Well, here is the second part of this series. I would like to thank everyone that wrote to me about the first, cheering me on and such. It makes us authors want to write more. Anyhow, this story contains descriptions of male/male relationships. If this is illegal for you to be reading, or if you are underage, then this is a no-no. Also, this story is purely fiction and written for entertainment value. The author nor the forum on which it is posted does not claim to know anything about the true sexual orientation of singer Ricky Martin. We'll just leave that to the media.
He's All I Need, Part II
"Playing Hooky"
By: Dmetri Xavier
I woke up with a start, wondering if all that had happened the day before was just a dream. I looked over at my nightstand and there was my business card with his hotel room number on the back. Yup, it sure wasn't a dream. Why, for the love of God, did I wish it were? Why couldn't I be a normal human homosexual male and pounce on the chance of going to Ricky Martin's hotel room? Spending time with him was all I wanted, I could never dream for more.
Last night I went to bed wondering about Pablo. There were always two sides to every coin, you see, and I had to play devil's advocate. Not that I wanted to, but a little nagging voice in the back of my mind made me. I wondered if Pablo wasn't just like me. I wondered if he fell for Ricky, and then when he realized he couldn't truly have him because of his celebrity, then he became the bitter man that I saw. I wondered what it would be like having to share Ricky with millions of adoring fans. Then the sensible side of me told myself that I wasn't even seeing the man, that he only invited me over to continue our talk.
Then that little voice that initiated this whole war in my head started in with things like, "The man invited you to his hotel room. What makes you think that all he had was talking in mind?" Strangely enough, that voice was starting to sound like my mother! Finally, at about 4:00 AM I fell asleep. You could only guess whom I dreamed about.
I dreamed that Ricky and I were walking along a beach, holding hands, just talking to each other about our goals and dreams. We were so engrossed with our conversation that we didn't notice the little man with a camera flashing pictures of the two of us holding hands. The next thing I knew I am standing in the supermarket checking out with a basket of who-knows-what, I notice the headline of one of the tabloids: RICKY MARTIN SEX SHOCKER!!! The subtitle read: RICKY CAUGHT WITH MALE LOVER. Then below was a picture of the two of us walking along the beach, holding hands, and looking at each other as lovers would. It was a beautiful picture made to look seedy. Then all of the sudden, I heard the whispers. I looked up and saw everyone around me staring and pointing fingers. They all gasped when Ricky entered behind me and when I turned around the look on his face was one of pure rage and heartache. It was saying to me, "How could you?" Then he drew back his clenched fist, and all I saw was his hand flying toward me. That was when the alarm went off.
Bringing me to my present state. I lied there in bed for a long time, trying to sort out the emotions raging through my head. I was such a wreck, tired and exhausted with my lack of sleep, that I called into work and had Kristy cancel all my appointments that afternoon. She knew something was up, because I never call in sick, but she didn't pry. I just lied there in my bed, curled up in a little ball, wondering what was the matter with me. I'd never felt so strange about another person in my life, and Ricky being famous made matters worse I think. I'd always thought that those types of people were unapproachable. I eventually fell into a dreamless, deep sleep.
I awoke about two hours later with a harsh knocking at my door. In my cracked voice I yelled, "Just a minute", and threw on my old purple bathrobe. As I opened the door, I was greeted with a huge bouquet of the most beautiful yellow roses I had ever seen. There had to be close to seventy-five of them stuffed into a cut glass vase, and as soon as the chain was off the door they were shoved at me.
"Mr. James Saxony?" the man behind the flowers asked.
"Uh...yeah...can I help you?" I asked back sleepily.
The flowers rustled, moved, and there stood Ricky. I just about fainted at the sight of him. "Surprise...here you go." He said handing me the vase, "I called your work to ask about you, to see if you might be coming by today, because I was planning on taking you out to lunch, but they said you were sick. So I asked the girl behind the counter what your favorite flowers were, and she said you loved yellow roses. So I got you those and brought you this." He held up a bag to show me, "It's chicken soup from the deli I was going to take you to."
I didn't know what to say. Here I was, and emotional wreck, wondering what to do about this man, and here he was on my doorstep. Okay, now what? I stood there in my bathrobe, my hair looking like early morning shit, and this man had just given me flowers after I stewed over whether or not he was worth it last night. Forget that he was a famous music star. He brought me flowers and chicken soup and.
"Uhhhuummm..." Ricky cleared his throat, "Can I come in?"
"What?" I asked as if I had been hit over the head with a two by four.
"I asked if I could come in. It's a bit conspicuous of course having me at your door, don't you think?" he said, with a grin.
"Sure...oh yeah...sure...come in, please. Oh God, I am a mess, let me go change." I was rambling.
"You look fine to me," he said in an almost whisper, "Besides I am here to take care of you because you are sick, remember?"
I looked at him and was on the verge of laughter. Hysterical laughter. Why, I don't know, "I'm not really sick Ricky. I just didn't sleep well last night and I thought it would be best not to try to cut hair today considering a drunken sailor could do better." I was giddy. Yeah, that's it. Giddy.
He didn't look disappointed, "That's okay. I was supposed to be in the recording studio today, and I'm not." He looked at me with mischief in his eyes, "Wanna play hooky together?"
I laughed at him. I felt at ease with him, not normal for me considering my dating history. We sat down on my living room floor, and he unpacked the bag he brought with him. There was chicken soup, yes, but there were also knish and pastrami sandwiches, "I kind of had a feeling that you weren't sick, but just to be sure, I had to be prepared." He said to me. I giggled like this, and we sat and idled away the afternoon. We talked about school, how he was the only boy who didn't speak fluent Spanish on the playground. I talked about how I was the outcast, the homely little bookish boy that no one ever missed. We talked about life in general, then the subject switched to former romances when I noticed that he wore a medallion with a man's name inscribed on it. As least I thought it was a man's name. I couldn't read it, but I asked anyway. When I did, Ricky got this far-away look in his eye. "He was at one time very special to me." He answered.
I recognized that look in his eye. I had one to match, "I had one of those once. The one and only 'true love', your 'soul mate'. The one person you could give your life for."
He cut me off with, "The one who breaks your heart without a care in the world, and leaves you with nothing."
I looked at him, knowing exactly what he meant, "Yeah, I had one of those. He cut all ties with me when he left for college because he wasn't sure he could be with one person."
Ricky looked at me thoughtfully, "Sounds about right. Although mine left me for another friend of mine."
I winced, "Ouch."
"No shit." He answered.
I don't know why, call it lack of tact, but I had to ask, "If he broke your heart, then why do you still wear that?" I asked him, indicating the medal.
"It's a reminder to me not to give my love too quickly. Not to be too trusting like before." He answered simply.
"That's understandable."
"Yeah, well, I wish I'd heed my own advice." He looked almost forlorn, but then he smiled, "But for some reason I hold onto that hope that there is someone out there for me. Someone who is my true soul mate, not a fake or immature person like most of the guys I meet. Call me romantic or even sensible."
"Say no more. I know where you're coming from." I laughed.
He leaned in closer to me, "You know, I had a feeling that you did." He inched closer still, "Jimmy, I don't want to make you run from me because I am famous. I don't want another man like Pablo who envies me from afar, and then takes all I can give him like I owe him something for not worshiping him properly. Singing is my job. True, it may sound great and it may look like a lot of fun, believe me it can be, but it is still a lot of work. I wouldn't expect anyone to give up their career for me, just so they can follow me around on tour or whatever. At the same time, they would have to understand that touring is part of the deal, and they would have to trust me, just as if I trusted them on a business trip. Does that make sense?"
I looked at him dead in the eye, "Perfectly."
There was a moment of silence, then he spoke up, "So why didn't you sleep well last night?"
"I was thinking about us, not that there is an 'us', but I was thinking about it." I answered.
"Really? So what were you thinking?" he looked at me wondering.
I told him everything that happened the night before. How I kept myself up all night thinking about scenarios involving the public and us. How I couldn't decide whether or not to go to his hotel room because I felt that he might just be in it to seduce me. I told him about the tabloid thing, and I even mentioned feeling sorry for Pablo for a moment. I spilled my guts to this man, and he just sat there listening in intently. "Then you can here, and we've done exactly what I wanted, and that was spend time together." I finished.
He just had this cute bashful grin on his face, "You did all that worrying for me? I'm flattered."
"Well Ricky I." he put his finger to my lips and asked, "Am I worth all that?" asking me like he wasn't sure himself. I looked at him steadily, "You're worth more than all that." He looked away shyly, and I lifted his gaze to meet mine, "Ricky, this might seem stupid, and a little forward, but may I kiss you." I almost regretted the words until he looked up at me and simply said, "Yes."
We leaned in as one, as our lips touched, I swear I felt that proverbial lightning bolt strike me. The kiss was gentle, not filled with the pent-up lust or passion that one might expect. It was sweet, and kind. The kind of kiss you want to remember has your first, because you aren't sure you are ever going to feel anything like it again. And then the kiss deepened. My God, if I wasn't already on the floor, I think I would've been! When we finally did break the kiss after what seemed like an hour, we just held onto each other for a moment, basking in the feeling that we provided each other.
Ricky was the first to pull away, but he did so like he was afraid that I was porcelain and might break, "That was nice." He said sheepishly.
"Yes it was." Was all I could manage to say back.
He looked out the window, and said, "Look, the sun is setting. We've been talking for hours."
"I don't mind. It was time well spent." I answered.
"Would you like to watch the sunset with me?" he asked quietly.
"I'd love to."
I opened the blinds of the big sliding glass door in my living room, and as I joined him on my couch we automatically found ourselves melting together as if we were carved from the same block. We sat and watched the sunset together, then both of us dozed off in each other's arms.
Well folks, that's it for this installment. Let me know what you think, as praise and criticism via email are the only compensation we authors get. Dmetrixavier@hotmail.com