Jack at 38

December 12, 1982

As Jack pulled into the parking lot of the Best Western hotel he tried to stay calm. He'd visited dozens of motels belonging to this chain since 1967, never with the consequences he'd hoped for. Why should today be different? For one thing, he was running out of time.

One month earlier Lureen had told him she'd booked him a hotel near Albuquerque for the trade show this week. "A Best Western a course, since you seem to prefer 'em. You'll be there three nights." That evening he'd studied himself in the full-length mirror in their bedroom and realized he no longer resembled the man he'd seen by the fire in 1967. Out of shape. Gray hairs at the temples. A mustache. He wondered uneasily if he'd messed up somewhere, had unwittingly thwarted himself and missed his chance.

The next day he'd bought a set of dumbbells and begun lifting weights in the den before and after work. He ate less and made himself stop hitting the whiskey. It wasn't as hard as he'd expected now that he had a goal. He bought some Grecian Formula and every morning combed it into the parts of his hair that were touched with gray, thankful his hair was so dark since this stuff came in only one color, black.

He walked into the hotel lobby and scanned the low tables for a local paper. Found the TV guide for the week and held his breath as he flipped to that day's schedule. Yessss! A Steve McQueen film festival that week. Tonight at nine o'clock: The Magnificent Seven. Two hours to go. He threw down the paper and quickly checked in.

First order of business, his mustache. After tonight he should be able to throw out the disposable razor he kept in the glove compartment. He'd brought along his best retractable for this occasion, however. It took longer to shave it off than he'd expected and his upper lip looked pale and raw next to his stubble. Should he shave the rest of his face? He tried to remember. No, they hadn't shaved at all during that trip. Ennis would notice if he came to him with a smooth jaw.

He took a shower and washed his hair. Even if it didn't dry before he left, the water wouldn't follow him there. He was about to brush his teeth when he paused, trying to remember if they had done that. Yes. Only Ennis had brought a toothbrush, though, and they'd shared it, but without toothpaste. He scraped the Crest off the brush and rinsed it.

By film time he was jittery. He'd waited so long for this. He took off all his clothes, folded them and put them away. Then he removed his wedding band and placed it on the bedside table next to his watch. It was strange to actually prepare to leave. Every other time he'd had to scramble around looking for his ring when he got back.

He watched some commercials sitting on the edge of the bed, then decided he might as well get comfortable since he had no idea at which point during the film he would leave. He piled the pillows against the headboard and sat back against them. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. When he found the right channel, the opening credits were starting.

-

He was sitting with his back against a log in the pine-scented night air, staring at the glowing embers of the camp fire. Close by, the raaaffing raaaffing raaaffing of water surging against stones drowned out all other sound. The half moon cast just enough light for him to make out the rough outlines of his surroundings. He got to his feet and looked beyond the fire circle to the tent that he remembered buying in a hurry before he and Ennis left Riverton. No light or sound came from it. Standing with his hands on his hips he thought back to that night, trying to remember. When he'd opened the flap and looked out he'd seen himself sitting on a dead tree trunk in front of a blazing fire. When he returned to the tent later the fire had died. Well, he'd better stir those embers and get it going. There were only a few sticks of firewood nearby so he'd have to collect some more. He saw his old truck glinting in the moonlight about thirty yards beyond the tent and remembered that he always used to keep a flashlight in the glove compartment so he picked his way over to it. He reached in the open passenger side window and rummaged among the papers. Something delicate brushed against his fingers and he closed his hand on it. It was the blue jay feather he'd found as a kid, the only thing besides clothes that he'd taken away from Lightening Flat. It had disappeared after this trip.

He brushed the blue feather across his jaw and the whispering rasp sent his thoughts to the sex game that Ennis had initiated years before. The next time they'd gotten together, in 1968, Ennis had found a hawk feather while they were out riding. That night he'd teased Jack with it, stroking all over his body. But Jack was too ticklish; the sensation distracted him. When he'd turned it on Ennis, though, he'd gone wild. As Jack had trailed it along his crack, Ennis had astonished him by reaching back, grabbing his fingers and muttering, "Put them in." And they had progressed from there. But like all games, this one had rules and Ennis set them. If Ennis found a feather on the ground and gave it to Jack, he was offering him his ass. It rarely happened more than once during a sojourn in the mountains. Early on, Jack had misunderstood the rules and brought a feather to their meeting. Ennis had ignored it, feigning ignorance of its import. Jack was sure he saw more feathers than he picked up.

He speared the feather through the hair above his ear and with the aid of the flashlight he gathered an armful of wood from underneath the trees near where the truck was parked so as not to make noise and wake himself up too soon. He quickly had the fire blazing away. Then he sat down on the fallen trunk and waited. His body was soon quite warm. After several minutes there was still no movement from the tent and he began to lose patience. He tried to remember what had woken him up that night. It was a sound, he thought, the sharp clang of metal. He looked about and saw the pail of water near the fire. He reached for a stick and tapped it gently. After a minute he hit it again, harder, several times. There was a rustling and then Jack saw him push back the flap, look out and grin when he caught sight of Jack. Jack breathed in sharply, stunned by what he saw: his younger self glowing with happiness and unvanquished hope. He didn't mean to do it, but he couldn't help himself: he stood and smiled.

This youth crawled carefully out of the tent, rose to his feet and approached Jack, eyes skimming over his face and body. A wave of embarrassment washed over Jack as he withstood this scrutiny of himself by himself in his prime. He tried to remember what he'd thought back then, seeing himself. Old, that was what. I'm not even forty. But in good shape, too, he recalled thinking.. He sat back down and patted the space on the log next to him; the young Jack Twist walked over to sit beside him.

"When're you comin from? What were you doin?" he asked Jack. His voice sounded so different it was like meeting a stranger. And suddenly, this man was just that, a stranger – one who had spoiled his life. Why had he been so acquiescent before Ennis' rules? Why hadn't he pushed harder? He turned his face away and stared at the fire, feeling a perverse resentment toward his young, hopeful self invading his heart. All those years wasted waiting for Ennis to give him what he wanted. Why on earth had he thought that time alone would sway the man? All at once, he felt like punishing this naive young man. He smiled, lifting his chin and looking at him through half-closed eyes.

"Watching... The Magnificent Seven... in a Best Western," he enunciated slowly.

Young Jack stared at him, and Jack remembered being puzzled by this information that was so precise but had seemed enigmatic then. Now he watched him struggling to formulate the second question and for a moment Jack wondered if he should really go ahead and give the answer he remembered hearing. He was beginning to feel sorry for his younger self as he recalled the obsession with that ever-expanding motel chain that had absorbed so much of his time on the road. If he spoke another word instead of the one that was meant to pass his lips, would he be living a happier life now? Could he have moved on years ago?

Jack watched his young face as he asked the question and remembered how he'd felt then, so hopeful, confident of his healing powers. He couldn't bear to see that light leave his eyes.

"Yes," he said.

He watched himself mulling over this prospect. Now he was impatient, he hadn't come here to chat about the future – it was Ennis he wanted. He made his request and almost laughed when he remembered how indignant he'd felt at the suggestion that he give over part of this last night with his lover. He waited patiently to hear the answer he knew would come, despite the boy's jealousy, and when he heard it he stood up. He turned away without a word to take his due and then remembered.

"Wait," he heard that young voice say, just as he turned to look at him. "Don't forget this." Jack took the washrag and smiled his thanks. Then he tossed more wood on the fire.

Jack knelt down at the entrance and sucked in his breath at the sight of Ennis' sleeping form glowing golden in the firelight. He was turned on his side facing away, the top sleeping bag pushed down to his hips. Jack dropped onto his hands and crawled forward, his eyes feasting on the details that had faded in his memory over the years: the soft, tousled hair, the smooth face, the unscarred hands. During all the years of chasing after and anticipating this moment, he had assumed that he would be meeting Ennis as an equal. But Ennis was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Jack eased down next to him with a sigh, felt Ennis' body heat radiating out to him. Now that he was finally here, he felt strangely intimidated. He put his hand on Ennis' forearm, smoothed it up to his shoulder then bumped it down his ribs to his hip. Ennis remained deeply asleep so Jack glided his fingers along his chest and belly, noting the differences. To anyone else, Ennis clothed looked unchanged from his youth, but Jack's hands knew otherwise. Under this skin, these muscles told of hard work outdoors but also regular cooked meals, central heating and childrens' embraces. The Ennis he had last lain with was all sinew, solitude, toil and canned beans eaten from a pot.

Jack stopped his hand and rested his forehead on Ennis' shoulder, recalling his own young face emerging from this tent. There was no way he could let Ennis look at him; he hadn't thought about the missing joy. When he lifted his head again, the blue jay feather fell from his hair onto Ennis' arm. Jack picked it up and examined it. Then, leaning over him, he touched it to Ennis' chest, flicking it over his sensitive nipples. He let it tickle down his belly to his thighs and Ennis stirred. When Jack brushed it over his cock he saw it twitch – he heard and felt Ennis gasp. Ennis whispered his name and pushed back as if to roll over to face him but Jack resisted. He curled his arm around Ennis and flicked and tickled his nipples and under his chin as he nuzzled his nose into his hair while his tongue probed his ear.

"Jesus, Jack!" Ennis whispered as he began to writhe under the maddening touches.

"I know you don't want me to stop," Jack chuckled low into his ear. "Know you love this." He let the feather swirl across his shoulders and back down over his ribs so that Ennis wriggled and whimpered. Jack was thankful he'd been working out with the weights because Ennis was struggling mightily to turn over but he was able to use his extra strength to keep him in place. He stroked the blue feather over his thighs then let it draw a fine line up the underside of his now-curving cock. Ennis swore and muttered, bucking his hips back against Jack, who was also getting hard listening to his aroused young lover. He whispered the feather over his hip bones and around to Ennis' ass, drawing back to allow space. He brushed the long edge of the plume between his cheeks and up his back, then retraced the path with the tip, delicately painting his spine all the way down to his crack. Ennis hissed. "Ah ssshhiit... Jaaack."

Jack pushed Ennis' thigh forward and tilted his hip to give the feather access while pressing his chest against his shoulder, pinning him. He glided the feather along Ennis' crack, skimming across his hole and then back before twirling the tip over the sensitive puckered skin. Ennis was moaning and squirming, swearing at Jack who knew he didn't really want to escape. Jack bent his head to lick and suck Ennis' neck, tasting the salty skin, while continuing to work the feather. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a hint of red and green. He almost laughed out loud when he spied the square metal tin. Christ, Bag Balm! He recalled how Ennis had retrieved it from his own truck with studied casualness before they left Riverton. Jack dropped the feather in order to reach over, flip off the lid and plunge his fingers into the salve. He quickly coated himself and then ran his finger between Ennis' buttocks.

"What're ya doin?" Ennis growled. Jack was braced on his right forearm as he caressed Ennis' ass. He leaned close to his head and kissed the skin next to Ennis' ear. With his tongue he lifted his ear lobe and sucked it in, then held it gently between his teeth before pulling slowly away, just grazing the flesh. Jack whispered, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." He hadn't meant to stress that last word, wasn't even thinking it, but he heard it come out that way. Ennis stopped moving and even breathing.

Jack was desperate to be inside Ennis, to fuck this golden youth he'd driven all over the western states for fifteen years to find again. But he needed to make Ennis want this, want it more than anything. One by one he unveiled every trick he'd learned over time, stroked and probed with his fingers, tongue, cock, toes on every expanse or tiny patch of flesh – soft, wet, smooth or hard – where such touches had ever elicited a sound from Ennis' throat.

"Jack... Jack... let me...I..." Ennis writhed and moaned, trying to turn to face him but Jack wouldn't give way. Ennis finally grasped Jack's roaming hand, dragged it up to his face and sucked the tips of two fingers into his mouth, fingers that had been everywhere on his body and it was that thought as much as the wet velvet feel of it that sent a thunderbolt through Jack.

"You want it? Now do you?" he breathed into his ear. A tiny pause and he felt Ennis' head jerk up and then down.

Jack slipped his wet fingers from Ennis' mouth and glided his hand down his throat and over his chest and belly then around to his ass, smoothing a circle on one cheek. He pulled his hand back a few inches to swirl his own slick then eased one finger in. Jack felt him clench. "I promised you. Try to relax." A second finger joined the first and Jack prised him open, pushing deeper. Ennis let out a low grunt. Jack slipped a third finger inside Ennis and probed deeper still until he felt him twitch and groan, "God... Jack!" Jack was panting now, trying to control himself. He withdrew his fingers to stroke himself and then shifted so he could begin to breach Ennis. Jack felt a tremor move through Ennis' body and he paused. "Push back against me," he whispered urgently, "you control this. I'm waiting for you. You know I..."

With a long exhale Ennis pushed his hips back and Jack braced hard to let him slowly impale himself, all the while struggling to keep from thrusting wildly. He groaned at the heat and friction of Ennis' muscle inching its way down him, sliding and squeezing. He always craved this connection. He fixed his gaze on the back of Ennis' neck, on the still-soft skin and the messy wheaten hair glinting in the gradually dimming firelight. Ennis moaned as he let Jack all the way in and that was Jack's cue to start pumping slowly, one hand gripping Ennis' hip, then picking up the pace as he saw the younger man fist the sleeping bag under them to hold on, to push back harder. His own pleasure ramping higher as he stoked the rythm, heart thudding through his ribcage into the solid back of Ennis he was sure that he could feel it. Wanted this for oh so long all the driving all the searching waiting waiting Ennis! Ennis! Ennis clamped his hand around his wrist pulled it down let him grasp him and then stroke stroke stroke slippery sliding making it good did you miss me I KNOW you did I remember that you did you did but do you now but do you now but do you now do you now Do. You. NOW!... Shoved his forehead into Ennis' shoulder and pulsed, pulsed into him aaahhh AAHH! as Ennis shouted shooting sharp and shimmering through Jack's shuttling fist.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Collapsed on top of Ennis Jack rested his sweat-damp face on his neck and listened to his lover's breath whistling in and out of his lungs as the darkness crept back into the tent. After a minute he rolled off and away, slipping out. He felt something damp near his fingers and closed them on the washrag, cooled but not cold. He clenched it in his hand for a moment to warm it, then tenderly wiped Ennis' skin with it before cleaning himself off and tossing the rag to the edge of the tent. Ennis moved at last, rolling and shifting until he was facing Jack, whose face was in shadow now. Ennis gathered Jack in his arms, pulling the top sleeping bag around them, and kissed him long and lingeringly on the lips. Jack knew Ennis was beyond speech and felt him drift into sleep but he resisted following him there. He wanted to savor this, the feel of his lover's youthful skin on his own, his pliant muscles, strong arms holding him tightly even while unconscious. The fire slowly burned down and eventually it was completely dark in the tent. Jack heard footsteps outside and a light thump on the ground. He pressed his face closer to Ennis' and shut his eyes when he sensed a presence before the tent opening. A flashlight clicked and he knew he was watching them. The sight was still burned in his mind – Ennis never had agreed to photographs. Don't open your eyes. He knew the tickle would come and tried to prepare for it, but anticipation made it worse; he jerked his foot the second he felt the fingernail trace along his arch and his eyes flew open.

-

He was lying on his side on the satiny bedspread in the middle of the mattress, staring at the TV test pattern, crash-landed. After a moment he slid his hand above his head, grasped a pillow and pulled it to his chest, trying to retain the warmth Ennis had left there. He missed that Ennis so much. He thought back to that night fifteen years before when he'd taken back his rightful place, how Ennis had laughed about the feather, rolled him over and nibbled his ear, whispered his thanks. At last he knew why. He had started the business with the feather, not Ennis. All these years he'd thought Ennis was calling the shots, always. That night Ennis had handed Jack the reins. Every feather offered had been an invitation: Lead me. But Jack had not known, so had not led.

He rolled onto his back, still hugging the pillow, and stared at the ceiling. A black hole of regret was growing inside him, sucking in the last particles of hope he'd been hoarding. Was it too late for them to change direction? The next time they were together, in the spring, he would stop tiptoeing around and speak some truth to Ennis, tell him just how much he missed him when they were apart. Ennis' response would show him which road to take, and how fast.