Cliches
"Ohh, Kaney." Came a warm sigh from an unmade bed..
The blankets shifted and fell, revealing a head of red curls and a bemused expression, "Kaney?"
"Kaney," Sean giggled and burrowed under the blankets.
"You've never called me that before," He sat up and turned over onto his side, caught Sean's gaze. His expression was unreadable.
"What are you thinking of?" He asked.
Sean bit his lip and flipped on to his right side, facing the open bedroom window.
He sighed, "There's something wrong."
"No."
"I know there's something wrong, Sean, so just tell me what."
Sean rubbed his right eye. "Do you think..what we're doing is right?"
Glenn nodded, firmly, "Of course. Does it feel wrong to you?"
"No, no..I mean..we're not a typical couple." He sat up and reached for a charred cigarette. "I don't know if I'm doing this right is what I mean."
Glenn ran his flattened palm across Sean's slim back, setting off fine, slight tremors of desire in his lover, "There is no right and wrong. Only what we feel is real here."
"But right is right..and I'm not exactly...that is..." He blushed and pulled a handful of unruly curls behind his shoulders.
"You're not Mark," Glenn shrugged, "Don't let that haunt you. He's not the love of my life, you are."
"Understand," Sean said simply, "Understand that when I remember seeing you together..he was..softer. Softer than I am now."
Glenn shook his head, "You mean he acted like a twink with me?"
Sean nodded, then watched a robin peck seeds from their red-roofed bird feeder, a way of letting Glenn absorb his words.
"Don't you know why? We were playing a game, Sean."
"A game?"
Glenn sat up, crossing his legs Indian-style, "He wanted to know what it's like to be a total and complete fem, so he asked me if we could experiment. I told him that experimentation at our ages felt stupid, but he was insistent. His entire mode of behavior was a conscious effort on his part; the gestures and the clothing. All a way of searching himself."
"It was a lie?"
"That dissolved after he met Chris, yes. He had no hesitation in dumping me and chasing him."
"But it's not just him. It's everyone."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the bottom. Part of me screams at me to act like one, like Jeff, and the other part calls out for rebellion and broken sterotypes. Most of me, actually. I don't think I know who I am when I'm with you."
"Don't tear yourself apart, Sean. Please, do what you feel you need to do." Glenn laughed, abruptly and harshly, "And Please don't compare yourself to Jeff."
"Why not? He's small, thin and has a pretty face. He's the girlier me."
"Which is why I'm sleeping with you and not him. And Jeffry Hardy is a Camile, a drama queen. Every five minutes he causes or suffers from some disaster and needs to be rescued. He needs a psychiatrist, not a lover. Rocky can have him."
"But I'm conscious of everything I do now. Every word I say is pronounced carefully, so that I don't lisp. Handshakes are firm. I don't wear pink. I'm terrified of someone calling me a queer on the street, not because I'm gay, but because I'm a public figure."
"You're afraid to contribute to the negative clichés?"
Sean nodded again.
"Prejudiced fools can't help themselves. Be your true self. But know this much, Sean, you're not a subsititue for a woman. I don't want to date anything but a firm, real, natural man."
"I won't be penalized for being anything but myself?"
"No. And no waiting for me to pick you up and carry you. I married you because you're emotionally strong. You want me, but you don't need me in some sort of hysteria."
"I'll be me, then. Not a creature of collected misinformation." Sean turned over, "But...if I want to call you 'Glenn' instead of 'Kaney', that's OK?"
"If you want to. But no mincing, or hip wiggling, or sighing or bursting into tears for no reason. Not unless you want to, you know.
"No pretending to like knitting when I really don't? No collecting toy poodles and Joan Crawford movies?"
"Only if you want to."
"I don't have to call you 'sugar'?"
"Nope, not sugar, darling, bunny or 'sweetie.'"
"Or 'honey'"
"Or 'lover'"
"Or 'baby'"
With that litany of cliched lover's terms, they gradually gave way to laughter, which in turn reformed to moans and sighs. Masked at last by the morning calls and refrains from birds in the heat of spring courting.