Chapter 24: Bonus- The Many Subspecies of Gays

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Jace: The Many Subspecies of Gays

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"They got chickens, real live fucking chickens…with feathers!" Emma's bemused warning welcomed me as I sashayed into the house.

Rule number one to being Jace Carlisle: Always, always make an entrance. Even if you are returning to your home to find a bunch of drunken idiots with potential infectious poultry.

I shared this house with more people than I could count, actually that's just a figure of speech I know everyone who lives here and why, but it's one of the best ways to convey the fact that my house was fucking full. Nine at the moment, including the five drunk homos in my kitchen who held three different sized chickens in their hands as if they had just gotten ribbons at the county fair.

Current paying boarders at La Casa de Carlisle: Me, of course, the disproportionately attractive queer with a heart of gold.

Emma, the only girl and campus drug dealer—the best source of high quality edibles outside of Seattle.

Emma's brother, George, the infinitely confused bi-sexual who harbors a crush on me so large it's difficult to ignore and I wouldn't, if my heart didn't already belong to a big chocolate idiot.

Emma's boyfriend, Tripp, our highest paid and highest paying resident. Tripp works for the state as a "Parking Enforcement Officer" which was just a fancy way of saying a meter maid. He is one of only two heterosexual men lucky enough to live within our pack of gays. I don't discriminate.

Rule number two to being Jace Carlisle: never judge a guy by who he wants to put his dick in.

The second straighty in our bunch would also be our only resident who considers themselves religious: Vladimir Rabinovich, our resident Russian and Jew, whose name was too cool not to say in its entirety. Vladimir Rabinovich, frugal by birth, searched the city three times over for affordable housing for an international student. He stayed in several cheap motels before being blessed with an invite to Tau Kappa Fag.

If you can ever find yourself a gay roommate, consider yourself lucky, because while they won't usually live in anything less than fabulous, they make for great housemates. Homosexuals are by and large a very tidy and considerate group of people, who will rarely judge you for whatever stupid or weird shit you do.

Rounding out the lineup of hot homo studs of Tau Kappa Fag, was my ex-boyfriend cum confidant, Charlie Asher, a member of the Gay Jock subspecies that is a rarity you must see to believe, as well as a redhead whose carpet definitely matched the drapes.

Charlie's new boyfriend, Sebastian, our second taste of international flavor, hailed straight from Sao Paolo, Brazil and was a queen that should not be messed with.

We also housed Mr. Mason Cleary, a different kind of rarity in the gay subspecies known as the Hot Gay Nerd. The "Hot Gay Nerd" is often so shy their hotness can be overlooked. If you did happen to find a Hot Gay Nerd, weasel out the fact that they were gay and get them to talk to you for any extended period of time about anything besides games like World of Warcraft or Anime, you would have a treasure. For any man who can capture the heart of a Hot Gay Nerd and has the patience to handle his ridiculous obsessions and terrible sense of fashion is rewarded with the most fiercely loyal lover the world has ever seen.

And finally there was the newest proclaimed member of the gay club Lawrence, my Lawrence. I met Lawrence the year I turned sixteen at my fifth and final foster home where we lived with a beautiful and rather rubenesque Granny from Barbados. Miss Powell loved all of her foster wards with equal fervency, there was never one moment in her home where her "baby boys" felt like a paycheck.

There are many types of foster homes but the most common was the kind that took in kids like it was a paying job. Miss Powell worked though, for a middle school as a lunch lady and there was never a lack of good hearty food or anything else growing boys would need. However, Miss Powell sent us back in the system when she caught me blowing Lawrence in the laundry room, because, while Miss Powell was lovely and warm and caring, she was not down with the limp-wristed mob.

Lawrence and I only were separated once since, during my brief but memorable stint in Clallam County Juvenile Detention Center. It would be nice to say we have been dating all that time, but aside from a few gropes and stolen kisses here and there, Lawrence and I have remained almost entirely platonic in the six years since.

He wasn't officially gay until yesterday, when a good kiss from a King-sized Native American brought him to his senses. Apparently I just didn't do it for him, but I wasn't going to allow myself to be bitter about it, because that's just not my style.

Rule number three to being Jace Carlisle: never dwell on things you can't have. It's a waste of energy and will make you prematurely wrinkle.

"Jace!" The excited screams from my roomies brought a painfully large smile to my face as I headed to the fridge in search of a cold beer before I addressed the issue of wild game in my kitchen. It took almost a full minute for me to stop looking, and for the anger of my missing beer to register.

"What the—"

"George drank 'em," Mason answered quickly, passing his tiny chicken to Lawrence and exiting to the right. The Hot Gay Nerd has an innate ability to sense and avoid all danger.

"Fucking shit! I just bought those!" I squealed, a bit nasally, kicking the island that lies in the middle of our kitchen. On the other side of the island stood Vlad, Sebastian, Charlie and Lawrence all cowering from my growing bitch-fit.

"Not me," Vlad said solemnly, holding the largest of the three chickens which was white and rather pretty as far as chickens went.

"Ay, Jace, it's just beer, I have some Corona in the bottom drawer," Sebastian waved dismissively. Charlie turned to him, his big green eyes bugged out as if to say 'don't aggravate the queen!'

"And the chickens? Why the fuck are there chickens in my kitchen," I asked and when Sebastian looked as if he were going to say something smart-assed I added, "Chickens that aren't fried or kung pao-ed?"

"Chill, Jace," Lawrence's velvety voice piped in for the first time and I didn't look at him. I couldn't look at him and I didn't want to. I was done, fucking done with following that big idiot around. He didn't want me and I wasn't going to waste my youth and beauty on an idiot who couldn't see the perfect that was moi.

"Here, a joint as an even trade for the beer?" Emma offered and when I glared she pulled out another, dropping two of her famous double wide pink joints rolled in papers that smelled of strawberries when you burned them, though didn't improve the taste. I stomped off, not getting a straight answer about the chickens but too flustered with Lawrence to care. He followed, I could hear his footsteps so I walked faster reaching the stairs and trying to get to no-man's-land before he caught me.

Lawrence doesn't come into my room, not after the time we almost did it against the door of my closet, while tripping on magic mushrooms. My heart sped when I heard his big heavy footstep on the creaky stairs still following me.

I have a wild imagination, a side effect of having way to much alone time as a child—but tonight, with Lawrence's determined steps leading to my private domain I was coming up blank. If it were anyone else, I might come up with a witty or snide comment, but right now all I could think to say was, "fuck me, please" and that wasn't going to happen.

Rule number four to being Jace Carlisle: never beg for sex unless it's royalty or a rock star.

When I reached the door, I turned to him. He still held the tiny chick in his hand, a bright yellow that clashed against his soft mocha skin. He didn't look up at me, holding the chick as if he were giving it as a present. I watched it too, sitting calmly in his large palm which I imagined was soft and warm, though a bit dry because he was the kind of gay that knew nothing at all about toiletries.

Lawrence was of a different gay subspecies all together, the same subspecies as Mark: the Barely Gay gay. Famous Barely Gay gays include Rock Hudson and Abraham Lincoln, whom other than their phallic desires remain completely undetectable. The Barely Gay gay is the most coveted of gays because of the difficulty involved in obtaining them for more than a one night affair.

"Where were you?" He asked not looking up from the chick which was now pacing small circles on his hand.

"I was at Mark's," I said quickly, my hand resting on my doorknob.

"Are you guys… together?" he asked casually, letting the chick down gently on the floor as it started to hop dangerously near the periphery of his hand.

"No, he's all yours," I sighed, slowly turning the knob, it groaned like all the ancient parts of this house. He stepped closer, putting his chiseled arm up against the door frame so that I was sandwiched between my semi-open door and his broad chest.

"Shut up," he hissed, grabbing me by the back of the neck and pulling me to him, kissing me hard. I clawed at him, trying to pull him closer. He stepped forward forcing me back and farther into the room.

"He's into the professor, you know?" I asked as he stepped back to pull off his shirt.

"Jace," he warned, his big hands working their way under my shirt and across the flat plains of my stomach.

"He is," I insisted, unable to process the reality that Lawrence was kissing and touching me.

"I don't care if Mark's in love with the Pope, Jace, it's you," he said running the tip of his tongue from the top of my pale shoulder up to me ear.

"What's me?" I asked dumbly, fumbling with the button fly of his jeans.

"You know what," he huffed, pushing my hands aside and pulling one edge of his fly down quickly so that all the buttons came undone at once. He turned me around, pushing me against the door as he worked my pants open and down.

"No, I don't know," I insisted pushing him away half heartedly.

"Jace."

"Jace what? I'm the one you want to fuck? Why? Because you know I'm stupid enough to be in love with you?" I screamed. That's a funny thing about bravery, most of the time we have running dialogues of shit we'd love to say but are too afraid to voice, but when you finally do gather up the nerve to say something truly epic you never whisper it, why half ass a proclamation of love.

"Goddammit, Jace!" he breathed using the door behind me to push himself away.

"Just go," I sighed, stepping away from the door and motioning for him to leave me. He stared at it, at my hand and at my naked upper half. I crossed my arms over my chest feeling dinky and underdeveloped next to him. He didn't move.

"I love you, Jace." He had said it before, but then he also called me his brother much to the confusion of almost everyone who met us, so this didn't mean anything.

"I'm IN love with you, so just don't okay? If you want a quick meaningless fuck, try George," I advised searching for my shirt in the dimly lit room. He walked slowly towards me, picking up the shirt by his feet and holding it out for me to grab. When I went for it he pulled me to him, placing one soft kiss on my lips.

"Please," I pleaded, pushing at him, he stood firm.

"Don't make me say it again, Jace," he whispered, placing another quick kiss on my lips.

"Don't fuck with my emotions, Lawrence, please," I whimpered, as his hand led a hot trail down my back.

"I love you, Jace," he said pulling me towards him with my butt.

"No, you don't," I cried, silent tears trailing down my face. I could feel myself getting red, entirely unattractive, so I tried to turn away but he held my face firm in his hand, forcing me to look at him.

"Two years," he whispered, kissing me once again, his tongue poking out to trace my bottom lip.

"Two years what?" I asked, closing my eyes as he touched me.

"Why are you making this so difficult?" He asked, pushing me onto the bed. I let him undress me, lying naked in front of him with my eyes closed so tight he'd have to pry them open.

"I don't believe you," I admitted opening my eyes half way so that I could see him staring down at me.

"Fine, whatever. I knew you liked that Mark kid," he hissed, picking up his shirt and heading for the door.

"Say it again," I whispered as his hand reached for the knob.

"No. If you don't believe me then, fuck it," he shouted.

"Oh, for the love of fucking God, just say it again, Lawrence!" Emma screamed from the other side of my wall. This house is old and poorly built, the thin walls unforgiving when it came to noise.

"I love you! I fucking love you. I am in love with you!" Lawrence screamed, stomping his foot with every 'love' he uttered.

"Fuck me, please," I moaned and he smile, the biggest whitest smile I'd ever seen as he launched himself towards the bed and on top of me, Emma squealing merrily on the other side of my wall. Our walls, the thin but loving walls of our home.