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.
Showing posts with label Romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romance. Show all posts
Monday, July 14, 2014
Monday, June 16, 2014
Ch 35 - Vegas
A cup of tea in his hand Triston walked the store fixing items, picking up dirt, and anything else he could think to distract himself. It was four hours until his flight out of D.C. to Las Vegas and he was worried. He had passed Cheryl for the third time when she caught his eye.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He stopped in the doorway of the office, turned his head. He had never been one to hide his feelings. He had always been open and shared too much. That’s why he couldn’t work anywhere else, but somehow this felt different. He felt a shame unlike any other. She continued to stare at him until he felt drawn into her confidence.
“I need to talk,” he said.
“Come in and have a seat.”
“I’m just, it’s this vacation. I’m having some anxiety. I’m worried.”
“Because of the relationship?”
Triston shook his head.
“Because of Vincent’s health?”
Triston shook his head.
“Well, you’re going to have to help me honey because I can’t think of anything else.”
“I’m worried about traveling with him. It’s one thing to be gay. It’s another to be a gay couple, and it’s even more when you go out in public, especially places where you don’t know how people will react. It’s one thing around here in D.C. but out there...”
“Things are changing,” she said.
“Not fast enough to keep me safe. I mean it’s like there are places where you know what you can and can’t do. Bars, certain restaurants, and even certain streets it’s like there’s this safe place but I’ve never traveled with a boyfriend. I mean I’m not much on PDA but still, just one look and it’s just the excuse someone needs.”
“It’s not going to be that bad,” she said. “You’ll figure it out. What would be different than being here?”
“D.C. is just such a progressive place. I mean I know when I leave the city limits. I know when I’m out of my element. And I don’t want to just act like we’re friends. I don’t want to act like we’re just two guys hanging out. I’m a proud gay man. I’ve marched. I’ve come out to anyone who showed interest and some people who didn’t.”
“Have you looked up Las Vegas? Have you done some research?”
“Not really,” Triston said. “It was Vincent’s idea and I guess I just thought he’d do all the planning. He talks about it with this kind of excitement.”
“I’m going to send you some links. When I was there I saw a drag show and a production of Naked Boys Singing that was a lot of fun.”
“Really?”
“You haven’t done your homework. Wait a minute.”
Cheryl turned to her computer, pulled up her email, and began to work on a list. Triston watched her for a moment and smiled to himself. He really hadn’t thought about it.
*****
Twenty-four hours later, Vincent and Triston were poolside at their hotel, side by side in matching swimming briefs, covered from head to toe in sun-tan lotion, and wearing sunglasses. The backs of their hands comfortably rested against each other, some subtle connection that could have been an accident.
The only other person was an old woman who sat on the opposite side of the pool looking away from them with a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. It was comfortable, sunny day.
Triston had his eyes closed when he felt Vincent move, his hand was gone. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Vincent putting on a robe.
“I’m going for a drink. Do you want something?”
“Maybe I should dry out,” Triston said.
“This is Vegas. I’ll get you what you had before.”
“Thanks,” Triston said.
He closed his eyes and raised his chin again into the sun. He listened to Vincent pad across the concrete to the bar where a lonely server sat transfixed with his cell phone. For once he felt comfortable, until he heard someone approaching who wasn’t Vincent. He opened his eyes to see a middle aged woman at the foot of his chair.
“Is that chair taken?”
“Uh yeah,” Triston said.
He looked to the woman and he suddenly felt uncomfortable because she was so much like his mother. She wasn’t dressed for the pool but her clothes were loose and open.
“We’re just trying to get some chairs together for the family,” she said.
Maybe it was the mention of family, maybe it was the presumption of them being heterosexual, maybe it was all that fear he had felt all of his life, and maybe it was a revolt against shame but his lips began to move faster than his brain.
“Sorry,” he said, “it’s where my boyfriend was sitting. He’s over at the bar.”
She smiled at him, then looked to the bar, and back. It was a sincere smile, though he feared it would turn cruel at any moment. He forced a smile of his own.
“He’s cute,” she said. “You know my son just came out recently. He’s in the armed services so it had to have been after they got rid of that ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy. Don’t even get me started on that.”
Triston stopped himself from a nervous laugh.
“He’s here in town with the family but there’s a big difference in age between him and his younger brother. Well, big enough that I know he needs to get out an do adult things. He doesn’t have any friends here, maybe I should introduce you to him.”
Triston looked back to the bar where he saw Vincent walking away with a tray of drinks and snacks, but he wasn’t moving fast enough. Triston wanted rescued from this situation, but he looked back to the woman who moved to him and offered her hand. They shook.
“I’m Maggie,” she said.
“Triston,” he replied.
“When he gets here do you mind if I send him over to say hello?”
“No, not at all,” Triston said.
She walked away and moments later Vincent arrived. He placed the tray on the small table between them, scratched at himself.
“What was that about?”
“She wants us to meet her son. He just came out as gay and he’s here for the weekend but he doesn’t have any friends, and he’s in the armed services.”
“Is he cute?” Vincent asked.
“You know, that didn’t come up,” Triston answered.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He stopped in the doorway of the office, turned his head. He had never been one to hide his feelings. He had always been open and shared too much. That’s why he couldn’t work anywhere else, but somehow this felt different. He felt a shame unlike any other. She continued to stare at him until he felt drawn into her confidence.
“I need to talk,” he said.
“Come in and have a seat.”
“I’m just, it’s this vacation. I’m having some anxiety. I’m worried.”
“Because of the relationship?”
Triston shook his head.
“Because of Vincent’s health?”
Triston shook his head.
“Well, you’re going to have to help me honey because I can’t think of anything else.”
“I’m worried about traveling with him. It’s one thing to be gay. It’s another to be a gay couple, and it’s even more when you go out in public, especially places where you don’t know how people will react. It’s one thing around here in D.C. but out there...”
“Things are changing,” she said.
“Not fast enough to keep me safe. I mean it’s like there are places where you know what you can and can’t do. Bars, certain restaurants, and even certain streets it’s like there’s this safe place but I’ve never traveled with a boyfriend. I mean I’m not much on PDA but still, just one look and it’s just the excuse someone needs.”
“It’s not going to be that bad,” she said. “You’ll figure it out. What would be different than being here?”
“D.C. is just such a progressive place. I mean I know when I leave the city limits. I know when I’m out of my element. And I don’t want to just act like we’re friends. I don’t want to act like we’re just two guys hanging out. I’m a proud gay man. I’ve marched. I’ve come out to anyone who showed interest and some people who didn’t.”
“Have you looked up Las Vegas? Have you done some research?”
“Not really,” Triston said. “It was Vincent’s idea and I guess I just thought he’d do all the planning. He talks about it with this kind of excitement.”
“I’m going to send you some links. When I was there I saw a drag show and a production of Naked Boys Singing that was a lot of fun.”
“Really?”
“You haven’t done your homework. Wait a minute.”
Cheryl turned to her computer, pulled up her email, and began to work on a list. Triston watched her for a moment and smiled to himself. He really hadn’t thought about it.
*****
Twenty-four hours later, Vincent and Triston were poolside at their hotel, side by side in matching swimming briefs, covered from head to toe in sun-tan lotion, and wearing sunglasses. The backs of their hands comfortably rested against each other, some subtle connection that could have been an accident.
The only other person was an old woman who sat on the opposite side of the pool looking away from them with a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. It was comfortable, sunny day.
Triston had his eyes closed when he felt Vincent move, his hand was gone. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Vincent putting on a robe.
“I’m going for a drink. Do you want something?”
“Maybe I should dry out,” Triston said.
“This is Vegas. I’ll get you what you had before.”
“Thanks,” Triston said.
He closed his eyes and raised his chin again into the sun. He listened to Vincent pad across the concrete to the bar where a lonely server sat transfixed with his cell phone. For once he felt comfortable, until he heard someone approaching who wasn’t Vincent. He opened his eyes to see a middle aged woman at the foot of his chair.
“Is that chair taken?”
“Uh yeah,” Triston said.
He looked to the woman and he suddenly felt uncomfortable because she was so much like his mother. She wasn’t dressed for the pool but her clothes were loose and open.
“We’re just trying to get some chairs together for the family,” she said.
Maybe it was the mention of family, maybe it was the presumption of them being heterosexual, maybe it was all that fear he had felt all of his life, and maybe it was a revolt against shame but his lips began to move faster than his brain.
“Sorry,” he said, “it’s where my boyfriend was sitting. He’s over at the bar.”
She smiled at him, then looked to the bar, and back. It was a sincere smile, though he feared it would turn cruel at any moment. He forced a smile of his own.
“He’s cute,” she said. “You know my son just came out recently. He’s in the armed services so it had to have been after they got rid of that ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy. Don’t even get me started on that.”
Triston stopped himself from a nervous laugh.
“He’s here in town with the family but there’s a big difference in age between him and his younger brother. Well, big enough that I know he needs to get out an do adult things. He doesn’t have any friends here, maybe I should introduce you to him.”
Triston looked back to the bar where he saw Vincent walking away with a tray of drinks and snacks, but he wasn’t moving fast enough. Triston wanted rescued from this situation, but he looked back to the woman who moved to him and offered her hand. They shook.
“I’m Maggie,” she said.
“Triston,” he replied.
“When he gets here do you mind if I send him over to say hello?”
“No, not at all,” Triston said.
She walked away and moments later Vincent arrived. He placed the tray on the small table between them, scratched at himself.
“What was that about?”
“She wants us to meet her son. He just came out as gay and he’s here for the weekend but he doesn’t have any friends, and he’s in the armed services.”
“Is he cute?” Vincent asked.
“You know, that didn’t come up,” Triston answered.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Ch 31 Straight Advice
Horsepower doesn’t mean anything when stuck in traffic, Spencer thought as he looked at the lights of the car ahead of him. Chad was beside him in the passenger seat.
“Thanks for coming along to try out my new car,” Spencer said. “Sorry there’s so much traffic.”
“You didn’t make it,” Chad said.
“I know. It’s just frustrating.”
“It’d be nice to take it out West though and really get a chance to drive, or maybe down Florida where that highway is like 80 mph.”
“In my dreams, around here I’d be lucky to do anything more than 60 mph with all of the traffic cameras and cops. How’s the job working out for you?” Spencer asked.
“It’s actually kind of fun,” Chad said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, there’s actually a few straight guys who work there but everyone is nice. I’m actually going to some lake with a few of the guys next weekend.”
“Really,” Spencer said.
“Yeah, they invited me along. There’s going to be a cookout. Would you want to go with me? They said I could invite someone.”
“Don’t you think that would be a little, I don’t know, confusing for them.”
“They all know I’m straight. Although there was that one time, but it was just a little bit of tongue.”
“Now you’re just messing with me.”
“Of course I am. Yes, they all know I’m straight but we get along. It’s kind of like being in college or something. Some of the guys can be a little dramatic but there’s no bullshit, you know. I mean on the force it was like all this macho crap. I mean some of those guys I wouldn’t want around my daughter and they have kids of their own but the guys at the bar are nice.”
Spencer let off the brake and drifted for a bit before stopping the car again.
“And there’s someone you should meet.”
“Is he one of those drama people?”
“No, not really, he’s kind of low key. He works the bar. I think he’s kind of shy. It’s rare that he takes his shirt off. He’s got a nice body though.”
“Checking out your workmates? Something I should know?”
“What? I’m allowed to evaluate. He’s handsome, blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“Is he crazy? Because my last boyfriend was crazy. He threatened to post our sex tape on the internet, luckily he backed off. I think he was worried about his grandmother finding out.”
“Sex tape?”
“Don’t ask,” Spencer said.
“I have to ask. Why would you?”
“It was an impulsive thing, supposed to stay private.”
“Did you ever watch it?”
“You know, actually, we didn’t. It always felt more like some secret thing.”
“How about it? I’d introduce the two of you.”
“What? The guy, I guess, I mean nothing is happening in my love life,” Spencer said.
“Did you talk to your roommate?”
“Josh? I haven’t yet. It’s kind of, I don’t know, fizzled. Sometimes Triston tells me what’s going on with him, said he’s not going back to his ex any time soon but that’s it.”
“You should do it,” Chad said.
“I don’t know. I mean it’s weird but it actually seems more difficult than coming out. It kind of feels the same. I mean it’s like this secret that if I say it I leave myself vulnerable to him. I don’t like that feeling.”
“How did you feel after you came out?”
Spencer looked to him. Coming out had been relatively easy given all of the horror stories he had heard. He told his parents one evening and they just kind of accepted it. No, not accepted, but they didn’t fight it. There was no yelling, just silence, and they didn’t really talk about it again, not in any real way. He felt silly for having thought it would be some drastic, life changing event. And yet, really, he did feel different, because he decided he didn’t need their approval.
“I felt lighter,” Spencer said.
“See, it wasn’t easy. How did feel before?”
“Like I wanted to sink into the ground.”
“I’m not saying you’re going to be best friends, or boyfriends, but you owe him a real apology. You need to tell him where you were coming from, and you need to stop thinking of him as a sex object.”
Spencer blushed at the last sentence. He gripped the wheel tighter. He was getting advice from his straight friend about another guy. He let out a small laugh and shook his head. Times really have changed, he thought.
“What is it?” Chad asked.
“I just never thought I’d be sitting here listening to a straight man give me advice about dating another guy, much less inviting me to some cookout to meet someone.”
“Just don’t try and kiss me. I’m married. It’s a monogamous relationship,” Chad said.
Spencer looked to him, his eyes went wide but Chad only smiled back.
“Thanks for coming along to try out my new car,” Spencer said. “Sorry there’s so much traffic.”
“You didn’t make it,” Chad said.
“I know. It’s just frustrating.”
“It’d be nice to take it out West though and really get a chance to drive, or maybe down Florida where that highway is like 80 mph.”
“In my dreams, around here I’d be lucky to do anything more than 60 mph with all of the traffic cameras and cops. How’s the job working out for you?” Spencer asked.
“It’s actually kind of fun,” Chad said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, there’s actually a few straight guys who work there but everyone is nice. I’m actually going to some lake with a few of the guys next weekend.”
“Really,” Spencer said.
“Yeah, they invited me along. There’s going to be a cookout. Would you want to go with me? They said I could invite someone.”
“Don’t you think that would be a little, I don’t know, confusing for them.”
“They all know I’m straight. Although there was that one time, but it was just a little bit of tongue.”
“Now you’re just messing with me.”
“Of course I am. Yes, they all know I’m straight but we get along. It’s kind of like being in college or something. Some of the guys can be a little dramatic but there’s no bullshit, you know. I mean on the force it was like all this macho crap. I mean some of those guys I wouldn’t want around my daughter and they have kids of their own but the guys at the bar are nice.”
Spencer let off the brake and drifted for a bit before stopping the car again.
“And there’s someone you should meet.”
“Is he one of those drama people?”
“No, not really, he’s kind of low key. He works the bar. I think he’s kind of shy. It’s rare that he takes his shirt off. He’s got a nice body though.”
“Checking out your workmates? Something I should know?”
“What? I’m allowed to evaluate. He’s handsome, blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“Is he crazy? Because my last boyfriend was crazy. He threatened to post our sex tape on the internet, luckily he backed off. I think he was worried about his grandmother finding out.”
“Sex tape?”
“Don’t ask,” Spencer said.
“I have to ask. Why would you?”
“It was an impulsive thing, supposed to stay private.”
“Did you ever watch it?”
“You know, actually, we didn’t. It always felt more like some secret thing.”
“How about it? I’d introduce the two of you.”
“What? The guy, I guess, I mean nothing is happening in my love life,” Spencer said.
“Did you talk to your roommate?”
“Josh? I haven’t yet. It’s kind of, I don’t know, fizzled. Sometimes Triston tells me what’s going on with him, said he’s not going back to his ex any time soon but that’s it.”
“You should do it,” Chad said.
“I don’t know. I mean it’s weird but it actually seems more difficult than coming out. It kind of feels the same. I mean it’s like this secret that if I say it I leave myself vulnerable to him. I don’t like that feeling.”
“How did you feel after you came out?”
Spencer looked to him. Coming out had been relatively easy given all of the horror stories he had heard. He told his parents one evening and they just kind of accepted it. No, not accepted, but they didn’t fight it. There was no yelling, just silence, and they didn’t really talk about it again, not in any real way. He felt silly for having thought it would be some drastic, life changing event. And yet, really, he did feel different, because he decided he didn’t need their approval.
“I felt lighter,” Spencer said.
“See, it wasn’t easy. How did feel before?”
“Like I wanted to sink into the ground.”
“I’m not saying you’re going to be best friends, or boyfriends, but you owe him a real apology. You need to tell him where you were coming from, and you need to stop thinking of him as a sex object.”
Spencer blushed at the last sentence. He gripped the wheel tighter. He was getting advice from his straight friend about another guy. He let out a small laugh and shook his head. Times really have changed, he thought.
“What is it?” Chad asked.
“I just never thought I’d be sitting here listening to a straight man give me advice about dating another guy, much less inviting me to some cookout to meet someone.”
“Just don’t try and kiss me. I’m married. It’s a monogamous relationship,” Chad said.
Spencer looked to him, his eyes went wide but Chad only smiled back.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Ch 30 - The Agony
The ticking of the clock was like a torture device that reminded Darrell of his idleness and each passing moment that he wasn’t doing something as he sat in the recliner watching television. It was enough to make him want a tall glass of beer, maybe a few shots of whiskey because that’s how he used to pass the time. That was his former coping mechanism for everything he didn’t want to feel.
It used to be work hard Monday through Friday, start drinking Friday night, recover on Sunday by nursing his poison and then be ready for work on Monday where he’d really dry out in the first meeting of the week. He would regain his faculties, his brain would be stimulated by all of the problems and all of the solutions. Then Wednesday became like Friday and he was constantly trying to recover, no manage, from the poison he drank.
He stabbed his thumbnail into the tip of his middle finger to try and bring himself back to the present as he sat there. Walter was a few feet away quietly eating a bowl of cereal. He felt like a burden to all of them. He felt like his father had been to his mother and to himself when he was young. He thought about how his father was a drunk. He thought about how he didn’t want the man to know he was gay. And he thought about his neighbor who had taken advantage of him when he was a boy and how that could be the blame for everything.
His father would come home late and drunk. His inebriation made him like a wounded animal in need of shelter and his mother, the faithful and dependable wife, would tend to him, care for him. That went on for years with varying degrees of intensity and need, even after he was off to college.
That was when he found himself, or at least could be himself. So many trysts in dark rooms, making himself vulnerable to men who used him for his body and what he represented to them, another conquered man. No one wanted to have a relationship, it was too dangerous. At least the sex could be forgotten, denied, but a relationship, that was something else, something people would find out, something his mother would find out.
For a moment he thought it would be easier when his father died. He came out to his mother, sat her down on a Saturday of his weekend visit home and he told her. She nodded and smiled, then said she didn’t blame him and it wasn’t his fault.
The neighbor, he thought, it was the neighbor who she thinks did this to me. A boy not much older than himself who used to be the terror of the neighborhood. Everyone seemed to have a story about catching him doing something wrong, everyone except Darrell. Well, that’s not true, because there was that one thing, well those things. His mother had almost caught them several times.
The worst was when his friend forgot a pair of underwear at his place, in his room. His mother knew at once the underwear wasn’t Darrell’s. She asked him about it and he told her that it was because they gotten muddy and that he was borrowing a set of clothes. She didn’t seem to believe him. She was suspicious.
But all of that was years ago and yet it felt real, like it had stuck to him. He had told himself many times that there was some way to explain, some perfect argument, a rationale that would make his mother believe and yet he could never bring himself to say anything. Somehow, each time, just before she would prove her willing ignorance to him. She would say something that took the wind out of his lungs.
He moved the thumbnail to his index finger and worked another familiar groove. It was enough to bring him back to the present and yet he felt it. He felt that anger and sorrow right there in his throat, He had been on edge since the accident. It was the little, sentimental things that seemed to do it, something in a movie or some comment, even commercials.
“Walter,” he said. “Would you give me a minute?”
“What?”
“Please, I’m not feeling well. I need a moment.”
Walter looked him in the eye.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to get something?”
“Would you go to the store and buy me a beer?” Darrell asked.
Walter let out a nervous laugh.
“You don’t drink,” he said.
“Please, something, anything, just go out.”
“I’ll get you some ice cream,” Walter replied.
“That’s fine,” he said.
Walter got to his feet, scratched at his chest, but continued to stare at Darrell. The sight of him dressed in a small, comic t-shirt that rode up easily, skinny jeans that looked like a second skin, and his simple, ordinary shoes with thin bottoms reminded Darrell of Walter’s unguarded personality, his youthful curiosity, and his endurance for ridicule. It was enough to make him cry.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Walter said as he approached him.
“No, please, leave me,” Darrell said.
Walter moved closer, touched his shoulder.
“I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“It’s too late. You just have to let it out. You’ll feel better.”
“No,” Darrell said with a shake of his head.
“Yes, you have to let it out. You have to scream about it. Even if no one listens and no one knows, you can’t hold it inside of you.”
That sent Darrell over the edge as his silent tears became vicious sobs and grunts of agony. Walter moved closer, sat beside him on the recliner’s large armrest and placed his arm down around Darrell’s shoulders. He rubbed Darrell’s shoulder and took a deep breath.
It used to be work hard Monday through Friday, start drinking Friday night, recover on Sunday by nursing his poison and then be ready for work on Monday where he’d really dry out in the first meeting of the week. He would regain his faculties, his brain would be stimulated by all of the problems and all of the solutions. Then Wednesday became like Friday and he was constantly trying to recover, no manage, from the poison he drank.
He stabbed his thumbnail into the tip of his middle finger to try and bring himself back to the present as he sat there. Walter was a few feet away quietly eating a bowl of cereal. He felt like a burden to all of them. He felt like his father had been to his mother and to himself when he was young. He thought about how his father was a drunk. He thought about how he didn’t want the man to know he was gay. And he thought about his neighbor who had taken advantage of him when he was a boy and how that could be the blame for everything.
His father would come home late and drunk. His inebriation made him like a wounded animal in need of shelter and his mother, the faithful and dependable wife, would tend to him, care for him. That went on for years with varying degrees of intensity and need, even after he was off to college.
That was when he found himself, or at least could be himself. So many trysts in dark rooms, making himself vulnerable to men who used him for his body and what he represented to them, another conquered man. No one wanted to have a relationship, it was too dangerous. At least the sex could be forgotten, denied, but a relationship, that was something else, something people would find out, something his mother would find out.
For a moment he thought it would be easier when his father died. He came out to his mother, sat her down on a Saturday of his weekend visit home and he told her. She nodded and smiled, then said she didn’t blame him and it wasn’t his fault.
The neighbor, he thought, it was the neighbor who she thinks did this to me. A boy not much older than himself who used to be the terror of the neighborhood. Everyone seemed to have a story about catching him doing something wrong, everyone except Darrell. Well, that’s not true, because there was that one thing, well those things. His mother had almost caught them several times.
The worst was when his friend forgot a pair of underwear at his place, in his room. His mother knew at once the underwear wasn’t Darrell’s. She asked him about it and he told her that it was because they gotten muddy and that he was borrowing a set of clothes. She didn’t seem to believe him. She was suspicious.
But all of that was years ago and yet it felt real, like it had stuck to him. He had told himself many times that there was some way to explain, some perfect argument, a rationale that would make his mother believe and yet he could never bring himself to say anything. Somehow, each time, just before she would prove her willing ignorance to him. She would say something that took the wind out of his lungs.
He moved the thumbnail to his index finger and worked another familiar groove. It was enough to bring him back to the present and yet he felt it. He felt that anger and sorrow right there in his throat, He had been on edge since the accident. It was the little, sentimental things that seemed to do it, something in a movie or some comment, even commercials.
“Walter,” he said. “Would you give me a minute?”
“What?”
“Please, I’m not feeling well. I need a moment.”
Walter looked him in the eye.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to get something?”
“Would you go to the store and buy me a beer?” Darrell asked.
Walter let out a nervous laugh.
“You don’t drink,” he said.
“Please, something, anything, just go out.”
“I’ll get you some ice cream,” Walter replied.
“That’s fine,” he said.
Walter got to his feet, scratched at his chest, but continued to stare at Darrell. The sight of him dressed in a small, comic t-shirt that rode up easily, skinny jeans that looked like a second skin, and his simple, ordinary shoes with thin bottoms reminded Darrell of Walter’s unguarded personality, his youthful curiosity, and his endurance for ridicule. It was enough to make him cry.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Walter said as he approached him.
“No, please, leave me,” Darrell said.
Walter moved closer, touched his shoulder.
“I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“It’s too late. You just have to let it out. You’ll feel better.”
“No,” Darrell said with a shake of his head.
“Yes, you have to let it out. You have to scream about it. Even if no one listens and no one knows, you can’t hold it inside of you.”
That sent Darrell over the edge as his silent tears became vicious sobs and grunts of agony. Walter moved closer, sat beside him on the recliner’s large armrest and placed his arm down around Darrell’s shoulders. He rubbed Darrell’s shoulder and took a deep breath.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Ch 26 Tattoos and Scars
Triston sat at the sales counter for his job quietly staring into a cup of coffee as he thought about his two friends Spencer and Josh. They had each related to him their accounts for their argument at different times.
Spencer:
“Look I know what I did was wrong and I apologized for it but I’m just so tired of guys like him thinking I’m not their type. It’s the classic thing right? Nice guys finish last. Well, I’m a nice guy, most of the time, and it’s not fair. I mean I did all of that for him. I let him move into my apartment. You know how much I hate sharing an apartment with someone and then I take him to the group session and practically hold his hand to get him there and I was there for him afterwards. I’m not saying I deserve something like sex or a relationship but it wasn’t easy. And I thought we had this connection. I thought, you know, we were getting close.”
Josh:
“Look he took me in and everything and I’m used to having arguments with people, he just kind of surprised me by professing his love one moment and then snapping on me the next whenever I start talking about my ex. What kind of person does that? I love you and now I hate you. He apologized and I told him I forgave him but I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d use it against me like that. He said some really mean things.”
He picked up his coffee and took a sip before putting it down and walking away from the counter and through the store looking for something to do, but the floors were clean, everything was arranged properly. He made his way to the back room where Cheryl sat at her desk writing out her presentation. He leaned against the doorway.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“I don’t know why I keep thinking about it,” Triston said.
“Do you want to be any more vague?”
“My two friends, you know Spencer and this new guys Josh. One fell for the other but it’s not reciprocal and now it’s become a problem. Why do people have to be so worried about long term commitment or the perfect relationship?
“Look, I’m not saying they use each other but what’s wrong with them each getting something out of it? I mean what if they only date for a few months, maybe year, and they both become better people for having known each other but then they separate and go their own way.”
She stared at him for a moment as she organized her thoughts. Her silence made him uncomfortable.
“Life doesn’t work that way honey. Each relationship is like having a tattoo or a scar, some are beautiful and some you regret.”
Spencer:
“Look I know what I did was wrong and I apologized for it but I’m just so tired of guys like him thinking I’m not their type. It’s the classic thing right? Nice guys finish last. Well, I’m a nice guy, most of the time, and it’s not fair. I mean I did all of that for him. I let him move into my apartment. You know how much I hate sharing an apartment with someone and then I take him to the group session and practically hold his hand to get him there and I was there for him afterwards. I’m not saying I deserve something like sex or a relationship but it wasn’t easy. And I thought we had this connection. I thought, you know, we were getting close.”
Josh:
“Look he took me in and everything and I’m used to having arguments with people, he just kind of surprised me by professing his love one moment and then snapping on me the next whenever I start talking about my ex. What kind of person does that? I love you and now I hate you. He apologized and I told him I forgave him but I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d use it against me like that. He said some really mean things.”
He picked up his coffee and took a sip before putting it down and walking away from the counter and through the store looking for something to do, but the floors were clean, everything was arranged properly. He made his way to the back room where Cheryl sat at her desk writing out her presentation. He leaned against the doorway.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“I don’t know why I keep thinking about it,” Triston said.
“Do you want to be any more vague?”
“My two friends, you know Spencer and this new guys Josh. One fell for the other but it’s not reciprocal and now it’s become a problem. Why do people have to be so worried about long term commitment or the perfect relationship?
“Look, I’m not saying they use each other but what’s wrong with them each getting something out of it? I mean what if they only date for a few months, maybe year, and they both become better people for having known each other but then they separate and go their own way.”
She stared at him for a moment as she organized her thoughts. Her silence made him uncomfortable.
“Life doesn’t work that way honey. Each relationship is like having a tattoo or a scar, some are beautiful and some you regret.”
Monday, April 7, 2014
Ch 25 The Journey
Was love at first sight possible? How different would he feel tomorrow?
Triston looked his new friend Vincent in the eye as they sat at the bar having a post orgasm drink. They had met hours before at a dinner party, fooled around in the bedroom against the back of the door, and finally made it to the bar for some kind of celebration.
He often thought that dating was like two particles of an opposite charge trying to find each other in a crowded field. Each particle was pulled in different directions and yet when they got close enough there was something between them. He had felt it before, had many good relationships out of that attraction, some became friends, others he might not see again, but when there is a bond it is hard to deny.
It wasn’t just that Vincent was handsome because he was. It wasn’t just that they were about the same age or that Vincent seemed to have a good job, dress well, and had an easy confidence. It wasn’t just the warmth of his hands or the size of his dick.
Just being apart a few feet to use the restroom, entertain a friend in another room, or when they were leaving felt wrong. They had so much in common. Vincent wasn’t like anyone else. He wasn’t like Walter who had decided he needed to explore on his own. Triston had thought that relationship was doomed from the start. Not doomed, but finite, as if it only had one meaning. He was there to help Walter experiment and find comfort, to be accepted, and it was time for them both to move on to something, someone, else.
“We’ve been having such a good time but there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t want to ruin this.”
The words stole the breath from Triston’s lungs and he had to close his eyes for a moment to focus on the present without imagining the future. He had an immediate suspicion about what was going to be said. There was only one thing to be said when two men were about to be more intimate.
“I have AIDS,” Vincent said.
“That’s okay,” Triston replied.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you? No,” Triston said with a shake of his head.
Vincent looked at him trying to figure out some tell, some way to know he was lying.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of the disease. I’m afraid of catching it depending on what we do but there’s protection for that. I’m afraid of getting it, having it.” Triston took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that it will make you sick. I’m afraid that you will die young, before I’m ready to let you go. I’m afraid I’ll get old without you.”
“We barely know each other,” Vincent said.
“I feel like I’ve known you before, maybe in a previous life.”
“You’re kind of a hippie aren’t you?”
“I’d like to think I’m okay with uncertainty. I’m a pragmatist.”
“Well, we have have one thing in common.”
“I’ve dated guys with it before, it’s not easy but we had a lot of fun.”
“But you don’t have it?”
Triston shook his head.
“Do you want to go back to my place then?”
Triston touched the side of Vincent’s head, ran his fingers around his ear and through his hair to his jawline where he grazed the bone and pulled him into a kiss. He got to his feet and grabbed hold of Vincent’s side, felt the warmth of him. Their tongues tickled each other until he felt too many people were staring in their direction. They were in a straight bar after all. It didn’t matter at the time they entered because they were there for a drink. They pulled apart.
Everyone looked away, including the bartender. Triston took hold of Vincent’s hand and pulled him from the barstool to his feet. Hand in hand they walked from the bar and out into the rain and back to Vincent’s car.
He tried to not think of the goal as a measure of success even though it felt like it should be. He blamed his typical American upbringing for that. No, to keep living he always tried to put it in different terms and reframe the narrative. To only think of the goal was being dismissive of everything he experienced to get there.
Triston looked his new friend Vincent in the eye as they sat at the bar having a post orgasm drink. They had met hours before at a dinner party, fooled around in the bedroom against the back of the door, and finally made it to the bar for some kind of celebration.
He often thought that dating was like two particles of an opposite charge trying to find each other in a crowded field. Each particle was pulled in different directions and yet when they got close enough there was something between them. He had felt it before, had many good relationships out of that attraction, some became friends, others he might not see again, but when there is a bond it is hard to deny.
It wasn’t just that Vincent was handsome because he was. It wasn’t just that they were about the same age or that Vincent seemed to have a good job, dress well, and had an easy confidence. It wasn’t just the warmth of his hands or the size of his dick.
Just being apart a few feet to use the restroom, entertain a friend in another room, or when they were leaving felt wrong. They had so much in common. Vincent wasn’t like anyone else. He wasn’t like Walter who had decided he needed to explore on his own. Triston had thought that relationship was doomed from the start. Not doomed, but finite, as if it only had one meaning. He was there to help Walter experiment and find comfort, to be accepted, and it was time for them both to move on to something, someone, else.
“We’ve been having such a good time but there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t want to ruin this.”
The words stole the breath from Triston’s lungs and he had to close his eyes for a moment to focus on the present without imagining the future. He had an immediate suspicion about what was going to be said. There was only one thing to be said when two men were about to be more intimate.
“I have AIDS,” Vincent said.
“That’s okay,” Triston replied.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you? No,” Triston said with a shake of his head.
Vincent looked at him trying to figure out some tell, some way to know he was lying.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of the disease. I’m afraid of catching it depending on what we do but there’s protection for that. I’m afraid of getting it, having it.” Triston took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that it will make you sick. I’m afraid that you will die young, before I’m ready to let you go. I’m afraid I’ll get old without you.”
“We barely know each other,” Vincent said.
“I feel like I’ve known you before, maybe in a previous life.”
“You’re kind of a hippie aren’t you?”
“I’d like to think I’m okay with uncertainty. I’m a pragmatist.”
“Well, we have have one thing in common.”
“I’ve dated guys with it before, it’s not easy but we had a lot of fun.”
“But you don’t have it?”
Triston shook his head.
“Do you want to go back to my place then?”
Triston touched the side of Vincent’s head, ran his fingers around his ear and through his hair to his jawline where he grazed the bone and pulled him into a kiss. He got to his feet and grabbed hold of Vincent’s side, felt the warmth of him. Their tongues tickled each other until he felt too many people were staring in their direction. They were in a straight bar after all. It didn’t matter at the time they entered because they were there for a drink. They pulled apart.
Everyone looked away, including the bartender. Triston took hold of Vincent’s hand and pulled him from the barstool to his feet. Hand in hand they walked from the bar and out into the rain and back to Vincent’s car.
He tried to not think of the goal as a measure of success even though it felt like it should be. He blamed his typical American upbringing for that. No, to keep living he always tried to put it in different terms and reframe the narrative. To only think of the goal was being dismissive of everything he experienced to get there.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Ch 24 - Reversed Polarity
Spencer stood with the freezer door open dressed in his workout clothes after following a yoga video in the living room. He had been in the cool down period when Josh came home. Josh was at the counter opening a take out container.
“Oh my god that smells so good,” Spencer said.
“Want some?”
“Oh you temptress, I really want to but I can’t. Friday is my cheat day. I have to lose a few pounds.”
“You look great,” Josh said.
“I look a mess,” Spencer said.
Josh turned to him, crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. There was something on his mind. Spencer took out a fruit juice bar and closed the door. He partially unwrapped the bar and began to suck on the end.
“I uh, talked to Paul today,” Josh said.
“What did that asshole want?” Spencer asked.
He suddenly regretted his word usage. Asshole was something he had been thinking in his head for a long time but never actually verbalized. Now that he said it the word felt appropriate for Paul and yet he didn’t know how Josh would react.
“He’s different,” Josh said. “He’s taking anger management classes and going to A.A. He’s even talking about seeing a couple’s therapist.”
“Couple, like the two of you?”
“What?”
“It’s just, I thought it was over,” Spencer replied.
Josh picked up his food and walked out of the kitchen to the living room where he sat on the couch. Spencer followed him despite his fear of dripping the juice bar on the carpet or worse the couch. He sat next to Josh and looked to the food, watched Josh put some in his mouth and begin to chew.
“It is over right?” Spencer asked.
“It is, well mostly, I mean when it was good it was really good. There were things in his life that I didn’t know about and work was too stressful, but all of that is changing.”
Spencer couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“What?” Josh asked.
“You sound like an after school special. You sound like a Lifetime movie. And this where I’m supposed to try and talk you out of it. This is where I beg and plead and I tell you how great you are, then you go and do something stupid, maybe it ends up okay but most likely it doesn’t, and I might be the one who helps you again or I might be the one who identifies your corpse.”
The last word stung both of them after he said it and he paused. He waited to catch his breath, steady his breathing, and re-frame his thoughts before he said something else, something more cruel. There were so many things he wanted to say.
“I want you to be happy. I want you to get what you want and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want something else out of this.”
“You don’t even need a roommate,” Josh said.
Spencer was stunned by the true but inaccurate thought. Could he not see? Did he not feel the same? Would he ever feel the same? He had to say something. It could all be over tomorrow like so many things. He knew there was more regret in not speaking or acting than doing it.
“It’s not that. I’m afraid for you on a human level but also as a friend, because I care about you, and it scares me to say this but I want you to stay in my life. I want you to be part of my life.”
“As friends?”
Spencer reached across the couch to where Josh’s hand lay on his knee and took it. He grasped his fingers, pulled at them until he could hold his entire hand. Josh began to pull away but Spencer held him for a moment before letting go.
“I’m not ready for this,” Josh said.
“But you’d go back to him?”
“It’s different,” Josh said. “We had something. It wasn’t always like that. We complimented each other.”
“But then what? He started hitting you and humiliating you? He belittled you. You feared him.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is easy,” Spencer said. “What’s the real reason? Are you afraid it might not work out between us?”
“Yes,” Josh said. “We’ve never really. I mean you’re cute but--”
“--I’m not your type,” Spencer said. “You like them dangerous.”
Josh dropped his fork in his food and stood. He looked down to Spencer. There was anger in his eyes and something else. He walked the long way around the coffee table to his bedroom but wasn’t in there long before he got his coat and left the apartment with a slam of the door.
Spencer reclined against the couch. He felt a pain in his stomach. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to yell.
Did he want someone who didn’t want him back? He was cute but? Did he just force Josh back into Paul’s clutches? What did he do? He wanted to call Josh or maybe chase after him but there was something else in his eyes besides anger.
He thought about it for a moment before he realized he could verbalize the feeling.
“I’m scared too,” Spencer said.
“Oh my god that smells so good,” Spencer said.
“Want some?”
“Oh you temptress, I really want to but I can’t. Friday is my cheat day. I have to lose a few pounds.”
“You look great,” Josh said.
“I look a mess,” Spencer said.
Josh turned to him, crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. There was something on his mind. Spencer took out a fruit juice bar and closed the door. He partially unwrapped the bar and began to suck on the end.
“I uh, talked to Paul today,” Josh said.
“What did that asshole want?” Spencer asked.
He suddenly regretted his word usage. Asshole was something he had been thinking in his head for a long time but never actually verbalized. Now that he said it the word felt appropriate for Paul and yet he didn’t know how Josh would react.
“He’s different,” Josh said. “He’s taking anger management classes and going to A.A. He’s even talking about seeing a couple’s therapist.”
“Couple, like the two of you?”
“What?”
“It’s just, I thought it was over,” Spencer replied.
Josh picked up his food and walked out of the kitchen to the living room where he sat on the couch. Spencer followed him despite his fear of dripping the juice bar on the carpet or worse the couch. He sat next to Josh and looked to the food, watched Josh put some in his mouth and begin to chew.
“It is over right?” Spencer asked.
“It is, well mostly, I mean when it was good it was really good. There were things in his life that I didn’t know about and work was too stressful, but all of that is changing.”
Spencer couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“What?” Josh asked.
“You sound like an after school special. You sound like a Lifetime movie. And this where I’m supposed to try and talk you out of it. This is where I beg and plead and I tell you how great you are, then you go and do something stupid, maybe it ends up okay but most likely it doesn’t, and I might be the one who helps you again or I might be the one who identifies your corpse.”
The last word stung both of them after he said it and he paused. He waited to catch his breath, steady his breathing, and re-frame his thoughts before he said something else, something more cruel. There were so many things he wanted to say.
“I want you to be happy. I want you to get what you want and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want something else out of this.”
“You don’t even need a roommate,” Josh said.
Spencer was stunned by the true but inaccurate thought. Could he not see? Did he not feel the same? Would he ever feel the same? He had to say something. It could all be over tomorrow like so many things. He knew there was more regret in not speaking or acting than doing it.
“It’s not that. I’m afraid for you on a human level but also as a friend, because I care about you, and it scares me to say this but I want you to stay in my life. I want you to be part of my life.”
“As friends?”
Spencer reached across the couch to where Josh’s hand lay on his knee and took it. He grasped his fingers, pulled at them until he could hold his entire hand. Josh began to pull away but Spencer held him for a moment before letting go.
“I’m not ready for this,” Josh said.
“But you’d go back to him?”
“It’s different,” Josh said. “We had something. It wasn’t always like that. We complimented each other.”
“But then what? He started hitting you and humiliating you? He belittled you. You feared him.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is easy,” Spencer said. “What’s the real reason? Are you afraid it might not work out between us?”
“Yes,” Josh said. “We’ve never really. I mean you’re cute but--”
“--I’m not your type,” Spencer said. “You like them dangerous.”
Josh dropped his fork in his food and stood. He looked down to Spencer. There was anger in his eyes and something else. He walked the long way around the coffee table to his bedroom but wasn’t in there long before he got his coat and left the apartment with a slam of the door.
Spencer reclined against the couch. He felt a pain in his stomach. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to yell.
Did he want someone who didn’t want him back? He was cute but? Did he just force Josh back into Paul’s clutches? What did he do? He wanted to call Josh or maybe chase after him but there was something else in his eyes besides anger.
He thought about it for a moment before he realized he could verbalize the feeling.
“I’m scared too,” Spencer said.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Ch 22 - One of Many
Just hearing the name of the group caused Josh to tense up, LGBT Survivors of Domestic Abuse. It meant, it defined, some part of his life that he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to feel anything about that. He wanted it to be over. His body healed. He had moved out. He was starting over. And yet it ran through him deep like a sword had been cut down through his body, seeing the sign made him feel from his brain down to his gut. If he went inside he would be... it would define...
He wanted to run away. He wanted to find comfort some other place and yet he stopped himself because of his friend, his roommate, who was standing only a few feet away ready to go into his own meeting, LGBT Partners of Survivors of Domestic Abuse. Even though he wasn’t actually his partner, he had volunteered to go.
They would part ways, listen, maybe even talk, and then it would be over and they could walk away together, go out to dinner, but most likely go home. God he wanted to go home. They had taken to marathons of Queer as Folk and eating ice cream just about every other weekday evening. It had become some bonding time and it was nice to be with another man, intimate but not sexual or physical, just to have someone there.
He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans, and entered the room. Simon watched him as if he were sending a child off to school before he went to his own door, his own room where he thought about the lies he might have to tell, but it wasn’t difficult imagining being in a relationship with Josh. Sometimes he imagined going on vacation, sometimes being in bed in the morning.
Josh found a chair in the circle where people had already begun to sit. Some talked to each other, some got coffee or a cup of water. He thought get himself something to drink but his feet wouldn’t move. They were stuck to the floor, his knees were locked, so he let himself be as everyone else found their place and then the group leader began. He zoned out as the man began to talk, introduction, expectation, group dynamics, retraumatization, and PTSD. He logged everything somewhere in his brain for use later until the circle was opened for discussion.
He shifted on his seat. He put his hands in his pockets. And he waited. It wasn’t long for someone to speak up but as soon as the person started talking he felt unable to concentrate. His courage left him and he was struggling to breath. He closed his eyes. He was in a room with people and it felt like his skin was being ripped away. He felt vulnerable and raw. If someone touched him he thought he was going to cry, at least flinch and run away. He wanted to leave but their judgement stopped him. He inhaled deeply and held it.
Release, then do it again, he told himself. Eventually he felt himself relaxing. His heart slowed, his pulse slowed, one after the other until he could open his eyes and look around at the other people, most of whom avoided eye contact, only a few smiled back at him. He felt relaxed as he thought of Simon in the other room probably going through the same thing. He thought about being with Simon afterwards and sharing.
Just like that he felt better and he slipped his hands from his pockets and laid them on his thighs. Time slowed as more people spoke. It wasn’t boring. It was significant. They shared their thoughts and feelings. They shared their stories. And just when he thought about speaking and introducing himself it was over.
The group leader announced the end of the meeting. Everyone began to move their chair to the wall and he did the same but after he had placed it there he moved to avoid anyone else until he was in the hallway and then he was looking for Simon who was emerging from his own room. They moved to each other.
“Hey, are you okay?” Simon asked.
“Fine,” Josh said. “Why?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon said.
“Really? No, I feel okay. Really, I do. I’m fine.”
“Did you want to go out or go home?”
“Go home,” Josh said.
“I’ll order when we’re close. I’m starved. How about you?”
“Desperately,” Josh said.
The drive back was easy. Simon parked in his usual spot and they walked back to his apartment without speaking. Inside Josh spotted the clock on the wall. It had only been an hour and half of his time and yet it felt like something else. He laughed to himself and shook his head.
How could something so brief feel so immense when he didn't really do anything?
He wanted to run away. He wanted to find comfort some other place and yet he stopped himself because of his friend, his roommate, who was standing only a few feet away ready to go into his own meeting, LGBT Partners of Survivors of Domestic Abuse. Even though he wasn’t actually his partner, he had volunteered to go.
They would part ways, listen, maybe even talk, and then it would be over and they could walk away together, go out to dinner, but most likely go home. God he wanted to go home. They had taken to marathons of Queer as Folk and eating ice cream just about every other weekday evening. It had become some bonding time and it was nice to be with another man, intimate but not sexual or physical, just to have someone there.
He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans, and entered the room. Simon watched him as if he were sending a child off to school before he went to his own door, his own room where he thought about the lies he might have to tell, but it wasn’t difficult imagining being in a relationship with Josh. Sometimes he imagined going on vacation, sometimes being in bed in the morning.
Josh found a chair in the circle where people had already begun to sit. Some talked to each other, some got coffee or a cup of water. He thought get himself something to drink but his feet wouldn’t move. They were stuck to the floor, his knees were locked, so he let himself be as everyone else found their place and then the group leader began. He zoned out as the man began to talk, introduction, expectation, group dynamics, retraumatization, and PTSD. He logged everything somewhere in his brain for use later until the circle was opened for discussion.
He shifted on his seat. He put his hands in his pockets. And he waited. It wasn’t long for someone to speak up but as soon as the person started talking he felt unable to concentrate. His courage left him and he was struggling to breath. He closed his eyes. He was in a room with people and it felt like his skin was being ripped away. He felt vulnerable and raw. If someone touched him he thought he was going to cry, at least flinch and run away. He wanted to leave but their judgement stopped him. He inhaled deeply and held it.
Release, then do it again, he told himself. Eventually he felt himself relaxing. His heart slowed, his pulse slowed, one after the other until he could open his eyes and look around at the other people, most of whom avoided eye contact, only a few smiled back at him. He felt relaxed as he thought of Simon in the other room probably going through the same thing. He thought about being with Simon afterwards and sharing.
Just like that he felt better and he slipped his hands from his pockets and laid them on his thighs. Time slowed as more people spoke. It wasn’t boring. It was significant. They shared their thoughts and feelings. They shared their stories. And just when he thought about speaking and introducing himself it was over.
The group leader announced the end of the meeting. Everyone began to move their chair to the wall and he did the same but after he had placed it there he moved to avoid anyone else until he was in the hallway and then he was looking for Simon who was emerging from his own room. They moved to each other.
“Hey, are you okay?” Simon asked.
“Fine,” Josh said. “Why?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon said.
“Really? No, I feel okay. Really, I do. I’m fine.”
“Did you want to go out or go home?”
“Go home,” Josh said.
“I’ll order when we’re close. I’m starved. How about you?”
“Desperately,” Josh said.
The drive back was easy. Simon parked in his usual spot and they walked back to his apartment without speaking. Inside Josh spotted the clock on the wall. It had only been an hour and half of his time and yet it felt like something else. He laughed to himself and shook his head.
How could something so brief feel so immense when he didn't really do anything?
Monday, March 3, 2014
Ch 20 - Helping Josh Move
All six of them stood in the small lobby area of Josh’s former apartment building holding flattened moving boxes. The place was clean and maintained but in a haphazard kind of way. Old fixtures, hinges, and doors had been moved, removed, and replaced. Josh checked his mailbox for any last mail that might have been sent to the address after he submitted the change of address form, there was always something. He put Paul’s mail back in the box and locked it.
“I’m not sure we need this many people. I don’t have that much,” Josh said.
“You’re my roommate now,” Spencer said.
“I said I’d help when you told me you had to move out,” Triston replied.
“And see I know that Spencer doesn’t lift anything heavier than his cell phone at the gym,” Darrell said.
“I was told we were going drinking,” Bobby said.
There was a pause.
“I didn’t have anything better to do.”
They looked to Walter.
“What?”
Josh coughed and stepped between the men to the stairs where he led them up three flights and down a hallway.
“See this is why we brought extra people,” Darrell said to Bobby who walked beside him running a finger along the wall.
Walter was the last. He walked with one hand in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt wary of getting too close to the banister that seemed too short, to bent to be of any good to a person.
Josh opened his apartment door slowly to be greeted by the wet nose of Paul’s dog but he knew the dog was friendly and ushered the guys inside to the living room where they stopped just a few inches away from each other.
Right there in the kitchen was Paul. He was leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, an intense and serious look on his face. On the counter was a partially made sandwich with carrot and celery sticks on the side, an open beer beside the plate.
“Hello,” Paul said.
The men muttered a response but only Darrell and Triston looked to him directly. Bobby found himself trying to politely ward the dog away from his crotch. And Spencer tried to stop himself from grinding his teeth and making a fist with his hand.
“Hi Paul,” Josh said.
They looked across the space to each other but neither of them moved. Finally Josh broke the stare and the silence.
“I don’t have much in the living room, my game system, all the games, and controllers. I don’t have anything in the kitchen but I should take you into my room. It’s where I kept all my stuff from my first apartment.”
He led them down the hall to his bedroom door. He opened it to a stale, cold feeling of a room that had not been used in weeks. They peeked inside to see they had plenty of work to do. There was a bed on it’s side with a frame nearby, bookshelves full of movies, books, and CD’s, exercise equipment and a collection of small weights, poster tubes, a tall black dresser, and a small collection of dry cleaned shirts in the closet.
“If you guys want to start on this,” Josh said.
“I’ll get the video game stuff,” Walter said.
“I’ll help him,” Bobby said.
“And I need to get a few things from Paul’s room,” Josh said.
He stepped away from them to the other door and opened it. There was a familiar sound and the smell of vanilla incense. He looked to the empty and made bed with tight corners and no lines. He thought of the times they spent watching television and cuddling in the early morning before work. He thought about his first morning there and how they felt like adventurers when they raided the refrigerator and had a picnic on the bed.
“Are you okay?” Triston asked.
Josh looked to him and winced. Triston looked back down the hall, worried that Paul would try to join them, maybe ingratiate himself somehow, or worse start complaining about possession and moving out.
“Need a hug?”
They hugged each other.
In Josh’s former bedroom Darrell worked like a machine to load the DVD’s and books into separate boxes. He had moved many times in his life and felt that there was a way to do it so nothing got broken.
Spencer had assembled two boxes and opened a dresser drawer to find a collection of underwear. He looked them over. There was nothing racy but many of them were old, mostly briefs, a few boxers, straps of a jock. He felt himself redden just at the sight of them. He looked to Darrell who was occupied and back inside the drawer. The waistband on the underwear was small, smaller than his own and he had always been proud of his 34 inch waist. He shook all thought away, cleared his throat and shoveled them one handful at a time into the box before he moved on to the next drawer.
It wasn’t long before Darrell and Spencer had stacked boxes, Bobby and Walter had collected all the video game items in boxes by the door, and Josh emptied his few drawers in Paul’s room, took down his necklace from the mirror, and double checked the bathroom. They moved the mattress first.
After they had finished in the living room Paul went in there with his dog to sit and eat. He was methodical and they were quick.
Finally the last of the boxes were being carried downstairs. Josh and Triston stood by the front door of the apartment mentally double checking everything. Triston knew that normally in situations like this the most commonly forgotten things were identification documents but they had already talked it over and Josh’s documents were safely locked in a safety deposit box at a bank.
“Well,” Josh said.
“Well,” Triston replied.
Josh stepped to the archway and looked into the living room. He wanted to pet the dog. He wanted to hug and kiss Paul but he knew it was over. It felt as if the weeks apart had allowed him to form a thin shell around his skin that could break if they touched.
“I’m leaving,” Josh said.
Paul got to his feet and walked to the two men. He put his hands on his hips.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“I’m not sure we need this many people. I don’t have that much,” Josh said.
“You’re my roommate now,” Spencer said.
“I said I’d help when you told me you had to move out,” Triston replied.
“And see I know that Spencer doesn’t lift anything heavier than his cell phone at the gym,” Darrell said.
“I was told we were going drinking,” Bobby said.
There was a pause.
“I didn’t have anything better to do.”
They looked to Walter.
“What?”
Josh coughed and stepped between the men to the stairs where he led them up three flights and down a hallway.
“See this is why we brought extra people,” Darrell said to Bobby who walked beside him running a finger along the wall.
Walter was the last. He walked with one hand in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt wary of getting too close to the banister that seemed too short, to bent to be of any good to a person.
Josh opened his apartment door slowly to be greeted by the wet nose of Paul’s dog but he knew the dog was friendly and ushered the guys inside to the living room where they stopped just a few inches away from each other.
Right there in the kitchen was Paul. He was leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, an intense and serious look on his face. On the counter was a partially made sandwich with carrot and celery sticks on the side, an open beer beside the plate.
“Hello,” Paul said.
The men muttered a response but only Darrell and Triston looked to him directly. Bobby found himself trying to politely ward the dog away from his crotch. And Spencer tried to stop himself from grinding his teeth and making a fist with his hand.
“Hi Paul,” Josh said.
They looked across the space to each other but neither of them moved. Finally Josh broke the stare and the silence.
“I don’t have much in the living room, my game system, all the games, and controllers. I don’t have anything in the kitchen but I should take you into my room. It’s where I kept all my stuff from my first apartment.”
He led them down the hall to his bedroom door. He opened it to a stale, cold feeling of a room that had not been used in weeks. They peeked inside to see they had plenty of work to do. There was a bed on it’s side with a frame nearby, bookshelves full of movies, books, and CD’s, exercise equipment and a collection of small weights, poster tubes, a tall black dresser, and a small collection of dry cleaned shirts in the closet.
“If you guys want to start on this,” Josh said.
“I’ll get the video game stuff,” Walter said.
“I’ll help him,” Bobby said.
“And I need to get a few things from Paul’s room,” Josh said.
He stepped away from them to the other door and opened it. There was a familiar sound and the smell of vanilla incense. He looked to the empty and made bed with tight corners and no lines. He thought of the times they spent watching television and cuddling in the early morning before work. He thought about his first morning there and how they felt like adventurers when they raided the refrigerator and had a picnic on the bed.
“Are you okay?” Triston asked.
Josh looked to him and winced. Triston looked back down the hall, worried that Paul would try to join them, maybe ingratiate himself somehow, or worse start complaining about possession and moving out.
“Need a hug?”
They hugged each other.
In Josh’s former bedroom Darrell worked like a machine to load the DVD’s and books into separate boxes. He had moved many times in his life and felt that there was a way to do it so nothing got broken.
Spencer had assembled two boxes and opened a dresser drawer to find a collection of underwear. He looked them over. There was nothing racy but many of them were old, mostly briefs, a few boxers, straps of a jock. He felt himself redden just at the sight of them. He looked to Darrell who was occupied and back inside the drawer. The waistband on the underwear was small, smaller than his own and he had always been proud of his 34 inch waist. He shook all thought away, cleared his throat and shoveled them one handful at a time into the box before he moved on to the next drawer.
It wasn’t long before Darrell and Spencer had stacked boxes, Bobby and Walter had collected all the video game items in boxes by the door, and Josh emptied his few drawers in Paul’s room, took down his necklace from the mirror, and double checked the bathroom. They moved the mattress first.
After they had finished in the living room Paul went in there with his dog to sit and eat. He was methodical and they were quick.
Finally the last of the boxes were being carried downstairs. Josh and Triston stood by the front door of the apartment mentally double checking everything. Triston knew that normally in situations like this the most commonly forgotten things were identification documents but they had already talked it over and Josh’s documents were safely locked in a safety deposit box at a bank.
“Well,” Josh said.
“Well,” Triston replied.
Josh stepped to the archway and looked into the living room. He wanted to pet the dog. He wanted to hug and kiss Paul but he knew it was over. It felt as if the weeks apart had allowed him to form a thin shell around his skin that could break if they touched.
“I’m leaving,” Josh said.
Paul got to his feet and walked to the two men. He put his hands on his hips.
“Goodbye,” he said.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Ch 19 - Hating Home
Dinner was easy even if they didn’t talk much. They felt comfortable with each other not saying anything. They had a few drinks with the meal, walked home, and saw the vodka still on the coffee table so Spencer invited him for a drink.
“I shouldn’t but I really want to,” Josh said.
“A small one,” Spencer said.
They went into the living room and sat. Spencer poured a drink for each of them, Josh’s first then his own, set down the bottle and picked up his glass. They clinked them together before touching the glass to their lips. Josh downed his in gulp and Spencer sipped a little, set it down.
“One thing,” Spencer said.
“What?”
“It’s not for shots. This is sipping. It’s top shelf.”
“Really?” Josh asked.
“Here try another one but drink it more slowly this time,” Spencer said.
Spencer poured him another drink and Josh raised it again, they clinked glasses, but this time Josh sipped at the vodka.
“That’s pretty good,” Josh said.
“Thanks,” Spencer said.
“My boyfriend, Paul, likes this kind of stuff. God, I guess I shouldn’t be calling him my boyfriend, although it’s not official.”
“You moved out,” Spencer said.
“I guess,” Josh said.
“Did you say anything to him?”
“I left him a note,” Josh said. “It was tough. We’ve been together over two years.”
Spencer didn’t say anything. He wanted to say the relationship was over when his boyfriend hit him. He wanted to say it was over when he moved out. He wanted to say it was dead and couldn’t be repaired. He sat back against the sofa, his glass on his thigh he let himself relax.
Josh set his glass on the coffee table and began to run his finger along the lip of the glass.
“I didn’t want to do it. I feel bad. I feel like I should have said something but I also kind of feel like both of us knew it was over. It’s tearing me apart but I shouldn’t hate to go home,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Spencer said.
It’s easy, he thought, you can be anything you want to be, go anywhere you want to go, and all those lies we tell each other but really a person’s life is small, their group of friends is small, their family... did he have a family? Were they for him after he came out?
“He’s not a bad guy. It’s as much my fault as it is his.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s dumb but we’d challenge each other, say stupid things, and you know how there’s some things you know you shouldn’t say but you do it anyways. I’ve done it. I’ve said those stupid things.”
“But did you attack him? Did you actually start the violence?”
Josh clenched his jaw at the thought, at the insinuation. They had wrestled, struggled, but no he had never hit Paul first, but he did set him off sometimes. And at first it had been just some small accident but each time the boundary got thinner. It was some mixture of discipline and humiliation.
“I didn’t start it. Sometimes I’d hit him back, at first anyway, but then even that got out of control. I knew he’d win. I knew he had it in him. I always restrained myself.”
He thought about when he’d hit Paul back and Paul would return with more force, more intensity. He thought about the look in the man’s eyes. He felt like crying but stopped himself. He didn’t want to show weakness over the man, not here, and not now.
“Hey Josh, you don’t have to go anywhere. You don’t have to go back. The pot was a little thing, I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but you still owe me one, brand new, no thrift store one with scratches in it.”
Josh let out a nervous laugh. He downed his drink and set the glass down. He felt tired and drunk. He sat back against the sofa.
“I should get up and go finish my workout,” Josh said.
“Why don’t you stay here and watch some television?” Spencer asked.
“That sounds so much better,” Josh said. He kicked off his shoes and put his socked feet on the coffee table next to the bottle.
Spencer looked to the socked feet. It was a minor annoyance. He’d say something later. He downed his drink, put the glass on the table, and picked up the remote. He turned on the television and they were both illuminated by the images there. He looked to Josh. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do.
Was he a wounded puppy? Was he being too protective? What was it like to be in a relationship with someone with that kind of past? But his thoughts were silenced by the alcohol and the sound of the television as he looked up to the screen.
“I shouldn’t but I really want to,” Josh said.
“A small one,” Spencer said.
They went into the living room and sat. Spencer poured a drink for each of them, Josh’s first then his own, set down the bottle and picked up his glass. They clinked them together before touching the glass to their lips. Josh downed his in gulp and Spencer sipped a little, set it down.
“One thing,” Spencer said.
“What?”
“It’s not for shots. This is sipping. It’s top shelf.”
“Really?” Josh asked.
“Here try another one but drink it more slowly this time,” Spencer said.
Spencer poured him another drink and Josh raised it again, they clinked glasses, but this time Josh sipped at the vodka.
“That’s pretty good,” Josh said.
“Thanks,” Spencer said.
“My boyfriend, Paul, likes this kind of stuff. God, I guess I shouldn’t be calling him my boyfriend, although it’s not official.”
“You moved out,” Spencer said.
“I guess,” Josh said.
“Did you say anything to him?”
“I left him a note,” Josh said. “It was tough. We’ve been together over two years.”
Spencer didn’t say anything. He wanted to say the relationship was over when his boyfriend hit him. He wanted to say it was over when he moved out. He wanted to say it was dead and couldn’t be repaired. He sat back against the sofa, his glass on his thigh he let himself relax.
Josh set his glass on the coffee table and began to run his finger along the lip of the glass.
“I didn’t want to do it. I feel bad. I feel like I should have said something but I also kind of feel like both of us knew it was over. It’s tearing me apart but I shouldn’t hate to go home,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Spencer said.
It’s easy, he thought, you can be anything you want to be, go anywhere you want to go, and all those lies we tell each other but really a person’s life is small, their group of friends is small, their family... did he have a family? Were they for him after he came out?
“He’s not a bad guy. It’s as much my fault as it is his.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s dumb but we’d challenge each other, say stupid things, and you know how there’s some things you know you shouldn’t say but you do it anyways. I’ve done it. I’ve said those stupid things.”
“But did you attack him? Did you actually start the violence?”
Josh clenched his jaw at the thought, at the insinuation. They had wrestled, struggled, but no he had never hit Paul first, but he did set him off sometimes. And at first it had been just some small accident but each time the boundary got thinner. It was some mixture of discipline and humiliation.
“I didn’t start it. Sometimes I’d hit him back, at first anyway, but then even that got out of control. I knew he’d win. I knew he had it in him. I always restrained myself.”
He thought about when he’d hit Paul back and Paul would return with more force, more intensity. He thought about the look in the man’s eyes. He felt like crying but stopped himself. He didn’t want to show weakness over the man, not here, and not now.
“Hey Josh, you don’t have to go anywhere. You don’t have to go back. The pot was a little thing, I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but you still owe me one, brand new, no thrift store one with scratches in it.”
Josh let out a nervous laugh. He downed his drink and set the glass down. He felt tired and drunk. He sat back against the sofa.
“I should get up and go finish my workout,” Josh said.
“Why don’t you stay here and watch some television?” Spencer asked.
“That sounds so much better,” Josh said. He kicked off his shoes and put his socked feet on the coffee table next to the bottle.
Spencer looked to the socked feet. It was a minor annoyance. He’d say something later. He downed his drink, put the glass on the table, and picked up the remote. He turned on the television and they were both illuminated by the images there. He looked to Josh. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do.
Was he a wounded puppy? Was he being too protective? What was it like to be in a relationship with someone with that kind of past? But his thoughts were silenced by the alcohol and the sound of the television as he looked up to the screen.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Ch 18 - Minor Things and Deadly Poisons
Before he had a roommate Spencer could expect things to be exactly how he left them when he returned home, the few times he left dishes in the sink at least he knew they were his but living with Josh was different. Josh was absent minded, though well intentioned, but he forgot things. Usually it was small things like his phone or his keys, sometimes a pair of scissors or a knife, once a pizza he left in the oven too long though luckily they were both home at the time.
The worst of it was the pot of water he left on the stove top. Spencer opened the front door of his apartment to an awful smell. “What the hell?” he said aloud as he entered, conscientious to leave the door open he went into the kitchen where he saw the pot was empty, the bottom and sides had turned white. He turned off the electric coil and moved the pot. He let out a grunt of frustration before he looked down the hallway to the closed door of Josh’s room. He started to walk but thought of a better idea so he retrieved the pot and went to his new roommate’s door. He knocked as calmly as he could bare.
“Hello?” Josh said from the other side of the door.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah sure,” Josh said.
Spencer opened the door and looked into the room to see Josh on the floor in the middle of doing sit ups. He was shirtless and his exercise shorts were bunched down around his thighs. He looked to the young man’s muscled chest and then up to his eyes. He had seen his friends, many other men naked, in bed, during sex and the locker room but there was still something about him there, real and touchable. He fought the urge to panic but he realized he wasn’t saying anything at all. He thought about the dishes in the sink, about the mess on the coffee table.
“What’s up?” Josh asked.
Spencer held up the pot so Josh could see the insides.
“Oh crap,” Josh said, “is it bad?”
“It’s ruined,” Spencer said.
“What’s that smell?”
Spencer turned the pot in his hand.
“Really?” Josh asked.
“Poisonous too,” Spencer said. “It could have killed you.”
“Really?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. It supposedly can kill birds. That doesn’t matter. We need to talk.”
“Yeah sure,” Josh said. He began to get to his feet and Spencer turned around and walked back to the entrance where he closed the main door, returned the pot to the stove, and got a bottle of vodka and two glasses that he carried into the living room.
Moments later Josh walked into the living room wearing a sleeveless shirt and nervously biting his lip. Spencer invited him to sit down on the sofa.
How could we be so different, Spencer asked himself, but then he looked to the young man’s hands, his forearms that were muscled, hard and veiny. While I was inside on my computer he was out doing something, skateboarding, running, or playing football.
If they started to talk about sports, but more importantly teams and players Spencer knew he’d be lost and Josh would have the upper hand. He smiled at Josh who seemed equally anxious, maybe more.
Josh looked as if expected Spencer to strike him, hit him in some way, maybe a slap. Was that it? Some regular pattern of hitting the young man, yelling at him maybe, humiliating him maybe that caused him to flinch, to dread being near his boyfriend.
“You owe me a pot,” Spencer said.
“Okay,” Josh said. He reached down to his socks and pulled at them, ran his fingers up to his shorts, pulled at them.
“I’m not mad, not really, kind of annoyed,” Spencer said. “I’m pretty sure one of us could have been killed by it.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I just got into my routine. I’ll pay for a new pot.”
“Good,” Spencer said. “But uh, I think we should let the place air out. Would you want to join me for some dinner?”
“Yeah, that would be great, let me put some clothes on,” Josh said.
Josh got up and walked back to his room. Spencer heard the door close and he slapped his own forehead. The dishes, the mess, he told himself, when he comes out, when he’s got some clothes on then I’ll say something to him over dinner.
The worst of it was the pot of water he left on the stove top. Spencer opened the front door of his apartment to an awful smell. “What the hell?” he said aloud as he entered, conscientious to leave the door open he went into the kitchen where he saw the pot was empty, the bottom and sides had turned white. He turned off the electric coil and moved the pot. He let out a grunt of frustration before he looked down the hallway to the closed door of Josh’s room. He started to walk but thought of a better idea so he retrieved the pot and went to his new roommate’s door. He knocked as calmly as he could bare.
“Hello?” Josh said from the other side of the door.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah sure,” Josh said.
Spencer opened the door and looked into the room to see Josh on the floor in the middle of doing sit ups. He was shirtless and his exercise shorts were bunched down around his thighs. He looked to the young man’s muscled chest and then up to his eyes. He had seen his friends, many other men naked, in bed, during sex and the locker room but there was still something about him there, real and touchable. He fought the urge to panic but he realized he wasn’t saying anything at all. He thought about the dishes in the sink, about the mess on the coffee table.
“What’s up?” Josh asked.
Spencer held up the pot so Josh could see the insides.
“Oh crap,” Josh said, “is it bad?”
“It’s ruined,” Spencer said.
“What’s that smell?”
Spencer turned the pot in his hand.
“Really?” Josh asked.
“Poisonous too,” Spencer said. “It could have killed you.”
“Really?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. It supposedly can kill birds. That doesn’t matter. We need to talk.”
“Yeah sure,” Josh said. He began to get to his feet and Spencer turned around and walked back to the entrance where he closed the main door, returned the pot to the stove, and got a bottle of vodka and two glasses that he carried into the living room.
Moments later Josh walked into the living room wearing a sleeveless shirt and nervously biting his lip. Spencer invited him to sit down on the sofa.
How could we be so different, Spencer asked himself, but then he looked to the young man’s hands, his forearms that were muscled, hard and veiny. While I was inside on my computer he was out doing something, skateboarding, running, or playing football.
If they started to talk about sports, but more importantly teams and players Spencer knew he’d be lost and Josh would have the upper hand. He smiled at Josh who seemed equally anxious, maybe more.
Josh looked as if expected Spencer to strike him, hit him in some way, maybe a slap. Was that it? Some regular pattern of hitting the young man, yelling at him maybe, humiliating him maybe that caused him to flinch, to dread being near his boyfriend.
“You owe me a pot,” Spencer said.
“Okay,” Josh said. He reached down to his socks and pulled at them, ran his fingers up to his shorts, pulled at them.
“I’m not mad, not really, kind of annoyed,” Spencer said. “I’m pretty sure one of us could have been killed by it.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I just got into my routine. I’ll pay for a new pot.”
“Good,” Spencer said. “But uh, I think we should let the place air out. Would you want to join me for some dinner?”
“Yeah, that would be great, let me put some clothes on,” Josh said.
Josh got up and walked back to his room. Spencer heard the door close and he slapped his own forehead. The dishes, the mess, he told himself, when he comes out, when he’s got some clothes on then I’ll say something to him over dinner.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Ch 17 - Domestic Abuse
Early Saturday morning, Spencer, Triston, Bobby, Darrell, and Walter
sat quietly in the diner booth looking at the food that had just been
delivered. Bobby had been graphically describing his new boyfriend’s
genitals when he spotted the waitress headed their way and stopped.
There was no one else nearby and at first he had waited for her to leave
but then they fell into silence as they looked over their food. It was
recovery food for everyone except Darrell who hadn’t been drinking.
“What were we talking about?” Darrell asked.
“My boyfriend’s balls,” Bobby said.
“So he’s an athlete?” Spencer asked.
Each of them laughed a little. There was a lull in the conversation, in movement, but finally Walter picked up his fork and stabbed it into the chili cheese fries he had ordered.
“Somehow it doesn’t look as good as it sounded,” Walter said.
“Do you want my pancakes?” Bobby offered. “I shouldn’t have ordered so many carbs.”
“Still trying to keep that six-pack?” Triston asked.
“I’m going for an eight,” Bobby said. “He loves to play with them.”
“I’m not this hungry,” Spencer said.
They looked around at each other. Triston leaned on the table with his elbow and scratched at his scalp, clearly irritated.
“What’s wrong? We can get it to go. Maybe give it to a homeless person,” Spencer said.
“Nothing, it’s just I have this friend and he’s trying to get out of an abusive relationship,” Triston said.
“Damn,” Spencer said.
“And he’s gay?” Walter asked.
“Yeah,” Triston said.
“Really?”
“Yes, really, he’s gay. Gay people can be in abusive relationships,”
Walter looked around at the other men. It was something that had never occurred to him. Being gay was hard enough, getting into a relationship was supposed to be the reward. But abusive?
“You did know that it can happen right?” Darrell asked.
Walter nodded.
“Really?” Bobby asked.
“No,” Walter said before letting out a nervous laugh. “I mean, I didn’t think. That’s messed up.”
“Who?”
“You guys haven’t met him. I know him from the store. He’s a really nice guy.”
“How can we help?” Darrell asked.
“Well, he needs a place to stay,” Triston said.
“He can stay with us,” Darrell said, “on the couch.”
“It would be crowded,” Bobby said.
“We could manage,” Darrell said.
“He can stay with me, at my place,” Spencer said.
They all looked to him. Spencer had been living alone longer than they had been friends. He bragged about having his own dorm room in college. The few nights, the few mornings he spent with them was an act of convenience, some act of desperation.
“Really,” Spencer said. “And I promise I won’t creep him out.”
They stared.
“Too much,” he said, “I promise I’ll wear my underwear in the morning.”
“That’s more than you do for us,” Triston said.
It was an agreement Spencer felt proud about as they went to bed, when they woke up, and even when Triston called the man in question. They agreed that Triston would bring him to Spencer’s apartment that evening.
Spencer went home hours earlier than normal to clean up. He made sure the last load of dishes was in the dishwasher, his bed was made, the coffee table orderly, the bathroom was scrubbed, and there was nothing embarrassing under any of the furniture in his living room. He was ready fifteen minutes before they were supposed to meet. When he got the text message from Triston saying they were running late he rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans nervously before pouring himself a drink, then feeling self-conscious he downed it, washed out the glass, and returned everything to normal before he went into the living room and sat on his couch.
A little while later there was a knock on the door and he got to his feet, double checked everything mentally before he opened the door to find Triston in the hallway with a backpack standing next to a handsome young man carrying a duffel bag.
“Hey Spence,” Triston said.
“Hey,” Spencer said.
“I’m Josh,” the young man said offering his hand.
They shook hands and Spencer invited them inside, directed them to set the bags down against the wall before they went into the living room to sit. Spencer had expected him to look wounded, to have a black eye, busted lip, or maybe a visible scar but he didn’t. Josh was handsome, young, and masculine. He moved with a prepared, self-conscious effort. There was something naive, even innocent about him. It was hard to believe someone could mistreat him, abuse him.
They talked for an hour about life, the world, and their jobs in a circular introduction. Josh was quick to ask either of them a question and listen to the response. Spencer and Triston felt comfortable with each other, joked with each other, and it was easy to respond, to pontificate until either of them ran out of steam, found that he was dominating the conversation and so he would think of something to ask, something to say and wait.
After they felt like they had introduced themselves they talked about house rules, obligations, and responsibilities. Spencer was surprised that Josh would be up earlier than him because he worked the morning shift as a barista as well as a lunch shift at a restaurant across town. He said he’d have to get used to the new bus routes but he’d survive. They talked a little about their jobs until it felt complete. They looked around at each other.
“Want to watch some television?” Spencer asked.
“Sure,” Josh said.
“What were we talking about?” Darrell asked.
“My boyfriend’s balls,” Bobby said.
“So he’s an athlete?” Spencer asked.
Each of them laughed a little. There was a lull in the conversation, in movement, but finally Walter picked up his fork and stabbed it into the chili cheese fries he had ordered.
“Somehow it doesn’t look as good as it sounded,” Walter said.
“Do you want my pancakes?” Bobby offered. “I shouldn’t have ordered so many carbs.”
“Still trying to keep that six-pack?” Triston asked.
“I’m going for an eight,” Bobby said. “He loves to play with them.”
“I’m not this hungry,” Spencer said.
They looked around at each other. Triston leaned on the table with his elbow and scratched at his scalp, clearly irritated.
“What’s wrong? We can get it to go. Maybe give it to a homeless person,” Spencer said.
“Nothing, it’s just I have this friend and he’s trying to get out of an abusive relationship,” Triston said.
“Damn,” Spencer said.
“And he’s gay?” Walter asked.
“Yeah,” Triston said.
“Really?”
“Yes, really, he’s gay. Gay people can be in abusive relationships,”
Walter looked around at the other men. It was something that had never occurred to him. Being gay was hard enough, getting into a relationship was supposed to be the reward. But abusive?
“You did know that it can happen right?” Darrell asked.
Walter nodded.
“Really?” Bobby asked.
“No,” Walter said before letting out a nervous laugh. “I mean, I didn’t think. That’s messed up.”
“Who?”
“You guys haven’t met him. I know him from the store. He’s a really nice guy.”
“How can we help?” Darrell asked.
“Well, he needs a place to stay,” Triston said.
“He can stay with us,” Darrell said, “on the couch.”
“It would be crowded,” Bobby said.
“We could manage,” Darrell said.
“He can stay with me, at my place,” Spencer said.
They all looked to him. Spencer had been living alone longer than they had been friends. He bragged about having his own dorm room in college. The few nights, the few mornings he spent with them was an act of convenience, some act of desperation.
“Really,” Spencer said. “And I promise I won’t creep him out.”
They stared.
“Too much,” he said, “I promise I’ll wear my underwear in the morning.”
“That’s more than you do for us,” Triston said.
It was an agreement Spencer felt proud about as they went to bed, when they woke up, and even when Triston called the man in question. They agreed that Triston would bring him to Spencer’s apartment that evening.
Spencer went home hours earlier than normal to clean up. He made sure the last load of dishes was in the dishwasher, his bed was made, the coffee table orderly, the bathroom was scrubbed, and there was nothing embarrassing under any of the furniture in his living room. He was ready fifteen minutes before they were supposed to meet. When he got the text message from Triston saying they were running late he rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans nervously before pouring himself a drink, then feeling self-conscious he downed it, washed out the glass, and returned everything to normal before he went into the living room and sat on his couch.
A little while later there was a knock on the door and he got to his feet, double checked everything mentally before he opened the door to find Triston in the hallway with a backpack standing next to a handsome young man carrying a duffel bag.
“Hey Spence,” Triston said.
“Hey,” Spencer said.
“I’m Josh,” the young man said offering his hand.
They shook hands and Spencer invited them inside, directed them to set the bags down against the wall before they went into the living room to sit. Spencer had expected him to look wounded, to have a black eye, busted lip, or maybe a visible scar but he didn’t. Josh was handsome, young, and masculine. He moved with a prepared, self-conscious effort. There was something naive, even innocent about him. It was hard to believe someone could mistreat him, abuse him.
They talked for an hour about life, the world, and their jobs in a circular introduction. Josh was quick to ask either of them a question and listen to the response. Spencer and Triston felt comfortable with each other, joked with each other, and it was easy to respond, to pontificate until either of them ran out of steam, found that he was dominating the conversation and so he would think of something to ask, something to say and wait.
After they felt like they had introduced themselves they talked about house rules, obligations, and responsibilities. Spencer was surprised that Josh would be up earlier than him because he worked the morning shift as a barista as well as a lunch shift at a restaurant across town. He said he’d have to get used to the new bus routes but he’d survive. They talked a little about their jobs until it felt complete. They looked around at each other.
“Want to watch some television?” Spencer asked.
“Sure,” Josh said.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Ch 16 - No Promises
Walter beside him didn’t make Triston feel much safer as they pulled into the driveway of Walter’s parents’ home. Walter was in the driver seat. They looked to each other and smiled. He remembered what Walter had said to him, ‘don’t worry my father isn’t going to kill you’. Triston thought about their conversation, but now was the worst time to have regrets. They had been sitting in the living room, casually drinking beer and watching television.
“I have a weird question to ask you,” Walter said.
“How weird?”
“It’s not sexual. It’s about real life.”
“Okay,” Triston said.
“Well, my parents have seen posts of mine accidentally and they asked me about them. They’re worried about me. They asked if I was seeing anyone.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Well, I told them about you. Nothing specific just, you know, we’re friends.”
“What does that mean?”
“It sounded good at the time but I don’t know. It means you look out for me. I didn’t want to tell them I was having sex or in a committed relationship but that I had someone.”
“Okay,” Triston said. “I’m just your friend?”
“Well, they asked about you a couple times and said they wanted to meet you.”
“I’m not sure,” Triston said.
“Would you go with me to meet them?”
He wanted to say no but it felt as if the request had some force to it, a momentum or gravity that pulled him along. He was curious about meeting the people who had raised such a precocious young man, confident and naive, brave and unprepared. He expected them to be hippies, maybe nudists or college professors. He didn’t expect to find what he did.
They were greeted at the front door by his parents. They were both in their forties. His father had a pot belly. His mother wore a sweater. They reminded Triston of other people’s parents when he was growing up. They were polite, midwestern folk. They made sense here in a town far enough away from the capitol.
They were ushered inside to the living room, directed to the couch where they sat. His father went to the recliner and sat. His mother smiled and offered drinks. Triston wanted to order a double Scotch on the rocks but stopped himself. He looked around at the interior decorations, only the furniture was new and it all had a very rural sensibility but he didn’t take the man or his wife to be rednecks or white trash.
He looked to Walter’s mother who stood waiting despite having asked about drinks. Walter’s father looked as if he were accessing a file for what he was about to say. Triston knew it had been rehearsed, possibly between the two of them. He readied himself for any potential embarrassing statement, any accusation. Walter was nineteen, a good ten years younger than him.
“When our son told us about you we weren’t sure if we ever wanted to meet you. We wanted to discourage him but he has a way of getting the things he wants. We know there’s an age difference between the two of you. We know our son pretty well. He does dangerous things sometimes. It’s the ADD. We also know he has good intentions and is kind hearted.
“Looking at you, knowing that you came all the way out here not knowing us we appreciate your courage and your willingness. We think it says a lot about you. Our son here is a man, a young man, and though he’s out there living his own life we also feel responsible for him. It may sound strange but we think of you kind of like his older mentor and maybe, just maybe, you feel some responsibility for him. We hope you do.”
Triston stared at them. He looked to Walter who sat unmoving. For someone with ADD he had managed to stay calm through the whole speech. He wanted to say many things. He wanted to show them kindness. He wanted to promise them things. He wanted to clarify the relationship. A mentor was far from the boyfriend role Triston had thought he had. He wanted to say all those things but looking at the two of them he found a simpler thing to say.
“I’ll do the best I can.”
There, it was a way out, it meant he’d try but there were no promises. Walter’s father smiled and relaxed in his seat. His mother walked away to the kitchen. Triston looked to Walter who smiled before reaching down into his sock and scratching at his ankle nervously.
“I have a weird question to ask you,” Walter said.
“How weird?”
“It’s not sexual. It’s about real life.”
“Okay,” Triston said.
“Well, my parents have seen posts of mine accidentally and they asked me about them. They’re worried about me. They asked if I was seeing anyone.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Well, I told them about you. Nothing specific just, you know, we’re friends.”
“What does that mean?”
“It sounded good at the time but I don’t know. It means you look out for me. I didn’t want to tell them I was having sex or in a committed relationship but that I had someone.”
“Okay,” Triston said. “I’m just your friend?”
“Well, they asked about you a couple times and said they wanted to meet you.”
“I’m not sure,” Triston said.
“Would you go with me to meet them?”
He wanted to say no but it felt as if the request had some force to it, a momentum or gravity that pulled him along. He was curious about meeting the people who had raised such a precocious young man, confident and naive, brave and unprepared. He expected them to be hippies, maybe nudists or college professors. He didn’t expect to find what he did.
They were greeted at the front door by his parents. They were both in their forties. His father had a pot belly. His mother wore a sweater. They reminded Triston of other people’s parents when he was growing up. They were polite, midwestern folk. They made sense here in a town far enough away from the capitol.
They were ushered inside to the living room, directed to the couch where they sat. His father went to the recliner and sat. His mother smiled and offered drinks. Triston wanted to order a double Scotch on the rocks but stopped himself. He looked around at the interior decorations, only the furniture was new and it all had a very rural sensibility but he didn’t take the man or his wife to be rednecks or white trash.
He looked to Walter’s mother who stood waiting despite having asked about drinks. Walter’s father looked as if he were accessing a file for what he was about to say. Triston knew it had been rehearsed, possibly between the two of them. He readied himself for any potential embarrassing statement, any accusation. Walter was nineteen, a good ten years younger than him.
“When our son told us about you we weren’t sure if we ever wanted to meet you. We wanted to discourage him but he has a way of getting the things he wants. We know there’s an age difference between the two of you. We know our son pretty well. He does dangerous things sometimes. It’s the ADD. We also know he has good intentions and is kind hearted.
“Looking at you, knowing that you came all the way out here not knowing us we appreciate your courage and your willingness. We think it says a lot about you. Our son here is a man, a young man, and though he’s out there living his own life we also feel responsible for him. It may sound strange but we think of you kind of like his older mentor and maybe, just maybe, you feel some responsibility for him. We hope you do.”
Triston stared at them. He looked to Walter who sat unmoving. For someone with ADD he had managed to stay calm through the whole speech. He wanted to say many things. He wanted to show them kindness. He wanted to promise them things. He wanted to clarify the relationship. A mentor was far from the boyfriend role Triston had thought he had. He wanted to say all those things but looking at the two of them he found a simpler thing to say.
“I’ll do the best I can.”
There, it was a way out, it meant he’d try but there were no promises. Walter’s father smiled and relaxed in his seat. His mother walked away to the kitchen. Triston looked to Walter who smiled before reaching down into his sock and scratching at his ankle nervously.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Ch 15 - Bottles of Beer on the Wall
Living together in the same apartment, sharing the same bed, was a serious commitment for Triston, Darrell, and Bobby. No one made an advance, touched or grabbed unless it was expected and usually communicated before it was done. They weren’t there for the sex. They weren’t in a monogamous relationship, it was something else, a friendship. They could talk all night long but they were also comfortable with awkward silences. Each of them was in the bed for his own reason.
For Darrell it was sobriety, dependency, and preoccupation, the little annoyances and distractions that made him fill his day with something else. It had gotten bad two years before he moved in with them. He had his own apartment in that section of town that sounded like a bachelor’s neighborhood.
Drinking on the weekends became drinking every night until he had a collection of bottles in the cupboards of his kitchen instead of dishes, along the counters, and windowsills.
Sometimes they had a utility by holding candles but afterwards, after he decided to detox, go to AA and quit, well they were a reminder. He hated the sound they made, bottle against bottle, grinding as he carried them by the brown paper bag full, two or three in each hand to the dumpster where he set them to the side. They were gone the next day, collected by one of the city’s many homeless, someone had hit the mother load. He could smile about that minimal good that came from his habit, his indulgence, no his suffering.
When you drink for the good times is one thing but when you drink for silence that’s something else entirely different, he thought. He had been a functional alcoholic, no one ever caught on to his self-abuse. He’d sober up in the first few hours of work, drink a couple coffees until he felt ready for his afternoon meetings. How could no one have known?
Maybe they didn’t want to know. Or maybe, just maybe, people are more self-absorbed than he thought and no one could identify his problem, least of all his mother. He didn’t tell her how bad it had gotten, just that he had decided to give it up and he was going to A.A. She just smiled at him, hugged him.
But even sobriety was his new secret, especially why. He didn’t want to relive those moments alone, sitting in the bathtub, on his back, and other impaired judgments including sex. He had gotten lucky. But he considered his best luck to be when he met Triston through a dating website.
They had exchanged emails, IM messages, exchanged numbers, and gotten together for coffee. It was over two black coffees that he confessed that he was looking for friends and not lovers. Triston invited him to the apartment he already shared with Bobby. The cabinets were bare, there were condiment packets in the refrigerator.
They talked for hours on the couch until Bobby came home, then they talked for another hour before he realized how late it had gotten. When they invited him to stay the night he thought to refuse, to dismiss them and leave, but then he thought about his long walk home and his empty bed.
Sometimes, he reasoned, you can trust someone. Triston was someone that if ever he felt a spiritual connection it would be with him. Talking was easy. He could imagine not talking to him for years, meeting up with him, and finding the same comfort.
That first night was awkward. He worried about where his hands and feet ended up. He worried about who was touching him and where. There was just enough space between them. He fantasized about cuddling together. He wanted to hold someone. Bobby was more his type but he thought Triston would have been the most open to it. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that first night.
It came out over breakfast when they recognized he didn’t seem to have slept well. Triston forced the conversation because he said he was worried about Darrell not returning. It was one of those conversations no one wanted to have and yet it benefited everyone. It was cathartic.
After that conversation he couldn’t imagine spending another night alone and he didn’t want either of them to leave.
For Darrell it was sobriety, dependency, and preoccupation, the little annoyances and distractions that made him fill his day with something else. It had gotten bad two years before he moved in with them. He had his own apartment in that section of town that sounded like a bachelor’s neighborhood.
Drinking on the weekends became drinking every night until he had a collection of bottles in the cupboards of his kitchen instead of dishes, along the counters, and windowsills.
Sometimes they had a utility by holding candles but afterwards, after he decided to detox, go to AA and quit, well they were a reminder. He hated the sound they made, bottle against bottle, grinding as he carried them by the brown paper bag full, two or three in each hand to the dumpster where he set them to the side. They were gone the next day, collected by one of the city’s many homeless, someone had hit the mother load. He could smile about that minimal good that came from his habit, his indulgence, no his suffering.
When you drink for the good times is one thing but when you drink for silence that’s something else entirely different, he thought. He had been a functional alcoholic, no one ever caught on to his self-abuse. He’d sober up in the first few hours of work, drink a couple coffees until he felt ready for his afternoon meetings. How could no one have known?
Maybe they didn’t want to know. Or maybe, just maybe, people are more self-absorbed than he thought and no one could identify his problem, least of all his mother. He didn’t tell her how bad it had gotten, just that he had decided to give it up and he was going to A.A. She just smiled at him, hugged him.
But even sobriety was his new secret, especially why. He didn’t want to relive those moments alone, sitting in the bathtub, on his back, and other impaired judgments including sex. He had gotten lucky. But he considered his best luck to be when he met Triston through a dating website.
They had exchanged emails, IM messages, exchanged numbers, and gotten together for coffee. It was over two black coffees that he confessed that he was looking for friends and not lovers. Triston invited him to the apartment he already shared with Bobby. The cabinets were bare, there were condiment packets in the refrigerator.
They talked for hours on the couch until Bobby came home, then they talked for another hour before he realized how late it had gotten. When they invited him to stay the night he thought to refuse, to dismiss them and leave, but then he thought about his long walk home and his empty bed.
Sometimes, he reasoned, you can trust someone. Triston was someone that if ever he felt a spiritual connection it would be with him. Talking was easy. He could imagine not talking to him for years, meeting up with him, and finding the same comfort.
That first night was awkward. He worried about where his hands and feet ended up. He worried about who was touching him and where. There was just enough space between them. He fantasized about cuddling together. He wanted to hold someone. Bobby was more his type but he thought Triston would have been the most open to it. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that first night.
It came out over breakfast when they recognized he didn’t seem to have slept well. Triston forced the conversation because he said he was worried about Darrell not returning. It was one of those conversations no one wanted to have and yet it benefited everyone. It was cathartic.
After that conversation he couldn’t imagine spending another night alone and he didn’t want either of them to leave.
Ch 14 - Bring Unto Me
Three men in the bed during winter kept them warm all night long. But it was the morning when it felt too good for any of them to want to get out of bed. They were usually up by 6:30 in the morning, but even if they had to get up to use the bathroom each of them returned to the bed and got back under the covers.
On Saturday mornings if Spencer stayed over he ended up in bed with them sometimes, especially when it was cold.
Shoulder to shoulder the four of them stared up at the ceiling.
“Did you know Walter wears a diaper?” Darrell asked.
“Yeah,” Triston replied. “We tried it out one night. It was his idea. He saw it online and wanted to see what it was like.”
“He wore it when he took me to my mother’s place to help her. It was kind of weird.”
“How did you find out?” Bobby asked.
“By accident when he was filling the car tire with air. It was right there peeking out at me. I thought it was funny at first but then it started to worry me.”
“Did you say anything?”
“I had to say something, but I tried to be polite. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to be weird for my mother. He was really nice though, made it easy. She liked him.”
“That’s good,” Triston said. “That reminds me, he wants to have a birthday party here.”
“Birthday party? What are we talking about?” Darrell asked.
“Two weeks from now, on a Friday, he wants to have a sleepover,” Triston said.
“Sleepover? Like we’re twelve years old?” Darrell asked.
“Like we’re friends, male friends, all hanging out together. There will be drinks and snacks. He wants to have a marathon of some kind. Either a television show or some movies, maybe horror movies.”
“Sounds kind of lame,” Spencer said.
“He doesn’t have any friends. I thought it would be okay. It’s a Friday night.”
“Just remind me,” Darrell said.
“I’ll probably be there,” Bobby said.
“Are we getting him presents?” Spencer asked.
“Something small, if it’s not too much,” Triston said.
“Maybe some more diapers?” Darrell asked.
Everyone fell silent at the question, at the dilemma. Each of them had not known Walter very long. He was likable but young, unpredictable. There was a shift from person to person, a movement of a hand, a foot, but a like minded comfort.
“I got a new job,” Bobby said.
“What? Where?” Spencer asked.
“The Unicorn, I’m going to be a stripper slash go-go boy,” Bobby said.
“It makes sense now,” Triston said.
“What’s that?” Bobby asked.
“Why you’ve been going to the gym more these last two weeks. I thought it was your new boyfriend. How is he? Are you going to tell him?”
“No commitments,” Bobby said. “I’m going to tell him, eventually, but there’s a lot of things he doesn’t know, like about us, this.”
“What’s wrong with this?” Spencer asked.
“A lot of people would be confused,” Darrell said.
“So, dancing around in your undies? What made you interested?”
“I think it will be fun. It’s a good way to make cash and I don’t plan to ever run for public office in my future. Plus, I mean I have enough selfies online that are just as revealing.”
“Besides by then it will be no big deal. Eventually we’ll have a female president who posted pictures online of herself doing bong hits and keg stands,” Darrell said.
“Exactly,” Bobby said.
On Saturday mornings if Spencer stayed over he ended up in bed with them sometimes, especially when it was cold.
Shoulder to shoulder the four of them stared up at the ceiling.
“Did you know Walter wears a diaper?” Darrell asked.
“Yeah,” Triston replied. “We tried it out one night. It was his idea. He saw it online and wanted to see what it was like.”
“He wore it when he took me to my mother’s place to help her. It was kind of weird.”
“How did you find out?” Bobby asked.
“By accident when he was filling the car tire with air. It was right there peeking out at me. I thought it was funny at first but then it started to worry me.”
“Did you say anything?”
“I had to say something, but I tried to be polite. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to be weird for my mother. He was really nice though, made it easy. She liked him.”
“That’s good,” Triston said. “That reminds me, he wants to have a birthday party here.”
“Birthday party? What are we talking about?” Darrell asked.
“Two weeks from now, on a Friday, he wants to have a sleepover,” Triston said.
“Sleepover? Like we’re twelve years old?” Darrell asked.
“Like we’re friends, male friends, all hanging out together. There will be drinks and snacks. He wants to have a marathon of some kind. Either a television show or some movies, maybe horror movies.”
“Sounds kind of lame,” Spencer said.
“He doesn’t have any friends. I thought it would be okay. It’s a Friday night.”
“Just remind me,” Darrell said.
“I’ll probably be there,” Bobby said.
“Are we getting him presents?” Spencer asked.
“Something small, if it’s not too much,” Triston said.
“Maybe some more diapers?” Darrell asked.
Everyone fell silent at the question, at the dilemma. Each of them had not known Walter very long. He was likable but young, unpredictable. There was a shift from person to person, a movement of a hand, a foot, but a like minded comfort.
“I got a new job,” Bobby said.
“What? Where?” Spencer asked.
“The Unicorn, I’m going to be a stripper slash go-go boy,” Bobby said.
“It makes sense now,” Triston said.
“What’s that?” Bobby asked.
“Why you’ve been going to the gym more these last two weeks. I thought it was your new boyfriend. How is he? Are you going to tell him?”
“No commitments,” Bobby said. “I’m going to tell him, eventually, but there’s a lot of things he doesn’t know, like about us, this.”
“What’s wrong with this?” Spencer asked.
“A lot of people would be confused,” Darrell said.
“So, dancing around in your undies? What made you interested?”
“I think it will be fun. It’s a good way to make cash and I don’t plan to ever run for public office in my future. Plus, I mean I have enough selfies online that are just as revealing.”
“Besides by then it will be no big deal. Eventually we’ll have a female president who posted pictures online of herself doing bong hits and keg stands,” Darrell said.
“Exactly,” Bobby said.
Ch 13 - DL Isn't Just for Down Low
“Before we get on the road I want to make sure I got the right air in my tires,” Walter said.
“It’s your car,” Darrell said.
He was trying to keep his cool about any small thing because his car was in for repairs and he needed to visit his mother. Walter had not only offered to drive him but help him to move her furniture as well.
Walter pulled off the highway and drove to the nearest gas station where he pulled to the air pump. Darrell watched him for a moment as he shifted to park, turned off the car, retrieved the pressure gauge from the glove compartment, got out, and began to check the air in the tires. He decided he would get snacks and got out as well. He walked to where Walter was crouched.
He watched as Walter worked the gauge skillfully before he stepped closer to ask him if he wanted any snacks when he spotted the young man’s shirt was riding up his back, his jeans were open, and he took the opportunity to see his underwear when he spotted something he wouldn’t have expected. He spotted the puffy, shiny band of a diaper.
Darrell was shocked by what he saw but also amused. He had never heard about Walter having any bowel problems, no this was something else. He wanted to laugh out loud, wanted to say something, make a comment, but he stopped himself. He decided to ask what Walter wanted from the store instead.
“Nothing thanks,” Walter said.
Darrell turned and walked away to the store. He made his way inside and to the back where he laughed to himself. But as funny as it was he was having second thoughts about taking the young man to his mother’s home. What if he did something weird? What would she think of him? How could he explain he knew Walter without being his friend or worse, his lover?
As much as he worried about being there with Walter he worried more about his mother being upset about him not visiting after he had to miss the previous weekends because of work and being hungover. No, he had to go, but maybe he could make some rules with Walter or make a deal with him.
Darrell made his way to the clerk where he paid for his items, then back out into the sun and to where Walter leaned back against his car. It wasn’t obvious from the look of his jeans that Walter was wearing anything but he knew, had seen them, and he couldn’t help but think about them. He thought about the road trip and the woman who wore diapers so she wouldn’t have to stop while driving across country to kill someone.
Walter got inside the car and for a moment Darrell thought he heard the squish of the diaper. He looked to the young man who looked back at him.
“What?” Walter asked.
Darrell took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to say anything. I mean I don’t usually care what people do but we’re going to see my mother.”
Walter stared at him as Darrell gathered his courage.
“Are you wearing a diaper?”
Walter’s face turned red and he looked away.
“Why are you wearing a diaper?”
Walter shrugged his shoulders.
“Why are you wearing a diaper today?”
“I like them. Okay?” Walter said.
“I’m trying not to judge you. Why today? Why now? You’re driving me to my mother’s to help me move furniture.”
“I don’t know. I just felt nervous and they make me feel better.”
Darrell regretted the next thought that came to his mind but he figured he would be in the car with Walter for an hour each way, plus any time they spent together at the house moving furniture.
“You’re not going to shit yourself are you?”
Darrell felt as shocked at his own question as he could tell Walter looked. He wanted to take it back. He wanted to excuse himself, apologize, and yet there was some reality to dealing with a situation. Walter was young, impulsive and he didn’t know him very well. Darrell felt worse when he saw Walter’s body get tense as if he were about to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Walter said.
“What?”
“I fucked up. I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, got used to them. I can take it off.”
Walter looked to Darrell and Darrell looked away, he suddenly felt worse.
“It’s your car,” Darrell said.
He was trying to keep his cool about any small thing because his car was in for repairs and he needed to visit his mother. Walter had not only offered to drive him but help him to move her furniture as well.
Walter pulled off the highway and drove to the nearest gas station where he pulled to the air pump. Darrell watched him for a moment as he shifted to park, turned off the car, retrieved the pressure gauge from the glove compartment, got out, and began to check the air in the tires. He decided he would get snacks and got out as well. He walked to where Walter was crouched.
He watched as Walter worked the gauge skillfully before he stepped closer to ask him if he wanted any snacks when he spotted the young man’s shirt was riding up his back, his jeans were open, and he took the opportunity to see his underwear when he spotted something he wouldn’t have expected. He spotted the puffy, shiny band of a diaper.
Darrell was shocked by what he saw but also amused. He had never heard about Walter having any bowel problems, no this was something else. He wanted to laugh out loud, wanted to say something, make a comment, but he stopped himself. He decided to ask what Walter wanted from the store instead.
“Nothing thanks,” Walter said.
Darrell turned and walked away to the store. He made his way inside and to the back where he laughed to himself. But as funny as it was he was having second thoughts about taking the young man to his mother’s home. What if he did something weird? What would she think of him? How could he explain he knew Walter without being his friend or worse, his lover?
As much as he worried about being there with Walter he worried more about his mother being upset about him not visiting after he had to miss the previous weekends because of work and being hungover. No, he had to go, but maybe he could make some rules with Walter or make a deal with him.
Darrell made his way to the clerk where he paid for his items, then back out into the sun and to where Walter leaned back against his car. It wasn’t obvious from the look of his jeans that Walter was wearing anything but he knew, had seen them, and he couldn’t help but think about them. He thought about the road trip and the woman who wore diapers so she wouldn’t have to stop while driving across country to kill someone.
Walter got inside the car and for a moment Darrell thought he heard the squish of the diaper. He looked to the young man who looked back at him.
“What?” Walter asked.
Darrell took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to say anything. I mean I don’t usually care what people do but we’re going to see my mother.”
Walter stared at him as Darrell gathered his courage.
“Are you wearing a diaper?”
Walter’s face turned red and he looked away.
“Why are you wearing a diaper?”
Walter shrugged his shoulders.
“Why are you wearing a diaper today?”
“I like them. Okay?” Walter said.
“I’m trying not to judge you. Why today? Why now? You’re driving me to my mother’s to help me move furniture.”
“I don’t know. I just felt nervous and they make me feel better.”
Darrell regretted the next thought that came to his mind but he figured he would be in the car with Walter for an hour each way, plus any time they spent together at the house moving furniture.
“You’re not going to shit yourself are you?”
Darrell felt as shocked at his own question as he could tell Walter looked. He wanted to take it back. He wanted to excuse himself, apologize, and yet there was some reality to dealing with a situation. Walter was young, impulsive and he didn’t know him very well. Darrell felt worse when he saw Walter’s body get tense as if he were about to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Walter said.
“What?”
“I fucked up. I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, got used to them. I can take it off.”
Walter looked to Darrell and Darrell looked away, he suddenly felt worse.
Ch 12 - Dong Tossing Pt 2
Mostly obscured from the main road Cheryl and Triston parked their cars beside the building to provide the most space to conduct their activity. They had talked briefly with the skateboarders who advised them to not break any glass, not fire any guns, and to not drink. The young men seemed honest and possibly a little friendly.
Triston readied his ballista and Cheryl readied her slingshot.
“What is this thing again?” Bobby asked.
“It’s a ballista. It’s a medieval siege weapon. It’s like a really big crossbow,” Triston said. “We can take turns but I go first.”
They left the trunk open with the dildos piled inside in a nice stack. Triston and Cheryl took theirs out first and readied them in their devices.
“Are we doing this together?” Cheryl asked.
“Together,” Triston said.
“3, 2, 1,” they said, “and fire!”
They each fired their device sending the rubbery toys out into the air. Cheryl’s launched vertically, quivering the most noticeably as it flew but still going the farthest while Triston’s seemed the most dangerous as it hit head first and bounced several feet. Everyone cheered at the inaugural launch.
“Everyone take a turn then we’ll go collect them,” Triston said.
Despite the shortcomings of his device Triston cheered each time they fired a toy, enjoying the absurdity of what they were doing. They were feeling comfortable and on their second turns when the skateboarders took notice and began to approach. The skateboarders had worked up a sweat by then and many of them were shirtless.
“What are those things?”
“What are you launching?”
Walter held the slingshot in the ready position and looked to the other members of his group who looked at each other curiously.
The skateboarders made their way to the back of the cars, amongst the group, the two leaders, the two representatives, who had been sent to talk to them earlier made it closest to the open trunk.
“What are those? Are those dildos?”
“Uh yeah, they’re supposed to be destroyed,” Triston said.
“Where did you get so many?”
“I work at an adult store,” Triston said.
“That’s cool,” the guy said.
“Can we watch?”
Triston looked around to everyone else who shrugged their shoulders or else nodded, then said that they could watch, participate even if they wanted. The guy who had asked reached into the trunk and took out a long toy. He held it at the base, shook it, causing it to vibrate.
“Holy shit, look at this thing,” he said.
Another skateboarder reached in and took out another one. He ran his fingers over the surface, laughing as he did, then gripped it in a similar fashion. He began to swing it through the air like a sword and it wasn’t long before several others picked up their own and began doing the same. They took turns stabbing at each other and pretending to have sword fights.
“So, uh, are you guys like gay?” one of them asked.
“Yeah,” Triston answered.
“That’s cool, Alex over here is gay.”
Triston looked to Alex who looked to the ground as his face turned red with embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if the young men were joking but somehow it didn’t matter. It wasn’t long before they got back to launching the toys. It was easier with more people.
In all of the activity the groups merged together, separated, and were back together again, each talking with a member of the other. They took turns launching the phallus shaped objects, laughing and cheering, competing even.
Eventually the fun began to wear thin, especially for Triston, Darrell, and Bobby who began to worry about their other obligations. After completing one last round they made their way back to the cars and tossed the toys inside the trunk.
Bobby noticed first that someone was missing from his group. He got Triston’s attention who did a quick count, pointing to each of them. Darrell, Walter, Doug, and Cheryl were right there.
“Where’s Spencer?” Triston asked.
The skateboarders looked at each other, unsure who was who but took an accounting of the members of their own group.
“Where’s Alex?” one of them asked.
Triston readied his ballista and Cheryl readied her slingshot.
“What is this thing again?” Bobby asked.
“It’s a ballista. It’s a medieval siege weapon. It’s like a really big crossbow,” Triston said. “We can take turns but I go first.”
They left the trunk open with the dildos piled inside in a nice stack. Triston and Cheryl took theirs out first and readied them in their devices.
“Are we doing this together?” Cheryl asked.
“Together,” Triston said.
“3, 2, 1,” they said, “and fire!”
They each fired their device sending the rubbery toys out into the air. Cheryl’s launched vertically, quivering the most noticeably as it flew but still going the farthest while Triston’s seemed the most dangerous as it hit head first and bounced several feet. Everyone cheered at the inaugural launch.
“Everyone take a turn then we’ll go collect them,” Triston said.
Despite the shortcomings of his device Triston cheered each time they fired a toy, enjoying the absurdity of what they were doing. They were feeling comfortable and on their second turns when the skateboarders took notice and began to approach. The skateboarders had worked up a sweat by then and many of them were shirtless.
“What are those things?”
“What are you launching?”
Walter held the slingshot in the ready position and looked to the other members of his group who looked at each other curiously.
The skateboarders made their way to the back of the cars, amongst the group, the two leaders, the two representatives, who had been sent to talk to them earlier made it closest to the open trunk.
“What are those? Are those dildos?”
“Uh yeah, they’re supposed to be destroyed,” Triston said.
“Where did you get so many?”
“I work at an adult store,” Triston said.
“That’s cool,” the guy said.
“Can we watch?”
Triston looked around to everyone else who shrugged their shoulders or else nodded, then said that they could watch, participate even if they wanted. The guy who had asked reached into the trunk and took out a long toy. He held it at the base, shook it, causing it to vibrate.
“Holy shit, look at this thing,” he said.
Another skateboarder reached in and took out another one. He ran his fingers over the surface, laughing as he did, then gripped it in a similar fashion. He began to swing it through the air like a sword and it wasn’t long before several others picked up their own and began doing the same. They took turns stabbing at each other and pretending to have sword fights.
“So, uh, are you guys like gay?” one of them asked.
“Yeah,” Triston answered.
“That’s cool, Alex over here is gay.”
Triston looked to Alex who looked to the ground as his face turned red with embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if the young men were joking but somehow it didn’t matter. It wasn’t long before they got back to launching the toys. It was easier with more people.
In all of the activity the groups merged together, separated, and were back together again, each talking with a member of the other. They took turns launching the phallus shaped objects, laughing and cheering, competing even.
Eventually the fun began to wear thin, especially for Triston, Darrell, and Bobby who began to worry about their other obligations. After completing one last round they made their way back to the cars and tossed the toys inside the trunk.
Bobby noticed first that someone was missing from his group. He got Triston’s attention who did a quick count, pointing to each of them. Darrell, Walter, Doug, and Cheryl were right there.
“Where’s Spencer?” Triston asked.
The skateboarders looked at each other, unsure who was who but took an accounting of the members of their own group.
“Where’s Alex?” one of them asked.
Ch 11 - Dong Tossing Pt 1
Triston drove, Bobby was in the passenger seat, Darrell, Walter, and Spencer were in the backseat, shoulder to shoulder. Spencer was having second thoughts about coming along with them on this exercise of immaturity, not just because he was crammed in the backseat but because of what they were going to do.
They were meeting up with Triston’s coworker, Cheryl, and her friend Doug at an old strip mall in Virginia to, of all things, toss dildos. The sex toys, over thirty of them, had been pulled from the shelves for destruction by the manufacturer for their possible toxic elements. Triston and Cheryl had diligently pulled them from the shelves, bagged them, and taken them out to the dumpster where Triston hesitated before throwing them inside. He said that he thought it was a waste and even if they couldn’t be used for the intended purposes there could be something else done with them.
Cheryl and Triston went back inside trying to think of nonsexual things to do with the toys. At first they had thought of ridiculous things like building a monument, then political as they thought about mailing them to bigot, homophobic politicians and preachers but they worried about being arrested for a federal crime of misuse of the postal service.
Eventually someone said something about a dildo flying through the air, and each of them had an idea for how best it could be done. Triston wanted to make a ballista type device and Cheryl wanted to make a simple slingshot using medical grade rubber tubing. Rather than work together it became a competition.
Spencer let out a groan when he felt Walter’s elbow in his side. It wasn’t just going along but being crammed in the backseat of his own car for almost an hour. The last time he had been there was a decade ago and everyone was much smaller then, including Darrell who had gained muscle, if not a little fat since then. He pushed back at Walter’s elbow, unintentionally pushing him into Darrell who groaned and pushed back.
“Hey guys, I’m the one stuck in the middle here,” Walter said.
“Behave yourselves boys or there will be no ice cream,” Triston said.
“Why do I feel like the wife?” Bobby asked.
Walter opened his mouth to speak but as he felt Darrell and Spencer beside him he decided to not say anything, even if it was funny.
“We’re almost there,” Triston said. “There it is.”
Triston pulled into the parking lot and drove over the barely remaining lines of parking spaces, past the buildings and to a back area where he had planned to meet Cheryl. She was there but so was another car.
“Did she bring someone else?” Bobby asked.
“She didn’t say she was going to bring someone else,” Triston said.
He stopped the car and that’s when they all heard it, yelling and the sounds of skateboard wheels on concrete then along a steel pipe. They looked to the corner of a building where a young man launched from a railing to the ground, raised his arms in triumph and skated out before he circled back.
“Well, I have to get out,” Spencer said.
Everyone got out of the car and began to stretch. Cheryl and Doug joined them. Triston and Cheryl began to talk amongst themselves but they were all thinking the same thing, young, male, and skateboarders. They had all imagined there wouldn’t be anyone else at the strip mall and they could carry out their impish, if not childish activity without the judgment of people, especially straights.
“Maybe it’ll be okay,” Bobby said.
“They might just leave us alone,” Spencer said.
“I’ll go see what they’re like,” Walter said.
He walked away from the group, but Darrell feeling a need to protect him followed, then Bobby, Spencer, and Doug leaving Triston and Cheryl together for a moment before they also followed. They walked along the side of the building and reformed into a group at the corner where Walter stopped to make sure no one would come flying by.
At the back of the building was a long run that had been used for loading and unloading, where they stood was stairs with a railing perfect for grinds. Six skateboarders were at the beginning of the long run smoking and goofing around with each other, oblivious until one of them noticed the group.
“Hi there,” Walter said with a little wave of his hand.
The skateboarders talked amongst themselves for a moment before sending two representatives to meet them. The two young men were skinny with baggy jeans that hung loose around their waists. They had tattoos and piercings.
They were meeting up with Triston’s coworker, Cheryl, and her friend Doug at an old strip mall in Virginia to, of all things, toss dildos. The sex toys, over thirty of them, had been pulled from the shelves for destruction by the manufacturer for their possible toxic elements. Triston and Cheryl had diligently pulled them from the shelves, bagged them, and taken them out to the dumpster where Triston hesitated before throwing them inside. He said that he thought it was a waste and even if they couldn’t be used for the intended purposes there could be something else done with them.
Cheryl and Triston went back inside trying to think of nonsexual things to do with the toys. At first they had thought of ridiculous things like building a monument, then political as they thought about mailing them to bigot, homophobic politicians and preachers but they worried about being arrested for a federal crime of misuse of the postal service.
Eventually someone said something about a dildo flying through the air, and each of them had an idea for how best it could be done. Triston wanted to make a ballista type device and Cheryl wanted to make a simple slingshot using medical grade rubber tubing. Rather than work together it became a competition.
Spencer let out a groan when he felt Walter’s elbow in his side. It wasn’t just going along but being crammed in the backseat of his own car for almost an hour. The last time he had been there was a decade ago and everyone was much smaller then, including Darrell who had gained muscle, if not a little fat since then. He pushed back at Walter’s elbow, unintentionally pushing him into Darrell who groaned and pushed back.
“Hey guys, I’m the one stuck in the middle here,” Walter said.
“Behave yourselves boys or there will be no ice cream,” Triston said.
“Why do I feel like the wife?” Bobby asked.
Walter opened his mouth to speak but as he felt Darrell and Spencer beside him he decided to not say anything, even if it was funny.
“We’re almost there,” Triston said. “There it is.”
Triston pulled into the parking lot and drove over the barely remaining lines of parking spaces, past the buildings and to a back area where he had planned to meet Cheryl. She was there but so was another car.
“Did she bring someone else?” Bobby asked.
“She didn’t say she was going to bring someone else,” Triston said.
He stopped the car and that’s when they all heard it, yelling and the sounds of skateboard wheels on concrete then along a steel pipe. They looked to the corner of a building where a young man launched from a railing to the ground, raised his arms in triumph and skated out before he circled back.
“Well, I have to get out,” Spencer said.
Everyone got out of the car and began to stretch. Cheryl and Doug joined them. Triston and Cheryl began to talk amongst themselves but they were all thinking the same thing, young, male, and skateboarders. They had all imagined there wouldn’t be anyone else at the strip mall and they could carry out their impish, if not childish activity without the judgment of people, especially straights.
“Maybe it’ll be okay,” Bobby said.
“They might just leave us alone,” Spencer said.
“I’ll go see what they’re like,” Walter said.
He walked away from the group, but Darrell feeling a need to protect him followed, then Bobby, Spencer, and Doug leaving Triston and Cheryl together for a moment before they also followed. They walked along the side of the building and reformed into a group at the corner where Walter stopped to make sure no one would come flying by.
At the back of the building was a long run that had been used for loading and unloading, where they stood was stairs with a railing perfect for grinds. Six skateboarders were at the beginning of the long run smoking and goofing around with each other, oblivious until one of them noticed the group.
“Hi there,” Walter said with a little wave of his hand.
The skateboarders talked amongst themselves for a moment before sending two representatives to meet them. The two young men were skinny with baggy jeans that hung loose around their waists. They had tattoos and piercings.
Ch 10 - Spanked Boys
“Seriously?”
Darrell nodded.
“What do you think guys?”
“I’m not sure he’d be fair,” Walter said.
“I’m the most fair person here plus I haven’t been drinking,” Darrell said.
“He is,” Spencer said.
“I trust him,” Triston added.
Chad looked to Darrell then to the other men and agreed as he was feeling foolish for what he was about to do yet too full of pride to stop.
“There we have it. Now who’s first?” Darrell asked.
Walter and Chad stared at each other daring the other to go first but Triston interrupted their challenge by volunteering himself. He moved to the bench and lowered his jeans before assuming the position. Darrell picked out a wooden paddle from the wall and told Walter to put the one in his hands back before clearing out the area. He took his stance behind Triston as if he were about to play golf.
“Ready?” Darrell called out.
“Ready,” Triston said.
Darrell whacked him once, twice, three times making Triston moan a little louder with each hit. Chad smiled as he looked to Walter who was biting at his nails. Darrell continued to ten without interruption before Triston pushed himself from the bench and grabbed at his own ass. He massaged his flesh through the fabric.
“Who’s next?” Darrell asked.
Chad volunteered himself before Walter could speak. He wanted to get it over with because he saw people were beginning to notice. He lowered his jeans to whistles and cat-calls, bent over the bench horse and readied himself. A straight man in a gay bar about to be spanked for their amusement, he shook his head.
The first whack didn’t feel like much. The second felt like a force he was unfamiliar with then between the fourth and fifth strikes his flesh reacted. It felt like it was cracking open up his back tearing fissures through the rest of his body and the rest of his skin. But he balled his fist because pain was nothing to fear. He could handle anything. This was just like when his father spanked him, he told himself.
Darrell got to ten then stopped. Chad pushed himself up, picked up his jeans, fastened his belt and turned to the audience, feigned a smile and a wave before he went back to his position beside Spencer. Walter grinned at them before he stepped to the bench and turned to the audience raising his arms getting the crowd to applaud. He turned to the bench and instead of just lowering his jeans he lowered his underwear as well baring himself for everyone to see. Darrell grinned before he touched the paddle to his cheeks. He tapped several times before he pulled back then swung.
Walter took the spanking easily, pulled up his pants and underwear as he stood and encouraged the men to cheer for him again before he went to Triston and Chad to challenge them to more.
“The deal was ten, we all did it, now we have thirty bucks to drink with so let’s enjoy ourselves,” Triston said.
“It’s not fun until someone cries,” Walter said.
“In that case I’ll give you a good spanking,” Darrell said.
“You’d make me cry?” Walter asked.
“Come with me young man,” Darrell said before grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him to the bench.
Walter laughed at the attention he was getting before he pulled his pants and underwear back down and assumed the position.
Spencer looked to Chad who stood with his arms crossed, one hand up towards his face nervously biting at his thumb. He could tell something was wrong with his new friend. He looked to the spanking bench then to Chad. He had been through something. He looked around at the crowd of men who were all enjoying themselves, even Triston was laughing a little.
He moved to Chad but was afraid to touch him so he got his attention then signaled for him to follow which he began to do. Spencer led him out the back of the club to the small, mostly clean alley. They stopped in the darkness, not quite illuminated by any source of light. He wanted to comfort the man. He wanted to hug him, embrace him, tell him kind words but he knew none of that would work. He knew none of that would help Chad. He knew he had to play it cool, keep calm.
“Didn’t expect it to be chilly out here,” Spencer observed.
“Yeah, it’s pretty different out here, kind of cold.”
They stood in silence for a long time before Spencer decided to ask.
“So what is it? What’s going on?”
“Just kind of weird, I mean it was all in jest and everything. I thought I was over it. Being paddled like that, watching Walter getting spanked it reminded me of my father. He used to hit us growing up, my brother and me. He liked to use the belt. It was over fifteen years ago now. I didn’t think it meant anything. It was normal but still. I hadn’t thought about it in so long. Then to see it. It reminded me of this one time I watched him beat my brother and my brother started squirming so he had me hold him by the wrists. I felt so bad but I knew if I didn’t he do worse to me.”
Spencer looked away into the darkness then to the silhouette of his new friend.
Darrell nodded.
“What do you think guys?”
“I’m not sure he’d be fair,” Walter said.
“I’m the most fair person here plus I haven’t been drinking,” Darrell said.
“He is,” Spencer said.
“I trust him,” Triston added.
Chad looked to Darrell then to the other men and agreed as he was feeling foolish for what he was about to do yet too full of pride to stop.
“There we have it. Now who’s first?” Darrell asked.
Walter and Chad stared at each other daring the other to go first but Triston interrupted their challenge by volunteering himself. He moved to the bench and lowered his jeans before assuming the position. Darrell picked out a wooden paddle from the wall and told Walter to put the one in his hands back before clearing out the area. He took his stance behind Triston as if he were about to play golf.
“Ready?” Darrell called out.
“Ready,” Triston said.
Darrell whacked him once, twice, three times making Triston moan a little louder with each hit. Chad smiled as he looked to Walter who was biting at his nails. Darrell continued to ten without interruption before Triston pushed himself from the bench and grabbed at his own ass. He massaged his flesh through the fabric.
“Who’s next?” Darrell asked.
Chad volunteered himself before Walter could speak. He wanted to get it over with because he saw people were beginning to notice. He lowered his jeans to whistles and cat-calls, bent over the bench horse and readied himself. A straight man in a gay bar about to be spanked for their amusement, he shook his head.
The first whack didn’t feel like much. The second felt like a force he was unfamiliar with then between the fourth and fifth strikes his flesh reacted. It felt like it was cracking open up his back tearing fissures through the rest of his body and the rest of his skin. But he balled his fist because pain was nothing to fear. He could handle anything. This was just like when his father spanked him, he told himself.
Darrell got to ten then stopped. Chad pushed himself up, picked up his jeans, fastened his belt and turned to the audience, feigned a smile and a wave before he went back to his position beside Spencer. Walter grinned at them before he stepped to the bench and turned to the audience raising his arms getting the crowd to applaud. He turned to the bench and instead of just lowering his jeans he lowered his underwear as well baring himself for everyone to see. Darrell grinned before he touched the paddle to his cheeks. He tapped several times before he pulled back then swung.
Walter took the spanking easily, pulled up his pants and underwear as he stood and encouraged the men to cheer for him again before he went to Triston and Chad to challenge them to more.
“The deal was ten, we all did it, now we have thirty bucks to drink with so let’s enjoy ourselves,” Triston said.
“It’s not fun until someone cries,” Walter said.
“In that case I’ll give you a good spanking,” Darrell said.
“You’d make me cry?” Walter asked.
“Come with me young man,” Darrell said before grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him to the bench.
Walter laughed at the attention he was getting before he pulled his pants and underwear back down and assumed the position.
Spencer looked to Chad who stood with his arms crossed, one hand up towards his face nervously biting at his thumb. He could tell something was wrong with his new friend. He looked to the spanking bench then to Chad. He had been through something. He looked around at the crowd of men who were all enjoying themselves, even Triston was laughing a little.
He moved to Chad but was afraid to touch him so he got his attention then signaled for him to follow which he began to do. Spencer led him out the back of the club to the small, mostly clean alley. They stopped in the darkness, not quite illuminated by any source of light. He wanted to comfort the man. He wanted to hug him, embrace him, tell him kind words but he knew none of that would work. He knew none of that would help Chad. He knew he had to play it cool, keep calm.
“Didn’t expect it to be chilly out here,” Spencer observed.
“Yeah, it’s pretty different out here, kind of cold.”
They stood in silence for a long time before Spencer decided to ask.
“So what is it? What’s going on?”
“Just kind of weird, I mean it was all in jest and everything. I thought I was over it. Being paddled like that, watching Walter getting spanked it reminded me of my father. He used to hit us growing up, my brother and me. He liked to use the belt. It was over fifteen years ago now. I didn’t think it meant anything. It was normal but still. I hadn’t thought about it in so long. Then to see it. It reminded me of this one time I watched him beat my brother and my brother started squirming so he had me hold him by the wrists. I felt so bad but I knew if I didn’t he do worse to me.”
Spencer looked away into the darkness then to the silhouette of his new friend.
Ch 09 - To Drink
The music was loud.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Chad said above the cacophony. He looked around the bar at all the other men then to his companions: Spencer, Triston, Darrell, Bobby, and Walter.
“To drink,” Bobby said raising his glass.
“Which one of us is the designated driver?” Chad asked.
“Darrell here doesn’t drink,” Spencer said.
“Really?”
“A.A., I’ve been sober for a year now,” Darrell said.
“Congratulations,” Chad said before he took a drink from his glass.
“That must suck,” Walter said. “I hate not being able to drink.”
Darrell looked at Walter then to Triston who shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m going to find someone to dance,” Darrell said.
“Take me,” Bobby said before he hopped off his stool and followed after him.
“I’m going to get something to drink,” Walter said.
“Don’t try to order anything alcoholic,” Triston said.
Walter held up his hand indicating the sticker that marked him as being underage then said, ‘yes dad’ before departed.
“I hope I didn’t ruin anything,” Chad said.
“No, it’s usually like this,” Spencer said. “People come and go all night.”
“I’m going to check on my protege,” Triston said.
Chad and Spencer looked at each other unsure what to say next they sat in silence for a long time. Times like this he would have left the table himself, found someone to dance with or gotten another drink, maybe a trip to the bathroom but he felt obligated to stay and keep Chad company. He was a stranger in a strange land.
“So how’s being a cop?” Spencer asked.
“It’s difficult,” Chad said.
Spencer raised his eyebrows hoping for a story, an anecdote or something amusing but there was silence and he suddenly imagined the conversation between Chad and his wife with her being the one who talked constantly. He thought to say something else but then he saw the look on Chad’s face, the tension in his shoulders. He was trying to be nice, Spencer thought, trying to be brave, but truthfully if someone saw him here, a coworker, there could be problems despite being married and having a ring. He could be mistaken for being on the down low, cheating on his wife, or worse. Walter dispersed his thoughts as he arrived at the table with enthusiasm. Triston wasn’t far behind him carrying a fresh drink.
“I just found out they have a spanking booth,” he said.
“Congratulations,” Spencer said
“Did he tell you? He found out about the spanking booth and now he’s desperate to try it. I told him to wait for another night.”
“He said it would bother Chad here,” Walter said.
“I said it might,” Triston added.
“Wouldn’t bother me,” Chad said. “It’s a little kinky for my taste but go ahead.”
“You wouldn’t be able to handle the pain. All you straight boys are alike,” Walter said.
“Hey take it easy,” Spencer replied.
“I could handle the pain,” Chad said. “I just don’t get off on it.”
“Then prove it,” Walter said.
“What?”
“Prove you can do it and you’re not some prude. I bet you can’t handle five swats.”
“Are you challenging me to a spanking competition?”
“I am now,” Walter said.
“That would be-” he stopped himself.
Everyone thought he wanted to say any of the words that were politically incorrect but he didn’t finish the sentence and instead shook his head.
“Gay?” Walter asked.
“Painful,” Chad said. “I was going to say painful.”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” Walter said.
“Ten bucks for ten swats,” Walter said.
“Okay,” Chad replied.
“Come on guys,” Spencer said.
“Sounds like fun,” Triston said.
“No more beer, no more liquor to dull the senses. We’re going to get your ass turned from that pale white to a flaming red,” Walter said pulling out his wallet and opening it.
He pulled two twenties and a ten out and handed them to Spencer as he told him to hold the money. Triston pulled his phone and sent a text message of the important details to Bobby and Darrell.
“Let’s do this,” Chad said.
They walked across the floor of the bar to the far wall where a spanking area had been set up including a bench and several different implements. Walter headed straight for the wooden paddle and picked it up. He began to swing it through the air as if he was giving an imaginary spanking to someone. Spencer and Chad stood shoulder to shoulder as they looked to Triston who bit at his lip.
“Usually there is someone here,” Triston said.
“What’s going on?” Darrell asked interrupting their mutual confusion.
Bobby was right behind him.
“It’s a spanking competition,” Spencer said.
“Really?” Bobby asked.
Spencer nodded.
“Who is getting spanked?” Darrell asked.
“Chad, Walter, and Triston if we can find anyone to do it,” Spencer said.
“I’ll do it,” Darrell said.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Chad said above the cacophony. He looked around the bar at all the other men then to his companions: Spencer, Triston, Darrell, Bobby, and Walter.
“To drink,” Bobby said raising his glass.
“Which one of us is the designated driver?” Chad asked.
“Darrell here doesn’t drink,” Spencer said.
“Really?”
“A.A., I’ve been sober for a year now,” Darrell said.
“Congratulations,” Chad said before he took a drink from his glass.
“That must suck,” Walter said. “I hate not being able to drink.”
Darrell looked at Walter then to Triston who shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m going to find someone to dance,” Darrell said.
“Take me,” Bobby said before he hopped off his stool and followed after him.
“I’m going to get something to drink,” Walter said.
“Don’t try to order anything alcoholic,” Triston said.
Walter held up his hand indicating the sticker that marked him as being underage then said, ‘yes dad’ before departed.
“I hope I didn’t ruin anything,” Chad said.
“No, it’s usually like this,” Spencer said. “People come and go all night.”
“I’m going to check on my protege,” Triston said.
Chad and Spencer looked at each other unsure what to say next they sat in silence for a long time. Times like this he would have left the table himself, found someone to dance with or gotten another drink, maybe a trip to the bathroom but he felt obligated to stay and keep Chad company. He was a stranger in a strange land.
“So how’s being a cop?” Spencer asked.
“It’s difficult,” Chad said.
Spencer raised his eyebrows hoping for a story, an anecdote or something amusing but there was silence and he suddenly imagined the conversation between Chad and his wife with her being the one who talked constantly. He thought to say something else but then he saw the look on Chad’s face, the tension in his shoulders. He was trying to be nice, Spencer thought, trying to be brave, but truthfully if someone saw him here, a coworker, there could be problems despite being married and having a ring. He could be mistaken for being on the down low, cheating on his wife, or worse. Walter dispersed his thoughts as he arrived at the table with enthusiasm. Triston wasn’t far behind him carrying a fresh drink.
“I just found out they have a spanking booth,” he said.
“Congratulations,” Spencer said
“Did he tell you? He found out about the spanking booth and now he’s desperate to try it. I told him to wait for another night.”
“He said it would bother Chad here,” Walter said.
“I said it might,” Triston added.
“Wouldn’t bother me,” Chad said. “It’s a little kinky for my taste but go ahead.”
“You wouldn’t be able to handle the pain. All you straight boys are alike,” Walter said.
“Hey take it easy,” Spencer replied.
“I could handle the pain,” Chad said. “I just don’t get off on it.”
“Then prove it,” Walter said.
“What?”
“Prove you can do it and you’re not some prude. I bet you can’t handle five swats.”
“Are you challenging me to a spanking competition?”
“I am now,” Walter said.
“That would be-” he stopped himself.
Everyone thought he wanted to say any of the words that were politically incorrect but he didn’t finish the sentence and instead shook his head.
“Gay?” Walter asked.
“Painful,” Chad said. “I was going to say painful.”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” Walter said.
“Ten bucks for ten swats,” Walter said.
“Okay,” Chad replied.
“Come on guys,” Spencer said.
“Sounds like fun,” Triston said.
“No more beer, no more liquor to dull the senses. We’re going to get your ass turned from that pale white to a flaming red,” Walter said pulling out his wallet and opening it.
He pulled two twenties and a ten out and handed them to Spencer as he told him to hold the money. Triston pulled his phone and sent a text message of the important details to Bobby and Darrell.
“Let’s do this,” Chad said.
They walked across the floor of the bar to the far wall where a spanking area had been set up including a bench and several different implements. Walter headed straight for the wooden paddle and picked it up. He began to swing it through the air as if he was giving an imaginary spanking to someone. Spencer and Chad stood shoulder to shoulder as they looked to Triston who bit at his lip.
“Usually there is someone here,” Triston said.
“What’s going on?” Darrell asked interrupting their mutual confusion.
Bobby was right behind him.
“It’s a spanking competition,” Spencer said.
“Really?” Bobby asked.
Spencer nodded.
“Who is getting spanked?” Darrell asked.
“Chad, Walter, and Triston if we can find anyone to do it,” Spencer said.
“I’ll do it,” Darrell said.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)