Chapter Six
The Harley throbbed to life as Mike passed the bar. He could feel Kyle's puzzlement and put a reassuring hand on his knee.
He swooped in and out of local traffic gracefully. Kyle's new jacket protected him from the onrush of the air, the leather was stiff, and felt like armor. He wondered where they were going, but trusted Mike.
He reflected upon their conversations as Mike pulled onto SR 14 and headed east.
Past Camas, he pulled into the quiet little community of Washougal, Washington.
Kyle had never been here before, and softly Mike maneuvered through the quiet streets.
Weaving through the long, rural neighborhoods was like a soft dream to Kyle. He loved the quiet, loved the space.
Mike pulled to one side and unzipped his jacket, flipping up his visor.
He extracted a strip from a classified newspaper, which had a red circle in ink around it.
Kyle strained to see, and Mike handed it to him, restarting the bike.
It looked like some sort of house listing, and Mike eased around the neighborhoods and found a mailbox with the same number.
He stopped and looked up the drive.
The old farmhouse was not in the best of condition, and the for sale sign in one window made it obvious that it was in some sort of abandonment.
Kyle tilted his head.
Mike purred the bike up the drive and parked it.
He took off his helmet and shook his head.
"I grew up here," he said softly.
Kyle's eyes widened.
"Before my mom went into the nursing home, this is where she raised us kids," he explained. "It's been thirty years or more since I've been up this road."
He took a brochure from the plastic container on the front of the home and carefully folded it in four quarters.
Kyle watched him.
"Besides we had to make sure those leathers of yours looked good," he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Kyle tilted his head.
"Poppa, why did we come here?" He asked.
"I needed you to see where I came from, I think. I'm not sure. I did want to ride some, and for some reason this place called. All of the parks and places they would have been crowded, but here, nothing. It's dead."
Kyle looked at the magnificent fur trees, the cedars which threatened to spear the sun itself and turned to him, "dead, no. Nothing close to dead. Maybe some bad memories?"
Mike shook his head.
"Not here, not until we moved into Camas. This was the place of my innocence. Maybe I needed to feel that again. To feel fresh."
Kyle leaned up for a kiss.
Mike leaned down, he liked the solider feel of Kyle in leather, and his moustache softly tickled his lips.
Their tongues brushed only softly.
"Com'on cub, let's get to the bar."
"Yes Poppa."
Within minutes they had returned to the heart of downtown. Kyle led the way inside.
"Can I see some I.D. please?" The barkeeper asked.
Kyle proffered his wallet and smiled a bit.
The man behind the bar smiled at him.
"Now son you do know where you're at, right?"
Kyle replied by pulling back his jacket and showing off the, ‘cub' paw print. He thumbed at Mike behind him.
The bartender eyed Mike.
"So you finally got laid, huh old man?" He teased.
"You might say that," Mike said.
Kyle's stomach tightened.
"So what'll it be, birthday cub?"
Pitcher of Miller," Kyle replied.
Two iced glasses were put on the corkboard serving tray as the large pitcher was on it. Kyle dug into his walled but the bartender waved a hand.
"Not on your birthday, cub," he said. "First one's on us."
"Thank you," Kyle replied, carrying the load.
Mike walked past the cigarette dispenser into the secondary room. Tables to the left, a billiard table with red felt to the right. In the distant right, an incredibly small stage and dance area. Kyle had not been expecting much and at the North Bank, he hadn't been disappointed.
Darla swished at him effeminately from two tables that had been pushed together.
"Kyle, oh, Kyle! Oh my lord, you've gone butch! Isn't he so CUTE!"
Sitting at the table was Darla, Frankie and two other friends, Markus and James.
Carefully he sat the pitcher down, and took his place at Mike's right. He was feeling both shy and excited, the mixture of birthday right-of-passage and new-kid-on-the-block. The beer was very helpful.
The group en masse' had small birthday presents for him.
From Darla he received a small bottle of good whisky and some condoms for, ‘family planning' as a gag gift. Mike advised him that those damned things, ‘tasted like rubber' and got a big laugh.
Frankie slipped him a very fat baggie of marijuana under the table as well as a funny little jar with a yellow wrapper around it marked, ‘rush'. He eyed it curiously and was told in hushed voices that it made everything just a little more fun. Kyle was all for fun, and both were slipped into the enormous pockets of the leather jacket.
Marcus, was the second youngest to Kyle, he was twenty five, and enjoyed the look on Kyle's face as he unwrapped a short stack of books, gifts from he and James. The top two were Meatmen #1 and #2, anthologies of gay male comics, and the bottom one was a rare copy of, ‘the joy of gay sex'. Kyle's eyes lit up as the delicate drawings played across his sight.
"Like he needs any help..." Mike growled playfully at them.
Kyle poked at his poppa, pointing out a particularly graphic pose and giggling slightly.
"Oh, right, like my back is gonna be able to handle that," Mike said.
"Well you could try letting me on top for a change," Kyle countered as playfully.
"Why you little," Mike growled in mock ferocity. "I'll put you over my knee."
"Like you weren't planning to do that anyway," Kyle replied dryly.
"Ladies, pul-lease. I don't know what I'm going to do with either one of you," Darla gestured.
Birthday wishes were given, toasts and cheers made.
Kyle felt very comfortable. He was understanding that he'd made a large social breakthrough. This was the last taboo, the last barrier to not just his adulthood, but also his education as a gay male. From this point on, he had all that he needed to learn about his new culture.
