by Ryan Field
Sam found out about the incident first and he told Morton before his performance. “Everything is fine, though,” Sam said. “His attorney is getting him out of jail right now. The radio show host decided not to press charges.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Morton said. “All that and now he’s not pressing charges? That doesn’t even make sense.”
Sam looked up at the ceiling and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, there was a stipulation. There’s a reason why the radio host isn’t pressing charges. I worked out a deal with Harrison’s attorney. But you might not like it at first. Just keep an open mind.”
Morton shot him a look. “What kind of deal? I want to know.”
“In order to get Harrison off the hook, I had to agree that you’d do an exclusive one on one interview with the radio show host. If I hadn’t agreed to that, he would have pressed charges and things could have been a lot worse for Harrison. I didn’t have a choice.”
At first, Morton felt like clubbing Sam with a guitar. How dare he agree to an interview like that without asking him first. He clenched his jaw and thought about it for a moment. A minute later, he looked at Sam and said, “I’m not mad at you. I’ll do the interview. As much as I hate that radio dude, I’m glad you made the deal. How’s Harrison right now? I have to call him.”
“He’s fine,” Sam said. “I spoke with him for a minute and he said to tell you not to worry. You know Harrison. This isn’t the first time he’s been in trouble and it won’t be the last. He can’t help himself.”
“Well it’s the first time he’s been in trouble since I’ve been married to him and I think it’s a very big deal.”
“Don’t worry.”
The music started to play and Morton knew he had to go out on stage to perform. The concert hall was filled to capacity and they were out there screaming his name. They were good people and he wouldn’t let them down. “Yeah, right. Don’t worry. My husband gets arrested and I’m supposed to be calm about it.”
Sam put his arm around him and said, “He really will be okay. I’ve known Harrison a lot longer than you have. He knows how to bounce back, and he knows how to survive.”
Morton turned and squared his back. “I know we were supposed to stay over tonight, but I want to head back to New York right after the show.” He had a few days off after this show and he wanted to spend them with Harrison. The hardest thing about going on tour was being away from his husband. He would have left for New York at that moment, but he couldn’t disappoint all those people who’d paid to see him perform.
Sam nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” He patted him on the back and smiled. “He’ll be okay.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Morton said. “This is only going to make things worse for him.”
Morton was right about that. After the show, he grabbed his satchel and took Nico by the leash and headed outside through a rear door of the concert hall. Sam was with him and he helped guide him through the hordes of reporters and photographers who’d been waiting by the car that would take him to the airport. He didn’t bother to change his clothes after the show the way he normally did. He could do that in the plane. At that moment, the only thing he wanted to do was get back to New York, and wearing a black mini-dress and black stilettos wasn’t going to stop him.
On the way to the car, a few reporters shouted general questions at him as he wound his way in between them. Questions like, “How’s Harrison?” and “Do you know what provoked Harrison into attacking that guy?”
He just kept walking, and ignoring them. He didn’t even know all the details and he wasn’t about to speculate on something like this until he spoke with Harrison first.
Then one reporter asked, “Harrison seems to be getting more and more out of control. Are you sorry you married him?”
Morton stopped short and looked the reporter in the eye. He leaned in closely to get right in his face. “Listen you, you’re talking about my husband now, so watch what you say. That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard. I love him. He’s my husband. Why on Earth would I be sorry about marrying him? You need to go back to journalism school.”
The reporter just stood there frozen, Nico growled at him, and Morton turned and smiled for a photograph. He started walking to the car again and another reporter asked, “Would you like to make a statement about Harrison?”
Morton walked over to her and smiled. “Yes. I would like to make a statement.” He was smiling and he forced himself to appear totally relaxed and in control. He didn’t want anyone to know that they’d gotten to him. “I was going to wait until Harrison was with me. But I might as well say something now. Harrison and I have decided that we’re going to start a family very soon. We’re looking into all our options, and adoption is certainly high on the list. I’ll go into more detail eventually, but that’s the plan for now.”
A moment later, they were in the car and speeding toward the airport. Sam sat back and said, “That was quick thinking. The story about starting a family got them off track about Harrison. Good for you. I wish I’d thought of something like that first.”
Morton shot him a glance. “It wasn’t a story, Sam. I’d like to start a family. I was going to talk to Harrison about it after this tour.”
Sam forced a smile, as if he didn’t know how to reply. And Morton didn’t question him. He turned toward his window and looked out into the dark night wondering about what Harrison was doing at that moment. He’d texted him several times and he hadn’t replied to one single text, which wasn’t a good sign. Harrison had always replied to him in the past.
* * *
When the car dropped him off in front of their building in New York, he grabbed his satchel and Nico and practically ran into the building to the elevator. He’d changed clothes by then and he was wearing black sweats, a white hoodie and black cross-training shoes.
The private elevator to their penthouse led him directly to the entrance hall of their apartment. He found it dark, except for a few dim sconces on the wall. He wasn’t even sure Harrison was home. He hadn’t told him he was coming home that night. For a moment, he looked down at Nico and he thought the worst. What if he was drunk and passed out? What if he’d picked up a guy and they were in bed together? He’d learned to be prepared for anything with Harrison, and he’d learned to accept a great deal.
Nico looked up at him and Morton said, “Let’s hope for the best, Nico,” and then he set his satchel down and heard the sound of a guitar coming from the other end of the apartment. It wasn’t loud and full of energy like most of Harrison’s music. This was more melodic and tender.
He removed Nico’s leash and they both followed the sound of the guitar to the master bedroom. The door was open and the only light in the room came from the fireplace. He saw Harrison sitting there in his favorite black leather Eames chair working on a new song. And for the first time that day he took a deep breath and let his shoulders go limp.
Nico barked and ran over to the chair where Harrison was working.
Harrison looked up and smiled. “Hey, what are you doing home? I thought you were coming home tomorrow.”
Morton smiled and ran over to him. He kneeled down on the floor in front of him and hugged him so hard he had to lift the guitar. “I missed you. That’s why I’m home.”
Harrison kissed the top of his head and laughed. “Don’t you lie to me. You’re home because you heard about what happened. You were worried because I went after that little worm at the radio station.”
Morton looked up and him and shrugged. “It’s not every day you find out your husband got arrested. I wanted to be here.”
“That’s why I love you so much,” Harrison said. “I just wish you didn’t have to go through all this. I’m trying hard. I really am. But that little fucker deserved to be throat punched today, and they hadn’t pulled me off him that’s what I would have done.”
“It’s all good now,” Morton said. He didn’t want to talk about it anym
ore. He wanted to get into bed and forget about everything.
“I just wish Sam hadn’t made that deal. It’s not fair to bring you into this.”
“I don’t mind doing an interview. It’s not a big deal.” He wanted to forget about it, and talk about something else. “What are you working on? Is it something new?”
“It’s a surprise, cutie,” Harrison said. “And when it’s finished you’ll be the first to know.”
Harrison was only wearing white boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. Morton ran his hand up his hairy leg and reached for his junk.
“What are you doing?” Harrison asked.
He squeezed his junk and felt him growing hard in his hand. “Well I’m already down on my knees, and you’re not wearing any pants. I thought a little blowie before bed might be nice.”
“I was planning to rest up tonight,” He said. “You’re gonna kill me. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
He’d grown fully erect in Morton’s hand. “It feels as if you’re doing just fine.”
Harrison set the guitar down beside the chair and Morton pulled Harrison’s boxer shorts down his legs. He threw the boxer shorts over his shoulder and Harrison removed the T-shirt and spread his legs wider. Morton didn’t bother to remove his clothes that night. This was something he’d wanted to do for a long time, and it required no reciprocation. He moved between Harrison’s legs and leaned forward with his gaze pointed in one direction.
As Harrison closed his eyes and rested his head back on the chair, he slid Harrison’s dick into his mouth and pressed his tongue to the bottom. He started sucking slowly, and moving his head up and down with no set rhythm. He rested his palms on Harrison’s thighs and took him as far into his mouth as he could.
When his lips were up against Harrison’s hairy crotch, he started sucking his dick without moving his head. He kept his tongue pressed flatly against the bottom of his dick, and sucked as if he were sucking his own thumb. Someone had done this to him once and he wanted to try it on Harrison. There was no jerking, sliding or moving involved. He made no obnoxious noises or messy dramatic moves like they show in gay porn movies. He simply kept his face pressed to Harrison’s crotch and sucked Harrison’s dick without stopping. His mouth and tongue did all the work, and he certainly couldn’t complain. He found most of his satisfaction in giving pleasure to his husband, and there were very few things in life he enjoyed more than the taste of another man’s dick.
Harrison responded quickly, and he started moving his legs back and forth. Morton sucked him harder and he felt the head of Harrison’s cock swell. A second later, Harrison grunted and came in Morton’s mouth and then he went dead still. He had a big load that night, too, and Morton didn’t waste a drop. He kept Harrison’s dick in his mouth and he kept sucking it until he felt it go flaccid against his tongue.
When he finally did stop sucking, he rested Harrison’s dick on his thigh and looked up. “How was that?”
Harrison caressed the side of his face and smiled. “I didn’t think it could get any better, but you just showed me it could.”
Morton kissed his dick and stood up. “It can always get better. You’ll see.”
As he turned toward the bathroom so he could take a long hot shower and get out of those clothes, Harrison stood up and said, “I’m going to make a drink. You want one?”
Morton felt a pull in his stomach and he wanted to ask Harrison not to have a drink. He didn’t think alcohol was doing him any good and he wanted him to stop drinking completely. But he also knew he couldn’t control anything about Harrison no matter how hard he tried, so he kept walking to the bathroom and said, “No. I’m fine. I won’t take long.” They saw so little of each other lately he didn’t want to argue with him, and he loved him so much he couldn’t bring himself to criticize him. He would figure something out eventually, but that wasn’t the night. He just wanted to close his eyes, fall asleep in Harrison’s arms, and forget about everything else.
Chapter Eighteen
If there was one thing Morton knew about his husband it was his unyielding disdain for awards shows of any kind. All someone had to do was mention an award show to Harrison and he would groan, roll his eyes, and sometimes even make a fist. Morton also knew Harrison had good reason to feel this way, because he’d been working in the music industry for years and they’d always passed him over for all awards. The Grammy Awards were the worst, and the mere mention of them made Harrison kick things. Harrison believed all awards were fixed, and winning had more to do with industry politics than talent, and that the only people who won awards were those who played by all the rules and did what everyone wanted them to do.
Of course Harrison could never prove this to anyone, and most people weren’t interested in knowing that information even if he could prove it. The general public wanted to watch their favorite recording artists get dressed up for the night, smile for the cameras, and pretend to be larger than life. Some waited for the Grammy Awards all year long. They needed the escapism and if anyone challenged that they turned against them. Morton thought Harrison’s biggest problem in life was that he couldn’t play by the rules, and he jerked and bobbed through life making his own rules without giving a damn about anybody else. However, instead of coming across as a rebel who went rogue all the time, Harrison came off more like a spoiled rock star who wound up insulting everyone. And they had turned on him as a result.
Even though Morton didn’t like to play along with industry politics, he’d been told by Sam and by his PR firm that he had to go to the Grammy Awards that year. They didn’t give him a choice. They told him that if he wanted to keep his career flourishing, this was something he had to do for his fans and well as himself. Morton would have avoided the awards ceremony entirely if it had been just up to him. All he wanted to do was entertain people, but knew he had to show up at the Grammy Awards because it wasn’t just about him anymore. He had people who depended on him now, and their livelihoods were at stake as well as his. For him not to show up would have been a clear sign that he was snubbing the Grammy Awards and he couldn’t let all those people down. As it was he was always making apologies and excuses for Harrison.
So he talked to Harrison about it and told him how he felt, and then he asked Harrison to join him at the awards so he wouldn’t have to go alone and suffer all that nonsense on his own. He’d been prepared to watch Harrison break into a tirade and refuse to go. However, to his absolute surprise, Harrison did the exact opposite. He smiled at Morton and said, “I’ll be there with you. There’s nothing more I want than to have you on my arm that night. You’ll make it all bearable for me, so don’t give it a second thought. We’ll go together and suffer through it as a couple.”
After Morton heard that, he created an original costume design strictly for the Grammy Awards that year. By this time his fans, the media, and most of the world were comfortable seeing him do his personal brand of gender neutral and no one commented much about it one way or the other. In fact, the world always seemed to be anticipating his next outrageous gender bending outfit with so much excitement he started to feel obligated to please them. And this costume would be simple. He didn’t need a designer or a stylist to help him out. He’d been thinking about doing something like this on stage for years but he’d never had the courage. He figured now that he was up for a Grammy he might as well give the people what they wanted. This was considered the biggest night of the year in the music industry.
On the night of the Grammy Awards, he was in the master bedroom in Palm Springs getting ready. Nico was on the bed watching every move he made, which was his typical pattern. They held the awards in Los Angeles that year and he’d left enough time to prepare and still have time for the drive up to L.A. Harrison was already in L.A. working on something with a new band he was trying to form. It hadn’t been a good year for Harrison. After he got arrested for going after the interviewer in New York, he got drunk again and got a DUI. The entire world found out about it. There were
a few more fights in bars, and he crashed his Escalade into a telephone pole in New Jersey. There hadn’t been one solitary piece of good news about Harrison in the press all year and Morton was hoping that if the world saw them together at the Grammy Awards it would help change that. He still believed his husband was the most talented artist in the business.
Morton glanced into his floor to ceiling three-way mirror and took a good long look at himself to see if he had to do anything else for his costume. He almost felt a little silly being dressed this way, but he kept telling himself that’s what the fans expected and this was part of his brand. At least that’s what his publicist and Sam had told him. They referred to it as Morton’s brand, which made him smile. All Morton’s life he’d grown up knowing the drag circuit, and performing in drag had been part of his normal everyday life. He had no idea he’d been working on a brand all those years. He thought he was doing what made him feel the most comfortable on stage, and in real life. The truth was that Morton wasn’t even certain he could perform without being in drag, or at least in some kind of gender bending costume.
He’d stopped wearing wigs altogether by then. He didn’t feel the need because he wasn’t trying to pretend to be a woman anymore. He wasn’t hiding the fact that he was a man either. His drag was totally different. He was simply expressing himself the best way he knew how, with love. And at that time, in his real life and on stage, he styled his own short hair to go along with whatever clothing he was wearing at the moment.
When he was on stage now, he did wear a little more make-up because of the lighting and the crowds. The night of the Grammy Awards he wore red lip gloss, a light foundation, some contour powder for a bronzed effect, and a few natural shades of eye shadow. He also wore false eyelashes and eye liner so his eyes would appear larger from a distance. The overall look was that of a man wearing make-up instead of a man trying to look like a woman wearing too much make-up.
