Chapter 36 - The Romantic Drivel Continues.

Friday Continued - late morning.

“Hello! My name is Jackson and I’ve got a message for Justin Taylor from his BOYFRIEND, Brian Kinney!” the gorgeous, half-naked, well-muscled man shouted into the cordless mike as he stormed into the PIFA cafeteria right after Justin had seated himself with his lunch at his regular table in the corner.

While the cafeteria crowd became instantly silent in the face of this unusual invasion, the shirtless wonder deposited a compact MP3 player attached to a high-tech speakers setup onto the top of Justin’s lunch table, hit the ‘play’ button and then jumped up on the tabletop. As the music started to blast out through the speakers - rather loudly, considering the small size of the tiny little speakers - the sexy-as-hell man immediately started bumping and grinding his hips along to the music.

Brian's Strip-o-gram - Cheap Trick's, "I Want You To Want Me."

While Justin’s face turned an interesting shade of pink - identified later by several of the resident art students as ‘Pearl Blush’ - the lovely hunk of a stripper sang along to the words of the song, fondled himself and slowly pulled off various items of his attire. "I WANT you to want me . . ." the song and the stripper crooned together. Considering how little the man was wearing at the beginning of the show, it was amazing how many pieces of clothing he continuously removed - his fake cuffs went first, then his belt, then with a lot of exaggeration the tear-away trousers, etc., etc. etc. The crowd was loving the display, clapping along to the music and hooting enthusiastically as each subsequent costume part was sexily stripped off and draped over Justin’s body.

Just as the song ended, when the man was down to nothing except a skimpy black leather g-string and his trademark bowtie, he launched himself bodily into Justin’s lap. Justin grabbed the man more out of shock than anything else, although he really didn’t mind having an armful of naked hunk. The cafeteria crowd loved the move and whooped, clapped, cheered and whistled loudly.

“Brian’s message for YOU, Justin Taylor, is, ‘Please Forgive Me, Sunshine’,” the stripper hollered into his mike as soon as the noise in the room had died down to manageable levels.

This announcement engendered the expected cat calls from the guys and a few ‘ahhhh’s from the ladies present. Justin’s blush deepened to an almost mauve shade. The stripper laughed and ate up the attention, milking the crowd to get an even more boisterous response.

“So, what do you guys say,” the stripper continued, polling the crowd that was now completely invested in the Kinney-Taylor romance. “Should Justin forgive Brian for being a total ass? Let’s hear it! Everyone who thinks little Sunshine here should kiss and make up with his boyfriend, give me a ‘Hell, yeah!”

The cacophonous roar of “HELL, YEAH!” literally rattled the roof of the older building where the PIFA cafeteria was located. The sexy stripper, having suitably roused the crowd and more than made the point Brian had paid him to plead, laughingly got up off Justin’s lap. Then the Chippendale's man bent down and spontaneously gave the gaping blond a huge wet kiss on the lips  before he rose to his full height and waved to the crowd while tossing handfuls of confetti mixed in with small strips of paper bearing some printed logo out into the crowd. Finally, he gathered up his gear and again waved goodbye to endless rounds of applause as he exited the hall.

Justin covered his face with his hands, slithered off the plastic seat of the lunchroom chair and tried, unsuccessfully, to hide under the table until he could maybe slink out of the cafeteria unnoticed. He wasn't in the least bit amused to see that the printed pieces of paper that the stripper had thrown out into the crowd bore a website address that was decidedly suspicious: 'ForgiveMeSunshine.com'. The loud groan Justin couldn't hold back at that point immediately gave away his hiding place and he spent the rest of his lunch hour fending off the well-meaning but unwanted jibes of his classmates.

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Justin was almost afraid to go into work that afternoon. He had no idea WHAT Brian might do next. If he sent another strip-o-gram to his work, he’d probably get fired. Fuck! Why was the man so horribly embarrassing and ridiculously tenacious? If Brian kept this up, he’d have to talk to him - at least long enough to bitch him out and demand that he stop stalking him.

Luckily, there wasn’t a repeat of the stripper this afternoon. The only interruption was a, relatively speaking, innocuous text message from Brian:

'There once was a fellow named Sweeney,

Who spilled some gin on his weenie.

Just to be couth,

He added vermouth,

Then slipped his boyfriend a martini.'

Justin tried not to smile at the roguish picture of Brian that accompanied this new naughty limerick. He really did try not to enjoy it at all. He, of course, failed.

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Friday Evening.

“Oh, Justin,” Cassie called shortly after the buzzer to the apartment door went off that night. “You’ve got another delivery . . .”

Justin groaned, knowing that he was going to be subjected once again to another of Brian’s attempts to woo him back. And, knowing Brian, whatever it was this time, it was likely to get him yet another ribbing from Daph’s nosy roommates. His only hope was that maybe, like last time, Hector and Cassandra would get so caught up in HIS present that they’d forget Justin was even there.

“Taylor. Sign here,” the same old delivery guy demanded a bit curtly - he wasn’t nearly as personable as he'd been the prior couple of times, probably because Justin had repeatedly refused to tip the bearer of the unwanted emotional bribery.

The curt delivery guy did hand over a large red paperboard box with a big black bow on it. The sticker on the side of the box read: ‘Naughty Sweet Fun Box’. Justin shook the box and noted that it felt rather full.

“Yippee! More porn!” Hector crowed, appearing out of nowhere and looking over Cassie’s shoulder trying to get a better glimpse of what tonight’s viewing might include.

Without even a 'May we?', Cassie and Hector started to delve into the big red box conceding only the small gift card attached with a ribbon to the box handle into Justin's hands. Reluctantly, Justin tore open the small envelope and read the sentiment written in bright red ink on an ebony black card: "Thinking of you, thinking of me . . ."

"Fuck you, Brian Kinney," Justin mumbled only half heartedly in response to the egotistical assertion, even as the boy held on tightly to the little card.

"Fuck! No porn this time," Hector whined as soon as he'd completely rifled through the big box.

"No, it's even better," Cassie announced as she read the description of the contents off the little tag she'd found dangling from the handle next to the card she'd handed off to Justin:

'This X-rated gift is perfect for that extra naughty person. Contains Adult Sex Candies (Candy Love Ring, Flavored Condoms, Candy Tassels, Chocolate Body Pen, Candy Handcuffs and Gummy Panties); Tenga Cup Black assortment; 'The Gay Man's Kama Sutra' (fourth edition); plus related fun (with a pun) candy: Big Hunk, Blow Pops, Candy Cigarettes, Good and Plenty, Fun Dip, Coconut and Chocolate Long Boys, Red Hots, Pop Rocks, Slap Sticks, Bit-o-Honey, Slo Poke, Wax Lips & more! All the fun you can get in one big red box!'

Tenga Cup PV - The Best Sexual Experience You Can Have On Your Own!

"Shit, Justin," Hector gushed as he casually flipped through the pages of the thick hardback book he'd confiscated out of the box, occasionally tipping the book sideways to get a better perspective on a particular picture. "I'm fucking serious about giving this guy my number if you're done with him. Anybody who'd try to woo you with this much swag has GOT to be worth the effort . . . And, uh, if you don't want those Tenga things, I'd be happy to take 'em off your hands," Hector added with a lascivious leer.

"The LAST thing you need, Hector, is any masterbation aids. We have a hard enough time cleaning all the dried cum off the furniture now," Cassie admonished and slapped Hector's hand away just as he started to reach for the enticing black Tenga box.

"You'd better hide all this, Justin," Cass said, hastily piling everything back into the box and hoisting the whole of it into Justin's arms. "We really DON'T want Hector getting into anything in here - not if you don't want to listen to him jerking off 24/7 for the next week. It's bad enough with those new porno DVDs your Brian sent yesterday . . ."

"Where exactly do you propose I hide it," Justin asked incredulously. "This is only a fucking one bedroom apartment and there are four of us living here. Privacy is pretty much non-existent."

"Well," Cassie offered suggestively, "you could always take it back to your OWN apartment and use it with the hunky boyfriend who seems to be trying pretty fucking hard to win you back."

"So Brian has won you over too? Well, he might be able to buy his way into everyone else's good graces, but my affections can't be bought with porn, pot and presents," Justin insisted vociferously, turning to stomp off towards the single bedroom he was currently sharing with Daph and Cassie, his arms full of a box of sex toys, completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like a pathetic, love-sick fool in denial.

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Saturday Morning.

'There once was a sweet boy from France,

Who kept a baboon in his pants.

Half the people who saw

Couldn't help but guffaw,

The other half asked him to dance!'

"Brian, I finally managed to get Michael to answer one of my calls. He's holding for you on line three," Cynthia announced with a self-satisfied smile as she bounded into Brian's office early Saturday morning just as Brian finished sending off his regular morning sex limerick text to Justin.

"Excellent job, Cynthia," Brian replied with a pleased smile, more than glad he had his ultra-reliable PA with him in New York now.

"Hey, Mikey! You fully recovered yet from the horrible cat clawing?" Brian snarked as he picked up the call from his erstwhile best friend.

"I have NOTHING to say to you, asshole, so stop calling me a thousand times a day and tell your pit bull secretary to quit leaving me annoying messages!" Michael screamed over the phone line so loudly that Brian was sure to lose at least partial hearing in his one ear.

Brian calmly switched the phone to his other ear. "Now, Mikey, is that any way to talk to the man who protected you from countless high school bullies, who arranged to have Todd Winchester pop your cherry the summer after senior year and who hasn't failed to give you a birthday sex toy for more than fifteen years running?" Brian crooned to the irate man, hoping to kindle at least some tiny spark of remembered friendship after everything they'd been through together.

"Fuck you, Brian! I don't owe you anything. You can't just treat me like shit you've scraped off your shoe and then expect me to be all buddy-buddy the next time you call. I've had enough of the Brian Kinney treatment for two fucking lifetimes. Just fuck off and leave me alone," Michael yelled, causing an almost equal deafness in Brian's other ear as well.

"I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better shut up for thirty seconds and listen to me, Mikey," Brian ordered, his voice losing the kind, cajoling tone he'd started off with and moving towards a commanding imperative. "Are you listening?"

"Yes, Brian, I'm fucking listening. Do I have any other choice?"

"I'm sorry for what I said to you about you not knowing how to be a good dad. It was a really shitty thing to say. The only reason I said it was because you weren't listening to me about all the negatives involved in agreeing to help The Munchers have another kid. I think you'd make a wonderful dad. But I don't think that Mel and Lindz are the right people to do this with. Mel especially won't ever agree to let you have the rights you deserve with regard to your kid - at least not without getting a lawyer or two involved. I know because of Gus. I just didn't want you to make the same mistake I did. However, if this is really something you want to do, I'll support you no matter what, just like always, Mikey. So, please, accept my apology and let's let bygones be bygones. I'm tired of arguing with you. I need my oldest friend back."

There was complete silence on the other end of the phone line after Brian finished his little speech. Brian waited nervously for some response - any response - hoping against hope that Michael would hear the sincerity in his words. Brian had already lost too many people who he'd thought he should be able to trust. It would irreparably crush him if he were to permanently lose the one friend he'd counted on the most for the past fifteen-plus years over a stupid argument like this. Especially now, when Brian needed him more than almost ever before.

"What about the twink," Michael asked, tentatively testing out where he now stood in Brian's life.

"Justin . . . He's different, Mikey. He's . . . I didn't even know I was missing something like him in my life until after I met him, but now I . . . I need . . . I think I, well, I think I maybe love him or something, Mikey . . . But, of course, I've already screwed everything up with him and I've got no fucking idea how to fix things and I'm fucking miserable without him, you know . . . Shit, Mikey, I really need help with this one or I think maybe I'm going to lose him and . . . I just can't lose him . . ."

"Shit! Are you really serious, Brian? Are you listening to yourself? What about all the times you swore you would never do boyfriends or relationships or any of that 'pseudo-hetero bullshit'?"

"All that crap - those ridiculous rules I used to spout - were made up by a scared, hurt, fifteen-year-old child who'd seen nothing but his own parents' failed miserable marriage, Mikey. I was just a kid when I came up with all that bull. A traumatized, ignorant little kid. But I'm all grown up now, Mikey, and I'm realizing just how ridiculous all those rules I made up really are. It's a big fucking lonely world out there, Mikey. I don't want to face it alone for the rest of my miserable life. I think I want someone like Justin to share it with. I mean, let's face it, my reputation as the Stud of Liberty Avenue isn't going to keep me warm at night in my fucking empty bed, but Justin, if I can get him back, might."

"Hell! When did you go and grow up and become all fucking adult on me, Brian?" Michael said in a resigned and almost sad voice after a few moments of silence.

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Saturday - Noon.

Justin had been incredibly busy at the gallery all morning. Tonight was the opening night for a new exhibit featuring a well known artist that specialized in pop culture photography and graphics. Justin thought the guy's work was a bit pedestrian and derivative, but who was he to criticize when the pieces he was setting up had price tags in the four and five figures? If anything, Justin was simply glad that his work was keeping him far too busy to think about Brian Kinney.

Just before he was about to stop for lunch, as he was bundling up a large wad of wrapping materials that he needed to dispose of now that all the pieces for the exhibit were unpacked, Justin was interrupted by the galley manager, Tricia.

"Justin, can you come to the front desk. There's something you need to see right away," Tricia announced with a knowing smile.

Justin's eyes widened with a momentary panic and dread. "Shit! It's not another stripper is it? I swear, Tricia, I had nothing to do with this. I'm so sorry. I'll take care of it, just don't be pissed, please . . ."

Justin was off, running down the hall towards the front reception desk before Tricia could even get in a word of reassurance. Sure that Brian had once again gone overboard and that he would be embarrassed in front of his employer by some outlandish sexually-charged spectacle, Justin didn’t even give a second glance to the large bouquet of brightly colored flowers sitting on the corner of the reception desk. He skidded to a halt when he reached the front door. Gazing around, Justin frantically surveyed the main room of the gallery, looking for some type of disturbance that would signal to him where Brian’s next little surprise was waiting.

“Uh . . . Justin?” Tricia drew back his attention when she made it to the desk at her own more reasonable pace. “What are you looking for?”

“There’s no stripper,” Justin asked, his confusion clearly evident from the tone of his voice.

“No. There’s no stripper. But, please tell your boyfriend that I wouldn’t object if that’s what he sends next time,” Tricia chuckled at the thought.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Justin replied with more than a hint of anger in his expression.

“Well, then, maybe you have a secret admirer? Somebody sent you these gorgeous flowers and all this swag,” Tricia teased him as she gestured towards the bouquet of flowers that Justin had already overlooked.

When he looked closer, Justin noticed that some of the panoply of colors in the arrangement came not from flowers, but from bundles of equally bright colored pencils, mechanical crayons and Copic markers, all mixed in with the blossoms. And, on top of that, there were about a dozen or so assorted paintbrushes - all of the best quality, of course - poking up from between bright blooms. It was an artist’s dream bouquet, and not at all what Justin would have expected from a previously confirmed bachelor like Brian. It was thoughtful and sweet and for once not just another big sexual innuendo. It made Justin wonder . . .

“So, there was this card that came with it,” Tricia added with a slightly sheepish grimace. “I really couldn’t help myself . . .” she added as she handed over the already opened envelope containing the accompanying gift card.

Justin pulled the card out of the torn envelope. The handwritten message said simply, “Go outside, Sunshine, and look to the heavens. B~” Justin was intrigued by the cryptic note enough that he actually complied, even though he still had misgivings about what type of drastic measures Brian might still resort to.

Pushing open the gallery’s front door, still holding the small card in his hand as if to use it for some sort of protection, Justin walked a few paces outside onto the front walk. Following directions, the young artist looked upwards. It didn’t take more than a second or two for him to see exactly what it was that Brian had wanted him to see. Across the street from the gallery, the large billboard over the top of the dry cleaner’s had a brand new look. Justin wasn’t in the least surprised, after everything else Brian had done the past week, to see a fifty foot high picture of Brian kissing him taken while they’d been dancing at Babylon on New Year’s Eve.

“Shit!” Justin murmured looking at the billboard advertising a website called, ‘ForgiveMeSunshine.com’. “What the fuck have you done now, Brian? Grown a twat? Talk about lesbionic, sentimental shit . . .” Justin complained, although the tiny little half smile he was now sporting kind of took away any real sting the words might have had.

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