Chapter Seventeen

The Principal protected Steve and the Lustigs. For all anyone at PHS knew,
I was a crazed stalker who had gotten what I deserved and then thrown a fit
until Steve's avengers were themselves victimized.

I didn't care. Lori had been correct. My status at PHS was where it had
always been, at the bottom with the dregs.

Steve was again gone from my life. He had not appreciated my candor with
Principal Barnes, a self-centered turnabout that I found ripe. He had
betrayed me, yet he was the one who was claiming I had betrayed him.

Henry was also gone. Mr. Kamler had replaced him. It was clear he was
smitten with my mother. And that she was smitten him. Where things with
Henry had been fraught, things with Mr. Kamler were easy and uncluttered.
It was thrilling to see.

The town was agog over it. Mr. Kamler was the object of everyone's
affection, and my mother had captured his. She went from being a threat to
being the object of envy.

I did not. I remained a threat, the victim who used my victimization to
destroy PHS from the inside.

I could not believe how ignorant people were. They were like the people who
blamed the abused woman for staying, or the victim's clothing for her
brutal rape. It was the antelope's fault the tiger attacked. It was the
deer's fault the hunter shot.

I grew calloused to it all. I had my mother, Lori, and, now, Mr. Kamler. He
was as attentive to me as he always had been and as he was to my mother. We
talked and talked and talked when he visited. He was funny and smart and
wonderful. He was the first male friend I'd ever really had. Evans had been
my friend, but also the object of my affection. Mr. Kamler was just my
friend.

He was helping me with my college application process. Over Christmas
Break, Mr. Kamler took me to visit my three top choices. We went east to
Ohio (Denison), then west to Iowa (Grinnell), then north to Minnesota
(Carleton). It was the first real road trip of my life, and we had a blast.
Mr. Kamler let me pick the music. I tried to show off, but failed. He was
familiar with every band I chose.

It was easy to see why my mother had fallen overboard for him. He was easy
on the ears. He listened more than he talked. He offered only when asked.
And, he seemed to know everything. He must have read a lot.

He was also easy on the eyes. I got to see almost all of him on our trip,
and he was something to see. The curly hair on his head also covered his
chest and stomach, both of which were ripped. I noticed on the trip that he
ate almost nothing but chicken and fish and vegetables. He did sit ups and
push ups every morning and every night. He stretched and held his body in
strange positions for extended periods of time. He meditated cross-legged
on the floor, his sculpted feet turned up on his thighs. I was ashamed that
I was lusting after what appeared to be my mother's boyfriend.

As we drove home from Minnesota, I was settled on Denison. I loved its
hilltop campus and liberal bent. I was excited to escape Paris.

I asked Mr. Kamler if he had ever had sex with a man.

"That's a pretty strange question, Eric. And pretty personal."

"So, the answer is yes."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did. There are only two answers to questions like that. No, and
everything else. Everything else is 'yes.'"

"The answer is yes. I think most boys do. At least to some extent. A high
school buddy of mine and I jerked each other off a couple of times. It was
no big deal."

"Did you like it?"

"I liked getting jerked off. It was the difference between washing your own
hair and someone else washing your hair. It's okay when I wash it. It feels
great when someone else washes it."

"I've never had sex with a girl."

"I think you're pretty far gone on the scale."

"The scale?"

"The scale of sexuality. If a one is totally hetero, a ten is totally homo.
A five is exactly in the middle, so totally bi."

"I must be a ten."

"I think you must be an eleven," he offered, laughing.

"Where are you?"

"I'm probably a three. I'm attracted to women. I'm not attracted to men,
but I notice attractive men. I can enjoy the beauty of a man's body. The
muscle. The strength. The firmness. But, that's all I want to do, admire
it. I don't want to touch it."

"Have you had sex with my mother?"

"Eric! That's definitely none of your business."

"So, yes?"

"No. Your theory is imperfect. We haven't, but don't you dare raise it with
her. It'd embarrass her."

"Why haven't you?"

"I'm old school. I'm waiting until I marry her."

"So, you're . . . like . . . a virgin?"

"That's exactly right. I'm like a virgin. I had a lot of sex when I was too
young to know better. I haven't had sex in the last three years. I'm
reclaiming my virginity, to the extent I can. I don't want to have sex
again until I'm married."

"Are you going to marry my mother?"

"It's awfully early to talk about that. But, I hope it heads that
direction. She's the best woman I've ever met. Resilient. Strong. To her
core."

"Should I start calling you dad?"

"No. But, you should start calling me Michael, at least away from school."

Chapter Eighteen
I was stunned when I returned to school from Christmas Break to find a
folded note from Steve. It read:

Eric,

There's too much done to undo. I'd apologize, but an apology seems so small
and useless in light of all that's happened.

Still, I'm sorry I betrayed you. I'm more sorry I didn't warn you. It seems
so easy looking back. It seemed so hard then.

I miss you. A lot. I love you. A lot. I should have told you then. I
didn't, and that's on me. It's late to say it, but I hope it's not too late.

If you don't have a date for Coronation, I'd like to take you. I want to
walk in with you on my arm. I want to dance in your arms. Right there, in
front of every one.

If you already have a date, would you save the last dance for me?

Yours (whether you know it or not),
Steve

PS Hang this on the front of your locker if you want.

I sobbed as I read and re-read the note. It was the most amazing thing I
had ever read. Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" paled
in comparison. So did W.H. Auden's "Stop All The Clocks."

I showed the note to Lori. She was gobsmacked. She cracked, "Things . . .
just . . . got . . . interesting" as she read and re-read the note.

I showed the note to my mother and to Michael. My mother's reaction was
simple and elegant, like her. "You don't have to give in to him, but you
have to forgive him."

"I already have."

"You have to tell him you have. You have to help lift the yolk of guilt
from his shoulders."

Michael assured me my mother was right. He also told me that, if I accepted
his invite, we should tell no one in advance. "You have to surprise
everyone. If you don't, they'll try to stop you. They'll block you if they
know, but they won't kick you out."

I tried to write back, but written words failed me. I swiped Mr. Kamler's
car and headed to the Lustig house. Mr. Lustig answered the door. Steve
wasn't home, but Henry welcomed me in.

"Eric, how is your mother?"

"Mr. Lustig, she's awesome. I know it's hard for you to hear, but she's
doing great. Mr. Kamler treats her better than she deserves, and she's mad
about him."

Mr. Lustig's eyes were wet. "Don't ever say that about your mother. It's
not possible for him or anyone else to treat her better than she deserves.
She deserves the best. I'm happy for her, Eric. I really am. No matter
what, I love that woman. She deserves a life of fireworks and ice cream."

"You were never going to marry her, were you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."

"I don't think you would have."

"You're probably right."

I handed Mr. Lustig Steve's letter. He read it, held it to his chest, and
sighed heavily. "He's like me," he said. "A romantic. A lover. I chose
wrong when I was his age. There's nothing romantic about Ellen. She's
useful, not romantic. She gets things done, but she doesn't chase dreams.
She doesn't even have them."

I didn't know what to say. I was out of my element. Mr. Lustig seemed to be
confronting a sad future, and I was there to hope his son was not doing the
same.

"You're like your mother," he continued. "You're a dreamer. And, you have
the courage to chase your dreams. When they don't come true, you dream
another dream, and then chase it. What I wouldn't give to be your age and
chasing a dream."

"It's never too late," I offered, ignorantly.

"Oh, it is. Life passes you by. You think you're getting a second chance.
But, then you don't take it, not really. You flirt with it, but you don't
take it. Then, it's gone, and you watch someone else take it. And there's
nothing you can do about it."

I knew what he was saying. He had postponed my mother. And Mr. Kamler had
arrogated that chance to himself. Now, Mr. Kamler was living the life Henry
wanted, but didn't take. And, Henry was back living the life that had led
him to my mother in the first place.

I didn't want him to fight for my mother. She needed things simple, not
complex. They were simple now. They wouldn't be if Henry tried to push back.

"Can I wait in Steve's room?"

"Sure."

I went upstairs. I settled back onto Steve's bed. I smelled him in his
pillow. I felt him in his mattress.

I sat on the edge of the bed and fretted. I was on the edge of a love
affair. Sally was gone. Steve was available. I had never been in this
situation. I had always been a luxury, never an essential.

I collapsed onto my back in anticipation. I dozed off. I awoke to Steve's
strong hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, Cupcake," he said.

"Hey, Cookie," I answered.

"I still don't know what a cookie is, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to
be one."

"Your letter proved you're not one." I then explained to Steve what Evans
had explained to me. It was lost on him.

"But, aren't cupcakes like cookies, the same shape and size?"

I distilled it down for him. "Evans' school did not have Cupcakes. That's a
gem the good folks of PHS came up with, just for me. It had Cookies, which
was for people who danced only the to same tune. The clones who did what
everyone else did."

"Speaking of which, will you go to Coronation with me?"

"Of course."
"So, you forgive me?"

"Of course."

Steve's eyes filled with tears. "You are an extraordinary human being, Eric
Akers."

"You are, too."

"I'm not."

"You have to be. I love you, and I don't love ordinary people."

"I thought you did. I thought it was your favorite movie. And book."

"You're a dork."

Steve didn't respond. Instead, he pinned me to the bed with a long, tender
kiss. In it, he said I'm sorry, I've missed you, I love you, I want you.

It was an endless kiss. Every time I thought it would end, it renewed. Our
mouths remained locked together as we stood and stripped. We were mouth to
mouth, chest to chest, and crotch to crotch. As we kissed, I took us both
in my hand and started to move back and forth. I didn't care about the
past, I cared only about the future.

"Don't come," he whispered into my mouth. "I want you to take me."

"We don't have to do that," I assured him.

"I know. But, I want to. Very much."

We fell onto the bed. We continued to kiss, and I continued to work both of
us together.
Steve scrambled off the bed, got lube he had hidden somewhere, and coated
me and him with it. I was on my back, and he moved over me. He took me in
his hand and tried to lower himself onto me. I was on fire. I couldn't
believe what was happening. I felt myself slip past his ring and into him.
He gasped, stopped, and held perfectly still. He lowered himself very
slowly the rest of the way, holding his breath as he did. I was lightheaded
by the time I felt him against my pelvis.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm more than okay," he responded.

I was surprised. The instant he tried to rock back and forth, I swelled and
filled him.

"Did you come?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I thought so. I want to come, too," he said.

I took him in my hand. I didn't have to do much to release him. He leaned
back on one hand, arched his back, and shot into the air. It rained down on
my chest and stomach.
He collapsed on his back between my legs. I rose up and followed him down,
pinning my mouth to his.

"I love you, Eric," he insisted.

"I love you, too, Steve. A lot."

"I love you more. I win."

"I love you the most."

"You can't. I already won."

"Can we be serious for a second?" I asked.

"Sure," he assured me.

"We don't have to go to the dance together."

"Sure, we do."

"I'll be fine if we don't."

"I won't."

"Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

"What did you think about what we just did?"

"It was fine, but I think I like it better the other way. I prefer being
the man."

"That's great. I like the other way better, too. I prefer being the woman."

I know now I wasn't "being the woman." But, we were only eighteen, and we
didn't know what we didn't know. Man/woman was our only referent.

Chapter Nineteen

When I arrived home, my mother insisted I sit down to talk. I assumed she
wanted to know about what had happened with Steve, but my assumption was
off. Way, way off.

"Eric, I'm pregnant," she announced, matter of factly.

"But, you and Michael aren't having sex."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me. He said he's trying to reclaim his virginity. . . . " I
paused, quickly putting two and two together. "Oh my God, it's not his.
It's Henry's."

"Sometimes, you're too smart for your own good."

"So, like, when you were sick over Christmas, it was morning sickness, not
the flu."

"Like I said, sometimes, you're too smart for your own good."

"You should have told me."

"I'm telling you now."

"What are we going to do? Does Michael know? Does Henry know?" I fired
questions rapidly, like a fusillade.

"Calm down and listen, Eric. Henry does not know and will not know. You are
not tell him, Steve, or anyone else, even Lori. You hear me? No one. Not a
soul. . . . Michael knows and has known. I was devastated when I figured it
out. I wanted nothing to do with another baby, especially since it was . .
. is . . . Henry's. I wanted an abortion. Michael talked me out of it."

"Why? That's crazy. Why would he want you to have someone else's baby?"

"He's a piece of work. He understands Henry preceded him, and he doesn't
care that this baby is Henry's. He wants to marry me and raise this baby as
his own."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Yes. I told him yes this morning. That's why I'm talking to you right now.
He had a plan, but I couldn't embrace it. I have now. We're getting married
over Spring Break. We're leaving Paris once the school year's over. You'll
be leaving this Fall for Denison, so there'll be nothing but ghosts in
Paris for me. I need fewer ghosts in my life. Michael wants to live
somewhere more progressive in both action and thought. He's hated Paris
since you're beating. He wants out. I want to go with him."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know."

"I hope it's a boy."

"You want a brother?"

"No, I want to be your only daughter," I answered wryly, resolving whatever
concerns my mother had about my reaction. My mother put her arms around me,
and we shared a moment unlike any we had shared for a long time. It was
heady stuff, too heady for me in that moment considering all the other
emotional tumult I was going through with Steve.

I decided to ease the emotion. I asked quietly into my mother's shoulder,
"Aren't you a little long in the tooth for a baby?"

"Eric Akers," she said quietly back. "I've never spanked you, but that
doesn't mean I never will."

"I was kidding."

"It's actually a good question. I was 19 when you arrived. I'll be 38 when
this baby arrives. With more experience and more maturity, I hope I'll make
fewer mistakes and be a better mother."

I leaned my head back and looked my mother right in the eyes. "Mom, that's
not possible. You're perfect mother to me. You can't get better."
My mother's eyes welled with tears. "I hope I've been a good mother to you,
Eric."

"You've been a great mother. Everything about our lives together and me has
been a challenge, and you haven't skipped a beat. Your husband abandons
you, no problem. Your son wants Barbies, no problem. Your son wants to wear
makeup, no problem. Your son's gay, no problem. You took what came and kept
going. You're a great role model for me. You just kept going. You're the
strongest woman I know. I got my strength from you. I'd be dead otherwise."

We were both crying when I finished. I didn't know where that testimonial
had come from. I had to have been carrying it around in my head and my
heart for a long time. It was all true.

Chapter Twenty

Our Coronation theme was Taco's "Puttin' on the Ritz." Steve and I each
wore traditional tuxedos. He parted his hair on the side and slicked it. I
pulled mine straight back in a black headband. My mother darkened my
eyebrows, lined my eyelids, popped my eyelashes, lined my lips, and then
popped them with bright red lipstick.

"Jesus Christ," Steve said, when he picked me up. "You look amazing."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"You make me look pedestrian."

We swung by for Lori on the way. That was part of the deal. We were going
as a throuple.

There was no fairy tale that night. Everyone and everything had not
changed. We were not applauded or lauded.

Instead, the gym fell silent when we walked in. We had not told a soul in
advance. We were unexpected.

The fact we were a throuple confused many. Some thought Lori was my date.
Others thought Lori was Steve's date. Only a select few thought Steve was
my date. No one thought I was Steve's date.

We ended any confusion with the first slow dance. Lori sat it out. I
focused on Steve and he focused on me to Journey's "Faithfully." We didn't
want to see what we didn't want to see.

We heard groans and moans. We heard whispered "faggots." We heard people
leaving. We heard Steve Perry's vocals end prematurely. It was the last
slow song played.

When it was time to announce the Coronation court, those who remained
chuckled knowingly. The voting had preceded the dance, so the results were
in before the revolution started.

Our class President announced me as Queen and led the laughter after
offering that "the King had abdicated when he learned the identity of his
Queen." I was not going to be cowed. I marched onstage and took my crown,
placing it on my head to catcalls and hoots.

Unbeknownst to me, Steve had followed me up the stairs and onto the stage.
He took the King's crown, announced he was first in line for the abdicated
throne, and placed the crown on his head. He took my hand, raised it in the
air, and then leaned over and kissed me on the lips, right there in front
of everyone. Lori and the group around her clapped and stomped their
approval. The rest of the gym stood in stunned silence, their ploy foiled
and turned against them.

We were high as we drove to Steve's house, leading a parade of cars that
included Lori's and the rest of her group. Every once and again, I couldn't
take the excitement ripping through me, and I waved my crown and screamed
out the window. Steve almost always screamed his answer out the other
window. A couple of times, we screamed into each other's faces.

Back at Steve's, we all huddled in his basement and relived the cutting off
of the music and the attempt to shame me, like the telekinetic girl from
the Stephen King book.

"You can't shame the shameless," Lori offered.
"God save the new Queen," I rejoined.

"There's nothing new about it," Lori shot back. "You've always been a
Queen. Ever since you had your mother buy you Barbies instead of balls."

It was true. When I was a kid, I didn't want baseballs, basketballs, or
footballs. I wanted Barbies. All of them.

"What can I say?" I asked. "I liked Barbies better than I liked balls."

"Not anymore," Steve offered, joining the fun.

"Truer words have never been spoken."

No one argued with me. No one.

We chided and chortled and laughed and talked the night away. When it was
time for everyone to go home, it was too late for anyone to go home. Steve
talked to Henry, and he approved the group camping out on the basement
floor.

We would not be joining the camp. We were going to return to the family
room floor. The King and Queen had unfinished business to finish.

We were teased as we headed upstairs, Steve leading me by the hand. "Oh,
you're all just jealous," I called back, over my shoulder.

"Of you, not of Steve," Lori called back.

"Yeah," someone echoed Lori.

What they were saying didn't register until Steve said, "See, everyone
thinks you're luckier to have me than I am to have you. . . . And everyone
can't be wrong. There's wisdom in crowds."

I raised one eyebrow. "There's also something known as 'the hysteria of the
masses.'"

As we settled on the family room floor, Steve pinned me down, kissed me on
the mouth, and told me he was about to make me hysterical. He yanked my
shirt over my head, unbuttoned my pants, and tugged them down. He kissed
and licked his way back up my body, taking me in his mouth as he did. What
I thought was a prelude turned into an interlude, as Steve kept at me until
I finished in his mouth. He spit what I offered into his hand before
continuing his trek up. As he kissed my neck and then my mouth, he covered
himself with my load, raised my legs, and started pressing into me.

Steve gave himself to me slowly. He'd go in as far as he could, pause, and
then withdraw, deliberately. Over and over and over. I thought I was going
to burst.

He raised up on his arms and continued. I was drifting away, lost in his
contact with whatever it was that sent me over the edge, and mesmerized
that he could move so slowly and cause so much pleasure.

Steve kept coming at me. We were both soaked with sweat, but he seemed no
closer to the finish line than he was to the starting gun.

"Are you getting close?" I asked.

"No. My God, Eric, this is by far the most sensual experience of my life.
I'm tingling from head to toe. I'm teasing myself."

"You're teasing me, too."

"I can speed up if you want."

"No. I want this to be everything for you."

Steve continued, slowly, surely. I could tell his arms were getting tired.
He was getting wobbly.

"I can take the top you if you want," I offered.

"That might be best. My arms are jello."

We maneuvered around. Steve was on his back, and I was on him, sitting,
writhing. As slowly as I could, I rose up and lowered myself down, rose up
and lowered myself down.

I felt like we were one person, conjoined. I stared into Steve's eyes as I
rode him. I gripped him as hard as I could.

"Oh, my God, Eric, I can't take much more."

"I don't want you to."

"Please bring me home."

I heeded his plea. I clenched and unclenched as I rode him. I felt him
thicken and unload inside me. I lowered myself toward him but kept going,
draining every ounce out of him I could.

When he was finished, I climbed off, and slipped between his thighs. He
squeezed his legs together, and I came between them as we kissed. I
collapsed, dropping all my weight onto him.

I fell asleep. Steve did, too. I'm not sure how long I slept, but I woke up
shivering. I rolled off Steve, pulled a sleeping bag over us, put my head
on his shoulder, put my hand on his crotch, and fell back asleep.

I awoke first. I wanted Steve to wake up, but I didn't want to wake him up.
So, I gently tickled his chest and stomach.

When Steve stirred, I moved to kiss him. He turned his head away,
explaining "Morning breath."

"I like the taste of the morning on your tongue."

"Well, then taste away," he said, turning his face to me and kissing me
back.

When the kiss was over, he asked if I wanted to fool around again. "Sure,"
I said. "But I'd rather talk."

"Talk away."

"I want to hear your voice. Tell me something about you I don't know, a
secret you've been keeping."

Steve took a deep breath. "I knew and know about my father's affair with
your mother."

I raised up and raised one eyebrow at Steve. "It wasn't my father's first
affair. He's a bad poker player. He has tells. His spirit lifts. He goes
into the office at odd hours. I knew someone was making him happy. It
wasn't hard to figure out who."

"Did your mother know?"
"I'm sure she did. She's not the most attuned person, but she's also not
ignorant. I think she just accepts it as part of the price of doing
business. It's pretty clear my parents don't love each other anymore, if
they ever did. They're going through the motions of a marriage, for
external consumption. There's no marriage under this roof."

"Did it bother you?"

"No, not at all. It's not my marriage. It's not my business."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do. One day, I'll get married. When I do, I'm not going to allow my
parents to influence or judge it. Their marriage is their marriage.
Whatever they've worked out they've worked out. My marriage will be my
marriage, not theirs."

I was disappointed by the "I'll get married." I decided to leave it for
later.

"I knew, too," I confirmed.

"Of course you did. I'm sure your mother told you. You two are different
than I am with my parents. But, you'd have figured it out if she hadn't.
You don't miss much, Eric, if anything."

"It's over."

"I know. My father is back to his old self, for bad or good."

"My mother wanted to marry him. We'd have been brothers, in a way."

"He was never going to marry her."

"I know."

"He'll never leave my mother."

"I know."

"He's either too good or too weak. I'm not sure which. It's hard to tell."

I wanted to tell Steve about the baby. I wanted him to know that, before
long, his half-sibling was going to be my half-sibling, that there'd always
be a bridge between the two of us. Again, though, it was not my secret to
tell, so I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't.

Instead, I asked "Do you really think you'll get married?" It was 1986, and
there was not even the dream of gay marriage, much less the possibility of
it. His "I'll get married" necessarily implied "to a woman."

"I hope so."

I told Steve about Mr. Kamler and his scale of sexuality. I offered that I
was an eleven, and Steve laughed. "Only if eleven is the highest. I think
you're like that cartoon thermometer that explodes through the top . . . 11
. . . 12 . . . 13 . . . boom!"

"You don't seem to mind."

"I don't. At all." With that, Steve started softly singing Billy Joel's
"Just the Way You Are." I held his hand as he did. He did not sing well,
but it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. When he was finished, I
kissed him and told him I loved him.

"I love you, too, Eric. It's hard for me to believe, but I really do."

"Where do you think you are on the scale?"

"I'll take a 4, but only because of you."

"So, more straight than not?"

"I think so. I know it doesn't make sense, but it's still just you to me.
When I masturbate, I think of you or a girl. I don't think of other guys. I
don't fantasize about having sex with other guys. I just don't."

"I've noticed. I have this theory. I think you can tell which gender
someone wants by watching who they watch, by following their eyes. Like, if
an attractive girl serves me in a restaurant, my eyes don't follow her when
she leaves the table. At all. If an attractive guy serves me, it's the
total opposite. My eyes and my head follow him across the room when he
leaves the table. I've watched you. Your eyes never follow guys. Never.
They follow only girls."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You are who you are. You can't change that, even if you wanted
to."

"My eyes follow you," he said, kissing my forehead.

It was such a sweet thing to say and such a sweet moment, I said nothing in
response. I just rested my head against Steve's cheek, wanting that moment
to go on and on and on.

Chapter Twenty-One
Other than me, no one at the breakfast table knew Steve. They were all
friends of Lori's, and they bombarded him and us with questions. Henry was
in and out, but Ellen was still in her room. Thank God. The questions got
intrusive, going from "How long have you two been together?" to "How often
do you have sex?" and then to details about the sex itself, like "Do you
both top?" and "Do you both blow the other?"

The questions embarrassed me. I wanted to shut them down, but Steve was
taking them on, answering matter of factly and, periodically, holding my
hand as he did.

Lori changed the subject. "Where do you want to go to college?" she asked
Steve. I knew the answer was Hamilton, where his father had gone. Steve
surprised me by adding "or Kenyon" to his answer. He knew I hoped/planned
to go to Denison. Kenyon was only 30 miles away from Denison.

As the conversation continued, I floated away from it. I watched Steve
react and talk and realized I did, in fact, love him. Very much.

I loved his blue eyes. I love his thick, dark eyebrows. I loved his thick
lips. I loved his unfinished ears (the tops splayed flat; they did not roll
over like everyone else's). I loved his sinewy muscles. I loved his mats of
hair. I loved his length and his thickness and how he used it to make me
feel.

But, it was more than that. I loved that he sought me out, so long ago when
no one else did. I loved that he whispered to me when I needed to hear a
voice, then forced me to whisper back. I loved that he compared himself to
Peter when talking about his betrayal of me after the Karate Kid. And, I
loved that he followed me up on that stage, took my hand, and kissed my
mouth, the rest of the world be damned.

I knew, sitting there, that Steve loved me, too. He had faltered, but he
had righted himself and risked himself for me.

I also knew, sitting there, that Steve was not my forever. We were too
young and he was too straight. One day, he wouldn't be enough for me, and I
wouldn't be enough for him. Not today, but one day.

I also knew, sitting there, that Steve and his father deserved to know
about the baby. It would be my mother's decision, but I would tell her what
I thought. If I were Henry, I'd want to know. If I were Henry, I'd think I
deserved to know.

*****
My mother surprised me when I offered her my unsolicited advice. "I know,"
she said. "I've been thinking the same thing myself. I talked with Michael
about it, and he agrees. We're going to tell him."

"Holy shit."

"Yep. Holy shit."

"When are you going to do it?"

"We haven't decided yet."

"Can I watch?"

"No, Eric, you can't watch."

*****
The secret of the baby became an obstacle for me with Steve. Every time his
lips touched mine, I felt the weight of the pretense and secrecy. Every
time one of us pleasured the other, the rawness of the moment made me want
to share everything I knew.

One Saturday morning, Steve's father knocked on the door to Steve's room
right after we had finished. We had been loud, too loud, and we expected
him to insist that we be quieter in the future. Steve tried to put him off.
"We'll be down in a minute."

"Unlock the door, Steven Michael." Two names connoted a seriousness for
which we were not prepared, sitting in our underwear on the bed's edge as
Henry paced the room.

"Look, I've been kind of missing in action as a father recently. I was
confused by the fact you're both male, but I realized this morning as I
tried to ignore what I was hearing that the rules -- and your respect for
this house -- should be no different than if one of you were male and one
of you were female. If that were the case, you wouldn't expect to share a
bed under my roof, and you certainly wouldn't fill my house with the sounds
of sex on a quiet Saturday morning. I know I can't stop you from doing
whatever it is you two do. But, I can stop you both from being so damn
cavalier and disrespectful about it. Steven, I'm quite certain you don't
want to hear the sounds of lovemaking coming from my room, so I'm not sure
why you think the reverse is okay. It's not. I'm also quite certain you had
no expectation that your mother and I would let Sally or any other girl
share your bed, but you've just assumed it was okay for Eric. It's not.
Going forward, I expect more from both of you. Eric, Steve'll take you
home."

He was right. We'd been pretty selfish and self-centered. I would never
have subjected my mother to what we had subjected Steve's parents. And,
there's no way I'd have wanted to listen to the noises from my mother's
room that had emanated from Steve's in recent weeks. It was disappointing,
but we were going to have to start sneaking around, like all other
teenagers.

"Well, that's disappointing," Steve said.

"Yes, but he's right. I hadn't looked at it from that side. But, it now
seems totally presumptuous to think he has no say in it. I don't think my
mother would let us fuck under her nose."

"She let you and Evans sleep in her bed."

"I don't think she would have if she thought he might touch me."

"I guess we're going to have to start having sex in the back seat of the
car."

"I've never done that. It sounds kind of hot."

"It does," Steve said, grabbing his crotch through his shorts, and then
grabbing mine. Steve was not the defiant type, but he was in a defiant
mood.

"If we need to start sneaking around, we may as well start now," he said,
pinning my back to the wall, kissing me, and taking me in his hand. I took
him back, and we pleasured each other as we made out. Steve bit my tongue
and came in the hair above my dick. I responded on his thigh.

As we cleaned ourselves with socks, Steve said, "Please don't tell my dad."
We were still laughing as we bounded down the stairs, past Henry, and to
Steve's car.

Steve did not head straight to my apartment. Instead, he headed out of
Paris and down a rural route.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Steve drove for about twenty minutes and then pulled into a small, secluded
area with a picnic table. We didn't have any food, so we were clearly not
having a picnic.

Steve stepped out of the car, pulled off his shirt and jeans, and climbed
in the back seat. "Get back here," he insisted, and I did as instructed.

"If we're going to start sneaking sex in the car, we may as well practice."

"You're insatiable."

"We don't have to if you don't want to," he said, pulling his lips from
mine and feigning like he was going to get out of the car.

"Oh, no you don't," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him down on top of
me. "I always want to."

Steve hurriedly took me on my back. I hung my head off the back seat and
looked at the world upside down. I liked the perspective.

When Steve was finished, we dressed and settled next to each other on the
grass. It was March, but it was unseasonably warm. It was one of the first
balmy days of the year, and the ground was still cold under us.

Steve took my hand and suggested we spend the day in the clearing holding
hands.

A need overwhelmed me. "I have to tell you something first."

"Tell away. You know you can tell me anything."

"My mother's having your dad's baby."

"What?" he screeched, sitting up.

"My mother's having your dad's baby," I repeated, using the same inflection
and the same tone of voice.

"I heard you, Eric. Jesus Christ. Does he know?"

"Not yet, and you can't tell him. My mother's going to tell him."

Steve peeled toward the car. I had to hustle not to get left.

"When's she going to tell him?"

"I don't know."

"Find out, Eric. He deserves to know. I'll tell him if she doesn't soon."

"She will."

We drove in silence for about ten minutes before Steve pulled over, slammed
the car into park, and slammed his fists against the steering wheel. I had
never seen him like this.

"Jesus Christ, do you know how fucked up this is? I'm driving and thinking
and this is like some horrible movie that no one wants to see. My dad
fucked your mother, I'm fucking you, and we're going to share a sibling. I
know it's not incestuous, but it sure feels gross. All the way around."

My feelings were hurt, and I lashed out. "Is that what this is? You're
'fucking' me?"

"Goddamn, Eric, everything is not about you. This is about my dad and my
mom and a baby that no one knows about and that could tear everything
apart."

"Because, if that's all it is, it needs to stop." We were talking past each
other.

"How could your mother get pregnant? It's 1986, for Chris-sake."

My hair stood up. I would not tolerate an attack on my mother. "It's not
her fault. Your dad was there, too."

"What? Was she trying to trap him?"

"Oh my God, you are a neanderthal."

"Well?"

"No, Steven Michael, she wasn't trying to trap him. She didn't even want to
keep the baby. Michael talked her into it. She didn't want to tell your dad
at all, but decided she had to."

"How long have you known?"

"Awhile."

"How long's awhile?"

"I don't know."

"And you kept it from me? How could you do that? How could you tell me you
love me and let me tell you I love you and keep this monstrous secret
between us? You're a phony, Eric. You claim you don't like pretense, but
you pretend all the time. You wear makeup for the same reasons others wear
corduroys; it's who you want to be, not who you are. And, you claim you
don't like secrets, but you keep secret after secret after secret. You're a
fake just like the rest of us."

"It's not pretend," I insisted.

"It is. It's who you want to be, not who you are."

"And, it wasn't my secret to tell."

"But, you just fucking told it, Eric. Out loud. When it suited you."

My head was about to explode. I thought telling him was the right thing,
but everything was going wrong. I wanted to retreat to the clearing, hold
Steve's hand, and drift off to sleep.

"Can you please take me home?"

"No."

"What?"

"No. You have to walk. I can't be around you right now. Get out of my car.
Now!"

I got out of the car. I flipped Steve off through the back window as he
drove away. I was embarrassed by myself as I did.

To be continued.....