The Telling

by Eden Winters

  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.”

  Jay nodded, a sad smile upon his lips. “Yeah, she said leaving him was the best thing she’d ever done, but also the hardest. He’s gotten a lot worse since she left.”

  “I never knew she felt that way.” Yeah, she could have married someone nicer, but one of her best traits was the ability to play whatever hand life dealt to the best of her ability. She also had a knack for seeing only the good in other people. Sometimes even seeing good where none existed. But to put up with the likes of Crawford because she doubted herself? How could she not know her own strength?

  Jay’s hand idly stroked Michael’s stomach. “She loves you and Angie so much, you know, only wanted good things for you. It nearly killed her when she heard your unit was hit. She immediately thought the worst.” Jay grew quiet, staring at a movie poster hanging on the wall.

  “Damned the fucking media circus!” he suddenly growled. “We knew that ten troops were killed that day and your family thought you were one of them until they got the call. Your granddad had to take it, your mom was practically hysterical, thinking they were calling to confirm your death. Angie just sat there white as a sheet, and your grandma was in her rocking chair, reading the Bible and praying.”

  “What? You mean you were there with them?”

  “Where else would I be? I wouldn’t have told them for the world but I was scared shitless, too”

  “What? Why?” Michael shot up from the couch, turning to face a now furiously blushing Jay. “I know you care for my family but ‘scared shitless’? You hadn’t even met me then.”

  Jay smiled sheepishly and urged Michael to lie back down. Then he proceeded to tell about a lonely young man far from home, the strange red-haired woman who befriended him, the warm loving family that took him in and treated him like one of their own, and a picture of a handsome young man in an army uniform. He concluded with, “So now you know. I was smitten before I even met you.”

  Michael grinned.

  “What?”

  “Angie told me about that picture but I didn’t believe her. Do you really keep it in your sock drawer?”

  “How did she…?” Jay seemed to think on it a moment, then shrugged. “It’s no longer in my sock drawer. I figure it’s safe to keep on my dresser now.”

  “And what would you have done if I’d turned out to be a total asshole?”

  “You forget, I know your family and I’ve heard all their stories. There was no way you were an asshole.” With that pronouncement Jay leaned in and kissed him, slowly and gently at first, then more passionately, as if he never wanted to stop.

  “Hey guys, I hate to break up a tender moment, but you think you could go home now? I need to lock up.” Terry stood in the doorway, jangling a ring of keys. Although the tone was probably intended to be arrogant, as was the accompanying sneer, Terry had exposed his soft underbelly today. Now that Michael knew what to look for, Terry would never fool him again.

  But he’d keep the secret to himself. If Terry wante
d people to think him an arrogant prick, who was Michael to dispel the notion? But Michael now knew what Angie meant by the man possessing a decent side.

  It didn’t escape notice, though, as he left the store arm in arm with Jay, that Terry’s eyes followed their every move, the look on the man’s face akin to envy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael missed his weekly counseling session but it gave him time to reevaluate the scene with Crawford and see through the eyes of an adult rather than the frightened eyes of a child. Never again would he let Crawford, or anyone else, intimidate him. Bad enough that Jay and Terry bore witness to his humiliation, though neither mentioned the incident afterwards.

  However, whenever Michael thought of Crawford, Jay seemed to know, lending silent support, be it with a look, a touch, or with sex. But that led to problems also. Michael anticipated their time together, dreading the end of the evening when Jay left to go back to the Zoo. He didn’t sleep very well alone. Did that make him needy? Would Jay tire of him and wander off in search of someone not so broken?

  Yet, if Michael needed to go shopping, to the doctor, or even to visit family, Jay showed up, smiling and happy to play chauffeur. And when Michael’s next counseling session rolled around, Jay dropped him off at the door. “I have to run an errand, but I’ll be waiting in the lobby when you come out,” he promised.

  Michael paused in the doorway of his therapist’s office. When Jay’s car slipped completely out of sight, he sighed and entered the nondescript brick building.

  The middle-aged receptionist smiled when he signed his name on the appointment book before sitting down to wait. He’d just picked up a copy of Great Outdoors when the heavy oak door beside the reception desk opened and his therapist stepped out, smiling and beckoning him to enter.

  When Michael stepped past, his counselor closed the door. “So, Michael, what did you bring me today?”

  Gideon Rafferty was a tall, imposing black man who reminded Michael of a pro basketball player, with his long fingers, lanky limbs, and shaved head. He couldn’t help imagining this powerhouse dribbling a ball down center court to execute a stunning slam dunk. He certainly hoped the man could help him slam dunk his emotional issues as easily.