by Doug Sanford
“I gave you both so—”
“—I could listen to the tape on my Walkman while I was gone. I get it.”
He pretty much always did.
For me, two shirts—also wrapped separately—both much more colorful than I was used to wearing and neither one with a button-down collar.
“I had to get you something to replace those blue button-downs. They’re so boring.”
Satisfaction all around.
I put on one of the new shirts the next morning.
“Not bad,” he said, looking me over. “Guess I’ve got better taste than I thought.”
We left at around 6:30 A.M., stopped for breakfast on the way to the airport, and he was there in plenty of time for his 9:00 departure. I went to the gate with him. You could still do that then.
We’d hugged at the house before we left, but we hugged again at the gate. A pretty simple so long hug.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
And he was gone.
I stayed to watch the plane leave the gate and take off. And then he was really gone.
Chapter 13
I knew better than to give him a chance to make another crack about my anality, as he now regularly referred to it, so I purposely didn’t ask him to call when he got in. But Bart was Bart, and he’d know that I’d want him to, so I wasn’t surprised when the phone rang a few hours later:
“Hello.”
“Hey. The plane didn’t crash, and we’re waiting for luggage.”
“Thanks, kid.”
“Talk to you later, old man.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Not exactly poetry, but it was fine with me, and he did it without being asked. That meant a lot to me.
Twelve days isn’t a long time, right? Less than two weeks. And considering the fact that we talked at least every night and usually more often, everything should have been fine.
The first few days weren’t too bad. I went to Robin and Doug’s for Christmas and that kept me busy most of that day. I wore the other new shirt he gave me and actually got some compliments on it. I’ve never exactly been known for stylish dress, so those who knew me, especially Robin and Doug, felt that it was unusual enough to comment on.
I also had a bunch of showings between Christmas and New Year’s Day. A lot of husbands are off work, and their wives figure it’s a good time for house hunting, especially if the husband got a good Christmas bonus. That also helped keep me busy.
And there was some news from him the day after he arrived that gave me a lot to think about. He said he’d told his parents about having met me. I’d never asked him if he was going to, and I was happy that he was comfortable enough to do it, but I was still somewhat nervous about what he told them and what their reaction would be.
I’ve mentioned that he had a very open relationship with his parents—part of their child-rearing program.
“I just told them the truth,” he said.
“If you told them you met me because I made a phone-sex call to you, you’d better plan on staying in Champaign because if you come back to Tucson, I’m going to strangle you.”
“I’m not that stupid. I told them the same thing you said you told Robin—that it was just an ordinary wrong number. But they’re not stupid either. They asked me if I was gay.”
“Just like that?”
“Sure. It’s nothing that upsets them—or would upset them. When I said I wasn’t, but that you were, they were confused and wanted to be sure about me, so they told me that if I were gay, they’d still love me and it was nothing to be ashamed of. They even hugged me which was unusual enough to let me know they were concerned. But I think they were almost disappointed when I insisted that I wasn’t.”
He laughed. “For my liberal parents, having a gay son would be like a badge of honor.”
“My dad did ask me if I’d ever had sex with a girl. I tried to explain I hadn’t found the right one, but because he was apparently so sexually active as a kid, the idea of his having a son who was straight and still a virgin at eighteen was something he couldn’t comprehend. I think he lost his virginity around fourteen.” He laughed again.
“After we cleared that up, they were happy I finally had a close friend. They knew all the problems I’d had with guys my own age, so I guess they felt that having a gay friend—even one who was older—was odd, but better than nothing.”
“Well, at least I’m better than nothing.”
“Shut up. You know what I meant. Of course, they had to tell Bryan and Ryan about it.”
Bryan and Ryan—so help me, those were their names—spelled just that way as I later learned.
Bart went on: “Bryan, the one who teaches with my dad and the one we’ve known the longest, pulled me aside to ask me whether you’d made a move on me. Weird, because you asked me the same thing about him. Do all gay guys think alike? Anyhow I really had trouble keeping a straight face.”
“Pardon the pun,” I interrupted.
“You’re funny. He was sincere and meant well and was just looking out for me, so I tried to explain as seriously as I could that you and I had dealt with that issue, that I knew you really well, and that nothing was going to happen.”
That hit me hard. Though I knew it was true and though it was rule number one that I’d never come on to him, hearing him say it like that somehow made it much more final and depressing—especially because, with him gone, I was beginning to realize how strong my feelings really were.
I shifted gears and told him about the compliments I got on the shirt.
“Stick with me, old man, and soon you’ll be able to hold your head up in public.”
No chance I wouldn’t stick with him as long as I could, and actually, he did begin to have definite and positive changes on my wardrobe and appearance—another example of the symbiotic relationship we were developing.
We talked a little about Into the Woods.
“Some of it’s fun, like the title song and the wolf’s and princes’ songs, but some of it’s really strange—especially the witch. And I’m not sure why it has a second act at all. Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“How many times have you listened to it?”
“Just on the plane. I haven’t had time again since I’ve been here.”
“Get back to me after you’ve listened to it at least twice more, and I guarantee you’ll have changed your mind.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve never liked any Sondheim show the first time you heard it. Blah, blah, blah. I left the LP at your place, but maybe I’ll play the tape for mom and dad—or even Bryan and Ryan—but they’ve probably already heard it.”
“You sure you’re not pulling my leg with those names?”
“Bryan and Ryan? They’re no funnier than Bart and Marc,” he replied.
Of course they weren’t, but I’d never really thought of us in exactly that way: Bart and Marc. Yet for some reason he had. Was that significant? How could it be significant if nothing was ever going to happen? As usual, I was over-analyzing everything.
I don’t know if it was the holidays or that I’d gotten so used to having him around, but day by day it was getting more difficult to deal with his absence. It got so bad that I have to confess to something that was really kind of sick even for me.
He’d asked me to check on his mail and put it in his apartment. He didn’t get that much, so I only checked every few days. About two days after that conversation, I stopped by and took in the mail. Then I went over to his bed, buried my head in his pillow, and started sniffing it to see if I could smell his scent. It was there, pretty faintly I admit, but it somehow made me feel better. That’s how bad things were.
I was so down that Robin picked up on it pretty quickly. She dragged me out for coffee and tea and in no time had me spilling my guts about everything.
“Are you crazy?” she said. “He’s straight, and he’s an eighteen-year-old kid. Think about it. If he’s lying about his age, I’m pret
ty sure that what you’re doing would be illegal.”
“He doesn’t lie to me, and besides, I’m not doing anything, so there’s nothing to be illegal.”
“I don’t know, but I think you’re on pretty thin ice.”
“It’s worse than thin ice. I feel like I’ve fallen in and I’m drowning and I don’t care.”
“And you’ve given up sex? You? That I can’t believe.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“What future is there in this? Where do you go from here?”
“God knows.”
That was about as much resolution as I got out of that conversation.
On New Year’s Eve, he and his parents were going to a party at, yes, Bryan and Ryan’s. It was typical of Bart that he would go to a party with adults, rather than one with kids his own age. Of course, he had no real friends back there, but even if he had, he would have been more comfortable with adults than with them.
He called early in the evening for our daily catch-up on what was happening, and we wished each other a happy new year.
I went to the party at Robin and Doug’s, but I was depressed and left as soon after midnight as I could get away. It didn’t help that all evening Robin was looking at me with this sad, worried Jewish mother look on her face.
I got home just in time to hear the phone.
“I kind of thought you might be home early. Just wanted to call and see how your party went and how you were doing,” he said.
Up till then, I’d intentionally been upbeat in our talks, but his absence was getting to me big time.
“I’m glad you did, kid. The party was okay, I guess, but I really miss you a lot.” I even sounded down to myself.
“Me too, you, old man. It’s no fun.”
His tone was almost as serious as mine. We talked for a few minutes more.
“Can’t wait until Sunday,” I said.
“Same.”
“Night, kid.”
“Night, Marc with a c.”
He hadn’t said that in a while, and it almost made me cry, but what was worse was that it gave me an erection. I mention this obscenity, which I did nothing about, because it proved to be significant.
That was Thursday night/Friday morning, and our conversations for the next two days, while not that serious, had a different tone to them. We abandoned our usual mutual teasing. It was as though each of us was being extra nice to the other.
Sunday couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter 14
When he got off the plane, we hugged, right there at the gate. He held on longer and tighter than he usually did. I, who had been so good at interpreting his past hugs, wasn’t at all sure what this one meant.
We picked up his luggage and walked to the car.
“Damn, it’s good to see you!” I ruffled his hair.
“Same,” he smiled, but it wasn’t his usual enthusiastic smile. He seemed worried as he pushed his hair back in place.
I was picking up on some kind of uneasiness—not sure what it was all about. Had his parents or Bryan and Ryan said something? He wasn’t himself.
Without asking, I drove toward my place. When he saw the direction we were going, he said nothing about it.
“Damn, Marc, this has been a rough time for me, especially the last couple of days. Rule number two. Something’s changed. My stomach’s been in knots.”
Oh, fuck. What’s changed? I thought to myself.
“Yeah, Bart, I know. Same for me. I’ve really been down.”
“I don’t want to go through this kind of thing anymore.”
Shit. He’s going to bail.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure.”
Then he clammed up. He said almost nothing else for the rest of the ride, and for once, I had absolutely no idea what was going on in his head.
I was beginning to feel that God had finally found some time to turn his attention to us and not in a good way. I was a little frightened and could think of nothing to say either.
For some reason, I remembered something a character from Into the Woods said about people leaving you part way through the woods. Was that happening to me?
As soon as we got inside the door, he grabbed me and hugged me again. Again, really tight. Was this it?
Then totally without warning, he awkwardly pulled my head toward him and kissed me full on the lips.
I was shocked as hell. That was the last thing I was expecting.
It was a lousy kiss; an adolescent kiss: hard, forceful, lips closed, almost without emotion. It was a kiss by someone who’d never kissed anyone seriously before and didn’t quite know how to do it.
He pulled away and looked at me, with something like fear in his eyes, as if he didn’t understand what he’d just done or wasn’t sure how I’d take it.
I may have been shocked, but I knew what to do.
I brought him in to me, tilted his chin up, and kissed him back gently. My lips were soft against his, and almost immediately his softened on mine. I held him close and felt his body lean into me and his arms tighten around me. For a split second, I actually thought he might fall.
“Fuck rule number one,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I replied.
We kissed again, longer and deeper, my right hand in that beautiful hair of his, the other holding him tightly.
He pulled away, a tentative half smile on his face, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’m sure.” And then, “I think I love you, old man.”
“I know I love you, kid.”
Chapter 15
How we got from the front door to the bedroom, I have no idea, but we did, and then we did it.
Our hands clawed at one other, frantically tearing off our shirts, shoes, pants, everything. We fell onto the bed, holding each other tightly, rolling back and forth. Hands and mouths were all over, everywhere, not able to get enough. Our orgasms were sudden, unexpected, and explosive, and we were exhausted, not surprising for a boy having sex for the first time in his life and a man who’d been celibate for the last four months.
And then, it changed to something much quieter. The urgency and frenzy were gone. It was slow and loving. We weren’t in a hurry. It lasted a very long time, with gentle kisses, soft touches, and quiet talking. We explored each other’s bodies and were making love, more than having sex. Our orgasms, when they came, were stunning in their intensity and their joy. It was like nothing I’d ever had with anyone before.
The third time—a couple hours later, after we’d napped a bit—was unintentional and playful, with a lot of laughing, tickling, and teasing, and our orgasms, while still amazing, were almost irrelevant.
We fell back to sleep until almost noon.
It’s hard to describe how I felt waking up with that beautiful young man naked beside me. I was on my back with my right arm under his neck and around his right shoulder. He was on his left side with his head on my shoulder and a leg thrown over me. It was pretty much how we fell asleep. We kissed, both made faces at each other’s morning breath, and laughed.
We showered together and barely avoided another session of love-making.
We dressed, saying very little, but smiling and hugging and touching one another. We went—where else?—to the Willow for what should have been lunch, but they were still serving breakfast all day back then, so we both had bacon and eggs. On a Monday it wasn’t very busy, and we got our usual table, sitting in the same places, but this time our knees rested and rubbed against each other very deliberately.
I was so high on the wonder of it all. I could barely contain my happiness. I wanted desperately to hold his hand or kiss him right there in the restaurant—although prudently I did neither.
After ordering, we grinned at one another again, and I said, almost in a single breath, “What in the hell happened last night and how and why and I’m so fucking glad it did but what does it mean and where do we go from here and are you sure you’re not sorry and do you think I
can be arrested because of your age?”
He was almost as giddy and laughed. “To the first three questions, I have to answer I don’t know, I don’t know, and I don’t know, and I can’t remember what else you said except at the end. I promise not to turn you in.”
“Seriously, kid, what was that all about? You say you’re straight, and yet I’ve never had sex like that with anyone else in my long and admittedly sordid life.
“From the start you’ve known how I felt about you. But I stuck to my hands-off promise. So what changed from the other night on the phone when you said you told Bryan or Ryan or whoever that nothing was ever going to happen between us?”
“I wish I knew. But I think I’m straight, Marc: I don’t like guys—other guys. I just like you—and a whole lot more than like. It’s all kind of confusing. When I was home, things didn’t seem right. I kept wanting you there. We’ve been together pretty much every day, and it felt wrong without you. It was like all the time I wanted to turn to you and say something about whatever was going on—or just look at your face to see if you were having the same reaction I was. And the feeling didn’t fade. It got worse, and I really wanted you there.
“Then, on New Year’s Eve, when you said you missed me in that quiet, serious tone you get sometimes—something changed. Don’t laugh because now I’m gonna sound like you, but I actually got hard when you said that.”
“Shit. I did too—but it was when you called me Marc with a c.”
“For real?”
“Rule number two. By the way, it looks like rule number one has been violated with a vengeance—just like you.”
“Did you violate me with a vengeance?” he laughed.
“No, Bart, with a lot of love.”
“After we hung up, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and the way your voice sounded on the phone and the way I felt inside when you said you missed me the way you did. Marc, I masturbated thinking about you. I’ve never done anything like that in all the time we’ve known each other.
“For the next two days, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything. How close we were and how good it felt to be around you. How much I liked it when you touched me and when we hugged. On the plane back, for the first time I thought about kissing you, and I got hard again. I was really kind of scared. I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t.”