“He took it.”
Everett nodded.
“Are there more?”
He shrugged. “If he still has them.”
“Were you wearing less in those?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any other pictures of him?”
“I threw them out.”
‘Too bad,’ I thought. ‘We could burn them.’
Everett pushed over to the bookshelf, selected one of three Pinecrest yearbooks he’d brought with him when we moved in. At first I thought it odd for him to do, but we had spent a wonderful night months before, Everett telling me stories about various classmates as he pointed out photos. But he’d never mentioned this Sweigard guy.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I am now. Just… stay with me, okay. Don’t get all…”
“Squidly?”
After flipping through page after page, he found what he’d been looking for. I leaned over as he pointed to a portrait of our mysterious caller. I saw a handsome, somewhat arrogant and assured smile, wizened eyes, a square jaw, and a closely cropped haircut. He was stunning.
Below each name were tiny lists of activities. Among Sweigard’s were lacrosse and other sports.
But then I noticed the year. “1976?”
“He was a senior.”
“And you were…?”
“I was fourteen.”
“But the photo…”
“It was before I met you. Honest. We…”
“Wow. Wait, you don’t have to–”
“He was my first.”
I stared at the face in the yearbook, pondering it all, until Everett delicately took the book, placed it on his desk.
“What about Kevin?” I asked about his childhood neighbor, and a track teammate of mine in Greensburg, who, at an odd moment after Everett’s accident, had become my brief sex buddy.
“That was just ... We never really had actual sex until later.”
“Oh… kay.”
“It wasn’t… I was. I wanted to, you know? But he was…”
I instinctively reached for him, hugged him, not knowing details, not wanting to know, but at the same time, desperately wanting to let him tell me.
“Wesley was different. It started with just some flirting,” Everett said, sighing, as if he were finally unloading a heavy burden. “I never told anyone. This…”
“Take your time.”
“It… there was this arts seminar at Pinecrest, guys from several different classes. The professor was talking about early Modern Art, and he showed us a slide that made everyone laugh. It was a signed urinal, this supposed great work of absurdist or, no, Dada art, by the painter, what’s his name. He did “Nude Descending a Staircase.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Duchamp. Marcel Duchamp.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, he made up this signature, ‘R. Mutt’ on a urinal, and everybody in the lecture laughed. And then, after the lecture, it was like he followed me. I’d seen him, of course. Sweigard’s huge; big muscles, dark red hair. And he just came up beside me in the boy’s room after it, and was like showing off, I mean, really showing off, you know, like turning toward me when he pissed, and he caught me looking.”
Everett noticed as I adjusted my sweatpants.
“Is this making you horny?”
“Well,” I shrugged.
“Okay, fine. Anyway, it was hot. But, he just kind of forced himself on me.”
“Like I did when we met?”
“No! Hell, no! You… You were so sweet, and well, kinda dopey-sweet. I’m sorry, Reid, but you’re so different.” He reached toward me, patting me and tugging an ear as a sort of consolation prize.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Do that. So, anyway, I’m sharing here, so try to keep your hand outta your pants.”
“Sorry.”
“He just… After a few times, he became really manipulative and mean, and kind of forced me to… One time, he kind of raped me.”
“What?”
“Then he got all apologetic and I threatened to tell on him and it was just fucked up, all this mind-fucking bullshit…” He covered his face with a hand, as if trying to wipe the memory away. “And then he graduated and just abandoned me, and that’s about the time I stole my mother’s Mercedes, and that’s why I’m such a slutty freak.”
“You’re not a freak. Fuck, Ev! I mean, we should call the police or something–”
“No! No. I will… This is just a phone call. And that’s all. I don’t hate him. I don’t want…”
I dropped my head to his chest, just held him. I didn’t know what to do or say. He rubbed my head.
“But, if he hadn’t turned me into a freaky little horndog, you and I might never have met, so I hate him but I don’t hate him.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, so hearing from him now is kinda weird.”
“I bet.”
“Yeah.”
I tilted my head up. “So, do you want me to erase the message?” I knew damn well that I wanted to.
Everett put a hand over his mouth, as if deciding, or as if he were a magician about to guess a card. “No. I’ll… later. He probably just wants to–”
“‘Sorry you’re all crippled, yada yada.’”
“Right. Mother probably gave him the number.”
We sat there for a while. I thought to get up and play some more music, but it was late. I had no idea what to say. On the wall behind us, Kenny’s innocent drawing of Everett and I holding hands hung in a simple frame. I longed for such simplicity.
Everett fidgeted with his legs, shifted closer to me. “No matter what he wants, if he wants to see me, even for a visit, just promise you’ll be with me.”
“Sure.” I looked into his eyes, those dazzling dark brown eyes, so close that I once again saw those tiny slivers of green and gold.
“No, I mean, don’t leave me alone with him. I’d probably jump for his throat.”
I whispered, “Of course.”
We held each other tight, then softened our embrace, then kissed. And although I knew he was with me, so close, licking and grabbing with a ferocity we hadn’t shared in weeks, I felt a strange fear, as if we were fighting him off, this Sweigard. His unseen presence entwined itself between us, like the toxic vines I’d read about that grow in the Amazon;
Rafflesia arnoldii
and
Thonningia sanguinea
. They wrap themselves around older trees like a parasite. The common name is Woe Vine.
Chapter 27
March 1982
Spring Break.
The paramedic.
Nick the paramedic.
Nick, the suntanned Italian feathery-chest-haired paramedic, didn’t so much hit on us as not leave our company for hours after introducing himself to us.
Everett made sly glances at the bulging green Speedo of Nick the paramedic, from Islip, who stood, his crotch hovering near Everett’s face as we sipped drinks poolside under the glare of a Fort Lauderdale sun.
Before meeting Nick, on our first day in Florida, we endured a bumpy cab ride from the airport where the driver seemed disturbed by the hassle of Everett’s chair barely fitting into his trunk, or our destination, The Marlin Beach Hotel, being a gay resort. It was probably both.
“Well, here we are,” Everett said as he eyed the nautical décor and stuffed marlins hung on the lobby wall.
As we entered the hotel, we endured a few raised eyebrows from other guests, all men, most wearing little more than swimsuits and flipflops. The desk clerk with a blond mustache offered a flirtatious smile.
“Welcome, boys!”
As Everett dealt with the reservations, I looked around. Through a glass window, I saw the pool, the source of some disco music being played.
“If there’s anything you need, just let us know,” the desk clerk smiled. “The tunnel’s right by the dance floor, but it’s got stairs, so you might want to take the street. Tea dance is just getting started, so I hope you’re ready to have fun.”
After squeezing ourselves into the tiny elevator, we finally found our room on the third floor. While I plopped our luggage onto the bed, Everett wheeled past me to pull open the drapes. Beyond the street below us, we marveled at the beautiful expanse of blue-green calm Florida water, and a wide strip of sand already filled with people.
“Wow,” Everett said.
“Wow, indeed,” I replied.
“This makes up for the tacky décor.”
“So, what first?”
“The beach!”
We changed, stocked up on towels and lotion, hats and sunglasses, and crossed the busy street to the beach.
After rolling as far as we could, he parked at a cement wall. Carrying Everett through the sand, I set him down, then placed a towel down, and left him with the small duffel bag. I retrieved his chair, lay a towel over it so it wouldn’t get too hot, and despite a generous slathering of lotion, we both tried to act natural until the various glances passed.
All around us, men lounged on towels, or further back, under cabanas.
“I never felt so pale.”
“That’ll change.”
“I never saw so many mustaches.”
“Are they all gay?” I asked as I looked around. Nearly all the men were tanned, fit in various sizes and shapes, and some even held hands as they walked along the shore.
“Pretty much,” Everett agreed. “How about we get wet?”
Since there were no waves, the warm blue water was easy enough for Everett to swim in, except for getting to and from the surf edge, where I carried him piggyback into the water. He wore a pair of old sneakers to prevent his feet from getting scraped by any underwater rocks. Once into deeper waters, we splashed about with some abandon, but I always stayed close, just in case.
“Now this,” he said as he shook water from his face, “is what I call heaven!”
I spat a volley of salt water, grinning in agreement.
We splashed about, dove around and on top of each other, frolicking like dolphins, until Everett, panting a bit, grabbed hold of me. “How ‘bout we head in?”
“Okay. Hop on.”
I guided us toward the shore, ignored the curious looks from others, then plopped down at the surf’s edge. We sat, letting the waves wash up around us.
Once we’d settled back on our towels, we rubbed lotion on each other, and tried to relax. I still felt self-conscious in nothing but a swimsuit, until Everett’s hands on me felt warm as he massaged my shoulders.
“You boys better take it easy on your first day,” a man nearby called out.
“Is it that obvious?” Everett grinned.
The man’s friend leaned forward, surveying us with a grin. “You don’t want to spend all week like a pair of lobsters.”
We shared a little more friendly chat, then relaxed and lay together for a while. I held Everett’s hand, content to feel comfortable surrounded by so many other gay men.
Exhausted after returning to our room, we spent the afternoon napping. Despite our oceanfront view, I could still hear the faint thump of music by the inside pool.
After showering off the fatigue and lotion, we enjoyed a hassle-free dinner at the restaurant, and spent our first night cuddling under some scratchy sheets and the relentless hum of the air conditioner.
“We need to mingle,” Everett declared as he led me to the resort’s pool the next day.
“You don’t want to just go back to the ocean?”
“It’ll keep.”
I followed him out to the pool, but felt daunted by the cluster of mostly older gay men, whose looks made me feel like we were freshly sunburned prey.
Everett’s chair glistened a bit too brightly for a few among the gaggle of men in sunglasses, tanned attitude and hair gel. They parted for us, or in most cases, avoided us and made what appeared to be more than a few catty whispered comments. At one point, I thought I heard one of the lines from
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
muttered by one man, and laughed at by his friends.
But not Nick the paramedic. Emerging from the pool like a hirsute Neptune, he walked right up, got us drinks, and reluctantly told a rescue tale or three.
“You boys doin’ okay?” he asked as he noticed my somewhat uncomfortable fidgeting in a beach chair.
“You’re one of the first guys who’s said hello that doesn’t work here,” I said.
“Well, you are the youngest, and the cutest,” Nick smiled.
“Sir,” Everett raised his cup, by then a bit sloshed after two drinks. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“It’s also, maybe some of the other guests think you’re…” he nodded toward Everett’s wheelchair.
“What?” he asked.
“They probably think you’re sick.”
Confused, I asked, “Is that what you think?”
“Oh, no!” He gushed, apologetic. “I know injuries, and you’re what?” He gave Everett an appraising look. “T-4 para?”
“L-4,” Everett corrected.
“Yeah, see? These queens,” Nick waved his hand dismissively. “Some a them’re runnin’ around like headless chickens.”
Our conversation continued in a somewhat morbid, almost cloistered manner, as Nick and Everett debated ideas, tossed facts, rumors and news they’d heard about GRID, gay cancer, or whatever they were calling it.
Finally, I thought, someone who can talk with Everett on his level. Despite the disturbing nature of it, Nick had moved closer to us, seated himself, and I felt a sort of comfort with him.
Our discussion eventually steered away from diseases to other topics, mostly the two of us, which seemed to interest him more. Nick kept buying us drinks. By the fourth round, he brought us sodas. “Otherwise, I might take advantage of you boys.”
Everett grinned. “Or we might take advantage of you.”
I resisted the urge to toss my soda on Everett, partially because I agreed with him. Nick was nice, and smart, but he was also incredibly handsome. One slim over-tanned guy even sauntered by with a catty, “Someone caught a whopper.”
The sun had long before set behind the hotel, and most of the other guests had left the pool for other areas of pleasure, or what I learned was called a ‘disco nap.’
Nick’s offer of dinner later on clinched it.
“Shall we?” Everett asked that night as we donned decidedly un-trendy Hawaiian shirts and baggy shorts.
“We shall,” I smiled, opening the hotel room door.
“No, I mean, shall we with Nick?”
Wasn’t this the reason we traveled so far, to have ‘an adventure?’
“Hey, we’re on vacation. I’m game if you are, champ.”
The food was lavish, the servings enormous, the waiter flirtatious, and all, at Nick’s insistence, on him. He later guided us to the lower level Poop Deck, a subterranean bar with big wooden seahorses on the walls near the semi-circular bar, and window views inside the pool.
What charmed us both was Nick’s ability to share his amazing accomplishments of saving lives, but without sounding boastful. He also kept asking us questions, and his curiosity and admiration seemed genuine.
What possibly kept Everett relaxed was that Nick never doled out the standard sympathy catch phrases about his disability. It just was.
As he offered to take an evening tour of the boardwalk across the street along the beach, I did, however, take a moment aside with Nick to ask, “So, you’re not, like, into guys just because they’re disabled?”
“What? Oh, no. Look, I’m sorry if I come on too strong.”
“No, that’s cool. We’re just–”
“But, hey, look. I have seen a lot of stuff at work; some bad stuff. You know, bodily speaking. You’re both hot to me.”
“Uh, okay. That’s cool.” And then I touched his large muscled shoulder, dared to touch him on my own. Everett had slowed his pace, wheeled around, and saw me. He offered a sly grin.
There was a self-serve brunch in the dining room at the hotel each morning, with scooped melons in bowls, bagels, French toast and several kinds of juice. Savoring Nick the paramedic with Everett was like that; a buffet.
Sex with Nick was amazing. Everett kissed me while Nick sucked my cock, then simply leaned back to watch as I straddled Nick’s hips, my back to him, my gaze intent on Everett’s astounded smile, his dick jutted up from his groin as he stroked it indolently.
What made us realize that we were still a couple, in the midst of all the positions, all the licking and grabbing, were the sly grins Everett and I shared, alternating slathering laps and kisses upon Nick’s wide furry ass spread before us. We were sharing him, having an adventure.
At one point in our lustful tumble, Nick coaxed me into thrusting into him, and Everett began his poking and playful swats at my rear end. Connected to them both, I found myself in a panting moment of lust, and almost knocked Everett out of the way before collapsing atop Nick’s back. Other positions were tried, and enjoyed, but that moment, releasing myself into a pliable man who felt every thrust, surprised me with how much I needed it, wanted it.
The three of us slept in a tangle of limbs until late the next morning, ordered breakfast in, and tried a few more variations in the bathroom, but our laughter and exhaustion from the previous night made it more playful than plow-ful.
Nick rented a car, and we spent the next two days enjoying his guided tour of the Everglades, or at least the areas where the parkway cut through them.
“No, take your shirts off, both of you!” Everett insisted as he aimed the camera. Nick and I complied, arms around each others’ shoulder, and smiled.
Standing in front of a rather un-photogenic expanse of swamp by the side of the road, it didn’t matter. We were having fun.
We kept hoping to spot an alligator, but saw mostly herons and other innocuous wildlife. While driving, Everett sat in front as I lounged in the back seat, enjoying their conversation and the radio music. While I was fascinated to be in a part of the country that resembled a prehistoric marshland, Everett made his restlessness clear.
We spent another night together. Our passion was a bit more measured, and Everett ended up more watching Nick and I hump, rather than joining in, but I thought Everett was enjoying it. It was cool, or so I thought.
At one point, while driving inland the next day, Nick offered to take us all the way to Key Largo for a day trip.
“How far is it?”
“About ninety miles.”
Everett turned to me in the back seat, and for a moment, saw me staring almost lovingly at Nick, until I turned to him, as if caught. His face, already tanned from our days in the sun, seemed more serious.
He then countered, somewhat abruptly, “I think Reid and I need to just spend some time together.”
“Oh, sure. No problem,” Nick said casually.
But after that, a silence followed, until Nick turned on the radio.
That was the last day we spent with Nick, who was leaving in two days.
Whether it was a royal palm or a silver palm I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to know, and getting samples of the leaves was easy enough. Everett sneered at my bagged collection as we packed at his insistence, even though it would be almost an hour before our taxi ride to the airport.
“Really, you’re bringing palm tree samples.”
“Extra credit on southern foliage,” I defended.
“I mean, you could actually buy a few souvenirs. If you’re low, I could spot you.”
“I don’t need another T-shirt.”
We were both a little exhausted, and not just from the sun.