If I ever had a child, I would be able to work him or her completely into my life—seamlessly. I knew that in my bones... I didn’t know if I would ever have a kid, or if I even wanted to have one, but I would model my life on that of my grandparents. My grandma had nine kids and was a homemaker. My grandpa worked like a dog to provide for them (and worked every holiday because the pay was double and a half). I’d heard stories about how my grandpa needed his me-time... but that he was always there for the kids. The kids were everything to him.
I didn’t learn this until much later, but my grandpa’s father left him when he was eleven (which was prior to World War II). My great-grandfather apparently had a mental breakdown and fled to Europe... never to return to the States, or his family, again. Before I learned of my great-grandfather’s mental breakdown and abandonment of his family, I was often bewildered as to why my grandpa got so upset if there was strife between his children... and wondered why he pressured us all to show up for family events and why he made sure there was at least one family event a month.
He was maniacal about the family stuff.
I appreciated my grandpa’s devotion to his family and hoped that our closeness would be his legacy. I wanted the Sullivans to stick together after my grandparents passed away... but that was a naïve dream. My cousins were already pulling apart—across the country, across social divides... into their own family dramas. The Sullivans might never be the same once we lost our matriarch and patriarch, but I pledged that I would be as devoted to my family as my grandpa was to his—that was one thing in my control.
I might not have any kids of my own, but I could make my own family. I could build a family with Mark... and Charlotte and the twins could be my adopted niece and nephews. That’s not weird... right? I would protect any of those kids as if they were my own.
STACY HAD A TRICK UP her sleeve before she left her precious daughter in our clutches. “You want to play dress-up, Char?” she asked.
Charlotte nodded her little head like she was a real princess. “I was thinking that we could play dress-up when we get home.” She used the cutest little voice, like she was speaking for a committee and the committee just so happened to want exactly what she decreed.
“Daddy and I are going out for dinner tonight,” Stacy said softly. “Uncle Mark and Uncle Chris are going to play with you until we get back. Is that okay?”
“Okay...” Charlotte said softly. “Can Daddy stay with us, too?”
“Daddy won’t play dress-up. Remember how Daddy got a suit for your birthday?”
“Yeah!” Charlotte said, excitedly. “It’s dark blue and it’s meant for a king!”
“Does Daddy play dress-up?”
“No. Daddy doesn’t even like to have tea.”
“Hmm,” Stacy said. She put a finger under her chin. “I know somebody who would play dress-up with you. All night.”
“Who?”
She pointed to Mark just as Tim walked in with the adult-sized fairytale dress and suit. They were both still in their boxes.
Charlotte pranced up to Mark, but stopped short of touching him. “Unk Mark! Will you dress up with me?”
“Sure. Can I have the suit?”
“Yay!” She jumped up and down. Her little legs jittered quickly and I feared that she might fall over. She saw her dad and ran to him, then breathlessly explained how Mark was going to dress up in the suit.
“That sounds like fun,” Tim said.
“Yeah,” Mark added. “And Chris will wear the dress.”
I made a face like I had swallowed half a lemon.
Mark chuckled and leaned towards me: “Have you ever tried drag?”
“No,” I whispered back. “And it ain’t startin’ tonight.”
The adults left for their date night. Charlotte wanted to dress up immediately. The twins decided to start shrieking and attempting to outrun each other, but ended up mostly falling on their faces. There was a lot of confusion. I had no idea what to do. I liked kids, but had never lived with any. I liked to spend a few minutes reading with them, or playing toys with them... but how do you handle three crazy kids... at once?
The answer: we managed.
Mark took Charlotte. I set the twins up babbling to each other as we played with the large, colorful building blocks. I built stacks as quick as I could. They watched me. Then one would decide it was time to destroy them. Then we would start building again. One baby would place the bottom block, then the next baby would place the next. Then I would stack like a fevered madman as they watched the tower grow.
The twins and I practiced our walking and our jumping on Mark. Charlotte was serving tea to her now properly dressed handmaiden—Mark looked good in a dress.
“Is the prince going to get dressed?” Mark asked me pointedly.
“He’s not the prince!” Char explained. “He’s the king. They are the princes.” She pointed at the toddlers.
“And what is Mark?” I asked.
“Mark is...” She looked at him and frowned. Then she giggled. “Mark is the big princess.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think Mark would make a good queen.”
Mark looked at me like he had a bug up his ass... and one trying to crawl out of his open mouth.
“Do you want to be the queen, Unk Mark?”
Mark looked bashful. “I’ll be the queen,” he conceded. “Where is my crown?”
Charlotte giggled again because she didn’t know what to say. Giggling, as I quickly came to understand, was her way out of a conversation. She started playing with the twins, treating them like her stuffed dolls. Mark retrieved the tin foil out of the pantry and folded a sheet into a makeshift tiara.
“Here’s the princess tiara,” he explained. “Do you want to make the queen’s crown?”
“Okay. I was thinking it needs to be bigger than my crown, because you’re the queen and I’m the princess.” She wiped her long hair away from her face.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Mark agreed.
JEREMY GOT TIRED FIRST. Zachary wasn’t far behind. It was almost eight thirty when the twins got testy. They were already in their sleeping clothes, so when Jeremy fell asleep while we were sitting in front of the TV, I picked him up gently and took him upstairs to his bedroom. There was a video monitoring system so we could watch them on the TV downstairs. After I settled Jeremy into bed, I took a deep breath, kissed him on the head and slowly left the room.
When I returned to the living room, Zachary was staring at Mark and Charlotte, blinking and wiping his eyes. I picked him up and settled him in my lap. He resisted and whined, babbling with little kid syllables. He was mostly asleep when I lifted him off my lap and hoisted him to my shoulder.
Mark tapped my arm and shook his head. “What?” I mouthed to him silently.
“Stay with Char,” he said. “I get to have one.” He held out his arms and I reluctantly handed over my little heater. Then Mark traipsed out of the living room with his pretty red and white dress while carrying the sleeping toddler.
Maybe this will be embarrassing to admit... but my cock liked what it was seeing. Mark in drag? Mark with a kid? Mark as a woman? If I wasn’t careful, I was going to get a full blown erection.
Thankfully, Charlotte rescued me from embarrassment by making me put on the ‘king’s dress’. I slipped on the dark blue tunic, tied the belt, and set the crown on my head that Mark had made for me. Char had her tiara. I had my crown. When Mark came down, I placed the smaller of the two crowns on his head.
“That one was mine,” he complained.
“Tough. I’m king.”
After that, Charlotte served us tea and chatted happily. She loved having two doting adults following her every whim. If she laughed, Mark laughed. If she pointed, we jumped to get whatever she wanted. Mark may have been dressed like royalty, but Charlotte was the true queen that night.
I snuck away from the two of them and pulled up Mark’s camera app on his phone. I took several photos bef
ore Mark realized what I was doing. I loved action shots. Mark was so good at posing that he could make a posed shot look natural, but the memories were not the same as a true candid.
I loved the natural way he puckered his lips when pretending to drink tea.
When he saw the phone in my hand, his posture became more formal and his head shifted slightly to show his best angle (like a proper Drama Queen).
I pretended to keep taking photos when in reality I had pulled up his Instagram and was posting one of the original un-posed shots with the hashtags: “#dramaqueen, #princess, #family, #teatime, she’s got him wrapped around her royal fingers.”
Then I took a picture of all three of us smiling and having a good time. After that, we watched one of Char’s favorite shows and she fell asleep between us on the loveseat, still in her princess dress. Mark was wearing his dress and I was wearing my suit.
We laid Charlotte on the bigger couch. Then we watched the replay of the newest episode of Survivor while still in our outfits. I fell asleep against Mark’s body... or perhaps I should say that I fell asleep in the arms of my queen.
I woke up to the sound of loud voices.
“Some sitters you are,” Ryan accused. “Charlotte could have burned the place down and you never would have known.”
I flinched and looked at the couch, where Char was still out like a light.
I wiped my eyes and looked for my glasses, then yawned. Where are my glasses? “Where are my glasses?” I asked sleepily.
“I don’t know, my King,” Ryan said. “I do love your fancy crown.”
I pulled away from Mark and rubbed my head. The tinfoil crown fell out of my curls. “Don’t make fun of me. It was his idea.”
“You loved it,” Mark said, ruffling my hair. “I kind of like this dress. I look hot.”
“Don’t even go there,” I said. “The kids were great. Took about ten minutes to settle down after you left, but I think we did a good job. Don’t you, Mark?”
“Everyone is still alive,” he agreed.
“Mission completed,” I said.
We changed out of the costumes and stored them in their boxes.
“I should have known Mark would take the dress,” Tim said.
“I tried to get Chris to try it... but he nixed that idea. One of these days I’ll have to get him in a drag show.”
“Where the fuck did that come from?” I said sleepily.
Mark covered my mouth and told me to watch my language.
What have I become? Cursing left and right. Mark is a horrible influence on me. And in front of the children!
Mark picked up Char and carried her to Tim’s car. I gave Stacy a hug. “How was it?” she whispered to me.
“He’s a natural, but I’m going to need a few lessons.” I smiled and she laughed. Then they left and we weren’t far behind. Ryan invited us to stay for drinks, but I was beat. Mark said he was tired, too.
“Now you know what us adults go through every day,” Ryan stressed. “I’d still have an eight pack if I didn’t have the rugrats.”
“You never had an eight pack,” Mark scoffed. He and Ryan dapped. I gave Ryan a ‘bro’ handshake. I was becoming a proper bro under Mark’s tutelage—it was impossible to determine if that was a good thing or bad.
“That was fun, babe,” Mark said as we got in his car.
“I liked it, too. You did great with Char.” He really did do good with the kids and deserved the praise.
“That’s cause we played dress-up all night. Shit, that was so fun. How did the pictures turn out?”
“Fine.”
“I saw you staring at me...”
“What?” I asked. “You did look silly in that dress.”
“You sure you weren’t ready to fuck me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“No!”
“Okay,” he said skeptically.
“I may have...” I stopped mid-confession. “I saw you being all parental... and I liked it. Okay? Sue me. I liked it.”
He grabbed my hand while managing to stay focused on the road. “I liked it too, babe. I liked it too.”
We got home and stumbled into bed. It had been a long day of hard work followed by a hard few hours of entertaining three small kids. (Who knew a little girl could be so much work? Why didn’t we just take the easy way out and set them in front of the TV for an hour?)
We washed up and I luxuriated in his hands as he touched my back. I let them roam wherever they wanted. He knew to start on the shoulders and work his way down. When it was my turn to wash him, I washed him as he usually did—spastically and with no logic behind his random movements.
We got in bed and cuddled. I lay on my side and closed my eyes. His light was still on.
“What the fuck!” he yelled, jolting me out of my half-slumber. “You are not allowed to touch my Instagram! You know that. That’s a fucking hard limit!”
“Oh my God. Stop yelling and delete the picture. You cross my limits all the time.”
“Do not. And I’m not deleting it.”
“You aren’t?”
“It’s my most liked photo ever. Fuck! And it’s only been two hours. I think we need to schedule more play dates with Char.”
“If you’re only doing something for the photo op, then you’re doing it wrong,” I said grumpily.
“That’s deep. Are you asleep or awake?”
“Awake! Now leave me alone.”
“Why couldn’t you have chosen this picture,” Mark whined, trying to show me one of the later pictures. “I’m smiling in this one.”
“You look fake. In the one I posted, you look real.”
“I look like I was about to put on lipstick!”
“You had just put on lipstick.”
“Fuck. I can’t leave this up.”
“Why not? You’re the one who’s always telling me to come out to my parents.”
“This is different. This is my livelihood. This is my career. If these girls knew I was gay... fuck. I don’t know, my client list would be halved. And if they knew I had a serious boyfriend... shit, they’d probably send you death threats.”
“On second thought, just stay in the closet. I don't care.”
“I’m not in the closet!” Mark said loudly. “I’ve never been in the closet.”
“You’re in denial. Let me get some sleep.”
He talked to me for ten more minutes, mostly about how hard he had it as a gay model with a straight client list. This is the definition of a first-world problem.... Eventually I tuned him out and fell asleep, though I probably kept talking to him because I did tend to talk in my sleep, especially within the first hour of laying my head on the pillow.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to be conscious for the rest of his complaints.
Men's Fashion Week
Our trip to Italy was full of lies. For starters, I lied to my parents by telling them I was going on another hike out of cell range instead of to a foreign country. They believed me. I felt guilty for lying (and I did it via email), but what else was I supposed to do?
I know, I know... I had to come out. Mark had been so nice to me for so long, and he deserved better. I needed to face this head on—Mark was a long-term prospect. He was smart and funny and kind... and he deserved to get more than the label of ‘that one friend I went on a hike with’.
Mark had met Lynn, my cousin, and that had gone well (I had even introduced him as ‘my guy’). I suspected they may have stayed in contact because Lynn sometimes knew things without me having to tell her. For example, I didn’t tell her about the Milan Men’s Fashion Week, but she knew. Mark probably wanted an ally to make sure I didn’t back out and Lynn was very good at twisting my arm. Mark—for all of his magnetic ability to make me do almost anything—was not good at twisting my arm. He could force me to do things, but he couldn’t apply pain like Lynn did.
So Mark and I flew to Europe on a cloud of lies. I had only flown once before (and it was so bad that I have no recollection
of the flight... in my memories I just teleported from the States to halfway across the world). I had renewed my passport because my family took boating trips up into Canada and there was a new law about to be enacted that required you to have a passport to get into Canada. (Dumb!)
Mark was worried that I would get motion sickness, which was absolutely laughable. I had been raised on the open seas of Lake Michigan—traveled through six to ten foot waves as we crisscrossed the lake. I had spent countless nights sleeping on our small, rocking boat and spent countless hours fishing as our boat went up and down in rough water.
I did not get motion sickness.
But I did get anxious. I was jumpy and Mark wanted me to take a pill. I scoffed at him and said I would never take medication of any kind unless it was life-saving—and even then I wasn’t sure if I would take it (which might have been foreshadowing for how I behaved prior to my recent bout of chemotherapy—a treatment which convinced me I had to finish this self-portrait). I definitely didn’t want to take pain medication or anything that would alter my mental state (such as a sleeping pill). Mark withdrew his offer after getting burned by my wrath.
But, in hindsight, Mark was right... I should have taken a pill. My body was so stiff that I had to get up and wander the cabin every half hour to shake out my nerves. My legs couldn’t sit still and my constant motion drove Mark nuts. I started the flight by the window, but by the end I was in the aisle and leaning over Mark to see Europe as we flew over the Mediterranean.
I had paid for my own ticket and booked it in the economy section (I was tempted to use my student ID for a discount, but thought better of such a blatant lie). Mark upgraded me to first class. He had booked two tickets in first class under his own name, canceled one while we waited for our flight and upgraded mine to that now empty seat... without my consent.
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