![Amish Indiscretion by [Field, Ryan]](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51%2BgYAx3GaL.jpg)
Pride Month: FREE Gay Fiction Excerpt: Amish Indiscretion
Here's an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Amish Indiscretion. I couldn't post the entire chapter because I self-censor on Google Blogger and I don't want to cross any lines, however, the entire chapter is an introduction to one of the main characters, Filbert, who finds himself in an awkward situation with a very sexually aggressive man. And Filbert, being sheltered and Amish all his life, is not sure how to get out of that situation. I wish I could share it all, but I had to censor this one.
Here's a link to Amazon. The book is available in digital or print. The excerpt is below.
I'd also like to add that I became very friendly with someone in the Amish community a few years ago, and we've been e-mailing ever since. He's given me a great deal of inside information about what it's like to be Amish and closeted gay, and how he survives...and struggles. He's a wonderful man.
Ukraine Pride Parade: Thousands March
Here's more news on the global front. This time it's a mostly positive story about Gay Pride in the Ukraine, but not totally positive.
More than 8,000 people marched peacefully in Ukraine’s biggest ever Pride parade on Sunday (June 23), ignoring far-right protestors who sought to disrupt the celebrations.
Here's the link. There's a photo and more about what happened in Georgia's capital of Tbilisi. There's still a long way to go before everyone gets total equality.
After dinner, Filbert Stolzfus
sometimes took long walks that lasted well into the night. At least that's what
he told the family. He would get up from the supper table as soon as everyone
was finished eating, clear his throat, tell them he was going out for his
regular walk, and they shouldn't wait up for him. He claimed it was his way to
exercise, to meditate, to pray, and to release stress.
It wasn't a total lie. He did usually
walk, but the thing he didn't tell his family was that on some nights he did a
lot more than walking. Filbert had learned one important fact about being a
closeted gay Amish man. By the time he turned 24 years old, he'd mastered the
art of discretion better than anyone else he knew. Of course there was also a
certain amount of deception involved, but he only did what he thought he had to
do. And he did it for the sake of his family, not as a means to hurt them.
On one particular evening after Filbert
announced he was going for his walk, he crossed the backyard and headed toward
the side of the barn where he maintained a private little space for himself
inside the barn. It was nothing more than a small corner at the far end of the
barn, with a broken concrete floor, a small desk and chair, and a few makeshift
shelves he'd put up himself with pieces of weather beaten scrap wood. He told
his family he went there to think in silence and contemplate life, but this
tiny space meant a lot more than that to Filbert. Although he knew most English
people… he'd always heard all non-Amish people referred to as English…loved to generalize about the
Amish, they never took the time to realize there were Amish men like Filbert
who didn't fit into the typical mold.
The one big fact that separated Filbert
from more conservative young Amish men was that he had access to technology. He
worked part time at a local Amish tourist information center, and full time at
his family's Amish roadside farm market called, "Stolzfus and Son." He
was the "Son." They expected him to take over one day. Although the
farm market did tend to be stereotypical at times because that's what the
English tourists wanted to see, they used almost every modern convenience other
businesses used. And working for the tourist information center had given Filbert
access to the Internet, e-mail, and other forms of social media that most Amish
people couldn't get to as easily. He only kept the part time job at the
information center because he wasn't ready to give that access up yet.
However, Filbert would have been the
first to admit his life wasn't about true Amish culture. He had respect and
love for his heritage. He followed all the rules and played the game to the
best of his ability, but his real story was more about his own internal and
external conflicts with traditional Amish culture and being gay. He also wanted
to learn as much about gay culture as possible.
Filbert didn't have to work at the
tourist information center and deal with all kinds of obnoxious English people
asking the most insulting questions imaginable about Amish culture. He didn't
have to deal with the know-it-alls who thought they knew more about Amish
culture than he did. He could have worked full time at the family farm market
and done just as well financially, that is if he'd been like everyone else who
worked there. In his case it was different because he needed access to
technology to keep him from going insane. There wasn't much hope for a young,
good looking gay man in any Amish community, and his part time job afforded him
the ability to learn and discover a world he would never have known about
otherwise.
As he slipped through the old wooden
plank door of his tiny room in the barn, he made a mental note to get a new
door. He lit a candle he kept on the desk made of crates and pallets, and then
he stood on a rickety old pine chair so he could reach for a loose board above
the desk. Filbert had several secret compartments in the office no one knew
existed. He would never have hidden anything obscene or embarrassing in these
secret compartments. He kept it simple and he was always prepared with good
excuses if anyone ever discovered his secrets. It wasn’t always perfect, but he
tried his best to anticipate what he might need.
In one hidden compartment he kept a
small leather case that contained one credit card, a smart phone, and the key
to a post office box two towns away from where he lived. (He had Wi-Fi for the
farm market and non-Amish work related things.) Even though he made sure to
handle all of his private financial matters electronically so there wouldn’t be
a paper trail, he still needed a physical address with his real legal name when
it came to certain things. He couldn't use his home address at the farm, but he
needed a credit card to make online purchases, and he needed a post office box
where he could receive deliveries. The post office box had to be at least two
towns away so he could sneak there on his days off to see if there was anything
to pick up.
After he pulled his smart phone and
credit card out of the leather case, he set the leather case back on the shelf
and double checked to make sure his secret getaway bag was safe and sound. In
this compartment, set way in the back, he also kept a medium sized red satchel
that contained everything he might need if he had to get out of town fast. He
never knew for certain what might transpire. If anyone ever found out about him,
he knew he’d be shunned and forced to leave. He kept some English clothing in
the getaway satchel, a few grooming necessities, and a metal fireproof strong
box filled with cash he’d been saving since he’d been sixteen years old. Last
time he counted there was almost sixty thousand dollars in cash. He had a bank
account but the cash made him feel safer. He rarely spent money on anything, he
didn’t have to deal with car payments or rent, and his mom and dad simply
assumed he put all the money he made from his two jobs in the bank.
After he replaced the board on the
first compartment, he turned to another loose board and reached inside another
hidden compartment for one of the outfits he kept hidden. His regular Amish
clothing wouldn't work for what he was planning to do that evening, so he kept
several non-Amish outfits that he knew would help him blend in. Part of the
secret he kept was hiding his other life from his Amish family, and the other
part was keeping his Amish identity a secret from the English life he led.
He changed his clothes fast and hid his
Amish clothes under the desk. Later, he would return to the barn and put them
back on again before he went into the house. That was the safest way to do it,
but he also had a hidden compartment in his bedroom closet where he would hide
clothes sometimes. Even though he was the only child of an elderly Amish couple,
he never took any chances and he tried to be prepared for all possible
situations. His mother and father would most likely be in bed sleeping by then
and he could have slipped into the house in non-Amish clothes without anyone
knowing. However, he never assumed anything.
If there was even a remote chance he
might be discovered, he tried to plan ahead to avoid any possible chagrin for
the sake of his family. He often thought about leaving his Amish community and
he thought about what might happen if they found out about him and he was
shunned. It filled him with so much anxiety and despair his hands would start
shaking. As long as he maintained a safe, secret double life he had nothing to
worry about. This had always been his biggest problem. He didn't hate his Amish
way of life or his culture. He just wanted to be a quiet Amish gay man who lived
a simple Amish gay life. Except, of course, he knew that would never be
possible.
After he shoved his credit card into
his wallet, he pulled a small mirror out of a hidden compartment he kept beside
the desk, closer to the floor. He couldn't have a large full length mirror, but
he could have a small one for shaving. So he checked himself out as best he
could in the mirror, and then turned to sneak out of the barn the back way so
no one would see him.
No matter how often he did this, he
always felt the same thrill all over his body when he wore English clothes. It
was as if a whole new world opened up for him with basic things most English
people didn't even realize. Although other gay men might have considered him
too conservative, he felt daring and interesting in a simple pair of beige
jeans, a black polo shirt, and loafers without socks. He didn't know much about
fashion or style, but he knew enough to understand that he wasn't the kind of
man who could wear flashy clothes. With his dark hair and lean muscular body he
had to be careful he didn't call too much attention to himself. And even then,
in the plainest shirt, people would stop and tell him he reminded them of this
movie star or that, and half the time he didn't even know who they were talking
about. All he'd ever wanted was to fit in with everyone else.
By the time he was outside it was dark
and the only sounds came from leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet. As
he walked up the long dark drive of Peace
Valley Farm that would lead him to the road, no one would even have known
he was Amish. Anyone passing would simply take him for a young guy walking
aimlessly with his hands in his pockets, which he often did most nights of the
week anyway.
Filbert didn't always have a
destination, but this was a Wednesday night and he did have specific plans. On
Wednesdays there was a small gay bar called The Interlude two towns away from
his, where he liked to go just to observe. He never drank; he didn't smoke. He
didn't even dance with anyone. He simply sat on a barstool, sipping a ginger
ale, watching everyone else have a good time. This one simple act alone helped
him feel a sense of connection.
Of course he didn't walk all this way
on the side of the road. It would have been too dangerous and much too far. He
depended on a friend to pick him up in the parking lot of his family's farm
market, which was located on a main road that ran directly through his Amish
community. His only friend was a
straight English guy named Niles Barclay who worked part time at the Farm
Market. They’d grown up together. Niles was 24 years old and not sure what he
wanted to do with the rest of his life. He liked to go to a straight bar in the
same town where Filbert went to the small gay bar.
When Filbert reached the farm market he
saw Niles's car at the far end of the parking lot. He jogged over to the
passenger door, climbed in, and said, "Sorry I'm late, man. I walked as
fast as I could."
Niles started the car and said, "No
problem. I just got here. You wanna drive?"
Even though no one knew about it but
Niles, Filbert had worked hard to get his driver’s license on the down low. There
was nothing Filbert loved more than driving Niles's little sports car. "I'd
love to drive," Filbert said. Niles came from a wealthy family in town.
His dad was an attorney and his mom a psychologist. They bought him a brand new
white Fiat Spider for his 23rd birthday and he taught Filbert how to
drive it. Their unusual friendship was so simple and comfortable they shared
everything in their lives, as if they were brothers.
They both unfolded from the car and
switched sides. As Filbert pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes later with
a heavy foot, Niles reached for his seatbelt and laughed.
"What's so funny?" Filbert
asked.
"I was just thinking that I'd
rather you drive," Niles said. "I hate driving. And I'm the straight
English guy and you're gay and Amish guy and no one knows you drive. It's kind
of ironic."
Filbert just shrugged and said, "No
one would believe it. The story of my life." He often found it interesting
that many Amish people think nothing of riding in cars, but shun driving cars.
He looked over and saw what Niles was wearing and he laughed. "I'm just
glad we go to separate bars."
"Why?" Niles asked
"Because we are practically
dressed the same," Filbert said. "We look like twins."
They did look like brothers, up close
or from a distance. When they were together at the farm market the tourists
often asked if they were brothers, or at least related. They even had the same
body type, with broad shoulders, narrow waists, and long legs. They stood the
same height, walked with the same gait, and even spoke with the same deep even
tone. The one thing that set them apart was that Niles was more outgoing and
open with people, where Filbert tended to be reserved and closed.
Niles looked at Filbert's outfit and
shook his head. "Dude, we should plan ahead next time. It looks as if you
raided my closet."
Filbert smiled. "Do you care?"
"Not in the least."
"Me either."
It was only a fifteen minute drive to the
town where they were heading so there wasn't much time to talk about anything
of importance. Besides, they already knew each other so well they never had to
work hard for things to talk about. It simply happened naturally without them
even realizing it.
"You can drop me off and pick me
up around one in the morning," Niles said.
Filbert shook his head. "No. You'd
better drop me off and pick me up around one. I don't want to take a chance
like that. This is your car and I’m Amish."
"The odds are nothing's going to
happen," Niles said.
Filbert knew Niles hated to park and he
hated dealing with a car at a bar, but he still didn't feel comfortable because
he didn't want anyone to find out he had a license to drive. "I know. But
all the same, let's not take that chance. Besides, I like getting dropped off
by a good looking guy in a nice car. It makes me feel less like a loser."
Niles smiled and said, "Okay. I'll
drop you off. But you're not a loser."
"I'm not exactly a winner."
"Well you're my best friend. Does
that make me a loser, too?"
"You know what I mean."
"C'mon, man," Niles said. "You
never know. You might meet the guy of your dreams in there tonight."
Filbert laughed. At least Niles had a
good sense of humor. "Oh yeah, the man of my dreams is waiting for me
right now, in a tiny gay bar, on the outskirts of Amish country, in a little
town even the English tourists don't know about. I can see Prince Charming
staring in my direction right now."
A
few minutes later, Niles dropped Filbert off at the bar and Filbert went inside
and headed to the back of the bar to find his favorite barstool so he could
watch everyone else. The bar was having some kind of drag show that night,
which meant it was busier than a normal Wednesday night. The building where
this bar was located had once been a barn that belonged to a small farm that
used to grow corn. After the owners died, their gay son took over and he turned
the barn into a makeshift gay bar that probably had more charm than most gay
bars in large cities. The bar seemed to do pretty well, too, because the son
turned the old farm house into something that would have made Martha Stewart
jealous, and he didn't even bother to farm the land anymore. Although the gay
son was so overweight he could barely fit through the door, and so flamboyant
his hands fluttered when he walked, his talent for taking nothing and turning
it into something spectacular made him a small town local celebrity.
Of course Filbert was nothing more than
an observer from a distance, and he never got to know anyone in the bar on a
first name basis. He was there often enough for the regulars to nod when he
passed them, but he made no effort to ever get to know anyone any better. How could
he take the chance? If anyone from his Amish community ever found out and word
got back to his family his entire life would end. So he sat there and watched
everyone having a great time. Oddly, it was all so different from his Amish
life he always found it fascinating that he could lose track of time so
unwillingly.
About an hour before Niles was due to
pick him up out front, a tall guy with short dark hair and five o'clock shadow
sat down next to Filbert and asked, "Can I buy you a drink? I'm Frank."
The music blared. The last drag
performer was finishing her act and Filbert could barely hear the guy. He
smiled and said, "No thanks. I'm good." No one ever sat next to him
in the bar. Niles claimed it was because Filbert portrayed himself in public as
unapproachable. Filbert had no idea what that meant, but he was fine with not
being approached.
"Are you sure?" Frank said.
He leaned over closer this time and Filbert could smell the beer on his breath.
He seemed older, maybe in his mid-thirties. It stirred something deep inside Filbert
and he found it difficult to make eye contact with this guy.
Frank reached over and rested his large
hand on Filbert's thigh. He rubbed his thigh a few times and said, "You
seem to keep to yourself. I’ve been watching you. Is this your first time here?"
Filbert didn't stop him from rubbing
his thigh. This guy was better looking than anyone else in the bar, and he had
that deep throaty voice like a football player. "No. I come here a lot. I'm
local. I just like to sit and watch. I keep to myself."
Frank extended his right hand and said,
"I'm here a lot on weekends. It's a nice place. Kind of kitschy and folksy
and small town. But I like it." He rubbed Filbert's leg again. "And
the guys are adorable like you."
When Frank didn't elaborate on his circumstances,
Filbert had a feeling he wasn't telling his entire story, which didn't bother Filbert.
He’d learned there was nothing safer than two closeted gay men who guard their
real identities. He shook the guy's hand and said, "I'm Phil. It's nice to
meet you, Frank. Where do you come from?"
He told Filbert he worked in sales,
came from New York, and did a lot of business in that area. He'd read about
this small bar on the Internet and decided to check it out one night. No
details; nothing elaborate. While he talked he rubbed and squeezed Filbert's
legs. And Filbert felt safe with him because he seemed as if he knew how to
keep a secret. He was a total stranger who didn't know a thing about Filbert's
background, or that he was Amish. And the truth was that Filbert didn't really
want to know more about him.
In less than a half hour, the guy
leaned over and whispered into Filbert's ear. "Would you like to go
outside to my car?"
Filbert froze. He hadn't expected that. It's the first time a man had ever
asked to be alone with him in a car. "I can't," he said. "A good
friend is picking me up soon. I have to get home because I'm getting up early
in the morning." He should have been more prepared, with a better excuse.
Frank smiled, as if he found Filbert
amusing. "Let's go out to my car. You can wait for your friend there."
"Why?"
The guy stood up and left money on the
bar. "We can talk outside a lot easier. I'd like to get to know you
better. You're special."
Filbert looked up at him and hesitated.
This guy wasn't at all like the other guys in the bar. He seemed so genuine and
honest. But more important, he thought Filbert was special. He also reminded Filbert
of a professional football player he'd seen on the Internet, with a thick neck
and huge sexy thighs. He didn't seem to care about anyone else in the bar but Filbert.
So Filbert smiled and said, "I guess that's okay. My friend won't be here
for a while, so we'll have time to talk."
Well.
Filbert thought he'd finally met a
nice, decent guy, a guy who was good looking, friendly, honest, and kind, but was he in for a surprise.
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