A couple of days passed, and things got worse, continuing to spiral out of
control - but I should be used to that now.  It's the life of the Zeppo.  My
mom kept calling my apartment, leaving messages on the answering machine,
spouting about how she was buying books about the 'situation'. . .it seems
that her favorite was "The Dummies' Guide to Parenting a Gay Child".  It was
very informative, she told me, giving her 800 numbers to call for support.

There's a network out there of mothers who call each other when they come
across the difficult times dealing with their homosexual children.  So these
women, they call each other and cry to each other about how their son
brought home some scruffy looking guy with no table manners, or their
daughter brought home some butch chick that might as well *be* a guy.  My
mother, apparently, she has *friends* on these lines now.  My mother has
friends all over the country, friends that she calls when she's drunk and
whiny, crying that her "baby boy can't find a decent man."

She's even asked me on the machine if I ever caught up to that "blonde with
the nice accent."  I could still hear her voice in my head.  It haunted me
when I closed my eyes.  "Alexander!  Please tell me that you've caught up
with that nice English man.  I know he's gay, I mean, he *dyes* his hair!
And *blonde* no less!  Please call me when you get this, let me know if you
are protecting yourself.  The Dummies' Guide says to always make sure your
children have condoms because gay sex is very dangerous, and I wouldn't want
you to be ill, Alexander.  AIDS is very dangerous in the gay community.
Does Sunnydale *have* a gay community?  What do you young men do at the
meetings?  Do you think William will be there?  Perhaps you should find out
when the next meeting is.  I'll find out for you if you want me to. . .I'm
sure you are still in denial. . ."

The machine cut her off.

She called back.

"I'll be glad to find out for you if you want me too. . .I'm sure they are
listed in the phone book.  Hmm. . .I guess you'd look under 'gay' in the
yellow pages?  Or do you think it would be under 'homosexual'?"

Hearing my mother say the word 'homosexual' gave me a major case of the
wiggins.

"Is that what you prefer me to call you?  Or do you prefer 'gay'?  The book
is very clear about not using derogatory terms when describing your
children. . .it's really a great book.  They have a chapter or two that is
written for the actual child. . .please call me, Alexander, and let's set up
a time to have coffee. . .or cappuccino if that's what you. . .what they. .
.what gay people drink.  I may be wrong, I just remember seeing a movie on
the television late one night with a bunch of gay men drinking cappuccino. .
.anyway, let's get together, talk, bond, you know. . .spend time together?
Please?  I love you, Alexander, don't ever forget it."

After Willow listened to the messages in mute horror, I deleted them.

We were an odd bunch, Willow, Tara, and I.  The girls were trying to be as
supportive as they could with the situation.  I couldn't talk to Buffy about
it, Willow said she got the feeling that our dear Slayer wanted to bolt from
the room when she first told her about Tara.  I couldn't talk to Giles, oh
god, I couldn't go to him.  I could just imagine *his* reaction.

He'd take his glasses off, flounder around a bit, put his glasses back on,
then take them off, realizing he was so in shock he didn't clean them.  He'd
stutter, then put his glasses back on, and finally just say that he needed a
glass of brandy and proceed to drink himself to oblivion.

I loved G-Man - *NOT* *THAT* *WAY*!  I was *not* gay! - but I just didn't
want to be the one to give him the heart attack that would send him to his
grave.

So anyway, Willow decided she wanted to cheer me up.  She proclaimed it
"Xander's out with two beautiful women because he is *so* not gay" night.  I
knew she thought I was, but I really appreciated her for trying.  It made me
feel good, that she would go against what she thought just to make me happy.

So with Willow on one arm and Tara on the other, we went to the Bronze.  We
danced. . .well, the girls danced, I did whatever it was that Willow claimed
I thought dancing was - Tara *couldn't* stop laughing.  I'd glare at her,
and she'd laugh more.

I was really beginning to like Tara.  She made Willow happy.

I didn't realize it at the time, but later, I started to figure it all out.
Willow wasn't with Tara because she was 'gay', she was with Tara because the
blonde made her happy.  Willow lit up when Tara smiled shyly at her - it
really was cute the way they were around each other.  Even though I *knew*
they'd been together - yep, still wasn't gay, the thought got me rather
interested in being there watching and/or participating - they still acted
like shy little girls coming in contact with their crush.

So we were at the Bronze, having danced (or flailed around like a fish out
of water, as Tara finally decided my unique dance style was) our hearts out.
We were in the darkened corner, on a couch.  They were sitting next to each
other, Tara snuggled up to Willow.  I was lying on the couch, my head in
Willow's lap.  She was playing with my hair, like she used to when we were
kids.  It always calmed me.  It was nice - I felt like they were accepting
me into their tight bond, because I *knew* that Buffy would never be in that
same situation with the two of them.

I was almost asleep when I heard a slightly irritated, *very* familiar
voice.  "Harris, we need to talk.  *Now*."

I opened my eyes and looked up, and up, finally seeing Spike's blazing blue
eyes.  Great.  The vamp was angry about something.  I glanced at Willow, her
eyebrow going up.  I stood up and stretched, following him an even *darker*
corner of the Bronze.  I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms, still
in that almost asleep mode he'd tried to pull me out of.

"What is it, Spike?" I asked, sighing softly.  I wanted to be back in the
lap of Willow, basking in her and Tara's warmth.

Besides, I knew my *mother* wanted me to date the demon, and it wigged me
out a bit to be around him.

"So I'm at the bloody grocery store," he growled, lighting a cigarette and
inhaling a *lot* of nicotine.  "I hear an inhuman shriek and practically
drop the fangs and yellow the bloody eyes."

"Wait. . ."  I frowned, throwing my hand up.  "You were at the *grocery*
store?"

He growled at the interruption.  "I needed fags and Wheat-A-Bix, moron!  Now
let me finish my *bloody* story before I rip your spine out!"

I rolled my eyes, nodding that he had my attention.

"So I spin around, ready to kill whatever demon it was that was stalking me
in the effin' store.  It wasn't a demon, Harris.  It was -"

"Oh. My. God," I said, before he could finish.  I cringed.  She didn't.
Please, god, please say she didn't.  "It wasn't my mother, was it?"  I
flinched slightly, praying that it wasn't.

"In all her frumpy nightgown bleedin' glory.  She *attacks* me. . .*ME*, the
Big Bad!  She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me, telling me
that she's *so* glad she found me because she needed my help."  He took
another drag off the cigarette, and I couldn't help but watch as he wrapped
his lips around the butt of his smoke.  It was almost erotic, *definitely*
oral.  I actually found myself wondering what it would be like if those same
lips were wrapped around the head of my cock.

I was *so* not gay!

"Your mum - who is *way* beyond hammered now, I swear, Harris, she smelled
like a soddin' liquor store - informs me that you are a Ponce, and that I
really should consider going out on a date with you.  A *date*!  Harris,
your *mum* is trying to set *me* up on a date with *you*!"

"*I* *am* *not* *gay*!" I growled, wanting to rip him apart.  He was making
me *so* angry!  What the hell would be *wrong* about wanting to go out on a
date with me?  I wasn't that bad of a guy!  I mean, sure, I had my moments
that made my friends look at me a little strange, but everyone did!  And
here he was acting like it was the end of the world for the two of us to go
out on a stupid date!  There was absolutely not *one* good reason why Spike
and I shouldn't have gone out on a date!

Well, other than the fact that I wasn't gay, of course.

"So your mum starts arsing about, babbling about how she read in her book
that she should love her gay child, and she just wanted you to be happy, and
that she knew that I would make you happy, because apparently, your mum
thinks that I, like you, am a Poof.  Something about bleaching my soddin'
hair and the way I always stayed the bloody night in the basement.  She also
informed me that she would be very glad to call me a son-in-law because I
was a handsome bloke.  She winked at me.  Harris, your mum *winked* at me."

I covered my face with my hands, mortified beyond belief.  I thought that
when she was telling me she thought I was gay - I thought that was bad.  But
this. . .it was. . .I was just. . .there was no way I could ever look at
Spike again.  "I am so sorry," I murmured softly.  "She's on this kick. .
.she got too drunk, watched some talk show saying to love your gay children,
then overheard me and Anya fighting."

"Right," Spike said, "when the chit proclaimed you were a Ponce."

"Pretty much," I said, looking up at him.  Our eyes met, and I could have
almost sworn that I saw a flash of lust in his. . .I *knew* that my eye
lustage flared.  We both looked away.  I licked my lips, trying to get the
uncomfortable dryness to go away.  "Yea, and she won't leave me alone about
it," I murmured.  "I tried to tell her, but she's too drunk to pay
attention."

"Well," Spike growled.  He paused, and I glanced at him.  He was standing
there, glaring at me, looking as if he were trying to figure out what to
say.  He opened his mouth, then closed it and frowned slightly, then opened
it again.  "Don't let it happen again, moron."

With that, he turned, his duster blowing around him.  I always liked the way
he looked with the duster blowing around, it added to his look of danger.
Very sexy.

Well, it would have been, if I were gay. . .

Anyway, he turned, billowing duster and all, and walked away, growling at
the people in the crowd if they got too close to him.

I made my way back to Willow and Tara slowly, shaking my head at the
absurdity of it all.  I couldn't believe that the one time my mother had to
pay attention to me, it had to be right then, at that particular moment.

And what was *up* with that look of lust in Spike's eyes?

If Willow was horrified by the messages, she was going to join me in the
ranks of plain frightened out of my skull over *this* incident.  My drunk
mother attacking *William The Bloody* in a *grocery* store, informing him
that he should go out on a date with her only son and that he would be the
perfect son-in-law.  And she *winked* at him.

My mother *winked* at William The Bloody.

Could things have gotten any worse?