My story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. I also claim all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author.
Attention: This story is unsuitable for minors and contains graphic language and raw description of psychological and physical abuse. If such activity offends you, DO NOT read any further. I do not condone any illegal activity.
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Jarbas, my bear lover
Dad always takes off his shoes in the living room and forgets them there. For countless times I've told him to pick them up and carry them to his bedroom. Today is no different. However, he is still in the living room, quietly reading something, probably a financial magazine or his paper. I can still ask him to collect them and put them away. I come and tell him it's time he takes his shower, because if I don't remind him, he'll surely spend all evening reading and sipping his whisky.
"It smells good in the kitchen, son. What's for dinner?" Dad folds the paper and fixes his glasses.
"Hey Dad, don't you think you'd better be taking your shower? Dinner is going to take a little longer to be ready. And please, don't forget your shoes in the living room. Remember, we're having guests coming over."
"Oh, geez! I've nearly forgotten that!" Dad bends over and picks up his shoes.
"They should be here soon, Dad, so hurry up. Wait, did you order the cake I asked to be delivered?" I just hope he hasn't forgotten that.
"Well, they're going to deliver it at seven P.M., just like we've agreed this morning. They were rather nice and I was very impressed with their service." Dad's shirt is open and his tie loose.
"Dad, you'd better take your shower then. I've got to go back to the kitchen."
"All right, big boss!" Dad walks slowly to his bedroom carrying his shoes in one hand and his leather belt in another.
"Hey, Dad! You're forgetting your briefcase in the living room!" I shout just in time.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He takes everything away.
God! This is going to be a lot of work! I hear him moving to the bathroom and closing the door. Nice that he has remembered to close the door. He always showers with the door open.
Just as I'm about to resume my work in the kitchen, the intercom rings. I pick that up and drop it, for my hand is wet. Then I pick that up again. It's Jarbas, my friend from cooking class. I love him for he's very punctual. I asked him to come earlier to give me a hand to prepare dinner!
We're basically the only boys in that class of twelve students. I, a young gay Nipo-Brazilian man of twenty-four, and Jarbas, who is a big bear. He has a full-grown black beard, which I love to stroke. Though it's thick and full, it's also soft. He is also bald, just like Dad. He is also anti-social, and he rarely talks to others during our cooking class. I think he's in his early forties. So, being the only boys in class, we've bonded right away. Besides, I love big hairy guys.
I put the intercom back in place and resume my cooking. I'm so glad I've remembered to invite him over. Besides being a great helper, he also needs to go out more, the poor thing. He lives alone in a big old house that he's inherited. He's such a nice and sweet guy, though he looks threatening, big, and quite reserved--just like a lot of bear types.
Jarbas works in a large bank. I think he works with logistics. He is extremely calm and rational. He's the opposite of me, who's extremely talkative, social, and explosive. The funny thing is that he's never told me anything about his past or former relationships. Like I said, he's as eloquent as an oyster, but he's learning to loosen up with me.
To think of it, I don't remember him mentioning having dated any boys. I think he just makes the ideal friend and companion, for he is super gentle. I hear a knock on the door. I wonder why he doesn't ring the doorbell like everybody else.
"It's open, Jarbas!" I scream at the top of my lungs. Dad hates when I do that. But I'm too busy with my cooking and can't let the sauce burn. Jarbas comes in and brings me some roses.
"Hi there! What happened to your kitchen, Carl? Has your dad been here?" This big man never smiles. I smile and stroke his beard. I take my roses, red, and kiss him on his balding head. Not in his mouth this time. It's his punishment for having teased my cooking, since he's spoken indirectly about the state of my kitchen. He remains stiff and bites his lower lip.
"Thanks, dear. They're lovely. About the kitchen, you know Dad doesn't know how to boil an egg, or even boil water for that matter. Look, I'm preparing the sauce Mrs. Fortes taught us the last time. Hey, don't stick your finger into that. And put that back, for it's for the guests!"
"Ok." Jarbas puts the fat chocolate covered strawberry back on the platter. This big man always follows my orders.
"Now, where was I?" I speak to myself. Jarbas is rinsing his big hands and putting my apron on his large waist. "Jarbas, the salad! We've got to make that first. Isn't that what we often serve first? So, get the lettuce from the fridge, dear! I think we can decorate that with some watercress, tomato slices, radishes, mushrooms, etc. Hey, do you still remember how to make roses out of radishes?" I stir the sauce and drink some water.
"Isn't that from tomatoes?" He sniffs and eats a small cherry tomato, the poor man, must be starving!
"Did you just come from the bank, dear?" He nods. Then, he explains he was downtown working at the headquarters.
"Geez, if you were downtown, how come you're here on time? Did you come here flying?" He shakes his head. I feed him a large chocolate covered strawberry.
"Nope." He chews it slowly, to taste the treat in his mouth. "I rode my Harley!" He then licks his lips. Like any bears, he loves sweet stuff! He takes the little paring knife and looks around. "Look, Carl, I don't think you have enough lettuce. By the way, for how many people are we cooking tonight?" He brings a large head of lettuce and some tomatoes.
"We're cooking for six people. Dad, Júlia, Alberto and Flávia, you, and I."
"Alberto and Flávia?" He is already breaking the lettuce leaves.
He twitches his small nose as he sniffs things. He's always sniffing things. Even when we hug, he sniffs my cologne. When he sleeps in my bed, he likes to sniff my pillow. He says he loves the scent of lavender from my bedding, and the scent of roses from my clothes.
"They're old friends of Dad. By the way, Alberto is Dad's business partner. I think I've told you Dad has joined his consulting business with his old friend." I taste the sauce and wonder whether it needs more salt. "Here, Jarbas, taste it! Tell me if the sauce needs more salt." I hand him the small spoon. He sniffs the sauce, takes that in his fat and hairy fingers, and tastes it.
"Delicious! What did you put in?" I can see by his wide-open eyes that he is being honest.
"Thanks, dear. You're just the best." I tell him of an old recipe book with Italian cooking tricks. I've had to go to three different supermarkets to get all the right fresh herbs!
"That's the best tomato sauce that I've ever tasted, by the way." He continues slicing the tomatoes. Just then, Dad comes to join us.
"Hello, Jarbas big boy! I see that Carl is already bossing you around too, uh?" Dad shakes hands with Jarbas, then they hug.
"I don't mind that, Mr. Garanhos. By the way, happy birthday!" Jarbas hugs Dad and hands him a large Cuban cigar. So that's what he had in his pant's pocket!
"Wow! I can tell it's the real thing! Thanks, son!" They hug again.
I know Jarbas likes smoking cigars and drinking whisky, just like Dad. When he does either, I don't like kissing him. Anyway, no wonder they've become friends right away. He also likes to watch soccer, though he never shouts when celebrating a goal, unlikely dad, who after the match, has to pick up the popcorn kernels from the floor.
"I'm very glad that you've come to join us. By the way, I want you to know that I feel proud that you and Carl are working out so well."
"Dad, we're just good friends. Just because we've met at the cooking class and he's been coming to our house doesn't mean we're seriously engaged with each other."
"Oh, aren't we?" Jarbas makes a hurt face. I kiss his lips, and admire the salad bowl.
"I was just teasing you, silly. Hey, lovely! This salad is looking good! Wait! Let me take a picture of it! Mrs. Fortes, eat your heart! Don't you think this salad bowl looks pretty, Dad?"
Dad comes to me and gives me a hug too. Then he also hugs Jarbas together, and the three of us hug--a nice group hug. The intercom rings.
"Oh, hi! Come up and join us." Dad puts the intercom back and turns to us. "It's Júlia, Alberto and Flávia. They're already taking the elevator."
Dad moves to the living room to get the door. In the meantime, Jarbas helps me finish the last details of our dinner party. I have to wipe his large pink forehead with my white handkerchief, for he's already sweating. He smiles and I stroke his beard.
"I'm sorry, dear. I'm always bossing you around, aren't I?" I kiss him. He looks into my eyes and lowers his head. He hugs me and says I'm his sweet angel.
We kiss on the mouth and he strokes my face. We then move to the living room to greet the guests.
I introduce Jarbas to Alberto and Flávia. Júlia already knows him, for she is always coming to visit Dad. I have secretly arranged that they should be together. Now it seems to have worked, for Dad is constantly talking about her.
Dinner goes smoothly and we all have a great time. Needless to say, Dad enjoys his party. The cake arrives just in time, for we've had our dinner, and I was beginning to get worried. Jarbas lays the cake on the table and I place the candles right in the middle. Dad is all smiles and Júlia kisses him. We all sing and Dad makes a wish before blowing the candles. Then Júlia cuts the cake for us. As I hand Jarbas his plate, I also add two chocolate-covered strawberries for him.
After our delicious dinner, Júlia offers to help in the kitchen. She washes the dishes, Jarbas dries, and puts everything away, for he is well acquainted with our kitchen by now. In the meantime, I prepare some coffee and arrange the delicate cookies on a platter.
We have coffee and the men go out in the balcony to smoke. Flávia talks about her daughter's coming baby shower. She says her daughter is keeping the sex of the baby a secret. I suggest we all take a bet. I say it's going to be a girl. Júlia agrees with me and holds my hand. Flávia says it's probably going to be a boy. The boys then join us. Jarbas sits beside me, quietly.
As the guests are leaving, Júlia and Dad decide to catch a late night movie. Alberto and Flávia go home, and Jarbas and I decide to stay in the apartment, for I am feeling a bit tired tonight.
"Geez, that's a lot of work to serve six people. Can you imagine organizing a banquet for twenty?" I sip some dry red wine. Jarbas is massaging my feet.
"You just multiply that by 3, Carl." I smile.
"You're so rational, dear!" I smile. "I can never be like that." I then sit and offer to massage his strong back, for I can't sit still, especially after such a hectic day.
I feel his muscular body and it's as hard as a tree trunk. He takes off his shirt and I have to use some cream, for his body is stiff and quite furry.
"I'm sorry, dear. You must have felt like a fish out of water with such loud people. You were so quiet, dear." He nods.
"I'm not used to having so many people around, Carl. I've always been like that." I smile and kiss him.
"That's all right, dear. Enjoy your massage!" I rub his bull neck vigorously and he moans. He closes his eyes and pants. Hey, he's actually enjoying my massage! Well, he always does. I move to his solid round shoulders. He moans as I rub and press hard onto his stiff muscles. I work on his big biceps, forearm, and big hand.
"Hey, you've stopped biting your nails, dear!" I inspect them and kiss his hand. He nods and kisses my head. I massage his large hairy chubby fingers and the large callused palm. I know he works out at the gym near his place. Then I do his other arm. Later I move to his bulgy heavy furry chest. He pants and moans as I continue. He opens his eyes and hugs me.
"Thank you, my love." I can see tears in his eyes. "You're so kind and patient with me, Carl. I always think of you when I'm at home. When I get back from the gym late at night, I shower and," he blushes.
"I think I know what you mean, my big beast!" We kiss on the mouth and go to my bedroom.
On the following day, I wake up and stretch. How I love Sundays!
"Good morning, Dad! You didn't have to wake up so early. It's Sunday." I hand him his usual cup of coffee.
"I know, son." He takes a sip of coffee and sits lazily on a chair.
"So, how does it feel to be fifty?"
"Nothing special, actually. I just feel normal." Dad turns to the hall and smiles. "Hey, good morning Jarbas! Did you sleep well?"
"Good morning, Mr. Garanhos. Good morning Carl. I slept very well, thanks." Jarbas sits and yawns. I pour him some coffee and he drinks.
"Is this T-shirt the one that I brought from my last trip to the U.S.A.?" Dad points to Jarbas' I LOVE NY T-shirt.
"Yeah, Dad. None of my pyjamas could fit him. And yours were also tight for him." I look at Jarbas, who nods. I stroke his beard and pet his large muscular and hairy thighs.
"Dad, Jarbas and I are going to take a walk to the park. Would you like to join us?"
"Oh, no, thanks. I'd rather spend the day here and read my paper. Besides, Júlia is coming to keep me company. We might go to the mall to have lunch, and perhaps catch another movie in the afternoon, if she feels like it."
Jarbas takes my hand and squeezes it. I run my hand over his big shoulder. His eyes beam and he nods. I take his hand and he squeezes mine.
"By the way, why don't you two go to the park. I can surely clean up things here. I'll give you two a break, what do you think?"
"It would be very nice, Mr. Garanhos, thanks." Jarbas stands up and pulls me to him. "Well, Carl, we can get ready and enjoy our morning walk."
"Ok! Let me get changed and we can go, dear!" I take his large and warm hand and kiss it. We go back to my bedroom and notice he's made the bed. What a sweet lovely beast he is! I never make my bed and Dad always gets mad at me for this.
"Look dear, we've got to go to your place first, so you can get changed. You can't go to the park in those polished leather shoes from work."
He sits on my bed and nods. As I put on some shorts and a fresh T-shirt, he watches me getting dressed, and licks his lips. Then, he runs his hairy hand over his furry chest. I put on my loafers and notice him with closed eyes. I kiss him on the mouth again. He looks into my eyes.
"If I could, I'd spend all day with you in the bedroom, watching you get changed or naked, Carl. You're so hot." I smile and stroke his beard.
"You're also very hot, dear."
I stroke his chest and run my hand along the thick scar on his right, running almost horizontal just above his belly button. The scar is nearly thirty cm long. He's never told me how he got it. I didn't press him for an explanation. Instead, he hides it at all costs. That's how come he's never shirtless among strangers. It sure took some time to get him to trust me, and make him take off his shirt before me.
Back then, he became mute, looked down, remained stiff, and panted. I said it was OK, and hugged him for a long time. He then hugged me and said that one day he'd tell me everything. Then, he's begun trusting me more, and is shirtless in his old house when I am around.
I'm sure it's must bring him sad memories. I also suspect he's had a difficult childhood.
As far as I know, his only living relative is his younger brother. He's been institutionalized in a mental facility for fifteen years. His Dad used to be a Roman Catholic Priest. He's found that out recently. When he, by chance, found a picture of Father Sérgio Gusmão. There were others, and it wasn't difficult to notice their similarities: bald, thick beard, strong built, narrow eyes, thick brows, chubby cheeks.
Once, something odd happened. As Jarbas and I were at a restaurant, a bunch of older ladies came up to us and wanted to kiss his hand. They said Jarbas looked a lot like their parish priest, perhaps a younger brother. He was confused and didn't know what to do. I spoke to them and explained that Jarbas wasn't a priest, nor had any priests in the family. Then, we returned home.
Though we've already been together for about four months, that was the only time we ate out. It was to celebrate his fortieth birthday. I got him a silver lighter with my name engraved on it, and he just loved it. He said it was the only gift he's ever received for his birthday, the poor thing.
We enter with his Harley into his spacious garage in this quiet neighborhood. His house is the last one on a dead-end street. His black car is parked next to a lot of old furniture and cans of all sizes, bags, planks of wood, etc. I know he likes to do some carpentry work in his free time.
I take off my helmet and follow him to his dark house. I suspect I'm the only visitor he has had in the past, say, ten years that he's been living here!
His furniture is old and dusty. As I sit on his sofa, it creaks. I'm afraid we might end up breaking it every time he lies on my lap, or when we're kissing. He has dark, dusty, and heavy drapes, which he always keeps shut. He has a big basement. It was with much cost that I persuaded him to give me a tour there. To my disappointment, there wasn't anything special about it, but lots of old stuff covered in canvas to protect from dust.
I follow him upstairs on the old creaking wooden stairway. I notice some picture frames smashed on floor. I also see an empty bottle of whisky. On thing I notice about him is that he never drinks during the week, only on weekends.
His big king-sized bed is made. The bedding is old, stained, and patched-up. I notice piles of dirty laundry lying around. There's even a pair of used white cotton briefs on his night table. I turn to his dark brown heavy wooden closet, and noticed that the door has cracks and a dent on the thick board. I suspect he's punched it in a fit of rage. Boy, this man's punch can do some real damage I tell you!
Once he opened his large closet door, and I took a peek inside. I wouldn't dare open it on my own. I noticed an old child's bike, several cardboard boxes of old broken toys, and his clothes.
Oh, and of course, he's also got some quite scary old-fashioned dolls, some clowns, old cartoon characters, and chubby babies with stained static faces. All of them had their eyes missing or gouged out! No wonder I wouldn't dare touch his things.
I just wonder how much of this stuff was here when he moved in. I know his house is his sacred ground and I don't dare touch a thing without his permission. I know I must win his trust first, so that I can give him a hand in cleaning up this place.
"Carl, shall we go?" He speaks in his deep slow voice. I am brought back to reality and nod. I turn to him and smile. He is in a white T-shirt and small black shorts. Just then I see that he's holding something black in his hand.
"Dear, what is it in your hand?" He turns his back to me.
"Oh, er, nothing, babe." I approach him and check it.
"Oh, dear! A dead bird! What a shame! Where did you find it?" He doesn't answer me, but goes downstairs, to his large dark living room. I guess it might have entered from one of these endless windows in this big house, or maybe a crack in the shingled roof.
He takes out a black box--there are several besides his sofa. I see him putting the dead bird in a shoebox. I notice others inside it, and cover my mouth. He runs his big hand over the box. He turns to me and blushes.
"They, er, keep me company, Carl." He remains silent. I smile and put my hand on his muscular back.
"Now that I'm here with you dear, there's no need to keep them locked up here, without a proper burial."
"A burial?" He looks into my eyes. I stroke his thick beard.
"Yes, dear. Shall we bury them in the yard?" He looks at the box, then at me. "Give me the box, dear." I take the box, and he doesn't offer resistance. "Bring me a spade, and let's go to the back yard, dear." He obeys me silently. We enter the kitchen and I wait for him to open the back door. The lock and handle are rusty. With a big yank, the door opens. We walk in the large dark yard, covered in vines, tall bushes, and littered with dead branches and leaves, not to mention the thick wild grass.
"Where's a good spot to bury the box, dear?" He walks ahead of me and points to the large dry rose bush. "Careful not to hurt your hands, dear. The vines and bushes have thorns."
He makes a hole and I hand him the box. He kisses it and places the box on the ground. I kneel down and place the fresh earth on top of the box, covering it completely. He deposits a small red rose he's found from an overgrown bush. I stand up and look into his distant eyes. He's obviously holding back tears.
"They're sleeping now and don't wish to be disturbed, dear. Let's leave them resting under the ground, dear." At last his tears trickle down his cheeks. He wipes his tears and nods. I put my arm across his shoulder.
Back to the large dark kitchen, he sits by the table. I wash my hands and turn to him. His tears continue falling, and he remains stiff.
"Those poor birds didn't choose to, end that way, Carl." He turns to me with a hurt look. "They were innocent creatures. Someone mean brought them here to, meet their fate." I sit next to him, and listen to his story. "First that man tried to end our lives. Then mother abandoned us and died in a mental institution. Finally, my brother," his voice is hoarse.
"But he isn't dead, dear. Is he?" He looks at me and wipes his tears.
"It feels as if he were, Carl. He's been locked up in such a place for so long. And I am here, locked up without a chance to escape too."
"Dear, when you speak of that man who tried to end your lives, do you mean your dad?" He looks at me, and nods. He's piercing his lower lip.
"Mother always fed us lies about him. But we suspected who our father was, for people talked. He never showed up at our place, nor spoke to any of us. Instead, he gave her some money to go by. She vowed never to tell us who our real father was."
"And how did you manage, I mean, to live, dear?"
"My old uncle and aunt. They're gone now. Mom gave up on us." He sniffles. "My cousins never accepted us around, and we were kept in an old house in the back yard. I think it was occupied by an invalid relative who was kept locked up in a dark room, like a sick dog. We could hear him scratching the walls in the room that was never opened."
"Oh, dear Jarbas! My poor baby!" He nods.
"Well, my brother couldn't sleep, and he often wet his bed. Only later, did I realize he needed special medication and help. I grew up going to school, being bullied for wearing old clothes, and taking care of my brother. We were allowed to have things that they would discard, you know, used clothing, broken things that I in turn learned to fix. As I had plenty of time in my hands and wasn't allowed to play outside with the other kids, I remained locked up taking care of," he looks down. I put my hand on his shoulder. He hugs me. "Carl, I-I just can't say his name."
"It's Daniel, dear." He looks into my eyes and nods. His picture is on the door of the fridge, with his name right at the top.
"I read everything I could lay my hands on. I even read the manuals of TV, VCR, microwave, computer desktop, video game consoles that Uncle discarded. As my grades were good in school, I applied for a scholarship to study in a university at night, for Daniel needed me more as he grew up. Of course I forged my aunt and uncle's signatures, for I was still a minor then. I even managed to find a job in a private bank, doing odd jobs and earning very little, but the learning experience I was getting was to change my life. When I graduated from high school, I already had a steady job at the bank. In the morning I used to study, clean the house, and take care of, Daniel. I'd taught him the basics to help himself from the fridge, shower, and go to bed. Well, from eleven A.M. until five P.M. I worked at the bank. My boss was kind to let me leave work earlier to attend university. I did engineering and computer science. I graduated late, for it was quite hard to conciliate so many responsibilities. On weekends and holidays, I used to spend all day studying, or taking Daniel to places, for he needed social interaction. After my graduation, Daniel was sent to the same mental institution that mother was locked up. It was then that I," he gulps.
"Yes, dear."
"I discovered that she was no longer living. It turned out that my uncle and aunt had power of attorney over her. They forced mother to the mental institution and, were collecting rent from her house. Of course Daniel and I never received a penny then. Through legal advice from the bank's attorney, I managed to take back the old house, which is this one. It turned out that my father, in his late years, managed to transfer to us, his legal children, five old houses, just like this one. I don't know how the crook managed to get them. Uncle and aunt did not know of this will until it was too late. I had a good attorney and, well, now Daniel and I are secured for life."
"You did a fantastic job, Jarbas, dear." He holds my hand and kisses it. He then takes off his T-shirt and takes a deep breath.
"Carl, about this scar," he sobs, "the difficult life and family struggles finally took a toll on my health. You know I've always had constipation. So it was inevitable that I would have gallstones. Through a surgery, they removed my gallbladder. This is why I need to take plenty of water, exercise, and have a good diet."
"You're doing just fine in life, dear." He nods.
"This is why I'm this creep, queer, and social outcast. And you're just an angel of light. My angel who came to bring joy to my restricted world. Carl, I hope you're patient, and keep on trying to revive me, and bring me back to life. For without you, I'd remain in the shadow, and perhaps would end up like my brother." We hug and he cuddles on my lap, like a big baby, just like the child he was forbidden to be. I stroke his head, beard, and strong body.
The news of the death of his brother didn't hit him as hard as I thought it would. He remained silent and shed his tears. Dad and Júlia were the only ones present at the burial. Understandably, Jarbas' cousins didn't show up nor contacted him. None of his colleagues at work came either.
"Now I'm totally alone in the world, Carl." Jarbas looks down. I am sitting next to him on his sofa. I take his big hand and kiss it.
"No dear. That's where you're mistaken. You've got me, Dad, Júlia, and a whole bunch of people whom you're going to meet and cherish being with."
"Carl, I-I don't know how to do this. I've already rehearsed and tried it with a mute co-worker at the office. He knows I'm gay and a creep. Well, at least in the office it's worked. And I guess this is the time to do it." He stands up, takes a small box from his pocket--so, that's what he had in his pocket-- and kneels down before me. "Carl, the moment I saw you at our cooking class of Mrs. Fortes, I saw the joy you had, the beautiful innocent smile, the sharp and bright mind, and such a hot body! Then, I knew you had to be mine. You know of my past, my misfortunes, my hard life," he looks down and dries his tears, "and you took pity on me. You found that little child that was locked up, hidden away, beaten up. You've rescued that child, sheltered, nurtured, gave him life, gave him your unconditional love, and that child, with your help, has learned to become a happy man, and to smile. To this day I can't do it, but my eyes, my heart are overflowing with joy right now. Carl, do you accept to marry me?"
"I do, Jarbas, my love!" He puts the ring on my finger and we kiss. He wipes his sweaty forehead, sighs, and for the first time, smiles.