by Jay Lygon
Shackle my wrists and ankles to a padded bench and whip me until I howled. Yep. That worked. Show me no mercy. Use a crop on my balls and cock. Make me writhe. Mmm. Yes. Come out of the shadows and -- damn it. Even with a mask on, it was still Hector.
“Fuck it,” I said aloud.
I leaned back on my bed and closed my eyes. So what if I fantasized about Hector? I gripped my cock. Damn him anyway. It wasn’t as if I had to confess my dirty little secrets to anyone anymore.
I imagined him finding out that I was wanking. He’d be angry with me. Oh yeah. He’d come bursting through my bedroom door and catch me with my hand working my cock. Yeah. Big hulking angry Daddy. I’d smirk at him. He’d grab me, turn me over, yank down my pants to bare my ass, and pull out his belt. That worked.
My fist worked fast over my hard on.
No. Better yet, he’d grab a paddle and take it to my ass. He’d call me a filthy boy. Oh yeah. Harder, Hector, harder. Make me howl. Tell me what a slut I am. Hold my head down and growl at me to get my ass up so you can spank my bottom until it’s bruised.
That worked.
Force the butt plug into me and turn it on high while you cane me. Make me bend over the bed.
I tensed and shot quickly.
For a long time, I sat there and watched my come ooze down over my fist. I really needed a new wank fantasy, something that didn’t make me feel so lonely afterward.
***
When the limo Harris and I were in pulled up to the hotel, my palms were sweating. Maybe no one in Long Beach had heard about how Hector had humiliated me at Harris’ premier, but I was pretty sure everyone in the ballroom at the AIDS fundraiser had. Hollywood was a very small town in some ways, and gossip traveled at the speed of light.
Harris grinned at me. “Hey. Are you ready?”
I groaned when I saw the paparazzi. “No. But let’s get it over with. This time, if they ask us to kiss for the cameras, let’s show them some tongue.”
Harris pretended he was horrified. Quickly, his expression turned serious. “I’m sorry about that. If I’d known your boyfriend would flip, I wouldn’t have done it. You warned me he was the jealous type.”
I winced. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But it made you two break up.”
I looked out the darkened window. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault.” That was something I told myself almost every day.
A security guard reached for the door.
“Ready to play queer poster boy?” Harris asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The limo door opened. Harris got out, and I followed. There were no cheering crowds this time, and no TV. There wasn’t even a red carpet. The ever-present pack of paparazzi was bad enough, especially since Alberto was among them. It was to the point where I dreaded seeing him.
“Come on, Sam, show us a real smile.” That wasn’t Alberto. It was a different photographer. I was amazed that he knew my name.
Harris moved closer and took my hand. I played nice and smiled for the cameras. Flashes popped off in a barrage of brilliant white light.
“Work it, Sam.”
At what point did I resign myself to having my picture taken? I couldn’t remember the turning point. So much had changed.
A familiar but unwelcome feeling crept over me. Someone was radiating lust. My hand went to my neck, and I realized that my bowtie had somehow unraveled and the top button of my shirt was open. Checking my hair, I ran my hand over my unruly curls. The photographers went wild. Damn it. I should have known how that would look. Lust hit me from several angles. Yep. You could dress the God of Sex up, but you couldn’t make him look respectable.
Harris tugged on my hand.
We went inside the hotel lobby.
“The worst is over, Sam. You can breathe again.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“I get the feeling it’s like torture for you. You’re really pretty shy, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I’m getting better about it, but it’s always a struggle.” I took the dangling ends of my bowtie and tried to make a loop.
“Let me help you with that.”
I lifted my chin as he fixed my bowtie. More flashes went off in my peripheral vision. I glanced over. Alberto gave me a thumb’s up sign, his grin huge. Great.
***
As fundraisers went, it wasn’t the most boring one I’d ever been to. The speakers blah, blah, blahed for a bit as they brought up rich people for their photo ops, and the food was typical awards banquet chow, but there was some cool stuff at the silent auction and the DJ was awesome. If people knew about what happened at Harris’ premier, they didn’t show it, at least not to my face. I didn’t feel pity or ridicule, though. Mostly it was curiosity, attraction, and envy that radiated from the crowd. Plunged into a group of gay men, I was surrounded by flattering attention that felt really good. Maybe it felt too good. After almost a month without a twinge of interest, my libido came roaring back to life.
Harris got me out on the floor for one slow dance. It was just like in the movies. A small space cleared around us, and people watched or took pictures. All we needed was a spotlight shining down on us.
It was the first time I’d touched a man in a month. I hadn’t realized how starved I was for contact, even if it didn’t mean anything. Leaning close, I breathed in his scent. His arms were around me. Gods, it felt good to be held.
Despite what my therapist had told me about drinking, I had a bit to drink. I wasn’t drunk, but relaxed with a pleasant buzz. That was my excuse. That and the fact that I felt alive for the first time since I’d walked out on Hector. I’d been feeding on worship for three hours and it seared through my blood. So when Harris and I got in the limo at the end of the party, and he slumped close to me, was it my fault that I put my hand on his cheek and stared into his eyes? He didn’t say anything. So I bent down and kissed him.
Fueled by the energy coursing through me, it wasn’t just any kiss. I kissed him like he was Hector. I poured my hunger into him, my hands gliding over him, my tongue delving deep into his open mouth.
Harris pushed me back. “I’m gonna nut if you keep going.” He shifted away from me. “Sam, we need to talk.”
“Sorry.”
He exhaled. “Damn, do you know how to kiss. And if I could, I’d be into you. Really. You’re gorgeous, sexy as hell, and you’re a fun guy to hang with.”
Why was I relieved that I was about to get dumped?
“I met someone,” Harris said shyly.
“Then why did you let me kiss you?”
“Well, you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and I thought I’d regret it forever if I didn’t at least find out what it was like to kiss you. I’ve never been kissed like that. That was pretty damn hot.”
If he hadn’t seemed so embarrassed, I would have been a little angry with him.
“Besides, Chuck and I had a bet. I said you’d turn out to be a lousy kisser. He said you could probably melt my socks off. I don’t know how glad he’ll be that he won, though. I think I’ll leave out the part where you almost made me come. Damn.” He shook his head. “It’s like you’re on a whole other plane of kissing from us mere mortals.”
If he only knew how close to the truth he was, he’d never believe it, so I just smiled.
“The new guy’s name is Chuck? Why aren’t you bringing Chuck to these things instead of me?” I asked.
Harris looked charmingly abashed. “We just met a couple weeks ago. You know what kind of scrutiny my life is under. I wanted to give us a chance before I subjected him to the jackals. It’s not fair to do that to someone.”
“But it’s okay to do it to me?” I joked.
“But you’re already in the public eye, Sam. It’s just more of the same for you. He’s just some normal guy who happens to be dating an actor. He’s not glitz and glamour. He’s an everyday Joe.”
“The message Chuck’s probably getting is that you’re asham
ed of him. Or at least, that’s how I’d take it if my boyfriend tried to hide me.”
Frowning, Harris picked at his pants leg. “He was a little cold when I called him today.”
“Then tell him you fired me, and ask him if he’s willing to be seen in public with you. Flowers wouldn’t hurt. Of course, I totally suck at relationships, so maybe you should ignore everything I say.”
“So we’ll still be cool?”
“We’ll be even cooler if you drag Chuck to these things instead of me.”
He laughed. “You really don’t play the fame game, do you?”
“I’m trying not to.”
Chapter 11
When grief hit, I wasn’t expecting it. I thought too much time had passed and that I was already on my way to okay. My therapist, however, didn’t seem shocked at all when I called him late one night and admitted that I could barely drag myself out of bed.
“I don’t understand. I was doing fine. I already went through the sad stuff.”
“You were in shock, Sam. A couple days of crying might have relieved the surface pain, but this is going to be an ongoing process. The deeper pain was there, you were just too numb to feel it. Now are you willing to try the antidepressants?”
“I can’t work, I can’t eat, and I can’t sleep. I’ll give anything a shot at this point.”
“Good. I’ll call in a prescription for you. Can you get dressed and make it down to the pharmacy?”
I thought about that. “Honestly, no. Just talking to you on the phone is exhausting me. Maybe Brett can pick it up for me?”
“He’s your roommate, right? If he will, that would be great. Start taking them right away. It will take some time for them to work, so be patient, Sam. And I’ll see you on Thursday.”
I had two days to get into the shower and get dressed. Right then, it felt like an impossible task.
***
Marcus was after me. He was so old and thin that he looked like a skeleton held together by a covering of spotty skin. His hair hung in lank wisps around his skull face. Only his eyes were alive. And yet, no matter how fast I ran, he kept up.
Scrambling up an earthen embankment, I headed for the woods. Tree branches smacked my face. My clothes caught in the brush, holding me back. I frantically tore at my shirt. Marcus was coming. He was going to get me.
Then I was in the clearing on my parents’ farm. The ring where the bonfire had been at Beltane was overgrown. I saw the altar across the low meadow. If I could only reach it, I’d be safe. I sprinted for the big, stone table. Something clutched my wrist. Long, ragged fingernails dug into my flesh, burning it. I howled.
“Sam!”
I opened my eyes. My bedroom light was on. Brett stood over me, his hair and eyes wild. I knew I was awake, but I couldn’t shake the nightmare. “Marcus! He’s coming!”
“You were screaming again, Sam.”
My heart felt as if it would pound out of my chest. I sat up. “I’m sorry.”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Brett sat on the edge of my mattress. “No wonder Joey wouldn’t let you move in with him. He knew better.”
As I remembered it, Brett jumped at the chance to offer me a room and didn’t let Joey get in a word edgewise until I accepted, but maybe he was right. “I’m sorry.”
“I wonder how Hector put up with you as long as he did.” As soon as he said it, Brett realized he shouldn’t have, but it was too late. The words slipped between my ribs and stabbed my heart. He shook his head, his face a picture of dismay. “I didn’t mean that. It’s the middle of the night, and I got suddenly woken up in a panic when I heard you screaming. I’m grumpy. Please don’t listen to me. I didn’t mean it.”
“Sorry.”
“Sam, I love you, but frankly, you’re driving me nuts. You never stop moving. You’re like a bundle of nervous energy, and it’s setting my teeth on edge. You’re a wonderful cook, but you make these huge dinners that can feed an army, and there’s no space for them in the fridge. I can’t leave anything lying around without you cleaning it up. I feel like I’m at my great aunt’s house and have to be on my best behavior every second. This is my place. I want to relax. I want a little bit of messy.”
Was that something I was supposed to listen to or not?
***
It was funny how active my mind was at night, because during the day, it felt as if I was trying to think through a fog. I could get out of bed. I could take a shower, although sometimes I jolted out of a nebulous cloud of nothing and was surprised that water was spraying into my face. I mean, I could remember getting into the shower and turning on the water, but it seemed like the two weren’t connected, as if everything up to that moment was from a long ago memory.
It was a good thing my November and December movie reviews were already finished, because there were a ton of releases coming up for the Thanksgiving weekend, and in my state, there was no way I could have followed a whole film, much less written about it.
Brett paced while I gelled on the couch. He wanted a calm roommate? I was so calm I was almost catatonic. He wanted to a messy place? I hadn’t cleaned in days. He was tired of my cooking? I was living off ramen noodles and air.
He went into the kitchen. “I have to talk to you.”
For a moment, I thought he was talking to me, but it made no sense that he left the room when he’d been right in front of me. Then I realized he was on the phone. I didn’t try to eavesdrop, but he didn’t exactly keep his voice down.
“I don’t know what to do anymore. He screams bloody murder in the middle of the night. He almost punched me last time, until he woke up enough to realize it was me, and even then, it was like his eyes were open but he was still in the grip of the dream. Nothing he said made sense. Gods and ghosts. Shit like that,” Brett said.
I thought about going to my bedroom to give him some privacy, but all I could do was think about it.
“Now he’s like a zombie. You can’t even have a conversation with him. He loses track, and his eyes glaze over, and ten minutes later he’ll focus again and blink and say, ‘What?’ You know I wouldn’t have called you, but I’m desperate. I can’t deal with him anymore. Just tell me what to do.” There was a long pause. I wondered if I’d lost track of time again. “Do you have his number? Will he talk to me? Hold on.”
Drawers and cabinets in the kitchen yanked open and slammed shut.
“Okay. What’s the number?”
There was another long silence.
“Thank you,” Brett said softly. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. Thank you.”
It would have been more polite if I at least acted like I wasn’t listening in to his phone call, so I looked for the TV remote. It was way across the room. It might as well have been miles away. Besides, the God of Misery was curled up in my lap and sleeping so peacefully that I hated to move.
“Dr. Thornton? Thanks for taking my call. I’m Sam Dewey’s roommate, Brett. We have a serious problem.” Brett repeated everything he’d told the first caller, except that he made it sound more like a formal report. He said ‘Uh-huh’ and ‘No’ a lot. Mostly, he was quiet.
I sort of lost track after that. The next thing I knew, Brett was kneeling in front of me.
“Okay, Sam, I talked to your doctor. Apparently, nightmares and being turned into a zombie are common side effects of the pills he put you on. You think he’d warn people about that. Anyway, he wants you off the pills, and he’d like to see you tomorrow. I can’t take a day off work. Neither can Joey. Alberto said he’d drive you. Okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
Brett bowed his head. “I know this is shitty timing, and a terrible thing to say, but you need to start looking for another place to stay. I understand if you hate me. But I just can’t handle this, Sam. You need someone to watch over you, and I don’t have the time. I’m in way over my head here.” He turned his melancholy, gray eyes up to me. “I have to do this.”
***
“We could change your prescription,” my therapist told me.
We sat opposite each other on his leather couches.
“No more pills. I don’t mind pain.”
He almost smiled at that. “You said that your friend asked you to move out. Have you thought of where you might go?”
“I’m not looking that far ahead. All I want to do is get back to functioning normally, or at least what’s normal for me. Then I’ll think about my options.”
