Chapter 20 – Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Our Coronation theme was Taco's "Puttin' on the Ritz." Steve and I each wore traditional tuxedos. He parted his hair on the side and slicked it. I pulled mine straight back in a black headband. My mother darkened my eyebrows, lined my eyelids, popped my eyelashes, lined my lips, and then popped them with bright red lipstick.

"Jesus Christ," Steve said, when he picked me up. "You look amazing."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"You make me look pedestrian."

We swung by for Lori on the way. That was part of the deal. We were going as a throuple.

There was no fairy tale that night. Everyone and everything had not changed. We were not applauded or lauded.

Instead, the gym fell silent when we walked in. We had not told a soul in advance. We were unexpected.

The fact we were a throuple confused many. Some thought Lori was my date. Others thought Lori was Steve's date. Only a select few thought Steve was my date. No one thought I was Steve's date.

We ended any confusion with the first slow dance. Lori sat it out. I focused on Steve and he focused on me to Journey's "Faithfully." We didn't want to see what we didn't want to see.

We heard groans and moans. We heard "faggots." We heard people leaving. We heard Steve Perry's vocals end prematurely. It was the last slow song played.

When it was time to announce the Coronation court, those who remained chuckled knowingly. The voting had preceded the dance, so the results were in before the revolution started.

Our class President announced me as Queen and led the laughter after offering that "the King had abdicated when he learned the identity of his Queen." I was not going to be cowed. I marched onstage and took my crown, placing it on my head to catcalls and hoots.

Unbeknownst to me, Steve had followed me up the stairs and onto the stage. He took the King's crown, announced he was first in line for the abdicated throne, and placed the crown on his head. He took my hand, raised it in the air, and then leaned over and kissed me on the lips, right there in front of everyone. Lori and the group around her clapped and stomped their approval. The rest of the gym stood in stunned silence, their ploy foiled and turned against them.

We were high as we drove to Steve's house, leading a parade of cars that included Lori's and the rest of her group. Every once and again, I couldn't take the excitement ripping through me, and I waved my crown and screamed out the window. Steve almost always screamed his answer out the other window. A couple of times, we screamed into each other's faces.

Back at Steve's, we all huddled in his basement and relived the cutting off of the music and the attempt to shame me, like the telekinetic girl from the Stephen King book.

"You can't shame the shameless," Lori offered.

"God save the new Queen," I rejoined.

"There's nothing new about it," Lori shot back. "You've always been a Queen. Ever since you had your mother buy you Barbies instead of balls."

It was true. When I was a kid, I didn't want baseballs, basketballs, or footballs. I wanted Barbies. All of them.

"What can I say?" I asked. "I liked Barbies better than I liked balls."

"Not anymore," Steve offered, joining the fun.

"Truer words have never been spoken."

No one argued with me. No one.

We chided and chortled and laughed and talked the night away. When it was time for everyone to go home, it was too late for anyone to go home. Steve talked to Henry, and he approved the group camping out on the basement floor.

We would not be joining the camp. We were going to return to the family room floor. The King and Queen had unfinished business to finish.

We were teased as we headed upstairs, Steve leading me by the hand. "Oh, you're all just jealous," I called back, over my shoulder.

"Of you, not of Steve," Lori called back.

"Yeah," someone echoed Lori.

What they were saying didn't register until Steve said, "See, everyone thinks you're luckier to have me than I am to have you. . . . And everyone can't be wrong. There's wisdom in crowds."

I raised one eyebrow. "There's also something known as 'the hysteria of the masses.'"

As we settled on the family room floor, Steve pinned me down, kissed me on the mouth, and told me he was about to make me hysterical. He yanked my shirt over my head, unbuttoned my pants, and tugged them down. He kissed and licked his way back up my body, taking me in his mouth as he did. What I thought was a prelude turned into an interlude, as Steve kept at me until I finished in his mouth. He spit what I offered into his hand before continuing his trek up. As he kissed my neck and then my mouth, he covered himself with my load, raised my legs, and started pressing into me.

Steve gave himself to me slowly. He'd go in as far as he could, pause, and then withdraw, deliberately. Over and over and over. I thought I was going to burst.

He raised up on his arms and continued. I was drifting away, lost in his contact with whatever it was that sent me over the edge, and mesmerized that he could move so slowly and cause so much pleasure.

Steve kept coming at me. We were both soaked with sweat, but he seemed no closer to the finish line than he was to the starting gun.

"Are you getting close?" I asked.

"No. My God, Eric, this is by far the most sensual experience of my life. I'm tingling from head to toe. I'm teasing myself."

"You're teasing me, too."

"I can speed up if you want."

"No. I want this to be everything for you."

Steve continued, slowly, surely. I could tell his arms were getting tired. He was getting wobbly.

"I can take the top you if you want," I offered.

"That might be best. My arms are jello."

We maneuvered around. Steve was on his back, and I was on him, sitting, writhing. As slowly as I could, I rose up and lowered myself down, rose up and lowered myself down.

I felt like we were one person, conjoined. I stared into Steve's eyes as I rode him. I gripped him as hard as I could.

"Oh, my God, Eric, I can't take much more."

"I don't want you to."

"Please bring me home."

I heeded his plea. I clenched and unclenched as I rode him. I felt him thicken and unload inside me. I lowered myself toward him but kept going, draining every ounce out of him I could.

When he was finished, I climbed off, and slipped between his thighs. He squeezed his legs together, and I came between them as we kissed. I collapsed, dropping all my weight onto him.

I fell asleep. Steve did, too. I'm not sure how long I slept, but I woke up shivering. I rolled off Steve, pulled a sleeping bag over us, put my head on his shoulder, put my hand on his crotch, and fell back asleep.

I awoke first. I wanted Steve to wake up, but I didn't want to wake him up. So, I gently tickled his chest and stomach.

When Steve stirred, I moved to kiss him. He turned his head away, explaining "Morning breath."

"I like the taste of the morning on your tongue."

"Well, then taste away," he said, turning his face to me and kissing me back.

When the kiss was over, he asked if I wanted to fool around again. "Sure," I said. "But I'd rather talk."

"Talk away."

"I want to hear your voice. Tell me something about you I don't know, a secret you've been keeping."

Steve took a deep breath. "I knew and know about my father's affair with your mother."

I raised up and raised one eyebrow at Steve. "It wasn't my father's first affair. He's a bad poker player. He has tells. His spirit lifts. He goes into the office at odd hours. I knew someone was making him happy. It wasn't hard to figure out who."

"Did your mother know?"

"I'm sure she did. She's not the most attuned person, but she's also not ignorant. I think she just accepts it as part of the price of doing business. It's pretty clear my parents don't love each other anymore, if they ever did. They're going through the motions of a marriage, for external consumption. There's no marriage under this roof."

"Did it bother you?"

"No, not at all. It's not my marriage. It's not my business."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do. One day, I'll get married. When I do, I'm not going to allow my parents to influence or judge it. Their marriage is their marriage. Whatever they've worked out they've worked out. My marriage will be my marriage, not theirs."

I was disappointed by the "I'll get married." I decided to come back to it.

"I knew, too," I confirmed.

"Of course you did. I'm sure your mother told you. You two are different than I am with my parents. But, you'd have figured it out if she hadn't. You don't miss much, Eric, if anything."

"It's over."

"I know. My father is back to his old self, for bad or good."

"My mother wanted to marry him. We'd have been brothers, in a way."

"He was never going to marry her."

"I know."

"He'll never leave my mother."

"I know."

"He's either too good or too weak. I'm not sure which. It's hard to tell."

I wanted to tell Steve about the baby. I wanted him to know that, before long, his half-sibling was going to be my half-sibling, that there'd always be a bridge between the two of us. Again, though, it was not my secret to tell, so I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't.

Instead, I asked "Do you really think you'll get married?" It was 1986, and there was not even the dream of gay marriage, much less the possibility of it. His "I'll get married" necessarily implied "to a woman."

"I hope so."

I told Steve about Mr. Kamler and the Kinsey scale. I offered that I was an eleven, and Steve laughed. "Only if eleven is the highest. I think you're like that cartoon thermometer that explodes through the top . . . 11 . . . 12 . . . 13 . . . boom!"

"You don't seem to mind."

"I don't. At all." With that, Steve started softly singing Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are." I held his hand as he did. He did not sing well, but it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. When he was finished, I kissed him and told him I loved him.

"I love you, too, Eric. It's hard for me to believe, but I really do."

"Where do you think you are on the scale?"

"I'll take a 4, but only because of you."

"So, more straight than not?"

"I think so. I know it doesn't make sense, but it's still just you to me. When I masturbate, I think of you or a girl. I don't think of other guys. I don't fantasize about having sex with other guys. I just don't."

"I've noticed. I have this theory. I think you can tell which gender someone wants by watching who they watch, by following their eyes. Like, if an attractive girl serves me in a restaurant, my eyes don't follow her when she leaves the table. At all. If an attractive guy serves me, it's the total opposite. My eyes and my head follow him across the room when he leaves the table. I've watched you. Your eyes never follow guys. Never. They follow only girls."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You are who you are. You can't change that, even if you wanted to."

"My eyes follow you," he said, kissing my forehead.

It was such a sweet thing to say and such a sweet moment, I said nothing in response. I just rested my head against Steve's cheek, wanting that moment to go on and on and on.