Page 21 of All These Years
“You kissed me back.”
I probably had a subconscious memory of that night that I’d suppressed, because when Lee said he was queer, nothing in me had risen up in protest. Somewhere, somehow, I’d known that might be the case. His lack of interest in having a woman inhis life, his indifference to Peggy Fletcher’s beauty, had never shocked me.
Queer wolves were anathema, a risk to the pack. Queer wolves were to be hunted down and dealt with ruthlessly, killed and disposed of, same as any other wolf that might end up costing us our secrecy.
They were put in the category of “risks to eliminate” along with crazy wolves, senile wolves, child-beating wolves, rapists, and criminal wolves too stupid to get away with their crimes. A wolf in prison would eventually succumb to the need to shift, and betray us to the humans, so if they couldn’t be freed, they were killed. Same with anyone whose control over their mind was shaky.
Since being queer was illegal, wolves like Lee…like Lee… were susceptible to blackmail and could be thrown in jail at any moment. They threatened all our safety. They were intimate with human men and broke the ages-old pattern of wolf and human bond-wife that made up our packs.
And yet.And yet.
One thing war did was throw men who grew up in a small world into a wider and far more diverse one. I’d served with two Chinese Marines, when I’d never spoken to an Oriental person in my life. I’d served with a Muslim, who took a moment to pray in some particular direction when the action eased, to whatever god he worshipped. They put their pants on one leg at a time, and fought, and laughed, and were afraid, and bled, same as me.
And I’d served with homosexual men. Probably not just the guy who’d offered to put his mouth on me as mutual relief from the craziness around us, or the one who couldn’t hide his fey gestures and lilt, who seemed to enjoy making tough guys squirm, and yet was wicked with a knife. But those two, at least. I met the first guy again after Japan surrendered, me heading in to speak to the Major, him coming out. We exchangedguarded nods, like strangers. He’d been a sharpshooter, smart and trustworthy, a man I’d have chosen at my back in any fight, and it made me sick that he looked afraid of me then.
So this deep distrust the packs had for queer wolves hadn’t sat well with me by the time I headed back to the States from my service. Had my knowledge of Lee actually begun that change of heart, years before? I had to wonder now…
I whacked my forehead with one hand. I was letting my mind wander and speculate, to avoid the impact of that last thing Lee said.
The words that changed everything.
“You kissed me back.”
I’d been drunk, of course, and young, and no doubt horny like most of the time at the age of twenty. He’d been my other half all our lives, the only two pack boys close in age, even before we turned thirteen and were told we were wolves. I’d trusted Lee.
Trusted him for what?
Trusted him not to go running to the Alpha my father and betray me, of course.
But if I’d been as normal as all that, there’d have been nothing to tell.
I can’t be queer.
I’d loved Janet, as much as a young man who knows nothing about the world can love a young woman who wants entirely different things from life. I’d definitely loved the sex. With Janet, and with other women who came after her, sex had been great. I loved tits and clits, as one cheerful camp follower had put it, enjoyed the rounded softness and clean smell of a woman, the taste even, if I went down on her.
I imagined that sex now, trying to rouse myself, thinking back to some random woman I met on shore leave so as to not disrespect Janet. But an image came to me of Lee, his dark hair ruffled, lips reddened, looking up at me from his knees.He said he’d taken me in his mouth. Had he liked the taste? Did homophiles like that, the way I enjoyed licking a woman to climax?
From deep in my memories, a flash came to me. Lee’s eyes inches from my own, his hot breath and soft lips, his hands in my hair. A sense-memory of whiskey and an eager, wet mouth and a bitter aftertaste I chased with my tongue…
Jesus.
I dropped to a seat on the grass, my head in my hands.
Oh, hell.
I hadn’t thought Lee was lying, exactly, but I’d wondered if he was putting his own spin on things. If maybe his memory had been as addled by whiskey as mine.
He wasn’t lying.Now I’d opened Pandora’s box, more memories emerged— Lee’s lips, Lee’s tongue.I enjoyed that kiss, wanted it.
Drunk or not in that moment, that was the truth.
And now, I’d travelled around the world for two decades, only to be led here to find him again. I didn’t know what that meant, but I wasn’t ready for my friendship with Lee to end in bitterness and rejection. Mine or his. I might be stunned, nauseous, reeling from an avalanche of suppressed history, but that thought rang clear as a bell.
I don’t want to lose Lee.
So go after him, you fool.
I pushed to my feet. It was too late for me to chase him through the forest. He’d always been stronger, faster.
