Jericho's Wall - 10. Chapter 10

The disadvantage of not using a condom became apparent quickly so I slipped out to the bathroom and when I returned I found Jericho still in my bed waiting for me, one knee raised, the cock I’d been so eager to see I’d battled over it on full flaccid display. I folded back into his arms, laying my head on his shoulder and sliding one of my legs over his so his balls rested on my thigh. He was warm and good and the elderberry wine tasted just fine.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice rumbling through my head, his fingers idly rubbing my scalp and hair; the sensation was almost better than sex.

Almost, I say.

I decided to be honest. “About what I thought the first time I saw you, how you might have been pulled from my deepest, most secret daydreams. And when you mentioned we were going to be roommates I wasn’t sure if I was elated or terrified. And then when I came back into the room just now and saw you laying in my bed I was quite frankly astonished.”

“You know what I thought when I first saw you?”

I was hesitant, but, “What?”

“That you were right pretty. Not like girl-pretty,” he hastened to add, “but pretty like a picture in a catalog, something odd and fancy and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before and you can’t afford it but you want it anyhow.”

“You did not,” I said, glad he couldn’t see my face, sure my cheeks were burning bright enough to shine through my dusky complexion.

“I did!” Jericho said, sounding affronted at my disbelief. “Your skin glowed almost golden. And you were so shy and polite and you didn’t want to be here, you were so mad at your parents but determined not to take it out on us and my heart ached for you. And as for us being roommates . . . you’ve been upstairs, right?”

“A few times,” I allowed, wondering where he was going.

“This is a big house, there are five bedrooms up there.” He held up our joined hands to demonstrate. “There’s Mom’s room and her attached studio.” He folded one of my fingers down. “Janey’s room.” Another finger. “Juanita’s room.” And the last. “How many does that leave?”

“Two.”

“One of them was supposed to be yours, we were going to let you pick. But the instant, you hear me, the instant I laid eyes on you I determined you were going to be in the bed across from me no matter what and I all but peed on your leg to mark you as mine. I thought it was a bad idea but did it anyway.”

“Why did you think it was a bad idea?”

“Because I wanted you. That stuff—this stuff—was supposed to be over and done. Darren was gone, high school was finished, it was time to put away childish things and focus on the future. That’s why I kept calling you kid then dragged you to the diner to see Jill the first day, to remind myself what the plan was, but she didn’t want me, or rather she did and was playing her stupid games, but you did want me, I saw it in your eyes when I glanced up from undressing for the shower and I saw it in your pants too—yup, I could tell how big you were even then. And you were honest. You didn’t play games. Dang you.”

I chuckled, understanding him.

“So I stripped down and took a shower and beat my dick so hard and fast I’m surprised they didn’t hear me upstairs.”

I twisted my head, looked him in the face. “You did not!”

He crossed his heart. “Hope to die.”

I laughed and he raised an eyebrow. “No, I believe you. I’m just laughing because I did the same thing, I had my dick out almost before you left the room and then had a fuck of an ordeal trying to figure out how to dispose of the mess!”

He laughed too, then sobered. “Wanna know something funny?”

“What?”

“That’s the last orgasm I’ve had without you.”

I sighed happily and snuggled back onto his shoulder. “Me too.”

“So, yeah, I told myself it was a bad, horrible, horrendous idea—”

“Gee, thanks.”

“—but I peed on your leg anyway.”

“Stop saying that!” But I was laughing.

“Mom didn’t bat an eye, you know how she is, don’t dream it be it, go with the flow, don’t worry be happy. Juanita didn’t care. Janey, though, Janey was suspicious from the start. She didn’t let on to you but she gave me an earful in private. I told her I thought you looked lonely and since it was true she backed off. For awhile.”

“It was eating her alive, wasn’t it?”

“Yup. I got more searching looks and delicately-worded questions when you weren’t around than I’d ever gotten from her in her life, and she didn’t entirely let up until we came out.” Jericho laughed. “’Came out.’ Too rich.”

“She just wanted to know.”

“It was eating me alive too. I wanted you but I kept telling myself I couldn’t have you then gave in a little bit more each day. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cursed asking you to jerk off with me the first time. But you were so beautiful, Mateo, and so sincere, and blossoming more each day and you . . . you . . . glowed, inside and out and I couldn’t resist. And now,” he kissed the top of my head, “I’m glad I couldn’t.”

“I’m glad I’m irresistible too,” I said, and held it maybe three seconds before bursting into a laugh.

He smacked the spot he’d just kissed. “Smart-butt.”

We lay there in our usual comfortable, thinking silence for a minute until I said, “So we’re both glad to be here. I guess the next logical question to ask would be, what next?”

“What next, Mat my lover? The rest of the summer, that’s what’s next.” So he knew too. “We’ve got the rest of the summer.”

A few minutes later I had his thickness in hand, settling it at my achy-but-needy hole then riding him for a good (no, make that phenomenal) half-hour, not caring how much diaper rash cream I was going to go through tonight. We finally got to see each other’s cum faces and Jericho’s was . . . it was Jericho’s. Therefore beautiful. We showered together and had been sitting on the back porch, his feet in my lap, me balancing my book on his finely-haired, shiny-nailed toes, for maybe ten minutes before Celica pulled into the turnaround. I took a deep breath and lifted my lover’s feet, stood on my own, hissing at the twinge in my backside. He looked up from his book, curious, but I waited until June, Janey and Juanita started up the steps before I spoke.

“I owe y’all an apology for the way I’ve been behaving the last couple days. To put it plain and simple I was a jerk. I had a lot going on in my head, couldn’t see the water for the well as Bud puts it, but that doesn’t excuse my attitude nor my actions. So, I’m sorry.”

“Feelings, huh?” Juanita said, stomping past me into the house.

June patted my shoulder and responded with a word I’d only heard her use once before and never heard her use again. “Shit happens, Mateo.” And she too went into the house. The woman had the patience of a saint.

Janey stopped and stared into my face, giving me one of the searching looks Jericho had been talking about. “Did you make it up to my brother? All he wanted to do was love you.”

“Janey!” Jericho protested, half-laughing, half-scandalized.

She wouldn’t be put off. “Well, did you?”

“I think I did,” I said, glancing at Jericho. “At least I hope so.”

“You did,” he assured me. Satisfied, Janey gave me one sharp nod and clomped into the house after her sister and mother. “Feel better?” he asked, swinging his feet into my lap as I settled gingerly back into my seat.

“I do,” I said. And I did.

There’s a reason love stories, the good ones anyway, end with “and they lived happily ever after”. The conflict is over, the lovers united or reunited. You can’t make a story about endless mornings of the happy couple canoodling over a delicious breakfast unless one day the toast gets burned and it leads to arguments and angst makes the plot interesting again. You can’t even throw in more and more sex scenes without them turning trite and overused; there are, after all, only so many ways to describe Tab A sliding into Slot B. And while both of us were well aware there’d never be a happily ever after for us we were thrilled to get a happily for the rest of the summer. Because we were happy, so happy you’d be groaning in boredom and thumbing the pages ahead looking for sex or conflict if I tried to describe it. Some more interesting things happened, one of which does include some conflict and provided the perfect example to me of what Ron meant when he said Bud was “the person he loved more than life itself but sometimes pissed him right the fuck off”, and I’m going to tell you about all of these things, and of course we still have the big goodbye scene and everything leading up to the part that’s going to make you damn me for making you cry (and trust me here, I’m going to make you cry—I did), but the true conflict was over, the lovers united. You should feel the weight of the book mostly in your left hand by now, should see the click-tab on your right dropped almost all the way to the bottom of the screen or the percentage remaining on your reader climbing steadily towards one hundred; in other words, the story isn’t complete yet but it’s getting there.

The first week was bliss. We worked in the garden, more productive in our happiness than before which was a good thing because four days of neglect had taken a toll. We did our thing after lunch but traded the now-lame dry-humping for frantic make-out sessions where we swapped spit and jerked each other off. He let me lick his thickness a couple times and though I made sure to keep from opening my mouth wide he still shuddered and pushed me away much too quickly, and when I made a comment damning Darren Jericho pinked up (it was always so cute!) and admitted while Darren hadn’t helped matters much his phobia regarding his dick being hurt stemmed from when he was seven and got into a nest of red fire ants who’d swarmed up his loose shorts and bit the everlovin’ heck out it, so many times the Calamine Lotion treatment (slathered on by his mom, making things worse) made his dick look like a cracked sculpture. “It’s okay, you can laugh,” he said, resigned, and I did, but he was mollified when I explained, “I’m not laughing at you, exactly, I’m laughing at the sheer random ludicrousness of life sometimes.” I explained the origins of my own phobia, about going on a field trip to a farm when I was seven. The chicken lady of this particular coop put a hen into my arms and I was fascinated until one my classmates (I never did find out who but forty years later I still want to beat the snot out of him) shot a spitwad at the bird’s rear end, startling it so much it started fluttering and clawing and somehow getting tangled in my shirt and the entire class laughed at me while I cried. I wasn’t hurt but traumatized? Oh yeah. Just as Jericho had been I was a little offended when he burst into laughter until he said, “No, I’m not laughing at you, Mat my lover, not entirely. I was just thinking you’ve mostly gotten over your phobia since you’re obviously not afraid of my cock.” I burst into laughter too and somehow aroused even more by the terrible pun I attacked his voluptuous mouth again. He didn’t complain. We rearranged our room, pushing the twin beds together and the nightstand into the corner but leaving our mismatched dressers alone, to be forever separated by the sliding closet door, a metaphor I never considered until years later, when Bud was critiquing the first draft of this (if you’ll excuse the affectation) memoir and he pointed it out.

Thought not demonstrative to the public at large we were open in our affection amongst our family, holding hands or cuddling or making out in the oddest places, often enough the twins stopped gagging and simply ignored us although one time Juanita offered us the reasonable suggestion we should get a room (we did). On Wednesday Bud and Ron invited us over for dinner and when we came around the corner of the house with our hands in each other’s back pockets the only comment was from Ron. “Wild make-up monkey sex is the best, ain’t it?” We enthusiastically agreed and I was glad they (probably) couldn’t tell my cheeks burned as bright as Jericho’s. We didn’t hold hands in the diner but there were a whole lot more hushed giggles and shoulder-bumping than on previous visits. Jill was sweet and kind but somewhat puzzled too and I think this was the day she truly started suspecting Jericho and I were more than just close cousins. As noted above, I also think she still suspects. No, I know damn well she still suspects but I also know damn well if she tried bringing her concerns up any of the other members of our family who’d know they might not tell her to mind her own business (too suggestive) but they’d get their point across. On Saturday night June again ran everyone off (we weren’t going to be there anyway but still) and when she popped back into the house Jericho mused, “Okay, this is starting to get weird.” Ron’s asshole brother was nowhere around as we dropped off the twins but Bud’s sister hugged us, commenting in her blunt fashion, “Love looks good on y’all,” which given what I’d heard regarding her loose lips was alarming but as far as I know she never gossiped about us, at least not to Jill—the two never did like each other for some reason no one ever cared enough to figure out. At the roller-rink I came out of the restroom to find him in the arcade hunched over the ancient dog-tag engraver, a machine rarely used except by stoned teenagers younger than us who sniggered over obscure dirty jokes. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Ah, I was gonna make a cute tag for Calico but messed it up,” he replied, slipping it into his pocket. I thought his behavior odd but forgot it as we rolled round and round the floor, not holding hands but brushing fingers occasionally while the DJ spun our sad, inevitable song. When we pulled into the turnaround we found the house darkened and a car we’d never seen before, a rental, sitting beside Caddy. Jericho switched off Truck and sat stunned for a minute but eventually only said, “Okay then.” We looked at each other and I said, “Go June,” and we burst into laughter. Go June indeed. She deserved it.

I awoke alone the next morning and I was confused and slightly irritated until I saw what sat on his pillow: the dog-tag he’d slipped into his pocket and I’d forgotten about. Three symbols and a date. “J+M 1992”. I bawled, I mean literally bawled for a good five minutes before hiding the gesture in my wallet. When I made it upstairs I found June and her mystery paramour (whose rental was still parked outside) had not yet descended to earth and Jericho sipping coffee at the sink—his coffee-brewing skills were out of this world but he was forbidden to so much as pull sausage from the fridge. I stopped in the doorway and looked at him, just looked at him, and he looked back, his cheeks pinking. Knowing better than to say anything I kissed him on the lips once, very softly, before measuring out the drop-biscuit flour for our light Sunday breakfast. As I was sliding them into the oven we heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs and Jericho and I grinned at each other. A few seconds later June comes strolling in with the person I’d somehow expected: Rand. Jericho didn’t seem very surprised either, merely offered the smiling, slightly bashful round-faced man a cup of coffee and asked if he were staying for breakfast.

“Thanks for the offer but no, not this morning.” Implying there’d be mornings where he would. We made small talk for a few minutes while I fried the sausage, June alternately beaming at Rand and beaming at Jericho in a manner both appreciative of his response to her reveal and gratified because she’d expected nothing less. After he departed and we were eating June explained she and Rand had always remained in touch but over the last year as his mother’s condition worsened (Alzheimer’s, I think; I never asked) and he was forced to make more and more trips home they’d grown closer and well, here we are. “You understand this has nothing to do with your father, don’t you?” she asked, wearing Janey’s face-searching expression.

“I know,” Jericho said firmly. “Dad’s been gone a couple years now and we all still miss him terribly, but—”

“I still miss him myself,” June said hurriedly. “Joe was the love of my life. But I have to move on and you know what? I’ve discovered Rand is the love of my life too.” And here she used a metaphor she’d used before, one that in a few years would be reduced to nothing but a joke and mere cliché. “He completes me, like your dad but in a different way.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Jericho scolded gently. “I’m thrilled you’ve found love again, I am.” Aware of Jericho’s deep ache for his father the cold place inside me I was already deathly afraid of wondered if he’d be as forgiving if he weren’t in love himself but I never asked him, refused to consider the notion any further myself. “You have my blessing. On one condition. He’ll never be my dad or even stepdad if you choose to marry him. He’ll be your boyfriend or husband and my friend and family.”

“Done.” She was planning to tell Janey and Juanita after church so she’d appreciate it if we’d make ourselves scarce and we agreed since we already visited Bud and Ron on Sundays anyhow. When we went to walk the fence Jericho revealed he’d brought the lube Ron had supplied (the oil loooong gone and the first tube of diaper rash cream replaced; ah June) and bent me over barely out of sight of the house. I worried for a minute about ugly boogers but as soon as he hit my sweet spot I decided fuck it, we had a shotgun, bring it on. As we were pulling our clothes together I almost teased him about a snake biting his dick but wisely decided to keep my mouth shut, though I did mention my fears for him doing the repairs alone after I left.

He stopped and looked at me as if I were crazy. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “I’d never be so stupid. Juanita usually backs me up, she’s a crack shot.”

“I’m not,” I pointed out. “I’m better than I was but still not great. She wasn’t home the first time but why did you bring me along the second?”

“She’s not as pretty as you.”

Good answer. A few minutes later, after I blew away a baby copperhead (they are ugly boogers, oh yeah) I asked, “Why don’t you clear them out? Surely there’s companies who do that.”

“I’m going to have to at some point,” he replied, not sounding happy. “Burn them all out to make room for more fields. But as much as we dislike the ugly boogers they have a place in the ecology of this area, namely consuming the rodents whose own place is to consume the trash. And they’re God’s creatures, not The Adversary’s no matter what any superstitious idiot might say. They’re alive. Until I need the space I’ll leave any I don’t see alone.” Fair enough.

We retrieved Janey and Juanita from Isabella’s house (Ron’s asshole brother once again farting in my general direction) and at church I all but ran for the sanctuary, eager to spill the gossip about June and Rand to Bud before anyone else could, although I cautioned him against revealing anything to the twins. To my surprise Bud wasn’t surprised, he’d known all along; he and Ron had been keeping more romantic secrets than ours. Sister Sarah’s topic for the day was, fittingly enough for Jericho and me, friendship. Specifically, the friendship between David and Jonathon. “Some biblical scholars claim they were lovers. Some claim they were not. I personally do not know. I believe they were but in the end it doesn’t matter. What matters is their bond, which was pleasing not only to themselves but to God.” I couldn’t help contrasting our own situation. Jericho and I too were destined to end early (although I hoped to avoid being almost-assassinated by my father then killed in battle anyhow) and like David Jericho would go on to marry and further the line, although my cousin’s ambitions stopped short of birthing a messiah.

Leaving June alone to talk to the twins, Jericho and I made our usual jaunt to Bud and Ron’s, where we found our resident author fretting because he’d just discovered the release date of his new novel coincided with the release of the new Stephen King. “We’re not in direct competition,” Bud explained, “but his book will overshadow mine, at least in terms of sales and at least at first. I’m confident my book will sell well—” our Bud is nothing if not self-assured “—but the bitch will put a dent in the first week’s take for sure.”

“Why don’t you write something more mainstream?” I asked. “Not necessarily horror but something appealing to more people than just the gay community and allies.”

Remember the look I mentioned Jericho gave me for imagining he’d dare walk the fence alone? I got the exact same look from Bud. “Hon, you don’t choose your themes. They choose you. Even June will turn down a commission if she doesn’t like the feel of the proposed subject. I wrote a couple of Harlequin Romances back when I was first starting out and the experience was horrible, I can’t stress enough how terrible it was. They were written to a rigid formula with explicit sex scenes I wasn’t remotely interested in writing.”

“I jerked off to them,” Ron remarked.

Bud kissed his cheek. “You’ve jerked off to my socks.”

“So?”

“So your opinion doesn’t count. Where was I? Oh yes, there’s a difference between making personal art and commercial art. I’m not saying one is better than the other, they both have their place, but I choose to explore themes and characters important to me and luckily I’ve clawed my way far enough up the gay bestseller lists to make barely enough money to afford our as-you-can-plainly-see lavish lifestyle. And no, I’m not going to tell you the titles of my clit-ticklers nor the name I wrote them under. They were awful, I neither know nor care how well they sold and I’m hoping only five copies were printed and four of them are in a landfill now.”

“Catch me later,” Ron stage-whispered. “I keep the fifth with his socks.” He was kidding. I think.

We went outside and admired the rising outhouse-slash-storage shed, which had gained a foundation and a frame since the last time we’d seen it, and headed home. After Jericho shifted into third and reached for my hand, I tugged at his fingers and asked, “Was what Bud said true about June turning down commissions if she didn’t like the subject?” I had a hard time seeing it; June wasn’t necessarily a mercenary person nor was she vain about her talent but she certainly knew both the value of money and her own worth.

“It’s been known to happen,” Jericho said, squeezing my hand to make me stop tugging at his fingers, “but only two, maybe three times I’m aware of. Mom can usually find the good in anything, portrait subject or not, to the point it’s almost annoying.”

We returned to the farm to find the twins had differing reactions to June’s news about Rand. Juanita, as expected, was blithe and unconcerned, commenting, “Oh God, is it contagious? I hope I’m not next.” Janey had barricaded herself in her bedroom, screaming about how June was betraying her father’s memory. I think her biggest issue was she felt she’d been blindsided; she’d been so concerned with her brother’s budding romance she hadn’t read the signs of her mother’s. We all had faith in her however, and sure enough she quietened down and finally appeared red-eyed and puffy-faced at supper and apologized, saying she was happy for her mother and Rand and would support them in the relationship, albeit with the same condition as Jericho: that Rand not attempt to replace her father. June didn’t make a big deal of it (June didn’t make a big deal of anything), only accepted the condition as well as the apology, thanking Janey for being grown-up enough to make it and for her well-wishes but when we sat in the den later instead of choosing her usual seat June chose a bigger one and pulled Janey in to sit beside her while we watched MST3K. It was a good one.

The second week was pure bliss too and, as we moved into the dogdays of August, so were the third, fourth and fifth. We worked in the garden, sneaked off to make love or at least kiss and still the levels in the vegetable bins rose steadily. June and the girls started canning a portion of our take (I knew she sold some but where they planned to store the rest since the pantry was overstocked wasn’t clear to me; maybe the tornado shelter, which in my opinion was overstocked as well), June explaining she usually started later in the season but wanted to get done before she was due to start her fall commission up by Tanners Hill. We ate our brownies at the diner and Jill took over serving us and though I would’ve preferred to keep Rodi Jericho said nothing so neither did I. He even made conversation, politely making it clear that while he was interested in resuming their relationship it wouldn’t happen until September at the earliest. “I’m too busy right now, you know how the growing season is.” Jill accepted with pleasant grace and we enjoyed our treat. We had dinner at Bud and Ron’s, returned on Sunday afternoons after church. At church itself we sat close together, twining fingers at Communion as our soft-spoken and smiling deacon server blessed us in the name of Jesus and no one said a single derogatory word. Rand stayed over more and more, joining us for breakfast and even church; no one said a derogatory word to him there either, just welcomed him as warmly as they’d welcomed me; many of them had known him as Miranda anyway. Sometimes at night when Jericho was doing his happy murmuring (I could tell the difference from before) I’d slip into the bathroom and take the dog-tag from my wallet and just stare at it, lasting two minutes at most before bawling again, then I’d sneak back into bed and get caught every time. “I missed you. Where’d you go?” “Just had to use the toilet. Wanna fuck?” Strangely, he always did. Most of those few weeks before the last are a blur in my head, of working and making love and laughing and hugging, but one memory does stick out involving the twins. Juanita had taken as her personal chore the job of cutting the grass around the house and she did so weekly, with great enjoyment, but on this particular day Jericho asked her to take Mower to the fallow field, as the growth was getting thick and high enough in places to hide ugly boogers; he might’ve been live and let live with the snakes in the woods, he wasn’t so generous about them coming close to the house. Juanita was thrilled and when I stood up from a crouch in the garden I saw her zigzagging all over the field and laughing her head off. When I asked Jericho if she’d been drinking he grinned. “I don’t know what but something about lawnmowers drives rattlesnakes absolutely insane and they’ll slither out in droves to attack. Juanita loves to chop ‘em up.” A few minutes later Janey stomped onto the back porch, watching the carnage with her arms crossed, and when Juanita finished Janey stomped over to Mower and before her sister could even climb off Janey shoved her to the ground, screaming she understood the task was necessary but did Juanita have to take so much joy in it? Juanita popped off the ground and popped her sister in the jaw and by the time we managed to race up and separate them they were scrapping in the dirt, the most vicious fight I’d ever seen them engage in. Luckily neither of them were seriously hurt, Janey racking up a black eye and Juanita a bloody nose, and before we’d even settled them down and June come up with a punishment (they were to clean each other’s rooms to their mother’s personal satisfaction) the fallow field was rife with crows; for the next week we had to be careful and pick our way down to the creek or risk stepping in rotting ugly booger. I still laugh fondly when I recall Juanita’s joy (for her sister had been right) and then laugh again, though more ruefully, at Janey’s anger.

And, of course, before we were quite ready the pleasant summer breeze blew the last week upon us.