City of Angels Ch. 04

"The Getty. You mean the museum? The one with all the banners?"

"Yes. Haven't you been there? You're right next door."

"Never. Not much of an art person. But why not, let's do it."

The Getty was another one of the many sites along his old beat that Evan had passed a million times—every day—and hardly noticed, much less had the opportunity to visit. He was surprised that Andy wanted to.

"So do you usually spend your days off at museums?" he asked as they drove.

"Nah, just this one. I came out of curiosity after a shift one day and liked it. You'll see. It's really pretty cool."

He was right.

As soon as they pulled off the highway and onto the private drive lined with cypress trees in perfect rows, they had entered another world. It was a small museum built as a replica of a Roman villa, down to the smallest details. It truly was like stepping back in time. Gleaming white sculptures and bas reliefs adorned the exterior reflecting pool—a simple rectangle full of the clearest, crystalline turquoise that mirrored the perfect rows of columns, the precisely measured and proportioned architecture, making it blend in with the clouds and the curve of hills.

As they walked back towards the restaurant, they passed images and objects—paintings, mosaics, vases, in addition to sculpture—of such fine, lush beauty. Images and representations of bodies, mostly male, mostly nude, paraded in front of Evan's eyes, one after the other.

Of course Evan knew a little bit about classical art. But he was a bit blown away by the overt sensuality on display here. He reached out to still Andy's arms so he could slow down and enjoy some of it.

He stopped to peer at tiny drawings on vases of what looked like men fucking. A man on his back, legs spread, surrounded by other men, their phalluses huge and dripping; another of a blow job, an older man on his knees slurping at the cock of a very young man; naked men kissing and touching, in pairs and in groups.

The sculptures . . . celebrations of male beauty that would not be equaled for centuries . . . men as flagrantly erotic objects, displaying themselves, rendered with love and desire by unknown artists, unashamed, pure and lustful.

All this time, Evan thought, he had driven by this place never bothering to go inside, just passing it by.

But it wasn't true that he "didn't exactly" know about it. He'd seen the signs. He knew it was there. But he'd just kept driving.

The exterior world faded away for Evan. He forgot about Andy for a minute as he gazed upon art which had no other purpose than to proudly express gay love and desire. The hidden world of homosexuality. It was just as much a part of this city as anything else. He was reminded of the gym, of the gay bar. A world revealed he had never known before only this one was ancient, going far far back in time, and part of everyone's world, everyone's life, everyone's history. It had been quietly tucked way up here on this mountain hidden from view, the secret heart of his Los Angeles, beating and throbbing all on its own, for whoever cared to stop by.

He was awed beyond words, especially at certain statues that reminded him of Craig. Craig on his billboard, Craig lying invitingly on his bed, Craig when he held him in his arms. Evan knew that whoever had made these things had stood in his shoes, felt what he felt, had loved and wanted these heavenly beings as much as he wanted Craig.

Andy's voice finally interrupted his reverie. "You ready? I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Evan said distractedly, tearing his eyes away.

"Wow this is really an amazing place," he said later as they chatted over bowls of pasta. "I'm glad you suggested it."

"Yeah. Seems like a good place for a first date. Or maybe second."

Evan laughed. "Not your typical Los Angeles 'date' I'd have to say."

"Well I'm not really into the typical gay culture of LA. I'm thinking of moving, actually, back to San Diego."

"Oh, don't do that. You're on such a good career path here."

"Yeah," Andy said, anxiously beginning to shake his leg. "I am. I'm doing great. Financially. Never been in better shape. But it's time, you know? I want something. I want a relationship. I want what you and Craig have. I crave it. And I just don't think it's happening here."

"I don't know, Andy. You can't predict the future. Who's to say it would be better anywhere else? One day, you could meet someone, out of the blue, just crash into them, and your life could change in flash, just like that. It will never be the same. I don't think you can orchestrate it."

Andy smiled. "Is that what happened with you and Craig?"

"Pretty much."

"God I still can't believe it. If only. And you had seriously never been with anyone before him?"

"Nope," Evan said. "What about you? How did you know? When did you know?"

Andy cracked a grin. "Mmmm. That's kind of a good story."

"Oh please tell!" Evan nudged him. "I want to hear it."

"Well it was with my best friend. The summer of graduation. Brian. We were always together, best friends since forever. Brian would be leaving for college in the fall, so we spent as much of it together as we could."

"Did you know you had feelings for him?"

"Sexual feelings? Hell no. Not until then at least. I didn't really know, I mean, I sort of knew I wasn't into girls but I certainly hadn't come out. But I knew I loved Brian, in a way. I didn't exactly think of it as gay, but I knew I was very close to him, that we were 'special' kinds of friends. I guess you could say I was in denial."

By this point Evan was hanging on Andy's every word, utterly fascinated. He just wanted him to keep talking.

"So it all happened one night."

Evan noticed Andy get a kind of far-away look in his eyes, happy in the recollection.

"My parents were gone, and we were just hanging out at my house, in my bedroom. It was really hot, and Brian was lying on my bed wearing nothing but a pair of loose gym shorts. He had his fucking thighs spread, and I could see his cock just kind of flapping in the breeze. I was all, 'Jesus, dude, cover it up.'"

"He's like, 'What? You don't like seeing my nuts?'"

"'Fuck no,' but I couldn't stop myself from looking. It was huge. He had a huge cock. Uncut. And it's just fucking lying there on his thigh."

"I threw a pillow at him and I'm like, 'Put it away, dude, it's blocking the sunlight.'"

Evan found himself suddenly getting very hard. He felt his own cock growing, swelling up, pushing at the fly on his jeans, hanging on Andy's every word!

"And he fucking spreads his legs even wider! And he's like, 'What, you jealous?'"

"'Of that thing? How do you even jerk off with that fucking skin all over it?'"

"And he pulls down his shorts. Just pulls them right off. He's showing me his cock and it's fucking huge and I'm just gaping at it."

"He said, 'Do you want to see me do it?'"

"I was fascinated. I'd never seen an uncut cock. Didn't even know they existed, I think. It was so weird! So I moved closer to him, still acting and thinking like nothing's going on, and said, 'Yeah, show me. How the fuck do you . . .?'"

"And in seconds he's got that fucking dick in his hands. It's hard. It's massively hard."

Evan was absolutely aching, practically drooling. He could see it. He could picture it all perfectly just as it happened. Andy, on his knees, watching. Brian, swelling up, proud of his big dick, grasping it, proud of his erection. Stroking out some pre-cum. Showing off for his friend.

"Then what happened?" Evan said eagerly.

"He lies back on some pillows, legs wide, and just starts stroking, man. I was in awe. I wasn't . . . you know . . . explicitly turned on, not yet, just really fascinated. I wanted him to keep going! I'd never seen anything like it."

"He starts talking to me. 'You gotta go gentle, at first. Like this.' And I'm watching his hand. It's grasping that cock hard. He's showing me. He pulls the foreskin up and down, and pretty soon it's sloshing and squishing with pre-cum. It was gross and disgusting and the hottest fucking thing I'd ever seen in my life."

"The fucking sounds, the slick, slippery, flesh sounds. And I know he's working it hard for me. He's putting on a show. He's making it good. He's just letting it all out."

"And then . . . I don't know how to describe it . . . I'm sitting there, watching, thinking I'm just 'being curious,' when somehow, it shifts. I think it's because we looked at each other. I caught his eye, or he caught mine, and the next thing you know something's happening. I know this is fucking different. This is hot. And he says, so quietly, 'You like it?'"

"And my mouth is so dry, I can't speak. I'm hard. My hand is moving down to my shorts. I can only nod at him, and he knows what the fuck's going on, we both do."

"Then he says, 'You want to help me?'"

"I nod, and in a second he grabs my hand and fucking lands it on the head of his cock. 'Jack it off,' he hisses. 'Jerk it off for me. It helps if you, if you, yeah, get some of that liquid, get that pre-cum oh fuck yeah, spread it all over, just like that. . .'"

Andy's voice trailed off in amusement. "And, well, that's pretty much how I came out of the closet."

"And what happened between you two?" Evan instantly wanted to know.

"Oh my god. That summer. The summer of sex. My fucking god. We were together every day. Every fucking day. We started just by jerking each other off, you know, mutual masturbation, but that didn't last long. Pretty soon we were going down on each other all the time. Jesus! Sucking and swallowing and 69'ing."

"Did you fuck him? Or did he fuck you?"

"Both. Oh my god. Wow. Still makes me hot remembering all that."

Evan abruptly stood up. "You ready? I'd kinda like to get going."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Wait, did I offend you or something, Evan?"

"Hell no. No, no, I just, uh . . . want to get back."

Evan felt a little bad sending Andy on his way, but he had to get going anyway. They said goodbye, made plans to meet again with Craig, and the second Andy left Evan was up in Craig's shower. He could barely make it to the door before he had his jeans off, his briefs down, and his hand wrapped tightly around his cock. He had to come so bad he thought he would explode.

This was no loving, tender orgasm. It was purely physical, a violent release of something pent up and constrained. His cock was harder than he'd practically ever seen it. It was rigid. Turgid. Like a solid bar of iron. Throbbing and pulsing, pulling at his groin, red hot to the touch; Evan yelled out loud when he grabbed himself. So much cum had leaked out on the way home his balls were soaked.

He fisted his cock, eyes closed, picturing the scene. Those two boys. It took him less than two minutes to come, propping himself up with one hand against the shower stall, spraying the dark tiled walls with jets of hot, exploding cum, crying out, wondering what the fuck was happening. It was the kind of orgasm he'd had when he was young and just discovering it but much more powerful-an instinctual, natural, animal reaction. He was exhausted and stunned when it was over, and he almost instantly felt himself getting hard again, so he stroked some more, not wanting to let it end. He couldn't breathe.

It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

He collapsed against the shower wall with tears in his eyes, feeling drained but elated. He knew he had discovered something, but what he did not know—exactly. He knew this was about himself. And Chad. And that he absolutely had to see him.

+++

When Craig got home, Evan was waiting for him, and he told him the whole story, the whole day.

Craig took it all in, and laughed when Evan told him about the jerk off scene.

"Sounds like some of my prep school days."

Evan was pacing in their room with nervous energy.

"Yes, but . . . that never happened to me. It never did. It never did."

"Sounds like these two were also together, you know, like a couple. Probably made it more intense."

Evan pulled Craig onto their bed. He was so fucking hot and horny tonight!

"Would you do that? Jerk me off? Just jerk off my big cock, please?"

"Whatever you need, baby," said Craig. "Whatever you fucking need. Mmmm . . . come here . . ."

+++

On the morning that Evan left for Laguna, Craig called his sister and discovered that his father was in town. He was in Beverly Hills, at the same house they'd (sort of) grown up in. After absorbing this, he lazed around on his deck for a while, pondering again and again if it was worth it.

He felt so different. It was only a few weeks ago that he'd broken down, but a lot had happened since then—it seemed like ages ago, and he wondered if there was any reason to even bother now. He seemed fine. And for the most part, he was. Except for a nagging sense of guilt.

He could feel it, like a splinter in the corner of his mind, telling him to go, to do it. Telling him if he didn't, it was because he was trying to keep that old, old hope alive, that he was unable to truly let go, and that this was making him weak. He had to shut that goddamned door for good.

So he did it. Without thinking. He didn't change clothes, or even shave, just hopped in his Porsche and started to drive, not having a clue what he was going to say or do once he got there. The whole time he thought of Evan.

When he arrived he saw his dad's car in the driveway. He had not been home—here—in years. He felt the slightest twinge of anxiety being back, but nothing he couldn't handle. He went up and rang the doorbell.

A woman answered the door. A young bleached blonde who was six months pregnant. She could have been his dad's second, or third, or fourth wife. They were pretty much all the same, except that they kept getting younger and younger. Jeannie was probably nastier than the rest. She seemed obviously annoyed to see Craig.

"Craig! What are you doing here?"

"Just came to see my father. Is he in?"

"Well, this is unexpected. I'm not sure he wants any visitors. He's busy."

"Oh it will only take a minute," Craig said, pushing his way past her. "Is he in his study?"

Jeannie made a sour face and gestured wordlessly down a hallway.

Craig walked the same hallway he had on the night he was 12. He could remember every single detail of that night and the feelings of that scared little boy. He steeled himself, imagining, what if instead of his father that night, he'd encountered Evan? Or someone like him? Someone who welcomed him and loved him, and didn't turn him away. How would his life have turned out differently?

It was the first time he'd ever been truly angry about it. Somehow feeling loved did that. He had a perspective he'd never had before.

He knocked on the door, but didn't wait for an answer.

His dad was there, but Craig was a little shocked at his appearance. Normally a very well-dressed and well-groomed man, he was unkempt. His shirt was untucked over wrinkled khakis, and he had stubble on his face. He did not look well.

His dad was extremely surprised and clearly unhappy about the visit. But for once, it didn't bother Craig. Craig sat down on the couch, making himself at home. His dad just looked at him, finally saying "What is it?"

Craig sighed. He thought this would be so different. He thought he'd be scared, or full of anxiety, but all he was feeling now was empty.

"I want to talk to you."

"Yes? About what?"

"What's going on dad? You don't look good."

His father got up to go listen and at the door and make sure it was locked. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Something wrong?" Craig asked. "Trying to hide from Jeannie?"

"Look, Craig, I'm under a bit of pressure at work. Could you get to the point?"

"The point. Ok, let me ask you a question. Do you remember a night, when I was about 12, and I came down here? You were in this study, working, and I came down in the middle of night scared, because I'd had a nightmare?"

His dad looked at him blankly. And Craig knew in an instant that he had no recollection of it whatsoever.

Craig sighed. "Jesus, what a waste of my life. What a fucking selfish dick you are. Utterly useless."

Perhaps it was what he said, or perhaps it was his tone, but Craig Symons, Sr. stopped for a second to look at him. He actually seemed interested for the first time.

"What?"

Craig held up his empty hands in the air. "You're useless. You got nothin'."

"What?" his dad said, moving closer to him.

"What, this surprises you?"

"Why do you keep doing this? When are you ever going to let the past go? What the fuck do you want from me?"

"Nothing, dad. Nothing at all. That's why I'm here."

"Jesus Christ. I don't need this, Craig! I'm having major problems with work, with money, with Jeannie . . ."

"Ok, well I'll make one thing easier on you. You can take my trust money. All of it. I don't want it. I don't need it."

His dad eyed him, and Craig wondered for a brief second what kind of twisted shit had kept them linked to each other for so long. He knew why he had stuck around, that was abundantly clear, now. It wasn't love. It was never love. It was just need—the natural need of a child for a parent. The other part was idealization. He'd blown up this man in his mind to mean something he never was. It was a dream, an ideal, he'd desperately needed at a crucial point in his life and he'd never outgrown it. But he didn't need it anymore.

But his father? For the first time Craig was able to look at him objectively. It had never occurred to him, not in a million years, that his father was getting something out of it, too. Something was being threatened in this man, right now. He did not like their relationship changing. He was scared, but WHY, for fuck's sake? He'd always acted like he wanted Craig to be gone, and now that he was . . . he acted like he was the one falling apart.

Craig didn't know for sure, but he had a guess. He stood up.

"Yep. I'm done, dad. Look at the papers. Read Variety and The Hollywood Reporter this week, and you'll figure out why, in case you're interested. But it isn't just that. I want out. I want this to end. I'm done with you."

His dad seemed to wither in front of him.

"And I'm standing here, now, looking at you, wondering why the hell this bothers you. You want to tell me?"

His dad could only sputter. He had no answer. He was a fish out of water, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Well I think I may know. It's how it was with your dad, wasn't it? The same exact thing. It's all you know. It's all you've ever known, all you'll ever know. And you so want it to stay that way, don't you, because it's too goddamned late for you to change. You liked and needed to see me begging you for love because it justifies how you've spent your life, isn't it? Because that's exactly what you've done."

"I bet I know what's going on with you. I bet I can figure it out. You're just like me—you had to succeed, make money, everything you did was to get some sort of approval from your father, show him you were worth something, or perhaps defy him. You instilled the same drive in me. And I see you now—something's obviously collapsed, something's gone wrong. I can see it. I was right where you were not two weeks ago. I get it."

"Dad, you're on the verge of having a real fit!"

Craig ran his hands through his hair. He wished he could feel more pity, but he simply couldn't.

The most he could do was say, "Dad, you've got a wife and a baby on the way. Hang onto that. Please. Do it differently this time. Go talk to Jeannie. But as for me? I'm through with you and this whole fucked up family. I don't need you anymore."

Craig started to walk out of the room. He turned one last time to look at his dad, who was staring after him like he'd seen a ghost—perhaps a shadow of a self he once wanted to be, Craig could only guess. As he shut the door, he saw his dad mouthing a word. He was saying, "Craig . . ." mystified, as if he was only now realizing he had a son.