Jesse, a Southern California guy, is a wide-eyed dreamer, in love with love. His huge and hungry heart is always in pursuit of romance. After years of amorous adventures, missteps, and heartbreaks, Jesse finally finds happiness with the patient and nurturing Diego.
But Jesse remains haunted by memories of intense past relationships, both at home and in Mexico: Carlos, Agustin, Santiago, Andres, Ulises. Jesse loved them all, some passionately, some unwisely—until each relationship self-destructed. But in Jesse’s memory, none can overshadow his first love: Dani, a friend from boyhood.
Hard Journey of the Heart: Jesse’s Story chronicles one man’s complicated life, nagging self-doubts, and fervent searches for lasting happiness, told in uninhibited detail. Jesse has hedonistic vacation getaways, marked by delirious and dangerous encounters with many beautiful and impulsive men. It’s a pathway that is exciting, often frustrating, but ultimately rewarding. Despite many ups and downs, Jesse receives unconditional love and life lessons from his supportive parents, friends, and an eccentric older mentor named Bill.
An epic romance novel written with merciless but open-hearted honesty, Hard Journey of the Heart: Jesse’s Story will ring true for anyone who believes in everlasting love—and has been brave enough to search it out.
Jesse, a Southern California guy, is a wide-eyed dreamer, in love with love. His huge and hungry heart is always in pursuit of romance. After years of amorous adventures, missteps, and heartbreaks, Jesse finally finds happiness with the patient and nurturing Diego.
But Jesse remains haunted by memories of intense past relationships, both at home and in Mexico: Carlos, Agustin, Santiago, Andres, Ulises. Jesse loved them all, some passionately, some unwisely—until each relationship self-destructed. But in Jesse’s memory, none can overshadow his first love: Dani, a friend from boyhood.
Hard Journey of the Heart: Jesse’s Story chronicles one man’s complicated life, nagging self-doubts, and fervent searches for lasting happiness, told in uninhibited detail. Jesse has hedonistic vacation getaways, marked by delirious and dangerous encounters with many beautiful and impulsive men. It’s a pathway that is exciting, often frustrating, but ultimately rewarding. Despite many ups and downs, Jesse receives unconditional love and life lessons from his supportive parents, friends, and an eccentric older mentor named Bill.
An epic romance novel written with merciless but open-hearted honesty, Hard Journey of the Heart: Jesse’s Story will ring true for anyone who believes in everlasting love—and has been brave enough to search it out.
Carlos, 1990
Jesse, 23
“And keep him safe.”
“Huh?” I said to Carlos.
“Uh…nothing,” Carlos told me.
“I thought you said my name.”
Carlos gazed at me. “Go back to sleep, Jesse.” And he smiled,
leaned back, and closed his eyes. But now that I was awake again, I
looked out the large glass window.
Our green and white bus barreled down the Mexican highway.
We grasped our chairs being lightly tossed back and forth by this
mechanical beast. Our conductor smoothly operated the handles and
knobs. Like grabbing reins on a handsome steed, he held the oversize
steering wheel and maneuvered a tall shaft through various gears.
I didn’t feel nervous as we gently bounced around curves. We
traveled light. We traveled at night to save time. Victor was our guide.
Victor was an old friend of Carlos for many years.
I took pictures in my mind. I breathed in and let out a soft sigh.
It was dark and quiet, with only light snoring among passengers.
Some whispered, but children chattered loudly, and mamas shushed
them. Some nibbled snacks or had a drink. Carlos tossed in his seat
and faced me with his eyes closed. The bus advanced.
The seats were uncomfortable, tattered, musty and old, not made
for sleeping, yet Carlos managed to catch a few winks. He looked peaceful
and beautiful. I was sweaty and sticky without air-conditioning, and
the heat only increased despite nightfall. I imagined a tropical oasis. I
hummed a Madonna song in my head, “Tropical the island breeze / all
of nature wild and free,” and envisioned an ocean and sand, palm trees
and jungle, iguanas climbing walls, and parrots perched on shoulders.
I thought of my dear friend Bill and his dreams of going down to
Puerto Vallarta. I didn’t know that years later, Bill and I would make
the trip together. It was getting past midnight, and I felt exhausted.
Despite random swerves and bumps, I finally began to doze.
Honk, honk! Crack! Screeeeech!
My body jolted violently.
Bang!
My head jerked sideways. I felt a cold smack from the window
on my cheek. My body pressed into the cabin wall, and Carlos
sponged up against me. The bus skidded to an abrupt stop. There
were sudden shrieks and outbursts among the passengers. The smell
of a burning clutch was apparent.
“Are you okay?” Carlos asked.
Before I could answer him, I noticed Victor on the floor.
“Victor, estás bien?”
“I think so.” Victor pulled himself up and reached to help a
fallen lady back to her seat.
The driver made a rattled apology, explaining that something
flew out in front of him on the road. He asked if anyone was hurt.
All seemed fine.
“What did we hit?” a passenger shouted.
“I’ll go see.” The driver turned the inside lights on and headed
out to investigate.
I turned to peer out the window. I saw a dirt road that quickly
turned to lush green, before disappearing down the side. The driver
walked toward the back of the bus and inspected the tires.
Suddenly, an old man came hobbling up the road. He wailed
incessantly, “Dios mío. Dios mío. It slipped from my grasp. Oh my
God! Oh my God!”
The bus driver joined him, and they both pointed and shouted.
The conductor bent over, cocked his head a bit to the left, and pointed
at the bottom of the bus. Two other men appeared.
“Vamos a ver que pasó, Jesse,” Victor said.
“Yeah, let’s go see,” Carlos said.
I agreed and the three of us went out to see.
We gathered among others huddled in the road. My eyes grew
wide with amazement. There was a broken remnant of a cart pinned
under the back tires, and pieces were strewn about the area.
The man who owned the cart collapsed on the ground. He had
disheveled hair, shorts that fringed above the knees, and worn-out
sandals. Our bus driver talked to him. A woman walked over to check
his vitals. Perhaps she was a nurse. The old man suddenly fell into a
fetal position. He escaped harm but still looked extremely unhappy.
Two men pulled out the broken pieces of his cart and chucked them
to the side. They stood back to view the damage.
The collision with the cart busted out one of the bus tires. It
was lucky our bus driver did not lose control. Everyone was shaken
up, but no one had any injuries. Another transport would come for
us. Victor said it wouldn’t be too long. We waited.
The breeze was welcomed, briefly calming the hot and humid
weather. A faint moon watched from overhead. Neither Carlos nor I
had a shirt on. I was wearing swim trunks, and Carlos had red sweatpants.
They were loose, and it was apparent that he wasn’t wearing
undershorts. I saw a clear outline of his manhood. He stared at me,
and I saw him slightly stiffen. We clearly had the same thoughts in
mind. His hips gently thrust forward, his cock and balls inside moving
in tandem, and he caught my gaze as he smiled. My face grew
red. We headed over to sit down on a small bit of land. Victor walked
over toward the bus driver to listen in.
“Are you thirsty?” Carlos asked.
“I don’t know.”
“There’s soda in Victor’s bag,” he told me.
“Okay, let’s share one.”
“I’ll be back.” Carlos headed over to the bus.
Hard Journey of the Heart The Bus Ride
Another car entered the scene. A supervisor got out with a flashlight
to look at the damage. The old man was suddenly up and again
wildly waving his arms. Dios mío, I heard him repeat mournfully.
Other passengers came off the bus and stretched. A lady
embraced her daughter tightly. They hummed together. A boy was
happily eating a slice of melon. He only wore a diaper. His face
was messy from the fruit. I looked at my watch. It was just beyond
midnight.
Carlos returned with Victor’s backpack and handed me a can of
soda. It was slightly warm, but Carlos and I shared.
“Here, take the last sip,” Carlos pleaded and handed the can
back to me.
I glanced over at an inquisitive little girl who saw me and
grinned. I winked at her, and she shied into her mother’s bosom.
Victor came back.
“Yeah, we’re gonna have to get on another bus,” he explained. “The
driver already radioed to arrange a pickup. We need to get our stuff.”
Carlos went over to retrieve our one large bag stored underneath
the bus and sat it beside us. Then he suggested we do some
exploring. Victor stayed behind. I followed Carlos down a small path
heading into darkness. Our eyes grew accustomed and led our way.
We came to a clearing and found a small patch of earth for sitting.
We huddled with our knees touching.
“Do you think we can be seen?” I asked.
“Nah.”
“Do you think we are obvious? I mean, y’know, do they think
we are—”
“What, gay? Why do you have such a hard time saying it?”
Carlos asked me.
“I just don’t blurt it out,” I said, a bit ashamed.
“No, I don’t think they know. That is, not unless I do this!”
Carlos leaned over to kiss my cheek.
I was feeling naughty, so I kissed him back. He nuzzled my
lower lip with his. He twisted his tongue with mine and pulled me
closer. He kissed me more aggressively and sucked harder. Intense
electricity traveled up and down my body, causing me to shiver. He
pressed his hand on the crotch of my swim shorts. My excitement
was apparent.
Carlos continued to grab at me, sending me writhing with pleasure.
He then loosened the drawstring to my swim shorts so he could
take me quickly inside his mouth. Then he released me and sighed
deeply. He then returned to my lips. We kissed while he held me
tightly, then positioned himself on top of me. Carlos and I resumed
our dance of saliva and sweat.
I slid my hand up his smooth stomach, then down inside his
sweatpants. I felt his cock tense in my hand. I pulled up and down
slowly while he did the same. We both kept the rhythm as we jacked
each other, just several yards from the other passengers. It was exciting
to be so close and undetected, yet I made sure to stifle any sound
beyond heavy breathing.
Carlos let out a small whimper as he started to shake. He
grabbed the waist of his pants to make more room as he came onto
the ground. I managed my swim trunks past my knees, lathered my
other hand with saliva, and jerked myself, so my seed would join his.
He touched my cockhead, wetting his fingertip with my cum, then
brought it to his mouth. He savored me.
We lay there for a moment. Then we stood up. But Carlos
looked so good, I squatted and took him into my mouth once more,
before he tied his sweatpants. I enjoyed his musk, then gazed up into
his eyes. He gently lifted me close to him.
“That was cool,” Carlos beamed. “Thanks.”
I smiled.
We swayed back and forth to the music of the trees and the soft
winds that tickled our bare backs. Several minutes passed by before
we headed back.
“Hey,” Carlos said.
I looked at him endearingly. “Yeah?”
“Beat you back!” Carlos smacked me on the butt and rushed
off. I quickly sprinted behind him, and we returned to base camp,
panting and laughing.
“Welcome back,” Victor said. His eyes showed that he guessed
our secret. We all chuckled.
The rescue bus finally arrived. This one was larger, longer, and
taller. Everyone loaded onto it. After much commotion, a calmness
settled us all. Dark became the norm, and only whispers played a
game of tag with the peaceful night. The bus picked up speed.
I looked over at Carlos’s dark-brown medium-length hair. He had
eyes to match that almost glowed. So gorgeous was this young man.
“Carlos?” I whispered.
Without opening an eye, he offered a handsome smile, just
beneath his well-trimmed mustache. “What’s up, Jesse?”
“So you grew up down the street from Victor?” I asked.
“Yeah, we were neighbors. He was there for me growing up.”
Carlos opened his eyes. “Especially when I had my bad days.”
“What do you mean, bad days?” I asked.
“Maybe you could say I was bullied.”
I thought of my own troubles with bullies.
We were quiet for a moment, and then I asked, “Did they
bother you at school?”
“Huh?”
“You said you got bullied.”
“Forget it, Jesse.”
I sensed there was more to the story, but I didn’t push the issue.
I leaned back to try to sleep.
*****
“You draw like a girl. Who are the flowers for? Your boyfriend?”
All the children laughed. I felt flush with anger. “Jesse is a fag. Jesse
is a fag.”
I tried to swing at my tormentor, but I couldn’t strike him.
“Sissy girl. Sissy girl.”
My ear pounded as the voice got louder. I saw Dani nearby,
but he couldn’t help. I swung again but felt as though my arms were
swimming through molasses.
Shut up! Shut up! Give it back! Give it back! I screamed, but
nothing came out of my mouth.
All the children laughed as the tormentor ripped up my drawing.
No one was there to help me. I felt my eyes blast with tears.
“Give it back, you fucker!”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do, Jesse? What are you going
to do, sissy girl?”
He breathed heavily in my face. I felt spit from his lips splatter
on mine.
“What are you going to do!”
I cried. I cried so loudly that I felt my head swell. And suddenly,
I awoke. I was sweating, panting, and had tears in my eyes.
*****
“Are you okay?” Carlos asked.
“I must have been dreaming.”
“You were mumbling, so I couldn’t understand anything. It
must’ve been a nightmare. What happened?” Carlos asked.
“I was in school.” I hesitated. “I can’t remember.”
Carlos wiped my eyes.
“Carlos!” I protested softly. I was a little embarrassed.
“No one can see, shhh.” We both leaned back again.
“Carlos?” I whispered.
“Yeah, Jesse?”
“So Victor was a good friend?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
Why didn’t I tell him about my dream? It was just a drawing.
Stupid kids. And Dani was there. Oh, Dani, I thought to myself and
sighed heavily.
“What is it, Jesse?”
“Dani was in my dream and some mean kids at school.”
“He protected you?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“No, I mean for real, Jesse? Dani protected you, didn’t he?”
Carlos asked.
“He did. I mean, before his family left for Texas and—”
“Sorry, Jesse.”
I suddenly felt self-conscious. “But, Carlos, I am with you now
and—”
“Shhh, it’s okay. I love you.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
Carlos closed his eyes.
“But hey, did kids really pick on you?” I asked, thinking of my
own experience and the drawing that they ripped up in front of me.
“My dad bullied me.” Carlos sighed. “I mean, he didn’t hit me,
but he called me sissy and maricón. ‘Be a man, like your brothers,’ he
would say.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I gulped. At least my bullies were
only at school. Home was my safe haven.
“My dad was a real jerk,” Carlos continued. “I really wished he
wasn’t my dad, I guess.”
*****
“Porque no juegas fútbol? Eh? Eh? Boy, why don’t you play soccer
like your brothers?” Carlos’s father barked at him as they drove
down the road. Carlos stayed quiet. His tiny twelve-year-old frame
was cowering.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Carlos stayed silent, his lips tight.
“Why were you playing with your sister’s dolls?” Carlos’s father
continued, laughing. “Are you a sissy? You like boys, don’t you?”
Carlos pretended to ignore him, holding back his tears.
“Look at me when I talk to you, Carlos!” His dad took one
hand off the wheel, reached over, and yanked at him. His eyes left the
road long enough to sideswipe a parked car.
Clang! Screech! But Carlos’s father just continued down the road,
swerving so hard that Carlos slammed against the door. And his head
hit the handle, splitting open his lip. Blood gushed. His father saw
the blood and seemed angry as if it were Carlos’s fault.
Spraying blood and saliva, Carlos screamed in the loudest voice
he could exert, “I am not a fucking sissy!” Tears hurled down his
cheeks.
Carlos’s father was shocked by the outburst and was suddenly
silenced. He pulled the car over. He reached behind him for an old
shirt he used as a rag. His demeanor changed completely at that
moment.
“Let me see.” Carlos’s father held the shirt to his busted lip.
“You’ll be all right,” he said quietly, as Carlos slowed his whimpers.
The bleeding stopped.
Carlos noted the sudden tenderness. He searched his dad’s eyes
for more, but the man suddenly turned away and put the car back in
gear. After a few minutes of silence, he turned back to his son, and
with sad resignation, he sighed and said, “Porque no juegas fútbol?”
*****
“That day did change things, if only a little,” Carlos explained
to me. “My father never called me sissy again.”
Carlos found emotional support in Victor, even though he was
fifteen years older. He visited his house almost every day. Carlos
would cry, and Victor would listen. They became best friends. And
the relationship between Carlos and his father never really got better,
but never got worse.
“I guess my father was just too set in his ways. He wasn’t a trophy
winner for the father of the year. He never told me he loved me
or was proud of me. We never ever talked about me being gay, but—”
Carlos clammed up, and his lip quivered. Tears streamed down his
face, lips, and chin.
I reached over in the dark and caressed him, unnoticed by the
others.
After a short time, Victor leaned over. “Oye, Carlos,” he whispered,
“you asleep?”
He took a deep breath and said, “Just resting. How much longer?”
“A couple more hours.”
We held hands under a blanket and dozed off. More time passed.
“Hey, guys, we’re almost there,” said Victor.
When I opened my eyes, daylight started to throw sun rays into
the bus windows.
“Hey, Victor. Do you know anyone who lives where we’re
going?”
“No, Jesse, but there should be lots of friends.” He chuckled.
“Te va a gustar bien mucho!” Victor told me.
It was very warm, yet rain was likely, as broken clouds hovered
above. Victor told us we were headed to an old fishing town, and it
was gay friendly.
Carlos stretched in his seat, letting the blanket at his chin fall
to rest on his lap. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Victor began to
recount his experiences in Puerto Vallarta in an excited whisper. He
named some locations for possible gay male hanky-panky.
I listened, but my mind wandered. I saw Carlos and me back in
that open field before we switched buses. I saw us back in his garage
the night we first slept together. And I thought of the first time we
invited someone to share our bedroom. Yes, we did that too. It was
about a year into our relationship that it first happened. I really don’t
know how it happened, but we both were honest with each other.
I mean, we loved one another. But I guess we both wanted more. I
know I wanted it as much as he did.
Carlos was still listening intently to Victor’s tales of cruising.
“So this guy is sitting on a large boulder. I look over at him—”
Victor continued.
I gazed ahead. I now saw sunlight fully over the horizon. I was
mesmerized at the thought of this Mexican fishing town, the flowing
palm trees. I couldn’t wait to see the people.
“Jesse? Are you listening to Victor?” Carlos laughed.
But I was not listening. I was reflecting back upon my first
twenty-three years of life—and wondered what was ahead.
Finally, the bus ground to a halt, and everyone scrambled off.
The bus driver opened the luggage compartment, and people loudly
called out.
“La de rojo!”
“Esa es mia! No, no. La maleta azúl!”
The bus driver swiftly handed the luggage off.
We grabbed our one large bag and headed into town.
Mark Zullo holds nothing back in their novel Hard Journey of the Heart: Jesse’s Story. Right from the start Jesse is obsessed with love: finding it, and feeling it, and letting it consume him entirely. Then it spits him out, bruised and broken with a torrent of emotions clinging to his soul. Still, the up-down-all-around rollercoaster of emotions are managed in an elegantly raw and honest way.
Raw and honest doesn’t mean it’s all heartache. Zullo’s clever structure hops in and out of time throughout Jesse’s life, offering reliefs of humor and beautiful budding relationships between negotiating identity, sexuality, and polyamory. The structure also means the reader, like Jesse, is thrown into an emotional whirlwind one second and abandoned with those emotions the next. In this way, the novel is truly successful; the chaotic highs and lows of Jess’s story mimics the experiences of the real world.
This structure, however, also has a downside. Its not a smooth transition from our world into Jesse’s. At first, it can feel fragmented and patchy during the setup of the various timelines and challanging keeping track of the numerous characters. And the characters are endless. It can be difficult to determine who is central to the overall story and who holds importance only in a single moment.
The timeline does make the novel accessible to a wide breath of queer adult audiences, with a little something in there for every generation. Exploring the outskirts of a Mexican jungle is a blast of new adult youth and the jump back into Jesse’s childhood is pure nostalgia.
The travels between LA and Mexico also add an interesting flavour to Jesse’s story. The way Zullo integrates the blending of two languages through the novel is a savvy approach to representing other languages and cultures without overloading the reader. The cultural differences are not only explored through food and music, but also in the way gay couples allow themselves to interact with one another in public spaces.
Hard Journey of the Heart: Jesse’s Story is a truly moving novel which gives voice to the struggles and victories of locating our perfect place in the world. When it comes to the emotional core of the novel, Mark Zullo’s writing is genuine and sincere with no regrets and everything to gain. Certainly an author to look for in the future.