Best Gay Romance 2013 (9 page)

The night of my arrest, my parents didn't lecture me. When Dad and I got home, my mom hugged me and asked if I was okay.

“I guess,” I said. “Can you forgive me?”

“We love you, Zach; this doesn't change a thing. Go take a shower.”

I felt filthy from my stay at the jail. Warm water raining on my skin soothed me and helped me feel human again. But I couldn't get memories from jail out of my head: the stink, the creepy prisoners, and the sordidness of it all.

Afterward, Cody and I sat in my bedroom with the door closed. I told him everything: how many times I'd visited Oleander Park, the sex acts I'd performed there, how I'd known I was gay since I was twelve, and how badly I craved intimacies with men. The words poured out of me like water from a spigot. I guess I'd always wanted to share my secrets with someone, and now I could.

Cody listened without comment. When I'd finished talking, he tapped his chin with his fingertips. “I don't understand something,” he said.

“What's that?”

“How come you didn't tell me these things before? I thought we were best friends.”

“We
are
,” I said, “but sucking cock's not something I'm proud of. I wasn't sure how you'd react if I told you I was queer.”

Cody made a face. “That's how little you trust me?”

His remark got me angry. I spoke without thinking first. “You're a fine one to talk: you've lived here three weeks but you still haven't explained.”

“Explained what?”

“The reason you tried killing yourself. And don't give me that crap about your mom. It was something else, I know.”

Cody looked away and rubbed his lips together.

“Come on,” I said, “tell me.”

Cody went to the cot, climbed under the covers and turned away from me.

 

Most everyone at school used Internet social networking, so it didn't take long for news of my arrest to spread. Altered photos of me appeared online: I'd have a cock in my mouth or a dildo up my ass. I received dozens of insulting emails, a couple of threats too. In the school parking lot, someone spray-painted FAGGOT on my car.

I was shoved and kicked numerous times in our school's hallways. Guys called me every name in the book:
fairy, fudge-packer, sissy boy
,
pervert
and
cocksucker
, to name a few. They made kissing sounds behind my back. People I'd
thought
were my friends ceased talking to me altogether. Suddenly I was a leper.

The only person who stuck with me was Cody. We'd walk to first period together each morning, eat lunch together in the cafeteria. Each afternoon we'd walk to my car together. None of this was easy for Cody, I'm sure. Guys called Cody and me “asshole buddies”; they accused Cody—right to his face—of being my boyfriend. But none of it dissuaded Cody from standing with me.

“If someone tries to beat you up,” he said, “they'll have to fight me too.”

After a couple of weeks, guys grew tired of harassing me. The insults tapered off and people stopped staring. My arrest became yesterday's news. But my former “friends” still avoided me. My cell phone rarely chimed and my text message inbox remained empty. Socially, I was a complete pariah. I went through my school days speaking to no one but my teachers and Cody.

Thank god for Cody.

Since moving to our house, he'd become more like his old
self. He had emptied his bag of marijuana down the garbage disposal. He took more pride in his appearance, put more effort into school. Each afternoon, we'd study in my room. In our free time we played video games, rode our skateboards and watched TV. Or we drove around town in my car, not talking much, just cruising the streets.

Our misfortunes had brought us closer together, I think. We'd both been shamed before our peers and socially ostracized. Lesser boys might've gone crazy—maybe even jumped off a bridge—but together we managed to survive. On campus we kept our grades up, our chins as well.

“Fuck people at school,” Cody said. “Who needs them?”

You're right,
I thought.

 

I woke to the sound of Cody's whimpering. I'm a fairly sound sleeper, but he made plenty of noise. He lay in fetal position, under the blanket on his cot. I glanced at my nightstand clock; the time was three a.m. Cody's knees chugged; his feet kept thrusting from beneath his covers. Silvery moonlight poured into the room through a pair of double-hung windows. I knelt beside Cody and shook his shoulder. When Cody didn't respond, I poked his ribs.

“Wake up.”

He turned toward me and his eyes fluttered open.

“What is it?”

“I think you're having a bad dream.”

He flipped onto his back and didn't say anything.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“The same shit as always.”

“What?”

Cody looked at me. Then he returned his gaze to the ceiling.

“Tell me,” I said. “I'm staying right here 'til you do.”

He drew a breath, released it. “I dreamt about my brother.”

“Dean?”

Cody nodded. “In the dream I stood next to the car he died in. I heard him kick the trunk lid and holler for help. He knew I was there; he even called my name. My parents watched. They shouted at me to do something but I didn't have a key to the trunk. It was…awful.”

“Have you dreamt this before?”

“Many times, Zach.”

Jesus,
I thought.
Poor Cody…

 

Spring break arrived in late March. Cody and I had performed well in school, so my folks agreed to rent us a room at the beach for three nights.

“I'm trusting you,” my mother said. “No drunken parties.”

And I thought,
Parties require friends, Mom. We don't have any, remember?

But I only nodded.

The motel manager puffed on a cigarette while he checked us in. Students from assorted high schools and colleges occupied most of the rooms. Kids were all over the place, on the pool deck and in corridors. Boys guzzled beer, girls sipped wine coolers. The scent of burning marijuana was pervasive.

Our first night there, while swimming in the motel pool, we met a couple of guys from University of Florida. Ten minutes into the conversation, one guy told us the name of his fraternity and Cody's face turned white as an egg. He glanced at me and shook his head, very subtly. I cleared my throat. Changing the subject, I asked the UF guys if they might buy us beer, since Cody and I were underage.

An hour later, Cody and I sat in our room on our lumpy beds
while a case of Budweiser chilled in our mini-fridge. We sipped from cans, both of us wearing only board shorts, while Cody spoke of the boys from UF.

“I can't believe it. Of all the guys we had to meet…”

“Look,” I said, “they don't know you're Dean's brother.”

“True, but still it's weird. They could be the ones who—”

“Let's talk about something else.”

While we gabbed, I studied Cody's physique. Like me, he was skinny and pale, with a smooth chest and a narrow waist. Copper-colored fuzz dusted his calves. In one leg of his shorts, his cock bulged and the sight of it made me hunger for sex.

By midnight we had killed most of the beer. We lay on our respective beds, listening to reggae music on my portable player. I didn't drink alcohol too often—neither did Cody—and both of us slurred our words. When I rose to visit the bathroom, I staggered and nearly fell. I stood before the toilet, swaying. Half my urine ended up on the floor. I didn't even bother flushing or zipping up, I just stumbled out of the bathroom with my cock hanging out of my board shorts. Then I fell backward onto my bed.

Cody looked at me and rolled his eyes. “You're shit-faced, you know. You forgot to put your dick away.”

The alcohol emboldened me, made me feel reckless. I looked down at my groin, then at Cody.

“Why don't
you
put it away for me?”

Cody made a face and snickered. “Are you making a pass at me?”

“Maybe,” I said. “I'm so horny I could fuck a goat.”

Cody made a bleating sound. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

I jabbed at my mattress with a fingertip. “How about it?”

Cody drew a deep breath. He swung his feet to the carpet and placed his hands on his knees while my pulse pounded in my
head. This was uncharted territory for me and Cody. We were best friends, sure. But what would he say?

Cody licked his lips. He looked at the door, then at me.

“Tell you what, Zach: I'll sleep in your bed and we can do whatever you'd like. Just don't tell anyone, okay?”

My cock stiffened—it looked like a runaway banana—but I felt a tinge of guilt. Would I regret this once I sobered up? Was I taking advantage of Cody?

“Look,” I said, “you don't have to do this.”

Cody put his hands on his hips and a little smile played on his face.

“I
want
to, Zach. I really do.”

Cody locked the deadbolt, engaged the door's security chain. He went to the bathroom and used the toilet. After flushing, he switched off the lights. Our drapes were thin. Glow from the motel's corridor lights entered the room, enough so I could see.

Cody stood beside my bed. Looking down at me, he loosened his shorts' drawstring and let them drop. I'd never seen Cody's cock before. It was long and pale, with a head shaped like a strawberry. His pubic bush was copper colored.

“Hey,” Cody said.

I looked up into his face.

“How come I'm the only naked guy here?”

Chuckling, I shoved my board shorts down my legs and kicked them away. Then I scooted over, making room for Cody. The bedsprings sighed when he lay beside me. His skin and hair smelled like pool chlorine. I lay on my back and Cody placed his cheek on my chest. He draped an arm across my waist, brought a knee to mine. His leg fuzz tickled my leg fuzz while he seized my erection in his fingers. He worked my foreskin back and forth. Then, shifting position, he took half my cock
into his mouth and sucked it like a regular at Oleander Park.

I crinkled my forehead, thinking,
Huh
?

We were both drunk, of course. But something didn't feel quite right. I told myself,
This is
far
too easy.

“Cody?”

He let my cock slip from his mouth. “What?”

“Have you done this before?”

He chuckled. “Lots of times.”

“With who?” I said.

“You
don't
want to know.”

“Of course I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead and tell me.”

Cody let out his breath.

“Zach, I was my brother's lover for the longest time.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. My vision blurred and a flash went off inside my head. My cock went limp as a dishrag. I pushed Cody away, sat up straight and flicked on the nightstand lamp. Cody's lips shone with spit. Both of us squinted in the brightness while our chests heaved.

“I don't believe this,” I said. “How come you never told me?”

He raised a shoulder. “How come
you
never told me about Oleander Park?”

I fell onto my back and studied the popcorn ceiling, while questions flooded my brain. How long had Cody's affair with Dean lasted? What kind of sex acts had they performed and how often? Was Cody gay like me? Had he enjoyed lovemaking with his brother? Or had he simply submitted to Dean's will? Dean had dated girls in high school, real beauties. Had it all been a cover?

I didn't ask Cody about these things; they could wait.

I had something more important on my mind.

“As long as we're getting secrets out of the way…“

“What?”

“Tell me why you tried killing yourself? I want the truth this time.”

Cody dropped his gaze and nodded.

“Turn off the light,” he said. “Then I'll tell you.”

 

Details of Cody relationship with his brother weren't all that complicated. When Cody had been fourteen, and Dean a year older, they'd experimented sexually while the Bartons vacationed in the Bahamas. The boys started with mutual masturbation, advanced to oral sex, then anal.

“Dean was great in bed,” Cody told me. “He'd done it with guys before.”

Both brothers felt enthralled by their intimacies. They made a pact before returning to Florida: they'd become lovers, but no one,
nobody,
must know.

“Dean said if anyone found out, he'd have disaster on his hands. His reputation at school was important, he said. He had definite plans for his future: college, law school, and politics.”

I lay there in darkness with Cody's head resting on my sternum. I didn't say a word.

“It was crazy,” Cody said. “I'd pass Dean in the school hallway and he'd be talking with some girl he dated. He'd give me a wink and then I'd ask myself, ‘What would the girl say if she knew?' Or I'd overhear Dean talking on the phone with his swim team buddies. He'd mention fucking this girl or that one, and I'd recall him fucking
me
the night before.”

I rubbed the tip of my nose. “Did you love Dean?”

“Of course I did. When he left for college, I thought I'd lose my mind. I kept calling him during fall semester—to see if I
could come up to Gainesville for a visit—but he always said no'cause he had no privacy there.