The Beginnings - Part 117: IN POOR TASTE

“With enough conviction the truth is whatever you say it is.”

-as heard while watching the 2011-2012 series

THE KILLING, Season I

The Beginnings – Part 117:   IN POOR TASTE

Jim spent the night with me.   I think he’s very nice.  I am attracted to him.  There’s only one thing I don’t particularly like.   He’s into that ‘popper’ aroma stuff.   I find that gory.   Yuck!  

We actually spent a nice night together.   I went down on him.   He did the same for me (though I didn’t cum).   I was too uncomfortable.   It’s too early in our so-called introduction phase.

George was, of course, on my mind; however, not as much as before.   Now that I have met Jim and Vicki I have new minds to meander.  

I telephoned Jim during my first break today.   He had left my pad at around ten o’clock this morning.

He was happy when I accepted his invitation.

“Yes, I will come to your Halloween party this Saturday at THE HUB.”

THE HUB is a local gay bar in Walnut Creek.  I just hope I don't feel to uncomfortable.  Sometimes these local gay bars give me the creeps.

Sue, my supervisor, had good news for me.

“Michael, don’t worry about the incident.   It’s still being checked on but I’m sure it will be fine.”

And so, I am not worrying.  I’m sure she felt I was telling the truth.  I will just continue to feel open-minded and not guilty.  After all, I am supposed to be presumed innocent unless the evidence is overwhelming.

After my work day I went to mom’s house for that green, scary looking mask and some white sheets to set-up my mysterious costume.   I don’t want to be recognized to I am scratching the football player costume idea.  

My costume disguise did surprise some people.   They didn’t know who I could be.   I’m glad I went because I needed to understand what was going on with my fading relationship with George.    George was there but he seemed to avoid me.  

Finally, George confronted me and asked, “How are you?   What are you up to?”

It was as if everything was clean and normal between the two of us.  

I replied nonchalantly, “Oh…a lot of things are going on right now.   Did you ever get that job in San Francisco?”
“Yes, I may be starting as early as next week.   That’s why I’ve been in Millbrae and San Francisco the last few days.”

Was that supposed to be his defense about being in the Millbrae home of the mysterious James West?   This was about the jest of our conversation.   He left the party without another word to me.   This was fine in my book.   I pretty much summed up the whole picture.

I also spoke to George’s friend, Kevin, a bit later.

I asked pointedly, “Is George seeing someone else?”

“Yes…but it was done in poor taste with the way he presented it to you.   It’s only because he still does care a lot about you.  I think he still likes you.”

I nodded without a remark.   I guess George could have told me but Kevin woke me up to the fact that it was too hard for him to do so.    As far as I’m concerned it is ‘later days’ for Mr. George.   I guess we can remain friends (period).   I’m not so sure if I want that either.  

Jim confided in me at the party.

“You know, Mike…Kevin told me that George is the type that would see three people at the same time.”

I said, “I guess he likes variety…like me—but that’s getting a bit out-of-hand!”

During the party I found myself talking to a blond chap named Don.

Don said, “I’m leaving this place to go to HMS next.”

I knew HMS was a gay club in San Jose.   I also knew he told me in hopes that I would meet him there.   I know he probably wanted me to unzip his pants.  And so, I took him up on his hint.   I arrived at HMS at about 12:45AM.  

Don waved at me.  That was the end of Don.

I suddenly noticed Steve.   Steve is the roommate of Scott, George’s ex-manager at WHEREHOUSE RECORDS.   I eventually found myself dancing with Steve.   We talked and I explained about my situation with George.

Steve made a sound suggestion.

“I don’t think you should prolong, pursue or bug George anymore.  You can easily find someone else.”

“I guess so.”

Talking to Steve was comforting.   I began to feel as though he was—in fact—attracted to me.  He was playful and he touched me as we danced.

As I walked out of the club I was surprised to see a familiar face.   It was Tammy.   She was with Jeff.   Tammy and I were buzzed with a bit of alcohol and we became ecstatic about the surprise fated rendezvous.   We kissed.   We talked for a good fifteen minutes.   It was late and it was time to go.

“Tammy, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” as he batted her eyelashes the way she does.

Cautiously, I slid my arm across the armrest till it touched him.   The slight pressure I exerted was returned.   For several exciting minutes we sent furtive tactile signals back and forth.   But what did they mean?   Did I dare expand upon my presumption, however slight?   Was he conscious of intent, or was it all simply reflexive playfulness on his part, like good-natured jostling in the courtyard?

-Paul Russell

THE UNREAL LIFE OF SERGEY NABOKOV, a novel