"Ray," says Fraser. They're not even halfway to Cedar Rapids and Ray's already had to stop four times -- once to pee, twice for coffee, and this time to get away from Fraser, who he is going to murder if he don't stop twitching around, and Ray is a cop, he can murder Fraser right, and never get caught, and drop his body into an ice crevasse in Canada. No one would ever know.

Ray takes a deep breath in through his nose, and gets into the car. "Yeah?" he says.

"Are you ready to continue? We need to check into the hotel before six pm." Fraser looks at him and then at the radio, and then back to Ray again, and Ray can feel his eyes start to roll back in his head.

"Yes, I am ready to continue, thank you," he says, and sighs, and feels kinda like Stella and like Fraser is him, which is weird.

Ray starts up the GTO and punches the radio on, and it's static; he surfs past the classical station and past the modern rock station -- puke -- and past the news station, and hits more static, but it's static he knows, and static he recognizes.

"Oh man." He sighs again, real happily this time. Fraser is making a face like Ray's asked him to eat poop or drink his blood or something. "Come on, Fraser, Iggy! See that TV eye!"

**

Stella broke up with him after he got her hair caught in the clasp of the necklace he made for her out of a Susan B. Anthony dollar.

"It's just not working for me, Ray," she said to him, and he was sure she thought she was being gentle, with her hand on his face and one against his heart.

He sneered at her. "This is because I hate your lame parties, isn't it?" he said, and pushed away from her. "You can keep your stupid friends and your shitty music."

Ray was really mad, and he slammed the door of her parents' house and he slammed the door of the GTO. He drove too fast through Chicago, away from the Gold Coast, away from Stella and her parents and her -- her fucked up friends who did shit Ray wasn't into. He drove back into his neighborhood, where the parties were just places people went to get drunk and listen to good music, and the worst that ever happened was sometimes Jimmy Szabo puked on his own shoes.

"Hey, Ray!" called Jimmy from across the street.

"Hey," said Ray. "I was just thinking about you."

"Yeah?" Jimmy was sweeping his parents' walk. He leaned on his broom, and Ray leaned on the warmth of the GTO's hood.

"Yeah, is there a party tonight?" Ray raised his eyebrows at Jimmy and tried to look cool. Jimmy grinned at him.

"Hell yeah, we're all going over to Steve's mom's house. I thought you had a thing with the Stella --" Jimmy backtracked really fast when Ray's face fell. "Okay, no Stella tonight, got it. Bring beer?"

"Yeah, no problem." Ray tossed his keys up in the air and caught them, then turned to go into the house. It was dark; his parents were probably at church or something. Ray had skipped it to go to Stella's; so much for that.

He picked up the beer and headed to Steve's mom's house; she had a basement that was done, and had a really good stereo system, and really good couches. There were a bunch of people there, people Ray didn't know, and when he got there, they were all smoking with Jimmy and Steve and Eric.

Ray sniffed.

"Ray!" Steve held one of the joints out to him.

"You lace it?" asked Ray suspiciously, putting down the beers and shrugging out of his jacket.

"Huh?" Steve thrust the joint out again, and Ray took it, sniffed it; he hadn't smoked since that one time the month before with Stella's friends, and that --

But these guys weren't Stella's friends, they were his. He drew in, burned his lungs, and coughed when he exhaled.

"Nice," he said appreciatively, because Steve was waiting for him to say something, and Ray didn't know what else to say. He handed the joint back and picked up a can of the beer -- cold from the trunk -- and popped the top.

Steve introduced him to everyone, and they listened to the Clash and the Sex Pistols and talked about guitars and the motorcycles Steve fixed at the garage, and whether disco was ever going to die, and then they drank more beer and smoked more weed, and Ray felt really comfortable, more comfortable than he had in a long time, so comfortable that he fell asleep.

"Hey." Steve's friend -- Ray couldn't remember his name, Jake? Jack? Jason? -- was shaking him. "Hey, Ray, Jimmy puked, watch yourself."

"Merry Christmas," said Ray, and JackJakeJason smiled at him.

A few days later Ray hung out with JackJakeJason again, whose name was actually Jerry, and they listened to Iggy and the Stooges, because Jerry had a bootleg of the Whiskey A GoGo Stooges show, with "Gimme Danger" and "She Creatures of Hollywood Hills" and everything. Ray tried to be cool, but he was pretty amazed, and it was really cool and they got really drunk.

Ray stared at the ceiling of Jerry's room, which had a big poster of the Sex Pistols stuck to it, and said, "Hey, you like Fleetwood Mac?"

Jerry had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and Ray thought that maybe Jerry should have been the one named Stanley Kowalski, because he looked kind of like Marlon Brando, had a little dip under his lower lip and everything, and eyelashes like a girl.

"That pussy music?" said Jerry. The cigarette bobbed when he spoke. "Nah, the fuck, man?"

"Yeah, me either," said Ray.

He resettled himself on the bed, and thought about getting up for another beer, but the beer was far away and the bed was soft and Sid was grinning crazily at him.

"You ever kiss a guy?" said Ray, and as soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back, because he didn't want to be the -- he didn't want to be the homo, even though he wasn't, but Jerry would tell everyone and --

"Yeah, course," said Jerry. Ray looked over at him, fast, and Jerry was shrugging, and then he looked up at Ray. "You know, girls dig that shit."

"Girls dig Andy Gibb too, but we don't gotta listen to him," said Ray.

"What, your girl want you to make it with a guy in front of her?" Jerry put down the albums he was sorting through, and moved closer to the bed. "Girls are perverts."

"Yeah," said Ray, relieved, so relieved, his heart was beating so fast, he was gonna puke up all the beer he'd drank. "Yeah, yeah, girls are perverted. Gimme a cigarette?"

Jerry looked at Ray and then took the cigarette out of his mouth and handed it over. Ray took it, because if he didn't, he would be totally uncool, and he sucked on it a little. It was damp from Jerry's mouth, and bitter. Ray blew the smoke out his nose.

"Yeah," said Jerry. "Girls are perverted."

"Yeah," said Ray. He looked down, took another drag, and handed the cigarette back.

"Yeah," said Jerry, and Ray started to giggle, to laugh. Jerry took the cigarette, and then he was kissing Ray, and Ray panicked, moved back, kicked his legs and scrambled across the bed, felt Stella's fingers on his throat and wrist and --

"Hey!" Jerry moved back, held the cigarette between his thumb and first finger and took a long pull, then dropped it into a beer can. It hissed. "Don't be a fucking --"

"Sorry," said Ray. "It's the beer."

"Yeah." Jerry sneered at him. "The beer makes you a fag."

"Nah," said Ray. His stomach jumped up and down. "The beer makes my stomach hurt. I ain't a fag."

"Me either."

"I got a girl," said Ray.

"Me, too." Jerry shrugged, and lit another cigarette. "I thought you were freaked out cause I'm a guy. But if your girl --"

"Stella," said Ray.

"Yeah, Stella, she wants you to do a guy? I done it, I'll help you figure it out. That's buddies." Jerry held the lit cigarette out to Ray.

Ray hesitated a minute. It hurt so bad, and he'd been -- maybe thinking about going to a doctor in another city or something, he didn't know, but it got better, it was okay, and he and Stella never talked about it, and --

He was such a fucking pussy. Don't be a pussy, he told himself, and moved forward, and took the cigarette from between Jerry's lips.

"That's buddies," Ray said, and nodded. "That's real buddies of you, man."

Jerry nodded and Ray dropped the barely-smoked cigarette into the half-full bottle Jerry'd just started on, and Jerry said, "The trick is to pretend you like it."

"I ain't so good at acting," said Ray.

"You just gotta pretend for the girl," said Jerry. "Make it look good, get her hot. Then she'll let you both do her at once."

Ray winced.

"Nah, man," said Jerry. "It ain't gay if you're doing her at once."

"Okay," said Ray. He didn't know where to put his hands, so he stuck them in his pockets.

"Remember to keep your mouth closed when you kiss, cause chicks don't know any better," continued Jerry. "And watch your hands, cause you can't move 'em all around like you do with chicks, you gotta be careful."

Ray nodded. "Got it."

"Ready now? No puking," warned Jerry, and then they kissed. It was like when Ray first started kissing Stella -- mouths closed, no tongue, stiff. It was okay. When they pulled apart, Jerry eyed him. "Not bad."

"Hey, thanks." Ray pulled his hands out of his pockets. His palms were sweaty.

"Now you gotta decide, do you suck or get sucked?" Jerry raised his eyebrows. "I sucked once, it's not so bad, you just gotta get used to it, you know? You can pretend it's like doing a girl, or you can just shut your eyes and get through it. My chick, when I shut my eyes, that made her hot, like I was more into it or something."

"Suck?" repeated Ray hoarsely. Stella didn't do that, she could fuck a stranger but she couldn't suck his dick.

"You sure?" said Jerry. Ray heard him unzip his pants and the material shushed as he pushed them down, and Ray felt sick again, sweaty and clammy. "Maybe not your first time?"

"Okay," he agreed, relieved. "But --"

"Like this." Jerry pushed him so he was sitting on the bed. "Push your pants down."

Ray bent over to do it, and Jerry's dick was right in his face. It was red, and big, bigger than Ray's, and the shaft was so big, it was bigger than the head. Ray swallowed hard. It looked scary.

You ain't scared, he reminded himself. Prove it.

He sat back after he unzipped his jeans. "Like this?"

"Yeah." Jerry squatted. "Pay attention to what I do cause if you do it right and fast enough, you get through it real quick. Chicks think it's hot when you swallow, but it tastes bad, so you gotta just keep it in your mouth and then lean over like you're catching your breath, and spit it out."

Ray nodded. His dick was not hard, and he couldn't get it hard, not even thinking about porn, not even thinking about fucking Stella.

"If the other guy isn't hard," said Jerry, real matter-of-factly, which Ray appreciated, since he was a little freaked out, "you gotta push between his balls and his asshole."

Jerry's fingers pushed and Ray jumped. "I don't like that," said Ray hastily.

"Get used to it," said Jerry, and rubbed a little, and spit into his other hand, rubbed Ray's dick up and down, jerked it harder, and used his thumb on the head, and Ray could feel it, the blood in his toes and fingers.

He leaned further back on the bed, onto his hands, and tried to spread his legs more, but his jeans were still around his ankles, so he couldn't really do anything.

"Good," said Jerry. "Be nice to the other guy. Don't move your hips too much unless he presses on them, that's the signal."

"The signal?" asked Ray, and then hot and wet on his dick, and he fell back until he was lying down, and there was so much -- so much to pay attention to, tongue, and wet, and sucking, and teeth, and fingers pushing and pressing and rubbing and jerking really hard, and then cold air on his dick.

"Pay attention!" said Jerry impatiently. "I'm pushing on your ass, pretend like your girlfriend is watching."

Ray tried to picture Stella in his head, and felt Jerry's fingers push on his ass, pushed his hips up and into Jerry's mouth, and Jerry swallowed around him, and then let his hips fall, and then they did it by themselves, without his permission, he moved, jerked into Jerry's mouth, and then he was coming his fucking brains out, because Jerry looked up at him through those girl eyelashes and that was better than Stella watching.

Jerry coughed a lot. "Shit man," he said when he'd gotten his breath back, after Ray leaned over and popped another beer for him, and he'd drank more than half. "You gotta warn the guy, like how the girls do, I'm coming, I'm coming, oh God, yeah, baby, yeah." Jerry said it slow and mocking.

"Sorry," said Ray. He took the beer and drank part of it. He wanted to say, "Next time I will, sorry," but next time? No next time. He didn't want a next time, he was just trying to be polite.

Jerry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shook his head. He was still kneeling on the floor. "S'all right, I should have remembered it was your first time."

"I done that before," lied Ray.

"With a guy," said Jerry. "It's different, cause it's new."

"Uh-huh." Ray nodded. He looked down at himself, and handed Jerry back the beer, and tucked himself back in carefully, zipped up his pants. There was come on his jeans and boxers where Jerry had spit it out, and a little on his shirt. He could do his own laundry for once, though, it would be okay.

"You wanna try?" Jerry held his dick toward Ray's face. Ray looked up at him. "Go ahead, it's okay, watch your teeth."

"I never --"

"I know you never, that's why we are." Jerry rolled his eyes, and waved his dick. "Try it."

"Okay." Ray knelt down -- hands, where to put the hands... He settled on Jerry's thighs, which were covered with denim, but where they weren't covered with denim, they were covered with curly black hair. He sniffed Jerry's dick first, smelled just like his, mostly, sweat and skin. Not like Stella, that weird sweet-and-sour she had, with the salt underneath, but just. Just skin.

He opened his mouth and reached out his tongue and closed his eyes and -- licked.

It tasted like salt, that was it, just salty sweat, like Ray was licking his own arm on a summer day.

He licked more, around the head, remembering what Jerry did to him, made an O out of his mouth and sucked hard, popped off.

"You're a natural," said Jerry. Ray felt Jerry's hand in his hair, pulling it up into spikes. "Okay, you wanna keep going, or you wanna --" Jerry broke off and shook his head. "Nevermind, man, you're an amateur. Don't wanna freak you out or nothing."

Ray pulled up off Jerry's dick and stared up at him. "I don't get freaked out!" protested Ray. Jerry smirked at him.

"Yeah, right," said Jerry. "You wanna learn how to fuck?"

Ray felt all the blood drain out of his face. "No."

"That's what I thought." Jerry picked up his half-finished the beer, drank the rest, crushed the can and tossed it aside. Ray stood up and moved away. Jerry's dick was huge, and wet-looking, and Ray couldn't believe he'd actually -- in his mouth. But it wasn't bad, not like --

Wouldn't Stella be surprised.

Jerry shrugged. "Besides, you gotta be careful with fucking."

"Yeah, it hurts," said Ray.

Jerry tilted his head. "Not if you do it right. I mean some guys don't come back, they fuck another guy and they're gone forever, like David Bowie."

"David Bowie's got a girl," said Ray, except he couldn't think of anybody David Bowie had been --

"Yeah." Jerry snorted. "Brian Eno."

Ray clenched his fist. "Take it back!"

"Listen, I am warning you here, buddy," said Jerry. "Relax, okay, relax, I am just warning you, I am saying -- sometimes guys go for ass and they never go back, and chicks, they think it's hot to watch, but you think your girl Stella is gonna let you screw her in the ass."

"I don't like that shit," said Ray.

"That's cause you're doing it wrong," said Jerry.

"You like it in the ass all the time?" Just thinking about it made Ray's ass hurt, made him feel totally sober and not --

"What, you scared of it?" Jerry shrugged. "It's good, sometimes, you know, pussy's better."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "Pussy is better."

"You wanna do me?" said Jerry. "Or you want me to do you?"

"I --" Ray stopped. "I don't --"

"Yeah, you're scared. You think --"

"I ain't scared," said Ray. "That's not buddies, to always be telling me I'm scared. I just don't like it."

"I said you been doing it wrong." Jerry lifted his hands. "You can do me."

"No," said Ray. "You do me, but do it right."

Jerry stared at him.

"And put on a record or something," Ray added. "It's too quiet."

"Fun House all right with you, madame?" said Jerry mockingly, but when Ray nodded, he did it.

Jerry came back, skirting the beer cans and bottles on the floor.

"First you gotta get naked," he said, and sighed heavy. "Jesus, Ray, don't you know anything about fucking?"

"Yeah," said Ray, annoyed, and started to strip. First his sweatshirt, then his Joy Divison T-shirt, and then his jeans, and socks, and boxers; a pile next to Jerry's bed.

Jerry had a big chest, as big as his dick, and Ray didn't want to look at him too long.

"Okay." Jerry rubbed his hands together. "The best way is from the front --"

"No," said Ray. "Not --"

"But chicks dig it better from the back, cause they like men all like animals, you get it?" Jerry reached into a drawer and pulled out Vaseline. "The real homos have other stuff, but this is okay. You gonna be good?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Ray swallowed and turned around, and got on his knees.

"Yeah, lean on the bed," said Jerry. His hands were cold. Ray shook a little, and made himself stop shaking by biting into Jerry's bedspread. There was beer in the back of his throat, and his stomach hurt, and his fingers were in fists.

"Okay," said Jerry, and his voice was thick. "You gotta always always be careful of the other guy, cause if you do it wrong, you get blood, and no girls think that's hot."

"Right," said Ray, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Lotta slick," said Jerry, and then -- Ray felt slick on his ass, one hand holding him open and the other pushing the Vaseline all around, and inside, just a little, and it didn't hurt but --

"It kinda tickles." He looked over his shoulder at Jerry.

"Some guys it tickles." Jerry's forehead was wrinkled and he was frowning. "You gotta make sure you talk to the guy, too, because girls like to hear the talking and it makes sure the guy knows what you're doing. Like now, I'm gonna do two fingers, okay?"

"Okay," said Ray, and mouthed the bedspread, whispered, "Don't hurt me," but it didn't hurt, just pressure, a little pain, not much, like he had to shit, or something, but not bad, real slick.

"It's gonna start to burn," warned Jerry, and pushed harder.

"Shit!" shrieked Ray. "Shit!"

"Shut up," said Jerry. "Uncool."

"Sorry -- sorry -- " Ray breathed through his nose, until the burn started to go away.

"So there's a place," said Jerry, and pulled out his fingers, and when they came back, they were more slick, and went right in, with only a little burn, and then he twisted them, and Ray couldn't feel his knees.

"Oh, god," groaned Ray, "oh god."

"Good?" said Jerry. "Okay?"

"Yeah, god, good --"

"Three fingers," said Jerry, and this time when it burned Ray didn't care, because Jerry was still pushing on that place, whatever the place was, aw shit. Ray's dick wasn't hard but it still felt like he was about to come.

He moved one of his hands down to his dick, and grabbed it. It was soft, but he played with his balls and held on to the bedspread and kept his mouth open as Jerry moved his fingers in and out.

"Ready?"

"Ready, ready, ready steady go," said Ray dazedly, and Jerry's dick was so much bigger than his fingers, Ray felt like he was splitting apart. He groaned into the bedspread; it was wet from his saliva, and kind of disgusting, and kinda smelly like beer, and Ray couldn't make his hips not push back against Jerry.

"That's good," said Jerry approvingly, and then he gasped, and then Ray's whole body fell apart and his toes fell off and his fingers fell off and it felt like his nose was gonna fall off, and there was nothing but this dick up his ass, which was so fucking faggy, and wet, and nothing at all like fucking Stella, or coming while he fucked Stella.

It was like -- exploding from the inside, and every time Jerry moved, Ray exploded again, until he was just laying across the bed, letting Jerry fuck him. Every time Jerry thrust in, he grunted, and his fingers dug into Ray's back, and pushed on his head, and ran through his hair, and everything made it hurt more and hurt less, and Jerry kept adding slick stuff, and it dripped down Ray's leg a little.

"L.A. Blues" ended and the record scratched, and Ray heard it, just like -- that time with Stella -- and then the record player shut off automatically, and all Ray could hear was Jerry grunting and their skin smacking together, and then Jerry's dick got even bigger and felt even better, and Jerry slumped over Ray and sighed and moaned.

"Jesus," said Ray when he could see again. He blinked a few times. His eyelids were kinda stuck together, like he'd been crying. "Jesus."

"I'm telling you, man, it's dangerous," said Jerry. He rolled over and sat down and scratched the hair on his chest. Ray was too afraid to roll over; his back was just slick and -- and --

"It hurts," said Ray accusingly.

"Yeah, but I did it right, so you're not bleeding, and it felt good, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Jerry yawned and stood up. "I gotta take a shower. The guy who fucks gets the first shower cause the guy who got fucked can fuck the girl now."

Ray nodded like he understood, and Jerry's door opened and then closed, and then opened again, and something hit Ray's back.

"Wipe up," said Jerry. "Be careful. I'll be quick, okay?"

"Yeah." Ray turned over gingerly, holding the towel over his ass. Nothing really fell out, so he relaxed. Jerry was still staring at him.

"Yeah," said Jerry finally, and closed the door and left. Ray pulled his knees up to his chest and held them for a minute, and took deep breaths like Stella's dorm-mate who did that yoga stuff with the breathing and the leotards. Ray really liked the leotards.

He used the towel to mostly wipe himself off, and then he put the record on again. Jerry came back in during "T.V. Eye" -- Ray was singing along and playing air guitar.

Jerry's hair was all wet, and he yawned. "I'm gonna have another beer. Go take a shower, there's a towel in there."

That night Ray jerked off twice, thinking about Stella watching him do another guy like that, like the good way, with all the slick stuff and the right angles, and he tried putting a finger in his own ass; it hurt a little, he was sore, but he kinda liked it.

The next day was New Year's Eve, and Stella showed up at the door with a plate of cookies, wearing the necklace he made her, and talked to his mom for like an hour before she came into the den to say hello to him and give him a cookie and tell him she was sorry.

**

"I'm sorry, Ray, I don't know Iggy," says Fraser. Ray rolls his eyes, and rolls down the windows, and sings along as loud as he can as they get back onto the highway.

When the song is over -- the next one is a Journey song, which Ray don't like so much -- he turns the radio down.

"I got real good memories of that song, Fraser. I got memories like you got no idea." Ray grins at himself in the rearview mirror, shows himself all his teeth.

"I myself have wonderful memories of a folk singer named John Denver," says Fraser. "Are you familiar with his work? While I've never been to West Virginia, the sentiment he expresses --"

"Aw, come on, Fraser, you're shitting me, right? John Denver?"

"My grandparents were also great aficionados of swing music, interestingly enough," says Fraser, switching subjects smoothly. "As well as many other politically active folk musicians from the States and Canada."

"Yeah?" Ray glances at Fraser out of the corner of his eye, and changes lanes to pass the truck in front of them. "But what do you like, Fraser?"

"I enjoy folk music as well, Ray. And swing. And jazz. And --" Fraser brushes his finger over his eyebrow. Ray doesn't see him do it, but Ray can tell, cause the red flashes in his peripheral vision. "I did enjoy that song, Ray. I believe the words are quite insightful."

"Yeah?" says Ray, and glances at Fraser, who is looking right at him.

"Erm. Yeah," replies Fraser, and Ray doesnŐt just show Fraser his teeth, he smiles this time, for real.