Ch 39 - When It's Over

Dear Reader, unfortunately or maybe fortunately I have gotten into writing a new novel that I feel I need to devote some attention to as I have been making significant progress. I'm going to take a three week break from posting Inside the Beltway so that I can devote myself to this other work without losing more focus on Inside the Beltway.  Who knows maybe the break with let me get some fresh perspective. Best, Bryan 

It’s over, Spencer told himself as he sat across the table from Aden.  They were at an expensive restaurant.  They hadn’t even ordered yet.  It had started as a date.  At least that was the intention.  No, maybe it wasn’t, Spencer thought, maybe that’s what he told himself so that’s what he could tell Aden to get him there.

This is what it feels like.  We’re both going through some motion.  I don’t even know why he showed up.  Aden looked up from his phone, smiled.

“What’s going on?” Aden asked.

“Nothing,” Spencer said.

“Sorry,” he said holding up his phone.  “It’s my sister.  This is my last message.”

There were so many things Spencer wanted to say.  He wanted to demand his money back.  He wanted to yell at him for all the missed phone calls and text messages.  He wanted to yell at him for stringing him along.  Was he just a Sugar Daddy?

He felt like he was about to tip over the edge and do something he’d regret so he got up and walked away.  Aden looked up, watched him walk away.  Spencer could feel him staring at him but he kept moving even though it felt like an elastic band was stretching between them.  He spotted the waiter, moved to him, and stopped him.

“I’m sorry but I have to go,” he said.  “I won’t be ordering anything.”

“No problem,” the waiter responded.

Spencer looked over his shoulder to see Aden getting up from the table.  It looked like he was going to follow.  Spencer continued out to the front of the restaurant where he spotted the valet and asked for his car.

“But you just arrived,” the man said.

“And now I’m leaving,” Spencer replied.

“Okay, just a minute,” the man said.

Spencer put his hands in his pockets and looked out to the busy city street.  He wasn’t surprised but a little terrified when he heard the door open behind him.

“Where are you going?” Aden asked.

Spencer rolled his eyes.  There was so much he wanted to say.

“Look, I put my phone away, come back inside.  I promise I won’t use it anymore.”

Spencer turned on him.  He saw the man’s handsome face, his broad shoulders, and he remembered that day at the beach.  He thought about the night in bed, the next morning when he met Josh, and the sex they had.  It was good but it wasn’t worth it. 

“You were sitting there for ten minutes exchanging text messages with someone but I hardly ever hear from you,” Spencer said.  “I’m the one who usually has to start it and even then I’m not sure if you’re going to respond.”

“Hey, I’m sorry but I get busy.”

“Even when you’re with me.  When you’re with me you’re really somewhere else, with someone else.  I’m curious but just how many guys are you dating?”

“I’m not,” Aden said.

Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I’m dating someone else too but it’s not like we’re committed.  It’s not like we’re monogamous and I swear it wasn’t him.  I was texting my sister.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer said. 

“I thought you might try to pull this on me,” Aden replied.

“Why did you even come here tonight?” Spencer asked.  "Was there any future together?"

“I don’t know.  I thought you were pretty good in bed.”

“Didn’t want to pass up a free meal?”

“That’s low man.  I don’t deserve that.”

“No?  Then give me my forty bucks back?”

“What?”

“You don’t even remember,” Spencer said.  “I loaned you money for a sweater.  I thought you were going to pay me back.”

Aden contemplated what he said.  It looked as if he were sorting through people who had given him gifts, the gifts he had been given, and if it had been implied that the person would be paid back.

“Just keep it,” Spencer said.  He looked to the valet.

“Just one minute sir,” the man said.

“Can I get a ride home?” Aden asked.

Spencer shook his head.  Of all things to ask.

“It’s over,” Spencer said.

“You’re a real asshole,” Aden said before walking past him and down the sidewalk.

“I’m the asshole?” Spencer yelled.

“Sir,” the valet said.

He looked to the man who stood embarrassed by the cursing yet trying to remain professional.  Spencer apologized to him.  It wasn’t long after that his car arrived.  He tipped the valet, then drove away.

Usually he would have headed to the guys, sought comfort with them, but he wanted to go home instead.  He moved on autopilot as he drove home, parked his car, locked it, and headed to the elevator of his building.  He got to his front door, took out his keys, unlocked and opened it.  He pushed open the door to see the glow of the television and hear a television show. 

He didn’t recognize the voices but he knew the sound and the light meant Josh was home.  Someone is home, he thought.  That's a nice feeling.

He stepped inside and closed the door.  It felt like he left Aden and his disappointment outside.  In here he was someone else.  He stepped to the living room.  Josh was on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table.

“I’m eating lots of ice cream, then I’m going to bed and fall into a sugar coma,” Spencer said.  “Should I bring one spoon or two?”

“That bad of a day?  Why don’t you come in and talk about it?”

Spencer decided to forget about the ice cream for the moment and went into his living room where he sat next to Josh who muted the television.

“What’s going on?” Josh asked.

“I broke up with Aden,” Spencer answered.

“Sorry to hear that,” Josh said.  “Are you going to be okay?”

Spencer snorted at the question.  Someone was asking if he was going to be okay.  He nodded and sat back on the couch.

“How about instead of ice cream we have a beer?” Josh asked.  “We can zone out in front of the TV.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Spencer said.

Ch 38 - Swishy on the Bus

Walter couldn’t help but notice the teen boys as he walked to the back of the metro bus, not because they were cute or handsome, but because they reminded him of the jock boys from high school.  They were like the ones who had chased him through the halls and bullied him.  He eyed them warily as he stepped between them, two on each side of the aisle.  He was afraid of being tripped or antagonized in some way.  His fear only seemed to draw their attention.

They sniggered and laughed, seemingly at his expense.  He thought to prepare himself in some way so he sat up straight, his body became rigid.  It was a facade of masculinity he had used in those high school days.  That was when he spotted another teen boy between him and the others staring at him.  The boy was not unlike himself, thin, dark haired, an angled face, full lips, and a faked sense of toughness. 

No, it was a look of apathy, a practiced disinterest.  Have no emotions so they can’t be hurt.  Have no interests so they can’t be mocked.  Live a secret, double life, one that he dreamed of one day being his true identity when he was out on his own, when he was independent and didn’t have to share the same space of his oppressors. 

The jock boys seemed to lose interest, even the boy like himself did as well, and so he looked out the window but always kept his attention focused in that direction.  Somehow he thought the worst they could do was throw a paper ball at him.  He sighed at the thought.

The car tops became a pattern of low then high like a wave.  The buildings were familiar landmarks.  People were faceless dots of color.  He knew his stop by the number of turns and the speed of the bus.  He knew his was coming up.  He looked around to see that not much had changed.  He would have liked it if the boys had gotten off first but as it was he knew he needed to act.

He pulled the signal cord, then got to his feet, and took hold of the backs of seats and polls as he moved to the back door.  The bus slowed so he readied himself to step off, sometimes not every bus driver pulled close enough to the curb.  He adjusted his backpack and his shirt rode up his side but he was quick to fix it.  Had they seen his diaper?  Had they seen part of his skin?  He couldn’t help but look for danger out of the corner of his eye.

The doors opened and he began to step away.

“Queer,” one of the boys said.

"Faggot," another coughed.

Walter continued to exit the bus.  He heard the doors close behind him and for a moment he thought it was over when he heard them rattle again he turned and stepped back only to find the boy like himself there. 

They bumped into each other and apologized.  Walter turned away to get his bearings but the young man moved with him, stopped at his side as if there was more to be said.

“Hey, listen I’m sorry about those guys on the bus,” the young man said.

“Do you know them?”

“They aren’t friends of mine but we go to the same high school.”

“Sorry about that,” Walter said.

“My name’s Chester,” the young man said.

“Walter,” he replied.

“Hey uh, listen, I’m doing a project for class where we’re supposed to interview people.  Could I ask you some questions?”

“Really?”

He looked to Chester who looked to the sidewalk embarrassed by his lie.

“Maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee,” Chester said.

“I don’t know,” Walter replied.

“Just five minutes,” Chester said.

Walter agreed.  They walked away from the bus stop and down the street to a coffee shop where they each got a cup of coffee that they carried to a table by the window.  They sat and looked at each other.

“Why are you like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know,” Devon said.

“Such a faggot,” Walter replied.

Devon blushed at the word, at the possibility that was the word he had been thinking.  He looked to his coffee.  His ears were red.  Walter regretted being so abrasive.  He wanted to correct it somehow.

“My mother always thought I should have been a girl.  She knew I used to play with her makeup and clothing.  I don’t know.  It wasn’t like I wanted to be a woman.  It was just different.  I remember that I didn’t really care about gender or masculinity.  I used to watch her putting on her makeup and it always interested me how she transformed with it.  I thought it was neat the way her lips looked."

“Can I ask you something?”

Walter raised his eyebrows in expectation.

“Does it hurt?”

Walter rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t worry about that.  It’s not about sexual acts.  It’s about love.”

Chester sat up, took a sip from his coffee.

“Shouldn’t you be recording this?”

Chester shook his head.

“There is no project is there?”

If his effeminate demeanor was a threat to those jock boys, then it was also a signal to others like himself.  It wasn’t some act or something fake.  It was some unconscious expression that mixed gender expectations.  He knew many people were annoyed, even offended by it, and yet he had no other choice but to be himself.