I never knew my real parents, Father. Never knew what happened to them. Sure, while I was a kid I wanted them to come and get me from the various foster homes, but I never knew them so they could've been any two people who wanted me and they would've been Mom and Dad.I spent my youth in and out of foster homes, ward of the state, prisoner at large, a lost boy in the swirl of humanity. World War II had given way to the Korean War and that was giving way to the Cold War and that was superseded by the Vietnam War and war and war and war.
I went through a phase in my teens when I pretended they were killed like in the Batman story. That wasn't true. Or it might've been, but I don't know.
As an angry young man, my Mom transformed into a doe eyed country girl/slut/whore/catholic girl who slept with a hayseed/sailor/soldier/traveling salesman/john and ... one moment of passion, one fuck, one hole in the rubber and nine months later ... that wasn't true either. Maybe it was. I just don't know. Well, the nine months part is.
Somewhere along the line I met up with another boy - Tyrell. He was a fat kid with a gentle disposition and a story that matched mine. We were alone together, and that little that we had in common made us family. We became brothers; closer than brothers who're only together because of some lucky guy managing to fuck the same lucky woman twice. I'm sorry Father, I shouldn't use that kind of language...
Yeah, I'm still angry I guess.
Tyrell and I were in the same foster home. Sometimes, in Winter, we even slept in the same bed. We didn't get up to anything, it was just freezing and we were lonely.
"C'mon, Eddie," he'd whisper; and I'd sigh like I was annoyed, but I wasn't and he'd climb into bed with me. We'd shiver together, not daring to touch each other because our hands were so cold. But we would and we'd hug each other desperately trying to snuff out the cold in the warmth of each other.
I got work in a 24-hour diner washing dishes. I learned to cook there too. Tyrell got a job as a cabinet maker's apprentice. We moved out of the foster home and we got a tiny apartment. Again we shared a bed because there wasn't room for two. He was gone for work early. I'd work late into the jaundice colored light, watching people with no-one in their eyes come in and order coffee and eggs or a burger. They'd be drunk, and they'd be lonely. More than once I had offers from women to come home with them. Sometimes I'd have offers from men too. I don't know why, the offers from women were always frightening. The offers from men seemed safe and warm.
I never accepted any offers.
I remember one old man. He was drunk, and it was late. Outside, rain was blurring the glow of the neon on the glass. I was alone at the counter, one of the girls was out the back just finishing up cleaning for her shift.
"That's a nice white uniform, son. Very clean. Fresh. "
I looked at him, raised my eyebrows.
"More coffee?"
"Nope, you got any scotch, cleanandfresh?"
He ran the words together like it was my name.
"No, Sir, we don't serve hard liquor."
"I bet you got something hard in that white uniform of yours. Something to go hard lick there..."
He looked lewdly at me.
"You know what I mean don't you son, you're a Nancy boy. I know you're a Nancy boy. Do you want to suck me Nancy boy?"
There was no-one around and I was frightened. I didn't show it though. I thumped the counter top and he jumped. I reached over and grabbed him by his tie and pulled him up close. I could smell the bottle on his breath. His blue eyes bulged with surprise. I wanted to hit him, slam my fist into his wrinkled old face. I stared him in the eyes and saw my own reflection in them. I made to punch him and he blinked and cowered back
I relaxed my grip on him.
"Go home, old man. Just go home."
He leaned forward and spat in my face.
"Nancy boy!"
I pushed him away, and he fell off the stool, landing heavily on the floor, taking his coffee cup down with him.
"Get out! Get out or I'm calling the cops!"
I wiped his insult off my face as he climbed to his feet. He flicked me a $10. That was a lot of money back in those days, even with a broken coffee cup.
He turned at the door, his face suddenly remorseful, perhaps as if to apologize. I could see that the fall, the coffee, and the alcohol had conspired together to leave a guilty dark patch on his groin.
"Don't piss yourself in the rain, you old bastard."
He looked down, stricken, and slammed out into the rain.
In the crackling, neon buzz silence, I found myself wishing that he hadn't gone.
I got home, and let myself in by the light from the street. Tyrell was snoring. I climbed into the shower and washed the scum, smoke, and shame off me. I thought about the old man and wondered how it'd feel if he had licked me, and whether I'd be able to lick him, and what he'd taste like and I jerked off to an unsatisfying orgasm. I waited in the shower until I pissed as well - I wanted every rancid memory of the old man out of my body. I curled up next to Tyrell and listened to him snore through the rain-filled darkness.
When I woke Tyrell had gone to work. Nothing unusual there, except he'd written a note on an envelope he'd left on the little dining table. Sorry - it'll work out was all it said. Tyrell had also received the same kind of envelope and before we knew what we we doing we were both on our way to Vietnam. My cooking skills found me cooking for Uncle Sam, and Tyrell saw more action than he knew what to do with. We were stationed on different corners of the country and apart from letters we rarely were in contact with each other. The war was a fucking mess. Lyndon Johnson was intent on bombing the Cong back to the dark ages, they were taking very effective guerrilla action, chaos, the whole fucking place was a mess.
Me? I loved the place. Hated the war, loved the place. Hot and steamy, fresh and alive. It was so alive. All colors and smells and noise and fear and laughter. After the boring food in the diner and foster homes, the food was eye-opening. I'd take leave to Saigon (I went to Bangkok once) and ignore the bars and strippers and go find the most crazy good food I could find. I made friends amongst the locals - even went to their homes sometimes - and learned to cook using the exotic ingredients. I mixed it up with army chow and it was good, really good. I developed a reputation and soon I found myself cooking for officers, and soon bigger and bigger brass. It didn't seem right, the grunts were kids like me, fighting in some god-forsaken corner of the world, on shitty food, and the brass were - as ever - as far from the front as they could manage. I worked hard and long hours; and then I'd get high on the adrenalin and exhaustion, and I couldn't sleep so I'd cook up some barbecue, viet-cajun I'd call it. Homesick boys would be all around when the word spread. We'd eat and drink and laugh together, but each of us was holding a kernel of sadness hidden. I'd lost touch with Tyrell, but I never forgot him.
When Nixon took over the war was as good as over too. Sure it took a few years, but the Vietnamese had bought a chateau outside Paris, and they were bedded in for the long haul. Us? We rented rooms in a hotel, thinking it'd be negotiated in a few days. It was all over. I found myself back home stateside, working as a second chef in a snooty restaurant. It was good to be hidden away from most of society. It was a whole new country. People had cheered when we left home and now they hated us. Shit - we didn't ask to go, we were drafted.
In all this time I never touched another body, neither female nor male. It just didn't seem right. Oh, I jerked off all the time, but I just didn't want to be with anyone. I was the lone wolf I guess. Some people are made for others, some - like me - are destined to be alone.
I locked down on that idea. I was a man alone. And then I got older and I figured it wasn't going to happen - I was too old for the young ones and well, it all just got ugly. In the day I had a head full of fears and at night I had dreams full of - well, you know...
After a couple of years I got a letter - bolt out of the blue - from Tyrell. He'd somehow managed to track me from an article in a trade journal, maybe something by American Culinary Federation. I called him. We talked for hours, crying, laughing, and the years slipped away. We were brothers again. I wondered if he had someone special in his life, and he said no, not right now. He was seeing a therapist regularly now - trying to forget the war was his big priority. He'd found work up near Portland, Oregon and life seemed mostly good.
The years went by. We never found the time or money to see each other face-to-face, but, strange as it might seem, we became closer than ever. We wrote and called often. In the very early 1990s we managed to hook into USENET and email through some old army buddies. We'd grown old - brothers together but apart. We'd had our daily trials - weak bosses, useless management, minor car accidents, jobs coming and going - just the usual sand in the gears of a life. I felt complete when I talked to Tyrell. I loved getting his email, and I knew that was true for him too.
Just after Christmas one year my boss came to me and told me I needed to take some leave. I hadn't really taken any for a long time, and accounting was getting jumpy. Mostly I didn't feel the need for vacations, so I had no plans. Talking to Tyrell about it and he got excited and wanted to see me. A week later I was fighting my way through TSA and getting on a plane. I hadn't flown for years and years. I'd forgotten about the rush.
Tyrell met me at the airport. We just hugged each other and he cried. I did too, I guess.
When we were driving home I could still feel where Tyrell had held me. It felt good, like some kind of invisible touch. I could feel the exact places, the pressure of his arms, his smell. I wanted him to hold me again. I just wanted to hold him. I realized for the first time what had always been true. I was in love with him. The simplicity of it landed like a slap on my face. I don't know why I hadn't accepted it before. I didn't know what to make of it all, and I got all quiet.
I'm too old for this kind of - what am I talking about?
My head was in overdrive.
We unloaded my small bag in the guest room, and then Tyrell gave me the guided tour. His house was small, and beautiful. It was this washed out blue color like faded demin. His skilled handwork showed from the front gate through the wildflower garden, the house he'd renovated, and beyond into the backyard. He popped open a beer and passed it to me. We clinked bottles in a silent toast.
"I-I hope you don't mind, I've got barbecue and salad planned for dinner. I thought we could catch up and maybe go out for a meal tomorrow night."
Tyrell sounded awkward and I hated myself for making him feel uncomfortable.
"No," I said, trying to sound brighter, more engaged. "That sounds great. I eat out every meal - it seems - I eat from the restaurant kitchen - so, really, a home cooked meal sounds great." God, I thought, I sound like a complete dork.
Tyrell just grinned back.
It's going to be ok. We both want this to work out. We spent the afternoon just sitting around, talking, playing songs from back then, sipping beers, finding ourselves and rebuilding the stories of our lives. Some moments we were young again, bright and the world spread before us again. Others we were back to being old men - tired, sad, alone.
Tyrell cooked a fine steak. We ate and talked and laughed. It felt like a dream - I watched us through a haze of the years, two men living in the moment, and all time faded away. In my head it was like watching a movie and we were just actors in our own stories. I wanted this dream to last forever.
It wasn't that late when the travel and the alcohol took hold of me. Tyrell took me to the guest room, fluffing the pillow and making sure I was set for the night. I thanked him and we hugged good night. I cleaned my teeth, peeled off my clothes, and got into bed.
"Are you all ok?" Tyrell called from outside the door.
"Sure," I said, "Come in."
He stepped in wearing a white t-shirt and boxers, and sat down.
"Sorry, forgot to mention - don't worry if you hear me shuffling around in the night. I don't always sleep too good ... you know ... thinking. I get up, make a drink, try to get the sleep fairy to come back."
He sounded slightly worried.
"Sure," I said, "Me too, sometimes. I'll be ok. Hey, thank you for everything. Your home is amazing, dinner was great, just thank you, for everything."
"I-I've missed you, I'm really glad you're here. Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for inviting me."
He smiled, got up with a grunt, and was gone.
Alone in the darkness I thought about the day, and all of the lonely years. I thought about Tyrell and I found myself thinking about the bulge in his crotch. I sighed and sniffed in the night air. I could smell vague fragrances of him and, unbidden, my cock began to harden.
I imagined Tyrell's soft flesh, firm yet yielding, making love with my cock as though making love with him, caressing my body feeling his. I could feel pre-cum seeping out of my cock and I wanted him desperately.
I relaxed and must've dropped off to sleep almost instantly. I woke with a start, my hands still on my now disinterested cock. The bedside clock glared 2:15. I wondered for a moment where I was, and was just easing back to sleep when I heard another noise. Tyrell must be up and making a drink.
I heard him walk past. I felt thirsty myself, so I got up and padded to the door. It opened silently and I could see into the kitchen.
The eco-lights were still warming up, fogging the kitchen with tired colors and jagged shadows. I watched him, fascinated. I don't know why, it's not as though I haven't seen tea being made before. My eyes stroked across the curves of his body. I could feel the softness without touching him, and my finger tips tingled. I wanted to speak to him, but I was afraid. I wanted... I wanted him.
I pulled back into my room and closed the door until there was just a narrow gap to peer through. I was captivated by him. I wanted to touch him, stroke my fingers along the muscles and lines of his body. I wanted to tease his nipples, hug him, feel him, kiss him, fuck him, love him. Love him.
Tyrell turned with his cup of tea and turned out the light.
I heard him walk past, puffing slightly as he went.
He was near the end of the hallway when I whispered, "C'mon, Eddie."
I didn't think he would've heard me, but he did. He stopped. In the shadows I saw him tilt his head to one side, listening. The blood pounded in my ears. In the waiting silence my breathing sounded like a roar.
Tyrell turned and walked back towards me.
"Are you ok?" he whispered.
"Yes." I said, "You want to share your tea? I can't sleep either."
"Sure, of course."
He sounded happy. I got back into the bed, and he sat on the edge. We sipped the tea.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he said.
"It's ok, it's all good. I think I was awake anyway."
I reached out and touched his shoulder. I felt him lean a little into my touch.
"When we were kids you used to say "C'mon, Eddie" when you wanted to get into my bed because you were cold."
Tyrell laughed.
"Yes, that's right. Did I hear you whisper to me as I walked past?"
"Yes."
"I'd get in now with you but I don't wear pajamas these days ... so, er... "
He nodded down to his cock.
"That's ok," I said, "Me neither. C'mon, just for old time's sake."
I lifted the corner of the covers, and nodded.
"C'mon."
He sighed, and put the tea mug down on the bedside table. Under the blankets he touched me on the arm, tracing his fingers down and then dovetailed our fingers together. He squeezed my hand tight and hugged me. We were like two little lost boys again, and the memories and the loneliness all came flooding back for me and I was sobbing in his arms.
Tyrell held me tight and kissed me. I held on to him tightly while I struggled to get my emotions under control.
"I'm sorry," I blubbed, "I've been so alone for so long. Meeting up with you has been the best thing ever."
He shushed me, and kissed me, stroking his warm hands over my back. I pushed up to him and he felt my erection.
"Good," he said as he began to tenderly caress my cock.
I gasped a little at his touch. He hesitated until I thrust towards him, encouraging, silently pleading for more. Tyrell didn't miss a moment, stroking me gently. I explored his body - finally my fingertips could drink in his silky skin.
"I think you want a little more than this, " he said, pulling the covers away.
He began lovingly licking my ass and when he worked my cock I was left moaning with pleasure. I tried to hold back, but I couldn't. I began to cum harder than ever before.
Tyrell held me while I throbbed and thrust into his touches until my balls were drained. It was as though a lifetime of pent up energy had poured though me and I was spent. I rolled over, puffing and panting.
"I'll get a towel. Man, you still don't do things by halves." He laughed.
I lurched up off the bed and followed him.
"C'mon," I whispered.
He turned. His cock was hard, waiting.
"No," he said, suddenly sounding shy. He turned away, his back to me, shoulders hunched, protective. "I wanted you to feel - I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me - I wanted to give you - after all these years ..."
He lapsed into silence. I could hear his ragged breathing.
I hugged him, my hands hard over his chest. I dug my chin into his shoulders, and held him, heaving with breath. I felt him calm a little at my touch. I kissed his shoulders and neck.
"C'mon," I whispered again. "Please... let me... please?"
He choked a little, and slowly turned towards me. I bent over him and took his cock in my mouth. His cock was salty, sweaty. I don't think I've felt something as smooth and soothing in my mouth. I stroked my tongue over his cock and I felt him stiffen up, twitching, gently thrusting into my mouth.
I laved his cock and fondled his balls, and I knew he was about to cum when he put his hand on my shoulders for support. I just wanted to take all his cum. The years, the lost years. I wanted them back somehow, I wanted to be with him and to have him in my arms forever. I was lost in the moment when Tyrell suddenly growled from deep in his body and began to pump cum into my mouth. I licked him madly, trying to draw out his pleasure forever.
We fell back into bed, and slept the sleep of angels.
In the morning we had changed. We were no longer childhood friends, brothers; we had become lovers.
"I don't know how to go back to my old job any more," I said.
"Did you think I'd even let you go now that I've finally got you back?"
I looked outside. The sun seemed brighter, and all the fears had just melted away.
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