Things are getting desperate

When all the boys just can’t be men

Everybody knows I’m her friend

Everybody knows I’m her man

Fucking women didn’t make Justin feel like a man.  Physical strength and speed didn’t make him feel like a man, nor did the way the world seemed to bend to his every wish, though that was definitely a bonus.  Justin felt most like a man when he took Cameron’s hand and led her down a carefully cleared path, opened the door and made sure everything was just right because that was how you treated nice girls.

A nice girl, his momma always said, a nice girl.  Britney hadn’t been one but Cameron certainly was-- at least, she was until his momma was safely out of sight.  The words echoed in his head whenever he found himself reaching for readily available bare flesh in too-short skirts and he would always draw back because that wasn’t what he needed.  Like so many other dangerous things they had the potential to ruin him, but he was far too smart to let that happen. 

People had always liked Justin, but once he had a nice girl on his arm they stopped saying things about him, things that made his momma angry, about the way he danced and how it meant he liked boys.  People hardly ever said that about him anymore, so yes- Justin knew the value of a nice girl. 

Nice girls wore tinted cherry-vanilla lip gloss; Justin knew that for sure, and the taste of it sometimes rose up from nowhere in the back of his throat, melting like sugar all over his tongue.  JC knew the taste of it, too, which was why Justin sometimes found himself calling JC in the middle of the night, shaking and alive under the covers, clutching his phone in the darkness.

“Do you remember?” he always asked.  JC would always remain on the line, stalwart and patient until Justin grew tired.  Sometimes that took a very long time.  Justin was known for being relentless, especially lately because something was happening to him, like a long-held belief was starting to wear off, leaving nothing but a kind of uneasy relief in its wake.   

“I’m going to break up with her,” Justin said one night.  “For real.”  It was a threat that didn’t seem to faze JC at all so Justin said it again and again, but it was pointless because unlike Justin, JC had never seemed to grasp the value of a nice girl and had no idea what it meant for Justin to throw it away. 

***

They didn’t live together, but they might as well have.  Cameron’s things cluttered the bathroom counter; makeup and jewelry and pantyhose.  She kept talking about babies and her biological clock, and Justin was going to have to break up with her soon, before her stuff took over the rest of the house.  For now it was just the bathroom, and he kind of liked having all the girl-things around, colors and fabrics that so many people used to put on him- on all five of them- but not anymore.     

JC washed his hands while Justin sat at the vanity and rifled through the mess.  “Look at this,” he said, and held up a tube of lipstick.  It didn’t even matter what color was inside, but when he uncapped it and twisted, it was a slice of dark red against the white room.  An omen, Justin was sure.  “Remember that time?” he said, and let the tube drift dangerously close to his own lips, watching in the mirror, fascinated.

JC watched Justin’s reflection.  “Yes.” 

“I was only sixteen,” Justin said sharply, then smiled, soft and seductive.

“I was only twenty,” JC said, unblinking. 

“Only!  That’s grown,” Justin scoffed, and snapped the cap back onto the lipstick.

“Twenty is nothing, Justin.  You think you’re grown, but when you’re my age you’ll see.  You don’t know anything yet.”  JC did seem to have a newfound wisdom about him, a maturity that flickered unpredictably with his hot-and-cold confidence, so maybe he was right.  Either way, Justin didn’t care; it was just important that JC hadn’t forgotten. 

***

It wasn’t even like it had been some great event.  Just two boys caught off guard; one enthralled by his own wet cherry lips and the other offering an easy acceptance of what he’d stumbled upon.  It had all been silent and accident-quick, but JC had never treated it as an accident- not even when it was over and he’d backed away, licking sticky sweetness from his own guilty mouth.

***

Still sitting at the vanity, Justin studied his face; so serious he almost didn’t recognize himself, eyes strangely deep and apprehensive.  It was nothing, less than a shadow of an idea that he wouldn’t even let himself think, but his hand still shook when he reached for the razor. 

The sink was swimming with warm water, his face slicked with cream when JC appeared again in the doorway.  “You don’t have to do that,” JC said, so endlessly calm.   “You can be…”   

“I already am,” Justin said, and dropped his hand to his lap where the cool satin of her robe was draped over his thighs.  Not wearing, just holding.  “You better go.  I’ll call you.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Nah.  I’ll catch up with you whenever.” 

JC nodded in agreement, and that was the great thing about JC.  He was cool with whenever, and to Justin that meant permanency.  If JC wasn’t worried about Justin slipping away, then that meant it could never happen. 

When JC was gone Justin touched his fingers to his face, damp velvet after the shave.  In a strange, backward way the man reflected in the mirror was more what his momma wanted for him than Cameron would ever be.  There was no telling how many men had put their hands on her over the years but Justin- Justin’s  experience was limited to one fleeting encounter with a safe, clean boy.  A beautiful boy.

Not that Justin didn’t love those nice girls.   He was enthralled by their soft skin, their delicate straps, sheer, sweeping fabrics and all the sweet-scented things they were allowed to wear.  He spent a lot of time thinking about how it felt for them; the way they were worshipped, always worshipped instead of the one worshipping.  He thought about it, but didn’t wonder because he already knew what it was like to be touched like that. 

He wasn’t even sure when he’d started thinking that way.  All he knew was that the way he touched his nice girls  was the way JC had touched him, slow and practiced, and even now he trailed his fingers down his smooth face and thought of JC’s strong, graceful hands.  It had been so long ago, but Justin had memorized the way it was, the way it could be again.  Soon, he thought, and opened a palette of shimmering powders, ready to paint those secret memories onto his face where everyone could see them.

***