Hunter's Moon

*This is the true, honest-to-goodness story of the three people I love the most - my twin brother, my fiance, and my best friend. And me, of course. Warning is fair that contained herein are sex, coarse language, and a brilliant gay love story. If these themes offend you, well, you've been warned. There is not, however, erotica. This ain't no stroke story. It's a story about love, friendship, and brotherhood. I hope you will come with me and read my story to the end. But whether you do or not, may the Great Spirit be always, always with you, and love surround you forever. Love, Raymond*

I'm 18 now. I have a good job. I'm in a good school, studying medicine. I graduated from high school a year early with a perfect 4.0. I'm engaged. I'm happy.

I wish Momma was here to share in it.

My name is Raymond.

I don't want to tell stories about my past, but I have to; otherwise, trying to tell about the present would make little sense.

So here goes.

I'm one of a set of black-haired, red-skinned quadruplets. Two girls, one boy, and me.

I was born a hermaphrodite, something of a shame to my father and a shock to my mother. But Momma was able to catch her breath eventually. Dad never was. After surgeries, I came out a male, more or less, and so I've happily remained. Things are different, strange I suppose, for me, but I've never noticed much.

The girls, Caro and Thea, were Indian beauties with shining black hair and deep gray eyes. Now they are gone. Thea killed herself a little less than one year ago, and Caro is dead not in body but in spirit. At 18, she looks 40, the heavy result of drugs, sex, and a failed attempt at rock and roll. The pain about them is hard to bear, but they are removed from this tale so neither you nor I will be pulled by this sorrow.

Will, my brother, is a beauty too, but in a different way. From the inside looking out is this shining piece of gentle strength that is honorable and so rare in men. He is shy, quiet, reserved, but intelligent, wickedly so, and faithful to his heart.

There too is another sister, Amanda. Though not by blood, she is my sister in spirit. She is a lovely creature but she'd never let others see that. She is strong, clever, opinionated, but kind, and a woman of God. Through thick and thin, she is my best friend.

Between Amanda and Will, my life has been filled by so much love that the pain of my father's alcoholism, my sister's suicide, my mother's death- it is soothed by their comfort. They bring me so much joy that I can't express it. But still, with them in my heart always, I felt a void.

That's when Mikey came along, filled the hollow in my heart, and absolutely, irreversably, fucked up my entire existence.

I love him for that.

* * * * *

I was trudging across the ice, bitter cold air on my face, my hair whipping back, tangling into itself.

It was November. I was sick, my head pounding and my nose rubbed raw from tissues. I looked a mess.

I was rushing toward the door of the library, reaching for the handle when it swung open toward me.

"Boy, you best get on in here now 'fore your butt falls off in that wind." The man holding the door had leather-like skin crinkled into a smile that seemed blinding in comparison to the cold, dead gray outside.

"Thank you," I said, sniffling.

"You ain't soundin' too good, bud. Git in here. Git warm." He put his hand on my shoulder and steered me inside the library. He brought me to a desk, pulled out the chair, and made me to sit.

"Now, whatcha need, buddy?"

"I just need to return a book," I said, shivering.

"Hand it here then. I'll take care of it. You just sit there and get yourself ta feelin' better."

I handed him the book, and watched his back as he went up to the return bin. I got a good look at him- ratty, stained jeans and a battered black shirt covered his powerful frame. I noticed the tool belt. He definitely wasn't a student.

He came back, smiling at me. "You walked here, didn't ya?"

I nodded.

"No kinda day for that, buddy."

I nodded again. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

"Was that all ya needed here?"

Again, a nod.

"You gonna be on your way then?"

A third nod.

"Well, I'll be finished up here in two shakes. I'll give you a ride home."

I shook my head. "I don't even know who you are."

"Well now, I don't believe I know you, so don't that make us even?"

It was logical, I admitted. But... "No thanks."

"Come on."

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Here. I tell you what. You wait here, mull it over, and I'll finish up, and then you can decide."

"Whatever."

I waited until he walked away before getting up to leave. I had to admit, the stranger had been awfully kind, and a warm car was tempting in face of the eight block walk in the icy wind, but it was dangerous. He could be anyone, I rationalized.

I left.

* * * * *

Three days later, I was back at the library to research a paper. I was bent over a book when I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder in a friendly squeeze.

"I thought you were gonna wait for me. I woulda given you that ride, buddy."

I turned around and saw the kind stranger from a few days before. It was the first chance I'd really had to truly look at him, and I was floored. He wasn't a handsome man. His skin was weather-worn, and he had a powerful frame with a bit of a belly against the gray workshirt. He was rough and calloused, but his smile was terrific. But his eyes were what caught me. They were bright, bright green. I'd never seen anything like them before on an Indian. His long black hair was thinner, coarser than mine, and he looked so... warm.

"Yeah... sorry about that..." I was still kind of staring at him.

"Ain't nothin' to apologize for. I wouldn'ta gotten in a car with me either, as rude as I was."

"Rude? You weren't rude at all. In fact, I hope you don't disregard that apology. I was the rude one," I said, suddenly wanting him to sit and stay for awhile.

He did exactly what, in my head, I was begging him to do. He took the chair next to me. "No, no. I didn't even introduce myself. My momma must be rollin' over in her grave. My name's Michael Hunter-Moon. And what's your name, buddy?"

"Raymond Walkes," I said, holding out my hand.

I wish I could say that our first touch was electric, that I fell in love right there. I didn't. But his hand was warm and rough and big, and for some reason, I added that to the rapidly growing list of things I really liked about this man.

Sitting near me, I could see that he was only a little older than myself. I wondered about his drawl, his job, why he was being so kind. I admitted to myself, I really want to know this man.

"So. Raymond. What are you up to?"

"A little research. Uh, Michael, mind if I ask where you're from?"

"Texas," he said, leaning back in his chair.

A mental image of Amanda flashed in my head. "If you want a man," she said, "then you want a Texan man."

"What's the smile for?" he asked.

"I just know a Texan. Your accent makes me think of her."

He returned the smile. "We ain't so bad. A little slow, a little rough, but naw, we ain't so bad."

"And what are you doing here?"

"I'm workin' on ya'll's ceiling. It needed some fixin'. So this Texan. She a girlfriend?"

"No, just a friend."

"Good."

I wondered what that meant?

"So," he said, before I could ask, "I was fixin' to get a cup of coffee. You wanna join me?"

I was hesitant. It must have shown. "We can go to the shop next block over. It's not so cold today, we can walk."

"Alright," I said. "Let's go."

I grabbed my bag and coat, and we walked to the shop. We sat for hours, Michael insisting on buying. I learned about his past, his mom's death and dad's subsequent remarriage, his dropping out of high school to become a contruction worker, his conversion to Catholicism. I told him of my brother, of Amanda, and of my sisters. I told him too about my mom, and he smiled the sort of smile that showed real sympathy. A sort of, "We're together in this" smile.

I wanted to tell him I'm gay, but I decided not to. I didn't want him to think I was coming onto him, though with his killer smile and ready laugh, I desperately wanted to.

I felt comfy with him, like I would if it were my brother or Amanda across from me. He was just so damn nice, it was hard not to enjoy his company. By closing time, we had set a second meeting for that Saturday in the same shop.

"It's a date," he said.

I went home and my dreams were invaded by a green-eyed Texan Indian. There was nothing sexy or kinky. He just had my hand in his, and smiled.

* * * * *

Will stood at the sink, washing he dishes, interrogating me.

"And you met in the library?"

"Yes."

"But he isn't a student."

"Nope."

"And he's a drop-out."

"Yep."

"He has a job though, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you’re going to see him this afternoon."

"Yeah."

"Do you like him?"

I instantly saw Michael's smile in my head. "I think so."

"He's nice?"

"No, Will, he's a sadistic bastard who I'm pretty sure is going to castrate me and have me eaten alive by rabid orangutans on speed."

"Have fun with that." Will turned and smiled at me.

"I will. Thanks."

"Just..." He trailed of.

"Just what?"

"Just be safe."

I stood up and hugged my brother tight against me. "Don't worry about me."

He hugged me back, his arms providing the same shelter they had for as long as I could remember. "I love you."

My head was buried in the crook of his neck. "I love you too."

* * * * *

It was crowded in the coffee shop this time around. I saw Michael standing against the wall. He smiled on recognition (and my knees went a little weak), waded through the throng. "Hey, Ray. How are ya?"

"I’m good," I said. "But, a little claustrophobic. Can we hit somewhere less... populated?"

"I was fixin' to suggest that." We walked out together, Michael holding the door for me. "I'm Southern," he explained. "We like our courtesy."

On the street, the weather was chilly, but the wind was down, at least. "So where you wanna head to?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm just not a fan of crowds. Too loud. I wanted to hear you talk."

"Well now, if you wanna talk, let's head over to the bookstore off campus. It's quiet. We can sit in their café and hang out for a bit."

"Alright. Lead the way."

We wound up in the café, surrounded by that glorious book smell. A little old man greeted Michael by name. "And who's your friend?"

"This is Raymond. He's a student at the university. Ray, this is Charlie."

Charlie shook my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, son. What do you study?"

"Medicine, sir."

"No 'sir'. Just Charlie, alright?"

"Alright, Charlie."

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Do you have tea?"

"Of course, if you don't mind jasmine."

Charlie went off to get me the tea, and Michael a cup of coffee. I was soon to notice that was all he ever drank.

"So why is the owner greeting you by name?"

"I come in here a lot. I can't really afford to buy books, so Charlie let's me sit around and read."

"Okay, reading is always level ground then. You're looking at a Grade-A bibliophile."

Michael smiled. "Favorite book?"

"How long are you willing to sit while I recite my list?"

"First one that comes to mind, then."

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"On my honor."

"Winnie the Pooh," I said, blushing furiously, head tilted to avoid his eyes.

"Better then House on Pooh Corner or Now We Are Six?" Michael looked at me seriously.

I straightened my neck and willed the blush to recede. "House on Pooh Corner is my favorite, actually. But I like them all."

"My dad used to read me those. I still have copies of all the books."

"So do I." I couldn't help the grin. Something about a grown, powerful, sexy (Sexy? I thought, whoa, down, boy...) man talking so tenderly about Pooh Bear made my breath catch a little. I realized I'd have to amend my statement to Will soon. I really liked this guy.

* * * * *

Sunday morning, I woke up early in the morning. Michael had been invading my head again, only now my dreams were less than pure. I was beginning to lose my head over him. Trying to shake thoughts of his hands on my body, I stepped into the shower.

My hair clung to my shoulders, wet and heavy, as I wrapped the towel around me. Picking up my discarded sweats and shoving them in a hamper, I heard a knock on the door.

Will slept still. I could hear his steady, even breathing as I walked past his ever-open door.

Damn. I was really hoping he could get that.

My sweats were tugged back out of the hamper and pulled on as I walked to the door of our humble abode.

My tired eyes snapped awake.

Michael stood on the other side of the door, smiling, as always. My brain took a second to compute, first that it was him, then that it was him at my door, then that his eyes roamed over me before snapping up. (I smiled inwardly at that.) Finally, I realized that I'd never let on where I live, so how...?

"How do you know where I live?"

"Shit," he said, somewhat flustered. "I knew this couldn't be a good idea."

"No... No... Sorry, that was rude. I'm just tired and surprised and..."

"...Wet?"

"And wet."

"Well, I just... I looked up your address in the directory and I wanted to... Just... I wanted to tell you I..."

It dawned on me he was still standing awkwardly in the hall. "Oh, hey, wow. Come inside, please. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He stepped in. "Nice place," he said.

"Thanks."

He seemed to eye the paintings that lay everywhere. Against walls, on walls, stacked one on the other, piles of canvases. The mess embarassed me. "Sorry about all the clutter. We weren't expecting anyone to come by, and, well..." I let the statement hang there.

"If I'm intruding, please..."

"No. You aren't intruding. My brother and I, we just suck at housekeeping."

"The paintings. Who's...?"

"Mine," I said, sitting down.

"Can I take a look?"

"I don't know, can you?" I smiled at him.

"May I, then?"

"You may."

He wandered over, staring at them. I started getting antsy at his silence. He seemed to be looking for something in them. His back was to me, so I couldn't gaze his reaction. I was hesitant to say anything, but he was making me nervous. Finally...

"They're beautiful, Raymond."

"Thanks." I looked down at the floor. I was... am... shy about my work.

I watched his boots on my floor walking closer to me. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I looked up. "They are," he said, something riding his voice that sent chills through me. "I had no idea you are an artist."

"I pretend to be." I stood, trying to smile brightly. As I stood, he didn't back away. We were close enough to feel heat between us. I was instantly dizzy, not to mention terribly aroused. I tried to turn my body from him. I felt strange, shirtless, still damp from my shower, wearing nothing but sweats. I felt exposed and his look wasn't helping.

His lips were inches away.

I wanted to grab him and kiss him.

I wanted to take off his shirt and lean into him.

I wanted to...

I didn't.

I turned.

"Would you like some coffee?" Lame. Really lame, Ray, my head told me.

His smile faltered. "Sure."

Twenty minutes of awkward small talk gone by, and Michael was on his way out the door. I felt strange. Relief swept me, followed by remorse. My heart beat wildly. I should have kissed him.

Will awoke, readied himself, and together, we went to the small church down our street. Throughout the Mass, my mind was centered on our strange conversation. I realized as I knelt in my pew after receiving the Eucharist that he'd never told me what he'd wanted to.

As I wondered and prayed that God would let me in on why this guy was suddenly taking over large portions of all my thought processes, I wanted to cry. I was confused by everything. I had just met him, but I was happy near him. But then that morning I felt tormented by his presence. I wanted to call him and I wanted to avoid his voice. I wanted to push him out, pull him close. Be still, my heart said. Just let it flow.

Then Will moved a little, his shoulder lightly resting against mine. I sighed. God, it's your move.

* * * * *

I tossed my phone lightly in the air and caught it again. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch. Debate.

Call Michael?

Not call?

Hope he'd drop by?

I'd wanted to call him, apologize for being so weird. "I was barely awake," I'd say. "I was out of it."

Or maybe not.

I stared at the phone in my hand. I'd imagine that, had the phone eyes, it would've been looking right back at me into a very annoyed, tormented face.

I was in love with Michael.

You barely know him.

Shut up, I answered, flipping open the phone to call him.

But God decided to play his hand then.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Michael."

"Hey, I was just about to call you. We need..."

"We need to talk," he said, cutting me off.

"My sentiments exactly."

"Can you meet me at that bookstore again?"

"Sure. When?"

"How soon can you get here?" He sounded nervous.

"If I drive, ten minutes."

"Drive. Please."

"See ya in ten."

"Bye." He hung up.

The saga continues, I thought.

* * * * *

"Michael..." I tapped his shoulder, his back to me. He spun around like I had shocked him.

"Ray! Hi..." He looked almost... frightened. It was odd, seeing his normally smiling face devoid of the grin I loved so well. He looked...

Hurt, I thought. He looks hurt.

"Look, I need to tell you something and I don't really know how to start."

"Just tell me," I said. "I swear I won't bite."

He smiled a little. "Okay. Might as well go for it, right?"

"Right."

"I'm in love with you."

That was when time stopped, and my heart pounded.

"Michael..."

"Dammit, would you please call me Mike? You're acting so formal and I..." His voice sounded panicked.

"Mike. Okay. Hey, calm down, alright?"

"Calm down? I tell someone I've known for maybe ten days that I love him and he tells me to calm down." He smiled. "But he didn't run."

"No, he didn't." I moved close to him, and put my arms around his waist. His arms in kind went around me and I more or less melted. Incredible...

"What does this mean?"

"It means I'm scared as hell that I've fallen for a complete stranger but I think it will be okay."

"Shit, you're five years younger than I am."

"Don't care."

He smiled. "Then tell me you love me."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you!"

And then he kissed me. It was the sort of kiss where his lips ghosted over mine before stopping and settling in. We stood there until we started wavering, when Mike pulled back. He whispered against my lips. "I love you, too."

Strange thoughts always race through my head with terribly poor timing. There, surrounded by a very sexy man's arms, feeling loved and safe, it dawned on me that I had two people I desperately had to talk to. Will would be thrilled.

But Amanda would fly to Canada and probably kill me.

For the first time in my life, I didn't want to call her.

* * * * *

Ring... ring... ring...

Damnit, pick up the phone already...

"Hello?"

I was almost relieved it was Keith answering the phone, and not Mandy. His fatherly attitude put me at ease, at least enough to face what I'm sure would be a very angry nun. "Hi, Keith! It's Ray."

"Well, Raymond, I haven't heard from you in quite some time. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you and Susan?"

"We can't complain. Susan's got a brand new quilting machine that she's been playing with, and I just act like I care. How's your brother?"

"He's doing well. He's really enjoying his classes. Once he got into college and was allowed to do all math, all the time, he suddenly started liking school."

"He's a smart kid. I figured he'd take off running with physics."

"He certainly has."

"And what's new with you?"

"Not much... Well, a lot, really. That's what I called about."

"You're not in any trouble, are you, son?"

"No! No, of course not." I sighed deeply. "I'm just having some difficulty sorting things out in my head."

I could hear Keith smile. "That's life, son. What's going on?"

"Look, Keith, I know how you feel about gays, so..."

"Raymond, you stop right there, boy. I couldn't give a damn if you're gay. I love you like a son. I just don't want details. Now. Is this about some boy?"

"Yes, sir."

He sighed deeply. "There are a lot of people who could take advantage of you, son. A lot of men who want to hurt young kids like yourself."

"It's not like that, Keith."

"Well, alright. I hope it isn't. I just don't want you hurt. You grew up with my daughter. That makes you family, no matter how far away you are."

"You don't know how much that means to me."

"I'm sure I do. All of us need somewhere to belong. I know that feeling like anybody."

"I'm not asking for your blessing, but would you please do me a favor?"

"Anything, son," Keith said. It warmed me.

"Would you at least say a little prayer for me?"

"We do every night, boy. We always do."

* * * * *

Shortly after we spoke, Keith handed the phone to his youngest child and only daughter, Amanda. She's a truly remarkable girl. A carpenter, an electronics whiz, an artist, and one helluva bright woman all rolled into one, my best friend decided to rock the boat in a huge way at age 16 and become a nun. After she graduates from high school, she's off to the nun factory. I think it's cool. Plus, how many people can honestly say, "Yeah, I once kissed this girl who become a nun!"?

I told her all about Michael.

As I predicted, she was pretty upset that I hadn't discussed any of this with her. "Raymond! Damnit! You're supposed to tell me these things! What if he's an ax murderer or a drug addict or a clown?"

"A clown?"

"Yeah! They're total creeps, man!"

But she seemed to warm to the idea quickly after I told her that yes, he's a Texan.

"Raymond, I'm happy for you. I am. I hope this is good for you. I hope it works. But promise me something, okay?"

"Anything, Mandy."

"Promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Then we're square. And listen up, don't you ever not tell me these things again, okay?"

I laughed. "I'll be sure to tell you everything, after the royal ass-chewing you gave me."

"You better."

"Mandy," I said softly, "you're my best friend, you know that, right?"

"Yep! And you're mine."

"Then you know how I feel about this?"

"Like you're scared out of your mind?" she offered.

"Yeah."

"Don't be, Ray. If Mike's the guy, he's the guy." Her voice was the next best thing to a hug right then. And then, softly, "Just, Ray, make sure this doesn't turn into a... you know... like a Jeff thing."

"It won't," I said. "Swear to God."

"Good. I can't take seeing you hurt like that again."

"Neither can I, Mandy."

"Then enough weirdness! Be happy! Have fun! Smooch the wildly attractive man you are so in love with, and don't ever, ever not call me again."

"Got it," I said, laughing.

"Love you, Ray-bean."

"Love you, too, Manda-moo."

* * * * *

"So it's definite that this is it."

"I don't know for sure, Will. I'm kind of confused about the whole thing."

Will sat across from me. "But you love him, yes?"

"Yes."

"And he loves you, yes?"

"Yes."

"And he's nice, funny, attractive, et cetera, yes?"

"Yes."

Will smiled at me over his coffee cup. "Then you're sure."

"Logical pest."

He laughed.

That night, Mike came over to meet Will. I'd been a little nervous. Will means the world to me. If he and Mike didn't get along, I would be heartbroken. Will rubbed my shoulders. "Geez, loosen up! If he's half the man you've made him out to be, I'm sure I'll like him fine." He tugged my hair lightly. "Of course, if he's not, then I'll have to kill him and use his body for barbequing. So let's hope you picked good."

At first, when Mike walked in and he and Will automatically found something in common- love of math, which I hate- I was relieved. They hit it off perfectly.

But then my loving brother did as all loving brothers do and moved onto embarassing story time. By the end of the night, Mike had heard all about how I threw up onstage, on opening night, no less, the first (and last) time I was ever in a play, and also about how I was terribly afraid of ostriches until I was 12 (it's a long story), and to top it all off, the grand tale of how I single-handedly saved our First Communion when Amanda's head nearly went up in flames. We'd been having our pictures taken and she leaned back into the candle, catching the long white veil on fire. Long story short, as all the other terrified second graders, our teacher, and the priest bolted, I grabbed the water glass from the credance table and splashed it on her veil.

Michael laughed and put his arm around me. "My hero," he said, batting his eyes.

* * * * *

We were in Mike's apartment, him cooking me good, down-home Texas chili and me watching him contentedly. He had a very slight variation in the way he walked. It was too small, too discreet to be a limp. But it was there, if you watched him. I had no idea what caused it, and though I was curious as hell, I didn't ask. As at ease as Mike and I were together, for some reason saying, "Why do you walk so weird?" just seemed rude. I liked it, though. It was different, unique, very Mike-ish. I was beginning to like Mike-ish, a lot.

He sat beside me saying, "We'll have to wait a few more minutes."

"Okay."

"And, hey, I kind of wanted you to know something, anyway," he said. "Nothing bad," he added quickly.

"Alright, shoot."

He took my hand in his and my heart fluttered. I had a thing about his hands, the scars and callouses making them rough and hard, the hands of a man who worked. I liked that idea. I've never been into campy, effeminate men, though I don't particularly mind them. It's just, I've always wanted a man who was... masculine, had a work ethic, wasn't afraid of a little manual labor. I respect men like that. Plus, big, strong hands are a major selling point for me. So there I was, contemplating the hands that turned me on so much, when...

"I only have one leg."

My internal hand dialogue stopped. I looked at him quizzically, then down at his legs. "Um... Mike..."

He laughed. "It's no big deal or anything. I was just thinkin' you should probably know."

"What are you talking about?"

He rolled up the leg of his jeans. "See?"

Now, a lot of people may think a prosthetic is a noticeable thing. But as Mike proved, they really aren't. From the knee down on his left leg, two stainless steel bars and wires ran down to his shoe, into it.

I looked at him again, and then back at the prosthetic. I reached out and touched his knee, then one of the bars. "What happened? I mean, how...?"

"I was fixin' to hang some sheetrock at work when a coworker bumped the ladder I was on. I fell right on to a table saw."

I winced.

"I shouldn't have had my ladder there. I knew it was dangerous, but I was being stupid. It cut up my leg pretty good. They could've reattached, but it wouldn't have worked, wouldn't have held my weight. So they patched me up. I just figured, you should probably know before it freaked you out or anything."

"I'm not freaked," I said, touching the bar again. "I'm just surprised I didn't notice. I knew you walked a little different, but wow, I never would've thought that... wow."

"I wear baggy jeans so people don't see the outline," he explained. "I don't like it when people point it out. I don't like 'em thinking I'm a cripple."

I kissed his forehead. "I like it."

He tilted his head. "You like my peg-leg?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's just... it's you. I like it."

"I'm glad missing appendage meets your approval," he said, pulling me into his lap, grinning.

I settled onto his lap. "I approve." I kissed him again.

"I love you, Raymond," he said, seriously.

"I love you, too... Ya gimp."

He laughed. "And to think I was going to feed you."

* * * * *

And so it was that Michael Hunter-Moon and Raymond Walkes fell in love and lived happily ever after.

Only, not really.

We dated from that day on, up until Christmas time, when snowfall and colored lights and happy, smiling kids were covering the streets.

We kept our "courtship" fairly formal, never staying overnight with one another. It was nice- dates, flowers, flirting.

And goodnight kisses. Standing on the stoop to our respective buildings, we would kiss each other senseless. It was wonderful, but starting to drive us both crazy with sexual need.

Needless to say, I was thrilled when Mike agreed to come up to my apartment on Christmas Eve after an especially romantic walk down the snowy, starlit streets.

I hadn't really experienced Christmas cheer since my mom died. I had tried so hard to, but it didn't work. Until Mikey, Will and I kind of ignored the season, exchanging small, handmade gifts and going to church on Christmas morning, but other than that, it was pretty much forgotten to us. But Mike seemed to bring out the good cheer in everyone he came in contact with. My boyfriend was making me feel like a little kid again- he loves Christmas. Will and I even put up a tree, dragging out the funky ornaments, hanging them up, the memories being brighter, less painful than the preceding years. More than that, we even wrapped our gifts. I had to admit, it felt good.

"Come inside," I told him. "I need to give you my present."

"Alright. Guess this means you expect one too, huh?"

I laughed.

Ever the gentleman, Mikey sat on one side of the couch, I on the other, making small-talk with me. I, on the other hand, hadn't exactly had talking on my mind when I invited him up. I scooted closer, put my hand on his thigh. I kissed him, once, and then smiled at him. "Merry Christmas."

It worked. He kissed back, and soon I was wrapped in his arms, our tongues rubbing, frenzied, my hands on his chest and his on my face and back and everywhere.

I marveled at the strength in his body, a sexy kind of strong that comes from hard work and motivation, rather than vanity like most of the gym rats I knew. And oooh, could he kiss.

I moved back a little, maneuvering my way onto my back, with a gloriously wonderful (and gloriously hard) man on top of me. His erection pressed into mine and I pushed myself into it, loving that heat.

"Baby," he groaned.

The sound inspired me. I spread my legs, letting him lay between them, then moving them around his waist, his hard dick rubbing against my ass through the layers of clothing I was cursing.

"Raymond," he whispered.

I sucked on his neck and he pushed his crotch harder into mine. My hands went to his belt.

And then nothing.

He pulled away completely.

"Raymond, wait..."

"Wha'?" My voice was raw and my body on edge- my mind wasn't exactly computing what he was saying.

"We have to wait, baby," he said, reaching out and stroking a hand through my hair.

I moaned, both frustrated and desiring. "Why?"

He looked down, and then back up into my eyes. "Because I'm a virgin. And before I lose that I want to be totally committed."

I was stunned, not so much that he was a virgin, but because we were in love, for chrissakes, what could be more committed than that?

He must have seen the disappointment. "Baby, please..."

"Mikey, I don't get it. We're together. We're a couple. We're in love. Isn't that committed? I mean, is there something else that I'm not aware of?"

"Yes," he said. "I love you, Raymond, more than I could ever tell you. But it's not enough to just take you to dinner. And I'm not going to be satisfied with having sex on your couch because we're horny. It needs meaning. It needs knowing you are mine."

And then he did something that nearly sent me into shock.

He got down on one knee.

"Mike," I said, my voice shaking.

He pulled a box from his pocket. "Will you marry me?"

I sat there, looking at him, scared and thrilled and utterly speechless. A million thoughts, mostly consisting of, "You're 18, emotionally delapidated, totally unprepared" ran through my head. But my heart, my spirit, was reaching desperately toward the man in front of me.

"Go for it," whispered that tiny voice inside me.

So I did what felt right. I dropped to my knees beside him, and kissed him. "Yes," I whispered.

He opened the box and inside was a simple silver ring, a small round turquoise stone next to a small round amethyst. It was simple and absolutely stunning. He slipped it on my finger. "Tell me again," he said.

"Yes."

"Again."

"Yesyesyes!"

He put his arms around me and pulled my body tight against him. My arousal was back, as was his, but instead of desperate, lusting kisses, he drew his mouth across mine, kissing me softly, licking my lips until I opened them for him- only him, always him. His tongue brushed mine, caressing. His hands ran down my sides, my back, cupping my ass, drawing me tighter against him.

His mouth moved away from mine, down my face, onto my throat, his hands working the buttons of my shirt. Slowly, he opened it, biting softly on my shoulder, slipping the shirt from my arms.

I tugged his over his head, kissing the skin that felt fevered to the touch. My lips found his nipple, biting down, sucking gently. He dropped his head and moaned in my ear. Slowly, I drew my hand to the front of his jeans, feeling the throbbing, and then, making me smile inwardly, his size. He felt massive to me. I'd never been a size queen, but if I was, and if that one touch was anything to go by, I would've been extraordinarly pleased. Hell, I was pleased anyway. I rubbed him lightly through his jeans.

He took my hand away, though, and kissed my palm. "Baby," he whispered, "You're beautiful like this."

I couldn't even respond. I was too far gone into what we were doing. His hands came down to my jeans, then into them, slipping his hands against my ass. I kissed him again, sighing into his mouth.

I unbuckled his belt, and popped the button on his jeans. My hands were just working his fly when...

"I think I'll go wait outside," one voice said. I recognized it but couldn't place it as I struggled to put my shirt back on. Mike put on his shirt backwards, and I had to help him fix it.

Will, of course, was standing there laughing his ass off. "Smooth, Raymond."

"Jeezus, Will, who the hell was that?"

"Father MacKenzie," he said. "We invited him over. Remember?"

It's amazing how, even with red skin, Indians can still blush like nobody's business.

Mike's jaw dropped. "Holy crap, that was a priest?"

"Yes," Will said. "And you gave him quite a show."

The door eased open. "Is it safe?" came the voice.

"Yeah, they're decent," said Will, laughing wickedly. "Father, meet my brother's lover, Mike."

"It's not what you think, Father," I said hurriedly.

Father MacKenzie has been a good friend of Will and I ever since we had come to Canada. He had helped us through school, through Mom's death, through everything. Our confessor and confidant, I've always felt safe and secure around him.

Only now I felt safe, secure, and embarassed as all hell.

"While I might have nightmares after that particular display," he said, laughing, "I'm not upset. And Raymond, don't bullshit old priests. We've heard it all before. And I'd say that was exactly what I think it was." He laughed, and turned to Mike. "I've heard a lot about you, young man. Pleasure to meet you."

Mike shook his hand, looking far more composed than I ever could have guessed. "Pleasure's all mine, Father, as long as you're willing to forget that little image."

"Forgetting that, too, will be my pleasure," he said, laughing.

* * * * *

"Still," Will said, soft enough so that no one else would hear, "in front of a priest? That's gotta be a major abomination."

We were standing at the sink washing veggies while Mike and Father, apparently having forgotten our little faux pas, were cooking, stirring, mixing, and chatting happily.

"Shut up, Will," I said, quietly.

"C'mon, Raymond! I mean, God will forgive you!"

I smacked him upside the head. He pulled me into a hug. "I love you anyway."

"I need to talk to you," I whispered.

"Okay," he said. "Now?"

"Later," I whispered back.

"'Kay." He planted a smacking kiss on my cheek and turned back to the sink.

Father MacKenzie came over and grabbed the onions from beside me. "Are you okay?" he asked, softly.

I nodded. "I'm really sorry, Father..."

"Don't apologize," he said. "I think he's a good man. Just... remember that sometimes it's better to wait. I'm not going to lecture you or anything. We've been through that before. I care about you like you are my brother, Raymond. I don't want you hurting yourself." He smiled, and patted my shoulder. "Now let's get this food on the table. After all that excitement, I'm ready to eat."

* * * * *

Dinner, thankfully, went off without a hitch. No more was said about our little show, thank God. I still felt awful, knowing that everytime he looked at me, Father would remember that. I also knew just how he felt about homosexuality. He was definitely pushing me for abstinence, as I know any good priest would. But he seemed to be willing to let it drop.

...Until right after New Year's.

I knew that if I decided to marry Mike that I wouldn't be able to receive Communion. Any good Catholic boy knows that. It hurt me to think I couldn't receive, and it hurt me equally to think I'd be pushing Mike out of my life by saying no to him. I was lost, and sought Father MacKenzie.

"Raymond," he said, almost tenderly, "you know the teachings on homosexuality."

"Yes, Father."

"You simply can't receive Communion if you are going to go ahead with this marriage."

I couldn't stop tears from welling up. "It isn't fair, Father."

"But Raymond, it's a choice that you-"

I stood up and faced him. "It ISN'T a choice, damnit! Do you think I chose this for myself? That I wanted to be a fag?"

Father came near me slowly. "I never said that, Raymond, and don't put words in my mouth."

I sobbed a little. "I don't know what to do."

Father hugged me until I calmed down. "Go out there," he said, motioning toward the door that led into the sanctuary of the church. "Go in there, sit down in front of the tabernacle, and talk to Jesus. He'll tell you what to do."

* * * * *

"God, why are you torturing me with this? Why give me Mike, if you are going to condemn me for loving him? Why make me want to love him when it hurts like hell?"

I've never been one to claim to have a mystical experience, but I think I had one that day. Inside of myself, I could hear a small voice- "Because I love you."

I wept that day in front of the tabernacle, for myself, for Mike, for my mom and for everything. I poured out my heart in tears in front of God and the only thing I could hear echoing back was that same small voice. "Because I love you."

I wiped my eyes and stood. I heard a rustling, and Father MacKenzie stood there. "Here," he said. "Take this, and pray it. St. Francis wrote this when he couldn't receive communion."

I took the prayer card from him. It was a prayer for spiritual communion. "I love the Eucharist, Father," I said.

"I know, Ray. God knows. Jesus knows. He knows you went and sat in front of him and cried because you love him. He knows you want to do what's right. Maybe you can't take him in your body like you used to. But he's in your spirit, Raymond. He's in your goodness and your love and your devotion. When it hurts, remember that he's hurting with you. It will help you remember how to heal."






Because I'm having space problems, as I can't afford to buy an actual port, I'll have to write this in sections, so it continues in Hunter's Moon 2... Thanks, guys! Love, Ray