Shawn's Law (15 page)

“Yes….” Harley was urging me on, so I tried a small thrust and was rewarded with extreme pleasure radiating up my body from where we were connected, along with a long, drawn-out groan. I wasn’t going to last long. “Fuck, Shawn. I’m not going to last long.”

I meant to say something sweet and romantic like, “That’s all right, baby. You come when you’re ready. I’m loving this and I’m ready for your sweetness to clench around my body and send us both to the heavens.” What emerged from my mouth was a primal grunt. The caveman in me had taken over, and I was driving into his body with rapid thrusts, pushing his legs back and out so I could get closer to him. Harley was jacking himself off between our sweaty bodies while holding my shoulder with his other hand.

“Argh!”

“Yes!”

“Argh!”

“Yes, Shawn.”

With a final “Argh,” I emptied myself inside him, coming with such force I was sure I blew all the blood vessels in my eyes and would now look like a devilish leftover from Halloween. But that was okay, because Harley was coming too. I felt his come splash up between our bodies and rejoiced. One orgasm for my partner—check.

I pulled out and collapsed beside him on the bed, facedown, trying to still my racing heart before an ambulance was required. That would look good on my medical records—major coronary after having sex. And every nurse and doctor would get to read it because I’m up the hospital so many times that they need to frequently go over my medical history.

“Shawn?” Harley’s voice had gone all soft and gooey—kind of like the way my insides felt. I grunted. Conversation
was
so overrated. I heard him chuckle, and then a broad hand cupped the rounded part of my bum. “I just want to say thank you. That was fantastic. And next time? Well, next time we’ll get to see if virginity grows back, okay?” A light squeeze of my bum flesh followed, so I would get the message.

Believe me, I got the message. My dick got the message. My bum got the message. My heart faltered and then began beating faster, once again. I couldn’t wait.

And I still really needed to talk to Kris.

Harley

Self-reflection.

M
Y
DAD
taught me that I shouldn’t be afraid of my emotions and that men are allowed to cry. He’d told me many times about my first day at school. We were living outside of Manjimup while Dad worked as a casual hand on a potato farm. In those days, Manjee (as the locals call her) was a small country town, and the school had about a hundred and fifty kids. My brothers had caught the bus to school each day for years, so I was excited to finally get to go with them. Dad drove us to school that morning, instead, because it was my first day. Apparently I waved good-bye to him and never turned back, eager to get in my classroom and be a big boy.

Dad always told me he’d gone home and cried the entire day. Mrs. Eatts, whose family owned the farm where we lived, confirms the story.

When Shawn left me that afternoon, I felt like crying too. I mean, it wasn’t his fault he had to leave so abruptly, but it felt like there were so many things unsaid between the two of us, and so many things still to iron out. I can remember feeling a little peeved that there were others who needed him more than I did. Then I felt peeved at feeling peeved at such a petty thing.

We were lying on the bed, still sticky and tired from our
exertions, when Shawn’s phone rang in his pants pocket. Unfortunately his pants were still near the front door, so I jumped up to grab his phone for him, grinning slightly at the twinge in my arse, which told me I’d been fucked well and good. It’s a feeling I can’t really describe, but it’s a discomfort that I love having, because it reminds me of what’s just happened.

I found his phone, saw that it was Lisa calling, and swiped at the screen, putting her on speakerphone so Shawn could hear.

“Hey, Lisa. It’s Harley. You’re on speakerphone—”

“Oh, thank goodness, Harley. I need Shawn to come home right away. I’m really sorry to bust up your big make-up session, but I’m having a bit of a crisis here and—”

“It’s okay, Lisa,” I soothed. “What’s wrong?” Shawn had already rolled off the bed and was squinting around the room trying to find where he’d put his glasses while pulling on his shoes.

“Just send Shawn, please? Mum’s condom dolly broke, and now there’s water all over the lounge. And while I was cleaning it up, the boys got into a fight and Vinnie hit Zek, so Zek bit Vinnie, so Vinnie bit him back. And now the boys have bite marks all up and down their arms. And while I was sorting that out, Mum decided that throwing a golf ball in the house was a good idea, and threw it to Izzy, and she missed, and the mirror in the lounge room smashed. Then Mum tried to pick up the glass, and cut herself. I think she needs stitches—”

I’ve come to the conclusion, after long association, that Lisa has some sort of mutation that allows her to speak endless sentences without having to stop for breath. She was rabbiting on and on while I was still stuck at “Mum’s condom dolly.” But Shawn was there.

“Leese, I’m on my way. I’m just getting dressed and I’ll be there. Wrap up Mum’s injury and then move your car so I can whizz her down the doctors, okay?”

“Dressed?” squeaked Lisa. “Shit. I’ve ruined your sex.”

Now, I’m a sexually active man who is not ashamed of the fact, but I really didn’t need Shawn’s sister to know exactly what we were doing, even though she probably had a good idea. But Shawn in his panic said, “It’s okay. We’ve finished.”

That left me frantically looking at a clock and trying to work out how many minutes had passed since Shawn arrived. I didn’t really want her to think we were two premature ejaculators. Afterward that thought haunted me. Here Shawn was trying to get home to his mother, who was possibly bleeding to death, and I was worried about what a
girl
would think about my sexual prowess.

Shawn dressed in double time and grabbed the phone from me, while still talking to Lisa. “And don’t forget to put a gauze over the top of the wound before you put the bandage on. Don’t put it too tight. How does someone cut their leg picking up a piece of glass? I’m flying out Harley’s door now.” He stopped long enough to slap a kiss on my cheek before he ran down my driveway.

I watched him until he was out of sight, and then closed the door. “Well, Harley. That was a quickie if ever there was one. Now you have to make sure the man comes back for more.” I flopped down on the lounge and moped for a bit. Picky sensed my discontent and came over, laying her head on my knee with a soulful look. “I know. I want him to come back too. And I’m determined he will. But sometimes you need to wait, because other people’s needs are more than yours.” Picky thumped her tail on the floor a couple of times, which alerted Louie to the fact there were pats being distributed. He raced over and insinuated himself between Picky and the lounge, giving my hand a lick to remind me there were two of them.

It cheered me. Slightly. I needed to reassure myself that being alone isn’t the worst thing in life, so I decided to visit my dad. On a Saturday, there was only one place he would be—Subiaco Markets.

I found him and Cherie selling their stuff to people. Cherie was an artist who painted Australian animals in bushland scenes, so her paintings were hung from the walls of the stall. I had a number of her masterpieces and wanted more when I could afford them. Her best works were the large paintings, but since they sold for hundreds of dollars each, I needed to save up. It was Dad who found Cherie at an antilogging rally and suggested that she paint smaller pictures as well as her large ones. People who visited the markets could usually afford a smaller, thirty-dollar piece as an impulse buy, while eyeing off her large works. Once they had a stall together and regulars were seeing her paintings each week, she was actually managing to move the larger pieces.

Dad’s wood carvings were displayed on a table. While doing chemo he’d taken up carving again, something he’d learned in his younger days. He carved tiny critters from jarrah and marri wood. People found them adorable.

The rest of the stall was littered with New Age hippy items—polished stones, wind chimes, exotic tea blends, scented candles, and anything else Dad could find. Some things he sold on commission, others he imported from eBay.

His face lit up when he saw me. “Harley. I was just saying to Cherie that I had a feeling one of my boys would drop by today, and here you are. Some sort of intuition was telling me one of you was troubled. Didn’t I just say that, Cherie?”

Cherie was a gaunt woman with flaming red hair and loved to dress in clashing colors, like purple and orange. “He did say that. How are you, Harley?”

“I’m well in health, but my spirit is sad,” I replied, knowing that I couldn’t keep anything from her.

She smiled sadly. “I know what you mean. I’ve nearly finished your Carnaby’s cockatoo. Perhaps that will make your spirit feel at rest?”

I shook my head at her. “No. It’s my heart that’s causing me problems.” I thought of Shawn and sighed.

Five minutes later Dad and I had found an empty bench outside the main area and were sipping our raspberry slushies.

“Is this about Shawn?” Dad asked. I must’ve sighed again, because Dad slung his arm around my shoulders and chuckled. “How come you get the complicated relationships, Harley? Do you know that when I first suspected you were gay, I rejoiced? I mean, a single father raising three boys? I didn’t know anything about girls and girlfriends. I thought I’d cop a break with you and your love life—after all, being gay is all about sex, isn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes at him. We’d had this conversation before, with Dad ribbing me about gay life. “I’m just being selfish when it comes to Shawn, Dad. I don’t want to share him.”

“You mean share him with other men?”

This time my eyes turned a full rotation in my head. “Dad. Where do you get these ideas about being gay? Porn? Just because I’m gay, it doesn’t mean I can’t love someone and be faithful. And no, I don’t mean sex. I mean that Shawn has family responsibilities. How am I meant to compete with that?”

My dad cocked an eyebrow. “Compete? Does it need to be a competition? Does Shawn need to pick either you or his family? Can’t he have both?”

I swirled my drink around. “It’s not that. But he came over earlier today and he was only with me for about twenty minutes before his sister rang with an emergency and he had to get back to take his mother to the doctor. I know that it wasn’t his fault his mother hurt herself or his decision to leave so soon, but I just wanted to spend more time with him.”

Dad took a bit of time to think over his answer before he said, “Harley? I know I tease you all the time about being gay is just about sex, but I want you to know that I don’t really think that. So, now I need you to tell me something. Is being with Shawn just about having sex with him?”

I looked up, shocked. “Of course not. I think I’m in love with the guy, Dad. I want to be with him. I want to cook for him and go swimming and go bushwalking and everything with him. It’s not just the sex.”

“Good,” he nodded at me. “So tell me this, Harley. Is a
heterosexual relationship just about sex?”

“No.”

“So, do you think your mother and I had nothing but sex while we were married?”

I choked. “I really haven’t thought about that Dad.”

“Fair enough. So I’ll tell you what a marriage is like, because I’m thinking that a loving relationship between two gay men is pretty much the same as a heterosexual relationship between a man and his wife.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t really sure about this.

“When your mother and I first got married, I have to admit there was a lot of sex. A lot.” I closed my eyes and tried not to think too closely about that. “But then Bran came along, and our lives were about being a family. Yes, there was sex, but there was also a lot of other stuff too. And I have to say, I loved your mother more because we shared the bad stuff as well as the good stuff. There were the sleepless nights of having a newborn, there was a miscarriage that your mother had before Dylan, and the time I lost my job and we had nothing but twenty-five cents in the bank. There were a lot of bad times, Harley, but being in love is about
sharing
those bad times.”

“I realize that, Dad. I don’t just want the good stuff.”

“No?” he asked, looking me firmly in the eye. “Because I’m hearing that something bad happened, and you let Shawn run off to deal with it by himself while you dragged your sorry arse down to whine at your father. How is that sharing? Why didn’t you get in the car and drive Shawn
and
his mother to the doctor? Don’t you think it would’ve been easier on Shawn if he could’ve just concentrated on his mother while you drove? Instead you abandoned him.”

Nothing can make you feel lower than your father pointing out how you’ve been an arse.

“Why can’t you share the bad things, Harley? If your Shawn has to look after his mother, then why can’t you be at his side, pitching in? You said you wanted to cook for him? I’m sure that someone who has the full-time care of his mother would love someone to make him a meal. Then go over to his house and cook for the three of you. You can all sit down and have a meal together. You said you wanted to go bushwalking? As far as I’m aware, Alzheimer’s doesn’t mean that your legs stop working. A walk to get Shawn and his mother out of the house may be completely beneficial to them both.”