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initiation

There were three of them, speaking in voiced whispers:

"I got so hot I beat off after she left," said the first.

"Not me, I was too embarrassed to even get a hard on," said the second.

"You're both pussies," said the third.

They were sitting at the small counter (only four stools) of Auntie's Tearoom.

"So what'd you do? Sing 'The Star Spangled Banner'?" asked number one, whose name was Kerry.

No, I did what any self-respecting young man would do during an initiation rite," explained number three, Roger, "I stood there proudly while he sang the praises of my virtue."

"Oh yeah, sure," moaned number two, David, "the 'One Second Waltz' maybe.

"Or 'It's a Small, Small World' probably," suggested Kerry.

The date was Friday, May 20, 1977. Roger was twenty-six years old at that time. Kerry and David were both twenty-three. Auntie Joe was forty-two.

"I remember your initiation, Kerry," Roger said. "You were in that bathroom for a half-hour after Auntie came out, and when you finally dragged your black ass back out here, your clothes were a mess, you were sweating up a storm, and you were looking up at Auntie like he was the Great Emancipator himself."

"What can I say, Roger? When you got it, flaunt it. No, you know what she said to me that day? She said—"

David jumped up: "You're not supposed to tell!" David was a stickler for the rules. He calculated that the only way to further yourself in this life was to get close to the ones who were running things and then conform to their way of running

them.

“Sit down, David!" Roger said. "Who gives a shit? Kerry can tell us if he wants to." Roger didn't give a shit about the rules. Period.

"No, David's right. Everybody's initiation is a secret. That's what makes it special." Kerry wavered about the rules, usually solving any dilemma by agreeing with the last person to speak. He was undecided as to why.

Roger knew this about Kerry, of course, and all he would've had to do to hear the story was tell David to shut up and Kerry to tell, but he wasn't sufficiently interested at the moment to bother with all that. Instead, he got up and walked around behind the counter to pour them all some fresh coffee, then resumed his seat without speaking—a signal to the others that he was getting bored with this conversation.

Boredom was often a problem with Roger. He was an addict to his passions, not caring whether the current emotion was positive or negative, as long as it was active. He wanted to feel something, anything, every hour of his waking day, and about five minutes of boredom is all he could stand before he'd start looking around. He would deliberately start arguments just to get his blood flowing again. He fell in, then out of, love at least once a week just to keep the cycle rolling at a stimulating pace. He smoked two packs of Camels a day, the old non-filtered kind; his daily bourbon consumption was in the neighborhood of a quart; plus there were the odd pills now and then, up or down didn't matter, and a regular supply of weed. Yet, to look at the man, you couldn't tell if he was drunk or sober, high or straight; he always looked the same. Which was: sort of beat-up handsome; scruffy in that his clothes were innately wrinkled, his beard was mysteriously suspended at a two-day growth and his long brown hair defied grooming; he had a smile that included his eyes, and that he used to disarm people. It was that grin one had to beware of. If you looked only at the smile, you would think of friendship, or puppy love. But if you looked deep into those eyes, smiling or not, you'd know that you could fall madly in love with this one—and that he will hurt you like you never been hurt before. People who believed the smile and didn't look into those eyes were his one-night stands; and of those who did look deeper, some ran away in rightful fright, while others, being lovers of danger or just plain stupid, stood their ground and became his week-long affairs. More often than not those fled as well before the week was out, denying him the pleasure of kicking them out.

One is tempted to think that Roger wasn't a very nice person and to wonder why anyone would want to be around him, but then that's the major disadvantage with thinking: It has little or nothing to do with how and why we choose friends and lovers. Rational or not, people liked and loved Roger.

Auntie did see into Roger's eyes, but proved the exception by neither running away nor falling madly in love. Instead, he offered Roger some advice, which was a secret, of course, because it was part of the Initiation. Both David and Kerry had neglected to look that deeply, both got instant crushes, both became one-night stands and both were asked to leave after only one cup of coffee the next morning. Yet, they now considered themselves to be his friends.

Perhaps neither resented Roger's use of them because the event was a turning point for each. Kerry had been just bumming around after his parents threw him out of the house, and he wasn't doing very well at it; perhaps people were afraid of a black man begging for money? He was almost desperate enough to beg them for forgiveness when he had his roll in the hay with Roger, which ended with Roger suggesting that Kerry was so good in bed that he should sell "it" on the streets. Kerry was handsome enough to pull it off; had a good build; his skin was a less controversial creamy milk chocolate. Kerry was so buoyed by this praise that he went into business that very night. It turned out that people weren't afraid of a black man hustling on Santa Monica Boulevard, and at this point in time, he was still prospering.

David, on the other hand, was lousy in bed, which was causing him great difficulties with his climb up the socioeconomic ladder. He had been turning away men—men who could do him some good—simply because he was afraid they might ask him to take it up the butt, which was something he had never done and wasn't sure he could do. Well, thoughtful ol' Rog taught David how to do that, several times that night, and then sent David off the next morning to look for a rich husband, with his newly-acquired knowledge as bait. David was petite and cute, so everyone had faith that he would achieve his goals. Apparently, all David needed was a little more self-confidence, because at this point in time, he was on his fourth.

They sat in comfortable silence, sipping coffee and waiting for Roger to change his mood or for Auntie to return from initiating the new boy in town...whichever came first.

The events were simultaneous in that Roger started laughing as Auntie Joe came out of the bathroom dabbing daintily at the corners of his mouth with a paper towel as though it were a silk hankie.

The years had not been kind to Auntie Joe: By the age of thirty his waistline had grown almost fifteen inches, putting him in the neighborhood of sixty pounds overweight for his five-foot eight-inch frame, and accessorizing his face with the customary jowls and multiple chins; his forehead had grown slightly over an inch, leading him to believe he was going to go bald—but, nicely, he retained most of his wavy brown hair, which stayed brown except for these mysterious orange-ish highlights, which he attributed to his lifelong Vitalis habit; he developed a whisky voice which wasn't all that unpleasant and, best of all, rid him of the subtle-but-irritating whine he had inherited from his mother.

But then, as though to atone for the earlier unkindnesses, Time benevolently allowed Auntie to keep those selfsame looks for twenty-some years. So, even though he had to suffer the embarrassment of looking forty when he was only thirty, he would later be able to gloat that he still looked forty even though he was fifty.

A uniform evolved along with the increases in weight and age: black slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt, garnered from all his years of waiting tables, never out of style and always obtainable, topped with a long vest ala Bea Arthur. It was the vest that was the centerpiece of this costume. He owned no less than twenty of them in as many colors, knitted or fabric, heavy or light, some just above the knee while others stopped less fashionably mid-thigh and one other that cascaded to the ankle—that one reserved for formal occasions. The concept of the vest, of course, was to visually offer a straighter line, and he was partially successful in creating that illusion—not as successful as Bea Arthur was, but then they were each trying to camouflage a different part of the anatomy. And as for who copied whom, Auntie swore that he had them first. And as with all of Auntie's stories, one may choose to believe it...or not.

As Auntie approached the counter, still dabbing daintily, Kerry began the customary round of bets: "A quarter says the kid doesn't come out for at least half an hour."

"I'll take five minutes," said David.

"And I'll take five seconds," said Roger, who could see the bathroom doorknob turning.

Auntie Joe, still without speaking, reached under the counter for what he liked to call his "Nuns' Knuckle Buster," which was a two-foot-long spoon, and wielded it at the three of them, daring them to say something, anything, to the boy who shyly walked into the room.

He wasn't very good-looking, this new initiate, but then few initiates were. They were generally broke, often homeless, usually in need of a bath, occasionally seeking work, always after a handout. By Auntie's rules, they had to be at least eighteen and prove it, plus they had to ask for food rather than money and they'd better ask nicely or they'd get nothing. But when they did get something, they got the secret ritual followed by a hot meal and five bucks slipped discreetly into a pocket.

Some were never seen again, some tried in vain to get the same deal a second time, a few came around once or twice just to say hello. A select few became official nephews and hung around for years before they moved on to relationships, decent jobs or back to the hometown. Three became friends.

Both Kerry and Roger fit the typical profile when they were initiated, and the unexpected generosity of this eccentric man offered each just the right motivation to get off the streets. And both recognized that the likelihood of being able to stay off the streets was somehow connected to this place and to this person...so they stayed.

David was the single exception to the rule about not asking for money. He was a freshman in college at the time, had spent the entire month's allowance on record albums and late-night pizzas, so he needed to call his parents to ask them to send him more money. He had literally spent his last dime and walked into the Tearoom to ask for a dime to make the phone call. He looked so lost, Auntie Joe assumed he was one of the standard waifs and ran him through the entire ritual before David could figure out what was happening to him. He found himself standing back out on the sidewalk well-fed, five dollars richer, and the keeper of a very strange secret, but still without a dime to make the phone call. He stood there bewildered for five or ten minutes before running back in to confess the deception, which wasn't his to confess. Even though he didn't need Auntie's patronal generosity, he was in great need of Auntie's paternal qualities...so he stayed.

Auntie Joe put down the spoon, then ushered the new boy to one of the small tables near the front door, tucked five dollars into his shirt pocket and tucked a napkin into his open collar.

Auntie whispered something into the boy's ear, then hurried off to the kitchen. He was back out in a flash with the boy's lunch, meatloaf, which he delivered with a flourish and a small curtsey before returning to the counter to stand guard over the other three while the new would-be nephew ate.

He regained the spoon, just in case. The unholy trio looked as though they had decided to behave, but they were prone to sudden attacks of giddiness and weren't to be trusted. "You know, our little place is like a bird sanctuary," Auntie said, "sort of a wildlife refuge. When I first started working here, I hated the place. It was just an ugly old coffee shop in those days. And I was just an ugly old waiter."

He paused for a second to allow one of them to protest, but none did. Roger offered his famous grin to acknowledge both Auntie's ploy and their refusal.

"Anyway," Auntie Joe continued, feigning a miff, “so people used to come and go all day long, every day, but no one ever said anything to anybody...and certainly never got to know anybody. I mean, they'd run in, sit down, order, read the paper with one hand while downing coffee with the other, eat, pay and run out. I hated it. And wouldn't you know it, by the time I made up my mind to really quit, once and for all, the old man ups and dies and leaves me the goddamn place! How do you quit your own coffee shop?!

"Thank God for Ray. I mean, if he hadn't loaned me the money to make all the changes, I think I would've gone right out of my mind. That's what made the difference, you know, the tablecloths and the curtains, real plants, real wood, real chairs...getting rid of all that chrome and vinyl. I mean, a fifties' coffee shop in this day and age? Who wants it?

"Anyway, since we made all the physical changes and then started doing just lunch, luncheon, with only the one dish...well, it's more friendly, I guess is the way to describe it. People come in and talk, get to know each other. They don't just woof down their food and run out the door like a—“

"Tinkle," sang the little brass bell over the door as the no-longer-would-be nephew walked out without even looking in Auntie Joe's direction.

"—like a goddamned ungrateful little bitch that'd better not ever show her fucking pimple-face in here again or she'll wish she never heard of Auntie Joe's Old Fashioned Meatloaf Special because next time the fucking meatloaf, all ten pounds of it, is going up her ass with my left foot as the ramrod!"

"Oooh!" squealed Kerry, who wished immediately that he'd had the good sense to keep quiet, as did his two companions, who were holding their respective breaths.

"Well, that was fun," said Auntie, so pleased that he was still able to scare these boys that he was willing to forego his disappointment with the young ingrate.

"Why don't we close up a little early today and go have a cocktail...or two? My treat."

"Tinkle, tinkle," rang the little brass bell on the door.

Auntie Joe's mouth fell open in a combination gasp and sigh that sounded almost as if he said the word, "Tonto…"

But it was the look on his face rather than the noise emanating from it that caused the other three to turn towards the door: David almost wet his pants in fear; Kerry did moisten his pants in lust; Roger merely adjusted his, in the knowledge that this one would be getting into them very soon. It was Jasper Kell.

In moments of great stress—such as knowing you're going to die in ten seconds—people are said to relive their entire lives in a flash. Auntie Joe did it differently: He relived Jasper Kell's life in a flash. Or what he knew of it, anyway; he had not seen the boy in twenty years. He recognized him, nevertheless. From the eyes. It's always the eyes.

But Jasper Kell didn't look like he was supposed to! He did not fit Auntie Joe's mental picture of him. First off, Jasper Kell was short. Secondly, he didn't look anything like an Indian. Auntie had visions of "his boy" being a real buck, like the Indian braves you see on television. He didn't know they even made short Indians. But then he'd never actually known any Indians personally. And where was the shiny black hair? Yes, it was dark hair, but the desert sun had created far too many highlights in it. And the cheekbones? On careful study, the cheekbones were there, of course, but they didn't stand out as much as they should have. This was definitely not the Amerindian Warrior that Auntie had expected his little Tonto to grow into. And what kind of a name is that for a brave? He should be called Wild Eagle, Running Bear or Flying Something. Not Jasper Kell. Max and Muriel should not have adopted the boy; they should have given him to some tribe to raise, and to

name properly.

Objectively speaking, Jasper Kell was, at age twenty-two, five-foot five-inches tall with the body of an all-American farm boy. In fact, standing there in his faded jeans and muscle-tight T-shirt, a beat-up gym bag at his side, he certainly looked as though he could be one...rather than the desert nomad that he was. His hair wasn't just highlighted: It shone with contrasting, rebellious shocks of light and dark. His eyes were the kind of blue that reflects the mood of the day, as deep water does, and his right eye seemed a little off-center. His skin and nose, happily for Auntie, were almost Amerindian. His upper lip had a slight curl to it, also on the right side. It was a bit like a snarl, actually, and was primarily visible when someone was pissing him off—which was frequently.

So the objective description leads inevitably back to the subjective, which it must do with someone like Jasper Kell—for if you were to ask a dozen different people to describe him, you'd get a dozen radically different descriptions.

With Jasper Kell, attitude had more to do with the way people saw him than did his features, which perhaps were there only to act as a stage for his emotions. His reflecting blue eyes didn't just mirror the day, they mirrored the person who had the courage to look directly into them. Those contrasting clumps of hair were so stormy at times they seemed to threaten violence. The curled lip was pure sass, a constant dare.

He had the defiance and vulnerability of a ten-year-old street kid. Defiance that kept men at an arm's distance; and vulnerability that drew women, and gay aunties, closer.

He would get a little-boy-lost look on his face that could set off the mothering instincts of a Medea. Women were not sexually aroused by him: They simply had to pull him to their collective breast—so painfully was he vulnerable.

Yet, in men the instinct Jasper Kell set off was the fight or flight one. Most often, fight and flight. It was love and hate at first sight. Guys have been known to suddenly scream at him or hit him, when no words had been exchanged between them. He was that offensive. He looked like a real brat. A snot. A little shit. A kid you'd sooner slap than pet. In other words, he was adorable. Lovable. Sexy. Scary as hell.

And this is all before he opened his mouth.

Auntie's mouth was still open; Roger, Kerry and David sat squirming, counting on Auntie to make the first move, ignorant of the fact that this apparition in the doorway was Auntie's long lost child.

Jasper Kell spoke first: "I'm looking for my Uncle Joe."

"Uncle?!" cried the nephews in unison.

Auntie waved the spoon at them before returning it to its resting place. As he walked toward the door he had to admit to himself that he had seen recent pictures of Jasper, but he wasn't quite ready to give up his Indian brave illusion, so he asked, "Can I help you?" as if he didn't know who this man was.

To which Jasper replied, "Are you Joe Dixon?" with emphasis that teetered between disbelief and disappointment. Jasper had not seen any recent pictures of his Uncle Joe.

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm Jasper, Jasper Kell."

"Well, my goodness, I would've never recognized you."

“I thought Mom’d been sending you pictures.”

"Well, yes, she has—but they're so out of context, y'know...or this is. One of the two. It's, uh, great to see you," Auntie Joe said, offering his hand.

"You too," said Jasper, taking the hand.

"So, uh, how have...I thought graduation wasn't for another week or two. What are doing home so...I mean, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in, uh, with, uh...” Auntie just trailed off, unable to continue projecting a cool exterior while his interior heated to the danger level. All this chatter was driving him mad. He didn't want to talk to the boy; he wanted to leap onto him, smother him, mate with him—anything that would create a physical explosion to equal the emotional one he was experiencing.

Someone, he didn't know who, placed a chair behind him and helped him to sit down on it. Someone else handed him a glass of water. Someone else said, "Hi, I'm Kerry Barton."

"David Lerner.”

"Roger Crawford."

The three of them had been perched there at the counter waiting anxiously for Auntie to get around to the introduction, or at least to shut up for a minute so one of them could. When he suddenly turned pale and looked like he was about to faint they leapt into action, with Roger grabbing the chair, David bringing the water, and Kerry holding out his hand to shake.

“I'm Jasper Kell. Nice to meet you all. Do you think he's all right?"

"Oh, she's fine," Kerry answered.

“He is quite all right," Auntie answered. "Or I will be by the time I finish this water, thank you." The "thank you" was served with a glare to Kerry.

Kerry was confused: Auntie Joe was his teacher in the art of the feminine pronoun: Why was Auntie going masculine all of a sudden? And Kerry was about to ask that very question when...

Roger said, "So, Jasper, where'd you go to school?"

"San Diego State.”

"Any good?"

"Okay, I guess."

"What do people call you?" David asked, "Jas? Jaz?"

"Jasper."

"Oh.”

"Where are you from?" Kerry asked, finally able to clear his head of the pronoun problem and join in on the interview.

"Just outside Palm Springs. "

"Oh! Cathedral City?" David said. He had heard stories about gay life in Cathedral City.

"Palm Desert.”

“Oh.”

"You on your way out there now?" asked Roger.

“No.”

"Gonna stay around here, maybe?"

"I don't know." Jasper wasn't volunteering any information; in fact, these questions were starting to piss him off. Auntie Joe suddenly knew that Jasper would be staying around. Permanently. It then seemed absurd to continue the charade he'd begun so defensively when Jasper walked through the door. Uncle Joe is Auntie Joe, and if Jasper's moving in, he'll just have to get used to it. Coincidentally, upon his return from this reverie, Auntie found himself staring directly into the crotch of Jasper's jeans. He flashed on that little peek he had into Tonto's pajamas so many years ago, and now the bountiful basket of those 501s answered the age-old question: If a boy has the Big One at two, will he still have the Big One at twenty-two?

"Yes, he will," Auntie Joe said, aloud, standing and spilling what was left of the water he was supposed to have been sipping all this time. "I mean, he will be staying around for a while. He's staying with me. That's why he came here, didn't he? If he was going to the desert, he would've just gone directly there, wouldn't he? You don't go from San Diego to Palm Desert through West Hollywood, do you? And you shouldn't welcome people by asking them a lot of questions, should you?"

The four young men just stood there. This was all new to Jasper, and he didn't have the faintest idea what to do, so he did absolutely nothing. The other three had experienced dozens of these impromptu performances and knew exactly what to do, which was absolutely nothing. Unless, of course, you were addressed personally, in which case you would simply obey.

"It's closing time," Auntie continued. "You three little darlings go home...or go wherever it is you go on those rare moments when you actually leave this place."

"What about the drinks you were going to buy?" David asked.

"What about them, dearest?"

"Nothing.”

"That's one of the things I love about her: She never takes unnecessary risks."

Kerry beamed, his pronoun crisis resolved. "Auntie, why don't you and Jasper meet us later for drinks?"

"Give him some time to settle in, will you? There'll be plenty of...Jasper, you'd better go to the bathroom now if you have to; it's a pretty long walk to the house."

"Thanks, I will," Jasper said, then looked toward the back.

"Down the hall, second door on the right."

"I'll show him," Kerry offered.

"I'm sure he can find it."

"Are you going to initiate him?" Kerry asked in revenge.

"Oh honey, he was the first...the very first," said Auntie.

"Huh?" said Jasper.

"Nothing, just go."

As soon as Jasper exited, Auntie's hands went to his hips—a frown to his brow: "I know what you were all working up to. You want to know if he's gay, don't you? Well, when I find out, you'll be the next to know. In the meantime, lay off. I think your little grilling was pissing him off, and I have a strong feeling he bites. So, you'd better be more careful...unless, of course, you want to get bitten. Now, scoot or I'll sic Xavier on you."

"Don't forget to let him out this time before you lock up," Roger said.

"One time! One lousy time I lock him in here, and you act like it happens every day," Auntie said, glaring up at the tinkling bell as he opened the door and waved the threesome toward it.

"One time, yeah, but it was a four-day weekend," corrected David.

“ He survived, didn't he?"

"Made a mess out of the place," Kerry said.

"Out!" said Auntie, pushing all three of them out the door, then locking it behind them in case they got stubborn. He walked to the kitchen, elbowed the door open, and reached in to pull Xavier out. Xavier was dressed in white from head to toe, so bundled up in his chef's togs you couldn't tell what he really looked like. The large white hat was pulled down all the way to his eyebrows, his eyes were covered by coke-bottle-thick glasses, and his head was nestled far down into the high, over-sized collar. The rest was just sort of a starched column down to the floor.

Jasper stepped out of the bathroom just as Auntie was maneuvering this odd little white package out the back door:

"What was that?" he asked.

"The kitchen staff. C'mon, let's get home. We've got some serious conversation to do."

Home was in the northwest corner of West Hollywood, known affectionately to the locals as the Norma Triangle—Norma being the hypotenuse of this little geometry whose primary claim to fame was its roster of street names: Norma, Cynthia, Phyllis and Betty; then Harland, Lloyd, Keith and Clark; plus Dicks.

"You live on a street called Dicks?" Jasper asked.

"It was my father's name," Auntie Joe said.

"Dick and Dora, huh?"

"Dick and Dora Dixon, last of the truly second-rate hoofers to play the circuit...from the music halls to the chicken coops for their longest, and most successful run."

"Dora was a dancer, huh?"

"Oh yes, Dora was a dancer. Quite good back in the early days, according to her, anyway. Solo, at first...billed simply as Dora...then along came Dick, to be her partner for life. He was on the rebound from something called Juanita, I think. Dick Dixon and Juanita! Or maybe it was Rosita, I forget. Anyway, they teamed up, calling themselves Dick Dixon and Dora—which I thought should've been Dora Dixon and the Dick, but I guess that would've annoyed, if you know what I mean—so they were Dick Dixon and Dora until she caught him with some floozies, at which time they changed to Dick and Dora Dixon because she wanted to make sure everyone knew they were married...or something...and that went along until I came along, and we all retired to the desert to die in chicken coops. I can't wait till it's my time in the big hen house in the sky. The very thought of it just sets my nostrils all aflutter."

"I'm really sorry about the fire."

"It wasn't your fault, honey. Don't think another thought about it. If the Dixon family insists on meeting their Maker surrounded by chicken shit, there's nothing anyone can do about it. Tradition is, after all, tradition. There's so little tradition around anymore, one has to take it where one finds it. Ours is croaking in chicken coops. Go figure. And, if I can't find a coop when my time comes, I've always got my aviary."

Auntie Joe's aviary was the entrance to the house. It had once been a screened porch, so all he had to do was import storm windows to put up when it was cold or windy. Just inside the door was a semi-circle shower curtain which one was cautioned not to open until the door was securely latched. The floor of this very large porch was covered in alternating areas of sand, gravel and grasses, with pieces of flagstone serving as a walkway through a veritable jungle of potted plants and trees.

There were at least a dozen parakeets, almost as many finches, ten or so canaries, eight or nine cockatiels, four pairs of lovebirds, several cockatoos, half-a-dozen doves, a small family of guinea fowl, two pairs of parrots, a trio of flycatchers, a couple of macaws, and a mynah bird who was mute. The exact number was never ascertainable but that didn't matter anyway. Auntie just kept an eye out for any appreciable decrease in one kind or the other, and replaced them if they didn't do it themselves in the spring.

He did name them all, however. And, male or female, they were named after his favorite, love 'em or hate 'em, actresses. The one shortcut he allowed himself was to use the same name for those of the same color within species. Thus, all blue parrots were called Greta, green parakeets were Katherine, pale canaries were Bette, and so on.

"Don't be alarmed when they start screaming," Auntie warned as they stepped into the semi-circle. "Strangers always upset them."

"What should I do?" Jasper asked.

"Just stay close and follow me through into the house. Once I get the door to the living room closed, they'll settle down. All right, door's latched. Ready?"

"I hope so."

Auntie pulled back the shower curtain and walked slowly into the aviary. The birds did not make a sound. They did not move. They were, however, all staring at Jasper. Or, at least it seemed as though they were looking at Jasper: It's a little difficult to ever know exactly where a bird is looking.

"Why are they all looking at me?" Jasper asked.

"How the hell should I know? They're supposed to be flying wildly about the room, screaming like banshees. That's what they always do when I bring someone in this way."

"You mean there's another way in?"

"Well, sure, there's the back door. But where's the fun in that? Don't you like birds? Why are they staring at you?"

"I like birds okay. Met an eagle once when I was a kid. She was really something. Can we just go on into the house now and worry about them later?"

Auntie led the way into the living room, closing the door quickly behind them. The birds immediately returned to their normal noise level, which made them both feel better until they looked back to see the entire flock vying for positions at the two windows that looked in from the porch to the living room. Auntie closed the drapes.

The first thing one noticed was the large bristle mat just inside the door. The functional stuff was mostly at the left end of the large living room, with a generous dining area at the right. There were two doors on either end of the back wall, leading to opposite ends of the long kitchen. A door to your left led down a short hallway to the bathroom and Auntie's bedroom. A door to your right was to the den, soon to become Jasper's bedroom. Note that one has to go through the living room to get from the den to the bathroom.

The bristle mat was to wipe the bird shit off your feet.

Auntie's house was, to be blunt, matronly, befitting his station in life. Cream and pale blue oriental rugs. Antique and almost-antique furniture throughout, most of it, too delicate for a man his size. Milk glass. Wedgewood. Frail house plants in hand-painted pots, each with its original matching saucer. Gilt-framed mirrors. Lamps with dangling crystal earrings that actually matched the chandelier. Still-lifes and landscapes by French Impressionists. A shiny black cat?

"You have a cat with all those birds?" Jasper said.

"Oh, there's my Phoebecat. You naughty girl. Where have you been the last two nights, you little lesbian, you? She's fixed, so I know she doesn't have a lover down the street. But she disappears, sometimes for three or four days at a time. Drives me crazy...I mean, I'm out calling all over the neighborhood...kitty, kitty, kitty...looking like an idiot...and I know she's sitting behind a bush or something laughing her bitch heart out. Jasper, come and meet Phoebecat. She'll—

One step forward by Jasper and the cat arched her back and went up on her toes. Second step, the cat hissed and ran to the kitchen, leaving a few new loose threads on the couch cushion for Auntie to carefully manicure in the morning. A flump-flump sound followed almost immediately.

"Cat door," Auntie explained before Jasper could ask.

"I guess she doesn't like me," Jasper said-

"Give her time, she'll get used to you. You drink'?"

"Sure, got any bourbon?"

"Yeah, how can you drink that stuff? But I do have it...have just about everything, I think. Why don't you make the drinks while I change into something more comfortable...as they say in the movies. I'll have a vodka tonic. No, a martini, a vodka martini. Can you make a martini? Just make it on the rocks, that's easier...coat the ice with vermouth, dry vermouth, then pour it out before you put in the vodka. Okay? Ice is in the fridge, booze's in the hutch next to the dining table, and glasses are in the cupboard over the sink, left side—no, use the good ones on the top shelf of the same hutch the booze's in…special occasion, your first night here, we should use the fancy stuff. I'll be right back." Auntie took a deep breath and hurried off to his bedroom.

Jasper was finished making the drinks before Auntie even got out of the room. He carried the glasses to the coffee table and sprawled out on the couch. He lit a cigarette. There were two or three little decorative, dish-like things on every table in the living room, but none of them resembled an ashtray, so he went back out to the kitchen to get one he'd spotted earlier. Back on the couch, he stretched out, feet up on the coffee table and sipped his drink. The ash from his cigarette fell to the floor, and he was in the process of rubbing it into rug when Auntie Joe reappeared, dressed in a floor-length, pale green, embroidered caftan.

"Please don't do that," Auntie said.

"Sorry.”

Auntie struck a pose, arms extended: "Like it? Omars.”

"Who?" said Jasper; he didn't get it.

"Tents—oh, never mind. If I'm going to hang around twenty-two year olds, I'm going to have to get new jokes. So, your room's in there, and the bathroom's down that little hall…sorry it's so far...I'll show you my room tomorrow. It's such a mess, I'd be embarrassed, wasn't expecting company."

Jasper looked at the dust-free, lint-free, clutter-free room and decided that Uncle Joe wasn't capable of having a messy bedroom. "Fine, " he said.

Simultaneously. "Jasper, I—" "Uncle Joe, I—"

And: "Go ahead." "You first."

Jasper went: "What'd you mean when that guy asked if you were gonna initiate me and you said I was the first?"

"Now my turn," Auntie said. "You didn't answer my question when I asked you what you were doing here, now, when graduation isn't for another week or two? Are you in some kind of trouble? I mean, I'll help if you are...it's just that I insist on knowing what's going on. Is that all the luggage you have? Where are the rest of your things? That isn't all you had with you in San Diego, was it? Do Max and Muriel know you're here? Have you talked to them? There's two ashtrays right there. Why are you using the ugly kitchen one?"

"I got thrown out," Jasper said quietly, lighting another cigarette.

"How do you get thrown out of college a week before graduation?!"

"I took off all my clothes on the quad..."

"Big deal, a two-day suspension."

"And ran through the faculty dining room...

"So, five days."

"During an awards banquet...”

"That's expulsion."

"Then jumped up on the president's table..."

"You should be in jail. "

"And pissed in his soup."

"They're going to hang you...in public." Auntie Joe was gasping for air, his face a deep red. "Jasper, I don't know what to say! I can't believe you could--"

"I couldn't. I was just teasing you. I wanted to see how you'd take it if I really fucked up. School's fine; I had my last final day before yesterday. They'll mail me a degree; I have no need for a ritual to make it official."

"I'm going to kill you, darling, just as soon as I can breathe again. I need another drink."

"Me too. Don't move, I'll be right back-"

And, whether they needed them or not, they had seven more rounds, with no dinner, which means they were thoroughly shit-faced by ten o'clock and in need of bed.

Jasper had written to Max and Muriel telling them he was going to visit Uncle Joe, and that he would talk to them as soon as he had a better idea of what his plans were. A friend would ship the rest of his things from San Diego when he knew where he wanted them shipped. Yes, he would like to stay here. For as long as he was welcome, he supposed. He hadn't seen brother Maxie in over two years. Maxie would be getting out of the army next year. Yes, he would ask Maxie to come for a visit. No. he didn't want to go out to the desert to spend some time with the family. No, nothing was wrong, in particular; he just didn't want to see them right now; he spent the holidays and spring break with them, so they're happy for the moment. Yes, he really would like a hot bath before going to bed.

Auntie Joe was just coming out of the kitchen with his put-it-on-the-nightstand-in-case-you-wake-up-thirsty-in-themiddle-of-the-night glass of water when Jasper came out of the bathroom and walked through the living room to his bedroom, clad only in a towel.

Auntie's alcohol-drooped eyes suddenly opened wide.

Jasper offered a friendly smile.

God, Auntie thought, I hope he's not going to be running around here in a towel all the time. I'll go mad.

A trickle of water ran from Jasper's hair along his neck and down onto his chest. Auntie caught sight of the droplets as they crossed the collarbone and followed them as they continued on a direct path to the navel. Jasper casually and quite unself-consciously removed the towel from his waist.

Well, Auntie thought, you got your wish, you stupid bastard: Now he's not running around in a towel.

Then Jasper, using only a point of the towel, traced that same path from behind his ear, along the neck, passed the nipple and down to the belly button. Auntie again followed the movement, unable to look away, but feeling a mounting terror that his eyes would betray him, that they would not stop mid-belly, but would continue onward in search of...

It was the crushing blow. The one hope he'd held onto was that Jasper's dark skin was real. But there it was, stark white reality, shining ever-so brightly between the tan lines of his loins, white as any white man ever was. There is no Indian brave. Was there ever a Tonto?

"G’night," Jasper said as he went to his room and closed the door behind him.

"Night, night……Jasper."

In his room, an hour later, Auntie Joe sat mesmerized in front of his dresser mirror. But there was no reflection coming from the mirror; it was covered solidly, top to bottom, side to side, with photos.

Of Jasper.

"Why don't you look like your pictures?" Auntie had asked when he first sat down to remove the evidence of his lifelong devotion.

But Jasper did look like his pictures. Of course, he did. He looked more like his pictures than anyone you've ever known. He was so photogenic he even looked like his school pictures; he looked like his driver’s license picture; he even looked like himself in Polaroids taken with a flash.

What he didn't look like was Auntie's obsession. So, Auntie studied the photos. Now that reality was to be his roommate, this reverie would have to move out. Not that Auntie Joe understood all this was going on in his mind; he was tearing down the shrine so that Jasper would not know that it ever existed.

Carefully, he took the pictures down, one by one:

Christening. They waited until the adoption papers went through, almost a year, before giving the boy his official name: Jasper Hansen Kell. The Hansen was Muriel's née, and she was certain that her new son would proudly use his full name throughout his life, thus carrying on her family name. Max had

staunchly refused to allow a hyphenate-Hanson, so the middle name bit was their compromise- But Jasper would have none of it. He wasn't all that thrilled with the first and last, but he finally figured out he'd have to accept them. His compromise was that he would keep the whole thing as short as possible, so as not to dwell on it, meaning he used neither the Hanson nor the aitch. Jasper Kell, period-

Kindergarten. This was the last year that Jasper still looked like Tonto, so it was Auntie's favorite picture. This was also the beginning of Jasper's unrelenting attachment to his "twin" brother Maxie. The trauma of going to school, and thus not getting your own way all day every day, made Jasper fear for his safety, so he glued himself to Maxie and pretty much stayed that way for the next thirteen years- The constant questions about two brothers being in the same grade gave them the idea to tell people they were twins, f'aternal they said. It would be several years before they actually started to look like one another, at which time they could start using the term maternal for their twinship. Max never fully accepted Jasper as blood, so the game irked him, but he ignored it; Muriel thought it was cute, and was guilty on occasion of that little fib herself, when someone at the supermarket would ask.

Christmas 1961- A shot of Jasper and Maxie, arm in arm, standing in front of a ten-foot, overly-decorated tree. They were waist deep in presents. Auntio Joe chastised himself for having contributed to that spectacle.

Camping. The family spent a couple of weeks in a mountain

cabin near Idyllwild. The photo was of the entire family sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows. Presumably, a bear took the picture. Max and Muriel were pretending to kiss, and the boys seemed to be intertwined. But the memory that came from that trip was Jasper's baby eagle. Maxie and Jasper had a huge fight during breakfast on the morning after the above familial bliss -- for two kids who couldn't stand to be apart, they surely had some humdingers, often with blood. Anyway. Jasper stomped off into the woods alone, first cursing that his brother had ever been born, then crying. He found an old log that was smooth enough to hug and threw himself on it, wrapping his arms and legs as far around as he could reach, then just let it all go, certain that no one could hear his sobs and. force comfort on him. He had raged himself down to the last couple of snorts and snuffles, and was blowing his nose on his sleeve, when he heard the strangest noise. He sat up slowly and looked: Sitting on a branch of this fallen tree, only about two feet in front of his face, was the most magnificent bird he'd ever seen. Little, yes, but still magnificent. It had mostly dark brown feathers, but it had patches of gold on its head and neck. And it wasn't just the light that made it look golden, it really was. Jasper stared at it; it stared back at him. Or, it seemed to, anyway. It had such deep, dark brown eyes. And when he cocked his head to one side, so did the bird. He held out his hand to it, and it stiffened and appeared to be getting ready to fly away. He closed his eyes and held his breath, wishing it to stay. He listened for the awful sounds of flight, but there

were none, so he cautiously opened his eyes. It was still staring at him. He searched his pockets for food, thinking that was how to make friends with it. Soldiers, yo-yo, bubble gum, knife, rubber spider, lint, string, compass, battered photo of him and Maxie on a pony, folded envelope with some secret stuff in it, cinnamon toast. Such are the pockets of a seven-year-old boy. He was sure it would like bread, but with cinnamon on it? He put it in the palm of his hand, it was only a cracker-size piece, and then ever-so-slowly started moving it toward the bird. It tensed again, and Jasper closed his eyes and held his breath again. Suddenly, he was hit with a gust of air and the sound of wings, and he felt a stabbing pain in the palm of his hand. He opened his eyes just in time to see the bird disappearing over the tops of the trees, and then to see dollops of blood gushing out of his hand, running down onto his forearm and spilling off the side onto his pants- Muriel was hysterical; Max took him to a doctor in Idyllwild- No stitches, but he did have to have a-tetanus shot- A golden eagle had been spotted in those mountains, the doctor said. Perhaps Jasper had encountered an eaglet- Max doubted it, but Jasper was damned sure he had. He even researched golden eagles when they got home, and wrote a paper about them, and his experience, for his second grade teacher that fall.

The New Car. Here was a shot of The Boys driving the family's brand new '63 Chevy, the caption said. Jasper and Max were standing up in the front seat; each had one hand on the steering wheel, with their free arms wrapped around each other.

Auntie recalled that their previous car was 1OBS than two years old, and he wondered what could've been wrong with the old one to cause him to trade it in so soon. Just wanted a new car, probably.

Dr. Seuss. A shot of Jasper and Maxie sitting on the couch and holding up an extremely over-sized copy of Auntie's favorite story, "The Star-Bellied Sneetches." He sent it to the boys for their ninth birthday. He wondered if there were any people, anywhere, who grasped the importance of that story... because, if there were, he'd sure like to meet them. He wondered if Jasper still had the book. He thought maybe he should buy another copy just to have around the house.

Mission San Juan Capistrano. Maxie and Jasper running around the courtyard waiting for the swallows to come back to Capistrano, as the old song goes. There are no swallows as yet. but there were hundreds of pigeons, most of them on or around a laughing Jasper. Maxie looked disinterested.

Mowing the Lawn at Dora's. The boys were total goof-offs at home, but whenever "Aunt" Dora needed anything done, they were off and running. Drove Muriel nuts. The letter she sent with this picture said that they not only mowed the lawn, they pulled the weeds out of the flower beds, including around the roses, and helped Dora clean up after all those cats- Muriel said @he could even get them to make up their damn beds!

Elementary School Graduation. When he first saw this group picture back in 1967 Auntie Joe thought it was cute: the boys handsome in their grown-up suits, the girls pretty in their

grown-up gowns. Now, what he thought about was that this was the year Max had an affair with the affirmative-action deputy Joan, and that Muriel throw his ass out of the house for the rest of the summer.

Sleepover. While Max was sleeping over at Joan's, Jasper and Maxie were sleeping over at Dora's. Unable to say, Just wait till your father gets home, because father wouldn't be coming home till September, Muriel no longer balked every time the boys asked if they could have a sleepover at Dora's house. The reason Muriel didn't like them staying with Dora was that she know the boys were completely unsupervised, which is why they were so damned willing to do chores over there but not at home, Muriel said. Dora allowed them to run around li.ke Indians and make all the noise they wanted to; she let them eat what and when they wanted; she let them splash around, naked, in the wading pool, which was right out in the front yard for all the world to see; she let them sleep out in that stupid silver trailer and God knows what mischief they get up to out there by themselves, Muriel wrote in one of her weekly letters that summer. Auntie Joe knew what mischief they probably got up to out there by themselves. In fact, the word sleepover may have been the major turning point in PAuntle Joe's life. First off, When did they make it a noun? More importantly, the vivid and animated image of his little boy in bed naked with another little boy, even if it was his brother, which it wasn't really, gave PAuntie palpitations. It also gave him an erection, which in turn gave him enough guilt to last a lifetime. He hadn't

actually thought about his celibacy until this time. It had happened so naturally that he didn't think of it as being celibate; he just wasn't having any sex. After Ray, he didn't want to get involved with anyone. Then the coffee shop went through a popularity phase and he was working seventy or eighty hours a week and would've been too tired to have sex if it was offered, which it wasn't anyway. Then the old man who owned the coffee shop died and left it to Auntio Joe, and he was at this particular moment in time busy changing the place into Auntia's Tearoom- But, when the snapshot entitled "Sleepover" arrived, he did think about his celibacy, and he decided that it wasn't just happenstance that he was this way. It was like a vow that was made unconsciously, and now it would be conscious. The photo, by the way, was of Jasper and Maxie wrestling in the wading pool, naked, out in the front yard for all the wdrld, including Auntie, to see. He was appalled that his mother would take such a picture and that Muriel would send it to him.

Summer Camp. This was a picture of JaBper's tribe, the Apaches. Maxie was a Navajo that year, the first year the boys had been separated at camp. The new director thought it would be good for them- He thought the tribal competition would make them less dependent on each other. What he got was the first tie in the history of the camp for the Best Tribe Award. Jasper and Maxie were the best athletes there, and they made sure that their tribes beat every other tribe, but never each other's. They almost got sent home early for unwarlike conduct, but the rest of the staff refused to go along with the director's plan.

Fortunate for them they didn't got sent home, because they would've had to go to Dora's funeral. Fortunate for Auntie that the boys were in the mountains, because he wouldn't have gone to Dora's funeral if Jasper was going to be there. It seems that Dora finally made good her promise to burn down the chicken coop that Daddy died in. According to the findings of the coroner's inquest, Mrs. Dixon bought a five-gallon can of gas at the Mobil station down the street on the morning of the fire. She locked all the cats in the house and watered the roses. Then, for some reason, she decided to start the fire on the inside of the coop rather than from the outside. She evidently splashed gasoline throughout the building, including the wire fencing and the chickens, and struck a match. Someone (It was Jasper) had recently installed a now latch on the door which could be raised by hand from the outside but necessitated the pulling of a string if one wanted to open the door from the inside.

Apparently, the string burned before Mrs. Dixon could got the door open. Death by accidental means, they ruled, this all according to Max. What Max didn't mention was that the talk of the town that night, after the stink of burnt feathers cleared, was how good those roasting chickens smelled, downright savory. No one said anything about Dora's aroma as that would have been indelicate.... or unsavory, if you will-

Junior High Graduation. They weren't as cute as they were for the earlier graduation, but they were both very handsome, and looking at the photo now, Auntie had to admit that all traces of Tonto were gone by that time. Jasper got a special

certificate for a paper on The Myth of the Phoenix, a legendary bird who consumed itself by fire every five-hundred years, and rose renewed from its ashes. It was said to carry sacrifices to the Sun God-

Earthquake. A shot of what was left of Dora's house after the big earthquake. A pile of rubble, basically. It didn't make a lot of sense; there was almost no damage elsewhere in that area, but this cinder block building fell apart. Muriel said jokingly in her note that she hoped Joe wasn't planning on moving back--- but seriously, the trailer is still quite livable. The boys keep it cleaned and shined all the time, hoping you'll come for a visit. Surely, the land is worth something.

Christmas 1972. Another one of those loving family poses in front of the gaudy tree, this time all four of them were buried waibt deep in presents. What do people do with all that stuff they give each other every year? Probably why those self-storage places are popping up everywhere.

Senior Prom. The boys had matching tuxedos; their dates had matching gowns- Cute. Auntis Joe had a strong suspicion that that was the same tux he rented for his prom. The odd thing about the shot was that the boys were standing together on one side, with girls a little off and behind. Muriel must have taken it. The whole time it was displayed on the mirror, another picture conveniently covered up the girls.

High School Graduation. The last photo- No wonder Jasper doesn't want to attend his college graduation, he must be Bick to death of them after all these years. Jasper was starting to

look like a man in this photo. Jasper was starting to look the way he looked when he walked into the Tearoom that afternoonAuntie Joe kissed the picture and put it into the large envelope with the others, then sealed it and placed it on the top shelf of his closet.

He went to bed. and immediately to sleep.

There would be no Last Masturbation Rite at this fallen shrine.

His dreams were soft, and orange.

Jasper woke at noon and stumbled out to the kitchen. At least he had the decency to pull on a pair of sweatpants before making his appearance-

Auntio greeted him with a "Good afternoon, sleepyhead.11 "Uhn-hnh." said Jasper, sitting at the table.

"I made fresh coffee. Cream or sugar?"

"Huh-uhn," said Jasper, trying to get his eyes to open and to focus- "What's this?" he asked, picking up the envelope that had his name on it.

"Open it and see.

He did- "You remembered my birthday."

"Have I ever forgotten it? There's another one waiting in your mailbox in San Diego, but I suppose it'll eventually show up here. That's another thing you should do: forward your mail here-"

"Can I have some coffee first?"

"Oh, didn't I--- ? Silly me," Auntie said, bringing the coffee to the table-

"You did forget my birthday once, you know. It was my thirteenth, I think."

"I didn't forget. Muriel confiscated the card I sent."

"Opening mail was always Mom's favorite hobby. What could you have sent that was bad enough for her not to give it to me?"

"A naked man," Auntie said; he did not say that he sent the card in retaliation for the naked boys picture she sent him.

l'Oh- Kept it for herself, most likely-"

"Breakfast?"

"I don't know... maybe just g3onva cereal. I'm not very hungry this morning."

"Afternoon, and you probably have a hangover."

"Don't you?"

"Not a bit. Been up since six getting the house cleaned up for tonight-" Auntie brought cereal, sugar and milk.

Cleaning what? Jasper thought, but he said, "Tonight?"

"I thought we'd have a little dinner party to celebrate your birthday. Just you, me and the terrible trio you met at the Tearoom yesterday. Okay?"

"Sure, I guess. But do you think they'll want to comeThey don't even know mg- It

"Take my word for it, they want. Besides, I already called them all, and they'll be here about seven. Which nigaru3, my dear boy, that I have to get hopping if I'm going to got everything done by seven. Shopping, baking, decorating, cooking... and that

means I'm going to need a little help from you, if you can manage to wake up in the near future. Please don't do that."

"What?lv

"Slurp."

"Oh, sorry. What do you want me to do"The birds-"

"Take 'em for a walk or what?"

"Cute- No, feed and water them, Bo to Bpeak. There are little tins hanging all over the place out there- Each one has a little sign on the back of it saying what goes in it. All the boxes are down here under the sink. Just check all the tins and fill them with whatever it says on the back: sunflower seeds, wild bird mix, parakeet, et cetera. The water things are obvioub, but you have to use bottled water, and its under the sink, too. Just leave the floor; I only do that once a monthJust look before you step, and be sure to use the mat when you come back in the house. Now, I'm off to the market to get everything... I'm going to need a truck to get back... so, just make yourself at home, finish your coffee, do the birds when you're up to it, and I'll be back in a couple of hours."

It was exactly two hours later when Auntie Joe rolled the laden grocery cart up to the back door and called for Jasper to come help him bring the bags in. AB there was no reply, he unloaded the cart himself and put the groceries away, calling out from time to time thinking Jasper must be in the bathroom. But there was still no Jasper when Auntie finished, so he went looking- He found him in the aviary. Naked. Lying on the

floor. Covered with birds.

"No wonder the neighbors are all out on their lawns," Auntie Joe said- The Norma Trianzle's other claim to fame is that it is very gay. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Wow!" Jasper said, "you wouldn't believe this sensation! I've never felt anything like this in my life."

"Who has?! Get up from there and cover thy nakedness!"

"I can't. You should've Been them getting me down here; now they won't let me up-"

"I suppose they pulled off your pants, too."

"Naw, I did that after I saw what it felt like to have them walking around on my bare skin."

"They'll let you up when I get through with them," Baid Auntie, and he proceeded to wave his hands and yell "Whooeh" at them, which accomplished nothing at all. So he plucked the birds, one by one, from Jasper's body, then pulled him to his feet, standing between him and the neighbors so they couldn't see anything. He led Jasper to the living room door, opened it and picked up the bristle mat.

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Jasper.

"I'm going to wipe the birdshit off your back is what I'm going to do with it- Now, stand still!" And he did it. Until Jasper started to get an erection, at which point Auntie sent him off to the showers.

Everything was ready by seven: The cake was iced and becandled; lea of lamb was in the oven; veggies all scrubbed and cut awaiting the steamer; the "Happy Birthday" banner was draped

above the fireplace; Jasper was bathed and dressed; Auntie was in his formal floor-length vest and on his second martini.

Finally, at seven-thirty, they trailed in the back door: Roger, Kerry, David, and the cat.

"Phoebecatill cried Auntie, ignoring the first three.

"Some welcome," Roger said.

"Who cares?" asked Kerry. "Where's Ja:Bper?"

"There," replied David, pointing to the den door as it was opening-

The cat arched, hissed, and ran out. Flumpi flump.

"Cat door," explained Auntie for no apparent reason.

"I'll make drinks," Roger said. "Who's what?" he asked, looking at Jasper.

"Bourbon rocks."

"Man's drink," Kerry said- "I'll have a pink squirrel."

"Give her a vodka tonic," Auntie said, "and I'm ready for another martini.

"Doesn't your cat attack your birds?" David asked. "Beer."

"She tried, once. They ripped her to pieces, which cost me a couple hundred bucks at the vet. She hasn't gone near the aviary since."

"But it's so pretty," Kerry said, walking toward one of the windows that looked out on the aviary. "Let's open the drapes Bo we can watch them." He pulled back the drapes, took one look at the mob of birds covering the window, and screamed!

"Close those drapeb!" Auntie shouted. "Where'B Tippi Hedren when you need her?"

"Who?" asked the chorus-

III give up. "

Countless drinks, a too-huge dinner and one birthday cake later, they were more or less sprawled over the living room, sipping coffee and brandy, and getting ashes on the rug. Oddly enough, the ashes didn't bother Auntie; what bothered him was Roger- Roger had been watching Jasper all evening, and now that they were "retired to the drawing room," Roger had progressed to physical closeness. They were sitting together on the couch. If Jasper was going to take up with one of these guys, either one of the other two would be fine. But not Roger. Roger was trouble. Please. God.

"My stomach hurts," complained Kerry.

"Loosen your belt," suggested Roger.

"He can't," said David, "it's already on the last hole."

"And you would know about holes," Kerry said, "yours having been filled with half the geriatrics in the city."

"And yours took the other half, and several busloads of schoolboys, plus the entire population of homeless."

"The homeless can't afford niB."

"Anybody can come up with a quarter-"

"I have never charged a quarter, not even in kindergarten!"

"Must be a bitch making change all the time."

"It seems to me," Jasper said, "that having your aabhole fucked so much that it gets too big for either of you to feel anything wouldn't be something to brag about."

David and Kerry gasped; Roger broke up; Auntio stood up.

"Jesus, Jasper, you don't have to crucify them." Roger

said, still unable to control his laughter. "Besides, I doubt

you'd ever know if an cisshole was loose with that rod of yours."

"I'm sorry," Jasper said. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody.

You were all cutting each other, so I thought I'd join in. And

what do you know about my rod, anyway'?"

"Darling, it's hardly a concealed weapon," Auntie said.

"And I think we're going to have to have a little talk about the

subtleties involved in the game of friendly insults- One does

not go for the throat, so to speak. Teasing might be the

equivalent in the normal world... you know, you go for little

things that aren't too devastating. like one's tendenay to be promiscuous at times, or possibly the size of a certain part of one's anatomy, be it their nose, ears, tummy or whatever-"

INYeah, like Roger talking about the size of Jasper's whatever." David said.

"Exactly. 11

"You're all size queenb," Kerry said.

"NonsenBe," Auntie said. "The best face fucking I ever had was from this guy whose member was no longer than four inches, and no bigger around than an Oscar Meyer wiener. None of that trying to drag the thing out of his pants; when he wanted it out, it was out in a flash. No gagging either. It was like a piston, it was. Balls like big marbles, and just as hard. it stood almost straight up when he was lying on his back, if you can imagine such a thing. I could never be a size queen with a memory like that."

Roger was blushing, possibly for the first time in his life. Jasper noticed it, and considered asking him about it, but after the boner he'd just pulled he decided to let it pass.

"And on that happy note, darlings, Auntie is going to bed," which he did.

David and Kerry reluctantly said their goodnights and left, resigned to the fact that they were not invited to the afterparty festivities-

Roger poured more brandy for himself and for JasperOn the way from bathroom to bedroom, Auntie leaned through the doorway: "Everything all right?"

"Fine. "

"well, goodnight, then. Happy Birthday again, Jasper."

"Thanks. And thanks for a nice party-"

"My pleasure. Staying for another, are you Roger?"

"Yeah. Is it okay?"

"Of course it is. Well, goodnight again-"

"Goodnight-"

Jasper and Roger sat looking at each other in silence for the full thirty seconds it took for Auntie to close his door.

"I don't really want this brandy," Roger said.

"Me neither."

"I'd rather just go to bed."

"Me, too... if you mean here-"

"I mean here."

"Go on in, and I'll shut off the lights."

By the time Jasper got into the bedroom Roger was naked,

and Jasper saw why Roger had blushed earlier- The prettiest little stiff Oscar Meyer you could imagine-

"Did you have sex with Joe? Is that what the initiation is?" Jasper asked-

"Why do.... oh," Roger said, looking down where Jasper was looking. "No, we didn't have sex. Didn't he do you?"

"No. "

"Here, I'll show you. Stand over here against the dresser like you were leaning against the sink in the men's room. Okay, now I'll be Auntie, and I come in -- pretend like I'm still dressed -- and walk over to you like this. I open your belt, then unbutton the button, unzip the zipper, pull the underpants way out like this, and then I give you some kind of advice like you should never fall in love with a man who k!BBes your belly button on the first date," which Roger proceeded to do.

"That's it?"

"Well, he doesn't do the belly button kiss. First you gotta ask for a handout, and show some kind of ID that you're eighteen, then you get peaked at, a hot meal and five bucks. Weird, huh?"

"What advice did he give you?" Jasper asked.

"It's a secret- It's bad luck if you tell-"

"I wonder why he said I was the first one-"

"I don't know. But I'll tell you what- Let's expand on this initiation thing here. Seems to me it'd work better if we just pulled these down all the way like this... Jesus Christ!"

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