The rain is trickling down outside, washing over the windows; each stream it creates seems to give the illusion of invisible fingers that are tracing downward. If only the rain could make this moment pass any quicker, to take away the nightmare of being locked up in this shithole, then I would be able to reconcile with the fact I am lying in my own bed dreaming of some new plot or scene for my next screenplay. Unfortunately, this moment is real. The characters are flesh and blood. The horrors of being here, the stench, the smell of distraught and even death that circle up into my nostrils are not some figment of my over-active creative imagination. I am in hell!
“I hear them…I really do--” A loud nervous fat man exclaims to my right. “They’re telling me you’re not real!” He is going on and on about some voices he hears. Not sure if it’s his meds or just fantasies in his own delusional mind. Whichever, he is sure he hears them.
The very loud nervous fat man is presently standing about ten feet from me, yet he seems not to notice I am nearby. He is pudgy, almost round in build and tossed brown hair, wearing a robe that doesn’t quite cover himself completely, revealing his manhood that seems to be less than average. To be honest, I had a bigger penis at six years old, than he does as an overgrown man.
I sit, not bothering anyone, on the window seat watching the rain outside. Watching the rain can be very relaxing, at least for me. Rain has a way of making you believe in redemption; a sense of washing away the past and all the mistakes that you made yesterday are all gone today, with the simplicity of one simple tiny rain drop. “CRACK---Boom!” The loud clash of lightning outside followed very quickly by the rumbles of the thunder snap me out of my delusional thinking that I had written myself into some novel I had planned and planned to write. That somehow, I had actually gotten past the first very impossible first word that every writer has issues with when deciding to sit and pen down a bestseller.
“I hear them.” A tall and very muscular male orderly says in return to the man.
“NO!” The nervous fat man begins,
“No-no you fucking don’t…asshole! You’re just telling me that to shut me up.” He screams back.
The sound of the thunder and lightning are loud in the background, especially in the ’play room’ as the employees like to call it. The play room is a large room void of color and design for the patients and any visitors that happen to come to visit, to be able to walk around in. Not sure why they call it the play room exactly, no one is ever playing or allowed to play anything in there. No visitors come, no TV., no music or games. It’s just an empty white room with several big windows to look out onto the ground below.
“No, no I really do.” The first male orderly tries to reassure the man. The orderly looks at his partner, another large orderly that seems to be grinning at the conversation that is conspiring between the orderly and the man who is obviously disturbed, one way or another.
The two very beefed up male orderlies; one is tall and blond haired with a tattoo on his left arm. The other is shorter, stocky build unshaven and thinning brown hair. He has a tattoo but it’s not plain what it is. It’s on the back of his neck, looks like a spider.
“You do? You do? Really?” the man begins with a smirk. “So, what the fuck are they saying?” Even being a total nut-job he was able to be sarcastic and witty. The nervous man has slobber dripping from the sides of his mouth and the gleaming look in his pulsing eyes easily tell you…he’s not playing with a full deck. He possibly wasn’t even dealt any cards.
Being a sucker for the underdog, I feel for the nervous fat man. I know what it’s like to hear voices and nobody else does or at least they won’t admit they do if they do.
“What are they asking? Is that what you’re saying?” the tall orderly says trying to stall for time as he thinks quickly. The tall orderly is in his mid-twenties, blond with good bone structure. Looks like he could have been a model at some point and the jobs stopped so he became a medical assistant. I heard the tall one say his name to a nurse he was hitting on once, his name is Tony. He spelled it out to the nurse like some smooth operator,
“T…O…N…Y. But, you can call me Lo-TONE.” He said to the young male nurse. The young male nurse wasn’t impressed or Lo-TONE wasn’t his type. Oh, did I forget to mention, he’s an equal opportunist. He’s an asshole to everyone and hits on both male and females. And pretty much pisses both sides off equally.
And at this moment, Lo-TONE is trying to buy himself time to get the restraints ready to put on the very nervous fat man. The fat man is sweating bullets, his gown is covered in sweat from head to toe; a very scared looking individual. I felt for him, I really did.
I watch from the window seat. The shorter one is known as Brad, turns and looks around the room. I saw it on his badge as he leans over to whisper in my ear one day that he was going to teach me what I needed to know about life if I got out of line. I wasn’t quite sure what he had in mind, but it was not in my plans to make trouble.
The playroom is empty besides the fat man and me. Tony looks at Brad and says,
“What the hell! You gonna help me or look around all night?”
“I am…I am! I was trying to see who all was in here still.” Brad pauses as he looks around at me again.
“So! What’s he gonna say?” Tony gestures toward me.
“He hasn’t said a single word since he’s been here.” He mocks me.
“Have you?” he stares hard at me.
I stare back at him hard and deep. I don’t break my stare, and he doesn’t either…at first. Then, like a pissing contest, I make my mark…
“Look you fucking asshole! I can talk!” I stand and begin walking toward Tony. I see the expression on his and Brad’s faces, they are such assholes.
As I am walking over toward him, I see the mop that’s sitting there nearby. The orderly stands up and I instantly run and grab the mop, run directly toward Lo-Tone. Brad is watching in disbelief. I twist and turn around bringing the mop handle at full force and connect directly with Tony’s skull. I hear the handle break and blood spews from his face. In slow motion, he drops to his knees. I use the rest of the handle that I still hold and smack his head with it again and again. I see his eyes roll back and he falls onto the floor, blood gushing out in every direction from his brown hair that seems to be mixed with bone fragments now across the white sanitary tile. This once model-looking male specimen lies in a pool of his own blood. I look at fat man who is smiling and give him the okay to run. He begins running as fast as his fat legs will take him. Brad is now attempting to run as well. I quickly grab him and throw him to the floor. I begin to beat his head with the handle as well. I can hear his pleas for me to stop. Yet, I persist until there is nothing left but a puddle of blood on the floor. No more screaming, no more threats, no more Brad.
At least, that is what I wanted to say, and do, but I didn’t. Instead, I break the stare and look away back toward the rain falling harder outside and drowned out the fat man and his pleas as the orderlies begin beating him.
I didn’t want trouble…not at this point in the game. In a few weeks, I would be released and back to the normal life for me. Normal, huh…what is normal any more for me? I had questioned this over and over in my head a thousand times. Each night when lights out is called, I lay in my bed staring up at the very blank ceiling and think of what I am going to do once I was released from Purgatory. I had been here for over ten very long and miserable months. No visitors, no letters and no contact with anyone from the outside. Now, I was within thirty days of being released. Released to go back to the rat-hole of life I had wanted to escape so many times. But, after being here, that rat-hole of life seemed like a walk in the fricken park.
“What? You wanna say something? Huh?” Tony taunts me. He thinks of himself as some supreme being of sorts. He pounds on the poor fat soul lying on the floor, in his own blood begging to not be kicked and beat any more. Not sure if I was just feeling the empathy of the man’s pain or if I actually was feeling some sort of connection to the fat man being beaten, but with each blow the orderlies made to his cranium or his rib cage, I felt it. I see the torment and pain the fat man is getting and want to reach out to him. I want to help him. I struggle in my own skin as how could I sit idly by and do nothing to help another human being, a soul that is being beaten and tortured as he is, and do nothing to help him. Still I sit.
Was it fear? Or was it a sense of self-preservation? Either way, I did nothing to help him. I wanted to reach out to his hands that were outreached toward mine as my eyes met his eyes; we seemed to be in a deadlock of eye to eye contact, his mouth cringed in pain as he screamed for help. The agony that one human can inflict on another and cause the strongest to scream out for relief was reflected in full blown mode as I sat and observed in utter disbelief. And, still, I did nothing to help. What kind of a person was I that I could do nothing to help a fellow man? I was a man who was not small framed or weak, I could throw a good punch or more if I desired to do so. I hadn’t been in a fist-to-fist fight since high school when I beat Jimmy Howard’s ass for trying to stuff me in the bathroom trashcan. I gave him what he deserved. A broken eye socket, a dislocated jaw and busted lips, both top and bottom lips bled that day. I made sure of it. I didn’t fight, but that day I saw red and blanked out as I defended myself. And, when asked by Principal Bailey did I feel remorseful for inflicting that amount of pain on Jimmy, I quickly and with no hesitation replied,
Finally, I look away, staring back out the window centering in on the rain trickling down from the rooftop. I focus in on a man I see standing near the big oak tree outside. He is wearing a black raincoat and hat. I can’t make out his face; it is hidden underneath the black Fedora hat. The beads running down the windowpanes keep my view blocked of him as he moves slowly outside in the shadows. It was as if he knew which raindrop would be blocking my view of his face as he darted between the drops as they ran down the window outside. I watch as he looks up at me watching him. I know he sees me, seeing him. I keep wiping away the fog my breath is making on the window. Why is this man so important to me? I don’t know why exactly. But, he seems to have my attention in a very strange way.
“HEY!” I call out. “HEY!”
Suddenly, the orderlies realize I just spoke. This was the first time I had spoken since being brought in ten months before.
“Shit!” the shorter orderly exclaims realizing he needed to be the one to go and deal with it.
You see, this revelation of me speaking or being able to speak, as great as it would appear to be, represented a problem. Not a problem for me. It was a problem for the abusive assholes that were now taking turns beating that poor patient that lay unconscious on the floor. This meant, I could tell.
“We were told to watch him and if he talked we have to tell the doc.” Tony calls out to Brad as they take turns kicking that poor fat blob.
“I can’t believe it, No Tongue…” that is what the orderlies called me,
“…spoke!” Tony says.
“Hey! Wait!” I call out to the man who is standing outside. He looks familiar. Like someone from a dream, and you can’t remember them right away.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Brad asks as he moves toward me. He begins to look outside.
“Don’t worry about that dumbass!” Tony says as he continues his beating of the fat man.
“Just make sure he can’t talk any more, if you get my drift.”
I look at the orderly and pull him to look outside. But just then, the man is no longer there. Like a dream, he had faded away.
“Whooo! You don’t grab me! Got it!” the orderly shouts as he pulls his nightstick out and whacks me hard across the back of the head. The lights suddenly go out.
“You there? Can you hear me?” the man’s voice calls out to me, almost as though he was standing in a faraway place and calling to me from there. I see a light that seems to be getting brighter. Have I died? Is this is the bright light everyone talks about? Is that God speaking to me?
“I’m not sure he can hear us doctor.” A feminine voice speaks.
Doctor? He wasn’t God? Oh hell, I must still be in Purgatory. Strange name for a psychiatric hospital, don’t you think?
“I can hear you.” I struggle to answer, rubbing my head. I attempt to move and soon realize I am bound down. I peer through warped vision to see the straps that hold me.
“Can you please take the straps off? I need to sit up please. I feel sick.” I am trying to focus on the doctor and his nurse.
“No, I think it best you lay still a bit longer. At least till we are sure you aren’t going to get violent again.” The doctor says as he examines my eyes again with his scope.
Get violent? What the hell were they talking about? “I didn’t get violent.” I struggle to pronounce each word as I begin to reply.
I try and explain, “I was attacked by that over-sized beast you call an orderly.” But my words don’t quite form to sentences that sound coherent enough to understand.
“Now…now. You know we have rules. And, rules must be followed, by everyone.” The nurse says.
“Our orderlies would never do anything to harm our patients here.” The doctor disputes my accusation in a patronizing way.
“I’m telling you the fucker beat my brains in and you’re telling me he didn’t?” I shout back.
“My goodness! First you don’t speak at all. Then, you have a mouth like sailor when you decide to speak.” The nurse pauses,
“Doctor, do you think that is a sign of schizophrenia?”
“No! No I’m not schizophrenic!” I try and shout. My words seem to echo in my own head, suddenly my arms feel weak and my body becomes jelly-like. I knew if they believed that, they would inject me or make me swallow some concoction of meds to knock me out again. I didn’t want to be knocked out. I wanted to be wide-eyed and conscience.
“Well-then we had better calm down.” The nurse smiles at me in a weird way. I look at her, really seeing her. She looked familiar. I didn’t know where from. But, she was definitely familiar to me. And, she seemed to know me as well.
“I-I know you. Don’t I?” I call out as she looks around at the doctor.
“Of course you do Mr. Andrews. I’m your nurse.” She says sarcastically. She seems to be trying to make the doctor believe I am off my rocker. Wait! She called me Mr. Andrews. That is my name. I am Will-Will Andrews. Wow! I hadn’t thought of that name in a very long time. I struggle once more to sit up only to be pushed back down by the nurse.
“You must stop Mr. Andrews or we will have to restrain you other ways.” Her tone offers no remorse for my situation. She doesn’t seem apologetic or even caring for me and me being retained by leather straps. She almost seems to enjoy my dilemma. My dilemma being, if I resisted their attempts to restrain me, I would be taking a trip on the sleep express. However, the more I tried to explain I was not nuts, the more they believed I was. It is a typical scenario of a catch twenty-two. One I was not enjoying in the slightest.
“Okay, okay. I will calm down.” I figured I could try and remain calm they would see I am lucid and not a threat to anyone. “I-I just was trying to explain…I-“ The nurse cuts me off.
“It’s okay Mr. Andrews. I understand. Just lay still while we examine you. Soon the medicine I gave you will help you relax.” I feel a poke in my right arm and suddenly the lights begin to be like halos. I felt, all warm inside. She had injected me with some sort of tranquilizer, must be morphine from the warm feeling. I had heard morphine makes you feel really warm inside as it creeps through your system.
“Yoooooouuuuuu-bit…..wow! I see clouds.” My words come out like syllables being pronounced by a foreigner.
“Mr. Andrews...Mr. Andrews, can you hear me?” I hear a voice calling out to me. I struggle to see through the haze and fog.
“Mr. Andrews? Are you with me?” the voice calls out again. It is a man, a young man about twenty-five or so sitting in front of me calling my name out.
An ice pick in my skull as I begin to reply,
“Yeah, yeah.” My eyes are welded shut it feels like,
“Give me a second to get my focus.” I try and speak, but my voice sounds very raspy. It’s like there is sandpaper in my throat.
“What’s wrong with my voice?” I strain to speak again.
“Well-you were given a bit too much of a certain drug that shouldn’t have been given to you. I am sorry about that.” He seems genuine and caring. At last! I have an ally.
“Do what? What happened? Why does my head hurt so badly?” I struggle to sit up. He helps me up. What? No straps! I couldn’t believe it.
“Well, the headache is from either the medicine you were given or…” he pauses as if trying not to alarm me.
“Or from what?” I can now see him sitting there in front of me in his pullover designer shirt and pants. He doesn’t smell of disinfectants and or cleansers like the rest of the crew at the hospital did. He smells like Armani or one of those other expensive Italian colognes.
“From being hit by a certain orderly.” He knows what had happened to me, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. He seemed to be apologetic. Had I died and gone to the big psyche ward in the sky? Or was there actually some ray of light at the end of this dark and hellish nightmare I had been in for such a long time.
“Yes, yes I remember that. Where is that bastard?” I look around rubbing my head.
“Focus, just try and focus on me right now. Okay?” the man says trying to get my attention.
“Okay, okay. But-who are you?” I felt it was a logical question. If I was going to have a mirage I at least wanted to know its name.
“Tracy…Tracy Gentry. I was sent by the state to help rehabilitate you. I’m your guardian of sorts.” He hadn’t put a doctor or mister in front of his name. That meant he was either not that important, or he didn’t put himself on a platform like so many do. What did he mean the state had sent him?
“What do you do, Tracy?” I thought it was good start to know what my savior was capable of doing.
“I am a therapist..” he begins. Great…another head-shrink that is going to tell me all my problems are in my fuckin’ head. “-That evaluates patients who self-admit themselves for review. To see if they can be released.” His last word was like sweat music to me. RELEASED meant freedom! I was going to be released.
“So, you can get me out of this hell hole?” I beseech him with my eyes that were still slightly swollen, the quiver of my bottom lip and then slowly I shift the gears up a bit with that million dollar smile of mine that had gotten me anything I wanted usually.
He returns a smile, and then pauses before answering. I had forgotten that this hell hole paid his wages.
“Yes, yes I can. But, ONLY with your help Mr. Andrews.” He says. At least I felt I had his support in making my grand exit; which was far more than I had been offered in all the time I had spent at Purgatory.
“What do you need me to do? Where do I sign?” I attempt to stand. My legs give way and I start to fall. He catches me. My knight in shining armor had come to my rescue once more.
“WOO! You shouldn’t try and stand just yet.”
Why did my legs fail? I knew how to walk and especially how to stand. Why had they caved like straw under me?
“You’ve been sleeping for a long time Mr. Andrews. And-well to be honest, atrophy has sat in. It will take you time to get the use of your legs back.” His words stung a chord with me. That nurse had overdosed me and caused me to become Sleeping Fucking Beauty.
“How long?” I ask.
“Pardon?” he responds.
“How long? How long did I sleep?” I ask more detailed.
“Umm…two months. You slept for two months and six days, and about fourteen hours.” He answers with exactness.
I had slept for two months of my life and had no use of my legs. If I ever saw that bitch nurse again, I was going to kill her.
“I-I can’t believe this.” I reply trying to make sense of it all.
“I understand Mr. Andrews.” He tries to apologize to me.
“NO! NO you can’t understand! Have you ever been overdosed and forced to sleep two months of your life away?” I look for his expression. His eyes meet mine with sympathy. There was something in his big brown cow eyes that told me he was genuinely sorry.
“No, you’re right. I couldn’t possibly understand what you’ve been through. But, I am sorry it happened.” He was sincere in his apology.
“Please-STOP calling me Mister Andrews. I want you on a first name basis with me. You know why? Huh?” I scream at him.
He is actually trembling,
“Because…when you think of my name…you will want to get me the fuck out of here. Got me?” I was right up in his face like an ARMY drill sergeant. “CAPICE?” I shout at him.
“Y..YES! Yes, W…WI…WILL!” He calls back at me.
I stare at him hard and say,
“Okay then…let’s get this show on the road then. I want to walk the hell out of here in one month.”
Over the next few weeks, Tracy worked very closely with my rehabilitation and me getting the use of my legs back. Of course, I being the type to push myself hard and not allow a little thing like pain to hold me back from getting what I wanted helped.
It was grueling at times. The therapists were very disciplined and adamant about me not giving up when I wanted to stop for breaks. But, it was for my own good. Not to mention, Tracy was very supportive of me. Not just as my rehab counselor. More like a friend. Someone I could trust.
Tracy kept his end of the deal and had the courts to rescind the order to have me committed to the sanitarium.
At last, the day had come for me to get out of hell out of hell.
“Tracy, I can’t believe this day is actually here. I’m going home.” I was ecstatic and charged like a virgin on a date with the town slut.
“Would you like…I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you would like for me to drive you…to your place.” His gentle smile had gotten me through some of the really hard times there at Purgatory. Yet, right at that moment, I felt there was another motive behind his offer. Something that said, he is looking to go above and beyond for me. However, I thought of how it would feel to have a familiar face there with me as I re-enter my old life; a face that I had grown accustomed to seeing every single day. So, I agreed. He pointed to his car in the lot and we made our way to it. It was a nice car, for someone who employed by that hell hole. It was a Mazda 3, silver with convertible top, leather seats, dual overhead cam, and six speed gearing. He drives it like he has practiced many times on escaping. You know, those times when you have to let go and just put the foot down on the throttle and drive as if you are in a mood to escape. And judging by how Tracy was driving, he was in a hurry to escape very soon. With one hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter even though he had the ability to drive in automatic, he was using the gear shifter like a hammer; he turns and smiles at me. Reluctant to take my eyes off the road, I return his smile with a grin of my own.
As if trying to break the tension, we both reach for the radio at the same time. Our hands touch and I realize it isn’t my car or radio to adjust. Going to pull my hand back, I notice his hand lingers on mine. A little longer than a moment and yet not long enough to know what I was thinking. Then, I look up and his grin tells me all I need to know. This is a side of Tracy I had not seen before or had I just had a blinded eye to it? I gently slide my hand away and poise a grin that probably looked like I had mixed emotions on his advancement. Either way, he turns his attention back to the road and I was glad. The radio station is playing a song by The Kings of Leon, ‘Sex On Fire’. How appropriate, don’t you think?
We arrive at my condo and gather my bags. We had stopped off at the nearby grocery store and picked up a few things like; beer, bread, spam, chips, more beer, some waters, coffee, more beer and a carton of smokes. I had quit smoking. But, I knew my temptation was going to be there so may as well stock up, especially on the beer. Something tells me I am going to need lots of beer and cigs tonight.
Upon arriving at my condo door, Tracy hands me my keys and once again his hand lingers as our fingers touch. I do have to admit there were few moments in my life where I had wondered what it would be like to be with another guy. But, I had long dismissed it as teenage hormones or later on as impulsive horniness. I turned the key and the door opens slowly. Having not been opened in a year, there should have been suction or something. Almost like entering the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh; the air should have been stale and almost stifling. But it wasn’t. It was almost as I had left it. Almost being the key word. The only things missing were the things that belonged to Diane and the things I had given her. Blank spots on the counter, tables, walls and on the entertainment center cried out that she was no longer a residence of this dwelling we once shared. I had forgotten and then it hit me. The reason no suction or stale air was because impart because the condo had climate control, the cleaning lady that we had hired to come in every Wednesday, the condo complex that had their guys come in and spray for bugs. Lucky for me, I owned the condo or at least co-owned it. Diane was the other owner. Why in all that time I had been in Purgatory, hadn’t she contacted me to discuss that or to just talk? Had she moved on and just abandoned our home? Abandoned me?
I run my fingers across the tables and notice a fine layer of dust. The cleaning lady hadn’t been doing her job so well. Why would she? There was no one here to oversee things.
Looking around, I take a deep breath and feel the emptiness hit me like a ton of rocks. The emptiness fills my veins and I fight back that feeling to fall into the depth of depression. I had survived Purgatory…and that was worth something for me to hold onto. I had to get over this moment and quickly. I reach into the plastic sack and pull out two beers. I toss one to Tracy and he catches it with a look on his face that said, “You want me to stay?” I nod and reach my bottle out to his and say,
“What are we drinking to?” He replies extending his bottle to mine.
I stare around the room and reply, “To the past and to the present. The future is for those who have one.” He grimaces at my solute and reluctantly taps my bottle with his.
Hours later, both of us are very drunk and lounging back on my sectional couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, shoes off, watching the soccer game. I notice Tracy’s foot advancing toward mine as we are watching the final score of the game.
“GO! Make the shot!” I shout out as my team’s guy runs the ball down the field for twenty yards and then he makes the shot, and the final shot has been made and my team has another victory.
“YEAH! Hell yeah!” I shout out in support. Tracy follows lead and shouts out a less than as hysterical victory shout,
“Yeah!” then his foot begins rubbing against mine. At first, I pull back and look at him. Not sure what emotion was going through my mind at that moment. It was like I did want what I shouldn’t have and knew it was going to cause things to change. But, the curiosity of it caused me to push my foot back toward his and touch his. He looks down at my foot and then scoots closer and after several short attempts at reaching his hand over and pulling it back, his hand lands on my leg. I took a deep breath and place my arm around his shoulders and rest my hand on his arm….rubbing it gently and yet with more intensity than I would a woman. It was strange and yet overwhelming almost compelling, the feeling I am feeling in this moment. I wanted to pull back and yet keep dipping my toes across the threshold of this new unexplored territory. I decide, mostly impart to the liquor, to indulge in the fantasy. I mean, Tracy wasn’t ugly…actually the opposite. For a man he was good looking, not that I had ever given a thought of what a man looked like before. But he was tall, not as tall as me but tall. I stand six-two and he is just an inch or two under that. He’s slender and yet toned as I notice when he pulls off his shirt and I can see his bare chest. He has pecs and abs…didn’t expect that under the dress shirts and ties. It was like I was meeting a different person all together. I suppose I allowing myself to see this or had I noticed it all along and just refused to admit it even to myself?
He reaches up and unbuttons my shirt and it falls onto the couch. He rubs his hand down my chest and the sensation his hand on my chest that sends a sensation of electricity though my body. My cock reacts instantly as he ventures down my trail. His fingers undo my belt and then my pants. He looks up at me as he unzips my pants and I take a deep breath. He reaches in and pulls out my throbbing cock and rolls it in his hands. My body reacts to his touch and my cock swells even more. He leans in and places his mouth on it.
“OH GOD!” I exclaim as he deep throats it. I can’t believe this is happening. I am allowing another man to give me head. Having lived in L.A. for a long time, I had had my fair share of guys hitting on me, especially actors. And all had told me that I was not allowing myself to know the pleasures of another man to go down on me. Men give head, way better than a woman. Of course I had always dismissed it as their way of trying to convert me. But, right here and now, I was getting a one on one, in the now presentation of how good…no…make that GREAT it felt to have a man’s mouth tending to my desires. It made sense now. Only another man would know the exact feeling of what I needed. Succumbing to the desires and I allow myself to go with it and not think. That night I learned how to sixty-nine with another guy. I learned the pleasures and pains of anal sex, both giving and receiving. When it was over….I awake with him lying on his side next to me on the floor, a sheet covers us. Now, not intoxicated, I dare to look under the sheet and see we are both very naked and I have morning wood. Getting up slowly and trying not to wake him, I go into my bathroom and turn on the shower, steaming hot. Slowly sliding in, slithering is more like it; I allow the hot water to wash over me. I relieve myself, having to piss real badly, while the hot water ran over my body, faded memories of the night before dance in my head. I sucked his cock while he sucked mine. I had allowed another man to place his penis inside me and mine in him, without thinking…my cock rose up rock hard again. I relieved myself the other way…again.
After I had finished showering, I could smell something, something good filling the air in the apartment. For a brief moment, I wanted it to be Diane and that last night had been just some dream; some really erotic dream brought on by watching way too much porn and drinking. But, as I walk into the living room, I see Tracy is wearing his dress shirt and nothing else while cooking eggs and toast. He has took the liberties of making me coffee…which I desperately required.
“Morning sunshine.” He calls out from the kitchen with a huge smile on his face.
I stumble for the right words and the correct reactions I should give this moment, a moment I will undoubtedly remember for a long time.
“Tracy…umm…we-” I begin delicately. “We need to talk…about last night.”
He doesn’t miss a step and continues as he butters the toast, “Really? What about?”
“Well…umm…that really wasn’t me.” How lame did that sound?
“Not sure I understand. What do you mean, that wasn’t you? Sure looked, felt and tasted like you.” He manages a smile as he puts everything on a tray to bring to the living room. I stop him as he puts it on the table.
“That…what we did…uh…that was…that was….”The look on his face told me I had to be really gentle here. “That was incredible…but-” He looks at me with those big brown eyes and replies,
“Oh…I get it.” He laughs…without really laughing; sort of scary actually. “You are afraid that I think…we…well, we are going to be like boyfriends or something, right?” He sits down on the couch and begins eating his toast. I had never noticed or perhaps I hadn’t paid any attention on how he eats his toast. He nibbles around the edges first, working his way to the center. I just bite right in.
“Tracy….I can never repay you for your friendship and tremendous support you have been the last few months. But, last night was…just last night and never can be again. Do you know what I am saying?” I search for a response in his eyes or his facial expressions. Suddenly, it was like the lights turn on and he realizes what I am saying.
“OH…I get it.” He pauses, “You are afraid because we fucked…this makes you gay…right?” With a lack of better choice of words he had put his finger right on it. Even I had not realized that the fucking was what had made last night seem so real. The oral, well it was just two guys…two buds helping each other out. But, the fucking…as incredible as it was….was the point of no return for me. And now, I needed to regain my masculinity and be firm and to the point with this matter.
“Sorta…I guess, yeah.”
He laughs again as he puts the toast down and reaches for his dress pants. He dresses without saying a word and so do I. Within a few minutes we are both as we had been, dressed. Not laying on the floor naked rolling around and doing all the sexual acts that I had never encountered before.
“So…are we good? I mean…we still-” I pause. He completes my sentence.
“Still good? Still friends?” He pauses as he lingers with his tie and then he decides to just leave it undone. “Yeah…we’re good.” He stops again as he heads toward the door. “You know…you’re not my first and I’m sure this wasn’t the last time we will…play.” I step toward him and resound very firmly,
“Yes…yes it was Tracy. This was the first and only time this will happen.”
He grins and says, “See ya around…I’m sure we will be talking again soon.” He laughs as he exits and I shut the door feeling like I had just avoided a huge fight.
“Will…what were you thinking last night?” I ask myself out loud. “That’s the problem…you weren’t thinking.” I wanted to feel…something…anything. I had been locked up in hell for a year, almost raped by one of the male orderlies, overdosed and had to regain my ability to walk again. Of course I was in a place where I just felt like giving into temptations wasn’t the worst thing possible. However, the feeling of guilt and confusion perplexed my mind. Was I gay, bi or straight? Could a straight man give into the temptations of male on male sex and obviously enjoyed it, without being gay or bi? For now….I had to just block it out and pretend it never ever happened. What did he mean by, I am sure we will talk again…soon?
After a few hours; the memories of me, of my work…I was a writer, of my life before and of Diane. Diane-where the hell was she? How could I have forgotten about her last night? I had…even for a short while, put the memories, good or bad, out of my mind to allow myself to let go. I deserved to let myself let go. I wasn’t the type to let go…so, I had made huge steps in the right direction. At least this was the method of thinking I was using to justify for last night.
I decided to call Tracy. He had answers and I needed them.
The phone rings and his answering machine answers, “Hello this is Tracy with…” I sit and wait for the beep.
“Tracy…this is Will. Where are you man? I really need you right now. Can you call me back?” After I have hung up the phone I realize how that message might have sounded. I was about to call him again when suddenly I got a call. The number says unavailable. Maybe it was Diane? Or maybe Tracy had retrieved his messages remotely and was calling me back from the hospital.
“Hello?” I answer. To my surprise, there was no one there. But, I could hear someone breathing in the background.
“Hello? Is someone there?” I call out again. There was still no reply. Then, the call disconnects and I sit there wondering who it was. Was it Diane and was she too ashamed to talk? Was it Tracy and was he pissed at me for my actions? Or was it just a wrong number? Who knows? Still it bugged me.