Hanging Loose Part 5

I fell asleep with his fingertips gently rubbing my scalp. It was becoming a pattern.

I didn't throw up, but I woke the next morning with a monster headache and a bladder ready to burst. I made my way to the bathroom. After that, I took the opportunity to brush my teeth and find some aspirin in the medicine cabinet. My reflection in the mirror looked the way I felt.

In the kitchen, the coffeemaker was emitting wondrous gurgling sounds. I poked my head in, wondering how big a fool I had made of myself the night before and how p.i.s.sed Jez was about it. He smiled without a hint of annoyance. d.a.m.n. I was a lousy roommate and a lousy friend; I didn't deserve him.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Like c.r.a.p," I confessed.

Jez put coffee in front of me, with milk and too much sugar, just the way I liked it. I really didn't deserve him.

"About last night... I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Don't worry about it. If I had a penny for every time a drunk hit on me..."

"You'd be rich."

"Yeah, something like that."

"But I'm still very, very sorry."

"I said forget it. It's fine."

I nodded, shamefaced. There was silence. While I sipped my coffee, Jez mixed up an ominous-looking concoction over by the kitchen counter. He finally held it out to me.

"Drink this. It'll help."

"What is it?" I asked with suspicion.

"Hangover remedy. Adelle's secret recipe. She was quite a party girl back in the day."

I sniffed it and scrunched up my face. It smelled vile. There was no way in h.e.l.l I was going to drink it.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you: don't smell it. Just take a deep breath and chug it down."

I looked at him warily.

"Trust me?" Jez asked, and I knew I was f.u.c.ked. I would be the biggest a.s.shole in the universe if I refused now, especially with the way he looked at me, his face so earnest and caring. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and downed as much of the foul liquid as I could before running out of air. The texture was unpleasant, but it didn't taste half as revolting as it smelled. As matter of fact, it was quite inoffensive, a little bitter. I washed it down with coffee, just to be safe.

Jez's phone chirped. He looked at the text and thumbed in a quick reply.

"I'll be out for a few hours. Try to eat something light, okay?"

He had done that a lot-disappear after a mysterious text. It wasn't my business to pry into his affairs, but it often made me wonder. This time I felt relieved to see him go; the combination of awkwardness and hangover made me unsociable.

Chapter Seven.

I forced down some toast, took a shower, and headed out to the beach. The water was as f.u.c.king cold as ever, but it actually made me feel better. Or it shocked my system so bad, it forgot about the hangover. It was early enough in the day that the sun was still blotted out by the marine layer, so I lay down on my beach towel and tried to sort out my thoughts. They were in a cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k, as my father used to say. Bitter bile rose in my throat at that. Oh G.o.d, Jez was right. This was no good; I needed to let it go. My father and I never managed to connect, and there was no point in has.h.i.+ng it up anymore. I didn't want to think about it.

It was ironic that I had fled from all that dreary c.r.a.p I grew up with, but still managed to smuggle an unhealthy portion of it with me. At least I didn't have to fret about disappointing my father anymore, I told myself. I might as well admit I'd never be the duly dutiful son my mother wished for and that I'd already disappointed my college professors. I had spent so much energy trying to conform to the expectations of everyone around me that I forgot to be me. Even drifting aimlessly felt like an improvement.

And there was that other thing... If I was honest, I'd always been attracted to guys too. I knew that from the day Billy Foster showed up in the sixth grade with his curvy lips and long eyelashes. I didn't watch Baywatch only for Pam Anderson either. I'd just never put a name to it or looked at it directly, because it was far easier to get by that way. Imagine my father getting the slightest scent of it! I shuddered at the thought.

I'd become very good at ignoring the obvious when it was inconvenient. That was a trait of my mother's I recognized in myself. It was wearing thin though; these days all you had to do was pour a few drinks in me, and the illusion evaporated like morning mist. Like with Mark at the party... The reason for that not going any further wasn't some sudden s.e.xual anxiety. Not in the state I had been in.

The truth was-if I dared accept it-I had it bad for Jez. I wanted him so much, it hurt. I wanted to touch him, taste him, f.u.c.k him stupid. Or have him f.u.c.k me-I didn't care. h.e.l.l, just thinking about it made me hard. I turned to lie on my stomach so as not to make a spectacle of myself, and resisted the urge to rut against the warm sand.

Unfortunately I'd painted myself into the corner with him-a.s.suming he could be attracted to me at all. It would be mighty arrogant to presume he'd be interested just because I was suddenly available. He was drop-dead s.e.xy, the California dream embodied, and I was just a plain, skinny guy from b.u.mf.u.c.k, Nowhere. I fell asleep with unhappy thoughts swis.h.i.+ng around in my achy head.

I woke a couple of hours later, hungry and without a headache. Adelle's miracle medicine worked after all. I went home, took another shower, and contemplated my options with Jez. I could be a big wuss and do nothing. Or, I could ask advice from an expert.

Arthur was happy to see me. It was almost lunchtime, so we ordered Chinese. I couldn't just come out with my question-needed to warm up first-so I asked how he started out in Hollywood.

"Did you always know you wanted to be a set designer?" I prodded.

"Oh h.e.l.l, no. I sort of fell into it."

"How?"

"Well, I was just a stupid nineteen-year-old kid when I got off the bus from St. Louis, like a bunch of others. I had no idea what I wanted to do, but I knew spending the rest of my life in Missouri wasn't it. I got a job on the RKO lot as a carpenter building sets. It just went from there. It was some luck and a lot of hard work."

I slurped my chow mein thoughtfully.

"Did you make any plans?"

"Nah. I tried once or twice, but they always went to h.e.l.l. Eventually I just learned to let life take me where it wanted; it was easier that way. If you leave yourself open to possibilities, a lot might happen that you couldn't have planned for."

"Being openly gay, that couldn't have been easy."

"The fifties were a b.i.t.c.h, but you are who you are. h.e.l.l, I look at some of these big Hollywood stars who twist themselves into pretzels to look straight. And for what? Fame and money? It's not f.u.c.king worth it, if you ask me."

That reminded me: "Have you ever been with a woman?"

"What is this? Twenty questions?" he grumbled but went on. "No, not me. But plenty of the guys I knew went both ways." He stopped for a moment, blinking into a distance only he could see. "There was this writer I met a long time ago. He's dead now. He'd been with women, but he considered himself gay anyway. He told me once that it's not who you slept with that mattered, but whom you fell in love with."

That made me pause. I'd never thought of it that way. We finished our meal in silence while I chewed on this new notion. I cleared off the containers and took Arthur's shopping list. I turned back from the door.

"Do you have any regrets?" I asked him.

"A bunch. That's life."

"Any big ones?"

"Just one." He cast a pensive glance toward the "Wall of Lovers," but I couldn't tell which photo his gaze landed on. "If you want the advice of an old man, don't be afraid of making mistakes. That's life. Just be sure you're making them for the right reason."

It was now or never. "Do you think Jez likes me?"

He stared at me as if I'd announced that I'd joined the Church of Scientology.

"Aren't you two together already?"

"No, we're just roomies. I sort of told him I was straight, except I'm not really..."

Arthur laughed so hard that tears ran down his crumpled cheeks. I was miffed. He laughed till he started to cough and had to scramble for his water. He put the gla.s.s down and wiped his eyes.

"I'm sorry, kid. I wasn't laughing at you," he said, wheezing. "I was just thinking how youth is wasted on the young."

I gave him a dirty look.

"Of course he likes you. The way he looks at you, that's not constipation in his eyes. Trust me, I'm old enough to know."

"What should I do?"

"Tackle him and screw his brains out. There's nothing like the direct approach."

Dirty old coot.

Chapter Eight.

When I got home, the house was empty. I was puttering around restlessly when Roger called. One of the waitresses was out, and he wanted me to come in for a few hours. I almost said no, but agreed in the end. It was good; being busy, not having time to think, eased my mind.

It was dusk by the time I got home again. I found Jez in the kitchen, fiddling with something at the counter. I stopped in the doorway to study him. He was all warm tones, from his tanned skin to his brown shorts and golden hair. It was very silly, I know, but those colors made me think of an ice-cream sundae. I wondered: if I licked him, would he taste sweet? Suddenly there was too much saliva in my mouth, and my heart beat like it was trying to escape. I was rooted to the spot, in danger of spending eternity in the doorway.

He glanced at me over his shoulder with a casual smile.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," was all I could croak out before my voice would betray me.

He turned his attention back to the counter. The spell broke, and my feet moved again. I stole up behind him, and after a moment of hesitation, put my palm at his nape. Something clunked to the cutting board, and he stilled, even stopped breathing.

I slowly slid my hand down along the groove of his spine, with every pore of my being focused on the sensation. I felt every smooth inch with a rare intensity. I reached the waistband of the shorts and kept going. He spun around and planted his hands on either side of my head. I realized just then how big his hands were. All this time I'd never noticed. For some reason, thinking about them made me even more aroused. He gripped my head and stared warily into my eyes. He even sniffed me.

"Did you take something?" There was a hint of concern in his voice.

"Like what?" I gulped like a fish out of water.

"Pills?"

"Aspirin this morning. Why?"

"Because I don't smell alcohol or pot on you, and you only hit on me when you're buzzed."

He had a point. I wasn't buzzed, but I felt like it. Maybe because my heart was beating too fast to get oxygen to my brain. I was full of a dizzy, jittery energy.

"There was probably a fair amount of MSG in my lunch, but otherwise, stone-cold sober."

He looked at me even more suspiciously. He kissed me. I shuddered and welcomed him in. His tongue brusquely probed mine, searching for evidence. There was nothing; I was innocent. I brazenly slipped my hands around him and returned to the smooth planes of his back. I might have moaned into his mouth a little. He pulled back and looked at me with furrowed brows.

"Who are you, and what did you do to the real Nate?"

"Alien s.e.x gas." My oxygen-starved mind improvised. "I'm here to screw your brains out and consume your life force."

He squinted. G.o.d, he had the most adorable squint. He turned serious. I didn't like that quite as much.

"Is this what you really want?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?" he asked with two scoops of emphasis.

"More than anything. If you want it too..." For a flash, doubt and fear surged through me, because if I was wrong...

"You have no idea," he growled and slammed into me. We staggered till my back hit the fridge. Magnets flew in all directions. He attacked my lips like he was starving and I was an all-you-can-eat buffet. Or was it the other way around? His hands raked up my sides and pushed my T-s.h.i.+rt along. I took a leave from exploring his inviting flesh long enough to wiggle out of my s.h.i.+rt. He methodically nipped a line from my jaw to my shoulder. Some were soft, barely there. Others were sharper, carrying a tinge of pain that sent tiny s.h.i.+vers through me.

My willful hands found their way to the small of his back and kept going downward. I was determined to succeed this time. My fingers wormed their way under the waistband of his shorts, where I could finally rub and squeeze his perfect a.s.s. His cheeks were flawlessly round and firm under my hands. He sank his teeth into my neck hard enough to make my fingers clamp down, and we moaned in a two-part harmony. Funny, I thought, how all these body parts worked together.

In the end, Jez foiled me again. Before I knew what was happening, he was on his knees, shoving my jeans and briefs down around my ankles. He licked warm, wet swaths along the length of my c.o.c.k. He flitted his tongue around the head, then pushed into the slit. My hips twitched impatiently, but he held me firm. I grasped his head, fingers digging into the mess of his hair. He looked up at me before wrapping his lips around the head of my c.o.c.k. He swallowed it down inch by inch and began to suck. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was obscenely beautiful-my gorgeous surf G.o.d sucking my c.o.c.k, his head bobbing up and down. My fingers convulsively clenched in his hair as I yearned to thrust.

My skin buzzed with the promise of release. The sensation spread from my groin to my belly and down to my knees. I tried to warn Jez, but my throat was only able to produce a garble. I clutched his hair and tugged, but he just sucked harder. Then I was falling like Alice down the rabbit hole, tumbling blind with pleasure. I came, hips stuttering, into his beautiful, greedy mouth. My legs went rubbery, and only his firm hands kept me from sinking to the floor. He slipped up along my body, keeping me pressed against the fridge, and kissed me deep and slow. The taste of myself on him-in him-felt so dirty and so hot.

I tugged at his shorts, pushed them past the curve of his a.s.s, and they dropped to the floor. He took my hand and wrapped it around his c.o.c.k. It was slender and smooth, as I expected it to be. It felt solid and heavy in my hand, which rose and fell around it. He dug his fingers into my hips, and he moaned into my mouth, my skin, as I stroked him. He was on the brink.

I squeezed a little harder and did that swipe of the thumb that always got me. He shuddered and moaned as his j.i.z.z splattered over my fist. I made a few more lazy strokes, milking him to the last drop. He slumped against me with a satisfied sigh. His forehead thumped on the fridge door. We stood there, holding each other, till our breathing steadied. At last we reluctantly untangled.

Jez grabbed a clean kitchen towel and wet it at the sink before cleaning us up. I detached myself from the fridge and pulled my jeans back on. I stepped on something. I picked it up: good ol' Casablanca. I stuck it back on the fridge.

"Are you hungry?" Jez asked.

"Ravenous." I reached for him.

"I meant food." He chuckled but didn't pull back.