FINISHED: 3-02: I Drive Alone
I Drive Alone
“Can't move on... but I can't go home
and I'm not so strong... but I'll make my way to the place I know
inside my heart, where I used to go to get brave
and I don't want to be lost anymore”
Driving along Mulholland Drive, Ricky is barely interested in the mediocre blowjob he is receiving from a blurry-faced twink whose name he doesn’t care enough to remember. Getting head while driving used to be one of his favorite things in the world, second only to rimming. He looks down at the bobbing head and sighs. He realizes he hasn’t been truly satisfied in almost a year.
Yes, he’d blown his load all over West Hollywood, but he wanted a deeper satisfaction. Sex felt different now. Something was missing, a puzzle piece that he couldn't make fit. He admitted it to himself last night when the young piece of chicken he’d picked up from Hollywood Spa got into more positions than a Mongolian contortionist, and he still had to squeeze his dick just to penetrate him. Oh, he’d went at it with wild abandon, telling himself all the while that he was handling it just right--get ‘em sprung handling. But when his bedroom walls yawned and the bored chicken took a cell phone call in the middle of the reverse cowboy, he gave up that ghost.
At 1:43 in the morning, he found himself naked in his kitchen, eating a rubbery cheese sandwich, when usually he would be directing his latest trick to the box of Fleet under the bathroom sink. Afterwards, in the shower, he tried to work himself up by thinking of past conquests.
Remember the triplets from Black Knight? Remember how you triple dipped them? He laughed. By the time you were finished, condoms carpeted the back room, among other things. He still couldn’t get hard. He was trying, too. He even took his memory back to the dance camp counselor he had seduced when he was 15. Nothing worked, and his dick remained limp and lifeless. He was too wound up and tense, ready to go to war with the thoughts he feared more than anything. He was tired of wearing the mental fatigues and war paint he donned in order to get through the day. Sure, his feelings about Noah were out in the open, but there was nothing he could do about them. Nothing would ever come of them. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he finally admitted to himself that he was fucked up.
Ricky looks down at the twink still working his limp dick between his lips. He rolls his eyes.
“Can you drop me off on Pico?” asks the nameless twink, popping his head up from Ricky’s lap, letting the wilted organ slide from his unimpressed mouth. “Anywhere. I need to get off. I mean, obviously this isn’t working for you,” he says, directing his eyes to the flaccid mess nestled between Ricky’s thighs.
Ricky slams on the brakes, his red Audi screeching to a jerky halt. “Get the fuck out of my car,” he spits.
Nameless Twink stares at Ricky, his mouth open and his jaw elongated. “But we’re damn near at the top of the mountain,” he says after twenty seconds of silence.
“I don’t give a shit. I want you out of my car.” Ricky reaches across the passenger seat and pushes open the door. He starts pushing the twink out of the seat.
“Wait a fuckin’ minute…” The twink reaches over and pops Ricky in his left eye before hitting the pavement. Ricky slams the door and starts the car just as dramatically as he had stopped it, leaving a shirtless caramel mess laying damn near at the top of the mountain. He rolls his window down and throws the twink’s shirt out of it. He turns up the radio and drives.
“I don't know where I go
But I know I drive alone”
“Noah, Ricky just showed up at my house, drunk, with a black eye. This bitch done lost his mind,” says Alex, balancing his cell pone between his chin and shoulder. Alex dumps Oje’s cloth diapers in the bathroom sink. “Trey is tearing my freezer up looking for shit to put on Ricky’s eye. Child, I ain’t had no sleep in two days; Oje’s sick; I’m ‘bout to kill somebody in a quick minute. Y’all better be thankful I know Jesus, ‘cause wouldn’t nothing be left in this house but me and the evidence!”
“Alex!” Noah shouts into the phone. “Breathe!” Noah flicks the television off and sits up on the couch. He had fallen asleep after a marathon session of writing and editing. He wipes sleep from his eyes and tries to organize his thoughts. He checks the time. 11:34 pm. He hears Wade flush the toilet upstairs, sees the hall light flick off, and then the slamming of the guest bedroom door, a sound as familiar as the silence between him and Wade for the past weeks. He realizes Alex is still screaming in the phone. “Alex, will you calm down and tell me what happened?”
Alex pours a capful of Dreft detergent into the sink and throws another pile of diapers in the sudsy water. “Girl, Ricky is on my couch holding a bag of frozen peas over his eye, last I checked. I told Trey if he touched one steak in that freezer, both he and Ricky would have toe tags tonight!” Alex pulls open the bathroom door, looks out, and sees Ricky vomiting into a wastebasket that Trey is holding under his chin. “Now the bitch is throwing up. Let one drop get on my new couch. Ooh, Jesus. Jeeee-susss! I got too much on my plate. You gon’ have to come get him, Noah. Some trick probably busted his eye. Who knows what freaky shit Ricky be getting into.”
Noah swallows hard. “Um…I can’t, Alex.”
“Why not? I got a sick baby over here, and Noah you know the world stops for me when my son is sick.”
“Why can’t Ricky just crash on the couch until morning? He’ll sober up-”
Alex pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it for a few seconds. “Y’all doing stunts and shows! But this show is about to be canceled, baby.” He walks to the living room, pushes Trey out the way, bends down at side of the couch, and turns Ricky face toward his. “Ricky, boo-boo, I really feel for you right now, but you gotta go.” Alex looks at the phone. “Noah will be here shortly to pick you up.”
Ricky stomach rumbles and he heaves in Alex’s direction. “Trey!” Alex screams, backing up. Trey rushes back to the couch and thrusts the wastebasket under Ricky’s chin. “Jeee-susss!”
Noah is already out the door, sitting in his car. “Here we go,” he says with a deep sigh, and starts up the engine.
What Happens to a Dream Deferred?
Chance removes the pan of lasagna from the oven and grates Parmesan cheese on top. “Eww.” He opens the kitchen window and searches under the counter for a can of Oust. “How can something so smelly taste so good?”
“Honey,” Eddie calls from the top of the stairs, “I just finished talking to the baby-sitter, and she says she’ll keep Kenya the whole night.”
Chance peeks out the kitchen door. “That’s great, honey. Dinner is almost done.” He opens the cupboard and locates a dusty candle holder in the back and polishes it up. He tries to remember the last time he and Eddie had sat down to a candlelight dinner. Since Eddie’s promotion, dinner has been a foil-wrapped plate waiting on the counter for Eddie when he came home. This was certainly a nice change. Earlier in the day, he found himself at Bed Bath and Beyond, buying candles for their candlelight dinner. He’d even bought some for the bedroom and bathroom. He wanted it all tonight. Between Eddie working late nights and his weekends going to the band, Chance had been feeling very much the neglected househusband. He resolved then and there to tell Eddie that this whole band thing was silly and impractical. He needed to stop this Lead Parasol Redux train before it derailed. After all, he would want Eddie to tell him when he was being silly and impractical.
He’d been taking deep, zen breaths all night long, and going over what he was going to say in his head. He’d even practiced with a broom, but he’d burst out laughing halfway through at the silliness of pretending Eddie was a broom and couldn't go on.
He turned up Louie Armstrong’s “You Go to My Head,” and danced as he set the table. He went over everything in his head once more before calling Eddie down to dinner.
“Baby, you look amazing by candlelight,” says Chance, feeding Eddie a grape tomato from his salad. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a candlelight dinner. I was trying to think of the last time.”
Eddie grabs Chance’s hand. “I remember.” He smiles wide. “You ordered Indian food and pretended to cook it.”
Chance chuckles. “Oh, yeah. And you found the containers in the morning. So embarrassing! Wow, that was, like, a year ago.”
Eddie leans over and plants a kiss on Chance’s cheek. “We’ll have a million more, honey. I’m so happy, Chance.” He pulls back and looks into his husband’s eyes. “You mean so much to me.”
Chance loses himself in Eddie’s eyes for a moment. An overwhelming feeling of protection overwhelms him. He can’t hold back anymore. “Eddie,” he says, snapping out of his dreamy state. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Uh…can we talk about something?”
“First, kiss me.” Eddie pulls Chance close to him. They kiss until their lips go numb.
“Eddie,” Chance finally says. “Are you sure you’re not over taxing yourself these days?”
“I’m sure. Why?” Eddies replies. He gently strokes Chance’s hand. “I know we don’t spend nearly enough time together these days, Chance. That’s why I’m going to make it up to you tonight.” He unbuttons the top of Chance’s shirt. “All night long,” he says, burying his face into Chance’s neck, nuzzling him.
“Uh…about…the band, Eddie-”
Eddie pulls back and looks at Chance, excited. “What happens to a dream deferred?” he asks.
“Huh?” Chance asks, confused. Eddie stares at him, his eyes twinkling, smiling wide, looking very much like a child who can’t wait for you to guess the good news he has to tell you. “Oh,” Chance says, and smiles. “Uh…Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?”
Eddie throws his head back and laughs. “That’s our new piece!”
“Wow,” Chance says, “You’re doing Langston now.”
“What do you think?”
Chance looks into Eddie’s smiling eyes. He sees pride and genuine joy staring back at him. He lets go of the breath he’d been holding hostage and smiles. “I can’t wait to hear it, honey.”
Truth Is a Five-Letter Word
“Thanks, Trey,” says Noah. Trey deposits Ricky in the passenger seat and closes the door. Ricky quickly opens it again and vomits on the driveway.
“No that BITCH didn’t! “ Alex yells from his upstairs window, holding a crying Oje on his hip.
“Babe, go lay down,” Trey calls up to Alex. “I’ll clean this up.”
“Yeah, Alex, get some rest. I’ll handle Ricky,” Noah shouts.
Alex mumbles under his breath before closing the window.
“Noah, you better take this.” Trey hands Noah a clean wastebasket. “He’s pretty tore up.”
“Will you or Alex drive his car home tomorrow?”
Trey shakes his head.
“Goodnight,” Noah says, hugging Trey.
The ride to Silver Lake is uncomfortably quiet. Ricky rests his throbbing head against the window, ready to vomit at the slightest bump. Noah grips the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turn pale. They hit a pothole, and Ricky grabs the wastebasket and heaves into it. He looks down and sees his expensive Armani shirt covered in sick. “Pull into that gas station,” he demands. “I need to clean up.”
Noah pulls into the gas station. “I think I’ll fill up while I’m here,” he says, undoing his seatbelt. Ricky stumbles out of the car without closing the door behind him. “Ricky, be careful.”
“Fucking help me, then.”
Noah gets out the car and grabs Ricky around the waist and steadies him. “The bathroom is over here,” Noah says, pointing. As they walk, Ricky rests his head on Noah’s shoulder.
In the bathroom, Ricky rinses his face and mouth, the cold water sobers him up some. He takes off his shirt and wipes his chest down. "Thanks for helping me," he says, turning to face Noah.
“You seem to have this under control. I’ll wait outside,” says Noah, turning to leave.
“STOP IT!” Ricky turns off the water. “Turn around. Look at me.”
Noah slowly turns around. “Ricky I-I…”
“You can’t even be alone with me anymore.”
“You can’t even talk to me without stuttering. You can’t look at me. You’re afraid of me now?”
Noah shrugs his shoulders and looks at the ground. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say anything, Noah. Say something to me. Do something other than avoiding me and pretending I don’t exist.”
Noah slowly looks up. It takes him a few tries before he finally slows down his thoughts to think straight. “I’m scared, Ricky. You’re my best friend, Ricky. I don’t know how to deal with…with what is happening between us.”
Ricky walks over to Noah, looks him in the eyes for a long time, and when Noah tries to turn away, he gently guides his chin back to face him. “I can’t take this.” He puts his hands in Noah’s soft hair. “I want you.” He leans forward and tries to kiss Noah.
“Stop this, Ricky.” Noah pushes Ricky's hands away. “You’re drunk.” He turns to leave for the second time. Ricky grabs his arm.
“I love you, Noah.”
Noah yanks his arm free. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
Fight or Fuck (Body Talk)
“What the hell?” Wade finds a shirtless, black-eyed Ricky asleep on the living room couch. He nudges him a few times. Ricky only snores louder. “Noah?” Wade says, marching back upstairs. “Open up, Noah,” he says, knocking on the master bedroom's door.
Wade inches the door open to find a freshly showered Noah standing naked by the dresser, bent over searching the underwear drawer. Instantly his dick swells. He wasn't going to come in, but finds he is being pulled inside the room by no doing of his own. It has been weeks since he’d seen his husband naked. All the anger he’d been feeling during those weeks was quickly replaced by desire. He grips the doorknob to steady himself. “Hey, uh, why is Ricky sleeping on the couch?”
Noah looks up. “He was drunk and sick last night. I had to pick him up from Alex and Trey’s.”
“You left the house last night without telling me?”
Noah smacks his lips. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission to come and go.” He slides on a pair of tighty whiteys. “I learn something new every day about you Wade.” He sits on the bed and, hikes his left leg up and pumps lotion onto his damp skin.
Wade steps back and turns slightly away from Noah to hide his throbbing hard-on. “Why didn’t you just take him home?” he asks, struggling to keep his breathing normal.
“Does it matter?” Noah asks coolly.
Wade steps forward again. “Yeah, it matters. I don’t like waking up and finding your fucked up friends on my couch.”
Noah looks up, pissed and shocked by Wade’s anger. “That’s just it, Wade -- my friends. I help my friends. I know you couldn’t care less, but I wasn’t taking him home drunk to be by himself. He was vomiting. People have choked to death on their vomit.”
Wade rolls his eyes. “I don’t want Ricky in this house.”
Noah stands and walks over to Wade; he gets in his face. “Is that so?”
Wade leans back, raises his shoulders, and sticks out his chest. “Yeah.”
Noah mimics Wade. “This isn’t just your house.”
“I think I have a say on who I want and don’t want in my home.”
“So do I.”
“What are you going to do about it?” asks Noah.
Are you up in my face like that, Noah?” Wade asks, smirking.
“I sure am.”
“You;r really ready to fight me over this, aren’t you?”
“I asked you what are you going to do about it?”
They stare harder.
Wade breaks the tension by gently placing his left hand on Noah’s smooth chest and sliding it up to his throat. Noah doesn’t flinch. Wade grips him softly around the neck and pulls Noah into his body. He roughly turns Noah around without releasing the grip on his neck and thrusts his hips into Noah’s hips. “I’m going to fuck you,” he says, whispering in Noah’s ear. He tenderly bites his husband’s earlobe.
“But Ricky is downstairs,” says Noah, enjoying this aggressive side of Wade.
Wade grips the elastic band of Noah’s underwear and aggressively pulls them down. “Shut up,” he says, sucking on a morsel of flesh from Noah’s neck. He walks him to the bed, and pushes him down on his stomach. Not bothering to remove his shorts, he straddles him. He leans over and finds the bottle of lube they keep on the nightstand. He frees his engorged dick through the slit of his shorts, and squirts a generous glob directly into the crack of Noah’s gyrating ass.
“I just showered,” Noah says, breathlessly, pushing his ass back to meet Wade’s dick.
“Here’s to another one,” says Wade. And with the pent up desperation of an ass man living on hand-loving for weeks, he slides a condom over his dripping and homesick dick and takes it home.
“The heat of passion is such
a beautiful thing as it overflows
Pleasure grows; all the dreams it can bring
Ooh, your lips and my eyes and gentle sighs
With body talk, body talk
Cool and calm, so soft and pure, a touching moment
Heated feelings once explode, but have melted
We were two souls torn apart with bitter ages
Through expression not aggression, we have become one”
Downstairs, Ricky wakes up to the sound of Noah moaning and Wade grunting. His head feels like two heavyweight boxers are battling for the championship title on either side of his head.
“Fuck me! Yes, Wade, right there!” he hears from upstairs. He gets up and tiptoes up the stairs, asking himself why he was such a masochist all the way. Once at the top landing, He sees the door to the master bedroom ajar. He dares himself to look. With tiny, quiet steps he navigates the hallway until he finds himself just outside the edge of the door. Noah moans grow louder. “Oh yeah, there you go!” Ricky hears Wade shout. Suddenly, he can’t catch his breath. He starts sweating. He leans against the railing to keep from falling. He can’t. He won’t. He doesn’t.
Back downstairs, he rinses his face with cold water before calling a cab. He waits outside for it to arrive, shirtless.
Eight minutes later, the cab pulls up. “Where to?” asks the driver.
Ricky sighs and looks at his cell phone. He hesitates for a second before telling the driver to take him to an address in Westwood--Junito’s address. Halfway through the ride, Ricky tells the driver to turn around.
The driver makes an U-turn. “Where to now?”
“I don't know where I go
But I know I drive alone”