This is it. We did it. This is the end of where we follow Jay and Dillon (at least until I figure out if I want to follow through on some vague ideas of a high school reunion for him, Aaron, and Crispin. Don't encourage me). This feels a little disjointed to my eyes, but it's also a literal first draft, so…if it sucks shit then let me know, I guess. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.
Until this story is finished, I want you to imagine me as the meme of Elmo in front of flames. Typing at any opportunity, stuck in a hell of my own making, no longer caring about quality. We're getting this done.
It’s almost the end of the month when I give in and find fucking Crispin Viera in the student union.
“I need to ask you something real quick.”
He folds his arms, cocks his hip out all queeny. “I’m not going with you to a second location.”
Y'all know I'm not having fun unless I'm torturing some characters a little bit.
The holidays are so goddam packed and yet I'm so goddam close to getting rid of this story from my overloaded brain. So I'm going to be posting more here. LFG.
Nothing in the world can get me to stop thinking about it. Sex with Dillon. I fucked him. He liked it. He said it was good. Not ten out of ten, but at least edging up on an eight. I fucked him. Dillon showed me how to fuck him, and I did it. We had sex.
I don't know what to do with this information.
Living up to the title of this blog, I tell you what. This thing almost has a trajectory.
My boss still touched me too much. We were working a lot—I had notes and files and emails to prove that my presence wasn’t completely unnecessary—but he’d massage my shoulders or the back of my neck while he looked over my notes. Even at dinner, when his wife and two children were there, Mr. Baker would touch my foot with his or rest his hand on my thigh under the table. His hand went to the small of my back whenever he passed behind me in the kitchen.
It wasn't as though we went entirely unnoticed. "Ken just follows you around everywhere," I overheard Regina tell Mr. Baker when they were relaxing in the living room. She sounded amused. "He's like a puppy."
Still not exactly sure where this is going, but here's more one it.
"We're heading to the lake next weekend," Stuart told me not long after, "my family and I. I want you to come along."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I replied honestly, giving a quick smile to my coworkers passing the open door.
He clapped me on the shoulder, but as usual let it rest a little too long. “It’ll be a working trip,” he offered. “You’ll get time and a half.”
I marked myself as out of office. After all, what could he do with four children and a wife running amok?
***
Like a family in a black-and-white film, the Baker clan waited for us on the steps of the lake house. Some of the clan, I corrected myself. The children I had met at the chili cookoff weren’t there.
Stuart kissed his wife before turning to me.
"You've met Regina," he said, squeezing her waist, "and this is my oldest boy, Graham. Graham is going to be a junior this year."
Read part 1 here
From the way he waited for me to make the first real move, I reckoned he’d had affairs with employees in the past. In fact, he stayed mostly still while I unbuckled his trousers and slid the zipper down, and merely held onto the edge of his desk when I fished inside of his tight briefs. His cock was nice, about seven inches and cut with a flared head. I’d never seen a straight man with shaved balls, at least one who wasn’t in sex work, so I wondered how he explained it to Mrs. Baker.
This is part of the Commencement collection—the secondary character in the prom story shows up here as well. I'm giving myself a C grade on this one, even if there are huge gaps that need to be filled. (Living up to the blog title, here).
If you’re going to be the side piece, don’t meet the family.
I can’t even claim that it started innocently. When the temp agency sent me to Envision IT I was doing data entry and scanning old records into the system. Mr. Baker was his own division, something with marketing or sales. He was very friendly with me and touched me a lot, though being a fairly touchy-feely person myself I didn’t mind. It was never inappropriate, just pats on the back or shoulder, or grabbing my arm to get my attention, or thumping my chest when I said something funny. However, he also flirted with me to an extent that I found embarrassingly obvious.
So when Mr. Call-Me-Stuart Baker and I were alone in the office that night, a mere one month after I had been hired on, I was prepared for his proposition.
In the grand scheme of Getting These Stories Fuckin' Published, I settled on the one that felt the most complete. It just so happens to be something I never published on this blog (which I realized today). Alex and Mario are sons of rival gangs: Alex is the baby of his Russian mob family, Mario the expected heir to an Italian "family." Mario is our POV character, and we follow him through a meetup with Alex as Mario reminisces about their relationship.
Initially, Sons of the Underbelly was a dumb take on yet another conversation with new acquaintances. I had only an outsider's perspective on a couple of specific cultures, and a reluctance to use the same language (mostly racial slurs) that seemed so common amongst these guys, and I still haven't seen a single episode of The Sopranos. What I did have was a story structure. So like me mashing my sister's Barbies together to make them kiss (she used to get so mad at me), that one conversation and the structure slammed together.
I'm renaming the series. For one, Sons of the Underbelly is overwrought. For two, I'm noticing that a lot of my titles start with an S or a W, and I want to switch it up. I debated the following:
Listen, y'all. I've written threesomes before. I've even written threesomes in which the reader is supposed to kind hate one of the participants. This one has been a doozy. After a couple of downer chapters I'm pressuring myself to make the November section a barnburner. For the people. Because erotica. Said people have been very opinionated, which made me want to take the parts I'd already written and tweak them. The trajectory it was on didn't connect to the material I had for the aftermath. What could happen during an event, that Jesse was desperate to go well, that would make Chrisette upset? Poor woman. My apologies to womankind stand.
Note to Self: in the future, just make a super long chapter with the sexy stuff as a palate cleanser for the depression, lest the shorter installments be absolutely hammered in the comments.
August
I’m on a job site in Providence, talking to the foreman, when I get a call. He takes a peek at the scene before I silence it.September
“Todd.”I'm getting yelled at in the comments of recent installments (not here, obviously. No one reads this) and rightfully so. I apologize to women. I apologize to people with mental health issues, myself included. I apologize to happy throuples and the polyamorous community. I apologize to therapists, mine included. I apologize to the people who wanted to read a little gay porn for a nice fun time and got trapped in a psychodrama.
For this story to work, Todd has to learn and grow. Most folks I know, and Jesse especially, are slow to notice real change in the people around them, especially if their first impression is bad. Since we never leave Jesse's POV, I've been trying to figure out (for years; I cringe to see the publication date for the first Power Plays post) how to make change clear to the reader even if Jesse's can't see it.
In a story where no one is completely honest with themselves, Todd starts out close to Jesse—who does not allow himself much introspection—and lands closer to Chrisette by the end of chapter 6. By chapter 9 Todd will have the self-awareness on par with Sasha. She's my favorite, if it isn't clear from the way I treat her character.
Sasha spots Chrissy before I do and waves her to our table.
“How’s our girl?” she asks as Chrissy sits. I signal our server.
“Ya girl is so fucking pregnant.”
We make sympathetic noises. Chrissy looks healthier than ever, if anything, but I don’t know how pregnancy works. She makes it sound miserable.
“Do you know what you’re having yet?”
Chrisette grins. “Guess.”
“Girl,” I say. Sasha guesses the same.
“With all the girls in my family you’d think so, but nope. We’re gonna have a little boy running around.”
“A mini Jesse.”
Sasha and Chrissy both laugh like I’m being mean, but I didn’t intend it any particular way. He’ll probably be a decent dad, actually. He seems to be most comfortable when he’s needed. Chrisette…I can’t really picture her that way. She always bragged about how she could avoid being stuck with her nieces and nephews at family events.
