Flesh and Blood, Page 20

  “A very pretty view of human nature. Frankly, I half wish he'd go away. He's making me nervous. What does he want here? Just veneration, if you ask me. There are men like that. Admiration queens. I'll bet you the price of a drink he's going to go to a half-dozen bars tonight, speak to no one, and then go home and get off in front of a mirror.”

  “Who knows?” Will said. “Do you think it's fair to judge somebody like that just because he's handsome?”

  “Old crones have been passing harsh judgments on pretty young things since time immemorial. Those of us who were once pretty young things ourselves are usually correct.”

  “He could just be here hoping to meet somebody. Why not?”

  Rockwell said, “The Duchess of Windsor could be browsing Woolworth's hoping to find something she'd like, but the odds are she'd have an ulterior motive. How old are you, Willy? Aren't you about ready to shed your youthful idealism? Past a certain age, it's no longer becoming.”

  “What will you give me if I go talk to him?”

  “My undying respect.”

  “If he turns out to be just a regular, decent guy, you'll have to buy me my drinks for the rest of the month. How's that?”

  “All right. Go. Report back.”

  Will took his beer and walked purposefully up to the man. It was the only way. He got courage from Rockwell, from the idea of being seen as someone heedless and courageous. He said, “Excuse me, but I have to ask. What are you doing here?”

  “Huh?” The man's face was blunt, placid, deeply carved. He was Will's age, a little older.

  “This bar is the exclusive province of sad old queens,” Will said. “I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave.”

  “You're not an old queen,” the man said. He tilted his beer bottle to his lips. An oval of reflected light slipped along the bottle's shaft.

  “I have visiting rights here,” Will said. “My name is Will.”

  “Matt,” the man said. They shook hands. Matt wore a white dress shirt and pale blue corduroys, smelled too strongly of cologne. His hair, a lavish abundance of dark-blond curls, did not quite touch his collar.

  “You really are getting everybody all upset,” Will said softly, conspiratorially. “You're too handsome for this place. You're making everybody else feel like they look the way they really do look.”

  “Maybe I should leave,” Matt said.

  A shock of uncertainty ran through Will. Was he driving the man off? He knew that when he was nervous he could be too slick, too clever, though he knew, too, that in a sense he did want this Matt to go. He was too finely wrought, too fortunate. The ease of his beauty hung awkwardly in the unfresh air.

  “No,” Will said. “I didn't really mean it, I'm just trying, you know, to be clever.”

  “I'm getting tired, anyway,” Matt said. “I have to get up in the morning.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  Matt yawned to illustrate his fatigue. A thread of clear saliva stretched from his upper to his lower teeth.

  “I actually have to get up, too,” Will said. “I have to teach in the morning. I just came out for a quick beer with my aunts and uncles.”

  “You're a teacher?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I just finished school.”

  “Really?”

  “I just got my master's in government. From Harvard.”

  “Well. Somebody's got to do it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Matt said. “Hey, I've got to go.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a shuffling, a nameless transition. Will and Matt looked at each other, shrugged as if they shared a joke. Matt asked, “Do you feel like coming over to my place for one more beer?”

  Will blinked. Matt must, in fact, be a hallucination. It did not seem possible that a man like this, a man heavy-jawed and muscular as all his dreams, would invite him home. He didn't live in that kind of world.

  “Okay,” Will said. “Sure.”

  “So. Let's go.”

  They got their coats. As he left the bar with Matt, Will glanced back at Rockwell. Rockwell lifted his daiquiri glass, and Will imagined him at a harbor, standing among the parents and the abandoned sweethearts, watching a ship depart. Rockwell had been handsome once, he'd lived in the network of possibilities, and Will felt, briefly, the plain loneliness that waited for everyone. The little bag of groceries, the long walk up the stairs. Then he stepped out of the bar behind Matt.

  Outside, the air sparkled with a fine mist of ice. Matt hailed a cab, and their conversation ended. He gave the driver an address in Cambridge, six blocks or so from the house Will had lived in when he himself was at Harvard, settled into the back seat next to Will, and disappeared inside himself. Will asked a couple of questions, simple ones about school and place of origin, but Matt answered with single syllables and watched the city pass outside the window. To calm his nerves, Will checked Matt for human signs. His fingernails were not well trimmed. His cologne (Will knew the brand) was cheap and ordinary. He would have hopes and an inner grove of disappointments, even with his beauty and girth. He would once have been a child, crying with frustration.

  Matt lived in a brown brick high-rise, one of the buildings Will used to pass and wonder, with a shiver, who would choose to live there. The silence held as Matt led Will into the lobby and into the elevator. Matt's beauty was untainted by the harsh elevator light but his face, in its rocky quietude, did not look so open or so calmly benevolent as it had in the bar and the taxi. Suddenly, Will could not imagine kissing him. He began to tell himself, This will pass. Whatever happens, I'll be back on the street soon, back in my life. He thought about what he would eat when he got home. There were bananas, a little overripe. There was leftover Chinese food.

  Matt's apartment held only piles of cartons and a beanbag chair. The bare walls glared white in the white light of the ceiling globe. There were no shadows. On one of the cartons the word Records had been written in a steady hand. 'I'm moving,” Matt said. “I'm leaving for Washington day after tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Well, have a good trip.”

  “You want a beer?” Matt asked.

  “Sure.”

  Matt went to the kitchen and returned with two beers. The light was steady and colorless as tap water. Enter this, Will told himself. Do it, do whatever happens, and then go. But the air resisted him. This room was the opposite of sex. He felt as if flashbulbs were exploding in his face. He and Matt stood together, drinking their beers. Will felt lost in his clothes. His shoes seemed enormous. It occurred to him that he and Matt had misunderstood each other. Matt had somehow failed to realize that he'd gone to a gay bar. He had simply invited Will up for a comradely beer before he slipped out of his old life and into the new. That idea appealed to Will—he wouldn't need to risk sex with someone so remote and well made.

  “What kind of job have you got?” Will asked.

  “I can't tell you my boss's name. But he's very high in government, and I'm going to be his personal assistant. It's a great job. I'm lucky.”

  “That's good. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  They finished their beers. Matt turned his bottle over in his hand and said, “I haven't done this much. This is really kind of new to me.”

  “Oh,” Will said. “You're, like, just coming out?”

  Matt raised his shoulders, hefted the bottle in his hand, and Will believed he understood. Here was the sullen unnamed thing, the clumsiness. Everything opened; everything made sense. Matt was new. He'd turned up in the bar because he didn't know what bar to go to—he'd probably heard the name somewhere. An old fear lived inside that perfect body. Finally, after years of deception, before he left his old life and entered a new one, Matt was going to let his desires show. A spasm of tenderness rose in Will's throat.

  “It's hard, isn't it?” he said. “I mean, I was nervous as hell my first few times.”

  Matt took a deep swig of his empty beer bottle. All right, Will thought. He stepped forward, put his ar
ms around Matt's broad shoulders. This close, he could smell Matt's sweat mingled with the sweetness of his cologne. It occurred to him that a circle was completing itself. He had it in him now to be patient and generous, to help someone come around to himself. He said, “There's nothing to be afraid of. It's all goodness here. I mean, relax. I'll take care of everything.”

  “Good,” Matt said, and his voice turned surprisingly harsh. He might have been granted something that was rightfully his, after a long and bitter fight.

  “Do you still have a bed?” Will asked. “Or has it already gone to Washington?”

  “It's in here,” Matt said.

  He led Will into the next room, flicked a switch that filled it with the same light. The room contained a double bed, unmade, and more cartons. “Great,” Will said. “I mean, I'm glad to see the bed's still here.”

  “You want to take my clothes off?” Matt said.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “I'm asking you.”

  “Well, yeah. I do.”

  Matt stood in the middle of the room and let himself be undressed. Will peeled off Matt's shirt, told him to sit on the bed so he could remove his shoes and socks. Matt asked, “You like this? You like taking a guy's clothes off?”

  “I do,” Will said. Something was wrong. Matt didn't look nervous. He looked disdainful, bullyish. His voice had a sneering edge.

  “I thought you did.”

  Will reminded himself to act kindly. Different men did different things with their fears. Kindness was the answer, the gentle competence of a parent. He took off Man's shoes and socks, had him stand up again. Matt grinned.

  “Yes, you like this,” he said.

  “Sure I do,” Will said. “What's not to like?” He unbuckled Matt's belt, slid his pants and then his boxer shorts down around his ankles. Matt stepped out of his pants, smiling. He was half erect. A medallion of golden hair on his chest trickled down into a serrated line that led to his crotch. Will saw that Matt's cock was smaller than his own.

  “What are you going to do now?” Matt asked.

  “Well, I guess I'm going to take my clothes off, too,” Will said. Matt nodded. Will undressed quickly, embarrassed by his scrawny flesh but proud of his cock. “There,” he said when he, too, was naked. The two men faced each other.

  “And what are you going to do now?” Matt asked.

  “I'm going to lay you down on that bed,” Will said. He hoped his voice had been commanding, not questioning. For all his determination to be kind and fatherly, he could not shake the feeling that this was a test he would either pass or fail.

  “I'll lie down myself,” Matt said calmly. He lay across the mattress in a posture of ease, his hands clasped behind his head. His armpits bristled with dark golden hair, and suddenly Will was angry. This man was too certain, too full of entitlement.

  “Don't move,” Will said. “Stay right where you are.”

  He knelt on the bed, straddling Matt's thighs with his own. He knew he was pale and skinny in the shadowless light. He didn't mind. He set to work. He tongued Matt's pale nipples, bit them gently, moved slowly down Matt's belly with his mouth. He traced the herringbone trail of hairs. There was the smell of Matt's cologne and of Matt himself, a faint but harsh smell, like iron on a freezing day. Will circled around Matt's cock with his mouth. Matt's cock was small and straight, the head dark pink, the shaft ringed with lighter pink. He kissed Matt's thighs, licked his scrotum, pulled lightly at his pubic hair with his lips. When Matt started to groan Will bit at his thighs, burrowed under his balls with his tongue. Will thought of his tongue as a flame, Matt's flesh as a kettle that wanted to boil. There. And again, there. The flame's going to touch you everywhere. You're going to be boiling soon. Matt's hips started to move and Will let himself touch the shaft of Matt's cock, lightly, with his lips. “Aw,” Matt exclaimed, and Will took his mouth away. Suffer, he thought. Want it.

  “Roll over,” he said.

  “I'm fine like this,” Matt said. His voice was thinner now, with a throaty edge.

  “Roll over. Do what I tell you.”

  To his surprise, Matt obeyed. There were the golden muscles of his back, the buttons of his spine. There was his ass, so lovely and guileless Will's mouth went dry at the sight of it. He adored men's asses. They were the benign, childlike part. When you saw a man's bare ass you saw that this big noisy aggressive creature, all muscle and swagger, had once been fearful and small.

  Will licked the back of Matt's knee, worked slowly up his thigh. Matt groaned again. His hips rolled. At the top of his thigh Will licked the crease where the thigh joined the buttock. He couldn't believe he commanded all this flesh, this immensity. He licked his way up over the mound of Matt's right cheek, bit the flesh a little harder than he'd meant to, though Matt didn't seem to mind. Will bit Matt's ass and he felt more potent, larger, than he'd ever felt before. He was a cannibal who'd captured a mercenary. The big white man from the world of money and guns was just food here, just dinner. Will slid his tongue into the crack of Matt's ass. His ass had a sour, human smell, and it excited in Will a renewed surge of desire and rage. He didn't think of his own pleasure. He had to devour Matt. He had to dominate Matt's flesh so he'd never act superior again. He'd never be a bully. Will licked the crack of Matt's ass, put the tip of his tongue into his asshole. Yes, white man, yes, gun runner, there's nothing I won't eat. Your guns can't match the tongue and teeth of true hunger. I'm eating them, all your rules. Your bullying. I'm eating you. Now.

  “Awww,” Matt cried. “Aw God.”

  “Turn over again,” Will commanded. Matt did as he was told. His cock was burstingly erect. Will licked the tip of it, the pink softness. Matt was panting now, short bursts of wind, like a sprinter. With every breath a moan leaked out of him, a low pleading sound. “Awww? Awww? Awww?” Will slid his mouth over Matt's cock. Now I'm eating the truest part of you. Now you're coming into me and you'll never have yourself back again. I'm eating you and part of you will be inside me forever. Will took the whole of Matt's cock. He moved his mouth up and down, not too quickly. He tickled Matt's balls with his fingers, dipped down and prodded, lightly, at his asshole.

  Matt came with a little shriek, a high-pitched sound Will hadn't expected. Matt's thighs pressed Will's head and Will was lost in Matt's flesh, his ears blocked and his mouth filled with Matt's cum.

  Then it was over. Matt's thighs fell away and Will released his cock. “Whew,” Matt said.

  Will smiled. Matt tugged at his own cock twice, put his fingers to his nose. Will waited to see what would happen next. Matt yawned.

  “So, that's it,” he said. “That's the show.”

  “It's just the first act,” Will said. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine, guy. I'm perfect. Hey, it's late. I've got to get to sleep.”

  Will wasn't sure what he meant. Did he expect them to spend the night together?

  “Well, it is sort of late,” he said. He was still dizzy from the sex, from his own erection. He wanted to comfort Matt, to be congratulated on his own skill, and to come all over Matt's thick muscular belly.

  “I've got a big day tomorrow,” Matt said. “You'd better go.”

  “Right,” Will said. His face burned but he could not bring himself to demand reciprocation. He couldn't make himself that humble. He stood and began putting on his clothes. As he dressed, Matt said to him, “I don't think I told you. I'm getting married.”

  “Oh. Congratulations. You haven't seen my left shoe, have you?”

  “You ever think about getting married?”

  “No. I never have.”

  “You should. You're a good guy, you could get yourself a really nice girl.”

  “That's not what I want,” Will said.

  “What do you want? You want to make a career out of this?”

  “Out of what?”

  “This.” He made a gesture that took in the whole bare room, their two bodies. “Fag stuff.”

  “I like fag stuff.�
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  Matt shook his head. “You want to see a picture of the girl I'm going to marry?” he said.

  “Not especially.”

  Matt got off the bed and walked naked into the next room. He returned with a picture in a silver frame. His flaccid cock trailed a filament of cum.

  “This is her,” he said. He showed Will a photograph of a pretty blond girl with an alert V-shaped face and a string of pearls around her neck.

  “Nice, huh?” Matt said.

  “Very nice. I've got to go.”

  Matt stood with the photograph in his hands. His face was flushed, his eyes bright. “I want to tell you something,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I did this just to see if I'd like it. A guy's about to take on a lifetime commitment, he's naturally a little curious. And you know what? It made me sick. This fag stuff makes me want to puke.”

  “Sorry you feel that way,” Will said. “Good night.”

  “So in a way I want to thank you. For helping me know who I am.”

  “Don't mention it.” Will left the room. The front door wavered in front of him as he found the knob.

  “Good night, faggot,” Matt said behind him.

  When Will got home he took a shower, as hot as he could stand it. He poured himself a shot of bourbon, got into bed. Later, when he told the story to friends, they all agreed that these things happened. Sometimes you picked a creep. His friend Dennis told him about a soft-voiced, neatly dressed man who'd kept him handcuffed to a bed for two days and who'd seemed convinced that all Dennis's protests were elaborate signals of his pleasure. Rockwell had a half-dozen tales of more ordinary humiliations in truck stops, in parks, in the men's room of the British Museum. Every gay man had stories. They'd been robbed, beaten up, dumped naked on a highway in New Jersey. These were usual things; they happened. They lived as anecdotes, war stories, and once you were on the far side of them they fattened your reputation. Matt the Nazi angel, as Rockwell called him, was just an episode in the passion play. He told Will, “Think of that poor fuck married to that nice dumb girl, sneaking around to bars and movies. Believe me, I've seen this plenty of times. They only get ugly when you've struck a nerve. Have a moment of silence for the pathetic schmuck, and get on with things.”