Tricks (26 page)

Every now and then, you

come across married guys

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who want to meet for real, with or without their wives, usually the former. Cheap

thrill seekers. I haven't

played in the flesh, but I don't

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mind getting someone off telling dirty stories. There's a certain sick kind of power in that. I bet I've even

made a priest or two come.

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Which Brings Me Back

To Father Howard. I guess the first time he gave me a hug, I was about twelve, and an altar boy, steeped in Catholic tradition. I was

*

preparing the altar for Mass

when he called to me from the vestry.
Seth, come here and help me a minute, please.

It was a stifling summer

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afternoon, and the loud

hum of the air conditioner

fought heavy rock music, streaming from the radio.

Father Howard was a twenty-

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-century priest.
What do you

think of these colors?
He held up some squares in turquoise

hues.
I
want to paint the office
and just can't seem to decide.

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I went closer, studied the samples carefully.

Finally I pointed to "Cool

Caribbean." Father Howard

smiled.
I like that one too.

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Cool Caribbean it is, then.

Thank you, Seth.
As I turned to leave, his arms coiled around me.
You're very

special to me, you know.

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It was the first time a man

had ever hugged me in such an intimate way. I liked it, twisted around to hug

him back. "Thanks, Father."

*

That was it. That time. I left, feeling very special. It never

occurred to me that it might

be wrong for a man of God to embrace a boy in such a way.

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Or Where

That first hug might lead.

The next time we were alone together, Father Howard was bolder. His hug lasted

longer, and he massaged

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my shoulders.
You are such
a good-looking boy,
he said.

I bet the girls think so too.

He paused, but when I didn't

respond, he tried,
Other boys?

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My eyes went wide. I started to deny, but the adolescent

tugs I'd felt had all been toward boys. I couldn't lie to a priest. I stared at the floor.

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He tilted my chin, so I had to look in his eyes.
It's okay,

Seth. You're beautiful, just the way God made you.

His lips, warm and soft,

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brushed across my forehead.

I was scared. Thrilled. Amazed at his acceptance of sin, born inside of me. Father Howard

left things there. That time.

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The Next Time

Hugging segued to touching.

Not too much. But enough.

Later, there would be more

touching. Mutual touching.

But always gentle. Always

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with deep affection. We never

had out-and-out (meaning in and out) sex. And though I'd heard about pedophile priests, for some reason, I never thought

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Father Howard might be one.

Not then, anyway. Not until years later, when I read about him losing his collar because of another boy. In another town.

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The picture became rainwater

clear. I wasn't special at all.

I was just one of the first of many. I felt betrayed.

Used. White-hot pissed off.

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But ultimately my emotions

cooled. Iced over. I could

have said no, and Father

Howard would have backed

off. But I didn't. And while

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he most definitely took

advantage of my youthful

ignorance, he also made

believe that being drawn to men didn't automatically

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condemn me to hell. After

Father Howard changed

parishes, I moved on too-- to girls in general and Janet

Winkler in particular. I'll always

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feel bad about hurting her, but I can't be what I'm not.

Bringing me back to what I am--

gay, and being provided for by someone I like but don't love.

439

Making Me

According to this guy Chad, a regular chatter in Men Kept by Men,
A whore, and not a whole lot more. No worries,
mate. I'm a whore too.

*

Turns out Chad's keeper

imported him all the way from Sydney, Down Under.

But wherever he's from, his assessment must be wrong.

*

Okay, I don't love Carl. But

millions of people have lived

together without being in love.

I type, "How is this different from a marriage of convenience?"

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Chad's fingers are quick:

Did you sign anything to make the arrangement legal?

If your man drops dead,
what will happen to you?

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Carl won't die any time soon.

Right? I mean, he's not
that

old. Right? Okay. Valid point.

One I should probably consider

sooner rather than later. Right?

440

A Poem by Whitney Lang
Sooner or Later

Someone

you could not have

ever dreamed of appears like a rainbow

bridging clouds, and steals

your breath away.

Someone beautiful, inside and out, grabs hold of your

hand, guides you along a rarely traveled

road, to a place

where your broken

heart

can be mended, piece by beating piece.

The cost, gratefully

afforded, is only

your love.

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Whitney Free

That's what I am now. Free of Mom, of Kyra's shadow.

Free of friction and the pain of a shattered heart. I'm healed.

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I'm also blown away by Vegas.

What a crazy city! I bet this is what all those Saudi sheiks

wish their desert looked like.

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Of course, on any given day, there are probably a half-dozen

Middle Eastern moneybags

living it up here in Sin City.

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This is where they come to get

away from Allah's watchful eye.

'Cause Vegas would scare the living

crap out of any deity worth his salt.

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It's hot as hell and downright

filthy. Not like dusty dirty, although when the wind blows

hard from the west, it's that, too.

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Vegas is the kind of dirty every

mother worries about. What would

my mom say if she knew this is where

I ended up when I left that night?

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Nothing, probably. I bet she's happy

I'm gone. One less irritation carving

wrinkles. Daddy must be worried

sick. It's been almost two months,

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and I haven't let him know I'm okay.

Eventually I will. I'm more than okay, actually. I'm great, because

I'm with Bryn, who loves me

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more than anything. Who wants to be with me always. Who needs me.

That's something all new--being

needed. Treasured. Protected.

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I'll never let anyone hurt you,

Bryn promised.
You are my angel.

I've never been anyone's angel, either. Bryn has given me wings.

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We're Staying

In a weekly motel--small, but mostly

clean and air-conditioned. And it's only until Bryn has time to find us something

nicer. He's been working almost

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every day, photographing wannabe beauty

pageant queens. I don't like him ogling gorgeous girls for hours at a time, but he comes home to me.

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He photographs me, too. Lately, the pics have all been naked.

Such a beautiful body deserves
to be seen,
he says.
We could make

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some extra money, too. To get an even better place. More like what you're used to. I want

only the very best for you.

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I don't mind posing without clothes. Some of the finest art

ever was paintings of nudes.

Bryn makes me feel pretty,

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and I like how that looks in photos.

At first it was kind of weird, thinking about total strangers

seeing me that way, but it's not

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so bad, really. And hey, maybe

Mom will come across one of them.

That would be awesome. Stupid cow

would probably be jealous.

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Bryn called a little while ago.

I'm on my way home, and I've

got a little surprise for you.

Hope you're up for some fun.

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Fun? Like what? He must have

gotten paid, which is good. I was starting to worry a little about how we were going to eat.

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I guess inheriting his mom's house was more about spending money than making money, at least until he can sell it. Not easy right now.

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Because of the housing slump.

And because going back to Santa

Cruz would probably not be wise.

But he said we'd be fine, and we will.

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Bryn Blows In

Like a breeze off the ocean, lifting me with his presence.

Then his arms lift me for real, spin me around and around.

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Hey, baby.
He kisses me, infuses

me with happiness.
What a day.

Sorry I'm late.
The clock says

it's eight eighteen. He
is
late.

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He carries me to the couch, sits

me down.
Are you ready for my

surprise? Two surprises, actually.

He reaches into a pocket for the first.

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Guess it's not a dinner out.

Nope. Not even close. It's a dope-sized

plastic bag with some brown

substance inside. "What's that?"

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But I suspect his response:

Smack. One of the girls turned

me on to a little. Thought

you might like to share a taste.

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Heroin. I've never even thought about trying it. "I don't know....

That shit is scary as hell." Way past meth, which is scary enough.

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Bryn's Reaction

Is swift, completely unexpected.

Oh, I see. You can do cocaine with your other boyfriends, but you won't try this for me?

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Holy Pete! He's never snapped at me like that before. I've never

even heard him raise his voice.

My first instinct is to bark back,

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but I don't want to fight with Bryn.

"I--I'm sorry. I just... didn't...

Uh..." Why am I apologizing?

"It's just, heroin is so addictive, and..."

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He softens immediately.
No, hon.

Not if you only do a little, once in a while. And the places it will

take you! I want to see you there.

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OMG. I can't believe I'm saying

okay to heroin. But I am. Except,

"No needles! No way will I shoot up anything." I wait for his reaction.

*

No problem. We'll just chase
the dragon, okay?
He means heated

tinfoil and a rolled-up bill to grab the smoke, draw it up my nose.

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I've seen people at parties do

meth the same way. Even before

Bryn creases the foil into a deep

V, my heart starts racing. Fear

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is exhilarating, all on its own.

I watch him drop a pinhead of H into the makeshift bowl, and goose

bumps cover my arms. I have no

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idea what to expect when the smoke

lifts into the dollar bill "straw." Ugh.

It tastes like rotten ketchup. Bitter and harsh in my throat. I start to choke.

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Bryn's warning is rough:
Don't

you dare cough it out!
He checks

out my eyes. Looking for pupil

dilation, no doubt. It takes a while.

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If you shoot up, you feel the effects

instantaneously. Smoking it might

take ten or fifteen minutes. Patience.

Meanwhile, I have another surprise.

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It takes all of ten minutes before

I begin to feel kind of tingly. Euphoric.

Like everything in my life just fell into place. The sensation is gentle,

448

not at all like the overwhelming

buzz I thought it would be. I can

handle this. What's all the hype

about, anyway? Bryn has finished

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setting up the second surprise-- a webcam, hooked up to his laptop.
I
thought it would be fun to put ourselves in the movies.

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America's Sexiest Home Videos.

Come here. Let's get nasty.

The tone of his voice lets me know

disagreeing is not an option.

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But I don't want to disagree.

Every nerve in my body screams to make love with Bryn, who responds by taking "nasty" to a whole new level.

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It is only afterward, floating on a sensual fog, in an uneasy state of half sleep, that it comes to me: