Sundry Days (9 page)

Chapter 15

David

Fine Boys

There’s a place for us. It’s in Kitchener. Harry has made arrangements for us to go, if we want to go. He and Todd think we should. Rebekah is willing. But I don’t know. It’s not exactly what I had in mind.

“It will only be for a while, David,” says Rebekah, trying to convince me. And really, what choice do we have? We’ve already stayed at Harry and Todd’s for almost two weeks. We have to go somewhere. And Kitchener is at least a little closer to Thunder Bay.

It’s the homosexual dormitory at the technical college in Kitchener. Harry and Todd know someone who has pull there. He’d be willing to enroll us, and provide fake ids and other records for us. There’s no cost to attend there, not even for housing. And Rebekah and I could have a room to ourselves.

I’m a little puzzled. Why would someone who doesn’t even know us be willing to go to so much bother on our behalf? Harry says the man in Kitchener feels sorry for hetero monogamists. He doesn’t think the government should have the right to make rules about who can marry whom and when—even though he himself is free to do what he wants. It’s a matter of principle, says Harry, and just being a compassionate human being.

The Coalition doesn’t care much what homosexuals do with each other. They can get married as young as 18 or just live together. But once they leave their families, they have to support themselves, unless they’re getting job training. That’s what we’d be doing—getting trained to be productive citizens.

If we go, Rebekah and I will be a couple. Which we are. I’ll just have to remember to call her Beks instead of Rebekah. We’d use the last name Fine, instead of Gardener. Fine was Papa Tom’s family name before he married Mama. We’d by the Fine boys. Just another pair of married homosexuals.

Rebekah has been working on looking and acting more masculine. Which bothers me a bit, if I’m honest, even though I know it’s necessary. She’s determined not to mess up, not to get caught. It’s lucky no one expects her to grow a beard, because I think she would if she could. She’s keeping her hair extra short. Harry helped her cut it again. She tries to sound throaty when she talks. And she follows me around, imitating the way I walk.

It can be funny. We laugh about it. But I don’t like it.

The only thing that makes it bearable, for me, anyway, is that she’s Rebekah in bed—my beautiful, naked, soft, completely feminine Rebekah.

I’ve come to know every part of her—studied her with my fingers and my mouth. I’ve become intimate with places on her body that I didn’t even know existed.

She amazes me. When she comes, she makes these little moans that send me soaring even higher.  I’m getting better at waiting for her to come first. It’s better that way.

And the things she does to me. I never could have imagined. For some reason, she’s fascinated with my penis and my balls.  She’ll get up close and nuzzle me, lick me. She makes up silly names.

“Your man parts are a marvel to me,” she says.

And sometimes, she takes me in her mouth.

We’re also figuring out all the ways we fit together.

I suppose if we have our own room in Kitchener, she can still be my Rebekah in private. But I wish we could just get on the sun-cycle now and make our way, with no more long stopovers, to the settlements where families can consist of one man and one woman.

It would be too dangerous, everyone tells me. We’d be easy prey. You can’t take a sun-cycle all the way to Thunder Bay, not without help and guidance. It’s too far a journey.  Our money would run out quickly. And we’re too young to be taken seriously as legitimate travelers.  If we tried to get passage on the ships that sail The Great Lakes, we’d be stopped by the authorities at checkpoints. Shipping is regulated by the Coalition.

“A month or two in Kitchener isn’t going to hurt you,” says Harry. “It’ll help you in the long run. You can get certified during your time there in hydro-mechanics or some other kind of technical job that’s in demand. You’re good with your hands, David, and you have a natural talent for figuring out how to fix things, how to make things work. Todd and I are very impressed with all the tinkering and repair work you’ve done for us at the house and at the Eatery.  Everyone’s got to do something in life to earn a living. Wherever you end up, it will be good to have a marketable skill and a certificate from the technical college that proves it.”

The college also has a short program in practical nursing.  It would be a breeze for Rebekah. She’s already had a lot of training in that.

So I guess it makes sense to go to Kitchener.

The morning we leave, Harry and Todd both hug us as if we were their own.  The two of them tear up and keep remembering things to tell us.

Rebekah starts to cry, too.  It’s funny, but we didn’t get at all emotional when we left our own parents, our own family. Probably forever. Without even saying goodbye.

I feel bad about that. I hope they’ll forgive us someday, and won’t worry about us too much.  I miss them sometimes—Mama, and Simon, and my fathers. Baby Ethan, too. I’ll always remember them. But Rebekah and I have got to live our own lives, and we couldn’t do that if we stayed put.

“We’ll never forget you,” Rebekah says to Harry and Todd, sniffling and wiping away tears. I nod in agreement.

They’ve been very good to us.

“Be happy, children, and be careful,” says Harry. “May the Designer watch over you.”

Chapter 16

Rebekah

Time to Go

There’s a big turnout of boys from the homosexual dorm at the rally. We stay together, and stand apart in the town square, having come mostly out of curiosity. Also there out of curiosity, I assume, are some women in long robes, covered from head to foot, and a smattering of very old people—men and women shriveled and bent with age, some walking with canes. Mostly the crowd consists of a huge contingent of single men holding signs.

I’ve never paid much attention to politics.

I always assumed it didn’t make much difference who was in charge of making rules. Things would just be the way they’d be.  But I don’t like what I’m hearing today.

“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” says the politician on the raised platform. “If I’m elected to Parliament, I will be a voice for the voiceless.”

The single men cheer and hoist their signs higher.

“But more than that, I will be a voice of reason. Because we can’t go on the way we’re going. It’s not about me. I’m happily married, thank The Designer.  It’s about the future.”

He gestures to the woman standing behind him, his wife, who holds a small child in her arms.

She walks to the center of the stage and smiling broadly, unwraps the child and holds her aloft. She’s naked so that everyone can she she’s a girl, a beautiful little girl, maybe one or two years old.

“After taking 10 husbands—yes, 10, I’m the tenth—and bearing 12 sons, Sonia has finally brought forth a girl. It’s proof, my friends, that if we try hard enough, our efforts will be rewarded.  We can’t stand complacently by and allow ourselves to become extinct. That’s what will happen to us if we keep doing what we’ve been doing. We have to take action. If I’m elected, I promise to propose legislation that will increase our society’s chances of survival.”

He’s crazy, I think.

“He’s crazy,” I say to David, who nods in agreement. But this is a democracy, I suppose, and married men have the right to run for office, no matter how absurd their positions.

It’s only mildly comforting that this man has zero chance of being elected.  How many women would vote for him?   None, I’m guessing, except maybe his wife. She looks pretty stupid—and happy holding the girl child. As for married men, why would they want their wives to be required to take more husbands? And single men don’t get to vote, thank The Designer. Married homosexuals do, of course. But homosexuals, as a group, are known to oppose restrictive, controlling ordinances.  We believe—I can’t believe I just thought we, but I’m one of them, at least for now—that the government has no business telling people what they can or can’t do with their bodies.

So the good news is, this crazy politician won’t be elected.  I hope. The bad news is, there he is proposing that a woman be required to take an additional husband each time she gives birth to another son, and every single man in the crowd is cheering.

There is obviously no science backing this proposal, but the theory is the more men who are given the opportunity to sire a girl, the better the chances that a girl will be born.

Single men love this idea.  Their signs proclaim: “Give Men a Chance” and “We Can Do It.”

I wonder what David’s grandmother would think of such a proposal.  She was all for women being required to wear robes several years ago.  I can sort of see the logic in that. No sense in tempting single men by flaunting what they can’t have.  But this is totally illogical.  And scary.

Anna Gardener is a calculating politician. That’s what David says. Her only concern is remaining in power.

What’s truly frightening is the fact that the number of single men drummed out of the marriage pool grows each year.  It’s impossible for there to be enough pleasure shops to satisfy all of them. So there must be an untold number of unhappy single men. And men are big, powerful creatures. What if they realize that there’s strength in their numbers?

I remember what David’s mother told me about making better men. We’re clearly a long way from making that a reality.

“The sooner we get beyond the Coalition’s borders, the better,” I tell David when we’re back in our room.

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along. It’s time to go, Rebekah.”

We’ve been here more than a year. Much longer than we ever intended.  But David’s learned a lot. When he graduates in a few weeks, he’ll be certified as a general engineering technician—a valuable asset to any community.  There are lots of things he’s qualified to do. Meanwhile, I’ve greatly increased my nursing skills and knowledge. My internship at the local medical center—where I’ve done everything from set bones and stitch wounds to help deliver babies—is almost complete.

We’ve saved most of the money I withdrew from the account Papa Danny and Papa John set up for me back in Seneca Falls. It was a substantial amount. We haven’t had to spend much here. And what we have left should be enough to buy passage. David has made some inquiries.  Plus we’re old enough now, and skilled enough, and have proper credentials.

We’d just be another upstanding married homosexual couple aiming to settle where we’re most needed within the Coalition. The Fines.

I make sure our door is locked, then strip off all my clothes and lay across the bed.

“Look at you,” says David smiling ear to ear. “One of the Fine boys is very fine indeed.”

He comes over to the bed and starts massaging my poor breasts, which always have to be bound up tight.

He kisses the nipples and then sucks on them.  It feels good, very good, until he sucks too hard and I have to move his head away and direct him to my lips.

David has grown taller this past year. His shoulders are broader, his arms stronger, and the stubble on his face denser, like a scratching post, I tease.

He’s a marvelous specimen.  Easily the most handsome man in the dorm.  I see other men here look at him admiringly, like they wouldn’t mind having him as their own if he were free. But it’s clear he’s taken, and everyone here respects the bonds of matrimony.

As for me, I’m not at all a temptation to anyone.  Who wants a short, scrawny boy with badly barbered red hair, who barely says a word? In a world of well-made young men, I’m something of a misfit. Not that it bothers me.

The only one at the college who knows what I am is the administrator who provided our false documents and helped us enroll. He was very kind. But we haven’t had much contact with him. There’d be no reason to. We’re just ordinary students.

If there are others here who suspect that I’m not what I pretend to be, they’re keeping it to themselves. There are no girls in my nursing program, and my classmates who aren’t homosexual treat me the way they’d probably treat any unobtrusive male who’s no competition at all. They ignore me.

I have made one friend, though. When my supply of sponges ran out, I found a little store selling sundries next to the pleasure shop that abuts the campus. The owner of the store is a former proprietress of the pleasure shop who is now too old to do that kind of work—which is really saying something. David says men and boys like to joke that the average age of pleasure shop ladies is death minus one.

I think that’s kind of mean, since they are also universally regarded as the most dedicated and essential workers in the Coalition.

“I did it for as long as I could,” says Keira, who, despite her wrinkles, gray hair and arthritis, is still a lovely woman in my opinion. “But the boys just wore me out.”

Keira says she knew I was a girl the minute I walked into her store. I don’t know how, but she claims she could just tell.  She didn’t raise an eyebrow when I asked for sea sponges. But after she put them in a bag for me and took my money, she told me in a confidential tone that vinegar is a good soaking substitute for spermicidal herbs.

I hadn’t been using the herbal concoction for a long time, just taking my chances, really. Which was foolish. But how was I going to simmer herbs in our dorm room without getting caught? And how did she know?

I must have looked completely shocked, because Keira just chuckled and patted my hand reassuringly.

“You may be good at fooling most people, darling, but you and I both know you’re not going to use those sponges to wash your sun-cycle. Don’t worry. I’ll never tell.”

After that, I started visiting her whenever I could, just to talk.  David is my heart. I tell him everything, and I don’t need anyone else.  Not really. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to be in the company of another woman, just to let my hair down—if I had any hair to let down.

“I’ve been around a very long time, Rebekah. I’ve seen a lot of things. You’re not the first girl to disguise herself as a boy because she loves one,” says Keira.

She tells me about a girl she knew a long time ago, who got pregnant while disguised as a boy, and somehow managed to keep up the charade right until she gave birth by pretending she had an eating disorder. Then she, her young man, and the baby escaped, heading for Thunder Bay and beyond.

“In those days, it wasn’t as bad as it is now. But some people can’t tolerate having even two spouses, let alone ten.  I’m glad I’m no longer young,” she says. “I’m glad I won’t be around to see everything collapse.  And I’m sorry, darling, that your generation of women will likely suffer the worst of it.”

“Things aren’t that bad,” I contend. But then I remember the idiot politician who wants to force women to keep adding husbands in the quest for baby girls.

“Men can be loving and gentle and well-intentioned,” says Keira. “But if history is any indication, they also have a nasty habit of fucking up everything they touch.  Excuse my language. I’m sure your David is the exception. There are probably many, many exceptions. But, for the most part, they think with their penises.”

“Do you think with your penis?” I tease David as we lie on the bed naked and he fondles me.

“No thinking is required when it comes to activities involving my penis. Let me demonstrate.”

Sex is our refuge.  It’s my salvation. When I’m with David, when we’re playful and passionate and in the aftermath, I feel complete, happy, fulfilled. But no one can have sex 24 hours a day.

“I wonder what’s going to happen to us,” I say, stroking him. “Not just us. We’ll become part of something different, with any luck. But it doesn’t seem as if anything good is going to happen here.  I think of little Ethan sometimes—Simon, too.  And your mother, my fathers, your fathers. I have a half-sister, too.  She was just a toddler when I went to visit Papa Danny.  Her hair is the same color as mine. Keira thinks everyone is doomed.”

“She may be right. But all we can do is do what we’re doing. Soon we’ll be on our way to Thunder Bay. It’ll be exciting. We’ll be starting a new life. You won’t have to pretend you’re a boy anymore.  Not after we get to where we’re going. Wherever that is.”

“We’ve been lucky so far,” I say.

“Yeah. Nothing bad is going to happen to us, Beks. My Rebekah.  We’ve got everything we need. We’ve got each other. And it’s time to go.”