This is Part 1 of Chapter 59 in the "Queer Theories" series.
Go back to "The Hustle", the previous chapter.
Narrated by Jennifer Taylor and Justin Taylor, featuring Brian Kinney, Molly Taylor, Craig Taylor, Vera Worthing, Gwen Worthing, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin brings Brian to the Arcadian Country Club Fourth of July picnic. July 2002.
Author's Notes: Susan does her job and it's a doozy dealing with me!
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.
"Jennifer! My dear!"
"Hello, Vera. How are you?"
"My daughter Gwen says that your son, Justin, has won some award over at the PIFA. Do tell ALL about it!"
"He hasn't exactly won, Vera. He's been chosen to submit a piece to a juried show in the fall. It's at one of the big galleries. Only a few students have been selected. Most are professional artists."
"How marvelous! I'm quite a patron of the arts, you know. I'd love to have Justin come to one of my little Sunday get-togethers. Oh, and you, too, of course, Jennifer. My daughter Gwen will be there -- she's a student at the Institute, too. In the dance."
"Yes, Vera, I know that. She's a lovely dancer. But Justin is leaving on Saturday for London."
"London! How wonderful! As a tourist or student?"
"A little of both, Vera."
"But he'll be here tomorrow, won't he? For the Fourth? You MUST bring him to the picnic at the Arcadian. You were planning to come, of course?"
"Oh, yes. I'm bringing Molly early for some of the children's activities."
"Then you must bring your son! I won't take 'No' for an answer! I must speak to him about some of my art endeavors. And Gwen is so looking forward to it! She is very fond of Justin, you know! Remember when they were in dancing class together? They looked so dear practicing the foxtrot!"
"Vera -- you do realize that Justin is...."
"Nothing. Nothing at all. We'll see you at the picnic, Vera."
"Mom! You have GOT to be kidding!" It's 10:00 a.m. on July the Fourth and I'm trying to pack, clean up the loft, finish a webpage for Michael, AND work on my art piece -- all before I leave for England.
"Please, honey -- do it for me? And Molly? You'll be going soon and we won't see you for a month. Maybe more. And Vera Worthing DOES have a lot of clout in the art community in Pittsburgh. She sponsors a number of fund raisers and donates money to the PIFA."
"Yeah, because her daughter goes there, too."
"Vera may not have a lot of taste, but she does have a lot of money -- and a lot of influence. Don't brush that off so readily, Justin."
"Now, who is hustling, Mom?" My mother can turn things completely around -- if it's to her advantage!
"That's not the same thing at all, Justin."
"Right. And what do I do when Mrs. Worthing pushes her skinny, horse-faced daughter at me? What will it take for her to realize that I'm gay, Mom? Do I have to bring Emmett as my date to the picnic?" I flash on Emmett at the Arcadian, wearing his tangerine pants and his lime green crop-top. Actually, he might fit right in!
"Don't even joke about THAT, Justin. Please come -- Molly misses you so."
"Oh, Mom! I hate the country club! What will I do there?"
"Eat. Talk to people. Especially Mrs. Worthing. Watch the fireworks. It isn't THAT hard, Justin. You used to love to go to the parties at the club."
"Yes, Mom -- when I was ten!" I sigh loudly so she'll hear it over the phone. "What time?"
"Molly and I are going at 1:00, but the buffet opens at 6:00. What if we meet you there? I have a family table reserved."
"So, I CAN bring Emmett if I want to?"
"Justin...." She has that edge to her voice!
"I'll see you there, Mom," I say.
"That's great, sweetie!" She really sounds happy, now. That makes me feel guilty. I have been a real bitch to her lately, especially about my London trip. "I love you, Justin." And then she's off.
The fucking country club! What next?
I go down to my studio and try to do some work on my 'Bringing It All Back Home' piece, the one based on my found art. It's turned into a real multi-media thing, with music and video clips and the found material integrated in. The show my professor entered me for is in late September -- and it isn't for students, either. It's a real show with real artists. And I guess that means I'M a real artist. Since I'll be gone for the rest of July, I want to get as much done on it as I can before I leave.
I really focus on my work, only pausing to eat some leftover pasta salad for lunch. Debbie pushed it into my hands when I stopped by the diner yesterday to say goodbye. I didn't know if I'd get a chance to see her again before I left, so I went over there especially.
I sometimes miss my time working at the diner. I can talk to Deb about things that I just can't discuss with Mom. Like Brian. At least Debbie listens to me when I mention his name and doesn't get that disgusted look on her face. Deb can be a bit smothering -- literally. In fact, when she saw me she hugged me SO tightly that I felt like my head was going to pop off. She has a new wig that she was showing off. I lied and told her how much I liked it. Actually, I like her real hair much better. It's short and silvery, but it makes her look like a real person and not a caricature. Looking at her standing in the diner made me realize how my life is moving on -- and how some people -- like Deb -- already seem like part of my past.
It's hot in the studio. I have the fan on and the door of the studio propped open to circulate some air. Then around 3:00 I hear the elevator. It's going past this floor, up to the loft. Which is odd, because I'm not expecting anyone. I wait to hear Michael yelling down at me -- but he would have come right to the studio if I wasn't up there. The elevator doesn't go back down.
Now, I'm curious.
I clear up and put a few things away and shut down the computer. Then I walk up one flight and roll open the door.
I see the big suitcase on the floor immediately.
"Christ! Don't break my fucking eardrums!" He comes down out of the bedroom. He's already taken off his shirt and his boots and he's only been here about three minutes!
"What are you doing here? I didn't expect you until Friday." I try not to launch myself on top of him. I play it cool, instead.
"I was so fucking bored waiting around that I left early. I'm also starving. Let's go to the diner and get something to bring back. I have a craving for something big and greasy -- and I don't mean JUST your ass!" He slips his hands down the back of my old workpants. But I'm being cool, right?
"Brian -- I can't! I promised my mom I'd go with her and Molly to the picnic at the Arcadian."
"Picnic? The Arcadian? Isn't that the country club? Can't you blow it off?" He's unbuttoning my shirt.
"She'll kill me! She's already pissed enough that I'm going away for a month. If I miss the picnic she'll never speak to me again!"
"I doubt that." He has my shirt on the floor now. But I'm still cool.
"No, she's really mad! Especially since I'm going away with the Queer Fiend from the Bottomless Abyss."
"Is that my new name? I like it. Did your mom make it up or did she borrow it from your old man?" My workpants are down around my ankles now.
"New name/old name, same/old, same/old," I say. I'm trying to keep focused on the conversation.
"Gee, thanks. It's nice to be appreciated for my endeavors." He pushes me back onto the steps that lead up to the platform and before I know what's happening he pulls my legs into the air.
"I can hardly wait to get away from her hovering. Between her and Deb, I feel like I'm suffocating sometimes!"
"Welcome to the club. Sounds like the same reason I flew the coop. If I had to endure one more fucking Spanish Inquisition...." He drags my pants off my legs and tosses them behind him.
"Looks like we are both escaping."
"Yup -- lighting out for the territories, like Tom and Huck. And what better place to escape than London, huh? I can hardly wait to get there." He pauses. "Don't you have any better underwear than this? You can't wear THESE in England! They are so -- Big Q-Mart!"
"That's because I bought them at the Big Q!" Not that it matters, because they are now gone.
"I can see that I'll have to go through your suitcase and weed out all the things you've packed that will HAVE to go. That means some serious shopping when we get to Harrod's!"
"Harrod's? Isn't that a big store?"
"Oh, yeah -- yeah... a big store. Big," he says. But then he stops talking for a while. Quite a while. A nice long while.
Now I'm not so cool. In fact, it's getting hot in the loft. Even for July. Almost as hot as my dick in Brian's mouth.
"Brian -- this step is digging into my back!"
"Huh? Oh, sorry." He just tugs my legs and bounces my rear end down the steps and onto the hardwood floor.
"Ouch! My tailbone is going to be all black and blue!"
"Wanna lodge a complaint? Maybe you'd like to call a cop? Or yell for help? Let's hear how you can yell for help, okay?"
But I don't have time to yell because he has me folded practically in two. And has his tongue up my ass. And I'm sliding on the slick floor because I can't keep myself still, I'm writhing back and forth so much. I'm trying to grip something -- anything -- with my hands to steady myself, but my hands are wet with sweat. And now my back is soaked with sweat. And my chest and stomach. And then they are soaked with cum, because I've shot all over myself. And he still isn't finished. He's fucking my ass with his tongue and he hasn't even unbuttoned his jeans yet!
Finally, he sits back. I'm panting with the heat of the loft and the heat of his body and my own.
"I thought I might as well work up a good sweat before I took my shower. Do you think I'm hot enough yet?"
"Brian," I say, trying to sit up. "If you were any hotter the Fire Department would be here with ten trucks!"
"I was just going to say the same thing about you." He reaches down and pulls me to my feet. He turns me around to inspect my rear. "I think you'll live -- I don't see any permanent damage. Let's see if we can cool off." He slides down his jeans and he's as hard as I've ever seen him.
Needless to say, we are in the shower for quite a long time.
While Brian has me crushed against the glass panel of the stall -- thrusting into me for the first time -- I can feel the little heart charm. There's a little bone that sticks out at the top of my spine and it is impressing itself into my skin right there. For a moment I wish it was red hot, leaving a heart-shaped mark that would stay there forever.
"Do you really have to go to this country club shindig?" Brian says a little later, kneading my scalp with his long fingers. The feel of his hands massaging my head and the foamy shampoo that smells like fruit and the soothing water is turning me into a big pool of mush. I'm completely liquid and can barely hold myself upright -- only the suction of my hands against the glass is keeping me from melting right to the floor and going down the drain.
"I have to." Yes, if I can ever leave this shower. Which is an open question. "My mom has been laying down the guilt lately. And not so subtly suggesting that YOU are a bad influence."
"Me? What did I do?" He sounds pained.
"Everything. Especially what you're doing now. What we did five minutes ago. And what we did about forty-five minutes ago. And...."
"I get the picture." He turns me around under the spray of water and rinses my hair, squeezing it with his hands. "Tell me -- how can your mother afford all this country club shit when she supposedly can't afford to pay your tuition? Or is it all part of some big scam by the crafty WASPs to sucker the ignorant Mick out of his dough?"
"My mother got the club membership is the divorce settlement. My grandparents keep up the dues so she'll -- how do they put it? -- 'Retain her status in the community.' Meaning all the old, rich, uptight people in the city. Plus, she uses it for real estate connections."
"Well, as long as it's all for a good cause -- I think." Brian rinses his own hair under the spray and then turns off the water. "Shit, that felt good! I think I just washed away about two weeks of built up tension."
"Tension from my disastrous trip out to L.A., I bet." I look away as I reach for a clean towel.
"No -- that was the only un-tense thing out there since I got back from Pittsburgh. Otherwise, it's been one fucking nightmare after another. Ending with...." He stops. There's an odd look on his face -- a combination of pain and disgust. "Never mind."
I wrap my towel around my waist and then take another one and rub him dry with it. He stands there calmly, just like one of those racehorses we saw at the track being bathed and groomed, while I pat him down.
"I guess I'll just wait around here while you go out with your mom." He's actually pouting that I'm leaving him alone! It's beyond cute.
"Why not come with me? Mom reserved a family table. We're allowed to bring guests. I told her that if Mrs. Worthing -- she's this woman who is always trying to fix me up with her daughter -- bugged me, that I'd bring Emmett as my 'date.' But I'd much rather bring YOU."
"Is that so? Your 'date,' huh? I don't know -- these date things don't turn out so well for me."
"It'll be great! There'll be massive amounts of food. And an open bar. And when it gets dark they'll have fireworks!"
"I thought we had some fireworks earlier? On my hardwood floor?"
"That's another possibility. They have acres of golf course there. Trees and soft greens and lots of rough."
"What the fuck is that?"
"Overgrown parts of the course. Where you get your balls lost."
"Balls lost, huh? And how do you find your lost balls?"
"Usually on your hands and knees, crawling through the underbrush."
"How come you've never taken me to this country club before? It sounds more interesting than I had imagined."
"It's a WASP secret."
"And you say they have free booze at this flea-circus? What should I wear?" Ha! Two Brian obsessions -- liquor and clothes. Now I know he really wants to come.
"Anything you put on will outclass every guy there -- guaranteed. You should see what they wear.
"Plaid shorts. In pastels. Or bright greens and yellows. With white knee socks. And those shirts with the little alligators over the pockets."
"Sounds positively hideous."
"It is, but you have to see it to believe it."
I watch Brian fix his hair. I never get tired of that. The way he moves it around, fluffing and patting, and then fluffing it again. My hair is pretty much wash and dry and go, so Brian's obsession with his mop is fascinating to me.
"Brian, haven't you ever been to a country club before?"
"Well, my folks weren't exactly the golf course and tennis court crowd. I did tag along one day when Ron and Jimmy played a round of golf at the Beverly Hills Country Club. It was one of the most excruciating days of my life. I rode around in the golf cart, listening to the two of them bitch at each other like a couple of old women about whose turn it was to putt or whose ball was whose or what club to use on what hole. I wanted to cut my fucking wrists!"
"Sounds like when my mom and her friends play."
"Finally, I jumped out of the cart and told them I'd meet them in the clubhouse. Then I went and got good and drunk on Mudslides. I kept sucking them down like they were milkshakes. I was so sick the next day I thought I'd fucking die! All that ice cream. My stomach!" He cringes thinking about it.
"You poor thing," I say, wrapping my arms around him. "That's why you need ME to take care of you."
"I've told you before I don't need to be taken care of by some twink!" But he doesn't take my arms away.
"Of course you do -- and you know it. That's why you're here!"
Brian turns his face away. He's blushing now. "Quit that. People will start to think I like you or something."
"I guess I didn't take care of you too well out in L.A.," I say. "I tried, but...."
"Justin," he says, holding up my chin. "What happened out there was something neither of us had any control over. I told you I would handle it -- and I'm working on it, believe me."
"But Ron is...."
"Hey -- that name is on the no-go list! Don't even think about him. He's my problem and I'll deal with it." Brian has a sober, far-away look on his face. "If he wants to trash ME by showing what video he has on me -- I don't give a fuck. Let him buy Prime Time and roll away! But," he regards me very seriously. "If he even dreams of showing anyone anything with YOU on it -- I'll find out about it. And I'll kill him. Simple as that." Brian turns back to the mirror and fluffs his hair again.
And right this minute I want to tell him. About the video of me -- and Ron. I feel that NOW is the time. I open my mouth -- but nothing will come out. Nothing. I can't do it. I feel a big, hot tear spill down my cheek. I rub it away with my towel before Brian can see it.
"So," drawls Brian, whipping off his towel and pressing himself against me again. "What do you say, Justin? Let's meet Mumsy and Dadsy at the country club and shoot off a few firecrackers!"
Continue on to "Fireworks -- Part 2", the next section.
©Gaedhal, July 2002
Picture of Randy Harrison and Gale Harold from Showtime.
Updated July 27, 2002