Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins
Read Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins Online
Authors: Kage Alan
Zumaya Publications
www.zumayapublications.com
Copyright ©2008 by Kage Alan
First published in 2008, 2008
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is prohibited without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Alan, Kage, 1970—
Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins / Kage Alan.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-934841-00-6 (alk. paper)
1. Gay college students—Fiction. 2. Michigan—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Andy Stevenson versus The Lord of the Loins.
PS3601.L327A84 2008
813'.6—dc22
2008027434
Without your patience and guidance during my formative college years, I might never have seen my work in print while I'm still young enough to enjoy it.
Ralph (my Pookie!), Mom & Dad, Gladys Hurst, Jose Reyes (didn't I see you in a Subway commercial?), Miss Hayes (Agent Smith from the IRS is still looking for you), Miss Jenn-Jenn, Carolynn Neault, Kathleen (but-I-LIKE-using-dashes) Galloway, Miss Marianne (don't you DARE call me Diva!) Labahn, Jerry Yao, Honorable Adopted Little Brother Eddie Chi Kit Lam, Jay Taylor & Mike Sturm (who are not a couple), Christie Murphy (sweetness beyond words), the enigmatic Andrew Yee, Thuan, Kim (I just had dinner with Jay & Rick) Moon, Jay (I only have dinner with Kim) Estoye, Roger Reinsmith (1961-2007), Cindy Medley (the best day-husband a guy could ask for), my gals from Cadence (Snooky, Sandi, Carolyn and Dani), Mr. My-Dates-Are-All-At-Least-Eighteen Koyman, Von, Sylvia K., Sai, Christian, Edward Fong, Jonathan, Kendra Newland, Robin Curtis (who truly understands the meaning of joie de vivre), Will Trestrail, all the folks who we met during the first book tour and all the bookstores for having me!
This book was written and edited to the music of Alphaville, Tears For Fears, Fiona, Sarah Brightman, Simple Minds, Inker & Hamilton, Real Life and E-Type, none of which was downloaded.
The beauty of a continuing story is that it has the potential to go beyond the original tale and achieve entirely new heights. The reality of a continuing story, however, is that it can tend to suck and
not
in the good way.
Highlander 2, Galactica 1980, Star Trek V, Jaws: The Revenge
... hello???
And then there's me. I'm Andy, just a typical 19-year-old college student from Detroit, Michigan. What's so special about me? Not a thing. Well, nothing until I went to California six months ago and had that whole cliched experience-that-changed-my-life thing and blah blah blah. I've heard it as often as you have, so I won't bore you with the whole sordid story down to the smallest detail. I'm not my mother. Well, maybe I'll tell you some of it just so we're on the same page.
Suffice to say that I met someone in California who I was convinced was the anti-Christ, only he obviously wasn't. He's my cousin and, unfortunately for me, attractive. Okay, he's hot! I do want to make the distinction that he's my cousin by marriage only. It was California, not one of those other, less progressive states. Anyway, Jordan—that's my cousin—pushed me to come to terms with a major issue in my life. Not only did he finally get me to admit that I'm gay—I am, I double-checked—but he was also my first, which is how I double-checked. Oh, come on! It's not like Jordan and I didn't use protection. I'm kidding. No, we did. We used protection. After all, safety comes first ... then hopefully you both do, too. Sorry. Gay humor. Couldn't help myself.
Right, so. I'd rarely left Michigan before, and well, who'd want to? I'd miss the daily season changes, our luxurious family-sized potholes and our colorful state tree—the little orange construction cone. In-state jokes, sorry. Anyway, I left home, went to LA, experienced a little of the beach and nightclub life and finally learned how to be comfortable just being myself. I also learned that a French Tickler isn't a masseuse who studied in Paris and that ribbed isn't always for
her
pleasure—very important information there.
So, how exactly does one top an experience like that? If this was one of those early 80s family television shows, I'd be living happily ever after in some little Italian villa with Charo as my crazy neighbor or stepmother. It didn't happen like that, though.
I went through the motions of finishing off my summer vacation back home, moved into a private dorm room at school and completed the first semester of my sophomore year—all without raising a single suspicion concerning my sexuality. I wanted to tell someone, and I tried to, but no one was picking up on the clues. It felt like everybody knew who I was, but that they weren't really paying attention to what I was saying, much like I imagine Andrew Ridgley felt when he released his solo album after WHAM split up. Yeah, exactly.
You
didn't know he had one, either.
I needed someone I could talk to, who could help me learn more about myself and who I could grow with. Most people look for this kind of relationship with a therapist. Me? I wanted a boyfriend. Jordan would have been the perfect candidate had I stayed in California. After all, he turned out to be an excellent role model, and what could be better than meeting the kind of man I want to share my future with? Meeting the kind I don't? No, I can do without that little drama entirely. I'm a much nicer person these days, so there's no reason for the proverbial bird to fly over and shit on my head.
Naturally, this is exactly what happened right after Christmas break.
I've matured. I mean, how long can somebody be the “bad boy” they've always imagined themselves to be? I'm like Captain Kirk! Okay, more like Mr. Sulu ... only I'm not quite sure why he comes to mind. Seriously, I must have matured because I smile quite a bit these days, and I find very little to be unhappy about. Why? Because life is good and I feel very alive.
Yes, I've officially become one of
those
people, the kind who sincerely annoyed me even six short months ago by the sheer fact I knew they were breathing the same air I was. Well, no more! I have tamed the beast and wrestled my inner bitch back down into that dark, miserable place within my tortured soul where it belongs, right next to that New Kids on the Block tape I once bought—I lied and told the cashier it was a gift. Please, we all know it was because Donnie Wahlberg looked good in tight jeans. Anyway, while I'm making a valiant effort not to be sarcastic, it doesn't mean I can't still make observations. Those are legitimate.
For instance, the only thing worse than a summer in west Michigan is a winter in west Michigan. Students either gag on the lovely aroma of fertilizer or struggle to breathe at all in the sub-zero, lake-effect winds that whip through the campus and nip at the tips of our noses and toeses and...
Wait. That's not a word. Forget that last bit. Either I feel like I'm a resident of Hooterville or I'm Nanook of the North. While Kira, my Siberian husky, loves this kind of weather, it makes me long for someplace warm, exotic and that serves some useful purpose, like Florida. You know—God's waiting room where old people go to die?
An exchange student from Turkey I'd met the previous semester named Aydin spent the entire Christmas break traveling throughout Europe eating croissants, drinking the local elixirs and having the time of his life. Instead of spending my holiday doing something similar, I had the pleasure of freezing my balls off at home working somewhere I don't want to get sued for mentioning and then freezing said balls further when I returned to school; but at least I'm not alone. Two other friends of mine I met last semester, Ryan and Miss Kim, complain about the same thing.
Ryan is unusual, and not just because he has balls that freeze. All balls freeze. It's a fact. While I found him to be unpleasant—sometimes extremely unpleasant—he abso-lutely despised me in the beginning because of several nasty comments I made about Guns N’ Roses in my music column in the campus newspaper. Once we started hanging out a bit in an English class, though, he slowly came around, as did my opinion of him. Of course, he doesn't miss an opportunity to tell me how awful he thinks my taste in music is, but he's short. What can you do but vent when you're short?
We both have a passion for writing and also share some pretty strange ideas about the art. For instance, Ryan and I want to write novels, but feel that one isn't worth reading unless it's a minimum of 500 pages in length. We also feel that to break into the business, we'll have to outdo anything ever written by Stephen King because, you know,
that'll happen
. I get the feeling Ryan might be a little bit judgmental, too, and that's based on the fact he has bumperstickers declaring “No Fat Chicks” plastered all over the back of his car. As Kim is fond of saying, mostly when he's not around, “That is one emotionally scarred mutha...” You get the idea.
And speaking of Miss Kim, she is one of the most uninhibited women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and not just because she claims to have balls that also freeze. You see, she's from Gary, Indiana, a place well-reputed to make anyone shiver in a combination of fright and awe when the name is uttered. Despite this, if the phrase “black is beautiful” was ever coined for someone in this current day and age, it's her. Well, her and Oprah. It's probably a good thing that Kim's never seen the bumperstickers on Ryan's car, though. The girl is on the buxom side of life, which I feel compliments her, and she has a wicked streak. It just isn't in anybody's best interest to incite her, especially Ryan's, who tends to incite everybody.
One of Kim's major strong points—other than being the only one who would watch British films with me for a class I'd taken—is that she knows exactly what her sexual nature is and doesn't feel the need to apologize for it. The girl has presence, but it's her smile and deceptively gentle mannerisms that I see people respond to the most. She attracts quite a bit of attention from the local studs, only she's rarely interested in the ones who give it to her. Putting it kindly, let me just say that she's a bit on the cursed side in that she has a knack for being attracted to men she can't have. I asked her once why she rarely committed to any of the suitors who actually pursued her.
"Oh, honey,” she explained, as if addressing a young child, “if I wanted a permanently-helpless-overly-hormonal-co-dependent-money-sucking penis-bearer, it wouldn't be much of a challenge. Instead, I want a buck who's going to treat me like the goddess I am, not expect me to be some here's-your-fried-chicken-would-you-like-a-beer-with-that barefoot-and-begging-to-be-pregnant bitch in the kitchen. That's not in my contract.” She held up her hand. “See no evil, hear no evil, date no evil."
Who could argue with that? And where would you begin if you tried?
Ryan, on the other hand, once spouted that if he wanted a money-loving, mind-manipulating, life-devouring blood-sucker, he'd just date his ex-girlfriend again—or any other girl on campus. He also stated that, on the other hand, you have a whole new set of fingers. Carrying on a conversation with him could be a little difficult at times, and I was surprised that he and Kim were even able to be civil to each other during the occasions the three of us had hung out together.
