This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to any person, place, or written works are purely coincidental. It may contain consensual sex between young men. Do not read if you find that objectionable or if it is illegal for you to view this content for whatever the reason.
Copyright 2009 Jade. All Rights Reserved. Do not post, copy, or use this story in any manner without my permission.
Questions? Care to share your thoughts? Always love to hear from you at : phantomscorpio77@gmail.com.
In the Shadows of Our Lives Part 1 - On Broken Wings XIV ~ Another Destination [The Jig Is Up] ~
Dear Journal:
New York was a blast! I had the time of my life. I had so much fun and did so many things. I got to meet my grandparents for the first time in my life and see my mom's old neighborhood and the site my grandparents entered their new lives here in America. Everywhere I walked was like viewing a piece of history. But more than a week later it's definitely back to reality.
Hey Journal, do you remember all that time ago (like 2 months back) I told you that I thought Chris and I were mutually just friends, not a couple? Well in reflection, now that it's over I've rethought that. For a bit it seemed like we were just friends and fuck-buddies. Well forget that, we were always boyfriends, and towards the end we were actually having sex again. We had a drought there, but we were at it quite regularly for a bit after that. New York was a fuck-fest, including a couple nights of threesomes!
Yes Journal, I was very naughty in New York. I still have not resolved my thoughts and feelings about Sam and the whole threesome situation. Shit, I haven't resolved my situation with Chris alone yet. But sex we had; together and with Sam. And frequently! It's flipped a switch in me I didn't know I had. I feel much more unencumbered, and in my head I am starting to let go of some of my inhibitions. The threesome is something to deal with and learn to accept at some future date, like probably in therapy when I hit a mid-life crisis and we find it is the root of all my problems. Hahaha, maybe I should pre-book a seat on some shrink's couch now! I didn't tell Chris about the boxers that Sam slipped into my suitcase, nor the note to go with it.
The note. It's quite an ego booster for me actually. I knew there were sparks between Sam and I. The sexual tension was obvious and I felt bad that Chris had to pretend to not notice. It's not like I played it up or anything, but yeah, Sam had it for me bad. His note thanks me for being his first and that he will always remember me and how I made it a good memory. He gave me his address, his email, his phone numbers, and his gay.com address. He really wants to stay in touch and hopes that I will remember him so that his virginity at least will be cherished.
Fuck, not to be callous, but how does he think his virginity will be cherished when he gave it away in a three-way with two out of town strangers? But effectively I will remember him and the gift of his virginity because it is directly related to a poignant moment in my life. I may just keep in touch with him for the hell of it; he is a sweet guy and a pretty cute little 18 year old skater/raver boi to boot.
But New York wasn't all good either; New York is where Chris and I officially broke-up, but didn't. Ah shit, who am I kidding? Chris and I are over. As boyfriends that is, not as friends. Chris was a rebound guy no matter what I try to convince myself. I don't in any way feel a bond like Daniel and I had. Sure, there is a bond between Chris and I, only maybe it's just different because it doesn't involve the same deep rooted levels of fear and rejection that Daniel and I both had to deal with separately and then together.
With Chris it was a much easier road of self discovery and self acceptance. I don't want to give up the comfort level I've achieved with Chris in such a short time. We know each other and don't have to face all the insecurities that are involved in someone new. We don't fit together the best sexually, but we know each other enough that we are comfortable being sexual with each other. We can let our guards down; all pretensions get washed aside and we can do taboo things to each other and still look each other in the eye afterwards and not feel shame. All week in New York we were having sex, even though we had voiced that we both knew we were over.
I guess the bottom line is that while I don't feel the bond that Daniel and I had, I don't feel the shame of being sexual with Chris either. I was very ashamed of anything I tried with Daniel because he was not into it like me. The first time my tongue went deeper between Daniels legs and he didn't return the attention I felt so dirty. With Chris, he makes me feel normal from a sexual viewpoint and not perverted because he is equally as sexual.
So, we're friends, maybe even friends for life. I think we'll remain sexual partners out of habit for now and it's a convenience thing. But the two are separate from each other and intellectually we both know that the two don't add up to being boyfriends. We're free to pursue other guys that may catch our interests. Admittedly I drool over other guys and am totally obsessed with one guy in particular. And no, as good looking and studly as Tim is he's not that guy. By now Journal you know the name of my human god; Paul Hunter.
But speaking of Tim, here's a thought. Tim clearly knows my little secret; he sent me an email, highlighting key words in the song Take it on the Run by REO Speedwagon.
Cheesedick, this made me think of you:
"Heard it from a friend who, Heard it from a friend who, Heard it from another you been messin' around. They say you got a BOYFRIEND, You're OUT late EVERY WEEKEND, They're talkin' about you and it's bringin' me down. But I know the neighborhood, And talk is cheap when the story is good, And the tales grow taller on down the line..."
Tell me about it someday, SOON! O.K? ;)
Timbo
P.S. C ur sweet ass here in the bayou soon! :) P.P.S. I hate gritz and I think my mom is becoming a Voodoo Witch! :(
Of course I send him a reply. It's only one line: "Hahaha. Funny!"
But here's the deal, I am getting extremely nervous now about my week visiting Tim and him moving in afterwards. Tim knows me inside out. He knows about me. He knows about Chris. He knows I don't care to share yet. This isn't even the first time since the day we got him kicked out that he's made mention of it. What is he trying to get at? Why is he pushing the issue? How did he find out? Somehow telling Tim is like the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I've compartmentalized and ignored because I've never been able to reconcile it.
Well Journal, here's what I know. First, now that my secret is getting out there, is that it becomes easier each time to tell. Second, In some way it's a weight off the shoulders each time no matter the reaction. Third, I think Tim just wants to get it out in the open so that it's not an issue when he moves in. And finally, of course I also know exactly how he found out.
While I was away in New York Ma and Larry moved the house around and I now have her old room and Lacey and Candace's room has been emptied out and made ready for Tim with his bed, dressers and such. We left Tim's couch in storage in Larry's garage, and the girl's remaining stuff has been moved there as well. Ma and Larry have set up Deanna's old room as their own. So much for Ma's wish of actually having a dining room!
Of course Larry hasn't done this all on his own. He's got a couple brothers from his varsity football team to help, both of which also play baseball with Tim and Neil. When Chris dropped me off from the airport he gave me a bag of underwear I thought he had bought for himself. Justin Liddle stepped out into the carport as I was reaching through the driver's window to give Chris a quick kiss for them. My first reaction was fear, but Justin must not have seen. As I walked up to the carport he pointed to the house and just asked what I thought. He never let on a damn thing, but days later word's gotten to Tim all the way in New Orleans. Clearly he did see me kiss Chris.
The second shock in moments was returning to see my old room stripped right down to only the bare floor, opened ceiling and exposed frame, enclosed by a plastic tarp. Larry moves fast, the wall to the laundry room has been reframed as well, leaving it so that it will be fully open to the mud room / carport entrance that my former bedroom is to once again become. The siding along the entire front of the house and the back of my old room is scheduled to be done while we are in New Orleans by the brothers and their father who owns a renovation company and is giving us a great deal.
Getting up to my new room I worried over who moved my stuff. I have a couple hidden cigarette tins, one for my teensy stash of weed and one for condoms. Everything I own was on open shelves on the walls. Books, clothes, CD's, you name it. I didn't have a dresser or any drawers to keep anything personal in, so the tins are all I have ever kept hidden behind some books on the shelves. That at least won't be a problem if it was Deanna, who spent the week taking care of the store in my absence and will be back in town every other weekend from now on, now that the Austin store is up and running. I gather that she crashed alternately in whatever room was set up at the time for the week.
Later in the same day that I got back from New York I talked with Rhonda at the restaurant that I am transferring to. I thought I would be starting there right away, but now it seems I am more or less going to get the rest of the summer off because she is over staffed right now until people go back to school. She suggested that while she can throw me a shift here and there, for now I should enjoy my summer. She has guaranteed me that I will have a job come September when things settle down, and has already activated me on her payroll as a host trainee and a busser and put my name on the schedule to back up her promise. I'm still too young to serve alcohol in the state of Texas, but she has promised me that I will train the day I am old enough.
I hesitantly took her for her word and hope she keeps it. I thought that the restaurant she transferred to was identical to the one I worked at, but it in fact is a higher-up chain within the company, requiring a much more formal uniform. I'll have to square away some money to buy some dress clothes and new shoes to work there. Unfortunately that poses a problem for me because I really only have one job this summer and therefore only one income, and could use the second job right now to pay for the new uniforms.
Getting back into the routine of my life, in between work, hanging out with the guys and playing baseball, I try to pull my weight around the house in the renovation. It's been easy because right after New York, Chris and his sister Alex left for Australia for 10 days to take in some of the Olympics, so he hasn't been a physical distraction. Further, Ma is so excited to have a side entrance to the carport, let alone any other renovations, that it's also been easy to get caught up in her excitement.
Hell, in getting a mini-van Ma's just plain excited to have a vehicle to park in the carport. Ma and Larry are buying a van from the Milner's Auto Mall and I'm sure Chris' dad gave them a break on the van. They were set on one used one, but he's givng them a newer one for close to the same price.
Speaking of Ma, Larry expressed to me that while she's doing her best to be open and supportive of me, she's also having a hard time reconciling it. Not that she hasn't accepted I know my own mind, she's just very worried for me leading a life that subjects me to hatred and bigotry, what future I can have, and what doors will close for me blatantly or furtively. She's cool with me holding and kissing a guy at home, but through Larry I again am reminded she doesn't want me having sex in the house. Talking more with Larry, he also expressed that I shouldn't be having sex in one breath, but with the next breath told me boys will be boys, and that I'm smart enough to not get caught, wink-wink!
So there you are Journal, just the average plight of your average semi-closet-case.
Close the door for me already, will ya?
Jon.
).:.(<<
After getting back from New York Chris flew out the very next morning to Sydney. That was Monday of last week, and he just got back Friday of this week, so a couple of days ago. Now as we walk in the Sunday morning sunrise along the beach at Victoria Harbor I can't quite pinpoint what is bothering me but it's definitely present. This is where we met. Chris of the perfectly styled light blonde hair and expensive sunglasses on at night, talking on his cell phone by a fire pit while his friend Bobbie chatted me up for him. He looked like an angel.
I'm sure I noticed him in passing that night but my mind was on Paul Hunter. And Daniel weighed quite heavily on me too, at the time. Then I said no, and I watched his face when Bobbie relayed the news to him. Here at this very beach I saw the physical expression of his hope get crushed. I see that same look playing across his face here again.
The magic is definitely gone. Where it went, I don't know. We've technically broken up. But as this weekend has proved, the sex has lingered in the wake of our relationship. Either way, I think of Chris as a friend, perhaps a real lifelong friend. I don't ever want to lose him.
I just don't know that we want to be together. I mean we do, but somehow we don't. It's confusing as shit, and it hurts us both to broach the subject. Neither of us wants to hurt the other with reality, nor ourselves for that matter. Friends forever, only this boyfriends-but not boyfriends thing is standing in the way. At least that's what I think and how I feel about the subject. I wonder if that is what he feels too? Is that the emotion currently causing the look on his face?
He blurts out, "Jon? Am I going to lose you?"
"No, Babe. Why would you say that?" I answer. We've had this conversation. Even though it is entirely what I was just thinking about I don't want to talk about it again. Leave me in my oblivion, my ignorant bliss. Honestly, why beat a dead horse, right?
He's all serious, "Just promise me something. O.K?"
"What," I ask. At this point, looking into his eyes and feeling my heart I'd promise him anything. Why does this have to be so confusing?
He enlightens me, "That we are always going to be friends. That we still talk and complain about our boyfriends and then our husbands to each other, and talk about the good sex and gossip about the bad sex we have, and the amazing places we go and things we do. It's like best friends, but not really. It's more than that."
After a long pause, gathering his thoughts and maybe fighting back a tear he goes on, "It's just something I can't explain. I knew you were special when I set eyes on you. We both tried. I knew you would break my heart. I thought I could control it."
I interrupt him, "Chris,"
He shakes his head at me, "I really tried not to let you. But I know that you're still here to help pick up the broken pieces too and I love you all the more for it. Does that make any sense?"
"Are we breaking up? Like for real this time? I know things are strange, but I love you Chris. You're my boyfriend and I don't want to lose you," I hear myself saying.
Duh! We've already broken up. My mouth betrays the fact that my heart and my mind are not co-operating here with me on this tough issue. I don't want to lose Chris as a friend. I totally understand where he's coming from. It's like kindred spirits, we just fit really well together. But truth be told, I don't think I mind if we become just friends instead of boyfriends. Maybe it's more the idea of having a boyfriend I don't want to lose.
Sure, I'm crying my eyes out. They're full of tears for the first time since we actually broke up. I feel so alone and empty. I hurt for the loss of Chris and feel sorry for myself even though he's right here beside me now. I want him back. As my boyfriend; not just a friend. And what's up with that too? Still be friends? Like that ever actually happens in the real world. If that's where we're at right now, at this point discussing it, is this really his way of saying goodbye?
Again, my mouth gets away from me, "Chris, Babe. You're not breaking up with me again are you? Cause I'm not breaking up with you again. I know we're in a rut, but I don't just love you for the sex."
He takes it as a joke, or so I think. He laughs and returns the humour, "But the sex is good, you have to admit."
Both laughing now, we finish the sentence together, "Once we decide who gets to bottom!"
Chris sighs. He's better at accepting our position than I am, "Babe. We could be the only ones in each other's heart for all of eternity, but as good as the sex is, it's forced. We play a part. But down the road no matter if it betrayed our own hearts; we'd look for sex elsewhere. Let's face it; two bottoms don't make a top."
As we walk back to the tent site we've spent the last two nights at, more than a few times in the passionate throws of sex, I instead switch my thoughts to Tim. I use the calamity that my situation with Tim is to avoid the situation I have going on with Chris. Not to say that Tim doesn't nag heavily on my mind. I read his email when I was checking my emails before heading out a couple days ago. That would have been Friday night.
Chris and I have spent that night, all yesterday and this morning here and the song that Tim cited keeps flashing through my mind on a feedback loop. Someone told him about my planned disappearance this weekend and has pieced together what I'm up to. It had to be Justin or Brent Liddle, but how many people between them and Tim? How many of them have pieced things together? Or maybe just Tim has. Yet, if the lyrics were literal, then Neil or Tania, Nat or Kevin has clued him in. I know he knows I'm gay. The more I think about how violently I reacted to his comment about me and Chris or me and Paul Hunter having sex in his spare room and him not minding, the more I know all I did was confirm his suspicions.
It's all a perfectly crafted vicious circle I have created in my mind to trap myself. And I thought I had it all under control and had my escape routes so carefully planned. My PBS (that was Project: Be Straight) was supposed to envelop all of these problems and whisk them away. Fuck, I flunked out miserably in that self imposed project!
Now as we drive back into Houston early this Sunday afternoon it almost seems the conversation is forced. Not like we're trying to cover up for uncomfortable silence. He keeps trying to just get it out there, but I keep dancing around the subject. I know we're over. I'm just not letting Chris know that I am fully resigned to it yet. I wish I could talk to Daniel about this. He always listened and helped. Tim too. But trouble with the beau isn't something I'm going to relate to Tim, and Daniel is an ass.
Yeah, Daniel is a non-communicative, relocated ass. Maybe I should worry that he didn't really get sent to St. Louis. Maybe he got sent to one of those church reform places. Or maybe not; his mom and uncle would surely have both ignited in flames if they had set foot on holy grounds to set up such an intervention. Maybe Arnie killed Daniel for being gay.
Still, after Chris drops me off at home I really miss Daniel. Way back when, Sonny made it clear at work that discussion about Daniel with him is not an option. Acting on the nerve I've been building up for weeks now I call Daniel's old place. His mom answers. It's well past noon but I am sure I wake her. I say hello and ask her if there is a number he can be reached at. She croaks that there isn't, and if there were he's had his phone privileges removed right now anyway. She tells me to not bother with him and hangs up. What more can I do?
Thoroughly defeated, I go to my computer and make a set list of depressing songs. Lita Ford / Ozzy Close My Eyes Forever', Tesla Love Song', Phil Collins Another Day in Paradise', Father to Son', and Against All Odds', Thompson Twins Hold Me Now" Baton Rouge `Desperate' and so on. The songs can be depressing or uplifting depending on my mood. Today I am not in a good mood; I am definitely sad.
I'm supposed to meet up with Kevin and head over to play baseball with the guys at 2:00. Around quarter after Kevin rings the door. I am not dressed to play ball, I hadn't given a thought to actually going today. I just want to sit and stew in my thoughts.
Answering the door I tell Kevin, "I'm not feeling up to it today."
"Yeah, me neither, really," He suggests in contradiction to the ball glove in his hands.
I just look blankly at him. I don't want an intrusion into my private pity party. Why don't people just leave me alone? Instead he asks, "Hey, want to head over to Parkwood pool instead and just veg?"
"I don't know, not really," I absently reply.
He's almost begging, "Everyone here either has a pool and air conditioning to boot, or never wants to go there. I guess I'll go by myself."
I merely blink. Well, there's a response if ever I gave one!
He adds, "I feel like a heel even trying to invite myself over to someone's place for their pool. Don't you miss your pool?"
Yes I do, and bringing it up while pleading me to go a public pool isn't helping.
"Ah, fuck it," At least it is an outside pool. Motioning to the living room I tell him, "Alright. Just give me a couple minutes, crash on the couch if you want."
He follows me up to my new room instead. I take my time grabbing a pair of shorts. It's a public pool. I want to make sure that I don't look dopey, so I go on a quest for my favourite big-label navy blue shorts with the white Hawaiian floral print on them. I also put on a seashell necklace and track down my Nike sandals before grabbing a towel. Gotta do my hair too. Sure it's just going to get wet, but it has to look good until then right? I grab my ball cap and a borrow a wifebeater from Tim's dresser for afterwards. I don't fill out the undershirt like Tim does but I like the look on him.
Looking in the mirror I almost shave, but I think the rugged two days growth makes me look cute, but with an edge. Kay, maybe it's three days growth and is just noticeable as stubble if I look really hard for it...so what? It's finally more than `peach fuzz'! Ready at last, almost as an afterthought after turning off the stereo and attached computer that it's running off, I grab five bucks. I've managed to live the good life for a while, but now I have to pay to use a pool like so many other schmucks. We start walking maybe fifteen minutes since Kevin came over.
As we walk over to his house he asks who's music was playing at my place.
I answer him honestly, albeit defensively, "Mine. Problem?"
He almost scoffs but catches himself before it's too obvious.
"Oh you're into the Backdoor Boys, Britney Spears and all that bubble gum shit aren't you," I throw back at him.
Wincing and avoiding the question he instead asks, "You like, really listen to that older shit? I mean stuff."
"Yeah, that and metal mostly. Rock, alternative, some punk too I guess."
So we get to Kevin's. I don't know what it is I have against him; I mean he's an alright guy really. He's nice and friendly, he's funny. I don't think I am jealous of him. I mean yeah, I was worried about him moving in on Tim on me. I would get my back so up if he did that and he'd see a much bitchier me than he just got a taste of right now. But Tim's still loyal to me. Is it penis envy, because he has an obvious big gun between his scrawny legs? No, I don't think so; mine has brought myself and other's great pleasure in it's own right. Nope, I can't pinpoint what it is I don't like about him. There's nothing specific, no reason to justify my being a `grade A' dick to him. I try to mellow as he opens the door to his house.
Kevin apologetically explains, "Don't mind the heat. Although you're used to it probably, growing up here and all. Jeez, I can't stand walking outside in temperatures equal to body temperature and all. Like doesn't a body melt when it's warmer outside than a human body is inside? Anyhow, we're getting an air conditioner soon now that Mom and Dad both have jobs. I can't believe that a house could exist here without central air, but we managed to buy one without. And there is like a two year long waiting list or something here just to get one installed with this heat wave. So we're going with a window job instead for now. Man we maybe used our air conditioning like 2 months a year back in Buffalo. And I thought it got hot there!"
He leads me to his room in the townhouse. A Jack Russell Terrier is jumping all over him as we walk. He has a few posters over his bed of Britney Spears and one for the movie Gattica. His room is messy and smells like a teenager guy's room, musty and sweaty. I can hardly see the floor anywhere so I opt to wait in the doorway. He closes the door over as we talk so that he can change. I am sorely tempted to position myself so that I can peak and catch a glimpse of him if he's in view through the inch that the door is open. But I don't. I don't want to risk the chance of getting caught checking his equipment out.
I turn my back to the door instead and take in the rest of his place. Aside from new carpeting it's pretty bare, just like the rest of us in this lower income area. Why did they move here anyhow I wonder? From Buffalo to co-op housing in Houston is a fair distance unless you're moving up in the world.
He opens the door and is wearing the same shorts as me. Man, doesn't he know that you don't do that?
"Look familiar," He asks with a beaming smile that fades under my scowl of disapproval.
His cheek twitches, almost a controlled wince and his shoulders slouch ever so noticeably. I feel so bad, I am so mean to him. I try to think quick and lighten the moment, "Yeah, I had to check to make sure you didn't get mine off me when I wasn't looking!"
Hmmm. Not quite the desired levity I intended by joking. Instead of making it a funny coincidence I've only succeed in emphasizing that he's copied me. My mind goes to Tim. He could turn a bad situation like this around with grace.
Almost shocked to hear myself speak, because I am never good in these situations, the words I need are instantly in my mind, "Well, can't say much for your taste in music but yeah, the shorts are killer! Maybe great minds do think alike."
He smiles. I'm fucked. So fucked in fact I almost want to cry. I don't want to be a bitch to him. Maybe if the whole Tim plan falls through I'll have a good friend in Kevin if I'm not always lashing out at him. Borrowing from Tim I slap Kevin on the shoulder blades and suggest, "There's a pool to get to with our names on it."
Kevin grabs a towel and we are on our way. We talk as we walk.
I start the conversation off, "Hey, why'd you guys move here anyhow?"
"I don't know really. Once my Mom's office gave notice it was closing her and my Dad figured on just starting over somewhere. He wasn't exactly making stellar money at his job anyhow. Dude, Buffalo is so depressing and there are no jobs there. Like, I'd get beat out for jobs at McDonalds because 30-something parents need the jobs more. So why here? Beats me but here we are," He answers.
From this point it's just an afternoon of two guys kicking back in the pretty empty pool for a while in the sun while the lifeguards are blaring The Offspring's Americana CD. Kevin has the outline of an evil looking Leprechaun breaking out of him tattooed across his shoulder blades, just below his neckline. Put that with his shock red hair and he is visibly of Irish decent. I never realized how much of a carrot top he is because I've only ever seen him with a hat on. For a while we are all chatty and talk about our heritages.
As we transition the conversation to other people I give Kevin a lot of background info on people and insight into inside jokes and such. He thinks my take on things is hilarious and yet somewhat more realistic than a lot he's heard. Glad to oblige, I guess. Buy the time his skin is starting to look about as red as his hair, he looks around to see if one of the two mothers and their kids are in ear shot and then pauses.
I ask, "What?"
He shrugs, "Nothing."
"Out with it, I command you damn it," I joke even though I have an idea where this is going. Call it sixth sense, call it bogus, but my stomach has already dropped.
"All righty then, just remember you asked...what's the story with you?"
Well, here we go, "Like what?"
He hesitates and almost doesn't start, "Like, Tim says no to me, and that it's rude to talk behind your back, and Nat agrees with him. Tania doesn't think so and that it's none of my business anyhow, but Neil says definitely. It's like, we're both watching the lifeguards right now. But I'm checking out both of the ladies and you're checking out the guy. But no one will say anything to you because it's a hard question to ask. So are you?"
My heart sinks with my stomach. I can't tell my best friend Tim, but I can't stand this crap anymore. Looking away I stutter at first, "I'm...I...Does everyfuckingbody really think that? Faggot Farrows?"
"It's not like that."
"Then tell me, what is it like? 'Cause I'm lost here, and that's how it's been for as long as I can even remember anymore!"
"Look, sorry man. Don't be mad, O.K."
I laugh, "How can I be? Who would I be mad at? I don't even know who's spreading the rumour that I'm gay. It's not your fault. It's not your problem."
"Well first, your friends don't care. Your real friends. Tim, Tania, Neil, Nat, me. And second, it is our problem too. We're not going to run and tell everyone you know!"
I don't know how to answer that. Selfishly I never thought that it was anyone else's problem.
Kevin feels the need to inform me, "Neil told Mickey Dawson off one day when we were playing baseball and you weren't there. Then Tim told Mickey no and Mickey dropped it."
I look at him slyly. He just shrugs his sunburned shoulders at me.
He further informs me, "And just last week Neil took Little Justin aside and Justin shut up afterwards. So you friends already stick up for you. Shit, didn't Tim get into a fight with a guy that was swinging a bat at you and your ex?"
Well, someone's done his homework. I give up denying it, "Look, I can't tell Neil or Tania yet. Or Nat."
For knowing so much he doesn't seem to know what to say to that.
I laugh, recalling that night watching a movie, "In fact, I think she hit on me one day just to see what I did. But I can't tell anyone else at least until I tell Tim. I owe it to him."
Towards the deep end, we're almost chest deep in water and as far away from a lifeguard's chair as can be as we continue the whispered words. I want to stick my hand down his shorts and at point of blackmail tell him he can't tell anyone about me or I'll tell them that I've had the pleasure of fondling him. Instead I just tease him with this notion.
Kevin laughs, "I'm sure they'd believe me, what with you being gay, and me with what I have to offer. But I'd be worried that they might just believe you too."
"Then truce? You're still new here, it could damage you," I suggest.
"Do your best, it's not like people know me enough to care one way or another around here anyway. My reputation speaks for itself," Kevin says before pausing and then switching from the defensive to offensive, "I'm not your type anyhow. Although I'm not supposed to know, word is that you like that Hunter guy."
Stop. Just stop. I try to scrunch my ears closed but it's not possible.
His gums are still flapping, "Tania's shown me pictures of all you guys, and let me tell you whoever had the camera clearly knew about you and your last boyfriend, the one that moved away. Seriously, for every group shot you guys are in, there's like one of just you two."
Good to know. Nat's our camera bunny. All along she's been taking cutesy pictures of Daniel and me together? Sharing them with Tania? WTF? How in the world did anyone know Daniel and I were in love?
I tune back into what he's saying, "...so not to burst your bubble, but based on your current boyfriend and them pictures, I am so not your type. Tim on the other hand..."
That gets my back up, I lash out, "Tim is the best friend me or anyone could ever hope to have! Leave him out of this!"
The two mothers, their kids and all three lifeguards look our way after I just shouted so I lower my voice to a whisper again, "I wouldn't dare crunch on him and chase him off."
"Dude, from what I know he's well aware of that. Neil says Tim knew it right away and wishes you'd just open up so that you guys can bury it already and move on," Kevin enlightens me.
Thinking on the lyrics of the song in Tim's email I begin to ramble, "Tim sent me an email a few days ago. Somehow he knew I was taking off last weekend to be with Chris. He used the lyrics to a song and highlighted the part where it says heard you've got a boyfriend' and out late every weekend'."
I submerge under the water for a second, trying to shake the reality of the conversation I'm having. No dice, this isn't a dream I'm going to miraculously wake up from. This is real.
"I know Tim was mad at me after the grad, and it's something he said that made me flip him onto the coffee table and break it the next morning. He implied that I'm gay. I know he had to have known by then but I just couldn't admit it to him. So we made a commotion and I got him kicked out. You know anything about any of that?"
Kevin gives me a look as if to say, duh! He then says, "So you want a truce? How about this truce; I don't tell, but your best friends know anyhow. Yeah, I told Tim you were spending the weekend with your boyfriend because Little Justin and Little Brent heard you making plans."
"What do I do now," I wonder aloud.
"Well, you've told me, tell the rest when you are comfortable. But in the mean time why don't you at least invite your boyfriend out with us. Say he's your friend. We can pretend it's not there right in front of our faces a while longer for you if that will make you more comfortable."
I'm hit with a flash of insight that my gut tells me is right, "Right. Why would you all do that now? I'll bet the whole school already knows and if they don't you are going to tell them because this is too juicy for you."
He purses his lips together. I know I'm right, he can't keep his yap shut, "Obviously everyone talks about me already. What would stop you from telling them, as if they wouldn't know anyhow?"
He promises that he won't tell anyone that I've come out to him.
I still don't fully trust him, just something in the way he says it. I let it go though and try to twist the subject, "So what's your next move really, you tell me you are gay too and ask me out?"
"Maybe," he deadpans.
I was shooting out an absurd notion to prove how stupid his suggestion is. I am taken aback by his answer; he's got to be playing a trick here, "You're into me?"
He toys, "If I was?"
I can't quite get to the point of saying out loud that Chris and I have broken up just yet, "I do have a boyfriend as you claim to know; I'm already taken."
Kevin knowingly says, "Yeah, Blondie."
I acknowledge, "His name is Chris."
Rubbing his hands together he exclaims too loudly, "Finally a name to the mystery boy!"
My discomfort is obvious and my cynicism is boiling over inside. I sarcastically think, `Yes, finally a name. If you were listening earlier dickhead, I'm pretty damn sure I already blurted his name out accidentally a minute ago.'
"Let's go," Kevin suggests, probably sensing that I am about to have an emotional train wreck as everyone in the pool is looking at us again thanks to his outburst.
We are quiet most of the way home. I feel like the last part definitely was a set-up to get me to open up, so as we near the intersection where we have to part directions I joke, "You're totally straight aren't you?"
"Yeah! You got me. Call me after work tomorrow. If my sunburn isn't too bad maybe we can head over again," Kevin says over his shoulder as he continues through the intersection.
Turning left and passing Freed Park as I walk down my street, I agree, "Kay."
We do go to the pool again after I finish work. We go in the evening today rather than afternoon like yesterday, and the pool has at least 50 people and is a lot louder. While we're there he again talks too openly for my liking about my sexuality. I guess it's just his way of dealing with it but I get real pissed off at him when I notice that some guys I recognize from school are close enough to listen to our conversation.
It seems that wherever we are in the pool that group of guys is nearby, and one of them is Brent Liddle. I've worked so hard to keep the gossip down or non-existent by never giving anyone proof of my sexuality, or so I thought, and Kevin talks openly about it in a public place. Knowing I am mad he decides it's time to get going again, but I let him go without me today, saying I just want a little time alone.
Once Kevin leaves Brent keeps watching me. Panic starts to rise in me, my heart begins to pount in my chest and my stomach has soured. By the time I see Kevin has changed and is walking home I realize my vulnerability. Brent probably wants to kill me because he helped renovate a homosexual's bedroom.
Alone with no one to help me if I need it, I figure it's time to get going. I hit the change room and there is no one else in there. My pulse quickens even more. It's good that it's empty on one hand, but bad on the other if I get cornered. I plan on just throwing on my shirt and sandals and bail before any confrontation can occur with Brent and his friends, but I'm still in the change room when he walks in alone. Oh god, here it comes.
Brent calls me by name and then walks up to me. I'm frozen in panic, not able to move as he gets right in my space. He darts his eyes both ways and all I can do is close mine to the coming attack. Shock doesn't even come close to what I feel when he proceeds to plant a wet one on my lips.
I don't kiss back and he instantly recognizes the fact, "Sorry. Just had to try them. I know nothing will ever happen between us, but you do have the most kissable lips I've ever seen, guy or girl, and I just wanted to try them."
We are alone in the change room but suddenly I not nearly as afraid, "Well apparently you have the biggest balls that I've ever seen, but tempting as it may be, and suddenly as possible as it may be, I'm not going to try them."
Realizing that he just outed himself he pushes on, "But I just kissed you. I like you."
I ask him, "You're gay?"
"More like bi, or confused. Look, I'm gonna jet. The guys aren't far behind, just striking out with a couple girls now that their third wheel is gone I'll bet. Hey, your house is on my way if you want to walk and talk."
I stick to my plan of just tossing on my shirt and sandals in case anyone comes in and he does the same. I start walking with Brent Liddle, step-brother to Justin Liddle, who both play ball with Tim and Neil. They live in the apartment complex a few blocks away so I figure that Brent may just be for real. Still, I ask him to confirm he's gay.
As we near his place he asks if I'll come over. Just as a friend, as his parents are bound to be home so he has no chance at privacy. I surprise even myself when I agree; I'm busy avoiding life again lately so why not add another distraction. Along the way to his place we walk to my house so that I can stop in and drop my stuff off.
Larry of course recognizes Brent. I can't figure out the mischievous smile he's suddenly adopted so I tell him where I'm going, and when I expect to be home.
Instead of heading straight to Brent's place we stop at the park for a bit, and sit under the same tree as Tim, Neil, Tania and I did back a few months ago.
I comment, "So, you're Bi, that has to have it's advantages."
He shrugs his shoulders, "No, not really. It's freaky to start getting off to a girl on porn, but then want to suck the guy off while he's pounding her instead. At least you know you'd only want his dick. By the way, part of me thinks you're cute."
He's too cavalier about this; surely he can't be relating his inner feelings. This has to be a ruse, "Are you playing with me?"
"I wish I were just messing with your head, but it's actually how I'm wired," He starts, "And yeah, lately I wish. As in, I mean like, I wish I were playing around with you. I've had it bad for you, seeing you these last coupla weeks."
"How's that working for you," I idly ask.
"Not sure. You tell me, are you interested in playing around?"
I partly lie, "I have a boyfriend, and you at best are only going to play with boys, string them along for your own gratification, and break their hearts. Let's just not go there, please?"
He doesn't seem let down, "Sure. Anyhow, let's head over to my place."
Walking there, there is a discernable tension between us. I'm on high alert that this is going to be some sort of set-up to gay bash me. I ask Brent, "whatcha thinking?"
He answers, "Right now? Just how nice it is to not be alone. You're with me, you now know about me, and you're not freaked out."
Yeah, been there, done that, have the emotional baggage to prove it. But he's not even sure he's bi. I've just less than an hour ago admitted I'm gay to him. In those terms we are still both alone, only we're alone together. Personally I'm not alone though, I have my sexuality figured out. I even have a boyfriend, correction, had a boyfriend to support that claim. So again I question him, "Why me?"
He doesn't quite answer the question at hand, "Well, when Kevin told us today no one even listened. Mickey twisted it and kept calling Kevin gay, saying it takes one to know one. Paul then turned that on Mickey so he got mad and shut up. Justin turned that on Paul and so on. You know how it goes."
Yeah, I do. Stupid harmless banter between straight guys. I'm sure it troubles even the most confident of them on some level, wondering if their friends thing they may actually be gay. Well, for those of us that are gay, that worry is near impossible to quantify.
"Yeah, guys being guys," I say. My apprehension is obvious.
Brent closes his hand into a fist and ever so gently taps my knee with it, "By the time we were done playing we all we're supposedly gay and just dropped it. In your defense, Jackie told everyone that he hates to break the news but he thinks there is something between you and Nat."
I nod my head, "Yeah, I'm coming to the conclusion that I fascinate her somehow."
This time he claps my knee in his open hand and rubs it, "Kevin though, he never opened his mouth again but I knew he was telling the truth so I played him. Watch out for him by the way, he's how I knew to come to the pool tonight and see for myself."
I press him, "So Kevin ratted me out."
"Yeah, pretty much. I don't know who all believes it. The way Justin and I figure it, nobody even gives a shit anyway. But I do. I get excited every time you come out and play ball, with or without Tim. It makes my day."
"You're welcome I guess, but why me?"
"Well, when I saw Tim and you in the hall the first day of grade 10, I was in love. You guys were with Daniel, Neil, and Tania. I just hoped I would get to know her or one or both of you. You guys were so hot together. I worried that maybe you two were boyfriends."
"Me and who?"
"Tim Matthews. C'mon, even straight guys know he's hot."
"No, eventually Daniel and I got together, for more than a year in fact."
"Ah. Well Tania was my third choice of the group as hot as she is. And well, Daniel was just too small. He looked too young, not that I wouldn't do him. Neil's the only one I wasn't sporting wood over. Anyhow I hoped for a threesome with Tim and you."
He lets it sink in before going on, "Then Tim turned out to be totally straight, but you're a bit of a mystery. Some people say you are, some say you're not, but until Kevin tried to spill the beans today no one had firsthand knowledge if you're gay. So that's how you, Mr. Mysterio, are my current infatuation."
I make an exaggerated show of cocking an eye ay him, "And that entitles me to?"
Brent quietly explains, "Well originally I wanted to be fuck buddies back in grade 10. Then I revised that to a maybe more attainable drunken conquest, but I never see you drink. Hell, we never even seem to go to the same parties. I'd still like to, be fuck-buddies that is, but no strings attached and no one can know I switch hit."
"That didn't stop you from trying to make out with me in public back there," I point out, with an edge to my voice.
I think he can tell I am on the defensive. Probably knowing the answer he asks, "That bother you?"
I level with him, "Yeah, a bit. I have a boyfriend as you may have overheard. We're very low key. And if you haven't noticed, I am totally not out by self admission yet. But worse for you, I don't fool around. Not even if that bulge down there is all you."
I can't tell if the hurt in his voice is real or mock, "O.K. Sorry. Don't mind my mortal wound here. I won't try any moves on you. Maybe we can just talk then. How many boyfriends have you had?"
"Chris is my second," I say, failing to admit to myself now that in fact Chris was my second. We're pretty much not boyfriends anymore. Still, bi-sexual Brent doesn't need the glimmer of hope that I am available. I in turn ask him, "You?"
Distantly he relates, "I've had two secret boyfriends too. Slept with maybe three more. That's easier than boyfriends. Safer too. No attachment. It's not complicated, just a horny rod and a place to park it. Boyfriends require commitment. You'd be worth it though I think. But I'm sorry, I wouldn't have hit on you if I knew you actually have one."
"You just did," I point out.
He concedes, "Point taken. Anyhow, you like my bulge?"
I nod my head in the affirmative and he blushes.
It seems to be a sensitive subject, "Let's change the subject. Matt Damon all the way. You?"
"Marc Savard," I answer without having to think.
"Who?"
"Hockey player."
He goes too far, "Top or bottom."
I try to shoot him down, "Personal."
He continues, "I did both with this one guy. It hurt and felt strange. So I did it again with another guy just to see. I still don't know. I like the idea of bottoming right up until it happens. That's what makes me borderline bi I guess. Honestly, topping a guy does nothing for me one way or another. I mean, I get off, sure. But other'n that it's just a warm place to play. It's the same as doing a girl to me."
I'm not comfortable with the conversation, "I don't feel like discussing my sexual experiences. Obviously I don't contribute to the locker room talk and I don't intend to anytime soon."
On he goes, "Do you read XY?"
My curiosity slightly piqued, I ask, "What's that?"
"I guess not. It's a gay magazine for teens with stories and issues that affect gay teens. It has a lot of helpful and uplifting stories from guys that are, or have been where we are. It also has listings for local support groups and such," He explains.
I'm amazed Chris doesn't know about this. I admit, "Nope, never heard of it."
"I'll lend you one then," He exclaims as we enter an elevator in his building, and then asks, "Oh, does your family know? Coach Maynes has to know, right?"
I'm getting edgy, "What is this, 20 questions?"
He's direct and to the point, "Sorry. I'm just a bit nervous and feel weird, having just been shot down and all. I guess you didn't notice."
"Can we just drop it and change the subject," I again ask.
Not taking my cue that I am done with this conversation he steamrolls on, "Can I meet your boyfriend? He's a little delicate looking, but still hot. Stacey told Justin that the boy that was crunching on you at a baseball game was totally cute. Tim got all in Mickey's face when he wouldn't drop it. I heard they almost came to blows that day over it. It's the same guy isn't it? Anyway, I won't hit on him, I promise. But maybe if he knows other guys, maybe I can finally get some action with someone who's from another district!"
I snap, "I don't even really know you!"
"So that's a no," He laughingly asks as the elevator doors open to the 17th floor.
"This isn't some sick joke is it Brent," I ask for fear that it's all an incredibly elaborate, although spontaneous plot.
Brent briefly looks downcast as he puts his key in the door. He whispers before opening it, "No, it's not. I'd kiss you again, right here, right now to prove it but you wouldn't want me to."
"No, you're right, I don't want you to," I say.
I feel like such a jerk again. Here's Brent. We don't even know each other but he knows I'm gay now and in return entrusts his life in me by revealing that he is bisexual. I'm not going to lord that over him. Even if he accidentally outs me, I'll probably keep his secret for him. He likes me. I can deal with that. Sort of. I don't do well when the chips are down and I can see hurt in someone. I give myself to that person too easily. Perhaps my tragic flaw is wanting to ease people of pain that I feel I've caused.
While I'm philosophically internalizing we walk past his mom who is reading a book and his dad who is sleeping on the couch. No sign of Justin. Closing his bedroom door over but not shutting it, Brent remains shockingly outgoing, "So how big are you Jon? You a shower or a grower?"
"Whatever. Drop it, next topic already." I don't play along. I instead act macho like a straight boy and comment on a poster on his wall, "You like girls too, how about Britney Spear's? Nice tits, huh?"
"Yeah, I'd die for one minute in my life time with her. That's probably 55 seconds more than I'd need with her, she's so hot. Anyways, I'm a shower, but it still grows. But that's not it, I'm thick. Like, definitely above average if I say so myself," He says as he grabs my hand and rubs it against his bone.
"Stop it, kay? I don't care. Don't ever do that again. Just because I am a certain way doesn't mean that you can go forcing yourself on me," I say, starting to turn for the door.
Brent has a very worried look on his face, he truly sounds remorseful for what he just did, "Sorry. You're right. I was just hoping that maybe, you know...but you're clearly not into the idea. That's cool, I'll stop now."
My mind is set on walking away, but I am curious to see one of these magazines that he told me about. Maybe there are some hottie guys to look at in it. Maybe there's an article that tells you just how to navigate your widowed mother's minefield of questions once you've just come out to her.
Who knows, maybe there's something like a club; or a league where I can meet other people like me that want to keep private and are not just looking for random sex off of gay.com. He did mention something like that. So I turn around and face him. I'll give him one more chance so long as he doesn't try to make a move on me again.
Yet, now that the chance has passed, I almost want him to make a move, I almost want something to happen. If he made another move I wouldn't resist. But I'm not telling him that.
One thing leads to another as we get to talking late and Brent invites me to stay over at his place. I want to; I sense that if I do something might happen. I call Ma and lie to her that I lost track of time playing video games with Brent and his brother and have been invited to stay the night.
He rolls out a sleeping bag for me after midnight, "Your call, this or share his bed. No strings attached."
I ask, "If I share the bed will you be cool and not try anything?"
He nods agreement. After closing his door he opens his window and repositions one fan in his room fan so that both blow on the bed. He then changes right in front of me and puts on a pair of Bart Simpson boxers. I have nothing on under my board shorts, but I really can't imagine sleeping so constrained. Fuck it, here goes nothing, I hook my thumbs under the band and slip them off before diving into his bed.
"You want nothing to happen, but you put it all on display? Man you are cruel," Brent complains.
"It's too hot to do anything Brent. We'd probably die of heat stroke if you tried," I tease.
He turns off his light and I feel his weight join me on the bed, "Then I'd die with a smile on my face."
Brent finds me on my side and virtually spoons me, making sure not to actually make contact. It's not long before his long friend comes to attention and is resting against the back of my thigh through it's cotton confines. I must admit that I am nearly unable to control myself and stop myself from jacking it with both hands. I whisper a question that intrigues me, "So have you ever gotten that all the way into anyone?"
"Surprisingly, a couple guys yes, but not a girl yet. They are all dazzled by it, but say it's too uncomfortable. Why, you change your mind? You wanna try it," Brent asks hopefully.
I'm shocked at my openness, "You know I do. That's not the question. The question is what to do about it all. I still don't know how discreet you are. Plus you're a bottom. And more than anything, I'm afraid it'll hurt."
"I'm so discreet that no one except the guys I've slept with know; and they don't know who else. I don't kiss and tell. And you Jonny Boy, I'd love to top you're sexy ass," Brent says as he slides up a leg of his boxers in response and lets his penis spring up in between my legs.
It hardens more and he twitches as it makes it's way to just below my balls. Oh man that feels good. I slip away and turn over so that our bodies are pressed together face to face. I have some difficult things to say and I want to face Brent as I say them. I allow him to nest between my legs again and get a better appreciation for how big he is when I feel the head of his penis clear the back of my thighs.
"Look, I am not into you, because we'll never be boyfriends, by your own admission," I start. I think that is a whole lot more tactful than `I think you're somewhat ugly and I only want to use you for your fuckstick.'
I continue, "That doesn't mean that I don't want to have sex with you. Like right now if you want to. We've gone too far for things to just be normal now anyway, so if you want to use me for sex, I am far more than willing."
He asks, "What about Chris, your boyfriend?"
I nod my head sideways at him, "Chris and I actually broke up so I'm not cheating. Just please, don't kiss and tell, kay? As you know, being outed for real is my biggest fear. What we do here stays here, and we don't act any different afterwards. No commitment, no hang ups, just sex for the fun of it."
He answers with a huge smile, "No strings attached. Gotcha. You sure about this?"
Not at all, I feel sick. The butterflies are worse than when Chris and I fucked around with Sam in New York. But I started this, it's too late to go back now, isn't it? I reach down and behind me to grab the head of his cock, sticking out through my cheeks and gently begin to stroke it. Finally I answer, "No. I'm far from sure, but I am willing to try."
Suddenly my mind is preoccupied. I haven't dealt with the mass of confusion I think and feel about the Sam threesome yet. Here with Brent sliding his pole between my sweaty legs I feel like a slut. What the hell am I doing? Chris says at least 10 inches fit safely; Brent isn't that big at least. I'll just have to make sure he lets me control things.
As I chastise myself I start to kiss him in order to stave off a sudden case of self-loathing. He is a horrible kisser, way too aggressive. I don't want to offend him but I want to break the kissing so I slip down his body.
Brent wiggles about on the bed towards the edge. He fishes an arm under his bed and in the glow of his fish tank he presents me with lube and condoms, telling me, "I've been so boned all day I'm not going to last long, so you better hurry up."
I whisper my warning, "Just don't force it, kay?"
He slips behind me and then surprises me with a gag, whispering in my ear, "It's brand new, never been used yet. I got it off a guy I chickened out on. You don't have to if you don't want to, I'll totally understand. It's just quieter and my brother and parents won't hear this way. If you're in pain I'll still know by you pulling away."
Can I slip any lower? I've gone from accepting myself to hating myself. I've gone from being able to openly have sex with a guy in the comfort of his own bed with Chris to having to have secret, silent sex with Brent here is his smelly room. Why the hell not humiliate me further with a gag? I hope he doesn't see that my eyes are near to tears as I nod my head in agreement and he slips it over my face and into my mouth.
Brent starts very slowly. I can tell that his experience at driving that long rod is no bluff. Also true to his word, he doesn't last long at all.
He whispers in my ear, "Now you do me. I want to feel what it's like from a guy that really has some experience. Fuck me, please."
I fumble with the gag. He helps me get it off, "Kay. But just so you know, when you get laid right after cumming it never feels good. That's probably why you don't like to bottom."
I control things, and when we get to it I'm certain he enjoys it. Once we're done he picks up all the discarded paraphernalia and wraps it all up in Kleenex before tossing it all in the garbage. We collapse on his bed and fall asleep.
In the morning something wakes me, but I have no clue what it is. I think I've mentioned before that once I wake up I take the world's longest time in coming too. When Brent wakes we fondle, but not much else.
I get home planning to have a shower. With neither Ma or Larry home I strip naked in the laundry room, grab a glass of juice and curl up in bed instead. I've barely begun lounging when Deanna sneaks up on me and starts into a serious conversation, "You should tell him, Jonathan Jr."
I'm not stupid, I know exactly what she's talking about. So in my response I'm frank, "He already knows, and other people are talking."
After a moments pondering she asks, "Are you cool with it? Like, are you at peace with being gay?"
I nod my head, "More now than I used to be."
She prods, "Lacey know?"
How do I answer that. I have my suspicions that she really is in the dark on this one, but I don't know for sure, "I don't think so, I don't know though. Maybe that's partly why she moved out?"
Deanna snorts, "Well fuck her anyway. She ever say anything?"
I laugh, "Na. You know talking to her is always something best left for the deathbed. Or maybe to let her know if the house happened to be on fire...and maybe even not then, depending on how much of a bitch she is at the time! Haven't talked to her on purpose in well over a year probably. Like, meaningful conversation anyway."
Deanna echo's my laughter, "Yeah, I don't know how Candy could ever share a room with her for so long and not kill her."
I'm curious, "So you knew, like way back around Leap Day when you started calling me Melanoma Boy? When Daniel moved away? Even before then? Hell, you knew about Daniel?"
"Yeah, I probably knew even before you and he were boyfriends, but definitely that time we all hot-boxed together. You two were practically pawing each other," she admits.
I Inquire, "And you didn't talk to Ma about it? Only Candace?"
Deanna relates, "It was your secret Moody. How about your friends. Do they know? This Tim, he's not like your boyfriend is he? You know how Ma felt about me having Scott stay over. And don't be a smart ass, we're not going there. So wipe that smirk off your face."
I explain my little world to her, "Well, I'm in between boyfriends officially. Tim? He's totally straight. As for my friends? They know, but don't know. Not all of them know for sure anyway. Tim thinks it for sure, but doesn't know. I just can't find a way to tell him. I'm afraid to tell him."
She states the obvious, the truth I hide from, "Well, even if he by fluke doesn't know then, he's sure to find out. Living with you, being friends and all. It's not like Lacey where you could avoid her."
Letting go of my apprehensions I'm at ease explaining to her, "I know. But I don't want to tell a guy that I've slept in the same bed with that I'm a homo. And even though nothing ever happened and he's probably figured it was just the same as a straight friend crashing, or a respectful gay friend, do I think he won't kick my ass? Not for being gay, not for being gay and platonically sleeping with him, but for not being able to tell him."
Deanna tries to command me, "Then tell him when you go to New Orleans. Give him a chance to not be trapped here."
I agree to, but don't know how I'm going to come through on the promise.
[to be continued]