orangetoughguy | log post II

[Oh he's still staring.]

No I don't fucking believe it. Do I act like I'm ashamed to you? Or is this because I'm bred Catholic I'm supposed to be some guilt-ridden masochist?

Hey. I'm askin' because I don't fucking know.

[Larry stands up and folds his arms.]

I dunno how fulla pride you can be, we keep it to ourselves.

The fact that you thought I might be a little ashamed is kind of hard to swallow. [He's using his hands to talk now, cigarette waving.]

You know, after all the assfucking and cocksucking I've given you.

Hold up and fucking listen. I told you, I'm not trying to start shit. And you know how much I like that assfucking and cocksucking, better yet I love it.

[It's addicting. Maybe most of that portion is because it's Freddy.]

I didn't know you were the cross hanging kind. If that means somethin' to you then [Larry spreads his hands] there you go. Fine. Good.

[Huff huff. Huff. If he's not trying to start shit then why did he bring up faggots? That's what the kid wonders as he smokes down his cigarette. Huff.]

Does it bother you? [Green eyes are looking straight at brown ones. Ready to detect a lie.]

[Good thing he's ready to tell the truth.]

I have a problem with what it stands for. I don't have a problem with you.

[In case that wasn't clear enough. Why can't he fucking ask questions?]

Tell me what it stands for.

[In the world of Lawrence Dimick, that is.]

[Arms fold again. Things are really in the shitter.]

Making people feel guilty for being the way they are and calling it a sin when no one fucking knows for sure.

So it bothers you.

[Freddy repeats, trying to get the answer to that even though maybe, just maybe, he ought to be listening to Larry too. It's hard when the kid feels like he's already being judged.]

You can do whatever the fuck you want to. [Even though I don't care would sound good paired with it, the old man's not going to say it because he fucking cares. No lying right now.]

I mean, it's your room. This is our apartment.

[Now it sounds as though he's trying to convince himself rather than grip the common ground. Larry is trying in his way to listen and understand.]

Larry.

[The way he says his name is demanding the old man look at him. Square in the fucking caramel green eyes. Freddy may as well be an inquisitor, ironic considering his side of the law.]

Does it bother you.

[Despite his seemingly calm exterior the kid is incensed. He wasn't prepared for Larry questioning him, which in turn makes Freddy question his own decision to ever bring it into this household. What kind of home does he have where something so small causes such a big problem? Should've known better, Newendyke.]

[Damn. Was he looking away? Larry looks at him.]

If it makes you happy, then no. [The words I can live with it are on his mouth. Almost. Almost.]

We don't got a problem here, do we? Freddy, we're just talkin'.

And if I wasn't here, huh? What about that? I don't wanna hear if this or if fuckin' that, Larry. You got a problem with it? You gotta tell me.

[Hands, they're moving, even getting a little ash on the floor before he puts that cigarette out.]

Don't make it depend on me like somehow that makes it better. All you're doing is putting it on me and that's the kinda guilt I don't need.

I wouldn't ask about nothing that wasn't there.

[And he says that louder than he intended, arms fall at his side and he's stepping left to right, not gonna pass through the door way yet.]

I got a problem with religion. It's not your problem it's mine. I'm not gonna fucking tell you what you should and shouldn't put in your own fucking room in your own fucking house. Shit, you think I'm trying to guilt you too? I was asking. Can't I do that? Huh?

You don't see how you having a problem with something that makes me happy bothers me? This isn't a small tiny little problem, Larry, it sounds like a big fucking problem for you.

[He's in his face now with pointing finger pointing, close to poking, but not quite.]

But okay, you go on and be the big fuckin' man making all the big fuckin' sacrifices around here. I'll just sit and take it like a bitch cause it's my room and that's the kinda boundary you actually draw. [And then, as an afterthought.] A bitch that's gonna burn in hell.

I'm not trying to make it a big fucking problem. It's somethin' that sticks with me on my side. You didn't cause nothing. Fuck I didn't even know. And It don't make no fucking difference of how things should go in this house---

[Which is the beginnings of an apology. Except when he's gonna get all close and shout at him, talk about how he's making sacrifices for something he himself hasn't had a chance to sit on and think over is a red flag to a bull effect.]

I meant that as you got a right to what you got a right to. You like it. I don't think it's fucking fair to say anything wrong about it.

[Fuck this. Fuck all of it. Larry's not backing down. Though if he so much as pokes this bear he's going to flip his shit. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal.]

But you're still gonna have a problem with it. Right?

[Arms folded, that pointing finger is safe from poking. For now.]

You're not gonna be able to fuck me in here are you?

I've only set eyes on it. I can solve a problem. [Or at least reach a better ground for it. Why does this shit just come out. Why can't the kid fucking talk to him?]

Did you think it was gonna be a problem? That's why you didn't talk to me about it?

[They can shoot the shit about whatever else. What's one more thing? The more relaxed form of speaking is deceptive. It's not over yet.]

Hell no. I'll fuck you wherever I can. I'd do it right fucking now.

[Freddy thinks about bringing up the ladies in the hallway but even he knows it's not fair to compare women to religion, even though there are some people who would argue they're more alike than you think.]

Solving a problem starts with admitting you got a problem. I think you've heard that one before.

[It's not a knock against the old man's past coke issue, the words just come out quick and sharp as a retort. As for fucking...Freddy scoffs.] Bullshit.

[There are other things that the old man holds in high regard. Ladies painted onto paper don't rank in the top ten on that list.

Larry takes that stab...the absolute wrong way and responds the same way. Sharp, fast.]

Yeah, yeah I have. I'm so fucked up with all these problems after all.

[The old man shakes his head and puts his hands on his waist. Seriously, what? As for fucking though....]

You don't believe me?

But you'll just step aside and let me do my own thing even though you hate it. [Just like when they were seeing other people. Just like when Larry was willing to keep those ladies on the floor.] You fuckin' martyr who do you think you are?

[Jesus Christ? That would be an ill-timed shot. Hands on his waist get a steeled gaze from the kid, daring him. What is this, hate sex chicken? He's calling the old man's gesture as a bluff, the kind that's meant to prove Larry doesn't have a problem.] Go on.

Shit. I didn't say I hated it. I don't like it. Don't mean I'm gonna be burning anything. And since when is it bad to be doing something that I think would make you fucking happy? What fucking good is it gonna do to piss and moan?

[As he's asking this he moves his hands to the front of Freddy's pants. His eyes are on the man's face, steel eyed gaze and all.]

Hard already?

[Because he's checking, calling his bluff. The only thing that makes sense about this moment is how his hands fit over the kid.]

[The fact that his big paws are on him makes the kid feel guilty but not because of his faith or some sense of principle with regards to what they do. He feels guilty because he brought them this far, and because he has to say the words:]

Get your hands off me.

[Freddy doesn't want to get hard. He doesn't want to fuck despite being the one who dared the other man. He shakes himself out of that grip to grab his cigarettes and go straight for the little balcony alcove, a luxury this home they share is afforded to him. He slams the sliding door shut behind him.]

[There was a nagging small voice that said maybe the kid was not gonna be up for it. Too late to listen to it now. Larry gets the feeling that he fucked up bad. He takes a few moments to linger on the other side of the glass and give the guy a little time before he's going out after him. Slow easy opening of the door. At first no words come on out. He feels like his breath weighted.]

That was too far.

[He knows Larry's coming out when he hears the sound of the door. Freddy keeps his back turned to him, another cigarette already lit as he perches on the ledge. There's no danger of falling over here, there's a short expanse of roofing below, the top of another apartment.

The lack of words and acknowledgment are just as much a message of: Leave me alone. How old are you, Newendyke? Twenty-seven or seventeen?]

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