The Pull of Yesterday

by Gabriella West

  He looked down. Then back at me. “I should have asked you first. Checked in with you.”

  “It was fine, Matt.” Then I said, “I don’t see what else you could have done.”

  “Maybe not rushed you through it?” he said with a trace of self-disgust.

  “I wanted to do it. With you.” I pushed the words out.

  “I know,” he said. He stubbed out the joint. “OK, I’ve had my fun here.”

  I thought for a moment that the evening might end there. The mood had definitely darkened between us, though it didn’t feel antagonistic.

  We wandered through the dimly lit house, our hands occasionally brushing together. Going upstairs with him had a strange, heavy feel to it, though the stairs themselves were plush and carpeted. Everything was easy and modern in this house, I thought, built for comfort and a happy family life. It was the absolute opposite of the creaky Victorian duplex in Boston that my parents had bought in the mid-’70s. Still, you always love the house you grew up in. It shapes you.

  Matt pushed open the door to his bedroom. I looked around, wordless. I had expected it to look very close to what I remembered, but what I hadn’t expected was that it would feel exactly the same.

  He switched on a bedside lamp and we stood by the double bed, which appeared so much smaller than I remembered, but was the same. Even the puffy black-covered duvet looked the same.

  “I never brought anyone else back,” Matt said in a hoarse voice. “Taylor came here a few times, but we never did it in this bed. All my other lovers over the years—I didn’t bring them home. Not one.”

  “Is that because they were men?” I asked, facing him.

  “Some were women,” Matt said.

  “Do you prefer women?”

  Pause. I expected him to say yes.

  “No.”

  As he said that, he put his hand on my lower back. I closed my eyes. We kissed. I felt his stubble, and then his tongue raking my mouth. His hands were unbuttoning my shirt, then freeing my pants.

  I relaxed against him. Both of us were hard.

  I didn’t want to beg him to fuck me only to get turned down, which is what I sensed he would do. He pushed me back on the bed, landing on top of me.

  “Oh,” I groaned as his body rubbed against mine.

  “Dave, I’m going to get you off, don’t worry.” He stroked me, and immediately my mind stilled. “I didn’t go down on you at the hotel, did I.”

  “No, but...” Then I felt him slide down, his warm breath on my skin, his hands. I stared at the ceiling, blinking. There had been stars there once. Reaching out, he switched off the light. There still were. I had thought of those stuck-on stars as so magical then; it was the first time I’d seen them.

  I reached down and touched his hair, just lightly. He was getting into it, tonguing the slit in the head of my cock. It sent a shock right through me.

  Matt had always loved oral. I remembered. And he was so good at it, so expert, that our college fumblings had satisfied me every time. But I’d still wanted more, and I wondered if tonight I would as well.

  I thrashed against him, groaning and then crying out “oh fuck” as he took me in completely.

  I had lost track of time. I was only grateful that his mother wasn’t there, that he wasn’t putting her through this. I was noisy. The bed creaked.

  He sucked every drop when I came, which took a while. I quivered and shook in a way that Aaron simply had never been able to make me do.

  “You are fucking amazing,” I whispered, kissing his face. He lay back and I flopped on top of him, wanting to please him in turn.

  “You don’t have to,” he said immediately.

  I stroked him gently in the dark, loving the sound of his breath, his “oh Dave, oh Dave.”

  “Yeah, say my name,” I whispered. There was something so equal about us, around the same height, our bodies, our hands, our cocks all similar in size. It was incredibly familiar, brotherly even, as if I was touching myself. I knew what to do, biting and tonguing his nipples as well. His back arched.

  When he was about to come, I lowered myself and sucked him in, in one long breath. He exploded and I swallowed.

  And then we just lay there for a long time, completely silent, locked in each other’s arms.

  We heard the door open downstairs, quietly, and Matt’s mother making her way into the house. We heard a bedroom door close.

  Matt kissed me gently.

  “When can we meet again?” he asked.

  “I have Mondays off.” My voice was hoarse. The previous Monday, I’d been with Janine. Living dangerously, I thought. I’d see Janine the next day, maybe. Maybe not. Actually, I couldn’t imagine it.

  “Perfect,” he said. “I have a place nearby we can meet; it’s a houseboat. Do you know that northern area of Sausalito? A friend owns it. He’s away for a year or two, and I’ve used it sometimes when I want privacy. I’ll draw you a map.”

  “I can find it,” I answered. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

  He switched on the light and looked up at me. I was up on one elbow, looking down at him.

  “I’m going to make love to you on Monday,” he said. “Do you have any objection to that?”

  I smiled faintly, looking down at him. “Nope, none. You could do it now, for all I care.”

  “That’s the Dave I remember.”

  We stayed there looking at each other. His eyes flared. I felt an “I love you” was on the tip of his tongue. It was close to mine as well. I said it with my eyes.

  He looked happy, exhausted, scared. I was all of those things as well. Except I had a lover at home, and Aaron was always there in the back of my mind.

  But that could wait.

  “You’ll let me come back here again, though,” I said. “Won’t you?”

  “Oh, baby, yes. Anytime.”

  Baby. I blushed.

  We were still drinking each other in. The air smelt musky with our sweat and sperm, but I couldn’t make myself go. Not yet.

  “Come down and finish dinner,” Matt said suddenly, as if remembering. “We can be quiet. Aren’t you starving?”

  I thought of his mother passing through, looking at our half-empty plates with a smile. At least I hoped she’d smiled.

  “Yes,” I said, because the idea of eating with him at a candle-lit table held appeal.

  We dressed slowly, our hair mussed. My lips were tender. I still craved a fucking, and I could tell he was thinking about it too.

  “It’s never been like this with anyone else,” he said suddenly. “And I know that sounds like a cliché. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize,” I answered.

  “Aaron must be great in bed.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You’re so loyal to him.”

  Loyal, I thought. Yeah, I’m so loyal I just sucked another man’s cock.

  “I still love Aaron,” I blurted out. “But with you, it’s just different. The best.”

  I was talking wildly. He put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You deserve the best, Dave.”

  “No, I’m not sure I do,” I said. I didn’t shrug his hand off.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he whispered. “I’m scared of what might happen if we fuck tonight.”

  The air felt electric between us.

  He led the way. I followed him down reluctantly, glancing back at the rumpled bed. It wasn’t the bed in my dream. But it was a place I would never forget.

  9.

  The drive home was effortless. I glided across the Golden Gate Bridge, took the Van Ness exit, and drove through the Mission toward home.

  It wasn’t even midnight. I couldn’t believe that so much had happened in just a few hours. Something that Matt had said about time and space—it had altered. I felt different in my skin. Loose, easy, unburdened. Stronger.

  I parked the car on Elsie and checked my phone. There was one message.

  Do you have the L. Cohen I’m Your Man album? The
re’s a song on there that reminds me of me & you. Song #2. Good night.

  I had teased Matt about his taste for Dylan and Leonard Cohen in college.

  I stared at the message, wondering if I should delete it, whether Aaron would ever pick up my phone. I had read his diary. But that was back when—

  I knew I couldn’t delete his message.

  I’ll play it tomorrow, I texted back. Thanks for dinner & see you Monday.

  I got out of the car.

  ***

  The house was silent, as I had expected. There was one light on at the top of the stairs. I headed up.

  After putting my bag in my room, I listened outside Aaron’s door. There was no sound. He might be asleep. But I was suddenly done with all the tiptoeing around.

  I knocked gently.

  “Yeah,” came Aaron’s faint voice. I pushed the door open to find him lying in the dark. I couldn’t see his face yet, but made my way to the end of his bed by feel and sat down.

  “You OK?” I asked conversationally.

  “I haven’t taken anything, if that’s what you mean,” he replied with some dignity. “I’m glad you’re back, Dave.”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought you might stay out all night.”

  “I’d never do that to you, Aaron.”

  I reached for his hand, which he didn’t pull away. It felt cold and lifeless compared to Matt’s. I squeezed it.

  “Well. Did you have fun?” Aaron asked.

  “Yeah. It was good,” I answered.

  We sat there for a moment.

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  I knew he’d ask that.

  “Oral,” I just replied. Aaron gave a deep sigh.

  “Well, I’m seeing the shrink on Saturday.”

  “I hope he helps you,” I said sincerely. “I have to keep seeing Matt, but I understand it’s hurting you, so it can’t go on indefinitely.” It was easier to talk in the dark.

  Aaron took this in. “He wants you, doesn’t he.”

  I said nothing for a while, thinking of the way Matt had looked at me.

  “I suppose so.”

  There was silence between us, heavy with unspoken things.

  “Oh, Vic’s getting married,” I said suddenly. It had popped into my brain. “We’re invited to the wedding.”

  Aaron switched on the light. It was a shock to see him: his slender body, his paleness, the dark circles under his eyes.

  “When is the wedding?” he asked quietly.

  “June, Vic said.”

  “Dave,” Aaron said. “Do you really think we’ll still be together then. Get real.”

  My mouth dropped open. I collected myself as best I could.

  “I don’t see why...” I began. I trailed off.

  “You must think I’m totally spineless,” Aaron said, lying back now. His pose would have been peaceful except for his tired, haunted-looking eyes.

  “No, I don’t. But you’re the one who said you didn’t expect to be in a monogamous relationship.”

  He nodded, regarding me in the light.

  “This is different. You’re crazy about this guy; he’s crazy about you. It’s so easy to read.”

  I said nothing.

  “It’s obvious. This is the man you should have been with. I came along and snapped you up just before he stumbled back into your life. Now he’s sorting out his life so that he can have you. And he won’t share. And I can’t share you. Do you know the Smiths song ‘I Won’t Share You’?”

  “Not really. I get the gist,” I muttered, embarrassed.

  “It was on my father’s favorite Smiths album, their last one. He wrote about the Smiths a lot in the ’80s. He interviewed Morrissey.”

  I just listened.

  “I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately,” Aaron continued. “He’s been coming to me in dreams. He stands there and says, ‘Don’t do what I did.’”

  I gulped. “What does he mean? Don’t do heroin?”

  Aaron shook his head. “I think it means something a little deeper. Don’t let yourself commit suicide, like I did.”

  “What? You think your father committed suicide? I thought it was just an overdose.” My voice had risen.

  Aaron’s response was low, calm. “As time goes by, I see it more as a suicide. He was broken-hearted by Kurt Cobain’s death and never the same after. He loved Kurt, you see. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in love with Kurt, but I was too young to see it. That poster on the wall was his. Kurt signed the back of it for him. To Lars, love and kisses. Something like that. He doodled something. It would be pretty valuable now.”

  I had always disliked the giant black and white Nirvana poster. It dominated the bedroom, and Cobain’s expression, all meek and sacrificial, had annoyed me. Even his eyeliner-rimmed eyes annoyed me. You druggie freak, I had said to his face silently many a time.

  “You have that here because of your dad. I get it now.”

  “It’s the only thing I really have of his,” Aaron said. His face was cold, set in marble. I looked at him curiously.

  “Are you telling me you’re suicidal?”

  “Sure, I’ve had thoughts lately.” Aaron’s voice was level.

  “Because of me. Let’s just spell it out, Aaron.”

  “Because I think you’re going to leave. Yes.”

  I took that in.

  Fear of abandonment. I saw it now, saw how it was destroying him. But what could I possibly say?

  “Maybe it would be healthier if I did leave, even before I want to,” I mused. “Because you’re going to drive me to it anyway.”

  Aaron’s sharp intake of breath sounded painful. He stared at me.

  “Let’s face it, you think it’s inevitable. You’ve worked it out in your head. You don’t believe you’re lovable.”

  “I’m not enough for you,” Aaron said. “I could see it early on. I don’t know why you couldn’t see it.”

  I stared at him and realized that I would not be able to make love with him now. That part of our relationship was over. It hurt, and I just looked at him.

  “I want to try to do this right,” I said. “I really don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  He nodded.

  “OK, then. Here’s the deal.” His voice was light, practical.

  “After you have sex with him, whenever you’re seeing him again, ask him what he wants. He’ll say he wants to be in a relationship with you. Don’t stand in the way of that. Let it happen.”

  I put my hands over my eyes. Jesus.

  “I’m seeing him on Monday,” I whispered.

  “He’ll fix it. He’ll make sure it happens,” Aaron continued in his maddening way. “I know you want to flow back and forth between us. But don’t do that. That’s what I ask.”

  I stood up, exhausted. “You’re very brave.” And presumptuous, I added in my head.

  “Nothing’s going to work now,” Aaron said. “I’ve had a long time to think about it. My tools of seduction won’t work on you now.”

  “Your tools of seduction,” I repeated.

  “All my manipulations. Which the shrink is going to point out to me. But I did love you, please know that. Because you’ll compare me to him and think that I didn’t. That’s going to help you leave.”

  I just couldn’t think of anything to say. My head was whirling.

  “I didn’t want this,” I said in a stunned voice.

  “I know, sweetie.” Aaron raised himself up off the bed and kissed me gently. His lips were cold.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can survive this,” he whispered. I put my arms around him, but gently, loosely. He was trembling.

  “It sounds like you want me to go.” I still couldn’t believe it. Rocks were crushing my chest.

  “Don’t stay here and let me watch you be in love with another man. That’s the worst thing you can do.”

  “I can’t help loving Matt.” The words flew out of my mouth.

  He kissed me again, and
the lack of physical response between us was palpable. It shocked me.

  “Dave. You’ve tried. I’ve tried. But I know when to give up. I know when I’m beaten.”

  There was a trace of humor in his voice that I couldn’t understand. Except that it had always been there, his irony, watching himself from a distance.

  “Wow.”

  I stood there, because I knew that when I closed his bedroom door and left him for the night, I would be aware it was over. And perhaps I would never hold him again. Compared to Matt’s wiry strength he almost seemed like a butterfly... so light.

  “You’ll always have a refuge here, though, if you need it,” he said, rubbing against me gently, his light cotton pyjamas against my jeans. I felt no arousal whatsoever, which again was... unreal.

  I ran my hand through his hair. It was a caress, and one I had done many times. He leaned up to look at me. His eyes were tender, sad, but they held no tears.

  “Go to bed now, Dave.”

  ***

  By the time I staggered downstairs in the morning, Aaron had gone to work. There was no conciliatory note, something I had hoped for, I realized. I took a cup of coffee and brought it upstairs, heading to Tessa’s studio. There was a CD player there that still held the Leonard Cohen album Matt had mentioned, which Aaron and I had once rapturously made love to on the floor. The thought made me uncomfortable. Even in this, I was betraying him. I stood in the studio, coffee in hand, glancing at Tessa’s colorful, sensual pictures. The warm morning light surged in, illuminating the artwork in streaks.

  I pressed play on the stereo, then skipped to track two.

  This was a song I’d heard before but had never focused on. I listened, coffee mug halfway to mouth, stock still, as Leonard Cohen’s deep, husky voice soared out of the machine. It was “Ain’t No Cure for Love.”

  I’ve loved you for a long, long time, and I know this love is real.

  It don’t matter how it all went wrong, that don’t change the way I feel.

  I played it again, gulping the coffee. Matt’s intent was so clear, speaking to me through the song. Even I could understand it. Aaron could understand it from afar. Matt was aching for me. He wanted me. Loved me. Would always love me.

  As I stood there, I was glad I hadn’t played the CD at work in my car. I felt weak, exhausted, full of regret. And foolish, too, that I’d thought I could juggle them.