Elvis Rex (Part 7: Rex)

It was during my trip to my father's that I realized I was never going to resolve anything with Seith. Ignoring the compulsive lying on his part, I was starting to feel more like Seith's guardian than his boyfriend.

Seith wanted to go the beach and boywatch. Elvis was bored at the beach and wanted to go shopping. Seith didn't have any money left. Elvis wanted me to buy him souvenirs. I said no. Elvis pouted.

Back at the beach, Elvis went swimming with my mother's camera in his pocket. When I relayed the story to Big Gay Tom he theorized that Elvis did it on purpose. I disagreed. I'm pretty sure he'd been planning on stealing it.

I was getting a little frustrated with only having Big Gay Tom to discuss Elvis with. As previously mentioned, Big Gay Tom was not my best friend. In fact, the only reason we hung out was because our mutual friend, Cute Straight Boy had introduced us, and I had inadvertantly gotten Big Gay Tom a part in a play I was working on. My dislike was feuled by the fact that he got the part I had planned on but my bitterness was only part of the reason for not wanting to spend much time with him. Some day Big Gay Tom will have his own entry, but it will not be rated X.

When we got home from my Dad's, there was a message on my machine from a friend I hadn't seen in a couple of years, he and his SO (another friend of mine) were coming to Cranberry Lake for a few days and wanted to hang out for a while. I called them back and invited them to stay in the guest bedroom.

Elvis was less than pleased.

I'm not sure whether he was still self-concious about being out to strangers or whether he just didn't want anyone to know that he had settled for me. Either way he had strict rules about no PDAs, which was no problem for me. I'm not a PDA person. Though I would occasionally invade his physical space in public just to watch him cringe. I tended to restrict my tauntings to the minutes after he would start pouting about how I wasn't going to buy him something.

Mike and Gina (the two friends) arrived on opening night of my play. Neither Seith nor Elvis attended. They met me at my place before the show, and I introduced them to Elvis, who was on the porch smoking.

After the show, while Gina was in the restrooms and Big Gay Tom and the rest of the cast were beaming about how wonderful they all were, Mike asked "Is Seith your boyfriend?" It was easier to just say yes than to explain that Seith was the spoiled child currently taking up residence in my bedroom who I was fucking a couple of times a day but really wanted to kill. "You could do better."

It was like someone slapped me in the face with a wet towel and then kissed the pain away. I could do better than SeithElvisRex.

My plan was to go home and talk to Seith (or Elvis is he was still being pouty about having visitors) about him either getting a job or going home. And if he got the job, he was going to have to move into the guest room for a month, at which time he'd have to find his own place.

I was unprepared for who I met at the door when I got home.

If anyone's read The Dark Tower series by Stephen King, you know the story of Odetta Susannah Holmes a schizophrenic with a mean personality named Detta Susannah Walker. The two women are mostly unaware of the others' existence. When they are forced to confront their duality, they merge into a new person: Susannah Dean. Susannah can control her duality, and easily flip between Detta and Odetta. This was Seith in a nutshell. When he wasnted to be nice he was Seith, when he wanted to be a bitch he was Elvis. The boy I met when Mike, Gina and I arrived home was Rex.

Rex had either just woken up, had been crying or both.

"I had a dream that my grandfather was sick. Last time I had a dream like this it came true."

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/3882.html

Elvis Rex (Part 5: Crimes Against Seith)

By the end of the first week, Seith had made it out of the house. We hit a few touristy "historical sites," some trendy "urban clothing" stores, and a hair salon where he had his hair meticulously styled into something that resembled my very much unstructured hair. I made a mental note to watch Single, White Female to see if there were any other warning signs that your roommate is trying to take over your life.

On the way home we drove by quite a few car dealerships. "Pull into this one." he said at one of the used dealerships near the end of my street. "Why?" "To look at that car, dumbass. It's cute."

The car was cute: a white 1994 Camaro. I could see myself blasting Billy Joel tunes in it as I drove to the nearest NASCAR show. It was an incredible bargain at $6000. Of course, I already had a car, and had no desire to get rid of it. "You should buy it for me."

Saying no was one of my first Crimes Against Seith. Further crimes included not buying him a cat, not buying a 52" widescreen television for the Playstation, and not taking a day off from work to drive him into Big City so he could shop.

Crimes Against Seith were punished by withholding sex. An empty threat. To me, withholding sex is when the person who wants to fuck says "Let's fuck" and their partner says "No, we shall not fuck." Seith was hornier than I was, which was no mean feat at the time. His idea of withholding sex was sleeping on the couch at night, but waking me up in the morning to fuck. I was beyond traumatized.

I soon began bugging Seith about getting a job. I helped him write a resume, and called a bunch of my friends who had the power to hire people at their perspective jobs. None of them were skilled labor. They were mostly retail, a few restaurant jobs, and some landscaping. Seith failed to follow up on all of them. Getting a job was too hard.

Seith was also getting too hard. My six hours of work everyday was sexually frustrating to him. I'd come home to find my computer chock full of pornography. I have nothing against good porn. I don't even dislike bad porn. In fact, there's a little bit of both on my computer right now. But he was a pornaholic. He'd have Realplayer and Quicktime movies playing simultaneously on the computer, while watching boy band videos (the 1998 MTV equivalent to gay porn). "I thought you'd never come home." And then he'd wrestle me on the bed, get my clothes off and perform calisthenics on my cock. Crimes Against Seith be damned.

It was during one of these sessions that the doorbell rang. I'm not accustomed to getting many unexpected visitors at my house. Especially not when I'm balls deep in a boy with no ass. I pulled out, yelled a "Be right there" down the stairs, ran to the bathroom for a quick body rinse and cologne spray, threw some shorts and a shirt on, and ran downstairs.

Big Gay Tom was at the door. Big Gay Tom was Big (about 6'4"), Gay (about 11.5 on a scale of 1-10) and Tom (at least according to the couple who named him). Tom was a 21 year old Senior in high school. By the end of the next month he "dropped into college" after getting his GED.

Tom wanted to run lines for a show we were doing. I wanted to return to my bedroom. I was about to tell Tom it wasn't a good time when Seith came trouncing down the stairs in jeans and one of my shirts, a cigarette dangling from his pout.

This is where Seith discovers that a week ago I commited The Ultimate Crime Against Seith. I slept with Big Gay Tom. No, wait, I hated Big Gay Tom, and Seith had no desire for monogamy. But what could be a bigger crime than sleeping with another guy? I told Tom Seith's real name. See, one night when Seith was on the couch punishing me for not buying him something, he left his wallet, keys, and driver's license on my desk. It is then that I learned that Seith's real name was Elvis B. (insert last name here). The day after the discovery a woman with a thick southern drawl called and asked to speak to Byron. When I told her there wasn't a Byron at the number she said "Well his real name is Elvis, but I can't imagine he's going by the name his Daddy gave him."

Elvis Byron. How could I not tell someone?

So when Seith came trouncing down the stairs, Tom said "You must be Elvis, Insafemode has told me so much about you."

While Tom and I ran lines, Seith smoked about half a pack of Parliament Lites. He was clearly upset. As we were wrapping things up, Seith came in from the porch. "I need more smokes."

Big Gay Tom shouted "Road trip!" as though it were hundreds of miles to the nearest 7-11 instead of about a mile and a half. The three of us piled into my Not-A-Camaro and drove to the 7-11. Seith decided to stay in the car with Big Gay Tom, while I went in to buy his cigarettes.

When I came back in the two of them were sitting in awkward silence. The next day, at work, Big Gay Tom stopped in and told me that Seith had tried to talk Tom into joining us for a threesome. "A threesome? Me? Imagine. I'm a princess. Besides, he smells like nicotine and cum."

When I got home that day, Seith was on the phone to Poor Boy. "I smell. I smell bad." he was saying as I walked in. "There are two showers in the house." I reminded him. After he was done talking on the phone, Seith plodded up the stairs, where I was checking my e-mail. "Wanna fuck?"

Sign off. Log out. Remove clothes.

He did smell like niccotine and cum. Even moreso by the time we were finished. "Have you ever noticed my fetish?" he asked as I was slipping the condom on. "Your fetish?" "I always wear my socks when I'm fucking." "Wow. You're really unique." "I also like to jerk off when someone's dick is inside me."

That was the longest and most in-depth sex conversation we had.

After about an hour or so of sub-par sex, Seith took his second shower in my house (the first being our co-shower when he moved in). We then went to the movies where we saw something so dumb, I can't even remember it. I've even looked over the complete list of movies released in 1998 to see if something would ring a bell. I remember sitting through Patch Adams, and enduring Baseketball, but I can't remember which movie Seith and I saw.

After the movie Seith started whining about pets. He needed company while I was at work. I argued that he only ever slept or watched MTV when I worked anyway, besides I already had a lizard. "But that's your lizard. I want us to have a pet.

We headed over to a local pet store that sold everything from feeder fish and crickets to dogs and ferrets. We settled on a pair of Chinchillas. They were pretty moderately priced, and I figured that if Seith and I broke up, or if I just didn't like them, I could at least get a nice fur trim for my coat out of the deal.

After a few hours of watching them play in the cage, I decided to name mine Spider. He was always climbing the cage trying to get away from the other chinchilla. The other chinchilla had no name yet. It spent a great deal of time climbing around the cage after Spider and crying. The crying prompted Seith, in his most obnoxious baby-talk voice to ask "Whatsamatter? Is you ok? Whatsamatterbaybee?" The next day I named his chinchilla for him: Qué mal.

These chinchillas would prove to be the barometer for the rest of our relationship.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/3355.html

CSB

I don't think I'd ever refer to something as The Kiss of Death. Depending on who they get to play Death in Good Omens, I can't imagine Death being kissable. Let's review the people who've played Death in TV shows and movies: Norm Macdonald, William Sadler, Jason Alexander, and Adam Corrola. None of them are on my top million list of guys to fuck.

If there were any characteristic of a person that I would even consider labeling "The Kiss of Death", it would be the use of patchouli as a bathing substitute. Even before I lived in Vermont, where showers are viewed with a disdain that Republicans reserve for a gay marriage ceremony involving a black guy and an Iraqi civilian, I couldn't stand the vile smell of patchouli. Even typing that word makes my nose hurt.

On the first night of my Acting class in college, I caught a whiff of something patchouliesque. Something *sniff* *sniff* almost like patchouli, but somehow not displeasing. Nasal gaydar. When I turned around I saw the hottest, obviously gay guy I had ever laid eyes on. I made small talk with him, and bided my time before I went full on flirtatious. This was back before Whore Month, before Ryan came into play, before I had dared do anything remotely gay near where I lived. Sure, there'd been Victor at boarding school, and Alex at college, but those were faraway places.

After a couple of weeks, the boy in class had done some obviously gay things. He had rapped the complete lyrics to Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby", he wore tight fitting t-shirts, he kept mentioning that his friends said he looked like Leonardo diCaprio. He couldn't be gayer if he was walking around with my dick in his ass, something I was hoping to prove with extensive testing.

We started hanging out a lot. More than a lot. When he went through a rough patch with his mother, he moved in to my condo for a while. Neither of us were yet twenty-one, but I looked old enough to not get carded very often. So every other night or so we ended up plastered and sharing the pull out bed in the living room. It was on one of those nights that I decided to grow some balls and tell him how I felt. Why that night? I was hammered. How hammered? Hammered. I was hammered. There were nails buried in plaster mumbling "That guy is hammered." That's how hammered I was. Hammered. I was playing some sort of show tune on the piano, the boy was singing along. He was singing beautifully. (I later discovered he was practically tone deaf, but it sounded amazing while I was hammered) At one point he leaned in real close and started close crooning. I turned my head toward his and leaned in to kiss him. Well, that's what I did in my head. In real life, I turned toward him all googledy eyed, and we started laughing.

He'd been in the house about two weeks when I finally said "I am so in love with you" in a way that I could pretend it was a joke if he didn't feel the same way.

"Dude, if I was gay, I'd be all over you." He said. I hate that phrase. You have no idea how many times I've heard it. Usually from guys who later came out as gay. This was the first time. It stung like a wasp with a harpoon gun on his abdomen.

"You're not gay?" I asked with mock mock horror.

"No. But every gay guy I've ever met crushes all over me. You should meet my friend Tom." So a couple of weeks later, after Cute Straight Boy had mended fences with his mom, and moved back into his garage apartment, he took me to hang out with his friend Big Gay Tom. It was hate at first site. I find uber-queeny gays annoying, Tom didn't like guys who weren't flamboyant. Tom was insanely jealous that CSB had lived at my house for a few weeks, I was insanely jealous that Big Gay Tom was always giving CSB the option of getting kissed or hit, and CSB usually picked getting kissed. We each hated the fact that the other person was crushing on their not-gay boyfriend.

After a particularly funny remark that CSB made, Tom brayed like a donkey while I said "I would so have his babies." And the claws came out. Tom's claws. I let him go absolutely crazy and catty and vicious while I sat quiet and reserved, imagining that CSB wold think I was classy for not stooping to Tom's level. When he realized how not Gay I was, he'd surely fall in love with me, and we would have hot hot sex in his mother's garage. That would be so hot.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/84348.html