DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction and portrays acts of a homosexual nature. If you are offended by such acts, or you are under the legal age to read such material in your state/country, please leave now.
¤¤¤ Part Three ¤¤¤
I was in that warm, fuzzy period just before being fully awake. I yawned, stretched, and rolled over, blinking at the two coffee cups on my desk, a memory of last night. My eyes shot open, my body sprang upright. OhMyGodOhMyGod. As I remembered what had happened between Devon and I yesterday, my body reacted in the only way it knew how: I got hard. I smiled. Had it really happened? This... passion?
And then I realized the obvious. I was alone now. Devon had gone. Why didn't he wake me? Did he hate me? What was the problem? He appeared to enjoy it last night every bit as much as I did. I just couldn't believe he left without saying goodbye. The least he could have done was left me a -
There, on the desk. A note! He left a note for me! My heart leapt. But should I read it? What did it say? Only one way to find out, I thought. I pulled back the comforter and went across to my desk. I smiled at his handwriting, Bobby scribbled on the outside of the folded piece of paper. Like it could have been for someone else!
I lifted it. I bit my lip. I opened it.
I'm sorry I did not wake you this morning before I left, but I went quite early and you looked so peaceful. I've gone to see my agent, like I said I would.
Last night... well, I think we need to talk. I'm not angry. Last night was good, believe me, but we have to sort some things out.
Here is my number: 555-xxx-xxxx. Please give me a call (anytime after 12pm). I want to see you.
Thank you for last night - for the last two days!
Devon x x
I wasn't quite sure how I felt at that moment. Happy? Sad? Embarrassed? Overjoyed? It was like when you play your favorite vinyl record with the volume turned up really loud, and your dad comes in and screeches it off. I felt like that record with a thick scratch across me.
But he had said he enjoyed last night. So what was the problem? And what was he going to say when he crossed it out: "we need to..." We need to what?
There was nothing I could do now but wait to call him. I looked at the clock. 09:14. The next two hours and forty-six minutes would be hell.
¤ ¤ ¤
The nerves in my stomach as I held the phone to my ear almost made me want to throw up. On the street below my window, I watched two kids throw a ball to each other and laugh and shout in mindless glee.
Devon answered on the third ring. "Hello, Devon? It's Bobby," I said furtively. "I got your note." I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Are - are you okay?"
There was the briefest of pauses before he spoke. I thought this was bad news. "Hey, Bobby," he said steadily. "I'm fine. You?" I told him I was. I hated small talk. "Listen, I hope I didn't scare you with what I wrote. It was early, you know? I was still half asleep. But, like, I think we should talk about it. About what happened. Can I come round?"
I sighed. "Sure. Come on over." And then I thought, Was this the best place to talk? I mean, sure, we'd be alone and he'd have the chance to say what was on his mind. But if we got into an argument, I would hate to tell him to leave, to get out of my house.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Devon told me. "See you then." It was thirty minutes before he arrived.
I had rushed around the house straightening things out, making the place look presentable, as my Mom would always say. I was in a panic, and the nerves never once left my stomach, never eased off. I shivered as though I were cold, even though the sun was shining outside and the air-con was set to low. I chewed on my nails in the living room, half watching a dumb black-and-white film on TV whose plot I got lost at after the girl rejected the guy for the fifth time and he still went back for more.
When the doorbell rang, I jumped out of my seat, startled. I had been curled up on the couch with my feet tucked under myself, patiently (well, impatiently, if you must know) waiting for Devon to arrive. And now my legs felt a little stiff and the blood coursed back into them with tiny little electric needles. I went to the front door and let him in. He smiled a hello and we walked into the main room.
"What are you watching?" Devon asked, remaining standing by the doorway.
"I don't know what it's called," I told him. I found us again folding into that horrible small talk.
"Oh, I know this one. They get together in the end. They always do!"
I looked at him. "Do they?"
Devon sighed. "Bobby, I -"
"Okay." He followed me into the kitchen. "Will you give me an honest answer if I ask you a serious question, Bobby?"
"Shoot," I said. "Can you pass me two cups, please?"
"Do you - are... Are you gay?"
He passed the cups.
I bit my lip. "I thought last night - cream? - I thought last night kind of proved that."
"No thanks. Did it? I mean, last night - that could have been just anything. Thanks."
"Careful, it's hot."
"Last night, I mean, could have been, like, just some heat-filled moment. It could have been the moon, the atmosphere, I don't know. Maybe it was the closeness we feel for each other. I mean, that I feel for you. We only met a few days ago but already I feel like I've known you forever. You're like one of my best friends already. Isn't that weird?"
I sipped from my coffee and walked out into the garden, Devon following. "I feel it too," I told him. "We were... thrown together at a sticky moment. I was glad to have gotten out of the oppressive hospital, you had just had an argument, and then we were talking like we were old school friends."
As we sat at the patio under the warm sun, Devon repeated his question. "So, do you think it might have been just that? Or... or are you really gay?"
I looked out over the garden. It needed mowing. I cupped the coffee in my hands and sipped again. "I'm gay." From the corner of my eye, I could see Devon nodding to himself. I didn't know what that meant.
There was a silence, in which we both reflected on the garden, pitching our thoughts out into the growing grass and watching them whisper across the lawn to the far side, like stones skimming on water.
"I don't know if I'm gay or not," Devon finally verbalized. I looked at him, intrigued. He hunched his shoulders protectively, his teeth worrying on his lower lip, eyes cast upward to the sky in thought. I let him continue without interrupting. "I've got these... these feelings. I don't know. I used to think... gay... was something you saw on TV, something you saw in stand-up shows and was there to be laughed at. This guy goes into a gay bar, that kind of thing." He paused, collected his thoughts. "But it's not like that. I know it's not. And now... well, I feel some things like, maybe I- maybe I am."
I straightened up in my chair. I knew what he was going through, the whole to be gay or not to be gay scenario. I waited for him to continue.
"Do you know? I mean, my head sometimes tells me I'm straight, like, I should have a girlfriend, that the only reason I don't have one is because I work too hard, never in one place for long, you know? But my heart... my heart gets these tugs, like someone has cast a fishing line into my body and is trying to reel back my heart." I could see tears glistening on his lashes. He was playing brave, trying not to break down. "I see a guy and... and my heart beats faster and I get all nervous. And I don't know where it's coming from. I don't know where these feelings originate. If I did, sometimes I think I would rip out the part of my body that creates them. Other times, I love it. I think it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. And sometimes I'd... I'd do things - you know, pull myself off. But then when it's over, I feel degraded, I feel dirty." A tear leaked down his cheek and he licked it away when it reached the corner of his mouth.
He sighed. "I just get so confused. Sometimes I like guys, sometimes I think I like girls. I'm not so sure anymore. Sure, girls are great, they are. But... I just don't think I see them in that kind of light anymore. Sexually, I mean." Again he paused. I waited. "I'm not ready for... I'm not ready to be gay. I don't know if I want to be. If I can. Do you understand?" He looked at me.
I nodded. "Yes, I understand, Devon. I was the same. When I first started noticing my feelings for... guys, I thought What the hell's going on here? You know? I mean, I wasn't gay! No way! Straight as a plank! That was me! Wasn't it? And of course, that threw my religious beliefs in turmoil. The Bible, everyone told me, said being gay was wrong, it was evil. So I read the Bible. And I went to church. And I spoke to God. When he answered me, I knew. No, not out loud, I didn't hear his voice. The clouds didn't part and send a shaft of light down on me. He spoke to my heart. I don't know what you believe, but I believe in God and Heaven and all that. And He spoke to my heart. He told me there was nothing to worry about. That he still loved me no matter what and that he would never turn his back on me. And after that, things just went from good to better."
"Your parents?" Devon asked.
I shrugged. "They're adjusting. My Mom still thinks there's nothing in it. A phase or something, I don't know. My Dad, well, he says, as long as he doesn't have to think about some of the things gays get up to, it doesn't bother him. After the initial shock, he put his arm around me and said, 'You're still my son, no matter what.'"
Devon smiled. "That's nice. I wonder if my parents would take it the same way."
"You'll be surprised, believe me. I was. I thought my parents would have freaked out. And they did, a little bit, but not like the way I thought they would. They soon came round to the idea of it. And my friends, they just said something like, 'Oh, we knew!'"
Devon tried a laugh. Then he gave a heavy sigh, pushed out through puffed up cheeks.
"Look," I said. "Am I making it worse for you? I don't mean to. Last night... I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed being with you. But if it's not what you want, I'm not going to force you. If you tell me now that you're not gay, or that you don't want to be gay, I'll forget about it. We'll let it pass."
We looked at each other.
Devon licked his lips, preparing to speak. "I - I like you, Bobby. A lot. I'm not promising anything, but I'm not going to walk away. I want us to work this out. Together. I don't know if I'm gay. Maybe I am. If I am, I want to be gay with you." I smiled. "This could go either way, Bobby. Are you prepared for that?"
More silence. I smiled. "Yes," I said. "You know my preference. But it's entirely up to you. Your call."
¤ ¤ ¤
Later that day, after Devon had left and I was feeling good again, I decided on a visit to Sarah. "How's my favorite little pumpkin?" she asked as I walked into her room.
I kissed her cheek. "I'm fine. How's my little Jezebel?"
"Hey!" she scolded. She laughed. "I'm fine." I sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to upset her leg that was still strung up in it's cast. "So what have you been up to?" she asked me.
I shrugged. "Not much. Just getting my kicks with Devon. He's got the biggest -"
She cut me off, shocked. "Devon?" she asked. "Oh, not that again!"
"It's true, honest. I'll bring him over next time."
"Yeah, you do that. And we'll have a candlelit dinner around my leg!" She rolled her eyes. I guess she still didn't believe me when I said I knew Devon Sawa. She checked her watch. "Oh, she said. Sit on this side, please." I saw her eye the doorway.
I looked quizzically at her. "You expecting someone?"
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Might be."
Just on cue then, a young man in green pants and a pinstriped green/white shirt passed the door then doubled back and peeked his head in. "Hey, Sarah! How are you this afternoon?"
Sarah tugged at a length of her hair and blushed. "I'm fine. Thanks for lunch earlier."
The guy came in and shrugged. "Hey, I didn't make it. I only brought it to you."
"But you did it so thoughtfully," Sarah said.
There was a moment of silence before I stood and thrust my hand out to the guy. I wanted to be as embarrassing as I possibly could. "Hi. I'm Bobby."
He took my hand. "Oh, so you're Bobby!" he laughed. Now I blushed. What had she been saying to him about me? "The name's Miguel, but people call me Mig."
"Mig has been a candy-striper for six months here," Sarah told me.
"Stop it," Mig told her.
Sarah chuckled. "Mig hates it when I call him a candy-striper. Are you off to see the Mother, Mig?"
He nodded. "I was just on my way. I gotta run. She hates it when I'm late." He turned back to me and shook my hand again. "Nice to finally put a face to the name, man. Catch you later."
"Later, Mig," Sarah called as he left.
I looked at her. "What was all that about? The Mother?"
"Oh, the Mother is an old woman who's been up the end of the ward for, like, centuries. Mig goes and brushes her hair for her every day at 3pm. She says he does it divinely; no one else will do. Has to be Mig. She calls him Son. She calls everyone son or daughter, or love."
"And does he?"
"Does he what?" she asked, innocently.
"Does he brush your hair divinely?"
"I don't know! He's never brushed my hair."
"Hmmm," I said. "Bet you'd like him to, though."
"So?" Sarah questioned. "What if I do? Haven't you seen him? Man, he's a god! And he likes me, I'm sure. I can tell."
"But don't you think... you know... he's a bit... gay?" I teased. He didn't look it, but I couldn't help myself teasing her.
"Stop it!" she said. "Of course he's not!" She flicked her hair back from her face. "Well," she said, "he'll spend thirty minutes with the Mother, then he'll come back and visit me. He always does. And I have to freshen up before he arrives, so if you wouldn't mind leaving me to my business..."
"I take that as a 'Bobby, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while,' shall I?" I laughed. Kissed her cheek in a parting gesture, and said, "Don't let him take advantage of you, strung up like that! One false move, and promise me you'll call for help." I was joking, but I kind of meant it, too. Sarah was my best friend. We knew each other since grade school.
"I'll call for security to have you removed, in a minute," she said. "Go on, get out of here. I'll be fine."
As I walked down the corridor to the rank of elevators, my phone rang. "Hello?" I answered it.
"Haven't you left yet?" Sarah said.
"I'm going," I laughed. "Give me a chance!"
¤ ¤ ¤
Devon looked at me with those eyes of his and I couldn't help melting into them. He looked so gorgeous in his plush, purple-blue velour shirt. And here was me in a simple T-shirt, tatty pants, and sneakers.
"So, what do you want to do tonight?" he asked.
I shivered at the thought of us together again in bed. "We could find a club, if you like. Or go eat somewhere. Watch a movie? It's up to you."
We decided to rent a film and just sit at home. My Mom popped in just as we sat down to watch it. I introduced her to Devon. They exchanged pleasantries and then Mom said she had to go back out. Some work function or other. I could never keep up with her busy schedule.
When she had gone, we settled on the couch and I hit play on the VCR. When the popcorn frizzled in the kitchen, I brought it in and sat it between us. It was kind of a safety net. With the popcorn on the couch, I couldn't creep across to Devon and upset him. I wanted to be on my best behavior. I felt a definite urge to hold him, but I restrained myself. If it was meant to happen, it would. I'd let nature guide us through the evening and the rest of our time together. What more could I do?
During the film, towards the climactic false-ending that all great action adventure films have these days, I noticed Devon was slipping towards me, his eyes drooping. He almost fell asleep into the popcorn, but luckily I moved it in time. He gently slipped his head onto my lap. His breathing indicated that he really was asleep and not just faking it. I brushed his hair. I thought about waking him, pointing out the fact that he had slipped down on me, but I decided not to. And shortly after that, I too was asleep. The atmosphere of the evening had a lulling effect on us. We were happy just sitting together, comfortable.
When I woke, it was with a stiff neck. I looked at the time on the VCR, which read 11:48pm. As I twisted my neck and tried to ease the stiffness, Devon stirred and woke, sitting up slowly and stretching. He looked at me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I guess we both fell asleep. It's almost midnight."
He nodded, looking at the time as reaction would have it. "I'm sorry for... you know... falling asleep on you."
"Hey," I said. "Don't worry about it. I don't mind."
He decided to leave, and said, "I really had a good night with you, Bobby. Like I said earlier, I like you a lot." He stretched his arms out and embraced me. we held each other tight. It was the first step to Devon deciding on whether he wanted to be with me or not, a step closer to us becoming a couple. I only hoped that was what he eventually decided.
He smelt wonderful as I held him, my face in the crook of his neck. Then he pulled away, smiled at me, and leaned back in, giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Does Howdy Doody have wooden balls?" I quoted a line from a movie. We laughed. "Give me a call, yeah?" I asked.
"I will," he said. "Thanks for the popcorn. And the sleep."
When he had left and I slowly made my way to bed, I wondered how long I could hold out for him. Could I cope just being his friend? Not knowing one way or the other how he feels about me? About himself? But I promised myself I would wait. No matter how long it took. I felt something special for Devon. No, more than special. I couldn't describe it, but the feelings I had for Devon, surpassed the human understanding of true love. I needed to be with him. At any cost.
That's the end of Part Three. Email me with any comments you have on this part or any previous parts. Thanks. Part Four will be along soon.
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