Object of Desire

by William J. Mann

  “I have no ulterior motive,” I assured him.

  His eyes didn’t let go of mine.

  “So draw me,” I said again.

  He walked over to the makeshift table. A small grin stretched across his face. “I need inspiration if I’m going to draw. Is that okay?”

  “Is what okay?”

  A small wooden box sat on the table. Kelly picked it up. “Maybe you’d like to get inspired with me.”

  I still didn’t know what he meant. He opened the lid on the box and withdrew a small plastic bag with white powder inside.

  “Oh,” I said. “That kind of inspiration.”

  “Are you passing judgment?”

  “No,” I said. “But I suspect your inspiration might be more lasting if it came from somewhere else.”

  “Will you join me?”

  I hesitated.

  “I’m always happier when I do a little blow,” Kelly said. “You’ve seen me. Happier…and friendlier.”

  There was the slightest emphasis on the last word. Was he promising me something?

  “How do you afford it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t buy furniture.” Then he laughed.

  I suspected he saved very little of the tips he made. He used them to buy his blow. I knew how it worked. I’d done the same once.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve done coke,” I told him.

  He was already opening the plastic bag and using his driver’s license to arrange a couple of lines on a small handheld mirror. “Did you like it?” he asked.

  “I did. A lot.” I paused. “Too much.”

  “Do you have a crisp new twenty?”

  I hesitated but opened my wallet and handed him one. “In my day, we only used hundreds.”

  Kelly flashed his smile at me. Those dimples again. It was hopeless. He had me.

  “Well,” he said, “I know you’re a big, successful artist and all, but I didn’t think you were so successful, you walked around with hundred-dollar bills in your wallet.”

  “Not yet,” I told him.

  He rolled the twenty tightly into a little tube. “You’re gonna join me, aren’t you?”

  “Why? You coming apart?”

  He scrunched up his face and laughed. Then he bent down and snorted one line off the mirror. Wiping his nose and licking his finger, he handed me the twenty.

  I stalled for the slightest second—he wouldn’t even have noticed—and then accepted. I blocked everything else out of my mind and placed the tube in my nostril, inhaling the powder. It was just like old times. My heart was beating in my ears.

  “Just a little,” Kelly said. “Just a little to start. Maybe more later.”

  I sat back down on the mattress. In seconds my head was light, and I was happy. I’d forgotten how good a little white powder could make me feel.

  “Okay,” Kelly was saying. “Now I will draw you. Sit there.”

  He sat on top of one of the milk crates and opened his pad, getting busy with his pencil. He studied my face, then made a few scratches on the paper. He looked at me again, considering my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my ears. Kelly was looking at me—seeing me—noticing me. I was, in that moment, his entire focus, his whole world. I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Look serious,” he chided, but it was impossible. I was just feeling way too happy, way too lighthearted, to stop smiling.

  “Well, if you’re going to stay that way,” Kelly said, “you’re going to end up looking like a big old Cheshire cat.”

  “However you draw me is going to be transcendent, I am sure,” I told him.

  I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt this happy. A long time ago. A very long time.

  And there was one other thing I’d forgotten about coke.

  How fucking horny it made me.

  “Hold on one more minute,” Kelly said, making a few last adjustments to his sketch.

  “I can’t hold on much longer,” I said.

  His black eyes flickered up at me. “Why so impatient?”

  “Because I can’t stand it anymore,” I said.

  He grinned. “Stand what?”

  “I’ve got to make love to you, Kelly. I can’t leave this place tonight without making love to you.”

  His grin turned into a smirk. “Oh, is that so?”

  “Yes. That’s so.”

  He turned the drawing around to face me. “Well, what do you think?”

  It was pretty damn good. Awesome, actually. In those few minutes, he’d captured me. There I was, smiling away, my happiness caught by his pencil. And the drawing sure looked a whole hell of a lot more like me than my own mirror image did these days. It looked like the young man I once had been—or anyway, the young man I liked to believe I had been.

  Kelly came over and sat down beside me on the mattress.

  “So you like it?” he asked.

  I answered by kissing him.

  “Look,” he said, pulling away from my lips. “We can have sex. But I’m not big into kissing. Is that okay?”

  I made a little laughing sound, but it was hardly a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  It was as if someone had just dropped a brick on my foot. The happy feeling didn’t completely evaporate; I was too high up to come down that fast. But his statement shook me off my pedestal.

  “No kissing?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Well, okay, just a little. I’m just not that into it.” He closed the sketch pad and set it on the floor. “All that foreplay business. It’s not really for me.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I dropped a few pegs down from my high.

  “Just fuck me,” Kelly whispered, leaning into my ear. “Fuck me hard.”

  This wasn’t how I’d imagined it. I’d imagined a quiet conversation, whispered words in each other’s ears. I’d imagined soft kisses on his neck, Kelly throwing his head back, allowing me to undress him. This was not at all how I’d imagined it.

  But what was there to do? It was now, perhaps, or never. I did what he asked. I pushed him down on the bed. The Mexican blanket was scratchy, so I pulled it off, revealing his blue and white striped sheets. If he didn’t want it slow and easy and sweet, I’d give him what he wanted. Off came his shirt, his pants. I unbuttoned my own shirt, unbuckled my pants. My cock was raging. I popped it out of my underwear and straddled Kelly’s chest, plunging it into his mouth. He sucked eagerly.

  “Yeah,” he said between mouthfuls, “fuck my face.”

  I complied. But after a few moments I bent down, bringing my lips to his.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I need to kiss you just a little bit, okay?”

  He didn’t stop me. But it was like kissing a mannequin.

  “Kissing is very important to me,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Oh, Danny, fuck me,” he groaned. “I need your big cock up my ass.”

  Down a couple more notches I dropped from my high.

  But still I wasn’t going to give up. I pulled off my clothes, grabbed hold of his thighs, and pushed his legs into the air, his big, uncut cock flopping against his stomach like a Polish kielbasa. Reaching into my pants on the floor, I pulled a condom from the pocket. I’d placed it there earlier this evening, with just this moment in mind. But this moment was supposed to come after a long night biting ears and licking skin. I didn’t expect this—this!—would be the first thing I did.

  “Fuck me, Danny,” Kelly breathed.

  I fell still farther down.

  “Lube?” I asked.

  His arm flailed off the mattress, and he felt around on the floor. His fingers closed around a small tube.

  “Thanks,” I said as he handed it to me. After I’d rolled the condom onto my cock, I squeezed out some lube, using my forefinger to lubricate Kelly’s hole a little as well. He moaned as I did so.

  “Give it to me, Danny.”

  I aimed at his hole. But despite the lube, my cock was getting soft. I could almo
st see it shrivel. I tried pumping it with my hand, closing my eyes and imagining Kelly’s smile. His dimples. His astonishing black eyes.

  But the more I imagined, the softer I got.

  “Sorry,” I said, rolling over onto my back.

  “Oh, man,” Kelly said. “Finger me then.”

  I did as he asked. He was jacking his own cock now. Pretty soon he came, a frothy bubble of white erupting over his fist.

  I was completely down now.

  I stood and found a small towel in his bathroom. I wiped up the cum from his abdomen, then tossed the towel onto the floor.

  “I should get going,” I said.

  He sat up quickly, as if he were on a spring. “Don’t you want to come?”

  “No…I’m…I guess I’m too high.” That was one extremely ironic lie.

  “Well, aren’t we going for pizza?” he asked.

  “You know, the coke seems to have dried up my appetite.” I was pulling on my pants. “Thanks for drawing the picture of me.”

  “Danny, is everything okay?”

  I faced him. “That’s not what I call making love.”

  He flopped back down. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m terrible in bed.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You are.” I didn’t care if it hurt him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  I didn’t answer.

  He sat up, his knees pulled to his chest. “Well, thanks for bringing me the brochure about the illustration class,” he said, watching me as I buttoned my shirt. “I really appreciate it. I’ll look at it and let you know what I think.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  The room fell quiet. I wanted very badly to get out of there.

  “Danny,” Kelly said, moving up behind me as I sat down on the mattress to put on my shoes. “I’m sorry. It’s just the way I am.”

  I sighed. “It’s not a big deal. Forget it.”

  “I think it is a big deal for you. And I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it.”

  I turned to look at him. “When you deny me a chance to kiss you, to really kiss you, that’s like serving me prime rib but only allowing me to lick the gravy off of it.”

  He smiled a little at the metaphor.

  I stood up. “Without kissing, without some sense of the person, sex is just the manipulation of body parts. And I just don’t have any interest in that anymore.”

  “It’s all I’m interested in,” he said flatly.

  I shook my head. “How can you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Beyond that, sex is way too dangerous.”

  “Well,” I said, “you can’t go through life avoiding danger all the time.”

  He looked at me with hard eyes. “I can.”

  I started to say that I felt sorry for him, but then closed my mouth and turned to leave. Kelly got up and walked me to the door.

  “I like you a lot,” he said.

  “It’s fine, Kelly. Like I said, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it.” I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “Oh. Was the drawing for me to keep?”

  “Yes!” He turned quickly and retrieved the sketch pad, tearing the page out. “Here.”

  I took it. I wanted something to take home from there tonight.

  “Thank you,” I said and tried to sound sincere.

  Then I opened the door and left.

  On the way home, all the traffic lights seemed out of sync. I had to stop at every one. And the reds took forever to change to green, so finally I just drove on through, taking a chance that I would be safe.

  EAST HARTFORD

  I loved being in Chipper’s room. I loved the smell of aftershave and dirty socks. I loved how warm it was, like an animal’s den, with its big red shag carpet and oversize cushions strewn everywhere. His window shades were kept drawn almost to a close, with only the tiniest slits of sunshine permitted entry. And in that darkened sanctuary, we’d talk, sitting on the carpet, our backs against opposite walls, our feet stretched out in front of us, almost touching.

  “I think when school starts again, I should go out for cross-country,” I told him.

  “Yeah, you definitely should.” We were eating string cheese, passing it back and forth. “You should have some kind of sport. Otherwise, when the yearbook comes out, all you’ll have listed after your name is the faggy play.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “I’m a really fast runner. I think I could be really good at cross-country.”

  Chipper handed the cheese back to me. “Well, now that I’m a senior, the coach is going to use me a lot.” I knew he’d been bummed that he’d sat on the bench for most of last season. “I can’t wait until I score my first touchdown. And you better be there!”

  I peeled off a strip of cheese and put it in my mouth. “Of course, I will be.”

  I was fully aware that my feelings toward Chipper had blossomed into a kind of crush. How could I deny them after what I’d been doing with Troy? At home, I’d play Becky’s old Partridge Family album, listening to “I Think I Love You” over and over. It was uncanny how David Cassidy had nailed exactly how I was feeling about Chipper. This morning, I woke up with this feeling I didn’t know how to deal with…. I’d stand in front of the mirror, mouthing the words to my reflection as the chipped little 45 record spun on Becky’s old turntable. I think I love you. So what am I so afraid of? I’m afraid that I’m not sure of a love there is no cure for….

  I’d looked bisexual up in the dictionary. I knew what it was, and I accepted it about myself. But Chipper couldn’t know the truth about me. No way could he know. He wouldn’t let me hang out in his room with him if he did. He wouldn’t get high with me, sitting there, facing me on his floor, his toes almost touching mine. He wouldn’t be my friend at school next year—and if I’d thought having a junior as a friend and protector had been great, then how awesome would it be to have a senior and the star of the football team looking out for me?

  Yet, in a way we never articulated, Chipper seemed to know precisely how I felt about him. And, deep down, I think he liked it. A hint of a smile would betray itself on his lips when I’d say things like of course, I’d be there when he scored his first touchdown. There was a cocky set to his shoulders when I’d tell him how cool I thought his car was, or how much I wished I had biceps as big as his. Once he asked me to walk on his back, the way George Jefferson was always doing for Mr. Bentley on TV. He’d hurt himself throwing a football, Chipper explained, and this could help him. I complied eagerly. It was the most extraordinary sensation, feeling his strong, hard back under my white athletic-socked feet.

  I think I love you. Isn’t that what life is made of?

  Chipper looked up and caught me staring at him. He threw a pillow at me.

  I caught it and laughed. “I’ve got to get going,” I told him reluctantly. “Mom wants me back by noon so we can go up to Massachusetts.”

  Chipper laughed. “So she really thinks a guy called Rubberman can help her find Becky?”

  “It’s not Rubberman like Superman or Spider-Man. It’s the Rubberman like the Flash or the Hulk.”

  Chipper rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “Hey, Chipper, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you ever miss Becky?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is that why you haven’t gotten another girlfriend?”

  He stood up abruptly. “Well, I didn’t want to date anyone and get Becky pissed off at me. You know, if she came back.”

  “I don’t think she’s coming back,” I said in a small voice. It was the first time I’d voiced out loud how I felt.

  “When school starts,” Chipper said, ignoring my comment and fiddling with his football helmet, “I think I’ll ask Mary Kay Suwicki to go out. You know, as a senior, I should have a girlfriend.”

  I got to my feet. “Yeah,” I agreed.

  I headed for the door.

  “Good luck with Rubberman,” Chipper said.
<
br />   “The Rubberman,” I corrected him.

  He laughed. “Call me tomorrow.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  Call me tomorrow. I loved those words.

  Of course, Mom couldn’t know I had been at Chipper’s. She would’ve had a bird. So I left Chipper’s house by the back door, walking through other people’s backyards and crossing the street a block past our house. That way, I could come back down on our side of the street, and it would look like I’d come from entirely the opposite direction of Chipper’s house. It sure made for a long walk home, especially since Chipper lived right across the street, but it was a necessary tactic. Mom was waiting at the front door, as usual, her eagle eyes scanning the neighborhood for me. She made the sign of the cross when I came up the walk.

  “Danny, get in here! Jesus Christ, where have you been?”

  She held the door open for me to enter. “Mom,” I said, “it’s not noon yet. You said to be back by noon.”

  “Don’t you know how I worry?” She drew in close to me, so that our noses were almost touching, the way she used to do when I was a kid. She’d say “See the owl!” and make googly eyes at me. It always made me laugh. I missed my mother’s googly eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I wasn’t late.”

  “It’s just that we’re in a jam!” Mom made the sign of the cross again. “Bud is sick. He’s in the hospital. He can’t drive us to Massachusetts!”

  Bud. The taxicab driver. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Mom’s tone was clear: the nature of Bud’s illness was irrelevant. It was the burden it placed on her getting to see the Rubberman that mattered. “His wife called to say he’s been taken by ambulance to the hospital. Jesus! And on the day Warren finally got the Rubberman to agree to see us.”

  I knew better than to suggest calling Dad. First of all, if Dad knew about this meeting, he’d be against it. Secondly, he’d been missing a lot of work lately. Drinking too much, I suspected, and sleeping late in the basement, missing appointments. His bosses at the real estate company weren’t happy. Dad’s secretary, Phyllis, would call us, asking very sweetly if Tony had left for work yet. Mom would open the basement door and scream down at him. Today, for once, he’d made it to the office on time. No way could we call him now.