Creation: The Conclusion of the Lake Cycle

[ChrisGibson]

WELCOME BACK TO A NEW WEEK

I DIDNT GET TO RESPOND TO COMMENTS, BUT I CERTAINLY WILL AFTER I GET A NAP


May did not have many friends, and by many she corrected and said none, so she was glad to be in Riley’s circle. Julian and Clare liked her, and Riley was friends with Matt, the mop haired younger brother of Elias, who was partnered with Fenn’s son Dylan, and Bennett who was married to Fenn’s stepdaughter, Rabbi Todd’s daughter. Maia. May had never had girlfriends, but now she was friends with Cara, who was Todd’s great niece. If May was to describe Cara, she would think of her as someone who was chic and should be walking around with a cigarette in her hand even though Cara loved the country, loved being up to her knees in mud and looking through swamps for frogs, even though she had never touched a cigarette. She was always a mess, and she was always effortlessly beautiful.
“All the women in her family are like that,” Riley said, “It’s ridiculous.”
He dismissed this as a fact, not as a point of desire, and that was a good thing because for a moment May wondered if she was beautiful. Not effortlessly beautiful. No, but a little beautiful, beautiful enough. She did not want to look at herself, contemplate herself. She was with Riley, and so she imagined herself beautiful enough. Certainly, Cara, whose dark hair was always wild and falling out of its ponytail or the braid she’d made for it, didn’t care if be people called her beautiful.
Early on she had met too cute boys and had the sense to not say they were cute. They were both lean and tall like ponies, with good calves and strong thighs and treble voices. The blond was taller and more slender than the not quite stocky, brunette one, though Riley said this had not been the case before. They were awfully close and Cara said, “That’s my big brother Rob. He’s a moron. And that’s Austin.”
“Austin is Lance’s little brother,” Riley said.
May had given up trying to understand how everyone in the Rossford tribe was related.
“Lance is Dylan’s partner.”
“But I thought Elias—”
“They’re a thrupple,” Cara said. “Just like your godfather and all.”
“Really?” a shiver went through May that never went through her when she thought of Donovan, Cade and Simon.
“How modern.”

But all the hanging out with new friends could not take care of the fact that she had to go back to her mother’s house. May was shy about staying with Don. Never having been very loved by her mother, and always having been brought up by people who used each other, it was hard for her to believe Don loved her. She knew it, but as yet, she did not know. When she came to big old 812 Pine Street, she was always sure he would want her to go, that Cade and Simon would have enough of her, that, even on the first floor, she would be like a mouse they knew was there, always squeaking, always surfacing to get a bit of cheese.
This was also why she ate so seldom. Se didn’t want to be an imposition. It wasn’t until Cade ran into the house one day, and then she heard him running down the steps to tell her about the symposium, that she began to understand.
“And of course you’re coming,” he said to her.”
“I don’t have summer clothes.”
“Well, then we better take you to your house and get some.”
She would later reflect that she hated hot weather, and yet she would never have turned down the chance to be taken in and away by people who loved her. And it was an odd feeling, so it took her a while to know it was love.
“Well, of course it’s love,” Cade said as they were driving in the night from her house on the South Side back to 812 Pine Street.”
“Don loves you. Simon loves you. I love you.”
“Because Don loves me.”
This is what her mother would have said, “Your stepfather loves you because he loves me.”
It reminded her of a preacher at church that said God the Father loves you because when he looks at you, he sees Jesus.
Her stepfather, personally, had never said anything about loving her.
“No,” Cade said. “We love you because you’re lovable. If you were a little shit you would have to go. No matter what Don said.”
May laughed out loud with the pleasure of a child.
“He’d be the first to throw me out.”
“Truth,” Cade declared.
The night before she left for Savannah, she called Riley over. In the darkness of the first floor of 812, while Donovan and Cade and Simon had slept, or more likely not slept, the two of them made love. When he entered her it was like being thrust into by light, and when they moved together, they were moving together, and May learned a new dance, was unafraid to wrap her hands about Riley’s naked body, to respond to his kisses and hold his curly head down to hers. As, encouraged, he lifted himself up on his arms, to fuck her rapidly, she realized as his jolts thrummed through her, that she had been a virgin until now, that all the other times had been half asleep practice. Her body moved to teach him how to move, and she surprised them both by having her first orgasm.
When they had both come, they lay drowsy in the dark and Riley, kissing her neck, confessed, “I love you.”
And she knew what it meant, so she said, “I love you too.”

 

[ChrisGibson]

“Out of the mouths of May,” is what Simon thought all the way home. He was glad and more than excited as he sat in the kitchen with Brendan and Dan and to some extent, Sheridan, planning the mayoral race, but Fenn and Cade were gone and by now even Sheridan and Rob had departed, Sheridan with a plate of food, knowing there would be hell to pay for showing up either at Frey’s house or the home of Fenn and Todd later than necessary.

Now, as Simon took the curves home along the lake and through the woods, he thought of how he would rise tomorrow and Cade and Donovan would remain, and he was missing his last night with them. He would have all day to be with Brendan. At the moment he felt a bit of a fool for having stayed with him so long tonight.

Brendan was staying with Dan for the night. Sheridan had said he didn’t want him driving home even though Brendan objected to being treated like a child, and so Simon had agreed to come for him in the morning, not too early, and the both of them would head back to Indiana.

When he came back to the house, at first he was filled with sadness because the lights were out, but approaching the porch he saw they were only down low. Perhaps music would be playing on the stereo, gentle jazz, not that hip hop crap kids thought was sexy music. Perhaps there would be a fire. Cider on the pot, after dinner coffee cause no one was going to bed tonight. No accommodations for May, the girl who would stay with them and whom they loved, but who changed the world of three men living together.

He took the little bronze key, pressed it in the lock, opened it, and there was the lowlight of the lamp in the little foyer, the half mudroom, and there was the crackling of the fire, the smell of cider, the hoped for low and quiet, like a pulse, jazz. But as Simon quietly and reverently hung up his coat, there were the other holy sounds that like a siren made his blood burn, and the emotion in him swirl down to his stomach, down to his loins and stretching out, rise.

On socked feet he padded into the living room and watched with holy lust, moving under the shadows and the umber light like a human river, Cade’s body, the thickness of hair touched by auburn firelight while he bent over to kiss Don’s neck, the length of back, the hills of round buttocks, the length of thighs and calves striving up and down as, gently, on the bearskin rug before the fire, he fucked him, his hands grasping Don’s hands, his mouth on Don’s head, on his ears, on his throat like a devouring lion, Don’s voice, making the noises of prey as much as prayer. On the little table before the couch, just out of the reach of Cade’s striving feet, a bottle of lubricant glinted and Simon undressed fluidly, and fluidly squirted the liquid on his hard dick, rejoicing in his hardness and the feel of his swollen head, springing back under his hand, the length, the thickening of his veined cock.

Gently, but expertly, like one who had done this before, he guided himself into Cade’s ass and Cade cried out, only for a moment surprised, only for a moment half conscious that Simon had come home, only for a moment wondering who it was before he reached back and pulled Simon into him and the three of them began to move like an engine, Simon’s energy giving them energy so that, moments later when he slammed into Cade, Cade slammed into Don and when Don pushed back Cade pushed back. They were one being, passing on one striving. Only ten minutes after Simon had come home, above the music they were, almost tribally, all crying out, their voices tenor shouts, rising and falling. Cade came first, his body tensing as he buried himself deep in Don, flooding him. Simon lay on his side, still hard, stroking Cade’s back as, in exhaustion Cade’s large, long warm body rolled away, weakly, Don’s hand reaching back, as if calling for someone and now Simon entered him. While Cade looked on with sleepy joy, they fucked on the floor and Don rejoiced, urging Simon on until he came too.

They breathed in bruised silence, though Don should have been most bruised. When Simon was younger he used to dictate sex, tell people what he wanted, how he wanted it, what should happen next. Now he trusted his lovers and let sex take its shape.

Cade lay between them, dozing and waking and Simon wished that before the night was over the two men he had fucked would fuck him. Don lay on his back now, and almost off handedly, Simon began to stroke his cock with the lube, rejoicing in the rising of the bud, the gentle lengthening of the shaft. He’d made Don cry out in one way and now he made him moan in another. Neither of them expected him to rise like a tower, but when he did, Simon straddled him, closing his eyes tight against the always first pain of entry, and then, while Cade stroked Don’s shoulders and lay on his side, gently running his hand over Simon’s thigh. Simon rode Don back and forth, first like a boy on a rocking horse, then like a jockey in a race until Don turned him over and finished the job taking them both home with a mutual shout that broke the quiet of that winter night.

MORE TOMORROW, FRIENDS

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I am glad May has the friends she has and Riley of course. They support her and it’s an important thing I think.The sex at the end was hot. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Thank you. Please forgive me for not responding earlier. The last day was so full that it's only now that I'm really rested up from it.

 

[ChrisGibson]

SIMON LOOKS ON THE SINS OF THE PAST, WHERE THE ONLY PERSON HE WOUNDED WAS HIMSELF


The next day they woke up to bright sun, and when one of them checked the temperature it was a startling thirty seven degrees, and when Simon was setting out to pick up Brendan and take him back to Rossford, it was nearly fifty. It was weather to open the windows and to be dazzled by the sun. To do new things. Don thought of boiling eggs and having two, rolled in pepper an paprika and a little salt, with a wine glass full of bright orange juice, a slice of avocado. Cade suggested they go out for breakfast and Don looked at the bright sky and hoped the false spring would last long enough for his dream of eggs to make it till tomorrow.

He had already showered, but Cade went to bathe. After a long night of lovemaking, Cade stayed in the shower a long time, singing to himself. Don had done the same much earlier. Now he was at the laptop, looking up books because this seemed like a day when he could read writers he’d never read before. He’d always wanted to like Gene Wolfe. He felt like he ought to read him, He’d read two books by him, that is he read one and a half books from one series and half a book from another. Here was a book about someone living on Urth which was just Earth spelled wrong, and he had been thinking about it for over twenty years. Was this the day to buy it?

Donovan murmured, “Ursula K. Le Guin said, ‘Magic stuff . . . a masterpiece . . . the best science fiction I've read in years!’”

Ah, but she was boring too.

From the bathroom, Cade sang:



“This can't be love, because I feel so well,
No sobs, no sorrows, no sighs.
This can't be love; I get no dizzy spells,
My head is not in the skies!”



Don thought of undressing and getting in the shower with him, but they had places to be, and they had made love all night and would make love again, He sat, head cocked before the page on Amazon, thinking of writers he wanted to like and how much Ursula Le Guin bored him.

It’s not her fault,” Don said. “It’s not Wolfe’s either. Really, my bad tastes is to blame.”

Once you stopped taking your thoughts and your tastes so seriously, you could think all sorts of things. Tanith Lee. He liked her. He loved her. Sometimes she’d written some real shit, but even when her stuff was bad it was interesting. Maybe her or someone who loved her, too. Maybe that would be it, or maybe Iris Murdoch. He had never finished anything by her either. He’d started the Bell, and hadn’t continued. Eventually he’d lost his copy.



“My heart does not stand still, just hear it beat.
This is too sweet to be love.

This can't be love, because I feel so well,
But still I love to look in your eyes.
Still I love to look in your eyes!”



He was sentimental for Iris Murdoch because he remembered her husband’s book about her saying how much she loved The Lord of the Rings, and he remembered Kate Winslet playing her in the movie, the young Iris, with bad hair, riding a bicycle and fucking her professors, much as he had. The old Iris, walking the gray beaches of England, gulls swooping down and waves swooshing in had been played by Judi Dench. Every time he walked a beach, especially barefoot, he thought of her.

 

[ChrisGibson]

The water had shut off, and Cade was whistling. He came into the room wet and naked, drying his shaggy head, allowing Don the sight of his beautiful hairy body, His brown cock in the nest of dark hair, and the pink head of his penis. Out of the love that filled him at the sight of Cade’s scrotum, he impulse bought The Book of the Brotherhood, clicking the purchase button with satisfaction, and then rounded the bed to throw his arms around his husband.

“Hey! Hey, what’s this!” Cade laughed, hanging his towel on his shoulder while Don embraced him, pressing his cheek into Cade;s wet chest.

“I just love you. Very, very much,” Don said.

“Well, I love you too, Donovan Shorter.”

“I bought an Iris Murdoch book just now.”

“Um,” Cade murmured, while Don was still embracing him, “I would have preferred Gene Wolfe.”



When Cade and Donovan were finally sitting down in Linda’s house to have breakfast at a round old table from the 1970’s with Deanna and May joining them, Simon was on the road south back to Indiana. His heart was warm with memories of last night. Marriage was a mystery and even the sex in marriage was a mystery. He thought of not saying this out loud, but then he did, and Brendan agreed.

The joining of not only one to another, but three together was a mystery, not because it hadn’t happened before joining Don and Cade, but because in all the times and all the permutations that it had happened, there were no consequences. Everyone ran from tomorrow and feelings and love as if they would cause cancer, and when the deed was done so were you. It was a rare thing to wake up at the house you’d been to Babylon in. You stayed up all night, did your poison which might have been pot, or liquor or coke or methamphetamines or whatever mixture you could stand. You soon learned what mixtures you could not stand. Drugs and haze were you’re courage. Sometimes, Simon reflected, you didn’t want the courage. Sometimes you wanted the fear.

His whole life with Donovan and Cade had been different. Except for the night of Don’s birthday, when he had sent down the brownies, the hash, the liquor, the poppers, that glorious night in Sodom that had freed them from themselves, everything occurred with eyes wide open, hearts exposed. Simon remembered the night that seemed like the world was ending, because as yet there had been no Plague, no threat of war in the east, no deaths of parents—they were so innocent then—and Simon had fled to Donovan and Cade. This was the late summer and autumn when they had first come together.

He’d split up with Cade. He was sick of their relationship and sick of himself. He was a poison. It was never Cade. They were a cake gone bad. You couldn’t get the salt out or add anything to make it right. It was just ruined. Cade had stayed with Don a while and then gone off to find himself and come back to Don, and then moved back in with Simon. It made sense. Most of his stuff was still here. No rent was necessary.

They had of course fallen into their old ways. The phrase fucking and fighting went through his mind, except they never really fought. They probably should have. And now there was nothing to fight for. Fucking and snorting coke was the better phrase, though it lacked alliteration, and then the weekend came when he and Cade were supposed to go to New Union and Simon couldn’t go through that shit again so he said, “Take Don,” and the next thing he knew, appropriately, Cade and Don were together.

Cade had the decency to be shy about telling him, but it made sense. Nothing was happening between him and Simon. They were just like that show that hits season three and repeats all its plots—stalely—waiting for someone to cancel it before season four.

But Don was that kind of person who always let people in, and Don graciously invited Simon over. Simon realized, as he had that first time, that he liked Don. That very first time Cade brought him over, when he was sure Cade had fucked him and told him nothing of the truth, Simon wanted him. When Don protested that he was not young, not thin, not flashy, all of these things Simon loved. He loved Don’s quietness, his self containment, his unflappability, his laid back laugh, the way he held a cigarette. He had loved Don that first meeting and loved him when he was taking Cade’s stuff to his apartment, and visiting him and Cade in an early fall evening, he loved Don now. He loved Don and Cade in fact. Cade had been like one of those elements in chemistry class. With Simon he was disastrous. With Don he formed a new type of isotope. He was the man Simon had wanted to date. He was radiant.

But that night, when the schools were being shut down, and there had been a school shooting and a shooting in the civic building, and a riot downtown—that night when Simon learned that the mayor he worked for might not be mayor for very long and he would be out of a job, and that someone had scrawled on the sidewalk in red spray paint THE MAYOR IS A FAGGOT AND FAGGOTS MUST DIE, the world seemed like it was coming to an end.

Simon, who was proud to be proud, proud of being a member of the Catholic Church who ushered on Sundays, proud to be a Freemason, and proud of the company of old men who approved him, was experiencing a sort of mental collapse as the current president validated the shooting up of synagogues and white supremacists marching through towns. The world was going mad and madder, and Simon had left work to go to Mass downtown and heard the priest, who should usually be talking about the Gospel portion, talking about the ills of gay marriage and a return to what was true. His Freemason meeting, a place of brotherhood, had been debating accepting gay brothers or trans brothers and also reminding each other why they kept out women, and Simon had been going just a bit mad.

It was in this mad state he had arrived that night at the old red brick apartment building on Moore Street, Donovan’s and Cade’s. He might have been mad, but he wasn’t blind, not like all the times when he had masked his feelings in something. He came to them an open wound, and they fed him and listened to him and gave him a place to rest. May’s mother had been staying with them then, not able to deal with her life. She was there that night. Simon waited till the morning, when she was gone. Why didn’t anyone talk about need? Why were there these words which never solved things or sorted them out? Words like lust or libido or horniness. Why did no one talk about the agony of lying in bed alone, longing to be touched, to touch, not daring to leave your bed, all of you stretching out including your cock, bursting out of his underwear so very hard it hurt, the longing that was not abated until finally that bitch left, and Simon, no longer able to be by himself came to Cade and Donovan for the remedy, came to them sleeping in peace, holding each other, and he remembered something that seemed to have nothing at all to do with this.

Polite British people on BBC 4 talking about refugees, and one man saying it was like desperate neighbors coming to your door to ask for relief, and then one asshole said, but sometimes its like them demanding relief at all cost, and you can understand why people shut them out. The first man had said, but sometimes, when you are desperate and dying you need relief at all cost.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Simon was desperate and dying. Even now he feels it, and he knew he had no right to their bed, to their love, but he stripped even his Jockey briefs, and came in. Did he give himself to Don, or did he press himself into his warmth? He came to them with all his need like a child. Like a child? Yes. It wasn’t anything like those pornographic times in the past.


Once there had been a guy who was hitting on him for a month and who had invited him to meet at a sex party. Simon decided to ride his bike along the river till he got to Narrett Park, and on one side of the road was the river and on the other side the gnat clouded lagoon. He’d sat there and almost despaired that it seemed only crazy people wanted him and then agreed to go to this fucking party.

He had arrived there feeling sort of magnificent. He was about to start his new job with the city working in the mayor’s office after having been terminally unemployed. He was a little impressed with himself. He was also the best looking person there. This was often the way of sex parties. They weren’t filled with hot sexy people for the most part. Those folks were busy getting laid without the need of a party. It was a new townhouse, and Simon didn’t ask the guy he’d been talking to how he came by it. There were only about five people, some he had seen online, and everyone seemed a little shy and a little dull.

A married man came by who looked like a married man, prematurely old, daddish, beaten by life. He went upstairs with Sheldon, a baldheaded fellow with a ridiculous beard, and Sheldon’s friend, a mulatto—no, you said mixed now—boy with a weird patch on his leg. Simon went up out of mere curiosity.

He sat in the chair and watched the man take out both dicks and go from one to the other, and it must not have been as fascinating as Simon had hoped because he couldn’t remember anything more about it. When Sheldon reached for him, Simon gently pushed his hand away. In later times, when he had grown bolder, he scolded his past self for being such a prude. The dicksucking was soon over, and tacos were on. Because this was a taco and sex party. Five people had come, but no one had an orgasm. Simon had taken the mixed boy by the hand and tried something, but he said that he had a thing where he couldn’t have one on one sex with people, he could only be watched. Simon thought, “You’re a fucking idiot,” but smiled.

He got down one half a taco and, watching the mixed boy and Sheldon talking, got it into his head that he would seduce Sheldon. He waited a while, till the horrible married man was gone, till things had gotten sort of dull, until he had looked at Sheldon several times, and kept his eyes on him until Sheldon looked up, and then Simon looked away. He had wanted to catch the not very bright or interesting Sheldon alone, but the little mixed boy kept talking to him and, finally, when Simon felt like leaving, he had motioned for Sheldon to come across the room.

The tall bearded man who looked like he played a lot of video games came, and Simon said, “Could I speak with you for a moment. I heard you talking about….” Something, Simon could no longer remember.

“Oh, yeah,” Sheldon said, and appeared to be sitting down when Simon stood up, and gestured for him to follow.

Allan was the name of the fool who had invited him to this, but Simon didn’t have any use for him, and Allan had showed them, in his proud way that there were rooms downstairs for privacy. How the hell had he come by this place again? As Simon walked Sheldon down, he saw that stupid mixed kid looking after them. The basement was lightless, a hallway with about four rooms on each side. He led Sheldon into one. He saw the mixed boy at the head of the stairs, getting ready to come down…. Thinking he would share. Simon closed the door and locked it, spitefully, and thrust his hands into Sheldon pants. Thrilled at his power, he pulled his trousers down, for Sheldon wore trousers, not jeans, and took out the lube he had brought with him. He massaged Sheldon till he was hard and then put him on the bed and rode him. A couple of times he heard the door jangle, the mixed boy who only had group sex, vainly trying to get in, realizing it was in vain, and Simon rode Sheldon harder. He imagined the boy salivated and hard outside of the door, listening as Simon fucked himself on Sheldon. Now Sheldon flipped him over and Simon laughed, lying on his stomach, allowing the other man into him. Simon closed his eyes and gripped the mattress. Sheldon, who wasn’t much to talk to and certainly wasn’t much to look at, became the fuck of the century.

Sheldon had been perfectly calculated. All the wild things he did were. Simon liked sex. He liked it a lot. There were people who liked being pretty or feeling they were with pretty people. There were people who liked looking sexy or being told they were sexy. Simon liked the thing itself. Thus he had kept Sheldon around for a long time. When other things didn’t work out, the slamming power of Sheldon’s cock was there, but that night, four years ago, when he had been in almost terror, where had Sheldon and all of Simon’s clever ways been? Then he retreated to Donovan and Cade, and in the comforting arms of a love he trusted, he had found relief.


MORE IN A FEW DAYS

 

[CharmedFan28]

Another great portion! It was very interesting to have so much Simon and really get an insight into his mind. I am glad he is not as lost anymore as he was. Wonderful writing and I look forward to more in a few days!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Another great portion! It was very interesting to have so much Simon and really get an insight into his mind. I am glad he is not as lost anymore as he was. Wonderful writing and I look forward to more in a few days!

I'm gld you enjoyed it, just sorry I've been goign to sleep so early it's made me a litle scarce in the commenting section. It was time we had some Simon, and there is more Simon to come yet.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WE CONTINUE SIMON'S STORY AND WRAP UP PART TWO OF OUR BOOK BEFORE HEADING INTO CHRISTMAS TIME

That very first time he lay in the warmth of that bed, in the heat of Don’s arms, feeling safer than he’d ever been. They were both gazing at Cade who slept on his stomach, legs crossed, ass up, arms and shaggy hair spread out, mouth open like some half Christ half Adonis. Simon adored the hairy hills of his ass as he always did, and thought of how Cade was more at peace than he had been before and had made love to him with more vigor than most of the time when they’d been a couple. He throbbed with both of them, and he told Donovan in that room things he had never told anyone. That was the first time. It could not last. It had been two years later that he and Don had decided to formalize a relationship, some time more before the three of them decided to be official. That day at the beach, when he and Don had decided to get a room together and make love, Simon was filled with that delicious fear he had numbed himself from. He was filled with the trembling joy of giving himself to someone, no blinders or buffers on.
Don would have told him what he knew now. That he had lost his mind because he had believed he was the modern person who could give himself to everything and trust everything. Be his queer self, have the sexual encounters he wanted, usher in church on Sunday and be a good Catholic, be a Freemason darling and the upstanding sexless queer that liberals loved. Trying to be so many people, aside from being the recipe for hypocrisy,, had proved to be the door to madness.

SIMON​

Between those months when I had inserted myself into Don and Cade’s new relationship, and then we all three knew that wasn’t helping, and the time when I came back to them, I had to figure out things for myself, and the figuring out was very painful. I stopped going to church, and I stopped going to the Masonic meetings. The Plague helped with that. For a long time none of us was going anywhere. I thought of giving up God. Things with the word God had fucked me up so badly. I was willing to sign onto the atheist train. Sometimes I still am.

Donovan said to me: “Religion has nothing to do with ethics. It has very little to do with kindness or even hope. That’s not what religion’s about.”

“Well, then what is it about?”

Donovan, being Donovan did not answer, or at least did not answer all at once, not at one time.

In the early morning light, before I rose to shower and he came with me, when the window was open and we could look out and see the long expanse of blue grey water past the trees, he whispered.

“Thalassa Thalassa.”

“The sea. The sea!”

“Noah and his ark, and no land in sight.”

“The ark?”

“When I was little, I used to want, and part of me still does, a toy called Samson’s Temple.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well, that’s because as far as I know it’s never been invented. But I invented it, in my head. No one should ever make it, but I wanted someone to make it.

“It would be like a doll house, only bigger. A wonderful open structure, and it would come with beautiful figures, Philistine kings, Philistine queens. Philistine soldiers with their fantastic helmets—you can see them online. And Philistine generals. Their pagan priests, a big Dagon, their fish God, in the middle of it. Dancers, Dancing girls. The whole thing.

“The coup de grace would be—”

“Samson.”

“No. Would be the common people. You could get infinite ones to make your Philistine families. Mom, Dad, three teenage children, newlyweds, the sisters out on a day, and you could play house, but more.”

“Temple. You could play temple”

“Yes! Endless stories. And then,” Donovan said, “when the play time was over, that’s when you brought in Samson.”

“Poor Samson.”

“Everyone would be laughing, making fun of him.”

“The nice families on their day out?”

“Yes. Everyone has meanness in them. And then they would lead Samson to the main pillars. Now, the main pillars would be connected to the rest of the structure in such away, that when he pushed them, they would come slowly, but surely, like dominoes, and take the entire temple apart. Boys and girls would shriek with horror as everyone died a rubblely death.”

“But you could build the temple again.”

“Of yes. You could always rebuild it, but it would take a while, so you’d have to think about how badly you wanted old Samson to tear it down.”

“That’s an awful game.”

“Yes, but at the same time you sort of like it.”

“What were you saying about Noah’s ark?”

“I loved it,” Donovan said. “Used to get all of my stuffed animals. Friends too if I could, especially Frey when we were younger and lived close together. We would huddle together in the rain and the thunder and feel snug and safe in the ark. But the ark didn’t mean anything if you couldn’t imagine the element of not safety, the immensity of the waters, the possibility of water coming through—”

“I never thought of it.”

“And above, the thunder, and the whistling wind… The screams. The screams and wails of the people who would not come.”

“That is… dark.”

“Religion is dark.”

“You don’t think it’s hopeful?”

“That’s what atheists don’t get. It was never meant to be hopeful. The Sumerians thought human beings were created to do the shit work the gods didn’t want to do. Religion was the way people saw the world. The way they still do. Hope had nothing to do with it. Not at first. Sometimes not at all.”


HAVE AN EXCELLENT CHRISTMAS

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great wrap up to part two! This talk of religion was very interesting to me. Excellent writing and I look forward to more after Christmas! I hope you have an excellent Christmas too Chris!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Oh yes! I hope we all have a merry Christmas, you especially. I'm glad you read our short portion tonight and were intrigued by it. Thank you so much. Talk to you soon and shortly.

 

[ChrisGibson]

BOOK
THREE

THE ELEMENT
OF WATER



N I N E



BAR’CHU





“I must. I will. I am. But I don’t want to.”

-Brendan Miller









Sheridan Klasko was the love of Brendan’s Miller’s life. Brendan knew that now, and he knew it with some embarrassment, mainly because he couldn’t believe he hadn’t known it before. How do you keep house with a man for years and not know how much you love him? Especially a man like Brendan Miller, how does he not know this? Who else would Brendan live with but the love of his life? And of course it followed that he was the love of Sheridan’s.

He had not always believed this, strange, but it was only in very recent years, only since the first grey had shown up in his magnificent blond hair, that Brendan understood how much he was loved. To have your true love, your soulmate, was for other people. Layla had Will—they were bound to end up together—and his godson’s parents, Dena and Milo were soulmates. The greatest pair of soulmates Brendan knew was Fenn, his surrogate godfather, and his second husband, Todd.

But, possibly because Brendan had regarded himself to have a soulmate for over seventeen years, he had never entirely trusted his second relationship, the one with Sheridan Klasko. There was, surely, a great attraction to him. He had always loved Sheridan. Sheridan was the younger brother of his best friend. He’d watched out for him, protected him as best he could, kept his secrets, buried his bodies.

But it had been when he was split up with Kenny—and now it seems like they were split up as often as they were together—and Kenny had taken up with someone else, that he and Sheridan had spent a night drinking and, at last, making out then sleeping together. It was not the last time. Brendan was a man of high standards who was often disappointed in himself for not living up to them. He didn’t buy what people said, that it was enough to try. Sheridan was a little brother. Brendan was supposed to be making a life with Kenny, and Sheridan was making a weird life with the porn star Logan Banford. He should respect that. But it didn’t stop the fact that they’d ended up sleeping together—and that was a euphemism—several times over the next few years before, one sane night after Christmas, the year he and Kenny were permanently broken up and Sheridan had ended things with Logan, he and Sheridan got together for good.

When Brendan thinks of the anodine phrase, slept together, he remembers one afternoon when the whole gang was together and he hadn’t seen Sheridan in half a year. They began talking and Sheridan took him by the hand, tickling the inside of his palm. Brendan grew dizzy, the gravity sank to his groin and he followed Sheridan into the bathroom. While all their friends mingled outside, Brendan fucked him against the bathroom wall, needing the fix of the boy he loved in a different way than when they were both still children.

Perhaps it was the lust connecting him to Sheridan that maybe Brendan didn’t trust. He forgot about all the other connectors. He forgot about how his career as a lawyer had never taken on any real depth until Sheridan came into his life. Up until that point, he had been a lawyer because lawyers were cool and made money, and he wanted to be cool and make money. He had never taken on a civil rights case or defended anyone or looked into any social issue. And he had never finished working on that book. When Sheridan came into his life, Brendan had the courage for marriage, and the courage to bring a child into his home as well.

 

[ChrisGibson]

It was perhaps because of the intensity of their relationship that with Sheridan, Brendan had experienced what he’d never known with Kenny, that famous seven—or eight or nine—year itch. Looking back he knows with Kenny they split up so often, were in separate places so often, there was no time for a seven year itch, or rather—and this seems true—it was itchy a lot of the time and they were used to it.

No, it had not been the seven year itch because there was no discomfort and no desire for anything else. What it had been was Brendan coming closer to the middle of his life and Brendan feeling—far from afraid of middle age—bored. He was bored not with Sheridan or his child or his life, but with himself, and so bored he could have died. All of this was hard to say, hard to understand, and how he had come out of it still confused him.

They had been invited to a Christmas party. It was with Sheridan’s friends. Before Sheridan had become a cop, he had worked with people in porn. Mind you, he’d never directed a porno, but his best friend and one time lover, Chay, ran a porn studio, and his other ex friend and lover, Logan, had been a prostitute and worked in porn as well. So Brendan was uneasy about going to these people. Brendan was, in fact, judgmental. He was, after all, destined to be an actual judge. But the rigidity of his life was breaking him, making him deadly and half dead. The night of the Christmas party, Brendan Miller, attorney at law, and published author, was coming to life for the first time in a very long while.

It was well into the night, and they were all close and comfortable when Casey said, “I hadn’t planned to be this drunk. I don’t want to be quite this drunk.”

“I’ll make us some coffee,” Brendan suggested.

“Do you know where it is?” Casey asked, hopeful.

Brendan admitted that he did not.

Casey smiled at him affectionately, and Jonathan said, “I will go get the coffee.”

“I’ll be of assistance,” Chay said.

“No,” Samir said rising, and frankly watching Jonathan’s ass, “I will.”

While the coffee was being made, and Samir was coming out with cups, Brendan said, “I realized tonight that I’d always been jealous of you, and that’s why I’d been so standoffish.”

“You’re not standoffish, Bren,” Logan said. “You’re the best.”

“And you have a really nice ass,” Ruthven added.

Yes, Ruthven was there, another one of the gang. He’d always been easy to forget, but tonight Brendan remembered everyone. Loved everyone. When Logan frowned at Ruthven, Ruthven said, “But what? It is nice. Bren’s always been a looker.”

Brendan laughed, more flattered than he wanted to admit. He was close to telling Ruthven how good he looked to when Casey spoke.

“I thought you hated me sometimes,” Casey admitted. “But that’s cause you have done good stuff.”

“No I haven’t.”

“No,” Logan agreed. You really have. And…. I feel like we need to stop talking because there is so much that has happened between us. We might say stuff we shouldn’t because we’re so wasted.”

Briefly Brendan’s mind passed the memory of Sheridan, seventeen, killing that man for Logan. Him and Lee and Fenn showing up to clean the whole mess up. Brendan nodded as Samir and Jonathan came out with the coffee service and, methodically, Ruthven began to take out rolling papers and a bag of a marijuana.

“We can’t do that!” Sheridan protested. “Not with Brendan.”

“Wha?” Brendan said, giggling as Samir poured him coffee and he said, “Thank you, Samir.”

“Brendan doesn’t smoke,” Sheridan began, “anything.”

“How could you say that?” Brendan demanded, sounded both amused and offended. While Ruthven and Chay set to rolling joints, Casey and Chay looked on.

“Because I’ve never seen you smoke anything.”

“I’ve smoked Marlboros for ten years,” Brendan said suddenly. “I keep them under my writing desk.”

Sheridan blinked at him in shock.

“It’s you who don’t smoke.”

“I smoke Camels,” Sheridan said. “I keep them in my squad car.”

“Why the fuck don’t we know this about each other?” Brendan wondered.

“You smoke weed too?” Sheridan said.

“Once,” Brendan said. “Once or twice. But now I want to. Now I want to start doing everything I’ve been so afraid of.”

Samir took a deep hit and then another and passed it to Brendan.

“Do you smoke it like a cigarette?” Brendan asked while Samir was holding it in his lungs and the pungent smoke was leaking from his nose.

Samir had not answered, Brendan only imitated him.

“That’s how you do it,” Samir said, smiling. The smoke was leaking from Brendan’s nose.

“My fucking lips are numb,” Brendan laughed.

He didn’t feel especially high, just mellow. He had wondered what Casey meant by saying he didn’t want to feel this drunk and then pulling out weed, but this was different, cleaner than being drunk, and all of his senses felt turned on at the same time he felt mellow. Samir was blowing smoke into Ruthven’s mouth, and the smoke was coming back out of Ruthven’s nostrils, Sheridan’s hand was comfortably on his thigh and his arm around him, and everything felt right. Ruthven was frankly making out with Samir and then Jonathan, and then Samir was making out with Jonathan while, appreciating, Ruthven watched. How did Logan feel about that? Hadn’t they been… but no, these folks were more open minded about that kind of thing. And where was Logan, anyway? And Sheridan was looking half asleep between Chay and Casey and Casey looked like he was going to cry, like he was so moved while he stroked Sheridan’s head against his breast.

But… Brendan wondered, blowing smoke into Sheridan’s mouth while Sheridan stroked his thigh, if Sheridan was with Casey, then how could Sheridan be with him, and then he felt so stupid, because it was Logan he was shotgunning, and Logan who kissed him.

He looked across the room where Samir was being kissed by Ruthven, then Jonathan, and now Jonathan was pulling up Samir’s shirt. Casey’s eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“I never knew we loved each other this much,” Sheridan said, and though his head was still on Casey’s chest, his eyes were open and he was looking at Brendan kissing Logan as if it were nothing at all, or as if the something it was did not diminish him. Across the room, his bobbing brown cock thick as a baby’s arm, Samir now stood naked while Ruthven, shirtless, wrapped his arms about him, kissing him and Jonathan, on hands and knees, buried his face in the bronze man’s ass.

“I’ve always thought the world of you,” Logan said. “Since that day you showed up in your shirt and tie, so dignified and helped Sheridan. Helped us both. When he went to you, I knew you were what he deserved.”

“He deserved you too,” Brendan said. “He still does.”

And then Brendan stood up. And he was so stiff and so hard, that he loosened his trousers and then pulled down his briefs and he pushed his cock into Logan’s open mouth, and Logan pulled on him so sweetly, and he heard, behind him, Sheridan say, “Yes, Bren,” and he was aware that he’d wanted something like this all night, and then he sank to the couch, closing his eyes while Logan went to his knees, sucking him. For some time he wasn’t aware of what everyone else was doing, only that they were not watching him, that he was not the star of this show anymore than he was watching them. When he finally did open his eyes, when he was half dressed with Logan, he looked around and the room was empty.

Logan said nothing, but led him upstairs. In that room, Logan undressed him and they were on the bed, Logan sucking him, licking him, massaging him. Logan saying, “Fuck my face now.” And so Brendan did fuck his face on the edge of the bed, a thing he’d never done, and it felt so good to plunge his dick into someone’s mouth while they sucked on it, to rub his own body the same time he rubbed Logan’s, to tease his own nipples and then, when he slid across that same face, and Logan licked his balls, and the place between his balls and his ass and finally darted his tongue deep into his asshole. As Brendan slid across him on hands and knees calling out, he was dimly aware that the door was open, that Sheridan had seen him, and that, as Logan, under him, said, “Fuck me now.” he would.

MORE IN A COUPLE OF NIGHTS

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a well done portion! It is a great treat to get a new portion from Brendan’s point of view. I am glad him and Sheridan have realised how much they love each other. Excellent writing and I look forward to more in a few days!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was nice to get back to our old friends, and tie our new friends to our old friends in this closing story.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Even though Brendan had written two novels by then, he had no consciousness. He remembered a year after this, reading Donovan Shorter for the first time and learning he lived down the road, remembered reading something by someone who seemed to know more about himself the more he wrote. Brendan had been shocked then because at the time, after having written a book twice, he still hardly understood himself at all.

He didn’t understand that in his mind someone was always watching him, someone or some group of people keeping a score on his most personal moments, and he had to give an account to them about everything, justify what he smoked, whom he slept with, even rule out things or people that this invisible crowd of judges would deem unworthy, beneath him, uncool. When he looks back he thinks this is probably why he didn’t come out right way, why he tried to date Dena so long and cheated on her with Kenny, why, in fact, he did so many things for far too long,

And that crowd of judges, those internal onlookers, they were not God. He never confused them with God, but the little men on his shoulder were always there and he confused them reality. He confused them with something that mattered

That night he knew he was high. Not HIGH OUT OF HIS MIND, that was just an excuse, but high. He’d had his share of weed, and tonight there was more than weed. He’d been to a handful of clubs and seen guys shaking brown bottles and sniffing from them, making out, but now, while Logan undressed him and placed a hand on his stomach and pulled on his cock slow and sweet, Logan opened the bottle and took a great whiff into one nostril, and then a great whiff into the other and, sucking deeply on Brendan’s penis, lifted the bottle up to him. While Logan’s mouth tugged on him, the fumes Brendan inhaled heated Brendan’s whole body, sang through his nerves, pricked his ears, and made his flesh thrum. He felt everything five times as strong. Save inhibition. As his cock unfolded and he fucked Logan’s mouth, all inhibition melted away.



When he fucked Logan it was in time outside of time. There was just the slamming of the bed against the wall, the jackhammer timing of the grunts they gave, of the mutual movement of their bodies, of the increasing swelling of Brendan’s cock, and he delved deeper and deeper, and his hands caught Logan’s and Logan’s gathered his into his fists. The sweat rolled down his back, slid between him and Logan. The night rolled on and it did not matter if the lights were on or off, if people came in and out of the room. They were all in this teeth chattering, ego shattering moment. He felt, on the edge of consciousness, others settling on the bed. The sex did not release him, Logan’s tight grip pulled him deeper and deeper. His cock, addicted to fucking, did not come.

He knows he passed out, moved between waking and sleeping. He knows like in all intense sex, his body desired rest and relief. He remembers Chay, small, still young looking, full grown man but child sized, laying naked beside him, he remembers as rich as this house is, a shirt or a something thrown over a lamp to dim the light. Remembers still being on his back, humbled while, head between his legs, Chay sucked him. He remembers this as the second, softer sex. Logan, long and strong like a naked god, lying face down, ass up, but awake. Remembers moving from ass to ass, plunging in both, remembers the end of that, as moaning like a sick child, the two of them fused into a ball, Brendan rapid fucks Chay as he cries out, heedless. Remembers the exploding, expending, the melting, the coming, the exhaustion taking him over as his body shoots forward with his cock, as he groans over and over, giving up his orgasm. Remembers the the spin into afterfuck rest, the bliss of spent men,

He remembers a lot, but mostly he remembers not judging. So when some would say: wasn’t that night hot? Brendan Miller, looking back on it thinks of it as the first time he didn’t look back on himself, didn’t judge that character. He looks on it as a very messy rebirth—and what rebirth is without ambiguity. He looks on it as the beginning of his freedom.





The closest he had ever come to saying he had an open marriage was when he halfway ran it by Fenn, who was the closest thing he had to a godfather and an uncle, even though Brendan had both an actual godfather and an uncle.

“Open my marriage up?” Fenn said, and Brendan had always suspected that Fenn was being polite because Fenn knew more than he was told, “some people might be able to do that, but we’re too old. And I was too old when I got Todd. No, I don’t think that would work for us at all. But… we’re not everyone. I used to think I knew what was good for everyone,” Fenn had said. “Now I only know what is good for me, and that not completely.’

For some time, though, Brendan and Sheridan had lived like that. Not all the time. No relationship could stand that all the time. And certainly not when they had Rafe. When they dropped their son off with Fenn or with his niece—Sheridan’s sister in law—and went to clubs together, they might think of bringing someone home, but this was rare, The only people they could agree on were people they already knew, people one of them had dated and both of them had known. This ended up meaning Kenneth, the man Brendan had been in a relationship with for seventeen years before Sheridan, and Logan, whom Sheridan had been with for years. And Kenneth and Logan were increasing becoming closer with each other.

Brendan began to wonder if what he and his husband were truly doing was excusing themselves so one of them could have a night with an old lover. It was during the time when Brendan was sleeping with Kenny and Sheridan was sleeping with Logan and they were both raising a child, that they realized they wanted to leave Chicago and come back home to Rossford. Sheridan was going to work for the state police, and he was moving through all sorts of discontents and changes which Brendan realized mirrored his own struggles at that age. Neither of them had waited till forty to have midlife crises. Sheridan was wanting different things, needing different things, becoming a different person.

When he came home with Rob Dwyer, Brendan realized Rob was the first friend Sheridan had made in years. Sheridan had gone through all of these years, all his time working the police department in Rogers Park and then Evanston, and not really having a confidante. Suddenly he and Rob were close like brothers, and Brendan wondered if they were closer than that. Brendan even wondered if they had slept together. He thought, even in an open marriage with no secrets there are some secrets, and he would not have begrudged Sheridan an afternoon or a night in a hotel with the plain spoken, well knit redhead. After all, even though Brendan had not looked at other men in a long time, now that he was working in the courthouse, his usually unswayable nature had been swayed by Simon Barrow, and though they were laughing together and he was glad to be a sort of older brother figure to him, he couldn’t deny that he thought of him as what he was, a very good looking young man.

Simon had just broken up with Cade, though Brendan didn’t know that whole story, only that he was powerfully attracted to the young man who, like him, was earnest, plagued by Catholic shadows from the past, and thought that somehow truth would be found in politics. Even as a lawyer, Brendan still had this hope, and later he and Simon, together, would agree that though truth was a real thing, it had to be wrested from politics with diligent work.

“Sometimes I almost don’t want to go on,” Simon said. “You wonder why can’t any of it be just a little bit easy? Why can’t good things happen? Because it seems the bad ones happen so easily, but that you work so hard to make anything good show up.

“God sometimes you just don’t come through,” Simon began to sing, tonelessly, “God sometimes you just don’t come through.”

Brendan added, not even attempting to impersonate Tori Amos: “Do you need a woman to look after you. God sometimes you just don’t come through.”

They laughed and Brendan said, “I used to think that was blasphemy.”

“But then you learned it was the truth.”

“I’d like to think that God always comes through,” Brendan said. “Just…. Not right away.”

“Are you religious?”

“I tried not to be,” Brendan apologized.

Simon laughed.

“I tried to be,” he said.

“I used to think atheists were really strong. Living without God, living without…. Hope I guess. Just living in this world as it was and not expecting anything to change or anything to come down and happen.”

“I don’t know that most atheists really think it through all the way,” Simon said. “I don’t know that we have a huge choice in what we believe.”

“Like a Buddhist born and raised is going to be a Buddhist, and a Muslim a Muslim and all that?”

“Well, people change. People convert,” Simon said, “But they still believe—or disbelieve in the same way. That’s what I think. We’re who we are. I don’t think you could start being an atheist, and I’m not sure I could be a believer. But I do believe I believe in politics and right and wrong and fighting the good fight, so see, I’ve got belief too.”

They were in the old beige house on Riverside where Simon had lived with Cade for years, and this was after he’d spent the last few months sleeping with Cade and Don in the beginning of their relationship. He believed he was terribly lonely. He believed he’d forgotten how to live alone or live at all. He believed he wasn’t going to say any of these things out loud.

“You’ve got a lot of thoughts,” Brendan said.

“There was a time, not too long ago, when this table right here would be covered in cocaine.”

“You’re a better person than you think you are,” Brendan told him, touching his hand, and Simon found himself saying:

“And so are you.”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! It is interesting to see Brendan so introspective about his life. It sounds like he has enjoyed this time in his life but he might be a bit confused as to exactly what or who he wants. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

That was a great portion! It is interesting to see Brendan so introspective about his life. It sounds like he has enjoyed this time in his life but he might be a bit confused as to exactly what or who he wants. Excellent writing and I look forward to more sooYes, B

That was a great portion! It is interesting to see Brendan so introspective about his life. It sounds like he has enjoyed this time in his life but he might be a bit confused as to exactly what or who he wants. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

Yes, it;'s like Brendan doesn't know what to do with his feelings, and even though he's discovering pleasure he needs to rediscover himself.

 

[ChrisGibson]

BACK TO THE STORY


They lay side by side, Simon scooped inside of Brendan. He’d had flings before. He’d slept with married men, unavailable men, men who had to be home to someone else, and he knew he could enjoy them, but to have a little power and maybe even to see them again, he had to be the one to point out that they should probably go home.
“I know,” Brendan said, his voice flat, his hand running over Simon’s thigh. “Only I don’t want to. I must. I will. I am. But I don’t want to.”
“What will your husband say?”
The pressure of Brendan’s hand on his thigh, gently stroking him, did not change.
“We don’t tell each other everything,” Brendan said.

But apparently Simon was not just anything.















In those days, Simon hardly knew how much he was in need of a kind man’s touch. In the past, he had lived with simple lust, and even when he was with Cade, he still ran off to meet whoever would give the most thrills. Maybe it was being in Cade and Donovan’s bed together, or maybe it was knowing Brendan, that made him crave gentleness, kind men, laughing men, men who weren’t fucking or being fucked while not looking at him, or high out of their minds. He craved kissers, holders, massagers, slow lovers. Brendan and Sheridan’s son Rafe was staying with Sheridan’s brother. So when he came to dinner at Brendan and Sheridan’s, it was natural for he and Sheridan to begin kissing, to both be Brendan’s gift to the other while Brendan went off to write for a while, vowed that he would join his new friend and his old love.
















“Fuck me Fuck fuck me fuck me fuck me. Fuck me. Sheridan! Fuck me!”
Occasionally, Brendan would press his hands to the wall and feel the sensation of the bed hitting it, listen to the creak of the bed, when he would hear Simon crying out, demanding to be fucked, his swears matching the rhythm of Sheridan’s fucking. He was secure in not only their love for him, but their respect, and seeing them he could see what he never saw when he was with them.
“Fuucccck Yes! Yes! Oh, God!”
He didn’t write past his erection or ignore it, but he wrote into the hardness. At another time he would go down and wind around the hall to the always open door and watch the length of Sheridan’s smooth legs, his little ass round and firm, flexing and unflexing as he pressed himself into Simon. He would watch Simon’s ivory thighs and arms wrap about Sheridan’s hips, his white hands pressed like claws to Sheridan’s shoulder’s, their kisses greedy, wild and desperate. Or he would watch Sheridan shuttling up and down as he held Simon under him, tight, and the bed creaked furiously. He would watch each of his loves as he could not watch them when they were loving him until the magnet of his throbbing cock at last drew him to them.
He couldn’t hear Sheridan. Once he’d lain against the wall and heard him whispering, “Do you like my cock? Do you like my cock inside of you? Do you like how I fuck you.”
Now he heard Simon, pleading, “I love how you fuck me. Come inside of me. Come inside of me. Come in me.”
Brendan was done writing. He was in a cock trance now. He heard a stifled sound, a groan that he knew was Sheridan coming, and he sighed with it, feeling some release at his partners release,

He wanted this solitude of writing late at night in this high and private place. In the afterglow of sex not his own he sat at the great desk and half drowsed half meditated over the night below. He barely heard the tapping of feet, the arms around him, the smell that was mint and wheat bread and honey, shampoo that was even a bit of Sheridan, that was Simon behind his chair, arms pressing his cheek to the back of Donovan’s head, wrapping his arms around him.
“Come to bed,” he said, insistently. “Come to bed.”
He almost sang it. He could feel Simon’s bare arms, knew he was shirtless, but in the thin mesh pajama pants that fit snugly to him and were only a little opaque.
“Hit the save button,” he whisper sang, “turn out the light and come… to bed…”





























Sheridan Klasko loved his mother, and not in the figurative way of someone who always forgot her birthday, sometimes remembered Mothers Day and moved halfway across the country and never saw her, but in the way of someone who, most of his life, had lived within miles of her, and when he had lived in Chicago, he called her almost every night. So when she began to go to the emergency room all the time, all the time he was worried. She usually came out alright, and he was glad to be in Rossford again so he could be near her when these things happened. He would worry a little bit, and then she would be out the next day and that was that.

The day his brother Will called him and said she was in the hospital in Wallington because Dad had called the ambulance, and accidentally sent her there, and Sheridan kept calling, and they told him they couldn’t tell him anything because he wasn’t the next of kin, his heart stopped, and when it started it again, his heart beat slower. There was a screaming in his ears. He got to the hospital as soon as possible, and it was only there, with Will, he realized that all the other times at the other hospital the reason he had been immediately connected to his mother was because she was able to respond. Only now did he realize how bad things were.

He and Will sat on either side of a woman webbed with tubes, and outside was Layla and outside was Brendan. News was spreading. Will and Sheridan stood together while the doctor explained that their mother was having an organ collapse. That nothing could be done but making her comfortable.

Outside, in the little space between where their loved ones were waiting, and where Mrs. Klasko lay, a nurse said, “You’re going to get a call asking what you want done with her. When it’s over. What your funeral plans are.”

The calmer the woman was, the calmer Sheridan’s bearded and shaggy haired brother was, the more Sheridan wanted to leap out of his body, to scream, He thought, if I slam my head through this window, this will all end. We will wake up, or the blood will be enough. This will end.

“Mom is Jewish. She’ll be buried from McGann’s. They still do the Orthodox burials. She has to be released as soon as she dies.”

Sheridan’s eyes bulged, and he looked at his patient brother.

“I’m not saying passed or deceased or anything comfortable,” Will said. “Our mother is dying.”

He said, his voice half head, “My mom is dying.”

His skull was too small for his swelling brain. He was too small for his skin. Sheridan felt himself spinning around inside of his body, almost ready to hit the ground, doing a good impersonation of someone who was not stunned,

Will and Sheridan went back into the room with their mother. Will brushed her hair, Sheridan rubbed her feet. They kissed her, and their faces were still, but now and again, one of them would seize up, and grief came up from them. They left with Layla and Brendan. Saint Mary’s hospital was a huge monster complex out in the boonies of southwest Wallington, past east Rossford. They were numb, and just crossing into town when the phone rang. Layla answered, and she said, “No, I have it. This is Mrs. Klasko,” something she never called herself. “Thank you. Thank you. Yes, Mc Gann’s, immediately.”

A great breath that would of sounded like melodrama came out of Sheridan at the same time that Will’s body shook. He slowed the car and pulled it to the side of the road. Sheridan stared out the window, blank.

Brendan climbed out of the backseat and moved Will to where he had been, next to Layla, and he began driving and tears were falling from his eyes and he kept wiping them, and he drove out of the streets onto the underdeveloped no man’s land and there he stopped the car. They were under a giant sky.

Sheridan tumbled out of the car, walking into the roadside ditch and across the grass, almost tumbling, and then he stopped and this time collapsed to his knees, screaming. His screams shook the air and Brendan thought his husband would lose his voice. Layla’s eyes were wide with horror. Will, shook his wife off a little, and the tall, man with his dark shaggy hair, went after Sheridan, crossing the ditch and he fell on him, and pulled him close while he screamed, so that both police officer and professor knelt into the dirt and howled for what they could never have back.

When they reached Will and Layla’s house, Layla’s niece Laurel was already there with her husband Moshe Fromm and their kids, covering the mirrors and there was food in the kitchen. Laurel, who like most Houghtons, had grown up nominally Catholic knew how to be a good Jewish wife after so many years with Moshe, and she told everyone, calm as anything, “We got tacos, and fried chicken and some burgers. Tonight I will cook real foo—”

But Will had thrown himself on Laurel, sobbing, and Moshe, businesslike, embraced Sheridan and said, “We didn’t know where what would be, so Fenn and Todd are at your house getting it ready. Dena’s making a shit ton of food.”

“I—” Sheridan tried his voice and it failed. “I think I wanna be with Will tonight.”

Brendan nodded. “Let me call Fenn and Todd.”

“Are we doing this?” Sheridan wondered. “I mean, like, are we going to sit shiva.”

“I am,” Will said, scratching his trim beard as if he’d never thought he’d do anything else.

HAPPY NEW YEAR.... MORE TOMORROW