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Melting Pot, Chapter 1 By Rilobo1
I hate the drudgery of doing laundry. However, out of some of the drudgiest things, life has a way of creating the most memorable moments - and that iscertainly the case with the tale I'm about to share with you.
I live in a nice apartment community in Clarkston, GA - which happens to bethe most culturally diverse square mile of a city in the entire United States. My apartment complex is fairly new and very well built - I don't think there has ever been aserious noise complaint made at the office. Additionally, the complex had cheapand blazingly fast internet connection (for that time) - a bonus for me as I worked from home. All the buildings, whether 1, 2 or 3 bedrooms have four unitson two floors with a common breezeway. The apartments all come with asmall-capacity, stacked washer/dryer unit, but each floor has a common laundry room with one high capacity washer and dryer each for those big loads of comforters and towels we all have from time to time.
The apartment complex and my building is like the United Nations. I'm a single white man, age 45, and I live alone in a 2 bedroom unit on the lower left level (if you're looking from the parking lot). Upstairs and to the right of me is the young Ramirez family from Honduras - father Felipe, mother Carla, and 11 year old son Alejandro (Alex). My Spanish skills have improved immensely since I've moved in. Directly above me is a recently married young Indian couple. Atul is about 26 years old, and has lived here for a while doing ITwork for a company nearby. He's just returned from India with his bride Rana. She doesn't go out much or connect with her neighbors - and I only rarely saw Atul and Rana together. I did learn a few phrases in Telugu (their native language) to be polite. Atul speaks English quite well, but her English isquite dismal. The apartment to the rightside of me is the Cho family from Korea - father Jin Woo, Mother Jae Soo, 10 year old son Jae Sun (Jason), and a grandmother. I don't know her name, because everybody calls her simply "Halmoni" (grandmother in Korean). Mom and dad run a Grocery store nearby, andspeak passible English. Halmoni speaks almost no English, but Jason was bornhere and therefore a native speaker of English.
Despite our widely divergent backgrounds, everybody seems to get along witheach other amazingly well - all except for Rana. It seems she doesn't want tobe here. Atul has told me that marriage has been difficult for them, as it wasan arranged marriage, and they only met the day before the ceremony inHyderabad, India. He mentioned that she spends almost all of her time asleepduring the day, and online with friends and family in India, which is 9 timezones ahead. Honestly, I couldn't understand why she would be thisway, because Atul is a stunning, testosterone laced specimen of young, virilemanhood, about 6 feet tall, well built, with black hair, wispy mustache, brightsmile with a single dimple, light brown skin, and hazel eyes. From thetopography of his slacks, he also appeared to be quite gifted and well formed.
Yeah, I'm gay. I notice these things. Atul and the rest of my neighborshave gotten used to the idea that I don't have a wife - I told them I waswidowed (not far from the truth, my partner Pete had died in a car accident 20years ago). I really never saw anyone after Pete's death, this news assuagedtheir various cultural concerns involving "the gay", and we allbecame friendly. Halmoni, despite speaking almost no English, frequently taughtme how to make Korean dishes, and I've mastered Bulgogi, Kimchi Chigae and KimBap.
Although Alex and Jason were in the same class and known to be best friendsand partners in crime, Atul and Jason also seemed to have become big buddiesaround the complex, often seen out on the tennis courts practicing together, orat the pool swimming. Atul would frequently toss Jason up in the air and thescreaming tyke would happily splash back down. Atul mentioned to me (often withsadness in his eyes) that he would like to have a son like Jason. He intimatedthat the production of babies in his current marital situation might bedifficult. I could see why he'd feel that way: Jason was a pixie - a slightlybuilt child, possibly no more than 90 pounds and four feet five. He had blackhair cut in what could be called a "bowl" style. He also had aninfectious laugh and huge, white smile that brought out deep dimples in eachcheek. He was also an incredibly bright child - his parents brought him uplistening to NPR every day, so at age 10 he was incredibly well versed inthings of the world. That should bring us up to the drudgery of doing Laundry.
It was in around noon on a Sunday in mid-September - back when it startedgetting a bit cool in September - that I decided to wash the winter comfortersand sheets for my bed, as well as the bed in the guest room. For this task, theheavy load washers in the common room were perfect, and I could knockeverything out in one shot. I gathered detergent, softener, and everything elseup into the basket to make the 5 step journey from my front door to the laundryroom, and open the door. My world changed at that moment.
On the top of the washer was Jason: his tiny, bare feet spread obscenelywide apart with his knees practically in his elbows. His shorts and what lookedlike Superman briefs were gathered around his right knee. His three inch uncutpenis was ramrod stiff and straight, with his partially uncovered glans angry,moist, shining and red. In front of him was Atul standing with his slacks andbriefs puddled on the floor. Immediately I noticed what he had pointed atJason's tight little starfish, and my assessment on his topography had beencorrect - about 8 inches of straight, hefty, uncut meat that turned upward in agood hook before meeting what looked to be a huge, plum sized head. I quicklylooked back at Jason, noting that his aperture still seemed intact, not yethaving been breached by Atul's weapon. The whole encounter thus far had only taken a couple of seconds, longenough for both of them to snap their heads toward me, eyes and mouths wideopen; I probably wore the very same facial expression. All of us were frozen inplace.
Jason was the first to attempt to babble something, but I waved for him tobe silent. After using a few more seconds collecting memories of how my lifehad been as a gay pre-teen to find a response, I told both of them "Isincerely hope Jason isn't being forced to do this." To this theysimultaneously both found their voices: ' said "No, no, please, no!",and Jason said "No! This was my idea!". They then made the sameutterance at the very same time: "I love him," and Jason startedcrying. I quickly told Jason "shhhh, it's ok", and suggested theypull their pants back up before somebody got curious. As they started doingjust that, I invited them back to my apartment to talk, and then turned with mylaundry basket, closed the door, made the 5 step journey back to my front door,and went inside. About a minute later, there was a light knock on my door. I openedit up to see Atul and Jason standing there with eyes downcast and bodies fullydressed; it also looked like Jason had found his shoes. I invited them in, andthey entered, removing their shoes in the foyer, as is the tradition in Koreaand India - I found that tradition useful to keeping clean floors, and had longsince before then been removing my shoes on entry at home.
I bade them sit on the sofa, and offered them some bottled water, whichthey accepted. I'm sure their throats were dry from fright. I came back fromthe kitchen and sat in the armchair across from them, and tried to break theice with some humor -- along the lines of "I guess you might want to finda better place to meet," which ended in abject failure as Jason started towail and hyperventilate. I got on my knees in front of him, wrapped him in myarms, and hugged him tightly. Atul put his hand on Jason's head, and I couldsee his long fingers lovingly stroking through Jason's hair. Atul also keptwhispering in his ear "it's ok baby boy. You're not in trouble. I love youbaby boy." Jason disengaged fromme, and wrapped his arms around Atul, at which point I became the one strokingJason's hair, telling him that it was all going to be ok. I also rememberwishing someone had been there for 12 year old me when something along the samelines had happened to me. It reinforced a lesson my grandfather gave me aboutinteracting positively with younger people: be the person that you needed whenyou were that age.
This tableau lasted about 5 minutes as Jason slowly calmed down. I got himsome tissue paper so he could wipe his face and blow his nose. We all turned toour water bottles as we attempted to focus on the matters at hand. Atul andJason then both turned to me and very deftly and competently began describingthe events that brought them to that laundry room. I was once again profoundlyimpressed with Jason's intellect as he made powerful and insightful testimony.Suffice it to say that they had both found that the other filled a painful gapeach life: the lack of connection with Rana for Atul, and parents that werealways working for Jason. When they were finished, I was left with undeniableevidence that Jason and Atul cared deeply for each other, if not loved eachother. Jason quickly flashed me one of his shy, two-dimpled smiles, but Atulsat there, stone faced, quaking, and ashen in fear of what I meant to do to himas the adult in this coupling.
They had both long since calmed my fears for Jason, and I wanted to putAtul to rest. I told them both not to worry, and that they had proven how importantthe one was to the other. I also told them that I was gay, and gave a shortsummary of what had happened to me at age 12, along with a brief description ofthe damage my parents caused with their reaction to it. I told them I had nointent to judge them nor share what had happened with anyone else. Jason lit uplike a Christmas tree, jumped up, and hugged me. Atul waited to the count of 3,released a long, pent up breath, and started to sob in relief. I once again got on my knees, and this timehugged Atul tightly. Jason did the same.
After all the nerves had calmed, I sat back in my chair, and shocked myselfby telling them that, if they wanted, they could use my guest bedroom to finishwhat they were doing. I guess it was clear to me from what they told me thatthey would be doing the deed in the future, and if so, all my fatherlyinstincts wanted them to be doing it in a safe environment. Jason smiled widelyand looked to Atul, but Atul started by refusing the offer. Jason quicklygrabbed Atul's hand and interlaced his tiny fingers in Atul's long, shapelyfingers, and began pleading with Atul to say yes. I know I would have neverbeen capable of saying "no" to this child, and soon I saw Atul's"topography" re-emerge shortly before his resistance crumbled. Ihesitatingly led them both to the guest room, made absolutely certain theblinds were closed tightly on the windows, laid out two large beach towels on the sheets, asked if they neededanything, and left them to it. I heard the door lock quietly click as I walkedaway, shaking my head.
Resolved to complete my one task of the day, I picked up the laundrybasket, but added to it some spray cleaner and paper towels to clean up anytell-tale smudges or other evidence on the washer. I quickly made the journeyback to the laundry room, loaded and started the washer, cleaned up, and wentback home to watch TV, or do whatever I had to do to avoid thinking about whatwas might be happening in my guest room. About fifteen minutes into a ratherbanal sitcom, I started hearing noises coming from the guest room. I heard lowgroans and high-pitched moans, along with some other rhythmic, metallic,straining sound. I quickly placed the source, remembering the antique queensize iron bed frame I had bought for the guest room some years ago. Themattresses were also quite old, and were spring supported. Able to put two and twotogether to come up with a reasonable facsimile of four, I quickly surmisedthat Atul and Jason were indeed doing "the nasty".
Barely two minutes later, the groans, moans, and strains had increasedsubstantially in both volume and frequency. I sent up a silent prayer ofthanksgiving for the sturdy, soundproof construction of these apartments, andalso grinned slightly at the irony that Atul was having fun in spite of hisabsentee wife Rana being just eleven or so feet overhead. The groans, moans,and strains went on for an astonishing twenty minutes without pause orinterruption when they suddenly ceased. About a minute later, the door opened, anda naked little boy ran across the hall into the bathroom. He closed the door,and was in there for a short while when the door opened and the sound of atoilet flushing was heard. Jason ran back across the hall holding a small ballof wadded up toilet paper; he quickly turned and looked at me and said "Igotta get home!" before going back into the guest room, and shutting thedoor.
Another few minutes later, a clothed Jason opened the door, dashed acrossthe way with something in his hand, flushed the toilet, and returned emptyhanded. A clothed Atul joined him in the hallway, and the two turned to me asif on cue, and gave me blushing grins. Jason then suddenly rushed up to me,threw his arms around my waist, pressed his head to my lower chest, and whispered"thank you" over and over and over. It seemed to me that any residualfear that Atul had been taking advantage of Jason had been assuaged. Atul thencame up to me, arms around my shoulders, and repeated the same "thankyou." He also told me that the two of them had very limited times to betogether, and that they were approaching the end of that time today. As thecommunal hug broke, I made a decision: I took one of their hands each in mineand told them that I did not want them to be taking any further risks by doing"the nasty" in unsafe places: the potential damage to each of themwas far too great to risk. In the future, I asked them, let me know when theschedule allowed for "the nasty", and I would provide accommodation.The communal hug then quickly reconvened, and not a dry eye was left in thehouse. I told both of them that they needed to run home and shower beforeanyone else got close enough to smell the sex on the both of them. They bothshyly giggled and left while thanking me again: Atul first, then Jason a minutelater. Before Jason left, he looked up at me and said "I love youtoo".
"All's well, and no harm done" I mused to myself as I went to thelaundry room to put the comforters in the dryer. On returning home, I went intothe guest room to straighten up. I found the beach towels crumpled, and shallwe say somewhat "soiled", and quite possibly soiled by multiplethings. I also found a tiny pair of equally soiled Superman underwear in acorner of the room. From the state of the room, as well as the quick dashes tothe bathroom and flushing joined together, dictated logically that both theseyoung men lacked an understanding of the mechanics of how sexual congressbetween two males can be improved. I resolved to bring that understanding tothem, gathered up the large towels, Superman underwear, detergent, a bottle ofbleach, and once again made the journey to the laundry room. I remember beinggrateful that Jason seemed to still be sweetheart he always seemed to be, andthe only casualties were a couple of old beach towels -- not the 400 count Egyptian cotton sheets that were usually on the bed.