This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

 

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

 

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

 

Twenty-three

(Sunday, October 9th)

I’m awake. I know where I am, and I know that it’s not Raphie’s cock trying to push its way up my ass. He’s sleeping in front of me, and he would have enough lubrication that it wouldn’t be an attempted dry fuck. So, it’s either Dad or Marty. I look over my shoulder and see Joey grinning.

Let me go get some lube.” I whisper. He pats my ass in affirmation.

The petroleum jelly on my finger goes in nicely and starts to melt. I insert my middle finger deeper to check for debris. It’s clean, so I return to bed and reassume the same position as before. Dad slips in nicely and starts gently swaying his hips back and forth, in and out. He is going very slowly, taking his time. This is extremely soothing. He kisses my neck.

Raphaël’s eyelids start to flutter, and his breathing is more pronounced, no longer the shallow breath of sleep. He looks at me longingly and strokes my cock and notices Dad’s balls under mine. He slowly rearranges his body and takes my cock into his mouth, offering me his. Dad increases his pace somewhat.

Then, of a sudden, Dad’s breathing increases and I feel his cock swell, pulse and explode. “T’aint fair, Marty.”

I see Marty’s head buried between Joey’s cheeks. Dad must have just got his first rim job. And apparently, he enjoyed it.

Marty squeezes himself between Joey and me and inserts his cock. I hadn’t noticed, yesterday that Marty isn’t circumcised, but that’s the first thing you feel when it goes in. Particularly when the foreskin is as long as Marty’s and the cock so wide. It enters easier.

Raph leaves me and moves over Marty and me to Joey. As always when this excited, Raph’s cock oozes enormous amounts of lubricant. I close my eyes and enjoy the ride that Marty’s giving me.

A soft whisper tells me what’s about to happen. “Be gentle, Son.” And I know Raphie will be; he always is. At least, in the beginning.

Now, without being hindered with superfluous limbs, Marty picks up the pace and intensity. Then he does it. He slaps my right cheek. It is just as I have wanted for a long time. Then it becomes clear; on the few occasions that Dad ever spanked me, I’d found it erotic. I had, in fact, secretly hoped that he would fuck me.

Marty is slamming his pubis against my hole. He slaps my left cheek. I tell him through gritted teeth to do it again, harder. He does and raucously spurts his jizz into me.

And now it’s Raph’s turn. At first gentle with Dad, he now needs to get rough, which he obviously feels that he can’t do with an older guy. I turn Joey onto his back to be able to kiss him, while I turn my ass over to Raphie. He buries his long cock in me; I clamp my sphincter. He growls like he did that day in the park, and starts ramming my ass. He isn’t making love to me, he’s using me, and I’m enjoying every second.

I put my mouth onto Joey’s and start kissing him violently, taking my breaths through his nostrils, sucking the air out of his lungs, pumping air from my lungs into his. Marty is jacking him and he explodes just as violently as I’m kissing him, as Raph is fucking me.

Marty now has me in his mouth and I’m licking Dad’s cum off his neck and forehead and off his short blond-grey hair. I’ve got his head in my hands, licking. Tasting my own father’s jizz pushes me right up to the edge of filling Marty’s mouth. I hear Raph’s signal, his growl that mutates into a primal, guttural groan. He fills me; I fill Marty, and I’m still licking up Dad’s cum and feeding it to him off my tongue. Finally, we collapse.

Aw, sweet mother of god, what happened? I feel like I’ve been in a feckin’ dog fight and lost.” His muffled voice surfaces from under some part of someone else’s anatomy.

And that’s exactly what it sounded like.” Bob’s bass booms from the doorway. “If you guys keep this shit up, I’m going to invest in a super-8 movie camera.” He chuckles to himself and removes his hand from inside his sweats.

Breakfast is ready and Geneviève will be here with Jordan in twenty minutes, so I would suggest you sodomites get up, wash and dress.”

I’m the first out of bed, since I have to empty my bowels. But I do stop in front of Bob and lift his right hand. He smirks. Just as I thought, moist and sticky. I lick some off his middle finger. Hope he enjoyed the show. Guess we forgot to close the bedroom door.

Bob brings in a handful of new toothbrushes in their cellophane wrappers and a tube of toothpaste. “Thought you could use these.” He places them on the shelf below the mirror and above the washbasin. He puts towels for Joey and Marty on the towel rack.

It feels as if gallons of jizz is coming out of my rectum. “Do you like watching?” I ask matter-of-factly.

It sure beats listening to you guys through the floorboards.” He chuckles and starts to leave.

I flush and move to the bidet. He watches me straddle the washbasin and nods knowingly. He doesn’t seem surprised, when I ask: “Do you ever participate?”

That’s too complicated to answer just now. I’m about to be stampeded.” He squeezes by Raph, who plants a good-morning kiss on his cheek, and returns to the kitchen.

Raph and I take a quick shower and turn the stall over to Marty and Jose, el ratoncito blanco, and I amaze about how you can never really know someone.

A penny for your thoughts.” Raphie is still drying off my back, lingering much longer on my butt, than would normally be necessary. “Are you thinking about the spanking you wanted?”

No, but speaking of which, would you be willing to include that into our repertoire?” I turn around and sniff at his neck.

I’m not sure. Let’s go get dressed.” He hangs up our towel and leaves.

As I pull on my last clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he comes over, already dressed. “I’m not sure how spanking would affect me emotionally. Papa never spanked us. His punishment was much more brutal: He would ignore us.” Raph laughs, and I think back to Maurice, and can’t imagine that true gentleman ever having become violent.

Just goes to prove that you Mongrains are much more civilized than we are.” I step into my penny loafers, and notice a spot of what looks like blood on my right toe. I get a tissue from the dresser, spit on it to rub the spot away.

I think spanking is an issue that you’re going to have to settle with Joey.” He pats my denim-encased ass.

Does it bother you that we’re having sex with him and Marty?” I straighten up and toss the bloody tissue into the wastebasket in the bathroom.

He snorts. “Does it bother you that we’re going to have breakfast with him and Marty?” Looking up through the ceiling window and seeing the cloud-cover, he adds: “You’re probably going to want a sweater.”

Bob has made pancakes for breakfast, which he has warming in the oven. I look at him and chuckle.

He shakes his head. “Yeah, I know. But I did forego the rice, napalm, Agent Orange and another episode of Leave It to Beaver.”

You’re cool, Brown Bear.” I laugh teasingly as I get the plates from the cupboard to set the table.

He grins broadly. “Fuck you, Momma’s Boy.” Now, if that’s not an offer, I don’t know what is.

The air in the apartment is demanding that I open the windows behind the couch. The stiff breeze confirms Raphie’s assumption: I am going to need a sweater. The weather is definitely no longer Indian summer. The sky is grey, leaves are starting to fall. Not very many, but some are noticeably missing on the trees. Les feuilles mortes.

I wonder, if Dad has ever gotten over the death of Maurice. I know that I wouldn’t have the strength to continue if Raphaël were no more. Odd situation, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have any problem with him loving and being happy with someone else. I would more than likely move on, too. But I just don't think that I could continue, if he were dead.

His calloused hands always identify him when he approaches from behind, even if I can’t smell his scent over that of the shower soap. “Havin’ dark thoughts, Lad?” I sigh and lean my head against his unshaven cheek. “About Mildred?”

Oh, for Shit’s sake, no.” I laugh and turn to face him. “I was getting all melancholic about you and Maurice.” I take him by the hand and lead him to the closet in the bedroom. Raph joins us, taking my other hand. We slide open the large, mirrored door. And I point to the black canvass bag. Dad squats on his heels and opens it. The bronze urn reflects a sliver of the closet light, shining through the clothes and hangers.

Joey lifts it carefully and holds it to his lips. « Je t’aime encore, tu sais. »

Marty, tears flowing, sniffs: “For Christ’s sake, get that man out of the closet.” Bob laughs from the kitchen. Marty takes the urn and goes to the low-slung Danish teak buffet in the living room. “Here’s where he belongs.”

I go get the flatware to put on the breakfast table, before Maman and Jordan arrive. “What is this thing with the closet?”

Marty snickers wiping his eyes. “It’s New Yorker queer-speak. It means that if you think that nobody knows you’re queer, then you’re hiding in the closet.” His mood shifts to more serious. “And to out someone, means to expose to others that that someone is queer.”

That’s what happened to ya, wa’nit?” Dad pulls Marty into his arms. Marty nods. “An’ya know who did it, don’t ya?”

 “Oh, shit! Don’t tell him, Man. We’ll have blood and guts all over the place.” Bob laughs. Marty laughs. Raphie laughs. Just Joey and I don’t seem to appreciate the humor.

A singing « Bonjour, tout le monde. » rings out from the bottom of the stairs. It is remarkable how discretely considerate Maman is, as opposed to her counterpart, who had been my legal mother.

She appears at the top of the stairs and rushes to me, taking me into her arms for the first time I can remember off hand. « Je suis horriblement sad that you had to grow up so suddenly and so brutally. »

For some reason I’m having problems containing my mirth, sarcasm, ironic joy, mixed with outright acrimony when someone alludes to what happened to Mildred. « C’était simplement une considération économique. Funerals are by far cheaper than divorces. »

« Comme en Italie. » She refers to Italian divorces with an only thinly veiled sarcasm of her own and moves on to Joey. « Et toi, Jose ? » She gives him a hug. « Ça va ? »

Raphie is scuffling with Jordan in a headlock at the end of the couch. Bob and Marty are bringing the pancakes, maple syrup, orange juice, milk and coffee to the table. Bob smiles. “So far, I have understood every word.” Marty nods, claiming that he has, as well.

« Répondez en français, alors. » Maman is in school-teacher mode, admonishing them to answer in French.

« Jusqu'à présent, j’ai, um, compris, um chaque mot. » Bob earns a huge smile from Maman.

« Moi, aussi. » Marty chuckles and attempts to weasel his way out of a complete answer. Maman tisks, as language teachers are prone to do, when expecting an entire sentence.

« Bon, Madame, en considération de votre grande expectation, je répondrai avec une phrase complète. Je vous ai compris aussi. » That did get her attention. Aside from his unmistakable mid-Missourian accent, his response is perfectly fluent. I think the need for an explanation is apparent, since everyone, except for Bob and Marty, of course, are experiencing a jaw locked open.

Và tôi đã phi mt ngôn ng khác.” Bob switches from Vietnamese to English. Everyone is puzzled, but impressed. “That’s part of what Special Forces do. I’m qualified in Vietnamese and Marty in French. Our squad was a special unit for search and destroy operations behind the lines. So, they sent us to language school at the Presidio of Monterey. Not at the same time, however. We met when Marty came into the squad.”

My mouth is able to work before the others. “So, why this crap about wanting to learn French?”

Marty looks a little sheepish. “I can speak French fluently, although you can hear the cow shit stickin’ to my boots from down home.” Maman suppresses a laugh and puts her hand in front of her mouth. “But I can’t really write anything without looking up every second word. And I have difficulty reading it.”

And Marty’s been helping me learn a lot.” Bob pats his buddy on the back. “But I sure as Hell don’t want his accent.” That relieves tension in the room.

Breakfast passes without a hitch. Maman tells some of her more amusing stories of teaching French in one of the lowest of lower-middle class sections of Kansas City, Kansas. She relates everything in elementary French for Bob. And when she uses a longer word, she makes sure it’s at least close to the English word and she pronounces it very distinctly and slowly.

Bob sits up and pays special attention, as she relates how her being someone of color is a motivating factor for all students. The children of a darker complexion use her as a role model, and the children of a lighter complexion want to prove to her that they can do the work, too.

Bob thinks that he would like to go into teaching. And, to Maman’s delight, he expresses the idea in French. Joey thinks that, with Bob’s knack for languages, he should keep up his Vietnamese, and maybe add Arabic to his French and look for work in the Diplomatic Corps.

I yawn and look at my wrist, remembering that my watch is lying on the night table next to the bed. When I get up to look at the kitchen clock, it tells me that it’s 7:15.

My sense of time and season are distorted. I look outside and it is getting lighter. I pass an annoyed glare at my father. “At exactly what time did you, uh, uh,” I become keenly aware that Maman and Jordan are in the room. “get, uh, us up?”

Shortly after five.” He sips the last of his coffee and stands to start collecting the plates. “Forget your watch?”

You got us up at five on a Sunday?” This isn’t an accusation; I am actually wondering what day it is. “It is Sunday, isn’t it?”

I pitch in collecting the flatware and the serving dishes. Bob looks at me as if to say something, but I can’t quite interpret what it is. I wink at him. He looks embarrassed. But then winks back. “Yeah, it’s Sunday, and we have a lot of things to accomplish today. We have to get Geneviève and Joey moved. And, we have to have the houses swept.”

Swept?” I just know that this is going to be some term that I don’t think I want in my active vocabulary.

We have some ex-Special Forces, who go through homes and look for things left behind. It used to be civilian homes vacated by military looking for bugs and incriminating evidence.” He grunts more than laughs. “But now, they look for valuables, like misplaced jewelry and documents.”

I draw dishwater and place the glasses in first. We hear the basketball bouncing in the drive. Bob rushes to the window to whisper very loudly for Jordan to cut it out. Raph comes out of the bedroom with an armful of our clothes, which badly need washing. Marty’s accompanying him down the stairs. Joey and Geneviève have disappeared and have probably taken Jordan with them.

I rinse the glasses and put them on the draining board. Bob picks one up and lets it slip out of his hand. And it doesn’t get close to the floor. I have seen some quick moves in my years of wrestling, but Bob’s swoop and grasp is without a doubt faster than anything I’ve seen.

I absolutely don’t believe my eyes.” It’s not a compliment, and he doesn’t take it as one. “Of course, that belongs to your training.” I conclude matter-of-factly.

Yeah,” He chuckles, more than likely at my slow uptake. “speedy reactions tend to keep us and our clients alive, not to mention that it saves on buying new dishes.” The dried glass goes into the cupboard. “But I’m not as quick with other things. Why did you lick my finger this morning?”

Promise not to get freaked?” I pause in washing dishes to look at him.

You got it.” He sighs and looks away, letting his face go a little surly. “I thought you weren’t going to come on to me.”

That wasn’t a come-on.” I clear my throat and wash and rinse a plate. “I just wanted to taste your cum.”

And, did it pass inspection?” He dries the plate and laughs with more than just a hint of serious edge.

On a scale of one to ten,” I hand him another plate and smile into his large brown eyes. “it’s right up there near the top at about nine and a half.”

Anyone at te--?” And before he gets the question out he answers it himself. “--why didn’t I know it would be Raphaël?”

Actually, it’s not.” I snicker, pausing enough to finish off the serving dish and flatware. “It’s my own.” I pull the plug.

This is something that heterosexual men never admit to but have all tried. Every man has, at some point in his life, tasted his own cum. Bob just shakes his head.

Are yus ready?” Joey arrives at the top of the stairs.

I go to the bedroom to get my watch and a sweater. “Where were you?”

Vievie, Jordan and I went to look at me new flat.” He plays with the keys.

Flat?” Bob looks at me.

Apartment.” I return to Joey. “Where is it?”

Almost directly across the street. Blanche’s place has a carriage house, too.” He snickers complacently. “We’ll be feckin’ neighbors.”

Are we to take that literally, Joey?” Bob’s sarcasm is improving.

Can we have a look at it?” I was in Blanche’s stone carriage house once, several years ago, when the set designer, who used to live there, had a cast party.

Blanche, however, evicted him, when she found out that he’s queer. After all, the guy never made a point of claiming not to be, so, Blanche must have been the last to know. Anyway, I found it an odd stance for an actress to take. There must have been another reason.

I’ll give you a guided tour of the three rooms, when we get back. We have to get a move on.” He looks at Bob. “You and Dan go with Geneviève and Jordan; Raph and Marty will come with me.” Bob nods and puts his shoulder holster on, then checks the handgun’s clip. “You’ll be drivin’ Marty’s car with Dan. Geneviève has already left in hers with Jordan. They’ll meet you at the Norton place.”

Although he’s almost a half a century older than me, I can’t help feeling that I’m responsible for him. “Are you sure that you can handle all the gore by yourself, Dad?”

Yer man and Marty’ll be with me. I’ll be fine.” He kisses me on the cheek. “But I do appreciate your concern.”

Downstairs, I lock our place and we walk to Marty’s cream-colored Austin. Bob opens the door for me and surveys the area. I would imagine out of habit, or maybe there’s a threat I’m not aware of.

It’s odd getting into this converted version of an Austin Cambridge. It’s like looking at the dashboard in a mirror. The steering column is on the left, for driving on the right. Dad’s has the original right-hand drive. I’m very glad Bob’s at the wheel and not me.

***

Does my driving make you nervous?” Bob looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

Not at all. The car makes me anxious.” I jitter my right leg.

How can a car make you anxious?” He laughs, really wanting an answer.

The interior of Dad’s car is exactly like this one, but it’s a mirrored image. When I’m sitting on this side, I’ve got a steering wheel in my hand. And when the motor gets to a certain revs per minute I want to change gears.” I demonstratively slap my left hand.

You can shift with your left hand?” By now, he’s signaling and pulling over to the curb. “You’re going to have to show me. Tell me when to clutch.”

He signals to pull out from the curb. “Clutch.” I put it into first gear. He starts the car rolling. “Clutch.” I change to second. He takes it up smoothly. “Clutch.” And we are finally in third. He places his hand on mine on the gear lever’s knob, squeezes and pulls it away.

We stop at a traffic light. “What’s it like to drive on the left?”

I laugh. “Dunno. I’ve never done it.”

The last time you were in Britain, you weren’t old enough to drive?”

I’ve never been to Britain, Bob.”

Wow, that’s a shame.” His eyes are instantly moist. “That reminds me of all those Caucasians in Vietnam, who consider themselves French and have never set foot in Europe.”

Isn’t that what it’s like in this country?” I clear my throat, the air is stirring up dust. Maybe it’ll rain this afternoon. “Ask any Negro, what nationality they are and they’ll say that they’re American of African descent, but they don’t know from where in Africa. And ask any white person, and they’ll tell you that they have three halves: half Italian, half German and half Polish. The only ones who actually know for sure are the Indians.”

His brow is wrinkled with censure, which fades to just thinking, then he concludes: “Shit, you’re right! I have never thought about that. That is so utterly true.” He chuckles to himself. “Damn.”

We turn left onto Troost and start hitting several red lights in a row. At each light, Bob searches the area to make sure we’re safe. It is phenomenal, how protected I feel. Marty is good at what he does. He gets his man, as we saw with Busby. But Marty isn’t as overtly alert as Bob.

Mind if I ask you something?” Bob changes from first to second.

After the truth round, last night, what could I possibly have to hide?” I snicker.

It’s not about you; it’s about Raph’s ethnic background.” He seems jumpy. Maybe, he thinks that he’s prying.

Let’s see. I don’t think that I can get the percentages right but he’s Osage, Choctaw, Caucasian and West-African, but mainly Osage and Choctaw. Why do you ask?” I see that there are butts in the ashtray, so I ask if I can smoke.

Bob nods. “You mentioned that the Indians are the only ones that know what the Fuck they are. I thought that he might be.”

I open the vent window and light up. “Yeah, he’s pretty proud of his heritage. So is his mother.”

Guess they don’t have many slaves in their background.” Bob sighs, this obviously being an identification problem for him.

Don’t assume too much, my Friend.” I take a deep drag and exhale out of the window. “They do have heavy slave background. Part of Geneviève’s family is Haitian. That’s where the slaves revolted and polished French ass that the Vietnamese can only dream of.”

Yeah, you can be proud of that. I’m just an ordinary Kansas City spade.” I have trouble believing that Bob is so down on himself. But then again, I’m white.

Hey, man, snap out of it.” I puff on the cigarette more than smoke it. “You’re from Vine Street, the fuckin’ center of Jazz universe. For Crap’s sake the Beatles even sing about 12th and Vine. You’re from the core of ebony culture.” I puff some more, gaining steam. “Have you ever seen a white couple jitterbug? Shit! And you can count your lucky stars that you never had to eat my mother’s cornbread.”

The laughter is heart-warming. I am happy for him and relieved, that he hasn’t unlearned laughter. “Why aren’t all white people like you?”

Aw crap, Bob.” I take the last drag and flip the butt out the window. “Ya can’t have everyone goin’ about killin’ their own mothers.”

His laughter stops abruptly. “Would you do me a favor, Dan?”

Anything, within reason.” I don’t quite realize that I’ve killed his laughter, as well.

Please, don’t dwell on that.” He places his hand on my knee. “I’m scared shitless, that you’ll do something to yourself.”

Do something to myself?” I laugh slightly but listen.

When Marty and I got back from Nam, we decided to buy the house together. I was eligible for a VA loan, Marty wasn’t. Anyway, I started to notice that I didn’t trust anyone, except for Marty. I was always looking for the enemy.” Bob sighed and looked saddened. “Am I making any sense?”

Yes, and I think I know where this is going.” I light another cigarette. “Last night, I had the need to sleep with my dad.”

Bob snickers and shakes his head.

No, I mean to have him close by. I was afraid to spend the night without him.” I take a long drag to analyze Bob’s reaction. Then it dawns on me. “Aside from the fact that I do enjoy sex with him. I just had to have him close to me.”

We pull up to the house at 24th and Norton and park behind an unmarked moving van. Four men are busy loading furniture and boxes. Maman is on the front porch and waves. We wave back, but I don’t want this conversation to go unfinished.

Do you know the symptoms?” I take his hand to confirm his presence. He nods. “Can you tell me, if you think I need help?”

You said that you know a psychologist?” He squeezes my hand, and places it in both of his.

Yeah, Don. I know him from the theatre.” I feel an urgent need to get to a phone. “I’ll give him a call now.”

We walk up to the front porch. Of a sudden, it is clear that this will probably be the last time I’ll see this house from the inside. I give Maman the customary kiss on each cheek. « Est-ce que your telephone already out of service ? »

« Non, non, it’s still connected. » She watches as Bob and I hurry to the phone, which is sitting on the floor.

I get Don out of bed. I’m still confused about the time of day. In my head it’s around noon; my watch is telling me shortly after nine. Instead of chewing my head off, he demonstrates concern and offers to meet us at five this evening at our place. When I give him our address, he laughs and tells me to watch out for the Wicked Witch of the West.

After all your time at the theater, you should know how homophobic Blanche is.” He chuckles through the line.

Yeah, but I don’t live at her place.” I’m starting to get a slight cramp in my right leg from squatting. I change to sitting on the floor, which makes the bells in the phone chink. “But my dad’s renting her carriage house.”

Joey the hunk is living at Tara? Now, I know where to find him.”

You think Joey’s a hunk?” I’m not surprised that someone would think that, but I am taken aback to hear it from Don. “Didn’t think he’d be your type.”

C’mon, Dan, haven’t you ever noticed how everyone, and I mean everyone of both sexes absolutely drool when he comes into the dressing room to pick you and Raph up. That faded black baseball cap, those brown buff leather work boots, his worn jeans” Don’s breathing is getting slightly heavy. “and the man’s got a body right out of a naughty movie. And flirts with absolutely everybody. I’d kill for a night in the sack with him. Whoops, sorry, bad choice of words.”

Be careful what you wish for, Professor.” I see Maman, Jordan and Bob waiting, so it’s time to ring off.

Bob looks amused. “Your dad seems to be popular with the theater folk.”

The husky laugh comes surprisingly from Maman. “Believe me, he always was.” She walks through the empty dining room, stands for a minute or two in the empty living room and emits a heartfelt sigh as she sits down on one of the stairs leading to the second floor. “Dan, have you got a cigarette on you?”

Just when I firmly believe that nothing can stun me anymore. Then shit like this pops up. First, she’s speaking English with me, and it’s not just for Bob’s sake. And secondly, I have never once seen her smoke. I pull out the pack and lighter.

Uh,” She flushes just like Raphie does. “I don’t smoke tobacco.”

Okay, so scrape me off the floor. She’s speaking English and wanting to smoke dope. I shake my head, and feel like I’ve failed her.

Bob extends his hand with a generously rolled reefer and I give her a light. I can’t contain myself. “Why have you insisted on speaking French all these years?”

She hands Bob the joint. “There were basically two reasons. First to give my three children a bilingual home environment.” Wow, she does think of me as one of hers. “Knowledge is power; that’s why it’s the original sin in the white-people’s Bible, and that’s also why educational funding is being cut all over this country. In thirty years, you’ll find a nation of slothful, monolingual, monosyllabic morons, who think that they are god’s gift to humanity.

And secondly, just in case this place is bugged, which is likely, since everybody and their brother was, and probably still is, being spied on. The Red Scare has turned a country of mild-mannered and only sometimes dangerous bigots into a hoard of raving Nazis. So, if everything they hear in this house is in French, the pigs have to have everything translated. Which, if a push were to come to a shove, we would have had enough time to go on the lamb.” She chuckles as I hand her the J, and then her chuckling turns into a low-pitched growl after she inhales.

Would you leave the country?” Bob asks as he hands me the reefer.

At the drop of a hat.” She snarls. “That’s why I raised my three sons bilingually. One third of the world speaks English, and another third speaks French. That gives them an option of where to go. But staying here to become cannon fodder for a senseless imperialistic war is not an option.” She gets up, does her kissy-face routine with Bob and me and walks toward the kitchen and the back door. “Will you be bringing me the keys to this place out to Overland Park?”

Sure, Maman.” I suddenly become unsure of my status, when she frowns.

I do have a name, Daniel, please use it.” Her sighed chuckles are nostalgic. I can tell that leaving here is difficult. Another political necessity in her life, so, she is making other changes, to go along with them. “You sound like an overgrown toddler, calling me Maman.”

Where’s Jordan?” Bob wants to know with a slight tinge of urgency, acting like one of his sheep may have fallen into the clutches of wolves.

She smiles and touches his arm. “He went with the movers. He’s got the keys to the house. When are the sweepers coming?”

We’re uh,” He looks at his watch that he wears with the timepiece on the inside of his wrist and the band on the outside. “way ahead of schedule. They won’t be here until eleven. That should put us in Overland Park at about half past one.”

Good. Shall see you then.” She leaves the back door open as she walks to her car, parked on 24th Street.

Bob closes and locks the back door. He takes me by the hand and leads me into the empty living room. We sit down on the stairs next to the amber-glass ashtray. His broad grin tells me that our last joint is not the only one he has with him.

I take the joint that looks almost machine made. The guy obviously knows how to roll. “This stuff is great. Where did you get it?”

Can I entrust you with a secret that not even Marty knows?” He giggles conspiratorially and rests his elbow on my knee to whisper effectively.

You know you can.” I light the luxurious joint and hold for five. “You’re the one with the fuckin’ gun.”

He ignores my wisecrack. “I grow my own.” The whisper is cut short by the sensuous sound of sucking smoke. “Found an abandoned farm out in Blue Springs, with a perfect spot to grow weed.”

I’m impressed.” I inhale and count. “And not for the first time.”

Bob lies back and props himself on his elbows, resting on the next couple of steps up. “Dan, I have another secret I have to tell you, and you can’t tell anybody, not your dad, not Raph, and especially not Marty. Can you do that for me?”

You’re my big brother. I would be a sorry shit if I couldn’t keep a secret for you.” He takes my relaxed attitude as being flippant and grips my leg that makes it feel like it’s stuck in a vice.

This is so important for me, Dan.” When I flinch, he relaxes the grip. “Didn’t mean to hurt you, sorry.”

I lean back and prop my elbow on the same step. “You have my solemn promise that I will take what you’re going to tell me to the grave.”

I am a woman.” The sentence is fast and slurred, but it’s out. His big brown eyes are searching in my face for an answer. And at this very moment, he does remind me of a huge, injured bear. “Does that make sense to you?”

My almost eighteen years of life haven’t equipped me to deal with this, as such. But I am aware of the trust he is placing in me.

However, I have heard some of the actors in the dressing room talk about transvestites and one guy, Silvano, claims to be a transsexual. Now, these are both words I had to look up in the dictionary, so my knowledge is limited to what Webster’s Unabridged in the school library says, but I want to help my Brown Bear.

I take his hand. “Yes, Bob, it does make sense.” The volume of air, his lungs release in relief, is enormous. Tension flows from him. His burly mass seems to shrink. “And I’ll stick by you until we find an answer that is acceptable.”

I can honestly say, Daniel Bourke, I’m glad that I know you. And I believe that I might love you.” Although I think it may be more gratitude than love, I’ll take him at his word. “Like a brother.” he adds. Okay, I’ll settle for that.

Do you feel more like a woman physically or emotionally?” I light up a tobacco cigarette to get a bit of a legal buzz.

When I think of sex, I don’t picture a guy fucking me in the ass,” His whispers are low and close to me on the stairs. “but I’ve got a vagina and he’s fucking me in my pussy and my dick becomes a large clitoris.”

Are your nipples really sensitive?” He waves my smoke away. “Sorry.” I put out the cigarette.

Yeah. I can make myself cum just by playing with my nipples.” His breathing is becoming labored.

I stand up and stretch out my hand. “C’mon Brown Bear. Let me lick your pussy.”

But I don’t have one.” He sounds impatient. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Yes, you do, Bob.” I pull him up. “You just haven’t discovered it yet.”

Disbelief is plastered on his face like the mask of tragedy. His hands are sweaty. He can hardly stand, because his knees are shaky. But he does follow me up to Raph’s old bedroom. I undress him, leaving my clothes on, as not to intimidate him. I lay him on the thick carpeting and spread his legs, not lifting them.

Just as I’d hoped, his scrotum is large and his balls not very big. A lot of skin to play with. His balls can be pushed easily into his abdominal cavity and I pinch the skin at the top of his scrotum, keeping them in place in his belly. Now comes the part that, I hope, will fulfill his fantasy.

I insert my index and middle finger into the gap and fold the skin inward behind his perineum, giving the effect of good-sized vaginal lips and an interior reaching behind the muscle of his scrotum down inside his body along the shaft of his hard penis.

His eyes are wide and his clitoris is pulsating, wanting attention. I sink down between his legs and start slurping his pussy, letting my tongue play with his vaginal lips, flicking down his perineum just to the top of his asshole.

His hands are exploring the parts that no longer resemble a scrotum. He inserts his fingers into his new hole and he pants in excitement and I lick harder and suck his fingers. Then he is on the edge of the inevitable.

I move to his throbbing clit and rap my lips around it. He shoots a load that nearly suffocates me. It reminds me of Mack’s first load I’d sucked out of him at Vicky’s party. It just keeps coming. His cum tastes much richer than it had this morning.

Some has dribbled onto his pussy, so I dive and retrieve it with my tongue. He screams in delight and holds my head in place with his huge paws. “Stay there a second longer, Dan. I’m still enjoying this.” He shudders three, four times, then he lets go.

I raise myself up and pull out my dick, which is just about to explode in my jeans, and insert the tip into his cunt and lie down on top of him. Bob groans. “Fuck that pussy. Make me your bitch.” My pubes rub his still-hard clitoris and I push my cock further in between the lips of his makeshift fuckhole.

It doesn’t take much for me to come inside him. His hands are exploring my dick, the sticky cum and his filled cunt. I slide my head down and slurp my own jizz out of his snatch.

He pulls me up on top of him with his legs still spread. He massages the back of my neck and scratches my back. His mouth is directly next to my ear when he whispers: “Now, when I call you Momma’s Boy, it’s gonna have an entirely different meaning.”