Shooting Matt Ch. 04

Alas, this chapter is devoid of sex. The characters took over and insisted I get a bit of their stories out before they'd agree to hop back in the sack. I don't have readers to spare, so if you're looking for a quick rise (and aren't we all at times) feel free to skip this chapter and pick us up in Chapter 5.

For those of you in for the long haul, I hope you enjoy. If you don't, let me know what went wrong. That's how I learn.

Thanks to LarryInSeattle for helping make my little tales readable.

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I should have learned, a long time ago, to never ever imagine that life can't get any worse. I had that very thought last night, standing in the shower. Every single fucking time I have ever had that thought, my life found a way to burrow a little deeper into the shit pile. Apparently, that trend is to continue. I am so fucked.

I'm no longer hungry but I need time to think. I grab the thin-sliced honey roasted turkey that's been my standard lunch for a decade or so, the Miracle Whip, and pepper jack cheese. I make a sandwich, the way I always do, atop a paper towel - less mess and no dishes to wash except the knife for the Miracle Whip.

"You want a sandwich or anything?"

"No. Pop, it's 2:30 in the morning. Why're you up and eating a sandwich?"

I put the Miracle Whip back in the fridge and decide to indulge in another Rolling Rock, or ten.

I polish off half the bottle on the way into the living room.

I pull an old comforter off the end of the sofa and toss it on the seat of the recliner and sit down. I take a bit of the sandwich. It tastes like cardboard soaked in sour milk but I chew and swallow. I've finished half of it before Liam speaks again.

"Since when do you walk around naked?"

"Since I became an empty nester," I reply around a bite of sandwich. I wash it down with a swallow of beer. My stomach does a slow twist and for a second I'm afraid I'm going to throw up. The small window in the front door and the edges of the drapes glow with the sinister yellowish light that is the standard for streetlamps. My imagination adds a chill, smothering fog, and the lurking hunched figure of a man, standing half in, half out of the spilled circle of light. The hand with the straight razor is in the light. The barking dog isn't my imagination. That'd be Mrs. Larson's mutt. He's more senile than she is and yaps just as much.

I finish the beer.

We're too far out of Cleveland to be a suburb but too large for any hope of quiet. I can hear the traffic on 6^th. A distant siren moans its way through the dark somewhere to the north where the neighborhoods become ones you really would be a fool to leave your door unlocked in. Liam's wrong; this neighborhood isn't very good. The whole town has been on a slow slide since the Ford factory packed up. Elm street isn't poor enough or dangerous enough to make the news but too poor for anyone to stay who can afford to get out. We've become irrelevant. We don't matter. I shake my head. The ass end of the night is no time for such contemplation, not unless you want to think even more seriously about the old .38 in the bedroom closet.

"Hmm," Liam mutters. "Nest isn't empty though, is it?"

I look at him, not so much confused as lost in thoughts of irrelevance.

"Matt," he adds, clarifying. "Matt's here. The nest isn't empty."

"He got into a fight with his folks. I offered to pay him to mow the yard. He was upset about the fight. I let him stay." The lie rolls out of my throat with no real thought behind it.

"You offered to pay someone to mow the yard?" Liam scoffs. "That's harder to believe than Matt getting so pissed at his parents that he decided to sleep naked in my bed."

"Loads of people sleep in the buff," I retort in what I hope is a convincing get-real-already tone.

"Yeah, that's true," Liam concedes. "But most of them undress in their bedroom. Matt's clothes are lying in the kitchen. I suppose he might have had the munchies in the middle of the night, went into the kitchen to make his own sandwich and, getting hot all of a sudden, stripped in the kitchen and then went back to bed. But, call me skeptical, that sounds like bullshit."

"I sucked his dick," I intone. "I told him to go home. I thought he had."

My son stares at me. He shakes his head.

"Wow, to be honest I didn't think you had it in you."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Relax, pop. I didn't mean you're too old or incapable of hooking up. I meant I never thought you'd work up the nerve to admit you were gay."

"I'm not," I snap. "I'm bi."

"Mom says that's bullshit. That men that say they're bi are really gay but won't admit it."

"Uh-huh, your mother has, over the years, claimed to have been mugged how many times, as an explanation for why she has a black eye or bloody nose and no money? She doesn't have a very large balance in the I-know-what-the-fuck-I'm-talking-about bank."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, she tells some whoppers but you're changing the subject, pop. This isn't about whether mom lies about her own life. This is about whether she's telling the truth about you."

"You imagine she is interested in the truth about me?" I shake my head. "I've heard that bullshit before and I'm telling you there are bi men just like there are bi women. I wasn't forcing myself to fuck your mother. I loved it. I loved her, too, for what it's worth." I pick up what's left of my sandwich, perched on the arm of the chair atop its paper towel, and head for the kitchen.

"Mom says you used her; that finding out you were gay is what pushed her over the edge and into hard drugs."

"That's not true. She was snorting smack before we married. That should have been a big enough warning flare for anyone but not for me. I thought getting married would settle her down." I continue into the kitchen and toss the sandwich and paper towel into the trash. I twist off the top of the small bottle of Prilosec that I stock up on from Costco. I pop it in my mouth and wash it down with a palmful of water from the sink. I rinse the bottle and drop it in the recycle bin, doing my duty to save the planet.

There's a tiny hallway, past the backdoor, that leads from the kitchen to a half-bath. The half-bath connects to my bedroom. I don't have my own shower but I do have a semi-private place to take a dump. That's not my purpose at the moment. At the moment I simply want to get to my bedroom without dealing with my son. I kneel on the floor of the small bedroom closet and work my fingers behind the access panel, for the bathroom plumbing, at the back of the closet. It looks as if it's screwed to the wall but the screw holes were stripped long ago. The panel pulls off. Wrapped up in a plastic bag are two old tapes and a DVD. The tapes were high tech back when they popped out of a camcorder that was one of the first not to use a full-sized VHS cassette. I wonder, not for the first time, how much of the home electronic industry is driven by amateur porn. I copied the tapes to the DVD a few years ago. I still watch them sometimes. That's pathetic, I know.

I fish out the DVD. This is probably a bad idea, but given all the shit of the last twenty-four hours I don't fucking care anymore.

I walk back to the living room, using the hallway this time. I toss the DVD into Liam's lap and go back to bed.

***

When my alarm goes off at 5:30 I smack the top of it with my palm to shut it off. It's old-school. Fuck, it's just old. Wind up. Two off-tone bells and a clapper. Loud enough to wake the dead. No snooze button on that old son-of-a-bitch. I stumble into my small bathroom and piss without really waking up. That being said, I managed to hit the fucking toilet. No one around here is going to clean the bathroom but me. That right there is a great aim improving incentive, my friend. I pad on into the kitchen and call in sick to work. I rarely call in. I never take vacation. I have PTO out the ass. Mission accomplished, I stagger back to bed.

Later, when I crack an eye open, the little hand is almost at "X" and the big hand hovers over "VIII". The clock gives me a disgusted look.

I hear muted voices from the living room. I get up, pull on a pair of sweat pants and piss again. As I'm about to flush the toilet, one of the voices becomes clear. It's Matt. I pretty sure he said "holy shit".

I wash my hands and make my way into the kitchen. Thank God Liam has made a pot of coffee. I pour a mug and head toward the living room, wondering what they are up to. Fortunately, the coffee was too hot for me to have taken a drink yet, otherwise I'd have sprayed it over the carpet. It's an earth tone shag, original to the house. It hides stains well enough but still.

On the TV is a close up of me. I'm sucking a dick. Mary Beth's voice should be audible, encouraging me, but the sound has been muted. I set the mug down on the end table and stride across the room and punch the eject button. The scene scrambles as the DVD is ejected.

When I turn, Matt's hands fall over what is clearly an erection under his shorts. Liam doesn't bother. He glares at me, daring me to say something.

He doesn't need to dare.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What the fuck are you doing!?" he shouts back. "You gave that to me. Didn't you want me to watch it?"

"Yes, but only enough to get it through your skull that I did not lie to your mother about being bi. That's a dorm room as you can tell and we didn't get married until after we graduated. I didn't expect you to watch the whole fucking thing. Christ, why would I? What kid wants to watch his parents fuck?"

"What parent practically tells their kid, 'watch me fuck your mother and, oh by the way, also suck dick and get fucked'."

I sag in defeat. He's right.

"You're right. I was pissed. I wasn't thinking straight. I couldn't stand the idea that your mother might be able to convince you that what happened to her was my fault."

"Why the fuck would I think that? Jesus, you think I didn't see most of the same shit you saw?"

"You seemed to believe it last night," I reply.

Some of the anger leaves his face. "I was pissed too. I wanted to get home. Get my head straight. I needed a break from mom. We needed a break from each other. I just wanted to crash. I didn't even get my key in the door when I see you two standing in the door way to the kitchen making out. Fuck." He shakes his head. "So, yeah, about you being gay, I sorta thought mom might be on to something there." He sighs. "Not about that being the reason she got into drugs, though."

I drop onto the sofa and it creaks ominously. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to replace it. Like the carpet, it's old-school, earth tones and big ass floral print. That don't make 'em like that anymore. I'm still holding the DVD in my hand.

"Uh, Mr. B?"

"What, Matt?" I ask, exhausted even though I've been out of bed only maybe ten minutes.

"Uh, could I watch the rest of that?"

I can only stare at him. Liam clutches his sides and laughs.

Matt glances at Liam. "Oh, no. Not with Liam. That'd be fucking weird." He shakes his head. "I can't believe you gave him that. Seriously, whacked dude. Not the DVD. That's fucking hot. Giving it to Liam. That's whacked."

"Why would I let you watch that DVD?"

"Like I said, it's fucking hot, bro. I mean I think you're still pretty hot now but, fuck, when you were my age. Fuck you, Tom Daly, and make room for Randy Bigland."

Liam groans. "Dude, could you not hit on my father while I'm in the room. Seriously. I'd be grossed out if it was a chick doing that shit in front of me."

"Why, bro?"

"Why? Are you fucking kidding me, Matt? Because he's my dad. Duh."

Matt nods, face serious. "Okay, brah. I wanna make sure I got this. It's not because I'm a dude, or because I'm younger than your dad. It's just you'd feel weird, in general, with anyone hitting on your dad in front of you. That the way it hangs?"

"You're a lot younger than him but, yeah, that's the way it hangs. I wouldn't want to sit here and watch a woman his age panting over him. No."

"I'm not panting, brah. That's a tad harsh don't you think? But come on. I know he's your dad and all but that DVD is smokin'. You were sporting a bit of wood yourself."

"I've popped a boner looking at some old painting in 'Art History'. That doesn't mean shit. I'm twenty. My dick is supposed to be hard most of the time."

"Maybe, but I thought it was hot." Matt turns to me. "Can I take it home and watch it?"

"No!" I shake my head. "Jesus, Matt. Next thing ya know it'll be all over the internet."

"Oh, Mr. B, that is way harsh. You don't really think I do something that low do you?"

"Matt, last night you tried to blackmail me by telling me your mom found the pictures. Remember? Why wouldn't I worry?"

"What pictures?" Liam asks. I inwardly groan, wishing I'd never bothered to get out of bed.

"I talked your dad into taking some pictures of me, for my folks. Well, only one for my folks, of my medal. I told him the others were for my girlfriend."

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend?" Liam replies.

"I don't but your dad didn't know that." He grins that white straight-toothed grin of his. "Well, he does now but not then." He shakes his head at Liam. "He's pretty fucking stubborn isn't he? I had to practically throw myself at him."

Liam groans and covers his face with his hands. "Dude, please. I'm fucking begging you. Don't do that."

I can't believe it when Matt crosses the room and kisses me full on the lips.

"I'm hungry. You guys want to go get something to eat?" he says as he straightens up as if he hasn't just kissed me in front of my groaning son.

Liam and I can only stare at each other. Finally, Liam shrugs his shoulders. "Sure, but only if you two don't do that shit in public."

I start to complain that I haven't done anything but Matt beats me to the punch.

"Oh, don't worry. Your dad has already given me the 'we must be careful, I'll be run out of town', lecture. As if I want to deal with all the hassles of being out."

Liam shakes his head. "Fine but we're taking my car. The three of us are not squeezing into the front seat of the Ranger."

***

Like my house, the Waffle Hut, at least the Waffle Hut in my neighborhood, is old-school. The counter tops are Formica and chipped. The stools are attached, the benches in the booths are festooned with duct tape and the waitresses are bored and content to leave you alone unless you signal for more coffee. It's the middle of the morning and we have the place practically to ourselves.

The boys have devoured a stunning array of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and hash browns. I try to recall if I was ever able to eat like that and stay slim.

"You two keep eating like that and, after life gets too busy for you to swim as much as you do, you'll get fat."

"You haven't," Matt retorts.

"No, but did you happen to notice what I ate compared to you two? I was afraid to lean too far over the table lest I end up being drawn into one of your gaping maws."

"Gaping maws? Lest?" Liam chuckles. "Spoken like an English major."

Matt stares at me. "You were an English major?"

I nod.

"But you work in a warehouse," he replies, wearing a confusion look.

"So do most English majors," I snort. "It is not the most marketable of degrees."

"You must do more than just watch what you eat?" Matt continues, changing the subject. "You're too buff."

"I fucking told you," Liam hisses. "Fucking knock it off. Seriously, you're pissing me off."

"I go to the gym," I say with a shrug. "It's my one indulgence."

"Where? I can't see you driving out to LA Fitness and I've never seen you at the Y?"

"He goes to Max's," Liam answers for me. "Up near Willard and 3^rd."

"You go to a gym up that way?" Matt whistles. "Tough neighborhood."

"Yeah. Tough gym. I've gone there since college. They're finally starting to accept me," I chuckle. "It's the truth; I'm not joking. On occasion, out of sheer desperation, one of the serious boxers will ask me to spar with him and not knock me out."

"You, box?"

"A little," I admit.

"More than a little," Liam adds. "He can't stand to admit when he's good at something."

"I'm good but I'm far from great." I fix my son with what I hope is a commanding gaze. "Satisfied?"

If he's shaken by my gaze he hides it well. "Ecstatic, father. Ecstatic." He turns to Matt. "What did you mean about not wanting to bother with the hassles of being out?"

"Dude, you've seen it, back at good old Grover Cleveland High. Some dude outs himself and then he has to join the GLBTQ club and buy bright yellow tennis shoes and a rainbow sticker for his backpack and act like he's about to faint if he overhears someone call another dude 'cock sucker' 'cause that's a hurtful, pejorative thing to say. There's nothing wrong with sucking cock, which, hey, I agree with but I don't get all worked up about it." He sighs. "I don't have time to deal with being the gay scholarship swimmer. At least for now, it's hard enough just to be fucking Joe Blow."

"Pun intended?" Liam asks.

"Huh?"

"You know blow, Joe Blow, blow job. Never mind."

I can't help chuckling. I love seeing Liam uncomfortable. It's a rare thing.

"Fuck off, dad."

I laugh harder.

"Why did you freak out last night, Mr. B?"

Thanks Matt, I think to myself, way to kill one of my few moments of triumph.

"I didn't. I was just tired."

"Uh-huh," Liam chimes in, smelling blood in the water. "Did he get into one of those funks where he totally folds into himself and slams the lid close, like a clam who feels threatened?"

Matt gives Liam a look that takes me a minute to recognize. It's a look of protection.

"Naw, nothing like that," he replies. "I could just tell he was bugged about something. Freaked out makes it sound bigger than it was."

It was exactly like that, I think. He's lying for me.

"I felt stupid." I decide to honor Matt's effort at covering for me by telling him the truth. "I felt totally, utterly, mind-blowingly stupid for not keeping my head, for not being smarter." That's all true but not the nub. "Mostly I felt stupid for imagining it could be anything beyond you being a horny twenty-year old dude interested in sucking cock."

"Could you please..." Liam starts but Matt cuts him off.

"Man, you're truly starting to get on my tit," Matt sighs. "I told you but I'll tell you again. Fuck, you said it yourself. It isn't that hard to find a dick to suck or someone to suck your own. I wasn't interested in that, or not just that. I was interested in you, asshole, not just your dick. It's nice and all but Jesus, give it a rest."

"Um, I really do not need to be part of this conversation," Liam mutters. "Can we go?"

I wave at the bored waitress. At the Waffle Hut, they're still waitresses, not servers, waitresses. I tip her well, mostly for staying away and giving us some space.

"Are you home for the rest of the summer?" I ask Liam once we're back in the car.

"No, just the weekend. I told mom I'd be back Monday, if she thought she could quit trying so hard. It's exhausting. I can't tolerate 15 years of mothering cramped into a few weeks."

"Cool," Matt adds from the backseat. "I hardly saw you on campus. We can catch up."

"Don't you need to get back home, Matt?" I ask.

"Harsh. So, harsh," he intones, shaking his head. He doesn't say anything else but digs in his pocket for his phone.

"Hey, mom," I hear from the backseat.

Liam and I share a sidelong glance. I swear he's smirking at me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I told you I crashed with a friend. But hey, I'm with Liam and Mr. B. Liam's home for the weekend. I'm going to hang with him, okay?" He taps me on the shoulder. I turn and he gives me a thumbs up. "You have to work this weekend? That sucks. What's dad doing? Fishing with gramps? Sweet, all settled I guess. No, I'll swing by later and grab my stuff. Okay, later. Love you, mom."