Out of the Box

by Don Schecter

  I looked at the bed. So empty. The stereo’s remote control lay unused by the bottles of pills. The room was the same as it had been except for the palpable sense of emptiness.

  I stared at the bed and almost willed Dennis to materialize the way we’ve all seen it done with special effects in the movies. Then my imagination and the alcohol set the room in motion. Papers left the desk and began to swirl. Books went flying. The IV stand tipped over. My head was spinning and I felt a weakness that forced me to grab for support.

  Just as quickly, my head cleared. Everything was as it had been; nothing was disturbed. I set my glass down. I heard Dennis’s voice in my head: “No more champagne for you tonight, my friend.” I smiled. He was still looking out for me.

  The receiver came on, its face panel lit in luminous blue; I was startled. The CD player whirred into action. Callas’s piercing voice launched into the room. My conditioned response kicked in big time and I shouted, “For God’s sake, Dennis, turn that damned thing off!”

  Silence.

  “That’s more like it,” I said.

  Then I stopped: the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. My flesh was alive with goosebumps as I realized what had happened. At the foot of the hospital bed, with my head bowed, eyes shut tight and brimming over with tears, I said aloud, “I’m so happy for you, Dennis. I’m so happy.”

  Doorways

  The snow fell softly on the living-room window, imitating the artificial frosting Gerald and Rob had meticulously coated on the inside of every pane. As Larry’s finger traced trails in the condensation, he contemplated the deep tan of his hand against the falling white outside.

  “How are the girls?” Rob asked. “Will you have a glass of Port?”

  “That would be great. It’s so hard to believe I was in Honolulu ten hours ago, and that I was playing tennis yesterday without a shirt.” Larry took the glass Rob offered.

  “Thanks.” He sipped. “Hits the spot.” He seated himself in a comfortable wing chair.

  “My daughters are fine. Once they got accustomed to the Hawaiian school system and made a few friends, they settled right in.”

  “I’m glad the transition went well. They were so headstrong, each in her own way, all the years you lived across the street from us, that I was wondering how they’d adapt to change.”

  “And how are you doing?” Gerald asked.

  “Almost as well. You don’t lack for friends in a strange city because, through your job, you automatically get to know people. But my social life is at a standstill.”

  “Must be tough to get started in a new location,” Rob consoled.

  Larry could feel the Port go straight for the tip of his nose with a numbing warmth.

  His eyes shining with an instant high, he looked at Gerald and Rob cuddling against each other on the sofa and blurted, “Well, I don’t want to get started with another woman.” As their eyes snapped to his, Larry instantly knew his purpose in visiting Gerald and Rob was to say those words.

  Cautiously, Rob asked, “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’m ready to try men. I’ve been screwing women for twenty years and it’s never been right for me. A couple of times I thought it was, but, looking back, there was always something missing.”

  “So you’re finally ready,” Gerald said.

  “I’ve been ready for years, all the years I lived across the street from you guys. All I needed was a helping hand, someone to light a lamp. But you two were never willing to get involved. God! The hints I dropped. Weren’t you listening?”

  Gerald sat back, Rob leaned forward. Cupping his glass in both hands, Rob said, “We heard each word, every whimper, every cry for help.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you do something? We were all such great buddies—on the surface. I never understood why I couldn’t move you.”

  “I don’t expect you’ll understand now either. But since it’s out in the air, Gerald and I agreed when we talked about it.…Have you heard of Star Trek?”

  “What’s that got to d…?”

  “Well,” Gerald explained, “Rob and I agreed that, like the Prime Directive says, we had no right to interfere with any sentient life forms for fear of biasing their development.”

  “Oh, bullshit, Gerald. All I needed was a word of advice…” Larry’s voice trailed away.

  “You’ll understand in a few years. This is a threshold you have to cross by yourself.”

  “So what are you saying? You still won’t help me?”

  A doorbell rang. Rob went to the back door through the kitchen, calling behind him as he left, “I didn’t say that.”

  Gerald finished the thought. “What Rob means, Larry, is that now that you’ve come out, so to speak, we can advise you. But we just didn’t feel we could bear the blame if we steered you, and it was in the wrong direction.”

  Conversation lagged in the living room as Gerald and Larry listened to the growing clamor from the kitchen.

  Great to see you…How lovely…Just beautiful. I can’t thank you enough…Come inside.

  I really shouldn’t. I must be going…my boots are covered with snow.

  I won’t hear “no.” You have to say hello to Gerald. Take off your boots. It’s been ages since we’ve seen you.

  Rob reentered the living room carrying a four-foot-high poinsettia that looked too perfect to be real. “Gerald, look who’s here. It’s Kenneth, of all people.” He was followed by a strapping young giant in a leather jacket. Its fleece collar, still upturned against the cold, framed a stunningly molded head. Larry’s impression was that this was an actor, hired to play the part of a friend delivering flowers. His cheeks were red, his eyes steel-gray, and his hair a thick mass of brown waves. He stood on the threshold of the room in heavy woolen socks, holding his wet mittens in his hand.

  Larry stood, although nobody seemed to notice him. Gerald went over to Kenneth and kissed him warmly, placing his hands on Kenneth’s ears instead of embracing him because his jacket was wet with melted snow.

  Kenneth had to bend down for the kiss. “Guys, I can’t stay. I’ve twelve more pots in the van and, if I don’t get moving, they’ll freeze. I’ll come another time. Promise.” He turned back into the kitchen. Rob followed him.

  Words. Shuffling. The door closed and Rob came back. “Wasn’t that nice?” he said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Larry agreed, indicating the plant, “and so was the delivery man.”

  “Yes, he’s gorgeous. Now where were we?” He poked at the fire.

  “I need your help. I don’t know how to navigate. Years ago, I asked a friend in college how gays—well, homosexuals, then—met, and he told me, ‘The eyes have it. Look a man in the eye, and if he holds your gaze, it’s ten-to-one he’s a homo.’ Well, I’ve tried, and every time I catch someone’s eye, I look away. It doesn’t work for me.”

  “What exactly do you want us to do?” Gerald asked. “And it’s sort of difficult, with you living in Hawaii now.”

  “I don’t know,” Larry exclaimed, losing patience with his friends. “Fix me up. Get me a blind date. Get me somebody who looks like that woodsman who just delivered the poinsettia.”

  The two laughed together. “It just doesn’t work that way in the gay world,” Rob said.

  “There are too many tastes, too many kinds of coupling.”

  Larry looked perplexed. He’d been on a million blind dates in his life. Most were dogs, but every now and then he’d hit a home run. “Well, I’m willing to take the chance. Look around. There must be someone who wouldn’t mind showing me what it’s all about. Hey, all I really need is an opportunity.”

  The phone rang. “Ah, opportunity is ringing instead of knocking.” Rob lifted the receiver. He spoke a few words, got up and went into the kitchen for privacy, trailing the telephone on a thirty-foot cord. Gerald and Larry sipped in silence until he came back and resumed his seat.

  “Well?” Gerald asked.

  “Well,” Rob began, “that was Ken, who was so sm
itten by this man”—he pointed at Larry—”he had to stop at the first phone booth to call.”

  A beat, and then Gerald and Larry erupted in unison. “What! What are you saying?”

  “It went like this: ‘Rob, who is that magnificent specimen in your living room? Why didn’t you tell me you had friends like that?’”

  “And what did you say?” asked Larry on the edge of his chair.

  “I told him to come for dinner Saturday night…and to bring his toothbrush. That is, Larry, if you can make it.”

  There was no immediate response.

  “Larry?…Earth to Larry…Are you free Saturday night?”

  “If I had a meeting with the President of the United States, I would cancel it.”

  “Frankly,” Rob said, nodding his head, “so would I.”

  The conference for which Larry had returned to D.C. dragged interminably. He hardly paid attention to the information he was being fed, knowing he could verify everything over the WATS tie-line from Honolulu when and if he needed it. He stared at the faces of his superiors and colleagues and only saw gray eyes flashing at him, Rock Hudson in woodsman’s garb, that smile—oh, to touch those lips. Larry ached for Saturday.

  “So,” Ken said, a brandy snifter in his hand as they relaxed after dinner by the fire, “tell me about your daughters.”

  Gerald and Rob had been perfect hosts and now were completing their roles as parents of the bride by doing dishes in the kitchen so the “young people” could be alone.

  Larry had steadfastly avoided the words “family” and “daughters,” feeling they would be a turn-off on this, his coming-out night. Now he looked at Ken’s ruggedly handsome face, enhanced by the flickering fire, and was pleased that he would not have to split himself into two persons to get into Ken’s bed.

  “They’re wonderful teenagers. Very bright, lovable, independent. You’d like them if they were here.”

  “And raising them by yourself—I think that’s remarkable—how did you manage it?”

  “Sometimes it was scary, but it always worked out. I hired nannies when they were available, and depended on girlfriends and neighbors when it was necessary.”

  “And that didn’t leave much time to explore your own sexuality, did it?” Ken asked with gravity.

  “Homosexuality would have been inconsistent with my lifestyle, so I just kept heading down the same dusty road.” He raised his voice so Gerald and Rob could hear him. “And my friends wouldn’t lift a finger to help me.”

  Rob called from the kitchen, “In your hat, buster. If you knew what you wanted, you’d have asked for it.”

  “Maybe so,” Larry said so only Ken could hear, and trailed off staring deeply into Ken’s eyes.

  Ken’s gaze didn’t waver. Larry could feel energy passing between them, questions asked and resolved without a spoken word, understanding arrived at in silence. Then Ken said softly, “Let’s go up. If we wait for them to finish out there, we’ll have to chit-chat for another hour, and I don’t think I want to wait that long to get my hands on you.”

  In the guest bedroom, Larry turned to Ken and made a gesture that clearly communicated what do we do now, coach? Ken loved this part. Nothing thrilled him like taking a virgin to bed. Although he had done this dozens of times, each time it was a brand new experience because each partner approached his initiation from a fresh perspective. He peeled Larry’s clothes from him with a great deal of tenderness and care.

  Larry felt this was the first time he had ever been really naked with another person, nothing held back. When Ken stepped away to look appraisingly at him, and then held his hands apart, Larry walked into his arms and allowed himself to be enfolded. The sensations were startlingly different. Male aromas, body heat, power, massiveness, strength: all these flooded in on him and swirled in his mind. He was on his back— on my back! —with Ken’s weight bearing down on him, Ken showering him with kisses. So this was what my women felt! He allowed himself to slip easily into the dependent role, his mind always watching, examining as a third person would, how they were relating to each other.

  Ken’s mouth enveloped Larry’s bursting erection. He showed him by example how to thrill his partner. And then they changed places. Larry eagerly crossed the barrier, his lips closing around his first cock. He struggled to adapt to the unaccustomed feel of a mouth full of maleness. “Use your lips,” Ken purred. “Careful of your teeth. Now play with me right along there with your tongue.”

  As Larry fell happily into step with the first routine he was taught, his mind had time to register impressions. He had never before been so close to another man’s groin, pubic hair, sac. He pulled back and examined the shaft he was sucking on. It was, to his surprise, smaller than his own. This man who was several inches taller, broader and more massive than he, had a much smaller penis. It was bright red and curved up. It came to an inverted heart-shaped point that made it look like a devil’s tail. Larry sensed a vague disappointment with Ken, then shrugged it off. On the bright side, the small tool made child’s play of sucking: he was able to manipulate Ken’s cock in his mouth with ease.

  Ken’s balls, too, were jelly beans compared to Larry’s jumbo-sized eggs. Remarkable.

  With no one except himself to compare Ken to, Larry accepted him as he was. He allowed the pleasure of sensation to flow over him and he was able to completely relax.

  Ken held the lube up so Larry could see what it was and what he was doing with it.

  He rolled Larry to his side and gently massaged his anus with the lubricant. He entered on tiptoe, as gently as an experienced man could take a virgin. Larry experienced no twinge of pain when Ken, with a deep sigh, finally pressed all the way in.

  After that, Ken mentally detached from Larry and concentrated on enjoying himself.

  Larry could sense the emotional withdrawal, but he could not have cared less. His gratitude toward Ken for breaking down the wall he had always allowed to come between him and his desires was all-encompassing. The glow that suffused his body blocked out the fact that he was no longer registering pleasurable sensations from his nether regions.

  At the moment, Ken was only intent on satisfying himself; Larry was just happy to find it didn’t hurt.

  It was another four months before Larry was able to get back East again. Spring was in the air despite a brisk, cold wind. He and Ken had exchanged several letters, and sometimes spoken on the phone. Ken was always pleasant and polite, casually interested, but never returned Larry’s enthusiasm. Larry was riding a seemingly permanent high: he was so ecstatic with the miraculous break he had gotten, he was sure it was only a matter of time before Ken returned the love he felt for him.

  Ken lived on the upper floor of a brownstone facing east. The light poured into the oversized, uncovered windows, warming and cheering the otherwise drably furnished flat. Larry swept Ken off his feet the moment the door opened. He dragged him directly to bed because he hadn’t had sex since he last saw Ken. Preferring to keep himself for his lover, he had made no attempt in Honolulu to employ his new knowledge. Things were more enjoyable for him now because he had had time to adjust to his feelings about sex with a man. He had carefully planned strategies to please his partner, and set out to show that he was no longer a novice. Ken seemed happy with the effort, and Larry liked being able to return some of the joy Ken had given him.

  Afterwards, they sipped coffee in the warm morning sun and Larry declared his love for Ken. Ken listened with polite interest as if he were hearing a very good story. He never interrupted and, when Larry finally wound down, he replied with the same tenderness he had shown in their lovemaking.

  “Larry, I know this is hard for you, but it was anticipated: it happens all the time.

  You only think you’re in love with me, because I’m your first. There’s a whole new world out there for you to discover, and it would be totally inappropriate for you to fence yourself off from it by falling in love with the first man you had sex with.”

  Larry tri
ed to protest but Ken overrode him as they both already knew what Larry intended to say. “It’s the pupil/teacher syndrome. First-timers are always falling in love with their teachers. It’s standard psychological transference after a lifetime of pent-up emotions.”

  “Don’t you enjoy sex with me?” Larry countered. “We seem to get along so well.”

  “Sure I do. You’re going to develop into a fine lover. You have all the instincts. And you’ve had practice taking care of others, so you’re unselfish and considerate. But your life and mine are so disparate. Do you imagine I want teenage girls around, or that we could wait until they move out? These are just some of the practicalities you haven’t even stopped to think about in your rush to be gay.”

  Larry heard. It made sense to him even though he didn’t want it to. It felt so peculiar, being ten years older than your mentor. He was aware that Ken was trying very hard not to talk down to him. But Larry was thirty-eight and, although old for a beginner, he was well-trained in the path of true love by all the Bette Davis films he had devoured as a youngster. This training now surfaced in one more college try.

  “This is beyond all comprehension. You love me and I love you, and if you don’t grab the ring on the carousel, you lose it…possibly forever. This is totally unreasonable, and I just won’t accept it.”

  Ken smiled wearily. In this, he was jaded. Although ever-changing partners kept sex fresh for him, his affairs all ended with the same conversation.

  “Larry, hear me! I don’t love you. I have a policy never to date the same man more than two or three times. Five times tops for exceptions. You’re one, but that’s the limit.”

  “You have a policy? Love is determined by policy in the gay world?”

  “That’s just it. I’m not the gay world. I’m just one component, the portal through which guys like you enter. Now that you’ve stepped through, you have to go exploring on your own.”

  Larry had no fight left. He just looked at Ken, disbelieving.