Date: Fri, 31 Aug 2001 05:32:57 EDT
From: WhtWindWIf@aol.com
Subject: Relationships and Memories (part 8)

RELATIONSHIPS AND MEMORIES (Part 8)

Frankly, I don't know about you but I hadn't expected my story to be this
long. But hell, I'm having fun doing it. If you read chapter 7, you know
what to expect. Don't expect. But I do enjoy people writing in telling me
they like my story... not much of fan base, but I'm fine with that.  This
story can be very graphic, which I should've said before some of the
chapters, but I forgot. I did, however, tell you that if you are under 21
(or 18 if you've got strict laws) you should leave. And that's still true-
leave if you're still in high school and depending on your parents to pay
for car insurance. This story contains acts of homosexual nature and if
you're not into that sort of thing then go check out disney.com or
something. See you at the end of this chapter.

"Hello? Anyone home," I was pulled back into the world of the
living. "Jason?  You kinda spaced out on me there."

I focused my eyes back to Francis, "Yeah, sorry, just daydreaming, I
guess."

"Yeah," Francis gave me a puzzled look, "Been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes. A couple years." Our conversation went silent. Here I am, talking to
an ex- boyfriend.  I began wishing I could go pick up on of those pigs in a
blanket hor d'oeuvres, across the table.

"You look great."

"You too." Damn, another awkward silence. I better say something or face
the thought of him thinking I still have feelings for him. "So what have
you done lately?" Perfect. I'm using fillers. I hate when people just ask
questions when they don't really care about the answer.  People just have
to say something.  I'm reminded of a proverb: "A wise man speaks because he
has something to say.  A fool speaks because he has to say something."
It's a good proverb but can't recall who said it.

"Oh, I'm still working for the man. You know how it is." I nodded in
agreement and decided I can only keep silent because I would mentally
torture myself over-analyzing our conversation.  If you can call this a
conversation at all.

"Francis." I head someone off to my left call his name, "there you are," a
man a couple inches shorter than myself walked over next to Francis and put
his arm around him. My face remained expressionless. Best not to show any
kind of expression because it would all be interpreted the same.

"Oh, this is my-," Francis cut his sentence short trying to carefully
phrase what his next word would be, "This is Mike." That's not the
smoothest way to work your way through. Than again, it's a difficult task
trying to balance two people's feelings. I knew what was to come next, more
of this idle chat. Time for an escape plan.

"Hi, nice meeting you, but I promised to meet somebody over near the
stereo."  That was the best move all day, I don't think anyone even knows
where the stereo is.

Francis gave a neutral smile, "Ok, well I'll talk to you later."

"I look forward to it." No, I don't. I walked into the next room and
blended in with the crowd. I saw plenty of nondescript faces and the same
tasteless decorating. All I could do was admire the structure of the
building, and since I wasn't planning on talking to complete strangers I
headed towards the stairs leading to the upper floor.

I had found myself in a hallway. There were four doors and the hallway
itself curved around the corner.  I know what happens at college parties so
I decided to put my ear to the door before entering. Always a wise thing to
do. Working systematically, I started with the door on the right.  All
quiet on the bedroom front. I entered. My suspicions were correct; it was,
in fact a bedroom.  In the middle of the room was a four-poster bed. There
was an extensive collection of dolls on a shelf over on the right wall. I
presumed that the dresser against the other wall was empty, but I opened it
anyway. Curiosity killed the cat, not the student. I opened the top drawer,
which reveled nothing but air. The second drawer was no different from the
first. The final drawer surprised me. Looking inside I noticed a pair of
black lacy underwear with a note attached to it.  It read: For Fred. I
closed the drawer and quickly exited the room and tried not to conjure any
images in my head. I began to put my ear next to the next door until I
noticed Marcus walking down the hallway. Pulling myself away and pretending
to glance about the place, I continued to walk in his direction.

"Hey, having fun yet," Marcus asked in the friendly tone.

I smiled as I looked deeply at Marcus, "Oh yeah.  Tons of fun."

"Uh, yeah," Marcus replied, staring quizzically at me, "I'm sure the party
is more interesting up here."

"You'd be surprised at the interesting things you can find up here.  So why
are you up here?"

"The master bedroom has a largest bathroom. You want see it?" Marcus turned
his body in the direction of the room.

I paused, "The bedroom or the bathroom?"

Marcus cracked a smile giving a slight laugh, "Which ever you prefer."

It was my turn to laugh. (Of course, I wouldn't overdo it, or I would run
the risk of looking like a moron.) I motioned for Marcus to lead the
way. Suddenly, I thought about this image: Marcus leading me into a
bedroom. Could anything be sweeter in my imagination? I could think of a
couple things that would beat my present situation, but this is real life,
not a fantasy. Marcus opened the door and I was in awe as I gazed in. The
bedroom was immense. It was finely decorated, definitely out-classing the
rest of the house. Lace curtains covered the window and the walls were a
very soft peach color. I noticed a large vase sitting atop of cherry
colored, wooden nightstand.

"It's amazing," I was able to comment.

Marcus stood in front of me, "That's an understatement.  This is by far my
favorite room."

"I can see why." One thought dominated my mind. "Should I ask Marcus the
question I have been dying to ask? What better place to ask him than in his
favorite room?"

"Uh, Marcus," I paused. Or rather, I froze. Well, it was a start, not a
very helpful start, but a start nonetheless.

Marcus looked at me quizzically, "Yes?" I had no idea what to say; I didn't
have an escape plan prepared. I wondered if I really wanted to escape. I
was torn between desperately asking him what has plagued my mind for the
past week, and running out of the room. I had to think of something fast.

The door off to my left moved and a man entered followed by a girl. The man
suddenly stopped noticing someone in the room. The girl, not paying
attention to the world around her, collided into him.

"Sorry, didn't think anyone was in here," the man apologized and looked
back between Marcus and me. Through the use of his hands he motioned he
would quietly leave.

As soon as the couple left Marcus walked up close to me, "You have to
expect that sort of thing to go on at these parties." I could feel how
close Marcus was to me, the warmth of his body, his soft breathing gently
caressing my cheek. Perhaps my senses were heightened at this moment, for
Marcus was not as close as one would assume.

"So, how has the party been?  I've been busy," I spoke, trying to create a
way to fill the silence.

Marcus turned around and sat on the bed, "Rather dull." He noticed me
staring at him as he sat down. "I've been standing all day, and I just wish
I could go home and curl up on my own bed." He painted a nice picture for
me.

"So why don't you?" I asked.

Marcus looked out the door of the room, "I am a host, and I have
responsibilities."

"Well there is more than one host, isn't there? I'm sure they could handle
it by themselves." Marcus paused, trying to visualize the situation. It was
possible to leave.

Before I had a chance to say another word Marcus spoke to me, "Do you need
a ride back?" I nearly fell over backwards. Did I actually have a chance to
be with Marcus in the car alone? I wasn't sure why it was better to be in a
car alone than at a party alone. Inside my mind I was grinning. I was
careful not to show my enthusiasm, but I don't know why I hid it.

"Yes, thanks." Short and sweet were my words. I tried to accomplish my
directness and still keep cool.

"Give me a minute," Marcus said as we began to walk down the hallway, "I
have to tell Nathan I'm leaving." I stood at the foot of the stairs as
Marcus walked over to Nathan who was talking to a group of people. I saw
Nathan glance over at me as Marcus spoke to him. It was somewhat of a stern
and cold stare. I looked away feeling the eyes upon me. I felt a hand on my
shoulder a few seconds later.

"Ready" Marcus asked me. I nodded and we both headed out the door to his
car. Half of the time we sat in the car we were silent; the rest of the
time we talked about our everyday lives.  Although I detest idle chat, with
Marcus nothing mattered. I love to hear him talk and I love just about
everything about him. The only way for me to stare at him was to talk. If I
didn't say anything it would just seem weird for me to sit there and
stare. Of course, he would only get a peripheral view of me watching him as
he mainly kept his eyes on the road. Even though I could talk to him like a
normal person, my mind was in overdrive. I debated within myself.

"Should I tell him," I asked myself repeatedly, "What would I have to
lose. He had already considered me a friend. So what if he's not gay, I'll
still have him as a friend, right?  Yes, but what if he's a homophobe? You
no longer have him as a friend. But what are the chances?" My mind
constantly thought up questions, which I could not answer. "Can you keep
this bottled up forever?" I thought long and hard about that last
question. The answer was no. I was going to have to tell him I was
gay. Suddenly I noticed something about myself. My mind had switched from
asking him the question of him being gay, and me telling him I'm gay.
"Were the chances of making an ass out of myself less if I said I was gay,
rather than ask him if he's gay? Or I could just treat the first question
as a transition question and then see how he reacts. If he is receptive,
I've got a green light. If he's not, well, it all depends on how much of a
negative response I get."

"Ok," Marcus spoke, "this is where you wanted me to drop you off." I looked
out the window. Damn, it was already time to go and I hadn't asked a damn
thing.

My mind began yelling at me, "Ask him now! Ask him now!"

"Well, I better go," I betrayed myself.

"Damn you!" my mind yelled at me again.

Marcus smiled at me, "I guess I'll see you around." I paused before I
opened the door. I remembered what I had thought about before. I cannot
keep this bottled up forever.

"Marcus, I have something to ask you," I said without even trying to
formulate words.  As I spoke it felt as if I was in a dream, and I wasn't
really in my body, it was as if I was watching myself talking.

Marcus looked at me carefully, "Yes, Jason?" I didn't say anything. I
couldn't say anything; it still felt like I wasn't in control. My hand
moved, but I didn't consciously move it. I knew where it was going, and
couldn't stop it. I didn't even know if I wanted to stop it. My hand was
gently placed on top of his. I leaned forward towards Marcus.



GASP!  Shocking isn't it?  Yeah, you reached the end of the chapter.  And
just when it was getting good, huh?  So, what do you think?  No, I'm
actually asking you- what do you think?  Write in.  Postal office doesn't
like me so e-mail works best.  Write in and tell me what you think, if you
like it, hate it, have a shrine built of it in your house, printing them
out and using them as coasters or building a huge paper mache of George
Foreman out of it, or you reading it and not taking the time to e-mail me-
I know you're out here!  E-mail me at: WhtWindWif@aol.com