More From Bristol
Tony and I are happy. Against all odds, perhaps, certainly against the predictions of our families and friends, and yes, it's only been a few months, but ... as far as miracles refusing to cease, we, he and I, just simply seem to 'fit' – the happy reality staring us in the face every day. As Tony said, it's hard to argue with two people in love.
At first it was difficult, due mainly to the understandable but still disappointing initial reaction of our friends, and my dad had a major issue with it for a while, even now he's still a bit wary, and Tony's mum, as well, for what she felt was my 'conversion' of her son ... but things have worked themselves out for the most part, and here Tony and I stand, pretty strong, pretty tight.
Amazingly, we basically spend every possible waking moment together, (and quite a few sleeping ones), always, it seems, brazenly holding hands ... from the hallways in between class, to adjacent seats when we share a class, to lunchtimes in the cafeteria (from which we sneak away so often to make love in empty classrooms or broom closets that it's become a nearly school-wide joke and guessing game – 'where are Tony and Maxxie fucking today ?') (What they don't realize is that sometimes it isn't to fuck. Sometimes we just want to eat our lunch outside, alone together.)
Following school we are good boys and do our homework quickly, and apart, figuring there's less temptation that way, and are then rewarded with free afternoons and evenings, to do as we wish ... sneaking in through the fire exit at the old downtown movie house; riding our bikes by the river, pulling over to sit under a tree, and then running and jumping into the water on a dare; window shopping in the gay district (which Tony finds terribly unnerving, seeing as he invariably and immediately catches the eye of every male within 50 paces), and attending each other's "extracurricular arty bits", as he puts it, ie my dance rehearsals and recitals, and Tony's choir practices and concerts.
One Saturday, to celebrate our first month together, we got up early and trained it over to London where we went to about fifteen museums (free), sneakily piggy backed onto an architectural walking tour (free), attended an afternoon gig at the London Dance Company (expensive, but breathtaking), had a Highgate Cemetery wander and a picnic (shared Pret A Manger cucumber sandwich- cheap!), as well as a visit to Hampstead Heath (if only to prove to Tony that there really is a "men only" ie gay area and pond), browsed at Covent Garden, sat for a church choir practice at St Martin in the Fields (stunning! and free!), traipsed about Picadilly for cheap, tacky 'bobby' and Big Ben souvenirs, on an errand from my mum perused the frighteningly enormous tea department at Fortnum & Mason's, had a quick run to Tite Street to view Oscar Wilde's house, raced over to Buckingham Palace to gawk and snap pictures, and ended the day at an all-ages show at Ministry of Sound, another at KOKO, and finally a gay club called Heaven (which it wasn't) ... followed by a mad rush to catch the 2am train home, where we just about collapsed in our seats, with me actually falling asleep, face in his chest.
Closer to home, at another point we decided to get ourselves tatooed, the only question being, where on the body ? Tony wanted it in large block letters on the back of his hands until I persuaded him that his forearms might be better, for future employment purposes, and then we moved on to the idea of our biceps, then pectorals, then finally our arses, in response to which I told him the joke about having two W's tattooed to either side of your bumhole, and what that would spell when you bent over. It took him a few seconds, but when it clicked, Tony laughed like a hyena for 15 straight minutes, the sound and sight of which tends to significantly elevate my level of smitten ... and which is perhaps the best illustration of the 'new' Tony, or, the 'Maxxie-era Tony', as our friends have actually called it. He laughs more, and harder, and freer, and he's less of a dick than he ever was (though he still retains the right to be, he tells me). Jal says it's because Tony's "occupied". ("You take up so much of his day, Maxxie, of his week, that he doesn't have time any more to be a cunt.")
Oh ... and the word that we wanted tatooed on our bodies ? (Before we finally chickened out.) The nickname people have given us, like the ones given coupled-up Hollywood movie stars ...
"Taxxie"
No explanation needed there, really.
One rule we have is that around town, whether walking, riding the bus, or otherwise, we hold hands, which Tony has zero problem with, but which has drawn more than a few hostile glares, nastily spat words, and twice so far, a brief but for the most part injury-free punchup ... but ... we still do it. This is where Tony shines, where his self confidence, his bravado and balls really show. The difference is, I do it, but I'm nervous – how can you not be, when you can get kicked in the head for it ? Tony by contrast never is, and seems even at points to want to flaunt it, (which in truth I wish he wouldn't), swinging our joined hands high between us as we pass a group of unsavory looking gits.
In this way, Tony and I are good for each other. I've somehow managed to tame or at least neutralize his more dick-ish behavior (not entirely, mind you, but for the most part), while Tony has toughened me up a bit and certainly massively driven up my confidence. I know I'm getting better marks at school and I find my dancing to be the best and most inspired of my life - even my instructors have remarked as such. And, in a direct rub-off from Tony, I pretty much find I can no longer suffer fools.
As far as his new 'identity' ... in public, Tony jokes that he's "tri-sexual", ie that he will 'try anything', har har, but calls himself "usually straight though apparently/obviously bi, but, at present, completely happy and happily gay", when pressed, after which he will undoubtedly grill the person about their own sexuality to the point of asking them their favorite, raunchiest positions and sexual fantasies, what kind of noises and facial expressions they make, and what images they masturbate to ... to illustrate the point that it's none of their goddam business who he likes to screw.
Privately, Tony tells me he genuinely feels that he's gay only in my particular case, and I believe him (and also, in truth, do not mind this one bit.) At the London gay club, for example, and in gay locales overall, he is routinely, blatantly and endlessly ogled, sometimes even propositioned (such as when I go off to the loo but also when I'm standing right next to him), and while he tries to laugh it off, it makes him uncomfortable to the point of withdrawing – something Tony simply doesn't do. So as a result, we usually stay away from these places.
Okay, but getting back to who he likes to screw ... I can't fairly comment on our relationship without touching on this area, which I will try to put as delicately and succinctly as possible ...
Tony likes to fuck. Often. And he likes to hold me afterwards.
Tony likes to explore. Often. And is tickled that I say no to nothing.
(He figures this is one of the biggest advantages to sex with guys versus girls – that we males are too ego-driven and embarrassed, or is it lacking in taste or self respect, to admit to any sort of timidity, even when we do actually feel it, regarding perversions ... and so we pretty much try them all.)
(PS- the only one that's really stuck has been the handcuffs. Oh ya, and blindfolds.)
The sweetest moments are maybe when Tony asks me to draw him, which is rather often. (Lest anyone think our hooking up has negated in any way his opinion of himself and his good looks ...)
Sweet because it means we are quiet together for long moments, sometimes an hour, as I fidget and re-drew and yell at him to keep still and erase and re-draw again. There is just something so particularly calming and lovely and romantic about it – this knowledge that, unlike I think most people, we are completely comfortable in each other's silent company. We feel no awkwardness nor need to rush to fill the conversational gaps, and it's maybe one of my favorite things about us. It speaks, I feel, to our connection being right, and good, and that it was, in fact, maybe even meant to be.
This is not to say that Tony and I don't fight, for we certainly do, but thankfully not over anything particularly serious, and each time after which we are provided the excuse (not that we need it) for serious, strenuous make-up sex.
So overall, things are really good. About as good as I could wish, frankly. I don't know how long it will last, but I try not to think about it, though I admit I seriously can't imagine my life without him. That's the thing about Tony. Love him or hate him, he gets under your skin and makes you care, makes you need him and love him madly, kind of like an addiction, without the bad bits.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Okay, this bit was a pleasure to write, of course. Who doesn't want to think about these boys being in love and happy and stealing off to have big and little adventures ? Having them being known by their friends and acquaintances as "Taxxie" I simply could not resist. Nearly everything they did in London, btw, I did when I visited there for the first time two years ago (including Pret A Manger inexpensive and very good sandwiches, as well as inadvertently witnessing an unforgettable choir practice at St Martin in the Fields, buying Big Ben magnets in Picadilly, visiting and being blown away by the crazily massive tea department at wonderful Fortnum & Mason's, perusing Covent Garden, and of course, gawking and snapping pictures at Buckingham Palace. Never got to Tite Street, unfortunately.) I absolutely adore the image of these two broke boys sharing one small sandwich all day, due to having blown what little money they had on the dance show because that is Maxxie's passion. And ending up exhausted on the train ride home, with Maxxie falling asleep in Tony's arms. Shit- is there a sweeter image ?
Also wanted to note that the three clubs mentioned, Ministry of Sound, KOKO, and Heaven, are all real clubs in London - the first two I'm told are dance clubs, the last being an actual gay club. Also, there really is a 'men only' area and pond inside Hampstead Heath (as featured in the 2006 film 'Scenes of a Sexual Nature') - couldn't have made that up. As far as I know, there is nothing called the London Dance Company, though.
I worry that in this chapter I've made Tony lose too much of what makes Tony, Tony, ie the scheming, devious side of him. Some might say, without this, what is he ? It's probably an overly romantic and perhaps unrealistic notion that somebody like Tony would change that much by falling in love, but perhaps my feeling is that this is actually his first time being legitimately head over heels. Dunno. I tried to have him still be the ornery risk taker of old (swinging their hands high in the air and especially being as obnoxious as possible to anyone who inquires as to his sexuality,) but the reader can advise if I've de-Tony'd him too much.
I realized mid way through this chapter that I hadn't had Maxxie sketching anything, anywhere in the entire story, so I enjoyed having him do so here, and finding this among his happiest moments with Tony, as well as his feeling that it provides confirmation that their connection is "right and good, and in fact maybe even meant to be." Ahhh, I do love (and will miss) these boys terribly, sniff ...
