A Thousand Nights with You - 29. Flowers in the grave

Day 440

The leaves were shedding non-stop for the past few weeks. Mark pretty much gave up clearing them from the garden but we had only a few more weeks to grow crops for winter. It’s almost too cold to grow anything, but everyone said it’s going to be a long one this year. I always enjoyed growing stuff. Mom and I used to do that together. But now we need all that fruits, vegetables, meats and milks not just for food but practically for everything – fruit oils to make candles and toothpaste, goat’s milk to make soap, Eucalyptus oil for the common flu. Our garden is pretty much Walmart to us now.

It’s been a long time since I updated my journal. It wasn’t because there wasn’t anything happening. I felt so happy for the past few months. It’s almost like a dream, like I’m walking on air. I was half scared that this was a prolonged fevered dream, a cruel trick of the hive mind. We had a roof over our heads, we had food and we could sleep at night without jumping at the slight sound and shadows. It felt too obscene to be this happy. Let’s see… where to begin?

Everything was blooming when we first came to Sandpoint. I remembered that day when Mark and I moved into our new home, the first time we saw the vast vista over the mountain slope. The rolling fields were like an explosion of colours. I couldn’t describe that feeling of seeing something so beautiful – there wasn’t a patch of grass soaked in blood or littered with carcasses. The air was filled with the cutting scent of grass and the pristine fragrance of morning dew. No rotting stench, no dried blood, it almost felt like we were living in a fairy tale. There we were, looking at the start of our new life, my eyes were welling up, and I thought I felt his fingers touching mine. I didn’t understand why I got so choked up until much later, when I pondered over it in one of those sleepless nights in our make-shift hammock. After so much death and destruction in the past year, seeing so much life gave me a profound sense of hope.

We stayed in an old shanty near the mountain top. By that time, the new walls and residential clusters were built and all the communes were rezoned into farms, industries, cluster of stilted houses connected by detachable bridges and retractable ladders. We had no neighbours, but we didn’t mind the quarantine since we have the fields and the mountain lake all to ourselves. Grace came by every few days to check on us. My brother and the rest drop by whenever they are free. Everyone was busy with some construction projects – converting old houses into factories, building irrigation ditches and sewage pipes, installing solar panels on the roofs. Things were a little chaotic at first, everyone was assigned to a job and many people were unhappy about giving up their lands for centralized food production. The worse reactions came from the old white collared folks – as Peter called them – all the former bankers, executives, lawyers, creative directors were reassigned to being unskilled labour. Grey and Major Payne had a hard time getting them to pick up shovels or learn how to sew blankets from their former maids. No wonder the president only evacuated the farmers, mechanics and other blue collared folks. They weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Imagine you have a few thousand people who were so used to delegating tasks, having all their comforts met with a swipe of their credit cards and now had to take orders from a plumber or a carpenter.

It was quite disorienting living off the land at first, even for me. I had to spend almost two hours every day to carry pails of water from the lake to cook, to bathe, to do laundry until Mark finished digging up the well near our home. I swore I grew some biceps from all that lifting but he said my arms were still as skinny as a stick. I didn’t know anyone could get so excited by a well. The first thing we wanted to do to celebrate was to boil some hot water for a relaxing bath. But it took another two weeks because of Mark’s abyssal carpentry skills – the tub was always leaking water. He blamed it on the fingers which were still a little retarded at that time.

It took months before our bodies fully recovered. Our fingers and our coordination improved. We probably won’t be able to play piano, but our grip was decent enough to handle an axe. The residents’ attitude towards us improved along with our appearances. We were looking more like our old selves by the day, other than our crystalline eyes. Our appetites returned. No, correction, we ate like pigs – an army of pigs. In fact, we ate so much that the army couldn’t afford to keep us fed without putting us to work. We were sent to all kinds of escort missions – scavenging building materials, raw materials, seeds, books, equipment, medicines. We even helped the nearby settlements to break out of their siege, especially those who no longer received air drops from the government. We didn’t exactly help them to fight. Some places were so overrun that even Mark and I couldn’t guarantee the safety of our team. So we sent them essential supplies, give them raw materials to fortify their perimeters. Most importantly, we established a network of air transport route to send and receive aid from each other. Those who were too embattled to thrive on their own got evacuated back to Sandpoint. Over time, our little settlement swelled to five thousand. It brought more people to farm the lands, to work at sawmills and to build the new infrastructure. So for the first few months, Mark and I had a lot of work to do, which meant we had a lot of food to eat. But after things settled down, we had to start thinking about growing our own crops and livestock. We can’t go on mooching off Grace or my brother. Grace said the medication shrunk the parasite, freeing up our pituitary gland, so our hormone production would go overdrive for a while before it settles down. All that bio-chemicals which originally fuelled our cannibalistic rage would start to support other instincts again. It didn’t take me long to realize that humans have a wide range of instincts other than eating.

I would always remember how beautiful he was when summer came. He was getting bronzed under the sun, flashing his white smile as broad as his shoulders when I brought him his lunch. He was chopping wood - we needed lots of it to keep warm at night, for cooking, for a hot bath and to build a fence to keep those rabbits and deer away from our garden. All that eating swelled his towering frame into mythical Greek proportions. His flannel shirt was soaked to the skin, sleeves rolled up, shirt wide open and sweat dripping down his chest. I took a whiff of his familiar musk and my knees felt wobbly. I could stare at him forever.

For a long time, I had grown to accept that Mark would never look at me the same way as I do at him. Not even when I’m parading stark naked in front of him. Sometimes, he might throw me a mildly interested look and said that my ribs were showing – I should eat more - or asked me where I got this new scar, meaning if he had chewed me off in one of his frenzied episodes. He was more worried about me having worms in my tummy because I’m still so skinny. But I guess my almost-prepubescent physique wasn’t really worth gawking. It sucked looking like a twelve year old and it sucked even more when my puberty got stunted by Chimera. I didn’t grow a single inch and I don’t even have enough pubic hair to shave. I can’t imagine anyone other than a paedophile wanting to look at me. My fears were pretty much confirmed on my sixteenth birthday when Mark gave me a carton of strawberry pop tarts he found on our first scavenging mission. He presented it to me like it was a box of diamond ring. And I didn’t know whether to jump with joy or to cry. On one hand I was immensely touched that he remembered my favourite food and it was awfully sweet that he knew that these babies were weeks away from their expiry dates and it would probably the last time anyone would get to taste them again. But his choice of present also reflected how he saw me – a little kid craving for candies. Tristan and Felicia gave me a pair of goats to breed and to provide milk and cheese. Grey gave me a hand-sewn hammock and Peter made a set of wooden stools. Grace got me a medical encyclopaedia while Sister Latoya made me jars of spices to preserve food and to ferment stuff. All practical stuff, things they would see a sixteen year old boy would need. Even little Adam gave me a stick man drawing of me with wolverine claws, saying that it would scare away the bad blackies if I hang them outside the door. But I got pop tarts from Mark and he had to choose strawberry flavour.

Anyway, Mark got used to my gawking, and I didn’t bother to hide it anymore. I wasn’t very good at stealing glances – whether I was swooning over the stubbles along his strong jawline or perving while he was bathing at the river. I never peeked at other boys before, even when we were hitting the showers after gym. So I didn’t know how to be discreet. I didn’t know what Mark saw when he caught me peeking at him while we were jerking off together at my old apartment. Curiosity? Shame? Envy? Lust? But he found my attention more amusing than creepy. He teased me, asking if I was enjoying the view. He was almost showing off when he came everywhere like a sprinkler gone wild. I had never seen so much semen spraying out from a penis. Any girl would get pregnant just by breathing the air around him. He was very satisfied by how impressed I looked – my face was practically frozen in awe. And I remembered the walls and my body was drenched in his spunk and I had no running water to wash them off. He would always laugh when I said it was his fault that I turned out gay.

But after we got infected, our bodies changed drastically. Somehow I still liked staring at him even when he was covered in warts and sores. His body turned gaunt by the day, his ribs protruding, and his skin turning mottled and grey. I studied every line on his skin, remembering how he got every scar, discovering a new callus on his left big toe. And if one day I slip away completely, I would have at least committed every part of him into my memories. I would keep watching even when he gets all wrinkly and old. Somehow, seeing his body transform right in front my eyes gave me a sense of something beautiful underneath, something that even the infection couldn’t corrupt. I couldn’t quite pin it down, was it his loyalty? That vulnerability beneath the resilience? The desperation for fellowship under his stoic courage?

After spending the morning chopping wood, he decided to take a swim at the lake to enjoy the warm summer sun. I sat by the rocks and watched him as I always do. The sun cast a bronzed glint to his skin as he peeled off his clothes. The water and the light reflected his body contour. His cock swayed back and forth with every step he made, reminding me of the wagging tail of a happy dog. He knew I was watching him but he didn’t care. He was beautiful again, and he enjoyed the attention. But this time, he wasn’t cocky, he didn’t make any lewd jokes, he simply looked at me quietly. For that moment, nothing felt more intimate than this silent companionship - him naked in the water, me sitting by the side, him watching me watching him like we would disappear the moment we took our eyes away.

Despite calling me his little wife, Mark made no move towards me. Felicia thought it was romantic but my brother said it was a dubious compliment - no one fucks their wife. When a guy likes a girl, he would call her his angel, his babe, but never his wife. Wife is someone you feel comfortable to fart in front of, a steadfast partner or even an emotional rock. But she’s the one with the frumpy aprons and not the one with the sexy lingerie. As much as I would like to believe Felicia’s version, my brother had the more astute perspective on the male psyche. Felicia rolled her eyes and lamented about the shallowness of college boys.

The hammocks Grey made for us weren’t exactly meant for two. And with the nights heating up, there were little excuse to nuzzle up for spooning. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t hit on me. I knew he was horny. All that frequent disappearances to relief himself was probably relieving his sperm sac than his bladder. Not that I peeked of course; I draw the line at how desperate I would go. But I swore I could smell his spunk everywhere in the woods. He knew I would be more than willing to mess around with him. And honestly speaking, in the dark he probably couldn’t tell me apart from a girl anyway. So the weeks after my birthday, I felt pretty shitty about my own desirability.

One day, I decided to get away from Mark to have some time alone. I found myself walking to the barracks and I saw Grey getting a team ready by the chopper. I asked him if he needed any escort, he said not really, the area was already well secured. Can I come along anyway? Alone? Yes. Does Mark know? Why does Mark need to know? He gave me a look but let me board the chopper anyway. It was mostly new faces but I recognized Claudio on the team. Everyone got reassigned to a job and I don’t suppose a drag hooker was more of a side line. Claudio was surprised to see me without Mark on a mission.

“Weren’t you supposed to be his sidekick?” He said.

“No. Not his side kick. Not anything at all.” I snapped.

He looked at me like I sprouted a litany of expletives. Being a gay man and all, Claudio immediately picked up the vibe and figured things out between us. So I told him my story. He nodded sagely and expressed outrage at the appropriate conjecture. I was so glad I’m not the only gay boy alive on this planet. He understood what I was going through.

“You just wanted to be wanted by him.” He summed it up perfectly. Tristan would most likely give me all kinds of inane advices, ranging from satisfying my own needs with an assortment of garden vegetables to wearing a dress to seduce Mark.

“Honey,” Claudio put a hand on my shoulders, “Maybe he just didn’t want to treat you like a cum rag.”

Sex is cheap these days. No guys would turn down a blow job if offered. What choices do they have? Watch porn? Hook up on the internet? Hit the bars? None of those things existed anymore. He would be lucky to find someone willing and not two months away from popping a baby. Claudio said Mark probably won’t turn me down if I offered myself, I’m pretty enough for a boy. So he must have cared or at least respected me enough to not take advantage of my feelings.

“That’s what I don’t get! It’s exactly what I wanted.” I cried.

Claudio shook his head to disagree. “He could give you a fuck. But you wanted him to make love to you.”

Does it matter? Is there any difference? Both of us are infected, no one else would fuck us, even with condoms. Claudio said there is, if I cared if he would only have sex in the dark, or imagine me to be someone else when he cums. It matters if I cared when he sleeps with me but looks at other women. How would I feel, Claudio asked when he already knew my answer. At least Mark gives a shit about how I feel.

What Claudio said hit me. I wanted Mark to be someone whom he wasn’t. I didn’t care if it was make-believe, I just wanted to feel close to him. He could pretend I’m a girl, or I could pretend I’m horny and just needed to get off. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stand another night sleeping alone in my hammock. During the run, I might have inflicted some unnecessary violence on some poor infected soul. I doubt anyone would still see me as the sidekick after that.

That night I went home finding Mark sitting at the patio, looking majorly pissed by the lamp. Time to face the music. Just as I thought the day couldn’t get any shittier, he started yelling at me for being irresponsible. Why didn’t I tell him I’m going on a mission alone? He was napping. Have I forgotten how dangerous it was out there? I can handle myself perfectly well. The last straw came when he said I’m not going anywhere without his permission from now on.

Was he grounding me?

That really sparked me off. I yelled at him saying he’s not my dad, he’s not even my brother. He had no right to treat me like a kid. Then stop acting like one, he said. I was about to stomp off to my hammock when he said softly, “I thought I lost you.”

Something in his voice broke my heart that night. How could I forget those days when our lucidity hangs by a thread? The fear of waking up and finding the other gone? Those nights when we had to lock ourselves in to sleep so we don’t wander off in our hive minds. Wasn’t it enough that he cared about me? I was asking too much when I already had so much to be grateful for. I was acting like a brat, and I felt ashamed. So I apologized. He said I must tell him wherever I go, even if he was sleeping and I’m just taking a leak in the woods. I said okay.

I thought that would be the end of the drama that night. But he stopped me and asked what got into me. I guess being sixteen wasn’t a good enough excuse. He grilled me until I fessed up about how I felt.

“Sometimes, I wished you will just look at me. I mean really look at me.” I said softly.

He looked at me, bewildered and said, “What do you mean? I look at you all the time.”

“You know what I mean.”

I know what you mean… He repeated what I said slowly, as if that would knock some sense into his thick Neanderthal skull. But it did. A look dawned on his face, and he pulled me in for a long gentle kiss. His thick arms wrapped my waist and cupped the back of my head. I felt myself melting into his soft lips, warm tongue and bristling chin.

He pulled away slowly, and said, “Better now?”

I nodded meekly.

“You could’ve just told me, you know.”

He lifted up my chin to make me look at him. Right, what am I supposed to say? Mark, I really don’t want to die a virgin can you help me out with that? He laughed and said, “I tasted your flesh. You tasted mine. You seriously think I would mind sharing some spunk?”

My eyes were glued to the ground until he made me look at him again. “I know how you feel about me. And I like you. So I really don’t mind.”

He tugged me into the shed and shoved me down onto the haystack. My heart was beating out of my chest when he started unbuttoning his shirt. Before I knew it, he pulled off my shorts unceremoniously and his red, angry cock was curving out like a poised anaconda. Wait, he’s not going to put that thing…. He lathered some goat cream on his dick and slid a wet finger inside me. And two. And then three. All this while he made tiny bites on my neck and licks the back of my ears, sending shivers down my spine. What the hell, I came this far I might as well go through with it.

“You can douse the lamp… I don’t mind.”

In the dark, he can imagine me to be anyone he wants - Megan Fox, his ex-girlfriend, the girl who refused to fuck him – but he didn’t.

“I want to see you blush when I fuck you.” He said. And I was already blushing, but I pretended I didn’t hear him.

“W-What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“Just relax.” He lifted both my legs and spread them wide so that my ass is open and facing him. I never felt so vulnerable and exposed before. Then he leaned in to kiss me. I cried when he entered me. I didn’t even cry when he chew flesh off my bones. But this was different. It felt like fitting a beer can into a keyhole and the only way I could let him in is to yield completely. He cooed me to relax, kissing me gently and when he made the final push, it felt like his cock had glided in all the way to my heart. He lay still to let my body slowly accept him being inside of me. That night I finally understood what it meant to make love. Your body had to trust and accept a man even when your heart and your mind already did.

“Tell me if it hurts…” He whispered between his feathery tongue. The moment he felt my body melting, he started thrusting into me. Slowly at first, then bucking like an animal when I writhed and moaned under him.

I was completely under his control. I wanted to caress him but he pinned my hands above my head. He silenced my moans with wet kisses. Am I okay? I could barely nod. It was a dizzying waltz of pain and ecstasy. It’s like my body totally lost control – wanting to cum and piss at the same time.

“Jesus, you’re so tight.” He groaned. Was that good or bad? Was he asking me to relax? Before I could ask him, I felt him throbbed inside me and I clenched instinctively. He grinded faster and deeper, our bodies glided on sweat, cream and pre-cum, then finally let out a cry and collapsed onto me. I was warm and wet from his cum dripping out at the rim. My heart was still pounding like I was being chased by a horde. He didn’t pull himself out and I was still pinned underneath him. He pressed his cheeks against mine, the hot summer sweat dripping onto my face and body, my legs still wrapped around him. I never felt so safe and vulnerable at the same time.

“How… was it?” What I meant to say was, please tell me I’m not the worst fuck of your life.

“It’s different,” he gave me a wistful smile and a peck, “but it’s hot. We should’ve done this sooner.”

“Liar.” I would’ve died a virgin if I hadn’t said anything tonight.

“Honest! I waited because I wanted your first time to be special.” He protested.

Seeing my disbelief, he reached for the pocket and pulled out a crude wooden ring. There were little painted vines entwined around it. “It still needed work… but well.”

He puts it on my finger, my ring finger. “There’s no diamond in it, but I made this myself.”

I stared at it like it was diamond anyway. “Y-You wanted to give me this?”

“Told you I was an old fashioned guy.” He said. It was a little too big, but he said I would grow into it.

“But how am I going to take it out when I grow bigger?”

“You can’t. That’s the whole idea.” He smiled and lifted up my legs again. “You’re mine now.”

“What are you doing?”

“You haven’t cum yet.” He said. I thought he was going to jerk me off but his hands were pinning on mine.

“How am I going to- argh”

He started thrusting his hips and whispered into my ears, “I’m going to keep fucking till you cum.”

It was a small gathering among our close friends last week. We even invited Claudio and Cynthia who for some strange reasons were hitting off really well… like long lost sisters. We told everyone it was Mark’s birthday, and they brought cakes, food and wine. It was meant to be a surprise when we took out our rings for each other. But no one seemed surprised except for us. I glared at Tristan since he was the only person I told. My brother simply gave me feigned innocent shrug.

“What, that’s it? No vows?” Peter teased. Thank God my face was already red with the wine.

“I… promise I’ll stick around.” Mark said sheepishly.

Everyone laughed. My brother said this was the lamest vow he had ever heard. Surely Mark can be a little more romantic than that? Good, everyone was teasing him instead for a change. I told Tristan to give him a break. I liked his dorky little vow. After all we been through together, promises seemed pretty redundant. But tradition is tradition, and soon everyone was waiting for my turn.

“Erm… I’ll stick around too. But I guess you already know that.” I said.

That evening wasn’t as romantic as I’d imagined it to be. First of all, there was lots of cleaning up to do. Washing dishes and mopping floors weren’t easy when there was no running water. The new residential clusters had working taps and electricity by now. Grace said she’ll talk to Payne to let us move in to the cluster or get us another decent place to live. But I liked it here, this rustic living. It didn’t matter if we spent all day just growing stuff, chopping wood, drawing water because he’s always in my sight. We pulled up pails of water to clear the mess, and then boiled hot water for a nice relaxing bath in the tub. We could have accepted Felicia’s offer to help, but we had a lot of fun doing this together.

By the time the house was clean, the night was pitched black and we were both exhausted. I fell asleep, snuggling onto his hairy chest. We weren’t as horny as when we were just recovering. Our hormonal balance was pretty normal by now. We stopped breeding like rabbits but I never felt closer to Mark than before. At least now he would occasionally look at me like I was a steaming pancake lathered with butter and honey.

Just like me, his body learnt to love me like his heart and his mind already did. I might not be his usual cup of tea, but he started to notice little things like how long my lashes were, or getting so used to my scent that he couldn’t sleep without it. I might not have boobs, but I got the smoothest skin and tightest boy-pussy. I almost threw the axe at him when he said the last one. There weren’t much things to do after it gets dark – no internet, no TV, no music, no malls - so we made out or made love.

Mark was apprehensive about staying in the mountain settlement at first. This could turn out like the horror school, or we could be trapped here like a tomb. In a sense, it might be since we couldn't get out without the chopper. We would never know when this place might collapse or get overrun by the horde. But if we worked hard, if we tried and we believed, we might just grow old and die here too. This might become our grave, but there were lots of flowers growing here.

Anyway, winter is approaching and we had more time on our hands. Time makes you think a lot, and make you scared of your own shadows. That's why I stayed away from the recorder for a while. Last night, we stayed up late. Mark said we made enough fruit wax for winter so we kept the lamps outside going for a little longer. He played the guitar on the patio and I laid on his lap. He stopped playing when he thought I fell asleep. He stroked my hair for a while before he carried me to the bed and wrap himself around me. I woke up, suddenly feeling scared that everything would burst like a bubble. So I took out the old recorder and saying all these so that I would never forget I was this happy once.