jumpsuit, spread his buttocks, and silently sodomized him.
Finishing, he uncoupled and fell away. He leaned against the mast and began to talk about his childhood, which, to the Loon, sounded awful. The king, however, was speaking with fondness and the kind of hazy nostalgia that often comes over a man on a long sea voyage.
10.
After ten days at sea, the king talked constantly of his wife, the queen, and her nefarious plots against him and his sons. Also, he screwed the Loon at least once a night, much to the erotic delight of the boatman.
âI guess you donât feel so guilt-ridden anymore, eh? the Loon panted.
âNot really, the king said, zipping up the Loonâs jumpsuit.âBut after all, isnât that what a pilgrimage is for ?
11.
One night on the foredeck, the king, leaning exhausted against the mast, waxed slightly philosophical:âI think that guilt, once perceived, i.e. , experienced, is a passion, to be spent, like other passions. The meanings of most things, of passions, certainly, lie wholly in their enactments or in analytical description, i.e. , reenactment of those things. The point of human life,when it comes right down to it, is simply to provide content for the otherwise empty forms of reality. The basic difficulty of human life is in knowing when a particular form has been sufficiently filled, or perceived, experiencedâknowing when an experience has become redundant. Thus, most of the âgoodâ life is an exercise in good taste, and I do mean ethically.
âIs it safe to assume, then, that you no longer feel guilty? the Loon asked wearily.
âRight! the king said, surprised.âYou know, Lon, for a kid with no college degree, you certainly can think abstractly.
âThanks, said the Loon.
12.
After one hundred days at sea, they docked in Liverpool, where they caught a train to London, a cab to the airport, and a jumbo jet for home, first-class.
âGood old American Express! the king said, raising his champagne glass in a toast.
âYay, said the Loon quietly. He was thinking of the block of Moroccan hash he had brought as an offering for the Empire State and how much he was going to enjoy smoking it when he got back to the tree house.âYay, he said, clinking the kingâs glass with his own.
âKiss-kiss, you little devil, said the king happily.
âKiss-kiss-kiss, answered the Loon.
The king lit a large Cuban cigar.ââYay,â huh? Heh, heh, heh. God, Loon, thatâs rich! Youâre such a disgusting faggot, the king said chuckling.
10
R EMEMBER M E TO C AMELOT
A Novel
by Naomi Ruth Sunder
1.
âBe good to Kay,â Rex instructed his eldest son, Bif. âYour motherâs never been on her own before, she doesnât know how to take care of herself, son,â he explained to the boy.
I stood somberly in the center of the living room with Hunter and Rory, fighting back the tears, proud of our three little boys, our little men, but proudest of Rex, my husband, because I understood the deep pain he was feeling at this, the moment of his departure. He was leaving usâperhaps forever.
Our country in her need had called him from the side of his loved ones, and he had no choice but to go. Rex was a major in the Air Force Reserve, and his unit had been activated for combat duty in Vietnam, which at that time I couldnât even have located on a map. They needed all the veteran pilots they could get, and Rex, in Korea more than a decade earlier, before Bif was born, had been one of the best in the skies. He had been almost legendary, and, as he leaned down to kiss me good-bye, I saw him wink away a tear with a brave grin, and I knew that he was still one of the best.
We kissed, long and joyously, and then he patted each of us on the top of the head and walked out the door to the waiting car.
2.
It was true, what Rex had said to BifâI had never been on my own before, and I didnât know how to
Finishing, he uncoupled and fell away. He leaned against the mast and began to talk about his childhood, which, to the Loon, sounded awful. The king, however, was speaking with fondness and the kind of hazy nostalgia that often comes over a man on a long sea voyage.
10.
After ten days at sea, the king talked constantly of his wife, the queen, and her nefarious plots against him and his sons. Also, he screwed the Loon at least once a night, much to the erotic delight of the boatman.
âI guess you donât feel so guilt-ridden anymore, eh? the Loon panted.
âNot really, the king said, zipping up the Loonâs jumpsuit.âBut after all, isnât that what a pilgrimage is for ?
11.
One night on the foredeck, the king, leaning exhausted against the mast, waxed slightly philosophical:âI think that guilt, once perceived, i.e. , experienced, is a passion, to be spent, like other passions. The meanings of most things, of passions, certainly, lie wholly in their enactments or in analytical description, i.e. , reenactment of those things. The point of human life,when it comes right down to it, is simply to provide content for the otherwise empty forms of reality. The basic difficulty of human life is in knowing when a particular form has been sufficiently filled, or perceived, experiencedâknowing when an experience has become redundant. Thus, most of the âgoodâ life is an exercise in good taste, and I do mean ethically.
âIs it safe to assume, then, that you no longer feel guilty? the Loon asked wearily.
âRight! the king said, surprised.âYou know, Lon, for a kid with no college degree, you certainly can think abstractly.
âThanks, said the Loon.
12.
After one hundred days at sea, they docked in Liverpool, where they caught a train to London, a cab to the airport, and a jumbo jet for home, first-class.
âGood old American Express! the king said, raising his champagne glass in a toast.
âYay, said the Loon quietly. He was thinking of the block of Moroccan hash he had brought as an offering for the Empire State and how much he was going to enjoy smoking it when he got back to the tree house.âYay, he said, clinking the kingâs glass with his own.
âKiss-kiss, you little devil, said the king happily.
âKiss-kiss-kiss, answered the Loon.
The king lit a large Cuban cigar.ââYay,â huh? Heh, heh, heh. God, Loon, thatâs rich! Youâre such a disgusting faggot, the king said chuckling.
10
R EMEMBER M E TO C AMELOT
A Novel
by Naomi Ruth Sunder
1.
âBe good to Kay,â Rex instructed his eldest son, Bif. âYour motherâs never been on her own before, she doesnât know how to take care of herself, son,â he explained to the boy.
I stood somberly in the center of the living room with Hunter and Rory, fighting back the tears, proud of our three little boys, our little men, but proudest of Rex, my husband, because I understood the deep pain he was feeling at this, the moment of his departure. He was leaving usâperhaps forever.
Our country in her need had called him from the side of his loved ones, and he had no choice but to go. Rex was a major in the Air Force Reserve, and his unit had been activated for combat duty in Vietnam, which at that time I couldnât even have located on a map. They needed all the veteran pilots they could get, and Rex, in Korea more than a decade earlier, before Bif was born, had been one of the best in the skies. He had been almost legendary, and, as he leaned down to kiss me good-bye, I saw him wink away a tear with a brave grin, and I knew that he was still one of the best.
We kissed, long and joyously, and then he patted each of us on the top of the head and walked out the door to the waiting car.
2.
It was true, what Rex had said to BifâI had never been on my own before, and I didnât know how to
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