The Bones Beneath My Skin

HE REGRETTED it almost immediately.

Alex was waiting on the porch, watching for the truck.

He had dressed. Jeans and flannel again, which—thank god. Nate didn’t need distractions. Yes, Alex was… attractive. But Nate didn’t want to think that. Especially since so much was unknown. Everything, really. Add in the fact that Alex was more likely to murder him than look at him in any way other than a nuisance. Times, oh they were a-changing, but Nate had been the subject of smear-the-queer a handful of times by guys that looked just like Alex. They’d stand outside the gay bars in DC and shout shit at the queens who blew air kisses at them defiantly. They were aggressive, and everyone knew you couldn’t leave alone. You had a buddy. A system. You carried Mace. You wanted to live your life the way those that had come before had fought for, but you had to be careful. There were people out there who wanted to hurt what they didn’t understand.

He’d never been hit, per se, never been attacked. Not physically. But he’d been in the Pride Parade last year along with thousands of others. He’d been in Freedom Plaza for the street festival. He’d seen the men and women with their Bibles, their faces red, screaming about Sodom and Gomorrah, about how the faggots and the dykes were bringing about the End Times, that God himself found them to be a sin, a blasphemy against nature. He’d seen the cops in their uniforms turning an indifferent eye. He’d seen men in military uniforms looking upon them with disdain, even as some of their brothers and sisters marched, knowing that with the newly passed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, they could be discharged, even though it was technically supposed to protect them to an extent.