Nowhere We Know
Chapter 2
It’s around 1 PM when we finally make it out of the Guggenheim, and I must admit it wasn’t boring. I actually enjoyed myself.
“So, what was your favorite?” I ask Justin, as we head towards Central Park.
“I don’t know… there’s so many… aside from Monet’s stuff, I really liked Miro’s, and of course, Picasso’s… What about you? What did you like?”
“I liked Kandinsky a lot.”
“Figures. He’s all about clearly defined hard lines, symmetry, geometry… very… mathematical.”
“Are you calling me mathematical?”
“Kind of,” he smiles, scrunching up his nose.
“That is so insulting.”
“Stop pretending to be offended by what I say about you. I know you, remember?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I am so hungry,” he says, pulling my arm to get me to walk faster.
We cross 5th Avenue, and walk into the park, heading down one of the winding paths. Then he spots a hot dog stand, and quickens the pace once more.
“Oh no,” I say, pulling him back to face me. “I am not eating that shit.”
“Sure you are, and it’ll be delicious.”
“What did I tell you about trying to boss me around?”
“Just eat a fucking hot dog and shut up. I want to make it to the Met by 2:00. It closes at 5:30, and it’s fucking huge.”
“Do you HAVE to drag me to another museum today? Can’t you cut me some slack?”
“You’re the one who wants to leave on Wednesday. If we had more time, I’d spread it out more. But you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he states sincerely.
“How noble of you. I think I’ll stick around, and make sure you don’t get lost.”
“Good, now stop complaining. Whining is for people like Mikey.”
I laugh, and he drags me to that godforsaken hot dog stand. I watch him order a huge disgusting dog with everything on it, and get mine with the three standard condiments only, plus two Cokes.
We sit on a bench, and he laughs at me.
“What?”
“You’re drinking Coke!”
“I know, it’s frightening.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you imbibe a soda, or eat a hot dog for that matter. Can I take a picture?”
“Fuck you. If you want me to stop complaining, then you have to stop picking on me.”
“I’m not picking on you. This is just… a day of firsts, I guess.”
“Well you can store it in your memory bank then. If you whip out a camera, I will hurt you.”
“You will not.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Nope. No challenge, but I will catch you off guard before the day’s over.”
“We’ll see.”
“Indeed,” he says, taking a huge bite out of his dog.
“You look so sexy when you’re dripping greasy condiments from your gaping mouth,” I tease.
He gives me the finger, and goes on eating.
I reach over with a napkin, and wipe off his face, scrubbing a little too hard.
“Ow! Leave me alone.”
“Now who’s whining?” I say, taking a bite of my so-called lunch.
“We should look at the maps. I have them in my backpack.”
“We are not going to look at maps in the middle of the park. We’ll look like lame-ass tourists.”
“Get off it, Brian. First off, we are technically tourists. Secondly, no one gives a shit.”
“I do.”
“You are so immature.”
“Says the 20-year-old cartoon lover.”
“What the fuck else are we going to do while we sit here? If you want, we could head over to the Met already, or we could talk some more!” he says deliberately annoying me.
“Fine. We’ll look at the fucking maps. Just wait a few minutes would you? I’m eating.”
“How do you feel about Chicago?” he asks me.
“It’s a cool city. Why?”
“Well, we could make that one stop. If we’re planning on staying up north for now. The only sucky thing is we’ll have to drive back through PA.”
“Well that’s inevitable. As long as we steer clear of Pittsburgh, I’m fine.”
“This is going to be so fun!”
“I hope so.”
I really do hope this all turns out well. It wouldn’t really help much if we ended up murdering each other on the side of a highway. But then again, that’s what sex is for. Angry fucking is always fantastic.
“Let’s try not to fight, ok?” he says as if reading my mind. He always fucking does that.
“Ok.”
“And I won’t bug you about talking to me, but I think you should. I mean, there won’t be much else to do.”
“I wasn’t planning on giving you the silent treatment.”
“You know what I mean. This is a really good opportunity to get to know each other better. We lived together for a year, and there’s still so much that I don’t know about you. And there’s a lot that you don’t know about me.”
“I know.”
He gets up off the bench, tossing his trash into a bin, and pulls out a blanket from his backpack. Has to be from the hotel. He gestures for me to follow him, and we walk over to a sunny spot on the grass. I watch him unfold the blanket and spread it over the ground. He then flops down onto it, and I sit down beside him.
“Maybe we should make a deal,” he says, picking up the conversation.
“What kind of a deal?”
“Let’s make a deal that everyday we’ll tell each other something that we’ve never told each other before.”
“Sounds suspicious to me.”
“It’s not suspicious,” he chuckles, slapping me playfully. “It’s a good fucking idea. It doesn’t have to be something deeply profound, but it shouldn’t be stupid trivial shit all the time either. You’re not allowed to cop out like that, and neither am I. But we can start slow.”
“Okay, Monty Hall, you have a deal.”
“Good. Let’s start now, then. You go first.”
“That is so sneaky. It was your brilliant idea, so you start.”
“Fine… let me think…”
“Take your time,” I reply, gulping down my Coke.
What the fuck am I getting myself into? I watch him stare at the sky, wracking his brain for something to say.
“Okay, I’ve got it… I really hate orange juice now.”
“What the fuck?” I laugh. “You used to drink the hell out of it when you lived with me. We had gallons of orange juice.”
“I know,” he says laughing with me. “I had a bad experience a few months back, involving way too many Screwdrivers, and I puked all over the place. After that it makes me too disgusted to even think about drinking it.”
“But it was the vodka that fucked you up.”
“I know, but the taste was all orange. And it haunted me for days afterwards. Everything I consumed had an orangey edge to it.”
“You need to learn how to hold your liquor, little boy.”
“You know damn well I can hold my liquor! It was just… we were celebrating, and it got out of hand. I don’t know why it got to me… maybe I hadn’t eaten much that day, or something. I can’t remember. I kind of passed out after I threw up.”
“That’s not good.”
“It was okay. I was taken care of.”
I don’t say anything, because I know he’s talking about Ethan. He got drunk celebrating something with Ethan, and then the good fiddler helped him get all better. How lovely.
Before I get a chance to feel bitter, he nudges my leg.
“Your turn.”
“Okay… I… really liked that hot dog. I secretly love fast food, but I refrain from indulging.”
“No way!”
I shrug my shoulders, and smile at him.
“That is so sad!” he says, pulling me into a hug.
“Get off me.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t deny yourself. I bet you have a really fast metabolism. You work out all the time, and you keep in shape. You’re way too strict about your diet. I can’t see you getting fat. It’s not fucking possible.”
“I’m just health-conscious. You should be too.”
“Please!” he snorts. “You’ve been doing drugs for how long? And drinking every night for how long? And smoking cigarettes…”
“That’s different.”
“Whatever! It is not different. Eating unhealthy, tasty meals every once in a while is not going to hurt you.”
“Quit trying to change me. I’m always going to wear designer clothes, and I’m always going to eat healthily. And I’m always going to smoke, and drink, and everything else. That’s just the way I am.”
“Uh huh, and you think that two months on the road is going to be filled with healthy eating, and regular workouts? And clean clothes? You really haven’t thought this through have you?”
“I have, actually. I thought about it for a long time.”
“Well then, you know what you should do?”
“What?”
“You should throw out all your principles for this trip, and just go with the flow. You NEVER do that. You don’t allow yourself that freedom. This is a vacation from your life back in the Pitts, right? So, logically, you should do exactly that. Be… just be.”
“Isn’t that a Calvin Klein perfume slogan?”
“Maybe, but it’s good advice. I was thinking about it the other day, actually. I’ve learned to be myself, and not obsess over every little detail all the time. And you haven’t at all. You’re too uptight, because you place a thousand and one limits on yourself. You need to learn how to just be.”
As irritating as it is getting unwanted advice from my much younger lover, I have to concede that he has a point. This is supposed to be an escape. Part of it is not having any connections to the Pitts while I'm gone, but if I’m mentally still there myself, then what’s the point?
“When did you get so wise?”
“Eh, I’ve lived a little these twenty years,” he beams at me.
Damn. I forgot how… amazing he can be. So fucking hopeful all the time. But now he seems really happy. Way happier than I’ve seen him in a long, long time. And I guess that’s partly my fault. I made him unhappy for a while, and I didn’t care. I was too concerned with my own feelings. Of course, I wasn’t happy either, but I’m starting to feel like it again. He makes me feel a little hopeful myself, and I guess that makes me happy. Just seeing him in such a good mood puts me in one, too.
“You’ve still got a long way to go,” I inform him.
“So have you, Brian.” He says it softly, so as to put more meaning on the simple words.
I don’t know how this got so serious so quickly, but I don’t mind it. We’re both here because we want to be, and we both know that now. I can’t keep denying him access to my thoughts and my feelings out of some twisted form of resentment or anger. I’m sure there’s a lot of anger towards me stored up inside of him. It might all blow up one day, but I suppose the way to prevent that from happening isn’t to hold back. That’ll just piss him off, and this whole idea will be shot to shit.
I want this to be a summer of fun. As hokey as it sounds, it’s about freedom too. Freedom to try and let it all go, and get back to basics. Connect with myself again. I’ve spent a long time going through the motions, without really contemplating anything. Without that it all loses its meaning. I think my life lost a lot of its meaning a long time ago. And Justin… he was a chance that I almost took. For a while I was ready to take the plunge, and go with it, but it didn’t turn out like I thought. I don’t know what it was. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe he wasn’t either. But, maybe it is time to take that chance. To try again. Maybe that’s what I’m really doing here.
He continues to look right through me with his penetrating blue eyes, and I bring him to me for a tender kiss. Tender… god, I’ve never kissed anyone tenderly before. Before him, that is. He’s the only one who’s ever gotten that side of me. He must realize that.
“Brian Kinney,” he says, pulling back only inches from my face, “I do believe that you’re becoming a romantic.”
“Romantic? I don’t do romance.”
“We’re sitting in the middle of Central Park, on a sunny day, kissing on a blanket, and talking about life, the day after you whisked me away on an unplanned adventure. That’s kind of romantic to me.”
“Good, cuz this is all you’re getting.”
“I doubt that,” he says, kissing me again as I run my hands through his long locks.
“You know I really like your hair.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it looks good long. I like getting my hand caught in it.”
“See? You are so sweet!”
“Fuck off, I’m evil.”
“You should let your hair grow out.”
“Yeah right. I have a hard enough time taming it now.”
“It’d be hot! And you could grow a beard or something.”
I cackle loudly and push him off me, sitting up.
“I’d look like a fucking madman with long hair and a beard.”
“You would not. I bet you could pull off the scruffy look really well… like Jude Law, or Brad Pitt. They look even hotter when they’re scruffy.”
“You really are trying to reduce me to the lowest common denominator aren’t you?”
“I’m just trying to get you loose.”
“You know me. Loose is my middle name.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s why you like me so much.”
“I do. I like you a lot.”
“I like you too.”
“Good. That’s settled then.”
*********************
I feel like if I don’t stop smiling soon, my mouth is going to fall off. That or my face is going to be permanently painted with a smile. I can’t stop it. And I don’t want to, even though it’s hurting my face.
“Shit, we forgot to look at the maps,” I tell him, remembering our previous objective.
“We’ll do it later. There’s plenty of time.”
“No there’s not. We have to get going soon. You’re not going to keep me away from that building,” I say, pointing to the Met, which stands on the right edge of the park.
“I know, I know.”
“We should head that way soon.”
“We will, just let me lay here for a bit,” he says falling back down on the blanket.
“Fine,” I say, laying back down as well.
“Do you wanna check out the clubs tonight?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
“Uh, sure.”
“It’s either tonight, or on the next trip, because I am not driving with a hangover on Wednesday.”
“We can go tonight if you want. I’ve been picking all the stuff so far, so I guess it’s fair.”
“Good. You get your museums, I get clubbing, and shopping.”
“I want to go to MOMA tomorrow. I wanted to go to the Whitney too, but I don’t think I can handle so many galleries in so little time. So I guess I’ll wait on that one. You can come with me, or do your own thing.”
“I guess we could go to MOMA in the morning, and then you can be at my mercy for the rest of the day. Fair?”
“Fair.”
I can’t believe he’s doing all this stuff with me. This is just too fuckin’ unreal.
“You can go by yourself if you want,” I find myself explaining. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, you’re coming with me. I’m going to force you into a fabulous outfit, and make you see how great designers are. And tomorrow night we could go out to eat. Break in your new clothes.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Nope.”
“You mean like a date?”
“Call it what ever you want. I call it eating, but that’s just me.”
I want to yell “I LOVE YOU!” at the top of my lungs, but I won’t. I can’t even say it to him in a normal, even tone of voice. I don’t think he’d be amused if I proclaimed it to half the city.
“Did I mention that I really really like you?”
“Once or twice.”
He closes his eyes, and I stand up, to get ready to leave, but he just lies there. Suddenly I think of the camera in my bag, and covertly reach for it. His eyes are still closed, and his left arm is up above his head, and a slight hint of skin can be seen between his shirt, and his jeans. He looks fucking amazing. I adjust the shutter speed to fit the outdoor lighting, put the camera to my face, change the aperture, and focus the lens, snapping a picture.
The background city noise covers the small clicking sound the shutter makes, and I snap a couple more at different angles, before calling to him.
“Bri.”
He opens his eyes, staring straight into the camera, and I press the release button.
“Perfect!”
“You are so fucked,” he says with a wide grin.
“You actually thought I would go on a road trip and not take pictures?”
“We’re not on the road.”
“Doesn’t matter. I take pictures when I feel like it, and I felt like it then.”
“I don’t like being photographed.”
“Well then you’re going to have to get over it, because I intend on taking lots of pictures of you on this trip. And I’ll have to show you how to use this SLR, so you can take pictures of me,” I state, smiling sweetly.
“Where’d you get that?” he asks, taking the camera from me as I squat down next to him.
“It was a present.”
“From?”
“Ethan,” I wince. “He bought it for me when he got a big advance on his recording contract. I’d wanted one forever. And I haven’t used it much, yet.”
“Well, I guess we can break it in. How does it work?”
I explain to him a little about shutter speed, film speed, distance, aperture, and focus.
“One day I want to have my own dark room, and develop all my own stuff. I can manipulate the film, and add some cool stuff to my computer art. Until then, I’ll settle for the school facilities.”
“You could make some hot X-rated photos with this thing.”
“There’s an idea.”
I look across the park, and take in the tall buildings looming over the vast expanse of green. And I hear a shutter click.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking back at Brian.
“Taking your picture.”
“Thanks,” I smile, and he snaps another one.
“No problem.”
“Let’s get to the damn Met already.”
I jump up and pull his arm, helping him to stand. Then I gather up the blanket, and get Brian to help me shake it out and fold it back up.
I put the blanket and the camera back in my backpack, and we make our way to the large gallery.
Once inside and paid for, I grab Brian’s hand tightly, dragging him around from place to place. We hardly speak, except the occasional “Hurry up,” or “Slow down”. This place is so fucking huge that it’d take a few days to go through it all, and we only have a few hours. In order to see at least half of half the stuff that I want to see, I have to keep a fast pace, with Brian firmly latched onto my arm, so as not to lose him.
Somehow we manage to zip through the American and European Paintings and Sculptures sections, as well as the Egyptian, Greek and Roman, Medieval, and Modern Art sections. Some time is spent looking at the Drawings and Prints, as well as the Photographs. There are two interesting special exhibitions that we breeze through as well: Art of the First Cities, which has some amazing artifacts from Ancient Mesopotamia, and a Manet/Velasquez exhibit dealing with the Spanish influence on French Art.
By the time the museum closes, I’m completely wiped out. I stumble down the outside steps, and ungracefully throw myself down in a half-sitting, half-laying position. Brian looks down at me, shaking his head amusedly.
“Now, how the fuck am I supposed to take you out tonight?” he asks.
“Half-dead, I guess.”
He sits down beside me with far more grace than he should have when we’re both supposed to be exhausted.
“It’s not fair of you to not fully participate in the activities I plan, since I’ve been patient and compliant with all of yours so far,” he says. I can tell by his tone of voice that he’s mocking me, but he’s also being completely honest. Dare I say he’s actually looking forward to going dancing with me? And I feel like I’d rather jump off a tall skyscraper than dance right now.
“I’m sorry, Bri. I’m just… I’ll be all achy if I go dancing. I already feel like I’ll fall apart if I move.”
“Well, too fucking bad. You’re coming,” he orders unmercifully, rising from the steps. “Now, get your ass up and come back to the hotel. I’ll see if I can’t loosen you up a bit.”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t wanna fuck right now!” I cry indignantly. For once, sex with Brian is the last thing on my mind.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that, you little twat,” he says, taking my hand again, and pulling me up. “Besides, who said anything about fucking?”
His sexy smirk kills me even more, and I groan.
We make our way back to the hotel in relative silence, and as soon as we reach the solace of our room, I immediately collapse on the soft bed, moaning loudly at the much needed comfort.
“You are beyond ridiculous,” Brian laughs, making his way to the bathroom.
I hear the faucets being turned on, and the tub begin to fill up, and he doesn’t reappear for ten minutes. I assume he’s getting into the bath, and curse him for getting that brilliant idea before me.
I resign myself to sleeping it off in the plush bed, and kick off my shoes, turning on my stomach and burying my body into the down comforter. No sooner am I settled, than I feel Brian’s strong hands brace my sides, pulling me up. He sets me onto the floor, and turns me around to face his nakedness. Without a word, he pulls my shirt up over my head, and undoes my pants for me, as if I’m completely unfit to do these things myself. I smile at him, once I’m disrobed and he pushes me towards the bathroom.
The white porcelain claw-foot tub is built to accommodate two people and then some. I dip my foot into the hot water, and slowly step in, easing myself down into the silky wetness. Brian steps in behind me, and places his legs on either side of me, pulling me back towards his chest. I lie back, with my head on his left shoulder, and sigh contentedly.
“You’re killing me, Brian,” I say softly.
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t tense up either. He’s been so relaxed this whole day, and he’s really surprised me. First off, he’s actually being kind. He’s been talking to me. He’s been laughing with me. He hasn’t once left me alone all day, even for a hot, easy fuck in a public restroom. I could really get used to this side of Brian. This Brian outside of Pittsburgh. This Brian that allows himself to relax, and stop worrying. I don’t want to get used to this Brian though, because knowing him, he could fly off the handle and become his old self in the blink of an eye. So, I know better than to get too comfortable. This is still Brian Kinney we’re talking about, and with him, certainty is the least likely thing you can expect.
“God, this feels so fucking good,” I tell him. The water feels extremely soothing to my slightly aching muscles, and I could easily fall asleep in here for a couple of hours.
“I put in some oils and bath salts. They should help you relax.”
“It’s totally working,” I say, closing my eyes, and gripping his right thigh with my hand.
His left arm goes around my middle, as his right one remains on the rim of the tub, and he lightly strokes my skin.
This is the most romantic fucking day of my life, I’d say. Sure, Ethan loved to do wildly sappy things like bring me roses and chocolates, and watch sunsets and sunrises, and play romantic violin music, and say “I love you”, not to mention countless other meaningless phrases of love and passion, but those things could never come close to this. Those things weren’t really me. And Ethan wasn’t really Brian. I’d take Brian going to museums with me, and talking and laughing in the park with me, and taking a bath with me a million fucking times over Ethan’s bullshit hokey gestures, and hollow words. And the thing is, Brian doesn’t even know he’s being romantic. He’s not trying too hard. He’s just going with the flow. Finally. And I always knew he had that ability, if he’d only drop some of his pretenses for a few seconds.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, slicing through my thoughts.
“I’m thinking… that this is going to be the best summer of my life.”
“How can you be sure?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“Really? A hunch? You’re not much of a hunching type of person.”
“So what? I have good instincts.”
“Sometimes,” he amends, poking me in the rib.
“Sometimes,” I agree, silently cursing myself for the slip.
“So what’s been your best summer so far? What am I up against?”
“Hmm… I haven’t really thought about that. I guess it would be the summer before I met you. Daphne and I went to visit her aunt in Vancouver. It was pretty fun. Sarah is her name, and she’s kind of a hippie. We smoked a lot of pot, and hung out downtown. We went snowboarding, and took a trip to a cabin in the mountains. I think it was called Galliano Island. We went to the beach on Vancouver Island. It was pretty cool.”
“A summer spent with straight chicks. No wonder you came searching for cock first thing you got back.”
I slap his thigh playfully, “I did not come searching for cock!”
“Oh really? Then what exactly did you come searching for?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I guess I just wanted to be myself. Finally. I figured Liberty Ave. was a good place to start,” I pause, shaking my head with a chuckle. “I was hoping and fantasizing I’d meet someone there. That I’d get to have sex at last. That he’d be some hot, amazing guy. But, I didn’t think it would happen. I thought I’d go down there, walk around, scope out the place, and head back home. Luckily, I was completely wrong about that.”
Brian snorts right next to my ear, causing me to shiver.
“I couldn’t believe you didn’t run away. I really was expecting you to. I figured the easiest way to get you to stay was to show you the goods. That’s why I was moving so fast. And you kept rambling on about completely inane things,” he says with a hint of laughter.
“Shut up! I was young, and scared, and stupid!” I exclaim, turning beet red, and slapping his thigh again.
“I know you were. It was kind of endearing. I could practically smell your fear, but what amazed me was that it didn’t stop you. Your fear didn’t deter you from getting what you wanted. You were so fucking ballsy. Not just that night, but in those following months. I was such a dick, and you didn’t care. And that was scary for me. It was like there was nothing I could fucking do to make you not care.”
“That’s because YOU cared.”
“When did you figure that out?”
“Sometime after the third or fourth time you fucked me. When did you?” I counter, feeling every bit as ballsy as I did almost three years ago, and every bit as scared.
“I don’t know. After… I guess it was after… at the hospital,” he says, slightly hoarse.
“It couldn’t have been then. It had to be before that.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was. I’m not really good at distinguishing feelings, am I?” he chuckles.
“One of my favorite memories of back then was when we danced at Babylon, when you were trying to convince me to do what I wanted to do, and fuck my parents. Your little anti-Dartmouth speech. That’s what really cemented it for me. It was like proof to me that you really cared. I was so happy that night.”
“That was a pretty hot night,” he says lasciviously, reducing it to sex as usual.
“Yeah, it was,” I smile.
For a brief moment, I miss those days. As exhausting as it was chasing after Brian relentlessly, the thrill of getting him to succumb always felt fucking fantastic. But for all the darkness that befell us after the bashing, those were my favorite times. I really felt for a while like Brian was in love with me. Really, truly, in love with me. And he had these moments of absolute sweetness that practically killed me. And he kept saving me over and over from what I thought was death. The horrible nightmares, the fear of being out in public, losing my ability to be an artist… he saved me, and he loved me, and he kept me… even when I was broken. And that really got me. It’s why I’m here right now.
********************
I don’t know how we got started on this trip down memory lane, but I want off the ride. I’m saying a little too much here, and after the day we’ve had, I think it’s best to try and hold on to what little dignity I have left. I know he doesn’t see it like that. He doesn’t see it as me losing, but I really don’t care what he thinks. I mean, I do. But I’m what really matters. My opinions of myself. And I say this has gone far enough for one day.
On the other hand, it’s been an exceptionally good day. In fact, I can’t quite remember the last great day I’ve spent. My life is too fucking tragic. I’m constantly plaguing myself with doom and gloom, and I guess it feels good to drop all of that. To adopt a better outlook. Just for the summer. To make it a good one. To make this whole lunatic fringe idea worth something.
But I still want to change the subject.
“So, what’d you think of the Met?”
He laughs loudly, like he was expecting me to do exactly that.
“I thought it was pretty fucking cool, even though we needed WAY more time to take everything in. I really loved the Egyptian stuff. All the old stuff, really. The Greek and Roman, and the Mesopotamian. It was so amazing to see such ancient relics in person. The European art was great, and all the stuff from the Renaissance. The Modern Art was great too, but we’ll see the best of that tomorrow at MOMA. You’ll get to see some Mies van der Rohe,” he says, rubbing my right thigh.
Wrapping my arms around him tightly, without warning I push myself down, submerging both our bodies fully in the warm water. I release him, and push my head back up, catching a glimpse of Justin sputtering as I run a hand over my face, smirking.
“Oh, you’re SO going to get it!” he yells, turning and toppling himself onto me, dunking my head down into the water.
We wrestle around, splashing large amounts of water onto the bathroom floor, slapping, pinching, and rubbing flesh, while trying to gain the upper hand in half-drowning each other. Soon enough, the play-fighting turns into play-groping and making out, and not long after, I’m sliding into him again.
Once we’ve finished bathing, fucking, then bathing again, we emerge from the bathroom with unappealing, shriveled skin. Justin laughs at the scowl on my face, and comments on his affinity for fucking in water. I roll my eyes, and his stomach growls.
“What are we eating?”
“Room service.”
“Sweet,” he says, dashing over to get the menu. He looks younger in the big terrycloth robe. Just like he did the last time we were here. God, that was an amazing fuck.
“I am in desperate need of a hamburger.”
“What? You just ate a hotdog earlier.”
“So?”
“So… Justin, that’s disgusting.”
“Fuck off. I want a hamburger. More specifically… a bacon cheeseburger.”
“Jesus. You’re going to die of a heart attack by the time you’re my age.”
“You’re just jealous. Now that I know how fond you are of greasy food, I’ll pay no attention to your silly health talk.”
“Fine. You can find someone else to fuck your fat ass once it’s doubled in size.”
“You’d love that. More to grab onto.”
“Sorry. I don’t do fat.”
“You would dump me for gaining weight?” he gasps, like he’s really appalled and offended.
“Hell yes. I don’t fuck fatties.”
“Oh my god! You are so fucking rude! I can’t believe you would do that!”
“Justin, first of all, you’re not going to get fat. Second of all, we’re not going out. Thirdly, you have to know by now that I’m a shallow motherfucker. So in conclusion, shut the fuck up and order me a Greek salad.”
He stands there, mouth agape, thinking of how to react, and I try my hardest to keep in the laughter that desperately wants to spill out of me.
“Well, Brian, first of all, I COULD get fat. It’s a possibility. No one knows for sure what they’ll look like in the future. ESPECIALLY as they get OLDER. Second, keep telling yourself that we’re not going out. Maybe that’ll make it a little less true. Third, you’re not as shallow as you think you are. And in conclusion, you can order the fucking food,” he tosses out, moving to grab a book from his backpack, and lay down on the bed calmly.
What a drama queen.
I shake my head, and laugh quietly, making my way to the phone to order the food. Afterwards, I make my way over to the bed, rolling the kid over so I can give him a look that silently tells him to cut it out. And then I kiss him. He eyes me warily, pretending to be skeptical as to whether or not he should forgive me, so I kiss him again, and this time he smiles, and pushes me off of him, turning back over to read his book.
He looks over at me, surprised, when I slump onto the bed once more after retrieving my own book.
“‘On the Road’,” he says, reading the title. “How appropriate.”
“Yep. I’m halfway through it. It kind of provided some of the incentive for the road trip. Ever read it?”
“Yeah. A couple years ago. It was good. The Dean Moriarty character is totally hot.”
“What are you reading?”
“‘Jitterbug Perfume’ by Tom Robbins,” he says, flipping back to show me the cover.
“Humorous?”
“Quite.”
He goes back to his book, and I open mine. I spend a minute thinking about the absurdity of being in a bed with Justin and not fucking. Nowhere near fucking, but reading instead. Then again, it’s not like we’re waiting to fall asleep. It’s not THAT hetero. We’re just passing the time. Waiting for our food. No, tonight before bed there will be a whole lot more going on. So, fuck it.
We both get engrossed in our reading, and soon enough, our food arrives. I ignore the looks the room service guy is directing at both me and Justin, and sit back on the bed, letting Justin deal with him.
As I quietly eat my salad, I’m forced to watch Justin scarf down his revoltingly huge burger, in awe of the amount of food he can shove into his mouth at one time, although I should know better than anyone how much he can fit in there.
“What?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
“Have a bite,” he says once he’s swallowed, shoving half the burger at my face.
“No thanks,” I say, moving my head away.
“Come on!” he says, unrelentingly pushing it towards my mouth.
“No!” I say too late, as he forces it at me. I take a bite, getting ketchup, and mustard all over my mouth.
He laughs as I struggle to swallow, and takes the opportunity to shove french fries at me as I glare at him hatefully.
“I wish I had my camera out,” he chuckles. “You look priceless.”
“Hand me a napkin,” I bark at him sharply.
He tosses one at my face, and I continue to give him the evil eye.
“Shut up and eat your salad.” He rolls his eyes, and devours the rest of his burger.
“Keep it up, and you can stay here tonight.”
“Empty threats,” he mumbles, slurping his Coke.
“I don’t know why the fuck I ever took up with a kid.”
“It’s because I have the greatest ass you’ve ever seen, and I give head better than you do. Among other things.”
“You’re getting pretty cocky. Is it time for me to teach you another lesson?”
“Where do you think I got my cockiness from?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
This kid is unreal. He is seriously too much. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Go wash your face, and brush your teeth. We need to get the fuck out of here.”
“It’s only 9 o’clock. Calm down,” he tells me, not budging.
“Well what ever are we going to do to pass the time?” I question in a mocking tone.
“Gee, I haven’t the foggiest,” he mocks back. “Maybe you could… fuck me senseless?”
“Sounds like a fine idea to me,” I purr, as he inches towards me.
A couple hours later we’re headed to Chelsea. A big part of me wanted to be the King of Cocky, and drive there in the ‘Vette with the top down, but the practical side won out. So we’re in a cab, and a well-fucked Justin is all over me in the back. I pull a couple of double-stacked E tabs out of my pocket, and put one in my mouth, swallowing it down with the water I brought. Then I stick the second pill on my tongue, sliding it into Justin’s mouth. He takes the proffered gift, gulping down the rest of the water.
“Tell me when you feel all tingly,” I whisper, sucking and nipping on his earlobe.
“I think you’ll know,” he giggles, running his tongue along my jawline, and down my neck.
We end up at the Splashbar on 17th Street. Walking in, I throw my arm across Justin’s shoulder possessively. Damned if some New York fag is going to try and take him away. I mean, I know it wouldn’t work, but just the same… it bothers me when guys hit on him. And I know that it’s stupid, and immature, not to mention a blatant display of jealousy, but I don’t care. It’s just the truth. I don’t feel anything good when I see him with someone else. I can’t fucking help it.
“Look at all the hot guys!” he exclaims beside me.
I cast my eyes sideways at him, saying nothing. I steer us over to the bar, and order us two double JBs, and two bottled waters.
We clink glasses, downing the JB, and surveying the crowd. Now I must admit there are plenty of bodies here that appeal to my cock, but I didn’t for one minute expect to bring Justin out to a club in New York, and ditch him for a nameless trick. That would be a pretty shitty thing, even for me.
“Still tired?” I ask Justin.
“Not at all,” he beams, eyes sparkling. The drugs should kick in soon, and he will be ready and willing to dance his ass off provocatively for hours on end. I light up a cigarette, offering one to Justin, and signal the bartender for another round.
“I need a light,” he says around the cigarette, but before I can light it for him, a hand comes out of nowhere and does the job for me.
I look to my left, and standing next to me is a highly attractive guy about my height with black hair, gray eyes, and an olive complexion. And all of his attention is focused on Justin, who is still grinning like a fool.
“Thanks,” he says brightly, looking the other guy up and down. What the fuck?
“No problem. I’m James.”
“Justin,” he offers, looking over at me. “This is Brian.”
“Hi,” he says, peering at me for the first time. He continues to smile, and quickly turns back to Justin. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“We’re from out of town,” he says. Already this is too much conversation for me. I throw back my double, and consider downing his as well.
“Really? Where from?”
“Pittsburgh,” he says, casting his gaze on me once more. “My boyfriend’s taking me all over the country this summer in his new vintage muscle car.” He moves against me, wrapping an arm around my neck. “Aren’t you, Sweetie?” he teases, kissing me briefly.
“I am,” I say, smirking.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” James mutters. “I hope you two have a great time.” And with that he disappears from whence he came.
I look back at Justin, and find him smiling even brighter than before. Before I can say anything, he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, kissing me hard. He pulls back, grabs his glass, and tosses back the liquor in one gulp.
“How’d you get to be such a clever devil?” I ask.
“Learned from the master,” he jokes. “Let’s dance.”
“Drink your water first,” I command, twisting the cap off of my bottle. Chugging it down, I watch him do the same, and afterwards we make our way through the crowd and to the dance floor.
If Babylon gets crowded on even a Tuesday night, this place is outrageously packed. The weekends must be hell. A sweet, good-looking hell at that.
We reach a spot near the center of the room, and Justin pulls me tight against him. My hands immediately find his lower back, and I rest them there, just above the swell of his ass. His arms go around my neck, and he grinds himself against me in time with the throbbing drum and bass beat. His intense gaze never leaves mine, and it makes me want him so bad. It makes me miss him all over again, because we haven’t danced like this in a long time. I run my fingers through his long golden hair, skimming them lightly across his neck, as he moans. The drugs are definitely in effect, and our senses heighten to new levels, as we press harder against each other, rubbing our full bodies together, hands everywhere they can reach.
“Brian,” he gasps in my ear repeatedly. The way he says my name can drive me insane sometimes. I feel my eyes roll back into my head, as my hands knead his ass through the fabric of his pants. His hands rub circles on my back, and our heads lean against each other, as we concentrate on every ounce of feeling coursing through our bodies. If we weren’t in a loud, crowded club, I’d confess to him my innermost thoughts. As it is, I feel as if he can hear them in my mind. Through the connecting point of our foreheads we flow into each other. Every nerve ending pulses as if on fire, and the delicious friction is torturous on our rock hard cocks, brushing up against each other roughly within the confines of our clothing.
I hear the soft moans, unable to separate his from mine.
“Are you trying to make me cum in my pants?” I tease softly into his ear.
“That would be embarrassing for both of us,” he laughs, pulling back slightly to look up at me. His big blue eyes twinkle mischievously, glazed over, pupils dilated.
“You think you can wait?” I ask him. He knows that I can pretty much withstand any amount of public cock-teasing, so long as it serves to better the sex waiting to be had. Justin, on the other hand, has gotten to be pretty tolerant, but my ministrations can fuck him over big time, if I want them to. “What do you think? Sex in a foreign backroom, or torturous prick-teasing until we get back to the hotel?”
I watch him mull over the possibilities, knowing exactly what conclusion he’ll come to. I know how he thinks on E.
“I think we should wait it out, and have a nice, long, hard fuck later on.”
“How much later?” I ask, grinning ferally.
“A few more songs?” he questions, scrunching up his nose.
“Perfect.”
I place my hands on either side of his head, and pull him to me for a long, deep, probing kiss.
“You’re evil,” he smiles at me after we’ve separated.
“I’m sweet,” I smile back.
We dance a while longer, and make a mad dash outside less than two hours after we arrived. I hail a cab, and we quickly make our way back uptown.
********************
I awaken Tuesday morning to a dark room, with a warm body wrapped around me. I snuggle deeper into Brian’s tight embrace, unable to keep the smile off my face, thinking about last night.
I remember clearly the look on Brian’s face when a dark, handsome, stranger made his way up to me, and how I got Brian to dismiss the whole thing. I remember the way he was rubbing maddeningly up against me while we were dancing, a prelude to an incredible round of fucking. I remember sneaking looks at the people around us, secretly satisfied that they were all watching us move together. I remember dashing out for a cab, and laughing, and kissing all the way back to the hotel.
After that it’s one big mass of pure bliss. Flashes in my mind of his flesh against mine, his dick up my ass, his hand on my face, his lips against mine, my name on his tongue. He kept repeating it over and over, and the ecstasy of hearing him needing me as he drove into me again and again made me teeter on the very brink of insanity, one step away from falling over the edge. The heat enveloping me, mixing with the tingling sensation flowing through my entire being. The friction was almost too much to handle. I can’t recall how many times I came, but all I remember is constant pleasure. As if it were one prolonged orgasm.
My god, I know it’s been like that before, but I can’t remember the last time clearly. I can’t see it, or touch it, or taste it like I can still use all my senses to recall last night. Fucking incredible. I think that yesterday just may have been the best day of my life. It was nothing short of amazing. It was, to me, perfect. A perfect day. Like the Lou Reed song that Brian is always playing.
And today… today has the potential for perfection as well. If we can manage to stay in this groove we’ve fallen into. This could be the best trip to New York in history. Brian begins to stir, and I trail my hands across the smooth skin of his back, kissing softly along his chest.
“Didn’t you get enough?” he mumbles.
“I think I did. I couldn’t get it up if I tried.”
He huffs out a loud laugh over the top of my head. “Shit. That has got to be a first.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly feel any morning wood on your part, so shut the fuck up.”
“Fuck. I never want to move from this bed,” he says gravely.
“Normally that would be fine with me, but this is our last full day in Manhattan, and I am not about to let you suck the time away by luring me into bed.”
“You’re already in the bed, and if I were to put my mouth on your dick right now, you wouldn’t be going anywhere.”
“Then I guess I can’t give you the chance,” I say, rising up out of Brian’s arms, even though I don’t really want to. I grab the covers as well, and pull them with me, as I stand up on the bed, and jump down to the floor. Brian looks up at me in shock, cold in his nakedness due to the low temperature of the air conditioner. I quickly pull back the curtains, flooding the room with light.
“You WILL regret that.”
“Your little butt looks so cute,” I smirk at him, annoyingly.
In one quick motion, he’s off the bed, dashing towards me. I hastily run to the bathroom, but he grabs my arm and spins me around, pinning me up against the wall.
“Shall we take a shower, then? I want to be out of here by 10 at the latest,” I say sweetly.
“You little shit.”
After a long shower, during which I was forced to grovel, not to mention give great head, we dress and set off. Brian is wearing the same tight 501s from yesterday, accompanied this time by a dark red sleeveless shirt. My stunning ensemble consists of cargo pants, and an army green tee.
“Must you always go about looking well-fucked and ready for the next?” I inquire.
“It’s my modus operandi.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“’Cause I’m hot?”
“Yes.”
“I figured you were used to it after three long years.”
“Nah, I think I’m still adjusting.”
He kisses me outside in the hallway, before we head over to Queens, where the Museum of Modern Art awaits.
“I really want to go across the Brooklyn Bridge,” I tell Brian, as we walk down 59th Street, headed for 5th Avenue. “Do you think we could drive across it sometime today?”
“What for? It’s just a bridge.”
“It’s not just a bridge. It’s a really cool bridge.”
“Oh well, in that case…”
“And we’d look really cool driving across it with the top down.”
“We’ll see. If there’s time, we’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
“How long do we have to stay at this one?”
“I want to stay as long as we can, because this museum is the shit.”
“Great.”
“I’m telling you, you’re gonna love it. It’s totally your style. You’ll get to see more Kandinsky, some original Mies van der Rohe, plus Picasso, Rauschenberg, Matisse, Cezanne, Pollock, Warhol, and a ton of other amazing artists. And, one of my all-time favorite paintings, Van Gogh’s ‘The Starry Night’, is here. I promise you’ll love it.”
He doesn’t respond, but he smiles at me. The big black sunglasses obscuring almost half of his face only make him look almost sexier than he normally is. It’s a look that reminds me of Rage, wearing his black mask to cover his eyes.
“Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Rage! I’m supposed to be working on the drawings for the second issue. Michael is going to be so pissed.”
“Relax. I’ll take care of Mikey.”
“What? He’ll still be pissed at me. It’s not like we have a stellar relationship, just because we renewed our partnership.”
“Do you already have all the ideas?”
“Yeah. I know what I’m supposed to draw.”
“So, work on it, and send it to him by the wondrous US mail once it’s done.”
“How’re we supposed to discuss changes and all that?”
“There’s this great invention called the telephone…”
“Brian, stop being a smart-ass.”
“We’ll figure it out later.”
“Is that your answer to everything on this trip?”
“You’re the one who wanted me to kick back and go with the flow. This is me acting unpreoccupied,” he says putting his arms out.
“Fine. I’m blaming everything on you, just so you know.”
“That’s okay, people are used to putting the blame on me. It won’t take much convincing on your part.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” I tease, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
“Fuck off,” he barks, pushing me away.
“So where are you taking me to eat tonight?”
“I’m not telling.”
“No fun.”
“What, you don’t like surprises?”
“Coming from you, I could go either way.” I can’t help saying it, even if he takes it the wrong way. I’m just being honest with him. Which he should appreciate.
“Where the fuck do you think I’m gonna take you, a titty bar?”
“Brian!”
“Maybe you should stop speaking now.”
“Why? Am I angering you?”
“A little.”
“I thought you valued honesty above all things.”
“Unlike some.”
“Oh my god,” I sigh in exasperation, looking up at the sky. “Are you going to keep giving me a hard time? Pretend to be all hurt, and offended when you know that you were just as shitty to me as I was to you? That right there is completely dishonest.”
“I’m not trying to give you a hard time. Let’s just drop it.”
“So you really want to put everything on hold, huh? Just not deal with anything.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. Or would you rather we spent our time in New York fighting like divorced lesbians?”
“We don’t have to fight, Brian. I don’t want that. I’m just… I mean, we have to talk about it at some point.”
“Does it have to be now?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Okay, then. Let’s fucking forget about it,” he pauses, looking at me pointedly, “for now, and we’ll figure it out later.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Uh huh.”
Fuck. I will never figure this out. Figure him out. Why did I have to fall in love with the most complicated man on Earth?
“Don’t sulk,” he says, putting his arm around me.
“Are you reassuring me?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. I wasn’t sulking though.”
“You almost were.”
“Whatever.”
Once we reach the museum and begin going through the rooms, I’m even more amazed than I thought I would be. Practically every painting, drawing, and sculpture I see leaves me in awe. There are too many great works by great artists in this building. Modern Art is my favorite period. I’m really fond of Renaissance Art as well, but there’s something about Modern Art. The colors are so vivacious, and the subject matter is more complex and abstract. It was something completely new and innovative when the movement started. I guess that gets me excited.
Everything from Salvador Dali to Georgia O’Keefe gets my blood pumping. And Brian gets lost in the Architecture & Design section. But I can tell he’s into the pieces I’m enjoying as well.
“I told you you’d like it,” I whisper at one point.
This time we hit the gift shop before leaving, and I buy a ton of postcards with brightly colored prints on the front. Brian insists on buying me a nice big print of ‘Starry Night’, and I give him a nice big kiss in return.
“I expect you to put out later,” he informs me with an arched eyebrow.
“Dammit. I’ll be gritting my teeth the whole time,” I laugh.
On our way back up 5th Avenue, we spot a café, and stop for lunch. Once we place our orders, I start fiddling around with sugar packets, and my utensils because it feels like I have a vast amount of pent up energy bubbling up inside me. I think it’s a combination of all the brilliant artwork I just took in, and the fact that everything is going so fucking well with Brian here in New York. I can actually imagine the rest of the trip to be mind-blowing. And I’m really really excited all of a sudden. Not that I wasn’t before, but now… I can feel something in the air. Some unknown thing telling me that this is all going to work out.
I look up to find Brian’s wide hazel eyes focused on me intently.
“What?”
“You look happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Art does you good.”
“Vacations do me good,” I correct. “You do me better.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he says around a guffaw.
“So, Mr. Kinney, we’ve yet to make our plans, and we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Didn’t we say Chicago?”
“We were considering Chicago as a stop, but we do have to go from there. And we have to figure out how long it’ll take from here to there, and how the fuck we’re getting there.”
“Relax. We’ll ask the concierge. They help with that kind of shit.”
“I really can’t believe that you’re not planning everything meticulously.”
“It’s a summer free from myself, right?”
“So now I have to be the anal one?”
“You always have been, for the most part,” he quips, raising an eyebrow.
“And we still haven’t spoken to anyone back home. I bet they’re pissed.”
“I doubt they’re smart enough to realize that you, plus me, plus a hot car, multiplied by missing, equals too strange to be a coincidence.”
“You don’t think they’ll put two and two together?”
“Not without help. Besides, I could be off doing my own thing, like I do from time to time. You’ve already missed two shifts, though, so you’re the one they’re bound to be worried about.”
“Maybe I should call. Deb probably freaked out and called my mom. I can just picture what conclusions they’ll jump to. But… the first person they’d come running to…”
“Is me. Of course.”
“So then you’re screwed too. They’ll have to realize what’s going on. Have you even bothered to check your messages?”
“Nope.”
“Why the fuck not? What if there was an emergency?”
“Dear Cynthia is the sole proprietor of the number to my secret pager. If anything comes up that requires my attention, she will page me, and I will call her. Otherwise, fuck the phone. I have it in case we get stranded on the highway.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“I just don’t want to deal with any bullshit. And if I were to listen to any of the messages on my phone, all I would get is a big steaming pile. Why bother?”
Our food arrives, and I thank the waitress before continuing.
“So, what are we gonna do then? Not talk to anyone?”
“We could.”
“Are you serious? You mean not talk to anyone for two months? That’s totally fucked.”
“We could send them a letter. You can write it.”
“Fuck that,” I say leaning back in my seat, trying to process all of this. I start shoveling food into my mouth, wondering if Brian’s totally lost it. Or if he’s just totally fucking brilliant.
“You know what we could do?” I ask, glancing at my MOMA bag.
He arches an eyebrow.
“We could send postcards! Every city we stop in, we’ll send one. That way everyone will be in the loop, sort of, and we don’t have to talk to them, and they can’t exactly respond.”
I watch him closely as his eyes light up, and a smile creeps up on his face slowly.
“Sunshine, you’re a genius.”
“But… we should call at least once. Soon. So that no one flips out.”
“Fine, but not today.”
“Fine. We should send the first postcard though. It’ll get there while we’re in Chicago, and we can call them from there.”
“What about your mom?”
“I’ll send her a postcard too,” I smirk. “I don’t really feel like getting a fucking lecture from her at the moment.”
“Smart man.”
I finish my lunch before he finishes his, and I pull out the MOMA postcards, sorting through them. I select an over-sized ‘Starry Night’, and decide to send that one to the gang.
“Where are we mailing these to?”
“Deb, I guess.”
“Yeah, she’s neutral enough,” I snicker.
Brian laughs, and continues eating.
“What the fuck am I supposed to write? I know I can’t make you do it, can I?”
“You have to ask?”
“I’ll do it, just tell me what to say.”
“Say: ‘We’re not there. Love and luck, Justin’.”
“Why don’t I just write: ‘Ran off to get hitched. Love, B and J’.”
“That’ll get their attention. I’m sure one or two cardiac arrests would be had as well, and our vacation would be ruined.”
“Shut up,” I say, trying to concentrate.
“Just tell the truth.”
So, off the top of my head, I fill up the postcard, and move to find one for my mother. This should be wonderful.
I decide to write hers on the double I have of Rousseau’s ‘The Dream’, and take a little more care choosing my words. I also promise to call soon.
Once they’re both written, Brian snatches them off the table, and reads them through.
“Good job. Now let’s get on to my portion of the day, shall we?”
“Can’t wait,” I drone sarcastically.
He smacks the back of my head as we make our way out of the restaurant.
********************
It’s around 1 PM when we finally make it out of the Guggenheim, and I must admit it wasn’t boring. I actually enjoyed myself.
“So, what was your favorite?” I ask Justin, as we head towards Central Park.
“I don’t know… there’s so many… aside from Monet’s stuff, I really liked Miro’s, and of course, Picasso’s… What about you? What did you like?”
“I liked Kandinsky a lot.”
“Figures. He’s all about clearly defined hard lines, symmetry, geometry… very… mathematical.”
“Are you calling me mathematical?”
“Kind of,” he smiles, scrunching up his nose.
“That is so insulting.”
“Stop pretending to be offended by what I say about you. I know you, remember?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I am so hungry,” he says, pulling my arm to get me to walk faster.
We cross 5th Avenue, and walk into the park, heading down one of the winding paths. Then he spots a hot dog stand, and quickens the pace once more.
“Oh no,” I say, pulling him back to face me. “I am not eating that shit.”
“Sure you are, and it’ll be delicious.”
“What did I tell you about trying to boss me around?”
“Just eat a fucking hot dog and shut up. I want to make it to the Met by 2:00. It closes at 5:30, and it’s fucking huge.”
“Do you HAVE to drag me to another museum today? Can’t you cut me some slack?”
“You’re the one who wants to leave on Wednesday. If we had more time, I’d spread it out more. But you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he states sincerely.
“How noble of you. I think I’ll stick around, and make sure you don’t get lost.”
“Good, now stop complaining. Whining is for people like Mikey.”
I laugh, and he drags me to that godforsaken hot dog stand. I watch him order a huge disgusting dog with everything on it, and get mine with the three standard condiments only, plus two Cokes.
We sit on a bench, and he laughs at me.
“What?”
“You’re drinking Coke!”
“I know, it’s frightening.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you imbibe a soda, or eat a hot dog for that matter. Can I take a picture?”
“Fuck you. If you want me to stop complaining, then you have to stop picking on me.”
“I’m not picking on you. This is just… a day of firsts, I guess.”
“Well you can store it in your memory bank then. If you whip out a camera, I will hurt you.”
“You will not.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Nope. No challenge, but I will catch you off guard before the day’s over.”
“We’ll see.”
“Indeed,” he says, taking a huge bite out of his dog.
“You look so sexy when you’re dripping greasy condiments from your gaping mouth,” I tease.
He gives me the finger, and goes on eating.
I reach over with a napkin, and wipe off his face, scrubbing a little too hard.
“Ow! Leave me alone.”
“Now who’s whining?” I say, taking a bite of my so-called lunch.
“We should look at the maps. I have them in my backpack.”
“We are not going to look at maps in the middle of the park. We’ll look like lame-ass tourists.”
“Get off it, Brian. First off, we are technically tourists. Secondly, no one gives a shit.”
“I do.”
“You are so immature.”
“Says the 20-year-old cartoon lover.”
“What the fuck else are we going to do while we sit here? If you want, we could head over to the Met already, or we could talk some more!” he says deliberately annoying me.
“Fine. We’ll look at the fucking maps. Just wait a few minutes would you? I’m eating.”
“How do you feel about Chicago?” he asks me.
“It’s a cool city. Why?”
“Well, we could make that one stop. If we’re planning on staying up north for now. The only sucky thing is we’ll have to drive back through PA.”
“Well that’s inevitable. As long as we steer clear of Pittsburgh, I’m fine.”
“This is going to be so fun!”
“I hope so.”
I really do hope this all turns out well. It wouldn’t really help much if we ended up murdering each other on the side of a highway. But then again, that’s what sex is for. Angry fucking is always fantastic.
“Let’s try not to fight, ok?” he says as if reading my mind. He always fucking does that.
“Ok.”
“And I won’t bug you about talking to me, but I think you should. I mean, there won’t be much else to do.”
“I wasn’t planning on giving you the silent treatment.”
“You know what I mean. This is a really good opportunity to get to know each other better. We lived together for a year, and there’s still so much that I don’t know about you. And there’s a lot that you don’t know about me.”
“I know.”
He gets up off the bench, tossing his trash into a bin, and pulls out a blanket from his backpack. Has to be from the hotel. He gestures for me to follow him, and we walk over to a sunny spot on the grass. I watch him unfold the blanket and spread it over the ground. He then flops down onto it, and I sit down beside him.
“Maybe we should make a deal,” he says, picking up the conversation.
“What kind of a deal?”
“Let’s make a deal that everyday we’ll tell each other something that we’ve never told each other before.”
“Sounds suspicious to me.”
“It’s not suspicious,” he chuckles, slapping me playfully. “It’s a good fucking idea. It doesn’t have to be something deeply profound, but it shouldn’t be stupid trivial shit all the time either. You’re not allowed to cop out like that, and neither am I. But we can start slow.”
“Okay, Monty Hall, you have a deal.”
“Good. Let’s start now, then. You go first.”
“That is so sneaky. It was your brilliant idea, so you start.”
“Fine… let me think…”
“Take your time,” I reply, gulping down my Coke.
What the fuck am I getting myself into? I watch him stare at the sky, wracking his brain for something to say.
“Okay, I’ve got it… I really hate orange juice now.”
“What the fuck?” I laugh. “You used to drink the hell out of it when you lived with me. We had gallons of orange juice.”
“I know,” he says laughing with me. “I had a bad experience a few months back, involving way too many Screwdrivers, and I puked all over the place. After that it makes me too disgusted to even think about drinking it.”
“But it was the vodka that fucked you up.”
“I know, but the taste was all orange. And it haunted me for days afterwards. Everything I consumed had an orangey edge to it.”
“You need to learn how to hold your liquor, little boy.”
“You know damn well I can hold my liquor! It was just… we were celebrating, and it got out of hand. I don’t know why it got to me… maybe I hadn’t eaten much that day, or something. I can’t remember. I kind of passed out after I threw up.”
“That’s not good.”
“It was okay. I was taken care of.”
I don’t say anything, because I know he’s talking about Ethan. He got drunk celebrating something with Ethan, and then the good fiddler helped him get all better. How lovely.
Before I get a chance to feel bitter, he nudges my leg.
“Your turn.”
“Okay… I… really liked that hot dog. I secretly love fast food, but I refrain from indulging.”
“No way!”
I shrug my shoulders, and smile at him.
“That is so sad!” he says, pulling me into a hug.
“Get off me.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t deny yourself. I bet you have a really fast metabolism. You work out all the time, and you keep in shape. You’re way too strict about your diet. I can’t see you getting fat. It’s not fucking possible.”
“I’m just health-conscious. You should be too.”
“Please!” he snorts. “You’ve been doing drugs for how long? And drinking every night for how long? And smoking cigarettes…”
“That’s different.”
“Whatever! It is not different. Eating unhealthy, tasty meals every once in a while is not going to hurt you.”
“Quit trying to change me. I’m always going to wear designer clothes, and I’m always going to eat healthily. And I’m always going to smoke, and drink, and everything else. That’s just the way I am.”
“Uh huh, and you think that two months on the road is going to be filled with healthy eating, and regular workouts? And clean clothes? You really haven’t thought this through have you?”
“I have, actually. I thought about it for a long time.”
“Well then, you know what you should do?”
“What?”
“You should throw out all your principles for this trip, and just go with the flow. You NEVER do that. You don’t allow yourself that freedom. This is a vacation from your life back in the Pitts, right? So, logically, you should do exactly that. Be… just be.”
“Isn’t that a Calvin Klein perfume slogan?”
“Maybe, but it’s good advice. I was thinking about it the other day, actually. I’ve learned to be myself, and not obsess over every little detail all the time. And you haven’t at all. You’re too uptight, because you place a thousand and one limits on yourself. You need to learn how to just be.”
As irritating as it is getting unwanted advice from my much younger lover, I have to concede that he has a point. This is supposed to be an escape. Part of it is not having any connections to the Pitts while I'm gone, but if I’m mentally still there myself, then what’s the point?
“When did you get so wise?”
“Eh, I’ve lived a little these twenty years,” he beams at me.
Damn. I forgot how… amazing he can be. So fucking hopeful all the time. But now he seems really happy. Way happier than I’ve seen him in a long, long time. And I guess that’s partly my fault. I made him unhappy for a while, and I didn’t care. I was too concerned with my own feelings. Of course, I wasn’t happy either, but I’m starting to feel like it again. He makes me feel a little hopeful myself, and I guess that makes me happy. Just seeing him in such a good mood puts me in one, too.
“You’ve still got a long way to go,” I inform him.
“So have you, Brian.” He says it softly, so as to put more meaning on the simple words.
I don’t know how this got so serious so quickly, but I don’t mind it. We’re both here because we want to be, and we both know that now. I can’t keep denying him access to my thoughts and my feelings out of some twisted form of resentment or anger. I’m sure there’s a lot of anger towards me stored up inside of him. It might all blow up one day, but I suppose the way to prevent that from happening isn’t to hold back. That’ll just piss him off, and this whole idea will be shot to shit.
I want this to be a summer of fun. As hokey as it sounds, it’s about freedom too. Freedom to try and let it all go, and get back to basics. Connect with myself again. I’ve spent a long time going through the motions, without really contemplating anything. Without that it all loses its meaning. I think my life lost a lot of its meaning a long time ago. And Justin… he was a chance that I almost took. For a while I was ready to take the plunge, and go with it, but it didn’t turn out like I thought. I don’t know what it was. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe he wasn’t either. But, maybe it is time to take that chance. To try again. Maybe that’s what I’m really doing here.
He continues to look right through me with his penetrating blue eyes, and I bring him to me for a tender kiss. Tender… god, I’ve never kissed anyone tenderly before. Before him, that is. He’s the only one who’s ever gotten that side of me. He must realize that.
“Brian Kinney,” he says, pulling back only inches from my face, “I do believe that you’re becoming a romantic.”
“Romantic? I don’t do romance.”
“We’re sitting in the middle of Central Park, on a sunny day, kissing on a blanket, and talking about life, the day after you whisked me away on an unplanned adventure. That’s kind of romantic to me.”
“Good, cuz this is all you’re getting.”
“I doubt that,” he says, kissing me again as I run my hands through his long locks.
“You know I really like your hair.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it looks good long. I like getting my hand caught in it.”
“See? You are so sweet!”
“Fuck off, I’m evil.”
“You should let your hair grow out.”
“Yeah right. I have a hard enough time taming it now.”
“It’d be hot! And you could grow a beard or something.”
I cackle loudly and push him off me, sitting up.
“I’d look like a fucking madman with long hair and a beard.”
“You would not. I bet you could pull off the scruffy look really well… like Jude Law, or Brad Pitt. They look even hotter when they’re scruffy.”
“You really are trying to reduce me to the lowest common denominator aren’t you?”
“I’m just trying to get you loose.”
“You know me. Loose is my middle name.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s why you like me so much.”
“I do. I like you a lot.”
“I like you too.”
“Good. That’s settled then.”
*********************
I feel like if I don’t stop smiling soon, my mouth is going to fall off. That or my face is going to be permanently painted with a smile. I can’t stop it. And I don’t want to, even though it’s hurting my face.
“Shit, we forgot to look at the maps,” I tell him, remembering our previous objective.
“We’ll do it later. There’s plenty of time.”
“No there’s not. We have to get going soon. You’re not going to keep me away from that building,” I say, pointing to the Met, which stands on the right edge of the park.
“I know, I know.”
“We should head that way soon.”
“We will, just let me lay here for a bit,” he says falling back down on the blanket.
“Fine,” I say, laying back down as well.
“Do you wanna check out the clubs tonight?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
“Uh, sure.”
“It’s either tonight, or on the next trip, because I am not driving with a hangover on Wednesday.”
“We can go tonight if you want. I’ve been picking all the stuff so far, so I guess it’s fair.”
“Good. You get your museums, I get clubbing, and shopping.”
“I want to go to MOMA tomorrow. I wanted to go to the Whitney too, but I don’t think I can handle so many galleries in so little time. So I guess I’ll wait on that one. You can come with me, or do your own thing.”
“I guess we could go to MOMA in the morning, and then you can be at my mercy for the rest of the day. Fair?”
“Fair.”
I can’t believe he’s doing all this stuff with me. This is just too fuckin’ unreal.
“You can go by yourself if you want,” I find myself explaining. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, you’re coming with me. I’m going to force you into a fabulous outfit, and make you see how great designers are. And tomorrow night we could go out to eat. Break in your new clothes.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Nope.”
“You mean like a date?”
“Call it what ever you want. I call it eating, but that’s just me.”
I want to yell “I LOVE YOU!” at the top of my lungs, but I won’t. I can’t even say it to him in a normal, even tone of voice. I don’t think he’d be amused if I proclaimed it to half the city.
“Did I mention that I really really like you?”
“Once or twice.”
He closes his eyes, and I stand up, to get ready to leave, but he just lies there. Suddenly I think of the camera in my bag, and covertly reach for it. His eyes are still closed, and his left arm is up above his head, and a slight hint of skin can be seen between his shirt, and his jeans. He looks fucking amazing. I adjust the shutter speed to fit the outdoor lighting, put the camera to my face, change the aperture, and focus the lens, snapping a picture.
The background city noise covers the small clicking sound the shutter makes, and I snap a couple more at different angles, before calling to him.
“Bri.”
He opens his eyes, staring straight into the camera, and I press the release button.
“Perfect!”
“You are so fucked,” he says with a wide grin.
“You actually thought I would go on a road trip and not take pictures?”
“We’re not on the road.”
“Doesn’t matter. I take pictures when I feel like it, and I felt like it then.”
“I don’t like being photographed.”
“Well then you’re going to have to get over it, because I intend on taking lots of pictures of you on this trip. And I’ll have to show you how to use this SLR, so you can take pictures of me,” I state, smiling sweetly.
“Where’d you get that?” he asks, taking the camera from me as I squat down next to him.
“It was a present.”
“From?”
“Ethan,” I wince. “He bought it for me when he got a big advance on his recording contract. I’d wanted one forever. And I haven’t used it much, yet.”
“Well, I guess we can break it in. How does it work?”
I explain to him a little about shutter speed, film speed, distance, aperture, and focus.
“One day I want to have my own dark room, and develop all my own stuff. I can manipulate the film, and add some cool stuff to my computer art. Until then, I’ll settle for the school facilities.”
“You could make some hot X-rated photos with this thing.”
“There’s an idea.”
I look across the park, and take in the tall buildings looming over the vast expanse of green. And I hear a shutter click.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking back at Brian.
“Taking your picture.”
“Thanks,” I smile, and he snaps another one.
“No problem.”
“Let’s get to the damn Met already.”
I jump up and pull his arm, helping him to stand. Then I gather up the blanket, and get Brian to help me shake it out and fold it back up.
I put the blanket and the camera back in my backpack, and we make our way to the large gallery.
Once inside and paid for, I grab Brian’s hand tightly, dragging him around from place to place. We hardly speak, except the occasional “Hurry up,” or “Slow down”. This place is so fucking huge that it’d take a few days to go through it all, and we only have a few hours. In order to see at least half of half the stuff that I want to see, I have to keep a fast pace, with Brian firmly latched onto my arm, so as not to lose him.
Somehow we manage to zip through the American and European Paintings and Sculptures sections, as well as the Egyptian, Greek and Roman, Medieval, and Modern Art sections. Some time is spent looking at the Drawings and Prints, as well as the Photographs. There are two interesting special exhibitions that we breeze through as well: Art of the First Cities, which has some amazing artifacts from Ancient Mesopotamia, and a Manet/Velasquez exhibit dealing with the Spanish influence on French Art.
By the time the museum closes, I’m completely wiped out. I stumble down the outside steps, and ungracefully throw myself down in a half-sitting, half-laying position. Brian looks down at me, shaking his head amusedly.
“Now, how the fuck am I supposed to take you out tonight?” he asks.
“Half-dead, I guess.”
He sits down beside me with far more grace than he should have when we’re both supposed to be exhausted.
“It’s not fair of you to not fully participate in the activities I plan, since I’ve been patient and compliant with all of yours so far,” he says. I can tell by his tone of voice that he’s mocking me, but he’s also being completely honest. Dare I say he’s actually looking forward to going dancing with me? And I feel like I’d rather jump off a tall skyscraper than dance right now.
“I’m sorry, Bri. I’m just… I’ll be all achy if I go dancing. I already feel like I’ll fall apart if I move.”
“Well, too fucking bad. You’re coming,” he orders unmercifully, rising from the steps. “Now, get your ass up and come back to the hotel. I’ll see if I can’t loosen you up a bit.”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t wanna fuck right now!” I cry indignantly. For once, sex with Brian is the last thing on my mind.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that, you little twat,” he says, taking my hand again, and pulling me up. “Besides, who said anything about fucking?”
His sexy smirk kills me even more, and I groan.
We make our way back to the hotel in relative silence, and as soon as we reach the solace of our room, I immediately collapse on the soft bed, moaning loudly at the much needed comfort.
“You are beyond ridiculous,” Brian laughs, making his way to the bathroom.
I hear the faucets being turned on, and the tub begin to fill up, and he doesn’t reappear for ten minutes. I assume he’s getting into the bath, and curse him for getting that brilliant idea before me.
I resign myself to sleeping it off in the plush bed, and kick off my shoes, turning on my stomach and burying my body into the down comforter. No sooner am I settled, than I feel Brian’s strong hands brace my sides, pulling me up. He sets me onto the floor, and turns me around to face his nakedness. Without a word, he pulls my shirt up over my head, and undoes my pants for me, as if I’m completely unfit to do these things myself. I smile at him, once I’m disrobed and he pushes me towards the bathroom.
The white porcelain claw-foot tub is built to accommodate two people and then some. I dip my foot into the hot water, and slowly step in, easing myself down into the silky wetness. Brian steps in behind me, and places his legs on either side of me, pulling me back towards his chest. I lie back, with my head on his left shoulder, and sigh contentedly.
“You’re killing me, Brian,” I say softly.
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t tense up either. He’s been so relaxed this whole day, and he’s really surprised me. First off, he’s actually being kind. He’s been talking to me. He’s been laughing with me. He hasn’t once left me alone all day, even for a hot, easy fuck in a public restroom. I could really get used to this side of Brian. This Brian outside of Pittsburgh. This Brian that allows himself to relax, and stop worrying. I don’t want to get used to this Brian though, because knowing him, he could fly off the handle and become his old self in the blink of an eye. So, I know better than to get too comfortable. This is still Brian Kinney we’re talking about, and with him, certainty is the least likely thing you can expect.
“God, this feels so fucking good,” I tell him. The water feels extremely soothing to my slightly aching muscles, and I could easily fall asleep in here for a couple of hours.
“I put in some oils and bath salts. They should help you relax.”
“It’s totally working,” I say, closing my eyes, and gripping his right thigh with my hand.
His left arm goes around my middle, as his right one remains on the rim of the tub, and he lightly strokes my skin.
This is the most romantic fucking day of my life, I’d say. Sure, Ethan loved to do wildly sappy things like bring me roses and chocolates, and watch sunsets and sunrises, and play romantic violin music, and say “I love you”, not to mention countless other meaningless phrases of love and passion, but those things could never come close to this. Those things weren’t really me. And Ethan wasn’t really Brian. I’d take Brian going to museums with me, and talking and laughing in the park with me, and taking a bath with me a million fucking times over Ethan’s bullshit hokey gestures, and hollow words. And the thing is, Brian doesn’t even know he’s being romantic. He’s not trying too hard. He’s just going with the flow. Finally. And I always knew he had that ability, if he’d only drop some of his pretenses for a few seconds.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, slicing through my thoughts.
“I’m thinking… that this is going to be the best summer of my life.”
“How can you be sure?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“Really? A hunch? You’re not much of a hunching type of person.”
“So what? I have good instincts.”
“Sometimes,” he amends, poking me in the rib.
“Sometimes,” I agree, silently cursing myself for the slip.
“So what’s been your best summer so far? What am I up against?”
“Hmm… I haven’t really thought about that. I guess it would be the summer before I met you. Daphne and I went to visit her aunt in Vancouver. It was pretty fun. Sarah is her name, and she’s kind of a hippie. We smoked a lot of pot, and hung out downtown. We went snowboarding, and took a trip to a cabin in the mountains. I think it was called Galliano Island. We went to the beach on Vancouver Island. It was pretty cool.”
“A summer spent with straight chicks. No wonder you came searching for cock first thing you got back.”
I slap his thigh playfully, “I did not come searching for cock!”
“Oh really? Then what exactly did you come searching for?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I guess I just wanted to be myself. Finally. I figured Liberty Ave. was a good place to start,” I pause, shaking my head with a chuckle. “I was hoping and fantasizing I’d meet someone there. That I’d get to have sex at last. That he’d be some hot, amazing guy. But, I didn’t think it would happen. I thought I’d go down there, walk around, scope out the place, and head back home. Luckily, I was completely wrong about that.”
Brian snorts right next to my ear, causing me to shiver.
“I couldn’t believe you didn’t run away. I really was expecting you to. I figured the easiest way to get you to stay was to show you the goods. That’s why I was moving so fast. And you kept rambling on about completely inane things,” he says with a hint of laughter.
“Shut up! I was young, and scared, and stupid!” I exclaim, turning beet red, and slapping his thigh again.
“I know you were. It was kind of endearing. I could practically smell your fear, but what amazed me was that it didn’t stop you. Your fear didn’t deter you from getting what you wanted. You were so fucking ballsy. Not just that night, but in those following months. I was such a dick, and you didn’t care. And that was scary for me. It was like there was nothing I could fucking do to make you not care.”
“That’s because YOU cared.”
“When did you figure that out?”
“Sometime after the third or fourth time you fucked me. When did you?” I counter, feeling every bit as ballsy as I did almost three years ago, and every bit as scared.
“I don’t know. After… I guess it was after… at the hospital,” he says, slightly hoarse.
“It couldn’t have been then. It had to be before that.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was. I’m not really good at distinguishing feelings, am I?” he chuckles.
“One of my favorite memories of back then was when we danced at Babylon, when you were trying to convince me to do what I wanted to do, and fuck my parents. Your little anti-Dartmouth speech. That’s what really cemented it for me. It was like proof to me that you really cared. I was so happy that night.”
“That was a pretty hot night,” he says lasciviously, reducing it to sex as usual.
“Yeah, it was,” I smile.
For a brief moment, I miss those days. As exhausting as it was chasing after Brian relentlessly, the thrill of getting him to succumb always felt fucking fantastic. But for all the darkness that befell us after the bashing, those were my favorite times. I really felt for a while like Brian was in love with me. Really, truly, in love with me. And he had these moments of absolute sweetness that practically killed me. And he kept saving me over and over from what I thought was death. The horrible nightmares, the fear of being out in public, losing my ability to be an artist… he saved me, and he loved me, and he kept me… even when I was broken. And that really got me. It’s why I’m here right now.
********************
I don’t know how we got started on this trip down memory lane, but I want off the ride. I’m saying a little too much here, and after the day we’ve had, I think it’s best to try and hold on to what little dignity I have left. I know he doesn’t see it like that. He doesn’t see it as me losing, but I really don’t care what he thinks. I mean, I do. But I’m what really matters. My opinions of myself. And I say this has gone far enough for one day.
On the other hand, it’s been an exceptionally good day. In fact, I can’t quite remember the last great day I’ve spent. My life is too fucking tragic. I’m constantly plaguing myself with doom and gloom, and I guess it feels good to drop all of that. To adopt a better outlook. Just for the summer. To make it a good one. To make this whole lunatic fringe idea worth something.
But I still want to change the subject.
“So, what’d you think of the Met?”
He laughs loudly, like he was expecting me to do exactly that.
“I thought it was pretty fucking cool, even though we needed WAY more time to take everything in. I really loved the Egyptian stuff. All the old stuff, really. The Greek and Roman, and the Mesopotamian. It was so amazing to see such ancient relics in person. The European art was great, and all the stuff from the Renaissance. The Modern Art was great too, but we’ll see the best of that tomorrow at MOMA. You’ll get to see some Mies van der Rohe,” he says, rubbing my right thigh.
Wrapping my arms around him tightly, without warning I push myself down, submerging both our bodies fully in the warm water. I release him, and push my head back up, catching a glimpse of Justin sputtering as I run a hand over my face, smirking.
“Oh, you’re SO going to get it!” he yells, turning and toppling himself onto me, dunking my head down into the water.
We wrestle around, splashing large amounts of water onto the bathroom floor, slapping, pinching, and rubbing flesh, while trying to gain the upper hand in half-drowning each other. Soon enough, the play-fighting turns into play-groping and making out, and not long after, I’m sliding into him again.
Once we’ve finished bathing, fucking, then bathing again, we emerge from the bathroom with unappealing, shriveled skin. Justin laughs at the scowl on my face, and comments on his affinity for fucking in water. I roll my eyes, and his stomach growls.
“What are we eating?”
“Room service.”
“Sweet,” he says, dashing over to get the menu. He looks younger in the big terrycloth robe. Just like he did the last time we were here. God, that was an amazing fuck.
“I am in desperate need of a hamburger.”
“What? You just ate a hotdog earlier.”
“So?”
“So… Justin, that’s disgusting.”
“Fuck off. I want a hamburger. More specifically… a bacon cheeseburger.”
“Jesus. You’re going to die of a heart attack by the time you’re my age.”
“You’re just jealous. Now that I know how fond you are of greasy food, I’ll pay no attention to your silly health talk.”
“Fine. You can find someone else to fuck your fat ass once it’s doubled in size.”
“You’d love that. More to grab onto.”
“Sorry. I don’t do fat.”
“You would dump me for gaining weight?” he gasps, like he’s really appalled and offended.
“Hell yes. I don’t fuck fatties.”
“Oh my god! You are so fucking rude! I can’t believe you would do that!”
“Justin, first of all, you’re not going to get fat. Second of all, we’re not going out. Thirdly, you have to know by now that I’m a shallow motherfucker. So in conclusion, shut the fuck up and order me a Greek salad.”
He stands there, mouth agape, thinking of how to react, and I try my hardest to keep in the laughter that desperately wants to spill out of me.
“Well, Brian, first of all, I COULD get fat. It’s a possibility. No one knows for sure what they’ll look like in the future. ESPECIALLY as they get OLDER. Second, keep telling yourself that we’re not going out. Maybe that’ll make it a little less true. Third, you’re not as shallow as you think you are. And in conclusion, you can order the fucking food,” he tosses out, moving to grab a book from his backpack, and lay down on the bed calmly.
What a drama queen.
I shake my head, and laugh quietly, making my way to the phone to order the food. Afterwards, I make my way over to the bed, rolling the kid over so I can give him a look that silently tells him to cut it out. And then I kiss him. He eyes me warily, pretending to be skeptical as to whether or not he should forgive me, so I kiss him again, and this time he smiles, and pushes me off of him, turning back over to read his book.
He looks over at me, surprised, when I slump onto the bed once more after retrieving my own book.
“‘On the Road’,” he says, reading the title. “How appropriate.”
“Yep. I’m halfway through it. It kind of provided some of the incentive for the road trip. Ever read it?”
“Yeah. A couple years ago. It was good. The Dean Moriarty character is totally hot.”
“What are you reading?”
“‘Jitterbug Perfume’ by Tom Robbins,” he says, flipping back to show me the cover.
“Humorous?”
“Quite.”
He goes back to his book, and I open mine. I spend a minute thinking about the absurdity of being in a bed with Justin and not fucking. Nowhere near fucking, but reading instead. Then again, it’s not like we’re waiting to fall asleep. It’s not THAT hetero. We’re just passing the time. Waiting for our food. No, tonight before bed there will be a whole lot more going on. So, fuck it.
We both get engrossed in our reading, and soon enough, our food arrives. I ignore the looks the room service guy is directing at both me and Justin, and sit back on the bed, letting Justin deal with him.
As I quietly eat my salad, I’m forced to watch Justin scarf down his revoltingly huge burger, in awe of the amount of food he can shove into his mouth at one time, although I should know better than anyone how much he can fit in there.
“What?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
“Have a bite,” he says once he’s swallowed, shoving half the burger at my face.
“No thanks,” I say, moving my head away.
“Come on!” he says, unrelentingly pushing it towards my mouth.
“No!” I say too late, as he forces it at me. I take a bite, getting ketchup, and mustard all over my mouth.
He laughs as I struggle to swallow, and takes the opportunity to shove french fries at me as I glare at him hatefully.
“I wish I had my camera out,” he chuckles. “You look priceless.”
“Hand me a napkin,” I bark at him sharply.
He tosses one at my face, and I continue to give him the evil eye.
“Shut up and eat your salad.” He rolls his eyes, and devours the rest of his burger.
“Keep it up, and you can stay here tonight.”
“Empty threats,” he mumbles, slurping his Coke.
“I don’t know why the fuck I ever took up with a kid.”
“It’s because I have the greatest ass you’ve ever seen, and I give head better than you do. Among other things.”
“You’re getting pretty cocky. Is it time for me to teach you another lesson?”
“Where do you think I got my cockiness from?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
This kid is unreal. He is seriously too much. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Go wash your face, and brush your teeth. We need to get the fuck out of here.”
“It’s only 9 o’clock. Calm down,” he tells me, not budging.
“Well what ever are we going to do to pass the time?” I question in a mocking tone.
“Gee, I haven’t the foggiest,” he mocks back. “Maybe you could… fuck me senseless?”
“Sounds like a fine idea to me,” I purr, as he inches towards me.
A couple hours later we’re headed to Chelsea. A big part of me wanted to be the King of Cocky, and drive there in the ‘Vette with the top down, but the practical side won out. So we’re in a cab, and a well-fucked Justin is all over me in the back. I pull a couple of double-stacked E tabs out of my pocket, and put one in my mouth, swallowing it down with the water I brought. Then I stick the second pill on my tongue, sliding it into Justin’s mouth. He takes the proffered gift, gulping down the rest of the water.
“Tell me when you feel all tingly,” I whisper, sucking and nipping on his earlobe.
“I think you’ll know,” he giggles, running his tongue along my jawline, and down my neck.
We end up at the Splashbar on 17th Street. Walking in, I throw my arm across Justin’s shoulder possessively. Damned if some New York fag is going to try and take him away. I mean, I know it wouldn’t work, but just the same… it bothers me when guys hit on him. And I know that it’s stupid, and immature, not to mention a blatant display of jealousy, but I don’t care. It’s just the truth. I don’t feel anything good when I see him with someone else. I can’t fucking help it.
“Look at all the hot guys!” he exclaims beside me.
I cast my eyes sideways at him, saying nothing. I steer us over to the bar, and order us two double JBs, and two bottled waters.
We clink glasses, downing the JB, and surveying the crowd. Now I must admit there are plenty of bodies here that appeal to my cock, but I didn’t for one minute expect to bring Justin out to a club in New York, and ditch him for a nameless trick. That would be a pretty shitty thing, even for me.
“Still tired?” I ask Justin.
“Not at all,” he beams, eyes sparkling. The drugs should kick in soon, and he will be ready and willing to dance his ass off provocatively for hours on end. I light up a cigarette, offering one to Justin, and signal the bartender for another round.
“I need a light,” he says around the cigarette, but before I can light it for him, a hand comes out of nowhere and does the job for me.
I look to my left, and standing next to me is a highly attractive guy about my height with black hair, gray eyes, and an olive complexion. And all of his attention is focused on Justin, who is still grinning like a fool.
“Thanks,” he says brightly, looking the other guy up and down. What the fuck?
“No problem. I’m James.”
“Justin,” he offers, looking over at me. “This is Brian.”
“Hi,” he says, peering at me for the first time. He continues to smile, and quickly turns back to Justin. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“We’re from out of town,” he says. Already this is too much conversation for me. I throw back my double, and consider downing his as well.
“Really? Where from?”
“Pittsburgh,” he says, casting his gaze on me once more. “My boyfriend’s taking me all over the country this summer in his new vintage muscle car.” He moves against me, wrapping an arm around my neck. “Aren’t you, Sweetie?” he teases, kissing me briefly.
“I am,” I say, smirking.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” James mutters. “I hope you two have a great time.” And with that he disappears from whence he came.
I look back at Justin, and find him smiling even brighter than before. Before I can say anything, he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, kissing me hard. He pulls back, grabs his glass, and tosses back the liquor in one gulp.
“How’d you get to be such a clever devil?” I ask.
“Learned from the master,” he jokes. “Let’s dance.”
“Drink your water first,” I command, twisting the cap off of my bottle. Chugging it down, I watch him do the same, and afterwards we make our way through the crowd and to the dance floor.
If Babylon gets crowded on even a Tuesday night, this place is outrageously packed. The weekends must be hell. A sweet, good-looking hell at that.
We reach a spot near the center of the room, and Justin pulls me tight against him. My hands immediately find his lower back, and I rest them there, just above the swell of his ass. His arms go around my neck, and he grinds himself against me in time with the throbbing drum and bass beat. His intense gaze never leaves mine, and it makes me want him so bad. It makes me miss him all over again, because we haven’t danced like this in a long time. I run my fingers through his long golden hair, skimming them lightly across his neck, as he moans. The drugs are definitely in effect, and our senses heighten to new levels, as we press harder against each other, rubbing our full bodies together, hands everywhere they can reach.
“Brian,” he gasps in my ear repeatedly. The way he says my name can drive me insane sometimes. I feel my eyes roll back into my head, as my hands knead his ass through the fabric of his pants. His hands rub circles on my back, and our heads lean against each other, as we concentrate on every ounce of feeling coursing through our bodies. If we weren’t in a loud, crowded club, I’d confess to him my innermost thoughts. As it is, I feel as if he can hear them in my mind. Through the connecting point of our foreheads we flow into each other. Every nerve ending pulses as if on fire, and the delicious friction is torturous on our rock hard cocks, brushing up against each other roughly within the confines of our clothing.
I hear the soft moans, unable to separate his from mine.
“Are you trying to make me cum in my pants?” I tease softly into his ear.
“That would be embarrassing for both of us,” he laughs, pulling back slightly to look up at me. His big blue eyes twinkle mischievously, glazed over, pupils dilated.
“You think you can wait?” I ask him. He knows that I can pretty much withstand any amount of public cock-teasing, so long as it serves to better the sex waiting to be had. Justin, on the other hand, has gotten to be pretty tolerant, but my ministrations can fuck him over big time, if I want them to. “What do you think? Sex in a foreign backroom, or torturous prick-teasing until we get back to the hotel?”
I watch him mull over the possibilities, knowing exactly what conclusion he’ll come to. I know how he thinks on E.
“I think we should wait it out, and have a nice, long, hard fuck later on.”
“How much later?” I ask, grinning ferally.
“A few more songs?” he questions, scrunching up his nose.
“Perfect.”
I place my hands on either side of his head, and pull him to me for a long, deep, probing kiss.
“You’re evil,” he smiles at me after we’ve separated.
“I’m sweet,” I smile back.
We dance a while longer, and make a mad dash outside less than two hours after we arrived. I hail a cab, and we quickly make our way back uptown.
********************
I awaken Tuesday morning to a dark room, with a warm body wrapped around me. I snuggle deeper into Brian’s tight embrace, unable to keep the smile off my face, thinking about last night.
I remember clearly the look on Brian’s face when a dark, handsome, stranger made his way up to me, and how I got Brian to dismiss the whole thing. I remember the way he was rubbing maddeningly up against me while we were dancing, a prelude to an incredible round of fucking. I remember sneaking looks at the people around us, secretly satisfied that they were all watching us move together. I remember dashing out for a cab, and laughing, and kissing all the way back to the hotel.
After that it’s one big mass of pure bliss. Flashes in my mind of his flesh against mine, his dick up my ass, his hand on my face, his lips against mine, my name on his tongue. He kept repeating it over and over, and the ecstasy of hearing him needing me as he drove into me again and again made me teeter on the very brink of insanity, one step away from falling over the edge. The heat enveloping me, mixing with the tingling sensation flowing through my entire being. The friction was almost too much to handle. I can’t recall how many times I came, but all I remember is constant pleasure. As if it were one prolonged orgasm.
My god, I know it’s been like that before, but I can’t remember the last time clearly. I can’t see it, or touch it, or taste it like I can still use all my senses to recall last night. Fucking incredible. I think that yesterday just may have been the best day of my life. It was nothing short of amazing. It was, to me, perfect. A perfect day. Like the Lou Reed song that Brian is always playing.
And today… today has the potential for perfection as well. If we can manage to stay in this groove we’ve fallen into. This could be the best trip to New York in history. Brian begins to stir, and I trail my hands across the smooth skin of his back, kissing softly along his chest.
“Didn’t you get enough?” he mumbles.
“I think I did. I couldn’t get it up if I tried.”
He huffs out a loud laugh over the top of my head. “Shit. That has got to be a first.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly feel any morning wood on your part, so shut the fuck up.”
“Fuck. I never want to move from this bed,” he says gravely.
“Normally that would be fine with me, but this is our last full day in Manhattan, and I am not about to let you suck the time away by luring me into bed.”
“You’re already in the bed, and if I were to put my mouth on your dick right now, you wouldn’t be going anywhere.”
“Then I guess I can’t give you the chance,” I say, rising up out of Brian’s arms, even though I don’t really want to. I grab the covers as well, and pull them with me, as I stand up on the bed, and jump down to the floor. Brian looks up at me in shock, cold in his nakedness due to the low temperature of the air conditioner. I quickly pull back the curtains, flooding the room with light.
“You WILL regret that.”
“Your little butt looks so cute,” I smirk at him, annoyingly.
In one quick motion, he’s off the bed, dashing towards me. I hastily run to the bathroom, but he grabs my arm and spins me around, pinning me up against the wall.
“Shall we take a shower, then? I want to be out of here by 10 at the latest,” I say sweetly.
“You little shit.”
After a long shower, during which I was forced to grovel, not to mention give great head, we dress and set off. Brian is wearing the same tight 501s from yesterday, accompanied this time by a dark red sleeveless shirt. My stunning ensemble consists of cargo pants, and an army green tee.
“Must you always go about looking well-fucked and ready for the next?” I inquire.
“It’s my modus operandi.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“’Cause I’m hot?”
“Yes.”
“I figured you were used to it after three long years.”
“Nah, I think I’m still adjusting.”
He kisses me outside in the hallway, before we head over to Queens, where the Museum of Modern Art awaits.
“I really want to go across the Brooklyn Bridge,” I tell Brian, as we walk down 59th Street, headed for 5th Avenue. “Do you think we could drive across it sometime today?”
“What for? It’s just a bridge.”
“It’s not just a bridge. It’s a really cool bridge.”
“Oh well, in that case…”
“And we’d look really cool driving across it with the top down.”
“We’ll see. If there’s time, we’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
“How long do we have to stay at this one?”
“I want to stay as long as we can, because this museum is the shit.”
“Great.”
“I’m telling you, you’re gonna love it. It’s totally your style. You’ll get to see more Kandinsky, some original Mies van der Rohe, plus Picasso, Rauschenberg, Matisse, Cezanne, Pollock, Warhol, and a ton of other amazing artists. And, one of my all-time favorite paintings, Van Gogh’s ‘The Starry Night’, is here. I promise you’ll love it.”
He doesn’t respond, but he smiles at me. The big black sunglasses obscuring almost half of his face only make him look almost sexier than he normally is. It’s a look that reminds me of Rage, wearing his black mask to cover his eyes.
“Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Rage! I’m supposed to be working on the drawings for the second issue. Michael is going to be so pissed.”
“Relax. I’ll take care of Mikey.”
“What? He’ll still be pissed at me. It’s not like we have a stellar relationship, just because we renewed our partnership.”
“Do you already have all the ideas?”
“Yeah. I know what I’m supposed to draw.”
“So, work on it, and send it to him by the wondrous US mail once it’s done.”
“How’re we supposed to discuss changes and all that?”
“There’s this great invention called the telephone…”
“Brian, stop being a smart-ass.”
“We’ll figure it out later.”
“Is that your answer to everything on this trip?”
“You’re the one who wanted me to kick back and go with the flow. This is me acting unpreoccupied,” he says putting his arms out.
“Fine. I’m blaming everything on you, just so you know.”
“That’s okay, people are used to putting the blame on me. It won’t take much convincing on your part.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” I tease, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
“Fuck off,” he barks, pushing me away.
“So where are you taking me to eat tonight?”
“I’m not telling.”
“No fun.”
“What, you don’t like surprises?”
“Coming from you, I could go either way.” I can’t help saying it, even if he takes it the wrong way. I’m just being honest with him. Which he should appreciate.
“Where the fuck do you think I’m gonna take you, a titty bar?”
“Brian!”
“Maybe you should stop speaking now.”
“Why? Am I angering you?”
“A little.”
“I thought you valued honesty above all things.”
“Unlike some.”
“Oh my god,” I sigh in exasperation, looking up at the sky. “Are you going to keep giving me a hard time? Pretend to be all hurt, and offended when you know that you were just as shitty to me as I was to you? That right there is completely dishonest.”
“I’m not trying to give you a hard time. Let’s just drop it.”
“So you really want to put everything on hold, huh? Just not deal with anything.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. Or would you rather we spent our time in New York fighting like divorced lesbians?”
“We don’t have to fight, Brian. I don’t want that. I’m just… I mean, we have to talk about it at some point.”
“Does it have to be now?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Okay, then. Let’s fucking forget about it,” he pauses, looking at me pointedly, “for now, and we’ll figure it out later.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Uh huh.”
Fuck. I will never figure this out. Figure him out. Why did I have to fall in love with the most complicated man on Earth?
“Don’t sulk,” he says, putting his arm around me.
“Are you reassuring me?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. I wasn’t sulking though.”
“You almost were.”
“Whatever.”
Once we reach the museum and begin going through the rooms, I’m even more amazed than I thought I would be. Practically every painting, drawing, and sculpture I see leaves me in awe. There are too many great works by great artists in this building. Modern Art is my favorite period. I’m really fond of Renaissance Art as well, but there’s something about Modern Art. The colors are so vivacious, and the subject matter is more complex and abstract. It was something completely new and innovative when the movement started. I guess that gets me excited.
Everything from Salvador Dali to Georgia O’Keefe gets my blood pumping. And Brian gets lost in the Architecture & Design section. But I can tell he’s into the pieces I’m enjoying as well.
“I told you you’d like it,” I whisper at one point.
This time we hit the gift shop before leaving, and I buy a ton of postcards with brightly colored prints on the front. Brian insists on buying me a nice big print of ‘Starry Night’, and I give him a nice big kiss in return.
“I expect you to put out later,” he informs me with an arched eyebrow.
“Dammit. I’ll be gritting my teeth the whole time,” I laugh.
On our way back up 5th Avenue, we spot a café, and stop for lunch. Once we place our orders, I start fiddling around with sugar packets, and my utensils because it feels like I have a vast amount of pent up energy bubbling up inside me. I think it’s a combination of all the brilliant artwork I just took in, and the fact that everything is going so fucking well with Brian here in New York. I can actually imagine the rest of the trip to be mind-blowing. And I’m really really excited all of a sudden. Not that I wasn’t before, but now… I can feel something in the air. Some unknown thing telling me that this is all going to work out.
I look up to find Brian’s wide hazel eyes focused on me intently.
“What?”
“You look happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Art does you good.”
“Vacations do me good,” I correct. “You do me better.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he says around a guffaw.
“So, Mr. Kinney, we’ve yet to make our plans, and we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Didn’t we say Chicago?”
“We were considering Chicago as a stop, but we do have to go from there. And we have to figure out how long it’ll take from here to there, and how the fuck we’re getting there.”
“Relax. We’ll ask the concierge. They help with that kind of shit.”
“I really can’t believe that you’re not planning everything meticulously.”
“It’s a summer free from myself, right?”
“So now I have to be the anal one?”
“You always have been, for the most part,” he quips, raising an eyebrow.
“And we still haven’t spoken to anyone back home. I bet they’re pissed.”
“I doubt they’re smart enough to realize that you, plus me, plus a hot car, multiplied by missing, equals too strange to be a coincidence.”
“You don’t think they’ll put two and two together?”
“Not without help. Besides, I could be off doing my own thing, like I do from time to time. You’ve already missed two shifts, though, so you’re the one they’re bound to be worried about.”
“Maybe I should call. Deb probably freaked out and called my mom. I can just picture what conclusions they’ll jump to. But… the first person they’d come running to…”
“Is me. Of course.”
“So then you’re screwed too. They’ll have to realize what’s going on. Have you even bothered to check your messages?”
“Nope.”
“Why the fuck not? What if there was an emergency?”
“Dear Cynthia is the sole proprietor of the number to my secret pager. If anything comes up that requires my attention, she will page me, and I will call her. Otherwise, fuck the phone. I have it in case we get stranded on the highway.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“I just don’t want to deal with any bullshit. And if I were to listen to any of the messages on my phone, all I would get is a big steaming pile. Why bother?”
Our food arrives, and I thank the waitress before continuing.
“So, what are we gonna do then? Not talk to anyone?”
“We could.”
“Are you serious? You mean not talk to anyone for two months? That’s totally fucked.”
“We could send them a letter. You can write it.”
“Fuck that,” I say leaning back in my seat, trying to process all of this. I start shoveling food into my mouth, wondering if Brian’s totally lost it. Or if he’s just totally fucking brilliant.
“You know what we could do?” I ask, glancing at my MOMA bag.
He arches an eyebrow.
“We could send postcards! Every city we stop in, we’ll send one. That way everyone will be in the loop, sort of, and we don’t have to talk to them, and they can’t exactly respond.”
I watch him closely as his eyes light up, and a smile creeps up on his face slowly.
“Sunshine, you’re a genius.”
“But… we should call at least once. Soon. So that no one flips out.”
“Fine, but not today.”
“Fine. We should send the first postcard though. It’ll get there while we’re in Chicago, and we can call them from there.”
“What about your mom?”
“I’ll send her a postcard too,” I smirk. “I don’t really feel like getting a fucking lecture from her at the moment.”
“Smart man.”
I finish my lunch before he finishes his, and I pull out the MOMA postcards, sorting through them. I select an over-sized ‘Starry Night’, and decide to send that one to the gang.
“Where are we mailing these to?”
“Deb, I guess.”
“Yeah, she’s neutral enough,” I snicker.
Brian laughs, and continues eating.
“What the fuck am I supposed to write? I know I can’t make you do it, can I?”
“You have to ask?”
“I’ll do it, just tell me what to say.”
“Say: ‘We’re not there. Love and luck, Justin’.”
“Why don’t I just write: ‘Ran off to get hitched. Love, B and J’.”
“That’ll get their attention. I’m sure one or two cardiac arrests would be had as well, and our vacation would be ruined.”
“Shut up,” I say, trying to concentrate.
“Just tell the truth.”
So, off the top of my head, I fill up the postcard, and move to find one for my mother. This should be wonderful.
I decide to write hers on the double I have of Rousseau’s ‘The Dream’, and take a little more care choosing my words. I also promise to call soon.
Once they’re both written, Brian snatches them off the table, and reads them through.
“Good job. Now let’s get on to my portion of the day, shall we?”
“Can’t wait,” I drone sarcastically.
He smacks the back of my head as we make our way out of the restaurant.
********************