frogs_of_war (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
frogs_of_war) wrote2012-01-02 10:43 am
frogs_of_war) wrote2012-01-02 10:43 am
Happy Birthday to me
I’ve have been terribly busy these last six weeks or so, so although I thought about presents for many of you, I never got around to starting them (and what I did make got simplified for instance my niece’s hat became a headband that I finished minutes before she arrived to do a late Christmas). But as it’s the thought that counts…
I wanted to make Dibbs this pair of fingerless gloves.
Saskia really needs Steven and Seth plushies. I even started them using this pattern (and found out I forgot how to crochet in the round and keep the right number of stitches), but you have small boys, don’t you? Swivel heads are removable heads and I know my sons at those ages couldn’t have resisted (proof of this was my daughter’s headless Barbies).
And, gabrielsknife, this creature reminded me of a M’sk. It just needs a much bigger tail, horns, stripes, different eyes (frankly, these eyes scare me), and hair long enough to braid.
Skimbli would have gotten these Eleven & River outfits for his dolls (the ones who notice nothing when they look into each other’s eyes. I can’t find your post with all the pictures.) I believe you said they had Blyth doll bodies, but I’ve heard that Blyth dolls come in different sizes, so I was stumped. I had even decided to use magnets as closures for ease of use. Sigh. (You do like this Doctor, don’t you? I thought that I’d read that you did.)
For Charis I had several ideas (like a tentacle monster), but then I saw this. I just don’t know how to knit well enough to make it.
For Meep, I was thinking a sea monster like this, but the stitches would be around rather than lengthwise (different heights of stitches rather than increases and decreases making the curve) and it would be the size of my smallest finger tip around and have a better tail. I even made one arch to see if I could, then I thought why give you something that you could theoretically make for yourself.
But instead I’ll give everyone a story. I’ve been meaning to post this before my busy time, but instead it will be my birthday present to you…
Title: Toy
Status: Complete
Genre: college, angst, m/m romance
Rating: PG-ish
Length: about 4.5k words
Summary: My ‘girlfriend’ flirts in front of me. Now she’s going after the guy I like.
Warning: Metaphors ahead
I let Claire drive me downtown against my better judgment. I don’t want to see Dirk and his pals. And I definitely don’t want to see Dirk and Claire together. She’s my girl. At least everyone thinks so, including my mother who takes Claire to the clinic even three months for her birth control. Claire keeps her real boyfriends discreet, even from me, but I can normally tell them by their looks of pity and disgust.
She’s got her eye on Dirk now, although he’s still in high school. He acts older. And looks older with his leather, motorcycle, jewelry—he even wears a ring on his thumb—and the tattoos he kept covered under the summer sun so the rich greens, purples, and blues don’t fade. As the sun sets, off comes his long sleeved t-shirts or that leather jacket with a outline of his namesake in silver studs. But he hasn’t worn that since July.
Claire wears her shortest denim skirt which rides low and a hot pink tank top that is so tight gravity can’t pull it down enough to cover her lower ribs. From the back she looks like a whore and from the front she looks a few months pregnant. She keeps meaning to exercise her baby fat away, but always has other things to do. Maybe she’s worried that the pounds will come off her chest, but I don’t see how that could hurt; she’s always complaining about how they make her back ache.
When we enter Mendi’s Pizza, Dirk’s pals are here, but he isn’t and neither is Ben, his second. They are like a gang, but this town is too small for one despite the university. Claire wastes no time asking after Dirk, but I hang back. I shouldn’t have come with her. Everyone—the place is full with her friends—thinks we are together and I get many looks of pity as she flirts outrageously with the three boys.
An arm wraps around my shoulder and I know it is Dirk by his smell before I catch sight of his beautiful profile as he rests his chin on my shoulder. He is taller than me and I feel like a child even with my three extra years.
“She’s really going for it,” Dirk whispers in my ear. His stubble gently rubs my jaw with each word and awakens parts of my body I wish would sleep. His chest is pressed against my back so snugly that I can feel his heart—unless those loud, low thumps are my own.
Claire laughs at her admirers’ antics. She doesn’t turn or give me a second thought. Like a lighthouse, I will always be there whenever she comes to find me, as I have been since we were six. Ben watches Claire with a look of disgust. “She shouldn’t do that, especially in front of you.”
I shrug my shoulders and step away from Dirk then turn toward the front doors—I not hungry and I have an essay due on Monday—and glance at the two. “It doesn’t matter. It not like we ever dated.”
Ben’s eyebrows go up, while Dirks go down, but I walk out before they can say anything. My tiny apartment is over a mile away. If I hurry, I might get back before full dark. I should have worn a jacket. I cross Main Street because the north side of the street has fewer side streets, so I won’t have to wait as much for traffic, even though I’ll have to cross back to get home.
I kick some gravel that spilled from a driveway onto the sidewalk. I shouldn’t have told them. I shouldn’t have told anyone. It’s not as if I don’t get perks from my arrangement with Claire. My mother takes us shopping every times she visits, so I never run out of clothes or sheets or anything and she always gives me money for dates. Although some of her gifts are worthless to me: I have a huge supply of condoms and lube—a life time supply for someone who’s never even been kissed.
In addition to material gain, my arrangement keeps the talk of grandchildren at bay. My mother has two brothers, but neither have any children and my father is an only child as am I, so the future of both families rests with me. My grandparents already have a college account for my non-existent children. They started it when I was fifteen and my account had enough to send me to a private college plus Harvard law school if I so desired.
As long as I have Claire, everyone is happy. I can’t imagine Christmas if I told them that their DNA would disappear with me. If they wanted descendents so much, then why didn’t they have more kids?
A car pulls up beside me. I ignore it. A car honks its horn. I turn. Ben’s car, with Dirk in the front—where is his motorcycle?—is holding up traffic. “Come on,” says Dirk, “We’ll take you home.”
I climb in the back, not because I want to, but because the cars behind Ben’s have begun a symphony on their horns and I’m getting a headache.
***
Dirk and Ben invite themselves into my apartment. I look around for stray clothes or anything that will embarrass me, but my mother visited last weekend and everything is still in place. They explore while I putter in my pebble-sized kitchen, getting snacks. They climb the ladder to the spot where the bed is supposed to go, right above the kitchen, but I hate heights and can’t imagine trying to climb down while half asleep—or rather I can, which is why my bed is behind a screen next to the wall of windows.
I hear them notice it from their vantage point above my head. They climb down to explore as I set the tray on my two person table crowded into my breakfast nook. My heart stops beating. I shouldn’t have let them in the house. I should have slammed the door in their faces. I sink onto the bench as their chatter stops. I know what they found, but I don’t know what to do about it.
Ben’s phone rings—Dirk’s ringtone is Paint It Black—and he says he’ll be right there. He makes his way to me followed by Dirk, carrying his leather jacket. Ben takes a handful of homemade cookies before excusing himself. I walk them to the door, wondering if I am getting a reprieve but Ben turns to Dirk and says, “I got it covered.”
Dirk isn’t leaving?
I turn slowly as Dirk shuts the door and locks it. His dark eyes burn and my stomach falls to my feet. My hands are numb. His scent sweeps over me in a wave. I shiver. He wraps his jacket around my shoulders. It smells more like me than him after two months under my pillow. “When,” he asks, “were you going to tell me?”
His fingers gently brush my cheek and I can’t keep from pressing against them. Never. I was never going to tell him. He tips up my chin and his mouth is on mine before I can draw breath. His mouth is warm and tasty and energetic like it is in my dreams. His arms wrap around me and I set my hands against his chest. We break the kiss to breathe and he moves his kisses down my neck. My fists clinch around his totally inappropriate tank top. It is net and my fingers get caught in the holes. I try to push him away long enough to free myself, but Dirk moves back to my mouth and I no longer care.
His jacket falls from my shoulders as his hands move up under my t-shirt. I flinch, but he pulls me close with an arm around my waist. He sucks on the side of my neck where it hits my shoulder hard enough that he must want to leave a mark. I back away. He lets me take a step, but then grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head. It gets stuck on my arms because I can’t get my fingers out of his shirt.
Dirk laughs. Although I don’t feel like he’s laughing at me, I can’t keep the tears back. I am a brittle jar and even the gentlest touch will break me into a million pieces. Dirk doesn’t look at my face as he carefully extracts my hands from his shirt, but as he kisses the palms of my freed hands, I let out a strangled sob and tears drop onto my bare chest. He frowns and wraps his arms around me, holding me close.
He apologizes again and again into my hair, holding me so loosely that I could easily step away.
I don’t.
He kisses the tears off my face and, as suddenly as they started, they stop. I pat my hands against his chest, careful to keep my fingers from the holes. “I hate your stupid shirt.”
“It’s not the shirt’s fault,” Dirk pulls it over his head. I turn away and step behind the screen that hides my bed. Dirk follows me. His fingers brush my face. “Are you all right?”
I step closer and rub my face against his chest—I am a cat; I can’t help myself. “I am now.”
He pulls away, sits down on the edge of my bed, and looks up into my face. I don’t know what he sees, but he pulls me close and unbuttons my slacks, which fall to the floor as soon as he lets go of the zipper. I am self-conscious of my thin body, but I don’t have time to blush before he plants a kiss on my belly.
His stubble tickles my stomach and I writhe, my body a hot furnace. He runs his hands down my back, slipping his fingers into the back of my briefs as he rubs his cheek along the front. I moan as if I am cat in heat. Maybe I am. My briefs slip to the floor and, with his hands on me, I forget to be embarrassed.
He is a good lover; he makes me feel beautiful. He tugs me to the bed and I pull back the covers and untuck the sheet as he takes off his leather pants and boots. When I turn to him, he moves me into the center of the bed and climbs on, settling his knees between my legs. I get a breathtaking view of him. His lower hair is as black as the hair on his head, but curly. Maybe everyone’s is.
He takes weights as his P.E. and it shows; he muscles ripple and he reaches behind him for the covers and pulls them up his back as he leans over me. He settles against my chest, but holds most of his weight on his elbows and knees, so I’m not squished. He looks around. “The lights?”
I reach for the remote for the overhead light, but his arm is longer. He passes it to me and I hit the big button in the middle. The room descends into darkness except for a small glow from the kitchen where the fan light is on and the dim glow through the curtains. He holds me close. I’m a baby in a womb about to be born. I love the warm comfort and am both excited and terrified by prospect of coming alive in his arms. In the semi darkness, his eyes look black as they watch me. I run my hands up his sides, then wrap my arms around his neck. I am ready for his kiss when it comes, but nothing can prepare me for the way I feel when he is in me, on me, around me.
The great white wall comes before I am ready and I lay panting in Dirk’s arms. He laughs shakily, confessing to losing control. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”
He settles beside me, his warm arms around me. Soon his gentle breathing tells me he is asleep, but I am snow as I lie awake and stare at the ceiling. How many has he had? He is seventeen, his birthday just after New Years. How many? What number am I? Three? Thirty? Of how many? Hundreds? Will he remember me when he is old? When he is twenty? Then he turns eighteen?
Dirk shifts beside me and although I don’t feel like it, I must have slept. The sun is up. Dirk climbs from the bed, showing off to great effect that one dragon tattoo that starts at his shoulder and ends at his knee. Then he plants a kiss on my lips, before picking up his clothes. Water runs in the bathroom a moment later. I lay in bed, my body both numb and achy. He returns wearing my shirt from yesterday under his jacket.
He tosses his net shirt at me and picks up my slacks, rummaging through my pockets. He pulls out my phone and hits a few buttons. He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m already on here.” He hits another button and his phone rings. He smiles as he looks at his phone. “Now you’re on mine.”
He leaves me with a kiss and I hear the door shut. I lift his stupid shirt and look it over. It is a rent-boy shirt, but he doesn’t look like one in it. I lay it across my face, breathing in his scent.
I am so stupid.
***
I tell no one, not even Claire. She has a new boyfriend. I can tell by the way she smiles and spaces out. When I meet Dirk in public—with our friends—I keep my eyes down and my heart beats so loudly that I can hear nothing else. He takes me on dates, although I am the older one, all out of town so we are not seen together—once two hundred miles on a school night to see a concert by one of my favorite bands. He talked me into buying a t-shirt along with their CD by trying to pay for it himself.
The shirt is brown—not my favorite color—with a cityscape and an angel with blue wings. He pulled off my shirt in the parking lot and pulled the shirt on me and then told me how good I looked in it. He was lying, of course, but I couldn’t help wanting him to believe it.
We spend ever Friday night together, whether the evening starts at Mendi’s Pizza with Dirk and his pals and Claire and her friends or with me at home and him calling before he arrives, so I’ll have time to clean up.
Each night together is better than the last, but I am turning to stone—maybe obsidian, hard and brittle. I fall harder for his words each time they are spoken, more in love with each caress. I am dying inside. The hole in my heart will soon be bigger than the universe.
***
My mother’s parents call while Dirk is with me. I am relieved when he gets up to take a shower. I need to keep these two sides of my life as far apart as possible, so my family will be able to prop me up when Dirk’s side crashes to dust, which it surely will. My grandmother wants to know what I want for Christmas. I am tempted to say t-shirts. Dirk takes another one of mine each week and although he wears them, he is never wearing one when he comes over. His closet must be as full of my shirts as my bed is of his.
My grandfather hears my shower running. He can’t be as deaf as he pretends. He asks if it is Claire and when I say no, he tells me not to tell her or any woman in the family because they wouldn’t understand. My grandmother hears this and they start arguing. I hang up and turn off my phone as Dirk comes out of the bathroom wearing my brown shirt.
Why does he do this? That is now my favorite shirt. I like it, not just because I like the band, but because Dirk compliments me every time I wear it, even when we are in public. He leaves me with a kiss. I hope he changes his shirt before tonight. We—Claire and her friend and Dirk and his pals—are going to an all age concert at a bar in the city that is twenty minutes away.
***
Claire sits on the lap of one of Dirk’s pals. The boy is sixteen, but looks younger. She can’t keep her hands off him. Her friends have given up on pitying me as they say I don’t care. Dirk sits down beside me and offers me his drink. I take it, although I normally wouldn’t. I do care that Claire pets the boy in public, not because I’m jealous, because I’m not. But I am both hurt and ashamed because she says she’s my girl if anyone asks. She just wants the presents my mother gives her.
I feel used. Has Claire always treated me like this? I am a bank machine and a pass cupboard for gifts. Does Dirk see me the same way? I’m I just a toy? I sink back into my chair and move my leg away from his. The loud music is giving me a headache. Of course I am just a means: of gifts, of amusement, of grandchildren.
I stand and head for the front. It is quieter near the door, so I heard a girl plead for Dirk to stop. I turn and see her pulling on Dirk’s—on my shirt. Ben puts a hand on each of the girl’s shoulders, holding her back. “Stop Ashley. Let him go.”
Ashley shrugs her shoulders, but keeps the shirt tight in her grasp. Dirk has twisted around and now takes a step backward away from her. “Let go.”
Her grip tightens and the shirt stretches. My teeth clinch. Dirk may never—will never—be truly mine but, by God, that shirt is. I march up and take her wrist in one hand and my shirt in the other and pull. I squeeze her wrist with all my might. She cries out as she lets go and turn towards me, screaming, “What was that for!”
All Claire’s and Dirk’s friends are watching. Claire even got off her boy-toy to see. But I am a volcano, hot and ready to explode, wrecking destruction on friend and foe alike. “Don’t. Touch. My. Shirt.”
She looks at me agog. Claire laughs. “I thought that was yours. Who else listens to them?”
I turn away. “Dirk,” Ashley whines. “Why are you wearing his clothes?” I open the door as Ben tells her to shut up.
I take off across the parking lot. I have money in my pocket; maybe I’ll take a cab home. But right now I just need to walk off my anger. What did Dirk tell Ashley? Is he still inside explaining the shirt away? Did he say he borrowed it? Did he make it sound innocent?
My stone heart is rubble, gravel, pebbles, except pebbles are smooth. Shards. Shards of obsidian that cut everything they touch.
As I turn down the sidewalk, I am brought up short by a hand on my shoulder. “Wait,” says Dirk between gasps. He shakes Ben’s keys in his hand, “I’ll… I’ll drive you home.”
My head and heart fight a war, but before either side comes close to winning Dirk takes my hand and leads me to Ben’s van. He starts the van, but says nothing until we are on the highway. “Do you know why my dad says he named me Dirk?”
I shake my head. I can’t talk yet; my throat is full of sand.
“Because I am beautiful, fascinating, and cut whoever I touch.”
Horror fills me, but it comes out as laughter much to my disgust and embarrassment. I can’t stop laughing even as tears run down my cheeks. When I’m down to hiccups between sobs, Dirk passes me a water bottle. I look at him. “Does he beat you, too?”
Dirk shakes his head with a laugh that is almost a bark. “He means well.”
“He can’t. Does he think you are the rock that ships break on? A mermaid—man, leading sailors to their doom?”
Dirk laughs. “You’ll get along with my dad; he loves word, too.” He pauses. “I destroyed a man career when I was twelve.
“I used to visit my dad at work. He’s a professor. One day the softball coach found me in a rarely used room with the vocal coach. The police were called and everything. Before that, Dad told me I was named after his best friend from grade school.
“You’re my third boyfriend. The first went to jail. Dad talked to the second and he moved away. I’m starting to think I’m in a rut. You’re all older and you all want to keep me a secret. Am I really not presentable? I thought you could love me aloud—in public—you know what I mean.”
I nod. I do know. “Why did your dad talk to the second?”
“He had a wife and family. I was his boy-toy. I felt… so dirty after he left that Dad let me get tattoos as soon as I turned sixteen. You like them.”
I do. I keep meaning to trace every one with my tongue, but Dirk keeps distracting me with his hands. I am oil and water, my two liquid halves incompatible. I tell Dirk and he laughs. “Oil and Vinegar, then you’ll be vinaigrette. Tasty.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I take a deep breath. Does he really mean it? Does he want others to know about us? “When will I meet your dad?”
“Tonight if you want.”
I am stunned. He can’t mean it. The glacier that is my brain refuses to melt. I grasp the first penguin that comes by. “What will Ben and the other’s do to get home?”
“Ben’ll call a cab. I’m going to owe him big for tonight.” He laughs again. “But I think you’re worth it.”
I blush red hot in the dark car. Does he mean it? I want to believe him so much. I reach out gingerly to touch his thigh. He spreads his knees and places a hand over mine. “Spend the night with me. I’ll let you borrow one of my shirts.”
I can’t let him know how much his words mean to me. “Why would I want one of them? They’re hooker shirts.”
“They show off my tats, but I meant one of the long sleeved ones.”
But maybe he needs to hear my words as much as I needed to hear his. I turn my hand over and slip my fingers between his. “I don’t want anyone to see your tattoos.”
“No one?” He sounds skeptical, not upset. “No one at all.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’d keep you in turtlenecks of I had my way. Now I understand why some men want their wives in veils.”
Dirk laughs. “What’s the point in a tattoo that no one sees?”
I am a balloon that has flown too far. I might pop, but I’m too high to care. “I’ll see it and I’m the only one who matters.”
He laughs again and extracts his hand before pulling off onto the wide shoulder. “That deserves a kiss. It’s almost as if you declared your love.”
I pull away from his warm kiss. “Wasn’t that as good as?”
“Well,” he said slowly.
I dig out my phone and speed dial my mother. She answers on the second ring, but I can tell by her greeting that she distracted. The TV is on in the background; maybe Frosty just melted. “Mom, I’m not dating Claire and never have dated Claire.”
She lets out a small shriek. I now have her complete attention. I push Dirk’s face off my neck, but he slips out of his seat belt and slides between my knees—good thing Ben borrowed his mom’s minivan or he’d never fit. Dirk lifts my shirt and presses hot kisses on my belly, while I try to hold down my shirt and talk at the same time. “Yes, Claire’s been dating a sixteen year old for the last few months.”
Dirk stopped tugging at my shirt for long enough to mention the pot and the kettle. I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t notice. He is sucking at my fingers. I let go of my shirt and nearly moan as he licks my palm. I’m not really paying attention to my mother while she speaks very strongly about the morals of a girl who would lie about such a thing. But then my mother concedes that Claire never actually said we were engaged, everyone just assumed.
I let her keep going until she talks herself out. I have been watching the road for the past five minutes sure a cop will stop to ask if we are in distress, while Dirk makes delicious love to my hand. “Mom, I have a confession. Are you ready?” I wait for her assent before I say, “I’m not coming home tomorrow. I’m staying in town for a while. I’ve got a boyfriend—his name is Dirk Stanley—and I want to spend time with him.”
She is silent for a long minute before she shrieks to my father, “Mark! He says he’s gay!”
She sounds on the verge of hysteria. I hang up and turn off my phone, knowing that my parents—and grandparents—will need time to get used to the idea. I smile into Dirk’s kiss. “Take me home.”
“Your house… or mine?”
“Well,” I push him back into his seat. “If you think your dad will welcome me…”
“He will. I’ve pointed you out.”
“…And you don’t mind if I hide out for a while…”
“Well, what do you mean by hiding out?”
“…I’d really like to spend the next week at your house.” That earns me another kiss before Dirk pulls onto the road. He is much more interesting than anything outside the car. My heart is new socks, warm and soft, knowing he is mine. “I just need to stop by my place and get a few things. And take out the trash.”
Dirk laughs again. “Anything else?”
I’ve never gone against my parents expectations before. My heart beats quickly. I am a young bird about to flee the nest. I smile at him sideways and take his hand. “I’ll think of something.”
I wanted to make Dibbs this pair of fingerless gloves.
Saskia really needs Steven and Seth plushies. I even started them using this pattern (and found out I forgot how to crochet in the round and keep the right number of stitches), but you have small boys, don’t you? Swivel heads are removable heads and I know my sons at those ages couldn’t have resisted (proof of this was my daughter’s headless Barbies).
And, gabrielsknife, this creature reminded me of a M’sk. It just needs a much bigger tail, horns, stripes, different eyes (frankly, these eyes scare me), and hair long enough to braid.
Skimbli would have gotten these Eleven & River outfits for his dolls (the ones who notice nothing when they look into each other’s eyes. I can’t find your post with all the pictures.) I believe you said they had Blyth doll bodies, but I’ve heard that Blyth dolls come in different sizes, so I was stumped. I had even decided to use magnets as closures for ease of use. Sigh. (You do like this Doctor, don’t you? I thought that I’d read that you did.)
For Charis I had several ideas (like a tentacle monster), but then I saw this. I just don’t know how to knit well enough to make it.
For Meep, I was thinking a sea monster like this, but the stitches would be around rather than lengthwise (different heights of stitches rather than increases and decreases making the curve) and it would be the size of my smallest finger tip around and have a better tail. I even made one arch to see if I could, then I thought why give you something that you could theoretically make for yourself.
But instead I’ll give everyone a story. I’ve been meaning to post this before my busy time, but instead it will be my birthday present to you…
Title: Toy
Status: Complete
Genre: college, angst, m/m romance
Rating: PG-ish
Length: about 4.5k words
Summary: My ‘girlfriend’ flirts in front of me. Now she’s going after the guy I like.
Warning: Metaphors ahead
I let Claire drive me downtown against my better judgment. I don’t want to see Dirk and his pals. And I definitely don’t want to see Dirk and Claire together. She’s my girl. At least everyone thinks so, including my mother who takes Claire to the clinic even three months for her birth control. Claire keeps her real boyfriends discreet, even from me, but I can normally tell them by their looks of pity and disgust.
She’s got her eye on Dirk now, although he’s still in high school. He acts older. And looks older with his leather, motorcycle, jewelry—he even wears a ring on his thumb—and the tattoos he kept covered under the summer sun so the rich greens, purples, and blues don’t fade. As the sun sets, off comes his long sleeved t-shirts or that leather jacket with a outline of his namesake in silver studs. But he hasn’t worn that since July.
Claire wears her shortest denim skirt which rides low and a hot pink tank top that is so tight gravity can’t pull it down enough to cover her lower ribs. From the back she looks like a whore and from the front she looks a few months pregnant. She keeps meaning to exercise her baby fat away, but always has other things to do. Maybe she’s worried that the pounds will come off her chest, but I don’t see how that could hurt; she’s always complaining about how they make her back ache.
When we enter Mendi’s Pizza, Dirk’s pals are here, but he isn’t and neither is Ben, his second. They are like a gang, but this town is too small for one despite the university. Claire wastes no time asking after Dirk, but I hang back. I shouldn’t have come with her. Everyone—the place is full with her friends—thinks we are together and I get many looks of pity as she flirts outrageously with the three boys.
An arm wraps around my shoulder and I know it is Dirk by his smell before I catch sight of his beautiful profile as he rests his chin on my shoulder. He is taller than me and I feel like a child even with my three extra years.
“She’s really going for it,” Dirk whispers in my ear. His stubble gently rubs my jaw with each word and awakens parts of my body I wish would sleep. His chest is pressed against my back so snugly that I can feel his heart—unless those loud, low thumps are my own.
Claire laughs at her admirers’ antics. She doesn’t turn or give me a second thought. Like a lighthouse, I will always be there whenever she comes to find me, as I have been since we were six. Ben watches Claire with a look of disgust. “She shouldn’t do that, especially in front of you.”
I shrug my shoulders and step away from Dirk then turn toward the front doors—I not hungry and I have an essay due on Monday—and glance at the two. “It doesn’t matter. It not like we ever dated.”
Ben’s eyebrows go up, while Dirks go down, but I walk out before they can say anything. My tiny apartment is over a mile away. If I hurry, I might get back before full dark. I should have worn a jacket. I cross Main Street because the north side of the street has fewer side streets, so I won’t have to wait as much for traffic, even though I’ll have to cross back to get home.
I kick some gravel that spilled from a driveway onto the sidewalk. I shouldn’t have told them. I shouldn’t have told anyone. It’s not as if I don’t get perks from my arrangement with Claire. My mother takes us shopping every times she visits, so I never run out of clothes or sheets or anything and she always gives me money for dates. Although some of her gifts are worthless to me: I have a huge supply of condoms and lube—a life time supply for someone who’s never even been kissed.
In addition to material gain, my arrangement keeps the talk of grandchildren at bay. My mother has two brothers, but neither have any children and my father is an only child as am I, so the future of both families rests with me. My grandparents already have a college account for my non-existent children. They started it when I was fifteen and my account had enough to send me to a private college plus Harvard law school if I so desired.
As long as I have Claire, everyone is happy. I can’t imagine Christmas if I told them that their DNA would disappear with me. If they wanted descendents so much, then why didn’t they have more kids?
A car pulls up beside me. I ignore it. A car honks its horn. I turn. Ben’s car, with Dirk in the front—where is his motorcycle?—is holding up traffic. “Come on,” says Dirk, “We’ll take you home.”
I climb in the back, not because I want to, but because the cars behind Ben’s have begun a symphony on their horns and I’m getting a headache.
***
Dirk and Ben invite themselves into my apartment. I look around for stray clothes or anything that will embarrass me, but my mother visited last weekend and everything is still in place. They explore while I putter in my pebble-sized kitchen, getting snacks. They climb the ladder to the spot where the bed is supposed to go, right above the kitchen, but I hate heights and can’t imagine trying to climb down while half asleep—or rather I can, which is why my bed is behind a screen next to the wall of windows.
I hear them notice it from their vantage point above my head. They climb down to explore as I set the tray on my two person table crowded into my breakfast nook. My heart stops beating. I shouldn’t have let them in the house. I should have slammed the door in their faces. I sink onto the bench as their chatter stops. I know what they found, but I don’t know what to do about it.
Ben’s phone rings—Dirk’s ringtone is Paint It Black—and he says he’ll be right there. He makes his way to me followed by Dirk, carrying his leather jacket. Ben takes a handful of homemade cookies before excusing himself. I walk them to the door, wondering if I am getting a reprieve but Ben turns to Dirk and says, “I got it covered.”
Dirk isn’t leaving?
I turn slowly as Dirk shuts the door and locks it. His dark eyes burn and my stomach falls to my feet. My hands are numb. His scent sweeps over me in a wave. I shiver. He wraps his jacket around my shoulders. It smells more like me than him after two months under my pillow. “When,” he asks, “were you going to tell me?”
His fingers gently brush my cheek and I can’t keep from pressing against them. Never. I was never going to tell him. He tips up my chin and his mouth is on mine before I can draw breath. His mouth is warm and tasty and energetic like it is in my dreams. His arms wrap around me and I set my hands against his chest. We break the kiss to breathe and he moves his kisses down my neck. My fists clinch around his totally inappropriate tank top. It is net and my fingers get caught in the holes. I try to push him away long enough to free myself, but Dirk moves back to my mouth and I no longer care.
His jacket falls from my shoulders as his hands move up under my t-shirt. I flinch, but he pulls me close with an arm around my waist. He sucks on the side of my neck where it hits my shoulder hard enough that he must want to leave a mark. I back away. He lets me take a step, but then grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head. It gets stuck on my arms because I can’t get my fingers out of his shirt.
Dirk laughs. Although I don’t feel like he’s laughing at me, I can’t keep the tears back. I am a brittle jar and even the gentlest touch will break me into a million pieces. Dirk doesn’t look at my face as he carefully extracts my hands from his shirt, but as he kisses the palms of my freed hands, I let out a strangled sob and tears drop onto my bare chest. He frowns and wraps his arms around me, holding me close.
He apologizes again and again into my hair, holding me so loosely that I could easily step away.
I don’t.
He kisses the tears off my face and, as suddenly as they started, they stop. I pat my hands against his chest, careful to keep my fingers from the holes. “I hate your stupid shirt.”
“It’s not the shirt’s fault,” Dirk pulls it over his head. I turn away and step behind the screen that hides my bed. Dirk follows me. His fingers brush my face. “Are you all right?”
I step closer and rub my face against his chest—I am a cat; I can’t help myself. “I am now.”
He pulls away, sits down on the edge of my bed, and looks up into my face. I don’t know what he sees, but he pulls me close and unbuttons my slacks, which fall to the floor as soon as he lets go of the zipper. I am self-conscious of my thin body, but I don’t have time to blush before he plants a kiss on my belly.
His stubble tickles my stomach and I writhe, my body a hot furnace. He runs his hands down my back, slipping his fingers into the back of my briefs as he rubs his cheek along the front. I moan as if I am cat in heat. Maybe I am. My briefs slip to the floor and, with his hands on me, I forget to be embarrassed.
He is a good lover; he makes me feel beautiful. He tugs me to the bed and I pull back the covers and untuck the sheet as he takes off his leather pants and boots. When I turn to him, he moves me into the center of the bed and climbs on, settling his knees between my legs. I get a breathtaking view of him. His lower hair is as black as the hair on his head, but curly. Maybe everyone’s is.
He takes weights as his P.E. and it shows; he muscles ripple and he reaches behind him for the covers and pulls them up his back as he leans over me. He settles against my chest, but holds most of his weight on his elbows and knees, so I’m not squished. He looks around. “The lights?”
I reach for the remote for the overhead light, but his arm is longer. He passes it to me and I hit the big button in the middle. The room descends into darkness except for a small glow from the kitchen where the fan light is on and the dim glow through the curtains. He holds me close. I’m a baby in a womb about to be born. I love the warm comfort and am both excited and terrified by prospect of coming alive in his arms. In the semi darkness, his eyes look black as they watch me. I run my hands up his sides, then wrap my arms around his neck. I am ready for his kiss when it comes, but nothing can prepare me for the way I feel when he is in me, on me, around me.
The great white wall comes before I am ready and I lay panting in Dirk’s arms. He laughs shakily, confessing to losing control. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”
He settles beside me, his warm arms around me. Soon his gentle breathing tells me he is asleep, but I am snow as I lie awake and stare at the ceiling. How many has he had? He is seventeen, his birthday just after New Years. How many? What number am I? Three? Thirty? Of how many? Hundreds? Will he remember me when he is old? When he is twenty? Then he turns eighteen?
Dirk shifts beside me and although I don’t feel like it, I must have slept. The sun is up. Dirk climbs from the bed, showing off to great effect that one dragon tattoo that starts at his shoulder and ends at his knee. Then he plants a kiss on my lips, before picking up his clothes. Water runs in the bathroom a moment later. I lay in bed, my body both numb and achy. He returns wearing my shirt from yesterday under his jacket.
He tosses his net shirt at me and picks up my slacks, rummaging through my pockets. He pulls out my phone and hits a few buttons. He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m already on here.” He hits another button and his phone rings. He smiles as he looks at his phone. “Now you’re on mine.”
He leaves me with a kiss and I hear the door shut. I lift his stupid shirt and look it over. It is a rent-boy shirt, but he doesn’t look like one in it. I lay it across my face, breathing in his scent.
I am so stupid.
***
I tell no one, not even Claire. She has a new boyfriend. I can tell by the way she smiles and spaces out. When I meet Dirk in public—with our friends—I keep my eyes down and my heart beats so loudly that I can hear nothing else. He takes me on dates, although I am the older one, all out of town so we are not seen together—once two hundred miles on a school night to see a concert by one of my favorite bands. He talked me into buying a t-shirt along with their CD by trying to pay for it himself.
The shirt is brown—not my favorite color—with a cityscape and an angel with blue wings. He pulled off my shirt in the parking lot and pulled the shirt on me and then told me how good I looked in it. He was lying, of course, but I couldn’t help wanting him to believe it.
We spend ever Friday night together, whether the evening starts at Mendi’s Pizza with Dirk and his pals and Claire and her friends or with me at home and him calling before he arrives, so I’ll have time to clean up.
Each night together is better than the last, but I am turning to stone—maybe obsidian, hard and brittle. I fall harder for his words each time they are spoken, more in love with each caress. I am dying inside. The hole in my heart will soon be bigger than the universe.
***
My mother’s parents call while Dirk is with me. I am relieved when he gets up to take a shower. I need to keep these two sides of my life as far apart as possible, so my family will be able to prop me up when Dirk’s side crashes to dust, which it surely will. My grandmother wants to know what I want for Christmas. I am tempted to say t-shirts. Dirk takes another one of mine each week and although he wears them, he is never wearing one when he comes over. His closet must be as full of my shirts as my bed is of his.
My grandfather hears my shower running. He can’t be as deaf as he pretends. He asks if it is Claire and when I say no, he tells me not to tell her or any woman in the family because they wouldn’t understand. My grandmother hears this and they start arguing. I hang up and turn off my phone as Dirk comes out of the bathroom wearing my brown shirt.
Why does he do this? That is now my favorite shirt. I like it, not just because I like the band, but because Dirk compliments me every time I wear it, even when we are in public. He leaves me with a kiss. I hope he changes his shirt before tonight. We—Claire and her friend and Dirk and his pals—are going to an all age concert at a bar in the city that is twenty minutes away.
***
Claire sits on the lap of one of Dirk’s pals. The boy is sixteen, but looks younger. She can’t keep her hands off him. Her friends have given up on pitying me as they say I don’t care. Dirk sits down beside me and offers me his drink. I take it, although I normally wouldn’t. I do care that Claire pets the boy in public, not because I’m jealous, because I’m not. But I am both hurt and ashamed because she says she’s my girl if anyone asks. She just wants the presents my mother gives her.
I feel used. Has Claire always treated me like this? I am a bank machine and a pass cupboard for gifts. Does Dirk see me the same way? I’m I just a toy? I sink back into my chair and move my leg away from his. The loud music is giving me a headache. Of course I am just a means: of gifts, of amusement, of grandchildren.
I stand and head for the front. It is quieter near the door, so I heard a girl plead for Dirk to stop. I turn and see her pulling on Dirk’s—on my shirt. Ben puts a hand on each of the girl’s shoulders, holding her back. “Stop Ashley. Let him go.”
Ashley shrugs her shoulders, but keeps the shirt tight in her grasp. Dirk has twisted around and now takes a step backward away from her. “Let go.”
Her grip tightens and the shirt stretches. My teeth clinch. Dirk may never—will never—be truly mine but, by God, that shirt is. I march up and take her wrist in one hand and my shirt in the other and pull. I squeeze her wrist with all my might. She cries out as she lets go and turn towards me, screaming, “What was that for!”
All Claire’s and Dirk’s friends are watching. Claire even got off her boy-toy to see. But I am a volcano, hot and ready to explode, wrecking destruction on friend and foe alike. “Don’t. Touch. My. Shirt.”
She looks at me agog. Claire laughs. “I thought that was yours. Who else listens to them?”
I turn away. “Dirk,” Ashley whines. “Why are you wearing his clothes?” I open the door as Ben tells her to shut up.
I take off across the parking lot. I have money in my pocket; maybe I’ll take a cab home. But right now I just need to walk off my anger. What did Dirk tell Ashley? Is he still inside explaining the shirt away? Did he say he borrowed it? Did he make it sound innocent?
My stone heart is rubble, gravel, pebbles, except pebbles are smooth. Shards. Shards of obsidian that cut everything they touch.
As I turn down the sidewalk, I am brought up short by a hand on my shoulder. “Wait,” says Dirk between gasps. He shakes Ben’s keys in his hand, “I’ll… I’ll drive you home.”
My head and heart fight a war, but before either side comes close to winning Dirk takes my hand and leads me to Ben’s van. He starts the van, but says nothing until we are on the highway. “Do you know why my dad says he named me Dirk?”
I shake my head. I can’t talk yet; my throat is full of sand.
“Because I am beautiful, fascinating, and cut whoever I touch.”
Horror fills me, but it comes out as laughter much to my disgust and embarrassment. I can’t stop laughing even as tears run down my cheeks. When I’m down to hiccups between sobs, Dirk passes me a water bottle. I look at him. “Does he beat you, too?”
Dirk shakes his head with a laugh that is almost a bark. “He means well.”
“He can’t. Does he think you are the rock that ships break on? A mermaid—man, leading sailors to their doom?”
Dirk laughs. “You’ll get along with my dad; he loves word, too.” He pauses. “I destroyed a man career when I was twelve.
“I used to visit my dad at work. He’s a professor. One day the softball coach found me in a rarely used room with the vocal coach. The police were called and everything. Before that, Dad told me I was named after his best friend from grade school.
“You’re my third boyfriend. The first went to jail. Dad talked to the second and he moved away. I’m starting to think I’m in a rut. You’re all older and you all want to keep me a secret. Am I really not presentable? I thought you could love me aloud—in public—you know what I mean.”
I nod. I do know. “Why did your dad talk to the second?”
“He had a wife and family. I was his boy-toy. I felt… so dirty after he left that Dad let me get tattoos as soon as I turned sixteen. You like them.”
I do. I keep meaning to trace every one with my tongue, but Dirk keeps distracting me with his hands. I am oil and water, my two liquid halves incompatible. I tell Dirk and he laughs. “Oil and Vinegar, then you’ll be vinaigrette. Tasty.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I take a deep breath. Does he really mean it? Does he want others to know about us? “When will I meet your dad?”
“Tonight if you want.”
I am stunned. He can’t mean it. The glacier that is my brain refuses to melt. I grasp the first penguin that comes by. “What will Ben and the other’s do to get home?”
“Ben’ll call a cab. I’m going to owe him big for tonight.” He laughs again. “But I think you’re worth it.”
I blush red hot in the dark car. Does he mean it? I want to believe him so much. I reach out gingerly to touch his thigh. He spreads his knees and places a hand over mine. “Spend the night with me. I’ll let you borrow one of my shirts.”
I can’t let him know how much his words mean to me. “Why would I want one of them? They’re hooker shirts.”
“They show off my tats, but I meant one of the long sleeved ones.”
But maybe he needs to hear my words as much as I needed to hear his. I turn my hand over and slip my fingers between his. “I don’t want anyone to see your tattoos.”
“No one?” He sounds skeptical, not upset. “No one at all.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’d keep you in turtlenecks of I had my way. Now I understand why some men want their wives in veils.”
Dirk laughs. “What’s the point in a tattoo that no one sees?”
I am a balloon that has flown too far. I might pop, but I’m too high to care. “I’ll see it and I’m the only one who matters.”
He laughs again and extracts his hand before pulling off onto the wide shoulder. “That deserves a kiss. It’s almost as if you declared your love.”
I pull away from his warm kiss. “Wasn’t that as good as?”
“Well,” he said slowly.
I dig out my phone and speed dial my mother. She answers on the second ring, but I can tell by her greeting that she distracted. The TV is on in the background; maybe Frosty just melted. “Mom, I’m not dating Claire and never have dated Claire.”
She lets out a small shriek. I now have her complete attention. I push Dirk’s face off my neck, but he slips out of his seat belt and slides between my knees—good thing Ben borrowed his mom’s minivan or he’d never fit. Dirk lifts my shirt and presses hot kisses on my belly, while I try to hold down my shirt and talk at the same time. “Yes, Claire’s been dating a sixteen year old for the last few months.”
Dirk stopped tugging at my shirt for long enough to mention the pot and the kettle. I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t notice. He is sucking at my fingers. I let go of my shirt and nearly moan as he licks my palm. I’m not really paying attention to my mother while she speaks very strongly about the morals of a girl who would lie about such a thing. But then my mother concedes that Claire never actually said we were engaged, everyone just assumed.
I let her keep going until she talks herself out. I have been watching the road for the past five minutes sure a cop will stop to ask if we are in distress, while Dirk makes delicious love to my hand. “Mom, I have a confession. Are you ready?” I wait for her assent before I say, “I’m not coming home tomorrow. I’m staying in town for a while. I’ve got a boyfriend—his name is Dirk Stanley—and I want to spend time with him.”
She is silent for a long minute before she shrieks to my father, “Mark! He says he’s gay!”
She sounds on the verge of hysteria. I hang up and turn off my phone, knowing that my parents—and grandparents—will need time to get used to the idea. I smile into Dirk’s kiss. “Take me home.”
“Your house… or mine?”
“Well,” I push him back into his seat. “If you think your dad will welcome me…”
“He will. I’ve pointed you out.”
“…And you don’t mind if I hide out for a while…”
“Well, what do you mean by hiding out?”
“…I’d really like to spend the next week at your house.” That earns me another kiss before Dirk pulls onto the road. He is much more interesting than anything outside the car. My heart is new socks, warm and soft, knowing he is mine. “I just need to stop by my place and get a few things. And take out the trash.”
Dirk laughs again. “Anything else?”
I’ve never gone against my parents expectations before. My heart beats quickly. I am a young bird about to flee the nest. I smile at him sideways and take his hand. “I’ll think of something.”