Your First Date
By Zaen
You help him
out of the limo with only minor problems.
The crowd of spectators erupts into screaming when they see you
two…you. Him. Justin smiles at them, takes your arm, grabs
his cane, and the two of you start down the very short, barely red carpet.
It’s
nice. It’s cold as all get out, but it’s
nice. Just the two of
you. No managers, no moms, no
“girlfriends,” not even the other guys, just security. You and Justin have never done an awards show
together, just the two of you. Probably
never will again. Justin limps along
with you, squeezing your bicep and leaning into you more for effect than need. You stop and talk briefly to someone from
MTV, E!, Extra. You hold your hand against the small of
Justin’s back, just in case his foot gives out under him at the wrong
moment. You tell yourself that’s why.
“Nope, I’m not
performing. Doctor’s orders,” Justin
says to someone from Access Hollywood. He taps his cane against the cast on his
foot. He doesn’t really need a cane, but
he thought it looked “gangstacool,” so you just
rolled your eyes and let him bring it.
“I was getting tired of puttering around my house, incapacitated.” You smile, glad that Justin used that word
instead of gimpy or something else
equally un-PC. You’ve already had to
lecture Justin on that once since he broke his foot a few weeks ago.
“So you just
decided to escort your good buddy, JC, who’s presenting tonight?” the
commentator asks, pointing his microphone at you but not taking his eyes off Justin.
“Yeah.” Justin smiles at you, then
looks directly at the camera. “I’m JC’s
date tonight,” Justin says, then wiggles his eyebrows, says “just kidding” and
laughs heartily. You smile, thinking
that that’s exactly what Justin said to you last night.
“I’m going stir crazy,” Justin had
said when he showed up on your door, balancing himself on crutches.
“And it’s nice to see you, too,
Justin,” you said as you closed your front door. You watched Justin make himself comfortable,
get himself something to eat, and act as if everything was normal, as if you
two had actually spoken to each other at all during the past two months. Eventually Justin came clean, saying he
wanted to go with you to the Billboards Awards.
He never did ask you, just told you he wanted to go. But he did actually use the word “date.” You gave in quickly after that.
“I
can’t wait for this thing to be off,” Justin mumbles once you two are settled
in your seats. He tries to cross his
good leg over the one with the broken foot, bumping you with his big knee in
the process. “Sorry.”
“No
problem,” you grunt, but it did hurt.
Justin can tell it hurt, too.
“You
ok, Jace?” He smiles at you, touches
your sore knee. “Can I get you
anything? A cold
compress? A
bandage? Will you require medical
attention?”
“Fuck
you,” you say good-naturedly. He laughs
and starts scanning the room for familiar faces. You do the same for a moment or two. When you turn back, Justin is turned around
in his seat, talking to someone you don’t know a few
rows behind you. But his hand is still
on your knee.
“Ok,
I gotta go present now,” you say to Justin, who looks bored out of his
mind. Someone wearing a headset and a
frantic scowl comes to get you, and you stand up quickly. You look down at Justin, a smirk on your
face. “Um, can you let me by, footboy?”
“Absolutely,”
Justin says with mock sincerity. His
legs fall open and he sits down low in his seat, leaving you little space to
get by him.
“C’mon,
I gotta go now!” you say softly to him, so the crazed headset woman won’t
overhear. “You’re gonna make me look
bad!” You smile when you say it,
though. Justin smiles up at you and gives
you a little more space. You sigh and
squeeze past him, the back of your legs scraping the front of his. You get stuck halfway past, trying to step
over his cast and cane. He sighs like
the most inconvenienced person in history, rolling his eyes as he helps you,
pushing you away with hands on your hips.
You get out to the aisle, smile embarrassedly at the frantic headset
woman, and follow her. You don’t look
back at Justin, but you wonder if it was an accident that his hands ended up on
your ass.
You
go out on the stage with some young singer/songwriter, “I’m not a popstar” popstar girl and present
an award to a group who already know they’ve won. It’s not so bad up there without the other
guys. You can get used to it. While the winners make their short speeches,
you look around the audience. You see
Justin immediately—not that you were looking for him. He’s staring right at you, smirking like a
motherfucker. You smirk back, and then
his smirk transforms into a genuine smile.
He gives you a thumbs-up and winks at you. You blush and wonder if maybe he’s really
looking at someone else.
You’re
backstage, talking to people when you see Justin. He’s talking to a pretty actress almost 10
years his senior. You wonder momentarily
if she will be his next fling as you make your way to him. She’s gone by the time you squeeze through
the backstage masses. Justin smiles at
you and reaches for your arm, though he doesn’t look that unsteady.
“What
are you doing back here?” you ask, holding his arm close to you, like people
leading the blind. That irks you for
some reason, and you move away quickly.
Justin looks at you funny.
“I, uh.” He leans
close to your ear and whispers, “I have to go to the little boys’ room.”
“And
you couldn’t go by yourself?” You can’t
help smiling.
“I
thought we could go together,” Justin says, smiling down at you. Sometimes you still can’t get over that’s
he’s taller than you now. “I mean, you are my date. Shouldn’t you escort
me to the john?”
“The benefits of same-sex dating.” You gulp, expecting a mini-tirade now.
“Whatever you say, C.”
Justin just smiles at you. “I
wouldn’t know about that, of course.”
“Of course not.” You
smile in spite of yourself, and pull his arm close to you as you look around
for the bathroom.
“But…I
am on the cover of this month’s Advocate!” Justin smiles proudly at
you. You look away, so he won’t see you
bite your lip. You take him to the
bathroom. He squeezes your arm the
entire way.
“That
wasn’t so bad,” Justin says in the limo on the way to the hotel. “I felt like a girl, but it wasn’t so
bad.”
“You
wanted to be my date,” you say to Justin. You try not to sound mad.
“I
know.” He looks down at his hands. “It was nice.
You’re a good date.” He looks up
at you with a strange look on his face.
You used to know all his expressions.
You don’t know if this is one you’ve missed over the years, or if it’s
one he’s cultivated during the hiatus.
One you don’t know because you’ve only seen him a handful of times in
the past 8 months. As if he can read
your mind he says, “I guess I’ve forgotten.
We haven’t really hung out, just you and me, in a while.” You nod your head, hoping he’ll
continue. “I guess that’s my fault.”
“No…both
our faults,” you lie. Again, he reads
you well, and he laughs and touches your hand.
“You
don’t have to say that. I know it was
me.” His eyes sparkle under the passing
city lights. “I’m sorry, Jace.” You nod again, thinking about all the
unreturned phone calls, the half-assed hugs and conversations. “I’ve been busy. And so have you.”
“Yeah.” You look out
your tinted window. When you look back,
Justin’s head is on your shoulder, and his hand is still on yours. When you get closer to the hotel, you
whisper, “Do you wanna go out? I’ll show
you a real good time.”
“Oh yeah?” Justin
looks up at you. His face is really
close. You haven’t been this close since
last year. That saddens you more than
you want to admit. “A
good time, C? Gonna take me to an
all-night buffet?”
“If the price is right!”
He laughs and kisses your cheek.
“If
it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay in tonight,” Justin says with a small
smile. “We can watch a movie or
something.” Then his head is back on
your shoulder, and you acknowledge the thumping in your chest.
You
help Justin over to his bed. You watch
him collapse and grunt and curse about his foot for a few seconds, and then you
realize that you’re staring. He starts
to unbuckle his belt.
“Are…um…are
you heading back to
“No. I mean, I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.” You look back, and Justin is struggling to
get his tight pants over the cast. “Hey, Jace. Can you
help a brother out?”
“Sure, brother.” You laugh to ease the pounding in your head
when you grab Justin’s pant leg at the bottom and proceed to pull it all the
way off. “Didn’t you get these on by yourself?”
“Yeah,
but I figured, since you’re here already.”
Justin smiles as he stands in his shirt and silk boxers. “Thanks, C.”
He limps toward the bathroom, taking his shirt off slowly on the
way. You watch him, because he obviously
wants you to. When he gets to the
bathroom, he turns to you and says, “Make yourself comfortable. I am.”
He grins at you and closes the door.
You sit on the bed and try to figure out what the hell is going on.
The
most comfortable you’ll allow yourself is bare feet and unbuttoned shirt. The heat in Justin’s room is turned up to
tropical, and he lies under the covers in just his underwear. You sit on top of the covers in lotus
position, watching the Sopranos season finale.
You don’t pay attention. You both
watched it last night.
“So,”
he says after a while. “You and Ms. Ex-Carson Daly, huh?”
“We’re
just friends,” you say, for the billionth time all year.
“Sure
you are.” You turn to look at him. He’s on his side, leaning on an elbow. The bedcovers next to him are turned
back. Like an invitation. You gulp.
“So…you and former Ms. Teen
Steam.”
“Shut
up,” he laughs. “I liked Teen Steam!”
“Teen Steam…gotta let it out, gotta let it
out!” you sing in an intentionally
bad falsetto, rolling your eyes and flailing your arms.
“Hey,
she was hot then, man,” Justin says with a wide grin. He moves over in the king size bed, making
more room between you two. You look at
him curiously. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You
look hot.”
“What?” Your throat runs dry until you realize he’s
referring to the sweat at your forehead.
“Oh…well, you’re the one who has to have it like an oven in here.”
“I
just want to be warm.” Justin looks at
the TV screen and says, “You can take that sweater off, you know.” You look at the TV too, and do as Justin
says. Neither of you says anything for a
while, but soon you start shivering. You
jump a bit when you feel a hand on your arm.
“Goosebumps,” Justin whispers. He
traces the pimpled flesh on your forearm.
You hope he doesn’t hear the squeak in the back of your throat.
“I
guess I’m cold. Hand me my sweat—”
“It’s
warmer under here,” Justin says, lifting the covers with his knee while he
pulls on your arm. Before you know it
you’re in the bed with Justin. Not on the bed, in the bed.
You close your eyes and yawn so you won’t smile.
“Just friends, huh?”
Justin says after about 5 minutes, the first words spoken since you
joined him in bed.
“Yes,
Justin. We’re just friends.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“What
do you mean?” you ask playfully. Of
course you know what he means.
“You
guys fool around.” You turn to face
Justin. He’s on his back, but his head
is turned, facing you. You think about
how that will hurt his neck after a while, and you have to resist the urge to
reach over and massage his neck.
“What
do you mean, fool around?”
“Ugh!” Justin smiles and rolls his eyes. You close yours and lay there still for a
while, just listening to the TV. The
sound gets fainter. You open your eyes
to see Justin turning the volume down and setting the sleep timer with the
remote. He places it on the nightstand,
turns off the lamp, and settles back in the bed, facing away from you. You watch his back, not sure what you should
do. Leave or stay? Just as you are about to leave, Justin says,
“Me and…we’re just friends, too. But we
have the benefits.”
“Oh,
I see.” You hate the bitterness in your
voice. “I thought you two were an item.”
“Not
really. Just…fuckbuddies.
I guess. We have a good
time.” You nod, even though he can’t see
you. You roll on your side, watching his
back rise and fall.
“I
guess…if we’d spent any real time together this year…I would have known
that.” He doesn’t respond. You think maybe he’s asleep.
“It’s
not serious, Jace. I’m not…tied
down. To anyone,” Justin says
softly. “This year has just been crazy
for me. For all of us. I just need to figure out what I want. Who I want. You know?”
“I
know,” you whisper. This is the most
he’s opened up to you since the big break up earlier in the year. You like that, even if you don’t like what
he’s saying. “I know exactly what you
mean.” Justin shifts, the light from the TV dancing in
patterns across his bare back.
“Do
you know?” Justin clears his
throat. “Do you know…who you want?”
“I…” You don’t know how to answer that. Justin turns over to face you, and you really
can’t answer that. “What’s with all the
questions?” you ask defensively, trying to change the subject. “What is this, Justin? We’re like strangers, and then all of a
sudden you want to hang out with me?” It
comes out angrier than you want it to, but you can’t stop. “It’s like…you can’t even stand to be near
me. Not for long. Not the way we used to be. And then you show up with that foot, out of
the blue, wanting to be my date? I don’t
get it, Justin.” He stares at you, mouth
agape, eyes unreadable. It almost hurts. “If we’d just grown apart, I could deal with
that. But…I don’t think that’s the case. Or maybe you just outgrew me.” And that does hurt to say. You close your eyes and try to move away, but
Justin is quick. He grabs your arm and
pulls you to him.
“I’m
sorry, C,” Justin whispers. His face is
very close to yours now. So is his
body. You can’t help staring at his
lips, especially when he licks them wet.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
“What?” Justin interlaces your fingers. You look at your hands together, and it just
confuses you more. “You didn’t mean for what to go this far?”
“I…Josh.” He tries to
look away but you quickly cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. He looks scared. “I wanted to prove something to you
guys. You. I wanted so bad for
you to see that I’ve grown up. I wanted
this album to be…I don’t know. I guess I
wanted to show you that I’m not a kid…or something.” He looks down, and you let him. “I wanted you to miss me. I wanted you to need me more than I need
you.” He looks so ashamed, but you urge
him to continue. “Maybe part of me
wanted you to come after me when we started drifting apart. To beg me not to go. And when you didn’t…it hurt.”
“Maybe
I was thinking the same thing,” you admit.
He looks up at you and tries to smile but fails.
“We
used to be so close, Josh.” He touches
your shoulder, you neck, your hair. “I
took that for granted. I thought I’d be
able to pull away from you and you’d always take me back.” You nod because you know you always would
take him back.
“Justin,”
you say hesitantly, “did I do something—”
“No! It wasn’t you. It was me.
I wanted to break away from you.
I thought I needed to do that to show everyone how I’d grown. As an artist. As a man.”
“A
straight man,” you say before you can stop yourself. He nods sadly. And there it is.
“You’re
just…you’re so—”
“I
know,” you whisper, looking down at your purple paisley pants. You’d almost worn your new favorite rainbow
sweater, but Justin had said absolutely not.
“It’s pretty obvious that you’ve aligned yourself with the more het faction of the band,” you admit regretfully, the recent
pictures of Justin with Chris or Joey running through your mind. “Some people think you hate me and Lance.”
“I’m
so sorry,” he whispers, and you really believe him. “Josh…I never wanted to…I’m just…I’m
scared. The rumors and…I’m so
stupid.” Justin closes the space between
you, hugging you close and sniffling into your neck. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I guess I was trying to keep my
distance. And I hate myself for it. I miss you guys so much.” He sighs against your skin, and the goosebumps return.
“I miss you, Jace. I was so
wrong. I thought I could stop it if I
stayed away…but it only made it stronger.”
“Stop
what, J?” He looks up at you, then moves so you are eye to eye.
“Josh.” He traces your lips, his fingers
shaking. His eyes are so sad and so blue
and you know you won’t stay mad. It’s
Justin after all. “I’m so sorry. I miss how close we were. I liked it—I loved it. I thought maybe…you’d wait for me. To figure stuff out. And then there was…Tony. And that guy—”
“His
name is—”
“I
don’t care what his name is,” he says menacingly, and you can’t help it. It’s damn sexy. “And now
“I
miss you, Justin. I miss…what we
had. How close we were,” you whisper as
your hands curl around his waist. You
two used to be like this all the time, sleeping in the same bed, hugging,
wrestling, kissing cheeks, holding hands in secret. It started when the group started, though you
didn’t let it go far when he was just a kid.
As he grew up you became more affectionate. When you started looking forward to it, you
knew you had to push him away. So the
touches became less frequent, but no less intense. By NSA you hardly ever slept together anymore, but you
still remained close. Eye contact, hands
around shoulders, whispers in dark corners.
Your long, rambling talks about everything and
nothing. The
hugs that came less often but lasted longer. Justin played with the other guys more by
then, but everyone still knew you two had something special. And then the whispers started. And you started being more open about
your…orientation. You didn’t want to
live in fear in your mid-twenties.
Little by little you came out of your shell, and little by little Justin
slipped away from you. You didn’t say
anything, didn’t know what to say. So
you let him go, let him love his girlfriend, let him grow up. Even if it hurt. You sorta figured Justin didn’t approve of
your lifestyle, but Justin never said a word.
He just…drifted away. And now you
want him back.
“I
miss you so much,” Justin whispers, and kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry I’m so weak. I’m sorry I took our relationship for
granted.” He looks you in the eye. “I want it back, Josh. I’m sorry I thought it was something I could
live without.”
“Justin.” You kiss his face, his chin, his neck while
he sighs loudly and presses his body against yours.
“I
couldn’t stand seeing one more picture of you and…her,” Justin says in your
ear. “I had to make my move. I didn’t want to waste another year.” His voice cracks,
and you kiss him. It’s just as soft and
sweet and overwhelming as you’d imagined all these years. He pulls you on top of him and kisses you
back. He tries to apologize more between
kisses, for lying to himself and to you, for waiting so long to give himself to you. You
hush him with your mouth, your tongue, your
fingers. You don’t make love that night,
but you do everything else, pretty much.
You figure you need to save something for your Christmas list.
Copyright © December 8, 2002 by
KTA