Skye Blue, page 11
part #6 of Firsts and Forever Series
“Wait a minute,” Christian said as he caught my arm and acted as an anchor, pulling me to a halt. “There’s more to this story. Was it someone gross? Was it Sheldon Sherman from school? Did he come into the club and see you dancing, and then did you sneak off to the restroom for a little blow and go?”
I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Sheldon Sherman? Why would it be Sheldon Sherman? That’s so random.”
“I was trying to think of someone we both consider nasty, but that you might still potentially drop trou for.”
“I would never ‘drop trou’ for Sheldon Sherman. He smells like corn chips, all the time. Also, he only washes his hair about once a month.”
“I know. You were all gaga over his mixed media sculpture last semester, though.”
“So, because I’m a fan of someone’s work, you think that somehow translates to sticking my dick in their mouth?”
Christian shrugged and said, “I don’t know, maybe. I mean, it has to be someone pretty bad, otherwise you would have told me about it the moment you saw me.” He thought for a minute, and all of a sudden his eyes narrowed. “No.”
I knew right away that he’d guessed it. “Let’s never speak of this again,” I said, and tried to turn and head for the front door.
He still was holding on to me though, and I sprung back to him like a yoyo. “We have to speak of it once, before we never speak of it again,” he said. “Please, for the love of God and all that is holy, tell me it wasn’t that fuckwad at your job. Please, please, please tell me your very first blow job ever wasn’t with that total douche nozzle Dare.”
“You have to admit he’s really good-looking,” I ventured.
Christian cried out as he let go of me and threw his hands in the air. “Ugh, of all the people in the world! Do you know how many gay guys in San Francisco would let you suck their dick? All of them! So why would you choose him?”
“He was the one doing the sucking, actually.”
He paused to consider that, then said, “For some reason, I’m slightly less upset about it in that case. I just really hated the idea of you servicing that tool’s tool. Still though, I can’t begin to guess what possessed you.”
“Apparently it’s possible to dislike someone and still be wildly attracted to them.”
Christian sighed and leaned against a nearby piece of mystery machinery. He watched me for a long moment before saying, “This was a one-time thing, right? Temporary horniness-induced insanity? You’re not going back for seconds, are you?”
“It was an incredibly good blow job....”
“How would you know? You have nothing to compare it to.”
“Here’s what I do know: I came harder than I ever have in my life. Also, I’ve seen oral sex in porn, and while it always seems like everyone’s having fun, it never looked this intense. It was practically a religious experience.”
He rolled his eyes at that, then said, “Just promise me you won’t let him fuck you, okay?”
“Why would I promise that?”
“Because that guy doesn’t deserve you, Skye. Not even a little.”
“I’m way too attracted to him to promise anything.”
He shook his head and said, “This is all so unlike you. I mean, I get that he’s really hot, but it’s always taken way more than that for you to show even the slightest interest in someone.”
“I can’t explain this, Z. I wish I could, because frankly, I’d like an explanation myself.”
He sat down on the edge of the mystery machinery and sighed. After a pause, he said, “I’m curious about something. Why didn’t you have sex in high school?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m just trying to figure out how you could go twenty-one years without doing anything, and then just give it up to some random pretty boy that you can’t actually stand.”
I leaned against the doorframe and considered the question, then told him, “When I was in my teens, sex scared the hell out of me. It didn’t even matter that I was horny constantly. I’d go on dates, and when the guy would start to make a move on me, I’d panic and make excuses. I somehow couldn’t let myself relax and just go with it. Looking back, I now know I was suffering from the same depression and anxiety that contributed to my suicide attempt. But at the time, I only knew I was too scared to go through with it.”
Christian reached out and picked up my hand. “We never talk about that,” he said quietly. “It’s really surprising to hear you mention it so casually.”
“I know. I made a friend online recently and I was able to talk about it with him, so I think it’s kind of helping me drag it out into the light a little.”
“You told a stranger about that?”
“Yeah. It’s much harder to talk about this with you, Z because I feel so guilty. I’m so fucking sorry for doing that to you.”
He leapt up and grabbed me in a hug, and I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight as he murmured, “You don’t owe me an apology, Skye, not this one and not the thousand others you tried to give me after it happened.”
“I do, though. I mean, you and I hadn’t even been going out a week, and then you had to be the one to find me ODed on my living room floor. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that, or with me. I never should have agreed to go out with you back then, not when I was on the verge of totally losing it. I’m so sorry I made you go through all of that.”
He buried his face in my shoulder. “Please shut up, Skye. It just kills me to hear you apologizing.”
“But I know how much that scared you, and I know you’re still worried, which means what I did is still hurting you and I—”
He pulled back to look me in the eye as he cut me off with a fingertip on my lips. “Yeah, that scared the shit out of me. And yes, I do worry about you, but that’s because you’re my best friend and because I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone, and when someone matters to you that much, you worry about them. It’s not because I think you’re going to hurt yourself again, it’s just because I love you.”
“Really?”
He grinned at that. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Yes, really. I really love you, and I really worry about you, and I really think you’re okay. Well, except for this recent lapse in judgment that involved oral intercourse with a total douche.” His grin got a bit wider, and I smiled at him and gladly let him lead the way back into lighter territory.
“Have you seen him dance? He’s already beautiful when he’s standing still, but then he starts to move and my dick becomes a Dare-seeking missile.”
He laughed at that. “Thank you for that visual. And God, that name! Dare? Really? That alone is enough to make me want to punch him in the face. There’s no fucking way that’s his real name, because who would name their kid that? His real name is probably Howard. Or Alfred. Or Eugene.”
I chuckled at that. “What incredibly random examples.”
“I was trying to think of the least-sexy names I could possibly come up with. Mortimer! That’s pretty unsexy. Or Ralph!”
“He could totally be named Ralph Mortimer Howard, and I’d still want to do him.”
Christian leaned forward and lightly bumped my forehead with his. “We have to stop talking about this, it’s making me crazy. Come on, let’s go scour the land for rusty crap to take my mind off of Dare the Despicable Douche.”
Right before we reached the front door, someone knocked on it vigorously and a familiar voice yelled, “Skye? You in there? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
I opened the door to Stana Dombruso, a tiny white-haired lady who I’d met through my friend Trevor. Apparently she had a habit of taking in strays, which was probably why she’d shown an interest in River and me. My brother was currently her assistant on her cable TV cooking show in exchange for free publicity for his fledgling catering business.
“Hi Mrs. Dombruso. If you’re looking for River, he moved out, but I can give you his new address.”
“Call me Nana, I told you that a million times! And I know he moved out, that’s why I’m here. River came to rehearsal yesterday looking all gloomy and when I asked what was wrong, he said you two were having some difficulties. Now look,” she said, squeezing into the apartment, even though there wasn’t much room inside the front door, “you two are family, and nothing’s more important than that! You need to sit down and talk about whatever it is that’s causing this conflict. If you need help with that, I can act as one of them, you know, neutral parties to help you straighten things out.”
She noticed my friend then and said, “Oh, hello there. You’re a cute one. I think we’ve met once or twice, am I right?”
“Yes ma’am. I’m Christian.”
Nana raised a penciled-on eyebrow at him. “And I’m Catholic. So what?”
“I mean my name is Christian.”
“Oh, I see. Sometimes I forget that there are people out there who’d actually name their kids shit like that. Why is it only ever Christian though? You never see little girls named Buddhist or little boys named Episcopalian.”
“I’ve always thought Buddhist was more of a boy’s name,” I said with a smile.
Nana looked past me and exclaimed, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What’s happening in this apartment?” She fished around in her giant, black handbag and pulled out a huge pair of glasses. After she put them on and looked around, she took them off again and returned them to her purse. “It’s better with the glasses off,” she said.
“That’s stuff I’ve collected for my metal sculptures,” I explained.
“Really? It’s not just junk? It looks like junk, you know.”
“Every time I create a sculpture, I use dozens of odds and ends that I’ve collected. Even though this looks like a lot, I go through it fast, especially during the school year. That’s why we were just about to head out to look for more.”
She thought about that for a few moments, then nodded her head and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
“Go?” I echoed.
“I’m coming with you. I want to see what types of things you collect. Then maybe I can help you by keeping an eye out for good stuff that you can use,” she told me.
I shrugged and said, “Sure, why not.”
I’d assumed we’d be taking my truck, but Nana had a white stretch limo waiting downstairs. “Do you always travel in a limo, Nana?” Christian asked as the driver came around and held the door open for us. He was pudgy and balding, with a permanent frown etched onto his face.
“Absolutely,” she told my friend. “Life is short, especially when you’re eighty. You may as well live it up a little, know what I mean?”
Christian flashed her a huge smile. “I like the way you think.”
After I gave the driver instructions and we were settled into the back seat, Nana put on her glasses again and looked us over. “You’re both very cute boys,” she said. “Are you two an item?” I shook my head no and she asked, gesturing at Christian, “How come? Is this one not a gay homosexual?”
“Oh, I’m most definitely a gay homosexual,” he said with a grin.
“So, what’s the problem then? Your brother told me you’re a virgin, Skye, and that you’re trying not to be, but it isn’t going so well for you. And yet here you are, hanging out with this stud muffin!”
“We can’t sleep together, Nana,” I told her as I blushed slightly and made a mental note to murder River.
A knowing look settled on her features. “Ah, okay. You probably think I don’t understand what the problem is, but I do. I did a bit of reading up on gay homosexual lovemaking, because to be honest, when I first found out my grandson Dante was a gay homosexual, I kind of needed a plumbing diagram, you know what I’m saying? But I get it now, I found out how it all fits together. I also get that, in order for it to work, you need one eight ball and one corner pocket. Is that the problem, you’re both eight balls? Or both corner pockets? I don’t want to make assumptions about which way you like your toast buttered. But that’s it, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the problem.” I admitted, “I did actually proposition Christian but he turned me down, which is good. We’re best friends and it would have made things weird between us.”
“Yeah okay, I guess I can see that. So, do you want me to help you find someone? I could keep my eye out. What do you want me to find for you, an eight ball or a corner pocket?”
“It’s okay, Nana. You don’t have to do that.”
Her wheels were already turning, though. “I’ll ask my hairdresser Mr. Mario if he knows anyone under thirty that he could set you up with. Also, I saw this cute guy at the deli that you might like. I’m only guessing that he’s a gay homosexual, though.” She knit her brows and thought about that for a minute, then said, “Do you suppose straight people can use that gaydar thing I keep hearing about? I think maybe I have that. I thought at first it was a product you could buy on Amazon, but later on I found out it’s like a sixth sense or something. Actually, what I’ve started to do is assume everyone’s a gay homosexual until I hear differently. That’s kind of like the gaydar, right?”
“Really Nana, you don’t have to set me up with anyone.” By now I wanted to murder my brother, bury him, dig him up and murder him again.
“I think I missed my calling. I would have made a good matchmaker,” she said as she smoothed her white hair, which was twisted up in a tidy bun. “I was also damn good at running a restaurant, don’t get me wrong. Maybe what I should have done was combine the two. I could have had singles nights at the restaurant and then paired people up based on what they ordered. I’ve found certain types of people like certain dishes. Two people that both order the linguini and clams are already starting out with something in common. Believe you me, many a relationship has been built on less!”
She went on about her pasta-based matchmaking theories until we reached South San Francisco and began my usual sweep of several small manufacturers. It didn’t seem to hold her interest until I spotted something that made me sit up and press my palms to the window. “Oh wow, look at that,” I murmured.
“What are we looking at here?” Nana wanted to know.
“I’m not sure exactly,” I admitted. “But see that pinkish-white metal canister sticking out of the dumpster? That’s awesome. It kind of looks like a rocket.”
“Stop the car, Freddy!” Nana exclaimed, and the driver did as he was told. She then bolted from the limo with me right on her heels.
“Nana, wait, it’s on private property! We have to get permission from the owner before we can take that.”
“Nonsense! It’s in the garbage, and everyone knows once something’s in the garbage it becomes public domain.” She’d reached the dumpster by now, and was blinking up at the towering metal cylinder. As was so often the case, it looked much bigger close up. It had to be eight or nine feet long.
“Um, I don’t think that’s what public domain means.”
She ignored that and pushed her big, round glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “So, you would take that and turn it into art. Right?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She clapped her bony hands together and exclaimed, “This is terrific! I support the arts, you know. Also, we’ll be protecting the environment by not jamming up the landfills!” Nana turned to me and said, “So what are you waiting for? Get it.”
“Here’s the thing. I have some companies that have given me permission to dumpster dive on their property, but this isn’t one of them.”
“So, what do you do in that case?”
“Honestly? I come back at night when no one’s around and help myself anyway, which may not technically be legal.”
Her brown eyes lit up at that. “Kind of like a covert operation!”
“I guess.”
She looked around and said, “There’s no one around right now, though.”
“I know, but still.”
“Come on, let’s just grab it! What if the garbage truck comes along and hauls it away? Then what?”
“It won’t. I have all the trash pickup days memorized in these industrial areas.”
She ignored that and hoisted her giant purse higher up on her forearm, then daintily climbed the rungs at the side of the dumpster and peered in. “I didn’t dress properly for this,” she said. “I had no idea when I woke up this morning that I’d be participating in the arts! Next time, I won’t wear Chanel.” She was dressed in a tasteful black jacket and skirt with white piping, along with low-heeled patent pumps.
“Be careful, please,” I said.
She looked over the top of my head and yelled to Christian and her driver, “Are you two just going to stand there? We need a hand with this thing!”
My friend came over immediately, but Freddy crossed his arms over his chest and said flatly, “Remember the contract we agreed on, Mrs. Dombruso? I just drive. Nothing else. Dumpster diving is in the ‘nothing else’ category.” He had a thick New York accent and the attitude to match.
She scowled at him and yelled, “This isn’t like the time I made you go bra shopping with me. All I’m asking you to do is help us lift something! You gonna let an old woman crawl in a dumpster? Is that the kind of man you are? For shame, Freddy!”
“You threatened to fire my ass when I called you old that one time. How come you can say it?”
Nana went right on yelling. “I’m going, Freddy! I’m getting in the dumpster! If I break a hip, you’re going to have that on your conscience!”
She climbed up one more rung and he sighed dramatically, then came to join us as he exclaimed, “Okay, okay! Get down from there before you really do bust something! I swear to gawd I should be gettin’ hazard pay for this job.” He muttered that last part under his breath.
Between the three of us guys, and with Nana giving instructions and acting as drill sergeant, we managed to get the canister into the limo, though a good four feet or so were sticking out the sun roof, angled toward the front of the vehicle. As we were dusting off our clothes and hands, she stepped back and said, “Well ain’t that a hum dinger.”
