Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
That said, on with the show, and back to the story in progress.
Lance's heart was pounding as he drove to Howie's hotel, wondering the whole way if he was doing the right thing, convincing himself at every turn in the road and every stoplight not to give up, not to go back to his apartment. He had to do this, had to go talk to Howie. He had to make up for the hurt he'd caused, had to let Howie know that none of it had been his fault, if for no other reason than to set Howie free, so that he could go find someone else, someone worthy of his love, someone pure. Lance pulled in at the hotel, handing his keys to the valet, and walked quickly toward the elevators. His heart was racing, and he could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead, but he had to do this. He had to go upstairs. If even one person said something to him, or the elevator hadn't shown up as soon as he hit the button, he might have turned back, he might have given up and walked away. That's how close he was, how torn and unsure.
Fear drove him, fear pushed him toward Howie's room. He was afraid that his rejection might cause Howie to punish himself in some way, to blame himself, maybe even to hate himself. He was afraid that his rejection might somehow dim that light in Howie's eyes, the sparkle in his smile, dim it or even extinguish it entirely. More than that, though, Lance was afraid that Howie might be his only chance. Howie might be the only person who could ever love him and understand him. Howie might be the only person who could redeem him, and make him feel like he really did matter, like he really was a normal person. Howie might be the only person who could make him feel like he was worthy of being loved, and Lance was afraid of throwing that away.
While fear drove him toward Howie's room, fear also pushed him away, whispered to him that he needed to go back down to his car right now and drive away. He was afraid that Howie wouldn't understand anything, that he wouldn't even want to understand. He was afraid that he would try to explain, and that Howie's face would twist with disgust and revulsion, that Howie would never want someone like him, someone who had let things happen to him, had practically invited them to. Howie would never want someone so dirty, so stained, when he could have anyone else. Even worse, though, Lance was afraid of the same thing he had feared the other night, that he would tell Howie, would explain everything to Howie, and that Howie would smile, and stand up, and undo his pants, and that Lance would let him. He was afraid, in the bottom of his heart, that Howie would be just like Justin, and that somehow his heart recognized this. He was afraid that somehow he knew that Howie would treat him the exact same way, and that it would be the real reason why he was attracted to Howie. And he was afraid that he would like it again.
Inside Lance, these fears were perfectly equal. They were balanced against each other, and if they were weighed on a scale it would be exactly level. The only thing that pushed him onward, that kept his feet moving, was a nagging voice inside him that told him that, either way, he had to know. He must do this, must find out which half of him was right, before this consumed him.
Lance stood in front of Howie's door. No sound came from inside, and the hallway was completely empty. Willing his hand to stop trembling, to not shake like that, he raised it, and knocked, just once. Howie pulled the door open, and stood in the doorway, facing Lance.
"Hi," Howie breathed softly.
Howie was clutching the side of the door uncertainly, trying to read the expression on Lance's face. His own was twisted anxiously, even though he was trying to keep it neutral. Lance noticed that Howie's brown eyes were enormous, but red rimmed, and that Howie's collar was a little wet, as if he had just washed his face. Howie looked smaller somehow, less sure of himself, as he stood waiting at the threshold.
"Hi," Lance said, his voice squeaking a little. "Can I come in?"
"If you want to," Howie said, stepping aside to let Lance enter.
Lance walked in and looked around, unsure of where to rest his eyes. He didn't want to look at Howie, not yet. As soon as he had seen him in the doorway his resolve had begun to crumble, his fear of rejection to overwhelm him, and he was worried that if he looked up again that he would be so afraid of seeing the wrong thing in Howie's eyes that he wouldn't be able to say anything at all.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" Lance asked, staring at the couch, the same couch he had pushed Howie away on.
"No, not at all," Howie answered quietly, shutting the door. He waited until Lance sat, and then sat in one of the chairs opposite him. He watched as Lance glanced at his hands, and then at the carpet, anywhere but at him. "I'm glad you came."
"I had to," Lance said. Howie had to strain to hear him, but Lance swallowed, hard, and then got a little louder. "I couldn't just leave things between us."
"I don't want to leave things between us like that, either," Howie agreed. He took a deep breath. "Lance, I want to say again that I, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what happened."
"No," Lance said quietly. Howie jerked to a stop, as if Lance had unplugged him. "Don't say that, Howie, don't ever say that, please. Don't ever be sorry for what happened."
"Lance, I don't understand," Howie said, shaking his head. He felt a tear spilling out of his eye, trickling down his cheek.
"I know," Lance said, still looking at his hands. "I know you don't understand, and that's my fault. This is all my fault."
"No it isn't," Howie said quickly, wringing his hands nervously. "I should never have kissed you like that, never."
"Yes you should have," Lance interjected. Howie jerked to a stop again.
"What?" he asked quietly, almost whispering.
"You should have kissed me," Lance said. "I wanted you to, I was hoping you would, I wanted you to kiss me more than I wanted anything."
Howie stared at Lance, wondering why Lance wouldn't look at him, even as he tried to make sense of what Lance had just said. Even though Lance had repeated it, Howie wondered if he had heard correctly, if Lance had really just said that he wanted Howie to kiss him.
"But you," Howie began, shaking his head.
"I pushed you away," Lance finished. "I pushed you away, and I hurt you, and you want to know why. None of this is your fault, Howie, none of it, and I'm sorry, more than you'll ever know, I'm sorry for what I did. I didn't mean to, not really, but you probably won't believe that until I explain."
"Please, Lance, please tell me," Howie said, wanting desperately to understand, to have all of this make sense finally.
Lance swallowed again, wishing his throat didn't feel like it was closing up on him, wishing that he were anyplace but here, but not wanting to be anywhere else in the world. He licked his lips, and then the words just began to spill out of him, like a flood from a dam.
"Howie, I'm gay. I know that sounds strange to hear when we were just talking about me wanting you to kiss me, but I just said it out loud for the first time ever yesterday. It's something I've spent my entire life trying not to say, and even now, when I say it, when I say 'I'm gay', I feel like I should whisper it, or like I should cough when I say it, and try to cover it somehow, like it isn't ok. I feel like I've said the F word at Sunday dinner, like when I say it everything is supposed to stop and everyone is supposed to look at me. I'm gay, but until yesterday it's something that I've never let myself be."
Lance stared down at his hands. Daring to shift his eyes a little, he saw Howie's feet, and the bottom of his pant legs. Howie was still sitting across from him. He hadn't run from the room, and he hadn't told Lance to get out, so Lance continued.
"I don't know how to do any of this. I don't know how to tell a guy I like him, and I don't know how to tell if a guy likes me. I didn't know how to read the signals you were trying to send me. I was hoping that they were that you liked me. I was praying that they were, but I didn't know for sure. When I'm with you, I've never been afraid, until the other night when you kissed me. When I was with you, I felt like maybe there wasn't anything wrong with me. Holding your hand on the roller coaster, or sharing popcorn at the movies, I could close my eyes and pretend that was the way things were supposed to be. I could dream about me and you, and pretend that we were a couple, that we might be in love, and it was all ok. You made me feel safe, Howie, you made me feel whole."
"But how did I change that?" Howie asked. He didn't want to interrupt Lance, but he didn't understand.
"You didn't," Lance answered. "You didn't change that at all, Howie. When you kissed me, more than anything else, I wanted you to."
"Lance, I still don't understand," Howie said, wishing Lance would just look at him. Howie could hear the pain in Lance's voice, and wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but Lance couldn't even look him in the eyes.
"Howie, someone, someone I trusted, they hurt me. Someone hurt me very badly, and since they did I haven't been able to feel anything but dirty and ashamed. I've felt that way because it was my fault. I let them hurt me, I even asked for it. I didn't do anything to stop them. Jack had to do it for me, had to step in, and I almost didn't let him. I thought it was what I wanted, and I let them use me, and I knew if you knew that about me, if you knew that happened to me, that you wouldn't want me, that you'd be disgusted by me, because I'm disgusted with myself. When I closed my eyes, when you kissed me, that's all I saw. I saw him, and I heard his voice, and I felt wrong again, I felt dirty again, and I had to get away, so I ran. I ran out of here, and I kept running, but I couldn't run away from myself."
Lance looked down at his hands, watching them clasp each other. He noticed the little brownish golden hairs on the backs, and then he noticed that they were wet, that they were spotted, and he realized that he was crying, his tears falling on them. Suddenly he saw another pair of hands, honey gold and soft, fold over his own. Looking up, he found himself staring through his tears into Howie's eyes, and he saw that Howie was crying, too.
"Lance, I will never hurt you, never," Howie said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I will never do anything to hurt you, not that way, and not any other way. I'll never make you feel ashamed of who you are, or make you do anything you don't want to. I'll never betray your trust, and you'll never have to run away from me, Lance, never."
"But how can you still want me? How can you still want someone like me, when you can have anyone?" Lance asked, as confused as Howie had been
"Lance, I couldn't ever want anyone else," Howie said, standing. Lance stood with him, still clasping both his hands. "When I look at you, Lance, I see someone who's perfect. I don't see someone who is dirty, or disgusting. I don't see anyone who has anything to be ashamed of. I see a person who is warm, and funny, and handsome, and who has never done anything to me but push his own life aside and try to help me, to make sure that I'm ok. Lance, you're beautiful. You're everything I've always wanted to find."
Lance began to cry even harder, his body shaking, and he threw his arms around Howie, pressing the smaller man against him. Howie clutched Lance fiercely, crying as well, and the two of them held on to each other.
"Howie, I'm afraid," Lance whimpered. "I'm afraid. I know you're not going to hurt me, I know you'd never hurt me, but I'm afraid."
"Then we'll work through it together, Lance," Howie said, holding him tightly as Lance sobbed even harder. "I won't leave you to go through this alone. I won't let you."
They stood for a long time like that, holding on to each other, Lance crying himself out against Howie, crying through all of his fears and his pain. Eventually his tears subsided, but he realized that he was exhausted. He pulled away from Howie, yawning, but still lost in Howie's brown eyes as soon as he saw them.
"Lance, do you want to stay here?" Howie asked quietly. Lance flinched, and opened his mouth to protest, but Howie stopped him. "I won't ask you to do anything, Lance, or expect you to. You never have to do anything with me that you don't want to, never. If you ever decide that you do, I'll be here, but if you never decide to, I'll still be here. I'm not asking if you want to have sex, or even kiss. I just want to know if you would feel better sleeping here than going home."
"Will you stay with me?" Lance asked quietly, his voice shaking. "Will you hold onto me?"
"Of course I will," Howie answered.
Kicking off their shoes, they climbed onto the bed, snuggling up against the pillows. Howie lay on his back, and Lance rested his head on Howie's chest. He clutched Howie tightly, and Howie held onto him, smoothing back his hair, breathing softly. Later on, in the dark, Lanced glanced up at Howie's sleeping face, his eyes wide.
"I love you, Howie," he whispered.
Somewhere, in the depths of his sleep, Howie heard him.
"Was he going anywhere today, Josh?" I asked, hanging up my phone after leaving Lance a message.
"Not that I know of, but he was kind of quiet yesterday," Josh answered, washing the lunch dishes. "I think lunch with Justin kind of threw him a little."
The two of us were alone in Carla's apartment. We woke up to find her already gone this morning, with a note left for us on the table that said she was going to go spend the day with her mother, and that she'd be back for dinner. She left us the spare key, but we were without a car. We had slept in pretty late, not on purpose, of course, and had gotten up and fixed a quick lunch.
I stared across Carla's apartment at Josh. He was wearing only his boxer briefs, black ones today, and they clung to his thighs and his ass. Letting my eyes crawl up his body, I admired his calves, noticing the way the fine hairs on them caught the light above the sink and glowed. His thighs bulged and shifted beneath the stretched black cotton, which climbed up toward his waist, rolling over his gorgeously statuesque butt. Above his waistband, the smooth tanned expanse of his back danced and flexed each time he moved his arms, the muscles shifting and sliding over each other like dancers at the ballet. His skin was smooth and golden tan, and the tops of his rounded, firm shoulders glowed under the light as well. Looking at the back of his head, I noticed that he had colored the golden blond highlights out of his hair, which was now getting so long that it was becoming curly and wavy. Finishing the last dish, he put it in the strainer, and turned, his blue eyes flashing as he caught me staring at him.
Grinning, he began to walk toward me, his lithe form swaying across the room to music that only he could hear. While he was doing the dishes I had folded up the couch, tucking everything back inside since we'd just have to sleep on it again tonight, and I sat back, grinning, as he sashayed toward me, throwing a little sway into his hips. Oh yeah, this boy was a dancer.
"So," Josh began, stepping up onto the couch. He brought a leg down on either side of me, leaning on the wall with his hands as he stood above me, looking down. >From this angle, looking up toward his face, he was all abs and pecs, his nipples pointing out from the top curves, his armpits dark hollows of brown hair. "I was going to ask why you were so quiet all of a sudden, but I think I can see your problem."
Leaning on the wall, his arms bulging a little as they took his weight, he lifted one foot, and dropped it gently onto my crotch. In just my boxers, there was little to hide my extremely excited state, and he pressed the sole of his foot against my cock, rotating it slightly. My hips lifted a little on the couch as I pressed back against his foot.
"My goodness, Jack," Josh sighed, rolling his foot back and forth on top of my cock a little faster. I blocked out the image of what would happen if his arm slipped, and all of his weight came down on his foot right into my groin. "You're all hot and bothered down there. What's got you so excited?"
"I dunno," I answered, rotating my hips under him, pushing my cock up against his foot. He was barely moving his foot, just rolling it back and forth in a matching circular action, but this was all about the pressure. My cock was trapped between his foot and my body, and the pulsing, rhythmic pressure was driving me quickly toward the edge, much faster than I would have thought possible.
"You don't know?" he asked, grinning. His sapphire eyes sparkled down at me as he watched my body twisting beneath his now quickly rolling foot. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I began to let out little involuntary moans as he began wiggling his toes as well, tickling my dripping, slick head. His heel was resting on my sack, not squashing it, but pressing through it onto the base of my cock as the sole of his foot continued massaging my shaft. "Maybe it was something you saw over by the sink?"
"Could be," I panted, grinning. Oh, I was close, and he knew it.
"What did you see, Jack?" he asked, licking his lips. "Was it something like, oh, this?"
He pulled his hands off the wall and tucked them behind his head, elbows raised, and then pulled his body into one long, tight flex. His abs rippled in stark relief, his pecs bulging tightly above them, capped by his brown nipples, and his handsome face grinned above me, staring down. I grunted beneath him, staring up at how beautiful he was, and my hips bucked, almost throwing him off the couch, as I began to cum beneath his foot. He rolled his foot a couple more times, squeezing my seed out of me, before moving it back to the cushion. He brought his arms back to the wall, supporting himself again, as he stood above me. Below him, I slumped against the cushions, grinning, trying to catch my breath. The front of my boxers were sticky and wet.
"Well, we seem to have taken care of your problem, but what about me?" Josh asked, his eyes glancing down. I followed them to the front of his boxer briefs, which bulged alarmingly less than a foot from my head.
"What about you?" I asked, smiling.
"Oh, Jack, don't be like that," Josh said, grinning as he leaned down and stripped out of his briefs. They caught on one of his feet, and he kicked them aside, standing naked above me now. His cock sprang out, freed from confinement, and the head pointed at my mouth, just inches away, the shaft full and hard as it curved out from his brown pubes. "I have something for you."
"Do you?" I asked, licking my lips. His cock jerked in front of me, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, jumping a little. A tiny bead of precum oozed out of his slit, hanging on the end of his cock, waiting for me.
"Yeah," he sighed, leaning forward. His arms bulged. "Why don't you show big daddy some tongue, baby?"
It was all I could do not to ruin the moment by bursting out in laughter. Josh was really hot, but sometimes I wondered if we might need to talk about his idea of talking dirty. His ego might not take it well if I started giggling every time he stood naked above me. Doing as I was told, I tilted my head back and stuck my tongue out, my eyes smiling even if my mouth couldn't.
"Now let's see," Josh sighed, rubbing the underside of his cock across my tongue. "Where does this go again?"
I began to lap at the underside of his cock, running my tongue along the huge vein on the bottom, rolling it under the ridge of his cockhead, darting it lightly over the bundle of nerves buried in the skin right under his slit. He sighed above me, and his arms bulged again as he began to lean slowly forward, his cock sliding smoothly toward me and into my mouth. I folded my lips over the head and washed my tongue around it, pushing it into his slit, tasting his salty precum. He pushed more of his cock into my mouth, sighing and smiling above me, his eyes sparkling, and then leaned back, pulling it out, watching as his glistening shaft, dripping with my spit, slid out of my mouth. Leaning forward and back again, using his arms against the wall to move himself against me, he thrust in and out of my mouth with an urgency that told me he wasn't planning to last very long.
Laying back on the couch, there really wasn't a lot for me to do but keep my mouth open and work him over with my tongue, since Josh was in the driver's seat for this one. My hands climbed up and down his legs, feeling his thighs bunch and shift beneath them. I loved feeling the hairs on his legs brush against my hands when I slid them over him. Running them up higher, I clutched the firm cheeks of his dancer's ass, squeezing them in my hands. He sighed appreciatively above me, and picked up speed, and I used his ass to pull him toward me faster and hard, clutching his cheeks like handles. He began to sigh louder above me, thrusting harder, and I stopped pulling at him, instead just holding on and enjoying the ride. With a final yelp he lurched forward, pressing my head back into the couch as his pelvis smashed against my face, all but smothering me as he shot into my mouth. I felt his cock jerk and pulse atop my tongue, and I swallowed as I struggled to breathe.
Finally, panting, he slowly pulled out of my mouth, his cock sliding past my lips with a soft pop. I gave it a few licks for good measure, but he was more or less pretty clean. Josh smiled down at me, and I looked up into his eyes as my tongue stretched out to lap at his cockhead.
"So what are we going to do now?" Josh asked, smiling down at me. My hands rested on his thighs.
"Since one of us is in slimy boxers, we're going to go take a shower," I said, grinning back up at him. "Then we're going to my apartment to pack some stuff that I don't want the movers touching."
"Yeah, we have to set all that up today, too," Josh said, climbing down from the couch. He took my hand and led me toward the bathroom.
We took a quick shower, and then took a cab over to my apartment. Josh winced when he saw the outside and read the spray paint, squeezing my hand as I fished out my key. I hoped no one was watching. I mean yes, Josh did have his usual sunglasses and hat disguise on, but that really didn't cover as much as he thought it did, and who else would be holding my hand in front of my apartment? We walked in, and I closed and locked the door behind us.
"So, what do you want to do?" Josh asked, looking around.
"Well, I was thinking that there's no point in moving some of this stuff," I said, glancing around. "I mean, you have dishes and stuff at your house already. I asked Carla last night, and she said I don't really have anything that she wants, so I was thinking maybe we would have the movers take some to your house, and we could have the Goodwill truck stop by to get the rest."
"That's a great idea," Josh said, smiling. "What should I do?"
"Why don't you call, and set up the movers and the Goodwill truck?" I asked, picking up a roll of masking tape. "The phone book's over there. I'll start tagging stuff that can go to Goodwill, and then we'll box up the stuff that I don't want the movers to take, and we can send it back on the plane with you to L.A."
Josh began making calls while I walked slowly through the apartment, tagging things that there was just no point in taking. Josh would have a microwave, and bookcases. The living room set was brand new, and even if we didn't need it I didn't want to tag it and have Josh think I was deliberately throwing away a gift from him. I also began jotting notes on the board on my refrigerator, making a list of other things I needed to do that couldn't be handled on a Saturday, like having the telephone turned off and setting up mail forwarding at the post office. Every time I walked past, Josh had added something, like, "Kiss boyfriend" or "Steal Josh's Heart". I smiled and blew him kisses as he continued to chatter away on the phone.
"What else can I do?" he asked, finishing up with the movers as I began consolidating personal items in the bedroom. They'd be easier to pack that way.
"There are paper bags under the sink," I said, opening my closet. "Start bagging up the groceries in the cabinets, and we can drop them at the food pantry on our way back to Carla's."
"OK," he said, and I heard him begin opening cabinets. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Josh," I answered absently, setting things on the bed.
I found a box in the back of the closet, and began carefully putting things in it, wrapping breakables in t-shirts, loading in all of the things that I didn't want the movers to see, and all of the things that I didn't want to run the risk of having lost or broken. My old journals went into the box, along with a framed picture of Carla and I. I packed the wine bottle that Josh had poured all over me, and tried to pack the dried bouquet I'd saved without it getting too damaged. Josh came in when I was more or less finished, and glanced into the box as I sat next to it, trying to figure out why I felt so bad. Although the box was rather small, barely the size of a toaster oven, there was still room in it.
"Are you all done, Jack?" Josh asked, staring down at me. He knelt on the floor, looking up into my eyes. "This box isn't even full."
"I know," I said, staring down at him. "I think that's why I feel so sad. I'm supposed to be packing all the important stuff in my life, and I can't even fill up one box."
Josh took my hands, squeezing them in his own.
"Maybe that just means that things aren't really important to you," he said, his eyes wide and concerned. "Maybe you're just a person who carries important stuff inside."
"Or maybe my life was just really empty before I met you," I said sadly. I had always thought I was very happy with my life until I stepped outside of it, but maybe I had just confused "comfortable" with "happy." "I mean, Josh, it shouldn't really be this easy for me to leave, should it? What does that say about me? What kind of person does that make me?"
"It doesn't matter, Jack," Josh answered, kissing the backs of my hands. His lips were soft and warm. "Does your life feel empty now?"
"No, no it doesn't," I answered, smiling at him. "Right now my life feels very full."
"Then forget about the past," he said, smiling. "Leave it behind. You're with me now, where you belong, and where I want you to stay."
I hugged him tightly, feeling a little better.
"How'd you get to be so perfect?" I asked.
"My parents had really good genes," he answered, laughing at his own joke as I giggled along with him. "Hey, what's that?"
Josh walked away from me and picked something up off of my dresser and held it up.
"That's my college ring," I answered, smiling. "I didn't even want one, but my mom insisted that I have one, because, you know, everyone does."
"How come you don't wear it?" Josh asked, slipping it onto his own finger. He held his hand out, smiling. "Aren't you proud?"
"Of going to college?" I asked. "Josh, all my friends did it. Everyone does."
I watched his face fall, and realized what I'd said. Yes, where I grew up, everyone did, but not everyone in the world went to college.
"Not everyone," Josh said sadly, turning away from me. "I didn't."
"Josh, I didn't mean to say it like that," I said, crossing the room. I hugged him from behind, both of us staring at my ring on his finger. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"It's just that, you know, I never went to college, Jack," Josh said. "Justin had to finish high school by correspondence, and none of the rest of us went to college. Probably none of us will. And you have. Sometimes I just wonder what you're thinking, and I feel kind of dumb."
"Josh, you're not dumb," I said. "You didn't miss a damn thing at college, Josh. All I learned there was how to repeat things I read in other people's books. Look at all the stuff you've done, and all the places you've been. You've done things that I never have, and probably never will. It doesn't all come from books, Josh."
I put a hand on his forehead, and a hand on his heart.
"I love you for what's in here, and what's in here," I said, and then dropped them to his crotch. "And what's in here, of course."
The two of us laughed, and then Josh held up his hand again, staring at my ring.
"Jack, can I keep this?" he asked quietly.
"You want to wear my ring?" I asked, about to ask if he wanted to be the cheerleader to my quarterback, before I realized he was serious. "Of course you can, babe."
Josh didn't take my ring off for the rest of the day. He proudly showed it off to Carla when we met her for dinner, and he kept looking at it during the meal, too. That night, as we cuddled against each other in bed after swearing not to do anything sexual, I felt it sliding over my shoulders as he hugged me. I don't know why Josh was so proud of it, but when he talked to Chris on the phone to make sure that he would pick him up at the airport, he loudly bragged about the jewelry I had given him.
The next morning, after we were all up, Josh and I took Carla out to breakfast, and then we took Josh to the airport. He was clutching the box of my things, not willing to let it out of his sight, and in the bag he had the papers about the reporters, since we had finally decided on an interview with Carla's help. For print, we were giving out two interviews, one to "People" magazine and one to "The Advocate". Josh was going to set up the scheduling through the publicists, to make sure the articles came out the same week as our Barbara Walters interview, which I considered pretty exciting. In the terminal, we held hands waiting for the plane, until we heard someone snapping pictures and we relocated to the VIP lounge, both of us sighing as Carla loudly bitched about classlessly uncouth people who couldn't give anyone a moment's privacy.
"Maybe if you asked first, but no, you just snap away!" Carla all but shrieked as Josh pulled her into the lounge. She ducked out for one last comment. "I better not see those pictures in 'People' next week either, you vulture!"
"Carla, please calm down," Josh said. "People snap pictures of me all the time. You get used to it."
"It's rude," Carla said, shaking her head.
We both laughed as she stared at us like we were crazy. When it was finally time for Josh's flight, I walked him to the gate, where he hugged me, and clutched my box as his carry on bag.
"I love you, Josh," I whispered. "Call me when you get back."
"I will," he answered. "I love you, too. Hurry back to me, ok?"
"OK," I answered.
More to come soon.