Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2017 11:39:48 -0500 From: Jeff Moses Subject: All Cleaned Up This is a work of fiction about self-discovery. PG, maybe -- definitely not X. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Please play safe--I don't want to lose any fans! If you enjoy this site, be cool and click the Donate link at the top of the index and make a contribution to maintain it! Authors retain rights to and title to their submitted works. (Please consult Nifty's submission guidelines for more information.) Cleaning Up Brandon took another swallow of beer. "I don't know. I don't feel anything. Do you?" Wally smiled. "You will. Give it a little time." "I don't really like it--the taste, I mean." Wally shrugged. "It's not about the taste, Bran. It's about getting smashed." "So...are you drunk?" "We've only had two beers, Bran. Finish that one and have another." Wally reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle. "Shit! That's cold! Here." "I have to piss." "So piss." Brandon stood up. For an instant, he wobbled, then gained his balance. "Hey! Maybe I'm getting there. That felt weird." "See if you can walk a straight line." Wally watched his friend turn toward the outhouse, take a deep breath, and start forward. "Nothing to it!" Brandon said, over his shoulder, and then belched. "Gross, man!" Wally yelled. "You're not there, yet!" "Fuck you, man," Brandon laughed. "You wish," Wally whispered, and drained his second bottle. The boys were at Wally's family cabin to close it up for the winter. In the past, Wally had done it under the supervision of his older brother, but Keith was in college now, half-way across the country, and the job was entirely Wally's--so he'd recruited his buddy Brandon. It was only fair. After all, Brandon had been his guest several times on the tiny island, swimming, playing ancient board games in front of the fireplace after supper, playing catch and something vaguely resembling rugby, even going naked in an attempt to get all-over tans. Closing the cabin had taken longer than they'd expected: Wally wasn't as systematic as his brother, and Brandon kept getting him sidetracked. But they finally finished, and were rewarding themselves with the beer hidden in the cooler under the porch. Keith had always managed to hide beers there for the last day. "It's simple, little brother. Just lift a beer every once in a while and stash it in the cooler. Mom and Dad will never know." "Thanks, big brother," Wally said, toasting Keith with his third beer as Brandon started back toward the cabin. The afternoon sun made him look as if he were glowing: radioactive or something like that. "Should we get back to shore?" Brandon asked, bracing himself against a porch post and leaning over Wally. "We've got time. My dad won't be at the dock until seven." "What if he figures out we've been drinking?" Wally laughed. Dad must have known, he suddenly realized. "He'll be pissed we didn't save any for him. He's cool. Here." Wally handed Brandon's beer to him. Brandon took the bottle, then sat awkwardly on the edge of the porch and opened it. "We should have left the chairs out here until we were done." "Yeah. Live and learn, I guess. Too late now!" Wally touched his bottle to Brandon's and they drank. "Feeling drunk yet?" "Maybe a little," Brandon sighed. "It's hard explain. Hey! Maybe that means I'm getting drunk." "It's been a pretty good summer, huh?" "Yeah," Brandon agreed, laying back on the porch. "Started kind of rough, though, huh?" Wally asked, laying back as well. "Mister Cramer and all that shit." "Yeah. That was weird. Poor Chuck. Pretty brave, when you think about it, telling the cops a teacher came on to you," Brandon said, thoughtfully. "Yeah. Should have gotten a medal, or something, instead of everybody calling him queer." "You not cool with gay people?" Wally sat up and took another mouthful of beer. "No! I mean, no, I'm not not." He paused in confusion. "I mean I'm cool with gay guys. It's not that. It's just--Chuck could have gotten in real trouble, accusing a teacher like that. It was all over school by the next day." "But what was he supposed to do? I mean, if Mister Cramer came on to you, what would you do?" "Why would Mister Cramer come on to me?" Wally asked, suddenly wishing he'd never started this conversation. "I don't know--just suppose. What would you do?" "Smash his face off. What would you do?" Wally challenged. "Tell him to go fuck himself, I guess." "You wouldn't turn him in?" Brandon was quiet for a few seconds. "It's not like he forced himself on Chuck, or threatened to flunk him, or something. It was kind of a dumb thing to do, but he's going to lose his job and go to jail, or something." "I don't think they put you in jail just for asking. But he is going to lose his job." "That's heavy." "He's got to! He's a teacher!" Wally sat up and took a drink of his beer. "Did he ever--did anyone ever do that to you? A guy, I mean. Ask you to...whatever?" Brandon sat up, as well. "Nope. You?" Wally was quiet again. He started to talk, then stood, took a few uncertain steps away from the porch, finally returned and stood in front of Brandon. "Yeah," he said, frowning. "More than once, even. Why do gay guys keep coming on to me? Do I look gay, or something? It just--I don't get it." Startled, Brandon leaned back and stared at his friend. "Well, Wally," he started, then paused, awkwardly. "You are...I guess you're good-looking. I mean, you look like...a guy, I guess. It's not like there's a way to look gay." "But there is, Bran! I mean, you know, swishy and all, like a girl. Do I--" "No, Wally. You do not swish. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's because you don't. You just look normal, you know? Like a guy." "I could see it with Chuck, I guess. I mean, he's not, you know, all...but he's sort of femmie, in a way." "You think so? I don't--I mean he's not a jock, but neither am I." "He's in theater. He does plays and shit," Wally countered, sitting down again. "Lots of guys do theater who aren't gay! You know that! You did--" "I helped build scenery. That's different." The two of them sat quietly for a bit, drinking, staring at clouds in the afternoon sky. Wally kept his eyes on the clouds as he spoke. "So...you don't think...do you think I look gay?" "No. No, you don't." Brandon finished his bottle, studied the amber glass. "Are you?" he whispered. "Am I what?" "Gay." Brandon took a deep breath. "Are you gay?" "No!" Wally's gut was suddenly tense. He stared at Brandon. "But if a gay guy came up and said...like Mister Cramer...If a gay guy came up and offered to suck your cock, or something--" "See? That's what I mean. Gay guys come on to me. Why, Bran? There's got to be something!" Wally stood again and began pacing back and forth. "What is it? I've got to be doing something wrong!" "Wrong?" "You know, something gay guys do!" "There isn't a secret signal, or anything! It's not like a secret society!" "But it is," Wally insisted. "And I'm doing something--I must be doing something that makes gay guys think I'm a member!" "I don't know, man!" Brandon tried to take another drink. "Is there any more beer?" "Nope." "Did you ever ask Keith about it?" "Are you out of your fucking mind? Why the hell would I ask my brother?" Brandon shrugged. "Maybe--it happens to him, too. Then you'd know it was...how you looked, or something." "How I looked? You think Keith looks gay?!" "No! That's not what I meant." "Well, what did you mean, then?" Wally spread his arms and turned in a circle. "Do I look like Keith?" "Sort of. He's heavier, though. You look...more athletic, maybe." "Like a jock? That's not gay!" "It could be! I mean, hell, guys turn on to different things. Some guys like blonds, or big tits, or--" "I do not have big tits, Brandon!" "I didn't say you did! I meant some guys like girls with big tits--" "Don't we all?" Wally leered, and grabbed at imaginary breasts. "No! I mean, there's tits, and big tits, and really big tits, you know?" Brandon replied, with gestures to demonstrate his point. "I suppose." Wally flopped down next to Brandon. "Do guys ever come on to you?" "I told you, no." He paused, thoughtful. "Okay, sometimes, I guess." "When? When was the last time?" Brandon frowned. "I don't know. Last spring, maybe. I don't remember." "See? A guy came on to me last week! Just, like on the street!" "And? What did he say?" "He asked me if I wanted...if he could...he wanted to blow me." "So he thought you were hot," Brandon shrugged. "What'd you do?" "Told him I wasn't into gay stuff." "So you didn't freak out? You didn't smash his face in? Then what's the problem? He asked, you said no. End of story." "But why did he ask?" Wally pleaded. "Because you're hot! And you're nice, you know?" Wally at last turned to look at Brandon--a long, careful look. "You think I'm hot?" "Well, you are, Wally. All the girls say--" "Girls talk about me? Girls talk to you about me?" "Well, they know we're friends, I guess." Wally stared toward the lake, glittering with sunlight. "Do you think I should?" "Should what?" "Let somebody suck my cock?" "Yeah. I mean, if some girl said she wanted--" "Girls don't do that!" "Like hell they don't, Wally. Some of them even like it!" "They told you that?" Wally asked, wide-eyed. "Well, yeah. I mean one girl told me that, anyway." "That she liked--" "That some of her friends told her they liked it. Like she should try it." "Who was it?" "Who what?" Wally suddenly broke out laughing. "You sound like an owl," he gasped. "Whoo whoo!" "Never mind, Wally. Just drop it." "Hey, come on, Bran. I was kidding you. Don't get all--" "Never mind, okay?" For a minute or so, they were silent, then Brandon continued, staring again at the sky. "So you think Chuck's gay?" "Who knows?" Wally admitted. Silence fell, a different sort this time, pregnant. Suddenly, almost as if someone else had taken control of his body, Brandon grabbed Wally, pushing him to the porch floor. He wrapped his arms around the surprised boy, staring into his eyes and watching his reflection in them. "I love you," he hissed. "I want...I want to--" "Holy shit!" Wally cried, squirming out of Brandon's hug. "Let go of me! What's with you, man? You drunk?" For a moment, they were tangled together. Then Wally fell backwards to the ground and Brandon rolled over his beer bottle. Brandon fumbled behind him for the bottle, then stood. "You okay?" he asked, sounding like a stranger who'd just come across a young man lying on the grass. "Wally?" "What the fuck? Why the fuck did you do that?" "It was just a joke," Brandon lied. Silence stretched between them. "We better finish up and get the boat," Wally said at last, carefully. He stood as well, ignoring Brandon's outstretched hand. "Get back to shore. Dad will be there to pick us up, soon." Brandon glanced at the sun, then his watch. "It's not even six o'clock, yet." "Yeah, well, he could be early, maybe," Wally snapped. He pulled the cooler to the edge of the porch and tipped it. Brandon quickly stepped aside as the last of the ice floated across the grass. "Pick up the bottles, okay?" Wally continued. "I'll lock up." Silently, Brandon gathered the bottles: one, two, three, four, five. "How many were there?" "How many what?" Wally asked from the window, as he closed the last pair of shutters. "Beers. Beer bottles." "I don't know. Six, I guess." Brandon scowled and scanned the ground. Under the porch, maybe? He laid on his stomach, trying to avoid the icy puddle while he groped into the blackness. Wally emerged from the cabin and tested the latch, then turned. "All--Brandon? Where--what the fuck are you doing under there?" "Looking for the last bottle. What do you think I'm doing?" "You mean this one, dork?" Brandon pushed his way clear of the porch and rose to his knees, brushing cobwebs from his face. Wally was holding bottle number six. "Yeah. That one." Wally tossed the bottle to Brandon, who put it into the bag with the others. "One last check," he said, and started to walk around the cabin. Brandon hesitated for a moment, then followed. Wally tested the windows and picked up a few stray bits of trash. He held these in his hands, ignoring Brandon's open trash bag. "All secure, I guess," Wally said as they returned to the front steps. He looked at Brandon for a second, then dropped the trash into the bag. Brandon nodded. Wally turned and headed to the lake where the boat was waiting. "It's okay, Brandon," Wally said as he untied the boat and climbed into the stern. "I'm sorry, man. It's just...you wouldn't understand." Brandon gave the boat a final push into the water and jumped into the bow. "You don't know how it feels," he added, more sharply than he'd intended. Wally pulled the starter rope, and the motor sputtered to life. Instead of heading to the far shore though, he turned the boat in a broad arc. "I...I just don't get it, you know. It's not...I mean, if I was going to...you know...I guess you'd be..." His voice faded, lost in the sputter of the motor. "I don't get it, either. It's just..." The bottles rattled as Brandon pushed the bag away from his feet. "Guys are supposed to turn on to girls. I keep waiting, you know? But it's just not there. Mister Cramer should've asked me." "You'd do...you'd do it with Cramer? He's old!" "I was kidding, mostly. It's just...maybe he could explain it, you know?" Wally slowed the boat. "What's to explain? You like doing it with guys. That's all." "But why?" Wally idled the motor, and the boat floated gently. "Why do gay guys--what you did. On the porch. Why?" "I don't know! It's on me, not you! Because you're hot!" Brandon snapped. The boat swayed and water slapped the side. "Sexy," he said, and then, like a criminal confessing, "You turn me on." Then he was quiet, staring at the sun's broken reflection. Finally, in a voice so soft Wally almost couldn't hear it, "And you're nice. You're a good guy." "Thank you. You're a good guy, too." "Even--" "Even after the porch, Bran. Like I said, if I did feel...like that, I'd feel that way about you." "Thanks, I guess." "I'm sorry, Brandon! I mean it. I like you! You're...special, sort of, you know?" Wally studied his best friend, curled up in the bow as if he were cold, even though the afternoon sun was still warm. "It's just..." He studied the motor for a few seconds, as if he hoped it would have an answer, and asked "What do gay guys do, anyway?" "You mean for sex?" "Yeah." The boat continued its gentle rise and fall. "I don't know. Hug and kiss, like with girls, maybe. And touch...touch each other all over. Even your dick. Maybe especially there. Get close to each other, and hold...get close," Brandon finished. Now that Wally had actually asked, he wasn't sure. How could you get so close it was like you were one person? How could you feel each other's bodies all over at the same time? How could I know exactly what Wally was feeling because I was feeling it, too? It had to be more than just sex. Deeper. "Brandon? Hello? Earth to Brandon." "Sorry. What...what did you ask me?" "How gay guys, you know. How do gay guys fuck? Do you fuck guys in the ass, or do they...you know what I mean?" "I don't know! I never..." Brandon turned, staring across the water. "I just think--thought--if I was with someone, it'd just happen. Like we'd know--I'd know--what to do. Like guys with girls. Maybe not fuck, even." Wally gripped the tiller handle. "If I...we...do you want to go back to the cabin?" Brandon looked at Wally and frowned. "Did you forget something?" "I thought we could, you know, just try..." *** "Well, boys, everything put away for the winter?" Wally's father jumped out of his truck. "We ready to get the boat on the trailer?" "Yeah, Dad," Wally grinned. "Everything's all cleaned up." Brandon turned toward the boat, blushing. Smiling.