Boy Story: The Road Taken - 51. You’re Always Famous to Me

You’re Always Famous to Me

The play came at a most inopportune time. We had just gotten over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend and we were getting back into the swing of campus life. Now we were going back out with family once again. Oh well. As I mentioned before, Ginny had bought six tickets in August to Les Misérables at the Wang Center for herself, her boyfriend Bill, Helen and her husband John, Parker, and me. Bill offered to drive into town and we’d all meet Helen and John at the restaurant.

Yes, the venue is called The Wang Center (later it became The Wang Theatre), or more commonly The Wang. <<OK, enter your favorite Wang jokes here.>> The venue was saved from the wrecking ball as a result of a multimillion dollar donation from Dr. An Wang of Wang Laboratories. When the donation was made in the 1980s, Wang Labs was one of the leading computer companies in the world. Then in 1990, Dr. Wang died unexpectedly and, not long after, so did the company.

The only point in even mentioning the trip to the play was an occurrence at the restaurant, which I will get to shortly.

The restaurant we chose was picked for its menu, location, and price range. Since it was in the heart of the theatre district, it was also known as the place where actors would often go out to eat. Photos of actors—some well known, some not so much—adorned the walls just about everywhere.

Ginny, Bill, Parker, and I arrived early and opted to wait for Helen and John at the table. Parker and I studied the menu to be sure we were going to order something that gave us the most bang for our buck. Parker suggested we order different meals so that we could share. Helen and John turned up a few minutes later and joined us at the table.

To make a long story short, we all ordered and got our meals after a short wait. I ordered a NY sirloin steak dinner and Parker ordered an Italian-style shrimp dish over pasta. While we were eating, I was feeling pretty good that we were made to feel part of the group rather than outsiders. There was always a concern when older children go out with their parents and their friends. Throw the same sex aspect in and there is potential for an us vs. them scenario developing. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. There were plenty of topics to talk about, from Parker’s swimming to campus life.

I don’t know what it is about straight couples. There is THE question that frequently seems to get asked when it comes to same sex couples. Helen’s husband John, attempting to be gay-friendly, asked…”So who’s the top?”

I guess straight couples think that one of us is the “man” and one of us is the “woman.” But the fact is, neither of us is the woman. In more adventurous straight sex, is the woman sometimes on top? So who is the top there? What if two guys are flip-flopping? Who is “the top” there?

Granted, in straight sex, the woman is always the receiver because that’s the way the body parts go. In boy-boy sex, you have the option to give or receive. Of course, you’re also using different body parts for different functions. But trying to compare straight sex and gay sex is like trying to compare basketball to ice hockey. They are both sports, right? And they are played by athletes, right? But in no way are they played the same way.

So asking a gay couple “who’s the top?” is not ignorant, so much as it’s just an uninformed question. But that’s the straight mindset, and I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. Straight folks often try to take gay sex and convert it to something they are more familiar with—straight sex—and go from there. Or perhaps that question comes up because many straight couples are secretly fascinated to find out who in the couple is taking it and who is giving it.

“So who’s the top?”

Parker replied, “We both are from time to time.” At that point, the person asking the question either has to let it go and try to wrap their head around it or try to clarify it by getting into TMI territory. I had visions of Parker taking out a pad of paper and pencil and drawing x-rated diagrams. John thankfully let it go. We knew he wasn’t asking it to be mean spirited, he was just trying to make inclusive conversation, so we weren’t insulted in any way.

Some gay couples aren’t so forgiving. They get easily offended by that question. I met a gay couple years later that when asked that question would reply with, “Let me ask you. When you have sex with your wife, do you eat her out first?” Enough said.

We settled up the bill with our waiter and we began putting on our coats before heading out to the theatre. Just then, a waitress walks by me and does a double take. She spins around in front of me and says, “I know you. You’re that actor!”

I looked to my left and then to my right. “Me? No, I’m not anybody famous.”

She continued, “Yeah right. I know your name…it’s on the tip of my tongue…”

I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights as I peeked over at the rest of my party. They were smiling or giggling obviously enjoying the spectacle.

“Where are you headed,” the waitress added.

“Uh, Les Misérables at the Wang Center.”

“Oh, are you in that?”

“Uh, not if I can help it.”

“Ha ha ha. I see. Well it was nice meeting you, and good luck tonight! I know I’ll remember your name as soon as you walk away.”

So at this point nearly everyone in the restaurant was turned around to see who the celebrity was. Some were talking amongst themselves to see who could guess first. I saw many blank faces.

“OK, nice meeting you, too!” I said as I quickly walked away. My heart was pounding in my chest out of pure embarrassment.

As we got outside, Ginny said, “What the hell was that all about?”

“I have no idea,” I tried.

“Didn’t you hear?” Parker began as he grabbed me by the arm. “Matt, is a famous actor. Wherever do you find the time?” he joked to me.

“Who do you think she had me confused with?” I asked out loud. Then the group started guessing young, dark-haired actors of the period.

“Tom Cruise?”

“Matthew Broderick?”

“Richard Gere…10 years ago?”

“Keeanu Reeves?”

“Steve McQueen’s son?”

“Who?”

“Steve McQueen…he was a famous actor.”

“We know that. His son isn’t famous, is he?”

“Well, he’s famous for being Steve McQueen’s son.”

“I don’t care, Matt. You’re always famous to me,” Parker proclaimed. I gave him a quick hug.

Well, there were jokes for the rest of the night about the group getting to meet my actor friends or questions about that night’s performance were routed toward me. “I’m sure Matt could tell you that. He’s in the industry.” I did wonder if the waitress actually thought I was someone famous or if she was trying to pick me up. Her delivery was so genuine I was pretty sure it was the former, but there are a lot of good actors with jobs as wait staff while they plan moves for their big break. Good enough to pull off a deception at any rate. In the end, it didn’t matter. I was flattered either way.

As for the play, well, it is an opera about the French Revolution performed in English. Therefore every line is sung as if part of a song. It became a little off-putting after a while. There is nothing wrong with the format of a standard musical where you get dramatic action interlaced with musical numbers, such as with The Sound of Music or something like that. But a production where every line of dialogue is sung, was a bit exhausting to follow and didn’t do much to capture our attention throughout. However, the pretense of going out to a play performed in a beautiful old gem of a theatre was a worthwhile experience.

Once the play was off my calendar, I had the most perplexing task before me. Christmas was coming in a few weeks and Parker, Ginny, and I had decided to exchange gifts. I had figured out what to get everyone…everyone except one important figure in my life…and it’s not who you would think. Finding just the right gift for Ginny was stressing me out.

Ginny had become very important to me over the past year. She gave me a place to live over the summer enabling me to accept a good-paying summer job and she was the person who basically allowed me access to Parker. She could have very easily shut me out of the picture if she didn’t want me being in her son’s life. Granted, she didn’t have much of a choice because Parker was the happiest he’d been in years…and so was I. Since Ginny was in my corner, I wanted to get her something special to show her I was appreciative. But what do you get someone who has everything? Giving her a gift card was the easy way out but not exactly thoughtful. What could I get her that she’d really appreciate?

After agonizing over it for days, it suddenly hit me, but I’d have to get Parker involved. So I swore him to secrecy and pitched my idea. “What if we both were to go to the health clinic and get HIV tests? We could give her the results and she would see in black and white what we assumed already.”

“Hey, you know what? That’s a good idea. Then she’d never have that question rolling around in the dark recesses of her brain any more. It’s perfect!”

“OK, but it’s my gift. I’ll pay for both tests,” I stated.

“That’s fine because I already bought her the hanging planter boxes she wanted for the back deck,” he replied.

“Alright, but we’ll have to move quickly on this because Christmas is fast approaching.”

I had gone to this hospital clinic before when I was injured at work once over the summer. I wasn’t watching where I was going and took a wood plank to the face in the shed. It cut me directly across the right eyebrow and when a coworker saw it, he suggested I get stitches. It was right before quitting time, so I was tempted to simply go home and put a band-aid on it. Since I was covered under my parents’ health insurance at the time, I had second thoughts and went to the clinic. While I was waiting for my four stitches, I noticed there were flyers on the wall about HIV testing performed there quick and easy. And now that knowledge was coming in handy.

I drove us to the clinic on Tuesday afternoon because we both had full schedules on Monday. We checked in and told the nurse we both wanted to have HIV tests and asked how long the results take. The nurse said, “We usually get results in three to five days.”

“Oh, perfect,” I said. “Sign us up!”

No surprises here. We both had our blood drawn and we returned the following week to get the results. We were both HIV negative. I joked that if the results had turned out otherwise, I’d be forced to find a different gift. But we were both 100% sure of the results even before we got them, so we could joke about it.

A few days later, I walked into our dorm room and Parker was on the phone.

“You did? Oh my God, how was it? … uh huh…uh huh...He did?...Great! Oh yeah, of course…I’m so happy for you, Connor!...That’s great!...No, no. I’m just glad I could help…Sure, I’ll keep it between us. Can I tell Matt?...No, he doesn’t know him. OK, oh man. Congratulations! OK, OK, yup, you too. Bye.”

“Hi!” he said looking over at me.

“Hi, did I hear you talking to Connor?” I asked.

“Oh, I certainly was!” he replied.

“So how's he doing?”

“Come over here on the bed and I’ll tell you.”

“On the bed? You're not planning to molest me, are you?” I joked.

“Well, that goes without saying,” he replied.

So I crawled across the bed until I was next to him. Then I pulled him into me and held him.

“Gee, you’re minty fresh today,” I commented noting the smell of spearmint in the vicinity of the bed.

“Yeah, it’s these. You want one?” he flashed a package of spearmint leaves jelly candies that I remember from my childhood.

“Sure! My gosh, I haven’t seen these in years.”

“I know. My mother used to feed me these in church when I was little to keep me quiet. When I saw them in the store the other day, I just had to buy them. Here have some,” Parker said holding out the package.

I took a couple and popped them in my mouth. I figured it’s never a bad thing to have minty fresh breath.

“So what were you saying about Connor?” I queried.

“I think I did a really good thing,” he began, “but it’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time. Here, get comfortable first,” I suggested.

He repositioned his body against me. Once he was comfortable, I wrapped my arms around him and held him again, and I kissed him on the forehead.

“Do you want the story or do you want me to molest you first?”

“Well, you can molest me anytime,” I reminded him.

“That’s what I like about you.”

“Oh, I thought it was the extra inches.”

“Oh yeah, that too!” he exclaimed and then fell silent for 5 seconds.

“Fuck, I can’t wait! All this molesting talk is turning me on,” he broke in. He rolled over and went for my belt, and my pants were down at my knees in seconds. “Oh, look at you. I see I’m not the only one who’s turned on.”

“My secret is exposed,” I declared.

“You’ve got more than that exposed,” he said as my manhood slowly disappeared into his mouth and worked its way down his throat.

“And that’s what I like about you…no gag reflex!”

He responded with a “Mmmph.”

Then the war began with Parker doing his darnedest to get me off and me trying my darnedest to hold out as long as I could. It always resulted in a healthy climax coupled with a good liquid expulsion. This day was no different and was followed by Parker releasing his warm shots onto my bare chest. Parker was so adept at oral, it was all that anyone would ever need. Anything more was just me being greedy…but we were both addicted to being greedy.

“Wow, I bet your load would fill a shot glass,” Parker blurted out.

“Just the way you like it?”

“It was very tasty.”

Parker grabbed a damp towel from his morning shower and wiped my chest clean. He threw the towel across the room into the hamper and crawled back into my arms.

“I love you so much!” Parker said when he finally got settled back in against me.

“I’m totally enamored with you, my dear,” I replied.

“Enamored…that’s French, right?”

“Originally. Just like you.”

“Well, I’m actually half French.”

“Oh yeah, what’s the other half?” I asked.

“Scottish and Irish.”

“Oh. You must be French below the waist then,” I conjectured.

“What are you saying?”

“Haven’t you heard of the Irish curse?”

“I’ve heard of the Asian curse.”

“Oh that’s even worse,” I assured him.

“Well, one thing’s for sure…there ain’t any Asian in your background,” he replied.

“Then my cum would taste like soy sauce!” I shot back.

“Ha ha ha!”

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