Everybody Lies

“Shit, Marton, every body lies. But not all the time and that’s the whole point.” Andy pushed himself away from the tree and moved away from Marton. He’d gone to his house, one last time, hoping to patch things between them. Celia lied to him and cost him Marton’s friendship, but if he were brutally honest, he’d have to admit that some of it he brought on himself. He’d allowed himself to be fooled. He wanted Celia to lie to him. He needed her, oddly for the same reasons she needed him. They both loved Marton. While she copped to her feelings, Andy couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge his, not to Celia, not to Marton, and most important of all, not to himself. “You tell the truth, Marton. Your whole life’s the truth. Have some pity on the rest of us.”

“Andy.”

He stopped, hands in the pockets of his jeans, book held between his wrist and his hip. He kept his head down and did not turn around at the sound of his name.

“I know you’re busy and all, but I have a photograph I’d like you to describe.”

Andy wanted to laugh and he felt the smile threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth. He resisted even though he knew Marton couldn’t see him.

“It’s the last one.”

Minutes later, he sat on the couch while Marton retrieved something from his safe. A small brown envelope was thrust before him and he gently removed its contents. He stared for a moment at the picture, wondering what it meant. And then he realized. “It’s of a garden,” he began and looked up at Marton who sat in a wing back chair opposite. “It’s of a sunny day.”

“I lie.”

Andy snickered and glanced down at the photo. A man was in the garden raking leaves. There was a birdbath without birds in it. The man was elderly and looked kind. Andy knew why the old snapshot was so important. Marton always believed that his mother lied, that she was ashamed of him and his blindness. He didn’t even believe his mother was dead. Andy found that strange, but he found a lot about his friend odd. And that was why he loved him.

“I’ve lied to myself.”

Andy lifted his head and studied Marton. He was usually so cool and collected, restrained, aloof. Now he appeared nervous. This was new to Andy, who’d only seen his friend nervous once, at the drive-in theater the night they’d been attacked by a bunch of toughs.

“I’ve even lied to you.”

This had Andy’s undivided attention. “How do you mean?”

“I wanted to believe my mother was ashamed of me, that she didn’t die and had really run away. But I’ve been to her grave, felt the headstone and traced her name on it. I wanted to believe she’d abandoned me. Somehow, that was easier for me. I wanted to be angry and I found an excuse. I wanted to resent the world, as if it was to blame for my blindness. Not because the world was responsible. Not because I really believed what I felt. I didn’t want to admit things to myself.”

Andy felt nonplussed. In the few months he’d known Marton, he’d never known him to admit to a mistake, and certainly not one about his mother. “And me?”

Here Marton paused and drew a deep breath, breathing in the scent of Andy’s cigarettes and the detergent on his hands from washing dishes at the restaurant. He tilted back his head, resting on the back of the chair. The glasses hid his eyes and he was grateful. “I lied…by omission, I suppose.”

Andy leaned forward on the sofa, still holding the photo. His own tension was palpable and he thought Marton must surely feel it. “Go on.”

“I never told you why I was so angry about you and Celia.”

“You said I’d lied to you about us. You hated her and her manipulation of you. It’s understandable.”

“No, that’s not all of it.”

On impulse, or perhaps because of his nervousness, Andy rose and paced a circuit around the coffee table and stopped in front of Marton. He squatted down in front of his friend.

Marton could feel the heat coming off of Andy and he hesitantly reached out his hand. He felt Andy move moments before his hand was captured and held tightly by rough, chapped hands. “I love you.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Not as a friend.”

“That’s even better to know.” Andy rubbed his cheek against Marton’s palm. “That’s why I came back. I couldn’t stand not being with you.”

Marton’s breath rattled as he inhaled.

“I fell in love with you when we crashed the car and you screamed that you couldn’t see to keep the cops from realizing that a blind man was driving.” He pushed himself up and leaned forward between Marton’s long legs and stared into the dark sunglasses. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since.”

Andy’s breath fanned Marton’s cheek. He licked his lips nervously and fidgeted in his seat. “What’s stopping you?”

He put his hands on the back of the chair and his forearms brushed Marton’s shoulders. He kissed the corners of Marton’s mouth and his chin. He laid his cheek along side Marton’s and smelled the soft fragrance of his shampoo. Marton’s nervousness transmitted to him and he smiled. His own nervousness was probably just as palpable. He turned his head and brushed his lips across Marton’s. Long, slim fingers brushed the front of his shirt, traveled up and up until their warmth touched his face. He nipped Marton’s lower lip and they parted so that he could push his tongue inside. He breathed Marton’s scent, tasted the wine he’d drank with lunch, and he moaned softly even as he sucked Marton’s tongue into his own mouth.

Andy’s hair was soft and thick and Marton ran his hands through it, letting it tickle his palms as he clutched Andy tighter. The ache inside him increased. Heat spread through him and settled in his groin. He felt the erotic sucking of his tongue and his cock stirred, as if jealous of the attention. Andy broke the kiss and nuzzled beneath Marton’s jaw.

“I’m nervous. I know how to make love to women.”

“That’s more than I know.”

Andy laughed. “You mean Celia did not educate you?”

Marton thought about the night of the symphony and how his former housekeeper, Celia, had molested him. She’d shoved her bare breasts in his face and put her cold hands inside his pants. He’d felt cheap and dirty afterwards and had cried himself to sleep. “She tried.”

Andy felt Marton’s flesh shrink and heard the tension in his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up. I was only trying to…”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Kiss me again?”

Andy raised his hand and curled his fingers under, the way he’d seen Marton do when encountering something unfamiliar. He ran his knuckles down Marton’s chest, feeling the texture of his cotton shirt and the cool, plastic buttons. He kept moving downward and grazed the tented fabric and felt Marton’s erection stir. He looked up, watching Marton’s face. He was flushed and breathing through his mouth. Andy lowered his head and kissed Marton through his pants.

Electricity raced over every nerve and sinew in Marton’s body. When Celia groped him, he felt repulsed, but when Andy’s warm breath fanned him, heated up the material of his pants, he felt as though his heart might explode. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. That part of him that he’d always relied on to show him the way and explore new objects seemed useless now. They shook with emotion he didn’t understand and fluttered helplessly. Andy didn’t seem to notice. He was busy doing things with his mouth that made Marton squirm.

Andy pulled down the tab on the zipper and smiled at the bright red underpants. Only Marton would wear something like that. He pulled at the cloth, pushed his hand inside the red underpants and touched Marton’s cock. It jumped against his fingers, as if demanding further contact. He pulled it out and stroked it and then touched his lips to the satin smooth flesh. He licked around the base, working his way up and up until his tongue touched the very tip and he tasted Marton.

Marton suddenly panicked, reminded of the night with Celia, how she’d maneuvered him on the couch and cornered him. “Not here.”

Andy stopped and leaned back, away from Marton. “Not here or not at all?”

Breathing deeply, he regained control of his emotions. “Not here, on the living room floor with you kneeling between my knees. I want to touch you and be touched by you.”

Andy glanced to the bedroom door. “In there? The bedroom, I mean.”

Marton smiled. “Yes. In there.”