tagGay MaleThe Dirty Pleasures Incident Ch. 06

The Dirty Pleasures Incident Ch. 06


Hey guys. Sorry I took so, so long to get this chapter out. I got screwed out of my summer housing and had to sell all my shit in like eight hours and hop on a bus back to Ohio to stay with the fam. It was complete insanity. Well, here it is, I finally finished it, so I hope it was worth the wait. Look forward to hearing from you guys.


Andy awoke with a jolt, sitting up suddenly and staring into the darkness, his breath coming in pained and ragged gasps. Sweat ran from his temples down his face and neck, the individual beads joining the pools that stood in the cradle of his collarbone and darkened the front of his T-shirt.

His hands gripped the top of the comforter desperately, his knuckles white. His eyes darted back and forth in terror as he fought to see in the dark room, his heart pounding with the memory of his nightmare. Still not entirely convinced that it was over, he reached for Jon's hand, finding it under the covers and taking tight hold of it. Jon stirred, turned slightly, and went still again.

The warm reassurance of Jon's hand steadied him, and his pulse slowed along with his breathing. He closed his eyes, forcibly driving the misty watercolor images of irons and bloody pools out of his mind and replacing them with memories of the weekend in the cabin. At last he felt safe enough to open his eyes and let go of Jon's hand. He lay back down heavily, letting out a long breath.

It was just a nightmare, he told himself firmly. A bad dream, like everyone has once in a while. It's no big deal. But it was a big deal, because it hadn't been a nightmare. It was like he had relived the night in the hotel room all over again, except it was worse, because he knew what was going to happen. And yet he couldn't stop himself from going forward.

It started right after he had told his father that he was in love. He'd been so excited about sharing this with his father, and he'd felt that excitement again in his dream, even though he knew how it would end. Even as he screamed at himself inside his head (stop it stop talking don't tell) his dream lips went right on moving, telling his father about the wonderful time he'd had in the cabin, how he'd realized that he had found his other half (though he left out a few of the details), and how he wanted his father to meet him.

He's wonderful, Dad, he had gushed, mistaking his father's rage for simple surprise. I can't believe I was lucky enough to find him. You'll love him when you meet him, he's really-

What's his name? Richard had asked tonelessly, though in his excitement at having finally come clean with his father, he didn't notice it's dark quality.

Oh, I'm sorry I forgot, he had babbled, euphoric and giddy. It's Jonathan. He lives over by-

His father had stood suddenly then, staring down at him with a look that he had never seen before and thus could not readily identify. His eyes were focused and intense, and yet still somehow blank and listless, as though he were somewhere other than in the room with his son. He picked up the knife on his TV tray, the steak knife, and looked down at Andy, moving toward him.

It was then that Andy had first begun to realize that his father intended to hurt him. The idea was so incomprehensible that it had rendered him immobile in that moment, and he remained immobile in his dream, despite his knowledge of the events to come.

His father raised the knife, his affect still disturbingly blank and his eyes sightless, and plunged it into his son's thigh. Andy, too shocked at first even to scream, slid onto the floor into a heap, scrambling backward toward the window.

His father dropped the knife, turning instead toward Andy and starting after him. He grabbed the scruff of Andy's neck and pulled him upward, slamming him sideways into the television, which was bolted to the chest of drawers against the wall. The screen shattered, noiselessly it seemed to Andy, for now he had begun to scream, and the sound reverberated inside his head like the clang of a bell. The arm that had come into contact with the screen was bloody and unrecognizable.

His father dropped him, completely silent throughout the ordeal, and reached for the iron on the wall above the chest of drawers. He raised it as high as his arm would allow, then swung down-

Andy put his head between his thighs in an effort to stop the room from spinning. Vomit threatened to leave his stomach, but with a few deep breaths and rocks back and forth, it resettled in his midsection.

He felt suddenly chilled and afraid, the shadows around him taking on sinister shapes. He began to tremble slightly, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than for Jonathan to hold him close. Stop being such a baby, he scolded himself, beginning to rock back and forth again. Don't wake him up. He's really tired. He's had to put up with you in the hospital and at dinner and he doesn't need the added stress, so just cut it out.

The thing was, that was only half of the reason he didn't want Jon to see him like this. Jon would want him to talk to someone. A professional. Well, that was a euphemism if he had ever heard one.

Worse, he would want Andy to press charges against his father. He knew what his father did was wrong, but he didn't suppose he could blame him. It had to be quite a shock to find out that your only son was gay. That you wouldn't be having any grandchildren of your own. That people would talk, and all of it wouldn't be nice. Perhaps it had just been a jerk reaction, and once he had a chance to calm down, he would understand what was happening and come to accept it. Andy was sure that given time, his dad would come around and they could put this whole ugly mess behind them. Things would be just like they were. Jonathan would see.

Feeling comforted and optimistic, Andy lay back down carefully so he wouldn't disturb his love. He pulled the covers up to his chin, closing his eyes. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up.


"I talked to Layla on the phone this morning while you were asleep," Jonathan said as Andy sat down at the table with him. "She works at city hall, you know that, and it turns out that all the serious clubs and organizations register with them, so that newcomers can find them should they want to join one."

"You think she'll be able to find APS? Do you really think they're registered?" Andy asked, grateful that Jonathan hadn't started in on him about his father.

"I honestly have no idea," Jonathan said with a sigh, picking up the butter, "but a long shot is better than no shot at all. I told her we'd come down there today and help her look during her lunch break. You in?"

"Yeah, let's do it," Andy replied, glad of the distraction. "I really want to know who's doing this. It's just so weird."

"You and me both," Jon said with a wan smile. He leaned over and kissed Andy chastely on the lips, licking some jelly off of his face afterward. Andy giggled girlishly, and Jon laughed at his giggle. Andy kicked his shin under the table.

"Don't you start laughing at me about that, too," Andy said, scowling childishly. "I giggled when this girl smacked my ass in the store one time, and Nate didn't let up for like a week."

"I'll have to mention it the next time we're around."


"That's Mr. Johnson to you."

Andy giggle again, covering his mouth with his hand. He blushed furiously, then stood.

"I'm going to paint. I can't take this kind of emasculation any more. Come get me when we're ready to go?"

"You know it, girrrrrl," Jonathan said with a flick of his wrist.

"Go straight to hell," Andy said with a smile, fighting another giggle. He disappeared up the stairs as Jonathan put the dishes in the dishwasher.

He sighed as he filled the little caddy with soap, thinking about the long road ahead of him. This APS business might get a little messy, but he was pretty sure he could handle a few Palmdale bigots. It was Andy he was really worried about.

He hadn't mentioned the attack at all since he'd gotten home, except to tell Jonathan that he didn't want to go back to his house. He seemed content to continue as if nothing at all had happened. Jon put his hand to his forehead, unsure of how to proceed.

He didn't want to push Andy into talking if he wasn't ready, but he could hardly stand by and let him pretend that it hadn't happened. He sighed again, pushing the start button and putting the problem out of his mind. It'll be alright for now, he thought to himself, going to the living room to watch TV.

Settling on the sofa, he groaned as he heard the garage door open. Here comes hell, he thought.

His mother opened the wooden door that led from the house to the garage and stormed down the hall.

"JONATHAN!" she called, her heels clicking on the tiles as she looked in the bathroom for him. She rounded the corner at near warp speed, stomping into the living room.

Seeing him looking sheepish on the couch, she started toward him. She took her purse off of her shoulder.

Not the purse, he thought, standing up and backing away, trying to put some space between them. Please, god, not the purse.

"Mom," he began slowly, hoping to defuse her. "I know you're mad, and you have every right to be, but-"

His sentence was cut off when the purse struck him in the midsection, knocking the wind out of him. He dropped to the floor, coughing.

"Do you," she said dangerously quietly, "HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN? No phone call! No note! No NOTHING. Just you-"

She hit him on the back with the purse.


And again.

"-without a trace-"


"-for FIVE DAYS-"


"Mom!" he said again, grabbing the purse. "Mom, stop! I'm fine!"

She stopped, staring at him, and it wasn't until then that he noticed how awful she looked. Her eyes were red-rimmed and haggard looking, her hair was noticeably dimmer than it usually was, and she had on two different colored stockings. Not extremely different, but not the same, either. He knew she was in bad shape. He face had this tired, desperate look that he hadn't seen since his father had died. He was going to have to get a really her a really good birthday present.

She grabbed her purse back from him and tossed it onto the floor. The contents spilled out, her lipstick rolling under the couch. She snatched him into a tight hug, and he could feel her chest hitch as she began to sob.

"Mom," he said quietly, squeezing her back. "I'm really sorry…"

"No, no, it's okay," she choked out, still holding him. "I overreacted, I know. It's just, I was so worried about you, and when Nate came and told me what happened, I was so relieved that you weren't dead…"

She let him out of the hug, holding him at arm's length. She pulled him in again and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She took a deep breath.

"So," she started, with a slight chuckle, "how is he? I do hope he's alright. I know how close you two are."

"He's fine, Mom," Jon said with a smile, looking up the stairs. "He's here, as a matter of fact. I hope that's okay. He just…didn't want to go home."

"It's fine, dear," she said, bending down to pick up her purse and the assorted paraphernalia that had fallen out. "I can't wait to meet him."

"I'll go get him."


Andy sat upstairs at Jon's desk, pulling out the watercolors that Jon kept for him. He had stretched earlier, when his leg had been stiff, but he was still oddly jumpy and tense. Painting would help him relieve stress. It always did.

As he stroked the page, his mind wandered, landing, as usual, back at the cabin.

My, that had been a good weekend.

A smile touched his lips as he thought of the shower. He wondered if that memory would ever leave him. He hoped not.

It wandered on ahead to the night before he left, and the smile broadened. That had been one for the ages, too. He thought maybe having a night like that one meant Jon would be around forever. Then, when his father came around, they would all be family. A yell snapped him out of his reverie.

It was a woman, he was pretty sure, and it sounded like she was in the house. Downstairs, to be exact.

Oh, God, he thought miserably, what now?

He stood and walked toward the door of the bedroom, pulling it open and heading out into the hall. Jon came bounding up the stairs, taking hold of his arm.

"What's happening?" he asked as Jon pulled him down the stairs. "Is something wrong, babe? Who screamed?"

"It was my mom," Jon explained, putting an arm around Andy's shoulders when they reached the bottom of the stairs. "She wants to meet you."

Andy looked confusedly across the living room, spotting the woman sitting in an armchair. She was dressed in an expensive-looking gray suit and stiletto heels. Her red hair was pulled back into an elegant bun. Her face was wrinkle free and her complexion was luminous; Andy thought she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, bounding out of the seat and rushing toward them. "He's just as cute as a button!" She grabbed his shoulders, pulling him into a crushing hug and planting wet kisses all over his face. She let him up for air after about fifteen seconds, and not a moment too soon. Andy was beginning to see dark spots.

She held him at arm's length, looking him over. Andy giggled again, the slapped his hand over his mouth, blushing.

"Awww, isn't that just adorable!" she said enthusiastically. "Come, sit down. I've heard so much about you, and it's so good to finally meet you. Jon just goes on and on about how much he loves you, and it's good to have a face to put with your name."

Andy blushed again, and Jon took hold of his hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly.

They sat on the couch for a few hours, talking and getting to know each other. Andy liked her a lot, he found. If his mother had been alive, he hoped she'd have been something like this woman. He thought of how lucky Jon was to have such a supportive parent in his life, and a bolt of pain struck his chest. Tears filled his eyes suddenly, threatening to spill over. He stood suddenly.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he said quickly, pushing roughly past Jon.

"Okay, baby," Jon said softly as Andy disappeared from view. He hoped he felt okay. He hadn't missed the looked that had passed over his face. Apparently, neither had his mother.

"Is he okay?" she asked tentatively, looking in the direction he had gone. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so," he assured his mom. "I think he's just upset..."

"Poor dear," she said, shaking her head. "He's so sweet. How could anyone bear to do that to him?"

"Hell if I know," Jon replied, feeling a fresh burst of hated for Andy's father.

Andy came back then, tottering back to his seat beside Jon. Jon thought his eyes looked a little redder, but it could have been his imagination. His mom's cell rang, and she left to take the call.

Jon's phone beeped, and he opened it, reading a text message.

"Layla says we can come now," he told Andy, grabbing his hand again. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," Jon lied. "Come on, let's get our shoes. I'd like to wrap this whole thing up as soon as we can."


The drive to city hall was uncharacteristically tense, with Andy weirdly silent and contemplative, looking out the passenger window. Jon tried several times to break the ice, to no avail. He gave up after a few minutes, telling himself Andy was just not in the mood for chitchat today.


He pulled into the parking lot in front of the city library, unlocking the doors as he turned off the car. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes trained on Andy, who appeared not to have noticed that the car was no longer in motion.

"Are you okay?" he asked seriously, his hand on Andy's thigh.

"Sure," he replied, looking back at him.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Jon added, his voice just a little watery.

"Sure," Andy repeated in that eerily robotic voice.

Sighing heavily and looking at the ceiling, Jon opened his door. He got out, surprised to find that Andy was already out of the car, on his way over to the building.

"C'mon, slow poke," Andy said with a chuckle, and the strange, robot-like quality was gone from his voice. Jon smiled with relief, jogging over to him.

They went in, and immediately saw Layla seated at the desk, looking impatient.

"Here you guys are," she said with more than a little exasperation. "Why did it take you forty-five minutes to get here from thirtieth street?"

"Sorry, I don't want to get a ticket," Jon said defensively. "How many do you have?"

Layla said nothing, looking annoyed.

"So did you find out anything?" Andy said, a little nervous.

"I certainly did," Layla said proudly. "You guys are gonna kiss my feet when I show you this stuff. Come on!"

She opened a little door next to her desk, and they walked through it, following her to a small file room. She closed the door behind them, not wanting to be overheard.

"I found a few matches for clubs with titles that match the acronym. Since we can say with a high degree of certainty that neither the Association of Polish Scientists nor the Appalachian Pottery Society would want to vandalize a Greenpeace office, it's safe to assume that the American Pride Society is the one we're looking for."

"What are they about?"

"Well," she continued, "their mission statement says they seek to uphold the - get this - 'ancient, traditional values that all true Americans hold, and to take steps to eradicate the ungodly and heathen blemishes on the face of This Great Nation.' Ancient. That's good."

"Pay dirt," Jon said, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

"But wait," Andy said, looking uneasy. "Just because their a little, well, conservative, doesn't mean they're vandals. It also doesn't mean that they had anything to do with the deaths of those speakers, or that they even knew about them."

"That's what I said, too," Layla said, "but I did a little more digging before I called you guys over here. It turns out that this society has had branches in Riverside, Temecula, and Merced, but they've all been disbanded because of 'suspicious' fiscal practices and 'questionable' involvement of members in several unsolved cases, ranging from vandalism to assault with a deadly weapon. It's more than enough to raise a few eyebrows."

"It's not exactly smoking gun," Jon said thoughtfully, "but it's not nothing either. Is there a headquarters for this place somewhere? You know, where the leaders of all of the branches of the clubs meet, or something?"

"Almost certainly," Layla said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I have no idea where that might be. There's no information about it anywhere."

"So where do we go from here? How are we ever going to prove that it was them, even if it was?"

"Didn't you say you pulled this from a database that new residents use to find clubs?" Andy asked, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, if they're inviting new members," Andy said, smiling broadly, "then that means people interested in joining have to be provided with some kind of contact in the club, right?"

"Right…" Layla said, smiling now too.

"So…" Jon added, joining the smile party, "all we have to do is pretend to be new members, and we'll get the inside track."

"Oh, Jonathan," Layla said throatily, fluttering her eyelashes, "it's so James Bond. Do you think you can pull it off?"

He looked pointedly at Andy. "I'll have you know, miss Layla," he said, his grin turning mischievous, "that this is nothing. I found Carmen SanDiego."

Report Story

byTransverse© 7 comments/ 28978 views/ 4 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

3 Pages:123

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: