Trusting People
by
Timothy Stillman
"It's easy, Barry."
"It's wrong."
"What book did you get that out of?"
"Look. I want to make love to you."
"No you don't."
"All right. I'll leave."
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"Is it wrong?"
"No, Barry. It's not wrong."
"But.."
"Look, it's been fun having this psychological discussion of angst, but I kind of have to be somewhere else."
"Where?"
"You care?"
"I always care. That's the whole problem."
"I like you, Barry."
"I don't like me."
"Let me hold you."
"You'll just go away."
"No."
"They always do."
"Cause you push them---"
"No. I no longer accept that. I'm sick of that. Fed up. That's the excuse. You play by their rules. You do what they want. You don't complain, even in the mildest of ways, then they might stay a little longer."
"Ok. I'm playing by your rules, then."
"Now you're making fun of me."
"Oh for Christ's--do you want to watch a movie?"
"I guess."
"Which?"
"No idea."
"Do you want to touch me?"
"Yes."
"Then do it."
"What movie?"
"Here. See what this is?"
"It's nice."
"You didn't even look."
"I did."
"No you didn't."
"I did."
"No. Here, let me put it right in front of your face. Do you like it?"
"You're embarrassing me."
"No. I'm embarrassing me. For you. I am embarrassing me."
"Yes. Well, as far as--as far as--these things go--I mean, I've not seen them a lot--you know--in person--you know---"
"Pretend we are still in high school. I'm your teacher. You are in detention for oh whatever--talking to someone in Math class."
"I never talk in class, except to the teacher."
"Does this feel good?"
"It feels nice. Yes. C'mon tho."
"This feels good, doesn't it?"
"It does. In spite of--"
"What?"
"Well, you scare the fuck out of me."
"How?"
"Cause it'll end the same way."
"Who says it will end?"
"Me."
"You'll end it?"
"No."
"Let's not talk of endings. Look. Here's my hand. Massaging. Nice, isn't it? Here, just lie back now. Relax."
"Ok."
"Imagine we're in detention and you've been a bad boy and I'm your slightly older teacher and I have to make you do this thing. You enjoy it. But you can't show you're enjoying it..."
No words now for a while. Moments of sighs. Moments of silence. Moments of holding on. Moments of closeness. Moments of communication hand to hand flesh to flesh. Moments.
"Easy now. Easy. I insist."
Holding. Pressing inward. Lust. Excitement. Tears. Anointing. Magic. Alive. Two and two makes not lonely for minutes. For an entire hour. An entire hour of sheer frightening happiness. Quivering. And explosion. And tremors.
Then lying side by side. Chasing no ghosts. Chasing no dreams. Remembering no one. Not even him. Then remembering. Then the tearing apart, as though tearing wings off a butterfly. Then the cleaning up. He did it nicely and quietly and gently and lovingly.
"I killed a hornet yesterday."
"Tell me about it, Barry." Caressing. Kissing close to lips then lips. Then.
"It was on the kitchen windowsill and I sprayed it with bug spray. Not the right kind. And it just tried to fly away and I kept spraying it, getting sick to my stomach, how could anyone find killing living creatures fun? --And it tumbled and fought. Its legs were going mad and its wings were trying to lift it up as it fought for its life so hard. And it tumbled to the countertop and I crushed it in pieces with the can of bug spray. Christ! I trembled for ten minutes. If I could have somehow gotten it alive and could have taken it outside and set it free, I would have--I would---"
"Here. Let me put this in your hand and if you would put it to your mouth, I would be much obliged, Barry."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Insects don't feel pain, do they? I mean that's a scientific fact, isn't it?"
"Yes, Barry. They have no nervous system. Here, let's not get into a discussion of that. Come on. I want you to. Come on."
"Oh yes, Barry. You're very--oh god--so-you do this a lot? You are wonder--oh yes please--oh yesss--"
"I'm sorry, baby. It's ok. It's ok. I didn't know. It's ok. Let me help you to the bathroom. It's ok."
(Five minutes elapse)
"Detention's over. You were a good boy."
"Thank you."
"Do you want me to kill you now?"
"Yes. Please. But I'm--"
"You're what, love?"
"Scared. It won't hurt, will it? And what comes after?"
"What comes after is whatever you wish it to be. As for the pain. You have no nervous system. You can't feel hurt."
"But I felt pleasure, fear, panic."
"You can't feel hurt."
"Sure?"
"Yes. Close your eyes. I'll hold your penis. As I spray you. No. Don't struggle. It's best not to struggle. When you wake up, I'll be gone. And so will your wallet, your credit card, your watch and whatever other valuables I can find here. Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee...
"There, now. All asleep. See how easy it is to trust people. See how easy."
And afterwards, leaving the apt. with the goods:
"Detention hall over. For today."