The Families in Rossford

“RECITE ME A POEM.”

“Right here in bed?”

“Yes?”

“Like Szheherazade?”

Sean leaned over him, pressing the palm of his hand against Jonah’s, wrapping a thigh about him.

“I don’t think Scheherazade told stories in the nude.”

“Maybe,” Jonah said.

In the darkness, Sean silenced him with a light kiss.

“I will,” Jonah said, his hands rubbing Sean’s arms, touching his hair, “remember a poem.

“For you.”

 

He quoted:

 

Not in bibles but in bed

and not in preaching

but reaching toward each other,

and this is wisdom

to know with the stiffness

and the thrill within

that like all loves

all spells

all blazing blazes

this:

the love of God is best

communicated over tongues,

mouth to blood red mouth

 

Sean kissed him with his blood red mouth and, rolling over, pulled Jonah onto him. Silently, in the darkness of their room, they made love.

---

ELEVEN

FAMILY/DINNER

In the semi darkness of her apartment he sat like he had been sitting several times now, in the wooden chair, his jeans around his ankles, moaning while she pulled on him. Her hand went to his stomach, and as Edward Palmer opened his mouth to whisper, “It’s happening,” Maggie Biggs moved her mouth and began to pull at him until, with a hard gasp and a leaning forward in one, two, three spurts, arcs of semen shot onto her floor.

She sucked him off a little more while he trembled under the control of her mouth, and then she moved away from him.

“I,” Edward began, starting to stand up and, overcome, sitting down again, “can clean that up.”

“Relax,” Maggie said, completely unfazed. “I got this.”

She disappeared, and a moment later came back with a wet cloth she used to wipe up the floor.

Edward was pulling up his pants and buckling his belt.

“I really appreciate it,” he said. “I mean… I like it.”

“I like it too,” Maggie said.

Edward always felt so stupid and unsophisticated next to her. She’d probably done everything and this was the most he’d ever done. He liked it. He felt rocketed out of himself. He felt strangely excited watching his penis in Maggie’s hand, under its control, the semen looping out of it as he swooned. He wished, but didn’t dare ask, that he could come in her mouth.

“Can I do something for you?” he said, timidly.

Maggie stopped and smiled.

“Not that,” she said. “I’m not really into that. But… there’s probably something you can do.”

Jonah lay on his back when he awoke, as if he could not believe he was awake, or accept the audacity of his bladder. He did not want to be up. He did not want to roll out of this bed. Beside him, mouth a little open, Sean snored.

“It’s not really cold, you know…” he heard the voice in his head. It was not Sean’s though. Even though their bed was full, it seemed, at moments like these, and only moments like these, when Sean was all his, when they were so very close, that someone was missing.

“Keith,” Jonah said.

He pushed himself out bed, and went to the bathroom, replaying one of his first conversations with Keith Redmond, after his last time with Sean when, and Jonah knew this now, Sean was actually Keith’s friend, and temporary roommate.

“…It’s not really cold, you know,” Keith said while the rain pitter pattered. “It’s that nice spring rain.”

Jonah nodded. “We could get our coffee and bring it out here.”

“I think I’d like that.”

Jonah touched Keith’s lapel.

“I can’t believe you wore a jacket?”

“Too much?”

“Well, a surprise at least. We’re not really a tie and jacket house. It looks nice though. I mean, you look nice.”

“Thank you.”

When this created an awkward moment, then Jonah, with a hand gesture, prompted, “Back into the house for coffee?”

“Yes,” Keith said, and followed him.

“I better get a jacket too. Or a sweater.”

“You can wear mine.”

“That’s very gallant, Mr. Redmond, but since we’re in my house I bet I can find one.”

Keith chuckled

“But it was gallant,” Jonah said, “you get points for that.”

“Points? Are we on a date?”

“Aren’t we?” Jonah said.

“I hadn’t thought of it.”

Jonah turned on the coffee pot, and soon the machine was brewing.

“You make me laugh, you know that?”

“You know what?” Jonah discovered. “I know it, and I like it. I think I come up with things just to make you laugh.

“I don’t have a hard time loving at all, and I don’t have a hard time with sex either. I’m not very shy about it. I love my lovers. But the one who is a partner, the one who will be there, and can be there, and who—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Keith told him. “He’s a hard one to find.

“I think you’re cute, and then you say something that’s… not what you look like, though that’s wonderful. You say something, and then I know you’re a lot more than cute. Cute’s… a baby or something. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say.”

“What’s your sex life like?”

“Huh?”

The coffee pot rumbled.

“What’s your sex life like? When’s the last time you had sex? Are you sleeping with someone? Do you have… I don’t know…”

“Fuck buddies?”

“Don’t ever say that again. That’s an awful term. And there never was such a thing. A buddy you can fuck? Someone you can watch football with, grab a beer and then blow? The fantasy of the reluctant homosexual who wants to believe that belching makes him straight. No,” Jonah said as Keith caught his breath and laughed. “Do you have lovers? Do you have, and this is a better word, paramours?”

“I don’t know if I want to answer that.”

“If you answered, then I would answer.”

“I don’t know that I want you to answer that either.”

“Do you want to pretend I’m a virgin?”

“No, but I don’t want to know about who you’ve slept with. And… I get uncomfortable talking about who I’ve been with. Can I get a cigarette?”

“You smoke?”

“Not really, but I kinda feel like it tonight.”

Jonah passed Keith a Marlboro and Keith said, “Now I have close friends. Well, really one close friend, who I used to fool around with. And there are people I like, guys I like and talk to, and we’ve been together a few times or whatever. And I have one serious ex who I do not talk to. Does that sort of answer your question?”

“Yes,” Jonah said. “Yes, I think it does.”

Jonah looked away from Keith.

“What?”

“Somehow I’m trying to get to us,” Jonah said. “All this talk is about us. I love my friends, and I love the friends I’ve shared a bed with, but when I saw you, I’m pretty sure I wanted to be in love.”

Keith smiled at him and bumped his shoulder into Jonah.

“Can I tell you something?”

Jonah nodded.

“And then this is the last time I’ll talk about stuff like this, but you asked. So here you go.

“Once, a few years back, there was this guy. Very hot. and I used to fuck him, like once a week, for a year. He would just come over and… it was hot, Jonah. It really was. But we didn’t talk. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t need to either. We had very short conversations, but we weren’t there for that. We connected sexually. That was enough. I don’t feel cheap about it, or regret it… or any of that crap. It was great. It was even necessary. But with you, I get as excited about sitting here talking to you and drinking coffee as I did fucking that guy’s brains out. I get more excited in fact. In fact, I would trade it.

“Is that what you were trying to say earlier?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“And at this time I really don’t want to mix that excitement up with us doing anything more than talking,” Keith added.

“That’s… what I wanted to say too. Only, I didn’t know if it would make me sound like a hypocritical prude.”

“Well, then see, I’ve said it for you.” Keith said, and placed his hand, unconsciously, on Jonah’s knee.

Jonah was conscious of it, however, and he did not think of moving Keith’s hand.

Instead he said, “I walk at 5:25. Every morning. Will you be there tomorrow?”

Keith said, “I will.”

THIS HAPPENED RARELY. It happened with Sheridan sometimes, and it happened with that priest years ago. It was more likely with a client than a lover, though Logan had to be honest, Sheridan was the only actual lover he’d known. It was that right vibe, when you liked him and he liked you and it didn’t matter what happened and suddenly, you weren’t simply being paid to please him for freeing him from his inhibitions, all of your checked inhibitions were released as well.

Sweat dripped down Logan’s body, beaded on his brow, touched his eyelids, and ran down his face. A smile of ecstasy was on his face as the bed shuttled underneath Logan. Larry urged him on with his cries, with hands that were soft and dry, clutching to his arms, to his hands, holding his hips while Logan fucked him. Larry’s cries were louder, high sounds of a man pressed to the edge who demanded to be pressed further. The escort was always beautiful. The escort was always what someone wanted him to be. The work could be pleasant, but it was not pleasure, because he was never himself. Larry urged him to be himself.

“I’m—” Logan heard his voice rise, “coming.”

“Come,” Larry whispered. For such a gentle man, his voice was fierce. Sweat was all up and down his hairy body. “Come.”

Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head. He felt himself gasping. He felt like something was being pulled out of him. Sex was a miracle. That’s all it was. Why couldn’t people understand? His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed like something was going to come out of it. He knew what Larry liked. He came out of him, took off the condom. Grabbing himself he bent over, face frowning, balls aching, rope, after rope of semen, thick like syrup, hot as butter, shot over Larry, covering him in heat, taking strength out of Logan until, teetering, he lay across Larry.

The two of them, shaken from the place they had been, lay trembling and wet until finally, mouth dry, Logan turned on his back, drawing his knees up.

“I used to watch your movies,” Larry said. “You and Casey. I wasn’t stupid enough to be in love with an image, but there was something about you. Your eyes. And now you’re here. In my bed,” Larry shook his head.

“Unbelievable.”

Then he continued. “I know it’s for a price. I do get that. And it should be. It’s work. But… it’s one thing to have an escort once for a price, and another thing to have something good. Constantly. You know? You can pay for sex. You can’t pay for good sex with someone you like. You know? Or am I rambling? Am I saying silly things that make no sense?”

Logan turned to him, looking winded and exhausted. He touched his face with the back of his hand.

“I have been taking my clothes off for men since I was fifteen years old. Eventually, if you keep it up you become different from most people. You understand the sex isn’t about looks, or about age. Or even about if you paid for it or not.”

On his back, looking at the ceiling, Logan said, “You are the best lover I’ve ever had.”

“So there’s a dinner tonight,” Meredith said, “and since it’s going to be at Brendan’s house, of course I want you guys to be there.”

“Yuppers,” Sheridan said.

“Where is Mr. Miller, anyway?” Meredith asked, heading to the refrigerator.

“Uh,” Sheridan began, gazing up, “if I’m any judge of feet, he’s right outside. Coming back home. He goes to Mass a lot. And today he’s off, so I’m sure that’s where he’s been.”

“I never see him at Saint Barbara’s. I thought he gave up the Church.”

Sheridan shook his hea.

“He just gave up Saint Barbara’s. He was really close to Father Malloy, and since he left it just isn’t the same. He goes to Saint Agatha’s when he’s here. Or Our Lady of Grace when he’s in Miller.”

“Um,” Meredith sat down on the side of the couch. “I never knew Brendan was religious like that. I used to be. Before I became a fuck up.”

As the door opened, Sheridan gave her a twisted smile and said, “I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to work, Mere.”

“Meredith down there?” Brendan called, coming into the apartment.

“Yes, I am,” Meredith told him, coming toward the blond man in his black winter coat, “and first I have to tell you—”

“We’re coming to her dinner party tonight,” Sheridan said.

“No, that’s second, actually,” Meredith said.

“First what I have to tell you,” she said, kissing Brendan, “is that you are a brilliant writer. I am so humbled to know you.”

“Humbled? Really.”

“Yes, Brendan,” Meredith said, earnestly. “I am.”

“Well, as long as you don’t bow down. I never did well with that kind of thing.”

“I promise. I’ll just give you a bigger helping of everything tonight.”

“Not this one,” Sheridan wrapped an arm around Brendan. “He’s all about vegetables, black coffee and…” Sheridan touched Brendan’s belly, “just being skinny.”

“You just like to make fun of me.”

“I just don’t want to be fatter than you.”

“That,” Brendan insisted, wrapping his hand around one of Sheridan’s wrists, “is in no danger of happening.”

“Well, while you manhandle each other and stuff, I have to go over to Dena’s,” Meredith told them, heading up the stairs. “Elijah’s over there, anyway, and I have to bring him back.”

Sheridan made to come forward, but Meredith shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I can let myself out.”

When Meredith had let herself out, Sheridan said, “There was something I almost brought up to Meredith, but thought I needed to discuss with you first.”

Brendan sat on the edge of the sofa, and placed his finger alongside Sheridan’s face.

“And that is, my love?”

“It was about the house. You and Kenny’s house and us living in this basement apartment.”

“Yes, we haven’t worked out that arrangement yet. You think all three of us should live in the house?”

“No,” Sheridan said.

Brendan looked at him.

“I remember a few years back, when you and Ken were living in Chicago and you came back for him. And I remember living there with Logan. I was glad to get back here. But, I’ve been thinking… I was glad because I didn’t want Logan’s life. And you were sad because Kenny wasn’t cut out for Chicago. But I remember going to see you there. You really loved it.”

“Sometimes,” Brendan put his hand out tentatively.

“I think if someone who wanted to be there was with you, then you would have loved it all the time.”

“You think we should move to Chicago,” Brendan said.

Sheridan nodded.

“Meredith still has that place she can’t get rid of. You’ve got a house here she likes. I love being in Chicago. You loved living there, and we love each other. Yeah,” Sheridan said, “I think we should move.”

When Meredith showed up at her sister’s house, Layla was also there, and they were in a heated discussion. Or rather Dena was heated, and Layla was sitting at the table with a day planner before her, listening.

“What’s going on, ladies?” Meredith greeted them.

“Your sister’s going berserk,” Layla commented without emotion.

“You’d be going berserk too if that bitch was torturing you,” Dena said.

“What is she talking about?” Meredith sat down.

“Some girl keyed up Dena’s car,” Layla said. “And apparently put sugar in her gas tank.”

“You saw the girl?” Meredith said.

“No,” Dena said, slamming a juice bottle down a little too forcefully in front of her sister. “I didn’t have to. She… She’s been sitting outside the house, staring at it with her friends. She said she just liked the house. Well, fine. But then the other day, no the other night, she came and knocked on the door and asked for Milo.”

“What did Milo say?”

“Nothing,” Dena told her. “I didn’t tell him about her. I told her to leave.”

“That might have been a mistake,” Meredith said.

“And then this: the other day. Car keyed up and sugar in the gas tank.”

“How do you know it was her?” Meredith said, and by the look on Dena’s face, she knew what Layla told her:

“Wrong thing to say.”

“It had to be her.”

“Did she do it last night?”

“No,” Dena said. “I went with Cara to the store—”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Yes. And when I came out there was the car. All fucked up!”

“How old is this woman?”

“Wait for it?” Layla said.

Dena looked at Layla now. But Layla shrugged.

“She’s in high school,” Dena said.

“She skipped high school to follow you around and fuck up your car?” Meredith said.

“Yes.”

“Look, Deen,” Meredith told her, opening her juice bottle. “I think you’re just upset because you haven’t talked to Milo about why a teenage girl would be looking for him, and because you threw her out.”

Dena opened her mouth, but Meredith put up her hand.

“I know, you’re going to be all upset, and that’s too bad. But I don’t think she did it. Can I use your restroom?”

“Use it,” Dena said, irritably.

Meredith put her coat over her chair and went away. When her shoes were out of hearing, and the bathroom door had closed, Dena said to her best friend:

“Are you going to tell me that too?”

“Nope,” Layla said placidly.

“I’m going to tell you to put a camera outside the house before you leave, and figure out what this bitch is about. I mean, you don’t even know her name.”