Chapter Ten

 

EACH evening, one of the six groups ambled off to a place called the Hollow and sat around a burn pit for a campfire chat. Wednesday was my group’s turn. Led by Thom Swain, all six of us gathered up kindling and, in true Boy Scout fashion, helped construct the perfect framework for a fire. Cut wood was heaped beneath a lean-to at the edge of the groomed space, and we were to take turns fetching a length or two whenever the flames dwindled. Tomorrow, during the designated physical activity time, we’d have to split wood for the Thursday group. These were apparently more exercises in wholesome fellowship and selfless cooperation.

I didn’t mind. I cared about these guys and liked the outdoors. And, although the August evening was too sultry for a blaze, I looked forward to watching the firelight play over Jude’s features.

Just as we all got settled around our crackling masterpiece, an eighth person joined the circle. Hammer emerged from the darkness of the woodsy path like a murderous stalker. In spite of his convivial greeting, my spirits sank. Good things did not happen when Ev and I were thrown together. Moreover, I could get away with watching Jude when only the deaf, dumb, and blind Thom Swain was around; I couldn’t when his eagle-eyed boss hovered nearby.

“Now’s a good time,” Thom announced, “to share your life experiences before you came to Stronger Wings—like, what put you at the point of seeking help—and talk about how your stay here has affected you.”

“Feel free to ask questions too,” Hammer added. “We all need advice as we try to claim our true identities.”

I sat on the ground just outside the log circle, so I would look like the unobtrusive observer I was supposed to be. There were other advantages to distance. I was away from the fire’s unpleasant heat. And I was mostly in shadow, which meant my face was harder to see.

The men began a kind of scattershot exchange. Swain sometimes threw in his worthless two cents’ worth. Hammer listened but mostly refrained from getting involved in the conversation… unless, of course, the mentor fumbled the ball.

David again raised the possibility of celibacy. This time, Hammer did step in. “The whole point of repair,” he said, “is to reshape one’s internal sexual paradigm and redirect one’s thoughts, not just suppress urges. Intimacy should be courted, not rejected. It’s essential to a normal life.”

As I groaned and growled inside, David lapsed into silence and the conversation veered in another direction. Jude didn’t say much, except to verify that domestic violence did exist in the gay community. The men continued berating their old liaisons and the “lifestyle” in general.

And then Danny Quinn lost it. He’d been talking about the HIV-positive man who’d coaxed him out of the closet, become his lover, and soon thereafter contracted pneumonia and died. The story made several of us misty-eyed. Jude, who was sitting beside Danny, put an arm around his shoulders. Murmuring soothing words, he drew the distraught man close to him. Danny wilted against his chest.

“Jude!” Hammer barked. “Get your hands off of him!”

Everybody jumped, as if one of us had thrown a firecracker into the flames.

Jude took his time letting go of Danny. “Can’t you see the difference between—”

Hammer wouldn’t let him finish. “Regardless of motivation, that is not the proper form of interaction for two vulnerable men who are still in transition.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, springing to my feet. “Jude’s only trying to comfort Danny! There’s nothing wrong with holding somebody when he’s grieving!”

My objection hung chillingly in the air. Only the fire didn’t freeze.

Hammer glared up at me. “With all due respect, sir,” he said levelly, “you know far too little about what these men are going through to judge what behavior is acceptable and what isn’t. The rules of this camp exist for a reason. They are part of a very thoughtfully planned program intended to help troubled people out of an untenable existence.”

“Maybe,” I said, “this is a case of deficient understanding.”

Hammer likely knew what I meant, knew I was impugning his understanding and not my own, but he had no way of being sure. So he donned the persona of a kindly but put-upon uncle, slathered his voice with all the forbearance he could muster, and said, “Mick, I can see why my objection would be incomprehensible to you. Why don’t you meet me in my office later, and I’ll try to explain.”

“All right.”

I caught a glimpse of Jude looking down and shaking his head.

There wasn’t much I could do now but prepare for Round Two.

 

 

HAMMER’S large, frontier-chic office was like an extension of the South Lodge lobby. His desk could’ve come straight from the Ponderosa ranch. Two cows must have given their lives to upholster the Holstein-hided chair that loomed behind it.

Seating himself, Ev took up a ballpoint pen and slipped the button end between his pursed lips. Little did he know it, but he had his gay face on. There were just some things a wife couldn’t change.

I already knew he hadn’t summoned me here to clue me in about the No Touch rule.

“According to scuttlebutt,” he said after regarding me a moment, “you and Jude Stone spend a lot of your free time together.”

Laconically, I shrugged. “He’s a nice guy—bright, well read, well mannered. I enjoy his company. I don’t feel threatened by him.”

“The question is, might he feel threatened by you.”

“For what reason?”

“How old are you, Mick?”

“Thirty-one. It’s on my registration form.”

Nodding, Hammer tossed the pen onto his desk. “You’re a good-looking man. Don’t you think it might stress Jude out to be around you so much?”

“Why should it stress him out any more than it stresses you out?”

Ever so slightly, Ham fidgeted. “I have a wife to turn to. He doesn’t have anybody. Surely you realize how difficult it must be for these men to fight against their… inclinations.”

I could’ve sworn he was about to say “natural inclinations.” It made me smile inside.

“So isn’t it better,” I said, “for any one of them to hang out with a straight guy than with another gay guy?”

Hammer chewed on something that wasn’t there. “That depends on how the straight guy looks. You probably don’t realize this, but gay men can be very superficial, carnal creatures. They’re drawn to attractive males, regardless of preference.”

“Really.” My voice had gone flat.

“Yes, really.”

Although I immediately thought of myself, I also thought of the millions of queer men who didn’t deserve to be painted with the same brush. And the many more millions of hetero men who did. “In any case,” I said, “It’s up to Jude to decide if he wants me as a buddy or not. He’s an adult. And he’s anything but superficial.”

After scratching and rubbing the underside of his neck, Hammer let out a sigh. “Swain doesn’t know what to make of Jude. I don’t either. He’s very reserved.”

“Sometimes.” Hammer was angling for information, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to oblige.

“It’s especially hard to help men like that, the ones who keep to themselves. They don’t give us any openings.”

“I see.” Revealing word, openings. And disquieting. The people who ran this camp were akin to psychic invaders, and they were always sniffing out entry points, weak spots.

Hammer turned his gaze from the desktop to my face. “Can you enlighten us?”

How predictable. “I’m afraid not. Confidentiality and all that. You don’t want me sitting in on your counseling sessions; I don’t want to share the content of my interviews. You can read some of what I was told when the article is published, but all the men will have pseudonyms.”

Ev was in no position to dispute my logic, and he knew it. “So Jude hasn’t done or said anything…untoward with you?”

“Not a thing.”

“Can you at least tell me if he seems to be making progress?”

I stared into my lap and contained a smile. “Yes, I believe he is.”

 

 

SAME routine the next day, Thursday, but I barely noticed. In fact, I didn’t get out of bed until breakfast was over.

I wandered to one of the common areas and got an apple and a granola bar from the vending machines. Jude and the other registrants were tied up with their class and their counseling sessions. North Lodge felt deserted.

After I showered, I did more writing and revising. I was grateful when lunchtime rolled around.

“We missed you at breakfast, Mick,” Thom said. “I poked my head in your room just to make sure you were okay.”

You poked your head in my room hoping to cop a glimpse of naked man. I hoped he had. I hoped I’d thrown the covers aside while I slept, and Thom “Sly Glances” Swain had gotten an eyeful of bare ass or thickened cock.

“Yeah, I overslept,” I said.

My gaze briefly met Jude’s.

After lunch, we all had to return to the Hollow to split wood for the Thursday evening campfire. At least the area was shaded from the scalding sun. Thom and a guy named Roy Schroeder seemed to know their way around axes and mauls, but the rest of us were lucky we didn’t amputate something. By the end of the ordeal, I had a fairly good rhythm going, and I was glad I’d kept myself in shape.

Jude kept sliding glances at me. I was sweating and felt pretty grungy, so I couldn’t figure out at first why he’d want to look at me. Then I realized it was because I was sweaty and grungy—and, furthermore, my upper body was pumped—that he kept checking me out.

The assumption was one hell of a turn-on, even if it was incorrect.

I jerked off during my break-time shower as I thought of Jude being aroused by the look of me. Christ, it made me feel like Gary to think that way… but it worked. And I’d really needed the release.

I hustled over to Jude’s room once I was clean and fragrant. He’d showered, too, and was sitting on his bed, staring out the window. He gave me a distracted smile when I walked in but he didn’t say anything.

I made the bold and completely unacceptable move of getting on the bed with him, fully, not just balancing my butt on the edge of the mattress. I didn’t do anything except sit there, but it was still a major no-no.

“Does any of the shit you’ve been fed here make any sense so far?” I asked without preface.

Jude shoved a hand into his thicket of hair and scratched at his scalp. “I don’t know. I need more time to process it.”

I craned my neck in his direction and lifted my eyebrows. I knew he knew better, and he knew I knew. He glanced up and gave me a weary, lopsided smile. Even Jude’s halfhearted smiles were better than a jubilant grin from anybody else.

“Not too much,” he finally admitted. “I’m starting to get the feeling that if I can’t turn myself around, I’ll have to pretend I’ve turned myself around. And if I can’t pretend, I’ll have to be celibate for the rest of my life and keep myself distracted with lofty thoughts.”

I started sniggering. Jude’s shoulders jiggled. He, too, was chuckling, but the sound came out as little expulsions of breath. At least mirth had graced our stay at Stronger Wings.

Jude sighed. “Problem is, I can’t seem to conjure a single lofty thought.”

“Why’s that?” I half expected him to blame my presence. I hoped he would.

“I’ve never been that kind of person,” he said instead. “I love music, dancing, good food and conversation and books. I guess I’m too much a….” He scrunched his face. “What did Swain call it?”

“Hedonist?”

“No,” Jude said, “that’s you.”

I ignored the minor barb. “Secular humanist?”

Jude pointed at me. “Yeah, that’s the phrase.” He braced his elbows on his upraised knees and held his head. “Damn it, Misha, this sucks. I can’t stop trying. I can’t fail at this too.”

Oh God, no. “What do you mean, ‘too’? You haven’t failed at anything else. It’s other people who’ve failed you.” Jude’s declaration jolted me. I’d let myself believe he was about to give up this insane endeavor, and I refused to surrender that belief.

I leaned forward. “I hope to God you do fail at this. But I’ll be there for you when it happens.”

Stupefied, he slowly lowered his hands and gaped at me. “You think I need your help? Your help? Like, what, you’re going to ‘rescue’ me?”

I spoke without thinking. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll rescue me.”

“Save the damned innuendo, Misha.”

“What innuendo?”

“You know what I mean.”

“What do you think I’m saying? Huh? Do you think ‘rescue me’ is some euphemism for ‘get me off’? Do you really think that’s all I care about?”

“Just drop it.”

I was good and riled now. I wasn’t about to drop any damned thing.

“No,” I said stubbornly. “No, we’re going to get this shit out of the way. Okay, I’d love it if you sucked my dick. I’d love to suck your dick. And taste your cum and lick your nipples and squeeze your ass cheeks and fuck you senseless and feel you sweat against me before you fall asleep in my arms. Yeah, I want all those things and more. Going both ways. There, it’s out in the open. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

Christ, Jude’s cheeks were red. “You need to go now,” he said tightly.

I got off the bed. “Let me ask you something first. Have you jacked off since you’ve been here?”

His wide-eyed gaze shot up to my face. “That’s none of your business!”

“Just tell me. Have you looked at Samuel’s chest or Bill Gerard’s crotch or Ashton’s ass and mentally undressed them and fantasized about—”

“No!” Very slightly, Jude’s chin quivered. He swiveled on the bed and put his feet on the floor, just to the left of mine. “Just you, Misha, goddamn you. Just your damned blue eyes and your hair and your… everything else. Just you.”

Nothing had ever filled me with more hope than that strained confession.

I dropped to my knees in front of Jude and bracketed his thighs with my hands. But I didn’t touch him; I only stared up at him. “I want you more than I can say, for reasons I don’t know how to express. And I care about you. Do you honestly believe there’s something wrong with that? Do you think the universe would skid to a halt if we made love? Or fell in love?”

“Please stop it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why? Why?” Oh, man, this was making me crazy. I felt like some machine gone haywire—welds splitting, rivets popping,

“You know why,” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t.” I hazarded a touch, lightly flattening my hands against his thighs. “Give me a chance, Jude. Give yourself a chance. I don’t understand the problem here. I shit you not. I mean, I can step back and kind of see what’s going on with the other guys, kind of, but with you—”

Helplessly, I lifted and dropped my hands. All the groveling I hadn’t done with Robbie I was doing now, but it didn’t seem demeaning. Futile, possibly, but not demeaning. I wouldn’t give up on him until I had no other choice.

“The problem,” Jude murmured, gripping the edge of the mattress, “is that we got too close. That’s why you can’t see what’s going on with me.”

I slowly shook my head in denial. “I got news for you, buddy. Nobody can see what’s going on with you. Except me.”

Jude fell silent for a moment. I read his inner conflict in his face. He had one hell of an expressive face.

“I enjoy your company, Misha.” He struggled with the words. “I might even… have certain thoughts about you. But that doesn’t mean I want to be the way I was.”

I exploded, pitching toward him, throwing up my arms in frustration. “The way you are, damn it! And it isn’t a deliberate choice, a whim, a disease, a sin, a crime against humanity, an insult to families, a psycho-emotional aberration, or a case of rotten judgment. Being gay is just… part of who you are. Like being a great dancer who’s left-handed and likes pistachio ice cream. Like being a brown-eyed music teacher who doesn’t know shit about hairstyle but everything about kissing.” All I could do was look up at him, beseechingly. “Damn it, Jude, I just wish you loved who you are as much as I do.”

I’d gotten to him. Without even trying. The sentiment had just welled from my heart and borrowed my voice and made itself known. Looking pained, Jude reached for my face, twice, but pulled his hand back both times.

My throat knotted. That sure as hell was an unpleasant surprise. “You were right,” I muttered. “I should go.” I pushed myself up from the floor.

Jude didn’t follow me this time.

What the fuck had I gotten myself into?