Part 28 (1/2)

As He Pokes And pinches, I concentrate on ways to not reach Salt Lake City. Afterward, he takes me in his arms, like in some awful romantic movie. Only in the movies, the couple would really be in love, though they might not know it yet. Despite everything before, and what Jerome has hinted will come soon, I have to fight not to resist him.

It's a losing battle. My body tenses.

He can't help but notice. What's wrong?

I drop my voice to a whisper. ”Nothing.

It's just ... I'm excited. And scared.”

Don't be scared. Everything will work out fine. I promise. He kisses me and I draw from the deepest well of dark deception to kiss him back like I mean it.

When the Door Closes Behind him, I clean myself, as I do every time he leaves, with soap and cold water from the wash basin. The air in the room is thick with heat and the smell of sweaty s.e.x, a smell I never knew existed until just a few weeks ago. At first it made me gag, but it has become something I simply accept, because I have no other choice. When all choice is taken from you, life becomes a game of survival.

I lay the towel on the bed, lie on top of it, so I don't have to touch the sheet.

Will I carry that habit with me if and when I leave this place? Will Jerome really take me out of here? What then? I have no answers, but I do know I can't end up in Salt Lake City. Wherever I go-Los Angeles, maybe, or Reno or Las Vegas- my only goal is to reconnect with Andrew.

And pray this nightmare ends with a red sunrise.

A Poem by Seth Parnell

Vegas

This city is a neon- scaled hydra, bellying across hot Mojave sand. Cobra heads, venomous, in disguise pretend beauty, lure you with hypnotic eyes, copper promises, and the bare skin of G.o.ds intent on mortal souls. Walk cautiously, beware the brazen slither of concrete beneath your feet.

Do not listen to the arid hiss of progress.

Seth

Before We Came

To Las Vegas, I had an inkling that Carl had money.

But I had no idea exactly how much until he invited me to relocate here with him.

Truth is, I didn't really expect him to agree to bring me along. In fact, I wasn't totally convinced that I wanted to come.

The night my dad kicked me out, I was in turmoil.

Where to go? What to do next? I had no clue. Carl was my only solid ground, and when he said he was moving, the earth quaked.

The blood rushed away from my face. Carl reached for me, as a father would.

Someone's Gay Father I propped myself against him. ”I don't know what to do. I can't go home. Have no home. No money. No job.

Sorry. Not your problem.”

He thought silently for what seemed a long while. Finally, he led me to the sofa, sat next to me. I've never told you about Simon, he said.

He lived with me until a few weeks before you and I met.

He was what some call ”kept.” And I kept him.

It was a mutually beneficial relations.h.i.+p. He enjoyed my hospitality. I enjoyed his company, and he looked good on my arm, at least until he grew bored with it.

A trophy-that's what the guy I first saw with Carl at Fringe was. Carl let the idea filter through my confusion.

I wasn't looking for another.

But if you would consider it, I'd think about taking you along. He kissed me, led me to bed. Come on. Show me how much you want to go.

He asked me to do dark, obscene things. Things I'd never done before.

And he wanted me to do them without protection.

Feels better this way.

And it's okay. I'm safe.

I promise. You have to trust me. He was right.

I had no one else to trust.

A Few Days Later I climbed on board a jet for the very first time. Sat in first cla.s.s, where drinks are served before the plane's wheels ever leave the tarmac.

Less than four hours later, we touched down sixteen hundred miles to the west, and a billion light-years from everything I've ever known. We disembarked the silver bird in Sin City, where trophy boyfriends are almost as common as trophy wives. Carl likes me on his arm. I'm not sure how I feel about being someone's prize, but it's better than being homeless, that much I know. Neither am I exactly sure how I feel about the world-at least my newest little corner of it- knowing I'm gay. I don't feel judged. But I do feel exposed.

Culture Shock Barely describes what it's like, coming from the wild land of Indiana to the wild life of Las Vegas.

This city defines insanity.

Not that I've traveled much, or at all really, but I can't imagine many other places so built on extravagance.

Or so reliant on human greed.

Casinos line the glitzy strip, masquerading as Venetian ca.n.a.ls, Egyptian pyramids, Manhattan skysc.r.a.pers.

Their exteriors boast fountains, pirate s.h.i.+ps, giant lions with gaping mouth doorways, roller coasters. And almost everywhere you look- billboards and signboards, on taxicab roofs and giant-screen TVs on outdoor walls and indoor ceilings- you simply cannot escape the sight of near-naked bodies.

Skin, Skin Everywhere skin. Instead of Sin City, they should call this place Skin City.

Female skin. Male skin.