My Hero

"He changed the locks and threw everything I owned out onto the street. I was at work at the time, and when I came back half of it was already gone or vandalised. My friends magically melted away when I started turning to them for help -- hey, that really suits the metaphor of me being a flamer."

"I'll write it down," I say. "Keep going."

Otis hesitates, and then shows me the mysterious name tattooed on his arm. I know it reads 'Nicholaus'. I have long since managed to read it and assumed it was an old mistake, but don't know the full story behind the name.

"Nicholaus... He was that boyfriend?"

"Yes... I got it when I thought we were in love. After we split, I used to think about getting the tattoo removed, but that'd be like taking out a chunk of your brain, and we've all seen on TV what happens then."

"You turn into a mad but loveable scientist," I remark with a wry grin. I'm extraordinarily happy that he's able to talk about this with me, and he's been able to leave behind the suffering and hatred and walk away a better man.

"So I keep his tattoo to remind myself not to get close to anyone... unless I'm sure the guy is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

That touches me in an indescribable way. I kiss him deeply.

"What happened next?"

Otis shrugs. "Small conservative town -- what do you expect? My boss finds out I'm gay, and I'm fired on the spot. No family, no friends, no place to live and no work. So I hitch-hike to the big, progressive city and start afresh."

I've had enough Otis revelations today, so I don't blurt it out loud, but I think I've puzzled out why he doesn't have a room-mate.

Everything about Otis's coming out story tells me not to, but the idea really grows on me that night. I don't want to have doubts about whether my mother truly loves me or not. But I also don't want to see how much further Dad and I will drift apart.

Nicholaus failed Otis when he needed him the most. He couldn't come out for the sake of their relationship. Our situation isn't as dire, but I tell myself if I can't come out I will be no better than that scumbag of an ex.

By morning my mind is made up.

Otis drives us down to my parents' place the weekend before the next school term starts. I tell them over the phone I'm visiting, and my mother is delighted. She gushes over the phone how much she and my father have missed me, and wants to treat me to a home-cooked dinner to welcome me home.

We get there as the sun is setting.

I hug and kiss Mum and Dad, and introduce Otis as my friend to them. We sit in the living room on two sofas that face each other while we catch up. Lemonade is served, and everything is going great. Otis is charming and wins them over straight away, so I get right to it.

I drop the bomb.

My mother is stunned, but I watch Dad carefully. He's slumps back in the sofa and looks defeated, like I've kicked the air from his lungs.

"Dad..." I say, but he doesn't hear me.

I'm so focused on my father I don't hear Otis shouting, or see my mother's hand as she leans forward and slaps me across the face.

My ears ring, and the world spins dizzyingly as my head snaps to the side.

I haven't been struck by anyone since Arthur. If anything, my time with Otis has spoilt me with kindness and compassion. Partly fuelled by outrage, but mostly a primordial instinct to never be beaten into a submission again, I lose my shit.

I launch myself at her over the coffee table, screaming and shouting obscenities. I smash both of our drinks and get glass everywhere.

Otis has his arms around my midsection in the blink of an eye, and is pulling me away. My mother is screaming at me, tears streaming down her face while Dad just sits there, seeing nothing and hearing nothing.

"You can't be gay! Please, Peter, please, not my little baby boy! I didn't raise a son, only to have him become a faggot! I don't want you to throw it all away when you die of fucking aids!"

It's not so much what she's saying makes me feel worthless, but the urgency in her voice. She's screaming her throat raw, pleading and crying so hard the cords in her neck jut out and her eyes turn pink, like she's absolutely certain she could never love me just because I'm gay.

I'm hurting her. I'm hurting her by being me. I love her so much, and it's like she's suddenly been replaced by a creature who spits only hate and blame.

Mum stomps into the kitchen to cry, and I follow her with Otis in tow. I'm crying now, which only seems to make her angrier. Apparently I don't have a right to be upset if my parents disown me, because I'm the one in love with another man. I plead and she screams, I try to reason with her and she screams. Then she realises Otis is my boyfriend and slaps me again for bringing 'another faggot' into her home.

I see red and go at her with everything I've got.

Call me faggot, say I'll die of aids -- that's fine. Throw whatever you want at me, but leave my boyfriend out of it. He's not just 'another faggot', not even close to it.

We punch and kick and slap each other. She's landing more hits on me and I don't even care. I love her and hate her, and I don't know what to do. Otis separates us -- that's when my mother pulls a knife off the magnetic board on the wall. I watch in a daze as she swings it at me -- me, her own son, and I know I'm dead to her. And she is dead to me.

Otis blocks the knife with a forearm. My mother claws at his face -- he turns his head away to avoid the attack, and my mother swings the knife again and rakes a deep gash down the side of his arm. Otis grunts with pain, clutches his arm and takes a step back. My arms are around him in a heartbeat. I'm frightened and don't know what to do. He holds a hand to the cut, but it doesn't quite cover it all and blood rapidly bubbles out and trickles over his fingers.

That puts an end to it.

My mother drops the knife into the sink with a loud clatter, shocked at what she's done. Where was that last shred of decency a second ago, you bitch, before you nearly killed my boyfriend?

"C'mon, we gotta go," says Otis gruffly, dragging me sobbing from my parent's house.

Otis is bleeding heavily. I go to take my shirt off so he can use it as a bandage and stem the flow, but my father comes running out of the house.

"Stay back!" Otis roars furiously.

He steps in front of me protectively, blocking Dad with his body, ready to keep him at bay with a bloodied, clenched fist. But Dad stops a few paces away from Otis with his hands raised in peace.

"Please Peter, I just want to talk," he implores.

Otis checks with me and I nod. I shuffle closer to my father, but not too close.

His face is pale from the stress of everything that's happened and I can see he's struggling to get the words out. I tense, ready to run in case he suddenly swings at me. My mind even goes as far as to wonder whether he's purposely delaying our departure so Otis bleeds to death. Or maybe my mother sent him out here, as a last, desperate resort to try and convert me into the straight son she wants.

"Talk," I order him brusquely.

"I still love you," Dad blurts out, the same way I say things I'm afraid of saying. "I don't care if you're gay. You're my son and I love you. I will always love you no matter what. You... You know that, right Peter?"

No, I didn't. I never knew my father loved me this much. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and there's an aching lump in my throat.

Dad opens his arms for a hug. His cheeks are wet with his own tears. It's too much. I start blubbering like a baby and I hug him. Dad is crying with me, his body shakes as he sobs, and I've never felt closer to him.

"We've got to go," I say thickly after a while, pulling away from Dad and wiping my nose. "Otis is hurt pretty bad."

Dad apologises for my mother and pulls some blue and white chequered tea-towels hanging from his back pocket. He hands them to Otis. My boyfriend takes them with a 'thank you', and starts binding the cut.

Dad pulls me in for another hug.

"Stay in touch, son. I'll try bring your Mum around. Otis! You take care of Peter for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Benson."

"He already does, Dad," I say into his shoulder, and then he runs back into the house.

Otis watches me with teary eyes, and I give him a weak smile before the tears spill out again. At least I'm no longer sobbing. I help him dress the gash on his arm and let him hold me while we lean against the car.

"We've got to get to the hospital," I croak, pulling away, but Otis shushes me gently and pulls me back into his embrace.

"My arm's fine," he assures me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

I need his love and support more than ever right now, so I let him let me be selfish. He gently rubs my back while I cry into his chest and tell him how sorry I am he got hurt. I finally calm down peel my wet cheek off Otis's shirt which is soaked through with blood, sweat and tears. That's one phrase I'll never use again.

"Can you do the driving?" Otis asks with a grimace.

I fish the car keys from his pockets. We hop in the car and I use the GPS on my phone to find the nearest hospital. As I reverse out of my parent's driveway, I wonder if it's my last visit.

"You should call the police and get my mother arrested," I suggest savagely, breaking the silence a few minutes later, but Otis shakes his head.

"I want to be with you Peter. I want to be a part of your life, and that includes your family."

"Well count my mother out. She's beyond help, Otis. Did you see the look on her face?"

"You're lucky to have such an accepting Dad. Maybe he will help her see you're the same boy she raised and loved."

I snort angrily.

"Tough chance."

"I lost both my parents to ignorance, baby, and there's not a day that goes by where I don't wish I still have them. It's not too late for your mother, not while there's a chance. Promise me you won't hate her for the way she acted tonight. More hate isn't... isn't going to change anything."

"You're too fucking good for me, Otis, you know that?"

He doesn't respond.

I look over and the tea towels are dark red and the stain is slowly working its way into his shirt and jeans. Otis has his head back on the headrest and his face is pale. He's lost a lot of blood.

"Otis?"

He murmurs softly in reply, too quiet for me to hear, and my stomach does an odd flip.

"Otis? Talk to me, baby."

The streets are empty and I've already broken the speed limit by now, so I go even faster.

The wound turns out to be lot worse off than Otis claimed once the doctor gets a look at it. It's jagged and there's a chance of permanent damage. He needs a ton of stitches as well as an antibiotics treatment. They want to keep him for overnight observation, but Otis shakes his head and says he just wants to be alone with me.

"How bad can it be if I don't have to stay here?" he tells me.

The nurses instruct me carefully on what to do if any complications should arise, give me his painkillers, and then I drive us back home.

We don't get back until half past five in the morning. Otis is groggy from the drugs, but I'm still wide awake. I perch on the couch and keep running last night through my head, over and over, reliving the nightmare.

Otis passes me my sketchbook and a pencil and I look up guiltily. I'm meant to be the one taking care of him.

"What's this for?" I ask.

"You're hurting, babe. Let your mind take a break and your hands will take care of your healing."

He takes his medication and settles at the end of the couch to keep me company but soon dozes off. I set the sketchbook aside to drape a blanket over him, kiss his sweaty forehead, and then sit back down and flip the book open.

But I don't let my mind roam free. I channel it directly to the one stable, secure thing in my life. I sketch Otis. I give him a heroic pose, and add a squiggle of chest hair on his chest. When I'm done, I scratch the words 'My Hero' under him. It sums up how I see him right now. How I've always seen him.

I turn the page and redraw Otis semi-realistically, this time taking inspiration from the way Otis first drew me the time we sat on the roof and did portraits. I capture the heaviness of his brows and the wary look he sometimes gets in his eyes. Then I draw myself next to him with my shoulder length hair tied back and wearing a sad, timid smile.

Then to my own surprise I draw Arthur. A man I am no longer afraid of thanks to Otis. I get every detail down, from the visible overuse of product in his hair to the tee-shirt so tight it looks like it would split apart if he yawned.

As the sun steadily climbs its way to midday, I end up filling pages and pages with character sketches. I can't stop drawing them.

Otis wakes up and I get him some water and help him to the bathroom. He flips through my sketches curiously before falling asleep again.

There is the entire staff of Exile immortalised in my pages, as well as Steve the grey bear, the art teacher from our first class, the nude models, Janet and Kyle and a few other faces I remember. I draw the nice grey-haired lady who serves Otis his potato bake every Monday, and the skinny youth who serves the same thing on Thursday. The last two characters I draw before I curl up next to Otis to sleep are my father, and then lastly my mother.

**

As the school term starts again, I find myself juggling my new life and my school workload with difficulty.

It comes as no surprise when my mother cuts off my apartment and allowance. The landlord gives me 48 hours to clear the apartment. Otis asks me to move in with him and I say yes without a second thought. I spend so much of my time there anyway there isn't much of a difference after the move. My two bag's worth of belongings fit right into his bedroom and we sleep in the same bed, which leads to the spare room being refurbished into a 2-person art studio.

I guess we fuck a lot more often now and with greater spontaneity. We have sex in the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the living room floor... all over the place. So thanks for that, Mum.

Otis can't work due to his arm so I go looking for a job. Ralph, Otis's boss, gives me a position at the bar and the barkeepers there help me get a serving license so I can legally work there. I help collect the glasses and restock the alcohol, occasionally pour drinks behind the bar for customers and do some light clean-up work behind the scenes. It's barely a job, but I think Ralph is cutting me some slack and paying me a full wage because I'm Otis's partner and Otis is injured.

At the same time I embark on a personal healing project. It begins with me building on the character sketches of people in my life. I recreate the events of my first night at Exile on paper, storyboarding it as though it is a comic. I externalise all my fear and shame, and when it's done I look at it and see it as just another important step in my life. If anything, I feel glad that it brought me and Otis together. It instils me with a sense of closure.

Once that's done, however, I feel the need to keep going. I start to storyboard every other part of my life leading up to the present day, from our first dinner together to our first kiss. Before long, I realise I'm putting together an autobiographical graphic novel.

I work on my graphic novel whenever I have a free moment, and once Otis's arm heals (no permanent damage) he helps me out. Together we make a natural team. I storyboard, he inks beautifully, and we both handle the colour on the computer. He bows down to my style of colouring and emulates it perfectly. We both write it, of course.

He doesn't question my project's end goal. "If it's something that gives you the resolution you need, you've got my support," he says to me. He even buys a second-hand Cintiq, an expensive top-of-the-range drawing tablet to assist in my efforts, knowing full well I'd faint if he purchased one at full retail price.

We finish the semester and start the next.

Around the same time Ralph hires me as a freelance artist and I do some advertisement posters and fliers for events held at the premises. That leads to a bunch of other freelance offers, and soon I have work and money flowing in. Unfortunately that means I don't get much time to work on my project. I keep my job at Exile though, in case the job offers dry up.

Matt also comes up to me in the same week and casually asks if he can be in a threesome with us.

His question leaves me speechless, and he asks me again as though I didn't hear him.

"But you're not gay," I blurt out.

"That doesn't mean I can't have sex with another guy. Trust me, I'll make you squeal. It'll be worth it."

"Did you and Otis ever...?"

"Yeah, he fucked my ass once when he first started working here. I asked him to. He wasn't into the whole casual hook-up thing though, and I didn't think I could take such a huge cock again, so it ended on good terms. How the heck do you do it?"

"It's a gay thing," I joke. "You've just got to really, really love cock."

"Ha! Anyways, I'm serious. Think about it."

Jasmine has been hanging out with me, Janet and Kyle ever since my birthday, and being around Jasmine has piqued my interest in such activities -- I suspect the two of them are working in tandem. Nothing says love like helping your fiancé have a threesome with two gay men.

I'm curious and Otis is game, so after a discussing it further and laying down some rules we invite Matt over, use protection and have a blast.

I'm the lucky piglet in the middle of two bears.

"There's nothing quite like having a stiff cock in either end," I confide to Otis after Matt has his fun and departs, and that turns him on so much we have sex again on the sweaty sheets.

We bring Matt back again and again after that. He comes by once a week. He's just as horny as Otis is, and is eager to try anything, including letting Otis fuck him again.

We do other things first, however, to build up to that. On his second visit I suck off his thick, stubby cock, and bury my nose in his curly orange pubes. After being with Otis, deep-throating Matt's 6-inch cock is easy.

"Oh fuck, you've got to give Jasmine some pointers next time you two hang," Matt moans while I suck him off. Otis climbs onto the bed to put Matt's idle mouth to work.

Matt comes into my mouth -- it's not as sweet as Otis's come, but drives me into a frenzied lust just the same. I'm eager to have him fuck me, and Otis says he wants to join in, so Matt rims me deep and tongue-fucks my ass until he's hard again, and then puts on a condom and fucks me. Otis slides inside Matt halfway through, and Matt comes almost at once. I wriggle free and clean Matt off with my tongue, and then scoot back to watch.

It's incredibly hot watching my boyfriend stick it to someone else. I can see the pleasure and pain flit across Matt's face, and witness Otis's body in action. I'm hard again before Otis is done, so Matt takes his turn being the pig on the spit.

On his third visit, it's an Otis sandwich.

With my day job, school work and freelance work, being with Otis and playing with Matt, my healing project crawls to a halt.

**

The end of the year rushes up to us in no time at all.

We graduate and get our qualifications on paper, if not already in our now bulked-out portfolios. There's another public exhibition and we do a moody landscape piece that covers an entire wall in a series of canvases, running from the entrance all the way to the back rooms. It takes us ages to complete it and we run into some problems with space allotment, but the school administration decides to promote it as one of their feature pieces and we get the entire wall to ourselves.

All the time spent on the landscape artwork pays off. It's halfway through the opening night and I'm talking to the teacher Otis and I shared in the first semester, thanking her for the invaluable advice she gave in her first lesson, when Otis runs up to me.