With a screech, Pico reappears at the door, and Nando quickly shifts off me, slapping my bum loudly with his hand before releasing my ankles. I glance over at his boner straining against his loincloth. If he’s really interested and not just toying with me, why does he always pull away? I’m just about to ask him when Pico bounds over and slides in next to me, curling up like a puppy in my arms. I carefully shift my pelvis and aching boner away from Pico’s backside. Now is not the right moment, but as soon as we are alone, I resolve to muster my courage and ask Nando why he won’t let me touch him.
“Did you like my little story?” Nando asks.
“I love all your stories.”
Nando’s face beams.
“Nando, do the women tell the same stories?”
“The really important stories are the same for everyone,” he says. “But the women change some of the other stories a little.”
“Like how?”
“Like this story. The women tell the same story, except she is the Monkey Queen and she uses a papaya, not a banana.”
“A papaya? Why a papaya?” I see a disgusted look on Nando’s face.
“Oh, wait a minute. I just figured it out. Yuck!” And we giggle wickedly like a couple of schoolboys.
The following afternoon, like most afternoons, the sun is high. The women are up in the hills. The men, having returned from fishing, take advantage of this quiet time to be with their partners and babies. Luca and Kizo, as usual, go off to drink grog and nap. For a pasty-skinned northern boy like me, it’s too hot and sunny down at the beach, but the dappled light under the green canopy at the bathing pool is my little piece of heaven. And that’s where Pico and I go.
We often pretend to be returning to our cottage for a nap but take long, elaborate pathways and circle back through the jungle, just to lose any hangers-on so we will have the bathing pool to ourselves. For me, just being with Pico is my return to the haunted playground with Jennifer. But this time there is nobody throwing insults or stones.
I flop down on the sandy patch near the water’s edge and watch Pico as he climbs the breadfruit tree. Like everything else about Pico, his beauty is unique. He’s half mime, half dancer. I continue to watch as he wraps his lean, muscular legs around one branch and hangs upside down, his large mat of wiry, untamed black hair dangling from his slightly oversized head. Then he swings, reaches out, catches another branch, and hangs by his long, spidery arms, mimicking a monkey with a commitment that goes well beyond pretend games and playacting.
“Come on, Pico,” I say as I stand up and brush the sand off my butt. “Let’s go swimming. I’m hot.” I dive in the clear fresh water. Pico jumps down from the tree and dives in after me. Once in the water he transforms into a frog, and as far as I can tell, he truly believes he is a frog. He swims under me toward the center of the pool where the water is deepest. I follow him with the overhand stroke I learned during the summer at my parents’ cottage. Although I can’t begin to match his agility, I’m faster than he is.
Pico comes up for air, then in an evasive maneuver dips under again, but I anticipate his plan and grab hold of his foot as he tries to slip away. I pull him to the surface, and we gasp for air between sputters of laughter. Finally, with both hands around Frog’s waist, I drag him wriggling and struggling back toward the shallows. I hoist him over my shoulder, carry him out of the water, and flop him down on the sandy ground. Frog does his best to slip away, but I pin him on his back. He tries a couple of times to struggle free, but it’s obvious that the game is over and Frog is mine. I relax my hold and allow him to topple me over and pin me.
I lie on my back breathing heavily while Pico sits on my torso holding my arms above my head. He relaxes, flopping his full weight on top of me. Our breathing synchronizes, and the sweat and water from our bodies mix together. Pico’s hard, and he gently presses his cock against my belly. I smile and kiss him on his head. Very slowly and rhythmically, he rubs against me, while I, in a complete state of relaxation, drift off. Suddenly, I awake. Pico has slid himself around to where he now has my hardening cock in his hand and mouth and he’s stoking his own up against my lips.
“Pico, c’mon, you’re going too far. Game’s over, time to get off me.”
But Pico continues, and the more I try to push him away the harder he struggles to suck my cock. “Pico! I said stop!” I shove him hard, and he rolls over backward on the sand. I stand up.
Pico looks up at me, startled and confused.
“Sorry, Pico. Did I hurt you?” As I attempt to approach him, he backs away from me like a frightened child or animal.
“Pico,” I plead. “I didn’t push you that hard.” And again I try to approach him. Pico recoils, screeching like a monkey, bounces to his feet, and bounds off through the forest.
“Shit!”
I decide to return to the cottage now that the afternoon is spoiled.
When I reach the cottage, Nando is waiting for me, and from the look on his face I can tell he is not happy.
“What did you do to Pico?” he demands.
“Nothing,” I say, feigning innocence. “We were just playing, and he got upset and ran off.” I’m too embarrassed to explain.
“Well, Pico says that you attacked him and that you hate him.”
“I didn’t attack him, and I don’t hate him. That’s ridiculous. He got a little carried away, and I pushed him. That’s all.”
“You pushed him!”
“Yes, I just pushed him off me. He was getting too excited.”
“So you pushed him?”
“It was just a little push. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt him.”
“Well, you did hurt him, and now he believes you hate him.”
“It was just a little push. I’m sorry.”
“Pico is not like you and me. I thought you understood that. He is here with us, but he lives in the world of dreams.”
“I tried to tell him I was sorry, but he wouldn’t listen. He ran off.”
“Then you didn’t say sorry the right way. Pico does not speak the same way we do. You cannot just say sorry and think he will understand.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Go and find him and show him you do not hate him. Now go!”
I’m taken aback. Nando has never asked anything of me, let alone made a demand. I turn and hurry off back to the bathing pool, where I suspect I might find Pico.
As I walk along the pathway, I tell myself he may have the body of a man, but he has the mind of a child. I’m the one who should not have allowed things to get out of control.
Up ahead in the bushes I hear a familiar slap, slap of torso against buttock and the grunt and groan of Luca and Kizo. By the time I reach their little hobbit bed amongst the vegetation, they have climaxed and are lying on the ground catching their breath.
“Hey, Kiddo, don’t just walk on by like you don’t know we’re here.”
“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you.” I blush a little. Strange, even though Luca and I have shared many sexual adventures, I’m always a little shy around him. Maybe it’s because we both come from a world with different sensibilities. Maybe it’s because I have feelings for him beyond brotherhood. “Did you see Pico?”
“How could we have missed him? He was screaming and jumping around like a crazy man. What’s up with him? Something set him off.” Luca reaches behind his head, grabs a gourd, and takes a big swig.
I scrunch up my face. “We had a little misunderstanding. He tried to have sex with me down at the pool,” I say, assuming that Luca, of course, will immediately understand my moral dilemma.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean what happened? I refused.”
“Hey listen, little buddy, if you’re having a few problems getting it up, this stuff works wonders.” He reaches out and hands me the gourd. “It’ll make you hard as a bamboo.”
“I’m not having problems getting it up.” I shake my head. “I just don’t think i
t’s right for me to take advantage of that poor boy.”
“Not into pity fucks, eh? Since when did you get so judgmental, Mr. I-am-an-anthropologist.” Luca rocks his head back and forth, taunting me.
“I’m not being judgmental. Even if he looks like a man on the outside, he’s really only a child.”
“Oh, you’re right, you’re not judgmental. You’re self-righteous. Let me see. Only smart people like you are allowed to fuck. Hey, big guy, what’s your IQ?” Luca rolls over halfway on top of Kizo. “I want to know if you’re smart enough to take it up the ass.” Kizo just growls at Luca and gnaws on his nipple. “Good doggy, that-a-boy, chew your daddy.”
I clench my teeth. “So I’m a piece of shit just ’cause I don’t think it’s right to have sex with a retarded boy?” I startle myself as I say the word “retarded”—the same word that I defended Jennifer against, I’m now using as a weapon.
“Let me see if us retards can explain it to you smart people. In case you hadn’t noticed, we are not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” Luca maneuvers himself between Kizo’s legs and lifts Kizo’s backside up against his groin. “Ready for round two, big boy? Ride the pony.”
I turn and storm off toward the bathing pool. Behind me I can hear their grunts and moans. As I suspect, I find Pico at the pool, up a tree, clinging to a branch. I call out to him, but he ignores me and hugs the branch tighter.
“Pico,” I plead, “come down. I said I was sorry. We can go swimming together. Let’s play fish and frog.”
Pico doesn’t move from his branch. He buries his face in his arm and begins making monkey sounds.
“Monkey King, tell Pico I am sorry and I want him to come and play.”
Pico continues to make monkey sounds.
“If you won’t come down, then I will have to come up there with you.” I reach out for the lowest branch and place my foot on a gnarl of the tree trunk, ready to climb up. As I do so, Pico begins to screech wildly and shows his teeth menacingly. Then he bounces up and down on the branch. I immediately withdraw, and Pico is quiet again.
“Well, that’s obviously not going to work.”
Not knowing what else to do, I look around the pool to where there is a small cluster of banana trees. I walk over, rip a few ripe ones from the stalk, and return to the tree where Pico is. Without saying anything more, I sit down. Feeling like an idiot, I coo and grunt and play with the bananas the way I have seen monkeys and chimpanzees do in physical anthropology films at school. I catch Pico’s attention, so I throw myself into my role. Stripping off my loincloth and beads and exposing my bare ass, I start to play with the banana like a Saturday night stripper.
Suddenly he jumps down out of the tree, bounces up and down on the ground twice, and mounts me. Soon the grunting sounds I’m making are no longer playacting. At some point, I look up briefly and think I catch a glimpse of a figure on the far side of the pool, watching us. Maybe it’s Nando? Meanwhile, Pico reaches down, grabs one of the bananas, and peels it with his teeth. He pushes it into my mouth, smearing it all over my face. Then, with an earsplitting screech, he comes, which sets me off and I come. Sliding off me, he falls to the ground on his back, and I flop on top of him, kissing his mouth and covering his face with banana slime. We laugh.
After a swim to wash off the sex and banana, we lie together in the sun, drying. When the shadows become long, we return to the cottage, me giving Pico a piggyback ride most of the way home.
Nando is waiting in the doorway with a coy grin on his face. I climb the steep steps with Pico on my back chirping his monkey language in my ear and me huffing and puffing.
“You found Pico?”
“Nope, I found the Monkey King.”
“Do you want something to eat, perhaps a banana, or are you full?” Nando says with a smirk.
“Quite full, thanks,” I say, rubbing my ass.
GUY REPOSITIONED himself, making the vinyl sofa groan. “Well?”
Richard closed his eyes in a slow-motion blink. “Jennifer and Pico—you identify with people who are mentally challenged in some way, don’t you?”
“Is it wrong to care about other people?”
“No, of course not, but you seem to have a sense of victimization.”
“Pico is certainly not a victim!”
“No, in fact he’s one of the happiest, most well-adjusted characters in your story so far. I’m referring to you. Do you feel like a victim?”
“It’s hard to be gay and not to feel victimized, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but is that sufficient to build your identity upon?”
Guy sat quietly for a few minutes, chewing on his lower lip. “An interesting thought just occurred to me.” Guy wrinkled his forehead. “I wonder if Jennifer understood the meaning of the word ‘retard’ before I understood the meaning of the word ‘faggot.’” Guy tensed his jaw.
“Many children who are different—not just gay kids—suffer from name-calling and bullying. You can’t change that experience. But you need to realize that was in the past and you are no longer being persecuted or bullied.”
Guy began to speak slowly. “By middle school, Jennifer was bussed to another school and put in an occupational program for mentally disabled kids. The truth is, by then I didn’t want to hang out with her anymore. I had developed enough skills to mask my secret—an advantage that Jennifer, of course, never had. I don’t need to tell you that lying to yourself and hiding from others is more like an addiction that little by little takes control of you and robs you of all that you are.”
Richard grimaced. “You’re right. You don’t need to tell me. So what happened to Jennifer?”
“Years later, my mom told me that she had found a boyfriend and she had become more and more ‘unmanageable.’ They—meaning her mother and some doctors—put her on the pill or some other medicine, but that didn’t really solve the ‘problem.’”
“Do you know where she is now?”
“Inside the machine, I guess.” Guy swallowed hard.
“Do you mean in an institution?”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” Guy glanced up at the clock.
“Isn’t it rather narcissistic of you to think you are responsible for Jennifer?” Richard said.
“But I abandoned her.” Guy got up from the sofa. “Like I’ve done with everyone else in my life.”
Guy left.
Chapter 13: New Babies
GUY TAPPED twice on the glass, then opened the door to the office.
Richard was bent over with his back to the door, haphazardly stuffing his gym bag into the space between his desk and the wall. His chair was still pushed up against his desk and his computer off.
Guy stood in the doorway watching.
“Come in,” Richard said. “It’s not like you to wait outside. Is there something wrong?”
“No.” Guy walked in slowly. Richard’s hair was heavily gelled, and instead of the usual faint order of chlorine, cologne dominated the room. “Didn’t make it to the pool this morning, eh?”
“No, I was running late. I’ll go during lunch.” Richard’s tone was flat.
“So how was your weekend with your folks?” Guy went over and claimed his usual spot on the sofa.
“It was fine.” Richard’s expression was suspicious. “But I don’t recall telling you I was spending the weekend with my parents.”
“You didn’t.”
“Why did you assume that, then?”
Guy shrugged. “I didn’t assume anything.”
“How do you know I spent the weekend with my parents?” Richard’s tone was now defensive.
“Simple,” Guy said. “On the Monday mornings after you visit your folks, you are always late getting to the office.”
“Your keen powers of observation are quite unnerving.” Richard frowned and sat down on the swivel chair.
“Nothing brings back childhood garbage quite like a visit home, does it?” Guy waved his hand dismissively. “But enough about your story line. Mine
is much more interesting.”
Richard rubbed his temples as Guy stared at the far wall and began.
“IT’S STRANGE,” I say as I haul Lisha out of the central pool and wrap a cloth over her shoulders, patting her back dry.
“What is strange?” Nando says.
“Oh nothing, I was just thinking out loud—hold still, honey. Let me dry your hair—I mean it’s strange. Everyone seems to eat, sleep, and breathe babies.”
“What! Nobody eats babies! Do they eat babies in Kanda?”
“No, nobody eats babies in Canada. It’s just a stupid expression.”
“Oh, I do not like that expression.”
“What I mean is every day seems to revolve around babies and children.”
“And so, what else is there?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“We fish. We plant. We make sex. We have wonderful festivals. What else should we do?”
“Fishing, planting, fucking, playing, and raising babies, hum, I guess you’re right. What else should we do?” I smile. “I guess it’s just me who’s strange.”
“Yes, you are very strange….” Nando pauses, then breathes his words. “And interesting and wonderful and….”
I turn my head away from Lisha and toward Nando, who is barely inches from my face. I breathe in slowly, expecting our lips….
Lisha squeals and swats my hand away. “Sorry, darling, was I rubbing too hard?” I kiss her head, and she grabs my neck and kisses me back. Then she darts off, trailing the cloth hung half over her bare backside.
“I think you are her favorite today. You will make a good daddy someday. That is the highest honor any man can hope for. It is the final step in becoming complete.”
“Somehow, I don’t think fatherhood is my destiny.”
“How can you know your destiny? It does not exist yet. You cannot know what does not exist.”
“True, but where I come from it’s almost impossible for a….” I pause. They have no specific word for “homosexual,” so it’s difficult to explain the unlikelihood of becoming a gay father. “It would be impossible for me to raise a child alone. That’s just the way things are where I come from. And there is nothing I can do about that.”
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