Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1) (8 page)

I had no idea where it was leading; all I knew for sure was that I never wanted it to stop.

A noise in the hall drew our attention. After a brief look at me, during which I nodded my head frantically to indicate I had heard it as well, Jamie scrambled out of my arms, stood, and dove onto his bed. We both jerked the blankets over ourselves, feigning sleep. No one entered Jamie’s room, but it was several minutes before I heard anything else, and what I heard brought my erection back in full force.

The sound was Jamie’s labored breathing.

“Jamie,” I whispered, “are you….” I trailed off. I just couldn’t force myself to say “masturbating,” or even “jacking off.” It didn’t matter, though. He knew what I meant.

“Uh-huh,” he replied in a low moan. Again, that excitement, that need, pulsed through me, making me throb. Silently, I lifted myself up and pulled my sleep pants down so the waistband was around my upper thighs and I was exposed. I stroked myself lightly as I listened to him. Then I rolled onto my side and watched his profile in the moonlight that came in from the nearby window. I could see movement under his blanket, but I also saw his other hand rubbing his chest.
Does that make it better?

Tentatively, I brought my right hand up to my chest while my left was still wrapped tightly around my hard-on. My hips jerked as I rolled one nipple between my thumb and forefinger. It was almost as if there were a single electric current from my nipple straight down through my stomach. The small slapping sounds coming from the other bed were making me crazy while I watched him. Jamie’s head was pressed back into his pillow, and from what I could see in the dim light, his eyes were closed. Having progressed from labored breathing to harsh, ragged pants, it was obvious he was close to reaching his peak. The blanket rose and fell rapidly, and his blond hair was matted on his forehead, either from exertion or the extraordinarily warm spring night. My heart nearly stopped when, without slowing his piston-like hand, he used the other to push down his blankets. I wasn’t sure if he did it because he knew I was watching or to keep them from being soiled.

With a deep, poorly contained groan, his back arched and his hand slowed to uncontrolled movements. Sharp, hoarse gasps accompanied the jerky rhythm of his strokes, and his hand, which had been a blur the moment before, slowed to a languid rhythm.

It was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. In the silence that followed, I felt so much closer to him for sharing that deeply intimate act with me. The wild impulse to crawl into bed and curl around him was almost overpowering, but I held back. We could never take that kind of chance.

Then he turned to look at me, and our eyes met. The playfulness and hunger in his expression told me it was my turn to share. I felt immediately self-conscious about my lewd display. For some reason, watching Jamie was beautiful, but I felt a little guilty about letting him watch me. It suddenly felt like we were doing something wrong. However, I knew he would love watching me as I had him. So I put my fear, shame, and pajama pants aside, and I masturbated for Jamie. His look of hunger and something else I couldn’t quite understand were worth the slight embarrassment of jacking off in front of someone else.

Afterward, we both cleaned up with our discarded T-shirts, and after a fairly awkward goodnight, we fell asleep.

W
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DIDN
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talk the next morning about our shared experience, but I think both of us realized we had crossed a certain line in our relationship. No longer just friends, we were officially something more, something yet to be defined.

It wasn’t until Jamie’s mother came to wake us that I remembered about church. As she closed the door, reminding us that we only had fifteen more minutes before we had to get up, I rolled over to face the opposite wall, faintly sick. Jamie guessed what was wrong. He slid out of bed and quickly climbed onto the mattress beside me. I felt his hand slide over my bare stomach, and I shivered.

“Jamie, you can’t be here; what if your mother comes back?” I didn’t have the strength to roll and face him, so I pulled my knees up to my chest and continued to stare at the wall. We were going to have to sit there, side by side, listening to how much God hated us and how even though Jamie was such a good person, he was going to hell right along with me. I didn’t know if I could stand sitting through that again.

“Brian,” he said while his hand came up to stroke my hair. “He just did a sermon on that; he’s not going to do another one again so soon. Besides, we know it isn’t true. Don’t listen to what he says. We know in our hearts we’re supposed to be together.” At that, I rolled over to face him, and his lips quickly descended to mine before he got off my makeshift bed. I lay there for a few more minutes, thinking about what he’d said as he went to shower. Jamie was right, of course. Nothing the preacher had said, or was going to say, would have made any difference to us.

Rather than worry about what would or wouldn’t happen that morning, I decided to imagine being in the shower with Jamie.

As it turned out, the pastor’s sermon wasn’t about homosexuality. Instead he preached about adultery. Apparently, someone’s secretary had been caught in bed with someone else’s husband. The scandal was all over the church. Men talked about it in low voices behind their copies of the hymnal while women gossiped more openly in the doorway. It was a feeding frenzy, and the sharks were in prime form. With a mounting sense of unease, I wondered what kind of frenzy they would go into over Jamie and me.
Which is the worse sin: being a whore, an adulterer, or a fag?

After the service, while we were getting ready to leave, two of Jamie’s friends from school, Karen Simmons and Emma Mosely, came by to say hi. Emma, the smaller, shy, soft-spoken girl with glasses and frizzy brown hair, kept sneaking furtive glances at Jamie. She had an annoying habit of dissolving into a fit of giggles each time his gaze fell upon her. Karen, on the other hand, was a bigger girl with a loud, grating voice. Her black hair fell in waves around her boyish face, and she moved awkwardly in the heeled shoes she apparently wore only on Sunday. Today, her acne was acting up again, and it was hard to draw my eyes away from the torrent of purplish spots along her cheeks and chin.

Mrs. Mayfield beamed as she watched the exchange between Jamie and Emma, and I got the feeling she had sent the girls over to us. It was obvious Emma was attracted to Jamie. I mean hell, who wouldn’t be? He was smart, sweet, and beautiful. Mrs. Mayfield was obviously pleased that such a wholesome, churchgoing girl was interested in her boy. Then they could get married, live in town, and have a dozen wholesome, churchgoing babies.

“Hi, Brian,” Karen said, sidling up next to me, her voice a little loud to be polite for post-church chatter. I wasn’t sure if she was interested in me as much as she was interested in getting Emma and Jamie together. They had never displayed this kind of attention in the cafeteria at lunch. Maybe they had just worked up the courage, or maybe there were fewer teenage witnesses at church. More likely, however, was the idea that Jamie’s mother had given them a little pep talk. In any event, they were working their advantage.

“Hi, Karen,” I mumbled, wondering how I could put off a vibe that said “not interested” without actually giving myself away.

While making small talk with this overly enthusiastic girl about her quest to become first chair in band, I happened to look over and notice that Jamie was flirting with Emma. He was smiling that secretive campy smile I thought he saved for me, and then he pushed her frizzy hair back behind her ear. Something in me broke as I watched the exchange. I excused myself quickly, thanking Mrs. Mayfield for letting me stay as I walked purposefully toward the door. Jamie tried calling me back, but I never slowed.

He called my house three times that day, and each time I asked Carolyn to tell him I was unavailable. Technically, that was true, because I had a lot to think about.
What if Jamie isn’t gay? What if it’s just some different form of our deeper friendship, and I’m keeping him from a much less complicated life?
He could go on to marry a girl, have kids, and be normal. With me, the only thing he could look forward to was a life of hardship and ridicule. On the other hand, I thought after last night things had changed between us. I thought we were becoming closer, that we were becoming more than just friends. For him to flirt with someone else right in front of me was like a slap in the face, and I didn’t appreciate it. I hated feeling so damn insecure all the time, so unsure about Jamie. It would be funny if it weren’t so dangerous.

When he called the final time, he left a message, and Carolyn came up to my room to deliver it.

“Brian, darlin’, Jamie called again. I don’t know what kind of disagreement you boys had, but he wants you to meet him tomorrow before school so y’all can talk.” She came over and sat on the bed next to me before continuing. “You and I know I’m not your real mama, but I love you just the same.” I looked up at her, startled. It was the first time she had ever said those words to me. “I know I’m not supposed to get attached to the children who stay with us. Richard says that only leads to a broken heart for me, but with you, I can’t help it.”

Deep down, I really wanted to tell her about Jamie and me, to finally be able to let it out. I just couldn’t stand to see the disappointment in her face, especially right after her admission.

“You’re the only person I can remember ever wanting to call Mama, Carolyn. I don’t remember my own mother at all, and you’ve treated me better, with more care and respect, than I’ve ever had,” I told her sincerely, because I meant every single word. “I wish I could talk about what’s been wrong lately, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I can understand that. We all have our demons, Brian. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” I nodded, and she gave me a quick hug before leaving the room and heading back downstairs.

Shuffling through my room aimlessly, I got my school bag ready for the next day, changed into my pajamas, and lay down on my bed. The cracks in the ceiling were almost mocking me as I tried in vain to sleep.

T
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night felt like it had lasted an entire week, but eventually Monday morning dawned with muggy slowness. As I watched, the sun rose outside my bedroom window, creeping higher and higher, obliterating the darkness where I could hide my insecurities. Finally, I rolled out of bed to escape its bright and cheery implications of the new day. I knew Jamie wanted me to meet him at the tree house, so I planned on getting there about an hour before we had to leave for school.

When I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs. Reaching the first floor, I saw Carolyn sitting at the table, waiting to make me breakfast. I was surprised; I thought for sure she would still be asleep.

“You’re up early,” I commented as I shuffled into the kitchen and tossed my bag onto one of the empty chairs.

“Jamie wanted to talk to you before school. I figured you’d be up early.” Too tired and full of trepidation to make small talk, I stared morosely at the smooth, polished tabletop. In no time at all, it seemed, a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs appeared in the spot at which I had been staring. As she passed to go back upstairs to wake Richard, she ruffled my long, barely controlled hair.

“Whatever it is that’s going on with you and Jamie, just remember that some misunderstandings look entirely different in the light of a new day.”

I nodded, knowing she was right. Looking back at the situation yesterday with Jamie and Emma, I had probably overreacted and let my jealousy get the better of me. It was just so unsettling not to be sure of his feelings for me, or his intentions. While he had said he wanted us to be together, if the stress got to be too much, he could easily change his mind about me. He could decide the foster kid charity case just wasn’t worth the hassle.

That thought was like a stabbing pain in my chest.

After scraping and rinsing my breakfast dishes quickly, I headed out the back door and took a left into the alley at the end of the sidewalk. My feet instinctively knew to take me to Jamie’s house; it was the place I went more often than any other.

Occasionally, I saw men heading for their cars, going off to work, and I saw Karen Simmons’s kid brother delivering the morning paper on his old dirt bike. Mostly though, it was very quiet on the short walk to the Mayfields’ house. The silence was broken only by the sound of early morning sprinklers in their perfectly synchronized watering of well-cared-for lawns.

By the time I reached the end of our alley and turned onto Elm Street for the four-block walk to Jamie’s house, I decided the very first thing I would do when he finally got into the tree house was apologize.

My spirits had lifted, the weight off my shoulders by the time I reached his back gate. I was being stupid, and I was going tell him that. Lifting the latch up quietly, I swung the chain-link gate open. Careful to close it behind me, I walked over to the tree house ladder. Luckily, there were no signs of life from the house. No one needed to know why I was there to see Jamie so early or why I went to the tree house instead of their front door.

I climbed the old rungs of the ladder that were bolted into the tree and then reached above me to swing the trapdoor open. Hoisting myself through, I almost fell back to the ground when I was startled by the lone figure that sat against the roughly hewn wall.

Jamie was already in the tree house waiting for me.

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