"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Part 1 of Chapter 68 in the "Queer Theories" series.

Go back to "Tomorrow Is a Long Time", the previous section.

The narrator is Brian Kinney, featuring Justin Taylor, Harry Collins, Sybil Milton, Albert Symonds, Billy Phillips-Smythe, Gerry Milton, Others.
Summary: Brian's take on the weekend in the country. Sussex. July 2002.
Author's Note: My beta, Susan, insisted on this. What IS Brian thinking during the house party weekend? This is it. Part 1 takes place before "Tomorrow Is a Long Time" -- Justin with the psychic -- while Part 2 will deal with Brian's view of the aftermath of that incident.

"The weather forecast in the paper says: 'partly cloudy, with a chance of rain.'" Justin is looking at a copy of the Saturday morning 'Independent' that Travers has left on the dining room side table, along with copies of the 'Times,' the 'Guardian,' and even that trashy tabloid, the 'Sun.'

I just smile at him and shake my head, picking up my cup of coffee.

"What? What is so funny?" Justin smiles back at me.

"Justin -- that's the weather forecast for EVERY day in England. Partly cloudy, chance of rain. In July. In December. In May. It's always the same."

"Oh. The same weather every day could get awfully boring, couldn't it?"

"Or else make you feel awfully secure with yourself. You tell me which you think the English are, Justin -- boring or secure?"

"I'll have to think about that one," he says. He turns another page and then looks over at the sideboard, which is spread out with enough food for an army. "Brian?"


"Why do they have sardines for breakfast? I mean -- fish for breakfast seems odd."

"Those are kippers. I think that's smoked herring."

"Oh. I think I'll try some."

"It's your stomach."

Justin goes to the sideboard and piles some of the little fish onto his plate. Personally, I don't want to eat anything with an identifiable face that early in the morning. Whole wheat toast and black coffee is more my speed.

But since we got here yesterday, Justin has been eating everything in sight. It must be the country air. It's healthy and he has a healthy appetite. I envy that. And he's willing to try things -- to try anything. Food. Experiences. There's something about seeing him try these new things that makes me feel happy. I don't know why, but I do.

And I also have to admit that even though British food isn't that great, Harry makes certain that there's plenty of it for his guests. Dinner last night was actually one of the best meals we've had so far in England -- salmon, vegetables that were fresh and not canned or cooked into a mush, and even a recognizable salad. The only awkward moment was the treacle pudding for dessert. Molasses boiled into a solid blob isn't my idea of a treat. Justin's face as he tasted it was so priceless that I wish I'd brought a camera to the table to immortalize it! It was one of those moments that is over all too quickly. God, I must really be getting old if I'm obsessing over saving all these little incidents to remember later.

"They're good," says Justin, chewing the kippers with gusto. He would like them. Typical. Maybe he could even develop a taste for treacle pudding? Then could a liking for Spotted Dick be far behind? He goes back for more and picks up another newspaper.

"Hiyo and good morning all!" Harry Collins comes into the dining room and sits at the head of the long table. After all, it is his house. That's an interesting development. The house in the country, the townhouse in Kensington, even the cars -- they all belong to Harry, not to Gerry at all.

I like Harry and still feel like an idiot for not remembering that Sir Ken told me he was a famous actor over here. When I saw him and Sybil when we arrived, I just didn't make the connection. He certainly doesn't LOOK like an actor at all, let alone one everybody in the country would recognize on sight. Maybe that's the secret of his popularity -- he doesn't look like an actor. Unlike Gerry, who oozes artificiality out of every pore.

And I swear to God I'd never heard of that soap opera they were talking about. 'Mornington Close.' It must be like 'Coronation Street' or something. My old landlady in Notting Hill never missed that show. I mean, where would I have heard about some English serial? I hardly know what's on American television, let alone British.

"Kippers!" Harry says, seeing Justin taking yet another helping. "Good show!" He jumps up and piles HIS plate with the disgusting things. "Anyone seen the 'Sun'?"

"Oh, I think I have it," says Justin.

"What are you doing reading the 'Sun,' Harry?" I ask. The 'Sun' has to be the sleaziest tabloid published anywhere. It makes the 'Weekly World News' look like the 'Wall Street Journal.'

"Why those are my fans, Brian. The same people who read the 'Sun' are also the viewers of 'Mornington Close.' I like to know my audience."

"Harry, from what I've been told EVERYONE watches 'Mornington Close' -- even the Queen, so I hardly think you need to read the 'Sun' to keep in touch with your fans," I say. After my faux pas in not recognizing Harry's series, I made a point to ask Sir Ken about it last night after dinner. He's an avid viewer, along with, apparently, most of the population of the British Isles. No wonder Harry is so fucking famous here!

Justin hands the newspaper over to him. "There's a naked lady in this paper."

"Of course, love. There's a naked lady in the 'Sun' every day. The Page Three Girl. She's an institution. Don't you have Page Three Girls in your papers at home?"

"Are you kidding?" Justin giggles. "Can you imagine all the screaming by the Right Wing Whackos if they had nudity in a newspaper? Every day? Not even the 'National Enquirer' has naked women in it."

"The circulation would probably soar if they did!" adds Harry.

"That lady is rather, er, over-developed," says Justin.

"Certainly! That is the point of having her there. Something to make it worthwhile for the man of the house to get up in the morning!" says Harry.

"She wouldn't get ME out of bed," I offer.

"What if they had a naked guy with a big dick in the paper every morning?" Justin says, candidly. Harry clears his throat and blushes. "I bet that would make YOU get out of bed."

"Speak for yourself, Justin," I say. That kid will literally say anything, anywhere. Kind of like me, I guess.

"I don't need to read the paper to see a guy with a big dick first thing in the morning. All I have to do is look at you." Justin is grinning at me.

Now poor old Harry really is blushing. Shit.

"Excuse me for a minute, please, Harry," I say.


I get up and grab Justin by the collar and drag him out of the dining room and into the hallway.


"Jesus! Watch your mouth around these people!"

"Why?" says Justin, mystified. "He's just another fag, too. An old fag. What's the problem?"

"Sometimes you AREN'T cute. You embarrassed Harry and you embarrassed ME!"

"Brian, I didn't know it was possible to embarrass YOU!"

"Well, you may be right there, but it's beside the point while we're in this house. In this situation we're the guests and have to act with a little dignity -- even YOU! So don't do it again!"

"Excuse me, Brian?" says Justin, his eyes darkening. "But yesterday afternoon didn't that butler just WALK into our room while," his voice drops down. "While you were fucking me -- and you didn't bat an eye, Brian! You had a conversation with him while you were pounding my ass!"

"You are so descriptive, Justin."

"Well?! Wasn't THAT embarrassing? When I came down to breakfast earlier and that... guy -- that butler asked me if I wanted tea or coffee I thought I'd crawl under the table!"

"That's completely different, Justin," I say, trying to explain. "Travers is a professional butler. It's his job NOT to be embarrassed. I imagine after working for Gerry Milton all these years that he's been exposed to quite a lot. But Travers is trained NOT to see anything, just like I told you yesterday. But Harry is your host. Plus, he's from the old school, when they didn't talk about stuff like that, especially at the breakfast table. So, you can say what you want around Gerry, but try to use a little sense when you're saying things around Harry. Or Sybil's husband -- he really looks like an old fogie, too."

"That's just hypocritical, Brian! You're always saying that I should tell the truth." He is pouting like mad. Pouting is cute on him, but I want him to know I'm serious, too.

"That doesn't mean you need to make smart remarks about my dick in front of some older guy. If these people are going to be part of 'Our Circle,' as YOU have pointed out to me, then WE have to act the part. We have to cultivate them -- at least while we're here. Okay?"

He keeps turning away from me, pretending that he's mad. At least I think he's pretending. There's a little alcove off the hall with a table and a big vase with some flowers in it. I pull Justin into the alcove and behind the flowers.

"If I sound a little on edge, Justin, it's just this whole place -- and everything about it. It makes me uneasy. And maybe too aware of what people are saying."

"But that's no reason to treat me like a child, Brian. I'm not."

"I'm sorry. And if you were that embarrassed by what happened yesterday," I lean over and whisper in his ear. "I promise I won't pound your ass again as long as we are in this house. Especially not in front of the butler, okay?"

"You mean -- not at all?" The look on his face -- another Kodak moment!

"Nope. I promise." Actually, I could do it right here because I'm turned on by the smell of him and the feel of his arm against my hand, but the kitchen isn't far from here and Travers is sure to come down this hall again in the next five or ten minutes and we'd be right back to where we were yesterday.

"I don't want you to go overboard," says Justin. "I mean, I wasn't THAT embarrassed. And if Travers doesn't really mind...."

"No, no -- I wouldn't want to offend your sense of decency. For instance, I COULD pull your cock out right here and run my hand up and down on it, like this... stroking it and fondling it and squeezing it...." He is so hard right now that he's practically bursting out of his pants. "But I won't." I take my hand off the front of his pants and rearrange one of the flowers in the vase.


"Now go upstairs and get ready to go riding. We're meeting Sybil and her husband at the stables in a half-hour."

And he walks away, grumbling. The silly little brat! Jesus, I love fucking around with him. But I'll make it up to him later. And to myself.

I go back into the dining room. "Sorry about that, Harry."

"About what?"

"Justin -- the kid is a little... talkative."

"Oh, no bother at all. He's a dear. How old is he?"

"Nineteen, I hope that explains a lot."

"To be nineteen is to be forgiven everything. If only I were nineteen in this day and age, my life would certainly be so much different. We didn't feel that kind of freedom in the old days, even after all the laws against..." he seems embarrassed again. "Sodomy were repealed."

Ouch. Something about that word makes me cringe. It sounds so... Biblical.

"Well, I'm sure you feel a lot better being out in a place like London than somewhere else."

"Out?" says the old guy. "Who ever said I was out? Don't be silly, my boy! I have my fans to think of!"

I just stare at him, my mouth open. "But Harry, surely everyone knows you're gay."

"Perhaps -- but in the theater, in television, and in films, too, you'll find that having everyone KNOW and being OUT are two completely different things. I can't be as open as Kenny. He parades on telly holding hands with that little boyfriend of his and everyone applauds. Everyone gives him awards for his openness and his bravery and asks him to march in parades and give speeches. But Kenny takes the roles that he wants, when he wants. He has his knighthood and his reputation and no one can take that away from him. He's a free agent and always has been. But there is still no way that I could go out with Gerard as a couple and retain my position on my television show."

So, I am trying to picture Harry and Gerry as a couple. Harry and Gerry -- it sounds like a fucking queer sitcom! And the two of them being together for seventeen years! It freaks me out. What do they do together? DO they still do anything -- or is it just habit? What do they say to each other after all this time? Harry has to be at least twenty years older than Gerry -- what has he thought of Gerry fucking around on him all of these years? How does he put up with it? Doesn't he hate Gerry with a passion now? Or does Harry fuck around, too? I have all these stupid questions I want to ask him all of a sudden, but I don't even know where to begin.

I think about being with one person for seventeen years and still being afraid of being seen in public with him. It's nonsense in this day and age. Surely Harry has nothing to be afraid of? Surely Gerry isn't scared of what the public might think of him? I think of all the places I've taken Justin -- and never once thought twice about it. And even the prom....

I have to stop and look away. Take a sip of my coffee. My hand is shaking just a little bit. That prick of anxiety that starts so subtly and takes over so completely.... And Harry is still talking.

"And the producers of my serial would have a fit if their star -- the lovable Clive, who represents all the old fashioned English virtues -- was revealed to be a bum-boy. And my fans -- they wouldn't like it either. They are the readers of this." He holds up the Page Three Girl and sighs. "No Page Three Boy for these folk."

"Pardon me, but I think that's b.s., Harry. Why would you hide who you are? At your age and with your fame? What's the point?"

"You don't know the world I must live in, Brian, so don't judge me." Harry puts down his newspaper and smiles at me, knowingly. "We shall see when it comes time for YOU to make that walk down the red carpet. Will you do it holding hands with your young boy? Will your studio 'allow' it? Will YOU allow it for yourself?"

"I... I don't know. I guess I've never thought about it." And I haven't thought about it. Why haven't I thought about it? The fake dates the studio set up with me and Diane were one thing -- Ron was just as adamant as anyone about me going along with THAT. For the good of the film, he said. But it's a different game now. And Justin is a different story altogether. He would never hide -- or allow ME to hide. Not after all we've been through.

"It will come. And THAT will be your moment of truth -- as they say in the bull ring!" Harry gets up from the table. "I'll see you at luncheon. Have a good ride."

I go up to the room. Justin is trying on the riding clothes that Sybil brought him. They belong, of course, to her invisible son, William, and are a bit too big on Justin. But they'll do for this weekend.

Seeing him in that outfit drives away all the thoughts that Harry has planted in my head about the studio and being in or being out and all that other bull. Because the fantasies are too nasty and too good. The boots and the little riding crop and the black coat and the tight pants -- it's like a spread from 'Boy Toy' -- that porno magazine Justin bought me as a joke one time. But it wasn't a joke once we started looking at the pictures in it.

"What do you think of these boots? And the hat?" He's admiring himself in the full-length mirror. The britches are baggy at the knees, but stretch a little tightly over the ass. And the long black coat makes him look like a Dickensian rent-boy. But I don't say that -- he's a bit touchy about the rent-boy references ever since the JKF incident and then Gerry jokingly calling him one at Sir Ken's party. At least, I think it was meant to be a joke.

"You look just like 'National Velvet,'" I say, running my finger down the velvet collar of the black coat.

"They gave me a whip, too, but I don't think I could use it on my horse." He holds up the child's riding crop that goes with the ensemble. "I wouldn't feel right hitting a defenseless horse."

"Believe me, you couldn't do much more than tap the animal with that thing. I'm sure if you use it, he wouldn't feel it."

"Then I'd rather not use it at all."

I take the riding crop from him and slip it into the drawer in the bedside table. You never know when something like that might come in handy.

"What are you going to wear, Brian?"

"This. My jeans. And boots. They aren't riding boots, but they'll do."

"But I want to see you all dressed up in a riding habit, too!" He smiles a naughty smile. He must be picturing me in exactly the same way I'm picturing him. Our dirty minds are always in tune -- always. That's one reason the sex is always so hot.

"Then you're going to wait a long time!" I look through my clothes and decide to bring my leather jacket. It's chilly here in the mornings, and outside, before the summer sun has had a chance to clear it away, is a classic pea soup fog so thick you can almost cut it with a knife. I look out the window and feel something creeping up on me. I'm starting to feel that anxiety again. A little trail of sweat is coursing down my neck. And my mouth is starting to go dry. Very dry.

"Ah, Justin?"

"Hm?" He's still admiring himself.

"Do you think... I could have... my medication now? Just one." I feel like a jackass having to ask this kid for the stuff, but that was the agreement and I'm not going to be a dick now and go back on it. Besides, I don't know where he's stashing it.

He looks at me seriously. He takes this so seriously when it's really no big deal. It's not like I REALLY have a problem. And then Diane has to get involved in it all. Shit. It's so NOT a big fucking deal!

"So? Well?"

"I'll bring it down to you before we leave for the stable." His face is serene.

"But, I... I want to take it now." I blink a couple of times. "Now."

"Later, Brian. When it's time to go." He's looking at himself again in the mirror and NOT looking at me. "I'll bring it down to you."

Fucking little prick! "I'll meet you down there, then" I say, stomping out. Goddamn kid.

I go into the main drawing room, wondering if it's too early to get a drink in this place. In England it's never too early for a belt. But the bar is locked up tight. Harry must know his guests pretty well.

I sit and wait for Justin to decide to bring down my drugs.


Sybil and Albert meet us at the stables. They are completely decked out in their own riding gear. They actually look kind of ridiculous, but I'm sure they think I look just as ridiculous in my jeans and black leather jacket. But, shit, it's only riding a horse!

They both make a huge fuss over Justin. Oooing and ahhing over his riding outfit. And he looks perfectly at home in that outfit, standing next to the horses. The young English boy. Once again, I wish I had a camera.

They boost him up on a horse so ancient he must have been in the original Charge of the Light Brigade, but at least I won't have to worry about him getting thrown off. They give me something a bit livelier. It's an English saddle, but I can handle that without much problem.

Justin grins at me. He is feeling smug, I think, especially since he doled out my pill to me. All that shit over one lousy pill! But I feel the edge is off now. I can breathe again. I can get through this morning and then through the rest of this day.

The Sussex countryside is interesting. Fields, woods, some marsh areas. The English Channel isn't far from here. The horses basically plod along the path -- Justin is on that old plug and Sybil and Albert aren't exactly cowboys, either. But it's relaxing. Sybil hasn't stopped talking since we started out, pointing to houses and pastures belonging to people we don't know and will never meet. Albert barely says a word. She talks, he listens -- that seems to be the core of their relationship.

We come to some open ground and I urge my horse to show a little spirit. He breaks into a gallop and it feels good to let loose a bit. I'm basically neck-reining him, but he isn't fussy. I have him under control and he seems to be enjoying stretching out his legs. At the end of the field I turn him around and trot back to the others, who are still trudging along.

Justin is looking worried. "Brian! I thought the horse ran off with you!"

"Justin, if he ran away with me, we'd be halfway back to the barn by now!" I laugh. "But here I am!" I circle my horse around next to his.

"See, dear, I told you he was fine," Sybil says to Justin. "Brian seems a decent horseman."

"But you were going so fast, I thought...."

"I wanted to see if this nag could do anything better than a slow hobble," I say.

"That's Gerry's horse, Mercutio. He's quite nice," says Albert.

"He isn't bad," I say, trying to imagine Gerry on a horse. He seems more suited to Justin's animal, the glue-factory wannabe.

"Come on, Justin," I say. "See if you can get him to break into at least a fast walk."

"I'm afraid I'll fall!"

"You couldn't fall off that horse if someone exploded a bomb under him. Just give him a kick. I won't let you fall -- I'm right next to you." I reach out my hand and touch the horse's bridle, just to prove that I have some control of the situation. Then I pray the horse doesn't do anything freaky.

"Come ON, McGuffin," Justin says, kicking and flapping the reins. No wonder they gave him that riding crop -- this horse is comatose under normal circumstances.

But with some more urging, Justin's horse moves a tad faster and we trot out in front of Sybil and Albert. Sybil is still talking.

"I didn't know you could ride a horse, Brian."

"There are many things I can do that you don't know about, Justin."

"Like what else?"

"Where's the mystery in that, Justin? You have to discover those things all by yourself."

I kick my horse up a notch and Justin's actually breaks a sweat to keep up. All in all, we have a decent ride. And no one ends up with his rear in the dirt. Justin is so pleased about this that he's smiling at mega-watt power. I see a spot over by a little stream that looks perfect for, as the Brits say, a healthy outdoor shag, but we have to ditch our companions first.

I keep looking for a way to shake Sybil and Albert. I suggest that they may be getting tired. Or that it's near lunch time. Or that Sybil's horse's gait looks a little funny. But nothing works. They are glued to Justin and me and there's no fucking way that they are going to leave us alone for even five minutes.

And Sybil still won't stop talking. She's going on and on about her friend, Fiona something, who is coming for dinner tonight. She's some sort of psychic who is going to 'read' us all. Not ME, she isn't.

Eventually I give up and we head back to the barn. There's always tomorrow for another try. That spot by the steam isn't going anywhere any time soon.

We ride back into the stableyard and the old groom hobbles out to take the horses. When I see he's the only one around, I volunteer to put my horse away. Of course, Sybil and Albert just dismount and take off, leaving their nags to the old guy.

As they head up to the house, they greet a new guy, just coming down the path. Fairly young, dark-haired, slight, nicely dressed in a tailored suit. Another party guest, I imagine, because Sybil and Albert know him. He looks over and sees me. I know THAT look by heart. I shake my head.

"I want to make sure my horse is okay," says Justin, heading for the other barn with the groom.

"I'll meet you in a few minutes, after I put this one away." I lead Gerry's horse into the stable that the groom has pointed out to me and look for the right stall. I find the brass plate for 'Mercutio.' What a name for a horse, I think. Until I remember that Sir Ken told me that was the part that Gerry first made a hit in at the Royal Shakespeare Company.

"You aren't whimsical enough to be a 'Mercutio,' horse," I say to him. I swear the animal shrugs.


I turn around and the young guy is standing in the door. I'm undoing the saddle when he comes over.

"I'm Billy. My sister and I arrived this morning." He's looking me up and down while I hang the saddle up.

"Well, whoop-de-doo."

"My sister is Adele Phillips-Smythe," he says, like this is supposed to mean something to me. Why are they always assuming that I have a clue as to who these people are?

"Sorry. I'm not acquainted with the lady."

"She's co-starring with Gerry Milton in his new production. The one in rehearsals right now."

"Okay. Great," I say. "So what?" This guy is following me around while I'm taking the tack off this horse. Why doesn't he try to be a bit more subtle?

"Are you...." He hesitates. I'm sure he thinks I must be the new groom. That gamekeeper fantasy thing again. That could be kind of hot. Come to think of it, HE is kind of hot. Certainly one of the hotter guys I've seen since I got to England. Sloe-eyed. That's the phrase.

"I'm staying at the house," I say to clarify his dilemma. "I'm a friend of Sir Ken's."

"Oh." I can't tell if this is disappointing news to him -- or makes it all right. "And you said your name is...?"

"I didn't." I lead the horse into the stall and turn him around. The real groom should come in later and see to him, but he's busy now with the other horses. And this guy follows me right into the stall and immediately reaches to unbuckle my belt.

Okay, now here is MY dilemma. Ordinarily, I wouldn't hesitate. I wouldn't even fucking THINK about it. He's ready, he's able, he's blowing. End of story. And I wouldn't even worry if anyone walked in. That's THEIR problem, right? If the groom walked in -- or Justin, well, too bad. It's happened plenty of times before. Plenty of times.

Except, not lately. Except not since... since when? A long fucking time, that's since when. Since even before I left for California. I mean, since Justin has really, seriously been around. Because, let's face it, if he's around and all you have to do is look at him and HE is always ready and always able, then what is the fucking point of THIS guy? Or any other trick, for that matter?

Except that he's right here. Billy. Right.

And then I think of something Justin said to me before he gave me the Xanax this morning.

"I know you want this, but the question you SHOULD be asking yourself is do you NEED it? And if you DON'T really need it, then why are you taking it?"

And then I took it anyway. And I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

But I'm always disappointing someone. Always.

So, if I don't need it, why am I taking it?

Billy is already on his knees, unbuttoning my Levis, and then he has my dick out. He knows what he's doing, too. You can tell by the way he handles it. This guy has had a LOT of experience with cocksucking. It must be those English boarding schools. They really DO learn something there that's lacking in the usual American secondary educational system.

Except -- if I wait ten minutes I could have Justin blow me. And then I could blow him. And I could fuck him in that big bed. Or the bathtub. Or out in the woods. Or on the front lawn. Because I WANT to fuck Justin. Suck him. Rim him. Kiss him. Sleep with him.... Whereas, I have no desire to do anything to THIS guy, including ever SEE him again.

"Okay, that's enough."

"Huh?" he says, puzzled. Enough? He hasn't even started yet. And that's the point.

"No thanks. Really." I gently take back my cock and put it away.

He's still down there, with his knees in the straw. His nice Bond Street suit will be a mess if he keeps this up. "But -- why?"

Shit! That's the hundred million dollar question, isn't it?

"I'm here with someone." Jesus, did that really come out of MY mouth? Out loud? Yes -- it did. And, yes -- I mean it. Justin wanted the answer to his question -- why did I bring him with me to England? There it is. "I'm here with someone." Not just SOMEONE. Justin. Because I want HIM -- and not anyone else. Here. With me.

"So? This'll only take a minute!" says Billy. He has a nice mouth -- but I can only picture a nicer one. And is it worth hurting Justin -- and hurting myself, ultimately -- for a minute? A fucking MINUTE? It's NOT. It's really not.

"Sorry." I walk out of the stall and wait for him to stand up and walk out, too, before I close the door and bolt it.

"I'll see you around this weekend? Maybe later?" he says, hopefully.

I face Billy. "Look. I told you. I'm here with someone. I'm NOT interested. End of conversation."

I turn and walk out of the barn, not looking back. I cross the stableyard and go into the building on the other side. Justin is sitting on a bale of straw, talking to the old groom.


"Hey yourself. We were just saying that...."

"Justin, I need you to come here." And take care of this raging hard-on that fucking Billy started. And keep that riding outfit on, especially the boots. And then there's that little riding crop I stashed in the drawer....

"But, I was...."

"Now," I say. "Please?"

"Okay. See you, Mr. Hendry," he says to the groom. Justin makes friends with everyone. It's his gift.

I grab him by the arm and hurry him along the path up to the house. He stumbles a bit and I pull him up and drag him along with me.

"God, Brian! Where are we going? What did I DO now?"

"It isn't what you did. It's what you are GOING to do. Maybe more than once," I say. "And this time I'll LOCK the fucking door!"

Continue on to "Partly Cloudy, Chance of Rain -- Part 2", the next section.

©Gaedhal, August 2002

Picture of Gale Harold from Zap2It.

Updated August 13, 2002