Date: Fri, 28 Apr 2006 02:30:32 -0400
From: Chris Creamer <ou.ohyeah@gmail.com>
Subject: "Tyler" Series 11

John approaches. Behind the tears, Tyler argues with himself:

Don't cry. Girls cry and you're not a fuckin girl. You're a man, you're a
lion. Star fuckin quarterback and all-state wrestling first placer two
years running. You suck dick, and that's to absorb more Man. You're a lion,
and a damn good one. Sarah couldn't see that...her fault.

That's how you justify this. Her fault. It was all her, even until the very
end. She could never see it, and you could. You saw it all and you took the
apple from the tree. But it's not sinning in your head, now is it, Tyler?
No. Because it feels good.  And all you've ever wanted is to feel truly
good.

Sarah finds out the wrestling team had their fuckin way with me and that
I've been banging John and she splits. Typical.

Maybe I should have known. Seen it coming, or something.

Of course, Tyler. You're a guy who likes another guy. Every part of another
guy. And it came back to bite you.

But...you're not...upset. Maybe Sarah...maybe this all was inevitable.

He is damn good, after all. And that's why you do it, Tyler. You fuck John
because it feels good; you kiss Sarah and pretend to care because you feel
wanted. John is a happy medium. He doesn't ask for your allegiance; he
knows its there. Unspoken, as it should be. And you know his is there for
you. You're a perfect match. Now...you know it to be true.

So wipe the tears away, bucko. Because he's coming, and he looks as cute as
ever in that oxford, buttoned only halfway up his chest, and when it flaps
in the wind you can see the boys--twin nipples standing out and saluting
you. As cute as ever in those chino shorts with his cute and thin and toned
little legs and leather flip flops slapping against the pavement.

Yes. That's it exactly. He's cute, you're having sex with him--you may just
have car sex right here and now--and that's that. Get over it, unzip your
pants and let him take you.  Because he wants to have you. Because you want
to have him.

So admit that, and you're free. Free of lying and rumors and drama. Free to
do what you feel like, for once in your goddamn life. Free to be gay.

Yes. That's it exactly.

The passenger's door opens and John slides into the seat. He's almost too
big for the seat, so his legs are angled sharply--like a giant in a
clown-car. The chinos slide down his thighs a few inches, revealing the
skin the tanning bed didn't get. Yes, he's cute. He's damn sexy. That curly
hair just screams at you, doesn't it?

"I'm sorry," he says, sounding serious.

"It's...its okay," you say. You're half faking, but that's okay. You can
manage. "Bound to happen."

John nods once and looks out the window.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"She, uh...broke it off. Was it because of me?"

One of your eyebrows peaks. No, Johnny-Gee, she found my stack of
Swank. Oops, that's not only untrue, it's also mean. To John. To this
little Adonis sitting not a foot from you.

"Yes," you say, and it's sub-whistle in volume.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, surprisingly sadder than before. "Is there...is
there anything I can do?"

And you feel it. First in your head, with those eyebrows angling
again. Fire. It travels down your arms and your hands form into fists. It
travels into your gut and your abs tighten. It goes into your legs and they
tense up irritably. And then it happens.

You punch him.

The best and closest friend you've made for yourself over the course of a
week--and you sock him in the face. Probably shatter his cheekbone and ruin
those gorgeous features in a moment of Bad Form.

You catch yourself, but only after his head's already slammed against the
window and your hand's already quivering in your lap--shocked from what it's
just done.

"I...I'm...wow." Yeah, you're speechless, Tyler. Welcome to Fuckupland. You
want to apologize, sure, but do you Really Mean It? Lots of people Really
Mean It. Are you one of em?

Nah. Your anger at Johnny-Gee there is a righteous kind. He's responsible
for the Sarah fiasco. Had he not been so selfish and laid down those damn
signals, you could have been happy with your lady. But the signals were
laid and you followed them like some starving dog. Started with a blowjob,
went to spending the night together and then full-blown fucking--both of you
in time getting to play the bottom and have the other's cock playing king
of the hill with your ass.

You fuck him to feel good. You fucked Sarah to feel wanted. That's how you
justify it.  He did it. He was the one who--

"Dammit," you say. "It was me."

"What?" he asks, rubbing the pain out of his chin.

He was the one who sucked your cock, Tyler. All along it was you. You just
had to play scientist and go commando at the wrestling match. Christ,
Tyler, your parents were there, they probably saw your cock on display for
the whole world. For John.

Yeah, you sat there on that sink and let him take it all, because you
wanted to feel good. The thrill of beating that...inferior specimen led to
the thrill of John's lips wrapped around your cock.

It was you. The whole time.

You feel yourself lean over and kiss him. One of those long and deep ones,
where your tongue slides around in his mouth and tries to apologize on its
own.

And it works. He meets your kiss and puts his hands against your face,
caressing your cheeks and your stubble. And the world slides away for a
while. As long as you have him, and he has you...it's all right.

It's both of you. The storm's just passing, Tyler. The best is yet to
come. Because that's what this is: a new chance at love. Sarah is gone.

But John is right here waiting for you. He always has been.

You pull away momentarily and through teary eyes of your own, you say
everything that needs to be said.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry. I love you. I love you so much."

"I know," he says. "I love you too."