Promised Land

Rachel Anton & Laura Blaurosen

Maps and Legends Index

I woke up feeling like I'd slept on a mattress filled with bowling balls. Everything on my body ached like a motherfucker, including my head, which felt like it had an anvil dropped on it in the middle of the night. I couldn't see straight, my throat was coated in desert sand, and my stomach was undulating all over my torso. It was goddamned hot and I'd never in my life wanted a shower as much as I did at that moment.

Then realization flooded into me. The recollection of last night replayed in my head like a song you despise.  What the fucking fuck was I doing here? Why the fucking fuck did I say those things to him last night? And me, begging him to fuck me like some little fucking faggot. It was the drugs. God, I hope it was only the drugs.

I dreamt last night too. A fucking lot of lucid, mind wrenching, in my face revelations. My fucking life passed before my eyes. I was sure I wasn't gonna wake up from it. But it wasn't my whole life. It was my life with him. Everything we ever did and every single thing we said ever said to one another. And among the dreams was what I am certain was the replay of what happened in Vegas. The part I couldn't remember. The part where I said that he screwed up my life. If that's what it was, I realized just how fucked up I'd been. And how fucking fucked I was now. I'd told him last night we were gonna move. Together. What in fucking hell was I thinking?

When we left Pittsburgh I was already a hundred grand in the hole and the little I'd sold off from my home only put a mere dent in it. If I was going to sell the loft and move to California, there was no way I could afford to buy something even in the ballpark of comparable. Let alone the fact that no one was going to give me a fucking loan because I had no goddamn job, and of course, that little matter of my ass being in the red. I still could sell the 'Vette, but again, it'd hardly be enough to cover it all. 

I could see it now, Justin and me, a happy fucking pair of fags in their one room, slum apartment, frying up cans of Spam and boiling water for Ramen noodles for dinner. And Justin would probably be working at some shithole diner, just like at home, only he'd be working sixty hours a week so that we could afford to have clean fucking underwear. Meanwhile, I'd be working some tedious entry-level copywriting position because the job market fucking sucks and the few executive level positions that were out there are now gone. Yeah, this had all been a very bad idea.

If I'd never met him, life would have stayed so fucking much simpler.

"You're up!" he said, plopping down next to me. I tried to focus my eyes on him, but it just made the earth spin out of control around him. "Want a wiener?"

I sat up finally and he put a paper plate down on my lap. I got a whiff of the shriveled up hot dog he'd apparently mutilated for me to eat for breakfast. I had to close my eyes and look away. "Get this shit away from me." I tossed it aside and covered my face with my hands. "How fucking old are those, anyway? You're gonna make the both of us sick."

"Sorry," he said in a snotty tone, "just thought you'd be hungry. And even if you weren't, you should eat something, you-"

"Just...just shut the fuck up, okay?" I couldn't take it, couldn't talk to him, and every thing he did was pissing me off. The way he was breathing, the way he was moving. And by this time I was feeling so sick, I needed to get in some air conditioning fucking soon. "Pack up our shit. It's time to go," I growled.

It didn't get any better from there. 

He drove the whole way to Frisco, not because I wanted that, but because I closed my eyes for a minute in the car and before I knew it he was poking at me, asking me where he was supposed to go. I had missed everything. The mountains, that first glimpse of the ocean, the fucking Welcome to San Francisco sign. That moment when everything was supposed to feel better because we'd arrived.

I still wasn't ready to wake up, but when I peeked at him with one eye, I saw him trying to read the map and drive at the same time.

"What the fuck are you doing? You're gonna smash the fucking car!" I grabbed the map out of his hands.

"Well I asked you about a hundred times where I was supposed to go, but you weren't waking up. I just need to know if I'm supposed to turn somewhere soon."

"Shoulda turned way before here. Hang a right at the light. Here. Here. HERE!"

"All right I can hear you!" he yelled back at me. "God, why are you being such a prick?"

"Just bein' me," I said sarcastically. I pointed out where to turn to get us back in the right direction and added, "Isn't that what you 'fell in love with' in the first place?"

"You're not 'being you', you're being an asshole."

"Love it or leave me." 

"Do you have multiple personality disorder or something? Or are you just...really, *really* tired?"

I didn't answer that and instead motioned for him to pull up to the front of a hotel and give the car to a valet. "I'll go in and get us a room."

"This is where you wanna stay?"

Fuck me. "What?  Is it not to your liking, your highness?"

"No it's just... it looks kinda expensive, is all..."

Oh god, not this again. "Please don't start that shit with me or I'm gonna fucking put you on a plane and send you back to Pittsburgh."

"Well, maybe that's not such a bad idea if this is how you're gonna be."

I hadn't expected that answer. I just sat there, starting to feel queasy and overheated again. Eventually he sighed and pulled up like I'd asked. I got out of the car right away to check in because I didn't know how much time I had until I was really gonna need a receptacle to puke in, and because I was nervous that my VISA wasn't gonna clear. Didn't want him to be there if either of those things happened.

But everything checked out okay, thank god, and I ran up the stairs to our room, because time was running out for me. I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep it together much longer. And when I got into the room, I collapsed to my knees in the bathroom and heaved the contents of my stomach into the toilet. And heaved. And heaved again. And heaved even after there was nothing left.

Eventually I felt a hand on my back. Justin was asking me if I was okay. If I needed a doctor. Rubbing my sweaty back with his hand. I didn't answer. Only fell back on my ass and tried to get my breathing to return to normal and stop my body from shuddering.

He started patting my face down with a cold, wet washcloth, and it felt fucking fantastic. What a fucking lightweight I was. Who knew it would be fucking peyote of all the narcotics in the world that would knock me down, strip me of my humanity, turn me into a babbling, puking, fucking crying mess. I grabbed the washcloth from him and covered my face with it.

"Better?" he asked. What a fucking loaded question.

I didn't answer but pushed past him and flopped onto the couch, hoping he'd catch a clue and finally just leave me the fuck alone. All of this care taking was fucking grating on my nerves and I didn't know how much more I could take of it. At least Mikey knew when to give it a fucking rest. But instead I saw a bottle of water held out in front of me. 

"Brian, are you all right?" he asked again, his voice soft and soothing. "Are you sure you don't need a doctor?"

I grabbed the bottle and drank half of it down. A bottle of water that I could have bought at the 7-11 for half the price this hotel was going to charge me for it. "I don't need anything," I mumbled. 

He sat down on the chair next to me. "Well...would you talk to me, at least? You're really kind of scaring me."

"I don't want to talk," I snapped. "What's there to talk about, anyway? What a fucking bad idea this was? About how I'm gonna run out of money in like, two weeks if I don't find a goddamn job tomorrow?" I chuckled bitterly. "Or how about we discuss how you ruined my god-*damned* life?" My voice was quiet, and even-tempered. I almost felt like I wasn't saying the words myself, like I was only thinking them. 

I didn't look at him, and he didn't respond, not right away. I finished the water and got up in search of alcohol to replenish my now unfortunately sober system. I dug through the mini bar and grabbed every bottle that was there. I downed three airplane-sized bottles of Absolut before he spoke again.

"Wh-why are you saying these things?" His voice was starting to break - he was starting to break - and part of me was glad. Part of me hated him for it. 

"Because," I said, breaking into a gin bottle, "You asked me, didn't you?" I waved my arm out in front of me as I spoke. " 'Talk to me, Brian'...'tell me what's on your goddamned mind!' "

He got up off the chair and approached me. In a voice I could barely hear he pleaded with me, "I just...I just need to know how...how did I ruin your life? You said...last night you said...I just don't understand, is all..."

Oh was that all? 

I drank two more bottles of gin, but was still frustratingly sober. I could feel the next words bubbling inside me, just like when I'd barely made it to the toilet to puke my guts out. Just like when I spilled my guts to him in the desert. It had to come out.

"My whole entire life is so fucked," I started, as though it were the first time I'd ever said it, and drank yet another bottle of god knows what now. "Before your little blonde ass showed up on Liberty Avenue, things were going just fine. I was 'Brian-fucking-Kinney'. Pittsburgh's top advertising executive and God's gift to gay P-A."

"And then," I went on, looking over at him, yet not entirely focusing. Pointing in his direction, I repeated, "And then you came into the picture. And you would not go the FUCK away." For the first time, the tone of my voice was raised. "You just... hung on, and hung on, and hung...the FUCK...on!"

I have a vague recollection of looking at him just then, and the seeing petrified look on his face. He was biting his lip and picking at his fingernails. His chest was rising and falling quickly. But I went on.

"And then! Then! Then, after I thought I'd given you everything I could possibly give you," I stepped closer and grabbed him by both arms and shook him, "you threw it back in my GODDAMNED FACE!" Suddenly I wasn't me anymore. I think I was screaming at this point. And I was shaking Justin exactly the same fucking way my dad used to shake me. Hard enough to dislocate bones. Pressing my fingertips into his biceps and squeezing him like a lemon. 

I stopped shaking him and I could see the tears starting to stream down his face. And still I went on, even though there was a rising feeling of disgust and a searing pain in my gut from seeing the way he looked, continued to squeeze his arms even though his face was turning bright red.

"And now? Now that I gave it all back again, look at where it fucking got me! I lost my goddamn JOB because of you!!"

I paused, like I thought he was going to have something to offer, some excuse for being honest. For having integrity. For being selfless. For forcing me to be the same way.

I shook him again. "Shit! Do you have any IDEA how much money I could have been making?" I yelled. "I'd be in New fucking York City!" 

Suddenly he looked blurry to me. I was crying. Fucking crying. Again. And he was still quiet.

"FUCK you, Justin Taylor," I said, more quietly this time, my voice raw and cracking. "Fuck. You. GOD! Do you know how much I fucking HATE you? Fuck you," I whispered.

I was shaking profusely by now, just like I had moments ago on the bathroom floor. I blinked and a ton of water spilt out of my eyes. I could see him more clearly now. He was sucking his lips inward, trying his damnedest not to sob out loud. There should have been hatred in his eyes, but I couldn't find it. Only determination and...something else.

I pulled him to my chest and wrapped my arms tightly around him. "I hate you...hate you...hate you so much," I whispered one more time and rubbed my wet cheek into his hair. He held on to me even more tightly. 

Finally he sniffled and sobbed out loud. "I...I'm sorry, Brian, I..." But he couldn't go on. He just cried. Shit. I am such an asshole.

I took his head in my hands and kissed him. All over his face. I lapped up his tears and rubbed my own sweaty, snotty, teary face into his. "Justin," I whispered, leaning my forehead into his, "Justin... this wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in the plan for me, you know?"

He nodded and wrapped his arms even more tightly around my waist, like he thought I was going to run away.

"Damn you for doing this to me," I went on, my voice still quiet and raw. "For making me care so goddamn much it hurts. I wasn't supposed to care. You forced me to do something I'm scared to death of doing."

He squeezed me again. "S'not anything to be afraid of," he said quietly.

"Oh yeah. It is. Because," I paused and took a deep breath, because what was to come out of my mouth next did so not of my own volition. I tried to keep it down, but like everything else I'd just done and said, it had to come out. 

"Wh…what if I can't, Justin?" I asked in a whisper I'm surprised he could even hear. "What if I do it wrong? And what if I...what if you figure out that I'm no superhero and...and I let you down?"

He pulled back and let go of me finally, futilely wiping his face. He swallowed, and smiled as much as he could muster. Smiled. "You can't."

He fucking smiled.

"But I just did."

"Well, I'm still here aren't I?" Still smiling.

"Yeah, but for how long?"

"Until you shove me on a plane?"

I stood there, stunned for a minute, and when the words sunk in, I found myself smiling. "Do you want me to?" 

He shook his head and sniffled, wiping snot from his nose. Still. Fucking. Smiling.

"Why ARE you still here, Justin?"

"Because I love you. Unconditionally."

I saw it again. The determination and...the something else. The kid just keeps hanging on. I may never for the life of me figure out why he believes I'm important enough to hang on to, but I guess I'm a lucky fucker at any rate.

"And...I remember what you told me. You told me not to forget, next time you're a fucking asshole."

I laughed through my nose. "So it's my fault."

He punched my upper arm softly. "'Fraid so."

I moved away, toward the window, and lit up a cigarette, opening the curtains and staring out on to the bay. I fixated my gaze on Alcatraz and blew smoke into the window.

"What do you wanna do, Brian?"

"I have no fucking idea," I sighed, still staring out the window. "We could commit suicide together. That'd be romantic."

"Yyyeah...that's an option, I suppose." He joined me at the window and put an arm around my waist. I handed him my cigarette and let him take a drag. "You don't have to know," he said and handed it back. "You don't have to have all the answers. We can figure it out together...if you want."

"Together..." I chuckled.

"Unless you'd prefer to be alone, like before, when things were so great for you..."

I gave him back the cigarette and stared at him intently for a moment.

"S'up to you," he told me. "I'm not your stalker anymore."

I turned back to the window and stared out again, watching the seagulls dive for fish. "Can't hardly remember what that was like," I whispered. "I'm just another queer. Freak of nature. Except," I paused and chuckled, the bitterness heavy in my tone, "Except when it comes to you."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means..." I turned my head toward him, "It means you make it okay." I looked away again. "Not even Mikey could do that."

I heard him click his tongue. "You're *not* a freak of nature," he said, tightening his grip on my waist. Don't you remember what I told you at the Aquarium? About the lesbian seagulls and the queer sea lions? It's not against nature to be what we are, it's just part of it."

I shrugged. "You and I may know that, but..." I took a deep breath, "the rest of them, like... Stockwell, like...my mother, like...your dad. They don't even wanna know it." 

"Well whose problem is that?"

"It just...it woulda been easier," I admitted.

"What, if you'd been straight?"

"I wouldn't have had to hate my dad, you wouldn't have had to get kicked out of your house. Coulda married Lindsey and been all...good and straight," I laughed. "You never woulda met me, you never would have almost died."

"You don't know that. Maybe something else would've killed me for real. Maybe, if I'd never met you, the same fucking thing would've happened except you wouldn't have been there to save me."

I pinched my eyes shut. Didn't even want to imagine that scenario.

"There are so many things that could've been different. My life would probably be easier if I was like, taller or something. Or really interested in finance." He leaned his head into my arm and I wrapped it around his shoulder. "This is what we are. And I'm not sorry for any of it."

"I know," I said and pulled him even closer, "s'what makes you the bigger man."

"It's what YOU taught me. Do you regret being with me?"

"Never, I..." I cringed again, recalling what had just happened. "I'm sorry. That I said all that, Justin, I-"

"Well then, don't regret being gay. 'Cause, you know, they kinda go together. I mean, unless you want me to get a sex change or something. But I have a feeling we'd both regret that."

I laughed out loud and I felt a fucking tremendous weight just sort of float away from me. "So," I sighed, "what the fuck are we doing here?"

"Taking a much-needed vacation?"

Yeah, that sounded like the best fucking idea so far. "Sure. Until the money runs out. But maybe then we can escape to Mexico."

"Mmmmaybe we should um...not spend ALL the money," he said tentatively.

"Don't worry about it. My plan is to pimp your ass."

"As long as you're thinking of the future," he smiled, and I saw a whole lot of relief in his eyes.

"C'mere," I said and pulled him around to my chest, holding him tightly again. "Sorry if I scared you," I said quietly.

He rubbed his cheek into mine. "S'okay. Just don't fucking do it again."

"Maybe you oughtta see about putting me on some sort of medication, then."

"Or maybe you should just stop self-medicating so much. I can live with a little moodiness, but if you keep telling me you hate me, I'm gonna start believing you."

"Well," I sighed and let go, suddenly realizing how urgent it was that I shower and brush my fucking teeth, "you know what they say about hate and fine lines..."

When I reached the bathroom door he said, "Oh, and Brian?"

I lifted my brows in response.

"I'm still having fun."


The universe has really given Brian Kinney some unfair advantages, I thought, watching him lounge by the hotel pool with his Banana Boat tanning oil, while I huddled under an umbrella, glopping more SPF five thousand onto my itchy red skin. He looked like a fucking bronzed god, and I looked like a shriveled up little strawberry. It just wasn't right.

It was nice to see him relaxing, though. Smiling. Dozing. Drinking something froofy and frozen because it tasted good. I think his little cathartic meltdown did wonders for his soul. And in a way, it did wonders for mine.

I guess that sounds weird, considering the things he said, and the fact that, on the surface, it all confirmed my very worst fears about his feelings. But I know Brian far too well to take things at their surface value. I know that he only means what he says some of the time, and that he hardly ever says what he means. I know that when he was clinging to me like a life raft, sobbing and telling me that he hated me, that it was the closest he's ever come to saying I love you.

Yeah, he had me fooled for a few minutes. Fooled and fucking terrified, but it wasn't long before I recognized the misery and the stark terror in his eyes, and realized that I was watching Brian Kinney's last stand. His last best defense. He was trying to smash apart everything that had happened the night before, trying to prove to me that I was wrong, that he really was a monumental asshole, and that loving him was a terrible, terrible mistake.

Lucky for him, I'm not that easy to get rid of. You'd think he'd know that by now. You'd think he would've realized years ago that I'm not that easy to fool. That no matter what he says, he'll never get me to stop loving him with all my heart, and I know that he doesn't really want me to stop. He might think it would be better for me if I did, and maybe he's right about that, but it doesn't matter because it's not gonna happen.  

Maybe there was some truth in what he said. Maybe there were some small seeds of resentment lingering inside him, but once he got them out, they were gone forever. And it was a huge fucking relief to watch them disintegrate right in front of my eyes.

The whole thing was a huge relief, really, and when it was over we started having fun again. We had an amazing dinner that night, and an even more amazing fuck, and now we were swimming and drinking pina coladas, and getting ready for another fabulous night on our summer vacation. And it was okay that it was just a vacation. It was absolutely okay.   

Once I'd gotten every square inch of my body covered with that stupid, useless lotion, I decided to brave the sun and take the chair next to Brian. He had one of my sketchbooks with him, and seemed to be doodling in it for some reason.

"What're you doing?" I asked him. He turned towards me and lifted his sunglasses. Gave me a smile that seemed almost nervous.

"I've got a little question for you," he said. "Sort of a...proposal."

"Proposal?"

He took my hand, and looked very seriously into my eyes, and for a panicked moment I actually imagined him proposing marriage. And I imagined my reaction, which would probably be to laugh hysterically, and then vomit. Which is sort of weird, 'cause once upon a time, that was my lame and secret fantasy.

"Justin Taylor, will you be my....partner?"

"Huh?"

He tore the page he'd been writing on out of the sketchbook and handed it to me. There was an elaborate, but poorly drawn letterhead on the top, in black magic marker. It said Kinney Taylor, Inc. I stared down at it, then back up at him, then back down again. I didn't really understand. I thought maybe it was a joke, and I wasn't getting the punchline.

"Huh?" I asked again.

"You're a better artist than anyone on my old staff ever was," he said quickly. "And I know Pittsburgh's business community better than the back room at Babylon ...I figure we'd be a hell of a team."

It sounded like a speech- something he'd been rehearsing in his brain for hours, maybe even days- and I just kept staring at him, mulling the words over in my head. Team. Partner. Business. He was asking me to start a business with him. To start his agency. Our agency. Holy fucking Christ.

"Are you serious?" I asked him. He couldn't be serious.

"Why not?"

Why not? Why not...God, there were so many reasons why not. I didn't even know where to start.

"I-I've got like, negative zero business experience," I said.

He shrugged. "That's probably gonna be an advantage."

"I'm only twenty. And I've got no capital to contribute, and I didn't finish school and my mom will kill me if I don't go back ever, and I only have one tie, and it's ugly..."

"We can turn the loft into an office easily," he said, ignoring my rambling. "And my car appraised at fifty grand here in homo valley. So, we can stay just long enough to get it sold, take the money back to the Pitts, and start working for our first million."

I felt that rushing sensation sweeping through me, the falling, roller coaster, spinning wildly out of control and not caring feeling that I only get from Brian, and I didn't know if it was fear or excitement or both, but I loved it. I loved it.

"Are you...you're really serious about this. You want me to be your partner? I mean...that's...I could just work for you, you know."

"How are you gonna pay me back for school that way? A partner makes way more money than an ordinary art department peon."

"Yeah, but...that's less money for you, probably, when it all works out."

He sighed and grabbed the paper back from me irritably. "All right. Forget it then."

He's such a baby sometimes. It's really kind of funny.

"No, no, I want to! I want...that. I want to be your partner."

And I did. I wanted it. I wanted it a lot. Even if I was frighteningly under qualified.

He smiled, small and sweet, and reached over to squeeze my thigh.

"Well then, what do you say we go upstairs and shake on it," he suggested, running his finger in circles, nearly brushing against my balls.

"You do realize this means you're gonna be stuck with me now?" I asked. He leaned over and stuck his tongue down my throat as an answer.

"We're gonna be poor for a while," he told me in the elevator, on the way back up to the room. His hand was inside my shorts, and he was running his nose all over my neck.

"Mmm," I sighed. "I can do poor..."

"We won't even have a cool car anymore."

The doors opened with a ding, and he pulled me towards our room by the front of my swimsuit.

"Don't care about the car," I said, and he shook his head.

"No, guess you wouldn't..."

"What does that mean?"

"Means you're simple," he said, pressing me against our door as he dug through his pocket for the key card.

"I am not simple! I'm very complex."

"If you were so complex, you'd be really torn up about selling the car."

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he managed to get the door open and shove me inside. He pushed me onto the bed, which kind of hurt thanks to my sunburn, but I was so turned on I didn't really care.

"I think you're confusing complex with superficial," I said, as he crawled on top of me, pulled down my shorts. "Besides, didn't you just get that car 'cause you were bored without me?"

He stopped moving and stared up at me from my stomach, mouth agape and eyebrows crunching together. "What the fuck? Who told you that? Did Michael tell you that?!"

"No, I figured it out all by my little self," I told him, laughing. It was just a guess, really, but it was obvious from his reaction that it was completely accurate.

"Fucker," he snarled, and grabbed my wrists, pinned me to the mattress and ground himself against me. I lifted my legs and ran my feet up the back of his thighs. "I'm gonna get that fucking car back. We're gonna make enough in a year for me to buy it back, and you'll be able to see by then how important it is for our quality of life."

I just laughed some more, and he kissed me.

"Ready, partner?" he asked me, after he'd gotten on the condom and positioned himself, and I felt my mouth drying out, my chest constricting. I really was starting to love the sound of that.

He fucked me for hours, and I thought about the first time we were together- how frightened and excited and inexperienced I was- and how similar a situation this was going to be. Brian was going to have to teach me everything, and my parents were going to freak out, and my whole life would be full of new and strange things, and I would be in completely over my head. Nothing would be secure or predictable, and I had no idea if I could really handle any of it.

I couldn't wait to start.



I ran the ad for the car and started getting calls the same day. I showed it nonstop from nine in the morning until two in the afternoon, with a few serious interests, but every offer was ridiculously low. I listed it at sixty thousand, hoping I could get fifty, willing to take forty-five if I had to. But so far no biters. 

I was leaning against the car, reconsidering my sales tactic and strategy, when a bleached blonde surfer "dude" approached me. A really hot, bleached blonde surfer dude, wearing only a pair of bright blue surf shorts that showed off the sizeable bulge in the front. His pecs were hard as rocks and his legs were thick as tree trunks. My cock responded immediately.

"You Brian Kinney?" he asked.

"In the flesh." I extended my hand. "And you are..."

He took and shook it, then hung on to run his fingers over my skin. "Jerry Lewis. In the flesh." 

He was trying to meet my seduction, but you can't tell a guy that's your name and expect him to keep a straight face.

"No, seriously, dude, it really is," he affirmed and proceeded to show me his license. It checked out. 

He was the first one interested in driving the thing. I went with him and we drove around the bay, then found some place out of the way to fuck. By then I was so horny I was more than ready to get on with it. I ripped his shorts down and plunged in before he even had a chance to attempt to kiss me. 

And then I went to reach for the guy's ass and it was...nonexistent. Just a flat line from his lower back to his thighs, separated by a crease. I kept my hands on his hips instead, and reached for his cock. I could have wrapped my fingers around it twice it was so fucking thin. I let go of it. It was freaking me out a little.

I pumped harder and leaned my head down on the back of his. Instead of soft, smooth, and silky, it was crusty, it smelled like a bleached cunt, and it scratched my face worse than beard stubble.

Then something inexplicable happened. Something that hadn't happened since the time Justin and I were not fucking. I was bored. My body was responding, going through the motions, but if the guy had suddenly vanished into thin air, it wouldn't have mattered.

I could hear from the noises he was making and from the way he was squeezing me that he was getting damn close, but like some kind of fucking woman, I didn't even feel like I was on the brink yet. 

All I could think of was the guy that compared his reaction to fucking me to his reaction to Citizen Kane. And if something like that that happened here, I'm sure I'd wasted precious time, energy, and gas on this guy. So I closed my eyes, and did the same fucking thing I did every damn time I was with someone else, only this time it was voluntary. 

I thought about him.

But not about him and me fucking. I thought about him and me starting a company together, I thought about the late nights eating Thai and brainstorming, fucking on the table, sleeping, getting up and working some more. I thought about our first client cocktail party, our first office. I thought about doing our first million-dollar year. I thought about coming back here, and all the other places we'd gone on this doomed expedition, when we actually had the fucking time and money to spend.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude..." Jerry Lewis laughed, "I'm good, buddy."

Apparently I'd finished. We'd finished.

"That was one bitchin' fuck! Phew!" 

I pulled out of him. "Bitchin'..." 

He laughed and pulled up his shorts. "Yeah, totally off the Richter, dude."

"Totally." 

Well, at least he'd enjoyed himself. 

"Got some spooge on the ride, though. Whoops." 

I looked at where he was pointing and saw that it was starting to dry already. "Fuck," I complained and opened the trunk in search of a chamois.

"Dude, it's totally cool, I'm gonna take it and have this baby detailed to the max anyways," he told me.

"So...you're gonna take it, then?"

"Oh yeah, it's the sweetest fucking ride I've ever been in!"

"Sure it's not too small for your surfboard?"

He laughed, "Yeah, but that's what the Jeep is for. This is like, purely for off-beach activities, if you catch my drift."

"Uh-huh."

"Now I know that like, your ad said sixty thou, but uh, I'm thinkin' more like, fifty would be cool, yeah?"

I remained stoic. Fifty thousand dollars. Thank you thank you.

"I was hoping not to go lower than fifty-five. Dude."

"Okay-okay-okay-okay," he said, holding his hands up like he was directing traffic, "dude, listen to this: How 'bout fifty-three, cash, right now. My bank is like, five minutes away, I'll get you a cashier's check in like, no time."

"Like, okay. It's a deal."

Cowa-fucking-bunga.

-----

Turns out that this guy was independently wealthy, living on a family inheritance and spent his days fucking guys and riding waves. He was "bitching" about how he was going to have to build a new garage just for this car. He didn't want to squeeze one more vehicle into the existing eight-car one. I knew should have held out for the sixty thou.

He dropped me back at the hotel and I stood at the front, watching him speed off, leaving me there with nothing but the piece of paper that was supposed to get us started on a new road. Us. As in him and me. Together. It was too fucking weird to contemplate for too long.

Justin was gone when I returned to the room. I plopped down on the bed with a heavy sigh. I couldn't believe I'd fucked the guy. And not so much that I'd done it, but that I'd done it and that it had sucked. I couldn't help feeling like a fifty-three thousand dollar whore. Funny that after ten years in marketing and advertising this is what it took to make me feel dirty.

I was almost asleep when Justin came back. "D'you sell the car?" he asked.

I nodded, staring at the water spots on the ceiling.

"Well, that's...that's awesome, isn't it?? I mean, the first day and all." He threw the towel he had wrapped around his shoulders onto the chair, and laid down on his side next to me. "So, how much?"

"Fifty-three. Dude," I said flatly and turned to look at him briefly. His eyes and nose were red from the chlorine, and his hair was damp. I wondered if he'd talked to anyone while I was gone.

"Fifty-three? Holy crap, Brian! That's like, a whole lot more than you thought you'd get."

I nodded again.

"Well, we should go celebrate!"

I nodded, this time adding a sigh.

"We...shouldn't...go celebrate?"

"I fucked him," I confessed, "the guy that bought the car."

He actually fucking laughed at that. "I know. I figured you would."

"Well, aren't you going to get upset?" 

"Why would I be upset?"

I looked at him finally. He was smiling. A shit-eating grin that nearly had me wondering if he'd seen it all happen. If he had read my thoughts. 

And then I noticed them. The small round blue circles on his upper arms. I thought about what I'd do if it had been someone else who had given him those bruises. But I did that to him. Me.  And here he was, lying practically on top of me, fucking smiling at me like he never even noticed they were there. He even went out swimming, out in public, with his arms looking like that, where people could see him and wonder who did that to him. I did.  I had done it to him.

I swallowed down the bile that had risen in my throat. "Why aren't you?"

He shrugged and waved his hand. "Because...I stopped hoping for that to change a long time ago. If I got mad every time you fucked some random guy, I'd need anger management classes."

I sighed again and looked back at the ceiling. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, drying his hair with the towel and brushing it out. He stepped into the bathroom to take a piss.

"His name," I expounded over the sound of him peeing, "was Jerry Lewis."

He really giggled at that, for a long time, and it was contagious enough for me to finally smile and laugh myself a little. He re-emerged from the bathroom and said, "You're shitting me. You fucked Jerry Lewis. That is rich."

"Yeah, and so was he. A fucking filthy rich bleached-blonde surfer."

"Dude," he teased, curling up closer to me. "So, how was he?"

I exhaled a laugh, recalling the guy's skinny dick. "Well, uh-mm…, I got off."

"That good, huh?" 

I looked up at him just enough to see him leaning in to kiss me. I think he just meant to do it quick, but I grabbed his wet head and kept him there for a while. I needed to get the taste of surfer out of my mouth. And show Justin that I hadn't actually tasted him. I could at least be that loyal to him.

"You're not pissed," I asked as we broke away. "At all? Not even.... not even a twinge?"

"Do you WANT me to be pissed?" he asked and put his top leg over one of mine. 

I did. I wanted him to be pissed. I can handle that. It's this other weird feeling, this combination of disgust and indifference and guilt, even, that's the part that's annoyingly confounding.

"Are you turned on?" I tried another angle.

"Nnnnot by that, particularly," he laughed and kissed my cheek, then laid his head on my chest. "I dunno, I've worked really hard to get to the point where I have no reaction to it whatsoever. It's sorta like children becoming desensitized to violence on television or whatever."

I nodded slowly and put an arm around him, letting him snuggle up closer, and rested my hand on his bare back.

"And I mean," he went on, "most people who promise to be faithful wind up cheating anyway, and then lie about it. You've always been honest. That's worth way more than any stupid empty promises."

I smiled briefly. Leave it to him to put a saintly spin on my asshole characteristics. Yeah, this kid was fucking born for advertising.

"I should take a shower," I told him when he started kissing my neck, "I'm sure I stink."

"No you don't," he assured me and took a hefty whiff. "Smells like you. Just you."

We lay there for quite a while, touching each other and kissing, nearly drifting off to sleep. Every once in a while I felt like I should be talking, but I couldn't come up with anything to say. And every once in a while I felt like we should be fucking, but for some reason, I didn't feel compelled to start. Ridiculous as it seems, it was enough just to be like this.

"So...are we going out or what?" he asked finally.

I groaned, only half-awake.

"Hey..." he interrupted before I could answer, "what the hell is that?"

"What is what?"

"That black thing, on the nightstand, with the curly cord..." He dove over me and grabbed it. "It's the fucking car charger!" he laughed and smacked my chest with it. "You said you lost it!"

"Well, whaddya know, it was in the trunk the whole time," I said, feigning ignorance.

"You are such a shit, you did that on purpose. You just didn't want me talking to anyone when we left. Fucker," he laughed some more, then kissed me. He was right. But now I knew it probably wouldn't have made a bit of difference anyway. Stupid bastard would follow me to the North Pole and back if I wanted to go. The fucking FBI could have come after him and he would have told them to fuck off.

I tossed the thing aside and sat up, turning to gently push down on Justin's shoulders. Once he was down flat I set my elbows on either side of his neck and grabbed a hold of his head with my hands before leaning down to kiss him. He hummed and ran his hands up the sides of my torso and up my back.

"Justin..." I whispered, moving down to his neck.

"Mmmm...yeah…s'nice," he sighed.

I started to suck on his neck while hugging his head with my arms, then moved my head up to rub my nose in his slightly damp head. He smelled like chlorine, but his hair felt smooth and soft on my cheeks.

I moved on top of him, pushing his legs apart and insinuating myself there, my groin on his. He moaned and bent his legs, wrapping them around my ass so his heels pressed into my thighs. I ground my hips into his still damp swimming trunks, and when he opened his mouth to moan I slipped my tongue inside.

"Mmmmyou...wanted to go out," I reminded him in between kisses, "we can go out if you want."

"Mmmno, this is nice too," he smiled, panting. "Maybe later," he said and craned his neck upward to kiss me again.

"Whaddayou wanna do now?" I whispered into his ear. "Tell me."

"I wanna stay here, I want you to...to make love to me."

"Kay."

I lifted myself up on my knees, pulling Justin's trunks off, pausing to caress his erection a moment before removing my own clothes. Then I ran my hand down his chest and over his hips, back up again, and down again, over his abdomen. Just so I could watch his face, eyes closed and flinching in pleasure with every movement that tingled or tickled.

As hard as I tried not to, I couldn't keep my gaze from settling on the marks on his arms. I sat there a moment and tried to come up with a reason, an excuse, an explanation, an apology, but all I could do was run my fingers over this shoulders and biceps super lightly. I did it over and over, like I thought it would make them disappear.

"Brian…" he whispered. I looked up at him and he was shaking his head. Not because he was in pain, but because he wanted me to not worry about it. He reached up and ran his hands down my arms lightly and held both my hands in his a moment. And with a look he absolved me once again.

Finally I returned to his cock, pressing it against mine and rubbing them together with one hand. Justin's back arched and his head rolled back and forth. I stared at him, willing him to look back at me. Eventually he did.

He smiled when his eyes met mine. "Brian..." he sighed. "I'm..."

"Having a good time?"

"Better. I'mmmmmmm...," he whimpered and lifted his hips upward, "happy." 

I wanted to ask him why he was happy, why he had felt the need to tell me that, but "Justin, ugh, Justin..." was all that came out of me.

I rubbed us faster and harder and watched him writhe beneath me, his face getting redder by the second. "Mmms'good. Ughhh...Brian...s'too....too good." He grabbed my wrists and held them still. "C'mon, I want you inside me."

I teased him by shaking my head and leaning down to kiss him hard. "Ever heard of taking your time?" 

"I thought that was for dykes," he winked.

I plunged my tongue back in his mouth and he moaned and sucked at it. Soon he was whimpering and pressing himself up against me, pushing my ass even tighter to him.

"Wass'matter?" I chuckled.

He let out the breath he'd been holding. "Nothin'..." He opened his eyes and looked at me. "Jus' feel like...like I can't get close enough sometimes." He nuzzled my nose.

"Okay." Enough prolonging.

I pushed up and reached for a condom and the tube. I handed Justin the condom to put on me while I squeezed out the lube. I slicked up a couple of my fingers and put one in him, then pulled out and added another. He dropped the condom and writhed. I smiled and kept pumping.

He gasped and lifted his hips, "Mmmffuh...mmmc'mere...fuhh..." He grasped the air trying to get a hold on me with one hand and search for the condom with the other. 

I grabbed his wrists with my free hand. "Relax." I ripped the condom out of its package and handed it back to him. I leaned in closer so he could finish the job. He slipped it on me, nice and slow and I groaned, grabbing onto his wrists again. He squeezed me tightly once before letting go.

Then I eased his legs up over my shoulders and pushed the tip of my cock in. He groaned immediately and his hands flew back to grab the headboard. I pulled all the way out and pushed in again, this time a little further.

"Mmm...fucking-ahh," he whimpered.

I did it again, pulling all the way out and this time going all the way in, shoving Justin's legs higher.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, loudly. "Mmmgod...Brian...mmm'ere..." He used one hand to grab for my head, pulled me by the hair and started kissing the hell out of me. Whimpered and bit and sucked at my lips.

I sped up and every breath I took was marked with a grunt.

"S'better? Better than he was?" he panted.

"Aw…fuck yeah," I groaned. 

He bit my ear and for some reason that was the thing that made me lose all control. I rammed into him hard, making him slide up and down the bedspread with each thrust. Soon there was nothing but the motion, the rhythmic squeak of the bed, and the building, building, building sensation in my groin.

"Ah, Justin, Justin...ugh..."

I got to watch his orgasm after mine was over, his face contorting and his breathing rapid, until he reached his peak, when he opened his mouth wide and grunted without sound. My chest was coated with him when I collapsed on top.

"Love you...love you...love you..." he whispered, licking the sweat off my forehead.

When my breathing had returned to normal, I asked him if he was ready to go back home.

"Mmmthink so, yeah."

I rolled off of him with a grunt. "S'gonna be a lot of work, you know. Day n' night. Working, not fucking."

"Surely we'll be able to fit the fucking in somewhere," he giggled. "I have the utmost faith in that."

I chuckled and kissed his temple.

"S'gonna be great."

I sighed. I was excited, but not blindly optimistic. I hoped he realized how serious I was. How serious all of this was.

"Were we going somewhere?" I laughed after we'd laid there for a long time.

"Mmmaybe. S'matter, old man? Too worn out?" He propped himself up on one elbow and kissed my cheek.

"Fuck off," I laughed. "Did I say that?" 

He shrugged. "No, but maybe I'm just projecting," he admitted through a yawn, then dropped his cheek down on my chest. 

I wondered to myself if this was the way it was always going to be, as in, just me and him. After what happened with surfer boy, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end for Brian Kinney. But I was still horny as fuck, that part hadn't changed. Only it wasn't for just any kind of sex. "S'kinda pointless..." I mumbled.

"Going out?"

It took a minute to realize I'd said that out loud. "Huh? Oh yeah, right. Going out."

He lifted himself up on his elbow. "What did you really mean?"

Crap. I just hated when he did this to me. I shrugged and tried to instead reach for my cigarettes, but he grabbed my wrist before I could get to them.

"Tell me!" he insisted.

I tried wrenching away. "Nothin', come on..."

He stared at me imploringly, then finally sighed and let me go. I fished two cigarettes out and lit them for us. 

"Besides," I began, handing him his, "I think you know already."

He took a nice long drag. "Yeah, well, I know a lotta things. I know all the words to 'Vogue,' for instance. But sometimes I actually like to listen to it anyway."

I gave him a strange look. "Vogue...?"

"Okay, musical preferences really not the point, but I happen to enjoy Madonna on occasion-usually a drunken occasion, but that's irrelevant. The point is, it makes me happy, ya know, once in awhile, to hear it."

I nodded and finished my cigarette in silence.


I used to have a Brian collection. I kept it under my bed, in an old Nike shoebox. The collection consisted of a picture of the two of us from my art show at the center, a ticket stub from the disgusting porno theatre he used to bring me to, a hunk of hair I'd cut off his head when he was passed out drunk one time, a couple of sketches I'd done of him, the underwear I'd stolen the first night we were together, and lots and lots of ads. I used to cut them out of magazines- the ones he told me were his- and show them to Daphne, so she could see how clever and talented he was.

I thought about the collection our last night in San Francisco, and how glamorous and unreal his life seemed to me back then. How impressive it all was. And now that was gonna be us. We were gonna be making ads like that together.

I actually considered telling Brian about his box of stalkerdom, mostly because it seemed like he was feeling strangely insecure that night. He pulled me out of about seven different bars, muttering lame excuses about how crowded they were, or how empty, or how there were fire code violations, but I noticed that every time he decided it was time to leave, there happened to be someone staring at me, or moving close to me on the dance floor. He pulled me onto his lap and started chewing on my ear when one of our bartenders got a little smiley and flirty with me, and he clung to me like a piece of wet seaweed after I'd pointed out a guy in one place who looked a lot like Johnny Depp.

I figured the box story might make him feel superior enough to stop fretting about me running off with Joe Gayguy, but I decided to keep it to myself in the end. It was just too embarrassing, for one thing, and for another, I guess I was kind of enjoying his possessive behavior. It was kinda hot.

After we'd been through about fifteen different bars, though, I was starting to get a little worn out. And hungry. I suggested food, and we found a deserted pizza parlor at three in the morning, stumbled in, and ordered an entire pie.

I told him about the phone call I'd made to my mother that morning. How I'd explained that we were coming home tomorrow, and planning on starting our own business after that. I think she was more puzzled than anything else.

"If Brian needs a job, I could probably help him find something in real estate," she'd told me.

Brian got a big kick out of that one.

I was certain she'd have compiled a long list of reasons that this was a terrible idea by the time we got home, but it didn't matter. She'd change her mind when we made our first million, when I could buy her a new car, and start a college fund for Molly.

I asked him if he'd managed to get in touch with Michael, and he told me about the messages they'd been leaving for each other, back and forth. Apparently Michael's consisted of things like, "Sorry I missed your call. Ben and I were fucking." Or, "Sorry I missed your call. Things have been crazy at the store. I did three grand this month! Hope you two lovebirds are having fun..."

"He's really pissed at you," I said. "You shoulda called him a long time ago."

"He's not pissed. Don't even think he noticed I was gone. Mikey's finally got a life..."

He sighed and sucked down some coffee, and I shook my head at his stupidity.

"Don't you know how to read him at all?" I asked. "He's even more transparent than you are. He may have a life, but he's still totally pissed."

He smiled a little, but didn't seem to believe me. He'd see when we got back, though. I was sure of that.

When our pizza came, I told him I'd called Daphne too, and that she was really excited for us. Really supportive.  

"She'd support you if you told her you were going to clown school," he said.

"Uh-uh, not true. She's been very unsupportive of some of my decisions."

"Like what? Fashion choices?"

"No, boyfriend ones. She hated Ian."

He froze and stared at me for a minute, eyes narrowed, and I smiled around my pizza.

"Always knew I loved that girl," he said.

"She loves you too," I told him. "Even plotted with me to win you back. She suggested a suicide attempt, but then we decided that since stalking worked so well the first time..."

"Aha, so it all goes back to Daphne."

We decided, using drunken logic, that it was really Daphne's fault Brian had lost his job, and that she owed us several thousands of dollars in back pay, which we would be forced to collect from her when we returned to the Pitts. Then, once the pizza was gone and the coffee was cold, Brian told me he wanted to go fuck on the Golden Gate Bridge.

It sounded like a dubious plan- one that could very easily lead to our arrests and/or deaths- but what better way to end our journey than with some dangerous sex? Plus, I figured the Golden Gate Bridge was at least as strange a place as Alcatraz, and I still wanted to top that one.

Once we got out there, though, I started to waver. The thing was fucking enormous, for one thing. I'd never seen such a huge, imposing structure before. I'm not afraid of heights or anything, but that bastard was *high*.

"What did you expect? The Bridges of fucking Madison County?" Brian asked, when I commented on the size.

"Well, no, but... how are we even gonna get up there?" The walkway was closed, since it was four o'clock in the morning, and I wasn't about to drop my pants in the middle of the goddamn street.

"We'll just sneak around the tolls and jump up from the road," he said, like that was a perfectly normal thing to do. He was walking, though, and I had no choice but to follow at that point.

Getting past the tolls did turn out to be pretty simple- the guy must've been asleep or completely high not to have seen us- and there were hardly any cars on the road, so I guess it wasn't all that dangerous. But I was still nervous. I kept expecting spotlights to go on and sirens to blare and a voice to come over a loudspeaker announcing that there were unauthorized pedestrians on the bridge, and to tell us to stop moving or we'd be shot on sight. None of that happened, though. We just hopped over the railing and onto the walkway, like Brian said, and no one was the wiser.

He wanted to walk to the highest point, of course,
so we trekked up to the peak of the pedestrian bridge, and I tried not to look down or think about the way the ground seemed to rumble and shimmy under me every time a car drove past us.

When we'd reached our destination, though, I looked up, down, and around, and I've gotta say, I'd never seen anything more beautiful in my life. The city looked amazing from there- all lit up and sparkly, like a Promised Land oughtta be- and the lights and the moon reflected off the water in this completely perfect way. The drop down had to be about a thousand miles, but it wasn't scary any more. It was exhilarating. I wished we'd brought the camera.

"Not afraid of heights are ya?" Brian asked, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pressing me against the railing.

"No way. This is great."

He reached around to put a penny in my palm, then closed my hand with his fingers.

"What's this for?" I asked him.

"Wish," he said, and kissed me under my ear. We tossed the penny into the ocean together, and I wished that we would always be this close, that nothing would ever come between us again, that I wouldn't disappoint him. So, technically that's three wishes, but they were all sort of related.

I tried to keep my eye on the penny, to see how far it had to fall before it hit the water, but it seemed to disappear into the darkness almost immediately.

"Feels like I could fly," I told him. "Wonder how many 'suicides' are really just drugged out freaks, thinking they can defy gravity."

"Hmm, let's test that theory..."

He moved out from behind me and leaned so far over the railing I almost pissed myself. He was tipsy and laughing, and could've easily fallen right over. I grabbed onto the waistband of his jeans and pulled him backwards.

"Be careful, you idiot!" I snapped at him, and he kept laughing.

"Don't be such a pussy," he said.

"I'm not a pussy! It's dangerous."

"Mmm, yeah. And what would you do without me?" he asked.

"Dunno," I told him. "Probably wither up and die, I suppose."

He smiled and wrapped his arms around my neck, leaned down to kiss me for a really long time. I clung to him, like he might blow away, into the ocean, at any moment. Then he spun me around, pressing my chest into the railing again, and started undoing my pants from behind.

"Mmdon't do it too hard or we might both wind up in the ocean," I warned him. The railing shook a little against my chest, as if to confirm my fears.  

"Sounds exciting," he said, reaching into my underwear to pull out my cock. "Fucking midair..."

"What? What did you say?" I turned my head back to look at him, to see if I was just imagining that he'd said it, to see if I was just imagining this entire thing. I had a terrible moment where I was sure it was all another dream- that I was going to wake up alone, humping a cushion on Daphne's couch.

"Well, we'd still be fucking when we fell off, right?"

"No, that's not...I had a-a dream. You learned to levitate, and we were...that's how I described it. To Daphne, when we were having that conversation I just told you about. Fucking midair. We were fucking midair. God, I hope it wasn't a premonition of us falling to our deaths."

"Did we fall in the dream?" he asked, and started stroking me. Slowly. So gently. I felt the tip of his nose on the back of my neck, running lightly up and down, back and forth. The wind was cool, blowing through my hair and tickling my face. When I looked down, I didn't see the railing. Didn't see anything but ocean and lights and miles and miles of air. It was becoming difficult to concentrate on the conversation.

"Mmm...no," I answered eventually. "We just kept fucking."

"Well, then I wouldn't worry about it. Sounds like it was just a precognitive memory of the mind-blowing sex we're about to have."

"S'how I chose to interpret it at the time."

"Bet it was good fodder for thousands of jerk-offs," he said, and licked around the edges of my ear. His cock was out now too, and the feel of it, hard and heavy against me, was enough to make me dizzy. A car whooshed past us, and it seemed like the entire bridge was rattling and swaying for a minute. I wondered if the person driving could see us at all, if they knew. I wondered if anyone else had ever been insane enough to fuck up here.

"Mmno," I sighed. "Was too sad to jerk off. Too sad to do anything but whine and mope...no wonder Daph told me to kill myself."

"Too sad to fuck off? Jesus, that's all I di- Do. S'all I do. When I'm depressed, I mean."

I smiled and pressed back against him, thinking of all the nights he must've laid awake, touching himself and imagining it was me. Nothing sexier in the world.

"S'pose it's a good stress reliever," I said.

"I know a better one."

He tore open a condom with his teeth, put it on, spread me open and slid inside, never once letting go of my cock. We both groaned, and I threw my head back against his shoulder, let go of the railing so that I could touch his hair and his arms.

Once my hands and eyes were off the thin piece of metal standing between me and the endless plummet to the sea, it felt like it wasn't there at all. Like the entire bridge wasn't there at all. It felt like he was the only thing keeping me from falling. I thought if we jumped, it would be okay, and I almost wanted to. It was vertigo, in the best possible way. It felt like we were flying.

"Ugh, Justin," he grunted. "Never been like this...never like this with anybody else."

"Like what?" I asked, even though I knew. Oh, how well I knew.

"This...this...Justin..." He broke off, and started gnawing on my neck. And it was okay that he didn't finish, cause I knew.

Everything was sparkling and spinning and light. Everything around us, and everything inside of us, and it was so beautiful and so perfect that I almost wanted to cry because nothing could be this perfect, could it?

But it could. It could, and it was, and it would be, because we were Brian Fucking Kinney and Justin Fucking Taylor, and we were gonna be beautiful. We were gonna be brilliant.

Rachel Anton & Laura Blaurosen

Maps and Legends Index

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