Guilty Little Secret Read online

  “Have you ever broken that vow before?”

  He froze for a moment. Then he looked up at the ceiling, avoiding my eyes. “Once. A long time ago, long before you were born. Drew was so hurt at the time. I promised, promised that I would never do it again. And now I have.” Terry looked close to tears.

  I shook my head in dissent. But, I felt so young, so young and silly. I turned my eyes back to Terry’s. “You don’t have to tell him.”

  Terry gazed at me for a long time before speaking. “I have to tell him, Paulie. Otherwise it would be like cheating on him.”

  “If you tell him, Ter, it means we won’t be able to do it again.”

  Stretching luxuriously, Terry nodded toward the door. “Time to shower, then dinner?”

  At dinner, the way Terry looked at me was different, the way he kept his eyes on mine. When he reached across the table to brush a crumb from my chin, he let his hand linger longer than he needed to. And I understood. We were lovers. We laughed together. We talked, but it was different. There was a new intensity to our conversation, a new intimacy.

  I stopped worrying about Drew. “God,” I whispered to Terry as we stepped outside the restaurant, “you won’t believe how hard I am.”

  “Yes, I would,” Terry replied, placing his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. “I have the same problem.”

  Our eyes met.

  I drew in my breath quickly. “Let’s go take care of our problems,” I suggested.

  Terry laughed. I laughed. Then we went to Terry’s room. And, before Terry bolted the door, I had my hands down inside Terry’s pants.

  “This is incredible!” Terry told me when we paused at last to hold one another. “You are incredible, Paulie!”

  I fixed him with an intense gaze. “I love you, Ter.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, Terry studied my eyes. “There’s a lot of love between us, isn’t there?” He was quiet for a long time, but he kept his eyes on mine. Finally Terry spoke what was on his mind. “Shit, Paul, you’re only eighteen. I’m over twice as old as you are!”

  “You’re only forty-two,” I reminded him quietly.

  “Yes, forty-two, man. I am old enough to be your father! Jesus!”

  Placing an index finger across Terry’s lips, I shook my head. “We won’t mention this age thing again. You know I’ve always loved you.”

  “I know, I know, but I thought it was an innocent love. Not sexual. You know, a father-son type of love.”

  “It was. It is. But with a little lust thrown in, what’s wrong with that?”

  Terry laughed at this. “How did you get so --, so-- old?”

  “I’ve always been this way.”

  “No way!”

  “What do you think? I’ve never been allowed to have friends my own age. I’ve always hung out with adults. Shit, Ter, I was never young.” I kissed Terry tentatively, watching his eyes.

  A look of remorse passed across Terry’s face.

  I pulled my mouth from Terry’s. “What’s wrong, Ter?”

  Shrugging, Terry looked away. He refused to meet my eyes. “We need to sleep. We have a heavy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Without meaning to, Terry had interposed Drew between us again. There was nothing left to do but sleep. But, Terry’s bed was trashed. So we went to my room, showered, and fell into bed together. I murmured endearments into Terry’s ear until I fell asleep.

  It was after nine in the morning before either one of us got out of bed. Terry awoke in a terrible mood. I woke up singing. I smiled brightly at Terry and tried to get him to talk. I tried to interest him in sex play. But, Terry was being a total bitch. Whereupon I, still singing, jumped into the shower.

  The hot water felt so good that I stood there for a long time, letting the water cascade over my head and shoulders. I was surprised to find my zizi still so alive after the workout I’d given it the night before. I stroked it into a trembling erection. I was just about to lose it when Terry poked his head into the shower.

  Terry grinned mischievously when he saw what I was up to. He stepped into the shower, naked. “Oh, so that’s what’s taking you so long! Here, let me speed you up a bit!” With that, he got down on his knees in the tub and took my zizi into his mouth.

  Terry’s lips and tongue brought me to a quick release. I clutched Terry’s ears as I squirmed and gyrated against Terry’s throat. I called out Terry’s name. I told Terry that I would never love anyone the way I loved my Terry.

  Suddenly jerking his head away from my body, Terry frowned. It was a worried frown. He raised his eyes to mine. “What will become of us, Paul?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll always be lovers, Ter. There’s no way out of this.”

  In response, Terry shook his head. “No, Drew will want it to stop.”

  Drew again. I wished he weren’t always with us. Even at that moment, my zizi fresh from Terry’s mouth, Drew was there in the shower with us.

  “That’s why we can’t tell him, Ter! Don’t you see?”

  Terry shook his head, his eyes on mine.

  “Drew will want it to end, but it’s not going to end, Ter! I love you too much for it to end.”

  “That’s what scares the shit out of me, Paulie! You’re such a babe and --”

  I kissed him then to silence him. I kissed him until I was breathless with desire. “We don’t have to tell Drew!”

  “I can’t go keeping this from Drew!” Terry protested.

  “We’ve shared other secrets before, you and me,” I tried to remind him. “This can be one of our little secrets.”

  “No, I can’t keep this a secret from Drew.”

  “He’ll make us stop,” I told Terry before I pressed my lips to his.

  “I know,” Terry replied as soon as I released his mouth.

  “He’d be extremely hurt.”

  “I know,” Terry agreed sadly.

  Reaching out for Terry’s body, I caught Terry’s zizi in my hand and caressed it tenderly. I raised my eyes to Terry’s. “Take me, Terry. Right here, right now. Do it!”

  And Terry did. And Terry gasped and moaned and yelled “Oh, fucking Jesus, Paul!” right before he lost it.

  We finished showering and dressed quickly. Both of us needed to shave, but we were late for our appointment to meet the tour guide. Before opening the door to our room, we stopped for a leisurely kiss. For a long moment, Terry studied my face. “You really think we can pull this off, Paulie? Have an affair without Drew finding out?”

  “I can keep a secret, can you?”

  “You think we can be that discreet?”

  “Let’s go meet that tour guide, Ter.”

  Jade (1985)

  For the next year, we were lovers, and no one suspected it. No one. We were that careful. We never did anything, not even sneak kisses, in Drew’s apartment or at my parents’. We didn’t need to. We had plenty of chances to get away. First, there were overnight bicycle trips. Overnight in wayside motels, humping between the sheets all night. Then, when it got colder, we took day trips in my Jag. Trips that landed us in a motel room for a couple of hours.

  I still lived with Drew and Terry most of the year. Things really didn’t change much. I kept my eye contact with Terry light, and I refrained from touching him too much. Although Terry didn’t talk about it, our affair was interfering with his and Drew’s sex life. I heard them discussing it one day with Dad and Maman as I paused outside their front door to find my key.

  “It’s his male menopause,” Drew was saying. “Cheer up!” he told Terry. “Every man has to deal with impotence once in a while! Even Davy here!”

  “Not me!” Dad protested, just as I walked into the room. “I can always get it up! Right, babe?” He hugged Maman to himself and whispered something into her ear that made her smile broadly and blush.

  Terry made a face at Drew. “Let’s drop it, eh?”

  “Yeh, good idea!” Drew commented, dryly. “The kid here thinks Terry is God. Wouldn’t want to spoil it for him!”


  We never talked about Terry leaving Drew. Never. It was understood that Terry would stay with Drew. Terry loved Drew. And so did I. Hurting Drew was the last thing either of us wanted to do.

  As discrete as we were, we were almost caught by Maman once. We were in Anjoie, humping in the wheat field down by the river. We were fully clothed, grinding furiously, our arms and legs and tongues all enmeshed. Fortunately, we heard her before we saw her. She was humming to herself as she strolled to the river. We knew Dad was not far behind.

  Without a word to each other, we both understood what we had to do. I acted first since I was on top. I grabbed Terry by the shoulders and rubbed him into the ground, pretending to wrestle with him. I allowed Terry to push me face down in the dirt. When I stood up sputtering and then lunged for Terry again, Maman shouted for us to get out of the mud, to stop behaving like children, to go back to the house and clean up. So, we headed back to the house, both a bit sheepishly, drawing an amused look from Dad who passed us on the trail. It was the last time we attempted anything sexual on Koster property.

  We still played music together, often with Jeff. Usually we worked in the studio on the third floor of Dizzy’s brownstone on West 10th Street. We wrote songs together there, played music, recorded some stuff, and, when we thought we could get away with it, we messed around. That’s what we were doing when Jeff strolled in one afternoon in April 1985, unannounced.

  For one year we were lovers, and no one knew. Until that afternoon, when I lay sprawled on the sofa with Terry’s head between my legs, when I erupted into Terry’s mouth, squirming and thrashing wildly, when my eyes opened and I saw Jeff standing in the doorway, watching us. Until that afternoon, no one even suspected that we were lovers. Then Jeff knew.

  Jeff claimed that he’d always known. He promised not to tell anyone, not even Brian. He told us to calm down, not to worry. Then he insisted that we work on some music.

  Although Terry initially freaked out when Jeff first discovered our secret, he learned – as I had known for a long time – that Jeff was completely trustworthy. Jeff could keep a secret, even an unbearably hard one to keep, like ours. And it was good that Jeff knew. It was good to have someone to share our secret with.

  Even more important, it was good to have Jeff to use as a subterfuge, to take extended trips with us. The three of us to Key West. Or to Fire Island. Or to San Francisco. The three of us, and Terry and I fucking like crazy. And no one knew, except Jeff.

  We continued to go to Ziggy’s, too, when we were in New York. Now that I was over 18, sometimes I went there by myself, or with Jeff only. I’d gathered quite a following there. As soon as I sauntered through the door, a crowd of regulars would go crazy with cheers and catcalls. And I gave them a good show. I always put on a good show. In fact, Kris Keaton did a piece on me in the Village Voice.

  My popularity with the audience didn’t escape the notice of Paul Ziegfried, the owner of Ziggy’s. Ziegfried, or Ziggy as the regulars called him, was a small, greasy sort of guy. He had an eye for talent and a lust for big men. He had it bad for Paul Koster. No one was as thrilled as Ziggy when I walked into the club to jam with the regular musicians. He’d rush over to my table with his famous clipboard, if I didn’t bother to sign it when I first came in.

  I had to admit to myself, I liked Ziggy’s attention, even though Ziggy wasn’t quite my type. Ziggy tried hard, though, and I was flattered. One day he came up to me, smiling mysteriously.

  “Hold out your hand,” Ziggy instructed me.

  I did as I was told. A cold, irregularly shaped metal object was placed in my hand. I fingered it with interest. It was a key. Puzzled, I raised my eyes to Ziggy’s.

  “It’s a key,” Ziggy whispered into my ear.

  “No shit.”

  “It’s a key to your dressing room. Only my favorite musicians get a dressing room at Ziggy’s. You can do what you want in there.” Our eyes met. “Only don’t leave drugs or money in there. You know, the cleaning people…” His voice trailed off, but not the invitation in his eyes. “You can do what you want with it,” he repeated again. “It’s very private!”

  It was actually too good to believe. At first, Terry and I were reluctant to take advantage of it. But, eventually Ziggy’s gift became a place where we could be together, to hold each other, make out, make love. We were careful not to do it too often in there, or for too long. The last thing we needed was to provide the flesh for a meaty rumor.

  Although I was flattered to be singled out by Ziggy, Drew wasn’t impressed in the least.

  “What’s that old queen want with our Paulie?” he asked Terry, a bit irritably.

  Terry chuckled. “You know, Ziggy! He has the hots for any young thing, especially someone with a bod like Paul’s!”

  Drew turned to study me, who at age 19, stood over 6 feet 2, an inch or two shorter than Drew, but quite tall nonetheless. I was all legs, and slender, with well-muscled shoulders and arms.

  Drew stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head in disgust. “Ugh!” he breathed. “An old queen chasing a young queen.”

  Somehow the way Drew said that made me mad. Without a word, I spun on my heel and marched out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me. For a moment, I didn’t know where to go. Valhalla? Jeff’s? I decided on Dizzy’s. I spent a lot of time there lately, working in the third floor studio.

  At Dizzy’s, I flipped on an amp and strummed an electric 6-string, trying to work some music into the jumbled thoughts in my head. I didn’t understand Drew’s ridicule. I wasn’t even sure I knew what Drew meant by calling me a queen. I only knew that my feelings were hurt, as only Drew could hurt them. I didn’t think I wanted to live with Drew any longer.

  When I returned much later to their apartment, only Drew was around. He stubbed out his cigarette as soon as he spied me and hurried toward me. I studied Drew as I hadn’t done in years, really scrutinized him.

  Drew was nearly 52 then and almost completely gray. He wore his hair sort of long, chin length, with no bangs, combed straight back behind his ears. There was no question that he was still attractive. He kept his body in great shape. No wonder Terry loved him.

  We stood in the front hall, facing each other. I wondered where Terry was, but guessed that he was out of sight, in his and Drew’s bedroom. Then I realized that Drew’s eyes were red, that Drew had been crying.

  Drew took me into his arms and hugged me. “I’m so, so sorry, Paul. I’m really sorry. Sometimes I don’t understand why I say the things that I do. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just knocking Ziggy, you know? I would never hurt you, Paul, not intentionally.”

  I smiled into Drew’s eyes. I kissed him. Once on his cheek. Then on his lips. “I love you, Drew. It’s okay.”

  “I think I’m jealous of you, Paul.”

  I stood still, very still, still as a rabbit caught in the beams of a headlight, that still. Drew was jealous of me? Did he know about me and Terry? Is that why he’d been crying? I couldn’t find my voice.

  Drew continued, “I think I’m jealous of your youth. It’s the only way I can explain it. What I said to you was terrible. Simply awful. And I didn’t even mean it!” He seemed on the verge of tears again.

  “Maybe you’re tired of having me underfoot, Drew. Is that it?” I peered into Drew’s eyes.

  Sighing softly, Drew hugged me close. “I don’t know, son. It does seem time that you got your own place, do you think? You’re nineteen now. Shit, I was on my own by that age.”

  After that, my head was filled with fantasies of my own apartment. It had to be close to Drew and Terry, still in the Village. But it would be my own place. A place for Terry and me to be alone together. I began to look in earnest for such a place. However, it was impossible to find an apartment that suited me and Drew and Terry and Dad and Maman. The five of us could never agree on any place that we checked out. And we inspected a shitload of apartments.

  One Tuesday afternoon, Drew, Dad, and I followed
a realtor around for four hours, looking at co-ops in Chelsea, condos in the Village, and a loft in Tribecca. Nothing was acceptable to Dad and Drew, although I really liked the place off Greenwich on West 11st Street. It was a frustrating business, trying to find a place with Dad looking down his nose at everything.

  That evening at Ziggy’s, I was complaining to Terry and Jeff about Dad’s refusal to let me take the apartment on West 11th when Marshall LeBon walked up to our table. It had been a long time since Marshall and I had actually talked to each other. Way before the “You, Me, Too” hassle. I was pleasantly surprised to see Marshall smiling at me. Marsh gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. He bent to kiss my cheek, then moved his mouth to my ear.

  “Heard you have the zig-zag seal of approval,” he whispered warmly into my ear.

  I turned to look into Marsh’s eyes. I had no idea what he was talking about. “You want some rolling paper?” I asked.

  Marsh laughed his infectious laugh. “No, no! Ziegfried gave you a pimp, I mean, primp room, eh?”

  Catching the amused look in Marsh’s eye, I laughed in a loud guffaw. Terry stiffened at the sound of my laughter.

  “Let’s go check it out!” The pressure of Marsh’s hand on my shoulder increased.

  I hesitated, glancing at Terry to gauge his reaction. Terry’s eyes held mine for an uncomfortably long moment. “Stay here!” they ordered.

  “I want to discuss some business with you,” Marsh said firmly. “Let’s talk in private.” He took my hand and drew me to my feet.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Terry, a bit nervously. Then I followed Marsh backstage, to my dressing room. Marsh knew exactly which one was my room.

  “Mine is next door,” Marsh remarked, seeing the question in my eye. Then he reached out and hugged me close. “How the hell have you been? Shit, you’re legal now, aren’t you?”

  Nodding, I broke loose from Marsh’s embrace and unlocked my door with fumbling fingers. No sooner were we inside, with the door shut, when Marsh pulled out a joint and lit it. He sucked on it in heavy draughts, then passed it to me. I puffed on it delicately. I didn’t want to get wasted.