Okay, see, I’m sorta seeing two guys. Well look, I’m 15. Do you have any recollection at all of how horny you were at 15? Maybe you weren’t, maybe that’s why keeping two guys busy might seem extreme for you; but if you remember, then you get it. For me, horny is who I am so I’m seeing two guys.
The problem is that I haven’t let on to either of them that they’re one of a pair. They both think they’re the cheese. The one. Numero uno. I’m pretty sure if they knew they weren’t the sole light of my life, they’d dump me before I could even think about coming up with an excuse.
But this is working out great for me. They certainly don’t have the sex drive I do; who does? So twice a week, which is all they need, I get together with each of them, and they’re both perfectly happy. Double that for me, of course. So four times a week I’m happy, but I’m a growing boy. I’m even thinking of finding a third guy. The only holdup is the logistics; they’d be harder than they are now, so I’ll stick with this for the moment.
There are already problems to face for sure. The three of us all go to the same high school. I have to be careful in the halls. If I’m spending much time talking to Darren, and he’s standing way too close or even touching my hand when Tommy walks by, well, there are problems. I have to watch that I’m not making either of them suspicious.
In fact, that happened this morning. I was at my locker putting some books in and Darren walks up behind me, puts his hands over my eyes from behind and coos in my ear, “Guess who, lover.”
I say his name. Good thing his voice is much different from Tommy’s. That could have been a major mess! But I get the name right and turn around and get a quick peck on the lips. Our school has one of those stupid no displays of affection rules, so he makes it quick, which is a good thing as I spot Tommy turning the corner into the hallway we’re in. Darren is up real close to me; well, duh, he’s just kissed me. You don’t do that from six feet away. But Tommy is coming, and Darren is here, and I have to come up with something. I can’t push Darren away. He’ll ask why, and then Tommy will be there listening in, and then what? So, I do the next best thing.
“Darren,” I say, “I think there’s something in my eye. See anything?” I pull my eyelid out, he looks and says, “Looks okay to me, Carter.”
I thank him and turn to get something out of the locker. I lean down and let my ass push him back a bit. Then I spill some papers out onto the floor, and Darren scrambles to gather them up. By then Tommy is there, and he grabs some, too. They both hand them to me, and I say, “Thanks, guys, but damn, we’d better fly. Bell’ll ring in about 20 seconds.” Then I take off trotting down the hall. As I turn the corner, I glance back and see they are both hurrying away down the hall, and I blow out my breath in relief to see they aren’t hurrying together.
See how dicey this can be?
My problem now is, what do I do for Valentine’s Day? It’s just ahead of us, and they both want to have a romantic dinner with me. Now I’ll tell you, the thought of doing that and then entertaining them both on the same night, well, that’s a pretty hot thought. Not together, of course. While that might be hot, it wouldn’t work because they’d find out about each other, and we can’t have that now, can we? But what about one and then the other? Sick, man. And something to think about. Seriously. What a great Valentine’s Day!
So I think about it, and I come up with the perfect scheme. This is going to be good.
I’m ready. Everything’s in place. Even talked the ‘rents into a romantic getaway for the day. They’re staying at a hotel. I’ve got the house to myself. All day and all night, too. Works a plan for me.
I’m meeting Darren for a Valentine’s lunch. I told him there weren’t any dinner reservations open, it being the busiest day of the year after Mother’s Day for getting in anywhere. Told him we’d have lunch and then go back to my place, where we’d have the entire afternoon to get naked, down and dirty. He liked the idea, I could see that.
I skip out of school mid-morning, go home and beautify myself.
Shower, shave, splash on some cologne, spend twenty minutes getting my hair just right, pick out a suit to wear, dark with a bright red tie—Valentine’s Day, right?—crisp white shirt, polished shoes, man I look like something someone could eat up. Which is what I have planned for Darren, if you catch my drift.
I’m meeting him at Oswald’s, a fancy downtown restaurant. The waiters there all wear tuxes, that’s how upscale the place is. Even the busboys wear better clothes than I have in my closets, crisply pressed black slacks, white shirts with black bowties and black vests. Top notch place, best in town. It’s costing me a bob or two, but you can’t try to scrimp if you’re a mover and shaker. Besides, the old man can afford it. I’m putting it on his credit card.
I take a cab to the restaurant, getting there a little late. Shows I’m too busy to be on time, too important, too many irons in the fire. I expect to see Darren waiting in the anteroom. Can’t understand why he’s not there. I go up to the maître d' and give my name. He asks if the entire party is ready to be seated, and I say no, and he says I’ll have to wait. Wait? Me? You’re shittin’ me!
I tell him I have a reservation, and he looks down his nose at me and says there are chairs I can sit in while I wait. I can see the damn chairs. What, he thinks I’m blind?
I take a chair and wonder where the hell Darren is. I’m late, and he’s always on time, so where is he? I pull out my phone and call him. He doesn’t answer.
Sitting isn’t my style, you know? So I get up and walk around. I walk by the entrance to the dining room and look in as I pace. The room is about three-quarters full. I wasn’t the only one who planned a lunch instead of a dinner. Lots of young couples, all dressed appropriately for eating here. The waiters are walking gracefully with loaded trays, the busboys are scurrying around, being as invisible as good busboys always are. As I keep passing the doors, one of the fuckers looks up at me and winks. I ought to report him.
Then I get a shock. I see Darren, and he’s inside, at a table, eating. He’s eating with a guy I know from school. They both have suits on, dressed like business men. They aren’t sitting across from each other but on seats next to each other, ninety degrees apart. And then, no, it can’t be, but it is. Darren feeds the guy a bite of his lunch, and the guy takes it in slowly, sexily, lipping it into his mouth, and I’m disgusted. What’s going on here?
I enter the room. I’m going to have it out with both these fuckers. And suddenly the maître d' is standing in my way, and he motions to the busboy who winked at me, and they both usher me out, not into the anteroom but through the door to the street. “No commotions in the restaurant. Try that again, we’ll detain you and call the police,” the guy says. The busboy says, “He really will. You’d better just go.”
I’m in shock, but just stand there as they turn to walk away. But not till the busboy has winked at me again. Fucker!
What the fuck just happened? I walk home. It’s a forty-five minute walk, but it gives me time to cool down. Screw Darren if he’s going to play that game. Screw and tattoo him blue. He’s done. Over and out.
I undress and lie down, getting some rest before tonight. Tommy can’t see how upset I’ve been. I decide to use the tried-and-true method teenagers use to get really calm. Something like I was expecting to do with Darren, just lonelier, but just as relaxing. Won’t make any difference for the date with Tommy. It was going to happen with Darren, anyway. Twice a day few hours apart is nothing for a stud like me.
When it’s time, I get ready again. I wear the same suit. I have another shirt that’s fresh. Another shower, though. I need it after what came before: at the restaurant, the walk home and what happened next. I have another reservation, still at Oswald’s, but with Tommy there, waiting for me, I’ll have no problem getting in even if it’s the same maître d'. He just didn’t like me walking into the room on my own or, I’m sure, the expression on my face when I did.
I take another cab, and this time am only five minutes late. Maybe 20 minutes was a bit too long. I get there and expect to see Tommy, but no, just like before, my date’s late. There are others in the anteroom this time, and it sounds like the restaurant is full, but no Tommy.
There’s a different maître d' this time and I hope this one is less haughty. I give my name, and he says my table is waiting, a table for two, and he looks around for number two. I tell him he isn’t here yet, and the guy says they only seat full parties, and I can have a chair till he arrives, but they only hold tables for a half-hour past the reservation time, and then the SOB looks at his watch.
I start to seethe, then have a thought, and when the maître d' is seating another couple, I go stand in the entrance and look inside. It takes a bit, but I spot Tommy! He’s with another boy I know from school. They look just as lovey-dovey as Darren and his date did. I’m pissed and wonder if I can get to their table and raise holy hell without being stopped.
I’m mad enough to try. I take three steps into the room and suddenly there’s a hand on my arm. Holding on tight.
“Whoa, tiger.” I recognize the voice. I turn and see I’m right. It’s the busboy from earlier.
“You’ve been had. Both kids let us know what was happening so there’d be no chance of any ruckus in the dining room. You have a right to be pissed. I don’t know why they wanted to treat you like that. But, in case you’re interested, I get off at 10.”
I really saw him then. He was about my age and cuter than shit on a pig. Gorgeous in fact. Better looking that Darren and Tommy put together. Wasn’t a hard choice for me. At 10, I was parked on the side of the restaurant, waiting for him to emerge.
I waited, and waited, and slowly it came to me what was happening. He was standing me up, too, just like my former partners in crime. What the hell was this, dump all over Carter day? I didn’t get it. I got mad instead.
I got mad but still waited, thinking he might have gotten delayed, held over for some reason. I waited a full hour, then got out of the car, slammed the door hard, and started more of the pacing I’d done inside earlier. I was mad for real now. I was thinking I should go inside, find the guy, and punch his lights out. As I paced, though, I began wondering why all this was going down. Had to be a reason. I needed to think. I stopped walking, leaned against my car and tried to figure it out.
I was brought out of my thoughts when I realized someone was standing next to me. I hadn’t even heard him come up. It was the bus boy who I’d expected to be in bed with me right then and wasn’t. He was standing still, looking at me. Then he spoke.
“Hey. I want to talk to you.”
“Why? You fucked me over just like the other two assholes.” I cured my hands into fists. I was mad enough to take him out. Maybe I would.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never done anything like that before and I feel bad about it, even if you did deserve it.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. He sounds a little angry himself. He’s my size, maybe built a little more solid than I am. I reconsider hitting him. He continues with what he was saying. “Thing is, I only know what those guys said, which is why I felt I should talk to you, find out if what they said was true. If it was, I wanted to give you a chance to explain why you were two-timing those fellas. They seemed like good guys to me, young and a bit innocent. Not the kind of kids someone should be taking advantage of. Were you doing that?”
I look him in the eye and am surprised to find it difficult to do that. Hey, I’m never embarrassed. Why should I be, even now? All I did was what felt good and made me happy. What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Somehow, though, this stranger, asking for an explanation, is making me question myself a little. So I explain. “Yeah, I was, but they both liked what I was doing with them. They enjoyed it as much as I did. So they were happy, I was happy. What’s wrong with that?”
I see his forehead wrinkle and eyes darken. I get the idea just from that that he doesn’t like my answer. “What’s wrong is that you weren’t treating them as people with feelings. They were hurt to find out you were only using them for sex; both of them had thought you liked them. Most anyone would be pissed off about that. You don’t even feel bad about it, though, do you?”
“Nothing to feel bad about. Guys like sex, like to get off. That’s all I did.” Even as I say it, though, I realize that maybe he has a point. I never really did have any feelings for Darren or Tommy. I just liked the sex with them. And I might have led them on just a little, thinking we were close and all.
He keeps staring at me, and it’s unsettling. I drop my eyes. He says, “Well, I guess I don’t feel bad about helping them teach you a lesson, then.”
I snort out, “Yeah. Happy Valentine’s Day to me, then. It sucked a big one.”
“That’s because you don’t understand what the day is all about. It’s a day to show the person you love how much you love them. A day for sharing love. For wallowing a little, I guess, in all the emotions of love, for intimate sharing, for being a couple. It’s a day for both people in the relationship to feel the same things at the same time, being together, strengthening the bond they have. I guess the day might suck for you because you don’t feel any of that. I’m not one to give strangers advice, but you really need some. What you need to do is start thinking of the other guy, not yourself. About making him happy, not you. You’ll find, when you’ve got the right guy, that by making him happy you’ll be happier than you’ve ever been. Now I’ve got to kick it. I have someone at home waiting for me. If you ever wake up, you’ll see you have things to think about, some changes to make.”
With that, he takes off. I just sit there, moping. I see couples leaving the restaurant. They’re all walking very close to each other, holding hands, often stopping to kiss. They all look so happy, so into each other. And here I sit, all alone.
Maybe I do have some thinking to do.
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Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone, and may yours be happier than that of my protagonist.