Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins

by Kage Alan

  A searchlight sprang to life and came to rest on me. The hell with it. I turned and ran.

  I believe it was the draft I noticed first, before the overwhelming sense of freedom that comes from not wearing clothes hit me. My body was luckily working faster than my mind, and it had already begun to respond to this new emergency by racing back to where the towel lay on the ground. Unfortunately, I overshot the mark, and as soon as I turned around and bent over to pick it up, the searchlight found me again.

  There, in full well-lit view of a number of alarmed and stunned witnesses, was my bare ass. Yes, I'm certain the local law enforcement intuitively understood that I was actually picking up my towel and not suggesting they apply gentle suction to my derriere with their lips.

  I ran. I ran so fast my brain didn't have time to catch up, and it was only after I realized I'd only gone around the block and was coming up behind the very same police car that I took the time to come up with a better plan.

  It took a few minutes, but I finally managed to put some distance between myself and the rest of the world. I had no clue where I was, how I was going to get home or how I could get the temporary insanity plea to work in my favor.

  Twenty minutes of walking, ducking behind bushes, fences and other assorted barriers while shivering my ass off ticked by. There were a number of police cars out now, and they were undoubtedly looking for me. I finally noticed a street sign that was familiar, but it had to be one very long street to be this far out in the city since it ran fairly close to Ryan's house.

  Ryan! He could help me—provided he was still talking to me. There was only one way to find out. Provided I could find the house. Provided I could remember the address.

  That was a whole mess of providence I needed.

  I started down the street and could hear the sound of a large number of cars in the distance. That gave me a pretty good indication of where I actually was.

  As I suspected, there loomed an overpass directly over Interstate 131. There was no avoiding this obstacle—to get where I wanted to go, I was going to have to cross it. I would be visible and vulnerable as I made my way to the other side, but I doubted I could stay where I was for much longer. The air wasn't nearly as warm as it had been when I'd been wearing clothes.

  I took several deep breaths and starting jogging. It might help me stay warm. Something caught my eye halfway across, and I looked down over the side. A long line of squad cars sped by with their lights flashing. They passed the exit onto the street I was on, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't mean there weren't other patrol cars in the area, but even a false sense of security was better than none.

  The area around me suddenly lit up, and I almost did a number-two right then and there! I looked back in the direction I'd just come from and saw a car stopped at the entrance of the overpass. I didn't see any flashing blue-and-red lights; as long as whoever was driving didn't have one of those bulky mobile phone things, I could probably get far enough away before they called the police and gave them my location.

  The car moved slowly towards me.

  "Get in the car!” Rueben stuck his head out the window and called to me. I didn't argue. Once I climbed in, and he got a good look at me, though, he couldn't help but wonder. “I thought it was you out there running around all demented-looking. Man, it was like that dream sequence out of Basket Case, only you don't have a deformed twin you carry around with you in a wicker basket!"

  He hit the accelerator, and we took off. God, it felt good to be moving away from the freeway, the elderly people and the authorities. Dad would be so proud ... not.

  "Were you doing some kind of moon ritual to turn into a wolf? I've heard about those.” He was a little too excited about that prospect.

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And what are you doing out here?” If he wasn't such a freak, I might actually call him my guardian angel.

  "A friend of mine got his hands on the unrated version of Hellraiser 2.” Rueben glanced over and looked me up and down. “So, if you're not part of a cult, why are you only wearing a towel?"

  "It goes right back to when I just said that you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let me just narrow it down to one word: Tristan."

  "Tristan?” Rueben grimaced. “What do you want to hang out with someone like that for? Haven't you heard what a—"

  I flashed him a look that shut him up before he could finish the thought.

  "He got the better of you, too, huh?"

  "He didn't get me. I mean, he got me, but he didn't get me, if you know what I mean.” It was clear that he didn't. “He had me once, and he tried again, but that just wasn't happening.” I sighed.

  Wait a second. Reuben had asked if Tristan had gotten the better of me too.

  "Not you?” I asked with sympathy and he looked away.

  "He invited me over to his apartment one night to watch a rare horror movie he said he had. When I got there, well ... I don't get a lot of attention. I mean, I know what people think of me."

  "Tristan obviously saw something in you.” I think this was the first normal conversation I'd ever had with this guy. Maybe he wasn't so freaky after all.

  "Yeah, he saw something in me all right, and I found out what it was after he turned out the lights.” Rueben was definitely a little bitter about his experience. Hell, who wouldn't be? I was. “I've never done anything like that before, but I didn't really say anything because it's kind of embarrassing."

  "I know what you mean,” I agreed. We'd both been screwed.

  "He knew what he was doing, too."

  "Please. I'm sure he was deep-throating bottles as a baby.” I honestly felt sorry for the kid. “Rueben, are you straight?"

  "Yeah. I guess I just got curious that night. Maybe everybody does. I should have just told him no."

  "I don't think that would have worked. He'd only have pestered you until you gave in, though I doubt he would have gone as far in his pestering with you as he has with me.” I'm sure Rueben knew about the ad in the campus paper. Everybody else did. “At least you're straight. Rueben,” I had to put a spin on this. “One thing I'm learning the older I get is that we have to turn negative experiences into positive ones."

  This kind of wisdom didn't just grow on trees, either. I had a whole nineteen years of experience to draw from!

  "I'm not sure how getting nailed in the ass is going to help me become a better children's book writer.” Okay, he had a point.

  "Just wait until you start working with a publisher,” I offered, trying my best to be helpful. “You can let me out of the car at the next corner.” Ryan's house had to be coming up pretty soon anyway.

  "Are you sure? The streets around here can be kind of dangerous at night."

  "You're kidding me!” I stared at him. “I'm running around in a towel with set of keys. Do you really think someone's going to try and mug me?"

  Rueben stopped at the next corner, and I continued on foot. I don't think anybody would ever believe how much of an effort it took me to get out of that warm car. Fortunately, I was pretty sure I was close to my destination. There was a party store on the corner of Ryan's street, so if I could find that, I could find his house.

  Lucky for me, it was only two blocks down from where Reuben had left me. I waited in the shadows long enough for a few cars to pass by then hightailed it across the street. It was only eight or nine houses down. Now, if I could remember which window was his bedroom...

  There was a light on in one of the top floor windows, but I thought that might be his brother's room. I'd never been in there, but I knew it definitely wasn't Ryan's. There was another light coming from one of the rooms on the side of the house. Yep, that was the one I remembered. Now I just had to get his attention.

  A few sloppy pebble throws, several vehement profanities and one overly loud right-on-target rock, and he finally came to his window to see what the racket was. While I was happy to see him, I don't think he was equally thrilled at seeing me, especially when I
waved for him to come downstairs.

  "Help!” I whined when he opened the side door and stared at me through the screen.

  "Why are you only wearing a towel?” He looked ready to slam the door shut if I made any sudden moves.

  "Because...” How was I going to explain this before a squad car came down the street and saw me in the driveway? It might be an hour before that happened, but it would also take at least that long for me to fill him in. “The draft leaves me perky. Look, it's a long story, and I really need your help. Can I come in, please?"

  "This isn't a gay thing, is it?” Ryan was still reluctant to let me in the house. “Because if it is, I already told you I'm straight."

  "Why does everything have to be a...” What was it with these people? “I know you're straight, and no, this isn't a gay thing.” I looked at him with the best pleading expression I could muster. “I need your help, okay?” He still didn't look convinced. “Tristan."

  While it didn't exactly give details, it was the only explanation I knew he would understand in the shortest time possible.

  "Come on.” Ryan ushered me in, looked around to see if anybody was watching then shut the door behind us.

  "Thank you.” I took my shoes off and left them at the door.

  "Don't thank me yet.” He started up the small flight of steps that led from the landing to the kitchen. “You still have some explaining to do and..."

  He turned to me to finish his sentence, which is when something very bad happened. Due to spending too much time outside in the cold, I didn't quite lift my foot high enough to clear the step and that caused me to stub my damn toe. Stubbing said damn toe left me falling forward and ... you can see where this is going. Like a good friend, Ryan did try to catch me, only I ended up falling right into him and knocking him over, too. Yes, I ended up on top of him, and his eyes were absolutely popping out of their sockets at the knowledge that I was lying on top of him and only wearing a towel. I'm just glad he saw me stub my toe, otherwise he might not have believed me.

  He panicked. “Get off me, man!"

  "It's just that you're so handsome and rugged.” I chuckled and played it up. “Take me again!"

  "Ryan?” A light turned on in the kitchen, and our heads whipped around to see who it was. There, standing before us, was his mother. “Is this the secret friend your father and I have been wondering about?"

  We spoke in stereo. “Fuuu..."

  * * * *

  If there was one bright spot in the entire evening, it's that Ryan did get to drive me back to campus, even if it was at his mother's request. They also loaned me a pair of his brother's sweatpants, some underwear, socks and a sweatshirt. It might not be a Tommy, but it was warm!

  I tried to start a conversation. “Your parents seem very nice."

  "So does the antichrist at first. You don't live with them."

  "Are you going to be okay?” I asked him as he turned onto the freeway.

  "Don't talk to me.” He sat rigid. “Of all the times you decide to screw around..."

  Okay, I couldn't talk to him, but he could talk to me?

  "...and of all the things you could have said. I can't believe how off your timing is sometimes."

  "Hey, nobody could have predicted your mother would choose that exact moment to turn on the light.” I sighed. “It was a little awkward at first, but we made a great recovery."

  "You mean like when you decided to shake my father's hand and your towel fell off? Yeah, that was a great recovery, Andy, especially when you grabbed my senior picture from high school to cover yourself with. I'm sure that left a visual impression that won't fade from their minds anytime soon."

  Well, maybe that hadn't been the shining moment it could have been, but I was showing them that I did have manners and modesty.

  "It's funny, if you think about it."

  The look he flashed me suggested he didn't find it humorous at all.

  "Of all the times for your mother to come downstairs, she finds me on top of you asking you to take me again, all because I stubbed my toe and you were trying to catch me.” I chuckled despite myself. “I couldn't write this stuff if I tried. It was like when Rueben came by and picked me up tonight. Did you know that he wants to be a children's author?"

  I heard a sudden escape of air from Ryan. He was obviously having the same reaction I did.

  "Can you imagine what he's going to write one day? The New Zoo Review Massacre? Blood Runs Red on the Play-ground? A Nightmare on Sesame Street?” We both laughed now.

  "Oh, man.” Ryan exhaled loudly. “That's just wrong."

  We turned off the freeway and onto the street that would take us to the university.

  "At least I can say the time I've spent with you and Kim hasn't been boring,” Ryan said. “And just so you know, Alan's a really nice guy. I see how you look at each other. There are a lot of guys out there who haven't found that with the right girl yet, so I think it's something that the two of you found each other."

  "Alan and I do make a cute couple, don't we?” I beamed, and ignored his last comment.

  "He's the better-looking one."

  "It's the mixed heritage. But I have the charm,” I confessed. “And I'm smarter."

  "Yeah, you're smarter. That's why you slept with Tristan."

  He had a point. It wasn't a flattering point, but it was a point, nonetheless.

  "I'm smart enough to wonder if that was a banana in your pocket when I fell on you earlier or whether you were just happy to see me."

  The car swerved again.

  It took another fifteen minutes before we pulled up outside my building. There weren't many lights on, and the place looked peaceful—one of those rare moments, I guess. Everybody would be back tomorrow, and the exaggerated stories would start, the one-night stands would commence, classes would resume on Monday and the rest of the bullshit would begin all over again. Maybe I wasn't in a hurry to get out of the car after all.

  "What are you going to do about Tristan?” Ryan asked, sensing my hesitation.

  "It's like the tagline for The Howling II: ‘It's not over yet.'” How could I put this? “Sometimes, to get drastic results, one must resort to drastic measures. I just need to work out the details in my head, but I'll tell you this. I think that what I do is going to be tied into the creative writing class and I can probably kill two birds with one story. Gevaultski likes nature, so I'm going to give her some.” I undid my seatbelt. “As for right now, I'm going to go in and have myself a nice little cry, pop a few Tylenol and go to bed. What about you?"

  "I think I'll go home, read a few Playboys, watch Die Hard and jerk off.” He appeared perfectly content with the whole plan.

  "And to think people question whether or not you're straight.” I climbed out of the car then leaned my head back in. “One thing. Do you read Playboy for the articles?"

  "No!” He looked like I'd offended him. “I look at the pictures. Who gives a shit about the articles?"

  "Yeah.” I stood back up. “You're definitely straight."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  19

  What a night! I wasn't kidding about wanting to go upstairs to have a good cry, which, of course, meant I also wasn't kidding about taking a few Tylenol. They sort of went hand in mouth.

  I think it was more relief I was feeling than depression. Much to Tristan's irritation, I was sure, I had made it through the night with my dignity and relationship intact, so perhaps listening to a little Kim Wilde, OMD or Blue Mercedes was in order. I started shaking on the way up the stairs to my floor. Nobody deserves a scare like tonight. Nobody.

  Why had Tristan done that to me? Why—Why—couldn't he see that I was really trying to be a good person ... a good boyfriend ... something? I made one mistake, so how long would I have to pay for it? What if there hadn't been rules in that place tonight? What if I'd really been tempted to play around with fire and not tell Alan? What would he say? I unlocked the door and stepped into my room.

  "
Where the hell have you been?" Alan was sitting on my bed reading a book and glaring at me. Uncanny. “And why are you dressed like that? We talked about that kind of attire. If you're going to be seen in public, at least wear your Tommy, even if you're shopping at that Meijer place.” He stopped. “Well?"

  I felt tears start falling down my cheeks, and I tried like hell to stop them. The more I fought, though, the more they fell, until I completely and utterly broke down, shaking and crying.

  Alan was at my side in an instant and guided me to sit on the floor before wrapping his arms around my head and holding me tightly to his chest. The entire world could be against me, but at long as I was in his arms, so much of that didn't matter. I was safe.

  "Shhh...” he soothed me. The poor guy had absolutely no idea why I was crying, and I couldn't say anything that sounded intelligible, so no wonder he was telling me to be quiet. “It's okay. It's okay.” He held me tighter.

  Alan said many more things to me, but I had no idea what they were. In his desire to both protect me and put me at ease, he covered one of my ears with his arm and rubbed his hand through my hair and over my other ear.

  "What are you doing up here a night early?” I asked when I finally calmed down enough to put consonants and vowels together in an order that made sense. It also helped that he loosened his grip on my head.

  "I called your parents to thank you for mixing some of your underwear in with mine.” Sarcasm. “And when they said you were already on your way back to school, I figured I could put off strangling you another day.” More sarcasm. “Guess I must have missed your goofy ass a little more than I thought because here I am.” Semi-sarcasm. Alan cared about me, and he was showing it the only way he knew how, by berating me. Yep, we'd become like so many heterosexual couples.

  I told him everything that happened to me from the time I left until I walked back through the door. He called me a moron for going at all then took it back once I reminded him that it was his idea I go in hopes of making peace with Tristan. After a little bit of thought, he called me a moron for having listened to him in the first place. Either way, he was bound and determined to call me a moron, and I did finally ask him to stop calling me that. How moronic of me was it not to sleep with someone at the bathhouse? How moronic of me was it to know that I didn't have to go out to the market when I had the fruit at home?