Message of Love Read online

  Ware College House embodied all the gothic style and historic charm expected of the University of Pennsylvania, at least on the outside. The halls and rooms had been renovated and divided up into small white-walled near-cubicles, one of few with a private bathroom and other adjustments for ‘the handicapped,’ a phrase Everett disliked.

  His room’s front window next to a desk let in afternoon light. A second window, set back under an angled ceiling arch, faced the historic quad with other ornate brick dormitories squared off to resemble what I joked as the set for some PBS mini-series. Despite its inconvenience, Everett had asked to have the bed scooted to be underneath the window.

  The small Persian rug Everett brought had proven to be a great addition to his almost overstuffed décor. Despite the cautious drive, with wobbling boxes spilling in the back of the van, it had been worth it. A few days before classes began, we’d managed to cram a lot of items from his family’s storage garage in Greensburg into the van, then up and into his new dorm room. A few other guys helped out. Despite our new separation, I had to admit that Everett’s mother had been right about his transfer to Penn.

  “Yes, another ‘Did You Know,’” Everett stated over the quiet classical piano music playing on his radio.

  The phrase had become our sort of running joke, a lead-in when a long passage of reading and note-taking had to be broken with an outpouring of the cluster of information we’d just absorbed. My own homework, a chapter on common parasites among deciduous trees, had yet to reveal anything worth sharing.

  “Until recently,” he read, “the seventies, actually, some states had what were called ‘ugly laws.”

  “Ugly laws?”

  “Pennsylvania had them from the 1890s. Chicago passed one in 1911. Get this; ‘No person who is diseased, maimed, mutilated or in any way deformed so as to be an unsightly or disgusting object or improper person shall be allowed in or on the public ways or other public places in this city.’”

  “Fut the wuck?”

  “The fine was ‘not less than one dollar and nor more than fifty dollars for each offense.’ Can you imagine?”

  “Wow.”

  “Just think; if I’d been born fifty years ago, and been paralyzed, I could be fined for simply going outside.”

  “That’s sick.”

  He tapped his textbook. “Even a few years ago, if my parents weren’t wealthy, I’d be locked up in an institution.”

  “Damn.”

  “Historically speaking, I’m now a double minority,” he said with a slightly confused tone of astonishment.

  “Well, I would think,” I strained a bit as I stood, stretching my legs before approaching him at his desk with a hovering hug, “that even some old-timey version of you, as cute as you are, should be fined for not displaying yourself.”

  He took the bait, returned my hug, turned away from his desk and offered a smooch, actually our first that night. It didn’t promise anything, but I was hopeful. I rubbed his chest, brought my hand up to guide his face back to me for a more forward kiss.

  “Am I staying over tonight?” I asked.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Of course I want to. I just need to know if you want me to, before they roll up the sidewalks.”

  While I made light of it, I didn’t want to take a late train back to Temple. The student newspaper had reported a few muggings at different stations.

  His tiny dorm room had become homey, due to the older buildings’ more historic design. My own new single dorm in the bland modern high-rise at Temple felt bare, and not just because it lacked his presence. There hadn’t been much room for my own stuff after we’d packed the van with boxes of his books, pillows and that cumbersome rug, so my room remained sparsely decorated. My poster of the Amazon rainforest adorned one wall. On a shelf sat the forlorn small stuffed giraffe Everett had given me the previous Christmas. I had also had a few of the drawings from summer camp framed, including one of Kenny’s ‘amazing!’ trees.

  My nights alone were warmed by calls to or from him, and I did find a few things to fill up my room, but mostly it felt cold and functional.

  So Everett’s room at Penn became our default scene for weekend trysts, only occasionally added by a midweek phone call that sometimes became an impromptu invitation. I quickly learned the quickest train and bus routes, and admitted that I liked his campus more. The autumn leaves and old buildings were quite pretty.

  That night hadn’t been a romantic invitation, but a mere, “Come on over,” command. While gauging his interest, I thanked the lulling tones of the music and the warmth of his room.

  “Did you remember to bring a change of clothes?”

  “Uh…”

  “Because I’m tired of you stealing my clean socks. You got big feet; they stretch mine out!”

  “I’ll bring a whole bundle next time. Now, may I romantically pick your ‘ugly’ self up and bring you to the bed?”

  “I appreciate the offer,” he shifted away from me and toward his chair. “But I’m going to ‘the library’ for a bit first. See you in the bed.”

  The ‘library’ being his tiny yet accessible bathroom, with an added reading stack for his somewhat time-consuming toilet details, I undressed and settled into his bed.

  Back when we shared the room at Temple, when I’d asked him why he spent so long in the bathroom, Everett had mentioned the more unpleasant details of his various techniques for basically forcing himself to poop.

  At his request, I sometimes left the small confines of our dorm room so I wouldn’t overhear the various sounds of his sometimes-needed douche, the repeated toilet flushing and running sink water. It was one thing he really disliked, but just stoically dealt with, accompanied by a slight obsession with cleanliness. It also became something else I realized I took for granted, that basic human bodily function. He’d offered a concise description as being “like scooping out frozen ice cream with a plastic spoon, behind your back.”

  The radio music continued, and he hummed along from behind the closed door, then emerged, declaring himself “Fresh as a daisy!”

  After hoisting himself over to the bed, he stopped. “Oh, the light.”

  “Can we… just leave the music and the lights on? I want to see you.”

  “Aw. Ain’t you roman-ical.” We embraced and his hand trailed quickly to my groin. “Jeez! You are in a good mood.”

  “I haven’t wanked all week.”

  He switched back to a cartoon voice. “You really know how to impress a guy.”

  I chuckled as I shifted closer. Under the covers, I tried to adjust his legs with my own, but fumbled. He sighed, shifted up and shucked off his shirt, then scooted his butt sideways to tug his sweatpants down.

  Rubbing his chest with my palm, I marveled at the definition of his muscles, the rounded curves of his shoulders. I kissed and licked around his neck, and around the small necklace he wore, a gift from me. I then trailed lower as he lay back. Although he couldn’t feel it, he liked to watch as I caressed his legs, tugged his penis to a slight hardening, then grazed over the darker fuzz of his legs.

  When we had first begun sleeping together, after his accident, he at first shied away from my touches to his lower body. But I had begun to be more persistent, and he allowed me to caress all of him. I delicately lifted his leg, held it, then nestled my face between his legs as he rubbed the top of my head.

  His hand guided me back up after a while, and he rolled himself over. I grazed a few fingers over the scar on his lower back as he leaned over to grab the little bag where he kept a few small bottles of lubricant.

  “Can we…?” I almost stuttered.

  “What?”

  “I just want to…” Although I kept a hand between his legs, I brought his face to mine. “I just want to kiss you, see your face.”

  “Okay.” He seemed resigned, perhaps disappointed. I hadn’t clearly explained my discomfort with fucking, how my concern over hurting his desensitized areas prevented what had
a few times become a series of too lustful thrusts.

  We settled side by side, then I rolled atop him, happy to have a night with him.

  “Missed you.”

  “Since Tuesday?”

  I nibbled his ear, nuzzled his neck, then probed my tongue deep into his mouth as our hums of pleasure mingled. My humping on his lower belly led to him reaching down to clutch my erection, until his push at my hips signaled his desire to take me in his mouth.

  When I winced at his forceful tugging, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Your hands; they’re getting callused.”

  “Sorry. Pushing my wheels bare-handed. I promise I’ll wear gloves more often.”

  “Okay,” I stroked myself for a while.

  “Don’t spill all over me,” he instructed, and I followed, quivering at the sight of his handsome face and lips distended by my thrusts as I straddled him. I scooted the pillow closer behind his head, pushed further in, and he grunted consent, his hunger and insistence making me once again nearly lose control.

  My reach back behind for his penis was allowed, but eventually his hand took my wrist and led it back to his chest. I knew to twist a nipple, tickle his armpit, anywhere he could feel it. His hands then clutched my butt, explored between my legs, then inside me, and I spilled into his mouth as he offered a volley of pleased grunts.

  He made a familiar joke of slurping his lips after I withdrew and collapsed by his side. Determined to offer the same, I leaned down, licked and tugged on his penis, which he allowed for a while, until it seemed he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, find his way to an erection. His leg twitched a bit, a minor spasm, which sometimes happened. He sat up, rubbed his leg until I took over, and the jiggling motions subsided and he guided me back to lying beside him.

  “It’s okay. Just–”

  “But I want you to–”

  “Next time.”

  He cradled an arm over me, made an amused forced burp, and muttered, “I noticed you followed my dietary suggestion.”

  “Pineapple juice. Two quarts this week.”

  “Dee-licious and nutritious!” he almost sang.

  “There wasn’t any on campus. I had to go to three grocery stores before I found some.”

  I pulled the covers up, nestled close to him, until he reminded me to turn out the light and turn off his stereo, which I did, then resettled back into his bed. “I wanna do whatever you want.”

  “We do,” he assured me. “It’s okay. It’s more than okay.”

  I offered a sheepish smile and a goodnight kiss.

  In the dark, always one to have the last word, he muttered, “Besides, you could stick that big thing in my ear and I’d be happy.”

  As considerate as Everett was at night, by morning, he could be brusque to the point of rudeness. He basically shoved me out of bed before his alarm clock went off. Those years at Pinecrest must have instilled a need for order.

  At the same time, I was reassured by his previous comment on his private school years; “I haven’t had a room to myself since I was a kid. I mean, I love you and all, but this is great.”

  And it was great, for one person, with the low ceiling and small space, great for one person who never stood up. His small shower stall, adjusted for accessibility, had only room for the plastic and aluminum seat, so I had to bathe either seated or while standing at an odd angle.

  By the time I re-entered, clad only in a wet towel, he’d already made his bed, laid out his clothes, the pants rolled up for easy entry.

  “Friday,” he stated as I dressed, acknowledging that we would spend that night together. But also, I sensed an air of dismissal. Only two days away, and yet I knew his intent. I had to let go of him until then, allow him get on with his busy life without me.

  Dressed, my backpack slung over my shoulders, I stopped him from wriggling out of his sweatpants before his shower, then leaned in for a smooch. “See ya, Monkey.”

  He smiled, waited until I was nearly out the door before shouting out, “More pineapple juice!”

  Chapter 10

  October 1980

  “You guys look fabulous!” Gerard cooed as we crossed through the Penn campus in our costumes.

  I, however, felt nervous enough just being near Gerard, whose thrift-store tuxedo and make-up got more than a few stares all the way through the Temple campus, and particularly on the trolley to Penn.

  Everett didn’t want to park the van in the dodgy neighborhood where we were headed. A side window had been smashed on a previous movie night and we still hadn’t had it replaced with more than a slat of cardboard and some duct tape.

  So we waited at the bus stop, he and I looking normal to anyone else, at least compared to Gerard. My tan windbreaker, with a patch on the shoulder, my old dark-rimmed glasses and greased-back hair might not have raised an eye; the high-waters and white socks, however, were a bit off.

  Gerard looked quite comfortable in his tuxedo and pale makeup accented with thick black eyeliner. “We’re fine,” he reassured me. “It’s Halloween season.”

  I had yet to see anyone else dressed up as anything unusual, but I did get over my nervousness.

  Everett’s suit and fake beard might have set off some of the stares at the bus stop. But as we ascended the ramp, as the beeper beeped, Everett didn’t seem to mind the sound. Under his plaid blanket, and under his sweatpants, he wore black mesh stockings, a pair of high heels in his backpack.

  My frustration had started with our argument over how to get there. Everett wanted to take a crosstown bus, the only one with a lift. Gerard seemed a bit disappointed that we wouldn’t be using the van, and offered to splurge on a cab, but we let it slide.

  It wasn’t about the fishnets. Everett wanted to test the public transport system. He was working on a paper for his Public Policy and Accessibility paper, which he’d been poring over for months, as his final paper for the class.

  Daring us to take a late bus in costumes that appeared to be normal, at least he and I as Brad Majors and Doctor Scott, was his new idea of “an adventure.” After a bit of pleading, despite Gerard’s tickled joy at the prospect, Everett consented to wearing track pants over his hosiery.

  His dare, and my caution, turned superfluous when we saw that half of the other people on the bus were dressed as other black-clad costumed characters just like Gerard. “Is this cool, or what?” he beamed.

  Everett agreed. “I think we’ve found our people.”

  Outside the Theatre for Living Arts, a slightly run-down art house cinema on South Street, more dressed-up fans crowded the entrance to the midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Assuming the role of tour guide, Gerard insisted on buying our tickets.

  We won the Halloween costume contest’s second and third place. Since we were the only ones dressed as Brad Majors and Doctor Scott, we got to sit in the front row.

  “We don’t have a Brad. You’ve simply got to help us!” squealed a tiny woman dressed as Janet.

  Some people were missing from their little acting-it-out cast. Marlene was dressed as Magenta, but preferred to watch from her spot across the aisle. “Get up there,” she encouraged from her electric wheelchair.

  An awkward recruit, I stole glances up at the screen to figure out what to do. ‘Janet’ led me around the aisles through the “There’s a light…” “Over at the Frankenstein place…” song. Along the way, about twenty people squirted us with water pistols.

  As “The Time Warp” started, everybody in the theatre danced in place, even Everett, whose chair version made me smile. I started to dance a little, but Janet tugged my jacket sleeve.

  “We don’t do that,” she said, nodding up at the screen.

  After the song, my pants got yanked down. To be honest, I was asked first by the other Magenta. But when it happened onscreen, Everett and Gerard could not stop laughing and cheering for me. I just stood there, my stuff making a visible tent as I was shoved around by a girl playing a guy and a guy playing a…whatever.


  The … person playing Frank N. Furter pulled open a red velvet curtain below the nearby EXIT sign, then danced around me like a temptress. To halt a nervous burst of laughter, I just smiled at Everett, which left the contents of my shorts a little too inspired. I bashfully dressed and returned to my seat.

  “You quit?” Everett asked.

  “Brad’s no fun,” I scowled.

  “He loosens up later.”

  “Well, if he made out with Rocky instead, I’d be interested.” I nodded toward the husky blond sitting across the aisle from us. A black bathrobe covered what would be revealed as his mummified bandages and subsequent strip-down to a gold bikini.

  Everett leaned forward, then offered a sardonic sigh. “Oh, Brad.”

  By the time Everett/Dr. Scott entered, we had tried to echo the catchphrases, always a bit too late. But of course Gerard knew them all, and Everett knew all the lyrics for his song, singing along while spinning around on back-wheelies. People went wild. But he, too, was not up to acting out every line.

  “Monkey,” I said to Everett as he returned to my side amid shouts and tossed pieces of toast. “You just got yourself a constituency.”

  “Tenk ewe, Brad. Tenks for supporting my pre-campaign. Von schtep at a time.”

  “Which will all be eliminated and turned into ramps.”

  “Precisely. My evil plan foe rampire vuld domination vill be a suck-sess!”

  Had we, like Riff-Raff and Magenta, a mansion-spaceship with which to magically transport ourselves back to Everett’s dorm room, the night would have ended well enough.

  But Gerard’s insistent invitation to join a gaggle of hardcore Rocky Horror fans, all still in full costume, to invade a nearby all-night diner, insured that the festivities were far from over. And sadly, the adorable Rocky left with his girlfriend.

  As we bid Marlene and her assistant-friend goodnight, I almost longed to hitch a ride, leaving Everett to sort out the inevitable stair and seating situation. But I remained by his side, until Gerard quickly squeezed himself between our seats, leaving me huddled in the corner of a cramped booth.