A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation (21 page)

"Are you okay?” Jordan glanced over at me.

"I'm fine,” I lied.

"You're fine?"

I nodded, but he wasn't satisfied.

"You're practically breakdancing in your swimsuit."

"Breakdancing? That is so early eighties!” I couldn't believe he'd used that reference. “Something feels a bit uncomfortable down there, and I don't know what it is."

"Why didn't you just say something? It's sand.” Jordan rolled his eyes. “I guess maybe I should have mentioned it. Anytime you mess around in the ocean like we were, you're going to get some sand in your suit. Since we didn't shower at the beach, you probably wouldn't have noticed you had any down there. Just hop in the tub when we get back to the house."

"Believe me, I'm going to. And, for clarification purposes, we weren't ‘messing around.’ We were...” Playing with each other? That didn't sound right. Wrestling? Having a good time? It was all too damn suggestive! “We were in the ocean, that's all, and now I have sand up the crack of my ass and it's extremely uncomfortable.” At least it was sand and not something living. I was grateful for that. “I just hope I don't need help getting it all out."

"Don't tease."

"I mean medical help, you jackass!” It was my turn to roll the eyes. “I like a good adventure as much as the next person, but that's a little too Indiana Jones for me."

"Exactly how much of an adventure do you really like?” The hint of mischief had reappeared in his voice, and I immediately found myself interested.

"As long we can remain fully clothed in this adventure, run it by me. Otherwise, save yourself some bruises on the arm."

"I was thinking that, since you and I were talking about gay culture earlier, you might want to go out dancing tonight at a gay club.” He almost left it at that but decided to add something else, apparently just in case I misinterpreted him. “If nothing else, you would have the experience at your disposal for your writing.” Ah, he was appealing to my sense of the future. “You don't even have to dance if you don't want to."

"Uh...” It was a really wild prospect, and one that was extremely tempting just for the sake of doing it. On the other hand, doing it for that reason alone wasn't reason enough for the sake of practicality. I was trying to grow up and reach out for the person I wanted to be, only I really didn't know who I wanted to be—not anymore, if ever.

That could be part of the problem of why I'd stayed so “in touch with my inner child” and never entirely grown up. Despite not knowing who I did want to be, I knew exactly who I didn't. I didn't want to be a Kay-Mart manager. I had too much ambition and raw energy to settle for a life like that.

But I'd write about it. I wanted to write.

"Okay,” I heard myself say.

"You'll go?” Jordan seemed as surprised to hear it as I was to have said it.

"Yeah.” I flashed him a warning glance. “But I'm not going to promise I won't dance. I like dancing, so if you're embarrassed by it, then you don't have to hang around with me."

"You might want me to stick close.” He seemed a bit more serious than earlier. “You've never been to one of these before, and it can be a little overwhelming, especially in your case. There may be people who come up to you or stare at you or are a little more forward than you're used to. It may get uncomfortable."

"More forward than you?” Was that possible? “I find that a bit difficult to believe. Besides, I can handle myself. I've got a strong sense of wit, a sharp tongue and three years of martial arts training behind me."

"Riiight. Let me know when you get over your-self.” It was obvious he didn't believe me. “If anybody does get too close to you, just call them Mary. It should make them back off."

"I told you, I can handle myself."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. With that attitude of yours, I figure you've been handling yourself for years, since you won't let anyone get close enough to do it for you."

"You're really starting to annoy me again.” I flashed him a sour look. “Just because I said I'd go to a gay bar with you tonight doesn't mean we're bosom buddies. You don't get to talk about my sex life."

"I'm sorry.” He sounded sincere. Again, I was suspicious, and my suspicions were confirmed a moment later. “To be honest, I didn't think you had one.” It was the same damn thing I would have said if the situation were reversed.

Actually, I probably deserved that. I had never apologized to him about the other day, and now didn't seem like a good time. Despite this, I didn't feel bad about it. The opportunity would present itself, and Jordan and I were on even ground for the moment. I just hoped to God Jenny and Kenny didn't think the reason I was going out to the bar tonight was because I was gay. And if they had any suspicions or questions, I'd rather they asked me instead of Grandma. I could just imagine what would happen if
she
ever got word of this.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

The first thing I did after we walked in the door was jump into the shower. I'd never paid so much attention to my rear end in my entire life! It was still pretty raw, but I put some aloe lotion for sunburns down there to soothe it, which created yet another strange sensation. Two in one day. I was on a roll.

I didn't have my entire wardrobe at my disposal, but even if I had, I didn't know if I owned anything appropriate for a gay bar. Maybe that was actually a good thing. Jordan suggested something simple, like shorts and a T-shirt, and luckily that's what I had with me.

He tried several times to lend me a pair of his shorts, but that was just so he could say I'd been in his pants. I might be a little slow, but I wasn't entirely stupid. Besides, it was something I would have pulled.

Jordan was still in the shower, and I was attempting to get some of my clothes together to do a load of wash, when Lenny came into the bedroom with me.

"My mom says you're going out dancing tonight with Jordan."

"That's right.” I smiled at him and continued putting my clothes together.

"Do you like dancing?” For a nine-year-old boy, he was extremely direct in asking questions and intent on getting an answer, very much like his mother, I suspected.

"Yes.” I put down what was in my hand and gave him my full attention. “I like dancing very much. Do you?"

"No.” He eyed me curiously. “Are you going to bring home a boyfriend?"

"Not unless hell freezes over or somebody drugs me.” Where was he getting these questions from? Was this stuff talked about in the schools here? “Why would you think I'd bring somebody home after dancing?"

"I heard Aunt Diane on the phone tonight and she said you're a closet case."

"I don't know what makes your aunt Diane tick, but I hope it's a time bomb.” I'd better watch what I was saying. Kids had the most unpleasant habit of repeating everything they heard, and it was almost always to the wrong people. Case in point. “I was just joking about that. I'm sure your aunt Diane only made a passing comment and she didn't mean to sound like such a bi—” Oh, that would have been lovely to explain. First I want the woman to blow up and then I call her a bitch. Why not just tell him what I was really thinking? “...insensitive person."

"Do you like men? Aunt Diane said she thinks you do, but you just don't know it.” He paused. “It's that or you're a cong ... cong...” It was obvious he was trying very hard to come up with the word.

"Congenial? As in friendly? Social?"

He shook his head.

"Congested?” What was it? What had the witch said about me?

"Congenital idiot!” he announced triumphantly.

"Well, isn't that special?” Diane thought I was either gay or an idiot. At least she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, which is more than I can say for any number of other people throughout the years. “Do you believe everything you hear?” The absurdity of that question hit me. “Look who I'm asking. A nine-year-old boy. You'd believe me if I told you the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were out in your living room.” I couldn't believe this. “I'm starting to feel a bit stressed.” I buried my head in my hands.

"Want me to make you a martini?"

"Excuse me?” I looked at him. “Make me a
what
?"

"Whenever my mom or dad feels stressed, I make them a martini or sometimes a mint julep.” He could tell by the look on my face that I found it difficult to believe a word he said. “Don't you believe me?” I shook my head. “You put a few ice cubes into a mixer, then three things of gin and one tiny thing of vermouth. Stir until the cubes start to melt and then pour into a cold glass. Just before I give it to them, I add a piece of lemon or an olive, unless I'm making a gibson, then I add one of those small onions.” My mouth must have been wide open. “Do you want me to tell you how to make a mint julep?"

"No, I'm ... sure you know what you're doing.” Hell, I didn't even know how to make one. “In fact, it scares me no end that you know what you're doing. I thought you were fibbing at first, telling me a little white lie."

"There's no such thing as a little white lie!” he chastised me. “Besides, I don't have to lie like grownups do."

"You're a child. Children specialize in lying.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I know this, see, because I was one once.” I didn't have a brother to blame things on like he did, though. “Later on in life, some of us get in touch with our inner child and start lying all over again. Fortunately, like yourself, I don't lie, either."

"Aunt Diane said you're still lying—to yourself. She said you're dying to become a sex donkey."

"Excuse me?” Did Jenny know what influence her friend was having on these children? Oh, hell, they already knew how to make two different kinds of martinis, so how much worse could it be? “Please, don't use words like that. It's really not good for someone your age to say them."

"Sorry.” He frowned and tried to rearrange words in his head. “She says you're dying to..."

"I get the point!"
This kid knew far too much about things I certainly never knew about at his age. He was also one heck of an eavesdropper. “Where did you ever hear words like those, anyway? Not just from your mom and aunt, I hope.” I know for damn sure he never heard it from my great-aunt and uncle.

"This is California,” he told me matter-of-factly.

"Oh, good.” I stared at him. “So, you're familiar with the term
precocious
?"

"You use a word like
precocious
on a nine-year-old?” There was something odd I couldn't quite identify in his voice. “How pretentious."

"Maybe,” I tried to laugh it off, “but can you spell it?"

"Can
you
?"

"Um...” My smirk faded as I realized the little bastard had me. “I have to get ready."

"Hey!” Jordan poked his head around the doorjamb. “You almost ready?"

I was lying down on the bed trying to invoke some kind of meditation. For the past half-hour, I'd almost expected someone from
Candid Camera
to come jumping out telling me what a fantastic joke had been played on me, or that I'd hear Rod Serling's voice speaking to an audience about my trip into the Twilight Zone.

Why did it feel like walls were closing in around me? Maybe they always had been, it was only now that I could see them. They weren't clear yet, but I knew they were there. Why couldn't I see them for what they were? Why was it so difficult? Was I just being stubborn or was it reality not wanting me to see the complete picture yet?

"Yeah.” I sat up and swung my legs over the side. “For better or worse, I'm ready and raring to go."

"You have a scowl on your face."

"I think I'm just a little nervous.” I tried to sound a little more together than I actually was. “I feel like ... Do you remember that movie
The Black Hole
?” He nodded. “It's like I'm in this nice little self-contained ship, which is my sphere of experience, and I'm staring into something completely unknown to me. I don't like the unknown because it's not always a safe bet.

"That's the only time I ever gamble, which tells you how often I do it. I actually feel more comfortable with repetition then I do taking an actual risk. Take tonight, for instance. Even though it's just dancing..."

He was eyeing me closely now, probably trying to figure out if I was going to tell him I'd changed my mind.

"Small experiences, the smallest, can make a difference in a person's life. Once they've had that experience, they're changed forever. Change doesn't bother me when I know what to expect—and you were right earlier. I have no idea what to expect, and that scares me, but I don't want to stay home. I do want to go. Something tells me I
have
to go."

"You aren't going to tell me that you had a mystical experience, are you?” Jordan smirked. “There weren't any imaginary people who came to you while I was in the shower and told you to do this tonight, were there? You don't hear voices, do you?"

"I didn't mention that when I get that scared feeling in the pit of my stomach, I start taking my aggressions out on anyone around me, did I? If not, then I also probably didn't mention that—"

"I get the point. I just haven't learned when you want to be taken seriously, and ... when you're attempting foreplay."

I lunged off the bed, but he had already taken off running for the kitchen. When I finally caught up to him, he had positioned himself with Jenny between us. That was okay. He'd pay! Sometimes the anticipation was worse than the actual act of revenge.
And after I'm done with you...

Jordan moved out into the open, knowing full well that I wouldn't do anything with someone else around; and I took in my first full look at him. I didn't know whether to whimper or just put a bag over my head. As one masculine guy comfortable with his heterosexuality giving another guy a compliment, he looked damn near perfect.

Maybe I was putting him on too much of a pedestal, but I really had nothing to gain by stating exactly how he came across. It wasn't like he was going to hear my thoughts and I'd then be re-warded by another kiss or something else even more unsavory.

He was wearing a white T-shirt, which accentuated his chest more than any shirt I'd seen him in so far, and a pair of shorts that, while not sleazy or faggy, definitely broadcast sex-appeal. I had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.