dontravis.com
blog post #359
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| The Dreamcatcher-Courtesy of Free Stock |
Ready
for the rest of it? We left Part 1 with John seeming to agree to do anything in
order to pass his class. Did he really mean anything? And why is it so important
for him to graduate. That answer seems obvious. To build himself a future. But
maybe there’s a deeper answer to that question. Read on
*****
THE MISFIT
John submitted
to me with his eyes closed. He was fantasy made flesh. Dark, smooth almost
hairless flesh. In the grip of raging, selfish, lust, I failed to consider the
significance of his eyes remaining closed throughout the entire wonderful
experience.
When it was
over, he reached for his clothing and asked in a subdued voice, “Do I pass now?”
“John, you
have to do the work; I can’t fake a grade. But what I can do is make certain you are able to do the work. We’ll spend as
much time as it takes.”
His eyes
bored into my soul for a moment. “But you promise I’ll pass?”
“You give
me the time and effort, and that’s a promise. You’ll pass.”
I insisted
on driving him home, hoping for time to strengthen our budding relationship. We
headed south out of town after stopping at a drive‑in for burgers and fries. As
a winter wind swirled dust and leaves ahead of us on the lonely road, I learned
John Running’s story.
His father
was a northern Plains Indian; his mom, one of the southeastern woodland tribes
with a little bit of the local blood. When John’s father died, she came to the
woman who had raised her. When the mother died, the old woman John called Grandma
took him in hand and raised him.
“Then my
grandma crossed over last year,” he explained. “They let me stay in her house,
but since I don’t have the blood, they treat me like an outsider,” he
explained, laughing harshly. “Outsider at school, on the rez... everywhere. Guess
I don’t fit anywhere”
He paused a
moment before speaking again. “She’s the
one I made the promise to. You know, to stay in school and graduate. I promised
her.” His quiet determination made me realize how seriously he took a promise
to a dead woman.
I dropped him
off in the middle of a dirt road in front of the tribal headquarters and drove
home understanding that when I had detained the boy in class, he missed his
ride and slept in a ditch or an alley somewhere. I also concluded that John
Running probably wasn’t gay, although he was capable of performing with a man.
I discerned
no difference in John in class on Monday, although there was a marked
difference in me. I could hardly wait for the last class of the day when he graced
my computer lab for fifty minutes. On Friday, I suggested a session at the
house Saturday and immediately became impatient of the hours. Like a love-smitten
adolescent, my heart skipped a beat as I opened the door to admit him. John
Running, normally as graceful as a proud stag, entered my house awkwardly.
I moved
behind him and placed my hands on his thighs; he did not stop me, but he swallowed
nervously. I pulled his shirt over his head and slid my hands down that long
torso. He turned to face me and I was lost again, especially since he seemed to
participate—to share—in our lovemaking today. I studied his deep, naked chest
and wondered if he'd ever had a girl.
Today was
different, more wonderful… if that was even possible. John went wild, his dark
eyes staring into mine as he thrashed above me feeding his own need. But they
closed again, when I satisfied my own desires.
It was late by the time John caught up on the week’s work. He gave
a silent nod when I suggested he stay the night. I shaved and brushed my teeth
while he showered, trying to control my rising passion as I caught ghostly
glimpses of him behind the glass of the shower stall. I took his place under
the water while he dried himself and used a fresh toothbrush I had in reserve.
That night
was one of those “once in a lifetime” experiences. I’d unleashed something in
the boy… youth… man. He wore me out and came back for more. Greedy for him, I
matched his pace.
We got up
the next morning to find a front had moved in dumping at least three inches of
snow on the ground. A brisk wind turned it into a blizzard.
John was
withdrawn as we went about cleaning up and eating a breakfast of bacon and eggs
and biscuits. He avoided my glance and studied his plate as he ate. He was
having regrets this morning. Probably accepting repressed gay longings
successfully hidden all this time. That was good. The boy needed to understand
who he was.
I watched
as he sat at the computer and worked on next week’s lessons, pleased at how quickly
he picked up on things. The computer could be this kid’s way out of his dreary
life, and I told him so.
After lunch,
I did some work of my own. When I went back into the living room, he was
holding a jigger of Scotch. He stared at me defiantly as he tossed it down his
throat. He turned to the portable bar and poured another before capping the
bottle and returning to the PC.
An hour
later, I checked first on the worsening weather and then on my misfit. Pleased
at his progress, I placed my hands on his shoulders. He went rigid as I ran my
hands down his torso. He stood, and I sensed that now he was simply bowing to
the inevitable, but it made no difference. He was too beautiful, too virile,
too desirable for me to stop. I led him into the bedroom and satisfied my need…
his too. Although he was passive throughout.
As we lay silent and spent, I sought to ease
the moment. “Your girls must go wild over you, John.”
“Yeah, my
girls,” he mumbled, and I knew there hadn’t been any.
He rose
from the bed and strode to the bathroom in that panther’s stride I so admired. I
heard him shower, but was too spent to stir. When he came out, I stumbled in
and turned on the water. John was wearing me out.
God, he was
beautiful! He was wonderful! Magnificent! When he finished high school, I’d see
he got some advanced training. Hell, I would even quit my job and go with him. They
needed teachers everywhere.
When I was
finally clean and dry again, I dressed and went into the den. He was gone. His
books were on the table, but he wasn’t around. As I searched the house, my eye
fell on the portable bar. He’d taken the bottle of Scotch. I ran to the window.
The snow fell in huge wet chunks too big to be called flakes. I threw on
clothes and raced outside. His
tracks were almost covered by fresh snow. He’d gone east. I fought the car out
of the garage and plowed through drifted snow for miles before accepting the
futility of my search.
They found
him in a small culvert south of town two days later. The bottle that had given him
a false sense of warmth until his vital functions surrendered to the elements was
empty. I managed to make it to the end of the school year before resigning and
moving farther west. I found a school at the edge of an Indian reservation and
taught a few classes over the summer. Gradually, the dusky young men restored a
sense of balance to my life, although they could do nothing to expunge the
guilt of driving a beautiful young man to his death by demanding too much, too
fast.
Nonetheless,
I found my next misfit... not at the school… but in front of a small trading
post just outside of the reservation. And he was drawn to me like debris to the
vortex of a whirlwind.
THE END
*****
So
tragic. Young John was willing to do things against his nature to keep a
promise to his dead grandmother. Or is that oversimplification? John had no
problem participating. In fact, Mr. Mason had the impression he enjoyed their
second encounter. Whether John reacted to doing something against his nature or
was simply fighting what he was coming to understand was his
nature, he chose the wrong way out.
What
about Mr. Mason? Was he callous and uncaring? I’m not sure that’s the case. He
truly mourned John, barely hanging onto his teaching position until the term
was completed. Then he moved elsewhere… and found another misfit? Does that necessarily
mean he chose the new boy as a sexual target? Maybe he’s learned something from
his encounter with John and is truly driven to help misfits. What do you think?
The advance buy link for
The Voxlightner Scandal follows: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Now
my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on
writing. You have something to say, so say it!
My
personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting
remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE
THAT ONE.)
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@dontravis3
Buy
links to Abaddon’s Locusts:
See
you next week.
Don
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