seconds. Then, "What if it's someone you really like, and he doesn't want to wear one?"
"Tough shit. It goes on, or he doesn't get in." He shifts his posture just enough to watch my face. "Sometimes it takes guts to say that. But you say it, Alessandro." And he relaxes again, gazing forward at nothing in particular. Then, "Shall I tell you about my first sexual encounter? It wasn't with another boy."
"Sure." I'll listen to anything he wants to say to me.
He watches people stroll past while he speaks and I sniffle. "I was fifteen. My parents owned a two-family in Brooklyn. We lived in one unit, and a young married couple lived in the other. I don't remember the guy's name; he was a merchant seaman, gone for weeks at a time. His wife's name was Rhonda." He chuckles. "Anyway, she seduced me. Mind you, back then everything from barking dogs to howling wind turned me on, so it wasn't a problem that she was a woman. Also, she knew what pleased her and wasn't too shy to tell me what to do. It did a lot to increase my confidence about sex generally."
He smiles and shakes his head. "But the most important thing she taught me was this: Do not ever be without a condom. She told me that when I started doing this with my little girlfriends from school, one of them might say not to worry, because she'd taken care of everything. By which she would mean contraception. But Rhonda said to be aware of two really bad possibilities. One is that the girl doesn't really know what would prevent a baby, and the other is that she knows very well because she's done this often enough to have picked up an STD or two. Rhonda said, 'If she tells you she has things covered, you smile sweetly, you say that's great, and you put on your condom.'"
He looks at me again. "So, Alessandro, here's what I'm telling you, now. If some guy doesn't want to use a condom, you smile sweetly, and you say you're not going forward without one. If he tries to pressure you, you tell him, 'My life is worth more than a few minutes of anyone's pleasure.' You say that. And you mean it. And if he doesn't get with the program, you leave."
We watch more people walk by while I think about that last thing he said: My life is worth more than a few minutes of anyone's pleasure. My life. Mine. The life of Alessandro Lupo. The wolf, the defender of men. And in another epiphany it comes to me that I need to start defending myself. I'm ready.
Then he says, "As for whether you'll be able to have sex? It's my guess that when the time is right, you'll know. You might need to go easy, and the guy you're with will have to be okay with that, but I think you'll be fine." He winks. "I'd be willing to bet on it. And meantime, console yourself with the knowledge that with your looks, there will be lots of guys to choose from."
I blink stupidly at him. It's the second time today someone has told me I'm attractive. I almost say, "Really? Are you sure?" Because I'm not. Or, I haven't been.
Joe stands, lays one hand on my shoulder, and with the other he hands me a condom packet. "For when you need one. Go into any free clinic, and they'll give you more. But, Alex," and he waits until I lift my eyes from the condom to his face, "don't use it until you're with someone who deserves you." He pats the side of my face once and walks away. I watch him as long as I can see him.
Walking back through WSP, all the craziness seems harmless and funny. Of course, I'm still flying a little high after my conversation with a real, live Giuseppe. And then I see something I really didn't think I'd see-at least, not so soon. It's Ron, half hidden behind a tree off to the side of the walkway, on the grass with another guy, no doubt another victim of his experimentation. At first there's a painful stab, kind of a jealous feeling. But the phrase "piece of trash" sounds in my brain, and the pain is gone. There's anger next, then it's gone, too. And then I hear quiet laughter. It's me.
I stick a thumb into my pocket, feel for the condom, and head toward the tangled bodies on the grass.
Ron doesn't see me until I'm standing over them. He pushes the other boy away hard and stares at me like I'm some kind of avenging angel. I ignore him.
"Here," I say to the other boy, handing him the condom. "You're going to need this. He doesn't give a fuck about you one way or the other. Ask him if he's positive. I bet he doesn't even know." And without waiting to see if anyone has anything to say, I turn and walk east.
As I pass the Garibaldi statue, I salute Giuseppe.
Over dinner that night, I don't have a lot to say, per usual. But unlike usual, my silence comes not from a place of fear but from a kind of validation. Even hopeful anticipation, based on what Joe had said.
It must show, because Mrs. Dunlap smiles at me and says, "You're in a good mood, Alex. Anything in particular?"
I smile back and shake my head. "Just enjoying life."
Derek snorts. "Dork."
I laugh; he didn't expect that. And he doesn't expect what happens while I'm washing dishes. He starts in with the nearly-whispered verbal taunts, as usual. And just as quietly I tell him, "Go fuck yourself."
He steps back and begins twisting the towel. But I'm ready for him. Like lightning, I scoop a measuring cup full of hot, soapy water and fling it square in his face. Over his howl I hear Mr. Dunlap laughing.
Derek uses the towel to wipe his stinging eyes. "I'll get you for that!" he shouts at me.
I shrug. "You can try."
He storms out of the kitchen. Mrs. Dunlap gets up, locates another towel, drops a kiss on my cheek, and takes over the drying chore.
Yeah. He can try. But that's as far as he'll get. He doesn't yet know who he's dealing with.
# # #
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Reardon is an inveterate observer of human nature, and her primary writing goal is to create stories about all kinds of people, some of whom happen to be gay or transgender-people whose destinies are not determined solely by their sexual orientation. Her secondary writing goal is to introduce readers to concepts or information they might not know very much about. On her website, robinreardon.com, see the left margin for links to descriptions of individual novels where you will find a "Digging Deeper" section that links to background information and research done for the novel.
Robin's motto is this: The only thing wrong with being gay is how some people treat you when they find out. To support this position, she offers The Case for Acceptance: An Open Letter to Humanity (see the Author or Resources page). This open letter has been used by groups supporting LGBTQ informational efforts in several countries.
Interests outside of writing include singing, nature photography, and the study of comparative religions. Robin writes in a butter yellow study with a view of the Boston, Massachusetts skyline.
Other works by Robin Reardon
A Secret Edge (Kensington, 2007)
Thinking Straight (Kensington, 2008)
A Question of Manhood (Kensington, 2010)
The Evolution of Ethan Poe (Kensington, 2011)
The Revelations of Jude Connor (Kensington, 2013)
Educating Simon (Kensington, 2014)
THE REAL STORY SAFE SEX PROJECT
The Real Story Safe Sex Project is an all-volunteer educational effort created and organized by author Brent Hartinger using entertainment and popular culture to spread information and awareness about HIV/AIDS and safer sex for gay youth and men. If you enjoyed this story or found it helpful, please consider posting a review on Amazon, Goodreads, LibraryThing, or other online review site. To read other stories or watch other contributions to the project, or if you're a writer, filmmaker, or artist interested in contributing your own effort, see The Real Story Safe Sex Project web page.
TheBody is a website that calls itself "The Complete HIV/AIDS Resource." In particular, please note the Prevention page.
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