Too Much Rain, Chapter 134
A trip to the hideaway in Costa Rica....
Chapter 134
January 8 - February 26, 2000
“El Nido”
The Arrival
It had been, as usual, an arduous journey by jet to Miami, and then by smaller jet to San Juan, Costa Rica, and then by small aircraft to the plateau on the coast, and then by jeep down the bumpy dirt road into the edges of the jungle, and finally down their hideaway’s rutted path to the private entrance of their driveway. From the outside, the house looked very much the same as it had the year before, although it was now not so much overgrown by plants. But once the newly painted royal blue gate into the walled patio had been breached, it was obvious that the patio had been recently cleaned and rearranged with comfortable outdoor furnishings and potted plants in colorful pots. The adobe walls were painted a soft yellowish-peachish color that brought warmth to the randomly placed colorful Spanish tiles and the stone floor. The front door had also been painted a deep royal blue. Paul smiled at John with warm surprise.
John was filled with excitement. He was of course happy to see the little patio in person. He had wanted to use it more as a place to read and dine, and thus had more plans for it now that he was here for two months. But mainly he wanted to go inside and see the results of his long-distance planning. He hoped he wouldn’t be upset by the workmanship. Paul, divining John’s excitement, stepped back and let John enter first. John headed immediately for the little kitchen area, which had been completely redone. He was chirping and issuing forth excited utterances from there as he opened and closed things, but Paul’s first reaction was relief: the place had not changed too much. It still held a rustic, forgotten-by-time quality, and it’s status as a Caribbean retreat had not been altered by modern design. Until he felt the relief, Paul had not realized how much he had feared that John had gone overboard and turned the little jewel box into a gleaming modern (and thus unremarkable) apartment.
Aside from the kitchen, which John was still slavering over, the one obvious change was the ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall doors and windows facing the pool patio in the arched shape of a ship’s prow. The old windows and doors had been replaced with new ones with much wider panes of glass, and the doors were new, modern, and didn’t stick, as Paul found out as he opened and closed them. This was a major improvement that did not change the character of the place. Paul was very impressed with John’s surgical skill in refurbishing only where it was absolutely necessary, and always in the spirit of the little house’s personality. With this, Paul turned to the kitchen, and noticed that John was just standing there, staring at the wall of glass doors. Behind lay the kitchen, and Paul noticed the Spanish tiles, the carpenter-made cupboards painted a soft sea foam color, the farm-style sink, and the gleaming range and refrigerator, both top of the line but appropriately sized given the small square footage. An island sat in front of the kitchen, which was comprised of two walls at right angles to each other, forming two parts of a triangle, the island acting as hypotenuse.
Paul finally said, “John, you’ve done a fantastic job.”
John said, “It really turned out like I hoped. I’m a bit surprised I could accomplish this from thousands of miles away. But let’s go see the bedroom and bathroom before we give our final marks.”
John led the way, and opened the door into the bedroom. The sliding door on to the Jacuzzi deck had been replaced (as had the Jacuzzi, and even the deck, which had been found to be infected with jungle rot), and the other windows had been replaced, too. A fresh coat of soft ivory paint was on the walls, and the windows and doors were trimmed with a contrasting bright white. The huge mosquito net had been replaced with a new one, and it swathed around the top of the round bed in twirls of white netting. (Paul groaned inwardly because the 8’ round bed was still there; it was the devil to get in and out of.) The artwork and objets were from John’s London house - pieces they had purchased during their tour of South America years before. By far the bathroom was the most changed. Gone were the garish mustard colored tiles that made one feel that he had suddenly found himself inside of a summer squash. Instead, the adobe walls had been whitewashed in a rustic style, the sunken bath/shower had been retiled in ivory tiles, periodically popped with colorful Spanish tiles, and the sink area was similarly tiled.
“I won’t look like I have jaundice anymore,” Paul observed, as he stared at himself in the bathroom window. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
John laughed. “Yeah, that outrageous yellow tile job was the only part of the place I really didn’t like.”
“Well, I’m gonna get my swim trunks on and go open up the pool,” Paul said, gathering up his energy. “Can you mix us some rum drinks?”
“My pleasure. Can’t wait to get my hands on that kitchen!” John replied, as he disappeared through the bedroom door. “Although,” he said, stopping just outside the threshold, “I don’t know why you need to bother with the swim trunks...” His eyes lit up with lechery, and Paul laughed.
Still, as John disappeared, Paul reached for his swim trunks, pulling them out of his suitcase. Maybe after a week or so, the city’s restraints will have washed off him, and he would feel free to lark about in the nude. But not yet.
*****
Settling In
They had brought and also sent ahead a lot of luggage and supplies. They had done this deliberately in order to leave everything there so in the future they would not have to bring much of anything when they came. It would all be patiently waiting for them. Thus, a good part of their first full day in their new home was spent unpacking all the boxes that had been sent on ahead (containing John’s favored kitchen and garden supplies, and Paul’s various composing accouterments, as well as stereo equipment, a collection of music and books). Paul had done all of the heavy lifting, opening boxes and moving the empty boxes out of the house and breaking them down. John had done all the organizing and decorating.
Each of them had also brought holiday-style clothes to leave when they went back to England, and John was the one who folded everything neatly and chose where it went. Paul had been discouraged from participating (“because you fold everything wrong”) so sat on the edge of the bed watching John at work. Paul had still not gotten entirely used to a domestic John Lennon. Especially a domestically gifted John Lennon. Paul had to admit that while Linda had always made their homes comfortable and warm, she had never possessed John’s decorative eye or his exquisite taste. She had also not possessed John’s sense of order; he was extremely good at organizing things, and keeping them neat and in their place. Several times over the past several years Paul had experienced moments like these, where he had to pinch himself to believe that this was the same John Lennon as was the boy he’d known decades earlier who had the chaotic and disorganized bedroom and sloppy habits.
The night before, after they had swum in the pool that Paul had opened and cleaned, they had eaten a light meal that John fixed. They sat by the pool with whiskey on the rocks, and chatted companionably about all they had to do the next day. Each of them thought that they’d be having sex that night, but once they climbed into that massive bed, and had made themselves comfortable, they were both too exhausted to do much of anything but to snuggle and kiss. Within moments, they had both fallen asleep in each other’s arms. The magic of El Nido had already taken effect.
*****
John’s Surprise
On the evening of their second full day away, John set up a romantic dinner on the little patio in front of the house. Wrought iron candle holders had been affixed to the adobe walls surrounding the patio at John’s instructions, and he had filled them with blood orange colored candles, which filled the patio with a rosy light. They were also emitting a subtle spicy scent. John had spent months selecting the linens and other items for the house. It had been his guilty little pleasure, and as of yet - apparently - he hadn’t spent too much, because usually when he did his accountant would have a word with Paul, who would make a joke to John about profligacy. Since Paul had made no jokes, John thought that perhaps he had managed the budget properly. It was his own money, after all, although Paul was in daily control of it.
Because of his careful shopping, the round glass-topped wrought iron table was exquisitely dressed, with a colorfully embroidered cloth John had purchased in South America years before, and the melamine coated turquoise and cobalt blue plates were rich in color. On the table itself John placed a mottled 6” candle in teal, sitting on a wrought iron pillar candleholder. This was surrounded by a wreath of deep magenta bougainvillea, which John had clipped off the riotously growing bushes that flowed over the patio walls. Everything had to be perfect, because John had a surprise, and he was quite nervous about it. He figured it was a huge risk, but knew he couldn’t wait to actually present the idea to Paul any longer. It had been an idea that had occurred to him in concrete form a week earlier, and he had taken immediate steps to make it a reality.
John dressed in a white guayabera shirt with delicate pleats in two columns down the front. He had purchased another one, but in a brilliant medium blue, for Paul to wear. Linen loungewear slacks - John’s in khaki, and Paul’s in white - were there to compliment the shirts.
Paul had fallen asleep by the pool on the lounge while John had been cooking. John had made crispy-fried wild rice with artichoke hearts, black olives, red onions, and mango in a paella pan. He had also tossed a salad with light vinaigrette and shards of aged Parmesan. He poured out chilled Torrontes, the Argentine white wine that was so perfect a match for eating al fresco, into the intricately carved crystal wine glasses he had chosen, and then, dressed in his finery, went to awaken Paul. He quietly shook Paul’s shoulder, and Paul jumped up as if poked with a prod.
“What?” He cried.
John chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were so far gone. I’ve laid some clothes out for you on the bed. It’s time to dine.” John's voice was an imitation of a snobbish butler from a BBC period piece.
Paul looked up groggily and noted that John had on a pretty fancy white short-sleeved shirt. He was wearing some loose-fitting linen slacks, and a white Panama fedora hat with a black band above the brim. He was a bit surprised. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Just to the outside patio,” John said cheerfully.
Paul pulled himself to a sitting position on the side of the lounge. He was confused. Why all this fuss? “You’ve laid out clothes?” He finally asked, his voice reflecting his confusion.
“Yes. I’ve just poured the wine, and it is perfectly chilled, so get a move on.”
Paul did get up, and he did move to the bedroom, and he did see the clothes on the bed. He saw the bright blue shirt and the white linen slacks and he scratched his head. What was John up to? Was it a dress up party? Still, not wanting to rock the boat, he went to the bathroom, rinsed off quickly in the shower with cool water, ran a razor over his face (he tended to get an early beard in the evenings), and put on the fancy togs. He looked in the floor length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door. His bare toes peaked out from under the long pants, and he chuckled at his image. Whatever, he thought, as he ran a comb through his black hair, streaked with silver. He found his leather flip-flops and headed back into the main room.
The front door was open, and Paul could smell the scent of wonderful food wafting through it, so he followed it and found himself in a patio wonderland lit up with orange candles and redolent with night blooming scented flowers. He saw the table so beautifully dressed, and said, “Wow.”
John smiled and said, “Sit!”
Paul sat.
The salad was perfect, and so was the wine. John was warm and funny as they talked, and Paul felt a wave of affection running through him as the evening progressed. He was especially excited by John’s fedora: very sexy. The vegetable paella was fantastic, and Paul had three enthusiastic helpings. For dessert John had brought out a tropical fruit salad with fresh Devon cream. (John had known he had to use it right away, as it would not stay fresh long in this environment.) This was served with a lovely dessert wine, followed by Columbian coffee.
John and Paul had chatted throughout, both of them flirting with each other in a subtle way. Paul was anticipating what would happen once they moved away from the table and in the direction of the bedroom. He idly wondered if John’s hat would stay on while they fucked. His eyes were sparkling in the light from the candles, and John was mesmerized. As the evening progressed John had begun to lose courage about his surprise. And numerous times during the evening he had watched Paul’s left hand as it brought the wineglass to his mouth, and each time, the two rings - a slim silver band, and a slight silver ring with a miniature turquoise heart in it - would sparkle in the candlelight, causing John’s hopes to shrink.
How he hated to see those rings on Paul’s finger. It was like a scoreboard reading, Linda - 2, John - 0. He wondered how long after Linda’s death Paul would continue to wear them. Of all the reminders of Linda, these rings were the worst from John’s point of view. They actually were in bed with him at night! Even in bed he could not have Paul entirely to himself. John had been brewing internally about the rings for over a year now. The first several months after Linda’s death, he had understood why Paul still wore them. But now, after 20 months, John could not understand why they were still there. After all, just over a week earlier, Paul had pledged himself to John: so why the rings? John tried not to let this ruin his mood, but the rings seemed to mock him when they twinkled in the candlelight. John forced himself to drag his eyes away from the offending objects for the hundredth time, and smiled suggestively into Paul’s eyes. Would he have the courage to do what his heart told him to do? Would be follow through with his well-planned surprise? As the seconds ticked by, John was beginning to lose his nerve.
He had planned to spring the surprise on Paul at the table, while they were eating dessert, or at least over their coffee. But his nerve had left him, and instead he found himself pacing in the living area while Paul cleared the table and rinsed the dishes. Paul had insisted on doing so since John had made the dinner. When Paul finished with the rinsing, he went to the small bar area and poured two whiskeys on the rocks. “Shall we sit by the pool?” he asked John formally. In that moment John noticed how beautiful the blue shirt looked against Paul’s newly rosy skin. The blue of the shirt made the green in Paul’s eyes come alive.
John nodded and headed absent-mindedly towards the pool patio. His hand was in his pocket, fidgeting with its contents. They sat next to each other in comfortable deck chairs, and Paul initiated a click of their two glasses, and a salute “to two perfect months alone together.”
As they sat there in the dark, with the chirps and ka-caws of the jungle warming up around them, and the sound of the ocean crashing on the nearby shore, John summoned up his courage. He cleared his throat and broke the pleasant silence.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said shyly. His own voice seemed to quiver as he spoke.
Paul turned to look at John with a pleasant and expectant expression. “Oh? Wasn’t that bravura supper enough?”
John chuckled nervously. “It’s actually something I designed myself, for both of us to share.” His heart was thumping heavily in his chest.
“What is it?” Paul asked, curious now.
Reluctantly, and with a shaky hand, John withdrew the small polished cherry wood box from his pocket. He placed it on the little glass table that was situated between their two chairs.
Paul stared at it and looked up at John as if asking for instructions. John urged him forward with a silent forward movement of his head. Putting down his whiskey tumbler, Paul reached over to the little box, and soon had it in both of his hands. His first thought was that it looked like a jewelry box. For some reason, Paul dismissed that idea as being unlikely. Still, he slowly lifted the lid.
John, watching, was holding his breath. His whole heart was in his throat, it seemed, and was beating madly. For a second John wanted to snatch the box back, before Paul could see what was in it. He began to panic, thinking he had been too pushy to go this far, and then he worried that his designs were too over-the-top for the more conservative Paul.
When the little box opened, Paul saw two slender silver signet rings. They were identical. Both had the yin/yang symbol on the top, inlaid ebony and ivory. One had the yin on top, and one had the yang on top. Where the sun and the moon would be, tiny inlaid diamond dots shone. “Rings,” he murmured, and then was quiet. Paul stared at the rings for what were probably only 20 heavily quiet seconds, but for John it seemed to stretch on for eternity. Having finally understood what the gift was, Paul gently pulled one of the rings free of its nest inside the box. He looked at John. “Which one is mine?” He asked softly.
John, who could barely breathe much less talk, managed to mumble, “The smaller one. I’ve got big knuckles.” Inwardly, he cursed himself for being so fearful and tentative.
But Paul didn’t seem to notice. He looked inside the ring, when his eye caught engraving. He saw the word in cursive, “Always.” He pulled the other ring out of the box, and then held them up together, eyeing their sizes. He noted that this second ring had the identical engraving. He then put them down on the table.
John saw this, and feared a rejection. His hands were white fists, and he stared at the two rings sitting on the table in despair. But when he looked up, Paul was in the act of removing the two bands that signified his marriage to Linda. He pulled them off, and then, with solemn intensity, offered them to John.
“Will you take care of these for me?” He asked, his face as serious as John had ever seen it. It was as if the balance of Paul’s universe was dependent upon John’s answer.
A little dazed, John took the rings, and stared at them in his hand for a moment, before closing up his fist protectively over them. “I will,” he said softly, meeting Paul’s eyes as he made his vow.
Then Paul picked up the larger of the two rings and said to John, “Shall I?” Barely believing what was happening, John raised his left hand up, and Paul slipped the ring on to his finger. Still not breathing, he watched while Paul handed him the smaller of the two rings. Understanding at last what was happening, John took the ring, and then slipped it on to Paul’s left hand. The silence that surrounded them was so thick that even the jungle sounds and the crashing ocean did not break through. Instead, their eyes had met and a world of emotion -hope, fear, loss, love - shone in each man’s eyes. Then ever so gently, Paul leaned forward and kissed John softly on the lips and withdrew. He squeezed John’s hand, and kept it in his as he leaned back in his chair, threw his head back, and stared at the stars. Paul was blinking back tears, but John could not see.
John relaxed. He still couldn’t believe what had transpired. Paul had taken off those rings and entrusted them to him! He swore to himself that he would put them on a chain and wear them around his neck for the rest of his life. He had to keep them safe for Paul. He placed the two rings, for the time being, inside the little ring box. Tears were running down his cheeks but he didn’t notice them until they were dropping on his lap. He hastily wiped them away with his free hand. Of all the scenarios he had considered for this ring exchange - of all the fantasies, fears and imaginings - nothing had prepared John for the heartbreaking tenderness of Paul’s actual reaction.
*****
A Sultry Night
The time away was already half gone. The four weeks had flown by in a haze of love and laughter. A sunburn here, a bug bite there, but all in all it had been perfect. It was hard for John not to be worried about such perfection. For him, there had always seemed to be a steep fall awaiting him after every rise. It was evening now, the light dinner meal finished. Paul was in the little kitchen washing up, as had become his habit during this stay. John was stretched out on a lounge by the pool, his legs crossed at the ankles as he stared up at the jungle canopy and beyond that to the stars. Although he was looking at the sky, he was thinking of Paul.
His mind was filled with images of Paul. Paul had quickly attained a beautiful golden color, and had run around scantily clad in form fitting swim trunks and shorts. He looked at least 20 years younger than his actual age, and his black hair, though sprinkled in places with silver and white, had grown out and Paul barely combed it - it was a wilderness of thick curls that John liked to grab hold of when they were having sex. Paul had been charming, funny and attentive the whole time. If only they could live in this little cocoon forever, and never go back to “society,” John felt in that case certainly they could be happy forever. During the days and evenings they had also often worked on some songs, using guitars, and sitting on the lounges around the pool in the shade, and talking and laughing and teasing each other while they did it. In such times they felt more like best friends, rather than lovers.
To make up for this, the nights had been deeply sensual and intense, just as they always were in this magical place. Paul had been at turns commanding and submissive as a lover, seeming to understand without words what John wanted or needed as they made love. It was so fulfilling to John that sometimes he feared his heart would burst. And then, of course, how many times during the days and nights had he caught a glimpse of his ring on Paul’s finger - whether it be when the sun glinted off it while they were wading in the ocean, or when candles flickered off it as they lay in bed, facing each other while their hands wandered. It filled John with a thrill each time to see it. The thrill was made up partly of a prideful possessiveness, and partly of a humble gratefulness. It all seemed too good to be true. As much as he had clung to Paul over the decades, he’d never really felt worthy of him. Not by a long shot. In truth, John rarely felt worthy of anyone, but especially not Paul. The universe had created this fine one-of-a-kind specimen, and then had given him to John. How could that be? John’s introspection was interrupted when he felt a cool wet finger running down his arm. John shivered in sensual delight.
“You look sleepy,” Paul said in a low voice, as he urged John to move over so they could share the one lounge. John’s back had to lay somewhat on Paul’s chest to make enough room.
“I was just thinking,” John responded. If he was reading the signals right, Paul was in a frisky mood. Yup. Almost as soon as he gave birth to the thought, John felt the hardness pushing up against his thigh. The man was insatiable, which was okay by John, who was pretty insatiable too. You couldn’t tell that they were nearing the age of sixty. This gave John hope that he wouldn’t be completely losing his manhood any time soon. Paul’s arm around him was so strong. It was one of the many things he loved so much about having Paul as his lover. Paul’s arms were long, and strong, and very hairy from the elbow down. Being held by those powerful arms made John feel safe and protected. He had rarely felt that way as a young child, only occasionally as a teenager, and almost never as an adult. Only Paul’s arms could make him feel safe. Paul was a living, breathing security blanket for John.
“Oh? Thinking?” Paul whispered directly into John’s ear, using a deep, throaty voice. “What are you thinking about?” As he whispered, he was pushing his engorged penis against the back of John’s thigh.
“Well, I was thinking about how many stars there were,” John lied. “But now, not so much.”
“Ummm?” Paul allowed his hand to start moving slowly down John’s chest. “And now?”
John chuckled. He was receiving an intense come on, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. “Now I’m thinking of fish and chips,” John declared irreverently.
“Sure you are,” Paul growled. “I think I’d like to do it right here, right now.” His voice was deep and dominating.
John knew what was coming next, and his heart thrilled at the thought of it. He felt Paul’s hand as it slipped beneath his swim trunks. Once there, Paul’s fingers played with the delicate hair that covered his pelvic bone. He also felt Paul’s mouth as it played with his ear, and Paul’s breath that tickled his upper cheek and his eardrum. John closed his eyes, and allowed the sensations to take over. He could feel the hairs on his arms and legs - they had all stood at attention in anticipation of Paul’s touches. As it was, the movement of air caused by Paul’s persistent thrusts of his thigh against John’s ass made John’s skin tremble. John’s own cock leapt to attention in one fell swoop as Paul finally reached it, and covered it with one strong hand, gently squeezing and letting go, driving John in-fucking-sane.
At that moment, Paul decided the foreplay was over. He had been watching John across the table tonight, as the candlelight flickered, and there was something so incredibly attractive about John’s intense eyes, the smile that curled up so neatly at it’s very edges, and the melodious up-and-down of John’s animated voice. He had been so enraptured by John’s presence, his energy, and his essence that Paul asked himself how he could have been so reluctant to promise eternity to him. There was a little niggling voice in the back of his head that tugged at his conscious mind. The little voice was trying to warn him about the many times John had stomped on his heart after he had given of himself so freely, but tonight John’s allure was too much for him. It overwhelmed that nagging voice. Later he might wonder if the fact that they were alone together in this enchanted jungle might have given him a false sense of security - after all, John couldn’t betray him for another if there were no others around! But if such thoughts were to occur to Paul, they would not occur while they were in this special place.
Paul freed himself of his swim trunks by pulling them down with one hand, and then shimmying a bit until he could use a foot to pull them off. All of this was invisible to John, who felt Paul’s erratic movements as he shed his trunks, but was waiting breathlessly for the moment when Paul’s hands would return and drive him insane again. Within a moment, Paul’s hand was back, and making nonsense of John’s swim trunks. John felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach as he felt his clothing whipped away in one brisk motion. On one level it amazed him that he could still be so excited by Paul’s hands. They’d been lovers for nearly 40 years! (Subtract a decade or so in the middle; who’s counting?) How could he still feel insensible at Paul’s touch?
The evening was sultry. There was some humidity in the air, and it was making them both sweat. Somehow this made the whole experience more sensual. Soon Paul’s fingers were probing John’s anus. They scissored back and forth to widen the passage. John emitted a sound much like a whimper in response. But it was an anticipatory whimper, not one anticipating pain, but anticipating pleasure. Paul heard the whimper and was encouraged. He grabbed the lube he’d brought with him earlier, and applied a thick slick to his cock, and, with his scissoring fingers again, John’s rectum.
John barely registered this frisson of pressure before Paul’s cock was pressing at his entrance. A sound escaped John’s throat. It was part groan, and part a catch of breath. Fucking sideways required expertise and timing, and both men possessed both. Paul’s thigh had insinuated itself between John’s two thighs, and with pressure applied by that thigh had lifted John’s leg up to make John’s ass more readily available to Paul’s invading member. John held his breath as the pressure intensified, and he bit his lip as Paul pushed his way in. The fullness inside him caused John to groan. In moments like these he wondered why all men didn’t want to be fucked by other men. There was no feeling like it, especially when Paul began to move. Slowly at first, and then a little faster. Then slow again, and fast again.
“Ah-oh!” John cried as he felt a feathery strike on his prostrate. Oh my fucking god!, he swore to himself.
Paul knew he had touched the magic spot, and maneuvered around until he touched it again and then again. John seemed to have been lit like a fire cord beneath him. John was writhing and groaning and moving his limbs in an effort to intensify the feeling Paul was delivering with his perfectly timed strokes. (Nothing like having a world-class bassist as a lover.) John’s frenetic activity was stoking Paul’s arousal, and soon he was thrusting with abandon. He could hear himself groaning now, too, and issuing forth inarticulate cries of pleasure.
If anyone were to see them from a bird’s eye view they would have seen two men joined as one, pumping in perfect rhythm, and crying out in guttural joy. The pace gradually intensified and suddenly first John and then Paul felt the molten sperm rush through them to issue forth as if from the necks of fountains. Even after the cum had been ejaculated, the two men continued to move in ever-slowing rhythmic pulses until, finally, they stilled. By this time, rivers of sweat were flowing between them, over them, and around them, and they both were left panting as their hearts climbed down out from the heavens and back to the earth.
*****
A Serious Talk
It was only a week before they were scheduled to return to their “real lives” in London that John and Paul inadvertently slipped into a deep conversation that each man, in his own way, found emotionally unsettling. They had spent the day down at the hidden waterfall and pond, and after cooling off in the pool upon the completion of their hike back up from the pond, they’d gotten comfortable on the pool patio, eating slices of tropical fruit and drinking sparkling water. John had noted in the last day or two that Paul seemed to be drifting away into his thoughts again, as if he was already preparing himself to go back to London and the rat race it entailed. It seemed Paul could be 100% accessible to him for a finite period of time when they were in this hideaway with absolutely no one else around. But when he was inhabiting his real life, he set up compartments - music, art, work, play, love, family, friends, intimacy - and since John couldn’t reign supreme in all of those compartments, he always felt left out of, or at least pushed to the side in, some of them. As they sat on the patio that night, Paul’s eyes were focused on the horizon, but John could tell that his mind was elsewhere. Probably already looking ahead to the recording sessions they had to set up upon their return, since they had finally accrued enough material to record.
Because of these niggling feelings of mental abandonment, John blurted out, “Where are you?”
Paul didn’t hear him at first. But eventually it sunk in, after echoing around his head for a few seconds. He turned to face John with a look of complete confusion. “What?” He asked.
“Just now - you were off somewhere in your head. Where were you?” John tried to keep his voice from expressing too much emotion. He was trying to make the question sound as though he were merely curious to know the answer.
“Off in my head?” Paul repeated, still a little confused by what John was asking him.
“You go there a lot, you know, although you haven’t done it since we got here. Just lately, you’ve started doing it again.”
Paul continued to stare at John blankly.
“You’re still there - in your head. I can tell. I just want to know what you’re thinking about when you’re there.”
Paul laughed, but it was a tentative laugh. He wasn’t sure if John was teasing, or if he was serious. He couldn’t tell if this was some kind of trap John had set up for him to walk into. He shook his head to remove the unpleasant thoughts. He would take John’s question at face value. “I was just thinking about all the stuff that needs to get done when we get home.”
“Why?” John asked. He kept the question light and curious.
Now Paul was looking at John strangely. “Why?” He repeated. John just kept staring back at Paul with a curious expression on his face. Paul relaxed and chuckled. “Because somebody has to do it.”
“But why now? We’re not going back for another week.”
Paul now thought he knew what John was up to. What had kept him from figuring it out sooner was the fact that John’s demeanor and tone of voice had seemed so casual at first. “I need time to organize my thoughts. It’s just how I think, I guess. I don’t like the feeling of being unprepared.”
John thought about Paul’s answer. It was objectively true, he thought. But it didn’t explain what the anxiety was behind the need to always be prepared. Paul had always been like that, with maps and pins and strings and lists, checking off each item in a precise order as he moved through life. He rarely made bad plans. The few times he had made bad plans, it was due primarily to drug usage and therefore not his usual thought process. John cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t see why you can’t worry about it on the plane home. When you go off in your own head like this, I feel as though the sun has gone behind the clouds. I feel left out.” John stopped for a moment to see how Paul was receiving this information. Paul was still and watching him with a confounded expression. John added, “What drives you to make these mental lists when you could be just enjoying yourself?”
Paul felt his drawbridges coming up. Where the drive, the anxiety, the pursuit of perfection came from, Paul didn’t know. He assumed he had been born that way. But he’d never thought this was a fault. Instead of answering John’s question, he asked another. “What drives you to be threatened by my need to be alone with my thoughts? Why can’t you let me have some time to myself?”
John caught his breath. He hadn’t expected this response. He hadn’t even thought that Paul could possibly have a comeback of equal merit to his own position. Of course, John being John, he felt the cold trickles on his spine. Any declaration of independence by Paul felt like abandonment to him. And when he felt abandonment, the next thing he felt was anger. All of his work with Fiona went right out of the window at moments like these. “Well, if it’s time to yourself you want, that can be arranged!” He got up in a huff, and stomped off into the house.
A moment later, Paul could hear pots clanging and cupboard doors being slammed in the kitchen. He swore quietly to himself.
*****
Chapter 134
January 8 - February 26, 2000
“El Nido”
The Arrival
It had been, as usual, an arduous journey by jet to Miami, and then by smaller jet to San Juan, Costa Rica, and then by small aircraft to the plateau on the coast, and then by jeep down the bumpy dirt road into the edges of the jungle, and finally down their hideaway’s rutted path to the private entrance of their driveway. From the outside, the house looked very much the same as it had the year before, although it was now not so much overgrown by plants. But once the newly painted royal blue gate into the walled patio had been breached, it was obvious that the patio had been recently cleaned and rearranged with comfortable outdoor furnishings and potted plants in colorful pots. The adobe walls were painted a soft yellowish-peachish color that brought warmth to the randomly placed colorful Spanish tiles and the stone floor. The front door had also been painted a deep royal blue. Paul smiled at John with warm surprise.
John was filled with excitement. He was of course happy to see the little patio in person. He had wanted to use it more as a place to read and dine, and thus had more plans for it now that he was here for two months. But mainly he wanted to go inside and see the results of his long-distance planning. He hoped he wouldn’t be upset by the workmanship. Paul, divining John’s excitement, stepped back and let John enter first. John headed immediately for the little kitchen area, which had been completely redone. He was chirping and issuing forth excited utterances from there as he opened and closed things, but Paul’s first reaction was relief: the place had not changed too much. It still held a rustic, forgotten-by-time quality, and it’s status as a Caribbean retreat had not been altered by modern design. Until he felt the relief, Paul had not realized how much he had feared that John had gone overboard and turned the little jewel box into a gleaming modern (and thus unremarkable) apartment.
Aside from the kitchen, which John was still slavering over, the one obvious change was the ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall doors and windows facing the pool patio in the arched shape of a ship’s prow. The old windows and doors had been replaced with new ones with much wider panes of glass, and the doors were new, modern, and didn’t stick, as Paul found out as he opened and closed them. This was a major improvement that did not change the character of the place. Paul was very impressed with John’s surgical skill in refurbishing only where it was absolutely necessary, and always in the spirit of the little house’s personality. With this, Paul turned to the kitchen, and noticed that John was just standing there, staring at the wall of glass doors. Behind lay the kitchen, and Paul noticed the Spanish tiles, the carpenter-made cupboards painted a soft sea foam color, the farm-style sink, and the gleaming range and refrigerator, both top of the line but appropriately sized given the small square footage. An island sat in front of the kitchen, which was comprised of two walls at right angles to each other, forming two parts of a triangle, the island acting as hypotenuse.
Paul finally said, “John, you’ve done a fantastic job.”
John said, “It really turned out like I hoped. I’m a bit surprised I could accomplish this from thousands of miles away. But let’s go see the bedroom and bathroom before we give our final marks.”
John led the way, and opened the door into the bedroom. The sliding door on to the Jacuzzi deck had been replaced (as had the Jacuzzi, and even the deck, which had been found to be infected with jungle rot), and the other windows had been replaced, too. A fresh coat of soft ivory paint was on the walls, and the windows and doors were trimmed with a contrasting bright white. The huge mosquito net had been replaced with a new one, and it swathed around the top of the round bed in twirls of white netting. (Paul groaned inwardly because the 8’ round bed was still there; it was the devil to get in and out of.) The artwork and objets were from John’s London house - pieces they had purchased during their tour of South America years before. By far the bathroom was the most changed. Gone were the garish mustard colored tiles that made one feel that he had suddenly found himself inside of a summer squash. Instead, the adobe walls had been whitewashed in a rustic style, the sunken bath/shower had been retiled in ivory tiles, periodically popped with colorful Spanish tiles, and the sink area was similarly tiled.
“I won’t look like I have jaundice anymore,” Paul observed, as he stared at himself in the bathroom window. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
John laughed. “Yeah, that outrageous yellow tile job was the only part of the place I really didn’t like.”
“Well, I’m gonna get my swim trunks on and go open up the pool,” Paul said, gathering up his energy. “Can you mix us some rum drinks?”
“My pleasure. Can’t wait to get my hands on that kitchen!” John replied, as he disappeared through the bedroom door. “Although,” he said, stopping just outside the threshold, “I don’t know why you need to bother with the swim trunks...” His eyes lit up with lechery, and Paul laughed.
Still, as John disappeared, Paul reached for his swim trunks, pulling them out of his suitcase. Maybe after a week or so, the city’s restraints will have washed off him, and he would feel free to lark about in the nude. But not yet.
*****
Settling In
They had brought and also sent ahead a lot of luggage and supplies. They had done this deliberately in order to leave everything there so in the future they would not have to bring much of anything when they came. It would all be patiently waiting for them. Thus, a good part of their first full day in their new home was spent unpacking all the boxes that had been sent on ahead (containing John’s favored kitchen and garden supplies, and Paul’s various composing accouterments, as well as stereo equipment, a collection of music and books). Paul had done all of the heavy lifting, opening boxes and moving the empty boxes out of the house and breaking them down. John had done all the organizing and decorating.
Each of them had also brought holiday-style clothes to leave when they went back to England, and John was the one who folded everything neatly and chose where it went. Paul had been discouraged from participating (“because you fold everything wrong”) so sat on the edge of the bed watching John at work. Paul had still not gotten entirely used to a domestic John Lennon. Especially a domestically gifted John Lennon. Paul had to admit that while Linda had always made their homes comfortable and warm, she had never possessed John’s decorative eye or his exquisite taste. She had also not possessed John’s sense of order; he was extremely good at organizing things, and keeping them neat and in their place. Several times over the past several years Paul had experienced moments like these, where he had to pinch himself to believe that this was the same John Lennon as was the boy he’d known decades earlier who had the chaotic and disorganized bedroom and sloppy habits.
The night before, after they had swum in the pool that Paul had opened and cleaned, they had eaten a light meal that John fixed. They sat by the pool with whiskey on the rocks, and chatted companionably about all they had to do the next day. Each of them thought that they’d be having sex that night, but once they climbed into that massive bed, and had made themselves comfortable, they were both too exhausted to do much of anything but to snuggle and kiss. Within moments, they had both fallen asleep in each other’s arms. The magic of El Nido had already taken effect.
*****
John’s Surprise
On the evening of their second full day away, John set up a romantic dinner on the little patio in front of the house. Wrought iron candle holders had been affixed to the adobe walls surrounding the patio at John’s instructions, and he had filled them with blood orange colored candles, which filled the patio with a rosy light. They were also emitting a subtle spicy scent. John had spent months selecting the linens and other items for the house. It had been his guilty little pleasure, and as of yet - apparently - he hadn’t spent too much, because usually when he did his accountant would have a word with Paul, who would make a joke to John about profligacy. Since Paul had made no jokes, John thought that perhaps he had managed the budget properly. It was his own money, after all, although Paul was in daily control of it.
Because of his careful shopping, the round glass-topped wrought iron table was exquisitely dressed, with a colorfully embroidered cloth John had purchased in South America years before, and the melamine coated turquoise and cobalt blue plates were rich in color. On the table itself John placed a mottled 6” candle in teal, sitting on a wrought iron pillar candleholder. This was surrounded by a wreath of deep magenta bougainvillea, which John had clipped off the riotously growing bushes that flowed over the patio walls. Everything had to be perfect, because John had a surprise, and he was quite nervous about it. He figured it was a huge risk, but knew he couldn’t wait to actually present the idea to Paul any longer. It had been an idea that had occurred to him in concrete form a week earlier, and he had taken immediate steps to make it a reality.
John dressed in a white guayabera shirt with delicate pleats in two columns down the front. He had purchased another one, but in a brilliant medium blue, for Paul to wear. Linen loungewear slacks - John’s in khaki, and Paul’s in white - were there to compliment the shirts.
Paul had fallen asleep by the pool on the lounge while John had been cooking. John had made crispy-fried wild rice with artichoke hearts, black olives, red onions, and mango in a paella pan. He had also tossed a salad with light vinaigrette and shards of aged Parmesan. He poured out chilled Torrontes, the Argentine white wine that was so perfect a match for eating al fresco, into the intricately carved crystal wine glasses he had chosen, and then, dressed in his finery, went to awaken Paul. He quietly shook Paul’s shoulder, and Paul jumped up as if poked with a prod.
“What?” He cried.
John chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were so far gone. I’ve laid some clothes out for you on the bed. It’s time to dine.” John's voice was an imitation of a snobbish butler from a BBC period piece.
Paul looked up groggily and noted that John had on a pretty fancy white short-sleeved shirt. He was wearing some loose-fitting linen slacks, and a white Panama fedora hat with a black band above the brim. He was a bit surprised. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Just to the outside patio,” John said cheerfully.
Paul pulled himself to a sitting position on the side of the lounge. He was confused. Why all this fuss? “You’ve laid out clothes?” He finally asked, his voice reflecting his confusion.
“Yes. I’ve just poured the wine, and it is perfectly chilled, so get a move on.”
Paul did get up, and he did move to the bedroom, and he did see the clothes on the bed. He saw the bright blue shirt and the white linen slacks and he scratched his head. What was John up to? Was it a dress up party? Still, not wanting to rock the boat, he went to the bathroom, rinsed off quickly in the shower with cool water, ran a razor over his face (he tended to get an early beard in the evenings), and put on the fancy togs. He looked in the floor length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door. His bare toes peaked out from under the long pants, and he chuckled at his image. Whatever, he thought, as he ran a comb through his black hair, streaked with silver. He found his leather flip-flops and headed back into the main room.
The front door was open, and Paul could smell the scent of wonderful food wafting through it, so he followed it and found himself in a patio wonderland lit up with orange candles and redolent with night blooming scented flowers. He saw the table so beautifully dressed, and said, “Wow.”
John smiled and said, “Sit!”
Paul sat.
The salad was perfect, and so was the wine. John was warm and funny as they talked, and Paul felt a wave of affection running through him as the evening progressed. He was especially excited by John’s fedora: very sexy. The vegetable paella was fantastic, and Paul had three enthusiastic helpings. For dessert John had brought out a tropical fruit salad with fresh Devon cream. (John had known he had to use it right away, as it would not stay fresh long in this environment.) This was served with a lovely dessert wine, followed by Columbian coffee.
John and Paul had chatted throughout, both of them flirting with each other in a subtle way. Paul was anticipating what would happen once they moved away from the table and in the direction of the bedroom. He idly wondered if John’s hat would stay on while they fucked. His eyes were sparkling in the light from the candles, and John was mesmerized. As the evening progressed John had begun to lose courage about his surprise. And numerous times during the evening he had watched Paul’s left hand as it brought the wineglass to his mouth, and each time, the two rings - a slim silver band, and a slight silver ring with a miniature turquoise heart in it - would sparkle in the candlelight, causing John’s hopes to shrink.
How he hated to see those rings on Paul’s finger. It was like a scoreboard reading, Linda - 2, John - 0. He wondered how long after Linda’s death Paul would continue to wear them. Of all the reminders of Linda, these rings were the worst from John’s point of view. They actually were in bed with him at night! Even in bed he could not have Paul entirely to himself. John had been brewing internally about the rings for over a year now. The first several months after Linda’s death, he had understood why Paul still wore them. But now, after 20 months, John could not understand why they were still there. After all, just over a week earlier, Paul had pledged himself to John: so why the rings? John tried not to let this ruin his mood, but the rings seemed to mock him when they twinkled in the candlelight. John forced himself to drag his eyes away from the offending objects for the hundredth time, and smiled suggestively into Paul’s eyes. Would he have the courage to do what his heart told him to do? Would be follow through with his well-planned surprise? As the seconds ticked by, John was beginning to lose his nerve.
He had planned to spring the surprise on Paul at the table, while they were eating dessert, or at least over their coffee. But his nerve had left him, and instead he found himself pacing in the living area while Paul cleared the table and rinsed the dishes. Paul had insisted on doing so since John had made the dinner. When Paul finished with the rinsing, he went to the small bar area and poured two whiskeys on the rocks. “Shall we sit by the pool?” he asked John formally. In that moment John noticed how beautiful the blue shirt looked against Paul’s newly rosy skin. The blue of the shirt made the green in Paul’s eyes come alive.
John nodded and headed absent-mindedly towards the pool patio. His hand was in his pocket, fidgeting with its contents. They sat next to each other in comfortable deck chairs, and Paul initiated a click of their two glasses, and a salute “to two perfect months alone together.”
As they sat there in the dark, with the chirps and ka-caws of the jungle warming up around them, and the sound of the ocean crashing on the nearby shore, John summoned up his courage. He cleared his throat and broke the pleasant silence.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said shyly. His own voice seemed to quiver as he spoke.
Paul turned to look at John with a pleasant and expectant expression. “Oh? Wasn’t that bravura supper enough?”
John chuckled nervously. “It’s actually something I designed myself, for both of us to share.” His heart was thumping heavily in his chest.
“What is it?” Paul asked, curious now.
Reluctantly, and with a shaky hand, John withdrew the small polished cherry wood box from his pocket. He placed it on the little glass table that was situated between their two chairs.
Paul stared at it and looked up at John as if asking for instructions. John urged him forward with a silent forward movement of his head. Putting down his whiskey tumbler, Paul reached over to the little box, and soon had it in both of his hands. His first thought was that it looked like a jewelry box. For some reason, Paul dismissed that idea as being unlikely. Still, he slowly lifted the lid.
John, watching, was holding his breath. His whole heart was in his throat, it seemed, and was beating madly. For a second John wanted to snatch the box back, before Paul could see what was in it. He began to panic, thinking he had been too pushy to go this far, and then he worried that his designs were too over-the-top for the more conservative Paul.
When the little box opened, Paul saw two slender silver signet rings. They were identical. Both had the yin/yang symbol on the top, inlaid ebony and ivory. One had the yin on top, and one had the yang on top. Where the sun and the moon would be, tiny inlaid diamond dots shone. “Rings,” he murmured, and then was quiet. Paul stared at the rings for what were probably only 20 heavily quiet seconds, but for John it seemed to stretch on for eternity. Having finally understood what the gift was, Paul gently pulled one of the rings free of its nest inside the box. He looked at John. “Which one is mine?” He asked softly.
John, who could barely breathe much less talk, managed to mumble, “The smaller one. I’ve got big knuckles.” Inwardly, he cursed himself for being so fearful and tentative.
But Paul didn’t seem to notice. He looked inside the ring, when his eye caught engraving. He saw the word in cursive, “Always.” He pulled the other ring out of the box, and then held them up together, eyeing their sizes. He noted that this second ring had the identical engraving. He then put them down on the table.
John saw this, and feared a rejection. His hands were white fists, and he stared at the two rings sitting on the table in despair. But when he looked up, Paul was in the act of removing the two bands that signified his marriage to Linda. He pulled them off, and then, with solemn intensity, offered them to John.
“Will you take care of these for me?” He asked, his face as serious as John had ever seen it. It was as if the balance of Paul’s universe was dependent upon John’s answer.
A little dazed, John took the rings, and stared at them in his hand for a moment, before closing up his fist protectively over them. “I will,” he said softly, meeting Paul’s eyes as he made his vow.
Then Paul picked up the larger of the two rings and said to John, “Shall I?” Barely believing what was happening, John raised his left hand up, and Paul slipped the ring on to his finger. Still not breathing, he watched while Paul handed him the smaller of the two rings. Understanding at last what was happening, John took the ring, and then slipped it on to Paul’s left hand. The silence that surrounded them was so thick that even the jungle sounds and the crashing ocean did not break through. Instead, their eyes had met and a world of emotion -hope, fear, loss, love - shone in each man’s eyes. Then ever so gently, Paul leaned forward and kissed John softly on the lips and withdrew. He squeezed John’s hand, and kept it in his as he leaned back in his chair, threw his head back, and stared at the stars. Paul was blinking back tears, but John could not see.
John relaxed. He still couldn’t believe what had transpired. Paul had taken off those rings and entrusted them to him! He swore to himself that he would put them on a chain and wear them around his neck for the rest of his life. He had to keep them safe for Paul. He placed the two rings, for the time being, inside the little ring box. Tears were running down his cheeks but he didn’t notice them until they were dropping on his lap. He hastily wiped them away with his free hand. Of all the scenarios he had considered for this ring exchange - of all the fantasies, fears and imaginings - nothing had prepared John for the heartbreaking tenderness of Paul’s actual reaction.
*****
A Sultry Night
The time away was already half gone. The four weeks had flown by in a haze of love and laughter. A sunburn here, a bug bite there, but all in all it had been perfect. It was hard for John not to be worried about such perfection. For him, there had always seemed to be a steep fall awaiting him after every rise. It was evening now, the light dinner meal finished. Paul was in the little kitchen washing up, as had become his habit during this stay. John was stretched out on a lounge by the pool, his legs crossed at the ankles as he stared up at the jungle canopy and beyond that to the stars. Although he was looking at the sky, he was thinking of Paul.
His mind was filled with images of Paul. Paul had quickly attained a beautiful golden color, and had run around scantily clad in form fitting swim trunks and shorts. He looked at least 20 years younger than his actual age, and his black hair, though sprinkled in places with silver and white, had grown out and Paul barely combed it - it was a wilderness of thick curls that John liked to grab hold of when they were having sex. Paul had been charming, funny and attentive the whole time. If only they could live in this little cocoon forever, and never go back to “society,” John felt in that case certainly they could be happy forever. During the days and evenings they had also often worked on some songs, using guitars, and sitting on the lounges around the pool in the shade, and talking and laughing and teasing each other while they did it. In such times they felt more like best friends, rather than lovers.
To make up for this, the nights had been deeply sensual and intense, just as they always were in this magical place. Paul had been at turns commanding and submissive as a lover, seeming to understand without words what John wanted or needed as they made love. It was so fulfilling to John that sometimes he feared his heart would burst. And then, of course, how many times during the days and nights had he caught a glimpse of his ring on Paul’s finger - whether it be when the sun glinted off it while they were wading in the ocean, or when candles flickered off it as they lay in bed, facing each other while their hands wandered. It filled John with a thrill each time to see it. The thrill was made up partly of a prideful possessiveness, and partly of a humble gratefulness. It all seemed too good to be true. As much as he had clung to Paul over the decades, he’d never really felt worthy of him. Not by a long shot. In truth, John rarely felt worthy of anyone, but especially not Paul. The universe had created this fine one-of-a-kind specimen, and then had given him to John. How could that be? John’s introspection was interrupted when he felt a cool wet finger running down his arm. John shivered in sensual delight.
“You look sleepy,” Paul said in a low voice, as he urged John to move over so they could share the one lounge. John’s back had to lay somewhat on Paul’s chest to make enough room.
“I was just thinking,” John responded. If he was reading the signals right, Paul was in a frisky mood. Yup. Almost as soon as he gave birth to the thought, John felt the hardness pushing up against his thigh. The man was insatiable, which was okay by John, who was pretty insatiable too. You couldn’t tell that they were nearing the age of sixty. This gave John hope that he wouldn’t be completely losing his manhood any time soon. Paul’s arm around him was so strong. It was one of the many things he loved so much about having Paul as his lover. Paul’s arms were long, and strong, and very hairy from the elbow down. Being held by those powerful arms made John feel safe and protected. He had rarely felt that way as a young child, only occasionally as a teenager, and almost never as an adult. Only Paul’s arms could make him feel safe. Paul was a living, breathing security blanket for John.
“Oh? Thinking?” Paul whispered directly into John’s ear, using a deep, throaty voice. “What are you thinking about?” As he whispered, he was pushing his engorged penis against the back of John’s thigh.
“Well, I was thinking about how many stars there were,” John lied. “But now, not so much.”
“Ummm?” Paul allowed his hand to start moving slowly down John’s chest. “And now?”
John chuckled. He was receiving an intense come on, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. “Now I’m thinking of fish and chips,” John declared irreverently.
“Sure you are,” Paul growled. “I think I’d like to do it right here, right now.” His voice was deep and dominating.
John knew what was coming next, and his heart thrilled at the thought of it. He felt Paul’s hand as it slipped beneath his swim trunks. Once there, Paul’s fingers played with the delicate hair that covered his pelvic bone. He also felt Paul’s mouth as it played with his ear, and Paul’s breath that tickled his upper cheek and his eardrum. John closed his eyes, and allowed the sensations to take over. He could feel the hairs on his arms and legs - they had all stood at attention in anticipation of Paul’s touches. As it was, the movement of air caused by Paul’s persistent thrusts of his thigh against John’s ass made John’s skin tremble. John’s own cock leapt to attention in one fell swoop as Paul finally reached it, and covered it with one strong hand, gently squeezing and letting go, driving John in-fucking-sane.
At that moment, Paul decided the foreplay was over. He had been watching John across the table tonight, as the candlelight flickered, and there was something so incredibly attractive about John’s intense eyes, the smile that curled up so neatly at it’s very edges, and the melodious up-and-down of John’s animated voice. He had been so enraptured by John’s presence, his energy, and his essence that Paul asked himself how he could have been so reluctant to promise eternity to him. There was a little niggling voice in the back of his head that tugged at his conscious mind. The little voice was trying to warn him about the many times John had stomped on his heart after he had given of himself so freely, but tonight John’s allure was too much for him. It overwhelmed that nagging voice. Later he might wonder if the fact that they were alone together in this enchanted jungle might have given him a false sense of security - after all, John couldn’t betray him for another if there were no others around! But if such thoughts were to occur to Paul, they would not occur while they were in this special place.
Paul freed himself of his swim trunks by pulling them down with one hand, and then shimmying a bit until he could use a foot to pull them off. All of this was invisible to John, who felt Paul’s erratic movements as he shed his trunks, but was waiting breathlessly for the moment when Paul’s hands would return and drive him insane again. Within a moment, Paul’s hand was back, and making nonsense of John’s swim trunks. John felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach as he felt his clothing whipped away in one brisk motion. On one level it amazed him that he could still be so excited by Paul’s hands. They’d been lovers for nearly 40 years! (Subtract a decade or so in the middle; who’s counting?) How could he still feel insensible at Paul’s touch?
The evening was sultry. There was some humidity in the air, and it was making them both sweat. Somehow this made the whole experience more sensual. Soon Paul’s fingers were probing John’s anus. They scissored back and forth to widen the passage. John emitted a sound much like a whimper in response. But it was an anticipatory whimper, not one anticipating pain, but anticipating pleasure. Paul heard the whimper and was encouraged. He grabbed the lube he’d brought with him earlier, and applied a thick slick to his cock, and, with his scissoring fingers again, John’s rectum.
John barely registered this frisson of pressure before Paul’s cock was pressing at his entrance. A sound escaped John’s throat. It was part groan, and part a catch of breath. Fucking sideways required expertise and timing, and both men possessed both. Paul’s thigh had insinuated itself between John’s two thighs, and with pressure applied by that thigh had lifted John’s leg up to make John’s ass more readily available to Paul’s invading member. John held his breath as the pressure intensified, and he bit his lip as Paul pushed his way in. The fullness inside him caused John to groan. In moments like these he wondered why all men didn’t want to be fucked by other men. There was no feeling like it, especially when Paul began to move. Slowly at first, and then a little faster. Then slow again, and fast again.
“Ah-oh!” John cried as he felt a feathery strike on his prostrate. Oh my fucking god!, he swore to himself.
Paul knew he had touched the magic spot, and maneuvered around until he touched it again and then again. John seemed to have been lit like a fire cord beneath him. John was writhing and groaning and moving his limbs in an effort to intensify the feeling Paul was delivering with his perfectly timed strokes. (Nothing like having a world-class bassist as a lover.) John’s frenetic activity was stoking Paul’s arousal, and soon he was thrusting with abandon. He could hear himself groaning now, too, and issuing forth inarticulate cries of pleasure.
If anyone were to see them from a bird’s eye view they would have seen two men joined as one, pumping in perfect rhythm, and crying out in guttural joy. The pace gradually intensified and suddenly first John and then Paul felt the molten sperm rush through them to issue forth as if from the necks of fountains. Even after the cum had been ejaculated, the two men continued to move in ever-slowing rhythmic pulses until, finally, they stilled. By this time, rivers of sweat were flowing between them, over them, and around them, and they both were left panting as their hearts climbed down out from the heavens and back to the earth.
*****
A Serious Talk
It was only a week before they were scheduled to return to their “real lives” in London that John and Paul inadvertently slipped into a deep conversation that each man, in his own way, found emotionally unsettling. They had spent the day down at the hidden waterfall and pond, and after cooling off in the pool upon the completion of their hike back up from the pond, they’d gotten comfortable on the pool patio, eating slices of tropical fruit and drinking sparkling water. John had noted in the last day or two that Paul seemed to be drifting away into his thoughts again, as if he was already preparing himself to go back to London and the rat race it entailed. It seemed Paul could be 100% accessible to him for a finite period of time when they were in this hideaway with absolutely no one else around. But when he was inhabiting his real life, he set up compartments - music, art, work, play, love, family, friends, intimacy - and since John couldn’t reign supreme in all of those compartments, he always felt left out of, or at least pushed to the side in, some of them. As they sat on the patio that night, Paul’s eyes were focused on the horizon, but John could tell that his mind was elsewhere. Probably already looking ahead to the recording sessions they had to set up upon their return, since they had finally accrued enough material to record.
Because of these niggling feelings of mental abandonment, John blurted out, “Where are you?”
Paul didn’t hear him at first. But eventually it sunk in, after echoing around his head for a few seconds. He turned to face John with a look of complete confusion. “What?” He asked.
“Just now - you were off somewhere in your head. Where were you?” John tried to keep his voice from expressing too much emotion. He was trying to make the question sound as though he were merely curious to know the answer.
“Off in my head?” Paul repeated, still a little confused by what John was asking him.
“You go there a lot, you know, although you haven’t done it since we got here. Just lately, you’ve started doing it again.”
Paul continued to stare at John blankly.
“You’re still there - in your head. I can tell. I just want to know what you’re thinking about when you’re there.”
Paul laughed, but it was a tentative laugh. He wasn’t sure if John was teasing, or if he was serious. He couldn’t tell if this was some kind of trap John had set up for him to walk into. He shook his head to remove the unpleasant thoughts. He would take John’s question at face value. “I was just thinking about all the stuff that needs to get done when we get home.”
“Why?” John asked. He kept the question light and curious.
Now Paul was looking at John strangely. “Why?” He repeated. John just kept staring back at Paul with a curious expression on his face. Paul relaxed and chuckled. “Because somebody has to do it.”
“But why now? We’re not going back for another week.”
Paul now thought he knew what John was up to. What had kept him from figuring it out sooner was the fact that John’s demeanor and tone of voice had seemed so casual at first. “I need time to organize my thoughts. It’s just how I think, I guess. I don’t like the feeling of being unprepared.”
John thought about Paul’s answer. It was objectively true, he thought. But it didn’t explain what the anxiety was behind the need to always be prepared. Paul had always been like that, with maps and pins and strings and lists, checking off each item in a precise order as he moved through life. He rarely made bad plans. The few times he had made bad plans, it was due primarily to drug usage and therefore not his usual thought process. John cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t see why you can’t worry about it on the plane home. When you go off in your own head like this, I feel as though the sun has gone behind the clouds. I feel left out.” John stopped for a moment to see how Paul was receiving this information. Paul was still and watching him with a confounded expression. John added, “What drives you to make these mental lists when you could be just enjoying yourself?”
Paul felt his drawbridges coming up. Where the drive, the anxiety, the pursuit of perfection came from, Paul didn’t know. He assumed he had been born that way. But he’d never thought this was a fault. Instead of answering John’s question, he asked another. “What drives you to be threatened by my need to be alone with my thoughts? Why can’t you let me have some time to myself?”
John caught his breath. He hadn’t expected this response. He hadn’t even thought that Paul could possibly have a comeback of equal merit to his own position. Of course, John being John, he felt the cold trickles on his spine. Any declaration of independence by Paul felt like abandonment to him. And when he felt abandonment, the next thing he felt was anger. All of his work with Fiona went right out of the window at moments like these. “Well, if it’s time to yourself you want, that can be arranged!” He got up in a huff, and stomped off into the house.
A moment later, Paul could hear pots clanging and cupboard doors being slammed in the kitchen. He swore quietly to himself.
*****