Boy Midflight (17 page)

“I WAS
fourteen, growing up in Puerto Rico. My family is pretty well off. Even though there’s a middle class, it seems like everyone gets divided into being thought of as either rich or poor. As a boy I loved to race home after school, hoping each day might be the one my dad arrived home from one of his extended business trips. At that time, I didn’t even know what he did, only that he was away more than not.

“Our housekeeper, Valentina, would always have warm flatbread with cinnamon and brown sugar waiting for me when I ran through the door. It was with Valentina that I did my homework and shared the highlights of my day. My mother couldn’t be bothered. If she weren’t accompanying my father on his trips, she would go into bed for days on account of ‘exhaustion.’ Glenlivet and aspirin set on the bed trays of food I carried with such deliberate care up the spiral staircase to her room. She’d pat my right cheek twice, saying, ‘You’re such a good boy.’ Then she’d push the eggs or soup to the far end of the tray and reach for the glass of amber liquid. This was often the extent of our conversations. That day was different.

“‘Fernando, here, take this money and go with Ricki into town. Buy more bougainvillea for the hanging pots on the back patios.’ My mother, a girl saved from poverty by my father, now treated her own people like common thieves. She felt it foolish to hand money unattended to a common gardener like Ricki. I stuffed the bills in my pocket and bounded down the stairs, through the kitchen, waving to Valentina, and out the back door to the garden. The grass was deep and green, shimmering from a recent drink from the timed sprinklers. The roses were in full bloom and hung heavily on their stems.

“The tool shed was across the far lawn and seemed disguised as part of the garden itself. Morning Glories climbed clear up to the roof, and white latticework leaned against its walls. In the spring I had sat patiently for twenty minutes as the Morning Glory slowly wrapped a tendril around my outstretched pinky finger. Like a python, slowly squeezing.

“The ‘shed’ served a dual purpose. It housed the garden tools and machines, including the ride-on mower, leaf blower, and power washer as well as Ricki, the sixteen-year-old gardener. The shed was split in two halves by a drywall-covered plywood wall. Ricki lived in the left side and our gardening tools were stored in the right. I don’t remember when he came to work or started living back there, but I do recall him bent over the roses, his bronzed back glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

“I walked up to the door of the shed to knock. It was open so I went inside. Tools were hung neatly on C hooks lining the walls. My soccer ball lay on a workbench on top of some gloves, the fingers black with soil. I turned to the door to my left. I’d never been on that side of the shed before. I knocked on the door lightly. ‘Ricki?’

“No answer.

“A burning curiosity rose in me. I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned, pushing it open slowly, entering with my eyes first. Releasing my hand, I turned it over to see it blackened slightly. Greased fingerprints dulled the light spilling onto the faux brass knob. A twin bed was pushed against the far wall with a blue comforter. The bed was neatly made, and above it was a bookshelf fashioned from a two-foot piece of two-by-six lumber and little wire hangers. Seven well-worn paperbacks stood against the wall, looking lonely even on the two-foot shelf. A pair of boots sat facing me on a crate by the bed. A cloth and some black Kiwi polish were strewn in front on the floor. A thin blue woven rag mat covered the center of the room, and its edges met the clean concrete floor.

“No windows.

“And no dresser. Clothes were folded neatly along the wall adjacent to the bed. Some T-shirts, shorts, two pairs of jeans, a gray dress shirt with a purple tie lying on top. That was all.

“‘Fernando? What are you doing in here?’

“I’m sure I visibly shook. His voice startled me, and I was trespassing in his bedroom. ‘I came to get you. I—we’re supposed to go to town to get bougainvillea.’

“Ricki stood in the doorway in dirty cut-off jeans. His dark eyes perused me, scolding and curious at once. I reached into my pocket to feel for the money my mother had given me, and I felt myself getting hard. I was staring at his stomach and the trail of dark curly hair that rose out of his jeans and spread itself thinly across his chest. He closed the door behind him and crossed to where I was standing by his bed. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he said, ‘You know, you left your soccer ball in the roses yesterday.’

“‘Yeah, I saw it on the work bench,’ I stammered, smelling his deodorant working overtime against the heat.

“‘Just let me change and then we’ll go to town, okay, Fernando?’ He said it so casually as he stood right there in front of me and unzipped the jean shorts. His thick flaccid cock fell out as he started to pull them down. That’s what was missing from the piles of folded clothes. Underwear, he didn’t wear any. I think he smiled at me, but I didn’t notice. I was staring unashamed at Ricki’s cock. It was a man’s. I had already grown hair on my own, but this was a full-grown man’s. As I stared it started to swell, lengthen, and stand up straight. Fully doubling itself in size. ‘Come here,’ he said, and I obeyed. He pulled me to him and put gentle pressure on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. He took himself in one hand and slapped it against my face. With his free hand, he grabbed the back of my head and he forced the head of his penis against my lips. I didn’t resist. Strange feeling in my stomach, rising and falling.

“Ricki would suck me and take me and once even let me take him. Looking back, I don’t know who was more at fault. I kept going back day after day after school to spend time in that little shed. This went on for almost a year or so it seemed, and the whole time I never came. I didn’t know you were supposed to because he never did either. Then one day I had my pants around my ankles and was lying on top of him on his bed. I was humping his butt, not entering, just between the cheeks. Suddenly I felt this heat rising in my stomach, this feeling like I’d never felt before. I yelled out because with every pump I reached a new level of ecstasy. He reached behind and grabbed the back of my thighs. That was it. A force from my bottom shot through me, and sticky liquid stuck between my chest and his back, and some rested on the bottom of my chin.

“‘What the hell? I’m so sorry, I think I pissed on you.’ I got up, totally embarrassed and unsure what was covering my chest. Ricki turned and laughed at me. Rising, he grabbed my face in both hands and sucked my chin, the bristle of his young beard scratching my cheek. He kissed me deep, pushing his tongue into my mouth.

“‘That was cum, Fernando. Man juice. Welcome to manhood. Kneel down.’ I obeyed and he started pulling himself and slapping it against my face. When he was really hard he shoved it in my mouth, down my throat. I gagged. He wrapped his hands around my neck and pulsed his hips. His fingers slowly tightening like the tendrils of the Morning Glory. He hit the roof of my mouth and pierced my throat repeatedly as my nose was buried in the deep curls of his pubic hair. His hands continued to tighten dangerously around my throat, crushing my Adam’s apple. I lifted my eyes to see him tighten his chest and grit his teeth. He moaned and hot, thick liquid spilled into my mouth, pushed unwillingly down my throat by his shaft.

“Salty. Like the little rivulets of salt water spilling down my face. I couldn’t breathe. He was filling my mouth and the Morning Glories squeezed my neck. I tried to inhale through my nose buried against his groin. Salty. He pulled out and traced his cock across my cheek, leaving a smear of cum.

“‘Fuck you.’ I spit, still choking on his seed as I bolted out of the shed.”

CROSSING HIS
left hand over his chest, clenching his shoulder, Fernando turns from me, facing the wall. I reach over and rub his arm. “Ferni, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say anything in response, just nods. I move in close and hug him from behind. No words are needed, just comfort. His back is warm against my chest as I run my fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

He rolls over slowly and faces me, his eyes a little wet. “Ashley, I’m sorry for earlier. I don’t know what I was doing. Sometimes I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling so I fuck it up.”

“It’s okay. We’re lucky to have each other as friends here. Let’s keep it that way, huh?” I say, continuing to run my hand through his hair.

“Ashley?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for listening. I never told anyone that before.”

“No problem, now let’s get out of here. You’re meeting Chelsea tonight, and I told Mikal I’m taking him dancing.”

“Don’t give up on him, okay? He could be the one for you.” Fernando leans in and gives me a hug as I hear the trailer door swing open.

“Ashley? Ashley, are you….” I look up to see Mikal silhouetted in the doorway. “What the hell is going on here?” Mikal scowls, looking more the menacing football player than I’ve ever seen him.

“Nothing was going on, Mikal. We were just relaxing, talking after the shoot.” Ferni tries to intercede as he squeezes past Mikal in the doorway.

“Out! Before I lose it on you, Ferni,” Mikal says through clenched teeth. Fernando grabs his jeans and a shirt. The trailer door bangs shut. “Do you want to tell me what was going on or should I fill in the blanks? Ashley, I know maybe I made a mistake this afternoon but you’re already on to Ferni? You’re quick, aren’t you? From Chris to me to Ferni in a day. Let me guess. You already have that Muscle Mary Jordan lined up for tonight?”

“Mikal! Nothing happened. We were just talking.”

“Then why did you have your arms around him?”

“He was…. It’s not my place to say.”

Mikal guffaws and lifts both hands in the air, speechless.

“Look, Mikal, forget Ferni. Nothing happened. I really, really like you. Hell, I’m falling for you, but I need to know where you stand. Little tricks like this afternoon and saying our kisses are comfortable put some questions in my head.”

“When did I say…?”

“To Ferni, this morning in San Diego.”

Mikal’s eyes go wide. “What? If I did, I was trying to cover, looks like he’d know as well as me anyway.”

“Mikal, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you saw me comforting a friend, and I’m sorry it bothered you.”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I’ve just been going crazy with jealousy all afternoon thinking of you up here with Ferni and hoping I hadn’t wrecked my chances with you. I came to try to fix things and when I see you two on the bed in your underwear, I get a little crazy.”

“It’s what we did all afternoon. It’s what
we
would have done if you hadn’t left me. I’m sorry, that wasn’t right.” I say as I get up from the bed and go to him. “This really isn’t fair, you know?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m at a distinct disadvantage for an argument in my underwear. You should be in yours too.”

“I was kinda thinking it was working to your advantage.”

“Let’s not fight, okay? I can’t argue with these green eyes and these pouting lips,” I say, rising on my toes to kiss him.

“I have an idea. How about whenever we start to argue, which will be rare….”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I agree as he wraps his arms around me.

“We’ll have to argue in our underwear,” Mikal continues. “If you want to start fighting, you have to start stripping.”

“Deal. Now how about that dancing we were going to go do?”

“I thought we said dinner and drinks?”

“Are you arguing with me, mister? You know what that means!” I say, starting to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m not arguing!” Mikal protests.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not…. Okay, I am.”

“Don’t agree with me!” I say, my eyes laughing now with his.

“I’m not.” He squeezes me, and I feel full. Safe again. Mikal, my oak. No cheating, no lies, no gleaming eyes, no salty tears, no shadows ripping through my dreamscape. No dark shed. No betrayal. No lying. No vines constricting the throat. No hands poised in the air to strike.

I denounce my inheritance of pain. No tradition of infection will continue in me. I didn’t ask for poison, and I don’t want it stirred into the Cup of Life. Transfiguration. Cleanse me of myself. Allow us all to forgive, and let the weeds in our hearts be yanked with no root left entrenched. Cleanse me all at once. Leave me a bloodied innocent to begin recovery rather than a hardened thing gaining layers of dust with each passing year.

I want to love this man, and I yearn to be innocent. No tainted brush to reach eerily from the past and color him. Mikal is a new beginning. A chance for freedom in a love brand-new. Bless us, bless this fledgling union. Forge it into an unbreakable tie.

“Mikal?”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe in God?”

“He brought us to each other, didn’t he? But I don’t really like the word God. It seems too big and impersonal.”

“What do you call it?” I ask.

“Seriously? You’re gonna think it’s dumb, but I just call him Bobby.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb at all. I think it’s a perfect name for a Universal Energy-Force.”

“DO YOU
realize how long we’ve known each other?” Mikal asks, leaning over the minicalendar on the bureau. “It’s been a month and a half.”

Stunning. His black suit is tailored perfectly and ornamented in exquisite subtle details. It’s a four-button long coat seemingly stretching Mikal and adding height to his already impressive six foot two frame.

“Is that all? Seems like you’ve been around forever. Like old shoes.”

“Old shoes?” he asks, raising one eyebrow and trying to stifle a smirk.

“Yeah. Comfortable,” I say with a wink.

“Can you help me with my tie? I can never get it the right length,” Mikal asks, crossing to face the mirror.

“Sit here, on the bed,” I instruct, and he hands me a pristine white silk tie. I step onto the bed and kneel behind him, giving myself a rare height advantage. “It’s easy really,” I say, flipping up his collar and running the silk around his neck. “See this diagonal stitch on the back side? This is where you cross to start the knot. Then it will always come out right.”