Page 32 of Shifting Years (Whispering Hills #5)

Angel got adopted as Tina and Dawn predicted. Our little girl, who could have been opening presents or watching Laff-A-Lympics with us, went to live in another home with new sisters.

Summer passed, followed by fall. I made love once with a man who still didn't remember our earlier times and it seemed off, like cheating with his twin.

America wanted to forget Vietnam, and President Carter pardoned most draft dodgers. Todd went to war but registered under the program as a just in case. He now had access to his declassified records, including those of a former private and now lieutenant we both knew.

Sometimes when we thought we had nothing in common, the universe surprised us.

In the living room, Todd stretched tall, flexing a bicep as he carefully placed a recently purchased plastic star on the green fir tree's top. Other families had decorations passed through the years. My mom wasn't as bad as Todd's father, but I'm not welcome back home.

A freshly chopped tree smell and male sweat mixed as I watched. "Finishing already? Thought you were going to wait?"

He stilled, lowering his arm as the star hovered over the treetop. "I'm tired of waiting. For the tree, for everything." His voice deepened. "It's time we start a family."

I'm sure my eyebrows rose.

"She's gone, Mike, but not forever . I tell myself that every day. She's with her family, but one day, she'll come back to us. When she does, we'll be ready." I opened my mouth, but he hurried. "Please? Do we need to argue now?" He pointed to the decorations hugged by green pine needles.

He brought it up and wanted me to say nothing about Angel? With a jaw clench, I nodded. At least he said 'Please.'

"I don't know the pain of leaving a child, but I left you.

I didn't get the life I thought I'd get.

Couldn't be a straight man for Donna. At least that's what my Swiss cheese memory tells me.

My military background, or rather questions in my file, means I'll never be a police officer or official war hero. "

His voice turned cold, distant. "I remember the bamboo cage. The screams. The blood. But you? I can't even remember the man who was my whole damn world." He looked away. "Maybe the universe says I don't deserve to remember the good. You! That's the good."

The man who hated my music, and television shows, and was still on the opposite side of politics thought I was the light in his life. My eyes stung in the winter cold.

His shoulders slumped. "I'm tired of just existing. We've gone through so much and been away from each other. I know you see a stranger, but I'm still me where it counts. Can you stop babying me like I'm going to break?"

I could apologize, but would I be making love to my Todd or just a man wearing his face?

"I've been shot at, stabbed with sharp bamboo, lost brothers in combat, and a daughter I would have loved as my own." He fisted his hand. "Don't make me lose you too. Anything but that."

He left the room, not to avoid another argument.

From the bedroom, our bed squeaked, and I found him on his tiptoes, pulling presents down from the ceiling attic.

Both were wrapped in a Frosty the Snowman pattern.

One had a record shape, and it was easy to guess what was hidden inside.

The other had weight and was as long as a bread loaf.

"Oh," I said. "I'm still waiting for yours to arrive."

"I'm sure you can give me something." His beautiful lips curled into a crooked smile. My sweet smell was obvious to me and to him.

He gestured to the long present. After mild prodding, I carefully peeled away the wrapping. Inside was an electronic device that looked like… headphones?

"Portable music," he said. "You can listen to your awful hippie screeching.

" He grinned. "It picks up a station that plays The Grateful Dead.

" He listed more singers and bands I loved from Joni Mitchell to Jefferson Airplane.

Funny enough, I signed up for an album of the month club.

Soon he'd have a bunch of Country and Western records.

"Thank you," I said. "I'll use it when I go into the woods." Just a simple sentence, loaded with a message. I was safe again. Thanks to him. No longer would I look over my shoulder.

His tone lowered. "I wanted to give you something else… like going to San Francisco, but I can't." The spirit of the sixties disappeared, and I still don't know how to define the seventies, but I had to do something. Vietnam was over, but there were other wars and sometimes one side used guns.

Do I want to send him off to another?

"So, Anita Bryant," he said.

My sugary scent left, replaced by a copper aroma. "Why bring her up?" I said, louder than I wanted. It's said gay men hate women, but Mary was my best friend and I got along well with Penny, but Anita? "The orange juice queen? She's the reason people hate us."

"They didn't love us before."

"She's fanning the flames. If it weren't for her, we'd be left alone."

"And we are."

"But some don't have a Whispering Hills." San Francisco was turning into an option, but that was a single city.

"Yeah," said Todd. "I get it and it'd be nice if they had a home like we do."

"That's the point of marching, to change perceptions." I kept my tone kind, so we wouldn't have another argument.

"They'll never love us, Mike."

"Then at least have some…"

"Some sympathy? Sure, I wish for it too, but this wasn't the point I was trying to make.

" He shook the record-sized present. "Ah, hell.

Should have just let you open it, and everything would have been fine.

I was trying to set up something. You know…

be dramatic like you." He smiled at the last part.

I peeled away the snowman wrapping, revealing a color newspaper clipping sealed in clear plastic and Anita Bryant splattered in the face with a cream pie. White goo dripped down to a green dress. Her dark hair was largely untouched, leaving a gloopy mess in the middle.

"Oh, wow." There was no laugh, just a slow grin. I had it good but a lot of us hid. Although not everyone. The Stonewall riots seemed to be turning into something bigger, and our people fought back. It was a cream pie out of a Three Stooges short, but a gay man said 'No! I won't let you bully me.'

He studied my face. Todd was the warmonger, and I was the peaceful man trying for a better world.

Except, that wasn't always true. All the hate and anger toward Henry came from me .

Todd was my light, but there was a pain in loving another man.

He gave this gift, showing he listened to my conversations.

Todd leaned in, sensing my thoughts. "Enough of the outside world? Okay? Use the photo for inspiration later. One day, I'll march with you and tell everyone I see how much I love you. I swear. I promised I'd come back, and I never broke a promise."

His dark forest-green eyes looked down. "I haven't gotten my power, but you know what people need, so…"

The answer was obvious because he was a man too. We could try again, and maybe Christmas magic would let me get over making love to a stranger.

He lifted, cradling me in his powerful biceps.

I wasn't into that, or so I thought since my slick ass said otherwise.

He threw me down on the bed, and my hands went to the side as if to say that's what he needed.

My power was hard to define sometimes. I can hand someone a pencil before they write a note, but what did he need to grab?

Me, but can I give him something he can't touch… like a memory?

"In a dark, gay bar, a crowd practically forced us to kiss…" His gaze darted to the right, remembering, I hope. "It was like this."

That time was dank and smelled of beer, crowds, and one special young man from almost ten years ago. My tongue explored his mouth before I pulled back. I licked my lips and whispered, "You stood still and let me have my way with you."

His eyes shone. "I remember, but I didn't before. Well, just shadows really. Oh…"

"Let's build those memories again."

***

July 1978

Summer heat drenched us in sweat while we lay in the forest. "You practically attacked me when I found you again." Night Fever from The Bee Gees blared from my headphones, given last Christmas. "Then Todd, you gave me a…" My voice trailed off as I tapped my neck.

His mouth sucked my warm skin, like he did at the end of the sixties. "Mine," he growled.

"Yours."

My man held my wrists to the ground. "Marked you… like I did before," he whispered.

Shifter healing wouldn't hide hickies right away, and my customers would see it at our new restaurant. Let them. I'm his Omega and he's my Alpha.

Hints of the old him would resurface occasionally, with a familiar smile or an angry puffed-out face, like when I accidentally wrecked his car, years ago. Then the man with a memory full of holes would stare again, remembering mental horrors.

I laid back, arching my neck, and presenting my tinier but still hard body to him. Soft kisses went along my side before he flipped me over. With care, he brushed leaves off my bare, wet ass.

He breathed in long over my entry, taking in my honey-scented slick.

A nose brushed over each cheek and strong fingers dug into my end.

With no hesitation, he thrust his tongue deep inside, licking my already slippery hole with hungry laps.

If he kept it up, I'd have no lubricant for his magnificent cock, but spit could do.

For minutes, he worked, getting me ready while he prepared to fuck me on the ground under Southern summer trees.

***

December 1981