Date: Wed, 14 Nov 2018 13:14:32 -0500
From: MC VT
Subject: Harlan Gay-Adult Youth

Harlan
 ©MCVT2017 September 9, 2018

There are times when all around us go into flux -- our worlds crash and
burn around our feet.  When changes come so hard and fast they test the
mettle of our spirits.  How do we continue?

This tale honors all Latinos, their lovers and to the work of
J. C. CalderĂłn -- writer and musician, (1938-2012).  He gave us the
anthem "Eres Tu."

You, too can give the world a gift by making a generous donation to Nifty
today.


100% Fiction, Adult Content:  MM, anal, oral, seduction, ped, violence,
death, first, rom, inc, Mb, MMtt, gay.

=============================================================================

Como una Promesa...


Through my first years in Southern California, I'd seen Harlan around --
center, coffee shops, bars, meetings. Knew of him, didn't really ever meet
him. He volunteered in the center and was politically active like a lot of
people back then. Sure, I was attracted to a big, barrel-chested guy with
dark eyes and hair; maybe 10-12 years older than me smiling and joking with
everyone. Harlan worked at a large, respected insurance firm at the
time. The firm was renowned for hiring gay men - I heard he worked in
sales. Used those skills during the epidemic -- everyone at the bars knew
him handing out condoms and information interspersed between his raunchy
jokes and sly comments about the bartender. "Hot and safe" was his favorite
phrase.

During the mid-eighties, I lived in a low-rent district that was fast
becoming a hot spot. Old reupholstery and orthopedic device stores
closed. Understated, expensive, dimly lit coffee shops and high-end bistros
popped up in the empty storefronts during my freshman year. Poetry
readings, performance art flyers fluttered on the streetlight poles. My
comfortable old neighborhood drew the middle class wanting to slum in the
chic eateries. The presence of their cash drew the dealers and hustlers
overnight, it seemed. That change coincided with two lethal waves of
neighborhood troubles; crack and AIDS.

Alone in a one-room studio, bath down the hall, I survived on stale bagels
and powdered milk -- occasionally a block of cheese from the food
distributions; rinsed out my clothes in the sink and kept pushing myself to
classes. Rode the shuttle every day from Hillcrest up to the La Jolla
campus with the med students wondering about the future of my major.

 Gaining confidence in my studies, I rearranged my schedule during my
junior and senior years to volunteer with the AIDS charity. One of my
professors gave me extra credit for community service when I submitted my
"lessons learned" at the end of the semesters -- sad summary of my
community duties.

Driving an old donated Subaru with a map book on the passenger seat and
trunk packed with boxes of food, I went drove a convoluted path through
every neighborhood where rents were low. Each name and address was stapled
on each box - had to be correctly delivered; favorite snacks and special
diets. I had my training on how to stay upbeat and was armed with a list of
phone numbers for services people with AIDS might need. Of course, I
learned all the current information on safe sex and even learned how to
cheek a condom to put it on a drunk partner without them knowing. The
female dental dams for oral sex with women seemed like they'd need a bobby
pin or adhesive tape, but I'd never have to solve that dilemma.

Every Tuesday and Thursday morning I delivered boxes and met some nice
folks -- thin, but okay. One old guy had only been out of prison for a
month, shot up again and came down HIV+. Another gal was a single mom with
two small children. I left the box with her mother who lived with
her. Others were alone in small, rented rooms or studio apartments. Of
course, I stocked their pantries and tossed out what looked moldy or bad --
some of the people on my list hadn't eaten much since my last visit. I
hoped someone had brought them something to eat. That was the red-flag for
me; they would soon move on to full-time care or a hospital...  My training
included the fact that these were not long-term relationships I was making
-- it was one of their last.

Clearly remember making one sandwich for a thin, blonde guy. All he could
stomach was a half a tomato-mayo sandwich and a tumbler of tea. We shared
that snack on the front stoop of an old building watching the cars
pass. Nice guy -- from Hawaii. Had a partner for years; he was never clear
about why he left but I knew the reason why people left their lovers and
hometowns to die alone. Leaving was their last, loving attempt to give
their families and friends some peace during their passing without whispers
of the stigma of addiction or being queer.

Gay men and addicts were the center of the society's bull's eye -- no one
stopped to notice all the others with AIDS. It hit every sector, every part
of the nation; children were born HIV+.  I stood close to the bulls' eye,
celibate and clean trying to keep myself in a "neutral zone." That meant I
didn't look or act gay or straight but blended into the background -- hate
crimes were increasing along with the numbers of addicts and the deaths
from AIDS; I'm no muscle man.

***


Immediately upon graduation, I took another student loan and moved to South
America to study in a specialized linguistic program. AIDS and crack had
hit Latin America as well -- much less care and greater stigma than in the
US. Hunkering down again in a rented room with a hammock and several wooden
crates for furnishings, I kept my nose in the books; I'd get my next degree
in and become employable at a decent salary back in Southern
California. That was my dream and it was happening though there weren't any
fireworks and excitement during the process. Microfiche, study carrels,
computer screens, classes and a pocket translator were my life.

After eighteen months and a number of heated emails to employers, I
completed the lengthy government forms and crossed my fingers. I began to
sweat but luck hit!  With professors sending references, I was ready to
move back and into a job with the overseas trade administration. Good
enough to get started; the California economy was recuperating from
balloon-payment mortgages and my student loan repayments would begin within
thirty days of graduation. I had to hustle like a whore on the first day of
the month to get through the first year of my return.

I started work with nothing -- literally nothing in the bank and little
else than the clothes on my back and an impressive GPA. Lived in a homeless
shelter at first and rode the bus. Every few months I moved. From rented
bedroom to roommate until I had enough for my own small bungalow, and I
took a while off -- still at work but I was almost twenty-six I needed a
social life.

I'd considered archery, figuring I could use the ranges at Balboa
Park. Sounds stupid now but the transition from impoverished student to
working guy with a few bucks was difficult -- I'd lived almost air since
I'd left high school. Bow and arrows seemed like an extreme
extravagance. Spending money was painful for me; the destitution mind-set
is a hard thing to shake.

Since I left home, my life hadn't been easy. When I turned eighteen I felt
sure enough inside myself to tell my parents I was gay.  My parents offered
to let me stay and attend the state university if I'd agree to forget about
all that "gay" shit. Their insurance would pay for conversion
therapy. After a couple of weeks of verbal fireworks, I finished my finals
and hit the road -- I couldn't forget about my love for men. Being gay was
a part of me that couldn't be excised or change. I didn't have the words to
express that to them at the time -- I could only be angry for the
compromise they offered and the deep, personal insult.

With little savings in my pocket, I caught a bus for California. Worked a
year in construction, then I enrolled at UCSD and had a job on campus to
pay my rent. I pulled through those six years of studies, mostly alone, but
I did have an amazing amount of confidence as a linguist.

***


June was coming and the Gay Pride parade and festival were touted on the
news and in the local rags. Sounded like fun for a "neutral" kind of guy
like me, and it was free. I left early for the parade, then walked over to
Balboa to see all the booths and enjoy some music. Took lots of photos and
saw a few people I knew but I'd been out of the country -- no one
recognized or remembered me. As I walked over around, banners fluttered and
snapped, bright colors everywhere, music blared. There were a few crews
still setting up their tables and booths at the last minute.

At the base of an old eucalyptus was a pile of boxes and a couple of women
assembling uprights for their signage, a folding table and several
chairs. "Need some help?"  They welcomed an extra hand setting up their
booth. Not a big booth, but the local chapter of a group of Pacific
Islanders. Together we got things in order quickly and more of their
contingent showed up with the banner from the parade. I left them to their
work and moved on to the beer garden -- it was getting hot!

I got a few smiles, but most men were paired up and in their familiar
groups. A loner could be a trouble-maker; I understood their
reticence. Reading through some brochures, I saw a lot of new information
about treatment for HIV and AIDS. There was a new cocktail -- a combination
of medications that was slowing the loss of white cells. HIV+ people lived
longer.

Wandering around, I decided to go to the stage for a while for some local
acts and the usual speeches. As I passed the islander's table there was
only one guy staffing the booth, handing out balloons to kids and giving
them stickers for their shirts.

"Where'd everyone go?"  There were about twenty or thirty people earlier.

"Getting lunch." He looked up at me, "Pinoy?"  The young man asked.

"Excuse me?"  This kid looked around fifteen or sixteen. Narrow body, big
black eyes and a cowlick excitedly waving from the side of his part.

"You're from the Philippines?" he asked.

"No, Omaha. Latino and Ponca. But I hear the islands are beautiful."  He
leaned over and fumbled in some boxes and bags. Must have been all of
five-foot-four and slender. He grinned and laid out some forms and papers
on the table.

"You don't have to be Asian or Islander to join -- only have to party. Only
thirty dollars a year and that includes the big bash in a couple of weeks."
He started digging in the boxes behind him. "I've got some flyers left, I
think." As he leaned over, I saw a narrow butt straining at his cotton
shorts and the loveliest dimples behind his knees. "Can't find them now,
but I can send you the information. We always sell out -- it's our big
event." I was already pulling my thin wallet out.

"Hot out here, wanna beer?"  I asked just to find out how old he was.

"Lunch is coming." He told me as he rifled through another box under the
table pulling out a tee shirt -- a strip ran across the front of the white
cotton. I guessed they were the national flags of the members; instead of
the national colors, rainbow colors coursed through the
rectangles. "Here. Only got large, they shrink."

I took the shirt and smiled handing him my business card and cash, "Tell me
where and when, but if you'd like to go out before then..." I grinned and
winked.

He blushed and smiled but we were interrupted by a gang of Islanders. I
recognized the one woman I'd helped earlier. Her hands were full of plates
and another woman carried a box of drinks. Quick glance -- no alcohol!  One
of the women kissed the boy's cheek and he blushed again; another gal
helped an older woman with a folding chair.

Looked like a family thing so I left thinking that Latino families were
like that too -- mine was until I came out.

***


I ordered a customized tee shirt to wear for the anniversary event -- I had
to outdo "flags of many nations." I let my hair grow out, trying to look
less than the word-geek and more like the people in the photos I'd gotten
from Tomas. The kid's name was Tomas Santos.

Touring the group's website, I saw the president was the woman I'd helped
set-up booth with -- Chris. At the big event, there would be an auction for
a dinner at an Asian restaurant, raffle, music, and a "Celebration of
Island Dances."

At home I studied some of the South Pacific islands and the history of the
Philippines. Not so great with European and US interference, so I went to a
humor site and found a few clean jokes but decided I wasn't sure if I'd
offend anyone -- so many islands, languages and cultures...

Tomas' email gave me all the information I needed.  The group rented a big
fellowship hall at an old church on a Saturday night. Borrowing a car from
a guy at work, and I was set.

***


Always hated walking into a group of people alone so I sat on the parking
lot and waited a few moments that night. When a van full of performers
pulled in, I followed the group into the building, grabbing the handle of a
make-up kit to help them along.

Now I'm no fool, I brought a gift to be raffled, maybe I'd impress
Tomas. Rather nice bath set -- lavender soaps and lotions. The box was
covered with sprays of lavender, a cellophaned window with a peek at the
loofah and a pumice stone -- various accessories. The sales lady tied it
with a white ribbon and a fluffy bow. Looked good to me -- Latino men wear
lavender so I figured it was gender-free. Who doesn't like smelling good?

I got my name tag and the older woman at the door chuckled, "Dumpling Man!"
I'd had the photo of perfect Philippine dumpling with chili sauce on the
pocket of a red tee shirt with the words "Got Siopao?" underneath in a
hand-written font. Discrete, but tempting to Tomas, I hoped.

Music blared, people milled about and an older couple stopped the music to
announce the meal was ready, but before that a mix of short clips of
national anthems played and everyone stood. The last was "Oh, Beautiful,"
everyone sang along. Then, there was a hurried rush to get in line. Around
two-hundred people snaked past a ten-table buffet of homemade Asian
foods. It looked great and smelled better.

Trying to keep a good seat at the end of one of the long dining tables, I
put my bubble-tea at a place and headed for the line. Was I supposed to eat
the little slippery globules in my drink?  Were they plastic or what?  I
hoped they'd melt before I had to ask.  I came back with two plates of
food, neatly divided into savory and sweet to find Harlan and a gang of his
pals had taken all the seats, so I pulled up a chair and sat at the corner
of the table, grabbing my chewy tea from Harlan's blonde surfer friend.

Harlan stared at me for a few moments, "Don't I know you, `dumpling boy?'"
He flicked his finger over the dumpling on my tee shirt pocket until he
found my nipple and flicked a few more times. I pulled back a little,
lifting an eyebrow and covering the dumpling image with my hand.

"Been out of the country getting my degree. But I think I remember you from
before, maybe in the center."

"Wait, the AIDS place -- you were working food delivery. Right?"

"Yeah. Tough times." I could only look down at a plate piled high with
cellophane noodles, vegetables and all kinds of tiny packets of meat and
spices remembering the emaciated people I'd met and lost too
quickly. Didn't notice that Harlan reseated everyone so he could sit beside
me. He always acted like the leader of his pack, and now I felt like he was
cornering his prey for the evening.

One of the heavily-muscled guys asked if I shot sweet and sour sauce; they
were poking each other and chuckling, pointing at me.

"Maybe, for the right person." I smiled and nodded -- I'd never be as slick
as these guys, I was out of my league -- everything was sexually-charged
and they only spoke in innuendos. Sexual bullying. Thank goodness the
program was starting with the microphone sound checks and the speakers
taking their seats on the stage distracting the gang of ruffians sitting
around me.

Harlan, whispering, "Saw you watching the kid," he checked my name tag,
"Charlesy-baby." Then he grinned. "Off limits -- Tomas just turned eighteen
and kept on a short leash." He leaned closer, "It's the old lady that keeps
him." He gestured at the older woman who had worked the cashbox at the door
-- the one who called me "dumpling man."

***


Historically, the Philippines were under Spanish control for years, I knew
the customs of chaperones for young Latinas -- still practiced in their
former colonies. I'd probably have to get in good with the old lady to get
next to Tomas. I could scare up enough savvy for that; women seemed to like
me.

The program was filled with music, a couple of lip-synchs and speakers from
various communities and clubs. Several dances with drumming, odd poses and
splaying fingers were twirled by women in shiny gold and red costumes. My
favorite was the Chamorro men in their short wraps, like a mini-skirt, and
leaves in their hair dancing to a drum beat. Sweet -- do they wear anything
underneath?

All through the program, I kept an eye on Tomas, he was keeping an eye on
Chris as she gave him a few signals about which gifts to bring up as the
raffle began.

The evening wore on and the beer kegs and basi were running low. Some of
the attendees were having problems reading the four-point font numbers on
their ticket stubs but we moved forward through the gifts. Wouldn't you
know I won the prize I brought and considered it great luck! I took it to
the Tomas' keeper, "I'd rather you have this -- I'll never use it." I
handed it to the old lady who smiled at me. I scored one point, I hoped.

She nodded. "Thanks, dumpling man."

We stood at the back of the room together as auction began. I bid a few
times figuring I could use the dinner as a holiday gift for the folks on my
team at work, but got beat out by Harlan every bid, damn it. He kept
looking at me as he raised his fingers, he'd grin -- that jerk was
bidding-up the dinner certificate. Out of my budget!

Before thinking, I turned to the grandmother again, "I'd like to ask Tomas
out for dinner and a movie, do you think he'd like that?"

She gave me a look like she thought I might be tubercular; I blushed
violently and surged sweat but held my breath for an answer. Shit, I'd
never asked someone's grandparent for a date with them. Finally, "Polite of
you to ask. How old are you?"

"Twenty-six, almost." She gave me a look like I might be fudging.

"Hmmm." She lifted an eyebrow. "I'll ask him and we'll talk later, dumpling
man."

"Charles Muñoz, from Omaha." I pointed to my name tag like that
would up my standing.

"Debora Santos, from Luzon. Call me Doby." I stuck my hand out, but she
only looked away. Damn, that was mean. I nodded and went into the kitchen
and started helping take the trash out as Harlan walked away with the Asian
dinner certificate to wild applause and hooting; I was hot on the trail of
scoring more points with Grandma.

Then, there was music for dancing as the evening wound down. I'd grab a
glimpse of Tomas every now and then as he spoke with different people and
groups. This kid was swinging through more important social circles than I
ever had!  Board members of the islander group and the center, various
minor-celebs from local agencies.

Harlan found me on the steps outside drinking another lumpy bottle of tea
and asked me if I'd like to go out with his friends, "Meet us at the Hut?
Going on to the spa later -- welcome to join us, dumpling butt." He flicked
my earlobe and wiggled his eyebrows with a smirky smile. He was always so
out-front, assertive. Maybe I envied his confidence but I'd always
preferred my friends be more discrete; reserved. Maybe I'd kept myself too
"neutral," for too long.

Harlan and his wolf pack went on and I sat for a moment thinking about
asking for a date with a Tomas' grandmother. She did have reason to worry
-- lotta flakes and hustlers out there. Wondered what my chances were.

***


The next email I got from Tomas, he asked me to come over for movie night
with Doby on Saturday. He sent some photos he'd taken at the celebration --
me sweating, me hauling trash and me sitting with Harlan. He sent one of
himself!  I answered with some photos I'd taken of him. Damn, Tomas was
cute -- took me an hour and a shower before I hit the send button after
seeing him in satiny stretch briefs.

Saturday night came; Tomas, Doby and I had pizza in the kitchen while we
decided on a movie. I got the third degree over the breadsticks --
education, profession, ever married?  The works, but it ended quick enough,
and I volleyed my interrogation at Grandma and Tomas. Found out he'd
graduated early from high school and began attending SDSU at the age of
sixteen. Grandma took him to campus and stayed with him, but he didn't seem
to be embarrassed about it. He loved his grandma, seems she'd raised him
for the past number of years. He would start his junior year at age
eighteen and without his chaperone in September.

"Where are your parents tonight?"  I asked.

"Working. They'll be home at one." He checked the clock; I did too.

"You won't be here at one." Doby stated and shot me a look.

We went in the living room, Doby sitting between us on the couch, her
holding the power stick. I was miffed. This wasn't a date!  I felt like I
was being herded around in nursery school. Tomas was giggling, watching my
face turn red.

"Ms. Doby, I won't insult your culture by asking if you still practice the
bride price, dowry or arranged marriages. Nope, those practices are slavery
-- Filipinos are a free people. We have the freedom to choose our friends
through our own volition. What do you think?"

"Of course, freedom. A good thing."

"Okay, let's try a little freedom so Tomas can practice some volition with
me. Move over." I stood. She didn't.

"Restricted area. Sit down."

Dammit!  She picked an ancient movie about a boat named African Queen --
the movie with the leaches and the woman who looks like she's always
sucking on a clogged bong. But I'd cooked up another strategy to sit beside
Tomas, "You know that in America we put a price tag on everything, right?"

"Sure. Buy anything here. Everybody rich!"  She snuggled her butt into the
couch and leaned back.

"Give you ten dollars to sit in the middle." I offered, hoping she'd take
an IOU.

She looked at me, I could hear her calculating what was in my wallet,
"Hundred-fifty."

"This is no Broadway opening!"  I didn't have the money, I sat back down in
a slump.

Tomas was laughing, Doby was giving me wincingly hard scrutiny; I didn't
crack.

After a few moments she stated her perspective, "He's a horny boy." She
lifted an eyebrow, "You're an old man with too much experience."

"I suspected he was a horny boy -- delightful, when they get that
way. Spontaneous and energetic...  I remember it well." I sighed, "It was
only yesterday." It felt like the old lady was trying to box me in a
corner... so I went on the offensive.  "Are you worried about AIDS and all
the -- well, all the negatives the media promote about gay men?"  I handed
her one of the soda's we'd brought with us, hoping she'd have to go to the
bathroom and I'd get next to Tomas.

"AIDS -- terrible. So many dying."

Finally, I had some leverage. "Let's talk about AIDS..."  I told her about
working with the AIDS group delivering food, and gave her the basics about
condoms, bodily fluid transfer, retrovirus disinfection and respect for
self and others. I laid it on thick.

She had questions about gay men, why do they have unprotected sex?  Why
anonymous sex?

That led to a discussion of generalizations and stigma -- she understood
much of that. I went on to explain that those labels hit a young person
hard -- it had driven me into isolation for years. "Lost my family..."

Didn't seem that the Santos family had any prejudice about homosexuality or
gay men but the difference between the reality and the hype, were baffling
to her. I did get her to realize that straight, gay -- anybody can practice
unsafe or anonymous sex. It happens. Gay men have to work and pay their
bills and get through life just like everyone else with an extra societal
burden. Through all this, Doby learned that I had stayed focused on my
studies during the start of the epidemic and stayed clean. That, finally
earned me some real points -- she was nodding her head and thinking.

"My Tomas - he's a daydreamer.  Not good!  Can't concentrate on his
studies." She said.

"Well, erections can cause that, but haven't you daydreamed and
fantasized?" I gave her a nonchalant look, and we stared at each other for
a moment.

"Smart man. Seventy-five dollars and Tomas sit in the middle." She was
caving, starting to get up.

"Cut you for it." I said knowing full well gambling is the national sport
in the Philippines and I didn't have any cash.

"Get the cards." She patted Tomas' thigh.

"Doby, please. We'll be up all night." He moaned but got up and brought
back a worn deck if Bicycles.

***


We didn't watch a movie that night. Nope, we played blackjack on the
kitchen table with our pocket change, then got the chips out. Tomas was a
good player. Doby hollered out words in Tagalog when she lost; Tomas
laughed. I think I was glad not to understand her Tagalog.

We kept slamming cards down and pulling pots off the table enjoying
ourselves without any strategies or pretense. Damn, that was fun. Must have
lost track of time, Tomas' moms came in at one and had to join the
game. I'll admit I was having a blast with all of them, but I suspected
some signaling going on between Chris and Melanie, so I asked for the tenth
time if they were cheating. They played innocent but grinned.

"Have you guys ever been kicked out of the casino?" I joked.

"The casino?  Let's go!"  Everyone except Tomas and I ran to change or
whatever women do before they go to the casino.

"You did good getting past Doby." He said when we were alone.

"I can understand why she's so protective, you're a good-looking guy."

"She told the last guy she'd file a restraining order against him."

"Really?  What did he do?"

"He sent me a thong and a camera. She intercepted my package."

"Did you like him?"

"How do I know?  I never get to spend time with any men." He rolled his
eyes.

I leaned over and touched his cheek with mine. "We can talk at the
casino. Do you gamble?"

"Nah -- I don't like the casino - too many cameras." He put his head down
and smiled.

"I think I'm in love." I thought to myself.

***


We rode out to the casino in the "Chris-Clean" van and the women seemed to
vaporize inside the door -- off to the slots. That left me and Tomas to
walk around looking in the windows of the shops and I found out he was
majoring in the natural sciences and had come to the states when he was
around ten with Chris.

Chris wasn't his mother, but a lesbian great-aunt; Melanie was her
Filipina-American partner. Doby and her husband immigrated to LA years ago,
but he'd passed and the entire family reshuffled until everyone was safe
and working. It was the watchdog Doby who was Tomas' guardian -- she was
the one who put him in online classes and prodded him daily until he
graduated, then pushed him into the university. No, she wasn't his real
grandmother, but a distant family member who became his sponsor for
immigration. Wasn't sure I could remember all these convoluted
relationships but they were all Filipino and proud of it.

Tomas was a bright, young man, still a boy in a lot of ways. I wasn't so
socially adept with dating either, but we muddled through the early hours
of the morning, talking music and school. I held his hand as we walked and
imagined my lips kissing him; his eyelashes on my cheek. We sat in the dim,
empty dining area until the sun rose. The kitchen crew was setting up the
breakfast buffet. Neither one of us wanted to eat, we were tired after
being up all night without any adrenaline rushes from gambling.

We found Doby engrossed with a flashing, noisy slot machine spinning
cartoon fruits in front of her. "We're tired. It's been four hours. Should
Tomas and I go sleep in the van?"  I knew that would get her going.

"Got to get my money back." She grabbed more coins from the bin on the
machine.

Digging around in my pocket, I handed Tomas the coins I'd won on the
kitchen table. "Go win us enough to leave -- we need some sleep."

He meandered off, while I went to plead my case to Chris and Melanie,
fortunately they were tired as well. As we gathered around Doby, hoping to
get her off the machine a loud bell rang, sirens blared and lights flashed
overhead. I looked up to see Tomas grinning and jumping as suited people
surrounded him -- with one quarter he won twenty-five hundred dollars!

 "Bring my ID, Chris." He yelled at us. Melanie went to Doby and started
digging in the big leather bag on her lap.

"You don't carry a wallet?"  I asked as the group of suited attendants
stood for photos with Tomas.

"Why?  I don't have any money -- well, until now." Melanie, Chris and Tomas
went to the casino office to complete the tax paperwork. I figured he'd
come out of this with almost two thousand...  Now, I had to get Doby off
that machine.

"Ven, abuelita. Tomas ganĂł por todo. Vamanos." I told Doby that
Tomas won for everyone -- time to leave. She slid off the stool, eyes still
glued to the machine. "Do you have an addiction or what?" I asked.

"Humph." She glanced at me.

"Yeah, humph."

Tomas and Doby fell asleep on the way back while Chris and Melanie asked
what we did on our date. Not much to say there. Heck of a night, but I'd
held my own and seemed to have gained a toehold with Doby.

***


That next week, Tomas and I emailed. He wanted to go to Cabo, or maybe buy
a scooter -- innocent dreams for his money. I suggested he get a job on
campus since he'd be sans Doby on campus -- save it for a car. We
researched and he filled out a work-study application. "Get out and meet
people, enjoy your life."

Maybe that was self-instruction, with a little research, went to a police
auction of cars that hadn't been ransomed after getting towed. I found a
usable junker and had it tuned up.

Tomas called and said he was allowed another date with me on next Friday
night. Bingo with Doby at the firehouse. "She says you bring luck."
Reluctantly, my brain agreed; a bingo game wouldn't help me toward a social
or sex life. I wanted to be alone with Tomas -- to touch and caress him.

Shit!  I learned too quickly that the casino was bad enough, but a bingo
game can be a war zone. No, I didn't buy a packet of sheets, but played
along sitting between Tomas and Doby, daubing green blobs on the free
spaces. The caller made stupid jokes and the crowd couldn't be distracted
from scanning for numbers. Tomas won a small pot and Doby just forged ahead
through the sheets of little squares, occasionally buying a scratcher. I
was able to hold Tomas' hand under the table and stroke his thigh
occasionally. He blushed like crazy. During a heated game, I had to relieve
myself in a public toilet, my balls ached. That was the only truly
quasi-pleasurable event of the evening for me.

***


Tomas got a job on campus at the math lab -- self-paced remedial classes
for slower students. He worked on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays from
noon to four passing out and reorganizing study materials.

"Can I pick you up after work?  We'll go to the beach." I knew I had to get
past Doby but I was hoping to slip by unnoticed. Dammit, I showed up on
campus and Tomas told me that we had to pick up Doby. "When is this going
to end?"  I thought.

When I pulled in the drive, Chris, Melanie and Doby were sitting out front
waiting for me with bags and lawn chairs. We loaded her van and took off to
the beach. Tomas and I made an encampment around a hundred feet from a big
fire ring where people gathered for their drumming circle.

Chris organized us quickly and took Doby and Tomas off to find raspados --
it was still hot on the sand. That left me with Melanie, so I decided to
pump her for information, "Was it as hard for you to date Chris as it is
for me to try to get some time with Tomas?"

She chuckled, "Almost. Doby likes you but she's not sure yet. When she's
sure, it'll work out. Just don't send Tomas any underwear and a camera like
that guy Harlan -- sheesh!  The boy was only sixteen!  Oh, yeah, and don't
ever say anything about her husband. She was in an arranged marriage when
she was thirteen. I think there's some trauma about that, but she loves me
and Chris. When we passed our contractors exam, Doby helped us start our
business. Don't be upset when she wants the relationships around her to be
stable -- to feel like a family. The last thing in the world she wants to
see is her Tomas' hurt again."

"Again?"

"Taken into some kind of relationship on the island and assaulted when he
was ten, I think. They won't talk about it. That was the reason Tomas and
Chris immigrated, and getting bullied in school and all...  I heard the kid
was a quivering mess when he first got here. Doby stayed with him -- I mean
right by his side for years -- even slept with him. She was afraid for his
safety."

Suddenly, everything made sense. This wasn't a goofy grandma I was dealing
with, Doby was a woman doing her best to protect a young gay boy who'd been
sexually assaulted like she'd been. I'd have to change strategies and slow
down, but that didn't happen.

When everyone returned with big cups of ice of every color, I pulled a
chair close to Doby's and put my arm around her shoulder. "Thank you for
taking care of Tomas."

"He's a very good boy." Was all she said, obviously proud of herself.

"So, Tomas, are you going to save the money you won?  Whacha gonna do with
all those bucks?"

"I opened a savings account and a checking account." He looked at the
sunset, "But I want to go on a date."

My heart almost jumped out of my chest!

"Don't get excited, he has to get his driver's license first." Doby said
and shot me a look.

I felt like there were micro kernels of popcorn bursting in my groin --
Tomas was grinning. "I'm still studying the book. Going take the written
test next week."

Later, I took Tomas over by the drummers to check out the big barrel-shaped
cylinders and the other instruments. The guys were building a big fire and
people were gathering around. I held his hand where anyone could see and
smiled at him. "I hope you're going to ask me on a date."

"Yeah. What do you wanna do?"  He grinned.

Didn't have the guts to say it out loud, so "Are you going to behave?"  I
teased.

"Don't count on it." He winked at me, I slipped my hand behind him and
squeezed his butt.

"I want to kiss you." I whispered.

He turned to me and gave me a quick kiss on my lips. I almost fainted!

***


Three more weeks of dates with Doby, but I did spend one Wednesday night
with Melanie and Chris helping them translate a safety handbook for her
employees. Interesting, the cleaning women worked in pairs, but often were
alone in offices and empty retail spaces and carried pepper
spray. Occasionally there were other people in the buildings. Through that
freebie I learned a lot about their business. They were expanding their
services soon, packing and unpacking households. High-end work for the
military brass and the wealthy moving into Southern California
retirement. They were ambitious gals, wanting to buy a house and start
their family. That spurred me into looking for a better-paying job.

Damn, Tomas had to take the driving part of his test twice. I offered to
loan him my dinky Ford for the day -- he'd been using the cleaning van to
try to parallel park. Doby and I took him on Saturday morning and he
passed, then dropped him off at work. But I didn't take her back home, she
wanted to go to a car lot. She was going to buy him a car. Doby didn't
drive, they needed another car for shopping and going to the bingo and
casino games, I supposed -- no, I was sure about the bingo and casino
trips.

We walked the lot, Doby looking for size, and mpg. I kept my phone in front
of my face for checking prices and dependability ratings. Two cars met our
standards, both were "granny" cars -- not cool enough for a
nineteen-year-old.

"Maybe we could get it painted, like some snazzy red or a deep, metallic
blue..."  I noted.

"He'll paint it purple if I let him." She said as we waited for the
salesperson.

"Good. Who'd steal a purple car?"  I said, chuckling.

Doby told me that women always get rooked on car deals, so she told me how
much money she had for the car and what her limit was. I showed her the
value of the car on my phone and she was right on the money. We sat across
the desk and began our negotiations for an old, low-mileage Honda with a
decent interior. The salesman pulled his pitch out saying the model was so
popular, dependable...

"Sir, our time is limited. Bottom-line, please." I asked.

"Well..."  He started with some of the discounts and deals he'd make for
us, hitting the keys on his calculator, finally, he gave us a number. I did
something my mother used to do when I said something outlandish. I licked
my lips, took a deep breath and looked off to the side with a disgusted
expression and waited for a few seconds. The sign of complete revulsion.

"Damn proud of that car, aren't ya -- is that Honda only for exhibit or do
you want to sell it any time soon?"  I said. "Get down to business." I
showed him the blue book price. "I'll give you the extra two-hundred for
the cleaning and your service, when we get some. That's it and no more."

Everything went silent and still for a couple of seconds. Then, Doby
grabbed her phone and left the room with the salesman. She was calling a
mechanic to check the engine; the salesperson was going to okay a fast deal
with his manager.

Within a few moments, I was standing beside an elderly Pinoy as he checked
the car over. It was in good shape, but would need some new tires within
several months, and the air-conditioning didn't get too cool, but this is
Southern California. Only AM radio -- one of the speakers was blown but
Tomas and Doby could live with that. The engine and driveshaft were in good
working order. Doby signed the papers and we left with her on the phone to
the insurance company.

When we went to pick up Tomas, we brought him to the car lot. Doby handed
him his keys, "Congratulations, sweetheart!"  He was floored, and hugged
us, grinning. I was grinning, too and took a few photos of them with the
car. Closer to my date by the moment!

To celebrate his new car, we all went out to eat. A little cramped in the
back seat with Chris and Melanie, but we a great time at a seafood
restaurant. That was a long day, and I went home feeling happily anxious
and began a cleaning campaign in my bungalow. Oh yeah, I knew what I wanted
to do on a date!

***


Every morning I checked my email for my notes from Tomas. He let me know
how he was doing in his classes, and some of his personal
information. Delightful, horny boy - I sent some "secrets" back letting him
know I was thinking of him in the shower as well.

We messaged; Tomas asked me where I wanted to go and if Saturday night was
good. "Doby says no bars. No alcohol -- no drugs."

"Don't need any.  What else?"

"Can't cross the border. If we go to the casino, she has to come."

"No casino, no Tijuana - check."

"She bought condoms for me." He wrote. "And told me how to put one on `just
in case.'"

That caught me off guard, amazed that Doby bought him condoms. "Been
tested?"  I asked.

"At campus health center. Negative."

I shot a load over my keyboard and started cussing. Damn, I needed another
shower before I went to work.

***


The next day I suggested we go to a small café in Imperial and walk
the beach. Tomas agreed and sent me a song with some suggestive lyrics. I
felt the same!  I thought about that -- he was a young man with a sad past,
and he was willing to try a relationship with me?  Didn't know how to
process all that - I only knew I wanted him.

He agreed to be at my house at seven and I was ready -- everything clean
and neat; somewhat ragtag but comfortable. I opened all the windows and put
some music on, chilled juices.  At about six thirty, Tomas must have left
his house -- my phone rang.  I thought he needed directions, "Hello?"

It was Doby. "Be gentle with my boy -- he's still tender. Don't be rough or
hurt him." She went on about my behaviors, warning me with non-specific
threats, like missing my heirlooms and speaking with a squeaky voice.

"Wait!  Wait Doby, this is our relationship. What makes you think I
wouldn't be good to Tomas?  And, for that matter, what makes you think I
don't need some tenderness and gentle treatment as well?  I know you're
protective, and you must know by now I'm not the crude `n rude type. He
sent me all your rules for this evening, and I agree -- no drugs or
alcohol, dinner at the beach. Let it rest. Now, what's this about buying
him condoms?"

Silence.

In the small, crinkly voice, "It's so hard to let go." I think she was
crying. "Chris said it's time to...  He needs to be who he is. Chris and
Melanie trust you. I guess I do, too. Be kind and very gentle."

Those words must have been painful for her. "Doby, I love you and Tomas is
safe with me." She was sniffling. "Make a deal with you, I won't do
anything Tomas doesn't initiate. How does that sound?" Wasn't sure if I
could keep that promise.

"He's crazy in love with you." She paused. "Talks about you all the
time. Tell him to keep his grades up, teach him to be careful."

Tomas' car pulled into the driveway, "Doby, the man I love is here. I'm
going to meet him at the door with all my respect like a gentleman you want
him to date."

She sniffled again. "I know."

***


It felt like a glacier shoved up my butt to get a call from Doby, but my
body rebounded quickly and I opened the screen door to see Tomas in a pair
of shorts and a clingy sleeveless knit shirt. Nipples -- oh, god!  He
smelled like lavender.

Finally, alone! Handing me a bouquet of freesia, he grinned.  "For you."

 I took him to the kitchen and found a recycled plastic tumbler to put them
in. "Juice before dinner?"  He dug around in the refrigerator while I put
the flowers in the bedroom. Freesia smells so heavily sweet.  He stood at
the door to the bedroom, "Are you hungry?"

"Not really. You?"

His arms encircled my waist and he pulled me to him. If I could have melted
into him, it couldn't have been any richer. I felt his hands under the
waist of my jeans and his small hands gripping my butt.

The feel and taste of his tongue, his smell, his arousal, the taut, lean
body pressing me against him was intoxicating. I couldn't get enough. My
god, his smooth cheek touched mine. My hands reached around him and I held
him against me -- my teeth itched to eat him. I wanted to bite into his
smooth neck. "Tenderness, gentleman, respect..." The things I'd promised
Doby came back and my lust went lukewarm. "We're only going to have one
first date, let's walk down to the beach and get some dinner. I want this
evening to last."

"I want you for dinner." He whispered and bit my ear.

As I kissed him I remembered I promised Doby I'd let him ask for what he
wanted -- no force.  "Sweetheart," I grabbed his hand and kissed it. "Doby
called me after you left the house."

He smacked his forehead, "Won't she ever let me have a boyfriend?"

"You're here with condoms in your pocket. I'd say that's a damn fine
start."

"All the crap you had to go through -- the casino, the bingo, all those
goofy dinners and stuff. I was so embarrassed -- especially when she was
talking about the donkey butt when she won that big pot." He whined about
the woman who'd given years to him. I couldn't help but think about the
families of the AIDS patients who'd left home to die, and the gay and trans
children on the roadsides; my own parents.

"Be glad for a family that loves you. It could be so much worse. As for the
flak, well, it wasn't that bad. Believe it or not, I love her for taking
care of you. Let's go to the beach, I want to show you off." I gave him a
squeeze and a hug and gripped his package, "When we come back, I want you
to tell me what you fantasize about."

"Will you tell me your fantasies?"  He asked as I grabbed my keys.

Couldn't say it out loud yet. "I love you."

***


The beach was quiet, a few people surfing, couples strolling. We wandered
into a small café and shared a taco plate. Our walk was quiet. I
took off my shoes, and unsnapped my lover's sandals, carrying them as we
walked through the shallow waves. Perfect - cool breezes and cold water,
damp sand and warm, moist skin. Occasionally I'd catch a whiff of him. The
smell of his sexual anxiety building behind the crisp smell of lavender, he
wanted me. Internally I trembled thinking of penetrating him and I'd
wait. What he wanted came first tonight. I wanted him to remember this
first time with me as easy, slow and affectionate.

In silence, we walked home anticipating what were only imaginings until
tonight. As soon as we were inside the door, I turned to kiss him and
rocked him against me. "Would you like for me to undress you?"

"No. I want to open you like a gift." He beamed with sparkling eyes.

I smiled, and took his hand leading him to the bedroom. Lighting a candle,
I watched the lithe body bending and swaying as he undressed.

His skin glowed and he smiled. "This is all I think about."

Slowly, he undressed me and I watched him - a beautiful naked man, slender
fingers moving deftly. Opening my shirt, his hands rubbed my chest while he
watched my eyes. Electric flashes ran over my entire body when he touched
me. There was nothing else on earth -- only this man who wanted me. I
trembled. His soft breath came to my neck and for the first time, our
chests touched, skin-to-skin. Then, he kissed me with his hands holding my
face so lightly. Tenderness. This was the tenderness I craved and only
ached for -- for so many empty years.

His hands went to my waist and he fumbled with the snap on my jeans and
then my zipper, all the while keeping his dark brown eyes on mine. He had a
little smile as he pushed my jeans down and held them for me to step out
of. His head was at my erection. So very softly, his hands held the back of
my thighs and he rubbed his face into my groin. Eyelashes, lips, cheeks
pressed against my most sensitive places; he breathed deeply. I leaned over
immediately pulling myself away from him. He looked up at me.

"Too close now - wait."

He took me to the bed and threw the blanket and sheet back, stirring the
smell of freesia around us. The silhouette of his body against the
candlelight burned into my mind -- god to have a picture of that. I was in
heaven!  As we lay and held each other closely, I closed my eyes --
memorizing the unbelievable warmth and feel of him. A rotund, full feeling
sense of ease filled me.

"My fantasy was just to be here, in your arms. Now that I'm here, I want
more." He was breathing hard and took my hand and put it on his hard,
smooth shaft. His delightful, rigid penis was cut -- making his proud
erection seem larger. Gorgeous, pale shaft with a large, dusty
purple-colored head that was inviting my tongue to lick. His short sac was
filled full and close. I couldn't concentrate when his fingers found my
foreskin and he played with it tugging and stretching, then he began
stroking. All the time watching my eyes.

"What do you fantasize about?"  In a choked whisper trying to keep myself
in check.

"This and everything, anything. Being next to you, kissing you." He moved
himself against me; chest to chest, hard, throbbing erections pressed
together. We leaned closer into each other -- our breaths were jerky and we
watched each other's eyes. Pelvis to pelvis, I could feel the moist skin of
our scrotums sticking together. We both let go and relaxed into our
closeness.

"My fantasies were never this good." I held him against me and kissed him,
my fingers in his hair, I held his lips against mine and felt my erection
throbbing alongside his. I whimpered at that point. It heralded a sudden
eruption of semen somewhere deep inside me and I could only hold him
against me and move my hips a few times. I opened my eyes and looked into
his.

"My fantasy." I blushed and grabbed his shaft, caressing it rapidly. Within
a few strokes the smell of freesia was overcome by the smell of semen from
two lovers. Bliss.

Grabbing a towel from under the pillow, I wiped our chests. "Shower?"

"No. I want to smell like this forever." He said and winked.

We embraced and kissed in the dim light of the candle, touching and gently
exploring each other, then, "What time is it?" He whispered.

"Shit, did Doby give you a curfew?"

"She said she didn't want me driving while I'm tired."

I checked my clock, "It's ten thirty now. You're too tired to drive." I
left to bring a juice.

When I came back to the bedroom, Tomas was on his cell phone probably
sending a text to Doby or Chris. I stopped in the doorway - since I was
young, I'd always wanted to come into a bedroom where someone was waiting
for me. Someone who'd throw the sheets aside and welcome me next to
them. That fantasy just became real -- I savored it.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Doby said to stay..." He looked up at me and smiled. "She said she
loves you."

Maybe it was the tension of the day of our first date, or release of some
sexual anxiety - we fell asleep with the cool, moist air from the ocean
chilling our skin. Warm where our bodies touched; I slept lightly, keeping
my cheek against him, smelling him, reveling in the smell of us.

***


The next morning, I left my sleeping Tomas in bed.

Sitting on the back patio, Tomas came out completely naked, "Why didn't you
get me up?  You missed the most delightful part of horny young men -- my
morning stiff."

"You're delightful with or without." I smiled, "Delightful." I paused, how
does one ask these sensitive questions?  "You were assaulted before -- does
it bother you, are you having, well, flashbacks or anything from something
I did?"

He looked away for a moment, "No -- it was completely different; nothing
gentle. I know you love me. I know you'd never hurt me."

I took him inside and kissed him. "No. I'll never hurt you. Will you tell
me if I do something -?"

He thought for a moment, "I'll tell you, but I know it won't happen." He
turned and left for the bath. "I want my fantasy shower."

Soaping and rinsing quickly, I knelt in front of him in the warm spray and
took his cock in my mouth, licking and stroking, kissing his balls and I
watched his eyes for a moment. His head was tilted back as he moaned,
holding my head. My world felt secure as he held my face against him, then
I reached around him with both hands and rubbed his hole. His knees shook.

"Oh." That was all he said as I felt his erection pulse against my tongue
and load after load of hot spunk shot out; communion of ecstasy. Then I
stood and kissed him like I'd never stop. The warm water ran out and the
cold water surprised me. I looked into his eyes. "Is that your shower
fantasy?"

With a slow smile, "One of them."

Watching him dress, I looked around the room. I could do better than
thrift-store furniture and yard sale linens...  Nothing matched, nothing
even similar except that it all screamed "impoverished, rogue and
hopeless."

That had to change.

***


"Doby, I didn't want him driving home so late. Yeah, I
know. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

She was on the warpath. "I kept my word being gentle -- perfect gentleman,
even surprised myself." Holding the phone away from my ear, I let her go
on. When there was a break, "What could I do to make it up to you?  Tell
me, let's negotiate."

Can't say who got the better end of the deal, but she'd let Tomas and I go
on another date after a bingo night and a trip to the casino. But I got her
to agree to four hours only at the casino. Yeah, sure -- the petite,
charming little lady was an unabashed slot-junkie.


Una Manana de Verano...



I updated my CV and started sending emails to places I wanted to work. The
holidays were coming up and usually people who left or retired gave notice
before the end of the year. There were several companies whose contracts
I'd reviewed for translations - they seemed like good companies to work
for, and I sent out to all of them. Then, I sent my credentials to the
state -- our state had an economy greater than many small nations. I
figured I'd shine with the commerce department and sent my credentials to
their human resources department in Sacramento.

Tomas and I endured the bingo racket and at the casino I saw a large
commercial bus drive up as I let Doby and Tomas out at the front door. They
went in.  I went to the bus driver to get the shuttle schedule. Inside, I
went to Doby and showed her my watch; casinos don't have clocks. "Four
hours, and that's it -- Tomas has finals coming up and he needs to
study. You'll have to take the shuttle bus back home if you want to stay."
I slipped the schedule into her purse.

She nodded, not looking at me, but fingering through her coins. Tomas and I
went to the café for a snack and brought a bag of chips and a soda
for Doby. She just put them in her purse and continued pumping the handle.

"Next date I'm taking you out so we don't get in trouble again -- I hate
this place." I spat.

"Where to?"  Tomas grinned.

"To the center, and an adult book store. Then, we're going roller skating
at Mission Beach boardwalk."

"Adult book store, the kind with the booths in the back?  I've never been
in one." His eyes glazed over thinking about the glory holes, I supposed.

"How about roller skating?" I grinned.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope, we're going to rent some skates and do something fun. All this is
contingent on your grades. Are you prepped for finals?"

"I've been studying at work. I'm good."

After three hours we told Doby to get the shuttle back to Lemon Grove and
call from there. Bettor deafness had struck -- she only nodded and
continued shoving coins in the slot and pulling the lever.

***


The next week, I took Tomas to the center, and found a few brochures and
some events I could take him to -- I was proud to be with him. The
bookstore turned out to be a strange experience -- the smell of chlorine
lurked in the corners and funky pine-scented air freshener hung by the
magazine racks. Tomas headed back for the cubicles immediately, digging for
quarters in his pockets. I only watched. The place was buzzing with
men. After a few minutes, he turned around to look at me.

"C'mon." Several of the men were eying his butt.

"I only want you." That was manipulative. I didn't know how to tell him how
much I loved him.  Though I worked with words all day, I couldn't tell him
I loved him big, like the sky and wide as the ocean, hotter than the sun
and deeper than the limits of space. Lack of courage, fear of sounding like
a sappy greeting card or appearing less than masculine -- I couldn't say
it. Tomas liberated so many new things inside me, glittery, shiny, sensual
and robust feelings. His love held me in a warm, easy space beside him even
when we were apart.  I felt incredibly whole -- complete with him and it
all came so naturally.

Tomas waited patiently, a little ticked-off that I'd herded him away from
the booths. I bought a few things in the bookstore and we went to the beach
but I parked in the far corner of the parking lot near the old roller
coaster and checked for anyone walking nearby. I opened his fly. Damn, the
kid went commando to the bookstore!  Then, I snapped a leather strap around
his cock and balls and sucked him till he whined and came. His voice sent
shivers inside me and I became manipulative again, "And I don't want any
man's tongue on my cock -- only yours."

I kissed him and cursed the fact that cars didn't come with bench seats any
longer.

***


We sailed through the holidays with a trip to Ensenada for the day and even
attended services at the local church -- all with Doby, Chris and
Melanie. The season was filled with music, light and colors -- invigorating
to be enjoying all the traditions again.  It was good -- our spirits were
recharged with hope and I must have glowed with the love for Tomas.  All
that gave me a different perspective; I felt a `rightness' with my life and
felt incredibly confident in my place in the world. I felt like I had a
family around me. Loving and being loved in so many different ways around
me was something I hadn't felt in years. That and receiving job offers from
different companies, but I had a feeling the state commerce department
needed me.

During spring break Tomas drove the van at nights picking up and dropping
off the cleaning staff until late. Chris and Melanie recruited me and gave
me a maroon, polyester lab coat affair with "Chris-Clean" on the
pocket. Doby and Tomas got one as well.  We were all recruited into the new
Chris-Clean venture.  Weekends we went to unload and unpack people's
belongings into their new homes with a crew of the cleaning ladies.  Sweaty
work and we had to move all the boxes fast -- whole house had to be in
place within a few hours. We looked like ants running all over the empty
mini-mansions. The new homes filled quickly with a full crew working. Tomas
and I moved furniture to its best place under Melanie's orders then hauled
out all the packing trash and boxes -- Doby handled all the kitchen and
bathrooms with one other worker.  I didn't consider it demeaning; Chris and
Melanie were looking for a house to buy as they moved forward in their
lives with great success. They'd move out of the old three-bedroom, one
bath where they'd lived with Doby and Tomas.

Didn't notice it at first, but Doby was turning the tables on me. I'd pack
trash and hear her chastising Tomas about the way he spoke with me. She was
giving him relationship advice. I thought things between us were fine -- he
had a little temper but simply left for a while and came back calmer. She
called him "grudge boy" and chastised him about it saying it blocked
negotiations that would keep us happy. Doby was molding his thoughts toward
the future -- a long term relationship.  I'd thought about that, but a
delightful, horny young man like Tomas -- so handsome and charming, I
figured he'd want to sow his wild oats first, and maybe a few for me.

***


That summer I received an offer from the state to work in Sacramento -- my
dream job came through. I emailed back that I wanted the job and had family
responsibilities. "Keep me on your list for an opening near the border."
They said they would.

On the q.t. I took translating work for the group that was working with
AIDS education -- they were still going strong, now in the political and
medical arenas. People were crying for a vaccine and we have polio vaccines
and polio was caused by a virus. Though it was a fragile lifeform outside
the body, AIDS it was still taking so many lives. I was learning more than
I thought I would through that job -- research was uncovering molecular
secrets on the cell wall of the retrovirus.

On the way out of the center I noticed a flyer advertising a prom for all
the queer kids who didn't or couldn't attend their own high school
proms. I'd left home right after my graduation; a prom meant nothing more
to me than extra expenses I didn't have. Tomas was home schooled, and I
took a photo of the flyer and sent it to Tomas, "Will you go to the prom
with me?"

I stopped by his house on my way home. He was on his computer searching for
a tux. Doby was sitting beside him. "I have to go to the prom too." She
stated. "We'll both be your date."

"Didn't you go to your prom?"  She was butting in again.

"Bad time when I was young. I have a dress..." She ran off down the hall
and came back with a shiny multi-colored, flower print dress with puffy
sleeves, lace all over the edges and a pair of blue patent leather
heels. Now Doby was in her fifties, I guessed and very petite. I was short
at five-foot five, but Doby was about four-foot eleven or so...  I thought
about it. Tomas and I in our tux' and Doby in her dress -- strange
combination for sure.

"Will it still fit?"  I hoped that would nix her excitement.

"Why not?  I'm not fat!"  She held the dress up to her body, "Please?  I'm
so good to you."

What could I say?  She was good to me when she wasn't gambling. Tomas was
smiling and held up his camera, grinning, "This is gonna be good."

"Okay. Let's deal. No more bingo."

"Oh, you love bingo." She fingered the lace on the dress.

"You can come, but I hate bingo and I won't take you to bingo or the casino
anymore. Okay?"

She didn't answer me instead ran down the hall saying something about a
corsage and a boutonniere.

***


On the night of the prom, I picked up Doby and Tomas -- he looked like a
model!  Doby surprised me, she'd had her hair done and wore her jewelry and
a blue satin wrap. I decided I hated that dress, but she was
beaming. Pinning two pink rosebuds on Tomas deep rose-colored tux and a
tying a nosegay of violets on Doby's wrist we took some photos. Were those
false eyelashes she was wearing?  Damn!  What a little hottie!

In the center, we shook hands with a bunch of members who had their name
tags adorned with "Algebra Instructor," and "Gym Coach," things like that
and got a lot of and jokes about our naughty behaviors in class.  Then, we
gathered around the punch bowl for sweet, red liquid and stood under a
make-shift rainbow-colored arch for photos. There were a few speeches while
we sat around under a spinning ball scattering colored dots of light over
everyone. Seems someone brought a flask, but a lot more weed on the
patio. Crepe paper had been twisted and draped, and fluttered around the
walls in scallops, everyone in a tux or a formal...  Seemed like a chintzy
way to celebrate ending twelve years of surviving public schools. Being
with Tomas - seeing him enjoying himself made up for that thought.

Tomas and Doby were known from the big islander bashes -- they moved on to
speak with friends and catch up on the news. I had the camera and snapped a
few photos but stayed to the side enjoying the festivities when Harlan
sidled up to me. "How's it going dumpling butt?  Heard you hit the
jackpot." He sipped his drink. "The old lady says you're like a son-in-law,
is that true?"

"Doing fine. Very well - finally got to go to a prom." My personal
relationships weren't his business.

"Holding state secrets tonight?  Tell me how you wormed your way past the
old lady and into the boy's pants. You must be slicker than you look."

"Just being myself." I looked away.

"Yeah, sure." He walked straight to Tomas and turned to see if I was
watching, and asked Tomas to dance, I guessed. Couldn't hear what they
said, but in a few moments, Tomas went back to his friends in conversation
-- Harlan walked back to his wolf pack in pink and black tuxes with their
hair slicked back.

Turns out Doby was quite the dancer and didn't care who she danced with but
they had to be good. The Electric Slide confused her, but she could Cha-cha
and Salsa with the best. She was having a blast on the center of the dance
floor. Tomas and I danced slow dances and he whispered his fantasies to
me. My erection throbbed most of the evening.  I held him against me, and
sang with the music -- "Como lluvia fresco en mis manos...  AsĂ­,
asĂ­, eres tĂș."

On the way home, we stopped by an up-scale bar in an old building
overlooking Banker's Hill. Piano player, candles, a woman singing old
ballads... At a small table by the window, "Doby what's this about being
sort-of your son-in-law?"  I lifted my eyebrow. Tomas was giggling
silently. I believed I saw Doby blush for the first time since I'd met her.

"You need to move in my house. Not good to be alone -- makes you crazy."
She was going into negotiating mode, I could sense it.

"You just don't want to be alone after Chris and Melanie leave. Tell you
what, I'll look for some senior services so you can get to the store. You
can take the shuttle to the casino."

"The casino!  Can we go tonight?"

"No. I promised him breakfast." That was shorthand for "he's spending the
night with me."

She looked aside but came back full-force. "You need to marry, you're
getting old."

"What about you, Doby?"

"No. Can we go to the prom again next year?"

"You only get one prom. Now explain that `son-in-law' business. Are you
suggesting I ask Tomas to marry me, or do you have something else up your
puffy sleeve?"  I flicked the lace on the pouf.

"If you marry, you can live in my house. I'll make arrangements."

"What if Tomas doesn't want to marry me?  What happens if he meets another
guy and falls in love -- then you're stuck with me. Does that sound like
fun?  Me, you, Tomas and his new lover all in the same house with smelly
socks all over and standing in line for the bathroom?  Sounds a little
kinky to me -- I didn't know you were like that."

"Good poker games. I wouldn't have to go to the casino."

"Why do I doubt that?"  I looked at Doby. "Do you want Tomas to marry me?"

"Yes. You're good for him."

"Tomas, do you want to marry me?"  I looked at him, and he was blushing --
in a rose-colored tux, wished I had a photo. He couldn't answer me. "Okay,
Doby, I'll think about it, but you're pushing again. Stop with the
pressure. Alright?"

Doby just looked out the window. She wasn't going to stop. Then, "He needs
a diamond." Doby added. "For engagement."

"You're railroading me!  Back off -- it's a weighty decision." That was
uncalled for. "I suppose you want a diamond as well."

"Traditional for mother of groom -- old Filipino custom..."

I doubted that.  We dropped Doby off and went to a bed and breakfast up the
coast. Since there was a sexual indoctrination for a lot of graduates, I
decided to give Tomas a little of that as well. I had warming lube and a
bottle of poppers in my pocket.

Tomas got our bag from the trunk while I got our room. Beautiful bay window
looked out on the ocean and a hot tub on a patio. He was out of his tux in
a flash and headed to the hot tub. I followed, tossing the lube on the bed
and taking the other bottle with me.

"Tonight, we're having everything -- I've been waiting for the right time."

"Prom night or proposal night?"

"Did I propose to you?"

"Sounded like it." He grinned.

"What if I wanted you to ask me?"

He laughed, "I don't have anything to offer you."

"We only have ourselves to offer each other right now, and you're certainly
sufficient for me." I took the little brown bottle, "This makes you super
horny -- some guys use it; supposed to make sex better." I showed him how
to snort and handed him the bottle.

"You don't want any?"

"Don't need any." I moved him to my lap, fingered his sweet ass and reached
around him to stroke his cock in the hot, swirling water. Quickly poking my
finger inside him he moaned. "Let's see some of what you have to offer me."
I found his prostate and rubbed. He shivered. His back was against my chest
and he reached down to find my erection pulsing and ready.

I kissed his back, "AsĂ­, asĂ­, eres tĂș." I sang softly.

"You're such a romantic -- why don't those other guys act like you?  They
talk dirty to me and don't even know my name."

"I imagine there's a lot of men like me. We get crowded out by the big,
loud guys." Rubbing between his legs, "Romantics are hellcats in bed, you
know." I kissed his back, "We have a whole bottle of lube to use up
tonight."

In bed, "Tell me the truth - why did you wait so long before -- well,
taking me?" He asked.

"Melanie told me you came to the states because of some bad things that
happened. I wanted you to trust me enough to know I wouldn't hurt you."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You never have to, I admire your resilience -- letting me love you." He
grabbed the camera and we looked through the pictures I'd taken while I
oiled between his legs, along his cleft and slipped a finger inside him
again. "Can I be honest?"

"Mmmm." He purred.

"Lover, uh, I've never..." This admission stuck in my throat. "I may be
clumsy, that's part of the reason I've waited..."  I shut up, waiting for
laughter.

He pulled away from me and turned to face me with the softest look in his
eyes. "I thought..."

"You know I haven't dated much - never bought sex either.  Remember the
times I lived through when I came of age. Strange times -- frightening when
you see so much death..." I stared into his eyes, waiting for a
response. He kissed me and took the bottle of lube.  From that moment
forward I was riding on sensation alone. Lying on my back, Tomas began
kissing and sucking my nipples, biting softly down to my groin and opened
my legs gently, with his sweet lips he kissed and fondled my balls and
lower. I gasped several times.

"Lift your knees." His hands nudged my thighs, he was kneeling between my
legs. "Relax." He grabbed a pillow and told me to lift my hips and stuffed
it under my butt. I went into sensory overload as I got my first rim job
and I quaked with the pleasure -- yeah, I started stroking. His delicate
hand came to the base of my erection and he squeezed until it almost
hurt. "Wait -- it gets better."

He turned the lamp on and threw his tee shirt over the shade dimming the
glow, "I want to watch you." From there he explained slowly and with only a
few words what he was doing as he lubricated me and pushed his fingers in
and out my anus, telling me he loved me. Couldn't respond with all the new
sensations and feelings and knowing what was coming -- someone else's
fingers were exploring inside me -- my nervous system sent sparks to the
skin all over my body.

Kneeling between my legs, he lubed his shaft, "Relax and push against me."
I felt his slick, hot glans at my ass.  I'd heard this would hurt.  He must
have noticed my reticent expression.  "When you feel me push -- push back."
I took a deep breath -- I wanted him inside me. I wanted to be as close to
him as I could be.

He pushed; I pushed and it stung, but it didn't hurt like I thought it
would; lust numbed me.  Tomas took a deep breath, "It's so good." We were
still for a few moments, then he opened his eyes and looked down at me and
I felt him slip a little further inside me. I examined the foreign
sensations, then glanced downward to see his shaft disappearing inside
me. My pre-cum was streaming; I wasn't erect.

He pulled out a fraction of an inch and pushed back further inside me. I
watched his groin and started feeling the fullness inside me -- it felt
strange. Again, he pulled back and pushed deeper, watching my face. I was
still stunned with the newness. Again, he pulled back and pushed
further. "Are you okay?"

"I think so..."  He continued with gentle thrusts and it wasn't but a few
more pushes when I felt him completely fill me. "He can't go any further,"
I thought as I examined a few twinges and incredible closeness. Intimacy
replaced any discomfort and I looked up at him as his cock pushed deeply.

Then, faster, he began pushing into me faster, until he was racing toward
his own orgasm. He shoved his hands behind my knees pushing me completely
open and almost doubled on myself. That caused him to thrust into different
places inside me, his erection began rubbing when sudden fireworks started
inside me. I was breathing hard, I looked up to see Tomas sweating and
grunting -- his face in a grimace.

My shaft was straining but I couldn't reach my own erection to rub -- I
didn't have to!  It all happened so fast. With his last deep thrusts, "I
love you." His voice was a rough whisper and I felt the bursts of his hot
semen inside me and the heat of my own semen rushed upward and out in
several rushes. Tomas didn't move for a moment as I came, he was trembling,
then he lowered my knees and lay on my chest.

Silent and still, we held each other while our erections relaxed and our
spunk filled the room with the smell of lovers. When his penis fell out of
me, I had a distinct slippery, slack feeling back there, but for what he
gave me, I over-rode my thoughts about hygiene and held him close.

Before I could think about it, "Where'd you learn that?"  Damn!  I just
asked him about his trauma.

"Porn." He whispered.

I took a deep breath, close call -- almost ruined our evening. "Never watch
the stuff with placating Doby, trying to love you and working."

"I got my favorite clips..."  He went for his phone. I caught up, walking
differently and leaking his love. I redirected him to the shower. Gay bed
and breakfasts have a shower hose among other continental amenities. Trying
to clean myself, and somewhat concerned about the looseness back there, he
showed me how to squat down and rinse with his slender fingers. That caused
some more shower play and but I was a man on a mission now, I wanted to
find out more about marriage.

How long would my shiny, delightful sex-hero be satisfied with a "neutral"
language geek?

***


Sunday morning, we lay in bed and Tomas showed me porn clips while I looked
online for compatibility tests, some kind of information about the
potential problems in gay marriages, all the pertinent information before
making a life-long decision.  Didn't have it in me to face a divorce.  I
found some counselors -- damn little out there specifically for gay men.
Then I found out about the contracts LGBTQ people used to make between
themselves before they made contracts years ago.  Interesting. Seemed
finances, power-differentials, jealousy, finances and abuse were high on
the list of potential problems. Tomas and I seemed we could be honest
enough to work things out -- then there was always Doby's coaching. Wasn't
sure if that would be a divorce-prevention or not.

Things got sticky again when I took Tomas home. Doby was on a campaign to
get me to move in with them. In a way, I understood.  Don't think she
minded being alone -- she was always on the phone or computer with other
islanders and friends. A real social butterfly in some ways, but I believe
that though she was in good shape, and certainly energetic, she was alone;
vulnerable. Tomas was gone most of the days. Melanie and Chris found a
house and were in escrow. It was only a matter of days before they left.

I considered buying Doby a gun -- a small caliber that made a lot of noise,
but Tomas suggested getting security system -- he didn't like guns. That
was a better idea. She didn't want one, "No good -- they shut the power off
before breaking in."

The universe, along with Doby were pushing me. I got a firm, clear offer
from the state commerce office. After a number of calls, negotiating and
using Doby as my "familial responsibility" I agreed to six months working
one week a month in Sacramento and three weeks online from home.  Later,
I'd be assisting in the opening of a small office for the three-nation
trade pact that would happen soon. Translating was part of the job, and the
other part was answering questions from businesses about the changes they'd
face to assure the governments all was standardized and their International
Standard manuals were in order.  There were new forms they had to complete
and new policies to follow.  After the border office was established, I'd
work in Ysidro as advisor to various business groups and their
constituents. That was a step up - the extra two years in Santiago paid
off!  My salary almost tripled after I signed the employment contract.

I sent an email to Tomas telling him I'd be over that night with
dinner. "Tell Doby I'm bringing the Chinese Delight for six tonight and ice
cream.  We're celebrating!"  I had two weeks left with the feds and a week
off, then I had to be in Sacramento in my best form for my first day at my
dream job.

I made my announcement with Chris and Melanie on the speaker phone. They
were delighted, "Are you finally going to move in with Doby?"  They asked,
laughing.

"We have to negotiate." I left it at that.

I'd really wanted more time dating Tomas, now I'd be out of town a quarter
of the time and he'd be free to play -- a delightful, horny young man has
needs.  That didn't happen, though.  Seems Doby was taking charge of Chris
and Melanie's move, and giving them some furniture. Tomas was part of the
hauling and lugging stuff for their home when he wasn't on campus.  Doby
kept chastising him about daydreaming too much. He was supposed to make an
appointment at the career counseling office on campus, and she only smiled
at me. "I'm making the arrangements. You're worried -- no need, I run this
show."

Damn, she was pushy!

***


On Friday night, I had to park down the block, the garage was at Doby's
house was overflowing with furniture and boxes. The old Pinoy who'd checked
the engine of Tomas' car was loading a van with boxes and crates. "What's
going on?"

"Doby says to haul this away." He muttered, sweat dripping off his face. I
picked up a few more boxes and helped. When his van was filled, he left
promising to be back for more later.

Tomas came out of the garage, wet with sweat, "Tell her to slow down, I'm
tired."

I went in and found most of the furniture gone, my footsteps echoed in the
living room, but I smelled something good in the kitchen, "Doby!  What's
going on?"

"Chris and Melanie took their bed. I'm getting their room, you and Tomas in
his room, and other room for baby. Family coming next year..."

"Oh, yeah?  Thanks for bunking me with Tomas. Did you ask him or me first?"
This was abrupt. "Family coming from the Philippines?"

"No, Chris and Melanie's family -- they're going to have a baby." She
always cooked dumplings when she was breaking disagreeable news --
sweetening the pot for her negotiations. "You pay for full month rent and
only live there three weeks?  Stupid -- you waste your money and go crazy
living alone.  Come here. If you don't love Tomas anymore, find a guy in
Sacramento -- then leave.  Bet you five-hundred you won't."

"How much is the rent?"

"No rent -- agreement." Shit, we were going to dicker again. She handed me
an envelope with a bundle of folded papers. It was thick. I tucked it under
my shirt and went back out to help Tomas move junk around, thinking all the
while I was going to have to do this grunt work for myself at some point in
the future.

Tomas and I were both filthy as we wrapped up our work and filled the
Pinoy's van again. We shut the garage door and went out back and hosed off,
then sat on the back steps cooling off. "What do you think about my new
job?"

"It's okay, if you like it. I'm gonna miss you. Doby's got me scheduled to
help everyone -- I think she doesn't want me out playing around."

"Delightful, horny young men play around. I kind of expected you would --
please use a condom."

He got up and left without saying anything. I didn't understand why until I
heard Doby running him out of the kitchen. He sat next to me again. "Doby
said we were being stupid. She said we have to raise our expectations --
neither one of us are libertinos. I got mad because you think I want to
play around but I'm worried about you finding some muscle guy with a lot of
money in the capital."

"Get your shirt.  We're getting rings.  Nothing big for now, but both of us
will have a reminder of our stupidity. Will that fix things for the time
being?"  We went to a discount store stinking and sweaty and got matching
rings -- thin gold with only a dust particle of a diamond, good enough for
six months. Doby thought our rings looked cheesy. As much as she bitched,
she asked if she her ring would match.

"Yeah, well, I like cheese and two rings are all I can afford for now. Got
a lot of expenses coming up."

"Need to borrow money?  Do good on your job -- pay me back later." No one
had ever offered to make a personal loan to me, I was somewhat taken aback
until she said, "Thunder Valley - Lotus Parkwood, maybe you need
chaperone."

That puzzled me, I looked at Tomas, "Casinos in Sacramento." He rolled his
eyes.

I slept on the couch in the disarray of the house, though it didn't bother
Doby or Tomas. Before I fell asleep, I started reviewing the agreement
Doby'd given me. There were a few elements of her will, leaving the house
to Tomas, and her investment portfolio and jewelry to Chris and Melanie. My
contributions would pay the utilities -- plus I had to make a donation to
the account she used for repairs and taxes. She owned the house free and
clear.  As long as Tomas was in the house, I could stay as long as I wanted
under the same terms.  The arrangement suited me for the moment, I wanted
Tomas and me to have our own house with plenty of privacy.

***


I sorted everything in my place, recycled, trashed and called a charity to
haul the furniture off -- had to wonder how many times the furniture had
been through different homes; now it was on its next adventure.

Every weekend Tomas and I worked on all the moving and reshuffling. We
ended up playing blackjack with Chris, Melanie and Doby. I was able to
snuggle near my guy, though we were usually too tired to do anything other
than sleep. Then, the Friday before I left for Sacramento, mass confusion
began -- the house was filled with strangers. The contractors came with
rolls of blueprints and a big dumpster they parked in front of the house.

The few bits of furniture left in the house were hauled out to the small
deck and into the garage, what a mess!  For the first time I saw Tomas
agitated with all the emptiness of the house.  He kept walking through the
old path and muttering. I wasn't agitated, but I didn't have to stay there
for the next seven days and glad for it.

***


Through my first week on the job, Doby sent photos of walls being torn out
and floors being ripped up, men in white painter's masks hauling power
tools. Tomas was coming home from school to a disaster every day.  Doby was
in the pictures smiling, pointing at some swatch or sample, showing me what
she was doing.  Tomas explained she was making a place for the baby to play
-- she'd be babysitting for Chris and Melanie later on.

After my first week in Sacramento, I felt comfortable with the job, but
couldn't work at Doby's. I went to the center asking to rent a cubicle for
three weeks, nine to five only. I couldn't work with the contractors all
over the house. The center let me use a small space for my computer during
the day where the social groups left their supplies. I had all the tea and
galletas I wanted, and plenty of peace and quiet to study the new
three-nation trade pact.

Doby was supervising as two bedrooms opened onto a deck overlooking the
canyon, the deck was expanded into a long, wide outside area with an
overhang. The center of the house was opened from the front door to the
deck, wide space, lined on both sides by bookshelves and lit with a shiny
with new wood floor. The garage was turned into a study with a big window
and a carport.  All new and clean. The kitchen still looked like always,
rooster-print wallpaper, yellow speckled linoleum tiles and ancient,
mismatched appliances that hummed and groaned all night.

On the phone I asked what she was going to do with the kitchen. "Ran out of
money. It works fine for now." I don't know if she'd planned this but I
felt somewhat indebted to her for a really easy monthly contribution and a
specific promise to help Tomas finish his studies and move toward a
specialty. I told Doby I'd help with the kitchen renovations but I'd have
to wait till later. She agreed, wanting to have an open house when the baby
came.

"When will that be?"

"One year, maybe less."

***


Another wave of furniture hit the house. Chris and Melanie hauled away some
really nice pieces the previous owners didn't have room for and brought
them over. Didn't take long before the living room looked great.  Just a
few pieces of simple, softly colored furniture - Doby wanted to keep a path
open for the baby's walker. The walls and shelves were decorated with art
and crafts from the islands that were passed down through Doby's
family. New blinds all through the house and drapes over the big
plate-glass window in front.

I slept with Tomas and eventually the tide of cardboard boxes receded from
our bedroom, then the house. We kept the door to the deck open and made
love in the night air. No, we weren't quiet -- Doby had the tele in her
bedroom now. News from the islands blared all night long.


Como Fuerte Brisas...



In my relationship with my new family I'd always been honest and open. A
situation came up where I lied, well not a bald-faced lie, but a shady lie
of omission:

Chris took Doby to bingo Friday night. I wondered why I didn't have to take
her and Tomas, but they had a plan in the works. Melanie was the
wheeler-dealer of the business, and she came loaded with a paper and an
empty uterus. The paper was a contract -- she and Chris wanted a child and
asked Tomas to be the sperm donor -- they weren't related but they were
all-Filipino; that was important to her and Chris.

"Jerk him off. Put it in here." She handed me a plastic cup with a
lid. "Wash first -- and use the nail brush on your fingernails."

Tomas was ecstatic, grinning widely.  "I'm going to be a dad!"

"Have you read the contract?" I felt unsure about how this would work with
us.

"Sure, Chris and Melanie said they didn't want me raising the kid, and I
don't have to pay child support. My name won't be on the birth certificate
and I can't say anything about it. They'll talk to the kid later when he
asks but my name goes on his birth certificate when he's twenty-one. If
something happens to them, I get the kid. They want another one, too. They
want me to make the next baby so the kids are related...  Great, huh?"

Maybe I was jealous in some sense, "Generous of you -- but if something
does happen, are you ready for a family? Doby won't be here forever to
help."

"You'll help me." He looked at me like I was a dolt.

"Why?  We haven't really discussed marriage much less children. That's a
lifetime commitment."

"I already have a lifelong commitment." He held up his left hand showing me
his ring. "Put your cum with mine. We'll both be dads." Doby had thoroughly
indoctrinated him that family is the most important thing in life, or maybe
that was in his heart all along -- I'd never asked, dammit, and I didn't
have time to think this through.

A small shiver ran through my groin; Melanie was waiting in the hallway. We
washed in the sink and pulled each other until we had a respectable amount
in the little cup. I was rushed, not really sure if this was right, but
easy enough to cum with my lover.

I screwed the lid on the jar and we emerged red-faced. Tomas was
grinning. Melanie swiped the cup and disappeared into Doby's room for about
a half hour, then came out. "Might have to be here in a few days if this
doesn't work."

Tomas nodded and she left. While Tomas made dinner, I read through the
contract. It had all the contingencies and was clear enough. There was
Tomas' signature alongside Chris' and Melanie's. I wanted to put mine
alongside his but didn't.


El Fuego de mi Hogar



Through the pregnancy, Melanie's body changed. Tomas changed, too. He
daydreamed and became aloof at the oddest times, like during dinner or when
we played cards.

At first, Tomas' changes were small, and I didn't say anything. I don't
follow fashion trends. Tomas began wearing used military pants, the kind
with all the pockets, and said he wanted to specialize in Entomology. I was
glad he found a specialty and he talked about killer bees and the idea of
using drones to eliminate them. What did I know about Hymenoptera? Seemed
plausible.  He was half-way through his senior year and his grades held
promise for a scholarship. We had killer bees swarming upward into the US -
maybe the state would help with funding his education to address the
problem. Two more years for Tomas, but things were going well so far.

Toward the end of that semester, his grades slipped. He was gone all day in
classes while I was at work, and our relationship was good. Doby was in
proud-grandmother-heaven arranging all the equipment and helping Melanie
during the last few months before birth. Kinda funny that Tomas hadn't said
much about it; I was curious, but silent on the subject. The contract
forbade any discussion of parentage.

On a Saturday, I was doing the laundry and went through the pockets on
Tomas' pants and found some strange things. No drugs. Nothing like that,
but some rocks, bits of paper with strange words, dates and times written
on them. He'd been somewhat withdrawn lately and spent a lot of time in the
bedroom, peeking out the blinds saying that the neighbors were watching
us. I figured it was the stress of school.

I put his pocket trash in a cup and sat it on the dresser; later that night
I asked about the notes and odd things from his pockets. He said they were
important to him. Tomas seemed slightly off-track with that
comment. Sometimes he was more than jovial and other times withdrawn, I
hoped this would pass after his graduation.

Well, that's what I hoped until I got a phone call at work. Doby called
saying that Tomas had to go to the clinic on campus. He was taken to a
hospital. I freaked out!  She gave me directions to a hospital, very small
one. I'd never heard of it before, but I found the place and went through a
chain-link fence with rolled barbed wire on the top. This was a mental
hospital. My stomach turned -- my Tomas was inside with dangerous people.

Speaking with the admitting doctor, he explained that campus security was
called not because Tomas was hurting or threatening anyone, but because he
was trying to clear one of the buildings on campus -- saying there was some
kind of a secret operation going on inside.  Security took him to the
clinic on campus and decided it would be best to get him checked out. Tomas
was half irrational, unable to hold thoughts or respond to questions --
focused earnestly on trying to empty the building before something
happened.

***


I was introduced to a whole new stigma Tomas would carry. He was exhibiting
the symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia.  Chris brought Doby and came in to
the hospital office. Before our conference with the doctor, we heard
screaming and a few things being thrown around down the hall. A red light
flashed over the door and the doctor excused himself. We waited in
silence. The doctor came back quickly.

"That wasn't about Tomas, was it?" I asked.

"No." He glanced back at the light. "A guest needed some quiet time. I'm
sure you can understand people being upset about being suddenly locked in
here."  He looked at us, "No one's held on criminal charges, but safety and
self-harm issues." He explained that Tomas would be observed for
forty-eight hours and a special magistrate would come and determine
competence for release after several exams by experts.

Since there weren't any criminal charges, he said that we were
lucky. Forensic issues with a mental health diagnosis could keep him in an
institution for the rest of his life. "He has a chance for recovery now."
Recovery meant a modified lifestyle adapting to his changes, learning to
live with them.

What did we know about mental illness, psychotic breaks and diagnoses?  We
had to agree with everything.  Before we left, we visited a few moments
with Tomas.  My heart broke as he tried relating what happened on campus --
he was confused and anxious and showed me a paper. He'd scribbled all over
it -- tiny, tight lines of jumbled script going every direction.

"Make copies -- once a judge sees it they'll let me out." I nodded and took
the papers; we all kissed and hugged him and let him know we'd be back.  I
noticed they'd taken his ring from him, the nurse said it was for his
safety around the other patients -- a wave of nausea hit me when she
explained that.  We were not allowed to stay with Tomas -- visiting hours
were severely limited.

We walked out of the building like zombies; concerned, baffled and feeling
helpless. A big part of Tomas was absent -- it was almost like his body was
taken over by someone else. I went home and cried. I was his
fiancée, lover and, in most ways, his partner. He was my family now
along with the women who'd cared for him when he was young.

***


Tomas didn't get out of the hospital after the forty-eight-hour hold. He
was kept and the diagnosis and treatment program began. He didn't mind too
much -- he got along with the other patients though most gave him a
condescending ear -- he was irrational in his graphomania and his speech.
One of the nurses said that he was having a problem with clothing -- I
offered to bring him some different pants or shirts.

"Not that kind of problem -- he wasn't wearing any for a while so he had to
stay in isolation until he signed a behavioral contract -- the other
patients complained.  It'll all calm down with the medications."  That was
hard to accept, but I nodded.

For the next several weeks, I stopped by the hospital every night. I
brought sandwiches or some small treat. Every night I had a new revelation
about this guy inhabiting Tomas' body. Tomas' phone privileges were cut due
to calls to the Philippines. The national security administration called
saying that they wouldn't take any more calls from him. Tomas was sure an
international cartel was keeping him in the hospital. Every night he handed
me a sheaf of papers that proved what he was saying. I couldn't make heads
or tails of it.

During those weeks, Makisig Santos was born healthy and strong. He had a
head full of dark hair and big black eyes -- perfect baby. Chris sent
pictures while I was visiting with Tomas, "Look!  The baby's here! Your
son..."  I showed him the picture with Melanie, Doby and baby Maki.

He stared at the photo and me, "Oh, yeah?"  Then he went back to talking in
circles; "word salad." I cried all the way home.

If I had married Tomas when Doby wanted, he'd have my insurance. His
student health insurance ran out when the semester ended. Through the
social worker, Tomas was deemed indigent; I couldn't afford a thousand
dollars a day plus medications. Doby accepted this as well when I explained
-- it looked like this was for the best -- paranoid schizophrenia doesn't
have a cure. Tomas was enrolled into the disability program in order to get
his financial benefits and care. I tried to explain this to him, but he
kept saying he wanted to go back to school. I agreed, I wanted him to go
back to school at some point.

"But If the syndicate is still on campus, I'll have problems -- they want
me and I don't want to be a part of it."

I could only nod. He was so intense -- hard not to buy in to his delusions.

***


About a year later, Tomas was released. I was glad to be bringing him home,
though he walked through the house as though he hadn't been there
before. He was calmer due to taking an incredible amount of medications.
His body had ballooned -- he was nearing two-hundred pounds and he wore
sweat pants, trainers and tee shirts day and night.  My delightful young
man was unkempt, seldom shaved and didn't want a haircut.

It seemed to me the medications were too strong -- my lover had problems
waking up and staying awake. He could drink a gallon of coffee and stay
drowsy.  Doby and I researched his diagnosis and his options, this was the
best we could hope for with his extensive diagnoses.  The soporifics kept
him so slow he couldn't really act on the voices in his head, they only
treated dulled the symptoms.  We'd been told there wasn't a cure but we
looked for some positive changes.  His drugs would damage his heart and his
kidneys through the years -- he'd lose ten years off his life due to them.

Sounds strange to say it, but I needed him -- his routines kept me going
and I'd missed having him in bed while he was hospitalized.  No, there
wasn't any sex and I couldn't leave.  Abandon him for something he didn't
cause or hadn't asked for?  My Tomas was still in there somewhere, I knew
it -- he had to be.

Only a few months later, the beautiful remodeled home we lived in became a
bleak, silent shelter for the three of us. Tomas attended a day program to
help with his recovery -- "meaningful daily activities." Melanie dropped
Maki off in the morning as I left for work. The van came for Tomas' day
program an hour later and brought him home at four.  Weekends, Doby and I
took Tomas out to the zoo or a movie. Drowsy, and continually hungry from
his meds, my delightful, horny young man receded further from us. He
wouldn't walk at the beach with us, or even play cards -- he only wanted to
watch the tele and fall asleep.

One day, an old but new name came into his conversations -- Tomas kept
saying Harlan knew everything and he'd explain to the international police
organization for him.  Wiser now, I called his therapist and explained that
things were changing.  Yes, Tomas was still on his meds, I watched him take
them every day. He was already on a maximum dosage, so he was prescribed
another sedative in addition to the ones he was already taking.

I'd by default become the "man of the house" in most senses and felt more
like a father to Tomas than his fiancée as the days and weeks
passed.  His bright mind and beautiful life wasted in continual confusion
blunted by chemicals -- this was no life and I didn't know what else I
could do.  Sex had left with the increased lethargy from the drugs --
medications blocked his erections.  Still, sometimes I saw the glimmer of
the guy at the islanders table with the cute dimples behind his knees.

Nothing more I could do. Reading online it seemed like no one else really
did either. Household conversations were shorter, always on the weather or
some craft project at his day program. Through this, Tomas' mumblings
involved more people we'd never heard of.  They weren't from his day
program, but his mind.  Strangely, Tomas seemed to think Harlan was the key
to the undoing of the imagined cartel.

We kept a schedule, that seemed to help him -- he seldom knew what day it
was and no longer cared about the time -- he depended on me or Doby to
direct him to his next activity. He could follow directions and complete a
few simple tasks but not many.


Eres TĂș?



One Friday he came home with a flyer saying his day program building would
be remodeled on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of the next week. Doby said
she could handle both Maki and Tomas. Maki was patient with Tomas, showing
him his books and his toys; Tomas was usually drowsy and nodded, smiled but
never said much to his own boy -- wasn't sure why.  But he took the boy on
his lap or on the couch beside him; they liked napping together.

The next Tuesday Tomas came home with two boxes of papers from his cubby at
the day program.  He showed me, smiling.  I looked through some of the
tightly-spaced scribblings as he explained: "My notes -- all their plans
are here." I saw Harlan's name on some of the papers underlined in
red. From what I could gather, the papers obliquely profiled his deep
paranoia about an imagined crime cartel recruiting him.

The last day of the renovation, it was a Friday -- Tomas had been home with
Maki and Doby all day.  No calls from Doby that day, I assumed things were
alright. I came home early feeling uneasy to find Doby gone and Maki
sleeping on the couch with Tomas watching a horror movie; his tastes in
videos had become darker -- police crime scene stories, unsolved murders...
But it kept him occupied.

"Where's Doby?" I asked softly.

"Don't know. Casino, I guess.  I slept most of the day." Alarm bells rang
in my mind immediately.  She hadn't gone to the casino since before the
baby was born; switched obsessions, I supposed, she doted on Maki.  I'd
only helped with toilet training.  Maki was a beautiful, bright young boy
that was mature beyond his two years. He was already reading simple
sentences and becoming more bilingual by the day.

"Okay. I'll see what's in the frig for dinner. Did you have a good day?"

"Sure. I tried to call Harlan again. He was working." That surprised me --
Tomas was stepping up his game?  Doby and I had to cut his phone off after
so many calls to the national intelligence agencies. Tomas still had his
phone and used it to call his voices, I think -- he put it to his ear and
held conversations with someone.

Chris and Melanie came over and picked up Maki, leaving quickly for their
dinner. No, they hadn't seen or heard from Doby.  "Tomas took care of
Maki?"

"Yeah.  They were on the couch when I came in."  They gave me odd looks as
they left.

The hope that I was holding for Tomas was fading; resigned that I may be
taking care of him for the rest of my life.  Surely, I couldn't be the only
gay man in this situation.  As we sat on the couch, Tomas flipped through
the channels, I checked for a support group at the center, but I remembered
one of the doctors telling me that the psychotic breaks and mental
confusion often began in early adulthood it was relatively rare in the
overall population, though common among mental health diagnoses. That
narrowed the odds of me finding any kind of support group.  The few blogs I
found emphasized medications, "meaningful activities" and familial support.
I could give him that.  What I really needed was my lover the way he was
before; I had to change my expectations again -- he wasn't getting any
better or even stabilizing, it seemed.

Tomas went to bed after medications and dinner, he was out like a light.
Didn't hear anything from Doby, so I called her.  No answer.  Something
didn't sit right about all this.  Every ten minutes, I called Doby.  She
must know I was home and worried about her.  In the hallway, I called again
and heard a faint tone from her room.  Did she leave without her phone?
After rapping softly on her door, I entered.  Photos were scattered all
over, some covered with scribbles and large black Xs. On the bed was a body
-- Doby?  Pushing the photos aside, I saw her eyes rolled back and there
were dark thumbprints on her neck, bruises on her forearms.  Dead.

My thoughts spun, I was shocked and stayed quiet, not sure how Tomas would
take this.  My body shook as I kissed her cheek. "I loved you, Doby. Thank
you for my Tomas."

As I slowly stood, I became afraid and was trembling deep inside.

Had Tomas killed her?

What were these photos about?

I closed the door knowing I would have to deal with this the best way I
could -- no more trauma for Tomas. I went to my sleeping lover, kissing his
cheek, "I love you, no matter what happens."

Immediately, I called the mental hospital and left a message for Tomas'
favorite doctor to ask him what I should do, "Emergency here at the house."
He returned my call a few moments later. I began explaining what I'd
found. The doctor told me that he was bound by law to report the incident,
and it would be better for Tomas to be in the jail until things were sorted
out.

"Doctor, I don't know that he's done anything wrong -- why the jail?  He's
not agitated or depressed."

"He could have thought she was someone else, someone threatening to him."

The doctor suggested a private hospital in the community with a
highly-secured ward. "Expensive and variable quality of care but wait -
they probably won't accept Tomas knowing he might be violent, they don't
want the hassle or an incident -- it increases their insurance rates. We're
full at the state hospital with a waiting list."

There was another hour of explanation and planning with the doctor. He
called the police special unit that worked with people who had mental
health issues; police are often too ready to kill a person who's got a
diagnosis.  Tomas' thoughts were clearly more irrational but he was not
explosive.  Hard to believe he could have killed Doby...  I couldn't
imagine Tomas with his hands and Doby's throat.  He'd never confused the
people he loved with someone else -- well, he hadn't before...  And the
photos -- I'd never seen them before -- Doby never had brought them out.

God, I was in a bind. With trepidations, I agreed to allow Tomas to be
taken to the jail. The doctor and I worked out a plan.  That was the most
miserable moment of my life -- I was a sobbing wreck and I had to follow
through with this.  Then, I took a deep breath and called Harlan from the
kitchen and begged him to help me. Since I'd woken him at two in the
morning, it took almost two hours to explain everything while he became
fully awake.  To my relief he agreed to become an actor in my scheme.

After I hung up, I cried -- my body shook with gasps. I sobbed silently and
uncontrollably.  I cried for all I'd lost and was about to lose. I cried
for the women who'd immigrated here to start a life, and who'd worked to
bring a young, hurting gay boy into their hearts. I cried for us --
refugees, all in our own ways.

So much wasted time, lives and so much stolen by invisible forces beyond
our control.  No negotiations now.  I had to give away the man who swept
aside the pain of his past to love me -- and let me love him. Unfair. There
was nothing I could do -- he needed to be in a safe place and I wasn't sure
I could give that to him right now.

***


I made coffee thinking of Doby, then went and shaved and dressed for the
coming event.

Around nine, Tomas got up. His beautiful, tan skin stunk with his meds and
soured sweat, but getting him to shower was impossible -- he hated small,
enclosed spaces saying all the air would be sucked out of the space by his
enemies.

I heard him get up and get coffee. That was my first cue. I made a big
stack of French toast and plenty of bacon -- this would be his last
breakfast at home with me for a while.

"Wanna go out today?  Go to the beach?" I trembled as I lied to him.

"Important stuff going down." He'd used that phrase a lot lately.  I gave
him his meds and an extra quarter of a sleeping pill wrapped in black
seaweed. Luckily, he didn't look at his meds, he just tossed them in his
mouth and swallowed them quickly.

Zero hour was eleven; the clock ticked away my last moments with Tomas.
Ten-fifteen and counting...

He was on the couch after breakfast. I kissed his cheek, "I love you."  I
heard a car pull in the drive. Soon, a knocking on the door, "Tomas, you
here? I got good news." It was Harlan, right on time and assuming his role.

I opened the door, "Hey! How's it going?"  My charade started. Tomas stood
and stared at Harlan; act one, scene one.  "Come in."

"Little buddy, glad you kept yourself safe. Looking good..."  Harlan said,
strolling to the couch.

Before he could say anything else, Tomas reached under the couch, then got
down on his knees, "I knew you'd come.  I got the money. It's under here --
I'm ready.  It's going down tonight, right?"  He fumbled and grunted but
eventually pulled out the cardboard box -- the one that held the lavender
bath set that I'd given to Doby as a raffle gift several years ago. Through
the cellophane window I could see it was filled with bundles of
hundred-dollar bills.

"I can always depend on you. Everything's still on?" Harlan slapped Tomas'
shoulder, showing no sign of surprise at the appearance of so much cash.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Tomas gave Harlan a sly smile.  "They won't bother me
any more..."

"Brought you some lunch. How about some burgers and fries before we work
out the details?"  Harlan sat immediately and began unwrapping a huge bag
of fries, catsup packets, six hamburgers and sat two quarts of milk on the
coffee table. Perfect.

"Get over here Chaz, we're celebrating -- big deal going down tonight." He
winked at Tomas.

Tomas grinned, "Yeah!" He rambled on about people I'd never heard of, and
their lethal specialties.

I sat beside him looking at the box with lavender blossoms covering
it. "I'm going to put this in the kitchen, keep it clean." I stopped. "Did
Doby give you this?"

He nodded, eating a handful of fries. "She said I might need it later. She
put it under the sofa."

"When did she hide it?"

His eyes had a distant look.  He stopped chewing -- his voices were
speaking to him.

"Can you remember when she got down and cut the fabric and put the box in
the springs?" I stroked his arm.

"After lunch." He was trying to remember through the voices.

"After lunch yesterday?"  Harlan prompted him.

"Yesterday...  No ..."  Tomas' voice was soft, like he was trying to hear
his voices and speak at the same time. "No. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday.
Better ask her -- I fell asleep -- not sure."

He didn't know she was dead?  Strange.  Quickly, I took the box, wrapped it
in a kitchen towel and dropped it behind the dryer.

We ate with cartoons blaring and I put my arm around Tomas, knowing we only
had a few more moments of freedom left, "I'm so proud of you -- everything
about you.  My god, you changed my entire life with your love."  Picking up
his left hand, I kissed the ring on his finger. His head was nodding with
sleep. I wiped my face with a napkin while Harlan prattled on about having
contacts with Interpol and Tomas was going to meet them and get this job
done today.

Soon, Tomas' head became heavy from the greasy food and the extra
medication. He leaned on Harlan's shoulder and began snoring, burger still
in hand. I took his ring off his finger before he would be stripped of all
personal items in the jail. Pressing my tear-streaked face into his stained
sweatshirt, "I love you Tomas, I love you bigger than the universe, wider
than the ocean you crossed to come into my life, hotter than a million
suns. I love you deeper than you'll ever know. God, Tomas I love you for
loving me." Tears streamed, I gritted my teeth, but I had to continue the
plan.

Glancing at my watch, I motioned for Harlan to stay where he was and I went
by the front window and opened the drapes and blinds and then unlocked the
front door. That was the "all clear" signal to the police. Several vans
were parked outside, and what looked like the swat team was on the
sidewalk. I walked out on the porch to raised rifles and lifted my hands,
walking toward them.

"He's medicated now, asleep." A social worker stepped forward in jeans and
a sweater, I spoke with him through bleary eyes and told him that Tomas
might need a gurney. "Doby's body is in the back bedroom."  The swat team
entered the house with guns drawn, though they'd received the message from
the doctor about the additional medication to make this transition low-key.

Soon, Tomas was taken to the jail.  Police crawled all over the house
taking pictures and dusting for prints, then the coroner's office took
Doby's body.  A detective grilled me for almost an hour about what happened
while others scouted for evidence and weapons, I guessed.  They asked me
some pointed questions about Doby's personal life and mine; there wasn't
much to say -- she was like a mother-in-law and a dear friend. Family,
casino friends and all the phone numbers of the people she spoke with were
on her phone. They already had that. "She loved us and we loved her -- she
was the heart in our home.

Harlan stood beside me with my phone in hand and called Chris and Melanie
explaining everything. "No. Don't bring the kid, I'll call you when
everyone's gone." He grabbed all Tomas' medications and went with me to the
police station, signaling me to stay quiet about the money.

***


The psychiatrist I'd called the night before came to the station and
offered his services to me -- he said I appeared distressed.  He was the
one who'd arranged for the social worker and holding off the swat team
until Tomas was sleepy.  After he gave his statement he shook my hand and
told me I'd done the right thing and made sure I had his business card,
"Call anytime."

Harlan called my office and without saying much, explained that I needed
emergency family leave -- a month. Through all this, I hoped the increasing
depression I'd been feeling since Tomas' break would lift; intuitively knew
it wouldn't. Things were going to get worse before they got any better.

Harlan stayed with me, sitting outside the interrogation room as I
explained what I'd found and what I'd been through, then the plans with the
psychiatrist to get Tomas into a safe place before the police shot him.
Opening my phone, I showed them the record of my calls to the Doby's phone,
the doctor and Harlan.  No, I didn't know if Doby had upset Tomas -- and
couldn't explain all the family photos with the big, black scribbles and
spots drawn on them and all the Xs.  I just didn't know and didn't even
consider asking Tomas about it.  All Tomas' writings were small, tight and
fitted in to small spaces -- nothing like what was on the photos.

All so unfair, so stingingly painful and there was nothing I could do to
stop this. At least I'd saved Tomas' life from a shoot-out and offered him
some dignity in the process of finding a safe place; shame weighed heavily
on me for my deceit.  Now I had to live in the crime scene of Doby's death
and my surrendering my only lover to jail for a crime I doubted he
committed.  Couldn't think of a soul who'd want to kill Doby -- she was so
generous with everyone, so loving.

Impotent; I had no power in this situation. I couldn't even find the energy
for anger.

***


Back at the house, Harlan shut all the bedroom doors and sat on the couch
with me, calling Melanie and Chris. "It's okay now, but it's a mess over
here, well, in Doby's room. Yeah, we need to make funeral
arrangements. Tomas is in the county jail for now." He paused, "Yeah, I
know a good lawyer."

They were on their way over. Surprisingly, Harlan cleaned up the burgers
and fries and started straightening mess the crime scene technicians left
in their wake.  "Go get a shower, I'll handle this. You'll need to get all
her legal papers out. See if there's a burial policy. I'll call the lawyer
for Tomas. Open up your computer, I need to check some things."

I turned on the computer for him and went to shower and try to pull myself
together. As I went to dress I walked into the bedroom and smelled the last
of my lover and remembered the night he said he wanted to smell like our
sex forever. Tears came again.  So damned unfair!  So young...  Taking a
shower while weeping was the most unsettling experience I'd ever had in my
life.

I refocused on how to explain Doby's death to Maki. What could I say that
would be clear but gentle enough?  Maybe Chris or Melanie had already done
that.

***


When the women arrived, I took Maki on my lap and held him and rocked
needing to touch the last of my lover's dreams. Silently, I called on the
entire universe to protect Maki from any of Tomas' problems.

Maki asked me why I was crying, "Doby won't be here anymore. She's in the
sky, watching over us."

"Are we all going to the sky with Doby?  Are we going on a plane?"

"Uh, no. No airplanes. I'll be here with your moms, and we'll keep loving
Doby like she was still here, okay?"

He leaned his head on my chest, "Where's Tomas?"

"Downtown for a few days."

"He's confused again?"

I nodded.

***


Harlan took charge asking the women to start on the funeral arrangements,
"I've left your names and number with the coroner's office. They'll call
you to transfer the body to the funeral home or crematorium.  Start the
plans for the memorial service. I called an attorney for Tomas."

"Did you find the paperwork yet?"  Harlan asked me.

"Oh, yeah." I brought back a stack of papers and we all sat at the kitchen
table and sorted out what we needed. Harlan had printed off a checklist
from the insurance company where he worked for us to use when a death
occurred.  We had the phone numbers for Doby's government allotments, and
the retirement account information, the deed to the house and the will --
her "arrangements" she'd made through the years with friends and people I
didn't know.

"Tomas will probably be declared incompetent, who is Doby's next of kin?"
None of us, except Maki and Melanie were blood relatives. We didn't know
anything except that Doby was a widow.

"Okay. The will seems clear enough.  Now, who was Tomas' guardian when he
went into the hospital, who was appointed to make decisions for him?"

"I took that role. He didn't want a guardian. He said he could decide for
himself, but I was his emergency contact -- the doctors called me when
there was a med change or different therapies. He may have been appointed a
guardian by the state -- I never heard from them."

"Okay." He got on the phone with a lawyer and asked the questions. "Tomas'
guardianship may go to someone on the island."  No one had ever mentioned
Tomas' parents...  Chris and Melanie were listening and asking questions
the entire afternoon. Doby would be cremated. Cause of death?  Harlan said
to say "undetermined, details to follow." He seemed to know everything that
needed to be done in this situation.

Before Chris and Melanie left, Harlan asked if they'd had any
problems. There were a few looks between them. "Financial problems?"  He
asked.

They went silent, then Melanie asked, "Did you find some cash?"

"I was hoping that there may be some extra financial relief for you two,
after all the work with the cleaning and moving businesses... there has to
be a silver-lining somewhere in this." That was all he said.

***


Chris and Melanie went home with Maki and I was still stunned but had a
check list in hand as a guide. "Do you want me to stay tonight, or come
home with me?" Harlan wasn't subtle.

"I don't know." I hadn't expected that, I though Harlan's Saturday nights
were dedicated to prowling for ass.

Harlan got up and asked where the liquor was. "Let's put back a few and
relax." He went in the kitchen and actually loaded the dishwasher and
scrounged around until he found Doby's brandy.  Making fresh coffee, "Go
sit on the deck."

We watched the sky as it clouded over and drank several cups of brandied
coffee in silence. "When can I see him?"

He pulled out his phone and called the jail. Visiting hours on Sunday began
at noon.

"How do you know all this -- about death and all the arrangements?"

"You worked food distribution at the AIDS group, I worked as point man for
the partners -- families, whomever was left when someone in the community
died with AIDS.  Most didn't have anyone but a couple of carers."

"You did that?"

"The need was great for so long.  So many didn't have family -- and the
suicides...  The company let me work half-days in sales and half in
`closures.'  Great for business -- slick move.  Sold a lot of policies to
the lovers if they were still around."

I thought about that. "You seem so, well so sexy and tough, he-man and all
that -- hard to imagine you doing all the sensitive, personal dealings with
grieving people."

"No one ever asks about that part of me. People see a big man and think he
must be in charge. It helps with sales.  Everyone wants to rub shoulders
with a winner, and I look like a champ." He paused, "Same thing trolling
the bars -- but it's always a fifty-fifty proposition. No one cares about
gentility -- doesn't matter.  Big man, big dick."

"Fifty-fifty?"

"I get the sale or not. At the bars, I hit on guys, maybe yes, maybe
no. Tomas turned me down several times. You didn't go to the spa. I get
enough takers to keep going. People see a person and make a decision -- you
know, pick a stereotype and label us within a few seconds of meeting --
most only see a winner or a big cock when they size me up. Sensitivity
doesn't matter."

We watched a red-tailed hawk glide the canyon. "You can be honest now --
how did you ever get past the old lady and get to Tomas?"

"I offered her ten dollars to sit next to him." I explained my negotiations
on my first date with Tomas.

He laughed. "Wish I'd been that creative. Should have found the right one
and stuck with him. Instead I got a string of fucks that went nowhere but
back to the bars."

We watched the sky darken discussing the money. "Need to find out where it
came from first, or else you'll have to explain it. Do you think Doby hid
it under the couch?"  Harlan asked.

"Tomas was usually honest about the concrete things - maybe confused with
the voices and delusions, but he was usually honest.  Got no idea what
happened and why Doby told him he might need the money and hid it.
Strange, all new bills."  My brain numbed a bit on the brandy, "I'm going
to clean the house tomorrow; the cops left a mess."

"As soon as I can get this guy, I'd like to send him over - he cleans crime
scenes and hoarder's houses. Is that okay?" I could only nod as he was on
his phone again texting someone. "Craig will be here Monday at
eight. They'll be done at noon."

"How long has it been since you worked out?  C'mon, you'll feel better --
my muscles are itching."

At the gym, he put me on the machines doing reps, back, thighs, arms. It
did feel good to stretch and push out the tension and tearful tendencies --
that was good medicine for me.

We went to spend the night at his house. Small place, little furniture,
lots of brash, bright art and a bar, hot tub -- early eighties hedonist
décor. His bedroom was almost wall-to-wall bed with two iron rings
hanging over the headboard.

I slept on the couch.

***

Sunday morning I got home and read all the rules about visiting the jail
and left at eleven. First, I went online and put forty dollars on Tomas'
account for books and snacks. When I got to the jail and the right floor I
waited and waited. At one-thirty a deputy came out and told me that Tomas
didn't want to see me.

"What?"  That stunned me. "Could you tell him to call me or give him a
note?"

"Sir, I supervise a hundred and forty men upstairs. Call during hours or
write him a letter." She pointed to a pay phone and left. I went to the
phone in the jail and called the jail asking for Tomas Santos.  After a
long time on hold I was told, "Unavailable."

Something felt wrong about being rebuffed by Tomas -- he'd never do that. I
called the attorney to ask if he was able to meet with Tomas. He, too, was
turned away.

***


At home, thinking about the money, I got the box and emptied out all the
cash, pulling out several hundreds and pulled one of the bands off a
stack. I rewound that bundle with a rubber band and put all the cash in a
plastic bag and put it under the front seat of my car. Back in the house, I
taped a few bills over the cellophane window of the box, filled it with a
small local business directory with wadded paper around it. The box
appeared full of cash; it wasn't.

The money needed to be in a safe place. The fewer people who knew it was
there, the better. I needed time to decide what to do with it. May have to
burn it!

Promising myself it wouldn't become a habit, I made myself several brandied
coffees and fell asleep watching a documentary on African wildlife and woke
up on Sunday at noon.  I finished the bottle of brandy and went back to
sleep on the couch.  Exhaustion, guilt and nausea swirled inside me.

Monday morning, Craig and two men were on the porch with backpacks and
buckets of supplies in hand. "We'll leave everything in order." Brusque but
efficient. They dusted, vacuumed, polished and cleaned quickly, with Craig
in Doby's bedroom. I looked in the door. The room smelled like rubbing
alcohol, he was removing all the black spots, and scribbles carefully
putting the photos back into a shoebox, then placed them on the shelf above
the clothes in Doby's closet. Catching a glimpse of that prom dress, I had
to chuckle.

"See something funny?"  Craig asked.

"Yeah, I took Tomas and Doby to the prom. She wore this dress." I flicked
the sleeve of the garish formal.

"Put together a memory table with the dress, photos and a few personal
things from her life for the memorial. People usually enjoy that. You know,
leave a good feeling with everyone."

"Have you seen anything else that would be, well, appropriate?"  I had no
idea about these things.

"Since you asked..."  He picked out a table cloth from the linen cabinet
and started piling up some of the craft items from the islands and then
found a box to put them in. "What did she really enjoy doing? Knitting?"

"Gambling and taking care of Maki."

"Got her deck of cards -- any poker chips?"  I nodded and went to get those
and print out some photos of Doby and put them in the box. There was a
photo of Doby dancing, sweating and grinning at the prom - photos of her
and Tomas, her and Maki and the birth...  None of her at the slots.

Soon, the cleaning crew gathered their supplies. Like Harlan said, at noon
the crew finished up, and opened the windows to chase the smell of death
from the house. I asked how much I owed them, "On the house for a guy who
delivered food boxes. That's what Harlan said." They were gone as quickly
as they came.


AsĂ­, AsĂ­, Eres TĂș...



Then, I was suddenly exhausted again and lay on the couch. I woke to
someone banging on the door, the sun had set -- must have slept about eight
hours. Doby's answering machine was blinking with messages, I noticed as I
passed it to open the door.

Harlan was at the door, non-stop banging. He grabbed my arm when he came
in. "Sit down."

"What's going on?"  He held me by both arms in front of him with a serious
look, "Tomas committed suicide in jail."  His eyes studied my face.
"That's what they're saying."

Everything went grey inside me as he repeated himself and explained that
he'd gone down to see Tomas. I turned away and ran to the bathroom vomiting
nothing but bile for the next thirty minutes. Rinsing my face with cold
water several times I wondered what else could happen.  This was too much
-- my guts couldn't be tied up again and my mind couldn't be rearranged so
abruptly for the second time in three days. Everything stable underneath me
was suddenly jerked away.

I finally emerged to find Harlan in the kitchen searching the
refrigerator. "When was the last time you ate?"  Harlan picked up the empty
bottle of brandy and put it in the trash.

"I forget...  So tired -- Is it true?  Tomas is dead?"

"Yeah. I pulled some strings with a pal at the PD and found out why no one
could see him.  They're saying they have to investigate the situation."
Harlan came to my limp body and pressed me against him, "You've been hit
with so much in the past couple of years -- in the past few days..."
Harlan left the house.  I heard him open the trunk to his car and he came
back in with a cardboard box and a large brown paper bag.

I sat down at the table still numb. Harlan explained my sudden fatigue, my
need to temporarily escape and that my trauma might need professional
care. On the table lay a list of warning signs that I read through with the
public health clinic phone number. Harlan wanted to me to stay with him for
the next two weeks -- his face looked more serious than I `d ever seen.  I
wanted to be alone but couldn't say anything -- like my voice had suddenly
frozen.

Ripping open the box, he started stocking the refrigerator with cans of
nutritional supplement. "Every few hours, drink one of these and eat some
fruit. I'll text you to remind you. Don't make it any harder on yourself."
He rinsed the fruit in the sink -- tangerines, grapes, apples, bananas. My
stomach felt like it was filled with heated rocks.  My mind blanked -- more
decisions I wasn't ready to make. "What happened to Tomas again?"  Tears
came again and Harlan handed me several paper towels.

Harlan took a deep breath, "The jail says it was a suicide. We've got to
get you propped up and going as soon as possible. This is the third gay man
who's committed suicide in the county jail in the past three months -- the
eighth death in general population. No one's been able to find out why.
Maybe Tomas had his problems but he didn't seem suicidal. Did he talk about
it?"

"No."

"I think his death would be able to help someone else now. It's tragic,
truly tragic and more than likely needless." He leaned over and put his
hand on my shoulder. "This past year has so difficult for you, so this is
hard to ask, but I want you to file a lawsuit and start an investigation
about what's going on down there. Maybe I was out of line calling the
center, but they put me in touch with a group of attorneys who've been
watching what's happening at the jail."

"You're saying Tomas was killed?"

"Either neglect, assault or abuse. We're not sure. Inmates won't talk, and
of course, the staff's got lockjaw." He explained.  "The city cops are
afraid to take anyone to the county jail -- they lose their collars."

"Cause of death?"  I asked.

"They say overdose on jailhouse drugs -- seems improbable." Harlan stared
at me.

"I was at the jail on Saturday morning, eleven-thirty till one. They told
me he didn't want to see me." I thought for a moment, "Tomas took his
medications, but didn't use street drugs.  Do you know if they gave him his
meds?"

Harlan shook his head. "They would only say he was already dead when they
found him.  We need to get his body to an independent pathologist for a
second opinion." He said, making a pot of coffee.

I was stunned again thinking of Tomas' body being sliced and examined and
began sobbing. No more tears came -- spasms hit my diaphragm and I leaned
in pain. I felt empty inside but for my tightly clenching muscles. Couldn't
think, couldn't feel anything but pain and couldn't care what happened
next. The very core of me was falling into some deep, black pit; I was
helpless to stop my descent.

He handed me two pills from a small vial on his keychain. "One's a light
sedative, the other's gonna calm your stomach down. If you can't get it
together within the next few hours, I'll take you to the hospital."
Handing me a glass of the supplement over ice. "We've got work to do. Just
get over a few hurdles then rest. It's gonna take a few days. Think you can
manage this?"

"Who is `we,' and what am I supposed to manage?"

"When I called an attorney with the LGBTQ Defense group they weren't
surprised about Tomas' death.  Seems like the county jail is managed by a
private company and don't have to release much information.  What they do
release is a few lines through their attorneys.  Looks like they're
covering up something.  When you file a lawsuit against them for Tomas'
death, they'll have to put all the information for the court."

After the pills and upping my blood sugar, I considered what Harlan said. I
watched him make a sandwich that stood about four inches high then he
opened my corn chips and put all of them in a bowl -- was he really going
to eat all of them at one time with a sandwich?  "What hurdles?" I finally
found my voice but my thoughts were still half-formed.

Harlan got Chris on the video phone and explained about Tomas' death.
Chris was in tears, but Harlan told her that she had to get Doby's memorial
service completed and he'd have more information about Tomas' death and the
lawsuit.

"Lawsuit?"  I wondered if I could do that without another meltdown. Harlan
explained briefly about the deaths in the jails to Chris. Chris stopped
crying and listened intently. Her face turned red in anger and she cursed
for several minutes, getting up and coming back to the screen several
times, clearly enraged.

"If Chaz signs the paperwork tomorrow, we'll get Tomas' body scheduled for
an independent autopsy -- that'll start an investigation along with filing
the complaint."

"If he won't sign, I will." She was screaming now and I knew why.  Maki's
father was dead.

"Chris!  Chris!"  I tried to get her attention. When she came back to the
screen. "Chris, I'm going to sign the papers -- I have to know how he died
and what happened.  I'm his common law husband, and I have to see this
through.  I know you and Melanie will be beside me, right?"

"You're damn right we will..."  She continued screaming and cursing for a
while.  Harlan just let her continue until she calmed down, then he asked
if the memorial service plans were made for Doby.

"Yeah, we got the service lined up.  Seems almost every islander knew Doby.
People are coming in from LA and Houston...  By the way, how did she die?"

Harlan hesitated, "Strangulation."  He paused.  "Just tell people it was a
breathing obstruction if you want."

Then Chris asked if I could take Maki for a few days until the memorial
service -- childcare was a problem since Doby had passed.

"Bring him over." That's when my tears started again.

***


Harlan set up his "command central" in front of my computer. He downloaded
a list of signs of trauma.  Seems I'd been traumatized since Tomas was
taken to the hospital. "Maybe I do need counseling." I thought but it was
only a vague, gray need -- not so urgent.  Nothing was urgent; everything
inside me was undefined and shades of nothing -- the loss of my lover and
our matriarch weren't even clear -- still unbelievable.  Such incredible
violence had never been part of my life before.

Harlan wouldn't leave that night. Our evening was a welcomed
reprieve. Little Maki came with all his story books and tiny trucks and
cars; crayons and coloring books. He had to show me all of them. But he was
mesmerized by Harlan's height and had to inspect the stubble on his face
closely. Maki's life didn't include big, hairy men.

At first, Harlan was a little put-off by the tyke, but Maki was a charmer,
and had Harlan get out his phone -- they placed an order for a pizza
together. "Lotsa cheese and no fishes!  Umm -- make a happy face on it."
That was Maki's part of the order.

The smiling pizza arrived, and Maki sat on Harlan's lap to eat. Harlan let
Maki pick off the pepperoni slices and take most of his cheese, rearranging
their dinners. I had another can of supplement and a few grapes.

We brushed teeth together and I tucked Maki in on his bed in the little
bedroom. He made me promise to come back to sleep with him like Doby
did. Leaving the door slightly ajar, I went back into the living room.

"God he's a cute kid, looks just like you." Harlan said.

Without much detail I explained what Tomas and I had done. "Yeah, they want
several kids, Tomas was going to make all of them siblings." I didn't say
anymore.

"How would that happen?  He's your son."

"We don't know that.  Part of the contract was not to mention
paternity. Family secret until they decide to tell him."

"Oh." He nodded. "I like that kid -- didn't he need a bath?"

"He wasn't dirty -- except for the pizza grease. He brushed his teeth. Good
enough for tonight." We watched the weather, "By the way, thanks for
sending Craig -- he helped me put some things together for a memory
table. I'd have paid -- they were great.  I like that Craig."

"Go online and give him a good rating. Don't worry about the pay -- he owed
me a favor. Besides, you driving food all over town for the AIDS group,
well -- most volunteers didn't finish the training much less stay on the
job after the first week.  Some people stayed long enough to get a carful
of food, then skipped out."

That surprised me, then I remembered the tension of the times and the poor
economy.

Sports came on, "Did you find out anything about the money?"  Harlan
lowered his voice when he asked.

"No. Still a mystery.  Why?"

"You think Tomas stole it and lied about Doby saying it was his?"

"Nah.  He had a job while he was in school and money in the bank.  He
usually didn't take things -- nothing of any value. I gave him an allowance
for snacks at his day program. I believe Doby held the money for him and
hid it under the couch, just like he said.  He simply didn't have any
reason to lie about what Doby did or said."

"Why didn't she use the money for his mental health treatment?"

"Not sure, but it wouldn't have helped. Not much success with his diagnoses
-- maybe she had something in the works I didn't know about."

"Wonder where she got the money from...  Does anyone else know she had so
much cash?"

"No idea."

***


Chris, Melanie and I visited the attorney and finished our business with
him and the will.  Everything Tomas would inherit was given to me; I was
still too numb to feel grateful.

While Maki napped, Harlan and I called the LGBTQ legal group that would be
representing me in the civil case against the jail contractors. They had
evidence though sketchy, on the other deaths. I agreed with their
strategies gathering information and simply asking for records, then
explaining them. I told them that Harlan would act as my representative if
I wasn't available and asked them to send a copy of all emails to Melanie,
Chris and Harlan. To be honest, I was still stunned and concerned I'd get
confused. We did online signatures and the process began. A formal
complaint would be filed and summons served within three days.

Before we hung up, I asked my attorney about the other inmates. "Seems like
there must be some kind of system-wide abuse going on -- doesn't that
happen to the women as well or is this just against the men?"

"Funny you ask. Birth control is one of the only medications they order
regularly. Peculiar in a gender-segregated facility. We have our people
working on that now along with the Civil Liberties group." He
stopped. "We'll know more later."

That amazed me when I thought about the entirety of the situation at the
jail. Murders and sexual assaults on a regular basis; unprotected
sex. Harlan spoke further with the attorneys. I began feeling like I had to
vomit and walked to the bathroom light-headed.

***


The next night, Harlan took Maki and me to the beach and we ate hotdogs in
the cove at La Jolla as the sun set. Maki was inspecting all the seaweed
and shells. We watched as he played. With Maki around I wasn't as tearful;
still stunned though.

At home I studied my lists.  Everything I needed to do related to Tomas'
and Doby's deaths -- there's a million details with a death and two million
with two deaths. It did feel good to keep adding to the list and marking
other things off. When the death certificates came, that made life easier
-- I scanned them into my computer and was able to close out all the
accounts and bring their lives to a close in the public sphere.

That night, Harlan and I wrote out my words for the Doby's memorial
service. Again, my eyes burned and teared. She'd been so good to me and
Tomas. I called Chris and Melanie, I had to be at the church fellowship
hall at four. "Okay. By the way, I talked to the lawyers -- you and Harlan
will be getting all my updates. Thanks for Maki -- he's the best medicine I
could have."

"Good, you can babysit him for the rest of the time you're off. We're
having hell trying to find a decent daycare with an opening."

"Sure, he reminds of Tomas." I hung up and forced myself to smile.

***


Doby's memorial service was filled with music from all over the islands,
people brought food and drink; more flowers and cards, gifts. On the
remembrance table people had left their own pictures of Doby, notes and
trinkets over the skirt of the prom dress. Harlan went into the kitchen and
found the flowers he'd ordered -- six, tall slender vases of freesia, each
one with a candle in front of it. Chris and Melanie greeted everyone at the
door, I asked them to sign the book and shook each hand; accepted each hug.

Harlan carried Maki in his tiny slacks, white shirt and bow tie. They
looked great together. Never thought I'd see Harlan love a kid like that. I
saw him kissing the boy, then taking him outside to play in the church yard
before the service. Chris and Melanie were surrounded by tearful, loving
friends in droves.

This was the same fellowship hall where I'd worn my "Siopao" shirt. I was
wearing it today under a sports jacket, handkerchiefs in both pockets and
my notes in the breast pocket. A minister took the podium and led a prayer
in Tagalog. Several singers came forward and beautiful harmonies filled the
air accompanied by a ukulele troupe with several tremeloas.  Smooth,
flowing music, bringing me to tears again but Harlan poked me.  "Buck up --
you're next, now get up there and do it like the man Doby wanted her boy to
marry. You're leading now. You have one chance to respect Doby's memory and
bring people out of their sorrow and toward celebration of a wonderful
woman. No one wants to listen to you blubber!"

That was certainly gruff, but I took the podium and read my words about
Doby piecing a family around her, like so many immigrants, so many people
considered outcasts. She created what she needed and what we needed -- the
feeling of family, she shaped us into a beautiful community. I was almost
in tears when I looked at the back of the room Harlan and Maki were both
shaking their fists at me with scowls on their faces -- reminding me to
stay strong for a few more minutes. I slowly worked through my notes and
finished by asking that we too help create a home for the homeless, the
ignored and neglected, the stigmatized and the children wandering the
roadways having left homes that refused them. "This is how I'll remember
Doby."

People were in tears -- I must have expressed something they felt. Chris
and Melanie came to the mic together and I was glad someone was videotaping
this. I had to step outside and took Maki -- he was getting cranky needing
a nap and probably food. "Harlan, sneak in the kitchen and get Maki some
crackers. He's hungry."

He came back with a plate of fruit and chips. "When was the last time you
ate?"

"I'll wait -- someone brought dumplings."

The rest of the service went well, even after Chris mentioned that Tomas
had died. She asked for everyone to make sure they put their email address
in the memorial book, "We need all of you to come and stand up for Tomas
later on." There was a murmur in the group, but the music and tributes
continued; each person wanting to say a few words stepped to the podium to
pray or offer their last loving statements. The service lasted four
hours. I was exhausted; Chris and Melanie stayed to wrap up.

On the way home Harlan told me he had to take Maki to the john. "Do you
know he has the littlest junk? It was so funny -- everything in miniature."

"Were you messing with his stuff?"

"No, but I watched. It was hilarious, peeing just like a man."

"Of course he pees like a man. I taught him. Did he aim or was he spraying
all over again?"

"Hit the mark." He laughed.

***


After a few more days with Harlan and Maki, I was feeling better but
noticed that I lost weight, I was becoming gaunt and my hip bones and ribs
were clearly visible. Cooking for Maki helped me to remember to eat, and I
shared my supplement drinks with him -- he liked for me to freeze them. I
called Harlan to bring more of the supplement, "Maki likes the berry flavor
best."

Chris and Melanie called every day to check on us and we planned Tomas
memorial. Harlan would be speaking for me -- I couldn't give any comments
without a breakdown and I didn't want to get into that state again. The
thought of speaking about our love made me feel like I was teetering on a
full-blown crash -- just the thought of it exhausted me. Guilt about
putting him in the jail weighed on my spirit and my heart.

We made posters and tee shirts and sent out press releases.  Tomas' life
would be celebrated with a disruptive memorial service. We were marching
around the jail at the courthouse with candles after the sun went
down. People were asked to bring photos of their family and friends who'd
died inside -- and we posted the invitation all over town in all the
newspapers on phone poles and in store windows.

Harlan got the permit. We'd meet at a local park near the county jail, then
begin our walk circling the jail. One pass for each person who'd died
inside under strange or unexplained circumstances since the contractors
began managing -- I calculated walking the building forty-seven times would
take quite a while though the block was short.


Como Mi Esperanza...


I took Maki in his stroller that night with a blanket. On a make-shift
stage, the speakers began as the sun set behind the neighborhood. Several
singers with guitars sang about life and love, a minister led a
prayer. Harlan and Chris stepped to the microphone with tee shirts showing
Tomas' face next to mine taken at prom night.

They spoke beautifully about Tomas, bringing my tears. Chris explained the
situation in the jail. Among the three-hundred or so people gathered, many
had photos pinned to their shirts or names written across the front of
their hats. So many!  Mothers, fathers, families -- every color of skin,
every age. I was stunned; slowly I dawned inside me that I wasn't alone. It
no longer mattered about gay or straight, but humans being treated so
brutally they'd died -- all inside the same small spaces where Tomas' life
was taken.

Taking the stroller near a tree on the edge of the group, I turned and
sobbed silently, not for me but for the waves of pain issuing from the jail
-- those waves rolled through the city and the county hitting the
unsuspecting innocent victims with evil. I felt an arm around my shoulders
and turned -- it was a man I'd worked with, the same one who'd let me
borrow his car to visit Tomas years ago.

"You, too?" Was all I could manage to say.

"My brother died in there -- they said it was a dispute between
inmates. Never believed them. My brother was on seizure medication that
caused a lot of dental problems. His teeth and gums hurt him -- so he'd
avoid a fight." He glanced at the photo on the front of my tee shirt. "I'm
so sorry, man. If there's any way I can help, let me know." He stuck his
business card in the pocket of my jeans and hugged me. That shored me for a
moment.

Looking upward, I saw the jail had narrow windows; I wondered if the
inmates would be aware of us outside. As I searched the thin glass strips,
the lights went out -- the cells were probably emptied to keep the inmates
unaware, but someone must have told them why we were here.

Then a different speaker came to the stage and caught my attention.
Someone from the civil liberties organization was explaining about
contracts the counties signed with for-profit prisons. County contracts
guaranteed 95-98% occupancy -- sure money and little oversight...  I didn't
know that the government could guarantee the jail would be filled, but that
information seemed like it would change the dynamics of law
enforcement. Was there some kind of covert bounty on anyone who looked like
they could be nailed with crimes by the police?  Would they solve the
unsolved crimes with erroneous convictions to keep the jail filled to
satisfy the contract?  I had the time to protect Tomas with his encounter
with the sheriffs, but I was entirely helpless once he was inside the
jail. I wondered how many of the people marching with us would become the
unknowing and helpless jail fodder in the streets because of the corruption
in the wake of this contract.

Young people came through the crowds handing out candles and the drummers
showed up stoned but serious and began a slow rhythm. We sang and chanted
as we marched around the jail forty-seven times. Took almost three hours,
but we stayed together until it was completed. Maki slept through most of
the march, holding his box of animal-shaped cookies close. We went back to
the park and cleaned up the area. The news reporters had been there
recording the march and started interviewing the speakers. I was still in a
half-daze; Harlan spoke about Tomas, his Filipino family and referred
viewers to the website.

Standing to the side with Maki sleeping on my shoulder, I could only
watch. Brandied coffee sounded good, and sleep -- I needed sleep.

***


After the march, Chris and Melanie took my Maki home with them.  They found
a woman who would care for Maki and paid by the day -- more expensive, but
close to their house.

Harlan drove us home. My eyes were red and swollen, my voice was hoarse,
but I felt stronger. He was right, I had to get over those hurdles; things
were falling back into place, new places, I had a different perspective on
my situation now.

"Have you eaten lately?" He asked as he pulled in the drive.

"Why are you always asking me that?" Harlan was acting like a Jewish
mother.

"Look." He showed me a photo of me the morning they took Tomas. I didn't
remember him taking that. Then, looking at my own face in the accessory
mirror, I was a skeleton, dark circles around my eyes, gaunt cheeks and
thin neck.

"Yeah." I went straight to the kitchen for a can of the supplement. Harlan
came behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm going in to work tomorrow -- you going to be okay?"

"Not sure -- kinda spooky to be here alone."

He looked around in the cabinets -- not much there. "I'll bring groceries
tomorrow."

"Harlan, you've been here over two weeks, I feel like I'm costing you a lot
of money.  Go back to work. You've been a big help, I owe you."

"I got a good deal and invested early. Semi-retired now. Can't say I
enjoyed all this, but you and Maki made me feel needed for a while, really
needed -- that's not something I get much of in my life."

"This is um, uncomfortable." I turned in his arms. Leaning over, he kissed
my forehead and squeezed me against him. He sighed but didn't let go of me.

"You taught me..."  Seemed like he wanted to say more but didn't. Instead
he turned and began digging around in the freezer until he found some small
foil packets and unwrapped them. Dumplings!

We had a dreadful dinner of re-heated pizza, micro-waved dumplings, food
supplement and half an apple, but it was enough. I showered and went to bed
exhausted; Harlan was on the phone in the living room.

Yep, I slept on the bed where my lover and I had romped and I cherished the
space now. Maybe my healing had begun or my shock was leaving. I got up to
open the window and remembered the first night when he'd thrown the sheets
back in the candlelight. Instead of tears, I imagined him loving me from
wherever he was now.

I heard Harlan showering later, but I was half-asleep. He came in and got
into bed with me. I lay still.  When he put his arm over me, "No."

"Go to sleep.  Until we find out who knows that money is here, I'm not
sleeping alone in the old lady's room.  That couch isn't big enough for
me." He pulled me against his big, hairy chest and breathed deeply.

Sleep came quickly.

***


Life chugged forward whether I was ready to deal with it or not, but I
pushed through while Harlan was out selling insurance -- he worked the
commercial side now - errors and omissions policies, bonds, equipment and
fleet insurance. Nights, Harlan and I ate, watched the tele and talked for
a while then to bed -- every day the same. Maki came some days. He was a
ray of sunlight playing with the hose on the deck or calling for pizza on
his play phone. We read his books and napped. I loved Maki now more than
ever.

The day came when I had to go to work. I dreaded facing another new
situation.  Harlan and I were both up early, I wished I'd gotten a haircut
but I pushed it back and loaded my coffee cup.  I gave Harlan a key and
left a few minutes early.

What I thought might be awkward turned out to be a celebration. At
precisely nine o'clock the other trade pact geeks gathered around my desk
with cards and small gifts. They offered condolences and applauded
me. They'd seen me on the news the night of the vigil. The pictures of
Tomas on my desk and the pictures of him on the news... They were proud of
me for speaking out about the deaths in the jail.

During lunch, I slipped down the street with the bag full of money bought a
lock at a discount store, then on to get a storage shed -- closet sized.  I
bought a box and put the money in it and locked it up.  It was a relief to
get the cash away from me and locked where no one knew where it was.

Work ground on. Three business owners from a medical supply company in
National City came in to learn the proper packaging for customs and
inspections, then a pump manufacturer needing help with documentation and
forms for a client in Canada. There were a few updates to the trade
agreement. I downloaded them to review and left at five -- got a few hugs
on the way out the door. I was very, very grateful for all those kindnesses
and getting back to something I was good at doing.

When I came in the door that night, I smelled dinner and saw Harlan rubbing
noses with Maki!  They'd been watching a movie about penguins. "Where's
Chris and Melanie?"

"On a date, and Mr. Maki wants spaghetti tonight. We went shopping and got
everything he wanted."

I opened my email that night -- the inbox held hundreds of
messages. Sorting them by topic, most were condolences, some were from
different organizations asking to join with us, and few were hateful. After
organizing most of them, I sent them to the website where the attorneys
would review them.

Then, I found an email from the attorneys with all the pertinent documents
attached. They advised me to keep all my comments toward seeking truth and
justice -- cast no aspersions; no curses and no threats. "It'll come out in
court.  Keep your dignity in front of everything else."

***


After dinner, I lay on the couch, tired from my renewed
responsibilities. Harlan was doing an alienation of affection with Maki and
me. I listened to them. Seems Harlan had learned some of Maki's songs --
hmmm.  While they showered I found a photo of a pig and captioned it
"Harlan." I sent it in a text message entitled "Vocabulary Lesson for
Maki." I sent it.

Harlan had a peculiar way to wash Maki -- a bath war. He just grabbed the
naked boy and held him in the shower with him -- there was a lot of soap,
tickling, screaming and shampoo bombs from what I heard. Then a naked, wet
boy ran out of the bathroom with his towel. I dried him off and dug around
in his bag to find his tiny briefs and let him climb all over me until he
tired. Harlan brought me another can of supplement.

"Didn't think you had it in you -- the way you love Maki." I said.

"Every boy needs a gay uncle to teach him personal hygiene." He checked his
phone and found my text message, glared at me and left the room returning
almost immediately.

I thought about that, "Don't say that in front of Chris and Melanie. Tomas
was assaulted when he was young. Caused a lot of problems, he was
traumatized."

"I didn't know." He started going through the mail, tossing the
junk. "Here's the deed to the house, and the attorney sent you a check from
Tomas' accounts at the bank..."  He sat them on top of my list.

"Have you ever met any gay guys that were assaulted when they were young?"
I asked, stroking my Maki's damp hair.

"Sure, plenty. They're the easy ones -- want a lot of affection, that gets
in the way of my fun, but not for long." He brushed the topic off.

"Isn't that like advantage of their problems?"

"Look, I'm in sales not social work. They wanted affection, I gave it to
them and a lot more -- seemed like a good deal to me. Are you making some
kind of judgement?"

"Just curious."

"Let me lie in the bed I've made." Silence as we watched the news. Another
county board member was found to be taking kickbacks. This was the guy that
represented my district. Harlan chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"He's the guy that promoted the contract for the jail. The mining has
started -- the dirt's flying."

"How do they find out all that secret stuff?  Don't these politicians have
enough sense to hide their tracks?"

"Seems a certain kind of arrogance accompanies that level of greed -- they
feel they're above the law and can buy their way out of anything. The old
paper trail is now an e-trail -- hackers make a mint for the stuff they dig
up. Speaking of mining, what are you gonna do with all that money?"

"I'm afraid to spend any -- the serial numbers might show up - if not now,
maybe later. I'd hate to make a donation to anyone with it."

We went to bed. Harlan locked the doors, came in with Maki between us.

"You were wise -- waiting and wooing that old lady. It was rough with their
deaths, but you're gonna be rich and famous. You'll probably retire and
become president of the center, maybe run for office. My reputation won't
let me do that. I've got to drag that behind me for the rest of my
life. You'll get all the intellectual ass you can handle, take barge trips
through Europe and drink fancy chardonnays, fuck to chamber music -- kinky
French horn players from the symphony -- bet they have great lip muscles...
you lucky bastard."

"Lucky?  Shut the fuck up you old fool." I was tired. "And you better not
mess with my Maki."

"I can't mess with perfection." I heard him kiss the boy, "Do you know he
sings these little songs, and he dances. Right in the middle of the grocery
store he was pointing to his cereal singing the jingle and trying to
whistle..."

***


The next morning, I checked my messages, and there was one from
Harlan. "Words for Chaz."  I opened it and found he must have stuck the
phone between his legs. There was a photo of his hairy ass: "Kiss it,
dickhead." I'd have to find something to top that. Damn, he had a hairy
butt -- and what was that champagne glass tattoo on his left cheek about?
Did he have electrolysis over the shape of it?  Geez!

Chris and Melanie were fortunate that Harlan loved Maki -- they were still
having problems with consistent daycare -- we had Maki with us most nights,
weekends and Harlan took days off to take care of the boy. I asked around
at work, maybe somebody near the office had a good service. One of the
women told me about her grandmother who kept her children.

"I'll ask." The gal got on her phone immediately. Her grandmother was
willing to take on another boy, price was standard, but I had a benefit
that would pay most of it. Wasn't sure what to do about applying for the
benefit -- I wasn't married to Melanie and I couldn't prove Maki was
mine. This was a way to find out for sure.

Immediately I went to my car and called Chris and Melanie confessing that I
may be Maki's father.  "We both ejaculated into the cup -- that's what
Tomas wanted."  I paused.  "Now, I've got some benefits at work to help
with childcare if I can show he's my son. I really hate to drop this on
you, but there's a lady with an opening and only three children -- looks
like a good place for Maki. We could take a DNA test..."

Silence.

"We wanted Tomas..."  Melanie said softly. They were quiet for a while.

"I know -- he was so excited about it, he asked me to -- well, he said that
if anything happened to you two, we would raise the children
together. Forgive me for not saying anything before. I feel like a heel
having to tell you this way."

They didn't say anything.

"Well, think about it and let me know if I can help. I'm not looking to
cause any problems in your family, and I won't interfere." I took a deep
breath and shut up, if they were angry, they'd cut my time with Maki.

"You've interfered enough but maybe it's for the better. Your family
doesn't have any mental problems, do they?" Chris asked.

"Not that I know of."

"We'll get back with you later." Melanie told me and they hung up.

At home, I went int the kitchen. In the frig I saw it was stocked with milk
and kiddie food -- little lunch packets with animals on the labels and the
freezer was filled with frozen pizza and children's microwavable
dinners. That sap Harlan actually bought everything a three-year-old asked
for?  I opened a can of supplement and went to my computer.

Chris sent a text with the name of a lab and the time and date for DNA
testing.

***


That night, Harlan came in with a huge black suitcase on wheels. He was
grunting and tugging it through the house toward the study.

"Did I ask for a housemate?"

"Humph. You know you want me -- you always have." He took his suitcase into
the study and opened it gingerly and grabbed a wad of packing paper. "Be
careful." He handed it to me and I carefully unwrapped a solid, rectangular
object.  "I think it's time you should get some security or a gun.  For
some reason, I got a funny feeling someone knows that cash is here and is
circling, waiting to come and get it."  He watched me unwrap the paper from
the object.

"Cool!"  I grinned. I was holding a model train engine in my hands, wrapped
neatly in a plastic bag, sealed shut. "Isn't this the kind they made a
hundred years ago?"

"Not quite a hundred, jerk...  Got the whole set-up. Both my granddads
worked on the trains -- they got everything for me.  I've got the depot,
all the signage, buildings - everything.  We went to the train museum over
in front of the school district building almost every weekend."

"This isn't for Maki?  He's too young."

"It's for you. I brought you a hobby -- you know, a pastime. Get your mind
off things.  Bringing the plywood tomorrow."

"You just want to do this for yourself and a four-by-eight sheet of
plywood?  That's a problem!  I'm wise to your ways -- you're trying to hog
Maki when he's here."

"So? Let me be good at something other than seduction.  By the way, you got
a sander around here?"

"No sander, and I wouldn't say you were so good at seduction..."  I nodded,
thinking I was vulnerable alone no matter where the cash was.  "I'll think
about the security.  In the mean time we need to go get some real food. Why
did you buy all that junk for Maki?"

"He asked for it."

Spoiling Maki, taking over my house with a model train set and lumber,
sending obscene photos, sheesh!  His comments about security lingered
though...  He was right, I had no idea who else knew about Doby's cash.

***


The rest of the evening went well enough with Harlan rearranging the lawn
chairs on the deck for the plywood and talking about prepping for my
interview.

"What interview?"

"That guy on Channel 4. The dippy reporter with the toupee -- we got a spot
on his five-minute report. You'll be interviewed with your attorneys. He's
covering the deaths in the jail. They'll tap you for the soft part."

"Soft part?"

"The attorneys will talk about the jail and the investigation. You're there
to give Tomas and the others a face -- you'll be the voice of the families
who've lost members in the jail -- the human side of it -- the soft part."

"What will they ask me?" Harlan rattled on explaining that I would say
Tomas was my partner, and we were a family here with Doby...  There was an
illness and such.

"I'm gonna skirt the mental health part -- he wasn't charged or booked --
was he?"

"No, he wasn't. They took him to isolation -- in the drunk tank."  Harlan
looked at me, "You're going to have to follow the question you're asked.
Bend it if you can. Use your time to emphasize the fact that Tomas didn't
do anything criminal, he was loved - a man with a partner and family who
needed him."  As Harlan voiced his thoughts, I remembered I'd never ever
seen Tomas violent, and he loved Doby -- they'd always gotten along so
well...

The thought he'd killed her nagged me -- could he have done that?  "I don't
think he killed Doby -- he couldn't have. He loved her."

"We'll never know now." Harlan said.

I thought for a moment. "C'mon." I stood.

We went in Doby's room and pulled out the photos that Craig had wiped with
alcohol. "Let's go through these and see if we can find the photos with Xs
and the people who had their faces covered up. Maybe one of those people
had some financial dealings with her."

***


Only touching the corners, we inspected the photos closely, laying them out
on the bed. The alcohol Craig cleaned them with removed most of the ink,
but there were faint traces of where the ink stained the old emulsion. We
tilted them toward the light and could make out where the marks were
drawn. Some of the marks were still clear though the faces underneath were
blurred. I didn't know the people and some of the photos were years old --
taken thirty to forty years ago by the looks of the clothes and hairstyles.
A few people I recognized from the Islander's group.

I took close photos of the clearest of the pictures that showed the worst
of the defacing and sent them to Chris and Melanie, "Do you know any of
these people?"

Melanie said she wasn't sure about the people in the photos except the
younger people from the islander group. Didn't get any answer from Chris
until the next day.  She dropped Maki off for Harlan, he was taking the boy
for vaccinations!  That man was worming his way into my family - I should
have been asked to do that!

"This guy," Chris pointed at one photo, "Was the great uncle to my
grandfather, and this fella -- he was some friend of my Doby's husband --
or distant relative...  These other people, they lived in LA years ago, but
they died...  Not sure.  Give me a few days, I'll send the photos off to LA
and see if anyone knows them."

She looked at one old photo closely -- it was taken on the islands, the
signage on the buildings behind the group was not in English and the flora
was tropical. "See the big guy standing in the back row?"  She looked
closely, "I'm pretty sure he's the one who hurt Tomas. He's working for the
president of the Philippines now, an advisor on something or other, I
think."  She smirked, "Mr. `Bigshot' Bagwas Reyes, and I hate his guts --
he ought to be skinned alive. Tomas told me years ago while we were
watching the news from Manila -- recognized his dialect and the guy has a
really deep voice."

"Does Reyes have family in town?"

"Not sure. Doby knew everyone by family - I don't.  Someone in LA might
help. I'll send you some email addresses, send them the photos. Offer a
reward if you want an answer."

"I owe you a trip to the casino." I said and smiled.

"We don't go anymore -- no fun without Doby..."  She left and I started
composing an email to send with the photos.

***


I offered a $10 cash rewards for anyone who could name the person in the
photos with their full name and contact information. Most of the people in
the photos had died or moved to other places. That eliminated almost
ninety-five percent of the people whose faces had been blacked out.

Harlan came in after he dropped off Maki, grinning. "Damn, he was mad about
getting a shot!  We had to go to the mall and get an ice cream and new
shoes!"  As he said that, he twisted my nipple and quickly moved away
chuckling.  The soles of Maki's new shoes lit up when he danced around --
he had to show me as he jumped around Harlan and told me about the lady at
the shoe store measuring his feet.

"Should we call the police and tell them to reopen the investigation on
Doby's death if we find out anything?"  My concentration went back to the
photos and security.

"I've been thinking about that all day. You don't have any new evidence
yet. Keep it under wraps. If it has anything to do with the cash -- you
better wait." He looked at me sideways, "Decided what are you going to do
with all that money?"

"Nothing yet.  I thought maybe take Chris and Melanie to the islands and
scatter the ashes on the beach at Luzon."

"Why not take them to Imperial Beach -- the one where you had your first
date?  I remember you said he enjoyed that evening." He wiggled his
eyebrows then winked at me.

My eyes were stinging again, "That's an idea."

***


Harlan rented his place to his wolf pack and we signed an agreement -- he
had to pay utilities and he could put the solar panels on if he
wanted. There was a pot of funds he had to contribute to for maintenance,
taxes and insurance. I refused to allow any torture or restraining devices
in the house. I nixed any screwing outside his bedroom and no parties, no
drugs, no overtly sexual behaviors -- keep that at the bars. "This is my
home, it has to be peaceful and loving, especially when Maki's here." Damn,
I was sounding more like Doby than I cared to think.

The televised interview went well, most of the time was filled with
questions about the jail; the lawyers handled that. I simply said that
Tomas was my beloved partner, and to go to the website for more information
or to post the any information about your loved one who died in the
jail. Made it very clear that it didn't matter if the person was male,
female, gay, straight -- any information could help. "Please." In my heart,
I was hoping someone would come forward, maybe a former inmate or
disgruntled staff willing to talk.

For the next week, I was on the computer copying addressees and sending out
ten-dollar bills to people who'd sent me information and started compiling
names, email addresses and phone numbers of the people in the photos. One
name kept coming up -- the old Pinoy who'd checked the car and moved the
furniture for Doby. His name was Rizaldy -- puro Filipino name.  Most
people called him "Reez."

Before I closed out the computer I emailed Chris and Melanie asking what
kind of relationship Doby'd had with him. He'd never said much and Doby
only called him to work for her.  The gals weren't sure except to say it he
and Doby didn't seem like friends or lovers but some kind of business
relationship and they'd only seen him occasionally.

A few weeks ago, Chris had brought the bag from the coroner's with Doby's
personal effects, D. Santos #1557236SU. I rummaged around in it and found
her phone and turned it on. The battery still had a charge, so I opened the
phone contacts and found Reez' number. I'd been sent the right contact, and
I pressed the button to call him. No answer. The phone rolled over to voice
message and suddenly, I didn't know what to say. Ask him to dinner and a
chat?  Ask him if he knew anything about Doby's death?

I hung up, then I realized, he'd think he just got a phone call from a dead
woman...  I shut the phone off and put it back in the bag, then stuffed it
in the closet above that awful prom dress.

***


While I was at work, I received a photo in a text message of the DNA match
results. Chris, Melanie and I were related now; Maki was my boy at a 99.8%
likelihood. He came every morning and went from Chris' van to my car, then
off to daycare with me. I loved those mornings talking to him on the way to
work then again on the way home in his blinking shoes.

Life rocked along through the weeks, and I quit watching the news. It
opened my wounds again and again to hear any more news about the
jail. Several people came forward through the website; we referred them to
the attorneys to give statements. I got emails and letters of support from
around the world -- invitations to speak. I referred these to the
attorney's point person. I had to work, not just for the money, but to keep
myself mentally in shape for the trial.

Chris and I took all the donations from the website and applied them to the
accounts of the inmates with no family or support from the
outside. Reluctantly yet bravely, Chris and I reentered the jail, I noticed
not all the staff were belligerent with us. Sundays were spent with Chris
and me visiting with inmates or bringing photos of their children or
families.

Other Sundays we visited with men. Harlan usually babysat while Melanie
supervised a move.  Chris and I would return to find Harlan and Maki
napping - crashed after an afternoon of sugar and a visit to the
beach. They both had blue swim trunks, sandals and towels wouldn't you
know. I had to speak to him about taking advantage of my situation and my
son.

***


It was uncomfortable at first, but I went to the jail with Chris to
interpret for the women, and we met a number of the gals through the
weeks. One I remember clearly -- her language was different, esoteric;
encoded. Chris was momentarily perplexed at times but caught on
quickly. She'd pause and encode her responses to the woman, knowing we were
being watched if not recorded -- they were talking about personal anatomy
by using farming or hardware metaphors. Some of the words and phrases the
gal used were sophisticated and I suspected she was well-educated but
didn't ask. Marisol was a beautiful young girl from the Twenty-Seven Palm
area who was picked up for drug possession. We agreed to meet her upon
release.  She was getting out in a few days.

Chris took that day off -- expensive proposition for her, and I joined her
in the lobby of the jail after work. We sat and waited, waited and
waited. At one in the morning, Marisol appeared at the door with a sheriff
with only a small trash bag containing her possessions; eyes swollen and
she walked slowly. We spoke for a few moments and went straight to the
hospital for a rape kit and exam. I called my attorneys as Chris called
Melanie. None of us slept that night.

Didn't know it at the time, but that tiny Latina would prove pivotal in the
complete shutdown of the contractors at the jail.  She would be the key
that would fully open the floodgates of information about all the covert
practices and deaths. Couldn't help but think that through her soft voice
and determined gaze, my Tomas was speaking.

Marisol was in the hospital for three days and went home with Chris. She
was very well-educated, and she'd never used drugs. She was picked up
because she was vulnerable; alone on her way to and from work at the water
treatment lab. Five police cars pulled her over after sunset one night. She
said that she felt like she was being watched for several days, but who
could she call?  It was the sheriff's department watching her, following
her and throwing the drugs in her car when they pulled her over. She had
been raped several times before she came to the jail; repeatedly afterward.

Marisol coming forward steeled me -- she'd survived to give statements
about the jail and wasn't afraid. Her complaint was filed against the
contractors and delivered immediately.

Word on the wind was I could take an out-of-court settlement to avoid the
stress of court. Nope. Didn't budge -- I wanted the world to know what
happened to my Tomas and become as outraged as I was. His body had been
brutalized -- the list of injuries to his body filled one page. Yeah, Tomas
and I were both victimized and had to pay for that indignity with our
taxes. Atrocious!


Todo Mi Horizonte...



Home life was relatively calm. Harlan kept busy working on my hobby on the
deck.  Who would have known that the man who majored in slap-ass could be
so engrossed with a rail switch on a miniature train track?

The sun was setting -- I could hear Harlan wrapping up his wires and
packing his micro-tool box as darkness fell.  I was sweeping up all the
dark-green sawdust he used as grass, then taking his rocks out of the
dishwasher basket -- he was planning to create a small mountain, I guessed
when I heard someone pulling on the front door screen, trying to open it.

At the door stood the old Pinoy with the last few rays of sun outlining his
short, thin body -- he was looking through the screen. "You -- Charles!"

"Yes, come in." This was unsettling -- why was he here?  In his hand was a
small gym bag, the half-moon kind men used years ago. It was stained,
spotted and frayed and held something heavy.  "Have a seat. Soda?  We've
never been formally introduced..."

"I don't want anything." He looked a little awkward as he glanced around
the room. "I'm Rizaldy Reyes, old, uh, friend of Doby. They told me she's
dead -- I got a call from her. What's going on?"

"Yeah, Doby died." I nodded but recalled the name Reyes. He had the same
last name as Mr. Bigshot who'd hurt my Tomas. "Are you related to Bagwas
Reyes, famous guy on the islands?"

"My uncle.  Score settled tonight.  Get the cash box and count it all out."

"Cash box?  Score settled?"  I lied as convincingly as I could and a surge
of sweat emerged from every pore on my body. "You don't owe me any money."

He shifted on his feet, so did I, not sure of anything but my intuition
telling me to run -- but my legs wouldn't move.  Unexpectedly, the muscles
in my throat began tensing; closing.

With one quick glance in my peripheral vision - I saw Harlan with his phone
in front of his face.  He was watching this scenario unfold with his phone
in his hand from the dark side of the deck behind his plywood. I looked
down not to reveal any kind of activity outside the patio door.  When I
looked back up, Reez had pulled a gun from the bag, something short,
snub-nosed, it was blued metal and very compact. Looked real enough to get
me moving toward a non-existent cash box.

From fear I lied like a champ or a fool. "I'm not sure what you're talking
about. Maybe she left a note in the safe." I raised my hands and walked
slowly to Doby's room with him behind me, gun drawn.  Carefully, and
slowly, I took the framed landscape off the wall and started fiddling with
the tiny knob. "You know the gals already took the jewelry. Doby left it to
them in her will..."  I saw Harlan sneaking behind us through the dim
hallway, still recording.  I focused my eyes on the dial and opened the
empty safe and stuck my hand in the small space.  "Look.  Nothing here,
maybe we could look through her papers for a message or some idea what
you're talking about..."

"Cash is in the box with the purple flowers, queer.  Get it.  Now!"  He
waved the gun toward the closet.

"Oh, she kept it in the closet?" I squeaked.  By now, I was sweating as I
turned and started walking to the closet door.

"On the top shelf. Get the box. Now." Reez growled.

"Mr. Reyes, I'm not sure what you're talking about." I opened the closet
door and pushed the clothes hangers aside - there was Doby's formal. Ugh!
"Do you think she might have put it in the bank?  Was it a large amount?"

"Hundred-thousand. Hurry up, I hate faggots. You and Tomas -- filthy
queers. Disgusting."

"But isn't your brother a bit of a fairy himself?  You must know he kept
boys." Jumped out of my mouth.  Crap, I was going to make Reez mad enough
to pull the trigger, but that didn't happen.

"He always paid, but she treated me like her slave. I brought all the money
but she treated me like a stinking dog or she was going to tell everyone."

"Were you the one who brought Tomas to your brother? You made the
arrangements..." That was complete conjecture, but I was buying time for
Harlan to make some kind of plan to get this guy's gun out of my face.
Harlan was so close, still recording -- I could sense he had something in
mind.  I had to relax, watch and back him up when it happened.

In that moment, I had nothing but gratitude for Harlan.

"Shut up." Reez lifted the gun, pointing it at my face.  I could see Harlan
to the side and concentrated on not looking at him -- it would alert Reez.
I looked at Reez ugly, shiny face.  He was as scared as I was but
determined to get his money back.

"Alright, calm down. Didn't mean anything..."  I raised my hands
higher. "You're here for the cash. You don't want to give me anything but a
bullet and burglarize my home." I turned to the closet again, looking
upward to the shelf above the clothes but glanced over my shoulder when I
saw a quick motion behind Reez.

Harlan slipped his phone in his pocket and raised his right hand, stepped
to the right side of Reez then in one quick motion, brought the side of his
hand down fast on Reez' wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand to the
floor.  Instantly, I kicked it under the bed as Harlan grabbed Reez' wrist
and pulled it behind his back and wrapped his forearm at the shaking
Pinoy's neck.  Being at least a foot taller than the old man, Harlan got a
secure grip on him quickly.

Reez grabbed at Harlan's forearm, surprised and grunting trying to pull it
away from his neck. The muscles in Harlan's forearm were like cables and
flexing, pressing against the man's Adam's apple, partially closing his
throat.

"Don't fight me. I can kill you with one squeeze." Harlan spat and pulled
his forearm harder into the man's neck causing Reez' face to redden and the
old man grimaced, wheezing. Then, Harlan backed off a little and let the
man breathe.

"Queer!  I spit on you..." The Pinoy grunted immediately.

The pressure went back on the man's neck again, "That's me, your queer
insurance salesman. Got life insurance, double indemnity by chance?"  He
pulled the man's arm up higher behind his back causing Reez to moan. Then
he turned the captive man and pushed him toward the hallway, with his arm
still bent painfully taught behind his back. Harlan had the advantage of
bulk and height -- the old man tried but wasn't any match for Harlan.

***


Sitting him on a kitchen chair, with his arm still behind him and his neck
firmly held in the bend of Harlan's arm, "Bring my wire from the deck. This
punk's gonna pay for pulling a gun. Tie his hands behind him first..."

I brought back the wire and the cutters -- one plain iron wire, the other
insulated, kinda springy. In short order, Harlan and I had Reez secured to
the chair with his legs splayed. In Reez' bag, Harlan and found a hunting
knife, pulled it out and thumbed the sharp edge of the blade grinning. It
was about five inches long and sharp.  I was so glad Maki wasn't here --
this could have become a very dark scene with a very bitter ending.

Holding the knife, flashing it in the light of the room, "What on earth
were you thinking of doing?  Dismemberment?  Tch!  Tch!  So messy!  Damn
blood gets all over your designer jeans."  Harlan grinned and took the
knife and split the man's chinos off his legs, then pulled the front away
from his crotch.  He split the man's pants over his crotch, then he pulled
the thin cotton of his boxers forward and cut them away. A short, grayish,
uncut penis flopped down over his dark, red balls.  Reez' eyes were huge,
following Harlan's hand with the knife.

Harlan stood in front of him, "Think fairies can't protect themselves?
Pansy boys don't have any guts?  Wrong!"  Harlan waved the knife in front
of the man's face, touching his nostrils and across his cheeks, giving the
man an evil look, wincing his eyes. "So wrong."  Harlan was enjoying this
way too much.

The old man started screaming. Harlan slapped him hard on the side of his
face, grabbed a kitchen towel and shoved it in his mouth, then cut a strip
wire and tied the towel tightly in place with the old man's head secured at
the back of the chair.

"Should I call the police?" By now, my knees were shaking, though the old
man wasn't able to move, Harlan looked and sounded like a devil.  Then I
realized how stupid that question was.  Harlan would be hauled off along
with Reez.

"No, don't call anyone.  This perv is going to have a bench trial with
Honorable Judge Harlan. Aren't you?"  He stared at the old man.  Harlan
handed me the knife, "Keep an eye on him." He went to the study. In a few
moments he returned with a small video camera. "Let's get a
confession. Keep it on this joker's sorry face."

As Harlan unwound the wire and took the towel...  "He was involved with
trafficking Tomas..."  I whispered.  "We need to keep him alive to face
charges."  Then, I realized that was my stupidity again -- Judge Harlan
probably had his own sentencing system.

As I opened the camera and figured out how to work it, "What do you have
this camera for? You're not recording me, are you?" I asked the Honorable
Judge Harlan.

"Daily updates on the train layout for my dad. Some with Maki -- stuff I
like. I can video you, if you give me some action to record."  I ignored
that and stepped back behind Harlan with the camera.

Harlan was wincing and running the tip of the knife blade on the inside of
the man's thighs causing him to jerk. "Home invasion, huh?  Well, I got it
on my phone. Now, explain about this money you think Charles has -- c'mon,
spill it or lose your lips." The tip of the knife tapped the man's
chin. "Start with what happened when you met Tomas."

At first, Reez didn't say anything until Harlan grabbed a tuft of pubic
hair at the man's groin and shaved it near the skin, showed it to
Reez. "Hmmm.  Sharp enough to shave your balls."  He smiled and gave Reez a
cold look, "My hands get shaky when I don't hear you answer my questions --
c'mon, tell me about Tomas."

Silence until Harlan slipped the tip of the knife under Reez' foreskin and
lifted the small, shy penis.  "Talk!"  Harlan screamed, startling both me
and Reez.

Reez' face was shining with sweat, "Uncle paid me to bring him the boy --
Tomas' father didn't want a sissy-boy."

"How much did he pay you?"  Harlan was using a different voice now --
almost a growl.

"Five-hundred to buy the boy and a hundred to bring him."

"For the afternoon, for the night -- what?"

"For -- forever. I don't know...  Never saw them again." My throat started
to close, my breathing almost stopped.

"What did he do to Tomas?" Harlan snarled.

At this point, the old man hesitated until Harlan pulled some more of the
hair from the man's scrotum, tugging hard and cut it -- he shoved it in his
face. "Your balls are coming off next or would you like to see the inside
of your kneecaps?  This sissy-boy loves the smell of blood -- fresh meat."
Harlan gave him a few flicks of the knife on the sides of his knees.

"Always he tortured them. He said he wouldn't kill Tomas -- he said he
would give him to me when he was done. Tomas was pretty."

"How many boys did your uncle buy and kill?"  Harlan brought the knife back
to the man's balls.  The old man went silent. Now, the tip of the knife was
at the man's glans, Harlan was pushing the tip into his pee slit. "How
many?" He wiggled the blade of the knife, grinning.

"Twenty or thirty before I left -- I didn't count." The old man looked
away. Harlan looked at me.

"What happened with Tomas?"  Harlan snarled and had to slap the man a few
times to get him to talk.

"He screamed, fought too much. Uncle yelled at me. I took Tomas to Pasig --
to the docks."

"Was Tomas hurt?  Was he conscious?"  Harlan's face was red by now, and the
old man dripped pee.

"Bleeding, I hid him in a metal container. Tomas wouldn't stop fighting."
I squinched my face tight to keep from crying but tears came.

"You tried to kill Tomas?" Harlan lifted the man's chin with the point of
the knife.

The old man looked aside. "Not if he stopped fighting. I tried to scare him
to calm down -- locked him in a container, but the ropes were loose.  I
didn't have time to tie him again. He escaped from the metal box that night
-- ran away. Someone got him off the island and out of the country fast. He
showed up here with Doby. Uncle told me to come and pay off Doby, take the
boy for myself."

"So, uncle gave you the hush-money and you brought it to Doby to keep her
from telling the police, right?  Now that Doby's dead, you were going to
kill Charles for the cash as compensation for losing a pretty houseboy?
How did you know Doby didn't spend the money?"

"She said it was Tomas' money and it would never be enough..."

"You know the police went over this place after Doby's death. They didn't
find anything, what makes you think Charles has any money?"

"He had to know where the money was -- he was Charles' lover-boy, he lived
with Doby.  He had to have the money now Tomas and Doby are dead."

"There's no cash here -- no cash box and you just landed yourself in jail
for attempted murder all over nothing, asshole." Harlan seemed to like
flicking that man's foreskin and pee slit with the tip of the knife. "Did
any of your friends or family know about the cash?'

"Only Bagwas.  He has someone else bringing boys now -- doesn't care
anymore about the cash.  Doby's dead so is Tomas -- they can't say
anything."  Tears began to stream down the old man's face.  "Tomas was the
prettiest..." He choked out. "He was mine, but she never let him out,
stayed with him all the time, like a mother tiger. Had to bring money to
bingo while girls kept him -- then he got too old -- too big."

"Get his ID." Harlan nodded at me. I felt on Reez' pockets, then went to
the bag and found a thin, nylon wallet. Driver's license, insurance card, a
fin, green card - not much.  Harlan took the driver's license and the green
card. "Hold these next to his face." I held a card on each side of the
man's cheeks, standing behind him. Harlan aimed the camera at the man's
face.

"You got a house boy now?  Tight little butt waiting at home for your
stinking prick?"  Harlan asked holding the camera in one hand and the knife
in the other. "What's his name, or do you call them all Tomas?"  Damn,
Harlan was brutal.  He swiped the man's glans with the tip of the knife
blade.  I saw a droplet of blood emerge.

Reez looked to the side again.

"Answer me or choke on your own balls!"  Harlan screamed, pressing the tip
of the blade into the man's balls, enough to let him know he'd cut if he
had to. "Do you want to visit the desert where the ants will strip your
bones in a few days after the wolves rip you apart?"

"I don't torture." He snorted, as though it made him suddenly
innocent. "Only whip."

"Did you kill Doby to steal the money?"

The old man was silent for a while, sweat dripping from his face, running
down his neck. He peed a little again, "Fuck you. You know nothing about me
or Doby -- she didn't have to treat me like her slave."

"Slave?  And what are you doing with those boys, Massa Reez?"

***


Harlan grabbed the cards I was holding and went to the study leaving me
alone with Reez.

"What's he doing?" Reez asked.

"I don't know." I went to the kitchen, dampened a few towels and wiped the
man's face and wiped his pee off the floor. "Did you kill Doby?"

"Had to. She can't have both. You moved in here with them, screwed up my
plan. She owed me money -- Tomas was too old to fuck. I couldn't find the
box before you came from work."

He'd planned to kill both of them...  A lot of Doby's maneuverings made
sense now. "Why didn't Tomas ever recognize you and turn you in to the
police before?"

"Made all arrangements for kidnapping boy from his father and blindfolded
him.  Uncle taped their eyes and mouth shut and plastic-wrapped their heads
-- two holes for breathing. Tied hands and feet. Tomas knew nothing -- I
always whisper.  He didn't know my voice."

"Plastic-wrapped their heads?"  Damn, that was cruel - I was stunned. My
guts turned and in an instant the hollow, empty feeling came. But I
returned to situation in front of me when the old man spoke: "Uncle will
want to kill me now. Jail is a good place for me."

 "You may be a houseboy in the county jail." I said knowing their treatment
of inmates.

He just looked at me. "Never."

***


After about fifteen minutes, Harlan came back to the kitchen. "Two
undercovers are on their way. Don't touch the gun." He handed me a new
plastic bag. I went into the closet and took Doby's formal off the hanger
and threw it on the bed. With the hook of the hanger, I fished the gun from
under the bed and carefully placed it in the bag and sealed it shut.

No flashing lights, no sirens. The two undercover agents with several
uniformed officers in tow came to the door and looked at the old man with
his hands secured and his pants cut off, his shirt soaked with sweat.

Harlan already sent them the video confession, "You have someone at his
house now?"

"Yeah. Thanks -- we can't use these, uh, interrogation methods. You're
facing charges." One of the uniformed officers quipped.

"They'll be dismissed. I was protecting myself in my home and fuckface
isn't hurt though I was waiting for an excuse to kill him."

"Let's go downtown and get a statement. Both of you." One of the officers
said to us.

As the agents unwound the wire from Reez I brought a pair of Tomas old
sweat pants, way too big for the man, but I was able to give him some
dignity for what he was about to face. Pulling the drawstring tight around
his waist, "It's going to get worse from now on. You're going to the jail
where Tomas was killed."

He looked at me, not knowing what I meant but resigned to his fate. I
packed his ID, wallet and the knife in his bag and handed it to the agent
as Reez was cuffed.

Three hours later we were still answering all the questions at the
station. Harlan and I stayed very dumb about any money. Nope, neither of us
knew a thing. Reez must be lying about something more than what he'd
already confessed to, maybe it was related to some a gun or drug deal. Doby
could have gambled it away at the casino. We knew nothing about it except
now we knew the money was probably clean enough to use.

The video recording was very smart. It alerted a number of agencies on the
West Coast and on the islands. Unfortunately, Reez was transferred to a
federal prison, not the county jail, but probably someone's houseboy
anyway.


Como Una Sonrisa



A strange buzzing, anxious feeling followed me at work the next day; I
pushed through it. At home, the house was empty, I got a text message that
Harlan had to go to a hearing for keeping the old man hostage. As I napped,
I heard footsteps, but too tired to get up. The bed shook, Maki was jumping
on the mattress telling me he got his own train set.

"Okay. Okay, let me rest a little longer." I heard Harlan's voice, Maki and
a woman's voice but didn't bother getting up. I slept for another hour and
got up to find Marisol in the study -- she'd be staying with us for a week,
and Harlan taking care of Maki. Marisol and several other women were coming
to meet with the attorneys to give complete statements about their
treatment in the county jail in the study.  Statements, photos and evidence
were being neatly organized and building a mountain of evidence against the
contractors.  My home was the unofficial "night office" for my attorney
meeting with people who didn't want to go to the center where they'd set up
a temporary office.

My stomach tensed thinking I'd have to go to court and testify, but I'd
reviewed my notes and I was ready to give concise answers. Enough time had
passed; enough strength from others salted my anxiety that I could explain
without tears.

We had to eat dinner at the coffee table -- the deck was filled with
Harlan's miniature village, growing more detailed every day; the dining
table was strewn with Maki's toy train. Damn if Harlan hadn't let him use
the big serving tray for his own small red and yellow train. Leaves, rocks
and glue covered the top. Maki was flying around the dining table with a
whole bottle of white glue dabbing and rearranging his leaves and the train
tracks like Harlan did. I saw him snitch a handful of that damned green
sawdust and trail it into the house for his miniature deer. He filled the
spaces between the ties with it.

His deer? Deer on the train tracks?  That didn't sound good, but I smiled
and let him enjoy his mess, "Good job."

***


For the next week, my home felt like I was living in a bus station --
people coming and going, some of the people who'd been in the jail,
attorneys, paralegals prepping people for depositions. Families and lovers
used the study to give their statements and ask questions of the
lawyers. Since most people worked during the day, the met to offer support
and comfort to each other as they waited for their turns.  Women came to
talk and console each other regarding their experiences at the
jail. Anticipation was building about the going to court.  It felt odd at
first -- all these strangers meeting in my home, but I realized they were
as alone as I was for the months after the deaths.  We weren't alone any
longer!

Judge Harlan had attended the previous meetings with the attorneys -- he
relished the adversarial nature of the courts -- the strategies and the
boxing the contractors into a corner when they could. Through disclosure
and discovery, he and Chris kept me apprised of the steps that my lawsuit
was taking toward the courtroom. That information was unsettling, and I
doubted if I could go through all the stress and pain of being reminded of
Tomas' death again. Harlan didn't say much, knowing it disturbed me -- he
only said it was "procedural."

I continued going to work never knowing who that was sleeping on the couch
or the study through those weeks. Harlan started shopping in bulk and kept
the coffee pot full. We filled the cooler with water and drinks. The slow
cooker was filled every day and Harlan made enough to keep the flow of
strangers, family and friends fed and comfortable as the evidence and
statements piled up against the contractors running the jail. I felt like
each person had a bit of Tomas in their souls, and we all became more
courageous through those evenings.  This was expensive affair and I
considered it an honor to support these brave people.

Then, fireworks hit the news. A Legal Guild attorney filed a complaint
against the contractors only a week before my trial was scheduled to begin
-- Marisol was bringing them to court for her assaults and injuries. Photos
of her bruised face and some horrific details were in the newspapers and
alluded to on the news. The court of public opinion was being stoked. The
jury pool was being introduced to what they'd see in my suit.

I imagined the company running the jail had their over-nighters catered --
they'd cooked up a plan to go defunct to dodge the lawsuits that were
looming in their future. They planned to open another company and buy the
contract -- a new start sans legal issues. Not permitted!  All those
dealings were uncovered before they hit the county board. The CEO and his
cohorts were at the center of a storm of problems with no way out but
through the courts.

At work, the people around my cubicle kept track of the proceedings and
asked me about how things were going, several offered to help in different
ways. I took advantage of their offers and found myself hauling crates of
sodas, water, coffee, paper cups, sugar, creamer home every day. They were
good to me again. One of them asked how much money I was going to get out
of it.

"Don't know. Never thought about it -- I'm doing this for Tomas and the
others..."

"You're going to come out way ahead financially. Smart move." He gave me a
dirty look. "But you'll be a marked man in this county. Expect harassment
from the sheriffs. You'll get a ticket every time you leave your house from
the brotherhood of the badge."

Considering all that had happened in my life so far. "Trouble's nothing
new." That's why I'd stayed "neutral" all the years. That strategy didn't
work anymore. The money, well, I didn't know how much it would be after all
the lawyers and whatever else, but I began thinking about the cash in the
storage shed. Never had enough money to know how to really enjoy it; I was
not planning on going to the casino with it.

In the human resources office, I turned in notice to be out for a while --
the trial started the next day. They called me a hero -- but they were
looking at me from the outside. I was no hero; still the victim along with
Tomas and Doby, so many others...

Still didn't know how to start forgiving myself for allowing Tomas to be
taken -- that thought chaffed my brain constantly.  Self-forgiveness was
impossible.

***


That night, the house was quiet, all the legal bullets were in the
cylinders, ready to be fired. I was tired and went to bed. Harlan came
in. "Anyone sleeping over tonight?"  I asked.

"No -- gone home to get ready to be in the courtroom tomorrow. Those women
have my Maki tonight. Dang it."

"Thanks for all your help." I kissed his cheek. "You're a regular
Susie-Homemaker. Never would have guessed..."

"Gimme a break."

"What?"

"Yeah, gimme a break. I'm not the old hustler anymore -- the old man at the
end of the bar sizing up the fresh meat. Had enough of that."

"What happened?"

"I think it's being around Maki..."  He took me in his arms. "Don't want
that life anymore. Somehow, someway I got hit with insight. I'm a pitiful
old guy with nothing, only a hard cock in the middle of stoned, needy kids
and a couple of hours to kill. I've used those young guys like Reez Reyes
used the kids.  Never fucked any boys -- well they weren't boys legally,
but they were so immature and naive -- I feel like a perv. So, I stopped
and I don't miss it. I'm happy here, it's not as boring as I thought it
would be and I'm finally accomplishing something."

"You can always go back -- always a fresh wave of young faces at the
Hitchin' Post."

"Hmmm. To be honest, I'm tired of running -- thinking about going back to
work full-time or going back to school."

Like coming to the last few pages of a good book, his realization and a
resolution had arrived, I turned to him and brought his face to mine and
kissed his lips. He pulled me on his chest and rubbed my
back. Skin-to-skin, moist, warm and the smell of an unwashed man rose
around me. He didn't do anything but hold me against him, still and quiet.
I closed my eyes.

"If I work full-time, I can get one of those pre-paid college plans." He
whispered. "I can sock away a few bills for Maki's education."

I kissed his neck, "Thanks."

His hands went to by butt, and he moved me gently on his chest, causing my
erection to fill.

"No."

"Shhh." His right hand found my ass, and his left reached through my legs,
rubbing my balls, tugging. I couldn't stop myself -- I started hunching
against him with my arms around his neck and my face near his clavicle. I
kissed the skin on his neck and felt his bush of graying chest hair on my
chin. Unnoticeably I relaxed and deeply inhaled in the smell of him. The
tightness around my sacrum sent bolts of lust to my brain, and the magic
happened, I moaned loudly into Harlan's chest as I felt rush after rush of
hot cum coursing through and up and out -- again, again, again. I kept
pushing and rubbing my cum onto him - until nothing by empty attempts drove
my hips.  My sweat and cum made clicking sounds that filled the silence of
the room.  Other than stroking myself, I'd never cum without a lover or a
fantasy.  I just did and it felt good, but half way...

Even when I tried to move away, Harlan kept me on his chest, stroking my
back. "Do you think you could ever love me?"

That question took a long time to answer, but finally -- "Tomas is still
here."

We fell asleep.

***


Over coffee, and in my only suit, I asked Harlan, "When are you going back
to work full-time?"

"After the trial."

In silence, we left early for the courthouse, having to park ten blocks
away. The whole morning in court was spent wrangling about technicalities
in the law and jury instructions. I waited aside my attorney. When we broke
for lunch, I saw Harlan, "Where you been?"

"Had to find you something other than this jacket. Where'd you get that rag
- thrift store in Belize?"

"Judge doesn't care.  My lawyer didn't say anything."

"News crews are videotaping everyone coming and going -- you're going out
all over the US, probably the world. BBC reporters in the hall; Al-J want
to interview you."

"I'd prefer a gray cardigan, maybe brown -- the kind with the elbow
patches."

"You would, you dweeb -- you want bifocals on those string things to hang
around your neck, too?  You're going to wear a snappy jacket and a tie
every day. Don't you realize who you're representing?"

Well, I began actually thinking about my clothes, and Harlan had me get my
teeth bleached -- I didn't like that, but suddenly I looked tanned and
healthy. Got a different hair style as well. Didn't like that either -- had
to use gel to keep my cowlicks down. I forgot about all that when I nodded
at the reporters and repeated my message patiently to each of them. "Brutal
deaths and cover-ups can't continue -- it's up to us to stop it."

That week was tiring, and I did well on the stand. I carefully listened to
the question, asking for repetition until I could determine if I was being
asked for an opinion. Had to avoid that -- only the facts that I knew. Some
of the questions were pointed and meant to rattle me. I kept my eye on
Harlan when it got tough. He'd give me a nod or a smile, sometimes he'd
look away, helping me decide before I spoke. My words had to leave no doubt
in anyone's mind about Tomas, me, his mental health challenges or our
relationship -- no doubt about his innocence after my home invasion by Reez
Reyes. And there was no doubt about our loving relationship with Doby or
among our family.

The psychiatrist I'd called to help me was supportive but left a big blank
about Tomas' paranoia -- mental conditions are not a black and white topic
-- his answers left the jury in a gray area. "It's possible, maybe...
Tomas could have become violent in the jail..."  That wasn't so good, but
other doctors from the hospital and day program were informative and it
appeared they helped with statistics and their personal experiences with
Tomas.

Then, there the independent pathologist was called to the stand. I almost
had to leave the courtroom. Tomas was brutalized, repeatedly. Raped with
"foreign objects," kicked, beaten -- so hard that his teeth were chipped
and knocked out, his spleen ruptured and a kidney detached; bruises on his
wrists and ankles -- no one knew if he was restrained, but it looked like
he was. His forearms were blackened from trying to defend himself. The
lawyer shoved the trash can beside my chair when they brought the photos --
I must have turned green. I couldn't look at the pictures of my lover's
mangled body. No, they didn't check for any DNA evidence left in his
bleeding rectum or on his skin. Seems the jumpsuit he'd worn in jail had
vanished.

Then, a parade of experts filed through, investigators, expert witnesses...
It was slow going, but after six days we finished presenting our
information to the judge and jury.

***


The attorneys representing the contractors looked slick, they'd been flown
in from New York. They were paid the big bucks to guard the contract worth
billions of dollars through the years and from the very beginning they took
the wrong step, it appeared. In Italian suits costing thousands of dollars,
they came out of the chute playing the "good ol' boys," with an air of
nonchalance about Tomas' death. Yeah, they acted like they were there as a
favor to us, straighten out this little knot, ready to dust their hands of
the matter and go home. They were there to clarify to me and the citizens
on the nature of a jail -- to enlighten all us idiot children.

The jail, they said, was providing an important, needed security service
for the citizenry -- discounting the lives lost and sweeping the sexual
elements that were clearly defined to the side. "Of course, there'll be
problems -- there are way more criminals than staff! Not so many people
want to work in a jail and the contract disallows a robust wage for our
fine staff -- they're people dedicated to keeping the public safe." They
didn't say it, but the "boys will be boys" attitude colored their
statements. It seemed to me they alluded to the fact that the staff wasn't
paid much, they got their bonuses off the inmates. Did they just admit they
were hiring rapists and sadists at just above minimum wage? I was appalled
but remembered the jury may well have been thinking my same thoughts.

The judge had seen enough in her time to see through the façade the
attorneys were creating. Didn't seem to me things were going too well, but
I remained stone-faced through their strategies thinking of Tomas and that
I'd put him there. The jury was quiet, taking a few notes but listening
intently.

The days wore on. I was looking forward to the end of this. Every night
some bigwig from the center or the community wanted to take me to
dinner. Harlan held them off -- though I was sitting all day, it was
tiring. I kept wondering if any of the testimony had triggered someone in
the county to take action about the contract -- maybe the state would come
in on this matter. What was happening behind closed doors of the people who
had to run for reelection?  Then, I wondered if the contractors had enough
money to buy off all the county prosecutors where the contractors were
running other jails. There were more civil cases behind mine - Marisol's
suit, and families filing complaints for the deaths of other men, then the
women who'd been raped...

Nights, Harlan laid out my clothes for the next day. Sometimes we went to
the gym. I missed Doby's cooking and I really missed my Maki so I sat on
the deck in the evenings watching Harlan, listening to music.

That damned piece of plywood was filling in with trees and shrubbery and a
gay bar, of course. He'd carefully trim and glue twigs and more of that
damn green sawdust and found some more different kinds of flaky stuff to
track through the house. Still, a circle of pea gravel rattled in the
bottom of the dishwasher. There was some glitter he mixed in with sand to
make a beach. Colored fish tank gravel made an appearance -- with white
glue and tweezers, he placed each piece. He was really enjoying my
hobby. Thanks, Harlan.

Every night we slept together as brothers. Somehow, I could feel what he
was thinking -- he was concerned about the trial and what would happen if
we couldn't pin the contractors to Tomas' death. There was a lot riding on
this verdict and not just for me.  Could he take another of my meltdowns?

***


The next week, closing statements were presented. My attorneys had
forty-eight photos blown up to eighteen by twenty-four inches and mounted
on cardboard sitting on an easel in front of the judge and jury. As they
presented their statement, they paused at every point they emphasized and
read the name of the person in the photo with the date they died, injuries
sustained and cause of death. The next to last portrait was my smiling
Tomas. My eyes filled with tears as they read the list of injuries they'd
found that caused his death.

I put my head down on my arms, silently sobbing, I couldn't hold it
back. Glad I did, the last photo they'd blown up was of Tomas face at the
autopsy. When I lifted my head, I looked to the jury though I'd been
advised not to -- they were dabbing their eyes, some were overwhelmed. Some
faces blanched and some turned away.

Then, we were finished.

Of course, the attorneys for the contractors stressed the point that Tomas'
behavior was more than problematic -- he was a paranoid schizophrenic after
all. "Bound to explode sooner or later..."  They ranted on about how
criminal minds were devious and sneaky, and jail was not a hotel. Though
everything they said seemed true from their perspective, they were clearly
salving the minds of the jury about making a difficult decision toward
public safety. They reinforced every negative stereotype about people with
disabilities, homosexuals, addicts, alcoholics and piled it high and deep.

That night, I went home with Harlan feeling empty. It was a silent
trip. Chris and Melanie brought Maki and dinner. From the time we opened
the door people were calling and coming by to wish us the best. Islanders,
board members from the center, people from Tomas' memorial and the
march. The house was packed like a party, but the mood was somber.

I remember sitting on the couch, it was about 10:15, the local news was on,
Maki sleeping on my lap.  The reporter with the toupee who'd interviewed me
interrupted the weather with breaking news. I looked up to see his face
beside the face of a young man, "Another unexplained death in the county
jail. Our reporter on the scene..."

"Look." The room went silent as everyone listened. A young man was picked
up in the Hillcrest area, suspected of dealing drugs. While he was being
held, he committed suicide.

"No." Harlan said.

This would color the outcome of our case tomorrow -- the jury wasn't
sequestered.

There was no joy in the room, though we knew it would impact the
decision. People gave me hugs and kisses as they left silently. I was
sitting with my Maki listening to Harlan clean up the last of the food with
tears running down my face. I wondered if that boy's parents were as numbed
as I was when I found out about Tomas. Hillcrest was renowned for gay
haunts. Was the boy gay -- what happened? I undressed my Maki and tucked
him in bed and crawled in beside him waiting for Harlan to turn out the
lamp. Stunned all over again, I couldn't speak -- again not enough energy
to be angry.

"You okay?"  Harlan whispered.

"I feel like all of the work and all of the effort -- for nothing. Another
death -- we can't seem to stop them."

"This game isn't over yet and the verdict doesn't matter. You've already
won by exposing all that's happening. Something's gonna have to give soon
or break down completely."

***


Maki came to court with us the next day with a baggie full of tiny fish
crackers. There weren't too many people in the hallways yet. I went in and
assumed my seat, checking my emails. Harlan was sitting outside somewhere
entertaining Maki who was probably entertaining everyone he could snag. I
heard people filtering into the room behind me. Before long, my attorneys
came and sat beside me, "You heard the news last night, right?"

I nodded.

"It's probably going to influence the jury." She said.

"We'll see." I was tired of all the stress and being reminded of all the
pain, recriminations...  "It won't bring Tomas back, and we don't seem to
be able to stop this." I didn't say anything more feeling defeated.

Attorneys, bailiff and others came as the room filled. The court reporter
situated himself and we waited for the judge and jury. I opened my phone on
my lap and looked through the photos of Tomas. We were called to order; I
stood mimicking the lawyer's moves detached from the proceedings.

For some reason I started feeling closed in. I wanted to leave all this,
escape from life, all this craziness when everyone in the room knew what
the problem was -- profits trumped life; the criminals ran the jail. A
deep, rough scratching started deep inside my chest. I began to breathe
rapidly. Self-pity, exhaustion, I don't know what it was, I had to
leave. Claustrophobic feelings shot through me and my body tensed, I began
breathing harder. Nauseated, I was getting light-headed.

"I'm going to have to leave for a moment." I leaned and whispered to the
paralegal, the judge was speaking with the lawyers.

"Wait." My lawyer said and grabbed my forearm.

I stood and walked out of the courtroom to see the seats filled -- familiar
faces. I looked for Harlan, my anchor in all this. Didn't see him. I walked
the aisle and opened the door to be met with a crowd of news people; they
swarmed me -- with my head down and waved them away. Harlan was at the end
of the hall with Maki.

When he saw me he stood and came, "Why aren't you in there?  They're ready
to read the verdict."

"I feel sick."

"Not now -- get the fuck back in there! Whatever happens, the way people
see you act now will show them how to keep their dignity despite all the
crap. Have you stopped to consider how many people feel as sick as you do
now?  All those families...  The partners of the men who died?  Get back in
there and get your verdict and shine -- no matter what happens."

We stared at each other.

"Finish it - for Tomas." He said and turned away.

Numb. I felt like the steel ball in a pinball game bouncing from one place
to the next -- not knowing where I was going or what I'd hit next. I simply
walked back into the courtroom and sat next to the attorneys.

Back in the courtroom, I stared ahead, not listening, occasionally glancing
at photos of Tomas on my phone. "If there was a time I needed you with me,
it's right now." I thought, and my eyes began to sting. A sharp poke in my
ribs jarred me from my reverie.

"Unanimous verdict." She said. Her words didn't register.  I looked at the
jurors, some were smiling at me. They were standing, leaving the box.

"What?"

"In your favor..."  I couldn't hear any more than that with the voices of
the people behind me. Hands reached for me to pat my shoulders, smiling
faces all congratulating me. I was stunned yet felt unattached to the
activity around me. In the back of the room was Harlan, smiling at me with
Maki dozing on his shoulder. Biting my lip, I walked beside my attorney up
the aisle to the waiting news cameras, still feeling like I wasn't fully
inhabiting my body.

Through all the smiles, hugs and shoulder patting, I was pushed forward to
the hallway. There was a line of reporters, I couldn't tell where they all
came from but I knew my face was being beamed around the world; I forced a
half-smile. The attorney's representing the contractors passed quickly
trying to avoid the swarm of reporters shouting and shoving their mics in
front of their faces.  Chris and Melanie appeared on both sides of me and
held my arms as we were jostled about in the chaos.

With all the patience I could gather though a tumult of feelings, my mind
defaulted into repeating my previous pleas to the media only saying the
deaths had to stop, "It's up to us." They continued hounding me for more
information -- they wanted stunning statements that would up their ratings
off our sorrow.

Chris and Melanie took questions answering them more frankly about our
loss. We worked our way through the interviews. I took my cue from Melanie
and being very careful with my words, speaking in soundbites, and I wanted
my message about my love for Tomas and his brutal and unnecessary death
clear -- and funded by taxpayers through the contractors. "We're all
complicit in these deaths."

Occasionally, I got a glimpse of Harlan and Maki behind the crowd. Odd to
see that big old rounder carrying a toy bag and holding a slip of a child
on his big chest. There were orange fish-cracker crumbs on his lapel.  That
brought a small, weak smile.

Outside the courthouse, Chris, Melanie and I were shuffled to a make-shift
podium -- so many people from the march were there holding signs and
cheering. I stayed low-key, operating on my last few molecules of
adrenalin. Couldn't manage much expression, but I stood between Chris and
Melanie and let them speak for me.  We shook hands and hugged what felt
like hundreds of people.  Harlan, thankfully brought the car around and
picked us up after we said our thanks and mentioned all the lawyers by
name; all the organizations that helped.

All the faces - the noise!  I smiled weakly through the chaos and was glad
to hear the doors lock from inside the car. We dropped Maki and the gals
off at their house and went home. The phone was blinking with messages, the
emails were pinging on the computer. Needing to be alone, I went to the
deck, opened the patio door and immediately closed it. Skunk!

"Harlan!"  What wasn't glued or screwed on the plywood was scattered over
the deck. His supplies and a whole bag of that damned green sawdust were
scattered everywhere. I grabbed a can of supplement and went to lie
down. Thanks, Harlan.

Must have slept several hours. I heard Harlan on his phone, and on the
computer for a long time, then I smelled skunk. He cussed and hosed down
the deck. At around seven, he came into the bedroom, sweaty with a faint
whiff of vinegar and pine oil around him.

"Good news."

"Yeah?"

"Found the problem -- Maki hid some pizza and grass inside the tunnel and
blocked both ends with my boulders."

"Let's rethink my hobby, okay?"  I knew Maki loved his small train and
helping Harlan, but this was getting out of hand. Not working for me.

"Always thinking -- can't you stay in the moment? Be spontaneous! Let's go
out tonight and celebrate."

"Here's a spontaneous reaction specifically for this moment. Go shower!
You still stink." I snapped.

He left in a huff. I considered what he said, but it seemed like I was
spending a lot of time recently reacting internally to everything that had
happened. It all happened so fast, the changes and the implications of all
that I'd created was enormous.  My body immediately responded before I
could sort things out and put them in perspective -- I kept myself quiet,
thinking and trying to gain some balance. It had been an impossible task
for me.  The attorneys warned me about showing any hatred and spitting
curses; by will power alone I'd kept it all in. Chris and Melanie didn't
want me to be a bad example to Maki, and I was still feeling so much grief
and disorientation from my courtroom persona. Too much, too fast. I needed
my routine, work and time to let all this settle down inside me.

But maybe I could ride the tide for a few hours -- just relax and do
something different.  A vacation was out of the question, but there was a
micro-vacationland close by.  One of the guys at work took his dates across
the border for the weekends or overnight.  Time completely away from all
this might help...

Harlan came back after his shower with only a towel, "You can sniff me
now." I smirked as he sat on the bed beside me. "Still thinking?"

"Yeah.  It's hard to make all these changes so fast -- I'm still guilty
about Tomas being in the jail, Doby's murder and my son -- he's still a
surprise...  I know there's a lot to celebrate, but I'm more low-key -- I
need to get grounded in my life and my body somehow."

He sat on the bed beside me and stroked along my thigh.  "The closest I've
ever come to having any real danger in my life was when that old man came
in...  I saw you watching me -- we made a good team that night."  He only
sighed.  "I was at the big hardware store with Maki -- we found some alarms
that sound if the doors are opened.  I'm gonna get some and put them on the
doors and the front windows...  Whadda ya' think?  Don't want a gun around
that boy -- he's too curious...."

In that moment I realized that Harlan's priorities had truly changed --
something inside me that was holding the man at arm's length dissolved,
"Can you call in tomorrow?  I think a short vacation is in order -- for
both of us.  Can you spare forty-eight hours?"

Harlan turned his head, thinking, "I have plans."

"Can't you reschedule your clients?  Let's go down to Rosarito at the old
hotel -- swim and play around, have a good time.  No dumplings but great
empanadas, I hear."

He stared at me, then leaned over and kissed me tenderly.  "Hate to tell
you this, but I'm taking Maki to the zoo tomorrow -- he wants to see the
koalas, and I promised."

"Where's my phone?"  He watched me call Chris and Melanie.  We packed a few
things and left to pick up my boy, then headed south to Rosarito Beach.
Maki slept on the back seat.  Harlan carried him into the lobby while I got
us a room with a small patio and ordered a bottle of Santo Tomas and a
plate of appetizers.  We got a lifted eyebrow from the woman at the desk
until I asked about the play area for my son and his uncle.  She slid a map
of the premises across the counter.

Hurriedly, I put Maki to bed, and asked Harlan to open the wine.  "He'll
get up at seven tomorrow -- hungry and ready to play, so I'm going to cut
to the chase..."  Suddenly I was out of words.


Una Guitarra En La Noche...



We stood together on the patio, sipping a wonderful cabernet, listening to
the music from below.  Harlan took my glass of wine and set it down.
Without a word, he pulled me to him and we stepped and swayed slowly to the
music from the club below us.  Needing to tell him, I kissed him, "Thanks
for staying with me -- helping and, saving my life.  If you hadn't been
there, I'd be dead and my Maki without a father..."

"Shhh."  He kissed me, then, "The night you called me with that crazy
scheme about Tomas I went along for the novelty -- just to see what would
happen."  He sighed and pressed my head against his shoulder, "When I heard
you tell him how much you loved him, I -- well, that was the moment I
realized how empty my life was...  that, and knowing you'd stayed with him
through all his problems...  It was hard to dismiss that without tears, so
I fell back into my old from working with the families -- I was pushing
forward with my own, well -- um, discomfort."  Rubbing my hair, "Different,
but hard."

Harlan ordered another bottle of wine sent up and we sat on the patio
watching the lights of the boats passing on the horizon.  I reached over
and held his hand for a moment, "Tomas and I never married -- I was afraid
of a divorce -- I thought that was the worst thing that could happen...
Now I know better."  I swallowed hard and asked, "Would you consider an
engagement and set a date with me?"

Silence.  I felt somewhat foolish for approaching marriage from a sideways
angle; I stared at the horizon waiting.

Finally, I looked over at Harlan and for the first time in my life, I saw
tears streaming down his face.  I waited -- he was thinking deeply.

Silence.

"We'll talk later."  I poured more wine, getting very relaxed, and felt I
could take any answer he gave me or none at all.  Suddenly, I felt like the
"neutral" guy and out of his league again.

After a long time, he shifted in his chair and wiped his face, still
silent.

The bottle was empty, "I'm going to bed."  I stood and left.  He stayed on
the patio.  As I relaxed, I heard him closing the patio door.  In bed, he
simply turned to me, kissed my cheek and we fell asleep.

***


The next morning came soon enough with Maki waking and finding a new
playground in the bathroom sink with the little bars of soap and washing
his hands with the shampoo.  Harlan turned to kiss me and whispered, "I'm
already married."  At the bathroom door, "Yes. I'll set a date with you --
have to clean up some things in my past."

That must have been hard to admit, and I knew that gay men married, but
Harlan's youth didn't offer that option and his reputation was for being
loose and free was renown.  Felt it was better not to ask further -- he'd
explain when he was ready.

Maki and Harlan cleaned up and I followed them, thirsty from so much wine,
but we dressed in our shorts and Harlan packed their swim gear.  The day
was breezy and warm as we sat beside the pool and ate pastries and enjoyed
fresh-squeezed juice.  Few people were out so we left to walk the beach and
wound up near the small shops and I bought a pair of swim trunks -- the
baggy kind.  Harlan and Maki had their slick, small blue swimwear, "Why did
you buy those for him?  Everyone can see his junk."

"Teaching the boy to be proud of his body.  He does everything I do, watch
him strut!"  Harlan smiled, "I love that boy."  We wandered the streets and
walked back on the beach to the hotel with a bag full of fruit and candy.
Harlan asked a bellhop to take our bags to our room while we played in the
pool, then I watched Maki on the playground with several other kids until
he needed a nap.  Harlan took him into the shower and rinsed the chlorine,
wrapped him in a towel and laid him down, watching the boy fight off sleep.
Then he came to me.

"Will you wait for a while?  I'd like to get us some rings."

"You know it's an old custom that Filipina mothers-in-law get engagement
rings too."

He looked at me, "Don't bullshit an old bullshitter."

"It's true!"  I grinned, kissed his neck, "Afternoon quickie?"

He smiled and took my hand, "No quickies."  He pulled me against him and
held me gently and hummed a tune I'd heard before but couldn't place.
After a few moments, "You stink like chlorine."  In the shower, he gently
soaped and rinsed me.  No sex.  Then he kissed me again, on the patio, "I'm
going to go down the street and get some more of that wine to take home.
You rest."  He left me with Maki, so I napped alongside my boy.

As I fell asleep, my thoughts replayed in my head.  I did feel better being
away for a while, more settled now that I'd made an attempt to regain
control of my life; my future.  I had a half-promise of an engagement, and
my son beside me - hell of a lot more than most men in my position had.
That felt good.  A sense of rightness filled me -- foreign at first but so
needed.

Tomas life, his suffering and death wasn't for nothing.  I'd made it
through the worst of the work to bring justice.  My sweet, first lover
would never be back, but he'd never be forgotten either.

Was self-forgiveness happening?  I closed my eyes and sighed, still
unsettled, but calm was imaginable.

***


The warm, moist air and the roar of the waves sent me into a deep sleep.
Must have needed it -- I didn't wake up when Harlan came back rustling bags
and waking Maki.  They were in the bathroom and off to the pool again.  I
couldn't move -- like all the tension and pressure inside me was finally,
slowly leaking away.  They came back later wearing matching wrap-around
sunglasses and straw hats with the logo of the hotel on the front; bright
pink tassels dangled from the back.

They both kissed me awake.  They brought sodas and my favorite cocoanut
candies.  Because they were both grinning, I suspected there was something
up that I wasn't supposed to know.

"Where'd you go, sweetie?"  I asked Maki.

"Bot..."  He was trying to remember the word.  "Bota..."  He squinched his
face, "the place with all the medicine, but they have other stuff, too."
He held up a tee shirt with a bright logo of the city on the front.

I nodded, "Botanica?  You went in a farmacÍa? What did you get?"  I
looked at Harlan; he looked away.

"Eye-water, sunglasses, tee shirts -- we got one for you, too."

"Eye drops?"

"Yeah. Harlan did it for me, the lady helped -- she's like a doctor, sort
of. Then we saw the sad kids."

I nodded but didn't press further, I'd seen them when we drove into town.
La Zona Norte is the oldest red-light district in North America.  There
were always kids selling themselves on the streets anywhere tourists and
bars came together.  Now that Rosarito Beach had boomed, the sex trade had
spilled over onto their streets as well.

***


We spent the rest of the afternoon, past dinner, in the pool.  I hadn't had
so much fun in years with just a beach ball and water.  Maki was quick and
sleek as a dolphin as Harlan tossed him in the air to splash loudly in the
deep water.  My fearless little fish!  Harlan took photos and sent them to
Chris and Melanie.  They asked us to bring back tee shirts for them, too.

The indoor pool is smaller, and completely enclosed.  Maki and Harlan
strode through the lobby and the wide hallways where starlets from the
nineteen-twenties and thirties walked during the era of prohibition.  Yep,
my guys were proud of themselves -- and why not?  Harlan, tall and lean,
covered with a heavy salting of gray and white hair and my almost naked,
tanned boy flying along beside him with his cowlicks waving frantically as
he tried keeping up with his uncle.

Splurging, I ordered strawberry margaritas and a smoothie for Maki.  Harlan
came to sit beside me while Maki sipped and jumped back in the water with
several other kids.  As we watched, Harlan slipped his hand over mine.
"Great vacation, let's do this again."

"Haven't felt this relaxed in years. Check out at eleven tomorrow -- I'll
pack the car tonight after Maki goes to sleep."

He nodded, watching Maki, "I love you." He said softly above the din of the
children playing in the pool.

After our margaritas, it was almost seven.  I told Harlan that Maki had to
eat, clean up and go to bed, "It'll be easy -- he's exhausted."  Stopping
by the desk, I ordered room service and we went upstairs.  Harlan and Maki
showered and put on their new tee-shirts for bed.  Dinner arrived while I
showered and I came out in my underwear, ready to eat on the patio with
them.  "Yum!  Chiles relleƈos -- tacquitos and arroz con pollo!"  I
ordered a side of chicken mole for myself and a big seafood cocktail for
Harlan.

Harlan made Maki a small plate -- my boy was tired, fussy and wanted to eat
his candy -- I let him because this was his vacation, too.  I poured our
beer and took Maki to his bed and handed him the remote control, "Look for
cartoons."  He was delighted with the idea of staying up watching the tele.
Of course there weren't any cartoons on that late, and he'd fall asleep
quickly.

After a few moments, I went back in and took the remote control, covered
him and kissed the sweet pink flush of his cheek.  Rounding up all the bags
and boxes from shopping, I loaded my arms and headed for the door.  Harlan
blocked me, "We'll do it together in the morning."  Taking the bags, he sat
them down and held me, "Make love with me."

Quietly, he turned on the music channel and found ballads and soft
music. Slowly, he took me in his arms and kissed me as his fingers
unsnapped and unzipped my jeans.  Pulling my shirt over my head, "Smooth
skin -- I love it."

My body quaked with lust; tingled with desire when I heard the sigh of
disgust.  He couldn't get it up.  "Let's go out on the patio -- stuffy in
here."  I suggested figuring this had something to do with his marriage.

Naked, on the patio, I stood against him with my arms around his neck,
kissing his clavicle, "Sing for me."

"What?"

"Sing something, I love your voice."

He thought for a few moments while I ran my fingers through the hair on his
chest.

Holding me against him he thought and hummed a few short breaths, then,
"Como una promesa, eres tĂș, eres tĂș.  Como una maƈana
de verano...

I was stunned!  His voice was deep, smooth and rich as the brandied coffee
he'd made for me...  Odd, to remember that but I felt more comfortable with
him than I ever had.  His chest vibrated as he held the notes and pulled my
face against him. Then he stopped, and the breeze felt cooler.  Someone
from the beach applauded and gave a yip.  He kissed the top of my head.

"Been a long time, I can't remember all the lyrics."

"I didn't know you speak Spanish."

"I don't -- I learned that song years ago in high school -- beautiful
piece."

A soft voice from a patio nearby, "Qué bonito -- mas, por favor."
Beautiful!  Sing some more!  I just grinned took Harlan to bed.  Turning
the sheets back, Harlan laid Maki in the middle of the bed, between us.
"If you didn't have an audience, I'd ask you to make love to me."

He grabbed my arm and the bottle of sun block, took me out to the patio,
moved the chairs and leaned me over the railing.  "Watch the waves, lover."
He leaned to kiss me as his hand slid into my cleft, slippery and cool with
the lotion, "Watch that wave right below the beacon -- about a hundred
yards out.  Here it comes."  He slipped a finger inside me.

Gasping, I squeezed my eyes shut.  It had been a long time.

"Damn, you're tight."  He whispered and continued rubbing and reminding me
about what he planned to do, and I felt his hot erection bumping my butt,
then my cleft.  "Watch, the next wave, lover -- looks like a big one..."

"Stop, Harlan -- ahhh!  Too big..."  I tried wiggling forward.  That didn't
work.  He grabbed my hips.

"Shhh."  He leaned over, "Always the right size when you want me."  Minute
moves, only a fraction of an inch at a time with him humming and stroking.
Strange - pain and satisfaction filled me -- a few more pushes, and I found
out that when I tightened my ass around him, he pushed deeper.

"Watch the waves..."  His voice was soft and low.  I felt his hands on my
nipples. He was all the way in and I was gasping and pushing back - that
familiar pressure built deep in my groin sending tingling pulses up my
spine; I began sweating.  My hand went between the wrought iron posts and I
began stroking and I stood on my toes to get more of him inside me.  That
put him at an angle that gave me what I needed.

"Are you watching that wave?  It's about to break."  he whispered.

Harlan was pistoning fast, "Yesss," he hissed through ragged breaths.

Blessing Rosarito Beach with my spunk, I felt heat at the tip of his glans
firing his cum deep inside me.  A few more thrusts and I waited.  The cool,
damp breezes felt good on my face and I felt that glow of contentment I
used to only get with Tomas, and this was good.  In this moment, this
place, this perfect time it was very good.

We rode home singing to kiddie songs with Maki, though we were a little
sunburned, we were happier for our escape across the border.  Not always so
endearing, but things were smoother between Harlan and me -- moments of
rancor became dust motes on the wind.  He smiled more often and touched me
gently -- something he hadn't really done before.  Caresses came more
easily for me to give him.

***


Over dinner we went through my messages. People wanted me to speak at
fund-raising dinners and give interviews about privatized jails,
contractors and my experience with Tomas and in court.  Couldn't dump this
on my attorneys like I had before.  Had to call a confab with Chris,
Melanie and Harlan first to work out a schedule. I'd take two speaking
engagements a month if they were close to town, and one out of town on a
weekend. I'd do that for four months to help the organizations that had
represented me and the others.

My presentation included photos of Tomas, and the others who'd died in the
jail, along with photos of the kid who'd been killed before booking and I
started using photos of the women who'd been brutalized. I simply
reorganized all I'd learned through the months, checked my calendar and put
it in chronological order adding my personal responses and those of Chris
and Melanie. This would be an evolving, changing presentation depending on
the audience.

Then, I wanted to enroll into online classes to study management --
self-paced courses. I could run the office dealing with the trade pact and
started aiming for it. Being in love with Harlan gave me a new confidence.
Now I was making the changes, sure and strong and life was good.

The next day, I put Maki in the car and asked Melanie and Chris if they'd
join me in some of the speeches I'd give. Of course, that meant Harlan
taking care of Maki, but it didn't. Marisol was trying to get back on her
feet -- she'd take care of my boy for a few days until after her time in
court.

Four months of work, and speeches on the weekends. Sounds good, right?  It
was tiring.  The catered dinners sucked and the endless stream of
handshakes and smiles for strangers, the waiting and the pre and post
parties were wearing. Another selfie with another group, another selfie
with the bigwigs of the organizations...  Another selfie with strangers
wanting to rub shoulders with a champ though they only remembered the
verdict -- no idea of all that led up to that point.

After my first four months, I continued because I was not speaking for
fund-raisers -- no!  I was educating and enlightening taxpayers about where
their hard-earned dollars were buying.  Lawsuits against government
bureaucracies were paid for and settled with tax dollars as well...
Through all the radio and online interviews, news got out about the sleezy
contract; a sheet from their inventory showed some very unusual
purchases. I downloaded the headlines of articles on the other lawsuits
against privatized jails. Every presentation, I got better -- learned how
to read the audience. Made my words carry stronger meaning and touch my
listeners. I used every one of those jackets Harlan bought me, every tie
and kept my hair neatly styled and my teeth were almost too white to look
normal.

When Harlan and I flew to northern fund-raisers in the winter, I borrowed a
heavy coat from one of my coworkers -- he'd moved from Bellingham. There
was a small bag of cherry-flavored pipe tobacco in the pocket to ward off
moths. It made me smell like a dean in the college of life and enjoyed
borrowing the thick, gray overcoat with fuzzy, red scarf.


El Fuego De Mi Hoguera...



Harlan accompanied me to Kansas City, Missouri -- we were met with cold
weather -- several inches of snow and frozen slush underneath
that. Smelling like the rich pipe tobacco, I trudged through Kansas City
International Airport with all the other heavily-cloaked souls and stopped
at a bar to wait out the crowd. Harlan needed a bourbon. I drank only
distilled water and supplement when we traveled; after I finished my
presentation, I had what I wanted -- no stomach noises during a speech!

Beginning with simple thanks for everyone coming out I started to make the
usual jokes about eating expensive rubber chicken but I stopped.  These
people were eating steak.  These were high rollers in this group. Fur
wraps, dripping with jewels, and very expensive attire. I stepped back and
felt intimidated for a moment but readjusted my thoughts quickly.  Their
affluence wasn't so important.  I'd been billed as the man who mad big
changes.  The theme of my speech was the value of human life up against
corruption. My audience would keep their eyes on the screen most of the
time.

Harlan kept track of the time for me, and I followed his cues, moving from
one topic to the next. I watched him at the back of the room. A short, dark
man with gay hair slipped in, stood beside him. They spoke for a few
seconds and the man left.

I continued until I got to the last few moments. Harlan signaled and I went
on to ask for donations to the Civil Liberties organization, listing all
they'd done to help me and the families and inmates, the women and the
community. I was explicit, and the audience was still, very quiet. I asked
them to open their checkbooks to help people who were not able to help
themselves without assistance.

Harlan stayed while I shook hands and accepted checks, posing for photos
and smiling thoughtfully. Those after-dinner events were rewarding, but
often exhausting after a flight. Harlan came up to me as I spoke with the
director of the organization, "Sign this over to them." He handed me an
envelope.

I opened it to find a hundred-dollar check. The name in the left corner,
"Charles Muñoz, Sr." Still at the same address and still with the
same phone number when I was a boy. I put it back in the envelope and in my
pocket. That was my dad who'd spoken with Harlan in the back of the room --
I hadn't recognized him.

The after-after-party was electric, Harlan fell back into his old character
after the group of men began singling out their target for personal time
later on. They started up all the grab ass games and butt-baiting after a
few glasses of burgundy. I simply sat on the couch watching them and
looking among the more reserved guys for someone to talk to. Still felt the
wallflower, neutral guy and word nerd. At the buffet table, I spoke with a
few men, I think they didn't want to speak to me thinking I could only talk
about jails and death until someone started playing the piano -- people
gathered round and sang a few songs.  I saw Harlan shuffling through some
of the song books, then the piano player gave him an introduction and "It's
only words, and words are all I have to take your heart away..."  He walked
toward me and held me in an embrace while I blushed.  When he was finished,
"That's it boys, I have a lover to take care of."  We left.

"That was fun."  He said as we got into the cab.

 "Go back. You can get a cab later."

"It's a relief to leave with the same guy I came with, and I'm so proud to
be with you -- I'm not about to fuck this up."

***


We had a ten o'clock flight the next day. I decided to call my dad in the
morning. Harlan nuzzled my neck, humming as he snuggled the blankets up
around us in bed.

"What did my dad say to you?"

"He asked me if I knew you - if I'd give you an envelope. Must have gotten
over you being gay. He seemed pleased seeing you on the dais
speaking. Could be asking for forgiveness? Big mistake to turn you away,
but look at all that's happened -- you shook the county and the nation
though the deaths and, well, the legal shit."

"I'll call him in the morning."

 "Tell him thanks for the check."  He held me and began kissing my
neck. "Tell him I said thanks for making you."

"Didn't sign it over -- my parents aren't rich. I'll donate the last of my
honorarium in their names." His hand began rubbing my nipples, pinching and
pulling; digital assault.  I brushed his hands aside and grabbed my phone
and found pictures of Maki in his tiny swim trunks.  "He looks like me and
my dad."

"Does he know he has a grandson?"

"Can't say anything till later -- that's what the contract says."

After a moment, "Harlan, I haven't seen or spoken to my family since I was
seventeen.  Dad was really ticked when I came out -- he's old school; tried
beating it out of me.  He was so ashamed of me - disgusted.  Mom told me
told me if I would go to conversion therapy, I could stay at home while I
went to college."  I stopped.  "But I had to leave."

"Seventeen and on the road alone?  Shit, you got balls."

"Couldn't not be who I am.  Dad -- went ballistic.  He was unbelievable,
like I was a rat he wanted to kill -- I'm his first-born son!  He always
loved me the best... suddenly I was evil."  I recalled packing my book bag
with a few shirts and a pair of jeans. "That was a bad fight..."  It hurt
to remember that night.  "I was willing to work so I came to California,
got on my feet and took out student loans. Still paying on them, but small
price to pay for finding Tomas, Doby and the gals... and Maki."

Silence.

Finally, he turned to me, "I won't be flying back with you tomorrow.  I'll
be home before the weekend."

Being curious about this sudden change of plans, I kept my thoughts to
myself, "Is everything alright?"

"Get your calendar out, let's set a date.  The rings you and Tomas wore,
let's take those and get them remade into ours.  Tomas will always be with
us."

We chose December 24th, Doby's birthday on Imperial Beach.  Harlan and I
would invite our parents, and Chris and Melanie.  Small wedding with
family.

***


The next morning, I waited till Harlan was in the shower and called my
Dad. We caught up briefly; he told me Mom left him and took my brothers
back to the reservation after I left. Dad had always been a drinker, but he
started doing drugs with friends from the west side.  He dropped out of
that group after a DUI. Didn't say much about my work, but I told him I got
my degree.  He promised to send photos, I did, too. Harlan was making
coffee and pointing at his watch -- we'd have to leave soon for the
airport.

"Son, what did I do wrong?" He blurted out. "Are you still homosexual?"

"Didn't do anything wrong, Dad. I'm gay and always will be. I'm still your
son, like you're still my dad and always will be."

Silence.

"Dad, you gave all of us a good home. Always plenty of food, and the sports
-- camping out in Mahoney and going to the fossil beds -- all the trips to
the res. Thanks -- I had a great childhood."

"God, I was so proud when you were born. Maybe that's why it's so hard."

"I love you Dad. Can I call you later?"  Harlan had our bags at the
door. "Got to catch a flight."

"Yeah, call me back." He hung up.  That left me unsettled but I got in the
shower while Harlan called for the airport shuttle. Damp hair in the cold
winds was stronger than caffeine -- we hustled into cab, then into the
terminal with dripping noses and red cheeks.

***


The routine of work was welcome relief from travel; life moved
forward. Someone at the office nominated me to receive an award from the
state -- not for my work with trade pact, but as a "Good Citizen." I flew
to Sacramento and received a plaque with Chris. She was a great speaker,
confident and smiling -- but threw out some serious words.  She was blunt,
quick and her words packed a hard punch.

Later, she asked for an intimate donation while we were on the trip and I
did my duty signing my contract and was given a plastic cup. She was
smiling; I was too. "I want a daughter -- Maki needs a little sis."

"Yeah, I want a girl, too.  Deborah -- we'll call her `little Doby.'"

***


Life moved forward too fast to suit my plodding ways.  My Maki grew taller
and running through clothes and food like he was on a rampage. He was
almost five, and ready conquer an elementary school playground. I'd miss
his rides with me every morning. Smart and quick, that boy wasn't fazed by
any new situation.  My inhibiting reticence wasn't genetic.

Maki had a square face like me and his grandfather, long black eyelashes,
deep brown eyes and straight hair. Always had a determined cowlick that was
incredibly cute, reminding me of Tomas. Chris and Melanie turned out to be
as relaxed as Doby and Tomas about creating their family around them. It
became clear to me that a kid can thrive having three parents and a doting
uncle. I saw it happen through the days and months. Slowly our family was
rebuilding...

Through the months, I'd sent photos to my dad; Harlan, Melanie; Maki and a
pregnant Chris. Along with those, I sent photos of "my" train
layout. Harlan had painted the underside of the plywood and tacked an
aluminum trim around it. He suspended it from the ceiling in the study with
a pulley and motor system. A micro-landscape descended every weekend; glue,
gravel and micro-detritus got vacuumed every Sunday night. Thanks, Harlan.

Chris and Melanie started the poker games again on Fridays when I got home
from work. We shared a big dinner and played cards until they went to
work. I could swear they were signaling each other again, but I let it
go. No money, only the old chips that Doby'd bought years ago. Those were
good evenings, comfortable and warm.

I sent a few photos of our games to my dad one night. "You in the next
hand?"  He sent back a photo of him fishing at Louisville Lake. Had a
camper on the back of a pickup truck -- camping. Showing it to everyone,
"This is my dad." They looked at the photo and looked at me and
smiled. Harlan explained how Chas Sr. came to my speech in Omaha.

"Where's your mom?" Chris asked.

I sent a photo of Maki sitting on Harlan's lap holding a hand of
cards. "Where's Mom?"

Dad sent a photo of her by the fire roasting ears of corn in the
shucks. They were trying to work things out and get back together. My four
brothers were grown, one went to college, the others married early and
started in the grain mills. Mom and Dad worked in those same mills all
their lives. Nebraska salaries weren't so great, and their retirement
incomes were no longer enough. Dad was living in the camper behind the
house we'd grown up in -- sending Mom half the rental income; both living
on very little. Mom was still on the res with her family.

After several weeks of Friday night card game photos, they agreed to
visit. Friday night, we called my parents and passed the phone around and
caught up on the news from the prairie. Mom decided to come when the baby
was born to do whatever women do.  Mom didn't seem to mind about their
partnership -- Chris and Melanie were delighted to have the help. Harlan
and I continued playing cards, letting them work out their
arrangements. Dad said he'd stay in the camper parked out front of their
house -- the camper was his home.

The date of the birth neared. My parents were coming a few days before my
second baby made her grand entrance. I was allowed to feel the baby moving
inside Chris. Damn that must feel weird -- something that big moving around
inside your body, but my baby was healthy and strong.

***


My parent's first visit had to be special. I ordered several dozen Siopao
and sweet chili sauce. Since I'd moved into assistant management I called
Craig and asked for his help finding a caterer. My income allowed me this
luxury.  Craig wanted to do it himself as a favor to me. Was that a hit?  I
was flummoxed for a moment, but I had management skills now, "Harlan and I
will probably need a good caterer for our bachelor dinner as well..."

"That'll blow the stops out, but back to your parents." He paused for a
moment. "What kind of theme?" Craig asked, "Islander with beaches, sand
dollars and shells -- how about a Hollywood party and everyone is a star?"

"Open house -- make it welcoming for nine-and-a-half people. Has to be
comfortable for Maki so nothing fussy." We negotiated a price -- he asked
if there was anything special like a birthday or anniversary. "Just make it
easy to clean up."  Then, I remembered, "We'll need a karaoke machine --
can you bring one for the night?"

The evening went well, especially when Harlan had to show everyone the new
and improved train layout. En masse, they disappeared into the study. Not
much room with that damn plywood sheet hanging down from the ceiling and
all the wires, pulleys and electronic gear, but I took a few photos. Dad
really liked it. Harlan's dad had to give them the whole history of the
trains in their family.

By about ten, Harlan and his parents were heavily juiced. Harlan had to
bring up the incident with Reez Reyes -- I didn't want to mention the most
frightening and disgusting night of my life. Chris was eight months full of
baby; I'd heard the rumors about disturbing topics causing birth defects in
the unborn.  Harlan wouldn't shut up even after I got our photos of
Rosarito Beach out, trying to distract him.

Chris and Melanie listened carefully, not seeming upset. They wanted to see
the videos. I protested but Harlan got his laptop out to show everyone --
shoving me aside. Damn, I looked so wimpy when I saw the gun, then went
into Doby's room. Blow by blow, Harlan recounted his exploits. Chris took
me to the kitchen while they watched the old man admit pederasty,
trafficking and bringing the hush money to Doby and coming to get it back.

"I never trusted that guy.  Did you find the money?"

I didn't answer for a moment. Rightfully, it seemed the money would have
been split between us -- three ways though Doby had saved it for
Tomas. Before I could answer, Harlan strode through the kitchen going
straight for the box with the cash. I followed him as he took it to the
living room to show his parents. I felt a rush of guilt-sweat but kept my
mouth shut and hooked up the karaoke machine.

Harlan opened the box and spilled out the old business directory and the
wadded papers, then pulled off the taped bills. Four hundred-dollar bills
-- I kept a straight face while he looked at the pile of crumpled papers
and the empty box. "It was here." He looked at me. "The only people I know
who have keys are you, me, Chris and Melanie." I looked to the floor --
lies caused my face to redden. No one said anything.

"Couldn't we report it to someone?"  Melanie said. "Doby was saving that
money for Tomas. She was afraid he would have medical problems later on
from his assault."

Harlan guffawed. "Tell the police someone stole the hush money?  We'd be
under that damn jail.

My mother may not have been a worldly woman, but she had wisdom from her
people. "Don't mention it again -- considered it gone to where it needs to
be. Let's hope it's been burned, buried or destroyed completely."

Starting the karaoke machine, I distracted everyone from the topic.  We
sang, laughing and singing along to help each other. That felt good.

Mom came into the kitchen with me to make halo-halo while Harlan took
everyone to the deck. Craig left a package of sparklers and a book of
matches on the table. Maki didn't have dessert, he was playing with the
sparklers while we took photos of him. Beautiful boy in sandals, shorts and
a tee shirt with the soft glow of the sparkler on his smooth,
caramel-colored skin. My beautiful boy, healthy and strong.

Harlan had to tell the story of the skunk and make Maki grin about hiding
the pizza in the tunnel. Maki was dancing around, I could tell he was
getting ready to go to sleep. He was starting to push himself to stay
awake.  I thought Mom wanted him to sit on her lap, "Come here, Maki." She
turned him around and inspected his hairline. There was a strawberry mark,
a spray of pink spots on his skin. Nothing of great significance, only a
small birthmark, the same as mine. She looked at me for a moment; I grinned
and shrugged.

As everyone left, I told them the next weekend we'd take Doby's and Tomas'
ashes to Imperial Beach for a picnic as the sun set. "Mark your calendars."

Harlan took Maki with him and they were showered and brushed within ten
minutes -- how did he do that so fast?  They had a new technique, not sure
about that, but they emerged in their pajama bottoms and headed to
bed. Maki always slept with us and had to bring the mic from the karaoke
machine; Harlan had bought a larger bed so we could all sleep together
comfortably.

Dad gave me a menacing glare. Mom spoke up. "It's okay. Tired men, tired
boy -- I slept with my parents till I was eleven, then I slept with my
sisters. Wonderful party tonight." She kissed my cheek and took Dad off to
bed.

In bed that night, Harlan slept in the middle -- that meant we had to
talk. "Where's the money?"

"I rented a storage shed down by the border."

He sighed, "I thought Reyes sent someone over here while we were gone."

"Take the four-hundred and split it up between everyone that goes to the
casino tomorrow night. I'll stay home with Chris and Maki -- too dirty in
there for her."

***

The next night everyone trekked off to the casino. Chris' feet were
swollen, and she didn't look like she could get much bigger. "If you have a
problem with Mom, send her back to my house."

"You're mom's a real gem. I'm glad she's here, Melanie can go to work and
Maki likes her. It'll work out."

"Soon?"

"Feels like tomorrow.  Can't wait much longer -- all this extra weight is
exhausting." She was so tired I waited on her when she elevated her feet. I
had to feel her stomach, my baby seemed so big -- ready to breathe
air. Maki didn't seem to care -- he snuggled beside her where he could find
space and was perfectly happy. I grinned, "Thanks."

"You're good to our boy.  Thanks for that -- I really wasn't sure how we
were going to manage children and a business.  After Doby was gone, we were
in a bind.  Never thought you'd be so good at parenting."

Later, I was on the couch with Maki, watching Argentine soap operas.  I
waited while Chris paced the house, then the yard not knowing what to say
or do to help. When everyone came back with their meager winnings, they
went straight to the birthing center. I had to stay with Maki; blood and
medical events make me feel weak.

Well, I didn't have to go, Harlan sent the video with Chris' the private
parts clearly in focus with my boy wiggling out of her body. Mom and Dad
were there along with Harlan's parents -- had something of a birthday
party. Harlan's parents went out for ice cream and cake. Balloons filled
the room and there was a tiny red-faced boy in the middle of all the
chaos. Maki had a brother named Piper -- over seven pounds!  Yeah, I was
proud but had to keep all that stifled.

I took Maki home with me that night and asked him how Harlan got him
cleaned up so fast, "Show me how he does it." We brushed our teeth in the
shower, soaped and rinsed. Smart!

***


Dad and Maki came to stay with us while Mom and the women did their
post-natal thing. Dad only stayed a few days with us, looking very
uncomfortable.  Harlan was welcoming, but Dad couldn't give up his
sentiments about gay men, or women either.  He left early for home, we flew
Mom back after three months.  She had a blast with the gals and my Piper;
we had some great dinners together -- Mom was good at poker.

Saturdays, and evenings Harlan and I kept Piper and Maki more often than
not as the gals went back to work full-time. At first, I worried, Piper
cried and fussed. Couldn't find a way to calm him.

"Don't you know anything by this time?"  Harlan grabbed my little bundle
from my arms and took Maki out front.  Harlan and Maki put him in the
carrier in the back seat with Maki holding his bottle. They drove to the
Ice cream place across town making the tot drowsy.  When they arrived, they
quickly burped and changed him, sat in the car and ate ice cream cones then
came home. Piper was sleeping soundly.  Damn, that man cast a spell on my
child!

The next night I caught Maki trying to wake Piper just to go get ice cream!
Thanks, Harlan.

Through Piper's first year I learned what I needed about babies, but I'd
never need it again -- still had to learn a new skill every week, it
seemed.

One of my brothers visited, the youngest one, Esteban was building a house
on the res and was expecting his first son within the year.  He brought
photos and the truth about my parents. To cut that sad story short -- Dad
was in a twelve-step program and still seeing a counselor -- ordered by the
judge of the family court.


Fuego De Mi Hogar...


Our wedding was planned to be a peaceful and happy affair early in the
morning as the sun rose.  We didn't think there would be too many people on
the beach on the twenty-fourth of December.  Craig went early to erect
poles that fluttered with crepe paper streamers and bright pennants on
Imperial Beach.  He wanted to arrange the entire affair, even had Doby's
old prom dress made into four ties.  One for each of my boys, Harlan and
me.  Our rings shared half of the same tiger's eye on a band remade from
Tomas' and my rings.

My brothers and Mom came; Dad was still unaccepting he stayed in Omaha.
Everyone joined in with Chris and Melanie ready for a party -- Harlan's
parents were there with the video camera.  What a mob scene!  Six nieces
and nephews mostly under twelve years old, and the adults with all the
kiddie baggage.  We asked everyone to wear their shorts and a flowered
tropical shirt with their sandals over their bathing suits.

Piper and Maki didn't have any traditional duties; this was a quick service
then a big celebration.  We waited in the limousine while Craig organized
our procession toward the minister who stood barefoot on the sand.  At the
limo every child was given a pinwheel and a whistle on it making a big
racket which alerted everyone on the beach.  Surfers, runners, and some of
the local beachcombers and tourists decided to see what all the noise and
color was about.

All the kids marched ahead of us toward the fluttering spires.  An anthem
of love started as soon as our feet hit the sand -- Eres TĂș!  Harlan
and my brothers sang along -- it was my mom's favorite song.  Holding hands
and our heads high, we marched behind the troupe of children as a small
crowd of strangers followed.  Our odd entourage trod a convoluted path
toward the spot to exchange our vows as the tide crept in dampening
everyone's feet.  We'd asked the minister to keep her words short.  She
did, and simply announced we were here for a family proclamation of our
marrying ourselves with love.

Harlan went first with his vows -- he wasn't so romantic:

"I'm gonna try my best to be as good as I can to you and hope you forgive
me when I get out of line.  I love you."  Then he kissed me and put my ring
on my finger.  I saw seagulls gathering overhead -- they were looking for a
picnic to raid.

As I began telling him how much I loved him I spied a small person nearing
the minister, fingering the fringe on her stole, then opening her robe,
peeking underneath.  Craig swooped in and grabbed the child in his arms and
took her to the side. What I wanted to be a moving, meaningful affair
wasn't going to happen with so many children and predatory birds; some of
the onlookers and vagrants were already shouting their own spin to my vows.
"Okay, Harlan.  I'll try my best and won't complain about the train again.
I love you," slipping his ring on his finger.

"I pronounced you married!"  The minister said and gave a whoop!

Chris started mariachi music playing while my new mother-in-law handed out
drinks telling everyone to wait to drink them together.  The bottles were
oddly shaped, I remembered having seen them before...  "Bubble tea!"  I
chuckled and we stood in a big circle together, our new family and quite a
number of strangers sipping.  Everyone wished us well, including the
beachcombers, clinking our bottles after every congratulations.

Harlan and I went back to the waiting limousine with several nephews and
nieces having to ride with us to the Rosarito Beach Hotel.  Our reception
would be pool-side for the children with a buffet for snacking.  My
brothers drove Chris-Clean vans papered over with "Harlan and Charles
Forever!" decorated with hearts and flowers by the children.  Certainly not
a formal affair, but one we would remember and cherish...

Thank you, Doby.

Thank you, Tomas.

Thank you, Dad.  Your revulsion brought me all this.

***


Between the playground, the pool and a table full of sugary treats the kids
had a blast.  Piper slept through a lot of it.  We danced and talked having
a great time enjoying ourselves and gorging on empanadas and mariscos.  Mom
was beaming to have almost everyone together and enjoying each other.

 When it came time to go home, we got some noise from the kids, but Maki
was really upset.  "You're going to stay here without me?  What about my
honeymoon?  I better stay with you and Harlan."

Harlan's dad came to the rescue, "We're going to the wild animal park
tomorrow -- why don't you come and help me with all these children.  They
could get lost."

Maki looked at me, thinking hard.  "Well, maybe I better go help Granddad."

Harlan picked him up and kissed him, "I love you Maki -- don't scare the
animals."

***


The sun was setting as Harlan and I got to the newlywed suite we found a
bottle of champagne and two more bottles of Santo Tomas, a table with
candles and a bouquet of roses.  Nice!  A bright basket full of fancy
lotions, fruit and candies sat on the table.  In the bath, there was a big,
sunken tub with high pressure jets.  A bottle of bubble bath was sitting on
the side inviting us to relax.  Harlan filled the tub and brought
champagne.

"If you were hoping for a barge trip across Europe drinking fancy
chardonnay, you didn't marry the right man."  I grinned.

"Well, I heard the French horn players have too much curve to their dicks
-- put callouses inside their lovers.  Did you enjoy yourself today?"

"Best wedding, I ever had.  I enjoy being around family.  Your parents were
great today."

"They never thought they'd get any grandkids.  They're tickled -- did you
see my mom with Piper?"  He moved closer to me, "Tonight we don't have to
be quiet or go to the study for sex.  I hate that sofa bed."  We soaked our
muscles and bodies, smiling in the dim light and sweet, crisp smell of
lavender.  In fluffy, soft robes, we went to the patio to watch lovers walk
the beach and listen to the music from below.

"Wanna go to the club downstairs tonight?  We could go down the street to
some other place.  I heard there was a small bar for men..."

"Nah.  I don't want to see those street kids again, damn some of them are
young.  When Maki and I went out the last time we were here, some
sleeze-ball came up to me and told me he had a "fresh-stolen" boy if I
liked my meat tender and tight.  I almost knocked him back to hell."

"Turn on some music.  Dance with me."  I untied our robes and rubbed myself
against him.  "Let's turn our phones off tonight.  Maki might change his
mind, and I want you all to myself."

Harlan had always been the initiator, but tonight he asked me what I
wanted.  "I want to watch your face..."

"I've been waiting for you to take the lead."  Holding his head, I kissed
him and told him again how much I loved him, all the time with the shadow
of Tomas in my mind and it felt comfortable -- everything was right in the
moment.  As I kissed his neck, I told him how sexy I thought he was when I
first saw him so many years ago, then rubbed my face in the coarse hair of
his chest, I felt his hands on my face and several deep sighs.

Sucking and pulling on his nipples caused his body to make small jerks, "I
love that..."

Loved it?  I stopped and grabbed a palmful of lotion and put my lips back
on his nipples.  He moaned as I slipped my hand between his legs and began
rubbing his pucker.  "Harder, bite me."  I bit.  He held my face close to
his nipple and tugged, pinched and pulled the other.  When I slipped two
fingers inside him he lifted one knee and moaned.  "Yes. Oh, god yes."

Finding the place that caused his erection to fill and sway, then leak with
pre-cum, I continued while his body began to sweat. "Press harder inside --
use your thumb, like a pinch. Grab me hard."

"Grab?  Pinch him between his glands and his perineum?"  I thought... that
didn't sound good to me, but I did it.  I pressed harder inside him and
rubbed deeply.  He moaned one long sound from the bottom of his lungs until
his voice became squeaky and high.

"Harder!  Now!"  He grunted.  I closed my thumb toward my fingers, pressing
deeply with my thumb.  His body jerked and his hand flew to his erection
pumping furiously.  Hips lifting, he moaned and held my head tightly
against him, "Don't stop!"  His hips were hunching and his body tensed --
arching into a pressured, extended ejaculation that made me shiver with
just being so close to his urgent, frantic movements.  As his spunk flew
across my face and his chest, I relaxed my fingers, pulling them out slowly
and rubbing his ass gently.  His body fell limp, coated with sweat and we
lay still.

"Kiss me with my cum."  He whispered.  So intimate, so masculine -- the
essence of loving another man was held in that kiss.

We slipped back into the cool water of the tub.  Harlan became
exceptionally loving in that moment, pulling me to him and caressing me.
"Let's go downstairs -- I'm hungry and I want to show you off while my
battery recharges -- you're gonna get it tonight."

"Don't make me watch waves again."

He only chuckled -- "No waves tonight -- something better."

"I didn't get what I asked for."

"Well, we have a few years to do that.  God you were incredible."

We dressed to go downstairs and see what was going on; check out the
buffet.  After some fancy fruit and rum drink, we ordered a seafood plate
in the club and watched the dancers -- younger people sweating and flirting
with their bodies to a loud band -- heavy on the bass.  Harlan's shirt was
open almost to his navel; a young man asked him to dance.  Yep, Harlan's
eyes scanned the slender young man in a shiny green shirt and a pair of
tight jeans.  He only looked at me, and shook his head, motioning for the
young man to leave.  As we walked to the beach, he held my hand and we
danced together slowly on the sand.  "I only want you."

Glad the bed was bolted to the floor.  I got what I wanted several times
the next day and looking down on my husband's face when I moved inside him.
When he came, to watch his face contort in blissful agony was incredible.
Maybe I'd only have one honeymoon in my life, but I wasn't going to give
that up when we went home.  He was incredible and had more tricks than
Halloween.  As we packed to leave, I asked Harlan if I was committing
bigamy.

"No.  We could have gotten married the moment you asked.  I didn't know --
he killed himself."

"What happened?"

"Your father tried beating the `gay' out of you.  My parents dumped me in
the church to excise my kink.  Dad pulled a lot of strings to get me into
the Mount of Angels -- Portland.  Yeah, send a gay kid into a pack of
priests to "straighten" him out -- shoulda known better than that."

Tears came to his eyes as he told me he fell in love with a teaching
assistant.  Madly in love -- since they couldn't be married in the church
or by the state, the found a priest who would covertly marry them.  The
word of their scheme got loose on campus.  All three were booted -- the
priest and the two young men.  Harlan came back home and went into sales
and alcohol.  The other young man had tried to reenter college in another
city yet wasn't able to continue.  He eventually committed suicide.

"God, I loved him.  Not like you and Tomas, but that love was ours -- I was
devastated.  He, well, he was too..."

***


We arrived home to a house full of boys and my brothers packing their cars
to go to Chris' house for our belated holiday celebration.  Seemed it was
easier to divide the mob of my family by gender -- men and boys at our
house, girls and women with Chris and Melanie.  Poor Piper had to stay with
the girls, but he didn't seem too upset about all the attention.

Harlan saw the mess and just smiled, he'd removed the motor and switch to
the plywood that held "my" train layout safely above the uproar.  We helped
my brothers pack and round up the kids.  One of them had a Chris-Clean van
for the week, and I heard the put some heavy mileage on it.

Everyone was in good spirits as we entered Chris' house to see a huge tree
covered with lights and presents everywhere.  No quiet, solemn celebration
for this crew.  Everyone was in the back yard with their swimsuits on
playing in the sprinkler.  A piñata hung from the eave of the roof
and dammit, there was Craig in the kitchen with Mom pulling a turkey and
baked sweet potatoes out of the oven!  What was he doing here?

"Who invited you?"

"Melanie.  I'm here so your mom can enjoy herself."

"Looks like you're butting in on my family.  I'm gonna keep an eye on you."

"In my business I seldom get to see a family having a good time -- you
gotta remember I work after the worst tragedies families ever face.  Let me
have a little, now take Harlan to the bedroom, get box from behind the
door.  Santa has to come in twenty minutes."

That was a noisy, loud afternoon, with Harlan trying to make the kids prove
who they were before he gave them their presents, "You got ID?"  The older
kids just laughed, but some of the younger ones started crying until their
older siblings vouched for them.  Damn, Harlan was mean, but that made for
some good videos.  I sent my dad some photos, but really didn't miss him
being here -- this was more fun than all the holidays of my childhood.

I decided that Craig wasn't horning in when I saw him sitting with Chris
and Melanie talking business and organic cleaning solvents.  He organizing
the kids into relay races, then getting all the men to take the trash to
the alley.  I found out later he had been married to a woman at one time
and had two children he missed tremendously.

The chaos of the day died down.  Two of my brothers flew home, the others
would leave the next day and Mom was staying with Chris and Melanie for
several weeks.  Harlan and I went home to with my boys, my two brothers and
their boys.  "Sleep-over madness" happened while my brothers and Harlan
simply sat on the deck, closed the patio door and opened a six pack.  I
took all the boys to the beach to find shells to take home and let them run
until they were exhausted -- old "full belly and warm blanket" therapy in
action.  I kept them out until they weren't able to hold their eyes open
and bought hamburgers and fries.  Home to production-line clean up and
straight to bed on the floor in front of a movie about a killer whale.
Yes, a five-year-old can snore like a chain saw!

After we dropped them off in the morning, and I was ready to get back into
my routine.  I was glad to be home with just Harlan and my boys.  Took us
several hours to clean up all the crumbs and candy wrappers.  Harlan took
Maki to the store while I vacuumed and cleaned; later we restocked for the
new year and back to our schedules.  We went to bed early on sheets still
warm from the dryer.  As we relaxed in our familiar comfort, Harlan asked
Maki if he had fun at the wild animal park.

Harlan's dad had to explain that the giraffes were mating, not fighting.
Seemed he called the giraffe's penis a "baby applicator."  That led to an
interesting discussion led by Maki.  One of their older cousins were
experimenting sexually at night in their sleeping bags.  Maki was only
seven, but they'd introduced him to stroking himself and another cousin.

One of the older boys had sucked my Maki's tiny penis!  "Yeah, it was
good!"

Now, I'd always been very matter of fact about our bodies -- no secrets, no
shame, but sexual activities with we'd kept to ourselves.  The time had
come for "the talk."  Not about pregnancy, or infections, but consent.

"Did anyone force you to do anything?"

"No.  It was fun!  Jerry, the big one, taught me how to rub my dick.  That
feels so good, Charles, you need to do it."  He announced what he thought
was an international secret.  My eyes didn't blink; my mouth dropped open.
No words came out.  So, Maki looked at Harlan for some kind of response.

Harlan chuckled, "Really?  You mean rubbing my cock feels good?"

"Yeah, it gets big and wants more."  Maki was pushing his briefs down and
got up on his knees near Harlan's hip.  "I'll show you how to make it feel
really good."  He got up on his knees and jerked at Harlan's briefs.  "It's
okay, Jerry said it's normal."

In the dim glow of the streetlight through the blinds, I saw Harlan glance
at me with a grin as he tugged his briefs down.  "Okay, you sold me.  This
better be good."

"It is!  You're gonna like it!" Maki was grinning, ignoring me, but feeling
powerful with his new knowledge about his body.  Saved me from an
embarrassing conversation, I supposed, but with Harlan?  Why wasn't he
showing me?  Oh, yeah, I was still somewhat stunned with this "sharing
moment."

Harlan's cock was hard and seeking warmth as he watched Maki.

"Okay, you gotta spit on your hand first.  Makes it better."  He glanced at
Harlan's groin.  "That's big -- you better spit two or three times to make
it work right."

"Pfttt!  Pfttt!  Pfttt!"  Harlan spit on his hand.  "That enough spit?"

"I guess."  Maki was enjoying this and looking over Harlan's balls and his
bush of pubic hair.  "You need to trim all that stuff -- looks like it
could get tangled."

"Yeah, sometimes it does."  Harlan was almost breathless.  "What's next?"

"Oh, yeah."  He straddled Harlan's thigh.  "Watch."  His small hand went to
his short rod, "Make it peek in and out, and squeeze a little.  It feels
really good right here..."  He lifted his twig and showed Harlan the
underside of the head of his penis.

"Where is that on me?"  Damn, that Harlan was already leaking and breathing
hard, now asking Maki to show him where his frenulum was located?  Damn!

"Are you peeing the bed?"  Maki asked, looking at the stream of pre-cum and
stuck his finger on Harlan's pee slit.

"No.  That stuff leaks out sometimes -- it's real slippery -- put some on
your dick, you can rub with it..."  Not sure who was getting played here --
Maki said it looked like okra slime.

"Now start rubbing, up and down.  Make your other hand tickle your balls."
Maki's eyes were observing Harlan's technique closely.  "Don't squeeze too
hard."  They both began stroking.  "Rub faster until you feel your brain
get soft.  Feels great!"  Maki was squenching his face and tugging with
increasing speed.  "C'mon Harlan, we have to do it together."

With my jaw still dropped open in awe, I watched my boy breathe hard for a
moment then, "Nnng." More fasts breaths followed his quick orgasm.  When he
opened his eyes, he looked over at Harlan.  "Faster, Harlan, it feels
great."

"Maki.  Help me..."  What a perv -- he was asking my boy for a hand job.

Maki reached over and touched Harlan's rod.  Two short strokes later, an
eruption of spurts came out and flew over Maki's face and Harlan's chest.
Now Harlan's eyes were open and his jaw dropped -- frozen in pleasure and
surprise.

"Yew!  That stinks!  Harlan -- you better go clean up."  Maki's fingers
were near his nose as he smelled the semen.  He was making a face.  I got
up and brought a washcloth, wiping Maki's face and hands, then I tossed the
cloth on Harlan's face. "Pig."

Harlan was chuckling and holding Maki against him, "That felt great!
You're right!  I'm gonna do that every night."

Moving myself next to Harlan, "Is that all Jerry showed you?"

"He showed me how his brother sucks him -- he said it was better than hands
and spit.  Then, he sucked me.  I like that a lot!"

"Did you suck anyone?"

"I was afraid they'd play a joke and pee."

"Okay."  I pulled his briefs up and lay him close to Harlan and covered
them lightly.  "Go to sleep."  In the bathroom, I jerked till I couldn't
stand anymore and shot a world-class load of spunk over the tiles.  Damn,
that was a big load -- it matched the load of guilt I felt for thinking
about my boy touching me; sucking me.


AsĂ­!



I got an email blast at work from the old website we'd used to collect and
distribute information about the deaths at the jail.  Harlan was notifying
everyone who was at Tomas' memorial service to meet again at the
park. "County transition is complete -- the contractors and all their staff
are gone; resuming full management of the jail by county employees only.
Celebrate tonight!  Bring a friend!"

It years, but the contractors were out and the county was back to managing
the jail!  I went home and dug out my tee shirt with Tomas picture as
Harlan came in the door with Maki. "Hurry up, Maki wants to see the
drummers."

They tossed Piper's stroller in the car and off we went into the night --
this time smiling.  Hundreds of people were already gathered in the park
near the jail.  Harlan took Maki off to the drummers while I kept Piper --
Chris and Melanie were meeting with a huge crowd of women.  There was
Marisol, smiling, alongside them greeting the families and friends.  The
man whose brother had died inside the jail came up to me smiling.  "You did
it!"

"We did it!" This time we hugged, beaming with pride.  I was ready to take
the mic in hand on the make-shift stage to speak.  With Piper on my side, I
thanked everyone -- one small triumph in the democratic process.  This
time, I held my head high, proudly and led the troupe around the jail fifty
times, singing and chanting.  Glancing upward at the thin windows, I saw
silhouettes of people, hands waving, and I smiled.

That was a hot evening -- still around ninety-five degrees at ten o'clock.
A Santa Ana was coming through Southern California.  The temperatures would
rise to almost a hundred degrees with the winds from the desert.  Someone
had brought water -- we marched, sang, chanted late into the night.

Usually I don't I remember the weather, but this time I did.  Harlan and I
went home, drank a lot of water and ate lightly. I put the boys on the
floor in living room with a fan.  Harlan and I lay on the bed with a fan
blowing directly on us. Harlan was in his usual nighttime mood, I told him
it was too hot. He went and got iced drinks and a water mister bottle and
sprayed me. That felt nice and smelled faintly like mint. Nice touch. He
told me he needed me -- he had a lot of tension. Bullshit!  Sex during a
Santa Ana?  That'd be like fucking in a convection oven.

Spraying my groin, he blew his breath over me, cooling me. Heat seems to
zap my erection, but after a while, the temperature cooled and he
manipulated my body enough that I could respond to his kisses. Lifting my
knees, and opening my thighs, with the misting and the breeze of the fan I
began to cool down, relax and enjoy his sudden fit of arousal.

"Wanna go to a hotel until the heat passes?"  I whispered.

"Nah. We can take a cold shower later." He was so persistent though
perspiring and working my erection with the lightest of touches. Between my
legs, he kept spraying the minty mist, and I purred. It felt good -- when
his lips touched the chilled skin on my erection I trembled. He only took
the head in his lips, nipping and playing with my foreskin. The minty
feeling started getting stronger, burning on my glans. Then he spit on his
finger and quickly pushed into my ass.

"Oooo!" Harlan had a mint candy in his mouth -- my ass had a warm glow as
his finger entered. As he pushed and pulled his finger through my heating
sphincters, I took a deep breath -- the irritation of the peppermint made
everything warmer. This was new! He found my prostate and began a slow,
gentle pressure, then began tapping. That caused my body to ignore the
heat; my jism-pump was in action in just a few seconds. In the moist burn,
I grabbed his hair and pushed him down on my erection and felt his suction
pulling my cum out and up in several hot rushes that he swallowed and
sucked for more. As my hands relaxed in his hair, he came to my face to
kiss me.

"You know we could manage a little more than we do now and the Pads are
doing, um - well, better..."

"Doing better?"  I was blissed-out.

There were times I wanted to kick my sneaky salesman-husband out. He'd
suspend his sexually dominant, pushy nature for a while. That's how he
prepped me for his sales pitch and he was an expert when he wanted
something. When I was high on an endorphin rush after an incredible orgasm,
he'd express a fleeting thought. Then he'd ask me if I heard him. I'd nod
or make some noise. The next day he'd claim I had agreed to whatever he
suggested. Dirty trick!

The mint-spray trick sucked me into two years of helping him coach Maki's
school baseball team because I "agreed" the Padres were doing better. With
the short end of his stick again, I took Piper's a trike and let him ride
behind the bleachers while Harlan got to be the head honcho among the boys
for those seasons. Thanks, Harlan.

My poor Piper -- his first years were harder than Maki's but not because he
wasn't spoiled -- he was a tiny, delicate creature with well-developed
vocal cords until he was three.  Being the baby of the family has its
advantages.  He was the smallest, a definite disadvantage.  It became clear
that Maki was not just five years older, much bigger and an assertive boy
-- he reveled in flat-out bullying his little brother.  Poor Piper cried,
at first, but learned some nasty little tricks of his own.  One of the
funniest was being bullied, he would run out of the room and find something
of Maki's and throw it in the toilet or pee on it.  If he hadn't
contaminated it, he'd say he pooped on it yesterday.  I found cookies and
Maki's small toys in the front of Piper's tiny briefs.  He used the opening
as a pocket!

Ah! Bathroom jokes and farting sounds.  Those filled many hours in the
bedroom before the boys would go to sleep.  Harlan joined in with stupid
songs and showing them the art of making flatulence-music from their small,
smooth armpits.

Nights were a challenge.  Neither boy wanted the cooties from the other --
they refused to shower together.  Harlan and Maki took their shower and
enjoyed themselves in a sensual manner, "Hands only, Harlan!"  Then, I'd
follow them in the bathroom with Piper who was still honing his aim and had
no interest at all in anything about rubbing -- including soap and water on
his filthy feet.

As I lay in bed one night with the boys between Harlan and me, the
kick-fight started up and kept going until ten.  I wondered why this
happened every night the boys stayed with us.  Harlan and I never fought.
Maybe the boys needed their own beds, I was sure they were tired.  Getting
up, and grabbing my phone, "Harlan, I'm sleeping in the living room.  If
one of them hurts the other, call 9-1-1.  I'm tired of all this
fighting. Maybe the police would be interested in their abuse."  I left the
room.

"You can't send us to jail -- we're kids."  Maki mouthed off as I left.

"Juvenile detention -- that's what they call kiddie-jail."  With that, I
dumped my parenting on Harlan and slept on the couch.  Knowing Chris and
Melanie dealt with the same problems from my boys, I decided to call my mom
and ask her what to do.

"Send them up here, to the res.  Visit with us for a while -- when is their
next break?"

"Mom, their nephews -- well gave Maki an anatomy lesson.  I'm not sure if
they're ready for all that yet."

"Did anyone get hurt?"  She didn't seem so upset.

"No, I don't think so."

"Butt out of their personal business.  Their relationships belong to them
and they're growing up.  Did I ever bother you and your brothers at night?"
That brought back some memories...

Chris, Harlan's Mom and the boys flew to the res and stayed during spring
break.  Brought home some surprises, though I wouldn't find out till much
later.  My boys loved the res and staying with their cousins.  They wanted
to go back.

We went to the res every summer for vacation.  Visiting with my family was
always interesting -- I loved it, but I knew the ways on the res --
different lifestyle and different perspective on almost everything.  We
stayed with Mom in her trailer house and all the family came for cookouts.
All the kids were able to run and play outside without an adult hovering
over them.  My boys learned, with no verbal instructions, how very
fortunate they were.  Without much pushing, they became appreciative about
things I didn't imagine -- like running water available 7/24.  Yes, a
person can survive without ice cream, and the food on your plate may be all
you get for that meal -- so find a way to like it.  That first visit
brought my boys together, their rivalry calmed and they became a team.  I
was hoping it was the example Harlan and I gave to them, but it was their
sudden dependence on each other out on the prairie with boys whose culture
was very different.  They had to learn to adapt to those changes together.

Sometimes parenting can be easy; most the time it's not.  That was an easy
time.

***


Harlan was older, and his hair was graying, thinning and he was still
handsome to me.  The years had served him some minor health issues.

Damn if Harlan didn't want his prostate milked every day, several times --
peeing took quite a while. It didn't help.  We went online and found a
vibrating contraption to shove up his butt. He'd still stand in the
bathroom cursing and grunting every morning.  I finally convinced him to go
to the doctor for minor surgery -- the medications weren't enough, and I
was tired of hearing his complaints from the bathroom. "Look, Harlan, it's
either surgery or remodeling the house again -- you're hogging the
bathroom."

Yep, the old rogue was slowed by an enlarged prostate and hating to become
what he considered submissive in the doctor's office. I fixed that by
employing a Latino custom -- Maki, Piper and I went with him to the
doctor's office and asked questions.  The doctor was a little nonplussed by
a crowd standing alongside the exam table, but the doctor pointed to the
diagram on the wall and showed the boys the internal glands, urethra, the
plumbing system, then he explained what they were for and why it was
important to wear protective gear. Harlan kept trying to cover his face
with his tee shirt, but Piper kept pulling it away -- "Ya' gotta know this
stuff, Har.  It's important!"

Harlan had his out-patient surgery on a Wednesday.  By Friday he was still
on pain relievers and swearing he was bleeding internally, his vital juices
were being drained -- he was sure he was dying. He checked his burial
policy and updated his pre-planned arrangements. What a wimp!

In bed on Friday night, I had to explain to the boys that Harlan had a
common surgery for older men and the doctor must have nicked Harlan's ego
during the outpatient procedure. It wasn't as serious as Harlan let on --
just clearing a little bend in his pipes. That started a discussion about
the surgery and sperm.  That discussion led to talking about sex.  Before
too many sentences said, the conversation led to digital examinations.

Holding my Maki against me, I rubbed his sweet, tight hole and slowly
entered him with my finger. He didn't like that too much until I hit his
prostate. "Relax, sweetheart, let me hear you breathe..."  He was still for
a few moments, breathing then began slowly rubbing his erection between
us. After a few moments, he was hunching and his spunk shot between our
chests.

"I think I'm in love!"  He said after a few deep breaths.

"Love comes from your heart, not your groin." I told him and kissed his
sweet, smooth neck.

Piper had laid by Harlan watching. Anything his big brother did, he wanted
to do, too. He shoved his brother over and wanted his turn. Harlan was
breathing fast and telling Maki that when gay men made love that anal sex
was part of it. "Most men like a little butt fingering before their lover
puts his cock inside."

"The whole thing up your butt?  That's gotta hurt!" Piper said. Harlan told
him that adult men fit just right and they enjoyed it.  "It's always the
right size."

"Enough information, Harlan."  Someone had to corral this conversation
before it went too far and I was sweating profusely.

Reaching into the nightstand drawer, I got the lube and showed it to the
boys, explaining myself. With Piper on his back, I opened his legs. Gently,
I kissed his sweet sac, and began rubbing between his legs. Though he was
hesitant at first, his young dick became hard, pointing upward -- slight
curve to the left, long, dusty foreskin. My Piper wasn't a child anymore
but rocketing toward manhood.  When I had his tight pucker lubed, he
resisted my finger; normal reaction. My lips went to his scrotum, I sucked
and kissed, taking each small almond-sized testicle in my mouth for an oral
examination. Flicking his erection with my nose, I pulled it into my lips
and ran my tongue inside his foreskin before my tongue tickled his slit. He
was moaning now. My middle finger pressed. He continued to resist.

"Push back when I push." His musk was enchanting, I loved his taste.

"It hurts."

From the other side of the bed, "Piper, do what your dad says." Harlan
said, breathlessly. The old wag was stroking as he watched us!

Piper did his best, I could feel, but made whining sounds. I continued
sucking and licking his short pole until my finger found entry and I rushed
to his small glands.  After a few moments, complaints stopped and he began
cooing, his hips thrusting against my face. Rubbing slowly and more deeply
with each stroke, I heard a few high-pitched grunts and felt his torso
convulse several times.  Delicious!  Delightfully delicious!  I kept
sucking until he pushed my head aside. I looked up to see him grinning back
at me.

Feeling liquid hitting my arm, I looked over to see both Maki and Harlan
pulling one off.

"Miracle cure, Harlan?"

"God, that was so hot." He moaned as Maki chuckled.

Going to bed with horny teens became a more delightful part of our
lives. Can't say I didn't enjoy that, and I explained carefully that
heterosexual men sometimes have anal sex with other men. It didn't mean
they were gay; sometimes men enjoyed women and men both. My old AIDS
training came back though now people with AIDS were classified as disabled
-- no longer was an HIV+ test result a death sentence -- they worked and
had full lives though they carried the "positive" stigma.

Condoms prevented AIDS other infections and people used them as a form of
birth control. "If your girlfriend gets pregnant, you will claim your
child. No doubt about it. Harlan and I'll make you dig ditches, if you have
to -- you will be a responsible father.  Think about shovels when you're
hot and horny in the back seat. Use a condom even if she says she won't get
pregnant." I paused. "Some women even like anal sex -- think about it."

***


My boys worked as they finished public school.  Not with Chris and Melanie,
but with Craig.  When he catered events, they served and bustled about
keeping things moving forward in their black slacks and white shirts. His
clients enjoyed the boys.  My boys loved the money and we always reminded
them to bring home any caviar or Roquefort that was over-bought.

Maki, though was not put off by a mess or filth.  He had well-muscled, wide
shoulders and shoveled the hoarder's scraps into bags thousands of times
with his full-body protection and came home with a big check.

Harlan's parents made sure that they didn't have to worry college.  Maki
went into law at USC hoping to specialize in contract law.  I thought Piper
might take over Chris and Melanie's business, but they sold their empire
and retired early -- wanting to make up for all the fun they'd missed in
their younger lives. Bought an RV and traveled the southwest visiting
friends and islanders.

The boys lived with us as they went to college.  Piper decided to study
chemistry and engineering -- what could I say?  Though I knew nothing much
about either, I knew he'd always be employed at a good salary.

You may be wondering what happened to the money.  I took it out of the shed
about the time the Piper graduated from high school, when the hectic
atmosphere began to slow in our home.  Put it in stacks across the
landscape Harlan had made on the sheet of plywood for his trains.  Who'd
look there?  He hadn't worked on "my" hobby in several years.  I carefully
sat the bundles of cash by the deer between the little town and the tunnel.
It stayed there gathering dust for years while we watched our boys grow
into fine men, working, studying and managing their own lives more every
year.  Yep, they dated women and I was as hard on those boys as Doby had
been on me about being respectful and gentle.  The women they brought home
were beautiful, though some were taken aback by our "two-dad/two-mom"
family.  I found out that meeting Harlan and I was the acid test for dating
the right women -- if they balked at our relationship, they were nixed.
Our boys loved us dearly -- maybe even cherished our home.

I knew I needed to spend the money -- I'd be questioned about investments
or large purchases.  Harlan and I had all we needed, so did his parents,
Chris and Melanie.  Through talking with my brother, we made some repairs
to my Mom's house -- though she didn't want much to make her neighbors
envious -- that was the way on the res.  Put a new roof on the old house
where I was raised.  Another brother helped with those arrangements.  I
couldn't let my Dad know I'd funded it.  He was stubbornly hateful about
homosexuals and becoming more bitter through the years.

Harlan and I took a few trips to Key West.  Never took a barge trip through
Europe -- it sounded boring and we were both still active.  Harlan retired
when I took an early retirement and opened a small consulting office in
Tijuana.  When I didn't have to visit my client's site, he usually came
with me in the mornings, enjoying the buzz of life in a busy border town.
He enjoyed Tijuana in the mornings; his Spanish was, well sufficient for
coffee and pastries.  He was gone all day exploring, sometimes went to the
track when the horses were racing...  I think he was making a few friends
among the vendors and shopkeepers -- the hawkers on the streets.  Our lives
were good and our schedules flexible enough to take a few days off here and
there to entertain people we'd met through the years and my family.


Trigo De Mi Pan...



I was working in my small office when I got a call from Harlan to meet him
at the curb in ten minutes for lunch -- we were going to the country club
-- big fancy place on the west side of Tijuana.  I preferred a big bowl of
soup and hot tortillas in the market by the old church, but he was
insistent.  He wanted me to meet someone.

My husband had taken to wearing guayaberas and woven leather sandals and
crisp white slacks; cool and casual.  He usually wore white -- accenting
his thick, white wavy hair.  My smooth-talking Scorpio always looked good,
and smiled often when he toddled around town to his favorite haunts.
Seemed a lot of people knew him on the streets and in traffic.  Today,
though we got a table and waited in a cool, subdued dining area, spotlessly
clean and quiet.

Four women came in and approached Harlan; we moved to a bigger table.  What
was this?  They weren't dressed in suits, only simple, bright blouses and
slacks.  They were smiling and acting like this was the first time they'd
been in the up-scale restaurant.  Harlan introduced me to the entire board
of a small non-profit organization.  Through that lunch, I found out why I
was there.  I had cash; they had a need.  Harlan was roping me into
something again, but this was interesting. They didn't ask me for any money
-- didn't ask for a donation.  Things started making sense when they
explained how they met Harlan.

When I worked late, meeting with a client after business hours, my
sometimes-better-half walked the city and particularly enjoyed a small
triangular shaped plaza off Avenida RevolucÍon next to the red-light
district.  I knew the spot -- small, always crowded and busy.  I refused to
push through the crowds on that plaza, though there were some great little
outdoor cafes and bars.  Mariachis gathered there after the working crowd
left in the afternoons and it became a hot spot for tourists and military.

The women sitting around the table had noted him coming into the area
thinking he was there to purchase sex.  He didn't.  Harlan handed the
children candies and maybe a pair of clean sox or a new tee shirt.  The
street children watched for him -- his Spanish was funny and he was kind to
them.  Harlan didn't know he was being watched by these women.  Harlan
didn't know he was also being watched by local police, and the pimps and
hustlers of the area either.

The women quickly approached Harlan when they found out what he was doing.
That old fox told the children to tell their pimps and their johns they
were HIV+, that was his way to help them protect themselves.  These women
hustled Harlan off the street immediately when they found out what he was
doing.  They got him away from the children and told him that the
traffickers and pimps would kill him for ruining their business.  They
whisked him to a small office and held him there several hours one
afternoon while I was working and dropped him off later, telling him not to
come back in the red-light district again.

He did go back to their office with a bag full of packaged snacks and asked
them to show him what they did -- that's why we were at lunch.  I was
herded into being his interpreter.  They were simply a small group of women
who kept the door of their office open for any child wanting to, our could
sneak off the streets and make it to the safety of their back room to be
covertly transferred to a safehouse.  From there, some were taken home
though most couldn't or wouldn't go back out of shame or fear of being sold
back into the trade.  Older children working the streets called the office
if they found a child hurt or needing help.

"Ladies, you are in a dangerous profession."  I knew profits trumped life
in this profession as well as among jail contractors.  I looked at Harlan,
"Don't you remember when we worked with the AIDS program years ago --
someone opened a small AIDS clinic down here.  It was bombed and burned
down twice.  Your heart's in the right place, but that strategy may not
help the kids."

The older of the ladies nodded.  "My dad told me about that clinic..."

I suddenly felt old but pushed the conversation forward.  The youngest of
the women explained that there was a network from Vancouver BC to Ensenada
-- kind of like a cartel that ran drugs and arms.  This cartel specialized
in children -- sex trafficking and slave trade.  "These little safehouses
are all we really have to help the children."  Then she showed me her phone
and a small office next to a dry-cleaning place in San Diego. It stood on
the corner near the downtown campus of the community college, near the
worst area for drug dealing in San Diego.  "The man who runs this safehouse
goes out at night with a van and approaches the kids on the street.  He
tries to convince the runaways to come into the shelter and get back in
school -- he hands out food and his business card."  I recognized the name
of the charity but wasn't familiar with what they did.

"We work with him because a lot of our kids are taken to work the west side
of Balboa park.  If he can get them back here, sometimes we can get them
cleaned up and back in school or home before they're hurt or sold to the
snuffers."  She showed me a photo of an African-American man, heavily
muscled walking a back alley under the "Re-in-Carnation" building once a
dairy processing plant.  "He's our hero."

"Last year when the economy was at its worse, there was a sudden flood of
children on the streets.  We met with him and exchanged photos and compared
notes.  It's all done under wraps, but we got some of them into shelters
and safehouses."

"Can't you get the police or someone in on this?"

"Never know who you're dealing with when you talk to the authorities.  The
kickbacks are so lucrative, they ignore the trafficking -- no kid's gonna
sue them.  We've found several children with phone numbers of the
traffickers -- they promise the runaways a life on a ranch south of San
Francisco.  When the kid is hungry enough, they'll call thinking they're
going to have a good life.  They're never seen again.  All that happens
within a few blocks of the PD, so we set up our own network.  We've got
people in Orange County and up to LA spotting kids for us."

I glanced at Harlan as our lunch arrived. "What is it you want from me?"

"We need cash to keep the safehouse open.  I'll be blunt -- when the
economy is bad, some families sell their children -- not the strongest,
healthiest kids; the stronger kids go to work.  We see children with
disabilities.  We have medical care and the church helps those kids, but
it's the different kids we have a problem with -- the queer kids.  I'd like
for you to go to the gay center and ask them to allow us to make a request
for funds."

"Are you aware," I began frankly, "We're gay men?"

"Yes.  Harlan talked to us -- he always called you his husband.  He said
you had experience with a person who was trafficked and understood the
issue and the repercussions so I asked him to meet you."

"You know that gay men are considered pervs?"

"We've been watching Harlan -- he had plenty of opportunity to use a child.
One day he took one shoe off a little girl and came back with a new pair of
shoes for her.  He put them on her and applauded her dancing in her new
shoes.  Such a simple act, and for a moment, she was a child again and not
a whore or a punching bag."

I nodded as our salads arrived.  "Tell me more about what you need and I'll
think about it."  I wasn't about to get around anyone who would put me or
my family in danger again.  Never.  But help with translations and
interpreting, I could do that.

Through an excellent lunch with lobster and sea bass, the women explained
that they didn't have any count on the numbers of children, only their
estimates on the streets.  Their safehouse held twenty-seven between the
ages of three and twenty-two.

Before we left, the group said they would work up some information and
forward it to me.  Harlan searched online and we submitted a request to the
board of the center to make a presentation at their next board meeting.  We
left together, though I had to remind Harlan that he wasn't the cock of the
walk anymore -- "Be careful.  The next Reez you meet may not be so easy to
contain when you're alone.  Don't stretch our luck."

***


The women were scheduled along with five other groups during the July board
meeting at the center.  They were last in a list asking for financial
support from the center.  Together, Harlan and I had helped the women
create a packet including photos from the safehouse.  No children present,
but an older, worn house with a sandy lot for a yard.

That afternoon we waited in the lobby with two of the women from the
Tijuana safehouse.  There were fifteen or twenty members present and seven
board members and officers.  Like all groups, this was highly political --
board members funded their friends and people they knew.  It had been years
since I'd been to the center though we'd always gone to the parade and
managed the table for the islanders.  Harlan and I didn't know any of the
officers.  We were at a disadvantage -- wasn't sure if we were gay enough
anymore to effect any change.  Harlan went in and listened to the
presentations; we were asked to wait in the lobby -- the room was small.

An hour and a half later, the fourth presenter walked through the lobby
smiling.  His cadre had asked for additional funding for the parade and
festival.  They stood with the Log Cabin Club representative, sipping
coffee and exchanging phone numbers.  When we went in, I assumed my
professional demeanor, standing aside of the women and put on my
professional mindset -- none of my own opinions or thoughts; I was simply a
language machine faithful to the speaker's words and intent.

The board looked over her information, noting the photos.  Immediately they
went to the amount requested.  We waited silently for the questions.  The
president of the board began by asking why they'd come across the border to
ask for help.  They'd asked for a commitment of two hundred dollars a month
to help with transportation, medication and clothing.  Rice, beans and
nixtamal was subsidized in Mexico -- the children weren't hungry.  The
women needed another computer to research any relatives in Mexico willing
to take a queer child.  If the child had relatives in the US willing to
sponsor them, they would help begin the legal process to immigrate if
needed.

"So how often do you find a family willing to take in a queer child?"

"Five placements last year.  Most of the children we keep until they're
able to work, then we move them to another city with a safehouse.  Their
staff help them get on their feet."

"How many LGBTQ children do you serve over a year?"  The president asked.

The women held a confab.  I waited, noticing one of the board members
giving me close scrutiny.  "Don't I know you?"  He said.

I shrugged.  Another board member whispered something to him.  "Oh, he's
the one in the photo in the office..."

One woman got out her phone and they continued using a calculator, after a
few moments: "We serve about a hundred and thirty children annually,
depending on the economy.  From that figure, the best we can calculate that
twenty percent are gay, lesbian, transgender or fall into the category of
queer in some way.  Some have been badly abused and all are traumatized.
My best estimation would be about twenty children needing services through
the year."

He nodded and looked down at the paper.  "This needs some consideration.
We have members who've had to hit the streets early and gone into the
trade, maybe trafficked.  I don't know what the statistics are."  He looked
back up at the women -- "Would you give us several weeks to review this?"

"If you have any questions, contact me or Mr. Muñoz."  She gestured
toward me.

"Muñoz, I know who he is.  I see his face every time I come to
work."  He smiled and nodded at me.

We left, feeling satisfied we'd educated the board if nothing else, but
held hope for partial funding; their request was small.

***


The next week, I got an email, along with a number of other people,
including the women from the safehouse.  They wanted to meet at a
restaurant off the north side of Tijuana to discuss the details of their
request further.  We met in a side room off a busy restaurant only two
blocks from RevolucÍon.  Several women from the center, the
president and two board members arrived late, not understanding the
intricacies of parking in Tijuana.

I sat between the women from the safehouse, fully expecting to only take a
few bites of a cold dinner as I interpreted.  What I suspected would
happen, did.  As hot plates of rich food arrived, the president of the
board looked at me.  Charles the language machine put his fork down and
began to interpret.

"I must be circumspect and consider all the members and the LGBTQ community
in Southern California.  We formed an ad hoc committee of women members
only -- they've brought a list of questions for you."

He glanced around the room and began speaking softly, leaning forward.
"Gay men are considered pederasts all too often.  Unfortunately, we have
funding sources and donors who have yet to realize that sexual abuse of
children falls across the entire population at the same rate.  I'm sure
you're aware of what I'm saying, and for this reason, I ask your
understanding about the almost-covert nature of this meeting."  He was an
excellent speaker and continued.  "I am aware that many members of our
community have been neglected, abused and discarded by their families when
they were young.  I am also aware how this feeds into the problem of sexual
trafficking.  None of the members of the board will be photographed in the
red-light district; the ad hoc committee is here to help us.  They'd like
to see where you work after we eat.  Are you amenable to giving them a
tour?"

Both women nodded, and I began with one bite of hot food, then started with
the list of questions -- who else funded them?  How are sexually
transmitted infections dealt with -- the list went on mostly about how they
were able to stay afloat and continue working.  They had a small group of
supporters and others who brought emergency items or provided quick
transport.  These women didn't eat much more than me during that dinner,
but it seemed like some action was being taken.

Harlan escorted all the women outside while we settled the bill.  Harlan
led the men to my small office and the women walked toward the district.
What they would see didn't need any interpretation.

Three hours, and a six pack later, Harlan had explained the chapter of my
life with Tomas and the protests at the jail.  Someone had posted a photo
of me and Tomas, a flyer from the march years ago.  It was framed and hung
on the back of the door of the president's office -- that's how he saw my
face every day.  I abruptly stopped Harlan from

The ad hoc committee had been given the tour, but not to the safehouse.
They cruised the streets as tourists seeing the children and their hawkers
in the shadows, then to the women's office.  Everyone shook hands with
smiles and we all went home.

"Are you going to make a donation to them?" Harlan asked as we went
home. "They're like the people who helped Tomas get away from Reez."

"Yeah.  Hmmm.  We don't know if they even have a safehouse yet.  Let's see
what pans out."

***


Along with one of the women from the ad hoc committee that had toured that
night, I was asked for my identification.  Within several days we were
asked to visit the safehouse.  I wasn't sure if Harlan had been asked for
the information to run a background check on him, but he admitted he had a
scrap with the law in Tijuana when he was young.  I didn't ask for further
information on that.

An old house on the side of a hill in Las Playas was surrounded by a tall
brick wall with broken glass embedded along the top.  We called and a few
minutes later, the gate swung open and we drove inside.  A beige ranch
house with the traditional red tile roof sat in the center of about a
half-acre; swing set and toys were to the side of the house.  Only one
woman came out to meet us, an older lady with her hair pulled back in a
braid wearing an apron and drying her hands.

"Bienvenido.  Sr. Muƈoz, Si?

"Si.  Si."  I smiled and stuck out my hand to shake hers.

About that time several young slender teens came out past her while she
laughed. That was Rosa, the house manager.  The teens gathered around the
car, I opened the trunk and told them to take everything in the kitchen and
not to open it -- for Rosa.  Harlan had packed snacks and tee shirts,
briefs, panties and sox.  There seemed to be a gross of granola bars and a
number of unidentified boxes I suspected were filled with coloring books
and crayons.

We only had twenty minutes with Rosa.  One of the women from the office
came out and showed us around quickly.  The younger children would be home
from school soon, some of them became upset with strangers -- especially
men.  I nodded and stood interpreting between the women through the house,
storage shed, huge kitchen and dining room -- wasn't much room in the house
but it was neat.  A wall of old school lockers lined the wall inside the
living room.  The women went into the pantry to discuss food.  I stayed
behind -- a young man was following us, listening.

Turning to him, "Why aren't you in school?"

"I graduated."  He looked at me.  "I need work -- they're looking for a
place for me near Guadalajara -- it's been almost a year now."

"What kind of work?"

"Any kind.  I need money to go back to school -- I want to write computer
programs."

Nodding, "You have a computer?"

"Not yet, and I can't go into the office -- my pimp's looking for me."

"Maybe something good will happen soon."  I shook his hand.  He seemed
surprised at the small courtesy.

On the way home, the women from the center was typing up her notes and
sending emails.  "We didn't see all the kids."  I said.

"You need more proof?  Bunk beds three high and a clothesline full of small
clothes?  The conditions aren't great, but they're clean and these gals are
working at capacity.  They go through a lot of food...  The teens seemed
healthy.  Didn't you think?"

The young man I spoke with had hope -- and was planning for his future...
"Yeah."  All my concerns I'd held about Tomas, his trauma and pain flooded
back over me.

"Charles, thanks for showing us how to get here -- you know you can't come
back.  Most of the traffickers and pimps are men -- the younger kids will
have problems with that."

"It's okay.  By the way, do you happen to know Chris and Melanie from the
islander group?"

"Oh, yeah!  I was a member of the islanders years ago.  Where are they
now?"

After giving her a brief update, I dropped her off reminding her that if
she found out about any specific needs to call me, I'd see how I could
help.

***


Harlan was disappointed that we couldn't visit the kids, and I personally
banned him roaming anywhere near the red-light district.  He was allowed to
go to the gal's office and entertain them with his pseudo-Spanish but only
once a week.  Being older and a little slower, I had to shorten his leash.

For the next few years, Chris and Melanie brought a group of women from
across the Southwest every spring to clean, paint and repair the safehouse.
I funded those and the playground equipment everyone assembled in a big
celebration -- I got the photos.  When the legal and immigration conditions
were right, we took in young men needing an education -- sponsored them
like Doby'd done with Tomas.  We had three at various times -- all
different, and all struggling to rebuild themselves from the inside out.

They were helpful around the house and appeared to be comfortable enough.
They were like me -- in a foreign country studying; at least they weren't
so alone and they had more than they needed to help them through school.
Never asked if they were gay or straight; one, though was quite effeminate
and dressed oddly.  We didn't care -- he was who he was and grateful to be
off the streets so he could study cosmetology -- he wanted to become an
instructor with his own school.

My two sons had to come and check out the boys.  That seemed to help the
young men, grounding them in a different culture and giving them a network
of contacts, but it was our short, intimate talks about my past that seemed
to give them perspective toward their own healing.  Tomas had held his hope
for us by making a family -- we was on a bright course before he became
ill.

Harlan always had the boys laughing as he lowered the plywood and showed
them his train layout.  I believe that green sawdust had reproduced through
the decades -- I'd still find bits of it through the house.  Thanks,
Harlan.

Yep, I spent all the money.  Gone and glad of it.  Each dollar had made an
impact, and the center had an informal, undocumented group of donors and
fund-raisers to help the safehouse gals.  Now, they were linked with
safehouses up and down the West Coast from Vancouver to San Juan del Sur.
That made me proud, though the trafficking continued and queer children
were still turned away from their homes.  If I could help just a few...


AsĂ­, AsĂ­, Eres Harlan...



"Stop it!  The doctor said complete bed rest until you're released."  He
was in the hospital with his second bypass surgery.  "Put that thing away."

"If I sing for you?"

"No. We can't lock the door and that nurse is on duty -- the mean one that
caught us last time."  I pulled the sheet back over his groin.  "She chewed
our butts out -- you'll have to wait.  I hate passing the nurse's station.
They all grin and wag their fingers at me."

My old rounder wanted a blow job, that meant he was feeling better.  I
kissed him and told him how much I loved him.  "I love you, and if you want
it, do it yourself.  Move over."  I whispered.  I held him beside me while
he fingered his erection -- maybe he only needed to be told he was loved
and the smell of me near him.  God, I loved him and I was aware that our
time together needed to be rich -- every moment with him was precious as
the days passed.

As we lay watching a documentary on training truffle-sniffing pigs, I
studied Harlan's profile -- fine man, handsome man and he loved me.  Never
imagined all the twists and turns our lives would take as they entwined to
bring us together.  Seems like life wouldn't let me stay that "neutral"
language geek -- it shoved me forward through some tough times.  Life
didn't leave me to face it all alone -- if it had been alone, I couldn't
have made it through the deaths, a home invasion and the trial.  During
those sharp-toothed moments, I judged myself a coward for being
overwhelmed.  It was Harlan that kept me facing the all the beasts and
their brutality -- facing them and facing them down.  As painful as it was,
he stayed beside me -- by choice he stayed beside me in his own pain.

Maybe it was Doby in life, and now in the stars who impelled me to build
and hold the family I so desperately needed around me.  They weren't a
patchworked and pieced-together family, but there by choice and proud of
ourselves for what we were about.

I remembered my own decision that first turned the course of my life.  I'd
spoken back against my father's ignorance, or maybe it was his vanity and
fear -- his need to appear super-straight, upright, and morally correct to
others.  He let outsiders rob our love and destroy our family.  Dad died
alone in his camper.  The saddest part of memories of him were that he'd
never realized how deeply I loved him my entire life and, yes, I needed him
for so many years.

Pain hurts no matter the source; love heals us though the source of that
love may be unexpected -- it can still warm a heart toward wholeness but
there's no closure.  No closure as long as the memory functions and the
conscience is intact, but an ease Harlan was the fire in my hearth, the
warmth of our home and much of the source of my healing.

"Do you know how much I love you?"  I slipped my hand under the sheet, "Do
you?"

He grunted and his hand came over mine, "Hurry up."

My lips close to his ear, "I love you bigger than the universe, wider than
the ocean, hotter than a million suns. I love you deeper than you'll ever
know. God, Harlan I love you for loving me." I kissed him and stroked him
gently until the smell of his cum surrounded us.



Fin.

Harlan