Dannys First Love

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Danny's First Love, part ten

By Anthony Scordato

I had a very small one-bedroom apartment within walking distance of the UCSF campus. We made small talk on the way there. I had planned on making stir-fry for dinner. Standing in my small kitchen we chopped vegetables and diced up the chicken.

"You okay with brown rice," I asked.

"Yeah. I love brown rice."

I had mixed feeling about seeing him. On one level it was as if I had seen him just weeks ago. I felt as I had always felt when with him Ð comfortable. But I was also feeling angry. I didn't know if I should ask questions or wait for him to continue.

I opened a bottle of wine and took out two glasses. "None for me," he said.

I poured myself a glass of Chianti.

"Chianti," he said, looking at the bottle.

"I know it sounds clichŽ but I've embraced my Italian heritage."

"Your father."

"Not so much. My mother is also Italian."

"I didn't know that."

"Sophia Carmella Rizzo. Can't more Italian than that."

"Aren't most Italians great cooks?"

"Yeah, but she didn't get the cooking gene."

"She kept the Spatola."

"Yeah. I think because it's my name. Her family is from the region of Chianti," I said and smiled as I lifted my glass. "I'm actually 100 percent Italian. I've decided that I'm going to take a month off sometime and travel through my homeland."

He smiled. "You've got those high cheekbones and Italian nose and your coloring; olive skin and dark hair. I always said you were gorgeous."

I felt myself blush. "Gorgeous. Right."

"If you're going to embrace your Italian heritage you've got to embrace the attitude."

I nodded.

"A month in Italy. Sounds fantastic."

Silence. As I set the table, it occurred to me that I missed him terribly and there was the anger again.

"So," he said cutting up an onion. "As I was saying. I ran. I had no real money other than what your mother gave me and nowhere to go. So, as you know, I joined the Marines."

"You had talked about joining. But I never thought you were serious."

"I was and wasn't. But it was all I had. When I joined I told them that I wanted to be a medic."

"I think either Greg or Jeff told me that you had been thinking of that."

"You always talked about medicine and it kind of interested me. I knew I'd never get into medical school. Anyway, they trained me to be as medic and then sent me to Afghanistan. I mean I knew going in that was where I'd go, but I figured being a medic was better than killing people and it would give me something when I got out.

As he started explaining, I felt myself getting angrier. How dare he be out there planning is life when I was falling apart with fear that he might have killed himself.

"While I was in training," he said and paused. "So, I'm not going to tell you what to think or feel, but all I ask is that you don't feel sorry for me or pity me."

I stared at him. "There's probably little chance of that."

He seemed taken aback. "Like I said, I was running scared. Anxiety attacks, which after I joined the Marines turned into panic attacks." He sighed. "I had made a huge decision. Several. One was to run from you, the other was to join the Marines. Both seemed like forever decision and I was afraid I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I started drinking and drinking a lot."

"Started?" I said.

"Well, yeah, you're right. But I mean every night. This was before I went over, while I was in training." Again he paused. "I became an alcoholic, am an alcoholic. I've been sober now for five years. I've been in AA for almost seven. I've tried to make amends with people I've wronged but I wasn't ready until now to talk to you."

"Really? And why is that?"

"Because you were very important to me Ð are very important to me. And I knew I had to tell you my entire story. No, I wanted to tell you my entire story and only you. You'll understand. But I've not been ready. The last time," he sighed. "It didn't go well and I started drinking again."

He wasn't ready! This isn't working, I thought. I'm only getting angrier. "Who did you tell?"

He shook his head. "My mother. But anyway," he said, exhaling loudly. "Here's the onion. What else?"

"Ah, there's some broccoli and other veggies in the frig."

"Can we skip the broccoli?"

"Yeah, sure."

"What are you putting in the sauce?"

"Oh. Ah, I don't think there's any alcohol in anything. Is there?" I lined up the bottles. "There's soy sauce, honey, garlic, sesame oil and red pepper flakes."

"Yumm. So, back to San Diego," he said as he started chopping veggies. "Drinking a lot. I met this guy. He told me that I could make good money if I let him video me masturbating."

I glanced at him. We made eye contact. He said, "Seems like something I'd do, doesn't it?"

I nodded.

"He gave me a grand for sitting in a studio, on a sofa naked and masturbate in different positions for an hour and of course he'd have to cop a feel."

"A grand. Not bad," I said tight jawed. "You were always an exhibitionist."

"Still am. I mean I'm not making videos anymore. That led to jerking off with another guy and letting him blow me and then more drinking. Then I was sent to Afghanistan. I was good at being a medic. It was tough but I was good at it. And the booze helped. It helped a lot. I met a guy there. We became buddies and well he was bisexual so it became this thing that on duty I was a medic and off duty I was drunk and having sex when and where we could. The more sex the more booze." I heard him exhale loudly. "In my drunken haze, I think I was looking for you."

"You didn't have to look for me in Afghanistan. I was at home, hoping to hear from you."

"I know. I know you're angry and I don't blame you. But please, just hear me out."

I sighed and then nodded.

The meat was diced. The sauce was ready. The veggies were all cut up and the rice was done. He helped me cook everything and get it to the table.

We sat and began to eat. "When I got back to the states I was pretty messed up. Needed the booze. Needed money. More videos. Gay videos."

"Porn star," I said.

"No. This was all just cheap stuff. Just for online shit. This guy trying to make money by putting guys having sex live online. But it was money. Money for booze. Then back to Afghanistan. I had put in almost four years. I was back in the states and got into a bar fight. I was arrested. So was the other guy. I was lucky because I had blacked out and had no memory of any of it. People testified that he threw the first punch and I got the best of him. But I beat him pretty bad."

"Like you did your brother?"

"Ah, yeah. But not about that yet, okay?"

I nodded. "They had to pull me off of him. The judge said I had a choice Ð jail or rehab."

"You're lucky. I mean being drunk and you got the best of him. You could have had the shit kicked out of you or worse."

"I was lucky. The military got me into a rehab program. The program I got into was AA. When I got out I was honorably discharged. I was also lucky because my AA sponsor was a gay Marine who had a similar story. This guy saved my life a couple of times.

Gay, I thought. Does he think he's gay?

"You've become a good cook," he said. "No surprise there. You were always good at everything you did."

"Everything? If I remember correctly, most of what I did, you taught me how to do."

"Not cook," he said and smiled.

"Not cook."

We got up from the table and started cleaning the kitchen.

He said, "I had the GI-Bill. Ken, my sponsor, convinced me to take classes. I needed some prerequisites to get into nursing school."

"Nursing school," I said surprised. "Did you?"

"Yeah. I'm a trauma level one nurse. I work in the Emergency Department at UC San Diego."

"UCSF is a level one trauma facility."

"I know."

"Well good for you. I've been down to the emergency department. I did a rotation in the ED and now part of what I do is teach med students and take them through the ED."

"Yeah, I work with med students on their rotations."

"Weird, isn't it, how we both wound up in medicine, helping people. It's what we used to talk about."

"I remember," he said. "So, enough heavy talk for tonight. Is that okay?"

I took a deep breath. I said I'd let him explain. Part of me wanted answers now and if not have him be on his way. Another part remembered that Ryan always seemed to have it too easy in some ways and outrageously tough in other way. I felt myself softening. "Yeah, sure."

"How about coffee and dessert. My treat."

"Okay. I know a place we can walk to. It has outside tables."

As we walked to the cafŽ, I asked, "Where are you staying?"

"The Hilton downtown."

"That's got to be costing you."

"It's okay."

"When's your flight out?"

"Monday late morning."

"Why don't we call a cab, head downtown to Columbus Ave for dessert and then,"

"What's on Columbus Ave?"

"Italian cafes." We looked at each other and I smiled. I think it was the first time since he caught me at my office door. "We can get an espresso and pastry. Then we can walk up to your hotel and if you want we can check you out. My sofa is a Futon. It opens to a queen size bed. If you don't mind sleeping there, it will save you money."

"Are you sure?"

I stared at him. "Do you want the truth?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'm not sure I trust you. You've walked into my life and offered a long awaited explanation. Part of me thinks if this gets tough, you'll just disappear again. So, yeah. That will give us time to catch up, hang out and time for you to tell me all that you want to tell me. And I'll get to respond before you take off again."

"That's more than fair."

We had to wait for a table. We made small talk and at some point I decided to give him a fair chance to explain and put my anger aside. We were finally able to get a table. We ordered espressos and three different kinds of pastry (Cannoli, Sfogliatelle, Pasticciotte) to share. After we received our order, he said, "So, which is your favorite?"

"I love them all, but probably the Cannoli."

He took a bit of his. His eyes widened. "Damn, that is good."

I smiled. "Can you guess what the filling is made of?"

He licked some from the pastry. "Some kind of cream maybe?"

"It's Ricotta cheese. They beat it with confectionary sugar and cream and that's what you get."

"Damn. I think I'm in love with everything Italian," he said and blushed.

"The flattery isn't going to work, Ryan."

He sighed. "It's not intentional. I'm just so very nervous and, well, not that I didn't know this before, but seeing you reminds me of how much I've missed you."

I nodded.

"So, enough about me for tonight. I know you went to Berkeley for undergrad. Tell me all there is to know about your life."

"My life. Professionally."

"And personal."

"First professional. That's easy. UC Berkeley for undergrad as you said. My major was biology and my minor was chemistry. I wanted to do research, medical stuff Ð disease related. I was accepted into a master's program at UCSF. Six months into it and my major professor called me in and said she wanted me in the MD, PhD program, which meant I had to get into the medical school. Since she was one of the directors there she said I'd have no trouble."

"Why did she want you in that program?"

"Well, I had decided that I wanted to do research in childhood leukemia. I'd have to have a PhD, which was my ultimate plan. But if you only have a PhD, you have to work with an MD."

"Why?"

"Well, you can't see patients or treat patients if you only have a PhD and you can't direct research projects if you only have an MD."

"So, you needed both."

"Well, it's to your advantage to have both. So, I did three years of medical school while working for her in her lab and then worked on my dissertation for my PhD. Now I still work for her. I mean I work under her government grant, but I have my own team."

"So you see kids with leukemia? You treat them?"

"I'm part of their team. It's a team approach. But yeah."

"Damn, that's got to be tough. I mean kids."

"Yes, but the truth is that we are having much higher rates of success than adult onset leukemia. But we're making breakthroughs that might help everyone. At least that's our hope."

"And you teach?"

"Yes. I actually enjoy that a lot more than I thought I would. I had to get over seeing myself as a fifteen year old doofus who didn't know jack shit."

"You were never a doofus and come on Danny, you never ever didn't know shit. You were born knowing shit."

"And you were a lot smarter than you gave yourself credit for."

"That's true. I can say that now."

"Good for you," I said smiling.

"It is kind of sad we had so little self confidence. I mean I was overly confident in my physical and athletic abilities but thought I was, how is it they say, one of the dullest knives in the drawer."

"And until you convinced me to run track, I was sure I was the least athletic guy in our school. And then I lettered in JV and Varsity cross-country and track."

"Sad, isn't it. Okay, so, one more question. I notice that on people's doors their names are followed by MD then PhD and you keep saying that. Is that because you got the MD first?"

"No. Your highest degree goes last. Let's say you got a PhD in History and then went back to college and got a Master's degree in French. You'd sill list your degrees as MA and then PhD."

"Really. So PhD is a higher degree than an MD?"

"Definitely."

We sipped out coffee and ate our pastries.

"Okay. Now personal," he said.

"That's a short but sad story. I had boyfriends along the way but never got serious with any of them. I mean, I never lived with them. I never really gave them a chance. I told myself that I wasn't ready for commitment or that the sex was lousy or that I was feeling rushed. A lot of excuses." I glanced from him to the window behind him and stared. Then I looked back at him. "Anyway, I always left before it got serious on my end."

"Didn't want to get left."

"So my therapist has said."

"I really kicked your ass, didn't I?"

"Well," I thought for a moment. "Yes, but what you did was tear the scab off a very deep wound."

"Deep wound?"

"My dad leaving. He just was gone one day. He left my mother and left me. He never even said goodbye. When I visited him, it was like he didn't really want me there. His new girlfriend and her kids certainly didn't."

"And you never went back."

"Never. And he never called or reached out to me again. I don't even know if he's dead or alive. I just sucked it all in, locked it up tight in a box and went on with my life. Then I fell in love with you, fell hard I'd say and then,"

"I was gone. No word. Just up and left like your father."

"Just like my father. And I stood around waiting for you to reach out to me and you didn't just like my father."

"Fuck. I'm sorry. So sorry."

I shrugged. "My therapist has pointed out to me that what I did and am still doing with my father is sitting back and waiting rather than reaching out to make the connection I want, even if it is to say fuck you asshole."

We stared at each other.

"Do you think you'll ever reach out to him?"

I sighed and shrugged.

"Would you ever have reached out to me?"

"I don't know. Probably not. But anyway, the scab had to be ripped off at some point. At least that's what he says."

"Your therapist?"

I nodded. "I got into therapy a couple of years ago. After several failed relationships and I had to look at what they all had in common." I smiled. "Me."

"You with anyone now?"

"No. I've been taking a break. You have a girlfriend?"

"Ah, no woman in my love life anymore. Only men and no boyfriend now either."

"Two gay bachelors on the town here in San Francisco."

He smiled. "Sad."

"Let's head to your hotel and then take a cab back to my place."

We unfolded the Futon and made it up. He took a shower and entered the living room in a tee shirt and his boxer briefs. I said, "You look like you've kept in shape. You still work out with weights?"

"Not so much, but sometimes. Mostly I swim."

"Really. So do I."

"Yeah, you look to be in great shape."

I felt my face warm. "I swim 4-5 times a week; to stay in shape but mostly to stay sane. There's an Olympic size pool at University of San Francisco. It's about two miles from here. I have a pass."

"Yeah, I swim at the university pool too."

"How about we have a light breakfast in the morning, walk over to the pool and swim for an hour."

"I don't have anything."

"We're the same size. You can fit into one of my Speedos."

"Oh, you've grown since I last saw you."

I laughed. "Cock bit."

He laughed. "No one has ever called me cock bit except you."

"That's what you called me."

He smiled.

I had a hard time falling asleep. The fact that he just up and left fell from my thoughts. All I could think about was all the good times we had as children, the safety he provided me as a gay teenager and the moments of mutual pleasure. Was he here to make amends as he said, to tell whatever story he had to tell or did he want to reconnect? What did I want? And what story could he possible have to tell that I didn't know?

Finally, I fell asleep.

We had eggs, English muffins and coffee for breakfast. We chatted for a while and then walked to the USF campus. I had a guest pass and was able to get him into the pool for a workout. We shared a locker, undressing beside each other.

We swam laps for almost and hour, him following me and always close on my heels. We showered beside each other and dressed at the locker. Walking back to my apartment, Ryan said, "Time sure change things."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I remember when you were a tall skinny kid. Now you're a tall well defined, fit young man. I remember when you were shy. Now you stand in an open shower, naked and oblivious to being checked out and then you walk to your locker with your towel over your shoulder and your dick swinging in the air. Not a care in the world."

I chuckled. "Dick swinging?"

"It's a Marine thing. Get you swinging dick out here now. Shit like that."

"Ah."

"I also remember when you couldn't not pull wood if you saw me naked. Now, limp dick."

I laughed loudly. "I kept my eyes focused on your receding hair line."

We both laughed.

Silently, we walked up my street. There had been no other person in my life that I could be teased by and tease and feel so confident and comfortable. I never questioned his intentions or thought there might be hidden meaning. Maybe it was because he was always so obvious.

He broke the silence and said," I was just thinking that I would never have said that to anyone but you. I hope I didn't over step."

"No. Not at all. I was just thinking how ease it is with you."

I unlocked the door to my apartment. "Coffee?" I said.

"Yeah, sure." He sat at the counter and I made the coffee. "Let me throw all the towels and wet stuff into a washer. Where is it?"

"There are coin operated ones in the basement. I can do it."

"No, I'll run down while you do the coffee."

I poured two cups of coffee. We sat on the Futon. He said, "So, with what I want to tell you. You can stop me and ask me any questions you want. But like I said, just don't feel sorry for me. I don't think I could take that."

"This is about the beating you gave your brother and, from what I heard your father tried to break you up and then you beat on him. I mean I know your father was an ass and the shit he did to you."

"It's not about him or what he did to me. Well somewhat, but not really."

We sat at opposite ends of the Futon half facing each other. I watched as he stared at his coffee cup and ran his finger around its rim. I began to feel nervous. What could this all be about? I wondered. He looked up at me. "What's your first memory?"

"Ah, well." I closed my eyes and thought.

"Do you remember your first day of kindergarten?"

"No. Ah, I guess I remember the Christmas before my dad left. I remember the Legos set I got and him being there. I remember the day soon after that that I got up to go to school and he was home. Usually, he would have left for work already. My mom would take me to school and then my dad would pick me up. But that day they were both home, like a weekend. She took me to school but then she picked me up. I asked her where Dad was and that's when she told me he left. So, I guess I was seven. So, I guess I was in the second grade."

I looked at him. He nodded and then turned his attention to his coffee cup. Then he looked at me. "Well, here's the thing. Like you can't remember the first time you were left at school, I can't remember the first time I sucked my brother's cock."

I left my stomach churn and my face tingle. I shook my head. "Fuck, Ryan. Really?"

He exhaled loudly. "So, he'd wait for me at school. My dad worked. As you know, my mom kept the records and books at his office. She'd pick up my sister and take her to her gymnastics classes after school. Mark waited for me. When we'd get home, he'd make me get naked. Well, that's not entirely true. I only remember that I'd automatically undress because that's what I was use to doing I guess. He would tell me how to pose so he could look at me in different ways. He'd play with my cock until I had an erection. Then I'd pose while he masturbated while looking at me and touching me and I'd have to watch him masturbate. Then he'd make me masturbate him and then he'd put his hand on the back of my head and put my face in his crotch. I'd suck his cock until he came and then I'd swallow his load. After he came he'd tell me to get dressed. I'd pull on my clothes and run up to your house. I'd hang out there or we'd take off on one of our adventures. Once I was with you, it was like it never happened. I'd just block it out and be happy to see you."

I didn't know what I was feeling, but my entire body felt like it was going to start shaking. "You never told anyone?"

He shook his head. "He told me that if people knew, I'd be taken to a special school for boys. I'd never see my parents again."

"How old were you? I mean when you remember?"

"Not sure. But it was before your dad left. So when I was seven or eight, because you were seven when he left."

"Why before my dad? I mean,"

"Well, it always happened when my parents weren't home."

"Okay." I was trying to act like I was not fazed by what he told me, but I was feeling ill.

"When you're dad left, your mother asked my mother if Mark could pick you up at school too. We got out at the same time."

"Oh yeah, but he didn't. Your mom picked us up. I remember she'd take you and me along with her to Kristen's classes and we'd do our homework or just goof around. Then I'd come over to your house until my mom got home from work."

"Right. So I remember that everyday after school I'd suck his cock, but I have no memory of the first time. I just remember that I did it. Then it changed when your dad left. So by then I was eight and Mark was in high school. He and I always shared a room. I'd go to sleep at around nine and he'd stay up. When everyone went to bed, he'd wake me up and pull me out of my bed."

"Damn. What a fucking bastard."

"What I do remember is when he fucked me for the first time."

"Fuck," I said. I felt tears sitting on my eyelids.

"It was right around when your dad left. He told me that a friend of talked about wanting to fuck his girlfriend in the ass so she wouldn't get pregnant. So he was going to fuck me in the ass. He couldn't figure out how to get it in at first. Then he realized he needed something slippery on his dick. He got my mother's cooking oil. He put it on my butt and his cock. I remember thinking it was really weird. Then he forced himself into me. I remember how painful it was. I screamed and cried until he took it out.

"Days later he told me he talked to his friend and the friend told him how to do it. I didn't want to try it again. I cried and begged him to let me just suck his cock. He'd said, you want to suck my dick'. I'd say yes' and go down on him. But, it was just before your dad left that he got into my ass again. That time he didn't force it. I still cried but he fucked me until he came."

I sat there shaking my head, feeling sick to my stomach.

"So when he'd wake me up he'd touch and look at me and I'd try to give him head before he'd go for my ass. He'd make me beg and say I loved doing it to him. Most of the time that worked, but when I knew it wasn't going to work was when he'd wake me up and take me into the shower. Then I was getting fucked no matter what."

"Damn, Ryan," I said shaking my head. "No one ever knew?"

"My father walked in one time. Neither of us heard him coming. He opened the bedroom door and saw us naked and Mark's dick in my mouth. Mark blurted out, he likes doing it'. He looked at me, shook his head and walked away, closing the door. He never said anything about it. One time when he was yelling at me and telling me how smart and great Mark was, I said that he made me do stuff to him. I said, you know about it. You saw.'"

"What did he say?"

"Brothers do that kind of stuff. It doesn't mean anything."

"Fuck. What a fucking asshole. Brothers do that. Well maybe some brothers do, but he was eight years older than you."

"What's weird is that I believed him."

"Okay, so you don't know when it started. Fuck, that's got to drive you crazy. I mean it would drive me nuts." I was feeling physically ill. I remembered the drunken New Year's Eve when he told me his secret about thinking about suicide. "I'm sorry. I'm getting upset."

"Get upset. It's fine with me."

"It's all bad," I said, shaking my head. "When did it stop?"

"Well, so I was a little late going into puberty I guess, or right about on time. I started getting pubic hair when I was twelve. But I started get cum before then I think. But when I got hair he was around nineteen and at college. That summer he didn't look at me naked or touch me but he'd still have me suck him off. The summer when I was thirteen he wanted me to blow him and I said no. He had graduated Stanford that summer and left for Yale. After that he hardly ever came home. So that was it."

"Until he came home the summer you graduated."

"Yeah. He came home and just moved into my room. I could hardly stand being around him. Just being around him made me ill. He was going to be there for a while, he said. He had to take his bar exam in California. The third or fourth day he was there, he and I had words. He called me a cock-sucking faggot. This was just after our camping trip. You had gone to Berkeley."

"He just out of the blue calls you a faggot?"

He sighed. "Don't get weird about this, okay?"

"What?"

"I got home. He was there. We didn't say a word. My parents were around. But that Tuesday I think, after I came home from work, he asked about you."

"Me?"

He nodded. "You know, us being on a camping trip for ten days. He told me that when you were a kid he thought you'd be a good piece of ass. I felt my blood boiling. Then he told me that after your dad left, he went up a couple of times to your house and offered to act like an older brother to you. You're mother said okay."

"Fuck, I remember that. He creeped me out." My stomach churned. "Fuck, Ryan, he'd always start tickling me. I hated his hands on me."

"Where did he try tickling you?"

"My legs," I felt my face burning hot. "That fuckin bastard. I told my mom that he creeped me out and that I didn't want him to be around and then he stopped coming."

"Fuck. He said at the time he had this fantasy of us being kids and doing each other while he watched and then he'd do you. He thought you were gay and said that he didn't get to do you but he figured I had and that I always loved sucking cock. Then he said, and it was like we were close buddies, you know sharing stories. He said, So you've tapping that nice piece of ass? What's it like? I glared at him and started toward him. Danny, I was so angry I was literally shaking. He said, what? We both know you're a cock-sucking faggot. I think he thought I hit him because he called me a faggot. I hit him because he said he tried with you, when you were a kid and wanting to watch us do each other. I think all the anger I felt about what he did to me came out at that moment, but at that moment it was because he said he wanted to do you. I think the only reason he's alive is because my father had just come home.

"Anyway, I lost it. It all went black. I was beating on him when my dad ran in and tried to break it up. He pulled me off Mark, stepped back and back handed me across the face hard."

"And you beat on him," I said feeling my jaw clenching.

He nodded. "They threw me out with nothing. Well you know the rest."

"Look Ryan, I don't feel sorry for you, but I'm so sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry, I'm sad, I mean I feel like crying, but I'm furious too." I felt my angry rising. "I'm really angry. I want to find your brother. Where the fuck is he?"

"In Los Angeles someplace. And when you find him, what?"

"Kick his ass. Call the cops. Tell his wife. I don't know. Kill him maybe. God, I wanted to kick his ass before. Now I want to castrate him."

"Yeah, me too, but that doesn't really undo what was done."

"Did you ever tell your mother?"

"I talked to my mother after my father died. She was really angry at me for not showing up. Maybe mostly embarrassed. I went to explain everything, but when I started telling her about Mark she got really angry. I told her that my father knew about it and she became furious. She said that I was blackening my father's memory and that I was vindictive and jealous of my brother's success."

"Damn."

"I was a couple of years sober and not all that strong in my sobriety so I started drinking. I think part of me still blamed myself for at least participating. And like you said, I couldn't remember how it all started."

"You can't think that you started it."

"I think I questioned it. I've always liked looking at guys jerking off. You know that. Maybe when I was four years old and he was twelve, you know he started jerking off and I wanted to watch and touch and stuff."

"Ryan, you really don't think that it's your fault."

"Not now, but for years I kind of thought that maybe it was me. And then when my father said that brothers do that stuff, well it kind of said that this happens and just accept it."

"Now I know why you weren't at your father's funeral. If I knew this I would have gone and pissed on his grave."

Ryan half smiled. "You know, you were my safe place, my escape, my best friend. When we were kids we could go on adventures get naked or go to the river and swim naked and nothing bad ever happened. I think you kept me sane."

Hearing that I made the world safe for him filled me with sadness. Two kids saving each other from what was too hard to process. Tears fell from my eyes. "That's what you were to me. I loved our adventures and you made the world safe for me. Especially at school." I wiped tears from my cheeks. "Wait, you always asked how I was."

"When?"

"Remember when we jerked off together, when we jerked each other off. How are you with this, you'd ask. Are you sure you're okay with what we did? Then you stopped suggesting stuff to do and we wouldn't do anything unless I asked. Did you really think it was the same as you and Mark, because I promise you it was like all my dreams were coming true?"

"I never wanted you to feel like I did. I was scared that you'd say yes because we were friends but that you'd hate it. I didn't want you to ever feel like you had to do stuff or something bad would happen. I think if you felt that way," his voice broke.

"Ryan. Never ever did I feel that way. I hope that's not still a concern."

"No. Danny, I don't know why, but while we were messing around, in my head it was all kind of an adventure. My therapist says that what I was trying to do was separate out desiring to have sex with someone versus being forced to have sex with someone. That in my teenage head, deep down someplace, I was trying to not be him. But the thing was that my therapist thinks that like with most much younger boys, I really looked up to and idealized and loved my older brother and then he molested and raped me. I knew I loved you, but as a friend, but when that love became being in-love, passionate love," he sighed loudly, "and Mark said he wanted to molest you," he paused, "all the pain, the anger the rage, the feeling betrayed by Mark came crashing to the surface."

"And your father. That betrayal."

He nodded.

I said, "I tore off your scab and you tore off mine."

"The biggest regret of my life was that I hurt you. God, it kills me that I hurt you." His voice cracked and tears fell. "The one person; the only person who mattered to me and I hurt you more than anyone else. I will for my entire life be grateful for having you as a friend and now that you're hearing me out. I ,"

I broke out into tears. Tears were falling off my face. He moved to me and we took each other into our arms. He was crying too.

"I'm sorry I'm crying," I said. "It just hurts to hear what happened to you. And I'm not pitting you. I hate that you were so hurt."

He stroked my head. I held him. "I 0hate that I hurt you."

We lay down on the Futon and held each other not speaking.

I sighed loudly. "I don't know what to say."

"Just that you understand and that you're not angry at me anymore."

"I understand and I'm not angry anymore. And I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. I've prayed for this. This is my dream come true. But I was sure you'd see me and turn and walk away."

"I thought about it."

"I hoped or I was pretty sure that if you let me apologize to you this would go well."

I glanced at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "I know you. You're a man with a heart."

"Then why tell me about your brother? I mean I'm glad you did, but you're right, probably an apology would have gone a long way."

"No more secrets between us. If you'll allow me back into your life there can't be secrets. Will you?"

"Allow you back in my life?" He nodded. "I'm lying with you in my arms. What does that mean?"

He looked at me and smiled. "Thank you."

I held him, wondering where we'd go from here.

"I know you'll always remember what I've told you. I'll always remember what happened. But from day to day I don't see myself in terms of that. I mean it doesn't define me. I survived incest, child molestation, my father's betrayal and beatings, my mother rejecting me, but I'm not a victim."

I ran my fingers through his hair. "Sounds healthy."

"When I say I don't want you to feel sorry for me or pity me what I mean is that I want you to see me as I am now, I mean when you get to know me again. Do you want to get to know me again?"

"Yes."

"I guess part of me is still the kid that was your friend. The perv. with whom you'd run around the forest peeing on anthills and getting erections and we'd stand on the huge rocks and point our penises at the sky and make believe we could launch missiles."

I chuckled. "Those were fun times."

We lay quietly for a while.

I said, "I get what you're saying. I do want to get to know you again. How do we do that?"

"Spend time together. It's only an hour plan flight. If we want to we can figure it out."

"Sounds good. I want you to get to know me too."

He glanced up at me and gave me a sly smile.

"What? Why the smile?"

"You'll always be that kind, caring, thoughtful guy you were when we were teenagers."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but I'm not shy anymore. Well, actually I am sometimes." He laughed. I said, "Fuck you. See I can be a little nasty too now."

"You were always a little nasty."

I chuckled. "I bet you're not that much different than you were then."

"Not personality wise, but I can't hide things anymore and I can't deal with being lied to. It kind of throws me into a hole. I spent so much time lying to myself and other people and not allowing myself to trust my own feelings or other people's feelings that I can't do that now. I guess it's all about trust."

I thought about how that was always something we had. We always trusted each other.

"Well, I'm all in favor of honesty."

Again we lay with each other quietly.

He looked up at me and said, "What are you thinking about?"

"Honestly?

He poked me.

"I grew up understanding how important you were to me. I mean when I figured out I was gay I lost sleep worrying about the day you'd find out. I thought you might reject me and I cried. It felt like you were the only person I had as a real friend. When I told my mother that I was gay, she said she knew all along."

"Really? When did you tell her and how did she know?"

I explained that day in the car after my camp to him. "She said that there was a smile that I had that only you could bring to my face. It was the way I looked at you. I absolutely believe that was true. I think there were moments of joy in my childhood and I can't think of one when you were not involved. So, the idea of losing you terrified me and made it clear to me how important you were to me.

"But what is weird is that I never even considered that I might be important to you. After you left, after the hurt subsided and I got in touch with the anger, I decided that I was important to you for the sex. You loved blowjobs and I was great at it. I decided that if it weren't for the sex play you would have lost interest in me."

"Danny,"

"Let me finish. I think I needed that to pull away from the pain. I think deep down I realized I was more important to you than just blowjobs. But I never ever thought I was making the world a safe place for you. I never thought you needed me as much as I needed you. As you said, you were Mr.-I've-got-it-all-together."

"Danny, I'm not sure that I knew consciously how much I needed you for me to stay sane. But it was to you that I ran every chance I had. Running through the forest, going to the river, being outrageous and laughing about it, helped keep me Mr.-I've-got-it-all-together. Then I threw you away and along with it all that kept me together."

He looked at me and said, "You said it had to happen sometime, in some way. I agree. It had to happen. If it didn't happen then, it would have happened later and maybe in a different way. Maybe in a much worse way."

I sighed, understanding that he was right.

He caught me again, silently thinking. He smiled. "Where did you go?"

Tears fell from my eyes.

"Danny. What?"

"No secrets?"

"You can have secrets, but I'm most comfortable not having them. Especially, with you."

"It's a secret you told me." I felt my jaw tightening again. "A secret that I wasn't allowed to tell you."