Eliot Prince
Where did it begin?
Where did it really, truly begin? Did it begin after breakfast the first day, when we met outside the house and walked under the fat-leaved Rhododendron leaves and talked about politics and movies and music and nothing at all? Did it begin later that night, in the movie room of the mansion, where I sat next to him amongst all the family members and then – in the darkness of the moment – let my leg fall against his? Or maybe down by the lake the next morning, when we skipped rocks and talked about what we wanted out of our lives – did it start then? Or maybe the walk that afternoon, when I slipped ten feet down a ravine like an idiot and smeared mud all over my jeans, making him laugh for ten minutes? Is that where it started?
He is perfect in so many ways. God, even his name is sexy. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Not only is he kind, but he is genuinely one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Many people are smart in the field of science, or current events, or politics, or weather, or whatever – but whatever we talk about, his breadth of knowledge is shocking. He’s real-smart, not the fake-smart bullshit I come across so much from the guys who can charm you on a dating app, but have nothing to say in person. I don’t know if I like him, admire him, or want to rip off his pants and shove him down my throat – in fact, as the hours bleed by, I find all of those sentiments growing and deepening by the hour. I want all of it, at once.
One afternoon we drive to Sliding Rock, a natural Slip’N’Slide where you slide down a giant stone that is smoother than glass. It’s raining too hard when we get there, though, and as I watch him talking to the parking attendant, I am filled with a galaxy of happiness I’ve never known before. Just being next to him makes me giddy. There is so much about him to notice. His spitfire hazel eyes, his sunlit smile, his birdsong laugh as the attendant says something I can’t hear – all he’s doing is existing, and yet to me he is transforming the universe.
There’s another thing. I’m finding that the more time I spend around him, the more I realize it’s okay to be me. I know I came out of the closet already, but that is never a cut-and-dry, black-and-white process. Some people never fully become comfortable with themselves. Every day I second-guess myself if I walk outside with a shirt that seems too tight, or wonder if I’m holding my arms or walking down the sidewalk in a way that’s “too feminine.” The world programs you to believe that men should only act in a certain way, and that being gay is somehow unnatural – and ridding myself of those false beliefs has never been easy. But Robert’s example is so comforting – he’s out, and he’s okay with it. He wears his sexuality easily, he’s obviously gay and doesn’t care who knows about it, and that breezy confidence can’t help but to rub off on me. And for the first time in a long time, I am starting to relax.
He stares at me even when I look away. He tells me I look beautiful even when I just want to hide my face. There’s nothing I need to hide from him, nothing I feel will be too much for him. Whatever I am, he seems okay with it. Whatever is happening, whatever is beginning: it is something. It is something I won’t be able to walk away from, no matter how much it sets fire to things. I am opening to him. And day by day, I am starting to give myself to him in ways I’ve never given myself to anyone.
Of course, there is the business with the note. Just toss it into the bizarre, backwards world I’ve found myself living inside. As soon as I found it in my room, I crumpled it up and threw it away. Even if David left it, I knew he would never admit it. So why confront him? I never told Robert because I didn’t want to scare him away, but it’s in the back of my mind every day. And it was the same with my family members. Whoever did it clearly wanted to remain anonymous. Why go around causing a ruckus when I really did have something to hide?
But it won’t leave my mind, at the same time. Every interaction with my mom is now tainted with a little paranoia. My cousin Gracie, too. Anyone could’ve left the note. I’m suspecting everyone, actually. As we watch movies or go on hikes, I look from cousin to cousin, wondering who has an axe to grind with me. If someone did see Robert cavorting with me somewhere, why would they run around leaving weird letters about it? Why not just address it with me directly?
Robert and I are still sneaking around, and it makes me so sad sometimes. We can’t just go around freely showing everyone what is going on, even if David is gone. The danger hasn’t gone away. It’s growing. Gracie is giving me weirder and weirder looks, and my mom is acting more bizarre than ever. But obviously it’s not urgent enough to make me stop. At this point, nothing could make me stop.
At sunset one day I sneak into his bedroom to watch the show through the window with him. This place is so beautiful, and being here with him just makes it that much better. I’m not a religious person, but I understand why they call these mountains God’s Country. You really feel closer to the sky.
“Ahh,” he sighs as I rest against him.
“What?”
“I just to lay here with you and make out forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“You know what I realized today? You’ve passed the ‘fuck me’ stage,” I tell him.
“What’s that? The what?”
“What I call the ‘fuck me’ stage. Anyone can pass a hot stranger on the street or in a club, and maybe get a little infatuated. Maybe you spend a night together. But it always fades. You realize the weekend is over and you both get back to your real lives and you lose touch. But…nothing about this is getting easier. I can’t think about anything else. It’s actually getting…”
“Harder,” he interrupts. “In the literal sense. For me, at least.”
“See? Those comments aren’t helping.”
“What? Do you really think we need to stop?”
“Welcome to my inner monologue. I don’t know. But it’s the only thing on my mind.”
“Well it’s not like I was ever looking for you. It’s crazy. It just…happened.”
“Why do you like me?” I ask soon. He is still so sexy to me, just touching his skin against my skin makes me feel like I am near heart attack. He calms me, and makes me go haywire at the same time – it’s sort of beyond comprehension.
He crosses his arms. “I mean, do I need to show you a picture of your ass?”
“Is that why?” I laugh.
“I mean, there are a lot of reasons, but that’s a big one. But really, it’s not just the reddish hair and the smile and the rest. You have a light about you, a halo. When I first saw you, I knew nothing of you, but you shined. When the universe had you in mind, you were already beautiful.”
I don’t know what to say. Nobody has ever spoken to me like this.
“Why do you like me?” he asks, pensive.
“Well…my Grandma Sara told me never to love someone who treats you like you are normal. You treat me like I am abnormal, in the best way.”
He looks down at my body and laughs to himself.
“What’s funny?”
“You’re perfect. But I’ve also been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
He tries not to laugh. “Uh, it’s just…what’s up with these clothes?”
I look down at my long khaki pants and my buttoned-up Oxford. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing it all! It’s just, uh…”
“Say it.”
“Okay, Eliot. The thing is, you dress like a heterosexual. It’s just something I’m noticing.”
“A what?”
“A straight man. An accountant. A middle-aged executive, but a low-level executive, the kind who still gets pushed around by the people in the corner offices. You dress fine, don’t get me wrong, but…these are the clothes of someone decades older. And I would know,” he laughs.
“Oh...”
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You’re actually right,” I tell him. “I notice how you dress, the tight shirts and the leather jackets and everything, and…I guess I’m scared on some level.”
“Ah,” he says, something changing in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m from North Carolina, you know? One of my gay friends was downtown and got a Slushie thrown at him from a passing car – they just leaned out of the window and drenched him and called him names. He dresses…well, you know, exuberantly. I guess I’m still nervous. I want to be more out there, I really do, but…yeah. I’ve only been openly gay for three years. Give me a minute.”
“I didn’t think of it that way,” he says soon. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just kiss me.”
And so he does.
“You know what?” I say soon, when we come up for air. “I would love to walk down the street one day in some tight, ripped, gay-as-fuck jeans. I really would. And being around you, seeing how comfortable you are with being yourself…it makes me think I’ll get there eventually. You give me hope.”
“Aw. And of course you will,” he says. “I’ll help you. Now keep kissing me.”
After that we make out for about ten minutes. Or maybe sixty – time means nothing with him anymore.
“Ugh,” he says when we finish. “I’m so dirty and slimy from the day. I need a shower, like, five minutes ago.”
“Oh,” I say a little sadly. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
“What?” he asks. “You’re coming with me.”
And so we shower together. At one point I just hold him to me, relishing in the warmth of his skin against mine. Then I think of something. You can do anything in this world, or go anywhere. But if you don’t have a warm body against yours at the end of the day, what’s the point? Here in this shower, and out in the world beyond, I could fall in love with him. I could really, truly fall in love with him.
And that’s when it hits me, really really hits me, that I am falling in love with my former stepfather.
~
That evening I get to thinking about Brokeback Mountain again, specifically how mismatched the two men were. They just couldn’t find a way to fit each other into their lives. It reminds me that I need to do some serious thinking about how Robert and I would ever work in the real world.
It’s not lost on me that eventually people would find out about our familial link. That’s a given. And our relationship would have to be strong enough to withstand the storm. Robert and I are getting closer than I ever thought we would in this setting. But at the same time, I know this mansion isn’t reality. What’s going to happen when our little world has to be transferred into the real, actual world?
After dinner, my gay bestie, Oz, calls me.
“Have you ever dated an older man?” I ask soon, breaking into his speech about his latest drama with his boyfriend. Oz snorts, and I ask him what’s funny.
“I mean, have I dated an older man? Nope. But they message me on sex apps all the time offering me money for sex, but I’ve never done it.”
“Wait, back up. What did you just say?”
“Yeah. A lot of people do that when they’re broke, I guess. It’s called taking a daddy.”
“A daddy? God, that is cringeworthy when applied to this situation, isn’t it?”
“What situation?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Anyway, continue?”
“No. Tell me. Now.”
“Tell you what?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m…dating an older guy now. A few decades older.”
I hope he doesn’t make the link about what I told him before. Mercifully, he doesn’t. “What?”
“Stop. You heard me. I’m really enjoying him.”
He sucks in some air. “Okay, be honest, honey. Are you short on rent this month? Trying to get a shopping spree or something?”
“No, Oz, I am not becoming a hooker. I just…I don’t know. Like I said, I enjoy him.”
“Oh, shit, of course you do. I totally forgot about your daddy issues.”
Everything comes to a halt. “Daddy issues?”
“I mean, no offense, but you never really had a dad. Your biological dad was always kind of off-and-on, and then he left, and…”
“And…what? My stepdad Rick has become more of a father than he ever was.”
“Hey, I’m not shading you! But maybe you have some type of older-man fetish that you don’t know about…”
“Oz,” I interrupt, “he is in his early forties. He is not embalmed. He’s actually hot, too.”
“Well…have fun, I guess, you weirdo. But be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know how easily you start liking people. You two are in different stages of life. Don’t form a connection with someone when it would never work out. God, I never knew you to have a daddy fetish.”
There’s that stupid word again, I think to myself. Daddy.
To prove to Oz how wrong he is about this, I clear my throat. “Okay. Look up Robert Glazer on Instagram right now. G – L – A – Z – E – R.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Fine, fine.”
I wait a few seconds and then listen as I hear a gay shriek for the ages. (Not to be confused with a tween shriek or any other kind of shriek, a ‘gay shriek’ is a very specific sound that has been known to pierce ear drums at brunches and/or Dua Lipa concerts from Alaska to Zurich.)
“Oh my God,” he says. “Okay, I repent. This man is perfect. Oh, wow. I’m jealous already.”
“And you’d be even more jealous if you ever saw his cock,” I say as I get ready to hang up. “Buh-bye!”
~
Really, though, I find Oz’s comment to be deeply annoying. I look up the phrase “daddy issues” and frown:
Daddy issues – (noun) – A slang term referring to an adult who has developed unhealthy relationship habits due to a poor (or nonexistent) relationship with their father figure during childhood.
This doesn’t even apply to me, in any way. I always hated the stupid argument that gay men have inherent “daddy issues,” and all the bullshit related to how some gay men can be more “feminine” than straight men (which isn’t even true all the time, anyway). After I came out, I remember hearing about a family scandal where crazy Aunt Marjorie made a comment “blaming” my mother for my homosexuality, for not “providing me with a stable father figure.” It was insane for many reasons, one of which being that the actions of men should never be put on the shoulders of the women around them. My dad left me, but that wasn’t my mom’s fault. My orientation had nothing to do with her, anyway.
I was born this way, and having some male around to force me to play football and G.I. Joe wasn’t going to “turn” me or “change” me. In fact, most of my gay friends had intact family structures, and had fathers around – and still ended up wanting to suck dick. I’m not gay because I have daddy issues. I’m gay because I’m gay. And I don’t want Robert because I have daddy issues, either. I want Robert because he’s Robert, and also because he has a double-wide dick. (So there, Aunt Marjorie.) But Robert doesn’t feel like a “daddy” at all. He feels, and I know this is crazy, but he feels like my equal.
And maybe I do have daddy issues, on some level. I haven’t spoken to my own dad in a year, and sometimes I still find myself wishing he loved me and approved of me more than he does. The last time I saw a photo of his house in Singapore, the only photos he had displayed of me were shots of me and family friends. He still lives inside a fantasy where I am straight, and if he had the choice, he would want me to change. Honestly, it still makes me feel like trash inside.
But every time I think of Robert, I feel like I am standing on Everest, and that transcends everything. So: issues or no issues, there will be no turning back now. I just have to make sure Robert is on the same page.
And hold back an increasingly curious family, too…