A Gay Friend's Suicide Causes Andy to search his own conscience
Kevin transferred to our school from California in the Venice/Santa Monica area. The first thing I noticed about him was how he had those chiseled good looks that made me think of Keanu Reeves a lot. He was more buffed than most of the guys in our school and filled the tee shirt well enough that you just knew he was the guy you wanted on your team.
He had the muscles of a light heavy weight wrestler or a dedicated swimmer. Not that our guys were a bunch of pantywaists. I mean, in a town like Thermal, Wyoming, about half the students come from the surrounding farms and ranches. That means there weren’t too many marshmallows in the student body.
This guy had no fancy globs of muscle like exclusive weight lifters and pretty-boy body builders get, no way. His body was just plain functional. Since I was, and am, a serious athlete, I checked him out pretty close. He stood about six one or two, weighed in at close to one eighty-five and had a deep chest . It was almost like describing me except I’m only six feet tall and I sure as hell don’t have looks that would put anyone in mind of Keanu Reeves. With my dishwater blond hair and what Dad calls “cow pie features,” I am nobody’s pretty boy. I do okay socially, but that’s about all.
As we approached each other he looked down and saw my X-men carrying case. It would be hard to miss, what with the Great Green Hulk bursting out of a blast of blazing light and coming right at you. I had painted it on the vinyl case myself and I was justifiably proud of it. I’m a serious painter with a lot more than average talent. It held my charcoals, pastels and two rolled up ink drawings to be turned in to my art teacher, Miss Melton. He smiled at me and said, “That’s a great illustration. Did you do it yourself or did you have a professional do it for you? That green glows.”
“Oh, hi, thanks.” I answered him, “I’m Andy Phillips.” I stuck out my hand and he shook it with a strong, friendly up-and-down-three-times motion and let go. “Naw, I did this one the other night when I got my homework done early.”
“I’m Kevin Newman and that’s Bullshit.” he said. “Getting that shade for the hulk’s skin tone and the graduated shades of ochre behind it took a lot of time. They didn’t just mix themselves together. Then the way you use your blues to fill in the background and the transparent crimson lake you washed the clouds had to take hours. Don’t kid a kidder or try to bullshit a fellow artist. You have a great eye for color and form. What else have you done?”
“Oh, I have a few canvases at home, including one in progress for the State Art Festival. I plan to enter it in the adult competition. It’s an eagle feeding her young.”
“No shit. I’d like to see it.” He paused and then added, “Well, some time or other.” He acted like he was afraid of being too pushy. I liked that. I’m a pretty private kind of guy. I was then, too.
I had no regular girlfriend right then because all of the girls in our school were so into that new TV series, “Vajina The Zombie Killer.” They were competing to see who could look the most naked, like Vajina, without getting suspended. I got a kick out of the storyline, myself. But I couldn’t get all creamy and dreamy like they did. I mean, look at her build. Her muscles had absolutely no tone. She couldn’t lift a hundred pounds in real life and she’s kicking ass on a bunch of near indestructible immortals? No way. No flaking way.
When it came to musculature, even then I considered myself an authority, and rightly so. I worked out and I worked my butt hard. Northern Tai chi, swimming, running, bicycling the hills kept me lean, mean and supple as a green willow branch. My dream was to compete in the Iron Man Decathlon. I knew I couldn’t end up in the money, the first three. I mean when the fifth place man last year was a real old dude of forty-six who races bikes up and down mountain roads for fifty miles, never stopping and never slowing down, I’d be lucky to even qualify. Those dudes were real men.
Any way, being a normal guy, I ate up all this appreciation of my true worth as an artist. “Come on over after class. I just live across the street.”
“I know,” he said. That struck me as being a little odd. I mean here I just met the guy and he knows where I live? I shrugged it off and we headed for class. Maybe he saw me as I left the house for class or something.
We sat next to each other through boring calculus and were out the door as soon as the bell sounded. Next period was free time and we were supposed to stay on campus, but since I lived right across the street, nothing was ever said when I slipped over to the house for something. We hurried on over to my house and I led him straight to my room.
When I opened the door to my room, he almost had a hernia. My three networked computers were state of the art. The Compaq logo and the MSI labels were hard to miss. Then to one side was an almost new IBM that had been a throwaway from a Government upgrading. Some times the government throws away better stuff than most people ever get to use. My fax-scanner and printer weren’t all that bad, but they looked like poor relatives at a rich uncle’s party.
“Hell, man. What’s the deal, are your folks rich or what?” A little envy showed as he ran his hands over the keyboards and the finger mouse. “I never saw so much good stuff all together. What gives?” He looked like he was going to have a nervous breakdown unless I answered him.
“Aw, it’s no big deal, not really. My Uncle Wayne is in computer sales and engineering. Everything here either came from some big multinational that was upgrading and converting or a government agency that had too much money at the end of the fiscal year.” I proudly showed him the FBI logo that someone had neglected to scrape off. I thought it added a certain mystique to my possessions. “Most of it came in pieces. I reassembled, tested and changed out parts until I got something that worked. Some times I raid the dumpsters behind the computer store and get some real great stuff.”
He grinned sadly, “I’m making do with an old Packard-Bell right now.”
“No way.” I exclaimed.
“Way, dude.” he answered.
“Well, hey, bring it over here and let me look through my junk. I bet I got enough stuff for an upgrade. What kind of tower you got?”
“Tower? I don’t know. A high one?” He vaguely brought his hands a couple of feet off the floor.
“I think I know about what it is. It’ll work. Bring it over after school and we’ll upgrade out of junk parts I got laying around.” My “junk parts,” were mostly near new that I had carefully taken from units that had been usually well maintained by whatever agency owned them before I got my hands on them. Everything got torn down, the useable parts were tagged and the rest dumped. Uncle Wayne sends his only nephew, his youngest sister’s only son a unit about every three to six months.
“You’re not kidding, are you?” He asked in amazement.
“Out here in th’ wild and wooly west, folks is neighborly, pilgrim.” I told him in my best John Wayne voice.
“Oh wow. I’ll tell my mom and get her okay to stay out past my curfew.” Curfew? I thought that sounded a little strange, but I didn’t say anything and he didn’t explain. I did think he was one of the most emotional acting guys I ever met.
“Well, just stay the night if it’s okay, I got twin beds and you can flake out on one and I’ll take the other. We’ll just go over and get your unit and bring it over and make it like new.” I liked the idea that I would have another computer to explore. I also liked the idea of a new friend who looked like he might have in interest in bodybuilding approaching my own, and it was nice to maybe have someone as a friend who appreciated art and didn’t think about a new coat of paint on the walls when he used the word “painting.”
Then he saw my wild life oils. He didn’t say a word; he just looked. He had tears in his eyes, as he looked at the one of a mamma bear curled up and cuddling her cub. “Jesus, Man. Why are you wasting your talent on X-Men when you can do something like this? Oh man, this talks to me, it really does.”
“Well, to start with, I collect Marvel and other comics. I dig the X-Men and the X-Files. So as far as I’m concerned, as long as it’s what I want to do it’s no waste.” That remark kind of pissed me off.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s just that you are the first guy I ever met who is as good as I am.” Now that would have sounded like pure arrogance coming from a lot of guys. But I had a hunch he was just saying what he honestly believed to be true.
“Aw, that’s all right, but people are always putting down my comic collecting and telling me stuff about how I ought to do this and that when they can’t even draw a crooked line.”
He looked at my charcoals and a pastel I had done of one of the girls at school. I was going to give it to her just before she began looking for my owner’s manual. When she began to try to rearrange my life so she could take it over I dropped her. The picture just hung there. I had decided that some day I was going to toss it. I just hadn’t got around to it yet at that time.
“You are good enough to hold a showing. You know that?” he asked me.
I laughed, “Nobody around here would pay enough for a picture for me to even think of anything like that.”
“Anyway, you are already a pro. I know quality when I see it.” Just then we heard the warning buzzer and hurried back across the street.
“Just hold it there, fellas.” a voice greeted us as we came through the front entrance of the school. I looked at where the voice was coming from. Mister Feldman stepped out of a darkened classroom. “I’ve been waiting for you two. Since you live across the street, we’ve pretty much let you come and go. But when you start taking friends with you like this one, maybe we better start sniffing your breaths”
Now he and I have never really been friendly, but he never tried to rag on me like this before. “Look, you got a problem with me, just say so or get off my back. If the problem is too big, I’ll go get my dad and we can settle it either here, in court or just you and me in a back alley. You choose.”
Mister Feldman had been in the marines and he thought that made him a hot shot. His first week here, he heard that I practiced Northern tai chi and challenged me to a “friendly” demonstration of his abilities. I kicked his ass royally. He learned that the difference between karate and tai chi was the difference between a German shepherd and a pit bull. I was the pit bull. We never spoke much to each other after that. I didn’t know what his problem was, but I did know that I would not take any of his crap, vice principal or not.
“No, I think that from now on you will not be allowed to leave the school grounds until after the last class. Do I make myself clear?” He sneered at both of us.
“No, you did not make yourself clear,” I told him. “So you better explain what you mean or just butt out of my life. You’re a loud mouth and a bully and I don’t like you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Good. You are suspended. Both of you. Get out.” His face was white with rage. I guess he wasn’t used to having students dis him like that. But I have never liked being bullied, especially by jerks.
“Come on,” I said to my new friend and headed toward the office.
“Hey. I told you to get off the school grounds.” He almost screeched at us. His face was red with rage.
“Sorry, dude, I’m going to the office. Now you want to try to stop me a second time?” I grinned at him and waited.
“Maybe we better do as he says,” Kevin told me. He took hold of my arm and tried to pull me toward the door but I was centered. Basically what that means in martial arts is that my center of gravity was one with the Earth. I didn’t budge.
“Naw, I don’t think so. Our friend here was a real marine. He tried to impress us with his martial arts and I whipped him and didn’t even muss my hair and he’s pissed.” I gave Mister Feldman a look that was total disrespect.
“By God. I don’t have to take that from some queer.” He started at me and I dropped into a ready stance and waited. I was grinning. He had called me a queer. I was going to have his ass for lunch.
He tried a side sweep and I bitch slapped him. Mister Corbin had come out of his office just as his assistant went down. He had seen the attempted side sweep and the landing on his ass of Feldman. “Stop this.” he commanded.
Feldman got to his feet and blustered, “Next time.”
“There will be no next time.” Mister Corbin was trying to defuse a situation that I was not going to let go of.
“There will be a next time,” I argued. “He will try to sneak up and catch me by surprise. And when he does I promise you I’ll send him to the hospital. He’s a loud mouthed punk.”
“What is this all about?” Corbin asked. “You have never ever been in a fight before that I know of. Just what exactly happened?”
“It was nothing,” Kevin said.
“The hell it wasn’t. I contradicted him.
“First this ass hole accuses me of drinking,” I said.
“I did not.” Feldman denied.
“You sure as hell did. You said you wanted to check our breaths. Remember?”
Mister Corbin gasped and started to choke.
“Then you called me a queer, or did you forget that too?” My voice was getting louder and louder. Students were all gathering.
“Let’s take this into the office,” Mister Corbin said.
“Fine,” I said in a loud voice, “But I want everyone here to hear me say that this is one queer that is going to beat the shit out of Feldman the Fag if he ever lays another hand on me.”
I turned and led the way to the office. “Oh my god.” Kevin moaned. “My mom is going to kill me.”
I walked behind the counter in the school office and right into Mister Corbin’s office. This was the first time I had ever been inside it. As soon as we were all in and Mister Corbin closed the door, I said, “I am going to ask my dad to sue the school district, and both of you. He will, too, probably. My dad knows I don’t lie and he and I are very close.”
“What if I prove it?” Feldman asked in a nasty voice.
“You dumb shit. If you could prove I’m a queer, then I nail your ass for sexual harassment. My dad collects enough money to send me to college. If you don’t prove it, then I nail your butt again. This is what my dad calls a “win, win for me and a sorry Charlie” for you. Either way you’re toast and the town pays for my college. I got a ton of witnesses out there in the hallways.
“How can we settle this without your father becoming involved?” Mister Corbin asked.
“Fire him,” I answered. “He should have never been hired in the first place.”
Mister Corbin looked at Feldman and asked, “Well?”
“Hey. I have a contract here. If you think you are just going to dump me, you have another think coming. Especially over two fairies.” The man looked like he was going to explode.
Ever the bureaucrat’s bureaucrat, Mister Corbin said, “Thank you. With that statement you just solved a thorny problem for me. As of this second, you are on indefinite leave. Your final check will be forwarded to your home address. You will not be called back. You have your choice of quitting or to face a hearing. Good day.”
He turned to the two of us and asked, “Does that satisfy you?”
Kevin politely said, “Yes sir.”
I said, “yes sir, for now.”
Mister Corbin asked, “What do you mean, ‘for now’?”
“If he comes back it’s going to be like we never had this conversation. My dad sues.” I nodded my head in agreement with myself and Kevin sort of moaned.
Mister Corbin said something about my thinking like a lawyer already. Feldman stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. As my uncle Bob says when he’s trying to sound rustic, “Well, the buttered side of his bread just landed on the floor.”
“Perhaps you two should go to whatever class you have to go to.” Mister Corbin told me and we trooped out.
“Jesus, man. You can’t go around fighting people like that all the time.”
“Yes I can,” I told him. “I won’t back down from punks like him. I don’t have to. They leave me alone and I leave them alone or else.”
“You are something else.” he told me in an admiring tone of voice. “I could never buck heads with people like that.” There again was that something in his voice that somehow sounded off key.
By then we were in front of the history class so we went in and sat. Everyone turned and looked at us. I hate that when it happens. I don’t like to have special attention thrown my way unless it’s because I did an intercept, pinned the other dude’s shoulders to the mat or did something that was worth attention getting. But to be accused of being a homo was just bad. Then it’s just plain embarrassing. My mom will say something like, “Remember, Andy, ‘Sticks and stones…” If you’re not guilty, then it just doesn’t matter.” But she never understood about things like this.
My dad will always ask, “Did you get in a fight, over it son?” It doesn’t matter what “it” is, he’ll always ask in a reproving voice, did you get in a fight, son?” Then in the same breath, he’ll ask, “Did you lose?” Dad doesn’t believe in violence. But he doesn’t believe in losing even more so. To my dad there are “us winners” and then there are “all those other people.”
Anyway. We sat there and endured the stares. Then the ones who saw what happened between Feldman and me told about me laying one up the side of his head. And I went from being a suspected fag to being a hero. Kevin was a sort of unknown quantity and I was the only one he had anything to do with in school so far. So, since I was “way cool.” it was pretty much dropped and became a dead issue.
We went over to my house as soon as the last class let out and got in the old beater my dad let me have. It was almost an antique, actually. It was a forty-nine Ford Custom Convertible. Dad got it in part payment for keeping a guy out of prison that I felt should have gone for sure. I got the car with the understanding of no drinking, no sex in the car yakety yak yak. Since I was dating only one girl who put out regularly, that was a promise easy to keep. (We brought along a blanket.)
Again Kevin was impressed. Any way, he gave me directions to his place. It turned out to be a grubby old duplex. He shrugged apologetically and said, “Anyway, it’s clean on the inside. Come on in.”
Inside was clean. There were a few pictures on the wall and no other decorations, just furniture, cheap clean furniture. It looked like it was still waiting for someone to move in. He led me into his room. It was about half the size of mine. There was a bed, an easel and a wall covered with figure studies of men. He worked in all the same media I did, oils and acrylics and chalk and ink in every combination imaginable. His figures had a depth that mine didn’t, but I felt I had a better grasp of color.
You put two artists in a room, even teen artists, and they will critique whatever is present and compare it to their own work. His figures were great. “Hey,” I told him, “You’re no slouch yourself. How come only male studies? Women’s titties bother you?” I was grinning when I said it.
There was that fleeting something again in his expression and then it was gone. In an almost completely neutral voice, he said, “I never had anyone to model for me.”
“You mean all these are from life? You had real models? No way,” I scoffed and started counting the costs of the models. No matter how you looked at it, it was a whole lot of money to pay.
“Oh, I did most of these in Venice. You know, Muscle Beach. I just needed them to hold still for a few moments and I can do the rest from memory or on the fly.” That made it even more amazing.
From that day on either I was at his house, or more often he was at mine. We painted, shared techniques and I felt I had someone I could get close to. By the time school was out, he talked me into posing for a nude study for him. It was a frontal pose where I was stepping out of the shower. Because of the angle my unit was hidden by my right leg. It wasn’t erotic in any way. As it progressed, I saw it as representative of one of his best. Then he asked me one day not to look at it any more until he was finished. I thought he was being funny, but he really wanted it that way so I said okay.
It took two weeks almost exactly from first pose until it was done. “There.” he exclaimed and hung the cloth over it that hid it when he wasn’t there working on it. I had just gone online and was browsing eBay. I didn’t want anything. I was just sort of window-shopping. There’s so much great stuff to look at, even if you don’t want to buy.
“Andy,” Kevin said, “I have something to talk to you about.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “Something wrong?”
“Let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you. Then you decide whether something is wrong.” He headed toward the door and I followed. He directed us toward the schoolyard on the far side of the school. As soon as we were near the front entrance of the school I stopped.
“Okay, this is far enough. Tell me, what’s the big damn secret. Out with it, man.” I had a gut feeling that this was going to be what they call “heavy stuff.” I really wasn’t certain I wanted to hear what he was about to say.
“Andy, I’m in love with you.” There were tears in his eyes and I saw hope there, too. “I didn’t want this to happen. I fought against it. But I am gay and I love you.”
“Oh.” That’s all I could answer. I was dumbfounded. I mean, how else can you feel when somebody who was fast becoming a best friend says that he’s queer and that you are the object of his affections? “Jesus.” I exclaimed.
“I know this is awful fast, but I can’t keep it to myself and more, I just can’t.” I mean he looked like I imagine a deer looks when he stares at the headlights of a truck coming at him and he can’t move. He stood there, just frozen and defenseless.
“Aw man, Kevin. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. “Jesus Christ, man, what the hell?” I started to walk away.
“Is that it, then?” he asked my retreating back.
“Hell, I don’t know. I got to get by myself and think,” I turned and answered him. Then I just walked away and left him there. I was going to have to talk this over with Dad. I was in stuff way over my head. He usually had an answer for things that worked. I was mad a Kevin for leading me on and becoming my close friend and then dumping that heavy load on me. I was angry at something else, call it God or whatever that let stuff like this happen. I went home and straight to my room. Then I just sat.
“Dad,” I told him after dinner was over, “I have something real important to talk to you about.” I didn’t quite know what I was going to say to him, but I had to ask him to help me get my head on straight.
“What is it, Son Andy?” he asked in a half laughing way he gets some times with me.
“Well, can we go in your study and talk? I got to figure something out here.” When I asked to go with him to his study, he knew I was serious, real serious.
“Should I sit in?” Mom asked.
“Naw, Mom, thanks. This is more guy stuff,” I told her. I mean, how can you tell your mom that a good friend was gay and wanted to do you or something?
Mom nodded and Dad led me into his study, a guest bedroom that had been turned into a book lined office of sorts. Dad often worked there instead of going to work in his downtown office. “Okay now, Sport, what’s the earth shattering problem?”
“Kevin is gay and he says he is in love with me,” I told him flatly, looking at the floor. I didn’t know how to look him in the face when I said that.
“Oh.” Dad said. “Jesus Christ.” he said. Then, “Did … you … did he … er … uh, well, did you two do …?” This was the first time I ever saw my dad without words.
“You want to know if we had sex with each other?” I wanted advice and he wanted to know if I was a fag. He flinched at me putting it that harshly. “No we didn’t.
Look, Dad, he just told me about three hours ago and I don’t know what to do or to think. I’m confused.”
Dad looked relieved as I told him I hadn’t done anything with Kevin. “Sorry, Son, but this slapped me in the face and I jumped to conclusions. Sorry.
“I don’t know what to say. My gut feeling is to just don’t have anything further to do with him. It isn’t a situation where anyone can win. I think …”
The door bell chimed and in a moment Mom came in and said, “Andrew, The police are at the door at the door. They want to talk to you.”
I remember thinking, What else can happen to ruin my day?
Dad said, “Let’s see what the man wants.” I followed him out into the front hall.
“The man” turned out to be “the women.” They were both female and they were both cops, according to their badges.
“How may we help you?” my dad asked.
“Are you Andrew Phillips?” the older of the two asked. She looked to be in her thirties, no make up and no sense of humor. I nodded affirmative.
“We want to talk to you alone, in private.” She looked at Dad as she said this. I could almost see the steam rising inside him as he came to a boil. You do not enter Daniel Phillips’ home and start pushing, especially if you’re a cop.
“You will either speak to my son in my presence or you will leave my home,” His voice sounded like it would cut through steel.
“Well, how about if I take your son and we go down town and talk there?” Dad was not intimidated.
“How about you kiss my legal ass and get out of here right now? You are trespassing right now unless you can show me some legal documentation. You have a choice, put up or shut up.” Now I was watching “Mad Dog” Phillips, lawyer and scourge of all the cops he cross-examined.
“I would suggest you get a lawyer before you open your mouth again,” the older one said.
The younger one was about thirty and trying to be the hard ass cop too. She held the right thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. “You are this close to being arrested for interfering with a criminal investigation.”
Dad smiled and said, “I am a lawyer and you are this close to getting your doughnut fat asses sued off you in a court of law. Get out now.”
“Your lover Kevin just killed himself,” the older one gloated.
“That does it. I’m calling Judge Harmon,” Dad turned and said come on, son.”
“Wait, Dad,” I said. “When did he kill himself? I just talked to him this afternoon. What happened?”
“He climbed up the outside of the school and jumped from the roof. He made a bloody mess all over the sidewalk. He had a note implicating you. You caused your boyfriend to die.” She smirked at me. “Now, I want to search your room.”
“Out.” my dad said. “This has gone far enough. You will leave right now. I am calling the judge.”
The older one pulled her gun and pointed it at him. “You will stay right there until I tell you to move.”
Dad stopped, an evil, oh so evil grin on his face. “I promise you that you are going to become a welfare mom any day now. Your badge is going in my trophy case. I promise.”
Mom came walking into the hallway. “I called the police station and got the watch commander. He is coming out personally to investigate this. He says you two,” she pointed her finger at the two police officers, “Are way out of line and for you to holster your guns forthwith.” She nodded a little self-satisfied smile and walked back into the living room. The two didn’t holster their guns. They kept them pointed at us.
“Take us to your room.” the older one ordered. I looked at dad and he nodded once. I led the way. They almost shit when they saw the picture Kevin had done of me. It was tremendous.
The younger one started to touch the canvas and I grabbed her hand and jerked her away. “Don’t.” I yelled, “The oil is fresh.” She snickered and the older cop rapped me on the wrist with her gun barrel. It hurt and I almost responded.
Dad yelled, “Andy.” I stopped.
“You fool.” Dad yelled, “Put that stupid gun away. If I hadn’t yelled, you would be nursing a broken wrist or worse.” The female Serpico sneered and motioned us out into the living room.
Not more than ten minutes passed from the time Mom called the cops on the cops when the doorbell sounded. The younger cop jumped and her gun went off, missing us all. Mom screamed and Dad ran toward her and I slapped the gun out of the young cop’s grip. One of Mom’s vases was shattered into many pieces. “You all right?” Dad asked.
“Y-yes,” Mom answered, her face pale and her eyes wide open.
I answered the door and the round little man who entered was not anybody’s idea of what a police lieutenant should look like. “Anybody hurt, Dan?” he asked.
“They just shot a vase,” Dad answered.
The little guy looked up at the two soon to be ex-cops and said, “Go back to the station and turn your guns in. You both wait at home for a hearing date to be set.”
“Not good enough, Wally,” Dad said. “This goes to trial. I warned you about this stuff after the Grady trial last year. Well, this is going to cost the city a big chunk of change. Believe me, there will be no Christmas bonuses this year in Grinchville.”
The two cops left and Wally tried to reason with dad. But when Dad gets on his high horse, nobody moves him. Finally Wally started to leave.
“Uh sir, what happened? They said that Kevin killed himself. He was my friend. What happened?” I was still trying to get it through my head that Kevin had killed himself.
“Well, your friend, as you know was gay.”
Wally got that far when Dad said, “This is my only warning, don’t say anything you do not wish to back up in court.”
“Any way, your friend jumped off the roof of the school building and plummeted to his death. There was a note clutched in his hand that said he couldn’t live unless you were still in his life. That’s it.” He turned and left.
Well, Dad sued and won. The city appealed and counter sued and lost and Dad got a bigger judgment. But that’s what he does best. He sues and wins.
For me, the thing was that I still didn’t know what I would have done about being friends with Kevin. How can I be a friend with someone who wants to poke me in my backside or whatever? It’s just not something that seems all that appealing to me.
I guess I’d always be waiting for him to grope me or something.
But on the other hand, I liked him a lot until I found out.