Amazingly Ordinary

By Wes Leigh

 

This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.

This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

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Chapter Five

 

Filming the next scene was torture, for both of us.

Kristian was supposed to be injured, having slipped and fallen from a tall cliff. As his brainless sidekick, I was supposed to somehow find the wisdom to pick him up and carry him five miles to an abandoned cabin in the woods. It was tough lifting him off the ground and holding him in my arms. I wanted to embrace him, and I wanted to apologize for the stupid thing I'd said earlier, but the argument and the hateful words seemed to hang in the air between us. Even while I held him against my chest, he seemed to pull away from me, as if he hated being near me.

The director could sense it. Hell, everyone could tell things weren't right between us.

Kristian actually muffed one of his lines, something I hadn't seen him do yet. When that happened, the director threw up his hands and shouted, "What the hell is going on?"

"Sorry," Kristian mumbled. "I'm distracted."

The director sighed. "Let's go back to the point where the zombie picks up Mr. Hansen."

I lowered Kristian to the ground. He walked sadly back to his spot under the cliff and dropped to the ground, one leg at an awkward angle.

The cameras started rolling. The clapboard guy came in and did his thing. The director pointed at me and said, "Action."

I stumbled forward, reluctant to touch Kristian, but knowing I had to. I knelt beside him and slid my hands underneath him. As I stood up, he made a half-hearted attempt to hold onto my neck.

Kristian's eyes fluttered open and he looked at me, "What happened?" he asked, groaning.

"Uhh ugghh. Aargh!" I replied.

Kristian was supposed to hug my neck at this point and thank me. Instead, he started crying.

"Wait. What! CUT!" the director shouted. "NO! No tears! This isn't a sad moment, Mr. Hansen. You've been rescued. You should be grateful, not upset."

Kristian pushed against my chest, sliding to the ground. "I'm sorry. Could I have a few minutes to get my head together?"

The director nodded. "Take fifteen everyone. You two—" he pointed at Kristian and me— "figure this out, whatever it is."

Kristian looked at me. I dropped my eyes to my big, dumb, zombie feet. He took my hand and tugged me toward a nearby tent that held various props. Glancing inside and finding it empty, he pulled me in after him. He sat on a cot. Patted the spot next to him. Looked up at me expectantly.

I sighed and sat down next to him.

I didn't say a word. What could I say? I knew it was up to me to speak first, but I was scared.

When the silence stretched out to a full minute, I finally found my nerve and turned to Kristian to mumble, "When I fuck up, I really fuck up."

He looked me in the eye, but didn't respond.

I cleared my throat and said, "I'm sorry, Kristian. Very, very sorry. What I said—in your RV—was totally wrong and stupid and mean. I'm sorry."

Kristian blinked. Tears fell, one from each of his gorgeous blue gray eyes. He swallowed hard and said, "I'm sorry too. For pushing so hard and making you do stuff that could get you in trouble."

I shook my head slowly. "You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do. And I'm a grown man. I could have stopped you."

"Yeah," Kristian whispered. "You're a grown man, and I'm just a boy."

I punched my leg, hard. "I did it again, didn't I?" I kept pounding on my leg in frustration.

He grabbed my hand to stop me and asked, "What are you talking about?"

I turned to him, miserable, "Called you a boy. Treated you like a kid. I didn't mean to do that. I saw how much it upset you when your mother talked to you that way. And now I keep doing it."

"I don't mind," Kristian said with a sigh. "I am just a kid. I can't drive. I can't drink alcohol unless my parents give it to me. No matter how many movies I star in, I'm still just a silly, horny kid."

"No, no, Kristian. Please don't say that."

"But it's true."

"It's not the whole truth."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You're missing a few very important parts," I replied. "You're smart and handsome. You're an incredible actor. And you're just about the sexiest young man on the planet."

Kristian ducked his head. "I cannot accept that."

"What? Why not? It's all true."

Kristian looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "You don't understand what it's like to be me."

"Then help me understand. Explain it to me."

"I'm from Denmark," he said with a shrug, as if that should be explanation enough. When I didn't respond, he asked, "I'm sure you've never heard of Jantelov."

I shook my head.

He continued, "It means The Law of Jante. It comes from a story written a long time ago by Aksel Sandemose. It was about a small Danish village named Jante, where the people made up laws that required everyone to be the same. No one could be anything special. They couldn't think they were smarter or better or more important than the others."

"Sounds horrible."

Kristian shrugged. "It was a satire, but many say the story was based on the unwritten rules of how Scandinavian society operates. It's like an invisible force that affects all of us. We don't go around talking about it or thinking about it, because it's engrained into our way of thinking from an early age. People in our country will never be extravagant, even when they have the means to do so."

I nodded, finally understanding. "That's why you're uncomfortable when I say you're so smart and handsome and sexy?"

"Exactly. You're asking me to go against everything I've always been taught about how I should act."

"Then how do you handle being a movie star? You must have people bashing your door down every day, trying to tell you how great you are."

"I do. And it's difficult. My mother protects me some. So does my agent. But I guess The Law of Jante protects me too, because it reminds me to stay grounded."

"I can see that," I admitted. "But it also sounds like it holds you back. Keeps you from being the best you can be."

Kristian shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. Young people like me don't see Jantelov as something that restricts us. It doesn't mean thinking of yourself as less. It means thinking less about yourself, and more about others. It means helping others be stronger. Like you."

"Like me?"

"Yes," Kristian said, his voice gaining strength. "Look how you are. You say you are ordinary, nothing special."

"Yes? So? It's the same as your Law of Jante."

"No. It isn't," Kristian insisted. "You're demeaning yourself. You're putting yourself down and refusing to recognize the good in you, and that isn't right, Johnny."

I stared at Kristian, thinking about his words. Finally, I nodded my head and said, "You're right, Kristian. I need to stop talking that way, about both of us. I need to stop hating myself and to stop flattering you."

He took my hand and squeezed it gently. "We are both better for having met each other. We lift each other up and make each other nobler." His smile slowly disappeared as he said, "The praise I receive as a movie star will one day end. A time will come when the audiences decide I'm not so cute, not so sexy anymore. They'll stop coming to my movies, and I'll return to Denmark and live my life quietly, once again."

I touched his cheek and whispered, "That will never happen."

He frowned. "Yes, it will, Johnny. It always happens. To every star. Eventually, they lose their appeal and become a falling star."

"It won't happen to you," I said, confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Because even if every other fool on this planet falls out of love with you, you will still have one fan who loves you forever."

He looked at me, puzzled, then understood what I was saying. We fell into each other's arms and kissed.

͠ ͠ ͠

As we pulled apart from our make-up kiss, I asked him, "There is just one thing I don't understand."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Why me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

"No," I insisted, "I really need to understand. Why do you want to be with me?"

"I don't know, to be honest," Kristian replied. "I know there's simply something about you that makes me want to be with you."

I stopped hugging him and stood up. I began pacing back and forth, thinking out loud. "We are so different, you and I. You're a movie star. Me ... I'm just an average guy, an amazingly ordinary guy. Even my name is ordinary. Johnny Johnson. Now, I'm not trying to put myself down, but I need to know ... how can you be interested in someone like me?"

Kristian stood up and blocked my path. I had to stop pacing and face him. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled us together. "Johnny Johnson, my ordinary friend, my zombie companion, my goofy weirdo, don't you get it? You don't always get to decide who you are drawn to. I'm attracted to you." To emphasize his point, he leaned in and kissed me on the lips.

They were so soft, slightly moist, gently caressing my own. His tongue slid out and touched me gently, offering. I responded, pressing my mouth against his, pushing his tongue aside with my own, moaning into his mouth. My hands slid around his back, feeling the firm muscles underneath his shirt, slipping down to the soft mounds of his butt, pulling us together and finding a hard shaft pushing against my own throbbing boner.

He pulled off my mouth and moved down to kiss my jaw, my neck, my shoulder.

As he sucked my neck, I moaned, "Kristian Hansen, I'm attracted to you, too!"

͠ ͠ ͠

Kristian, the hero of the movie, sprawled at the bottom of the cliff. His leg was twisted under him. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and tortured.

I, his faithful zombie friend, slithered down the cliff, not caring how I fared in my haste to get to him. I stumbled forward and fell on my knees at his side. I touched the face of the boy I was beginning to love. I put my hand on his chest. He was breathing. I moaned with zombie relief to find him still alive.

Frantically, I looked around for a place where I could take him. Nurse him back to health. Keep him safe until he could recover from his injuries. My zombie brain remembered something, from long ago and a different life, a place I'd once been. I looked down at Kristian and slid my arms underneath his fragile body. With a mighty heave, I lifted him up in my arms and stood to my feet.

We spoke our lines, then he groaned and leaned his head against my chest, knowing he was safe with me.

I gritted my zombie teeth and trudged off, my Kristian held secure in my arms, headed for the mountain cabin.

"CUT!" the director shouted, excited once again. "TERRIFIC JOB! Great take, fellows. Great take!"

I looked down at Kristian. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, then nuzzled even deeper into my chest.

͠ ͠ ͠

We broke from production a few hours early that afternoon, which gave Kristian and me a chance to drive to Old Town for a bit of shopping. He loved all the galleries and boutiques, and he was entranced by the adobe buildings surrounding the plaza. We found him a shirt he adored, featuring a howling wolf surrounded by its pack. I bought it for him using my credit card, figuring I'd have plenty of money once the movie finished up. He thought it was funny and promised to buy me a car to replace my clunker.

As we strolled along, we talked.

"Thank you for the shirt," he said.

"I'm glad you like it."

"I love it. I love New Mexico. I want to come back here after the movie is finished and spend a month here."

I chuckled. "I would rather go to Denmark and spend a month seeing all the sights."

He smiled shyly. "That can be arranged."

"Really?"

"Of course. First, I finish the movie. Then I spend a month here in Albuquerque with you. Then you spend a month in Denmark with me. Finally, we live happily ever after, flying back and forth between here and there."

We both laughed.

"Do you really believe that's possible?" I asked.

"What?"

"Living happily ever after."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "If you are with the right person, yes. It is."

We passed an old adobe church. He wanted to go inside, so we did. It was charming, filled with beautifully polished wooden pews and cabinetry.

"We don't have anything like this in Denmark," he said, looking around in awe. "We have big, amazing cathedrals. Stunning architecture. This place is simple. And humble. But holy. I love it."

We walked out, and my mood was suddenly dark again. Kristian noticed and asked what was wrong.

"Nothing, I suppose. It's just that I was thinking about that church and you and me. The things we've done."

Kristian suddenly understood my mood. "And you're thinking what we're doing is wrong?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't feel wrong when we're doing it, but I suppose the people who built that church would disagree."

Kristian walked along beside me, saying nothing. We came to a bench under an enormous cottonwood tree. Kristian motioned for me to sit down. He faced me and said, "Do you know what my last name means?"

"Hansen?"

"No. My real name, not my stage name. Johannsen."

I shook my head. "No clue."

"It means son of Johan. Johan is a very special name in my country. It means `gift of God'. My family isn't particularly religious, but we are very spiritual. My mother has always told me that I am a gift from God to others. And she has always encouraged me to share who I am with others."

"So that's what you're doing? Sharing yourself with me?"

He nodded. "And you are doing the same."

"I am."

"You are," he replied, smiling. "You say your name is boring. Johnny Johnson. Do you know what your name means?"

I frowned and thought about it for a moment. Then I looked up at him in surprise.

"You see now, don't you?" he said with a grin. "Johnson ... Johannsen ... they are the same, just from different lands, but they both mean the same thing ... `the son, the gift of God'."

He pulled me to my feet and we continued walking down the street. "Stop questioning what we have, Johnny. Simply accept it. This gift of God."

͠ ͠ ͠

In his RV that night, we held each other, naked bodies entwined. Bashful kisses led to passionate, breathless devouring of one another. Stretched out next to each other, head to toe, I finally took him into my mouth and suckled on his delightful teenage rod while he bobbed up and down on mine. When we exploded with ecstasy, I swallowed every precious drop and continued nursing on him, pulling his essence out into my mouth, savoring it, savoring him and the gift he so freely gave.

We stayed there, gently stroking each other on the back, the butt, the thighs, while our mouths pleasured our still plump cocks. Though I ached from the suction of his mouth, I swelled up again and enjoyed the feel of his tongue on my cock, my balls, my thighs. And I returned the pleasure, making him moan as my mouth explored his delightful young body.

When we both came a second time, we drank up the passion and turned and laid chest to chest, heart to heart, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

 

The end of AMAZINGLY ORDINARY, Chapter Five