by Seth King
“Fabian,” I plead, knowing I won’t be able to resist this for much longer. “Please. Not here. Not now.”
His eyes shift again. Then his face twists into a snarl. “Fine,” he says, and just like that, he is gone.
He’s on my mind the whole next day. I don’t see him on campus, but it’s not like we cross paths that regularly anyway. And soon it consumes me. I’ve got to apologize to him, but I don’t know how. Sure, he’s moving quickly, but he knows how slow I need to go if I’m going to stay comfortable. So I message his profile as soon as my last class ends, swallowing nerves as my hands slicken with sweat:
Hey. I’m really sorry about the other day. But I want to make it up to you. Please let me?
Adam Venus
Besides lingering self-doubt, my mom basically left me with only one thing: a tried-and-true lamb recipe using this obscure seasoning nobody really knows about. There are two side dishes that are all able to be made in the same pot, so altogether the dinner costs less than ten dollars to make. I’ve made it a million times, but as I stand here tonight I decide I’ve forgotten how to cook altogether. No, I’ve forgotten how to be alive: my thoughts keep slipping away from me, and I keep getting distracted by silly little things. I feel giddy and empty-headed like a schoolgirl, and it’s a wonder I even finish the recipe on time. Because this is going to be my first date with a man. Try as I may, I just can’t wrap my head around that fact.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, Fabian arrives ten minutes late. He’s in jeans that show off his upper leg muscles and a white shirt that absolutely pops in his skin. I keep finding myself studying things about him and noting things to myself: his shoes, his watch brand, his car. (It’s a POS, by the way.) But regardless of the reasoning, I want, no, need, to know everything there is to know about him. And before we go any further, I want to find out why.
“Thanks so much for coming over,” I say, trying to ignore the flashes of the other night that are already playing in my mind. His body, his penis, the trail of black hair snaking up to his navel…
“Oh, uh, sure. Thanks for having me. Nice little place. It smells kind of like this cologne my dad used to wear.”
“Oh. Is that good or bad?”
“Neither. It’s just a thing.”
Ugh, I’ve got to rein myself in and stop overanalyzing this…
I clear my throat. “Oh. Sorry for the…the little moment the other day. I just didn’t know what to say, but it was pretty crummy of me.”
Surprisingly, he brushes it off. “Eh, it’s fine.”
“It is?”
“Trust me, I’m gay and an immigrant. I’m pretty used to being ignored in public by now. I was starting to get impatient, though.”
“Impatient for what?”
The smile that follows is like a beam of light in a cavern. “For you to message me, silly. What’s for dinner? You’re cooking? Aw.”
I putter around the kitchen and run some commentary as he just watches. I find that he’s just easy to be around, comfortable and kind and talkative and open. What I don’t like so much is when he starts looking around in my living area. The area that looks like a shrine to Jesus, if you didn’t know any better…
“Wow, you have so much…well, Jesus stuff.”
He’s studying an old Russian icon of a female saint that my dad bought at a rummage sale on a trip. Around it are other trinkets, rosaries and paintings and old sculptures, all of it antique.
“No, I collect religious iconography,” I correct him. “Even religions that aren’t Christianity still have fascinating histories. It’s interesting to me that other people have different routes to God than I do.”
I point at a bust of Buddha next to my TV. He smiles.
“Interesting. You’re more open-minded than most of the religious people I encounter.”
“Oh, um…there were probably reasons for that. I was clearly struggling with things, myself. Anyway, Catholicism is my recent obsession, I love the ritual and the icons and the drama,” I say as I point at the Madonna painting over the couch.
“And do you love the blatant homophobia, too?”
I don’t know how to broach that, so I let the question pass. It’s awkward, but I pretend I didn’t hear him. “Oh, and anyway, you’ll love how the bread tastes…”
But he won’t let it go. When we sit down, he’s still a little annoyed.
“What?” I ask. “You don’t like the food?”
“Oh, no, no, it’s great. Thanks again. It’s just…I can’t figure out who you are. How you can you be this guy I like, and this guy with all this Jesus stuff all over your house? Are you ever going to reconcile those things?”
I sit back, trying not to think about how he said he liked me.
“It shouldn’t be hard to reconcile, anyway.”
“How?”
“Look at gay marriage. In the Biblical days, the concept of marriage had nothing to do with love. The men of the village had total power over women, and women were looked at as being property. And-”
“Let’s not go there right now,” I interrupt, but he doesn’t stop.
“No, literally, females were bartered away to other families. The deal was so tipped in the favor of the groom, the bride’s family had to sweeten the package with free shit, too, to convince the family to take in the woman – that’s where the term ‘dowry’ came from. So when people say gay marriage today is inappropriate because it’s banned in the Bible, they’re just revealing their laughable level of ignorance, because the ‘marriage’ in the Bible isn’t marriage at all. It’s part of a totally archaic patriarchal system where women were literally objects owned by men.”
My blood is boiling at this point. “Okay, look, Fabian. If you disrespect what I believe what I believe one more time, I will never talk to you.”
“What?
I lick my lips angrily. “You’re so flippant, so cocky. Guess what? Religion helps people get through their lives. I can honestly say that I would be lost without this – through all the crap I’ve dealt with in my life, if I didn’t have the peace offered by God, I wouldn’t have been able to get up and keep walking. Do you understand that?”
He nods. “I do.”
“And, once and for all, can you stop disparaging Christianity?”
“I will.”
“And the – wait, why are you looking at me like that?”
He lifts a brow. “Because your passion, your temper, is a real turn-on.”
“I – it is?”
“Yes. I like a little passion in bed. Flip out at me again, flex those biceps out of anger again, and we might have problems.”
I look down and try to collect myself. He does the same. Then he reaches across the table.
“And now, damnit, that I’ve talked your ear off, let me bring the apple crunch I brought.”
He takes the bag he brought in, then removes a crumpled aluminum pan with a collapsed plastic lid. I notice his biceps, and the way the tendons in his arms ripple when he moves. I wonder what they would feel like against my skin? Is it okay to be wondering these things? Should I feel bad that I feel so freaking comfortable around him?
“It got dumped around a bit on the way, my Corolla doesn’t offer the best ride, but here you go – my abuelita’s favorite apple dessert recipe. It’ll make you want to slap someone.”
He’s holding out his hand, but I don’t want what is on his spoon. I want the hand. And I want it on places I’ve never been touched before. I’ve been thinking about what his chest looks like under that shirt…what his skin would feel like against mine…what that tongue can do besides talk up a storm…
“Try it,” he says, his hair on his arm standing up. I don’t want him near my mouth, though. I’m afraid of what I would do. I’m afraid of how far I would want this to go. I am not yet ready to go down that road. “Seriously, just try it.”
There’s a real tension in the kitchen now. And did it just get darker, or was that just me? In any case, he has a way o
f making everything else in a room slide into soft focus. “I can’t,” I say, glancing away. “I don’t want to.”
“Yes you do. I know you do.”
“No…it’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m…I’m afraid to want it. My whole life, my whole world, told me not to want it. That if I wanted it, or ever got it, I’d burn…”
He frowns. “Take them out of the equation, then. How badly do you want it? Not them. Not the world. But you?”
I finally let out some air and meet his eyes. “More than I want to be alive.”
He leans back like he was hit by a gust of air. His eyes light up like the Eiffel Tower at night. Then I laugh.
“This really couldn’t be any more literal, could it?”
“What do you mean?”
“All of it. The serpent offering Eve the apple, tempting her with something she knows will doom her…”
He licks his lip. “But you haven’t seen my serpent yet.”
At this point I am sure the air around us is going to spontaneously combust and kill us, so I look away. My penis is still flying at full mast, though, and I have no idea what to do about.
Bump-bump…
Bump-bump…
I get such a physical reaction around him, I can heart my own heartbeat. We lock eyes, and then that thing happens, that trademark Fabian thing, the thing where my body feels like I stepped onto a field that had just been struck by lightning. My hair stands up. My throat shrinks. My mouth goes bone-dry.
I look away, breaking the spell. “Some rules are easier broken than others.”
“But what if breaking that rule gave you the greatest pleasure you’ve ever had? Better than anything you could imagine?”
I keep my eyes on the table. “That rule certainly sounds cocky about itself.”
“What if it had reason to be?”
“So you like what you see?”
I bite my lip. “I will admit that I’m letting myself like it more than I did the other day, to be honest.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Anything can happen.”
“Can those things just happen tonight, then? Why beat around the bush?”
“Because the bush is burning.”
He leans forward. “Hey, enough chat. Show me your bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see your bedroom…?”
I walk there on carpet that feels like it’s going to swallow me. I open the door and lead him in – there isn’t much, just two twin beds (holdovers from the last owner that I never bothered changing), two dressers, and more religious icons on the walls and atop the bedside table. I have a candle burning from earlier, and as I turn around I realize this must look like some kind of seduction scene from the movies. But when I face him, I stop breathing – his expression is ravenous. To distract myself, I decide to turn and give him a little tour. “So, I have some more religious art, as you can see. And-”
I feel breath on my shoulder. I turn around and almost bump his face – he’s right up against me. Something else is right up against me, too.
Instinctively my hand flies to my cross necklace. “Fabian. No.”
“I can’t pretend I don’t want you anymore,” he whispers as he shuts the door with one hand. “Your chest in that picture on your Facebook…holy shit. Literally, holy shit. I was shaking the whole time. My pants are wet, too, and I didn’t even swim.”
I stare up at the ceiling and close my eyes. Here in the presence of God, I’m being tempted by a sin I crave more than anything on the planet.
I grasp my cross necklace. He reaches up and places his hand over mine, reaching through my fingers to fondle the cross with me. “Say, why does this stuff have to rule your whole life, anyway? Come on. Have a little fun. Adam and Eve did.”
“And got banished from Eden for the rest of their lives…”
“Hey, they went on to have kids and the whole nine yards.”
“Sure, if you can call the Cain and Abel situation a success, then yes, they lived roaring, happy lives.”
His eyes burn at me.
“What is it, seriously?”
“Nothing, you just look ravishing in this lighting. You really do.”
My stomach plummets. “Ravishing. I’ll take that.”
He just called me ravishing – how could I ever deny him?
I turn away. I try to focus on something, anything else, but of course it all leads back to him. Of course I just had to have a painting of Mary Magdalene in here – biblical hooker, looking down at me as I act like one, myself. She is staring right at me, judging me, knowing me. Watching me. Anybody who ever said guilt was confined to the Catholic movement never met a Baptist pastor with a pulpit and a grudge. I feel the guilt everywhere, and I kind of love it a little, too. Enough to rebel against it.
“So, I got this one sculpture at an art fair in-”
I feel his breath on the back of my neck again, hot and wet. It makes me see flames and heaven, too.
“Fabian,” I say.
“What?”
“We can’t do this here.”
“Why not?”
“We just…look at the religious stuff…”
“So you’ve never done anything bad in front of them? Jack off, use a curse word…anything?”
“But I…”
“What?”
Finally I just give up. “I am out of excuses. Get on the bed.”
“What?”
“I… want to explore you.”
“What?”
How do I explain this?
“This connection between us, it’s just making me so…horny I can’t take it. But I want to find out why. Is it novelty? Or is it something I really do want?”
“Explore? You’re comfortable with that?”
“I won’t do anything. I promise. I want to see what I’ve been missing.”
“But I want you to do things…”
“Shut up and get on the bed.”
“Wow, you said ‘shut up!’ Maybe you are getting a little more daring. And yes, sir.”
I close my eyes as his clothes slide off, right under all my Christian stuff. Oh, my dear…a naked man…in my room…yes, in Adam Venus’ room…
I open them after some silence comes. He’s laying now, with his legs crossed and his arms, too. I try not to look, but he draws me in like a fire on a cold day. If air could burst into flames, the room would be burning.
“Undo your arms. So I can see your chest.”
From this angle, he’s…beautiful. His skin is the same pale luminous, almost translucent tone, but his black hair snakes from his crotch up to his belly button. His nipples are dark, and his…his…
I can’t look at it yet. But it’s big, and it’s making me crazy, absolutely crazy.
“Adam, come here.”
I sit on the bed and rest a hand on his shin. He moans.
“What? I just touched you.”
“I know, but…that’s how much I want you.”
“Okay, then…”
I travel up to his thigh, and his legs are skinny but his muscles here are thick and firm. Then I get closer to his…his…
No, I can’t. I’m not ready yet. So I scoot up and run my fingers up the V shape around his torso. Then I head to his nipple circling around it as his back arches up, up, up.
“Have you ever done this?”
“No,” I say. “Nothing like it. Why?”
“You’re just…good…at touching people.”
“What can I say?” I blush. “I’m affectionate. Now lie back.”
He does as asked, and my finger snakes up to his neck. I wait, but I never get this panicked feeling that I am doing something wrong. I never feel anything at all, really, besides arousal.
Yes, that’s right – in a certain place I am harder than Gibraltar.
“You know what tastes good?” he asks. “Friend to friend?”
“What?”
&nb
sp; “Penis.”
I rock back. But my libido makes me turn back to him a little. “…What does it taste like, anyway?”
“Like…hmm, like skin, and salt, and sex.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Ha. It’s something that has to be lived to learned.”
Okay, then.
My chest lurches with desire for his penis, so much bigger than mine. I can even smell it from here – there’s this musky, male scent that’s making my stomach tingle with anticipation. I want it in my hand, I want it in my mouth, I want it inside me. My hand moves closer…closer…closer…
It’s so fat, and it looks like mine, except bigger…and suddenly I have a carnal, animal urge to hold it in my hand. To feel it and make it mine. I like this human, gender notwithstanding, I really do, and that makes me want to be…servile to him, in a way. So I inch closer, closer…
“You know,” he says, “there’s a way for me to touch you, if what you’re afraid of is, you know, the actual skin-on-skin contact, and making the whole thing real.”
“What do you mean?”
“I bought something.”
I inhale. “Well, show it, then.”
With trembling hands, he reaches over for his backpack and takes out a small box that says FLESHJACK.
“What is it?”
“It’s, like…a jackoff machine. I can make you orgasm without touching you.”
“How?”
“Well, I’ll fuck you with it.”
He opens the box and takes out a small cylinder with a hole at the end surrounded by soft-looking rubber.
“Can I?”
I press my eyes closed and nod.
“Here, sit up, give me access to it.”
I prop myself up against the headboard as he squirts lube on the toy. I’m rock-hard at this point, and I hold my breath as he moves it closer. Three…two…one…
