Justin and Brian grew quiet. No … pensive. They both worried that they had made a bad judgment call. Parallel but different judgment calls.
Justin was wondering whether he should have asked Brian the name of his mystery man instead of what Brian had seen. He had asked the question he did because he desperately wanted to know whether Brian had "had him" before, and he thought asking for a recounting would help him figure that out. And it did. But that wasn't the only reason. Or maybe it was in a way.
Justin needed Brian NOT to have had sex with his mystery man for the same reason that he wasn't sure he still wanted to learn his identity. Justin had spent years imagining his mystery man, remembering what he could, representing all that in his art, and even creating a fantasy relationship with him. When Justin was lonely or confused or horny or insecure or scared, he would recall the details he could (his smell, the way his skin felt – a patchwork of hard and soft, smooth and furry or stubbly, the sound of his voice as it grunted, moaned, and growled, the sensation of skin on skin, of his mouth on his mystery man's erection, his mystery man moving inside him), invoking the man and filling in missing details. THEN, he would take what he needed.
He would imagine, word for word, a conversation between them, even going so far as to try to be realistic. Justin may have been the only person in history whose fantasy told him at times hurtful, bitter truths. But that made the fantasy seem more real. Such conversations occurred outside relationships, after another one night stand … or before anything happened (again) while they sat at a bar.
He would imagine ways they might meet again, as well as ways they'd ultimately end up dating. This, too, often stung. Justin knew that with a predator like his mystery man, pain, and lots of it, would precede any kind of relationship they might have. Sometimes, Justin would explore one possibility for weeks before allowing himself to imagine the sex, the I love yous (or even the I like yous). But after that, he would get to enjoy imaginary dinners and snuggling together on the couch.
Sometimes he would imagine pieces of fantasies … like his mystery man's hand in Justin's or his mystery man's mouth on his shoulder – just enough to get him through something heartbreaking or terrifying.
In this way, bit by bit, Justin's mystery man became very much a real person. And collectively, all the fantasies became their history. Justin even felt like he loved him. Like he had fallen deeply, deeply in love with him.
Why not ask his mystery man's name? Because he'd never said goodbye to the fantasy. Because he'd never started with the reality. And if Justin knew who it was … he wasn't sure what he would do. One fear was that he might develop an unconquerable urge to meet the man (again). And once he did, would he want to pursue a relationship with him? That had been Justin's dream for so long. He might not be able to stop himself.
Where would that leave Brian? What would that say about Justin's feelings for Brian? Surely, they were at least as real as the ones he had developed for his mystery man. Probably more. But … all that was a Pandora's Box he didn't really want to open. Justin's mystery man had been his lifeline and his inspiration. Had been. He was part of Justin's past. Brian was Justin's present. Well, part of it. A BIG part of it. He owed it to himself and to Brian to keep his mystery man where he belonged, completely separate. Or so he had thought. But now, he was doubting. He'd wanted to know the man's identity for so long. But he'd never had hope of discovering it. Could Justin live with not knowing? Would knowing create chaos? That's what he pondered, as he mechanically shoveled food into his mouth, sipped his wine, and periodically glanced up at Brian. There was still time to ask. Brian might even answer. But should he?
Brian was suffering from a similar dilemma. He was both relieved AND annoyed that Justin hadn't asked who his mystery man was.
Part of Brian didn't want Justin to know, NOT EVER. That would create for them a deeper history and cast light on everything Brian had done since "meeting" Justin at the gallery. Every one of Brian's lesbianic actions and words would THEN be pregnant with meaning. Justin would make more assumptions about Brian's feelings, about his own importance to Brian. Even worse, their encountering each other like this, twice, when they might so easily have lived in completely separate orbits … that would lend a feeling of destiny or fate to their 'relationship' or whatever. He'd fucking popped the kid's cherry for fuck's sake … Brian would NEVER be able to shake Justin off. Not if Justin knew.
But … part of Brian KIND OF, MAYBE wanted him to know. And for all of the abovementioned reasons. He liked the idea that their encountering each other was fate. He liked the idea of making THAT much of an impression that Justin had dreamed of him, painted him, and used him as inspiration to become a fat fucking success (and in New York City – no mean feat even for someone as talented as Justin). Brian liked the idea that Justin might be able to understand him and his feelings without being told. He liked the idea that they had a continuous history.
He, too, ate and drank mechanically and periodically snuck glances at Justin. All he had to do was tell him. He could do it right now. But should he?
The rest of the evening was kind of a blur. For both of them.
During the car ride to the theater, Brian and Justin both expressed or, rather, compensated for their guilt, Brian for not telling Justin his mystery man's identity and Justin for kind of wanting to ask.
Justin sat very close to Brian and placed his left hand on top of Brian's left hand (which was resting on his left leg), even threading his fingers down through Brian's. Brian upped the ante, sliding his right arm around Justin and pulling him closer.
When they arrived at the theater, Justin marveled briefly at the red carpet and the minor celebrities walking inside to the roar of cameras clicking and even giving interviews. None of that caught Brian's attention. He was looking for the Flash Vodka guy. And when he spotted him, he slid his hand in Justin's and made a beeline for the man.
Justin was fully present during the introduction – He experienced a bittersweet happiness when Brian spoke. Brian had released his hand, but then placed his arm around Justin's waist and said, "Hello, Mr. Mosuro! You don't know me, but you'll want to."
The man was dubious. "Will I?"
Brian grinned. "Well, if you want to weather the impending PR storm, you will."
"What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. Brian Kinney, advertising executive from King & York. This is my boyfriend, Justin Taylor." He extended his free hand and shook Mr. Mosuro's hand firmly.
Brian weaved his magic. He was on autopilot. And of course, he got the meeting.
Neither of them really watched the movie. They were both in their own heads until they got back into the car. They needed to tell the driver where to go. Hours ago, they would have known right away. Now … they were having urges they weren't sure they should fight.