Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles) (17 page)

"What a dipshitidiot."
 

I laugh at his term. "Where the hell did you learn that phrase?"
 

He laughs too, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
 

I lift my chin in a challenge, "Try me."
 

"From Jess, though she pulled it out of a book somewhere."
 

I laugh, "Well, be sure to thank her for me, it suits him perfectly."
 

"Do you know whatever happened to him?" he asks as I come to stand in front of the patio doors, looking out across the city. Eric's apartment is high enough in the building and elevated enough by hills that Los Angeles lays out before me. Though you certainly can't see the whole city, it's still a sight to behold. I was jealous of this view when he moved in. His apartment is smaller than mine but no less luxurious.
 

I sigh before answering, "Nope, I don't. I don't entirely care either. Though after the second to last time my father beat me, he finally told his buddies to shut the fuck up and grow up when they'd start teasing me at school. So I guess that was his way of making amends for running like a little girl when my father caught us."
 

"So if you were back in school after that, what happened that got you locked up?"
 

I run my hand through my hair. "The same, though I'd given up on Billy after that day. I started driving to Decorah, a college town not too far from us, where I would meet guys, and you know. But one time, one of them came home with me, and I was naive enough to believe that my father would still be at the bar, but he wasn't. That time, he didn't beat me up too bad. I think he learned after the last time with Billy that I was bigger and stronger than he was and that I was going to fight back. Instead, he threw my friend out, put me in the house, locked me up in my room and he left. If I'd had any idea of what was coming for me the next day, I would have broken out and left."
 

"What came?"
 

"Men in white coats," I say somberly. "Literally. They were men who had the same right-wing beliefs my father did that being gay was an abomination of God. That being gay was a learned trait. I think my father probably blamed himself since I never had my mother around. I grew up around him and men who worked for him, so he was pretty sure these doctors were capable of ‘curing the gay' out of me."
 

"But it's not a choice."
 

I look at him and smile. "No, it's not a choice. It's what defines you, it's a part of you, whether you want it to be or not." I sigh, looking back out the window. "But my father believed it was a choice. That by sending me away to the nuthouse I could be cured of my ‘gayness', and in a way, I was."

“I don’t see it that way.” He looks at me, confused. “I see it as some group of crazy ass whack jobs bending you to their beliefs.” I shift on the couch to look at him better and he continues, “Think about it. It’s not much different than someone pushing off their religious beliefs on you to the point that you can’t help but believe what they’re saying is the truth. Which it might be, but some people are more susceptible to believing what they’re told, versus the reality of a situation. You were manipulated to believe that being gay is a sin, that being gay is the ultimate blasphemy and nothing more.”
 

“But it doesn’t stop my physical reaction.”
 

“No, and there is a chance that you might never be able to rid yourself of the physical reaction, but I think if you break down what exactly it is that makes you shake, what makes you sick, you might actually see that the trigger in your mind is what you were made to believe. Like that all gay men are raped or are rapists, or that all gay men are beaten or killed, which we both know is not the case. But in your mind, that’s what you believe. That is ultimately what we need to reverse in your mind.”
 

I’m confident that there is nothing I’m telling him that Dr. V hasn’t already said to him, if not him then certainly someone else has. I watch him carefully, lost in thought, lost in understanding and I can see the determination on his features.
 

“How, though?” he finally asks.
 

“How, what?” I cock my head at him, vying for his attention, but he keeps staring out the window.
 

“How do we reverse it?”
 

I smile. “Time, patience, perseverance. Like anything else, Calvin, it won’t be done overnight. But right now, we’re taking steps in the right direction by talking about it. For me, I need to know what boundaries I can push with you. Like earlier, when you kissed me, I was afraid of touching you, afraid of triggering you and more importantly, afraid of losing the moment I was granted. I’m also afraid that if I do something, like touch you or kiss you…”
 

“You’ve touched me for years and nothing has ever happened,” he interrupts.
 

‘You’re right, I have, but when I’ve touched you, it wasn’t a lover's touch. Like touching your cheek, or hugging you - which isn’t something we do often,” I tell him. “I’m worried about instigating something as simple as kissing you. You’ve kissed me twice in less than twenty-four hours, but both of those times have been at your lead. What’s going to happen if I take the lead and try and kiss you?”
 

I watch as he shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. The two times that you did, both times I’ve had negative reactions.”
 

“And they were two times where I let my hormones get the better of me and I kissed you out of nowhere with no right to do so.” A lightbulb clicks in my head. “Oh my god, Cal…do you honestly believe that I would do something to you against your will?”
 

His eyes shoot to mine, first there is fear and concern then finally he softens and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you would.”
 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. It’s not who I am and it is certainly not in my nature to do so, but if you think about it, that is your trigger.”
 

He squints at me, trying to read me, trying to see what it is I’m trying to say.
 

“I went after you, both times, in unprovoked, unwarranted and certainly unwelcome circumstances,” I tell him and it all starts to make sense to me, better sense than it did before.
 

“But none of those times did I ever feel that way.”
 

“Consciously? No, you didn’t, you wouldn’t feel that way, at least not after our chats last night and now today. Don’t you see, you were still fighting yourself, you still are. Fighting a battle between your mind and your heart. Ask yourself, what does my heart want? And there you will have your answer.”
 

“I want you.” His voice is soft, somber and convincing.
 

I smile warmly at him. “And I want you,” I tell him and I stand up. “But right now, the only thing you can do is learn to trust me. Trust me wholeheartedly that I would never ever do anything to harm you. Once you’ve established that trust, then you will be able to see that I’m not your mind’s enemy.” I take a couple of steps toward him. “When you’re with women, who takes the lead?”
 

“I do,” he answers confidently.
 

“What happens when a woman tries to take the lead?” I take two more steps toward him.
 

“I get nauseous.”
 

I take another step toward him and I watch as he stiffens. “What is happening to you right now?” I ask.
 

I watch as he swallows hard, so I take a step back, then another. His eyes relax and his body relaxes in response to my backing away from him. “I’m not going to take the lead here, Calvin. You are.”
 

His eyes dart to mine, then down my body and back up again.
 

“We go only as far as you want this to go. Not a step further. If you want my hands on you, you put them there.”
 

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he breathes.
 

“Then don’t do anything. I am not and will not force you to do anything with me that you don’t want to, but think about it so far. Dinner last night. You picked it, you told me when and I was there. You kissed me first. Today, I opened the door and you all but jumped on me. I make a move toward you and…”
 

“I don’t mean to,” he practically sobs.

I freeze. “Stop, I know you don’t, Calvin. Jesus, I know.” My heart breaks and I don’t know what to do or say and I know he sees it too.
 

“Please don’t, don’t start with the sad eyes, Eric, I can’t, I can’t take them. I can’t…I should go.”
 

“No,” I tell him and sigh. “I am sad because I know you don’t mean any of this, I know this isn’t how you want this to be between us. I know you want more, you want us closer together, I know that. Unequivocally I know that and I know that you’re unable to help it, you’re unable to stop your body from reacting in ways that you despise. So please, my sadness is only because you’re upset. Not because you can’t do something.” I take a deep breath. “It was the same thing last night. What you mistook for pain and pity was actually concern and confusion. Jesus Cal, I want so fucking bad to knock this out of you. To let you be the person you want to be, need to be, are destined to be and all I can do is try. All I can do is keep pressing and keep hoping that I won’t turn it into something worse. Drive you away from me.” Tears well in my eyes. “God forbid, push you out of my life forever.”
 

He doesn’t respond, he just keeps staring at me. “Say something.” I murmur.
 

I watch as he shakes his head and pushes away from the window he’s been leaning on. It’s like watching a slow motion scene where the hottest woman you’ve ever seen is walking in your direction, only without the flowing hair and high-heels. He walks toward me, determination spelled out across his face. I don’t know what his plans are, but I don’t intend to move until I can figure it out.
 

He comes to stand in front of me. His eyes lock with mine. “I have complete control?” he asks.
 

“Yes,” I breathe.
 

His hand grabs the back of my neck and he pulls me down, pressing his lips to mine, hot and hard. Desire, lust, need, desperation explode throughout my body. My dick hardens slightly, lengthening in my jeans. My head starts to swim as his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, coaxing me to open for him. I moan, giving him the opportunity he wants and he slides his tongue in along mine. My breathing hitches and my palms twitch with a desperate need to touch him, but I stay still.
 

His hand unfurls from around my neck and slides down along my shoulder, to my arm just as I feel his breathing spike. A hint of fear slides through me as I worry about him, until his other hand cups my arm. He breaks our kiss and I slowly open my eyes.
 

His are on fire with need. “Touch me, please, Eric?” he breathes.
 

“Where?”
 

His hands slide down my arms to my hands where he grabs my wrists and puts them on his hips. “Anywhere,” he pleads.