Title: That-Was-Then-6 Date: October 20, 2000 Contact: Ritch Christopher at ballmusic69@hotmail.com
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This a work of gay fiction based on a few loosely interwoven facts. It contains graphic language and descriptions of explicit sex. If you are underage and/or offended by such writings, exit now.
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The following chapter actually follows the end of part four. Part five was included for exposition, primarily for information and to explain Mark's feelings and actions better. This chapter will stretch into the five years beyond High School before Mark and Lance met for their last time, also described in part four. I received dozens and dozens of e-mail letters, asking why Lance and Mark parted, but sometimes, as in the movie, "The Way We Were", we learned that some relationships just aren't meant to be, as was Barbra and Robert, in real life it is sometimes, "OK" to get divorced. Love CAN happen again...and even, again, lots of times with the person or at a time we least expect. Lance found what he wanted in a wife and two kids...and tons of memories. Mark, learned to love again...many times...
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PART SIX:
A whole week had past since the fight. Lance was gone (God knows where?). Mark had stayed home all week after his mother had picked him up at Dan's on Wednesday. She had "heard". Lance's parents had "heard". Mark's dad pretended he hadn't "heard", and could probably care less. The kids at school whom had witnessed the altercation were abuzz..."Lance and Mark are gay?...Where did Kyle fit into the picture, was he gay too? Were they having a threesome. Mike took Mark home in his car...is Mike gay". Jesus! Would they ever stop?? Jesus! How could I make them stop? How the fuck could I face them for four more weeks until graduation? Graduation...what a great word...not only graduation from that crowd and that school, but from and to a whole new lifestyle. The had one thing right, OK, I, Mark was gay. I probably would have no friends at all, at school. Oh well, four weeks would pass and I would make plans to go to the University of Miami, or Richmond, or Vanderbilt...I had my choice...scholarship offers from each of them. I would find myself singing, "Moon Over Miami", daily when I bathed.
My music came too easily for me. I had had talent since I was three. By the time I was fifteen, I was already playing piano steadily at restaurants, hotels. weddings, parties, etc.. making as much as $300 per week. In those days, that was big bucks. I was earning more than my dad and my teachers. In spite of this, the idea of becoming a doctor was foremost in my dreams. I'd always heard there was a close correlation between music and medicine. I dreamed of becoming a doctor and being called to come and examine the boys football team for hernias and such...AND GET PAID FOR IT!!! I couldn't see following the "fellow" brick road by being a classical pianist. But, then, I had played the leads in my junior and senior plays and the male lead in the musical...Hell! I could always go to New York and become an actor. I had been acting one way or another, my whole life...pretending I wasn't gay...pretending I wasn't attracted to my male classmates...pretending to the world that I had a happy home life...pretending I wasn't a "momma's boy"...pretending that I didn't love Lance...Yeah, look out Broadway...HERE I COME!! I would wear my first Tony Award around my neck, like I had won a gold medal at the Olympics. Oh well, meanwhile...
Monday, at school, as I walked down the hall, I heard whispering and sniggering...to be expected. I went to my first class and saw Mike Curtis standing there talking to Brenda. She must have felt like a fool. I mean, didn't the whole school know we were going steady? When I got near them, Mike turned and with a pleasant smile and tone he said, "Hi, guy. You OK".
"Oh, yeah, just fine and dandy" I replied, rolling my eyes to the heavens. Where was that goddamned thunderbolt that was suppose to strike God's Favorite dead? I had sinned and hadn't been punished yet. Why? I thought, God has known what I've been doing with Lance for all these years and the only wrath I had felt had been from, Doug, my dad. Maybe, God didn't mind...Was God gay?...Jesus! Stop it! You're sounding like a loony.
Mike said, "Come on into class and sit by me. We'll sit and talk and lunch if you want to."
Why was he being so understanding? Even Brenda gave me a warm smile, not a smirk, a smile. Maybe, just maybe, I could get through the next four weeks. I had a message from the office, I was to call Dan Halpern. I guess the school secretary had thought that Lance and I had made the news. The idea of this tickled me. If they only knew. Instead of accepting Mike's lunch invitation, I went to the pay booth and called Dan.
When he heard my voice, he said in a deep resonance, "Hi, big guy. How are you making it through school today? I've had you on my mind since Wednesday."
"I'm gonna be OK, I think."
"I knew it. You know who and what you are now. I hope you remembered what I said to you."
"I remember. It was the best advice I've ever been given...By the way, I'm goddamned sure, now that I don't like green beans." We both, laughed out loud.
"Hey, big guy, I'm having some friends over for dinner Friday night. Would you like to come? A bunch of guys you've probably seen at the theatre, and a few more I would like you to meet...or I should have said a few more I would like to meet you."
"Sure, I'll try to borrow Mother's car. If she says no, I'll take a bus or fucking walk, if I have to,...but I'll be there!"
"Eight?"
"Eight."
"See ya...Love you, buddy.", he said. This came by surprise.
"Huh?...oh yeah, sure...Love you too." Did I say that? And why? I loved him for what he had done for me, but I didn't love him. Come to think of it, except for the way I felt about Lance, I didn't love anyone...not love, love.
Well, I made it through the first week...only three to go. Friday night was here and I was going to Dan's. I was too afraid to ask for the car, so I told Mike I would pay him $10.00 if he would come by the house and take me "somewhere". Not to ask, but to pretend to my mother that we were going to a movie. Ten bucks was a lot to him. Ten bucks use to be a lot to me, but to get to go to a party at Dan Halpern's was was worth that much and more. Mike had driven me there, "that" day. He still didn't know whose house it was, but being a good friend, he didn't ask. I know he wanted to. I know he suspected that his "queer" friend must be having a dirty date with someone. When we got there, I got out of his car...thanked him and he drove off. I knocked on Dan's door. I heard a crowd of voices inside.
Dan opened the door, spoke with those eyes, and gave me a big hug and a peck on the cheek. The room was filled with all guys. Guys I had seen on the stage, personalities I had seen on TV. I, had arrived!! Just like Dolly Levi. I felt a swell in my chest. I, who had been brought up in a poor home on the "other side" was hob-nobbing with the "theatre crowd". Eyes were looking at me from all directions. I, non-chalantly, looked down to see if my fly was open, because the way they were looking at me, I felt naked. I knew how the fox must fell when he's finally been surrounded by the hounds after the hunt.
I met Eddie, Brett, Jimmy, Duane, Lary (with one "r"), and I don't know who, all, else...Tom, Dick, and Harry, I guess...or as we use to joke in gym class...Tom's dick's hairy. There was a gay couple in their forties, Darren and Ron. Ron was also a pianist, a jazz pianist, and Darren was some kind of stock broker. Darren looked older because of his silver white hair and receding hairline. They had been lovers for eight years. Everyone seemed nice enough. I was impressed.
Everyone was having drinks. A sultry woman's voice was lamenting from the hi-fi. I later leaned, it was not a woman at all, it was a man and a trumpet player to boot, named Chet Baker. He sang a bunch of slow ballads, "Laura", "Look for the Silver Lining". and a tune I was quite taken by called "Lush Life", a song Billy Strayhorn had written for Duke Ellington. This song would later become a mantra for me when I lived in New York. My ears perked up as Chet sang the first line, "I use to visit the gay places, the come-what-may places...". I dispelled myself from the guys to give this song a closer listen.
Dan asked me if I would like a drink. Why not? I was an adult tonight. I have no idea what it was...it was cold, bitter, and it burned my throat and mouth. The record ended and Ron sat at Dan's baby grand and started to tinkle some quiet jazz. I was intrigued and moved to the piano.
"Wanna join me and play a duet?", Ron looked up and asked.
"I don't play jazz. I play classical and pop but I don't know how to play what you are doing."
"Nonsense. You do play jazz. I heard the child prodigy play the "Rhapsody with the symphony...and you were good. I mean, really good."
I sat down to the right of him on the piano bench, and before long we were combining out talents to a refrain of, "Our Love Is Here To Stay". The guys all gathered around the piano and became an audience. I was determined to impress them. I wanted to "belong".
We ate, and by now I was on my third drink. "What the hell is this?" I asked, when I suddenly heard my speech slur.
"It's called a Rusty Nail", Dan laughed. "It's a man's drink, young man".
Now was the time to have my tonsils out, my teeth pulled, and both legs cut off, because I wouldn't have felt a thing. Am I drunk? Is this what it feels like? I was angry at myself, because I didn't like what it was doing to me. I thought if I tried to walk, I would fall and make an ass out of myself. I guess the main reason I was angry is that my mother had started to drink and I hated her for it. Every night she would tank up on wine and would become Joan Crawford, with the nastiest sounding tongue. It was every night she would change from the sanctimonious Christian into a verbalizing horror. She would laugh at me...call me her little "queer"...get up in the middle of the night and pee in the floor, then crawl in bed with me, to keep from having sex with Doug. The next morning she was back to being the pious church-goer, never remembering a thing from the night before. This was just another nightmare I would soon escape from, as soon as I left for college in three months. This "time" was passing slowly.
Any rate, I had to pee and asked to be excused to go to the bathroom. When I stood, I reeled and managed a "Whew". Everyone laughed. Darren, the silver fox said, "You need some help, little buddy?"
"Hmmm...maybe...maybe if you could just point me to it."
He came over to my side of the table, put my arm over his shoulder and lifted me out of the chair. We walked, in tandem, to the bathroom. When we got inside, he closed the door and lifted up the toilet seat. I fumbled with my zipper and he finally said, "Here, let me".
"Let you what?"
"Let me help you with that thing. I've been in your condition many times and I know what you're going through", he added with a chuckle.
He unzipped my fly and dug around until he found my cock and pulled it out, pointing it to the blue water in the bowl.
"O.K., Mark, let it rip!"
Was anyone really ever able to pee when someone else had YOUR dick in HIS hand...especially when this was the first time anyone had ever done this to me...worse still, I was only eighteen and he was a forty- something stranger I had only met two hours ago.
Needless, to say, I couldn't pee in this situation. I could get hard though. GET HARD? What the fuck was I doing? It was a mere ten seconds before all seven and one half inches of me was pointing like a weather vane. He wouldn't let go. He just squeezed it and looked down.
"Good God, you've got the dick of death".
This took me by total surprise. I knew I was bigger than Dan, but had always compared myself to Lance, just a half inch shorter. I assumed I was average size...but to Darren, he thought he had found the "eighth wonder". He dropped to his knees and his mouth was about an inch from my tip.
"You better don't", I said, "You may get a mouthful of Rusty Nails."
"At this point, I don't care. I've gotta have that thing!"
"Aw, come on, man, let me pee first...and let ME do it...not YOU!"
I pointed myself back toward the bowl and waited and waited, must've been an hour, (just kidding). Finally, my "water broke" and I spewed two gallons of scotch and Grande Marnier, (with a cherry). When I was through, I started putting myself back in my pants and he said, "Huh uh, I'm not through with that."
He had remained on his knees for the spouting of "Old Faithful" and once again, grabbed me, this time, taking my whole shaft into the great beyond. He sucked, hungrily, pausing only, long enough to catch his breath and lick up and down the candy stick and wash my balls with his saliva. He couldn't get enough of me. He plunged and withdrew his mouth again and again. A thought danced in my head..."Isn't he, Ron's lover. Is it O.K. to be unfaithful after eight years." I knew I had a lot to learn and I was in the learning process, right now. The one thing I did know was...no one has to teach me how to come. I wouldn't warn him. I would teach HIM a lesson and shoot without notice...and shoot, I did. I lunged forward, determined to stick my dick down his esophagus, and let loose, one of my bigger loads. He choked, coughed, and sputtered trying to take and taste the creamy nectar, at the same time. Under my breath, I was laughing to myself. I didn't even get a thrill from the orgasm, I was to busy trying to think of revenge for his having taken advantage of me.
I cleaned myself from a nearby guest towel while he was still gargling my thick "mouthwash". I started putting myself away, to get back to the party, hoping no one had a stopwatch to see how long we h had been in there. I combed my hair, adjusted my clothes.
"Not so soon, it's my turn to cum."
"I'm sorry, I don't know you and unlike Blanche du Bois I have never depended on the kindness of strangers. I won't suck your dick."
"You won't have to. I want to fuck you.", he stared with glaring eyes.
"Not you, nor the horse you rode in on. No one is gonna fuck me".
He was drunker than I thought. I could see a rage ascending, so often I had seen when Doug was about to beat me. In a quick motion, he put one hand behind my neck and forced the washcloth in my mouth, at the same time, giving me a shove, causing to lose my balance and falling to the floor, my head just missing the lavatory. As soon as my head hit the tile with a thud, the room began spinning. I couldn't find the strength to fight him off. Goddammit! I would never drink again. I felt ill, wanting to stop this merry-go-round before I threw up. God, it I had to vomit, I would choke to death with this washcloth in my mouth. He clumsily undid my trousers and gave them a big yank. Then with his hands attached in my belt loops was able to roll me over, causing my nose to crack against the cold tiles as I turned. The sudden gesture, once again, made my equilibrium jolt. Was I passing out? Should I? Where was the posse? Why didn't they come to the rescue? I could sense he was wrestling with his pants, trying to get them down to knee-level. If this had to happen, I hope he was sober enough to find the can of Albolene. Another fear...how could I raise up my left leg for the "easy entry", Dan had shown me?
I heard him spit in his hand. A second later, he parted my ass and pushed his weight as hard as he could. I tried to scream through the washcloth, but with the hi-fi blaring the overture from "Pajama Game" and the party revelers, beginning to become noisy...no way, they could have heard me. The blunt end of his penis was going to plow me. He forced himself inside me in one movement. I felt the lining of my rectum ripping. I thought he had cum on the first thrust, because I felt a warm liquid begin to ooze out of me and trickle between my legs and running over my ball sac. He fucked, again and again, grunting with each lunge...harder and deeper. This was the "bad" kind of pain. It was excruciating. It hurt like hell. "Come on, hurry up and finish", I prayed to myself.
Then my prayer was answered. He started to moan and cry, "Oh, oh, oh", in a crescendo. I felt a different "warm" inside me, now. He came. He pulled out, without a word, fastened his pants, stood up, unlocked the door and walked out as if he had won the grand prize.
I lay on the once cool floor for a few minutes trying to decide where I was...what had just happened...did I have the strength or the will to stand up?? I was so fucking confused, drunkenly, confused. I sat up and then I saw...the floor had a big pool of my blood under and all over me. I heard the door open. It was Dan.
"Are you about thr...", he stopped as he saw me. "WHAT??...WHO??... DARREN??...Oh my God."
"I'm...uh..O.K.", I managed to whisper.
He quickly went back out of the bathroom and I could hear him say, "All right, party's over...time for everyone to take bag and baggage, home."
One by one, they said their goodnights and exited.
When the front door closed for the last time, Dan came back in, to see me.
"Oh my baby, I don't know what to say...what to do...I think we had better get you to a hospital and have you checked out."
"No, please don't. Give me a wet towel. I want to be clean."
Dan did the best he could, tenderly blotting me, trying to ease the physical and emotional anguish. It wasn't that bad, an injury. I would live...I didn't want to, but I would live.
When I was able to stand he walked me into his bedroom and laid me down. The soft sheets were both cool and soothing. He left long enough to go wipe the bathroom floor and spray it with Lysol. He came back to with some kind of salve and delicately applied it between my buttocks and a little further inside. His hand and gentle touch were actually more healing than the ointment.
He lay down beside me, brushed my blonde hair from my forehead, kissed it and cradled me in his arms. We slept like that all night. I began to think what I had to do tomorrow. I remembered my piano lesson, which I took every Saturday afternoon at 2:00...just after Jeff's...
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(to be continued)