Taboo, The Virtue.

[German Voodoo]

[Can't figure out what to do next.]


I saw him when he was crying. The sight stole into me, made me cry. Empathic, with every tear that fell I felt his heartbeat in my chest, so it felt. I tried to comfort him, if only to ease my own pain, but it didn’t take. He just cried harder, pushed me away, buried his face into the blue pillow. He was wimpering.

“Go away.” He said between stifled outbursts. I put my hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. Ran my hand between his shoulderblades, in that soothing spot that mimics the grooming of apes. He calmed, slowly.

“It’s okay, baby.” He still complained, in that manner that slowly dies until you’re cleansed. I touched his chin, kissed his cheek, continuing to massage him until his cries were almost gone. He still pushed his head into the pillow, refusing to let me comfort him, or make eye contact. His dark hair felt so soft to touch, so clean. I slid my hand down his neck, onto his sternum, feeling his smooth skin against mine.

I enjoyed the feeling. I said, “It’s okay, babe, you know that right?” I leaned in again, kissed his lips with my eyes closed. Squeezed his hand. “Better?”

In his eyes, I could tell he was better, but he wouldn’t show it. He hung his head a bit, released my hand. I think he was ashamed, to be fifteen and cry like that.

“Yeah.” He was still sniffling a bit. We waited a few minutes before we spoke again. I would whisper into his ear silent breaths, kiss the lobes. In time, his emotions dimmed to the point where he could form words.

“Yeah. It’s okay.” He blew a deep breath, relaxing finally. His eyes met mine a few times, but he reverted them to my neck, my chest. Couldn’t meet my face.

“Sure?” His eyes were the first thing I had ever coveted in my entire life. It’s weird to think like that, to covet something that belongs to the person you call baby, the person you comfort and kiss. They were pure sapphire, warm and deep. Dark blue eyes that you wish you were born with, not these ugly brown ones. Danny always said the same thing about my eyes, though. That they were like peanut butter, or oak. He’s a good kid.

He had been crying furiously until he resigned into a longer, if less intense, session. It had taken me many moments to ask him what caused it. He had only said, “People only live day after day so they can hurt you, Mark.” So cryptic, but I knew what he meant. I’d thought the same thing countless instances before.

He raised his head, blew a final time, the tears drying beneath those gems and his breath feeling cool on my face, said, “Yeah.” He shook his head a bit, the red balloons under his eyes shining. “I’m sure.” His words were quiet, but stronger than before.

“Good.” So simple an exchange, our love. Based on teenage longing, but it works.

I could tell he was getting a bit self conscious, anxious to resurrect his standing. I smiled at him.

He smiled back, just a flicker. He placed my hand on my lap. His chest was still heaving a bit, but he had resumed his personality. That was a caveat I could accept.

I hate to see him upset. I try to protect him, but I never succeed. Sometimes, I get sick of it, think about telling him to stand up for himself. Then, I realize all the things he’s done for me, that he’s the only reason I’m alive today, this boy. So when I think about telling him to stop being a fairy and just be a man, I think, “If I do this, will I want to die tonight?”

The answer is always yes. And so, I comfort him.

He stood, walked toward the closet. I walked over to him, wrapped my arm around his waist, hooking my fingers into the band of his shorts. He opened the door, drew a white shirt from a hanger. I watched him pull his shirt off, the tears staining the front of it like a fountain. Danny’s attractive, good skin tone, healthy, fit. I like to see his skin, like anyone else. I picked the abandoned shirt up and smelled it, smelled the salt. It wasn’t weird in the least to do it, funny as it is to explain.

He pulled the clean shirt over his chest, covering the last strip of skin from my hungry eyes. We’d had sex before, and we both enjoy it , but this was not the time for anything like that. I resigned myself for grabbing his hip. “Do you want to tell me what all that was about?”

He grinned, but it was so… corrupted with something I can’t explain. Either that had really hurt him, or he didn’t know what to say. It was like a smile on a clown’s face, dripping with grease paint. It almost scared me.

“I don’t even know why I acted like that, Mark.” Maybe that was it, he didn’t know.

“Did someone do something?” It wasn’t a moment I really expected, for him not to tell me. It doesn’t seem like it merits explanation, but it just feels like it does. Danny led me to sit on the bed, him half cross legged, me straggling my butt on the edge of the frame. “Terry said something.”

“What did he say?” Terry was a lifelong friend of mine. I had introduced him to Danny a year before. Terry was the only other guy that knew about my sexuality. He’d been a good, honest friend to me, and I owed him a debt in return.

“Mark, I was talking with Angel about something and he just walked up to me.” Reluctance I didn’t understand.

“Yeah?”

“He called me a stupid faggot.” Terry had not reacted well when I had told him about me, but he had eventually settled down. I had felt like bloody suicide for days after I’d come out, but he helped me heal. But in the short time I’ve known Danny, I’ve made more of a connection with him than anyone else. Terry has a sense pf humor that I find bitter sometimes, but I always got over whatever he called me because I knew he meant nothing by it. I thought Danny might’ve taken this too far.

Again, I had that “Grow up already” feeling. “If I say this, will I want to do die tonight?”

Yes. And so I indulge him.

“Why’d he call you a faggot?” Danny had never been completely comfortable being gay. He’d never had confusion, but he could never look me in the eye and say he was happy he’s gay, because he met me. Not the way I say it to him, he can’t. That’s a source of dry pain that I can’t stem yet.

“Hell, I don’t know why.” I couldn’t understand why this was playing out like this. I didn’t even know how it was playing out.

“Well, baby, he’s like that sometimes. Did it bother you that much?"

“Yes. He called me a faggot. I hate that word.” Of all the things that Danny doesn’t hate, ‘faggot’ isn’t one. I’ve seen him break a tear at the sound off it in the locker room, even though he knew the other guys were joking with each other. That’s part of his appeal, but it’s high maintenance.

“He calls me a faggot all the time. It’s just the way he is. You know that.” At this point, I was getting tired of doing this. I just wanted to make out, maybe cuddle. I started to lean closer.

He recognized what I was trying to do. He accepted me.

We ended up having sex under the covers. It had been great, but I noticed that he didn’t kiss like he usually does. His lips were sluggish, his tongue weak. He had climaxed intensely, but afterward, when we usually relax and kiss very slowly for a few minutes, or lay on each other’s shoulders and laugh, whatever, he had just laid there. Naked and warm, I didn’t notice it all that much at the time.

He fell asleep at around eight in the evening, after showering and eating dinner with his family. I regularly visit, and his parents’ve come to call me to the dining room like a son of there own, but I felt uncomfortable. The meal had been decent, the conversation pleasant. But I kept looking at Danny. I didn’t see that vibrant life in him that I know to define him. Like a shell filling his body. I was worried to hell.

His parents don’t know their son is gay, but they’re the type of people to support him if he did tell them. I have them to thank as much for this boy as I do God. Sometimes, after we have sex, I feel ashamed about it. That it’s such a secret, such a taboo. The stun his parents would take if they caught us. But never when we kiss, or touch each other, virtue all around with that. It’s like having your heart in each other’s hands. A soft massage that leads to taboo…

[Alanna]

I liked the beginnning then I got bored... There was too much description it was a tad on the mushy side for my taste.

[German Voodoo]

"Like OMG they're so gay for each other its great!"

don't think that would make a bloody good line, would it?

There wasn't much description in this piece.

[Alanna]

Hey--Take it like you dish it

[German Voodoo]

No honey, that's not how I dish it.

if I feel there's no hope for something, i tell you so.

I don't just say to something decent, "The description's too much. But I liked the beginning!!"

[Skazz]

I didn't feel like there was alot of description of the physical aspect of the world, however you did good with there feelings and the communication between characters so that they DONT feel like robots.

[German Voodoo]

thank mr. roboto
domo arigato!

thanks, mate.

[Alanna]

Fine

The REAL review-
You make this "danny" out to be a real wuss it's kinda like "where's the binky and baba?" I got tired of the description in the beinning there's so much that it practically sophicates you. The emtional part in the middle is interesting but trully I can go get a gay avalon romance and equal this. There's just enough emotion that you can't get the "here and now" of it. And the last paragraph sound like the prologue to a completlly awesome story about danny not who ever is speaking in the beginning, mark, i think.

[German Voodoo]

thank you, love. You've my earnest appreciation.

Instead of critiquing your critique, I'll be the noble and respond in kind.

Danny is supposed to be the delicate member of the story. Imagine if he were a girl. Now, I've no pretenses about gender issues, except that they scare me, and I portray neither as overly feminine. But, as relationships tend to, one takes over the more dominant characteristics.

Now, I'd love to make this a typical teen drama about liquor, meth, and pregnancy, but I chose the high route, however dated it might be.

I do appreciate the time it took you to read it, though.

Thanks.