Tales from the Bottom of My Sole

by David Kingston Yeh

  “But you’re not monogamous.”

  “We’re monogamish.”

  “Oh. Monogamish. Okay. I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do. So.” Karen picked up her laptop and strolled with it into her kitchen. “Have you thought about doing it?”

  “Not really.” I folded my arms. “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Are you going to hook-up with Marcus? You’ve told me you still want to sleep with him.”

  “Absolutely not. Definitely not. I mean, just because I think about sex with someone, doesn’t mean I want to have sex with someone.”

  Karen set dirty cups and dishes in the sink and headed down a hallway. “There’s a difference?”

  “Of course there’s a difference.”

  “Please clarify.”

  I flipped through a mental rolodex. “Mr. Arbuckle.”

  Karen drew a breath and made a face. “Right.” Our former high school art teacher might’ve been Ryan Reynolds’ better-looking kid brother. In pottery class he’d put on a smock and roll up his sleeves, working the wet clay with his big hands. All the girls loved pottery with Mr. Arbuckle. After his daughter died of cancer, he’d cried in front of the whole class. “Gotcha.”

  “Also, like. I mean, take Luke.”

  “Luke? Oh my god.” Behind Karen, I caught a shaky glimpse of a shower curtain with a colourful forest print: pine trees, cardinals, raccoons and foxes. She set the laptop down. “Daniel, are you attracted to Luke?”

  “Karen, I’m attracted to pretty much any guy who walks around in ripped jeans with his shirt off. But Luke. He’s, I dunno. Luke’s a sexy guy. He also wears this amazing cologne. I think it’s his cologne. Fuck. But he’s also David’s big brother. So there you go. And he likes women.”

  Karen’s face bobbed in and out of the camera frame. “He has a girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, a scary ass rocker chick girlfriend. David says if Ai Chang Cho was a Final Fantasy character, she’d be lopping off heads with a vibranium battle-axe. Karen, what are you doing?”

  “I’m peeing.” Karen rested her chin in her hands and regarded me thoughtfully. She reached out and adjusted the angle of her laptop. “Daniel, are you okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You just seem distracted.”

  Karen could always do this: Tell me what was going on with me before I knew what was going on with me.

  “I’m okay.” I sighed. “I mean school is really busy. It’s a lot of studying. It’s tough. I get these headaches. I haven’t had a chance to get out much.”

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I do. This is our first time apart.”

  “Daniel, you spent the first twenty-one years of your life apart from each other, and you were just fine. David will be back before you know it. Time apart can be healthy for a relationship. Just picture meeting him at the airport.”

  “How are things with Bob?”

  “Things with Bob are good. Bob’s my big daddy-o teddy bear. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s really a sweet, fun-loving guy. He’s a lot different.”

  “You mean different from Liam.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks.” Karen crumpled up a handful of toilet paper. “Daniel, you should take a break. Spend a day on the Toronto Islands or something. Go for a walk in High Park. Will you do that for me?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Hey.” Karen peered into the camera. “This is me you’re talking to. You look tired. You’ve been working too hard. I know school’s important, but you need to get out of the house. Get reconnected with nature. You’ll feel better when you do.”

  “Work on this dad bod?”

  “Get outdoors. You promise you’ll do that?” Offscreen, Karen wiped herself, and flushed. “Do something to help your body feel healthy and good. Trust me, your mind and spirit will follow.”

  “Yes, Karen, I promise.”

  The next Saturday afternoon, I went for a bike ride to Riverdale Farm in Cabbagetown. Behind wooden fences, well-fed cows and horses lounged in the hazy, mid-July heat, switching their tails at the flies. Hefting my bike, I descended a hill to an expansive field where a softball game was in full swing. After that it was only a short route up to an overpass where a metal staircase led down into the Don River Valley Trail.

  David had shown me this path last summer, winding from the Portlands up to Taylor Creek Park, mostly hidden by dense valley foliage, set apart from the nearby parkway. Passing joggers and dog-walkers, I eventually approached the mammoth concrete foundations of the Prince Edward Viaduct, where I stopped for a water break.

  The sun was blazing hot and my pit-stains were showing. Far overhead, a subway train rumbled past. Sycamores and sugar maples overshadowed swaths of sumac. I took off my helmet and tied my bandana around my head. After that, I hit a long stretch parallel to wetlands and shallow rapids where trout lilies and dogwood crowded the riverbank. The lazy buzz of cicadas filled the air. If Liam were here, I was sure he could identify every living thing in the valley. I stopped again for a drink by a half-rotten cedar, then retreated further into the underbrush to relieve myself.

  I’d finished my business and was just about to leave, when a flash of colour caught my eye. Through the green branches, I spied a man at the river’s edge in a riding helmet. I recognized the tattoo across his broad shoulders, REBEL HEART. It was Trevor Fang. I was about to call out when I realized he wasn’t alone. Another man was kneeling in front of him. As I watched, he pulled Fang’s shorts down around his ankles. Fang kicked them aside, and gripped his companion’s head, pulling him close. Then I backed away as discreetly as I could.

  I got on my bike and rode on. After five minutes, I slowed and stopped. A rabbit hopped across my path. I turned around and headed back the way I came. When I approached the cedar, I spotted Fang and his companion sitting on the grass, sharing a tallboy.

  “Yo, Dan-the-Man!” Fang called out as I flew by at high speed.

  I braked and swung back around. “Hey, Fang.”

  “I thought it was you. You’re looking fit.”

  “You too.”

  Trevor Fang was looking fit, his cycling shorts hugging his hips. He always was the poster boy gym bunny.

  “Daniel, this is Jonathan.”

  I took off my sunglasses and mopped my face with the bottom of my T-shirt. “Hey.”

  “Jonathan, Dan-the-Man.”

  Jonathan smiled up at me, shading his eyes. He was a pale, curly-haired boy with angelic features (what David would call a Botticelli face), the opposite of Fang in every way. The kid might’ve been nineteen or twenty, wearing a pink tank top and flip-flops. Two expensive-looking road bikes lay next to them. Jonathan held out the tallboy.

  “You wanna sip?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Fang shook his head. “Daniel.” He reached into a cooler pack and lobbed me a beer which I fumbled and almost dropped. “C’mon, take a break. You know you want to.” He slapped the ground between them.

  The can was ice cold. “Alright.” I dismounted and sat down. “Thanks.”

  Jonathan finished his beer and the three of us shared the one I had. Two crew-cut women in Birkenstocks hiked past, red-faced with legs like tree stumps, each with their own lethal-looking pair of walking sticks. Eventually, I asked: “So how’s Marcus doing these days?”

  “I dunno,” Fang said. “I don’t think he’s seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

  “Oh?” I plucked a blade of grass. Secretly, I resented Fang’s assumption, even if it was true. I wondered if the two had had a falling out.

  “Well, I was in New York all of June,” Fang said.

  “What were you doing in New York?”

  “DJing, helping to produce a friend’s music video.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Fang was a lot
older than Marcus or me. For some years now, he’d been slumming it in Toronto on his Hong Kong parents’ trust fund. I also knew that his favourite ice cream flavour was tiger tail, his grandfather was a centenarian, and that he liked having his nipples and balls played with during sex. I wondered if, by the riverbank, Jonathan knew to play with his nipples and balls.

  “That’s new.” Fang nodded at my tattoo.

  “Is that your girlfriend?” Jonathan asked.

  “No. This.” I pulled the sleeve of my T-shirt up higher. “This is my grandmother.”

  “She’s really pretty.”

  “Pretty rockin’,” Fang said.

  A red-tailed hawk circled far overhead. “So, Fang, how’s your grandfather doing?”

  “He died last spring.”

  “Oh shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He was like over a hundred, right?”

  “He was one-hundred-and-four.”

  Jonathan sat up cross-legged. “No kidding?”

  “That’s a long life.”

  “It was.” Fang handed me the beer. “Jonathan, I think you’re starting to burn.”

  “Uh oh. I think I am.”

  “Here.” I rummaged in my bike pack. “I have some sunblock.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Jonathan pulled off his tank-top and turned his back to me.

  “What are you looking at me for?” Fang said. “You need any?” I asked.

  Fang’s thick torso and limbs were dark golden-brown. “Does it look like I need any?”

  “Just asking.”

  As casually as I could, I applied sunblock to Jonathan’s pink shoulders.

  “Trevor,” Jonathan said, “you’ve never told me about your grandfather.”

  “He was a wise old man, Jonathan. You would’ve liked him. He used to fix watches for a living. He was also a musician, and an inventor.”

  “Neat. What did he invent?”

  “Nothing to make him rich or famous. But he liked making things with his hands.”

  “Me too.”

  “Now his grandfather,” Fang said, “was the first person in his village to own a bicycle.”

  “Let me think. That’s your great-great-grandfather, right?”

  “That’s right. All the villagers came out to see this strange, new-fangled machine. He sat my grandfather on the handlebars and they rode around like rock stars. All the villagers were just amazed by it.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Pretty much everything’s amazing, Jonathan, if you’ve never experienced it before.”

  “That’s true, I guess. I’ve never thought about it that way.”

  “Take tacos, for instance. I didn’t have my first taco until I was half-way through university. I still remember the first time I tried one.”

  “How was it?”

  “It was amazing.”

  “Was it delicious?”

  “It was amazing delicious, just like you, Jonathan.”

  “Done,” I said.

  Jonathan turned around to face me, wiggled himself closer and extended his arms. “Trevor, when was the last time you were amazed?”

  “The last time I was amazed?” Fang scratched the back of his head. “I’ll have to think about that.”

  I squirted sunblock onto Jonathan’s forearms. A flock of red-winged blackbirds settled into the nearby shade. Jonathan regarded Fang expectantly. I rubbed the lotion into Jonathan’s arms.

  “I suppose,” Fang said, “the last time I was amazed was when you and I first had sex. You were beautiful. You know that, right?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jonathan said.

  “Well, you were. Your ass was beautiful. I loved fucking it. It felt amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, Daniel,” Fang said, “do you think Jonathan’s beautiful?”

  I was massaging the lotion into Jonathan’s hands now. First the right, and then the left. There was dirt under his fingernails. I was surprised at how callused his palms were. I regarded Jonathan’s Botticelli face.

  “Sure,” I said. “Yeah. He’s beautiful.”

  “His ass is amazing. Would you ever want to fuck Jonathan’s ass?” Overhead, the sun was relentless. All the clouds in the sky had disappeared. “Daniel, I think I’d like to watch you fuck his ass.” Jonathan smiled and blushed.

  “Jonathan,” Fang said, seeing that I was obviously at a loss for words, “would you like Daniel to fuck your beautiful ass?”

  Jonathan held both my hands in his and looked me in the eyes. “Only,” he said, “if all the villagers can come out and watch.”

  “We can serve them all tacos,” I said.

  “Wow,” Jonathan said, grinning from ear to ear. “That would be amazing.”

  “I think so,” I said.

  Jonathan laughed. I passed him the bottle of sunblock. “Don’t forget to do the tops of your feet,” Fang said, “and your ears.”

  “Yes, Trevor.”

  “Daniel.” Fang held out the tallboy. “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” He drained the can and crushed it in one hand.

  “Is there any more?” Jonathan asked.

  Fang shook his head. “No, Jonathan, I only brought the two. You know that.”

  The boy looked crestfallen.

  “Hey.” I drew a breath. “Look, thanks for sharing.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve got some water if anyone ...” Both of them regarded me blankly. A bumblebee, laden with pollen, droned past. After a minute, I got up. “Well, I should be heading off.”

  Fang stretched out his legs, leaned back on his elbows, and squinted up at me. “Daniel, you’ve got a hard-on. Look, why don’t the three of us take our bikes and go down by the river.”

  “Yeah, Fang, now that you point it out, I guess I do.” I thrust my hand into my shorts and adjusted myself. “I’m going now. Seriously, thanks for the beer.”

  “Jonathan, did you know Daniel pre-cums more than anyone I know?”

  “Really?”

  “Really, he does. He’s like this pre-cum machine. That’s a spot on his shorts right there, if I’m not mistaken. How would you like to taste Daniel’s sweet pre-cum?”

  “Fang,” I said, “we’re done here. I’m leaving.”

  “That’s right, I forgot. You have a boyfriend. What’s his name?”

  “It’s David.”

  “And where is David?”

  “Right now, he’s in Italy.”

  “Your boyfriend lives in Italy?” Jonathan asked.

  “No, he’s just visiting with his mom.”

  “His mom lives in Italy?”

  “No, he and his mom are both from here. The two of them are travelling together. They’re visiting relatives in Italy.”

  “How long are they gone for?”

  “Pretty much the whole summer.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “They took a plane, right?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “I’ve never been on a plane. I’d like to fly on a plane one day.”

  I rested my hands on my hips and studied the tree line. “You know what, Jonathan?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never been on a plane either.”

  “Really? Maybe we could fly on a plane together one day.”

  “Maybe.”

  He smiled at me. “It’d be amazing.”

  “Yes, it would be.”

  “Trevor, when was the last time you went on a plane?”

  Fang lay back in the grass and put on a pair of gun-metal Ray-Bans. “When I visited New York.”

  “And before then?”

  “When I flew to Hong Kong for my grandfather’s funeral.”

  “Was that a long fight?”

  Fang folded his hands over his stomach. “Yes, it was, Jonathan. It was a very long flight.”

  “Hong Kong, that’s farther away than Italy.”

  “That’s right.”
r />   “Daniel, do you want to smoke a joint with us?”

  “No thanks. I really should get going.”

  “Daniel doesn’t smoke-up,” Fang said. “It makes him sick.”

  “Is that true?” Jonathan asked.

  I nodded.

  “Alright. Well, it was nice meeting you.” Jonathan held out his hand.

  I shook his hand. “It was nice meeting you too.”

  “Wait.” He plucked a dandelion and held it out. “Here. This is for you.” He pointed. “You can put it in your bandana.”

  “Okay.” Carefully, I tucked the dandelion over one ear. “How’s that?”

  Jonathan beamed. “Now you look beautiful. Now you look amazing.”

  “Fang,” I said. “It was nice seeing you.”

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Fang said.

  “I’m sorry again about your grandfather.”

  He waved goodbye.

  I got on my bike and rode away. When I glanced over my shoulder, Jonathan was bent over a plastic Ziploc in his lap, rolling a joint.

  A single white heron crossed the sky. I rounded a bend in the path and cycled on for another ten minutes before pulling over. I carried my bike into the dense bush, found a secluded spot and jacked off. For a long minute, I observed my glistening cum on the tree roots and moss.

  After that, I pulled up my shorts, and headed back home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Grand Optimist

  On the morning of Parker Kapoor’s rooftop party, the sky was overcast and windblown, threatening rain. A silvery-grey veil speckled with seagulls swept across the lake. But by noontime, the clouds thinned and scattered, and the early August sun broke through. In Parker’s Art Deco lobby, I provided the password “There’s No Place Like Home” to the building concierge, a short, balding gentleman in an emerald blazer. He pointed me in the direction of the brass-framed elevators.

  The gathering was a BYOB potluck, but at Parker’s request I’d only brought a 26er of Bacardi. I stepped out onto the rooftop, expecting a dozen or so guests. To my shock, there were closer to fifty people milling about, chatting and laughing, cocktails in hand. We were twenty storeys up, and the view was spectacular. I could easily spot the U of T campus to the east and City Hall to the south. The lake between Harbourfront and the Toronto Islands was a sparkling ribbon of blue, stitched with scores of sailboats. Cotton ball clouds tumbled across the sky, and women’s summer skirts kept flying up like colourful flags. Parker jogged up to me and exclaimed: “Daniel, isn’t it delicious?”