Chapter Ten Cruising, dir. by William Friedkin #4
unlock from the inside with a simple turn of the handle, grateful that the bathrooms are right next to the entrance, that there seemed to be plenty of security and witnesses in the club.
“Okay?” The man stares down at him, his confusion obvious. It’s never not funny to Eli how cis people never have to consider
that something that should be as exciting and fun as sex is a potentially dangerous act for trans people.
“That’s not a problem, right?” Eli asks.
“Only if it is for you,” the stranger tells him, running his hand along Eli’s cheek; it’s such a tender expression, juxtaposed
with the heavy thudding in his chest.
“So, it’s okay that I have a vagina?”
“As long as you’ve got a hole for me to stick my cock in.” The man grabs his dick through his jumpsuit, showing off the length.
“Then I’m good.”
Romantic , Eli thinks, wetting his lips, his hands on the jumpsuit, ready to do what he’s been aching to do for months now.
But he can’t.
The stranger stands above him, his hands worming their way into Eli’s hair, almost as if he’s pleading with Eli silently to
finally grant him the release they’re both chasing.
“I...” Eli begins to say, his words lost.
“You okay?” the guy asks.
“No, yeah...” Eli says, nodding. “Actually, no. I’m not.”
The jolt of adrenaline that brought him to the bathroom in the first place is long gone, now replaced with a terrible cocktail made of embarrassment and self-loathing.
He wants this.
He wants to do this. He wants to taste this man, to hear the whispered curses because even if Eli wasn’t confident in any
of his abilities as they relate to the bedroom, he knows he can give a damn fine blowjob.
He wants that power, to hold this man in the palm of his hand as he takes in each and every inch of what a stranger he didn’t
know twenty minutes ago has to offer him.
But he can’t.
And the pee on the toilet seat he accidentally sat on certainly isn’t improving his mood. But he can’t recall ever feeling
worse about himself. He and Peter aren’t a couple; it doesn’t matter. The relationship that he shares with Peter isn’t real,
they aren’t dating.
And yet he still feels like an asshole for doing this. Like he’s somehow cheating.
How fucked is that? Eli asks himself, unable to keep a scoff from slipping out. “I’m sorry, dude... I can’t do this.”
“Oh, well... That’s okay.”
Eli feels an immediate relief that the man doesn’t act like he’s owed something.
“You can, uh... you can pull your jumpsuit back up now,” he says, averting his eyes from the thick sprout of pubes still
visible.
“Right, right.” The man does exactly that, doing his best to adjust his erection.
“I’m sorry,” Eli says.
“It’s okay.
“There’s just this guy, and I...” Eli doesn’t understand why the words slip out the way they do. It’s not like this complete
stranger cares about whatever it is that he’s battling.
“Oh, like a boyfriend?” the man asks, zipping the jumpsuit up finally, not that it makes his erection any less obvious.
“You don’t have to listen to me,” Eli says, shaking his head at the pure absurdity of the situation. “You can go or whatever.”
“No, it’s okay,” he tells Eli. “Besides, I, uh... kinda have to wait for this to go down.”
“Well...” Eli leans further onto the toilet, preparing himself in case he might have to throw up. “No, he’s not my boyfriend;
we weren’t even friends until weeks ago. But I’m helping him learn to date.”
“Oh, that seems...”
“Complicated?” Eli finishes for him. “Yeah.”
“You’ve got feelings for him?”
“No! God, no!” Eli says, a little too quickly for his own comfort. “Well, I... I don’t know.”
“You think these feelings you were faking might’ve become real?”
Eli knows it’s the truth; he’s known this for days now. Maybe he’s even known it since that first redo date with Peter, when
they kissed that first time.
But knowing the truth and admitting it to yourself are two entirely different things.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” the man says.
Eli shakes his head slowly. “Am I that easy to read?”
“I have to have something to show for those eight years of medical school,” he says. “You care about this dude?”
It’s such a simple question, and yet, the answer is even simpler. “Yeah, I do. He’s a good person, and I guess in another
world... I’d want to be his friend.” There’s something left unsaid, though. Even to Eli’s own ears, he can hear it.
“You could try telling him the truth.”
“Right,” Eli scoffs, the realization of just how ridiculous his current situation is dawning on him. “That’s so easy.”
“If you care about him, it should be,” the stranger says.
If only life were so simple. Eli could have his cake and eat it too.
“Thanks...” Eli sighs, standing. “I’m sorry again, for the, uh...”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” the guy says. “I’m probably going to jerk off the second you leave.”
“Oh, well...” Eli doesn’t really know how to respond to that. “Enjoy?”
“Thanks.”
“And if you haven’t, check out The Prowler , it’s a good slasher.”
“Right, yeah.” The man gives Eli an awkward nod.
Eli doesn’t whisper a farewell or wave goodbye to the guy. He just opens the door as carefully as he can, as if he’s afraid
of being seen in the bathroom with another person, then closes the door once he’s back in the hallway. A second later, the
click of the lock makes him smile briefly, and then remorse settles into his stomach like a rock.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He pushes his hair out of his face, pulling out his phone and sending a text to the apartment
group chat.
Eli: i’m going to head back home
Eli weaves his way through the people still filing in, growing more and more desperate to get out the closer he gets to the
door, his breathing becoming labored in a way that chills his throat, making it harder and harder for him to do anything at
all besides push costumed people out of his way in a frantic attempt to reach the door tucked under the bright red exit sign.
Eventually, he breaks through, stepping out into the cold night, the rush of air coming as a relief to his warmed cheeks, grateful for the sweater of his costume.
Eli takes his time, walking toward the bus stop down the block.
The bus arrives just in time, the doors hissing open.
Eli stands there, staring at the bright yellow rails and the blue plastic seats.
Then he steps away from the door, back toward the stop so the driver knows that they can continue along their route.
Maybe he doesn’t want to go home, not yet, at least. Of course, there’s really no walking all the way home; the bus ride alone took half an hour.
A walk will be nice, though.
So that’s what he decides on, tucking his cold hands into his pockets. But it’s pleasant enough out, despite the breeze. He
wishes that he knew what just happened, why the last twenty minutes feels like a total dream, why he feels like he needs to
tell Peter the truth even though there’s no reason for Peter to care about what Eli does with his free time. Or who he does.
It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not like any of it matters. In a few weeks, the article will be ready, it will be published, Peter
will be “fixed,” and Eli will have his staff job. They’ll both have the things that they want.
The problem, he realizes, is that he never asked himself what happens after.
“Fuck...” Eli whispers to himself.
He walks and he walks and he walks. He considers dipping into a bar to grab a drink, or a nearby diner to get dinner. He even
thinks about going into another club he walks by, the glowing red lights painting an image in Eli’s head that might just lead
to another bathroom rendezvous where he could fuck these feelings out of himself. He’s depressingly horny enough to consider
it for too long before he starts to feel sick again.
His eyes breeze past the still-open businesses until they start to peter out, Eli stumbling into a more residential area of
the neighborhood until he realizes that he’s just a few blocks away from Peter’s apartment.
And then he sees an all-too-familiar face.
Well, an all-too-familiar back of the head.
He isn’t sure at first, as he stops in front of a laundromat, but there’s no mistaking those expansive shoulders and the way
they slump forward. He considers walking away, finding the next bus stop. Peter’s busy, reading a book with a bright orange
cover while waiting for his laundry to finish.
But there’s that pull, that urge. He wants to be around Peter.
And oh boy, does that feel so incredibly dangerous.
Eli walks around the corner, finding the open door, sliding right onto the bench that Peter’s sitting on without much effort
at all.
“Come here often?” Eli asks, trying to tease Peter.
“God!” Peter jumps, his book flopping to the floor with the cover on display. Eli doesn’t look at it, not directly, but from
the cover alone, he can tell it’s one of Peter’s hidden romance novels. “Eli! Holy crap... you scared me.”
“I can tell.”
“What are you even doing here?” Peter asks, snatching up the book and hiding it in his empty laundry bag.
“I was out with my roommates, but... I wasn’t feeling it. So, I left the club to take a walk.”
“Oh... where’d you go?”
“Mulholland Drive. They were doing a Halloween thing, as you can tell.” Eli motions to his costume.
“Are you... dressed as someone?”
“Freddy Krueger? Hello?”
“Who’s that?”
“You really haven’t seen any movies, have you?”
“Guess not.”
“It’s okay,” Eli promises. “Most of the Nightmare movies aren’t that great. You’re not missing out on much.”
“Huh.”
“I’d ask what you’re doing here,” Eli says, relaxing into the pretty uncomfortable bench, “but I guess it’s obvious. Unless you’re some kind of weirdo who gets off on camping out in laundromats.”
“Yeah... right.” Peter forces a laugh.
And Eli can’t help but recognize that something is different; something’s changed. Maybe that’s fair, considering it’s been
a week since they had a real conversation.