Brad

"Damn that was good." I said as I laid up against the couch. Matt didn't budge, he just laid there, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"I'd better go, my folks'll be wondering where I am."

"Don't" he said to the ceiling.

"I've got to. If my dad ever finds out..."

"I know."

I got up and showed myself to the door. I said bye. He was still laying on the floor, topless with his pants down around his ankles. From the door, I couldn't see him, so I just left. I sat out in my truck for a few minutes. I saw the bathroom light upstairs come on, so I assumed he wasn't laying on the floor anymore. The shrill ringing of my cell phone broke the silence. I picked it up and looked on the display. Brad. Damn. I figured I shouldn't answer. I started my truck and drove out of Matt's backyard. I decided that I probably shouldn't talk to one sex partner while sitting on the other's property. Once out on the street, I called him back.

"Hey Brad, It's Andrew. What did you want to talk about?"

I could hear him breathing into the phone even though he wasn't speaking. He hung up. He hung up on me! To be honest, I was relieved. I didn't want to talk to him anyway. I just wanted to reminisce about what just happened between Matt and me. Holy shit that had been hot. Matt was bar none the sexiest guy ever conceived by the dick of humanity and he had the hots for me. The jury was still out on his personality, but his body was unquestionable. I was getting hard again just thinking about it. But, I couldn't help but wonder why. What did I do? Was it just that I was willing and convenient?

The drive home was uneventful.

A few days passed. Brad and I saw each other in class, but beyond that, had no idea what to say to one another. I sense that we were growing apart. Why did it have to work out that way? But then it had only been a few days, maybe I was just being too hasty in my assessment. What we had was surprising, though brief. I had never expected any of it in the first place, but then once it had happened, I think I was glad that it did. Matt, however, was a different story. I thought at first that it was entirely physical. After all, I don't think of myself as gay, but I have to wonder about Matt. I enjoy him- a lot. But I have had girlfriends in the past. I hope to one day be married and have kids, a house, and a golden retriever. But then there's Matt. There's just something about him that brings me back to him. I've hated him with fury that's beyond my speech- especially in the beginning, when I couldn't decide if he was an asshole or not. Some days he still is. But then he looks sideways at me with those green eyes that just won't quit, wrinkles his nose, then playfully sticks out his tongue and I can't possibly stay mad at him- no matter how hard I try. I guess I have a soft spot for the horny bastard.

That night, I was sitting at my desk reading. Henrik Ibsen's "A Doll's House". I'd been reading for a while and my mind had wandered. I walked over to the stereo and started flipping through CD's. Nothing interested me. The phone rang. I picked it up at the same time as my dad, but he spoke first, so I just remained on the line, being totally silent so as not to be caught breathing.

"Hello, this is Mr. Gerrish"

"Hi, this is Matthew McConnelly. Can I speak to Andrew?"

"I've never heard of you. Who are you?"

I could feel all the blood draining from my face. It was Brad's voice. Why was he using Matt's name?

"I'm a friend of his from school."

"How do you know my son?"

"I don't know, just from being around, I guess." Brad sounded annoyed. So did my dad.

"Andrew! Telephone."

"I've got it."

Dad hung up the phone.

"Brad- what the hell are you doing?"

"Come over here."

"No, I'm not going anywhere."

"Why not?"

"Because...I...I...I don't know...It doesn't matter. No."

"Meet me in front of Wal-Mart in a half an hour."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Do it."

"All right, all right. But this had better be good."

"It will be." He hung up abruptly.

What was with that cryptic little comment? Now I'd go just to see what idiocy he had planned. I flopped back at my desk, not even realizing I'd been pacing ever since I picked up the phone. The thought of what Brad might have decided to do was bugging the crap out of me. What could he possibly want? I put on a shirt and cargo pants and headed towards the front of the house. My mother was already in bed, my sister was watching TV and Dad was in the shower. So, I just left a note explaining that something came up with school project and I needed to confer with my partner before he had a stress induced heart attack. That was believable enough I guess, since it was only 9:45. I went out to my truck and drove off. I clicked on the radio and listened to whatever happened to be on. I honestly don't remember. I don't remember how to get to Brad's house. Oh, I was supposed to go to Wal-Mart. Oh, pooh.;-) So, I did a U-turn at the next light, Lawrenceville/Suwanee Highway. Was he going to chew my ass off? Was he going to profess undying love for me? Was he going to take a baseball bat to my skull? That kind of scared me. Was he going to trap me, tie me to something and rape my candy ass? That sort of turned me on. Was he going to trap me in my truck and shove a lit match in the gas tank? Was he going to try to seduce me into making sweet fucking sex with him until the sun came up?

I sat at the turn light to get into the parking lot for what seemed like an eternity. I wasn't sure if Brad was about to be a frightening monster or a beautiful stallion. I spotted him standing, bathed in the yellow street lights. His diminutive figure seemed even more small and vulnerable in that vast parking lot. I drove up next to him and rolled down the window.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Can I get in? It's freezing out here."

I unlocked the doors, he walked around the hood of the truck. I was reminded of the day in the school parking lot when I sucked his toes.

"What do you want?" I asked again.

"Drive over there." He pointed to a corner of the parking lot that was away from everything else. I hadn't seriously considered the idea that Brad might do something completely neurotic and stupid, but maybe I'd underestimated him.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Just do it."

"All right, all right." So, I did.

Once we got there, he just sat still, he hands in his lap staring at my glove compartment. His brow was furrowed in a look of deep concentration. He sighed deeply. I just sat there watching him. It seemed like several minutes of the two of us just sitting in silence.

He started, "Andrew, I know you said you weren't gay, but I felt something from you. I don't know what it was, but I felt it and I think you did too. I don't know what you think of me, but I know what I feel about you."

This wasn't starting out very well. I think I'd rather have him come after me with a baseball bat. Then maybe I could use some of those Tai Kwan Do lessons my dad made me take.

He continued, "I want to be around you...I love the look you get on your face when I made a stupid comment...I love the way you shift your weight when a lecture goes too long...I love the way you kick your feet out when you sit down...I love the way you kiss me...I don't know what it is."

"But?" I said sensing that one was coming.

"But, I know you don't think of me that way. For a while, I think you thought of me as your friend...then your lover, sex fiend, whatever- for a couple of days...now I don't know. I don't think you hate me, but you haven't talked to me...so I don't know...then tonight, I just wanted to be near you...I just wanted you to touch me...I know it sounds dumb."

I hadn't budged the whole time. Then I realized that I'd also been holding my breath. I exhaled loudly.

"Um...I...uh...um."

"How do you see me?" Brad asked.

I didn't know what to say. Why do people put me in these situations when they know I don't like them. At least my life wasn't in danger at the moment.

"Brad...I don't know what to say. I...er...um...Brad, we've been friends for six years. I can't erase that from my brain. I think of you as one of my truest friends, but not as a lover. I like sex...I'm addicted to it and you willingly filled that...I don't love you in the romantic sense. I love you as a friend. I would do anything for you... you know that." Wow- I sounded half way articulate.

His eyes were welling up with tears. My only impulse was to reach over and give him a great big bear hug and a wet one on the lips. But I knew that might make it worse for him. But I couldn't resist. He looked so sweet, so innocent, so wholesome. Yep, I was addicted to sex...and here was an available accomplice. Our backs were to the parking lot and we were facing a privacy fence, so no one could see us. I reached out my hand and took his. He looked over at me. I leaned toward him. He slid over toward me. For the first time in my life, I looked deeply into the eyes of another person. What I saw in Brad's eyes that night turned my stomach. I knew that I was hurting him. Not physically. What I was doing to him right now was more cruel than that. He wanted me to love him. More than anything else, he wanted me to love him with the same deepness with which he loved me. I honestly don't think I'm capable of that kind of passion. Being the cold, aloof person I am, that's not something I see myself in. But yet, here he was, returning my gaze of amazement with one of undeserved love. I didn't deserve Brad. From what I saw in his eyes, no one on this earth is good enough to deserve love from someone so incredible. I felt dirty. I pulled my hand away. I turned my head, I couldn't bear to look at him anymore. He didn't understand why. He sniffled. Damn it.

"I don't deserve you..." I blurted out.

He didn't respond. Tears streamed down his face, his eyes were red, cheeks puffy. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. I reached over and took him in my arms. He sobbed, loud, heaving sobs into my shoulder. What have I done? How could I be so heartless as to hurt him? I didn't deserve him. Maybe Matt was a cruel, vindictive bastard. Maybe that meant he and I deserve each other. He quieted down after a few minutes and I felt him relax in the safety of my arms. A few more minutes passed. He sat up unexpectedly.

"Be honest, how do you feel about Matt?" I asked.

"He's all right, I guess."

I knew it was a lie, but it was a horrendously timed, tactless question in the first place, so I just let it go.

I turned to face him. He lept up at me, grabbed me by the back of my head and kissed me. We kissed for the longest time. The sounds of wetness passing between our lips. I made no effort to make him stop. I was a bundle of emotion. All that I had kept to myself kept rushing forward. So far, I had managed to keep it all stuffed neatly into the dusty crevices of my cold heart. But my heart was suddenly warmed. Now I know how the Grinch feels at the end of the movie. Of course, Brad's love beat the shit out of any Christmas present in history. I pulled back. He looked crestfallen.

"I can't do this." I said.

"Why not?"

"It's not fair."

He clearly didn't understand. For me, this was supposed to be just physical. Just fun. Brad wanted more from me. He wanted me to love him. He was starved for someone to give a rip about him. The hunger in his eyes could never be fulfilled by screwing around in the chem lab or making out in a car. He needed more. He needed a lover. Someone to have late night conversations with. Someone to hug at the end of the day. Someone who would surprise him with candelit dinners and background music. First of all, that's entirely too much effort. Perhaps that's why I don't have a boyfriend and am sitting here writing gay erotic fiction. Anyway. Secondly, I can't do that. I just can't bring myself to love anyone as much as he desperately needed me to. If only I could have said it then.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"I can't love you. I just can't"

"I know. You love Matt. I can't change that."

"No. That's not it either. I don't love him. I don't love anybody."

"Why not?"

"What are you... a shrink?"

That hurt. I was sorry. The tears started rolling down his face again. I couldn't stand to see him cry. It felt like my soul was being ripped out. It made my whole body hurt to see him cry. This was getting to be too much. I opened the door and got out. Brad was right. It was cold out here. I walked around the vacant spaces next to us. He just sat there. His head hung down in shame. I felt guilty because he had nothing to be ashamed of. Right now, I had more respect for Bradley Nathaniel Morgan than I have had for anyone ever. The sheer intestinal fortitude (guts) it must have taken for him to pick up the phone and call me tonight. Not to mention actually showing up. Not to mention actually telling me what he came here to say. I could never in 20 lifetimes have done that. I turned back to him. I didn't know what to say or do so I just looked at him. His eyes were so watery, he probably couldn't see me. He got out and walked away. I wanted desperately to chase after him. I wanted to stop him and give him the most passionate moment of his young life right there in the Wal-Mart parking lot. But, something stopped me. For some reason, I couldn't force my feet into motion. He kept walking. Relentlessly. I had no idea where he was going. I just watched him. I knew something about me had changed toward him. I didn't look at his ass but the back of his head and his feet as he moved ever further into the darkness at the edge of the parking lot. Why couldn't I go after him? Why did I seem to be supernaturally rooted to this spot? God, what is the deal here? He crossed the street and disappeared into a wooded area. Maybe he lived in that development. I just stood there. I realized that I was alone. No one on earth knew where I was. My parents trusted me enough that the note on the table would be sufficient for a little while longer, so they weren't worried about me yet. So, no one really cared where I was. No one knew that I was standing in a parking lot at 10:30 at night by the open door of my truck with the key dinger going full tilt with the brisk, February winds whipping by my pants leg while my heart hurt so much that it was physically painful. I realized that I was all alone in the world. But, wasn't that what I wanted...to be alone? I glanced around. No one. There were several cars in the parking lot, but no one was coming in or out. I got back in and shut the door. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked in the rear view mirror.

What I saw terrified me. I had hurt Brad. But in the process of pushing him away, I had hurt myself more. I had rejected the only person on earth that I know for a fact loves me beyond comprehension. My eyes got all watery and squinty. Then I fell apart. After what seemed like an eternity, I regained enough composure to decide to go home. I needed desperately to talk to someone. If I didn't say something, I was going to explode. I drove around town in a semi-despondent state. I suddenly realized that I was headed down Five Forks Trickum Road out of Lawrenceville in the general direction of Stone Mountain and Lilburn. I didn't know how I got there. Then I realized that I had stopped. I needed to talk to someone. The building in front of me looked very historic. It was made of stone, with high arched windows. It was a church. Where am I? Then I remembered what had happened with Brad. I started thinking about that again, then started crying all over again. I felt like a complete cry-baby. Why did it bother me that I'd hurt Brad? I'd hurt people before and it never bothered me like this. Sure, I might have felt a tinge of guilt now and then, but nothing like this. Tears, depression, despondency. What was happening to me? I put my head down on my steering wheel. I needed to talk to someone. But who? I was startled by a knock on my window. I looked up.

"May I help you?" The old man seemed nice enough. He appeared to be in his 70's thin white hair, big thick glasses perched on his long nose.

"Who are you?" I asked, not antagonistically, but just confused.

"I'm Father John Moriarty."

"Where am I?" I genuinely had no idea where I was or how I got there.

"This is St. Boniface Roman Catholic Church. I'm one of the priests here."

A priest. Hell no was I talking to a priest. Some religious nut to try to convert me to some sanctimonious holier than thou bull. But the kind elderly face in the window didn't seem likely to do that.

He smiled. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

"But...I'm not Catholic."

"So?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe not...but you could tell me about it anyway."

I was trapped. He was right. Priests were still humans- right? If anyone could understand a struggle with sexuality, it would be a person who has made a vow of lifelong celibacy- right?

"Why don't you come inside?"

There were people inside.

"What are these people doing here so late?"

"Compline."

I didn't ask.

"It's an evening vespers service."

"Oh."

"One of my parisioners saw you. She said a young man was crying outside. Men don't cry without a good reason."

"Until now."

He didn't ask.

"Let's go in here."

"Is is a confessional?"

"Close...my office."

His office was nice enough. Tons of books lining the wooden shelves. He had a big overstuffed chair in front of his small desk. He settled in behind his desk, I stood, then sat tentatively in the available chair. He just let me talk. I spoke slowly, uncertainly at first. I made sure that this was all confidential. Slowly, I gained momentum. I told him about the note, the chem lab, Brad, Matt, the threats, the emotions, the phone calls, everything. I have never talked that long uninterrupted before or since. He just sat there, breathing very evenly, his hands on the arm of his chair. He had a thoughtful look, as if he was actually listening to what I was saying and trying to understand. After detailing the events of the past several weeks, I just sat there. I sensed that he actually understood. I was surprised. Not because he was a priest, but because he was so old. His question caught me off guard.

"Do your parents know where you are?"

"They know I'm out, but they think I'm at a friend's house."

He remained silent for a moment. I began to wonder what his reaction might be. When I was talking, I was so grateful for the sense of relief it brought, that I hadn't cared what his reaction might be. I was just glad to get it out before I croaked. Still he just sat there, looking at me. He didn't appear disgusted with me. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, even though it was getting late. He just sat there in his office with the dark wood paneling.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes." He replied, then fell silent again. I began to get uneasy. What was so difficult for him to say?

"Mr..."

"Gerrish. Andrew Gerrish, but Drew would be good."

"Mr. Gerrish. I've been a priest for a long time. I was assigned to this parish nearly 20 years ago. Before that, I lived in Chicago. Before I became a priest, I worked in a substance abuse rehabilitation center. Back then, such a thing barely existed. We had no funding and far too many people to be able to help them all. I remember one young man came to my office. I had just graduated from Boston College with a major concentration in English Literature. A friend talked me into helping him at this center on the south side of Chicago. Even then it was a rough area. This young man had been beaten. His lip was bloody, eyes swollen. He was probably 15 or 16, a tad younger than you. I figured someone must have attacked him. That was the case most of the time. I soon found out that this boy was gay. His father, a devout religious man, had cast his own son out of the house. Dragged him out by his hair, threw him down the steps and swore to kill him if he ever returned. This man sat in the reception area of our center for nearly an hour. He was so quiet, no one noticed him in the loudness and crowdedness of that little reception area. His family had turned against him. His best friend refused to talk to him after he came out to him. In those days, homosexuality was listed as a mental illness. That changed in the early 70's, I believe. Anyway, I finally brought this boy home with me because he had no where else to go."

He fell silent. I could sense where this was going.

He continued, "If half what you said about Brad is true, Brad loves you. Maybe not forever, no one ever knows if love is forever. We just know that it is, for now. Love is a very powerful force. I believe that it was love that made him make contact with you in the first place. I also think that, in some way rather you like to admit it or not, you love him. Clearly, letting people love you is difficult for you. I can understand that. I didn't become a priest until I was almost 40 because I refused to let anyone take care of me. You do. You have someone whose arms are open to you. I beg you, never turn your back on truly open arms. They may be the last you ever get. They may be the last you'll ever need. Just because Brad is also male is no reason not to let him love you. It's no reason that you can't love him just as much. We, as humans, are made for loving. Maybe you aren't comfortable letting him express that love physically. There are plenty of other ways."

"I can't ever let my father find out."

"I can see that. Your father is a powerful man. I can see it in your eyes. But, you can't live your life wondering whether or not it will be good enough for him. You think your Dad's tough-- try talking to my boss. I've tried time and again to get rid of him, but like a bad penny, he just keeps turning up."

We both chuckled.

"But seriously, you have to make your own decisions. If Brad loves you, don't reject it immediatly. If it wasn't meant to be, talk to him and let him know how you feel. He's made it clear that he loves you deeply. That means you have the power to hurt him permanently."

"What about Matt?"

"Personally, I think that is pure unbridled lust. Brad, on the other hand, might just be the real thing."

"But, I'm not gay."

"Maybe if things don't work out with Brad, maybe some woman will be next. Who knows? Life if funny that way."

We talked a little while longer. I got home at about 1:30. My father was disgruntled, but didn't ask many questions. I went to bed and stared at the ceiling. No one ever seemed to understand what I was going through. Who'd have guessed a 76 year old parish priest would come closer than anyone? Slowly, I drifted off to sleep.

I like getting feedback, comments, and constructive criticism, so please feel free to email me.

Hope you enjoyed the story so far. Hope it hasn't been too frustrating, but sometimes fact really is stranger than fiction.

~Drew.