Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  He moved over to the sink and stared at the mirror. If he looked straight ahead, he could still see himself. His peripheral vision was completely gone, nothing left of it but darkness, yet the little that he could see revealed the same face he’d looked at for years. The same jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, framed by winged eyebrows. There was one new element he noticed; a frown line had started to develop between his brows. Not surprising, considering all that was going on. He reached out to touch the mirror, to try and relate to the man in front of him. Who was that?

  The ballplayer was gone, the secure and confident looker who attracted both sexes had disappeared, and the honor student and meticulous historian seemed to be on hiatus somewhere. His entire persona was lost in this world of darkness. He was flopping around like a caught fish, letting the RP take over his life instead of the other way around.

  It was all so wrong, and John had been trying to tell him that for months. He needed to get himself back if he ever wanted to move forward.

  I WAS standing outside our apartment building, bullshitting with Etienne, fellow student, part-time model, and full-time drug user. He’d hooked me up yesterday, and we’d established a tentative rapport.

  “So, Tin,” I teased, shortening his pretentious French name, “how’d you get into the modeling business?”

  “Someone took a fancy to me and sent my photos to the Ford agency. It was quite a shock when they called.”

  “I’ll bet. Did you have to sleep with that someone to seal the deal?”

  “Don’t be crass.”

  “I’m not; I just tell it like it is.”

  “You should model as well, Sloan; you’ve certainly got the right body for it.”

  “You mean all these bones are good for something?”

  “Do you have any idea of the lengths models will go to, to achieve the right body weight? You’re one of the lucky ones who will never know a bulimic moment in your life.”

  “Good thing, ’cause barfing isn’t my favorite thing.”

  Etienne raised an eyebrow and tossed his blond hair. “Why don’t you come with me to my next photo shoot and see if it’s something that would appeal to you?”

  “Let me think about it, okay? Do you want to come upstairs?”

  “Do you live by yourself?” the blond asked, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. He was around six feet tall and striking in an androgynous sort of way. Sloan could understand how they’d want him in the modeling world. He definitely turned heads. Not his, but he was sure that there were many out there who would be interested in him.

  “Nope.”

  “Ohhh.” Etienne bent his head toward Sloan and whispered wickedly, “A lover?”

  “No, just a roommate.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “He’s off-limits, Tin. Don’t even go there.”

  Etienne kissed him suddenly on the lips and said, “Well, I’m sure you and I can always find something to amuse each other, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Not today, my friend. I’ve got things to do.”

  “I’ll take a rain check. Maybe over the weekend?”

  “Maybe. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed me and air-kissed both sides of my face before loping off in the direction of Pratt. I watched him and wished that I was as secure about my body as he seemed to be.

  I went into my building, nodded at the doorman, and got in the elevator. My thoughts were still on Etienne’s comment about me having the perfect body type. It was ludicrous, considering I’d hated my body since I was six years old.

  I suffered over the fact that Junior passed me in height and weight around the time I was in eighth grade. I resented all the vitamins and special food supplements my dad insisted that I take to increase my body mass. I despised comments like “you’ll grow into your feet,” or, “who’s older, you or Junior?”.

  The bottom line was that I had a huge complex about my body, always seeing it as flawed. I was too thin and too tall, in my opinion. I never wore shorts or sleeveless shirts because my arms and legs reminded me of a stickman in a cartoon. I envied body builders. I even made the concerted effort one summer to eat almost six thousand calories a day to see if it would make a difference, but by the end of the summer, I’d only gained five pounds, and most of it was concentrated on my prick. That was one part of me that I would have shown off proudly. However, it wasn’t what my dad was hoping to see after spending all that money on protein shakes and B12 shots. He wanted me to play baseball almost as badly as I did. I was a decent pitcher and a better than average catcher, but I didn’t have the physical stamina to move upward in that world. I would have given anything to live up to my father’s expectations; instead, I never did.

  I started hurting myself because it made me feel better for a little while. The pain I inflicted on my skin masked my sorrow whenever I heard him brag about Junior’s latest accomplishment. I got into trouble at school to become the center of his attention for a few hours, until his mind was once more preoccupied with my brother and his career in sports. I started hanging around the risk-takers and jumped head first into the wonderful world of drugs, getting caught repeatedly. I’d been kicked out of numerous schools, despite my excellent grades, because I couldn’t follow the rules, thus increasing my father’s wrath. The only thing that would calm me and keep me grounded was when I scratched my skin until it bled. Eventually, I moved on to sharper objects. As the pain grew worse, so did the cutting.

  Psychiatrists were called in as soon as my parents discovered my penchant for self-mutilation. The kicker, of course, was when I announced I was gay. That almost blew my father’s head off.

  I’d been in therapy forever and on antidepressants for almost as long. It was only in the last two years that I had found some semblance of peace with my interest in computers and graphic design. I had achieved some success in school and gained assurance in my ability outside the world of baseball.

  Yet, on a personal level, my opinion of my body hadn’t changed. It was still an object of shame for me, and no amount of therapy would change that. It didn’t help that I’d never had a lover long enough to give me more confidence. Etienne’s idea that I would want to strut my stuff in front of a camera was laughable. I’d eat rat poison before that ever happened.

  I let myself into the apartment and walked into the kitchen, only to find it occupied by Cole and a beautiful Eurasian. The girlfriend, I thought, not surprised at all by her beauty. It was fitting that he had someone that gorgeous. Seeing them together made my stomach churn, and all thoughts of ever having any kind of relationship with Cole were curtailed as soon as I met Juliana. There was no way on God’s green earth that I could compete with that.

  10

  COLE WAS doing research for his class in ancient Japanese history. He was working with the special computer program he’d purchased from Lighthouse International. Someday he’d have to switch to the voice-assisted program, but for now he was still able to manage. His online courses gave him much more freedom to do things at his own pace, which helped to keep him on track. He was about four months away from getting his master’s degree in Asian studies. After that, he could teach wherever he wanted.

  Today’s assignment was contrasting and comparing the practice of shudo among the warrior class in Japan to the ancient Greek practice of pederasty. Both societies viewed the tradition of an older, more experienced man taking on a younger male apprentice as normal and highly beneficial for both parties. Training was not limited to, but did include, sexual favors between the older warrior and the young samurai. It was not uncommon for these relationships to last years, until the boys became of age.

  Cole was taking notes and musing that in this day and age, both practices would be considered pedophilia by some and child abuse by others, whereas in ancient times, it was normal and highly esteemed. Same-sex love was commonplace and more about sexual pleasure and behavior rather than identity. He paused for a minute and pondered the subje
ct of homosexuality, history, and inevitably, his slipup with Sloan the other night.

  Granted, he had been high on weed, which could explain his actions. On the other hand, would it explain all the other times he’d thought about sex with another man? His experiences at boarding school had frightened him because he worried that all his father’s fears about him turning out gay would come true. He’d heard Ken rant to his mother about the perils of living in San Francisco and his concern that Cole would be unduly influenced by the females in the family, or the media, or the openness of homosexuality in general. Cole found it amusing whenever Ken would fly into a rage upon finding a Barbie in his room or anything pink lying around. It was ironic that the very environment he thought would keep Cole safe and focused on his hetero leanings became his introduction into man-on-man sex.

  John Butterman had urged Cole to listen to his other senses, to learn how to see in other ways. His sense of touch and hearing had increased as his sight disappeared, but with it had come an amplified awareness of bodies and his reaction to them. There was something about Sloan that attracted him, far more than what Juliana had to offer. He didn’t understand it, and by its very nature, rebelled against it, but deep in the inner workings of his brain, he acknowledged that there might be some truth to his father’s fears.

  He pushed his cursor toward the word shudo and clicked. It took him to a page with graphic drawings from ancient Japanese archives of warriors having sex with their young students. He sucked in a quick breath, not expecting to see this, and looked up to where Sloan was reading on the sofa to see if he’d heard him. Sloan continued to read, oblivious to what was going on. Cole was drawn once more to the pictures in front of him and felt himself getting aroused. His breathing grew shallow while his cock filled, and he squirmed in his seat, trying hard to control his reactions. One picture showed a young boy performing fellatio on a man dressed in full military attire. His kimono was lifted, showing his legs spread out, a look of sheer ecstasy on his face. Another drawing was of a young boy leaning over some sort of bench, preparing to be impaled by a man with an oversized cock who loomed on top of him.

  Cole could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his groin as he continued to react to the pictures. He reached over to pick up the glass of water he had nearby, and his hand shook a little, causing the glass to slip and fall on his keyboard with a crash.

  “Motherfucker!”

  “What happened?” Sloan asked from his side of the room. He stood quickly and moved to where Cole was sitting and groping around for something to wipe up the mess.

  “I dropped my fucking glass and now everything’s wet,” Cole said in a slightly hysterical tone. “I think I ruined my keyboard.”

  “Scoot over,” Sloan ordered. “Let me take a look.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I know computers, that’s why.”

  “Oh.”

  Sloan quickly unplugged the keyboard and turned it over, letting the liquid and glass fall on the floor. “Do you have a hand-held vacuum?”

  “I think so.”

  “Go and get it,” Sloan said patiently.

  Cole made his way to the kitchen closet where he kept all the cleaning supplies, and he rooted around for the Dustbuster. He found it quickly enough and brought it out to Sloan, along with a handful of paper towels. He handed everything over, acutely aware of Sloan’s hands brushing his, his body close by. Sloan proceeded to clean up the mess, taking care with the keyboard, picking out tiny shards of glass. He reached for the can of compressed air that was on the desk and blew out any remaining moisture.

  Sloan looked at the computer, which had frozen with pictures of men in sexual positions, and he turned to Cole and grinned. “What is this? Japanese porn?”

  “No! If you must know, it’s part of my assignment.”

  “Really? What are you studying?”

  “Would you get your mind back on your task and get that fucking picture off my screen?” Cole spat out.

  “For one thing, your screen is frozen, and until I hook this keyboard back up, there’s not a whole lot I can do other than enjoy the size of that cock.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “You’re a hypocrite, Cole, but that’s neither here nor there. Why the fuck is everything about your system supersized? Are you too lazy to wear glasses? Is that it?”

  “Yeah. Exactly!”

  “I would get a headache if I had to stare at writing this huge all day. You should really reconsider and just wear the damn glasses; but oh yeah, I remember, they made you look like a geek.”

  “Fuck you, Sloan.”

  “You wish.”

  Cole was shaking, he was so pissed. He would have given anything to haul one off at Sloan, but took a huge breath instead. “Look, would you just get it fixed. Did I ruin it?”

  “No. I’ve blown out most of the water and it should work fine,” Sloan replied, getting serious again. He wiped off the desk and plugged in the keyboard, letting his fingers fly across the keys and tap in commands so that eventually the system rebooted itself and all was well.

  “There you go.” Sloan turned to Cole. “You’re all set.”

  “Thank you,” Cole said, grateful for the help.

  “You’re welcome.” Sloan stood to make room for Cole but brushed against him inadvertently. “Sorry,” he apologized.

  Cole could smell Sloan, he was so close. He could feel the tension in his body as it pressed up to him, knew without seeing that Sloan was reacting to his proximity, and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. The room had become unbearably warm.

  COLE’S CHEEKS were suffused with color, turning his light tan complexion into a study in crimson. His eyes were dilated and his lips were rosy, swollen, and moist; far too enticing for me to resist. I’d vowed to keep my distance and not let him affect me, but that was easier said than done. I would have given my left nut to taste that mouth again; instead, I backed away from him.

  I went back to the sofa, picked up the book I was reading, and headed toward my bedroom. I didn’t want to be around him in case I did something really dumb like jump his bones. Why the fuck did I have this thing for him? I was drawn to him like flies to shit. It was pathetic.

  I felt my boner pressing hard against my thigh, making the simple act of walking ungraceful and difficult. Fortunately, Cole had turned back to his computer screen and didn’t see me leave the room. I shut and locked my bedroom door and threw myself on the bed, turning on the iPod, which was sitting in its dock. The sound of my favorite band came through loud and clear, thanks to the amazing speakers—made in Japan, no doubt. My world had shifted to everything Japanese suddenly, and I moaned loudly, pressing my hand on my groin, willing my cock to behave. This was an impossible task with Cole on my mind front and center.

  Physically, he was everything I was looking for in a guy. His body wasn’t some nebulous thing I had imagined. I could still taste him, and I knew what was under his tight pants and T-shirt. I could feel the silky smoothness of his cock as I twirled my tongue around the plump head, lapping up the drops of moisture that oozed just for me. I reached for my zipper and pulled down, quickly releasing my boner. I was rigid, pulsing with need, and I came after a few tugs, I was that close. The spunk flowed over my hands even as I lay there imagining myself coming all over Cole’s face, and I had to stifle my scream. I could hear him sighing into my ear, urging me on while making those tiny grunting sounds that signaled his pleasure. I turned over and pressed my face into the pillow while I humped the mattress, finishing off the fantasy as I pretended I was rubbing against Cole’s fine ass.

  I must have dozed and awoke to the sound of my phone ringing incessantly. I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Sloan. It’s Etienne.”

  “Hey, Tin. What’s up?”

  “I’m going off to a photo shoot. Do you want to come?”

  “Where?”

  “I’m not sure. Some place do
wntown. I’m meeting the photographer at the agency and going from there.”

  “Okay, but meet me at the Starbucks near my apartment. I need a double shot to get going.”

  “No problem.”

  I got up and noted the state of my undress. My cock was hanging outside my pants, the dried spunk a reminder of my earlier indulgence. I vowed to get laid in the next day or so. Hopefully, Tin or one of his friends could help take my mind off the untouchable man in the other room.

  11

  THE PHOTO session ended up in Grand Central of all places. They were modeling Gucci luggage, using the trains as backdrop. Etienne was dressed in a three-piece suit, complete with a topcoat and fedora and surrounded by suitcases. I had to admit that he looked damn good. The photographer was a slave driver with bitchy tendencies who knew exactly what he wanted, demanding complete dedication from everyone on his staff. It was hard work, and my respect for models rose significantly. It took a lot of effort on everyone’s part to achieve that oh-so-casually-beautiful look that graced the front pages of Vogue and Elle.

  After two hours of torture I was firmly convinced I could never model. For one thing, I wasn’t vain enough, and for another, I couldn’t stand the people on the sidelines, gawking. Etienne, however, reveled in the spotlight. He was born to perform. I couldn’t understand why he even went to Pratt, until he told me that his father had insisted. I sympathized completely.

  It was almost six in the evening by the time they wrapped up. I was ready for some food and possibly a private party. After this morning, I was desperate to take on anyone so long as they didn’t look like Cole. I had to get his taste out of my mouth, and the best way to do that was to partake at someone else’s table. I was hoping Tin would introduce me to one of his modeling buddies, because I liked having him as a friend and didn’t want to muddy our relationship with a round of meaningless sex.