This is gay erotic fiction. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go somewhere else.
Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author. All rights are reserved by the author who may be reached at cepes@mail.com.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended. They are all products of the author's overactive imagination.
The Interviewee Part 5
As I was pondering over the two disagreeable, painful things I would have to do in the near future, Chris reached across the round dining table in our apartment and enclosed my hand in his.
"I know this is tough for you, Jay, telling me about your past. But, I really want to know more about you. Really." He paused briefly. "What if we try to make it easier? You ask me a question, I'll answer it honestly; then I ask you a question. You can go first; ask away." He squeezed my hand.
I was quiet for a few moments. "Chris, I know you're trying to make this easier on me. But, I think I just need to talk it out. There have been a couple of times in the past when I've been this close to telling you some of this; but, I would always freak out and decide against it. I'm pretty secretive about some stuff, you know. I mean I haven't even told my parents I'm gay--or that I've been living with my lover for three years." Chris nodded, prodding me; maybe he was also agreeing with my diagnosis of my secrecy trait.
"First thing. I want you to know I'm only telling this because I love you. I hurt you, though, and you asked me to trust you more and open myself up. How could I say `no' and still keep us together? So, I am saying yes. This stuff is really embarrassing to me and I really wish you weren't so eager to find it out." I sighed. He still sat looking, expectantly.
"Sexual history, then. I still remember my first time. It's one of the oldest memories I have, aside from some earlier memories of my kid sister and stuff." Chris was looking at me questioningly; I could see the confusion, why would this be an early memory. "I was six, maybe seven. I still remember the room. It was my parent's bathroom. What a horrendous room, it was carpeted, in brown shag. It had a large bathtub in it that we never used." I stopped. "I'm rambling and I've lost you."
"Earlier that day, one of my mothers' friends had come to visit. She had brought her high school age son, 14 or maybe 15. He didn't come over often, but every once in a while he would accompany his mother on a visit to my house. That day, my mom and her friend left the house. I haven't the slightest remembrance of where they went. Anyway, I don't remember how he coaxed me into the bathroom. What I remember is that I was laying on my back, mostly naked, and he had my tiny little dick in his mouth. Even to this day, it stands out as one of the most pleasurable experiences of my life; it was only seconds, but." I stopped.
"After a really short time, he stopped. `That's it. That's what I want you to do to me.' He pulled off his sweats or jeans and I started trying to return the favor. It was a non-starter. Teeth or something on his cock; bad technique on my part. He pulled me off." I stopped because the hard part was coming up. Chris had the appropriate look on his face, concern, love, compassion. He knew how to listen, which is one thing I loved about him.
"This is the part that I cringe thinking about. He told me he wanted another favor. I was basically a little puppy dog right then and would have done anything for him. He wanted me to go to my mother's bedside table, just in the room outside the bathroom we were locked in. He wanted me to get these little packets for him, he said two or three. I hadn't the slightest idea. I did what he wanted. I rifled through the bedside table and got him his packets. I didn't know it at the time, but they were condoms. He had his uncooperative little receptacle steal him some condoms so he could fuck around with other people." I laughed a sarcastic, sad little laugh.
"Years later, I realized that the only reason he ever visited, aside from his mom making him, was because he had found a place where he could get free condoms. He just happened to be on a condom run that and found me available and with no parents to stop him. So, his interest and open opportunity presented themselves. Looking back, that's the part that makes me feel the most used, the being used to steal for him, even though he wasn't finished with me yet." My throat was beginning to scratch. I looked at Chris and then the water glass on the table. He could read my body language perfectly. He got up, grabbing the glasses we had used for breakfast, and returned moments later with clean glasses full of water. He was always considerate that way. He moved his chair closer to mine before he sat down again. This time his hand and wrist rested on top of mine.
I sipped some of the cool water. "I gave him the packets. He found his pants, extracted his wallet, and put them in there. He didn't even say thanks. He pulled me onto his body again. I was still naked and he was still without his pants and underwear. He." The tears started rolling down my face. I went on, though. "He stuck one of his fingers in his mouth. That finger promptly found its way to my behind. Very uncomfortable sensation; much worse than the enemas I would very rarely receive from my mother. But he wouldn't stop, no matter how much I squirmed. He eventually stopped and shifted positions. I found myself on my front in that shag carpet. He was behind me, above me. I started feeling an even worse pressure back there. He was, I realize now, trying to shove a good-sized cock up my tiny little ass." I felt Chris move his arm to my shoulder, not the most comfortable position from where he was sitting, but a great help to me.
"Once he got through my ring, I screamed. I must have passed out from the shock. I remember later finding myself on the shag carpet, with a tremendous queasiness and pain in my butt. I was alone. The other guy had left. I felt back there with my hand and found blood. I wiped it up with toilet paper. I took a shower. I never told anyone. The guy had told me, when I stole the condoms for him, never to tell anyone about what we did. He said I would get into trouble; that people would hate me. So, you're the first. Ever." More cool water for me. The tears were drying on my face.
Chris looked at me. He was visibly shaken, looking pale and almost as though he would burst into tears himself. "How could your parents not know? You'd been raped."
"Yeah, well, I definitely laid around the house a lot more than usual the next few days. But, I'm sure they never knew. He stopped coming around after that, of course. But, when he was in his twenties, maybe, he would drop by once in a while, every couple of years. To pick a kitty cat from a new litter, whatever. No way they ever knew. My mother even worked for weeks with his mother to throw his wedding." I could see incredulity on Chris' face. "Remember sophomore year? When I basically stopped talking to everyone? Same time as the wedding. My mother was continually calling to chit chat or dropping me e-mails. I wanted to curl into a ball and die." I kept the tears back, this time.
"I managed to push those memories back. But, they didn't stay locked away. I really changed after that. I dropped all my friends. I became a control freak, as much as a first grader can be one. I became really guarded. All the standard litany of reactions you would find in any psychology text book for someone who had been hurt like I was. But, I really kept to it, for a long time. And my barriers were really strong. I mean I did not have a single close friend from first grade until maybe freshman year in high school. Lots of acquaintances, people you know just well enough to get invited to a birthday party. That's it." Chris had started rubbing my shoulder. He knew just what to do. I was a lot more mellow now with his hand caressing me than I had been before he started.
"I guess about the time I started puberty, those memories really started to haunt me. I mean I really liked part of it; I liked his cock in my mouth, even if I wasn't very good. I loved my short time in his mouth. I guess I knew from a very early age that I liked guys. Of course, it was tough to resolve that with the fact that I didn't let anyone get close to me. So I didn't really know any guys; no natural venues for experimentation. And, it didn't help that I grew up in middle America in a small town. So, I was pretty fucked up. I kept everything inside. I was smart, smart enough to be able to control myself very rigidly, but lonely. It was in middle school, in the showers, that everything first came to a head. I really loved looking at everyone else; one kid had this big cock, maybe five or six inches. It was hard all the time and had this twist in it." I traced it in the air for Chris. "He was the most popular kid in the school. No one ever gave him shit for the boner. I was completely attracted to him."
"I suppose I went nuts, then. Sixth grade or maybe seventh. I was too tightly wound, too controlled. This lust hit my control, like a boat over choppy water getting capsized. I started crying all the time at home, in my room. I couldn't pay attention in school. Eventually my teachers and the school counselors noticed. They got my parents involved. Private therapy; psychological testing up the wazoo. You know the tests where you have to draw your family so they can see how you draw everyone, if you draw everyone to the right scale? Where you put the house? All that garbage? I was scared to death that I would draw something wrong and they would be able to figure me out." A strangled laugh emanated from my throat.
"Eventually, to get everyone to back off, I said my problem was this kid in gym class. This kid a couple years older was a gym aid; I basically said he creeped me out because he would stare at me when I was undressing before and after taking a shower. So, I basically accused him of being what I really was; teenagers can be so cruel. They accepted it; that kid was no longer gym aid; I no longer had to shower. I got exactly what I wanted that way. They backed off. I didn't have to risk springing a boner in the shower, when looking at the other guys. I had enough of a break to pull myself back together, back under control. And, on I went."
I couldn't read Chris' face when I looked at him. He was still trying to hold onto my shoulder, still swirling his hand on my shoulder blade. I yawned; I was getting tired from this. It was taking a lot out of me, mentally and physically. Dredging shit up from the depths where it should have remained permanently is a tough business. I stood up, eying the sofa as a more comfortable place to sit and talk. There was still a lot left to say. Chris followed me over. He sat down first; I followed, sitting close to him and resting my head on his shoulder. His arm went around my waist.
"I tell you all this because I guess it was the first iteration in a pattern. Get really interested in a straight guy, flip my lid, pull myself back together. I didn't have porn then; just little mental fantasies, straight guys one through ten floating by in my mind. You know, Woody Allen has that saying, `Masturbation is sex with someone I love.'" Chris laughed. I smiled. "Well, for me, whacking off was sex that I could control. It was safe."
"So, straight boys were pretty much my thing. It wasn't like there were lots of gay guys. So, 'look but don't touch' still seemed to work for me. I did a good job keeping people away. Lots of acquaintances, but no one close. I think people were a bit frightened of me; I came off as haughty. I was too smart; I often had a vicious, acid tongue. Of course, I don't think I'm really like that. Good for keeping people away, though." I shifted on the sofa because I wanted to be closer to my Chris. He in turn moved closer to me, even while he kept my waist wrapped in his arm.
"I really threw myself into activities in high school to keep the loneliness out: music, speech and debate, public service, you name it. I wasn't stellar at any one, but I was good enough to win tournaments or get elected to office in the public service clubs. It was something to obsess over instead of straight guys. So, I guess you could say I didn't do these things for the `right' reasons, but they helped me out a lot anyway. "
"One of the side effects of all this activity was that it was harder to keep people out. I let my guard down and started to let people in. One in particular, his name was K... No names, perhaps, is better. Call him Kay. He was in the grade below mine. Musically talented, good looking but pretty average in the grand scheme of things. But, he was so passionate...about his music, about caring for his mentally retarded younger sister, about everything. He joined a lot of the same clubs and a couple of the school bands. We ended up spending a lot of time together. By my junior year, I knew it wasn't just a crush; it was love." I sighed.
"I remember being on a trip, the two of us sharing a bed in a hotel room, two other people in the next bed. I woke up about 3.00 in the morning. He had his head on my shoulder; I was his pillow. He was even drooling on me. I just laid there, crying silently, thinking how perfect it was if it could be true. If we could grow old together with him drooling on my shoulder every night." I paused as I tried to clamp down on the tears from starting again.
"I was so in love with him. He was just an average guy, but to me he was kind and beautiful. You know, I see a lot of Kay in, uh, Alex." Here I could feel Chris tensing up. I shouldn't have added that comment. I decided to talk about ancient history, not the more recent, and painful, past.
I wouldn't tell Chris that I still thought about `Kay' once or twice a week, even after he had gone and gotten married, dropping out of college at the end of his junior year. I fear sometimes that my telling him of my love for him pushed him away from me--and into making hasty, precipitous decisions like that one. Trying to prove he wasn't a fag; shagging the women; getting hitched. I would never know. I couldn't bring myself to talk to him since the day he told me he was getting married.
"Around this time, I started having pretty severe mood swings. All the way up and all the way down, within a couple weeks sometimes. It got pretty bad. The summer between my junior and senior year I lost it completely. That was the first suicide attempt."
Even though I'd asked not to be interrupted, I didn't blame Chris for not keeping to the request. "The first? There were more?"
"Yes, there were more, just one more. My Dad was out of town for his job. My Mom was taking my sister to visit one of my aunts a few hours away. I had spent a week planning it." I felt Chris squeeze me even tighter, as he knew I would need some of his strength to make it through this part of my story.
"I was such a drama queen. I had written a note, brief to the point. `I'm gay and I hate myself.' Something like that. I wrote a longer one to Kay. This was before I had told him I was gay. I was going to leave it to be mailed. I even had a last meal at my favorite restaurant in town. Fettuccine alfredo. Remember, it was a small town. That was the extent of fancy foods." I snorted. It's strange how little incongruous details like this one make all the difference in the world.
"It was to be pills. I found gobs of them, all kinds, and started swallowing. After I'd taken like forty or so, I stopped, just sitting for a while. I realized then I couldn't do it. To this day, I don't know why I changed my mind. I started vomiting up everything. By that point, my body hadn't absorbed much of anything. But, I did pass out for like 18 hours afterward. The next day, before my father was scheduled to get back, I managed to clean up the mess and no one was ever the wiser. Chris, you're the first person I've ever told this to, as well." I started crying again. I could feel Chris moving around, trying to cover more of my body with his, trying to blanket me with his body and shut out the pain. I could feel his kisses on my face.
We sat for a few minutes, tightly wound together. My tears on my face; Chris' tears rolling from his face onto mine. Every so often, he would kiss the commingled tears away. I was finally able to continue.
"I should say that I was still managing to perform well in school and activities. Keeping busy helped; I guess the slowness of the summer let things simmer excessively. I mean there were definitely months when I was down, listless, whatever. But it wasn't apparent to everyone; still had a perfect GPA and was top of my class. But, during senior year, most of my activities starting winding down in early February. I guess they didn't want too many mindless, anxious second-term seniors fucking things up. Once I got back to a normal schedule, everything fell to pieces again. I had been accepted to our college, arguably the best in the country, which made me happy, but I was completely in knots over Kay. I stopped talking to him, to everyone really." I stopped again. I looked at Chris, his face streaked with tears. I hoped that all this I was saying was really what he wanted. I hoped that this would not change our relationship for the worse. But, until I finished, I would have no way of knowing. I knew he wouldn't allow me to get this far in and stop.
"I had planned the second one for March, my birthday actually. Now you know the reason why I always look sad on my birthday. Well, this time I decided on a knife. I wanted to slit the vein on my left arm from the crook of my elbow all the way to my wrist. I aimed the knife at the vein and pushed. I cut through the skin, but missed the vein. The wave of nausea that hit me caused me to drop the knife--and my will to finish this off. So the suicide attempt got spun into a kitchen accident. I always had a convenient explanation. `I was trying to split a butternut squash and the knife slipped.'" Again, the savage irony I felt recounting this detail made me laugh. I must seem like a monster to Chris, doing these horrible things to myself and then laughing about them later.
"There would have been a third one, I think, right before graduation. That one would probably have worked. Gunshot, it would have been. Except a former teacher of mine scared the hell out of me. He wasn't even teaching me anything that year; he'd taught me history my junior year. But, he arranged for a pretext so I would have to talk with him after class one day. He basically said he was concerned about my mental health and wanted me to sign one of those contracts that were so popular with the counselors, if you were thinking about harming yourself, you needed to contact such-and-such person first. I signed it. I couldn't see any other way out. And, as you know, I'm definitely a person motivated by duty and by guilt. Once I signed my name, I knew I would not be putting a gun in my mouth. It probably saved my life." I moved my body and stopped leaning on Chris. I looked at him.
"You were right about how I was in college. Earlier what you said about my not picking anyone up, even though I went to the bars and the clubs. It was true. I mean except for a couple handjobs and a random blowjob, I didn't do anything in college. I just went out to keep from being too lonely. But, I was really tightly wound again, not wanting to start up another one of those cycles of falling for the wrong person, not wanting to deal with anything terribly messy. You were the first person I actually consented to have up my ass." I stopped, biting my tongue, not wanting to spit out everything that I was actually thinking. I hoped we were now done.
John spoke up, "That sounded like regret. Don't hold anything back. Not after what you've already told me." This time my muscles stiffened. I didn't want to lie to him, but I also did not want to tell him what had really gone through my mind. This time truth won out.
"I love you. I really do. But, after I woke up the morning after our first time, I spent the entire day trying to figure out how to get myself out of it. I had let myself go and was really feeling lost. My four-plus years of control went down the tubes. But, thankfully, my attraction to you was stronger than my flee instinct. Plus, I already knew you pretty well. It made me somewhat more comfortable about the whole thing." I stopped, fearing I was rambling again and saying all the wrong things. "What I really mean is that I look back and have no regrets." I reached out and started rubbing his shoulder blade.
"So, now that you have the Cliff's notes version of my life you know I'm mean, manipulative, just more than a little unstable at times, and always ready with a cover story. Should I expect you to run for the hills?" I tried to inject some humor into what had been a solemn affair.
"You'd have to chase me away. I love you, Jay. I have for a long time, even before we got together after college. All that you told me helped me to better understand you. It hasn't changed anything. Not about how I feel for you. And I don't think you're mean or manipulative. And I'm very sorry you feel that you couldn't talk about these things with me or anyone else. I hope I've been able to earn your trust, and keep it. I hope you will be able to keep talking to me." He paused.
"I think this really helps a lot. I have a better understanding of the compartments you build around yourself--I had known about those since college, though. But, I think the most interesting I learned today is that you're changing."
"Huh?" I was confused.
"Well, you kept talking about having cover stories ready, yeah? For whatever bad things happened. But, last night I didn't hear a story from you. I heard the truth. And you didn't try to hide it from me. You're changing. And for the better, I'd say. I love you." He kissed me and I reciprocated.
"I'm tired," I said.
"Let's take a nap together." And we did. A nap with someone who loves you in the middle of a Saturday afternoon is one of the world's great underrated experiences.
When I woke up, I found myself, like earlier this morning, in an empty bed. But, I could smell the air and already guess where Chris was: in the kitchen making his fabulous wild mushroom risotto. That guy could cook. But, this single dish was my absolute favorite, including all the restaurant food I'd eaten in Los Angeles. Chris knew it drove me wild and that I would usually repay him with a night of good hard loving. Who knows what he would want from me tonight.
I got up and wandered out to the living and dining area. The smell intensified. Umm, pure heaven. I could see him grating the parmigiano reggiano. I guess it was stereotypical, but my lover went absolutely wild about cooking; always having the right, and best, ingredients; always cooking a dish with care and love. Sometimes I would think to myself he should quit his job at the investment management firm and do something wild. His father was a pretty well-connected and well-to-do guy; he helped put Chris in touch with the guy who was hiring research analysts at the investment management firm; Chris' great skills and incredible charm landed him the job. But, his dad was loaded. Why not say `fuck it' and head out and go to cooking school. Or whatever. Just as long as he was happy and I got to keep him in our bed--and our kitchen.
I was only hoping that my stories this afternoon wouldn't scare him off. I made myself sound like a depressive suicide case with a touch of sociopathy. I walked into the kitchen and confidently wrapped my arms around Chris' waist. I knew--I hoped--that I was wanted and that my arms were in their rightful position.
"Smells great. It's my favorite." Food was a safe topic. I was dreading hearing if Chris had had time to rethink his earlier warm response to everything I had told him.
"I know, beautiful. I made it just for you."
"How much longer?"
"Eh, twenty minutes, maybe."
"Great. I'll just stand around and look at you. You know I haven't heard your stories yet." I decided to goad Chris into sharing some of his stories with me.
"And you haven't called your hot little friend Alex, either." Ack, just the think I didn't want to hear. He wasn't going to let that go. Another embarrassing memory that I couldn't bury down in the muck of my mind--Chris wouldn't let me. I preferred burying things, dammit.
"I will. Need any help?" I was a bit desperate to change the topic of conversation.
"No, my love. Just stand around and look at me." Chris was obviously in a giving mood and was not going to push me to talk or think about Alex and what I had done--and almost done--with him the night before.
So, instead of thinking, I took Chris' advice and just stared at him. How he moved confidently around the kitchen, full of purpose. And, to my eyes, beauty. How he was expert at having all the ingredients ready to go when called for--and knowing exactly which ingredients would be the best. I was glad to be the lucky someone who got to sample all of Chris' efforts in the kitchen, successes many of them.
And, later, as a sign of my great appreciation for the risotto and for the love and care he sprinkled into it for me, we spent the evening together, each giving and receiving, for a good part of the night. It was as though yesterday had not happened. But, I knew Chris would force me to confront my actions and desires--and those of Alex--in the very near future.
To be continued.
Author's Note: I appreciate hearing your comments on this story or anything else. You can send me a message at cepes@mail.com. I will respond to all messages I receive.