The Tin Box (11 page)

The man flipped from his stomach to his back. He allowed his legs to splay widely, revealing an impressive hard-on, and he raised his hips slightly in invitation. “Is there something you want?” his partner teased.

“Gimme that beautiful fucking mouth, man.” The words may have been a little harsh, but they were spoken softly, almost pleadingly. And then he added, “Please?”

He must have been persuasive, because his partner scooted around until he was on his knees between the spread legs. William watched with fascination as the darker guy hunched over, grabbed the lighter guy’s dick, and began to give it taunting little licks.

Colby sighed. “God, these two are hot. Um, Will? Is it gonna freak you out if I…?” He pressed a hand against his own crotch.

It took a few moments for William’s brain to process what Colby was asking him, and then a few more to remember how to reply in intelligible English. “Okay,” he croaked.

Colby immediately unbuttoned and unzipped his cut-offs, fumbled with his underwear for a second, and then pulled out his erect penis. He wrapped a hand around it and slowly began to stroke.

William noticed that one of the men on the computer was now fellating the other, which was interesting to watch. He wondered whether the man’s jaw got tired after a while and how he managed to not choke or gag. Meanwhile, his partner was making encouraging little noises and rocking his pelvis upward. But William found his gaze drawn to the live man beside him. Colby was slouching back in his chair with his thighs spread wide. His hand moved leisurely up and down. Sometimes he gave an extra little twist of his wrist or a flick of his thumb. His eyes were narrowed slightly in concentration, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Colby cut his eyes sideways, making William jerk in embarrassment. But Colby only smiled. “Feel free to join in if the spirit moves you. Porn’s not just a spectator sport.” He waggled his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the laptop.

William did not join in, although his groin was throbbing uncomfortably and his too-loose khaki shorts suddenly felt much too tight. Instead, he tried to examine the onscreen performance clinically, as if someone might call on him to write up a content analysis of homosexual Internet pornography. He noted the camera angles, the lighting, and the anatomical parts that received the most careful cinematographic focus. He wondered whether there was a director just off-camera, telling the actors what to do, and if so, whether signs or hand signals were used so as not to intrude on the soundtrack. He speculated on whether the actors were given a script ahead of time, or just led to the mattress and told to go at it. Did they take coffee breaks periodically? If so, did they put on clothing or robes during the breaks, and then did they need time to get back in the mood when the break was over?

As intriguing as these thoughts might be, William found it hard to concentrate on them. It was simply too difficult to remain an objective observer as the darker model clambered on top of his partner so that they were in the sixty-nine position, as each man sucked the other’s cock, as the man on the bottom crept his fingers between his partner’s butt cheeks and then carefully slid one fingertip inside. And beside William, Colby was breathing hard. His hand moved faster, covering and then revealing the slick red head of his dick.

The noises of sex echoed through William’s apartment: the actors’ moans and grunts, Colby’s sharp little gasps, even William’s own rapid breathing, which sounded as if he’d been running fast. His hands were bunched into painfully tight fists on his lap. He wished he could touch Colby. Just his gel-spiked hair, maybe, or that tender spot on his neck where his pulse fluttered. Colby probably wouldn’t mind—after all, he’d been the one squeezing William’s knee not long ago. But William didn’t have the courage for it and only watched.

The lighter man on screen came first, crying out hoarsely and arching his back. His partner followed soon afterward, pulling out of the bottom man’s mouth to spurt semen over his face. And right after that it was Colby’s turn. A surprised little noise escaped his throat and he thrust very quickly before slumping in his chair with a satisfied groan. William, of course, didn’t climax at all, although he had the feeling it wouldn’t take more than a few firm strokes to send him over the edge.

With a goofy, unashamed smile, Colby stood. He stretched his shoulders a little and clutched at his shorts to keep them from falling. He walked out of the room, toward the bathroom, flip-flops squeaking as he went. Water ran briefly. When he returned, his clothing was in place and fastened. “Sorry. We didn’t actually get very far in today’s lesson, did we? We still haven’t figured out what you like. Do you want to surf some more?”

William closed the laptop and stood, holding his hands awkwardly in front of his crotch. “Uh, no. This was fine, thanks.”

“You know, if you wanted, I could add a more tactile portion to the lesson.” Colby licked his lips. “I don’t claim to be as talented as those guys we just watched, but I’m willing to give it my college best.”

“I don’t— No thanks.” The more primitive parts of William’s brain—the parts he’d have called his id, if he was at all Freudian-inclined—protested, as did the neglected parts of his anatomy. His superego told them to shut the hell up.

He expected some awkwardness between him and Colby, but apparently Colby didn’t do awkward. Probably he was used to situations like this. He just gave a half shrug. “Cool. How about that tour then?”

B
Y
ALL
appearances, Colby loved the tour of the asylum. He skipped and bounced through the spaces, reminding William of little kids who could never quite manage to simply
walk
anywhere. William might have expected to be annoyed by this, but instead he found Colby’s enthusiasm endearing. William smiled more than he had in years and even attempted a couple of lame psychology-themed jokes that made Colby cackle and thump him on the back.

Keeping in mind Colby’s aversion to anything blood-related, William avoided the medical wing entirely. And for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate to himself, he also skipped the little room where he’d found Bill’s box full of letters. But he showed Colby most of the rest of the building—even the crammed and dusty records room, which William hadn’t yet felt the desire to explore. They went outside and toured the grounds, the sun beating down on their heads.

Colby became slightly subdued when William pointed out the cemetery. “Not even any headstones? That’s sad. It’s like these poor people never even existed.”

“I think with a lot of patients, their families wanted to forget them.”

Colby shook his head. “Family’s family, and you gotta love them even if they’re nuts. I have more than one relative who takes meds—heck, I was on Ritalin for years—and I still love them just the same. They’ve all been pretty cool with me too. You know, about me being queer.”

“Not all families are so accepting.”

William hadn’t intended to sound wistful when he said it, but something must have shown in his voice because Colby slipped an arm around his waist. It was a strong arm—not bulky, but solid. “You’re not out to your people, Will?”

William couldn’t look at him, so instead he gazed past the low iron fence and into the patch of weeds and grass where an unknown number of people lay buried. “When I was fifteen, there was this boy I knew. Michael. We were in the church youth group together and sometimes we’d hang out. I guess… I guess I’d had a crush on him for a while, but I didn’t realize it. I just told myself we were buddies.”

Colby snorted softly. “Sounds like a classic case of denial, Dr. Lyon.”

“Pretty much. Anyway, one day we were over at his place. We were playing a video game and we got to roughhousing over the controls, and then… he kissed me.” William could still remember the shock of Michael’s chapped lips against his, the way the other boy tasted like Doritos, the blare of tinny PlayStation music in the background.

“Did you get caught?” Colby leaned against him, speaking quietly.

“No. But… everyone had been telling me for years that homosexuality was wrong. A sin. And I believed them. I spent days terrified that I was going to hell. So I went to my parents and told them what had happened. I begged them to help me.” So what happened afterward was William’s own fault and nobody else’s.

“I knew kids…. When I was in San Francisco, I knew a lot of kids who got kicked out of their homes for being gay. It was so sad. The lucky ones found someplace safe, but even then some of them hurt themselves. Drugs, cutting, risky behavior.”

William had heard stories like those before, and they always made him feel guilty. “My parents didn’t kick me out. They tried to help, in their own screwed-up way. They made me talk to Pastor Reynolds. He said I could still be saved if I tried hard enough.”

A jay landed in a nearby tree and began to scold them, cocking its head this way and that and twitching its tail. Maybe it was opposed to painful confessions. William could relate.

“Did you try hard to be saved?” asked Colby.

“I did.” William sighed. “But then I was sixteen and there was another boy at camp. Leonard. Jeez, what kind of parents name their kid Leonard? That time someone saw us kiss.”

“And?”

“My parents sent me to a therapist.”

The jay flew off, but only as far as the next tree. It wiped its beak on a branch.

Colby was still hugging him, putting enough pressure against William’s body that William allowed himself to slump back, just a little. His parents had rarely hugged him when he was a child, and he and Lisa had rarely even held hands. This felt good. Comfortable. Comforting.

“One of those ex-gay freaks?” asked Colby.

“Yeah. He told me to pray. But he believed in backup, so he used behavior mod techniques too. Painful ones.” He closed his eyes and pushed away the memory of Dr. Eastman’s lizard-like stare, his dry raspy voice, the little room containing the electrodes and VCR and—

William pulled away from Colby but didn’t walk far, and when he stopped underneath the jay’s tree, Colby caught up and embraced him again, this time with both arms. “I’m sorry,” Colby said before releasing him. “Bastards. There’s nothing about you that needs saving or praying away or curing—you know that, right?”

William did. At least, he knew that in his head. He just wasn’t quite sure he believed it in his heart. “I let them think I was cured. I told myself I was too. Or at least really close. And I met Lisa and really liked her a lot, so I thought…. Well, it was a mistake.”

“And that’s why you’re getting divorced.”

“I just couldn’t lie to her anymore. Or to myself.” He laughed without humor. “My parents still don’t know why we split. They think I’m just a failure as a husband—not also a failure as a heterosexual.”

Colby grinned. “But this gives you a fabulous opportunity to be a flaming success as a homosexual!”

William was certain he’d be bad at that too, so he changed the subject. “Let me show you what’s left of the old shops.”

They spent nearly two hours ambling around the grounds, peeking into various structures. They found the remains of what was once a nice garden with a fountain—William wondered whether the patients had been allowed to stroll there—and they admired the fancy woodwork on the director’s house. They ended up dusty and sweaty, and William was pretty certain his usually pale face was sporting a good sunburn.

Colby looked at his watch regretfully. “I gotta head home. Promised Grandpa I’d make dinner tonight.”

“Want something cold to drink first?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

The apartment seemed mercifully cool, especially with the fan blowing and glasses of ice water in their hands. Colby wiped a sheen of perspiration off his forehead. “You’re gonna roast here when summer really hits.” A rare expression of worry crossed his face. “You are staying, aren’t you?”

“At least until fall. I have to finish my dissertation and I don’t have anywhere else to go. Dr. Ochoa’s going to try to add me to his grant for the next academic year, and then I’d probably have a big enough stipend for a place to live, especially if I can teach a class or two.”

“Oh. Well, that gives us a few months at least. And you get to be my new project!”

“Project?”

“Four months from closeted to fabulous! We’ve already made a good start at it today.” Colby gestured toward the laptop, which was enough to make William blush slightly. At least the sunburn probably hid it this time.

“You want me to watch more online porn?” asked William.

“That can be your homework. Drop by the store tomorrow to pick up some more romance novels—that’s extra credit. But I think we’re going to need to branch out a little more.”

Mild alarm fluttered in William’s stomach. “How?”

“You need to meet some real-life men.” Colby nodded. “We’ll go to a bar.”

William pictured disco balls, go-go boys, and lots of glitter. “I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry. I know just the place. Let’s see… I have next Wednesday off, so we can go Tuesday night. Come pick me up at the store at six and we can have dinner somewhere first.” Colby set his empty glass on the table. “Gonna spring me from this place, warden?”