Chapter 37
37.
The Truth
“In the time of the Great Darkness, we search for the truth. Upon finding it, we rejoice … except when we don’t.”
—Disco Witch Manifesto #17
Joe lay on his bed and stared at the moon through the slats of the attic vent. His body vibrated with the day’s lingering excitement—Ronnie and Vince getting back together, the ACT UP benefit bringing in triple what they’d hoped, and Trey Winkle receiving the comeuppance he deserved. It was like Christmas, and every box under the tree was for him. The absolute best present, of course, was when Fergal kissed Joe in front of the entire bar, claiming him as his boyfriend. It was perfect.
Joe listened as the downstairs shower whooshed. He imagined Fergal’s wet body, water dripping off his eyelashes, his lips, down his hairy legs. Joe’s cock pushed against the cotton of his Fruit of the Looms. Fergal had kept him company the whole evening until he finished his shift. By eleven fifteen, Fergal had been so tipsy on Joe’s strong cocktail inventions that he’d missed the last ferry. And this time it was Fergal who suggested spending the night together—with no warnings about hard-ons keeping them awake. And despite Vince’s arbitrary superstition about fourth dates, their longing for each other appeared undiminished.
The sound of the shower stopped. Joe grabbed the phallic-shaped bottle of Pierre Cardin cologne and aimed it at his throat, then stopped. Getting a mouthful of perfume is never sexy. Was there a spot on his body he didn’t want Fergal to kiss? No, no there was not. Joe returned the bottle to its spot, unused.
He considered how he should appear when Fergal first saw him lying there. Should he aim his ass toward the ladder, pretending to be asleep? Way too obvious. Should he pretend to read a book? No. That didn’t feel right. Maybe he could say something nonchalant, like, “What is it, Fergal? Sex, you say? Oops. I almost forgot.” That made Joe laugh. Finally, he lay on his back, arms behind his head, gently flexing his biceps. He sniffed his Irish Spring–scrubbed armpit, and then double-checked all private parts front and back. Spic and Span! He had never been more ready.
“Coming up!” Fergal hollered. “Need water or anything?”
“I’m good!” Joe called back and then stretched out his whole body, letting his toes and fingers release some of the tingly energy. He rearranged his chubby to be less conspicuous and reassumed his sexy (but not too sexy) pose. Seconds later, Fergal emerged from the floor hatch, shirtless and still damp. He wore a ridiculous pair of plaid boxers—the sort someone’s dad might wear. Joe’s eyes moved from Fergal’s face to the sweet small patch of hair at the top of his chest, then down to his belly button and the perfect treasure trail that cascaded into his underwear, where something beneath was growing and begging to be set free.
“Wow,” Fergal said, staring down at him. “You look … um … Wow.”
Joe smiled. “You already saw me mostly naked that night I got messed up, remember?”
“That was different. You’re not covered with vomit and snot now, which is a slight improvement.”
“Hey, ferryman.” Joe winked. “Get in my bed.”
Fergal did a funny little leap and landed right next to Joe. Their limbs became like two jumper cables touching—the spark of the muscle and flesh, the electricity of their hairy arms and legs. Joe inhaled Fergal’s soapy and musky smell. Both, still lightly inebriated, stared brazenly at each other.
“Crazy day, right?” Joe said. He needed to calm himself before he prematurely exploded. “This afternoon it hit me who you remind me of. You know that actor from that old TV show Lost in Space ?”
“Who?”
“That guy who played Don—the co-astronaut? You know the hot, angry one? Judy’s boyfriend? You look a little like him, but taller and less angry.”
“You’re the first person to tell me that.” Fergal smiled and let his furry leg flop across Joe’s.
“What was I saying?” Joe mentally swooned under the weight and warmth of Fergal’s leg. “Oh right, well I used to jack off to the angry astronaut guy. That is, if I couldn’t find the underwear section of the JC Penny catalog.”
“Ha!” Fergal blurted. “I used to wank off to the Batman TV show.”
“Batman or Robin?”
“ Robin of course! He had that hot little body shoved into those cute green shorts. But there was this other TV character you remind me of that I used to be nuts about.” Fergal started to laugh.
“Tell me,” Joe playfully demanded, laughing too. “Come on, I told you my secret TV crush. You have to tell me! And please don’t say Magilla Gorilla!”
“Nah, but it was a cartoon!” He snort-laughed. “You ever watch Yogi Bear?”
Joe scowled. “I remind you of Yogi Bear?”
“That’s dumb!” Fergal said, faux insulted. “You don’t remind me of Yogi at all.” He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. “You remind me of Boo-Boo Bear.”
“What?”
“You know, Yogi’s little buddy, Boo-Boo. I wanted him to be my boyfriend so bad.”
“Oh, c’mon!” Joe protested. “I’m way more proportional than Boo-Boo!”
Joe playfully punched Fergal in his upper pec muscle, which led to them wrestling around. Fergal finally flipped Joe on his back, grabbed his wrists, and laid his entire body atop of Joe’s, immobilizing him.
“Get off me!” Joe struggled, laughing, though he really wished Fergal would keep him pressed to the bed forever. After about fifteen seconds, Fergal rolled off, leaving a foot between them. He covered the crotch of his boxers with a pillow while Joe used the sheet to hide his own arousal.
“You know,” he said. “Vince says that if gay guys don’t have sex by the third date, they’ll probably end up as just friends.”
“He says that, huh?” Fergal’s face was flushed and sweaty. His aquiline nose pointed toward the ceiling as his blue-blue eyes appeared to be staring at something above the bed. Suddenly he turned Joe onto his stomach, climbed on top of him and began to kiss his neck while rubbing his erection against the backside of Joe’s briefs.
He loved the feeling of Fergal’s cock pressing against his ass through the layers of underwear, and the way his chest was flush against his back, and how long, tanned forearms stacked on top of his, hands clutching Joe’s. Unlike like Ronnie and his fellow gym bunnies, Fergal’s flesh, while naturally muscular, still had a softness to it, so when he pressed it against Joe’s, it was like they were melting into each other.
“Hey, what’s this?” Fergal touched a sensitive spot on Joe’s right shoulder blade. “You have a little scar here.”
“Don’t worry,” Joe said quickly, knowing how any sort of unusual body marks might be cause for alarm. That was why he’d had it removed in the first place. He’d been worried guys might assume it was one of those dark purple Kaposi lesions—the skin cancer that affected so many with AIDS. “It was just this mole I had since birth. I had it cut out about a year and a half ago. It was ugly as hell.”
“I doubt it,” Fergal said. “Nothing that’s part of you could ever be ugly.” He then continued his pleasurable assault on the back of Joe’s briefs, with intermittent kisses of Joe’s neck and back, including the scar. After several minutes of getting to know Joe’s rear side, Fergal sighed. “Okay, turn over.” Joe flipped onto his back. Fergal then took him by the ankles and lifted his muscly legs into a bent position, then pressed down until Joe’s knees were framing Fergal’s face. “Limber, aren’t you?”
“I took karate as a kid,” Joe whispered. His nuts were ready to burst.
“Let’s see how far you can go.” Fergal pushed down until Joe’s knees were by his ears, and his face was close enough to kiss him long and hard, the salty-sweet wetness pouring into Joe’s mouth. He couldn’t get enough, and neither, it appeared, could Fergal. It was as if they were both dying of thirst, and their mouths were the only potable water on Earth. After several minutes of making out, Fergal shoved off his boxers. His uncut cock sprang from a natural bush of black hair, its big head spitting and straining from the foreskin. It had to be one of the most beautiful dicks Joe had ever seen. However, he had underestimated its size. This inspired an excited tingling in the base of his stomach as well as a slight, anxious clenching in other areas.
Joe shimmied out of his briefs. His own cock, circumcised and as impressive as the rumors, thumped against his belly. Fergal fell upon him, licking Joe’s hairy chest, exploring his nipples, his biceps, his belly, his thighs. Then he took Joe’s dick into his mouth, and Joe let out a sigh at how warm, wet, and incredible it felt. Vince had been completely wrong. Joe was finally— finally! —having sex with Fergal the ferryman, and everything was working great. After making his way several times to the middle of Joe’s meaty cock, Fergal tried to deep-throat him, which led to a brief choking fit.
Fergal didn’t seem to mind, though. “Sorry about that,” he said with a grin. “I’m not used to—”
“It’s okay.” Joe smiled. “My turn. Lie back.”
Joe sat up and guided Fergal so that his head was resting on the pillow. Then, starting with another deep kiss, Joe worked his way down the ferryman’s body, kissing the perfect hairy triangle at the top of his chest, then down to his small, smooth pink nipples, which he licked and then gently bit, gauging the intensity by listening to Fergal’s groans. Then he moved on to his belly button and that sexy treasure trail, which Joe’s lips rode all the way down until he landed face-first into that exquisite tangle of hair beneath. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Joe straddled Fergal, letting the wet tip of the ferryman’s cock tease his hole. It felt so right that he was going to do this with him. It at last made sense why all the other men since Elliot hadn’t worked. They just weren’t right. This is right. Fergal is right. Joe stole another deep kiss before lifting Fergal’s long muscular arms to dive into the thicket of black armpit hair.
“That tickles,” Fergal barked with laughter. Then, less than a moment later, “Do it again.”
So Joe did, and then he moved back down, running his tongue over Fergal’s balls, then on to the shaft of his cock, then the tip of his foreskin, which, after spending some time with it, he gently pulled down to reveal the wet pink head. Finally, he took it into his mouth, causing Fergal to groan with pleasure. The sound poured warm honey throughout Joe’s body. Wanting to hear what other sounds Fergal might make, Joe began testing out different spots on Fergal’s cock, listening for which area or technique elicited the strongest reaction of pleasure. Finally, after a deep breath, Joe took the whole thing all the way down until it filled his throat, causing Fergal to growl like some waking monster as his entire body quivered. Found it! Joe loved knowing he could make Fergal’s body react like that. It made him feel powerful—to be desired by someone whom he desired so completely. Joe pulled his mouth off for a moment to take a breath, but then Fergal lifted his hands to the top of Joe’s head, encouraging him to go again. Joe happily did, going from the tip all the way to the base, up and down, over and over until Fergal’s body began to buck.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Fergal begged, pulling himself from Joe’s mouth. “Getting too close.” He took a few stabilizing inhales and exhales, then said, “Onto your stomach please.”
Joe complied, figuring Fergal was ready to fuck him. Anal sex was a big deal for Joe since he rarely ever did it. Elliot had never fucked him despite how much Joe had wanted him to. As far as the handful of other men who had tried over the years, it usually ended badly. Joe just could never fully relax, his mind too consumed about worries over the virus. He’d always clench up, which made it painful. Could he ever be fully open? Could he ever have sex fearlessly? There was something about being with Fergal that felt different, that made him think it would be different with him. He trusted him—which was the hottest thing of all.
Joe’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the feeling of Fergal’s hands spreading his ass cheeks open. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to close up, but instead of feeling the painful poke of a cock, he felt the delicious scratch of Fergal’s beard pushing into his ass crack. Now it was his own sighs of pleasure that filled the room as Fergal began to devour his hole in ways Joe had never felt before—in ways that seemed to defy physics. Is that his tongue? His lips? His fingers and tongue together? Joe wanted to ask him what he was specifically doing so he could one day return the favor, but, paralyzed by the sensation, he couldn’t speak. In fact, something strange started to happen: He felt himself fall into a kind of trance. Flashes of ocean waves crashed inside his head as did images of Fergal naked, swimming in the deep, his weird webbed toes propelling him onward, his beautiful body undulating in an underwater world the exact color of his blue-blue eyes. The vision seemed to be inviting Joe to go deeper into the sea with him, guiding him.
Meanwhile, on land, back there , he could feel himself opening up as never before, and with each thrust of Fergal’s tongue, Joe’s body began twitching and begging for Fergal to go deeper. It was the most incredible thing he’d ever felt. Eventually Fergal lifted his damp beard and mouth and whispered, “Condoms?”
Joe almost wanted to cheer. He pointed to the side table, where a small Winnie the Pooh bowl sat filled to the brim with at least fifty various square packets and a small bottle of lube. “Howie and Lenny left that there this morning. I guess they sensed something.”
Fergal picked one of the packets labeled Magnum and tore it open, sliding the rubber over his cock. He then lifted Joe’s legs into position, rubbed some lube gently into the already wet hole for good measure, and pressed the tip of his cock against the opening. An electrical current shot directly from Joe’s sphincter into his guts, making his toes curl with excitement. He longed for that moment when Fergal would painfully push past the rim until Joe’s insides would suddenly relax and reshape to fit Fergal’s cock perfectly. Pain would turn to pleasure—or that’s what he hoped.
“Please,” Joe begged. “I can’t wait anymore.”
He held his breath, but then Fergal stopped cold. After three labored breaths he pulled his body from Joe’s and flopped onto his back. Then he snapped off the condom. Joe lay there, and a torrent of dark thoughts began swirling around his brain. Had Vince been right? Was good sex impossible after the third date? When he finally looked over at Fergal, he saw the tears in his eyes.
Joe sat up quickly. “Are you okay? We don’t have to do anything. If you’re not into it … it’s no big deal. Really.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” There was a thickness to Fergal’s voice. “Not into it? I’ve wanted to be with you ever since that first day you came over on the ferry. And that morning at the Meat Rack when you were messed up? It took everything I had to leave. I wanted you so bad. He cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say is …” Fergal squeezed his eyes closed, like the words he was seeking might be hidden behind his eyelids.
Joe was numb. His mind echoed with another unfinished sentence from years before, with Elliot. No, please, no. This can’t be happening again.
“What?” Joe asked, hoping it wasn’t what he already knew it was.
“I’m HIV positive,” Fergal said. “I meant to tell you about it sooner, but then I got scared you’d reject me, and …” He stopped as if he ran out of air to inflate his words.
“When did you find out?” Joe whispered through his numbness.
“Last fall,” Fergal said just as quietly. “Remember that Buck guy from Hawaii who taught me to surf? We got loaded and stupid one night. It was the first time anyone ever fucked me, and I didn’t even like it. He didn’t know he had it yet. The good news is my T cells are pretty high, but … you know.” He used the corner of the bed sheet to wipe his nose and eyes.
For several minutes, the two men lay next to each other, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, not embracing, but not pulling away, their limbs simply waiting.
Joe listened to the old house settling. He listened for the crickets outside the attic vent. He listened for Fergal’s breathing, the way he used to listen for Elliot’s—an assurance that he was still alive. There it was, sitting inside his chest, the familiar grief for a man still healthy, a man he was certain he could fall in love with, a man who would die far too soon unless a miracle happened. He had thought his friendship with Elena, open talks with Howie, and the volunteering for the ACT UP benefit might make him less terrified of the disease, but it hadn’t. Why was this happening? Didn’t he deserve some respite from the constant fear that the man he wanted in his life might only have a matter of years or months left to live?
“Can I tell you something?” Joe asked.
“Yeah.”
“I haven’t been totally honest with you. I wasn’t really lying … or maybe I was. But since we’re coming clean about stuff … well, it’s like this. When Elliot died, we weren’t exactly together anymore.”
Fergal shifted to look at him. “Why are you telling me this right now?”
“I just need to,” Joe said simply. “You told me your truth, and now I need to tell you mine.”
Fergal nodded. “Go ahead.”
“So the whole truth is, he dumped me a year and a half before he died and had completely stopped speaking to me. I didn’t even know he had passed away until former friends started leaving me condolence messages on my answering machine. They’d had no idea we’d even broken up. No one knew except our families. When Elliot started to get sick, he didn’t want to be around the gay community. We started isolating ourselves from almost everyone. So when those old friends started to call, I should have told them the truth, but I said nothing. I guess I just wanted people to think we were still together at the end … I wanted to think it.” Joe’s breath sputtered as he tried not to cry.
“That must’ve been really hard.” Fergal placed his hand on Joe’s.
“No,” Joe said, calmed by the touch of Fergal’s hand and wishing he’d move it away at the same time. “I mean, it was, but that’s not what I’m trying to say. When he and I first fell in love, I didn’t know Elliot had HIV. It was weeks later that he told me, just after the first time we had sex. And I was so much in love with him I thought I could handle it. But then it was like … like I couldn’t stop thinking about it, you know what I mean? Every other thought was about AIDS.” Joe began talking fast, unable to look into Fergal’s eyes. “He’d freeze up if I tried to talk to him about it. And every time he coughed or sneezed, I thought he was dying. When we made love, I’d spend half the time amazed at how lucky I was—and then the rest of the time wondering if I was going to get infected by what we were doing or wondering how and when HIV was going to steal Elliot away from me forever.”
Fergal slowly moved his hand off Joe’s. Despite the hot room, Joe felt a chill. He wanted to throw his arms around Fergal, but he knew he shouldn’t. He had to say what he had to say first. Otherwise, it would all happen again, and he’d end up ruining Fergal’s life too.
“Joe,” Fergal said, barely any emotion to his voice, “what are you trying to say?”
“This thing, you and me together …” His dampening eyes focused on one of the vintage photos of Howie and Lenny on the beams. “I don’t think I can do it again. I know I can’t.” Joe’s voice cracked. “I’d be such a shitty boyfriend. I’m too selfish and too weak. I’d make it all about me—like I’m doing right now. You don’t deserve that. You need someone better than me—someone stronger. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and I care about you so much, but … I can’t.” He took a stuttering gulp of air. “I’m so sorry. I still want to be here for you. I mean, as a friend. I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”
Joe reached over to take Fergal’s hand, but Fergal pulled away. Rage had replaced the tears in his blue-blue eyes.
“I’m not Elliot,” he said. “I’m not this disease.”
“Fergal, please—” Joe reached for him again.
Fergal lifted his hands in warning. “Don’t! I don’t need your friendship or your damned pity. And guess what … Elliot didn’t need it either!”
He leaped from the bed and pulled on his underwear, T-shirt, and jeans.
Joe got up and wanted to reach for Fergal but stopped himself. “Hold on—don’t go yet. You’re not being fair.”
“Fair? Fuck you. I didn’t ask to get infected. No one does. And guess what? I just might not die from this. You ever think of that? In fact, I don’t plan to. And won’t you be sorry then. This might have been your only other chance to fall in love with a decent guy, and you blew it.”
“Wait,” Joe begged, tears and snot dripping. “Don’t leave like this. Stay a minute.”
“It’s too late. It’s done. You know something? Elliot was right to leave you. What a fucking phony—you’re so wrapped up in your own fears of what might be, you’re turning into a very sad, stuck, and lonely little man. It’s pathetic. I never want to see you again.”
Fergal stormed to the ladder and descended.
Joe ran to the floor hatch to follow. “Fergal, can we please just talk?” By the time his foot touched the middle rung, he heard the screen door slam, then the gate. Fergal was gone.