Part VIII
It was a quiet night; at least, it was quiet enough that I could hear the power lines outside my window buzzing. In fact, a lot had been quiet recently.
In many ways, Duke and I were acting like we had never met—though if he passed me in the hall, he seemed oddly prone to adjust his junk—as long as no one else was around.
I would just look away and move on.
I was getting better at not thinking about him. I hadn't really thought about Duke since the last time I thought about not thinking about him a few days before.
Thanksgiving was coming up after just a couple more days of school. I was glad for the excuse to go home.
Joey hadn't talked much to me. I think he was still processing what I had said.
Erica was right, I decided: it was good to take some time to myself.
When the time came, I headed home with the pumpkin pie that didn't have pieces missing, hoping it would be presentable and not too old. The extended family scattered in every few minutes after me. A few of them asked how Joey was doing, and I told them about the park, leaving out almost everything important.
I closed my eyes when I tasted the familiarity of my mom's cooking. Butter-soaked turkey, fresh picked and rinsed cranberries with yogurt, greasy stuffing with celery and raisins baked in, sparkling apple cider, garlic pepper potatoes, crisp salad with cheese, creamy dressing, croutons, and scalding gravy.
At night we played charades and took bets on what my drunken uncle would break. My mom had hidden most of the vases, but she had left out this ceramic yak figurine my dad bought on a trip to Europe, as well as a few other of our most garish knick-knacks. My dad was happy she was finally willing to put them out again (they had spent a great deal of time mysteriously misplaced in the old microwave in the garage).
My Uncle George didn't break the yak till past midnight, and I had bet on the glass California Raisins figurines. My cousin Billy and I owed his mother a dollar each.
I had Friday and most of the weekend to spend with old friends. I decided to make an appearance at Gameworks this time, and we played some Pacman, dancing games, and Mario-Cart. Erica won most of the games, but for whatever reason, she could never, ever beat me at air hockey. She really got vicious toward the end.
"Have you been doping? Freak-ass reflexes!"
She threw her plastic sombrero thing on the ground.
I didn't see Joey there, so I texted him.
<Can I stop by your place tomorrow before I head back to my dorms?>
<Sure. Okay.>
The subway howled that night. The tunnel hung in an eerie mist as the wheels ground against the track. Part of me wondered what it would feel like to walk through it.
I wasn't sure what to say. When Joey and I finally were face to face, it was silent for a while. Then it just bubbled over.
"Holden—are you still hung up on Duke?"
"I thought we were just going to forget about that."
"Sometimes, it isn't so easy."
I nodded, looking down. "I want to forget about him, Joey."
"Not sure that is even true. Maybe you just want impossible things."
"Joey—what do you want?"
He sighed. "During our fight, there were a couple guys that asked me to coffee or to the movies. And I turned them down--while you were out gallivanting--as I waited for you to regain your senses. But the truth is—it's appealing, the thought of a guy that wants nothing more than to be with a guy like me. And with you—it just feels like you are bored with me. At first I thought it was a phase, an early midlife crisis that you would get through. Now I feel like you travelled somewhere far away—and maybe won't come back. Can you please--just be really, really honest with me?"
"There's still a part of me that wants adventure—an adventure that I don't know if I can have with you. But maybe that's okay."
He rubbed his eye. "And maybe it's not?"
"I don't know."
"Did you ever love me?"
"At this point—I just don't understand romance at all."
"It seems like you don't want to be the bad guy that dumps his boyfriend for no reason, but you don't want to be with me anymore either. You want to prove to yourself—or maybe to someone else—that you can get along just fine, living in the past. And if that's the case—then maybe you shouldn't repeat what I'm about to tell you, and just give it some time to percolate instead. Holden—we just aren't who we used to be together. It's that simple. It's best for us to move on. I'm going to cash in on my spring admittance to Baylor College, and transfer next semester. The only reason I didn't go was because I wanted to stay close to you, but that just seems silly now. And, well, that should make things a hell of a lot easier for you."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded, and I held him. He exhaled, and embraced me.
"I will miss you," Joey said. "And I meant what I said. You don't have to tell everyone we've broken up right away. It's fair game—to make bastards squirm."
I was back on the subway soon enough, the Thanksgiving weekend whirlwind now behind me, a hazy blur in my mind. I had been distracted all weekend, and the time just snuck past, till I found myself at the end of a tradition or two. Now, as the wheels jerked, it felt as though they were performing a ritual--launching me forward--like a field goal kick after a touchdown—but without the cheering.
Things were starting to grow quieter in the dorms, as people realized how packed their schedules had to be with end-of-the-year projects and exams. I spent a lot of time at my library job, where I could multitask. Day by day, I felt that I thought about Joey and Duke a little bit less. As Erica had said, there was more to my life than them--than guys in general.
My coworkers at the library threw a study session at a coffee house, and I felt—FINALLY—that I was starting to make new friends. My old high school group couldn't be a crutch forever.
By the time Thursday rolled around, and I heard a pounding on my door, it caught me by surprise.
I opened the door slowly. "Hi, Duke," I said, avoiding his eyes.
"Are we still friends?" He asked.
"Sure; whatever."
"With benefits? Just kidding. Listen, there is a warehouse party tomorrow, and somehow I got Victoria and Clarissa to meet us there—but you have to show up."
"So you want me to help you hook up with Clarissa, so you can cheat on your girl-hole again."
"It's over with her. She was getting clingy and going on and on about fights with her friends and manager and mother. Blah blah blah. Plus, I think you were right that she might push to be exclusive. She had to go."
"Well—I see how that could be such a big problem for you. Though I don't see why I should help you with anything."
"Why not? If you've really moved on, you shouldn't care one way or the other. Besides, in some weird way, I kind of miss you."
"Victoria's going?"
"Yeah."
"Fine," I said, sighing.
Duke lit up. "Yeah, Holden, that's what I'm talkin' about!"
He put his hand on my shoulder but I shrugged it off. Duke wrinkled his lips and raised an eyebrow. "See you at 8:00 tomorrow night. Unless you want to go to Organic Friday. We almost have enough signatures."
"I think I'll pass," I said. He shook his head as he walked away, running his hand down his body.
I worked long hours at the library the next day. It stayed pretty quiet, thankfully, even when it was basically full, so I was able to get some reading in. It was a little bit easier to not think about Duke tonight, oddly—like how you don't think about traumatizing events from childhood, or maybe more like an upcoming orchestra recital where suddenly all of the practice is forgotten in a frenzied panic.
Anyway, I wasn't thinking about him.
When I got back to my room, Duke was outside waiting for me.
He was wearing the sky-blue button up he had never returned to me, with skin-tight jeans. They made his eyes stand out, inviting me to get lost in them.
"Holden?" he said, gripping my shoulder.
I didn't shake him off this time.
"Let me get ready."
I keyed into my room, and Duke followed, shutting the door. Then, I rifled through my closet, picking out a claret-colored polo and some skinny jeans.
"Are you gonna watch me change?" I asked.
"Not like there's anything I haven't seen already."
I sighed and stripped. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that once I was naked, Duke would pin me down and take control of my body. My dick twitched.
Luckily, that didn't happen. He just smiled at me from the other side of the room.
He grabbed a water bottle from his room and we were off, back in the subway again. I had to focus as I sat next to him, and his smell--the mixture of Axe and sweat--boxed me in.
I wasn't attracted to him anymore. I just had to fight off some gut reflexes.
He handed me the bottle after a while, and I took a swill.
I almost spat it out.
I had tasted alcohol once before, when I was at Joey's house for dinner, and they let us drink wine. Even at the wine and cheese kickback I never got around to it, with Duke's high jinks and all. This was only remotely familiar—it was so strong, and harsh, and devoid of most any flavor but the alcohol itself.
"What is that?" I asked.
He leaned in and breathed in my ear, "Vodka, bitch."
He draped his arm around my back, squeezing my shoulder. I should have been mad. Instead my dick jumped, straining at my senses, and my thoughts garbled. I took another swig.
Guys like Duke don't care about guys like me.
My mind flashed to the bubbles invading my room, the moving pictures flashing, and the fireflies. They floated into my life, uninvited, but I liked them there.
Duke was either oblivious to my emotions, or he liked pushing my buttons.
It was torture—
But hell, was it fun.
What was wrong with me? Being called a bitch was an insult. It was fucked up that he did it, and even more fucked up that I seemed to it see it so playfully now.
I had thought I preferred everything orderly. But I liked getting fucked up a little.
There was that one last button he wouldn't push. He had no problem fucking pussy, but he had a problem with--
For a moment, I forgot my plan; I forgot why I had to push Duke away. I just looked at him, at his chiseled face, glittering eyes, gel-spiked hair, and bulging, masculine form, tucked under my sky-blue button-up that he would never give back. I thought about myself—average, boring me. And in that moment, I felt so inadequate.
The subway car jerked and I remembered. I didn't have to impress Duke. He wasn't worth it.
We finished the vodka bottle before we even got to our stop.
It wasn't the grandest of affairs. It was basically a shack with a black light, dirty music pounding, and a gaggle of human bodies writhing up and down.
We found Victoria and Clarissa in a side area that was set up as a kind of lounge. They didn't have air hockey, but they did have pool.
I couldn't hear the conversation. I wasn't quite close enough and the music was too loud.
I followed them to the dance floor and we arranged in a kind of circle. I tried not to look at Duke for too long. His favorite thing seemed to be to pump his fists and flex his biceps in time with the beat. Eventually, Victoria moved closer to me, and draped her arms around me. I didn't know what to do, so I let her lead, as we shifted our weight back and forth.
Duke made Clarissa turn around so he could grind against her ass. His hand kept wandering up her chest and she kept batting it away at the last moment. His mouth was on her ear.
I felt a sense of relief when she turned back around.
We danced as a circle again, then, when we got to a slow song, moved back to the lounge. Duke seemed to be stumbling a lot—falling into Clarissa at every opportunity.
"A group of us are going to rent a cabin upstate near the slopes the weekend after finals," Victoria yelled. "If you guys want to go."
"Sure," Duke said.
"Clarissa and I should head back," Victoria said, her eyes flickering toward Duke. "We don't want you to think we are the wrong kind of girls. It was fun seeing you guys again."
Duke nodded.
After they left, he pulled me in and I felt his wet lips on my ear. "Want to go to your kind of place?"
I swiveled, looked into his eyes—and nodded.
It was only about a block away. Duke's ability to walk straight improved dramatically.
It was funny—this was the second time that as soon as we were away from the girls, Duke seemed much less drunk than he had just minutes before. It was as though he wasn't even trying his hardest to hook up with Clarissa—just trying to make it look like he was.
I felt my distaste for Duke soften by the tiniest of margins.
The next warehouse was far livelier. Most of the couples dancing were guys. The M.C. was a feisty drag queen, who between every few songs would announce some observation she had made, some type of liquor that was on sale, or celebrate something random, like that it was Noam Chomsky's birthday. She stood on a stage that flared out into two runways that doubled as bars. The drag queen, when she got bored, would walk across a runway, careful to avoid stepping on people's hands or on their beverages, in order to make intense conversation with the unsuspecting people clutching drinks just below.
"Want to dance?" Duke asked.
I nodded. Duke had taught me not to hesitate—and just to let myself feel things out.
It wasn't long before he had me turned around and his hands were roaming up my chest. When he squeezed my pectorals, I let him. We rose and fell with the music; I could feel his rhythmic breath on my ear--then his invading tongue.
I whimpered—feeling so helpless.
He started to dry-hump me, matching the beat of the song. There was no pretense to it. His hardening cock parted my ass cheeks, straining against our jeans, nuzzling into the bedding it had dug for itself.
"Tell me you missed me."
I turned around and whispered back. "Maybe just a little." I craned my neck, leaning toward his lips, but he tilted his head up and the moment passed.
The music stopped suddenly and the drag queen's microphone crackled.
"It's time," she boomed, "FOR LADY'S CHOICE!"
A bunch of the others started hooting, cheering, and clapping.
"You know what that means. I get to choose six of you—any six—and they have to be go-go boys for the rest of the night. That's right! They get to be on stage with me—Mango Musketoon. I know what you are thinking. `What a privilege.' Right? What lucky boys!"
She straddled a spotlight, pointing it around the dance floor, stopping when someone caught her eye. The first guy she picked looked like he might be a football player. The second was a skinny goth kid, which made me realize she wasn't going for any one type. God, I hoped she wouldn't pick me. The third guy she stopped on made a fuss. He shook his head and was soundly booed, even getting a plastic beer cup (still full) thrown at his head.
I gulped.
The drag queen re-chose a taller guy as her third selection, then a really hairy guy, and a dazed twink.
I really hoped she wouldn't choose me.
I felt a sense of dread as the spotlight hit my eyes.
Then it moved on, settling just next to me.
"Isn't he cute?" Mango asked. The crowd hollered, the spotlight stopped on Duke.
He shrugged at me, then walked over to the steps onto the stage with the others.
"Alright, alright," Mango said, arranging them in a line. "Now, being a go-go boy for Mango isn't just an honor—it's a competition. And whoever wins gets a prize." A little scoreboard flickered on. "The first order of business: first boy in nothing but his boxers gets the first point."
The guys on stage raced out of their clothes, with the goth and twink kids a little slow on the uptake.
The hairy guy won.
"Very good," Mango said, touching his furry chest. She pulled out a big black marker, and drew a six on his cheek. "Let's give go-go boy Six the first point! Geez, I usually draw the numbers on guys' chests, but I don't know if anyone could read through that jungle."
He was granted a point on the scoreboard. She drew big numbers on the chests of all the rest of her boys. Duke got a big number one.
"The next order of business. Teaching you how to be a go-go boys. You know it's actually very easy? There is one very, very simple trick. You wanna know what it is?" She lowered her voice to an overtone. "In time with the beat—standing up--you just pretend you are having SEX."
She paired the hairy guy with the goth guy, the football guy with the taller guy, and Duke with the twinky guy.
"Alright, Tarzan and Dracula. Show us what you got."
Number six and the gothic guy stared at each other as each other as Mango put on a song for them to dance to.
"Come on boys. One of you has to take the lead."
Apparently, Dracula' took the lead, spinning Tarzan' around and sliding up against him in time with the song.
"Ooh, not bad boys! Mmm, yeah, that fur sure is something to sink your teeth into."
The goth boy feigned like he was biting the other guy's neck, and the crowd roared.
"Alright, Michael Cera and Adonis."
She was referring to that twinky boy and Duke, who replaced the others on center stage.
The boy was slamming his ass into Duke before Mango could even start the song. The crowd cheered when the music started, and they fell into rhythm. `Michael Cera' craned his neck, his mouth open, with his tongue hanging out as he panted and licked at the air. He moved closer to my Adonis, but Duke pushed his head away and wagged a finger.
The crowd groaned.
"Last couple," Mango said. "Tim Tebow and Fezzik."
First the football guy took the lead; then they switched. When he craned his neck toward `Fezzik', their lips grazed, and the crowd lit up.
"Let's do this democratically," Mango said. "Make noise if you vote for Couple 1."
There were scattered cheers.
"Couple 2?"
I made some noise for Duke.
"Couple 3."
The crowd boomed. Mango awarded them a point each.
"Alright, boys. Let's do the train."
She had all six get in a line for the next song. They danced up against each other, and we scream-voted again.
This time—Duke--with his flirtatious motions, cocky expressions, rippling muscles, and skin-tight boxers, managed to wrangle up his first point and get in the game.
"I think you boys are ready for your first solo dances. Alright, let's--spread our wings."
She sent three guys on each run-way, dispersing them evenly on the countertop of the bar.
"If anyone up here is your special man, it's time to show some support. Come to the bar and buy a drink for a front seat!"
I walked over to the bar, sitting down, my face now inches from Duke's feet. I peered between his diamond-strong calves, ordering a coke. It was highly distracting.
"Want me to spike that?" the bar-tender asked.
I pointed to my off-color wristband and the bartender rolled his eyes, adding a splash of something to the coke anyway. The song started—and I peered slowly up at Duke's body.
His muscles seemed to flex in time with the rising beat; his lithe calves seemed to flow into his quadriceps and thighs. The song lyrics broke out, and I could hear the words clearly.
There's a road that curls between us
And you loom up ahead
I wonder if it connects us
Or separates us instead
His luscious cock stretched his tight boxers to their limits as he humped the air, matching the beat of the song. His abdominals flexed, rippling with the sweat that rolled down from his shadowy pectoral cliffs, making little webbed trails that cut this way and that way across his tight skin.
I try to fit the pieces
Into our collage
Yet no vehicle can voyage
Into your mirage
At times, his cut muscles would shred beads of sweat, and they would fall on me. One hit my nose, and I breathed in Duke's smell, letting it consume me.
A speck on the horizon
Slowly starting to take shape
Is it a trail for me to follow?
Or a path for your escape
There were people crowding around us now, running their hands over the parts of Duke's body, and jamming one dollar bills into his boxer-briefs.
I want it to be real
I want to feel the clutch
Our bodies and our souls
Mingle till we touch
I closed my eyes, and relived our dance from before in my mind, when Duke was wrapped around me; stepping, shifting, taunting; his tongue was in my ear; he made me admit the truth.
I don't know what we'll find
At the end of the line
If I will be yours
Or you will be mine
I looked up at Duke again, surveying his square chin, his wide dimples, his accentuated smile, his glittering eyes, and his gelled-up hair. He looked down at me with an expression of cocky bliss, like he knew something important about the universe that I did not.
In that moment, I felt something I either hadn't felt before, or hadn't let in.
I felt devoted to Duke—the one that stood above me, so much like a God.
He wasn't though. He was a man; flawed, yet wonderful. I leaned forward and kissed his foot, soft and slow.
I'll make the journey
Not knowing how it ends
I'll ride the ups and downs
The jostling; the bends
I nuzzled into his leg and hugged it tight.
I'll let my soul guide me
Along the misty pike
The fog of the unknown
Is something that I like
When the song ended, I remembered myself, and let go. He looked down on me, biting his tongue in the corner of his mouth. He looked like something had dawned on him.
I stayed quiet as the crowd scream-voted again, lost in a haze. Apparently, Duke and Tarzan had been selected as finalists.
Mango had them each do individual dances with a stripper pole on center stage.
I gathered myself enough to shout for Duke when the voting came—and sure enough, he won.
"Four free tickets," Mango bellowed, "so you and your boys can come back!" She shined the spotlight on me, and his twinky dance partner and an unsuspecting person in amongst the throng. The crowd clapped, and the competitors put their clothes back on.
Duke found me a minute later, rubbing my shoulder. "Are you ready to go?"
I nodded, my mouth half-open, afraid to look into his eyes again. The crowd seemed a lot tighter now that everyone had seen Duke with his shirt off, but we trudged through.
I barely remembered the subway ride back. It was another blur; a rush; a moment.
We were in Duke's room again before I knew it. He seemed dizzy again. I helped him out of his clothes and into his bed. When I motioned to leave, he wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me into his bed beside him.
"I don't want you to go tonight," he said, nibbling my ear.
I couldn't really get away if I wanted to—but I didn't. I crawled into bed beside him, then looked away.
"Take off your clothes," he breathed.
I got naked slowly, afraid to really move.
He curled against me till our bodies touched.
I exhaled. I turned facedown with my ass up behind me, flexing from the tension in the room. Duke moved over me, breathing in my ear.
"How does that Christmas song go where they play bongo drums for baby Jesus? `Dump dump dump dump! Dump dump dump dump!'" Duke played my ass with like drums, padding on my skin with his palms.
"Duke--stop," I said, laughing.
There was a minute of near silence—nothing but beating hearts.
"Your dick is hard isn't it?" He asked.
"So?" I said sheepishly.
He groaned, holding me tightly, grinding his crotch against my bare ass. His cock lay flat between our bodies, spreading my ass cheeks apart.
He waited again, and I tried to keep my breathing quiet.
"You want me to fuck you, don't you?"
"Duke—"
He didn't let me finish. He pinned my face against pillow, muffling my words.
"Sure, you could answer with words. But that's not what you want, is it? You don't like admitting it out loud, at least, not yet. That's why you resort to wrapping your legs around my body, or studying naked, adjusting yourself to make sure your hole glints up at me, or grinding your ass into my cock. You like to pretend it is all incidental. When you talk with words, your thoughts get too involved; you get confused. I want you to talk with your body. So let's try this again. You want me to fuck you, don't you?"
I had learned not to hesitate. Duke had taught me.
I wouldn't wait anymore. I controlled my breathing; I corralled my heart.
Then, slowly, I pushed my ass into the air.
Feedback always appreciated! Messages keep me in the mood to write and edit and a few other things. Always grateful for kind words and constructive ideas. Kudos to you. :)
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