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Author's Chapter Notes:

Notes: Just a short one. Thanks to LeAnn - a question she asked set my mind working

Brian's Journal

Sunday 20th April - my fucking birthday

It's early in the morning, and he's still asleep. He's lying curled up on his side and he looks about twelve years old. When he's sleeping, the longer hair somehow makes him look even younger than he used to. It's only when he's awake that you can see the marks of experience in his face, in his eyes. When he's sleeping he looks like that no-so-innocent little virgin I picked up under a streetlight.

I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to get up and make him breakfast for a change. But it's still really early - outside it only started to get light half an hour ago - and after the week we've had, he could probably use the sleep. So instead, I put the coffee on and for some reason I got this out and started writing.

I haven't written anything about the famous "experiment" over the past couple of weeks. Hell! I haven't even really thought about it. It's fucking weird ... it was such a big deal when I started it. It meant a complete change to the way I'd lived my life for the past ten or eleven years. It meant finding a whole new way to operate; it meant even thinking of myself in a different way.

Now ... and it's only a few weeks later, not even a month ... now that all seems to have faded into the background. It's trite to say it seems like a dream but it does. It's hard to remember what I thought the big deal was. I mean, I remember. And part of me thinks, yeah, fuck! it was a big deal. It is a big deal - Brian Kinney turning into some sort of monk. Except that that's not how it was. Or is. I mean, when I think about never fucking another guy, I still get ... crazy, sort of. So I don't. I don't think about it. Not that way. I just think that right now, this minute, I don't want to. And I'm not sure why I ever did. At least, once I had Justin. Why settle for anything but the best, right? Why hurt him, over and over, for the sake of my fucking pride? 

I look back at the stupid fucking shit I was when Justin was with me before, and I can't believe I could have been that much of an idiot. I mean, my IQ's high enough. I've been around enough to develop some sort of a clue, you would have thought. But maybe it's that thing they say, where you can have ten years experience, but it's really only the same year, ten times over. Fuck! in my case it was probably the same fucking month, one twenty times over.

I'm not saying that I'm never going to find myself with some stranger sucking my cock again. But if it happens, it sure as fuck won't be because I think that's what I have to do because I'm Brian Kinney and the whole fucking world as I know it is going to fall apart if I don't fuck half a baseball team every week, with the catcher and the refs and the guy who sells fucking popcorn as an encore on Saturday nights. If it happens it will just be because like every other guy I've ever met, I can't always be relied on to keep my dick in my pants if the temptation comes along.

And, no! when I do trip over my hormones, I sure as hell won't be buying him any damned fucking roses to try to worm my way back into his good books. I'll just have to hope that if ... when ... I fuck up, he'll find a way to get over it. Just like I'll have to get over it if he ... strays. Not that I don't think it might cause us problems. It could. He's a romantic little twat, still, and I'm damned sure that it means something to him that I'm not shoving my cock up anyone else's ass or down anyone else's throat. So, no matter what he says, no matter how honest he thinks he's being, it's gonna cause fucking ructions if I fall off the wagon. But that's okay. I know that. I know if I fuck up, there are going to be consequences, and I'm going to have to deal with the consequences. Well, *we're* going to have to deal. 

But I hope, I know, that he does understand me enough now to know that ... it's got nothing to do with not being satisfied with him. It's just ... I'm a fucking guy, and we're all shits sometimes. Anyway, the thing is that I'm okay with him being pissed about it. That's what's so different now. Back then, just the idea that he might think he had any shadow of a right to be pissed off at me for fucking someone, that was enough to make me go out and do it, just to show him that I could, and he didn't. 

Now ... now if he honestly didn't care at all ... fuck! that would really smart. That's what I don't think I could deal with now. If he didn't want the right to care any more ... that I don't think I could fucking deal with. Maybe a lot of that is because that would mean I didn't have the right to care either, if he went out and started getting it elsewhere. I mean, hell! I've watched him fuck other guys. I've watched other guys suck him and fuck his face. I've fucked them while he's sucked them off. But now ...

Now I don't have any idea how I did that. Let alone why the fuck I would want to do that. I guess I thought it was hot. Maybe I thought that he'd want to get it on with a whole lot of guys just like I always had, and that was okay as long as I was part of it too. I'm fucked if I know. I know that if he ... if it happens, if he finds someone else that he wants to fuck, then I'm going to find that a hell of a lot harder to deal with than he will if I go off and get my cock sucked. 

Partly that's just because I'm a selfish shit, and just because I want the right to slip it to someone else occasionally doesn't mean that I want to let anyone else near him. But a lot of it's because of what happened with the fiddler. Of course. I try not to think about what it was like when ... how it felt the night he walked away from me. How it felt through all the fucking years after that before he came back to me. I guess if I'm ever fucking tempted to stuff things up, then all I have to do is remember those feelings, because there aren't many things that would make my cock go soft faster.

I wonder sometimes what I would have done if I'd known when I first saw him how much my life would change because of him. My bet is that I would have faked an interest in some dick hanging around the alley, or faked passing out in the jeep, or anything to keep from heading towards a future that included buying butt ugly cars and fitting them with baby seats. A future that included Saturday nights when instead of heading off to Babylon, I was curled up in bed asleep by midnight. A future where this morning I'm planning to take my partner, lover, boyfriend, whatever the fuck he is, breakfast in bed.

Which just goes to show, boys and girls, that even terminally dumb pricks with their heads up their asses are capable of learning something, because I'm sure as fuck a lot smarter now than that dickhead was back then.

For the first time in the whole of my fairly fucked up life, I'm happy. I feel like I matter. I feel like me being happy is okay with the universe. Like the whole thing isn't going to fall apart at the fucking seams because Brian Kinney is happy. Like I can trust that everything isn't going to turn to shit just because I've had the fucking gall to think that maybe there might be a time in my life when it was okay to be ... happy. 


In love.

Fuck! maybe I should just break out the fucking ... no, not violins! Never again with any fucking fiddles. Well, not unless they're playing a damned Irish jig and not that pretentious arty shit that ... shit! don't go there, Brian. 

So I'm in love. So what? Like it's okay for the rest of the world, but not for me? Well, fuck that! I'm putting in for my share. And yes, I remember the guy who said he didn't believe in love. I told you he was a dickhead. Mind you, he hadn't had a lot of chances to know any better. I know it seemed like I was a totally callous shit who kicked tricks to the curb on a routine basis without compunction or remorse. And I was. But you want to know the truth? There weren't too many of them who were begging to stay around for more than one more fuck. 

They just wanted to get their rocks off and then go dish to all their friends about what it was like to take it up the ass from Brian Kinney. Not too fucking many of them actually gave a rat's ass about Brian Kinney himself. As long as they got brownie points from my reputation, that's all they cared about. And yes, I'm sure there were guys out there who might have been interested in the long haul, but who were put off by that same reputation. But if they were so chicken shit scared that their feelings might get hurt they wouldn't have made the grade with me anyway.

It took a little twink who was brave enough to fall in love right off the bat, dumb enough not to know better, tough enough not to let anything I did or said put him off (well, except for a small detour that I don't want to think about today), and smart enough to know that most of that was bullshit anyway, to ... to make me admit that most of what I was saying was such fucking crap. 

The thing is, I believed it at the time. Or I believed that I believed it. I honestly thought that trying to have any sort of ‘relationship' was just copping out to the harsh reality of life as a gay man - the theory of reality that said being a gay guy was all about getting your cock serviced; that said the only things that should stay in your closet were the rest of your designer clothing and your heart. 

But although I honestly believed it at the time, looking back now I can admit to myself, at least, that most of it was bullshit bravado. What else was I going to say? Yes, I believe in love. Yes, I want to have it. But no, I don't have the balls to go looking for it, because my fucking family taught me that no one, no one, was ever really going to love me. That I'd sure as shit better make myself believe that I didn't want it, didn't need it, didn't believe in it. That the only hope I had was to find a way to keep going without it, cos I sure as hell wasn't going to find it anytime soon. 

Except from Mikey.

Which would have been great, except that ... even if I'd felt any sort of spark at all, I would probably have been too gutless to go for it. But as it was, that question never really arose because much as I love ... yeah, I guess I do still love him ... much as I love Mikey, there was never anything there. I know there was for him, but for me ... nada. I mean, I tried sometimes. I tried kissing him drunk, sober, tweaked, tired ... but ... it just was never going to happen. And maybe some people can make their dicks feel what they want them to feel ... fuck! Ted and Emmett seemed to. But ... I knew, I always knew, that it would never be enough. That if I'd been with Mikey, I would never have stopped tricking. Never even have paused. Because I need the heat. I need the rush. I would never have got it with him, no matter what he thinks it means that we once jerked off over Patrick Swayze. Jesus! we were fourteen! We got hard every time we got a glimpse of some guy's butt, or anyone mentioned a boner. It wasn't anything to do with the fact that I was sitting on the bed with *him*. I just got hard, and he was there, and ...

Maybe Justin's right. Maybe if Deb hadn't come in then, things might have been different. Or maybe they would have been worse. Whatever. As it was, dickhead though I might have been, at least I had some sense, because Mikey could never have been enough for me. And that would have ... well, it would have led to a worse mess than we're in now, which is saying a shitload.

Justin, on the other hand ... Justin ... Justin is almost more than enough. 

Justin makes me feel like ... like you feel after you've had the perfect meal, and you know there's another one just as good, even better, coming along tomorrow, or even later today, so you can really relax and enjoy and savor the feeling of being satisfied. Because you don't have to start looking for the next one as soon as you've finished this.

That's how Justin makes me feel.

Well, he also gets me hot and horny as hell, and can drive me totally nuts, and get me to the point where I want to heave him out the window, and make me act like some lovesick lesbo, but ... that's all good too. Because the main thing that Justin makes me feel is loved. 

And safe. 

And happy.

So against all the odds that anyone would ever have given against it, today I'll go meekly off to my fucking birthday lunch and sit down and play nice and do all the fucking ‘family' things that are so important to the little shit that I live with. And I won't even complain. Much.

Ker-ist! Thirty two fucking years old and I have to start learning to live like a family man. We've bought a fucking child's car seat for God's sake!

As for the experiment ... I know I said I'd try a month, but ... it seems kind of pointless, just for the sake of saying ‘I made it through a month'. I don't intend to fuck up anytime soon. I mean, I might. I might fall off the wagon tomorrow. But if I do, I'll just take my licks and climb back on. 

So I think I'll just declare the experiment a success, and implement those findings immediately.

Now all I have to do is find a way to tell the little twat that without him thinking it means we're on our way to fucking Toronto.

Meanwhile, I'd better get my ass moving if I want to get his breakfast ready before he wakes up. 

Shit! I am so turning into a damned dyke. Or some hetero hubby. 

Fuck! too late. He's starting to thrash around a bit, so I guess he's already awake.

Oh well, I guess we can fuck first and then make breakfast together. It's my birthday, after all. Surely that earns a birthday fuck or suck or both. Maybe we'll just have a snack later. If I know the Munchers they're going to force feed us almost as much as Deb would at lunch time, so we don't have to waste a lot of time eating ... well, food anyway.

Now he's calling me. And the sound of his voice goes straight to my balls. 

"Coming, dear!" I answer, all high pitched and prissy. But I bet I'll come close to breaking the through-the-loft speed record getting up those damned stairs.

Like I said.

I'm in love.

Sue me.

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