It's Still Tuesday

Despite the fact that I would like to keep my fabulous cover front and center on the blog forever, I have Tuesday duties to fulfill!

Teaser and Rebels video. Today's teaser is from the book I'm editing right now, ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING!

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“Personally,” he says. “I think you are faking acceptance of your stepmother in order to convince yourself.”

Sometimes he makes pronouncements like these, as if he thinks he is the only one who has figured these things out.

So I say, “Now now, Mr. Malik, you are being wildly inappropriate. Attributing motivations to my actions. I don’t believe that is characteristic of a good director.”

“My God, you’re pretentious.”

I grin and take a sip of my coffee. I offer it to him, and he makes a face and shakes his head.

“All right,” he says, “Than what about on the personal side? How are things with…what was his name, Zachary?”

Zachary is on the tennis team. The closest to a jock I've ever come. Once I caught him looking at me in the locker room; that was the extent of our relationship.

“Zachary is straight.”

“That didn’t seem to deter you originally.”

“It ruled out the possibility of a real relationship. I have a different target in mind now.”

“Anyone I know?”

I look down. “I don’t believe this is appropriate.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to push you.”

“That isn't quite what I meant.” I raise my eyes.

He is quiet for some time. At one point, he glances at his watch exactly when I look up at the clock. I have the feeling we are checking them for different reasons. But I do not know for sure. I never know.

And this is all I get. A few seconds of touching, Identical smiles, and some of the best eye contact a seventeen-year-old homosexual ever gets. Maybe it is over for today.

He says, “I enjoy your company, Oliver. I enjoy that I can talk to you. I enjoy finding an adult in my life.”

“Mmm. I suppose I am an adult.” But it isn't as if he ever tells me anything about his life.

“More adult than I am, certainly.”

“You’re only about five years older than me.”

“Well, seven, but I understand your point. You’ve probably slept with men older than I am.” He closes his eyes. “I should not have said that. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.”

I start laughing.

He says, “Well, don’t make fun…”

“I am a virgin, Samir. I am such a virgin. I have preyed on men older than you, but I’ve never slept with one. I’m a virgin.”

He looks at me.

I roll my eyes and smile. “Just. Like. You.”

He blushes and looks down. “All right. That’s enough.”

That is enough; this time he's right. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I want more. Well, I always want more, but some days I want it specifically from him.
It will burn in my stomach a bit as I swallow a shared lunch, and I want to share dinners with him, dressed in tails and top hats and smiles, and breakfasts, dressed in bathrobes and bedhead and sleepy smiles. I should leave, go somewhere where I can catch my breath under the pretense of checking my makeup. I can tell that I am beginning to drown again in this. Winter break was too long. I have forgotten how to keep myself afloat above it all.

It comes in waves, like a bad trip, or the stomachaches after my mother died. It is not all the time, but it comes in distinct, peaked waves. Usually I can predict them before they hit their apex, and I can do something, something to control myself.
This one might have crested too quickly, or maybe I am still in the midst and it will get worse. It comes in waves, and I never know how big they will be. I hate not knowing.