Hadrian's Lover

by Patricia-Marie Budd

  “How romantic.”

  “Dean, when did you discover that you loved Geoffrey?”

  Speaking into his hands, Dean says, “When he said he would never—never force me—and—and I—I—knew I could trust him—that he wouldn’t—make me.”

  “Oh, my,” Melissa expresses concern. “You’re crying.”

  “It’s a very emotional experience for both of us,” Geoffrey explains.

  “I see.” Tilting her head slightly, hoping to make eye contact with Dean, Melissa presses him with another question. “So, Dean, you must be very grateful to the Northeast Reeducation Camp since it brought you and your husband together.”

  Dean shudders, his shoulders heave. “I can’t do this…” His head shakes. Geoffrey releases Dean’s hands and wraps him in an embrace. “It’s all right, Dean; everything’s all right.”

  “I can’t, Geoffrey…I can’t…I can’t say I’m grateful to those bastards for anything! Not even for you. I love you…but I can’t.”

  Geoffrey continues to soothe Dean as he sobs. At one point, the two men kiss—a spontaneous act for which Melissa Eagleton is grateful. There is very little of this interview she can use. Pondering the situation, she realizes this will not be a Salve! Interview Special. It will have to be a regular Salve!, but with a twist. Her mind works quickly to redesign the show meant to air that very evening. I’ll have the wall screen showing excerpts of their interview. Considering her options, At least there’s the bit where Geoffrey Hunter explains why he got a job there, his first impression of Dean and their kiss. No wait, she remembers, Dean does say “I love you.” With a little creative editing, she realizes they can use that, too. The rest she will simply have to invent. Turning to face her camera crew, Melissa Eagleton signals for them to stop filming.

  * * * * *

  Salve!

  Happily Married After Reeducation

  HNN—Melissa Eagleton Reporting

  Have you ever wondered what happens to our youth after entering reeducation? Well, today’s show is going to answer that question for you. I had the good fortune to interview Geoffrey and Dean Hunter earlier today, and what a lovely couple they make! They met at the Northeast Reeducation Camp over twenty years ago. Records show they even married inside the camp’s central meeting hall. On the wall screen to my right, I will be showing you short excerpts from my brief but revealing interview with the Hunters. Here, Geoffrey Hunter is explaining why he went to work at the reeducation camp:

  “I wanted to do something to help.”

  And help he did. He changed Dean’s life for the better, so much so that Dean not only agreed to marry the man, but he asked to take Geoffrey’s last name as his own! Geoffrey Hunter also told us how he felt the very first time he saw Dean. According to Geoffrey, it was love at first sight for these two.

  “Dean was standing in line at the camp cafeteria. I watched him fill up his tray. He sure could eat a lot back then! And the way he walked over to his table, there was something about him. His brown curly hair really suited him. I was instantly attracted to the man.”

  I just love a good romance story. Dean was so taken by his husband’s beautiful words that he was drawn to tears and couldn’t help but express his love openly for all our viewers.

  “I love you.”

  And, just look at the way Geoffrey responds to those words. These two men are so much in love they can’t help but kiss. Dean Hunter’s successful cleansing of his heterosexual tendencies, discovery of his latent homosexuality, and his now loving marriage really show us the good work the people at the Northeast Reeducation Camp do to help bring our wayward youth back into the loving fold.

  So, there you have it folks, Geoffrey and Dean Hunter. Happily Married After Reeducation!

  Vale!

  Het-Row

  When Todd wakes, he is lying on a hard mattress. A wooden ceiling spins over his head while rafters lurch down at him. Nauseated, he leans over the side of his bed and retches. A pail, adeptly placed, catches the vomit.

  “Water’s on the bedside table.”

  The voice, dull sounding, as if struggling to make itself heard from under a deep green sea, barely registers in Todd’s ears. “Huh?”

  “Here.” A hand blurs into view, holding a tall glass filled with clear liquid.

  Todd’s hand shakes as he reaches for the water. The strange hand guides the glass into Todd’s. “Thanks,” Todd mumbles. After rinsing and spitting, Todd throws up again, spilling the remainder of his water.

  “Shit, man,” the voice utters. “You splashed it all over me.”

  Todd’s head is still hanging over the bucket. “Sorry.”

  “Fuck it!” the voice replies conciliatory. “It happens to everyone. It’s those fucking tranquilizer darts. I don’t think they’ve ever brought in a straight man without them.” The hand reaches for the glass, dangling now empty in Todd’s hand. Suddenly, two hands are in Todd’s blurred vision. One is pouring water from a pitcher into the glass. “Here.” The glass floats toward Todd. “No doubt you’re not finished. Drink some this time; you’re going to need something inside to throw up.”

  Taking the hand’s advice, Todd rinses, spits, and then swallows some water. He immediately throws up again.

  “More water?” the voice asks.

  “Yeah,” Todd mutters, holding the glass up toward the origin of the voice.

  “Here. Rinse, spit, drink, and vomit again.” Todd takes the glass and does as instructed, except this time he doesn’t vomit. He hangs his head over the bucket, waiting, but it seems his nausea is at its end. Todd moves to lie back down when the voice stops him. “I wouldn’t do that. It’ll only make you puke again.”

  Figuring he’s right, having regained more of his senses so he is now able to determine the voice’s sex, Todd chooses to stay sitting up. Pouring water on his hand, Todd rubs it over his face. “Where am I?” he asks when finished.

  Laughing sardonically, the voice answers, “Welcome to Het-Row! Where all the future homos go!”

  Looking up, Todd sees the cynical smile of a young man his own age. He has long red hair, a square jaw, and (are those age wrinkles?) sparkling blue eyes. Todd drops his head and groans, “Reeducation camp.”

  “That’s what the good folk of Gomorrah like to call it, but really, it’s just ‘strai town,’ ‘cunt hammer village,’ or the unruly ‘sticker in ’er bog.’ Call it what you like, it’s home now until you come of age and they exile you, you die—good luck with that (exposing a pair of scarred wrists)—or you get married.”

  Todd looks up questioningly. “Married?” Hadrian, no! The only man I thought I could marry was Frank—but no more.

  Responding to the despondent look on Todd’s face, the boy quips, “That’s right, married! No strai leaves here unless he’s been poked and successfully latched to another man with the ol’ ball and chain, so to speak. It’s not good enough to claim you’re gay; you have to stay that way under the watchful eye of your loving husband, who, by the way, is required by law to make monthly reports on you for the first year, bi-annual reports for the next five years, and then annually until the day you die!”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?”

  “Shit, man, I wish I were.” Discontentedly studying his wrists, the boy says, “Ah, to die. Death.” Closing his eyes, summoning lines up from memory, he quotes:

  “To die: to sleep;

  No more; and by a sleep to say we end

  The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

  That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation

  Devoutly to be wish’d.”

  “Fuck man,” says Todd. “That’s morbid.”

  “Actually, it’s Shakespeare, and as for being morbid—” his laugh takes on a derisive edge, “you only just got here, man. Just wait,” he harrumphs, “a few more minutes.”

  Reaching between the two beds, he once again presents his hand. “My name’s Matthew Molloy, but don’t ever call me Matthew in fr
ont of them.”

  “Why not?” This is too much for Todd to take in.

  Losing the cynical edge to his smile, Matthew scowls, “My gay name is Mattie.” Scrutinizing Todd, he asks, “You’re the Middleton kid, right?”

  “Yeah, Todd.”

  “I wonder what they’ll call you? Toddie, Todster, Toddel Bear? Toddly Poo.”

  Dropping his head into his hands, Todd mutters, “Fuck me.”

  “I heard that happened, too.” Looking at Todd wonderingly, Matthew asks, “Is it true?”

  Pissed off, Todd snarls, “Is what true?”

  Oblivious to Todd’s reaction, Matthew moves in closer to allow for a more conspiratorial tone. “Did you really fuck that girl?” Closing his hands and eyes half in wonder, half in delight, he whispers, “Man, I wish I could have—at least once—shit.” Leaning back dejectedly on his bed, he confesses, “I only got a kiss and a little tit. Humph, and we both got shipped off—but you, you actually fucked her, they say, and she never got sent away. They say it was rape, but she wouldn’t accuse you because rape is punishable by death. How altruistic of her.” The sarcastic slurring suggests that Todd would have been better off with a death sentence. “Is that true? Did you rape her, or did she really fuck with you?” He is shaking with excitement.

  “Yes—NO—I didn’t rape her—but we did have sex.”

  “Yes!” Matthew’s reaction, aptly enough, is an ejaculation. “What was it like? What did it feel like—in there?”

  Todd rests his hand on his forehead. “Fuck, man, too much has happened since then.”

  “Please tell me!” Matthew is desperate.

  “Hot, damp, like being wrapped in warm, wet silk.”

  “Beautiful. I imagined as much.”

  But Todd is no longer listening to Matthew. His thoughts have drifted back to a few nights ago. Only a few nights? Although only Saturday night, during Pride’s National win celebration dance, it feels like a whole world ago when Todd’s body sparkled like fireflies dancing over a moonlit river. Stifling a cry, he asks, “How long have I been out?”

  Matthew shrugs. “I don’t know. That drug usually only lasts twenty-some hours. It’s late Wednesday afternoon if that helps. And you were here when I went to bed.” Pondering the time difference, he reasons, “They must have really doped you up. Did you fight them?”

  Once again, Matthew’s words fade into the background as Todd’s mind fixates on his memory. Yes, Todd figures, it’s only been three nights. Or is it four? Hadrian help me, I can’t think. Shaking his head to try and clear it only causes his mind to spin and his stomach to swirl. Once again, he is vomiting into the bucket, this time only dry heaving since there is nothing left for his stomach to throw up.

  “Okay,” Matthew quips, “don’t shake your head.” Reaching for the glass and pitcher, he offers Todd some more water.

  Todd accepts the gift but does not acknowledge Matthew’s kindness since his mind is still focused on recent events. And then there was—grimacing—the night that was supposed to save me.

  As if reading Todd’s mind, Matthew carries on inquisitively, “And the guy? Did you fuck the guy, too?” Todd’s shoulders heave as he sobs at the memory. “I’ll take that as a yes. And they still brought you here? The fucking is usually the last thing that happens before they marry you to the bastard.” Shaking his head sadly, Matthew asks, “So, who did you fuck? The girl, I mean.” Still shaking his head in wonder, he adds, “Her mothers must be big in the government.”

  Todd shakes his head. He doesn’t want to say what he remembers Mr. Weller having mentioned in the principal’s office: Crystal’s second mother is Elena Stiles, the Vice President of Hadrian and from a founding family! “I never met Crystal’s mothers,” is the only response Todd is willing to offer. Thoughts of Crystal remind him of the fairer sex. Girls. “Are there any girls here? You said your girlfriend got shipped out, too. Where’s the girl’s camp?” Todd knows Crystal never got sent away, but a part of him wishes he could somehow find her there.

  “Nowhere near here; that’s for damn sure. The only cunts that ever walk this place are the ones who come to desensitize you to their flesh.” Shuddering at the memory, Matthew adds, “The first time you see a chick in this place, you are going to cringe.”

  “Ugly?”

  “I wish.” Shaking his head, Matthew explains, “No, they hire the most beautiful women they can possibly find. All carpet munchers, too, every God damn one of ’em—but don’t ever let them hear you say anything derogatory about them—or the men—that’ll earn you a paddling.”

  “They beat us here?”

  “If that was all they did,” Matthew says, “I think this place would almost be bearable.”

  “Mattie!” A high pitched, far too feminine voice shrills out. “Is my little Mattie complaining again?” Stephie strolls into the boys’ cabin. He is wearing tight-fitting, very short shorts and a tie-up tank top. His hair is up in a high ponytail, classic mid-twentieth century, and his makeup and false eyelashes are garish. As soon as Stephie’s voice shrills out, Matthew lies down on his bed, covering his eyes with his arm. His body begins to quiver. Stephie sits down on the edge of Matthew’s bed. “Sit up, Mattie.” A hint of anger lowers his voice an octave, but gaiety returns as soon as he notices Todd. “Oh, Mattie, your little roommate’s awake.” His voice is now fully masculine, no longer pretending to be jocular. “I said sit up!” He smacks Matthew’s thigh. Matthew obeys, pulling his knees in tight to avoid any physical contact with Stephie.

  “Todd Middleton, this is Stephie. Stephie, this is Todd Middleton.”

  “Much better,” Stephie says while eyeing Todd. Now looking over to Matthew, he adds, “I’d hate to have to give you five demerits today.” Matthew looks up, his face pale with terror. “Don’t play coy with me,” says Stephie, tickling Matthew under the chin. The act causes the young man to shake as tears begin to fall. Todd watches on in horror. “First demerit. I heard you call the women who come here for training purposes cunts and carpet munchers.” As an aside, he adds, “That should really count for two demerits, but since I don’t like women anymore—”

  Todd bursts out, “You were het’ro?”

  “Yes.” Stephie poses happily, pushing out a flat chest forming the S curve with his back. “Believe it or not, Stephie is a tamed little boy. Fully homosexual now.” Shaking his head in disgust, he says, “I can’t believe I ever thought of girls that way.” Assertively, proving even then he knew what was right, he adds, “But I told my dads and they signed me up right away. I had never touched or kissed a girl even. I was only twelve. Being here was the best thing ever to happen to little Stephie. They treated me so well. I was like everyone’s little pet.”

  “I was wrong,” Matthew quips. “There is one they didn’t have to bring in with drugs.”

  Smiling happily, allowing Matthew his little joke, mostly because he is proud of that fact, Stephie carries on with his life story. “Now I’m fifteen and one of the best tamers ever.” Sitting straight and proud, he states, “That’s what Papa Gideon—Mr. Weller says.” He smiles sadly Matthew’s way. “I’m still too young to marry any of my wards, though.” He pats Matthew’s leg. “I’m hoping Mattie’ll wait for me.” Matthew groans. Stephie, angered by this subtle act of rejection, squeezes Matthew’s leg hard. Looking back Todd’s way, feigning serenity in his relationship with Matthew, he explains, “My dads won’t let me marry until I’m eighteen.” Then looking back over to Matthew, he says, “But Mattie will wait for me, won’t you Mattie?”

  “They won’t let two strais marry, remember,” Matthew mutters almost too helplessly. Matthew’s neck has remained bent the entire time, and now his head drops even lower.

  Stephie starts to run his fingers through Matthew’s hair, gripping it at the crown and yanking his head up. Tears have flooded Matthew’s face. “Papa Gideon says I can marry whomever I want!” He kisses Matthew full on the lips. “And I want you!” A little grimly now, he admits, “But P
apa Gideon doesn’t think you’ll wait for me.” Stephie sadly inspects Matthew’s face. Tears are streaming down Matthew’s neck. When Matthew fails to respond, Stephie leans in and licks away the tears at the base of Matthew’s neck up to his closed eyelid. There is no pretense left in Stephie’s voice. It is as if his voice has suddenly cracked and lowered in the instant. “Won’t you, Mattie?” That Stephie’s grip on Matthew’s hair has tightened is evidenced by the wince Matthew suddenly expresses.

  “Yes,” Matthew mumbles. “I’ll wait.”

  Stephie lets go of Matthew’s hair and watches with amusement as his head drops down dejectedly against his chest. “You know,” Stephie decides, “I am going to have to give you five demerits after all.”

  Matthew’s head rises instantly. He is off the bed and on his knees in front of Stephie. “Please, Stephie, please. I’ll be good; I promise. I’ll do anything. Anything!”

  Todd shrinks back on his bed. Hadrian no! Not in front of me. Horrified by the thought, he quickly turns his back and squeezes his eyes shut. The thought of what might be about to happen causes Todd’s stomach to swirl once more.

  Matthew gulps back a wail. “Please don’t give me another demerit.” Openly crying now, his sobs tear a cleft in Todd’s heart. Matthew hides his face in Stephie’s lap.

  With a motherly, loving smile, Stephie begins petting Matthew’s hair. “I don’t want to see my Mattie hurt. I just want us to love each other. Because I love you, Mattie.” Then softly, in a voice full of hope, he requests, “Kiss me if you love me, Mattie.” Stephie ceases the petting, closes his eyes, tilts his head, and waits for a kiss.

  Realizing nothing untoward is going to happen, Todd looks back just in time to see Matthew shudder silently, look up at Stephie’s attending lips, and comply.

  Stephie opens his eyes, his smile now genuine. “Will you do something for me,” he sings out, “now that I’ve done something nice for you?” Matthew nods his assent. Stephie stands, lifting Matthew up with him. They clasp hands and Stephie leads Matthew out.