Design for Loving

by Doug Sanford

  “What happened?”

  “Everything, old man. I fucking did it. I mean I did the fucking!”

  “And?”

  “It was amazing, awesome, phenomenal, and I love you, Marc, for pushing me to do it. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  “Slow down. Where? When? Why are you here?”

  “The movie was great, by the way. I’d like you to see it. Then we got some coffee and talked for a long time. She’s a really neat girl, Marc. You’d like her.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but said nothing.

  “We held hands walking back to the car, and when we got there, standing outside, I kissed her. A Marc special kind of kiss—like your first one to me. It was really good. We got in the car, kissed a lot more, and I got to second base—right there in the parking lot. They were awesome. Seriously.

  “I was ready to ask her back to my apartment when she asked me if I’d like to go to her place. Her roommate’s from Mesa and usually goes home every weekend to see her boyfriend. We went back there, and yes, thanks for trusting me and not being anal about it, I used a condom. Well, condoms. We did it twice.”

  I’d turned on the light, and his face was bright and smiling and very happy, and I felt sick to my stomach and hoped it didn’t show.

  “Marc, it’s different. She was so soft and her breasts—they were beautiful and her nipples were firm and pointed. They felt so good against my chest. And fucking her was different from fucking you. The whole sensation on my dick was—I don’t know—it’s hard to describe. I loved it.”

  By now my insides were really churning, and I was struggling to keep a reassuring smile on my face. But I was blown away by what came next. For the second time in the last month, Big Bad Bart totally shocked the shit out of me.

  “Marc, fuck me.”

  “What?”

  “Fuck me. Now. I’m so horny and that’s what I want.”

  “Bart, you just—”

  He wouldn’t let me finish. “Fuck me.”

  I looked down at him, and his dick was hard. That was enough to bring me up as well. Questions were for later.

  I kissed him deeply and slowly, laid him gently down on his back, grabbed a condom and lube out of the night stand drawer, knelt between his legs which I moved up onto my shoulders, and started, very gently, to press into him. His body stiffened at that, and I bent down and kissed him. “Bart, you sure?”

  “Yes. Do it.”

  “Relax as much as you can.”

  “Fuck me, Marc!”

  Still kissing him, I pushed in slowly until my knob snapped past his sphincter, and I entered him.

  It was astounding. This was the one thing we hadn’t done. Once I was all the way in and he had adjusted to it, we made love in a whole new way. It was tender, it was rough, it was verbal, it was completely fulfilling for both of us. He came just seconds before I did, and I collapsed on top of him.

  We lay like that for a while, kissing and nuzzling each other. Then, I rolled off him onto my back, he turned onto his side, put his head on my shoulder, threw a leg over me as he did almost every night, and we were asleep in what seemed like seconds.

  Chapter 19

  When I awoke, he was still asleep, snoring, a bit quieter than usual. I extricated myself as gently as possible and went into the bathroom. I shaved and showered, and when I came back, he was awake.

  I looked at him. “Bart? What the fuck was that all about?”

  He looked at me. “Don’t ask. I don’t know.”

  “I don’t want to go out. Cereal? Coffee and toast?”

  “Toast. I love you, old man—in case you had any doubts.”

  “I, you, kid. And after what we did, no, I don’t. But lots of questions.”

  “Not sure I have any answers—for a change.”

  “Go take a shower.”

  We ate outside.

  “Me or you?” I said.

  “You.”

  “So why didn’t you stay with her? Why did you leave?”

  “You’ll laugh, but I was too excited. I wanted to tell you about everything. I couldn’t wait. Also, I couldn’t fall asleep. I wanted to be sleeping with you.”

  “Flattering, but strange. How’d you get out of staying?”

  “I told her my roommate needed his car back early in the morning.”

  “Bet she wasn’t convinced.”

  We ate in silence for a minute or two.

  “So what happened last night between us? After twice with her, you wanted more? And wanted that? To be fucked?”

  “I planned to come home, quietly get into bed with you, and go to sleep, but I kept thinking about stuff on the way back. This is going to sound strange, but rule number two: I wanted to know how you—she—it felt.”

  “What?”

  “I’d fucked you, and now I’d fucked her, but I’d never been fucked. I wanted to know how it felt. I got hard thinking about that coming home.”

  “And how did it feel?”

  “It hurt at first, kind of a lot, but then you kissed me and I wanted it, and the pain wasn’t important. I wanted you inside me so bad. And then it completely stopped hurting and became—don’t laugh—beautiful and hot. I loved that we were together in a way we’d never been and that I was giving you something I’d never given you or anyone else before.”

  “You totally blow me away, kid. Look.” I opened my robe to show him my erection.

  “Yeah? Well, look.” He pulled down the waistband of his briefs to show me his.

  “Put it back,” I said, tying my robe closed. “Stay there. Don’t get any ideas. We’re not doing that now,” I smiled.

  “So what happens next time?” I said. “When it’s not so new and exciting with her and you don’t have to rush home to tell me what it was like or to find out how it feels?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out. I’ve got a date with her next Saturday.”

  As it turned out, we didn’t know much more then—or maybe we did. They didn’t get into any bullshit about a movie. They both knew it was for sex. The roommate was gone as usual. According to him, they took their time and, again, did it twice, but longer, slower, and more intensely with more love making.

  They kind of napped between sessions, and it turned out she wasn’t very interested in cuddling and had a really big problem with Bart’s snoring. She kept asking him to turn over so he’d be facing in the other direction, away from her, and he kept trying to hold on to her.

  After the second time they did it, he said that he thought they’d both sleep better alone, and she agreed.

  When he got home, we had a replay of the week before. He still loved what they did and how it felt, but he wanted more from me, and wanted to sleep the way he was used to.

  The following Wednesday, he said, “Talked to my dad today.”

  “Your openness with your parents is something I admire in principle but question in execution.”

  I smiled.

  “I assume this was to tell him that now you could not in any way be considered a virgin, having fucked a man and a woman and been fucked by a man. But I hope you also mentioned that you’ve missed having your girlfriend fuck you with a strap-on. Or is there something you haven’t told me?”

  “Stop that,” he giggled. “I didn’t go into that much detail. I did tell him that I’d had sex with a girl, twice—four times if you count by orgasms—and that I really loved it, but that you and I were still doing it, and I still felt the same way about you. He’s even more confused, and when he told me that, I admitted that we were, too.

  “As a result, but maybe not—maybe this would have happened anyway—he and Mom are planning a trip out here during spring break. We figured out that Illinois, the Urbana public schools, and the U of A all have the same break schedule this year, and they’ve never seen the southwest. They want to go to the Grand Canyon—and so do I. How come you never took me there?”

  “We didn’t meet in person until practically November, and it’s too
cold and snowy up there then. So they’re coming here? Where are they staying?”

  He looked at me and said nothing—another of our shorthand conversations.

  “I guess it will work out. I can take it if you can.”

  “I lived with them for eighteen years. Another week won’t make much difference.”

  “We’ll have to be pretty quiet. And what about your snoring? Their room will be right next door.”

  “Weird, but I guess I snored when I lived at home although they never mentioned it.” He smiled.

  “Go ahead. Call them back.”

  He did.

  Chapter 20

  From that point on, our life together began to develop its own rhythm. Classes and studying for him, work for me, the Y for both of us. And sex more than was probably healthy for either of us, but we showed no ill effects.

  Now that my sexual tension problem had been taken care of, we could finally take showers at the Y. Bart kidded me unmercifully when he found out the real reason I’d refused to shower there.

  We had dinner with Robin and Doug Friday nights, spent Saturday mornings at the Food Bank, and he had a standing date with Leslie—that was her name—Saturday nights. We saw movies and plays as often as we could fit them in. He was really getting interested in the theater, and we saw pretty much everything being done around town and at the university. We even went up to Phoenix when a show seemed worthwhile and we had the time.

  I wanted to see and do more than he could manage even with his scholarships and his parents’ allowance. Since I could afford it for both of us, rule number three came in handy here. Rule number one was definitely down the drain, but two and three were alive and well.

  I got to take him to see his first live Sondheim show when a national touring company of A Little Night Music came to Tucson. It looked to be a fine production with a great cast—although no big star. The evening that we talked about going, I suggested that we listen to it before we saw it.

  “You know, Marc, Robin keeps saying that you’re one of the best Realtors in the city, but you’ll never stop being a teacher, will you?”

  He smiled at me. “Seriously, it’s okay. Put it on. I haven’t heard it in years—probably not since my parents got the LP from Bryan and Ryan when it first came out.”

  I’d learned to accept this kind of ribbing from him, so I pulled out the recording, and played it.

  “Wow,” he said afterward. “I can’t believe how much I’d forgotten. Whenever I think of that show, “Send in the Clowns” is really the only number I remember, but there’s a lot of really good stuff in there. “

  “And wait until you see the film they made of it with Elizabeth Taylor,” I said. “Most people hate it, including Sondheim, I read somewhere, but I think it has some really fine moments—including the revised version of “The Glamorous Life” that he wrote especially for the film. And some of the cinematography of the Sondheim film goes back to the original Ingmar Bergman film, Smiles of a Summer Night, that it was adapted from. We can rent both of those from Casa Video if you want.”

  “Sometimes living with you is like taking an extra class with oral exams. You did the same thing with Earnest. Let’s just see the show first, okay?”

  “You win.”

  I stopped badgering him, and when we saw the show, he was as excited as I thought he’d be, and we did end up watching both other films at his request. I tried to use the incident to learn to calm down and show a little less of what he called my anality around him.

  I don’t think I ever succeeded because there was something that made me want to share with him everything I knew or had ever seen or heard. Not sure what that was about, but I think that I was looking to pass myself on through him since it was obvious that I’d never have children.

  He continued to see Leslie pretty regularly for the rest of the semester, and the routine stayed the same. She really couldn’t get into cuddling afterward or get used to his snoring, but otherwise things were great between them. And having sex with her seemed to increase, not decrease, his need for us to do it. I happily chalked that up to his youth.

  The best thing was that Leslie wasn’t looking for a relationship. Fortunately, neither was he, so they could hook up when they felt the need. Every so often she needed a date for parties or other occasions. Since she was, as I thought of it in my own sexist way, putting out, she felt she was entitled to ask him, and he pretty much made himself available. She knew he had a roommate with whom he was sometimes obligated to do things, but nothing more than that and no suspicion of what our relationship was. She knew virtually nothing about me, and I knew pretty much everything about her. From my point of view, that was just fine.

  We didn’t talk about her a lot, but when we did, it was clear to me that his feelings for her were getting deeper. He had no interest in finding someone else, trying someone new. He really liked her as well as lusted after her and her pair, and that was also fine with me. Our relationship seemed even better than before Leslie came on the scene. He never stayed all night with her since he was happier being home and she was happier sleeping alone. So things worked out well for all of us. I was content and no longer jealous. Apparently the bird I let go was meant for me after all because it continued to fly back on its own.

  Finally, Bart and I stopped asking questions and looking for answers. We had a pretty unconventional relationship, to say the least, but it worked for us, and we finally realized we didn’t have to label it or ourselves, and that was all that mattered. Our situation may have been difficult to explain, but fortunately we didn’t have very many people we needed to explain it to.

  * * * *

  His parents arrived on a Friday night toward the end of March. As we walked into the airport, I said, “Do you know what date it is?”

  “The twenty-seventh—oh, that’s why you asked.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s seven months exactly from the first phone call and five months since we first met in person.”

  “You’re obsessed with dates and anniversaries, old man.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to keep track.”

  “There they are. Mom, Dad. You’re right on time.”

  They may not have usually been affectionate, but his mom hugged him and turned to me.

  “This must be Marc—with a c, Bart said. Come here, Marc.”

  “Guilty, Mrs. Rastin,” I said stupidly and obediently bent down for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Ada. Call me Ada. This is Jack. Don’t call him Mr. Rastin, or he’ll think you’re one of his students—although they call you Dr. Rastin, don’t they Jack?”

  She certainly was chatty.

  “Nice to meet you, Marc.” Enthusiastic two-handed handshake from Jack who was taller than Bart and almost as tall as I was.

  “You too. Welcome to Tucson. Let’s get the luggage. It’s down this way.”

  What a brilliant conversationalist I was.

  Bart and I each took one of the carry-on bags and Jack walked between us, an arm around each of our shoulders. Bart’s brow furrowed again and he gave me a quizzical look which I knew meant that he considered this to be aberrant behavior for his dad.

  “We’ll have to pick up the rental car too,” said Jack.

  “Why did you rent a car?” I asked.

  “You boys only have one. No sense in putting all the miles on that. Besides, you’ll be working some of the time we’re here, Marc, and this way, you won’t have to chauffeur us around.”

  I was to find this kind of consideration was typical of them, and it explained a lot about Bart.

  “Well then, I’ll head back to the house, and you guys can follow when you get the car.”

  “No,” said Jack. “I’d like you to come to the rental counter with us. I thought we’d list all of us as drivers on the contract so we can take turns doing the driving—that is, if we can keep Bart awake.”

  We did that and drove both cars back to the house. I parked and got into the rental car with them. They h
adn’t eaten, so we went to dinner—at the Willow as usual.

  We ate there so often that pretty much everybody knew Bart and me, and we both thought they knew about us as well. I’m not sure how they couldn’t have considering the way we usually looked at and acted with each other. At any rate, we got our usual excellent service, and after dinner, Ada began to scour the gift shop for things to take back to friends. Bart eased her out with a promise of many gift shops to come, and we drove home.

  “What a nice-looking house,” Ada said as she walked in the front door. “It’s larger than I thought it would be from the outside. Are you sure we’re not putting you out? Jack, did you see all the cactus in the yard. So many different kinds. And a palm tree too. Do you get coconuts? Or is that just in Hawaii? We’ve never been to Hawaii, but we hope to go one of these days. Jack, help the boys with the luggage. We probably brought too much, but I never really know how to pack. I’m not sure if it’s going to be cold or hot, although Bart said it would be warm. But he wears blue jeans everywhere, so he’s not a lot of help. I see you wear blue jeans too, Marc. What a lovely living room. There’s a lot of space for entertaining. Do you have a lot of parties, Marc?”

  Jack and Bart were obviously used to Ada’s conversational style since they made no attempt to answer any of her questions. I tried with the first one, but since she wouldn’t stop long enough to hear my reply, I joined them in silence. Still, she was a dear. She went from room to room, wanting to see everything at once and commenting on it all. It must have been a form of nervousness, because eventually, she quieted down and was a lot easier to talk to.

  Almost the first thing Jack headed for was my book and record collection, just as Bart had done his first time at the house. In this case, it was Like son, like father.

  “We seem to like a lot of the same things,” Jack said.

  “Yeah. Bart pointed that out the first time he was here.”

  “I’m not as much of a Gilbert and Sullivan fan as you are, I must admit.”

  “And your son apparently takes after you since I’ve not been able to get him to listen to any of them so far. But hope springs—”