Chapter FIVE

 

 

David

 

AS MUCH as I couldn’t wait to swap the apartment I’d shared with Caleb for my new digs in Sunset, I spent the rest of the week dreading the day of the move. Prior moves in the city had involved me maneuvering a U-Haul truck in Manhattan traffic, fighting with cops or other drivers because I had to double park the hunk of junk, and then taking six hours to unload by myself or with one or two lazy friends. The last time Caleb hadn’t even helped. He’d been away on business.

This time things were a bit different.

Raymond showed up with Michael, Nunzio, Chris, and a mean-looking guy named Sharky. I’d had no idea how the guy had earned the nickname, and had assumed it meant he had a reputation as a shady person or was an actual loan shark. When I’d pitched my hypothesis to Raymond, he’d smirked and said it was because Sharky had been obsessed with the movie Jaws as a kid. I took that as a cue to shut my mouth for the duration of the move.

Raymond meticulously tagged every box so the guys knew where everything belonged. I helped at first, but Chris advised me to hang out in the apartment and unpack while they finished hauling boxes upstairs. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or not by the princess treatment, but I didn’t fight it too hard. By the time they were done, I’d half unpacked the kitchen, ordered a few pizzas, gotten some beer, and now I was playing host to five handsome guys who were shirtless and covered in sweat. Life could have been worse.

After Michael and Nunzio went home, Sharky and I were left eating pizza while Raymond and Chris tried to set up the TV. I could sense Sharky was curious about me, but he just nibbled on a crust and idly called a suggestion to Chris about how to run the wires.

“I work for the cable company,” Sharky said in a conspiratorial tone. “Ray actually brought me along so I could do this.”

“So why aren’t you helping?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, cockhead.” Chris pointed at Sharky. “Why aren’t you helping?”

“I’m supervising.”

Raymond muttered something in Spanish, and Chris cracked up. I didn’t know what he’d said, but I bit back a smile anyway. Sharky didn’t look fazed.

“How’d you and Ray meet?” I asked.

“We grew up together. Went to the same elementary school, junior high, etcetera. It’s always been us three and this girl Tonya, but she’s in the military. On her third tour overseas.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. She’s a badass.” Sharky licked grease off his fingertips. “What about you? How’d you meet him?”

“Through Michael.” I twisted off the cap of a Corona, nearly offered it to Raymond, and thought better of it. I took a sip myself. “I teach science at Michael’s school, and when he was going through some things last winter, I contacted Raymond to find out how he was doing.”

“Yo, Ray, what was that all about, anyways?” Sharky’s brows knitted together. “I heard he tried to kill himself.”

Raymond looked over his shoulder. He didn’t even have to say anything. He just looked, and Sharky leaned away from the force of the glower.

“That’s just what I heard. No need to get all pissy.” Sharky looked at Chris for confirmation. “Right? Ain’t that what people was saying on the block?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Sharky frowned. “You pussy.”

Raymond still seemed to be considering tossing his screwdriver at Sharky like a dagger, so I jumped in. “Michael just needed some time off to deal with things. It’s hard to cope if the world keeps moving when you’re not ready to rejoin it.”

“That was some deep shit.” Chris nudged Raymond. “I like this guy. He’s almost as smart as me.”

“Aiight, Mr. Community College Dropout.”

Chris pumped his fist in the air. “And I got a bomb-ass IT job to show for it.”

Raymond didn’t reply. How were his friends so oblivious to the feelings of inadequacy such simple statements provoked? They’d known him for going on twenty years, and I had only recently become close with Raymond. Yet my eyes grazed the slight slumping of his shoulders, and I noticed how he zeroed in on his task with a singular focus; how his one-liners had become monosyllables.

Was I reading too much into it? Pretending I had such a good read on him just so I could feel special? It was possible. It wasn’t like I hadn’t overanalyzed my connection with a guy in the past. In high school, creating entire fantasy relationships out of minor interactions had been a wretched hobby of mine. But this didn’t feel like a fantasy. My connection with Raymond had to be real. If it wasn’t real, it would be hard to have faith in anything ever again.

Sharky joined them by the mess of coaxial cables and HDMI connectors, looking to redeem himself for the suicide comment. Raymond ignored him for a few minutes before caving and blessing Sharky with the usual half smiles and snarky comments.

As I sat observing from the sidelines, I expected the outlier twinge to ping my heart the way it so often had in the past, but it never came. Raymond’s friends were so genuine and good-natured that I had a good time unpacking while laughing at their jokes. The only awkward moment came when Chris’s cheeks dimpled after he caught me paying a little too much attention to the way Raymond’s basketball shorts dipped past his hipbones. I suspected Chris got a kick out of tough, asshole Raymond rooming with a gay twink.

“I like your friends,” I said when they were gone. “They’re funny.”

“Hilarious.”

Raymond found the box with his many marijuana-oriented implements as soon as I’d locked the door. He was loading a bowl as an Internet radio station played mellow indie rock from his computer.

“Is this a station you listen to frequently?”

“Sometimes. When I don’t want to be amped up.”

“Makes sense.”

I finished folding the empty pizza boxes and shoved them in a garbage bag. The kitchen was in disarray—empty beer bottles, crumbs, and a litany of paper plates and cups littering the countertops.

“Bring your ass over here and stop cleaning.”

“Crumbs attract bugs,” I said, swiping them into the trash with a paper towel. “And I hate bugs.”

“If the troops gather that quickly, it’s inevitable.” Raymond packed the bowl of his pipe. “It’s our first night here. Relax.”

If I had a dollar for every time Raymond told me to relax, I could pay off my student loans in a year.

“You’re going to smoke with me,” he said.

“Is that an order?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

I padded over to him, navigating the clutter of our belongings while relishing the cool hardwood beneath my bare feet. The apartment was strewn with boxes and mismatched furniture, but I was still in love with it. It was cozy but had a slightly unfinished quality that was very urban. The french doors leading to my room added to the feel—like it had once been a library or a study before being converted into a bedroom. It was flooded with deep golden light from windows that overlooked the neighborhood. We didn’t have the most breathtaking view, but watching the setting sun reflect off the windows of warehouses in Industry City had its own charm. A lot of things about our apartment had a certain charm. Raymond was one of them.

“Does Chris make fun of me?”

Raymond flicked his lighter and took a hit from the pipe. He stared at me through the drifting smoke.

“Stop worrying about my friends.”

“I want them to like me.”

Raymond passed the pipe and slumped down on the sofa. “They seem to like you just fine. I dunno why you’re so paranoid.”

“Because I’m not like them. I’m an alien.”

“Yeah,” Raymond agreed. “But you expect me to go have cocktails with your white-bread friends, and then you act like I’m an idiot for worrying, so what’s the difference? If you think my friends are calling you a fag, why shouldn’t I think your friends will call me a loser?”

“Because you’re not a loser.” I inhaled too deeply and heat spread through my chest. I wanted to say more, to go through a list of all of his wonderful qualities and explain why he was anything but a loser despite whatever social standing he thought he had, but I didn’t. He would think I was placating him. Or worse—he would think I was being saccharine and get uncomfortable and create distance where I wanted none. Coughing, I handed the pipe back and slid closer, curling into his side. “Would they think it’s weird that you accept that I’m a stage five clinger?”

“Most likely.” Raymond exhaled smoke into my face. “Even I think it’s weird.”

I slid my arm around him to make it weirder. “What about Michael and Nunzio? Did your friends freak out when they found out?”

“They might if they knew.”

I fumbled the pipe when he passed it back. He tsked and removed it from my hand. He was always half-amused, half-exasperated with how little I knew about smoking pot despite enjoying the experience. But I was too distracted by his comment to recover from my marijuana faux pas.

“Are you saying Michael isn’t out?”

“What a stupid expression. Out.”

“It’s not funny.” I twisted on the sofa, leaning closer and nearly pressing my nose against his cheek when I listed too far. Two tokes and I was already wavering. I knelt on the cushion and braced my hand against his shoulder. “You don’t get it, because you never had to hide who you are. The ability to be out is a big deal. Not too long ago—”

“Cut the sermon. I get it.”

For just a moment, I shut my mouth. Something between a clean streak of rage and a bubble of embarrassment welled inside of me. He was so concisely belittling, and he had no idea the power he had over me with so few words. Taking a small breath, I tried again, “Don’t be an asshole. I’m serious. For decades, centuries, generations, gay men in this country had to love in the dark. Always having to pretend and give up little pieces of who they are just to not… be hated or killed, but things are changing for our generation—there’s no reason why Michael should still be hiding who he is. Especially to people he’s known his entire life. And Nunzio—how the hell does he feel about it? He’s out, isn’t he?”

“Nunzio couldn’t wait to piss everyone off by talking about how much he loved dick.”

I didn’t think it had anything to do with wanting to piss people off so much as him not caring about what people thought, but I kept the opinion to myself. I wasn’t the expert on Nunzio. Raymond and Michael were. “They’re from the same neighborhood and from families with similar cultures. He survived, so what’s Michael’s problem?”

Raymond set the pipe on the table, smoke seeping from his lips. “He doesn’t have a problem. Just because he didn’t feel the burning need to tell unnecessary people his biz doesn’t mean he’s a coward.”

“I didn’t say he was a coward,” I shot back. “I just don’t understand why he feels the need to live his life that way.”

“It’s his life to live, so why is it bothering you?”

“Because I don’t get it. He should take pride in who he is.”

Raymond had the decency to chew on his response before laying into me.

“Not everyone grew up in a nice suburb around a bunch of bleeding-heart liberals,” he said, ice in his voice. “It’s real easy for you to talk about pride and coming out and all of that great shit when you were never in danger of having your teeth kicked in by your pops. Even after our father got over the drunken violent routine, both our parents would have damned Michael to hell if they knew how things were. Maybe he didn’t see how sacrificing his family was a good trade-off for announcing to the world who he likes to get busy with.”

“But Nunzio—”

“Nunzio’s parents never wanted him.” Raymond’s dark eyes held mine and hinted at something I knew he would never go into detail about. Because it wasn’t my business. In his mind, I would never understand. “Him coming out was just another nail in the coffin, and he did it to give them a big fuck you. They were never a real family—that’s why he was always at my house. It was different for Michael.”

“You don’t think your mother would have understood?”

“I don’t think she would have disowned him, but she would have never accepted it.”

“But he could have tried to make her understa—”

“Stop.”

I stewed in my indignant opinions, and Raymond finished the bowl. He didn’t even look high, and yet I was tangled in a million threads of marijuana-infused pseudophilosophical thoughts relating to family, acceptance, and gay pride. I would have sacrificed my family if they hadn’t accepted me; I knew it without a doubt. Then again, I’d grown up knowing that once I reached eighteen, I’d be labeled an adult and be on my own anyway. That was just the way it was.

“So why don’t you tell Nunzio and Michael that you’re bi-curious?”

Raymond looked sick of the conversation, but he humored me. “I dunno. It just never came up, and I don’t want it to.”

“But why? They’d be so supportive.”

“Not likely.” The frustration must have been evident in my face because Raymond groaned. He held up a glass container so I could look inside. “Do you see the crystals on those buds? This is some prime weed. Don’t kill my high.”

“I’m just trying to understand,” I insisted.

“Why do you have to understand everything all the time? Just accept that people are different and your way isn’t always the best way, and stop running your goddamned mouth.”

Raymond started twisting his grinder again, and I managed to stay quiet for a grand total of two minutes before yet another question bubbled up my throat. I tried to fight it, but my need to satiate curiosity was the equivalent of another person’s need to satisfy the craving for a vice. It had to happen.

“When did you realize you were into guys?”

“When did you?”

Raymond Rodriguez, master of deflection. But I would play along. I stretched out on the couch with my feet resting in his lap. I braced them against his thighs, brushing the bare soles over the glossy fabric of his shorts. I felt his muscles flex.

“I was eight.”

“Why the hell were you even thinking about that shit when you were eight?” Raymond dropped his hands on my ankles, one of them slack, the other smoothing along the side of my foot. “When I was eight, all I cared about was playing outside.”

“I played outside too.” If I closed my eyes, I could vividly see myself at eight years old. Small for my age, delicate, hair too long because my mother liked it to brush my collar. I’d had few friends and spent most of my time reading romance novels from the archaic bookshelf in the study and being obsessed with butterflies. I’d chase them around in the yard and had once cried for days when my older cousin caught one for me, killed it, and encased it in glass to display in my room. “I wasn’t very into sports.”

“I have a feeling that’s an understatement.”

“You might be right.” I grinned wryly and pillowed my arms behind my head. “I had these two cousins—William and Noah. They’re twins, five years older, and when I was a kid, they were kind of mean-spirited. They reminded me of Leopold and Loeb.”

Raymond pressed his thumb against the arch of my foot. “Who’s that?”

“Rich, white students from Chicago who performed the first documented thrill kill at the turn of the century.”

“Rich people are crazy.”

I nodded, smiling. “Yes. I’m not rich, though. My mom is a nurse and my father is a librarian.”

“No wonder you’re such a nerd.”

“Speak for yourself, guy who sits alone in his room with video games.” The words came out far too languorously for the topic, an obvious indication that I was baked. “Anyway, they were older, and they would take turns kissing me. I don’t think they were gay so much as they wanted someone to play and experiment with, and I was easy prey. It didn’t go beyond that, but….” I could still remember the hollow feeling in my chest, the dull thud of my heart when they found something better to do. My first ever sting of rejection. “Eventually they went to high school and stopped playing that game, and I missed it. That’s how I knew it wasn’t just a game for me.” I nudged my foot against Raymond when he didn’t comment. “What? No joke about white people being weird?”

“It was too easy.” Raymond shifted his legs to prop his feet on the coffee table. “Besides, I don’t have room to judge. My curiosity was piqued from watching some dude bang my teenage brother at the park.”

“Jesus.” I couldn’t imagine doing something even half as brave. I’d been afraid to have sex as a teenager even though my parents had provided a steady supply of condoms. For my entire high school career, they’d accumulated, unused, in my bottom drawer. “I didn’t start having sex until I went to college. Late bloomer. But I made up for it in a short amount of time.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Our eyes met, and I smiled slow and wicked. If only he knew how I’d made up for lost time.

“Why have you never been with a guy?”

“Because….” Raymond continued to absentmindedly rub my foot. “I’m lazy and it wasn’t convenient.”

I laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’ve always liked girls too, and most of the time they came to me. I didn’t have to do anything.” His fingers slid up to my calf, squeezed, and then he pulled his hand away to grab the pipe again. “Michael seemed to sniff out interested guys everywhere he went, but I’m not that observant. So I stuck to girls. I used to have a big-ass crush on Nunzio, but I always knew he and Michael would end up together.”

“How did you know?”

“You could just tell. They, like… belong together.” Raymond rolled his eyes. “It’s corny but it’s true. It took them forever, but I knew it would happen eventually.”

I nodded, staring. “You’re so…. Just… easygoing.”

“I’m just a pothead.”

“No, it’s more than that. You don’t overanalyze things like I do. You just accept them.” I watched him hit the pipe—the way his eyes slid closed when he inhaled. It was almost sexual. “Please explain why you don’t think Michael would accept you. I find it so difficult to believe.”

“I just know the way his mind works.”

“How does it work?”

Raymond returned to his slow exploration of my legs. His fingers quested over my knee, pausing at the random scar here or there. “He’s old-fashioned when it comes down to it, and he worries a lot about me. He’ll think it’s… because of him that I’m curious, and he’ll think it’s a bad thing. Like he added an extra complication to my life.”

“Because of him?” I frowned, tilting my head. “How could it be because of him? You were always this way even if you didn’t realize it.”

Raymond gave me the look again—the penetrating gaze that seared through me whenever he was trying to determine whether it was worth it to explain himself.

“I told you I started being curious after I saw him and another guy.”

“That just means you realized you were bi at that moment, not that it changed you.”

“It changed the way I thought,” Raymond said, voice sharpening again. He didn’t like it when I corrected his viewpoint on things unless it was factual. “Seeing my big bro with guys just made it normal to me. I was never afraid of it. That doesn’t mean I was born with the bisexual gene or whatever random shit people say. There’s nothing wrong with me choosing to try something out. That don’t make it less valid.”

“But that’s….”

I didn’t know what to say. We stared at each other. Me carefully neutral, him shrewd and calculating—wondering whether I was judging him for his ideas. I wasn’t, but it went against everything I’d believed growing up. Even my parents—who were indeed bleeding-heart liberals—had embraced me because they said I’d always been this way, and they loved me for who I was. Would that be different if they saw it as a choice? I had no idea. But I did know I’d had these feelings and inclinations before I was old enough to understand what they meant.

I knew there were people who became sexually free later in life, but I’d never considered that attraction to multiple genders was something that could develop over time. It would require way more time for me to digest that idea, especially when Raymond’s view of his sexuality was reminiscent of something a conservative would say to prevent gay men from adopting children. But I knew, logically, that an ignorant conservative argument shouldn’t be governing my thoughts.

“Change the subject,” Raymond said gruffly.

“Fine.” I thought for a moment, relieved to not have to debate anything. “When are you going to test-drive your bi side?”

“I dunno.”

“Have you ever done anything?”

A smile ghosted across Raymond’s face. “Kinda. I used to perv on Chris.”

“Really?”

“Yep. It started after we watched porn together for the first time. I was looking more at his dick than the damn video.”

“Wow. Did he know?”

“I dunno. I think so. I’m not really good at being sly, and he didn’t seem to care.” Raymond shrugged. “Then when we got older, we had a couple of threesomes with this chick Stephanie.” He said it as though he was talking about sharing a bag of chips with a friend. Or drinking soda from the same bottle despite the backwash. “Those were good times. She loved turning him out because he’s always been shy, and she’s mad fucking laid-back and confident about sex.”

“Did you… ever touch him during the threesomes?” It was easy to visualize, but Chris was almost too cute and youthful-looking compared to Raymond. Raymond was tall and had long limbs, shiny hair, and perfect skin—he was walking sex, whereas I primarily wanted to ruffle Chris’s hair.

“Nah, I mostly liked to watch Steph work him over. But there was this one time he wasn’t using a condom and got a little too excited. Ended up busting inside of her.” Raymond rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, clearly thinking back to the day. “I wanted to know what he tasted like, so after he came in her, I ate her out.”

I felt his dick stiffen beneath my feet. That slight movement, more so than the erotic picture he had just painted, sent fire catapulting through my veins. I tried not to press down, especially when he shifted on the sofa, one knee bouncing up and down.

“That’s not just some abstract curiosity,” I noted. “You really want to try.”

“Yeah. I want to know if I like it and not just the idea of it. Or just watching it.”

“And laziness is holding you back?”

“Yup. I never put effort into looking for a guy who might be interested, and no one ever came on to me.”

“I used to flirt with you all the time,” I said, trying not to sound resentful. “You never seemed interested.”

“That’s because you were always joking.”

That was true enough. I’d always made sure to sandwich my flirtatious comments between heavy doses of sarcasm or jokes so as not to make him uncomfortable. I’d never considered that I had a real shot at getting in his pants, but now my thoughts were dancing in a potentially disastrous direction. Even knowing that, the words sprang off my tongue with the form of a true opportunist. “You could experiment with me. I wouldn’t mind.”

Raymond’s eyes snapped to my face. “What?”

I tried to feign nonchalance—as if I didn’t care if he laughed at me, or made one of his infamous skeptical faces, or maybe even recoiled at the idea due to my one-night stand with his brother and Nunzio. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t bother me, but even the possibility of his rejection had my chest going hollow like I was eight years old again.

“Yes,” I said, gathering my courage. “Nothing crazy. Just a kiss to see if you like it, or if you think it’s too weird with a guy. I’d normally suggest porn, but you’ve already been watching that.”

“You would let me experiment,” Raymond repeated. “With you.”

“Yeah. Why not? It’s not a big deal. Unless it would weird you out.”

“No.” He said it fast, almost too fast. “I mean, even if it was weird, I’m not going to freak out.”

“Do you promise? Because we just moved in together. I don’t want you to—”

“Wow, calm down. I’m not going to run from the building in a panic. It’s just kissing and whatever.”

And whatever.

I wondered what whatever entailed. Instead of asking, I sat up on my knees once again so that we were closer.

“Now?” he asked, eyes widening.

“Yes. When else?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Raymond licked his lips and shifted again. “Let’s take another hit first.”

I couldn’t help laughing. He was nervous, and it was adorable. Smoke drifted between us, obscuring parts of his face until he looked like an abstract painting, and I wondered if he was jumpy because he would be kissing another man, or because it was me in particular.

I took the pipe after him, choked on a mouthful of smoke, and my eyes watered. He snorted.

“Failure.”

“Shut up! I’m not good at this.”

“Obviously.”

Raymond set the pipe on the arm of the sofa, and I climbed over his knees, straddling his lap. He was schooling his features to not look nervous, but his body was tense.

“Are you ready?” I asked, furrowing my brow to make it seem more serious than it was.

“Yeah. It ain’t like I never kissed someone before.”

“Okay….”

I was acutely aware of how unyielding he was—how his posture was ramrod straight, and then… the slight twitching of his lips just before I touched them. He burst out laughing, and I couldn’t contain a chuckle in response.

“Raymond!”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just weird.”

We tried again, twice more, and each time he dissolved into nervous laughter. He couldn’t take it seriously. It was too staged. We decided to smoke again, relax more, and a brilliant idea sprang to mind—I asked him to shotgun a hit so I wouldn’t pull too hard from the pipe and have another coughing fit. Raymond agreed. This time when our faces neared, he didn’t laugh. He was too busy holding the smoke inside.

Our lips sealed together, then parted, and smoke billowed from his mouth into mine. I sucked it in, wondering if this could even get me high, and slid forward on his lap. Our crotches pressed together and his hand rose to hold on to my hip. While smoke escaped the seam of our mouths, I flicked my tongue to his. His fingers tightened against my hip, and I delved my tongue inside less tentatively. He was so still that it was hard to get excited. It felt like I was molesting him. Or at least it did until his large hand moved up my back and his fingers delved into the hair at the nape of my neck. He cupped my head, pulled me closer, and kissed me the way I knew he kissed the beautiful girls who followed him around. Gave me a taste of what had kept them coming back for more.

It wasn’t aggressive or violent; there was no frantic thirst to find out what I was made of or what made me different from anyone else. Raymond kissed me like he wanted to explore me, his tongue slowly twining with mine, and it was so sensual that my heart sped. I closed my eyes, tilted my face to the side, and the illusion of a shotgun disappeared. His hand massaged my scalp in movements so slight it could have been my imagination, and I reached up to fan my fingers out along his cheek. His skin was satin-soft, and I couldn’t help but caress him.

The kiss slowed, and I thought he would pull away, but then he gripped me with renewed vigor. Both of our breathing patterns stuttered, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop kissing him. He tasted too good, felt too good, and when a soft moan escaped his throat, I was undone. My hands were shaking, my heart was galloping, and I was so hard I wanted to grind against him. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. This wasn’t an impatient, tongue-dueling lead-up to a quick, dirty fuck. This was… different. Real. A real kiss. And my heart fluttered in a frightening way.

I pulled back when the butterfly feeling grew. My hands dropped to his shoulders, and I clutched them for support. I wanted to tilt my head forward and catch my breath while our swollen lips continued to brush, but that was too intimate. That wasn’t what this was for. Even if Raymond was still lightly massaging me as his heart slammed against his chest.

“Wha—” I cleared my throat, meeting his eyes—so intense and dilated. “So what did you think?”

Raymond was still focusing on my mouth. “I liked it. It was… nice.”

“Yeah. You’re a good kisser. Some guys aren’t. A lot of guys aren’t.”

“Oh.” He licked his lips. “Thank you. For the compliment and for letting me use you.”

“Such a hardship.” I scooted off his lap before I gave in to temptation. My hands were still trembling ever so slightly, and my stomach was doing backflips. I was the nervous one now. It was hard not to touch my lips, to replay the entire kiss in my head just so I could hear that faint sound he’d made. “It’s not a big deal. Anytime you want to talk about things, or try something, I’ll help if you want me to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face. My blush was likely darkening and spreading, but I avoided looking at him. He would see through me in a minute.

We sat that way for a short while, him staring, me examining the buds in his airtight container, and my mind cycling the sense memory of our kiss.

“I’m going to load another bowl,” he said finally.

I nodded, glad for the distraction. “Good idea.”