FINISHED: 3-01: That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be

Big Booty Hoes
With his eyes clenched, mouth agape and barely breathing through his nose, Wade is close to a much-needed nut. It’s one in the afternoon, and he should be writing, but instead he’s spread out on the bed, his boxer briefs shoved down his legs, and his right hand doing double duty as his dexterous lover. Since Noah started working on his “Big Fucking Deal” script two and a half months ago, sex has been the last thing on his husband's mind. At first, Wade didn’t mind--he was being the “supportive husband.” But this whole no sex thing was getting tired. Shit, he was able to work on his scripts, work at Alex’s clinic on the weekends, and tutor young writers on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons at a South Central community center. So what? He still got horny; that never stopped, no matter how hectic his life became. Besides, he’d been spoiled by all the honeymoon sex they’d had, which had spilled over into their post-honeymoon life.

They’d been getting it poppin’ up to three times a day—a messy blow job out on the deck when Noah was feeling adventurous; a quick morning fuck in the shower; a long, sensual session of mutual massage, incense, and Maxwell on the CD player usually ended their night. Now…now it was just him, some lotion, and his laptop in the afternoon sun.

He takes a quick peek at the laptop screen, and his stomach tightens and knees tremble. A delicious heat travels up his thighs, past his hips, and spreads up to his chest. A familiar warmth centers itself over his engorged genitals, and he cries out, “Yeah, baby!” Every muscle in his body tenses. His breath comes in spurts. This is the part he loves: the build up is almost as rewarding as the release. This is where he likes to challenge himself. It was something Dre had started, a game where they would mutually masturbate and see how long they could hold off. Dre always won because right when Wade thought he had everything under control, Dre would say something dirty and drive Wade to the point of no return. He could never try the hold-off game with Noah; their sex life was too intense. Noah had a way of looking at him and making him weak; a way of fucking him with his eyes that no other being on this Earth could do to him. With Dre, they would light up a joint and jerk off for hours, talking and kissing and letting the mood lead them to relaxing, satisfying orgasms. But with Noah, it was something primal about his husband that made him lose all control of his body. Sure, they’d had their tender, romantic moments, but they’d done way more of the hair-pulling, grunting, and groaning--all leading to a howling end that would put wolves to shame.

Make it last, he thinks. He uses long, slow strokes to pleasure himself, but the fight is getting harder. Soon he finds himself pumping up and down his rigid shaft so fast, his hands become a blur. “Oh, oh, uh!” he shouts, as a blast of pleasure shoots through him, forcing his upper body to raise up off the bed. “That’s what’s up,” he whispers, falling back to the bed. One more look at the image on the laptop, and he can’t hold out any longer. His head falls back, crashing into a doughy pillow. His free hand grips the sheets as his hips buck up and down. “Fuck!” he screams, finally letting the victorious orgasm seize his convulsing body.

“Wade! Again?”

Standing in the doorway of their new Silver Lake home’s master bedroom is a Burberry-clad Noah. Though at the point of no return, Wade manages to quickly slam his laptop close before shooting his load all over his hand, thighs, and stomach.


Rolling his eyes, Noah pulls his pink Burberry scarf from around his neck and tosses it on the nightstand. He marches into the bathroom, snatches a towel from the hook, and tosses it to Wade. “The coffee shop was too noisy to write, so I came back home. What were you watching on your laptop?”

Wade wipes cum from his body and dabs at the tiny drops that landed by his feet. “Nothing,” he says, sitting up and checking the sheets for any other spots.

“Really? Nothing?”

Wade stands up, stomping past Noah, and throws the towel in the hamper. “And don’t keep asking me, either.” He grabs a rubber band off the dresser and starts gathering his curly hair into a sloppy ponytail.

“I’ll just see for myself,” says Noah, reaching for Wade’s laptop. Wade dashes across the room and snatches up the laptop before Noah can grab it. “What are you hiding, Wade?” Noah asks, plopping himself down on the bed, on his back. He throws his legs up in the air and pulls off his Burberry rain boots and throws them in the middle of the floor, barely missing Wade’s shins. “Big Booty Hoes?” he asks calmly.

“That’s it!” shouts Wade, slamming his greasy fist on the dresser. “I’m not doing this, Noah. I’m not going to play into your little games. Not today. I’m going to the gym.” He quickly stuffs himself into a pair of jeans and a white wife beater, and beats out the bedroom door, his laptop tucked securely underneath his arm. The door slams behind him.

Noah throws a gold lamé pillow at the door. “Real mature, Wade!”

The Arc
“Bitch, you’re late!” says Alex as Noah bounces into Basix Cafe.

“I know, Alex,” says Noah, taking a seat. “Wade and I got into it again.”

“About what this time?” asks Chance.

“I caught Wade masturbating to something on his laptop again.” Noah grabs a menu and starts scanning it. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught him.”

“Uh-Oh!” the ARC says.

“What?” Noah says, peeking over the top of the menu.

“What is really the T, bitch?” asks Alex.

“The T is Noah isn’t handling his business in the bedroom,” says Ricky, his face buried in his cell phone.

“Damn, y’all ain’t even been married a year and already Wade is choking the fuck out his chicken?” says Alex, rolling his neck. “I done told y’all fools y’all gots to step it up. But you ain’t hearing me.”

Noah shrugs. “Alex, you know I’m working on my Big Fucking Deal script. I’m writing almost eight hours a day. Wade is just going to have to be patient with me. I barely have time to have lunch with you guys. I’m sorry but this is just too important.”

“Wade ain’t trying to hear about no damn patience,” says Alex, snatching the menu from Noah’s hands. “Honey, if you ain’t scratching that itch, pretty soon someone else will. And y'all know them pretty ones be itching harder than most.”

Noah snatches the menu back from Alex. “I trust Wade, Alex.”

“Do we have to hear about this right now?” asks Ricky, smiling at the nude photo some trade sent to his phone. “You hens have no idea what you’re missing out on.”

Chance snatches Ricky’s phone and looks at it, turning it upside down, then back up again. “Is that even...possible?” he asks, mouth open. He hands it to Alex.

Alex screams, clutching at invisible pearls. “See, all that ain’t even necessary!” he shouts, throwing the phone back to Ricky. "Whatever happened to ... decency?"

Ricky tucks the phone into his jean's back pocket and smiles. “It’s called flexibility. Don’t hate.”

“Guys, can we order?” asks Noah, motioning for the waiter. “I’m starving.”

Lead Parasol Redux
After lunch, and a quick stop by Trade Analysis, the guys are lounging around Chance’s living room, drinking a bottle of pinot noir. Chance pours himself a third glass, gulps it in one go, and exhales audibly. “Eddie’s in a band.”

Noah looks up from his laptop. “Wow, Chance, that’s great.”

“No,” replies Chance, shaking his head, “they’re terrible. Really, really terrible. They’re calling themselves Lead Parasol Redux.”

“Chance, you said yourself Eddie loves making music when you guys first dated. He even played his guitar for you,” says Noah, tucking his head back into his laptop. “And I think that is so romantic.”

“Let me just say it wasn’t the guitar playing that kept me coming back, okay? Anyway, I wish this was music he was making. No, this is…this is something alien sounding.”

“They can’t be that bad,” says Ricky, returning from the bathroom. He joins Noah on the sofa, reads a line from Noah’s script and sticks his tongue out. “Can’t be as bad as what Noah is writing.”

“Shut up, Ricky,” Noah says, scooting away from him. “You’re no one to impress.”

“They take classic poetry like Tennyson’s ‘All Things Will Die’ and put it to music” Chance pours his fourth glass of wine. “And I'm being generous when I say music. Oh, god, they practice every Saturday in the basement. For Christ’s sake, I grade papers to Lead Parasol Redux's version of ‘I Sing the Body Electric.’”

“I honestly don’t see the problem, Chance,” says Noah.

“The thing is I don’t want him to get hurt. Trust me, they are not good. Pretty soon, they’ll start trying to book gigs. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Eddie really thinks a bunch of 40-plus men are going to be the next rock gods.” Chance grabs the wine bottle again to start on his fifth glass. “And then when it falls flat…it will somehow be my fault—that I wasn’t supportive enough. It’s just a can of worms, Noah, that I would rather not open.”

Ricky snatches the wine bottle from Chance and swigs the inch of wine remaining. “Then tell them they suck already. No need to turn into a drunk over it.”

“I know, right?” says Alex. “If Trey call himself making some shitty ass music, I’d let his ass know in a minute. Communication, people! Damn, do I gotta school y’all on everything?”

“That’s easier said than done, Alex, " says Chance. "Eddie says this is his dream. I can’t just go up to him and say, ‘Eddie, your band sucks.’ I tried that once, and he slapped me.” Chance quickly covers his mouth.

“SLAPPED?” says Noah, Ricky and Alex, in unison.

Chance takes a deep breath. “Calm down," he says.  "It was harmless.”

“Unh-Uh, bitch. When did this happen?” asks Alex.

Chance stands up, takes the empty bottle from Ricky, and heads for the kitchen. “At Martha’s Vineyard. But, look, we worked through that. Seriously. Alex, don’t make a big deal about this.”

Alex follows Chance to the kitchen. “Chile, let me had seen that shit pop off…OOH! Eddie knows better than to pull that shit!”

“It was just an emotional knee-jerk, Alex,” Chance says, pushing the kitchen door open. “They're very powerful. Humans are the most violent and emotional beings on Earth….”

Noah quickly closes his laptop and gets up to join them, but Ricky stops him by grabbing his wrist. “Still can’t be alone with me?” Ricky asks, smiling.

Ten Seconds
“10. 9. 8. 7,” counts Alex and Chance, standing behind the kitchen door. When they reach 1, they both step back. The door swings open, and in walks Noah.

“Hey, I thought I’d join you guys,” says Noah, walking past Alex and Chance. “I just can’t write another word,” he says, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Umm-hmm,” says Alex, cutting a look to Chance. Chance raises an eyebrow and nods.

Ricky pushes open the kitchen door. “I‘m jetting,” he says. His brows furrow and his jaw clenches.

“What?” asks Chance. “I was just about to order dinner.”

“I’m meeting this hot fuck tonight." Ricky smiles.  "A thugged-out chocolate brotha with an ass you can bounce a quarter off.”  He glances over at Noah, who refuses to look at him. He swallows. “Okay, yeah. Later, hens."

“Bitch, don’t forget we’re taking Brandon to see a movie tomorr…” Alex calls after Ricky. Before Alex finishes, Chance’s front door slams. Alex smacks his lips, and waves his hand at the swinging kitchen door. “Ricky ain’t got time for nobody but Ricky.”

“Ooh, I think it’s so cool you two are playing Big Gay Brother to Brandon,” says Noah.

“You mean I’m playing Big Gay Brother to Brandon, ‘cause that hoeish bitch done canceled more shows than NBC. And when he does show up, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Got my ass feeling like a damn chaperon.”

“Really?” asks Chance. “I thought Ricky was done with chicken.”

“Chance, please. A hoe is taking whatever the menu is offering,” says Alex.

“Sure, but it’s not the healthiest of situations; at least not for Brandon. I mean, coming out is a difficult process, there is so much to deal with, and having his heart trudged upon by the…the quintessential gay lothario can’t be good for his fragile psyche.”

Noah and Alex look at each other with a where-the-hell-did-that-come-from look, then back at Chance.

Chance shrugs. “What? I’m just saying.”

Alex chuckles. “Ricky ain’t thinking about no damn fragile psyche. And from the looks of things, neither is Brandon.”

“Guys,” Chance says, pulling open the menu drawer and shuffling through colorful delivery menus. “Can you imagine if we were in Brandon's situation at 19-years-old?”

“I can!” shouts Alex. “And I didn’t give one damn about my psyche.”

“Ugh, why do I even bother?” says Chance, locating the menu he was searching for. “Greek?” Alex and Noah nod.

“Hey, Alex, didn’t you say Brandon is so good with Oje?” asks Noah.

“Yes, he is. He’s over my house almost every weekend, but I don’t mind because I know exactly how it feels to be a gay teen with nobody giving one shit if you live or die.”

“Alex, you’re like a surrogate mother,” says Noah. “I think it’s marvelous.”

Alex leans on the counter, resting his chin on his knuckles. “So many young ones come into the clinic, and they are so destructive when they think no one gives a damn about them. They usually end up testing positive. It’s like they believe that if no one gives a damn about them why give a damn about themselves. I ain’t tryin’ to have that happen on my watch. I always say, you can’t save everybody, but you can save somebody.”

Chance pats Alex's back. “You’re a great man.”

“Ain’t I though? Watch out, Mother Theresa,” says Alex.

“Hey, speaking of watch,” Chance says, “Noah, you never told us what Wade was watching on his laptop.”

Noah taps his fingers on the counter, bites his lower lip, hesitates for a second, then starts. “I think he…”

“Spit it out, gir,” says Alex.

“I think…okay, I think he was watching straight porn.”

After a brief pause, Alex says, “Boy, please,” and gives Noah a light shove.

“Why on earth would you think that?” asks Chance.

“It’s just I can’t shake the feeling that Wade isn’t completely over that part of himself.”

Alex sits down next to Noah. He grabs Noah by the shoulders and turns him to face him. “Noah, booboo, Wade dated another man after y’all broke up. Don’t you think he would’ve gone back to the orange roughy if he was still straight?”

“Alex is right,” says Chance.

“See, that’s the thing, guys. If you were once something, aren’t you always a little bit of that, regardless? Like an alcoholic is always an alcoholic, right? They’re just not indulging the addiction.”

Chance sighs. “It doesn’t work like that, Noah. Wade probably was never straight. People do lie to be accepted by society, especially black men. Down-low ring a bell?”

“I guess.”

“What you need to do is make sure he wasn’t looking at another guy on the Internet,” says Chance. “I read somewhere that something like 70% of gay men meet their hookups online.”

“Ooh, bitch, you better nip it, zip it, and clip it before it gets out of hand. You know me and Trey had that little issue with the Internet. Had my black ass online showing off the Devil’s Food and er’thang.”

Chance and Noah gasps.

Alex stands up. “What?” Turning around and patting his ass he says, “You know a bitch got cakes.”

Noah cell phones rings. He checks the number. “Guys, this is Brandy. I’ll take it in the living room.”

Alex scrunches up his face, turns and faces Chance, and says, “Fuck all that. What I wanna know is why them two bitches can’t be alone in a room for more than ten seconds. If I didn't know better, I’d say something is definitely the T.”

Chance nods. “Definitely.”

That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be
“My father sits at night with no lights on
His cigarette glows in the dark.
The living room is still;
I walk by, no remark.”

Noah sits on the living room floor, in the dark, immersed in his fourth hour of writing. He hears Wade’s keys opening the front door. He shuts down Final Draft and closes his laptop. Wade comes in, pauses in front of him for a second, then walks past him without saying a word. Noah jumps when the bathroom door slams shut. He takes a deep breath, opens his laptop and starts up Final Draft again.

“I tiptoe past the master bedroom where
My mother reads her magazines.
I hear her call sweet dreams,
But I forgot how to dream.”

Relaxing in his home office, reading the New Yorker, Chance cringes at the jarring sound of Eddie tuning his old guitar just outside his office door. Eddie then joins the rest of Lead Parasol Redux in the basement. A few moments later, the band kicks into a sonic butchering of Edgar Allen Poe’s “Dreams.” As the terrible music pumps through the vents, Chance bites his knuckles to keep from screaming. Before he even realizes it, he is screaming.

“My friends from college they're all married now;
They have their houses and their lawns.
They have their silent noons,
Tearful nights, angry dawns.”

Ricky has his thugged-out chocolate brotha bent over the arm of his chocolate brown sofa, thrusting away into his ass. His hard-on is deflating faster than a needle-pricked balloon. Sweat runs off his forehead into his eyes, stinging them. He’s afraid to close his eyes because he doesn’t want to see the beautiful face that looks back at him. He would see those doe eyes, the beautiful lips, the soft hair. He wipes his forehead and thrusts harder and harder until the chocolate brotha pushes him away. “Man, this ain’t working; you're not even hard.” says the brotha, grabbing his clothes off the floor. “Call me when you can really hang.”

Ricky collapses on the sofa, breathing hard. He grabs a baby blue colored pillow and gives it a hard punch.

“You say that we can keep our love alive
Babe - all I know is what I see
The couples cling and claw
And drown in love's debris.
You say we'll soar like two birds through the clouds,
But soon you'll cage me on your shelf -
I'll never learn to be just me first
By myself.”

After his shower, Wade stands at the top of the stairs, listening to Noah still typing. He starts to yell goodnight, but he stops himself. He decides to spend the night in the guest bedroom. He pulls the sheets back and climbs into the cold bed. He situates his laptop, then reaches under the bed and grabs a bottle of lotion. He turns off the lights and slips under the covers.

“Well O.K., it's time we moved in together
And raised a family of our own, you and me -
Well, that's the way I've always heard it should be,
You want to marry me, we'll marry,
We'll marry.”

- (noahsarcfanfiction @ gmail . com)

Lyrics used in this work belong to Carly Simon, and are used without permission. Removal by request will be honored immediately

Editing Has Commenced

Start saving the original episodes because I have started the editing process. Episode 3-01 is being edited as I type. I say, save them for comparison sake. A lot has been added to the opening scene--Big Booty Hoes--which will give more insight to Wade's sexuality. Check the sidebar for completed episodes.

And, yes, I am still working (more like thinking about them) on the Thoughts about Noah's ARC and Writing Noah's ARC Fan Fiction posts. It's taken a back burner to the editing.

Edited version of 3-01: That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be coming very soon.

Please Vote for Your Favorite NAFF Episode

The poll is located to your left. I am going to be posting a new post soon about the writing of the episodes, so stay tuned for that. Also, I want to do a post about the show itself --just some thoughts about it. Some of you have asked me when Season 4 will begin. I don't know yet. I have to edit Season 3, and then release them as a PDF package. So some time after that. Again, thank you for reading. Please vote. Your votes will be help my editing tremendously.

-NAFF

3-08: Do You Know Where You're Going To? FINALE

Welcome to the finale episode of the fictional third season of Noah's Arc. This journey has been amazing. The wonderful feedback, love, and friendships have made the process of creativity all the more rewarding. Word came down to me that the Notorious P.I.P. tweeted about the blog and said that he liked it and enjoyed reading it. Beautiful! I never imagined I could do justice to this series in text, but I think my efforts are not in vain. There was an influx of traffic within a few days, and weeks later you all kept coming back. Thank you. My biggest fear was that you guys wouldn't connect with the direct, dialogue-driven format that I chose to write in. I wanted to go for very action-oriented episodes to give them a visual feel. It didn't seem a problem, so I'm wiping my brow on that. Stay tuned for a post about the writing of these episodes and how I ended up with a different outcome than I had planned (ha, planned?). They took on a life of their own. This episode is 22 pages long, and almost 5000 words. After you finish reading this episode, there is only one conclusion: I will be back. That is, if you'll have me. -NAFF

Time to Talk 

On a lazy Friday afternoon, Ricky lounges on his sofa, watching Mahogany. Every blind is closed, blocking out the sunlight. Cartons of Ben & Jerry’s lay scattered around him. The urgent red light blinking on his vintage answering machine and the soft blue glow from the television are the only lights he allows in the stuffy room. He ignores the loud buzzer, and turns up the volume on the television. “Do You Know Where You’re Going To?” instrumental blasts off the walls of his apartment as he watches a montage of Diana Ross becoming a model. Feathers, hats, eyelashes, cheekbones, and 1970s glamour flash in quick cuts on his plasma screen. 

 BUZZ!

 “Go away!” yells Ricky. He turns the volume up even louder. 

 Alex broke the news to him last night--when he had popped over to bring Ricky a full pan of peach cobbler, a plate of turnip and mustard greens, cornbread, fried porkchops, and sliced onions and tomatoes. “Do I got to force everybody to eat these days?” Alex stood watch over Ricky and threatened to bash him upside his head if he picked over those greens one more time. “If you knew like me, you’d toss that fork and mash that bread on in with them greens and call it a night, gir.” Sometime during the evening, he told Ricky that he had “rescued” Noah from a hotel room, and that Wade and Noah were back together. 

 Ricky didn’t hear much after that. He thought he heard Alex mention an award ceremony Saturday night, but the way his head was pounding and his blood boiling, he could have heard anything. He assured Alex he would be fine, and that he was happy Noah was okay. But as soon as Alex left, he collapsed to the floor by his front door and laid there until morning.

He woke up with a screaming headache and his back hurting in ten different spots. He didn’t bother to shower or shave or comb his hair. Instead, his first action of the day was to get numb on ice cream. He found himself driving to Ralph’s, a place he usually avoids like the plague, and stocking up on pints of Ben & Jerry’s and then back home without even blinking. He had plopped down in front of his television, popped in Mahogany, and spoon-fed himself makeshift therapy. Nothing gets a good numb going like a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. Now with his ice cream high and a beat Diana Ross smiling wide and wearing high fashion clothes, gorgeous wigs, and twirling happily on his television screen, the last thing he wants is to deal with whoever is buzzing the hell out of his doorbell. 

 BUZZ! 

Whoever it was wasn’t giving up, either. 

 BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! 

After five minutes of non-stop buzzing, Ricky finally turns the television off and hefts himself up from the couch. “All right! All right!” he shouts, padding his way to the intercom. He presses the black button and shouts, “What?” 

 “Ricky, it’s Noah.” 

Ricky quickly pulls his finger away. “Fuck,” he says, pressing his head against the wall. He raises his hand to buzz him in, but drops it quickly. BUZZ! “Fuck!” He swallows hard, exhales, and buzzes Noah in.

Noah finds the door to Ricky’s apartment half open. He still knocks. “Ricky?” he says, peeking in first.

 “Come in.” 

Noah closes the door behind him. “I-I-came here to see how you were doing.” He scrunches his face at the strewn cartons of ice cream and the devoured pan of peach cobbler lying on the floor. “Uh…how are you doing?”

Ricky rests his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t look up at him.  “I’m not sure, Noah.” His tone is half pissed and half about-to-break-down. “And to what do I owe the pleasure for this princely visit?” 

Noah scoffs and pulls his crochet scarf from around his neck and drapes it across a chair. “Look, I know you’re mad at me, Ricky, but-”

 “Mad?” Ricky laughs. “Poor little innocent Noah. Who could ever be mad at you? Impossible.” 

 “Ricky,” Noah says, walking over to the sofa, almost tripping over an empty pint of Cherry Garcia. “Don’t be this way,” he says softly. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.” He sits down on the sofa. He reaches out and grabs Ricky’s left hand. 

Ricky snatches his hand away. “Here we go,” he says, turning to face Noah. “You’re just an innocent bystander, right? Fault just falls off you; it’s everyone else’s fault that shit is the way it is. You start things, Noah, and when you can’t handle it, you run in the other direction. Then everyone runs after you and tries to make it right, but you do nothing. This is classic you. You come here with your soft voice and puppy dog face and everything is back to normal, right? Well, it’s not. It doesn’t work like that.”

 “Wait, Ricky.” Noah shakes his head to gather his thoughts. “I can’t help that you wanted more from me. You know I love Wade.” 

 “You deserve each other.”

Noah stands up. “I came here because I care about our friendship, Ricky!” 

 “Sit down.” 

 “No, I think you need to cool off before we both say something unnecessary.” 

Ricky grabs Noah’s wrist and pulls him back down on the sofa. “You’re going to listen to me for once. Problems don’t go away because you’ve asked them nicely to. Take some responsibility for once in your damn life, Noah. I’ve been sitting here thinking about how one-sided our friendship has been.”

 “One-sided? I don-” 

 “Listen to me!” 

Ricky's volume startles Noah, and he jumps back. He takes a breath, closes his eyes and says, “Okay, Ricky, I’m listening.” 

Tears brim in Ricky’s eyes. “I have always been here for you. I’ve always tried to protect you; made sure you were treated right. And yes, I was jealous of Wade for taking your heart.” He wipes his eyes on his robe sleeve. “You know, Noah, almost every night, I went to bed telling myself I will be strong enough to tell you how I felt about you. Instead, I lived on our friendship. It was all a series of distractions. Junito, the drummer, Brandon; all those men were nothing but distractions. After the wedding, I gave myself a month to get over you. A month turned into two months, and then it turned into a year. Then…then you opened a door. And…and then you treated me like one of the many men not worthy of you in your twisted little mind. Now here I am, Noah, with nothing.” 

Noah scoots closer to his friend. “Ricky, you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. “ 

“All the men you’ve hurt, and all the times I’ve witnessed how you operate, and still, I let it happen to me.” 

“Ricky, I’m sorry that I led you to believe we could be more than friends. I’m so sorry. I was stupid and hurting. I was vulnerable. But you said yourself that if anything happened between us it would be the biggest mistake of our lives. I believe that, Ricky.” 

 “I guess I’m supposed to feel better after hearing that, right?” 

 “You talk about me taking responsibility, but you have to take responsibility, too. We both fucked up.” Ricky shakes his head. “We’re all just trying to figure this shit out, Ricky.” 

“You’re right, Noah. I have to take responsibility…for my happiness.” 

“Right.” Ricky stares into his Noah’s face for a long time and then grabs his hands. “This is the hardest thing I have ever done, Noah.” Ricky’s closes his eyes tight. “Noah, I-I.” The tears finally fall. “I want you out of my life.” 

 Noah stops breathing. His face glows red and he starts shaking. Snatching his hand free of Ricky’s grip, he says, “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

“Believe it.” 

Noah jumps up from the sofa and grabs his scarf from the chair. “I can’t believe you’re going to throw away our friendship just because you can’t get past this…this thing you feel for me.” He sloppily wraps his scarf around his neck. “You promised me that you would get past this, Ricky!” 

“That was before you literally tried to fuck me. Did you forget that? Of course you did,” Ricky says, leaning back into the sofa.

Noah yanks open Ricky’s front door. “You promised me, Ricky. You want me out of your life? Fine. I’ll get out of your life.” He slams the door behind him. 

Ricky folds his arms across his chest. “Thank you!” he yells after Noah. 

Itchy Itchy Bang Bang

“I’ll get it, honey,” says Chance, racing to the telephone. “Hello,” he answers, out of breath. He checks the caller ID. “I told you not to call here at this time. I don’t care if you called privately. That’s worse,” he whispers into the receiver. He quickly deletes the call from the device 

“Who is it, honey?” calls Eddie, from the dining room. 

Chance jumps. “Uh…uh, it’s the wrong number.” 

“Again?”

“Listen,” says Chance, gripping the telephone hard, “don’t call again. No, I have not changed my mind, but if you call again, I just might. Yes, I have booked everything. Yes! Look, I have to go before Eddie gets suspicious. Stop saying that! You do not, so stop saying that. Bye!” He slams the receiver down. 

Eddie comes into the living room. “Why are you always getting the wrong number calls?” he asks, sliding his arms around Chance’s waist. 

Chance pecks him on the cheek and wiggles free. “I guess I’m lucky.” He clears his throat and straightens his shirt. “Um, let me clear the table now. I’ve got a lot of packing to do.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t go. What am I supposed to do for two weeks by myself?” 

“Eddie,” Chance says, sliding around his husband, “we have discussed this. It’s just something I need to do. It’s nothing against you.” 

Eddie flops down on the sofa. “I know. Still, I’m going to be without my husband for two weeks.” 

“Eddie, I wish you wouldn’t sulk like this.” 

“Chance, are you sure we’re, you know, okay?” 

Chance, on his way to the dining room, stops in his tracks. “Yes, Eddie,” he says, sighing. “Again, my going to Paris has nothing to do with our relationship.” He doesn’t turn around. Even a blind man could read his face. “So let me clear the table, okay?”

 “Okay.”

That Good Lovin’ 

Alex had set the alarm to ring at 7:00 A.M. on Saturday morning. He wanted, no needed, to be up bright and early to get ready for the award ceremony. The night before, after dropping Oje off at the sitter's for the weekend, Trey tried to come up with a million reasons to get away from Alex until the ceremony. Unless he attempted suicide, nothing was good enough for him not to be at home, “helping.” Helping usually meant being yelled at for not setting up the ironing board so that the pointed side faces an open space or not choosing the right tie or taking a too long or too short shower. Nervous Alex is a nightmare to be around. But this was a big moment for Alex and, as his husband, he had to be there for him. He would just have to take it. He hated taking it, but it was nothing new. Still, he dreaded that damn 7:00 A.M. alarm clock. 

 Surely enough at 7:00 A.M. the alarm clock goes off, and Alex without missing a beat jumps straight out of bed. “Oh, my lord! It’s morning. TREY! Help me get ready. Jesus, I got too much to do. Trey, help me, dammit!”

“Baby,” Trey says, slowly throwing the covers aside, “I’m getting up now. Calm down.”

Alex paces the room. “You go pick up the tuxes. Oh, god I hope the measurements are still right. I shouldn’t have ate that damn cake last night. Trey, why did you let me eat that damn cake! It’s your fault if I can’t fit into my tux.” 

Trey wipes sleep from his eyes. “C’mon now, baby.” 

“You ate some, too. You better hope your tux fit.” Alex cranes his neck around and stares at his behind. “Look at my ass! There’s no way I’m going to fit in that tux. Look at it, Trey, it’s growing.” An uncontrollable fit of laughter takes over Trey. “What are you laughing at, fool? This ain’t funny.” Alex squeezes a chunk of flesh on his behind. “Lord!” He starts pacing again. 

“I’m laughing at you.” Trey gets up and stops Alex from pacing. “Your ass is not growing. You will, we will fit into our tuxedos. Now calm down. Come on, baby, sit down.” Trey sits Alex down on the bed. 

“But Trey, I-” Trey shushes Alex by placing a finger on his lips. He leans down in front of him, gently pulls his thighs apart and slides in between them. He lightly kisses Alex’s neck, and then gently sucks on his earlobe. “Wait a minute, now,” says Alex, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, “you know that’s my spot. Don’t be starting nothing up in here, boy.” 

Trey pushes Alex back on the bed. “Oh,” Trey says, pulling down his boxer briefs, “it’s already started.” 

*** 

Alex rolls off Trey, breathing hard. When he catches his breath, he looks at his husband and says, “What’s today?” 

The Award Goes to Mr. Kirby-Iverson 

The long black limo waits outside Trey and Alex’s house. Alex checks his watch. “Trey, it’s 6:15, come on out that bathroom!”. He peeks out the curtain and sees the limo. “Breathe, Alex, Breathe,” he says quietly to himself. “The limo is here. You know we’ve got to swing by and pick up Noah and ‘nem,” he yells upstairs. 

 “Babe,” says Trey coming down the stairs, smoothing the arm of his tuxedo jacket, “you got your speech?” 

Alex turns around and his mouth drops. “Damn, Trey,” he says. 

 “What, baby? Don’t tell me I’ve got shaving cream on my face.” Trey starts back upstairs.  

“No, you look good. Too good.” 

 Trey smiles and does a little spin. “You know I clean up, baby.” 

 “Mmm-hmm, I just hope I don’t have to cut a bitch tonight. Don’t leave my side tonight, you hear me?” 

“Stop that,” Trey says, walking over and smoothing the lapels of Alex’s tuxedo jacket. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m all yours. Where’s your speech?” 

Alex pats his pocket. “I have it. I’m so nervous.” 

Trey turns him around and smoothes the back of Alex’s jacket. “Do I need to take care of that again,” he says, jokingly.

 “Boy!” Alex laughs. 

 “You know you’re a pain during big events.” 

 “I know, Trey.” 

 “But you’re the only pain in the ass I love, okay?” Alex shakes his head. “Besides, I got something for that now.” They kiss. “Okay, now let’s get out of here.” Trey holds his husband hand and they walk out the door together. 

 ***

“I can’t believe Ricky would do this,” says Alex, folding his arms across his chest. 

“You’ll mess up your tux, Alex,” says Noah, unfolding Alex's arms. “Don’t worry about Ricky. Remember, this is your night, Alex.” 

“I wanted all my friends here, Noah. I just can’t believe he would do this to me. I told him the limo would be around at 7:15. This is typical Ricky.” 

Chance and Eddie return from the bathroom. “Are we being seated yet?” asks Chance. He scans the hallway. “I thought Junito would be here.” 

 “He called.  He’s at LAX. He’s on his way with his husband,” says Trey. 

 “Don’t we all look so spiffy?” says Noah. 

Alex rolls his eyes at him. 

“What? I told you I wasn’t conforming.” 

 “A leather tuxedo, Noah?” Chance says. “Really?” 

 “Faux leather!” says Noah. 

“I tried to get him to wear something else,” Wade chimes in, “but it was between this or the gold track suit with pearls.” 

Noah smiles. “I told him if he didn’t straighten his hair, then I would wear it.” 

Wade swings his freshly straightened hair. “Compromise,” he says, “the foundation strong relationships are built on.” Noah kisses him on the cheek. 

“Oh, they’re seating us now,” says Eddie, pointing to the usher waving his hand at them. 

Chance looks around the hallway again. “Uh..is Brandon coming, too?” he asks Alex quietly. 

 “To the after party,” Alex replies. “Why?” 

Chance smiles against his wishes. “Oh, nothing, just wondering.”

 ***

 Alex feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around and standing there is Junito and his husband Travis. “You made it!” Alex says, hugging them both. 

Juanito smiles widely.  “Hey, man, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. There’s no man more deserving of this award than you, Alex.”

 “I couldn’t have done half of it without you, Junito.” They hug again. “Now, y’all sit down.” Alex points to three empty chairs. Junito makes his way around the table, introducing his husband to everyone.

“Who’s the third chair for?” he asks. “

Don’t ask,” Alex says, sitting back down. 

 *** 

“And now,” a tall, thin handsome brother announces on the microphone, “is the award for Urban Activist of the Year. This man we are honoring tonight had one dream, and that dream was that gay men of color would have access to the same resources as their white counterparts when it came to HIV testing, education, and counseling. With its free testing program, the Black AIDS Institute has tested over 10,000 people over a four-year period. Through the Black AIDS Institute, many lives have been saved and tragedy spared by alerting men to their status. He organized the highly successful Know Your Status campaign at Black Pride. Last year, The Black AIDS Institute received one of the largest grants for AIDS education and prevention in California history. It’s no secret, folks, we need more people like this man in our corner—fighting for what is only fair. AIDS has ravaged our communities, and this man we are so proud to honor tonight is doing everything in his power to stop the bleeding. We thank you for everything you have done and continue to do. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to award the Urban Activist of the Year award to Mr. Alex Kirby-Iverson of the Black AIDS Institute!” 

Alex reaches in his pant’s pocket and grabs the tissue he put there for this occasion. He wipes his eyes as the theater explodes in applause. He kisses Trey before walking up the stairs and accepting his award from the tall thin brother. “Thank you. Thank you all so much,” he says in the mic. “Thank you.” The applause dies down. He reaches in his pocket for his speech but finds it empty. “My speech,” he says. Trey does a quick dash to the foot of the stage and hands the speech that had fallen to the floor when Alex had retrieved his tissue. He smiles at the audience and runs back to his seat. “That’s my husband, y’all,” Alex says, laughing. “Hands off, please! I don’t want to have to go to jail on the night of receiving my award, okay?” The audience laughs. He clears his throat and flattens the paper against the podium. “First,” he begins, “I want to thank the Urban AIDS Awareness Foundation for recognizing the Black AIDS Institute and all the work we do to fight the progression of this disease, and our efforts to educate and stress that gay men, especially gay men of color, must know their status. Thank you guys so much for this honor. But I did not do this alone. My family and friends helped me tremendously. Without their help, none of this would have been possible. “ Alex looks out into the audience at Trey. “Trey, we have been together eleven years.” The audience once again explodes in applause, scattered with a few whistles. “Let me tell y’all: there is no other man on God’s green Earth made more for me than my husband. He has been my rock, my faith, my motivation. He has given me the world and the stars to go with it. He is a wonderful husband and an even better father to our son, Oje. I thank you, Trey for everything you have done for our clinic and for me. I love you.” 

More applause. 

Trey never cries. But tonight he can’t help it. Noah, also tearing up, hands him a Kleenex. Wade pats Trey on the back. 

Alex continues through tears.  “Dr. Junito Vargas is the Black AIDS Institute. He volunteered his time, supplies, and his fabulous record keeping. He kept me focused, and he kept my spirits up when we went through the Dreaded Days, where everyone that came in tested positive. This award is just as much yours as it’s mine, Dr.Vargas. Thank you.” Junito blows Alex a kiss. 

 “And I want to thank my friends. Without their support, encouragement, and volunteering, the Black AIDS Institute would never have been. Please stand up, y’all.” Noah, Chance, Eddie and Wade stand. The audience applauds them. “Um,” Alex says, “those guys have been with me through hell and back. To know them is to love them. They are Noah Nicholson-Robinson, Chance Counter-McIntyre, Wade Nicholson-Robinson and Eddie Counter-McIntyre. There is one other person, but…” Alex looks up from his speech for a moment. His eyes scan the audience with hope, but falls back to the paper disappointed. He sighs. “But he couldn’t be-” Just then someone in the back of the theater loudly clears his throat. The audience turns in the direction of the sound. Standing at the back of the theater is Ricky. Alex’s face lights up. Alex wipes away more tears. “Ricky Davis,” he says. “I would also like to thank my friend Ricky Davis.” Ricky mouths congratulations to Alex. Alex smiles and nods. “Whew,” he says, “got me crying up here.” He composes himself and continues. “I’m going to end my speech by saying fight on! Let us not be beaten or devastated by this disease. Let us continue to kick its ass by staying informed, knowing our status, and doing our part to make sure this disease takes as few lives as possible. Fight on! Stay aware. Stay alive. Thank you.” Thunderous applause fills the theater. Alex motions for his friends to join him on the stage. They file onto the stage, hugging and laughing. Alex looks toward the back of the theater for Ricky, but Ricky is gone.

 *** 

The after party is at the Black Knight, a club in WeHo run by a friend of Trey’s. The guys meet up with Brandon and his new boyfriend—a gangly white boy with surfer blond hair and more acne than a Proactiv commercial. “Congrats, Alex,” says Brandon. “I’m so proud of you.” Brandon pulls Bryan’s arm and thrusts him out front. “This is my boyfriend, Bryan,” he says, smiling big and wide. A flurry of nice-to-meet-yous and hand shaking ensues. 

 “Wow, Brandon,” says Noah, “I’m glad you’ve met someone.” 

 “Yeah, someone in your age bracket,” Eddie says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Eddie!” Chance shouts, nudging Eddie’s arm.

 “What?” Eddie replies, smirking.

“Don’t worry about it, Chance,” says Brandon, squeezing Bryan’s hand. “We’re very happy, right honey?”  

Bryan shrugs. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone flat. 

“Let’s get our dance on,” says Alex. “The more I stand around here lollygagging, the more I think of Ricky. The fool just ups and disappears.” 

 Wade sighs and rolls his eyes and blows a puff of air out the side of his mouth. 

“Stop,” says Noah, lightly tapping Wade’s arm.  “And Alex, if Ricky wants to be selfish, then that’s on him. This is your night.”

Trey hands Alex a shot of Patron. “Baby, Noah is right. And this is your song playing.” 

“Yeah, go in, bitch; let have!” Noah shouts.

 *** 

Chance looks out the corner of his eye and sees Brandon standing by the bathroom hallway trying to catch his attention. He swallows the rest of his wine. “Eddie, I’m going to the bathroom.” 

Eddie puts his drink down. “I’ll go with you, honey.” 

 “Uh, no, no. You stay here and enjoy…” Chance looks at the dance floor and sees Alex has started a Soul Train line and he, Noah, and Brandy are booty bumping while Alex waves his award in the air. “Soul Train. I won’t be long.”

“Okay, honey.” 

Chance walks right past Brandon without looking at him. A minute later Brandon follows. “I thought we’d never get a chance alone,” Brandon says pushing open the bathroom door. 

“Shh!” says Chance, pulling him into a stall. “Now kiss me.” Chance throws Brandon against the wall and they suck face like two wild teenagers. They pull themselves apart after a few minutes. “Who’s this Bryan?” asks Chance. 

 “Just some meth head I paid $20 to play my boyfriend.” 

 “Clever, but eww.” They kiss passionately again. “Are you packed?” Chance asks.

 “Yes!” 

 “Remember, do not even leave the house until you get my phone call.” 

 “Oh, this is so…so…” 

 “Clandestine.” 

 “Yeah, that’s the word.”

The bathroom door swings open, and Brandon, without thinking, hops on the toilet and fold his legs close to his body. Chance peeks through the crack in the stall door. “It’s just some guy using the urinal,” he whispers to Brandon. “Wait, stay there. He’s washing his hands. He’s gone now.” 

 “I like the view from back here,” says Brandon, reaching out and pinching Chance’s ass. 

Chance smacks his hand away. “What’s your story?” 

Brandon looks puzzled for a moment. “Story? Oh! A family death out of state.” 

 “Family death?” 

 “Yeah. Not good? Too clichéd?” 

 “You’re going to be gone for two weeks to a funeral? Oh, God, we haven’t thought this through,” Chance says, holding his forehead in his hands. 

Brandon kisses Chance again. “Stop worrying. I can’t wait to spend two glorious weeks with the man I love.” 

Chance pushes Brandon away. “Stop saying that word.” 

“Soon enough you’ll believe me, Professor Counter.” Kiss. “Soon enough.” 

 *** 

After the limo had dropped off everyone, Alex got it in his head that he and Trey should have sex in the back of the limo. It took Trey twenty minutes to convince Alex that having sex in the back of the limo was not a good idea. “When did you become a prude?” Alex asks. 

 “Prude? Oh, I’m going to show you my prudish ways when we in this house,” Trey replies. He snakes his arms around Alex’s waist and walks him up the front stairs. In a bodice ripping moment, Trey throws Alex against the door and kisses him. An envelope taped to the door falls to the ground. “What’s that?”

Alex bends down and picks up the envelope. “It’s a letter, he says, opening it. He quickly scans over it under the porch light. “It’s from Ricky.” 

  

Do You Know Where You’re Going To? 

Do You Know Where You’re Going To? 

“Do you know where you're going to? 

Do you like the things that life is showing you 

Where are you going to? 

Do you know...? 

Do you get 

What you're hoping for 

When you look behind you 

There's no open doors 

What are you hoping for? 

Do you know...? 

  Dear Alex, Chance, and Noah, Yes, I am a coward because I couldn’t tell you guys to your faces that I am leaving. Don’t ask where because even I don’t know. I just know that I have to go. I can’t really explain it. It’s no one’s fault but my own. I have put my store and condo up for sale. I guess you can say I’m starting over again. I have a lot of growing to do. Alex, I’m so proud of you and though I don’t say it often enough, I love you. Chance, enjoy your time in Paris. I love you, too. Noah, I’m sorry. Don’t look for me, because I don’t even know where I will be. 

Love, Ricky 

He did not pack much. He is driving until his heart says stop. Maybe he would return. Maybe he couldn’t return. Nothing is clear to him except the need to go away. In his red Audi, Ricky Davis heads east, leaving L.A. behind him, and with it, the old Ricky. 

“Once we were standing still in time 

Chasing the fantasies 

That filled our minds 

You knew how I loved you 

But my spirit was free 

Laughin' at the questions 

That you once asked of me 

 Do you know where you're going to? 

Do you like the things that life is showing you 

Where are you going to? 

Do you know...? 

Now looking back at all we've planned 

We let so many dreams 

Just slip through our hands 

Why must we wait so long 

Before we'll see 

How sad the answers 

To those questions can be 

Do you know where you're going to? 

Do you like the things that life is showing you 

Where are you going to? 

Do you know...? 

Do you get 

What you're hoping for 

When you look behind you

There's no open doors 

What are you hoping for? 

Do you know...?”