Crosscurrents
By: Adam Phillips
(© 2005-2010 by the author)
Running:
Consider it.
I did.
Considered it and chose it, truth be known.
If a guy runs hard enough--fast enough--he can get so caught up in the mechanics and the rush that he forgets himself.
Running:
The wind in your hair, the rise and fall of your chest, the burn in your lungs and your legs...it clears away the clutter, the complications. You throw yourself fully into it, and no explanation or justification or additional consideration is needed. All the truth you need is right there in the moment.
Somewhere inside, depending on the kind of running you're doing, the questions might bubble up: Why are you running? What are you running from? What are you running toward?
No worries. The answer is, "Screw that; I'm running." What else is there? What else needs to be said? Or thought?
Or felt?
And when you hit the zone, it can even escape your notice that you're running.
Talk about something being its own reward. Talk about something being its own justification.
********
Whose fault is that?
I kept hearing it in my head. Again and again I replayed it, torturing myself with the anger I'd heard in Matt's voice.
I was furious with myself.
Furious for telling him I didn't know how to talk to him anymore. Furious that
I'd allowed myself to be wounded by the words he'd said in reply.
After all, he was right, and I deserved it, and there was no point dwelling on
it.
Spilled milk. Water over the dam; under the bridge. Pick your cliché.
So as the spring semester began, I pushed him hard out of the front of my mind, over and over, whenever he showed up there.
And I ran; ran from the memory.
From the memories.
I tore into my studies like a man possessed; I worked out six days a week, pumping iron like a beast, hitting the cardio until my lungs burned and my legs felt like they were going to fall off; I smoked weed regularly to mellow me out, drank a six-pack of beer a night, and went out on the town raising hell with my teammates on weekends.
And I pursued hookups with renewed intensity.
My libido was working overtime, and that got incorporated into the running. I'd been a player in high school too, but I'd discovered when I hit campus back in August that it was considerably easier to score in college. For one thing, it wasn't as hard to find places to be alone. For another, college women weren't as concerned about what guys thought of them; they were more interested in enjoying themselves.
I let that work to my advantage.
During spring semester, I hooked up with women three to five times a week, depending on how my luck was running. I'd had some solid success in the fall, but I doubled the intensity starting in January.
The hunt was sometimes almost as much fun as the conquest, when I felt like expending a little energy on it. Still, the hunt wasn't the thing. Finding someone to get me off was the thing.
I genuinely liked a lot of the girls I fucked, and I became friends with a number of them. That wasn't essential, but it was better when it happened; not because I was interested in cultivating any deep relationships, but because when I didn't want to bother with the hunt, having "friends-with-benefits" got me what I needed with just a phone call. I could count on them to ease my tension when I was wound too tight, and it involved a minimum of effort.
Once in a great while Trey and I got a girl to go for a threesome, and occasionally in that context I'd get to give him head. Somehow the fact I was getting with both him and a female made it okay in his mind for me to put his dick in my mouth. I wasn't sure I followed the logic, but I wasn't going to argue.
For all practical purposes, however, I spent my sexual energy exclusively on women, and I went at it with intensity. If you were to ask me how many women I had sex with that semester, I wouldn't be able to tell you. For one thing, after a while, they all seemed to blend together. Though I slept with a lot of different kinds of women, I tended to prefer blondes, and so many of them seemed like clones of each other that few of them stood out with any individuality. On top of that, it wasn't rare for me to wake up hung over in a strange bed, sleeping next to a girl I wasn't aware of having met before. Generally speaking, my sex life spring semester stands in my memory as a frenzied blur.
Not entirely, however.
Unfortunately.
********
At the top of my head, I was happy. At the top of my head, I was too busy running to experience "unhappy," for the most part. Running from interest to interest, from fixation to fixation. From distraction to distraction.
Running from "unhappy."
And doing so by studying, drinking, sexing, partying with the boys, smoking weed.
I walked through that semester with a sense of mastery and invincibility. I felt as though nothing could touch me, and if I ever began to feel a reflective mood sneak up on me, I hauled out the bong, made a booty call, or went out hell-raising with my teammates. It was all on the surface; I was determined to avoid anything below the surface. After all, there there be dragons.
I was smoking a little weed out behind our dorm one night with Trey when we decided we were spending too much money on pot.
"This is ridiculous, you know," he said. "I wonder how much of that money Kozar pockets." Tony Kozar was a psychology major and widely known as the campus dealer, at least in the circle of people I hung out with.
"What I wonder is who his supplier is," I responded.
"What difference does it make?" Trey shrugged. "You gonna go try to get a better deal?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe."
"I'm calling bullshit on you right here," he said.
"I'd be careful on that if I were you," I smiled. "Remember the last time you called bullshit on me?"
He rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, smart guy, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about there are plenty of people on campus who buy off Tony. Since we smoke anyway, why shouldn't we get into the business? We'd get our own stash cheaper, and I bet we could get a lot more guys buying from us than buy from Kozar; he's such a nerd, nobody likes him all that much. Why wouldn't they buy from us instead?"
"You're insane, you know?" Trey said. "Totally crazy."
"Crazy's good. Crazy's fun. Crazy could make us some serious cash," I laughed.
"You want us to become drug dealers," he said, more to himself than to me.
"Not drug dealers, I'm not talking drugs. I'm only talkin' weed."
"Kozar doesn't only sell weed."
"I know, but who says we have to get in on anything but the pot? Look, here's what I'm thinking. Let's talk to Kozar and find out who his supplier is. We can tell him we're looking to tap into a segment of the market that he doesn't have time for. Then we can go to his supplier and convince him we could move a higher volume of product than Kozar can."
"Assuming we could even do that, don't you think it's kinda unstable to cut Tony out of his business like that?"
"What's he gonna do, hire a hit man to take us out?" I looked at Trey, willing him to get enthusiastic. For my part, I was already thinking miles ahead to big profits, low-cost weed…
And another opportunity to run.
"I dunno, man," Trey said.
"Oh, c'mon, ya chickenshit," I said. "I'm not saying we should join the Mafia. This is no big deal. It's fuckin' weed, is all. Not like we're not breaking the law already by smoking it. And I'm not talking no lifelong career. I'm just saying we could have dirt-cheap smoke and make a pretty big wad of cash ourselves."
I watched as he considered it. "They say Kozar's been dealing since he was a freshman, and he's not any worse off for it."
"That's right," I grinned. I knew I nearly had him.
"Sharpe, this is the most crazy-ass thing you've come up with yet."
"Yeah, but you love me," I teased.
"I love your cocksucking faggot mouth, maybe."
The words were brutal and maybe entirely uncalled-for, but I laughed, because I knew he was saying it with love…and I also knew it meant I was almost in.
"Okay, roomie," I said. "What's it gonna be? Are we business partners?"
I watched a series of thoughts move through his brain and leave a trail on his face. Finally he shrugged and said, "What the fuck, why not? Yeah, I'm in."
"Awright, " I said, laughing and high-fiving him. "You know you love it; runnin' with Sharpe ain't ever dull, is it?"
He stroked his chin for a moment. "Tell you what…let me handle the contact with Kozar. You'll scare him off with your fuckin' intensity."
"Done."
********
"So you asswipes think you can freeze me out."
Tony had an apartment off-campus that a lot of young professionals couldn't have afforded. I couldn't help but look around, admiring it, while Trey talked.
"No, man," Trey said. "It's not like that. You can't handle all the potential business on campus; we just want to contact your supplier and make him an offer to deal for him."
"What's his name, anyway?" I asked, taking a seat on the sofa next to Trey.
"Fuck if I know," he said. "He goes by 'Big Al'."
I gulped. That sounded pretty organized-crime-like to me. But what else did I expect?
Trying to keep my nerves out of my voice, I said, "Tell us how to get hold of him. You got a number?"
"Doesn't work like that. You think he's gonna meet with some college boys outta the blue? Keep dreaming."
"How do we get to him, then?" Trey asked.
"I can vouch for you," Tony replied, "if you make it worth my time." He got up and grabbed his cell phone from the kitchen counter. Waving it at us, he said, "It's right in here. All I gotta do is call and you're in."
I shrugged. "How much is 'worth your time'?"
"A half-grand."
"Fuck that, man, you're crazy if you think we can front that kind of money."
"I didn't say you had to front it," he said. "I'm saying that's my processing fee, but I'll take it out of your cut. Trust me; you'll have it to spare inside two months."
Trey looked at him in disbelief. "No shit?"
He smiled. "No shit."
Trey and I talked it over for a few minutes; finally I said, "Okay, Tony, you got a deal."
"All right," he said. "Now all this is pending Big Al's approval, so don't cream your shorts yet."
"Sure," I said. "When can you find out?"
"I can find out right now," he said. "I can find out whether or not he'll talk to you, anyway. Y'all entertain yourselves at the pool table while I go make the call."
"Awesome," Trey said.
I laughed like a loon and grabbed a cue stick. "C'mon, Trey," I said. "Let's have a game to celebrate our coming wealth."
We were so engrossed in playing, we didn't notice when Tony came back a few minutes later.
"I think you boys got a deal," he said. I put down my cue stick and looked at him. "But you gotta meet with him first. And unlike me, he'll want some money upfront."
"How much?
Tony smirked. "A thousand dollars."
"Jesus, what is it with you people?" I said. "We're college kids, man. A thousand dollars for weed?"
"It's the cost of your inventory, stupid. You'll make it all back and a lot more."
I grimaced. I could come up with five hundred, but it would put a serious bite on me.
Trey must have been considering the same thing. "We can't buy into a smaller amount?"
"It's not worth his time to mess with nickel-and-dime shit," he said. "If you mean business, that's his price."
Trey groaned. "All right. If we go halves, I can just barely swing it. You better not make me regret this, Sharpe."
"Look around at this place," I said to him. "Does this look like regret to you?"
From his smile, I could tell that it didn't.
********
The next night, we took Trey's car and followed Tony's directions to a run-down apartment complex in the south part of the city.
"Fuck," Trey said as we got out of the car. "What a dump."
"Yeah, just like in the movies," I whispered.
"Why are we whispering?" Trey whispered.
"I don't know," I said a little louder.
He shook his head, laughed nervously, and knocked on the door. "This time you gotta do the talking."
"Who the fuck is it?" we heard from behind the door.
"Sharpe," I shouted back. "Kozar hooked us up with you."
"Oh, right," he said. "Come on in." The door opened and we found ourselves face-to-face with an averaged-sized, average-looking guy.
We walked in, and he motioned us to sit on the grimy sofa.
I couldn't help myself: "No disrespect, but…uhh…'Big Al'?
"The ladies gimme that name," he sneered. "Understand what I'm sayin'?"
"Okay," I said.
"And from here on out you pukes talk when I tell ya; got it?"
"Okay," Trey said.
"Like some bad gangster movie," I whispered.
"Shut up!" Big Al yelled.
"Okay," I said. Trey smirked.
Al sat down behind a beaten-up desk and glared at us. "So you asswipes think you can move weed on your little campus, huh?"
"Yes, sir," I told him. "We're soccer players and friends with a lot of the athletes, and a lot of us buy from Kozar already, but…well, no disrespect intended, but Kozar's kind of a nerd and I bet we can get people to buy in higher volume. Also, we have connections Kozar won't ever get. We know more people than him, and they're gonna be less threatened buying from people they know."
"So you came here to cut Kozar's legs out from under him expecting I'd go for the possibility of higher sales and higher profit."
"Yes, sir," I said. "You're a businessman, and the way I see it, this ain't personal, it's strictly business."
He drummed his fingers on the desk for a minute.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to give you a trial run for a month. If you turn me a decent profit, we can talk about the next month."
Trey looked at me and grinned.
"Don't be sucking dicks in here yet, he said; "I got some shit to say to you. And first things first: Hand over the cash."
I walked over to the desk, handed him the envelope, and sat back down.
He opened it, counted the money, and smiled.
"So when do we get our stuff?" I asked.
The same ugly, greasy smile stayed on his face as he looked at us, silently, for a full minute.
"You get your stuff right now," he finally said.
He stood up. "And here's your 'stuff.' It's a piece of advice: Go back to your little fratboy campus and your little fratboy lives, and don't ever even think of comin' 'round here again." He grabbed our money and stuffed it into a desk drawer. "Nice doin' business with you; now get the fuck outta here."
I looked at him in disbelief. "What the fuck did you say?"
His eyes were calm, but they were flush with menace. "I don't think I stuttered," he said. "How's your hearing?"
"My hearing's fine, asshole, what the fuck is your…"
"Sharpe!" Trey hissed. "I’m sorry, sir, Sharpe loses it sometimes. But if you don't wanna do business with us, it's okay; we'll just take our money back and you won't see us again."
He laughed. "Ya damn right, you ain't gonna see me again. You ain't never gonna see this money again, either. Consider it my consultation fee."
I was furious. This little shit was going to steal a grand from us? I stormed up to his desk. "You greasy sleazebag, you're not takin' our goddam money," I shouted. I made a move to come around his side of the desk, intending to open the drawer and take the envelope back.
The next thing I knew, I was in a choke-hold, and the barrel of a Glock 17 was nuzzled up against my throat. I couldn't breathe.
"You better talk some sense into your shit-for-brains friend here," I heard him say to Trey, "otherwise he's not leavin' this room breathing."
Trey started to say something, but it wasn't necessary. "Okay, I'm done," I gasped out. Big Al relaxed his hold, still jamming the Glock into my neck. "You better be fuckin' done, douchebag, or you're really done." He grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me around to face him; before I could react, he punched me hard in the gut and shoved me away from him. I fell on my ass, windless, next to where Trey was standing. He looked down at me as I tried to suck in some air.
Big Al walked over to me and said quietly, "Get up; go hold hands with your little partner in crime, walk back out through that door…and go back to college. You'll get over the money when it sinks in that you made it out of here with your brains still inside your skull."
Trey helped me up; his pale, drawn face looked like mine felt. He glowered at me and nodded his head toward the door. I hardly had my ass through the doorway when it slammed hard behind me.
We made our way, dazed, to the car. Once he'd started the engine, he looked at me and said, "Shit. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Fuck that asshole. What a goddam cumstain! That fuckin'…"
He cut me off. "Shut up."
"I can't believe…"
"Shut up."
"We gotta come up with some way to get that money…"
"Andy, just shut the fuck UP! I don't wanna hear a fuckin' word outta your mouth all the way home!"
I sulked in silence as we drove back toward the campus. When we got back in the room, he said, "I can't believe I agreed to this stupid, worthless, illegal plan! You coulda got us fuckin' killed! What the fuck were you thinking?"
"So all of a sudden this is my fault? Nobody put a Glock to your fuckin' head when you bought in," I yelled.
"I let you talk me into it, like a goddam idiot," he said. "And now I'm out half a grand for it. Thanks a lot."
"Hey, you're not the only one," I protested.
"I don't give a shit about your money, asshole," he growled.
"Trey…"
"Don't talk to me," he fumed. "As a matter of fact, why don't you just get the fuck outta here for an hour and give me time to chill so I don't end up saying something I regret."
I shrugged. I figured I'd better do as he said. "I'm sorry," I offered.
"That won't get back my money.".
"I know. I just…"
"Just go away, Andy," he said wearily. "We'll be okay. I mean, I let you talk me into it, it's not all your doing. I'm just pissed at you and pissed at myself, and I wanna be alone for awhile."
He looked me as though he anticipated an argument. "You throw me outta this room often enough with your women…and your men," he said pointedly. "I guess you can gimme an hour to myself in here."
"Yeah," I said, shaking my head. "I'm really sorry."
"I know you are," he said, "but I don't wanna hear it right now."
He grimaced and added, "Dude. You have issues. I like crazy shit as much as the next guy, but you're…Andy, it's like you're trying to keep yourself crazy so you don't have to be alone with your thoughts. Or more to the point, with your feelings."
"I notice I didn't go and drive out there by myself; what's your excuse?" I said angrily.
His eyes burned holes into me. "My excuse is you're an amazing, intense, awesome, smart-as-anything guy who could sell ice cubes at the goddam North Pole, and I got caught up in your damn intensity and your crazy-ass scheme. And that ain't no excuse, but I love your worthless fuckin' ass and I let that get the better of my good judgment."
I hung my head; he was right. I'd set out to manipulate him, leveraging our friendship to get him to walk into Crazyland with me, and I'd succeeded.
I looked back up at him. "Trey…"
"I don't wanna hear it. Just get the fuck out for an hour, Andy. And spend the time thinking about what's fuckin' wrong with you. Then come back and we'll put it behind us, and I won't mention it again."
"I'm sorry," I repeated.
"I know," he said again. "Now go."
I spent the hour away in the library studying, and when I came back he was fine; we were fine.
But I didn't quit running.
********
The weather had turned warm by March. Soccer was a fall sport, but a good number of us continued to throw together intra-team games in the afternoon.
I was walking to my dorm, bare-chested, from one of those games on a Thursday afternoon. My shirt was in its classic over-the-neck position, mopping up the sweat from my neck and shoulders.
As I came off the field I noticed a guy standing on the sidelines, staring at me. When I looked his way he quickly averted his gaze. I remembered vaguely that I'd also noticed him staring at me from the bleachers during the game.
We'd never met, but I'd seen him on campus before, hanging out with his friends. He was a theater major, and he was the very stereotype of the effeminate gay guy. Willowy, with a weak but pretty face. Vocal mannerisms, gestures, and body language that screamed "gay." What a faggot, I thought to myself.
A voice inside cried out in protest. Hadn't I just traveled this road with Shane? Hadn't I made a crusade out of calling him on his homophobia? What the fuck was I doing, all indignant like that? This guy couldn't be anything but who he was, any more than I could.
But there was another voice inside. Another guy. Not such a nice guy, either. Cold. Calculating and self-serving. Mean. The guy who hated me for fucking it up with Matt. The guy who told me that it was my faggot feelings for Matt that ruined our friendship.
That guy was telling me it was people like this kid who gave the stereotype its juice. This was the visual face of "gay" in the culture, it seemed like. This was why guys who liked dick were culturally repugnant. This.
The kid was looking at me with a hunger I recognized immediately.
A hunger I shared.
The cold, reptilian parts of my brain and heart were off to the races before the better part of me had a chance to weigh in.
Immediately the self-hatred I'd worked hard at vanquishing swelled up inside me, and rocketed out toward him. At the same time, I felt my dick swell a little at the thought that a guy like him was enthralled with me.
Wonder what it would be like?
Through the red haze of my inexplicable rage, I glared at my admirer and walked directly toward him.
His eyes grew wide with fear. He seemed frozen to his spot as I moved into his space and got in his face.
Scowling, I said, "What the fuck are you staring at?"
"N-nothing," he mumbled. "I was just...I was just watching y'all play."
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned slightly back. "Why?"
"Just watching the game," he said. "I can watch the game, can't I? I like soccer."
"What do you know about soccer?" I sneered. "That's not why you were watching. I know what you want."
He swallowed hard, blushed furiously, and started to walk around me. I felt my dick's interest escalate. I put a hand on his shoulder and kept him at his spot. "Not so fast, cocksucker," I said.
He flinched at my touch, and his eyes got wider, but he didn't say anything as he looked into my face. The odd mixture of fear and lust I saw in his eyes both excited and infuriated me.
My dick got even harder.
"I know you're gay. Tell me you're gay. Say it."
He looked at me in terror.
"Say it, cocksucker," I spat.
"I…I'm gay," he said.
"Damn right you are," I responded. "And you weren't watching the soccer game."
"Yes, I was," he protested weakly.
"You weren't," I said. "You weren't watching the game; you were watching all those hot guys out there. You were undressing 'em in your mind. You were swallowing their loads; you were taking their cocks up your girly faggot ass. Isn't that right?"
His eyes pleaded with mine. They almost reached my humanity and called it back. Then I thought about Matt. And I thought about how my relationship with Matt had been ruined because…
Because I was like this guy.
I felt the hate rise again. Hatred at myself for having those feelings, the feelings that destroyed everything between me and my best friend. Hatred at same-sex attraction in general.
At that moment I decided that I was going to have this guy, and that it wasn't going to be pretty.
A smile took over my face. I could literally feel its insincerity, and I heard my voice match that smile as I spoke. "What's your name?" I asked softly, smiling that lying, hating smile the whole time.
"C-Chris," he stammered. "Chris Traynor."
"You weren't just staring at the team, Chris, were you?" I asked. Condescension dripped from my delivery. "You were staring at me."
"I…I…I'm sorry," he said. "Just let me go. I won't do it again."
"You're not understanding me, Chris," I said, toying with him. "It's a free country; you can look anywhere you want. I just think we oughta be clear on some things."
"What things?" he asked quietly.
"Well, faggot," I said gently, "I think you need to tell me out loud just why you were staring at me."
He shuddered and his eyes looked at mine again in supplication. And lust.
But he didn't answer me.
I stepped in even closer and moved my face right up to his. Ever so smoothly and faux-seductively, I said, "Cat got your tongue, Chris? Let me tell you why you were staring at me." My eyes sparkled malice at him. Jovial, leering malice. "I make your dick hard, don't I?"
"Please," he whispered. He tried to move away again; I put a hand on each shoulder and restrained him.
"You want my cock," I said. "You wanna get me naked and you wanna put your hands on me. You want my hard cock in your mouth. Maybe you even want it in your ass. Isn't that right?"
He closed his eyes and whimpered.
And nodded.
"I thought so," I said.
"They said sometimes you…" He looked up, saw the threat flash in my eyes, and froze.
"They said what, Chris? What did they say?"
He looked away again. "Just let me go, okay?"
"I can't do that," I said. "This is too interesting just to let you go without telling me the rest of the story. What do they say about me?"
"They…I mean, some of my friends heard you like it with guys sometimes."
I let my gaze slam into his as the smile vanished from my face. I wanted to make him sweat; I wanted to make him fear; I wanted to dominate him.
As I watched his discomfort escalate, I eased into a smile and finally spoke. "Yeah. I do," I said, amiably, as I paused in anticipation of dropping the next shoe.
"With guys. What makes you think I'd wanna do anything with you?"
He looked at me as though I'd slugged him in the face. Then his eyes narrowed at me and for just a brief minute I felt him send the same sort of hatred at me that I'd sent toward him.
I laughed. The contempt in my laughter made him flinch.
"Chris," I crooned. "No need to jump, buddy. I think you and I have gotten off to a bad start. That's my fault, really. I've had some things on my mind, and I was thrown off a little bit by a faggot staring at me."
I began to rub his shoulders. "Your buddies are right. I've been with men before and I've liked it, so I can understand personally why a guy like you would want me. You do want me, don't you?"
"Just let me go, okay?" he repeated. Pleading this time.
"But Chris," I said, "you want to see me naked, I think. You want to know first-hand what my penis looks like. You want to touch it, I bet. You wanna wrap your fingers around it and feel how hard and hot it is. I bet you've even fantasized about what it's like hard…how it tastes…how it would feel up your ass. If I let you walk away now…well, isn't a part of you wondering if you're not real close to living out those fantasies?"
He looked into my eyes and began to scan downward. My cock was hard, and it was impossible not to see that. He gazed down at my crotch, swallowed hard, and involuntarily groped himself.
Score.
"Anyway," I said, "look what you're doin' to me. You got me all hard for you, Chris. You can't tell me you want me and then just leave me like this. That would be real mean and sadistic of you, and you're not a mean guy, are you?"
He looked back at me, his face a question mark.
"You got a roommate?" I asked casually.
"He doesn't like rooming with me," he said. "He…he's straight. He stays other places."
"So we'd have your room to ourselves," I mused.
He swallowed hard. "I…yeah."
"Chris," I said, continuing to pour it on, "I think I'd like to fuck you. How'd you like that? I've never gotten to be with a…with a guy like you, and I think you just might enjoy somebody like me to get you where you need to go."
"I thought you said I wasn't a guy," he responded, glaring at me.
The mirth in my reply was so dark and full of derision, I could hear it myself. "Well, you're not, really, are you? Not like my boys out there on the field are. But technically, you got the equipment, so I guess that makes you a guy."
The hatred in his gaze couldn't wipe away the lust that accompanied it. I could do anything I wanted to him, and he'd take it.
My dick grew harder.
"Anyway, I wasn't trying to insult you," I said. "I was just stating the obvious. I didn't mean it in a bad way. C'mon, Chris, I'm a nice guy and I'm offerin' you a chance to ride my cock. We'll have a great time. I promise."
His face relaxed. He groaned and groped himself absently again. "You…your name is Andy."
"That's right, Chris. You like my name?"
"Yeah, I…I do," he said. "And you look so...I mean...Please don't be pissed at me, okay?"
"No way," I said. "I know I sounded a little rough. But…you liked it, kind of, didn't you?"
He blushed. "I like strong guys. It's a little scary but…look, don't fuckin' be mean to me, okay?"
"You just took it wrong, Chris; I'm sorry you heard it that way. But don't tell me you don't want me to take charge. I can see it in your eyes. You wanna be with someone who'll tell you what to do. Am I right?"
He blushed. "I…well, yeah. I was afraid you would hurt me, is why I was scared. I didn't wanna get gay-bashed by a gay guy."
"I'm not fuckin' gay, Chris," I said coldly. "That's you."
"I'm sorry," he said. "You…anyway, Kyle…"
"Kyle's gay; that's right," I said, "but he's nothing like you."
"I know," he whined. "I just didn't know if you were so messed up…"
I didn't want to hear the rest of that sentence.
"I don't want to bash you, I'm not that kind of guy," I said, interrupting him. "But maybe I want to be a little firm with you. Would that be okay, Chris?"
He looked at me without saying anything.
"I think it would," I said. "I think you like it kinda firm. Maybe even a little rough and domineering. Am I right?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I…I'm…I like it when guys take charge of me."
"Well, come on, then," I said, smiling. "Let's go to your room, and you can take off your clothes, and I'll take off my clothes, and you can see me naked like you've been fantasizing about, and then we can make them fantasies a reality."
********
We walked into his room. He stood by his bed and faced me, uncertainty and lust mixed up all over his face, all throughout his body language.
I threw my t-shirt over a chair. "Strip," I said.
"I…just like that?"
"Take your damn clothes off," I growled.
He pulled the t-shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor, waiting.
Wanting.
I let my eyes wander over his skinny chest. It was smooth and perfect, in a decidedly non-masculine way. His narrow shoulders, in that moment, mesmerized me. The wisp of hair below his belly-button made my cock throb.
"Now your shoes and socks…and then lose the jeans," I ordered.
He blushed and turned away from me. I watched as he took the rest of his clothes off. When he was done, he turned, naked, to face me.
His dick was standing straight out; it was average in length but very thick. I wanted to drop to my knees and take it in my mouth.
But that wasn't the game I was playing.
"Very nice, Chris," I said. "You're a sweet-lookin' little guy. Get over here."
He walked up to me, and I pulled him into an embrace. I let my hands run up and down his back for a few seconds, then cupped an asscheek in each hand and began massaging his ass gently.
He groaned quietly and began kissing my shoulders, moving up my neck, and eventually kissing my cheeks.
"That's it, baby," I cooed. "Show me some love."
"You can do whatever you want to me, Andy," he said quietly, as he lay his head on my shoulder.
"That's right, Chris, I can," I said firmly. "And I'm gonna, and you're gonna love it." I pushed him gently out of my embrace. "Now take my shoes and socks off."
Obediently, he knelt down and complied.
Let's see how far we can push this, the reptile inside my head gloated.
I sat down on his bed. "Lick my feet. I wanna feel your tongue all over 'em."
He looked up at me, grimacing. "You want me to…"
"Did I stutter, Chris?" I said, remembering the sound of those hateful, sarcastic words as they'd come off of Big Al's lips. "I want you to lick the soles of my feet, I want you to suck on my toes. You wanna get with me, boy, we're gonna do it my way."
"Okay," he said. I watched with amazement as he took my right foot and began stroking it with a finger. Tentatively, he put his tongue to the underside of my foot and began licking it.
I drew in a sharp breath. "That's right, baby," I said. "Make love to my fuckin' feet."
When he took my big toe into his mouth and began swirling his tongue around it, his breath got heavier, and I noticed that his dick was like steel.
He worked on my feet with his mouth for a while. For all the distaste his face had displayed initially, I could tell he was into it.
I liked that.
I was ready for more. "Get up here," I told him. "Enough of that stuff. Kiss my thighs, bitch."
He leaned in and began kissing and licking the insides of my thighs, making his way up from my knees, and alternating between my left and right legs.
I lay back and spread my legs just a little to give him better access. "Keep going," I told him. He made his way to the leg-opening of my soccer shorts and kissed all the way up to where my briefs were cupping my balls.
I was as turned on by the power I had over this guy as I was by the physical sensations. "Pull my fuckin' shorts off, Chris," I commanded.
He grabbed the waistband of my shorts and my briefs. "I said the shorts, Chris," I barked. "Leave my damn underwear alone."
"Sorry," he mumbled, as he eased my soccer shorts down. I lifted my hips and he pulled them down around my knees. He glanced up at me; I nodded and smiled at him, and he pulled them down to my ankles and off me.
"Good boy," I said condescendingly. "Now put that faggot mouth to work on my junk…through the briefs."
The excitement flared in his eyes, and he smiled for the first time since I ran into him at the soccer field. He moved up and began tracing the outline of my cock with a finger. I heard him breathing faster.
"You like that, gayboy?"
"It looks beautiful," he said. "Can I see it?"
"Fuck, no," I barked. "You gotta earn that. Get to work."
He put his face to my crotch and inhaled deeply, stroking himself as he took in my scent. Lowering his head, he let his lips touch my fabric-covered cock and began making his way up and down its length while he caressed my balls with a hand.
Before too long, a splotch of precum had soaked the briefs at the head of my dick. When he saw it, he moved his mouth to the spot, tonguing it and sucking at it.
"That's just the appetizer, Chris," I responded, as he went back to work. "Show me you deserve it. Show me you deserve gettin' to suck my big fat cock. And if I decide to let you, you're gonna swallow down every drop. I'm gonna fuckin' gag you with my big thick dick, and I'm gonna use your face hard and brutal and treat you like the goddam faggot you are, and when I got your nose mashed into my pubes I'm gonna jizz my spunk down your fuckin' throat. How you like that?"
He didn't say anything; his mouth was working the head of my dick through the fabric. I put my hands on his head and pulled him hard into my crotch, lifting my hips slightly off the bed as I began to hump his mouth. He moaned and began to jack himself again.
His willingness to subject himself to my every whim excited me, and he almost seemed to get turned on by being demeaned. That caused me to turn up the dial.
"You want something else, Chris?" I asked, as I humped his face.
"Mmmhmm," he groaned, as he kept working me.
I pushed him away from my crotch.
"Tell me what you want," I said.
"I want...I wanna see your dick," he told me.
"Just see it? Is that all you want? I don't think so, Chris. You're a queer, buddy, and you wanna do more than see my dick."
"Yeah," he said, blushing.
"Then tell me what you want with my cock, boy. Say it."
"I…wanna touch it."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Anything else?"
I could see from his face that he was registering the cruelty that ran through this perverse game I was playing. I could also see that his lust was going to trump his humiliation. I smiled savagely as I waited for him to respond.
"I wanna suck your dick," he said quietly.
"You wanna suck my dick?" I laughed. "Of course you do. If I was to let you suck my dick, you gonna promise to give my balls a tongue-bath too? 'Cause I'm gonna want that."
"I promise," he said.
"I dunno, Chris," I said. "I'm not sure you want it bad enough. I got a top-shelf cock, baby, and it deserves some fuckin' worship. Do you really want my cock bad?"
"Yeah, Andy, I do. C'mon," he said. The desperation creeping into his voice amped up my own desire even more.
"Say please," I told him, grinning at him.
"Please, Andy," he pleaded.
"Please what?"
"Please let me suck your cock, Andy," he said.
I waited, loving the game; getting off on the cruelty.
"That's not good enough, faggot. I want you to fuckin' beg me for it. And then I'll think about it."
"Andy, please," he whispered. "I've been watching you since soccer season. You're so beautiful. I've dreamed about this. Please, don't let me get this close and not let me have it. I promise I'll make you feel so good. I'll do anything you want, just let me suck your cock, okay?"
I lifted my hips and slid the briefs down and off. Lying there, watching him stare, zombie-like, at my hard cock, I said, "This what you're whining for, Chris?"
He reached a hand out to take hold of it, and I knocked it away. "You don't fuckin' touch me unless I tell you to, got that?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's so beautiful, though."
"Sniff it," I commanded.
He put his nose to the head of my cock. I grabbed my dick in one hand, and with the other I held his head while I smeared the large ooze of precum at the tip all over his face.
I pulled his head into my crotch, grinding his nose into my pubes. "You like the smell of me, boy?"
"Fuck, yeah," he said.
"Lick my balls," I told him. He went to work, tonguing my sac. I groaned as he took one of my nuts into his mouth. I let him play with me down there for a while, always pushing his hand or mouth away if he moved toward my cock.
After I'd had my fill of that, I raised my legs and held them up with my hands, exposing my butthole to him. "Lick me," I commanded.
"I never…"
"I don't give a shit if you never," I yelled. "Did I ask you if you'd ever?"
"No," he said.
"That's right, I didn't," I replied savagely. "In fact, I didn't ask you shit. I told you somethin'. I told you to get your faggot tongue down here and lick my asshole. So fuckin' do it."
He knelt down and brought his head closer until I felt his tongue dab at my asshole.
"That's right, boy," I said. "Just play with me some with your tongue. I promise I'm clean, buddy; I can't stand bein' gross and dirty down there. I even give it the soap and water treatment after I done my business, so you got nothin' to worry about. I got 'bout the best first asshole you could hope for as you're passing your queer milestones."
He laughed a little.
"What's funny?" I said menacingly.
"I…well, you are, Andy. I'm sorry. I never heard about anybody with an obsession for keeping their asshole clean."
I blushed. I frowned. "I don't like shit, okay? I don't like the idea of havin' any on me. Not even there. Not even a little. You need to quit callin' me out and laughing, faggot, and thank your lucky stars that mine's the first asshole you're goin' down on, 'cause there are some filthy guys out there."
I'd felt a little of the power dynamic slip in that last exchange, so I ratcheted it back up. "What the fuck are you waiting for? I told you to lick my hole, queer. If you want my big cock in your mouth, you better get after it."
Slowly, he moved his head down and began licking along the rim of my ass. Something about the taboo nature of this act always made me crazy with lust.
His initial reluctance gradually morphed into enthusiasm. I decided to push things again. "Now fuck me with your tongue," I commanded him.
"What?"
"You heard me, Chris," I said. "Push your tongue into my hole like it's a dick, and move it in and out. Fuck my asshole with your damn tongue."
"But…ugh…what if you're…"
"What if I don't care?" I snarled.
He waited, uncertainty creasing his forehead, hoping, maybe, that I'd change my mind.
"You tongue-fuck my ass," I hissed, "or I'm takin' my shit and goin' home."
"No, don't," he said. I enjoyed seeing the stricken look on his face. "I…I'll do it."
"Looks like I'm not the only one got an aversion to shit, right?" I said, grinning wickedly. "For what it's worth, I'm pretty sure I got none inside either."
"I said I'll do it," he mumbled. "Just don't make fun of me like that."
"I'm calling the shots here, Chris; I tell you what to do; you don't tell me what to do. You got that?"
"Okay," he said, the resignation evident in his voice.
He brought his tongue back to my asshole. I worked on keeping myself loose down there, and after licking the rim and wetting down my hole, he pushed past the ring, and began thrusting into me and pulling out, over and over.
I can't believe I got this fucker to do that nasty shit, I heard part of myself tell myself.
Another voice chided. Like you haven't done it yourself and liked it? Anyway, this is about the most vile thing you've ever done, treating somebody like this.
I flinched as if I'd been slapped. "Shut up," I said out loud.
Chris looked up. "I didn't say anything."
"Never mind," I told him. The guilt softened my approach momentarily. "That feels so nice, Chris. It's not too bad, is it?"
"You're totally clean, like you said," he told me.
"Okay, good," I said, "but…I mean, it's not bad, is it? I've done it before, and I think it's not bad."
"It's not," he said. "I like it. I like…I mean, you let me into you. It makes me feel…"
"Shut up," I said, trying to climb back into character before things got real. "Just do it."
He nodded and began fucking my asshole with his tongue again.
After a while I said, "You're doin' real good, Chris. I've decided to let you suck my dick, baby. And here's how things are gonna go. I'm gonna fuck your face hard, like I told you, and I'm gonna blow my sticky wad of goo down your gay-ass throat…and I'm gonna give us a few minutes to recover, and then I'm gonna fuck your ass. If you got a condom, that is. You got a condom?"
"You need Magnums," he said.
"Damn right," I said. "You got any?"
"Yeah," he said, blushing.
"All right, then. You're gonna suck me off and I'm gonna cum in your mouth, and then I'm gonna fuck your ass and I'm gonna cum in your guts, and then you're gonna get to cum, and not before. You got that?"
"Yeah," he said. "I'll do it."
"I hope you're ready for me, faggot," I told him. I stood up. "Get on your knees in front of me. That's how we're gonna do this."
He got off the bed and knelt before me. Leaning in, he stuck out his tongue and licked my balls. Making his way up from there, he licked up the shaft of my cock until he reached the head.
"Show me what you got, cocksucker," I said coldly.
He was good. He knew how to give a first-rate blowjob. I looked down at him as he sucked my cock. I gave him a few moments to get used to my size. When he settled in and began giving me a serious blowjob, I grabbed his head and began pulling him into me.
Pretty soon I was fucking his face instead of letting him blow me. He was perfectly compliant, letting me thrust so far down his throat that his nose was up against my pubes. I fucked him like that, using his mouth for my pleasure, making fun of him for being such a cockhound. In other words, acting like a sadistic bastard.
I didn't last long; I was harder than I'd been in a long time, and the whole scenario had me turned on far more than I'd anticipated.
You're a fuckin' pig, and this is downright evil, a part of me protested.
I didn't even react. I just shut my eyes and drowned out that voice by focusing on the sensations I was feeling in my dick.
It wasn't long before I was there. "This is the moment you've waited for, cocksucker. Get ready."
He took a deep gasp of a breath, and I erupted. Groaning, I pulled him into me, mashed his face up against my pubes, and held him there while I pumped my spunk down his throat. "Yeah, that's right, take my fuckin' cum, Chris." I pulled back a little so he'd get a few squirts in his mouth. "Taste me, you little bitch, this is what you been jerkin' off over for weeks, ain't it?"
I pulled out completely and let my dick dump a couple of final squirts on his face, laughing wickedly. "Now take a finger," I told him, "and clean that shit off your face, and eat it." He did it, moaning as he licked his fingers. I looked at his cock; it was so hard, he looked like he was about to burst, and it was oozing a river of precum.
I laughed. "Yeah, you like my big dick, don't you, girly-boy?"
He looked up at me. The shame in his eyes gave me a hard rebuke. He nodded, though, and the lust on his face was as visible as the shame.
I shook off the guilt. "You wanna cum, don't you?"
He nodded and grabbed his dick.
I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand off his cock. "That wasn't our deal, remember? Just be patient, baby, and gimme two minutes, and then I'm gonna fuck the shit outta you. Once I've cum up your ass, then you can cum."
"Okay," he said weakly.
I lay back on the bed. He climbed in next to me. "Can I lie here with you for a minute?"
"Sure, Chris," I smiled.
He lay on his side facing me, looking into my eyes.
"Can I…can I touch you?"
"Sure," I said.
He put a hand on my chest, and made his way tentatively to my right pec. He began tracing a finger around my nipple, which perked up at his touch.
He got up on his knees and straddled me; I let his hands play over my torso for a while.
Gradually he made his way to my dick. Tracing up and down its length with a finger, he said, "You have such a great cock. It's so beautiful."
"Thanks," I said, as he took my cock in his hand. He stroked it gently, and it began to harden and lengthen. Pretty soon, I was fully erect again.
"That's a good boy," I said. "Now grab you a condom, and I'm gonna let you put it on me."
He got up, opened his nightstand drawer, and brought out a wrapped Magnum and a bottle of Astroglide.
I watched, hungrily, as he squeezed the lube onto his fingers and began lubing up his hole.
"You been fucked before, Chris?" I asked.
"Of course I have; I'm a faggot, right?" he said with a mixture of shame, irony, bitterness, and lust.
"Good," I said, ignoring the hostility in that mix. "Because this is gonna be a wild ride, boy."
He didn't reply. He tore open the package, took out the condom, and rolled it onto my dick.
When I'd lubed my cock up, I said, "Lie down on your back." As he did, I put a dollop of Astroglide on my fingers. "Spread 'em," I ordered, and he bent his knees and spread his legs.
I brought my fingers to his hole and lubed him up a little more. I was about to work him with my fingers, get him ready for me, when the beast in me took over.
"I bet you don't need me to get you ready, do you, Chris? I bet your gay ass is already set for me."
"Go ahead," he said, a hint of defiance coloring his words. "I can take what you got. You're not the biggest guy I ever had."
Sarcastic little prick.
"Good," I said, grabbing his legs, pushing them up and back, and positioning the head of my cock at his tight hole." Then you won't mind if I do this."
I pushed in hard, forcing him to take me to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
"Fuck; oh, god, fuckin' hurts!" he moaned. His face was contorted in a grimace of pain. I held my position, though; kept my dick buried all the way in his guts. "C'mon, tough guy, I'm not the biggest guy you ever had," I said contemptuously, spitting the words back in his face. "Shouldn't be any problem at all, then."
"Just be still for a minute, Andy, okay?" he said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be insulting."
"Yes, you were, Chris," I said. "Yes, you were. And we both know it. But you know what? I'm not a size queen, and this ain't no contest. I didn't say I'd be the biggest dick you ever had, but I'm about to be the hardest fuck you ever had, you understand me?"
His eyes widened, and he nodded silently.
"Good," I smiled.
I started moving in and out, watching his face as I fucked him. At first, there was resistance and pain on his face. Gradually, though, he began to get into it. I watched his face relax as I fucked him, and as we went along the hostility in his eyes was replaced by…I didn't know, for sure. Pleasure? Definitely.
But something else too.
The tenderness that settled into his face startled me. I felt my hostility draining away and began to feel the tidal pull of other emotions. His face really was quite beautiful. In a different way from Trey's; in a different way from all the guys I'd lusted after. As I fucked him, his humanity began to weigh heavy on me. His need to be accepted, loved, his need to have dignity. Just like everybody else.
He moaned in contentment, wrapped his arms around my back, and pulled my body into his. As I lay on top of him, feeling his chest against mine, the sadistic game began to fade out and tenderness began to replace it. Without registering it fully, I leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
In the still and quiet of my softer emotions, an accusation made its way to the top of my head. What are you doing? the tenderness asked me. What have you done?
I took in a deep, ragged breath. My exhale was almost a sob. The sound brought his eyes to focus sharply on mine.
I pulled out of him and flipped him over roughly. I pushed him onto his stomach, put one hand hard on his back, and with the other, guided my dick back into him.
I thrust hard, as I had on entering him the first time. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to make the damn tender feelings go away. But I'd stretched him out by now, and my dick entered him easily. When I was all the way in, all I heard from him was a satisfied moan.
"Get up on your hands and knees," I ordered. I pulled him back into me as he obeyed. I got up on my knees and held my hands on his hips. Making as little body contact with him as necessary, I slammed my cock into him, thrusting hard in and out of him. "Feel my dick, faggot? I'm gonna fuckin' tear you up."
In my dark heart, I wanted to hear a whimper, a protest, an outcry of pain. What I got were moans of pleasure. "Feels so good," he groaned. "Yeah, fuck me hard, baby."
"I'm not your baby, faggot," I hissed, and tried to pound the point home even harder, but that only seemed to turn him on more.
His ass was tight, and even though I'd already cum once, I was close.
For some reason, however, the beast was in retreat, and as I came to the finish, I found myself fucking a sweet, effeminate guy I'd just brutalized. A wave of nausea over what I'd done washed over me right at the time my loins tensed up and fired into him. I fought it off, kissing him on the back as I came inside him, holding him close to me and squeezing out my load into his guts. I reached down and grabbed his dick. It was iron in my hands.
I collapsed onto him, and he collapsed onto the bed. I lay on top of him, breathing hard, covering his neck with kisses.
And crying.
Crying.
Goddammit.
I wiped my eyes quickly, pulled out of him, and turned him over.
"I promised I'd let you finish," I said.
He nodded, his eyes still blazing with lust. He grabbed his cock and began stroking.
"No," I said quietly. "Move."
He stopped stroking and looked at me in wonder.
I reached out and took his dick in my hand…
and then leaned in and brought my mouth to it.
He gasped at the warmth and wetness when I wrapped my lips around his cock.
I looked up at him. "You like?"
He closed his eyes and nodded. A tear fell down his cheek.
God, Andy, you're an asshole, I told myself.
I tried to shove the guilt and shame aside as I put him back in my mouth. I focused my entire will on giving him pleasure. I knew how; I was a cocksucker too. I was a faggot too. I liked everything he did.
And there was nothing wrong with that. Or with me.
Or with him.
Except for the way I treated him. And that was wrong.
Monstrously wrong.
I focused on his dick. It was beautiful. I caressed his balls as I stroked him with my tongue, bobbing up and down on his dick, taking him all the way to the hilt sometimes, letting my tongue slide up and down the length of him sometimes.
I put my tongue to work on the sensitive spot just below the head of his cock. In no time at all I had him at the brink. I said, "Fill me up, Chris. I'll swallow every drop, I swear." I took him back in my mouth, and before too long he was coating my throat with his juice.
I wanted to taste him, so I pulled out a little as I'd had him do when I came in his mouth. He squirted three blasts of cum into my mouth, and then I pushed him all the way down my throat again.
He finished, rubbing my back absently a few times. Then he pulled out of me and away from me. Grabbing his knees and pulling his legs into his torso, he sat at the head of his bed, hugging his knees, looking away from me.
I looked at him. He was crying.
I felt like dirt.
My own tears came again then, and hard. I went over to touch him; he let me.
"Oh, God, Chris," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry."
I sat on the bed, backing up against the wall, and pulled him over to me, motioning him to sit in my lap. He backed into me and we sat there. I had my arms over his shoulders, caressing his chest as I kissed his back and neck, crying.
"I was…I was a fuckin' creep to you," I sputtered.
"It's okay," he said. His eyes still dripped a few tears.
"It's not okay," I said. "I was like a goddam…like a goddam rapist."
"No, you weren't," he said. "I wanted this. You didn't rape anybody."
"Okay, but why are you crying, then?"
He sniffled. "You didn't rape me. But you're right: You were mean. You said things that were mean. You hurt me. Not with your body. With your words."
"I know," I said. "I didn't mean them. I just…"
"Yes, you did," he said, interrupting me. "You did mean them. Not all of you, maybe. But…"
He sighed. "I'm used to it, though. Happens a lot."
I looked at him, horrified. "What do you mean?"
"It goes with sex, a lot. Especially with guys like you."
Proud of yourself? my conscience accused.
A fresh set of tears began to stream down my face.
"I'll never forgive myself for this," I told him.
He crawled away from me and sat down on the bed next to me, facing me. "Oh, get over yourself," he said with disgust. "It wasn't the end of the world. And you're a good fuck. I had fun. Partly."
I looked at him earnestly. "Do you hate me?"
He sighed. "Of course not."
I watched his face as he struggled with what to say next.
"You have…you have issues."
Trey's words--the very same words--slammed back into me.
"Part of you hates yourself," he said. "I'm an easy target because if you can project all that onto me--you know, since I'm such a flaming queer faggot," he said bitterly--"you can feel better about yourself."
I closed my eyes. Nodded.
"I didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't," he said. "On some level. I watched you change. You would go in and out of it, you know? I got to see the guy in there that people like. I got to see the guy that...the guy who stood up for Kyle."
"You know about that?"
"Kyle's my friend," he said.
I hadn't known that. Now Kyle would hate me.
I didn't say anything for a long time. "Andy, I already told you. I been treated that way lots of times. It almost comes with the territory."
"I don't care," I said. "It's not right."
"No," he said. "But here you are, talking to me like this. Apologizing. Crying. It's not like you're on a mission to bash queers. So lighten up."
"You're being too good to me."
"What good would it do either of us for me to hate you? And anyway, I liked the sex. I got my fantasy. You were right, you know. I've wanted you for a long time."
"Not like that, I'll bet. Not in your fantasies of me."
"Well, actually, a little like that," he said. "Guys like you are always a little like that with guys like me."
Desperation resonated in my voice as I said, "I have to make it up to you. I have to show you I'm not like that. I have to show you I don't hate…don't hate guys like you."
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "The first thing you have to do is get your own personal shit together. I think you're on a long road. I think you came a distance when you did that stand-up thing for Kyle. But it's clear you got a long way to go."
"Funny," I said. "My roommate just told me the…" I stopped. "Never mind."
He sighed and said, "It's okay. It was good, really. You're beautiful." He leaned in and kissed me. I pulled him in and returned the kiss. A gentle meeting of lips gradually turned into a full-fledged open-mouthed exploration of each other. Finally I pulled away and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Chris. For not hating me. I wish I knew how to make it up to you, because I'm gonna do it. How can I make it up to you?"
"I'll let you work that out on your own," he said. He got off the bed and began putting his clothes back on. "Get dressed and go now, okay?"
I nodded.
Neither of us spoke while I put my clothes on. As I got ready to go I said, "I'll see you around, okay?"
"We're not friends," he said. "You don't need to make me your friend. What do we have in common? I mean, besides…" he laughed, and I couldn't help but grin. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is," I said. "I loved sucking your dick. You have a great dick."
"I know," he grinned. "Anyway, what I was gonna say was that we're not friends, but we're not enemies either. It doesn't have to be an awkward thing when we see each other. Because…you know, in spite of what you may think I think about you, this will be a good memory. In fact, it'll be a jerkoff fantasy."
I felt myself blush. "How can you say that?"
"I told you: You're hot. It was good. Partly, anyway."
He shrugged and continued. "Get over yourself. So many of you jocks think you gotta be the best and biggest in everything. Now you're here talking yourself into believing you gotta be the best and biggest asshole so you can bring the best and biggest hate on yourself. I assure you, you're not the best and biggest asshole. Not even close. You're just a bi guy who's fucked up big-time by his bi-ness. Once you get that worked out, you might be a decent human being."
I walked over to him and pulled him into an embrace, kissing him on the cheek and laying my head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I said.
"I know. It's okay. I like you. I don't hate you."
"Thanks," I said. "I like you too."
"Just get fixed, Andy," he said. "You're fucked up. Face it. Deal with it. Fix it."
"I'll try," I said, sighing.
"No," he said. He grinned and added, "Do or do not. There is no 'try'. "
I laughed. "Yes, Master Yoda."
"Seriously, Andy," he said. "Get fixed. You wanna make it up to me? Get fixed."
"I'm not sure what it'll take for that," I said, as I headed toward the door. "But I will. If it takes fuckin' years."
********
It did.
It hasn't been easy.
I don't know where I got that slice of hatred. Of self-loathing. Of other-hatred. It wasn't from my family.
The worst thing is that it
wasn't overt. In my head, I wasn't a homophobe.
In my heart...
Well, my heart was divided. My heart was fine with gay guys, but it didn't want me to like other guys that way. My heart interpreted it as weakness. My heart believed that it cost me Matt's friendship, Matt's love. So it chose to hate. It chose to take the self-hatred and turn it outward. Part of it chose that, anyway. Even while I was trying to defend and stand up for people like Kyle...people like me.
Even while I was doing that.
There was a corner of my heart left unconvinced, unmoved. Cold and self-loathing.
And that's what grabbed the reins that Thursday as I watched a young gay guy watching me, wanting me.
It's been a challenge to warm that corner. It's been a climb to be fully okay with myself and fully okay with others. Over the years, I'd make two steps forward, then I'd make one step back. The cold place has fought hard, has resisted light and warmth; has resisted self-acceptance. And, consequently, other-acceptance.
It hasn't been easy.
But I think I'm there.
Finally.
This chapter is for you, Chris.
© 2003-2007 by Adam Phillips
Posted: 12/03/10