Heart and Soul Chapter 5
This chapter is a favorite of mine. I hope you enjoy it too.
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5
Funerals
(Five Months After I Met Don)
"I hate funerals," Don said.
I looked at his body language. His elbows were on his knees with his hands in loose fists. His whole body looked wilted.
"Do you have to go?" I asked.
"Have to?? Not necessarily. But I think I should. He was a colleague on campus. It isn't that long of a drive."
"Would you feel better if I went with you?"
Don lifted up to look at me. "Why would you do that?"
"Would you feel better if I was there?"
"Of course."
"Then that's why I would come with you."
"But it's so ... not enjoyable."
"I'm not expecting entertainment. I just want to be there with you."
"God, I love you. But it's still a lot to ask."
"Fuck that. It's not at all. It's not like I have a busy schedule. I'd be very happy to accompany you. You can show me the campus."
"Ohhh, I'd love it if you came. Thank you."
"No problem."
"And ... it doesn't bother you that this was someone I was once in love with?"
"It was short-lived, if I recall."
"Ha. That's for sure. It's what I get for falling for a married man." Don squeezed his eyes shut. "I was such an idiot," he breathed.
"Allow yourself to be human."
Don grabbed a pillow on the couch and leaned over, placing his head in my lap.
"I don't deserve you," he said, looking up at me.
"Too bad, you're stuck with me." I reached for his hand and wrapped my fingers around his. "Plus, everyone deserves to be happy. Cooper always told me that when I was hesitant to take a chance on ... us."
"Bless his heart."
"Indeed. I'm very pleased we found each other. You have made me happy ... again."
"You do the same. I've felt a happiness I ... have not felt before. I haven't experienced love like ... us. This. Before."
"You've loved men before me!" I argued.
"Yes. But one was married. Lars moved away. There haven't been real others. My life is filled with encounters more than boyfriends."
"So, you're a sex expert. Is that so bad?"
Don burst out laughing. "Hardly. I truly don't deserve you."
We stretched our bodies to kiss.
—
The funeral was held on Saturday to allow most of the faculty at Drake to attend. We set out at 9 that morning. The goal was for Don to show me a bit of the campus. The funeral was at 2.
Don drove. His car was nicer than mine.
My role was to pack a cooler. I filled it with bottled teas and water. Don requested a Coke Zero be thrown in. I typically had those in stock at the house for whenever he came over.
"You look very nice," I said, as I got into the car after setting the cooler on the back seat floorboard.
"You do too."
I had on black slacks, a dark blue shirt and a black tie. Don had a full suit on. Dark black with a gray shirt. His tie was blue, gray and white, which he explained were the colors of the university.
Twenty minutes into the drive, he seemed nervous. He asked me to get him a tea.
"I hate funerals," he sighed, as he twisted off the lid.
"You've said that before. No one likes them, per se."
"I don't do well at them, Emory. I'm very glad you decided to come."
"I'll be with you, right next to you."
Don was quiet for a while. "My stomach gets all tied up in knots. I get all worked up inside about not having a chance to say goodbye and things I wish I had told them while they were alive. I feel terrible about myself."
"That is probably more common than you think."
"You just never feel like you should bring things up ... you know, when they are around you. But ..."
"Remember that this guy led you on and then broke it off with you. You don't owe him any remorse."
"And I suppose funerals remind me of my own shortcomings with people who have passed on."
"Tell me about your time with him."
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything. Everything. Tell me about him."
"As you now know, his name is Verlin Hawker. Or was. Is." Don took another sip of tea. "The staff I associated with knew I was gay. I was pretty open about it by my mid-40s. Verlin came to my office one day. He looked ... off. I could tell something was bothering him. When I asked what was wrong, he asked me how I knew I was gay." Don looked at me for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. "That's always kind of hard to answer, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"I told him ... I don't know ... I guess how I felt and the attraction to men. I told him I found him attractive where I didn't feel the same thing toward women. I explained I could recognize a pretty woman, but I was drawn ... sexually ... to men. He just ... withered in front of me. His lip began to quiver, and he whimpered that he had those feelings too. I asked him if he would like to go somewhere and talk about it."
I took a sip of Don's tea. He didn't object.
"We met for drinks for several evenings. He told his wife he had to work late on those nights. You'd think that would be a red flag to a woman. Maybe it was. At first, he just asked questions. After a few days, the questions became more explicit. He said he craved man-on-man sex. When we walked to our cars, he pulled me close and kissed me. We didn't do anything further. We were both probably feeling confused."
"What happened next?"
"We went a few days with no communication whatsoever. It was long before cell phones and texting, of course. I felt cut off. But ... I knew he felt something and was probably struggling with it. I stopped by his office to work things out. To resolve it, whatever ... it ... was. He began apologizing for kissing me. I asked if he regretted it. He said he felt so guilty because of his wife. I asked him if he enjoyed it." Don looked at me. "He said, `yes, completely.' And ... I don't know if you could say I kissed him or he kissed me. We just ... met. We kissed HARD."
When Don used the word hard, oddly Pedro stirred in my pants. There were times when I wanted to yell at him for his timing. However, whenever I got hard, I appreciated it.
"From that point on, we kissed ... a lot. His office. My office. We worried about people wondering why we kept going to each other's office so ... once we met in a supply closet. We mauled each other. I groped his cock through his pants. I kept feeling it. He groped me and ... he actually came while he was fully dressed."
"Wow." I was hard.
"Once he told me, I ripped open his pants and licked as much cum off his cock and his underwear as I could. It was damp, but nothing was visible to people."
"Was the closet locked?"
"Actually, not the first time. We were in the back. We could have separated if someone had walked in. Which ... probably didn't happen often. The second time I locked it and gave him a full blowjob. He came in my mouth and told me it was the greatest experience of his life."
I was fucking hard.
"For two months we found time to be together. We had sex at least three times a week. It was often at my house. Any time we were at my place, we always fucked. Once I showed him ... everything ... he was insatiable. He loved fucking. And kissing. And sucking. He loved being gay."
I wanted to feel my cock so bad, but I just stayed still and listened.
"And he loved ... me. He told me. I told him. We fucked on Thanksgiving. He said to his family that he had to run up to his office that morning, and his wife was busy preparing the meal. He asked me to meet him there. I asked why we just didn't do it at my place. He said he really did need to grab something, but he also found it exciting to do it in his office. We were the only ones in the building. We stripped every bit of clothing off and fucked like animals in his office. Naked. Loud. Raw."
I could feel dampness from pre-cum in my underwear.
"It was probably the best sex of my life." Don turned to me. "Sorry, honey. I was younger then. It was crazy hot."
"No offense taken," I smiled.
"He came inside me and just stared into my eyes and said, `I'm so thankful for our love.' He kissed me and said, `Happy Thanksgiving.' And after we left to go to our homes, I knew I was so head over heels for him and wanted to spend so much of the Christmas break with him. Maybe I was thinking he would tell his wife as ... as a New Year's resolution or something. Duh. Three weeks later, he breaks it off. He said that even though he loved me, he couldn't do it to his wife. He made a vow."
"Which was true."
"Yes, it was. Damn it. I was so destroyed, but over the break I tried to put myself in his shoes. His life was so complicated with me in it. I was so hurt, but he had to be ... torn apart from all directions. I felt sorry for him having to live a life that ... wasn't true. But it was his decision."
"Did you talk much when school resumed?"
"Not really. I think he knew he couldn't remain strong if he was around me. Months later I found out he was in therapy. I knew I needed to keep my distance."
Don took a drink.
"Wow."
"So, there you have it. Anything and everything."
"Your story made me hard."
Don exploded into laughter. He leaned over to grope my bulge for a second and smiled.
Five minutes later, I popped open a Sprite.
"Emory, how difficult was it to get through Gene's funeral? How did you manage it?"
Don's question challenged me. It had been so long since I thought about it.
"To be honest, Don, I ... I'm not sure. It was almost four years ago now. I haven't thought about it in so long. In fact, after the funeral was over, I didn't really think about it. That ... service, that ceremony ... was just a formality in my mind. I had less than a week to plan it and handle all the details. When it was over, I went home. And it felt `officially' empty and I ..."
And then tears poured from me. I couldn't even finish my sentence to Don. I blubbered, "I did this ... just like this." I was so surprised at myself that this just came over me. It seemed so out of the blue.
Don pulled over.
"I am so, so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to upset you. Please forgive me."
"No. No. It's not your fault. In fact, I can't explain where all that came from." I wiped my eyes. Don handed me a tissue from the center console. "But that's what I did. The funeral ... I just held up. I dabbed my eyes now and then at the service, but when I got home, I felt alone. And I just sobbed."
Tears started again.
"Hey, hey. I'm so sorry, honey. Here." He reached over to hold me.
"I – I can't explain all this. Why is this happening? It's so ... random. That was so long ago."
"It hasn't been that long. Not at all, and your life changed in a blink."
"This is not like me though. Weird." I wiped my eyes again and blew my nose. "Please, drive," I said, motioning to the highway.
Don moved back onto the road when traffic allowed.
I was still baffled at my reaction to that question.
"I hated being alone," I interjected into the blank space of the car. "I imagine that is true of anyone losing their spouse. The first two weeks were so hard. I would stay at work late. I would eat out. I went out drinking. I'd do anything not to go home. I'd crawl into bed and without Gene being there, I just told myself I couldn't wait for things to get back to normal. But normal wasn't coming back. I suppose denial is one part of grief."
"So is anger. Did you ever get angry?"
"I can't say I got mad at Gene. I got angry we didn't get to say goodbye. When he doubled over in pain, I called 911. And it was like ... like he was gone so fast. We didn't say anything to each other. It was ... it was ... so fast. When the ambulance arrived, they carried him off, but ... I knew. I knew he was gone. I felt it. I followed along. But I knew the hospital was going to tell me he had died. ... I felt it."
"So horrible," Don softly said, continuing to look through the windshield.
"I guess that loneliness stayed with me. I distracted myself with work. I piddled around the house. I did a lot of reading. A lot more than I did when Gene was around. It just seemed like I had free time. The sad part is friends stopped calling. That made me feel even more alone."
"That's terrible."
"I know. I think people just don't know what to say, so they just avoid having to ask how you're doing. They drift."
"That's not a good enough reason."
"Maybe not, but human beings are fearful. We're all frail."
"Did the feeling of loneliness ever go away?"
"Yes and no. I still felt alone, but I also felt it was the new normal. So, I guess it felt normal after the first year. Cooper and our new friends helped a lot last year."
After I stopped talking, Don played some music. We were quiet for a while.
11:15 was a bit early for lunch, but we felt it good to get it out of the way. The sadness of the occasion didn't remove our appetite.
Shortly after lunch, Don drove me around Drake University. We walked to the building where his office was. The library was open, so we went inside. It was the final week of school, so things seemed rather quiet. The only students we saw were perfectly still, cramming for finals.
An hour later, we pulled into the parking lot of the church building where the funeral was being held. I stepped into the men's room to pee before the service started. When I exited, I saw Don had found some old friends from the school. I could have interrupted them, but I didn't feel the need. Catching up and remembering past years was easier without one oddball who didn't know anybody or share any of the memories. I motioned to Don that I would just take a seat.
A slide show rotated through a lifetime of photos of this gentleman. I looked at them. He was fairly good looking but not dramatically so. He looked like someone who would live in the house next to you. For some reason, I pictured Don with him. Not having sex, but just ... being with him.
I wasn't crazy about the service. It seemed more academic than personal. It was nice that his accomplishments were acknowledged, but I didn't get a sense of who Verlin was. Then one of his fellow professors got up to speak. I looked at my watch. The service wasn't long; time just wasn't flowing. But this man's words were much better. He spoke of the deceased's kindness and the love that he showed his wife and kids.
I looked at the front row. I could tell the widow. I assumed the adults next to her were their children. They seemed to be in their 40s, maybe 50. There were school-aged children next to them. Grandchildren I assumed. Kids that probably never had any idea their grandfather was gay.
Don was quiet, but I saw him pull a handkerchief out of his pocket. I slightly turned and could see tears dripping over his cheek. He wiped them away.
I reached for Don's hand. He gripped it tightly. I didn't know what was going through his head. Was he regretting falling in love with Verlin? Was he sad that he never got to talk to him after the breakup? Was he feeling sorry for Verlin for having to live a deceptive life? Was he embarrassed that he wasn't enough to make Verlin leave his wife? It could have been anything. I just knew in his mind, Don was saying, "I hate funerals."
He held my hand and moved his knee to touch mine. I knew that was a subtle gesture to thank me for being there.
Don cried for a few minutes, but then he pulled it together. I didn't let go.
After the service was over, we stood.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes. I just ... let my thoughts steamroll right over me. I'm fine." He took a big, deep breath.
"Do you wish to talk to other people. Old faculty members?"
"Old faculty members?? What are you implying, Emory?"
"I didn't mean it that way."
Don smiled, and I was glad to see it.
Before long, a man walked up to Don. "Donald Raines! How are you, you old son-of-a-gun."
"My! Everyone seems determined to call me old today."
The two shook hands and then moved in for a casual hug.
"Roy, this is my partner, Emory Pike. Emory, Roy Persechino. Roy and I taught together. I taught English, he taught Journalism. We enjoyed a lot of coffee together."
"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand.
They turned to each other and began to reminisce. It hit me.
Partner.
Don had never called me his partner before. Were we saying that now? Was it just a convenient way to convey who I was? We didn't even live together. Was that a requirement to being a partner?? I was so tripped by this single word that I didn't hear a word they said.
"It's so good to see you, Donald."
"I'm just sorry for the circumstances," my partner said. "I really cared about him."
"You loved him."
That caused my eyes to snap at Don's reaction. My lover was a bit flustered.
"Uh..."
"And he loved you."
"Wh – where are you going with this?"
"Verlin loved you. For a long time."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because he told me."
"He ...?"
"Apparently when he stopped having drinks with you, I was the replacement."
"You two were always close."
"I don't think as close as you two were."
"What ... what did he say?"
"It was all in confidence. Several months after you two ... ended things ... we were out one night. I brought up your name. He just started bawling."
"What!?"
"He had a few drinks in him."
"I'm ... confused."
"He told me about his ... true self. That you and he acted on his desires. I know you two were in love for a while."
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"He asked me not to. He knew he had treated you poorly, and it destroyed him inside. For a while, at least. He said it made him a better husband though."
"By being in love with a man?"
"Well, maybe not that. He honored his vows to Maragaret. Even though he told me he ... he was gay, he wanted to do the right thing. He became this super-husband. Loving, devoted, engaged."
"Do you think it was because he was denying who he truly was?"
"He didn't deny it. He never told her, but he wanted to be a `good man.' And he was. A great husband and father. But it took him a long time to get over you."
"That was a big secret for you to carry," Don said.
"Not necessarily. I treated him the same. We were close friends. He said he never acted on his feelings with men ever again. Now ... privately, alone ... perhaps. I'd know if he had other encounters. We were close enough that he would tell me."
"I loved him so much in those months."
"I know. And I'm sorry that I couldn't talk to you about it."
Then the two realized I was standing there.
"Oh," Roy said. "I hope I haven't ..."
"Emory's aware. He knows most of my past."
"What haven't you told me?" I said in jest. Don slapped me on the arm.
We chuckled.
The two men clutched each other's hands and said how nice it was to see each other again. A final hug prompted Don to say, "Thank you."
Soon, people headed to their cars. Inside, it was warm enough that Don turned on the air conditioning.
"So, how do you feel?" I asked. "You know, about what Roy said."
"About ... Verlin and me?"
"Yeah. There were some big things to process there."
"I suppose. Why?"
"I mean ... you know this man truly loved you. Do you feel sad that you two didn't get to see where it might have gone? Is it heartwarming to know that he really DID love you? Did it affect you in any way?"
"Not negatively. I accepted 25 years ago that the two of us couldn't happen. But the fact that he ... confided in someone else that he not only had ... well, a relationship isn't the best word, but ... you know ... something between the two of us... I kind of liked that. Hearing that he told Roy that he loved me. That did make me feel good. I'm not sad."
Don turned onto the main road, taking us off campus.
"Who knows if we could have even worked. He was devoted to his family. Even if we tried, he probably would have gone to counseling."
"Therapy. Gyuk. What a waste of time. Paying someone who will just sit and listen to your shit."
"It's helpful for many people, Emory."
"Whatever. Don't they just listen to you complain and then say, `And how do you feel about that?'"
Don chuckled. "I'm sure there is more to it than that. Didn't Cooper get counseling to work through his struggles?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"There is more to it than you realize, my love. Therapists have to have knowledge and training."
"I suppose. You're right."
My love. Don was throwing out all sorts of terms of endearment at me.
As we began the drive back to Jackson Bend, I said, "You called me partner today."
"Oh dear. Was that wrong? Would you have preferred I not?"
"Actually, I prefer it over ... all other terms. Particularly boyfriend."
"At our age."
"Are we to that point though, Don?"
"I want to make sure I fully understand your question. Tell me what you're feeling."
"We know we both love each other. We are in a committed relationship. But ..."
"But ...?"
"We don't live together. We see each other a few nights a week. Does that make us partners? Are we ... are we in this for the long haul? I mean ... that's what I'm wondering on the inside."
"I – I can't tell if you are wanting to break up, asking me to move in or telling me you want to get married."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "None of that. You have a beautiful home. I own a home. Right now, I don't think either of us is wanting to leave what we have. But ... we are up there in age. Is it ... is it me and you ... you know, forever?"
Don pulled the car over. He put it in park. He then reached for my hand.
"Emory, none of us know how many more years we may have — at any age. But I do know I want to love you for the rest of my life. And while that sounds like a marriage proposal, I know you well enough that you don't believe in marriage."
"It's not that I-"
"No need to explain. As I said, I know you. But I would love to think that no matter where we live, our love will carry us through for whatever time we still have. I love you. I hope we are partners in this life. I'm sorry if I surprised you with that. We don't have to use that term."
My hand squeezed his. "I'm okay with that. Partners. It's nice. So ... we keep doing what we're doing?"
He nodded. "Is that okay? Is that what you want?"
"Right now ... it seems right. And Don ... I couldn't ask for a better partner."
We leaned forward to kiss. I put my hand behind his head and pressed his lips even harder to mine.
"I'm so glad you were with me today. Thank you," he softly said as our lips separated.
I grabbed each of us a beverage from the cooler. The tea still seemed quite chilled.
He turned on the radio, and we listened to music without saying much for several miles.
"Can I show you my childhood home?" he asked.
"On the drive home?"
"Yes. We aren't terribly far."
"Sure."
We exited off Highway 35 in Ames. As we drove through several neighborhoods, he slowed on a particular street. After turning left, he inched down a couple of houses.
"There it is. I grew up in that house."
I looked at his old home. Fifty years ago, it probably would have been considered a very nice home. Today it was a regular middle-class home, but it was still nice enough.
"How long did your family live here?"
"For most of my life. Once my father died, Mom didn't want that large a house, so she sold it and got an apartment. She made sure to get a two-bedroom one so that when Vicki or I visited, we'd have a room to stay in."
"I see."
"I spent her last eighteen months there with her."
"Commendable."
"I guess. Living with your parents as a fully grown adult is not easy, but we got along well enough."
"I'm sure you didn't date anyone during that time."
"No. Her health was my major focus. So that's sort of a boner killer, so to speak. It's not like I could take anyone home. So, yeah. I went two years with no sex of any kind."
"That's why God gave us two hands."
"Oh please."
He drove a few minutes away to a place called Reiman Gardens. Don paid my admission fee. It was pretty enough. As we walked around, we appreciated the early signs of spring. Trees were beginning to leaf out and appear green. There were some colorful flower beds. Overall, the gardens were very manicured.
As we headed back to the highway, Don looked hesitant. "I want to do something," he said.
He headed back into the neighborhoods. We stopped in front of a house.
"This is it. This is where Tate lived."
He got out of the car, so I did as well. He pointed to some trees behind the home and a field not too far away. He spoke of his high school crush in the fondest of terms. It's funny that he didn't once mention how he hated him initially. I loved hearing Don talk about his former loves. For someone who never found the right "one," it was nice to know that he did feel love at certain times.
A car pulled into the driveway. A woman got out.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asked, not sure of our intentions.
"Oh, not really. I grew up in Ames. One of my closest friends lived here."
"The Copeland family?"
"Do you know them?" Don asked.
"Not really. We bought the house from them six or so years ago. After the father died, the mother moved in with the daughter down in Des Moines. The son still lives in town. He owns a print shop downtown."
"Do you know the name of it?"
"I believe it is Copeland's Print Shop. Creative, huh?"
"Thank you, ma'am," Don said, and he opened his door to get back in the car.
"You want to go down there, don't you?" I asked, getting in the car with him.
"I think I do."
"Do you believe Tate is the `father who died'? Or is he the one who owns the print shop?"
"I don't know. Either would make sense."
It was 4:40 when we walked in.
"Hello. Are you here to pick up an order?" a girl behind the counter asked.
"Oh. Uh. No. I'm ... wondering if Mr. Copeland might be here," Don said.
"He's in the back. Hold on. I'll get him for you."
"Oh my," Don said to me. He suddenly looked extremely nervous. "I'm not sure what I'll say if it's Tate."
A minute later, a man around 50 years old came out. "How can I help you gentlemen."
Don extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Donald Raines. Would you ... happen to be the son of Tate Copeland?"
"I am. Did you know him?"
"We went to high school together. I was ... I was in town and ... I just didn't know. I'm sorry to hear that he had passed away. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. I miss my father very much."
There it was. Tate was the "father" to whom the woman at the house referred. I wondered how Don felt. Knowing two of the men he loved had passed away must be unsettling in some way. Granted, he was in his 70s, but that was still somewhat young. In my own mind, this hurt Don more than Verlin's passing did.
"Tate and I shared some good times in high school. I'm sad that I can't reminisce."
"Would you ... would you like to grab a cup of coffee? Or there is an ice cream shop two doors down. My treat. I'd love to hear some stories."
Don looked at me. "Is that okay?" Then he looked startled. "Oh. Goodness. Excuse me. This is my partner, Emory Pike."
The shop owner looked at both of us intently. "If you can give me about ten minutes. I had planned on leaving at 5."
"That's fine. We'll stand outside and enjoy the sunshine," I said.
"There should be a couple of small tables outside the ice cream shop," he said.
We nodded and headed outside.
True to his word, the gentleman was exactly ten minutes. The three of us went inside.
Don opted for just a cup of coffee. Mr. Copeland joined me in ordering a sundae, his caramel, mine strawberry.
As it was almost dinner time, the shop was very empty. Mealtime wasn't a suitable time for ice cream.
The shop was very old-fashioned. I imagined it had been there for multiple generations. It had character.
"Did you say your name was Donald?" the gentleman said.
"Yes, but call me Don."
"I guess I didn't introduce myself. My name is Don too."
Both Don and I leaned back in our chairs. Our minds bounced around like a steel ball between pinball bumpers.
"Oh. Really?"
"Do you think I might have been named after you?" the gentleman asked.
"Oh, well, ... honestly, I can't-"
"I do," he said.
"Please tell me why," Don followed.
"When did you speak to him last?"
"Mercy, it had to be the last day of school. He was about to leave town and ... we never got to speak again. It was sad; I cared for him very much."
"I believe my father mentioned you to me on two occasions. He was typically a very calm and quiet man, but he erupted in an outburst in the garage one time. He got angry. I had never seen him that way. When he saw me, he apologized. I was in middle school at the time. He apologized for his acting out of anger. He then sat me down and told me in high school that he had horrible behavior. People thought he was hateful and mean."
"I'm sorry, but for most of high school, people did. But he changed. He became a good person."
"And he told me a boy named Don changed his whole life."
Don put his hand on his heart. "My."
"I think you are that person. Is that correct?"
"I can't say with certainty, but I think I might be."
"He said you gave him a chance. You were an outlet to ... actually be nice to people. He gave me advice of choosing the right friends and not falling in with the wrong crowd. He said if it weren't for you, he may have never become the person he was."
"May I ask what your father did for a living?"
"Well, when I was growing up, he was a youth minister."
"A youth minister!!?" both Don and I said at the same time.
"Yep. He always spoke to kids about qualities such as kindness and patience and forgiveness. I think you may have been an influence in that."
"I'm – I'm – I'm ... I don't know what to say."
"Was he really mean?"
"I'm sure it's hard to hear about one's own father, but ... yes. If I'm being honest, he was not liked for most of high school. But when he got away from one of his loser pals, he became a nicer person. Eventually, other students were able to see him in a different light. Not everyone, of course, but your dad was a good person by the time he graduated."
"I think he credits you for that. One time when I asked why he named me Donald, he said it was after someone very important in his life."
I looked at Don and saw his eyes well.
"He became my best friend. I loved him. It's so ironic because I really did hate him for a long time." My lover chuckled. "But I got to know the real Tate Copeland. He was kind. I loved him."
"I always loved my father. He treated my sister and me very well. We grew up in a loving household. Once he was in his 40s, he felt he was too old to be a youth minister, so he opened this print shop. Someone at the church had given him some training. It was a part-time thing. Mom and he thought it would be a good business move. Now I'm the owner."
"Good for you," I said. "It's nice that you made it a family business."
"It's the only job I've ever had, drab as it is."
"It's purposeful," Don said. "You provide a needed service."
The shop owner took a bite of his sundae. The caramel stretched into thin spiderwebs before separating.
"The last time I saw your father he gave me this bracelet. I still wear it, more than 50 years later. It's not fancy, but it reminds me of him."
The other Don took another bite and stared at my partner, almost as if analyzing a math problem.
"Don, was my father gay?"
Blam!!! That was a loaded question. I had no idea how Don was going to respond.
"Oh, my goodness. I – I – I don't think I can knowledgeably answer that. In my opinion, I would say no. I believe he knew I was. Those were different times. I told him I loved him, but we didn't have that type of relationship. We were just close friends. For the late 1960s, he was very accepting. He was a kind person."
"Maybe that explains a few things. I have three boys. One is gay, the oldest. I was so worried that a former minister was going to reject him. Try to change him. Dad accepted him immediately. He and my son grew even closer. Hard to believe Eddie is 26 now; he and his partner have their own place in Arnolds Park."
I listened as my lover was able to tell some kind stories about his high school crush to his son. Don had a flourish, somewhat of a gay trait I assumed. I had learned enough about Don to tell when he was particular about his words. I'm sure he embellished the story to make the man's father sound kinder — or less mean — than he probably was. He did manage to tell a terrible story about actions that got Tate into deep trouble. His son loved it.
"We should get on the road. You probably need to get home to your wife," Don said.
"May I take my picture with you?" the gentleman said.
"I – I suppose."
"It will help me connect the dots, I guess."
The two Dons took a picture, and then I offered to take one further back for them. I took one on Don's camera too.
"It was lovely meeting you," Don said.
"Likewise. I appreciate you stopping by very much. I hope the rest of your drive is uneventful."
As we walked back to the car, Don asked me if I would be willing to drive. I told him I would.
"I'm emotionally spent," Don said, clicking his seatbelt.
"I can only imagine."
"Emory, I'm asking myself why I never tried to get in contact with Tate again. He went away for the summer and then we went to different colleges. I just ... it's sad that I didn't even know he died."
"Babe, that was eons ago. It's not like there was social media back in the `70s and `80s."
"I know. But there was mail. Our lives took different paths. He tended to stay with cousins in the summers from what I heard. I suppose I have no one else to blame but myself. As I have stated, I'm not very good at this love thing. Maybe I just felt awkward about trying to reconnect after saying the three words to him. Perhaps him not trying to find me made me feel he didn't want to see me. Who knows? I'm sure I handled it in the worst way possible."
"Again, you were young, and it was years and years ago."
"So true. Plus, I eventually wound up with a hot stud. Thank you, Emory."
I rolled my eyes and turned on the radio.
When we approached Jackson Bend, I asked Don if he was hungry. He said he would just have something at his house.
"Is it okay if I don't go to my house?" I asked.
"If you mean you'd like to come with me to my place, then ... certainly. I love it when you are there."
So did I. But I also liked my own space that Gene and I built. At some point — if we were really partners — it would be something we'd have to resolve. Or would we? Is there any law that says we need to be in one house? Maybe space can be healthy.
It was Day One of being a "partner," and I was already questioning it.
"I'd like to spend the night," I said.
The sun was beginning its descent. I noticed the car thermometer had the temperature dropping quickly. It was hanging on to 60.
The trip had been down and back, so there were no bags to bring in. I just carried my cooler in from the back seat.
Don opened about fifty cabinet doors, finding himself completely indecisive on what to snack on.
"I don't know. Maybe we should have picked up something after all."
I walked over and pulled out a can of chicken and rice soup. "This and some crackers will be fine."
I also grabbed a beer. It was nice that a few bottles were always in his fridge for me now.
Don held me from behind as I opened the can. "Glad you're here. If you are going to whip up this feast, I'm going to go change."
"Okay," I called over my shoulder. "But I'm going to miss how sharp you look."
"A little too dressy and a little funeral-y for an evening at home."
I hadn't thought of that. I'd want out of these clothes once the soup was done.
Four minutes later, I stirred the soup, but I could tell it wasn't hot enough. Don returned to the kitchen wearing lounge pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
"Well, that's a sharp contrast."
"I want to feel relaxed."
"Well, if you watch the soup, I'll go do the same."
I hung my clothes neatly in the closet. I slipped on a Judas Priest T-shirt. I saw jeans there, but even those sounded too confining. I was fine just wearing boxer shorts.
As I walked into the kitchen, I took a swig of my beer. Don saw me and reached for my ass.
"I much prefer this look," he said.
"Oh really? Can you even name one song by Judas Priest?"
"I meant the less-clothes look." He kissed me. "And no, I can't."
"The lead singer is gay, by the way."
"A gay heavy metal singer. Will wonders never cease."
"Leather bars are everywhere, babe."
Don ladled soup into two bowls.
"Believe it or not, that sundae tied me over for a while," I said.
"Eat dessert first. Isn't that what they say?"
"Life is short. Today kind of served as a reminder," I observed.
We didn't say much as we slurped soup and munched on crackers. Don remained quiet. I'm sure he was reflecting on his former loves. I started thinking of him and Verlin fucking their brains out in a campus office on Thanksgiving morning. Pedro leapt to attention, so I was thankful my crotch was below the table. He had been a good boy today.
In fact, he maintained his stiff posture. When I walked my bowl to the sink, Don noticed.
"Hey, what's going on here?" he said, reaching for my bulge.
He groped my cock through the thin cotton. I stroked his arm as he gave my anatomy his full attention. He pulled the waistband down to grip it tight.
"Nice," he softly cooed.
"Follow me," I said. "And hit the light."
Don's bowl remained on the table. It could join mine in the morning. The kitchen was dark. I had my beer in hand and hit the lights in the living room.
Before I even sat it on the nightstand, I was out of my boxers and the T-shirt. I stood nude before Don, and my dick had never been harder for him. I couldn't begin to explain my anatomy and its odd behavior — on the day of a funeral, no less — but my dick felt harder than it had in months (even with pills). I was HARD.
"Don, can I fuck you tonight?"
"Oh, yes, indeedy." He smiled big and began taking his pants and shirt off.
"Keep the bracelet on," I requested.
"Really. Why?"
"It makes you even more alluring to me. It speaks to your heart."
He gave me a perplexed look but took off everything except the bracelet.
I turned on the lamp on my nightstand — my nightstand. I had a nightstand — and he turned out the overhead light.
Don quickly gathered lube and a towel. I took the bottle from him and began to finger his hole. I so badly wanted to be inside him while my dick was supremely erect, but this needed to go well. It was the first time I got to penetrate the one I loved.
I tried not to overthink it. If I willed my cock to stay hard, it would put up defenses. I just concentrated on my partner's hole. Don moaned as my fingers probed him. That kept me hard. Super hard.
"Fuck me, honey."
I spread some slick liquid on my erection. Don wanted to watch me. He moved back onto the pillow and pulled his legs in the air. He was spreading wide open. I placed the head of my cock right at this entrance. I was hard that second; I just needed to stay that way. I needed to fuck Don. I NEEDED to.
Slowly, I went all the way in. I groaned in immediate pleasure. Don did too.
I didn't want to take it too fast. I kept a steady but smooth rhythm. I wanted to be a good lover. A good partner.
"Yes, Emory. Yes. I'm so happy you are making love to me like this."
"Ungh! Me too, babe. Ungh. My cock feels good deep inside you."
"Fuck me, my love. Fuck me."
I thrust my crotch into his ass. Pounding my rod into his hole. The pleasure of our skin rubbing together consumed us. We grunted and moaned. Don called out my name. I returned with his in my groans.
I just needed to stay hard. I pictured him writhing on the office floor at Drake University, fucking Verlin Hawker. Naked on campus. Screaming. Fucking. Wrestling sexually. Naked. Hard. Yelling. Fucking.
My cock was a crowbar.
I didn't even consider changing positions; my dick was cooperating, and I was just letting Pedro do his thing. I held Don's hamstrings and increased my thrusts inside him.
Don got very, very loud and that easily kept me hard. I was a rock. I loved feeling hard. I loved fucking my partner. I loved him. Period.
I took one hand away and moved it aside his neck.
"UNGH! Ungh!" I grunted as I continued to fuck.
"That's it, babe. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. It feels so good. I love you inside me. Fuck me."
I continued to pound my rigid flesh into his ass. I hadn't fucked anyone in four years. I relished the stimulating sensations.
I tried to pound faster. Both of us called out in ecstasy. We were screaming. Shouting. We loved being loud in the moment.
"FUCK ME, BABY!! FUCK ME WITH YOUR HARD COCK!" Don barked, louder than he ever had during sex before.
"Yes, oh God yes!"
Churning, writhing, thrusting. Don's eyes locked with mine. He could sense my orgasm building. He reached for his cock and jerked it unmercifully. I didn't think he could scream louder, but he did.
"I'm sweaty," I panted. "You make me feel on fire."
"We're so hot," he whimpered back in pleasure.
He was hot.
I was hot.
My skin was smoldering.
His body was super nova.
Anyone listening would have assumed we were being stabbed. Our howls and groans sounded painful, but they were anything but.
I was there. I was right at the edge.
"I'm coming!!!"
"Fuck me, Em! Come inside me."
"AAANGH! Oh! God! Unghh! Ungh! Ungh! Ohhhh. Oh. Oh. Ohhhh. OOOOOoooooohhh."
One final push and my waist just froze, my dick buried in him as far as it could go.
Don jerked his cock. "Don't take it out. Stay in me while you're hard. Don't stop. Keep fucking me. Keep fucking me."
Pedro followed his orders. I wanted to stay hard as long as I could. I kept fucking. It still felt nice.
"Keep fucking me," Don wailed. His ass wriggled around my thickness. "Don't stop. Keep going!"
He jerked and pulled.
"Oh. Oh. Oh, Emory. Fuck me. Don't stop. You're getting me close. Keep fucking me. Oh. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh. Yes! FUCK ME!! Oh, God!!!"
I watched his cum land in his bush and navel. For being a 72-year-old, Don's body still looked great to me. I loved staring at him naked. And I loved watching him come.
"Dear Mother Mary and Joseph," he panted. "Emory, Pike, that was wonderful."
"I thought so too."
"I'm glad you wanted to stay over."
"Me too. I wanted to fuck my partner. I'm glad my dick wanted to too."
My cock was beginning to retreat. I leaned down to kiss him, and it came out. He put his arms around my back, and we kissed passionately. We didn't stop. His hands felt my butt cheeks and pushed our groins together. My dick moved into some of his cum. And we continued kissing. Mouths. Tongues. Faces.
When we pulled apart, I looked into his eyes. "Partners."
Loo * * * *
More insight on this chapter can be found at the blog: timothylane414stories.blogspot.com Look for a post titled "Funerals."
Email: timothylane414@gmail.com