shaking the man’s hand, and I slipped down the side of the tent to the front where I had seen other men exit.

I moved around the white tent, it aglow with the burning lanterns inside, and made my way to the front to wait for mama. I knew she’d be in that line and didn’t care how long it took. She was gonna shake that man’s hand or die trying. I leaned against this old Studebaker, a plain old four door with faded paint and a dented front fender, wondering who it belonged to. I leaned over and looked at the back and saw the Mississippi plate. It was the Rev. Matthews.

I watched people come out looking for that new guy. Frustrated at not seeing him, I moved around to where I could see just inside the front of the tent. The Rev. Wiggins was on one side and on the other, the Rev. Matthews and the new guy. It was at that moment, I saw it. The similarities in their features. The reverend was older, rougher and more weather worn, but there were enough similarities it became obvious the guy was his son.

“Fuck me,” I uttered, then looked around fearful someone could have heard the utterance.

“Leroy; are you dressed?” mama yelled up the stair, and for once I was ahead of her.

“Yes!” I yelled as I came to the top of the stair and looked down at her putting on her gloves.

Yep, ole Leroy had gotten dressed as fast as possible. I even washed my clothes and ironed the shirt. I was dressed to impress, or thought I was, but deep down I knew poor white trash could never be good enough for some. But for that preacher’s boy, there was a chance. Foolish? Probably, but there was one thing in my favor. That boy was no better off than I. Hell, he might be in a worse fix, a traveling preacher’s son and all.

“Let’s go,” I uttered as I passed mama at the front door.

“Well, what’s got into you and this rush to get to church?”

“Nothing,” I replied going down the steps. Nothing but a boy that made me touch myself inappropriately last night until the white socks I had on had to be a part of the morning’s wash.

We were early this time and I hung outside, letting mama go claim her spot on the second row by the aisle. I watched cars and trucks pull into that cow pasture, some I knew and some I didn’t. Word was getting out about the hell fire and brimstone preacher from Yazoo, Mississippi. I said it out loud. “Yazoo…Mississippi.” What a name. I wondered what the place was like and if it were like Jasper. I hoped not, for their sake. Nothing could be as bad Jasper. A real shit hole if you asked me. Nothing to do but masturbate and hang out at that diner in town staring at the owner’s son as he bused tables.

I looked up and saw Rev. Wiggins drive across the pasture in his Buick Riviera. I think it was a Riviera. All I knew for sure was that preacher picked the ugliest ass brown color imaginable. I watched him try to get close to the tent, sliding in cow shit and spinning wheels on the slick grass. I laughed as the fool nearly hit widow Owens Cadillac. A reflection caught my eye and I looked at the gate to see that old Studebaker pull in. The Rev. Matthews in the passenger seat, and behind the wheel, his son. The guy who sat on the back row near me the night before. Tonight, I intended to introduce myself. I don’t know why, for it seemed such a damn fool thing to do. I couldn’t lead anywhere but I guy could dream.

I watched the guy maneuver that Studebaker down to the tent, parking behind it away from most other cars. I headed to the tent, knowing I needed to be there first. People were coming in, the center section filling up fast, the rear and very front nearly empty. I looked at mama in her place, shaking my head at how she hoped to capture the preacher’s eye. I eased into that last row, moving down until in the center as I had been the night before. It wasn’t long and that guy came in, only this time at the front with his father. They spoke a minute, then the guy headed down the side of tent. He seemed to be about to sit about midway back, then he looked across the back of the tent and I swear to God he looked my way and continued to the last row. I know, sounds like bullshit, but I swear he looked my way.

He entered the last row and came toward me. I expected him to stop a couple of seats away, but he came over and sat right next to me.

“Hey, how ya doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s supposed to be more crowded than last night,” he said, and I realized it was his way of explaining himself. Hell, I needed no explanation.

“I’m Leroy by the way. Leroy Dawson.”

“Isaiah, Isaiah Matthews.”

“Do you always travel with your father?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“No, not until this year.”

“Why this year?”

“The Rev. Matthews wanted me under his thumb. He feels like he needs to keep an eye on me.”

“Did you do something wrong?”

“I don’t think so, but that bastard up there sure as hell thinks so.”

I didn’t know what to say to that and fell silent trying to think of something else to say. Isaiah was right next to me, so close our knees were nearly touching.

“I just hope the bastard doesn’t preach as long as he did last night,” I whispered as a couple of girls sat on the row in front of us. I knew it was a stupid thing to say, but I was nervous and not thinking straight. But it must have been right on some level, for Isaiah laughed.

“Don’t count on it,” he replied.

But the bastard seemed to be going for a new record, rambling on and on about some shit in Revelations, then a war, sinners were going to die in while Christians just floated up to heaven. How that worked, I have no idea, but the Rev. Matthews seemed to have it all worked out. Meanwhile, I squirmed on that hard ass chair, sat back, then leaned forward, trying to find a comfortable position. I was beginning to think that tent had to be hell, for it was torturous sitting there so long.

Finally, after another call to come get saved, a passing of the plates, and one more prayer, we were able to escape. This time Isaiah didn’t go to shake hands, instead I found him following me toward the front to bypass the crowd lined up to meet the preachers.

We went out into the hot humid night, and I found myself going toward that old Studebaker.

“What do you do during the day?” I asked, turning to Isaiah.

“Nothing much. There ain’t shit to do in any of these small towns he sets up in.”

“If the other places are like Jasper, I can well imagine.”

“What do you do?”

I masturbate thinking about boys. Last night I did it thinking about you. “Not much. Hike in the woods, go down to Rattlesnake Creek to swim or fish, or hang out in the diner in town.” And look at the owner’s son busing tables.

“If you do something tomorrow, can I tag along?”

Hell, yeah. “Sure, if you want.”

I did my chores, feeding mama’s chickens, got the grass mowed, and repaired the gate to the backyard. Then I took a shower, put on clean (but worn and nearly threadbare) pants and a white t-shirt, because I saw that Dean fellow wearing one in that movie two years back, the one where he is he a rebel. I wanted to be a rebel. Actually, I wanted something else, and there were scenes in that movie I thought ole James Dean did too.

My dick was sore after I saw that movie.

When I told mom I was going to show the Rev. Matthews’ son around, she readily agreed to let me use the car. If she could have read my mind, she’d locked me in the toolshed, instead she handed over the keys, gave me a couple of dollars and said to take him out for something to eat, that the poor thing had to endure Mrs. Wiggins’ cooking.

Mrs. Wiggins was a good cook, but ever since she showed up with chicken and dumplings better than mama’s, well, it’s been one slur after the next about that woman’s ability in the kitchen.

I arrived at the Rev. Wiggins’ home; a cinder block house built out behind the church that always looked like it needed painting and tooted the horn a couple of times. I no longer had removed my hand from the horn and Isaiah came running out. I gasped, for he was wearing short pants and a white t-shirt. I stared at those long legs with their soft dirty blonde hair covering the calves. I stared at how those calves were larger than mine, muscles flexing with his jog to the car. And I stared at that boy’s crotch. No lie, it looked big compared to most men I had stolen glances of. The only thing was those shorts were ugly. U-G-L-Y, ugly. Some plaid pattern of brown, brown, and more brown. Damn, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the things, but when Isaiah slid into the passenger seat and the legs rode up revealing a lot more of the thigh, I suddenly didn’t give a shit if they had been hot pink with flowers on them. All I could think of at that moment was reaching over and feeling those hairy thighs tickling my palm.

“Where’re we going?” asked Isaiah.

“It’s almost noon. Have you had lunch yet?”

“Nah, not yet. Mrs. Wiggins tried to get me to wait long enough to eat, but…”

“You wanted out of that house of preachers?”

Isaiah smiled, and pearly whites straight as a new fence shined back at me.

“Let’s go into town and grab a burger. The bowling alley has good ones and they’re cheap too. I got enough for the two of us, plus some.”

“Sounds good.”

I was driving out of town, heading to my secret place. Our appetites were sated, and we were silent as I motored down Route 42, windows down giving us some relief from the damn heat. But not much, for the wind felt like it came out of a hot oven.

I turned on Hillside Road, a dirt track that snaked through the papermill’s pine and past the old Petersen place, nothing but a falling down old barn and brick piers from where the house had sat. Iron rock littered the hard packed surface, making it tricky to negotiate the curves if ya had any speed at all. I kept it slow, making damn sure I didn’t put that Ford in the ditch, for I wanted to make our destination.

“Where are we going?”

I smiled at Isaiah, feeling like this was it. I was going to get that boy alone and see if my instincts were right. I just felt Isaiah was like me. I saw him checking out guys at the bowling alley, especially that Curtis Thompson with his muscular body from working at the sawmill. Hell, I checked him out too, only for the two of us to catch each other doing it. It was at that moment I was sure I was right. The way Isaiah grinned, and his cheeks flushed red. Damn, he had been embarrassed to be caught.

“Down to Sandy Bottom Creek. It has the clearest and coldest water. I figure we could wade in it and cool off our feet.”

What a goddamn lie. I know, I know, it was wrong to hope I could get that boy out of his clothes and go skinny dipping, but don’t think for a moment I wasn’t going to try.

I came to the turnoff, a fire lane that cut through pine for as far as the eye could see. I eased the old Ford along the rough track, weeds raking the sides. The paint was shit, so no one would ever notice a fresh scratch or two. We had to keep our arms inside the car as the fire lane descended down toward the creek, then turned to run parallel with it. I eased along another three hundred yards or so before stopping.

“This is it,” I said, killing the engine. “Let’s leave our wallets and watches in the car,” I added as I put the keys under the floor mat, then slipped my watch off. We put everything under his seat, me leaning over and reaching under so I could get close to those legs. So close, my forehead brushed the left thigh. I swore Isaiah closed the distance between us, but I wasn’t sure. But I sat up smiling at him. “Let’s go; its just down there about a hundred feet.”

Isaiah followed me as I took the narrow path, one made by deer no doubt, until we came to an area that was clear of underbrush, a large oak shading the ground too much to allow it. And on the far side of the oak, the ground was cut away by the creek. It wasn’t more than ten feet wide in most places, but where it circled the oak, it widened and more importantly, was deep too.

Isaiah stood at the edge of the bank where roots were holding it in place and looked into the clear waters. You could see the sandy bottom and roots from the oak along the edge of the deepest section. I moved up behind him about to suggest we wade in the shallow part just upstream, thinking I had to move slowly into the suggestion we skinny dip. I didn’t want to spook my prey. But Isaiah turned to me, grinning ear to ear.

“You usually skinny dip here, don’t ya?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s skinny dip,” Isaiah replied, and I watched him tug his t-shirt off and toss it on the ground.

I stared at his upper body, how it was so flawless. The skin smooth with a tanned tone, one natural and not from exposure, and when he looked back again to see if I was undressing, I saw the line of hair from his navel down to the waistband and in the center of his chest, a mat of hair. It made him look older, more manly, and I couldn’t wait to see the rest of him. I removed my t-shirt, exposing my white hairless chest and stomach, thinking I no way looked as good as Isaiah, but I saw him look back, eyes scanning my upper body, and I wondered if I looked as good to him as he to me. Then we were pushing down pants or shorts. He had the advantage, just stepping out of those shorts while I struggled to get my feet free of my pants. We stood in white boxers, the loose-fitting things revealing nothing within. But we were shedding them too and I felt my heart racing in my chest. Damn, I could have a heart attack and die before I saw that boy naked.

Then it happened. I pushed down my boxers as Isaiah did the same. Naked ass came into view. Nice round ass cheeks. And when he turned, tugging on his cock, I gasped, then forced myself to look up into his face. But in that split second, I saw. Don’t think for one fucking minute I didn’t. I saw that cock, and those nuts hanging long behind it. And when I looked into his eyes, I saw him looking at my cock. I felt it flex with my arousal and I did as he, and took it in hand and tugged on it, stretching it out and feeling it start to respond.

“Is it deep enough to dive in?”

“I wouldn’t; its too narrow. Let’s just jump in,” I replied, moving up next to him. “On three.”

I looked down into those cold waters knowing they would take our breaths away at first, but soon enough they would feel so good swirling around our bodies. I glanced at Isaiah’s cock, then up the stomach, chest, until I was looking at his face. We nodded, then looked at the creek.

“One, two,” and Isaiah took my hand, “three.” We jumped, together, splashing through the surface and sinking down until touching the bottom. He let go of my hand, we kicked off the bottom and surfaced not two feet apart. His hair hung down over his eyes, but he pushed it back and I looked into the eyes. They were vivid blue, more so than I had realized before. I was drawn to him and had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.

“Do you ever feel different?” Isaiah asked.

Are you fucking kidding me? “Yeah, all the time.”

“Do you ever wish you could go somewhere and just be yourself?”

“In this place? It’s all I do,” I replied, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it came out sounding like a plea of some kind. “What about you? Does traveling with your father make it better or worse?”

“Hell, a lot worse.”

“Where would you go…if you could take off right now?”

“Mexico, or maybe Brazil…or Australia. What about you?”

“I could never imagine it real enough to actually think of a place I could go.”

We paddled in place, neither moving away from the other. This moment seemed important. Something I’d never forget.

“Do you feel lonely?” Isaiah asked, and I knew what he meant as soon as he asked.

“Yes…all the time.”

Isaiah seemed to get closer, then I felt it, fingers touching my stomach. I gasped but didn’t pull back. Instead, I smiled and moved a bit closer increasing the contact. He smiled as those fingers moved up my stomach and over my chest. He rubbed my nipples and I felt them get hard. It sent shivers down my spine how it felt, him rubbing them, then giving them a bit of a twist.

“Goddamn, that feels…” I uttered.

“I know,” Isaiah replied.

I surprised by his answer, although why I wasn’t sure. I just assumed all guys who wanted to be with guys were virgins. Stupid, right. I just didn’t see how two guys could get together, but with those fingers touching me, it was like a bright light shone down and awakened me from my stupor, as one of those damn preachers would say. I reached out and touched Isaiah as he was touching me.

“Have you done this before?” I asked in a barely audible whisper, the confession of it like a forbidden fruit. I reached down, feeling emboldened and so desperate to do it, and took Isaiah in hand. I took his serpent, feeling its girth within my hand. I stroked it, until my hand moved up to the head and felt how it was so flared out, wider than my own.

“Just twice,” Isaiah replied as he took me in hand. I shuddered and struggled to keep my head above the surface as he toyed with my cock.

“What did you do?”

“I guess we did everything,” Isaiah replied, and I heard the innocence. The lack of confidence that he had experienced everything there was to do between guys. But I didn’t care, for anything was better than being a virgin. A virgin at eighteen. Can you imagine? I felt like I was the only virgin in the whole fucking country. Years later I’d understand the truth. But treading water having my cock toyed with while I did him, well, you know. We weren’t thinking too clearly.

“Let’s move to shallower water,” I said as I pulled him to follow me.

In water that was up to our waist, cocks just below the surface. I looked at that fat hard cock sticking straight out from Isaiah’s body, then I noticed my own, not as fat but just as long. As one hand stroked me, my eyes glued to our cocks, I felt Isaiah’s other hand come to the back of my neck pulling me forward. I looked up and soon found his lips pressed to my own. He kissed me. Another boy! Damn, it was hot, so hot, I flexed in his hand. His body moved closer until our chest touched and cocks pressed into stomachs. When we finally pulled apart, I was breathing so hard you’d think I ran a marathon or something.

“Will you show me? What you did,” I said leading him up to the clearing under the tree.

He followed me out of the creek, then kept me facing away from him.

“Get on your knees,” he whispered.

I eased down on my knees and felt him pushing my back guiding me to bend over. I was on my hands and knees and his hands were on my ass. Rubbing each cheek, pulling them part sliding a finger or two up and down the place between them. He was touching me there and I shivered with the manipulation. I held my head down, looking back along my torso at my hard cock and loose sac hanging between my thighs. I saw Isaiah was on his knees. If felt his hands pull my cheeks apart again while he bent over. Then I cried out at the feel of his tongue touching my ass. The slick thing moving up and down it, at times flicking back and forth over my opening. Damn, that boy had me wet in no time.

“Fuck, Isaiah, put it in me,” I pleaded, knowing that was where we’re going with this foreplay. I had thought of it, masturbated to the idea of a guy putting his cock in me, but now, the reality of it, a tongue torturing my hole, then Isaiah standing up on his knees, scooting closer, made me moan like a whore on Saturday night. I never wanted something as bad as I wanted Isaiah to dick me.

He pushed until stretching me open. I threw my head up and cried out, not giving a shit how far my voice traveled or who heard. Let the fuckers hear me. I was getting fucked. Hands tightened on my waist as cock bore into me. Deeper and deeper, until I wondered if his cock had gotten larger. I mean how far could a man push his cock into another. My own cock flexed and when I looked down, I saw that slick drool dripping toward the ground.

Yeah, I wanted it bad.

“Fuck,” I uttered as cock tugged outward, then pushed back in. Over and over, Isaiah worked that cock in me slowly, so slow I felt every goddamn inch. The way it stretched me open, sank into my hole, giving me a sense of fullness, I can’t describe.

“Damn, you’re tight,” Isaiah uttered as he increased his pace, fucking faster and faster. He fucked until smacking against my ass, rocking me forward every time. I couldn’t help it; I moaned and grunted every time he sank into my hole until going so fast, I couldn’t discern if he was pushing inward or tugging outward.

Then Isaiah slowed, leaned over and lay on my back. He was hot, his skin felt feverish, as he moved on me. Hips pumping cock into my hole, lips touching the back of my neck and shoulders. He ground that cock in my insides making me aware of every inch buried in me. I pushed back, unable to get enough. Hands hugged us together, then one moved down my chest, stomach, until grasping my cock. He stroked me while fucking my ass. Slowly, making me feel every touch. Then he pulled out of my hole and stood on knees behind me.

“Get on your back,” said Isaiah.

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I rolled over like a dog in heat. I knew what to do, holding my legs up. His grip around each ankle felt good. This taking control of me, spreading my legs wide apart as he scooted close. That cock touched my hole, then as pretty as you please, just sank into my depths. Then he began to fuck.

I didn’t care that the ground felt rough to my back or that I was getting dirty rocking and getting pushed over its surface. I only cared about how Isaiah was making me feel. The pumping of cock in my hole, faster and faster, until banging my ass. He pushed my legs down until thighs were tight to my chest. I felt how it raised my ass perfectly for his fuck and fuck he did. Harder, faster, with an urgency that showed in his determined face. He pounded my ass, just pulled outward until that cock nearly slipped out, then slammed back in. I held his waist and lay back, eyes closed, focusing all my senses on it. Then he slammed into my depths, just buried every inch in me and kept trying to jam it deeper. I looked up and saw him shuddering, then he cried out, guttural, animalistic, while continuing to push against my ass. I was taking his load. Taking every drop of it, and I held his waist and pushed up increasing my sense of our contact.

Then it was over, and Isaiah was slipping out of my loosened hole. He stood on knees between my legs, took my cock in hand and stroked me until hard again. I thought he meant to jack me off. I would have laid there and been perfectly satisfied if he had, but he surprised me. He moved over my waist, rubbing his ass over my cock. Damn it felt good, so good I was pushing up and shivering when that ass moved over the sensitive head. Then he reached back and took me in hand. Held me up while moving his ass to it. I watched in awe at my cock disappear from sight as his ass slipped down over it. He rode me, slowly moving up and down. I watched his cock flop between thighs still hard and cum leaking from the head. I watched my cock come into view then disappear back into his ass. How could something feel so damn good. I was soon pushing upward, trying to get deeper into that ass.

Isaiah leaned forward, moving his ass up and down as he kissed me. I held his waist, feeling the movement of his body as we kissed. When he sat up, he didn’t stop until leaning back, stretched out over my legs. I watched him pump that ass on my cock faster and faster until smacking down on my abdomen. He fucked roughly, physically, moving at a brutal pace. As much as I didn’t want it to end, I couldn’t hold back. The stimulation was too much, and I held his ankles in a death grip, pushed up as he slammed down, and came. I shuddered and cried out, as my cock ejaculated wad after wad into his ass. When he finally stopped moving, I was spent.

I just laid there as Isaiah climbed to his feet. His cock hung heavy, drooling the last remnants of cum, then I saw a trickle down his thigh; it was my cum leaking from his hole. He smiled down at me and I knew I had to look a mess, but I was grinning like a fool.

“Let’s clean up,” said Isaiah holding out a hand.

We moved to the creek and jumped in. We horsed around, playfully dunking each other, then moved up to the shallows until it was only ankle deep. I had toyed with his cock, and it stuck straight out. In the shallows, I went to my knees for there was one more thing I wanted to do. I held it up and sank my mouth down on it. I moved on that cock, working my mouth along it, then tonguing the head. Hands held my shoulders, and I knew he was bracing himself as I sucked him. It was my first time, and I wasn’t leaving the creek until I had sucked a load down my throat. And Isaiah did nothing to stop me. His cock grew fully erect, filling my mouth. I couldn’t take it all, instead stroked the shaft as I sucked the head. He moaned and uttered profane encouragements, then he held my head and fucked my mouth.

Too soon, I was held still with that cock on my tongue as it gushed cum into my mouth. Wad after wad spurt from it until I had to swallow. I swallowed it then tongued the head for more. He pushed me away, calling me a devil, laughing with what we had done.

I dropped Isaiah off at the Wiggins’ house and headed home. It was nearly four o’clock and I would have to get ready soon to be at that tent for another night of hell fire and brimstone. But this time I had a better reason to go. I wanted to see Isaiah after he had had time to think about what we done. Would he still want to sit next to me? I worried he would move on to someone else, having conquered my dumb hick ass. I just knew I was nothing but a notch in the headboard. But when I was honest with myself and remembered how he had talked on the ride home, none of my paranoid imaginings were true.

When I got home mama looked at me like she could see it. Like my deflowering by the preacher’s boy was somehow obvious. Like there was some special mark on me. I humorously thought of it as the mark of the beast and wondered if I should have gotten a marker and scrawled ‘666’ on my forehead, knowing to do something like that would have me locked in the toolshed for sure. I bounced up the stair knowing she watched me all the way to the top, then disappeared in my room. I fell on my bed giggling like a fool. A damn fool, for mama stormed in and asked what was so funny.

“Nothing mama,” I replied. “I just had a good time today, is all. Is there something wrong with that?”

She softened, then nodded, stepping back out of my room. “No, it’s good you get along with that preacher’s boy. You need a positive role model. Ain’t enough of them around here.”

I knew who she meant, and kept my mouth shut, not wanting to stir her up. She closed my door, and I heard her descend the stair, then I heard her in the kitchen stirring around.

I sighed in relief. For once mama wasn’t going to berate me. And the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. I hoped this good feeling lasted.

I was on the back row in my usual chair waiting on Isaiah to show up. A few folks of the community and some I didn’t know were coming in, taking seats around the tent. After what seemed like an eternity, Rev. Wiggins came strolling in, then the Rev. Matthews, and finally, Isaiah. But immediately I knew something was wrong. He looked browbeaten and would not look at me. He moved down the back aisle behind me, dropping a note in my lap as he passed, proceeded down the outside aisle down to the front, sitting on the first row.

It seemed like the end of the world, like that apocalypse those preachers have been screaming about was happening. I opened the note, keeping it low and cupped in my hands, not wanting another person to see it. The handwriting was atrocious, if I do say so myself, mine not the best in the world either. I struggled to read it, due to the writing and due to what it was saying.

Leroy,

Dad is sure something happened between us and forbids me from seeing you anymore while we’re here. I’m sorry. I was so hoping to spend as much time with you as I could while here.

Isaiah

I was breathless. I had finally found someone who was like me, and, and…fuck. I wanted to leave, not giving a shit about anything the Rev. Matthews had to say. But I sat there staring at the back of Isaiah’s head cursing that son of a bitch behind the pulpit. It was torture. The long sermon with special references to Sodomites and fornicators and men who lay with men, all aimed at you know who. It was wrong, the whole fucking messy situation, and now, how the Rev. Matthews saw it. I have sat in church for most of my life and now I was enduring more damnation, and in the end, I thought it was all just bullshit. So, I schemed on how to see Isaiah. I plotted as the mighty Rev. Matthews railed on and on. He kept talking of the sins of man, and I looked over at mama, nodding her head in agreement at everything that was being said, and I’m sure there were a few ‘amens’ in there too. Finally, Rev. Wiggins moved down and stood to one side of the pulpit. The sermon was coming to a close, and he was in front ready to greet those fear mongered into going down and asking for salvation. I slipped out, faced the Rev. Wiggins, then turned and marched out the back of the tent.

I marched across that cow pasture, fanning away the mosquitoes, until I was at the car. I climbed in, leaving the windows up and waited. I’m sure something would be said to mama, and I’d have to deal with it on the way home. I was going to lie my ass off, give her the performance worthy of one of them awards they give out on television. What ever do you mean, mama? What does the Rev. Matthews think we did? We wouldn’t do anything wrong; you know that mama. Don’t you trust me, mama? Do you think I’m bad, mama? I was going to lay it on thick as molasses. This boy would talk sweeter than her iced tea.

Sure enough, I saw her storming across that pasture like a bull. Arms stiff, that handbag just rocking with every step, and that too small chin just locked tight. She climbed into the car huffing and a puffing, slammed the door, and looked at me like I killed somebody.

“What mama? What is it?”

“The Rev. Matthews said you got his son to do bad things.”

That was fucking rich, considering the bastard made his son tag along for this very reason. I didn’t bat an eye. You didn’t let mama see weakness, not for a moment.

“What? Mama, I don’t know what he means by that. We didn’t do anything. Just ate lunch, rode around some.”

“That boy’s clothes were messed up when he got home.”

“So, we went down to the creek and explored along the bank. You know how it is. Can’t do nothing without getting a bit of dirt on ya.”

“You telling me the truth?”

“Honest, mama. We didn’t do anything illegal. What does he think we did? You think I’m bad?”

She froze, suddenly faced with saying it. I knew she couldn’t do it. It would be like eating shit to say it aloud. She turned in the seat and stared straight ahead.

“Just drive us home…and don’t go messing around with that boy anymore.”

So, I drove us home. She had to put a hand on the dash while telling me over and over to slow down. I slowed…a bit. But I got us home as fast as I could, jumped out, and went straight to my room. I was so upset. Just furious, so much so, I wanted to cry. But them tears never did come. Instead, I lay on the bed and fined tuned my scheme to see Isaiah, despite the Rev. Matthews best efforts to prevent it.

The next morning my ass was up early; before the sun even came up. I got my chores done, then got out my bicycle and rode. I rode down to the woods below the Wiggins’ house, hid the bike, and eased through the woods until I could watch the house. I was looking for Isaiah to come out. If he was as riled up as I, he wouldn’t be able to stay in that house long. Sure enough, he came out, coffee cup in hand, and strolled out into the backyard. I eased around to the back of the small toolshed and waited on Isaiah to get closer.

I saw his father at the kitchen window. He watched Isaiah for a full minute, then disappeared back inside. Isaiah had moved down to the chicken coup, not twenty feet away.

“Isaiah!” I whispered as loud as I dared.

Isaiah looked around confused.

“Isaiah, behind the toolshed. Come over and pretend to look at the mower.

Isaiah did as I asked, and now I didn’t have to talk very loud at all. Just a soft whisper that no one in that house could hear.

“I’m going to get one of the widow women to invite y’all over for lunch. Don’t go. Wait for me. Okay?”

“Don’t Leroy. It’s risky and I don’t want you in any more trouble because of me.”

“No, I’m not letting them do this. Just stay here. Pretend to have a stomachache or something.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got to go now.”

Next stop was the widow Owens.

You see, one thing those preachers get right is this. Pride is a terrible thing. Pride and envy. God knows it is in that church.

“Mrs. Owen, how are you today?” I said in my most innocent sweet country boy voice.

“Well, hey Leroy, what brings you by?”

“Oh, mama is having a conniption about something, and I just had to get out of the house,” I replied, and I saw her smile, that knowing smile that said she understood perfectly.

“Well, don’t just stand out there in this heat, come on in. Would you like a cup of coffee? I still have some in the pot.”

“Yes mam, that would be nice. I only got one cup when I needed to head out.”

She poured a cup of coffee as I sat at the small table in her kitchen. When she came over, she had the cup in one hand and what I knew to be heavy cream in the other.

“Sugar is on the table,” Mrs. Owen replied.

“Thank you,” I replied, “but I drink it black.” Black like my soul to hear y’all tell it.

She watched me sip the coffee, while fidgeting with a spoon.

“I hate to bring this up, but I was wondering if you upset Mrs. Wiggins?”

“The preacher’s wife? I don’t think so. Why? What have you heard?”

“Oh, maybe it’s nothing.”

“No, no, tell me what you heard.”

“Well, I overheard some women say something about your cooking, that it wasn’t as good as it used to be. That Mrs. Wiggins would be worried about upsetting the Rev. Matthews if you were to cook for them. I think it is just idle gossip of the jealous, but you know how rumors spread.”

“I do,” Mrs. Owen replied, and I could see her go from being upset to scheming.

“Maybe you should call them over for lunch or something. Show those ladies they’re wrong.”

“I think you’re right, Leroy. I got a chicken in the refrigerator ready to cook. Maybe I’ll do my dumplings.”

“OH, that would show them.”

“I’m going to call them right now,” said Mrs. Owen as she pushed back from the table and started toward the door to go the phone in the living room.

“I’ll be going so you can get started. Thank you for the coffee,” I said, getting up too. “I can see myself out.”

“Okay, thanks for stopping,” she replied, already focused on making that call. She didn’t turn around, just marched right through the door heading to the living room to call over to the Wiggins’ house.

I went home to make an appearance, telling mama I was going fishing for I didn’t want to see anyone after being accused of being a bad person. She didn’t protest, as I made two sandwiches, put some potato chips in a bag, then went out to the shed for my gear. A cane pole and my small tackle box, I then climbed on my bicycle and headed out again.

I got to the woods behind the Wiggins just in time to see them leaving, heading over to Mrs. Owens for lunch. I knew she would take her time, serving them a little salad, then those chicken and dumplings with god knows what side dishes, and finally, dessert. I imaged it would be a peach cobbler, for I saw some peaches on the kitchen counter. No way they would be in and out of her house in less than two hours. But to me, it was two very short hours.

Once the coast was clear, I raced to the back of the Wiggins’ house and knocked. Isaiah answered right after the third knock grinning from ear to ear. Yeah, he didn’t want to get me in trouble, but he sure was ready for it when it showed up at the door.

“Where are we going?” Isaiah asked.

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to fuck in the Wiggins’ bed,” I replied as I pushed past. You should have heard the gasp that came from him. I thought he was having a heart attack. Of course, I wasn’t serious. I mean, we were going to fuck in their house, just not in their bed. That would be disgusting.

“You’re…you’re not serious?”

“No, of course not. We’re doing it the bed you’re sleeping in. Which room are you in?”

Have you ever seen one of those romantic movies where the man undresses the woman slowly. Just takes his time, kissing each new area revealed, like the shoulder or the chest. Well, that’s in the movies, and we know movies aren’t always real. I damn near ripped that boy’s clothes stripping him out of them. I threw a shirt across the room, pulled shoes and socks off, jerked down the pants and boxers, nearly tripping him while getting his legs free. Then I pushed that naked horny bastard down on the bed and started stripping. He played with his cock while I stripped, and when I landed next to him, just as naked and just as aroused, I pushed that bastard down and kissed him like I’ve not seen him in years.

I stirred a sleeping tiger, and soon I was on my back. Isaiah moved between my legs and pumped his hard cock against me. A push against my ass, then a slip up my abdomen along side my own cock. He moved on me, rubbing and touching and kissing, until I thought I’d die.

“Fuck, Isaiah, stop teasing me,” I uttered as I raised my knees.

Isaiah rose to his knees, took my legs behind the knees and folded me in half. I felt my ass lift off the bed then his cock rubbed over it again. This time it was wet, leaving its slick over my ass, and I shivered from the manipulation.

“Fuck, Isaiah, put it in me.”

“Yeah…in you,” Isaiah uttered.

Isaiah put that cock to my opening and pushed. I shuddered with the penetration, how that cock just stretched me open. He kept pushing, sinking deeper and deeper and I raised up to watch. I loved how he just disappeared in my ass as I felt the fullness of it. Then he leaned over me, pushing my legs tight to my chest and began to fuck. He tore into my ass, just slammed down into my depths. He went deeper and deeper until his hips bounced off my ass. I rocked and bounced on the bed and the sound of it squeaking was just too fucking much. I grunted and moaned whorishly as he hammered my ass. Then he adjusted his position and kept on fucking. The bed rocked harder, banging into the wall. At first, I feared the Rev. Matthews would be able to hear all the way over to Mrs. Owens, but then I forgot all about my fear as Isaiah fucked faster.

Cock piston inside me so fast I didn’t know when it was going inward versus being tugged out. Didn’t care, for it felt too good. Just this sensation of cock inside me. I clutched the bed and held on as Isaiah fucked with a stamina that shocked me. Then he pulled out, cock sticking straight out flexing up and down. He moved down next to me onto his back.

“Sit on it. Please, Leroy, sit on my cock.”

Bitch didn’t need to ask twice. I rolled up and was straddling his waist in no time. I held up that slick cock and slid my ass down on it. I moved down all the way, then held still as I looked at Isaiah. The glassy dazed look and the way he held his mouth open gasping for breath. Then I began to fuck my ass on his cock.

He took me in hand as I moved up and down. The faster I fucked, the rougher he stroked my cock. I leaned back so I could really move my ass. Upward, then slamming down, over and over, the bed once again protesting beneath us. His grip tightened on my cock as I set the pace of our fuck.

I was sweating, it just pouring down my face and covering my chest. My cock ached for release until I struggled to keep a steady rhythm. I pushed up through Isaiah’s fist and shuddered with release. Wads of cum spurt into the air and rained down on me. In the face, on the neck, and down my chest. I didn’t stop, my slick cock still in Isaiah’s hand as I worked my ass to get him off. He suddenly shuddered, cried out, and shoved upward. He jerked and kept pushing upward as he pumped cum into my ass. Then he fell still, exhausted.

I collapsed on the bed, gasping for breath, feeling fingers stroke my legs.

“Thanks Leroy.”

“You’re welcome. I just hate they are trying to keep us apart,” I replied, then whispered to myself, “bastards.”

“Let’s shower, then you better get out of here,” said Isaiah sitting up next to me.

I smiled at him, then nodded as I sat up too.

I endured another of the Rev. Matthews’ sermons while looking at Isaiah sitting on the front row, while trying not to smile too much. We had planned on how to get together the next day. The Wiggins wanted to go out for lunch into town, so Isiah just had to figure out how to get out of it. I knew the Wiggins were a bit tight with their money, so he should have no trouble begging out.

The next day, I watched the Wiggins and Rev. Matthews pile into that Buick and head to town, and as soon as they were out of sight, my ass was at the back door knocking. It was repeat performance, Isaiah just hammering my ass, but this time he sucked me off, then nursing my cock until I had to push his ass off it. Damn, that boy can suck.

That night after the service, I lay in bed suddenly facing the fact the next day would be the last day I had to see Isaiah. They would head out early Sunday morning for some other backwater and get set up for another week of sermons. I didn’t know how to deal with it, this losing someone who was like me, something that seemed impossible to find until this past week. I felt lost, the old loneliness creeping back in already.

Saturday morning and I had my chores done and was sitting on the front porch watching a log truck struggle to drive by. The logs were tilted ever-which way and looked ready to tumble off any minute. It looked the way I felt.

I looked at my watch, again, seeing three whole minutes had passed since the last time I looked at it. I wondered if there was a possibility, I could catch Isaiah alone. Maybe the Wiggins and Rev. Matthews would go out for a special lunch since it was the last day of his stay. I climbed to my feet and went around to the side of the house to get my bicycle. No matter what the situation, nothing was going to happen if I just sat on my ass all day.

I rode hard, sweating like mad in the heat of the day, it already hot, despite it not even noon. I hid my bike in the woods and made my way to the edge where I could spy on the Wiggins’ place. I was in luck right away, for the Rev. Wiggins and his wife were driving away, and when they turned left, I knew they were headed to town. I kept low, watching for the Rev. Matthews, knowing that son of a bitch was lurking somewhere. I could feel it. After a long fifteen minutes, he came out, climbed into that old Studebaker and drove toward town. As soon as that car was out of sight, I ran across the backyard, up on the back porch, and banged on the door.

“Isaiah! It’s me,” I yelled.

I heard someone moving around, then saw Isaiah coming to the door. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts. It made my heart race to see him, and when he opened the door, I grabbed that boy and locked lips with him. Yes, mam, I had it bad.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Isaiah whispered.

“But everyone has left.”

“But my old man suspects something and who knows, he may come back.”

“Seriously? I think you worry too much. Come on, let’s go up to your-“

“Leroy! You’re not listening to me. He is conniving, and-“

It was my turn to interrupt.

“Okay, Isaiah. I get it. We don’t have to stay inside. Come on, we’ll go down into the woods.”

“The woods?”

“Yes. If he comes back, you can dress real quick, and stroll back as if you were just walking around; no big deal.”

“Okay, let me get my shoes on.”

Isaiah came back still shirtless, and I fought the urge to run my hand over him. I wanted to touch that bare flesh. He followed me down into those woods, and I led us down to the small clearing that lay under a huge old oak. Nothing much could grow under it, so the ground was mostly leaf litter, a few ferns, and some yellow mushrooms popping up near the base of the tree. I led us under that tree and turned to him.

I would say we intimately and gently removed clothes, but that would be a lie. We tore at each other clothes, nearly falling over getting our shoes off, then we embraced, hugging tightly. The feel of his body against my own was arousing, and we pushed hardening cocks against each other.

I wanted to fuck him. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted sex. I pulled him to the ground, going to my back. I wrapped my legs around his waist and moaned as he undulated against me. The press against my ass and the hands that moved up my sides then held my hands down. Lips touched my neck, then moved to my lips.

Isaiah rose to his knees and took my legs by the ankles, spreading them apart. I lay back and watched as he moved his hips, working that hard cock until it was pressing against my hole, then he pushed, penetrating me. I shuddered as cock bore into my hole, going deeper and deeper. Then Isaiah began to fuck.

Goddamn, I felt every push for he fucked slow. Just pushed inward until buried in my hole, then he tugged outward until nearly free. Over and over, Isaiah fucked my ass with this slow pace until I was so aroused, I took my own cock in hand.

“Fuck, harder, fuck me harder,” I pleaded as I stroked my own cock.

His grip tightened, and his fuck got faster, rougher, his hips banging against my ass. I loved it. Every fucking thrust. I clutched at the ground and took every goddamn one. I looked up and saw him straining with his exertion. Glassy eyed and skin glistening wetly. He pulled my legs together against his chest. I felt the heat of his skin, and its slickness as he moved over me.

Then he shuddered, slammed against my ass, and I knew he was pumping my hole full.

I lay there looking at him gasping for breath. Then he smiled.

I sat up, still so hard I ached for release. I rolled him to his back, held his legs behind the knees and folded his lanky body in half. I moved over him, sank my cock into his hole and began to fuck.

It consumed me, the feel of him taking my cock. I pumped it in his hole getting faster and faster until we were moaning and grunting. I banged against his ass as his fingers dug into my sides. I hammered cock into his depths until I couldn’t hold back. I raised up and cried out as I shuddered with release.

“What are you doing!?” Rev. Matthews yelled, storming through the woods coming toward us.

What to say. We didn’t confront the reverend. No, we grabbed up our clothes and ran. I led Isaiah down into the woods not looking back until we came to a fence of a pasture. We stood there gasping for breath while still naked. I looked at Isaiah and saw pure fear.

“Isaiah, it’ll be okay. Just let him cool off, then you can go back.”

“You don’t understand. He told me if he caught me again, he would disown me. I would no longer be his son.”

“Shit.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fucked too, but I think I’ll just hit the road. I want to leave this place and…”

And? I had no idea what to say. I had thought of it, just leaving, but any further than that, I had no idea what to do. Go where? That was just one of many questions. But the biggest question was how to ask Isaiah to come with me.

“You really leaving?”

I nodded, and then I saw it, this desire to go with me.

“Will you come with me?”

“Will you let me?”

We dressed and I sneaked home and Isaiah went back to the Wiggins’ place and hid in the woods waiting for them to leave for the last service. There was no way the Rev. Matthews would not give his final sermon. At that point he would go in and get his things, while I would get mine, plus the money I had stashed away over the last few years. It wasn’t a lot, but I figured it would get us somewhere we could get work.

I found the Reverend at my house informing my mama of my misdeeds. You know the one where I loved his son. I hid and waited for the bastard to leave and was surprised to see mama leave a short time later. I waited for a while, making sure she didn’t come storming back, then I eased into the house. I knew I couldn’t carry a suitcase, that I needed something easy to carry. I went into mama’s room and got this military backpack that had belonged to someone in the family, rushed back to my room, and packed what clothes I could get into it. I pulled out the cigar box from the shelf in my closet and took out the money in it. One hundred twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents. It seemed like a lot, but I knew it wasn’t much for two guys looking to start a life somewhere.

I took a quick shower and put on some clean clothes, grabbed up the backpack, stuffed the money in my front pocket. I grabbed up my wallet and keys, then stopped. Why take the keys, and I laid them on my bed, then headed out. I took my bicycle knowing it was going to be ditched in the woods near the Wiggin’s place.

In the woods, I found Isaiah watching the Wiggins’ house, waiting for them to leave. It meant we would not get going until late, when they headed to the cow pasture for the Rev. Matthews to deliver his last sermon to the fine folks of Jasper, Alabama. We found a place to sit behind a couple of trees and waited. A bit later than usual, the Wiggins, then the Rev. Matthews finally left. Once out of sight, we sneaked to the house. Isaiah knew where a key was hidden so we could get in and out. He gathered his clothes and shoved them into a duffel bag he used in lieu of a suitcase. He told me to take the duffel bag down to the woods that he had one more thing to do.

I waited impatiently worried someone would return until I saw Isaiah come out, lock the rear door, and put the key back. He ran across the yard to where I was waiting.

“What did you do? Did you leave your father a note?”

“Hell no. I took some of the money from this week’s offerings.”

“Isaiah?”

“What? It was for us to live on, so as I see it, some of it is mine.”

“How much did you take?”

“A hundred dollars, leaving him nearly a hundred sixty.”

“They took up that much?”

“It’s very lucrative business. If the old man didn’t blow so much playing cards, we would have been doing good.”

“…”

“Leroy, how are we getting out of here?”

“We need to get as far away as we can and the only way I can think of is to hop the train.”

“The train?”

“Yes. It makes a stop in town, or at least slows down sometimes. We can catch the one that runs around ten tonight.”

So, that was it, we made our way into town and right on time, that train came into town. We jumped into one of those boxcars and hid at one end so no one could see us and rode west. Once we got far enough from town to relax, it was like our fear and anxiousness turned to arousal. As the train rocked and shook, we undressed each other, touching each newly exposed area. We kissed passionately, desperately, until I was on my back and Isaiah was penetrating me. It was a slow fuck, Isaiah pumping deep into my hole while kissing and touching me. I lay there, taking his fuck, until the movement of the train and Isaiah seemed to fall into rhythm.

As Isaiah fucked me, we rode west, to our freedom.

2022

I moved off the porch and across the yard, moving slow and carefully. I was no longer a young man, now eighty-three. Waiting for me at the grill was Isaiah. It was a beautiful late afternoon within our little oasis, a garden that took years to create and became our joy in the following years. The world out there may be going mad, but we found ourselves living comfortably and with a happiness that seemed to be impossible back in 1957 when we were on that train. I think of it all the time, that journey that took us to Mexico where we lived for years. We came back to the states on the day Nixon was resigning from office. Such an odd time, and we felt like outsiders when we crossed the border in New Mexico, making our way to San Diego. We bounced around for years, going to Denver, then Oklahoma City, until we found ourselves in Atlanta working construction, building homes. Eventually, Isaiah started his own construction company and I ventured into real estate. It was up and down for a while, but we eventually settled into a life that could only be called good.

In 1999, we both retired, selling our businesses, and once again, like so long ago, we set out on a journey. Only this time, it wasn’t to escape, it was to explore. Europe, Africa, Southeast Asia, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, South America, and finally, after fourteen months of traveling, we came back to Atlanta.

Since then, we still traveled some, but we also just enjoyed our life in the city. We had no family by blood, but we had a different kind of family, guys who had similar lives to our own and younger guys who had their own experiences. But the most important thing in my life was my savior from a life that could have been so different. Isaiah.