Boy Midflight (16 page)

“Don’t worry about it, Ashley. Seriously,” the photographer says, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Marc has Fernando on his way. We’ll have this shoot back up in forty-five minutes. You’re looking beautiful. Guess Mikal is just not comfortable with the gay direction of the campaign. I thought for the money he’d do it. His problem, not yours. I’m sure he would have been a shitty kisser anyway.”

“I’m sure.” I nod with a polite smile, kicking the sand. “I’m just going to walk up the beach a ways. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“I’ll send Marc in the cart to get you as soon as Fernando is here.”

I love the way wet sand seeps through my toes as I walk. I love the mystery of my fading footprints as I walk farther up the beach. Fading. That’s what I wish would happen to today. In tough times I always think, by this time tomorrow, this will have passed. Growing up I hated hockey practice. Dreaded it actually, would be sick all day thinking of having to go. I used the analogy taught by my mother to get through. It’s only one
Sesame Street
and one
Mr. Rogers
long, and you’ll be finished. How many episodes of
Sesame Street
and
Mr. Rogers
until I can get past the bullshit? I’m so tired of all the drama. Why can’t life be simple? Ironic, how originally Mikal was so gung ho about this shoot and I was the one with trepidation.

Am I overreacting?
I mean, I’ve been there myself. Most of my life. Coming out is a huge occasion. I should have been more empathetic. God, I feel like a jerk. I mean, today was big. A lot has happened. Here I go again, matching furniture before we’ve even gone for dinner.

I’m a jerk. I remember how hard it was when I left Rachel for Chris and the thought that someone would find out was a constant virus in my mind. And here I go acting like “get over it, it’s no big deal.”

I wonder if Chris got my e-mail. Wow, that seems like a week ago and it was just this morning.

Maybe Mikal isn’t into it. I mean, he said our kiss last night was
comfortable
to Ferni. Then today he says he’s not in the moment. If that’s the case, then life sucks. I write a good riddance letter to a supposed boyfriend who’s been cheating on me in the morning, spend the afternoon blissfully falling for a god only to be dissed before dinner. What is it exactly that I’m doing wrong? Are these just the practice drills I need to go through before finding love? I realize I’m eighteen, but at this pace I feel like an embittered, crotchety old bachelor who is waiting to meet my reflection just around the corner.

It’s really not fair. Those blissful couples that fall in lifelong love in high school. Disgusting. The football hero and beauty pageant queen destined for eternal romance. Who am I kidding? That never materializes. I need to step outside of me to see what others do. What is it that attracts people and then sends them running? Am I actually gross and disgusting on the inside? I’m a joke; I’m a stereotype of American society. Or am I just its product? One more box with a shiny label on a shelf of others. Enough with this driveling banter.

I hear the low hum of a motor and turn to see Marc on the golf cart approaching, a puff of cigarette smoke rising behind. “Ready, sport? Fernando is here and is just getting final touches done. I’ve walked him through what’s going to happen,” Marc informs me as I climb into the passenger side. “You okay?”

I look up to the blue, blue sky and a few clouds meandering inland. “I’m going to be. Let’s get this show on the road.”

WHAM! FEATHERS
fly as I smack Fernando on the shoulder with my pillow. Laughing, he grabs my wrist and pulls me to himself. I kneel beside him at the headboard, laughing. All fun and games in a dorm room, right? I raise my eyes to Fernando’s and see he isn’t laughing anymore but rather looking seriously at me. Slowing he lifts his arm off the headboard and tucks a blond lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is electric and his deep brown eyes pulse with Latin sensuality. Intoxicating.

I rise up from my haunches and tentatively bring my hand to rest on his chest. His body a da Vincian study of sinewy musculature, every cell perceivably rigid and lithe at the same time. My hand is burning up on Ferni’s mocha chest, his body so hot compared to the early evening air. With our eyes locked, a magnetic force draws us together, slowly. Slowly. Allowing the photographer plenty of time, Ferni parts his lips slightly and closes his eyes. I do the same.

Warm strawberries carried on a mint breeze. Tender and soft.

A ripe pear spilling juice out the corners of my mouth.

I feel Ferni’s strong hands pulling me in tighter, our chests and stomachs pressed together. My hands travel up his back and hold tight.
Damn, he is a really good kisser.
He slips a knee between my thighs, and the sensation of our naked legs touching makes me vocalize my appreciation. “Mmmmm…,” I say as his tongue whips around my mouth. I sink a little and sit resting on his knee, turning my face up so as not to lose his lips.

He gives me a little squeeze, signaling we’ll end it now, and I bite his lower lip. Holding it there between my teeth, I can’t help but smile as I open my eyes. He smiles too and I release him. We start laughing, and I push my weight on him, causing him to fall backward onto the bed. I lean in to his ear and whisper, “Pretty good for a straight boy!”

I rise and sit on the edge of the bed where Tony brings me my robe. Ferni is soon seated by my side. “So, was that weird for you?” I ask.

“What?”

“Kissing me?”

“Not really, I said I’ve done it before, right? No big deal, it’s been a while, though.”

I laugh at his offhandedness. “Thanks for coming. You wanna grab a beer after we’re done here?”

“Love to, Ashley, but I’m meeting Chelsea tonight. She’s driving up from San Diego to spend a couple days. You’re welcome to hang out with us, though.”

“No thanks. You get your groove on, buddy,” I say, focusing my attention on kicking the sand.

“I bet someone else would love to spend the evening with you.” Fernando bumps my shoulder.

“Who’s that?”

“Mikal. Look, I know he kind of freaked out today, but that wasn’t about you. I’m sure of it. He loves you, man. He looks at you like there’s nothing more important in the whole world. Don’t you see that?”

“That wasn’t exactly the message I got this afternoon.” I look out at the dark blue water.

“He’s nervous, that’s all. Ashley, you’re a really confident guy with a lot going for you. It can be intimidating. People can be scared of that.”

“Are you joking? I’m a mess! And it’s not like I’m in the company of anyone who should feel intimidated anyway. Look at you: gorgeous, funny, amazing with women. Look at Mikal: a Greek god and so smart and kind…,” I say, my heart breaking just thinking about him. “Ferni, how come you don’t care? You’re not embarrassed to be with guys, but you’re straight. How does that work?”

“Well, it’s not like I think guys are disgusting. I think most people get curious at some point in their life. I tried it. Found it’s not too bad at all if the person you’re with knows what they’re doing. I just like girls better. I’m not ashamed of having been with guys, though. In the end I think love is love, doesn’t matter between who.”

SEXUAL PREFERENCE
is a weird thing. To me now girls are just too soft and pretty and unpredictable. I can appreciate their beauty but I don’t really want to be naked around them. Actually, they kind of freak me out. When girls get too close, I get scared. Hugging is one thing, but as soon as they start tickling my back or rubbing against me or flirting I start to bug out. I think it’s partly just that I don’t really know how to deal with it. Like am I supposed to stop and say, “Hold that thought, I’m gay.” I usually just wiggle my way out of those situations, which probably leaves them thinking, “He must be gay.”

Whatever, I don’t care. Just as long as they keep their eyes away. Girls’ eyes make my skin crawl when they look flirtatiously at me. Makes me want to run. Kind of like on
Roger Rabbit
when “Crazy Jessica Rabbit” chases the detective all around Toon Town. Like that. With her googly eyes and sloppy lips flappin’ in the wind.

But give me a man, strong with a bristly jaw, and I melt. Give me a man who looks like he could beat me up. To each their own.

“So does this mean I can grab your ass and you’ll be giving me good night kisses from now on, Ferni?” I ask as I close the door to the trailer behind us.

“Not if you want to walk tomorrow. After me your ass would be sore for weeks,” he says, laughing as he slips the robe off his shoulders, letting it fall on one of the director chairs. I remove mine and throw it on top, crossing to the fruit basket.

“Here, play with these,” I say, tossing two plums and a banana at Ferni. He catches them and starts to juggle, the banana twisting in eccentric loops as it is caught and tossed. “Nice, I knew you had practice.”

“Wait! Watch this!” With that devilish grin plastered across his face, he tosses one plum up and holds open the front of his boxer briefs. As the plum descends, he throws the second up. Plop! Plop! With some fancy hip maneuvers, the plums land in his drawers. Shoving the banana in front like an engorged phallus, he starts to dance around like a Chippendales boy. He flexes his biceps and turns his back to me, shaking his ass. He shimmies over to the fruit basket and grabs a pineapple. “Blue twenty-two. Green seventy-eight. Red seventeen! Hut hut!” He dekes left and right, looking far out over the imaginary football field with the pineapple held over one shoulder. “Go long, Ashley, go long!”

I mock run to the back of the trailer, and the pineapple spirals out of Ferni’s hand in slow motion. I catch the spiky fruit, cradling it into my bare chest. Ferni is on me, now taking on the role of the defensive.

“Ahhh!” he yells as he slams his shoulder into my waist, sending me flying onto my back on the bed of the trailer. The pineapple rolls out of my grasp across the bedspread and plops on the floor. Fernando pounces on top of me, pinning me down with his weight by sitting on my hips with the banana and plums squishing against my stomach. Grabbing my wrists, he swats my own hands against my face. “Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!” he taunts like a bullying twelve-year-old.

“Let me go!” I yell, thrashing around, trying to dislodge him. Stronger than me, Ferni just continues laughing as he pins my wrists to the pillow over my head.

“Are you ticklish?” he asks, one hand with dancing fingers poised in the air. I bet he was a demon to his siblings. His hand plunges to my armpits and stomach with terrifying intensity.

“Don’t, Ferni! Don’t! A-ha-ha. Ha!’ The tears start rolling down my face, and he pushes his weight harder onto me, driving his banana phallus against my stomach. I feel wet there, the plums discharging their sticky juice on my legs. It drips down the inside of my thighs. Fernando is relentless in his tickling, his face a mask of pure glee.

“You want the real thing, don’t you, Ashley?” he growls throatily in my ear. Shades of Jeremy. He drives his hips against me. One pump. Two. Then reaches into his shorts and grabs the plums. He crushes them in his right fist and then slams them against my chest. Rubbing them down over my stomach and up through my armpit to my wrist, leaving a sticky trail behind them.

“Ferni, enough. Get
off
of me,” I plead. Tossing the plums to the ground, he leans back slightly, his left arm still holding mine to the mattress, and pulls the elastic of his underwear open, revealing the banana emerging from a tuft of dark curls beside his own engorged member.

“You wanna play with it?” Ferni asks, this time laying the real McCoy against my stomach. “Come on, Mikal will never know. Just two buddies fooling around, that’s all.”

“Ferni, we’ve fooled around enough. Let me go!”

“What if I don’t? What if I flip you over right now and give you what you know you want?” Ferni says, sitting back on me.

“Fernando, get off. Now.” My voice is low and with conviction this time. Lifting his left leg over me, he flops down next to me, propping himself up with one arm.

“Ashley, I was just fuckin’ with you. Just rubbing sticks together.”

“Yeah, rubbing sticks causes fire, Ferni,” I say, seeing him return to his jocular self, the gleam faded from his dark eyes. Resting his head on a crooked arm, he studies me.

“What are you afraid of?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, turning on my side to face him. His voice so gentle and eyes imploring like a best friend whispering across the pillow at a sleepover.

“What do you run to and away from? My grandma used to say more people are running from hell than towards heaven.”

“I guess I’m scared of being alone, that I’ll never find the One. That I’m trying so hard to grow up fast that I’ll miss meeting him on the way. And I’m afraid of what I like,” I say, searching his eyes for understanding.

“What do you mean?” Ferni asks, pulling his pillow closer in conspiracy.

“I mean I’m scared of my sexuality. I think I’ve felt bad about sex all growing up, especially when I allowed myself to imagine sex with a guy. I see it like a big black hole I’m scared to fall into because I could never climb out.”

“Ashley, it’s okay to be sexual. It’s okay to want to have sex, even with a man. It’s not weird or anything to be ashamed of.”

“I know. I keep trying to tell myself that. I just don’t know how to fit this lifestyle into the one I always imagined, complete with a picket fence.”

“Number one—it doesn’t fit and neither do you. So mourn it, grieve it, whatever you need to do, but move on. You can’t tell me you’d be truly happy in that situation anyway. You belong in a flat in New York or a home in the Hollywood Hills. You make your own destiny and it is what you create. Color it with your own brush strokes, not someone else’s.”

I sigh and contemplate his words. He’s right. A life without adventure and uniqueness would drive me nuts. “Tell me about your first time,” I say, meeting Fernando’s eyes, searching to understand him. Ferni smiles, rolls onto his back, and sighs. He just looks at the trailer’s roof for a while as if the story he’s about to share is being written there.