In His Kiss

Chapter 29

The aftermath.


The black town car was waiting just outside, the chauffeur opening the door for Justin. The interior smelled of leather and mint. The chauffeur turned to Justin and asked, “The address in Brooklyn, please?” and Justin realized he was chewing gum and that the mint smell was from his breath. He gave the brownstone’s address and relaxed, his head on the back of the seat.

“Do you mind the radio, sir?“

“Not at all.”

Justin listened to the NPR report that was playing, the brief news segment, and the Supreme Court report. When they pulled up in front of Justin's house, the chauffeur remarked, ”Traffic was lighter than expected, sir. You have a bit of time.”

“How much?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Thanks.”

He got out and went up to his room, grabbed his duffle bag and came back downstairs to place it by the door. He went into the kitchen. The cooks had known to clean for themselves, that Justin would be on his way out and gone for two weeks. Cassie and Rory were both there, having a cup of coffee.

“Hey, Justin! You’re running late, aren’t you?” asked Rory.

“I have a ride. Is Lilah around?”

“No. But she took care of your package yesterday,” said Cass. “I helped her wrap it, and we dropped it off at Fed-ex together.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Hey?” asked Rory. “My brother is coming to visit. Do you mind if he uses your bed? Andrew is gone too, and that way he won’t have to use the couch.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll be back on the second.”

“Cool. He got in at Pratt too. We’re going to be looking for a place for him.”

“I know how that goes.” Justin grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl but then put it back. “I’m off. Happy holidays, guys.”

“You too. See you.”

The chauffeur put his duffle in the trunk, and they got back on the road.

“Which company are you flying, sir?”

“Continental.”

“Where are you going?”

“Pittsburgh. Ever been there?”

“Nah. I’m from Atlanta. But I’ve been driving in New York for twenty-seven years. Started as a cabbie.”

“That must have been hard.“

“It’s had its moments. You see a lot of shit driving a cab in New-York, pardon my French.”

“Do you like driving a limo?”

“Yeah. It’s never boring. I see all sorts. We have a lot of contracts with businesses, driving their clients around. I drive for Plexus all the time. You work there?”

“I did. Yesterday was my last day.”

“They’re good clients. And it’s nice, they have a park and wait area right in their garage. We don’t have to keep going around the block. On Madison that can be a real bitch.”

“I can imagine.”

“Are you going to Pittsburgh for good or are you coming back?”

“I’ll be back in January. Going back to school.”

“I have a boy at NYU. Junior. Studies Economics. Are you at NYU?”

“No. The Pratt institute.”

“Ah. You're an artsy type. My daughter is a senior in high school. She wants to study art in college next year. I worry there’s not much future in it.”

“There’s a lot you can do with an art degree. Plexus has eighteen people in their Art Department.”

“Is that right? I guess I didn’t think of that. There’s more to it than painting pictures and starving, I guess.”

Justin laughed. “I hope so…”

“Well, here we are.”

The chauffeur came out and retrieved his bag from the trunk.

Justin felt stupid. He had no idea how much to tip. He got out his wallet.

“We do not accept gratuities, sir. You’re right on time. Continental check-in is through these doors. Have a nice flight.”

“Thanks. Bye”

The chauffeur tipped his hat and left.

Once again, Justin did not have any luggage to check in, and he was able to get his boarding pass from a machine. He made his way to the gate, got a latte from the Starbucks on the concourse, picked up someone’s abandoned New York Times and sat down to wait for the flight to board.

His cell phone rang.

“Taylor.”

“Justin. It’s Jason. You forgot to get me the number for that gallery in Pittsburgh.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Jason. I still don’t have it. I only have the personal number of the woman who’s organizing the show. My flight is boarding. Can I get it to you later?”

“No, you said that last time we talked. Give me her number.”

“I don’t know her that well, Jason… I dunno if…”

“Justin, she’ll know who I am. Everybody in the business knows who I am. And she works with artists. It’s fine. Give it up. I’ll make sure to tell her I had to twist your arm. The opening is tonight. She and I have to talk NOW.”

Reluctantly, Justin gave Jason Lindsay’s private number and hoped she wouldn’t mind too much.

“I’ll talk to you after the opening, Justin. Make sure you have your phone, and make sure it’s charged.”

“Yes, Jason.”

“Have fun.”

Justin boarded, crammed his bag in the overhead compartment, sat in the window seat and slid his carrier bag under the seat in front of him. It was a far cry from first class but at least his neighbor was a petite woman, who immediately started reading a romance novel.

He closed his eyes. For the first time since leaving Brian’s, he could find nothing to distract himself. It felt as if there was a huge hole between his navel and his sternum and a weird ache everywhere else. His throat started closing up and the back of his lids and the inside of his nose were tingling. And despite his best effort, he felt hot tears seeping from under his closed lids and onto his cheeks.

He wiped at them with the sleeve of his hoody, then reached inside the carrier bag for his dirty t-shirt, which he had folded flat on top of his laptop after Brian had handed him a clean one. He rolled it into something of a pillow, turned his back to his neighbor as if intending to sleep and leaned his face into his t-shirt against the window.

The hole in his chest seemed to actually be filled with a sharp kind of hurt and the tears didn’t stop coming. He knew full well there was not one fucking thing he could do about either and just kept his eyes closed, trying to breathe evenly despite his runny nose. He prayed he’d fall asleep.

After an hour or so, the initial pain seemed to recede a little. He wiped his eyes on his soaked t-shirt and blew his nose in it. He excused himself as he made his way to the bathroom. He peed, washed his hands, washed his face at the stupid little sink, and blew his nose again. His skin was blotchy and his eyes and nose red. He closed the toilet’s lid and sat in the bathroom for a while, feeling numb, trying to compose himself.

When the captain announced that the descent to Pittsburgh had started, he glanced in the mirror and was glad to see that aside from red eyes that could easily be accounted for by fatigue, he looked normal again. He rinsed his mouth, and went back to his seat.

Daphne picked him up in front, driving up just as he stepped out of the airport. He threw his bags on the back seat, got in, buckled up, and they left, Daphne concentrating on pulling back out into traffic and then not missing the highway entrance. But five minutes into the drive home she could tell something was up. She turned to him.

“You were right, then?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t say anything more all the way to her apartment. Once there, she took off her coat and colorful scarf as he dropped his bags on the floor.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared in what he knew was Emmett’s room. He took off his outside clothes and hung them on one of the hooks at the back of the door and went to sit on her couch. She came out of Emmett’s room with his stash, put it on the coffee table, lit up a joint and sat next to him. After a huge pull, she handed it to him. He took a long drag and held it. He blew out the smoke and took a second drag, just as long as the first, and passed the joint back to her.

After she blew out her smoke, she looked at him, and said, “So…”

She knew what had been happening with Brian. She knew the details. But she’d thought for sure that Justin was wrong, that Brian had fallen for him, fallen hard, and that by the time they actually slept together it would be clear that it was not a casual one-time thing, but that it would be the beginning of something more.

He had told her she was wrong. He had known she was wrong. So why did it still hurt so fucking much?

“So the sex was unbelievable. We made love all night. And he didn’t throw me out in the morning; he rearranged his schedule and got me a car to go to the airport so we could have as much time as possible. But then, at breakfast, he made sure things were crystal clear between us, that I didn’t mistakenly think that his calling my name as he came or that his being tender and loving in anyway changed where things stood. It was just fucking. And it was a one time only fuck.”

“I’m sorry. God, Justin, I’m so sorry if I raised your hopes up.”

“You only said out loud what I thought deep down. I think I still can’t believe it. My body can’t believe it. It felt like love when we were doing it. It didn’t feel like fucking to me. I didn’t think a body could lie, but his does. All the things that you think mean something actually mean nothing. It’s going to take me a while to accept that, to reconcile what I felt with what I know.”

He took a last drag of the joint and said to her, “I don’t understand him at all. How he can be this way with everyone, how this…harmony can feel ordinary to him. How having sex can be this way for him with anyone he picks up. But it must. Because it meant nothing to him.” Justin looked at her and felt his eyes fill up with tears again. He was such a silly little faggot.

“I envy the guys he fucks and never sees again, who never know him. Because the worst thing is, I got to know him. He‘s brilliant, Daphne. Fucking brilliant! And he has balls in his business like you wouldn’t believe. And he looks at my art and gets it, feels everything I put in it.”

Daphne reached for his hand as tears started flowing again.

“I love him, Daphne. I fucking love him. Body and soul.”

The joint might have been a mistake. She gave him a hug and he ended up crying his eyes out in her neck for what felt like an hour. Finally he calmed down, feeling stupid.

“I’m sorry Daph. I’m OK, now.”

“Are you?”

He thought about it and realized that he did feel better. Not great, but definitely better. Like maybe he wouldn’t just start sobbing again at the drop of a hat.

“Yeah. Really.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s my birthday and we are going out. Go take a shower and let’s get out of here.”

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I forgot! Happy Birthday, Daph.”

“Go on, go shower.”

He did and got dressed in fresh clothes and felt a hell of a lot better. Emptying his bag, he found a card at the bottom. Brandon’s business card. He stared at it for a minute. Brandon had been nice. He had wanted to see Justin again. He got out his cell phone and dialed.

“This is Brandon.”

“Hi. It’s Justin.”

“…”

“We met at…”

“Justin, I know. I was just closing the door. When are you coming back?”

“I’m back. I just landed.”

“Excellent. I… So, when do you want to come to the Ballet?”

“Tomorrow? Sunday?”

“How about tonight?”

“I can’t tonight. I have some paintings in an exposition and it’s opening night.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Yes, well, I’m still a student, but I’ve sold a couple of paintings.”

“What gallery?”

“The Sydney Bloom gallery.”

“That’s pretty cool. I dance tomorrow. Sunday is the other cast. I’ll leave a ticket in your name at the front. I… Is Palomino all right for dinner? They’re open late.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Great. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Brandon had sounded as if he was really glad he‘d called. It felt very nice to be wanted. He went and rejoined Daphne.

She wanted to go to the Liberty Diner of all places, so they did. Debbie was working and welcomed him with “Sunshine! You’re back!” And a great big hug. They ate awesomely greasy diner food and then went ice-skating. They’d done that for every one of Daphne’s birthdays, ever since they were little. Justin concentrated on Daphne, on their long friendship and they had a great time.

They met Lindsay at the gallery to check out the paintings. He apologized for giving out her number but she brushed it off, instead telling him how lucky he was to have Jason Kintzer as his agent.

“I know. I can’t believe it.”

“I can. You’re very talented. The computer photos didn’t do your work justice. I wish I’d asked you for more pieces.”

Justin did like how they looked hung with the right lighting. He suddenly got excited about the whole thing, whereas before he had not really thought about it. He wished Brian could come and see them and then remembered Brian didn’t care and swallowed hard. This was a great opportunity; Lindsay thought he was very talented. He tried hard to concentrate on that and appreciate the chance to show people his work.

Daphne decided they needed to get him some new clothes for the occasion and it was her birthday, so he gave in and they went shopping downtown where the stores stayed open late for the Christmas season. He was distracted, and only wanted to wallow in his misery but she was having so much fun, and he loved her so much, he made an effort to snap out of it and at least be good humored about trying on anything she wanted. He ended up with low-rise black jeans, a fitted long sleeve black silk T-shirt and new black boots. He said he felt like an undertaker. She said he looked like a New Yorker. When he arrived at the party, Emmett said he looked good enough to eat so he figured it was all right.

The opening’s theme was edgy and cool. The music, though subdued, would not have been out of place at Babylon. All the decorations, and there were only a few, were black and white and the circulating waiters were all very young, sporting black leather, tattoos and piercings aplenty. They were also gracious, attentive and extremely friendly and polite, compensating for the natural reaction people had to that typically anti-social group. The food was vegetarian, creative and very good. As well as the unavoidable champagne, beer was on offer.

He was so glad Daphne was there. He wanted to share his creations with people but at the same time, he hated having strangers gawk at his art and say totally absurd things about it. Michael and Ben showed up, and later, Ted and Blake. Justin was really glad to see Blake, who somehow said just the right things to make him feel more comfortable about the whole weird scene though Justin couldn’t really pinpoint anything specific.

Then Ted and Emmett started some sort of comedy hour, joking back and forth like a well-practiced act and Justin’s spirit lifted. Suddenly, he couldn’t care less about why he was there anymore and just had a fabulous time. Lindsay still dragged him off regularly to introduce him to important people but now he didn’t mind.

It was eleven o’clock, things were wrapping up and Justin and Daphne were talking about leaving when Ted said: “Wow! I didn’t know he ever left Babylon!” and Emmett added: “What’s he doing here?”

Brandon had just walked in. He was more handsome than Justin remembered. Justin was touched that he had come, probably right after his performance. Brandon picked up a program and went straight for Justin’s paintings. Daphne looked at Justin and raised a questioning eyebrow. He shrugged. Brandon spent some time looking at all of them but came back and stood in front of a 4X6 that Justin had painted at Pratt. Justin excused himself to the others and went to join him.

“Why are you looking at this one in particular?“ he asked.

Brandon turned to him and smiled, looking very pleasantly surprised. “Hey, Justin. I thought you might have left already.”

“I was about to, actually. So why this one?”

“I don’t know anything about art. If I tell you, it will probably sound stupid.”

“Try me”

“It feels like Babylon. I don’t know why, because it doesn’t show anything. But I can feel the beat, the press of dancing guys, even the sex. I see the motion, the falling glitter, the sweat.” He was pointing vaguely at some of the details in the painting.

“Look at the name of the painting,” said Justin, grinning.

“Essengy? What does that mean?”

“It’s the name of a club in New York. I go there all the time. It’s a lot like Babylon.”

Brandon grinned back, relieved his impressions of the painting had been so right on. He explained, “I spend a lot of time at Babylon. This painting is like everything I like about it.”

So there were other people who ‘got’ his paintings, beside Brian. “Tell me about the rest of them,” asked Justin.

“Why?”

“I’d just like to know what you see.”

They walked to the next one. It was a painting Justin had done thinking about his dad and of being rejected, when he was still at PIFA.

“This one is sad,” said Brandon, a little tentatively.

The next one was the least abstract of all; you could actually identify a house, people, though they were very stylized. It was a painting called Brownstone.

“This one feels like home, friendship, it feels good. I like it a lot.”

They moved on to the next one. Its title was Daphne, another one he’d done at PIFA.

“This one’s happy too, warm.” Brandon glanced toward Daphne, who was deep in conversation with Emmett, as if comparing the impression given by the painting with the original. Justin thought that was really endearing.

At the next one, Brandon hesitated.

“This one’s weird, to me. It’s beautiful, I like the colors and the shapes, but it’s threatening, I think. But you want to look at it anyway.” He looked at the title.

“’The face of God.’ What does it mean?” asked Brandon.

“I painted it after I met someone I was attracted to but who I knew was trouble.” Justin had tried to put on canvas what it had felt like to meet Brian, after their very first encounter at Essengy. He had tried to depict the dichotomy he had felt that day. Now he looked at the painting and it was so right. The pain in his breast bloomed anew. He took a deep breath and concentrated on Brandon’s beautiful face.

The last one he had done at PIFA again. He had painted it in the spring, by the waterfront, listening to Ethan playing for money at the beginning of their relationship.

“This one’s pretty. But it doesn’t make me feel anything. It’s easier to look at than some of the others.”

Of the six, it was Justin’s least favorite, because it was before he had started trying to incorporate how he felt into everything he painted. Ironically, already at that time he had known that somehow, though he loved Ethan, it was not a feeling that went deep enough. Had he tried to put his feelings into the painting, it might not have come out very differently. But he had proven a point to himself. Brandon had ‘read’ every painting correctly. It was not only Brian he could share his art with.

Both this painting and the Brownstone painting had stickers that showed they were sold. This one had been priced at $800.00 but the Brownstone one was $2000.00, which Justin had though was an awful lot to ask. Apparently, so had Lindsay, but she had decided to follow Jason’s recommendations, though she didn’t have to, having arranged the exposition of Justin’s work before Jason was his agent. So she had doubled all the asking prices on Justin’s paintings. Jason would not get any money from these sales. He had just felt he needed to make sure a higher base was set for the time when he would be deciding how to price Justin’s work.

Daphne came to join Brandon and Justin in front of the last painting. Brandon smiled at her and said, ”Hey, Daphne. You look nice this evening.”

She looked totally nonplussed. “Hey… Thanks, Brandon,” she answered, smiling happily. She turned to Justin. “Can we go? I’m bushed.”

“Yes, me too.” He was. He felt emotionally rung out, with his thoughts swirling in sadness over Brian, the excitement of the expo, the dichotomy he always felt when people looked at his work and the small pleasure that a man as attractive as Brandon would seek his company. “Did Blake and Ted leave?”

“Yes. They said to tell you congratulations.”

Brandon looked at Justin.

“I can’t talk you into coming to Babylon? Both of you?” he corrected, including Daphne.

Justin laughed. “Sorry, no chance. I’m dead on my feet. I just want to go home and sleep.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Justin and Daphne hunted down Emmett and Lindsay to say goodnight before they left. On the way out, Justin noticed Brandon looking at the rest of the exposition. He was amazingly handsome, almost too perfect. He was also nice, despite what Daphne had said about him.

As soon as they were out, Daphne asked, “What’s happening tomorrow with Brandon?”

“We’re going to the Ballet and then to dinner.”

“That is just so weird. The guy is a sex machine. He is at Babylon every time I go there. It’s like he lives to fuck a new guy every night. And he asked you on a date. To a ballet.”

“I guess we all have hidden depths…” Yes, Somebody liked him enough to want to take him out on a date. “Hey, he even remembered your name, and if he wasn’t completely gay, I would have thought he was flirting with you.”

“That’s weird too. He makes a point to say hi to me every time I see him at Babylon. Since I never told Emmett about you introducing us, he thinks it’s really strange.” She giggled. “It’s really funny.”

Justin felt bad he had not mentioned how lovely Daphne had looked this evening. She had been wearing a dark dusty pink short cocktail dress that emphasized her olive skin and did wonders for her décolletage.

“You did look nice tonight, you know,” he said to her.

She punched him in the arm and laughed. “Better late than never, I guess!” she answered. Justin smiled sheepishly and put his arm over her shoulders, hugging her to his side. They smiled at each other.

Back at the apartment, he gave her the pink cashmere sweater he’d bought her for her birthday and she was speechless. It was very, very nice and had been extravagantly expensive, but he had the Plexus painting money to spend (he’d actually already sent what had been left over to Sallie Mae, to start reducing his student loan debt load). He was so exhausted that he fell asleep when Daphne was in the bathroom and did not even get to say goodnight to her.

He woke up the next day when she brought him breakfast in bed. Considering the pain in his chest seemed to have grown overnight to include his entire body, and that he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep forever, it was just what the doctor ordered. When he came out of one of the longest showers in the history of showers, she put him to work assembling bookshelves she had bought at IKEA for her bedroom, which had just been waiting for him in her closet.

“So handy to have a man around the house!” she said, in her best June Cleaver imitation.

By the time he was done and they had organized her small collection of books and her impressive collection of DVDs, Justin’s funk had effectively been reduced to a manageable size.

That night, Justin picked up his ticket at the box office and went to find his seat. It was front and center, probably one of the best seats in the house. He had seen The Nutcracker before, when he was thirteen or fourteen, with his mom and Molly and had thought it was all right, but this time was different.

The production was great, but watching Brandon dance was truly amazing. He was beautiful. It was so hard to reconcile the club boy with the ballet dancer. He grinned, thinking that before he had always thought the male dancers padded their tights. He knew for a fact that the bulge in Brandon’s costume was all him. It was a real pleasure watching someone do what he did best.

After the performance, he went to the performer’s exit and waited. He was surprised how quickly Brandon came out. They got in his BMW sports car and he smiled at Justin. He was so handsome.

“You were staring at me the whole time.”

Justin laughed. “How do you know?”

“The stage lights reflect on the first couple of rows. We can see them from the stage.”

“I was actually staring at the bulge in your tights.”

It was Brandon’s turn to laugh.

The restaurant was not far and they had a reservation. When the waiter came, Brandon ordered “the usual”. Justin decided to splurge and have the filet mignon, and when the dishes came it turned out that that was Brandon’s usual, his served with green beans.

“All protein,” he commented.

Brandon explained how he loved ballet but hated the rarefied atmosphere most dancers seemed to like. He loved clubbing, the freedom of moving to the driving beat and the promiscuity.

“A lot of ballet dancers are gay, but it’s like getting your cock sucked by a stranger is a bad thing. They are fucking snobs. And the queers of the clubs think ballet is for sissies. So I keep my worlds totally separate.” He looked at Justin. “Usually.” He added as an afterthought.

“Why am I here, then?” Justin asked.

“I loved watching you dance that day. You’re so graceful. And you didn’t jump on the chance of having me fuck you. And you give really good head. I just…I felt like talking to you.” Brandon was actually blushing and it made Justin feel really good.

And they did talk, about a lot of things, coming out to their parents, clubbing, loving what they did professionally, music, Pittsburgh, videogames, cooking. Brandon was interesting and funny, very self-deprecating. He seemed genuinely interested in Justin, his experiences, his opinions. At one, the restaurant was almost empty and they had been sitting in front of empty plates for two and a half hours.

Brandon looked at Justin hopefully and asked, ”Come home with me?”

Justin only hesitated a moment. Fuck Brian Kinney. “All right.”

Brandon’s apartment did not have a lot of furniture. Instead it had hardwood floors, a barre and a mirror in the spacious living room/dining room space transforming it into a dance studio. The bedroom was pretty Spartan, a futon, shelves of books and a nice reading chair.

“It’s not much,” said Brandon shrugging. “Nobody ever comes here…”

Justin smiled at him, came to stand really close and caressed Brandon’s cheek with his hand. Brandon smiled back, his eyes shining. He leaned over and whispered in Justin’s ear, “Let’s get naked” and looked at him wiggling his eyebrows. Justin cracked up. They undressed each other, kissing and teasing each other’s bodies. Brandon was breathtakingly beautiful, true physical perfection.

“What do you want?” asked Brandon, surprising Justin who had pegged him as a top only.

“Everything,” he answered and Brandon kissed him hard. It was a nice kiss, full of promises of things yet to come.

They took turns fucking each other and sucked each other off in the shower. Brandon was playful in bed, had amazing stamina and knew very well what he was about. He was a fantastic, thoughtful lover. He seemed to find Justin’s skills quite adequate as well.

The entire night was immensely pleasurable, but at no point did what they were doing feel like anything more to Justin than fucking: Excellent fucking, thoughtful fucking, even at times, sweet fucking. But at no time did Justin feel like he was making love.

Brandon drove him back to Daphne’s in the morning. He‘d asked if Justin wanted to go get some breakfast but Justin wanted to get back. When Justin left the car, he was surprised when Brandon held him back, kissed him and said, “When do we do this again?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a lot going on at the moment. I’m sure I’ll see you at Babylon in the next couple of days.”

“I…uh… OK. See you.”

“See you.”

Daphne was already up, eating some yoghurt. “How did it go?”

“Great. The ballet was beautiful and we talked at the restaurant for like, three hours.”

She looked at her wrist as if to check an imaginary watch and said, “Well unless my watch is off by about seven hours, it’s a hell of a long way back from that restaurant.”

“We went back to his place. We had sex.”

“And…”

He knew exactly what she was asking.

“And he has the most beautiful body, and a ten inch cock, and lasting power and great technique. It was the fuck of a lifetime. But that’s all it was and that’s how it felt, like a fuck.”

“Do you think it’s different with Brian because you love him?”

“It was different with Brian the first time we touched when I didn’t even know his name. I thought it was different for him as well. A couple of times I was sure he felt it too, that something unique between us. Once he said, talking about our kiss, that it was hot, that it had made the blowjobs we got together hot.”

“He said that?”

“Once, I said that it was probably that good for him with everyone. He went all sarcastic and said something about it being the reason he always spent hours making out with tricks on the dance floor. And I thought I heard him say it was better than good between us.”

Why was Justin remembering all these things now?

“Wow, Justin!”

“And that’s not all of it, Daphne. On Friday, right before I left, he let me top. He asked me to fuck him. He said it was the first time in fifteen years; so basically, no one has topped him since he was, I don’t know, sixteen, seventeen? Since he’s been an adult. No one but me…”

Fuck. There was something special between them, something unique. And Brian knew it, and felt it too.

“Justin, it makes no sense. It’s like his actions say one things and he says another. You said his body lied but after this, I think you’re wrong, I think you felt exactly what you thought you felt.”

“Yeah? So what does it say that he made sure to remind me that fucking anyone, at any time, is a queer’s God given right, and that I did do one-offs after all since I knew this was a one time only deal?”

“I don’t understand it,” said Daphne, shaking her head.

“I’ll tell you what it means. It means that he felt what I felt but he dismisses it. He doesn’t fucking care. He likes the way he lives, likes his rules better. To him, our… harmony, or whatever, is more trouble than it’s worth. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

Justin knew he was right. He suddenly saw the whole thing clearly, and where before he had felt he didn’t understand, now he understood all too well.

And it pissed him off. More than that. It made him so angry, he wanted to hit something. Or someone. Brian for example. Repeatedly if possible. He grabbed a pillow off of the couch and sent it flying across the room, where it hit the wall with an anticlimactic ‘poff’ and slid to the ground.

“It makes you mad,” said Daphne seriously.

He chuckled. She’d sounded like an analyst. “It makes me fucking furious.” He stood up, and paced back and forth. She was looking at him, brows knitted, but still eating her yoghurt. He chuckled again.

“I love you, Daphne.” She smiled, not knowing what had brought this on, but appreciating it nonetheless. “I think I need to go for a run,” said Justin.

She nodded. “Good idea. There is steam coming out of your ears and you’re foaming at the mouth, and I like my cushions with their feathers inside.”

He went to her bedroom, changed into his running clothes, putting some sweats over his leggings and his thickest hoody over the new long sleeve silk T he had worn for the opening of the exposition. No point in dirtying another shirt, and he’d heard somewhere silk was great at wicking sweat away from the body and keeping you warm. He grabbed his gloves and his scarf and headed out. It was fucking cold.

He started running and after fifteen minutes, stopped to wrap his ears and nose in the scarf and put up his hood. He ran for a while, much faster than normal, getting the steam out and then walked for a short time, getting his breath back. Then ran again, this time at normal speed, for a really long time. He felt like he could run forever and it was a fantastic feeling.

He passed a roasted chestnut stand and started salivating. He realized he was starving and headed back. When he came in, the apartment looked spotless. Daphne had spent the time cleaning. She was sitting on the couch, in her new cashmere, painting her nails a perfectly matching pink.

“There’s a load of darks in the machine. I figured I’d wait for your running clothes before starting it. Press the button after you throw them in, OK?”

The apartment came with a stack up washer and dryer in the hall closet. He did as asked, stripping completely and then realized after starting the wash that he now was butt naked and had to cross the living room to get his toiletries. Fuck it. He really didn’t care. Daph was still painting her nails. She’d probably not even notice.

He was almost to the room when she said, ”Justin?”

“Yeah.”

“You really have an amazing ass. Turn around. I want to see the rest.”

He just turned his head, to look at her. “What?”

“Turn around. I want to see you.”

This was Daphne, so he did, arms slightly out, giving her the full view.

“You’re a freak. Why do you want to see my dick?”

“I just want to see what the fuss is all about. How you get someone like Brandon to actually come out of the back room.”

She was watching him intently as he spun around again for her.

“I think it’s definitely your ass. And that skin. You have great skin. It glows from the inside. And you’re graceful. And, Justin, your thingy is… really big.”

He cracked up. “My thingy?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s not really big, Daph. I’m a shower, not much of a grower. It’s OK. Brian’s is nine and a quarter inches and Brandon’s is ten. And uncut,” he added as an aside, remembering the dancer’s magnificent cock.

“You guys actually measure them?” She was shaking her head in disbelief. ”And ten inches, it’s like a horse or something.”

“Well, it’s ten inches erect. And yes, that’s pretty much as big as it gets.”

“So, what are you?”

“Daphne!”

“I’m just curious!”

“Eight and a half. Which is pretty good. And I… never mind. Are you happy now, can I go take a shower?”

“Yeah, I guess. Do you wish you were bigger?”

“Honestly? No. I mean, it doesn’t really change anything. Just bragging rights, I guess. And believe me, eight and a half is bad enough when you’re sitting there in your pants with a hard on.”

“You said 'and I…'. 'And you…' what?”

“Daphne, this is getting to the realm of way too much weirdness, even with my favorite fag hag. Let it go.”

“No way! Now I really have to know! And you what? Spill, Justin!”

He hid his face in his hands and shook his head.

“Promise me we will never have a conversation about my dick again?”

“Promise.”

“OK. When I get hard, the head of my cock gets really big. Not freakishly so, just…really big and guys really like that.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Daph! Come on! Give it up, OK?”

“It’s interesting, Justin!”

“OK. Fine. When I push my dick up their ass, it really stretches their hole, which hurts, but in a good way. And when I fuck them, it makes it easy for me to stimulate their prostate from the inside, which, when you're a bottom, is what makes you come. And then I stretch them again real good on the way out and they can feel me the whole next day.”

He turned around, went in the bedroom to get his gear, wrapped his towel around his waist and walked across the living room again to get to the bathroom. He looked at Daphne, who turned bright red, and he burst out laughing. He had to duck a pillow and was still laughing when he closed the bathroom door.

Embarrassing Daphne was nearly impossible. Too bad he never wanted to be reminded of this conversation, otherwise he would have teased her about it forever.

That night, they had dinner with Emmett. Drew was getting in the next day, and Emmett would be living at “The mansion” as he called it, as long as Drew was home. They met everyone at Woody’s after dinner and it was Justin’s turn to swindle Michael out of twenty bucks. He explained he’d gotten a private lesson from a guy in New York.

The rest of them wanted to go dancing but he didn’t want to see Brandon that soon, wondering a little what seeing him there would be like. His short night the night before and his long run in the morning were catching up with him anyway so he went back to the apartment and went to bed.

Brian was in the back of his mind all the time, like a constant ache. He wondered how long that would last. He felt angry, and hurt, but he mostly missed him so damn much. He thought about some of the best times they’d shared and slowly jerked off. He came hard but realized afterwards he shouldn’t indulge that way because he ended up going to sleep crying into his pillow.

When he plugged in his phone to charge it the next day, it showed three calls from Brandon, though there were no messages. He felt a little weird about that. There was also a call from Lindsay, which he returned.

“We’ve just sold your last painting, Justin!”

“You’re kidding! They all sold?”

“Isn’t it exciting? I’ll have a $6000.00 check for you.”

“Oh my God. $6000.00! That’s so much money!”

“Yes! Obviously, Jason Kintzer was absolutely right. None of the other artists have sold more than two or three paintings and theirs are half the price of yours. You're the star of the show.”

“Lindsay? Thanks for inviting me to be in the exposition. And for having those guys pick up my paintings. This is really amazing.”

“You’re so welcome. I only wish I’d asked for more than six!”

“I’m having lunch with my mother and my sister today. I’ll bring them by the gallery afterwards, if it’s OK.”

“Of course it’s ok. We’re open ‘till six. See you this afternoon.”

Justin hadn’t seen his sister in a couple of years. He had been surprised, when he’d call his mom, that she had said Molly wanted to join them. He met them at the country club, the place reminding him of his childhood. He ate his third filet mignon in a month, after four years of going without, and thought he could definitely get used to it again.

Molly was a senior at St James, the fact that he had been harassed there for being gay and that the guy who had nearly killed him had been allowed to graduate with his class even as he lay in a coma, having apparently not reflected negatively on the institution in his parents' eyes.

She was pretty. Her freckles were gone and she was as tall as he was. He thought her black eyeliner was a mistake, too stark on her pale face, but he wasn’t about to give her makeup advice. She monopolized the conversation, talking about her friends, her classes and her extracurricular activities. She was going to Dartmouth in the fall, following Daddy’s footsteps and said it challengingly. He finally got to talk to his mom when Molly went to the bathroom.

“She talks a lot when she’s unsure of herself,” said his mom.

He ignored that and asked her how she was, what she was up to. Then he told her about the exposition and was glad when she looked really excited about seeing his work.

She told Molly about it when she returned from the bathroom.

“Is it, like, a special exhibit just for fag painters?” asked Molly crinkling her nose.

“Molly!” His mom looked embarrassed.

“It’s OK, Mom. No, Molly. It’s just a regular exhibit. People who come see it are not aware of my sexual orientation and I know nothing about the other artists, except that we are all under twenty-five.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to see fag paintings, ” she answered, looking at him defiantly.

“You mean paintings with topics that are related to homosexuality?”

“Yes. That’s what I mean. Guys naked and you know… doing it or whatever.”

“Not to worry, then. There’s nothing like that, though one of the other artists has some female nudes. But you don’t have to look at them if they make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind female nudes. I just don’t like fags.”

Justin bit his tongue. She was a teenager and her father’s precious little girl. And he would not have to see her again for a very long time.

They drove to the gallery and Justin pointed out his paintings to them before going to talk to Lindsay and Sidney. Sidney had not been at the opening, home with the flu apparently, and it was nice to meet him. He knew so much about art and also knew Jason personally. He said he had been really surprised when Lindsay had told him he was representing Justin, until he'd seen Justin’s work. In fact he had bought “The Face of God”.

Justin was incredibly flattered. “Why that one?” he asked.

“I love the conflicted nature of it. It’s like a poisonous jellyfish. Gorgeous, but deadly. I have a hard time pinpointing where the feeling of danger comes from. The painting is beautiful, the colors, the composition. But I feel it. It’s rare to feel something from a piece and not know why. I had to have it.”

Justin noticed he wasn’t asking what had brought him to paint it. He obviously wanted to enjoy the piece for its own sake. Lindsay had joined Molly in front of his paintings. His mom had moved on to the rest of the exposition. He was curious about what his sister had to say.

They were in front of Essengy. The only “fag” painting there, really, though of course it was just an abstract. Molly was saying, “But how come it feels like dance music? It’s a painting.”

“You think it feels like music?” he asked.

“It feels like a rave party. The music, the dancing, the wildness.”

“Does Mom know you’ve gone to a rave?”

“No. She knows I went to a pajama party at Becky Newhouse’s house.”

Justin laughed. His sister was looking him in the eye for the first time that day. “I really like your paintings, Justin,” she said. Lindsay walked discreetly away.

“Thanks, Mollusk.” It pleased him more than he would have thought.

“I’m sorry about the fag thing at lunch. Everybody at school knows you’re one, and some of the girls are always hinting I must be a lesbian. They know it’s not true. It’s just… I’m kind of popular, so they’re jealous sometimes. But I guess it really makes me mad at you. Stupid, eh?”

“Yes, well, I could see how at St. James it could be embarrassing to have a queer brother…”

“You’re an artist. Your paintings are beautiful. Lindsay says you’re really talented. I don’t care if you’re a f… queer. I’m proud to be your sister.” She squared her shoulders unconsciously. “I just need to learn to tell people to fuck off. My best friend Heather is dating Jake Hobbs. Next time he says something, I’m going to kick him in the nuts. His stupid brother tried to kill you. He should be rotting in jail.”

“Well, be careful. Those Hobbs, they have a violent streak. Don’t make an enemy of him on my account.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” It was like a balm to his heart.

“I’m OK now.” He smiled, kindly.

“I’m really glad.” She smiled back.

Their mother rejoined them and gushed about his work. He just grinned. When they were leaving, Molly gave him a piece of paper.

“That’s my e-mail,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. “Send me a note sometime.”

Justin hugged her. “Make sure you know where the E comes from next time you go to a rave.” He had heard such horror stories. “And promise to stay away from crystal, all right?” He had seen what crystal meth could do to a person.

She giggled. “My big brother, watching over me…”

“You bet.”

He went back to the apartment feeling really good and fired an e-mail to Molly right away, attaching a picture of the painting he now thought of as “The Kiss”.

“Now you have my e-mail. Use it.” He added a PS: “Will you trust your brother’s artistic eye and his queer sensibilities and try a light to medium grey eyeliner, instead of black? I think you are lovely.”

That night Daphne and he went to Babylon. She went to see her favorite DJ and left him to dance, shirtless, eyes closed, not caring what was going on around him. At eleven, Brandon showed up, bringing him back to reality by putting an arm around him and saying, “You look so hot. I want to fuck you all night long,” in his ear.

Justin grinned and answered, ”You say that to all the boys.”

They danced together, Brandon looking like a club bad boy, with nothing of the impressive ballet dancer, except for the bulge in his pants.

It was nice, even though other guys kept joining them, trying to get Brandon's attention. He made his point by dancing closer to Justin and eventually they were grinding against each other. After a while, Brandon said, “Come home with me, Justin.”

“Can’t.” He pointed to the DJ’s booth. “I’m here with Daphne.” It was not a valid excuse, really, since it was her car they had driven here, but Brandon seemed to accept it. Justin wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to go home with him. He was fucking gorgeous and Justin’s cock was certainly happy to see him.

“Let’s go to the back room,” he said, grinning.

Brandon smiled, and a few minutes later was giving Justin head, to the astonishment of the guys around them. God, he was good at it. He kept slowing down at the critical juncture to make it last, until Justin grabbed his head in frustration. Brandon looked up at him with laughter in his eyes and finally kept it up until Justin exploded in his mouth.

He came back up and was pushing Justin’s pants down, obviously meaning to fuck him. Justin held his pants up and said, “No. Not here.”

He went down to his knees and made sure to do his best so that Brandon wouldn’t mind not getting his wish. When he said, “Justin, Justin” right before he came, Justin was pretty sure he was forgiven. He came up and kissed him, saving a bit of his spunk on his tongue for Brandon to share.

Brandon held him for a while, catching his breath, and said, “You give the most amazing blowjobs.” Justin smiled. Brandon smiled back. “I still want to fuck.”

Justin laughed. “You’re insatiable. Get back out there. There’s certainly no shortage of volunteers.”

Brandon looked at him funny and caressed his face gently. “Justin, I want to fuck you.”

Justin didn’t really know what to say. He settled for, ”Well, you can’t, not tonight. So get out there and make one of them happy.” He kissed Brandon on the lips. “Daphne wanted to go home early. I’m going to tell her I’m ready to go.”

They walked out of the back room together and Brandon kissed him again, a deep possessive kiss, before heading to the dance floor.

Justin managed to get Daphne’s attention and they left.

When he turned on his phone in the morning, there were four calls from Brandon, no messages. He had called a half an hour after they left the club, and two more times the next hour, and once, this morning, at 7:30. A little freaked, he decided to leave it off and plugged it in to charge it, pushing it under the bed so he wouldn’t step on it. Daphne had to go to work, and Justin decided to do some sketching.

He drew Brandon as a dancer, as a club boy with the hungry expression of a predator and nude and satiated, a light smile on his face. Drawing him was like drawing a study of the human physical ideal. He removed the pages from his book carefully and slid them in a folder, to give to him when he got the chance.

He made the mistake of looking back through his earlier sketches. He had forgotten how many times he had drawn Brian. Once he started looking, he could not stop. Brian in Armani, giving a presentation. Brian in his camel coat. Brian with his eyes hidden behind Vuarney sunglasses. Brian lounging on Andrew’s bed, concentrating on his laptop. Brian in his usual club attire, and a long time ago, Brian, the face of god, when he had sketched him while talking to Daphne on the phone.

His heart was so filled with love for that man. He closed his eyes, thinking back to their night together, reliving the details, every caress, every kiss, every motion apparently etched in his brain in absolute clarity.

“Let me see you come, Justin. You are so fucking beautiful when you come. Let me watch you…”

His face in his hands, he keened in misery. Fuck. He had to get out of there, or he was going to loose his mind. He wiped his face, closed his sketchbook and got up. Suddenly he knew exactly what he needed and he dialed Lindsay.

“Lindsay Peterson”

“Lindsay, it’s Justin.”

“Hey, Justin, how are you? I’m sorry, but I’m not at the gallery today. Do you want Sydney’s number?”

“No, no! I wasn’t calling about gallery business. I know it’s your day off. It’s such a gorgeous day, I was just wondering if it would be OK if I took Gus to the park.”

“Oh my God, Justin! That is so sweet of you! You know, he hasn’t stopped talking about ‘Jutsin’ since you were last here. He would be in heaven! I have some errands to run. How about I meet you at a park near where you are?”

“That would be great. Highland Park is the closest.”

“Highland? Oh, Justin, would you take him to the zoo? We are members, and I’d be glad to pay for your entrance!”

“I’d love to take him to the zoo. And please. I am a young man of independent means, don’t you know. I just sold six of my paintings. I can afford the zoo.”

Lindsay laughed. “I guess you can. Meet you at the entrance in forty minutes?”

“Perfect.”

When Justin came back, almost four hours later, he collapsed on the couch, laughing at himself. The truth was out. He was really only five years old. He had just had the best time. He and Gus had seen all the cool animals. They’d eaten cotton candy. They’d drawn a picture of a monkey (Gus’ favorite) and of a giraffe (Justin’s). They’d played “The crocodile escaped!” which consisted at running like mad while holding hands, dodging people (crocodile chow) from one hiding place to another, and telling each other whispered explanations on how exactly the crocodile (crocrodile) had gotten out.

Gus was really a delightful little boy, with a vivid imagination and a capacity for empathy far beyond his years. (The crocrodile was out because he was actually looking for his friend, the bird that cleaned his teeth. He hadn’t come today and the crocrodile thought he might be sick or hurt and wanted to help.)

By the time Daphne came home from work, she was astonished to find the whole place vacuumed, clean sheets on the bed, and dinner ready. She asked Justin to marry her. They ended the day watching “Once Upon a Time in the West”, Daphne’s all time favorite movie. She simply refused to watch Yellow Submarine again, his favorite, since, according to her delirious mind, they had seen it “like 12 million times”.

One more day without Brian. And someday, many many days from now, he wouldn’t even remember to miss him.

***

Because they were masochists, they spend the next day Christmas shopping. The mall was a zoo, so they went downtown, which was only slightly better. Justin had brought his gifts with him from New York, a different drawing for each of the people who would be at Debbie’s the next day, but now had $6000.00 burning a hole in his pocket so he decided to add to those. Daphne, as usual, had not yet shopped for anyone. They had a blast, and went home exhausted, arms loaded with bags.

They ate ice cream for dinner and settled down on the living room floor to wrap, listening to the Carpenter’s Christmas album, Daphne’s favorite, Justin asking her if she was sure she was black. Justin had bought frames and mats for all the drawings and he set to work.

“I saw you dancing with Brandon the other night,” said Daphne.

“Yeah. He showed up around eleven. He’s freaking me out a little. He keeps calling my cell and not leaving messages.”

“That’s weird. Did he say anything?”

“Well, he wanted us to go back to his place but I didn’t feel like it. We went to the back room and he wanted to fuck, and I said no. We blew each other…”

“You mean Brandon got on his knees and gave you a blowjob in the back room again? He’s going to ruin his reputation!”

“We did get a lot of looks… But anyway, he said he still wanted to fuck and I told him to go back out and grab a volunteer. Guys were cruising him even when we were grinding on the dance floor. But he got kind of serious and said he wanted to fuck me, emphasis on “me”, while caressing my face.

“It’s nice to be wanted, but this is a bit too much for me right now. I made light of it and told him you wanted to go home early. We went back out but before he went back to dance he kissed me. Hard. Like he meant something by it. In front of all his admirers. Then he called my cell three times in the next hour and once in the morning really early.”

“I think you should call him, talk to him. Make sure you guys are on the same page.”

“You are totally right, of course.”

“Now.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Chop chop.”

Justin went to retrieve his phone from under the bed. There were seventeen new calls, eleven from “Brandon” and six from another number with a Pittsburgh prefix, probably Brandon calling from another phone.

Justin went back to the living room.

“Daphne, he called seventeen times today, no messages.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Call him back.”

Justin pressed “call” and Brandon picked up after one ring.

“Justin!”

“Brandon! You called. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m nuts. I think I’m nuts. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I did think that was a lot of calls. You’re freaking me out a little.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. I… Remember back at Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah…”

“I gave you a blowjob.”

“Yeah…”

“I mean you wouldn’t let me fuck you, and instead of getting you to your knees, I wanted to suck your cock. Very out of character for me, believe me. There’s something about you that just… I thought about you a lot, after you left. And then you called and I was grinning like a fool for two days. And your paintings. Shit. I love them. I bought Essengy.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I love it. And then we talked. I hardly ever talk to anyone. I don’t relate much to my coworkers and at Babylon, I fuck. But we talked and it was nice. And then, fuck, Justin, that was the best night of my life. I loved fucking you. I loved you fucking me. And I hate bottoming! Haven’t done it for years. But you made it so fucking good, I’m getting hard right now just thinking about it. I want you to fuck me again. I’ve jerked off thinking of you fucking me.”

Justin didn’t know what to say. “Brandon…”

“I know. I need to get a grip. You live in New York for fuck’s sake. You just came home, and had a nice evening, and now you have a stalker. Sorry.”

Justin couldn’t help but laugh. He liked Brandon. He really did.

“Brandon, I’m in love with someone else. I’m not available. If I were, I’d be stalking you. I enjoy being with you but I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m really glad I called though. I’m here another week and I’d love to get together again. But it’s for fun, you know? Nothing more.”

“I know. I knew that.” Brandon was quiet for a moment. “You’ve made me realize something, though. I’ve been really lonely and I didn’t even know it. I need to meet some people. Normal people. Have some friends. So it’s all good, Justin. I needed this. Obviously, I’d love it if we got together again before you leave. God, would I ever. But I’m taking you off speed dial, OK? And feel free to come to Babylon without having to worry about me molesting you. I’ll restrain myself. I know you have a lot of friends you come here with, I’ve seen you with them. Don’t feel you can’t come and hang with them.”

“Brandon?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell Daphne about the Ballet?”

“You mean you haven’t?”

“No. But I’d like to.”

“She seems really nice.”

“The best friend a queer could ask for.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Yeah, tell her.”

“I will. See you at Babylon.”

“Thanks, Justin. See you.”

Daphne was smiling at him. “The best friend a queer could ask for?”

“Well, you are.” He shrugged.

“So. What about the Ballet? I knew there was something fishy about that. I wondered if it was a code word for illegal cockfighting or something.”

Justin laughed. “You are so weird, Daphne. No. It’s really ballet. Except that Brandon and I didn’t go together. I went by myself. He was on stage, dancing. He's a ballet dancer. A really good one. Right now he has the lead in The Nutcracker. In the gold cast of The Nutcracker. He’s awesome.”

“Brandon the fuck machine is a ballet dancer?”

“Yeah.”

Daphne was quiet for a moment then said thoughtfully, “I bet, with his ten inches, he doesn’t even have to pad his tights.”

Justin looked at her speechless for a second and then lost it. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. And she was laughing just as hard.

God. He loved that girl.

They didn’t get done with their wrapping until almost midnight, probably because they ate popcorn, watched a rerun of ‘Leave it to Beaver’ and found Emmett’s hula hoop in between presents.

They went to bed and talked in the dark for a while. Just as Justin was falling asleep, she said, “Justin.”

“Uhuh?”

“I’ve been thinking. About Brian.”

He was instantly awake again.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t hate me, OK? I don’t think it’s over between you.”

“Daphne, stop. Please stop.”

“I think…”

“Daphne. I’m serious. Just let it be, OK? Just this once, humor me, and let it go.

“OK”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good night, Daph. I love you.”

“I love you too.”
 

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