The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (9 page)

“Nothing. You disappeared and I was wandering around and Jimmy started talking to me and we went out and sat under that tree.”

“Did he try any funny business?”

“Oh darling—I’m sorry. I won’t say that any more. No. Maybe he intended to. I don’t know much about that sort of thing. He asked a lot of questions about you, and I told him I was in love with you just to make sure he wouldn’t get any ideas. He was very nice.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Don’t you understand you can’t have anything to do with people like that?”

“No, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

“He’s a queer, for God’s sake. Everybody knows it. From now on, I don’t want you to have anything to do with him.”

“I thought I was leaving. What difference does it make?”

“Oh, don’t be so silly. I lost my temper.”

Peter’s expression didn’t alter. He started slowly toward him as if moving in a trance. His eyes wavered. “You’ve got lipstick on your neck.” He gasped and his face crumpled and he flung himself onto the bed he’d never used and burst into tears.

Charlie stood over him, rubbing his neck. Unlike Betty’s tears, these gave him no satisfaction. He shrank from the pain they caused him. A flood of tenderness and longing swept over him, making his knees feel weak. He sank onto the edge of the bed, a sob in his own throat, and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and began to stroke it. “Don’t, my baby. Please don’t,” he murmured.

Peter shook his head on the pillow. “Oh, God, I’m so in love with you. It hurts. It hurts so damn much, sometimes.”

“I won’t let it. Honest. Never again, baby. I’m sorry. Please. Please, my love.”

A bubble of laughter escaped through the sobs. “You’ve never called me that before.”

“Sure I have. At least, I’ve thought it often enough. My darling lover.”

Peter rolled onto his back and seized his hand and held it to his mouth. Then he lifted it and rubbed it across his eyes. He heaved a deep shuddering sigh and was still. “Oh, God, let’s fight some more if this is what it’s like after.” He opened his brimming eyes and smiled. Charlie leaned over him and kissed him on the mouth, his tongue lingering on the full, soft lips. He drew back, and their eyes met and sank deep into each other.

“Come on, darling,” Charlie said, no longer caring about the words he used. “Take those damn clothes off and come back where we belong.” He ran a finger over Peter’s cheek and stood. His sex surged up out of the folds of his dressing gown. Peter swung his legs over the edge of the bed and laughed.

“That’s what I like about you. You’re so modest. Come here. Give me that.” He took it in both hands and put it in his mouth. Charlie pushed his fingers through his hair and tugged gently.

“Not like that, darling. I’m dying to have all of you.”

Peter released the sex with a little smack of his lips and laid his head against Charlie’s belly. “God, yes, me too,” he said.

Charlie waited while he shed his clothes and then took him in his arms and put his mouth on his and moved him out the door and across the hall. Their coupling was a breathless act of reconciliation, so highly charged emotionally that it was quickly done. When Charlie had returned from the bathroom, they lay together, Peter’s face snuggled into Charlie’s armpit.

“Have I told you how much I love your armpits? I didn’t know anybody could have beautiful armpits, but you have. The hair is so sexy, just like around your cock.” He ran his tongue over it and giggled when Charlie’s muscles contracted in response. “Tell me things. I don’t really understand much about homosexuality and all that. If anybody had told me a month ago that I’d be begging a guy to shove his cock up my ass, I’d have killed him. Please don’t mind me saying it like that. It helps me to understand to say it straight. I hardly ever stop thinking about having your cock inside me there or in my mouth or somewhere. I don’t think it really matters much that it’s so big. I love its being big because it is. If it were any bigger or smaller, it wouldn’t be you. The thing is, I can’t imagine loving anybody who didn’t have a cock, so I guess that makes me a queer. I know it’s awful and I don’t know how it happened and I probably should shoot myself or something, but with you it just seems right. I’m nuts about being fucked by you and you like to fuck me, so I can’t see how it’s wrong.”

“If everybody felt like that, what would become of the human race?” Charlie intoned the question in a schoolmasterly fashion.

“The human race is doing all right. Anyway, everybody doesn’t feel like that, although I don’t see how anybody could resist being fucked by you. Golly, what bliss. But I still don’t see the difference beween us—or me, at least—and Jimmy Harvester. Tell me about that.”

“It’s so obvious, darling. He’s such a swish. And the way he goes around ogling all the young kids.”

“Yes, we’re not like that. But then we couldn’t be, as long as we’re together. But there are things—about myself, I mean. I’m beginning to notice fellows’ baskets. That’s what Jimmy calls crotches. I never let myself before, but I do now. Not that I want them or anything. It’s just out of curiosity, to compare them to you. Most guys look as if they didn’t have anything at all. There just isn’t any comparison. I’m so proud of it—as if it were mine.”

“It is, darling.” Charlie became aware of using the word too frequently. Saying it gave him an odd little thrill, and he warned himself against it.

Peter put his hand on the subject of conversation and held it. “Mine,” he repeated contentedly. “Jimmy says you might be bisexual. It seems some people like both. It just depends on who they’re with. Thank God you’re with me.”

“But that’s just what I’ve been telling you.” Charlie was briefly tempted to tell him about this evening, but found there was nothing about the episode he wanted to remember. “We’ll both probably want to get married some day, but that has nothing to do with this.”

“I’ll say it doesn’t. I can’t imagine it. Jimmy says there’s lots of guys like us in New York, living together as if they were married. That’ll be wonderful.”

“We’ll be roommates. Why do you have to say like being married?”

“Oh, well, think, darling. I’m so proud of us—of being in love with you and you saying you love me. I hate having to hide it. It doesn’t make any sense. Why should you hide something that’s so perfect? It’d be wonderful to be somewhere where it didn’t have to be a secret. Jimmy says it’s a whole different world.”

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.”

“You don’t want me to admit being a fairy, do you?”

“Of course I don’t. It’s—well, it’s not normal. And it’s not true. I ought to make you do it with a girl.”

“You wouldn’t mind? You minded my even talking to Jimmy.”

“That’s the whole point. He’s a queer. I don’t want to have anything to do with queers, and I don’t want you to, either.”

“Would you do it with a girl now—I mean now that we’re together—if you had the chance?”

“Well, sure. Why not? Except that most girls make such a big thing of it that it’s not worth the bother.”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind. No, that’s not true. I’d mind horribly, but not as much as if it were a boy. The only way I’d do it with a girl is if you were with me.”

Charlie’s sex, which had been responding lazily to Peter’s hand, bounded into full erection. He felt Peter’s slide up along his flank. “You have the nuttiest ideas,” he said.

“Well, it’s a fact. I don’t really want girls. I never have. When I was a kid, when I used to—you know, masturbate—I used to think vaguely about boys I knew. That’s something I’ve never admitted even to myself. It was never girls.”

“You’ve just started late. That doesn’t mean you’re queer. You’d never actually had anything to do with a guy.”

Peter laughed. “That’s the sad truth.” He pulled himself up onto his knees and threw a leg across Charlie and straddled his thighs. “Look at me now.” He lifted Charlie’s sex and held it against his own. “Golly, look at us. Who’d want a girl? I’ll never forget when our cocks first touched each other, when you were doing all that measuring. I’ve never asked you. Did you start measuring on purpose, to—” He interrupted himself with laughter. “To seduce me?”

“Well, sure, I guess so,” Charlie said grudgingly, obscurely resenting being reminded of it.

“If you’d only known. When you first put your hand on me, when we were getting out of the car, I almost passed out. Oh, God, darling. I’ll always be faithful to you. I’m yours. You were crazy tonight to think anything could happen with Jimmy. You did think so, didn’t you? There’ll never be anybody else. I
want
to be faithful to you. I have to be faithful to you. That’s all there is.” He held their sexes together again with both hands. “Like that. Together.”

Charlie stretched voluptuously and arched his back so that his sex towered over Peter’s. He dropped back flat on the bed and put his hands around Peter’s, all of his attention concentrated in their joined hands and the hard flesh they held. The wounds of the evening were healed. “It is amazing, isn’t it? About us,” he said.

THEY presented radiant faces to C. B. at a late Sunday breakfast the next day. She asked about their evening and they offered a well-edited account of it They had been sitting for some time when Henry entered from the hall to announce a telephone call for C. B.

“Just find out who it is, Henry. I’ve told you. Oh, well, never mind. I’m finished here. Excuse me, my dears.” She rose and left them.

The phone was in the hall. “Yes,” she said into it.

“Mrs. Collinge? This is Willard Pringle. We know each other.”

She found the voice common. “We have perhaps met,” she admitted.

“Now don’t start getting high and mighty with me. I have a thing or two to tell you. It’s about that boy you have with you, your nephew or grandson or whatever he is. Young Mills. I had a good mind to come over there and thrash him within an inch of his life, but Mrs. Pringle talked me out of it. We have to protect Betty. That’s our first responsibility.”

“I presume you don’t intend me to follow the ramifications of your family life. What are you trying to say to me?”

“By George, I’m telling you what that young whippersnapper did to my daughter. Attacked her. Exposed himself. He’s nothing but a degenerate, a low—there aren’t words to describe him. I won’t have him contaminating the purity of our young girls. You’re going to withdraw him from the club. If I hear of him being there again or coming anywhere near my daughter, I’ll take steps you’ll regret. I don’t want to subject Betty to any more of this nastiness, but I have my duty as a father.”

“I don’t find this conversation suitable for a gentleman to have with a lady,” C. B. interrupted coldly. “I will report it in the proper quarters. I have nothing further to say to you, sir.” She hung up and waited a moment and then picked up the phone and made a call of her own. She found the president of the club not at home but already presiding over his bailiwick. She called him there.

“Bruce? This is Armina Collinge. This
is
a rather odd hour to call, but I want to see you.”

“What a delightful surprise. It’s always a pleasure to see you, dear lady.”

“Dear Bruce. I’m afraid it’s a rather tiresome business. Shall I come along now?”

“By all means. The whole family’s here until lunch. I’ll be looking out for you on the porch.”

She hung up and returned to her place at table and rang for Henry without sitting. “I’m going to have to go out for a little while,” she explained to Charlie and Peter. Henry appeared and she turned to him. “Bring the car around please, Henry. I’m going out.”

“What’s it all about?” Charlie asked with an almost imperceptible shading of apprehension.

She looked at him with a tilt of her head. “Nothing, my dearest. Really nothing. I’ll tell you about it when I get back. I must go get ready.”

She left them again. When she came back, she had completed her costume with a rakish hat and was carrying a tightly furled pale gray silk parasol to match her silk suit. She was jeweled; she glittered discreetly. They had taken advantage of her absence by spreading the Sunday papers over the table and were engrossed in them. They looked up at her entrance. Peter whistled.

“You’re really going to knock their eyes out,” Charlie said.

C. B. laughed. “You’re both outrageous, trying to turn an old lady’s head. Why don’t you go somewhere more comfortable? Rosie should clear away here. Are you planning to go to the club this morning?” The small beat of silence that preceded the question gave it a certain weight.

Charlie felt it. He looked at Peter questioningly. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t mind a swim.”

“Fine,” Peter agreed.

“Will you go to the regular beach?” C. B. asked.

“No, let’s go out where the breakers are big.” Peter always chose their deserted beach where they could romp about naked, with plenty of time to grab their trunks if anybody was sighted.

“Spendid,” C. B. approved. “Then I’ll see you at lunch. I’m afraid it won’t be much more than a picnic. Perhaps we should take it out under the trees. That might be quite gay.” She left them with a swirl of gray silk.

The majestic Packard deposited her in front of the club porch. Henry handed her out, and Bruce Munger was waiting to welcome her at the top of the steps. They greeted each other as old friends. He was an ample, genial, courtly man.