Break Away

by Van Barrett

  It wasn't until I took my first sip, and felt the piney bite of the gin, that the floodgates broke and it all came spilling out.

  I told Devon all about the roller coaster that was last night. Opening the door, seeing River's ex, automatically assuming the worst. How hot River looked when he came out in his too-tight sweat pants, still wet and glistening from his shower. The mouth-watering curve of his cock, visible through his pants. The way he kept me from leaving, and eased my mind about his ex.

  She soaked it all in, listening intently, waiting for the 'fucked up' part of the story that was surely about to come. But that's not really what this story was about.

  This was a story of something else. A weird and intangible, but still thick, presence. Between us. A closeness, a fondness even, that had us sharing some of our most intimate secrets. So many times he touched me – and I touched him. Slapping backs. Rubbing shoulders. Nudging sides. Hands gently wrapping around forearms. Hands on thighs.

  There was such a physical element to it all. Like the air before a lightning storm. It felt charged between us. Like the tiniest hairs of our body stood tall, making our spines tingle, and reached out for each other. Trying to pull us nearer, one electron at a time.

  First round of drinks: down. Second round coming up.

  “If River were gay, I would've made a move on him a long time ago. It feels like something's happening, Dev.”

  “That's it? That's what you rushed me over here to tell me?” Devon looked unimpressed. “Um, hello! That's what I've been trying to tell you all along.”

  “Yeah, but … you were just joking. This feels serious, Dev. It's not just a joke.”

  “I was too serious!”

  Sure, she could say that. And for her, yeah, it's true – her life really is like that! Guys look at her once, and they just crumple into a sad puddle of puppy love, mumbling d'awww and thrusting flower bouquets and middle-school Valentine's Day cards into her mildly amused but mostly pitying face.

  She didn't know what it was like for a guy like me. She didn't know how easy it was to mistake a 'male bond' for something more. She didn't know how much more complicated all that shit became when the guy you're vibing on calls himself straight. She didn't know the danger of crossing that line. Because once you'd crossed it, you couldn't go back to the way things were.

  “No … You don't understand …” I rubbed the side of my head. “I dunno what to do. What do I do?! I feel like he wanted me to make a move.”

  “Make a move!”

  “I'm afraid. So afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “What if I'm wrong? What if it's even worse? What if I have Buzz 2.0 on my hands?”

  She shook her head. “No way. Buzz sounded like an asshole. River sounds sweet.”

  “Difference is, I knew Buzz for longer. So I knew he had that history of being an asshole. I've known River, what, two weeks?”

  She rolled her eyes. She was starting to get impatient with me. In her world, she would've had this guy eating out of her palm by now. And I didn't doubt it. But things have never been that easy for me. And since we've always had this disconnect, we'll never be able to see eye-to-eye on this kind of thing.

  “Shit!” I took a big gulp of round 2. “I didn't even tell you the best part.”

  I had Devon's interest again. I told her about how I was replacing River's ex as resident dog-watcher while he was out of town. Devon also thought that River's arrangement with the ex was highly weird. She agreed with me that no ex should ever be allowed into your apartment without supervision. Ever.

  “Is that weird if I do it? He said I could stay the night, even.”

  “Ooo. You'll be sleeping in his bed, Lane! Just imagine it. Wrapped in his bed sheets. Snuggling with his musky man scent. Mm!”

  “I can't, though. No way.”

  “You know what else that means? You'll have unfettered access to his--” Devon looked around with shifty eyes. “His you know what!”

  The Clone-A-Cock. I hadn't even thought of that.

  “Ugh.” I groaned with a slap on the forehead. “I wanna forget that thing exists, alright? Or that I ever had anything to do with it.”

  “So you're sure he's not banging his ex anymore?” she asked.

  “Pretty sure. I believe him, anyway.”

  “Why'd they break up?”

  I relayed River's story to her. About the lack of blowjobs. But as Devon heard the details, a look of growing unease spread across her face.

  “Uhh. Lane.”

  “I know it sounds weird, Dev. I was a little upset about it at first too. But really – I think I'd do the same in his position.”

  “Lane.”

  “And he said it was symptomatic of other problems they'd been having in their relationship, so really--”

  “Lane,” she snapped firmly.

  “Jeez! What?”

  She leaned over the table and whispered. “Doesn't that story sound familiar to you?”

  “Familiar?” My eyes narrowed. “What? No. What do you mean?”

  She pulled out her cell phone. “I swear I've heard this story before, Lane.”

  My heart started thumping with anxiety. “Where? What do you mean? What's going on?”

  Devon didn't answer. Her thumbs went to work, tapping away and navigating through a digital world as she searched something out.

  “Devon!”

  “Hold on. Almost got it.” Her eyes darted left and right as she sped-read something. At last, she found it. She pressed her lips together as if she'd made a terrible discovery. Finally, she turned her phone around and held it up to my face. “Throbbing Miserable Jaw. Ring a bell, Lane?”

  My stomach sank like a stone in water. “What.”

  I snatched the phone from her and read the question, and answer, from last year's final edition of Bitch and Moan. Now that I'd remembered, the details were instantly familiar. But too horrified to put the phone down, I kept reading.

  TMJ had a problem: her boyfriend's cock was just too big and she wasn't interested in sucking it. She needed help. How could we help convince him to get over the fact he'd never get head?

  I read something else. “Fuck. Fuck!”

  “What?”

  “It's signed, 'Throbbing Miserable Jaw, in Gallery Apartments.'”

  “Uh oh. Is that--”

  “That's where River lives, alright! Gallery Apartments. Fuck! I knew it sounded familiar. Ugh.”

  Devon grinned. “Read on.”

  I skimmed my response. I couldn't read the whole thing. It was too painful. But, sure enough, I found the part where I recommended this girl make a Clone-A-Cock replica of her boyfriend's, River's, cock. For practice.

  I put the phone on the table and pushed it toward Devon. I couldn't do it anymore.

  “I don't even know what to say, Dev.”

  “Do you think you played a role in their break up?”

  “I hate to even think about that.” I cast a distant stare and swore. “But honestly? It wouldn't surprise me at all.”

  “Do you think he knows about this letter?” Devon looked horrified at her own question. “Because what a coincidence, right? That you two just so happened to be paired for this?”

  Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum! went my heart.

  “Lord I hope not.” I let out a frustrated grunt. “He can't. He can't know! I told him that I wrote for Bitch and Moan. And, he didn't really react one way or the other. If he knew who I was, wouldn't he have shouted something like, 'so YOU'RE the guy that told Cass to clone my cock?! You got us broken up, you asshole!'”

  “What if …” Dev stroked her chin. “What if River wrote the letter? Pretending to be his ex?”

  “Ew. I hope not. That'd be weird.”

  “Nothing about this situation is not weird, Lane.”

  I tutted. “No kidding.”

  The waiter came by once more. I was ready for Round 3. And before long, rounds 4 and 5. The martinis just kept coming, but the more I drank, the more
my mind stayed on that single-track focus. River's dildo. I hated to keep talking about it, especially because I could tell Devon had run out of things to say about it. She was probably tired of hearing about it, too.

  “It's not a big deal,” she kept reassuring me with that, and other statements. “He doesn't even have to know.” “Just see what happens.” “You're making a mountain out of a molehill.” “Lane … sigh …”

  But it's all I could think about. I mean, after last night, I was feeling so good about having cleared the air with River. We'd finally had that break-through in communication and we were getting to know each other. No more secrets! Right? Only … there was one more big secret. One I couldn't confess to, because then I'd have to tell River I'd found his dildo.

  I must've ranted on for an hour, considering all the different possibilities and permutations of how this dildo situation came to be. Whether by luck, divine intervention, or man's machinations. But eventually, I became keenly aware that Devon wasn't quite listening.

  “Uh huh … yeah … ha! … yup, totally …” she'd say absent-mindedly, to re-assure me that she was listening. Meanwhile, she kept looking over her shoulder. She'd been making eyes with some guy for the past ten minutes.

  “Sorry I'm boring you,” I said self-consciously, and maybe a touch passive-aggressively too. “All I can think about is that damned dildo.”

  “I wanna see it,” Dev said, returning her attention to me. “You gotta smuggle it outta there tomorrow. Just lemme see it.”

  “No way.”

  And then Devon was sneaking peeks over her shoulder again. And again and again. The conversation between us became punctuated by long periods of silence, when Devon was making eyes at some guy.

  Maybe I was a little tiffed that it was so hard to hold her attention for any length of span. Or maybe I'm just a shitty person? Because I wasn't proud of what I said next.

  “And here I thought, with your very own hockey player, you were finally satisfied.” I'd meant it as a joke, or perhaps a comical observation. But as soon as those words left the tip of my tongue, I knew they weren't funny at all. Instead those toxic words were tipped with poisoned barbs.

  Devon slowly faced me, wearing a sour expression. “What'd you say?”

  “Sorry. I just, uh, I thought things were going really well with Jono.”

  “Um. We're just screwing around.” She gave a self-conscious shrug. And then she tried to make the tone light and fun again. “We're not exclusive.”

  I should've left it at that, but … Round 5, and all that.

  “… But does he know that?”

  She huffed. “C'mon, Lane. Don't be a dick.”

  “I'm not trying to be. I'm just asking.”

  “You're making me feel bad, okay? I don't wanna think about it.” She rolled her shoulders back, trying to put it all behind her.

  “Sorry. I'm sorry.”

  “Maybe I'm not all super serious like you are, okay? Maybe I don't wanna analyze every little thing someone does or says to me? I'm still young, Lane. I'm not trying to fall in love with every guy I meet like you do. Sheesh.”

  This time, her barbs sunk into me. But I'd deserved them. Stoically, I nodded, and tried my best to ignore the stinging pain those talons had left under my calm and collected facade.

  “Alright. I'm sorry, Dev. Really. Forget I said anything.”

  We finished our drinks in near silence. We avoided making eye contact with each other. Devon didn't give her suitor anymore looks. And then he went elsewhere. He could probably see it in her body language, that her mood for the night was ruined. Forget it and move on. Find someone else to fool around with.

  When our glasses were empty, it was time to go. I apologized again. She told me not to worry about it. I called her a cab and started the walk home, muttering under my breath how I ruin everything.

  Well, I'll say this: don't worry. Me and Dev fight sometimes. When it gets real, it gets emotional, until we both have some time to ourselves to reflect on our feelings and stuff. And then we cry and hug each other and all is fine again.

  It's rare, but it happens. I still love her to death. I just hope she can forgive me for being such an insensitive ass-hat. Seems like everything I touch, I fuck up somehow.

  Sigh.

  23

  Home Alone

  – Lane –

  Friday night, 6:30 PM.

  I pounded on River's door and he opened up in a flash.

  “Hey dude! Thanks again for coming!” he opened the door wide and let me in. River hurried about the room, moving twice as fast as normal.

  Or maybe I was moving half as fast as normal. I was still feeling sluggish and dazed, suffering an emotional hangover from my fight with Devon.

  “Sorry! I hope I didn't make you late, River. I forgot I'd left my car in town last night, 'cause I had drinks, and then I had to rush over there just now, befor--”

  “It's alright, dude! I should've given you keys and showed you all this last time we met!”

  River was a blur as he bopped around the apartment to gather up the last of his things. I suppose River wore his 'comfies' when he went flying on these hockey trips. In this case, basketball shorts and school-branded, sleek and sexy athletic shirt that hugged every ridge and band of muscle on his frame. That was a nice pick-me-up.

  “Oh. Gotta show you this.” River called me over to show me a notepad. He'd written up the cutest how-to guide for taking care of Deke. Even though the necessary information could be distilled to three simple things: 1) feed him, 2) give him water, and 3) take him outside to potty.

  But still. River was a caring doggy dad. That was obvious. And that's why he faithfully transcribed Deke's routine, complete with average nap times; a hand-drawn diagram of all his favorite places to be scratched; his favorite chew toys and treats; and even the music he likes to be played when he's left home alone. (Vivaldi. Because of course Deke loved Vivaldi.)

  Yeah, it was kinda heart-meltingly cute.

  “Sorry to rush out on you, Lane! I don't wanna be late.” River said as he threw on his ball cap, slung a duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed his motorcycle keys.

  “No, don't apologize. It's all my fault. I'm sorry.”

  “Okay, uh, that should be everything.” River approached slowly, his arms outstretched to offer a hug. I was all too willing to accept it from him, to press my face against his chest and take in his manly scent.

  In an ideal world, this moment wouldn't end. I'd cling on forever and never grow bored of sliding my hands, up and down over the taut muscles that lined his back. I'd never grow sick of the silky smoothness of his athletic shirt, like candy to my fingertips.

  But it wasn't an ideal world, of course, and I had to let go. We both did. And so we came apart.

  “Call me or shoot me a text if you have any questions. And thanks a million, dude.”

  “Sure. Heck, I'll text you to keep you updated on how Deke's doing. With pictures and stuff too.”

  His eyes lit up. “Would you?”

  I knew he'd love that. “Of course.”

  River made for the doorway. “Alright. Bye man.”

  “Bye.”

  He was halfway out the door when I stopped him.

  “Hey River.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Thanks bud! I'll see you soon!”

  ***

  Deke started in on his shenanigans the second the door shut behind River.

  “Myuu, myuuuuu! Myuuurragrrgghhhhh!”

  And that's when I learned that Boston Terriers can make some pretty bizarre noises.

  “Deke! Hey buddy. Deke. C'mere.” I tried to console him but to no avail. His eyes shot daggers at me from across the room. If dogs could speak – what would he be saying?

  'DAD! COME BACK! YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU LEFT ME WITH! THIS GUY IS A SNOOP AND A PERVERT!'

  “I am not, Deke.” I said, defending my integrity from – er, my own vivid imaginati
on?

  Deke continued to whine.

  “So you like Vivaldi, huh? That'll calm you down maybe.” I powered on River's tablet, hooked it up to the stereo system, and pulled up some classical music. “I'm curious, Deke. Can you tell the difference between Vivaldi and, say … Rachmaninoff? Because I can't.”

  Deke grumbled. Rachmaninoff began to play. Deke decided he didn't like it. He went back to yowling and yelping at the door – even louder than before. Did I just piss him off?

  “Alright, alright. Let's try Vivaldi then. How about this one. It's called, Spring Concerto No.1 in E, Op. 8.” The instantly-recognizable tune began to play. “Hey, even I know this one!”

  Deke's eyes grew contented and sleepy, and he trotted over to his dog bed and laid down with a satisfied harumph.

  “Well. I'll be damned, Deke. You really do know your classical. Huh. Smart pup.”

  I plopped onto River's leather couch and listened to the music with Deke. Fidgeted with my cell phone, too. Still no reply from Devon. Earlier today, I'd sent her a text apologizing once again. She couldn't still be mad, could she?

  … I knew there was one way I could probably get her to reply.

  With Deke on the verge of sleep – hey, I don't need any witnesses, even if they are canine – I tip-toed off to River's room. Softly, I shut the door behind me. His room was quiet, a touch chilly. I didn't belong here and I knew it. Even if he'd given me permission to spend the night.

  I pushed all those thoughts and doubts aside. Because I was on a mission to make things right with Devon.

  I glided across the room. To River's sock drawer. Opened it, reached in. Fished it out. The Clone-A-Cock. I laid it on River's bed sheets. Put my arm next to it for size reference. Snapped a photo on my cell phone. I attached the picture into an email to Devon and wrote, 'Ta-da! Here he is!' and hit send.

  Okay. My mission was complete. I could stuff the dildo back in the drawer, bury it under a hundred pairs of size 12 socks, and forget I ever had anything to do with this.

  Or. Since River was gone and I was home alone. I could play a little. This time, without the threat of being discovered.