Bear Hunting

by R. W. Clinger

  Toby thinks, I’m sure Denver just has a lot on his mind. Maybe he has a couple new clients at King’s that he’s working with, or maybe he’s feeling ill. Whatever it is, I can talk to him, and help him. Isn’t that what boyfriendhood is all about?

  Chapter 42: The Bear’s Den

  August 3, 20—

  2:07 P.M.

  Weston Street

  Toby still finds Jim Bone attractive after all their years of friendship. Jim is bulkier these days with much muscle. His frame carries two hundred and forty pounds of sculpted meat. He stands at six-one, has dreamy green eyes the color of a springtime morning when the fog lifts, and yields a beautiful blond military cut. His chest is covered in short blond hair, which shadows his sculpted abs and pectorals underneath a navy blue T-shirt. His recent adult films include Cowboy Steers, Ranch of Raunch, Marine Men 8, Military Bone, and Cop Bone, all of which feature the man as a power-top who bashes twink bottoms with much rage, testosterone, and an eight-inch uncut dick. Off the set and in real life, though, he’s a sweetheart who has a thin layer of blond fur on his chin and cheeks, doesn’t have a blemish on his body, and has just turned thirty-two, although Toby forgot to send him a happy birthday card.

  The two men have a liquid lunch. Toby prefers his usual, which consists of a string of Long Island iced teas. Jim is a scotch with no ice man. The two become somewhat blitzed together at The Bear’s Den, seated at the bar, shoulder to shoulder, and have spent the last fifteen minutes talking about Toby’s various blogs and Jim’s various roles in current skin flicks, all of which Toby has enjoyed with Denver, using the films as preludes to their sexual flings with each other.

  Because Toby is curious, he asks his friend, “How many movies have you been in now?”

  “Forty-eight in all. I’ll be working on three more in the next two months.”

  “And you’re making a fortune from the Jim Bone Lube?”

  Jim nods. “The sales are going through the roof. Thor Media Productions can hardly wait to release my dildo next year. They’re talking about an underwear line too, which will maybe make millions.”

  “What about your love life?”

  “Shitty and dead. Who wants to fall in love with a pornstar? Guys just like me for my dick and nothing else. And a lot of them have fallen in love with my balls. It’s all about sex and nothing more.”

  “Murphy’s Law, right? You’re good in bed, can please a man, and have unbelievable stamina, but guys refuse to fall in love with you. Instead, the horny fuckers treat you like a piece of meat.”

  “My dick pays my bills, but it doesn’t fill the empty spot in my heart, Toby.”

  Jim’s dick has been paying his bills for the last fourteen years. Jim was once an adorable blond “bottom” cub at eighteen who met Rick Lanman at a White Party in West Hollywood, fucked the rugged black bear for a week, did a few lines of coke with him, and learned that Rick was part owner of Thor Media Productions. Three months later Jim Bone (no longer wanting to be known as Millard LeCarre) starred in his first adult movie, The West Hollywood Cub Club, which actually won an Gaybe award. Thereafter, Jim Bone starred in an endless mix of adult gay titles as a bottom, then turned into a top as was well known in the adult industry, and would someday end his career as an icon of porn.

  “Well, at least you have a body and dick that men like. A lot of guys out there can’t say that.”

  Chapter 43: The Favor

  Jim laughs, downing his scotch, passing on a third one. He clears his throat and says, “I want to do us both a favor, Toby. It’s one of the reasons why I’m visiting Templeton. This stop isn’t all about seeing my relatives.”

  “What favor?” Toby asks, raising his eyebrows with question. Never has Jim asked for a favor in their friendship. Not in the twenty-plus years the two men have known each other. “Tell me what you need, guy. I’m all ears.”

  Jim reaches in a back pocket of his blue jeans, shows off a white envelope, and passes the envelope across the table, placing it on the wooden surface in front of Toby. “There’s three thousand dollars in the envelope.”

  Toby shakes his head, grins like a wild cat, and admits, “I won’t sleep with you for cash, although I think you’re sexy as hell. If you’re horny and need to get off, I might consider it with you since you have a famous dick and balls. But giving me cash will only make feel cheap and easy. Both of us know I’m not into that.”

  Jim laughs. “I don’t want you to fuck around with me. I want you to blog about me.” He taps the money with two fingers, looks into Toby’s eyes, and adds in a confident tone, “I want to pay you the three grand to write six blogs about me. That’s five hundred dollars for each blog.”

  Toby shakes his head, pushes the envelope across the table, and ends its journey in front of Jim’s chest. “I’ll do the blogs, but I won’t take any money from you. I’ve known you too long to charge you for blogs. Hell, you were the first boy I ever kissed.”

  Jim laughs again. “You stole a kiss from me. I hardly asked for it.”

  “Whatever. I’m still not taking your money.”

  “This is a business transaction, Toby. You can’t do it for free. I’m paying for some publicity and this is one way to accomplish it. Your Bear Blog gets a lot of attention from queers and men who love me and the raunchy movies I star in. It’s a good investment on my part. Bottom line, I insist you take the money. No one writes for free, which includes you.” He pushes the envelope back in front Toby, asks the bartender for a third scotch, and adds, “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  It’s a done deal. Toby realizes that he’s being backed into a corner, collects the cash, pockets the wad of bills, and asks, “When do you want the blogs on the web site?”

  “One every two weeks. Can you do that?”

  “Of course I can do that.”

  Jim shakes hands with Toby and buys him another drink. The two men sit for the next hour and talk about men, sports, and Jim’s new BMW, which is loaded. They catch up on their lives, become a touch intoxicated, and chitchat for the next few hours, enjoying their time together.

  * * * *

  Toby has quite the buzz. The Bear’s Den interior doesn’t spin, but he feels lightheaded and can’t stop smiling. He reaches his left hand up to Jim’s mouth and wipes a dribble of scotch away from the man’s bottom lip. “I want to ask you a serious question, but only if you’ll allow me.”

  “I hate being serious. It makes me feel old.”

  Toby ignores him and asks, “Why weren’t we ever lovers? We’ve known each other for most of our lives and we never made out, blew each other off, or diddled. I want to know why that is.”

  “You’re drunk, Toby. Lay off the liquor.”

  “I might be drunk, but I know what I’m saying.”

  “Because I moved to California and you stayed here in Templeton. Otherwise, I would have probably banged you every day.” Jim laughs at his own comment. “And trust me, it would have been the best bang you would have ever had. I think you would have been addicted to my cock.”

  Toby also laughs. If he keeps drinking he’ll start slurring his words, so he decides that the cocktail in front of him on the bar is his last one. “Distance took you away from me.”

  “It did. Things happen, right?”

  “You know I loved you when you were fourteen,” Toby said.

  “You were eight when I moved away. You didn’t even know you were gay, and you certainly didn’t know what love between two boys was.”

  Toby rolls his eyes, huffs, and says in a tone that comes across as serious, “That’s not true. It was boy-love because I knew you were my best friend, and you hurt me when you left. I lost something important in my life. It was like I lost my brother or relative. I may have not known at the time that I loved you, but now I do.”

  Jim reaches a paw out and rubs the back of Toby’s head, showing his endearing side. “I’m sorry, guy. I didn’t know you went through that. I’ll buy your drinks for the next five years and mak
e it up to you. What do you say?”

  “I’d say you’re a shithead for even suggesting a thing like that.”

  “I’ve been called worse. But at least I’m a shithead who likes you after all these years of friendship, and wouldn’t give you up for anything. I honestly mean that. I’m not bullshitting you, like I sometimes do.”

  He’s not bullshitting me, Toby thinks, decides to hug the guy as a friend, and ends their evening together, separating once again.

  Chapter 44: Uninterested

  382 Bretton Way

  Something mysterious is up with Denver and Toby doesn’t know exactly what it is. When Toby gets home from The Bear’s Den, returning to Bretton Way, all the lights in the house are off, and the doors and windows are locked. Toby discovers a message from his lover on the answering machine in the kitchen. He presses the play button on the digital Panasonic machine and hears Denver’s familiar voice, which is stagnant and not at all himself. He sounds drunk, Toby thinks, or stoned. “Toby…I…I need some space for tonight…Just tonight. Okay? I’m going to spend the night with Minna at her place. I’m turning my phone off so you won’t be able to reach me. Sorry about this, but I just need to…”

  Toby realizes that Denver doesn’t finish his sentence, ending his message before he’s done speaking to Toby. Toby thinks about calling Minna, but Minna loathes him and he knows that she won’t help him regarding Denver and his away time, whatever these two words mean. Toby also thinks about driving over to Minna’s condo, but she will probably call the Templeton Police Department and have Toby arrested for trespassing on her property. The final outcome involving the situation is rather elementary: Toby stays put at Denver’s Tudor, takes a shower, and goes to bed, inebriated and pissed off because of Denver’s distance.

  * * * *

  It’s quite obvious to Toby that Denver has issues with him, and wants to be alone, perhaps even removed from their relationship as lovers. Lately, they haven’t been sharing meals together, showering together, or having sex. They aren’t even going to bed at the same time, since Denver seems to vanish from Toby’s side without saying goodnight or sweet dreams. Denver really hasn’t been spending much time at the Tudor, either, always out and about. Toby knows that he’s usually with Minna, shopping together, eating meals as a couple, and other friendly activities. And no longer are the two of them enjoying cups of coffee at Cup of Beans, watching pornography together, taking midnight walks around Templeton with their arms latched together, swinging to and fro, or simply necking on Denver’s living room sofa.

  There’s a reason for Denver’s distance, but Toby just can’t put a finger on it. Toby hasn’t changed much since they’ve been together, if at all, and he can’t figure out exactly what Denver’s problem is. The nutritionist’s workload is light at the gym according to King, and Denver is doing a fine job, bringing new clients in every day, increasing memberships. But when Toby brings up the topic of Denver to King, King raises his arms, opens his palms as if he’s surrendering to Toby’s badgering, and always says, “Don’t get me involved in your relationship. Denver is your man, not mine. You’re a big boy and can figure this out on your own.”

  Toby can’t figure this out on his own, though. One minute his relationship with Denver is peachy sweet and flawless, and now Denver is spending nights elsewhere, perhaps avoiding him. Truth is Toby is fucked up in the head about the topic or issue and wishes that Denver’s uninterested behavior will soon stop. He also hopes that he can have his lover back in his arms, and in his bed, exactly where Denver Rawslton belongs.

  Chapter 45: Ending Things like Polite Men

  September 4, 20—

  382 Bretton Way

  It’s a civil breakup over bran muffins at approximately seven o’clock the next morning. Denver enters his Tudor with mussed hair and smells like sweat and a brewery. Toby thinks he’s been out drinking all night long and dancing, among other activities with a variety of men, which Denver has always enjoyed.

  They make eye contact but are void of smiles. And once Denver is in the house, barely able to stand, suffering from bloodshot eyes and a runny nose, still drunk from the previous night’s party, wherever the binging occurred, Toby decides to serve his lover a hot cup of coffee and a bran muffin.

  Denver clumsily sits down in one of the two chairs and says, “Hell of a night.”

  “Can I ask you a question, Denver?” Toby’s tone is calm and collected with very little inflection. The last thing he wants to do is piss Denver off, causing a fight between them.

  “Sure. I guess we have nothing to lose between us, do we?” He rubs his face with a palm and fingers. Bubbles of thick snot collect on his palm and two of his fingers.

  “You’ve fallen out of love with me, haven’t you?”

  “The great tragedy of love between two men,” Denver says. “I want to apologize to you, but I can’t find the words to do so. I want to say something like, ‘I’m sorry I can’t love you like you have loved me. You’ve opened your heart up to me and I’ve ruined a part of you. I can’t take that back.’”

  “Jesus,” Toby whispers across the table, unable to drink his coffee and eat the bran muffin. “We’re breaking up, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. We can end this like polite men and treat each other with respect. There’s no reason to argue or fight. We’ve had some great times together, Toby, but…”

  “No more, Denver. You’ve said enough. I get it.” Tears begin to edge their way out of the corners of his eyes and his stomach feels as if it’s been poisoned. He swallows saliva down the back of his throat, wipes snot away from his nostrils with the back of his right hand, and asks, “Is it another guy?”

  Denver shakes his head. “It’s not.”

  “A woman?”

  “Never.”

  “Then what is it?” Toby asks, feeling lead inside his lungs, at a loss for breath, and dizzy. “I won’t ask you again after this. Tell me now. I want to know.”

  Denver presses his lips together, looks down at the table’s surface and studies the uneaten bran muffin and untouched cup of coffee. “Love, Toby. It’s all about the lack of love. I can’t do that to you. I won’t. I don’t mean to break you, but I have. I know that.”

  Toby tries to smile, but he can’t. Transparent tears roll down and over both cheeks and fall to the table’s top. He reaches a hand across the table and collects one of Denver’s within his own. And between his quivering lips, feeling a fresh bend of pain arch through his heart, he whispers, “I understand. I really do. Thank you for being honest with me, Denver. Thank you.”

  Chapter 46: Sunlight

  12:02 P.M.

  There’s no sunlight at the end of this dark pathway, Toby thinks, although he’s wrong. After an hour of sobbing—because he loves Denver and probably always will—he finds two empty boxes in the Tudor’s basement, carries the pair upstairs, and gathers a few of his belongings, placing them inside the boxes. He decides to take his digital camera, a few clothes, his favorite bottle of shampoo, and three pair of shoes. The things he leaves behind aren’t important to him and Denver can do whatever he wishes with them.

  He drives the boxes to his Colonial on Second Avenue, sets the cardboard squares on the coffee table in the living room, and becomes a lump on the sofa, which doesn’t feel comfortable like it once used to.

  King calls, which distracts Toby. Toby’s cellphone buzzes on the coffee table and he picks it up, presses a button, holds the device up to his ear, and says, “King.”

  His friend is out of breath, probably working out with a buddy or client at his gym. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” Toby sounds depressed and lethargic. His voice is depleted and almost a whisper.

  “That Denver dumped you.”

  “How’d you find out?” Toby doesn’t deny the fact. Why bother?

  “Everyone at this gym gossips. Half my clients are queer and they like to talk more than they like to work ou
t.”

  “I think I just want to be left alone, King. Can you respect that?”

  “Sure I can. But I’m here if you need me. I’ve got a big shoulder you can cry on. It’s what friends are for.”

  “I’ll keep that in my mind. Thanks.”

  Their conversation ends with sincere goodbyes. Not even five seconds later his cellphone buzzes again. Toby thinks its King again, forgetting to tell him something. But it’s not King. Rather, the caller is Jim Bone, who says to Toby, “Have lunch with me before I leave town tomorrow. We need to do some more catch up. What do you say?”

  “I’m in,” Toby says, smiling for the first time today.

  * * * *

  They have tacos at Rio Bravo Mexicana, a Mexican dive where greasy tacos, cheesy quesadillas, and refried beans rule in Templeton. The restaurant has been featured on a cable food show recently and the place is packed. Toby and Jim decide to eat outside at a picnic table built for four, protected from the summer’s sun under a Pride-colored umbrella. Both are shoulder to shoulder instead of sitting across from each other. It’s Jim who says, “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me yesterday.”

  Toby’s really not hungry, but it’s nice to be outside and feel the warm wind against his face. “What did I ask you? Refresh my memory.”

  “About you and me not ever turning into a couple.”

  “And why have you been thinking about that?” Toby sets his bean and beef burrito on the paper wrapper in front of him, more interested in Jim than the food.

  “Because I have,” Jim replies, turns his head to Toby’s head, leans forward, and connects his mouth with the blogger’s, crossing a line that reflects friendship and nothing more.

  Too many kisses in Toby’s dating history have been horrible. He doesn’t feel this way about Jim’s kiss, though. Rather, Jim’s lips are smooth and warm. There’s very little saliva with the embrace, and it’s not sloppy. Truth is it’s a comforting kiss that totally catches him off guard, surprising him, and accepting the bond with the man, rather enjoying his company.