Mary’s voice is soft. A gentle breeze on the wind. Her hand is soft and she smells nice.
Feminine and fragile. Like the sky. Like the sea breeze.
Arthur can imagines loving her. Waking to her gentle voice.
Eating beside her. Draping himself along her back. Tiny and soft.
She’s gentle. She’s never laughed at him.
He takes a walk with her. She talks and he listens. They walk through the town. She lives in another world.
She goes window shopping and goes inside. She buys herself whatever she likes.
Thinks of buying a toy for her brother.
Her scent is pure. Innocent.
Arthur’s never been innocent.
His fathers hands would circle his neck. His fist would meet his chin. His mothers pained sounds in the other room. The men pounding into her as she works to feed him.
She liked flowers. His mother. Would bend and pick them up. Put them into his hair.
He’s always wanted to take her place.
Take any pain for her.
All he could do was confront what she had to do. To clothe him. Feed him.
His father loved the bottle and his whores. Much like Mary’s father. And they are similar in that.
She’s gentle because she can afford to be.
She loves her father.
Arthur didn’t blink when his father hanged. Stared at him for a long time.
Dutch extended a hand. Dutch extended more than a hand.
He gave him life. His breath back.
Hosea was steady and a pillar. Dutch was everything. The sun pales in comparison. He’s all those poetry he liked to recite to Arthur. Young Arthur. Tired Arthur. Mature beyond his years.
His fathers fingers would sometimes linger. Touch his jaw. His lithe figure. The curve of his hip bone. He’d remark on how soft he was. How quiet. Feminine.
Submissive.
Dutch’s eyes would linger sometimes. But it didn’t make his skin crawl. Dutch wouldn’t make comments about his friends going to town on him.
Dutch looked at him and praised him. Dutch breathed life into him.
He would gladly worship at the alter.
Dutch saw his devotion as a strength. Called him strong. Stronger than any man he’s met. Dutch looked at him and his eyes lingered.
Dutch didn’t touch him. But Dutch kept him close.
Arthur crawled closer. Begged for more. Not with his words. Never with his words.
He’s been beaten and beaten, a child for speaking out of turn. Arthur would never speak up.
Not about the fact that he tried to imagine Mary’s body but all he saw were golden rings. Tried to relax to Mary’s voice but all he heard was Dutch’s voice in his ears. Dictating him. Directing him.
Telling him how to move.
She’d like that, son.
Do this, son.
Women love a firm hand, son.
Dutch would groan appreciatively when he bottomed out. He’d incline back on the chair. Legs wide open. Eyes proud. Intense.
He’d rumble when Arthur came apart. Giving him permission to come.
His hands would be on his stomach. Holding him down as Mary moved on top of him. His breath near. His scent overpowering.
He’d call him his good boy. Tell him he did so well bringing her to completion. Call her a gentleman.
Made you the perfect gentleman.
Proud of him. Directing. Owning him.
Mary talks and her voice is soothing. She’s close. Her scent is beautiful. Lilacs and something else.
She’s beautiful and the sun hits her just so.
Arthur’s always been weak.
He leaves her at her family’s house and he turns away. It takes everything in him not to sprint. Return home to his maker. His soul.
Hosea and Dutch are talking. They’re close.
They’ve always been close.
Dutch looks up and smiles. Blinding. Beckons him forth and brings him to his side. “My boy, you’ve returned to your father?”
And Hosea laughs and Arthur’s ears burn. He leans into him. His heart beats through his arm. “I’m here.”
Hosea clasps him on his back. He’s their heart. His voice is warm. If Arthur could ever choose his father, he’d wanted it to be Hosea. “Were you with your little Mary, then? Leaving us old bastards in the dirt?”
Arthur feels so warm. Dutch’s scent is all around him. He closes his thighs tightly together. “What’re you talkin’ about, Hosea? You got Bessie!”
“And she’s a mighty fine woman!” He cheers Dutch. Both of them above the clouds. “I think I’m gonna ask her to marry me.” Hosea confesses, soft and quiet. A beautiful secret.
Arthur lightens up but Dutch tenses. Pauses. “She’d be happy to have you, Hosea! You’re the best of us!” Arthur beams and Dutch’s rich voice washes over him.
“She should be so lucky.” But then he amends, “She’d be a fool to say no, old friend.”
“I hope so. I hope so, Dutch.” He gets up. “I’ll head in for now. This is enough alcohol. Good night.” And they bid him a good one.
Dutch sighs and jostles him. Arthur looks at him and the fire burns him onto his memory.
He swallows.
Dutch smiles at him. Gentle eyes. Illuminated by the fire and reflected by the moon. “Did you have fun with this Mary girl, Arthur?”
He wets his lips. Dutch’s eyes fall on them. “I did, Dutch. She’s nice. She’s real nice.”
“And beautiful, I hope?” Dutch laughs and Arthur soars. “Nice only gets you so far, son.”
“She’s more than I deserve and she’s beautiful.” He confesses. Dutch looks at him.
“I’m doing what you told me.” Arthur says.
Dutch looks away.
“That you are. That you are, son.” He clears his throat. “And you’re doing a great job of it. In this world you see, one cannot truly ever be free no matter what the government claims— homosexuality, it’d get you hung. And I could not bear it, son. Losing you.”
Arthur leans in closer. Impossibly. “You won’t. You won’t.”
Dutch smiles again. Eyes clear.
“We should turn in too. All this drinking’s getting to my head.” And Dutch’s arm falls away and he gets up. Arthur stands with him.
Clamores after him inside his tent. Dutch stops. Looks at him. “Yes, son?”
“I ain’t homosexual, Dutch.” He crowds in. Puts his chest to Dutch’s. His breath hitches. Eyes turn pleading. He looks at him. Tilts his head back. “I just want you, Dutch. I ain’t never wanted no man.”
Dutch stares at him.
Arthur swallows. Goes on his tippy toes. Ghosts his lips over his. Shivers. “I only want you, Dutch.”
A confession. A shameful secret.
Not to Arthur.
Arthur’s proud to be Dutch’s.
Dutch doesn’t believe him. Puts a heavy palm on his shoulder. Leans in. Stops short of his lips.
They share breath.
Arthur’s trembling.
“Go to sleep, kid.”
The air is cold.
Arthur falls back.
“Ca— can I use my tongue?” He asks, begs, eyes downcast and hidden but burning. “Please?”
Dutch sighs heavy. “Sure, kid.” Indulges him.
Dutch always indulges him.
Sits back. Arthur falls to his knees gratefully. Face in his groin. Over the pants. Dutch’s fingers intertwine with his sandy hair. The rings are cold near his nape. He rubs his face onto the bulge.
Takes him out. Kisses him. Looks at him.
Smears precome on his lips. Takes him in. Groans. Undone. Needy.
He’s already hard. He’s been hard.
He swirls his tongue around the foreskin. Takes in the tangy salt flavor and loves it. Takes it in, in, in.
Dutch’s pubic hair tickle his nose. His scent engulfs him. His eyes water and he’s sated. Mind quiet and Dutch all around him.
Everything else falls away expect Dutch, Dutch, Dutch.
His sounds. Soft and restrained. His scent. Intoxicating.
He pops his head and rests at the tip. Goes down again. Dutch’s fingers curl around his neck. Groan. Tries to feel the imprint of his cock in his throat. Starts thrusting into his throat.
Holds him there.
Grip tight in his hair.
Arthur’s never been happier.
It’s hard to breathe and Dutch’s cock is twitching, his groans deep and guttural. Close.
His fingers go around his thighs and he holds him in. The grip in his hair punishing. Trying to pull him off.
Dutch groans and leaves him. He takes him down. Relaxes his throat and gags.
Dutch empties down his throat.
He stays. His cock going soft. Dutch is panting. Trying to catch his breath. “God.” He groans. “You’re good at that, baby.”
And Arthur whimpers. Puts his cock to his knee and ruts into him. Soft cock in his mouth. Nourishing. Warm.
Comes like an animal.
“Good boy.” Dutch’s voice is low, deep. Arthur shivers.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mm, of course.” He pulls him off. Arthur whines at the loss. Belongs home on his knees. Dutch’s cock down his throat. His cum in his ass. “Now, go to sleep, kid.”
And Arthur sits back on his heels. His pants are uncomfortable and wet. “You don’t wanna hear about Mary?”
And Dutch sighs again. Wary but indulgent. He’s never not indulged Arthur. “Tell me about Mary, son.”
“I did what you wanted me to.” He says. Stares up at him reverently. “Treated her well. Good. She put her hand on my arm. Held me close. Her breast were on my shoulder the whole way.”
Dutch hums. Looking for something. Arthur remains on his knees. “That sounds nice, son. A good woman is soft and beautiful.”
“Mary is real beautiful, Dutch. She’s very beautiful.”
And Dutch turns to him. Indignant. “Will you settle with her then?”
Arthur frowns. Pouts. “Don’t think her father would allow it none.”
“But if he did?” He insists, “Would you?”
“I’d never leave you, Dutch.” And his soul is bare. For all to see and examine.
Dutch frowns down at him. “Arthur… we talked about this.”
“I know you think me of that… inclination, Dutch. But I swear I ain’t! I ain’t want no one but you, Dutch! Believe me!”
And Dutch looks tired. Massages his brows. “Sure, kid. Sure.”
“You don’t believe me, Dutch but I ain’t never cared to fuck a whore or a man. I seen plenty beautiful things, I have. They ain’t you.”
Dutch doesn’t say anything. Lips a thin line.
Arthur looks down. “I mean it, Dutch.” He insists anyways. Dutch doesn’t like hearing things he doesn’t like. “I’d do whatever you want. Act however you want. I’d move however you want. I’d… I’d let you inside me anywhere. Anytime. Any place . I don’t care.”
Dutch’s palm is heavy and soothing on his head. “I believe you, son. I do. Believe me. I’m just… it is unfortunate and I will do my best to make a world where you can live free but you have to understand—,”
“I ain’t homosexual, Dutch.” He interrupts him and Dutch looks angry.
“Of course.” He closes the conversation. Gets up. “Are you leaving?”
“Will you take me?” He asks. Hope swirling in his chest and Dutch puts back the book. Thinks about it.
“Well, I don’t see why not. Just keep quiet.” He smirks at him. “You can be so awfully loud.”
Arthur smiles back. Gets up and closer to him. Holds his sleeve. “I want you to hear me.”
Dutch’s hands settle on his cheeks and he caresses his face. “You just want daddy happy.”
“Yes, sir.”
He removes his hands. “Lay back then.”