Jamie

Never before had I been so embarrassed in my entire life. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. There was that time when my mother caught a guy going down on me on the living room couch. Sophomore year of college, home for spring break, I decided to take Miles, a freshman, home with me. We had only been seeing each other for a week or two at the time. We should have gone to my room, but we didn't. We were just watching TV when Miles decided to do it, not like I did anything to stop him. I guess you could say that was more or less my coming out story. There was always suspicion that I possibly wasn't straight, but getting caught with a guy was one way to prove I wasn't. My parents more or less accepted my sexual orientation, except my dad would say, "I wish you'd make up your mind between men and women." I tried to explain bisexuality to my parents, but my dad said he "just didn't get it." He couldn't understand how anyone could be attracted to both men and women. While I understand it, I definitely know where my preference lies.

To get my mind off things, I thought I'd surprise my parents with a visit. I was leaving soon and I wasn't sure I'd see them again before next June and the guilt was already eating at me. Some unknown woman came to the door of my parents' condo. A woman I didn't recognize opened the door. She wore a name badge that read Sheila Porter, HHA. I knew that HHA was an abbreviation for home health aide.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Jamie Perron. Are my parents here?"

"Uh...not right now," she said. "Well, your mother is here. Your father went golfing for the day and she's sort of having difficulty coping with him being gone. She's not having a very good day." I was sure my dad deserved a day of golfing with everything he had to deal with on a daily basis.

"Well, can I come in and see her?" I said, stepping into the house.

"Of course," Sheila said, her naturally red curly hair bouncing up and down as she led me to my mother. I found my mother sitting on the couch, holding her purse in her lap, on edge, like she was on high alert, as if she expected something dreadful to happen any minute.

"Hi, Mom," I said and kissed her cheek. As soon as I did that, she looked as though she was about to slap me across my face. She never laid a hand on us as kids. In fact, she rarely ever raised her voice.

"Mom?" she said, giving me a disgusted, horrified look. Instantly I knew that she had no idea who I was, which was one of the worst feelings in the world. How could she not recognize her own son? Alzheimer's disease was pure evil. There were days when I wished she'd just die and end it because I knew it would only get worse. Alzheimer's was a progressive and irreversible disease.

How could I think that about my own mother?

On more than one occasion, my father would say, "the woman I married died a long time ago." And he was right about that.

"It's me, Jamie," I said. "Your son. How are you?"

"You're not my son," she said, insulted I could claim such a thing. "How could you possibly be my son? My son is only ten and you're...you're..."

"Thirty," I said. "I'll be thirty-one August 30th. I was ten once." I wasn't sure what to say or what to do.

"What are you doing in my house? I don't know you. Where's Jerry?" She was referring to Jerry, my father who was practically by her side twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

"It's me, Jamie," I said, desperately wanting my mother back. I wanted to tell her all about Jordan, but I couldn't, not when she was in this confused state. She had no idea who I was and I doubted she would ever remember meeting Jordan.

"I'm sorry," Sheila said. "I think you should probably go and come back tomorrow when your dad's here."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess you're right," I said.

"Get out of my house!" my mother yelled at me. She went to hit me, but Sheila stepped between us. 

"I'm sorry," Sheila said. "You better leave."

Could this day get even worse? I wondered as I drove off.

Even though I was by myself and despite the sweltering hot weather, I went for a hike. I needed to sweat and burn off this negative energy. I wasn't prepared for the hike, wearing crappy old sneakers. My hiking boots were somewhere in Jordan's room. I didn't even have water with me. Within a half an hour of my hike, I decided to go back to the house before I passed out.

By the time I got back, I found Tim and his father on the porch. They both looked a little stoned, maybe a little drunk, too. A pitcher of homemade sangria sat in the middle of the table. I assumed that Art made the sangria; I couldn't picture Tim making anything homemade.

"Where's Jordan?" I asked.

"He's been in the woods for hours," Tim said. "And in that pond. He won't come out. Maybe you could talk to him. He seems to listen to you."

"Yeah, I'll go talk to him," I said.

As I approached the pond, I spotted Jordan's phone and headphones on the ground. In the middle of the pond was Jordan holding a frog, standing in that murky water. I picked up his phone and headphones and walked to the edge of the pond. "Hey you," I said. Turning his attention from the frog to me, he trod toward me.

"You're all sweaty," he said. "Where'd you go?"

"I went for a hike," I said. "What's going on, Jordan?" He hesitated before responding, looking at me with his big chocolate brown eyes.

"He calls me Jordie," he said. "I don't like it. I hate it."

"I know you don't like to be called Jordan," I said. "So why don't you tell him you hate it?"

"I can't talk to him," he said. "Art's going to make you leave because I won't talk to him." I wouldn't be surprised if Art asked me to leave since this was his house and I took over his room without his permission. He seemed to be a little annoyed by that fact. I crouched down so I was almost eye level with him.

"Even if he tells me to leave, I'll still see you, okay? I'm not leaving for England until the end of August. That's a few weeks away. You'll still be my boyfriend, right?"

"Yes," he said with a pout. "I still don't want you to leave."

"I know," I said. "Can you please get out of the pond?" I said. "I can't talk to you in there. Come on, get out." Slowly, he trudged out, still holding the frog. "Why don't we talk and go swimming or something?"

"I don't want to talk," he said. "I don't want to go swimming, either."

Wow, he's in a really bad mood, I thought, if he doesn't want to go swimming...

"Fine, don't talk. Let's just go for a walk then." Holding his hand, I led him through the woods, toward the field of sunflowers. He liked it there because no one knew about his so-called secret place. I was hoping it would cheer him up. Before entering the field, he crouched down and let the frog go.

"You're really sweaty," he said again, withdrawing his hand from mine to bring his arm around me. "I wanted to go hiking with you."

"I know. We'll go again. I didn't know what to do with myself today. I guess I just didn't feel like I belonged here."

"You belong with me," he said.

"Yeah, I do," I said. "I'll take you with me next time."

Standing in the middle of the field, sunflowers all around us, Jordan closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky, letting the late afternoon sun beat down on him. Although his eyes were closed, he sensed my presence in front of him and pressed his lips on mine. Holding his face in the palm of my hands, I kissed him back.

"I'm supposed to be bringing you back to the house," I said.

"I don't want to go back," he said.

"What are you going to do? Stay out here forever?"

"Until Art goes away," he said.

"You know that doesn't make any sense," I said. Shrugging his shoulders, Jordan sat down on the grass. As I sat down beside him, he abruptly sprung to his knees, throwing himself at me.

"Whoa," I laughed as he eagerly lifted my shirt over my head. "Wait a minute, Jordan. You're disgusting. You've been in that pond and..." In mid-sentence, I lost my train of thought as he kissed my chest. He kissed me lower and lower. "Wait, Jordan...wait, we shouldn't do this out here. We..." Ignoring my weak protests, he undid my shorts and roughly yanked them down to my ankles. "Fuck, Jordan," I said as he hungrily took my cock in his mouth.

"I'm going to make you come in my mouth," he whispered.

"What?" I laughed. "You're such a dirty boy," I said, appreciating his bluntness. Actually, I loved it and I couldn't wait to come in his mouth. With both hands, I grasped clumps of his hair, pushing him down on me. As he sucked, he reached above his head and squeezed one nipple, shoving his other hand in his shorts. He stopped and decided to remove his shorts entirely, quickly resuming where he left off. He moaned with my cock in my mouth, releasing himself in his hand. I followed shortly after, right in his mouth, which was the goal. After I finished, he dragged his tongue up the center of my chest, up to my mouth., culminating in a long, lingering kiss.

I had to go and face Tim and their father after this?

Jordan rested his head comfortably on my stomach. For a second, I thought he was going to fall asleep. "I saw my mother today," I told him, combing my fingers through his damp, twisted curls. "Before I went hiking. She didn't even know who I was."

Jordan tilted his head upward, looking up at me. "She was so scared, scared of me. I thought she was going to hit me." A few tears fell down my cheeks, remembering the expression on my mother's face when I said, "Hi, Mom." Jordan sat up and kissed my cheek. "She's just getting worse. I hate going to see her. I wish I hadn't gone, but she's my mother, you know?" I had a feeling Jordan understood what I was talking about because he visited his mother twice a month, perhaps out of obligation and guilt while also hopeful she'll come around one day and speak to him.

"Do you like the Stone Roses?" he asked, running his hand up and down my arm. He really wasn't in the mood to talk about mothers.

"I don't know," I said.

"You don't know?" he said in disbelief. He took his phone and placed the headphones over my ears. Within seconds music blasted in my ears, way too loud, making Jordan laugh. He turned down the volume enough so I could hear him sing this song he loved so much, I Wanna be Adored.

"I don't have to sell my soul
He's already in me
I don't need to sell my soul
He's already in me...

I wanna...I wanna be adored...I wanna..."

In-between singing, he kissed me, like he did so many times before. "Sometimes I think of you when I listen to this song," he said. "Like I sometimes hear it in my head when we're in bed together. I'd like to fuck you to this song." I burst into laughter.

"Yeah...yeah...okay...okay...," I said, laughing. He turned off the headphones, letting the music play through his phone. He grabbed my wrist as I went to put my shorts back on. Standing directly behind me, he kissed the side of my neck with his other hand on my waist. "I didn't think you meant right now," I said. "We can't do it outside."

"Why not?"

"It won't work," I insisted.

"Let's try and find out," he said.

"I get that you want to fuck me right now, but I don't know if it'll work outside. I mean, I think it'll be really difficult and maybe we should wait until we're inside and..." He got down on his knees and kissed and licked me everywhere, determined to make it work. "You're a crazy man, you know that?" If I had said something like that in June, he would have bit me and spit in my face and maybe he would have done something far worse. Now he just sort of rolled with it, even smiled as he stood back up to kiss my neck. He kissed it so hard. I had forgotten he was just in the pond a little over an hour ago.

We rolled around in the grass as the bittersweet melody of the Stone Roses played over and over. "This is a great song," I said. "I love it." Gazing into my eyes, he thrust hard in me. Both of us grunted, gritting our teeth and moaning against each other's mouths. He clasped my fingers in his, bringing my arms over his head, thrusting back and forth. I couldn't believe he did it; he really did it. Not bad for an amateur. 

"Tim's going to wonder what took us so long," I said.

"I don't want to go back," he said and kissed my earlobe.

"I know," I said. The sun was just about to set when we were still rolling around in the grass amidst the sunflowers.

Art and Tim hadn't budged from their seats on the porch, the pitcher of sangria half finished. A citronella candle flickered in the middle of the table in an attempt to ward off the mosquitos. Those candles never worked that great.

"Where the hell have you been?" Tim said mostly intended for Jordan, but Jordan wasn't about to respond.

"We were just talking," I said, sitting down across from Tim and his father. Jordan didn't sit down, heading into the house while my eyes followed him.

"Where are you going?" Tim asked him.

"Taking a shower," Jordan said. Maybe that would satisfy his father since he said something.

"That's a good boy," Art said.

"He's not a child," I said. There, I just had to say it. He definitely didn't fuck like some innocent teenager. Those days were gone.