Under the Cherry Tree

UNDER THE CHERRY TREE

By

Rev. Jesse Penfield Gibson, MDiv, DMin

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations are purely imaginary. Any resemblence to any living persion is coincidental. This story is primarily a romance but does contain some scenes of explicit sex, primarily homosexual but not exclusively.

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TWELVE

I woke up and looked at the clock. It was a little before 12. I was groggy and reluctant to rise. I rolled around in the bed trying to steal a second more of sleep but gave in to the demands of regular reality. Xander wasn't next to me in bed. Sleeping wasn't one of his strong suits. I could hear some talking in the studio area below me and I assumed he was there. I stumbled out to the small kitchen area and saw Liam there pouring himself some cereal. His hair was still dyed magenta but otherwise he reminded me of Xander: lean, muscular, with an obvious physicality.

"Good. You're up. I can take a shower now. I think I'm pretty rank," Liam said, gobbling down some Cheerios. "Feel any different? Transformed?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah. I don't think I'll look at things the same way again," I admitted.

"Yeah, that's acid for you. After I take a shower, you think you could take me back over to the house. I left my car there. Probably ought to head back. There'll be some parties tonight."

"Where do you live?" I asked, aware that I knew nothing about Xander's brother. I didn't even know he had a brother.

"I go to school at Valdosta State."

I heard shouting downstairs. One voice was female and I assumed it was Kerry. The other was Xander's. "I'm going to see what's going on," I announced.

"Why not? It'll be fun."

I went down the stairs quickly with Liam following leisurely behind me. Kerry came out, red faced and angry. She looked up and saw Liam on the stairs. "Did he get the drugs from you?" she demanded.

"Probably from Dad, the pied piper. He was all ready tripping his balls off when I caught up to him. Besides, we're not that close," Liam said, leaning casually against the railing. "I don't know if you noticed or not, but he's nuts, Kerry. Has been for a while. Takes after his mom."

"Listen you son of a bitch, you leave my mother out of this. You don't mind partying with him but you aren't going to be around to clean up the mess."

I didn't want to listen to them argue. Clearly something was going on with Xander. I pushed by them and went inside. Xander was there, on his knees in painter coveralls, in front of a canvass painting. He had a wild look in his eye.

"It's fucking brilliant. It's a study in gray. I don't know why the fuck I didn't think of this before," Xander said, holding up the canvass for me to see. It seemed to be steel gray on top and subtly lightening to a pale blue gray with a drawing in flat black in the middle. He only held it up for a second. I noticed that he seemed over animated, restless, and almost agitated. His speech was pressured. "I was trapped with this thought that dichro paint was what I needed but, you know, you've got to edit these things out. Too much is too much. You can see that, right?"

"It's good, Xander, I guess. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm painting."

"Alex," Kerry said from behind me. "You need to take the medicine."

"I do not need to take any fucking medicine," he shouted, furiously slamming his brush down. "You got to watch this and watch that. Can't get dehydrated. It's bullshit. It makes my hands shake."

I was confused. Medicine? Kerry was calm despite his shouting at him, his outsized fury. "Alex, please. I love you sweetie, but you can't do this. Not because it makes your hands shake. It's a minor thing."

"No, it's not," he spat back at her. He looked around the studio like he was desperately looking for a life line of some kind. He raced over to work table and grabbed a brush. "This is who I am. This is what I do. Don't you get it? I can't do it if my hands shake. I can't. This is what I live for. I've got a million ideas. They're all right there. I just need to get them out."

"There are other medicines, then. You don't have to take the lithium. We'll find somebody new to see. There are other medicines."

He was busily painting, concentrating on what he was doing. "Like depakote, lamictal? I don't want to fucking sleep all the time. I'm allergic to Klonopin. Plus, I don't mind this. This bothers you more than it bothers me."

I stepped over to him. "Xander, I need you to tell me what's going on. How worried should I be?"

"So, bro," Liam cut in. "any chance I can get a ride back to my car? Maybe your BF? You'd be a danger to the driving public."

"Whatever. Grab my keys," Xander answered. Then he looked up and stared at me. "Actually, Kerry could you? Time to get laid."

She was angry with him and it showed. "Great, just perfect. Sure, Liam, let's get you taken care of. Nothing would make me happier. My brother would like to have sex now. Just perfect."

Xander ignored the sarcasm and sent them off. I wasn't about to have sex with him, not until he explained himself. I was beginning to fear the worst. He kept trying to make a move on me which I resisted, demanding that he talk to me.

"Some say I'm bipolar. Some say I'm not. Experts disagree. It doesn't really matter. I mean, it's really not that important. I say we fuck and paint. Enjoy it."

"Xander, I want to help you, not just play along. Not just go to bed. I think you need help. Does this happen a lot?"

He had moved on restlessly to the painting that had been sitting in the studio since the first time I came over. It had looked like merely a series of dashes of paint, which he described simply as a pain in the ass. "I finally figured this one out too. This is going to be a masterpiece. I mean really fucking awesome. I don't need help. I don't need you to help me. It doesn't happen that often, this kind of fucking clarity. I wish it did. I'm not giving this up."

We didn't have sex. I stayed and tried to talk to him for a while but his intensity wore me out. Kerry, when she got back assured me that, in this state, he wasn't a danger but not to let him drive or do anything stupid. I was supposed to get her if anything changed. After several hours, Xander decided that he wanted to go the glass studio at school and work. So, after much arguing, he finally agreed to let me drive him there. He worked frantically there, blowing glass, filing it. What amazed me was that he knew what he was doing and clearly had technical skills. He wasn't so far gone into his head that he couldn't do what he wanted to do. Even though I was anxious and worried about him, I had to admit that what he was putting out was beautiful. Finally, at night, I had to give up and sleep. He kept going, never losing an ounce of energy despite barely eating.

The next day was different. In the small hours of the morning, he finally went to sleep. Usually, he only slept for 3 or 4 hours but this time it was dragging on. Even when he awoke, he was slow moving with a flat affect and far away eyes. It was the other pole, I suppose, the depression after mania. I decided to go to the house and get Kerry. She was a little upset that I had left him alone, but she grabbed up Finny and went down to the small apartment. Xander was sitting on the floor, quiet and staring down at the floor.

"Alex," she said calmly to him, "tell me how bad it is."

He just nodded imperceptibly. Looking up at her with sad eyes he asked if he could hold Finn. Kerry handed her son to him. Finn was bubbly and happy in his own world. Xander bounced him a little to Finny's delight. Then he put him on his chest and said quietly, "Please God, don't you be crazy too."

"You're not crazy, Alex. You're ill. There's a difference."

He handed Finny back. "I'm a piece of shit."

"No you're not" I said.

Xander looked at Kerry. "I'm so sorry. I was mean to you. You don't deserve this shit. Your whole life has been spent picking up after crazy people. It's not fair for you. I'm so sorry."

She ignored his pity. "I want you to tell me the truth: are you thinking about hurting yourself?"

He shook his head. She turned to me and said, "Somebody needs to watch him, stay with him. When this has happened before, I didn't have Finn. If you don't want to, I understand. I can call Cass and he can help out."

"No," I heard myself say. "Just tell me what to do."

"He's in a dark place right now. Just be with him. He doesn't have a gun, so that's good. He has tried to kill himself before. You ought to know that. Just don't let him be alone and nothing sharp. Okay?"

"Yeah, I understand."

"He is worth it, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," I answered, not entirely convinced.

Mostly that day, Xander just slept or laid on the bed in the fetal position. He didn't cry but he was more or less catatonic. It was late in the evening, after Finny had gone to sleep, that Kerry came back to check on us. Seeing him asleep, she sank on the couch and sighed. Turning to me, she said, "Our mother was bipolar. Type I, which is severe. She had periods where she was psychotic. It was a tough way to grow up, for both of us. The difference is that she took her medicine for the most part. His is less severe. Usually he is what they call hypomanic. Restless, energetic, doesn't sleep. He has flights of ideas, he's impulsive, and he's promiscuous. Actually, it's the things that attract people to him: the life of the party. The mania doesn't feel bad to him and the depression is actually pretty rare for him. But when it hits it's bad. I think its worse this time because you saw it."

"I don't really know what to say. I don't really know how I feel about it. We were just having fun, you know? This is pretty heavy duty. I guess I'm wondering why you put up with it?"

"Because I love him," she said. "I wasn't kidding when I said he was worth it. He is. He has a lot of positive qualities, more positive than negative. And I'm a little bit jealous. I wish I had a tenth of the talent that he does. The things he produces can be sublime."

I was aware that she was trying to convince me about her brother. I wasn't quite sure that I was convinced. I had lusted after him to be sure. I had admired him and even idealized him but the last two days had punctured that balloon.

"And now you have a baby to worry about. You want to pass him off to somebody who will love him like you do, will appreciate him like you do. I'm not sure I am that guy, to be honest. I'm not sure how I feel right now."

She looked at me searchingly. "That's too bad, Dylan. He's head over heels about you."

"That makes it harder," I said.

I missed class Monday, for the first time in the semester, as I stayed with him. Slowly over the course of the day, he got better, more active and alive. By Tuesday, there wasn't a trace of the depression left. Xander was his old self again. I was the one changed. Still, we carried on, ignoring the meltdown that had occurred. But I was all ready beginning to break away. I needed to talk to someone about it and the only person I could think of was Erica. I waited until Robbie wasn't around and had to walk gingerly around the subject for fear of saying something that might reveal a secret Xander wouldn't want out.

Erica figured it out, though. "He had a breakdown, right?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that," I said.

"It happened when we were together, a couple of times. He got all manic and, I don't know, out there. After the last time, he was acting like he was going to kill himself. That was a little more freaky than I was ready for, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, no, I know exactly what you mean. Did you stick around after that?"

She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. "For a little while. The thing was that he was the new kid in school and was the coolest guy there. Him and Cass. They oozed cool. He was popular, everybody liked him. I had status because I was with him, you know? And the sex was amazing. You can't tell Robbie this, I'll kill you, but he's the only guy I've ever climaxed with. I mean with Robbie, it's good. I enjoy it and all. But it's more that the total package is better. After a while with Xander, I just got tired. It just got to be too much. We had to go all the time, party all the time. And I had to be with him constantly or he'd be fucking anything that came along behind my back. I just got tired of it."

I nodded. I understood her. "He's the kind of guy that's easy to fall in love with but hard to stay in love with."

The problem was that he was hard to walk away from. It wasn't like he was mean spirited or evil, he was just out of control. Always on. I was convinced that his feelings for me were genuine. So we soldiered on and, I have to admit, it was fun. And the sex was in fact, from my limited experience, amazing. I was newly initiated to it and wanted to make up for lost time and Xander simply had an inexhaustible sex drive. So good or bad, we did it daily. It seemed that the more sex I had, the more I wanted. Physically, he was perfection: not too big, not too slim, muscular and masculine. There is something very alluring about a boy with an erection. I think that hard and ready for action is when the penis is its most beautiful.

We were hard into to the foreplay when Xander whispered that he wanted to fuck me. Up until then I had been the top. On one level I knew that it had to be enjoyable because he seemed to enjoy it and, just rationally, people wouldn't keep on doing it if it wasn't pleasurable. But I was reluctant. I was scared about it hurting.

"Have you ever fingered your ass when you jacked off?" he asked. I must have screwed up my face because he laughed. "What, too intimate? I mean, I've eaten your cum. Your dick has been in my ass. I'm allowed to ask intimate questions. I've done it."

"Yeah," I admitted. "It feels good."

"This will too"

He put me on my heads and knees so he could enter me from behind, doggy style. He made me spread my knees wide apart. Then I felt the cold sensation of a lubed finger in my ass. I gasped. It felt good as he massaged my prostate. Then came two fingers and then three as he relaxed my sphincter. He told me to concentrate on my breathing, not to forget to breath. Then he entered me. It hurt. I jumped forward while pushing him back at the same time.

"Sorry" I mumbled.

"It's okay," he said. Slowly he tried again. I felt his hardness enter me. I can't say it hurt this time but it was uncomfortable. As he got fully inside me, he stopped. The sensation of fullness was overwhelming. It was strange, weird. I wasn't sure if I enjoyed it or not. Actually it felt like I needed to take a dump or maybe pee. But then he wiggled his hips a little, shifting his dick inside of me. That did feel good. For a second, my brain didn't know if the right response wasn't to just cum. Slowly he began to move in and out. I could hear myself breathing in short, rapid gasps. I can't describe what I felt down there. I didn't know whether I should piss, shit or cum still. Then, as he began to fuck me a little faster and harder, my brain figured it out. It did feel good. It felt very good. I still had a sensation of needing to have a bowel movement, which is a little gross to describe, but mostly it was like that whole part of my body was being super-stimulated. I sucked in the air, trying to keep breathing, but my whole attention was to what I was feeling. I don't if it was the angle or the size but he found whatever spot there was that sent showers of pleasurable feelings to my brain. I couldn't even touch myself for fear that I would spew instantly. As he fucked harder, it felt better. Finally, as we were both lost in passion, I knew I couldn't take it any longer. I didn't want too either. I wanted released, I craved it. I needed it. I could barely breath and do nothing more than groan and wimper. I wasn't capable of logical thought, just pure sensual pleasure. This was the most amazing feeling I had ever had. I reached down and touched myself. I had only barely stroked myself when I came in gallons down on the bed.

He wasn't finished but he was close. Usually when I came I was done but not this time, he still needed to get off and actually I didn't mind. It still felt good, still felt amazing. He was working and going at it hard, just sliding it back and forth. Then a few hard stabbing strokes and he sort of collapsed on me, spent.

As we lay there panting, I said to him, "I think I might be a bottom."

"I thought so"