John and Mace: Final

First, thank you to all of you who reached out to me about the saga that was/is John and Mace. Second, so many of you have lived with the characters and questioned their motivations that I felt compelled to try to answer your questions. So, this is the story of how Juan agreed to allow John back and how Juan and Mace emerged from the other side. I hope you like it. I enjoyed writing it, and I had no idea where it would go when I typed the first quote from Brokeback Mountain. I am going to miss John, Juan, and Mace, but it time for me and them to move on.

*****

"I wish I knew how to quit you."

That is what Jack said to Ennis in and on Brokeback Mountain, lakeside, after admitting he needed something he hardly ever got.

And, that is what I felt toward John, my Josie, even after I had chosen a life with Juan. I could plead otherwise, but I knew I had chosen Juan only because John could not or would not give me what I needed. I needed to live in the light. I could not love only in the dark. I was not a fungus. I would not thrive under leaves and rocks.

If John had offered me what Juan offered, I'd have chosen John. I know that sounds terribly unfair to Juan, but it is the truth, and the truth can be unfair. I knew the truth. Juan also knew the truth.

Like animals, John and I had imprinted each other.

The print would not wash off. Or erode.

Of course, I loved Juan, but differently than I loved John. My love for John was irrational and uncontrollable. It was a drug, and I was addicted to it. I could go months without thinking of him and years without talking to him, but he was still there, ethereal and tempting me.

My love for Juan was rational and controlled. It was reliable and stable. It suited me. I was uncomfortable when I was exposed and vulnerable to another. It's not that Juan couldn't hurt me, it's that he couldn't devastate me the way John had.

Except with his smile. It was the smile of all smiles, toothsome and wide, his large, white teeth contrasting with his thick, red lips. When it graced his face, his oily eyes glistened. When directed toward me, it melted my heart.

He always smiled at me while we were making love. When he was above me, his smile was lustful and ravenous. When he was beneath me, his smile was contented and knowing.

He always smiled at me when we were finished. We'd roll onto our sides, face to face. I'd put my hand in his chest hair, and he'd put his hand on my face and slowly stroke my cheek with his thumb. Then, he'd smile widely until I admitted that I loved him, and he'd smile even wider to signal he loved me, too.

Juan's ethos was well-known. Before us, he actively disparaged gay couples who sought the heteronormative idyll of marriage and monogamy. He insisted they were unnatural states that oppressed and ruined people.

Against all that, we started with the ambition of fidelity and monogamy and the promise that Juan had abandoned all that he believed and professed. I knew or should have known it was not true, just as I knew or should have known that John's claim of "it's just you" was not true. I was not transformative. I could not and did not turn a straight boy gay. And I could not and did not turn a libertine chaste.

And Juan was, in his core, a libertine. He never pretended otherwise.

I do not know when Juan first stepped out. I suspect it was sooner than I suspected. Avery and I wondered about Christian and Juan. We knew their history and their chemistry and their rank sexuality, and they remained thick as thieves. I had learned with Freddie that an intimate friendship sometimes turns sexual because it has nowhere else to go.

Separately, I wondered about Avery and Juan. They had spent a long time as each other's booty call, and I wondered whether, when Juan was feeling base and needy or in the mood for something different, he called for Mandigo and Malabar.

We were five years into us before I knew, for certain, that Juan was doing what I had long suspected he was doing. I noted a rhythm to his life. He would, for no known reason, become the perfect husband and father, even more attentive and better than he normally was. He'd want to make love in the morning. He'd want to cocoon the family in the evening.

At first, I was hurt that I was not enough for him. I'd deflect Juan's attempt at morning love and resent his need that night for family time with our sons. I knew he was compensating.

After awhile, I learned to love those mornings. Even knowing it was inspired by guilt, I embraced the mornings of love-making that Juan's guilt produced. He'd yield to whatever I wanted to do or try.

I also learned to love those nights. We'd slow down, snuggle up, and decompress. Even as the boys aged, they were inseparable from each other, and they were happy to cuddle between us on the sofa under a blanket, watching a movie or listening to Juan tell them long, twisting stores about Colombia and how spectuatular their home country was. We were a commercial, before commercials with gay fathers and gay families were a thing.

After a year or so of pretending not to know what I knew, I decided to accept what I had long thought would be unacceptable. I had no other choice, really. If I had insisted on a return to the idyll I had forced onto him, then he'd have agreed. But, he wouldn't have followed through, at least not for long. It just was not in his nature.

I told Juan what I knew. He didn't try to dispute it, but instead insisted - as I knew he would - that sex could be meaningful or meaningless, depending on who was involved, and he had not had meaningful sex with anyone but me since our first time together. He also promised he had tried to do things my way as hard as he could, but he had hated it. Monogamy made him unhappy. It made him feel like a caged bird.

We set up some ground rules. He had to be safe. He had to be discreet. He could not repeat with anyone. It could never be in our house. It could not be anyone we knew. If Avery or Christian had been options before, they were now eliminated.

The same rules applied to me, but I did not take advantage of them. I was not as sexual as Juan, and our lovemaking was more than sufficient for me. I also did not crave the hunt or the thrill of a first time, as Juan did.

Instead, I was sated by the fantasy of "what if." In my mind, I lived another life, one where John had simply said "of course." I cried inside as I watched "Get Real," seeing myself in Steven and John in, well, John. I cried inside as I read "Call Me By Your Name," seeing myself in Elio and John in Oliver. I cried inside as I listened to Adele's "Someone Like You" over and over and over.

I regularly imagined John showing up, hat in hand, and offering a life in the light. I was a father and a husband, so I knew I would never accept the offer. But, the possibility of it, and the fantasy of us fleeing, careless and carefree, all obligation and responsibility forsaken, titillated me. In my fantasy, I didn't even pack. I just took John's hand and walked away from all that I had built.

John and I rarely spoke. I did not want to be distracted by him, and I suspect he did not want to be tempted by me.

Our paths finally crossed in 2003, ten years after Freddie's wedding. I was going to Denver for my firm for on campus interviews. I made plans to see John for lunch. I told Juan. He told me John qualified as someone we knew and so was off limits. I laughed at him. I did not think the opportunity would arise.

It did not. We met for lunch. After lunch, he showed me his house, a beautiful colonial he shared with his wife, Susan, and his son, John C. Frederick IV, Chet for short.

We shared a fraught moment on the stairs. I thought he might kiss me. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to. If I had given the slightest hint of possibility, I think he would have. I didn't and he didn't.

Five years later, I was in Denver for work, and our Denver office was in the same building as his law firm. I emailed him about meeting for a drink, and we met at the Brown Palace, where I was staying. He was a little thicker and a little grayer, but he was otherwise the same John that had walked through the Cave's library 18 years before.

I noticed he was not wearing a wedding ring. I inquired, and he responded "That is over."

"What happened?"

"It does not matter."

I was returning to Denver two weeks later for three days of meetings. We made plans to meet for dinner on my last night in town. By the time of the trip, my marriage to Juan had been "open" for almost a decade. I still had not taken advantage of the openness, except in a threesome arranged by Juan and a hypocritical affair with an Indian boy during the summer of 2007. I own my mistakes, so I will share both.

It was 2005 and Cody was a blond-haired, blue eyed senior on the University of San Diego tennis team who also volunteered at the HIV clinic that the GiGi's and I had volunteered at since Timmy's death. Cody had a type, and Juan was it. Juan had a type, and Cody was it.

Cody was off-limits because we knew him, which is probably why Juan concocted to add me to the mix. He raised the subject casually one night, smiling at me after we had finished making love.

"Have you ever had a threesome?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"With whom?"

"Cody."

"And who else?" I asked, joking.

"Me, you jerk," Juan said, laughing and tickling me.

"I don't think so," I said. "It would make things at the clinic very awkward."

"We can work around that."

"I'm not sure I want to have to 'work around it.' Also, it would give that kid hope. He's clearly smitten with you. He follows you around like a forlorn puppy."

"Okay," Juan conceded. He did not appear to be disappointed, which made me wonder whether he had decided to fuck Cody whether I was in the mix or not.

After sleeping on it, I changed my mind. "Let's do it," I said to Juan as he brushed his teeth and I shaved next to him. "Better yet, let's do him . . . Cody."

Juan spit and smiled broadly. "Al . . . right," he said gutterally and slowly.

Andres and Camilo were to be away the following Saturday, staying with friends. Juan arranged for Cody to come for dinner.

Cody showed up in a blue suit with an open collar and wearing Chuck Taylors. His blonde hair was parted on the left and combed back. He reminded me of Alex Pettyfer in Tormented, only taller. At 6'6", Cody was an incredibly tall tennis player. He was not as tall as John Isner, but he was almost half a foot taller than Federer or Nadal.

Dinner was incredibly awkward. I was diffident about where I'd fit in. Cody and Juan seemed impatient for "dessert."

While I cleared the table, Cody and Juan went to the patio to drink wine and talk. When I joined them, they stopped talking abruptly.

I was uncomfortable, as I felt like I had interrupted something. When I'm uncomfortable, I talk.

"So, am I interrupting you two?" I asked, somewhat peevishly.

"Not at all," Juan responded. "I was just telling Cody how much he's going to love your cock."

I blushed crimson. I had not been expecting that.

"Can I see it?" Cody asked.

I looked at Juan, who just smiled raised his left eyebrow at me. It was his signature "things just got interesting" move.

"I'm not much of a showman," I answered, still crimson.

"That's okay," Cody answered, standing and moving toward me. "I'd rather feel it than see it anyway."

The kid was cocksure. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and his fingertip was tracing my VPL. He pushed his tongue into my mouth as he gripped me and massaged me through my shorts. When the kiss ended, he lowered his head to my ear and whispered, "I came for Juan. Now, I can't wait for you."

"Kiss some more," Juan directed. We did, and Cody drove his hardness into my abdomen.

Juan guided us to the bedroom. We stripped as we migrated through the house. Our clothing was like a trail of crumbs in case we got lost and needed to retrace our steps to the patio. "You two get acquainted," I said. "I'm going to get more wine."

I went to the kitchen. When I returned to the bedroom, Cody was kneeling in front of Juan, who was standing on the bench at the foot of our bed. Juan's hands were in Cody's hair, and his cock was in Cody's mouth. I settled into a chair and watched my husband get sucked by someone almost half his age.

Juan pulled Cody up, and I watched them kiss. My reservations ebbed. They were beautiful, the contrast of Cody's lightness with Juan's darkness stark and riveting. Juan made eye contact with me as they kissed, and I smiled at him.

Juan interpreted my smile as assent and went down on Cody. Cody's cock was bigger than Juan's, but smaller than mine. His huge hands were in Juan's black hair, and Juan was slurping loudly as Cody drove in and out of his face. Cody may have been a kid to us, but it was clear he was the alpha sexually. He was dominant and forceful.

I decided to join the fray. I moved behind Cody and kissed and licked his back and sides as Juan sucked him. I knew what Juan wanted, so I encouraged Cody. "You're young," I whispered. "Go ahead. Let him have it."

I felt Cody twitch as he started to come. Juan took all the kid offered and then let it run out of his mouth and onto his chest. He then smeared the mixture of cum and saliva through his chest and stomach hair, where it would dry and smell.

While Cody recovered, I stood at the foot of the bed and fucked him on his back. While I did, Juan sat on his chest and fucked his face. I had my hands on Juan's shoulders for leverage. Cody was helpless under us.

I felt Juan shudder as he started to come. Knowing he was filling the kid's mouth sent me over the edge, and I blasted a massive load into the reservoir tip of the Magnum I was wearing. I collapsed onto Juan's back as he collapsed onto Cody's face.

I retreated to the chair. I was spent.

Cody was not. Getting fucked had speeded his return and turned him on, and he was ready for a second round. I drank wine while I watched my husband ride him.

They changed positions artfully, Juan moving to his stomach almost seamlessly. Cody forced Juan's legs wide, locked their hands together, pressed his head to the back of Juan's, and then fucked him as hard as I had ever seen anyone fucked. It was like watching engine pistons. I got so hard watching Juan get demolished I came as soon as I touched myself.

I wanted what Juan had just experienced. When Cody had again bounced back, I insisted he take me the exact same way. The kid was a machine, pounding in and out of me until I was simultaneously mad with lust and on the edge of passing out from exhaustion.

We fell asleep. Cody was gangly and large, and our bed would have been smallish for three normal sized men. About halfway through the night, I wrapped myself in a robe and moved to the recliner in my office. I had swiped it from my father, and it was comfortable in the way only well-worn furniture could be.

I awoke first on Sunday morning, feeling guilty and shitty about what we had done. I made coffee and returned to my recliner to ponder. Even after years of listening to Juan's logical and rational reasoning behind it, his disassociative view of love and sex and his, in his words, "more modern" approach to what love and marriage meant were elusive to me. Raised Catholic, I was a traditionalist. When I colored outside the lines, I was displeased with myself, and a threesome with my husband was definitely outside my lines. I was hidebound.

I made a tray of coffee and fruit and was set to deliver it to Cody and Juan. I was stopped at the door by the distinct sound of them furtively fucking. I didn't need to peek in to know Juan was face down and the kid was again battering him from behind. I left the tray outside the door to let Juan know I knew and went back to my office to ponder some more, jealousy now added to the mix of guilt and shit I was already feeling. I could hear Juan's "why does it have to mean anything" echo in my ears, but I could not shake the feeling that what we had done was wrong and that what they were doing was even more wrong.

I had to pick our boys up at 10, so I returned to our bedroom at 9:30 to dress and to make sure Cody was gone when I returned with our sons. The tray was no longer in front of the door. I thought about knocking, but knocking on my own bedroom door so as not to interrupt my husband with someone else seemed a bit ludicrous. I walked in to Juan reclining against Cody and Cody reclining against the headboard. Cody's arm as under Juan's as they drank. They looked like lovers, sharing coffee on a lazy Sunday morning.

I took two steps and was stopped in my tracks by an epiphany. They did not look like lovers sharing coffee on a lazy Sunday morning. They were lovers sharing coffee on a lazy Sunday morning. Juan had broken our rules. Last night had not been the first time they had fucked. And Cody was not following Juan around at the clinic because he was smitten. He was following Juan around because he was in love with my husband.

I froze. I didn't know what to do or say. There is a chasm between knowing your husband is fucking someone else and knowing your husband is loving someone else. Right there, in that moment, right in front of my husband and his lover, I was falling into that chasm.

Juan rescued me. "Mace, honey, are you okay?"

I halted but regained my bearings.

"I am," I said, sternly. "I'm going to dress and retrieve our sons."

Even more sternly, I admonished Cody. "You need to dress and go," I said, as icily as I could.

Juan spent the day with the boys, seemingly oblivious that I knew what I was certain I knew. When it was time to retire that night, Juan climbed into bed, and I sat in the chair.

"What are you doing?" He asked. "Come to bed."

"When did it start?"

"When did what start?"

"Juan, when I walked in here this morning, I did not walk in on two men who had yesterday had sex for the first time. I walked in on an intimate moment between two men who were intimate with each other. So, when did it start?"

"It is nothing. It is certainly nothing to be angry about."

"Juan, you fucked your lover this morning in our bed under my nose. I don't know why you felt compelled to bring him here, but you did. In disguise."

"He's not my lover," Juan protested.

"He loves you."

"I don't love him."

"Even if that's true, you broke the rules. You repeated with him. I want to know for how long and how often."

I was gobsmacked by Juan's answer. He and Cody had been fucking for six months, almost as long as Cody had been volunteering at the clinic. The threesome had been Cody's idea, and Juan had resisted it. He gave in only when Cody insisted on it as a condition of their affair continuing.

I insisted that the affair end as a condition of our marriage continuing. I moved into my office while Juan decided what he wanted to do. As days passed, I became concerned he was going to choose Cody. As more days passed, I stopped caring. I adjust and move forward. At first, I could not imagine life without Juan and our family. Before too much time had passed, I started looking forward to it.

I arrived home from work the second Friday after the threesome to an empty house. There was no Juan, no Andres, and no Camilo. I was starting to panic when I found a note taped to my side of the bathroom mirror:

Mace:

Of course, I choose you.

I have not seen Cody since you asked me to stop. I am sorry it has taken me so long to let you know, but I was too ashamed. You gave me an inch, and I took a mile. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but there was a thrill in doing the forbidden. As you know, I love that thrill.

I am so sorry. I never want to see the look I saw on your face that night. It killed me to know I was responsible for it.