Harvard Comes To Montana

"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Thirty-two

By Griz

umgriz@protonmail.com

Hi, Eclipsers;

Anyone see it? 8 April, 2024? I did not. Two reasons: there were clouds blocking the view, and there was a truck motor blocking the view of the clouds. That eclipse didn't stand a chance.

I understand there was an issue with some folks not being able to see Chapter 31 as the true chapter 31; the title was right, but the text was actually Chapter 30, verbatim. If that is still an issue, and before you read 32, please go to Gay/Rural and, although the date isn't current, you'll find the true Chapter 31. I believe the problem was my fault in how I sent the file to nifty.org. As if they don't have enough to worry about, now they get a dumb Polish guy writing stories about a smart Polish guy on a farm.

I hope this submission will go as planned and we'll all get back on track together.

Ned died. Marie has been given a diagnosis of onsetting dementia. Marc has a growling black dog that follows him just out of view in the shadows. Team W is not without their challenges. They'll have more to say about what's going on. Well, not all of `em. Even Ned has more to say in a future chapter. And NO, I won't be employing a ouija board.

Today you will have an opportunity to make a difference a person's life that will affect them and you for days following. When you see an old person, stop and smile and say, "Hello, In There". Bette Midler sang a song by the same title on a 1972 album. It's in regular rotation on my still-alive iPod. Be kind to old people. And little kids. And animals. The rest of us will get by.

Griz

*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***

Perhaps for the first time in my life, I had nothing to say. There was no news-flash important message from my brain to my mouth. Marc's voice was still moving around in my mind. He had shared horrors I could not have imagined, and the worst one? His parents. I could not comprehend two people bringing a boy into this world, only to set him up on the slow, agonizing path to suicide. Marc did not meet that end, and I credited Mr and Mrs Taylor for, indeed, saving his life. They made Marc and me possible for each other. Not literally; just figuratively. I think I was out on that dark highway a couple of Sundays ago, feeling a little lost, too. I didn't know until I met Marc just how much I wanted to share my early mornings and my late nights, before sunups until after sundowns, with someone.

No. That sounds nice, but there is no possible comparison between Marc's first fourteen years and my feeling like something was missing in my life, too. My parents were not millionaire-salaried Darlings Of Society, but I wanted for nothing. Marc's obvious void of many things any kid should have, and I most certainly had. The least of which---the very least---was a safe, engaged, encouraging family and home life. His youth was the stuff of very bad, tormenting dreams that could've resulted in a nightmare his family would ever wake up from.

`Please have me, Babe'. There was no way I couldn't or wouldn't have Marc. Or want him. Need him. I understood he was nervous telling me about his childhood. I got that he thought there was a chance that I would not want an addict in my life. Addict. Fuck, I hate that word. It is too easy to use it in almost any conversation:

I am addicted to action movies!' No, you're not. I am a chocolate ice cream addict!' Are you really? `I am addicted to hundred-proof, hundred-dollar-a-bottle vodka.'

I believe you. I love you. I will have you; tonight and every night.

My man had a chemical dependence issue. The revelation of that was, in itself, worthy of my respect. I would have respect for anyone sharing the significance of that in their life. But I respected Marc for his own sake. What he brought in the course of the previous twenty minutes or so presented neither me nor our relationship any immediate challenge. His would be a daily challenge that I would probably never know, but my ignorance about that was and would be genuine. I don't know what I don't know. That will never change, no matter how many challenges my family face or degrees I'll eventually earn. There will always be more I don't know than know.

However, I wasn't going to sit in the dark about Marc's own journey through that dependence, just like I wasn't going to not learn everything I could about Lewy Body Dementia and how that was going to change Mom's life. Sebby and I learned Patience from each other, and I still remember the lessons. I hoped I'd gained new knowledge and maybe even some wisdom. Attending school was not, in its entirety, going to be distance learning. I'd have to go no further than Team W on Farm W to find a well-staffed classroom waiting for me.

I bet you didn't count on it, Marc; but you're still gonna teach at least one college freshman, and boy, is that kid eager to study your own history and apply it to the future.

"You're not talking, Jozef. Say something."

"Dinner's almost ready."

"That all you got?"

I pulled him up from his barstool while I got myself upright. I'd hugged that guy probably every hour I'd been with him, awake or asleep. This time, though, I needed him to see my face while I held his in my hands.

"I got more. Lots more, Boyfriend. I'll have you."

"This could change things for you. For us."

"In the two weeks we've known each other, liked each other and finally loved each other, has your past or your reality affected us, whether I knew it or not? Absolutely. So now I know. You're still Marc. MY Marc. My man. Now I know more about you, and in two more weeks' time, I'll know more about you still. In seventy years, I'll know a LOT more, but I'll still just be getting to know you."

"You like that number, don't you? Mr and Mrs Holland made an impression."

"They'd make an impression on anyone willing to appreciate the work that goes into two weeks, then two weeks more, exponentially all the way up to all the years two people in love can have together. I like seventy because they showed it was possible. Maybe they got an early start, but you and I are getting an early start, too. You know the other reason I like the number seventy?"

"Because it's optimism after some lovely `sixty-nine'?"

"Wellll.....that, too, now that you mention it. I was thinking because you made a trip from Billings to Lewistown enjoyable and effortless at seventy miles an hour. Our years won't always be effortless, but we can damned sure make them enjoyable."

"Of COURSE it was effortless! You just.....sat there and talked with Tommy the whole way!"

"Slight exaggerations make you so adorable and lovable, you know."

The timer dinged. I opened the heavy oven door to see and smell that dinner was done. Hmm.....no oven mitts, or at least not that I was going to hunt around for at the moment. I looked at Marc and smiled, and pulled my t shirt up over my head.

"Don't judge....."

"`Don't judge', he says. The hottest chef and waiter in Fergus County just made my mouth water, and not only for what's in that oven."

We both laughed, and I used the shirt to insulate my hands while I pulled out the baking dish. I looked at the bubbly, browned cheese on top of the chicken and veggies, which covered the brown rice on the bottom. There's a simple rule Mom and Dad taught me in the kitchen: `you can never fuck up dinner with too much garlic or too much cheese, but you can disappoint with not enough'. I don't think I grated nearly enough Cheddar and Swiss on there..... Oh, well. Next time. One pound of each, and twelve cloves; not two.

"So. `Babe' is still okay?"

"`Babe' is like cheese and garlic, Boyfriend; never settle for less of it, and never less than the best. That is the best thing I hope to ever hear."

"Good. Thank you. Dinner smells great. What can I do to help, now that you've done everything?"

"Well, you can tell me more while we wait for this to cool down for maybe ten or so minutes. Lava belongs in the ground, not in the mouth. I'm going to have some 7-Up, though. You want some root beer?"

"That's a good idea."

I got glasses, ice and bubbly sodas out and poured. I held my glass up to Marc, but then hesitated.

"Oh.....are toasts okay? I don't know the exact history of them, except as a means of being polite half a millennium ago, showing everyone they all had equal amounts of the same thing in their mugs."

"See? You're the ideal student. You come prepared with History. Toasts are okay. Everything is okay, Jozef. I'll never miss a party as a noun, but I don't do much partying anymore as a verb."

"Then here's to Mr and Mrs Taylor; to their beautiful house which is now our beautiful home----one of them----and all the love they put into that little apartment so it could preserve you, just like they did."

"Aw, that's nice. To The Grandies."

We clinked our glasses and sipped sweet bubbles while the bubbles on the casserole calmed themselves. We remained standing at the kitchen counter. I stirred together the simple salad dressing. Oh----wanna know the recipe? Of course you do. 1/8th C red wine vinegar, 1/8th C good olive oil, the juice of half a lemon, one tablespoon of Dijon mustard, a pinch of oregano, a pinch of thyme, a little salt, a little pepper. Combine in the bottom of the salad bowl, add the greens, toss it. Yeah.....toss that salad.....oh. Where was I.....

"Dinner with my grandparents and mother was pleasant enough, but not exactly fun. There were four of us, but we were joined by a huge elephant at our table, not once acknowledged. The focus was on school and the awards on my bedroom walls. It was nice to talk about what I did at the academy, but I think a little of Grampy's reasoning in bringing the awards and certificates up was a passive-aggressive way to tell my mom about what I was capable of, that she and Dad would've known about, had they only talked to me.

I think to this day my mom joined us because my grandparents had completely humiliated her, or maybe just pointed out how she'd spent my childhood humiliating herself and never being a contender for Mother Of The Year'. Canlis did not do the whole waiters around the table singing Happy Birthday' thing. That was fine by me; I didn't really want any attention on me there, after all of it that had been heaped on me at our house.

The ride back to the house was pleasant, though. This was a side of the lake I was never on much, although I'd lived almost all my life in the Seattle area. Six weeks in Lewistown didn't count; not for that conversation. I'd later ask my grandparents to tell me as much about that period as they could. You've seen the little apartment. They told me about my very early life, then over the years, and then they created a way to show me, too. You and I are going to learn a lot about me, together."

While getting the casserole and salad on plates and in bowls, Marc talked more about that night. When they got back to the house, Maura was gone. His father's car still wasn't in the courtyard. Marc said he didn't know when the conversation with him would happen, and that he suspected The Grandies would stay in town until they could talk with him. None of them trusted his mother to present a fair and accurate detailed summation to his father of that day.

Before going to their hotel, Marc's grandparents all but dragged his mother to Marc's room and almost forced her to read each award on the walls there. She went, I think, for two reasons: to shut Marc's grandfather up and to avoid another knuckle sandwich from Grammy. I of course could not know for certain, but there was nothing about that woman's behavior that inspired loving maternalism in anyone's mind. She and Marc's father needed an award on their bedroom's wall:

"Parental Treachery---Purple Ribbon"

Marc's grandmother helped him pack for the duration of time he'd spend at Seattle Children's Hospital, in the area for in-patient care of kids with dependence issues. While at the hospital earlier in the day, she got several pages printed that detailed what a patient should bring with them, and what to expect. I doubt she had to ask twice for anything from anyone there.

Marc admitted how nervous he was about that. He had told his family, but never had he admitted to anyone at school that he and vodka had come to depend on each other for daily sustenance and support. Marc was also concerned about school. His grandmother told him that any school, in the event of health or medical detention of any kind, would not count his absence against him----as long as he got his work done.

"It was kind of interesting to watch my mom just sit there next to me on my bed, looking at the suitcase I'd packed with essentials and listening almost passively to a conversation between The Grandies and me. Grampy told us they'd be back at 8:00AM to get us, and that we'd go to Seattle Children's first and get me admitted. After that, the three of them would go to the academy. My mother would present an intake form for the school, which would know only that I was in the hospital and would return to school as soon as possible. No other details given.

The arrangement would also be made for me to have a dorm room there. Whether because there was no other option or because my grandparents insisted on it, I found out later that I was to have a single room. That was fine with me, actually; I'd never once stayed in a room with another boy, for any reason. I was too young to make decisions on my own, but too old at Fourteen to adjust to a roommate. I didn't want him watching me jack off at least twice a day, too."

I laughed, but not the way I normally would. This wasn't a normal conversation. There was an element or two of humor, but Marc's vulnerability with me was held in only the highest respect. I revered his candor. I knew we would have plenty to laugh about some other time. Dinner was ready to be eaten, so I took the plates and Marc grabbed the bowls of salad. I thought for a moment before placing them. Sit across from each other? Marc at the head, me on the right? I decided to follow his lead on that. Yeah, `our' home, but I was all about being deferential to his level of comfort that evening. I smiled when he put the bowls in front of chairs right next to each other.

"I need you by me, Babe. As close as we can be and still navigate a plate with a fork and knife."

Awww.....fuck. Would me sitting on his lap bring us any closer? I'm happy to hold him down, put his legs to sleep and feed him my famous family dinner, bite after bite. The subject changed while we ate. Marc was relieved, I suppose, to have the focus no longer be on him so much. It happened over half his life ago, but his face showed the still-fresh pain he felt then. He brightened after he'd had a bite of salad and another of the casserole.

"Dang, Babe; this is good! Our first home-cooked meal here! This is just me, but I am all for this dinner being on regular rotation."

"Heh.....I'm glad you like it. I can be useful in a kitchen, if I want to be."

"What will keep you wanting to be useful in a kitchen?"

"If my man keeps eating and liking whatever it was I made the last time I was in there."

"Jozef, I'll let you known right now: you could make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I'd ask for more. Seriously, though; this is good. And even better: left-overs!"

"Thank you."

Marc moved his hand to my thigh and squeezed it gently.

"I'll answer any questions you have about.....well, what I've been carrying on about for the past hour. Or anything. Ask me whatever you want."

"Okay. I'll probably have a question or two, but not at this moment. What you've told me this evening is something I'll be thinking about for quite awhile. We're all complex critters, but the biggest revelation to me isn't that you suffered with neglect, deep depression, loneliness and a reliance on vodka to help you, but that you survived it all. You made it to Fifteen, no doubt papered more of your walls with awards and achievements, moved forward to an enviable academic career and authored three---and counting---books. That's more than survival, Marc. Thank you for trusting me with your history."

"I trust you with the rest of my life, Jeffrey. It was important for me to tell you this so you could trust me, too. Trust me to at least be honest and candid, and if it was a revelation that might disrupt your life and your plans, well, me knowing that was better sooner than later. Tell you something else?"

"Of course."

"I wanted to tell you about me, about that part of my life, when I rode with you to take Sebastian to the fair. I knew I wanted to know you more and, yeah, to get closer with you. The day I told you that I would stay in Lewistown through September was when I knew you were worth sticking around for. Not just to tidy up The Grandies' house sale and everything else; that would've taken a week at most. I wanted a Summer with you, and to take back to Harvard a smile that would've freaked out the dean and sun-burn the students in the front row of the lecture hall."

I moved my hand on top of his while he was rubbing my thigh just barely. So he was thinking what I was thinking, alllll the way back to last week. Soooo long ago, I know.

"Well, Boyfriend; you could've told me during the ride to the fair with that big Black Angus wildebeest-type creature what you told me this evening, and sure, I might've been shocked and surprised---I was this evening, too---but I believe my intentions toward you and with you would've been no different. Maybe, but I will never know now. You said we come to this, each of us, with our own baggage. You're right. And to be fair, I'll have a candid conversation about some of mine, too. This isn't the night. There is nothing more important at this moment than celebrating the little red chip in the frame, currently leaning up against the flour. A victory, indeed."

"God, I love you."

"God loves you, too. We have that in common."

"HA! Between you, The Grandies, God and Team W, I don't think my future is nearly as dim as I once believed."

"You have our collective love and encouragement. I'm happy to speak for everyone."

"Thanks. I feel that. Can I ask, though; do you have experience already knowing anyone who is actively avoiding alcohol?"

"Not well. One of my father's brothers wasn't successful in avoiding it, and his life was challenged because of a heavy reliance on alcohol. He was Dad's Aleksy, until he wasn't. His father, my grandpa, encouraged him to find employment opportunities elsewhere, far away from Farm W. I remember at least one other substance, as well. He said it was how he coped with the PTSD he suffered from being in war zones for three years. I don't know him well at all, but I don't doubt he was suffering. My grandfather's reaction and ultimatum did him no favors."

"Oh.....damn. I can't imagine other people's traumas. None of us are in a contest to see who sank the lowest, but you know, I've known many examples in my years of people enduring lives much more complicated than my own. Putting History into perspective is pretty much all we have to prevent ourselves from repeating it."

"Hmmm.....there's wisdom in that, Marc. Sounds silly coming from a seventeen-year-old, but you say some wise things."

"Jozef, you'll have questions, and I'll likely have more to tell you about the following years after The Grandies really and truly saved my life. One thing I can't shed any light on for you, though: what it will be like for you to hear any of this. I've been in the Circus Of Marc; I've never been in the stands watching the show. You are mature and intelligent. Vastly so. I'm telling you this because I can't ever say to you, `I know how you feel', being in a relationship with me. I will never know what it's like to be able to handle alcohol and tell someone who can't that I know anything about their experiences. But I want you to tell me how you feel, if---and likely when---this is impacting you."

"You said `likely'."

"Yeah."

"`Likely' speaks to probability. You and I can only think of possibilities, as regards each other living an aspect of our lives the other doesn't know anything about at present. Here's the deal, Marc; I love you. That hasn't changed. I will stay awake and aware, and yeah, I have some homework to do to better understand the science behind chemical dependence, and you'll be my primary source for that knowledge. I'll be your source for understanding my end of being together. We'll come to know how we can navigate our wisdom together. We won't be bored; I feel that is very likely and very probably true."

"See?"

"`See' what?"

"Told you you are mature and intelligent."

"Arguable virtues, although I won't argue with you. My brother can take that on---Tommy, too."

We finally laughed enough that Marc smiled afterward, and eventually I returned to the kitchen with our plates to get a little more `Quelle Surprise A la Jozef'. I also brought more of the sodas. My legs were feeling extra-empty that evening. Feeding a one-ton goofy, lovable steer and helping move a family from a barn into the sunlight was tiring work. I must've burned dozens of calories since I'd been awake.

We finished dinner and we both cleaned up, leaving the kitchen in a condition I felt Mrs Taylor would've approved of. Marc took my hand and smiled at me, leading me to the den. The very first place we made out like the teenagers one of us actually was. The dining room chairs were of Scandinavian design and comfortable, but nothing compared to the overstuffed, green-mohaired sofa. We again sat hip-to-hip, but different there was I had my right leg over Marc's left, and our hands on each other. Our heads were reclined back against the sofa, and Glenn Miller serenaded some moonlight in our direction from that grand radio against the wall at the end of the room. Marc turned to me and smiled.

"Wanna watch some TV?"

"No."

"No? Do you ever watch TV?"

"Sure; if there's a TV to watch. Sometimes, anyway."

Marc looked quizzically at me and then looked around the room. There was indeed no television in the den.

"Oh. You know, I never noticed there isn't one here. Maybe they took it with them."

"Yeah, that's it; in the roll-on luggage. Sixty-five inch OLED in the overhead compartment! Actually, I have not seen one in here. I'd be surprised if they weren't fans of `60 Minutes' or Charlie Rose. And very likely The Gilmore Girls."

"Babe, I'm sure we can think of other ways to entertain ourselves. Oh.....we didn't really go over this, but are you staying in tonight?"

"I am. Already covered the morning chores with Aleksy. Mom is not expecting us."

"`Not expecting us'. Us. Thanks for that. It's a little word, but it takes up a lot of space in my heart."

I snuggled even closer to Marc, resting my head against his.

"Boyfriend, I know we'll talk more about the turn your life took. Just want to say thank you for telling me this much tonight. You had suggested a few times that we should have a serious conversation, and I'm glad you were insistent. I love that about you, too."

"You deserve the best, Jozef; even when I was at my worst. Okay. You know, I'd actually like to get out of here. It's only 9:00PM. Still plenty of light in the sky. Would you consider a walk?"

"A good idea! Do you have a route in mind?"

"No, not really; I haven't explored this town very much. Kinda got distracted over the past couple of weeks by a farm boy with a farm."

"Them's is some wiley critters; specially the Polish ones. Gotta watch out for em. They'll lead you astray, right up to the hayloft and have their way with ya."

"Oh? Then MY Polish farm boy is holding out on me. I haven't been up to the hayloft."

"Do you know the secret code magic password? Gotta know that."

"Hmm.....Is a password the same thing as a safe word for a Polish farm boy?"

"Nope. It's `Weź mój marynatÄ™ koperkowÄ...'. Say that to your Polish farm boy. I'll bet a dill pickle he'll take you right on up to that-there lofty place."

"That's some password! Do I at least get to know what I'm saying?"

"`Take my dill pickle'."

"HAHAHAHA!!! Will that actually work?"

"Depends on your pronunciation. Be careful, though; the wrong accent on the wrong syllable and you might be saying something like, `Rand Tuss' sow pig is lookin' kinda sexy tonight'. That will most decidedly not get you to the hayloft. Might even get ya a restrainin' order from Officer Dan. If not from the farm, at least from the sow pig."

"HA! Duly noted! How about you choose a walking route?"

"I know just the one. Got yer comfy walkin' shoes on?"

"I do. And you?"

"Well, not enough to walk home in em, but I know a nice part of town you maybe don't know yet. It's called the Silk Stocking District'. For awhile in early Lewistown history, it's where the houses were with servants' quarters in them."

"Oh? Are the houses gone now?"

"Nope, but the servants are. Long since gone. But you'll see our own version of New York City's Millionaire's Row. C'mon, Boyfriend. Let me show off some cool old houses, and show you off, too. I think I'm past my phase of worryin' about people looking at and wanting my man."

"What other people?"

"The other.....oh. Sly fox. That was subtle. And very nice. You get a kiss for that."

Marc smiled at me and I smiled at him, and we smiled our way through a nice kiss that was so nice, if I didn't get ice cream after the walk, I wouldn't miss it. Not too much. We walked out the door, and before he closed it, Marc flipped the switch that would allow the light-sensitive landscape illumination come on once the Sun was down. Mr Taylor spent considerable time, energy and expense to make their home a landmark. What they sold to their only grandchild was an in-town palace for two young men who felt like princes within the castle walls.

The entire walk that evening was not even two miles round-trip, but it included much of the east end of Lewistown. Others were out enjoying the pleasant evening. We met a few dogs and their friendly humans who stopped and chatted with us. The dogs were very interested in the Berneezers' scent. The announcement was out: a new family had moved to Fergus County. I hoped at least a few of the pups would be adopted locally. It would be good to see them out and about, fully grown, years down the line. Lola Cola's legacy, co-parented by the crankiest ol' softy barn cat in three counties.

What I would've given to walk back to the house, comfortably and confidently holding hands with Marc. We were no longer in the Dark Ages, but there were still more than a few people in Central Montana who didn't get that memo. That wasn't isolated to my neck of the woods. What I wanted was to hold Marc's hand. What I didn't want was to create more work for the sheriff and the future sheriff, Dan Gremaux. In a perfect world, Marc and I could be subtly expressive in Fergus County public. In our current world, we had to choose personal safety over that. God damn it.

Once back home and the residue of a few wet black noses washed from our hands, we mounded those washed salad bowls with Moose Tracks and Vanilla ice creams and settled in to not watch TV. Heh. What could we possibly be missing, anyway?

"Jozef. I'm glad you're staying in."

"I prefer to think of it as, `I'm staying wherever my man is, here or there'."

"How does anyone grow up to be so adorable? Is it in the water?"

"Obviously not; you've met my brother."

"Heh. I like that guy. I like Eva, too. They seem perfect together."

"They've seemed that way for over ten years. It's just finally working out for them. You can't see it, but Mom is barely able to keep from designing her `mother of the groom' dress."

"Do you think they'll marry?"

"Who? Mom and Aleksy? We're Montanans; not West Virginians."

"Groan! I'm going to blame THAT one on the inevitable sugar buzz all three of those pounds of ice cream are causing you."

"And I'll want more, too! I think you can rest assured Aleksy and Eva are never going to be farther apart than the distance from Farm W to `Common Grounds'. If there is anything in the water at the farm, it's what makes the W Boys choose their mates carefully and perfectly."

"That just redeemed you from the West Virginia comment. Well done. Can I try some of your Moose Tracks?"

"Can I deny you anything?"

"Let's not find out, Babe. C'mon. Gimme some sugar."

I gave Marc sugar. Once we cleaned up the ice cream and then the bowls, we cleaned up ourselves and walked to the smaller, but not much smaller, bedroom. The very faint little light on the night stand was on, its own timer doing the honors of keeping us from banging our shins on the furniture. We stood facing each other at the end of the bed. I placed my hands on Marc's chest, feeling his heart beating steadily. His went to my hips.

"Jozef, you are beautiful at Noon on a bright and sunny day, but in the shadows, you are no less perfect. `Fetching', my Grampy used to say Grammy was when they first met. You're fetching. And perfectly beautiful."

"And all yours, Marc. More than last night, but not as much as tomorrow morning."

I began unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing. It was one of the shirts we got in Billings. It was as nice on him in Levis as it was on him in those suits. I wondered what his closet in his Cambridge home looked like. It's Harvard, after all; I'd bet he had more suits and nice clothes there. I took his shirt off, and then pulled the tight white undershirt off, too. I handed them both to the smiling man, who moved to hang them both up.

"Wait.....um, before you do that....."

I smiled and blushed, not that he saw it, and then took the undershirt back. I stared Marc right in the eyes and held the white shirt up to my nose, inhaling deeply. I rolled my eyes up into the top of my head, held my breath and then exhaled. Marc smiled and shook his head.

"You know you can get that right from the source....."

"Yeah, but if I get it there, you can't see the effect it has on me. Now you know."

"giggle Do I smell okay?"

"You smell like mine."

"Like your shirt?"

"Like my man."

"I am your man. Kinda broken, but patched up okay. And feeling much better, having talked with MY man."

"I think our men should not talk so much at this moment, and maybe share some lovin'."

"A perfect follow-up to sharing ice cream."

I smiled and handed Marc his undershirt. He turned to get two hangers from the closet. Yup, Marc hangs up his t shirts. I guess if I'd spent thirty dollars on an undershirt at Jason's, I'd hang it up, too. Only a couple of moments ago, I was treating it like it was the Shroud of Turin. I guess we both thought that undershirt was worth special consideration. We got undressed, and after I cleaned out my pockets, I hung my clothes up in the closet, too. I liked how our stuff looked in there together.

We were down to nothing covering us, ready for only a white cotton sheet to do that honor. I was on my back, stretching to my full length, toes and fingers as far away from each other as they could get. I felt and heard three vertebrae pop themselves back into place. At least I hoped they weren't going out of place; I had some heavy lifting to do tomorrow. Gotta make that-there hayloft all accommodatin' and comfortable; jes' like the back seat of my truck.

This evening, Marc did a lot of heavy lifting. Before he took me to the little apartment in the basement, I could not have guessed what it was that weighed on his mind. The first thought I'd had was him reconsidering his resignation at Harvard, since he was not going to be the school superintendent in Lewistown. He could've done that, and taken his painful history right back East with him. I would not have had the conversation with him, and he would have gone even longer with that pain still buried inside him, waking to teach two classes, do some administrative work, then go home to a condo fairly empty and completely quiet, with the exception of three house plants.

Maybe Marc's future at Harvard, as he saw it, was bleak because his past certainly had been. I rested my head on that pillow, assured he was still here, still mine, and still researching and writing history. Marc's home, family and career seemed to be securely in the town and the county that were both at the center of Montana. Don't tell Marc I said this, but: he's the center of my universe. He'd laugh at you and tell you I'm being goofy and silly, just a farm boy in love who stands with both boots planted firmly in midair. Truth, though: we're both right.

Before I could bring my arms back down from over my head, Marc placed his lovely noggin on my chest. I loved when he did that----or when I did that on his. It was simple and intimate, but conveyed among other feelings the relief of having made it through a challenging day together. He moved his right leg over mine, and his right arm over my chest. Apparently, my left nipple became an attractive nuisance that prevented either of us from relaxing. Marc had to push it, pull it, move circles around it with his fingertip, and then.....because a finger will tire so quickly.....an energetic tongue and the teeth that guard it.

"Are you trying to detach it or remodel it?"

"Your body is a work of art, right down to the mammary appendages forgotten by Evolution. I just want to remind them I appreciate how well they complement your pectoral muscles. Without nipples, your pecs would look like two square, well-formed ciabatta rolls. So still not a bad thing, but not as good a thing as when some nippity-nip-nips are right where they belong, in easy access for me to poke and prod, lick and bite."

"Ah. Well, I wish I'd paid more attention to Lola Cola's face for reactions to those since a couple of Wednesdays ago! But don't stop! Holy FUCK, don't stop, Babe!"

Marc giggled and thrust his hips on my leg just a little. Oh? Is that what you ultimately have in mind, Boyfriend? Hmmm..... I moved a hand to run my fingers through the hair on top of Marc's head. He had perfect hair. Long, thick, dark-dark brown and just layin' there for the taking. Or groping. Stroking? It was funny, that moment; we both purred. It made us laugh. Well, so much for that. I shifted and pulled a little to encourage Marc to lay on top of me, my legs spread open so he could rest his right in between.

I wanted my eyes on his. I also seemed to want my hands on his naked, furry ass. `Seemed'? I wanted that as much as I wanted oxygen in my lungs. I don't to this day understand that fetish, but it existed only as far as Marc was concerned. Other hairy guys? Congratulations on that extra insulation for Montana's half-year Winters, Boys. You're great to look at, but you're not Marc.

"Are you holding onto me back there so I don't fall off?"

"That, and any other disaster that might strike while I gaze into your eyes and tell you how much I love you, and how brave you've been. Not just brave to tell your grandparents you needed help, but to tell me all about it. Or maybe not `all', but as much as you have at present. And please know, Marc; I will welcome whatever you have to tell me. Only thing is, don't wait next time. Park my ass down and make me listen if I get too wrapped up in other stuff and don't place enough importance on your concerns. Our concerns. Your job right then is to tell me what is important to you, to us, when you feel it's important. My job is to listen. But mostly.....my job is to love you, Boyfriend."

"I have felt your love. It is the love my grandparents had for me, then and now. I believe they knew how you felt about me. They all but threw me into your arms and life, and if you don't remember, I can cite examples of that, when you were standing right next to me."

"Oh, I think my love for you MIGHT be a little different from your grandparents'.....at least in one or two areas. And I bet you can feel `em both. But I know what you mean, and yeah, I felt the encouragement they had for us. Your family, my family.....I think they're the ones responsible for us being the men we are, getting us ready just right so we could meet. And here we are."

Marc smiled and dropped his lips onto mine and we shared a more tender and passionate kiss this time. I rubbed my hands a little on those glorious, hirsute glutes. Marc raised his hips just a little to position his rock-hardness next to my own. Well. Here we were, and there they were. Hi, Guys; did you miss your dads? We missed you.

The kiss seemed to last longer than the flavor of Fruit Stripe gum (which ain't saying a lot, but both were two of my favorite things to do with my mouth). I looked up at a smiling Marc who, in that soft, dim light, looked like a god peering down from Olympus at a mere mortal. He tasted of ice cream and smelled just like his expensive Billings undershirt. I held onto his ass with one hand, but I moved the other up to his broad, muscular back. How on Earth did he grow those? His skin was warm and smooth. I suspected my calloused hands were the burlap to his silk. And then.....

.....my phone barked the arrival of a text message. I had assigned specific text and ring tones to the people I communicated most with. That one was from Tom. I had created the tone specifically for him. It was my own very whiny voice, recorded while he and I were out riding earlier in the year: "It's that damned annoying Okie again!" Marc wasn't expecting to hear that, particularly in a moment of fairly blissful intimacy.

The phone was on the nightstand by my head, but other than sitting up, I wasn't going to see the screen. Marc was laying in top of me, though. The text arrival was announced twice more.

"I will forever after call my boy by his Latin name: `Coitus Interruptus'. Can you see the screen? Is it an emergency?"

Marc just smiled deviously at me and tapped Tommy's avatar, which called him. Then he activated the speaker. Damnit, Marc. That just made my also-stretched-out Paco shrivel to a barely-visible eight inches. Damnit, Tommy; yes, you, too.

"Jeffrey! What're you still doing up?"

"I'm not up. Not anymore. Thanks, by the way. Fucker. What do you want, Okie?"

"What do I want? You called me!"

"Because you were texting me! Get on with it, Son; where's the fire?"

"No fire. I don't remember sending you a text.....oh, wait. I know what happened. I was sittin' here talking with Trace and Toby and they asked about you. I said I hadn't talked with you in a day or two, and that I needed to give that Polish Poofter a call. And I'll be damned, Siri just up and called you, I guess."

"Siri knows me as the `Polish Poofter'? I wonder how THAT came to be."

"Just because she's artificial don't mean she ain't intelligent. In the case of her knowing you by your superhero name, well, I'm sure Siri put two and two together and came up with lavender. And, well, here you are! Howdy!"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph....."

"Yes, Jozef?"

Toby and Trace laughed in the background and said hi.

"Hi, Guys. You two babysitting tonight? I don't know what Jon and Kelly are payin' you, but it's not enough. Just drop him down the well if he won't keep still."

They laughed and Tommy took back over. Apparently I was on his speaker phone, too. Marc was doing his best not to make noise while he was laughing, but he had some tears in his eyes. He buried his face in my chest to stifle himself. Of course, that made me giggle. Tom laughed along, but finally made it half-way to his point.

"So, what're ya up to?"

"Important business."

"Probably funny business. I know how you do. I was just wonderin' when you wanted to go out ridin'."

That was my boy's way of saying he needed to talk. His point was `half-way' because he didn't come right out and tell me he needed to talk, but the point was nonetheless made.

"How about a couple of days from now?"

"How about tomorrow?"

Uh-oh. My boyfriend and now my boy needed both my ears, and they'd have `em. I looked at Marc who just raised his eyebrows at nodded at me. See? Even after our briefest of time together, we could communicate silently. I wondered how I could teach that skill to Tommy, especially soooo close to some Marc n' Me Time. Nah. I already told you we conveyed volumes in the looks we gave each other, saying nothing but hearing everything. While I'd never tell him, because he already knew, I'd take calls and texts from That Annoying Okie twenty-four hours a day.

"Tomorrow is my favorite day of the week, even if I'm gonna have to endure your sorry ass in any part of it. Fine. What time, and where we meetin'?"

"Too much trouble over on your land?"

"Only trouble on my land is hail or locusts. What time?"

"How's three or four?"

"Better if it's three or four in the afternoon instead of morning. I'm not out there tonight."

"Oh, yeah? You at Marc's, or are you out at the truck stop givin' pointers to the new boys?"

"That was last night. Everyone asked about you, by the way. I've never seen so many grown and truly desperate men cry. Tom set such a low bar', Frank-The-Knot said; and he still managed to slither right up underneath it, too'."

"Difference between you n' me? I left while I was still popular. You were removed by the SWAT team. They're runnin' a bake sale just to raise funds to replace all that tear gas they had to use on yer sorry self."

"Ah, the good, old days.....I remember when you were all excited, showing up in church Sunday morning, and whispering in the Communion line how excited you were to have made $30.25 off the truckers Saturday night. I asked you, Who paid you a quarter?!', and you just beamed brightly; They all did!'."

Marc, Trace and Toby all burst out laughing at my boy and me ridin' each other mercilessly. We all ended up laughing, and truly, it was maybe the right way to settle the night after a sobering conversation about being sober. Did you know that the word sober' evolved from Old Saxon (Low German) sobri' in the Sixth Century? Very old language. Oh, and this: sob' is also Old Saxon. One is an adjective and one is a verb. They had the same root, and both had the same implication of being serious to the contrary of joyful'. Your life and vocabulary are more full now; you're welcome.

My conversations with two of my Closest that night brought me some tears and some joyful laughter, but I learned an important lesson: don't make anyone wait on you. Don't make anyone ask twice. If two of your Closest tell you they need to talk and you need to listen, clear your decks. You might never get another chance.

One more ride, Daddy. Please, just one more ride.....

Tom and I got back to business and agreed to meet right between our houses, essentially, at one of the three original homestead houses still stood---barely. Cottonwood Creek had a nice, almost picturesque view there, and we could water our horses. Bolt and Tommy's horse were friends, too. The four of us together never had a bad day. After we'd said our usual `Later, Loser' fond farewells, Marc smiled and concluded the call on my phone.

"Babe, it occurred to me just now: I've never had an Aleksy, the way your father had his brother and you have yours. I've also never had a Tom."

"No, I guess you haven't."

"Thanks for sharing yours with me. I'll take later' than never'."

"Those guys are larger than Life. Lots of Aleksy and Tom to go around. I could spend the rest of my days laminated right to `em, and by the end of it all, I still wouldn't have had enough. They pulled you right in. You are easy to love. All of Team W, a growing number of Fergus Folks, agree. Heck, they insist."

"You know, at some point, the subject is gonna come up....."

"Might. Might not. You might not know it yet, but every single one of us hears no' and we move forward with no'. You don't need to explain yourself. Imitate the woman with the dart board behind her face on my closet door: Just say No and leave it at that."

"I think all of you deserve more than that, though. Explanations have implications. Once Team W knows more about me, they'll understand more about us. What they understand, they support. It's no different from Marie telling the four of us what she is facing. Now we all face it with her."

"Yeah, I see that now. Okay."

"Anyway, it's late, and unlike your boy, I don't think this is exactly the right time to send texts to anyone."

"Actually.....send one to Aleksy. Just write something like, `Now don't worry or lose sleep tonight, but there's something you should know.....' My brother will pull his hair out until he sees you and begs for mercy. He'll be like a Freshman on Prom Night, beseeching a Senior on how to install a condom."

"Oh, THAT'S not disturbing imagery or comparison.....no, not at ALL....."

"More disturbing to me is the prospect of graduating from a school that didn't, from all I can imagine, have a Senior Prom. What did you guys do instead? Get all dressed up in tuxedos and then go jack off furtively in the locker room?"

"We had a prom! Remember, this was a well-endowed school, even if most of the boys weren't. Planeloads of escorts were flown in from Las Vegas. Senior Year had the highest activity fees, and that didn't include the tip."

"I suppose some of the guys didn't even know what a tip was. Either what you inserted or what you gave after insertion."

"That would've been most of us. I remember the kid who lived next to me, wailing on the phone late one night to his father that he didn't understand why his dick was infected, shooting out thick, white pus while he slept, and couldn't he just come home."

"Oh, my gosh.....I wonder what his father's reaction was to THAT....."

"He told me at breakfast: `I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! I'M SPENDING TENS OF THOUSANDS TO SEND YOU THERE SO YOU CAN LEARN IT ON THE PLAYGROUND, LIKE I HAD TO!'."

"HAHAHA!! Well, `the playground' on Farm W was the barnyard. Everything I learned, I learned there."

"`Everything'?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I remember correctly, you earned the nickname `The Tongue' when you were thirteen years old. Somehow I suspect the Seniors were coming to you for help, and not the other way around."

"Ah. Well, yeah, I didn't learn that in the barnyard. It would've been civilized, though, if the bull had employed some oral technique to get the cows ready. It's only polite, you know. And friendly."

"HAHAHAHA!!! Oh.....am I squishing you?"

"Nope. You can just stay right there, Boyfriend. I love your weight on me. I love being able to look at you, with very little effort on my part. Now I get why all the girls just laid there when I was on top of them. They were entranced, the way I am with you. Must've just been very restful for them, but also incredibly, fantastically fulfilling."

"Well, there might be a lot of things in the water on Farm W, but modesty and humility are not among the minerals found therein."

"No time for frivolous minutiae. Besides: I never asked any of them. THEY asked me."

"`Just takes one satisfied shopper'....."

"I finally had to close the store. The supplies were always plentiful, but distribution couldn't keep up with demand. Besides, I had homework. And a steer to raise."

"So, you weren't really an enthusiastic capitalist as much as you were providing a public service."

"The way I saw it, they could all take chances on lesser talents doing a half-assed job, or I could effectively lead by example and establish a credible norm for other guys to follow."

"So you taught classes?"

"Kinda. I was never there, though. Guys would see me in school and at first, they'd complain about all the slaps on the back of their heads, or their ears being nearly pulled off. `THAT'S NOT HOW JEFFREY DOES IT! GET BACK DOWN THERE AND TRY AGAIN!'"

"I wonder why the guys didn't run you out of town with torches and pitchforks."

"Because I gave them the male equivalent of my Master Class In Oral Excellence. After a few weekends of overwhelming attendance, it was the girls who could come up to me in school, carrying on and on about their boyfriends complaining that the girls weren't keeping up with their ends of the bargain."

"You're.....kidding about that part.....right?"

"Yeah, I am. I am not unknown to XX or XY genitalia, but I might exaggerate slightly about the quantity. The quality, though.....well, for THAT, a very select few knew that my being obsessed with phonic pronunciation in the Third Grade would be so multi-useful in the Ninth Grade. We really can communicate so much with the tongue."

"Said `The Tongue'."

"Nicknames are both a blessing and a curse. Um....since we're on the subject of my linguistic appendage....."

"Oh.....isn't it a little late to be using big words? I haven't brushed up on those. I learned a few years ago to forget them. Harvard freshmen get really nervous when they hear words in a lecture that only the guy who took their SAT tests for them seemed to know."

"What I'm HINTING at, my fuckin' stud-fuck hot handsome boyfriend, is that you should trade places with me, and maybe inspect the pillow closely that your face will be lying on."

"Oh? Oh.....OH! HECK, yeah!"

We giggled at each other and suddenly a wonderful, very welcome, very furry weight was lifted from me. I'd just lain there, doing what I alleged (perhaps not quite as prolifically as I might've suggested) countless high school girlfriends had done, but now I was going to get to work. Yeah, my nickname was `The Tongue', and I could still trace the letters of the alphabet with mine. That said nothing about how good I was at kissing the same target.

Sincerely, though.....all joking aside.....not kidding any longer.....my man and I were in a quiet, darker room, a faint sound coming from the den of Peggy Lee singing about the folks who lived on some hill, and I was going to further focus on giving Marc pleasure. He had said a lot in the evening, and I would forget none of it for the remaining days of my life. Making a little love to him, just a reminder that his life would not move backwards, was how I hoped we could draw the day to a close.

Once Marc was on his stomach, I straddled him and moved my hands along his spine from his hips to his shoulders. If ever there was good time to have big, strong dumb Polish farm boy hands come to town, that was it. Marc's strong neck, out to his shoulders, back down slowly to his hips and then back up again.

"MfmrMMfllombflmGRRRmmlz....."

I leaned very close to his right ear and licked it just barely. Just a flick with the very tip.

"What was that, Boyfriend? I could swear you said, `Lower.....'. Correct me if I'm wrong....."

"Lwrrrrrr....."

I smiled right against his ear, and I saw him smile, too. I loved that man so much. It would be, had I tried, impossible to not love him. Why try that? Failure was certain. I'd make sure of it.

I moved my tongue from the base of his hair line right onto his neck, kissing and licking slowly.....so very, very slowly and tenderly and firmly and deliberately.....down the taut muscles that spanned the length of his back on either side of his spine. My hands followed my mouth on the way down, massaging his lats and obliques. Marc was solid and soft at the same time. He wasn't the only one being pleasured.

When I was right at the end of his spine, the coccyx its very self, I moved my mouth to within millimeters above the skin that covered it. I slowly released both lungs of the warm air inside them. The sensation I'd hoped for was the same that Mark reacted to. His face lifted above the pillow for a moment.

"I didn't even know there was anything there until you just made it glow."

I smiled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Marc smiled at me and turned his head more so we could share an actual kiss. Heh.....speaking of `glowing', I certainly was. Marc's kisses are an energy source. Back down I worked, repeating my ministrations with lips, tongue and hands, until I reached just to where the forest met the plains. My man laid still, his arms moved up and hands beneath his pillow. He sighed, heavy with contentment, and then was still and silent. Well, for a couple of moments.

"Babe, I don't think I can park the train.....can you find a peach?"

Can I `find a peach'. The perfect peach was right in front of my nose, and I was about to gently pry that perfect specimen apart and feast on the fuzzy contents. Wait.....what's this about a train? And parking it?

Oh. `Well, poo', as Mom's mom used to say; whenever plans went awry or Disappointment made itself known. I could have, I suppose, asked Marc to repeat himself, but that might've awakened him. I said my talents and skills were legion, and I knew, most certainly with Marc, that my mouth could put a man to sleep. Heh.....I'll be awake at 4:30AM. That same skill, but in reverse, will have Marc's eyes open at 4:31AM, and I'll have a peach for breakfast.

One last kiss, two small ones, one for each of the firm globes I'd hoped to make love to, and I backed up off the end of the bed. I walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. The night light from the outlet beside the sink mirror reflected my admittedly tired face. I washed it and brushed my teeth, rinsing the too-fresh, too-minty, too-late-at-night taste from my mouth and padded my way down to the den to turn the music off. The house was so still and peaceful. No traffic on the street this late. The huge, old trees filtered out some of the strong, newly-installed bright LED street lights. This was quiet, and I was used to quiet nights on the farm.

Sleep came for Marc, maybe earlier than I hoped for. He'd shared some significant history with me, maybe a little later than he'd hoped for. What mattered most to me---what would always matter most to me---was beginning and ending my day with that man. We had our insecurities; me that I wasn't good enough for him and that someone better would take him away, and him that he had at one time not been good enough, and that his past and one persistent demon might drive me away. Yet, there we were, in a dark house in the middle of the night, not even crickets or frogs or barn owls to compete with the silence that would accompany me to catch up to Marc in dreams, and maybe a nonsensical final comment just upon my arrival in the Land of Nod.

Once I was back in bed with Sleeping Beautiful Stud Prolific Author, I looked up at the natural cedar ceiling. I left the dim nightstand light on, kind of enchanted with the soft glow it cast on part of the room. Only moments passed by, and my still-asleep Marc turned from his right side to his left, curled up against me and placed his arm across my stomach and his right leg over my left. It made me smile. I wrapped an arm around him as well as I could, and moved my other up and behind the pillow beneath my tired head. Then, as quietly as the little glowing light was dim:

"I love you, Jozef."

I snuggled him closer, not wanting to respond, lest I might wake Marc up.

"Mmmble-mmmble."

`Mmmble-mmmble', Marc. Don't worry about the train. Whatever needs to be found, we'll find it together; peace, health, well-being and, we'll figure it out, kids. I love you, Marc. I will tell you that forever. Anything else I say is just.....mostly smart-assed, sometimes intelligent, always truthful commentary. Now sleeps a cracked but healing, noble heart. Until morning, Sweet Prince.