Confusion

Part 6

I didn't sleep much. The window in Mike's room faced to towards the east. The sun's light soon stretched it's fingers across the opposite wall, the desk, the floor, and finally, my eyes. I squinted in the light and looked around for a clock. Six forty-five. I had only slept for little more than a hour.

Mike was still sleeping, his arms wrapped around my chest. As gently as I could, I disentangled myself from him. I got out of the bed and sat in his chair. I watched him in his sleep, his face at peace. He seemed to be made out of marble to me. I sat there for a long while admiring him. Every feature of his face fascinated me. How his eyebrows were perfect, his nose just the right size, the sensual lips, all of them held me enthralled.

Knowing that I couldn't walk around naked all day, I walked down the spiraling staircase to the main floor of the house. The place seemed to have grown since the night before. Perhaps it was just the light reflecting off the pale colors of the house. Just past the front door was a room with white couches and glass tables. The lamps and metal gilding of the furniture was brass. I could tell it was one of those rooms that people never used. It made no sense to me. If you're going to spend the money to furnish a room, you might as well use it.

I found the laundry room easily enough and took my clothes out. I pulled on my black boxers, blue jeans, and t-shirt. My shoes were still a little damp, so I was left walking around in my socks. It was probably better that way though. I didn't want to track dirt through the house.

I made my way to the kitchen, immediately heading towards the fridge. I don't eat much. Or at least I hadn't been lately. Whenever something occupies my mind, I forget about the rest of my body. My mom used to worry when I'd stop eating for a full two days. That was usually the first sign that something was wrong.

Mike's parents kept the fridge pretty well-stocked. I pulled out a carton of eggs, some orange juice, a gallon of milk, and butter. Searching the cabinets, I finally discovered the toaster and a frying pan. I put all the stuff on the island in the middle of the room and turned on the gas stove.

I'm not exactly the world's best cook. Maybe, just maybe, I can make something for breakfast. My cooking skills were mostly limited to anything canned, microwavable, or macaroni and cheese. I could make scrambled eggs though, or as we say in Chicago, "ayggs." I guess I could forgive the south side Irish accent I grew up with. Still, I always forgot that milk was "milk" and not "melk."

The "ayggs" were making popping and fizzling noises in the pan as I buttered the toast. I wasn't sure if people put salt and pepper on the eggs while they were cooking, or afterwards. So, I did both just to be safe. I wish I knew how to make bacon. That would make it a complete breakfast. I didn't want to risk seeing the look on Mike's face after I burned his house down though.

After about fifteen minutes, I finished my culinary masterpiece. Sure, I wasn't one of those freaky chefs on PBS, but the food seemed to turn out ok. I made up two plates and poured glasses of milk and orange juice. I was just finished putting the silverware out when Mike walked into the kitchen rubbing his stomach.

"Good morning, sunshine," I greeted him, laughing.

He took a look at the food and grinned. "Hell, if you can do this every morning, who needs a wife?"

"Very funny," I replied as I threw an oven mitt in his direction.

He sat down at the table in front of a plate and stared at the food. "Is this for me?" he asked.

"No," I said sarcastically, "it's all for me. If you want anything, you'll have to cook for yourself." I sipped some orange juice and watched him dig into his food. "Damn, I wish I remembered which one I put the arsenic in."

He laughed and took a large gulp of milk. When the glass came away from his mouth, he had a milk mustache. It was incredibly cute, and I couldn't help from smiling. I wasn't sure if I should tell him or just let myself enjoy seeing him look like a six year old. "Aren't you going to eat?"

I looked at my food and shrugged. "I probably should." I started nibbling on some toast and drinking the milk. It chilled my stomach which was completely empty. "I'm surprised you're up so early."

"Well," he said, shoving some eggs in his mouth, "I woke up and found out you weren't there. Then, I smelled the food. I can always sleep later."

"Sleep is a very good idea," I said, resting my chin in my hand. I was tired, but I had plans for the day. At least I thought I had plans for the day. I still had to run them past Mike. "What time do your parents usually come home?

He winced slightly at the mention of his parents. That was a pretty tactless question for me to ask. "Well, they usually get home around five or six. But, we'll be gone by then." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. So much for my fun with the milk mustache.

I got up and walked towards a window, unhooking the latch and opening it. The morning was considerably warmer than the night before. I let the breeze wash over me, though it reminded me of just how tired I was. I was something of a paradox. I preferred being in the dark, but I couldn't resist feeling the heat of the sun on my skin. "You want to go for a walk? I think I need some fresh air."

"Sure," Mike said, picking up the dishes and putting them in the sink. When he saw me walk over to the wash the plates, he stopped me, smiling. "Don't worry about it. Kim, the housekeeper, will get them."

"I guess I'm not used to being pampered," I said with a grin.

"You better get used to it." He kissed me quickly before leaving the room to grab his shoes. Mine had dried a little more, so I figured it wouldn't bother me to wear them.

When we left his house, he turned to a little black security box next to the door and punched in some numbers. I didn't remember that from the night before. How drunk was I? It wasn't long before we were walking down the street. Clear puddles decorated the curbs, and the grass still had a glossy sheen from the prior night's rainfall. Everything smelled fresh and warm. This was how spring was supposed to be.

It wasn't too long before we reached a park, a pretty artificial one as opposed to the kind I had when I grew up. This one was crafted of plastic, no less, with various tunnels and ladders scattered across the framework. Feeling a little nostalgic, I opted for a regular swing. The chains were new and still silver. The characteristic groaning of metal was entirely absent from my movements.

Mike sat in the swing next to mine and immediately began digging a hole in the wood chipped ground with his shoe. He seemed to enjoy being outdoors as well, for his pallor had improved greatly. Then again, he had also just finished eating.

"So what do you think?" I said aloud, speaking more into the air than anyone in particular. My gaze was fixed on the sky and the light dusting of white far above.

"What do I think about what?"

I have the bad tendency of thinking aloud. Someone once described me as being in the habit of beginning a conversation in the middle. Most of the time, I had to bring others up to speed with my own thoughts. "About being gay. I know roughly how it's affected you, but you never mention what you think about it."

"Hmm," Mike hummed, pursing his lips in concentration. "I can't say that I know what to think about it. I am what I am. Sometimes it's the only thing on my mind, and I can't stop thinking about being gay. Sometimes I don't think about it at all."

"Are you happy?"

This question seemed to strike him profoundly, for he didn't respond right away. It took him several minutes before he had a response. I waited through the silence patiently, knowing it wasn't an easy question. "I don't know what I am. Everything that's happened because of it hasn't been for the better as far as I can tell. Well, except maybe for a few things."

He looked up me and smiled, making me blush. He glanced at the depression in the ground he was digging and continued. "I think I could be happy. Anyone could, I guess. It's more of a feeling, you know? You can't really describe the kinds of things that go on inside." He looked over to me inquisitively. "Are you happy?"

I puzzled over that for a few moments. The thought that he might return my question never entered my mind. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. I'm not too sure what I'm doing with myself right now. I seem to be stumbling through life somewhat haphazardly, letting things find me. I didn't expect this to find me, nor was I looking for it. Things just happen, I guess, and we have to deal with them to the best of our ability."

"How do you deal with it?"

I laughed slightly, more at myself than the question. "I don't deal with it. That's my whole strategy for life; not dealing with things. It seems to have worked well for me. I know someday I'll have to face my problems, the world. But that seems distant to me. I'm floating right now, probably on that great journey of finding myself that I always hear about. Nothing's ever what you imagine it to be."

"No, it's not," he said quietly.

"Do you ever wonder why there's so much pressure on us? I mean, it's our lives, but everyone else thinks they know how we should live them. I never asked to be judged. Hell, I never asked to be told what to do. But I was. And, now that I'm about to be left in the real world, I'm totally unprepared to make my own decisions. All my life, someone else planned things out for me. Even when I came to college, I had little choice in the matter. My parents narrowed down my options, whittling away at any opportunity I might take interest in, until I ended up where I'm at. Sometimes I think adults are the most dangerous things children will ever have to face." I stopped, realizing the course of my thoughts was turning to children. I quickly decided to detour around those thoughts by saying nothing at all and concentrating on my parents' control over me.

Mike was silent, carefully regarding everything that I had said. It wasn't an awkward silence, but more of a natural one. It seemed appropriate, though I didn't know why. When he finally did speak, I had almost forgotten that he was there. "You don't think you have a choice in what you do?"

I sighed heavily. "Not in what I do, but what I've become. I know what parts of me need fixing. I know what I need to work on. But, it seems like I've been conditioned to be a certain way, so I never actually take the actions I need to take in order to make myself happy. Since my parents were never overly concerned about my happiness, somehow, I didn't care about it either. I'm just going through the motions of your typical life. It doesn't require much thought anymore. I'm the world's greatest actor, and I won't even get an award for it."

Mike exhaled heavy, almost a deep sigh of defeat, or maybe frustration. He hung his head low, the cold metal of the chain resting against his cheek. "I don't know. I thought I had this all figured out."

He was right of course. We both thought we had figured things out once upon a time. Where did we go wrong? I wracked my brain trying to discover that one defining moment in my life where everything had changed suddenly. I had always kept the illusion of control, more for my own sanity than for anything else. Now that I had finally begun to direct my mind towards myself, I saw a swirling mass of feelings, thoughts, and images, none of them coalescing into any kind of coherent idea.

"Maybe we're not supposed to figure it out," I said, my voice almost monotone and frightening to my own ears. "Maybe we're supposed to keep moving forward." I threw my arms up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. How the hell are we supposed to know all of this? It's not like there's a fucking manual to life. How can our parents expect us to be what they want? We can't read their thoughts."

I was pissed. For reasons unknown, a boiling anger rose up from my stomach, spewing forth from my mouth in a long string of denunciations and words twisted with my own rage. "Fuck them! Fuck them all! I am really getting tired of all this bullshit. I had to go to this fucking school and take all those fucking classes. Why? So I can become a doctor, or a lawyer. So I can personally fund their fucking retirement. Well no more! If they don't like what I do, they can kiss my fucking ass. If they want to live vicariously through someone, it's not going to be me. I'm through with them. They did this to me, and I am not going to forgive them for it."

Mike seemed confused at first, his blank stare much like that of a child first waking up. But, I should have known he was thinking. He was always thinking, if nothing else. Sometimes, I thought that he spent more energy contemplating his place in the world than I did. "You know, I don't understand why I beat myself up because of my parents," he said quietly. "I did everything they wanted me to do, because I wanted to do it too. But the minute I let them down, they turned away from me. How can people do that? To their own kids?"

Where I was full of anger and resentment, Mike seemed to be quiet contemplation personified. I never understood how he could be so calm in the face of our realizations. I wanted to lash out at anything that had hurt me in my life, pressured my decisions, or forced me to do things I didn't want to do. He, on the other hand, took it all in, then spent his time turning it over in his mind.

He looked up at me with a faint smile. "How did we ever let ourselves be manipulated like this? It all seems pretty stupid to me now. Were we always this blind? I just don't understand how we couldn't have seen what was happening to us."

"We're growing up," I said factually. "I don't think we knew what our parents were doing then, because we had trusted them all our lives. All we've ever known is what they have told us. And to think, now, when we begin to think for ourselves, as adults, we learn the great lie of it all."

"Not a lie," he disagreed, "but maybe some bad advice. I don't think my parents know what they do. I don't think they mean to hurt me. Even though they're supposed to be the wise, all-knowing parents, I don't think they know any better."

I was stunned. The dawning realization that my life was governed by people that "didn't know any better" was gnawing at me. My parents were human. I don't understand why I was so shocked at this revelation, but I was. I shook at the core of my being. My parents were human. If my parents were human and prone to the same mistakes I scolded myself for, what other things in the world was I mistaken about? What my perception of things so incredibly skewered that I really had no idea what was happening around me? I prided myself on being aware. I always knew things were around me, though I didn't always understand them or even interpret them completely. My parents were human.

"Dude, we better get going." Mike broke my reverie as he tapped my shoulder. "We're not going to figure this out right here and now."

I was in a daze. Everything I had known seemed surreal to me. Even as we both rose and began walking back to Mike's house, I thought I was walking through a dream. Maybe I could finally face my life for what it was. I certainly knew some of the things I wanted. And if my parents disapproved, so what? My parents were human....

Thanks for all your letters regarding the story. I have literally gotten hundreds of E-Mails because of it. I originally only meant for it to be a couple of short parts, but now it looks like it's turning into an epic of sorts. I've made a couple of close friends because of the story, and I must say I'm the happier for it. I've even had mails from some living in Chicago who want to meet the "real" Erik. All your letters have been encouraging, and I do answer each one personally. I'm not sure when this story will end, but it will someday, though not in the immediate future.

Again, thanks

Bob

Part 7

God was it hot, I thought, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my t-shirt. The sun was beating down upon the lakefront, baking just about anything on the pavement. I was beginning to regret taking my run in the middle of the afternoon. I thought that a run after finals was exactly what I needed. With the mercury driving into the low nineties, I was proven very wrong.

I inhaled deeply, almost gagging on the air saturated with water. It was only the first week of May and already Chicago was filling with the humidity that characteristically tormented the city in mid-July. I looked down at my knee. The moisture had loosened the bandage considerably. It would need a new one. Terrific.

I made my way back to the dorm, trying to mop what perspiration I could from my skin. The White Sox shirt I had was already soaked through making it a pretty useless effort. Thankfully, the dorms were air-conditioned. I pulled the wet shirt over my head and made my way to the elevators. A large vent right above me was blowing icy air in my direction. I shivered. If I wasn't being sauteed alive outside, I was being routinely frozen inside. There would be no happy medium today.

The dorm was empty. Most of the students had left immediately after their finals. My history exam was on the last day, so I would be one of the last out. Fortunately, my room mate had finished two days earlier, and he was already home in Missouri. I sighed happily when I reached a blissfully empty room.

I shut the door behind me and flopped down on my bed. My exhaustion from the heat and the gentle whirring of the air conditioner were threatening to put me to sleep. I jumped up, grabbing the last set of clean clothes I had; a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a button down blue flannel. Everything else in the room had been put in boxes earlier that morning. I had one last night at the dorms, and I didn't feel much like spending it packing up my belongings.

Greg's side of the room was empty. It seemed strange to see the once decorated walls completely barren of the posters I had detested for eight months. Even the little camel dollars from his cigarette packs were gone. I always thought he smoked because he was still in the "it's cool to smoke" stage. His shrine to a cigarette company on our walls only reinforced this belief. Still, the absence of his things made transformed the room into the cold and lifeless cell I had seen when I first arrived at the college. The place was no longer home.

After my shower, I stuffed my laundry into a huge bag and tied it up. Now, I was truly finished packing. I looked around the room and realized I had absolutely nothing to do. Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt too much. It was still late afternoon, and I knew I wouldn't be doing anything until later in the evening.

Only moments after my head hit the pillow, I started dreaming. I was a little kid again, climbing up the maple that used to be in my back yard before my parents cut it down in favor of a garden. I knew exactly where to put my hands and feet. Each branch, nub, or outcropping in the trunk had felt my touch hundreds of times during my childhood. This time was no different.

I made it towards the top of the tree, where the trunk slendered to the width of a sapling. If there was even the slightest breeze, the treetop would sway and bend under my added weight. I got up there, marveling at perfect geometry of my block. The fences surrounding each yard were perfectly square. The symmetry seemed unnatural to me. It made me afraid. My heart beat in my throat, my palms slicking with sweat. This wasn't right. Nature wasn't supposed to be in perfect order. It was supposed to be wild and untamed, with a beauty all its own. Man had imposed his will on the land, and it was ugly.

Feeling panicked, I looked down, ready to descend the trunk. "Erik, come down from there!" I heard my mom's voice. Though I couldn't see her from where I was, I knew she was looking out the backdoor at the tree whose leaves and branches were being disturbed by me. I stepped down.

Snap.

The branch broke. That wasn't right. The branches never broke. Why was it breaking now? I reached out, trying to steady myself, but my palms only closed around the rough bark. I slid down, feeling my skin being peeled away from my hands. I gritted my teeth and tried to find another handhold.

Snap.

Another branch broke. And another. I was falling through the leaves and branches with nothing stopping me. The dirt around the bottom of the tree rushed up to meet me.

The phone rang. I jumped up, my heart still pounding furiously. It was dark out. The light filtering in through my window brought me back to reality, the dream already worming its way into forgetfulness. I shoved the boxes aside, trying to locate the phone, more to stop its annoying ring than to actually answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey dude, it's Mike"

"Oh, hey," I said, wiping the sleep from my eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's nine o'clock."

I looked around for a clock in my room. It was tucked away with the rest of my things. "Shit, I didn't realize. I must have been really tired."

"It's ok." His voice seemed anxious for some reason. "I was worried that you had already left for home. I called a couple of times, but no one answered."

"No, I was here. I just didn't hear the phone ringing."

"So, are we gonna go?"

Go? I thought. Oh crap, that's right. I was supposed to go to a techno dance club with some people. I made a mental note to tell Mike that if he wanted me to remember stuff, he'd have to make me write it down. I was too absent-minded for my own good. "Yeah, can you give me like ten minutes to get to your dorm? I want to clean up a little bit before we go."

"Sure, no problem. I'll see ya then."

"Alright, bye." I hung up the phone.

I wasn't too sure if I wanted to go to the club. The place was in the far western suburbs, which entailed at least a two hour car ride. I counted off how many people would be in the car, and decided that it would be an uncomfortable ride at best.

Sliding down the railing of the stairs in front of the dorm, I realized that I had dressed a little too warmly. The night was cooler with a nice breeze blowing in from the lake, but the air was still muggy and damp. Taking off my flannel, I tucked my t-shirt into my jeans and tied it around my waist. I really didn't care how stupid I looked at this point. It wasn't like I was going to try to pick anyone up at the club.

A green Dodge Ram pulled up to the curb, a few girlish voices calling out my name. I stomped out the cigarette I had been smoking and walked over to the car. There were already five people inside the vehicle. Mike was riding shotgun. He was dressed similarly to me, wearing a pair of jeans and a black shirt. He had silver rimmed sunglasses on even though it was dark out. When he saw me walking up to the car, he smiled and said "Yo yo yo, G." I laughed and started to climb into the back seat.

I'm not sure what circuses were thinking when they decided packing 23 clowns in a car was funny, but I'm pretty certain they had a carload of teenagers in mind. It only took me ten minutes to wedge myself into the back seat.

To the right of me was Kristin. I had met her earlier in the year and we had become pretty good friends. She was from New York and had this insane Brooklyn accent. Every time she said "cawfee" I cracked up. She was an Irish dancer and always tried to get me to learn the steps with her. For some reason, she felt that because I was almost totally Irish, I had to know how to frolic and leap like a drunk from the Emerald Isle. The dancing we did after classes was comical at best.

"Aw, Erik, where have you been?" Kristin asked in that over dramatic way that girls talk to people they haven't seen in a long time. "I've missed you!" She gave me a hug, as much of one as was possible in the prison like confines of the car. She was heavily drenched in some kind of perfume that seared my nose. I smiled and hugged her back.

"Now now Kristin, you leave my man alone," I heard Mike's voice from up front. I froze. Did he tell them something? I felt panic leaping into my chest. He laughed and turned up the music. I sighed in relief. I don't know why I was so high strung. Before, I would have caught the joke immediately. I guess under the circumstances, I'd have to try to be less conscious of things.

The ride to the club was a nightmare. I was hot, uncomfortable, and suffocating within an atmosphere of ten parts perfume, fifteen parts hair spray. I tried to sink into the seat as much as possible. It didn't help much. A girl next to me was going on and on about her English professor. Her face was familiar. Half way through her speech, I realized that she was in my writing class, and she was talking about my professor. She was ranting about the marks she had gotten on an essay. I read that essay. It sucked. I thought the teacher was being generous. There's only so much one can say about a red bow you used to wear in your hair when you were a kid.

Even though the car ride seemed to last an eternity, we did finally make it to the club. The joint was huge, but strangely placed in the middle of nowhere. It was surrounded by fields and trees as far as the eye could see. When we got to the door, some guy was handing out these little pink and blue cards with numbers on them. Each person going in got one. The trick was you had to find the person with the card that matched yours. If you found them, you both went to a counter to receive a prize. It was basically a ploy to get guys and girls to meet each other.

Of course, my brain had completely shut down after finals, so anything that required an explanation was a bit of a stretch for me. I figured a guy got a blue card and a girl got a pink card. But, it was the other way around. The girl got the guy's card and vice versa. This little bit confused me, so I had some trouble figuring out what to take.

"Well, it's really simple," the guy at the door said condescendingly. "Do you want to pick up a guy or a girl?"

"A girl," I stammered.

"Ok then. Here." He handed me a pink card. I was completely embarrassed. Mike just laughed and gave me a playful punch on the shoulder. I noticed that he took a pink card too. I had never seen him with other people before, so I decided that he was closeted as well, at least as far as people in college were concerned.

The first thing I noticed when I walked through the door was that the place was loud. Incredibly loud. I immediately started edging my way towards the back. The place was packed with teens dancing to techno music that I had never heard before. The bass rolled across the floor, shaking my entire body. Multi-colored lights dashed across the floor followed by blinding strobes. The dance floor was a writhing mass of limbs and heads bobbing up and down.

I reached into my pocket and grabbed at my pack of Marlboros. Seventeen left. More than enough to get me through the night. I lit one up and took long drags off it, nodding my head in time with the beat. Mike made his way towards me, walking with the rhythm of the music. "Hey, aren't ya gonna dance?"

I nodded, shouting over the music. "Yeah, I gotta get into it first. I can't just start dancing right away. I'm too white!"

He laughed and lit up a cigarette also. He leaned against the wall next to me, brushing his arm against mine. I wanted to be with him as much as he did me, but I knew we'd have to be careful. We both had images to protect. Not caring about what you look like while in love is a great notion and all, but when you're eighteen, image is just about everything. We both knew this, and we instinctively understood how to act in public.

Eventually, he did drag me out onto the floor, despite my protests. I sat there in a circle of people, moving up and down, side to side. I kept up, but put no effort into actually dancing. I looked like an idiot. Kristin grabbed my hands and guided me into these weird moves. Eventually we started grinding which was pretty funny. At least I didn't have to get too worried about being hard, her being a girl and all.

While dancing, I watched the people on the platforms. After each song, these platforms with bars would lower to the ground. Then, new people would get on and they'd raise up again. I pointed them out to Mike and started laughing. I thought it would be hilarious to go on one.

The two of us wormed our way through the crowd to a platform and hopped on. It lifted before anyone else got on, so we were pretty much up there by ourselves. Suddenly, I heard an oddly familiar Celtic flute mixed in with driving beat of techno music. I groaned and laughed at the same time. "Oh no," I said to Mike. We doubled over in a fit of laughter as a techno version of "My Heart Will Go On" blared through the speakers.

I never had a problem with that song personally, but when it's put to dance music, you can't help but smile. The entire idea of the song with a techno beat was ingenious in a humorous way. Me and Mike started doing these ridiculous moves on the platform, completely mocking the song. Kristin and her friends hooted and yelled, urging us on. I looked at across the crowd and noticed many people were watching us. I was so caught up that I didn't care anymore. My dancing partner tapped me on the shoulder and pointed across the room.

For the love of God, we were on the huge monitor against the wall! Hundreds of people were watching our little parody. I think my skin turned just about as white as my dancing. I was self conscious about dancing as it was, and now I was the center of attention. The people on the floor were cheering, but that still didn't help me much. But, my theater instinct took over. I had an audience. It was a performance, nothing more.

We finished up the song and made our way to the juice bar. I was spent. The exhilaration of dancing in front of all those people had my adrenaline pumping. I bought a Coke and started gulping it down. I was sweating like a madman.

Mike came over and grabbed a pop as well. "That was fun," he said brightly. "Though I think we just accidentally revealed just how gay we can be." He smiled and laughed some more.

I put my arm around his shoulder and gave him a quick, friendly hug. "Could be worse. I could have bent you over right then and there."

"Yeah, well, I just might have liked it," he beamed.

"Heh, don't get me started. I haven't seen you all week. If I were drunk, I know I'd do something no matter who was around."

"Really?" he asked, arching his eyebrow devilishly. "Remind me to bring something to drink next time."

"You wish," I joked.

"Seriously though, want to go somewhere? Kristin and her friends are busy picking up guys. We can take the car if we want to go anywhere." He was looking at me intently with those blue eyes that made me want to kiss him whenever I saw them.

"Sure," I said. "But where? We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, you remember that cottage my parents were at last weekend? They're not there right now. They always leave an extra key beneath some logs, just in case we lose the other one. There's no one around for miles and we could get some privacy. Maybe down a few beers."

"Cool. That'll work." I was really happy. The club was hot, and my knee was starting to ache a little. I can only stay in crowded places for so long. I tend to get a little claustrophobic after awhile. "Should we tell them we're going?"

"Nah, I already told Kristin we'd probably leave. It's cool."

"Ok." We left the club and got into the car. My ears were throbbing with silence. Even though I had only spent an hour in the place, I just knew I was going deaf. When Mike turned the radio on, it sounded muted, even though I knew the volume was more than halfway up.

We drove in silence for awhile, "Flagpole Sitta" pumping out of the stereo. I had rolled down the window and my head was completely outside of the car. It was a little ironic. I smoked, but I needed to get as much fresh air as possible. "So, where's this place at anyway?"

"It's in Wilmington, just south of Joliet. Like right next to the Kankakee River. My dad bought a little land down there because he liked to go fishing so much. Eventually, he had a cottage built. My parents stay there whenever they can, but they work a lot. If they didn't have to commute to the city for work, they'd probably stay there all summer."

His hand was resting on my leg. I decided I wasn't going to try and interpret it for meaning. I was just glad that we could be ourselves. That was enough.

The ride to his cottage wasn't too long. The dance club had been relatively close. A quick drive down I-55 and we were there. Mike had to turn his brights on while we wound through the back roads. Where there weren't farm fields, the area was heavily forested. Animals like deer and possum were always scampering across the road according to the signs I saw.

His cottage was hidden in a nook next to the river. If his headlights weren't biting through the darkness, I would have never noticed it. Large, thick-trunked trees loomed over the surprisingly small place, protecting it from the outside world. I immediately thought of the play "Desire Under the Elms." The trees seemed to shield the cottage and embrace it at the same time.

The key was right under the logs where Mike said it would be. The cottage was a quaint little place. It was in stark contrast to the over sized home he lived in. This was more comfortable somehow, cozy. There was furniture against the walls, some tables, an eating area, and one small television tucked into a corner. Living in comfort wasn't the point. Mike's parents had chosen a spot that was as far away from the real world as possible.

I sat down on the couch and chucked my shoes off, propping my feet up on a table. Mike was busy checking around, making sure everything was in order. "I could live out here, you know."

He nodded, reaching into the fridge and grabbing two beers. He tossed me one and opened his own. "Yeah, that's the point I guess."

"Well, don't you think it'd be cool to live out in a forest somewhere? You wouldn't have to be bothered by everyday things. I can't wait to get out of the city. I thought going to a school downtown would be exciting, like there'd be tons of stuff to do."

"Really? I never pegged you as a city type." Mike sat down next to me and put his arm around me. I only relaxed further.

"Well, I thought I was. I thought I could go to museums, to theaters, you know, see things. And, I guess I could. I had a lot of fun when I was doing that, but, I never thought about the actual living in the city. It's dirty. It's crowded. It's hard to breathe sometimes. I need open spaces. I need somewhere where I can just go and be alone. That's probably why I didn't like my room mate too much. He was invading my space."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. The idea of living in a city is great, but the actual living there sucks." He drank some beer and lit a cigarette. I was tempted to light up as well, but my lungs weren't yearning for one just yet.

"You ever think about leaving Chicago?"

He looked at me, not quite understanding, but not quite missing the question. "Leaving? God, I don't think I've ever thought about it. I guess I'm still too interested in the here and now to really think about the future. Pretty selfish, huh?"

"Not at all," I replied, kissing him softly, lingering for just a moment before pulling away. His lips were smooth, enticing me to stay just a moment longer. It was always just a moment longer. It took a lot of will power to ever release myself from their grip. "I'm very interested in the here and now. Do you realize we're at a turning point? What we do now will affect the rest of our lives."

"Yeah, that's pretty scary."

"Yeah."

We remained silent for long moments. For some reason, even the most innocent line of conversation I started ended up being something philosophical. I don't think I ever had a conversation where it didn't turn out that I was edging towards some greater point. Sometimes I wished I could just say "Hi, how was your day?" But that wasn't who I was. The abstract as well as the reality of things was ever present in my mind.

"What do you think you're going to do with yourself?" His question was innocent enough, but my mind immediately went to work. Nothing was simple for me. I never let it be simple. I had to make everything complex and complicated until I no longer even understood what the original question was.

"I have no idea." I laughed, but it was more of an uncertain, almost nervous laugh. "I'm studying to be a constitutional lawyer, but I know I'll never be that. I love history, but I don't know what would make me happy. Maybe I'll be a writer, even though that doesn't guarantee I'll make a lot of money."

"You only want to make a lot of money?"

"No, that was true once, but it isn't now. When I was growing up, all I wanted to do was make a lot of money. It was a pretty shallow dream. Now, all I want to do is be happy. I guess that revelation came with maturity, but it's the truth. The question is though, how do I make myself happy? You make me happy, so I guess I'm halfway there."

He blushed deeply at my comment. I smiled and stroked his beautiful golden hair. I think it was that moment, that realization that Mike was becoming more than someone I could talk to. I already felt close to him, but this was different. It was like I was talking to myself. There are things you say to other people, and then there's the truth you keep to yourself. Even when you told the truth to people, there was always that part held for only yourself. I was giving that part of me up. I was giving it to Mike. He wasn't an outsider to be defended against anymore. He was inside, inside of me.

"You ask too many questions sometimes," I chuckled. "Reminds me of a kid I used to baby sit."

He laughed. "Sure, compare me to an eight year old."

"Nothing about you is eight years old," I said teasingly, kissing him again. "Then again, it is kinda small," I joked laughingly.

"Hey, it's not the size of the boat that matters, it's the motion in the ocean," he protested playfully.

"Well, obviously you've never had to cross the Atlantic in a canoe," I smirked.

We both cracked up. He tackled me and dragged me to the floor. The wrestling bout was friendly enough, but we were still guys, gay or not gay. Our spirit of competition immediately reared its head. He had me pinned in the beginning because I was unprepared. I managed to flip him over so I was on top of him. He was strong, though I guessed I outweighed him by roughly five pounds. We grappled and tried shifting our weight around for a long while, trying to gain the advantage over each other. After about fifteen minutes, we gave up. It was obvious neither of us would win.

I leaned back against the couch, breathing heavily. "Ok, so you're not eight years old."

"That's what I thought," Mike said triumphantly with a grin. "Neither are you apparently."

"Hmm?" I queried. I followed his eyes. I was sporting a hard-on through my jeans. "Oh that," I said off-handedly. "Um, must have been the friction."

I looked up and saw him staring into my eyes with a very serious look on his face. "There was a reason we came here, you know."

I shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes things get to you. I keep meaning to bring up what we talked about last weekend, but I never seem to get to it."

"That's not what I meant." His tone was a little strange, not something I recognized. He reached into his pocket to pull something out. I wasn't quite following. I was in the middle of some kind of important moment, but I wasn't sure what.

Mike pulled a blue package from his wallet. I recognized it immediately. He had a condom. The fact that I thought about saying "What's that for?" made me feel incredibly stupid. "Um, Mike, what's up?"

"I've wanted this to happen between us since we met. I knew that you were the one, even if it wasn't consciously." He looked awfully serious. Were we approaching intimacy? I'd always heard about it, but can't say that I'd ever experienced it.

"Mike," I said in my most loving one, "we only have to do what we want to do. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded. "I do know that. A lot of gay people I've met with in secret, in dark little places away from the rest of the world, were only interested in sex. I was young, and I guess good-looking."

"You're gorgeous," I interrupted.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't matter. I don't care what I look like. I don't care what you look like. I've never done anything with another guy, not even kissed."

"You're a virgin?" I found this very hard to believe.

"Well, I am where guys are concerned."

"I know. I know exactly what you mean. I had sex with girls because it's what I thought I had to do. It was expected of us. So, I did it. I didn't have feelings for them. Maybe feelings of friendship, but not love. Love never accompanied sex with me. Not until now."

He looked at me a bit surprised. "You've never done anything with a guy? Last week I thought..."

"Yeah, last week was the first time I've ever given anyone a blow job. I'm not the type that goes around nailing anything that moves. I moved from relationship to relationship, hoping that I'd find one that made me happy. You know what? They never did. Not a single one. I wasn't miserable, but I never felt full. Not the way I feel about you."

He leaned over and put his hand on the back of my head. I closed my eyes at the feeling of his touch. He pulled me forward gently until my lips met his. It was his lips that always drew me in. Once I felt them, I knew I was lost, never to be recovered. His tongue entered my mouth, though I couldn't really feel it. I didn't feel anything physical. I felt him, who he was. I pulled back and stared into his perfectly blue eyes. They were such a reflection of the ocean. They could almost make one weep for their beauty.

"I love you, Mike. I know I do. I've never felt love before, and I know now that I can't ever let it go now that I have. If we do this, it's binding. Too many times have I sacrificed who I am so I could fit in. I want to be who I am. I want to be that with you."

He smiled and kissed me again quickly. "You don't have to worry about anything. I'm here to stay. I think I was saving myself for you. I knew you were out there. It was just matter of finding you. And, now that I have, I know exactly what I want. I want you."

I kissed him again, more fiercely this time. He wrapped his arms around me and dragged me to the floor on top of him. How many times had I done this with a girl? How many times had I been in the exact same position, being self conscious of what my every move was? I kept track of where every part of my body lay. It wasn't like that this time. I knew only one thing: I knew that this was where I was meant to be, and I didn't care what my body was doing. It was natural. I was driven by instinct, and I knew nothing could stop me.

I lifted Mike's shirt over his head, our eyes connected so desperately that nothing could ever tear them apart. It took mere fractions of a second before my shirt was on the floor next to his. It felt so good to be there, our warm skin touching. There was no fabric, not silk, nor velvet, nor even a warm quilt in the middle of winter, that could compare to the sensation of having the man I loved beneath me. If I died, with that feeling as my last, I would have been happy.

Mike bent his head lower, kissing and caressing my neck with his tongue. I leaned into him, my eyes sealed shut. Every part of me tingled and filled with a raucous energy that could not be matched. I wanted to melt into him, to be as close as possible. So involved was I that I didn't realize his hands were working furiously at the button of my jeans.

In moments, we were both there, in our boxers, a hardness between us that only added to our frantic movements. I thrust against him, little explosions of feeling riding through my crotch as I felt our hearts pounding against each other. We were lost in each other's mouths, so consumed that I don't think either of us knew anything but the moment we were in.

Mike's hands massaged my lower back, moving just under the elastic band of my boxers. Lifting them up, he tried to pull them down, but didn't quite reach all the way. I broke off our kiss and smiled, trying to help him remove them. Unfortunately, I turned out to be just a little clumsier than he was. With my shorts to my knees, I tangled myself up, falling on top of him. The breath rushed from our lungs with an "oof."

With that air went the seriousness of the moment. I rolled onto the floor half-laughing, half apologizing. "So much for being a porn star," I giggled.

"What, you mean you can't go for four hours straight? I'm wildly disappointed." Mike tried to pout by pursing his lips, but he betrayed himself by laughing.

"Hey, you'll be lucky if ya get me to go four minutes!" I removed my boxers all the way, not really caring that I was naked. With anyone else, I might have been self conscious, but this was Mike. "But, what are we going to do about this?" I asked, sliding my hand up and down his shaft through his boxers. "I don't think it's fair that only one of us is naked."

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly at my touch. Then, he looked at me with his characteristic half-grin and grabbed my wrist. "I should probably help you with that, huh?" He slid his boxers down to his knees, and I took them all the way off.

There we were, naked. The newfound love of my life lying on the floor beneath me, smiling. Smiling at me of all people. I put my hand on his chest for the pure reason that I didn't really know what else to do. His skin was warm and soft, through I could feel the firmness of muscle just beneath the surface.

I felt his hand against my cheek. He was being so gentle with me now. Never in all my experience had moments flowed from one expression to the next with such ease. "You don't know what to do, do you?"

"No idea," I said quietly, with a hint of humor. I chuckled to myself slightly. "Well, I know what goes where. I wasn't born yesterday, though it feels like it." Did people talk this much during sex? I don't think I ever had with a girl. Then again, that was always something I just wanted to get over with. Now, I felt like I was sharing something.

"Here." He reached over to his jeans, fumbling through the pockets. He brought out a small, white tube with red print on it. "This will probably make things easier on both of us." He put it in my hand.

KY Jelly. Well, I knew what this was at least. Bending down, I uncapped the bottle and applied some to my fingers. I shifted myself lower, waiting for him to spread his legs. Reaching underneath, it didn't take me long to find the entrance to my love. I slowly slid one finger in, being conscious to not cause him any pain. "It's ok," he reassured me.

I moved around inside of him, knowing that he'd have to be loosened if this experience was going to go smoothly for either of us. He was so warm, the satin walls throbbing against my touch. When I thought he was ready, I placed another finger in. Things seemed to be going easily for him. He laid his head back on the floor and whimpered, but not from hurt. "I think I'm ready," he said, exhaling heavily.

I nodded solemnly, almost religiously, and grabbed the condom. Of course, the packages on those are hard enough to open as it is. It didn't help that my hands were slick. I struggled with the plastic, only to watch it slid in my grasp. "Uh, problem," I stated, a little embarrassed.

Mike laughed, breaking the tension and took it from me. Using his teeth, he tore it open and gave it back to me. I started rolling it over my rock hard tool, only to realize I had it on backwards. I sighed, laughingly inwardly. Wow, could this have been any more complicated?

Once I made sure that everything was on straight (no pun intended), I hovered over him, looking into his eyes. I was not about to make any move unless he was absolutely sure and ready. A silent nod was all I needed to start.

I drew my body over him, letting him adjust his legs until his thighs were pressing against my sides. He reached down guiding myself towards him. I stopped when I reached where I thought I should be and pressed forward ever so slightly.

Ouch.

Ok, wrong place.

I felt a hand wrap around me, a shiver passing through my body. It pulled me forward, until I felt a warm, wet place just below the head. "There ya go, tiger," Mike said gently.

I pushed my head into him, until it was submerged just beneath the ridge. Flesh closed around me immediately, making me gasp. I bit my lip, waiting for the electric feelings subside before going any further. The lubricant aided me in entering, Mike's body offering small resistance. I kept my eyes locked on his face, prepared to pull out at the first sign of pain.

His eyes were closed, peaceful. He had a look of infinite patience on his face. He was waiting for me. I knew once we passed this first thresh hold, everything would be ok.

Mike's passage opened up suddenly, unexpectedly. Before I knew what was happening, I was plunged completely inside of him. The veins on his neck protruded as he clenched his teeth. "I'm sorry," I stammered, anxiety taking hold. "I wasn't expecting that."

"It's ok," he smiled to reassure me, relaxing somewhat. "I did that. It wasn't your fault."

"Heh, ok. But warn me next time."

"Will do, captain."

My feelings of apprehension and fear washing away, I began to concentrate more on the sensations running through my body. I was completely engulfed within him. This was the closeness that I had always been looking for. I was inside of him. We were connected in a way I had never been before. Never with anyone I loved.

Mikes hips started thrusting down against me. He wanted this. I wanted this. Steeling myself, I began to rock back and forth against him, sliding effortlessly in and out. I supported myself with one hand, using the other to caress him, rubbing his chest, his neck, the ridges of his stomach. I wanted him to be as consumed as I was quickly becoming.

Little tingles shot up and down my spine as I increased my pace. The was an intense pressure within my groin, coupled with the unbelievable heat of Mike. He started to groan, only urging me onward. Every little movement he made caused me to twitch with pleasure.

I reached down and took his hardness into my hand, stroking him up and down in time with my thrusts. A river of pre cum poured down his shaft, even as he throbbed and pulsed between my fingers. My breath came in sharp gasps and groans, my chest heaving from the exertion. Soon, I was pumping furiously, every emotion, frustration, and love pouring into this one act.

Mike was squirming on the ground, his eyes tightly shut, his white teeth clamped down on his lower lip. I felt him constricting around me, holding me in. I had to kiss him. I needed to kiss him. As soon as my lips found his, I felt a crazy pounding around my cock, running up and around the entire shaft. The taunting finally threw me over the edge.

I cried out, muffled though I was by Mike's mouth. A valve inside me finally opened. A dam collapsed as my hot flood poured out of me with an explosive roar. Something searing burst against my stomach and chest in a great gush. I was bucking madly, my entire body well beyond my control. His legs threatened to crush me, so strongly were they pressing against me.

It took a few moments for the bright flashes of light to leave my vision. When they did, I felt a warm darkness wash over me, taking any vestige of energy left with it. Every muscle I knew of, and many I hadn't, unwound in one, short second.

I fell heavily, turning just slightly so I was next to Mike. His legs were still wrapped around me though the were limp. I felt my spent tool slide out of him. Our arms wrapped around each other, we just lay there panting heavily, covered in sweat. My heart drummed loudly, slowing down to an impossibly sluggish rate.

We were quiet for a long time, basking in the warmth and glow of what we had just done. I was tempted to give into the sleep that threatened to overcome me, but I held it at bay for the time being. I wanted to make the moment last as long as possible.

"Was it good for you?" Mike asked, a smile in his voice.

I laughed. "What absolute torture. God, I hope I never have to that ever again."

He squeezed me and kissed my cheek, laying his arm over my chest. "Well, that can be arranged."

"Over my dead body," I declared, kissing him back.

"I hope not. I'm against necrophelia."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Limp things turn me off too."

We both laughed, traded jokes back and forth, occasionally falling silent to enjoy the afterglow of lovemaking. I don't know what time it was, but the sunlight was just beginning to filter through the window when we fell asleep...

tbc