This is Chapter 22 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, Alan Wray, Wade Anderson, Debbie Novotny, Others.
Rated R for language and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Dylan's view of things. 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.
I like to get up early. Get myself going. There's a lot of shit I need to accomplish every day and I like to get moving right away. I also have to get out of this fucking depressing dorm room. My roommate hates me and the whole place stinks of his filthy underwear and left-over food.
I go to the gym. The one I like to go to at CMU isn't too crowded in the morning. I wish I could afford to join a real gym, preferably one over on Liberty Avenue, but I can't. I'm on scholarship and I don't have the cash to spend on those kinds of luxuries. Some day I will. Some day I'll be rolling in the green. I'll be able to buy all the clothes and cars and big-screen TVs and everything I see and want. Some day. In the meanwhile I've got to make the most of what I can get.
Baseball season is coming up, so I work on my arms. I'm a power hitter, so I need to be strong as shit in my upper body. Can't let any of my teammates have a reason to call the faggot weak. I take a lot of shit from them, but I'm used to it. It was worse at the last place I went. I won't even name the college, but they were dicks. And the coach was the worst of all. He not only let all the other guys give me shit, he joined in doing it, too. Fucker. I was the best player on the team even as a freshman, but it didn't matter. They couldn't get past the fact that I like cock. Straight guys are so fucked up!
I finish my workout and hit the showers. There's a hot guy in there. I've seen him in here before. He gives me the once-over. He knows I'm a fag. They all know. But there's no one else around right now. Just the two of us. I can see that all I have to do is give him the look and he'll be on my dick in a second. He's already got a hard-on just from looking at me. But it's too risky. I can't afford to get caught. I can't afford to lose my scholarship. If I want my dick sucked I know where to go. There are plenty of places that are safer than a Carnegie Mellon gym and plenty of guys who will suck my cock without getting me booted from school.
So I turn my back on him. He shrugs and leaves. I jerk off under the hot spray of the shower.
I have a Sociology class and then English this morning. The Soc is a gut class, but the English is harder. More interesting. The teacher is a woman, but I can tell she likes me even though she knows I'm a fag. Maybe that's why she likes me. She knows that she can get a rise out of me by asking my opinion on something about gender. She's big on gender. It's all the feminist shit she has us read for the class. So I rise to the bait and counter with the queer perspective. She likes that. The other people in the class aren't crazy about it -- this is only a sophomore level Lit Survey after all -- but that's no reason for me to act like I don't know shit. I mean, it's fucking obvious that Heathcliff has some major sexual issues, so why not bring them up? Yeah, the prof likes that. She likes anyone who thinks. Most of the class just sit there like lumps of dirt. I can't afford to do that. I need to be the best in this class. I need to get an A. I won't take anything less. I don't deserve anything less.
I pick up my mail. A letter from my mom. My old man is bitching about shit again. He's always bitching. His life has gone south since the steel industry went to hell in Pittsburgh. That's when we moved out to Newcastle and he took a job with some small company. He's a foundry engineer and that's a passé profession in this day and age. I'm not planning on getting left in the dust like my old man.
When we lived in Pittsburgh we lived in a big house. The old man made some bucks and we were living the life. Not anymore. I mean, we aren't hurting, but there's no way I'd be going to CMU if my parents had to pay for it. I'd be even further up the ass in loans than I am now.
Another letter. From Kirk. Not more of this shit again! He's always whining. These letters are getting ridiculous, but at least he's stopped calling me at my dorm room at all hours. He can't afford the long distance charges anymore. His parents must have gotten on his case.
Kirk needs to get a grip. He needs to move on. He knew from the start that I don't do boyfriends. I don't do relationships. I don't have the time or the energy for that shit. I like to fuck and so does he. So we did. I never made any promises and he never asked for any. He knew better than that. It was good, but it's over. I'm in Pittsburgh now and I'm not going back to my old school even for a visit. Not even to see him. Deal with it Kirk. I toss the letter into the trash bin. There'll be another one in my box tomorrow. I hate whiners. That kind of whining makes my dick soft. It's so uncool.
I need a new shirt. Something hot. I'm going to Pistol, which is just off Liberty Avenue, with Alan on Friday night. That's his favorite bar. It's pretty cool. All the guys there have a lot of money and I never have to buy a drink for myself, which is awesome.
I like Alan. He gets a little too possessive sometimes, but I always put him in his place. Make it clear that I'm not into anything more than just some casual fucking. He gets it. He's a player, like me. He likes to fuck a lot of guys. And he's into threeways, too, which can be fucking amazing. Alan also has an apartment. That's good because there's no way I can bring guys back to my dorm room unless my idiot roommate is away for the weekend. He'd go completely postal if he walked in there with his homely girlfriend and saw me sticking my dick up some guy. Not cool at all.
The other week Alan picked up this kid outside of BoyToy, which is a bar that a lot of twinks go to. Twinks and the dirty old men who chase them! Ha! But Alan says that you can find some wild boys there. If you get them high they'll do anything. So Alan picked up this kid, Wade, who Alan knew from one of the gay mixers he's always trolling, and Alan called me on his cell that he was picking me up and we were going to his apartment.
When I got into Alan's car, the twink was already sucking him off! Right in the fucking car! Shit! So, after he finished with Alan, I took out my cock and he climbed in the backseat and sucked me while Alan drove to his place. I couldn't believe it! I've been blown in a car before, but never while somebody was driving along a fucking busy street! Jesus! That kid has a mouth like a goddamn vacuum cleaner.
When we got the kid back to Alan's he was raring to go. He stripped off his clothes before Alan was even able to get out a couple of beers for us. This Wade doesn't seem to believe in foreplay. I drank my beer while Alan fucked the kid right on Alan's crummy old shag carpet. Man, Alan pounded his ass for a good 20 minutes and the kid still wanted more. I finished my beer and shoved my dick into his mouth while Alan kept ramming his ass. When we were both ready to come Alan pulled out and I pulled out and we both came all over the kid. He fucking loved that! And rubbed our come all over himself. It was wild! After that I fucked his ass for a while and then Alan had another round.
I was getting tired, so Alan drove me home. The kid was still at Alan's place when we left. Alan said he wasn't finished with him yet. I know some of the weird shit Alan is into, so I can just imagine what they got up to when Alan went back to his place. I've seen Alan's little box of handcuffs and dildos and other 'implements.' I'm not into that kind of stuff. I've got my cock and all I need is a tight hole or a nice mouth to take care of it. My needs are simple -- ha! But, fuck, even MY dick was sore after that workout, so I wonder what the twink's ass felt like? That Wade could take a baseball bat up his ass and still want more, I'm not fucking kidding! Maybe I'll bring one of my bats the next time Alan picks him up. We'll see what the kid can really take.
I've got to get a car. I'm sick of taking the bus everywhere. But I can't afford one -- yet. I'm working on it. Maybe I can get some rich guy to buy one for me. That would be easy. Except then you have to put out for him and I'm not into old geezers. I like young guys. I'm twenty but I like guys even younger than me. Like that Wade kid. He's still in high school. I like the guys who are young and smooth and pale. I don't know why, I just do. I've fucked a lot of guys who are built like me. A lot of athletes like me. It's great, but what I really like is someone who is submissive. Who's smaller than me. Who I can make beg for my cock. Who I can throw down and make do whatever I want them to do. That's always a turn on. Kirk was like that. He was a great fuck. A real butt monkey. Kirk loved anything up his ass, but especially my 8-inch cock. He was also a whiny little queen. Kirk was blond and smooth with a great ass, but he was too much trouble in the end. He's also three hundred miles away, so that's that.
I take the bus over to Liberty Avenue. There's a clothing store there -- Torso -- that has some hot clothes. I can usually find something on sale that I can afford. Last semester I went over there and saw this pair of jeans I really, really wanted. They were 90 bucks and I didn't have 90 bucks. The guy who worked there was a real faggy type fag, a real clothing queen. Short. Smooth. Not a blond, though. I knew he was looking at me. So I fucked him in the stockroom and he gave me the jeans for $20. That was a fucking steal. Maybe he'll be there today and I can get a really hot shirt!
It's cold, but the sun is out and it's warm on my face. It feels good walking down the street, especially this street. Liberty Avenue. A lot of cool guys. Hot guys. I know I look good. I know they're checking me out. And I'm checking them out, too. It isn't like on campus, where you have to be more careful. CMU is usually okay, but there are still a lot of assholes around who think they're macho men. Straight guys who might not mind getting jerked off or getting their dicks sucked by someone who knows how to do it right. Those are the most dangerous ones. Yeah, I know about that. I got beaten up by my own teammates in the locker room at my last college. And the two guys who were hitting me the hardest were the two guys on the team that I'd had sex with. That's when I decided I'd had enough there. Live and learn, I always say. Fucking hell.
There's a diner around here someplace. The Liberty Diner. I haven't had lunch, so I go inside. It's a cool place. Crazy shit on the walls. Funny menu. Wild colors. Lots of fags. One of the waitresses looks like a drag queen or something, with a bright red wig. Scary. There are a couple of hot guys sitting at a back booth. I sit at the counter.
"What'll you have, honey?" asks the waitress. She's definitely a woman, but around here you can never be sure.
I look at the menu board. "Just a burger and fries. And a large root beer."
"Sure thing, cutie," she says. She pops her gum at me.
There's a copy of 'Pittsburgh Out' on the counter so I pick it up and look through it. Lots of ads for gay chatlines. Escort services. Strip bars. Mostly sex stuff, with a few articles about the gay community. Yeah, put a little social shit in there to break up the sex stuff -- ha! A couple of the guys in the ads have good bodies, but no better than mine. I could get into that. Posing for big bucks. I'd do it in a heartbeat.
"Here's your burger, sweetie," says the crazy waitress. She's wearing a tee shirt that says 'Got Dick?' with a cartoon of a dancing penis. Jesus. "I don't think I've seen you around here before, honey," she says.
"I'm a student at CMU. From Newcastle. But I've been around," I say. "A bit."
"I betcha you have, hon!" she cracks. "Enjoy your burger."
I eat and look at the newspaper. The burger isn't bad. And the fries are good. She gave me a lot of them, too. It pays to be hot. People give you extra stuff all the time.
The door of the diner opens and the waitress starts waving her hands around. "Sunshine! What can I get you, baby?"
"I'll have the Special. To go."
I turn around and look at the guy who just came in. I know him. Shit. The Famous Justin Taylor. Tabloid Boy. Hollywood Boyfriend. He sits down about four stools away at the end of the counter.
"I didn't see you all weekend, sweetie," says the waitress. "Busy with school?"
"I was visiting Brian," says Taylor. Brian Kinney. The Big Fucking Deal. The Cocksucking Movie Star. Yeah, he's hot, but he's some kind of flake. A druggie. A major fuck up.
"How's he doing, Sunshine?" asks the waitress.
"Great," says Taylor. "I really like this new place, Deb. I think he'll make a lot of progress there."
I'm all ears listening to this. I turn away, so they won't think I'm eavesdropping. But Taylor lowers his voice and I can't hear much more of the conversation.
I'm eyeing Justin Taylor. He's hot. Just the kind of guy I really like. Blond. Pale and smooth. The right size, too. I know he's got a great ass. I saw him moving it around at the mixer last week. Sweet. That kid he was with, Marshall, wasn't bad either. After we danced, and he was all moony-eyed over me, I got his number, but I haven't had a chance to call him. Maybe I'll use it this weekend. Marshall doesn't seem too experienced, but that's something that isn't a big problem to remedy. You'd be surprised how a guy's ass can go from pristine to wide open with a couple of good, heavy fucks. That's tight. And I mean that.
But Justin Taylor. He's something else again. Alan was surprised when we saw him at the CMU mixer a couple of weeks back. Justin Taylor doesn't usually go to stuff like that. Alan says that he thinks he's too big a deal for student shit. But Alan was even more surprised when I told him that I knew Taylor. From when we were kids. We were in Little League together. Justin fucking Taylor! He was the first guy I ever made out with. I always did like the little blonds, even back then -- ha! Well, it wasn't real making out. More like wrestling around. A little grabbing. Touching each other. Just fooling around. Kids' stuff. But we both got hard. At least I did. We were only about 12 or 13, but that's old enough to know what feels good. And that felt good. Really, really good.
He sits and waits for the waitress to bring him his take out order. There's no one else at the counter.
"Hey, Justin," I say.
He looks up, startled. His eyes are really blue. Fucking BLUE blue. Just like I remember. "Dylan."
I smile. "So, you remember me."
"Sure, Dylan. I remember you. Of course." He seems flustered. I should bust him for pretending like he didn't know me at the mixer, but I don't want to freak him out. He looks ready to bolt out the door. He swallows and taps his fingers on the counter. "How are you doing?"
"Okay," I say. "Getting ready for baseball season. Spending time at the gym. What about you?"
"Oh, I've got some pieces in an exhibit that's coming up at the Warhol Museum. And classes." He looks down at his hands. "And other things. I'm pretty busy."
"But not too busy to go out dancing now and then," I smile.
"What do you mean by that?" he frowns.
"At the mixer last week at Carnegie Mellon. You were there with some of your friends. And the other week, too. You know what they say about all work and no play? Am I right?" I move down a couple of stools and sit right next to him. I'm close enough to smell his hair. It smells like lemons. Clean and blond. That gets me hard.
"Oh, right. I was just hanging out there," he replies. He shifts around nervously. Perches on the stool with that gorgeous round ass. I can picture my dick in it. Sweet.
"Tell your friend Marshall that I'm going to give him a call sometime," I say. His skin is really pale. Smooth. Tight. "Maybe the three of us can do something. You guys ever go to Pistol?"
He shakes his head. "Not really. I don't go to bars much anymore, but when I do I go to Woody's."
"Woody's!" I howl. "That's for old guys! Old losers! Pistol is where all the hot guys go. Woody's is SO over!"
He shrugs. "Woody's is where Brian and his friends always went, so that's where I've always gone, too."
I lean over a little bit. Get so close that he can feel my hot breath on his ear. That ear is pink and pale. Yes. I feel him shudder. "You always do everything that Brian does? I don't see Brian here right now."
Justin makes a face. I can't tell if he's annoyed -- or turned on. "Brian is out of town right now, but he's my partner. I mean, we have a relationship and have had for a long time. We like to do things together, you know?"
I snort. "Sounds thrilling. What the fuck do you two do for fun? Knit? Watch grass grow?"
Now he's pissed off. "What my boyfriend and I do together is none of your fucking business!"
He leans away from me. But that's okay. I got a rise out of him. He's definitely interested. I can tell.
"Okay," I say. "I get it. No offense. I'm just making conversation." I lick my lips. He stares at my tongue moving slowly over my lips. Sweet. I can taste that juicy hamburger, but I'd rather taste Justin's juicy ass. And I will. I know I will. "We used to be friends, Justin. Remember?"
He grimaces again. "Sort of. But that was a long time ago, Dylan. We were just kids."
"So? Kids can have a little fun, too. Remember when we went to Kennywood with the team? Ever go to Kennywood anymore?"
He cocks his head. "Last year Brian and I took his son there for the day. It was fun, but Gus was kind of small to really enjoy it."
Brian again. And his kid. Justin is always dragging that kid around with him, like some kind of fucking housewife. Or nursemaid. That's no way for a queer to be wasting his time. He brought the rugrat to the Pride Union meeting at the Institute when I was on that panel talking about homophobia on campus. Justin was supposed to talk, too, but he left with the kid before he got the chance.
"Yeah. Good old Kennywood. I remember that day really well. It was fun," I say. Justin's hand is resting on the counter. I put my hand on top of his. "I remember when we went on the roller coaster together." His hand feels cool. Smooth. Soft and tight at the same time.
Justin stops cold. For a full minute he doesn't move. Then he pulls his hand away. He rubs it, like it burns. And I laugh like hell!
I reach into my pocket and pay for my lunch. I leave a tip for the crazy waitress.
"Tell Marshall that I'll be calling him," I say as I put on my coat. "Why don't you give me your number, too, Justin? In case I need to call you sometime."
His face is blank. "I don't think so, Dylan. That's not a good idea." He turns his face away from me. His blond hair is long and brushes against the top of his collar. He pushes out his lower lip and chews on it. I make him nervous. That is so fucking hot! My dick jumps in my pants just thinking about him.
I tear off a corner of the 'Pittsburgh Out' and write my cellphone number on it. I slide it into his hand. He closes his fingers around the piece of paper. Grips it tightly.
"Later, Justin," I say, getting up from the counter. I smile.
He doesn't answer.
But I turn around as I walk out of the door of the diner. He's watching me go. Staring after me.
Continue on to "Another Nail in My Heart".
©Gaedhal, July 2004.
Posted July 7, 2004.