Date: Sun, 6 Aug 2000 12:09:36 EDT
From: Dmcr4055@aol.com
Subject: Gay and Straight 2 - Imperfectly Matched

by Dave M. and Bill R.

This is Bill. You should read the other part (Gay and Straight part 1)
first to put this part in context. It will probably make little sense
otherwise. You should experience these events in the order in which they
happened. After all, WE had to.

DISCLAIMER AND WARNING

Do these disclaimers do any good? I mean, what are they gonna do,
throw two 17 year old kids in the ol' "Graybar Hotel" for honestly
telling you about ourselves? I mean, this is the internet. They
probably can't even decide on where the "crime" was committed - where
we said it or where you read it.

If you should happen to be in law enforcement and are reading this for
entertainment or education, then welcome. We honor those who "protect
and serve" and allow us two authors the knowledge that we can sleep
securely at night. When you drive by, we wave. If, on the other hand,
you are scrutinizing this for violations, then may I recommend that
you go to www.reallydirtystorieswithoutdisclaimers.com and harass
them.

But, instead, how about us voluntarily offering you a friendly alert,
just in case you "accidentally" got into this website, "accidentally"
failed to notice the word "gay" that appears probably about eight
hundred and forty-two times before you got into this subdirectory,
"accidentally" missed all the disclaimers in all the other stories
ahead of ours and "accidentally" missed our title "Gay and
Straight...". Hey, it could happen! Well, if you just happen to be Mr.
Unlucky, then we just wish to tell you that this story is about two
high school friends - one gay and the other straight. This story may
or may not have graphic descriptions of sexual acts or use off-color
language, but only if it is essential to the telling and development
of this autobiography.

If you are under the local legal age to read text that has graphical,
yet artistically required, descriptions of a sexual nature then ...
well, what can we say, that you got this far in search of what you
want, but that if we tell you not to read us, that you are going to
stop because of these words? When donkeys fly, you will.

You know, it just dawned on me - who would have thought it -
disclaimers as entertainment.

Oh, and sorry about the language. But this is the way we talk when
we're together. I guess we could clean it up, but then it wouldn't be
us. And when you read this, I want you to actually hear our voices.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROLOGUE

This is Dave. My arm still hurts - from being twisted by Bill. He's
been puttin' the hammerlock on me to continue the story, despite what
we agreed to up front - of a one shot deal. What "really" convinced me
was the totally unexpected event of email responses. Bill warned me
that after we released the story, there was a chance that we may get a
response or two, commenting about our story. But I honestly thought
that nobody really would much like it, or find it worth such an
effort.

But more than thirty people wrote with congratulations and personal
commentary. I was speechless. This is impossible. Apparently we struck
a harmonic chord with some readers that resonated and produced a
result greater than our input. You guys are too much. Thanks for the
words. And only because of this (OK, and maybe the hammerlock, too)
are we continuing this story.

This part was taking longer than the first part to do because of some
very personal stuff that I had to include. I had to get myself up to
do it, and I had to get it right, with Bill. This part is also shorter
than it should be because it's taking so long to do it, and Bill and I
figured we should release something, the first half, rather than wait
until this part's completely done.

Also, my big fear, as I described in our emailed response to some of
you, was that this story would lose "tension" - the battle between a
protagonist and an antagonist - and would decay to merely a diary-like
telling of a stream of events. And that would be sad. I'd like to be a
writer some day, and so would like to uphold for you the essentials of
a truly good story.

Let's see how this goes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8 - The Morning After

Dave:

I awoke.

It was around 6:15a on the digital clock beside the bed. I'm a regular
guy - I'm never awake at this hour, except for the one time that I was
coming "in" from a long night, and the you-know-what hit the fan with
my parents. But I was wide awake now. On a Saturday morning. And Bill
was asleep in my bed. Believe me, there ain't much room in twin beds
for two full-size high school guys. So we were kinda snugged. And, I'm
embarrassed to say (honestly), naked. I had left my gym bag downstairs
before dinner with my clean stuff for after the shower to wear to bed,
so I sacked it buff, not anticipating what Bill would ask.

A huge wave of guilt or something washed over me. I had this horrible
feeling in my stomach about what we did the prior night. I didn't want
to wake Bill, so I just lay there with that going around and around in
my head. I was really getting sick in my stomach. I HAD to get up, but
I didn't want to wake Bill. I didn't want him to see me with nothing
on, and get him going again, and I didn't want to talk about last
night and have to come to terms with it (whatever that means. I read
that phrase somewhere).

So I slowly backed out of the bed. It took me nearly three minutes to
do so, just to make sure that Bill didn't wake up. I grabbed his
bathrobe off the bathroom door hook and went downstairs to retrieve my
clean understuff. I crept quietly because I didn't want his parents to
wake and think I was some dangerous deviant in search of underwear. I
managed to make it down the stairs without too much creaking, grabbed
my bag, went into the downstairs powder room and "donned the 'tights".
I then went through to the family room wing to see if I could quietly
turn on the TV to watch something. To occupy my mind. To not have to
think about last night.

I should perhaps explain - we both live in the larger-house section of
town. You know - 4,000 sq ft., manicured landscaping, lots of
electronic toys. Bill's dad got himself a 60" big-screen hooked into a
home theater surround sound system. With a subwoofer! Talk about
carnal experiences. Man, when Bill's mom isn't around and it's guys-
only, it's great. When, on a DVD, the volcano erupts or the meteor
slams into the earth, the floor palpably shakes. Mark my words - you
could feel it all the way to Texas when that thing pounds.

Well, I turned on the screen and the sound system on low-low-low to
watch. All I remember being on were 62 channels of some clown tryin'
to sell rotisserie ovens, somebody waiting for callers to call in to
buy a computer at $3300 which you could probably buy locally or from
the manufacturer for half the price, less the worthless software, the
7,000th showing of "Rudy" on HBO, and music videos. Oh shit -
Backstreet Boys - sorry, I'm not a fan. But that made me think of Bill
and would he be a fan because of their looks. Even the TV was
conspiring, making me think about it. I turned off the TV set (why is
it called a "set" when there's only one of them?) and I, believe it or
not, made the mad-dash outside, in bathrobe and underwear, grabbed the
newspaper at the foot of the driveway and zoomed back in. Nobody in
their right mind should have been up at that hour to see me, but when
I came back through the front door, Bill was at the foot of the stairs
there in the foyer.

He asked what I was doing up, and I said I couldn't sleep and I wanted
to read the paper. He said he couldn't sleep either, and that he
wanted to talk about last night.

Oh, crap!

Bill:

I awoke.

And I was alone. Dave wasn't there. It felt empty. And cold. A
thousand memories were swirling through my mind. Last night was
delicious. It was fulfilling. It was perfect. And I wanted to do it
again and again. Where was Dave?

I got up and checked the bathroom - No Dave, and no bathrobe - so I
put on some running shorts and went downstairs. He was coming in the
front door with the paper. I said "We gotta talk". For some particular
reason, he instantly didn't look too happy at that suggestion, and he
nodded his head up toward my parents' bedroom. I knew what he meant,
so I said, "Let's get dressed and go for a run." I run every day,
either at practice or at home - during the cool months in the
afternoon and the hot months in the morning. It was October, but it
was still warm. Actually, I like it when there's a slight cold-bite in
the air. That's good for you (not like Dave's showers that would scald
Satan and send him fleeing back to Hell to cool off). So we got
changed and set out on my loop.

For the first few minutes or so, we said nothing. I kinda waited to
see if Dave would say something, but apparently he wasn't going to. So
I broke the silence. "Well, what'd you think of last night?".

And Dave said, "I don't know. I feel real strange about it. I don't
know. Guilty-like. No offense, but I really don't think we should do
that anymore.

Oh crap!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 9 - Revelation and Self-Analysis

Bill:

"But why? I thought you liked it. Didn't you, last night? You said you
did. What's wrong?"

Dave:

"Hey, man, it's not you. It's me. This whole thing's got me fucked up
in the head."

Bill said, "Wha'd'ya mean?"

I replied, "There were things goin' around in my head that I didn't
like. About you. I don't really want to talk about it."

And Bill said "C'mon, man, you gotta tell me. I don't understand."

I said, "It's weird shit. It's, like, embarrassing an' stuff."

Bill said, "Since when've we never talked about something that's
embarrassing? We do all the time."

I said, "But this is like inside shit, and y'don't talk about that
stuff."

Bill said, "Oh, and me talkin' the other night about my being gay and
how I feel isn't the deepest inside shit you can ever have? Why is it
OK for me and not for you?"

So I said, kind've angry, "You want it? Ok. You got it. When you were
blowin' me, even though I was liking the feeling, in my head it was
like I was debasing you and degrading you and making you worth shit.
And when I was fuckin' your ass, it was like I was out of control,
like I was an animal, tryin' to pound the fuck out of you and to break
you and turn you into garbage, to conquer you and you make you beneath
my feet."

We jogged on for a while in silence.

And on.

And on.

"That's cool," Bill said in a kind-of up-voice, suddenly.

I instantly stopped, grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I wanted to fuckin' break you, to turn
you into shit ... and you're my best friend. And now I don't know what
I'd do with girls, if I'd do the same thing. But I do know that if
some guy ever gave me any shit, I'd want to fuckin' destroy him by
fuckin' the shit out of him, and leave him crying on the floor and
afraid of me. I don't ever want to feel that way about you again."

Bill:

This is psych stuff. I don't know what the hell to say.

"Would you ever do that in real life to anyone who ever gave you a
rough time?"

Dave said, "No way. Absolutely no. No. No. No. I don't want to hurt
anybody like that. Man, I'd feel so guilty, I'd be apologizing
forever."

So I said, "Then it's OK. You're in perfect working order."

And Dave said, "What??"

And I said, "You're in perfect working order. Everybody's wanted to
hurt or kill somebody who's fucked them over, every once in a while
when they're really pissed-off. But they don't. Because of their
conscience. That's what makes us different from the animals. Most
everybody's got a conscience that's more powerful than their anger and
that deep stuff you felt. So it safely keeps it inside. And if you
realize your conscience is stronger, and that stuff can't get out,
you'll be more confident in it and you'll reinforce it. And you're a
lucky guy. You now know what's on the other side of that wall.

"Where's you get all that?"

"I don't know. Maybe from watching martial arts movies."

"Dammit. I should'a known it. I should'a known it. You were gonna get
that in somehow. Those damn Kung Fu movies of yours."

I laughed at him and he threw a punch at my arm, but I dodged him and
ran ahead a few steps and turned around and looked back. He looked
better, more at ease.

I honestly don't know to this day where all that stuff came from, or
if it's even correct. But it did the trick at that time, and seemed to
be the right thing to say to make him feel better about himself. Dave
is into "strength" stuff, even though he's not like a bulky guy. He
likes to know he's stronger than outside stuff and any situation that
comes his way. That he can master and control anything. That's why
he'll never be a booze or drug user. And to tell him he's stronger
than those demons is exactly what he wanted and needed to hear at that
moment. And I think it's true. That's one of the reasons why I like
him. He's always been like a rock. He's my best friend, Dave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

D.& B. - There's more. We're in mid thought and mid-paragraph
continuing this.

D. - I hope what I'm telling you about myself doesn't put you off
about me. I don't think I'm a bad guy, but those things were just in
there. And I don't know if anyone else has those kind-of feelings when
having sex. I don't know if I'm alone. All I know is that I didn't
choose to have those feelings in there. My parents didn't put them in
there. My friends, teachers, church and community didn't put them in
there. They were just kind-of in there naturally. Does this sound
familiar to you? Bill, I think I now understand, a bit. Bill, my best
friend.