Blueberry Pancakes: The Novel

by Anton Lee Richards

  “Sometimes. I shouldn’t be out this late on a Sunday night, anyway. I have a meeting at 9:30 with a big-wig. The job gives me satisfaction in some areas of my life but–”

  Marlene nudged me hard and then pushed her head between us. “Boring. Are you trying to scare them away?”

  “Where do you live?” I asked, shoving her away.

  “I live with my family in Logan Square,” Tomás said. “Kenny lives out there too.” His accent was sexy like Jesse’s, but it was thicker, and he had to repeat himself.

  “Have you been here all your life?” I asked, immediately wishing I could take it back. I never knew how to approach the subject when I met Hispanic guys.

  “Fifteen years,” he said. Since he added no more details, and he looked older than fifteen years old I assumed he wasn’t born in the U.S. More uncomfortable silence fell upon us.

  “How old were you?” I asked.

  “It was fifteen years ago.” His ruby red lips barely moved as he talked.

  “Yes, I know, but how old were you when you came over?”

  He tapped his fingers and look back and forth around the room. “I was little.”

  “Okay, so how old are you now?”

  “Twenty-four.” He darted his eyes around the room and tugged on the gold chain he wore around his neck.

  “Ever go back?”

  “A few times. Visa issues.”

  Tomás turned to talk to the others while Marlene whispered in my ear. “Don’t ask about his immigration status,” she said.

  “Just curious. It’s not like I’d let that get in the way if we started a relationship,” I whispered back.

  She shook her head. “Hook-up,” she sighed in exasperation. “You’re hooking up tonight. You’re not getting into a relationship, falling in love, or meeting your so-called soulmate.”

  Tomás turned back around a moment later. “You like this song?” It was another Tejano song with a typical brass and guitar offbeat part, but with a complicated percussion section that I dissected in my mind. “I picked it.”

  Kenny came by and stood between Tomás and me. “What do you like?” he asked.

  “Do you mean music?” I pointed to the speakers.

  He leaned in close to me. “Sure. That too.” I listed off singers and indie bands while he looked around the bar. “Don’t know them.” He caressed my arm. “What do you like in bed?” Although his question was just as forthcoming as the jerk earlier, he was more flirtatious than abrasive. “We’ll figure that out,” he simpered.

  Marlene took Tomás’s hand and danced with him next to the counter. She only had three drinks in her, but they hit her hard and she fumbled twice. When the music stopped again, I dashed to the jukebox to select Shakira, hoping to impress Tomás since he picked one of her songs earlier. I walked back to my seat, next to Kenny.

  “How do you know her?” Kenny asked.

  “We write songs together,” I said. “Or do you mean Shakira?” I pointed to the speaker on the ceiling.

  He smirked. “Do you write songs like this?” he asked, pointing to the same speaker. I shook my head no. He raised one eyebrow. “Top or bottom?”

  “He’s a big, manly top,” Marlene said, leaning in over my shoulder and barely containing her laughter.

  “You can bottom tonight,” Kenny said. “You’d be a good bottom.”

  “Wish I could. You’re cute,” I said, feeling unsettled. “But I’m too tight.” We sat in awkwardness for a moment and nodded our heads to Shakira.

  “See Tomás? He’s a bottom,” Kenny said, pointing at Tomás.

  “He’s cute too,” I said.

  His smile beamed ear to ear. “But you’re not going home with him tonight. You’re going home with me.” I raised my eyebrows. The bargain market vodka left a sewer in my mouth.

  “I like how you two have cut the crap,” Marlene said, leaning in again. I did not understand how she could dance with others in the aisle and return to our conversation at crucial moments.

  “We can do other things,” he said, continuing to rub my shoulders.

  A few classic rock songs came over the speakers. “Which one of you white boys picked this crappy music,” Tomás said to Kenny and me. He high-fived Marlene, and we all giggled.

  By then, Kenny and I had grown touchy-feely beneath the bar top. Tomás came behind me and rubbed my shoulders. I wanted them both.

  “Go ahead,” Marlene said, nudging Kenny and me. With that, Kenny grabbed my hand and led me off my seat and toward the door.

  “What about you?” I asked Marlene.

  “Go!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE ASSHOLE

  We walked out of the bar as the crowd patrons cheered us on. Esteban flashed me a smile as we left. It probably wasn’t the first time he watched someone walk out of the bar with a stranger.

  The cold brisk air enveloped me as Kenny looked up and down the street, unsure of which way to go.

  “I live here in Andersonville,” I said. “We should walk.”

  “No, come to my place,” he said. He turned and walked the other way. I stood frozen on the sidewalk.

  “All the way to Logan Square?”

  “I have a place nearby too,” he said. “We can go there.”

  “Why do you have a place nearby? Which one do you live in?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Come on.” He waved for me to move along.

  We walked around the corner to his mid-rise apartment building on a block I wasn’t familiar with. The elaborate molding and bold columns along the exterior of the building led to a massive let down with his studio apartment, which was small, dull, and repulsive. Piles of crusty dishes littered the kitchen from sink to counter—how Marlene’s apartment would look if I didn’t live with her. The bed took up half the room and was covered in dirty clothes. Next to it was a nightstand and beyond the foot of the bed was a dilapidated dresser that was probably empty. A sad boxy TV sat on a low glass stand between the table and the fridge.

  Kenny chucked everything from the bed onto the floor and walked to the refrigerator. He handed me a domestic beer and opened one for himself. He placed a couple more on the nightstand before walking back to me with a knowing smile. His muscular arms commanded me and kissed me gently on the neck.

  I ignored the apartment as this fucking hot guy sat in front of me. I wanted to know where he grew up and if he’d been in a serious relationship before. There was a brief moment when I thought this could turn into a long-term thing. Stupid me. Marlene’s voice in my head commanded me not to get ahead of myself.

  He took the half-empty beer out of my hand and assisted me onto the bed. I laid back, and he ascended over me on all fours. He lowered his head down to mine, running his hand down my face and chest. He took his shirt off and grinned.

  “You’ll bottom for me tonight,” he said.

  “I can’t,” I said, touching his athletic chest. I’d seen this before with other guys I’d fooled around with before Jesse. The guy would get the wrong impression, and the whole experience would be a disappointing mess. I didn’t want to disappoint Kenny.

  He kissed my neck and reminded me of Jesse. Although not submissive in real life, in bed, Jesse would be, allowing me to take the steering wheel. Kenny knew what he was doing, and I sure as hell would not stop him. I liked the idea of surrendering control for once.

  He leaned over and ripped my shirt off. Jesse never undressed me like this. Kenny stood up to tear the rest of his clothes off while I waited, spellbound. He climbed back on top of me and stroked his mouth around my body like an artist with a paint brush. He inched himself up so that his knees rested beneath my armpits. Then he squeezed his thighs against my torso. He braced his hands on the wall behind me and leaned forward, so the head of his cock hit my lips. I took him in my mouth without hesitation.

  He took a swig from his beer while I sucked him off. He pulled back and slapped me across my face with his massive cock, a pleasure I never had the privi
lege to enjoy before. I grabbed it and held it against my cheek. It was musty and moist down there. He retreated off of me and kissed me on the mouth again. Thoughts of sex with Jesse in which the roles were reversed crossed my mind.

  While we walked earlier, I craved for Kenny to bottom for me. I already thought about seeing him again as if we were about to embark on a serious relationship. He grabbed my ankle. I found it odd, but I smiled back when he looked at me. Foreplay was awkward between two tops. He undid my pants and slid them off, and ran his face down my stomach and moaned when he reached my crotch, but he stopped short of sucking me. He grabbed my cock and ran it against his. His size gave me penis envy. Not only would I never be able to relax or enjoy bottoming, it would be even more painful with that monster.

  “I’ll get it in you tonight. I want you so bad; uh… what’s your name again?”

  “Duncan. Look, we already talked about it. If something was ever to become of us, then maybe we could ease our way into it.” Marlene’s voice telling me to knock off the relationship talk reigned in my head. “Sit up so I can suck you,” I said. I wasn’t comfortable being the submissive. I wasn’t comfortable on his crappy mattress either. Was it stuffed with coal?

  Kenny brought his torso down to mine and kissed my neck again. “I want you bad,” he whispered. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, I liked hearing it. He grabbed my left hand and held it back to the side of my head before gliding his own hand down to my wrist.

  He backed off. “Isn’t that nice? Relax,” he said, patting my face. Contrary to what Kenny believed, being told to relax and relaxing were mutually exclusive events. But I lowed my guard, confident that he understood the boundaries. He grabbed my right hand and forced it back like the other arm. It turned me on for a moment. With my arms pinned back, he was in control, and I wasn’t going anywhere. This was the closest to Fifty Shades of Grey I would ever get.

  Before climaxing, he stopped as if he were saving himself. “Let me in.” He clutched my wrists tighter.

  “No.” I thought that the no earlier was clear enough. He had agreed we could do other things.

  His face grew tight and red. “Bitch. You teased me.” The veins strained against the skin on his neck, and his nostrils flared.

  I moved side to side, trying to break free. This guy was about the same physical stature as me, but he had gravity on his side. I would never have figured he could take hold of me in such a way that I couldn’t break his grasp. But there I was, my wrists cemented onto the bed, losing control.

  After what seemed an eternity of struggling, my whole body lurched forward so my stomach and chest met his torso. My right hand broke free, and he struggled to regain control. When he couldn’t, he pulled back and slapped me. The initial shock stung so bad that I couldn’t see for a few seconds. I shoved him away from me with my free hand. My eyes darted around the room, desperate for an escape.

  I jabbed him in the side, and he lost his balance. He let go of my other wrist. I propelled him with all my force to throw him off the bed. He fell to the ground and thudded on the hardwood floor. I sat up on the bed not knowing what would happen next. He cocked his fist and lunged for my face. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to defend myself. My eye throbbed as I fell off the bed and onto the floor. I turned around and saw his arm cocked again, but I ducked in time. The momentum of his miss swung him around. I rushed toward him and shoved him as hard as I could. He backed into his TV, his legs hitting the stand, and fell sideways onto the floor.

  He regained his footing, grabbed my ankles, and pulled me down to the floor. I fell hard on my right elbow. He crawled on top and forced one hand around my neck while he punched me in the stomach with the other. I kicked out my leg and pushed his knee off of me, his weight slamming my leg into the floor. I hurt him enough to break his hold on me. We rolled over, and I was on top. From there I grabbed his balls and squeezed until he shrieked to kingdom come.

  I stood up and pulled my pants on while he lay in the fetal position. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. His eyes were closed, and he gasped for air. I hurried to get dressed while keeping an eye on him.

  My shirt and shoes were nowhere to be found. I let down my guard as I searched for them and he grabbed my ankle. I lost my balance and fell though I braced myself on the nightstand. He was still in pain, which gave me some time to think about what to do next. I gripped the nightstand and kicked my leg free from his grip. Then I turned and kicked him in the head.

  “Fuck!”

  “What do you want from me?” I shrieked, scanning the room for my shirt and shoes. Kenny got up. “What did you think would happen?”

  He regained his bearings and leaned up on his elbow. I grabbed a giant desk lamp off the nightstand and cocked it behind my head, but there wasn’t enough slack in the cord. I reached up over the back of the nightstand and tipped it over. The lamp crashed to the floor, now unplugged. I reached for the loose cord and whipped him. I thrashed my legs, and he slammed into the wall. Then I sat up and saw him towering over me, naked and angry. I wondered if I would get out of there alive. He kicked me in my side, and I winced. I grabbed the lamp and whacked him across the shin. He grabbed his leg, and I inched toward the door. He lunged at me a moment later and swung for my face again. This time he missed.

  The lamp lay next to me on the floor. He was flexing his fingers, ready to swing at me again. I saw the rage in his eyes and knew I was in danger. Without thinking, I reached for the lamp and heaved it at his face. It hit him between the eyes and blood poured from his forehead. He fell to the floor, and his head slammed into the TV and the glass stand beneath it. He lay frozen and lifeless, and I stared at what I had done. The room was quiet.

  I waited a minute or two and realized he was unconscious and now was my chance to flee. I found my clothes and pulled my shirt on without turning my back to him. Blood dripped from his wound. I couldn’t believe I had done that. I had never been in a fight in my life.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  “I got into a fight, and I knock him out. There’s a lot of blood. He has a bad wound on his forehead and maybe somewhere on the back of his head. He was attacking me, and I didn’t know what else to do.” I talked so fast that I ran out of breath.

  “Are you injured? What is your location?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You don’t know where you are?”

  “No.” I must have sounded like I was off my rocker. I could taste the beer on my breath, and I’m sure the cops would smell it on me.

  “We’re locating you through your cell phone.”

  “It’s a guy I met. Just met.” He took me to his apartment building near Clark and Granville, but I don’t know the exact address. I exhaled and tightened the grip on my phone. “He needs an ambulance.”

  “We’re sending an ambulance to your location, but I need you to give me the exact address,” she said.

  I had to tell her what happened, so she didn’t think I was crazy. “I met him in a bar and went home with him. He wouldn’t get off of me even though I told him too. I wanted to have sex… just not in that way.” The alcohol was still swirling in my brain.

  “We’re sending the ambulance now. We need more information. Is there any mail lying around with the address on it?”

  “No. I can stand outside when the ambulance comes, but I don’t have a key.” I looked around the room. “Wait, I see keys on the counter. Should I take them to get back into the building?” I asked.

  “Yes. We must have access to the victim.”

  “No, he attacked me. He’s not the victim. I didn’t want to hit him. He punched me several times.”

  “You can talk to the police when they get there.” She paused. “Don’t move him. Check to see if he’s breathing.”

  “No way! If he regains consciousness, he’ll come after me again. I want to leave. I don’t trust him,” I said, imagining he would jump up and start another round.

&
nbsp; “Take the keys. Leave the front door open and remember the apartment number. Figure out which keys go to the front door of the building so that the EMTs can get to him.” Could I remember all that in the state I was in? My heavy breathing made it difficult to reply. “Keep me on the phone and when you get outside, find the apartment number and tell me.”

  Grabbing a magazine to prop open the front door, I took the elevator down and used a doormat to prop open the outside gate. I neglected to figure out which keys went to which doors.

  The police were the first to arrive. I ran into the street and waved my arms as they approached. The car stopped, and two officers exited. I trembled at the sight of them. They rushed towards me with grim faces and beer bellies.

  “I’m the guy who called 911. He attacked me. I didn’t mean it.”

  “We’ll get all the information in a couple of minutes,” said one officer. “We need to see the victim.”

  I explained how to find the apartment and gave one the officer Kenny’s keys. He went into the apartment building, and the other stayed with me.

  “You have some pretty bad bruises. Are those from tonight?” he asked me.

  “Yes. He hit me. Do they look bad?” For a moment I was concerned with what people will think when they see bruises on my face, and the questions they will have.

  “What happened?”

  Feeling embarrassed, he looked like he was judging me, and I didn’t know if it was for being gay, for going home with a stranger, or for hitting that stranger with a desk lamp. Maybe it was all three. I didn’t want to get into what happened. The ambulance pulled up with screaming sirens and bright red flashing lights that lit up the neighborhood. Two EMTs piled out and walked inside with a stretcher. I trembled on the frozen sidewalk.

  “Another ambulance is coming for you,” said the officer. “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital, but somebody will need to pick you up at the police station.”