6. Cock Training

Kent saw Jamie's fear and started soothing his head to reassure him, and maybe take back a little of the hair-pulling.

Still, that fear was Jamie's problem, and he had to face it. Kent wasn't doing anything but standing there naked, letting him know who was in charge. If that made Jamie anxious, then so be it.

Bad Cop loved that look of panic. Good Cop observed it with a watchful eye.

Jamie's gut ached, and his heart sped up.

Kent's "system" wasn't designed to break him, but to keep him intact. Jamie worried; this training suddenly seemed all wrong according to everything he'd ever learned, ever decided, about equality and autonomy, mutuality and relationships.

This was not the man he thought he married, the one he loved so desperately, the man of his dreams. This man was more like his nightmares.

Still, he stayed down on the floor. He couldn't have run away if the house was on fire. That cock was just too beautiful.

So what was his problem, what was his pain about?

He tried to feel, not think, not analyze.

Kent stopped brushing his hair and just held him in place by the back of his head.

If Jamie got up now he'd ruin everything. After all he'd been through, all the losses, he was not going to lose this man. Not over a stupid tattoo; not over anything.

He tried letting his gut live into the pain, not fight the pain. It hurt even more.

Whatever was it about?

One, the loss of all control. Which was very frightening to him. Jamie's whole life was based on controlling everything he could.

Not his mother's illness, not Ricky's, but everything he could. Was that so wrong?

He didn't want to be this man's slave. Was that what he wanted? If so, Jamie would have to get up off the floor.

There might be a way to do that, in a way that salvaged the relationship. He could be calm about it, adult, and talk to Kent honestly and seriously, without recriminations. Maybe there's nothing wrong with wanting a slave, there's just something wrong with being one.

Maybe the pain eased up a little. He had a reasonable option now.

But it didn't go away. So what else was the pain about?

He stared: Luscious cock.

OBEY.

Then he knew what the rest of the pain was, and it washed over his body from his hands through his arms, past his shoulders and back, through his legs to his knees, and down to his toes.

A wave of electricity then followed the same path; not unpleasant, something he recognized and usually welcomed as self-knowledge; God's love even, though no one else knew that. He had no one to tell it to. When the Spirit touched him, it was always a quiet thrill.

Was this the Spirit, or blasphemy?

He didn't know, it just felt good.

Jamie closed his eyes, forced to confront how much he wanted this cock; exactly this way, maybe.

Whatever happened to his speech, just yesterday, about loving someone on the inside? Looks fade, and then what?

This cock was definitely on the outside, and no matter how Kent aged in the next 50 years, his cock would always look just like it did now, the most desirable piece of meat he'd ever laid eyes on.

He was so damn attracted to Kent. When he was unattainable it was easy for Jamie to hide his feelings; but now with this cock waving in his face, inches away, potent and drool-worthy, he couldn't hide anymore.

All those years of wanting sex and not getting it; all the loneliness of taking care of a sick lover, and here he was, down on his hands and knees, forced to feel all his hunger and need.

Kent was asking him to take the biggest psychic risk of his life.

But bang, that thought started to help him; Jamie was good at taking risks, good at being honest. Could he risk being a total fool in front of the man he loved?

It's one thing to talk about being vulnerable, and something entirely different to experience the terror of it. Down on the floor!

But maybe he could do this. Risk-taking usually paid off for him. All the personal growth he'd ever had came from taking risks. He failed sometimes, ignominiously, but mostly he succeeded because he could take a risk no one else would.

He risked everything for Kent during the Incident. So what was a fucking tattoo? OBEY.

High above him Kent said evenly, "Everything I said before was true."

What had he said before? That he loved him; that they were equals, but different?

He was no one to be afraid of; he was a hero, acclaimed nationwide, worthy of his trust.

Did he have a need to humiliate him? Was that what this was about?

Did Jamie have a need to be humiliated? He sure hoped not.

Still, what's so humiliating about sucking cock? If he believed the things he said and wrote, about the dignity and value of Gay men, did he secretly think sucking cock was shameful?

Even on the goddamn floor?

Kent watched Jamie set his jaw, and knew he would do it from that moment on, no matter how scared he was.

Kent had saved his life. And though his demands were shocking, overwhelming, Jamie knew too, he would give in sooner or later.

So the question became how and when; and slowly the pain started going away.

Jamie lifted up his head to find Kent's eyes. They stared at each other a long moment.

Jamie said in a deep calm voice—a man's voice, not a boy's—"Train me, sir."

Kent yelped, bent down, held his face and kissed him, "Oh God, do I love you."

No more pain. Just happiness. In fact, Jamie started to feel a kind of triumph; the courage to face his own fear, of being a slave to that cock.

It was either his worst fear or his secret desire; or both, maybe.

The loss of control that cock represented was real. If it were smaller or less beautiful, Jamie could happily enjoy it and go on about his life. But this one had a power over him he couldn't deny.

It confused him, disoriented him; who was Kent Kessler?

And what would he think of Jamie, unleashing 26 years of pent-up lust?

Would he despise him? Would he take advantage? Start calling him a pig, a slut, a faggot?

Jamie suddenly knew he was all those things. Gay Pride is nice when it's mostly intellectual or social or political, but sex is wet, sex is dirty—and that's how he really liked it.

Did he trust this man to show him who he really was?

He looked up at him a long moment. Then he said, serious as a bishop headed for hell, "You're no Tommy Alan Ford."

Kent guffawed and clapped his hands, "Nope, sure ain't. I'm too scareda them lethal injection needles."

They chuckled together, then Kent said, "Let's turn the other direction." He stepped around Jamie so that he was closer to the door. Jamie awkwardly turned around on all fours.

Kent said, "You like this cock?"

Jamie looked at it again, kept his eyes on it. "This isn't a compliment, it's a fact. You have the most beautiful cock I've ever seen."

Kent nodded, somehow less than surprised. Most of the women he'd been with did not like it, not at all, and some were quite vocal about it, "It's too big! Why aren't you circumcised?"

He wasn't about to let Jamie think those things; Kent would create new associations for him, Bigger is better. Uncut's the best.

And he somehow knew the moment he made friends with Jamie that he'd go for it. "It's yours, baby, your personal sucktoy. Long as you obey this cock."

"Yes sir," Jamie said huskily.

"The more you obey, the more cock you get."

"Ohh."

Kent's voice grew softer, more seductive.
"So just keep lookin' at it,
don't take your eyes away.
Just look at this cock,
that you know you want.
Breathe it in, inhale it,
and let the sight of my cock start to enter your brain.
The sight of my cock,
the smell of my cock,
the heft of my cock,
the thickness, the foreskin.
All that juicy foreskin
just waitin' for your mouth,
your lips, your tongue.
This cock's what you want, Jamie.
This cock's what you need.
Keep lookin' at it,
don't let your eyes go anywhere else,
keep your eyes on my foreskin.
Always on my foreskin.
Nowhere else, just my foreskin."

Fully hard now, his cock perpendicular to his body, the head was still covered with a thick layer of skin.

"Just the sight of it turns you on.
Makes you lick your lips in anticipation.
Just the sight of it,
your spit starts runnin',
'cause you want to lick this skin so much.
Eyes on my foreskin,
this great big uncut cock.

"You can almost feel it now,
you start salivating,
just from the sight of it.
So keep your eyes right on it,
and feel your mouth start to get wet.
You see my cock,
you get wet,
see my cock,
your mouth's wet.
Every time you see my cock
your mouth gets ready to suck it.
Every time you see my cock
your knees get ready to suck it.
Your mouth gets wet,
your tongue hangs out,
you wanna lick it,
gotta lick it,
gonna lick it,
get it wet,
sex is wet."

Jamie licked his lips, his eyes went glassy. But he never stopped staring at that cock. "Good boy."

Kent grabbed himself and aimed it at Jamie's mouth from a foot away.
"Keep lookin' at it,
this cock you need.
Every time you see this cock,
you're gonna want to suck it.
It looks too good not to suck it,
you wanna get a taste of it every time.
You see this cock,
your mouth starts waterin',
you can't take your eyes off of it,
'cause it's what you want,
it's what you need.
I love you for needin' it,
wantin' it so bad,
lickin' your lips for it,
'cause you wanna get it wet.
Sex is always wet."

Now a little disorientation, to throw Jamie's mind off: "Dr. Pavlov taught his dogs that when the bell rang, it was suppertime. First the bell, then the eatin'. First the bell, then the eatin'. They got to where when they heard the bell, they'd start salivatin', knowin' they were gonna get their meat. The same thing's starting to happen with you, you see my cock, you can't take your eyes off it, you start lickin' your lips, salivatin'. Every time you see this cock, you can't take your eyes off it, you start salivatin', you get down on all fours knowin' you're gonna get some meat. It's what you want, it's what you need, so you start salivatin'. And every time you do, starin' at it, salivatin', down on all fours, I'm givin' you this meat. You need this cock, so I'm givin' you some meat.

"And every time you see this cock,
you can't help but look at it,
get down on all fours,
your ass naked for me,
down on all fours,
salivatin'.
And I'll feed you, puppy,
I'll feed you my cock.
I know you need it,
like it needs you."

Jamie kept staring at cock and OBEY.

"The first thing you do,
every time,
is just look at it.
And once you're naked,
down on all fours,
salivatin' for my cock,
ready to obey,
then it's suppertime, puppy.
I'm gonna feed you,
give you this meat.
It's what you want.
It's what you need.
We both know it,
we both do."

Jamie nodded a little. What a big, thick, gorgeous, uncut cock.

"Once you're in position,
your mouth all wet and ready,
I'll give you the go-ahead,
you start lickin' my foreskin.
Big long strokes,
all tongue, no lips,
just like you licked my arm last night.
Lickin' me is something you love to do.
You like lickin' on me, puppy.
And I love bein' licked on.

"What you do,
when I give you the go-ahead,
you start worshippin' my foreskin
with your tongue.
And you don't stop
don't stop
don't stop
till I tell you.
You don't take the head in your mouth,
you don't do nothin'
but lick my foreskin.
'Cause I'm a Kessler man,
we ain't never been cut,
we always been natural.
It's natural a boy like you
loves lickin' my skin.
In a minute I'll give you the go-ahead,
you're gonna start practicin',
lickin' my foreskin.
You're my puppy,
you like givin' my skin
lots of wet kisses
the puppy way.
You're gettin' ready
for obedience trainin',
ready more and more.
Aren't you, boy.

"You don't gotta remember,
'cause you'll never forget.
Just the sight of it.
Gotta have it.
Wanna suck it.
Gotta get naked.
Down on all fours.
Spit starts runnin'.
Lickin' your lips.
Starin' at foreskin.
You'll never forget."

Jamie sighed deeply, closed his eyes, then lifted his head and stuck his tongue out for it.

"That's right, boy.
Show me that tongue."

Jamie leaned forward, reached with his tongue and looked up at him.

Kent looked down on him with great compassion, as well as something else; determination to get his way, to get obedience from him.

He held Jamie's head in place, inches from foreskin, so Jamie could experience being down on his knees with his tongue hanging out, being controlled.

Jamie's tongue came out all the way.

And when it did, Kent pulled his head closer, till at last he tasted Kent's foreskin and began licking him.

Slowly, up and down, just his skin.

He felt like his skeleton disappeared, that he had no internal structure anymore; that his structure came from Kent's hand and the orders he gave.

And somehow, all of Jamie's fantasies these past three months of sucking this cock came out in his tongue. Up and down, the most obscene thing he'd ever done; nothing more than foreskin, and nothing less.

Jamie'd never really had a preference on circumcision before this, but Kent's skin made his cock just perfect. Jamie lapped up that foreskin.

Maybe it was okay he wasn't allowed to suck yet; this cock was so thick, so big. His tongue was happy with foreskin.

Yet it was also excruciating not to be able to suck with all his pent-up greed; but obedience was central to everything to come:

Masculine.
Intelligent.
Sensitive.
Dominant.
Muscular.
Heroic.

"Oh," Jamie moaned.

"Get it wet," Kent ordered quietly. "Sex is wet."

"Water," Jamie asked.

Kent gave him another drink, then pushed his head back onto the foreskin.

Jamie lapped and lapped, and even Good Cop was into it now. This boy was a hot little sucker, so easy to control.

"Work that tongue, puppy. Show me what a good boy you are."

Jamie closed his eyes and licked. The cock was so hard now, Kent pulled the foreskin back a little. Jamie's tongue started to brush the half-naked head of Kent's cock. Jamie started making little noises, "Nnnh. Nnnh. Nnnh."

Kent widened his stance, held the back of his head and smiled down at him. "Boy, you are perfect. All around my foreskin now, make circles with your tongue."

Jamie's spit was flowing. He made circles around the head of that cock.

Kent's cock! Kent Kessler's, his Commander's. Jamie gurgled, this was so exciting.

He had wanted this cock from the minute they met. But he felt like he had to act so butch next to a police officer, so he wouldn't think he was just some little fagboy he could push around.

Now here he was, pushing him around. And Jamie loved it.

Then he rose up defiantly. "But not till after the case, by God!"

"Damn right," Kent said, pushing him back down. "Now lick me, little pup. You know you like it."

Kent spit on the head of his cock, landing a wad perfectly, and Jamie licked it up.

"You like that foreskin, don't you."

"Yes sir."

"Then show me, boy. Simple as that."

Jamie licked and licked. His tongue stretched out, so much it eventually started to get tired. So he eased it back a little but kept licking.

Finally Kent stepped back, away from him, and said, "Good boy. Another drink of water, and you get to take the head in your mouth. But just the head. Don't go no farther till I tell ya."

Kent took another sip, then held Jamie's head and gave him another good drink.

"Now go for it, boy. Just the head. Get the head of my cock all slimy. Sex is dirty. Sex is wet."

Jamie opened his mouth and took the head of Kent's cock inside, just held him there, getting him warm and wet.

He couldn't see, but high above him Kent gazed down in utter rapture. If Jamie was hungry for cocksucking these last three months, it was nothing like needing your cock sucked; but having to work, going through comas and all that bullshit, Kent had been obsessed with getting Jamie's mouth on his cock.

And Jamie commenced to suck, just the head, using his tongue, getting used to the heft and the heat, the girth and the weight, and the sweet smell of this man he worshiped, baby powder and sweat.

"Dominant" started climbing the list from 4 to 3, maybe even higher.

This was what Jamie wanted, his own Kessler man to suck.

He pulled the cock various angles, let it slip out then gobbled it back in again, feeling the spit in the corners of his mouth, not giving a fuck. Sex is wet, so give it some slobber.

Kent pulled his cock out and said, "Stick out your tongue." Jamie did and Kent started rubbing his tongue with cock, giving him a little more than he should have, then beating his cheek with it as Jamie knelt there down on all fours with his tongue hanging out.

"Yeah, boy, suck the head of this cock." And Jamie did, faster, slower, savoring, pulling it, slurping that big head.

And starting to wish for a whole lot more. But waiting for directions so he could obey them.

Obey him.

Kent stepped back again and said, "I'm gonna turn you into my personal cocksucker."

Doy, sir. And Jamie laughed.

"Jump up on the bed, little boy."

Jamie got up on the bed on all fours.

Kent stood on the bed too, balancing himself with a hand on the ceiling, "I want me a well-trained cocksucker. See what you can do with three inches, boy. Show me you like bein' my puppy. Three big inches for you to eat. This here's your fuckin' Gay dessert."

Jamie laughed with his mouth wide open, then gobbled three inches in one swoop.

Oh man, were three inches better than one. Kent smelled so good, his cock was so warm. Jamie got to suck him for real now. With Kent's hand behind his neck!

Kent knew he'd never have any trouble with guns in the house now, which made him laugh to himself.

This dessert was better than peach cobbler. You never know how that's going to turn out, but cock you can always count on.

Still, the girth was a challenge. Jamie's head bobbed up and down. He had cock in his mouth for the first time in years. Could anyone, anywhere, know what it's like to get cock in your mouth after all that time?

Whether from emotion or from stretching his facial muscles, he felt tears at the corner of both eyes. He let Kesslerman know how grateful he was.

That fucking Ricky; Kent was right. What would it have cost Ricky to just let Jamie suck his limp dick once in awhile?

Jamie devoured the live, uncut cock in front of him. He didn't care about being a puppy, that was great. He loved sucking cock on all fours.

What Kent enjoyed was that Jamie didn't try sucking and jacking himself off, the way guys in the movies do; he just dripped all over his jockstrap, his own big cock bobbing the air up and down.

Kent had to shake his head at how good this guy was. "That's it, shortstop, keep it up."

Jamie sucked and slurped, "Nnnh nnnh," every time, and Kent leaned down over him and smacked his ass, Whap!

Jamie fell off for a second, put his head down and mumbled, "I love it when you do that."

"I know you do, baby. It's a symbol of my authority. Now suck."

And Jamie did, over and over, down and down, wishing for more. Why did Kent make him wait?

"Doin' good, baby. Keep it up, make it wet." This was already the best blowjob Kent had ever had. He put his hand back on Jamie's neck to pull him a little deeper. Jamie followed right along.

Kent stood there watching him awhile, then pulled off, leaned down and gave him a wet sloppy kiss. Jamie's lower cheeks were wet with spit now. "Man, you are the best!"

"Gimme cock, Daddy. Please?"

"Oh yeah. Follow my hand now. I'll take you deeper."

And Jamie got more of that big thick cock. His facial muscles started to strain. He ignored that at first, kept going, following that hand on his neck, loving its encouragement, its direction, its control.

But finally he had to break off, his face hurt too much. "Break?"

"Thirty seconds," Kent ordered. "What's happening?"

"Muscle fatigue. You're so thick and gorgeous, and I'm out of practice."

"Sixty seconds, baby. Back on your haunches, hands on the bed."

Kent stepped down, got another drink, turned the overhead fan on, gave Jamie a good sip, then stepped back up.

He held Jamie's face in his hand, kissed him and said, "Don't know what I'm gonna do with you."

"You're going to help with cooking."

Kent laughed, "You keep suckin' like this, I'll bring you breakfast in bed."

"There's no connection, but… I want to be your man, as well as your boy."

"Oh, sweetheart, that's what I want. A man who's my boy. Damn, you're good. Little blond muscleboy, horny as hell, eager for orders, trustin' me. I swear I'll do for you, baby, I swear I will."

Then Kent took a notion, "Down on your back now. You don't gotta do all the work here."

So Jamie lay down, Kent burrowed between his legs (down on all fours himself), and tasted some boycock.

"Ohh," Jamie groaned, "daddy daddy!" He put his hand on Kent's back to encourage him.

Kent sucked and started to tune in to what this felt like, what the emotions were; sucking a guy, his greatest teammate. Kent loved men's bodies. He'd never really thought to suck one before but it was good this way, coming out.

Jamie wasn't the only one with coming out to do; Kent loved men and their bodies. This little one was perfect for him, better than his old teammates, open and honest and only afraid for a minute, even finding his own ways to fight back. But willing to serve him, accepting of who Kent really was.

He knew in the back of his mind—hell, he knew in front of his cock with its big new tattoo—that some guys frown on a anyone who goes down. But they didn't love this boy like he did, so their rules didn't apply. Kent had already broken his last resistance so what difference did it make? There has to be reciprocity, they were married. This guy cooked and cleaned and washed for him, and Kent never even took out the garbage.

But he could suck his cock and he did, till he reached a chokepoint. He frowned at himself and kept going, then he reached it again.

So it was time to switch, even though Good Cop thought he should keep going. GC wasn't in charge here, BC was.

He got another drink of water, gave Jamie one and stood up again. "Now you're gonna learn to suck cock."

Jamie got back up in training position, Kent moved them to maximize the view in the mirrors, then said, "A boy who's really good takes me deeper than anyone else."

"I want to. I know I can. I want to make the varsity, Coach."

"Then you gotta show me, baby. I ain't gonna choke you to death."

"There's a technique to it, Kent. I've done it before. Not with all this cock, but I've done it before." Jamie looked down and half-sobbed, "I just don't remember how. It's something about breathing, but… I'm not sure. It's been too fucking long."

Kent felt a surge of sympathy. How awful it must be for Jamie to try to function with brain damage. Kent couldn't imagine. As smart as Jamie was, as loving and giving, to not be able to remember half your life? Or at least the crucial little details, like how to make spaghetti sauce or suck cock. What was Kent doing to him?

Kent smoothed out Jamie's hair again. "Take it slow, babe. Suck you some Kessler cock. Learn to obey me, that's all I'm sayin'."

With a hand on his neck Jamie took Kent's cock in his mouth and started sucking.

Oh, how good it felt, that big thick cock back inside him, his personal playtoy. He repositioned a little so his back arched down and his ass stuck up, and he started sucking more deliberately, his lips more involved, sucking, not just mouthing, pulling Kent's cock toward him, like sucking the juice out; drawing him in, breathing through his nose. And wham, that meant something, stirred a neuron pathway.

A blowjob is misnamed; you don't blow air out, you suck it in. It was all in the breathing somehow. With a mouthful of thick cock, it was all in the breathing, deliberately, through his nose. Choking is in the throat, but breathing is through the nose.

He remembered this: a guy can control his gag "reflex," because it's more mental than physical. The so-called reflex is more like a panic attack, I can't breathe. But Jamie was breathing just fine.

As big as that cock was, as thick and as beautiful, Jamie was breathing just fine.

He went deeper, another half inch; no problem, great pleasure. "Yeah, baby, you're so good. Suck the cock I got, suck it down."

Suck the cock I got. Jamie got the idea no one had ever sucked this cock very well. This cock I got, like it was some kind of burden, a hardship—when the man wasn't just hung, he was a fucking hero!

Jamie set about to prove that there wasn't anyone on earth who could take care of the cock Kent had like he could. Gay Pride rising.

It became Jamie's job to convert Kent Kessler to the other side, to show him that the only way to take care of a man is to be one.

"Arowf!" Jamie grabbed another whole inch, though there was still so much to go.

Kent's left leg started shaking, "Oh baby, ain't nobody like you."

Perfect words; Kent wasn't the only egotist here. Jamie Foster was a world-class performer, and he'd show this guy what he could do. He gobbled another half-inch, and Kent's eyes searched the ceiling.

Jamie still hadn't choked; his biggest problem was the thickness. Again the muscles in his face strained. He nodded at the cock, eyed the OBEY sign, and sucked a little lighter for a minute, more attention to Kent's cockhead, when he suddenly remembered Kent's balls, which he'd never paid the slightest attention to. He dove down.

"Augh!" Kent cried. "Yeah, baby, get you some nuts. Hickory nuts, baby, eat 'em up!"

It was like eating Kessler Farms somehow, a long family tradition. Jamie flashed briefly on pot-roast, which made him giggle like a fool.

He washed Kent's balls like a Maytag, then licked up the underside of his shaft and down onto that cock, six inches at least, two or three more to go.

He took a deep breath through his nose and buried himself deeper, deeper, deeper. "Nnnh, nnnh, nnnh," as Kent said, "Oh, oh, oh!"

Jamie worked that length, sucking in, not blowing out, and got conscious again of his breathing. It seemed like the key thing was the exhale; he could always inhale while he sucked, but he had to exhale too, not hold his breath. His instinct maybe was holding his breath, but that didn't get cock down his throat.

He flashed briefly on Ricky, much easier to suck than this guy. He couldn't quite remember but he knew it was all in the breathing. He remembered deep-throating Ricky, nowhere near the man this guy was. He remembered Rick's cock down his throat.

He knew he could do this, so he went deeper—till there, the reflex kicked in. He pulled off an inch, then went right back down.

Above him Kent cried, "Baby, you're so damn good! How do you do this?" He pushed him back down.

Man, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

It was all coming back to him; inhale and exhale, don't hold your breath. Two more thick inches, dry, where his lips hadn't been. That was a crime. This cock needed sucking! And he was just the guy for it.

He reached deeper, spit down his chin now, eyes watering, nose starting to run. He didn't mind having a facefull of spit, but a runny nose is gross, so he wiped off his upper lip and sucked, air in, nose out, breathe deep, suck him down. Show him what Gay pride's all about.

Jamie was well past his initial choke point. His facial muscles strained, Kent was too damn thick. Oh, but God, he was perfect. Jamie sucked there, wallowing around, tonguing that undershaft, the big tube where the cum comes out, but still another inch to go, a dry inch that mocked him and challenged him. "Damn boy, trainin' to be my cocksucker!"

Whammo, Jamie buried his nose in Kent's pubes, the thick cock all the way down his throat. "Augh!" Kent shouted, "augh!" Jamie stayed there a second, breathing through his nose, feeling what this was like, all those inches of Kessler Man down his fucking throat. He shut his eyes and pushed deeper, savoring the sensation.

Then he drew all Kent's skin up to the head, paused, and swallowed him again. Jamie's throat was in ecstasy.

Kessler Man, the way he always wanted him.

Kent was screaming now, "How do you do that? Don't stop, baby, keep goin'! Oh, God, who is this guy? Yeah!"

Jamie swallowed him, over and over, more and more, and Kent started moaning, "I'm gonna shoot, baby, you're gonna get my sperm down your fuckin' throat. You want that? You do, don't ya. Suck it, baby, suck the sperm outta me. Oh man! I'm yours, baby, I'm yours. My cock's your uncut sucktoy."

And wow, Kent blasted off, spurt after spurt, which Jamie couldn't even taste, he had that cock so deep. He sucked some more, trying to get some on his tongue, and finally he did, "Ah-ee!" He gobbled down deeper, cock all the way down his throat, as above him Kent went senseless.

Jamie sucked his cum, sweet as baby powder, the liquid kind, his tastebuds loved that stuff. He sucked it up as Kent cried, "No! Yes! Do it, baby! Oh, man."

Jamie kept sucking another five minutes while Kent spoke gibberish above him. It sounded like "Ibba-baby-bubba, booba-bigga-boo." Finally Jamie let him go, fell onto his back and dissolved in laughter.

He sucked his man down, and God, was he sweet. Jamie's whole face was wet, sweaty on top, spit and cum on the rest.

Kent dropped down and covered his body, kissing and licking his whole face, holding his head tight, controlling him still, but saying in everything thank you, thank you, thank you.

Finally they opened their eyes enough to look into each other's faces. Kent gazed as if Jamie were a space alien.

Jamie said, "With my body, I thee worship."

Kent collapsed on him and started sucking his little boytits. Jamie giggled, and Kent moved down, grabbed his cock in his mouth and shoved a finger up his ass.

Jamie hadn't even told him yet, but the physical key to his orgasm was loosening up his hole.

Kent could tell the difference; Jamie's breath went ragged, his eyes got bright with warning. Kent gave himself a few strokes, then maneuvered up inside him. Jamie's body started twitching. Kent fucked him with intent, manic glee, a look in his eyes, I'm gonna get you now!—and it wasn't long before Jamie splattered them both with cockjuice.

Gradually Kent slowed down and just made love to him, while every cell in Jamie's body said thank you.++

© 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.

5. Gut-Kick

Kent got back to Jamie's mother's house as night was falling. He rang the front doorbell but Jamie was already there to let him in, "Hey, mister." Kent came in, then Jamie stepped out on the porch and reached for the key in his mother's hiding place, an upper ledge which mostly hid it from herself; anyone 6 feet or taller could see it. "You need your own key." He handed it to him and shut the door.

"Thanks. You sure do look like jail-bait. Nice boots." Jamie was wearing Wranglers, a red cotton and Lycra T-shirt and his boots, the silver ones he wore to the Slough. He also had on his glasses, the first time Kent had seen him wearing them.

Kent was still in his denim and black riders and the same black satin Redbirds jacket, but this time there was something decidedly different; his pants legs were tucked into his boots, and the jeans emphasized his big crotch. Jamie felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach, Kent was so sexy-dangerous.

Kent held him and kissed him. Jamie said, "You smell like horse."

"Mom and me went ridin'. I'll take a shower in a minute."

"Good idea. That baby powder thing only goes so far," Jamie grinned.

Kent saw greenery and candles on the dinner table and said, "Hey, you started decoratin' for Christmas."

"Um, no actually, that's an Advent wreath. I'll explain at dinner."

"Looks like Christmas. What's for supper?"

"Already?"

"Man, it's after five o'clock."

"I hadn't even thought about getting started this soon. I wanted to wait till you got back."

"Man, when do you eat supper, anyway?"

"I don't. I eat dinner at 8 p.m."

"Oh man, we got some major talkin' to do here. I can't wait till 8, I'd starve to death."

"When do you eat?"

"Six, noon, five and eight. The last is just my midnight snack."

"Eight isn't midnight."

"We gotta compromise, baby. Let's talk after my shower. Is there anything you can throw together to tide me over? Or should we go out?"

"Well, yes, I can adapt. Lord, he wants dinner at five o'clock."

"One other issue. Do you mind sittin' over on the couch for a sec?"

So Jamie sat on the couch looking up at him.

Kent tried to say this gently. "You married a cop last night, Jamie. That's probably not how you were thinkin' of it, but it's what you did, and there's some things you need to know, that you probably ain't prepared for."

Jamie got very quiet. "Okay. Like what?"

"I never go out in public without my duty weapon. I always carry, Jamie, always. But I've been shielding that from you, 'cause I know you hate guns. So up to now I always kept my weapon in the truck every time I came here. I didn't like it, but I did it."

"Now you're bringing a gun into my mother's house?"

"I did last night, too. No way I couldn't. When I'm sleepin' with you, a gun don't do me no good outside."

Jamie frowned, seriously troubled at this. He was terrified of guns, especially ones in the house. Kent said, "So I got a plan. Breathe for me, I want you to relax." Jamie breathed. "You see this drawer right here?" He pointed to the little console table under the oval mirror, next to the front door. "I never seen you use this drawer."

Jamie looked at it. "Right, I'm never in there."

"So for now, that's my drawer, okay? And you don't go into my drawer."

Jamie glanced away and nodded, "You need your own space anyway."

"A place for my keys, my weapon, my wallet, my general stuff. This here's my drawer."

"Right. I won't go in there."

"I don't give a shit if you're into my keys or my wallet, there ain't nothin' you can't have. But this here's my drawer. I'm gonna take my jacket off now, my holster and my weapon. You don't gotta look if you don't want to. You can go in the other room."

Jamie seriously considered it. Then he said, "But I married a cop. I have to be ready and okay with how you live."

"Yeah, without any preparation or trainin'. Y'know, girlfriends or boyfriends, when they're first meetin' a cop, they're not livin' together yet. The officer has a chance to let 'em know a few things, what it means to get involved with a law enforcement officer. Sometimes we date people, they're into it; sometimes they don't like it and quit goin' out with us. Anyway we can ease 'em into it before we start livin' together. You and me, we're kinda different. You always knew what I do for a living, but we were never together till last night. So I didn't do anything to get you ready. But now, I assume we're livin' together."

"We are. I support what you do, Kent."

"You sayin' you don't mind watching me do this? I'm going to take my jacket off, unstrap my shoulder holster and put my weapon in my drawer. The one that you don't never get into."

"Okay, go ahead. One time's all I'll watch, though. Thank you for the consideration you're giving me."

Kent took his jacket off, showing Jamie what he looked like in the shoulder holster, laying the jacket on the back of a chair, pulling out the drawer, checking his weapon and placing it in the drawer, followed by the holster. He also put his wallet in, removed a few of Thelma's items that she kept there—old golf scorecards, mostly—inserting the door key onto his keyring and placing his keys inside the drawer. Then he turned to face him.

Jamie said, "Well, I'm glad you told me. And believe me I'm never going near that drawer."

"Good boy. I'm sorry, baby, but it's got to be done."

"Anything else?"

"You wanna go out for supper? Or we could order a pizza."

"I actually do have a plan for tonight. Do you mind if we break a rule just for once?"

"No, what rule?"

"No alcohol two nights in a row."

"That's a real good rule. I approve of that."

"I think so too."

"So why alcohol tonight?"

"Italian red wine is much the best drink with my spaghetti. Though it's only an approximation of my sauce. I'm hoping I can get it mostly right because I know what it should taste like, the proper balance of seasonings."

"Okay. I'm sure it'll be great."

"It takes 90 minutes, but I can put the antipasto together quickly. I boiled the eggs already and made the dressing."

"Okay, babe. I'll hit the shower. Or you need one too? Did you work out this afternoon?"

"No, I never work out on Sundays, it's my day of rest."

"What did you do today?"

"I sat and read the Sunday Times like a normal person," Jamie smiled.

"You got your readin' glasses on. You look real cute in 'em."

"These aren't for reading, Kent, I'm near-sighted as a bat. On Sundays I rest my eyes from the contacts all week."

"I like that you're so well-organized," Kent said, starting to unbutton his denim shirt.

"Lord," Jamie said, off the couch and heading for the kitchen. "Don't show me any skin when I've got antipasto to make."


* * *


Kent emerged from the shower wrapped in a towel. "Do I happen to have any other clean clothes here?" He was carrying his dirty denims and socks.

"Yes," Jamie said. "I'm sorry, I forgot all about them. There's a whole basket of clean clothes. I haven't ironed anything yet though." Kent's uniforms, which he wore about half the time, had to be ironed, and Jamie had gotten into a little habit of ironing for him, since he didn't have anything else constructive to do. If doing Kent's laundry meant he had more time to spend with him, Jamie didn't mind doing it. He took the dirty clothes and headed to the family room, where appliances were concealed behind accordion doors.

But now that they were living together, Jamie didn't want to feel like a domestic servant. It reminded him of taking care of Rick, who was functionally helpless. Kent was going to have to learn to cook and carry his own weight at home. I am not your mother.

"No problem. Thanks for doin' my laundry."

Jamie put the basket of clean clothes on a dining room chair. "I thought we'd have antipasto at the kitchen table. It's all ready."

"Great. That was quick." Kent went through the laundry, found everything he needed, and headed for the bedroom to get dressed. He could have done it in the dining room but he didn't want to show more skin, he wanted to eat.

Soon he came to the kitchen in a blue flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, Levi's and cowboy boots up to his knees. The table was all set, an attractive platter, two salad plates, forks, ice water. "Wow, look at this, willya. It's real pretty, man."

"Have a seat."

"Which one's mine these days?"

"Same as breakfast, I think, next to the wall." That used to be Jamie's mother's place. It was easier for Jamie to function in the kitchen when he was closer to the fridge and stove.

"What all have we got here?"

Jamie pointed, "Artichoke hearts, pepperoni, cucumber, provolone cheese, a couple of anchovies but I've got more, cherry tomatoes, ripe olives, pickled beets, boiled eggs, and of course the lettuces are edible too." He scattered his vinegrette over everything. "You don't have to eat anything you don't like, I just took a chance with this stuff."

"I'll try everything. I thought you hated beets."

"Oh no, I love beets. Just not in a power drink."

"Should we pray first?" Kent held out his hands.

Jamie tried not to look askance. "I'll hold your hand any other time, but please not during prayer. Maybe someday but not just yet." So Kent withdrew and Jamie said, "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful."

"Amen," Kent said. "Short and sweet. Same prayer they said in the movie 'Oliver.'"

"Is it? English traditional." Jamie used the serving fork to put some artichokes on his plate as Kent reached his fingers for pepperoni and olives. "Oh good, you like olives."

"The black ones, yeah. Not the green ones so much, with those nasty red things inside."

Jamie giggled, "I hate pimientos." He used the serving spoon for egg wedges and tomatoes. They filled up their plates.

"Mmm," Kent said. "Good dressing."

"Thank you."

"You made it yourself?"

"I always make salad dressings. Fresher, better-tasting, no preservatives, much cheaper."

"Wow. What's the name of these things again?" He held up a fork of something.

"Artichokes. Do you like them?"

"Well, kinda, yeah, they're better than I thought they'd be. They look a little funny but they've got a good flavor."

"These are from a jar. Fresh artichokes are wonderful."

Thus they began to talk about food, learning things about each other as they ate. Jamie said, "You're on a farmer's schedule."

"Yeah. I'm a farmboy," Kent chuckled. "What schedule are you on?"

"City time, I guess. Normally 8, 12, 4 and 8."

"Well, we're both eatin' four times a day, that's a start. You don't get breakfast till 8 a.m.? Why so late?"

"I'm not due in to work until 10."

"How long are you there?"

"Till 6 or 6:30, unless there's a meeting at night."

"Why such crazy hours?"

"I can't get Gay people on the phone before 10, there's no point in trying. Non-Gay people are tied up first thing in the morning, and I never leave messages for them to ignore. When do you go to work?"

"Eight to 4:30 usually, but I can set my own hours."

"So how do you get fed by 5?"

"I stop at Burger Bootie on the way home."

"Burger Bootie?"

"The fast food joint next to the post. I call it that 'cause when I first got here, there was always a trooper or two over there on their booties when they shoulda been out on patrol. It's an old supervisory technique, discipline by humor with a side dose of shame."

"Ah. Well, it's creative. Please don't eat fast food, Kent."

"Never?"

"Why would you want to?"

"Well, without no one to cook for me or teach me, what else was I gonna do?"

"I can see that. Do you make your own breakfast?"

"Not too often. I'm no good with eggs, Jamie."

"What about cereal?"

"Never think of it. I pretty much eat eggs every day."

"Good Lord. Do you know how high eggs are in cholesterol?"

"No. But I work out every day."

"You'd have to. And cholesterol will still coat every artery you've got. Where do you go for breakfast?"

"There's a good breakfast joint on the East Side. If I don't got time, I stop at the Bootie for a go order."

"Of eggs."

"Heck yeah. Farmers eat eggs."

"You don't farm, and even farmers know better now. Okay, no trauma. What if you were to switch the size of your meals at 5 and 8? Your snack at 5 and dinner at 8?"

"I'd be goin' to bed with a full stomach."

"When do you go to bed?"

"About 9."

"Lord. Kent, I can't get dinner ready by 5."

"Why not?"

"It takes too long to prepare."

"Openin' a few cans takes that long?"

"The only canned goods I use are tomatoes when they're out of season. Do you think dinner consists of a can of peas?"

"No. But how do you make anything, then?"

"By hand, with the freshest ingredients I can get."

"Did you and Rick eat like this?"

"Sure. We worked the same schedule."

"How long does it take you to make supper that way?"

"An hour's pretty average; sometimes less, sometimes a lot more. That's why I can't have dinner ready at 5, it would ruin my afternoon. Once I'm working again I won't be home, and even if I were, there's still work to do. But I can plan ahead and have a good appetizer ready by 5."

"Somethin' like this? Or a puny glass of tomato juice?"

"Nachos sometimes? Maybe wings or potato skins. Fruit, cheese and hot breadsticks. Simple after-work food, Kent. A good snack, fresh-made. Not elaborate like dinner."

"Dinner's elaborate with you?"

"Look at the antipasto. You're eating tonight's first course right now."

"Dang," Kent said, reaching for more. "This is pretty good." He bit into a slice of anchovy. "Hey, fishy. Anchovies are fishes?"

"Yes," Jamie smiled. "What do you think?"

"He ain't too bad with the other stuff here. Kinda salty. Bet he goes good with a cherry tomato, though."

"Great. Everything should complement the others."

"I love boiled eggs. You said I only get four a day and only on Sundays."

"This is an exception, it's Birthday Week. Boiled eggs go with an antipasto."

"Cheese is good too. This is a hell of an appetizer."

"You want to try my schedule for awhile and see how it goes?"

"Somethin' like this wasn't too much trouble?"

"No, Kent. It's nothing but a salad really."

"Well, I'm willing to try it and see. This is good stuff, and there's enough of it to tide me over."

"Thank you. You might like your snack earlier. A schedule like this lets you relax after work like you should. Otherwise at 5 p.m. you're in my kitchen working again."

"I hear ya. I'll try it. Maybe it'll even be better."


* * *


When dinner was ready Jamie called Kent to the dining room, where they sat before the food was brought. "Today is the first day of Advent," Jamie said, "the season of preparation before Christmas. Do you know about this already?"

"No, man, never heard of it."

"It lasts for four Sundays, sometimes a few days longer, and our wreath has four candles, one per week.

"Here's what I like to do during Advent. Every night at dinner, just before we eat, we light the first candle, read a psalm and the prayer of the day. The second Sunday, we light two candles, and so on. What the candles help us do is to mark the passage of time until Christmas gets here."

"Nice," Kent smiled. "The pine smells real good."

"If you will light the nearest white candle, I will read the Psalm." So Kent did that as Jamie read Psalm 111, "He gives food to those who fear him." The Collect of Advent 1 prayed that they "cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light."

Afterward Kent said, "Makes ya feel peaceful, huh."

Jamie got up, kissed the top of Kent's head and brought in a platter of steaming vermicelli topped with meat sauce, plus a bowl of cheese with a spoon. Kent blinked, expecting individual plates from the kitchen. Jamie said, "My preference is to serve family-style. Shall I?"

"Please."

Jamie tossed the pasta and sauce and filled Kent's plate, then his own. "Do try the cheese."

"I don't like grated cheese that much."

"Do try the cheese."

So Kent did. "Hey, it's melting."

"I love parmesan, but this is mozzarella."

"Cool."


* * *


After dinner Kent said, "That was damn good spaghetti, Jamie. Even without no garlic bread."

"I came pretty close with the sauce; not quite the same, but close. I actually liked the Italian seasoning mix Mom bought, it adds some nice flavors."

"I really loved sprinkling mozzarella on top instead of parmesan. It was like pizza without the crust that way. Where the noodles were the crust."

"Talk to me about this wine."

"I've never had red wine before, except for Riunite."

"Which is barely wine at all."

"So I ain't used to dry red wine. But I agree, it goes good with your meal here. Seems like the one adds to the other."

"Wait till you taste a good substantial French red with a thick juicy steak. I know some great combinations."

"What's for dessert?"

Jamie stopped in mid-motion and repeated, "Dessert."

"Yeah. You didn't plan no dessert?"

"No, actually, I seldom eat it."

"No problem. How 'bout some ice cream then?"

"Um, I don't have any."

"No ice cream? How can you not have ice cream? Or are you just out?"

"No, um, I seldom eat it."

Kent was completely nonplused. "Cookies maybe? A few cookies'll be great."

"Sorry, no cookies."

"You don't got cookies either? What kind of a house don't have ice cream or cookies or anything?"

"Um, mine?"

"Serious, you don't eat any sweets at all?"

"How do you think I stay looking like this, Kent? Eating chocolate cake?"

Kent sighed, "I don't s'pose I should even ask if you got any canned peaches lyin' around."

Jamie snapped his fingers, "Aha! Homemade dessert, 30 minutes."

"Really?"

"If I can remember the recipe, which is a big if. Meanwhile, a cup of after-dinner tea?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Please help me clear the table." This was training too; Jamie was not his chef AND his waiter. "Just pile things by the sink while I check on dessert ingredients."

Jamie rummaged around in the cupboards above the stove, pulling out countless little-used spices, but he couldn't reach the very back of the top shelf. He went to get his mother's little step-stool, but when he turned around, Kent was covering his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"What?" Jamie demanded. "Don't say a fucking word."

"Hee hee hee, I'm just lovin' it, that's all." Kent laughed some more.

"I can't help it if you're abnormally tall," Jamie muttered, setting his 9-inch stool next to the stove.

"Stop, get that thing outta here. Tell me what you're lookin' for."

Resentfully Jamie growled, "Baking powder. In a little white can."

Kent scanned the top shelf and plucked it right out. "You mean this, little boy?" He held it high over Jamie's head.

"Give me that!" Jamie jumped up and grabbed it and looked for an expiration date; the stuff died five years ago. "This may not work, it's expired. I can try it, but no guarantees."

Kent chuckled, "Need any help findin' the peaches?"

"Fuck you, Kessler. Do you want dessert or not?"

"Hmm, guess I should make sure the dinner table's all spiffy."

"Do that," Jamie scowled.

He found a mixing bowl underneath the counter and a baking dish. He turned on the oven, first to 350º, then he changed it to 400º. He was operating on memory, which meant he was clueless. He cut off half a stick of margarine, threw it in the baking dish and set it in the oven.

He opened a big can of sliced peaches and found his mother's flour and sugar canisters, the ones he grew up with, yellow and black and white, made of steel, very '60s. He tried to remember the right proportions; he knew they were equal, and decided on 3/4 of a cup each. Dumped those in the bowl. Measured a teaspoon of baking powder and threw that in; then sprinkled on a little more in case that would compensate for the expiration date. It was "triple-acting" baking powder from Terre Haute, Indiana; maybe it would still work with one or two actions. He got out milk, measured a half cup and decided he would remember what the consistency of the batter should be even if he didn't remember the right amount. It made a fairly thin, sweet batter. He added most of the milk, not all, and stirred. Soon he dumped in the rest and stirred again. It looked okay.

He frowned, then hauled out an old Betty Crocker cookbook circa 1970. Turned to the pastry section, scanned a few recipes. His impulse proved correct; he added a nickel's worth of salt to the batter and stirred. He checked his baking dish, where the margarine was bubbling. He pulled out the dish, dumped the peaches on the butter and the batter on top. He set his timer to… how long? Twenty minutes, he decided, then check. Maybe it was 30. Maybe he'd just ruined a can of peaches.

A half hour later he pulled out the most beautiful peach cobbler Kent had ever seen.

When it cooled enough to eat, Jamie stuck some birthday candles in it and had him make a wish. Kent leaned back and drawled, "Lemme see, what'll I wish for? How about a real good blowjob tonight?"

He blew out all the candles as Jamie's face turned bright red.


* * *


For the next couple of hours they sat nearby but not together, Kent in a blue recliner in the family room, watching Sunday Night Football on TV, and Jamie a few feet away at the kitchen table, visible through the wide Spanish-style arches, surrounded by stacks of old cookbooks. He wrote things down, and every now and then he'd ask about a food preference. But that was it, and Kent realized he'd never been with Jamie so quietly before. It felt strange at first, he was so used to them chattering non-stop.

They were learning to be at home together, doing different things. Jamie loved football, but not when there was meal planning to do.

He asked, "What do you typically have for lunch?"

"Depends on my duty that day."

Jamie waited for more but didn't get it. "And the way it varies is what?"

"If I'm on the road or not. I know all the best lunch places in these counties, Jamie."

"Do you always eat out?"

"No. If I'm on paperwork or supervision, I'm at the Bootie. Usually bring it back to my desk."

"Three times a day you eat at that place?"

"Well, I guess I never thought about it."

"Is there any schedule you follow for lunch, or does it vary every day?"

"Well, it varies, but… what are you askin'?"

"Is it ever suitable that you bring your lunch from home?"

"Well, yes. Like brown-bag it?"

"We can get something nicer to carry it in. Do you have a microwave and refrigerator at the post?"

"Both. Really, home-cooked food?"

"It helps use up ingredients and leftovers. Given that something may come up, can you tell me a day or two in advance?"

"Yeah. I can even eat in my car if it's cold food, that'd save some money."

"I really try not to waste food. When I buy celery, I have two or three plans for it, plus a backup. At least I will when I get my recipe cards back. But it gets tricky for just two people, trying to avoid leftovers and still using everything up."

"It'd be real nice if you'd put together some lunches for me."

"A cold sandwich, an apple, a bowl of soup you can zap; I'd know you were eating well that way."

Kent was silent, feeling cared for. He watched his lover study the cookbooks. "Are you always like this?"

Jamie looked up. "Like what?"

"I don't know, thinkin' of me I guess."

"Sunday night is good for meal planning. On days I send you lunch, will you bring back the utensils?"

"I s'pose. Not just throw away some styrofoam?"

"Oh no, that stuff's terrible for the environment. Reusables are much better, but you've got to bring them home."

"I might forget a time or two, till I get in the habit."

"That's not a problem, as long as they make it home eventually."

"You'd have to buy a bunch of plastic forks."

"No," Jamie smiled. "Not for my man, and not for the environment. Real plates, real forks. Reusable containers I can toss in the dishwasher. Cheap stuff to eat with, but real dishes. I've got most of what we need at home." Kent shot him a look and Jamie corrected, "In Ohio."

"Better. This here's home, Jamie. You belong to me."

Jamie wasn't going to fight that on a Sunday night.

Another long silence ensued, till finally Jamie said, "These books are mostly worthless, but I've come up with a plan."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"It's changeable, but this will do for now. Mondays: El Casa Méxicana."

"Yeah! I love Mexican. And Dominican, Jamie. And Puerto Rican, reminds me of all my Latin teammates."

"Fried plantains," Jamie made a note.

"Oh yeah, gimme some."

"Tuesdays: Pappy's Home Cookin'. Notice I'm not saying which of us is Pappy."

"Hey, I love home cookin'. Goodness, am I glad I found you."

"Wednesdays: The Emperor's Happy Family. That's Chinese and pan-Asian."

"Cool."

"Thursdays: Café Europa. Modern Euro cuisine, which can be from anywhere."

"I'm likin' this, baby."

"Saturdays: La Trattoria Italiana. Although we ate there tonight on a Sunday. Could I get a drumroll, please?" Kent tapped his index fingers on the side table. "And on Sundays: Le Bistro Parisienne."

"Kssh," Kent hit an imaginary cymbal. "French?"

"However did you guess?"

"I ain't never ate French food."

"It's for Sundays because it's the best in the world."

"You left out Fridays, though."

"Ah, zee keetchen ees closed, fermé de vendredi."

"I go hungry Friday night?"

"We have a date every Friday night. Or did you forget?"

"Nah, I didn't forget. Heck no, not me. We got a date?"

"Every Friday night, no sloughing it off because we're tired and lazy and we could get a pizza. Plus we have a procedure: where we go is a surprise."

"Then how do we know where we're goin'?"

"One of us knows, but the other one doesn't. This Friday coming, you decide where we go and what we do. Maybe it will be dinner and a movie; I won't know, will I? I'll just know we're going out. The next Friday, maybe I'll take you to a fish fry and hoedown; or maybe to the restaurant on top of the John Hancock Building in Chicago; or maybe we'll have dinner at Purdue and go bowling in the Union Building. The host will suggest what kind of clothes to wear, but that will be our only clue."

Kent chuckled, "Got me an imaginative boy."

"Not to say it couldn't last all weekend, depending on the trip; the cook deserves his nights off. Maybe in summertime we'll take a hot-air balloon ride and end with a picnic under the stars; or go whitewater rafting in West Virginia, or a weekend on Broadway."

Kent remembered something. "Or we can go to Hickory Grove and grill us some fish."

"Where is Hickory Grove?"

"Kessler Farms. Mom wants you to come for supper this Wednesday."

"She does? You told her already?"

"She does and I did. She can't wait to meet you, Jamie."

"Was she okay, then?"

"She was great. I didn't believe it at first, 'cause she kept me waitin' and didn't say nothin', but once we got to talkin', she was fantastic. Oh, Jamie, please say you'll come."

"Well, of course. Wow, Kent, that's great. Will there be other people there? Did she mention any food?"

"Just her, for pot roast. It's so good."

"Pot roast," Jamie smiled. "Home cooking."

"She's the greatest cook. Beef so tender it'll fall off the bone."

"I'll have to see how she does it."

"I should call her."

"Well, do it, then. Wow, I get to meet your mother."

"Does that phone reach this far?"

Jamie handed over the phone, then finished cleaning up the kitchen. He didn't eavesdrop on Kent's conversation with his mother, but he smiled at the tone of it.


* * *


Later they watched some football, and before it got too late Kent said, "Sure wish my boy was sittin' on my lap right now."

Jamie smiled and happily sat with him. They tried various positions in the wide recliner, but they couldn't quite sit hip to hip, and Jamie on top of Kent wasn't that great either after awhile, so Jamie took off his glasses, set them on the table and sat on his lap crossways, leaning his head on Kent's shoulder. Kent kissed him and said, "I believe what we need is a loveseat. Don't know if they make 'em in recliners, but that would be ideal."

"It would," Jamie smiled.

"Let's go furniture shoppin' this week, baby."

"I've got loveseats… in Ohio."

"Don't do us no good here. Let's just go out to Furniture Row and see what we can find. I'm really curious about loveseat recliners."

"Okay. Are they open at night?"

"Dunno. We can call."

"Okay."

"I want us to sit close sometimes."

"So do I."

"Thank you for my supper tonight."

"You're welcome."

"Red wine and mozzarella on spaghetti. Why didn't anybody else ever think of that?"

"I love parmesan too, though."

"Depends on what we got in the fridge, maybe."

"That's the spirit, slugger."

"Should we plan on goin' grocery shopping tomorrow?"

"After appetizers, yeah. We can buy fresh and bring it home and make it."

"This has been one hell of a birthday."

"I love you, Kent."

Kent kissed him, "You're my baby boy." Jamie smiled and snuggled into his shoulder. Kent rubbed Jamie's thigh and said in a low voice, "I liked the candle-lighting tonight too."

"I'm glad."

"Reminds me of last night."

"Yes."

"Y'know, somethin' else would remind me of last night. And be different, too." They closed their eyes and kept kissing. "Gimme what I want tonight, baby. I got somethin' for ya. Somethin' you need."

"Thank you for last night." They opened their eyes. "I loved it, Kent."

"Mmm. I got what you need, boy."

"I know you do, Daddy."

"It's real important tonight, boy. I'm gonna train you to my cock."

"Oh," Jamie sighed, anticipating.

Kent turned off the TV. "I'm gonna pick you up in a minute. I'm gonna carry you to the bedroom and tell you to strip naked. You're gonna follow step-by-step instructions."

"If I do good, do I get another certificate?"

Kent chuckled, "This trainin's gonna take awhile. But I can see there might be different levels of competency, so you work at it, there might be certificates. But majorin' in it's gonna take you all four years."

"At U of C I was summa cum laude."

"Well, you'll get plenty of cum along the way, if you study real hard, and show me you're a good boy."

Jamie breathed deeply. "Show me how to make the team, Coach. Teach me all the plays."

"You're gonna have to practice real hard, boy. Two-a-days sometimes. I want you on the varsity, but you gotta practice hard and do exactly what I say. You gonna do that?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Come on, then." Kent reached under Jamie's knees, stood up and carried him to the bedroom, where life would start.

He set him gently on the floor, then said, "Strip, then put on your jock from last night."

"You autographed it."

"Damn right. You're gonna keep that jock for the rest of your life, boy."

"Damn right," Jamie said, pulling off his shirt, reaching down to pull off his boots.

Kent adjusted the lighting and took off his shirt. Again he stood by the mirrored closet doors.

When Jamie was naked and jocked, Kent said, "Come here." Jamie came, Kent held him by the back of the neck and pushed him all the way down, past his knees and onto all fours. And he just held him there, giving him an eyeful of his cowboy boots.

Jamie swallowed and Kent pushed him down further. "Kiss 'em, then take these boots offa me."

Jamie gasped, kissed each one once, then started to pull them off. He set them behind him.

"Training position," Kent ordered, and Jamie got back on all fours. Kent stepped back and started taking off his jeans. He was wearing jockey shorts tonight. "Did you see this cock last night? The one I'm trainin' you to now?"

"Not really. But I sure felt it."

"So this'll be your first good look. That's great, babe. You're gonna get a real good look. But don't do nothin' till I say."

"Okay."

Kent turned around with his back toward Jamie and pulled off his shorts. Jamie got a very nice view of his muscled, hairy ass. "Follow my orders, boy."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't do nothin' till I tell ya, then do exactly as I say."

Jamie nodded.

Then slowly Kent turned and let him see. Jamie's mouth slowly fell open, his eyes got big, his head leaned down, he breathed through his mouth.

"Just look"—as if Jamie could keep from staring.

The sight of that cock was like a kick in the gut. It hurt, the way learning of terrible news is painful.

"Stay here. I'll be right back." Kent stepped past him and disappeared.

Jamie stared into the void of his own most fearful emotions.

Soon Kent was back with two glasses of water and the kitchen towel, which he laid on Thelma's nightstand. He drank, then held the back of Jamie's head and gave him a drink.

Jamie wondered what terribleness was to come.

Kent's cock was beautiful; long, very thick, uncut.

It wasn't the biggest there ever was, the internet's full of pictures of monsters; this wasn't one. But it was the most beautiful cock Jamie had ever seen, a great big mouthful.

But still, the pain just got worse.

It wasn't because of the cock itself, but what was tattooed above the thick black pubes.

"Whatcha lookin' at, boy? Read it out to me, what does it say?"

One word, just four black inch-high letters. But panic-inducing.

Jamie swallowed. He couldn't pronounce it, he was afraid. He wanted to say it, but he was terrified.

Kent leaned down, pulled his head up by the hair and demanded, "What does it say?"

And he didn't let go.

Jamie looked back down at it and finally murmured: "OBEY."

Kent stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at him. "Not once, but ten thousand times."

Jamie gasped; whatever was going to become of him?

What are you going to do to me?++

© 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.

4. Hickory Grove

Kent got to the cabin and suddenly worried about what it would look like to his boyfriend. It needed a major cleaning, that was for darn sure. It hadn't been dusted since he moved in, and he had way too many magazines thrown around, Auto Mania, Hoosier Hunting, Indiana Angler, plus all the policing titles. He was never home to read any of them, so why did he keep subscribing?

He changed into his charcoal suit, slipped on his black loafers and wondered what tie to wear. He looked at his collection and quickly picked his loudest one, bright red with wavy stripes, a little comic. The tie said he was respectful of the Lord and also, This is my birthday!

Decided he didn't need an overcoat, so went to the kitchen and grabbed his mother's birthday gift, which Schaefer's had wrapped in gold foil. His watch said he was in good time and would probably be early. He got back in the F-250 and started off.

He almost always drove fast like a cop, but not on Sunday mornings; going the speed limit to church was one of his father's habits, because their ancestors used to drive a horse and buggy to Kessler Chapel. It was Quaker back then, not Methodist. That all changed during the Civil War.

Kent might have time to visit the cemetery today. He always rubbed Old Josiah's gravestone for good luck before spending time with his father. What would he say to him?

Would he tell his mother about Jamie? "Hi Mom, guess what, I'm Gay" didn't sound right, but he'd need a plan.

One thing he wouldn't do was apologize. If his Mom got upset, she just did, it was her tough luck.

He loved his mother dearly, but he wasn't going to apologize for Jamie. If he had to, he'd let her know that, so she'd understand what the stakes were, not to oppose him on this.

He hoped he didn't have to give up his mother to be with his boyfriend; but if he did, he would. He turned on the radio for some country music.

He really hoped he didn't have to give up his mother to be with Jamie; that would be awful. He loved his mother so much; she'd always been so good to him.

In a few minutes a new song came on, and five bars later he cranked it up. "No, I Ain't Gonna Let You Go."

As soon as it was over he switched to the rival station to hear it again. That song had "hit" written all over it.


He arrived 15 minutes early, not many cars in the gravel lot yet. Before venturing to the gravestones he checked the ground for mud, but the grass looked dry enough to walk on. He went first to Josiah's simple marker, crouched down and ran his fingers over the letters that spelled out KESSLER. By consensus no one ever touched Josiah's name anymore, lest they wear down the markings, but Kent insisted on touching his family name. Thanks, old man, we're still here.

Then he went to meet his father, JAMES EARL KESSLER.

The gravesite looked good for early winter, a gleaming slab of dark red granite, the biggest headstone in the place. Kent brushed some leaves off the top and read the legend:

HUSBAND
FATHER
LEADER
HONEST MAN

It choked Kent up to see those words today, like his father's final directions to him.

His eyes focused on the first line. He whispered, "Daddy, I got married last night. His name's Jamie."

He almost felt as if his father accepted this, though he couldn't really know.

He found the second line. "Don't know how we might have kids, we ain't even talked about it. Maybe we could adopt, or ya know, there's all kinds of technology these days. I gotta talk to him, once we get settled in."

His Dad seemed to nod a little, or maybe Kent was so blown away by Jamie's story last night he was imagining things.

He paused over the third line, leader; it's what his father was and raised him to be. Kent wished Jamie was here to see the grave, it might help him understand better.

Then the fourth line, honest man. "I'm gonna tell Mom today; don't know how, but I will. She deserves to know, and ain't no time like the present." He tried to listen for his father's advice. "She's my Mother, I ain't gonna make a major move without her knowin'. We been so close all this time, I hope we still get to be. She might not like it, Dad, but I ain't gonna hide nothin'. I'm tryin' to be like you were, even if that don't make no sense; I wanna be an honest man, so I'm gonna be.

"She's become more religious since you been gone, I know that; don't know if it might change things. If it does it does. I love my Mother, Daddy. Thank you for everything you ever give me, especially her."

He bent down, touched his lips to the polished stone, turned and went toward the church just as Joey and Cher drove up. He gave Joey an elaborate look of astonishment, you made it. Joey grinned and flipped him off.

Kent sat in the family pew, waiting and looking around. In a few minutes his mother came in. They quietly greeted each other, but they had a tradition no one else remembered anymore, of keeping silence before church.

At the sermon time Kent led all the little ones to Sunday School so he had an excuse to miss the boring part. His only real duty as the superintendent was taking attendance and looking tall, to keep the kids in line; otherwise he read the Sunday paper in his little office till it was time to count the pennies, nickels and dimes of the Sunday School offering. But he always made it back upstairs in time for the recessional.

Afterwards Mom told Kent, "You stay and visit if you want, I'm going home to finish your dinner."

Kent said okay and started lifting up little girls who came streaming towards him, "Uncle Kent!" Kids made a beeline for him, pulling his legs, jostling to get close, laughing and hollering. The youngest of the Wesley Kesslers, a 4-year-old boy named Sam, kept yanking his sleeve, "Lift me up, Unca Kenty! Lift me up!"

Kent bent down low to him and said, "I dunno, Sammy, you think you can do it this time? Think you're strong enough?"

"You know I can! Lift me up! Pwease? I'm stwong enough!" So Kent crouched down, made a big bicep, Sammy clutched his arm with both hands and Kent stood up six feet tall so the boy could hang and swing. He hollered, it was so much fun.

His big brother John Wesley, 17, got down on one knee to catch Sammy when he fell, which never took very long. John Wesley got him, kissed him and Sammy started clamoring, "Do it again!" But he knew the rule, one per customer.

Joey and Cher came up with their brood, three so far and another one planned, and Kent tossed the oldest boy J.J. around. The middle girl, Cherisse, got her special noogies; she loved to play in his hair and get tickled. Then Kent picked up the little one still in diapers, Kent Earl Kessler, and looked raptures at him. "You smell like baby powder, son. I know somebody who'd like you." The brown-eyed boy loved to pull his uncle's nose and poke him in the eye. Kent ducked and laughed, "Someday, fella, you're gonna wish you never tried that." But Little Kent, as he was universally known, took it for encouragement instead, poke poke.

After all the kids got their attention, Joey pulled him aside and said, "So, d'jou get lucky last night?"

"None of your beeswax, buster, we're in church. Is that one of Cher's pubes on your chin?"

Joey brushed his mouth twice and said, "Maybe I started growin' a goatee."


Twenty minutes later Kent opened and shut the gate, paused in the driveway as always, then sped up the avenue at Hickory Grove, raising a cloud of dust for the heck of it.


He spun out perfectly, gravel flying, then parked around back by the third garage door, his spot. His mother was waiting for him on the back steps, smiling and waving a kitchen towel.

What a sight she was, now in jeans, sweatshirt and apron — always the apron. He was amazed how young she looked once she was back in everyday clothes. He had to grin and shout, “Hey Mom, I'm home!” He ran to her.

“Son, happy birthday! I could hardly wait till today got here. Are you good and hungry?”

"Heck yeah." He bent down to kiss her cheek, and shook her shoulders in his enthusiasm. “Don’t you look good!” She smelled of that familiar sweet perfume.

“The vegetable soup's ready right now.”

She watched him bound up the back porch stairs two at a time, through the solarium and into the kitchen.

He stood in the middle of the room when she got there, head back on his shoulder blades, drinking in the aromas of her food. “Mom! This smells grrreat! How do you do it? The flowers look terrific, you always arrange them so good. And what else did you do in here, everything just sparkles. Come here, let me give you another hug.”

She happily did, though the kitchen didn't sparkle in the least; it was clean but it hadn't been redone since World War II, and she dismissed his rampant enthusiasm. Then he was off to the family room crying, “Let’s get some music going.” He tuned in his favorite country station, returned to the kitchen snapping his fingers with both hands, humming along with the tune.

He was animated like she'd seldom seen before. His whole body seemed alive, he was dancing almost in her kitchen. He’d never done that before; Kent was never a dancer, not even the senior prom.

Something good must have happened.

“You look so handsome in that suit, dear.” She checked her green beans. “You seem to be feeling well today."

“I’m feeling great. You wanna take out the horses later? It’s been a long time since you and me rode together. I think we should go on a birthday ride.”

She smiled, "What a nice idea. It has been a long time." Riding together was something Kent and James Earl used to do; she didn’t get asked along very often. "That would be fun."

An idea formed in her head. Did you meet someone possibly?

“It’s a beautiful day,” he said expansively. “All this sunshine in late November? It would be a shame to waste a beautiful warm day like this indoors.”

“Well, let's eat first. You’ve got jeans and work shirts hanging in the basement.”

He pulled off his jacket and tie, hung them on hooks in the solarium and went downstairs to change clothes. Soon he was back in his Wranglers, denim shirt and black riders. "Dang, I left your present in the pickup, I'll be right back."

He went out to the truck, grabbed the box and back inside, placing the gold foil on the table. "It's good to be home." She glanced at the box and knew where it came from. "Want me to set the table?"

She sliced homemade bread, which by itself had the power to make his mouth water, and set out a stick of butter. "I thought we'd eat in the dining room today. It's already set up, thanks."

He sniffed the last-of-season giant yellow mums as he sat down at the old maple table Father Josiah had built for this kitchen eons ago. Kent remembered re-glueing the legs with his Dad one winter night when he was in high school. He tested them again, as he always did when he was here, to make sure they were still holding strong.

He watched her ladle soup into bowls and realized he had no ability to outplay his mother. A strategy might work with Jamie, but it wouldn't with her. With Jamie he had the element of surprise; he had a surprise for his mother, but not necessarily one she'd welcome.

She loaded a tray, told him to grab the flowers and led him to the dining room with its portraits of Father Josiah and Miss Evangeline. Martha took the chair opposite him at the far end of the long table, their accustomed spots, leaving an empty space at the head. They held hands and bowed their heads. “Thank God for my mother, this food and my life. We miss ya, Daddy, and we always will. So look down and bless us both, Amen,” Kent said. “Short and sweet, huh?”

"So much for dreams of my son the minister. You wouldn't last a day. People wouldn't get their money's worth with your ten-word prayers."

"Open your present."

She unwrapped the fancy paper carefully, like women do, and reached inside. On top was a little jewelry box nestled in red paper. "There's something underneath, too," he said, "keep goin'."

She set the jewelry box aside and dug further. "What's this?" It was surrounded by bubble wrap, so she couldn't see inside it. "What did you do?"

"Open it up."

"Eat your soup before it gets cold."

"Nah, soup can wait. I'm thankin' you for my life here, Mom."

She managed to find tape and pull the bubble wrap apart, then found a little statue in terra cotta, 12 inches tall, which she set on the table. It was a young mother in a long, flowing skirt, her hair tied up, and below her a little boy, holding her hand and looking up at her as she gazed down at him.

"Oh," she cooed, "aren't they beautiful."

"Had to special-order it, it's made down in southern Indiana. The minute I saw it in the catalog I told Mr. Schaefer, That one."

"I just love her skirt. She's so elegant."

"That was us, Mom, once upon a time. Thank you for what you went through to have me."

She didn't reply but knew what he meant. He said, "Open up the other one."

"I hope it's not too expensive."

"Oh, get over it, see what's inside."

She lifted the lid and her eyes got big. "My wonder!"

"Carat and a half," he told her.

They were dangly diamond earrings made to go perfectly with what he bought her with his first baseball money. That necklace was a showpiece. "They're beautiful! But wherever am I going to wear them?"

"Don't know, but you got to find someplace, 'cause I didn't buy 'em just so you could stick 'em in a drawer. How 'bout Christmas this year?"

"Well, yes, but after that, I just don't know. I don't go anywhere to put on jewels like this."

"Well, maybe it's time we started goin' to better places." Like with Jamie. The opera or somethin'.

"Thank you, dear." She got up to kiss him. "They're just lovely. I'm thinking of putting the statue in my room so I can see it every day." She picked it up to look at it again. "Aren't they just grand."

"Why not put your earrings on right now? It's kind of a special day, I hear."

"While I'm frying a chicken? They'd end up covered with grease. Let's eat our soup."

So they did. He blew on a tablespoon of soup to cool it, waited a few seconds, then took her taste test. He had to close his eyes, it was so good.

Orgasm for my mouth. Stop, you guys, you’re killin' me.

“I thought so too,” she said. He smiled broadly. He shouldn’t tell her so soon; but if he did, how would he do it?

“Oh, I forgot our water,” she said, getting up. “Or did you want something else?” She served water at every meal. “It does a body good,” she'd say.

“Water’s fine, Mom.” Then he remembered that Jamie also served water this morning along with the juice, in goblets no less, from a crystal pitcher. Knew there was a reason I like that boy.

She brought ice water, sat down again, looked at him expectantly. He took another bite of soup, eyed her brown smiling eyes. He wiped his mouth.

Didn’t know what to say, but forced himself to talk anyway. “Mom, the soup’s great.”

She leaned back and relaxed, smiling and waiting, enjoying the soup too. He ate another spoonful. She had added something different this time, what was that taste?

He looked up at her again, at a growing loss for words. If I don’t tell her about Jamie, what else is there to talk about? He searched his personal news from the past week, but it was all about his new boyfriend.

Her eyes were inviting, undemanding, accepting — which pleased him no end. He knew he was spoiled, and he was dying to tell; but how to tell her this?

He got tongue-tied. There is nothing harder than keeping a secret you're dying to tell. He worried his mother would sense that too.

“Did something happen, Kent? You’re awfully happy today. If you want to talk about it, I want to listen. Or if it's too new, too personal, that's all right, too.”

He looked down at his bowl, decided against that cop-out. But it gave him the determination he needed to lay down his spoon and gaze at his mother. Then one last look away to think; then back at her.

She was so pretty, he loved her so much, how could he not love girls?

Wham, he felt a chemical change in his gut. He did not love girls, he loved Jamie.

Sheesh, I have to tell her sometime. I don't want her to find out on her own, then wonder why I didn't say anything. And really, give me a rooftop so I can shout it out.

How the heck do people do this? He ate his soup.

It got so quiet in the old dining room that Martha started wondering what to talk about too. We wait all week to see each other and now we have nothing to say.

She wondered who it was — Ann Landers, some old wife? — who wrote the rule against prying into your child's life. Then she wondered what the penalty would be for breaking it.

“Mom, I’ve got some news for you, and it may be a shock but I have to tell you,” he began. There, that felt better.

She looked at him evenly, prepared herself slightly for disaster — a shock?— but also doubting disaster. This was Kent, who had never given her any trouble. Well, he stole her car once, but that was quickly dealt with.

Did you get a girl pregnant? Run to Las Vegas and you’re already married? What? You started out so happy and now I'm going to be shocked?

He looked bewildered. “It’s all right, son. You know I love you. No matter what, I love you.”

He copped out with soup, stalling again. He chewed and swallowed. This is my mother. Stop it.

“I’m in love,” he said flatly. “With Jamie Foster.” And that felt better still.

Then he waited. But she didn't say a word.

Suddenly he could hear the grandfather clock in the vestibule ticking, as well as the music.

She nodded pensively; but not a single storm cloud passed over her face.

Jamie Foster. Well, that’s a surprise, all right; maybe even a shock.

My all-American boy? My baseball player?

It's a shock, all right. Really?

No. It couldn't be. She ate. Could it? How on earth? James Earl's son.

But he always was a sensitive boy, a sweet, considerate child. He shared his toys as soon as she taught him to — all children have to be taught that, especially only children. But not my Kent. It was like he wanted to share from day one.

The suspense started to kill him. Say something, Ma.

Martha composed herself slightly, sampled her soup again. It did taste good.

So maybe not such a complete shock, but still. He's as masculine as a man could ever be. Just like his Dad.

She buttered some bread and tried another mental angle. He's in love with Jamie Foster. "In love with," that's what he said.

Martha smiled for the first time, a small smile but a real one.

"With Jamie Foster." Who is this Jamie? What do I know about him?

When Jamie got stabbed, Kent was beside himself. No matter what anyone said or did, the whole world revolved around that hospital room, that's all there was to it. Kent wouldn’t leave the whole time Jamie was in the coma, don't even ask. I had to bring food and clean clothes, because he just refused to leave.

When Jamie came out of it finally, regained the world, Kent all but leapt for joy. After he went back to work he still spent all his spare time with him.

Jamie Foster. The blond boy on TV, who spoke so well. The hero, next to Kent, in those awful killings.

She thought about it more, and slowly began to smile at her own obliviousness.

If it'd been a woman I'd have known in a heartbeat. Martha, you’re a blithering idiot. Inside, she laughed.

How long has this been going on? Weeks, probably, if not months. What state was I in not to notice? Earth to Martha, hello.

Elbows on the table, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them to gaze at her only son.

My beautiful child, in love at last. How marvelous. If it's really love, that's fantastic.

The minutes were an eternity to Kent. "Jeez, Ma, say something, willya? Tell me you hate me, throw me out of the house, somethin'!"

Martha realized with a start she was keeping him in suspense, so she said, “I'm so sorry. I’m very happy you’re in love, son.” She smiled again. “I’ve waited 27 years for this to happen. My son is in love. Hooray!”

Then she looked away, towards the stained glass window over the fireplace, Jesus praying in the Garden, and quickly back at him. “I’m so glad, Kent. You of all people deserve to be in love. This is wonderful.”

Kent, remembering how Jamie was with him, spectacular forbidden sex, didn’t know what to think with his mother — are you dense? Ain’t I being clear, Mom? — so he ate some bread, a big noisy bite even for him.

She didn’t look blown away. He heard the sound of his own chewing. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

He swallowed and said, “Mom, he’s a guy. Jamie’s a guy.”

She chuckled at this. “I know perfectly well who Jamie is, Kent. He was your partner on the serial murder case. I baked him a pie when his mother died.”

“A cherry pie, which he loved,” Kent nodded, feeling suddenly less stupid, maybe a little hopeful. "They all did."

“Do you think the soup needs some salt? Or maybe more garlic?”

“No, Mom, the soup is great, it’s perfect. Why are we talking about the dang soup? When I’m telling you I’m Gay?” He felt like she was opening up an artery and bleeding him to death while he watched. No, wrong image, Jamie dying, no no no. But something horrible. God.

"I'm Gay, Mom. I'm Gay." This was only the second time he'd ever said it out loud.

His mother laughed silently to herself, tried to come up with words that would reassure him. He looked frustrated. And it was so unneccesary.

“Well, you know I think soup cures all,” she grinned and scolded. She thought about it, then said it. “I don’t care if you’re Gay. You’re my son.”

He mulled that one over. Driving down here in the pickup he knew how to handle himself, be strong, don't waver. But she confused him. "It takes more than two sentences to work this out." He wiped his mouth again, then wadded up his napkin and flung it over her shoulder. "It’s like you won’t deal with this! Mom, don’t you get it? I’m telling you I’m Gay. Your only son is Gay! No grandchildren, no more Kesslers, none of it! This farm down the drain, you hear me? Dang.” He looked angry, and would not meet her eyes.

She reached calmly for his tanned, muscled forearm and rubbed it. “Son,” she began, "you are hardly the only source of Kesslers in this county, and this farm isn't going anywhere." He searched her eyes for more. "Kent, I love you. I know who you are, a fine man I'm so proud of. And now you’re in love. I think that’s…” she searched for a superlative. “Terrific.”

He scraped his chair noisily on the polished wood floor and stood up to retrieve his napkin. She went to the drawer to get him a new one, handed it to him and sat down again.

“Well?” he demanded.

He stood in the middle of the floor and felt rebellious and guilty and fifteen, like he’d just been busted for that joyride to Shadeland in her station wagon with Dave and Joey and Laurie when he was 14, waiting to get chewed out, his Mom and Dad in their bathrobes at this very table so the ancestors could glare at him, after the sheriff brought him back. And not just the sheriff — his Dad's cousin, the sheriff.

His mother instantly grounded him for a month. His Dad suggested six, unless he "cared to acquaint himself with the hoosegow."

Now she wondered how to tell him, then decided not to work so hard. “Kent Tanquery Kessler, I don’t care if you’re Gay. You’re my son, you’re my pride and joy. What do I have to say to let you know that? You’re… it’s like you’re expecting me to blow up and get hysterical or something. I’m not going to. Yes, it’s a surprise; but son, you’ve just told me you’re in love. How can I be anything but overjoyed?”

He looked at her open-mouthed. "Finish your soup before it gets cold,” she advised tartly.

He grabbed his chair, swung it and noisily sat down, picked up his spoon and slurped loudly; but then, she’d heard worse from James Earl, and she’d rather have Kent slurping here than anywhere else in the world.

His eyes had a new test. “We are talking about homosexuality, you know,” he said crossly.

"Enough of this." Mama put her foot down. “Kent, if you’re expecting me to rant and rave, I don’t know what to say but what I’ve said." Her voice got softer. "I’m thrilled you’re in love. That’s tremendous, son! It’s been a long time for you. Does Jamie make you happy? That’s all I want to know, it really is. As long as he makes you happy, I’m happy.”

And it started to dawn on Kent that Mama was fine.

She always was; why wouldn't she be now? Maybe he was selling her short this whole time. He felt the corners of his mouth slowly tug north, up and up and up, until he was ear to ear and finally laughing out loud. "Oh, Mom, really?"

"Really," she nodded at him, now that she could see him start to believe her. "What does it take around here, a polygraph? Dick Cheney to waterboard me? Believe me, I'll happily spill my guts, just don't send me to Gitmo."

A little part of Kent wept in joy, at least his breath gasped. He threw his bread on his plate and went to her, kissed her forehead four times and hugged her as he half laughed and half cried.

His words came fast now. “Oh Mom, he does make me happy. I can’t tell you how much! I can’t even think about it myself yet. I’ve just come from his place. I just told him how I felt yesterday, we went to the game and then he was leaving and — I can’t tell you, ‘cause I'm half-crazy and I don’t even know myself. But Mom, I am in love!” He pounded the table four times, accompanying his last words, rattling the silver, splashing the soup. "With the cutest, smartest, sexiest dude on the planet. And now he's mine, all mine!"

He whooped. He shook his head in her face and then he danced around her dining room. "Kent wins the lottery! The lottery of love, baby! Oo-whoo! Yes yes yes! Lucky dude, lucky dude, lucky dude! Yes! I can't believe it." He looked at her and laughed again. "I guess you figured that out!"

And he found himself stupid and hilarious, and had to hold onto the buffet to keep from rolling on the floor and frothing at the mouth — an image which launched more paroxysms.

Martha laughed at him till her eyes hurt.

Then she stood, went over and held him, until he swept her up and danced her into the kitchen, through the butler's pantry, up the hall and through the foyer, all around the parlor then a circuit of the gallery, "Tra-la, it's November, the lusty month of November!"


At last she got him settled down enough to sit again for his birthday dinner. She brought steaming mashed potatoes, a boat of cream gravy, Southern green beans with bacon and a platter of the most succulent fried chicken a body could ever eat.

Martha said, “Now, son, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But we’ve always been open with each other, and I’m curious, so I’ll ask. When did all this start?”

“The day I met him. The moment I first laid eyes on him. I fought it at first but it just grew and grew.”

She nodded and smiled, allowing herself to be slightly pleased that he fought it awhile. After all, it's not the easiest life to lead. You should know what you're getting into first.

Then she said again, “You don’t have to tell me, you really don't. You're a man and you're entitled to your own life. But are you saying you stayed the night? I tried to call you last evening and — never mind that, it wasn't important, I just… had no idea. It’s not like you have to wait for marriage, do you?"

He looked her right in the eye: "But that's the thing, Mom. We did wait for marriage."

She was stunned. "How's that?"

"He don't… make love with anyone without a commitment first. Vows, they're called. Last night we exchanged vows. He says the minister don't marry people, he just pronounces over what they've already done. Jamie and me married each other last night; and even if it ain't legal in this state, I know for a fact the Lord was watchin' over us and givin' his blessing. Mom, if you knew Jamie, you'd know the Lord is with him somehow. God talks to him sometimes, and Jamie knows how to listen."

Martha did not know how to take this in. Finally she said, "He's a Christian person, you're saying?"

"Presbyterian, I think. Somethin' like that."

"Well, that's a good sign. My friend Marcia's a Presbyterian."

"How it all happened, at first him and me just worked together, got to know each other, started bein' friends. Then we fell in love, the Incident happened, and I waited for him to recover before I said anything. I didn't want him to be vulnerable 'cause he's sick, or 'cause I'm a cop, or grateful to me or nothin'. He's well now, Mom, he gained all his weight back, he can function on his own pretty much, he can make his own decisions. Then somehow the truth came out, he was leavin' so I kinda halfway blurted it out, and we still didn't jump each other's jeans till after we made these vows to each other."

"Vows," she repeated. "How lovely."

"He says vows are the essential part of marriage, that the promises people make are what does it. Jamie was the leader the whole way. He don't give his body to anyone without a commitment. And he's real big that we gotta be faithful to each other, which is exactly what I want. So no, it wasn't legal, but he brought God into it right off the bat. So we said our vows, which was a holy thing; and it sure feels like bein' married. I'm his husband now, Mom. He's mine." He remembered his pinky finger, made a fist and lifted his hand up, showing her his ring. "See this?"

She stared at the ring and tried to understand all this. It was a real wedding band, all right, just too small.

Gee. You’ve known each other awhile anyway. I wouldn’t want you to just jump into bed with somebody. It’s been what, three months now since you met him. I'm glad you waited the three months.

That made her stomach bump. Three months. That’s when your Dad and I…

She smiled involuntarily. Why, Martha, you old hypocrite. Waiting those three months to start making love were the hardest thing imaginable. And you still wore white to the wedding. She had to keep from giving herself away on that one.

Kent gazed into the paneled library opposite, a hundred mental images of last night and today filling his head. He nodded. “Yes, we slept together, as close as guys can get. I'm not asking if you think that's okay, 'cause I know it was. Best thing I ever done, and I don't care who knows it. Regardless of anyone's opinion, I plan to keep on doin' it for the rest of my life."

She'd never seen him so determined.

He loosened up then, took a chicken breast in his fingers, bit in, then told the bird with his mouth full, "Oh Lucy, you so juicy!"

It was an ancient family joke; his father called all the chickies Lucy just so he could say that line to praise his wife's cooking. She clapped her hands together softly. “If you really love each other, of course it's okay. There’s nothing that compares to a satisfying relationship with the one you love. A person can't be really healthy without it, in my opinion. We'd have fewer wars if more people had happy sex lives.

“Son, I didn't mean to lead you on. But you looked so worried about all this before, like I wouldn’t love you or something; and of course I love you, I’m thrilled that you’ve finally found him. But I don’t know anything about him really. Is he worthy of you? He kind of sounds like he might be, but when do I get to meet him? Jamie Foster,” she said, trying the name out on her tongue.

"Heck yes, he's worthy of me; Mom, he's better than me. You wait, you'll see what I mean. The stars go out next to him, they lose all their luster. His hair alone's got 'em all beat."

She patted his hand, remembering James Earl, who had made her feel the exact same way.

Kent shook his head, amazed at the last twenty-four hours. “I can’t believe you feel like this, Mom."

“Get over it! When are you bringing him to meet me?”

He grinned excitedly. “Oh Mom, I love you to pieces.” It was exactly what he wanted, to bring together the two most important people in his life. “As soon as possible, I hope. Wait till you meet him. He’s, he’s just beautiful. Physically of course, you saw him on TV, but he's gained all his weight back and looks stupendous now; and spiritually, there’s something in him that I know you’ll like. I’m just finding out about it, he’s got so much figured out. He really knows what he believes in, and he lives it, too, boy.

“And he’s so smart. My goodness, I don’t know what he sees in me. You won’t believe how smart he is. He speaks all these different languages, he just leaves me in the dust. You know where he went to college?” She shook her head. “University of Chicago. Graduated, get this, when he was 17.”

"Oh, my."

“Double major, history and econ. Plus he played varsity basketball, he's got records, co-MVP, conference champs, went to the Sweet Sixteen. Is that unbelievable? He just blows me away. And he acts like it’s nothin’. He won’t even talk about it, I had to drag it out of him. Man, if it was me I’d have it painted on the side of my truck.”

Martha did have to marvel. “They say Chicago’s the toughest undergraduate program in the country. That's where all the Nobel Prize winners in economics are from, year after year, at least until Krugman. My.”

“He's amazing. Remember when I was 17? I was struggling to get through high school econ, all that stock market gibberish, puts and calls and all that stupid junk. He's my same age and he was getting a degree in it. Then he got a master’s from that Ivy League school that’s no good in sports, um, Columbia — in New York City — when he was 20. At 20 I was reading Cliff’s Notes and still learning to just say no to beer blasts at the frat house.” He shook his head. “I was a kid, he was a man. Plus he was working the whole time."

"How ever did he manage all that?"

“He used to model clothes, remember? He put himself through college and grad school both. I guess his family never had any money, ‘cause he had to do it all by himself. Can you imagine the self-discipline that took, the time management? I thought I had it rough, practicin' and studyin' both. But he was out earnin' a living, playin' hoops and gettin' a dual degree, while I was sweatin' it out in high school takin' and retakin' the SATs to make it into IU. The discipline he has is awesome. Somebody like that, he carries a whole team on his back.

“Anyway, he was pretty good at the modeling deal, because he’s been everywhere in Europe and all these places, I don’t know where all. He’s been to Milan, Italy, and London, and Paris, he can speak Italian and French, and he knows about opera and art and all that stuff.”

He stopped, grinned at her. “In other words, Ma, I’m in totally over my head,” he laughed. “If he ever finds out the truth I’m gonna be toast. But I’ll tell you this: now I got him I ain’t gonna let him go, neither.” Kent said this with his index finger pointed decisively. “No way. I’ll cuff him if I have to, and tickle him till he gives up and takes me back.”

To Martha, it wasn’t even what he said that was most important, it was how he said it. Yes, this is love, all right.

Then it was her turn to dance over and hug him. He stood, and by the time they were done he was all but jumping up and down again.

“Yee-ha!” he shouted, taking off his invisble cowboy hat and flinging it into the air.

Some hours later they were on horseback, Kent in his actual black suede cowboy hat riding Bust Yer Chops, a gelding and the leader, and Martha with a scarf tied under her chin, plus her brown wool hat, riding Gag Me Lolly, the mare who followed. It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny and not quite 50º. They headed down the trail toward their favorite spot, the hickory grove which gave the farm its name.

The bottomlands beyond the grove, next to Sugar Creek, were once farmed with row crops, but proximity made that acreage a flood risk and pesticides could run off into the water, so Kent's father pulled that area out of production years ago and replanted it with native hardwoods under a modest government program. It was still their private property, but was now officially listed by the USDA as the James Earl Kessler Nature Preserve. It sheltered more wildlife every year, and was a good place for Kessler men to go hunting. Kent was an expert marksman, and he used to love hunting with his Dad.

Bad Cop had no qualms whatever about bagging his prey, and Good Cop loved his Dad.

Kent and Martha decided to ask Jamie to come for supper Wednesday. She said, "We could go to midweek service if he felt like it."

"There's an idea. I can't wait to show him the chapel."

“There’s one other thing I want to know,” she said. This felt like a risk, but she was curious.

“Shoot,” Kent answered with a shrug. He was ready for anything now.

“How do you handle it when it’s two men? I don’t mean the sex act, that’s too personal and I don’t care to know. I mean the…”

I know he's athletic, but is he effeminate at all? Will other people know by looking? Does he talk like those characters on TV? And what about AIDS? I don’t care how he is, I just don’t want either of you to be hurt. Please say he doesn't have AIDS.

“The social roles?” Kent finished, proud of his Indiana University degree in social science, and feeling a bit competitive with Mr. Wizard.

She wanted to be prepared and welcome Jamie, make him feel easy with the other people they might meet. “Yes, partly, the social roles. I don’t mean to be talking in stereotypes. If I am I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter the least bit. I’m just thinking about some of those old biddies at church. If anybody says anything I’ll just tell them to mind their own business.”

“If anybody says anything I’ll just knock their block off,” Kent replied bluntly. "Aunt Frieda's had it comin' for awhile now."

"She's 82," Martha chided with a laugh.

"She pretends to be good, but she's hostile and mean, and she stinks up the whole church with her farts."

His mother's rule was that he couldn't use four-letter words in the house, not that he could never cuss around her. She was a farmer's wife; she knew every four-letter word.

“What about safe sex,” she smiled.

“We're disease-free, Mom. We've both had complete workups and re-tests, so we don't take any risks at all. None, zero. Given his job, he knows all about it. We're not gonna let some stupid bug ruin a good thing.”

Martha looked at her son. She could tell he was sure; was that enough? “Okay,” she said. They rode on.

Kent looked at the western sky, a bright red Hoosier sunset making amazing colors in beautiful white clouds, red stripes like a giant American flag.

It's not just social roles, though, or even AIDS. It's how do two men get together? And what kind of a man is he? Martha tried to figure out how to find out more about this Jamie. "You've told me what he's done, Kent. Tell me what he's like."

Kent remembered Jamie in his boots at Willow Slough, the sound of him striding down the hallway at the Jasper County Jail, the little strut in his walk always; the things they were teaching each other about sexuality.

He looked far off again, then started talking. “Jamie's very intense. He's beautiful to look at, but his looks are totally deceiving. You might think he's just this lightweight prettyboy, but he's explosive, like a great athlete. Except he explodes with his mind, ya know? A burst and he’s twenty yards ahead of you, racin' for the end zone, while you’re burnt to a crisp. And he’s got this amazing physical courage and stamina. You should have seen him down in Indy, a complete stud. Nobody else could have survived what he went through. You get to know him and he's thoughtful and funny, very bright and incredibly masculine." It thrilled him to tell his mother about his lover.

“He’s real sure of himself, he’s got a ton of self-confidence. He’s fought and clawed to get where he is. He’s real competitive, he has a lot of leadership ability. We were two-thirds of the way through that case before I ever got a step ahead of him, and that wasn’t for long. I was the commander, but most of the time he ran the show, really. Because he was better at it overall, he didn’t have the limitations I had at the time. Anyway, I had to challenge him for control of my own investigation.”

“What happened?”

Kent smiled to think of it. “We were at this restaurant in Indianapolis. First time I’d ever been to a Gay place. He set me up kinda, just said to meet him there. Once I realized what kind of place it was, Mom, I was scared to death.

"It’s funny now when I look back on it, but I was on the ropes there for awhile. He got me through it, and I guess I passed his test, 'cause after all it was a Gay case, he was right to get me into the Gay community some kinda way. And then I basically demanded control, and he gave it to me. He was happy enough to hand it over, I think, but he was gonna make me earn it.

"Later on there was this big crisis, but he handled the whole thing. He said, ‘I choose to follow my commander,’ when politicians started challenging my authority and threatening to ruin everything. He changed the whole outcome right there, this big meeting with the governor's chief of staff, the FBI, the U.S. Attorney. What a gutsy little dude, they all backed down when he confronted 'em. He took on every one of 'em, and even flushed out one of the perps that was behind it. What a fantastic team player Jamie is. Jeez, he has no idea.”

“He sounds very interesting, and kind of complex. I can’t wait to meet him.”

"Then there's this other side to him too, this gentle boy who's innocent and sweet. I mean, Mom, nowadays, nobody even believes in innocence anymore; but he's got this quality about him that's… untrammeled somehow. He never gave in to the forces that beat a kid down."

"Oh, I like hearing that." Martha, an elementary school teacher, knew a lot of beat-up kids.

"It might be why he can listen for God when other people can't. Ya know?

"Some people who don't know any better might think 'cause of that unspoiled part of him, he maybe wouldn't be as macho as I am; but they'd be wrong. Mom, he's got me beat."

"Really? Everybody looks up to you, son."

"Maybe, as insecure as it seems like he grew up — I still don’t know where his dad is, it’s like he tells you not to even ask — he’s not the showoff macho type like some guys are. Like I care about their redneck opinions. I’m bigger 'n' taller than he is too. Didn’t do a thing to earn it, just the luck of the draw.

"But he's real macho. He shows it in different ways than most guys. He can fight with his body, I seen him do it; but his real weapon's his mind. Which come to think of it is a lot smarter than playing football. Which is why I’m a dumb jock and he's a smart one.

"But he's a fighter, all right. Mom, he's the most macho guy I ever met. And my God, is that ever the kicker."

"How so, dear?"

"The exact thing I'm attracted to is his masculinity. After all those years I spent in locker rooms, all the athletes I've loved and been close to and who've loved me, I had no damn idea I was Gay. But in walks this guy I knew in advance was, and he's got the strut and the attitude I recognized right from the start. Macho and athletic, tough when he's gotta be, a little muscleboy, and I said wow, I'm gettin' me some of that."

She mulled this over quite awhile; then finally said, "So it's not about male and female roles at all, is it. That isn't your motivation. You want someone who's like you are; not a mirror image at all, but a guy who's a lot like you."

He stared at her a little dumbfounded. "Exactly, Mom; thank you! Write that down for me when we get back to the house, will ya? It ain't about male and female at all. I'm in favor of that for you and Daddy, but heck, I want me a guy."

He pulled his reins, had to watch the sky redden a little further; was there anything as beautiful as the sun setting over the Indiana prairie? The land between the creek and the Wabash River rolled gently for him, as it had for Potawotamis and Kickapoos and the Shawnee mound-builders. Martha stopped too to enjoy the view.

He thought, We call it Kessler Farms now, but nobody really owns this land. It owns us.

Jamie, come and see. Come soon so I can give you sunsets and dawns and make love to you, naked in the wildflowers.

Man, I’m Gay, too, the big bad trooperman. Just as Gay, just as queer, just as homosexual as you are. God, I love you.

He enjoyed the word “homosexual” for the first time, because it had sex in it.

And yes, finally, there was something more beautiful than this fireball. My lover’s face.

To his mother he said, "Maybe goin' to church before Jamie even gets to meet you ain't such a good idea. Better to get the two of you comfortable with each other first. Why expose him to old Hoosier biddies anyway?"

"That makes sense."

"I wonder if he rides. Wouldn't it be neat to bring him out here next spring when it's warm enough? Gosh, Jamie 'n' me ridin' together on this ol' farm. I'd get pretty emotional about somethin' like that. Maybe grillin' a fish or two over a wood fire."

"You'd have to clean up that old brick grill, we haven't had a meal out here since Daddy died. If Jamie doesn't ride, you can teach him."

He reached down, patted Bust Yer’s neck. “We’re a couple of stallions, Mom, him and me. He's smaller and gentler and sophisticated, when he's not intimidating the whole world. I'm tall, I can be gentle at times, and I ain't nothin' but a country hick" — he puffed his chest out good-humoredly — "when I ain't bein' tough. We’re still figurin' out everything, we just got together last night. So far we're thinkin' I'll lead the physical, and him the mental. I’m not sure we'll ever figure it all out, though. At times I know I'm gonna be his follow horse, who won’t ever leave the stable without his pal.”

Then he dug in his heels to gallop the rest of the way, looking back over his shoulder at her and yelling, "Gotta go, before I tell you all my secrets!"

* * *

When Martha and Lolly caught up with him in the Grove, they let the horses graze, sat on the old homemade picnic table at the edge of the trees, told memory-stories and plotted the days until Jamie could come for slow-cooked pot roast, Hoosier style.

Kent couldn't wait to get Jamie on the farm in the summertime, so they could go riding and get all hot and sweaty together, and one thing would lead to another…++