The Telling (19 page)

His impending orgasm started as a slight tingling and grew steadily until he could feel completion approaching like a breaking wave. Fighting a losing the
battle, he opened his mouth to shout a warning a moment too late. “Jay!” he cried, arching off the bed.

He was still trying to catch his breath when his grinning lover straddled his chest, gazing down to cheerfully say, “Good morning
.”

Mind made up to reciprocate this time, Michael replied, “Bring that a bit closer.” He tentatively lapped at pearly drop of fluid
clinging on the end of his lover’s cock before easing his mouth over the head and applying suction.
Hmmm, not bad at all.

He pulled off to say, “Tell me what you like.”

Jay choked out a reply. “You know what you like, just do those things to me.”

Yes, Michael knew what he liked and Jay was the one teaching him. Wrapping both arms around slender hips, he pulled Jay closer, taking as much of
Jay’s cock into his mouth as he could. The head hit the back of his mouth, triggering a gag.

“Easy, Michael, it takes time to learn to throat it,” Jay told him. Michael took half of the length into his mouth and worked his
tongue against the underside, something Jay had done that he’d loved.

Jay began gently humping, rising up on his knees and grabbing the headboard for leverage. “Oh God, yes!” he cried, rhythm increasing as
he neared orgasm. “Michael, if you don’t want me to come in your mouth you’d better stop now!”

Michael hummed and increased the pressure, answering with actions instead of words.

“Ahhh…” Jay exclaimed, muscles going rigid as a splash of semen hit Michael’s tongue. Michael wouldn’t
pull off. If Jay could swallow, then he’d return the favor. Far from the vileness he’d expected, the taste and scent nearly made him
come again.

Jay slumped against the headboard, taking in air in huge panting gasps. After a few more gentle laps with his tongue, Michael reluctantly released his
lover’s spent flesh.

“Now it’s a good morning,” Michael said, smugly satisfied at his first attempt at giving oral sex. “What time do
you have to be in class?”

“Nine o’clock,” came the murmured reply, garbled due to Jay’s face pressed against the headboard.

“We’ve got time for another round,” Michael observed, glancing at the clock.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” Jay answered, “but I think I’ve created a monster.”

Chapter Fifteen

Michael ambled down the street, focusing on window displays and pointedly ignoring the passers-by. Cars and people became a droning backdrop to the
afternoon. Today he’d left familiar surroundings to walk to his counseling appointment and back—alone. Fortified by two of his
emergency pills, he could do this.

His heart thudded and he glanced across the street. No snipers, just two teens with skateboards, and no black cat lurking in the alley. Fords and Chevys
inched down main street, not a Humvee in sight. People. People everywhere. Staring at him, coming closer.

Thoughts of the bookstore provided a distraction from the here and now, and he closed his eyes, picturing the place he equated with comfort and peace. The
slightly musky smell of the leather book bindings, blended with the richer smell of the Kenyan Arabica that his mother brewed throughout the day. The soft
sounds of a new age CD, with sitar and chimes.

Someone, something hit his shoulder. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, hoping the person would wander off so he wouldn’t have to speak
to them further. Instead, the blow came again, and this time there was no mistaking the contact for an accident.

He kept his head down. Looking up would break the spell and he’d hear background noise of cars and people for what they were. He’d
panic. The whole point of this exercise was to learn how
not
to do that.

The third hit could no longer be ignored and Michael opened his eyes, immediately wishing he hadn’t. He’d recognize that hateful sneer
anywhere. “I thought that was you, boy. I heard you was back in town. What’s the matter? Wasn’t you man enough for the
Army?”

The bogey-man from Michael’s younger years turned and spat on the sidewalk, causing a pair of middle-aged women to step off the curb. They glared
at the offender, but he didn’t seem to notice. He never had and never would notice anything but himself.

Crawford Shiller had apparently fallen on hard times since Michael had last seen him. His hair, what was left of it, fell in greasy strands to his
shoulders, and several days’ worth of beard clung to his cheeks and chin. The plain white wife-beater shirt stretching tightly across his huge
expanse of belly could use a close encounter with a washing machine, and his faded jeans were stained with motor oil and other things too disgusting to
even consider. For the millionth time Michael wondered what his enlightened mother had ever seen in this throwback from a prehistoric age. He
wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see a club slung over one stooped shoulder and hairy knuckles dragging the ground. What had the man done to
himself? Oh, Mom wasn’t there to control his drinking anymore.

Crawford needled him again. “What? I spent all my hard earned money raising your sorry ass and now you’re too good to speak to
me.” The vile man came closer and Michael caught a whiff of the sour alcohol and tobacco that had stunk up his teen years.

He found his voice, though he stared at the sidewalk and not the man. “Go away, Crawford. You’re not my stepfather anymore, and I
don’t want to talk to you.” Forcing the words from between gritted teeth, Michael fought to keep his voice steady.

“Whoa-ho! What ya gonna do if I don’t?” The man laughed, a raspy, ugly sound.

Eyes averted, Michael tried again. “Please, just go,” he whispered, hating the desperation in his voice. Appearing weak and vulnerable
would only encourage the bully.

“What’s the matter? You afraid of me? Afraid I’ll whip your pussy ass like I did when you was a boy?”

The predator stepped closer, crowding Michael against a shop window. Michael finally glanced up, searching for an escape. His eyes met those of an older
man who quickly turned away, silently declaring, “Not my problem.”

The evil grin on the monster’s face grew. Crawford took the opportunity to humiliate his captive audience, sneering, “What cha think
you’re lookin’ at?” to anyone brave, curious, or foolish enough to come near.

A crushing weight slammed into Michael’s chest, tightening like a vice. He gasped but no air filled his lungs. Eyes wide, he battled going under,
struggled against drowning in his own mind. Though he no longer heard the abusive taunts, he could still see an angry red face and feel spittle showering
his face and arms. Crawford continued to taunt, crowding him until their noses were almost touching.
Whoop, whoop, whoop,
sounded the phantom
helicopters in Michael’s mind.

His vision blackened and he fought the urge to take a blind swing and escape. Only, he’d probably run straight into people or into the path of a
moving car.

Suddenly, the man was gone and Michael collapsed to the sidewalk, wheezing and struggling for breath. He squeezed his hands against his head, pushing back
the grisly images that played behind his eyelids: uniformed soldiers lying on the ground, sightless eyes staring at nothing. Blood. Jimmy. Ryan.

Breathe in, breathe out,
he heard in his counselor’s voice. Grasping onto all he could think to, he focused on memories of Jay, smiling, gesturing wildly while watching
TV, head bent over a book while studying, or softly snoring during a nap. Jay, who made everything better simply by existing. Gradually the horror faded,
and Michael’s heart rate and breathing slowed. He imagined himself cradled in his lover’s arms, humming along with soft Spanish.

You’re home, you’re in Cookesville
. Slowly he returned to the here and now. When he finally looked up Crawford was still there, now in a heated discussion. Terry? What was Terry doing here?
Angie’s roommate stood toe to toe with Crawford. Although Crawford clearly outweighed the younger man, Terry’s weight was muscle,
finely honed from gym visits rather than soft fat from too much greasy food and not enough honest work. In a fight between arrogant assholes, Crawford was
clearly outmatched.

Michael turned his attention back to the sidewalk and the simple act of breathing, unable to worry about anything else. The constriction in his chest eased
and his vision returned to normal. He flinched and tried to pull away when a hand grasped his shoulder, but Terry, not Crawford, offered him a hand up.
Eyes warm with concern, Terry gently tugged, urging Michael to stand.

An arm around Michael’s shoulders guided him into a video store. Several inquisitive looks came their way but were quickly averted. Terry marched
him through the store and into the back, stopping in what looked to be an employee break room.

“Sit down before you fall down.” Terry pushed him down onto a couch and handed him a paper cup of water. “Are you all
right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Michael lied out of habit.

Terry didn’t appear convinced, but didn’t argue. Instead he said, “Look, I’ve been there. Don’t pay any
attention to that asshole, he’s nothing and he can’t hurt you.” After a moment, he added, “I have to get back out
there and get to work. My boss says you can stay here as long as you need to.” A smirk lifted one side of his mouth. “Vince hates
Crawford, by the way.” When he rounded the corner, out of sight, Michael heard, “I’ll call someone to come and get
you.”

Well, damn. That was the last thing he needed, but he really couldn’t bring himself to venture out of the quiet little room at the moment.

Here he was all set to prove that he was getting better and could be out on his own, but instead proved just the opposite. There was no way he’d
be able to get back out there on his own. He pulled out his cell phone and called his therapist, making the excuse of a family emergency as a reason to
cancel the appointment he’d be unable to keep.

He settled back down on the couch. Who had Terry called? Mom? He hoped not. She was working and would have to close the store to come. Besides, Mom had
enough problems without having to worry about him. His sister? He didn’t want Angie worrying and smothering him, either. Besides, not only was
she preparing for finals, she had extra shifts at the hospital this week and didn’t need to be bothered with a wimp of a brother who
couldn’t even stand up to a weak, useless old man.

After draining the water Terry had given him, he crumpled the paper into a ball, taking out his frustrations on the innocent cup before tossing it into the
trash can. He lay down and curled up in a fetal position, his strength at an end. Once settled, he waited to see who would come to get him, planning what
to say.

***

Michael woke to the familiar sound of a Spanish ballad. Something soft brushed against his cheek, and he opened one eye to peek at a mass of blue fuzz.

“Hey,
Querido
,” came the murmured greeting from above. Oh, so that’s why he felt so secure. Somehow Jay had managed
to settle himself on the couch and cradle Michael’s head in his lap without waking him.

Jay restrained him when Michael tried to sit up. Concern was evident, but Jay’s expression also said what Michael already suspected: Jay loved
him and worried about him. No words were necessary. Despite a horrible afternoon, his day just got better.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour, give or take.” Terry leaned against the door frame.

Gentle fingers stroked through Michael’s hair, and he left any conversation up to Jay to handle while he relaxed, letting the petting melt away
the tension.

“He gonna be all right?” Terry asked, pointing with his chin to Michael.

“Yeah,” Jay replied, studying Michael’s face before turning back to Terry. “Yeah, he’s gonna be
fine.” Whatever had passed between the two of them was long gone, it appeared. No fondness lingered in either of their eyes. Until that moment
Michael hadn’t even thought to be jealous, but seeing them now, he saw no reason to be. No animosity or any strong feelings existed between them
at all. They weren’t even friends, merely acquaintances. Michael breathed a silent sigh of relief, relaxing into the warm thigh beneath his head.
“Thanks again for calling me, man,” Jay said. “I owe you one.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Apparently satisfied that Michael was now in good hands, Terry winked and said,
“I’ve got to get back to work; y’all behave yourselves back here.” Then he was gone.

Michael struggled to sit up then, embarrassed by the past few hours and anxious to go home and try to forget the whole episode.

Again Jay stopped him. “Just lie there a minute. I’m in no hurry and I’m comfortable. Extremely comfortable,” he
added with a wink.

They remained silent, Jay’s arm draped over Michael’s chest, the only sounds their breathing and the flickering bits of conversation
wafting in from the video store through the open door.

For his part, Michael enjoyed lying with his head in Jay’s lap, one hand stroking the tanned arm enfolding him.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Jay asked.

Michael shrugged. “Nothing to tell, really. My asshole of an ex-stepfather decided to show up and be his normal bastard self.”

Jay nodded as though he understood completely. Perhaps he did, having spent so much time with the family. He was bound to have heard of the infamous
Crawford Shiller by now. “You okay?”

Content to be nestled in his lover’s arms, Michael replied, “I am now.”

“Sarah and Angie told me about him,” Jay said, confirming Michael assumptions. “Your mom carries a lot of guilt, you
know.”

“Guilt? About what?”

“She feels she should have left the man a long time ago, raised you and your sister by herself, but was too scared that she couldn’t
give you everything you needed on her own. I think Crawford kept her convinced of that.”

This was sure news to Michael. “That’s ridiculous. Look at her now, with her own business.”