A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation

by Kage Alan

  I finished dressing, did something funky with my hair then put all of my crap back into the suitcase. Someone—I suspected the J-man—could be heard setting out plates on the table. It was time I met this ... what was he, anyway? A second or third cousin by marriage? Whatever. It was time I met him.

  "Good morning.” I tried to sound as perky and good-natured as I possibly could to make up for the previous night. What I saw staring back at me made my entire life flash before my eyes ... or at least events from the previous thirty-six hours. “Son of a bitch..."

  "Good morning! You could just call me by my real name, although son of a bitch is a bit kinder than son of Satan."

  "Jordan...” I spoke the name just to make sure I wasn't still dreaming. “You're the J-man?"

  He turned and faced me as if there could be no other.

  "And you put me to bed last night?” The mere thought of that made me want to go and take another shower. Not really, but I should have been thinking that. After all, it would be a normal reaction, right?

  "Yeah, I put you to bed ... even put you on the top bunk,” he informed me and then appeared to be in deep thought. “I always figured you for a top."

  "A top what?” That I struck him as someone used to taking the top bunk was eerie, mostly because it was correct. I liked the top. I was used to the top. However, it really had nothing to do with anything.

  "You know.” He put his hands in front of him, one on top of the other, then rubbed them together. I think I cringed a bit when I finally realized he was referring to sex, but he only raised an eyebrow and smirked at my discomfort.

  "Don't go there,” I warned him.

  "Oh, take it easy.” Jordan opened up the oven and took out a plate of pancakes. “I didn't even peek."

  I relaxed a little.

  "Well, maybe for a moment."

  I tensed back up, and he laughed out loud, his way of telling me he was only joking. At least, he better have been joking.

  "After all the stuff I heard you were mumbling on the way home from the bar, I was just glad my aunt and uncle didn't hear the stuff you were saying to me last night while I was trying to get you into bed."

  "Oh, please."

  I had to expect this from him. Now he would try to tell me I had confessed parts of my life to him that he had suspected all along and that I needed him to be my teacher in this new and trying period of my life. Fat bloody chance! How many other people had he done this to? How many times had that been said to him before he caught on to how well it worked as an easy way to get sex?

  "Get a life.” I sat down at the table and grabbed a few pieces of bacon. Thank God there were some left.

  "You don't believe me?” he asked playfully.

  "I believe you're full of shit. Care to prove me wrong?"

  He couldn't, and we both knew it. Again, that was what I was supposed to be thinking. After doing a striptease karaoke tribute, an encore, limbo contest and babbling about dolphins in the sky—hell, anything was possible. For all I knew, I told him the recipe for a baked potato.

  Still, I needed to reassure my own ego. “You can't, can you?” I started taking some pancakes and considered telling him to eat my blueberries. It sounded too cliche, though.

  "Well.” Jordan scratched his chin. “I understand that you've been having some dreams where you've got trouble keeping your swimming trunks up around me."

  I hacked up a small piece of bacon that had suddenly lodged itself in the back of my throat. Nuts! He wasn't joking after all. Why couldn't I have been conscious during all this? I could have either changed the story a bit or just kept my damn mouth shut, but now there was no telling exactly how much of that story and dream he knew. Well, he knew enough, and that was way too much for my comfort.

  Jordan was right about one point—it was a damn good thing my cousins weren't around to hear this exchange. I wondered if they knew about him, what he was.

  "Are you okay?” He was staring at me with an expression of concern.

  "I'm fine,” I said at last. “I'm just busy hating you right now."

  "You really are homophobic.” Jordan frowned.

  "Would you please stop calling me that?"

  "It's the first time I've called you that.” Something dawned on him. “Do you even know what that means?"

  I shook my head. It obviously didn't mean what I thought it did, and whatever it was sounded like a serious matter. This was really strange. I'd been correcting Uncle Chester like crazy, and all that intelligence was just gone every time I was around Jordan. He was obviously bad for me.

  "It means you hate gay people."

  "I don't hate gay people.” Of all the people I'd known in my life and disliked, even hated, it never occurred to me to hate someone specifically because they were gay. Maybe I avoided them more so than others, but I don't think I hated them. I don't even think I hated Jordan, not really. He was just a convenient target for me to take my aggressions out on, but I didn't want to hurt him.

  I also think that he and I were a lot alike in that we enjoyed pushing limits and had unusual senses of humor, but that was where it ended.

  "And I don't hate you."

  "Sure you do.” A spark appeared in his eye. “And they say that those who hate gays the most are usually the ones hiding their own repressed desires. That's why they hate them ... because they're reminded of what they might really be.” He was definitely pushing the limits of my temper.

  "The only desire I'm repressing now is to kick your ass."

  "My ass?” Jordan scoffed. “Seems to me that everybody's talking about your ass."

  "Shut up!” I gave him a dirty look. “Nobody is talking about my ass.” How long had my cousin been gone? Shouldn't she be back sometime soon, and didn't Jordan have a job he needed to get to? Didn't he have a life, or did he feel he was making up for it by torturing me?

  "You know...” A mischievous look I'd seen at the anniversary party appeared once more on his face. “...you're really argumentative and aggressive."

  "I am not,” I insisted. “Fuck off!"

  He grew quiet for a moment, probably enjoying the fact he'd won that little verbal bout. I'd been so worked up that I completely neglected to pay attention to how he was setting me up. That would be the last time I gave him that advantage.

  Of all the people there were in the world, I couldn't believe this joker was my cousin. What had I done to deserve this? Who had I pissed off in life that I should be paid back with him? Meeting him once and then having him show up in a dream was bad enough, but to have to endure his company for the rest of the trip...

  That was it. I was going to call Uncle Chester up, apologize, grovel, whatever it took, and go back there.

  "My aunt said you might enjoy going out to the beach this afternoon and then doing some shopping at Tower Records later in the evening. Ever been there? It's the largest record store in the world."

  Okay, maybe I'd go back later tonight or even real early tomorrow morning. I'd at least give it until then. Besides, Jordan was suddenly being nice, which made me both relieved and suspicious. At least he wasn't making sexual innuendoes anymore. That was a definite plus.

  "Am I to understand you'll be going with us?” I might as well find out now.

  "Uh ... yeah.” He looked as if I had just insulted him again. “You don't want me to?"

  "I just wondered if you had a job or something to go to ... a home of your own maybe, or with parents, some brothers or sisters ... a life outside this sphere of my immediate existence.” I paused. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't stand being nice to him, and I didn't know why. It was as if I was afraid of him, afraid to let him see a certain side of me, a likeable side. I had opened up to him a bit during the party and the results were ... unexpected.

  Before that, however, he had opened up a bit, too, and I'd heard things that, for research purposes only, I would have liked to hear him expand on. Asking questions, though, might give him the wrong impression, and I had to
keep that distance between us perfectly clear at all times.

  "Let's see,” Jordan began, “my summer job just ended, and the reason I don't have another one is because I'm still working on my degree and classes start pretty soon. As for parents, yes, I have some, but I left home the day I turned eighteen. From there, it was a matter of going from one dead end job to another just to make enough money to rent a room somewhere and eat an occasional meal. When Aunt Jenny found out, she and Ken took me in and helped me do what I needed to start taking classes and get this intellect of mine educated.” He paused for a breath. “I may not have had the easiest life in the world, but it hasn't been the most difficult, either, which is why you won't hear me complain. Any other questions or comments?"

  "You mean now that you've made me feel like a total jackass?” I looked right at him. “Nothing really comes to mind.” A few moments of silence passed.

  "It's amazing what happens when you begin to understand that there's more to a person than you first saw or thought, isn't it?” Jordan eyed me evenly. “A lot of people believe ignorance is bliss.” He shook his head. “But ignorance is just that—ignorance. We have to choose how much we really want to know before passing any kind of judgment."

  He stood up from the table then and left me alone to finish my breakfast. I hated to admit it, but he had a point. It seemed everybody did lately, except me.

  * * * *

  Luckily, I didn't have to wait very long for Jenny to come back. One of her kids was suspected of adding yellow food coloring to a cooler of water and telling everyone, including the parents, that they were drinking urine. It seemed no one was amused, least of all the adults.

  I think that only a boy would come up with something like that, and only a mother would react like an escaped mental patient about it. Fathers would chastise the child, perhaps escort them home and even ground them if the prank was severe enough. Mothers, however, had an entirely different approach. They dealt with pranks the way Martha Stewart chastised her illegal immigrant workers—loudly, in a foreign language and with lots of obscenities.

  Jenny turned out to be one of those feminist mothers who wasn't afraid to punish the children without first consulting her husband. While it wasn't unusual for the kids not to be able to appeal a ruling by their mother, it was unusual that the husband couldn't. Jenny and Kenny must have had an unspoken understanding between them that she laid down the law and he followed it. Unfortunately, that meant someone now had to stay home with the boys, since one of them was grounded and the youngest would only be bored going out with us.

  Jordan volunteered to remain behind so we could go. I wondered if he did it because of the exchange between us earlier. That was really a stupid thought. Of course that was why he didn't come, and I doubted I could have been much ruder to him. Didn't people like him get used to that, though? Didn't they know that by broadcasting something like homosexuality they would be practically advertising for trouble?

  In light of that, it seemed rather pointless to embrace such a choice and go against the majority of society. No, it actually seemed more ignorant and self-destructive than anything else. Why would he do that to himself? Why would anybody?

  "Let's get outta here!” Jenny yelled after we changed into our swimsuits, grabbed some towels and headed for the door. We pulled into a driveway a short time later, and another woman ran out to greet us. She had short dark hair, wore a swimsuit that truly complimented her body and carried a rather large bag.

  "Diane,” Jenny introduced us as the woman got into the minivan, “this is my cousin from Michigan, Andy. He's a writer, so I wouldn't piss him off because he'll write about you."

  Both women laughed. Apparently, this was funny to them. My parents were extremely supportive of what direction I wanted to go in life, and I doubt very much they would have laughed at that joke. My writing about them was exactly what my mother was hoping to avoid!

  "A writer, huh?” Diane looked me over while Jenny backed out and headed for the open road. It was rather a relief to see that someone of the opposite sex was looking at me in that way instead of Jordan. I certainly felt a bit more comfortable, if not also more aware of my posture and lack of a physique. “Have you considered transferring out to UCLA? I think I heard that they have a really great writing program there, especially if it has anything to do with screenwriting. It's the perfect area for it."

  "Yeah ... true. It's convenient with the university and Hollywood being so close together, but I'm not sure screenwriting is what I want to do yet.” Actually, I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do yet other than just wanting to write. Write what, though? Here was another great moment in my life with no focus. “So, I guess probably not."

  "Jenny's nephew Jordan goes to UCLA,” She informed me.

  "Then definitely not."

  Diane gave me a puzzled look, but I ignored it. I wondered if she knew about him.

  "Besides, the school I'm going to now shows some promise, and I really hate to cut anything short there without seeing if I've the potential for writing or for becoming ... a garbage collector.” I made a face that reflected my thoughts on having that as my future occupation.

  "My husband's a garbage collector.” She spoke matter-of-factly.

  "Uh ... hmm. There's certainly ... nothing wrong with that at all.” I was going to crash and burn quickly if I didn't come up with a save. It was a good thing Uncle Chester wasn't here to tell her how prejudiced I was against farmers and ditchdiggers, too. “It just isn't writing, which is what I seem to have a passion for. Heck, there's money to be made from garbage collecting.” I tried to sound positive and sincere. “It's an honest job, not like having to sell your body in some cheap strip club while taking clients in the back for a quickie and hoping that the tips cover the grocery bill for the next week."

  "Actually, Andy,” Jenny gave me a side look, “Diane's sister is an exotic dancer in a strip club in Seattle, and she has to hope that her tips cover the cost of raising her four children and the grocery bill."

  "Right...” Screw it. I was sunk. “Well, does anybody have a brother who's knocked up his girlfriend, quit school, married her, then gone on government aid and collected food stamps instead of getting a paying job of some kind?” I waited. At first, there was silence ... and then there wasn't.

  "Well,” Diane said, “Jenny has a brother who knocked up three girls, skipped off to Mexico and is currently serving hard time down there for bestiality. Does that count?"

  "You have got to be kidding me.” I understood that people had screwed-up lives, but this had to be a record in dysfunction.

  "Yes!” They looked at each other and burst out laughing. While my parents wouldn't have laughed at their first little joke, I definitely wasn't laughing at this one.

  Diane decided to tell me the truth, “In all seriousness, my husband is a computer program-mer and my sister's an attorney. The only time I've seen her dance was at her wedding, but I'm sure she couldn't hold a candle to what I heard you did last night at the Ambassador."

  "Di!” Jenny smacked her friend on the leg. “You're going to embarrass him. It's like that time you bought Jordan that bright neon thong underwear for Christmas as a gag gift."

  I really didn't want to be listening to this conversation. Jordan's life was already more of an open book to me than I cared to know, and this was pushing the limits. Diane was really a bit of a sadist!

  Between the little joke at my expense and the one at Jordan's, she reminded me of my bitch aunt back home. Two years ago for Christmas, Aunt Patricia gave me a four-pack of condoms in front of the entire family with “a lifetime supply for Andy” written on the box in large bold print. My response the following year was the largest pacifier I could find with “I'm sure you haven't had anything in your mouth to suck on in a long time” written on the package. Again, I was the only one laughing. I wondered how Jordan had reacted.

  "He was pretty red when you did that to him,” Jenny managed to get out between chuckles. �
�However, if I recall—and I have the pictures to prove it—you were the one who was the reddest at the end of the night when he walked out and modeled them for you in front of everybody."

  "Yeah.” Diane blushed. “I was. If I hadn't seen that issue of the Advocate on the table, I never would have known they even had rainbow thong underwear. At least the gay pride symbol is colorful, and he has such a great ass, doesn't he?” Before Jenny could reply, if she was going to at all, Diane turned around and looked at me. “Andy, if you get a chance, take a look at it. Tell us what you think."

  "I am not going to look at Jordan's ass!"

  "He'd probably show you before any of us again anyway,” Diane teased. “And if his package is still anything like we glimpsed that night, he's going to make somebody a very happy man!"

  It was obvious she knew about him after all. I wondered if there was anyone who didn't know about him. Why didn't he just take an ad out in the New York Times while he was at it?

  "But that ass..."

  "Andy's is pretty nice, too,” Jenny offered, “and there are plenty of witnesses who would back that statement up."

  Here was more conversation I didn't want to hear.

  "Hey, maybe we should compare them to see whose is better!"

  "You people have demons,” I informed them matter-of-factly. So, this is what girl talk was all about? Guys discussed bust sizes and women chatted about rear ends. Was there no end to the magic of differences between the sexes? I wondered if their conversation would differ at the beach; Jordan would probably make better company for them, since all three could then discuss the asses and packages of the guys walking around. That certainly wasn't what I was going there for.

  Jenny finally pulled onto a side street and found a parking spot. The three of us piled out, I with my towel and a book, Jenny with her towel and small bag and Diane with her towel and large bag. I was extremely curious as to what could be so important to take to the beach that required a bag the size of one I used for my laundry. I offered to carry it for her, mostly to see if I could take a peek at whatever it was, but she politely declined.