Gordy Comes Home - 12. Chapter 12

As he closed the door behind him. John tried hard to clear his head. He couldn‘t think. So many thoughts teased his brain. They were all bringing overwhelming pain, rage, heartbreak or sadness. Each was devastating. If considered together they would bring madness. Together they could take his mind. Each relentlessly assailed his brain demanding to be considered.

John leaned back against the door, ignoring the flare of pain his asshole telegraphed to his already overloaded brain.

“Mary Anne’s pregnant“? Mentally he grabbed that thought. Instead of the consideration the thought demanded, it was dismissed with “Not my Problem”. The force and fury behind that thought faded then collapsed like a spent Texas dust devil.

This small victory allowed John the strength to push himself away from the door. Again a short, sharp telegram; again ignored. John vaguely realized his tenuous progress was impeded by his left hand. Glancing down he saw his bleached hand gripping the doorknob. He had to focus to make it release it’s death grip. A slight tingle barely registered as blood rushed again into the no longer stressed flesh. John gingerly explored his first steps. He didn’t notice the fingers still curled, as if yet gripping the door knob.

“Wylie fucked up our lives!”. That one was more difficult. Not so easy to tackle. It carried more weight. The calm determination that had rallied John’s brain enough to deal with “Mary Anne’s Pregnant” began slipping. John knew that if he didn’t get control here and now… he would wind up a fetal lump on the floor only to be eventually hauled away.

Even as new tears rolled down his face, John grasped a thought. ‘There never was “our lives”, that was an illusion. It was created so roommates could get their rocks off.

“Our lives”? He felt his lips form a sneer. “Our lives” Bullshit! It was just getting off, nothing more. Just a way to justify the release of excessive hormones.’

“Our lives” refused to surrender to that logic. Instead it insinuated itself more clearly for consideration. ‘Our lives. Sure we spent a lot of time together. Good company, Fooled a lot of people, not just me. I wasn’t the only one taken in. Fuck, look at Mary Anne, she’s going to be stuck with HIM. A single sob shook John and forced him to stop and put his hand against the wall for support. He didn’t even notice that his fingers still curled. ‘They deserve each other.’

Another painful sob, another ass spasm.

John regained control and moved cautiously letting his ass determine the pace. ‘Our lives. Never was, never could be. Two men can’t do that.’

There was no definition for the term “do that”. The negative assessment was enough. “Our lives” did not fade away. Diminis… yes. Not defeated.

Once in the bathroom John moved to a stall to better examine his asshole. He was relieved to find no blood on the outside. He tensed and probed inside. He was even more relieved when his finger extracted only cum.

John wanted to get a shower. A shower would make him feel better. A shower would get him clean. A shower was a like a fresh start everyday. A shower sounded good when nothing else did. A shower would get him clean. John decided to take a shower. Water cleans. Water is a solvent. Water can remove a mountain given time.

Once he turned on the water he realized he would have to use the dispenser soap and shampoo. He stepped out of his boxers and hung them up so they would stay dry. As the water warmed and washed he felt somewhat.. better. He didn’t waste time with shampoo. The soap was a much better cleansing agent. John started with his hair. Three times he lathered, rinsed, and repeated. Still he felt it was still not his normal clean. He moved to scrubbing his face. He lost track of time as his hands covered his face and rubbed vigorously up and down. Soap blended with tears and irritated his eyes. Only the burning in his eyes made him rinse. He never got his torso clean. Every time his scrubbing fingertips got vigorous enough to clean, his asshole screamed.

When it came time to clean his asshole, John gritted his teeth and went in to clean it up.

He attacked the source of his dirty pain. Soap and fingers showed no mercy. He had to be clean. The Pain came as intensely as ever. Still he cleaned.

The pain was blindingly brilliant, exquisite beyond belief. The flashes intensified as his soapy fingers probed.

There were no more flashes. The PAIN became a brilliant wall of brightest light.

Darkness enveloped him.

When John came to, he was in a fetal position on the cold shower floor. The only moisture in his eyes came from shower splatter. He had no idea how long he had been lying there. His body was stiff and forced him to move slowly. His ass reminded him. He moved slowly with extra caution.

John considered soaping again. He was just too tired. The pain in his ass had diminished considerably. There was a new sense of calm. John slowly looked around. He half expected the torment to renew itself. There was only calm.

Numbness had set in. He could feel it‘s, welcoming relief. Numbness enclosed his heart. Wylie would no longer be welcome there.

Only after he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower did he realize he had not brought a towel. He put on his boxers and headed back to the room.

His ass would heal. There was only a burning itch. After what he had experienced it was nothing. His teeth had more than broken the skin on his right hand and there would be scarring. Soap and water was all the attention he would allow.

Moving back to the room he vaguely noted his ass was no longer a consideration in how he walked. For the first time, his hurting ass had subdued enough for the throbbing of his hand to be felt.

Back in the room, he grabbed a towel, finished drying himself and put on clean boxers. John fell asleep at his desk, watching Wylie. Rage was a distant memory.

He woke, stiff, sore, his ass still enflamed and hand throbbing. He had been woken by the sounds of Wylie purging his stomach into the trash can. He went to the bathroom and wet the same towel he had used to dry himself. He cleaned Wylie’s face and helped him get up. Once standing Wylie could only look at the floor.

Noticing the opened jar of Vaseline he asked, “John, did I, did we, did I hurt you last night?”

John thought about the question. He almost asked Wylie to be more specific. Emotionally or physically? The answer was the same either way.

“No, you came in and passed out on the floor. You may have hurt some of the furniture. Stumbling around a bit. I was in bed. What happened last night?” John surprised himself with his calm demeanor. Numb was not bad.

Sobbing, Wylie moved close enough so that his repugnant breath was shared with John. He repeated the same phrase from last night.

Even as he extended his hand, as if to reach for John. John stepped back, both to avoid Wylie‘s foul breath as well as his hand.

“I fucked up. I fucked up our lives. I fucked up everything. Mary Anne is pregnant. I was going to tell you… I was going to tell you, I … “

He couldn’t force the words. It was pointless now. He could only stare at the floor. His hands dropped to his side with shoulders slumped. He couldn’t face John.

“It’s what I would do”. John staggered backward in shock at his own words.

It’s what I would do? Presumptuous. Abortion. Absentee parenting. What made him think he could know Wylie’s mind? Sure they had been fuck buddies. That didn’t mean you could know how a guy would deal with something like this, did it? ‘It’s what I would have done if any one of the girls I fucked came up pregnant.’

How many times had he casually slipped on a rubber never thinking that a slight tear… hell a pin hole… could have such devastating consequences.

It could have been me

.

Now it was he who couldn’t make eye contact. John turned away. He’d had sex with a number of girls. All it takes is one broken rubber and you were fucked!

His last words echoed through his brain. A kaleidoscope whirled in his mind exchanging his situation with Wylie’s. He didn’t want to consider that. He wanted his pain and hurt to be the focus. It was selfish, he knew. That knowledge and those words, his words, forced him into an uncomfortable reality.

It could have been me.

Wylie looked up at John questioningly. He hadn’t heard. He only saw John stumble back and collapse into his chair. Wylie couldn’t force himself to ask John to repeat himself. It might be better if he didn’t know. John met Wylie’s gaze and answered the questioning look, “It could have been me.”

Wylie understood that statement. He hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was “acceptance“. For now, that was enough. It was more than he expected. In considering John’s words, it might be more than he would have given.

Reality demanded their attention.

John was surprised at his own words, “Don’t worry Wylie. It’ll all work out.” He was again surprised by his own sense of calm. His tone was both encouraging and hopeful, neither of which he really felt.

A FLASH OF ANGER!

Wylie had raped him! Being drunk was no excuse for what he had done. No excuse for leading John to believe their love was to be acknowledged… at last, only to have that dream shattered in the worst possible way. Then to explain it with, “Mary Anne’s pregnant“. “John, I’m sorry.” Wylie had seen the rage wash across John’s face. He couldn’t watch. He could only look again at the floor. If John physically attacked him it would be better. Better than the guilt and shame he felt at so disappointing the man he loved. He almost hoped John would hit him.

Wylie waited to be pummeled knowing he wouldn’t fight back.

While his anger flared momentarily. John could see Wylie’s reaction knowing that if he beat the shit out of him, Wylie would not resist.

Numbness reasserted itself and smothered the rage. If he focused on the rape. He would hate Wylie. He would hurt him. Make him feel his pain.

It could have been me.

If he let his anger take hold it might make him feel better; less violated. Then they would be forced to talk about what they had done and how they “had” felt about each other. What they had lost.

That door had closed.

Numbness had smothered the flames of anger and now numbness closed off his heart.

Rape, pain, pregnancy… even so. It could have been me.

Ok, Wylie would be a friend. A friend. Nothing less but never again anything more.

John moved to Wylie and encouraged him to be positive. He laid a hand on Wylie’s shoulder; surprised that he could actually touch him without feeling… anything.

He assured him that he would make a great father. Everything would work out. John and his Dad would be there for him.

Later, John called his father. He did a great job of holding back his tears. His father took it hard. He seemed almost as worried about John as he was about Wylie.

That evening Wylie called John’s dad. They talked for a long time… talked about being a father, a husband and beginning a new family.

Mr. Grant made it clear that Wylie was still family. Neither mentioned John. After that conversation, Wylie talked to Mr. Grant daily.

The morning after, Wylie had placed the same envelope containing keys to the jeep and all the paperwork, check, credit card, et al, on John’s desk. John did not mention it, nor did he touch them.

After five days Wylie reclaimed the envelope.

John wasn’t sure what Wylie and his father had discussed. He didn’t care. Apparently, they had resolved the material issues.

Wylie was insistent about leaving college and providing for his, soon to be, new family. Mr. Grant and John had both talked long and hard against it. Wylie went to the ranch that first weekend. John stayed at the dorm.

John was tempted to imply that they could continue their ah, ah, “friendship”, if only Wylie would stay in school. He could not bring himself to seriously consider the notion. Let alone mention anything like that to Wylie.

Mr. Grant had assured Wylie that if he needed a place for him and his family, it was there. A job would be waiting at the ranch or the dealership. He didn’t have to ask. It was ready, if he needed it. As to the Jeep and other “stuff“, it should be considered an early wedding present.

The last observation Mr. Grant shared with Wylie was, “Son, we don’t know what life holds in store. Sometimes the worst tasting medicine makes the best cure.” Wylie held on to that sentiment.

There had been no drunken sex after the “rape“. That’s how John remembered it. To him it was as if “Mary Anne’s pregnant”, was an afterthought. As time passed, the whole experience, even before the rape, grew smaller, more distant, less significant.

Wylie spent a lot of time with Mary Anne. John was grateful. He needed time. He hadn’t attended classes in their first week back. Wylie had kept his distance.

This was to be his last semester. Mary Anne’s parents had flown in to meet their soon to be son-in-law. During that time it was decided that Wylie would work for her dad.

There were times when John wanted to hit Wylie with a blunt object. There were times when the rage was so intense he had to leave. He found himself often going for a run in the middle of the night. He worked out; alone. He ran alone. He ate alone. He slept alone.

There were moments those first few nights he wanted to crawl in bed with Wylie. To find and give comfort. He wanted to tell Wylie about the rape and to hear his tearful apology. He held back. Finally, there came a point where he could look at Wylie and not feel an extreme emotion. John was never sure if it had been days or weeks, but the time did come.

The second Friday following the rape, Wylie came in staggering. John pretended to be asleep. When Wylie blatantly groped his cock, John simply rolled over. Wylie got the message. John couldn’t sleep. Only after he heard Wylie snoring did he take matters in hand then quietly cry himself to sleep.

Spring break found Wylie at the ranch. John didn’t go. Instead he went to Denver; “on business for his dad“.

The summer that was to have found John and Wylie at the ranch, found John as Wylie’s best man. He and his dad had flown out to L. A. to attend Wylie’s wedding.

Mary Anne’s father owned a Hollywood production company that produced movies and television dramas. Wylie was soon absorbed into the Hollywood lifestyle, that of glamour, wealth and pretense.

At the ranch, John moved Wylie’s belongings into the bedroom furthest from his.

Wylie never visited campus again. He did take Mary Anne to visit the ranch. Mr. Grant enjoyed those visits. Most often those visits coincided with John’s free time from school.

Twice he had visited, at his father’s insistence, Wylie and Mary Anne in Hollywood. Wylie’s father in law encouraged John to do a screen test. Flattered, John, nonetheless declined. Wylie confided that he had been hounded since the day he met the man.

At first, John avoided being alone with Wylie. The first few times were awkward and uncomfortable. That first summer, When Wylie had planned to spend a week at the ranch, no one told John until Wylie was at the door, bag in hand.

Slowly, John let the fact that Wylie was his best friend resurface. It was after more than a few echoes of ‘it could have been me’. They learned to avoid drinking too much. They talked about Wylie becoming a father and John becoming an Uncle.

John eventually learned that Mary Anne was not a bitch. She was level headed, knew what she wanted and was pretty direct in her approach. She told John, in no uncertain terms, while arm in arm with his father, “they“, meaning she, his father and John, were going to be “good fiends“.

She was not at all the spoiled “Hollywood Princess” John had wanted her to be. He found it impossible to hate Mary Anne. His father, to John’s chagrin, hadn’t even tried.

From the beginning, he had greeted her and her family as his own. Even Conchatta was taken with her. The new arrival was eagerly anticipated by all. Conchatta refused to understand why the delivery couldn’t take place at the ranch, or at least in the local hospital.

One of the spare rooms was converted into a nursery. Mr. Grant wanted nothing to stand in the way of their visits.

When John and his dad saw Wylie’s name in the credits of a popular police drama, they called to congratulate Wylie. When asked what it was like to be a “big time Hollywood producer, Wylie responded with, “It’s a lot like ranching. You select the right bulls, the right cows and the right pasture. You ride herd and hope for the best. All the time knowing, unlike ranching, that God (network execs) really is watching you.”

John visited them, in Hollywood. Though she was big enough to be carrying twins, Mary Anne’s enthusiasm and joy at being pregnant was undiminished. John could see she truly loved his best friend.

John had come to consider her a “good friend“. While Wylie was at work she entertained him. She showed him the sights of Hollywood and introduced him to television actors and movie stars.

The first time she pointed out that a well known movie star was secretly gay, John had searched her face. Had Wylie told her?

She caught his look and explained, “My only brother is gay. I hope you don’t have a problem with gays.” John relaxed and assured her, he just didn’t know that many.

She seemed to be determined to “fix” John up with casual introductions. A couple of “accidental” meetings when they were at lunch. Some “friends” invited to dinner. As well as out and out blind dates. He had even been snagged, twice, to escort “Starlets” to Hollywood parties.

Every “date” was followed up by a grilling. Usually Mary Anne gave him the third degree. Sometimes, if it appeared he had an intimate experience, Wylie was drafted, to do the questioning. Even then it was obvious Wylie was acting on Mary Anne’s directions. John took it all in his stride. Sometimes the date would be a real chore. Sometimes they were a pleasure.

It was two days before John was to leave for the ranch that Bradford John Keyes, first saw the light of day. John stayed an extra week and his father flew out to see “his grandson” for the first time.

They flew back together. John sensed his father drawing closer to him. He appreciated the comfort it brought.

John dated girls throughout his time at college. The semester after Wylie left, he had moved to a two bedroom apartment near campus. He never took a roommate. In fact he was careful of making “male” friends. Even the co-eds he took home, seldom stayed longer than overnight. John put forth extra efforts to ensure his condoms never broke.

The dreams that preceded his sexual relationship with Wylie returned. They only ever featured Wylie. After John again became sexually active with the co-eds, did the dreams fade and eventually disappear… almost.

Of his time in Hollywood John only recalled one date. Linda.

Linda had been the wedding planner for Wylie and Mary Anne’s wedding. She and Mary Anne, had been friends since high school. She had been a frequent visitor while John was in Hollywood. She was pretty, with an exuberance that seemed to lift John’s spirit. Her exuberance in bed had lifted John’s libido.

It should have come as no surprise when she showed up, at the ranch, with the Keyes family. They stayed a week. Linda spent only the first night in her room. Most of the days were spent either at John’s side or visiting him with drinks and snacks where ever he was working. He enjoyed her attention.

John seemed oblivious to his father’s and Conchatta’s cool reception of Linda. Even Wylie was likely to flash a frown when Linda would plop down in John’s lap.

The time spent with Linda and his new “nephew” was all too short. John was not surprised at how he instantly took to Wylie’s son. What surprised him was the fact that he had promised to visit Hollywood more often. An even bigger surprise was that he missed Linda.

That summer after graduation, the dreams of Wylie had returned with full force. Those dreams affected John even when he wasn’t sleeping.

It may have been coincidental. The day after a particularly vivid dream of Wylie, John found himself on a plane to Hollywood. He visited Wylie and family but, he stayed at Linda’s.

John and Linda had dated off and on. More off . Her visits to the ranch had been sporadic. John sometimes visited the Keyes without calling Linda. Still they were much more than friends. John could do worse.

Before ‘Brad’ was four years old he had a new aunt. Linda.

When John told his father about his decision to marry Linda, the reaction was not what he had expected. “Son, I think this all too soon. Are you sure this isn’t a rebound romance? When you hurt, like you been hurting…” Mr. Grant turned to stare into the distance. “Damn it John. Sometimes, what we are sure will be the cure… turns out to be poison.”

John’s blush had faded by the time he found his voice. “Dad, I appreciate your concern. I feel this is right for me. Linda is a great girl. She wants children and so do I. We’ll make a good couple. She will continue to spend time working in Hollywood but we intend to build a life here at the ranch.”

His father’s face brightened at his son’s last remark. “John, if you were a teenager, I would send you to your room to think about this. Your not. I love you, son. If this gets you back to being your old self. I welcome it. I will also welcome my new daughter in law. Just don’t expect me to melt overnight.”

The hug they shared was warm and loving. Still, John was a little haunted by his father’s remarks. He felt sure his dad would come to love Linda as he did. He did love her; didn’t he?

The next person he told was Conchatta. Her reaction was out and out hostile. She didn’t speak to John for two days. When he left for Hollywood to propose, she even refused to say goodbye.

Wylie greeted John at the airport with a hug. The short notice visit was obviously welcomed. He insisted on showing pictures of Brad. John shared his enthusiasm, even though he had already received those same photos. Two were in his wallet.

On the way to the house Wylie mentioned there was a lot of speculation about his visit. Was there any truth to the rumors concerning he and Linda. When John told his friend of his intentions, the car suddenly seemed small and cramped. Wylie rolled down his window to get some air, even though air conditioned air was blowing in his face.

Wylie got off the interstate and pulled into the first restaurant. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some lunch.” Once parked, he called Mary Anne to let her know. As usual, there was more to the conversation. Like all calls between Wylie and Mary Anne, it was mostly one-sided.

Seated in the restaurant, Wylie studied his friends face. Wylie, in fact, was surprised when a waiter asked to take their drink orders.

John had unsweetened tea. Wylie a double whisky. Ordering one for John, he explained, “After all, we have something to celebrate. Don’t we?”

To John, that seemed more a challenge than a statement. He became wary. “Look Wylie, Dad and Conchatta have already expressed their, uh, lack of enthusiasm. I expected, you, of all people, to support my decision. Maybe, we should forget lunch and I’ll just talk to Mary Anne.”

The waiter appeared with the drinks. The whisky suddenly appealed to John. When he took his glass, he was surprised to find his hand embraced by Wylie’s. Wylie started to speak.

John’s face flushed as he glared at Wylie’s hand holding his. He shifted that same glare to his friend’s face. Wylie jerked his hand back, as if burnt.

Wylie took a strong gulp of whisky. He choked. He covered his face with his napkin as he regained his composure. He glanced up at John’s face to see the glare fading.

“I’m sorry John. In spite of Mary Anne’s insistence, I refused to believe it could happen.” Hastily he added, “I mean you two hardly know each other.” The glare returned.

“You could hardly be considered an expert on premarital courtship.”

John snapped, the glare fading to a sneer.

John felt satisfied, and a little guilty, at the hurt that remark had put on Wylie’s face. More satisfied than guilty. The numbness returned, trumping all emotion. His face became placid.

“Look Wylie, you and Mary Anne seem to be happy. Brad is, is almost like I had a son. I just want the people I love, to accept my decision. I hope that Linda and I can have what you have with Mary Anne... Children and all.” John could see Wylie struggle. He hoped the past would not be revisited. Now or ever.

Wylie sipped his whisky.

“John, the only person I want to see happy, more than you, is Bradford John Keyes.” The emphasis on the middle name spoke volumes.

The wedding took place in Wylie and Mary’s Anne’s Garden.