Cee One Eff One (Part 2 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com,Post #247

 

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Got more hits than usual on last week’spost—the first half of this story—but not many comments. Have you figuredthings out yet? Well, let’s get to it. Here goes, the finale.

* * * *

CeeOne Eff One

I popped a lid off a brew andretreated to my recliner to watch the news or a comedy or just to get somenoise in the room. Memories from my youth intruded too much for serious TVwatching, so it was probably the noise thing.

Four of us had bummed around.Dave and Hal and Robert and me. And the hanger-on, Bug. A couple of yearsyounger

than we were, he was a skinny kid who didn’t get along with his ownpeers and tried to attach himself to us. Got picked on a lot if I rememberedcorrectly. Gus was… That’s it! His name was Gus. Gus… Gus… Dammit thelast name wouldn’t come.

At any rate, Gus had beenkinda an oddball. Not exactly a mama’s boy, but not far from it. Guess maybethat’s why he seemed to attach himself to me rather than my buddies. Come tothink of it, he always seemed to get along better with Dave and Hal and Bobthan with me. Seemed like he was trying too hard or something.

From the vantage point oftoday, I looked back to wonder if he’d sensed in me what I didn’t know untillater. Not until college. That’s when I found out I was gay. Fought it, deniedit like crazy, but finally had to admit it when the school’s hunky quarterbackpicked me up in a college bar one night and turned me every which way butloose. After that, I knew the truth about myself. The jock came back forrefills occasionally, but not as often as I would have liked. That’s when Ilearned the other side of the coin. Whenever the footballer came around, it wasjust for one thing, to be serviced, and nothing else. At times, he acteddownright hostile. I didn’t realize until later he was angry with himself. Inhis eyes, I was a weakness he succumbed to. By the time he graduated—a coupleof years ahead of me—I was glad to see him go… although I missed him terribly.

Had Bug—or Gus—seen my futureclearer than I had? Or was he struggling to face his own. Now, ten years later,I regretted the disdain with which I’d treated the kid. I should have looked onhim as someone to mentor, not torment. And torment him, I did. I locked him inrestrooms, stole his clothes at the swimming hole and left him to cover himselfas best he could while walking home. I was a real bastard to him. Why? I don’tknow. Perhaps subconsciously I knew I was going to be bullied, so wanted to getin a little of my own while I could. God! How petty can a man be?

I was so moved by my belatedrecognition of how I’d treated Bug… no, he’d be Gus from now on… that I senthim a long email apologizing for my behavior. I got no reply.

****

A few days later,my phone beeped a text alert, but before I could answer it, the phone rang. Irecognized Gus’ blocked number and forgot all about answering the text. “Hello,”I said, likely a little too breathlessly. “Glad you called.”

“So you’reremembering the old days, huh?”

“Yeah. Noticeyou didn’t say the ‘good old days.’”

“Not for methey weren’t. In that whole town, there was only one guy I thought couldunderstand me. What I was going through. That was you. But instead ofunderstanding, you were the biggest bully in school.”

“I know thatnow. Used you to slay my dragons, although I didn’t even know there weredragons at that point. Slow developer, I guess. At any rate, I apologized in myemail, and do so again in person. Sorry, Gus.”

“Not Bug?”

“No. You’re Gusfrom now on.”

“Oh, I havebeen for years. I left ‘Bug’ behind when I left that little town.”

“So whereare you?”

“Here.”

“Here? Youmean in Dallas?”

“Yep. Nothalf a mile away.”

“Great! Visitingor permanent?”

“Permanent.”

“Wonderful. I’dlike to see how little Bug morphed into Gus.”

“Oh, youcan. Just open your text. I sent you some photos. I’ll call you back after you’vehad a chance to look at them.”

“Wait! I can….”

But he wasgone. So I opened the text and drew a sharp breath.

The firstphoto was a bust of a shirtless, buffed, curly haired young man who was notonly downright handsome, but sexy, as well. You know what I’m talking about.Some handsome guys look too perfect to even think about earthy things. This guynot only made you think about them, but lust to accomplish them.

The secondphoto made me gasp aloud. Full frontal nude of the same guy, only without hishead showing. I understood. Didn’t want to be subject to blackmail, but thatmole was there, silently testifying this was Bug… Gus. And he wasn’t justbuffed. He was tennis court buffed, distance runner buffed. And equipment thatwould make any man proud.

The thirdphoto took the wind out of my sales. Gus and an equally attractive young manstared at me through the camera lenses, both naked, arms thrown over oneanother’s shoulders. The look of intimacy was obvious. This was his boyfriend.His date the other night that left him drained.

The phonerang before I’d recovered from the last snap. My answer wasn’t as breathy.

“What do youthink?”

“I think abug morphed into a butterfly,” I said. “You’re one hell of a good-looking guy,Gus.”

“And I couldhave been yours.”

My breathcaught in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“I wouldhave done anything for you, Mars… back in the day. Anything you wanted. Top,bottom, anything in between. I hung in there to the bitter end, putting up withyour bullying, your cruelty, hoping you’d look inside and see the real me.”

“Bug… Gus, I—”

“Too late,bro. Doesn’t matter if you’re a semi-famous author some of the world admires. Iknow who you really are. So go to bed tonight knowing I’m within walkingdistance, naked and in bed with a hunky, wonderful guy who wouldn’t bully asoul. By the way, I’m changing my phone number, and as far as the emailaddress, it was created just for you. A little lesson you should have learned backwhen we were younger. If you see one who’s willing, you better fuck him whileyou can… but in the right way.

*.*.*.*.

Guess I waswrong. It’s not “Poor Mars.” It’s Mars, the bastard. But you know, thesubconscious is a powerful thing. As I writer, I have to wonder how often Bugshowed up in his novels in some form or the other. Lots, would be my guess

 

Until next week,

 

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Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

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Twitter: @markwildyr

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it!

See you later.

 

 

Mark

 

New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.