|Photo Copyright Showtime, Inc. 2002
I slid open the door and let Mom come in. I should have sent her away. I should never have opened the door. And now the door of my private life was going to come flying open. I couldn't stop it. Maybe I didn't even want to stop it.
Moving sideways behind Mom, I struggled to cover the erection tenting my sweatpants and took up a position with my back to her. It reminded me of a time when I was a teenager: She'd caught me in the bathroom with a magazine. She'd flung open the door without knocking and I was standing in front of the mirror, one eye on a bare-chested Hollywood icon and one eye on the mirror, watching myself jack off. I remember dropping the magazine and turning my back as fast as I could, my erection immediately drooping in my fist.
My erection was drooping quickly again this time. Thank God.
Mom was whining about how lonely she was with Dad gone - what a hypocrite, I thought, she despised Dad, and when was he ever around anyway to keep her company? Then, when she tentatively touched my back with her cold fingers, involuntarily I flinched. She hadn't hit me since I was twelve, and in later years I'd trained myself not to flinch every time she raised a hand, but I hadn't seen this one coming.
Then I heard him. Justin. "Brian, are you coming back?"
I heard his bare feet shuffling across the bedroom floor and down the steps. I wondered if he was naked, though later I discovered he'd pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Not that it mattered. He hadn't heard the conversation in the kitchen and he walked right into the middle of it. I heard his gasp of in-drawn breath.
"Justin, this is my mother," I managed to say, almost without irony. Then I added, "Mom, this is Justin."
I still couldn't look at her, but her silence told me everything I needed to know. I heard her turn on her heel and stride out of the apartment. I followed her to the door, stared at her back as she stabbed the elevator button over and over. "Aren't you going to talk to me?" Why did I have to ask? Why did I give a fuck?
"Thank God your father didn't know," she croaked. When I said I'd told him, and when she found out that Clare also knew, she was pissed. How dare she be left out of anything? How dare anyone keep secrets from her? Her parting shot was predictable: "You're going to hell."
I let her leave without another word; I stared as she slowly disappeared down the elevator shaft, and all I could do was stand silently, watching my fingers twisting and turning over themselves. I felt Justin come up behind me, and when his fingers touched my back in the exact same spot where Mom had touched me, I flinched again. "Brian, I’m sorry."
Making myself turn around and smile at Justin, I told him, "Don't worry about it, it's not important." I walked past him, tried to ignore the look on his face. He needed my forgiveness, for giving himself away to my mother, but it was not his fault. He's always so fucking ready to take the blame for things that are not his fault.
"I should have told her years ago," I said now. "So stop being a drama princess, just forget it. Come and take a shower with me."
He followed me into the bathroom but he wouldn't let it go. "Can you talk to her, can you explain - "
"Stop!" I turned and put both hands on his shoulders, shook him. "I told you it's not important, so let it drop."
"But it is important, Brian! It's - "
"No," I insisted, giving his shoulders another shake. "Stop right now." He looked back at me, his mouth open, wanting desperately to continue our conversation. He's always wanting me to talk about my childhood, my family, but it's none of his fucking business. If he's not careful, I'll tell him so.
Justin read the look in my eyes. He closed his mouth, turned away and stood still for a moment, then walked to the desk that holds his computer, sat down abruptly and picked up the drawing wand. Justin works out his problems by losing himself in his art. I wonder how many pictures he's drawn as a result of conversations with me. Hundreds, no doubt. I know I'm a son of a bitch to live with.
Living together was never really my idea, it was sort of forced on me. Yet as I kicked off my sweatpants and stepped under the steaming hot shower spray, I had to admit that I want him here with me. I don't know why exactly, but I do.
As I let hot water run over my head and shoulders and felt the tension seeping out of my muscles, I thought about what Justin had called our ‘fuck-a-thon’ this afternoon. Stealing the Viagra had been his idea, but I knew he was mostly joking. Yet I’d heard enough about the fuck-drug to want to give it a try. It was amazing but not altogether pleasant maintaining a hard-on for hour after hour. I made Justin pay for daring me to try it by fucking him till his ass was raw. He never complained, and I realized he never would. He’s determined to keep up with me.
And what am I doing about that? I’m not sure how far I want to push Justin, yet I keep challenging him and he keeps responding. When I dragged him to the baths the other night, I was sure he would balk when he saw the depravity of the place. I use the word “depravity” in a good way, but lots of guys don’t like it. I think I really wanted to shock Justin. In retrospect I can admit that.
I wanted to shock him, I wanted to see if he’d hang back, but he didn’t. He stood toe to toe with me, he walked with me through the halls echoing with moans and cries, we stood side by side as we fucked a couple of willing guys – including the man who turned out to be Mom’s minister. Later Justin bragged that the guy was totally hot. He wasn’t, of course, he was really just mediocre - but in the baths, ‘mediocre’ and ‘hot’ are synonyms.
Justin likes to fuck, he’s a natural. He’s becoming less and less willing to take no for an answer. That’s why I dragged him to the baths, so he could fuck somebody but still be with me. I’d been sure he wouldn’t go along with it, but he did. Next Date Night is his turn. I wonder what he’s planning?
Date Night is, or started out to be, a joke. It’s such a teenage-sounding thing. Hard to believe I give in to his ridiculous demands sometimes. And he had to go and tell the guys about it, so I’m sure they’ve had a few laughs over this one. I’ve been giving them plenty of reason to laugh at me the last few months. Seems like it should bother me but it doesn’t. I want to be with Justin and he wants to be with me. It’s not permanent. When one of us wants out, that’ll be it. I just need to make sure that I’m the one who wants out first.
Justin’s still on the computer when I come out of the bathroom. His brow is furrowed, he’s concentrating. I stifle a laugh as I realize that he’s shifting uncomfortably on his chair. I’ll bet his asshole is cherry red and stinging. That gives me an idea, so I pull on jeans and a sweatshirt, pull on my boots, and grab my keys from the cut-glass dish on the tall chest. I pause beside the computer and he looks up at me.
“Going out?” he asks. “I thought you finally lost your hard-on.”
“I’ll be right back.” He nods, unconvinced, and turns back to the computer screen. I can’t resist reaching out to lay my hand on top of his head. His beautiful hair is mussed from our gyrations in bed. And well it should be. I fucked him six times in three hours. He glances up at my touch and smiles, that little-boy smile that squeezes something in my chest.
Skipping the elevator, I run down the stairs, across the street and into the drug store on the corner of Tremont. I’m sliding back the loft door again in less than ten minutes. I can hear the shower running, so I sit waiting on the edge of the bed. When Justin comes out of the bathroom, naked and drying himself off with a red towel, he jumps and goes “Eek” when he sees me. He actually SAYS the word “eek,” which is silly but endearing.
“Told you I’d be right back.”
“We’re not going to fuck again, are we?” he asks, his voice so plaintive that I laugh.
“On the bed, on your stomach!” I order him, “Hurry up.” For a moment I think he’s going to refuse or at least argue about it, but quickly he drops the towel and throws himself onto the bed. We really need to change the sheets. I lean over and caress his neck, his shoulders, and run my hand down his beautifully sloping back and over the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. With my right hand I spread his cheeks, and I hear Justin moan, but it’s not with pleasure. Sure enough, his little hole is bright red and it clenches when I lean down to blow on it.
Then I squeeze the tube of cortisone cream I was hiding in my left hand, and rub a generous dollop gently on his flinching soreness. Justin twists his head and tries to see what I’m doing. “That doesn’t smell like lube,” he says.
I hold up the tube for him to see. “Medicine for your butt.”
“Brian.” He’s surprised. “Wow, thanks, Brian. Ooh, that feels good.”
“It’s like anesthetic, sort of. Helps to numb the pain.” I snap the lid closed and he rolls over, grabs my hand.
“Brian, that was so thoughtful of you, to go out and buy this for me.”
“Nah,” I make a face. “It’s not thoughtful, it’s selfish. I don’t want your ass out of commission too long.” Justin laughs and squeezes my hand; I know he wants to hug me, but he holds himself back. He shouldn’t have to do that, but I’m glad he does.
It's my fault Brian's mom found out about us, but he won't talk about it. I get so frustrated sometimes, wanting Brian to open up to me. If he did, I'd start to believe we have a real future together. As it is, he still thinks of me as his fuck-buddy. I know he loves me, but what good is knowing that when Brian won't admit it to himself, much less to me?
I'd collapsed on the bed, my head reeling, my heart pounding, after our sixth fuck of the day. I heard Brian slide open the door, I heard him talking to somebody, then I heard the door close. When Brian didn't come right back, I assumed he was in the kitchen, maybe getting something to drink. Then I sort of zoned out. My ass was hurting really a lot, and I was trying to think of a non-wimpy way to stop Brian from fucking me any more today. I'm not sure how much time passed, but eventually I decided to get up. Luckily I pulled on my sweatpants and didn't just march down the steps in the nude.
'Marching' was out of the question anyway, I could hardly walk. I don't know why I didn't see the woman standing there, I don't know why I didn't hear them talking, but the thing is, I really didn't. I was holding my sore ass and walking bow-legged - exaggerating slightly so that I could tease Brian about it. Then I saw her and stopped dead. When Brian introduced us, I saw the look of comprehension come over his mother's face, quickly replaced by a look of disgust. Brian never even turned around. I guess he knew what her face would look like. "Hi," I said lamely, giving her a wave. She turned on her heel and was out the door, moving pretty fast for such an old lady.
Brian followed her, and my heart jerked in my chest when I saw the way his body sort of collapsed in on itself. He leaned against the door jamb, trying to get his mom to talk to him.
All this time he's talked about his mom and dad, when he's mentioned them at all, so coldly, so callously, anybody would believe he didn't give a shit about them. Now I was seeing for myself how much Brian cared. Brian was fucking devastated by his mom's rejection. And it was my fault.
I stood unmoving, listening to them. I could barely hear his mom, but I did clearly hear her final words. She told him he was going to hell. Brian's shoulders slumped even more and he stared after her as I heard the elevator descending. When he turned and saw my face, immediately he straightened up, resumed his cool, uncaring façade. He didn't blame me for coming into the room and he kept insisting that it didn't matter. He refused to talk to me about it, and finally I felt myself getting angry so I walked away, left him alone. It really hurt that he wouldn't tell me how he was feeling, but nagging him would only make matters worse.
The next time the subject came up, we were at Woody's with the guys. Brian gave them a brief version of what happened, and though he tried to act light-hearted, I heard the bitterness in his words, and I felt the tension in his body when I touched his shoulder briefly. Everyone laughed along with him - except Michael, who tried to reassure Brian that his mom just needed time to get used to it. Brian usually listens to Michael, even when he pretends that he doesn't; they have a lot of history, they love each other so much. I used to be jealous of Michael and he was of me too, but now we're trying to be friends. So I was glad he gave some good advice to Brian.
I was pretty sure Brian was going to out the minister to his mom. Even though he tried to keep it from me, I knew he was angry and hurt that his mom liked the minister better than him. But when I tried to talk to him about it he brushed me off; said he hadn't made up his mind yet and he didn't want to talk about it.
Brian decided to go on to Babylon after Woody's but I didn't want to. Didn't want to watch him chasing dick all night, especially in his black mood; so I sent him off with a smile that I tried hard to make sincere, then I went home and worked on a drawing assignment. At least if I was home he wouldn't drag anybody back there. I'd wanted to make a no-tricks-in-the-loft rule but Brian wouldn't agree. After all it is his home, I'm just living there. Being philosophical should help, but it doesn't really. I went to sleep about midnight, I'm not sure what time Brian got in, but I trust him to keep to the three o'clock rule.
The subject of Brian's mom and the minister didn't come up again for a few days, and even then, Brian would only say "It's over." I pushed him till he told me he didn't out the minister after all. I wasn't surprised, not really. People think Brian is a selfish asshole, and sometimes he can be; but I've witnessed many kindnesses he's done anonymously, without fanfare, and I know he has a good heart. I couldn't love him so much if he didn't, could I?
I saw the minister tonight at Babylon, when Brian went to get our drinks. I was dancing around happily because it was my turn to choose for Date Night and I chose Babylon. I love to dance, I love the loud music and the happy atmosphere, especially when I know I won't be sharing Brian with anyone. He'd pushed his way through the crowd at the bar and I called out to him to make the JB doubles, then I saw the guy, the minister, talking to Brian. For a minute I was afraid Brian would go into one of his black moods, but even though he didn't tell me what the guy said to him when he came back, he was smiling and gave me a kiss as we chugged our drinks. The scotch burned my throat and I was sure it was burning Brian's too, so I rubbed his neck to soothe it, and he pulled me into a hug. I love the way I fit in his arms, the way he scrooches down his body so we're at eye level, the way his mouth covers mine with hot wet kisses.
In the end, I didn't tell mom about her 'son' the minister. I'm still not sure why, but what the fuck, who cares anyway? Not me. Michael says she'll come around someday, but I don't care about that either, I've never cared what she or Pop think of me, and my private life has never been their business. That's all the more true now that I have somebody in my life to look out for.
And there's Gus, too. Maybe someday Mom will want to know she has another grandchild, but she won't hear it from me. I still can't believe I told Pop about Gus before he died. It was strange to see him holding the baby. Lindsay was glad I told him, glad I let him see Gus. She said I'd be glad someday, too. I don't know about that.
Reverend Tom showed up at Babylon tonight and insisted on buying me a drink. He wanted to thank me for not outing him, but I didn't do it for him, and I told him so. Then he says I'm a good son! Whatever. I turned away and carried the JB to where Justin waited. He was jumping around on the dance floor, really enjoying himself, he loves dancing. I'd halfway expected him to drag me to some art gallery or something for his choice on Date Night, I wasn't sure he really loved Babylon the way I do, but apparently he does. I'm glad. And he's a better dancer than I'll ever be. Probably because he can let go and throw himself into the music, something I've never been able to do, even when I'm wasted. It was early so he probably wanted to stay a long time, but I hoped we could go home soon. I wanted to get him into bed.
It's funny, strange, how much I like having sex with Justin. I never thought fucking the same guy over and over had any appeal, would ever have any appeal for me. The thrill of sex is partly in the chase, but it's also in the pleasure of smelling and tasting and touching the skin and the assholes and the cocks of a thousand different men, no two are ever the same. Like fingerprints, or snowflakes.
Now I've discovered that, in a way, Justin is different each time we fuck, amazingly different and comfortably the same, all at once. He's the first guy I've ever known who matches my sexual appetite. He just can't get enough, same as me. Even the night of our Viagra fuck-a-thon, Justin still wanted sex with me. His ass was too sore, so I sucked him off - slowly, so slowly - he was ready to burst a blood vessel with his pent-up orgasm. Christ, that kid is exciting in bed.
Just thinking about having Justin naked and writhing beneath me brings an almost-audible moan to the back of my throat. I lean in and kiss him again, a deep, wet, burning kiss. He slides his tongue into my mouth and pushes his hips hard against me, I can feel his cock swelling and rubbing against mine. I could take him in the backroom - he's always wanting me to do that, and now that we've had public sex in the baths, I know he'd be okay with it. But I don't want to, not tonight. I want him alone, in comfort, in privacy. I want him to myself.
I stop kissing Justin long enough to move my lips to his ear and whisper, "Let's go home soon." He pulls back so he can look at my face, and a slow smile spreads across his delicious mouth. He laughs throatily, then pulls my head down so our lips meet again. If this is a sin, if we're in hell, then I never want to leave. A confetti bomb explodes over our heads, sending golden glitter swirling through the overheated air, dusting Justin's hair and face and shoulders with shiny bits of molten sunshine. Christ, I'm getting romantic, it's time to drag my buttfuck baby home to play.