"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Chapter 31 of the "Queer Realities" series.

Go back to "Queer Theories" for the very beginning of this saga.

The narrator is Dylan Burke, and features Justin Taylor, Others.
Rated R for language and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Dylan considers his options. Pittsburgh. February 2003.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.

"Cigarettes and chocolate milk,
These are just a couple of my cravings.
Everything it seems I like's
A little bit stronger,
A little bit thicker,
A little bit harmful
For me.

If I should buy jellybeans
Have to eat them all in just one sitting.
Everything it seems I like's
A little bit sweeter,
A little bit fatter,
A little bit harmful
For me.

And then there's those other things,
Which for several reasons we won't mention.
Everything about 'em is
A little stranger,
A little bit harder,
A little bit deadly.

It isn't very smart,
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted.

Sitting here remembering me
Always been a shoe made for the city.
Go ahead accuse me of just
Singing about places
With scrappy boys faces
Have general run of the town."


Yes, he's just my type.

Or should I say that my type is Justin.

He's where it all began. I realized that when I saw him again at the Carnegie Mellon mixer last month. And then again when we were both at that Pride Union meeting at the Institute of Fine Art. It really hit me then and there.

All those blond twinks that I've been chasing for years. All of them were Justin. Pretty funny, huh? Pretty fucking funny!

I smile and close my eyes. The Heineken is ice cold and tastes great. It makes my lips tingle. I like the feel of things on my lips. Hot things. Cold things.

I remember how soft his lips were.

"This is the way you kiss a girl," I told him.

We were sitting on the floor in my bedroom. I had the radio on so my mom wouldn't hear anything, even if she listened at the door. But she'd never listen at the door when I had Justin in my room. Only when I had a girl. My mom was so fucking dumb!

His eyes were so wide and blue. "But... but I'm not a girl," he said nervously.

"So? I don't see any girls around here. I'll show you what to do," I instructed. "I'll teach you everything you need to know."

"Have you kissed a lot of girls?" he asked.

"Sure!" I boasted. "Plenty! Like this." And I leaned over and kissed him. Quickly, so he wouldn't have time to pull away.

His lips were soft. Softer than any girl's. I could feel it in my dick. My dick never reacted like THAT when I was kissing Aimee Freeman and she was supposed to be my girlfriend.

"See? That wasn't so bad!" I said.

But he turned bright red. His cheeks were all hot. "I guess not."

"Now you kiss me," I told him. "Girls will try to move their heads away, so you gotta hold them close to you -- like this." I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him against me. "That way they can't jump away."

"Okay," he said. He didn't try to jump away at all.

"Now just put your lips right up against mine. But wet 'em first. Like this." I licked my lips until they were nice and damp.

Justin licked his, too. I really felt my dick move around in my pants when he did that.

He pressed his lips up to mine and kissed me. They were wide, plump lips. Just like his ass. I put my hand on his ass. He was wearing loosely fitting jeans and I wanted to put my hand down there and feel around, but I was too scared to do it. This was new to me, too. I didn't go around kissing other boys every day. What do you think I am, a fag?

Yup. That's exactly what I was. What I still am. A fag. A really horny fag. And I like it like that.

And we kept kissing. The crotch of Justin's jeans rubbed up against my leg as he pressed against me. He was hard! Really hard! Shit! That made my dick really hard, too.

I remember thinking that for such a small guy his dick felt kind of big. Maybe it was my imagination, but I don't think so. I'll find that out soon enough. Because I'm going to have him. Maybe not tonight. I don't want to push things, after all. I don't want to blow it by moving too fast. He's skittish. And he thinks he's in love with Kinney, too. So I don't want to look like a crass jerk. I know how to play it. Kinney's not around. And he's an asshole. He'll blow it. He'll fuck up. He's the kind of guy who always fucks up.

And I'm the kind of guy who never fucks up.

I can afford to take my time.

Justin comes back from the bedroom. I crane my neck to take a look in there when he opens up the panels. The famous Kinney bed. I can see the blue lights that I've heard so much about hanging over the bed, but they aren't turned on. They probably only get turned on when Kinney gets down to business. Or when Justin does.

I bet Justin glows under those blue lights. I bet he looks positively like a fucking angel! I can hardly wait to find out.

I wonder if he's hooked up with any guys since Kinney has been out of town? I haven't heard about any. Marshall, that kid from PIFA that I danced with at the GLBT mixer and later fucked in my dorm room when my roommate was at the library, is a good friend of Justin's. He told me that Justin doesn't do random guys. That he's 'Mr. Faithful' because he's so 'in love' with Brian Kinney! That's such breeder bullshit! Justin hasn't met the right guy, that's all. A guy hot enough and determined enough to make him forget all about Brian fucking Kinney! Or he HAS met the right guy -- he just doesn't know it yet!

"Trouble with your boyfriend?" I ask. It's so fucking obvious from his expression. I didn't hear any yelling going on, so they didn't have a fight. Or at least they didn't have a loud fight. But I can see on Justin's face that he's NOT a happy camper right now.

Justin shakes his head sadly. "It's so frustrating, Dylan. It's like Brian is completely clueless about how what he says and does can hurt me." He slumps down on the white sofa. Not exactly next to me, but close enough. Close enough for me to scoot over next to him before he even realizes it.

"Sorry, Justin," I say sympathetically.

Justin sighs and scratches his head. "In my Psychology class at St. James we read about this boy who had a form of autism called Asperger Syndrome. He looked and acted normally, except that he was totally unable to relate to other people emotionally. It was like their feelings or reactions to the things he said or did just didn't exist. Emotions were a foreign language to him and he didn't want -- or need -- to figure it out." Justin turns to me, his eyes wet and shining. "That's the way Brian seems to me sometimes. It's like he's deaf to what I'm feeling. I used to be able to read him all the time. Or I thought I was able to. I thought that I understood him even when he didn't understand himself. But... but it just feels more and more like Brian doesn't even know when he's doing something hurtful. He's fucking oblivious! And there's not a thing I can do about it!"

I lean a little closer. "Maybe he really DOES have that syndrome thing?"

"No," says Justin, sadly. "He doesn't have Asperger's. He's just disconnected. He turned off his emotions so long ago that it's hard for him to turn them back on. If he ever can turn them on again."

I feel so bad for Justin. His face looks so forlorn. Of course, I know exactly how to cheer him up. But this doesn't seem to be the right moment. Not quite yet.

"Why don't we eat?" I suggest. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Sure!" Justin says, brightening. "Let's heat the food up in the microwave."

We warm up the food and bring it back out to the sofa. Justin gives me another Heineken and takes one for himself. We eat and click around the tube. Justin pauses at an old movie channel. Some musical is on. People in too bright Technicolor dancing around fake-looking sets and singing dumb, corny songs. But Justin watches and smiles.

"You really like this shit?" I ask, nudging him with my elbow.

"Kind of," he hesitates. But then he says, more forcefully, "Yeah, I like musicals. 'The Wizard of Oz.' 'My Fair Lady.' 'Carousel.' 'Cabaret' -- we saw that one in New York! See? I really AM a fucking little queen! I like old, romantic movies. And I like sappy Broadway showtunes. I'm a cliché-in-training!"

"Hey, I'm not knocking it!" I reply. "It's only that I can't relate to that old stuff. I like modern movies. 'Fight Club' -- that was a great flick!"

Justin cocks his head. "Have you ever seen 'Point Break'? Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves?"

"I don't think so," I frown.

Justin jumps up, gets a DVD off the shelf, and pops it in. "This is one of Brian's favorite movies! And one of mine, too!"

It's a pretty good flick, even if it's from a long time ago. But not as long ago as those stupid musicals. Some cool action shit going on. And the guys are hot. We finish up the food. That red-haired waitress, Debbie, put some lemon squares into our containers, so we have dessert right there.

Justin watches the movie in silence for a long time, like he's thinking. "About that interview in 'The Advocate' -- when we were in the diner," he says, finally. "I felt SO fucking humiliated! I've tried to tell myself that I wasn't, but I WAS! The way all those guys were laughing at what Brian said. They all know that I live with Brian. Or that I kind of live with him, since he's almost never here! And so many of those guys are Brian's old tricks. Everywhere I go on Liberty Avenue I know that the guys walking on the street, or sitting in the diner or at the bar at Woody's, or shopping, or dancing at Babylon -- so many of them are Brian's former fucks. Even my own friends! Even Emmett!"

I'm surprised at that. "Brian fucked that really skinny, really queeny guy?"

"A long time ago," Justin shrugs. "See? I can't escape it. That's what happens when you're in love with the Stud of Liberty Avenue."

I set my container down on the coffee table. The turkey meatloaf was good. And the extra gravy definitely helped. I touch Justin's chin with the tips of my fingers. "I'm sorry I was reading that interview out loud, Justin. I didn't realize what it would say! I thought it was funny -- until... until that part about you. When I saw your face. And when I saw how hurt you were by it."

He swallows. "Thanks for not reading that part, Dylan. I would have lost it, totally. I always lose it when... when it's got something to do with Brian and me. I just can't handle it anymore."

While he's telling me all his troubles with Kinney, I manage to sneak my other arm around behind him. And I'm stroking his shoulder. Then I touch his hair, very cautiously. It feels like silk. Sweet!

"I'm afraid that Brian will never truly change," Justin continues. "Maybe he can't change, even if he wants to. Maybe he's been through too much and it's really too late."

"That might be," I agree. "He's so much older than you are, Justin. He might be too old to change his ways. People have their personalities set pretty early in their lives. And if a guy is used to being a certain way -- if he LIKES being that way, then is he really going to change himself because someone else wants him to? I mean, those advice columns like 'Dear Abby' that my mom reads are always telling women, 'Don't get married and then think you're going to change your man, because it isn't going to happen! Guys DON'T change!'" I nod slowly. "I'm no expert, Justin, but people are they way they are. You either put up with them, or...."

"Or what?" He suddenly looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes are so fucking blue! My dick gets hard looking into them.

This is what I want so fucking bad! What I've wanted for such a long time! And it's right here, within my reach.

"Or you can look for someone else," I breathe. "Someone who doesn't need to be changed. Someone who is already exactly what you want. And what you need."

"What is it that I need, Dylan?" he whispers.

This is going to be so good! I don't want to rush it or fuck it up. Justin isn't like Marshall. Marshall was okay, I guess. I usually don't waste my time with virgins, but Marshall was so eager to be fucked that I couldn't resist. But then he started crying and said that it hurt and he wanted me to stop. Fuck! Like I'd stop right in the middle! But Marshall liked it well enough by the time I finished fucking him. Well enough to come back for more!

But Justin already knows how to fuck. If he's been with Kinney for such a long time, then that's guaranteed. Justin will know exactly what to do with his ass. He'll know exactly how to take my big dick. I can picture the two of us in the huge bed under those blue lights. What would it be like to fuck Kinney's twink in his own bed? And he'd never be the wiser! What would it be like to take this perfect fucking guy away from a movie star? To prove that I'm hotter than the guy everyone thinks is such a big fucking deal? Sweet! That's how it would be! I can already feel Justin writhing and moaning underneath me. Then he'd be mine! Mine and no one else's!

"Maybe you need someone who knows what you're feeling, Justin," I tell him. "And who CARES what you're feeling. Who doesn't only care about himself and HIS needs." I lean against Justin. And he doesn't move away. He smells so fucking good! Like lemons and something green and fresh. "Someone like me."

And that's when I kiss him.

I know he's going to stop me -- eventually. The thing is seeing how long until he stops me. We kiss for a while. His lips are even softer than I remembered. It's pretty fucking amazing. And he lets me move in pretty fucking far. I've got my tongue between his lips. I feel his tongue reach out and touch it.

Then he pushes me away. "Stop it, Dylan!" he whispers.

But his body isn't telling me to stop. I pull back, but I let my hand drop down and brush across his lap. And he's hard, too! I knew it!

"Sorry!" I sigh. "I got carried away. I didn't mean to do that! But I couldn't help myself, Justin!" I'm apologizing all over the place. "I'm an asshole," I tell him. "I should leave right now." I start to get up.

"No, Dylan," he says. "It's okay. I got carried away, too. It's my fault."

Good. He isn't going to bounce me out of here. At least, not yet.

"Nothing could ever be your fault, Justin," I say, staring directly into his beautiful blue eyes. "You're perfect." And I mean that. He IS perfect. Perfect for ME!

"Let's just watch the film, okay, Dylan?" he says nervously.

"Sure." I pick up my beer and take a swig. "Let's see what happens -- in the rest of the movie, I mean."


"You like that, don't you?" I grunt. "You like it good and hard, don't you?"

"Yes!" he groans. "Harder!"

"My big cock is up your tight asshole. Feel it? Take all of it!" I pull back and then plunge in deeper. I really drive it home. Fill his hole up with what I have.

"Fuck!" he moans. "Shit! I'm fucking dying!"

"You want me to stop? You want me to pull out and jerk off all over your big fat ass? Is that what you want?"

"No!" he pleads. "Don't fucking stop! Harder! I need it harder!"

"I'll give it to you harder, you little bitch! Because you're a nasty little dirty bitch, aren't you?" I ask. "Aren't you? I can't hear you! Say it loud!"

"Yes! I'm a dirty bitch!" he cries out. "I love to be fucked hard by your big cock! Please!"

I slap his ass. Slap it harder. Slap it while I pound him into the mattress. Shit! That feels so fucking good!

"You want me to come up your ass? Because I'm going to come! I'm going to come inside you so hard that you're going to feel it in your head!"

"Fuck me," he whimpers. "Come in me, Dylan! I need your come inside me!"

"Here it comes, bitch!" And I let go. Jesus! That's a big load. I feel my dick jerk once, twice, and a third time, releasing my come so deep inside his tight hole.

He grabs his own cock and pulls it madly, trying to get himself off. I back out of him and discard the condom into a kleenex. He's beating off furiously until he finally comes, too.

He's all sweaty as he collapses on the bed, exhausted, his long, curly black hair falling in his face.

Ethan is a pretty good fuck. He'd never be my first choice, but he'll do for now. And he can't get enough of worshipping my cock. He likes it in his ass, in his mouth, anywhere he can get it. He's an arrogant bastard. Thinks he's God's gift to violin music. Shit! I think violin music sucks donkey dick and I tell him so, but that doesn't stop Ethan from calling me whenever he needs a big piece of meat up his asshole!

"That was fantastic," he sighs. "Please, let me play for you, Dylan! You could be my muse -- my inspiration!"

I shrug. "If you want to imagine my cock up you while you're playing that crap, then be my guest. But don't expect me to sit around and listen to it and moon over you while you're doing it. Because that's a bunch of romantic bullshit and I don't do that."

"You're such a barbarian, Dylan," says Ethan. He's got a nice fat ass, but the rest of him is flabby and pale, like a big worm. I throw the dirty sheet over him so I don't have to look at him. This whole place is grubby and smelly. It's a total rat-hole, so I don't like hanging around here any longer than I have to. I don't see how anyone can live here, but Ethan doesn't seem to mind. I compare this place in my mind to Justin's loft, which is so clean and pure with all that white furniture and those bare wooden floors. Yes, clean and pure -- like Justin himself.

My cellphone jingles. I look at the display. Speak of the devil.

"Hi there, Justin. What's up?"

"Nothing much," he says. "I was going to pick up a pizza. Want to come over and eat it with me?"

I grin. "Sure. I'd love to. Will you pick me up? I'm studying over at some guy's place. Can you come get me here?"

"Give me the address and I'll be right over."

I tell him the street and that I'll meet him on the corner. Then I sign off and get up. I look for my pants and shirt. I hope they didn't get too dirty or covered with cat hair on Ethan's filthy floor.

"Justin? As in Justin Taylor?" Ethan sniffs. "Don't tell me you're fucking Brian Kinney's boyfriend?" He's got a sour expression on his face.

"We're friends. That's all. We just hang out together."

"You're not friends with anyone, Dylan. Either you're trying to get something out of some guy or you're fucking him. Or both. But friends?" Ethan snorts. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

"Just because I'm not friends with you doesn't mean I don't have any." I look for my socks and shoes in the mess on the floor. I kick some old clothes and papers out of the way.

"I don't think you know what a friend IS, Dylan," Ethan says bitterly.

"If you don't like being with me, then don't call me again," I tell him logically. "Yours isn't the only asshole in this city that loves my cock."

That shuts him up. Sometimes I think it's easier only to fuck guys whose names you don't know. Then you don't have to listen to them bitch and moan and ask you when you're coming back to see them again. That's a fucking pain in the ass!

"What about Sunday afternoon?" Ethan asks. "I have a rehearsal at 1:00, but I should be finished by 3:00."

"Whatever," I say. "I MIGHT be busy on Sunday." Very busy, I think. With another and much better ass than YOURS, Ethan! "Leave a message on my cell. If I can make it, I'll give you a call back."

"Yeah," says Ethan. He scratches himself under the sheet. He makes me feel dirty. I wish I could take a shower before I see Justin, but this place doesn't have one, only a grimy bathtub and there's no fucking way I'm getting into THAT thing! "I'll call you."

And he will call me. And if I'm not busy, I'll do him a favor and fuck his ass. Unless something better comes up. And I have something better in mind. Much better!

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

Justin -- here I come!


"Playing with prodigal sons,
Take a lot of sentimental valiums.
Can't expect the world to be
Your Raggedy Andy
While running on empty,
You little old doll
with a frown.

You got to keep in the game.
Retaining mystique while facing forward.
I suggest a reading of
'A Lesson in Tightropes,'
Or 'Surfing Your High Hopes.'
Or 'Adios Kansas'

It isn't very smart,
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted.

Still there's not a show on my back,
Holes or a friendly intervention.
I'm just a little bit heiress,
A little bit Irish,
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya.
So please be kind
If I'm a mess.

Cigarettes and chocolate milk,
Cigarettes and chocolate milk."

"Cigarettes and chocolate milk" by Rufus Wainwright.

Continue on to "That's All".

©Gaedhal, November 2004.

Posted November 7, 2004.