Wilfred

Thank you for the positive comments to chapter One. I appreciate your reactions to my writing. This is a "partially" true story and illustrates life as I wish it had been. I had a wonderful adventure during the writing phase and am pleased to be able to share this with you. If you wish to see my other story series, go to Nifty's "Relationships" section to access

"The Old Fag."

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Chapter Two: Transfers

Two days later, reality hit us, after a couple more nights of mutual masturbation, kissing, and cuddling. I was in love but did not know it until the phone rang early on Thursday morning; the assistant to the president called to announce transfers. Elder Branson was going to Sendai, I was staying for another month at least.

We were quiet as he began packing. I wanted to cry but realized maybe I was just being melodramatic; it never occurred to me to call my reaction "gay." I was desperate, I did not want Elder Branson to leave, I did not want David to leave.

I walked with him to the train station about 4 PM, and as he boarded the green-line north, I felt a lump in my throat.

"I will see you at taikai."

I nodded; the next missionary conference would be held in Sendai in about two months, about a third of the way through David's remaining time in the mission. I did not know if I could stand it.

"Do you know who your new greenie is going to be?"

I had just been assigned as a result of David's transfer, as the senior elder in the branch, and a brand-new missionary straight from the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, was hitting town in about two more hours, just in time for supper and a little more street contacting. What a miserable thought.

"An Elder Gibson from Mississippi."

"Wow."

"You are mocking me?"

"Nope, just can't think of a better word at the moment."

"David?"

"Hmm?"

"Never mind. Good luck. See you at taikai."

I was miserable. A brand-new relationship, a gay relationship, three days old, plenty of fooling around, not really serious gay sex, but I had fallen hard for this blonde Utah fool. I have better figure out how to get hold of myself before the new green missionary from Mississippi showed up in a few hours.

Elder Gibson's train blessed me and my thoughts by being over a half hour late. By then, it was dark, and no way was I going to subject myself to a cold evening of street contacting. Instead, I offered to take him to get some supper.

"You gonna make me eat that sushi stuff?"

"No Elder, sushi is not for greenies, it is only for mature missionaries who appreciate it."

"Great, cause back home we call raw fish bait'."

"Funny, Elder, you are a funny guy. Already with jokes. Good."

"You making fun of me?"

"Yes."

Silence engulfed us, which was just as well; the mood I was in was as raw as the wind coming down the mountain. I had watched David's train pull away to the north and cried as I stood alone on the platform. There would never be a chance to explain that to Elder Gibson, or anyone else, for that matter, except maybe David himself.

We went to a little bento shop and had soup and noodles; I assumed the greenie from Mississippi could stomach a hot soup of miso-shiro with ramen noodles on his first night on assignment in the back country of Japan's lower Alps. Morning would come soon, and for a greenie, it would be harsh.

It was late February when the thought struck me that I had not written in my missionary journal since the day David left. It was almost a month, and I had been driving Elder Gibson so hard that I had lost all track of my own usual patterns and habits. I had chafed under the label of junior missionary, but now that I was a senior, realized it was hard work.

I had to set the example in everything, reading, studying, learning the language, contacting members, holding meetings, teaching contacts and converts, holding street meetings, trying to meet with city officials to bring a little warmth to the relationship between the foreign gaijin church and the city, and of course making sure Elder Gibson was too busy to get homesick. The net effect was it helped me to try to stay a little less homesick for David

Missionary taikai in Sendai rolled around the first weekend in March; Elder Gibson and I took the train north to Fukushima and met with other missionaries from the region, and by the time we got to Sendai late that day, on a futsu train of course because of the price, there were twenty of us. That was pretty impressive to the Japanese folks riding the futsu, who although accustomed to seeing an occasional gaijin, probably now felt like the invasion had begun. I could not wait to see David.

The two assistants to the president met the train with the mission van, and took twelve missionaries to the church, and the rest of us crowded into two taxis; the taxi drivers always complained when Mormon missionaries stuffed into a cab, I suppose because they were young and immature and did not tip. Somehow I got separated from Elder Gibson, but did not worry about it other than a vague sense that it was not wise to allow a green missionary from Mississippi wander around a strange town in Japan alone. I assumed I would see him as soon as we reached the church.

We were scheduled to spend three days in Sendai over the weekend attending the missionary conference, which was always a rollicking good time. Missionaries who had been together at various times and places as companions would be able to see each other again and renew acquaintances among those with whom they had trained, or had served, or had known during training back in Provo at the missionary training center.

Putting two hundred Mormon missionaries together in one facility was an amazing experience: loud, raucous, funny, and energizing. We were assigned to sleep on the floor of the recreation hall and having two hundred men sleeping together was as close to a military experience as most of us would ever have.

I could not wait to find David; he would not be that easy to find in such a crowd, dominated by boys from Utah and California, blondes, tall, striking, Mitt Romney-clones. He was in the kitchen of the church, nibbling on the beginnings of dinner, not helping really, just chatting with a number of other missionaries whom he had known over his nearly two years in Japan. I had dumped my backpack and sleeping bag in the rec hall and had wandered around trying to find him. When he saw me, he lit up like a Christmas tree, and gave me a standard Mormon missionary firm macho handshake, proclaiming "How are you, Elder Campbell?"

I was so disappointed, and I knew it had to have registered on my face, because a look passed over his expression. Of course this was not the time and place for a big gay embrace and kiss, but as much as I wanted that to happen, we both knew we had to monitor ourselves among this crowd.

After a minute or two of chat with the other missionaries around us, David grabbed my arm and whispered "Let's go outside." I followed his lead, and we went to the rear of the building to the alleyway, where we could talk.

"Look", he began, "It is so wonderful to see you, but you know we will be killed instantly if anything happens here."

"Of course, I am not stupid."

"I am not saying you are stupid, it's just, well, you looked so sad all of a sudden."

"I guess I was, maybe."

"Don't worry, we will have time together." He smiled broadly. "We better get back, you know how missionaries love to gossip."

We were not gone more than five minutes, and I was greeted at the door by Elder Gibson, finally, who had found a few of the missionaries from his training cohort in Provo and told me he was going to go shopping with them in town. I thought that was a horrible idea and that he may end up in some kind of tragedy in the traffic, and so I said "Sure, go ahead, have a great time."

David laughed; he knew what I was thinking. "You are the Devil," he whispered after Gibson had gone.

"I know, and I want to do devilish things to you."

"Don't talk that way Elder, we are going to get into trouble."

"David, I get hard just looking at you, of course we are going to get in trouble."

"Seriously, Paul, if you keep this up, I am going to have to punish you."

"Oh, my, now you are getting serious."

David laughed, we hugged ever-so-briefly, and walked back to the rec hall to find our many friends and look as normal as possible. Within about fifteen minutes, one of the President's assistants found me and asked me to come with him to the office. I was petrified: how could they already know? We had done nothing to arouse any form of suspicion, at least not publicly.

President Honda was known for his brevity, his get-to-the-point attitude, and his sometimes-brusque style. He was a classic Japanese business leader, not known for his warmth. I had always had a little fear of him, even though I towered over him, with my six feet of California farmer stance compared to his five-foot-something Japanese rumpled business suit standard attire. When I entered his office, he was pacing, something he did frequently.

"Kon-nichi-wa, Campbell Choro."

"Good evening President, how may I help you?"

"Anno ne, kyo wa taikai desu keredomo, assate wa mo-ichi-do transfers ga arimasu." ("Well, today is conference, but the day after tomorrow, we are going to have transfers again.")

"I want you to transfer here as soon as possible. I want you to begin a new program for training missionaries. You have had a superlative language acquisition, you are the top of the class so to speak, among the American missionaries in speaking Japanese, and I want you to begin working on putting together a language training program for the newest missionaries here. You will use the convert teaching lessons as your language materials. Any questions?"

"When do I start?"

"Monday. You will return with your companion, that's Elder Green, right? When you get back to your branch you will pack and return here, and use this as your base, but you will be mostly traveling throughout the mission doing your new program."

"And, Elder Gibson?"

"Who?"

"My companion."

"Oh, yeah, well, one of the assistants is going back out to the field before he goes home, so he is going back with you and Elder...what's his name?"

"Gibson."

"Gibson, yeah, so the three of you will travel south together, you will have a day to get your things together and get back up here to Sendai. You will be kind of a third assistant to the president, and your companion will be someone we have not yet decided upon. I will let you know when you get back."

I desperately wanted to say "Well, may I suggest Elder Branson?" but held my tongue; that might prove to be dangerous. I could not wait to tell David. We heard a commotion in the outer office, and Elder Wagner, the first assistant, knocked at the door, and said "Sister Honda is here for the dinner with the missionaries, sir, if you are ready?"

"We are just finishing, Elder, I will be right out." Turning to me he said, "Elder Campbell, work hard. I know you are accustomed to hard work; believe it or not, I grew up on a farm here in Japan also, so I know you are well-trained. Have a good time here at taikai, and I will see you back here next week."

I was in turmoil; I was delighted at being in Sendai, out of the boondocks, finally, after more than a year wandering the outback of Japan, but was not sure what was going to be expected of me, who my new companion was going to be, how would all of this fit with me and David, and most of all, how to be a successful language teacher? I had never taught anything to anyone, and now I was to be the equivalent of a college language teacher? Wow. Then I laughed at myself: "Wow."

David would laugh at me.

By the time I got back to the rec hall the missionaries had already begun to line up for dinner; I did not see either David or Elder Gibson, and was a little reluctant to eat, and held back toward the edge at the end of the line. I scanned the crowd, and sure enough, the blonde I wanted was at nearly the head of the line, laughing and chatting. I smiled. Could it be? Someday?

I was bumped by someone, and turned to see who it was, and Elder Gibson was introducing me to his friends from the training center in Provo, and I had not even noticed, I guess I was in a "David" fog. I greeted the other greenies and watched them as they took their places in the dinner line and could not decide if I was hungry or not. Typical missionary conference dinner: ramen, fried chicken, and a kind of cabbage slaw. Someone did not care about the effect of cruciferous vegetables in this crowd.

I finally took my place at a far table, near where I had thrown my backpack and sleeping bag in a corner of the rec hall. I ate silently and slowly, not really tasting the food, my mind wandering over a million topics, really not able to concentrate on anything. I was not hungry, just going through the motions. I was startled when Elder Gibson came and shook me and practically shouted in his Mississippi country accent, "Hey we are assigned to the clean-up detail." Like a puppy dog, I followed him back to the kitchen, donned some long rubber gloves, and began washing silverware.

Still in a stupor, I did not notice when someone bumped me from the side; it was David. He whispered "Read this later," and stuffed a note in my pocket. I was elated and was probably grinning like a Cheshire cat for the rest of the time I was stuck in the kitchen. At about 8 in the evening, I ran outside to the alleyway again, and withdrew the note from my pocket; it said "Let's talk later. I will find you."

About 10 PM, when all good missionaries worldwide should be asleep, the rec hall was still a jumble of chatter and jokes and the occasional pillow fight. I was lying on top of my sleeping bag, still fully dressed (except my shoes of course, in Japanese fashion), full of anticipation.

I could not sleep even if I had taken pills. I had not seen David since he handed me the note and had no idea what to do except to pretend to go to sleep. A few minutes later, when I was about ready to jump up and go outside for a walk, someone walked past me and nudged me with a foot from behind. It was David. He kept walking away, toward an exit hall, and I got up and followed him, turning at the last minute to see if anyone had followed us or had witnessed what just happened.

He went outside into the alleyway and kept walking. I followed him in the dim light, and we eventually stopped about two blocks away from the church. He was standing in the opening of a narrow alley when I approached him, and he caught me by the arm and pulled me into a tight embrace.

"Oh my God, Paul, it's been too long." And then he kissed me. Hard. Tight. Wet. We heard a commotion and startled, jumped back from each other, and it was a cat rustling in the trash. He kissed me again. This time I was fully participating.

"You have no idea what I have been going through."

"Really David, I don't? Maybe the same things I have been going through?"

"Paul, I meant, I have missed you so much, it's not just the sex, but just being around you, seeing your smile, your gross rumpled-up hair in the mornings, your stupid farmer jokes, everything."

"I have missed you too, and I have had the blessing of a new greenie to train to keep my mind busy, otherwise I would have gone crazy."

"You were already crazy."

"Yeah, sort of, for you maybe."

"Gosh thanks Wilfred, that's the kindest thing you have ever said."

I blushed. Wilfred, how I hated that name. Guess I might have to get used to hearing it. "So, what's up?"

"I just wanted to see you, and of course this or anything like it back inside the church would get us strung up."

"David, I have to tell you something. I am being transferred. I am coming back here to Sendai in a few days. I am going to be travelling, doing training. The President just talked to me right before dinner."

"Paul, that's great! Congratulations. No more convert discussions; just travel and training."

"Yeah, and perhaps not being able to see you again before you leave."

"By the way, I am leaving early. I got the Prez to agree to let me leave two weeks early in order to get into BYU's second summer quarter. I leave at the end of May."

"Uhm, that's good?" I was suddenly sad.

"Paul, it's ok, we are going to see each other again, look, you go home three months after me, that's not going to be that long, it will be OK. Besides, we are not married, you know."

Damn you. You had to say it, didn't you? Damn damn damn. Damn you.

"Right."

"Is something wrong?"

"David, I know I am gay and all that, and I know I do not have a clue what my future holds, but at least I wanted to get a chance to find out what a relationship might be like before I am forced to jump back into all the civilian and family stuff, college, and all that, and you kind of made it sound like right now you are not interested in me."

A hand shot out and grabbed my chin, gently, lifting it up from the sad slump it had taken, and David moved to make sure my eyes were leveled at his. Another kiss, this one on my cheek, followed by another on my chin, then a third, on my left earlobe, then a series of kisses, little cute quick kisses all over my face, followed by a long and serious "get your ass over here right now" kiss.

"Do I have to make everything explicit?"

"I am a farm boy."

"Oh yeah, that, I forgot." And he kissed me again, this time as his left hand slid down to the front of my pants, and gently rubbed me.

"Don't think I can walk back to the church like that."

He laughed, and said "Yeah, we better get back, sooner or later the doors will be locked, and there will be Heck to pay after that!"