Sorry about the wait. And thanks for all the reviews!
Ya know what the great thing about holding Max's hand as we walked down crowded streets? I don't even notice people staring. For all I know, they could just be minding their own business. I mean, Max and I aren't the only same-sex couple in the Big Apple. As if.
But whenever we're palm-to-palm, I'm just oblivious to everyone and everything going on around me. Like, all that matters is that I've got somebody to hold my hand and chatter on about Menudo.
Definitely preferable to the pining-after-Felix days.
Speaking of my old comrade, he was strangely jumpy around me. Most likely because of the Max factor, but I was fairly sure he'd gotten over that by now.
You know what? Forget him. What do I care about some homophobe who may have been my dear pal at one point? If he can't handle me, then it obviously wasn't meant to be. Platonically or sexually.
I was jerked back to the present as Max's key scraped the lock of his apartment. "Mom?" he called as we strolled into the foyer. "Dad?"
When no one called back from the recesses of their ginormous pad, Max took the opportunity to both grab my ass and mash his lips against my own.
"God, you're sexy," he murmured, taking my hand and yanking me down the hall.
"Where are we going?" I asked, startled by the sudden change of pace.
"Leavesy? Ya home, muffin?" called Max. He then opened the door to his room and practically shoved me inside.
I giggled helplessly. "You're nuts."
"I'd be nuts if I didn't take this opportunity to have some fun with my lovely boyfriend."
"Where are your parents?" I asked breathlessly as Max sat me down on the bed. It had only just occurred to me that I had yet to meet the parents of my boyfriend of almost a month.
Max had met my folks through a series of increasingly humiliating incidents in which they took the opportunity to poke their pretty little noses in rooms where Max and I happened to be snogging.
"Out," said Max, straddling me. "They're always out. But I think they'll be home later tonight. Why? Am I boring you?"
Uh, hottie in my lap? Me no think so.
"No!" I assured him, pushing back a shiny lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "I just wanted to meet them that's all. Under regular circumstances, instead of how you met my parents. Like, you wouldn't be licking my ear."
Max didn't chuckle fondly at this memory, but instead halted his nuzzling. I could hear him breathing rather heavily in my ear, though to my knowledge, we hadn't even gotten to the really good stuff.
"What's the matter?"
"They're…um…let's maybe not talk about them right now," he whispered, regaining his rather lust-driven tone. "The parentals aren't exactly a turn-on."
And I must say, Max is a rather spectacular boyfriend when he's not thinking about his parents. That is, when he's thinking about the best way in which to nibble my lower lip.
It's really weird thinking back to last month, when I was lonely, depressed, closeted, and fully sure that I was looking forward to a life of eternal misery.
But I think admitting my sexual preference was one of the best things I've ever done (you can't beat 2nd place in the regional spelling bee in third grade). I mean, I'm happy now….I'm at peace…I'm in love…
Well, lust really. You can't love someone you've only known for thirty days.
But who knew that I'd find such a great guy on the first try? I wonder if Max is as happy as I am. If he feels the same way…
Except that's impossible. Because I'm not his first real kiss. I'm not his first hand-hold or ass-grope or cheek-stroke.
I'm just the replacement of whoever this Dan guy was.
I'm what Max is settling for after being forced to move to the other side of the country.
"Michael?" Max looked at me with a furrowed brow. "Whassamatter?"
It was kind of hard to voice all this aloud when Max's hand was resting casually between my legs.
"Nothing's the matter," I grumbled.
"No, seriously. Are we going to fast? Because we could always just watch the movie. I'm not asking you to—"
"It's not that!" I cried, throwing my head back on his pillow. "It's that you have to ask. That you've been there…done that. And you're totally in love with some other guy back in that crazy cult state and I'm just sloppy seconds. Admit it. You'd so much rather he was on your mattress."
Max took his hand away from my manhood. "Where are you getting all this from?"
That's all he has to say! I pour out my soul and he treats me like a LUNATIC?
By then, angry ears were glistening in the eyes that had been locked so tenderly with Max's just a mere moment ago. "Did you love him?" I whispered through gritted teeth.
"Love who?" asked Max, staring at me with utter confusion written all over his chiseled features. "Oh, Dan?"
"Yes, Dan," I spat. "Who else?"
Max looked thoughtful, looking down at his Power Ranger bedspread. "Well, that's what I told him. I won't lie. But…I don't think I really was. I think I was caught up in the moment. Like, he was my first boyfriend and the first one who knew about me and he fully supported me and accepted me. So I guess I was in love with that part. But other than that he was far too jealous and superficial and possessive. Gawd, it was a nightmare."
Jealous? Possessive! SUPERFICIAL?
"Am I a nightmare too?" I blubbered.
Max seemed to be trying to figure out how his horniness had dragged him down this road. "Of course you're not," he said softly, lying down beside me on the bed. "You're special. And sweet. And caring. And you're the first one that counts, in my opinion."
My face broke out into a wide, wide grin. But just as I was leaning forward to give Max an 'I'm such an overreacting douchebag. Forgive me?' sort of kiss, the sound of a door slam reached our ears and Max shot up.
"Max? Leaves?" a female voice called. Leaves must be having some conversation with Thermopolis, because he's been holed up in his room for hours.
Who ever it was sure sent Max into a flurry.
"Oh, God," he whispered.
"We're home!" a deep voice reverberated around the apartment.
"Zip your pants!" hissed Max, his left eye starting to twitch.
I still didn't wise up. "Wait, what's wrong? Are you feeling all right? I'm sorry, ya know, for overre—"
"It's cool," said Max quickly, putting a hand on my arm. "Just come on, and um, follow my lead. Don't say a word otherwise. And try not to walk so wonderfully. I'll explain later, 'kay?"
"Um, all right," was all I had time to say before Max pulled me out into the hallway, dropping my hand like a hot potato once we got out the door.
Almost immediately, I was faced with two rather middle-aged complete strangers.
"Hi, Maxie," said the woman, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek, which flushed to a rather maroonish hue.
"Mom, Dad," said Max, gesturing to the old folks. "This is my friend Michael."
Um…
WHAT?
Last time I checked, my friends don't press themselves close close close to me when the subway isn't even that crowded just for the opportunity to enjoy my aftershave.
Mr. Broderick nodded at me. "Nice to meet you, Michael…"
"Moscovitz," I finished, throwing a perturbed glance Max's way. "I go to school with Max."
"We were just working on some Latin homework!" chirped Max.
"On a Friday?" asked his mom in disbelief.
"Tell that to Michael!" said Max, laughing just a bit too loudly. "He's a workaholic. But I'm learning from him."
He's going to learn what happens when you piss off a Moscovitz. That's right. You heard me!
I'm getting Lilly in on this. Homegirl can kick some ass.
I didn't get the chance to berate Max until we were eating pizza in his room ten minutes later.
"You've got some sauce on your lip," said Max, leaning forward, I guess, so he could kiss it off.
But I reared back, my eyes flashing angrily.
"Michael," sighed Max, setting down his slice. "You're not mad at me again, are you?"
No answer.
"I've got a good reason!"
Stone-cold silence.
"My parents kind of…don't know."
"About us?" I asked, still not looking at him.
"Well…that figures into it. But they don't, uh…"
"Spit it out," I said impatiently.
"Let me put it this way…if I wanted to kiss you with my parents around, it would have to be in there."
He pointed a slender finger over at a door left slightly ajar, revealing a rather large collection of Converses spilling out.
"In the closet," I said slowly, finally meeting his eyes.
But he was the one looking away this time. "Exactly."
Long, uncomfortable silence.
"But…why?"
He closed his eyes and drew his knees up to his chest. "I'm scared," he admitted. "You should see my dad when he catches Leaves watching Will and Grace. I'd be shunned until the end of time."
"That's not true," I assured him. "I mean, I wrestled with it for weeks and then my parents kind of found out anyway. In fact, I only really told a couple of people. But it was all okay. I'm okay."
"You don't understand," mumbled Max, shaking his head. "It's…not that easy for me. I've tried, believe me. But any time I get close, it's like my dad knows what's coming and completely changes the subject on me."
"That's awful."
"Tell me about it."
The one advantage I could see to Max's secret is that his parents had been completely on-board with me sleeping over.
But they didn't have anything to worry about anyhow. Unless Max is telling the truth…and then they probably wouldn't care for boy-boy snuggling.
I untangled myself from Max's vice grip during the middle of the night, suddenly craving liquid refreshment. The digital clock on his night stand read "1:30" and I rubbed my eyes, stumbling towards the kitchen.
I wasn't alone in my late-night thirst, however. Mr. Broderick was sitting at the kitchen table in his tattered bathrobe when I felt my way in through the almost impenetrable dark of the rest of the place.
"Oh, hey," I croaked, looking at my boyfriend's father and starting to understand why Max hadn't spilled the beans on his homosexual tendencies. "Sorry to bother you. I just got thirsty."
"Michael Moscovitz," said Mr. Broderick in a really weird voice, his mouth smiling but not his eyes. "Ya know, Moscovitz, I work for an insurance company."
"That's, um, very nice, Mr. Broderick," I said politely, wondering where the glasses might be.
"One of my colleagues happens to be a man named Jeremy Richter. You may know his son…"
Uh, do I ever?
"Jeremy tells me interesting things about the school I've just shelled out over thirty grand for my kid to attend."
Mr. Broderick had stood by then, causing me to take a step back.
"Wh-what sort of things?"
"Evil things," said Mr. Broderick, raising his eyebrows. "Things about nancy boys flitting around and doing things that men shouldn't be doing."
I couldn't even fake-respond to this. So I just took another step back.
"Do you know who this might be?"
Very slightly, I shook my head.
"YOU KNOW GODDAMN WELL WHO IT IS!" shouted Mr. Broderick, his entire head, from nightshirt up, turning a rather purplish gray.
Another step back brought me smack into the refrigerator.
"And I'll be damned," continued Max's father, wagging a finger in my direction. "If I throw my money away so my son can come to a new school and make friends with the resident faggot."
So we're back to that friends crap again.
"You don't deny it, do you?" he said, a somewhat psychotic gleam in his Max-like eyes. "And now you're over here trying to seduce my boy, and I won't have it. I won't stand for that crap. Don't think I didn't see you in his bed like that. So get your sinful ways and your seduction and your lip gloss out of my goddamn house!"
Frozen, I couldn't even breathe let alone oblige.
"I said GET OUT!" shrieked Mr. Broderick, "GET AWAY FROM MY BOY AND MY FAMILY AND GET OUT! I don't stand for this crap, kid. And I certainly won't tolerate you under my roof."
Before I stopped lying to myself, I was always kind of weirded out by homosexuals. It's odd, I know. But you can't just spend your whole life denying what you really want.
Except that was exactly what Mr. Broderick wanted me to do. Right after I fled his house forever.
I mean, seriously. One pudgy insurance salesman plans to cut me off from my boyfriend? He can't do that! Can he? I mean, he's just his father. He can't change schools! He can't not come over to my house! He can't not want to kiss me and stroke my hair and all that!
Right?
Oh, God. He's going to extinguish all my cheer and light with one homophobic blow (I wonder how he'll accomplish that) and just trash all the sanity I've worked so hard for lately.
He's going to rob me of everything.
Christ. I can't breathe. I can't think. I've just gotta get out of here. Especially with Mr. Broderick glaring at me like I'm Satan incarnate, and his fists clenching and unclenching, and the rather frightening muscle twitching in his left cheek.
But I can't leave Max!
Seriously, though. How much of a choice do I have?
"Dad!" called a wonderfully familiar voice sharply into the stagnant air. "Dad, what are you doing?"
I could tell as Max stared at me, pressed flat against his fridge, that he knew exactly what was going on.
Like that mattered. What could be done?
Maybe I'll take Mia up on the offer she made me a while back. Lord knows I'll need all the love I can get being AEHS' 'resident faggot.'
All these horrible scenarios and poisonous thoughts and Backstreet Boy songs kept flooding my head until I could hardly take it any more. THE MADNESS OF IT ALL!
And then it all quieted. And I felt that sweet, sweet sensation. You know the one. I was gushing about it earlier? It includes an adorable boy and his knuckles?
That's right. Max was totally clenching my hand as though there were no tomorrow, looking his crumbling dad straight in the eye.
"Stop…stop yelling at my boyfriend," said Max, with all the strength he could muster.
I'm sure Mr. Broderick and I wore the same jaw-dropped expression of disbelief.
