Journal

He returned sore, but was in great spirits. What a mess. His shirt was torn, his best pants were all bloody, even blood on his shoes. He had a bloody nose, split upper lip, and wasn’t sure if he’d broken his jaw. He washed the blood from his face, arms and chest.

I sat in my desk chair, feet on the bed. He sat down at the foot of the bed, head down, while he waited for his nose and lip to stop bleeding. Every once in a while, he’d sneak a look at me. And he’d get this wonderful grin that was part shy, part mischievous. After a few of these he laughed and said, "Stop looking at me." I couldn’t. He was so damned cute. J Something about a bad boy…

It took him a while to rest and recover. The "Jar of Flies" CD by Alice in Chains was on continuous repeat. At one point we were sitting up in bed together, he leaned over and put his head on my shoulder. I leaned my head over on top of his and closed my eyes, not thinking of anything in particular. Then without warning I began to see things I only see in my deepest meditations.

Ordinarily, I can only reach that state during an extended meditation in a quiet, serene outdoor setting where I’ve meditated before and have become comfortable. Yesterday, I reached that state in only seconds with loud, but not blasting, heavy metal on the stereo, and the man I love resting against me.

Hmmm. Never thought of using Alice in Chains as a mantra! J No, it wasn’t the music, but the relaxed feelings of peace, love and harmony that moved me there so quickly without even trying. As he became more comfortable, we slid down and he rested his head on my chest and later my belly. He let me hold, stroke and caress him. We hardly ever spoke. We spent a lot of time like that before we went out.

As I’ve admitted to him, (and you,) I’m a closet metalhead. He’s taken me on as a student. On Saturday we went to Record Archive and picked up "Jar of Flies" by Alice in Chains, and the self-titled album by Temple of the Dog.

We headed out yesterday to Lakeshore Record Exchange with the CDs I wanted to trade. We traded about 15 dance CDs for a promo copy of Soundgarden’s "A-Sides" and Dream Theater’s "A Change of Seasons". They didn’t have the Megadeath CD he was looking for, nor a couple of others. We settled for "Jagged Little Pill" by Alanis Morissette, a CD I’ve been meaning to pick up for years, but have never quite gotten around to it.

Naturally I cruised the dance CDs. Didn’t find anything I was looking for in particular. But I did pick up an import dance singles compilation from Sunscreem, my favorite, if obscure, dance music group.

So, 15 CDs and a few bucks later we headed out. I wanted to get somewhere outside of the city at least once this weekend. I phoned ahead, and we stopped in to visit Terry and Dale.

It’s interesting what Danger-Boy picked up on. That while they were no longer present, there had been ghosts living in the "new" house. This of course shocked Terry, because he’d never told anyone else. I certainly had no clue. So we enjoyed a few Heinekens while Terry and Dale told the stories of the ghosts who had inhabited their house, and how they had been set free.

Later we went out to feed Billy (their goat), visit the ducks, Heuey, Dewey and Louie, and the chickens. Billy’s horns are starting to come in and he loved all the attention and head scratching. All the animals seemed to take to Danger-Boy. Billy likes him a lot, and the cats all come over and curl up at his feet.

The balance of the day was restful, if uneventful. Well, there’s one thing worth noting. I think Debbie and I are seeing eye-to-eye now. Danger-Boy and I only hang out together during the days and evenings. And, excepting the occasional fistfight, I’m keeping him safe and giving him the opportunity to learn trust. He spends his nights with her, unless she picks a fight with him and he needs to decompress.

It was still daylight when we all hit the hay last night. He hadn’t slept in days, I don’t think Debbie had either. And you know how exhausted I was. I got in 11 hours of shut-eye, he’s working on 13. We both need our strength to get through today, tonight and tomorrow.  I hope they take him right in.  I can't work and keep him safe at the same time.  And the checkbook is mighty low.

Watching someone go through withdrawal is not pleasant. I’ve never had to watch it before. Right now, I don’t know which is worse. Going through it yourself, or watching the man you love go through it. I feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do that can make him feel better. Except of course run down to the 7-11 for a six-pack, and jet over to one of the local crack houses for a couple of rocks.

He has decided that these are not options. He has to look his worst when he shows up for rehab to make sure they take him right away. It’s a strategy. Just in case they say he has to wait because there’s someone else in worse shape. And looking your worst is a tough thing to do for a guy who, not only prides himself on his good looks, but has had to trade on them.

He hasn’t eaten in several days. Neither of us can quite remember how many it’s been. And it’s not for the lack of my trying. He did have a few fries on Saturday, (the rest he fed to the sparrows,) and half a slice of pizza last night. His body just doesn’t know what to do with food, because it’s been feeding on itself for so long.

He wanted to stop at McDonald’s when I picked him up today. He wanted a number three. We thought it was a good sign. When we got to my place, he got down a few fries, and half of the quarter-pounder. It was touch-and-go for a while because it wanted to come back up. And all the salt made his lip start bleeding again.

Although he’d slept until after two this afternoon, and even as his body was wracked with spasms, sweats, chills and nausea, he managed get in almost an hour and a half nap on the couch. My turn to watch him sleep. After a while, I took a little nap on the floor myself.

Ten days now since we met. My life has changed completely and forever. We agree it was destiny which brought us together. What we’ve shared these past few days will keep us together. What stories I have to tell, what memories to savor.

I know I haven’t done everything "by the book" these past few days. There are those who would argue that buying beer and crack is not the way to help an addict. But I justify it on these grounds:  I am not trained in addiction therapy. Even if I were, I don’t have the resources and facilities to do it anyway. My job has been to keep him safe and alive long enough to enter treatment.

He hasn’t had to rob, steal or turn tricks since we met. That’s kept him safe. I’ve bought him beer and paid for his crack. I’ve listened, loved and kept him out of danger, (well except for the fistfight, and there was no way anyone could have stopped him from finding one.) That has kept him alive.

It’s up to the professionals now. God I hope they take him in tomorrow. I’m not sure how much more either one of us could take if they don’t.

Today seemed to go okay. He drove me to work, and took the car around to the different centers. Later, he got himself a ½ sub, took most of the day to eat it, but it stayed down. Since he picked me up at work, he’s not been complaining about most of the symptoms. We weren’t home more than 15 minutes or so and he’s out like a light. Never even heard the phone ring when Debbie called.

I had forgotten how much you sleep in recovery. Thinking back six, almost seven years ago, I think I slept for about six months straight. I don’t know how he’s doing it. It hadn’t really occurred to me that on top of everything else, he’s essentially six to eight hours jet-lagged due to his schedule change.

The biggest problem for the next week is going to be structure. I’ve got to have the car tomorrow, so his mobility will be limited, which limits his opportunity for structure. So he mapped out a whole to-do list of stuff for tomorrow, which includes regular meals and rest time. He’s looking forward to going to bed at a reasonable hour tonight and getting up fairly early tomorrow to work through his list. He even wanted a whole sub to take home tonight.

So what about me? I’m beat. People are calling me everything from stupid to a saint. I don’t feel like either. But frankly, I’ve been enjoying myself. I’ve been tucking away little things for when I have more time to write. I really like the guy. And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing all this.

I mean, I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot in my heart for rentboys. I’m usually the best trick they could hope to find. But outside of maybe a meal and a shower, and of course the business of the matter, it ends there. I’ve never been with the same one twice, except for the one I wore out last Thanksgiving. He felt it was a customer service issue the next time at Christmas. Wore him out then too. J

So here I am with a guy, who at first I thought was str8, then who I thought was a rentboy, (okay, that part was true,) and who I now can’t imagine ever being without. And you know, it doesn’t bother me that he’s bi, intends to always have a girlfriend, and that all we’ll ever be is friends. Okay maybe the occasional boink on the side would be nice, but I really don’t care that much about it. The hard part for me, the incredibly hard part, is going to be finding a lover who doesn’t feel threatened by him.

When I picked him up after work last night, we thought a little reward was in order. We went over to Hogan’s for dinner. Then we went to Lake Shore Boulevard to watch the sunset. Amazingly, the highest bluff was empty. I parked right at the crest.

Some sunsets are vivid. Last night’s was rendered in pastels. The lake was fairly calm, the breeze right out of the west. As the breeze rippled the lake, it bought out shades of rose, mauve (trust me!), turquoise, teal, and the faintest violet. Notable by their absence, were the reds and oranges.

A nice relaxing time. Of course, it was helped along by a few beers. In retrospect, I should have gotten only a six-pack, but the 12 seemed the better buy at the time. We wound up drunk back at his apartment. We were talking and I’m afraid I "overshared." I told him how people’s opinions of him were changing. I meant it as words of encouragement. It put him into a real funk. We almost actually had an argument.

He still has this huge chip on his shoulder about his past. And although from the outside he seems to shrug it off, he’s really sensitive about it. He seems to think that everyone sees him as, "Once a con, always a con."

I’ve got to write him a letter now, so I’ll fast-forward a bit here. We got to bed late, he needed the car to take Debbie to Park-Ridge at 9:00 today for her out-patient thing. I’m used to getting up early, and lately after only a couple of hours sleep. I phoned this morning, no answer. I must have redialed 30 times before I gave up. I figured either the battery in the phone gave out, (the charger is giving us some trouble), or they were really zonked out, or he didn’t want to hear from me.

Naturally, I assumed the latter. I rushed thorough the shower and dashed over. Rang the bell, no answer. Shit.

Now, he’s done this before, so I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. At 7:30 this morning, all dressed for work, I found myself maneuvering the car over the curb and under the fire escape. I jumped onto the hood of the car, and pulled the ladder down, and climbed up. Reaching the window, I turned around to look inside. They were zonked.

After the shock wore off, it was, "Damn. Is it morning already? Why didn’t you call?" We talked a bit like that. Me all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed hanging from the ladder, they all bleary-eyed and yawning, sitting in bed. Finally it dawned on me that it was a bit indiscreet, and they weren’t going to get out of bed until I climbed back down (Duh, Bruce!). So I retreated to terra-firma and hoisted the ladder back up.

He picked me up for lunch later, and started to get out of the car. I motioned for him to stay there, and got in the passenger side. We got take-out and were headed to the park. I forgot to tell him where to turn, so we took the next one. Woodcliff. The most exclusive office park in town, just over the hill from Citibank. We pulled off onto the lawn just below the crest of the hill and enjoyed our lunch overlooking the hills to the south, ignoring the looks from inside the Mercedes, Cadillacs and Lexus’s that drove by.

(Geologically, they’re not hills, but drumlins. Look it up yourself.)

Arriving back a Citibank, it was just like in the morning as I got out of the car. He said he was going over to my place for the afternoon, which is cool by me. When he picked me up after work, he either felt or saw how tired I was, and gave me a nice hug. (Actually, I’d dozed off at my desk at least twice.)

I’ve been running around the past two days explaining to distraught users that the servers disappearing from the LAN then reappearing wasn’t their fault, or ours. Something’s screwed up in the Citibank’s global computer network. Every office in every country was having the same trouble. But of course, not much work could be done when all the servers and all the printers are winking in and out. It’s been hectic.

He drove home, and when we came inside, the bed was made, (I’d left it folded out) and the man had done the month’s worth of dishes that had been piled on every horizontal surface of the kitchen! I had figured roughly a ten-kiloton nuclear device would have been needed to get that dried-on shit off.

So I took my night-time meds. I’ll probably sleep until last-call! The meds should kick in just about when I post this. If you see anything that looks like this:

Nhb6 78 b786hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhy

It means I fell asleep on the keyboard! I just have a few minutes to jot down something really important.

I’ve really gotta say "Thanks" to all my co-workers at Citibank. They’ve really made the last couple of weeks easier on me. Even though we were really busy last week, they let me take a couple of days off, no questions asked. When I asked if I could take this afternoon off to catch up on sleep, my report-to, Rob, said, "Sure, no problem!"

So my most heartfelt thanks to Rob, Kelly, Kim, Mike H, Eric, Dan, Dave, Joe, and the big boss, Steve. Sorry Mike W, you’ve been on vacation. But I know you’d help me out anyway, so thanks to you too.

I may work at Citibank, but I work for Tek Systems. My thanks also go out to to my contract house, Tek Systems, for all the support too. That’s Shawn, Ali, Michelle, Drew and Amanda. They’ve been following my personal soap opera for the past couple of weeks too. Note to Shawn: Next time you do the "Customer Appreciation (read: Suck-Up) Lunch" thing, take Rob out will ya?

Three more nights, two more days. Whatever we do, it’s gotta be on the cheap. And, with any luck, I’ll be able to sleep-in on Saturday and Sunday. Last night was another one of those nights. Debbie had picked a fight with him, he left to decompress at a bar two doors down Main Street. He called at 12:45. I got back home at 2:45.

I can’t remember ever having been this tired. Fortunately, he’s feeling dragged out too. I hope we can get home at a reasonable hour tonight.

I made a pre-emptive phone call to my parents this afternoon. They’ve been up at our cabin in Canada. Mom usually calls after they get back, and I knew she’d flip out if she called and a strange voice answered the phone.

I had only told her that that I’d met a guy, his name is Danger-Boy, he’ll be 34 on the 6^th, and we’re moving to the southwest around the first of the year. And that it’ll be a little while before they can meet him. She’s concerned that knowing someone two weeks isn’t a very long time to make the decisions we’ve made. Just wait ‘til they hear the rest of the story Tuesday night at dinner! That will be one interesting evening. Expect a full report in next Wednesday’s entry.

In this afternoon’s entry, I neglected to say "Thanks" to all the guys who have been writing with words of support. I’ve thanked you each privately in my replies to your mail. I’d like to thank you publicly too. There’s too many to list here, you know who you are. Thanks.

And it’s occurred to me that maybe a birthday card a or a letter would help him out a little while he’s in Park-Ridge. I’ve never been in-patient, but I can tell you out-patient was no picnic. He’ll be at the end of his first week of treatment on his birthday next Saturday June 6^th and probably feeling a little blue. A little pick-me-up would probably go a long way.

We started by dropping by Willie’s to give him that Gloria Estefan CD I’d discovered I had two copies of. Then a few drinks at Muther’s, that’s a whole ‘nother journal entry! After that, back to my place shortly after midnight. We’ve been here hanging out, alternating music on the CD, and just enjoying each other’s company.

I kinda dozed off, and awoke to him rubbing my head and playing with my hair. How nice. I love it. And you know, that sonofabitch still can’t figure out why I like him so much!

Oops, he just pulled into the garage. Gotta dash!

Vince stopping by and watching his tongue fall to the floor as he meets the freshly showered Danger-Boy.

Lake Ontario State Parkway, headed west, at a stately 55mph (90km/h) in the slow lane. Shit, it wasn’t very many years ago that I considered 85mph (you figure it out in km/h) a minimum speed for cruising the Parkway.

The Parkway looks even better now that they don’t have the budget to cut the grass. Strangely in all the lush greenery, sections make me think of the Serengeti.

Trying to decide if we should go all the way to Niagara Falls (another 70 miles) or turn around when the fuel gauge gets to ¾ and go home for a nap. Nap wins by two.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day. Low 80s, low humidity. I decided it was a good first day for shorts. This was a mistake. He’d wait for me to look out the side window, reach over and pluck a hair out of my leg. Ouch! J

My last cigarette will be the one I have at bedtime tonight. I’ll have to start working through that too. I won’t have the support he has. I’ll be doing my withdrawal, recovery and dealing with my personal demons alone.

My feelings are a bit too close and powerful for me to write about right now. Danger-Boy withdrawal has already started and I only dropped him off at Debbie’s not quite two hours ago. That’s a whole other soap opera.

I started crying in the car when he picked up his things at another friend’s house and we started over to Debbie’s. I expect I’ll be doing a lot of that in the very near future. I have no idea how things will go tomorrow when I drop him off at Park-Ridge. Thinking about it now will only make it worse, I expect.

I greatly admire his courage. He’s doing it for the right reasons. He’s doing it for himself. Not for Debbie, or me or the courts, or anyone but himself. He essentially has to kill and bury the man he’s been for the last 34 years, and start all over. I hope he likes the new Danger-Boy more than he likes the old one. I told him today that if he gets nothing else out of the program, that he has to learn how to stop torturing himself.

I think I have to stop here.