There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

...and then everything else happened

I suppose I should have seen it coming. Everything was as it should have been, Jeanine was finishing the baking and the housekeeping; and for the first time in history, I believe everyone had managed to reply. We were expecting over thirty people for an evening of holiday cheer, something our house needed desperately. Jeanine and I were not quite on the same wavelength anymore, and there was no easy way to remedy the situation. Things were shifting, glacially, toward disintegration…and we both knew it. I wish I could say I saw an easy fix, but I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure that our marriage, our union was what I desired anymore.

And what did they know anyway? Yes, they all had opinions…marry Jeanine; you’ll be better off with a smart girl like her…look at those childbearing hips. Truth? I never wanted kids, but it seemed like something we were expected to do. Do you want to know something else? I’m sterile. I can’t have kids. It’s like God himself saying, “Daniel, you are a horrible role model and not worthy of procreating.”

Jeanine was devastated, of course. But, in my heart, I think she was relieved to find out that it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her failing…it was mine. It was something I could never undo or fix. It was permanent failure. Of course, she never said anything like that, but I could see it in her. I could imagine the conversations with her mother describing my genetic inadequacies, my flaws, my defects.

In the end, I suppose I don’t really care. All of this is much easier to carry off without baggage…miniature versions of ourselves. And why, for God’s sake, would we want to bring more of our miserable selves into the world? That, I could never understand. I think only the happy, successful people should be allowed to reproduce…so we don’t get a world full of angry, depressed people like us.

Anyway, everything in our charade was going along fine. The invitations were complete, the holiday gifts were purchased and the house was trimmed like Christmas in Vienna. We were expecting guests and family and then, everything else happened.

I saw him outside the window, crying. He was looking at Braden’s door like he couldn’t believe he’d been tossed out the door like so many before him. I’d seen him there looking so helpless and fragile…so feminine. Something in me just…snapped.

Anyway, is this bothering you? I said to him hello. And I kissed him. And in one instant I knew I needed to be with him. It was so strange because I had never felt that way about anyone else before, not even Jeanine. Isn’t that weird? I pushed him up against the garage door and kissed him hard, forcing my tongue into his warm mouth…tasting Velamints and cigarettes. It felt like Christmas. Fucking insane, isn’t it? Me, kissing some eighteen year old street rat that Braden discarded like the trash he was.

No big deal, even after the motel and all that. It’s the first and only time I’ve ever done anything like that…I mean, I’m not gay, but we had sex…and all I could think about was how amazing it felt and how much I hated this stupid piece of white trash…and how much I loved that he wanted me.

Anyway, it was like the first trash day after Christmas when everyone throws everything away, right? So, whatever that was…I got it off my chest…so I could move on…focus on being a husband to Jeanine, a good employee at work and a respectable member of the church.

And, I think it helped, too. Jeanine and I started screwing like rabbits and I threw myself into overtime at work. I wanted to show them that I wasn’t a loser. I even accepted a position as Deacon at church. Now, I don’t think about it much…almost like it didn’t happen. Still, there was my life.

Did you hear about those faggots? Yeah, they want all those special rights…like, to get married. Imagine that, fucking up the institution of marriage.

Fucking faggots.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

the degrees of separation

They were scattered about the country as if God had thrown them like dice. And, it seemed, for awhile, as if none of them would ever find home again.

a few degrees of Marcus...

Connecticut Avenue sprawled out for blocks in front of him, as it did every night on his walk home from work. He’d take the metro to the Dupont Circle stop, and he’d walk the rest of the way. Tonight, the stars were sprinkled across the winter sky, brilliant and winking. He’d thought it strange to see the stars so well in the city. He couldn’t ever remember seeing them here. But, there were many things he hadn’t noticed in the months since he’d moved there, in the months his brother had been found dead in Los Angeles, a victim of depression, asphyxiated.

Matthew was a good soul. He inherited his father’s sense of duty and mission to those less fortunate. He took special care of those ailing and afflicted by HIV and even spent a summer on the African subcontinent assisting in clinics, if only to offer moral support, or a hug or a smile. There, he’d met Thom who was a direct services manager for UNICEF, stationed in Addis-Ababa, Ethiopia for a year.

By the time Matthew had finished his summer, they were madly in love with each other and dreading the enormous distance between them. They vowed to remain in touch. And they did. So, when Thom finished his tour of duty, he’d relocated to the west coast to be with Matthew. It was there that Matthew first began his life as a gay man, living with the person he’d loved more than anyone else, ever. It was there that he’d begun his terrifying and lonesome battle with depression, a battle he’d lost one night in November.

Michael was living at the opposite side of the States, having moved to D.C. from New York, where he’d worked in the Embassy of France. He’d been transferred to the Office of Economic and Commercial Affairs in September, before Matthew’s final, wild descent into suicide. It was more complicated than he could imagine, not that he’d ever wanted to imagine his brother dead. More than that, Matthew was his twin, a part of him, and he was terrified that whatever got to Matthew would be quick on its heels to devour him as well. It made for fitful sleep and worrisome days. And, he was tired of talking about it. Tired of explaining it over and over. Exhausted from the grief, sleepy from the late night and endless tossing and turning, haunted by his brother…never knowing if it was real or imagined. He’d thought of happier times, simpler times, when there was life and love…when there was Marcus.

His walk down Connecticut Avenue seemed refreshing and different. Something had changed within him, and it was indeed welcome. There was a sense of emerging, a sense of regaining himself and his life. If only the pieces could come back together as quickly as they’d fallen apart. There was the challenge. And, truth be told, Michael was not good at all with puzzles. But, one thing seemed clear, it was time to reach out to Marcus, to at least try to find him. Even if Marcus didn't want to talk to him, he would at least try.
---

a few degrees of Ben...

Adam had managed to find his way to Miami, seemingly, by chance. He’d always claimed Seasonal Affective Disorder, but Ben knew better. Adam was always dissatisfied with the way things were, with the status quo. If he was in Cleveland, it was the weather or Midwestern mentality. If he was living on the West Coast it was complaints about the cost of living or the accumulation of freaks. When he lived on the East Coast, there was nothing but disdain for the attitude and the verbal sniping.

Somehow, he’d managed to find a sense of peace and belonging in Miami. Maybe it was the club drugs. Maybe it was the clearly defined sense of purpose: his medical residency or maybe it was truly the one place there was nothing wrong. Ben suspected that it was a matter of time until there was something wrong with Miami, but for now, Adam was content. And that was no small matter, indeed. It was Miami where Adam seemed to do a lot of growing. He’d made realizations about his past choices, about his past life and relationships. And more, he’d shared these revelations with Ben.

Maybe they were supposed to be together after all. Maybe it was just one big waiting game, speckled with failed relationships. Both of them regarded their years together as the best overall, and it always went unsaid what seemed to be obvious to Ben.

There were ten years and four different cities between them, and maybe fifteen different lives. There was no one who had remained so regularly in his life, no one who had ever loved him like Adam. More and more, he was convinced he’d met, lost and then become almost a brother to the great love of his life. Nothing seemed clear. There were no obvious choices to be made. No bold steps to be taken. So Ben did what he knew best…he waited.

Adam doubted he would ever have the pure and total love of someone like he’d had with Ben. There were too many failures since then. He and Ben were wildly different people than the boys they were ten years ago. Adam had believed in true love, and at 22, had found it in Ben. But, it was ever elusive. He thought he’d collided with it once or twice since, but there was no doubt from this present perspective that it wasn’t even close. Oh, he’d wanted it to be...maybe even willed it to be, but it wasn’t, and it vanished each time like being startled out of a long, sleepy dream. In Miami, he’d managed to find a bit of himself, and looking back, didn’t like everything he saw. But, that was the way it was; there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only look ahead toward some distant horizon, out where the cruise ships and sail boats fell out of view and off of the planet. He wondered about things. He thought of Ben up north and smiled.

He thought back to the early days of their relationship, the intensity and sexual energy that enveloped them. They fucked with abandon every day. Hell, they had the energy back then. They couldn't keep their hands off of each other, and every night there was wild, hot sex. Adam writhed underneath Ben as he penetrated Adams tight, hot hole. He'd gasp a little, sucking in the air sharply as Ben slid his cock into the hilt and held it there until Adam adjusted to its size. He loved when Ben pushed in and out slowly at first, then sped up, bringing them both close to orgasm.

Adam would always make him slow down, then stop and switch it up. He'd lay on his back and let Ben sit on his cock, and then slowly start fucking him from underneath. This drove Ben wild, and he'd moan a little as his cock flopped against his flat stomach.

Adam loved the feeling of being inside Ben, fucking the man of his dreams and listening to Ben react to having his cock inside. Faster and faster, Adam would fuck Ben until neither of them could hold out any longer. Adam would shoot his load deep inside Ben, jerking and spasming. Ben would shoot his load all over Adam's chest in 6 or 7 ropy lines of cum before collapsing forward and kissing Adam full on the lips, lingering.

Adam snapped back to the present as he walked up the front steps of his condo. The memory of it made him rock hard, a situation he was going to remedy right away during a long, hot shower. But not before looking up Ben's address and phone number. It had been too long...he owed Ben a call.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

a lake in the woods

He didn’t know why it hit him just then, but Ben remembered it like he was back there, back in high school and pining. His stomach felt like it did then, knotty and tight, like he would vomit his affection for the entire world to see; and he could think of nothing more horrifying.

Somehow, his first taste of real work didn’t suit him, even though he was good at it. There were the women shoppers always gawking and clucking and chattering. There were co-workers, but none who did what he did. He was the heavy laborer as far as everyone else was concerned. He lifted and toted and reached things on the upper shelves. Once, he’d managed to break a grotesque Royal Dalton mug of some sort. The faces bulged and stared out from the shelves until they were purchased.

When he started the job, he was trained by the person he was replacing, an eighteen year old senior named Wade. Wade went to school in the next town over, but Ben knew of him. He’d seen him play soccer with his friends on the opposing team. Wade diligently explained every last detail of the odd jobs that would be foisted on him. He told Ben that he was leaving because it was too difficult to find enough time for school, soccer and a part-time job…so the job had to go.

Wade stood just shy of six feet tall. He had nearly jet black hair which was cropped short. His frame was lean and defined; he sported an end of summer tan and a mouthful of perfect white teeth which glinted every time he smiled. Ben was instantaneously smitten, and while he did not understand yet that he was gay, he knew he was infatuated. He was as enamored as he was in the second grade with his summer camp counselor, Leif. Leif was gorgeous and tan and sweet and smelled of clean linen. Ben was seven and knew nothing of sex, but he wanted nothing more than to be with Leif, to sit next to him, and to love him as much a seven year old could…like he loved his chocolate lab, Checkers.

Ben flushed, embarrassed. This was ridiculous. He was sixteen and had no use for elementary school crushes. But the more he tried to dismiss it, the more he wanted to be around Wade. He thought of him when he jacked-off, and when he was bored in class. His mind wandered to thoughts of Wade at soccer practice, running up and down the field in those hot soccer shorts. He imagined his muscular legs and sexy bulge - making himself rock hard in the middle of Chemistry class.

Ben rode his bike the three miles to work, and every day passed the subdivision where Wade lived. Now that the school year had started, Wade was busy with soccer and other extracurricular activities, living the most exciting life ever, Ben imagined. On more than one occasion, Ben rode his bike through the subdivision, hoping to catch a glimpse of him coming or going. Wade’s house was a large white colonial with new landscaping and a winding asphalt driveway leading up to the garage. No one ever seemed to be departing or arriving. In fact, it barely seemed a family lived there at all.

Eventually, Ben quit his job at Hickson’s and his crush on Wade tapered off. After college, Ben heard that Wade had graduated with honors from the Naval Academy at Annapolis and was now stationed in San Diego, flying helicopters…and married.

There was this theme in his life, wanting the unattainable…yearning for what could never be his, and it always stung, like it was new and fresh.

Ben walked down to the lake in the evenings after work, to think and to rearrange things in his mind. He walked along the edge of the gentle coastline, the lake lapping at his bare feet. Marcus was no different than any other crush or infatuation. He would never have Marcus, Marcus was impossible. There was no other option but to live next door and participate in this odd little friendship that was fragile and impenetrable.

Ben wanted to wash it away, rinse the residue of childishness, of unrealistic desire, of rejection. He removed his clothing and folded into a neat pile on the beach, ran into the lake and dove beneath the surface, where the quiet and the cold cleansed him, soothing past injuries, past foolishness.

Still, there was Sean, and he wanted to be clean and new from the beginning, not dragging past hurts along with him. He felt the sandy bottom beneath his feet, and felt more grounded than he had in months.

------

Wade walked to the far end of the Naval Station and into the machine shop. His eyes darted around the nearly empty building until he saw Merrick working alone at his workbench. Merrick looked up and smiled.

"You alone?"

"Yeah."

Wade walked to the back office, with Merrick in hot pursuit. He closed the blinds and grabbed Merrick's package. It was thick and hung heavily.

"You want some of that?"

Merrick dropped his pants and pushed Wade's face down into his crotch. Wade ripped down Merrick's boxer briefs, and his cock unfurled to full attention. It was a solid eight inches and thick. A wave of animalistic hunger rushed over Wade as he inhaled Merrick's cock, wetting it with his mouth, drooling with anticipation. He deep throated the cock as far as he could get it down his throat. Merrick's cock was just too fat to go any further - or so he thought.

At that moment, Merrick thrust his cock down Wade's throat, forcing it to open wider to accommodate it. Wade moaned, startled by the extra inches. Merrick pulled out slowly and pushed it back down his throat, gently fucking Wade's mouth. It seemed to get fatter and harder with each thrust.

At the same time, Wade's dick was rock hard and leaking. He reached down to let it out of his pants. His pre-cum made his cock nice and slippery. He stroked it and it sent shudders of pleasure through his body. Merrick kept fucking his face as he jacked his own cock.

Merrick let out a groan. "I'm gonna fucking cum!"

With that, he shot his load, and Wade swallowed as fast as he could to keep up with Merrick's monster load.

"Get up off your knees. I want you to jack off for me."

Wade stood up, spit into his hand, and kept stroking his cock. He looked at Merrick's meaty cock and it sent him over the edge. He came with such intensity that he shot his load several feet, hitting Merrick's face.

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

They quickly cleaned up and redressed.

Merrick headed back to his work station, and Wade headed toward the exit to head home for the evening.

Merrick said, “You still married?”

"Like I always say...don't ask, don't tell."

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

pas de deux

Corey was looking backwards, maybe for the first time in his life; he was considering the choices he’d made, wondering if it made any difference at all. He often thought not. But today, sitting in a holding cell in the county court house, there was nothing to do but consider. He’d been sitting in the little mint green room for six hours, since he’d been processed and booked. There was little left to do but make the telephone call to his friend David, and to wait to make his appearance in court.

It was true that most sex workers are arrested at least once, if not many times in the span of their “professional” careers. Corey had stupidly bet against the odds. He was, after all, a legitimate entertainer, and being legit, felt he could fly just beneath the radar. He’d been stupid about this, and greedy.

Corey was escorted down the hallway by a bailiff when the court docket was set for the day. He’d be seen by Judge Mathis. Ironic, really, because he’d voted for him in the last election. At least, he thought so. There were too many judges to keep track of in the city, but Corey was sure he’d voted for this guy. Not that it would help him here.

Something clicked inside of him. He could see out of his eyes, like lenses at the end of a tunnel. It was like he had retreated inside of himself. He could see everything going on around him, but it was distant and loping. There was the bailiff and the clerk and a large assembly of other people like him and their families.

His father had all but disowned him when he’d come out to them in college. The shock of the prostitution charge would most likely destroy what was tenuous, at best. No, there would be no revelation to his parents about his legal matters. Better to keep that safely tucked away for as long as possible…forever, if possible.

The judge asked him for his plea. He looked at the floor in front of him as he declared his guilt. Corey received a two-thousand dollar fine and 100 hours of community service and a terse admonition. He was processed and released within an hour.

When he reached the outside, it was gray and drizzling rain. He relished in the freedom he’d taken for granted only a few hours before, and promised himself to figure out a better way through life. If there ever was a red flag, this was it. He was determined not to let it pass without action.

Inevitably, there would be the police blotter and the court records, all a matter of public information. Would most people put together that he was a dancer with the ballet company? He was not a principal dancer and, most likely, would not be noticed by most people. This time, it paid off not to be a celebrity, no matter how small.

Corey returned home just as Jeanine was getting ready to leave for work. He tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid her gaze. She’d been watching him lately. He knew she suspected something…all the coming and going at odd hours, contrary to his fairly regimented rehearsal schedule. She knew…something. And she’d most likely find out when the report was published in the blotter. Then they’d finally have something to talk about. He waved and darted into his house, locking the door behind him.

Here there was nothing but space. Here, there were no walls painted institutional green. Here, there was no one to look at him or judge him or buy him. Here, there was only Corey. Here was a place to reconfigure the pieces, to sort and discard and organize into something new.

He ran the water, deciding on a steaming hot shower. He thought about the Marine, and his cock stirred to life. The thought of fucking and getting fucked by that rock-solid man was too much to resist. He reached down and started stroking the full length of his nine inch shaft. It sent electricity through his body. He imagined the Marine forcing his uncut cock into his mouth, shoving it in to the hilt and pulling back slowly. Corey wished he could reach out and pull back the foreskin and lick underneath the head...it drove the Marine crazy. He would moan and shove his hot meat back down his throat, and start fucking Corey's mouth.

Corey let out a moan as the water sprayed over his shoulders and back. He pumped his cock a little faster, thinking about the whole scenario, savoring it. His cock felt hard and heavy in his hands. It seemed to stiffen even more as he pictured the Marine shooting his load into his mouth, gobbling up every sexy drop. Corey brought himself to the brink, but pulled back a little - wanting to wait until he could switch scenes in his mind. He imagined the Marine pushing his hard cock up against Corey's hole. With a decisive shove, he was in and Corey writhed from the pain and pleasure. He pushed his cock up even further and Corey realized that this was what it must feel like for the guys on the receiving end of his cock, painful but unbelievably hot. He whimpered as the Marine fucked him, thrusting his steel hard cock in and out of Corey's tight ass. It seemed to go on for hours. He picked up speed, pounding Corey like a rutting bull.

Corey shot his load in five or six long spurts that landed on the clean white tile on the opposite wall of the shower. He spasmed involuntarily and shuddered to a halt. His cock dripped with cum, and he turned into the streams of the hot shower water to start washing himself.

Maybe he would no longer turn tricks, but there were no rules about the searing hot memory of it...

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

and the rain quietly stopped

The unit sat empty for four months. The windows remained dark and lifeless, much like they did when Braden lived in those rooms. Everything remained as he’d left it. The furnishings and accessories were all there, it was all for sale, and it was better that way. Better to say goodbye to all of the old belongings, the old way of living. He was in a new life now. A life where there was no use for chrome and stainless steel. A life where there was warmth and light. He would not decorate his new home to reflect the month of November.

As he walked through the living room, he noticed a dark coin on the floor. He examined it: an old penny dropped by one of the prospective buyers, no doubt. It was not his, and if there was luck in a found penny, the luck was not his. He left the copper disc on the floor where he’d found it. Someone else needed it, not him. He locked the door behind him and slipped down the block before anyone had noticed he was there at all.

Braden was done with his life in this city. Braden was becoming someone else, someone who liked shades of gray, and shades of satisfaction and maybe even happiness...maybe. Charleston was home now. Charleston had colors and warmth and people stewed in sea and sun. Things smelled of rain in the sunshine and of clean cotton. Things were perfect and exhilarating and undone.

Ben and Marcus noticed it first. They were returning from the gym when the ‘sold’ placard stared garishly red at them, plastered along the upper length of the For Sale sign.

Corey had seen them in and out of the unit several times recently, the woman and her son. Sandwiched by the straight people, he thought.

Daniel and Jeanine were introduced to the new neighbors by the realtor, Maxine. Jeanine liked them. It would be nice to have another woman in the row of townhouses.

Ellen and her 18 year old son Ryan moved into Braden’s old place on Saturday. The large moving trucked pulled up, and within five hours, had completely unloaded the sum total of their lives into their new home.

Ryan liked the sleek interior, the contemporary feel, the sense that he was urbane and special and living in the city. He was eager to start school in the winter quarter, just after the first of the year. Even though he’d be living on campus, this would still be an amazing place to call home. It was a far cry from the 19th century farmhouse they’d owned when living in Wallingford. He’d surmised that this was the perfect place in which to start over, and he’d wanted that more than anything.

“Ryan, your soccer stuff ended up in my room, do you want it in your room or do you want to take it down to the storage room?”

“I’ll take it downstairs.” No need for reminders of high school now. All of his championship team memorabilia could be stowed safely away.

Ryan took the large box down the steps into the clean cement-floored storage room just off of the garage. He paused and looked through the box. There were trophies and plaques, soccer patches not sewn onto his varsity jacket, certificates and photos. He looked at the photo of him and his best friend James after their Districts victory. They were both so high on the win, happy to be on the best team, happy to be together. The photo caught them in the middle of laughing, arms casually flung around each other enjoying the moment. Ryan smiled as he switched off the light and took the photo upstairs.

He missed James. But it hadn’t been the same since the whole gay thing happened. It had been months since they’d even spoken, but it probably was for the best. In time, maybe, but for now, well, life had to move on. And, for the first time, he didn't cry...there was no more rain in the cloud.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

two houses

No one would take note of the orderly row of townhouses which had sprung out of fallow fields of urban blight, disrespect and hopelessness. Where once there were working-class homes and yards and porches, there came the demolition machines, and years, if not decades, of emptiness. Lots plowed under by the city, barely leveled so that one could still make out the outline of the house, and the sinking earth where once stood foundation and cellar. In these times, grasses and wildflowers grew in season, inviting butterflies and birds to alight there. There were grasses and buttercups and dandelions.

Daniel stopped almost daily to watch the progress of the construction, noting the changes and the obstacles. He’d watched with pride as his new home was built brick by brick. Springing forth from the brown field of the old, came the glittering new, perfect and exactly as planned. It fit his personality, it fit his dream and his schedule to own his home, and to be master of his tiny universe.

Daniel watched as if in slow motion, the arrival of his neighbors…casing each of them. He and Jeanine thought they were progressive enough to live in the predominantly gay neighborhood, never fully realizing that they would be the only practicing heterosexuals actually in the building. Braden, Ben, Marcus and Corey were all gay.

In the weeks since his indiscretion with Kyle, Daniel had grown more silent, more inward and detached. He thought back more frequently about the days before their arrival, and everything that had changed since.

He had no idea how to approach Jeanine, what to say or even what to think. His actions were beyond his own explanation. It seemed that not saying anything made it a little less true each day that passed.

In the intervening weeks, Braden sold his unit and Corey was conspicuously absent. Or so he thought.

Jeanine had been staying up at night, unable to process he husband’s growing disconnection. She was at once unsettled and perfectly secure…secure in the idea that there was someone else. Within the thousand different ideas racing the circuit through her brain, she would never guess Kyle. But she had noticed Corey.

She wouldn’t have if she’d been asleep next to her husband or making love to him. Since she shared her nights with silence and the kitchen table, she’d noticed Corey’s comings and goings…late. Very late. There were never men coming home with him, but she quickly exacted his extracurricular activities with a twinge of horror and fascination. She would talk to him. With at least one decision made, she could sleep again, and joined Daniel beneath the covers.

She smoothed the quilt over her, clearing the creases and folds until there was nothing but the perfect flat fabric covering her body. At least she could control that. At least she could keep something clean and smooth and under control. With no kiss or murmur, she fell into the gray haze called sleep, and escaped for one more night in a line of a hundred just like it.

And the distance between them grew as large as the space of two houses.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

Into the wonder

Ben was tired of feeling emotionally injured. Things never seemed to work out. If there was hope, it always seemed dashed in the end, usually with some bizarre twist. Like an episode of The Twilight Zone, complete with Rod Serling narration, Ben watched his life unfold with a sense of fascination and horror.

That’s partly why he was so excited to visit Tuck and to hang out…gossiping about friends, dishing about men and catching-up on the latest from the bar scene…something he had long since abandoned. The weekend party would be just what he needed to get his mind off of his everything and his nothing.

Tuck’s new place was only ten minutes from Ben, located right off Shore Road and nestled between some old-growth trees and the endless rocky coast of Lake Erie. It was the sort of high-rise condo that looked like it didn’t quite belong - nothing over three stories did. Tuck was one of those new money fags who had the best of everything…at least it was stuff that looked pretty. Including whomever he happened to be bedding at the time. His life was like some glorified combination of Martha Stewart Living and the best of Crate and Barrel…only the colors were more muted and subdued, which seemed ironic to Ben, since Tuck was neither of those things.

“Benjamin, darling, we’ve been waiting for you. I want you to meet Indio, I told you about Indio last week, remember?”

Indio was exactly the club twink Ben had imagined, complete with a boxed blonde dye-job, multiple piercings, tattoos and bad vocabulary. He gave them two weeks, max.

"Nice to meet you. Tuck's told me a lot about you."

"I hope he wasn't telling you too much...I like to keep my ten inch cock size to myself."

"Right, well, I'm going to get something to drink." Ben darted through the kitchen on his way to find the bar, or anywhere else that was far away from Indio and his ten-incher.

Ben surveyed the room with raptor-like eyes, sharply scanning everyone in the room, looking for exes and potentially embarrassing encounters. So far, so good. With a keen awareness of the attendees, Ben meandered through the comfortable, over-decorated rooms, noting with some delight, the apparent absence of any real taste.

That is when he spotted Sean, making his way down the hallway toward him. Sean smiled to brightly, with such familiarity, that Ben thought he might already be acquainted. As he moved closer, he was relieved to see that he was, indeed, a total stranger…something very unique and very intriguing given the relatively small size of the gay community. Sean didn’t walk so much as he ambled. He was comfortable and confident and smiling at Ben. Looking directly in his eyes, sparkling with possibilities. Not even a hint of psycho drama queen anywhere. This was good.

“Hi. I’m Sean.”

“Ben.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben. I was just about to leave, but seeing as you're here and willing to talk to me, I’d love to buy you a drink.”

Ben smiled and said, “they’re free.”

“I know, I’m kidding.”

Ben laughed and relaxed a little, enjoying the unexpected encounter with this dark and handsome stranger. Someone new, he thought. A totally blank slate…the best place to start.

"How do you know Tuck?"

Ben told Sean the abridged version of their friendship, conveniently skipping over some of the very early, very sexual adventures he'd shared with Tuck and their travels to the islands...stories Tuck liked to tell and retell new friends and acquaintances...stories that were long ago and far away as far as Ben was concerned.

And it struck him, was Sean one of the guys Tuck met through his active social sex life? He put it out of his head immediately...no need to sabotage a nice conversation. There would be time for truth later, if at all.

They chatted eagerly for nearly an hour until Sean announced that he would be leaving with the friends who drove him, but could they please keep in touch? A proper date, perhaps?

As they exchanged numbers, things looked a little different to Ben, which is not to say better, exactly, but interesting…fascinating and intriguing.

“I’m sorry I have to bolt, but they are my ride. I wish I could stay.”

“Well, we’ll have to grab dinner or a drinks or something.”

“That would be perfect! I’ll look forward to hearing from you...I will hear from you?”

There was an awkward and burning moment where there might have been a kiss, and then the odd, sinking resolution of a polite handshake.

"Yes, I promise."

"Good." Sean smiled and disappeared into the sea of well-dressed and over-cologned men.

Ben had stared right into the face of new possibilities...finally, there was something other than Marcus.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

if I was the one you chose

For Marcus, nothing seemed to matter anymore. He was listless and indecisive and unsure. From outside glances, his life looked perfect, ideal. To Marcus, it was far from that. His life had become complicated and mundane. His work, no longer a source of stimulation or interest, slipped into neutral. He coasted on his own knowledge equity, relying on his good relationships with vendors and customers. He lived in the ether, floating from meeting to meeting, not quite in a fog, but disillusioned in a cloud of his own despair.

How is it that Mister Successful could be suffering depression? How could it be that Mister Handsome was alone? What was wrong with him? Why do we measure success by varying degrees of misery? How can you measure happiness or satisfaction if you barely remember the flavor?

His heart ached. He longed for some simple, deep satisfaction. He also knew he’d have to find his way out of this very dark forest and into the light. And, like most other times in his life, he’d likely make the journey alone.

Marcus remembered being in elementary school and worrying about forgotten homework assignments, or forgetting to study for a test or looming science projects. Just thinking about it churned his stomach, stirring ancient anxieties. His teachers would hate him. He would fail. He was a bad person. But, it was always his mother who would sit on the side of his bed and talk him through his academic demons, using logic like a sorceress to calm a jittery fourth-grader…talking him through it until there was some resolution. And, there always was…a reasonable end. It was from those nights that Marcus learned about solving his problems, thinking things through. And, even though he couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, he would, eventually.

He missed Michael. He missed the way things used to be. And, even though he refused to allow himself to live in the past, it was ever more difficult to escape. Michael was the one person by which all other lovers were measured. No one had yet managed to eclipse his love for Michael. Not that he hadn’t tried.

Things were different now. There were many years, and many miles, between them. And when college ended, and it was time to choose paths, their lives diverged. And it was not because theirs was a fading love. It was practical. It was foolish to delude themselves with romantic notions of being together. At the start of one’s life, one never imagines they’ve had the good fortune of finding their great love, their one true. No one thinks that. Endless possibilities lie ahead, a future riddled with exciting, incredible new people. The problem is, by the time you realize your good fortune, too much time has passed to even fathom finding your way back.

Marcus knew he had missed his one true…and that was the root of this stark, emotionless reality. And, he stood in his life, still and silent and hoping for Michael, wanting to be chosen, knowing he had waited much too long. Michael wasn't chosing. Michael wasn't even in his life anymore. Time to move forward. Time to open his eyes.

And, at once, it dawned on him...

Ben.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

a stranger in the house

He was driving in the dark.

There was nowhere else to go but here, into the dark, into the unknown. Corey hated surprises, especially in his new career. He’d been hired to make an appearance way out east, in Claydon, beyond the county line, beyond the sensibilities of anyone mildly urbane. The drive had reached almost forty minutes as he pulled onto Route 44 somewhere in the middle of Crestwood County, somewhere literally in the middle of the dark. There were no streetlights and not even reflector plates running down the centerline. Corey watched the road ahead with intensity, almost the same intensity of learning new choreography or learning the movements of his johns.

But, that was somewhere else for now. Now, he had to find the next client, located out in this puddle of blackness, this rural nowhereland. Surrounded by quiet farms and cows and other livestock he couldn’t see, he imagined his life in a different context. There were friends and family, lots of family, he’d always wanted lots of siblings, and there was somehow a simpler life. There was support and love and laughter. Not the rigid, impenetrable and shallow parents, the insufferable sister and fucking Jesus. It was the church that really got in the way…destroyed what little hope he had of a normal family.

Especially now. Especially with their gay, ballet dancer son. Their gay, ballet dancing whore of a son who felt like a stranger in the house. The elephant in the room that no one acknowledges. And wouldn’t it just be enough to deliver an unrecoverable blow to both his parents? Maybe an aneurysm. Maybe a stroke or maybe even heart failure. No, not heart failure. Impossible when one has no heart.

And there it was. He’d wished both of his parents dead, or comatose. If he’d have believed in a god, he was sure he’d have been struck down on the spot. But, Corey believed only in the tangible, in the things he could actually see and touch. He believed in sex as religion, and he worshipped often. And it was Good.

Corey arrived at the address quickly scrawled on an old electric bill. He’d grabbed it as he retrieved his messages from the service. Lou. 8462 Fowlers Mill. The house was enormous. Larger than anything he’d imagined for someplace like this, way out in the middle of nowhere. Its outlined loomed large against the night sky. There was only a faint glow coming from a few windows on the first floor.

He stepped up onto the front porch which stretched the length of the house, and wrapped around the corner. He rang the doorbell, which chimed from someplace deep within the house. It was a good 45 seconds before he heard approaching footsteps. When the door swung open, heavy on its own hinges, it revealed a man, no more than 43, towering above him. He was a commanding presence but said very little. He motioned for Corey to follow him inside. The interior was almost all wood, the floors and the walls. He set down his overnight bag.

“Just show me where you want me to dance for you.”

“No dancing.”

“But, you realize, you’re paying me to dance for you, right? That’s what you’re paying me to do.”

“I understand. No dancing, even though that’s what I’m paying for. I want you to follow me upstairs.”

Corey followed him to the second floor and down a long, dark hallway to the master bedroom. Beyond grotesque oil paintings and flickering nightlights near the baseboard. But, in front of him was this man, Lou, tall and quiet and sexy. He was of solid build, few words and intense. Corey guessed ex-military. He had short-cropped hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow. He was rugged and masculine and decisive. Corey was a stranger here, and he felt it with every step.

“Here.” Lou pointed to the bed. “This is where I want you to perform.” With that, he removed his clothes and revealed a physique that rivaled Corey’s.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

And Corey went to work, tearing at clothing and grabbing Lou's hefty package. He unzipped and practically dove into his boxer briefs. Corey was rewarded with a beautiful, uncut cock that stood rigid as if saluting - and was at least 9 fat inches. A twinge of fear flashed though him - the uncertainty of getting fucked by suck a huge, hard dick. There was no backing out now.

Lou ordered him to keep sucking on his cock and playing with his U.S. Marine bull balls, letting out a low, slow groan. Soon enough, he had Corey completely naked and prepared to take a hard and deep dicking. Lou rolled on a condom, slathered his cock and Corey's hole with lube, and started to ease the head into Corey's tight ass.

Slowly, Lou inched his way in as Corey squirmed in pain and ecstasy. After a minute or so, Corey adjusted to the huge size and signaled that it was okay. Lou wasted no time pounding Corey's ass, sinking the full nine inches to the hilt, then pulling out almost all the way, and pumping it all back in again. Lou was skilled and the fucking lasted over an hour until Corey shot his load without ever touching his cock. Lou pulled out, tore off his condom and blasted his seed all over Corey's muscular torso.

Remembering nothing, noting no details and closing himself off from the horror of his own making, Corey felt as if he was outside of himself looking back at someone he didn’t recognize. Seeing a whore and a liar and a failure.

Seeing the stranger he’d become to himself.

walking north

There was the inevitable tabloid news coverage of the entire ordeal...his bad choices aired in front of family and judgemental strangers. Kyle found himself not only in intense physical therapy, but the subject of intense scrutiny. He remembered it vividly, the name-calling, the hate and the violence. It was strange how the words hurt worse than the tissue damage, the broken bones and bruises the color of eggplant.

He’d relived the moment a thousand times over in his head. He’d regretted the whole night. He regretted Daniel, regretted his own low self-esteem, his bad choices and his fear of being alone. He regretted a lot of things he couldn’t change. His mother had come right away, of course, and brought with her anxiety, judgement and sadness…as if he didn’t have enough of those things. But, she was there at least, and it was better than no one at all. And, when it became apparent he would make a full recovery, she could encircle him with blame, scolding him like a baby. Maybe he needed to hear it.

Kyle missed Braden. No, he missed being with someone, anyone, who could make him feel loved and wanted. And, with that, Kyle turned a corner and started to understand himself…a little.

The weeks of recovery and rehabilitation were grueling, and he’d promised himself he’d get through it in time for the spring thaw, and a summer full of camping and hiking. He loved the escape from the city, the opportunity to be in the middle of nowhere, responsible only for himself. He kept a picture of the dense green forest in his mind’s eye to remind him what lay beyond the sterility and exhaustion and pain of recovery.

Kyle dreamed of the swallows alight on the evening sky, and the cool trickle of an unexpected spring deep in the pines. He imagined the rolling hills giving way to the mountains and the perfection of the trails in Virginia and North Carolina. He dreamed of hiking north on the Appalachian Trail and making friends from strangers, and being liked for being himself. When he was in seventh grade, he and his best friend Randy Bicking, planned to hike the entire AT when they turned eighteen. They even plotted where they would have mail drops, where they would overnight and how they might make enough money to pay for the five-month excursion. He’d not thought much about it after Randy moved away at the end of their freshman year in high school.

His pulse quickened. It seemed, to him, that this might be the answer…a journey all his own…away from the madness, away from the hurt and the fear, away from the Kyle he’d come to hate. It was a way of sorting out the detritus of his life, shifting perspectives and putting distance between himself and his not-so-distant past. At once, it seemed obvious and absolutely right. If he could get strong enough by early April, he could set off to Springer Mountain near Amicalola Falls, Georgia, and start walking north toward Katahdin.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

Towson melancholy

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but it was something he felt he needed to do, and this, quite honestly, was his best opportunity. It had been months since he’d seen Adam, months since he’d set foot in Baltimore. The fact is, and few people ever knew, Ben did go back. Once.

But visiting home afforded a wonderful opportunity to meet new people and catch-up with old friends and acquaintances. He arrived at Phillip’s a few minutes before the party was scheduled to begin. They worked in tandem, readying the house for guests…spending some treasured time alone…before the impending circus. Phillip liked to mix large numbers of his friends from wildly different circles, so his events were always interesting.

Aaron was a dental student from Toronto, visiting several teaching hospitals in the area where he might wish to continue his studies. He’d been introduced to Phillip through mutual friends, and promptly invited to the party.

There was always an air of expectation at holiday gatherings…the mystery of strangers and the sense of possibility. Aaron was the most gregarious of all the new people; the fresh faces with stories unknown. Ben found himself immediately attracted to his energy, silly and erratic. Short and shiny, with an impish grin, Aaron had charmed half the room within the first five minutes.

Later, during a raucous game of Truth or Dare, Aaron was dared to kiss someone in the room…and he’d singled-out Ben. He marched directly across the living room and planted the most delicious kiss on Ben’s lips. It was playful and sweet and reminded him immediately of Adam.

Aaron was a totally different animal…he was Canadian. Most remarkably, he was a good twelve inches shorter than Ben and had a generally agreeable demeanor. There were no stormy mood swings or bitter debates. There, of course, was not the love, either.

But, Aaron would do…for now. It was that excitement that surrounds the newness of it all…the kisses, the words…the discovery about the other person.

Aaron stayed for three days before returning to Tufts in Boston, but not before making plans to spend a weekend together in Baltimore. Baltimore. Besides the obvious pathos, it was an easy flight from both cities, with low fares. Ben told himself this was why they needed to meet in Baltimore. And he’d believed it. That is, until he landed at Baltimore Washington International, before he commenced a sustained series of flashbacks, returning him to a city rife with pain and sex and the last bits of his broken heart.

How odd, he thought, to be here with absolutely no intention of seeing Adam…without Adam even knowing he was there.

Aaron and Ben stayed at a hotel in Towson, just outside the city. Towson was a familiar place…a place Ben had frequented on each of his trips. Ben took Aaron to the Japanese restaurant where he and Adam shared their last meal. They walked and Aaron talked. Ben disintegrated into past conversations, keeping his eyes open for glimpses of Adam, for any shards of what once was…for molecules of the past.

When Aaron and Ben fucked, Ben imagined Adam…somewhere in the same city making love to someone else. Adam, already having moved on to a new chapter, a new person. Did he ever think back and remember? Why was he stuck in this never ending loop? It was a maze, and at every turn, a glimpse of Adam rounding another corner ahead. This was madness.

In the morning, as Ben kissed Aaron goodbye, he apologized silently. Apologized for not really being there. For not showing up, for being collapsed to completely into the shadows of his former life. But, it would be silly to try and explain all of this to Aaron.

Aaron flew back to Boston none the wiser, and Ben flew home…both with very different memories of the same weekend. Both with hopes for each other, and Ben with an endless, hollow loneliness.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

sans souci (without concern)

Braden returned from Charleston with a mild sunburn and a quiet understanding about love. For once, it finally made sense. His brief encounter with Thomas made him think differently and feel differently. It was nothing like the endless parade of twinks and club boys in and out of his condo. He’d thought love was sentimental and ridiculous and unattainable. But, then there was Thomas, perfect and lovely in every way.

Braden drove along the boulevard through the trendy neighborhood full of gay boys and purebred dogs and Glam-rock boutiques. Here, there was no class. Just daily living. Probably exotic and progressive to those dim rural fags who got excited at the sight of an Olive Garden. But, to Braden, he might have just as well passed it by. He’d traveled the boulevard at least once every day for the past six years, since moving into the city and starting his new life, since Alan died.

No, he wasn’t going to allow that memory here. No…he would think only of Thomas now. There would be no thoughts of dead lovers and suicide and drugs. That was too messy. Death left a trail…a horrible, disgusting, sickening trail of loose ends and scraps. That was Alan. That was a mess he’d long ago reorganized, and filed far, far away. No, Thomas was clean and neat and tanned. He wore crisp clothes in the colors of clay and azure and russet. He flossed. He could fit neatly into Braden’s life if only he wasn’t 1500 miles away, or off on a boat somewhere.

The boulevard swept through the city like a long ribbon, curling through neighborhoods. Past apartments and homes, past businesses and coffee shops and car washes, it went everywhere and nowhere…it disappeared on both ends…one onto the shoreway along the lake, and the other dissipated into an old residential neighborhood with dead-ends and one-way streets.

He passed the Diner where all the trendy boys and their entourages gathered on weekend mornings to rehash and relive their nocturnal exploits over cups of strong coffee and fruit salad. For all the fuss that was made over getting ready to go out, Braden wondered why so many of them didn’t seem to mind being seen in broad daylight, unbathed. They smelled of smoky clubs. Their hair covered by baseball caps and do-rags. Some arrived with pillow creases still visible on their cheeks. It was exactly the kind of place Braden would never go for fear of running into someone, anyone. And it all suddenly felt so small. Braden needed out.

Braden’s mind wandered back to Thomas, and the memory of him sitting shirtless on deck in the morning sunlight. His gorgeous skin soaked in rays of white-hot light, his sandy brown chest chair and the dark trail from his navel, which disappeared below the towel wrapped around his waist. The vision of it blazed until it was burned and indelible.

Braden returned to the lonely quiet of his empty row house, lonely to anyone but him. He embraced the stillness and the quiet, revered the emptiness and the solace. There was, invariably, the time when it was necessary to have company, be it family, friends or others. But there was also the time for them to leave, time for the silence and the orderliness. There were two categories in Braden’s life, those things that were orderly, and those that were not. It seemed people always caused some period of reorganization in his life.

Relationships were never orderly, clean or easy, for that matter. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth the effort at all. It was much simpler to remain cool, detached and in control. Braden detested the unpredictable nature of human relationships, the brooding, the yelling, the expectations. It was neater to have things clearly explained up-front…no surprises or lies or love. No, love was complicated…too complicated.

Braden enjoyed his time alone. But invariably, his thoughts wandered to Charleston and to Thomas. He imagined Thomas aboard the sailboat Sans Souci, face toward the wind and sun, and headed in no particular direction. Thomas had the luxury of complete autonomy over his schedule. He was not bound to the rigidity of a standard work day. Braden calculated a family net-worth well into the tens of millions…Thomas wouldn’t be needing a day job anytime soon.

He imagined sailing for days together, not worrying, not planning or plotting or scheduling…just sailing and consuming. There would be incredible food and drink, and nights filled with each other, wound together…an ebb and flow, like the very seawater beneath them, an orderly pairing. There was the crash and retreat, the dangerous undertow of Thomas’ affection, and Braden could do nothing but capsize into the dream of it, the beautiful sun-dappled fantasy with clean edges and crisp, white linens.

There was, of course, reality…a return to the actual life in a faraway northern city. Thoughts of Thomas faded into reminders of appointments and bills and laundry, into the ordinary and consistent. Here, there was hard wood and stone, sharp edges and a cold, contemporary style to everything. And, at once, Braden noticed that the life he’d fantasized and the life he lead were polar opposites. Here there was no warmth or light, just the infinite melancholy of marble and speckled granites, the designer furniture and icy chrome.

And, for perhaps the first time in his life, Braden saw himself…a tiny glimpse of the person responsible for this life. And, he realized he’d made his own madness, his own subscribed routine. And he alone could change it.

---

Later that week, when Marcus and Ben returned from the gym, from the secret glances and the fear of rejection from each other, the dawn was barely gray on the horizon. They drove up to the row houses and parked in the garage. Neither of them noticed the sign in front of Braden’s, which read, Metro Real Estate.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

burnt

Ben paled as he thought about life after Adam. Somehow, in his core, he knew it would be a very long while before they saw each other again – let alone, actually spoke to one another. It was as if the magic had suddenly run out, completely and without fault.

Then, there was also the clarity which came at dawn. The buttery light seeping through the edges of heavy curtains, finding its way to Ben’s eyes. Things always looked decidedly different in the morning, especially when it was time to go home. The energy was different, less connected…as if Adam was more than ready to return to the sanctuary of his other life. And, Ben supposed this was true…after all, if it had been reversed, he would have been anxious for departure. He would have hoped for few words, too.

Ben thought back over the details of his trip to Baltimore, and filed them away. He would be home in less than an hour, back to the routine of his life…studying for exams, doing his laundry and flicking endlessly through the cable channels. Somehow this mundane distraction kept him from sliding backwards, into things past.

There was one thing he couldn’t erase from his memory, though. An unfortunate choice while Adam was showering. He’d listened to the answering machine next to the living room phone. It did not blink, indicating new messages, but Ben knew Adam. Adam would save any message he thought interesting, or significant. He was rewarded with a seemingly innocuous message from someone named David…rambling on about the upcoming week’s plans. He thought nothing of it until the message said,

"OK, call me later, baby."

It hit him like a sharp slap across his face. Certainly he wasn’t naive enough to think Adam wasn’t dating. But somehow, the confirmation of it made him sick with jealousy. This person Adam had failed to mention all the while kissing Ben, sleeping with Ben…loving Ben. And yet, why should he be surprised? They were, after all, history. But there was a longing deep inside Ben that couldn’t let go of Adam, wouldn’t stop tugging at him…caused an ache like no other. His lip trembled as the hurt welled within him...tipping over and spilling tears onto his cheeks.

Why had he done that?! He had no need and certainly no use for this information…it only tortured him. And yet, his curiosity got the best of him. When Adam stepped out of the shower, Ben could barely look at him, the shame and jealously welling inside.

Adam asked what was wrong, to which Ben coolly replied, "nothing." He felt sick to his stomach and he knew Adam knew something was wrong, but he could never admit what he’d heard. He would never let Adam know he’d breached his privacy. He smiled more convincingly and said, "Can I buy us breakfast on the way to the airport?"

Ben was anxious to get some distance between them…to settle his nerves, to resort his life and to just think about things. He couldn’t get his mind off David. Had they kissed? Had they slept together? Did he like what David did to him? What was David like in bed? Ben churned the questions over and over in his mind, frustrating himself, stirring his jealousy and making him maddeningly aroused for Adam.

His mind coursed furiously as he disembarked from the plane and made his way to the baggage area where his best friend, Kate, was waiting. Kate was 32, blonde and drop-dead gorgeous. A litigator for a huge firm specializing in environmental law, Kate had enjoyed moderate success since graduating from Marshall in ’97.

"Ben!"

"No, don’t look at me….I’m all red-eyed and bleary."

"Nonsense. You look great. So, how was it?"

"Fine. It’s definitely the end."

"How do you know?"

"It just is. It’s over."

They piled into the black Jeep Wrangler and headed back toward the city. Kate said, "I’m not so sure all these trips to Baltimore are good for you. Promise me you’ll stop if it’s torturing you."

"Promise."

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

you only get what you give

Jeanine was furious, Daniel arriving home shortly after nine that evening. Where the hell had he been and why hadn’t he the courtesy to call? These were the two questions thrust at him with rapid-fire repetition until he could do nothing else but lie. Lie hard and fast to get her to shut up. At least for now.

With that lie confidently presented and accepted, she quieted. But, the chaos inside Daniel was nowhere near quiet. He’d just spent the past three hours prostituting his own morality with a young twenty-something gayboy. Home seemed different, Jeanine looked different, and it was if everyone could tell he’d been with Kyle. Concious of this, he did everything in his power to control his body language, to smooth over the rough edges…to throw any suspicious minds off course, to allay fears. To erase any emotional and psychological evidence.

He was sure he still smelled of sex, sweaty, masculine sex that Jeanine was sure to decipher. He jumped into the shower at home and turned the water up as hot as he could take it…scrubbing himself of the sweat, the dirt and the sin. He’d showered at the motel before dropping Kyle off at the bus stop, but he didn’t feel clean enough…no soap was strong enough to cleanse him.

And, as much as he tried to erase every thought and memory, he couldn’t help but to slip back into the bliss of holding Kyle…the passion and the sheer animalism of their time together. It all seemed so illicit and dangerous, and Daniel supposed that it was both. And it was more exciting and interesting than sleeping with Jeanine. Jeanine, who just wanted to be with Daniel so she wasn’t alone. This was different than all of that, different enough to make him want more. Once again, the guilt crept back and Daniel broke down into tears. What had he done? What filthy, horrible trespass had he committed? He turned the shower dial all the way to "Hot" and the scalding water burned his skin.

Daniel toweled dry and walked into the bedroom. Jeanine was undressed and waiting. He kissed her passionately, the way he’d learned from Kyle. His passion and guilt rose up from within, intoxicating him, rendering him powerless against it. He held Jeanine down, kissing her, fondling her and finally forcing himself inside her. The passion seemed to erase away the remnants of Kyle and the seedy motel. For Jeanine, it was a reassurance that Daniel did, in fact, still love her...that he still found her attractive...even when she didn't herself. And so, they continued together…in consensual denial.

Kyle boarded the 82 westbound bus just shortly after nine. He was exhausted…and desired. He could still feel Daniel, and relished the sensation as he found a seat on the half-empty bus. His mind drifted to thoughts of the motel and Daniel’s slender, hairless body next to his. He remembered Braden’s harsh words and being dismissed…right into the waiting arms of his neighbor. Kyle laughed a little thinking how surprised Braden would be to find out Daniel liked to fuck boys, too…but probably not as surprised as Daniel’s wife would be if she ever found out…

"Hey faggot."

Kyle looked behind him. Three thuggish looking guys were sitting in the seats behind and to the side of him.

"I’m talking to you, faggot."

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, okay…cocksucker." They continued to snicker and Kyle could think of nothing else but to get off the bus. He pushed the stop request button, and moved toward the front of the bus.

When he exited, he walked quickly from the bus stop. He didn’t notice the others follow him.

"Wait up, cocksucker."

Kyle felt sick to his stomach. He turned and faced the three men from the bus.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to suck my dick, fag."

Kyle didn’t feel the glass bottle smash against his head inasmuch as he heard the glass shatter. He heard the cackle of his assailants as they kicked him to the ground, cracking ribs and chipping his teeth on the pavement. He was paralyzed with pain, with fear and shock. He could feel the wet warmth as they urinated on him before running off into the urban shadows.

Kyle could feel the coldness setting in, the numb visitor creeping throughout his body, until there was nothing but distorted, tinny sounds coming from the street. He never heard the footsteps, nor the hurried banter of the passersby who found the crumpled heap of human being near the garbage cans…the strangers that stopped to help, who called paramedics…who saved his life with just a few minutes spare.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

someday we’ll know

Marcus, circa 1994.

He’d graduated in the top fifth percentile of the class, beating out almost all the well-established Southern legacy students with names like Thurman, Burwell, Lee and Marshall. He’d managed to navigate the treacherous maze of academia and politics without even outing himself. In the South, even on a college campus, being gay was not anything to wave a flag about…or have a parade. Or even say out loud. No, Marcus had managed to survive four brutal years, four incredibly challenging and stimulating years at the nation’s oldest institution of higher learning.

Marcus was not interested at all in becoming or being a key influencer, he never had been. But, here, in his life in pharmaceutical sales, he’d become just that, the central figure in his office and certainly within his various social circles. Everyone always wanted to know what he was doing, what he thought of everything and anything, and wanted to be around him just because he was Marcus.

It all seemed exceedingly silly to him, although he remembered growing up, the sixth grade in particular, when he would never have imagined any modicum of personal popularity. He was not liked. He was scrawny and uncomfortable in his own skin. The other boys could smell his weakness and often taunted him, threatened him. So, this sudden adoration as an adult seemed odd and fleeting. He’d not been interested in what others thought, and he thought it foolish that people were interested in his. Nonetheless, he understood the circumstances, he understood the implied responsibility.

Michael was in his World Politics course during their sophomore year. He’d noticed him in class, but the two actually met during a jog through the historic district in Colonial Williamsburg. Michael had just completed a two mile jaunt and was starting his cool-down near Merchants Square when he saw Marcus run from the Wren Building on campus toward Duke of Gloucester Street. It was exactly three quarters of a mile to the Capitol at the opposite end of the street, so Michael followed, unnoticed at first. By the time Marcus reached Bruton Parish, Michael had cinched the distance between them and said hello. Marcus nodded, but said nothing until he’d completed five miles, Michael trailing all the while. Marcus broke the silence.

"You kept up for five miles. Not bad!"

"Seven."

"That was five."

"Ah yes, but I had completed two miles before joining you. But you make a very attractive incentive to keep running."

Marcus smiled, and for once, he didn't mind the attention.

It was like that song, "Fade Into You"...he kept hearing it over and over in his head. The fact was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Michael, and daydreaming was deadly at the College of William and Mary. He’d managed to glide through his World Politics exam, but he’d not be so lucky in Organic Chemistry. Marcus decided to keep all thoughts of Michael strictly out of bounds during his prescribed study periods. Otherwise, he’d fail…plain and simple. But, he felt oddly complete with him…something he’d never felt before…always opting to be alone, single rather than depend on someone else for happiness or love or sex or all three. But, Michael was different in every way.

Michael joined him frequently on his jogs through town, and grew to enjoy his silent company. Michael was indeed an eyeful, his dark hair and eyes set off his athletic frame, and his movement more fluid and graceful than many world-class long distance runners. There was also something else that set him apart, a kind of darkness or aloofness that made him seem almost mysterious, intriguing. Of course, Marcus thought, it might have been his European upbringing…always keeping respectful distance. Not wanting you to get too close, ever.

Whatever the case was, Marcus adored Michael. He loved not only his looks, but his intelligence and good nature. Michael was an affable companion, friend and excellent lover. They were compatible completely…in ways that allowed them to have entire conversations without speaking a word. Marcus hated their semester breaks, and even more, summer…when Michael would return home to his family in France.

Marcus was fascinated by what he called European sensibility…Michael’s family made no issue whatsoever about his sexuality, and made it see if it was the most obvious and normal outcome. This was, of course, completely different from what Marcus experienced with his family. His parents glazed over like they were hearing a fatal diagnosis, or realized they’d just lost the hand of Bridge at the country club. It seemed to Marcus that his parents were more irritated than anything else. It was a reality they had never considered for their son, or for their family.

At once, his parents retreated into the closet…the one left conveniently empty by Marcus. But, after a few months, the family began speaking about it…making the requisite inquiries about safety and something about "have you found any ‘special friends’ lately." After an entire year had passed and all those concerned had realized this was not a passing fancy, more direct questions were plied, jokes were dispensed and the family settled in with the information that their genius jock son was queer. His father, George, was always curious to know when they would get to meet any of Marcus’ friends, and were they any good at golf and tennis?

Michael would more than fit the bill. His genteel nature and impeccable manners would charm both of his parents, not to mention their friends at the club. Michael was an avid golfer, and worthy foe on the tennis court. He bonded immediately with George, and they spend much of their time together competing.

There was, of course, Michael’s enviable pedigree…from one of the most prominent families in France, and perhaps Western Europe. If George was going to have a gay son, by god, he was going to date within the right circles. And, in this way, George began to see very little difference in the lives of his straight children, and in the life of Marcus.

To Marcus, life became real and surreal…normal in the strangest of ways. And, he was happy, actually happy for maybe the first time ever in his life. Like an accident, or a miracle…or both, he’d found Michael.

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.

cold december flies away...

Daniel could not stop kissing him. For as much as he tried, he could not control what burned inside him...a long, hateful volcano of madness, destruction and passion...welling up within him until there was no other option. He'd seen the kid in and out of Braden's condo recently, just one in a line of many over the past few months. They's never seemed real, before...not human, certainly. And yet, here he was with his tongue in its mouth. It was both repulsive and thrilling.

Daniel lessened his grip on Kyle, kissed him deeply, more pensively and with meaning. He pressed his body full against Kyle's slight frame, wanting him to feel the hardness. Kyle groped, and Daniel pulled away.

"What?!"

"I don't want to do this out here. Come on."

Daniel motioned for Kyle to get into the car.

"We'll go somewhere."

"I don't have any money, so I can't pay or anything."

"Don't worry. Just get in."

They both slipped into the car and Daniel eased out of the drive and onto the boulevard. His hand reached over and squeezed Kyle's thigh.

Jeanine thought it odd that Daniel wasn't at home when she returned from the office. He usually beat her by half an hour, and was almost never late. She checked the voicemail and found a message...he'd be home a little later than usual...meeting went longer than expected, but he'd already had dinner.

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a Yoplait. The strawberry-banana was her favorite. She sat at the kitchen counter leafing through this month's Cosmo and hating how she looked. On every page was a woman of perfect beauty, gorgeous coloring, great hair and flawless physique. She contrasted that image to every degree. Even in her snappy business attire she was still rather plain, uninteresting and unextraordinary to the eye. But Daniel loved her for what was inside, he'd said it so many times, she almost believed it. She felt acceptable, normal and even a bit sexy with him. She tossed the empty yogurt container into the garbage and switched off the kitchen light. She padded quietly down the hallway to the den, flopped into an overstuffed chair and flicked on Wheel of Fortune.

The clerk looked at Daniel as he registered for the room. He could see outside, and even through the pouring rain...he could see Kyle in the front seat...waiting. The motel was in a sketchy, run-down section of the city. The kind of place no one likes to drive through. The kind of place that feels abandoned...a place that delivered anonymity. Daniel keyed into the room and once Kyle entered, he quickly locked the door.

There were no formalities...in the darkness, warm, hungry mounths found each other. Daniel pushed Kyle to the bed...wanting more. He was harder than he'd been since college, and he pounded his cock into Kyle like a jackhammer, fucking him without mercy. Kyle loved the feeling of being controlled, having this stranger's cock shoved into his ass - an exhilirating mix of pleasure, pain and low self esteem. He pushed against Daniel to feel every inch jammed inside him.

And as Daniel fucked Kyle in a seedy motel near the interstate, Jeanine solved the puzzle before Vanna had turned more than four letters : Caligula.

------------------------

He thought it was just an old saying, once in a blue moon. But there it was, high above him, peeking down over his shoulder and illuminating the path in front of him. He'd read the definition...a second full moon in one month...very rare indeed. Thus the saying. He walked on the gravel walk, crunching each step...an intoxicating rhythm swirling like southern jasmine after an evening rainstorm. The sound was predictable. It made sense. It was orderly and clean. And Braden liked things that way.

He'd agreed to the vacation months ago, never expecting it to come to fruition. It was a hasty agreement realized suddenly with the arrival of an airline ticket overnight expressed to his office the week earlier. His best friend Marieke was also organized and orderly...so much so that she'd actually planned this vacation over a year earlier, and had planned to take no one other than Braden. And when it came to Marieke, there would be no arguing. There would be no last minute delays, cancellations or rescheduling. He'd even managed to arrange his time off accordingly.

He found himself in Charleston, South Carolina, strolling along the historic boulevards watching tourists, locals and anyone pleasing to his eye. He'd managed to walk alone that evening, Marieke otherwise engaged with a fine young gentleman from Maryland. He thought his name might be Joshua...but he'd not paid close attention. He'd been watching someone else completely. Marieke was introduced to Joshua on the veranda of the hotel, just after the evening cocktails were cleared and guests were ushered into dinner. Joshua was a high school history teacher and soccer coach. At age twenty-nine, he radiated youth and vitality, but was too old for Braden's taste. With the subtle glance rendered between best friends, Braden departed to find his own mischief. At this point she was probably planning on fucking him...and good for her...or maybe better for him. He'd heard stories of Marieke's sexual prowess...and not from Marieke.

Walking along the path from the hotel grounds down to the harbor, he relaxed for the first time in over a year. Pressure leapt from his shoulders and he was dizzy from relief. It was also, effectively, the first time he was really single...not dating anyone and with no intention of doing so. Things were always messy in that arena. Better to be single for awhile and figure things out. He sat on a bench facing Charleston Harbor and looked out toward the dark horizon, barely detectable...a line of blackness where the stars dissolved into the sea. Braden watched as small boats passed, headed to their slips in yacht clubs and private docks. All the people with money, he thought...and did it guarantee them happiness? Well, yes...to a degree it certainly did. Problems are problems no matter what the bank balance is...but perspective is everything, and problems look decidedly different from the bow of a yacht.

Braden wandered to the slips located at the edge of the park a few feet from the hotel grounds. There was little activity, except from a smaller boat near the end of the dock. He heard music as he approached...something familiar and moody. As he approached, someone moved topside to secure one of the lines. He saw the flicker of a lighter and the brief illumination of the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. Chiseled and tan with beautiful lips and high cheekbones, he'd accounted and taken inventory of this face in a single instant. His eyebrows were sandy brown, with sunbleached blonde hair tousled by the wind...Braden thought he was looking at an advertisement for youth and beauty and the high life. He was classic, handsome and boyish. Maybe he'd seen him in a magazine...one with matte pages and pungent colognes. He'd stopped breathing for fear of being discovered. It was too late.

"It's not polite for strangers to sneak about like that."

Braden stammered, "I'm...I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."

"You won't be a stranger if you introduce yourself then, will you?"

"Braden Mackey."

"Never met a Braden before. I'm Thomas."