Tilt (18 page)

romantic. God, I’m so confused.

The Closest I’ve Come

To doing any of this was an “almost”

with Marlon Dufrena—a hulking dude

with hands the size of baseball mitts.

Hands that scared the crap out of me.

I was fourteen and he was twenty,

and I understood his interest had nothing

to do with romance. I also knew

there was something not quite right

about a guy that old wanting to get

off with me. But I was curious. Hungry

for knowledge and for identity.

He was mostly hungry for ejaculation.

There were no dinners. No concerts.

Definitely no kissing. Just those

awful hands, grasping. Pushing.

Pulling. Insisting, after I’d said no.

He was bigger. I was quicker.

One kick, well-placed, slowed him

down long enough for me to run.

After, I almost decided to try straight.

Of Course, Going Straight

When you’re totally, unabashedly

born perfectly gay isn’t possible.

As much as I wanted to hide in

my closet, uh . . . not going to happen.

Which explains my online outlet.

The only hands I had to contend

with were my own. I trusted them

completely. But, like any red-

blooded human being, I wanted to

fall in love. Finally, I figured out

that love and sex don’t have to be

intertwined. But maybe, just maybe,

they can be. I’m damn sure willing

to give it a try, so I’ll work on not

overthinking the details, give up

all thought of control, see where

love will carry me tonight. Alex.

Damn. Why you? Okay, I know

there’s no such thing as forever.

So what can we be, in the now?

While Waiting

For Alex to pick me up, I go see

what Mom’s up to. Pass Dad, snoring

on the couch. God, does being home

always have to equal being drunk

for him? His liver must be pickling.

I mean, it’s only seven, and as far as

I can tell, he’s been dead to the world

for about three hours. Okay, maybe

I shouldn’t talk about bad habits.

But at least mine don’t make me

emotionally sterile. Hmm. Interesting

thought. Wonder if his venom

is some feeble attempt to feel. I hear

Mom futzing around in the kitchen.

Dinner for one, with me going out

and Dad asleep and Shelby noshing

from tubes. I clomp past the almost

corpse of my father. No need to tiptoe.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, watching her slide

a Lean Pocket into the microwave.

“That doesn’t look too appetizing.”

She turns, offers a lukewarm smile.

You’re kidding, right? This is gourmet.

Said with a not-silent
t
at the end.

“You gonna watch the fireworks?”

Our deck overlooks downtown Reno,

where they lob them skyward from casino

rooftops. When I was little, we used

to have July Fourth parties here. Back

BS—Before Shelby, whose lungs can’t

handle the slightest whisper of pollen-

heavy evening breeze. “Not much wind

tonight. And it’s warm.” I leave the hint

hanging. Shelby should see fireworks

at least once before . . . “Oh. There’s Alex.”

I give her a quick hug, duck out the door.

It Is, in Fact

A perfect evening, the wind hushed as the sun sinks

low to the west. I suck in a deep breath of jasmine-

scented air to quiet the chatter of nerves. When I open

the passenger door, peek in to say, “Hey . . . ,” I am struck

for about the billionth time by Alex’s Irish beauty—

black coffee hair over unblemished white skin. And

when he smiles, his emerald eyes glow.
Hey back

at you. Get in.
Excitement shades his voice.
I’ve got

a surprise for you.
When I ask—ridiculously—what

it is, all he says is,
If you want to smoke, light up now.

Of course I want to smoke. Weed is the only thing

that will calm the churn in my gut. I share the blunt

without hesitation. Swapping spit doesn’t worry

me anymore. I researched again. Found out

what I needed to know. We end up downtown.

Alex stops in front of Harrah’s valet, pulls

a small suitcase from his trunk, hands the attendant

his keys and a five-dollar bill. He looks at me

expectantly.
Come on. Wait until you see this!

We take the elevator to the twelfth floor,

and he tugs me down the hall, into a room.

He stops long enough to kiss me sweetly, then

gushes,
Our first time should be memorable.

Look. We’ll be able to see the fireworks!

The big windows face toward the city’s heart.

“But how did you manage to get a room here

on the Fourth of July?” Not an easy thing. “And

how did you ever afford this?” I shake my head.

My aunt Katie has worked here forever.

She pulled some strings. And all those extra

hours I was working? For you. For us.

He kisses me again. This time, the sweet

segues quickly to thrilling. His hands

wind into my hair in a most primal way.

My heart beats crazy fast. Blood whooshes

in my ears and I cry out, “I love you.”

I regret the words for about two seconds.

But then he claims,
Oh, God, I love you, too.

And we’re kissing again. And we’re halfway

to naked as we fall, tangled, on the bed.

Any Small Sense of Fear

Vanishes as logic dissolves in desire

heightened by declarations of love.

I love him. And he says he loves me.

Alex slows forward movement.

I don’t want to hurry. I want to

commit every second to memory.

We lie on our sides, looking into

each other’s eyes as our hands

begin slow, mutual exploration.

There is no top, no bottom here.

There is only the web of us. Outside

the big window, the sky grows dark,

except for the far distant stars

I can see, fighting the garish

lit neon. I don’t have to think

about what to do. Mouth. Tongue.

Hands. Skin. All in perfect order.

And now, there are fireworks.

Alex

Fireworks

I have been in love before—

snared by emotion so intense,

deception by omission was easy.

But lies smother love. And in the wake

of my confession came a white-hot

sizzle

of anger. I deserved every hateful

word. Lying here, inhaling new love,

hope swells inside me. Skin against