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Chapter 10 |
My army buddies are a good bunch; they work hard, play hard, drink hard. There are poker nights and loud debates and ribald humor. After dark, most of us are jerking off. Nobody asks, so I don't tell, but I think of Sandburg. About how he felt against me that night in the truck, the scent of his hair, his laugh. I come long and hard, biting the pillow and smiling at the same time. For the next three years, I write a few letters, scribble some post cards to him. In return, Sandburg sends me great, long narratives, written just as he talks. He rambles from classes to Amazonian tribes, to food, to anthropologic theories, to movies, to Indian rituals, to books and everything in between. Though they're not regulation issue, I keep those letters in an inside camo pocket; they're as essential to me as Kevlar. There's two weeks' leave coming up just after Ranger training and I'm heading home. Officially it's for Stephen's high school graduation. What Sandburg doesn't know is that I'll be there for his graduation, too. ~*~ Peach. Peach fuzz. Juicy. Blush colored. Firm. Golden flesh. Fragrant. Sweet. Soft cleft. I roll them in my hand. Think of Sandburg. Naked. Easy to do, he's not far away, naked, and frolicking like a dolphin in the cold lake water. Who knew that under all that flannel there was a Nature Boy yearning to be free. Communal living makes modesty a vice, not a virtue, the army taught me that, but Sandburg was born to it. He sure didn't have any problem stripping down and diving in. Not me, too cold, too dark, too deep. I like my water contained and chlorinated. But I like laying in the sun, watching Sandburg. Naked. I have to report back tomorrow. Sandburg's off on some expedition at the end of the week. We have just this short time together after his graduation and are making the best of it. After hiking to the lake, we've eaten most of what Sally packed for us, had some beer, talked about the future, laughed a lot. Feels like we picked up right where we left off. I'm full and lazy and comfortable, a little bit buzzed, and just so damn happy to be with Sandburg. I'm also half-hard but trying to ignore it. 'Jim! Did you eat everything or is there something left for me?' He sits down cross-legged on the blanket. Fortunately he's wrapped a towel around his waist. 'Brrrrr. Cold and wet is my world, man!' I hand him one of the peaches I've been fondling. He takes a bite of the peach and starts talking. I let it flow over me. It's one of those rare perfect days in Cascade: warm, sunny, a little breezy. And it's a rare perfect day for me: I'm relaxed, really happy, content. And I'm with Sandburg. The guy who pointed me in the direction of happiness and pushed. OK, the friend who dragged me kicking and screaming out from behind my glass wall, and then pushed. I have to laugh. Sandburg stops, mid-bite, mid-sentence. 'What?' I shake my head, courage peeking around the corner but not quite ready to join the party. 'Jim? Why are you laughing? Tell me,' he threatens. 'Or what, Sandburg?' He's grown some since freshman year, but he's got nothing on this soldier boy. I flex my biceps to remind him. He just laughs, waves the peach around. 'Brains beat brawn every time, big guy. He tosses the pit towards the lake and takes another bite. 'You're big, but I'm fast.' That's my Sandburg, brave in the face of death. I squint at him. Water caught in his curls glints like diamonds. The sun outlines him in gold. Peach juice glazes his lips, drips down his wrist. My Sandburg. My body's moving before my head can remind me that I'm not this brave. I use the towel around his shoulders to pull him close, then slide my hands up and position his face just so and kiss him. Kiss him the way I've been dreaming: long and deep and hard. It's like that night in the truck: I'm soaring, everything's engaged. Diamonds in his hair, juice dripping down my chest, his legs resting atop my thighs, the scent of lake water, peaches, Sandburg. He's warm, he's real, he's kissing me back. Just as quickly as it came, my courage deserts me. What have I done? I thrust him away in sheer panic. But Sandburg will not be denied. Hands still on my shoulders, peach still dripping, lips still glazed, he pushes. Pushes hard. I'm flat on my back with a hot, demanding Sandburg all over me. 'More,' he says breathlessly, 'more.'
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