Friday, as planned, we went to Robin and Doug’s for dinner. It was just the four of us, and we all got along fine. Bart knew how close I was to them, so he went out of his way to be charming. Since Robin tells Doug everything, they both knew how I felt about Bart if it hadn’t already been obvious by the way I acted around him, so they went out of their way to be friendly and welcoming. I didn’t have to go out of my way for anyone. I just sat there and glowed.
At first I think they were both a bit taken aback by how young he looked, but they were quickly surprised by his maturity and how little he acted or talked like an eighteen-year-old college student. That was thanks to his parents. They may not have been affectionate, but, from what he told me, from the time he was small, they always treated him as a grown up. I think it was a self-fulfilling prophecy: they expected him to behave like an adult, and so he did. I was perfectly happy to compensate him for their lack of affection.
Bart was great at bringing people out. He kept both of them talking about their past, how they met, why they got married, and how they met me. Most of it I’d already told him, but it was typical that he was interested in hearing about it from their point of view. And since most people love talking about themselves, Robin and Doug were happy to tell him anything he wanted to know.
Robin’s whispered comment to me as we carried things into the kitchen after dinner was, “How in the hell did you end up with a hot guy like that? If I didn’t have Doug, you’d have a fight on your hands.”
“Seriously, Robin, I ask myself that every fucking day.”
After dinner, we played Scrabble, and when he built metonymy with two m’s and two y’s on a triple word score, they were suitably impressed.
“Where did you get a word like that?” Robin asked.
I laughed. “Chalk it up to either Mrs. Bloom or his parents.” Of course we had to explain that to them and how our first discussion on the use of the possessive with a gerund kept me interested on the phone the first time I talked to him.
We had a really good time. Bart enjoyed it as much as they did, and Friday night dinners with them became part of our routine, either at their place, ours (how odd that sounded), or out somewhere.
* * * *
A couple of weeks later, the inevitable happened.
“Remember how I’m supposed to be looking for a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I found one.”
“That was fast,” was what I said.
Shit was what I thought.
“Don’t panic,” he said. As usual, he had no problem knowing how I really felt.
“She was in my English lit section last semester, and I ran into her in the book store today. She’s cute, definitely smart, kind of independent and different, and I think she’s interested. She was really friendly. Anyhow, we went for coffee, and she’s agreed to go to dinner and see Good Morning, Vietnam with me Saturday night. We don’t have anything planned, right? And you said you didn’t want to see it.”
“Right and right, but does she have a good pair?” I was joking, but there was definitely some queasiness in my stomach. I felt God’s nose poking around again.
“Actually, not bad at all.” He smiled. “Marc, you were the one who said I’ve got to do this, right?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. But I’m kind of glad you’re getting it over with.”
“Weird way to put it.”
“Good weird or bad weird?” we both said at the same time and laughed.
He came over, put his arm around me, and kissed me.
“Don’t worry, old man.”
I did, but not out loud. I said everything was fine, and we dropped the discussion.
* * * *
Saturday night was one of those longest-night-of-my-life experiences. He took the car and left about 6:30. As he walked out the door, I said, in my most confident and encouraging voice, “Have fun, and remember to quote from Othella so she’ll think you’re a helluva fella.
“I hope I get to do a lot more than that,” he replied with a smile and then left.
As soon as the door shut, my confidence collapsed like a punctured balloon. I honestly didn’t expect to see him before the next day—if then, my mind added.
I couldn’t read, couldn’t watch TV or videos, had no interest in music. I paced a lot and ended up playing endless games of solitaire and doing crossword puzzles on the computer before I went to bed. Not that I could sleep because I kept imagining in my head, with absolutely no evidence, what was happening with him—none of it good—or maybe all of it too good for my good.
But I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I was conscious of was him, naked in bed behind me, kissing my neck.
I raised up and instinctively glanced at the clock. It was 3:30 A.M.
“What happened?”
“Everything, old man. I fucking did it. I mean I did the fucking!”
“And?”
“It was amazing, awesome, phenomenal, and I love you, Marc, for pushing me to do it. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”
“Slow down. Where? When? Why are you here?”
“The movie was great, by the way. I’d like you to see it. Then we got some coffee and talked for a long time. She’s a really neat girl, Marc. You’d like her.”
I wasn’t so sure, but said nothing.
“We held hands walking back to the car, and when we got there, standing outside, I kissed her. A Marc special kind of kiss—like your first one to me. It was really good. We got in the car, kissed a lot more, and I got to second base—right there in the parking lot. They were awesome. Seriously.
“I was ready to ask her back to my apartment when she asked me if I’d like to go to her place. Her roommate’s from Mesa and usually goes home every weekend to see her boyfriend. We went back there, and yes, thanks for trusting me and not being anal about it, I used a condom. Well, condoms. We did it twice.”
I’d turned on the light, and his face was bright and smiling and very happy, and I felt sick to my stomach and hoped it didn’t show.
“Marc, it’s different. She was so soft and her breasts—they were beautiful and her nipples were firm and pointed. They felt so good against my chest. And fucking her was different from fucking you. The whole sensation on my dick was—I don’t know—it’s hard to describe. I loved it.”
By now my insides were really churning, and I was struggling to keep a reassuring smile on my face. But I was blown away by what came next. For the second time in the last month, Big Bad Bart totally shocked the shit out of me.
“Marc, fuck me.”
“What?”
“Fuck me. Now. I’m so horny and that’s what I want.”
“Bart, you just—”
He wouldn’t let me finish. “Fuck me.”
I looked down at him, and his dick was hard. That was enough to bring me up as well. Questions were for later.
I kissed him deeply and slowly, laid him gently down on his back, grabbed a condom and lube out of the night stand drawer, knelt between his legs which I moved up onto my shoulders, and started, very gently, to press into him. His body stiffened at that, and I bent down and kissed him. “Bart, you sure?”
“Yes. Do it.”
“Relax as much as you can.”
“Fuck me, Marc!”
Still kissing him, I pushed in slowly until my knob snapped past his sphincter, and I entered him.
It was astounding. This was the one thing we hadn’t done. Once I was all the way in and he had adjusted to it, we made love in a whole new way. It was tender, it was rough, it was verbal, it was completely fulfilling for both of us. He came just seconds before I did, and I collapsed on top of him.
We lay like that for a while, kissing and nuzzling each other. Then, I rolled off him onto my back, he turned onto his side, put his head on my shoulder, threw a leg over me as he did almost every night, and we were asleep in what seemed like seconds.