A Different Perspective Ch. 02

He didn't call.

I really shouldn't have been surprised by that. Or hurt, given what he had been through. The past year had been hard enough. First Mark's affair, then his death, and then Travis's withdraw from the world. Having Travis brush me off for so long hurt, and I had tried to be supportive. I realize now that he pushed me away for an entirely different reason, and that hurt, too. Part of me was offended he would think I was capable of that, of sleeping with Mark. Really, really offended. I would never knowingly sleep with someone in a relationship, especially not my best friend's boyfriend. I'm not that kind of guy, and Travis knew that. At the same time, I heard what he read, and given that, well, how could he have thought any different? It did sound bad, taken out of context.

It sounded bad in context, too. I should have told him Mark was having an affair.

Mark was convincing, though, and that was the problem. How I could I not believe that he would tell Travis? I knew they loved each other. You don't make it through nine years without something there. Nine years was a long time, and everybody has their problems. Given, I couldn't really sympathize with Mark, but for Travis's sake I was willing to try. Cheating? And cheating on someone like Travis? How stupid could you be? Mark had it made, and he didn't realize it. It made me sick. I mean, Travis is perfect, and he always has been. Nice, open, sociable. He's everybody's go-to guy. You have a problem, he'll help you out, no judgment, no hassle. You need a shoulder to cry on, or a ride, or ten bucks for gas, and he'll have you covered. Plus he's neat and funny and smart, and has a good job, and -- just because he wasn't already perfect enough -- completely hot. Mark was an absolute moron, and when I saw him with that other guy, Adam, I wanted to punch Mark and bitch slap Adam. Truly, I did, and I'm normally more of a pacifist, but seeing what Mark was doing made my blood boil.

So, yeah, I believed Mark. For a while. A couple of weeks went by, and I knew he hadn't told Travis. I knew, because even if Travis didn't tell me, something would have happened. Instead, they carried on like normal, and I came over on Thursdays to play Scrabble with Travis, and everybody was happy. Normal as can be, except I had this ton of bricks I was lugging around. So, I confronted Mark again. He told me what I wanted to hear. Again. See, it was holidays, he said. He had wanted to wait until after New Year's, because he couldn't stand the thought of ruining the holidays. And, just in case Travis left him, he wanted to have one last good memory. The guilt was eating him up inside, he said, but he wanted that last New Year's. I couldn't blame him, although I figured they'd probably work it out.

Only, Mark never told him. A month went by. I waited until after Valentine's Day to talk to him about it again. He gave me the same lines, he felt so bad about, all that, but I wasn't buying it. I told him I was telling Travis. Then, the kicker, and the part that makes me feel like shit -- I didn't tell Travis. Why? Why didn't I just suck it up and do it? I keep asking myself that. I should have. Mark pointed a couple of things out, though, and I was afraid he was right. For one, Travis would want to know why I had waited so long. Why had I waited so long? Oh, right, because I had believed Mark. The way Mark said it, though, it sounded so weak. For what he lacked in physical appeal he more than made up for with verbal finesse. The man could talk a nun out of her panties, pardon the cliché -- and maybe it should be a priest out of his robes. He had me convinced that Travis would be pissed I had waited, like somehow that made me just as guilty as Mark. The real kicker, though, is that Mark said that would happen if -- if -- Travis even believed me. Why wouldn't he believe me? Why, because I was the jealous wing-man, forever pining over his friend. Mark implied Travis would think I was just trying to stir up trouble in hopes of getting into Travis's pants. And under those circumstances, who would Travis believe? The lame single friend, or his long-time lover? Mark didn't pitch it like that. Mark pitched it like he knew I was the jealous, pining loser, and he was telling me that for my own good. Truthfully? I am the jealous, pining loser.

It was the end of April, a Friday evening, when I got Travis's frantic phone call. He needed me, he said, right then, at that moment. He was at the hospital. He wasn't crying as far as I could tell, but his voice had an odd shake to it that I had never heard. When he first started talking, I thought that Mark had told him the truth, finally. Boy, was I wrong. Mark was dead. A car accident, involving some spilt diesel fuel. That stuff is slick, and some poor old guy's truck skidded out and hit Mark's Honda. Not the guys fault, but I'm not sure that made the old man feel any better. The old man was injured, but not like Mark in his little car. I heard it was messy. Mark was pronounced dead at the hospital.

I was there every step of the way, helping Travis with the funeral arrangements, calling family and friends. Mark's immediate family had cut him off when he came out, so it really was all on Travis's shoulders. It was horrible, but he kept it together. He cried a few times, but not much. Mostly, he was just quiet and withdrawn. Eric helped out a lot, too, with his boyfriend Kyle. I hadn't gotten to know Kyle that well, even though they had been dating almost a year at that point, but he helped out a lot, even though he didn't need to. I respect that.

About a month after the funeral and Travis changed. Before, he was devastated, but he functioned. Suddenly, he was withdrawn and grouchy. Our phone conversations lasted all of two minutes, and he found every excuse not to see me. I couldn't understand it, but I thought maybe it was a part of the grieving process. I called Eric, and we talked about it, because Eric had noticed the same change. Only, Eric could actually convince Travis to see him once in a while, while Travis made it very clear he did not want me stopping by, nor did he plan on going out. Hurt? Of course, but everybody morns differently. I figured it had something to do with that. Besides, he wasn't seeing Eric often, and he would usually manage to cancel at the last minute. I know Eric stopped by unexpectedly, though, and that Travis let him in. I didn't have the guts to just drop by like that.

It took a month after that fateful day with Kyle, Eric, and Travis before I had the courage to call Travis. It was killing me, not having him in my life. It had killed me for the six months or so he had withdrawn from me, and it continued to kill me. It was like I had a sharp ache in the place that Travis used to fill. At least light had been shed on why Travis had withdrew from me, but really, it didn't make it any easier. So, I called. No answer, so I left a message. I figured I wouldn't hear from him again.

"What's wrong, baby?"

I looked up to find Dave leaning in the doorway to my bedroom. He walked over and sat on the bed next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. We had been seeing each other for about four months, but we weren't too serious. I shrugged.

"Aww, baby, come on," he murmured, brushing his lips over my ear. I shivered. "I think I know what you need."

I let him push me back on the bed and straddle my hips. He kissed me as he ground his hips into mine, and managed to get a groan out of me. Dave was good. The only problem, thus far -- and it was getting to be a bigger problem the longer we saw each other -- was that Dave was Top Only. Now, I may seem like a big fairy sometimes... like the fact that I cry when I watch Beaches, and Martha Stewart is one of my favorite people in the whole world... but I'm more of a switch than a bottom, and I usually prefer to top. I guess my problem lies with the fact that I tend to go for straight-acting guys. And straight-acting guys that go for guys like me -- basically, a twink -- are usually tops, at least in my experience. Insert big sigh here.

Well, on the subject of inserting... Dave was working my jeans off. As he yanked them down past my knees he captured my cock in his mouth, and I can't help but moan. He teases me by just sucking on the head, then taking his mouth away and blowing a cool breath over my damp cock. My cock twitches, and he chuckles, a deep sound from down in his chest. Suddenly, my cock is back in his mouth, my head stuffed in his throat, and his hand is fisting the shaft of my cock that won't fit in his mouth. I almost cum from the suddenness of it all, but I manage to hold back. I run my fingers through his soft brown hair, and wish it was a little longer so that I could really hold onto it. Instead I grab him by the ears and push myself deeper, until he gags. I back off, then push again. His hand is pumping furiously with his bobbing head, and I see a sudden flash of someone else in front of me -- I imagine longer, blacker hair over my cock, fisting me and sucking me, and I come -- hard.

My mind is reeling. I'm not usually the type whose mind goes to mush after an orgasm -- well, not much, at least -- but my mind was total mush. It had happened again. I imagined someone else while I was having sex with my boyfriend. I admit; it was a recurring problem. Travis used to tell me that maybe it was because I wasn't getting what I needed out of the relationship. Could just be I had a hard-on for someone else.

I let myself be flipped over, and felt Dave kissing my back and neck as he rubbed my ass with some very cold lube. Mush mind or not, I really did not want to have anal sex with Dave at that moment. I protested, but Dave shushed me, like usual. Times like this make me wonder why I like him at all. They made me wonder why I liked myself at all. I heard the snap of the condom, and I protested again, offered a blow job. Dave chuckled; maybe he really did believe I was joking, I told myself. I knew that I had made myself clear in the past, though, and that he was fully aware of how I felt about anal.

I felt his head push against me, and I tried to relax. He pushed in, too fast, like usual, and I cried out. I put my hands on his thighs behind me to stop him from moving, but he just kept pushing in. I hissed and groaned, and willed myself to calm down; because I knew that in a moment it wouldn't be so bad. Once Dave's balls slapped gently against my ass he paused, bending down to kiss my back. He reached around and pinched my nipples. He also gave my cock a pull, but he knows that this usually won't turn me on, and besides that, I had just cum. My turn-around time isn't so bad, but five minutes is pushing it for anyone. Dave started to pull back, and the pain was gone. He started rocking his hips, gently, and he continued to caress me and kiss my back. Dave was sweet, he really was, but I wanted him to cum and get off of me.

The problem with anal sex, for me, wasn't just about the pain, though that was a factor. Though I'm a bit of a pushover -- okay, let's be honest here, I'm completely a pushover -- I guess it's the loss of control or something that bothers me. Being penetrated by another man is pretty intense, and it's not an intense I'm entirely comfortable with. I still allowed it to happen, though, so what did that make me? Weak. Pushover. You name it. Maybe I was too hard on myself? I don't know. But looking at the thing with Mark, even the thing with letting Travis push me away and never fighting to investigate why, well, I was losing respect for myself. Even the situation with Dave -- why did I never really stand up to him? I didn't want to have anal, so why did I just allow it to happen? Why did I never really stand up to anyone? I avoided conflict, at the expense of my backbone. Yup, I had figured it out. I was a complete and total loser.

When Dave was done he threw the condom in the garbage and gathered me up in his arms. He nuzzled me, and kissed me, and I sighed against him. I liked cuddling, a lot, and he knew that. I'd do something about being a loser tomorrow.

I grabbed the phone without looking to see who it was, because I assumed it was Dave. When I answered I was slightly breathless from dashing to the phone.

"Uh, Keith?" a voice asked hesitantly. Not Dave.

"Yes?" I asked, still breathy.

"Hey, um, it's Travis," he said, awkwardly. My heart jumped.

"Travis? Hi! How are you doing?" I was trying not to sound too excited, but probably failed.

"Okay. You?"

"Pretty good."

"Ah, good," he said, and there was an extended pause where neither of us said anything. "Um, so, yeah. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come over tonight? Play Scrabble or something... it used to be our Scrabble night..."

He trailed off, and I suddenly remembered how he had a tendency to babble a little when he was nervous. God, did I miss him.

When I got there he nodded, but didn't return my closed-lip smile. Instead, we sat at the table in front of the bay windows that overlooked the side yard, just like we always had. Then, we played. He stared at the board with grim concentration, and it was a couple of turns before he said anything. He flipped my timer after his turn, which was my cue to go, then asked, real quiet, "How long did you know?"

I stared at him for a moment. He didn't look at me, just kept his gaze on the letters in front of him like he had been doing this whole game. I figured we would talk about this, but I was still surprised by the question.

"After Christmas, but before New Year's," I answered simply, and I continued to look at him. He darted his eyes up to mine once, then back down they went. I really couldn't read him anymore, not like I used to. I had no idea what was going through his head. Suddenly, he reached out and flipped his own timer and began putting down letters.

"Hey!" I protested.

"Your timer's out," he said simply, pointing at my timer. My time had run out... he had flipped my timer and asked me a question.

"Hey!" I said again. "Not fair!"

"You saw me flip it," he replied, and I swear I saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I shook my head; I knew I wasn't going to win this one.

We continued to play in silence, and it was a few more turns before he threw another one at me. He asked quietly, again, but I could tell this one was harder for him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ah, well..." I paused, put down a word (12 lousy points), and flipped his timer. "I thought he was going to tell you himself. He said you guys had been going through a rough patch, and well, you don't really talk about that kind of stuff, so I didn't really know."

"So that's it?" Travis asked. His jaw was set, and he was not looking anywhere near me. I cringed. What else was there to say?

"I thought that if you guys were going to work it out, he should be the one to tell you. About the affair, I mean. When he didn't, I confronted him again, and he said he had been waiting for the holidays to get over with... in February I talked to him again, but..."

"But what?" Travis asked, not too kindly.

"He said he would do it. I didn't believe him, but... he said you wouldn't believe me, that you would think I was just crying to cause trouble, or that you would wonder why I waited and hate me for it," I said, my voice cracking. I should have known I wouldn't be able to get out of this without tears. Looking at Travis, I knew this wasn't going to end well. He was staring out the window, his jaw a hard line, and he shook his head. No, not good, not good at all. Finally, after I sniffled, he turned to me. I flinched, and sniffled again.

"Stop," he said harshly. I jumped at his tone, and a tear slid down my face.

"I'm sorry," I said. I didn't know what he wanted me to stop -- crying maybe? -- but it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"No, stop, Keith," he said, not quite so harsh. He grabbed both of my wrists and pulled them away from my face. His gray eyes were red as they stared into mine. "Stop beating yourself up about it. Just stop, okay? It's not worth it."

"Wh-what?" I asked. Dare I hope? This certainly wasn't the reaction I had been expecting.

"It's not worth it," he repeated.

"You're not mad?" I asked cautiously.

"I was at first," he admitted with a sigh, "But really, I probably would have done the same thing."

"What?" I was floored.

"I mean, it wasn't an easy place for you to be. I know you wouldn't not tell me something like that to hurt me... you were doing what you thought was right. How can I hold that against you?" Travis said simply. He finally looked up at me again, just looking this time, not the glare he had before. I realize now that the glare hadn't meant he was angry at me, just that he was angry with the situation. Travis looked tired, and his eyes were red, like he had been crying. Really, he looked almost defeated, and my heart went out to him.

"And," he added, "I really am sorry I hit you. And I'm sorry I ever thought you could... you know... sleep with Mark. I know you better than that. I know you would never do that to me."

"Thank you," I whispered. Inside I was yelling, singing, jumping around. This was good! But what should I say? What should I say-whatshouldisay? What comfort could I give him? "I'm sure that... I'm sure that he would have told you. He really did love you."

I wasn't sure it was going to help, and after I said it -- seeing the look on his face -- I wish I hadn't.

"He would have told me?" he whispered, looking at me.

"He would have told you about the affair," I stated quietly.

"Affairs," Travis said simply. What did that mean? What -- wait. What?

"What?" my mouth finally managed to echo my thought.

"Affairs," Travis repeated, still meeting my eyes. "He had affairs. Multiple."

"Oh," I said with a small huff of breath. I felt deflated. "Oh," I said again. "How...? When?"

"From his journals. I never knew," Travis said. He looked down at the table, then flipped my timer. "I missed my turn."

I won, as usual, but he came close. Travis made us tea and took out some banana bread. We sat on the couch, a bit awkwardly. I wondered if things would ever get back to the way they were, when our conversations would flow for hours and we'd both still have more to say. Finally, he spoke.

"I really didn't know."

"What didn't you know?"

"That he was sleeping around," Travis said quietly. He held his mug in two hands, and stared into it like he was going to read his fortune.

"That fucking slut!" I spat, before I realized I was going to speak. Oh, boy. Word vomit.

Travis jumped, and turned his head to look at me. He looked as surprised as I felt by what I had said. I looked back. Then he laughed, his old laugh, deep and full and musical. I stared at him for a moment before I started chuckling, too. It really wasn't that funny, but he kept laughing, setting his cup down to cover his face, and then I realized he wasn't laughing anymore. I threw my arm around him and pulled his head to my chest. He trembled, and started to pull away.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay," I murmured into his hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against me. "I'll stop, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's okay, Travis. It's okay, I don't mind," I said soothingly.

"Thanks," Travis said as he pulled away. My arm was still around him, though, and he wasn't shrugging it off. "I don't mean to be a blubbering mess."

"Oh, Trav, you're not a blubbering mess," I said as I rubbed his arm.

"I'm glad it wasn't you," he whispered, and I could tell he was tearing up again.

I kept rubbing his arm, and he talked about how shocked he had been. He really had no idea that Mark had been cheating. And the number of times Mark had cheated? Oh, boy. If Mark was alive, I would have hit him, I seriously would have. Travis, the poor guy. For months he had thought I had slept with Mark, and I was getting the impression that he hadn't really dealt with it. From what Eric and Kyle and told me, and from what Travis was saying now, it seemed like he had been in a fog for the past six months. Besides that, he had kept it in, and not confided in a single soul. He had gone and got tested though, which was probably a good thing. Thankfully, he was clean. He and Mark hadn't used condoms for years; why would they? They were committed.