Parker's Love: Scooter and Malachi Chapter 13
Parker’s Love – Scooter and Malachi
Copyright© 2018 – Nicholas Hall
Chapter Thirteen
“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”
(Song of Solomon)
An Engaging Proposal
Mrs. Taylor roared a final invective at us, shaking her finger first at Dave Tylor and then at Malachi.
“You’ve not heard the last from me!”
Van doors slammed shut and the driver maneuvered it around James’s ATV, Dad’s SUV, and Mr. Taylor’s pickup truck. Only when I saw the back end of the van far down the road did I begin to breathe somewhat easier, not completely, but somewhat easier, with a sigh of relief. At least this part of the drama was concluded; where it went from here was up to her.
Malachi gave me a hug and a kiss. “See, I said there was nothing to worry about!”
“Bullshit, Malachi, you were just as worried as I was.”
“Well,” he answered softly so the others might not be so apt to hear, “I do have to admit there were times I was somewhat concerned.”
My brothers’ tensions released, they were laughing and joking about what happened and how they perceived each other’s role in the confrontation. I walked around, giving each a hug and a “thanks.” Malachi did as well, thanking them for their support and courage. Giving Scott a hug, pretty much attached at the hip with James, he confessed softly to and me, “I was scared, Scooter. I’ve never been in a fight before.”
“I was too Scott,” I admitted, hoping to reassure him it was okay to be frightened, “and I’ve been in several.”
Scott knew, as long as he was with James, all would be fine, no matter what happened. I know the feeling only too well. With Malachi by my side, we could conquer any adversity, complete any task, meet any challenges, and love each other till time ends, if it ever does.
I overheard Malachi, when he approached Samuel, “You’re not going to explode if I hug you are you?”
Samuel just giggled, “Nope.”
I moved toward Seth, the first to come to our assistance, the brother who’d been my best friend until I met Malachi. Seeing Seth smile at me, I realized he still was my best friend. Best friends know your deepest darkest secrets and don’t care; they come to your aid even when you think you don’t need it, but they know better; they love you unconditionally, not necessarily in the “Biblical” sense, but in a much deeper sort of love, a love not matched, not confused, not the same as the love I felt for Malachi. Malachi was my lover, my husband to be, my heart’s desire, my partner in life; Seth was my brother and my best friend, someone I could forever count on to come to our assistance. Not that I didn’t love my other brothers any less, but Seth was different and we both knew it. He’d been my playmate growing up, my roommate, and my confidant.
He held open his arms and I stepped into them. He’d grown to my height but was better conditioned from his regular workouts in the martial arts. Seth’s body was firm, lithe, small boned as was the rest of us, and his smile was typical Parker, wide, inviting, and contagious. I felt, by far, Seth was the best looking of us all, but as my brothers grew, I knew it’d be a hard choice to make. Straight as an arrow, Seth would wound many a young ladies hearts before he was smitten with one, making him a fine husband and father someday.
“Thank you brother, I knew I could count on you,” I said, hugging him tightly to me.
Seth gave me a kiss on my cheek. “No way would I let anyone separate my favorite brother from the man of his dreams.”
So sincere, so meaningful, so full of love, and respect for each other.
“Besides, I’m looking forward to having Malachi as a brother-in-law.”
“Honestly, Seth,” I said stepping back from our embrace, “I hadn’t really expected everyone to show up who did when I sent the text. I was hoping for you and maybe Samuel and Aaron.”
“Did you expect anything less?” he responded, somewhat taken aback by my remarks. “You sent out a text for help and we came.”
He chuckled; “Wasn’t the Minx something else playing the part of a Pirate with Percy perched on his shoulders?”
“I wonder where he is?” he asked, looking around.
“I saw him walk back to the house,” Scott giggled from nearby, snugged up tight to James. “He didn’t look real happy though.”
I turned to Malachi, concerned over what may have happened to my youngest brother. “Any idea?”
“Not a clue,” giving Seth a hug and thanking him, “so I suppose we better track him down and find out.”
Wondering why and where Terrance may have gone, I decided to begin my search in the living room where Percy took up residence in his cage. Terrance would’ve returned him there and probably rewarded him with a treat of some sort for his excellent performance. Percy’s was nothing compared with Terrance’s portrayal of a pirate captain and the absolute bravado he exhibited as he dared the devils themselves t challenge him.
Terrance raising the metal poker up over his head, whirling it about as a cavalry officer or a pirate captain preparing to give the order to charge or defend the ship was something I doubt I’ll ever forget. Personally, I’ve not seen a braver person of such diminutive size when confronted with overwhelming odds against him or her as Terrance was, prepared to meet such an overwhelming foe. Oh, I know there’s historic figures and live ones as well who, as described in books and news reports, performed heroic deeds at risk of and in giving their own lives, but Terrance, in our own small battle, in my mind, stood just as tall, and was my hero. After all, isn’t life mainly one small battle after another?
Entering the living room, we noticed Percy in his covered cage, obviously resting, and Terrance, still shirtless, costumed no longer (and since it wasn’t visible, we assumed everything was put away), sitting on the floor, back up against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, hands resting in his lap, and large tears tracing lines silently down his cheeks.
We said nothing as I sat on one side of him and Malachi on the other. Glancing over, I saw Terrance’s bottom lip quivering, he was fidgeting with his hands, suppressed sobs shaking his chest and rumbling softly in his throat. Such sadness coming from my youngest brother, but for what cause or reason? My heart ached for him, wanting to wipe away his tears and bring comfort to whatever was bringing him such heartache. Didn’t he realize he was a hero to all of us and how proud we were of him to march out there and challenge the very ones who were determined to do us harm?
Saying nothing, I reached over, put my arm over his shoulder, and, with a gently pull, brought him closer to me. It was all it took; he spun around, buried his face on my shoulder and neck, sobbing, “Scooter, I was so scared. I thought I’d poop my pants!”
I shifted some, realizing my little brother was not quite so little any more. He didn’t quite fit on my lap, but close enough.
“But you didn’t, did you?”
“N O O O O O O O!” he wailed, clutching me tighter.
“Not even a little bit?”
“N O O O O!” he moaned, more out of disgust and embarrassment.
“Well, I did!”
He pulled his head back, looking at me with incredulity. “You did? One lump or two?”
“Nah; just like you, I thought I would but I didn’t.”
Terrance took a deep breath, exhaled it, and I could feel him grin once he again settled his face back next to my own and my neck. His lips started to work before I actually heard him.
“I was afraid they were going to take you and Malachi away or hurt you real bad and I didn’t know what to do,” his voice shaky, lace with emotion, fear, and relief.
“You did just fine, Terrance,” I reassured, hoping to buoy his confidence and let him know how great a job he did. “We were all so proud of you. You were our commander-in-chief, leading us into battle, urging us on to a victory, rallying us to your cause, when the battle started. The greatest armies of Europe, Asia, Africa, or the United States could only have hoped for such courage and leadership in battles of years gone by.”
“Really?”
“Yep; waving your poker as if it were the Sword of Damocles hanging perilously above the head of Dionysius, and Percy perched on your shoulder squawking nasties at the bad guys.”
“He’s so chicken sometimes,” Terrance admitted with a shy giggle. “He would’ve probably tried to fly away once the fight started.”
“What were you going to do with the fireplace poker?”
“Poke his gut with it, hook his balls, and pull his stomach out through his asshole, that’s what!”
It sounded rather painful to me and no doubt, even with a small boy wielding the hooked weapon, it made a much older, tougher, bigger man, wary, bring his balls up tight against his crotch, and gave him the little tingle in his gut realizing it just might happen, even if by accident, hence wariness.
“Where did you get the idea of dressing like a pirate?”
He pointed at a picture up behind Percy’s cage, a picture I’d never noticed before, a picture of a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder, eye patch and all.
“It took me a while to find everything and I thought about using a kitchen knife, but I saw the fireplace poker and it was bigger and heavier. Besides, it would reach farther than a butcher knife. My arms aren’t very long you know,” illustrating their length, momentarily loosing his grip on me. “I was afraid I’d be too late by the time I got ready, but then the other guys were there and that old battleax looked ready to fart bullets, so I just marched out there.”
March out there he did, with the confidence of a man of many years’ experience - successful experience.
Terrance calmed down, cuddled into me again, as best he could, satisfied he really had helped out, realizing it was okay to be afraid and even cry after it was all over. He suffered, as many do, from the let-down, the release of emotional tension and turmoil and nervous energy after a confrontation such as the incident we’d just experienced. He wasn’t the only one, I’m certain my other brothers, Malachi, and I breathed a sigh of relief as well. At the moment, after the battle was over and won, I could understand why warriors and soldiers of old had the intense desire to fuck; just to release tensions and celebrate.
Tears stopped, relaxed in my arms, Terrance suddenly popped his head up, struggled out of my arms, rolled over to his left, and scampered onto Malachi’s bigger lap. I think he suddenly thought he’d been neglectful of Malachi, so intense was his wish to be with me. Malachi wasn’t concerned, I watched him watch us, small smiles of love and appreciation for Terrance crossing his face, as well as expressions of sadness at the suffering his soon-to-be brother-in-law was experiencing.
“I love you too, Malachi,” Terrance announced, grinning happily, and gave him a kiss.
“I love you too, Terrance,” Malachi responded, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy. “I’m so proud of you. It’s going to be great to be brothers in law.”
Dad said he was going to get a restraining order against Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, as well as Malachi’s mother, naming Malachi, Mr. Taylor, and me as those they were restrained from contacting, either physically or electronically. He didn’t know how much good it’d do, but it was a legal maneuver in case there was a future problem. He doubted we’d ever see them again. I wasn’t as certain.
It was nearly dusk when I finally returned home. Seth waited for me until I was ready to leave. Samuel and Aaron continued their fishing after the encounter and returned home before supper, with fish to clean and put in the freezer. Those two certainly loved to fish, perhaps bird hunt as well, but not like fishing. James took Scotty home on the ATV, said his “goodbyes,” with one hand around Scotty’s neck securing his lips to his, and the other hand inside Scotty’s pants holding and stroking, as I was certain Scotty was reciprocating as well. Terrance rode home with Dad, almost bouncing out to Dad’s SUV, evidently happy to riding shotgun with Dad in the driver’s seat. It wouldn’t be too many years before Terrance would be the one steering the vehicle.
Nearing our drive, Seth asked the same question I asked Malachi. “I thought he was Welsh or something. His grandmother seemed to have a low opinion of his Romani ancestry.”
Indeed she was. Malachi often wondered before I left for home, he confessed, what language the words and phrases he often heard his father use they were, but never asked, rather enjoying the sounds of them. It did account, he realized, for his darker complexion, dark hair, and, what I thought, a deliciously infectious laugh and smile. His grandmother’s derisive comments, instead of cowing him or embarrassing him, strengthened him, and he vowed to me to learn more of his heritage and embrace it where and when he could, as I did mine.
“He loved music, loved to dance, loved the arts, and ….”
“loved to fuck if his son is anything like him.” I interrupted.
“That too,” he responded, reaching down inside my pants, breathing heavily in my ear, fondling my very stiff cock, looked around, shuttled me quickly to his room, pulled down my pants, leaned his head over my shoulder, reached around so he could fist my own hard cock, and began filling me with the biggest, stiffest, cock, if my observations in the school showers were any comparisons, in Rockville High. The length of him, penetrating deeper and deeper, gaining ground with each enlarging, widening push, coupled with my arching back and my butt insistent on making contact with his pubic bush, of his marvelous endowment finally reaching the point where the thickest part of him, the very root of the stalk or trunk, as I preferred to think, stretched me, testing the limits, until my body and mind adjusted to his intruding, delicious expense before he began in earnest.
“I want you so much,” he moaned softly. “I can hardly keep my hands off of you when we’re close.”
“Or your cock in your pants,” I giggled softly, loving, wanting, just as desperate for him to be inside me, where we were as one, and bring me off when he came, spewing, squirting his love juice inside me while mine spurted out in front, giving us both the emotional relief we both enjoyed so much. When he came, I could feel the large head on his cock swell, subside a little, and swell again each time he spumed his offering during orgasm into me.
I needed a quick trip to the bathroom to rid myself of the viscous liquid in my bowels and wipe myself clean. I couldn’t ride home with my underwear sticking to my shorts that’s for certain. Well, maybe not so certain considering it had happened before and would probably happen again if I had nothing to clean myself up with.
Terrance was very upbeat, positive, and appeared to have “grown” since earlier in the day when I arrived at home. He’d seemed so young, yet so brave cuddled in my lap at Malachi’s before he left for home with Dad.
“What’s with Terrance,” I asked Seth as we stripped for bed that night. Terrance was well crapped out, sound asleep down the hall in the “dormitory” so there was no danger of him hearing me. God, he did sleep sound, especially after he’s had a busy day and today had been one of his busiest.
Seth smiled, gave a knowing nod, “I think he and Dad had a visit about what happened today. After supper, I lost track of them and noticed he and Dad walking up from the lake, Dad’s arm around him, and Terrance leaning into him.”
Knowing Dad, as we all did, he probably maneuvered Terrance to the end of the dock, his favorite place for a “little chit-chat.” I’m certain he gave Terrance the boast of support and confidence he needed; acknowledging his love, support, and confidence in his abilities to do whatever he thought he could, maintaining his own goals and standards. Above all, speak for and defend those who cannot or will not do so for themselves.
All of us were “guests” of Dad’s on the end of the dock, trout fishing, or splitting wood where he took the opportunity to impart knowledge, perhaps give some direction, show his love, and have a serious conversation concerning whatever it might be bothering us. It was on a trout fishing trip back in our own woods, hitting our favorite trout stream, I first came out to Dad. I knew if I could do it with him, I could do it with Mom, my brothers, and anyone else. Not that he’d throw a fit or toss me out, I just wanted him to be the first person I told.
Surprisingly, he just nodded his head, gave a quick snap of his rod, and hooked a nice trout. As he unhooked it, he looked up at me and smiled. “Scooter, you marry who you love and who you love is your choice and not Mom and mine. You’re my oldest son and nothing will change. My only advice is, don’t fall in love with a straight guy, it’ll hurt something terrible if Grandpa Parker was right, and I have no doubt.”
I’m so lucky!
Grandpa Parker would take those same times with Dad, when Dad was growing up and later with me, to have those same sorts of talks with Dad. They were never lectures, just conversations between parent and child, grandparent and grandson, and friend, one older the other younger. Grandpa always claimed it was harder to walk away from someone when the fish are biting, you’re in the midst of splitting wood, or enjoying the lake. I can’t think of any reason why any of us would ever want to walk away from him or Dad. There were times such as those Dad and Grandpa felt it was better to discuss things privately, without strong emotional outbursts and anger in a more relaxed and neutral situation. The woods, the streams, the lake, and the wood pile all served their purposes and I suppose they always will.
Grandpa Parker’s reaction wasn’t so dissimilar from Dad’s, only Grandpa just winked and smiled. He approved of me whether straight, gay, bisexual, black, white, or multi-racial. There are times I do miss him so, and it was after the incident with Mrs. Taylor, after I’d gone to bed, laying there trying to sleep, I wished he was here physically instead of in spirit.
It was on the end of the dock, after Grandpa died, I told Dad about meeting Uncle Grant. Dad didn’t debunk what I said I’d seen and heard, send me to a shrink to check me for mental problems (which I have in some sort or the other since no one is ever quite “normal.” We all have our little foibles or idiosyncrasies that make us different from others.), or run to Mom declaring I was clairvoyant. Nope, he just listened, nodded his head, and accepted it.
The school year for Malachi and me started out well. Terrance, The Minx, became known as “Captain” among his school mates thanks to Scott who gave a very abbreviated version of the confrontation at Cayden’s Cottages and a longer, somewhat creative narrative of Terrance’s encounter with “some unruly individuals who showed up at the resort.” Scott and none of the rest of us went into any further detail and no one asked.
Malachi’s first and last year, since he was a transfer in, at Rockville, was somewhat disappointing for him since there was a limited fine arts program. We had band, no orchestra, so I was enrolled in it; Malachi didn’t play an instrument, but could sing, so he signed up for and enjoyed, choir. There was no dance programs or studios, but we had an excellent art program and he enrolled in a couple. He enjoyed oils, graphite, and watercolors, as well as photography. In order to keep up his dance skills, his Uncle Dave installed some large full-length mirrors in a vacant storage room just off of the resort office downstairs for Malachi to use as a practice studio. I loved to sit down there on the floor and watch him. When he dressed in his practice clothes, he looked sexy as hell and afterwards we’d practice a couple of other things, together.
I don’t know if others found their senior year of high school as wonderful as I did mine. Already filled with excitement, ready to complete my final year of study at Rockville High, I turned almost insanely giddy as Malachi and I exited my pickup truck, parked in the student parking lot shortly after we arrived at school, he presented me with an engagement bracelet; a bracelet he’d designed and had a jeweler in Madison, who’d been recommended by Dad, fashion for him. It was elegant in its silver simplicity with two small blue sapphires set side by side, resting and joined together by a gold thread, in a heart-shaped Mother-of-Pearl mount. It was and is, just beautiful. Engraved on the back “When 2 hearts are one. Josiah and Malachi.”
My arms wrapped around him, we brought our lips together, right there in the parking lot not caring who saw us or what they said. So warm, so soft, so inviting, his kiss bespoke of the intense love he had for me, the unending, never wavering guardian of my physical being and my soul, and, by my returning the kiss, of my love and devotion to him.
He officially asked if I would marry him, if I didn’t mind marrying someone of Gypsy or Romani heritage. I shouted “yes” if he didn’t mind marrying a multi-racial male of African-American-Asian heritage. I fear I spent the rest of day alternating between giggles of joy and tears of happiness. Once other kids and teachers saw the bracelet, they understood. Of course, there were those who didn’t feel the way we did about same sex marriage, but that was their problem, not ours. We knew we were blessed to have parents such as mine and his Uncle Dave and Uncle Cayden, who accepted gay marriage (duh, Uncle Dave and Uncle Cayden aren’t exactly straight). It’s not the case with many LGBTQ teens; perhaps someday when the right-wing conservative religious people realize we should enjoy the same rights and privileges as they do, things will change. Until then, we’ll just have to accept the challenges, work toward change, and meet life together.
The resort season was slowly readying to wind down. Cayden’s Cottages would close October 15 this year, with the last guests leaving on the 13th, a Saturday. So far, the weather had been favorable with no deep freezes (several frosts however) or snows to hinder the operation of preparing the cottages for winter. It takes a couple of days for Malachi’s Uncles Dave and Cayden to winterize the facility. Some of the work, the entire water system and plumbing for example, was completed by outside or local people. The rest of the work, putting things away, winterizing and storing motors, storing the boats and other equipment, they did themselves. The two employees they had working for them part-time helped in general cleaning and covering furniture and appliances with drop cloths to keep dust and dirt off.
September was also homecoming at Rockville High. A dance would follow the football game, after a week of pep rallies, dress-up days, spirit day, a parade, and other activities. Tickets for the dance were sold on individual basis, with no discount for couples, Just as well, since I wasn’t too certain how the administration would view a same-sex couple at a dance. Dad tried to assure me all would be well, but since I’m naturally skeptical, I had my doubts. It wasn’t the issue concerning same-sex couples causing us distress at the dance, however.
Malachi bought our tickets and we made plans to attend. Seth had his eye on one of the girls in his class and planned to ask her to go with him. All went well until the Wednesday before the Friday night dance. Seth was quiet ever since Sunday and I figured there was something bothering him. Wednesday night, after we’d turned in, Seth left his bed, and crawled in with me. He snuggled up tight, wrapped his arms around me, and let a small, but anguished sob.
“Hey, Brother,” I inquired, “something happen you need to talk about?
I felt him nod.
“Spit it out and see if we can’t find a solution.”
“She won’t go with me to the dance.”
“Why?”
“She said her dad said she can’t date a nigger.”
To be continued:
***
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Nick Hall
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional content.
Authors Note:
I offer my apologies to those of “Romani,” “Roma,” or Gypsy heritage if I’ve used an inaccurate description or misused the language in the quotes I used. My personal experience, although limited compared to others, was positive and enjoyable. Neighbors and dear friends of mine when growing up were, in the vernacular of the day, “Gypsies” and I so enjoyed them. Later in life, when I worked carnivals, I encountered many of “Gypsy” heritage and ethnicity, and my opinion changed not. As a group, they were so fun to be around, teaching me much, and sharing with me even though I was a Gaje, non-Gypsy. My use of the language in this story (and future chapters) come from my memory and I fear the spelling or exact interpretation may need some work, but it’s about the best I can conjure up at this time. Time does play tricks on memory as we grow older. Thus I hope I’ve given you an honorable impression of a noble people and hope it continues as this novel carries forward.
Many thanks for your understanding,
Nick Hall
The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.
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