Levi 7

Somewhere warmer, but Levi and Fourteen have not escaped Autumn here on the shores of Bull Shoals Lake. Levi Fisher is on vacation with a gypsy-free montage of Baby Boomers, leaving Generation Z Fourteen (everyone’s-in-school alone) with too many thoughts. Stretching the leash, he finds a lonely spot by the rocky Missouri shore hoping to find solitude. The ghostly-guilt-voices follow him anyway.

“Son,” Disappointment so obvious, “You can read a map, even if you lost your phone. Gosh, you knew your states and capitals in grade five! Patrick and John drove you east to the chocolate bar, then Levi took a great arch north past Chillicothe. You stopped in Michigan for a month,” Fourteen isn’t looking at his hurt-confused inner father. His eyes are on a wet dream houseboat like the one Levi thinks he will off-season rent. It is cruising past a scattering of middle class boats.  Money-is-no-object, Ian Holland hinted. Levi Fisher has caged a 1965 Jeep to play with when he isn’t playing with Fourteen. These thoughts of houseboats and cars, cold October water and cool breezes, get pushed aside by Greyson Gates’ reserved voice. “It doesn’t make sense. How many times could you have just walked away from him?” This is the second thing his parents always get around to when Fourteen talks with them like this.

“Levi has me booby trapped.” Why does that always sound weak? Fourteen hunches over the excuse, chin propped on his palm. The houseboat has a hot tub and a slide into the off-season waters. “If I run, he knows. If I leave the watch behind when I run, the bracelet blows”

“He lets you shop by yourself.” Wade reminds him in a lazy dude-I-just-killed-you voice. Fourteen pretends he doesn’t hear. He is never by himself. Levi watches, old threat ready.

“How many police officers did you walk past since you went with them?”

“I did not go with them!” There it is, Fourteen’s shame-guilt. Fourteen slaps his calf, Missouri mosquitoes. The bobcat is napping and he is jackrabbit tamed. He is talking to himself, because this is going to be the after-March thing for Jeremy Gates. After all the hugs and tears welcoming him home, there will be these Monday-morning-quarterback questions from his parents, from his friends, from the police.

“Security guards, managers, just anyone with a phone to borrow?” Greyson Gates does not understand, or maybe he knows the crushing answer already. “We are looking for you Jeremy.”

There is always that reproach to beat him down. Fourteen-tears trail down his cheeks. “I know you are dad, I know you must be mom! Dr. Evil ghosts me along every highway and hides me at every gas station. He looks just like Ed Harris, but you don’t know that do you? I waved my SR shavetail buzz in every eye-in-the-sky security camera I see.” Frustration scrubs the useless tears away, he rubs a palm over the short hair. “August to October, dad, sixty days and are you looking hard?” Or is it all about the ghastly first thing his parents always get around to?

“Now (tarnished) Jem,” his mother begins in her think-it-through voice. “Levi Fisher made sure you were never together in public. We don’t know you are travelling in a Winnebago. This piece of Vietnamese women’s jewelry is probably nothing. The watch on your wrist is just a watch.”

“Dude, you are wearing jewelry.” Shay adds all did-you-really-go-there?

“Probably,” Fourteen says this out loud, fingering his fear. “You did not see the post explode. The steak was ripped in two for gosh sakes! So yeah, it’s not around your neck. I’m the one with a Saturday Night Special permanently shoved into my mouth, dickhead.” Not you mom, Shay; he is the one being a dick. These significant others crowd him all the time. Shay, Wade, and Shane, they were with him on that stormy August bike ride to the kidnapped after. It is hard not to hate them for not leaving a tangerine trail for Patrick to follow. That is the first thing elephant-in-the-room, so Fourteen goes back to the second thing problem.

“So think this through with me please, I slip away, like right now. Levi’s clock starts ticking egg timer loud in my ears. I need a clever bomb disposal type to slip some shield-like stuff all the way around my neck, head and shoulders, so when they cut the loop, all I have is burst eardrums.”

“We could learn American Sign Language. Your cock can read lips.” Wade assures him. Fourteen continues to ignore him.

“All this happens before Levi gets the missing boy memo. I don’t think so.” Dr. Evil has it planned. Fourteen looks at his ticking-time-bomb watch. He checks the battery like he used to check his friend’s messages. 28% chance of precipitating goblets of Fourteen at the moment. He still has time to listen to the wind rustling the leaves.

“Levi is a nice old man.” Remy Gates reassures her son.

“Dude, he is like fossil old!” Shay interrupts with another did-you-really-go-there?

Mother continues patiently, “Levi is a nice old (pedifile) man (rapist). He will not really hurt you.” Sometimes, Fourteen imagines her crushing-comforting hug. Sometimes, he imagines his mother ten-foot-pole distant, because there is that first thing in this imagined after conversation. Nobody really gets what he is dealing with.

“Dr. Evil loves Nguyen Huu Tuan. He only needs Fourteen till March.” Oh my God, Fourteen admits to himself, four more months. “Maybe he blows me up and finds another Fourteen to fuck.” That should have been an inner thought. It is too late now. Fourteen’s shame-ghosts have latched onto it like Rottweilers on a jackrabbit.

“I’d rather be dead than bed, Fourteen.” This from Shay.

“So, Patrick is Baywatch dreamy and John was not sick-making. You were tied up (giggle). It could be sexy.” Fiona joins the condemnation. “I thought you liked me. We rode the Ferris wheel together. You kissed me at the top!” This is the first thing everyone wants to talk about.

“You said you wanted to ask Fiona out. I told Alicia to ask Carla to find out if Fiona liked you, remember?” Shane is all what’s-that-about?

“So I lied.”

This comes out loud amongst the trees. The old men fishing by the bank could hear that confession. Fourteen watches to see if they will turn their heads. “I had to lie.” He whispers softly. “I’m gay.” Too scared to look at sad-mother and stony-father, just look at the hands before hugging yourself. Fourteen wants that earthquake pronouncement to be followed by a group hug of love.

“So the silver loopy thingy is a sick joke. Scoot on out of here. Your mom and dad will get over not being grandparents. Gay is the new cool. Find another fag or beg Wade to Barry Gordon your ass.” Shay concludes all practical. “The guys will be fine.”

Not a chance, Fourteen is convinced. Talk is cheap. Shane never speaks at this point. Shane will always play for the other team. He won’t swing a practice bat or even catch a fly ball for Fourteen’s team. Things might have been said on the road that last August moment as they teased each other about the Fair girls. Maybe Shane would, because I really want him to be okay with me, but the other guys? Shay in particular might want to organize the Patrick-like pussy-boy gang-bang on a Saturday night. Jeremy Gates, taking care of his straight friends. “I don’t need a Barry-bang, I deserve better.” Everyone reserves judgement on that.

“Dude, Dr. Evil is fossil old.” Shay won’t let that go. The others nod agreement.

Fourteen feels righteous rage. “You joked you would sleep with Carla if it was dark enough. You guys say my mom is hot, right to my face. Sure Levi is old. Yes he is Dr. (laser-sharks nasty, clip-your-dick) Evil Bastard.” Pause there to consider the first kidnapped-free locker room revelation of that transformation. Fourteen stands, facing the lake, fists clenched. “He lets me be me. I can be happy, no judgement. Sure I want Levi Patrick-perfect, John-hard, Shane-best-friend, but it is what it is.” He turns his back to the futility of arguing this way. Fourteen walks and talks back to the quiet trailer park. “Only till March,” He promises his absent parents. “Let me be myself, not what you all expect me to be.” It’s my fucking now.

Levi watches Fourteen stalking back from the shore as if he has just walked away from a fight. The late October afternoon is 70 degrees, too warm for the teenager’s sweatshirt. Levi admits he does not relate to young people. Overdressed in summer, underdressed in winter, they seem to have it backward. It could be much worse, Levi concludes. The prickly moods come and go, but by any standard Fourteen is sweet tempered boy.

“They unleashed on us, we were in the middle of a shit sandwich. I was there before you were. They said the rifle would clean itself. Hell, I didn't even know how to clean an M16, not that they issued cleaning kits. So big surprise, I’m face in the buffalo poop paddy water with a jammed rifle. Everyone screaming shit at each other.” Walter Guthrie is waxing garrulous. Levi tunes it out the heavyset veteran.

Walter Guthrie marched his corn-fed Husker ass into a recruiting station and volunteered to fight back communism. Levi’s decision to join the Navy had been based on hoping to avoid ground combat in Vietnam. After boot camp and Hospital Corpsman school both at Great Lakes Naval Training Center, he was stationed at Norfolk, but then, just one month into his first posting, Levi received new orders to report to Camp Pendleton, California, to undergo field medical training. His ticket to Vietnam was as good as punched. Navy corpsman, or medics, the disgruntled Levi learned, were routinely assigned to Marine Corps Platoons as medics. The Marines didn’t have their own, they didn’t train people to heal, they trained them to kill. And those Navy Corpsmen were the biggest single group of (mostly posthumous) Medal of Honor winners.  Nothing good came out of Vietnam for Levi. Why am I even sitting with him? Levi asks himself. Immunization, he concludes.

“It was a good weapon.” This interjection hardly breaks the flow. Walter Guthrie’s equally chatty wife tops up his coffee. Walter’s story has inexplicably teleported to the Saigon streets, becoming more circumspect. No reason to rial Gloria Guthrie up with nighttime entertainments. I hate this looking back. I never had any tolerance for it. That must be why we are still in Missouri and not in North Platte. I’m not ready for North Platte.

The bright orange of Fourteen’s hoodie has stopped, six sites down. He is in the old Jeep. Tuan loved it when I let him drive. Jeeps are not Jeeps anymore, just another boxy SUV. This tired old relic could have been the one Tuan used to drive him to Mỹ Sơn, 35 miles south of Da Nang. Tuan led him by the hand through the cluster of abandoned and partially ruined Hindu temples. We made love in the ruins. That is worth a look back. “Did you ever get to Mỹ Sơn, Walter?”

“Where was that?” Walter is thinking this is either some drop zone or a Saigon bar his wife does not need to know about.

“Just a temple near Da Nang. They carpet-bombed it in 1969.”

Fourteen is playing with the Jeep. He is backing it away from the Winnebago onto the drive. Confident hand on the stick now, Fourteen drifts down the pavement towards the Guthrie 5th-Wheel in first gear. The boy is not Tuan-reckless in a rush. Levi likes the play of light across Fourteen’s face and the way he twitches his mouth to the side in concentration.

“We have to make a run to town for supplies. I’m taking my grandson out on the lake tomorrow. Keep an eye on things for me, will you?”

“Why of course we will!” Exclaims Gloria Guthrie. “Our Payten is down Saturday with her boys. Will you be gone long?” Three days, Levi tells her. “We are off to Galveston Friday.”

Levi nods. His mind is back on Mỹ Sơn as Fourteen pulls to a stop. Obliterated by bombs, how ironically appropriate. Would that satisfy you too, Tuan? What’s left of Mỹ Sơn would be perfect for Fourteen and me. I’m sure our room is long gone. It has to end in a place where he is close to Tuan. Levi says his goodbyes to the couple and smiles at Tuan-Kale Fourteen. “Are you going to drive?”

“Sure!” There is that ballpark grin.

“Just. Till the gate, kid.” Levi eases in. “We have to run to town for food.” Fourteen is not in a hurry. He runs the Jeep through every lane, past every last wandering gypsy camper, passing the Guthrie’s twice.

“Are we buying this?” Fourteen asks as they switch seats.

“It’s just a loaner kid.” Levi replies. “It is not handy. We will give it back when we go.” Fourteen asks when. “Soon.” Levi is still waiting to hear from Detroit, still waiting to hear from Ian Holland about Antigua. He has to decide where the next mail drop should be.

Two days later, Fourteen is in hot water with Levi’s fear-of-crowds moat safely sealing his kidnapped ass away from prying eyes. The marina this floating RV slipped free from is just beyond the point. The northern Arkansas lake is October-school-day’s sleepy, but it seems Levi can’t escape the world. Fourteen rolls around in the hot tub to watch a Broom 430 thumb its prow at the wallowing houseboat.

Fourteen feels Levi’s hand on his bare hip, then between his thighs. “Could you buy that?” He remembers Ian Holland’s scorn as The Ex hinted at Levi’s wealth.

“That crazy cruiser? For all I come from New England, I’ve never been interested in boats.” The boy just lazy-afternoon came in his mouth. Levi can still feel the Old Faithful randy readiness of the teenager’s tensing muscles. Fourteen is a ray of adolescent sunshine today, Levi is milking the moment. “I might rent that.”

Fourteen floats himself across the intimate hot tub and away from the probing fingers. His back settles against a jet. “I heard what you said to Mr. Guthrie.” It is a soft accusation.

“Which is?” Levi concludes hot tub heat is better after sex. It is a sleepy-time, mellow-mood moment. No complaints, he has the boy dazzled-ready-anytime for his touch. It is like the Jeep to drive. Fourteen is a proud teenager with a fresh drivers (sex) licence ready to cruise. Part of him is fun, fun, fun till daddy takes the T-Bird away. After sex, the boy is on the down-low, thoughtful-worried.

“You are sick.” Unconscious touch of the silver bond between them.

Levi thinks mom and dad must be tall, not basketball material. Levi stands six feet and his boy is three inches under that, lean and maybe growth-spurt-done. Pushing fifteen and limping past seventy, they are close to sharing a weight class.

“How bad is it?”

“It is the end of times bad.” Fourteen glances over to the watch propped on the edge of the hot tub. Levi reaches down and grabs an ankle. With a yank, he has Fourteen off the seat and going under. He comes up frowning. “It is not a problem.”

“What do you have?” Fourteen bites his lip. He drifts back to his seat on the far side, knowing that the old man wants him close. Beyond fossil-old, Levi looks spry to him.

“Grade IV Astrocytoma.” Levi is playing games with the teenager and Fourteen does not like it. Before the grim look shifts to anger, Levi explains, “It is a brain tumour.” The whine of a small boat fills the momentary silence. “I’ve decided not to do anything about it. Well that is not really true. I decided on this trip. I decided on you.” The Ed Harris smile seems frail for the first time, not just impossible old.

“I know something about that.” Fourteen stands tub-center. “Blindness, personality change, my grandpa.” The boy grabs the silver necklace and he is angry-frustrated-scared all in one heaving package. “So, what about me? What happens when you die?” He cannot believe Dr. Evil has set him up for this. “You have no idea when your brain might,” Fourteen can’t go on.

Well this is a buzz kill. Levi admits sadly. “I am fine. I promised you would walk away before…”

“Before you die? Go into a coma? Forget to reset the timer tonight?” Fourteen grabs the smartwatch and waves it in Levi’s face. He gives it a look, then carefully sets it down again, as if it was the bomb and not the circle around his neck.

“... Before I let you go.” Levi ends gently. “My death is not your problem. You are not part of it.”

At the beginning, this was a lie Levi even told himself. Maybe it was still a lie, or why was he paying for passports that will whisk the boy out of the country? The idea of Tuan’s stand-in by his side at Mỹ Sơn had taken hold. It could hardly be De Nang itself. Fifty years would have left everything unrecognizable. Tuan-Fourteen stares at him hard. Dust in the Wind, Everything is dust in the wind. Even fourteen-year-old hookers, Levi knows. “Stop looking at me that way. I have debts to pay.” This last confession is lost in the frothing water.

Fourteen-year-old hooker, Jeremy-Fourteen does not see himself that way. Levi knows Fourteen is not some driftwood he has snagged from a dark street. The boy is more like his shirt-grabbed Tuan pulled from the M16 grim-faced killer-John. Patrick’s personal terminator planned to dispose of the raped boy. In this way, Levi rationalizes, Fourteen is already dead. Maybe Mỹ Sơn, Levi is so tempted. Tuan lied to his face, lied with his body. People lie. Fourteen is not innocent. The boy’s responsive body lets him hide the lie, just like Tuan’s did. He lies for me, or he lies to keep himself alive. Fourteen lied to Barry Gordon. He will lie to me, Levi knows. This boy is not Tuan, he has to remind himself. The memory of Fourteen’s salty self lingers on his tongue, but so does the memory of Tuan.

The motor whine is building in the air between them. Life bridges the lake-moat of Levi’s contented now. The growing tumour after troubling Fourteen will wait. The boy turns (svelte-naked) to watch the approaching boat. “Who are they?”

Levi stands behind him, hand possessively on a bare thigh. “Oh, for pity's sake! That is the Guthries. How did they find us?”

“We’re not really hiding.” Fourteen counts heads. “There are a lot of them.”

“Family,” Levi replies, recalling Gloria Guthrie’s parting comment. “Peyton and the boys. I had forgotten this. If you stay in one place too long, then you are part of the community. Find your shorts, kid. I guess we have company.”  Levi catches Fourteen’s arm before he moves. “Don’t let it upset you. We will talk after they are gone. It’s life Fourteen, just life.

Fourteen fends the loaded Chris Craft away from the houseboat, then catches the rope. He is feeling nautical. He is feeling self conscious. ‘Peyton and the boys’ are a very mom like mom and two windblown guys looking dragged along. They are watching him Boy Scout a knot.

“Hello Levi,” Gloria sings. “We just came to say hello. I brought everything with us, so you needn’t worry. The adults disembark along with shopping bags of convenience food and beer. “Kale, these are my grandsons, Slate and Blaze.”

Fourteen smiles tangerine at the pair. You have to be 100% dick not to get along with Fourteen’s All-American-Boy tang. Slate and Blaze give him the nod. There is this judgy book cover moment between the boys. Maybe Slate-Blaze toss a varsity spiral at the shrimpy freshman and he pulls it in, no sweat. The pass back is not stellar, but it has good conformation. Nothing embarrassing about this kid (so far), no worries. Slate-Blaze give him a conditional thumbs up.

Fourteen, not so much. Blaze-Slate scream Alpha Male challenge with a flex of bench-press biceps for the girls. They are gridiron good and Fourteen is more park friendly easy. He figures there was an arm wrestle for the driver’s seat of the Chris Craft. Slate or Blaze is take-charge gripping the wheel with one hand ready to motor back onto the lake away from the old folks.

“Blaze?” Fourteen takes a stab and points at the younger brother. Slate and Blaze, in that order. The older boy nods. “Nice to meet you guys.” Was he too pussy-polite? Fourteen shrugs the worry off with a smile. “Welcome aboard.”

The brothers stand up reluctantly. Fourteen has a fresh thought. He jumps into the Chris Craft in his imagination so the brothers can arm wrestle him back to naked. The brothers will then duel tall cocks over his readiness as the boat bobs. Boys, I expect you to share! Mother Peyton scolds. These boys never share. They fight over Fourteen’s willing carcass like a pair of mad dogs, each brother trying to out-fuck the other in the primary orifaces. Yeah, it would be like that…. Fourteen shakes his head to clear the cum-webs. “Come and eat something with the Fisher’s.” Which is what the woman actually says. “Maybe Kale can show you around.”

It is a foolish tour. The rented houseboat is as old as the 1996 Luxor Winnebago and not nearly as well kept. It would be lame to brag up the floating ashtray. Blaze takes a moment beside the double bed to offer an awkward, “Grandma told us your parents died, sorry to hear that.”

“Yes,” not much more to say about that lie. Thinking of his lost parents and the sex-or-death collar are enough to make Fourteen cry: method acting.

Older Slate hovers at Fourteen from the door more critically. It is a John-hard gaydar measure. “What’s with the necklace?” Drama-Glee Club fairy look, it warns Slate. A chain about Slate’s neck would be a hazard out on the court, field, diamond, whatever. Slate would figure Fourteen sits at the wrong table at lunch, likes American Literature, talks too much (Who cares, Yes and No respectively).

“It was mom’s.” Fourteen improvises, “This watch? It was dad’s.” Four adults yammering away on deck and these two homely heterosexual poster boys are critiquing his style. It is so high school, Jeremy Gates is flush with envy. Fourteen knows the bedroom door is not going to close on an orgasmic Fourteen-fest on the double bed. Talking himself into a Patrick-scornful, Pussy-Boy corner makes Fourteen’s teeth grind. He takes a stab at gaining lost ground back. “Yeah, I know it is lame.”

“Blaze still has his bear.” Slate unexpectedly offers. Maybe he is better looking than his older brother, Fourteen decides charitably.

“Yeah, and you still wear that ratty friendship bracelet Kate Lawson gave you last year!” Fourteen lets them arm wrestle their weaknesses for a while. He is glad they are off scrutinizing him. They tire quickly. “So no school, that must be sweet.”

Pants are funny magnifying glasses. The crotch stretch and fold balloon the squished boy-bits into sexy rampant promise. Fourteen has been studying boy’s packages since the bike riding day he noticed he had earned one. Shane’s dad irritably snapped at him one day. “Those old jeans are so tight I can see your testicles!” They were, and you could. Shane went shopping with his mother. Fourteen mourned the loss. Fourteen catches himself. “It sucks. I miss my friends. This is boring.”

“It sucks to move.” Blaze agrees.

“I couldn’t stay there. Nothing to do but come with Levi.” He has no idea where they are going, no idea what Levi has told the older Guthries. “After Christmas, I can start school, get back into things. Grandpa Levi is okay.” Fourteen wants to just sit here with the older boys, talk about anything they want. It has been too long listening to the Baby Boomer weighty words.

Payten calls them up to eat luke-warm bucket chicken while Walter Guthrie tries to prime Levi’s pump about Vietnam. They missed each other by years and miles. Still, Walter needs a kindred spirit. The boys sit off by themselves, low-talking good boys chafing at the bit. Slate primes Walter’s pump pointlessly. “Grandpa, which of those old DVDs you have got it right? Platoon, Deer Hunter, Full Metal Jacket?”

“Apocalypse Now?” Blaze adds. The brothers give each other a conspiratorial glance.

“All of them, none of them.” Walter Guthrie replies in a ponderous voice.

Fourteen has not watched these movies. It is not his war. “Levi, grandfather (quick Ed Harris twinkle), what do you think?”

Levi’s answer goes to Gloria and Peyton. “I don’t think I watched more than a little of any of those movies. Good or bad, I guess they are too close to the real thing for me. Fourteen likes Call of Duty and all those mehem shooter games. Too bloodthirsty for this old man. I lost too many friends.” Long look at Fourteen.

Walter Guthrie nods agreement, and then immediately resumes his autobiography of the war. Blaze-Slate are getting figgity. Odds are, this is grandpa’s routine. Gloria and Peyton are pretending they have to clean up the trash.

“Mom, can we take the boat out for a spin?”

“My goodness, Slate, the water must be 60 degrees by now. I’m not sure about this.” Fourteen knows moms. Remy Gates tone would close the door on whatever the brothers had planned. Mother Payton was just making noise.

“We brought the insulated suites all the way here ‘cause you said we would rent a boat.” Blaze runs roughshod over Payten’s dithering.”

“I suppose that would be fine. Not too long in the water. Remember, we have to get it back before six. You are bringing Kale along aren’t you?” The brothers share a shrug that is hardly inviting.

“He will have to stay in the boat. He doesn’t have a suit. His nuts will freeze.” Slide turns toward Fourteen hopefully. “Can you swim?” Clearly, he is hoping the answer is no.”

“Like a fish.” Levi answers helpfully.

“I should stay here with my grandfather.” It’s a quick answer.

Levi shakes his head. “Go take a ride, I will be fine.”

Slate-Blaze are in motion, hardly interested in Fourteen’s hesitation. This is weekend water, to good to pass up listening to the old folks. The silver hoop is heavy on Fourteen’s neck. The malignant tether runs from his carotid artery to the shackle-watch and then rubberband short to Dr. Evil. He touches the watch nervously.

Levi likes Walter Guthrie’s Vietnam recollections not at all. He likes Fourteen on the lake less than that. He would rather take a nap and leave Fourteen to his solitary devices, just as he planned. Another long distance test of his bomb-bluff is annoying. Life happens. The pair cannot always be within reach. It was like that in Vietnam. Levi had his drops and duties, Tuan had his… wandering Da Nang streets. Levi sees no guile in Fourteen’s face, not much chance the brothers will winkle his captive free.

“You go, Kale. There is a good signal out here on the lake. I can text you if there is a problem. The Guthries have to be back before supper anyway.” Fourteen nods, uncomfortable with the risk.

Blaze won the wrestle and his grip on the white wheel is tight. Slate is sprawled across the back, so Fourteen gets shotgun. If speed kills, Fourteen realizes the Dr. Evil ring to rule him may never get a chance. He is thinking of a life preserver as Blaze starts scribbling across the water like a toddler with a crayon. He is trying to see how many times he can carve a trail through his own wake and whether Fourteen’s ass can make airtime in the heavy boat.

Fish trolling on the river, a sleepy crawl Fourteen’s dad tries from time to time. Nothing but your own imagination to get the heart thumping.This reckless chase stirs Fourteen’s blood. He is the new kid in the class, so he just grins as Slate-Blaze scream at each other. The houseboat slips behind grey cliffs unnoticed as the Chris Craft straightens out. Anchored to Levi and the land yacht, this is his first chance to see the flooded valley. When Blaze finally lets the wake slide over the keel, he can talk. “You guys are lucky living this close.”

“Gainesville is a drive.” Blaze confesses. “We only get here when grandma and grandpa pull through. They live on the road now. Wisconsin and Texas, back and forth.” Blaze finds a stash of beer cans, offering Fourteen one.

“It blows.” Slate adds. “They always come through November and June. Grandpa got us the suits so we could wakeboard anyway. Mom’s right. The water is too effing cold. It really sucks.”

“June is okay.” Blaze suggests. Fourteen should say something, but he is eyes-fixed on Blaze’s belly. There is a lazy striptease happening here. Blaze is a respectable sixteen by Fourteen’s boy-hounding connoisseurship. Slate is more beer-belly baby-bump give or take two years alcohol gestation. The Bubba future still makes the older brother ripped compared to Levi.

Slate flings a skinned-seal wetsuit at his brother. How disappointing, Fourteen was getting ready to dive back into his ménage à trois sandwich fantasy. There is casual naked, which is nicer than the skanky beer he is sipping politely. Don’t ask, don’t tell, just look, it is a queer thought. He might have tried a Barry Gordon on Blaze if they were alone. He can think this without the knife-twist of maybe-Shane-would-pain he endured watching his best friend. The brothers (naked) are just the catalyst of all his feelings. Blaze is black with see-me-in-the-water yellow shoulders. Slate is parti-colour yellow-baby-blue. The black is slimming on Blaze.

It does not help to unearth home. Home is the parental agony of only-child Jeremy Gates’ disappearance. Home is his best friend’s worrying about their part in that last stormy bike ride when he vanished leaving the debris of bike, wallet, and phone in the middle of the road. Blaze tucks and zips into his form-fitting snuggle. He is just the latest reminder that Levi, spry as he is, is light years past his sexy expiration date. The only gay-game in town is gamy. Then there is the whole sex slave without a safe word thing. It is easier to think like Jeremy Gates when he is on the water with these brothers.

The brothers don’t ask Fourteen if he wants a turn. He is along for the ride as they take turns  wakeboarding the chill waters. He can talk to Blaze. Slate is big brother selfish. He hogs the board, leaving Blaze to drive. “He should take a break. His balls will break off soon.” The arrangement suits Fourteen. The suit suits Blaze better. The breeze bites. Until icy spray soaks his shirt, Fourteen keeps it on. After, he slouches on the seat facing Blaze, glancing back at Slate as he skips.

“Got a girlfriend?” Blaze shouts.

“Not now.” The lie comes out automatically.

“I guess that is true, stupid question.” Blaze grins an apology. “You are moving, duh!”

“Yes, well, I did not have a girlfriend.” A truth to hide a lie. Fourteen wonders what happened to his plan to be out and proud. Easier to tell people you don’t want to fuck. Talking in the noisy boat is tough, so Blaze just nods sympathetically. When the boat slows down, Fourteen gathers his courage. “I’m gay.”

“Seriously?” Blaze spares a glance. Time to switch, he is easing up to where Slate waits in the water. Fourteen says seriously. “So did you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.” Fourteen replies with a helpless shrug. Not much to share after that. He lets Blaze talk about his own affairs until it seems Slate is finally feeling the cold. It is all very hetero easy to Fourteen’s mind.

Blaze took his turn carving the water on the wakeboard. Fourteen spots again. It looks like fun. Slate ignores him, wormlike freshman that he is. “He dropped the rope.” Fourteen yells. Slate glances his way and then stares back at the horizon. A small punch gets Slate attention back. Fourteen points and yells again, “Blaze dropped the rope!”

“Pull it in.”

Fourteen waves at the boy in the water before dragging the towline over the stern. Slate waits, then turns the boat toward his brother. “Have you ever wakeboarded?”

“Never.” Fourteen admits regretfully.

“Have you snowboarded?”

“Oh sure.” He skateboards too. Fourteen is not useless. “It sort of looks the same.”

“You need strong arms. Lean back more to keep your balance. It is not really the same. How big are your feet?”

Fourteen laughs. “I don’t think so.”

They fish Blaze out of the drink. “I tried swimming off the houseboat. The Lake is too cold.” It reminds Fourteen of northern Michigan. Someone laughs, coward, and Fourteen is scooped up by Slate. “No, no! Wait, my watch!” He stops struggling in the big boy’s arms while Blaze rescues the smartwatch. “Bastard,” he giggles. Five feet down into the water.

Oh, it is colder than Patrick. Fourteen is sinking with a sinking feeling that the brothers are going to leave the little faggot behind. He kicks up, reminding himself the Guthrie’s wait with Levi. Two homely grins wait him. “Cold, cold, oh fuck it’s cold.”

“He needs your boots and life preserver.” Slate observes. They help him back out.

Fourteen needs Slate’ boots. He stares at the board strapped to his feet, feeling the boat rock beneath him. The binding is far back towards the end of the board. “It is easier if you are pressing down on the fin. Stay crouched down until you are sure you are out of the water. Get up slowly on your front foot, then shift your weight to the back. Just relax, we will keep the line short for you.”

“It’s fucking cold.” He chatters back, ready to go.

I’m doing this! And then he faceplants-flounders into a stinging froth of water. It was a wet bunny hill to jackrabbit over. Slate was definitely enviable particoloured black, yellow and blue. Fourteen is just teeth chattering blue, wanting the hot tub. The October wind sucks the last of his body heat. Still, his heart is pounding happy. Fourteen whoops and shouts himself hoarse-happy. I did do it!

“Don’t tell Slate you’re gay,” Blaze advised as they payed the rope out for the older brother. “He’ll pound you.” A small thing to put up with. He liked spotting Blaze more. He cut a figure on the board. Fourteen skimmed in a now unshackled. His only thought coming back to the houseboat was warm water easing tired muscles. “Hey Kale, you forgot your watch.” Fourteen smiled, I forgot the watch.

This is Blaze’s long, unforgiving rod making him worm-on-the-hook wriggle-grovel about the floor of the Chris Craft. “Oh God!” Fourteen’s supplicant plea pitches a desperate octave higher as this dream partner stretches one near-orgasm into the next. This is honesty. Fourteen is on his knees, fingers-rooted into the sheets, cow-cat sex yoga pose, sweat-dripping. He is junk-dangling earnest about this. The phallus probes with surgical precision as a second hand finds his most vulnerable spots, Fourteen’s passion points.

Sure, that spot below his exposed glans loves a thumb stroke, but  Blaze knows a light karate-chop at the base of Fourteen’s spine triggers an organism. Nipples and neck are good, only Fourteen needs a hand on his soft thigh and a finger trace along the crease, all the way from his damp sack to hip. Blaze is a crafty kid. He has Fourteen balanced on the edge so brother Slate can tip him over. This is expert edging.

Time to switch, Fourteen is used-up, still ready for Slate to take his turn. Slow exit and Fourteen falls onto a shoulder so he can roll back-ready, legs-lifted for Slate. Eyes squeezed shut, Fourteen can see the pug-faced boy proud beside him. He stretches out a hand to grasp the younger brother’s spent cock mingled with aromatic oil and the essence of his own fluids. Blaze is out of reach, but he imagines it anyway.

The fantasy continues under Levi’s expert hands. Slate, eighteen and John-Patrick angry, enters him. The brother is growling softly about how hot he is. The steady thrusts and clever twists set Fourteen in motion. Slate wakeboards man-heavy over Fourteen’s rhythmic waves. The boy can cum like this. His partner knows. Fourteen is fucking air, thoughts on Slate and Blaze. So did you have a boyfriend?

Fourteen cannot balance on the edge a moment longer. No boyfriend, no boys. No boyfriend with a ready smile and joke. No one to gather in close, whisper, dream with, snuggle into, climax surrender to. Just this dream-moment with two passing strangers.

Levi ends with a little trick he has learned. He scrapes his nails from Fourteen’s silver hoop down across his nipples, counting ribs, off the diaphragm cliff onto sucked in plains of young hardness to finish Fourteen’s cock with five fist jerks. Fourteen screams across the moonlit lake.

Levi licks the salts across the satiated body, never getting enough Fourteen in his diet. Fourteen knew it was not Slate-Blaze, with their fumbling adolescent lust, playing him like a practiced instrument. John and Patrick played his body better than the Blaze and Slate’s inevitable Barry-Gordon-like, selfish jolting masterbation. The brothers would have been disappointing. But the brothers would have been young. Fourteen rolls away from Levi and pulls a scratchy pillow under his cheek. So did you have a boyfriend?

Levi persists a little longer, stroking his back, rubbing the small triangle pointing to his slippery cleavage. His puffed lips are probed as if to test their readiness for the implacable strength of the Crystal Sapphire Boyfriend nestled against his hip. Fourteen has a love-hate-addiction to this glass thing after all these weeks. I’m gay. So did you have a boyfriend?

Well that did not go badly. Fourteen reminds himself. They did not drown me. Not like they exchanged email addresses, promised to chat. All in all, it was just a lark across the water. Blaze took it well. Slate would pound you. Not so well as all that.

Levi leaves to wash the dildo and shower. His small noises map his progress around the unfamiliar houseboat. Habit-hard with a chemical lift, Levi steps out of the tiny shower. Fourteen looks shagged out in the dim light. The kid had fun with those boys. Levi could see the Adrenalin high in his eyes. Happy, he was happy. 

There had been too many days of tolerating Levi’s blunt moods. Till Ian Holland flapped his mouth, the teenager had no idea Levi nursed blind headaches or the gathering fog of painkillers. The boy took too many solitary runs around the Winnebago, too many lonely games of horse on the deserted hoops. Levi took his hard-on over to the bed.

Fourteen lay stretched, leg sheltering his crotch. He looked eleven-innocent, soft breaths through parted lips. Levi could still see the ghost-sweep of hair shorn down to an ironically Marine buzz. Just a boy, Levi admits. One hand to remind his cock to stay proud, the other coaxes a slim hip towards him, till Fourteen lays limp on his belly. It felt good to see Fourteen happy.

What made Nguyen Huu Tuan grin like that? Levi thought he had. Tuan was so much a part of camp life. He played volleyball on the beach, easygoing trash talk with the American soldiers. Not like this boy he needs to fuck. The sex good in itself, but also a vital communion with the past as if the acts of sex were drawing him West, Far East more surely than the Luxor Winnebago.

Not like this boy I am about to enter. Fourteen likes to be liked in his tangerine way. Fourteen is a meadowlark by day, nightingale by night chirping joyfully. The two older teenagers made him smile. That obvious assassin John Whoever had to like him. Fourteen made John like him. Fourteen needs Levi too. Or so it seems.

Levi thinks about Da Nang. What a fumble they had been to start with. Levi scared-virgin, Tuan equally ignorant. Levi looks back knowing he must have hurt the Vietnamese boy those first fumbling times. What I could teach that bumbler now, Levi thinks ruefully. The seventy-one year old veteran in his hand, agrees. It’s all wasted on the young! Well, that is what Ian Holland said. Nothing is wasted. It is all part of life.

Levi loves Fourteen’s travelled ass. It has its sculpted perfections. The dimples on the lower back invite your thumbs. Levi loves the artful licked-lips glaze along the closed crease. Fourteen hardly stirs when silky thighs are gentled apart so he can see the tear-glint of beaded drippings on the boy’s skin. Like some priceless Japanese teacup, the glazing adds value to the whole. The bottle of lubricant coats his fingers. They ease the strokes along his cock, they ease two fingers into Fourteen’s anus. Rings and rings and hoops, circles bent to capture circles.

Levi thinks about the fake bomb glued about Fourteen’s neck and the watch strapped to his bony wrist. These are not the rings Levi used to capture-hold this lusting boy. Levi has Fourteen puberty-hooked well and good. Rings and rings, the ring of Levi’s lips about the now perfect ring-necklace gracing Fourteen’s circumcised cock. This pulsing ring gripping Levi’s fingers. These sex-slaved Fourteen to Levi as certainly as his vengeful boy’s easy seduction of the hapless Barry Gordon.

He never thought to do this with Tuan. Their lovemaking was simple, heartfelt he hoped. Fourteen stirred, marvellously-machined to answer his fingers. “Oh, fuck.” Soft murmur and half conscious hip lift, still dreaming. Levi shifts so his thumb can pinch the acorn with the deep thrust fingers. Levi gets that he is Dr. Evil. When Fourteen moans, “No.” It does not matter. What matters is Levi’s own excited (selfish) cock and the wakening (hungry) pelvis.

No thoughts, no thoughts, just feel. We will be okay if we just feel. Because Levi found out that he had no idea what Tuan felt, then he knew and it was too late. Fourteen laughed with the brothers, who had Tuan really laughed with? It did not bear thinking about. Levi feels Fourteen hungry-helpless beneath his hand, he feels his own straining cock. He wants to thread the ring, join them. Levi leans close to the blinking eyes. “I’m going to fuck you now.” Fourteen nodded silently. “Don’t cum.” Fourteen shook his head slightly. “I’m going to suck your cock, so is you cum, I’ll just have to make you cum come again.” Fourteen understands.

I’m not dying, Levi thought, Not yet. I’m not seventy-one going on nothing. I’ll be twenty-one right now! Fourteen was so ready. The boy is fourteen-fifteen always ready. Cock in and Fourteen cums hard breaking his promise. Fourteen is just feeling too, Levi knows. Thoughtless feelings come vanishingly rare to Levi. Mostly, he just sex-vampires the raw energy out of these boys. It has been this way for years. Tonight, he is in the now of Fourteen’s supine body. I’m twenty-one now! Hard-deep in pulsing boy, he pauses. “If you cum, I’ll just have to make you cum come again.”

Fourteen cups his resting cock, palm-sticky, sheet-wet with his mistake. Levi moves threateningly through his passage. “I… what… I…” He whimpers helpless. No promises this time, he can feel it. Levi has something to prove, something to learn-teach. Fourteen can’t think. It starts as something soft. A puppy whimper like it’s his mouth nuzzling the tit and not man-meat sucking on his ass. The chemistry is perfect, so it becomes a choking gargle catching in his raw throat. “No, wait!’ He panics, barrel-roll-boy and Levi has him riding bareback. Fuck yourself Fourteen.

It’s almost a steady high pitch child cry as strong hands train his hips to rise and fall onto a bone. Evil Dr. hand’s begin to operate once more, praise-prying sensitive nerves, knowing every weakness. Fourteen pauses, Levi’s cock clamped tight. He surrenders his own handle, knowing the man is going to open the door.

“Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum.” Evil calm, each soft warning making his cock sob and weep for the pity of it all. “Don’t cum.” Soft strokes and pinches pitiless, then wild cries at a successful failure. Fourteen loses once again and wins a tired orgasm that sets Levi off with his own shadowy release. The remains of the day work their way through tight fingers up and down Fourteen’s bruised shaft, up and down.

“Just, just give me a minute.” Fourteen whispers, nothing left to give. As they move West, Far East, the old man’s hunger seems to grow. This is Ian Holland’s soiled bathroom once again. No test of wills at all. “Just give me a minute.” Fourteen wheezes. Spent cock stays hard, searching for a teenage boy in Vietnam.

“No.”  

Patrick has walked away from him and he is left with John. It is the end times moment that lies more heavily on Jeremy Gates than Patrick’s first rape. The memory of daylight through all the shed’s doors. It is a memory tasting of bile. Fourteen cannot separate the stench of vomit, baled alfalfa, and John’s sweat. There is gun oil between them now. “Are we cool?” John’s question-threat ever present. Fourteen blinks in the morning sunlight.

The reprieve from the dream brings tears of relief. John’s snub nose threat still scribbles its deadly message on his cheek. “Way cool.” Fourteen manages softly as he remembers his bobcat reply. He understands himself less now than he did standing mind-raped by John. Jeremy Gates knows it is definitely not cool. Fourteen blinks in the morning sunlight.

Sunrise on the lake and Levi knows it’s time to go. Walter Guthrie’s constant enthusiasm for all things Vietnam has finally worn Levi down. He is hoping the old man has enoculated him against the next visit’s emotional storm. Levi sips his bitter instant coffee and lets the ripples on the lake water calm him. Fourteen shuffles out in his boxer briefs. The ones with the sexy pouch that cups his package playfully. It’s a silky thinness that gets the boy easily aroused. The boy sits near him, still coated in the night’s hot work.

“You drive me crazy.” It is a matter of fact confession. Signature mouth twitch to the right. Fourteen thinks it’s his serious-thoughtful pose. It’s just cute, and so is his posture, one foot up on the foam cushion, ankle clasped. It’s a small boy poolside toe-in-water pose. Thank God for tight underwear because Levi misses the Speedo 70s.

“How So?” Levi sips the hospital cafeteria coffee.

“You know what I mean!” Fourteen is relentlessly fourteen-fifteen. He is pallet-cleansing citrus. Adolescence is Tuan, and Levi does not trust that, never has since the Tet Offensive. Till something snapped, teenage boys were an awkward noisy mystery in the mall or neutered patients bedside. Then year slid into year and Tuan wormed his way out of the recesses Levi thrust him. The dark-night street boys followed. Whipped puppies, coiled anger, or cock hard pride, Levi knew them all. Levi knows Fourteen’s type. Likes to be liked, Fourteen plays the boyfriend.

“This is not my first game of spin the bottle.” Levi reminds the boy. “I know stuff.” He adds just to watch Fourteen squirm.

“You know stuff.” Oh, there is just a hint of adolescent challenge there. Fourteen ready to hassle the teacher, roll-his-eyes at gramp’s. A Monty Python sketch starring old Levi: We dreamed of living in a box, walk uphill both ways to school in a snowstorm. Levi the curmudgeon. Just a hint, because a keener knows a keener. Fourteen cracks the stolen school books stressing the lost months. He would Google the shit out of ninth grade if Levi let him. “Like what?”

“Parts of the body son, biology, physiology, kinesiology.” Levi sets his empty cup down. The lake is Autumn empty. “It is important to let your partner know what turns you on. Pay attention to your partners Fourteen. Come here.”

Fourteen is not eager. Fourteen-fifteen, he is not always centred on his magic wand. In the before, it was five, eight times a week. Twice a day easy when his boy-crush on Shane threatened to set his shorts on fire. Yesterday’s four quarter game was not a record breaker, but another spin on the Chris Craft excites him more. The morning after, he the easy going teenager needing the company of his own kind. Levi does not quite relate. Pay attention to this partner means bridging more than half a century of attitude. Fourteen slides the foot down and presents himself.

“I know stuff, like a foot massage is… what do you say to me? Meh,” Levi shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve known guys who get off on that.” He takes the boy’s strong hand, playing with a thumb. “This is another meh.” Fourteen accepts the touching, curious-student. “You like to kiss, but not me.” Their eyes meet for a beat. Fourteen bites a lip. Levi shrugs. Fingers touch chilled nipples and the boy shuffles a step closer. “Hard not to like all the touching. This is sort of meh to you.”

Levi stands up, pushing Fourteen back. “This here,” his hand fondles the boy’s neck. “It’s nice.” Fourteen is adolescent twitchy. Maybe put out by Levi’s smug knowing. “Down the back, or down the front.” Light fingers follow the words. Levi turns the boy away. Fourteen’s eyes flick left when Levi nibbles an ear. His shoulder flinches shoo-fly. “Some guys go wild. You just giggle and this just kills your mood.” Fourteen nods agreement. Levi’s hands are on his hips, drawing him back a step. He knows the answer to the next question. His body knows.

Levi sits, admiring the strong-fragile blossoming back of the boy. 360 degrees of goodness, but he takes Fourteen from behind because that’s the crazy for both of them. “I touch you here and you say oh!” Levi thumbs the sacrum. Sensations trickle down to Fourteen’s groin. “Oh!” Levi repeats and his surefire fingers trace the crease at the top of Fourteen’s slender thighs through the silky fabric. “Then everybody's favourite, the inner thighs.” Hairless still, fingers tickle into the heat. Levi teases towards the damp perineum with a finger under the tight underwear. “Oh, oh!”

Levi traces the tight cleft up and down. “Some guys get scared. Clench tight to their virginity. Don’t push it when they do, Fourteen. It isn’t fair. We all have our things.” He returns to the inner thighs and gluteal folds. A thumb presses lightly into the fabric over Fourteen’s anus. “This is a definite oh my God.” Fourteen’s fingers are clawing up his thighs. “It is any man’s Kryptonite.”

His hands drop away. The wondrous swell of glute, Levi’s own knees-weak blood-churning kryptonite. “You are leaking hard, aren't you?” Levi asked quietly. Fourteen turns around. His tent stretches the fabric-pouch, wet promising. Levi frees the beast. He thumbs the circumcised exposure where the boy’s glans meets the shaft. “The frenulum.”

Fourteen peers down the flat toes-seeing expanse. “The fren-you-lum,” he echoes.

“Frenulum,” Levi corrects. He pinches the elastic band of tissue. “The little bridle.” He takes a nibble with his teeth and feels Fourteen catching his breath. “Know your partner Fourteen. You don’t care if I can swallow all of this, You go oh for this.” Levi finally engulfs the swollen head, paying special attention to the corona. Sixty elephants later, he pulls off. “So do you know your partner, Fourteen?”

You want my everywhere shuddering hardness, salty jets, and the musky deep, Fourteen thinks. You want me open-screaming my mindless head off. You know I love it when you make me lose my mind. Fourteen stands wanting his blowjob now. He is puzzled. Was Tuan open-screaming his head off for you? “You want that guy Tuan.” He finally replies. It is true. Fourteen has not given any thought to what turned his partners on. Levi has kept him too busy discovering himself.

“Yes, Tuan.” Levi is seventy-one going on nothing. He drinks in Fourteen’s orgasms like a memory tonic. “It is time to hit the road.” The next visit will not be easy. The morning lesson is over. “Breakfast, blowjob, or bed?” He asks Fourteen.

“You drive me crazy.” Fourteen whispers. Detached teen long gone, pride gone, just the family-denying primal need of the freeing orgasmic now. “The bed,” he confesses fiercely.