BOYSTOWN by Jake Biondi

How many times have you flipped through channels endlessly, browsed through streaming channels, looking for just the right thing?  You’ve watched all of QaF, Noah’s Arc, and the L Word.  You want representation, not just those side characters who never move the plot.  You’re considering watching reruns just to try to capture those moments again but maybe you’re like me and you know it too well.

BOYSTOWN reminds us that books are for reading not just putting on the shelf.  A serialized story collected and formatted for easy reading pleasure.  It is a well told blend between TV and the traditional novel that captures the speed of TV and the emotional depth of a novel.  It is told in a skilled narrative that hops from character to character and will leave you wanting more and you will be quickly satisfied when the author catches back up to them.  

Just like a talented magician, it is easy to forget just how well Jake Biondi builds the world of Chicago’s BOYSTOWN.  It is a slick narrative that harvests the emotion of the characters while capturing the necessary details of the city.  I found myself relating to the characters who are not just going through the more common dramas of moving to a new city, dealing with an alcoholic partner, and finding new love but the high stakes drama of affairs, a stalker ex-boyfriend, and kidnapping.  Told with suspense and mystery, ordinary people who struggle with love and loss.

But be warned, this is just the beginning of the story.  Just as any TV show would leave you with a cliffhanger so does BOYSTOWN.  And you’ll want to know more, you’ll want to see the rest of their lives unfold.
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For more by this author checkout: Majesty

Bates Motel and Icons

I'm watching Bates Motel, a wonderfully acted and written series and I find myself thinking about the inevitable conclusion, Psycho. Will they build and show to this conclusion? Is the movie so iconic that it shouldn't be retold?

This dilemma makes me think of the history of story telling, Odysseus and his adventures that were passed down orally, retold and added to with each generation. Does it become fixed once it is written down? Is it the nature of storytelling to modify? What is the time necessary between iterations? Does a story need to be original? A play could be acted out with different actors, different circumstances, for the Price of buying a copy of the play? Is it the medium of the story? Is it the money to be made from a specific, recent, iteration?

Mysterious Skin (what it means to me)

This is how I remember it.  Since I was a child I felt that something was wrong.  I blocked memories from my conscious mind, memories that when times were good didn’t mean much, could be forgotten, but when times were bad they felt overwhelming.  It was a sense of betrayal.

During adolescence, ten or eleven years old, I began to remember just what had happened, believing that my neighbor’s adult son had molested me.  It was a confusing feeling because I was also dealing with biological sexual development, sexuality, and my own identity.    

The acts kicked around in my brain, torturing me at times, usually when I was at my lowest.  I had the good fortune of meeting someone in college who I finally felt I could trust so one night not long after my twenty-first birthday as we sat in the darkness by a body of water I confided in him.  I told him that when I was young I had been molested.

What I didn’t know then was that he didn’t understand fully what I meant.  Quite the opposite I felt as if I had expressed myself to him.  I felt as if he understood.  That night and the next few days emotionally I was very raw and vulnerable.  I was at college taking several part-time classes and working a work study job.  I just remember being in my room most of the time if I didn’t have class or work and when I went out I was in a daze, a fugue state.

As I recovered, a teacher I knew personally remarked that she thought I had been doing drugs.  I felt like I had.  I felt like I was on a bender (something I’d do later in life).  I felt like I had done something terrible that had left me vulnerable.  But it was out there.  I had released something from myself, something that had become a part of me and in some way I even made part of my identity.  

It was the sense of betrayal, feeling like I couldn’t trust anyone, because as I would eventually come to terms with what happened I found myself not so much bothered by the act but the reaction.  I thought about how society blamed the victim.  I thought about how society talked about virginity, purity and said that anything else was wrong.  And I found myself deeply angry with my parents because yes, in some part they could have protected me, not trusted me in his care, but also the reaction was to not talk about it, hide it, and in effect cause me to feel as if I had made something up, something that I could never tell anyone, especially them.

I was only ever to feel, to identify, and to process through stories.  I remember watching Lifetime  and other original movies in secret when I was teen.  I identified with any character who had been victimized.  Yet it was all so distant.

In college I was given the opportunity to create something my first year in the Spring semester so I chose a book, a novella.  The story I wrote was about a boy who had been abused physically, emotionally, and sexually though mostly implied because the actual plot was about him being taken in by a pimp then a prostitute, sent to a mental facility that he escaped, and then eventually to a boy’s house who he met at the mental facility.  The second boy had been sent there because he was gay and his mother had found pornography under his bed (this happened before everything was on the internet).  The story ended sadly with the second boy’s younger brother accidentally telling his parents  he had seen them kiss so they kicked the first boy out of the house then theoretically would have the second boy committed again. It ended with the first boy sitting on the curb and muttering the words, "I am not a victim."

It was one of many times I sat down to write and the first time I felt like I had really completed something even though it had many mistakes.  My grammar was poor, not that it’s improved greatly, and my sense of writing was off too.  I had little working knowledge about fictional writing.  

About four or five months later, my second year of college, by chance I found the Manhood Ceremony in the library as I was walking through the stacks.  A thin book, short on depth, it was about a boy who had been kidnapped.  There had been other books, other stories, I read, that dealt with the subject, but this book was half focused on the abduction in much of the child’s point of view.  I remember beginning to read it and having such a visceral reaction I threw it across the room and began to cry.

Moments later I picked it up to make sure it wasn’t damaged then went to my bed.  It was one of the few times in my life I prayed.  I prayed for understanding.  I prayed for help.  I can’t say that any prayers were answered but taking the moment to calm myself I was able to try and read the book again.  I found the place where I had stopped and had another gut wrenching reaction so I put away for the night.

Days later I decided to try again and this time I was able to get through pages then over the course of a few days I read the whole thing.  I felt like I had ripped a scab off.  It hurt, there was figurative blood, but it also meant it would heal differently.

The same feeling happened years later when I read Mysterious Skin so I set it down and didn’t read it for a long time but then I picked it up and read.  There was much that was different, much that was too graphic, and gave me pause but I pushed through it.  I read as much as I could in a sitting then did something else.

I remember a few things from the book, a few lines, but it felt too much like I was ripping open the wound again to commit anything to memory.  Some time after that I got the Mysterious Skin DVD to watch.  

Right at the beginning of the film as Neil, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, looks up into the camera I turned it off.  My emotions were raw.  I returned the DVD without watching the rest of it.  A few years later I sat down again to watch it.  This time I found myself able to deal with the content, remembering passages from the book, but also feeling as if the wound was being sewn closed.

The movie, more extreme than what had happened to me, was becoming negligible, not something I ignored but something that had healed.  About a year or more after watching the movie I had the chance to go see the play in downtown Los Angeles performed by the East-West Acting company.  

I bought the ticket on an impulse to dare myself to confront this reaction I had to the content.  I was excited at first then I began to dread going.  The day before I was nervous.  I limited my contact with other people because I knew I wasn’t in a good mood.

That morning I woke late in the morning, I believe it was the last Sunday performance, and I made myself a small breakfast.  I had my fears about going.  But I decided to push through so I had a shot of whiskey around noon then drove into the city.  I don’t recommend ever doing this and I can’t say I was actually impaired beyond the legal limit.  It was one shot and I’m a big guy.

The audience members were all different types of people but mostly single, gay men.  I did notice a few straight couples and there was one gay couple.  I remember as the play began there was an extremely handsome man beside me but I soon forgot about him.  I was quickly enthralled by the play and I no feelings like from the books or even the movie.  

That’s not to say it was poorly done just the opposite.  The play was intense.  I felt different about what I was watching.  I felt calm, objective about the play until the break.  I made my way out from the chairs, down the aisle, and out into the harsh sunlight.  I followed behind everyone else to the parking lot where I separated from the group because I was beginning to lose my patience about what I had seen.  

Out in the parking lot I remember people milling around, but especially the gay couple I had mentioned who were hugging on each other, one of them trying to comfort the other.  But I digress because it wasn’t long before we were signaled to return.  I didn’t go back to my seat and instead I sat in the back row where there were plenty of empty seats.  

What happened next I can only think of as in terms like Herman Hesse, in I believe Steppenwolf, where the character goes into a dark space then he sees everything played out before him as if a live action film that he can feel.  

Everything was there but it felt objective, as if I were seeing something else on stage in my mind’s eye.  I remember thinking something like, oh that’s what it looks like as I watched the end of the play.  I felt as if something had been ripped from me, placed on the stage, objectified before me and it gave me the greatest comfort, the greatest joy.  

I walked from the theater feeling confident and when I got a phone call from my brother I answered it then joined him for late lunch.  For once I didn’t feel as if I had been wounded after some fictional representation, no I felt healed.

Afterwards, and even now as I have learned more, grown more, I felt like those series of events that culminated with the stage performance allowed me to leave something in the past, something I hated carrying with me.  Even as I write this I feel joy about the play as if it were an operation, possibly an exorcism.  

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Plane Dream

I had these crazy dreams last night yet I feel rested this morning. Maybe because I didn't wake up fully from the dream.

The first part was on a plane. As it started to take off some cartoon movie started that depicted a plane crash and I started to have a panic attack. I was asking people who in their right mind would show this during take off. The plane got into the air but started to experience mechanical problems so it made an emergency landing.

In the airport I started talking to people, one of them was Robin Williams. He made some off handed comment about gays and I was like actually I'm gay so he said let's go somewhere and talk. We had this intense, cathartic talk. Afterwards at some point I overheard two mechanics talking about the plane's problems and it seemed like they were trying to cover them up. I decided immediately to go to a reporter I knew was on the plane so she could contact her editor for help to report the story.

After I did I was headed back to where I had to wait in the airport and there were airport security there. Rather than go easily I started to shout about the plane's problems and they didn't bother me. They left but I started to feel ill.

Sick on the floor I was surprised when my father sat by my side. He put a leaf on my forehead and talked with me. I started to feel better so I got up. I was about to wonder off when there was a sound summoning everyone to find out about the plane. We got on different and separate planes.

Once in the air we flew lower to the ground.

My second dream I was in my hometown from my childhood. Someone asked for a ride to the airport and I said I'd take them. As I was going to my car I saw them about to take a bus so I called out to him and he came over to my car. I started driving into the city. I got lost and was on some highway that started to narrow on both sides until the walls scraped the paint. I looked up to see a low clearance but it was too late to stop. I turned to my passenger and just said, "well we're dead."

There was a moment of darkness but we came out the other side and I knew it wasn't logical but I wasn't going to contemplate it so I drove on towards the airport but I soon got myself lost.

Then I woke up.

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The Brat Ch 01 - The Confession

Once you start living with someone, like I had with Mr. Grant, it is easy to fall into old habits.  This was especially true when I bought a new video game system and flat screen television and put them in the guest room.  I had little else to spend my money from work on so I decided on an impulse to get something for myself.  It was easy to play a game for hours at a time in the morning and between classes and work.  I kept up my homework as usual for my new classes but when I didn’t have an important responsibility, when Mr. Grant wasn’t home, I played my games.  It was even better when Ethan was on at the same time.  We chatted a little as we played but mostly we talked strategy. 
Ethan didn’t ask for another session with Mr. Grant and I didn’t bring it up.  He told me about guys he met and that none of them seemed to be into spanking.  He said most of them were too superficial.  He said he liked the idea of someone being athletic, even a little self-centered, but when they started getting judgmental then he had a problem.  Our conversations made me think about my own experiences ‘dating’ and how Tucker had been my ‘fuck-buddy’ but I didn’t miss it. 

Being single, trying to find a new guy every night, hoping one of them would mean something all felt so desperate.  I liked the idea of being with someone, having a home, a warm body to cling to in bed, and the feeling of knowing someone would be there for me.

Mr. Grant seemed to take little notice of my new distraction.  He had been a little different since we got back from Las Vegas.  He reprimanded me, gave me a few corrective smacks on the ass, but we hadn’t had an intense session like the ones we had before and we didn’t talk about Ethan.  We did have sex on a regular basis though, usually after work.  It was the perfect release when we got home and it helped us both get to sleep easier.

It was an ordinary Monday.  We ate breakfast and made small talk.  We showered together, fooled around a little under the water and I watched him get ready for the day.  I walked him to the door, even gave him a peck on the cheek before I went to the couch where I thought about turning on the television before I thought to make sure there were no chores to do.  I was reading over the list when there was a knock at the door.  I was still in my underwear but somehow, for some reason, I didn’t think anything about it as I went to answer the door. 

Somehow I had expected Mr. Grant to be there, maybe he had forgotten his keys.  It wasn’t until I got to the door that I noticed my undressed state so I opened it partially to cover myself in some way.  It could have been a meter reader, the mail man, or even a church group and I wouldn’t have cared.  I was horrified to see it was my mother.  She smiled at me and looked around a little, glanced over my shoulder before she looked me in the eye and cleared her throat.  She smelled of an obnoxious floral perfume that she always wore and was dressed for work. 

Right then my white briefs felt even more ridiculous even though I used to wear boxers around the house regularly when I lived there.  I thought about closing the door on her, just panic and run away, but there was no where to run to and I knew she would knock again.  She had caught me.  I was in a precarious situation and she had definite intent but I thought we might be able to talk it out.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning,” she replied.

I thought for a moment she would speak but instead she let the uncomfortable silence hang in the air.  I was used to her doing this so I didn’t panic.  I just looked her in the eye as I feigned sleepiness.  But she didn’t speak, didn’t even budge.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Your birthday is coming up and since you’ve been spending so much time over here I thought I would stop by and see how you’re going to celebrate.”

“For my birthday, I don’t know.  I don’t think we had any specific plans.  I haven’t really mentioned it.  I’m not even sure if he knows it’s coming up.  Why?”

“Well, we were planning on getting you a gift and maybe having some kind of part but we weren’t sure if you might want to have it over here, or well, at home.  We’d like it if you came over to visit us, maybe we can get a cake.  I’m not saying you have to spend all day with us but we hardly see you anymore.”

I sighed.  It was another one of her guilt trips partially based in reality.  I should have felt bad about not spending time with them but I was also moving on with my life.  They showed so little interest any other time, any other day. 

“I’ll have to think about it but sure, I can come over.”

“I was hoping to get something a little more certain than that.  Can I come inside?”

The door between us, my state of undress, all felt like minor things.  She had come over for something else, something important, and yet I couldn’t help but feel a little angry.  She was ruining my good time.  I opened the door and invited her inside as I walked away back to the bedroom where I planned to get some pants.  She followed after me.  I didn’t expect her to keep after me like that.  I didn’t bother to close the door before I picked up a pair of jeans from the bed and began to pull them up my legs. 

“What’s that mark on your thigh?” she asked.

I zipped up my jeans and picked up a shirt, careful to determine the front from the back before I pulled it over my head, then down over my chest, adjusted it about my waist so it felt even.  I didn’t want to tell her anything and yet I knew she wouldn’t leave me alone.  I knew she would keep after me.  She was like a dog with a bone.

“It’s nothing mom,” I said.

It wasn’t humiliation but anger that I felt.  She had come over here, barged into the house, and now she was interfering with my life when before it meant so little to her.  Who was she to criticize when she barely said anything before?  I didn’t want to tell her about the spanking.  It felt bad enough that she knew I was gay.  How do you come out as kinky?

“That looked like bruising.  How did you get that?  Does he hit you?  Is that what he does?  Tell me and I’ll call the police.”

“He doesn’t hit me mom.  He spanks me.”

“What do you mean he spanks you?”

“It’s part of the life we live.  It’s part of our relationship.”

“What is that supposed to mean?  You mean it’s sexual.”

I sighed.  Here I was in my boyfriend’s house being interrogated about my sex life.  My face warmed and I clenched my hands together just to keep from grabbing at something, breaking something.  I wanted her out.  I wanted to scare her.  I wanted her to run.  It felt impossibly difficult just to stand there with her staring at me.

“Yes mom, I like to be spanked,” I said.  “Then we have sex.”

That’s when she let out a groan of disgust and walked away.  I didn’t have to break anything after all just tell her.  I looked to where she stood and listened as she walked out of the house.  It felt like a victory.  It felt like a loss.  She would tell my father.  The stereotypical response would be that he’d attack Mr. Grant, possibly have him arrested, but not my father, my father would invite me, us, to a therapy session, maybe at his office, probably over a cup of coffee.  He’d be casual about it, not try to imply that anything was wrong nor that he had any suspicions.  He’d treat, get me to talk, work his way into my comfort until he’d ask me and then he’d study me closely, look for some doubt, something to question.  He had done it before when my grandfather died.  We went to my favorite burger place, then he said it as I was eating.

My mother hadn’t been home when I got back from school.  I suspected, just because all of my friends parents were divorced that he was going to tell me they were getting a divorce.  I thought he’d ask me who I wanted to live with.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

I had a few fries in my hand and was ready to dip them in ketchup.  I put them to my mouth as if carrying through with what I was going to do would make it all seem normal.  I looked at him.

“You’re grandfather died.  He had a heart attack while playing golf.  He was on the twelfth hole.”

I started to cry.  The ketchup tasted sour and acidic.  It wasn’t just my grandfather’s death but the feeling of having been caught in a trap.  It was the worst meal of my life.  I never felt the same about that burger place. 

That was how my father did things.  I knew that I would be walking through some dangerous territory.  They wouldn’t understand.  If I had to walk through it at all?  Part of me thought about just ignoring the whole thing, cutting them off if necessary, but I couldn’t imagine a life without them.  I couldn’t imagine that how I chose to live my life would be so terrible.  It all felt so frustrating and I knew it would take time to work out just what it meant so I decided to get on with my life. 
I finished getting ready with a spray of cologne and some deodorant under my arm pits and went about my day as usual.  I checked the kitchen to make sure everything was clean and put away, checked the bathroom, and the living room, finally I collected my bag, made sure my books I needed for the day were there as well as my laptop and set out for campus. 

It was an easy, familiar bus trip.  I started thinking about my morning and I had to laugh a little about it to myself.  The thought of my mother seeing me getting dressed and seeing the marks on my thighs was kind of amusing in a dark, sarcastic kind of way.  Like when something embarrassing happens on television, I thought.  Of course there is a big difference between life and television but the thought comforted me.  And by the time I got there I reasoned that I didn’t have it so bad because I lived with Mr. Grant now.  I had a job and money.  They might stop paying my tuition but I could figure something out, probably.  Besides having to drop out wouldn’t be so bad, I told myself.  I could finally get my dream job of being a go-go dancer and/or porn star. 

I got off the bus feeling better about the whole thing and it was far in the back of my mind by the time I got to the library.  Once there I found a quiet spot, took out my books, and began to study.  I didn’t seriously think about it again until I got to work that evening. 

Being a bus boy is a quiet job.  With the exception of a few words to coworkers and a few words to patrons there isn’t much that needs to be said if you’re paying attention.  In some ways the less said the better.  Of course it isn’t a job where I found I could really think too much either and I found myself making a few mistakes here and there, not really paying attention when people spoke to me.  By the end of the night I snapped at Rose when she started to confront me about not cleaning up a table as quickly as I could have.  She gave me this look and I considered whether I should start yelling or walk away.  I decided to walk away. 

By that time things had slowed down and I wasn’t surprised when Mr. Grant came out to the alleyway where I leaned against the brick wall wishing I had a cigarette.  He moved to me quietly.  I could tell he was serious but he was also being gentle.  I admired that quality about him. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied.

It was my defense response.  It usually worked with my parents.  Sometimes it meant I didn’t want to talk at the moment but would later, but as I got older it just meant I wanted them to go away.  He shifted on his feet, hands in his pockets, I knew he raised an eyebrow or two of curiosity at me.

“You’ve been on edge all night,” he said.

“You noticed?”

“Of course I did, so did everybody else.  It’s been little things but still, the way you snapped at Rose in there was uncalled for and I want to know what’s going on.  Is it something to do with school?”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “It’s nothing.”

“Hey, don’t lie to me.  You can trust me.”

Somehow saying it to him felt even more humiliating than the actual incident.  His opinion mattered to me and I wasn’t sure what he would say about how I had acted or what I thought about it.  I also worried he might be embarrassed that she knew my secret, our secret, now and that he might be afraid.  He might worry she would turn him into the police for abuse or confront him, maybe even kill him.  No, not kill him, not my mother, but still it wasn’t good.  I didn’t want to cause him pain.  And yet as I stood there in that darkened alley that felt so much like a confessional I felt like just saying it.  He was a strong man and I thought he might know just the right thing to do, just the right thing to say.

“My mother came over today and she wanted to know what I was doing for my birthday.  We started to talk and were being civil, but then she came in the house and I was getting dressed and she saw my bruises.”

“What happened?”

“She started asking me about it and asked if you hit me.  I told her you spanked me and it became this whole big thing.  She ran out of the house.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean I wish it was a practical joke but it’s not.”

“Did she do anything else?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I answered.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.  Is there anything I can do?”

“Got a cigarette?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said.  “There isn’t much she can do.”

“I know, it’s just, I don’t know.  Everything was going so good.”

“It still is.”  He leaned to me, found my lips in the dark and kissed me briefly before he pulled away.  “But we need to get back in there.  We’ll talk about it after work.  Don’t worry about it.  You’re an adult and it’s your life.”

He started to move and I stopped him with one hand against his shoulder.  He paused and turned to me.  I couldn’t make out the details of his face.  I looked over his shoulder to the door that had remained closed, hoped no one was in the alley who could hear, who would care.

“This thing with my mother.  I know I didn’t do the right thing.  I know I was rude and everything but it wasn’t my fault,” I said.

“I know,” he replied before he started to step away.

“I don’t want you to spank me,” I said.

That caused him to stop and turn back to me.  He got close and for a moment I thought he was going to hug me and kiss me.  I could smell his breath and his cologne.

“I’m not going to spank you.  Not for this,” he said, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Really?”

“Of course, I just wanted, I just want, to challenge you.  It’s not about control.  I don’t want to control you.  I want to help you and given the situation I know it was very difficult, but what you said to Rose is a different matter.  You need to control yourself.” 

“I’ll apologize,” I said.

He closed the distance between us and gave me a kiss on the lips. I pulled him into a deeper embrace, pushed my tongue into his mouth for a moment before he pulled away and let out a laugh.

“Let’s get inside before they think I’m sexually harassing you or that we left for the night.  I don’t want them misbehaving.”

He stepped aside and ushered me to the door where he playfully slapped me on the ass before I opened it.  I laughed it off and held the door for him.  The kitchen had a familiar warmth and I knew I was safe there.

You can find 5 other chapters on my erotica blog:
 Ch 2 Pt 1, Ch 2 Pt 2, Ch 3, Ch 5, Ch 7, Ch 13

Two New Posts

You can find Chapter 1 and part 1 of Chapter 2 of my new book The Brat on my erotica blog: brieflytoldstories.blogspot.com/


The eBook is available for pre-order through Amazon.

eBook Discount Promotion

 

 I decided to lower the prices of my two novels to just $0.99 as part of a promotion for my new book The Brat out December 21, 2014.

The eBook is available for pre-order through Amazon.

The Brat Announcement

The sequel to Act Your Age.

All the same characters, all the same rules, and all the same discipline.

Just in time for Christmas. Dec. 21, 2014.

>47k words, $3.99, Amazon eBook and Print Editions

Who'd like to read it?

Pre-Order the Book Now

Here is the first chapter of my new book The Brat which is a continuation of Act Your Age. This first chapter came to me pretty easily along with some ideas for future chapters. I just wrote an edging scene last night that got me pretty excited. The full book will be out Dec. 21, 2014.

Right now I don't believe I will be posting the whole book on my blog but will post the first few chapters (10%) that would be seen through Kindle and possibly a few other chapters. This will be sporadic when I feel they are 100% complete.

I will still be posting other erotica short stories on the blog though.

Sincerely,
Bryan

New Book Print Edition

 Buy At Createspace

Shane, a directionless 20 year old living with his parents and attending community college, is sitting on his porch one lazy day when he spots Mr. Grant a new, next door neighbor.  Mr. Grant is handsome, older, and successful.  Shane is attracted to the older man, wants to start a relationship but Mr. Grant has just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a man and isn’t ready for commitment.

Worse, he sees Shane as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but when Shane won’t give up Mr. Grant challenges him to a little discipline.

Print: www.createspace.com/4967723

The Collected Chapters 1-21 of Act Your Age

The collected chapters 1-21 are now available for pre-order on Amazon.

Shane, a directionless 20 year old living with his parents and attending community college, is sitting on his porch one lazy day when he spots Grant a new next door neighbor.  Grant is handsome, older, and successful.  Shane is attracted to the older man, wants to start a relationship but Grant has just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a man and isn’t ready for commitment. 

Worse, he sees Shane as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but when Shane won’t give up Grant challenges him to a little discipline.

Act Your Age Ch 01: New Neighbor

Shane, a directionless 20 year old living with his parents and attending community college, is sitting on his porch one lazy day when he spots Grant a new next door neighbor.  Grant is handsome, older, and successful.  Shane is attracted to the older man, wants to start a relationship but Grant has just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a man and isn’t ready for commitment. 

Worse, he sees Shane as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but when Shane won’t give up Grant challenges him to a little discipline.

With my parents away at work and not feeling like studying or doing my homework from my classes at the community college I decided to take one of my father’s cigars from his office and one of his beers from the fridge and sit out on our porch.  I had my own pack of cigarettes but there was something nice about a cigar every once in a while, especially when I stole them from my father.
It was after eleven, I had just gotten up and had breakfast but I couldn’t go anywhere because my car was wrecked and in our garage taking up the only space.  My mom didn’t want it to be seen by the neighbors. 

The accident was bad enough that I had to walk with a cane and my parents felt it was punishment enough that they barely said anything.  They didn’t want to inhibit my creativity and my own internal agency.  My father was a therapist with his own problems and my mother, well my mother worked in pharmaceuticals.

I had few plans for after high school.  My father had something else in mind when he told me months before I graduated that he wanted me to go to the local community college.  He said I needed more of an education and that education was something that became more difficult later in life.  I thought I would take a few classes and if they didn’t go well I could move on to something else.  What I didn’t expect was to start that summer right after graduating.  When my friends were partying, sleeping late, and goofing off I had to study.  It was almost worth it because I was about to get my Associate’s degree and thinking about where to finish my Bachelor’s degree.

I had been sipping at my beer and smoking my cigar for some time when I saw the two moving vans arrive for the next door neighbor’s house.  The first truck had a hard idle and I could hear the suspension creak when it rounded corners and pulled into the driveway.  The second truck parked on the street.  I thought anyone who used it was at risk of it breaking down, or worse, possibly dying which is probably why I stared to see who would get out of the driver’s seat.

At first I thought there were four movers until I determined one of them was directing the others and dressed more formally, the way adults dress when not at work.  I could tell by the way he moved and talked that he was a rugged type.  I watched him as he moved and talked.  I could tell the other men were movers, used to being ordered around, and that he didn’t fit in with them yet they respected him somehow.  He was the first to open the truck and grab a box.  He worked with the men as they carried everything inside, often grabbing the second half of the heaviest objects.  I watched him as he worked, always lifting with his legs.

He had to be pretty rich to move into a house in our neighborhood but I was surprised when no one else showed.  No wife, no kids, just him and the movers.  I had noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign had been taken down weeks prior and asked my mother but she didn’t know who had bought the place.  She had been spying on the realtors whenever she could, even introducing herself to people who were looking, but I didn’t really expect her to know.  I thought it would be another couple like my parents.
At one point he stopped to catch his breath as I was staring at him, wanting him to do something where I would see some part of his body, the skin of his arm, the cleft of a butt cheek when he looked directly at me and waved.  I thought for a moment that I had been caught and was being signaled in some way but then I thought about the distance between us and I knew he didn’t really know, couldn’t be sure about what I was looking at so I just waved back as simply and insincerely as I could.

They made a second and third trip while I watched.  It was the most interesting thing.  I had already watched a marathon of television the night before.  The cigar went out several times before I gave up on it and I finished off two beers, even had a sandwich. 
After they unloaded the last moving truck he drove away with the movers and I thought it was over until he returned about an hour later in a truck with a bag of fast food and some beers.  I was feeling curious plus I thought him being a single guy who still looked young he might feel some pity for me at the age of 20 and stuck without a car.  I got to my feet and trying to look extra pitiful with my cane I headed over.

The front glass door was closed but the wooden front door was open.  I could see him right away on the couch with an open laptop on the coffee table.  He was shirtless but I couldn’t make out much detail through the glare.  I watched him eat some fries before I knocked.  He was even more handsome than I had thought.  He was older, at least ten years.  He smiled and waved me inside but when I tried the handle I found it was locked.

He got up and moved to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open for me.  I could see his muscled, hairy chest clearly now.  He had broad, flat pectoral muscles and a washboard stomach but I didn’t dare try to count the abs, though I could see almost everything because he wasn’t wearing a belt so his jeans were loose about his hips.  I couldn’t see the waistband for his underwear.  I felt my face was hot and I was feeling dizzy from the stimulation so I faked a cough and instead I looked up into his eyes.  He looked professional but casual, a five o’clock shadow.  I could still see the whole upper body of him, the way his chest muscles stretched, his biceps flexed, muscles that rippled naturally. 

“Hello there,” he said.

“Hi,” I replied.

There was a smell of cologne and sweat in the air as well as grease and ketchup.   He motioned for me to enter so I did.  He let the door close behind me before going back to the couch.  He was comfortable but maybe a little annoyed by my presence.  I worked my way close to him.  The closer I got the more I felt some kind of energy, an attraction like I had only felt for few other men in my life.  It felt like a tingling sensation on my skin and grabbed at my stomach making me realize I was holding my breath. 

He watched me as I moved and I stared back at him.  A few feet away and by the recliner, I thought to sit but felt it was too presumptuous so I leaned against my cane. 

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Not bad,” he said.  “Have a seat.  I was just about to get a shower but I thought I would check my email first.”

I moved in front of the recliner, still keeping my eyes on him, and sat.  I could tell it was high quality just from sitting but when I touched it with my fingers it felt great.  I looked around at the walls but they were bare so I looked back to him and his computer. 

“I’m Shane,” I said.

“Mr. Grant,” he said.  “Sorry, I’m being rude, I just am trying to do everything at once.” 

Who introduces themselves like that?  He wanted me to call him Mr. Grant?  What was next, sir?

“Moving in today,” I said.  It was rhetorical, or else he didn’t take the bait.  “I would’ve helped but I got this thing.”

“I saw you on the porch.  Laid up with that cane huh?”

“Car accident,” I said, “nothing big just got a little hurt.  I would have helped but I’m not sure what I could have done.”

“At least you get a day off from high school though right?”

“Community college,” I said.  “And I don’t have class today.”

I was feeling a little irritated by him assuming I was in high school so I decided to show a little courage.  I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and held them out to offer him one.

“Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes,” he said.  “Cigars mostly.  Do you know a good place?”

“No, I get mine from my father’s office,” I said.

“And he’s okay with you taking his cigars?”

I nodded.

He shook his head before he looked back to his computer.  He moved the mouse a little, clicked on something but he looked frustrated.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Sorry,” he said.  “It’s just with moving and not having any internet service yet it’s kind of annoying.  There’s an open network but I barely get a signal and I’m trying to download some paperwork.”

I immediately thought to offer him the password to my home wi-fi but then I thought about my parents and worried about whether I could trust him.  I grimaced at the predicament and nodded to show sympathy.  I wanted to help him.  I wanted to impress him.  I wanted to be resourceful.  And yet all of those feelings worked against me telling him because I was afraid to look weak.

It’s no big deal, I told myself.  Just let life happen and it will all sort itself out.  I played with my cane a little between my hands waiting for him to say something else but he didn’t.  I knew I would have to keep the conversation going.

“So what brings you here?” I asked.

“I’m starting a business,” he said.  “That’s why I need these documents.”

He leaned forward, squinted, and something inside of me snapped.

“You could use my parents’ network,” I said.

He looked up to me.

“Really, it’s fine.  I mean you’re getting your own soon.  It would just be temporary.”

He smiled.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s easier if I just type it in,” I said before getting to my feet.  I hobbled around the coffee table and he moved down the couch.  I sat beside him and looked to the screen.  I wasn’t sure what I would find there, maybe a picture of a half-naked man for the wallpaper or something to tell me he was gay but there wasn’t anything there.

Instead there was an empty email inbox and a meter showing how slow the data was being transferred.  I found the network selector, found my parents’ network, and typed in the password, a phrase I had made up myself.  The connection was made and the data rate jumped.

“Hey, that’s great,” he said.

I smiled and looked to him.  He was older than me.  He was more muscled than me.  And sitting this close to him I could tell he radiated masculinity.  I thought for a moment he was straight and that I was being foolish.  I had fallen for straight guys before in high school and my first year of college, befriended them but ultimately the relationships didn’t go anywhere.  How could they? 

“I think I can handle it from here,” he said.

“Right,” I said. 

I looked to his email and saw lots of new messages from lots of different people.  There was a Wendy, a Michael, and a Tom.  I got to my feet and made my way back to the recliner where I sat and looked back to him.  I was feeling he buzz from the two beers wearing off and there was the reminder of sobriety.  I didn’t want it to end and I felt bold enough to ask him.

“So how about a celebration beer?  I saw you bring them inside.”

He looked up to me but he didn’t smile.  He looked angry.  Either because I had been spying or the stupidity to ask. 

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-one,” I said.

“When were you born?”

I thought about it for a moment before I realized I just had to subtract one year from my actual birth year which I told him.

“You had to think about it,” he said.

“Really,” I said, “okay, I’m actually twenty but I drink all of the time."

“You drink all of the time?”

“I have a tolerance for it.”

He looked to my cane, then up to me.

“I wasn’t drinking and driving,” I said.  “This was sober.”

He looked back to his computer.

“No beer?” I asked.

“No beer,” he said.  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea if you’re not legal drinking age and this is my first day in town.  What would your parents say?”

I let out a sigh and looked to his walls again.  I looked at the windows that didn’t have curtains.  I looked to the boxes.  I could hear cars on the street and children screaming at each other.  Our little moment was over, I had pissed him off, and there was nothing else for me to do.  Gay or straight it didn’t matter.  He didn’t like me.

“Well,” I said.  “I have to get going.”

He looked to me.  I got to my feet and he stood as well.  He crossed the distance between us and extended his hand which I shook.  He smiled and I smiled back.  We had made up but I was still leaving, he was still escorting me out.  He walked with me to the door where he opened it and ushered me out, then closed it behind me.  I turned to him and waved before turning away and heading back home.

Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

Shadow's Night: Chapter 12 - Saturday Helper

After shooting a man while on a bender of drugs he was supposed to sell Conrad flees the city and goes to a place where he believes no one will find him, the home of Simon Winters, an old cellmate from his years in juvenile detention.  But he knows he can’t stay for long and Conrad’s greed inadvertently causes Simon to confront his past and his life in a small town where memories run deep.  How will Simon survive Conrad’s path to darkness?

Saturday morning, Kevin walked to Thad’s photography studio located on Main Street.  He was dressed in a pair of slacks, button down shirt with tie, and sweater, but he wore sneakers.  Thad hadn’t told him what he needed help with but he wanted to look professional.  He imagined it would be a lot of getting babies to look in specific directions, maybe a couple family portraits.  He pulled open the front door and stepped inside to find a teenage boy, obviously younger than himself, sitting patiently in the waiting area but there was no one at reception.  There never was, Thad said he couldn’t afford to hire someone, and that’s when he made the obvious connection.  He looked to the door that led into the photography area, held up his finger to the young man, and walked to the counter where he saw a sheet with a list of names and times.

“Are you Bryan?” Kevin asked.

“Yes, I’m early.”

“No problem, I think I’m late.  Just let me check with the photographer.”

The photographer?  God, he was overdoing it to sound professional, especially in this town, he thought.  Kevin put the list back on the counter and opened the door, looked back to Bryan who winced with anxiety, and left him there.  There was a small hallway, a door for the printing room, another for supplies, which he passed until he was in the actual studio area, a large space that had been converted from a general store.  In the middle of the room there was all of the equipment needed for portraits and Thad in the middle of it, slightly panicked.

“Oh good you’re here,” Thad said.

“Yeah,” Kevin said before stepping closer.

“There’s someone out in the waiting area, they’re early.  Could you deal with it?”

“No problem, I’ll tell them ten minutes.”

“Perfect,” Thad said.

Kevin watched for a moment as the normally calm man double checked everything before turning away and walking back to the waiting area but this time through the door to the receptionist area where he turned on a light.  The small area was suddenly illuminated but it only made it look sadder as there was little there, shelves and surfaces were empty.  He grimaced at the sight before looking out to Bryan who looked back at him expectantly. 

A year or two younger, with glasses and acne, Bryan could have been his friend in high school.  If Bryan had been in the theater department, he thought, even then he probably would have worked on the set.  He probably wouldn’t have believed in himself enough to try for a part.  Even now, as he sat there staring back there was an air or desperation about him, an uncomfortable presence.  Gay or straight?  Kevin thought he would be straight and slightly homophobic because everyone, even relatives, assumes he’s gay because he talks more about computers than girls.  Kevin suppressed a laugh at his own joke and cleared his throat.

“The photographer will be ten more minutes.  I guess you’re early after all.  He has to let the lights warm up.”  Was that a thing?  He shrugged his shoulders, it had to be something he overheard Thad say sometime.  “I might be able to find something for you to read if you’re bored.”

“No, that’s okay,” Bryan said before pulling his phone from his pocket.

Kevin looked away to the chair and the desk.  He could tell easily that the chair would need to be adjusted if he wanted to use the desk.  He shook his head.  There were intentions.  And disappointments.  He turned the chair, dusted it with his hand, and sat.  He looked up at the backside of the counter and he could barely see Bryan’s eyes on the other side.  He groaned and stood, looked down to the chair, to Bryan who was preoccupied with his phone, to the list, the phone, and back to the chair. 

“This is going to be a long day,” he said.

********

“So how was it?  Senior class pictures can be a bit of a drag but it’s good money.  I bet you’re feeling like I owe you more than a piece of pizza and twenty bucks.”

The sweater in his lap, Kevin looked back to Thad who was putting away the equipment and sighed.  His instinct was to say something sarcastic but he stopped himself.  It had been a long day but strangely rewarding.  For once he looked at the people younger than himself, the high school students, as something outside of himself, something he could no longer identify with because he didn’t worry about the same things, have the same desires or expectations.  They worried about how they looked and that this image would be so meaningful, a measure of their life.

He didn’t have those worries, not exactly.  He had been through a year of college, had an internship, was saving money, and there was Thad.  He was working with these high school students as a photographer’s assistant, maybe if he did it a few more times, asked some questions it could be something he put on his resume.  But there was something else, their secret.  They were lovers of a sort, a couple.  Were they a couple, he asked himself.  No, there was no commitment there, just limited options. 

“It’s not like I had anything better to do,” Kevin said.

Thad looked to him.

“No that’s not how I meant it.  I’m sorry, it’s just kind of weird being your assistant.  You know, working for you.  And they’re all from my high school.  Some of them probably know who I am even if I don’t know who they are.”

“You’re that famous?”

“Well, when you beat the hell out of three football players in a locker room... but, I’m not one to brag.”

“Three?”

“It’s a long story,” Kevin said.

“You’ll have to tell me someday,” Thad said.  “Sorry if it was boring but thanks for helping me.  I had quite the night and I was running late this morning.”

“No problem,” Kevin said.  “I was guessing who was gay and straight all day.”

“I used to play that game.”

“So why were you late anyway?”

“Oh, uh, no big deal, just my ex-boyfriend called me last night.  His father died and it was kind of a surprise.  No one really expected it.  We just got to talking.”

Kevin felt his stomach sinking as Thad talked.  He wasn’t sure if he regretted asking Thad the question or if he should dismiss somehow, forget about it.

“It’s kind of crazy when you get to talking with someone and you realize it’s been years.  I hadn’t really thought about it for some time.  I mean it’s like I enjoyed everything about getting older but then someone dies, an ex calls, and it’s like bam, this is life.  But, anyway, it’s not something to really talk about right now.  Where do you want to eat?  Or do you want to go back to my place?”

“Let’s go back to your place,” Kevin said.

“Really?”

“Yeah sure,” Kevin said.

Together they closed the studio and walked out the side exit, down the alley to the parking lot where they got into Thad’s car.  Kevin looked around but there was no one to see him, to see them.  He had been known as the town queer since high school and his very public outing but for Thad a reputation could be ruined.  Would those high school guys feel comfortable with a gay photographer?  Would their parents?  It’s not like he was in the closet but there were no rainbow flags, no visibility.
They drove to Thad’s home, a Victorian style house that looked too big for one man, too expensive.  Anywhere else, Kevin told himself, but this town is going down the tubes and property value with it.  He probably got it for a steal, he thought every time he saw it.  He pushed open his car door and looked back to Thad who seemed to have everything he needed in his hands.  He followed the man up the stairs and to the front door.  Thad stopped to check the mail.  Kevin looked back at the other houses, up and down the street.  He saw some children in the distance riding bicycles, trying to live out the last hours of the summer break when the sun always seemed to linger just on the horizon.  He heard Thad put the key in the door and it snapped him back to the moment, to Thad who smiled back.

“Come on inside,” Thad said.

Kevin followed after him into the house where he instantly felt at ease.  He half expected a dog to be there but Thad told him before that he had too many dogs in his life already and he wasn’t going to get another one until he was an old man.  The home was comfortable, lived in.  He smelled vanilla and something else.  Thad walked around the house and turned on the lights to the living room, the hallway, and the kitchen.  He looked through his mail, set it on the counter, and opened the refrigerator door. 

“I think we should order in.”

“There’s only one place that delivers,” Kevin said.  He walked to the kitchen and stopped on the other side of the refrigerator door.

“You don’t like their food?”

“It’s fine.  It just sucks that there’s only one place.”

“God, I used to order from like five different places when I lived in the city.  Thai, Japanese, and real Italian food, my favorite was Japanese.”

“Well here we’re going to have to settle for pizza,” Kevin said.

They looked each other in the eye, both of them were tired but they wanted something else.  They didn’t want to eat.  Thad closed the refrigerator door.  He moved to Kevin and took hold of his belt with one hand, the other went to Kevin’s face.  They kissed, deeply and passionately.  They pulled at each others clothing and dropped it to the floor.  Kevin began to step back and pull Thad with him.  They broke from their kiss.

“What about the food?”

“Forget the food,” Kevin said.

Per Pound of Flesh: Chapter 13 - Getting Fired Is Never Easy (Excerpt)

    Two weeks had gone by without John hearing from his mother and he told Brandi  that he was feeling nervous about the whole thing as she readied herself for the day in the room that had been his mother’s.  Brandi had thrown lots of stuff out, packed lots of stuff away or moved it into his bedroom, flipped the mattress and changed the sheets but it was all too familiar for him.  It was still his mother’s bed. 
   
He looked in the mirror as he flipped a cigarette end over end against the wood surface where his mother had once done the exact same thing with her own cigarette.
   
“So what are you worried about?  Are you worried he’s some kind of killer or something?”  She stepped behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders just over the straps of his undershirt.  She gripped at them as he looked at himself in the mirror with his head reflected back at him between her breasts covered in a black bra. 
   
“Your mother is a smart woman,” she said.
   
“I know.  But I called her three different times now and I guess before I didn’t really worry about it because she was just working and everything but with the money she gave us--”
   
“--hey don’t worry about it.  In part that money was ours and she just gave it back.  You can’t worry about that stuff.  She’s an adult.”
   
“I just worry about her,” he said.  “She gets so excited about things.”
   
He thought back to Clark, the man who was supposed to be their knight in shining armor, a man who was a liar and a cheat. 
   
“People have to live their own lives.  If it’s as good as she said then we all have it made.  I mean I really don’t want to inherit this dump but it’s something.  When we get our own house we can rent this one.”
   
He flipped open the lighter and sparked the wheel to create a flame.  He held it for a long moment to see the reflection in the mirror until Brandi took hold of his wrist and guided the him up to her mouth where she had placed her own cigarette.
   
“The baby,” he said.
   
“Is fine,” she said.  “It’s my only one.”
   
She used the fire and inhaled deeply before he lit his own cigarette.  He reached for her backside and she let him take it.  He gripped at her slightly enjoying the feel of flesh.  She reached back to him and grabbed the back of his head.
   
“You want to have sex tonight?” he asked.
   
“Let’s see how it goes,” she answered.
   
She stepped out of his grasp and walked from the room.  He had become excited by touching her and he wanted something more but she was teasing him.
   
He looked to the clock and saw it was quarter after eight.  He hated mornings when there was little to do.  He thought about playing video games or else watching television, maybe look for a job.  He hated the idea of looking for another job, another boss, another day trying to get by while he sunk deeper in debt.
   
He got up from the chair and walked from the room, through the trailer and exited through the front door where he found a familiar sight of the trailer park he had known for a little more than four years when Clark had made the down payment on it for him and his mother.  At least then, he thought, she was smart enough to put it in her name so that when his wife found out it couldn’t be taken back. 
   
That was the part that was news to them, his wife, the man had been married and had two children but lied to them both.  He thought of his mother out there with a stranger and he worried about her safety.  He had never met the man so he didn’t know what he looked like but he could imagine the empty hotel rooms and the long roads between them.  He flicked the butt of his cigarette out into the lawn then lit another one.
   
She had received many gifts over the years from men but they had trailed off in her later years when her age, no her spirit, had finally begun to drain.  All of his life she had been fierce, fueled by nicotine and liquor, prescription pills.  When she wanted to rearrange the furniture in the middle of the night he had learned to go along with it.  When she was having a good day it was great.  She had a will and vitality that he knew took a blow from Clark but he didn’t expect it had been terminal.  No, she was the type to get a second wind.
   
His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket.  It was Dennis.  For a moment he was suspicious of the call, troubled somehow by why he would call so early.  Maybe Dennis had to call off and they could switch like before, he thought.  He answered it.
   
“What’s going on man?” John asked.
   
Dennis sounded about ready to cry.  John could hear the commotion of traffic, the wind.  He was walking.
   
“Are you there?”
   
“Yeah,” Dennis said.
   
“Can you talk?”
   
“Yeah.”
   
John looked to make sure no one was around feeling it was confidential.
   
“I just got fired,” Dennis said.
   
“What?  Why?”
   
“I don’t know.  I mean, I can’t talk about it.”
   
“What’s going on?” John asked.
   
“I have to get out of here,” he said.  “I took the bus to work today and now I’m stuck so I just started walking.  Can you pick me up?”
   
John knew he had hours before his shift at the grocery store and said that he could meet Dennis then asked for him to pick a spot and stay there.  Dennis told him the name of a chain breakfast food restaurant.
   
“I’ll be right there,” John said.  He hung up then headed back to the bedroom and began to search for his shoes, his socks, and a belt.  He picked them up and began to walk with them in his hands.  When he passed Brandi she asked him where he was going.
   
“Out,” he said.
   
“What about Josie?  I thought we could go to the mall.”
   
He stopped at the door and looked back to her.
   
“I can’t,” he said, “a friend needs me.  Go with Rachel if you want.”
   
“Rachel is working today.  You know that.  I thought we could spend some time together.”
   
John hated the mall.  He had a friend in need.  He wanted to make the conversation short.  He wanted to sink any thoughts about it.
   
“You’re always just looking at stuff and walking around.  There’s nothing there we need.”
   
“We can still look,” she said.
   
“Brandi we need to hold on to that money and pay some bills,” he said.  He slid on his socks and shoes then pulled open the door and exited.
   
Twenty minutes later he passed the coffee shop then thirty seconds after that he pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall and made it to the place where Dennis said he would be.  He made his way inside and to the table where Dennis sat staring at a cup of coffee.  He took a seat opposite of him.
   
“What’s going on?  I was speeding all of the way over here.”
   
“Did you get a ticket?”
   
“No, luckily no cops were out.  So what’s going on?”
   
“I got fired.”
   
“You got fired or you thought you got fired so you quit.”
   
“I got fired.  That,” Dennis lowered his voice, “fucking old queen fired me.  And it was all Mitsy’s fault.  I didn’t even make it to the lunch rush.”
   
“What happened?”
   
“He found out,” Dennis looked to John who turned his head quizzically.  “You know, about me.”
   
“Oh,” John said.  “How?”
   
“Mitsy, she saw me with this guy.”
   
“When?”
   
“This morning,” Dennis said, “I didn’t really take the bus.  I didn’t mean to lie to you.  It’s just that--” he began to cry slow long tears that ran down his cheeks.  John reached for napkins in the holder and handed them over. 
   
“He dropped me off this morning and she saw him kissing me in the parking lot.  The bitch couldn’t even wait until after lunch.  She told him almost right away.  I just knew something was up when she was cleaning up with me this morning.  It was just awkward the whole time and she kept staring at me. 
   
“Then work started and things seemed okay.  I was in the middle of getting someone coffee when she asked to meet with him and then right afterwards he calls me in to his office.  I just knew something was wrong. 
   
“So he asks me right away if I’m gay.  And I’m thinking you know like ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ but goes, you know, like, it’s already been told to him that I was and that he didn’t think it reflects well on the business because it’s a Christian business and he’s a Christian businessman.  So he says I had to leave.  Just like that.  He’s such a hypocrite.”
   
“So he just fired you?”
   
“Yeah,” Dennis said.
   
“Isn’t that discrimination?”
   
Dennis shook his head and blew his nose then gripped the napkin tight in his hand as he said, “not in this state.  There’s no protection for homosexuals in anything.  I mean I never expected to be married here but fired.  He’s a fucking miserable sack of shit.”
   
John looked around to the other tables which were mostly empty as the place was between breakfast and lunch.  No one was looking to them, not even a waitress or waiter was in sight.
   
“I don’t even know why I’m crying.  I hated the job.  I mean it sucked.  Michael was such a douche bag.  I bet he dreams about sucking cock.”
   
John smirked at the outburst then looked around again before focusing back on Dennis who dabbed at his cheeks.
   
“What am I going to do for a job?” he asked.  “I needed that money.”
   
“Hey, it’ll be fine.  I mean it’s not like you have to pay rent right?”
   
Dennis let out a deep sigh.  “My parents,” he said, “you don’t think he called them?  I mean I had to put their information on my application in case of emergencies.  If my parents found out.  I mean it was already bad enough when my mom figured out I hadn’t been in my room all night.  By the way I told them I was with you.”
   
“Just take it one step at a time,” John said.
   
“I’m in so much shit if they find out,” he said.  “All of my life I’ve had to hide who I was and now this and I can’t even keep a fucking job.”
   
Dennis looked John in the eye.  He had a look of fear John hadn’t seen before in his life.  He was exposed and vulnerable.  Some part of John wanted to cry with him but he couldn’t.  He felt like doing the opposite, to show some resilience instead.
   
“I haven’t seen a waiter since I sat down,” John said.  “What kind of service do they have here?  You might be able to work here,” John said.
   
“I hate these places,” Dennis said before he laughed then leaned close and asked with a sarcastic tone, “Do you think they are hiring?”

******

   
They were stopped in front of Dennis’s house like they had been when John had asked him if he was still gay after Dennis had come out to him on John’s birthday.  It was all there in John’s mind as he stared at Dennis in the seat next to him.
   
“Well, I wish I could take you out for a drink but my wife really wants to go to the mall and I have work later tonight.”
   
“It’s okay,” Dennis said.
   
“No really, I’m sorry,” John said.
   
“I know,” Dennis said.  “You’ve been really nice to me.”
   
“But if you need me then give me a call.”
   
Dennis opened the car door and began to stand.
   
“No really, call me,” John said.  “If your parents, you know, if they know and you can’t deal with it.”
   
Dennis turned and looked back to him.
   
“I wish I could kiss you,” he said.
   
“I know,” John replied. 
   
“Well, it’s just a dumb fucking job I didn’t like anyway.”
   
“Maybe it’s for the better.”
   
“Maybe,” Dennis said.  He moved the door slightly with his hand to close it then stopped.  It was a moment.  It was an ending.  He pulled it open to steady himself the readied to close the car door.
   
“Hey, take care,” John added.
   
“Thanks I’ll see you later.”
   
Dennis closed the door and turned away from the car as John watched him walk back to his home.  It was a mundane sight that he had seen before but it meant so much more to him in that moment.  He shifted to drive and pulled away from the curb.