by Hyakunichisou 13 (\u767e\u65e5\u8349 \u5341\u4e09)<\/p>\n
The way Greg would tell the story in later years, the moment he saw Tim Curry in a corset and torn stockings was the moment everything became clear. At the time, though, it felt like everything had just gotten <\/span>way<\/span><\/i> more complicated.<\/span><\/p>\n Because, okay, after Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder snuggled down together under their space blanket in the Fortress of Solitude, it probably wasn’t <\/span>Superman’s<\/span><\/i> bare shoulders that the other guys in the audience couldn’t stop thinking about. And Gil Gerard was pretty choice in a tuxedo. But they were–for TV and movie stars–still kind of regular-looking. His <\/span>mom<\/span><\/i> thought Christopher Reeve was handsome, for crying out loud. If Greg couldn’t help noticing the same thing, who could blame him?<\/span><\/p>\n So if, as was becoming increasingly probable, Greg was turning out to be gay, he could reconcile himself to having crushes on the John Davidsons of the world. That wouldn’t be so bad.<\/span><\/p>\n Then Frank-N-Furter threw off his midnight-blue cape, and everything Greg thought he understood about himself blew up like a satin-shelled glitter bomb.<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh my <\/span>god<\/span><\/i>,” he breathed.<\/span><\/p>\n “I know, this is so warped, right?” said his roommate Kevin, beside him. “Totally perverted.” He sounded thrilled.<\/span><\/p>\n It was Kevin’s fault they were sitting in this loud, shabby theatre in the first place. More specifically, Kevin’s crush on a girl from his Intro Psych class. <\/span>You want to go<\/span><\/i>, she’d assured him, and Kevin had basically whined Greg into coming with him. Greg knew, intellectually, that Toronto must be bursting with never-before-imagined hedonistic delights, but it was only a month into the term, and so far his main Saturday night opportunities had been getting hammered on crappy beer at the Brunswick House or getting a head start on one of his midterm papers. Going to see something called <\/span>Rocky Horror<\/span><\/i> in the middle of the night at least sounded like the kind of thing a first-year student should do to shake the dust of the suburbs off his shoes.<\/span><\/p>\n And now look what had happened.<\/span><\/p>\n Even the wall-to-wall yelling and throwing things couldn’t distract him from that strutting, slinking figure up on the screen. The laced-up gap where his corset didn’t meet in the front. The collar of thick white pearls. The fingertip-sized holes in the knees of his stockings. Every time Tim Curry appeared, every molecule of Greg’s body zapped to life as if he were Rocky in that electric bath and Frank’s hand was on the switch.<\/span><\/p>\n Admittedly, the end of the movie was kind of a weird downer, which by that time was fine by Greg, since his surprise boner was getting to be both uncomfortable and embarrassing. He stumbled out of the theatre into knots of people smoking and laughing on the sidewalk, dressed in sequined shorts, green hospital gowns, gold lam\u00e9 everything. And black stockings and heels.<\/span><\/p>\n “That was such a freak-o-rama,” Kevin said enthusiastically.<\/span><\/p>\n A girl with long, straight blonde hair and a mouldy-looking black suit turned to look at them. “You enjoy the show, virgins?” she asked, not unkindly. The Frank beside her, long coat hanging open over patches of black cloth and skin, looked at Greg, who was utterly failing not to stare. Frank arched his eyebrows and widened his eyes, which flashed in the shadows of his makeup like searchlights.<\/span><\/p>\n “Get out, I am not,” Kevin said, and stalked off. Greg ducked his head and followed, his face feeling as red and hot as cherry-coloured lipstick.<\/span><\/p>\n —<\/span><\/p>\n The power outage could hardly have come at a more perfect time if someone had scripted it. Brad and Janet were standing in the rain, singing about the darkness of everybody’s life. There was a muted pop as though some large, distant bulb had blown, and the sound and picture and aisle lights winked out, leaving the audience in an island of pocket-lighter glow.<\/span><\/p>\n There was a lot of booing and whistling, but after a while, when nothing else happened, people began to sift out. Greg found himself yawning, and when twenty minutes had gone by, he decided to bag the entire thing. He gathered up the grocery sack that he’d stocked with cheap playing cards and a folded newspaper and a slice of dry toast he’d stolen from the caf, and inched his way outside with his own lighter to guide him.<\/span><\/p>\n Both sides of the Danforth were dark, though looking east and west he could see the border where the streetlights and store signs resumed. Few people were lingering in front of the theatre. Greg crossed the road, zipping up his jacket and tucking his scarf around his throat. It would at least be nice to take the subway home, rather than standing around waiting for the desultory all-night bus.<\/span><\/p>\n As he stood looking at the hand-scrawled sign taped to the locked station doors–<\/span>No power, subway closed<\/span><\/i>–someone came up behind him and sighed. “Well, shit.”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg had been to the midnight matinees enough times by now to vaguely recognize him even under the ghost-white face paint and smoky eyes. Now his tousled hair was flattened under a red toque. He was wearing his long coat and–Greg couldn’t help glancing down–sweatpants and desert boots.<\/span><\/p>\n “Bus,” he said with resignation, not looking at Greg, and turned and walked back towards the corner.<\/span><\/p>\n Greg trailed him. Greg was headed to the bus stop too, of course, but it felt as though he were following this guy rather than just walking in the same direction. He’d been to <\/span>Rocky Horror<\/span><\/i> five times now, and had bought the cassette and knew all the lyrics and a lot of the callouts, but he hadn’t really talked to anyone there. It still felt as though he were a virg–a new guy, looking into an arcane club that remained mysterious, but that he knew he wanted to part of.<\/span><\/p>\n A bus came within a few minutes. The bars hadn’t closed for the night yet, and it wasn’t crowded. Frank took one of the double seats. Greg sat in front of him, hands squeezed between his knees, the back of his neck tingling.<\/span><\/p>\n Finally some kind of switch tripped in his brain, and he swivelled sideways in his seat. “Um.”<\/span><\/p>\n Frank looked at him. There was a spot of flesh showing under the white, as if he’d scratched the side of his nose.<\/span><\/p>\n “I was wondering, do you do your own makeup and stuff?”<\/span><\/p>\n “Yeah, mostly. I got someone to make the corset for me, but a lot of it’s second hand. Not the stockings, you can’t find those used. Why, are you interested in going in costume?”<\/span><\/p>\n “God, no,” Greg said with involuntary force. “I mean, I don’t think I could. I mean, I like to watch.” He felt himself go red.<\/span><\/p>\n “‘That ain’t no crime,'” Frank quoted, with a laugh. “You’ve been before, right?”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg nodded, probably too hard. “It’s amazing. I mean, Frank–but Riff Raff is pretty funny, and the music’s great, and at first I thought the end was kind of depressing but I think I get it now. And there’s so much going on, like every time I see it there’s something I hadn’t noticed before.”<\/span><\/p>\n “I know what you mean. I’ve probably seen it fifty times, but there’s always somebody trying out a new line or something. Are you by yourself?”<\/span><\/p>\n “Yeah.” Much as he’d enjoyed it, that one brush with decadence had apparently been enough for Kevin.<\/span><\/p>\n “If you want someone to hang out with, you should come sit with me and my friends. We’re usually down by the front. I’m Shawn, by the way.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Really? That’d be super. I’m Greg.”<\/span><\/p>\n Someone pulled the cord to signal a stop request, and the bell dinged. Shawn cupped his hands to peer out into the dark. “Where are we?”<\/span><\/p>\n “I think we’re near the Viaduct?”<\/span><\/p>\n “Broadview,” said a woman standing by the back doors.<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh shit, this is me,” Shawn said, swinging out of his seat. “See you around!”<\/span><\/p>\n “Same here, I mean, you too,” Greg said, and as Shawn stepped off the back stairs, there was a flicker and a flash, and both sides of the road blazed whitely up like lightning had come to stay.<\/span><\/p>\n —<\/span><\/p>\n They stepped out into the soft April night. “See you next week?” Kim called, as she and Randy walked in the opposite direction.<\/span><\/p>\n “For sure!”<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn’s heels clacked on the sidewalk as they made their way to the subway. Tonight he’d forgotten to put his regular shoes into his knapsack with the rest of his clothes, and the black stockings poked out from under his jeans. Even the sight of those straps over the curve of his foot made Greg a little short of breath. Though tonight he was worked up for all kinds of reasons.<\/span><\/p>\n “You still coming back with me?” Shawn asked, as they sat down on the plump vinyl of the subway seat.<\/span><\/p>\n “Yeah. If you want me to.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh, I want you to.” Shawn gave him a sideways look and a little purse of his lips that made Greg feel as though fireflies were hovering over his skin.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn had an apartment on the second floor of a converted old semi. His roommate spent most weekends at his girlfriend’s, and it wasn’t the first time Greg had been up here. This time, though, he was very aware of the night and the quiet, how there were only the two of them here.<\/span><\/p>\n The stairwell led straight into the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” Shawn asked. Greg nodded, and Shawn got a couple of cans of ginger ale out of the fridge while Greg took off his coat and draped it over one of the chairs.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn took a few gulps from his can. “Let me just go wash my face off.”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg, halfway through swallowing a mouthful of ginger ale, tried to say <\/span>Okay<\/span><\/i>, though he didn’t really want to, and erupted into coughing.<\/span><\/p>\n “Or…not.” Shawn did that Frank-N-Furter thing with his eyebrows that left Greg a heap of self-consciousness and hormones. “Should I leave it on?’<\/span><\/p>\n Greg studied the dark keyhole in the top of his pop can until he could look up. He obviously hadn’t done a good job of blanking out his expression, because a slow smile spread across Shawn’s face. “Turn around.”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg did so. He heard cloth shifting. The pop can was slippery with sweat and condensation in his palm.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn came up close behind him. “Are you quite sure about this, darling?” he asked, in Frank’s plummy tones.<\/span><\/p>\n It had been well after New Year’s before he and Shawn had started dropping hints at one another, each of them inching towards a revelation that couldn’t be taken back. He still couldn’t quite put his finger on how they’d finally bridged the gap. But they had, and there’d been necking at the foot of Shawn’s stairs or in the darkness on the porch, and Greg was ready for more. It was just sort of…terrifying.<\/span><\/p>\n “Hey,” Shawn said in his own voice. “It’s not a big deal.” His arms went around Greg, black-gloved and chilly from outside.<\/span><\/p>\n “I…kind of…” Greg’s throat was parched, and he couldn’t take a drink because he couldn’t remember how his body worked. “…like it?” he finished.<\/span><\/p>\n Because it was pretty twisted, wasn’t it? To have a man in front of him whom he liked a lot, and want him to be someone else? Someone who wasn’t even real, and who to be honest was kind of an awful person, but the sight of whom carbonated his imagination like nothing else for reasons he didn’t even understand?<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh, honey, me <\/span>too<\/span><\/i>,” Shawn crooned in his ear, half himself and half Frank. He slid his gloved hands down Greg’s chest.<\/span><\/p>\n “You don’t mind?”<\/span><\/p>\n “Nope.” Shawn’s hands tugged up the hem of his sweatshirt and wormed their way underneath. “‘What charming underclothes you have.'”<\/span><\/p>\n “They’re Fruit of the Loom.” Greg spoke the scripted reply automatically, and dissolved into snickers. His nervousness ebbed a little.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn nudged his back. “Go over and sit on the couch,” he said. Greg crossed the room to the \u00a0grey-and-brown plaid monstrosity that dominated the other half of the room. He sat down and put his can of ginger ale on the side table.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn sashayed over to him like he was dominating a runway, and oh god, he’d taken off the jeans and sweater he’d put on over his costume for the trip home. His thighs and upper arms were \u00a0naked, the black corset rising to meet the string of beads at his collarbone. He put his hands behind his head and rolled his hips, grinning, and then he put one high-heeled foot on the couch beside Greg’s leg, and all the breath in Greg’s lungs evaporated.<\/span><\/p>\n “Darling,” Shawn purred, and descended on Greg, kneeling over him and blotting out the overhead light. He slid his fingers around the back of Greg’s neck and leaned down and kissed him. Greg let his head fall against the back of the couch. Shawn kissed him hard and slow, only touching his body at those two points, until Greg thought he might just expire from sensory overload right there.<\/span><\/p>\n When Shawn pulled back, it was clear that he was as into this as Greg was. He smiled and ran his hands down the front of his corset and over the straps of his garters. “Touch me?”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg nodded. Shawn stretched his arms up again, exposing himself for Greg’s exploration. Greg brought his hands up to curve around Shawn’s ribs. The sparkly fabric of the corset was unexpectedly rough. He inserted his finger between the laces to meet bare skin; Shawn jumped a little at the contact. Greg dragged his fingers down, past the hem of the corset, over Shawn’s hips in the brief black shorts, down to the stockings. He wriggled his finger under the elastic. Shawn inhaled sharply. Greg ran his hands back up, over hips and waist, under the looser bottom of the corset as high as he could go. He could just reach Shawn’s nipples, hard under his fingertips.<\/span><\/p>\n “<\/span>Oh<\/span><\/i> god,” Shawn said.<\/span><\/p>\n Greg couldn’t and didn’t want to avoid it any longer. He cupped his hand around the front of Shawn’s shorts and for the first time felt another man’s dick in his hand.<\/span><\/p>\n As hard as his own, hot, dampness at the tip soaking through the black shorts. Greg glanced up at Shawn, who was open-mouthed and looking sort of desperate. He pulled the shorts away and down, and Shawn’s dick bobbed free. The shorts only went a few inches lower and were stopped by the clips at the top of his stockings, which was so tantalizing a sight that Greg felt a pulse of gratification go through him.<\/span><\/p>\n “Touch me,” Shawn said hoarsely, and this time it was a plea rather than a teasing invitation.<\/span><\/p>\n Greg wrapped his hand around Shawn’s dick and slid up to the tip, back down until the edge of his hand met coarse curls. It was a familiar handful at a strangely unfamiliar angle. He contemplated the flushed head of Shawn’s dick. Everybody agreed that blowjobs felt good, and Greg’s curiosity about that was enough to overcome the pretty intimidating reality of a hard penis a couple of inches away from his face. He squished down a little against the couch cushions and stuck his tongue out to lick the moisture at the crown.<\/span><\/p>\n He wasn’t crazy about the way it tasted, but Shawn made a breathy sound that made Greg’s squeamishness weirdly irrelevant. He did it again, gently fitting his lips around Shawn’s dick and swirling his tongue. Shawn’s hands landed with a jolt against the back of the couch, his arms rigidly holding him up.<\/span><\/p>\n Greg tried sucking, then pushing his lips down further to fill his mouth, then both at the same time. Shawn gasped incoherent half-words. Greg lifted his hands to the backs of Shawn’s legs, sliding over the thin nylon, the bunched-up cotton. He grabbed Shawn’s backside, a hand on each buttock. Shawn’s hips jerked. Greg looked up. The kitchen light winked dark rainbow sparkles off the corset. Shawn was biting his crimson lip, the lipstick smeared a little from their kissing; his hair was wild and his half-closed eyes were dark as bruises. Greg sucked again, and Frank-N-Furter groaned out loud, deep and drawn-out, and Greg pulled his mouth back off him and came, untouched and fully clothed, just from the sound and the sight of it.<\/span><\/p>\n “Holy shit, did you–oh, fuck, <\/span>oh<\/span><\/i>–” said Shawn, and a second later he was groaning again, coming into the black vinyl palm of his glove.<\/span><\/p>\n “I’m sorry–was I–did I go too fast?” Greg panted, vaguely aware that he should be embarrassed but not yet really caring, pleasure still beating through him with lassitude on its heels.<\/span><\/p>\n “I don’t care. Shit.” Shawn was laughing. “Oh my god, that was the single most erotic second of my entire life.” He collapsed beside Greg, slumping against the side of the couch.<\/span><\/p>\n Greg turned his head towards him. Shawn’s lips were parted, wet and fire-engine red. Greg leaned over and pressed a kiss to them, tenderness welling up in him. He supposed he’d just lost some kind of virginity, but he felt as though he’d been given something instead. Sex hadn’t been anything like he’d imagined; it had been hotter and weirder and way more intimate. Like <\/span>Rocky Horror<\/span><\/i>, he thought; even when he thought he knew what to expect, he’d discovered something new.<\/span><\/p>\n —<\/span><\/p>\n Heat from the paper bag of mushroom fried rice and chicken chow mein seeped into Greg’s arm through his fall jacket as he stood on the porch. He knocked again. He’d left a message on Shawn’s answering machine, but hadn’t heard back before he’d left campus. The upstairs light was on. Maybe Shawn had gone out to the corner store to grab some chips or something.<\/span><\/p>\n He heard thudding on the stairs, growing louder, and then Shawn opened the door. His hair was as messy as when he played Frank, and he was dressed in sagging sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the decal so laundered out it was unreadable. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t realize it was seven already.”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg followed him upstairs and put the bag on the counter. “How’s it going?”<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn groaned. “Fourth year is kicking my ass.” He sat heavily down in one of the chairs and let his forehead fall onto the glossy cover of <\/span>Applications for New Polymers in Chemical Engineering<\/span><\/i> that sat on top of a stack on the kitchen table.<\/span><\/p>\n “You need to take a break. Did you know your brain can only concentrate for like forty minutes at a time anyway?” Greg took the cartons out of the bag and pried the plastic lid off the fried rice.<\/span><\/p>\n “That smells amazing. You are saving my life right now.”<\/span><\/p>\n “I know, I am the best boyfriend.”<\/span><\/p>\n The word just seemed to pop out of his mouth. Greg took a shocked breath.<\/span><\/p>\n After a moment, Shawn said, “You totally are, though.”<\/span><\/p>\n Greg turned around. “Yeah?”<\/span><\/p>\n “Yeah.” Shawn held out a hand and reeled Greg in. He pulled Greg between his knees and took hold of the lapel of his plaid shirt to bring him down for a kiss. He tasted of ginger. Then Shawn pressed his face against the front of Greg’s shirt and clasped his arms around him.<\/span><\/p>\n Standing over him like this, the thing that Greg had been thinking all summer floated to the front of his mind and filled his mouth. The moment stretched, and the words gathered weight and insistence, and, finally, inevitability.<\/span><\/p>\n As Shawn started to pull away, Greg said, in a quiet rush, “Because I actually kind of love you.”<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn gave him a harder squeeze and released him. He looked up, smiling. “Love you too.”<\/span><\/p>\n They kissed again. Greg combed his hand through Shawn’s softly curled hair. “You should eat something. But, after that, we’ve got a couple of hours before the show.” He crowded in closer, \u00a0nudging Shawn’s thighs further apart.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn made a rueful face. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to make it to the show tonight.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Aw, no way. How come?”<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn gestured at the table, laden with textbooks and notebooks and his softly humming electric typewriter. “I can’t sleep late tomorrow. I have to get a draft of this paper done, and I had a lecture last week that I understood maybe half of and I want to re-do the reading so I don’t get behind.”<\/span><\/p>\n “That sucks.”<\/span><\/p>\n “I know. But you go. Say hi to everybody for me.”<\/span><\/p>\n “We still have a little time after dinner,” Greg said hopefully.<\/span><\/p>\n Shawn ran his hands up the back of Greg’s legs, over his butt to the small of his back. “For sure we do.”<\/span><\/p>\n —<\/span><\/p>\n\n
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