Adam Venus
The next morning starts cold and gloomy, but it matches my mood perfectly – I just want to settle into this passenger’s seat and be with him while he drives. That’s all I want. My feelings for him are like cold weather – soft and calm and permeating everything. And fine, I want other things, things we haven’t done yet, but we will get there. We will get there.
We stop at one of those Southern gas stations that is forty percent Dairy Queen, fifty percent gas station, and ten percent bait shop. After we look around, we head north again, and it’s already getting colder outside.
“Can I ask you more about your life?” he says after we hit the state’s main freeway.
I fidget a little. “Not much to tell. It was almost aggressively boring. Two older brothers, parents who split up early, then college.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure you had to have some adventures between those three little points.”
“Honestly…not really. I was…sheltered.”
“How sheltered?”
“Like…okay. My dad didn’t let us have Lucky Charms because luck was a game spun by Lucifer. If a radio station played a song about love or dating or sex, the channel was changed. I couldn’t watch most TV shows, either. They were all considered demonic. I remember we adopted a dog named Helen and the name was immediately changed because her name sounded like ‘hell.’ And don’t even get me started on dating.”
“You mean, besides the obvious reasons?”
“Yeah. My dad fears women, distrusts them, says they’re basically all harlots trying to trap me into something or somehow trick me.”
“Well good for you, you won’t have to worry about women at all.”
“Hey, we haven’t figured that out yet, for sure…”
He rolls his eyes. Or did I imagine that? “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. And…what about your mom?”
I glance away. “Still don’t want to talk about that…situation. Sorry.”
“Gotcha. But Jesus, that childhood. Er, I mean, not Jesus, but…you know. Jesus! I can’t imagine a life more different from mine.”
“Yeah?”
“I moved around every few years, I was exposed to everything and everyone on the planet, my mom didn’t even care enough to attempt to shelter me…by the time I was in second grade I was walking to the gas station and buying groceries there.”
“Wow.”
“I don’t mind, though. That’s why I am the way I am – nothing phases me. I never had that freak-out moment when I grew up and entered the real world, because my whole life was the real world.”
“Good point.”
“I’m glad you told me all that, though.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be let into your world. I don’t just want to see you smile. I want to see you sad, too.”
I don’t know what to say to that, I’m too overwhelmed, so I change the subject. “You already told me about your past. But tell me something else. What kind of guys did you always like?”
“Ha. Well…I always had a thing for the cheesiest-looking, most all-American blonde guys you could imagine. If they looked like they belonged in a Republican politician’s campaign ad, I liked them.”
“No wonder why you saw me, then…”
“Nah, it wasn’t like that at all. I just felt…like, stuck in you, somehow. I couldn’t look away.”
I look away from his overpowering eyes, his glowing skin. “Neither could I,” I say softly. “I still can’t.”
“Well…I feel very similar.”
“Why, though?” I ask soon.
“What do you mean?”
“Is it…chemistry? Is it physics? What is it?”
“You’ll spend your life trying to figure that out, and never get an answer. Just let it happen. Fall into it. That’s my best advice.”
“Ugh.”
“What?”
“I’m just so complicated. Like even right now, I can barely talk about this. I’m a big ball of contradictions…why would you ever be interested in me?”
His hand finds its way to my heart. “Adam. Stop. I’m so used to being bored with people that I’m bored with being bored by people. But you are so interesting. You make me feel like a human exclamation point. Everyone else was just…a minor yay.”
I look over. I know we’re totally different people, from different worlds. Different solar systems. But lately it feels like the ocean between us, that vast gulf, is shrinking. And what will we find in the closeness?
“But,” I begin. “It’s not just the religion thing. I don’t even know myself. I’m so afraid I’m…not enough, so I hide myself with all this other stuff. What if I show you the real me, and it’s not enough?”
He drops my hand, takes my palm in his. “You’re right. You’re not enough, Adam. You’re everything.”
The first church on the tour is in the most rinky-dink South Carolina town I could ever imagine. Well, actually, coming from St. Marys, I can. But we settle into a tiny motel with brown carpeting, and I kiss him extra hard before I leave him for the fellowship hall. (He hid in the car while I checked in, of course. We can’t be that reckless.) I’m attending their weekly church dinner, and the people are friendly and welcoming. Still, though, I take a moment to think of the sublime irony of my life. I’m in a church that voted against the Baptist coalition approving of gay marriage, and I’ve got a guy waiting for me back in my room…
I have to admit, I speed through everything without even really paying attention. I’m supposed to be meeting everyone and seeing how I gel with the congregation, but I just don’t care. I’m probably being rude, but I just can’t wait to get back to him to start our “vacation.” Within a few hours I find myself back by Fabian’s side walking down the cutest little street imaginable. These towns in the Deep South – they’re stuck in time, in ways good and bad, but architecture-wise it’s definitely a good thing. I look over at him and just smile – I don’t even care about the rushed interview today, because he makes me feel so brave, so fearless. He said he just read one of my books in the hotel, and he didn’t seem to mind the boredom at all. He makes me feel like I could put on my best suit, try again, and do anything. Like I could walk in a small Southern town with another man and not be afraid at all…
“What is it, babe?” he asks soon, and I note it’s the first time he’s ever called me that.
“Nothing. I’m just glad I met you.”
“Feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get back to the hotel before we catch pneumonia.”
“You just want to make out with me in bed,” I tease, slapping his big arm.
“Hey, I’m not denying that. But let’s go.”
~
The next day is roughly the same – and by that I mean, perfect because Fab is there. He just makes me happier. I know this trip won’t last forever, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy him while he’s here. I drop him at the hotel, then stop at a church and head into their tiny administrative office. The interview today is grueling. They want to know about my past, my personal life, my interests, my standing with God, how social I am, how I get along with kids. I didn’t even think about this in the beginning, but I’m having a surprisingly hard time not focusing on the Fabian issue. Say I did be honest, and just mention that I had a guy waiting for me back at my hotel, a guy who lit up my world. They’d probably smile politely and immediately ask me to leave, and I can’t get it out of my head. They’re all very nice, though, and soon I even start imagining a future as a pastor – just somehow with Fabian along for the ride. That’s still possible, right? I can make room for him in my life if I really try…
Time starts melting, and I travel from town to town. Spending time with Fab is easier than I ever knew it would, or could, be. (Even if he’s a bit sloppy in the hotel room department, and never knew a mess he knew how to tidy up.) I don’t even notice he’s there most of the time, because it just feels like a built-in feature already. We tour the little towns, and the moments that spark between us are a golden magic. We walk down main streets that look too homey and old-fashioned to even be real, we hear trains in the distance like from some old Christmas movie, we drive by fields of rolling hills with cows and horses swatting flies off themselves lazily in the mild December air. But always, always with the knowledge that this is probably a fantasy for us. We have to go back where I am a student, and he is my janitor, and I cannot be with him in this way. Or any man, if I want to keep the current trajectory of my life. I just can’t. Right?
“Have you ever loved anyone?” I ask as we sit in a Wendy’s on Friday afternoon. That morning he’d sent me yet another note on Snapchat, as usual, scrawled on Days Inn stationery while I slept beside him. I’m reading it again when I blurt out the question. He looks up at me, startled. Then he blushes.
“I mean, that’s complicated.”
“Why?”
He chooses his next words carefully, his eyes out the window. “I’ve loved one person in the past, yes.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“We don’t have to…”
“But I want to know.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “Well. We met on an app and dated for a year. Yes, I loved him. But he was hopelessly closeted. He’d make me pretend to be a friend in public. After we broke up he went even further back into the closet, I guess. His family didn’t accept him, and instead of rejecting them he turned into them and craved their approval even harder, and…that was that.” He looks off at the trees. “He…wouldn’t even be open with me. He avoided ever bringing me around his roommate, and when I learned it was because he’d told her I was his ‘good buddy,’ it was sayonara. He even lied when we saw his sisters, and introduced me as his ‘best friend.’ That confused them even more, because they were like, you know, why wouldn’t I know my own brother’s best friend?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s humiliating, though, to stand there and have the love you feel for someone – to have it denied. It sucked, actually.”
“Um…”
“What?”
“Well, you hate dealing with guys who are conflicted, and yet you sit here with me…”
“Hey, I couldn’t control what happened in that hallway that first day! Any more than you could, actually. And this is the South – almost everyone is a little closeted sometimes. I know men who are happily married to other men, who have to go home for Thanksgiving and hide their whole lives from an old bigoted granny and pretend to be someone totally different. That’s why I’m probably so passionate about all this. To be denied in that way was the most hurtful thing I’d ever felt. But mostly I just felt bad for him.”
“Wow.” I swallow. “Do you still love him?”
“Noooo. Looking at pictures of him now, I don’t even know why I ever did – he seems like a different person. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I’m glad I loved someone and lost them.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t you know? They say never to date someone who hasn’t had their heart broken.”
“Why?”
“Because after someone knows heartbreak, they know all the things not to do.”
“Um…yeah. Or they just get cautious. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Excellent question.” He gets pensive. “And hey…have you loved anyone?”
I think back, and honestly, there was one person. I just never it until recently, until I started overturning the stones within my mind.
I take a breath and give him the basics. Justin was my best friend in middle school. It was a totally different situation, but still, I’m fairly sure I loved him. He was the new kid on the first day of school, and I considered it my Christian duty to welcome him – or so I thought. Looking back, I had a crush on him from the first moment. He had these green eyes that were just too green to be real, and he was the only guy in my grade with facial hair. I struck up a friendship, and soon he was sleeping over every single weekend. I would suggest that we pitch a tent outside just to sleep beside him, or maybe propose a trip to the beach just so I could see him shirtless. I was obsessed and I didn’t even know it. It wasn’t until high school, when he ditched me for the skater kids, that I went into a deep depression and realized what was obvious the whole time: he was more to me than a friend. But I never let it in. I still never considered the possibility on a conscious level. I just shook my head and told myself to forget it. But now…
When I finish, he smirks at me.
“What’s funny?”
“I’m just glad you never got with this Justin dude.”
“Why?”
“Because it means I get to keep you now. Duh. I’m a very jealous lover. And by the way, stop looking at me like that.”
“How?”
His eyes shine. “In that sideways way. It makes me want to fuck you. And I can’t.
I look around, but of course nobody can hear. Fabian would’ve made sure of that before he said such a thing. Still, it makes me harder than I’ve been this entire trip – and that’s saying something. I am almost unable to control myself around him – we sleep together, but that’s it. We don’t touch much more beyond that. But every night it is harder. I’m speeding towards something I know I want, but have no idea how to actually approach.
But by the look in the eyes, I won’t have much more time. He wants me. Now.
And you know what? I want him, too.
“I have another question,” I ask soon. “How would I know if I’ve always been like this?”
“You mean, attracted to guys?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, think back. Did you feel it?”
“I was definitely…curious. I noticed things, for sure. I just…I guess I just thought if I turned and focused on church or whatever, it would go away.”
His eyes change. “What did you notice?”
I lower my voice. “Um…James Deegan, from my P.E. class, naked in the shower. The way his body looked so much harder, so much firmer, than a girl’s. And the way I’d stare at the male models if I ever walked into Abercrombie in the mall…and the way I couldn’t get Usher out of my head the first time I saw one of his videos…”
“Yep,” he laughs. “You’ve definitely been in denial. I see it pretty often. People delay it as long as they can, push it back, until some catalyst comes that makes them realize they can’t hide anymore.”
“And you were my catalyst?” I ask. He smiles.
“Indeed. I was your catalyst. More like a wrecking ball, actually.”
“But I’m enjoying the wrecking.”
“And I,” he smirks, “am enjoying the demolition job.”
That night I attend the church’s fellowship dinner, and I notice they have a campaign poster on the wall for a politician who, according to the local papers I read that morning, has a history of sharing openly racist memes and posts on social media. And here they sit, pushing for his election. It gives me pause. I barely think about preaching anymore. Why am I really here? Do I really even want this anymore? Do I want to spend my life doing this?
In any case, this a rare church that actually serves wine, as their fellowship hall is off-site, and soon I’m more than tipsy. A man gets up to speak, and while most of the church members seem sophisticated and modern enough, this one is wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. He leads us in prayer and then goes on to speak about a hearing the church leaders are attending that weekend, to protest a nearby park getting a rainbow-hued statue to commemorate the town’s residents who died in the AIDS epidemic. The speaker goes on to rant against the “crusade” of the “transgendereds” to “change our values and our way of life,” and soon I just roll my eyes. The pastor next to me notices and asks me what’s up.
“I mean, is this guy serious? Is this a church dinner or a Klan rally?”
He crosses his arms. “I just mean…I don’t know. What does this have to do with anything? And ‘transgender’ is an adjective, not a noun.”
“What does it have to do with you?”
“They’re humans. Just like you. Being kind to humans should be in the interest of us all. Shouldn’t it?”
He swallows, gives me a grim smile, and turns away. Clearly I won’t be getting hired by this church, and you know what? I don’t give a damn, either.
The next day I have a casual interview in the same town with a pastor who is hilariously named Michael C. Jackson. I am fascinated by the C – does he think it distracts from the fact that he’s named like the King of Pop? Why not just call himself Mike or something?
But quickly I learn wish I’d never met Michael C. Jackson. I Google him that night, and I learn that New Life was the first church to hire him in years. After he divorced his wife, three congregations pushed him out or rejected him, and he faced opposition at every turn. There was even a petition by the neighborhood to expel him from New Life because of his “low personal moral standards.” (His wife apparently tried to spread rumors that he’d cheated.) And all he got was divorced! It’s not even like he sucked on a penis…
I settle into my sheets and have a short little panic attack. I’m going to hell, I just know it, I can feel it everywhere. I don’t know if I can change myself this quickly, adapt to Fabian in this span of time. What if I’m wrong, and all of God’s laws are real, and I will burn for this? Suffer for this? Is Fabian worth it?
Honestly, right now…yes, he would be worth the chance. He makes me feel like a rain puddle that got struck by lightning – shimmering, alive, electrified, liquid. But the possible downside of that is…well, hell. Or so I spent my life believing, at least. But what do I believe now?
At any rate, it seems that Fabian is catching on to my indecision. I’ve been somewhat listless and distracted since the interviews began, and I know he’s noticed. This is supposed to be the start of the rest of my life, but it feels like a funeral march. Later that same night we’re watching some home renovation show and clears his throat.
“Do you even want to do this?”
I sit straight up. “What?”
“Do you still even want to be a pastor?”
“What? Of course I do.”
“Well…”
“Well, what?”
“You don’t talk about it anymore. Actually, when you do, you have this weird…dread in your voice.”
“What a thing to say. This is all I ever planned to do with my life.”
“Are you sure? Why? You’re kind of shy.”
“Because…because God gave me a peace I’d never felt before, and I just wanted to share it and talk about it.”
“But there are lots of ways to do that without becoming a literal pastor…”
“Leave me alone. What’s this really about?”
“I heard you on the phone with that pastor at the church from yesterday. He was asking about your ‘moral code’ and all that.”
“Okay, admit it: you hate everything about my religion. I get it.”
“Nope, I won’t get trapped with that. I’m fine with religion. Religion is great. Fundamentalism, though, is not great, and a line needs to be drawn somewhere.”
“And where’s the difference, according to you, Mr. Genius?”
“I don’t know, but we’re crossing it right now, culturally. There was a little scandal when the President hired someone and it came out that in the past he’d supported marriage equality and had a lot of other unusual stances for a conservative. As soon as the stories came out, though, he announced he’d ‘evolved’ and no longer thought any of that and took it all back. That is not evolving, it is devolving, and these are not the views that need to be pushed and promoted – they need to die out.”
“You sound so tolerant, and yet you’re preaching intolerance…”
“Yes, absolutely, I am intolerant of hatred and exclusion and extremism. We should all be. You are not entitled to your opinion – you are entitled to your informed opinion. Is a bus driver ‘entitled’ to operate on your heart because he showed up and demanded to be treated as a doctor? No. You need to have the information to back up what you say and do and think, or else we’re all just screaming into the darkness. Someone making all their decisions based on a book written in the Bronze Age is not informed to me, I’m sorry, they’re just not.”
I turn away. “Shows how highly you think of me.”
He doesn’t respond. I get angrier.
“Maybe this is never going to work. Us being together, I mean. It can’t.”
I turn back. He looks more hurt than I expected. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a jerk.”
“No. I’m passionate about what I believe in. Just like you are.”
Slowly my anger fades. “Can I be honest about something?”
“What?”
“I wish I could hate you sometimes, but I can’t. Your passion…well, it turns me on so much. You just care about things more than everyone else does. Even when we’re fighting.”
His eyes change. “Is that so?”
“Maybe.”
He looks at his phone. “Get dressed, then.”
“Why?”
“I’m bored. This trip has been all about you, all the time. Which is fine, but I need some fun, too. We’re going out.”
“We are?”
“I want you to see me dance. For real, not like the first time.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll turn you on, and I’m generous. Come on, Jesus Boy. Nobody will find out. And there was some wine on sale in the lobby downstairs – we’re even going to pregame.”
“But what are we celebrating?”
“Us,” he whispers, before kissing me on the forehead and disappearing out of the door.
After getting buzzed, we catch an Uber to Lights, this bar/club at the center of our latest little town. He gets a shot for himself and a beer for me, then we get a little table along the dance floor. And, holy smokes – he was right. The way he’s dancing tonight, with his hips leading the way and everything else following, is making me crazy. He can slide into the beat, get his body into the groove, and dance like a madman while throwing glances at me in-between with the most smoldering eyes I have seen on anyone. If models needed lessons on how to make the camera lens burn, he could make a living doing just that. Every time he looks at me like that, I get a little harder, and a little more nervous, too. Clearly he wants to do stuff tonight. How much will I let him do? Will he go all the way? Will I want that?
On the way back home, he tells the driver to pull off at a little strip mall. I wonder what we’re doing, and then my stomach sinks – EROTIC LOVE EMPORIUM, a sign over one of the shops says. Oh, no – he’s stopping at a sex shop? With a driver in the car? Ugh.
He disappears into the store, and the female driver throws me a strange look and then finally looks away. I grimace at her, but she doesn’t see. This is none of her business. Still, I understand why it would raise eyebrows in South Carolina…
He appears within five minutes or so, sliding back into the car with a small plastic bag. “Thanks. We can head to the hotel now.”
With every foot of pavement we cross, my pulse quickens. What are we heading toward?
“Get on the bed,” he says as soon as we enter the room and lock the door.
“What? Why?”
“Because being in that dark smoky bar with you turned me the fuck on, and we’re going to take another step tonight. I’m going to fuck you with a dildo.”
The air leaves my lungs. “You are?”
“It sounds crazier than it is. Just lay back, naked, and pull your legs up.”
I can feel the nerves in the air as I slide out of my shirt, then my pants. When I’m naked I get on the bed.
“Do you trust me?” he asks me as he unwraps the sex toy, a small black bullet.
“I don’t know. I think.”
“Good enough for me. Now gimme that hole.”
I lay with my back against the headboard and spread my legs up in the air. He kisses from my neck to my nipples to my navel, so sensual, so soft. Then he sucks me for a few moments to get me ready, and his light stubble against my skin is heaven. Finally he gets out the toy and lubes it up. It’s small and short, but thick, and it has a stopper at the end that will prevent it from getting all the way in there.
“Ready?”
I nod. Then I feel the tip push into me, and I cry out. It feels like something is being parted, opened, spread. I lean all the way back and suck in some air. And then the feeling comes – a deep, guttural pleasure that stills my whole body. But…it’s so tight…
“Wait a second,” I whisper, and he just stays there, halfway inside me, rubbing my nipples and leaning down and kissing my back.
“Turn over and get on all fours.”
He’s doing me doggy style now – I’ve seen enough porno clips to know what this is. I bend forward and bite at the pillow. I can’t believe this is happening, but it is, and I love it. He’s invading me, taking me away, and I am his. Only his…
The funny thing is, he’s acting more aroused than I am by this.
“Fuck,” he keeps grunting, as he watches the toy enter and exit me. “Fuck, I want you so fucking badly, fuck.”
“Do you?” I ask once, teasing him.
“Oh, baby, yes, lemme do it, lemme slide in there.”
“Not yet. Just wait.”
And when I get close, I cry out, and I see him crouch above my lower back, screw up his face, and spray all over me. Yes, I said that correctly – he comes on my back, for the first time, as I orgasm. I liked it much better on my face, because back there it just feels slippery and wet, albeit warm. But let’s get real – this is Fabian’s seed, his product. I’m pretty sure I’d take it anywhere…
~
Later that night I’m sore and spent, draped in the tiny bathtub while he sits atop the closed toilet lid, reading a hotel newspaper. My school friend Tanner was texting me earlier, asking why I “shared” a news story about how a local police station got caught abusing a black prisoner. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. But it got me thinking: Fabian is kind of changing me, and my friends don’t even really know who I am anymore. If you can even call them my friends anymore, that is. And if the people in life don’t even know who I am, then who in the hell am I?
“Ugh,” I say, thinking this, and of my crazy upcoming schedule I was just emailed.
“What?”
“I still have a week, but it’s going to get so hectic. Not like the first leg. I’m visiting almost a church a day. It’ll be so boring for you, and it’s getting so close to Christmas, and…”
“What are you saying? I’m not leaving.”
I do a double-take. “You’ll stay? For sure?”
He smiles down at me, then kisses my forehead. “I’ll stay. Spoiler alert, remember?”