The Skin of Things

THAT NIGHT BACK at home is the roughest one Donovan has had in a long while. Anger competes with other thing. Loss, the sadness that this love will not happen. Rage, the feeling of being used, the knowledge that he should have been told. Joy at seeing him the next day.

Donovan Shorter can barely keep his mind on work the next day. Luckily, there is no one to report to for the most part. He walks down the long bright hall and then down the old heavy stairs to the first floor, and passes the little alcove the descending stair case makes, where there is a bird cage and the half open door to one of the staff restrooms. Directly across the hall from the wide stair is the door to Cade’s classroom. He can already hear his reedy tenor singing, as he strums his guitar:

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun
and dried up all the rain
and the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.

It does not even do to say, sarcastically, if only the kids knew. Kids live in another place, a graceful place where understanding nothing, not knowing nuance or contexts, they accept everything for what it is. If they knew everything about Cade, or about the love Don felt, it would not scandalize them. Scandal is a word little children may be able to spell on rare occasion, but have not been ruined enough to understand.

Donovan sits down on the stairs, and waits till Cade sees him, till Cade comes out into the hall.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I know,” Cade says, his voice pregnant with apology.

Donovan nods toward the bathroom.

“Good a place as any,” Cade says, still sounding sad. “Give me,” he holds up a finger, “less than thirty seconds.”

Cade taps on the door, but enters without waiting, and Don locks it behind him.

“I know what I did was wrong,” Cade begins.

But Don unzips his pants the same time he goes to his knees and begins blowing him.

“Oh my… God.”

Cade closes his eyes and wishes he could turn out the light, keep the fluorescence from passing through his eyelids. He presses the back of his hands to the door. He wanted this again. He wanted Don, and he wanted to put his hands on his scalp and massage it and feel that particular mouth on his particular cock, pulling him in so deep, making him swell, his tongue touching everything.

Don stands up and pulls down his pants, and so hard it almost hurts, Cade moves to the sink. He watches his own face while he fucks Don, and then has to stop watching because he feels like he is violating himself, like he’s violating this moment and turning it into porn. They don’t say anything, though now and again Cade rubs his phlegm on his cock to make things smoother. They are pressed together, and Cade’s bearded cheek is rubbing against Don’s.

“You make me so helpless,” he groans as he fucks him.

Then he pleads, “Please, let me come in you. Please.”

Don reaches back for a handful of hair and Cade closes his mouth, grunting as he comes. He feels himself shooting and shooting past the tightness into the space and the peace that is the heart of Don, even as Don feels the slickness, the pump pump of his semen. They remain pressed together Cade embracing him, never wanting to let him go.

“Turn your head,” Don says.

Cade obeys. Don sits on the toilet.

“You see the thing is I love you,” Cade whispers, head still turned as he hears the running of water, the unrolling and tearing of toilet paper.

“As my friend… as my love. As whatever. I’m really loving you more and more.”

Unromantically, the toilet flushes and Don goes to wash his hands. When he has, he turns around and pulls Cade’s face, red and wet after sex, to him, and kisses him.

“This is you getting back at me?” Cade says. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Donovan says. “though I didn’t know it till now, because I didn’t intend this when I got up this morning. But this is me having something I want, the person I want for the last time, and knowing it’s the last time. This is me getting to have you again and then being able to move on.”

As Cade takes a deep breath, buckles his pants and moves to the sink to wash his face and hands, he says, “How do you think that’s going to work?”

Donovan Shorter confesses:

“I don’t know.”

Cademonsingerboi: I’ve screwed up everything.

Barnstormer: What do you mean?

Cademonsingerboi: I screwed things up with a friend. And when I say screwed up I mean sex screwed up.

Barnstormer: Did you let your lust get the better of you?

Cademonsingerboi: Yeah.

Barnstormer: Did you have sex with a friend who should just stay a friend?

Cademonsingerboi: In a way. A little bit.

Barnstormer: Did you get horny and have sex with him even though you don’t love him?

Cademonsingerboi: No. That’s not it. I love him. I’m just not ready for him. Does that make sense?

Barnstormer: Yes. I’m not sure I’m ready for anything.