Blueberry Pancakes: The Novel

by Anton Lee Richards

  “To all the sluts and whores,” he shouted. He raised the shot glass and nodded for us to drink.

  “Which one are you?” Christopher asked.

  “The latter,” I said. Marlene had tried to convince me to move on from Jesse. She wanted me to play the field and grow uninhibited, to free myself from society’s rules and keep my options open. She wanted me to plant my Johnny Appleseed, but I was never comfortable with hook-ups. Marlene was more than comfortable enough for both of us.

  As I took another sip of margarita, Marlene returned with two new drinks and held one out for me. “Drink up.” I pointed to the one I already had, but she pushed it in my face. She leaned into my ear and whispered. “Nice. Cute butt, just like you like them.” Christopher turned around as if he overheard her.

  “She likes me so you should too,” Christopher said. He leaned in and patted me on the butt. I did, but it still felt awkward.

  Random people refilled my margarita glass every time it emptied, and they went down fast. Once or twice, Christopher tapped his hand on the bottom of my glass, trying to push the alcohol down my throat faster. He couldn’t have felt the need to get me drunk. It was clear I wanted him too.

  Things got hazy as I sang along with the cast to a bunch of show tunes. These new friends of Marlene’s were fun. I looked around for her though she would have never left without telling me. Without looking, I turned around and slammed into Marlene, spilling some of my margarita on her glittery dress, and getting glitter all over me.

  “I’m halfway between tipsy and drunk,” I shouted over the thumping bass. The room swayed back and forth in front of my eyes, but I had no complaints.

  Marlene waved her hands in front of my face. “You’re beyond gone. Think you can get home ok?”

  “Christopher will carry me.”

  “Sister, I don’t think his scrawny ass can pick you up.” She said this despite being even smaller than him. “You’re taking him home, right?” She poked me in the side. “You need a boy to quell all that Jesse talk. There are plenty of great guys out there. What do they say? Plenty of fish in the sea? Plenty of swipes on Grindr?” She waved her hand to gesture at all the guys in the club.

  “Thanks for bringing up Jesse.”

  She turned me around toward Christopher. I looked him up and down like a hungry dog. She exhaled and winked. “I’m tired and want to go home. Don’t make too much noise coming in the door. And don’t make too much noise having sex. Shove your dick in his mouth if you have to shut him up.”

  Marlene left, and I continued chatting with her theater friends. The bar filtered out as closing time approached. I hadn’t expected to stay up that late.

  “I’m in Uptown,” Christopher said. “Why don’t you give me a ride?”

  “I didn’t drive,” I said. “I took the train.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Star!”

  Christopher smiled, and we laughed. He finished his drink, and we walked out the door. We leaned against the window of the Uber, snuggled together.

  “Too much margarita,” he said. “What are you going to do to me when we get back to your place?”

  “Whatever you do, don’t puke in the Uber.”

  I dragged Christopher out of the car and into my apartment. Not that he was unwilling. He had a little difficulty placing one foot in front of the other. He was flirtatious all the way up the stairs while I tried to get him to concentrate on the task at hand. When we got to the apartment, I took off his shoes and led him to the couch. He was dazed. I picked him up and carried him into my bedroom. Marlene must have been sound asleep in her room.

  I leaned over to kiss him while unbuttoning my shirt. He kissed the side of my neck with passion, but the rest of his body was inert. I helped him take his shirt off, exposing his delicate but firm torso. My pants followed, and I stood next to the bed in my underwear. He stuttered twice, not forming a full word. Reaching out his arm, he ran the back of his hand down my stomach and over my crotch. I was raring to go, but afraid he would fall asleep.

  I hopped on top of him on the bed and unbuttoned his pants, then he grew receptive and assisted me. He was naked in five seconds. He was thinner than Jesse, more a twink than a swimmer. I hugged my body against his. I wanted to take control of this guy and make him mine. He ran his hand down my side and pushed his hand between our hips. He grabbed my hard-on and squeezed a few times. I backed away and took off my underwear before he pushed me back further so he could look at me.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, running his fingers through my pubic hair. “This has got to go. I thought the rainforests were dying, but here it is.”

  “Uh, okay. I’ll trim it next time.”

  “No, now. Where are your scissors?” He looked around the room.

  “I’m not letting a drunken stranger use a sharp object near my cock.” I bent down to grab my boxer shorts. Not only were we both drunk, it was past 4 AM and both of our eyes were droopy.

  He stopped me and pulled them back down to my ankles. “I’m not psycho, just bitchy.”

  I shook my head and relented. He grabbed the scissors from my desk and then I stood there while he trimmed my pubes. This was our first date. Occasionally, I could feel the cold blade against my skin, and I had to remind him to watch it. When he finished, he examined it like a painter rejoicing in his masterpiece.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Picture perfect.”

  “No pics.”

  “Next time. Now let’s do it, do it.”

  “You kind of killed the mood,” I said. It didn’t take long for him to get me going again. He flashed his pearly whites, which contrasted against his clear bronze skin, and got down on his knees. The alcohol and the feel of his wet, warm lips mesmerized me. My mind raced. Should I be doing this with someone other than Jesse? In my head, Marlene’s voice told me to stop thinking about Jesse. Then she told me to stop thinking about her and just enjoy Christopher’s blowjob. But she wouldn’t use the word blowjob. She considers it prudish. She has many terms, but prefers playing the bass line on the tuba, or my favorite, extracting the square root of one. After a few minutes of Christopher sucking me off, he turned around and sat upright on my crotch. He moved his ass around my cock, teasing me as if he knew it was my Achilles’ heel, but then he lay his head next to mine, and we slowed down. He snuggled in close. I guided his body off of me as he faded, leaving him lying next to me on the bed. I wrapped an arm around him, and we fell asleep. My body wanted to finish, but the alcohol overpowered us.

  The sun flickered through my bedroom blinds. Christopher, already awake, had one arm around me, holding his phone with Facebook pulled up. His hair, which stood high with sophistication the night before, fell to the side of his

  “Morning. How’s your head?” he asked.

  “Tylenol, want some?”

  “Yeah, and lots of water.”

  I got out of bed, grabbed the bottle out of the medicine cabinet, and poured two glasses of water. He sat up to swallow the pills, and I sat back on the bed.

  “Is this where you kick me out, and we never see each other again?” he asked.

  “At least I know you’re not new to this. I’m not kicking you out. Besides, you match the furniture. Marlene could use a houseboy to do the dishes since she never does them.”

  “I’ll be your naked houseboy,” he teased. He pretended to dust the nightstand and climbed on top of me. “Did we have sex?”

  I rolled him to the side. “No.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are we going to?”

  “If you behave.” I tapped his cheek.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, you.” We laughed together.

  He folded his arms and turned his head away. “Don’t be presumptuous. I’m not that easy.” He turned his head back ever so slightly to check to see if I was looking.

  “Yeah, you are.” His bounciness was so light and free, unlike Jesse where everything was so serious.


  “Let’s go buy you some new clothes.” He paused. “Wait. I need to go through your closet.” He headed for the closet.

  “Should I be scared,” I said.

  He examined each article of clothing one at a time. Then he went back and organized my T-shirts by style and color. And then he arranged my pants the same way. I couldn’t tell what he was trying to accomplish by going through my underwear and sock drawer, all while he was still naked.

  “For someone who has such creativity in decorating his apartment, you sure are unfashionable. Here’s my assessment: You have some nice shirts despite that piece of crap you wore last night. You don’t have enough jeans. We’ll work on that.” He turned around. He was so cute and comfortable standing naked in front of me.. He grabbed his pants and got dressed, and I followed suit.

  “I don’t make fashion statements; I make laundry statements. Whatever clothes that aren’t lying on my floor are the ones I have available. Maybe you could help me buy a few shirts that could go with everything. I have trouble finding shirts that fit my body right.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re buying cheap clothes. You need fitted. I’ll help you with some versatile pieces, and then we’ll get scarves, vests, and jackets.”

  “I don’t accessorize.”

  “The accessories matter,” he said, grabbing a shirt out of the closet. “Try this on.” He gave me a nod of approval.

  “Is this what I’m wearing for our shopping trip?”

  “Yes, and you have my permission to wear the same jeans you wore last night.”

  We headed for Michigan Avenue. I rarely shopped on the Magnificent Mile, but he insisted. He insisted we drive too, because he didn’t want to carry a bunch of shopping bags on the train which was odd because I would not buy a lot of new clothes, or spend a lot of money, for that matter. All my clothes came from Tar-Jay or Wal-May.

  As we walked into Macy’s, there were so many options I didn’t know where to start. Christopher navigated the isles like a hawk and swooped down on a rack of shirts. I didn’t understand his method as he rifled through shirts, choosing every third or fourth for our pile.

  “Hold this,” he said.

  “Should I try this on?”

  “Not now. When we hit the fitting room limit.” He looked in that direction. “Make yourself useful and find out what that is.” I strode to ask the attendant. It was seven. Never in my life did I need to know this number. Where and when would I ever buy more than two pieces of clothing at one time? He threw four more shirts at me.

  The Christmas music playing overhead reminded me of why I hated shopping. It took forever. I had to have tried on forty shirts. After each one, he wanted me to walk out and model for him. He would nod or shake his head after each one. Twice, he wanted me to try on a different size. I didn’t like shopping, but it was nice getting this attention. When he found a shirt he loved, he would whisper cute or smiled. It made me feel good about myself to hear these responses. This process went on until he decided on a few shirts and we headed back to the rack for the next round.

  “Are we going to do this for every rack?” I asked.

  “No, just the ones that work for you.” He pointed to one rack in front of us and then one to the far left and nodded at both.

  “How do you know?”

  “By your look.”

  I gave up questioning his methods. All the shirts he picked are ones I would never have picked myself, but they all looked great on me. I was glad when we walked out of the store, but a little unnerved at spending over $200 in one trip, and I didn’t even need clothes. We left the store, and I turned toward the parking garage when he pulled me in the other direction.

  “Oh, we’re not done,” he said.

  “I can’t spend any more money.”

  “Accessories. Only one more store, I promise. You’ll get a special treat if you cooperate.” He rubbed his hands on my chest in the middle of the busy sidewalk.

  “I thought I told you—”

  “Just promise me you’ll try some things on.”

  We marched down Michigan Avenue past ritzy stores I had never heard of, most with Christmas decorations dangling from their storefronts. For me, this was always a tourist destination, not an actual place to buy things. I felt like I was Julia Roberts shopping in Beverly hills while dressed as a prostitute in Pretty Woman. We approached the front counter, and Christopher asked for scissors to cut the tags off my new shirts. He showed each one to the clerk who pointed us to one side. First, Christopher had me put on a black shirt.

  “Black is universal, so we’ll start with that,” he said. He grabbed a purple scarf and tied it around my neck.

  “I’ll never wear it,” I said. “It serves no purpose other than decoration. At least a vest will keep me warmer.”

  He grunted and took off the scarf, then threw two vests at me. I put them on and modeled, and he decided I needed both. The price tags showed $70 each.

  “Not gonna happen,” I said. I would not go into debt to become a fashionista.

  He searched more and found a vest for $45, and I agreed to buy one. Despite my objection to the price, it looked good on me. He headed to the belts and found a black one with big metal dollar signs.

  “I already have a black belt. I only need two belts, one black one, one brown. There are zero reasons to have more.” I scoffed at the price tag. “Especially if that extra belt is $50.”

  “If you don’t cooperate, you’ll never wow the boys in Boystown and make me jealous,” he snickered.

  “Is that my goal?”

  “You’re not just a pretty face. You’ll be my arm candy.” He air kissed me from outside the fitting room.

  “Can’t wait.” I’d never been called arm candy before. Was that a compliment?

  Relieved to get back to the car and leave Michigan Avenue, we headed to Chinatown for lunch. My favorite Sichuan joint was calling my name, and he agreed. Our stomachs calmed down from the previous night’s drinking, and we were ready to scarf down a huge lunch.

  We talked about our jobs, and I wanted to see his store. Our conversation wasn’t world-changing or intellectual like it always was with Jesse, but I enjoyed being with him. It felt odd to spend the day with a guy I had hooked up with the night before.

  We walked around the two-level square in Chinatown, smelling Cantonese seafood from restaurants with the words emperor or happiness in their names. Maybe they were onto something. Could this be the guy that gets my mind off Jesse? We weren’t looking for anything in particular. I kept the day going because I worried we’d go our separate ways once it was over.

  “I can’t believe we’re spending the day together,” I said. “It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”

  He grimaced. “Don’t worry, you can always ask me to put my pants on and get the hell out of your apartment.” We giggled and kept walking until we reached a store with tiny turtles in a cage. “I have to see these little guys.”

  Row after row of dried up seaweed bins surrounded jars of smelly herbs. At the front counter, a woman was counting out chunks of tree bark for a customer. She warned, “Cook this in the teapot for at least twenty minutes or it won’t work.”

  While Christopher played with the turtles, I walked down the aisle of knick-knacks, bamboo plants, and jade Buddhas. A wheel of Chinese zodiac symbols caught my eye. You looked up your birthday to find out what your sign was. I was a Pig. Great! Christopher told me his, and he was a Tiger. Damn, I wanted to be the Tiger. Then you spun the plastic wheel to show the match of your love interest. We were 90% - a perfect match (or at least the closest you can get according to the wisdom of the plastic gadget.)

  “It’s a sign from the heaven’s above,” Christopher said as he locked arms with me. “Or at least the Chinese heavens, whatever that might be. I dunno. I come from a strict Catholic family.” He lost interest and headed back to the turtles.

  When Christopher was no longer looking, I looked up Jesse’s birthday. An Ox.
It’s a 70% match - mostly compatible. Is that why Jesse didn’t feel he could trust me around other guys? The traditions of ancient China pointed me to marry Christopher over Jesse. Thank you, Confucius!

  After he finished with the turtles, I grabbed his shoulders right in front of the store clerk. “I like you. A lot. And I don’t want this to be the last time I see you. And it’s not just that you’re a tiger.”

  “I’m a tiger in bed,” he said, making me laugh. “Why don’t we go back to your place and you can fuck my brains out.”

  “I’m game for that.” I held his hand while we walked out of the store. For a moment I forgot we weren’t in Andersonville where two men showing affection wouldn’t be a big deal. The looks we got from the other people in the square were priceless.

  “Do you like classic movies?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Casablanca? Gone with the Wind?” he asked. I shook my head after each one. “Wizard of Oz? Come on? You’ve never seen that?”

  “When you said classic movies, I thought you meant The Breakfast Club, Pretty Woman, or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

  “You need to start with Audrey. Set Netflix up for Breakfast at Tiffany’s when we get home,” he commanded with a stern finger.

  We were home a half hour later and started the movie. I recognized the actress and the song “Moon River,” but that was it. I wasn’t into the film as much as he was. He knew all the words and every little gesture Audrey Hepburn made. It was nice, though, having this new guy lean against me while we sat on the couch. Jesse never liked staying in that much. If Christopher and I started a relationship, I’d make many appearances in the gay social world, judging by the day’s shopping trip.

  We lasted fifteen minutes into the movie before his hand gravitated to my crotch. He rubbed my dick through my jeans while acting out Audrey’s lines, which wasn’t a turn-on. I pulled him back on top of me. I moved my hands under his shirt and caressed him. He took his lips off mine to repeat a line from the movie, and I had to pick up the remote and stop the film, which he didn’t fight back on. Grabbing my hand, he led me into the bedroom, flinging off his clothes with his free hand before reaching the bed.