Tuesday, December 27, 2005

223. Gustavus

Christmas came and went without much notice around Wayne Manor. Bruce continues to train with ever-increasing intensity, and I cannot say that I much missed the holiday myself. On the one occasion that the subject came up--two days ago, during a break, as he sat sipping water in his sweat-soaked tights--he admitted what I'd long suspected: that the season is a painful one for him, reminding him not only of the death of his parents but, more recently, the personal downfall that began around this time last year.

I could see it was hard for him to talk about--so many things are, though the ice has melted significantly since I first met him--so I wrapped my arm around him and held him tight for a long, quiet moment. I could feel and smell the perspiration gather around his neck and armpits, and I brushed my spare hand through the moisture to smooth some of it away. I kissed the top of his head and each of his ears, nuzzling the lobes against my lips and wishing like hell there was some other life in store for the two of us.

Then it was back to work.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

222. Dick

Slidell, Louisiana

If you'd told me a year ago I'd be spending Christmas Eve in a place like this, doing what I've been doing, I would have told you you were out of your mind.

Come to think of it, I was out of my mind--literally--this time last year. So maybe I should change the subject.

Today I did pretty much what I've been doing for the last few months, which is pretty much whatever the volunteer coordinator of the moment tells me. This time that meant we distributed toys, clothes and other gifts to families in the area for hours, along with hot meals, which was both exhausting and totally exhilirating. It doesn't look much like Christmas around here--few homes are decorated in any way--but people are doing what they can to rebuild their lives.

After the sun went down, Oliver and I had dinner at a little place that just recently reopened. Nothing fancy, but it was exactly right. We didn't exchange gifts of any kind, unless you count some incredibly hot blow jobs. (God knows I counted those.)

And then, as he does almost every night, he left without a word of warning. At first that routine was kind of intriguing--where was he going? what was he doing?--but tonight it just kind of sucked. In all the weeks we've known each other, I don't think he's spent a full evening with me more than four times.

But I'm not about to complain. When he is aound, he's the warmest, gentlest, most attractive man on the planet.

Or one of them, at least. (Okay, so Bruce was never that warm or gentle, even on his best days. But you know what I mean.)

I wish I could give this entry some kind of Christmas Magic-y ending, and all would be right with the world and my little place in it. But that would be a lie. Things are hard, very hard, unbelievably hard, for the people of this area right now, and I'm spending my remaining energy with a guy who vanishes every night at midnight. Still, things could be worse, as recent events have taught me.

So, ho ho ho. Ho ho fucking ho.

Friday, December 02, 2005

221. Gustavus

The changes in Bruce over the last few days are remarkable. As he continues to train his body, he grows ever more confident, ever stronger. He is literally a new man, or perhaps an improved version of the one he was long before I met him. I look at him in wonder; I cannot help thinking how far he has come since we first began working together.

On a related note, he has brought me further and further into his very unique training process. I had always thought that my own physical conditioning was rigorous, but his dedication in that department puts mine to shame. I work out alongside him, spot him on equipment, and spar with him during combat drills. During rest breaks, I continue to coach him in more esoteric realms, furthering the exercises we began months ago.

I cannot hide my excitement as I grapple with him in his sweats--aptly named, for he is frequently drenched in perspiration within minutes of beginning one of his gruelling sessions. Soon, he says, he will start to wear a stripped-down version of his costume during these routines, since its weight and bulk affect his stamina and balance significantly. Having seen him in the full outfit earlier, I must say I look forward to that transition.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

220. Dick

Gulfport, Mississippi

Writing the occasional letter to Bruce has reminded me what it was like to keep a journal, and makes me think that perhaps it's time to try that again.

Of course, the whole idea stirs up some very bad memories--cloudy though they may be. After all, it was Dr. Tanhoger who encouraged me to write down my most private thoughts, only to use them to bring down B. It's hard for me to write a word without wondering who's going to read it and what they will do with the information they discover.

And yet, I just feel the need to keep some kind of record of everything I've been going through since I came down here. I feel like a witness to history, and I'm not even sure I could find the words to express all that I've seen. Perhaps I should leave that to actual historians and journalists and write what cannot be said out loud. I've worked hard to put my past behind me, to find some way to undo the awful things I did not so very long ago. That job will occupy me for the rest of my days, but at least I feel, in some incremental way, like I am doing good.

And, if I may say so myself, I am having some pretty damn hot sex in the process. Oliver is an unbelievable lover--so confident and direct, and unabashedly masculine. He's a lot like Bruce, I admit, if Bruce were about a hundred times more secure in his sexuality. (He's also a lot hairier than Bruce--that goatee just drives me crazy! And let's not even get into that fur on his chest and forearms...)

On the other hand, he's every bit as eccentric as B; maybe even more so. It's hard as hell to get him to spend the night, since he's always getting up and heading out at the strangest hours. That part is a little too familiar, but I'm thankful for any time I get to spend with him.

He's used to life on the road--he hasn't told me much about his past, but I do know that he's got a long history of travelling from town to town. Years of it now, I'd bet. I think he might have been married at some point, and there may be a kid in the picture, but that's just a hunch. On the other hand, I'm convinced he spent some time as a priest or monk of some kind, judging from the books he carries around and the frequent references to various religious traditions he peppers his speech with.

One thing is certain: his politics are a hell of a lot closer to mine than Bruce's. But what am I doing, anyway, constantly comparing him to B? I guess it just shows I still feel something--okay, a lot--for the guy who changed my life forever.

Who am I kidding? Of course I'm still in love with Bruce--it's just all screwed up. Maybe forever. Oliver is here, and he's amazing, and neither of us has any illusions about the future. In this kind of setting, amidst this kind of devastation, illusions are impossible to maintain, anyway.

So I do the work I'm here to do, and I sleep with this hot man almost every night (or most of the night), and then I get up and begin all over again. The work is hard, and the romance is easy, and there's nothing else to occupy my mind in between. It's not the life I imagined for myself, and I know this period won't last forever, but while it's here I'm going to make the most of it.