Shooting Matt

Randy and Matt discover something about Liam. Later, Randy and Matt take a trip to the lumberyard.

Don't blame LarryInSeattle if I snuck an error past him.

I hope you enjoy.

==========

It's dark when I wake. The first thing I think of is how much noise we made. I tell myself to relax. It's my house. If I want to take a lover it's my business. The memory of movement, caught out of the corner of my eye, re-surfaces. I roll onto my side. The door leading into the half-bath is ajar. I'm not certain but I thought it had been closed when we went to bed. I do know that the other door, the one leading to the kitchen, had been locked. I get out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb Matt. The wood floor feels cool against my feet.

I push the door open. It's quiet. My house is small. I've always been aware of its smallness and how easy it is to hear everything going on anywhere inside it. I've tried hard to fix the squeaky floor boards and squeaky doors. WD-40 is nothing short of a miracle in a can. Why it is impossible for me to carry it out to the Ranger and squirt a little on the driver side door is a mystery. The bathroom door, however, moves quietly on its hinges. The toilet seat is up, saving me a stoop. Even the short trip from the bed to the bathroom reminds me I may want to consider warming up a little before trying to act like I'm twenty again. I tell myself it's not the sex that causes my aches but my workout. Max even warned me I'd be sore.

He may be right, as far as the muscle aches, but probably not about the ache in my ass. It's a good ache. It's been years since I've felt well and righteously fucked. I grab one ass cheek and pull it gently. I touch my hole with the fingers of my other hand. My ass is sticky from the lube. In the dim light of the 40W bulb I don't see any blood. Don't judge me but I hold my fingers under my nose. All I smell is lube and semen.

I shake my head and groan a little at what I did, what we did, after fucking. I'm not into feltching but what we did is pretty damn close. I'm not into scat or pooh of any kind. Thus, the enema routine. Every anal sex site I've ever visited says the rectum is free of stool, claiming that if you don't feel the need to take a crap, your rectum should be the cleanest part of your digestive system. Maybe I got a defective rectum but I've never shoved anything in my ass, even after taking a dump, that didn't come out smeared.

I re-assure myself that if my fingers smell clean after touching my ass, and the jizz in my hand had looked like plain old jizz, I don't need to sweat it. I'm not apologizing or rationalizing (much). I loved every minute of sex with Matt. What worries me is, how far past my normal limits can this thing with him take me?

I turn on the hot water and let it run while I piss. I pluck a clean washcloth off the rack, at this rate I'll be doing a lot more laundry, and wash my cock and ass. I forgo grabbing another towel - after all I just washed - and use the hand towel hanging on the towel bar to dry myself off.

As I reach for the door knob leading to the kitchen I know what I'll find. I can see the button, the one in the center of the knob you push in to lock the door, is popped out. It's not hard to do. There's a hole on the knob on the other side for just that purpose. The locks inside the house are there as a reminder not to barge in, not for security. The door from the kitchen is not locked now. It was earlier.

I hear the TV in the living room. I stop at the fridge and pour a glass of milk. Liam is watching one of the Terminator movies, the third one I think. I sit down on the end of the sofa and take a drink of milk.

Liam sits in the recliner, legs pulled up beside him. It's hard to be sure but I think he has boxers on. It is the third movie. John Connor is discovering he's been brought to a fallout shelter, not to the site of Skynet, and that Judgment Day can only be postponed, not stopped. I shake my head to free it of the notion that this is an omen pertaining to my own life.

"Have you ever talked to him, told him?" I ask my son.

He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the TV, unblinking.

"Don't you think you should?"

He shrugs.

"Where you watching us?"

He nods.

"Liam, I had no idea. I didn't know."

"Would it have mattered?" He asks, pulling his eyes from the credits to look at me.

"Of course it would have mattered," I say, shaking my head. "Jesus." I look at my son. "Why didn't you say something to him?"

"Say what to him? 'Yo, dude, I know I just walked in on you and my dad making out but, dude, like I've been wanting to hook up with you myself.' Are you totally mental, pop?"

"Liam, I'm sorry, not just about Matt, everything. I had no idea. How long have you wondered? Known? Are you bi, gay, what?"

"Bi is old school, pop. I'm pansexual."

I shake my head. I'm sure Liam is capable of enlightening me, at length, on the difference between bisexuality and pansexuality but I don't see that it matters in the present situation.

"Why didn't you say something to him before?" I ask, still oscillating between confusion and remorse, anger and concern.

"Why haven't you?" Liam snaps. He cuts me off before I object. "Not about Matt, about yourself. Why, watching you, would I assume it would be okay for the world to know I'm as interested in guys as I'm girls?"

I open my mouth to tell him he's not talking about the same thing. But he is.

"You wouldn't," I admit. "I was different when I was your age though. It's hard to shake that. I worried about complicating your life, complicating the custody issue. I worried." I shake my head and correct myself. "I worry. Period."

He doesn't say anything. The hum of the DVD player is maddening. I cross to the 'media center', as we refer to the cobbled together shelves that hold the TV, DVD player and disorganized DVDs, and stab at the power button with one finger. As I turn back to the couch I wish I'd not been so compulsive about squeaky hinges and creaky floors.

Matt is standing in the hallway, looking back and forth between us.

"Am I invited to the powwow?" His face is as expressionless as his voice is flat.

"Of course," I reassure him. "I'm not sure how you can avoid it." I capture his attention with my stare. "It was a question of when not if, Matt. I only put it together as I was taking a leak, or maybe while I was sleeping. I don't know. All I know is when I heard the TV on, I knew it would be Liam and I knew why he was sitting here in the dark watching TV." I turn to look at my son, who will not look at me, or Matt. "I knew he was in love with you."

Liam's head jerks up. His eyes blaze. "I never fucking said I was in love with anybody!"

"No, you didn't but that's what you think." I sit down on the couch. "You may be right. I don't know. It's clear that neither of you," I turn to look at Matt, still standing in the hall, "have had the time to share any of the things that can lead to love. Thinking you're in love isn't the same thing as being in love. Trust me. But that's the way it starts. Interest is sparked, usually by something trivial, a silly joke, a smile, the sun happens to light up the eyes, or the hair."

I look at Matt's long hair. I've never seen it down and in the sun. I imagine the tones and highlights, the way it would glow, more gold than brown. I remember my vision of washing his hair.

"Almost anything," I continue, pushing thoughts of Matt's hair aside. "With your mom, it was the smell of her hair. We had to act out a scene, for class. In it, she turned abruptly to leave. When she did, her hair swirled into my face. I didn't mind. It didn't smell of shampoo, not exactly. I can't describe...never mind. It doesn't matter. There's always a stage of wishing and wondering." I look at my son, glowering at me. "There's always that first moment when you wonder if maybe, just maybe, something might click between the two of you. If you're like me, you'll have taken that initial interest too far. I had half convinced myself I was in love with your mother before I ever asked her out.

"I'm afraid that's the spot you find yourself in. You aren't me, thank God, but you have some of me in you. I could be full of shit. You'll probably tell me that I'm full of shit. Even so, I'm not sure I'm totally wrong.

"Matt is in the same boat," I add, looking at Matt. "He's never had the chance to think of you as anything but a teammate. Maybe he's had one of those absurd moments of having his interest piqued but, thinking you'd not be interested, he let his interest die."

No one speaks. Matt remains standing in the hallway.

"Brah, you never wonder if I was gay?" Matt asks.

"Did you ever wonder about me?" Liam snaps.

"Dude, brah, fucking all the time. I had you pegged as a total flamer from day one."

We both stare at Matt. He holds his grin in check for a long time.

"Fuck you, asshole," Liam snarls when he realizes Matt is fucking with him.

"Sorry, brah, no can do. The dadster has convinced me that topping is the way to go."

"Please," I groan. "Do not call me that!"

"Sure, Ran-Man, no sweat." He grins at me, daring me.

I refuse the bait. I stand up, feeling every ache. "I'm going back to bed."

"Randy?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay if I hang with Liam a while?"

"Sure, Matthew, no sweat."

To me it sounds as if I've answered without hesitation. But 'no sweat'? That's quite a stretch.

***

Matt follows Randy a short way down the hall. He embraces the older, not old, man. Randy's arms go around the younger man's waist. He reminds himself that he's known all along he was being a fool, tells himself he knew there was no future. Those thoughts hold no comfort for him. Matt steps away and returns to the living room.

"Brah, you really gay?" Matt asks, settling himself onto the couch. He unconsciously pulls his dick up to rest on his leg.

"No, I'm pansexual. Didn't you hear that part?"

"Dude, I heard everything. I wasn't asleep. What the fuck is a pansexual?"

"I dig everyone, whatever their gender identity."

"Fuck, bitch. So do I. But I only want to fuck the dudes. You telling me that if I get turned on by a trans-dude that means I'm pansexual not gay?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Oh fuck me. You know how fucking complicated that makes everything? Fuck."

"It makes it simpler. I can be into you if you identify as a dude or a woman."

"So, if I told you I was actually a chick inside a dude's body and you wanted to fuck the 'woman' in me, you wouldn't be gay? You'd be, what? Straight? Since you'd be a dude fucking a 'woman' who happens to look like a dude?"

"No, dickwad. I'd be pansexual."

"Wait, wait. What if we both identify as chicks? Would that make us lesbians?"

Liam stands, scowling. "I'm not interested in playing this fucking game right now. But, let's pretend you're serious. Isn't it easier to just call all that pansexual? Instead of dicing and parsing and what-iffing?"

"Brah, chill, man. All I'm saying is the way you define it all pansexual means is you'll fuck anyone."

Matt reaches out and grabs Liam's wrist as he stomps pass the couch.

"Dude, sit down. Please?"

The scowl continues to hang in front of Liam's face. Beneath his fingers, Matt feels the tension drain from his friend, long before his friend sits. Wisely, Matt says nothing.

"I remember sleeping over at my grandma's," Liam begins, staring at the dark screen of the television. "Dad's mom. He's right about at least one thing; Gram Donelson is a hateful old bitch. Grandma Bigland was cool. She didn't take any shit but she was super chill at the same time." He leans back into the corner of the sofa, pulls his feet up under him, assuming the position he'd held while sitting in the recliner. "She had a fucking gigantic old TV, one of the ones that had its own cabinet. It seemed gigantic but the screen was probably smaller than this one. It had that heavy glass that bulged out like a giant bubble. It had to be thirty years old. When you turned it off the light collapsed toward the center; I always thought it was like a black hole, except it wasn't black; it was white. The white dot would glow forever. I tried to time it but I always fell asleep before it went black.

"When I was really little I thought that TV was the bomb. When I got older I hated it. Grandma didn't have cable. Shit, I'm not sure you could hook cable up to that old beast. I shit you not - it had antennas with the tips wrapped in aluminum foil. There was a round antenna for the small local stations. That's what I usually watched. They played old horror flicks, shit like that.

"I was visiting her one summer, by myself, that meant I got the couch. If pop was visiting, he got the couch and I got the floor. I was on the couch. I think I was thirteen, maybe twelve. Grandma had gone to bed. It was a teeny house, one bedroom. The only door was on the bathroom. Dad had attached a curtain to separate the bedroom from the living room and kitchen but that was all."

Liam looks at Matt for the first time since he sat down.

"Did you ever see that old movie, with Kirk Douglas, 'Spartacus'?"

Matt shakes his head.

"It's nothing compared to the Showtime series. It was even pretty tame by the standards of cable back then but there was something about it. You know who Tony Curtiss is?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "He played a slave. It seemed like he was always topless and wearing these tiny shorts or skirt or something. I had never really thought about guys until that night. I'd thought about girls. I had beat my dick raw thinking about Jenny Lewis, and the bassist from the Smashing Pumpkins, Ginger Sling. I still think she's fucking hot. But that night all I could think about was all the dick hiding under those togas and how the Romans didn't seem to get bent out of shape over a little man on man.

"I had this unbelievable boner, dude, hard as a piece of granite. My balls ached. The movie finished. I went over to turn off the TV, kinda hunched to hide the wood in my Fruit of the Looms. I wasn't too worried. Once she hit the sack, grandma didn't budge until morning.

"I laid back down on the couch. I never jerked off at her house before, except when I was in the bathtub. No shower by the way, tub and an old tin pitcher to rinse your hair off with. That night I did. And that was the one night she decided to come walking back into the living room. She remembered she'd forgot to put a roast out to thaw. She walked in, glanced, looked startled and then walked on into the kitchen, set the roast out in a pan on the table and went back to bed. All she ever said was, 'good night, Liam'.

"Maybe that's what it was but I never thought about dudes, I'm mean not seriously, except maybe a little gay porn or something, but not seriously until I met you in high school. I'd be making out, going hot-n-heavy and BOOM, there you were in my head. It got so bad sometimes I couldn't cum unless I pretended I was fucking around with you. Courtney knew something was wrong, maybe even

exactly

what was wrong."

Matt waits but Liam appears to have finished.

"Brah, how the fuck did you hide that? You must be like fucking Tom Hanks are something. I mean, I totally had no fucking clue you were interested in me." He looks at Liam. "And you never wonder, not once, if I might be open to that?"

Liam shakes his head. "Not once." He looks up. "What about me? You really never wondered about me?"

"That you might be gay? Nope."

"It would appear we both played our parts too well." Liam sighs and catches Matt's eye. "If you'd known, would you've been interested in me?"

"I don't know," Matt admits. "Not because you're not good looking or anything. I always thought you figured I was just another dumb jock."

"I never thought you were a 'dumb jock'. You wanted people to think that, why I'm not sure, but you didn't fool me. I knew you were smart, smart as anyone else in this part of paradise. I couldn't hang with you; I just couldn't."

"It's cool. I totally get it."

"What made you suspect my dad?" Liam asks. "I sorta knew cause of the porn on his computer but in public I never saw anything to make someone wonder."

Matt smiles. "I didn't, not really. I kept telling myself I was totally fucking crazy, that there was no way. I finally got so horny that I convinced myself it was safe to push it a little. I figured he wasn't the kinda dude to start calling me names, or call my folks, or beat me up, you know, freak out shit like that. I did wonder, just a little. It was like he was too fucking careful, taking pictures and shit, you know? It was like he was a parody of a man trying to act like he wasn't hiding, that he had something to hide. That make any sense?"

"Uh, yeah bro, like, uh, totally, uh yeah," Liam intones the words like a surfer with a traumatic brain injury. "'Parody'? You forget your dumb jock routine, bro?"

"Fuck you - brah."

They smile.

"Now what," Matt asks, smile fading.

"Dude, I'm not going to fight my dad for you or some shit like that."

"I know that, numb nuts. But that doesn't solve the problem, does it? It avoids it, that's all."

"What? You going to tell my old man, 'thanks for the tumble, later, dude'?" Matt stares at him until Liam holds up a hand in surrender. "Fine, sorry. You wouldn't do that. But I don't know what deal you guys have going. Are you dating? Hooking up for a weekend? Even if that's all it is, call me nuts, but I think dating your dad's former lover is likely to be a bit weird."

"Fraught with peril, even, aye?"

"I prefer the dumb jock persona," Liam says, rolling his eyes.

"Sure, brah. The problem I see is a doozy. I really dig Randy. He's kinda amazing and I kinda fucking hate you for having him as a dad, even though my own dad is tres cool. The other problem is; I really dig you, too. I mean it always pissed me off that you seemed not to like me, 'cause I definitely thought it would be dope to hang with you. I mean, seriously brah, it wasn't like I never noticed you were there. But between your closet and my closet and your very harsh and cold shoulder, my attention gravitated to the dadster. But now that we've had time to hang, I totally love it. You're fucking cool, a bit tightly wound, a bit harsh, a lot like the dadster."

"I get it. I do. I'm happy for the old fucker," Liam groans. "Doesn't mean it doesn't suck." He waits until he has Matt's attention. "Dude, I told you though, be careful. He spends half his time telling himself it'll never work and half his time wanting it to. I have to ask, dude. What are you after? You looking long term? A summer of fun?"

"How can I answer that? I'm not much for super casual hook-ups, although that's all I've had. Did I go into this expecting to grow old with your dad? No. Who does? Well, unless he's right and you do. I told you, told him. I like your dad, like him a lot. He's been terrific, not to mess with your head or anything, but he's been a terrific lover. You have any fucking clue how beast it is to find someone who not only shows you new experiences but really seems to want it for

you

not just

them?

How long will it last? Fuck if I know, but I know I want it to last longer than tomorrow or the weekend."

"Fair enough," Liam concedes.

Matt looks at his friend. His smile isn't without sadness. "I wish I'd caught you staring at my dick in high school or something."

"Yeah," Liam sighs. "'Isn't it pretty to think so?'"

Matt groans and drops his head back on the couch. "Fuck, brah, you're into Hemingway? On three, what's your favorite? One, two three."

"A Farewell to Arms"

Their voices are simultaneous.

"Fuck"

That too is said as with one voice.