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[personal profile] kachelofen



I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW


PART FIVE

I sit in front of my painting, but I haven’t even started mixing any paints. I didn’t come here for that. I came to be alone, but that idea is shot to pieces by Jon being here. Just my rotten luck that he chooses tonight of all nights to work late. Since we met, I got to know him a little and I really like him. He's taciturn most of the time, but his silence speaks of self-sufficiency rather than moodiness or insecurity. When he has something to say, he does and it’s usually very funny.

At the moment I don’t want him to talk. I’m angry. With Brian, with Lindsay, with myself and the world in general. Sometimes I can’t believe the things that come out of Brian’s mouth. Melanie tells him that Lindsay is pregnant and he demands payment? I know he was just being flippant, covering his surprise and not wanting to lose face. But really, he couldn’t have tried just this once to react like a normal person? Or at least just shut the fuck up? No, he just had to taunt Melanie.

Even Brian can’t be so dense that he doesn’t realize that this changes everything, his whole life and it isn’t just about him anymore. The question is whether Brian can even comprehend something not being about him. I know how his mind works. He thinks he’ll be able to persuade Lindsay to have an abortion and then he’ll never think about it again.

It makes me angry sometimes that life seems to always give him an out. No matter what he does, he always comes out on top. All his friends fall over themselves to accommodate him all the time and to forgive him when he fucks up. No one ever makes any demands on him, so he has no reason to change, to grow. Although I’m not so very different in that.

But I think he may be mistaken this time. Because Lindsay will take this opportunity to bind their lives together permanently. There’s no way that she'll let him off the hook. And that just makes me angry. No one’s thinking of the child here. For Brian it’s an inconvenience he'd like to get rid of and for Lindsay it’s a means to an end. This has disaster written all over it. I’m torn between wishing that Lindsay will stick to her guns, so that Brian will have to face the music for once and hoping that she'll opt for an abortion because no child should have to start life with those odds.

And I’m angry with myself. I've been with Brian for over four years and in all that time I've made very little headway. He still drinks and takes drugs like being drunk and high is the ultimate goal in life, he still tricks like we’re not even in a relationship because he won’t acknowledge that we are. I've been trying to steer him towards a more moderate behavior, but whenever anything or anyone touches on his insecurities, he goes off the rails.

I’m tired. I’m tired of being all-understanding and all-forgiving. After all this time, I’m starting to ask myself when my needs will be taken into consideration. Just because I understand Brian doesn’t mean that his behavior doesn’t hurt. And the only person I can ever talk to is Daphne, because everyone else always just tells me to let go, to leave him, to think of myself for a change. But how can I? I knew very early on in the relationship that it was going to be tough. It was tough from the beginning, but I took it on and I promised myself that I would see it through. Only, I'd like to see some results, just some little ones. Is that too much to ask?

Brian craves attention, but he craves love even more. If he would only let himself be loved without being scared of it, his life would be so much easier – and mine, too. I could never let him go because that would just tell him that he was right all along. It would crush him and I couldn’t do that to him. But on days like these I'm just hanging on by the skin of my teeth, telling myself over and over again how young he is and that there’s still time. And I try to silence the voice at the back of my mind which tells me that maybe his need is greater than my love. Maybe there isn’t enough love in the world to fill the void inside of him.

Jon comes ambling over and stands next to me, looking at my painting.

“Boyfriend trouble?”

I nod. “You have no idea.”

He just stands there as if my painting, which has only a few lines on it so far, is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. Over the last three weeks I've decided that he’s one of the coolest guys I've ever met. He has effortlessly managed to convey the fact that he likes me without ever saying a word. I haven’t worked out yet whether his liking me means that he wants to fuck, have a relationship or just be friends. Since all I’m offering is the latter, not knowing is good enough for now.

“It’s Brian,” I say finally. Jon has met Brian a few times and he seems merely entertained by his cruising, which I’m sure vexes Brian no end, while it amuses me in equal measures.

“Well, duh, since he’s the boyfriend.”

That’s all he has to say and the words just pour out of me. It’s really liberating to speak to someone who doesn’t know me or Brian and has no preconceived ideas about us. Of course, it takes longer that way. Our relationship is so complex and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, so I’m trying to paint an objective picture of what’s going on that doesn’t cast Brian as the villain or me as an angel. I always hate it when people ask me why I’m even with Brian as if I’m just a feeble idiot.

After nearly twenty minutes, I get to the point I’m at now, still reeling from Melanie’s revelation earlier on and Brian’s reaction. Jon has pulled up a stool next to mine and hasn’t said much throughout. I don’t know what I’m expecting from him, certainly no great insights or solutions. It was nice enough just to be allowed to talk.

“So, you’re not exclusive?”

Or maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He either wasn’t paying attention or he’s gearing up to make a pass at me. Only, there’s no flirtation, he just seems to be pondering something.

“Of course not. Weren’t you listening?”

“But you play safe?”

“Always. Why?”

“No condom, dude.”

“Huh?”

“You may be gay but surely even you must know how it works, Justin. Pregnant means no condom.”

And that just proves that no matter how shitty things are, they can always get worse.

Why didn’t I think of that? Up until today it wasn’t really an issue. Brian and I have always used condoms. We never even discussed not using them, not once. With all the other sexual partners in our relationship, it would have been complete madness. I always trusted him in this. And I assumed that he'd used one with Lindsay, too.

So what happened? He thought because Lindsay is a lesbian, he didn’t need protection? Because Lindsay is such a goody-two-shoes that she couldn’t possibly have anything nasty? That's some judgment call. Or was he too drunk and drugged out to bother? He says he can’t remember anything. And if that’s the case, how many other times has he been in that state and played Russian Roulette with his dick? He’s not exactly known for his moderation at the best of times.

I don’t feel particularly at risk from Lindsay. But wasn’t he worried about her? With his lifestyle, it’s careless in the extreme to have sex with her without a condom. I didn’t think he would endanger her like that. And why didn’t she make sure they were safe? Presumably she was more in control. Was she so keen to have him as a father for her child that she risked everything for that chance?

Either way, I don’t like the alternatives. Whether he did it without a condom because he was too far gone to bother or because he didn’t care that he was putting Lindsay at risk, I’m beginning to wonder if I even know him. This is one scenario I would have considered improbable, if not impossible, not so long ago.

Jon pats my shoulder in a friendly manner and when I look at him, he seems genuinely sympathetic.

“Didn’t mean to make it worse, dude.”

“S’alright. Not your fault.”

That’s the second time I’m telling someone that today. People seem to feel sorry for me and the only person who should apologize would never do it. Because he doesn’t owe me anything, not even consideration. At least not according to his philosophy.

Jon gets up and strolls back over to his half-finished sculpture, but he must be finished for the night because he's starting to clean his tools. I should go home, too. Or go somewhere at least, maybe Babylon. Some vigorous dancing or a trip to the backroom would be very welcome right now. I don’t feel like going home because I can’t face Brian just yet. I would probably scream at him. If he’s even there still. Avoidance is one of his favorite tactics. It’s quite possible that I won’t see him for quite a while.

As I haven’t started painting yet, I don’t have anything to clean up, so I just put my jacket on and make my way to the door. I should say something to Jon, maybe thank him, but I can’t think of anything. I linger in the doorway, and watch him rub down a saw as if that’s his only concern in life. I like that about him, that he can get so lost in his work.

It only takes me four strides from the door over to him. I pull on his arm to turn him towards me and, ignoring his surprised expression, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. He can’t really do anything about it because he has his hands full, but I can feel him fumbling about for the table to put the saw and the cloth down and then he grabs me and pulls me close. He smells faintly of oil and metallic smoke.

When I break the kiss and start undoing his pants, he puts his hands on mine to stop me. I look up into his eyes.

“You’re just venting, right?” he says.

“Yeah.”

He nods a few times. “Okay.” Then he pulls me into another kiss and I can feel his hands down my pants and my brain switches off just after the thought that I’m going to be naked on his work bench after all.

When I get home, I’m surprised to find Brian still there. I have a shower and then I crawl into bed next to him. For the first time since I met him, I wish I was alone. I need to get my thoughts and my feelings straight. Fucking Jon was a stupid thing to do because I like the guy and that probably ruined any chance of us becoming real friends. That's my only regret. I don’t have any friends outside the family, apart from Daphne, and Jon would have been perfect.

And then there’s Brian. I’m no longer angry with him, it’s more like disappointment. And at the same time I have that low-grade feeling of guilt that I always have when I’ve been tricking. I know he doesn’t care and he would laugh at my guilty conscience, but it’s there nonetheless. He doesn’t get to dictate my morals and I'll never accept that tricking should be quite that casual.

And I have an indistinct feeling of sadness and despair when I think of how little he cares about what I’ve been doing, our relationship, my life in general. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Sometimes I get so lonely it hurts and strangely enough I feel like that even when he’s right there – especially when he’s right there.

I’m lying next to him and try to sleep. I know he’s still awake, but he wouldn’t want to talk anyway. Not his style. And I don’t want to have sex. I wish he was better at reading my moods, but even if he was, he wouldn’t give me what I need. After a while, I turn onto my side and I move a little closer toward him, not quite touching, just close enough to feel a little of his heat on my back, so that I won’t feel so damned alone.

I can hear the bedcovers rustle and feel the mattress dip a little more and then he’s there, molded against my back with his arm thrown over my body, pulling me even closer. I rest my hand on his forearm encircling my chest and close my eyes. Occasionally he can read me just fine and in those moments I don’t have any doubts at all.





Brian is still asleep by the time I leave for work the next day. I don’t know what he’ll make of the fact that I don’t wake him for sex like I usually do, but I can’t worry about that right now. I have to think before I can deal with him.

Work is busy as usual. We’re preparing a new exhibition for unknown artists. Sidney wanted to call it ‘Warhol’s Heirs’ but I thought it would give the wrong impression and not every piece of art coming out of Pittsburgh needs to be connected with Warhol. So we're calling it simply 'Emerging Artists'. I will have two pieces in the show, which I'm quietly pleased about.

So far I’ve sold three paintings through the gallery – in two years. It’s a start, I suppose. Two of them got mentioned in the papers, but Pittsburgh is just too provincial to make an impact anywhere else. So when Sidney tells me he's secured the attendance of Simon Caswell, the New York critic who writes for Art Forum, I’m excited. It’s a great opportunity for me and the other artists in the show.

I take advantage of the early closing today to pay a visit to Daphne. She looks slightly flushed when she opens the door to me and after four years with Brian, it sets off an immediate warning in my brain.

“Bad time?”

She pulls a face. “Kinda.”

I nod. “I’ll come back another time.”

She grins in agreement, then changes her mind, turning serious. “No. You look like you had a reason to come here. Come in.”

I’m a bit reluctant, but she just grabs my arm and pulls me inside all the way to the living room. Steve, who’s recumbent on the couch, startles and then stands up in a hurry, buttoning up his shirt. “Hey, Justin.” He looks about and finds his spectacles, which he cleans on his shirt tail a little before putting them on.

“Hey.” I look at Daphne, a little uncomfortable for the first time since I’ve known her. I’ve never before been unsure whether I’m entirely welcome.

I met Steve a couple of weeks ago when Daphne brought him to Woody’s. I think it was her litmus test and he passed with flying colors. Brian was there as well and spent twenty minutes making increasingly explicit passes at Steve, who laughed all of them off. Then Brian congratulated Daphne on the fact that her boyfriend is definitely straight and went to play pool. He came back after two games and started molesting me at the table. He kissed me and whispered dirty suggestions in my ear just loud enough for the other two to hear, while they watched with obvious amusement. Finally Brian gave up and went back to the pool table. I was convinced that he'd be ticked off enough to find a trick, but he didn’t and I had a long discussion with Daph and Steve about the psychological meaning of Modern Art. It was a pleasant evening.

“No Brian today?” Steve says with a smile.

“No, you’re safe today.”

“Shame. I like being chased.” He grins at Daphne, who grins back and raises her eyebrows. I’ve never seen her like this before. She’s been seeing Steve for a few weeks now, since she met him at that symposium she went to. I like him, but he has that boy-next-door look that I didn’t think would ever attract Daphne, never mind keeping her interested for this long. Although his spectacles make him look somewhat hot, in a studious kind of way.

“I’ll be upstairs,” he says and ambles out of the room, picking up a book from the table as he goes.

“I’m sorry, Daph, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“It’s almost impossible not to interrupt anything at the moment.”

“Really?” I look at the open door Steve disappeared through. “He doesn’t look it.” He looks like his idea of entertainment is what he’s doing now, reading a book – a textbook.

“Yeah. Isn’t it great?” She leaves the room for a moment and I sit down on the couch, after scrutinizing it for suspicious stains. Then I take one of the beers she brings back with her.

“So what’s he done this time?” she asks, settling next to me.

I already told her about Lindsay when I found out, so I tell her about the pregnancy and about Brian’s reaction and I don’t even leave out what happened with Jon.

“Lindsay won’t give up the baby,” she says with certainty. “She’s in love with him. She won’t give up that connection.”

I’m inclined to agree with her on that score. My problem is more with Brian. His reaction, first to sleeping with Lindsay and then to her being pregnant, has shattered my belief in him a little. He can be very callous and I always assumed it was just bravado. When he treats me that way, he usually comes round after a while and makes up for it somehow. But maybe that’s only because he wants something from me. Maybe he really is that cold when he doesn’t have anything to gain.

“He seems to want your help,” she says.

“How did you work that one out?”

“He’s been staying with you since it happened, hasn’t he?”

“He was hiding from Lindsay. And maybe softening me up for the big blow up when everybody finds out. So that I defend him like the loyal little boyfriend that I am.”

“Yeah, because that is so you. No will of your own. Have you considered that his reason for staying with you all this time may be something completely different?”

“Like what?”

“Maybe he’s just scared what you’ll do. He knows he’s fucked up, so maybe he’s just there all the time because he hopes he can stop you from breaking up with him. Or he’s just trying to enjoy what time he has left with you before it happens.”

I stare at my bottle. I wish I could be sure that what she says is true, because right now I need something to believe in. “He had sex without a condom, Daph.”

There’s a pause while she waits, but when I don’t say anything else, she says quietly, “But you’re not worried about the risks, are you?”

I glare at her. “Of course I am. And so should he be. If he was so convinced that she’s clean, then he should at least have had enough consideration for her safety. They’re friends. And if he was too stoned for that, then I have to ask myself, how often he does it without a condom with other guys.”

“All good points, but that’s not really what’s bothering you, is it?”

“Well, enlighten me, by all means, what is bothering me then?”

She just looks at me. Sometimes it’s really hard to be friends with her, or rather sometimes it’s really hard to hear what she has to say, or in this case, what she makes me say. I look away and start picking at the label on my bottle. Daphne has nearly unending patience. It must be a professional trait.

The silence stretches between us. She’s watching me, but I can’t look at her, not even when I finally speak. I hate how small my voice sounds. “I thought that was the one thing he would only do with me.”



*******



Running always clears my head. At the end of the course, some things have crystallized into clarity. For starters, I’m going to be a father and that freaks me out. I don’t want this. The thought of having a child never entered my head before. What the fuck do I have to offer? The only thing I know for certain is that I'll never lay hand on a kid. That’s a no-brainer and should be for everyone. But you can’t define your role in someone’s life by what you’re not doing. It needs to be about what you’re willing to do.

I know that being the father gives me certain responsibilities. By law, I'll be expected to pay for the kid, even I know that. So when I start work next year, part of my paycheck will go to Lindsay. That’s not too bad, better than having to drop out of college. The baby isn’t due until after graduation and me actually graduating would benefit everyone. And I’m kind of glad that Lindsay will be graduating, too.

But apart from that, what else am I supposed to do? I won’t play happy families with Lindsay, that’s for sure. I just can’t. It would be a recipe for disaster. The most I can offer is the occasional uncredited guest appearance. But maybe that would do more harm than good. If the kid gets used to me, he or she might need more and I can’t give more. I can’t have anyone relying on me because I'd fuck it up. I always do. And is it really so desirable to have someone like me around anyway? Someone who drinks and takes drugs and has more or less redefined promiscuity? Some role model I would be. I’ll be doing the poor thing a favor if I stay away.

I wonder if Lindsay’s parents will be willing to help out. She needs a place to stay and various other things, but if I take too much of an interest, she’ll get her hopes up again. And if I don’t take enough of an interest, my kid will grow up in a shithole. It might take years until I can offer any decent financial support. Will Lindsay even be able to cope living on her own? She’s not the most resourceful person. But maybe she doesn’t have to be.




Melanie stares at me in disbelief, when she comes in after her lunch break. I have my feet up on her desk, idly watching the smoke rings I’m blowing and grin at her.

“What the fuck are you doing in my office? How did you get in here?” She walks past me to sit behind her desk, giving my feet a good shove to dislodge them from the table.

“I told your secretary I’m an old friend.”

“And he believed you?”

I shrug. “He’s gay. How could he resist me?”

“God, please tell me you didn’t fuck him.”

I could tell her that and it would be the truth – there was really no time for that – but where would be the fun in that? So I just grin.

She sighs. “What do you want, Kinney?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Her eyebrows come up, making me slightly queasy even thinking about what she’s thinking. Judging by her face, she’s feeling the same way. “Not that kind of a proposition. A deal. Between you and me.”

“You have nothing I could possibly want.”

“Well, there’s Lindsay. And the little matter of a baby.”

She starts looking through one of her files. “Lindsay’s no longer my concern.”

I lean forwards and dump my cigarette end in the coffee cup she left on her desk. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Here’s the deal. You get back with Lindsay, as you want to anyway – don’t lie – and to make things sweeter for you, I promise to stay away from the kid.”

“Promise?” She snorts. “Like I’d fall for that.” She pauses, while looking at me speculatively and scratching one of her wrists. “Here’s my deal. You sign your parental rights over to me and stay away from the baby, and that will release you from all financial obligations.”

“Sweet. Set it up and I’ll sign.”

She looks disgusted. What is it with women that when you make it easy for them, they don’t like it? She’s reacting exactly the same way Lindsay did this morning. “Legally, you can’t sign anything until the baby’s born. But Brian… this is permanent. You signing your rights over, means exactly that: you’ll have no rights to the child whatsoever.”

“Why do you sound like you’re trying to talk me out of this? This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I wanted a child with Lindsay. Not with you and Lindsay.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that she loves me more than you.”

“That’s all it is for you, isn’t it? A competition. As long as everybody loves you best, all’s well in your world. Never mind what a mess it creates in other people’s lives. That’s why you can’t stand me, isn’t it? Because I can see right through you and you’ll never win me over.”

“The reason I can’t stand you is because you’re a bitch.”

“Well, at least I’m not an asshole.”

“Yeah, that would be kind of redundant with you being a muff-diver and all.”

She bristles. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Wait.” I tap my thumbnail against my front teeth for a moment to gather my resolve. Making concessions to Melanie is really not my idea of fun. “My kid has the right to grow up in a house with two loving parents. I can’t provide that. So I’m here to make sure that someone else does.”

There’s a long pause. She’s looking at me and I take out another cigarette, waiting for her reply, just looking back at her. “Maybe you are trying to do the right thing for once. First time for everything. Okay, I won’t stop you from seeing the baby if we meet somewhere, let’s say at Debbie’s or the diner. But I don’t want you round my house to play daddy either. And no visitation rights.”

She’s only doing what’s sensible anyway. She can’t stop Lindsay from giving me access and she probably knows that. Unless she wants to apply the strong arm of the law, of course, and get out a restraining order or something. But I’m not worried about that. “I don’t want visitation rights. Or spend time in your house. The kid’s all yours.”

“Good. Then we’re clear. I’ll set up a letter of intent for you to sign for now. And when the baby’s born, you’ll sign over your parental rights to me.”

“Fine.” I get up and walk towards the door. This really went a lot easier than I anticipated.

“And Brian?”

I turn to her and raise my eyebrow.

“You fuck me over on this one and you’ll live to regret it. There’s a child to consider.”

“Don’t worry, Mel. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last person on Earth.”

She huffs a laugh, shakes her head and turns to her computer. On the way out, I stop by her secretary’s desk long enough to persuade him to follow me into the men’s room.




Justin isn’t home when I get to the loft, although it’s early closing at the gallery. It works in my favor because it gives me time to have a shower. Recently he’s been so grouchy about absolutely everything that it’s probably a good idea not to throw my tricking in his face, especially since he hasn’t said anything about the baby yet.

All in all it hasn’t been a bad day. Okay, so I didn’t expect Lindsay wanting to keep the kid and I still think I could have persuaded her to get rid of it, but the idea’s starting to appeal to me. Not that I want to get involved but just in theory it’s cool. And with Melanie picking up the slack, I really have nothing to worry about. She even gave me an out where money is concerned so that when I choose a job, Lindsay and the baby won’t have to be considered.

I wonder whom they would have chosen as a father if it hadn’t happened like this. It sure as hell wouldn’t have been me. No way would Melanie have allowed that, nor would I ever have agreed. Maybe Justin. He'd make a great father.

When I come out of the shower, he’s there, emptying the dishwasher in the kitchen.

“Hey.”

He turns around and gives me a half-smile. “Hey.”

I walk over to the kitchen island, still in my towel, and watch him. He’s not very talkative tonight. Okay, so he hasn’t been very talkative for a while, but at the moment he practically ignores me, which he doesn’t often manage to do, especially when I’m only barely decent.

“Busy day at work, honey?” I ask in a facetious voice.

He straightens up from the dishwasher with some plates in his hands, but he’s not looking at me. “Can we not do this? I’m not in the mood.”

“You weren’t in the mood this morning either.”

“I’m sure you made up for it during the day. That’s why you had a shower, isn’t it? And I didn’t mean it like that.”

I walk around to his side of the island and lean against it. “So you are in the mood for a fuck?”

He sighs and gets some more plates. “Sure, if you want.”

Wow, I do like a challenge, but this isn’t even that. This is half-hearted compliance for reasons unknown. It’s not as if he has to say yes whenever I ask. He just always has so far. But I’m not fucking him when I can’t be sure that he actually wants it.

He’s finished with his task and turns around to look at me, maybe wondering why I haven’t pounced on him yet. I’m torn between going off to sulk or even go out and wanting to fuck him until all he can think of is my dick. He seems remote again and he looks incredibly tired.

He’s at one end of the kitchen and I’m at the other, but neither one of us is making a move. He looks into my eyes, then slowly down my body and back up again to my eyes. I give him my most seductive look, undressing him in my mind, but I keep coming back to his eyes. He’s not tired – or not just tired – he’s upset. I knew this whole situation would freak him out. Why does he always worry about things that only concern me, especially when I don’t even worry about them?

“Come here,” I say finally.

Justin moves closer in slow, measured steps and comes to a halt in front of me, his eyes raking over my naked chest. I know that any moment now his mind will switch off and his desire will take over. We’ve been through this before, numerous times. Whenever he has a problem with me, a fuck always seems to distract him well enough. Sometimes it even gets him talking.

I widen my stance a little and pull him closer by his shirt until he’s standing between my legs, our cocks already reacting to each other from being pressed together through the towel and his pants. I bend down a little and wait for him to meet me halfway for a kiss, which he returns with closed eyes. His arms come up around my torso and I can feel him getting harder.

After pulling his shirt off, I push his pants and underwear down far enough for him to wriggle out of them, but he remains passive. I can work with that. I slither down his body into a squatting position, leaving wet trails here and there with my tongue. It makes him shiver and twist to try and bring his cock to my mouth. Ignoring it only makes him try harder. I help him out of the rest of his clothes and my towel comes off as I straighten up.

For a while, we just kiss with our naked bodies rubbing against each other, but eventually I twist us around so that he’s between me and the worktop and I turn his back to me, running my tongue down his spine to his ass and back up finishing with a bite on his shoulder, just where it joins his neck. My cock is bumping against his ass urgently now and I spread him a bit to run it teasingly up and down his crack.

He stills. “Condom,” he says then and something in his voice makes me stop. It’s surprising that his tone even penetrates into my thoughts, which are full of fuck him now, right now.

“What?”

“Put on a condom. They’re in the drawer.”

Now that’s plain insulting. “I know where the fucking condoms are. Did you think I wasn’t gonna use one?”

I can see his whole body sag as if he’s deflating. I bet something else is deflating, too, because mine is – rapidly.

“You didn’t with Lindsay.”

“What? Of course, I did. I always use condoms. With everyone. I’m not an idiot.”

He turns around to look at me. “You said you can’t remember anything. And she’s pregnant. Do the math, Brian.”

“I don’t remember much, but I do remember a condom. Fuck, Justin, do you really think I’d do that?”

“How would you even know, when you’re that drunk and drugged out?”

“Because it’s important. I’ve never fucked anyone without a condom. That includes Lindsay.” Okay, so maybe I remember more of that night than I’m letting on. That’s because I don’t want to remember it, I don’t want to think about it or talk about it. I just want to forget it ever happened. And most of all, I want Justin to forget it ever happened.

“Are you sure?”

“You know what, Justin? Fuck you!”

I move away from him and stalk over to the bedroom. I can’t believe he’s accusing me of being that stupid or careless. Why would he think that? There are many fucks that I can’t remember, but I know – know – that I’ve used a condom for every single one of them. Because that part of the proceedings is important and the actual fuck is only important while it happens.

It takes a while for him to follow me, carrying his clothes and my towel. I’m sitting on the bed, stubbing out the cigarette I’ve just finished. Without looking at me, he drops the stuff in his arms into the hamper and then comes to sit next to me on the bed.

“So how did it happen?” he asks.

I shrug. “They’re not one hundred percent effective, are they?”

He’s quiet for a while and I know there’s something still bothering him. If he doesn’t come out with it soon, I’m going out because this silent treatment is getting boring.

“I thought you did it without a condom,” he says then, still looking at the floor by his feet.

“I’m not that stupid.”

“But you’re not always in control, are you?”

“I’m always that much in control.”

He nods, but I know he’s unconvinced. I hate it when he’s like this, so quiet and withdrawn. So I lie back on the bed and I pull him with me, kissing and touching him in all the right places. He’s beautifully responsive. It’s even more of a turn-on when he’s semi-reluctant like he is today. It doesn’t take long for him to start writhing under my hands.

“Do you dream of me fucking you raw?”

His eyes snap open and he looks at me as if I just caught him out. Bingo.

“You want me to come in your tight little ass?”

He smiles a little half-smile. “Eventually, I wanna be the one, yes. If I ever get to do that, I want it to be you and me.”

Jeez, he’s such a lesbian sometimes. I hand him a condom and tell him to put it on me. Then I turn him over and push into him. Finally. It’s been too long since the last time and there's been entirely too much talk beforehand. But I know that he’s still stuck in his own little world.

I thrust once or twice and then I pause because I want him to really hear me when I say this. “I would never fuck anybody without a condom. I’d never do that to you. I want you safe. And I want you around for a long time.”

I shiver a little when Justin sighs out my name.




Part Six here:  http://kachelofen.livejournal.com/23178.html



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kachelofen

July 2014

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