What If You are the Whirlwind? Ch. 01

"Imagine for a moment, if you would

A life that's not defined in bad and good

But chained instead with shameful aching need

To eat the fruit and try to hide the seed."

___

Carver

___

Carver stands on the porch steps, arm around his wife Sandra waving goodbye to Sam and Shelly, the last couple to leave Bible study group. As they pull away from the curb, he notices a heavy feeling inside. He lets a sigh and gives Sandra a kiss on the cheek. "Sometimes the Lord's work is tiring, Darlin'."

"Yes it is honey but that's why God gave you a wife, to help relieve your tensions, end of the day." She slides her hand down to his ass and gives it a squeeze. He feels literally nothing from the gesture but returns in kind, smiling devilishly at her.

They turn together and walk in the door side by side. "Let's clean this up then I'll take you upstairs and give you the Lord's reward." She smiles and leans into him, caressing his shoulders and back. He rubs her body with hands well practiced in faking desire.

She seems to enjoy his embrace and his tension eases a little, feeling she believes tonight in what he wants her to believe: loving husband, devoted pastor, pillar to the community, all that happy horse-shit he's spent years building. "All of it is a lie." he thinks roughly. Releasing his wife's embrace he smiles at her, "I'll get a trash bag from the kitchen."

Turning from her Carver's mind begins working things over. "She wants it tonight. Don't have a choice. Fuck. Maybe I'll pop a pill? Then what? Raging hard-on all night and nowhere to put it out. No thanks. Tell her it's your blood pressure again. You're not feeling yourself, had to take your pills. Yeah, give it a try and blame the pills." His shoulders relax as the plan forms. He opens the cabinet and grabs a trash bag.

"Can you bring the broom too Carver? Someone made a mess, didn't clean it up. Wonder who that was?" She begins ruminations over the manners of some people. "I don't know honey, but we'll fix it up." He grabs the broom and heads to the living room.

An hour later, he sits naked on the edge of his bed, head in hands. "I did it. It's done." he says blankly to himself. He hears Sandra in the bathroom starting the tub and wishes for a moment that she never existed. His stomach is wavering, head pounding, feeling ill. Grappling the dysphoric waves rolling through his body he lurches suddenly, grabs the trash can and vomits.

Being inside her is nightmare. His mind in a well, "Be anywhere other than here. Be anyone other than this." He remembers forcing himself to touch her, put her in his mouth, place himself in that sickening hole, though it feels like degradation, like blasphemy. "You made this mess C. Now you gotta live it." At times, he imagines telling her, "Sandy, I treasure your heart and I'm so sorry to break it but I'm not attracted to women sweetie. I'm gay." Those words will never come from his mouth, so he believes.

He takes several deep breaths and closes his eyes, still holding the puke can just in case. He lets his mind wander to the sole safe place in his existence, the only place he feels real, Vultar House: an invitation only pleasure-den in a private home on the Upper-East side, a nice little tip from one of his confessing congregants almost 2 years ago.

The instant he learned of Vultar House he knew in the back of his head he would visit. For almost a month, he debated, justified and chastised himself. Though his faith had long faded he still felt guilt for his urges, for the innocent experiences of his youth, then discovery, shaming and painful recompense for lying with a boy. He never forgets Daddy's cold eyes glaring at him, 13 years old, lashed shirtless to a post in the barn, Daddy's whip singing into his flesh as he recites the Lord's rhetoric concerning men who lie with men.

"Sumtin' wrong with you boy. I'mma fix it."

Whissssh

CRACK

"AAAaaaahhh! Oh Daddy. I'm sorry Daddy." Young Carver cries in agony.

"No son a mine gonna be a sissy boy!"

Whissssh

CRACK

"AAAaaaaaahhhh! I'll never do it again Daddy. I promise. I didn't even like it."

Whissssh

Crack

"AAAaaaaaahhhh! Daddy please!"

"That's for lying. Don't be changing stories now. You wanted that cock up your ass cuz' you a dirty little faggot. You got that faggot curse on you now. This the only way to take it out."

Whissssh

Crack

"AAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhhh!"

Though Carver grew and outstripped his father, he still believed in his core that "Everyone thinks like Daddy bout fags." Still daily, sometimes hourly, for weeks he contemplated visiting the Vultar House website. "Just a look." With each longing consideration followed bottomless shame, sometimes fear at the risk he was considering. For weeks, he let his repressive feelings constrain him, while pent longing screamed at him to just have a little look. The inner turmoil darkened his days until Sandra began to notice his moods. He had no choice. He needed to see. Carver sat at his laptop, study locked and typed the address.

There was a thorough vetting. He waited through a series of background checks. Each time he gave them more information on himself his adrenaline spiked a notch. "Do or die C. Can't live like this anymore." He answered every question they asked and had a phone interview discussing what services he was seeking. The entire process took a week but once passed he received an invitation in the mail, gold scroll lettering on front: Minister's Retreat. Heart pounding he walked inside with the envelope and showed Sandy.

She opened it and read the short message inviting Gerald Carver Watson to an overnight retreat, stating an address and time. Inside the fold a little white piece of paper slipped out fluttering to the floor. Carver quickly snatched it up and slipped it in his pocket while Sandy gushed on about the fancy invitation. "The Lord has really blessed you baby. Running in these circles. I'm so proud of you! An invitation like this, who knows. Could be some generous donors there." He waited patiently awhile as she prattled on about the possibilities then excused himself to his study to work on Wednesday's sermon.

Locked inside he took the scrap of paper from his pocket and set the invitation on his desk. As instructed, he placed the paper over the letters and memorized the address revealed in the rows beneath. He burnt the piece of paper, as instructed and let a heavy sigh. "Finally, this insanity can end. Or begin. God help me."

thanks

That Friday evening was the first of many retreats Carver has enjoyed at Vultar House these past two years. It is his one safe-haven and just now he feels terribly unsafe. His mind eagerly call up images from his encounters there, his hand gripping Eric's smooth toned ass as he holds Carver's hips and thrusts hard and deep into his sacred place, tweaking Andre's sweet brown nipples as Carver sucks and licks his rigid rod, desperate for a mouthful of his juices, Vincenzo, his favorite, smiling that knowing smile as he lays across Carver's body pressing into him, sensually, slowly, caressing with a lover's touch. For a brief moment he is hit by the memory of a woman rushing from a room as he walked down the hall. She was crying, face terribly bruised. Her eyes locked his for a brief moment as they passed each other. "It's not my business." He lies to himself. "I need this." He says in honestly.

The images play, and he begins to feel tears threatening to best him. He picks up his phone and pulls up the contacts. Torn with regret and shame for his silent violation with Sandy, he types a message and hits send. No longer on the wait list, "Come as you please Mr. Watson." he checks ahead to be sure Vincenzo is working tonight.

He walks to the bathroom door and gives a little knock. "Hey Darlin'. Going out for a drive. Need to shake off the day. I'll be out awhile. Don't wait up."

"Okay honey. I love you. I'll keep the bed warm." She sings back sweetly.

He dresses in jogging clothes, puts his dress pants, shoes and shirt in a bag and walks downstairs toward the garage. As he drives toward Vultar House, his cock begins to stiffen. Vincenzo will be there. Since sitting in the car he's felt light, happy. "This is the way things are now. No regret." except when he sees those bruised, streaming eyes. He makes an effort to bury them, forget for the night. "I'm going to see Vincenzo. Everything is going to be okay." Thoughts of his beautiful boy pervade his mind until he is pulling into the circle drive of Vultar House.

Now dressed in his slacks, shirt and dress shoes, Carver parks in front of the entrance and silently hands his keys to the young valet. He pauses a moment, guilt biting at the edges and takes a deep breath. He lifts his head and shoulders tall, walks through the door and tries to work it out.