Becoming Real - 4. IV. The Chary of the Heart

IV. The Chary of the Heart

 

Josh felt sad. Here it was one week later, and this is how he felt? ‘What did it matter,’ he wondered, ‘that only seven days ago I had my first sexual contact with a man? No one can tell. No one gives a damn.’ He stood in the same bar as last week, doing the same things, watching the dancers have a wonderful time, but who cared? Who could tell his world had changed; that he was a different person?

The experience with Dick, an older man, had left him initially exuberant, but somehow that feeling of unconquerability had faded away in an overpowering sorrow. He didn’t exactly know what he felt depressed about; some nameless and nagging anxiety related to shame kept vying for the lead in his mental list of reasons. Was it – he had to face the possibility – that he was guilty, or just embarrassed, to be ‘gay?’ In the past week, that word, that Gay word, had crept slowly into his concept of himself. ‘I am a Gay man.’ No words are harder said than those to the self; parents, teachers, friends can all fall away like dominoes to the admittance of a person to their true identity, but no one can say it to another till the battle to say it to themselves is won.

Why feel sad about it? Wasn’t sex supposed to be the portal to self-confidence; to the greater awareness of the elusive self, and the world as seen through it, and seen beyond it? And yet, something didn’t work. The question still remained: Josh wondered who he was; wondered if anybody wanted him; wanted him as he was. What he thought he wanted was a shot with Gary; the kid who had taken him here for the first time only two weeks ago. Gary’s smaller statue, and Gary being a year younger than Josh, thrilled Joshua with vague ideas of holding Gary’s hand, and maybe slowly building a life with one so like himself. But Gary was gone; off to school in Florida, and Gary had left him advice to not give in to the urge to sleep with just anyone – wait, he said for someone special – someone in Josh’s mind, like Gary. How could Joshua now call this kid, his ‘sponsor,’ and confess that he had slipped. The only straw to grasp on to is that when he did talk to him, he could tell Gary: one, no penetration occurred; and two, Josh did not come. Perhaps that’s it. The one thing waiting for the right guy, otherwise all things were not held as sacred. What was he suspicious about? What did he hold with such chary caution in his heart; his body, or love? Which would lead to his acceptance of himself, to confidence, and maybe even, to pride? Perhaps this was the root of Joshua’s shame. And now, Gary felt farther away than ever.

He tried to check out the environment nonchalantly, first glancing up to where, last Saturday, he had seen a boy with ashen hair who’d set Josh’s heart racing. He wasn’t there. At that table sat three men. The two he could see appeared somewhat alike, the third had his back to him, and Josh could only perceive that he was taller and bigger than his two companions. He envied them, the way they chitchatted, coming in close to each other to drive the noisy club away, to only lean back a moment later with big smiles and twinkling eyes, as if these joyous elements alone had shoved them back in their seats by sheer force. Joshua envied their easygoing, hassle-less friendship. He wanted that for himself. One of the two he could see noticed him and quickly spoke to the faceless third, who then turned around. Josh saw his face for a second; it was a strong face, but smiling eyes took the edge off of it. He had a mustache neatly trimmed over his upper lip, which curved inwards a little bit at the corners of his smile.

Josh turned away, not knowing if he were turning red or not. He thought he’d be more embarrassed over being embarrassed than over something external. If he got flustered over nothing, that was far more humiliating than raising a blush over something real. His thinking wandered back to an incident of true shame. When he was thirteen years old and in eighth grade, one night he had a rather erotic dream about gym class. In the locker room after class, he dreamt he finally got a look at the penis of Todd Brandon, a boy he was strongly, albeit at the time, vaguely attracted to. The next day, Josh found himself in the locker room; all the boys undressing. He pulled down his gym shorts, but furtively kept his eye on Todd’s underwear. He could see the graceful arching of Todd’s lower back as it curved down to the beginning of his backside and disappeared under the waistband of his Fruit of the Looms. The skin sinking out of view was smooth, supple and raised by tiny and finely denoted hair follicles. Josh stood; he paused, waiting for the moment when Todd would turn around. Out of the corner of his eye, he became aware that another kid, the fat and mean-spirited Marc McGill, had suddenly started laughing. He turned towards him, and the kid who would later torture him all through high school, shouted, “Look. It’s so disgusting!” And then he pointed to Josh.

He scanned down his front to see the head of his own prick poking out of the fly of his briefs. Todd Brandon turned and cried out, “OOGH!”

‘Few people in the history of the History of Mankind have ever been more embarrassed than that,’ Josh thought. ‘However, there was that one time in high school driver’s education class, the day we all applied for licenses, and I forgot to put down my weight, so then the instructor shouted to the back of the room “How much do you weigh?” and I had to shout back the answer over fifty snickering heads. Fatty Marc McGill laughed the loudest there that day too.’ He thought of him as witness to every ensuing humiliation Joshua had had to endure.

He peeked over at the tables again, but quickly turned around because the guy with the mustache had already come down and was making his way through the crowd.

Josh thought, ‘I’m not in the mood for this.’ He watched the dancefloor, wondering where that guy was headed. ‘Probably to the restroom,’ he hoped. Joshua tried to glance around casually. He turned an inch to his left and saw the guy standing there. Mr. Mustache leaned in a bit, his eyes inviting reassurance as he said, “Don’t you ever smile?”

Josh’s face went blank, he could say nothing but, “Why?”

The guy leaned in closer, assuming greater secrecy. “Because, it’s so pretty.”

Now Josh could do nothing but grin like a fool. It sounded so silly, like something a villain would say in a 1940s movie to the good-girl seductress, but judging by the arching mustache and the sincere mood of the man’s eyes, he knew the corny comment was grounded in genuine feeling.

“And how”—Josh needed to find out—”would you know, if I never smile?"

“I didn’t say you never smiled. But, you seem to smile only at your own thoughts. How about one for the rest of us?”

Locked in his stupid grin, Josh momentarily thought he’d begin to bawl like a baby. Instead, he stammered out, “And, what can I say to that?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you smile. I just want you to do it more often, and maybe, I can help. Hi, I’m Doug.”

“Joshua.”

“Nice to meet you, Josh – or do you prefer ‘Joshua?’”

“As you like – nice to meet you too.”

They shook hands, or rather Doug impressively took Josh’s hand and enfolded it into his own, like a glove on a snowy day. The man’s touch was powerful, but giving, and at least towards Joshua, invited that intimacy among men as equals, and as potential lovers. Josh’s eyes went up to Doug’s face; they had to go up, for he was quite a bit taller than himself, some of five- or six- inches, Josh guessed. His hair was light brown, and he wore it in a longish crew cut of sorts, moussed up. His eyes sparkled and were dark in contrast to the expression they gave out. His cheeks, rounding off under his eyes, were broad and told of many good old stories by the lines written there, while underneath them, pink flesh grew pinker when smiles drew up those lines like curtains. His mustache was big and graceful riding the space between his nostrils and upper lip. It was the same color as the hair on his head, just as well shaped and cared for. Josh wondered if Doug moussed it too.

Josh said, “I saw you and your friends up there. You guys really look like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah, those old bitches.” His mustache danced. “I can barely take them out anymore – they cause so much trouble.” Doug waved over to his friends – or was it an obscene gesture? Josh couldn’t tell which.

“So, what do you do, Josh?”

“I’m studying architecture.”

“You’re studying architecture?” His brows raised. “How old are you?” A lot of white showed in his eyes, inviting the truth, while his mustache dangled in anticipation.

Seeing that, Josh had to smile a bit more. “I’m twenty.”

“Oh.” Doug’s mouth closed; his eyes narrowed.

“Why? Okay. So, how old did you think I was?”

“I was thinking about twenty-five, thereabouts. How old do you think I am?”

“No, I’m not very good at this, and people get upset.” Doug encouraged him, so Josh tried, ”Thirty-four or five, I guess . . . . ”

“Nope. Wrong. I’m thirty.”

“Really?”

“How old are you again?”

“I’m really twenty.”

“And, I’m really thirty.”

The two eyed each other, one thinking the other was lying; Josh wondering why the other was lying. Joshua changed the subject, believing in the premise that the truth need not be shouted to be true.

“You didn’t tell me what you do.”

“I’m in a completely different field than yours; I guess as different as any two careers could be.”

“What?”

“I’m a cop.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Out in the County.”

“Is that a line of work you enjoy?”

“Oh, I love it. I wouldn’t be happy doing anything else, and then, there are all the fringe benefits.”

“Like what?”

“Like, traffic tickets.”

“You mean giving them out?”

“No; no. I mean, no matter where I go in the country, if I get pulled over for speeding, I just show my police ID, and off I go.”

Josh shook his head in envy. “Must be nice.”

Doug, caught up in the moment, did something he knew he ought not to do, but gazing down into Josh’s baby blues, he could only think how cute Josh seemed at that moment. “You know, if you ever get a ticket from a County cop, just call me, and I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Really? Thanks.”

“I mean, I can’t do it too often, you understand.” His face put on sham sternness. “And you know you should always stay at or below the posted speed limit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Josh was smiling when Doug suddenly said, “You’re a little bit shy, aren’t you?”

Josh stopped smiling for pleasure and instantly felt it switch to a grin of discomfort. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it! I used to be that same way.”

“What happened?”

“I outgrew it. In my line of work, I had to.” Doug’s eyes again offered honest appraisal. “And so will you.”

Joshua began to feel good. This stranger had just given him a piece of his own self-confidence. Josh held the present like a warm glow within him, while his exterior could only grin goofily.

Doug lifted his arm, moved by the reaction his thoughts had on Josh, and put it around the young man’s shoulders. His large hand rocked and gripped Josh’s arm in something like fatherly reassurance. He asked, “Were you planning on going to Magnolia’s tonight?”

Josh thought about it. That nightspot was his personal Little Bighorn; his Waterloo; the first club he tried to go to, but was literally turned away at the door by his own nerves. He’d yet to step foot in there. “Yeah,” he began to say, nodding, “this place is getting pretty noisy.”

“Okay, but do you mind if we go in your car? Because those two”—he pointed up to the table—“drove me here tonight.”

“No problem. But, I want to meet them, so let’s go talk to them.”

Doug maintained a hold on Josh’s shoulder and began to lead the way. The crowd was thick, but they managed to get to the bottom of the steps side-by-side. Here it was impossible to continue, but instead of letting go, Doug’s mighty hand slipped down Josh’s upper arm, momentarily squeezing his elbow, and sliding about his wrist and across his palm to interlace his fingers with Josh’s. As Doug formed a gentle fist by closing his digits around Josh’s hand, the young man had to catch a gasp in his throat. The reaction to Doug’s insistent bit of romance was a swelling in Josh’s jeans, front and center, right behind his fly. With his other hand, and as Doug pulled him up the steps, Josh had to make a quick adjustment. For some reason, he thought of Marc McGill with a contemptuous sneer.

Doug brought him right to the table before releasing his hold. “Josh, this is Jack and Larry, two old queens from way back. Go ahead, ask them what putting make-up on by gaslight was like.”

Larry barked out, “Well!”

Doug continued, “Ladies, this is Joshua.” He emphasized the way that Josh had relayed his name, and made Josh swoon; nobody ever bothered to do that.

Larry stood and kicked his chair towards Josh. His hands came out and latched on to those of the newcomer. “Hi, cutie.” Larry stood behind and leaned on his partner’s shoulders. “Nice to finally meet you. You should have heard Little Miss Dougeena here going on and on about the boy with the sad smile. Sit!”

Joshua did. “It’s nice to meet you too. I was thinking to myself, just as Doug said hello, what a great time you guys were having up here.”

Jack spoke up. “Yeah, better once Mr. Copper-Man left us. Did he tell you?”

“Yeah. He’s police.”

"PO-leece?! Heaves, no. He’s ‘homicide.’ World of difference.”

Larry chipped in. “He’s the type taking notes at the crime scene on the TV shows, aren’t you sweetie?” He made a squishy sound with Doug’s cheek between his fingers.

“Watch it,” Doug warned. “Or there’ll be no one to investigate your inevitable drug overdose – or, are you going like Marylyn Monroe or like Judy Garland this week?” And then to Josh, he added laughing, “It’s always changing which idol they want to perish like – week to week to week.”

Jack told him, “Watch it, Joshua. He’s got a baton like a club, if you know what I mean.”

Josh didn’t, but while he glanced at Doug, that man blushed. He got it. “Oh, does he now? I might have to get out my own notebook – do a little ‘vestigating myself.”

Doug responded by putting his hand on Josh’s shoulder, and Josh’s old problem suddenly returned. Doug said, “We’re going to Magnolia’s now. How about you gals? You just gonna molder away all night here, like some drying out corsage?”

Jack quipped, ”Boutonnière, thank you very much.” They all laughed, and Josh was part of the magical moment he had seen before; a lean-in, a pull-back with sparkling eyes and merriment, only now he was part of it.

Josh pried. “So, Larry; Jack; are you two together?”

Doug jumped in. “Since the beginning of time – how long is it now?”

For the first and only time in the evening, Larry appeared entirely serious. “Sixteen years, come November.”

Jack laughed, giving Josh some advice. “When you know, you know, kid. Get ready, it could happen to you at any time.” Then added slyly to Doug, “Right, Dougie-boy?”

Josh peeped over, and again saw the big bad policeman blush.

“Well . . . ” Larry dragged out the vowel sound. “We were just about to go get your sorry ass and try and pry it back into our car. So let’s get the hell out of here already!”

Larry and Jack were up and soon pushing their way towards the back, clearing a path for Doug and Josh to follow. When these two followers were near the door, Doug stopped abruptly, causing Josh to bump into him. Doug’s hand rose into the air, and as Josh tracked it, it flew over another customer’s head to shake the hand of a man in the crowd. This guy seemed Italian or Latino; was in his mid-twenties; tall, with dark hair and movie-star good looks.

When they were out in the car, Josh asked about him.

“Chase? Oh, he’s a cop, and one hell of a nice kid.”

“And he’s Gay?”

“Of course, at least as far as I know. He could be Bi – but, nah – I don’t think so.”

“How about you?” Josh saw the opportunity to ask without pressing.

“Me? Oh, I’m Gay. That’s for sure, but I’m kind of an exceptional case. You know, everyone’s path is different, and with me, I didn’t realize I was Gay until late. All my life I had some feelings for guys; I never wanted to leave their company; liked looking at handsome guys; being with them and stuff; but I didn’t feel much in terms of wanting to be physical with them. As for the rest of the feelings, I didn’t pay much attention to them. I know it sounds strange – and all my friends ask about it – but it wasn’t repression, ‘cause the urge wasn’t there to have sex with another guy, but then again, I didn’t feel that urge towards women either. Sex with them was just like jacking off; a means to an end. But that all changed.” Doug’s mouth grinned all teeth and suggestion, like a lewd Cheshire Cat. “You want to hear this?”

“Of course, I do – Yeah!”

“This is when I was still married – full disclosure: I was married for ten years; no children – and we lived in this apartment complex in Houston where we had tennis courts and a workout room, and the whole shebang. Then one night after dinner, I went down to the Jacuzzi, and this was great, because every four units in the whole complex had their own Jacuzzi that only they had the key to. So, when I get there, I see my neighbor is already soaking. He was a real nice guy, an airline pilot, and I stick my head in there and asked if he minds if I join him for a while. And why the hell not? There was plenty of room in there. So, he says ‘Sure!’ I slip off my towel and wade on in. Well, you know, we got to talking about this and that, and you know, real casual stuff that didn’t take us anywhere for very long. I was just sitting there, letting my head fall against the rim of the tub, without a care in the world – just letting the bubbles slip up my back – when suddenly, I feel something, you know, on my dick. So, I look down, and I see that this guy’s rubbing my cock with his foot; underwater.”

“So, What’d you do?!”

Doug leaned his head all the way back on Josh’s passenger seat headrest and turned his wicked smile to the driver. “What do you think I did? I got hard.” The memory of the hot tub returned to him full in the car. “It was one of the most sensual feelings I had ever felt. Soft, yet I don’t know, so completely confident and strong. And like a lightbulb – it all made sense. My inclination for being with guys; my love of them in all ways of affection. Of course it meant I was made for them, and them for me. It explained so much. Why I couldn’t really feel for my wife, though I totally respected and cared about her, but it wasn’t like this; not like this guy’s toes stroking my cock head, not at all. And then there was an element of excitement in doing something you’re not supposed to; the element of the new and adventurous. I kept saying to myself ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ but there was my cock straining for the touch of that guy’s foot. Before I knew it, he was blowing me, and if I thought his toes felt great, I’d never felt anything like his lips. Man, all those wasted years with the cold, reluctant, fish lips of women; I know now, only a man knows how to pleasure another man.”

“So what happened?” Josh turned his eyes off the road.

“I came!” Doug said to the car ceiling. “Then I watched him come, and I was fascinated. He had been jacking himself underwater the whole time. I wanted to touch him, but everything in its time, and that was too soon for me. When he got up to go, he turned and said ‘You won’t tell Beth, will you?’ Beth was his wife. I said ‘As long as you don’t tell Karen, I won’t tell nobody.’ Karen was my wife, and so as he left, he said smiling, ‘See ya tomorrow.’ I said ‘I hope so.’ Can you believe it, and that guy was a Navy pilot for twelve years.”

“Well, I guess that’s where he picked up his technique.”

Doug laughed warm-heartedly. “Wherever he learned it, they taught him good – and, later, he taught me just as good.”

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Magnolia’s was less a club than a fun-factory. Five storefronts on two levels meant tens of thousands of square feet, and on the weekends, it was always packed. Off the main entry, an expansive hundred-foot bar was classy in Victorian oak with high glass shelves behind. To the left and right of this central space were sitting rooms with tables and stools, couches and club chairs. Around back, to the right, was the wide corridor that took you to the disco. Here a space bigger than the first three spaces combined pumped out a constant beat with strobing lights and joyous hands in the air. Lots of straight kids came here just to feel the love all around; and ignorant people still ask, what do kids know?

Back through the first-floor bar, and to the left, was the stairs leading up. On the second floor, a similar grand bar – this time in walnut – offered a quieter atmosphere than downstairs. Again, twin withdrawing rooms flanked the bar. The one to the right had four pool tables, the one to the right had foosball, and dartboards, and other games for small groups to play. And back down on the sidewalk, if Magnolia’s was not enough, next door was the biggest drag club in town, and two doors down, was the biggest Lesbian hangout. Parking was always a challenge.

In the new club, Jack and Larry had moved to the dancefloor, while Joshua and Doug found a secluded section on the second floor. They sat at a small table by the windows of the darts room. They had come though the poolroom and across the bar to get here, but as Josh was chasing Doug’s wide strides, he happened to glance down at a table by the windows near the pool tables. Here the ashen-haired boy Josh had wanted to speak to the week before was standing with a couple of guys, all Josh’s age.

Settled in their new place, Josh asked, “I wonder what happened to Larry, and . . . I’m sorry, I forgot his name.”

“Jack. Oh, I’m not worried about them. I think they’ll stay downstairs; it’s where they usually hang out. We’ll catch up with them later.”

From where they sat, Josh had a good view across the bar and into the poolroom where his idol flickered in the light with his white tee-shirt and jocular movements. Suddenly the young man laughed, and the sound traveled back to Doug and Josh as if he were standing next to them.

“Can you see that guy?” Josh asked Doug.

Doug followed Josh’s eyes into the distance, and said, “What guy?”

“That one with the light-colored hair, standing and talking.”

Doug thought he knew which one Josh meant. “Why? You like him?”

Joshua’s attention had never left him. “I think he’s very handsome.” Josh paused. “No, I don’t mean that at all. I think he’s beautiful.”

Doug smiled at the young man’s honesty. “I guess that means you like him.”

Josh met Doug’s gaze. “I guess so.”

“He’s not my type. I like to have a little contrast: tall to shorter; stout to leaner; brunette to blond; you get it – younger to older. I bet if you guys got together, you’d find you’re too alike. No spice; no pico, as they say in Texas; no edge. As for me, that kid’s too skinny.”

Josh inhaled a snorting laugh. “And what about me?”

“Oh”—Doug surveyed him—”you’re just about right.”

“Wait a minute. That sounds like a compliment, but smells like an insult.”

“No; no. It’s the truth!”

“Wow. Quit it. You’re just making it worse!” And he punched Doug on his left thigh, just above the knee. Josh didn’t know what he was doing, but a second playful punch landed half as hard as the first, and lingered. A third hit as hard as a kiss, and stopped. His fingers relaxed, and he touched Doug, the warmth escaping out of the man’s jeans into Josh’s open palm. He felt the muscular form beneath, his fingers trying to take the breadth of his leg within its grasp. Slowly he moved down, the friction feeling sweet and hot till he rounded the knee. “So, you like me?”

Doug studied the young man’s face before him; those eyes so wide and deep, so pained and so needful of something, but of what Doug didn’t know. He still felt the boy’s phantom hand on his leg, and it made his dick shift in his jeans. A pensive smirk moved Doug’s mustache. Out of the blue, he asked, “Do you enjoy watching movies?”

“Yeah, of course. I love movies.”

“’Cause yesterday, Larry lent me a bunch he copied from rentals. Would you like to come by and watch one? I promise”—Doug grew earnest, sat straight up in his chair and crisscrossed his puffed-out chest—“to be a perfect gentleman.”

Josh thought, ‘Well I certainly hope not.’ But he said, “I don’t know. Which ones do you have?”

“Oh, God, just a minute. Let me try and remember the names of some of them. I’ve got Casablanca?”

“Seen it.”

“Or, The Graduate . . . . ”

“Seen that too.”

“Um, I think he gave me Ghost.”

“Doesn’t Larry watch any movies from this decade?”

“Give him a break, he’s a virtual shut-in.”

“Really?”

“No. He’s out flaming it day and night— Oh, there’s one I wanted to watch right away, some South American . . . Argentina?”

“You mean Brazil?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Did you see it?”

“Yes, but”—he turned the question around—”have you?”

“Not yet.”

“You should. It’s really an excellent film – in fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing it one more time.”

And they were off again. Doug led the way, avoiding the pool room altogether, and holding on tightly to Josh’s hand. Josh was swept along the bar, wondering if anyone could see his growing excitement, there right between his legs. Downstairs they saw Larry and Jack and told them they were going to watch Larry’s movie. Larry seemed quite pleased, and nudged Doug, whispering, “Show’em a good one.”

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

“Come on in!”

Josh was still standing in the entry hall to Doug’s apartment when he saw a light go in the room to his right. The door was open, so he went in. Doug stepped up, almost as if to block his further passage.

“You know, I don’t usually invite guys home like this. Call it police suspicion.”

“That’s good,” said Josh. “Because, I don’t usually go home with guys.” He laughed to himself, ‘If Doug only knew he was the second guy I’ve ever been home with.’

Doug showed him around. First was the kitchen, just off to the left of the living room, and open to it with just a counter dividing them. The near-whiteness of these spaces was contrasted with everything Doug chose to place in it. The carpet was dark, and the wood of the upholstered furniture was rich in mellow stain. Below the picture window, the sofa sat ninety-degrees to a wall with shelves and the television. On the low shelf with the TV sat a large statue of a bald eagle. As Joshua passed by it, he noticed that between the books on the shelves were various kinds of other eagles: some in glass; some in porcelain: some with folded wings: some spread eagle; one on top of a lumpy nest. Josh made a mental note of what Doug would like for Christmas.

From the hallway just beyond, Doug called, “Joshua, come in here.”

Josh followed the voice through the doorway. To his left he could see Doug stooping, rooting through the bottom of a closet. Beyond him was Doug’s bed, neat and tidy, and king-sized. Seeing it sent a silent thrill through Josh’s spine. Doug spun up, something in his hand, and gently pushed Josh backwards towards the sofa. “Oh, not yet, kid – whoa . . . . ”

“You’re the one called me in. What for, to get a glimpse of ‘where the magic happens?’”

“Have a seat. I’ll start it up.”

Doug went to work as Josh slipped into the soft upholstery. The TV came on, then a blue screen appeared as Doug fumbled with the remote. A whirring sound made it seem that the movie had started, but Doug grew animated with the remote. Nothing played on the screen. “Just a second. I’ll take care of that.” And Doug pushed the fast-forward button, but still no image emerged. “Oh, great. I don’t know what’s wrong. Josh, you know anything about this stuff?”

Josh knew full well Doug would simply have to push the ‘monitor’ button and switch from TV to one of the other devices, but he shrugged his shoulders like a devilish smile.

“Damn!” said Doug. “We can’t watch it.”

“Well, I guess there’s nothing we can do. It’s all automatic.” Josh played along.

“So, there’s nothing we can do . . . ?”

Josh savored the note of fictitious defeat in Doug’s tone. Again, Josh shrugged.

“That means I can’t watch any of the movies Larry lent me. Now what’ll we do?”

Joshua tried to help the plan along. “Do you have any other movies?”

“I do have”—Doug drew out the pause for effect—“some ‘non-feature’ presentations that Larry gave me.”

“Oh, yeah, like what?”

“There’s one called The Other Side of Tahoe, II. He was telling me about it. In the opening, some guy is racing out the door to join his buddies on the slopes. He’s all packed, gets his gear in his Jeep, but it won’t start. He calls a repairman, and this Black guy comes to work on the car. The client’s a jerk and keeps yelling at the mechanic to hurry it up, so the guy gets mad and they start arguing. The clothes fly off, and the top guy practically rapes the snotty kid. You wouldn’t want . . . to see that one . . . would you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just sounds like a remake of Casablanca, but pop it in. You can check my reaction for yourself.” Josh scanned the eagle eyes; they all seemed to wink at him.

Doug flew back into the hallway and rustled in his closet. He ejected the useless movie, and in went The Other Side of Tahoe, II. Doug sank down into the cushions next to Josh, and their thighs pressed against one another. After a masterfully deft working of a pair of remote buttons, the ‘independent’ film began. To make matters the most comfortable for the both of them, naturally Doug’s arm had to go up and drape across Josh’s shoulder.

The movie started. The scenario unfolded as it had been relayed: a blond boy threw his gear into his Jeep, then jumped in, but it wouldn’t start. Next, they showed him making a phone call, and soon a prime-of-life African American in overalls made a house call. He started to work, but the blond was sassy and kept bothering him. They had an exchange of threats, but what followed didn’t appear like aggression to Josh. The blond in his red ski jumper unzipped the guy in overalls and pulled out an immensely bigger dick than his own. He began to suck it; the pleasure of the pleasure-giver spreading across his face as it sank deeper into his mouth.

Josh quipped, “Doesn’t look much like a ‘rape,’ does it?”

“No, I can’t say that it does, but that’s what Larry said anyway.”

They went back to watching.

“You like him, don’t you?” Doug teased.

“The blond’s cute, and the other guy’s huge!”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve seen bigger.” Doug paused; his hand went to the back of Josh’s head. He patted it softly once or twice then turned it to face him. “In fact, I’ve got bigger.”

Josh swallowed hard. A slow, agonizing grin of admiration swelled his lips, and something beneath his fly swelled also. He didn’t say anything, but turned their attention back to the action. Doug’s arm slipped between Joshua and the sofa cushion; it paused and thrilled the small of Josh’s back.

Now the blond on screen bent himself over the open hatch of his Jeep, making himself comfortable on his rucksack. The would-be mechanic slipped on a condom, and pleasured the waiting orifice with his tongue. Soon he was sliding in, and the blond was gripping his ski gear with clenched fists and rapture-shut eyes. As his lover’s member slowly gained admittance – descending with deliberate hesitation until the man’s orbs would allow no farther allowance – the blond showed in no uncertain terms that he loved it.

Doug’s hand moved up the center of Joshua’s spine; up till the man’s thumb met the hard resistance where the muscle of neck met the base of the boy’s skull. Inside, Josh’s brain slowly shut down. Images of things ostensibly irrelevant floated past his sight, then into nothingness: Gary’s sad eyes; Josh pushing Dick away at their parting, the scent of the man, of gingerbread, lingering as he went; then of a curled and nasty face – a kid who seemed a million miles away – Marc McGill laughing at him, but doing so in slow-motion and in silence. Doug pressed the protuberances at the base of Josh’s skull and massaged them. He turned Josh’s head to his, and kissed him. Josh felt the brushy quality of Doug’s mustache, and shut his eyes even tighter in rhapsodic pleasure. He loved it.

Their tongues said hello, and soon Doug’s big and commanding hand led Josh’s into the bedroom, and onto the bed. They kissed, hands exploring one another, and Josh found out Doug’s earlier boast was no exaggeration at all. He felt the dick grow hard in his hand, and harder between his lips. He heard Doug groan with pleasure, and felt content. Giving pleasure; this is what Josh learned then and there gave him the most satisfaction. A happy lover meant a happy Josh. Later, after they discussed it in hushed tones, the young man watched Doug slip a light-blue condom on and anoint it with lube. More lube went on Doug’s fingers, and Josh felt the tender preparation that Doug must always do for his lovers, or else they couldn’t take him. Slowly, pressing, then releasing, Joshua felt that most intimate of touches for the first time in his life. In the position where Doug could lean over and draw his eager mouth to Josh’s, Joshua’s eyes began to water, and soon Doug spooned the happy tears up with his tongue. But Doug wasn’t done with him yet. He flipped Josh over, pressed the boy’s legs flat together on the bed, and fucked him over and over again, so much so to Josh’s delight, the young man thought the headboard would break through the wall. He momentarily thought about the neighbors on the other side.

Josh got flipped on to his back again, and as Doug collapsed on the bed into his arms, the man pulled off the condom and began panting rhythmically. He kissed Josh with unbridled passion and brought himself to an enormous climax, which spilled hot onto Josh’s belly. Josh didn’t come.

After a hurried clean-up and the pulling up of the sheets, Josh lay in Doug’s embrace, and they chatted the non-important talk of afterglow. After a while, Josh heard Doug’s breathing regulate off into sleep. He kissed his sleeping prince’s forehead, and slipped out of bed.

He found his shorts and tee-shirt, and went to the kitchen. He was hungry and not the least bit tired. In fact, he never felt more awake; more alive. He was going to make a peanut butter sandwich, and as he searched for the bread, he wondered with a half-sneer why he had thought about that fat jerk from his past. He laid out slices and opened the cabinets, looking for the peanut butter. The image of Marc seemed to be fading, like a snapshot long exposed to the burning sun on a grassy day. The cabinet doors made a louder sound than he expected. He didn’t want to wake Doug – then he really smiled – maybe he should wake Doug. Maybe he was hungry for more than a sandwich? He found a jar of Skippy, frowning that it was the chunky kind; but, oh well. On the bread, a thick slather went, and again Josh couldn’t seem to remember the exact tenor of McGill’s screech – it too seemed erased. Josh watched his hands work folding the two slices together. He smelled the rich oily unctuousness he was about to pass into his mouth, and he suddenly realized that people have two first times. The first ‘popping of the cherry’ was a physical act. It could happen with almost anyone, at any time, be accidental, mean as much or as little as the person wanted. But in the meantime, that thing they keep locked in their heart, that chary thing meant to be protected and nourished and only released to what mattered and meant something, that was what the heart gives a second time, and only when ready. This second ‘first time’ is an emotional breaking of the virginal concept. A time the person lets the defense they’ve built up and all around their concept of themself break down within the loving embrace of another. This doesn’t happen by accident, but only when one’s good and ready to surrender the chary of their heart.

Standing over the sink, as to not make a mess, Josh’s eyes scaled up the wall. His mouth chewed, but became a hopeless grin anyway as he realized it was the wall on the other side of the bedroom, where Doug now peacefully slept. The pasty peanut butter glinted through his teeth as he spoke out loud. “Fuck the neighbors.” Then he paused, and added triumphantly, “And fuck you too, Marc McGill, wherever the fuck you are.”

                           

~

 

 

              

        

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