The Boy in Makeup

"Why not?"

"One, they're going to come looking for us soon. I don't think they should find us rolling around on the bathroom floor. Two, I don't want my first time with you to be on a bathroom floor."

"With me?" I asked.

"I'm not a virgin."

"I am. Mostly."

"Mostly? You either are or you're not."

"I made a guy come once," I said, ignoring the events of the bathroom stall as too sordid to share.

"Evans?"

"How'd you know?"

"I was jealous."

"Really?"

"Yes. Very much . . . . Since it's confession time, I have one. I'm really nervous about this. I've never been with a guy. Ever."

"Are you sure you want to be," I asked, standing up, and preparing myself to return to the table.

"I'm sure I want to be with you," he answered, certainly. "I have for a couple of years."

With my mother sober, there was no reason for her to spend the night, and she didn't. I did. When we got back to the table, Steve asked his mother and my mother if it was alright if I stayed.

My mother raised an eyebrow and asked to talk to me one on one before answering. We went to the family room, and she asked about my abrupt and extended departure from the table. I was honest with her, even though I feared I'd wound her, and I had never wounded her before.

"I just couldn't take the pretense. We were all just sitting there, ignoring the betrayal and the damage and the dishonesty. I had to get away. I couldn't control my thoughts. They were pinging and racing and out of control."

"Son, with all due respect, you don't know as much as you think you know." She then proceeded to tell me about the Lustig's marriage, which apparently had been sexless for a decade and joyless for longer than that. Mrs. Lustig had long taken a "don't ask, don't tell" approach toward her husband and whatever he did without her.

For the first time, she didn't comfort me when I told her my thoughts were uncontrollable. She must have trusted that I had worked through it. Or, she was more interested in her self than in me.

My mother's explanation did not assuage my concerns. But, they were at least cast in a different light, encased in a different context. I didn't head toward Steve with a clear conscience, but it was clearer than it had been.

Mollified, my mother headed home knowing that I was not in jeopardy. I don't know what I was in, but it wasn't jeopardy.

Chapter Eleven

"How do we do this?" Steve asked as we settled on the floor of the family room, sitting cross-legged and stripped to our underpants. It was obvious we were both excited about what was about to happen.

"Beats me," I responded. "You've at least had sex before. I never have."

"It has to be pretty much the same."

"One would think."

"We should lie down," Steve insisted. We did, on our sides and face to face. Steve pressed his groin to mine and started rubbing against me. I gripped his hip and pulled him harder into me. Our foreheads were pressed together.

I rolled onto my back, pulling him on top of me. I raised my knees and spread my legs as Steve moved his hips and crotch against me. I was quickly headed over the edge, and I could tell he was, too. He breathed raggedly into my ear. "I'm so close."

"Me, too."

I shoved my hands down the back of his briefs and squeezed his cheeks as hard as I could. He panted and came, grunting as he did. I was so thrilled, I came, too, filling my briefs.

"Wow, that was pretty awesome."

I didn't think so. I was disappointed. I wanted to touch him with my hands and my mouth. I wanted to kiss him, lick him, suck him.

He rolled off of me and onto his back, announcing he needed to catch his breath.

"I'm taking my underwear off," I announced. "I don't want my cum to dry in them."

"That's a good idea. Me, either."

We stood up and stepped out of our briefs. For the first time, I was looking sexually at a live, naked man. Steve was looking back at me.

I had been right about his dark chest hair. I was a narrow patch, but it was thick. It stopped at his diaphragm and re-started at his navel, trailing down to a thick bush above and around his penis. It had felt large against me, and I could tell looking at him soft that he was hung, certainly moreso than I was. Like his arms, Steve's legs were also hairy and muscled, and the tops of his feet were hairy, too.

Mine were not. I had more hair on my chest and stomach, but it was blond and curly. My body was not as defined as Steve's, but it had come a long way in my two summers at the plant. I was just over 6 inches maxed out, and thick enough, although by no means thick.

I got hard as a I looked at Steve, and I felt a desire from somewhere deep within to feel him inside me. "So, you've fucked girls?" I asked.

"One. Sally. A lot."

"You want to try with me?"

"Seriously?"

"Sure," I said, more confidently than I was. I moved to the floor, on my stomach. Steve moved behind me.

"I'm not sure how to do this," he said.

"I don't want to oversimplify things," I said, "but I think it's pretty much the same. You slide in and start going."

"Help me in."

I reached behind me, touched him for the first time, and guided him to my opening. He pushed, but nothing happened. He pushed again, but nothing happened again.

"I think we need something," I said. "Like lotion or oil."

"You're probably right. Sally's always soaked when we have sex. I slide right in."

He left and returned with Extra Virgin Olive Oil from the kitchen. When he showed it to me, I laughed at the "Extra Virgin" promise. He caught my drift and started laughing, too.

We were both nervous, but we were also both having fun.

When we were re-positioned, he poured some on him and poured way too much into my crack. It did the trick. Both of us were slippery, and it was much easier for him to push in. I gasped when his head pushed past my ring. He was thicker even than he looked.

"Stop, please."

"Am I hurting you?"

"Of course."

"You want me to pull out?"

"Of course not. Just let me catch my breath." I paused for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a matter of seconds. "Okay, I think I'm ready for more. Please go slow."

I'm sure Steve thought he was going slow, but he wasn't. He was only 18, so slow was not in his bones. He pushed the rest of the way in.

I had never heard the noise that came from within me as he filled me. It was somewhere between a low moan and a deep gasp. I hadn't realized it, but I was biting my forearm to stifle whatever noise I wanted to make.

"Please hold still."

"I'm not sure I can."

"You have to."

I was sweating. I felt full. Somehow, I also felt happy. I loved the feeling of being covered and full. I felt something inside me give. Steve gasped when it did.

"Eric, can I move now? I'm about to come."

"Yes, but please go slow."

Steve pulled slowly out and then lowered himself slowly back in. I felt a little pain and a lot of excitement.

"Oh my God," Steve whispered in my ear. "You're so smooth and tight and warm."

Combined with the rubbing of my dick against the sleeping bag, the whispering sent me over the edge, and I finished. I must have clenched as I did, because Steve twitched and finished inside me. He grunted as he did.

Neither of us moved. Steve relaxed on top of me, and we both tried to get our minds around what we had just done. Steve slid his fingers between mine. His hands were large and strong. He softened and slid out of me.

"Was that horrible?" he asked, in a gentle whisper.

"Not at all. I kind of liked it."

"Really?"

"Did you?"

"Sure. A lot. It was super tight."

"I liked it, too, I think."

"Didn't it hurt?"

"Some. But, the thrill kind of drowned that out, after a bit."

"Can I do it again?"

"Sure. When you're ready."

I rolled out from under him and took him in my hand. I wanted to really touch him. He was warm and soft and tender. His glans was silky. It was not long before he was hardening in my hand.

I rolled onto my stomach and guided him back in. He was flat on my back again, moving in and out of me. He lasted a lot longer. I loved the feeling of him moving in and out of me, the sound of his breath quickening as he moved closer and closer to the edge, the thickening of him as he grunted "Oh God" and filled me.

We were both sweating when he rolled off of me, onto his back, and ran his hands through his hair. "Wow," was all he said.

I scrambled over him. I straddled him, took myself in my hand, and brought myself over the edge. I coated his stomach and chest. He winced a little when the first jolt hit him. I don't think he was thrilled by the idea of being coated. I was. I felt like I was marking him.

Steve discreetly left to clean himself up. When he was back, so did I.

When I returned, Steve was on back, his underwear back on. I settled next to him, put my head on his shoulder, and played with his chest hair.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Another one?" Steve responded, sophomorically.

"Sure," I answered, dismissively.

"How did that compare to having sex with a girl."

"Funny, I was just thinking about the same thing. It's close. It's harder at first, but, once you get going, it feels pretty much the same. Definitely tighter, but I suspect that depends on the girl. I suspect a virgin girl is close to a virgin guy. I don't know for sure, I've never taken anyone's cherry. Sally's pretty loose."

"You took my cherry."

"I don't think guys have cherries."

"It sure felt like I did."

I tickled Steve's chest and stomach. I tickled him through his underwear.

"It'll be good practice for you," I offered.

"I guess it will."

"Will you take your underwear back off?"

"Sure," he answered, raising his hips and sliding them off. I returned my hand to him, tickling his balls, his length, his pelvis, and his taint.

"Does that feel good?" I asked.

"Yes. Very."

"Do you want me to try to give you blow job?"

"Sure. If you're up for it."

"I am," I answered, showing him my hard on through my briefs and laughing at the play on words.

I moved between his legs. I wasn't sure what to do, but my limited experience reading gay porn suggested it was not a difficult task. I licked my lips and moved my mouth toward him. The smell emanating from his crotch made me lightheaded. As when my fingers touched it, his glans was silky and smooth on my tongue. Steve twitched when they made contact. I encircled him with my mouth. I heard another low moan as I did. I cupped his balls with my left hand and started moving my mouth up and down his length. Steve started raising his hips to match my rhythm. Before long, he tapped me on the shoulder and said "I'm close." I think he was trying to warn me so I could pull off, but there was no way I was pulling off. I wanted him to come in my mouth. I wanted the full experience of my first blow job. And, I wanted to bring him as much pleasure as I could.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come," Steve cried out, just before filling my mouth. It was his fourth load in less than two hours, so it was weak and small. I didn't care. I swallowed it all. It was bitter and salty and delicious and made me gag a little and then made me very, very happy.

I kept at it until Steve insisted that I stop. I moved to his balls and his thighs, kissing and licking and not wanting the experience ever to end.

"How was I?" I asked.

"Awesome."

"As good as a girl?"

"I don't know. I've never gotten a blow job before."

"Really? Sally doesn't blow you?"

"No. She let's me fuck her, but she barely touches my dick, usually only to help me in. She won't even consider sucking it."

"I'll suck it whenever you want."

"I'm going to want a lot."

I hoped so.

We fell asleep naked. When we awoke, light was streaming into the room, and we could hear dishes in the kitchen. I wondered if Steve's parents had checked on us. If they had, there's be no mistaking what had happened. We were in the same sleeping bag, wrapped around each other.

We dressed hurriedly. Steve didn't look at me, much less talk to me. He sent me into the kitchen first. Apparently, I was the scout.

"Good morning, Eric," Mr. Lustig greeted me. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did."

I sat down to a cup of coffee. As I sipped it, I realized that, even if Mr. Lustig had looked in on us, he could not say a word. He'd have to keep our secret if he expected me to keep his.

Steve came into the kitchen from the bathroom. After I'd left the family room, he rolled up the sleeping bags and tucked the Olive Oil into the center of one of them. He'd have to sneak it back when no one was looking.

I couldn't read Steve. I couldn't tell if his aloofness was a mask or regret.

When breakfast was over, I asked if I could use the telephone to call my mother to retrieve me. "No need," said Mr. Lustig. "I'll drive you."

"Let Steve do it," Mrs. Lustig offered.

"That's okay. I'll do it. I want to talk to Eric. And, I want to swing by the plant for a bit. There'll be no one there. I'll catch up on some paperwork, undisturbed.'

I knew it was all a ruse. There's be no trip to the plant.

Chapter Twelve

We weren't even out of the driveway when Mr. Lustig asked "How long has that been going on?"

"What?"

"Don't play coy, Eric. I'm not blind. Or stupid."

"Last night was the first time."

"For you, for him, or for both."

"For both."

"Are you being honest with me?"

"Well, we made out some a couple of years ago. But, that stopped when Steve's friends saw him with me and joked about me being his 'date.'"

"I wondered what happened between the two of you. I asked Steve, and all he would say was 'nothing.'"

"It wasn't nothing to me."

We stopped behind of our building, and Mr. Lustig turned off the car. I knew he wasn't going to the plant.

"Is Steve gay?"

"I don't know. I don't think you can tell with 18 year olds. They experiment a lot."

"I can tell with you."

"I think I'm a special case. I wouldn't make footprints on a beach."

"Maybe."

"Would it bother you if he is?"

"Of course."

"Does it bother you that I'm gay?"

"No."

"Then why would it bother you if he's gay?"

"I don't know. I guess maybe it shouldn't. But it would. It just would. He's my son."

"Please don't ever tell him that. No one should hear that from a parent."

We were quiet for awhile. "You going in?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I'll stay out here."

My mother was at the salon that day 12-8, so she was home when Mr. Lustig knocked. I napped in the car, avoiding whatever filled the 45 minutes he was inside.

Our apartment was visible from many others. Our neighbors had to wonder about the strange car that was always out back or the man that disappeared inside for brief respites. I did not see how my mother's affair was not going to become a public spectacle. I prayed mine would not, if it was an affair I was having.

*****

I didn't talk to Steve all weekend. I didn't call him, and he didn't call me.

I did have to talk to my mother about him. While I napped in the car, Mr. Lustig told my mother that her son and his son had spent Thanksgiving night exploring each other.

My mother was like a high school girl. She wanted to hear all about it. I'm generally afraid of secrets, but this felt like one I needed to cherish, not fear. I deflected my mother's inquiries, insisting it would be weird to share details with her. "I don't want to know yours, and I don't want to tell you mine."

She relented on details, but insisted on knowing the scope of our relationship and where I thought it was headed.

"I don't think there's a relationship," I said. "For all I know, it was a one shot deal." I laughed at my minimization (it had at least been a four shot deal). When my mother asked why I was laughing, I deflected her again.

"Whatever happened with Evans?" she asked, ripping the scab off a pretty fresh wound. I told her about the letter I had received, another secret I had cherished, not feared. I dug it out from under the shoebox I kept in the hall closet and let her read it. Tears ran down her cheeks as she finished.

"That poor boy," she said.

"I can't understand a parent doing that."

"Me, either," she agreed. "It's terribly, terribly wrong. It makes me sad and sick. It makes me want to visit the Fowlers and give them what for. It makes me want to scream."

I knew my mother's rage resided in her fear that Evans' parents' actions would make him feel like he had only one way out. And that he'd take it, like my father had.

"Me, too," I agreed. Tears were now running down my cheeks, too. But mine were tears of happiness, at not being a Fowler, of being an Akers, of not being alone, of having a mother who loved me, accepted me, embraced me, and shaded me.

*****

To my great relief, Steve was at my locker when I got to school on Monday morning. I was pensive about his presence until he said "Hi, Cupcake."

I answered by whispering "I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"I have to. For appearances. Plus, you'd rather be a cupcake than a cookie, right?"

"Right."

"Anyway, I slipped something in your locker. Read it, but not until you get home. Do not read it here. Think about it after you read it. And then let's talk about it."

I was thrilled to find the envelope Steve had left. I folded it over and tucked it in my front pocket for safekeeping.

I read it as I walked home that day:

It's Friday morning. You just left with my dad. I'm going to write this down before I chicken out.

I'm a little freaked out about last night.

I'm not sure why I did what we did. I'm not sure what it means. I've always had a soft spot for you. I'm not sure why.

I'm not sure what happens going forward. But, I know that what happened last night, and whatever happens going forward, has to be vaulted. You can't tell anyone, not even Lori. We have to act at school like nothing's changed between us. We can be casual, but we can't be friends. I'm stronger now than I was two years ago, but I'm not strong enough for innuendo and rumors. I won't run from them (I'm still very sorry about that!), but I can't court them.

I want you to spend the night Friday.

Please tear this into as many pieces as you can and then burn those pieces. Then bury them.

I read the note over and over as I waited for my mother to get home from work. At one level, the idea of "whatever happens going forward" thrilled me. On another, the whole idea of pretending all day every day scared me. Witnessing it over a dinner had sent me spiraling. Doing it every day - and worrying about what would happen if the pretense failed - might overwhelm me.

My mother raised one eyebrow as she read the note. It was a skill I had inherited and that I had used for great effect, especially at school with teachers.

"What do you think?" I asked, when she looked up.

"I'm not sure. What do you think?"

"I'm not sure, either. On the one hand, I'd like to see where this goes. On the other hand, I'm afraid it will go to a bad place, especially if innuendo and rumors start swirling."

"You should plan on that happening. You have over half the school year left. You boys'll slip up, and the fishbowl will fill."

"I know. I'm fine with it."

"That's easier for you, Eric. Innuendo and rumors have swirled around you your entire life. Not everyone has experienced the same sort of scrutiny. Most people don't start a journey together from the same spot. One's always ahead of the other, at least a little. You can't insist that Steve or anyone else be where you are, at least to start."

"So, you think I should be okay with this?"

"I think you have to figure out what you're in for. I think you have to figure out how strong you are. I think you have to figure out what you want. I can't answer any of those questions for you. I can tell you what I would do, but I'm not you. And, you're not me. You certainly wouldn't have made some of the choices I've made."