Chapter 7 TruthBare
Matt had dismissed the whole anonymous-note-in-mailbox bit as more of William’s theatrical flair—wondering momentarily if the note was more James Bond, less Michael Corleone. Otherwise, he had given it no more thought—even during the long drive to the south side of Oklahoma City.
Until he walked into this atrium. Matt had never been in a hotel this fancy.
He felt underdressed in his jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers.
He had assumed the hotel would be a dump, considering that they were all just college kids with college kid incomes, i.e.
zero. He had assumed dress would be casual since—college kids, again—and that whole bit that he had already been naked with the president/Godmother.
He had assumed a lot of things that were proving to be wrong.
Maybe he was in over his head. Maybe he should just leave.
William sidled up beside him, seemingly appearing from thin air, more likely having been watching from behind a fern. He wore slacks and a polo shirt.
Matt was surprised William hadn’t gone for the tuxedoed look, which befitted both Bond and Corleone.
“Matthew, dahling,” William said. His eyes smiled, but his mouth seemed drawn.
Matt’s heart raced. His face flushed. This was the first time he had seen William since their hookup, since Matt had jizzed onto William’s chest and face, since William had jizzed into his ass
What exactly was the proper greeting when meeting someone with whom one had exchanged jizz? Handshake? Hug?
“Ready?” William asked. He motioned Matt towards an elevator, pushed the call button. While they were waiting, William reached out and discreetly touched Matt’s arm.
“I’m sorry if I seem distracted. Something happened that has me concerned. Don’t worry. It doesn’t involve you. At least not yet.”
The elevator doors dinged open. They rode up to the fourth floor in silence.
Matt’s mind looped on that word “yet.” He wondered if this interview was somehow jinxed by the fact that it was occurring exactly four months after the Murrah Building bombing.
People in the city still drove with their headlights permanently on, signaling their empathy for the families of the 168 people who had been killed.
William and Matt walked along the atrium-facing corridor and stopped at #421.
William ushered Matt into a suite with a living area and a separate bedroom.
Matt was not surprised to see five guys seated in the living area. He had expected two more based on William’s statement that there were eight members of the group.
What surprised him, what he found unnerving, was that these guys wore children’s cartoon masks (the kind with a hard plastic face with holes for the wearer’s eyes, nose, and mouth and a thin elastic band to hold the mask in place).
The characters staring at Matt seemed to be of the Disney variety: a rodent (mouse or rat wasn’t clear), a pirate, a princess, a lion, and a clown.
Clowns creeped Matt out, always had with their leering smiles. This clown seemed to have chosen circus footwear as well: he wore bright blue high tops. On a positive note: these guys were dressed casually (three wore shorts), so there was that.
William motioned for Matt to sit in a chair facing the cartoon squad.
Matt obeyed. He looked around nervously. This living area alone was bigger than any motel room he’d been in, and those had been crammed with two queen beds—one for his parents and one for him and his brother.
“Okay guys, this is Matthew,” William said. “Matthew, I’d introduce you to the guys, but can’t reveal names to non-members. So, if you need to address them, just refer to them by their respective character: Mouse, Pirate, Princess, Lion, or Clown. You already know my name.”
William paused for breath, then looked at Matt. “Ever play Truth or Dare?”
Matt nodded.
“Then you know the basic rules, although we call this game Truth or Bare. The ‘truth’ part is the same. If you choose ‘bare,’ you must remove one item of clothing.”
Matt couldn’t help smiling. Leave it to the GM to invent a game that involved nudity.
William held up his forefinger. “Rule #1: You can’t choose ‘truth’ more than twice in a row. Third time must be ‘bare.’ Then you can pick two more ‘truths,’ if you want.”
Matt nodded. The game didn’t just involve nudity, it was rigged towards it.
“Second,” William said, holding up his middle finger. “No asking the guys any question that might help you identify them.”
“No problem,” Matt said.
“Third.” William held up his ring finger. “Each round will go like this: Mouse will go first, asking you ‘Truth or Bare.’ You make your choice, go from there. Then you get to ask Mouse ‘Truth or Bare.’ Then it will be Pirate’s turn. Then Princess, et cetera. Got it?”
Matt gave a thumbs-up, which seemed appropriate given that William had three fingers in the air.
Matt did quick calculations in his head.
Each round, he would be called on six times and would have to remove a minimum of two articles of clothing, while each member of the GM would only be called on once.
There was no way this would end without his being starkers while everyone else would still be half dressed.
He hoped that when it came William’s turn, William would choose “truth.” He already knew what he would ask him.
“Truth or Bare?” Mouse asked.
“Bare.” Matt didn’t wait to be prompted. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. This hotel intimidated him. These masks spooked him. Stripping in front of strangers? No problem. He’d been undressing in locker rooms since middle school.
Matt asked the same question of Mouse: “Truth or Bare?”
Mouse chose “truth,” so Matt lobbed him a softball question, asking him what was his favorite TV show?
“Friends.”
It was Pirate’s turn. Matt chose “truth.”
“What is something you’ve done that you deeply regret?” Pirate asked.
Matt was surprised. He had expected a few easy warmup questions. Obviously, he regretted ever meeting the youth pastor. But he was the victim. Those memories triggered thoughts of something that he did regret, something he’d never spoken of.
“You have to answer the question, dahling,” William said. “That’s how the game is played.” His voice had a subtle edge, as if part of him was still distracted by the news he had received earlier.
Matt sighed. “A few years ago, we…my family… had to move to a new city. …A new school. …I was thirteen.”
He paused, looking at the cartoon faces staring back at him. “There was this squirrelly kid in school named Spencer. Short. Skinny. Not just poor, but what my mom called ‘hardscrabble poor.’”
Matt’s mind conjured Spencer as he had been. Teeth too big for his small mouth. Brittle, dishwater gray hair. A runt of a kid trapped in the Thunderdome that was middle school, where violence stalked the halls, where blood sport lurked in the shadows.
Matt scratched his arm nervously. The room was so quiet, he could hear people’s muffled voices from the corridor. Memories crowded his mind, pulling him back to 1990—a year he did not like to revisit.
“Spencer befriended me while everyone else sat on the sidelines, waiting to see what the popular kids would do.”
Matt’s eyes misted. He blinked back tears. “Spencer was the first, and last, person I told that I was gay. He was cool about it.”
Matt’s voice trailed off. He shivered. “Can I get a do-over and choose ‘bare’ instead?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
William shook his head. So did the creepy clown in his creepy blue high tops.
What self-respecting gay paired high tops with shorts?
It was frustrating to Matt because the shoes kept catching his attention, drawing his gaze to Clown’s deliciously downy legs.
Then, as his eyes travelled up the body, he’d be jarred by that damn mask.
William coughed discreetly, signaling for Matt to continue.
“One day in the hall a couple of the popular guys started picking on Spencer, calling him a faggot,” Matt said. “I had been talking with him, but I shrank back into the crowd.”
Matt could still remember his fear that the bullies might discern his gay guilt just by his association with Spencer, the presumed faggot.
“I stood by while they shoved him around,” Matt whispered.”
“…I even joined in the laughter.”
The cartoon squad stared back at Matt, their plastic smiles frozen in what felt like judgment.
Finally, William broke the silence. “Thank you for sharing that, Matthew. I do not mean to imply that your behavior was acceptable, but I think I speak for all of us when I say that we know the brutal food chain of middle school. You are either predator or prey, most of the time both.”
The cartoon squad all nodded.
William continued. “It took courage to share that story. To show our appreciation—or should I say solidarity—we will each remove our shirts now.”
Matt watched this mini striptease, which at times was almost comical as the guys struggled to keep their masks in place.
He appraised each guy’s chest. Pirate’s was the best: he had a lean build with sculpted pecs and stunning washboard abs.
Lion was a bulkier kind of beautiful, with a boxer’s body.
Mouse and Princess were slim and boyish, their pecs undefined, their nipples small.
Matt avoided looking at Clown. And he had already seen William’s chest, which was the only one that could be described as hairy.
The game resumed.
Matt chose “bare” twice in a row (in response to Princess and Lion) just to avoid another probing question. He set his shoes to the side, one at a time.
Clown asked him “Truth or Bare?”
Matt chose ‘truth’, and was asked what, if anything, he’d ever done with a girl?
“I went out with a couple of girls in high school—briefly,” Matt said. “You know, trying to be straight. I took one to Prom. Physically, though, the most I ever did was kissing closed mouth.”
Eventually, it was Matt’s turn to ask William “Truth or Bare?”
William chose “truth.”