Chapter Fifteen Everything Part One
During lunch, when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I had gone to the bathroom in a vain attempt to make myself feel better. Instead, I only felt the cool slick of the school toilet on my bare arms as I sat there and waited, just waited, for the near empty contents of my stomach to overflow. I even tried making myself throw up by sticking a finger at the back of my throat, but nothing happened. Eventually, I was too embarrassed by people coming in and seeing my jean-clad knees on the tile ground that I just gave up and went back to the lunch room where Sam and Travis didn’t even notice my lack of presence. When I took a seat back down, causing a shift of weight, Sam looked at me, eyeing me and my half-eaten sandwich up and down. “Can I have the rest?” he asked, his eyes wide. I just shrugged and gave it to him, not really caring that he offered his pop to me as an even trade. He scrunched up his face as he ate the rest of it, bouncing off his seat and talking to Travis heatedly about their plans for after school. The fizzy liquid he had given me in return didn’t help at all. In fact, it only succeeded in making my stomach feel as if it was being burned from the inside out. I tried to chalk up my sickness to the fact that the night before, I had smoked the final slim stick from the pack Gerard had given me. It had taken me awhile to finish off the whole thing, my smoking habits becoming quite sporadic during the weeks it had been since the gift had been given, but I figured that maybe I was still going through some form of nicotine withdrawal. I had to be. I generally only grabbed the pack when my nerves were shot, and that had happened more than average within those weeks. Somehow, the tarry substance always made me feel better, making the bad feelings inside subside while bad air filled my lungs instead. But I knew at school, as my knees and voice shook, that this was more than just a craving. I was nervous to go to Gerard’s that night. Nothing had changed between the artist and I, at least, not yet. If I had my way though, things were hopefully going to be changing for the better. I wasn’t nervous for this change; not at all. It was the action that I had to do – the catalyst to get it all started – that scared the living daylights out of me. Even with being scared to the bone, almost throwing up and my constant headaches, I was still going to go. You could not talk me out of this. Sam had even invited me to a party that night – my first social gathering in months from my friends who barely talked to me - and I still turned it down. I was going to forgo everything, even if it was just so I could see the artist I had seen day in and day out that past month. If change happened tonight, then I would embrace it, I knew that much. But if nothing happened, if I chickened out or whatever, I was still going to go and be happy that I went. I would have turned Sam down on any other day of the week; today was just more important than the others. Gerard was going to paint me, so it was more than our normal every day meetings, if you could even call those normal occurrences. Gerard was going to draw me, in my rawest form and show me what he thought. He was going to take my painting and my picture – my essential image and put down his own interpretation. I needed to see that interpretation. I needed to know how he saw me so I could judge my actions. I already knew how I felt about him; I was falling hard and fast, even after he tore me to shreds with my guitar playing. It only made me fall for him more in a way, because he had been brutally honest with me; something else no one had ever done. No one had done a lot of the things Gerard was doing for me and I could feel myself growing more and more attached to him because of that. I called him my friend, my mentor and almost everything else out loud when I was around him but there was still one thing I could never get my head around. My boyfriend. The term itself sounded so juvenile. It sounded like something you would say when you were in middle school or high school. And though I was in that dreaded high school holding pen, Gerard wasn’t. Gerard was older and more distinguished. Gerard didn’t have boyfriends. Gerard had lovers, like he had said. But the idea of being Gerard’s lover never held the same dignified quality with me. I couldn’t imagine myself being Gerard’s lover (or anyone’s, really). I could see myself with him, I could feel myself with him and God, at night when I felt alone and horny, and my hands were under the sheets, I thought of him then. Only in little clips of images, but his name was definitely on the tip of my tongue and in the forefront of my mind as my sheet hid my shameful deeds. Even with these acts, which I half-denied in my own mind, I didn’t know if we could be together or would ever want to be. That’s where this painting came into play. I needed to see how Gerard saw me. I needed to see what words he used and what paint strokes went with it. His interpretation would guide me, but I couldn’t leave this all up to Gerard. I couldn’t just depend completely on his answer because I already knew mine. I wanted him. I didn’t know in what way or form just yet, but I wanted him so badly I could feel it in my bones, and not just the one between my legs. I wanted to talk to him, to be with him and to let him touch me. And though I did wonder what would happen if those touches went beyond my shoulders, I couldn’t just tell him that. It would leave me too open and vulnerable without knowing his answer. I had come up with a plan, devised by my jealous thoughts of Vivian. I may not have been able to tell Gerard my answer for a question he had not asked yet, but I was able to show him. Just like Vivian, when Gerard painted me, I was going to show up naked. I needed to see what he would do, if anything at all. Maybe he had not furthered his advances on me because he did not want to make the first move. If he made the first move, and I didn’t like it, then he would appear like the bad person. He would be the pedophile and the rapist. He had more at stake than I did. If I made the first move and touched him and was wrong, then I would just look like a stupid teenager. I could get over that, I hoped. If Gerard made a mistake though, he would go to prison. He had to be careful, but I did too. I couldn’t just make a move and touch him; that was too risky. And fuck, I was way too nervous. We were both stuck, which was probably why we had remained in this state of awkward tension for so long. The day before, I realized I had to meet him halfway. If I showed up naked, I figured that was a pretty good move. And I told myself that if it all went horribly wrong, I could claim my naked flesh on art and nothing else. But art is sexual, he had said, I reminded myself. There would always be a second meaning to my actions, even if Gerard didn’t want to see it or not. I wondered where it all would take me, and if he chose to be blind or not. All of my perverse recollections aside, I knew the true reason I felt my blood drain from my body was because of the naked aspect in this whole ordeal. I had never been naked around anyone for so long. Even then, it had been just my parents when I was younger. Every kid goes through the ‘clothing is evil’ stage and runs around buck-naked while their parents chase after them with a camera to catch the oh-so precious moment on film. I had grown out of that later than most kids and had still been doing it every day when I came home from kindergarten. Once, however, when Sam came home with me and I tried to do it, my mother had given me a good talking to about being naked around someone other than family, and I began to hide my body like it was the plague. Even though my mother had stated that it was okay for family to see me naked, it still seemed like a horrible and evil idea. I began to wear long shirts and pants as a child, even in the summer. And especially when puberty hit and I started to develop what I believed to be grotesque hair from a disease, I hid my body and began to become ashamed of it. I was a lot better now, after my parents realized that their hypochondriac son thought he was dying and invested in some very beneficial ‘What’s Happening To Me?’ type of books. I still didn’t like being naked all that much, but then again I never had anyone to be naked for. I had never dated anyone seriously enough to reach that point where we could take off our clothing in front of each other. I had never had sex. I had never gone skinny dipping. I had stopped running around like a wild-child in front of my parents when I was five, and they hadn’t seen anything since. I always closed the door when I showered. I was only naked around myself at that point, something which I never did very often at all. When I got out of the shower, the towel was the first thing in my hand and around my body, keeping away the chills, both physical and emotional. I didn’t like the cold exposed feeling of being nude, and I didn’t like the way my body appeared most days. I had a short stature, smaller than most of the guys my age and I thought it gave me a square appearance. I was a little stocky because of the box shape I had, but I wasn’t fat. I just had some flesh that people could grab onto (and did, especially in elementary school when it was ‘cute’). I didn’t have as much extra skin as Gerard though, and for that I was so grateful. I never thought of Gerard as fat, but the fact that I weighed less than him and carried less chub on my frame made me feel ten times better about taking my clothing off for him. At least I wasn’t bigger than him. It gave me the illusion that he wouldn’t be able to make fun of me, though I knew he never would. He may smile and chuckle and ask what the fuck I’m doing when I start to disrobe for him, but he would never judge me. At least, I hoped. I still had no idea what his reaction would be. Ever since Gerard had expressed his thoughts on the male body, I also began to feel worse about my appearance. It was sort of hard to explain. On one hand, I liked my penis – mostly for the actions it was capable of. But, when Gerard planted the horrible mental analogy of a gooseneck and gizzards into my head, it made me cringe anytime I thought of touching myself. I got this weird image of strangling a turkey and my mother at Thanksgiving and that was not pleasant. In actual fact, when I thought about it without vomiting, I realized Gerard was right; penises were so ugly. I remembered standing in front of the mirror one night before I had a shower, just looking at my hips and most of all, my dick. My hips were nice, the bones slightly protruding out and the triangle of muscle coming into focus, but I crinkled my face up in the mirror when I examined the flaccid area of wrinkly flesh. My cock just kind of flopped there and didn’t do much, unless it was excited. And then, when I started to review these memories well after lunch, during the middle of chemistry class, fear gripped my chest. I began to wonder what was going to happen that night at Gerard’s place when I was finally disrobed. If I got hard or at least started to get hard while he was drawing me, then I was pretty sure the world would end. I didn’t want him to know that being naked in front of him could be turning me on as he drew. Another pang of jealousy for Vivian hit me over the head. You could never tell when women were turned on just by looking at them. They never had a body part that would betray them and expose their deadly secret. They did it all by themselves, telling you if they were or not. Vivian could hide her secrets, while I could barely control myself. It just wasn’t fucking fair. I suddenly wanted to back out of my plan because of this horrible thought, but I made myself shove that notion out of my mind. I was going to do this. I had to. And besides, I might even be too nervous to even entertain the idea of getting it up. It certainly felt that way right then, and I was still in school at that point, counting down the hours. When I finally did make it to Gerard’s place, I was over an hour later than I usually was. I had been so excited to get the fuck out of school but when the time came, I nearly froze on the spot. I even talked to Sam awhile I was so desperate to not leave just yet. And when I eventually had begun my walk, I had to take some steps three times because I kept stopping, debating and turning around again. I made it though and with only some nerve damage. “Hello,” Gerard’s voice called out easily from the kitchen. He was lying nonchalantly in a chair, tipping it back so his feet could rest on his table. He had a coffee mug placed near him and his sketchpad on his lap. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” “Nope. I’m here.” My voice came out quick and fierce and Gerard’s face fell, sensing my apprehension. “Just relax. I promise I won’t butcher your image too much,” he kidded, baring one of his trademark smiles. I nodded back weakly, silently thinking to myself that he had no idea what he could be butchering. And again, more mental images I didn’t need of Gerard waving a butcher’s knife around my naked body came to my mind. “Where do you want me?” I asked quickly, trying to get my attention focused on actions, rather than the emotions I was feeling. I smirked after I said the statement, reading into the extra implications. “I was thinking by the window,” Gerard instructed, moving right into his task at hand. He had gotten up from his seat by this point and started to walk to the back of his apartment, his arm outstretched and pointing to the big glass paneling. He stepped up to the raised level and patted the mustard yellow seats with his hand. He had clearly been thinking about this for awhile now. I wondered that if I were to flip through the sketch book he had close by him, if I would find preliminary drawings of the surrounding area. I followed behind him reluctantly, but didn’t get on the raised level just yet. I just looked up at him as he talked, my fingers twisting in front of me. I tried to crack my knuckles, but only succeeded in bending a finger a direction it wouldn’t bend. I in took a sharp breath at my near-breakage, and Gerard shot his glance my way, instead of marveling at the window paneling. “Are you okay, Frank?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking me over skeptically. I felt my eyes widen and my breath catch in my throat, but before I could embarrass myself further, Gerard interpreted my actions for himself. And for once, he was wrong. “I know you wanted to be drawn on the couch…” he started to explain his response, letting me finally breathe again. For a second there, I thought he had seen through my entire façade. I thought he knew exactly what I was thinking, and more importantly, what I was about to do. He usually did every single other time we were together; I figured it would be only natural that he had seen through my skin and into my core. But instead, he yammered on about the couch not being good because he had spilled coffee on it earlier that day, so I couldn’t sit there. He thought I was upset because I wouldn’t be exactly like Vivian, and was trying to make it up to me. I let Gerard keep talking, grateful that he was still in the dark about everything. And then it hit me again; he didn’t know that in moments I would be undressing for him. He had no clue whatsoever that I would be presenting myself, asking him a question with my body. To him, this was just an art project, and I was just a subject. I bit my lip at the thought. If he didn’t know about my plans, then there would be no disappointment if I backed out. I could back out and just have him draw me instead, leave my feeble naked notions behind and maybe not be so scared. No, I told myself almost instantly. I had to do this, and more importantly, do this now. There may not have been another time where Gerard would agree to this. There may not have been another time where I was this close to it. And even if I was scared shitless right then, I only knew that if I backed out, I would only lead the rest of my life (either here or on the outside world) in fear. This was going to happen; there was no doubt in my mind at that point. However, doubt still radiated across my face, and Gerard kept on talking. “I think right here is good,” he stated again, looking around the perimeter of the window then back down at me, his hands on his hips. “The way the sun will come in against your body will give you a glow. You’ll look gorgeous.” He smiled at me quickly before he stepped off the platform and walked past, brushing my shoulder slightly and sending chills up my already flipping body. He sauntered over to his art supplies and began to dig through them while I still stood in the same spot. Just because this was for sure going to happen, didn’t mean it was going to happen all that fast. “Well, go on,” Gerard teased after a few moments of me not moving. “Get up there. Make yourself comfortable. I don’t know how long this will take me.” He was still digging through his art supplies, in a desperate search for something. I nodded weakly, stepping up the two stairs and then making my way to the cushion. I had only been up to the raised level a few times, and that was to clean out the ashtrays. I had never really stopped and looked around, seeing how the sunlight came in. I still didn’t do it then, just trusting Gerard with his placement and hoping that if I did ‘glow’ in this position, that it would hide the red hue that was creeping over my cheeks. I saw the dove in her cage to the left of me and smiled nervously at her. The way her head cocked as I sat down and she cooed made me think that she knew what I was doing. I looked over at Gerard who was still digging and couldn’t help but think just how clueless he was and that for once, I knew something before he did. Oh well, I thought timidly. He’ll know soon enough. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and flinched, hearing the boards creak underneath my weight. Gerard still hadn’t moved from his spot and I decided that watching him was only giving me added nervousness. I closed my eyes and touched the hem line of my shirt. After ragging on it a few times, I finally pulled it over my head, feeling the cool air from the window hit my back immediately. Other than that first quick sensation, I felt fine. I was nervous as hell, but that was for Gerard’s reaction, which I kept myself from seeing right away by keeping my damn eyes closed. I wasn’t too anxious about being naked; not anymore. It was just something I had to do, something I realized at that moment that I wanted to do. I tossed my shirt down on the cushion beside me, hearing it slink to the floor instead. I took another deep breath as I began to fumble with the waist of my pants, sticking one finger in the belt loop. All of my actions were halted though when I heard a familiar voice, but with an unfamiliar tone. “Frank – wait –“ Gerard’s voice came into my ears so suddenly, it stopped my breathing. Again. I didn’t want to open my eyes and look though, because I could already tell what was going on. Gerard was shocked. In all of the time I had spent with him, I had never once seen or heard him be shocked. Everything we did that was always a surprise to me had come from him. He was never the one to be caught off guard by anyone’s actions because usually he was the one making the outrageous ones in the first place. Now however, I was making the daring and bold moves and it didn’t compute with him. I froze solid in place, not moving to either undress more or to put my clothing back on and run out of the apartment apologizing profusely. Just because Gerard was surprised didn’t mean he didn’t like it… “Frank…” Gerard’s voice came into my ears again, this time a little softer. He was still surprised, but there was pity etched into his words. A pity that I did not want to hear. My heart sunk even further within my chest at the next lines mentioned. “Frank. Don’t do this. Wait. No.” Gerard was still at the back near his mural, digging through his paint supplies. He seemed closer somehow, maybe because his emotions transcended easier. His brow was furrowed in some kind of pained expression, but I couldn’t tell how he was hurting. He held a handful of brushes in his left hand while the other went over his face, rubbing his forehead and then going through his thick raven locks. He kept looking at me looking at him, shirtless, then turning his eyesight away. He pursed his lips over and over again, opening his mouth in between to say something else, but giving up. Even after moments had passed, his breath came out weak and uneven – just like mine. And that’s when it hit me. Gerard was nervous for this too. He may have said words that told me to stop, but the way he carried himself, the way he looked at me then looked away and the pain in his eyes told a different story. Or I at least thought they did. Gerard looked just like I did in that moment in time, and in my head, that meant he wanted me too. If it was real or not though, I was going to fight for it. I was halfway there already. There wasn’t much further I could fall. You have to take risks, I told myself, manifesting some of Gerard’s teachings into one. Especially for art. “Why not?” I broke the air, my plea echoing in the sudden vast space of the apartment. My hands were still on my waist, looped into my belt while Gerard continued his own deliberation stance. My voice was small and quiet, but the strength in the two words was unstoppable and remarkable. They were breaking down the two men in the small apartment, in more ways than one way. “This wasn’t part of the deal, Frank,” Gerard finally said, weak and tired. He closed his eyes when he said it, pinching his temples while he shook his head. “This wasn’t our deal.” “You said you would draw me yesterday,” I argued, trying to be stronger than the weak artist in front of me. It was easier said than done. “Like Vivian.” “Yes,” Gerard agreed, sighing and flipping his hair out of his face once more. “But that was drawing. Just drawing, Frank. Art. Not…” He drew in a deep breath and looked at my bare chest. His eyes probably stayed for longer than they should have for someone who was arguing against the forthcoming action. “Not naked. Not this.” Hearing him say the words, despite his opposite body movements towards it, still hurt like fucking hell. They hurt more than any insult anyone had ever told me, including his rejection the day before. But I knew that deep down inside, I still had to fight for it. It was what I wanted. Gerard had always told me that there is passion in life. You need to go and get what you want. I wanted him. I was going for it. “If you don’t want to paint me naked because of the imperfections…” I began, not exactly knowing where I was going, but hoping it would lead me somewhere good. “Art doesn’t have to be perfect.” “I know that much, Frank,” he smiled, pleased for a moment that I was using his words. His expression turned back somber too soon though, analyzing the situation again. “But this, for once, isn’t about art.” Something inside me twanged. His words didn’t match, and I was getting somewhere. “What is this about, then?” Gerard looked straight at me, heaving an aggravated sigh. He didn’t want me to play dumb; it was clear between us what was going on. We felt the same, but there was still a thick block between us. A thick block we couldn’t even say out loud yet, for fear of the world caving in around us if they heard. I knew what was blocking me - the nervousness of being rejected. But I had no idea what was blocking him yet. “You’re too young, Frank,” he informed me, answering my question. I bit my tongue at the words, feeling anger swell within me. I hated it when people used my age against me. That day in the comic book store when I was eight and I had been rejected by my new friends came back to me full force. I was not getting cast aside on solely my age again, especially when I knew – when I could see – that in Gerard’s eyes this was not what he wanted to do. “I’m not too young,” I stated flatly, my angry tone conveying across the room. I took my hands off my waist and flung them down as I talked, adding more of a menace to my weakened self. “You told me I was growing up.” He paused for a moment, realizing his words were now being used against him. He recovered quickly however, spouting something else from his lips slowly. “You are. But that doesn’t mean anything right now. I’m too old for you.” I took in a breath, ready to argue, but instead it deflated out of me like a dead balloon at a birthday party. I wanted to yell and scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, that everyone was wrong, but I merely looked and pleaded with my eyes. He met them only for a second, then turned away quickly. I couldn’t take it. “But…” I uttered, not knowing what else to say or do. “But nothing,” Gerard stated clearly. He wasn’t mad or sad, just trying to state facts right then. Spewing numbers because they didn’t have feeling. Neither of us could handle our feelings then anyway, but I seemed to be the only one willing to try. “I’m forty-seven, Frank. You’re seventeen. That’s thirty years difference. That’s too much.” “Nothing is too much…” I muttered under my breath. I looked down at my feet, still in their shoes, watching my toes wriggle underneath the thin material keeping them covered. I clenched my fist, seeing and feeling my rage within me. It was going to come out any moment now, I could feel it. I didn’t know where the catalyst would be, but I had a feeling it was going to come from Gerard. Everything else had been about him since the beginning; why not have him spark the ending as well? “This can never happen, Frank,” Gerard added expressively, enunciating every word. “This should never happen.” That did it. Bombs away. “God Gerard!” I yelled, snapping my head up to meet with his eyes. They widened seeing my fury, but quickly set back to a normal gaze. He was getting better at switching his emotional fronts and I didn’t like it. I knew Gerard hated repressing his feelings and he was being a hypocrite not taking his own fucking advice. I looked at him, my breath coming in and out of me quickly, my bare chest rising and falling fast. He gazed back, waiting for me to continue. Begging me to almost, wanting to hear an excuse to make this possible. I didn’t have an excuse. All I had were my confused thoughts and bitter laments. I didn’t think anyone had an excuse for anything anymore. “God - Gerard –“ I repeated, my breath wheezing as it went between the slits in my teeth, almost growling at him. “You invite me here. You give me wine. You say you love having me around. You start teaching me how to paint – and then you start to entice me,” I began my rant, my arms moving wildly as I recounted what had gone on in the past month leading up to this final meeting. “You tease me. You touch me. You spout sexual stuff like it doesn’t matter. It does matter. That day we painted the wall you acted like it was sex. That fucking meant something. You hugging me and touching me. That means something. You made me want you, Gerard and now you’re rejecting me. It doesn’t make sense. What the fuck do you want from me?” I raised my arms up high at Gerard, completing my final begging interrogation. When I was done, but not even close to starting the rest of my feelings, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. And when I said it all out loud, I began to realize that none of this was my fault. All these weeks I had trapped myself in my room or at his place, feeling the guilt creep into my system when an impure thought entered my head. I had yelled at myself internally and out loud for feeling this way. I had even started smoking to eliminate it in the first place, with no avail. Just guilt. Though by now I had finally come to some kind of acceptance, there was still that bitter aftertaste in my mouth from it all. There was still the fact that I was falling for a forty-seven year old man that I couldn’t just wrap my head around so easily. But there, half naked in the middle of his apartment, I realized that this wasn’t my fault. Gerard had been tempting me and teasing me. He made me want him; this wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t Gerard’s fault either. He knew this was wrong; I could see the guilt, that useless emotion, in his eyes and I knew he was trying to fix things. He was trying to fight me, to get me away and to understand that this should never happen. It just wasn’t working out all that well. This entire mess we were in we had both created, but, in the end, there was no one to pin the blame on. Then why did I feel like we were both suffering for it? “What do you want from me, Gerard?” I asked again when I received no response from the man before me. My voice was a lot slower this time and a lot less harsh. Gerard still seemed hurt however, lost and crushed beneath its weight. Usually he had this effect on me; it was hard watching the one that I had learned off of for so many weeks be the one that needed something to follow. “I want you to be an artist,” was all he finally said, his voice so quiet I could barely hear it through the pounding of our hearts. He didn’t look at me; he seemed detached from his body, staring at the floor. It was as if he was saying the answer he had prepared beforehand, the answer he told himself was right and repeated it over and over again until it was. “Bullshit,” I said back, causing him to look at me. I had never challenged his answers in art before. But fuck, I had never felt this way. There were going to be a lot of firsts that day; whether they were good or bad was still up in the air. “That’s what you want of my talent, my dreams or some other foolish notion,” I continued, probing deeper into him, cracking open his shell of lies and hopes further. “What do you want here?” I took the palms of my hands and pressed them strongly over my bare chest, moving them up and down to emphasize the fact that I was almost naked. Almost naked for him. And then, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I finished with the hardest line, “What do you want from me, Gerard?” After a few moments of tense silence, I glanced out the slit of my tightly shut eyes. Gerard was just standing there, looking at me like I was one of the Seven Wonders of the World; as if I wasn’t real. I was real though, and I had to prove my existence to him. I began to move from the seated area, walking down the stairs, my shoes clunking down on the hollow steps and echoing into the quiet room. Gerard was still by the wall that I was walking towards, and I stopped a few paces in front of him. His eyes seemed to widen as I came closer, him becoming more aware that I was not some art project anymore. I was a real human being and asking what he wanted out of me. I stood there, my hands at my sides and asked the question one final time. “What do you want from me?” For a long time he just stared. It was like he was catatonic, detaching himself from everything around him. To him I wasn’t real, but to himself he wasn’t either. I could see life behind his eyes, fighting to break free. He wanted to see me. He wanted to answer my question; there was just a thick film over his eyes that were blocking him. I sighed, pursing my lips together as I muttered his name through clenched teeth. It wasn’t loud and it wasn’t really meant to be anything; I had just needed to vent frustration. It seemed to strike a chord in him nonetheless, snapping him into reality again. The film that had all but blinded him before started to melt away bit by little bit. He re-collected himself, looking me up and down, pausing on my face and bare skin extra long, before he finally took in a deep breath and answered. “I’m an artist,” he stated. “I want everything.” I bit my lip at the pain in the response. With those lines he admitted everything to me. He wanted me. He had secretly for the longest time. It was why he gave me alcohol in exchange for service. It was why he wanted me to paint. It was why he touched me, hugged me and inspired me. It was all to get closer to me. He wanted to be with me in every way possible, but only thought he could through an artistic relationship. He wanted much more than that – he wanted everything – but never thought it was possible. I walked closer to him, causing him to step slightly back and drop the paint brushes he still had a grip on. He was against the wall now, waiting to see what was going to happen. For once, waiting for me to make that final move and just do something. I looked at him the way he had with me, pausing for extra long everywhere. Then, I spread my arms out, in a giving up stance. Only I wasn’t giving up, I was starting something I hoped would win. “Take everything,” I said, barely above a whisper. I could see him swallow hard at my words and his lips part slightly, his tongue coming out to lick them. We stood so close to one another, our breath going in and out shallowly for the longest time before I finally made that once dreaded first move. I stepped forward, closing in the limited space we had in between us and placed my lips on his own. I had no idea what I was doing at first; I just placed myself where I belonged. I soon realized though, that as I began to move my lips slightly, pressing into him more and feeling him press back, how long I had wanted to do this. I had never let myself think about it until the past two weeks or so, but I had wanted to kiss him since the beginning. It had been a bonding urge I had inside of me; I wanted to kiss him to become closer to him, to hopefully have an insight to what was going on in his head. There were times when we got so close, the day in the kitchen where his hands were all over my face coming to mind. Along with those afternoons where we had talked for hours, leaning over the same canvas with our hands brushing up against each other. Those times where he had taught me all I needed to know for that one day, hugging me as I left his apartment. It was then where I had wanted to kiss him, as if to say thank you. This night I had finally gotten my chance to let him know how I felt, but I was saying more than just thank you. The action itself was more than just two mouths pressing together in passion; it was something so much deeper than that. I was conveying all of the emotions I had for him: respect, admiration, gratitude and intense friendship in one kiss. And God, what a kiss. It was the first time I had ever initiated anything myself without the aid of alcohol or childhood games, and it was the best one I could remember. I had never wanted to kiss someone as much as I had wanted to Gerard, and now that it was finally happening, I felt so good in so many ways. His lips were softer than I had expected, my own sensitive flesh moving over his slowly. I felt myself flutter inside when he moved against me, even if he was more so pressing against my lips, rather than kissing them. He went painfully slow, the whole gesture seeming too intimate for him to handle. But it was still happening. We were kissing and I could feel myself getting braver by the minute, knowing now that this was a reciprocated action. I had been right all this time. I didn’t know what felt the best though; being right or the outcome of my accuracy. Progressing gradually, I moved my hands out to touch his waist, steadying myself. My knees were weak and I knew I could fall over at any moment. My hands had barely even touched his clothed sides before I felt my stomach do jumping jacks once again. I opened my mouth slightly, to give him a hint that I was ready for more. When I finally dared to enter my tongue into his mouth though, everything stopped. He pulled his face away then, turning to the side and leaving me with full view of his soft cheek and wondering just what the fuck had happened. “You’re too young…” Gerard uttered again, biting his lip. He didn’t look me in the eyes, probably for his own safety. He was having a hard time controlling himself, even though I had told him he didn’t need to. There was something new forming within him, another consideration that we had overlooked until then. Society. I knew all about the pressures and misconceptions about this whole situation beforehand, I had just never considered them. I never thought my own feelings would be reciprocated, so there was no use debating about what society would think if it would never get off the ground. Now though, Gerard and I were so close to what we wanted– we had kissed – but we were still miles away. This was a dangerous relationship I was asking for – we were asking for. I knew that things could go horribly wrong. We could get caught, found out and I could be a social outcast while he went to jail. This was dangerous. More dangerous than my liquor and drug habits beforehand, more dangerous than his smoking, more dangerous than anything I had ever come across. But even though we had only kissed for a few seconds, that danger and everything around seemed worth it just to do that again. Gerard was still struggling however, biting his lip (the one that I had fucking kissed) and spouting the same line over and over again, refusing to look at me. “Gerard,” I finally cut in, my voice resonating knowledge while my mind came up with something that sounded like knowledge. When he had lamented, I glanced over to the side, seeing the canvases where Gerard had spent his life painting. And then as memories of the day we laid down on his floor and went through every single piece came to my mind, so did a brilliant idea. One that could win this thing for good. “You were going to paint me today, right?” I probed, finally getting him to look at me again because we weren’t talking about the issue anymore; we were talking about art. But art is everywhere, Gerard would say, I reminded myself. And art is sexual. “Yes, draw you…” he said unsure, trailing off like I had done so many times before. “Well, you told me you can make a painting anything you want it to be.” He nodded, and I continued my tangent of hopefully genius thought. “You can make the sky orange and the grass purple in a painting and it can mean something. Anything you want it to be. Art has that power. You were going to draw me today. Turn me into a work of art. You can make me older, Gerard,” I begged, tugging at the sides of his clothing that I had not let go of, and that he had not forced me from yet. “Make me into something else that allows for me to be with you,” I concluded, pausing, to let my words hit him as deep as they could. I saw his eyes flicker, as my thoughts collided with the ones already existing in his head. I was using his words against him yet again, but I had a feeling he wanted to lose this inner battle. And I had one final blow to do it. “Make me everything.” With the mention of the words, tying in the acceptance of it all and the approval of danger into a work of art, his lips met mine. And this time, we kissed like there was nothing wrong with it. In our own picture, captured in both of our minds merging together, there was nothing wrong with it.
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