What Gay People Do

A Chapter by LisaMauro

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

That thought just kept running through my head, over and over again like one of those cheesy jingles for cornflakes that pop up on the television on Saturdays. There was this weird buzzing echoing in my skull, this dull thud that wouldn’t seem to go away.

It seemed too quiet.

Which is weird to say, because the heaviness of his breathing above me was loud enough to where I swear someone could of heard it from the other side of the doorway"despite how he took enough precaution to stuff a dirty old towel against the crack at the bottom, just in case someone happened to come home.

I tried really hard not to cringe when I felt the stickiness of his sweat trickle down onto the cold, bare skin of my back. Was it really supposed to be like that? Awkward and painful and messy? The movies I had stolen from Diana’s house way back in seventh grade made it seem like a piece of cake. The guys starring in them were all smiles and heated moaning, and they seemed all the more beautiful when their overly-tanned skin glistened with sweat. But not like this. Not clammy and gross.

“Sam, f**k.”

My name fell off his lips, along with a warm cloud of his breath. It smelled like cheetos. You’d think I would like hearing him say it, like some warped compliment, but it just twisted up into my gut, along with the pieces of a million other things I didn’t want to feel.

And sometimes, my brain did this thing. It’s nothing I could control, like some kind of ingrained survival technique. I would just float up and out of wherever I was, with my body still there but my mind far, far away. It was better than being where I was.

The tiny pock marks on the ceiling above us almost looked like stars, tiny little specks, burning brightly light years away. A crescent-shaped dark circle loomed near the corner"it reminded me of the moon. What would it be like to live up there, deep within the Milky Way, zooming around in a spaceship, visiting all the planets, flying through the nebulae? It certainly wouldn’t be like this.

“Oh, s**t--s**t.”

I rolled my eyes a little bit at his latest outburst. I didn’t get what was so great about it.

I tightened my grip on the sheets, and screwed my eyes shut as tightly as they would go, trying to recall the sparkling images of outer space. No such luck.

I remember vaguely feeling the need to take a dump"or at least the strangest sensation of being full, like there was this animal on top of me, trying to burst through the other side of my body. I didn’t really like it.

He gave one last grunt, and I laughed a little inside because he reminded me of those gross cavemen on the Geico commercials.

”You could save up to fifteen-percent or more on your car insurance by switching to Geico.”

My thoughts flickered to a faded memory of my mom on the phone to her insurance company, screaming so loudly Mrs. Fink from next door ran (more like limped) over to see if someone had died in the house. It was Easter Sunday; I must have been three or four years old. My mouth was all sticky with melted chocolate from the basket my grandma had given me"and mom took a break from yelling at the man on the phone to yell at me for getting my pants dirty. She had gotten slammed in the side by a jeep full of drunken college kids from the local university on her way home from her night shift. The poor old green Caravan sagged in the driveway, reminding me of Buster, the family bloodhound that never moved from his silent vigil in the corner, next to the fireplace.

Incidentally, she set up a court date with the kid that wrecked her car, and even made him cry in front of the judge, successfully winning enough money to fix the car. Poor kid.

I wondered if I could ever get a refund for my virginity.

It’s funny how I viewed it, the dreaded V-word. To me, it was like the horrible sweaters my grandma got me for Christmas every year. The ones with tweaked-out looking deer on the chests, or fat Santa clause’s that made little kids want to cry. I hated those damn sweaters, and wanted to get rid of them desperately once they were in my hands. I’d never be caught dead wearing one.

I felt this weird sense of lightness as he rolled off of me. Like a huge cement block had been slowly crushing me to death"but I hadn’t noticed the weight until it was gone. I breathed in deep, letting my face mash against the bed. I didn’t want to look at him.

I heard him shuffling around the room, and the metallic zipping his jeans made as he pulled them back on.

Don’t come over here. Just leave.

I felt a cooling sensation fan over my shoulder blades as he blew across the skin there. It made me shudder, but not in the good kind of way. Sort of like when you see someone get stabbed to death in a horror film, fake blood squirting everywhere. My muscles tensed automatically at his touch. Why couldn’t this be some kind of f**k-n-go, like in those movies? I hated the way he was lingering over me like that. It’s not like I really even wanted it to happen in the first place.

“Come here.” He said, gripping on my shoulder with a calloused finger. It felt like sandpaper against my skin.

I went limp as he dragged me up towards him. We were face to face, but I kept my eyes averted, down, not wanting to look into those black circles . What if I made eye contact, and got lost? What if it would be like getting sucked into a black hole? I’d never be able to get back out again.

I concentrated on the little black hairs spurting from the middle of his chest, suddenly hating them. I wanted to rip them out, one by one. I wonder if he would even feel it, or if he would get that weird, spaced out look that he had a second ago. I’d never seen someone’s face look like that before.

Our teeth clanked together when he brought my face to his. I half expected him to feel really rough, but he wasn’t. He was soft. How weird. I thought everyone got facial hair by the time they were twenty.

His tongue found its way into my mouth, and it tasted weird. He was ice cold, almost like he had slurped an entire icy from the Quik Stop down the street before kissing me. It felt like this rubbery snake was trying to eat me alive. I panicked for a second"feeling like if I didn’t pull away soon, he would somehow manage to suck my entire head into his mouth, and I’d be trapped inside of him forever, like in one of those ScyFy movies my mom liked to watch on Sundays. It wasn’t really what I had expected my first kiss to be like.

I pressed my hand flat against his bare chest and pushed, hoping he would take the signal and let go of me. There was this awkward popping noise when he pulled away. It reminded me of those rubber toys I played with when I was younger, the ones that you turned inside out and set down somewhere flat, until they flipped around on themselves and jumped into the air.

I loved those toys.

His eyes were bright and shining this time, and I had to look away from them. He reached out a hand and ruffled my hair before standing back up, looking at me with this earnest look. The kind my dad used to give me when he wanted to say something. When he knew he was right.

“You still think you’re gay, kid?” He laughed, with this ugly sneer. “That’s what gay people do.”

I looked down at the floor, littered with books and clothes. I saw my favorite copy of The Catcher In The Rye lying in the corner, right next to a dried out piece of pizza from the night before. I'd looked at that carpet millions of times before, the pattern and random stains almost burned into my memory. But somehow, everything seemed different somehow. Like something had shifted--but I didn't know what.

My cheeks burned as I listened to him finish getting dressed. I heard my doorknob rattle a little as he went to twist it open, fixing me with one last smile and a wink before turning to leave.

“See you later, Sam.”

His words seemed to be filled with something, this hardened edge I couldn’t quite place. Almost like a warning.

”Don’t tell anyone about this, or I’ll kill you.”

I scrambled to the window as I heard him clomp down the stairs in his muddy old boots. I followed his body, huddled against the wind, all the way to his car, parked across the street. This little sigh of relief passed through my lips as he pulled away.

A sharp tone filled the air, and I jumped, laughing a little at myself when I realized it was just my phone ringing. I sifted through all of the junk on my floor, trying to find my phone. I winced as this dull ache went through me when I moved the wrong way, but shook it off as my hand clamped over the familiar plastic.

“Hello.”

“Samuel!” I cringed a little. Only my mom called me that. “I’ve been calling the house phone for the past hour and a half. Why didn’t you answer? I was beginning to think you’d died or something.”

I remembered how he had unplugged it just before we went up to my room to “study.”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Guess I didn’t hear it.”

I could almost see the way she was pursing her lips in my head.

“Hmm. Well, try to listen next time? You almost gave me a heart attack. Anyway, I’ll be home in the morning, but probably not before you go to school. Please don’t forget to make your lunch"I left cheese in the fridge for your sandwich.”

“Thanks, mom.” I said, really wanting to just go to sleep.

“Well goodnight Sam, I’ll see you tomorrow. God, the snow here is terrible. I hope it’s better there.”

“Love you, Mom.” I mumbled before clicking the off button. She really liked to talk, and I was tired.

I tossed my phone in some random direction, not caring where it bothered to land. My eyes slid shut easily as I laid back onto my pillow, another thought racing around in my head like those stupid jingles.

If that was what gay people did, I wasn't so sure if I wanted to call myself that anymore.