Taking You Home

by Cooper Davis

  I keep shaking my head, writhing against him, needing him so goddamned much, even with all the people watching. That’s when I feel his hands pinning me hard. Hunter! Hunter!

  “Hunter,” Max says loudly and my eyes flutter open. “Wake up!”

  “Fuck.”

  He’s leaning over me, gazing down into my eyes, as naked and smooth as in the dream. As perfectly gorgeous, too, only nobody’s watching us. For a long moment, I can only blink.

  “Some dream, huh?”

  “Was I making noise?” Panic courses through my system as I remember just how erotic the dream was. No telling what kind of sounds I made, especially wrapped right in his arms like that.

  “You kept moaning like you were in pain, and kind of shaking. Frightened me, actually.”

  “Anxiety dream.” That’s all I grunt, because I know there’s no way I can explain it all without seeming like I’m getting cold feet about our nuptials, just two weeks away.

  “Are you anxious?” he asks, serious as he props his head on his elbow, studying me.

  “Let’s just say that thirty people were watching us make love.”

  “Was the sex good?”

  “Not nearly so satisfying as last night,” I purr, leaning in to kiss him. Guess I can forget the dream with the reality so close in my arms.

  “No?” he teases, stroking my chest slowly. “Maybe I’m starting to spoil you, then.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” I say, rolling him right onto his back. “What time is it?”

  “Nine-thirty.”

  Great. That means our final premarital counseling session isn’t for another two hours, so we have plenty of time for a long, slow seduction scene. We can even reenact our own version of “From Here to Eternity” right between the sheets.

  Maxwell suckered me into the premarital counseling over martinis and cigars at a swanky little place near his office one night back in January. He had me meet him, decked out in my suit and tie, so of course I had that first date on my mind. I would’ve done anything for him, smoking those stogies and remembering the night we began to fall in love.

  “So what’s up?” I asked him that night, leaning back against the banquette seat. My legs fell open, my thigh resting against his. I’d come to love doing shit like that, being flirty in public with him.

  Before he answered, he reached for the smoke, smiling at me through his long lashes. That damned charcoal-colored suit looked hot as hell on him that January night. Someone from his office passed by, and he lifted the cigar in greeting. I moved my leg back to dead center.

  “Nothing’s up.” He took a long drag.

  I studied him. “Expensive cigars, martinis and a big date out. What’s up?”

  “Does something have to be up? I wanted to take you out, Hunter.”

  “I love it when you do, but I know you, Daniels.”

  Under the table, he reached a discreet hand and stroked my leg. “Well, this is just a date, but I did have something to ask you.” He leaned close, his shoulder pressing into mine. Public, obvious. Another office worker passed by and he offered a nod and a smile. I reached for his hand, touching it.

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, the Unitarian minister who’s performing our ceremony requires something of all the couples he joins.”

  “First born?” I laughed at my own joke, even though Max remained serious and directed.

  “Counseling. Premarital counseling with a local psychologist or minister.”

  “I’m not a Unitarian. Not gonna do it.”

  “I figured that.” He reached inside his jacket, retrieving a piece of paper from the pocket. “So I planned ahead.”

  He handed me the paper with an optimistic smile, as I took the cigar out of his hand. “What’s this?” I asked, staring at his neat handwriting on the page.

  “The name of our premarital counselor.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Gladly.”

  “Shut up, Maxwell. I’m serious. I don’t want to do this,” I groaned. “We don’t need this. We’re fine together, crazy about each other.”

  “Of course we are. But Reverend Donnelly says it really solidifies things, forces a couple to examine their motivations for joining.”

  “I’m motivated to be with you.” Max smiled at that one, and this time, he was the one who let his thigh press hard against mine. Being public can be so damned sexy, especially when your boyfriend is attracting the attention of every gay male in the place. Hell, every girl for that matter, but he’s always oblivious to that kind of notice.

  “Then will you do it for me? Because I’m asking, Hunter?” He looked into my eyes hard with that question, penetrating me on the molecular level with his gaze. “You know I can’t refuse you a goddamned thing.”

  And just like that, I found myself on tap for ten premarital counseling sessions. Who knew?

  Dr. Erickson loves me. I managed to wrap him right around my finger at our first counseling session when I told him that I was straight, just happened to be in love with a man. I think he got a big, fat kick out of that one, because he smiled knowingly, then proceeded to dismantle a whole bunch of my illusions about sexual orientation. Only after I’d let him go on for a while about “gender identification” did I admit that I’d been yanking his chain; that I knew for a fact I was queer with some fairly latent hetero tendencies.

  During the past weeks, Dr. Erickson has assessed me as being blunt and honest, but gentle in my relationship with Maxwell. I kind of dig that, because it seems about right. I think he’s more concerned about Max than me—he’s pursued the cross-dressing stuff a lot, especially as it relates to his dad. One time he even asked if Max wished he were a woman. That got a pretty rattled answer out of Maxwell, as he tried to explain that what he’d always wished was that he were more comfortable with being feminine. That he’s often felt like a girl, not so much that he ever wanted to be one. I was a little surprised by that revelation because, yeah, Max can get a little girlish sometimes, but mostly he’s a total dude in my book. Guess it’s all about how you feel on the inside.

  Dr. Erickson made some notes about that, nodding his head. But he also says that my acceptance of Maxine has been critical to Max’s “gender integration”. Not sure exactly what that means, except that apparently I’m good for Max. And our relationship is, too.

  None of this is very romantic, but it’s the hardcore stuff we’re supposed to focus on in this gay union of ours. There’s also been a lot of talk about how hard it is for a couple like us because we don’t have any true role models, which means we have to figure shit out on our own. Kind of make our own rules up about making this marriage work. Those are the things we’ve been discussing over nearly two months of counseling sessions, so I kind of figure our last one is going to be the graduation moment—you know, easy and all that.

  “This is our final session before the union ceremony in two weeks,” Dr. Erickson begins, studying Max and me carefully. “You are about to embark on the next phase of this relationship.”

  I nod and get the strangest feeling that something big is coming yet.

  “I believe you are more equipped for union than before these sessions began, gentlemen,” he says with a faint smile. He rubs a hand over his graying beard, glancing between us. Our good doctor’s queer as they come, by the way, self-proclaimed “life partner” of a Studio City attorney. They opted out of the union thing, but he loves coaching committed couples like us “into that joining of selfhood”.

  “Hopefully you’re stronger in your partnership as you embark on your marriage.”

  Max and I nod, and he reaches for my hand. I give it a gentle squeeze, holding it fast as Dr. Erickson asks mildly, “So tell me, any last issues? Any pressing concerns?”

  “Nah, don’t think so,” I say with an offhand shrug, and Max gives my hand another little sq
ueeze. Almost like he’s encouraging me. I glance sideways at him, about to ask what he has in mind, when he says quietly, “Your anxiety dream. You should mention that.”

  I wave him off. “Maxwell, that was nothing.” But the doctor’s all over it in the space of a heartbeat.

  “Anxiety dream, Hunter? What sort of anxieties are you struggling with?” He lives for this kind of shit, no doubt about it.

  “It was nothing, honest.” But our counselor’s not fooled for a minute.

  “Anxiety is normal just before making a formal commitment like this, Hunter.”

  “Yeah, well it was no big deal.” I shift around in my chair, unable to settle or get comfortable. “We were naked on the beach and a whole bunch of people were watching us get it on. Or not, actually. We kind of stopped when I realized Marianna Langley was watching us.”

  Max turns to me in surprise, releasing my hand. “Marianne was there?” I swear I detect a hint of jealousy in his quiet voice.

  “Along with Leah, your father and a whole other crowd. Julie Bernard, too.”

  “Julie?” Max asks, more than slightly breathless. I scowl at him.

  “Baby, it was a dream, for crying out loud!”

  “Marianne and Julie are obviously important,” Dr. Erickson observes, studying Max more closely than me over the rims of his glasses.

  “I don’t see why you’d dream about them now,” Max says, rubbing at his eyes. “Veronica there, too?”

  “These are past girlfriends?” the doctor asks and I nod, not answering for a moment.

  “He lost his virginity to Marianne,” Max informs him, staring down into his lap. This hurts him for some reason; I don’t get it, but it obviously does.

  “Max, look, it was just a dream.”

  “Were you ashamed to be seen with Max?”

  “No!” I cry defensively, and tap the toe of my hiking boot on his polished wooden floor. Nobody speaks for a mini-eternity, until finally I admit, “I felt really out. More out than I wanted to be, being seen by all those girls. Family and all.”

  “Family,” the doctor repeats, nodding. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because you want a family with Max,” he observes. “It’s why you proposed, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug, folding my arms over my chest. “Your point?”

  “Hunter, we’ve focused on Max’s issues a lot during these sessions. But we haven’t talked much about your own family situation.”

  I give a little groan, rolling my eyes. “I don’t want to do this drill, okay?”

  “You were orphaned, Hunter.”

  I give him my best macho posturing. “Don’t I know that?”

  “Max and you are forming a family together, so it’s important that you recognize your abandonment and embrace it. That you accept the part of you that needs family now.”

  I stare up at him, and for some reason flash on Aunt Edna’s kitchen. On sitting at her table, fooling around with my little motorcycle models that I loved to build as a kid. In my memory, Ed looks at me, giving me one of her rosy-faced smiles, the kind that always made me feel protected and safe.

  “So why’re you making that point to me now?”

  “You’re no longer alone in the world. Marrying Max means that you are embracing family, even if it’s not in the most conventional of ways.” I feel the doctor staring at me, but I won’t look at him, or at Max for that matter. My boot becomes my obsession; I use it to make a scuff pattern on the varnished wood flooring.

  “Hunter, you described yourself as gay at the outset of our sessions, yet you’ve repeatedly referenced your heterosexual relationships. Even your dream references them,” he says. “You, in fact, are the one who perceived this relationship in traditional heterosexual terms. Marriage. Family.”

  “So?”

  “That has an impact on what you want with Max, on what you want from the relationship.”

  “I’m not expecting him to be a girl or anything, if that’s what you’re getting at.” I think of Maxine, and how much she turned me on that night months ago.

  “But you are expecting a traditional relationship. To make being gay work within those confines.”

  “Anything wrong with that? Why shouldn’t we have what everybody else has, huh? Yeah, so I want to settle down, what the fuck is wrong with that?” I shout, feeling my hackles rise unstoppably. But the doctor just smiles in what appears to be satisfaction.

  “Pissed you off, didn’t I?” he asks, using my own kind of language. I’m smart enough to know he’s trying to talk on my level.

  “Damn straight.”

  “What angers you, Hunter, is that you’ve finally found the family you’ve yearned for your whole life. The love you’ve craved. That’s why you’re defensive. Because I seemed to challenge that.”

  “Oh. You didn’t?”

  “I wanted you to see what you’re looking for in marriage. That it’s okay to be gay or bi and still want what the rest of the hetero world has. That’s fine. More than fine.”

  “I never thought that it wasn’t.”

  “But you’re not entirely comfortable with your sexuality.”

  “Sure I am,” I say and glance at Max. He looks oddly nervous, shaky as he fiddles with the label on his bottled water. I still can’t believe how jealous he got over the girls in the dream.

  “You dreamed that your first girlfriend, and subsequent ones, were watching you with Max.”

  “I-I felt…confused. Really out,” I stammer. “More out than I ever want to be.”

  Dr. Erickson taps his pencil on the desk, leaning toward me. “Hunter, think about the setting. The beach. What happened at the beach for you and Max?”

  I give a knowing laugh. “Commitment.”

  “Precisely. Your first steps of commitment, of coming out. They happened at the beach.”

  “Why the girls?” Max asks, not looking at either of us. “Watching us?”

  “Because Hunter’s subconscious is trying to sort out his bisexuality, Max. That’s all,” the doctor explains patiently, and Max looks upward in relief. “It’s nothing personal against you. He’s giving you everything.”

  “Baby, you know how I feel,” I say on a whisper. “This was just some crazy ass dream.”

  “Max, how this relates to you, though, is that just because Hunter’s marrying you, his heterosexual side won’t simply shut off, any more than a straight man stops noticing other women just because he’s married. It’s your job to validate his heterosexual aspects.”

  “How?” Max asks, his golden eyes widening as he stares at the doctor. “I-I’m not sure, well how to do that.”

  “Maxine,” Dr. Erickson says with a faint smile. “Hunter, you responded quite well to her, didn’t you?”

  I hold up both hands in protest. “Wait, now that has nothing at all to do with this.”

  “Everything, actually.”

  “Yeah, I was into her, but that was because of Maxwell, and…”

  “Maxine accepted you, Hunter,” the doctor disagrees. “As equally as you accepted her. She played to both sides of your sexual pendulum.”

  Maxwell and I fall deathly silent; we’ve never brought Maxine out again, not after our one night of going wild together. My face burns beneath the doctor’s eager gaze, at what he’s suggesting. Finally, he continues, “Role playing is a vital part of every couple’s sexual experience. You do realize that, right?”

  I grunt, squirming inside. Max gives something of an answer, and I have the feeling he’s about as mortified as I am by this discussion.

  “Hunter, answer me honestly. Have you felt attraction to a woman in the past month?” he asks. “Be truthful.”

  I think for a moment, then start laughing. “Yeah, on Will and Grace.”

  Max gasps audibly.
“Grace?” he says, turning to me with wide eyes. “Tell me it’s not true.”

  “She’s hot, man.”

  “But Eric McCormack!” Max snorts, the picture of easy betrayal. You have to understand, Max is a hardcore, totally devoted Will fan. Will all the way. I think he secretly visits Eric McCormack fan sites, which I give him major shit for whenever I get suspicious.

  “Baby, I’m a Grace kind of guy,” I explain, touching his arm, but he jerks away from me testily. “I mean, Will is sexy and all, but Grace…” I make a guytown gesture with both my hands, the kind that illustrates her shapely figure. “Yowsa! Grace has the goods!”

  Max sniffs indignantly, tossing his dark hair away from his eyes. “I’m shocked.”

  The doctor starts laughing, shaking his head in appreciation of our sudden marital dilemma. “Max is about Will, you’re about Grace,” he says. “What better explanation of my point could there be?”

  “I’m all about Maxwell!” I cry, nearly rising out of my seat in sudden frustration. “Let’s get that much clear.”

  “Of course you are, Hunter,” he agrees. “Extremely loyal, too, I might add. All I’m suggesting is that you must embrace both sides of your sexuality. Max isn’t like you, he’s been queer for as long as he can remember.”

  “Whereas I’m a homo convert, thanks to Gorgeous George over there,” I grumble, gesturing toward Max. That does get a lovely smile out of my baby.

  “All I’m saying is that while you may call yourself gay, it’s a lot more complex than that. So long as you both realize this is a major difference in your sexual identities, all should go fine,” he explains methodically. “And maybe, just maybe, Maxine might come out and play every once and a while. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Not for either of you.”

  Huh, come to think of it, I’ve been entertaining some serious Maxine fantasies for a while now, just hadn’t been sure how to explain them to Maxwell. So maybe this last session of counseling accomplished something significant after all. Either that, or at the very least, all those “Will and Grace” reruns just assumed a whole new meaning.

  After our session is over, we spend the day biking it down to Long Beach. This is the last Saturday we’ll do this as single guys; next week we have final tuxedo fittings and a dozen other details to cover. So our ocean drive is a special time for just us. No work, no wedding plans, just Max and Hunter together on that Harley.