SECOND CHANCE: LIFE AFTER 17 YEARS IN PRISON
If not for the woman who’d given birth to me, I’d never have stepped foot in this land of overweight, sweatpant-wearing normals driving SUVs and stuffing their faces with cheese-covered ‘meat’ patties, slathered in greasy mayonnaise, making me feel nauseous. But it was my first ‘vacation’ in 20 years. Visiting my mother for the holidays in dear old, population-dwindling, fast foodriddled South Bend, Indiana.
It was a dreary, almost spookily conformist section of the USA, which I’d left with reason. But a son could seem ungrateful for not making an attempt to spend time with his mother. So I made an effort to fly the approximately 400 kilometres, bringing mom a few expensive-looking baubles, showing her the latest press clippings explaining whatever new projects I was working on and – with a bit of luck! – picking up a hot, backwards baseball cap-wearing, truck-driving, redblooded closet case.
Oh, I didn’t mention I’m attracted to closet cases? Not exclusively. I’ve dated ‘out’ men, including the infamous, irascible DJ Keoki. Mostly, though, I go for the ‘straights’, and the time we spend together is magical. I’m someone who loves feeling special and, in these relationships, I often am the only person these guys can be their true selves in front of. For me, there’s no greater aphrodisiac.
And so it was with Tyler, a 26-year-old, six-foot-two hunk of corn-fed Americana with just the right amount of seedy, I’ll-doanything-if-it-feels-good mentality, introduced to me by a man my own age named Andrew. It wasn’t a wise move by Andrew, but to most men of a ‘certain age’, a 20-something straight-acting sex toy is too much to keep to themselves. They must be shown off! Paraded! Just ask Madonna – what good are they kept locked away in their lavish, paidfor apartments?
‘Just don’t take him back to NYC,’ Andrew joked nervously. Tyler had been all over me that night, cuddling in the backseat, rubbing my knees and thighs as Andrew chauffeured us around looking for a spot that served alcohol at 2am on a Monday morning. Naturally, I’d been considering it. Tyler had no ties to Indiana. No job, no place to live, except with Andrew. I glanced at Tyler, the soft blonde of his barely-there moustache and goatee just begging to be licked. Especially after that sexy-ass grin and mischievous wink when Andrew asked, ‘What do y’all wanna do tonight?’
I got this, I thought, making a mental note of the differences between me and Andrew. Me, an infamous, still-youthful-looking tempter and sensation-seeker from New York City with a movie made of my life. And Andrew, looking at least three times older than me, with his Walmart job and inability to even find a bar for his boy-toy. What a dummy, I thought. I could take this boy anywhere tonight, without so much as lifting a pinkie.
And yet, I didn’t. I don’t know who was more surprised when I asked Andrew to drive me home. ‘I’m not into it tonight,’ I said as Tyler’s thigh-rubbing stopped suddenly, a look of confusion marring his lean, unlined face.
Even a year ago such a thing would have seemed unheard of. Back then I’d have had the boy giving me a blow job in the backseat of Andrew’s car. What was happening? Why the drastic change? Erectile dysfunction? Or, even scarier, gaining a conscience? I never believed I’d reach a point in my life where I’d be turning down blow jobs from a boy who could’ve been the lost member of One Direction. What would be the point of life if I couldn’t get my dick sucked by every scally boy from here to Buckingham Palace?
Driving home, I realised growing up wasn’t going to be as scary as I’d feared. There really was more to life than drugs and meaningless sex. I’d come to South Bend a boy, but I was leaving a man.
I never believed I’d reach a point in my life where I’d be turning down blow jobs from a boy who could’ve been a lost member of One Direction