Sinner's Prayer

by Seth King

“I know. That’s the reaction I usually get.”

  “Wait…what? Rewind, please.”

  “So. After high school, all I wanted to do was see the world. Travel, get out of my town, and maybe do some good in the process. So I enlisted the second I left that crappy little high school, and got sent off to South Carolina. I lasted three months, I think, before shit hit the fan. I liked a guy – he was blonde, sexy, a real douchebag – and, well…we got caught kissing and touching in the showers. Which, at that time, was still a fire-able offense.”

  “I…I don’t even…wow.”

  “I’ll never forget it. I wasn’t even having sex, by the way. But they said I was. When two men are together, everything is made to be sexual. The sergeant on duty, he apologized for reporting it, and then he smiled as he picked up the phone. He called me unnatural the next day.”

  “But DADT seems…so long ago…”

  “I joined when I was eighteen, the year it was repealed. I’m twenty-four now.”

  “Wow. So you were kind of the last wave to hit the firing squad. I’m sure so many people feel like fools now, considering how much we’ve progressed.”

  “Oh, I got some attention once it was reversed and attitudes started changing.”

  “What happened afterward?”

  “My family turned its back on me. I left my hometown for good. And ever since then I’ve just kind of been…drifting. It’s funny – when I saw the ad for this job, I wasn’t even going to click on it, but something told me to do it. Maybe that something was you.”

  “I’m still so shocked,” he says after a long pause. “To be kicked out of the military because of what you are…it sounds so barbaric and archaic to me. And it was only a handful of years ago. But then again…”

  “Yes?”

  “Wouldn’t that happen to me if anyone knew what I was doing right now? How can I be so horrified when I’m part of an institution that is just as bad?”

  “That’s a question you’re going to have to confront on your own.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says soon, leaning closer. “I’m so sorry, on behalf of humanity. That just…okay, I’m going to do something bad and use the Lord’s name in vain. But Jesus Christ, that is one of the worst things I have ever heard. That is just…humiliating.”

  “It was…it was the most embarrassing time of my life. My entire life. I felt less than human on some days.”

  He frowns with his whole face. “Well at least it explains a lot about you. Why you seem so devil-may-care, why you flit from town to town, afraid of putting down roots. How do you even…”

  “Yes?”

  “You seem so optimistic, so…happy. How? Most people would be under a rock.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. That whole period sucked, and it changed me, don’t get me wrong. But it was also when I just decided to stop caring. Stop living for anything other than this moment, right now. Honestly, it changed my life.”

  He sits taller. “I’m proud of you. I barely know you, but I’m…I’m proud that the world threw all this at you, and you stand here in front of me, strong and lighthearted and hopeful. That says everything about what you are, I guess.”

  “Why, thank you, sir.”

  We pass a mom slapping her kid’s arm for eating his sides instead of his main course.

  “That’s the problem with this world,” Adam says under his breath. “Too many people telling others what they should want, instead of letting them figure it out.”

  “Nope,” I say. “The problem is that too many people listen.”

  His lips open. If I could kiss him right here, I would.

  “And what do you want?” I ask, and he looks over at me.

  “I’m not totally sure yet,” he breathes soon. “But I am starting to realize that everything they ever told me about the act of wanting – all of it was wrong.”

  Out at the car, he gets into my driver’s seat.

  “Hey, what gives?”

  “I’m taking you to my place now.”

  “What? Church?” I ask.

  “No, silly. Just get in the passenger’s seat.”

  Soon we pull up to a bookstore called the Bookworm.

  “You want me to read?”

  “If I’m getting to know your world, you’re doing the same. Pick out a few that you like. I’ll buy.”

  I follow him through the shelves, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen – he’s so passionate about books, so knowledgeable. I’ve never seen someone love something so much. Honestly, a few times I drift off and stop paying attention while he talks about this thriller or that mystery, because it’s like he’s just speaking a different language. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

  I head the bathroom at some point. It takes all the constraint I have not to jack off right then and there, to let off all this steam. When I’m exiting the bathroom again, at the very back of an isolated hallway, he bumps into me. His breath on my face is, for some reason, one of the most erotic things I have ever felt. I just have this…reaction to him that I’ve never felt before. It is also terrifying, in a way. I keep second-guessing myself. Did I say too much? Did I show too much? Did that just make me look crazy? Do I need to cool it? How much of me can I show him before he is scared?

  I look down. He has a Bible in his hand.

  “It had a cool cover I’ve never seen before,” he says nervously, and I’m nervous, too. Everything about him makes me nervous. With a shaking finger, I reach up and place it on his chin. Someone could round the corner at any moment, but right now we are the only two people in the world.

  “I like you,” I whisper.

  “And I like you,” he responds.

  And then I turn and disappear down the hallway. A little torture never hurt anybody, right?

  Adam Venus

  Fabian shows up again the next day. Seeing him is like being dunked into cold water and walking on the sun at the same time. We spend that day together, and then two. In short, being around him this much is like dreaming in the middle of the day. He has kept up the “one gift every day” thing, too – one day it’s a Hershey bar when he comes over to watch a movie, the next it’s a single flower he picked from the side of the road. I’m starting to notice funny little things about him, too, like how the sound of his laughter makes my face feel cold, and how his light accent sends a chill up my legs when he speaks. I find myself desperate for details about his life, his past, his habits. Once, in class, a kid makes a cutting remark about “the janitors needing to clean this dump,” and I get a sudden and bizarre urge to strangle him. I feel possessive and protective already.

  But why? He’s just a friend. A friend whose bones I want to jump at all hours of the day and night. A friend whose name is being written in glitter on my soul…

  Of course, I attend my classes in between my Fabian hangout sessions, and avoiding him on campus is getting harder and harder. I think about his proximity all the time. There are obviously rules against this, and not just because of the gay factor – I’m a student and he’s support staff, and there’s a very rigid line between those two groups around here. A few years ago, a female receptionist quietly got pregnant by a professor – until it wasn’t quiet anymore. She demanded child support, as was her legal right, when the professor tried to deny paternity. The professor was a married family man, and the whole thing ended up being a debacle splashed across the local papers. So they’re far more sensitive than most schools about this stuff. Sometimes I’ll see him up ahead in the hall, walking with a mop or something, and my whole world will become white noise. Until he passes, I won’t breathe, won’t breathe, won’t function. In fact, it’s getting hard to function at all, in any capacity, really…

  On Sunday afternoon Fabian plays a song I’ve always loved. “Hey,” I ask, “how’d you know this is my song?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Just figured you’d like it.”

  I smile and think to myself that I’ve achiev
ed the unattainable: I’ve found someone who knows me better than the Spotify algorithm knows me.

  I suggest going to Chik-Fil-A, an idea he shoots down immediately because he says they donate millions to virulently anti-gay causes.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yep. The worst of the worst.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I won’t go there anymore.”

  “Aw. Hey, you’ve been having fun the past few days, right?”

  “Yes. Have you?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Adam. Do you have eyes? This has been one of the best weeks of my life.”

  “Oh,” I blush, smiling up at nothing. “Oh.”

  “And, about that…”

  “What? Why are you nervous?”

  His arm tendons are tight, which I’ve noticed is a sign he’s nervous. “It’s just, um…what were you doing tonight?”

  “Uh, maybe hanging with you, hopefully?”

  “Okay, but…there’s a thing…”

  “What? Tell me now.”

  His shoulders fall. “Look, Adam. The thing is, I haven’t mentioned something. Sometimes, a few weekends here or there, I like to…well, I have a hobby.”

  “Okay. Is it heroin?”

  “No.”

  “Crack?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Why would it be a bad thing, then?”

  He fully faces me at last. “Okay, Adam. I do drag sometimes, as a hobby.”

  “You…you are a drag queen?”

  “I mean, technically? Or…maybe no? Drag queens go onstage and collect tips. I think the queens are the ones who make it into a life. I’m just a kid who likes to go out in drag sometimes.”

  I swallow. My life is changing so quickly, sometimes it dizzies me. “Okay. Tell me more. What do you like about it?”

  He visibly relaxes. “Um, everything? I’m obsessed with makeup, and blending, and contouring, and highlighting, and shopping for new brushes, and…well, don’t get me started. But it’s just a hobby I got into. I have a few friends, and we all get in drag and go to the drag bar in Savannah and get drunk and have fun. Will you come tonight?”

  “Me? In, um…in a drag bar?”

  He turns away. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Chill out,” I say, smiling. “All I was going to ask was, what in the world do I wear?!”

  We head to Savannah and meet up with two of his friends, a guy and a girl. They’re all super excited, and I try to share in their enthusiasm, even if I’m a bit terrified. Fabian disappears backstage, and since it’s amateur drag night, he’s going to get to dance onstage for a minute before he goes down into the crowd. After half an hour, the lights dim, the music gets louder, and…boom. What appears onstage is…not Fabian. It’s a six-and-a-half foot tall glamazon – he has become her.

  Her hips are thick and curvy, her hair is long and Beyoncé-like, her face is contoured and feminized. And her walk – she’s sashaying like she’s on the Victoria’s Secret runway.

  I close my eyes, then open them again. It’s taking some getting used to, I can’t lie – but at the same time, I don’t dislike it. It’s actually fascinating. If he can become this woman in a matter of an hour, what can I become? If the borders between different identities are this amorphous, what am I doing sitting in my little corner, terrified of everything outside the world I know? He’s setting me free and he doesn’t even know it…

  And I know that here, in this little club, something is happening inside me. A month ago I would’ve been repelled by this; I wouldn’t even have walked in. Right now it is changing me from the bones outward. This freedom, this expression, this light – this is church. This is God. He loves these men in these wigs just as much as He loves an old white-haired pastor. Why did I ever believe anything different?

  What’s remarkable up-close is just how much of Fabian has been retained. He still has that jaw, those electric eyes.

  He stops in front of me, and he looks bashful. But I’m not. “Fabian. You’re so beautiful.”

  “Aw. I am? But I’m…”

  “I don’t care what you are anymore. You’re still just Fabian to me. Kiss me. Please?”

  “Really? I don’t want to mess up my lipstick!”

  I lean closer and demand the kiss. “But that’s the thing – I want to ruin your makeup.”

  He disappears and then returns half an hour later totally different – or, back to the Fabian I first met, I guess. I turn down the whiskey shot his friend offers me, but I do accept a very large beer, and then we are off to the dance floor. Probably my first dance floor ever, so I don’t even really attempt to dance. But something happens that night. Something…strange. Something near magic.

  It starts when we’re just standing around in a group of people, talking and chatting – but I can’t ignore him. The energy that used to pulse between us, that energy is returning. He keeps glancing at me, his eyes burning, and I keep blushing and looking away. I am aware of his every movement, his every action. Try as I may, my body and mind can’t stay away from him. The fact that I am insatiably attracted to him can no longer be denied – its proof is everywhere. And as it gets later and his beer turns to liquor, something transforms between us further. The energy goes from orange to a deep, vibrant maroon. And soon, even though the room is crowded, I swear this dance floor was made only for us.

  Everyone is pretty drunk by now, and the dance floor is filling up. It’s got light-up panels in the floors, and the DJ booth keeps spitting out smoke and confetti. I spin across the floor, dance with his friend Samantha for a second, then I feel eyes on me again. I turn, and it’s him. And he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.

  Looking at him, it’s like the rest of the world turns down the lights. A spotlight hits him, and nothing else matters. Slowly I gyrate from side to side, knowing his eyes are all over my body, and a look of unbridled need comes over his face. I laugh to Samantha and pretend I’m having a grand old time, but it’s all show – I want him to see how magnificently I am doing over here, on my own. It’s crazy, though, how it always feel like I am alone with him, no matter where we are. Even in a crowded mall or bar, this little bubble just envelops us. I can’t see anything but him.

  He turns and starts to creep closer, but instead of approaching me, he stops at the shoulder of another girl and starts talking to her. He’s taunting me, but I love it. I feel my body re-orient myself to align with his stance, like we’re of the same gravitational field or something. It’s so crazy – my hair stands on end, my skin goes numb. His presence alone is so powerful it makes my whole body react.

  He starts dancing a little. He looks over, our eyes meet, and smack – it’s like I’ve been hit by a truck. I can feel it pulling me, and I start to slide closer, pulled in by his gravity. A remixed version of one of my favorite songs, Green Light by Lorde, fills the dance floor, and I start dancing alone. But then again, we are still together. We are together even when we are standing ten feet apart. I can just feel it. Not even God himself could keep us apart – literally, I guess.

  He reaches over and just touches my shoulder, so gently I could cry. And then he turns away again, restarting the game. But when will I be strong enough to admit that I want to play, too? Out loud, and not just in the darkness of my own mind?

  ~

  On the way back home, after that supernova of a night, I put my hand on his. And keep it there this time. The drive passes so quickly I can’t process it – I’m slipping in and out of the most peaceful sleep of my life, but he makes me so comfortable I can’t seem to care. But soon we are pulling up to my house, locked in an awkward, charged silence. I feel something humming between us, that same electricity from before. This feels like “the moment.” Will he give into it? Will he even acknowledge it? Or will he break it?

  All I know is that I cannot handle this. As I study him, just the curve of his back makes me twitch with desire. He’s so…male, so enticing, so mysterious. I want to drop to my knees and swallow him
up until I taste him. I’ve been thinking about it all the time. The V in his abdominal muscles leading down to that thing between his legs that I want so desperately, his hairless nipples that I want to suck, even his muscular shoulders and neck are doing it for me. I want him, and I want him now.

  “Sleep with me,” I say before I can stop myself. “We don’t have to…do things. Just sleep with me.”

  “You sure?”

  I have spent many nights sleeping with him in my dreams, holding him in my fantasies. Now I just want to make it real. I miss him, and he hasn’t even left yet. So I’m making a pre-emptive strike against the missing.

  “Yes. Surer than sure.”

  But I understand that this is a risk for him, too. He’s spending time with someone who may never be able to be with him. Heck, he’s hanging with a seminary student. I understand how he must feel, and why sometimes there is reticence in his eyes. But I can’t stop this.

  “Okay,” he says, his eyes opening into a smile.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, okay. Are you insane? I would love nothing more in the world than to sleep with you.”

  ~

  When I look over at him as I fall asleep, he’s muttering something.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Oh,” he says, blushing. “I’m praying.”

  “Praying?”

  “Sure I am.”

  “Um, explain?”

  “Well, I already believed in the grace of the universe, but watching you be passionate about your faith…I don’t know, it’s made me want to pray to that grace. Have a conversation with it. And you’re right – it really does feel good to let this all out. It’s almost like therapy, but free.”

  “Well I’m glad,” I say, smiling at him. “I’m very glad.” Then I laugh. “Look at us, two guys interested in each other, praying to God in the same bed together. A little ironic, no?”

  “Nah. Not if you believe in what I believe, that all love is equal love.” Then he leans in and kisses my forehead, and I am asleep within minutes.