The Time Traveler's Lover : Jack at 18 (2)
Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Jack travels back and forth in time throughout the course of his life and encounters Ennis and himself - visits that change everthing and almost nothing. The list of all chapters is here.
Note: This chapter takes place during the Cuban missile crisis.
October 24, 1962
Jack was just passing the rodeo stables as he limped toward his truck when he heard someone calling his name. He cursed silently and turned to see a girl from his old high school class striding towards him. She was one of several who'd regularly made eyes at him but he'd never known how to react to any of them. Right now he just wanted to get back to Lightning Flat to nurse his aching hip and savor his second place time on the bulls. He'd been steadily improving and felt sure he'd make a winning ride soon.
The girl was wearing jeans, a white western shirt with black embroidery and a fringed buckskin jacket. When she stopped in front of him he saw the pristine blue bandanna knotted around her neck was still creased. The tight copper braids from school days were gone, her hair flying loose. A little gold horseshoe hung from each earlobe, tangling in her curls. At least she wasn't wearing a hat. He couldn't remember her name.
She grinned up at him and said she was there to watch her boyfriend ride the broncs; he'd come in third. Before he could reply her face turned serious and she said suddenly "Do you think..." and then she literally threw herself at him. He caught her in his arms, then her own were around his neck and she was kissing him.
He knew what had brought this on. For nearly a week people had talked of nothing but the missiles. He'd seen men knocking back next week's entrance fee in the bar here, convinced this rodeo would be their last. Couples necked frantically in corners and writhed in truck beds. But he knew the world would not be blown up. Hadn't he seen himself old in the firelight? Three days into the crisis he'd switched off the radio his mother was constantly monitoring in the kitchen, telling her "Don't worry, it won't happen." Since that day their home was serene, though his old man's mood hadn't changed before, during or after. Jack doubted he cared whether the world came to an end.
But now he had a girl squirming against him, presenting an opportunity he'd never quite understood how to go about creating before. She pulled away, grasped his sleeve, dragged him around the corner of the stables and pushed him through an open door into a tack room. Seconds later they were down and rolling around on a pile of blankets. He wondered at his luck. When she was on her back, he fiddled open the button on her Wranglers and eased the zipper down. His hand slipped underneath the denim and the white cotton... why was he startled to encounter a featureless plain? The girl gasped, raised her hips and began to shimmy out of her jeans while toeing off her boots, practiced at this. He started to follow suit, but had shoved his jeans only halfway down when she impatiently grabbed his hand and returned it to the prairie. With his fingers he probed the pliant furrows and ridges, warm and moist as turf after a summer downpour, and paid attention to when she whimpered or cried out. When she parted her thighs he slid his hand lower. His two middle fingers sank suddenly into deep softness and he pushed them in up to the hilt while his thumb remained on the surface, ploughing away. She arched her back and moaned loudly. His fingers were long and he could feel a rigid knob way in there. When he swirled the tip of a finger on it she yelped and clamped her thighs together, trapping his hand.
During this exploration his mind was traveling on two parallel tracks. One part was rushing foward, propelled by a single idea: he was about to fuck a girl! This was sex, what all the talk and pictures were about and it revved up his lust. Those things he'd thought about before, dreamt about - stroking rough skin, brushing his arms over hot damp muscles - that wasn't sex. It was surely something else. His cock was engorged and weeping and he wanted to plunge it into something. The other part of his mind was focused on exploring the mysterious topography of the girl's body. But there was a disconnect; his desire didn't feel related to what his hand was doing.
He was leaning against her breast and could feel her heart pounding, saw the dip at the base of her throat pulsing, watched her face bloom pink as heat rose from her skin and sweat beaded on her forehead. Just then she reached down and clamped her hand tightly around his wrist, stopping his hand. "Stay still!" she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. He felt a fluttering around his fingers. No, not fluttering but... he closed his eyes and an image of an eagle flashed through his mind. It was launching itself from a tree branch. He could hear the long swiiissshhh as the powerful wings pushed air downwards, once......twice......three times, the fingerlike feathers on the ends brushing together as they met below the raptor's talons as it strained upwards. As it gained momentum and altitude, the thrust of its wings diminished, then it flapped them one last time and glided silently away over the treetops.
He opened his eyes and saw that hers were half closed as she breathed a long sigh, felt her hand fall away from his wrist. There was a moist, sucking sound as he withdrew his fingers. He rolled between her legs, leaned foward on his elbows and entered her, surprised, just fleetingly, that it felt so different from his palm and fingers. At the second thrust he imagined grasping a large rough hand by the thumb and little finger and dragging it up his thigh. With the third the hand was wrapped around him and he groaned into her hair, his fingers smearing a wet streak onto her cheek.
They cleaned up as best they could, in silence. She didn't look him in the face as she pulled on her jeans and boots and stood up. After one embarrassed glance she turned and slipped out of the stable door. As he got to his feet he spotted a little gold horseshoe on a blanket. He picked it up and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Back at home his father just grunted when Jack recounted his near-win. But he didn't care. He felt he'd passed some kind of test. In his room that night he felt the lump in his pocket as he undressed and fished out the earring. He turned it in his fingers, recalling gold against copper. Then he went to his closet and reached into the slot but his arm was too big now. It'd been ages since he'd taken out the bag. He could always unbend a wire hanger and hook it out but... He went to his old desk instead, opened a drawer and tossed the earring in.
August 4th, 1989
When he woke up in the dark in the middle of the night it felt much too warm for the season; he must've shucked off his pajamas because of that. Then why was his back so cold? He was lying on his right side and felt waves of heat against his chest. He could hear wind gusting violently but didn't feel it. The low hills in the distance were outlined by an emerald glow emanating from somewhere beyond them. His stomach lurched. Shit! Maybe he'd been wrong about the future and those missiles were launched after all.
He rose up on his elbow and the landscape changed at once. He was still in bed, but it was a bigger one than his own. Next to him a man lay on his back: his body the hills, his breath the wind. Jack reflexively moved backwards but he was already pressed against a wall, the cold plaster the source of the chill on his back. On a table next to the bed was a box with four green numbers shining brightly but giving out only a faint illumination: the glow beyond the mountains.
He could tell the man was naked too, with a white sheet draped over his hips. He was breathing hard, almost panting, both hands clutching at the bottom sheet. What he could make out of the man's profile edged in green looked familiar but Jack couldn't be sure; it had been so long ago and he looked older than the ranch hand he'd once seen lit up by the setting sun. Even so, his pulse quickened at the possibility. By now Jack's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see the man's body more clearly. His gaze halted at the sheet when he saw it tenting over his groin.
Jack felt breathless. His heart was pounding, his blood seemed to be rushing wildly in every direction. He looked to the man's face and back to the sheet. He watched his own hand as if it belonged to someone else as it reached out, pinched the edge of the linen and slowly lifted the sheet away, dragging it over the man's erection. His own cock curved towards his belly at the sight. Immediately the man's breathing turned into moans.
"Now Jack, now...oh god...Jack!"
Jesus! The man whose body had been the subject of his fantasies for nearly six years - for suddenly he understood that's what those thoughts were - was lying at his side having a sex dream about him. Jack felt nearly paralyzed with desire and fear. He had not yet met this older man for real, but he must be feeding his dreams on memories of Jack and things they'd already done together. But what things? He edged closer to the man (to Ace!) and moved his face close to his.
"I'm right here," Jack murmured and feathered a finger over the man's throat. Ace's right hand flew up and seized Jack's, squeezing it.
"Jack? Jack?" he gasped. The man moved his hand up and grasped Jack's shoulder and pulled Jack onto him. Jack tensed for a moment, resisting. He wasn't sure what he wanted. Ace curled his other arm around Jack's neck and in one swift movement rolled their bodies, tumbling him onto his back, sliding on top of him and pressing him into the mattress with all his length and weight. He began to kiss Jack in a frenzy, not only on his lips but every inch of his face, scouring stubble trailed by soft lips and velvet tongue, strong hands cradling his head, whispering in his ear knew you'd come knew you'd find me stay please stay. Jack's eyes were wide open in the dark, his arms spread out, palms down and fingers splayed, lungs trying to pull in air. Ace ground into him, their cocks rubbing slickly together, and let out a long moan.
Or was he weeping? Whatever he had done to this man, or would do one day, it seemed he was forgiven. He grasped the man's elbows and shushed him ssshhhh s'alright. He smoothed his hands up the man's trembling arms and over his shoulders, brushed his hands down his warm back, down and down, over and over, stroking his long muscles, as the man continued to kiss and suck and whisper to him. Something that had once been sturdy broke apart inside Jack. He wrapped his arms tightly around the heaving back, closed his eyes and opened his mouth and let him in. A thousand suns exploded and
then his arms were empty and he was alone in his own bed, shouting.
<< Jack at 18 (1) | Jack at 19 (1)>>
The characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Jack travels back and forth in time throughout the course of his life and encounters Ennis and himself - visits that change everthing and almost nothing. The list of all chapters is here.
Note: This chapter takes place during the Cuban missile crisis.
October 24, 1962
Jack was just passing the rodeo stables as he limped toward his truck when he heard someone calling his name. He cursed silently and turned to see a girl from his old high school class striding towards him. She was one of several who'd regularly made eyes at him but he'd never known how to react to any of them. Right now he just wanted to get back to Lightning Flat to nurse his aching hip and savor his second place time on the bulls. He'd been steadily improving and felt sure he'd make a winning ride soon.
The girl was wearing jeans, a white western shirt with black embroidery and a fringed buckskin jacket. When she stopped in front of him he saw the pristine blue bandanna knotted around her neck was still creased. The tight copper braids from school days were gone, her hair flying loose. A little gold horseshoe hung from each earlobe, tangling in her curls. At least she wasn't wearing a hat. He couldn't remember her name.
She grinned up at him and said she was there to watch her boyfriend ride the broncs; he'd come in third. Before he could reply her face turned serious and she said suddenly "Do you think..." and then she literally threw herself at him. He caught her in his arms, then her own were around his neck and she was kissing him.
He knew what had brought this on. For nearly a week people had talked of nothing but the missiles. He'd seen men knocking back next week's entrance fee in the bar here, convinced this rodeo would be their last. Couples necked frantically in corners and writhed in truck beds. But he knew the world would not be blown up. Hadn't he seen himself old in the firelight? Three days into the crisis he'd switched off the radio his mother was constantly monitoring in the kitchen, telling her "Don't worry, it won't happen." Since that day their home was serene, though his old man's mood hadn't changed before, during or after. Jack doubted he cared whether the world came to an end.
But now he had a girl squirming against him, presenting an opportunity he'd never quite understood how to go about creating before. She pulled away, grasped his sleeve, dragged him around the corner of the stables and pushed him through an open door into a tack room. Seconds later they were down and rolling around on a pile of blankets. He wondered at his luck. When she was on her back, he fiddled open the button on her Wranglers and eased the zipper down. His hand slipped underneath the denim and the white cotton... why was he startled to encounter a featureless plain? The girl gasped, raised her hips and began to shimmy out of her jeans while toeing off her boots, practiced at this. He started to follow suit, but had shoved his jeans only halfway down when she impatiently grabbed his hand and returned it to the prairie. With his fingers he probed the pliant furrows and ridges, warm and moist as turf after a summer downpour, and paid attention to when she whimpered or cried out. When she parted her thighs he slid his hand lower. His two middle fingers sank suddenly into deep softness and he pushed them in up to the hilt while his thumb remained on the surface, ploughing away. She arched her back and moaned loudly. His fingers were long and he could feel a rigid knob way in there. When he swirled the tip of a finger on it she yelped and clamped her thighs together, trapping his hand.
During this exploration his mind was traveling on two parallel tracks. One part was rushing foward, propelled by a single idea: he was about to fuck a girl! This was sex, what all the talk and pictures were about and it revved up his lust. Those things he'd thought about before, dreamt about - stroking rough skin, brushing his arms over hot damp muscles - that wasn't sex. It was surely something else. His cock was engorged and weeping and he wanted to plunge it into something. The other part of his mind was focused on exploring the mysterious topography of the girl's body. But there was a disconnect; his desire didn't feel related to what his hand was doing.
He was leaning against her breast and could feel her heart pounding, saw the dip at the base of her throat pulsing, watched her face bloom pink as heat rose from her skin and sweat beaded on her forehead. Just then she reached down and clamped her hand tightly around his wrist, stopping his hand. "Stay still!" she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. He felt a fluttering around his fingers. No, not fluttering but... he closed his eyes and an image of an eagle flashed through his mind. It was launching itself from a tree branch. He could hear the long swiiissshhh as the powerful wings pushed air downwards, once......twice......three times, the fingerlike feathers on the ends brushing together as they met below the raptor's talons as it strained upwards. As it gained momentum and altitude, the thrust of its wings diminished, then it flapped them one last time and glided silently away over the treetops.
He opened his eyes and saw that hers were half closed as she breathed a long sigh, felt her hand fall away from his wrist. There was a moist, sucking sound as he withdrew his fingers. He rolled between her legs, leaned foward on his elbows and entered her, surprised, just fleetingly, that it felt so different from his palm and fingers. At the second thrust he imagined grasping a large rough hand by the thumb and little finger and dragging it up his thigh. With the third the hand was wrapped around him and he groaned into her hair, his fingers smearing a wet streak onto her cheek.
They cleaned up as best they could, in silence. She didn't look him in the face as she pulled on her jeans and boots and stood up. After one embarrassed glance she turned and slipped out of the stable door. As he got to his feet he spotted a little gold horseshoe on a blanket. He picked it up and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Back at home his father just grunted when Jack recounted his near-win. But he didn't care. He felt he'd passed some kind of test. In his room that night he felt the lump in his pocket as he undressed and fished out the earring. He turned it in his fingers, recalling gold against copper. Then he went to his closet and reached into the slot but his arm was too big now. It'd been ages since he'd taken out the bag. He could always unbend a wire hanger and hook it out but... He went to his old desk instead, opened a drawer and tossed the earring in.
August 4th, 1989
When he woke up in the dark in the middle of the night it felt much too warm for the season; he must've shucked off his pajamas because of that. Then why was his back so cold? He was lying on his right side and felt waves of heat against his chest. He could hear wind gusting violently but didn't feel it. The low hills in the distance were outlined by an emerald glow emanating from somewhere beyond them. His stomach lurched. Shit! Maybe he'd been wrong about the future and those missiles were launched after all.
He rose up on his elbow and the landscape changed at once. He was still in bed, but it was a bigger one than his own. Next to him a man lay on his back: his body the hills, his breath the wind. Jack reflexively moved backwards but he was already pressed against a wall, the cold plaster the source of the chill on his back. On a table next to the bed was a box with four green numbers shining brightly but giving out only a faint illumination: the glow beyond the mountains.
He could tell the man was naked too, with a white sheet draped over his hips. He was breathing hard, almost panting, both hands clutching at the bottom sheet. What he could make out of the man's profile edged in green looked familiar but Jack couldn't be sure; it had been so long ago and he looked older than the ranch hand he'd once seen lit up by the setting sun. Even so, his pulse quickened at the possibility. By now Jack's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see the man's body more clearly. His gaze halted at the sheet when he saw it tenting over his groin.
Jack felt breathless. His heart was pounding, his blood seemed to be rushing wildly in every direction. He looked to the man's face and back to the sheet. He watched his own hand as if it belonged to someone else as it reached out, pinched the edge of the linen and slowly lifted the sheet away, dragging it over the man's erection. His own cock curved towards his belly at the sight. Immediately the man's breathing turned into moans.
"Now Jack, now...oh god...Jack!"
Jesus! The man whose body had been the subject of his fantasies for nearly six years - for suddenly he understood that's what those thoughts were - was lying at his side having a sex dream about him. Jack felt nearly paralyzed with desire and fear. He had not yet met this older man for real, but he must be feeding his dreams on memories of Jack and things they'd already done together. But what things? He edged closer to the man (to Ace!) and moved his face close to his.
"I'm right here," Jack murmured and feathered a finger over the man's throat. Ace's right hand flew up and seized Jack's, squeezing it.
"Jack? Jack?" he gasped. The man moved his hand up and grasped Jack's shoulder and pulled Jack onto him. Jack tensed for a moment, resisting. He wasn't sure what he wanted. Ace curled his other arm around Jack's neck and in one swift movement rolled their bodies, tumbling him onto his back, sliding on top of him and pressing him into the mattress with all his length and weight. He began to kiss Jack in a frenzy, not only on his lips but every inch of his face, scouring stubble trailed by soft lips and velvet tongue, strong hands cradling his head, whispering in his ear knew you'd come knew you'd find me stay please stay. Jack's eyes were wide open in the dark, his arms spread out, palms down and fingers splayed, lungs trying to pull in air. Ace ground into him, their cocks rubbing slickly together, and let out a long moan.
Or was he weeping? Whatever he had done to this man, or would do one day, it seemed he was forgiven. He grasped the man's elbows and shushed him ssshhhh s'alright. He smoothed his hands up the man's trembling arms and over his shoulders, brushed his hands down his warm back, down and down, over and over, stroking his long muscles, as the man continued to kiss and suck and whisper to him. Something that had once been sturdy broke apart inside Jack. He wrapped his arms tightly around the heaving back, closed his eyes and opened his mouth and let him in. A thousand suns exploded and
then his arms were empty and he was alone in his own bed, shouting.
<< Jack at 18 (1) | Jack at 19 (1)>>