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* "NEW TO LOVE" *
* (part 1) *
* by Vince Water 12/02 *
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| Copyright 2002-2006 by Vince Water Corrected 3/06 |
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This is a story about Mike Yager who falls in love with a Native American
named Jesse. They must overcome the difficulties of cultural differences
(White versus Indian), gay prejudice and try to seek acceptance to their
relationship that just felt right. Gay love can be found even in the
smallest of towns where it lies hidden until awakened. This happens
between these two young men who are new to love.
I glance at the clock above the chalkboard and see that there's ten
minutes left of class. I'm relieved. As much as I enjoy teaching, these
two hour sessions can be grueling for me. Especially when my students
are older adults who don't take to computers like a duck to water. They
are more disciplined than the kids I've taught. 'Computer Camp' comes to
mind, a disastrous class of thirty 'gifted students' ranging in age from
eleven to fourteen. We didn't have enough computers to go around so two
or three kids would share one. Not a good idea. The bored students would
throw paper balls at each other, shout across the room or whine about
not getting their turn at the computer. I spent most of my time with
crowd control than with actual teaching.
I've never taught kids again. This evening class consists of ten
adults, most new to computers who have come to learn Microsoft Word.
I like that program. It's universally used by many Windows users. Just
a lot of functions that need to be learned. My students use it at work
or want to write letters on their home computers. We meet three times a
week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It's a non-credit course. I'm
showing them how to use the spell checker right now. I chalk out the
sequences they'll need to click on their computers.
I turn to my students. "Okay. Follow these steps to do it." I'm
wandering around the room to help anyone who gets stuck. The hard part
for them is deciding which boxes need to be clicked.
"Excuse me, Mr. Yager. The word it chose isn't the right one."
I lean closer to Mrs. Winnapah to see the list of suggested words on
her screen. "It thinks 'tats' is the correct suggestion but we both know
that the word should be 'test' so click it." She does. I don't see her
clicking the 'Change' box so I point that out on her screen.
"Click that?" she asks.
"Yes." Mrs. Winnapah is one of my slower students. She's still afraid
to do things on the computer and I'm often at her side to help. I think
she's in my class because her job requires her to learn this program.
Something to do with secretarial work, if I recall.
The Indian woman nods her head and smiles at me. The correction has
been made. "Now click that box - the 'OK' because it says that the
spelling check of your document is completed".
A man sitting nearby asks, "Why doesn't the computer automatically
correct words?"
"That's a good question." I've raised my voice to address all of my
students. "MS-Word will automatically correct common spelling mistakes.
If you're out of spell checker, type: 'Teh' and press the spacebar."
I watch Mr. Kent two-finger type those letters. After he does, the
word 'The' appears. I address my class again.
"Did you see what happened? Typing 'Teh' was automatically changed to
the word 'The'. That's a simple correction. Other words like 'tast' that
we purposely typed wrong had too many possibilities for automatic
correction so that's why we used the spell checker. The suggestion from
the computer was wrong but the second word below it, 'test' was correct.
After you clicked that word, it replaced the misspelled one in your text."
I look at the clock and clap my hands once. "Okay. Let's exit Word
and shut down your computers. We'll meet again on Monday." I wander
around the room to make sure that everyone exits Windows and that their
monitors have been turned off.
I return to Mrs. Winnapah's side to make sure she has shut down the
computer. She has. I nod my head to assure her that she did it right.
"You're learning it."
"Slowly... There's so much to remember with these computers."
"That's why you keep notes. Practice at home and soon it will become
easier for you." The woman's lips form a grimace.
"I don't own a computer."
"Are you learning this program for use at work?" The Indian woman
nods her head. "Try to practice there, after hours if you can."
Mrs. Winnapah gets up and pushes her chair into the computer station.
Her long hair dances over her shoulders. She is a short lady, and plump.
I feel pity for her. It's hard to learn a required skill for her job and
not have a computer at home to practice on. She's probably under a lot
of pressure from her boss to get up to speed.
I erase the chalkboard. At the door, the lights are turned off and I
lock the classroom. I'm relieved that it's Friday night. Not to party;
I'm too new to this town to hang with friends (don't have any yet) and
other than the bars (not my kind of scene), it's pretty dead at night.
Miss Owens waves at me from down the hall. She's talking with someone
I don't know so I pass them with only a casual greeting. She hired me to
teach this class. It's a community college that serves this town. The
only one around for miles. I do it mostly out of fun; I like to teach.
I'm hoping that Miss Owens will assign me more computer classes but I
don't know if there's much demand for it. This is horse country.
I walk to my motorcycle. It's a warm night for April, a clear sky
filled with stars that lifts my heart. But only for a moment. I'm a
pretty lonely guy with no chance to find someone around these parts.
I don't like girls. I've hidden that part of myself from everyone so
there won't be any trouble. No sense in making it known that I'm gay.
The ride back to my trailer is a dark one. I breathe in the Spring
smells that awakens something in my heart. I'm tempted to make a trip to
Great Falls this weekend. It's only ninety miles away. That's where I
flew in last December from Gary, Indiana - my childhood home. The sandy
flats I'm familiar with has been replaced with tall mountains and the
rolling grass prairies of Montana. They have trailer parks here like
back at home. I'm renting one through the summer.
Of all the places to visit in these United States, I chose Havre.
It had been on a whim. Montana has a number of Indian reservations to
explore and that's why I came. I'm part Indian on my mother's side. Only
an eighth though most of me is German from my father. I've always been
fascinated by Native cultures, at least what it had been hundreds of
years ago that's often romanticized in books. As a boy, I enjoyed looking
at pictures of half-naked Indians riding painted horses to hunt and make
battle. I've had sexual fantasies about them: getting ravaged by a
handsome Indian warrior that's led to love.
A visit to the Rocky Boys Indian Reservation shattered that dream.
It's a wasteland of run-down shacks and trailers, ranches, old pickup
trucks (everyone has a pickup truck or jeep) and most Indian men I found
were getting drunk in a bar. There are no good jobs to be found so they
get money from the U.S. Government. I see the loss of spirit and freedom
in their faces. A shadow of the once proud people that they were.
I found a museum on the Blackfoot but it was closed. The gift store
too because of winter. There will be powwows during the summer. I look
forward to attending one and it's my hope that I'll meet someone.
I park my motorcycle near the door to my trailer. A Winnebago. It's a
name similar to that Indian lady in my class. After unlocking the door,
I cast off my good clothes (worn only when I teach) and lay naked over
my bed. I'm not feeling up to beating off. Teaching takes a lot out of me.
At least it gives me contact with people. I've been feeling pretty lonely.
Oh, what am I doing here?
I've left behind a good computer job in Indianapolis. I was part of a
software development team coding educational programs for kids. I'm
drawing Royalties from a few titles I did on my own. That's allowed my
wander lust to be indulged and I thought Montana would be a good place
to explore. A break from my 9 to 5 job (I've often worked late into the
night to meet deadlines). I've burned out from the stress.
I'm getting lots of rest now. Other than that one class, my days are
free. I've ridden my motorcycle all over these parts to take in the
scenery: the tall mountains, creeks and endless prairies. I love nature.
I've hiked lots of trails and done some horseback riding. They do that
Western style out here with a horned saddle; I was taught to ride English
where you post to your horse's strides (butt raised slightly off the
saddle with legs bending up and down to keep your balance).
Once, when I was allowed to ride unguided, my horse sprang an erection
that I curiously handled. Their cocks can get very long. Mine couldn't
cum because he'd been gelded. Not from the lack of trying. I pulled over
his dong and even dared to suck on his knob. A naked horse reminds me
of what I like about Indians: their natural wildness and freedom. In the
three months I've been here, there's been a lot of cute long-haired guys
to look at but none who've given me the eye. Those I've tried striking up
a conversation with had been unfriendly, even hostile. I suppose that's
because I'm a White man in their eyes and this is Their land. Too much
bad history between us.
Why am I attracted to Indians? I suppose it's because they're dark
skinned, have smooth bodies and long black hair. My interest in them had
been awakened from reading children's books depicting half-naked warriors.
I knew that I was gay at a young age but kept it a secret. I've never
done anything sexual with anyone. I'm not counting that time in second
grade when a boy named Gordon tried things with me in the bathroom. We
rubbed our stiffs together and sat on each other's butt.
I feel my cock getting hard. I'm not a boy anymore but a man with
needs. I could return to Hogeland and do some more riding, get that same
gelding and play with him some more. But you can't hug a horse and kiss
him like a lover and that's what I'm yearning for. To be with a man.
I pull the blanket over my head and turn onto my right side. My cock
is pushed down between my thighs and rubbed. That's how I get off. I
imagine being with an Indian man who holds me close, his dark eyes
staring into mine with fierce love to express what's in our hearts.
It's a nice dream. I need to find a way of making that happen.
Saturday is spent with me doing a bunch of things: laundry, buying
groceries, writing Easter cards to family sent via snail mail and I
helped a new neighbor foundate his trailer. They're an old couple who
plan to summer here. Can't imagine why. Yellow Stone would prove a
better vacation spot but park fees can be expensive. I wasn't offered
any money for my help and wouldn't have accepted but it makes me think
they've fallen on hard times. Their trailer was pretty beat up. A big
gouge in its rear right corner hadn't been fixed. Their truck is old. I
think that their retirement travels through Canada and the U.S. has
wound down and they're stuck here. 'Havre Cottage and Trailer Park' will
likely be their grave site, both for their trailer and themselves.
I watch some classic b&w movies on television until late into the
night. It helps lift my spirits until I get in bed alone. I'm far from
friends, familiar hang outs and a demanding work load that had turned
the blur of passing weeks into months. I hate to admit but I miss that.
My computer work was a crutch though. It kept me from really looking at
myself, the sadness and lack of fulfillment that I'd been suffering.
Sunday morning comes. I'm up late and moping around the trailer until
it's an hour after noon. I throw on some clothes and brave the chill of
a wet and windy day. That's April for you.
After getting gas for my motorcycle, I discover that the chain is too
loose. It's already on the tightest setting. I'd bought this bike shortly
after flying into Great Falls. A cheap used bike. It's proving to be a
bad purchase because things keep needing to be fixed on it. I'm on first
name basis with everyone at Roy's Motorcycles. I head there right from
the gas station so that they can get it taken care of. I've a class to
teach tomorrow night. Too far for me to walk and I'd hate to call up
Miss Owens to ask for a ride because she'd be only to happy to give me
one. Oh, the terror an unmarried woman can bring to guys like me. She's
been giving me hints to ask her out on a date. Uhg!
The head mechanic named Pete tells me they don't have the chain my
bike needs in stock. Running Water offers to drive me into the next town
to get one. I'm glad because he's a good looking Indian. We take off in
his new red pickup, a Ford. The man hardly utters a word even when I
try striking up a conversation about the weather, Havre, the mountains,
repairing motorcycles and anything else. I've learned not to talk about
the subject closest to my heart - Indians. That's simply not discussed
between a white guy and Them.
Running Water is actually friendlier than most Native Americans I've
met. His face isn't taunt. No raising of shoulders nor that blank stare
I usually see when I'm within two feet of an Indian. I'm careful not to
stare at him too much. He wears his hair long and loose. Turquoise
jewelry is in evidence around his neck, both wrists (silver bracers)
and in a ring worn on his left pinky finger. Even his belt buckle is
adorned with that blue stone. I look lower for the outline of his cock
in his jeans but am disappointed.
I'm often glancing at his crotch but force myself to stop looking
before he catches me. He's in his mid-thirties. A good looking man.
Very slim. A lot of Indians have become fat from enjoying White people
food like hamburgers and fries too much.
We arrive at a bike shop in Chinook. Running Water comes in with me
when I purchase the chain. He converses with another Indian for a moment.
I'm not surprised that he doesn't introduce me. Is that man his father?
We head back to Havre. I peer out my window at the rolling landscape of
grass blowing in the wind. Just thirty miles to the north is Canada. When
I rode that gelding out of Hogeland, we passed over the unguarded border
and it was the first time I've ever been out of the United States.
"What's brought you to Havre?" asks Running Water.
I'm momentarily startled by his initiative in conversation. "I needed
to take a break from my job in Indianapolis."
"What's that?"
"I write computer programs for kids. I'm teaching a class at your
community college." Running Water looks at me. It's the first time that
we've had good eye contact.
"My aunt is taking a computer class there."
"Is it for Microsoft Word?"
"I don't know. She needs to learn how to type letters on their
computer at work."
"That's probably my class. Mrs. Winnapah is one of my students."
"She's my aunt."
Running Water looks at me again. I have to drop my eyes for some
reason. "She's a good student," I blurt out. "I'll do my best to have her
learn that program."
I think he's nodded but I'm not sure. His arms draw my attention when
pulling over his steering wheel during a turn. They seem unusually long.
I look down at his legs. When we walked into that bike shop in Chinook,
he stood a little taller than me which had come as a surprise because
there's not much to his body in the middle. He's kinda like a scarecrow
with long sticks for arms and legs.
Running Water remains quiet. I've been trying to come up with something
to say, just to hear his voice. Indians are a soft spoken people. I love
hearing their accent when they speak.
The tiny hairs lift at the back of my neck. I get the feeling that
he's been watching me through the side of his eyes. He's attentive to
driving but I am being studied. What does he think about me? There's
also a peculiar air to him, like a throw back to earlier days when
Indians were strong and proud. He wears the clothes of a White man.
Inside, he is all Indian. Not the modern kind.
We return to Roy's Motorcycles. I hand Running Water the bike chain
with a twenty dollar bill held against it. He gives me a look. The kind
of Look I've often seen from an Indian when I act or say something stupid.
"To pay for the gas," I explain. He takes the bill and I'm startled
when my shoulder is grasped.
"My aunt told me that you are a fine teacher. Very patient."
I peer into Running Water's dark eyes. "Thanks... for helping me get
the chain. I'll be able to drive to class tomorrow night and I will tell
your aunt that we've met." He nods. I'm following him into the garage
where he hands Pete my new bike chain. Nearly an hour later, my
motorcycle is ready. I didn't catch sight of my new Indian friend during
any of that time.
I chalk out the sequence to highlighting text in MS-Word on the board.
"Anchor your mouse at the beginning of a paragraph to be marked. You do
that by holding down your left click button. Drag your mouse over the
text until it's all blue then let go of that button."
I watch my students perform the operation. When most of them turn to
me, I continue. "That's what you do first before the next step. I'm
going to show you how to cut that marked text and paste it to another
part of your document."
I'm wandering around the computer stations to be sure that everyone
has highlighted the paragraph in the example document they've loaded
from disk. Mrs. Winnapah is having trouble with getting part of the last
sentence marked. Before I'm able to help her with it, her son tells her
something in an Indian language. She moves her mouse over the pad, clicks,
and the paragraph becomes highlighted. "That's right."
I smile at her boy. He averts his eyes from me and tries to act like
he's not there. Invisible. I've been watching him all during class to
determine his age and I simply enjoy looking at him. I think he's in his
late teens. His hair is long. And just like I've seen with Running Water,
the length to this boy's arms and legs stretch out further than what I
would expect. He's thin. What's often caught my attention are the strong
emotions on his face. Very unusual to see that in an Indian.
The last half hour of class is spent showing how a marked text can be
cut, copied, put to bold, underlined, italics and have its font and size
changed. I'm often at Mrs. Winnapah's side to see if she needs any help.
Her son gets her to do it right. I praise the boy often but he slinks
back into himself whenever I'm near.
When class ends, my students close down their computers and file out
of the room. Everyone that is except Mrs. Winnapah and her boy.
"Mr. Yager, I apologize for being late today." She turns to her son.
"This is Jesse. I hope you don't mind that I've brought him to class."
"Not at all!" I offer Jesse my right hand but he doesn't take it. My
hand slowly lowers to my side so my rejection won't be that noticeable.
"I'll try not to let it happen again," whispers Mrs. Winnapah.
"I don't mind. Really. You can bring him to class anytime you want.
He seems to know a lot about computers." Jesse lifts his eyes and I
smile at him. My heart leaps into my throat. He smiled back.
I quickly collect my things, foregoing the erasing of my instructions
from the blackboard so that I can follow them out of the room. They wait
for me to lock the door.
We walk out to the parking lot together. We reach my motorcycle and
Jesse circles around it. I tell him that it's a Honda 440. He stands
before the headlight and taps on it.
"That's my eye in the dark," I joke. Jesse doesn't respond so I turn
my key in the ignition. The headlight casts its beam over him. He laughs.
Jesse glows like an angel with his face as bright as the sun. I'm
stunned for a moment by his loveliness. Longing fills my heart for him.
"Come here Jesse."
I put on my helmet and wait until her son has moved out of the way
before turning the ignition key. The engine doesn't start. Oh, I didn't
unlock the kill switch.
"It won't start?" asks Mrs. Winnapah.
I'm about to explain the reason for that when an idea strikes me.
"No. I had it in the shop yesterday but it seems that they didn't fix
the problem."
"I can give you a ride."
"Thank you." I get off my bike and remove my helmet. Jesse grabs my
satchel. He hands it to me and our fingers brush for a moment. The effect
is electric. Why am I feeling this strong for a kid I don't even know?
His face. I remember how he smiled at me back at the classroom. Never
has any Indian shown me such warmth.
"Where are you staying?"
I'm taken from my thoughts and stare at Mrs. Winnapah, trying to
recall what she's just asked me. "Havre Cottage and Trailer Park," I
blurt out.
"We only live down the road from you. Are you with family?"
"No. I'm there by myself." Jesse starts heading towards a pickup
truck in the lot. Mrs. Winnapah walks at my side, slightly behind me
when we go to join her son.
The truck comes into view. It's too dark to make out its color or
make. Probably a Ford. That's what most of the Indians are driving. I
stand by Jesse and wait for his mother to get in. There's no rear seat.
When Mrs. Winnapah opens the door on our side, the boy scoots over but
it doesn't leave much room for me to sit.
"Put your left foot over here," Mrs. Winnapah asks her son.
Jesse moves closer to his mother and that's when I notice the stick
shift. He has it between his legs. I close the door and after dropping
my helmet and leather satchel at my feet, I look for the seat belt.
"It doesn't work."
I fold my hands in my lap. Jesse is pressed against me with our arms
touching. I'm wearing a long sleeved shirt. I would have liked to feel
his bare skin against mine.
Mrs. Winnapah starts the engine. She reaches between her son's knees
to put her truck in gear. I catch Jesse looking at me. It's too dark to
see his face but I stare back, feeling the seeking of our eyes to find
each other. The longing in my heart grows to a sweet aching for him.
Headlights reflecting in her center mirror draws my attention. There's
an object hanging down from it: round and netted like a basketball hoop.
Two feathers are strung to it by a thong. They sway this way and that
each time she makes a turn.
Jesse drives his knee into my left leg each time his mother has to
change gears. It's becoming annoying.
"Stop that, Jesse!" the woman scolds. "Try to be still."
He keeps doing it. Why is he trying to make his mother mad at him? I
grasp his knee and hold it next to my leg, away from the gear shift.
That solves the problem. I'm enjoying the warmth of his body. It's giving
me an erection.
Mrs. Winnapah clears her throat. "My nephew told me that your
motorcycle needed a new chain."
"Yes. Running Water helped me get one in Chinook." Fear pierces my
heart. If she tells him what I'd said about my bike not getting fixed
right, they may discover my lie. This was a stupid plan! I only wanted
to spend a little more time with Jesse.
Mrs. Winnapah drives through the entrance of my trailer park and I
direct her along the maze of roads to where I'm staying. "It's there."
She stops her pickup near my door.
"That was Mr. Earlman's place," she whispers.
"He died there," Jesse adds.
Goose bumps rise over my body. Someone died in my trailer? I realize
that Jesse has spoken some words in English. My helmet and satchel is
taken from the floor and I push on the door. "Thank you. You've been
very kind for giving me a ride. I don't know how I could have made it
home without your help." I'm half way out of my seat, lingering for a
moment to look at Jesse one last time. What a cute Indian brave. Our
eyes meet.
"Goodnight, Mike."
"Goodnight Jesse, Mrs. Winnapah." I can't get myself to turn away
from the boy. There's pleading seen in his eyes. He turns to his mom.
"You can come over for dinner tomorrow night," offers Mrs. Winnapah.
"I'd like that." Jesse says something to his mom. I can't follow his
Indian words but they're nice to listen to. My longing grows for him.
Mrs. Winnapah speaks to her son. "Ahn, Jes-ee-ah. Eep-ta-ma-ah."
The woman has reverted to speaking in Indian. Then she addresses me.
"You can come over at 6:15, Mr. Yager."
"Please call me Mike."
"We live at 219 Winding Creek Road. That's a handful of houses past
the entrance to your trailer park. You'd turn right."
"219. I'll be there. Again, Thank you." I'm slipping out the door and
Jesse scoots over to where I was sitting. He peers out the window at me
and I wave back at him.
Their brown pickup turns around and I watch them speed off. My chest
tightens with longing. I notice that my breaths are trembling. Is this
what it feels like to fall in love? I'm fumbling to unlock the door to my
trailer. My head fills with troubling thoughts that has me scolding myself.
'You can't be with that kid! He's at least ten years younger and they'd
kill me if I touch him!' Images of getting scalped comes to mind.
No lights are turned on. I'm feeling lonely; lost. My good clothes
are removed and I lie in bed for a long time thinking about Jesse. My
hand grasps my cock but it's not hard. I can't get myself to think about
him that way. Not that I wouldn't want to jump his bones. No. I'm feeling
pain in my heart because we can't be together in a way I'd like. He
probably isn't gay. And even if he were, we just couldn't!
I'm staring at the ceiling for a long time thinking about the sweet
possibilities of him and me. I don't remember the moment when I finally
managed to fall asleep.
I awaken from a strange dream. It's already fading but I recall seeing
an Indian face. He looked like the man Running Water was talking to at
that bike shop in Chinook, but older. I sit up in a rush. A cold chill
goes down my spine when I remember the strange part. He had spoken an
Indian word to me and smiled!
After breakfast, I tidy up the place. My good clothes are hung up to
air over a rope I've tied between the walls near my bed. I wander around
the trailer, opening every drawer as if looking for something. Most are
empty or contain things I have placed there. I search the closet. Nothing.
Then I recall what Jesse had said about Mr. Earlman.
My eyes close when I concentrate on quieting my thoughts. It's silent.
Not even the sound of traffic. My foot digs under a fold of carpet against
the wall. I feel something cold against my big toe.
I'm kneeling down so that I can pull the carpet up to see what it is.
Something round. My fingers close on it and to my astonishment, I discover
that it's a silver ring set with a rough black stone. There are no
markings within the band. I try slipping it on my right pointing finger
and it fits.
I stretch out my hand to admire the ring. What kind of stone is that?
It's not been faceted so this can't be a precious gem. Light seems to go
through it, like a dark teardrop. Did this belong to that man who died?
I consider taking the ring off. I'm pulling but it's tight around my
finger so I leave it on. This was meant for me, I fancy. That's why I
was searching the trailer to find it. An eerie feeling goes through me.
I fetch my black zippered bag from the closet and remove my laptop
from it. The power supply is plugged into an extension cord I've snaked
to an outlet from the bathroom. The electricity near my bed doesn't work.
I connect the telephone line to the modem port and turn the computer on.
I sigh with anticipation. When the screen activates with the familiar
colored flying squares and a running row of blue dots, I feel that I've
come home.
My email is checked. There are some messages to answer from family and
friends. I do so. Dianne has three messages for me. The subject lines
hint about a programming contract. I'm groaning. I had taken extended
leave from her division to recharge my batteries. It's been barely four
months and already she wants me to return to work!
I review Dianne's proposal. She acknowledges that I'm on vacation but
asks if I could code some voice recognition modules to a new software
title they're working on. That's my specialty. The 'Read and Say' series
have been selling well in the kid's educational market. I'm feeling drawn
to working on this new one. I click the 'reply' button.
My fingers relax over the keyboard when I consider taking the plunge.
Even though I could work on code here and upload it to the office, that
would utterly consume every waking hour of my life. That's how I do
things. I'd be ordering out for food with pizza boxes and empty cola
bottles piling up at my door. I wouldn't be leaving the trailer except to
teach class, begrudging even those few hours lost from writing code.
I stare at the ring on my finger, the black teardrop. It reminds me
that life passes too quickly. That's why I left Indianapolis to escape
the relentless demands as a computer programmer so that I could address
my own needs - to find happiness. Jesse comes to mind.
After a moment of struggle within me, I watch my ring finger moving
across the glide pad until the 'Cancel' box lights up. It's soundly
tapped. I won't give Dianne a reply. Done. An aching fills my heart for
Jesse. Even though I don't know if anything could develop between us,
I need to give it a chance.
My laptop is closed down and returned to its bag.
I'm feeling the need to get away. A long ride on my motorcycle will
help pass the time before dinner tonight. An excitement fills me. I'll
be seeing Jesse tonight!
When pulling on a pair of jeans, I realize that my bike has been left
at the community college. Too far for me to walk. I'm stuck here. The
black bag containing my laptop catches my eye. I grab it, walking with
it the closet so that I won't be tempted back into my old life.
I turn on the television. It's a new Sony 14" that I picked up at
Wal-Mart. It didn't surprise me to find one in this small town. They
even have a McDonald's and a Burger King.
I'm flipping through the few channels. I don't have cable. A Canadian
program catches my eye and I watch it through. Some kind of investigative
series on acid rain that had me frowning when blame for their loss of
trees and fish stock was placed squarely on the U.S. because of our
millions of cars and industrial releases into the air that has gone
unchecked. Good propaganda. I know what they've said is true but what
can you do about it? Hey, we're the U.S. of A.
I don't find anything else good to watch. The clock over my television
reads 12:48pm. More than six hours to go. What can I do to pass the time?
I clean up my trailer. There's no vacuum cleaner for the carpets so
I'm sweeping the three months of accumulated dust over a piece of
cardboard. I'll have to remember to stop by Wal-Mart to get one. I'm
going to be staying here for another two months before returning to work.
The dishes are put away. I wipe down the stove and countertops. Stuff
scattered about are either put into a garbage bag or tossed into drawers.
This trailer has lots of empty drawers.
When I'm done straightening the place, I feel a bit sleepy. My jeans
are pulled off. I'm getting into bed and as an after thought, my underwear
is also removed. I toss it to the floor.
My hand goes to my cock. It's limp so I pull over it to get myself
hard. I'm trying not think about Jesse sexually. That wouldn't seem right
because I don't want to demean my deep feelings for him with lust. Hmm.
How would he look like naked, I wonder? He's a slim brown-skinned Indian
with long black hair. I'm not sure about his age. Could he be as old as
twenty? He acts like a kid though. There's something odd about him that I
can't put my finger on. I've not heard him talk much. Not in English,
anyway. He has a soft voice and I try picturing his face in my head.
Like most of the Blackfoot Indians around these parts, Jesse has a
nice oval face. Black eyes. A younger version of his uncle but he
expresses his emotions. That's what surprised me. I remember his smile
most of all and the way he looked into my eyes. He spoke my first name.
My head shakes angrily. Am I reading too much from him? He likely doesn't
feel the same way for me as I do. With his mother guarding him, there's
no chance to see if maybe he does. We also come from very different
cultures. There's the age difference. God! This is a hopeless situation.
I've not been able to get my dick hard. The blanket is drawn up to my
chin and I cover my face with a pillow to keep out the daylight. I am
feeling weary. Thoughts are chased out of my head that allows me to
eventually fall asleep.
I'm awakened by loud pounding at the door. Who can that be? A quick
glance at my clock shows that it's 4:26pm. My blanket is pushed away. I
don't bother with underwear when I pull my jeans on. Where's a shirt?!
More pounding. I rush half-naked to the door and open it.
It's Running Water. A cold draft blows past me so I fold my arms over
my chest, also to cover myself from the man's sight. He looks at me for
a moment but drops his eyes.
"Hi," I mutter embarrassingly.
"Hello. I'm sorry if I've disturbed you. Jesse said that your
motorcycle broke down at the college. I can give you a ride there."
"Thank you." Worry fills me that he may discover that I'd lied about
it not starting. "Can you give me a moment?" The Indian goes back to his
pickup truck.
I rush to a drawer and find socks and a shirt to put on. I'm trying to
come up with a convincing story about my motorcycle but nothing good
comes to mind. I can't let him bring it to the shop. They'll find out.
My gym shoes are pulled on. I see my underwear lying on the floor but
it's too late to wear it. The truck is started. I fly through the door
and nearly forget to lock it.
The Indian doesn't say a word all the way to the community college.
I've kept my eyes from him. During our trip, I can't think up a convincing
story to explain why my motorcycle didn't start last night. What am I
going to tell him?
Running Water parks in front of my bike. He gets some rope from the
back of his truck but I'm already unlocking the engine lock, turning the
key in the ignition and it starts. The Indian shakes his head.
"Maybe the carburetor flooded with gas last night or something..."
Running Water throws the rope back into the back of his pickup. I
wave my thanks to him. To my dismay, he follows me back to the trailer
park. I've been keeping my speed slow because I'd left my helmet behind.
My eyes tear from the wind.
When we reach my trailer, I get off my bike and see Running Water
getting out of his truck. He gives my motorcycle a careful inspection.
All the bared wiring is checked, the spark plugs and he fiddles with the
carburetor. I hope that he doesn't notice the engine lock!
Running Water checks the tension in the bike chain. At that moment,
my motorcycle starts to fall and I rush to grab it. He helps me get it
back up. "The kick stand is weak," I explain. That's always been a problem
so I bend over to straighten it out. My loose jeans start to drop. I'm
having to use both hands on the kick stand and can't pull them up.
The motorcycle is set down and it holds. I stand up. My jeans fall to
my ankles and I'm quickly pulling them back up. I'm sure that the Indian
had seen my butt. I look around to see if anyone else was watching.
With a burning face, I turn to Running Water. He was smiling. "Thanks
for helping. Ah. Do you want to come inside for a cup of coffee?"
"No."
There was a brief flash of fear on the Indian's face. Does he know
that I'm gay?! It could be something else so I'll test him. "Your aunt
told me that this was Mr. Earlman's place. Jesse said he died here."
Running Water nods. He keeps his face plain of emotion.
I hate that when people hide their feelings. "I'm not afraid of
ghosts." Some boldness comes into me. "I think that I felt his presence
this morning. He wanted me to find this ring." I show the Indian my right
pointing finger with a grin.
"You can't wear that!"
I see fear on Running Water's face again. He angrily thrusts his hand
out so I pull the silver ring from my finger and drop it into his palm.
"Was it his?"
"Yes." He examines the ring closely.
"Please tell me what's going on!" Running Water stares at me in a
peculiar way. I don't think he's going to say anything about it but he
does. A low, strained voice.
"My grandfather had made it for him."
My dream returns to me. "Was that who I saw at the bike shop in
Chinook?" The Indian continues staring at me. His fingers tighten around
the ring.
"No. That was my father you saw."
Yeah. That man wasn't that old. "I think that I should tell you
something. Maybe you'll know what it means."
Running Water glares.
"I saw your grandfather's face in a dream last night. He spoke to me."
"What did he say?"
My eyes drop from the Indian's tense face. He looks really angry. I'm
trying to recall my dream but the only part that I can remember from it
is that old man's smiling face. The strange word he spoke. I wet my lips
and try repeating the syllables: "Ah-ee-ne." I hear his gasp for breath.
"What does that mean?"
Running Water only stares at me, a real glaring look but I don't drop
my eyes from his. There's no anger on his face. It's excitement, I think.
His widening eyes prove that it is so.
Without a word, the Indian goes back to his truck. Almost at a run.
He's still clutching the ring when he puts his pickup in gear and turns
the steering wheel sharply. I watch him speed away. He's going to see
his grandfather. Somehow, I know that.
I enter my trailer while deep in thought. There's something going on
but I don't know what. That frightens me. I spin around, searching for
ghosts. "Why did you give me your ring?" Silence. I wasn't really
expecting to hear an answer.
It's nearly 6pm. I've taken a shower and am wearing fresh clothes. I
realize that I don't have a gift for Mrs. Winnapah. An idea comes to me.
I grab my laptop from the closet with my intent to give her a lesson
after dinner.
It's a long walk through the trailer park. Mr. Earlman's had been set
in the back near the cottages. Newer trailers are closer to the entrance.
I turn right along Winding Creek Road. There's a slight rise to the
pavement under my feet. I pass three houses before catching a numbered
address: 216. The homes here are made of wood, two storied and big. They
appear very old; weathered. I can imagine how harsh the winters can be
around these parts this close to Canada.
I come to 219 Winding Creek Road. It's not that big a house, only one
story. I'm walking up the driveway. Mrs. Winnapah's pickup isn't seen but
it could be parked in the garage. I heft my laptop bag that's hanging
down from my shoulder and approach the front door. No doorbell.
I knock. After counting to ten, I knock harder but I don't think
Mrs. Winnapah has come home yet. She told me 6:15pm. Was that the time
she comes home from work or after dinner has been made?
There's a face in the front room window. Before I can see who it is,
the curtains fall back into place. I hear the door being unlocked.
Jesse greets me.
"Hi."
The boy smiles.
"Did I come too early?" Jesse shrugs his shoulders. I give him a
good look. He's wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and brown pants. No
shoes or socks. His long legs and arms are very noticeable. A very thin
body in between them. I peer at his face and note his Indian features:
a broad forehead, big nose and nice brown lips all set in an oval of
smooth dark skin. His long black hair falls down the front and back of
his thin shoulders.
A deep longing squeezes my heart. Jesse has also been looking me over.
I wonder what he thinks of me? My body is very fit, especially after
enduring three cold months in Montana and from all the hikes I've taken. I
have lost some weight. That's why my jeans fell down in front of his
uncle. The next time I go to Wal-Mart, I'll see if I can buy pants sized
32 or even 31.
Jesse's eyes fall on my black bag. "I've brought over my laptop."
"Cool!"
I see the boy's excitement and he eagerly gestures for me to come
inside. I'm looking around his house. There's lots of Indian things
covering the walls: paintings, crafted objects of tied sticks and large
woven hoops that remind me of what I saw hanging down from his mother's
mirror in the pickup. I see several hand drums. Framed photos show
Indians dancing in a powwow. Jesse leads me into the front room.
I set my black bag down on the coffee table. My laptop is removed
along with its power supply that I'm unwrapping. I hand the plug to
Jesse and he dives under a lamp table where there must be an outlet.
My eyes fall over Jesse's backside. He is on his knees, head stuck
under the small table so he can't notice my peeking. His rounded cheeks
are outlined within his pants. I'll bet that his butt is very brown.
Smooth. I tear my eyes away from it to get my laptop set up.
Jesse drops down beside me. His knees stick up and I realize that
the coffee table is too low to use the laptop. I connect the power and
bring it to his lap.
"I can hold it?"
"That's why it's called a laptop." I show the boy how to pull on the
side hinges and I'm lifting the screen up. "Push that button to turn it
on." He does. The computer gives a familiar beep. After entering the boot
password, the Windows XP logo appears. After a moment, the desktop comes
up. My laptop is one of the newest on the market. A three gig processor
with plenty of memory and a large capacity hard drive. All of the
educational programs I've worked on are stored there.
Jesse studies all the icons. Then he's searching both sides of my
laptop and I realize that he's looking for a mouse. "You use the glide
pad." I demonstrate by running my right finger across it. His eyes widen.
He sets the pointer on 'Start'. He clicks that with the left button in
front of the glide pad. A menu appears. He runs through it to get to my
list of program files, studying each entry intently.
I realize that he's familiar with Windows. "Can you find Solitaire?"
Jesse looks in the Games folder and sets the pointer on that card game.
He presses the left button.
"Good." I squeeze the boy's right leg. He looks down at my hand then
peers at me with his gorgeous black eye. Something unspoken passes
between us. I feel a swift rising in my pants.
"Ah. Set the program's window to full screen. You don't have to press
the left button. Just tap the glide pad." Jesse tries that.
"Neat!"
An ace of hearts appears as the first card. "Double tap it. That card
goes over here." The next card is a nine of spades. I wait a moment but
Jesse doesn't place it over the ten of diamonds. "You put black cards on
red in a descending order in these rows." I show him. I'm double tapping
the nine of spades and run my finger across the glide pad until it's
dragged on top of the ten of diamonds before releasing my finger.
A seven of diamonds is our next card. "Tap on that card to reveal the
next card, Jesse. There's no black eight in any of the piles where it
could go." A four of hearts appears. After giving him a chance to place
it, I point at the five of clubs. He drags it over.
"Now lift your finger." The card sets down over the five of clubs. He
looks amazed. I'm often glancing at his cute face, filled with emotion.
"If your card is red, find a place with a black card that's one
number higher. They go in order: 2 through ten, then jack, queen and
king. Aces go up in that row." Jesse places a few cards by himself.
I've been enjoying the boy's warmth next to me. I'm torn between
giving him a little more space (my arm is pinned between us) or remaining
close to him. I hope that he doesn't mind. This is a small couch.
I notice that a pile of cards held by a black jack could go over the
lone queen of hearts. I show him how to move all those cards over. A king
is revealed next and I have him set it down in that empty spot.
Jesse is really getting into this game. He hardly needs my help. My
left arm had been pinned between us so I lift it to rest my hand on his
shoulder. My breath trembles. I watch his progress. He's speeding through
all the revealed cards and skips those that can't be placed. When a stack
doesn't move after several tries, he's tapping the glide pad angrily.
"Be gentle. Just tap twice on the uppermost card then drag it over."
Jesse is skipping all the lower cards, I notice. "There is a final part
to this game. See your four aces? Place the same colored cards with the
same suite, ah shape, in a rising order. That two of hearts goes over the
ace of hearts. Put the three of hearts over that and so on. The game ends
when all the kings cover the pile of cards beneath them."
Jesse's finger flies over the glide pad. He is amazingly fast. I see
how intent he is to finish the game, almost as if his life depends on it.
I'm squeezing his shoulder when the last king is placed. A victory
parade of cards drop down and bounce again and again.
"You did it. You've won this game!" Jesse watches all the cards make
their bouncing dance until a dialog box appears asking if he wants to
start a new game. He turns to me with a grin. My eyes peer deep into his
for a long sweet moment. He peers back at me. Not as shyly as before.
I'm really falling for this kid. I think he likes me too. His lips
are trembling and I feel the urge to kiss him. My face leans closer to
his. He closes his eyes. I feel his breath against my face but at the
last moment, I become afraid and pull back.
"You have a booger hanging from you nose." That was something stupid
of me to say but I wanted to distract his attention from my attempt to
kiss him. He rubs his nose a few times.
"Is it gone?"
I look at the boy's nose and nod. He continues staring as if waiting
for me to do something with him but I'm afraid to try.
Jesse releases a sharp breath. He lifts his right hand to his heart.
"It hurts."
I see much longing in his eyes for me. I'm lifting my hand and point
to my heart. "Mine, too." Jesse stares at my right hand. His eyes widen.
Does he realize what we've just revealed to each other?
I reach my hand over to Jesse's left shoulder and fondly squeeze it.
The boy turns towards me, nearly dropping my laptop. I set it down on
the coffee table. He buries his face in my chest. My face drops to his
hair and I sniff it. My breath comes out hard.
We hold each other with deep feelings swelling in my heart. Oh, God.
I think he's falling for me! I'm tempted to pull the boy closer but I
stop myself. His mother might catch us hugging.
"Not home yet."
"What?"
"She hasn't come home yet."
The tiny hairs lift at the back of my neck. How did he know what I
was thinking? I gently push Jesse away. There's a sad expression on his
face but when I look more closely, I see that it's intense longing.
"Are you like Ron?" asks Jesse.
"Who's that?" Jesse lowers his eyes and blinks a few times.
This is an awkward moment. I reach for my laptop and bring it to him.
"Let's play another game." I exit Solitaire and get Hover started.
Jesse is shown how to control his car with the arrow keys. I explain
that he needs to find three blue flags while avoiding the floor traps
that will either spin him around, hold him or steal one of his flags.
Popping the green balloons will grant immunity from those hazards. When
the blue car is spotted, I have Jesse bump into it for fun and tell him
that the computer's car is looking for red flags. It's a race to see who
will get their three flags first.
The laptop is brought into Jesse's lap. I notice the bulge in his
pants. He studies his screen intently and is racing his car all over the
place: through corridors, up the stairs and around walls. He quickly gets
his three flags while the computer's car only managed to find one. The
next level loads up.
Jesse explores this new maze but he doesn't find all three flags in
time. The computer beats him. I restart the game to the first level and
he's racing around. I'm amazed by how quick he is. It's almost as if he
has memorized this maze. The laptop's fan turns on, startling him.
"It's okay," I assure him. "The laptop is getting hot and the fan
turns on automatically."
Jesse captures his three blue flags even before the computer could
find any. The second level loads up. He zooms around and gets two flags
but the computer beats him again.
"Have to piss."
I take my laptop from Jesse and we both look down at the front of his
pants. "Did it get burned?" I joke. The boy gets up without answering me.
He straightens his erection and quickly leaves the room. I reach for my
cock to lift it to a more comfortable position inside my pants. A sharp
thrill is given me.
The front door is heard opening. I close my laptop and place it down
on the coffee table. Mrs. Winnapah is carrying two bags of groceries
through the front hallway. I offer to help.
"Oh, Mr. Yager. I am sorry that I'm late."
"That's okay. I've been showing Jesse how to use my computer." The
woman looks around for her son who appears suddenly like a ghost. She
hands him the other bag of groceries. I follow them into the kitchen.
Mrs. Winnapah removes her coat and sets her purse down on a chair.
Jesse is fumbling through the bags, pulling out a pack of chocolate
pudding cups. He turns to his mom with pleading eyes.
"Not until after we've eaten."
Jesse breaks off one of the dessert cups and whines when his mother
angrily points her finger at him.
"No, Jesse!"
I can see that she's exhausted. I go to her son and gently take the
pudding away. I lead him back into the front room. "Continue playing
Hover. Ah, don't try running anything else. I'm going to help your
mother with dinner. She looks really tired."
Jesse drops to the couch and brings the laptop to him. He pulls the
hinge releases to lift the screen. I hear the game starting. As I'm
about to turn for the kitchen, he peers up at me. Smiles. I grin back at
him and see longing in his eyes.
I'm slowly walking back to the kitchen. Concern fills me. If Jesse's
mom sees that in his eyes, she may know what's developing between us. I
must try to avoid looking at the boy from now on. It pains my heart to
do so.
Mrs. Winnapah is slicing onions. She already has a skillet going on
the stove to fry some kind of rounded bread. I wonder what I can do to
help? Not with cooking because she would likely object. That's a woman's
domain, deeply seated in Indian culture. Mine, too. I've read a lot of
historic books about the Native American to know that.
I notice that the sink is filled with dishes. It looks like they had
rushed with breakfast and didn't have time to wash them. I start running
the water. Mrs. Winnapah sees what I'm doing.
"No. I'll get that, Mr. Yager. You are our guest."
"I don't mind. Really. You have enough to do with cooking dinner so
please let me help out." I see the hesitation in the woman's eyes but
she returns to mincing the onions.
There are only a few bowls to wash, spoons and a mug. Looks like they
had cereal this morning. I see a little coffee remaining in the mug.
Dish soap is poured over them and I scrub each one out with a pad.
They're rinsed. I set them over the rack to dry.
Mrs. Winnapah is finished with the fried bread. I've eaten them once
before in Arizona at a Native American restaurant near the Grand Canyon.
The woman turns her efforts to cooking what will top her fried bread:
sliced beef, onions, tomatoes and other ingredients. She seasons with
salt and pepper only. I think she's making that same dish I'd eaten in
Arizona and my mouth waters in remembrance.
"You'd better check on Jesse," suggests Mrs. Winnapah.
I nod my head. When entering the front room, I don't hear the Hover
game playing and my stomach tightens with fear. He can't do too much
damage, I assure myself. I have a drive image backup burned on cd-roms.
Jesse quickly taps a few times on the glide pad. He peeks at me and I
give him a knowing grin. "Been exploring my laptop?"
"I didn't run anything. Just looked."
I sit down beside him. He hands me the computer that's been returned
to the desktop. I take a peek at the History file. It has been cleared,
not even the two games we've played are listed. He's a pretty smart kid.
"How far did you get in Hover?"
"Almost to the fifth level," he boasts. "I had to find four flags on
the third level and there are two blue cars against mine. Not very fair."
I'm surprised by his accomplishment. "I've only made it past the third
level myself. They keep getting all their flags before me." Jesse smiles.
I remember to keep my eyes from him so our love will cool by dinner time.
I shut down my laptop, close its cover and return it to the coffee
table. Jesse has his hands folded over his lap. I've been noticing that
he's been talking to me in complete sentences. What a nice soft accent! I
guard my emotions so that he won't notice the strong feelings inside me.
Jesse keeps glancing at me. I try not to notice because I'm afraid
what that would lead to. He touches my shoulder.
"How old are you, Mike?"
I love hearing him calling me by my first name. "Ah, I'm twenty five."
"That means you were born in 1978."
That was quick of him. "I'll be twenty six this June. How old are
you?" I'm guessing that he's sixteen or even seventeen.
"I was born July 20, 1979."
I'm surprised. He's two years younger than me? I stare at Jesse and
a lot of things come together. His shyness made him appear younger. I
know that Asian and Indian people don't show their age like us Whites.
They eat more healthy, too. That gives them good complexions. I should
have added years to my estimate of Jesse's age when he showed how
quickly he learns things, at least on the computer but he is awkward in
other ways. Why is his mother still looking after him?
Jesse drops his eyes. He kicks his feet against the coffee table and
I'm reminded by how unusually long they are. His arms, too. I've heard
that Indians have degenerative conditions that lessen their lifespan when
compared to other cultures. They are prone to diseases. They also get fat
on White people food because of their very efficient digestive systems.
I recall what I've learned from reading books on that subject. Before
the arrival of horses to America from the Spaniards, Indians were mainly
gatherers and small game hunters with the use of traps. Shooting arrows
or a spear is more successful when done from horseback. That's allowed
them to follow buffalo herds and hunt them. After ten thousands years of
being here, their numbers swelled only after the horse came.
"What school are you attending?" I ask. I suspect that Jesse isn't
attending college.
"A special program," he mutters.
"Do you play sports?"
"I can't."
Hmm. Is there something physically wrong with Jesse? I suspect that
he has mental difficulties because he acts younger than his age.
Jesse continues to look down at his lap. My questions have embarrassed
him, especially about school. "I didn't graduate from college. I'd gone
for a year but ended up teaching the Faculty to use computers."
"How can you teach without a license?" Jesse asks. "All my teachers
have those on the wall. And I've seen your name on some of the files in
your laptop. Where did you learn to program?"
He's done more peeking on my hard drive than he's admitted to. "I've
taught non-credit courses where you don't need to be certified. I learned
how to use the computer on my own. I'm really good. I've written code for
children's educational software - voice recognition modules, and to make
the programs more efficient so they'll run faster."
"I'd like to learn how to do that."
"I know that you're using computers in school. You could learn QBasic
to start with. It's fun telling the computer what to do."
"Can you teach me?"
"I'd like to see you some more. Not to play games but teach you useful
things like MS-Word so you can write papers for school. And you can help
your mom."
Jesse stops kicking the coffee table. He's dropped his eyes again
and I realize that something is wrong. I hear his mother calling us to
dinner. We glance at each other for a moment, some secret understanding
passing between us before we get up from the couch. I follow him into
the dining room. The table has been set with fine dishes and a spread of
food. There are three candles burning in the middle.
Mrs. Winnapah greets us to her table. She waits for me to sit down
before taking her seat. Jesse drinks water from his glass. That earns a
stern look from his mother. He bows his head. They seem to be praying
but without the folding of hands that us Christians do.
The woman breaks off half a piece of the fried bread and places it on
my plate. The other rounded half is given Jesse. She breaks from other
piece for herself. A steaming bowl is handed me with a ladle. I top my
bread with it. It's a meaty gravy. There are other serving plates around
the table filled with freshly cut vegetables and fruit.
I drink from my glass. It's water. If I had my choice, I'd have asked
for milk because that's my favorite drink to go with good food. No one
speaks while we're eating. I know that's custom amongst the Indians.
I've been avoiding looking at Jesse. I glance at his mother often
but she rarely looks back. We continue to eat in silence. I'm not used to
that. The food is very good. I take cucumbers and some slices of tomatoes
from the serving plates. I'll wait to eat the fruit for my dessert.
I glance in Jesse's direction when forgetting myself. His plate draws
my attention. He has cut his fried bread into neat sections. Two halves
of cucumbers have been joined to form a circle in the middle. Four slices
of tomatoes form quadrants. He eats from opposing sections and sips water
after each bite.
Mrs. Winnapah notices what I'm looking at. She drops her eyes to her
plate as if trying to avoid my asking about her son's matriculate eating
habits. Jesse peers at me. What a pretty face! I break eye contact and
continue eating.
When our meal is done, I nibble on some orange slices. Mrs. Winnapah
asks for my plate and I allow her to take it away. Jesse is using his
fingers to wipe his plate clean of gravy. When the woman is out of the
room, he flashes me a smile. I grin back.
She returns to remove all the other plates and glasses. I know better
than to offer to help. When she's left the room again, Jesse sneaks
away to another part of the house. I get up and go to the kitchen.
Mrs. Winnapah scrapes all our plates into the garbage can. They're
piled into the sink. I catch her glance and don't offer to clean them.
The leftovers are placed into plastic containers.
"Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Winnapah. It was good." She smiles.
"I've brought over my laptop if you are up for a lesson." The woman
takes a deep breath. I see her exhaustion. "Or we can do that another
time. This weekend, if that's better for you."
"You are very kind."
I smile. "Jesse is very skilled with the computer. Even better than
me in some things but I suspect that he needs help with writing. And
social skills. What kind of special program is he attending at school?"
Mrs. Winnapah almost drops the plate she was washing.
"They're working with Jesse to improve his writing in English. He uses
the computer because that's fun for him."
I notice that the woman is avoiding my eyes. She's uncomfortable that
I'm asking about her son but I really want to know more about him. What
challenges he's facing. Why he can't play sports. My heart is being drawn
to Jesse so I need to know everything about him.
"I can also teach him. I've helped write some educational programs
that help kids with reading, writing and math." Mrs. Winnapah peers at
me. She seems to be considering my offer.
"Let me think about it."
I suspect what her concerns are. The expense of private tutoring and
if I'm able to work past Jesse's handicaps. I'll try to convince her in
a round about way so that she'll understand my motives.
"I'm on extended leave from my job. I almost burned out on developing
software, meeting deadlines, fixing errors and that kind of thing. Havre
is the furthest town from Indianapolis that I could find so I could get
away from it all. I've been enjoying the sights: your beautiful mountains
and rolling grass plains. I like to horseback ride."
In a low voice. "I am also interested in Native American culture
because my mother's grandfather was full blooded. We think he came from
the Haskell Reservation." The woman stares at me.
"I'm mostly German from my father's side of the family. That's what you
see but I feel this yearning for the outdoors. I've been cooped up too
long inside a room with my computer and not spending time with people. I
am unhappy inside, with my life as it was."
Mrs. Winnapah is staring at my feet. I realize that I've opened up too
much to her. Especially when telling her about my interest in Indians.
That's always a mistake.
"I am sorry. For a moment, you reminded me of my mother." That's the
truth. My mother is a quarter Indian with black hair, short and plump
like this woman.
"Mike..." shouts Jesse.
I leave the kitchen and go see what he wants. Relief fills me. That
was getting difficult back there. I doubt that I've convinced her of
anything. In the front room, Jesse has turned on my laptop. I know
what's wrong.
"Need a boot password?" I tease.
"What is it?"
I shake my finger at him. A sense of loss comes to me when remembering
that ring I'd found in the trailer this morning. Running Water took it
from me. He's probably returned it to his grandfather by now. Was it
really that valuable? Jesse stares at me, reminding me about the laptop.
"You want the boot password. I won't say it because that would be
telling! You'd spread it around and before I know it, everyone will be
able to get into my laptop. Who knows what secrets it contains?"
"That's silly, Mike. You could always change it. Ah. What secrets?"
I laugh. I'm dropping to the couch next to Jesse. My hands reach for
the home keys position but I pause from entering in my password. "Close
your eyes." He giggles. I pluck a few keys and catch him peeking.
"Don't look or I'll tickle you or something!" Jesse shuts his eyes
really tight and I finish entering my password. He has a cute smile on
his lips. My heart aches to kiss him so... I do.
Jesse doesn't seem to react. I turn to the computer screen and stare
at the colored flying squares filling it. I'm feeling stunned. Our kiss
had felt wonderful but I'm afraid he was shocked by it.
The desktop appears. I glance at Jesse. There's no readable expression
on his face from what I did. He's pretending that it didn't happen.
In a low voice, "Click Start and find the 'Read and Say' folder." He
does. He clicks on one of the software titles I had helped to develop.
Fear creeps into my heart. Jesse hasn't said a word and he won't look
at me. But that may be because his attention is focused on the program's
opening screen. I hang my head. I shouldn't have kissed him.
"It's okay, Mike."
I glance at Jesse. He smiles, a understanding smile that assures me
that he's not mad. I lift my left hand to his shoulder.
"Enter your name." Jesse does and I have him select the first lesson.
A brown dog starts speaking to explain how the game is played. The story
text appears. I have him click the option to have it read to him. Then
sentences appear, each with a blank for the missing word.
"Dogs like to bury _____," I read to Jesse. There are four possible
answers and I read those to him. "Which word fills that blank?" I press
the spacebar to activate voice recognition.
"Bones," says Jesse.
The brown dog sticks his tongue out and says: "That's right. Dogs
like to bury BONES."
"He heard me?" asks Jesse.
"Yes he did. Now try the next sentence on your own. Read it to me."
"They... a word goes here, their tails when excited."
Jesse was slow with reading the sentence but he got it right. "What
are the four possible words that could go in that blank?" He reads the
words from the screen to me.
"Bite, wag, bark, dig. The answer is..."
I'm quickly pressing the spacebar.
"... wag."
The brown dog on our screen turns sideways and wags his tail. "Right!
Dogs WAG their tails when excited," it speaks.
"That's neat! I saw you pressing the spacebar. Why?"
"That's so the program will know when to listen for your answer. Try
the next sentence. Read it to me along with the possible answers. Before
you speak the word that fits, press the spacebar."
Jesse reads the third sentence to himself. He look at the four
possible words and is deciding which one would fill the blank. I see him
pressing the spacebar. He speaks. The dog runs around the screen.
"This is too easy," Jesse says.
"I know. I just wanted you to see the kinds of programs I helped
develop."
"You wrote this?"
"The speech recognition module," I explain. "I'm part of a whole team
of people like artists who animate the dog, programmers who get the text
displayed and so on." I exit this screen. The credits appear and I point
out my name.
"Wow. What other programs have you worked on?"
I move my finger across the glide pad and get another program running.
'Write and Say: It's a Boy's World' appears. This software is used by
more advanced grade levels that should be more challenging for Jesse.
A screen appears with boys playing softball. Below the animation is
an empty text box with a flashing cursor. "Okay Jesse. Write a sentence
that describes what they are doing."
"I don't know what to type."
"Okay. Try this: 'The boys are playing softball.'" Jesse stares at
the keyboard with a frown. I help him some more. "Type the first word:
The." He hits the letter 'T', then 'h' and takes a moment to find 'e' on
the keyboard. "Press the spacebar." When he does, we hear the computer
saying the word 'The'.
"Now type the word 'boys' and press the spacebar. It will speak that
word. Go on to finish the sentence: 'are playing softball.'" I watch
Jesse struggle with finding letters on the keyboard. When he hits a
wrong letter, he knows to press the backspace to erase it.
When Jesse has typed the whole sentence, I ask him to press period.
The computer speaks: "The boys are playing softball." He smiles at me.
"Good! Now come up with another sentence to describe what those boys are
doing when they play softball." I point out the bat, ball, a catcher's
mitt, the bases and the score board.
I'm feeling an urge to piss so I get up from the couch. "I'll be
right back." Jesse continues to stare at the screen. I hear him slowly
plucking on the keyboard as I leave the room.
I wander around the house before finding the bathroom door. My hand
fumbles in the dark to find a light switch. I step to the toilet, unzip
my fly and let go. A sigh of relief comes out of me.
My cock is slightly erect in my hand. I'm pulling over it, thinking
about what it would be like to embrace Jesse naked. A thrill shoots
through my erection. I hear someone walking down the hall so I tuck it
back inside my pants.
After closing the bathroom door behind me, Mrs. Winnapah catches me
in the hallway.
"Mike."
She walks towards the kitchen and gestures for me to follow her.
Fear grips my heart. I think she was peeking on us and didn't like me
holding her son. Maybe she even saw me kissing him!
Mrs. Winnapah stands in front of the stove. When she smiles, a great
sense of relief goes through me. We didn't get caught.
"You are a good teacher. I saw you working with Jesse and I've never
seen him open up that much. Not even with his therapist... the teachers
at school. I've been thinking about your offer."
I smile and decide to reveal what I suspect is wrong with her son.
"Jesse is autistic, isn't he?" The woman drops her eyes and nods. "I
was that way too when I was little. Always inside myself in a world of
my own but I broke out of my shell. Star Trek did that for me. You know,
the T.V. program. It made me read books about Spock and Captain Kirk,
all the planets they visited. I went to meetings with other trekkers.
That's how I became comfortable talking with people. I built electronics
inside tricorders, communicators and made a phaser gun light up. That
amazed my older friends. It gave me confidence in myself."
The woman nods so I continue. "Computers are doing that for Jesse.
He's really good with them."
"It's you too, Mike. You seem to understand my son."
She doesn't realize that I've unlocked Jesse's heart with my love.
And mine by him. "He's a lot like me..." I'm scolding myself for having
said that. I must be careful not to reveal my innermost secret to her.
"I want you to tutor my son, Mike. How much would you charge?"
I shake my head. "I don't need money. I can come over for dinner and
teach him afterwards for a few hours."
"That is very kind of you."
"I've been getting lonely in Havre. It's good getting away from work
but I miss talking with people. That's why I'm teaching that computer
class. I've spent three months exploring this area on my motorcycle,
hiking and horseback riding. I want to see a powwow this summer and
learn more about... your culture. That's hard to do as an outsider."
Mrs. Winnapah gently touches my shoulder. She is looking at me, right
in my eyes and I fear that she's seen straight into my heart.
"Alright." The woman goes into deep thought before speaking again.
"You like to horseback ride? Jesse's grandfather keeps horses and he
likes going to his ranch when his uncle can drive him out there."
"I have a motorcycle. I'll buy Jesse a helmet if you don't mind me
taking him."
"You should know that my son has Marfan's Syndrome. It makes his arms
and legs unusually long because his body stretches too much. He can't
endure much physical exercise or he'll be hurt."
I nod my head with understanding. I remember hearing about that
degenerative disease but couldn't remember what it was called. "I'll be
careful with him."
"Jesse also has fits sometimes when he gets upset about something
and he can become violent. He usually just sulks, hiding inside himself
for days at a time. I wanted you to know that."
"I understand."
Mrs. Winnapah gives me a weak grin. She lets go of my shoulder and
leads me to the front room.
"Jesse. How would you like Mike to start tutoring you?"
My laptop is dropped to the couch beside him and he stands up. Head
nodding excitedly. His bright eyes find mine.
"If you are good and do well with Mike's lessons, I'll let you ride
horses with him at your grandfather's ranch like you used to."
"Can I?"
The woman nods. "You must behave yourself. Listen to Mike and learn
what he's teaching you."
"I will!" Jesse shouts. "I promise."
"This has been a good evening," says Mrs. Winnapah.
I get the hint. I'm also feeling a bit tired so I start packing my
laptop. Jesse shows his disappointment. I point at the power cord and
he dives under the lamp table to unplug it. Mrs. Winnapah leaves the room.
My hand reaches down for his butt and I give it a pat. He turns to me
with a sly grin.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Jesse." I heft my black bag over my shoulder.
Mrs. Winnapah returns to the room with a grocery bag.
"Here are some leftovers," she explains. "Do you have a microwave?"
"No."
"Well, you can heat it in the oven." She hands the bag over.
"Thank you." I glance at Jesse and see his sad eyes. I'm led to the
door by his mother and my heart sinks. I am missing him already!
Back at the trailer, I place the plastic containers of food in my
refrigerator. It hums after I close it. My clothes are stripped off and
I jump into bed. Everything that I've done with Jesse is reviewed in my
head. Am I going too fast with him? Our hug, kiss and touching his butt.
I'm lucky not to have been caught by his mother.
I consider beating off. Jesse really turns me on but it's the strong
feelings in my heart that endears me the most. I'm not trying to use him
for sex. That's something we'll do after we know each other better. I
like the way he makes me feel. Tonight, I've learned that he feels the
same way for me. When his hand touched his heart saying that it hurt him.
That's gotta mean he loves me!
Tears fill my eyes when my heart aches. I didn't know that love can
hurt so much.
The next morning, I ride into town. I'm needing some things from
Wal-Mart like pants, a vacuum cleaner and whatever else comes to mind.
I stop by McDonald's first. It reminds me of home.
I'm chomping down on some fries when I look around. Few White people.
There are a lot of fat Indians. A woman waddles past me with her tray of
food and I smile at her. She ignores me. It's hard to get inside their
culture, I realize. Mrs. Winnapah may help with that. Her nephew,
Running Water has warmed up to me. I feel that there was a connection
between him and Mr. Earlman whose trailer I'm renting. Were they good
friends?
What's the significants of that ring he took from me? I saw his fear.
He wouldn't even come in for coffee. Is he afraid of Mr. Earlman's ghost?
At Wal-Mart, I discover that I'm able to fit into a size 30 pants.
That really surprises me. Three months ago, I was a 34. Hiking must have
done that. And I've not been cooped up inside with my laptop where the
only exercise had come from picking up my phone to order food or walking
to the bathroom.
I miss that life a little bit. Weeks would fly by when I'd be coding a
particularly challenging module and see the result selling on the store
shelves. It was good money. Those few titles I did myself are earning me
Royalties that I'll be able to live on for a number of years.
I've put that all behind. Here in Havre, I can try to find myself and
be happy. Meeting Jesse has done that. My heart really aches for him.
I'm embarrassed when tears fill my eyes. I wipe my face before anyone
in the store sees me. Do we really have a chance to be together? Jesse
has some problems to deal with; his learning disabilities, Marfan's
Syndrome (would having sex be too hard on him?) and his mother warned me
about his fits. That's why she is taking care of Jesse. A boy still, in
a man's body though I've seen glimpses of his maturity. Can I help him
break out of his shell?
I pile up my motorcycle with the new vacuum cleaner and bags of
clothes. I'm careful with my driving. Lots of pickup trucks are zooming
past me. Why are they in such a hurry?
I enter my trailer park. The manager didn't tell me that its previous
renter had died in it. I suppose that's why the rent is cheap - only $250
per month.
With my arms filled, I go to my door and find a note taped to it. I
take it and enter the trailer. Probably something from the manager but
I have been paying my rent on time.
I sit at the table and read it. A short note from Running Water. He
wants me to see him at the motorcycle shop right away.
I park my bike outside the shop and enter through the garage. Pete
sees me. His eyes are rolling in dismay.
"Something wrong with your motorcycle again?" he asks.
"No. Where's Running Water?" He points back at the stock room. I see
the Indian and he rushes me back outside. He gets into his pickup truck
without a word and I slip in the seat beside him.
"What's wrong?" I ask. Running Water has a plain expression on his
face. That scares me. I'm thinking about Jesse, that somehow he knows
about us and I'm being taken outside town to get scalped.
"My grandfather wants to see you."
I sit quietly while Running Water drives me through town. He doesn't
say another word. I'm looking out my window, at the houses passing by
that dwindles to the occasional building then empty fields. We're heading
east. I see horses. Black cows are standing along ranch fences. The land
slopes gently with grass and an occasional tree. In my home state,
there's forests for miles and miles. Montana is big sky country.
I'm trying to enjoy the ride. It's nice to keep warm and out of the
wind by sitting in a truck. My motorcycle grants me the same freedom of
travel but it's not as comfortable. I look forward to summer.
Running Water glances at me every so often. I feel his eyes but try
ignoring them though I'm burning to ask him questions about where we're
going and why his grandfather wants to see me. I know it has to do with
that ring I found. Could it be something more though? That my secret has
been discovered and they fear for Jesse? I try to remain calm.
A battered road sign announces that we're entering Chinook. His
attention shifts from me to navigating the streets, traffic and looking
out for pedestrians. Our eyes had met once during the long ride. A peering
glare from him that's left me feeling naked.
Running Water drives to the edge of town. I smell wood burning. He
pulls into the Chinook Community Center. It's a rather plain looking
building, not what I was expecting for our meeting. They don't use tipis
or wooden lodges anymore, I suppose. He parks the truck in back. We get
out and enter the building through a side entrance.
I'm taken through a large room filled with lots of chairs. It reminds
me of the kind of place where I've gone for Boy Scout meetings in my youth.
There's a podium in front of a low stage. Few Indian things in sight.
"What's this all about?" I ask. I'm getting scared now.
"My grandfather wants to hear about your dream," says Running Water.
"Is he shaman of your tribe?" I know a few things about his culture.
"Yes. That ring you found interests him. How it came to your hand."
We go through a door and walk down the hall. My steps become slower.
Running Water grips my shoulder when he notices my uneasiness. We come
to a door. He knocks softly, calling out his name in Indian. Too many
strange syllables for me to remember it.
I hear a gruff voice answering him. Running Water opens the door and
we go in. It's a small room with no furniture. A window has been left
open. An old man wearing overalls and a wrinkled shirt greets us. He
exchanges a few soft words with Running Water. They both turn to me. I'm
asked to sit down over the floor with them. It feels hard against my butt.
"Welcome. I am Eh-an-tre-na-pee," says the old man. "That means
He-who-runs-up-mountains in your language."
"I am Mike Yager." The two men exchange glances. An Indian pipe is
brought out and the old man lights it, drawing smoke through its long
wooden stem. He offers the pipe to me.
I've read many accounts where smoking is done in council. Never did I
imagine that I'd partake of one. I hold the pipe in both hands and
carefully suck smoke into my lungs. I'm coughing violently in the next
moment. The old man grins. Running Water takes the feathered pipe from
my hands and smokes. My head starts to buzz.
The shaman is returned his pipe. He smokes it while gazing at me, his
aged eyes seem to go right through me. I'm feeling very uncomfortable
but I try not to show it.
"Mike Yager. I am hearing many things about you. My sister's daughter
says you have a good heart and says that you to want learn from us. Is
that so?"
I nod my head.
"Then it was meant that your life's path was to cross mine."
I wait for the old man to say more. I'm glancing at Running Water. His
plain face provides me with no clue. The silence becomes unbearable.
Perhaps he's waiting for me to say something.
"Grandfather. Is this council about that ring I found?"
"Hmm. You acknowledge me as an elder?"
"Yes, grandfather. I've come from a different society but I respect
your culture."
"But you don't understand us."
I've read books about many Native American tribes, their varied
practices, religious beliefs, how they've lived but those things were
from the past and written by White men. I suppose that I don't understand
them from their point of view. "No, grandfather."
"Then I to teach you." The shaman lifts his hands up and offers a
prayer unto Him.
I see Running Water raising his head so I lift mine, my plea sent
unto God to guide my steps in the days ahead. Especially with Jesse.
The shaman smiles at me. I can't help but smile back.
"Let me say some things and see if they are true. You have run away
from your People. You came here. You live in a place of a dead man who
speaks to you in a dream and guides you when awake. Is this not so?"
I nod my head.
"Tell me what you Saw."
Is he asking me about my dream? I turn to Running Water and he
gestures for me to speak. I face the shaman and begin. "I awakened
yesterday morning from a dream about Indians. What I remembered upon
awakening was your smiling face. You spoke to me."
"What did my dream self say?"
I wet my lips and utter the strange sounds. "Ah-ee-ne."
"Do you know what that means?"
"No." The old man goes deep into thought. I think he's sad. His eyes
come alive again when he looks at me but not too unkindly.
"I will tell you. It is a name I had given to the man who is dead."
The shaman shows his grief. "Tell me about the ring," he whispers.
"That morning grandfather, I felt the need to find something in the
trailer. Everywhere I looked. Then I closed my eyes and felt something
against my toe under the carpet. That's where I found the ring."
"He wanted you to find it."
"I put it on my right pointing finger. It fit. I thought to remove
the ring but it wouldn't come off. I didn't really try that hard. It
seemed like I should keep it."
The shaman nods. He turns to Running Water and something unspoken
passes between them.
"I should not have taken it from you, Mike."
Running Water pulls the ring from his pocket and hands it to me. I'm
not even looking at it when I slip it on my finger.
"Ah-ee-ne!" the man shouts.
I flinch as if struck by something unseen. My eyes close. I'm trying
to Hear that dead man's voice or something but nothing happens.
"Mike."
I open my eyes.
"If you See anything more, come to me."
"Yes, grandfather." The old man is staring at me and I try to endure
his eyes but after only a moment, I lower my mine in shame.
"I see your heart, Mike. Do not feel bad."
I'm swallowing nervously in my throat. Is this man saying that he
knows I am gay?
"I'll take you home, Mike."
I see Running Water standing up. The council is over? That's it?
There's a strong hand over my shoulder. Running Water leads me out of
the room, down the hall, through the door into the auditorium and we
step outside. I'm feeling stunned.
We near Running Water's pickup when the ring slips off my finger. I
stop. I'm looking down at it and realize something. "That's not my ring."
Running Water picks it up. His eyes won't look at me when he pulls
out another ring from his pocket. I'm given it. I slip it on my finger
and it feels right somehow. I'm glaring at the Indian for an explanation.
"That was Ron's ring," he admits.
Ron? I remember Jesse asking me if I was like Ron. My eyes widen
with understanding. In a low whisper, almost so he won't hear me I ask,
"Was Ron your lover?"
Running Water turns from me. He opens the door to his truck and gets
in. I look at the Indian through the windshield. He gestures for me to
get in. I'm sitting down instead. He gets out of his truck and joins me
over the grass. I look at the ring I'm wearing. I think he wanted to
keep it because it was Ron's. He had given me the ring's mate that he
had worn.
I look towards the building. My eyes wander to the grassy fields
beside it that runs off into the distance. The mountains stand far away.
This is a beautiful place, not flat like Indiana, my boyhood home. I
cannot explain it but at this moment, I've grown up.
Yet a man does not have all the answers. I look at Running Water. He
doesn't either.
"Why didn't you tell me? It must have been painful for you to know
that I was living in his trailer, when asking you to come inside for
coffee and to show you his ring I had found. How can it be that I'm
living there? It's more than a coincidence. Something strange is
happening. I'm afraid what it is because it makes no sense. Things like
this cannot happen! They can't!"
"That is why you do not understand us, Mike."
I stare at Running Water. He reveals sadness on his face and I see a
glimpse of the man he is. His heart is like mine. And, I think he knows
that I'm like him.
The Indian returns my stare. Some emotion inside him spills out onto
his face and he struggles to regain control. I see his pride. My hand
reaches out to him slowly, palm up in a gesture of understanding. I
close my eyes and wait.
My hand is covered. I feel his warmth, the trembling fingers so I
close my fingers around his. My eyes remain closed. This is a difficult
moment for him as it is for me. Almost, we are admitting who we are
inside with a chance still to deny it.
"I loved him."
My eyes open. Running Water wipes tears from his eyes but they keep
coming. I feel embarrassed for him. I'm trying to look away but I can't
help myself when I continue to stare. I've not seen a man crying before.
I get to my feet and pull Running Water up from the ground. I release
his hand. He staggers to his truck and gets in. I'm opening the door,
slip inside and close it with a bang that seemed too loud. I've learned
what I wanted to know but that's made him cry. I feel horrible.
Running Water pulls up to my trailer. We've not spoken a word to each
other during the long ride and I've not dared look at him. I open the door
and get out. I'm walking to my door when I hear him get out of his truck.
I'm fumbling with the keys and manage to unlock my door. I keep it
open to see if Running Water wants to come in. He does. He's glancing
around the trailer with sad eyes, looking for anything familiar to what
he remembers of Ron living here, I guess.
I enter the kitchen and sit down wearily at the table. Running Water
joins me. He folds his hands over it. There's no emotion on his face.
"Would you like something?" I whisper. The man shakes his head.
"Talk to me." I'm surprised those words came out of my mouth.
"What is there to say? He is gone. There is nothing here that remains
of him, except my memories."
I stare at my ring. The black stone twinkles and I get a very peculiar
feeling. I'm hoping that I've only imagined it. My mouth opens to say
something not from me. "Don't be sad. You'll find love again." Running
Water stares at me with his mouth hanging open. I become frightened by
his widening eyes. Anger? What possessed me to say that?
My left hand comes to my right and I clutch the ring, struggling to
remove it. I hear it fall to the table with a tinkling sound. "This ring
should not be mine. I didn't ask to have it. He was your lover and you
wanted to have his ring. It should be returned to you."
"No, Mike."
We both stare down at it. Such a small thing. But the problems it has
caused!
Running Water gets up from the table. He goes to the door and is
about to walk out when he turns to me. I see a strange expression on his
face: one of love, understanding, and some sadness. He lifts his right
hand in a gesture of farewell. Then he is gone.
I've been asleep in my bed. This day has been difficult but I must
get prepared for teaching tonight. I'll be glad to see Jesse again. The
ring has been left on the table. I don't know what to do with it.
The clock reads 4:36pm. I yawn a few times and consider going back to
sleep but I'm worried that I may not awaken in time for class. I've been
trying to escape the strange events of this day. The things I have seen,
felt and was told. Some of it doesn't make sense. That's the scary part.
It's now 4:38pm. I continue staring at the clock while troubling
thoughts go round and round in my head. Running Water is gay and I'm
sleeping in his dead lover's trailer. He knows that I am gay. His
grandfather may know this too. Will they find out that I'm falling in
love with Jesse?
I force myself out of bed. I'm feeling hungry and realize that I've
not eaten all day. Mrs. Winnapah's leftovers will give me strength. I
don't bother with heating them up. Guilt fills me. She's shown me
kindness and I feel like I've betrayed her trust by doing things with
her son. I shouldn't have kissed Jesse. He didn't get mad or tell on me
but neither did he try kissing me back. Perhaps he's only feeling strong
friendship for me or something.
The silver ring on the table catches my eye. What should I do with it?
Running Water's father said that I was meant to have it. But why? I decide
to put the matter off to later. Let it lie where it is.
I watch some television to get my mind off things. The time passes
slowly. I'm startled by a knock on my door. Through the peek hole, I see
that it's Jesse! My heart lifts but I clamp down on my strong emotions.
The door is opened for him. He remains standing on the doorstep.
"Hello, Mike."
"Hi."
"My mom wanted me to tell you that she'll drive you to class tonight.
That way, you won't get stuck at the college if your motorcycle won't
start. Is that okay?"
"Yes. That's very kind of her. Ah, will you come in?" Jesse smiles.
He slips past me and I close the door. We go to the kitchen. He sees the
empty plastic containers on the table.
"I'll wash those so you can return them to your mother. It was good."
"She wanted to cook something you'd probably like."
I glance at the clock on top of my television. It reads 5:52pm. I
hear water running in the sink and see Jesse washing out the containers.
"Thank you. I'll be taking a shower." He nods his head, squeezing more
dish soap into the water.
That should keep Jesse busy for a while. I'm rushing to the bathroom.
My clothes are stripped off. I look at the doorknob and see that it
doesn't lock. After sitting on the toilet, I get into the small shower
stall. I'll try to be quick.
I soap up my body and shampoo my hair at the same time. A razor is
taken to my face. My right eye burns from the soap so I hurry with my
shaving. I've rarely used a mirror and can do this blind.
When I'm rinsing off, Jesse comes into the bathroom to take a piss.
I hear the toilet flushing. I'm feeling tense, wondering if he's going
to peek at me and if I should let him. The bathroom door creaks. He has
left. Relief fills me but too, I am feeling a bit disappointed.
I turn the water off. A big white towel is taken from the shelf to
dry myself with. A pile of dirty clothes is at my feet. I decide not to
wear them to my bedroom but will wrap myself in this towel.
Jesse sees me streaking from the bathroom. The middle of my body is
covered. He follows me into the bedroom. I select a good pair of pants
and shirt that I'll wear when teaching tonight. Fresh underwear as well.
And some socks.
"You have a lot of hair," Jesse remarks.
I turn around and smile. "That's because I'm mostly German from my
father's side but I do have a little Indian in me from my mother."
"Don't you use a hair dryer?" he asks.
"Sometimes. Ah, you can get it from the bathroom for me." Jesse runs
to fetch it. I'm searching for the end of the extension cord that I've
ran from the bathroom's outlet.
Jesse returns. He keeps the hair dryer in his hand and plugs it in.
It's switched on.
"I'll dry you!"
"Okay." I'm bending over so that he can reach my head but he blows
hot air over my chest. I look down at myself. I've never thought about
drying my body that way. It is hairy. A towel never does a good enough
job. That's why I often stay naked for a while before dressing.
I straighten up. Jesse waves the dryer in his hand so I won't get
burned. He does this to my chest and belly. I turn around so that he can
also dry my back.
"You have a lot back here too!" Jesse remarks.
I enjoy feeling the hot air against my skin. I'm startled when Jesse
touches me. He pulls on the hair over my back. When he's satisfied that
I've been dried, I feel hot air blowing over both my legs. He runs his
hand down them, grasping their tight muscles.
I feel Jesse's hand creeping under my towel. He's touching my butt
and before I can stop him, the towel falls at my feet. Hot air blows
against my cheeks. He pulls on the fine hair over my butt, tickling me.
I'm feeling very tense.
I look down at myself. My cock stands along my belly. Jesse circles
around to the front of my legs to blow them with hot air. He slowly
stands up in front of me. The hair dryer is switched off. I see where
his eyes are on me and that makes my face burn.
This is an embarrassing moment for me. I should be covering myself up
with the towel but a part of me wants him to look at my nakedness. He
timidly reaches out to pull on my groin hair.
"It's still wet."
"That's okay. Ah, Jesse. Can you return my hair dryer to the bathroom
for me please?" He's staring at my cock. I'm tempted to get him naked so
that we can embrace but I won't. We need to get to know each other first.
I want to make sure that he's the right guy for me. And I for him.
My earlier plea registers with Jesse and he's unplugging my hair
dryer. Walks out of the bedroom. I grab my underwear and put it on. My
good shirt is worn next and I'm buttoning it when Jesse returns. I open
my pants and slip my legs into it. A black belt is pushed through the
loops around my waist and buckled tight.
"Ah, Mike?"
"Yes?" I turn to Jesse and see that he's pulled down his pants. His
underwear, too. I'm staring at his brown dick. It stands along his tuft
of groin hair. A rosy knob is tucked within his foreskin and it's oozing.
My breath trembles with excitement.
Before I can be tempted to reach out and grab it, Jesse turns around.
He has a nice butt. Smooth and brown, not as flat as I thought. My hand
gives his cheeks a fond pat. "Very nice," I breathe.
He turns around. "You've already gotten dressed."
"You should too." I see Jesse's disappointment and realize that he
wanted to do something with me. He pulls up his underwear then his pants.
I'm feeling many conflicting emotions. I want him but feel that would be
wrong. We're not ready for that. I'm not.
"My uncle told me to be careful with you," Jesse whispers. "Is that
why..."
"What did he say!"
Jesse looks down at his feet. "Nothing bad. He just asked me to,
you know, think about where you come from. A big city. That you're
unfamiliar with our culture and stuff like that."
I see Jesse's uneasiness so I grasp his shoulders. He lifts his eyes
to mine. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."
"I know."
Jesse's seems to be searching for something in my face. I give him a
smile and deep longing fills his eyes. He embraces me. My arms reach
around him. Strong emotions that I'm feeling for him swell in my heart.
This feels so right.
"I love you, Mike."
"I love you too, Jesse." Those words just came out of me but I'm not
regretting them. His long arms give me a tight squeeze. I bury my face
in his hair. My nose pains me when I hold back tears. I'm so happy!
Jesse's hands lower to my butt. He's pulling over me hard, grinding
the front of our bodies together. I reach down for his butt and feel
their urgent humping though his pants.
A harsh breath comes out of Jesse. It had almost sounded like a moan.
He trembles in my arms and an alarming thought comes to me. Did he wet
in his pants?
We slowly separate. Jesse looks down at himself with his face burning.
I think he did. "You can clean up in the bathroom."
I turn from Jesse and look for my black shoes. The clock near my bed
reads 6:19pm. His mother should be home by now. I look for my satchel
with the stuff I'll need for class. I'm trembling.
I go to the kitchen and place Mrs. Winnapah's plastic containers in a
grocery bag. I've calmed down some after what happened in the bedroom.
It made me feel awkward and tense at the same time. I wait for Jesse to
come out of the bathroom, hoping that he's alright. I'm not sure what I
should say to him.
Jesse meets me near the front door. I'm trying to read his face; is
he embarrassed, angry at me or even feeling joy that he did that in my
arms? I feel honored in a way. That our embrace excited him so much that
he came out.
I touch Jesse's shoulder. "Let's go to your mother's house. She'll
need your help tonight with the computer." He follows me outside.
Jesse is very quiet when we walk through trailer park. I've been
glancing him. He appears to be in deep thought, maybe trying to deal
with what happened. I don't know. We turn right on Winding Creek Road.
Four houses are passed. I stop in front of his house and turn to him.
"I won't say anything," Jesse whispers.
Relief fills me. I give him a smile and stroke his brown cheek with
my fingers. I'm feeling very strong for him in my heart. I straighten
out his long so that it flows down his back. He gives me a shy grin.
We walk up the driveway and I see the pickup truck. There's a pinging
sound from the engine that tells me she's just gotten home. I'm glancing
at Jesse. His face is plain of emotion.
We go inside but I don't see Mrs. Winnapah. We go through the house,
into the kitchen and Jesse grabs a pudding cup from the counter. He
offers me one. Spoons are taken from a drawer. We eat them in silence.
His mother startles me when she comes up from behind.
"Hello, Mike."
I'm glad that she calls me by my first name. "Jesse said that you'll
be driving me to class."
"If you don't mind."
"Not at all." The woman looks at her son and something unspoken passes
between them. I return the plastic containers to her with my thanks.
"I'm going to dress. You can watch some television in the meanwhile."
Jesse tosses his empty pudding cup into the trash. I'm nearly done
with mine. We watch the woman leaving the room and I throw my cup away.
"She can take a long time with that," Jesse remarks.
My breath trembles from what he meant by that. I follow Jesse to the
front of the house. He turns on the television, some news program then
plunks down on the couch. I sit down beside him. His long arm reaches
around me. I hold him back, enjoying the warmth of his body. He looks at
me with a nice expression on his face.
Jesse wets his lips. I get the strong feeling that he wants to kiss
me so my face leans over and our noses bump. His lips manage to press
against mine. We kiss. He has his eyes closed. Me too.
It feels wonderful! Too quickly it ends when Jesse looks past me for
his mother. I also look. This isn't a good idea, I scold myself yet I'm
drawn into another kiss. A longer one with our lips moving against each
other. I've heard about tonguing but decide not to try that with him.
Jesse blows his breath into my mouth. I let it fill my lungs. We're
kissing some more, the good feelings inside me is making it hard to stop.
He pulls his face away. We both turn our heads to look down the hallway.
I slowly pull my arm away. Jesse folds his hands in his lap. I've
peered down at the front of his pants, seen his hard on. My cock has also
stiffened in mine.
Jesse reaches for the remote control on the coffee table. He flips
through the channels. I'm panting for breath, enjoying the afterglow
from kissing.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?" Jesse turns to me with shy eyes. He appears to be deep in
thought when he speaks.
"Have you ever... done that before with anyone?"
"No."
"I'm the first one you've ever kissed?"
I nod my head and smile. Jesse smiles too, relief showing from his
face that's quickly replaced with longing. I find his right hand and
squeeze it hard. His long brown fingers dig into my palm. That has me
noticing the contrast of our skin color. Our clashing cultures. Was that
what his uncle tried warning him about?
We hold hands for a while, peeking at each other with obvious love
while keeping an eye out for his mother. I have no idea what program is
on T.V. I'm finding it hard to concentrate. This sweet moment with Jesse
simply is. A beginning. Please, God. Let us find our way together and
find happiness!
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I'm correcting the 'New to Love' story texts as of March 2006. Sketches
of Mike, Jesse, Running Water, Jake and grandfather have been rendered
by one of my Readers. To view them, join my Yahoo! Group on the Internet:
www.groups.yahoo.com/group/NtTLStoriesAndSketches
I welcome Reader comments, questions and suggestions to what I've written.
Email me at: Vince_Water@Yahoo.com
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End of file: NEWLOVE1.TXT The story continues in: NEWLOVE2.TXT