Holding the Man

  The pot came out of the oven. ‘Tim, he is so sweet. So shy.’ She left me to bring in the food and went out to seat everyone. ‘Jackie and Juliet there, John next to Tim here, and I’ll sit on the other side. Dig in.’ We helped ourselves and complimented the cook.

  The kitchen door opened. ‘It’s only us,’ Mum called. ‘We won’t disturb you. Oh! That’s an interesting seating arrangement.’ I introduced the gang to Mum and Dad and they disappeared into the front of the house.

  The ravioli and salad were demolished. I found making coffee a challenge after all the champagne I had drunk. When I sat back at the table Pepe announced, ‘We’re a new group of friends, so we should pass a kiss around the table as a kind of bond. Jackie, you have to kiss Juliet.’

  As they kissed it dawned on me that I was going to have to kiss John. The thought filled me with terror. What if he refuses?

  Juliet kissed Pepe. Their kiss lingered. Pepe came up for air. ‘Tim.’ As I kissed her she opened her mouth. Her tongue was exploring mine. I felt trapped. I was afraid to stop kissing her because I knew what was coming. I don’t want John to think that I’m enjoying this. Before I knew it my hand was on his knee, as if to let him know it was him I wanted. His hand settled on mine as Pepe continued kissing me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a virgin being led to the volcano to be sacrificed.

  I turned to face him. He shut his eyes and pursed his lips. Everything went slow motion as I pressed my mouth against his. His gentle warm lips filled my head. My body dissolved and I was only lips, pressed against the flesh of his. I could have stayed there for the rest of my life, but I was suddenly worried about freaking him out and I pulled away.

  I caught sight of his face – fresh, with chocolate-brown eyes and a small, almost undetectable smile.

  ‘Last but not least.’ Jackie threw her arms around John and gave him a smacker on the cheek.

  Not long after that the front doorbell went, and Pepe’s mother Marie was there to be the taxi home. We said our goodbyes. The secret between John and me was solid now. I could barely stop myself from begging him to stay. Instead I said, ‘I’m going away with some of the guys from school next week. Is it okay if I call you when I get back?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. And as Pepe kissed me on the cheek she whispered in my ear, ‘He’s divine.’

  ‘Do you think he’s gay?’ I whispered back.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. He obviously likes you and that’s all that’s important.’

  I kissed the others goodbye and stood on the footpath watching the car disappear, feeling an excited sort of contentment. There goes the boy I’ve kissed. Marie, his life is in your hands. I better not hear you’ve had a head-on with a tram.

  The Week Away

  ‘That’s them on the corner.’ I pointed to six small weatherboard huts as the bus turned into the main street of Warburton, a sleepy village by a rocky river overhung by trees. It was late afternoon. The sun had already gone down behind the hills, bringing a cold twilight to the blanket of mist and smoke from the woodfires.

  Our hut was pretty spartan. A spongy double bed, a spongy double bunk, an old fridge, a cold-water tap over the sink, one stark light-bulb and, the feature of the room, an open fireplace over which hung a sign: ‘Breakages are to be paid for’.

  I had arrived with Matthew, a chunky sandy-haired boy. The following day Neil, Patrick the stirrer and Rhys would join us for a week of fishing, drinking and freedom. Matthew and I spent the rest of the day playing house: unloading food, putting beer in the fridge, chopping and stacking wood, making a fire. Matthew, a little drunk, was raving on his favourite topic, The Rolling Stones. ‘The Beatles never wrote a song as good as “Sympathy For The Devil” or “Jumping Jack Flash”.’

  I was starting to feel tired. After a couple of beers and a large plate of sausages and mash I was almost asleep. We both stripped down to our jocks and climbed into our sleeping-bags. Matthew offered me the double bed.

  ‘No thanks, I’m happy here. Least I know I won’t have to share my bed tomorrow night.’

  ‘I don’t mind sharing. Why don’t you come over?’ There was a stirring in my cock. I tried to brush him off. ‘I’m serious. Come over here.’ By now I had an erection. ‘C’mon,’ Matthew coaxed in a childlike voice, ‘come over here with me.’

  I was very turned on. I bounced across the floor in my sleeping-bag and plonked down next to him. He looked into my eyes and slowly started to unzip my sleeping-bag. When he got halfway he stopped. ‘You’re going to let me. I can’t believe it.’

  He jumped up, went to the fireplace and took out a cigarette, lighting it off the coals. ‘Would you have let me?’ Before I could respond he said, ‘I don’t want to know.’

  Too embarrassed to move I stayed where I was. He came back to the bed and we tried to go to sleep as though nothing had happened. But an hour later, too tense to sleep there, I snuck back across the room and quietly wanked.

  The door burst open and Patrick, Rhys and Neil marched in. ‘Woah, a double bed, better check for fresh stains,’ Patrick joked.

  The troops unpacked: beer in the fridge, tins of biscuits from mothers, fishing gear in the corner. Packs of cards went onto the table and Rhys pulled out a jar of two-cent pieces, his betting money. ‘Here kitty, kitty.’ He lovingly placed it on the table. ‘Prepare to die, the lot of you.’

  It wasn’t long before Matthew, Patrick, Rhys and I had settled around the laminated table to play pontoon. Neil, who didn’t believe in playing cards for money, had gone out fishing. He returned with two small trout.

  ‘That’s not going to feed us all,’ Matthew said.

  ‘I’ve got some loaves in my bag,’ quipped Patrick.

  By now beer and the open fire had given us ruddy cheeks. Neil cooked and ate the fish while the rest of us had bowls of Weetbix and continued our card game. Rhys was sent for more beer because he looked eighteen. We loaded him up with money and sent him on his way.

  He was soon back. ‘Nice town, nice pub, but Jesus it’s cold out there.’

  ‘Good streaking weather, huh?’ Patrick said. We all looked at him and then at each other. As we excitedly removed our clothes, the rules of the race were sorted out: first one back wins, last one back pays for tomorrow’s beer. Neil was appalled. He headed off to the pub to watch television.

  Four boys, naked except for running shoes, tumbled outside into the freezing air. I suddenly felt how quiet the night was, as we broke the silence with laughter and the pounding of rubber on asphalt. ‘Neily boy!’ we all cheered as we passed him on the highway and turned into the main street. No one raised an eyebrow as we streaked past the pub.

  I came in behind the others, my throat burning. Got to give up smoking. I’d be buying the beer tomorrow.

  Patrick had crashed on his li-lo, Matthew on his bed. For some reason Rhys was lying on my bunk. He waved me over to him and patted the mattress. ‘Sit here.’ I did so. ‘I think you’re a really good bloke. Genuine. Lie down.’ What would the others think? ‘I want to give you a hug.’

  ‘I’m going outside.’ I was testing him. I stood on the doorstep, lit a cigarette and looked at the stars. Rhys came outside and my heart jumped.

  ‘Can I have a puff?’ He was running his fingers through his hair. He leant against me, his face in my neck. He smelt warm and sweet. His hand worked its way into my jeans and took hold of my hardening dick.

  We walked down the hill to the paddock that ran along the river, climbed the barbed wire and squelched through long wet grass.

  We hugged. Our flies were undone. We rubbed our cocks on each other’s bellies, holding each other’s balls, pulling each other. We collapsed to the ground and lay there on the dewy grass. We rubbed and pulled and grabbed until we both came.

  Rhys sat up, crowned by the moon peeping from behind the clouds. ‘Better get back, eh?’

  As we climbed over the barbed wire I noticed that he was covered in something dark
, all down one side of his body. Mud, perhaps. ‘Rhys, look!’

  He looked at himself and then at me. ‘You too.’ He smelt it. ‘It’s cowshit.’

  A chorus of kookaburras cut through the haze of my hangover. I lay in my sleeping-bag, aware that my bladder was bursting. Bang. I remembered. Rhys. Me. The embankment. His sweet smell. John. Oh God. I wonder what Rhys is thinking? I sat up just enough to see him on the other side of the bulk that was Matthew. I tried to go back to sleep but my bladder’s alarm had gone off. I climbed out of my sleeping-bag, opened the door gently and stepped outside.

  The kookaburras started their laughing again. You having a go at me? Come down here and say that. It was so cold my breath formed little clouds. I stood waiting for my morning glory to slacken enough to let me piss. My head felt like a genie was trying to crush it.

  On the way back to the cabin I suddenly felt a sharp pain up my leg. What the fuck have I done? I found a paling from the woodpile hanging from my heel by a rusty nail.

  I disimpaled myself, watching blood form a bubble on my foot. Fuck. Rusty nail. Tetanus. Rhys. John. Fuck. I squeezed the puncture, hoping the blood would flush out any tetanus. I was starting to shiver.

  I hobbled back to bed and when I woke some time later, Neil and Patrick were trying to make bacon and eggs. Rhys was not in the cabin. I grabbed my towel and headed up to the toilet block, greeting the kookaburras and the paling on the way up. As I stepped into the shower I caught sight of Rhys’s back in the laundry. I called out, asking how he was.

  He turned with a look of apprehension, shrugged and didn’t answer. I wanted to touch him. He kept scrubbing cowshit off the clothes in the basin. He was so distant.

  ‘I stepped on a nail. If I died you would have been the last person I made love with.’

  He looked shocked, but went on scrubbing away the mess of last night. I knew then that he wasn’t a potential boyfriend.

  It Begins

  I’d been back from my jaunt in the country for three days, but for some reason I put off ringing John. At the cinema watching Earthquake, doing homework, or listening to Pink Floyd, I would get these stabbing feelings. I was scared that the image I had been holding of us kissing at my dinner would all be taken away if he was cold to me on the phone. But I said I would ring.

  I braced myself and dialled. John’s mother said he was at the shops and took my number. If he rings back, what am I going to talk about? The phone rang. My heart jumped into my mouth. I let it ring a few times so it wouldn’t seem like I was sitting by the phone.

  ‘Um … you said to call. Well no, actually I said I’d call.’

  ‘How was the country? Hope you guys didn’t get up to too much mischief.’ Rhys.

  ‘Five guys in a cabin, things are bound to happen.’ That doesn’t sound right. I told the adventures of the week. How many fish I’d caught, the rusty nail. And the big streak. ‘You’re not shocked, are you?’

  ‘Like you said, five boys in a cabin.’ His week had been a lot quieter, watching the Test against England, playing pool with his brothers and doing homework.

  I asked if he’d like to see a movie. His family were going off to their beach-house next day, so we wouldn’t see one another till the next week at school. But the image of him was just as warm as before the call. It was so nice to hear his voice.

  John was telling me about Christmas Island. When he was nine, his father had been posted there to help set up the radar for the Navy. The family moved to this small Australian territory in the middle of the Indian ocean for six months, the best six months of his life.

  He was describing the annual migration of red crabs. They would crawl out of the jungle and head off to the water, forming a prickly red carpet across the roads. You had to accept that if you used the road, crabs would die.

  Biscuit leant in between us. ‘You two seem to be getting along very well. I thought Tim was going out with me. Maybe we should have a triangle.’ He was smiling, wide-eyed.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘My heart belongs to someone else.’ It felt so nice to say. John seemed unperturbed.

  Towards the end of lunch, Biscuit and I sat looking over the basketball courts. ‘Are you gay?’ he asked, with such innocence that I wasn’t shocked. But I wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of,’ he continued, tossing a piece of chalk and snatching it out of the air. ‘I wouldn’t mind being bi myself, like David Bowie.’

  He squatted on the ground and wrote with the chalk, ‘I love Paula. Tim loves –’ He smiled teasingly then filled in the space. ‘Tim loves B + F.’

  He saw the incomprehension in my face. ‘Best and Fairest.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I felt naked. ‘You won’t tell anyone?’

  He scrawled over the writing, then said with that devilish smile, ‘Trust me.’

  Wow, someone at school knows that I like John. God, I hope nothing goes wrong.

  A few days later our English teacher showed a video of The Go-Between, a book we were studying. I was sitting in front of John. Suddenly I felt a hand on the back of my chair. I turned to find John leaning his chair against the wall and holding on to the back of my seat. He apologised and snapped his hand away. Put it back. Why did I turn? I’ve embarrassed him.

  A couple of minutes into the film, John put his hand on the back of my seat again. Then I felt it move. I thought I must be imagining it, but no, he was rubbing my back, softly. I used my back to caress his hand. My spine melted into his fingertips. When Alan Bates and Julie Christie spooned on the screen they were John and me.

  Out of the semi-darkness Biscuit appeared, sliding in next to me. John’s hand left the back of my seat. ‘I’m getting jealous. You have to drop him,’ Biscuit said. ‘Tell him you’re going out with me.’ I said yes, just to shut him up.

  That afternoon as the train rolled past the Rosella factory the smell of tomato soup wafted through the carriage. It would usually make my stomach grumble with hunger but today my thoughts were distracting me. I’m breaking up with John. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’ I imagined John choking back the tears. Sadness washed over me. Half-brain, you’re not even going out with him. None of this is real. Then why do I feel so sad?

  ‘Are you okay?’ It was Joe-the-brainiac. I shrugged. ‘It usually helps to talk about these things. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Why is he being so helpful? Does he want gossip?

  ‘This dumb game has started up between Biscuit, John and me. A love-triangle. Today Biscuit asked me to drop John.’

  Beneath his calm psychiatrist’s exterior I thought I could see a wolf waiting to pounce. ‘Do you like this John?’

  ‘A lot.’

  Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘Does he know that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t told him as much.’

  ‘Tell him. Ring him. Tonight.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem freaked out so far.’ I dissolved in terror. ‘When I see you on the train in the morning, I want to hear that you did it. Onward and upward.’

  I felt contractually obliged to ring John. I did it that night.

  ‘Mrs Caleo, can I speak to John please?” She asked who was calling. I choked out my name.

  I could hear voices, then footsteps approaching, but they passed the telephone and disappeared. It’s like waiting at the steps to the gallows. Maybe they’ve forgotten I’m here. A jagged piece of fingernail caught my attention and I was gnawing at it when someone picked up the receiver. I tried to look relaxed, then realised I couldn’t be seen.

  ‘Hi Tim.’ We sat in silence for a moment. ‘This is a nice surprise.’

  ‘That’s good. There’s something I want to tell you.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘You know this stupid game that Biscuit’s been playing? Today he said I have to drop you, and I don’t want to.’ Should I risk it? ‘I’m being serious.’ Maybe he doesn’t understand. ‘What I’m trying to say is I like you.’

  ‘That’s good.’
>
  I was fumbling. ‘I really like you. I’ve liked you for some time.’

  ‘I like you too.’

  ‘Does this mean we’re going out together?’

  ‘You haven’t asked me yet.’

  ‘John Caleo, will you go round with me?’

  ‘Yep.’

  The undisclosed had ejaculated into daylight. I told him that I had known I was gay since I was eleven but had never had a boyfriend. When I asked how long he’d known he was gay he said he didn’t know if he was. He’d only ever had one girlfriend. ‘This is new for me,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wanted to be married with kids. I want kids.’

  ‘I’ll have to be their godfather.’

  We talked about how others might respond. Our families. The guys at school. We both agreed that no matter how things turned out we would always be friends.

  My mother appeared at the door. ‘Tim, you’ve been on the phone for ages.’ She gave me five more minutes. The conversation reignited. We had so much territory to cover.

  Mum was at the door again. ‘You’ve been on the phone for more than two hours.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ I asked John, ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Has it really been two hours?’

  ‘Feels like twenty minutes.’

  We talked a little while longer then I tried to say goodbye. ‘See you tomorrow. Sleep well.’

  ‘You too.’

  ‘I don’t want to hang up.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘This is it, I’m hanging up.’ I didn’t move. Then I said, ‘Sweet dreams, my boyfriend.’ It felt so good to say.

  It was the public school sports day at Olympic Park, a glary white-sky day with the threat of rain in the air. I was among the crush of boys in uniform pressed against the fence, cheering their schoolmates and wolfing down hot dogs and packets of chips. For me it was a chance to perve on spunks.

  John was in the final of the hundred-metre hurdles. In his red singlet and satin shorts he walked up to his starting block, shaking out his legs and hands. He looked so nervous. The gun went and six bodies flew down the track. It was over before it began. John came third. I called his name across the heads of the other boys but he didn’t hear me. He was preoccupied, perhaps even angry with himself.