Spammer by Anel Viz

“Spammer”

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(Author’s note: In keeping with the theme of Internet spam, I have not given the main character of this story a name.)

13. More Joel

At twenty-five, Norm had done more than come to terms with his sexuality. He’d found a name for it: his sexuality was the man he loved. It had taken him seven years to figure out, which to him seemed like a long time. As a small-town boy with no contact with the gay world at large, he didn’t realize that most people, unless one hundred percent straight or one hundred percent gay, can spend a lifetime looking for a label for themselves and never find one. People like Joel, he thought, would call themselves bi, but how honest is it for a man with a wife and kids to pretend he’s anything but gay when his need to have sex with men is so imperious that he’ll bombard some poor unsuspecting guy with anonymous emails written in the sheltering cocoon of his closet? Joel was as queer as a three-dollar bill.

Bi wouldn’t do for him either. He’d had sex with men and women, and had enjoyed both, with a lot of women and only one man while he lived in Austin, and in Winona just with women. But something was missing, so he supposed he must be bi and began hooking up with men too. The sex was usually good – he’d had enough experience with him to make it good, even with a first-timer – and he welcomed the variety, but sex wasn’t what he missed. He missed having sex with him. Not that he didn’t have it on the weekends, but he got horny during the week, and naturally assumed he was hungry for sex. He was, and he wasn’t. He had sex, and it felt good, and that was all. It was sex, and at the same time it wasn’t. Unless bi meant complete indifference to the genitalia the people you took to bed had on them, he wasn’t bi. No, nor gay nor straight either. He was Norm.

As a kid, for him sex was just sex, though except for beating off with a buddy he’d only done it with girls. He took it for granted he was straight, as most kids do who aren’t obviously one or the other. He’d gone to have a look at those emails because any kind of sex was a turn on and he wanted to see “real life” porn. The last thing he expected was that his friend would come on to him. He hadn’t really, at least not directly. Asking him if he’d written them could have been a tease, and probably was, whatever his motives for the teasing. At eighteen, getting teased about being gay can be as bad as an accusation. If the man had propositioned him or begun caressing him or even made a grab for him, nothing more would have happened. Instead, he forced himself on him before he knew what was happening, and it did happen. He was too ashamed to tell anyone. Ashamed that he’d been raped, that he hadn’t resisted, that it excited him. He wasn’t supposed to like how it felt. He was confused, and ashamed of his confusion.

He went back to do it again to find out what he was. He didn’t. He only found out that the man really was the nice guy he’d taken him for. The unspeakable violation of his body he had done out of anger, the same kind of anger he had felt when he realized he was being hit on. He might easily have done the same if some fairy made a pass at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that the unconscious values of an adolescent also drew him back to the man who had subdued him, like a gang member, cocky and sure of himself and his free will, will do anything his leader says. Wrapped in the sheltering safety of an older man’s arms, his sense of having been beaten evaporated and the wound to his manhood healed. He was a superb lover who drew sensations out of his body he’d never got by humping girls. He went on doing it with him for the sex and because he liked the guy, and didn’t worry whether it meant he was gay or not. Eventually he’d grow tired of it and go back to being normal, no question about it. He confronted Joel because the emails kept coming in and forced him to think about himself. They kept telling him he was gay, and he rebelled against it.

He never dreamed he’d fall in love, though, in retrospect, he’d probably fallen in love with him already. How wonderful it had felt to hear him say “I love you”! He’d wanted so long to say them himself, and was afraid of everything they implied. Yet they implied nothing, really. They said it all.

So why agree to a three-way with Joel, of all people? Because he’d try anything, because the thought of any new experience with the man he loved excited him. He had ideas about a second three-way, this one with a woman. If he, the straight partner, did it with a man, why shouldn’t his gay partner try it with a woman? In Winona, of course, not in Austin. Word of it might get around, and they both felt safe and happy in the closet.

It began as a three-way, the two of them undressing Joel, slowly, sensuously, then both mouths going down on him, licking him all over. The guy writhed and moaned, so happy they thought he’d start crying any minute. He came almost at once. Norm half expected him to get dressed and go home, but they weren’t done yet. He couldn’t wait to see them naked, and his eyes lit up when he did. He got to his knees and sucked them, going from one cock to other and back again.

After that their so-called threesome turned into a set of one-on-ones with the sex-starved Joel, them active, him passive. He wanted to suck and be fucked in every position he’d ever heard of, and asked if they knew of any others, which of course they did. Topping was nothing special to him; he did that at home all the time, clearly an exaggeration. They didn’t think he ever bottomed for his wife, just that she didn’t put out anywhere close to “all the time”.)

It looked as though the three-way would mean them servicing number three on one side of the sandwich or the other, but when at last he’d had enough – two hours on the bottom! – he wanted to watch them go at, and he saw what two men having sex could be like. For them it was business as usual, but in front of an audience.

Before Joel left he asked, “Can we do it again sometime?”

“We might, but next time let’s have a real three-way. Not taking turns – all of us on top of each other at once.”

Posted: 11/21/08