A Tale of Four Queers

Chapter 3

Following a breakfast of very strong coffee and some toast, they hired a car and began the trip to Santa Ana. Their driver, Miguel, agreed to take them to the town and then come back for them the next day. They had backpacks and sleeping bags in the trunk of the car in case the town was even more primitive than they had thought.

Miguel spoke English fairly well and he gave them a running commentary of everything they passed as they made their way to the outskirts of Caracas. They then headed out on a secondary road that seemed to dwindle in quality with every mile that passed. Soon they were on a dirt road which threw up tons of dust as they roared along. Even in the heat they had to put up the windows or choke to death on the dust billowing in.

A couple of hours outside of Caracas Miguel announced the town of Santa Ana. It consisted of a main street with some decent looking houses. They could see shacks and less desirable types of structures back behind some of the buildings on the main street. It didn't look like much of a place.

Miguel pulled up in front of the church. It was not a huge structure, but it was by far the best building in the town. Made of some kind of stone, it had one large spire and beautiful wood doors that someone had carved with loving care.

"Figures that the goddam Catholic Church would take all the money from these people to build this monument to themselves, while the people live in shacks," Brian said as he yanked his backpack out of the trunk.

"Architecturally it's a pretty simple design," John contributed. "But very effective nonetheless."

"I wonder if Kinney and Patrick decorated the inside," Justin said.

"We'll find out in a minute," Brian said as he paid Miguel and arranged for him to return the following afternoon.

They walked towards the door of the church and looked at the carving on it.

"This must have been done by someone local. It's got Jesus in the jungle if I understand the iconography correctly," Justin said running his hand over the figures carved in the mahogany.

Just then the door opened and a man in a cassock stepped out. "Good morning, gentlemen, or is it afternoon already."

"Hello, father," Bobby said. "Is this your church?"

"Yes, my son," said the middle aged man. "I'm Father Paul."

"You're not Spanish," Justin observed.

"No, I'm English actually, although I think I've lost a lot of my accent."

"What's an English priest doing here, if I might ask?" John said.

"God's work is the simple answer. I came here many years ago having lost my own faith. I stayed because I found the calling that God wanted for me."

Justin glanced at Brian and held his breath. He knew Brian didn't believe in priests or callings or God for that matter. Brian, however, said nothing. He merely listened and frowned.

"I was on my way to the local cantina for a bite of lunch. Would you gentlemen like to join me?" Father Paul asked. "I'm enjoying speaking English. I don't get much chance to use it anymore."

The men looked at each other and nodded. They followed the priest to a little restaurant where he suggested the things that they might like. They all ordered very lightly still digesting the massive amounts of red meat that they had eaten the night before.

Bobby started telling the priest about their restaurant adventure.

Father Paul laughed. "I've been to that restaurant, a long time ago. I ate so much I thought my gut was going to explode. Never went back again."

"I imagine that happens with a lot of their clients," John laughed. "I wonder how they stay in business."

"I doubt that people make the same mistake twice," Father Paul replied. "If I went back again I would pace myself and only go for a quarter of a cow instead of a whole one."

They all laughed, even Brian. He was beginning to like this priest.

"Does your church have any painted panels or altarpieces?" Justin asked as he ate his little bowl of beans and rice.

"Why yes it does. Why do you ask?"

"We're following the path of an artist that we believe came here in the middle of the nineteenth century. He may have painted in local churches."

"I know there are paintings but I have never asked who did them," Father Paul said. "If we're done eating why don't we go look at them."

They paid for lunch and made their way back to the church. As Father Paul pushed open the carved doors Justin felt Brian's hand slide into his and he smiled at his lover. They stepped into the relative coolness of the church. It was very plain except for the altar. It was a massive wooden structure and the front of it was covered with a painting of the crucifixion. Light shone through one of the windows and illuminated the gilt paint that had been used for the halo around Christ's head.

Justin made his way quickly up the aisle heading directly to the altar. He stopped as he neared it and stared in wonder at the figure of Christ.

"It's Patrick," Justin breathed as he felt Brian squeeze his hand.

Justin sat down on one of the pews in front of the altar. Nothing in his research had prepared him for this and he was feeling overwhelmed. Brian, John and Bobby chatted with Father Paul then left. Justin continued to stare at the painting until he sensed someone sit next to him.

"Justin, are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Father, do you want me to leave?"

"No, of course not. Something about the figure of Christ has disturbed you? Most who view it find it calming, peaceful. They usually come away with a feeling of hope."

"It doesn't disturb me, I think it's beautiful. But I know of the artist and who he used as a model for it. I'd like to show you something and tell you about the artist but I don't want to offend you."

"How can someone who has painted this image possibly offend me? Anyone can see that it was done with such love and reverence. Let me confess something to you before you tell me your tale. Maybe that will put your mind at ease. They call me Father Paul but I am not a true priest. I am the pastor of this church; some may call me a missionary. At one time I was an ordained priest but I left the church, lost my faith."

"What happened?"

"I was a young priest in a very conservative church. I believed the teachings of Christ, that he loved all of us, all of God's creatures deserved to be loved. Not those with money, who made the highest donations to the church or just heterosexuals. I tried to open up my church to ones we had lost through ignorance and prejudice but my efforts were not appreciated and I was asked to leave the church, leave my home because I dared to have a mass that permitted homosexuals and the homeless to attend. 'Are they not all God's children?' I asked my Bishop. His silence was my answer, so I left. I wandered for many years. I was the second son in my family and the son who was groomed to be the priest. I not only lost my faith but my family. I went to London. I came from a small village in England; the city was a shock. Being young I was easy prey to many. A young gentleman found me and took me home. He nursed me back to health, introduced me to his friends and helped me to find a job. We were together for many years before he died. We were friends and lovers. He protected me, kept me safe, we would still be together if he had lived."

"AIDS?"

"No, cancer. He always used protection even before it became the rule. No, he developed testicular cancer. We didn't know. Ignored the lump that we both could feel. But before he died he asked me to try the church again. I did volunteer work at our local church. The London churches were more liberal. I knew I could never go back to being a priest but a pastor or missionary was something I could do. And here I am. So you see my son, whatever you have to share about the artist will not offend me."

Justin and Father Paul shared a companionable silence for a few moments then Justin took out Kinney's journal and the pictures of Kinney's paintings and the portraits of Kinney, Patrick and his family. Justin told Father Paul all about the Sunshine Files, the farm and how he and Brian found the Andersons and the Kinney paintings.

While he spoke, Father Paul turned the pages of the 'book' Justin had put together to hold the journal and pictures.

"This is truly amazing. And you did this all by yourself?"

"Brian, he's my partner, helped and supported me. And we have a large family who also helped. And then there are the Andersons. John is Brian's half brother, Bobby is his partner. Bobby just completed law school. This trip is a graduation present from John and a gift from Brian for me. I guess I became a little obsessed with the artist Kinney and Patrick. Kinney is Brian and John's ancestor but when I found out Patrick's last name I guess the obsession grew."

"What was his name?"

"Taylor. Patrick Taylor."

"A good name. But why does it fascinate you so much?"

"Because I am Justin Taylor. The full name of the artist is John Aidan Brian Kinney; Brian's name is Brian Aidan Kinney."

"I can see why this has affected you. Justin, let me show you something that I think you'll appreciate."

Father Paul led Justin to a small room next to the rectory of the church. It contained the church records and the old Bibles from the missionaries who preceded Father Paul.

"Justin, many of the older Bibles were used to record the births and deaths of the parishioners. They also recorded guests that visited the church and significant events of the town. Floods, droughts, they were all recorded for posterity. Here, this is the one."

Father Paul opened a heavy Bible, carefully turning the thick velum pages. The dates were faded, unable to be read but some of the passages were still readable. The priest had recorded that a pair of white travelers had stumbled out of the jungle, the older ill, poisoned. The younger man was frantic, begging for someone to save the older man. The priest nursed the man back to health and in payment the man painted the altarpiece. The white men spent several months then left. The priest gave them letters of introduction to other churches and directions north to the villages along their way.

Justin, with Father Paul's permission, took photographs of the Bible and the pages that had to do with Kinney and Patrick and he also took a picture of Father Paul. The sound of the mahogany doors being opened drew Justin and Father Paul back into the church.

"Hey, Sunshine, everything okay?"

"Yeah, Father Paul and I were discussing the artist and he showed me a Bible that recorded their stay here. I took pictures; I'll show you later. Where'd you guys go?"

"Some of us decided to scope out this one horse town and try to find a place for us to stay the night. Miguel won't be back until tomorrow. We're stranded and there's no hotel or inn." Brian scowled at Justin as he ran his fingers through his hair. Justin giggled but then looked contrite. Justin could see the beginnings of a major Kinney queen out.

Father Paul read the expression on Brian's face and laughed out loud. "Have no fear; you won't be left out in the jungle. Santa Ana may not have all the amenities of Caracas but we do have someone who can put you up for the night. Come with me back to the cantina. We have an excellent local wine. We shall celebrate your journey and the artist of this beautiful image."

Justin took several photos of the altarpiece then the travelers followed Father Paul back to the cantina.

Father Paul spoke with the man who seemed to be in charge of the place and then led the four visitors up the narrow stairs to a second level. He opened the door to a room and the men walked in.

"What's this?" Brian asked as he surveyed a bare wood floor with four small cots one against each wall.

"This is your accommodation for the night," Father Paul said. "And only two American dollars each."

"You fucking expect us to pay for staying here?" Brian demanded. "Surely there must be a cleaner stable nearby that we can have for the same price."

"Brian," John said, "it's better than sleeping on the ground."

"I doubt it," Brian said looking at the cots each covered with a worn blanket.

"This is the only place in town," Father Paul said. "I'm sorry that it doesn't meet your high standards."

Justin realized that they had offended Father Paul and probably the owner who stood watching them uncertainly from the doorway. He pulled out his wallet and handed a ten dollar bill to the man. "Tell him to keep the change," Justin said to Father Paul.

Father Paul spoke with the man who grinned and bowed to the group. He disappeared from sight immediately after.

"Let's get a drink and some supper," John said setting down his backpack on one of the beds.

The rest of the group followed suit with Brian begrudgingly leaving his last. They made their way downstairs and Father Paul helped them get drinks.

Brian made sure he learned the words for the liquor he wanted. "You better fucking get me good and drunk before you take me back up to that room," he griped.

"I'll see what I can do, little bro'," John chuckled.

They sat around talking with Father Paul about the village and anything else he wanted to tell them. As darkness began to fall Father Paul ordered them some dinner. It wasn't half bad for plain food. Brian drank through most of it, although it took a lot to truly get him drunk.

Finally Father Paul bid them goodnight and they all looked at the stairway leading to their room. No one wanted to go up there, at least not yet.

Brian downed another drink. "I think I'd like to go for a stumble before turning in," Brian said with a slight slur.

"A stumble?" Bobby laughed.

"Don't know if I will be able to master a walk, so a stumble it is. Come with me, Sunshine."

Justin stood and put his arm around Brian's waist to steady him. They headed out the door as Bobby and John watched.

"Where do you want to go?" Justin asked.

"Somewhere that you can suck my dick."

"We could do that in our room," Justin advised him.

"On those filthy cots. No way."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Behind the church."

"Briiaan," Justin protested.

"In the church." Justin glared at him. "On the altar."

"You're going to Hell," Justin chuckled.

"You just figuring that out now?"

"Come on, Brian," Justin said trying to pull him back towards the cantina.

"No, behind the church," Brian said stubbornly.

They made their way to the church and then around behind. Brian spotted a little alcove off the side and leaned against the cool stone. He tried to shove Justin to his knees.

"Brian, you know I always want you, but I'm not doing this here. Come back to the room and I'll be happy to suck you off."

"Shit! I hate this fucking place. I hate fucking South America! Let's go home."

"Will you stop! We've hardly started our trip."

"I can hardly wait for a month of this fucking crap!"

"Brian, you promised," Justin wheedled. "Don't give up yet. I'll make it up to you."

"And how might you do that?" Brian asked.

"I'll show you when we get back to the room." Justin smiled sweetly.

"Fuck!" Brian reacted shaking his head. He knew when he was beat.

Together they staggered through the darkness back to the cantina. As quietly as they could they made their way up the stairs, the place now seemingly empty. Brian wondered what the owner had done with himself and his family. They probably had taken over their fucking home for the night.

Justin kept shushing Brian as they made their way into the room. John and Bobby were snoring each on their own cot.

"How are we going to do anything on those fucking cots?" Brian asked. He could see that the others had laid their sleeping bags on top of the blanket and themselves on top of that.

"Lay down," Justin ordered.

Brian glared at him but spread his sleeping bag on the bed and collapsed on top of it. Justin kneeled beside the low bed and unzipped Brian's shorts. He slowly began to tug on Brian's cock gradually extracting it from Brian's underwear. Brian groaned at the contact. He needed this to forget about their miserable surroundings. All he wanted was his sunshine.

Justin's mouth was added to his talented fingers. His tongue licked the stiff cock coating it with saliva. Brian bucked his hips and Justin whispered, "Stay still, I'll take care of you."

Brian calmed a little and Justin worked his magic as Brian tried to keep from calling out his need. He whispered at the things Justin's tongue was doing, trying not to wake his brother and Bobby. Justin brought him to the edge and then backed off. Brian groaned and pulled at Justin's hair. Finally with a few short pulls and some expert strokes of his tongue, Justin had Brian shooting down his throat.

"Good?" Justin asked standing up."

"Um," Brian whispered. Justin moved to undo his own sleeping bag. "Don't leave me," Brian pleaded.

"That cot's too small for both of us."

"You can sleep on top of me," Brian said looking longingly into Justin's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Brian nodded. Justin slowly slid along Brian's body until he was lying on top of the man. He held his breath waiting for the cot to collapse beneath their weight. He snuggled his head against Brian's neck and felt his lover's arms come around his body holding him close.

After a few minutes, Justin felt compelled to say, "Brian, this can't be very comfortable for you."

"I'm fine."

"But I must be crushing you," Justin said. "You'll never get any sleep." He tried to sit up and move off the bed.

Brian grabbed him and held him even tighter. "Don't. Stay where you are."

"But…"

"I need you here."

"Why?" Justin frowned.

"You have to protect me in case there are any of those frogs around."

"There won't be any frogs up here," Justin assured him.

"There might be. You have to save me from them."

"Yes, your majesty, I will fight them to the death."

"Good, now I can sleep," Brian sighed and drifted right off.

Justin lay atop his man listening and feeling the even breathing. He was grinning like an idiot and trying not to chuckle. Big bad Brian needed his little sunshine to protect him. Justin had never felt more loved and needed. Soon he drifted off to sleep too, thinking that Brian Kinney made an excellent bed.