Michael's Secrets (19 page)

Afterward, they showered together, and Michael asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner as his treat, but Steve said he had plans. He dressed quickly, kissed Michael goodbye and left.

Michael was confused and angry with himself, and he was also miserable.
Why was it when I fall for someone, I’m never happy?

Within fifteen minutes, Steve sent Michael an e-mail that said, “That was hot.” So, Michael figured he must not live that far from him.

Michael replied, “Yes, it was.” And, the downward spiral began as a pit formed in his stomach – a pit that would keep growing and growing.

They e-mailed back and forth for the next week, and he told Michael about this guy he chatted with online and that guy he chatted with online, and each time, Michael’s heart sank a little more. Steve continued not to answer his questions, and he also never answered his phone, so Michael resigned himself to knowing this would be an electronic friendship, relationship, or whatever the hell it was. If he were a fuck-buddy, they would have fooled around, and Steve would be gone and not heard from until the next tryst, which could take place six months later or even a year, according to the rules. But they had actually gone out and done something, albeit only shopping, but that was something in Michael’s mind.

The first Saturday in March, Steve called Michael around 2:00 pm and again asked what he was doing. Michael said he was writing, and Steve asked if he could come over. By now, Michael realized he had spent just about every weekend alone. Sharon would go to her cabin in West Virginia every weekend to be with her boyfriend, Wes, and Michael was always working.

By this time, Sid had secured Michael a deal with HTO to develop a one-camera sitcom, so Michael had begun drafting different ideas for a treatment then a pilot. Work or no work, he told Steve he could come over, and they were naked within minutes of Steve’s arrival.

Steve lay on his stomach as Michael ran his tongue from the bottoms of Steve’s feet up his calves to his round, hairy, muscular butt. He then did something he rarely if ever did as he parted those round cheeks and proceeded to rim Steve as he reached around and stroked his hard, thick cock. Steve was moaning more than Michael had ever heard him moan before, and he was begging Michael not to stop. Michael continued this until Steve came, foregoing his own orgasm.

As usual, they showered together, and Steve left.

The following Monday, Steve called him in the afternoon on his way to the gym after work. Michael answered, wondering why he was calling on a weekday.

“Hey, Michael, guess what I just did?” Steve asked.

“I can’t imagine,” Michael said as he turned away from the computer and leaned back in the chair.

“Well, I was picking up some stuff for a business trip from our office in Southwest, and I ran into this really hot guy I know there, and we went to the bathroom, and the next thing I knew we were making out. He’s so hot and Jewish like you. Isn’t that hot?” he told Michael as if he were supposed to be as excited as Steve was.

“Are you sure there weren’t cameras in the bathroom?” Michael asked, hiding his jealousy as his heart sank even further and the pit in his stomach grew larger at the thought of Steve making out with some guy in the bathroom.

“No, they don’t have cameras,” he said confidently. “I hope to see him again and maybe go out on a date with him.”

Michael was despondent as he wanted to know why Steve didn’t want to date him and who exactly he
was
in Steve’s life. Was Michael just some trick he used for his own pleasure?
Why don’t I end this right here and now?
Michael thought.
What do I see in him?

“That’s nice,” Michael said, not revealing how he really felt.

“Hey, listen to this,” he said. “I have wanted to buy another home as an investment, and I was thinking you could go in on it with me. I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my entire life. I would so much like to do this with you. What do you think?”

He won’t go out on a date me, but he will buy a house with me?
Michael thought.
He trusts me like no one else?
What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

“Steve, I already own a house in Santa Monica, why would I want a house here?” Michael asked.

“As an investment,” he said. “I have a goal of owning more real estate by the time I’m thirty-five, and with your help, I could do this.”

With my help, he could do this
, Michael thought as he saw but ignored another red flag.
How could I possibly invest in property with someone who does not answer my calls? What if something went wrong with the house after I returned to California? Why am I even thinking about the possibility of it? Do I want to be tied into something like this with someone who has never told me where he lives?

“Let me think about it, Steve,” he said. “This is a big decision, and I don’t make decisions like this without thinking about them.”

“OK, big guy,” Steve said. “I’m in front of the gym, so I have to go.”

The following Saturday, Michael took a chance and invited Steve to see a play. Instead, Steve said he was going out “to be bad,” so Michael didn’t push it or ask if he could come along. Michael realized then that Steve never wanted to be seen with him in public. He always had plans, usually related to a leather event. Michael didn’t see him that Saturday, but on the following Sunday, Steve called, and Michael got the usual, “What are you doing?” and he of course said, “Writing,” and Steve came over.

By now, Michael knew he had fallen so in love with Steve it scared him. Steve came over, and they got naked, but didn’t start with the sex right away. As they lay there, Steve told Michael how he went out the night before, and he could not get anyone to even look at him let alone make out with him.

“I cannot give it away,” Steve said as if Michael were supposed to sympathize with him.

“You should have called me.”

“Oh, I don’t think of you that way,” Steve said as he looked into Michael’s eyes.

“But it’s OK to call me in the middle of the afternoon for a fuck? What were we doing here, Steve?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing … Michael, I trust you like nobody else. I feel a connection with you I’ve never felt with anyone. You mean so much to me.”

There was that word again – trust. Michael turned over to his side, facing away from him, and Steve spooned him and asked, “What’s wrong?” while he stroked Michael’s chest and stomach.

“This will never work,” Michael said.

“I know,” Steve replied without hesitation.

That was not the response Michael wanted to hear. He was hoping Steve would say, “Oh, Michael, it could work. We could spend the rest of our lives together, buy a house, adopt six children and live happily ever after.” As a writer, Michael should have known that only happens in movies. He wrote lines just like that, himself. But, Steve’s reply was just, “I know.”

“Then, why are we doing this?” Michael asked as he turned his head to look at Steve.

“Can’t we just have fun? Why does everything have to mean anything?” Steve asked as if they were of the same mindset.

Why does everything have to mean anything? Because that’s how it works
, Michael thought.
There are rules to how things work, and everything must fit perfectly in the confines of those rules
. That is what Michael believed, but he didn’t say it out loud.

* * * * *

In October 1971, Michael was still enrolled at South Morrison Elementary School, which was only a quarter mile up the street from his house on Dresden Drive. Bussing had just begun that year, and one day at school, one of the black students who lived downtown, said, “You white kids have it easy. You get to ride a bus up the street. I had to walk thirteen blocks to our school downtown.”

She was right. The white students who lived within blocks of South Morrison were picked up by school busses for what would have been a short walk, while before bussing, the black students who lived downtown had to walk almost three times that distance to get to their school. Things were still separate but not equal. After she told Michael that, he decided he would walk to school in protest.

“You absolutely will not walk to school,” his mother screamed. “You will wait for the bus. If I hear you walked to school, you’ll be very sorry.”

Michael tried reasoning with her that it was unfair to the black kids, but she would not hear of it. Whenever Michael tried to argue with his mother, she never heard a word he said. Hannah made up her mind, and that was that. The next morning, Michael walked to school in protest. It only took him twenty minutes, and he felt good about himself. But, that evening, Michael learned again what it meant to break the rules.

At dinner, Hannah’s husband, Bart, said, “I didn’t see you waiting for the bus this morning like your mother told you. Where were you? Did you go to school?”

“I walked to school,” Michael said rather proud of himself.

Bart got up from the table, grabbed Michael and took him to his room. Bart told him to stand in the middle of the room and drop his pants and underwear and take off his shirt. He then got behind Michael and removed his belt. Michael put his hands back to cover his buttocks, but Bart yelled, “Move your goddamn hands! Put them on your head.”

Michael did as he said, and Bart proceeded to beat him with the belt on his buttocks, back and thighs over and over again, yelling, “That will teach you to break the rules in this house!” Michael refused to cry, which made Bart beat him even more. When Michael finally did scream in pain, Bart stopped. When Bart was done, the beating was so bad that Michael was bleeding.

Later that night, Michael apologized to Bart for breaking a rule and even told Bart he was thankful that he taught him a lesson by spanking him.

* * * * *

Michael didn’t answer Steve. He just kissed him, and they had the most passionate sex they had ever experienced with each other. They made out for a long time before Michael slowly eased Steve onto his back, and Michael licked and kissed every inch of Steve’s torso from his neck to his armpits down his stomach, and down his thighs to his feet. Steve returned the favor covering every inch of Michael with his mouth.

They kissed while he mounted Steve and locked eyes as Michael slowly fucked him. They came together, and Michael fell onto Steve’s sweaty body, satiated and content.

Michael heard people say they made love, but he never understood the real difference between sex and making love until that afternoon. When he and Steve showered and Steve left, Michael had no idea that it would be the last time he would ever have sex with Steve, nor did he realize he would not see him again for over two months.

The next day, Steve e-mailed him that he was leaving on four different work-related trips, and each weekend, he was tied up with leather events
–
“forgive the pun.” Michael looked at his calendar and realized the first opportunity he would have to see him would be May 20 – a little more than a week before he would be returning to California. Michael’s heart sank further, and the pit in his stomach left no room for anything else. At that very moment, Michael stopped eating. Little did he know what lay ahead, and little did he know how both of them would change.

They e-mailed regularly, usually dirty stuff about what they wanted to do to each other. With each e-mail Michael would hunger for a response. If it were not for Sharon’s screenplay and the pilot he was writing for HTO, Michael would have sat at that computer staring at the screen, waiting for the chime to tell him an e-mail had arrived every moment of the day.

Michael felt he was beginning to go insane, and he knew he was not in his right mind. He would pace in the apartment, walking in circles, forgetting what he was doing. He did laundry without putting clothes in the washer, put food in the microwave and not turn it on, made coffee without putting water in the machine; he was off his regular routine, and he was not sleeping. He was starved for some kind of contact with Steve. He was deeply in love and sadder than ever. Michael was despondent, miserable, and more depressed than he had ever been in his life. He kept wondering how he could stop feeling the way he did. He thought love was supposed to make people happy, so why did love always make Michael depressed – and lonely?

Then, one Monday in the beginning of April, Steve was home between trips. He e-mailed Michael that he got into an argument at the gym with his ex, Tom, and he felt bad and would text message him.

“Text message him?” Michael responded in an e-mail. “Call him if you feel bad.” He wanted to meet Tom and find out how Steve treated him. Michael then e-mailed Steve, “Maybe I should come over there and fuck your brains out!”

Steve responded, “Maybe that is what I need.”

So, he e-mailed back, “Address please.”

Steve e-mailed in response, “LOL.”

Michael then lost it and e-mailed: “Why won’t you tell me your address? Why do we only see each other when you want to see me? Why are you always the one in control?”

Where the hell did that come from?
Michael thought. He rarely lashed out like that at anyone.

Steve then responded, “What is the matter, big guy?”

Michael then e-mailed him, “If I call, will you answer your phone?” He was getting snippy, but this was the most backbone Michael had had in a long time, especially when it came to Steve.

Michael called, and Steve answered, “Michael, what’s up?”

“Steve, I’m going to tell you something that will probably scare the hell out of you,” he said as he choked back tears.

“What? You can tell me anything,” Steve said.

Michael thought he was going to start crying, but he held it together. “The one thing I didn’t want to happen did … Steve, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“Oh, Michael, I love you, too, but I’m not
in love
with you,” Steve said without hesitation.

“I know,” Michael said, “and that is why I cannot have any more contact with you for awhile. I need to work through this. I cannot make you fall in love with me, and it is making me depressed.”