by Doug Sanford
After a short pause, he continued, “So I guess that takes care of what happened and how and why—well, maybe not why.”
“Could be the way we’ve bonded in the last few months, it was inevitable.”
“What were the other questions?” he asked.
“Can’t remember. Are you sorry? was one of them.”
“What do you think?”
“Okay. You might have been sorry after one time, but not after doing it three times, sleeping wrapped around me like a bun around a hot dog—pardon the pun—and then taking an obscene shower with me.” I laughed. “By the way, you know you snore?”
“I do not.”
“You really do. A lot. Sometimes pretty loud. I fell asleep to the sound of you snoring—or should that be your snoring? Call Mrs. Bloom and ask her.”
“Not sure if that’s something I could ask her. I never slept with her.”
“Or any other girl—”
“Yeah. I know.” He looked at me and his brow furrowed again. “I don’t know the answer to that either.”
I looked around. “Bart, let’s eat and get out of here and talk somewhere else.”
We finished, paid the check, and left.
Chapter 16
“Somehow, I don’t think we should go home. We’ll end up back in bed.”
He grinned. “I know, but who’s counting?”
“I am. Let’s walk somewhere—keep moving. How about the zoo—been there yet?”
“Didn’t know there was one.”
“It’s not San Diego, but it’s fun.”
We drove over, and once we were inside, I said, “So back to sleeping with me instead of Mrs. Bloom or with girls in general.”
“I don’t know, Marc. All I know is that what we did felt natural, didn’t feel weird or gay or anything. I wouldn’t care if I was gay, but, honestly, I don’t want to do what we did with any other guy. I just wanted it with you.”
“Not even Richard Gere?” He was one of the leading Hollywood hot men at the time.
“Seriously, I’m not lying when I say I’m not attracted to guys. I’m not. But I wanted you. A lot. I still do. What does that mean?”
Not giving me time to answer, which was good because I had no answer, he continued, “I’ve never felt this way before about another person. I’m not sure I know what love is supposed to feel like, but this sure seems like what they talk about in the movies.
“If I’m straight, how can I love a guy? Or if I’m gay, why don’t I want other guys?
“Now that I’m no longer a virgin—wait a minute. Damn! Am I still a virgin if I haven’t done it with a girl? Does having any kind of sex make you not a virgin or does it have to be with the opposite sex?”
I laughed. “Beats me, but if that’s true, I’m still a virgin even though I’ve fucked and been fucked by a whole lot of guys.”
“Stop it,” he laughed. “Now you’re just bragging.”
“Okay. But—”
“What the hell is going on? And,” he continued more seriously, “rule number two means that I’ve got to say this.”
He paused, took a breath, and I prepared for the worst. “Now that we’ve done it and I know what it’s like, I really want to do it with a girl—a lot more than before.”
Well, not the worst, but pretty close. My throat tightened but it was hardly unexpected. Did I really believe I was so good that I’d turned him gay in one night? Hoped, maybe, but I didn’t honestly think it was possible.
“Don’t be upset,” he said. He can totally read me.
He went on. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to do it with you again. I do. I’m getting hard just talking about it. But I also want to do it with a girl. I think that doing it with a girl would be like having sex, but doing it with you is like making love.
“I think.
“I mean I guess if I met the right girl I could fall in love with her, but I can’t imagine that making me feel different about you. Can you love two people at once? Damn, this is confusing.”
I smiled. “You think? You guess? We’d better keep walking, Bart, or I’m going to grab you right here.”
I changed the subject. “Let’s see if we can find some masturbating monkeys.”
Chapter 17
We didn’t, but the zoo was a welcome distraction. Unfortunately, we just wandered around with more questions and fewer answers.
The next morning, because he wanted to check his mail and unpack, I dropped him off at his apartment before heading in. The office was still closed for the holiday and wouldn’t reopen until Wednesday, so I was alone. I probably could have taken care of the work I needed to get done in an hour or an hour and a half, but I was there for nearly three.
I needed some time and space by myself to figure out what had happened. There was a lot to think about.
Bart was not gay. I was surer of that than ever after what he said at the zoo.
But what are the possibilities? Gay, straight, bisexual, right?
He wasn’t gay if, as he said, he wasn’t attracted to men.
But he wasn’t completely straight either. We’d had very intimate, physical sex together, and he wasn’t showing any signs of losing interest in that to judge by what happened when we returned from the zoo yesterday afternoon and last night and this morning. It was like the dam had burst. But he wanted to have sex with a girl too.
He wasn’t bisexual for the same reason he wasn’t gay. He wasn’t attracted to men.
What did that leave? Could he be “bi for one guy?” Is that a thing?
Well, what about that shit I’d always heard about sexuality being a continuum, and people falling into various places along the line between exclusively straight and exclusively gay?
He’d have to be described as a straight man who has never had sex with a female but wants to and is in love with one male, but not all males. Where in the hell on the line would that fall?
As he said, “Damn. This is confusing.”
And then there were those three little words, but wants to.
They should have upset me the most, but somehow, they were the easiest to deal with. I knew that Bart was going to have to find a girl, and soon. I didn’t like the idea, but we both needed to know if what he thought was really true. Would his feelings for me and us remain the same after he’d been to bed with a girl?
And then there was me to consider. I was totally and completely in love with Bart, but, after Marty, was I ready to commit myself to someone who, though he said he loved me, still wanted to get married and have children? Where would I be then? Another relationship, like the last one, down the drain. I knew I didn’t want that, but was I strong enough to walk away from Bart just because I was afraid of being hurt? Fuck. I knew I wasn’t.
I left the office, not much clearer about where anything was headed. But I was sure about one thing.
He was home when I got there, and I just blurted it out: “Bart, you’ve got to find a girl.”
“Great solution. I’m supposed to go up to some girl in one of my classes and ask her if she wants to fuck?”
“Actually, there are probably guys your age who could do just that, especially one as hot looking as you are, but I don’t think you’re one of them. You need to find a girl you’re attracted to, get acquainted, ask her out, and see if she seems like the right one. You haven’t really been trying, you know—even before you met me.”
Giving him dating advice felt odd and a little dangerous, but I knew it had to be done. It was a case of “Catch a bird and let it go, and if it really was meant for you, it will fly back on its own” or whatever the fuck that stupid saying is. I had to make him fly.
Deep down I had faith in his feelings for me and for us as a couple. We’d been through a pretty intensive four months or so, and I honestly felt our foundation was solid. But then maybe I was just naïve and in denial.
And then to complicate things more, he very unexpectedly said, “Is that offer to move in still open?”<
br />
“What? You really think you want to do that now, with all this uncertainty?”
“What uncertainty?”
He sure didn’t see this the same way I did.
“My feelings,” he said, “haven’t changed since Sunday night, or didn’t you hear me tell you that I loved you?”
“To be accurate, on Sunday you told me you thought you loved me.” I smiled.
“Sunday at the door I said I thought I loved you. Sunday in bed—and a number of times since then I hope you remember—there was no thought about it when I said it.” He smiled.
“That was just the sex talking.”
“No, Marc with a c. That was me, Big Bad Bart, talking.”
He got to me with that—as he knows he can. “You know the answer.”
“I don’t want to give up the apartment altogether, but I’d like to move in. And rule number two, it’s not just for the sex—though you’re pretty good for an old man.”
He smiled—or smirked—I wasn’t sure how to read that one.
“But,” he continued, “sex aside—and I’m not sure how to put this—it just feels weird—bad weird—when we’re not together. Even before I went back to Champaign, it was beginning to seem lonely in my apartment by myself at night during the week. It was too empty. Everything is so much easier when we’re together. Does that make any sense?”
“Totally.”
“So when can we bring my stuff over?”
The next day was Wednesday, and I had to go to the office. The plan was for me to drop him at his place; he’d pack; I’d do what I needed to get done at work; and we’d move it all after lunch.
At the office I had calls to make and return, more paperwork, and Robin to deal with.
She got there later than I did, so I had a bunch of stuff finished before she showed up. But when she saw my big grin as I greeted her, she said, “Okay, what’s up?”
I told her pretty much everything in detail. I didn’t feel unfaithful to Bart. He’d expect me to have told her the whole story.
Her reaction was typically Robinesque. She was happy for me and worried for me at the same time. Being Jewish also, she was perfectly aware of how dangerous it is to offend God by being unconditionally happy.
“I can’t wait to tell Doug. When can you bring him over for dinner? I want to meet this Adonis. How about Friday or Saturday night?”
“Either works, for me. I’ll check with him,” I said, knowing we couldn’t avoid it and that we might as well get it over with as soon as possible.
When I got to his place, he had everything ready, of course. As I picked up the first box, he said to me, “So? What did she say?”
“She’s happy. She’s worried. She’s curious as hell. We’re invited for dinner Friday or Saturday. You care which?”
“Nope. Whatever works for her. By the way, old man, I used up about an hour on that phone card.”
“You don’t have to account to me for that. Let me guess—your parents?”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Everything?”
“Not in detail, no, but pretty much everything else.”
“How’d they take it?”
“Pretty confused. Just like us. My dad thought it was pretty brave of you to suggest that I have sex with a girl, but, not surprisingly, he strongly agreed with you. “
“Hope you told him he has no idea how brave it was.” Weak smile on my part.
“They may be liberal and they would definitely be okay with it if I were gay, but they’re kind of confused about this business of being straight and having sex with a guy. If they think they’re confused, they ought to be inside my head.
“And, they want to meet you.”
“My God, now I’ve got in-laws!”
He laughed.
“Bart, I know you’re pretty open with your parents, but this is a whole lot more than I would have thought you’d tell them. Still, if I told Robin, I can’t complain because you told them.”
“Remember I said things felt bad at home because I wanted you there? They knew something was up and couldn’t figure it out. I thought I kind of owed them an explanation.”
“They’re not flying out here as we speak, are they—to protect you from me?”
“Not now,” he laughed. “At first they thought they’d get to meet you when they came out in May to pick me up and bring me home. I told them that there was no way I was going home for the summer and that I was moving in with you. I think that’s when they began to understand how things really were.”
His offhand reference to the fact that he was not going to go home for the summer, which we’d never even discussed, gave me an insight into how seriously Bart was taking what had happened between us. And it made me gloriously happy!
We spent the rest of Wednesday getting his stuff into the house and distributed. We put his clothes in the guest bedroom with those he’d already brought over. There was no chance he’d be sleeping there anymore, but at least it gave him a place for his things.
Thursday his classes started, and from that point on, life began to settle down a bit.
Chapter 18
Friday, as planned, we went to Robin and Doug’s for dinner. It was just the four of us, and we all got along fine. Bart knew how close I was to them, so he went out of his way to be charming. Since Robin tells Doug everything, they both knew how I felt about Bart if it hadn’t already been obvious by the way I acted around him, so they went out of their way to be friendly and welcoming. I didn’t have to go out of my way for anyone. I just sat there and glowed.
At first I think they were both a bit taken aback by how young he looked, but they were quickly surprised by his maturity and how little he acted or talked like an eighteen-year-old college student. That was thanks to his parents. They may not have been affectionate, but, from what he told me, from the time he was small, they always treated him as a grown up. I think it was a self-fulfilling prophecy: they expected him to behave like an adult, and so he did. I was perfectly happy to compensate him for their lack of affection.
Bart was great at bringing people out. He kept both of them talking about their past, how they met, why they got married, and how they met me. Most of it I’d already told him, but it was typical that he was interested in hearing about it from their point of view. And since most people love talking about themselves, Robin and Doug were happy to tell him anything he wanted to know.
Robin’s whispered comment to me as we carried things into the kitchen after dinner was, “How in the hell did you end up with a hot guy like that? If I didn’t have Doug, you’d have a fight on your hands.”
“Seriously, Robin, I ask myself that every fucking day.”
After dinner, we played Scrabble, and when he built metonymy with two m’s and two y’s on a triple word score, they were suitably impressed.
“Where did you get a word like that?” Robin asked.
I laughed. “Chalk it up to either Mrs. Bloom or his parents.” Of course we had to explain that to them and how our first discussion on the use of the possessive with a gerund kept me interested on the phone the first time I talked to him.
We had a really good time. Bart enjoyed it as much as they did, and Friday night dinners with them became part of our routine, either at their place, ours (how odd that sounded), or out somewhere.
* * * *
A couple of weeks later, the inevitable happened.
“Remember how I’m supposed to be looking for a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I found one.”
“That was fast,” was what I said.
Shit was what I thought.
“Don’t panic,” he said. As usual, he had no problem knowing how I really felt.
“She was in my English lit section last semester, and I ran into her in the book store today. She’s cute, definitely smart, kind of independent and different, and I think she’s interested. She was real
ly friendly. Anyhow, we went for coffee, and she’s agreed to go to dinner and see Good Morning, Vietnam with me Saturday night. We don’t have anything planned, right? And you said you didn’t want to see it.”
“Right and right, but does she have a good pair?” I was joking, but there was definitely some queasiness in my stomach. I felt God’s nose poking around again.
“Actually, not bad at all.” He smiled. “Marc, you were the one who said I’ve got to do this, right?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. But I’m kind of glad you’re getting it over with.”
“Weird way to put it.”
“Good weird or bad weird?” we both said at the same time and laughed.
He came over, put his arm around me, and kissed me.
“Don’t worry, old man.”
I did, but not out loud. I said everything was fine, and we dropped the discussion.
* * * *
Saturday night was one of those longest-night-of-my-life experiences. He took the car and left about 6:30. As he walked out the door, I said, in my most confident and encouraging voice, “Have fun, and remember to quote from Othella so she’ll think you’re a helluva fella.
“I hope I get to do a lot more than that,” he replied with a smile and then left.
As soon as the door shut, my confidence collapsed like a punctured balloon. I honestly didn’t expect to see him before the next day—if then, my mind added.
I couldn’t read, couldn’t watch TV or videos, had no interest in music. I paced a lot and ended up playing endless games of solitaire and doing crossword puzzles on the computer before I went to bed. Not that I could sleep because I kept imagining in my head, with absolutely no evidence, what was happening with him—none of it good—or maybe all of it too good for my good.
But I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I was conscious of was him, naked in bed behind me, kissing my neck.
I raised up and instinctively glanced at the clock. It was 3:30 A.M.
