I had peed in the bed again and, on another hideously hot day, Skeeter had done the laundry and he was not pleased about it. Then, after Boo-Boo came home, the idiot left his earphones hanging to the floor from his laptop and they just smelled too delicious (it's an acquired taste...). Problem? Skeet caught me in full commission of the act and just came barreling at me and...well...I ran, didn't I? This just made him more pissed as it was still hot and when he caught me he went right for the scruff of my neck. Now I had had quite enough of this form of punishment so I did my new trick: curling up in a ball which effectively tightens my skin which means he has no scruff to grab. Well, that didn't stop him, did it? We did a battle royal for a few seconds and then I was flying through the air as, once again, he carried me to my little bed by the scruff of my neck (which, as you know, is not my preferred form of travel). Boo wanted to go to me right away to see if I was a hurt (I can always count on him to be the softie) but Skeet roared at him to stop or the next time I peed in the bed, he would not do the washing and no matter how late Boo came home or how tired he was he would be stuck with housework and when was he going to grow some balls when it came to punishing me and why did he (Skeet) always get stuck playing the bad guy, and on...and on...and on. So the upshot was that I had retained domination in the household by setting my pawns against each other. Perfect.
Skeet stayed pissed at me for a day, then I approached him after the afternoon walk, asked if I could sit with him in the La-Z-Boy. He snorted a yes (I think) and I joined him. There was quiet that was boring me so I said, "Have you ever had a girlfriend." I thought it was an innocent question but with queers there are apparently no innocent questions. Open a door that looks like it has cookies behind it and you'll find the two-headed monster of gender and sexuality. Go to the bathroom to drink from the toilet and behind the shower curtain is a hideous being made up of identity, crushed dreams and feelings of persecution.
Skeeter bridled and said, "I've had quite a few girlfriends, if you must know!" And I think—yes—he puffed out his chest like one of those locker-room stallions who almost always has a tiny prick. I snerfed and said, "I mean sex-girlfriends."
He let a long silence pass by and said, "No," but when I snerfed again went on quickly, "because when I was a youngster kids didn't dive right into sex—"
"—excuse me, but we are talking about the 1970s and 80s, right? Not the 30s." That depuffed his chest, let me tell you. But I decided to cut him some slack and said, "Did you ever get serious with a girl?"
"Oh yes," he said wistfully. "I even had a love of my life."
"Really?"
"Yes. From the age of 13. My parents and her mother thought we were destined to marry and all wished it devoutly as did she. But when I left high school I decided not to hide from myself any longer—"
"—the fag thing—"
"—gay thing—"
"—whatever—"
"—yes. I still wasn't out but I knew I was not meant to marry either so our relationship cooled though it continued too, in a different rhythm. For nearly ten years she was my girl. I still keep in touch. Her life has gone crazy. Soon after high school she started to go blind. I mean fully blind. Guide-dog blind—"
"—oh yes! Her!—"
"Yes. And then she got married to a sighted man and they adopted a little boy who turned out to be very fucked up. And the marriage broke up. As the boy grew older he became a real delinquent and would bring his friends over to his mother's house and keep her busy while they robbed her—"
"—blind, so to speak—"
"Shut up. She became diabetic, which for a blind person is even more complicated. Then she found a new boyfriend, also sighted. But there were serious problems between her son and this new guy and that began to fall apart too but not before the guy took out his hostility on her by rearranging the furniture in the house."
"Oh my fucking God! That is pretty fucking hostile, all right!"
"Yeah. Murder novel hostile. She told me this over the phone, laughing. I didn't find it funny and told her to come here. That we would find her an apartment and then she could be away from her fucking asshole son and this psycho. But she refused. She always felt she had to solve the problem. And she did by kicking both son and boyfriend out. Pretty brave, don't you think?"
"Lordie," I whispered.
"Now she is in a relationship with a blind man and they are happy and he protects her and all appears to be well."
"Why did you tell me all this?" I said. "I only asked a silly question."
"Because we still talk and we still love each other very much and we both know if nature had not dealt us these funny little hands of cards...who knows?" He sighed and their was softness and loss in the sound and I snuggled up closer to him.
"And all I wanted to know is if you ever porked a chick..."
You see? Open the door—innocent fucking question—and out comes this vile creature that stinks of the past and regret.
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