Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (8 page)

"Oh.” He smiled smugly. “I know you like something of mine, all right."

"Really? I'd tell you to get a clue, but you seem to suffer from CDD—clue deficit disorder.” He was unbelievable. “I may not be as experienced as my cousin in California, but what happened there was special, and it had some real meaning. You—you make me feel like a sequel to some franchise you're creating."

It didn't cross my mind before I went spouting all that off that this was all news to Ryan. What he must be thinking...

"What do you think about this?” Tristan turned to Ryan. Okay, he was wondering the same thing, too.

"I think you're the reason the gene pool needs chlorine.” Okay, so that's what he was thinking.

"The two of you are pathetic!” Tristan snapped. “When are you going to realize when it comes down to it that you're no different than I am?"

"Excuse me.” I interrupted. “The proctologist called. They found your head.” That took him by surprise.

"You obviously can't appreciate me for who I am and what I have to offer.” Tristan stood up and actually had the balls to look indignant.

"They have names for what you are and what you offer, only they're not legal in west Michigan. Buh-bye now.” I stared at him until he turned and left in a huff.

"You really...” Ryan started. This was sincerely
not
the way I wanted to come out to my friends.

"Yes,” I told him. It was better to just admit it and get it over with. “I—"

"...slept with your cousin?” He looked completely repulsed. “That's illegal in west Michigan! I'd sleep with Tristan before I'd sleep with my cousin."

"Huh?” He hadn't put it together yet after all, and that meant I still had a chance to come out my way. I needed to throw him off-balance just a little bit more than he was. “These feelings are new for you, aren't they?"

"I hate you."

"Get in line.” With that, I turned and left, too.

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My room was a fortress of solitude. Well, maybe more ineptitude than anything else, but at least nobody could bother me here. If Tristan followed me back thinking he was going to get another piece of me, I didn't have to answer the door. If he called, I could turn the ringer off and let the answering machine pick up. The easiest way to avoid any of this happening at all, though, was just to do what Miss Kim did and get rid of the body. Ah, happy thoughts!

I hung my jacket up in the closet and looked over at the answering machine. The light was on, and I counted off the number of times it blinked: four. Whoever called must have been really annoyed if they tried back three more times. Ah, they were so unsuspecting. I lifted up the top of the machine and pushed the button that allowed me to listen to my prerecorded message.

"Hello?” A few seconds of silence passed. “Hello?"

That was usually enough time to throw the other person on the other end off. Either they were stumbling to repeat what they'd already said or they were suspecting that there was trouble in the line.

"I'm sorry, could you speak up?” Now they definitely suspected trouble. A few more seconds of silence passed.

"Um, you know what? There's something wrong with the line. I can't hear you, but if you can hear me, why don't you hang up, wait a few seconds and then call back. Hopefully the connection will be better. Okay?"

They undoubtedly thought I was waiting for them to shout something into the phone in some vain attempt to let me know they heard and understood me.

"Great.” The caller usually hung up right after this, but I left a few seconds of silence on afterwards just in case they waited and heard the machine.

It was time to see who my victim or victims were.

The first caller hung up before the beep. Caught! The second call was dead air, too. Yes! Third call, dead air. I was going to bed happy tonight! Fourth call ... a voice. This wasn't just any voice, either, but rather the strained sound belonging to an extremely mentally unstable, inebriated and deranged member of the Frank Sinatra era.

"Andy!” The voice blared through the speaker at me. “You know damn well who this is! This is Grandma, and I'm not calling back a fifth time. You can call me!” She struggled hanging the receiver up at least four times before getting it right, and the slew of foul language still coming out of her mouth would make Sam Kinison blush.

All I wanted was a little happiness and peace and quiet this evening. Was that too much to ask for? The phone rang, and I threw my hands up in defeat. Maybe nothing was ever peaceful and peace was just an illusion. Swell, now I was annoyed
and
depressed. The phone continued to ring, so I summoned whatever self-control I still possessed and picked it up.

"Hello? Hi, Mom. Oh, classes are fine. Yeah, everything's great. I'm meeting lots of new friends, going out ... getting drunk and laid a lot on the weekends. No ... No, that was a joke, Mom. What do you mean, which part? No, I haven't been drinking. Mom ... Mom! Stop cheering. I haven't been doing that, either. There's nothing wrong with me. I've ... I've got my writing, my work ... and ... and ... my writing. I just don't need the hassles of a relationship right now, and sex without one doesn't hold any value for me. Excuse me? What do you mean it's therapeutic? I don't care what you read in
Reader's Digest
. No, I know you're trying to be helpful and I appreciate that, but there's nothing wrong. I'm fine. Besides, sex never cured anything. No, I'm not talking from experience. Mom, I'm not proliferous. What? No, I said it right. Yes, I did. No, I'm not promiscuous, either, whatever that is. How many times do I have to tell you that everything's fine?

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm lying. Everything sucks! I'm flunking out of school, my professors hate me and the women won't even look at me. I guess I'll never get married, and I'll suffer from dead semen backup for the rest of my pathetic life. No, I don't need to talk to somebody! I was being sarcastic. What? Sarcasm. It's a humorous and biting ... Dead semen backup? It's when ... What do you mean use my hand? Dad? When did Mom give you the phone? She's complaining that I don't make sense? She just doesn't understand sarcasm, that's all. Sarcasm. It's a humorous and biting ... Oh, never mind.” I decided to change the subject. I still had an elderly next-door neighbor back home who loved me!

"How's Mable? What do you mean she's pissed at me? I didn't do anything! Well, okay, I might have done that. All I did was suggest ... What? She believed me? God, there's one in every town. Look, all I told her was that if she didn't let the summer air out of her bicycle tires and put winter air in, they'd explode. It's not my fault if she thought I was serious. Have I ever said a serious thing to her in my life? I take it you told her the tires wouldn't explode? The gas station attendant did? Okay, so she found out. What's the big ... Well, what did she take it up there during a blizzard for? Yes, I might have exaggerated things a bit. Frostbite? She can't possibly blame me. She called me that? Yep, she's blaming me.

"Oh, speaking of someone who's pissed, Grandma called. Oh, she told you? I don't think she liked the message on my machine. She told you that, too? What else did she say? That I need discipline? Tell her not to tease. No, don't tell Mom to tell her. Because she won't get the humor in that. Yes, I was being funny. No, you're not wasting your money. I'm not going to grow up to be a comedienne. Yeah, I'll talk to you both later. Love you, too. Bye."

Okay, time for a recap. What wasn't working in my life? My alcoholic grandmother was annoyed with me, my elderly neighbor back home was blaming me for her frostbite, my mother thought I was sexually repressed based on an article in
Reader's Digest
, my father thought I needed to masturbate more often, my low self-esteem was once more giving me the finger, my best female friend on campus was going to hate me for sleeping with one of the many men she fantasized about, my best male friend thought I was into inbreeding because I slept with my cousin by marriage only and the guy I slept with who my best female friend fantasized about was a total slut who wanted to have meaningless sex with me again.

Now, what was working in my life? I wasn't on academic probation. That pretty much summed everything up. Maybe life wasn't always sandy beaches, loud dance music and great-looking cousins by marriage only, but it should be.

I finally drifted off into an uneasy slumber and prayed I would remember why I was bothering to get up in the morning before the alarm went off. After all, could this possibly get any worse?

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A week and a half of pure bliss went by, the kind one needs to fool oneself into thinking exists because it really doesn't. I wasn't having much luck with writing another short story. The only way I was going to pass this course was if I could come up with something that really dazzled Cathleen, something that went for the throat and wasn't that giant slimy mutated earwig Rueben last presented us with. Perhaps it came as no great surprise that Ryan and Kim were struggling with their own stories, too. Even Tristan had been strangely quiet. He was probably still busy licking his wounded ego ... or having someone do it for him. What mattered is that he was leaving me alone.

Yet another week came and went, but I couldn't think of a single interesting or original idea. What had happened in my life that could be mistakenly identified as dramatic? I was convinced that not one interesting thing had ever happened to me in my entire existence. I'd never really been anywhere, and I'd never really done anything. My God, I had to be the most boring gay boy in the world! The only time I really ever felt full of life was...

Was in California with Jordan. Okay, there was some drama, but it was kind of depressing and not very humorous. Or was it?

Jordan really hadn't done anything funny, but I'd certainly looked like a complete ass. Maybe I was on to something here, and hopefully it wasn't that I looked like an ass a whole lot more often than just when I was out of state. No, there was a story here, and I did have my moments of pure idiocy.

Ryan, when he would talk, claimed to be writing about a young straight boy who comes of age, so why couldn't I write about a young gay boy who comes of age? Of course, I wasn't exactly young when I came of age, but I'm sure it added a touch of the pathetic to my story much like it did my life. Heh-heh ... I'm pathetic. It just sounds funny.

I pulled out a piece of paper and started scribbling down some notes. Apparently, I wasn't the only one coming alive again. Kim finally snapped out of her trance and decided to throw a party in honor of one of her sisters who was up for a visit, which was perfect because an old friend of mine from back home was going to be here as well. Kim didn't get along with this particular sister very well, and the party was probably an excuse so she could drink and forget she had to put up with what she called her “opinionated-thinks-her-shit-don't-stink-lower-dwelling-sibling-from-my-gene-pool."

Ryan was invited, only he was out of town on a family trip, something that would inspire further angst for his stories. I told him that I'd put in a good word for him since Kendra, my friend from home who I've known since we were six, was single and that maybe she'd come up to visit again if things went well. As for me, I was looking forward to getting in a little relaxation.

One other little perk tonight would be in meeting someone else Kim said she'd been “scoping out for some nocturnal noise.” One of the reasons she'd apparently snapped back into reality was because some young man on campus was nice to her, and she felt the need to repay the favor in ways the poor unsuspecting sod could never imagine. How he was nice to her remained a mystery, as did his identity, but all would be revealed tonight ... probably in more ways than one.

I shaved, showered and put on a fresh change of clothes. It wasn't that I was out to impress anybody, but it never hurt to at least look and smell approachable, just in case. Oy, these gay genes were a bitch. Heck, I even added a squirt of Polo for no particular reason.

Kim called three times to see if Kendra had arrived yet and to make sure we were still coming and didn't require an escort should I decide to grab my friend and make a run for it. Of course we were still coming. I wasn't about to test her resolve tonight, even for fun. Kim had handcuffs, and I knew for a fact she knew how to use them. Hell, her entire floor knew she knew how to use them—and had.

Kendra showed up just as I was taping a note to my door to let her know where I was. She gave me a great big hug then dumped a duffel bag in my room and demanded to be led to the nearest bathroom. Since this was a guy's floor and we were going up to Kim's for the party, I led the way to their bathroom. Besides, I'm sure it smelled better than ours.

There was a sign on Kim's door stating that they were further down the hall in the lounge and another one underneath letting someone named Steve know that everything was fine, that it hadn't broken. It was official—nothing was sacred.

There was music playing in the distance, which broke me out of my stupor about poor Steve, and I knew Kim was playing a tape I'd made her. She might not love me for my sexual preference when she found out, mostly because that made me competition, but she loved my music.

"Andy!” Kim yelled out when she saw us. “Come here. I want to meet your friend while I'm still sober and dressed. Meow meow meow..."

There were almost a dozen people in the lounge we had to make our way past or over to get to her.

"Did you bring the tapes?” She held her hand out.

"I thought you wanted to meet my friend?"

"Oh, honey, she's welcome here, but your white ass ain't if you didn't bring the tapes.” Kim turned to Kendra. “It's really nice to meet you ... you poor, poor girl for having to grow up with this.” She gestured to me, and Kendra giggled. I'd have to have a little chat with her later on about a little eight letter word called
betrayal
. “Anything you see in the room to eat or drink is yours. All I ask is that you save one man ... maybe two ... for me, and I'll introduce you to one of them in a minute. As for you...” She turned back to me. “...entrance fee, please."