Who Am I?

Who Am I?

Chapter One

Here's how things stand! I am a forty-six year old male. I know my name is Harry Goodwin and I am an American citizen. I live at 1016 E. 62 Street, New York, NY. That's all I know, and I know this infinitesimal bit of information from rummaging through my wallet. Most of the information was gleaned from my driver's license and my voter's registration card. That's it. That's all I know. I cannot remember a single day of my life before waking up this morning. It is now 2 PM so let me fill you in on what has happened to me so far this extraordinary day.

I woke up this morning and it was still dark. My head felt fuzzy and I didn't know where I was. I glanced over to my left where I could see a dim light. The light was coming from a clock radio which read 5:28. I assumed it was AM. I panicked. Where was I? Whose bed was I in? I didn't know. I swear! I jumped out of bed and realized that I was totally naked. I scrambled for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Shit! There was another man sleeping on the other side of the bed. I had thrown the covers off when I bounded out of bed, and I could see that the other guy was naked also. I quickly grabbed for a bathrobe lying on a chair near the bed and I put it on.

The other guy stirred. I froze. What else could I do? I didn't know where I was, where I could get clothes, where I could go, or who the guy was that I was sleeping with. As certain as I was that I didn't know a fucking thing about anything, there was one thing I was sure of. I am not gay, and I was clearly in bed with another guy, and we were both naked to boot. I just stood there frozen in time and space.

The other guy sat up, looked around, rubbed his eyes, looked at me, and in a very concerned voice asked, "Harry, what's wrong? It's the middle of the night."

I wanted to yell, "What's wrong? Are you a fucking idiot? Can't you tell that I was born five minutes ago?" But I continued to just stand there and stare at him. Finally he got out of bed and started to approach me. He extended his arms as if to embrace me and I shrunk back. For Pete's sake, the guy had a morning woodie the size of a cannon. I was not about to allow this queer to touch me.

I turned away from him and the guy looked horrified.

"Harry baby, please tell me what's wrong."

The fucking faggot called me baby. I wanted to get out of there quickly, but where should I go? I didn't even know if I was in the United States, although I suspected I was.

"Harry you're scaring me," the man said. "Please, what's wrong?"

We could have gone back and forth like this forever, so I finally decided to lay it on the line. Naked men didn't exactly pose a threat to me, and he seemed harmless enough. Besides, there was nobody else around to help me. I needed to sit down, but I was not about to sit on the bed, lest he think it was an invitation. The chair where I had retrieved the bath robe was right at hand and I plopped down on it. I sighed deeply, but that was all. I still hadn't said a word to the pleading man.

He clasped his hands together. "Harry sweetie," he said, "I'm begging you. Please talk to me." I didn't want him close to me. I was afraid he would make a move on me so I pointed to the bed, and he sat down on the edge. He stared intently into my eyes. I actually felt sorry for the poor guy. I began to think he was concerned for me, and if he was, how did this happen? I was convinced I was not gay. I purposely examined his naked body. It did nothing to me. Hey, maybe he was my brother. I looked at him and there was not one bit of resemblance. I am tall and dark. He was medium height and very fair. His eyes are blue and mine are dark brown. We surely did not look like brothers.

"Harry, if you don't talk to me, I'll go crazy," he pleaded. I took a deep breath and wondered how I could explain all this to him when I couldn't explain it to myself. "Please," he begged yet again.

I opened my mouth to speak and the guy looked at me expectantly. I just didn't know how to explain my dilemma so instead of an explanation, I asked, "Who are you?'

Now it was his turn to be speechless. He just stared at me for a long while until finally he asked, "Are you serious? If this is your idea of a joke, shut the light. I'm going back to sleep."

"No, please hear me out," I almost screamed it. "I'm deadly serious. I woke up a short while ago, and I don't know who I am, where I am, or who you are. I don't remember one single thing prior to waking up this morning. I swear it's the truth."

He looked at me like I was crazy, which I probably was. He reached over to the bedside table on the side I had been sleeping on and picked something up. He threw it at me. It was a wallet. Was it mine?"

"Here's your wallet," he said "and I absolutely do not appreciate this vaudeville routine."

"It's the truth," I mumbled. "Do you think you could put some clothes on, please?"

He looked at me in disbelief, but he got up and put on a pair of gym shorts. We were both silent while I examined the contents of the wallet. So now I knew who I was and probably where I was. I looked at him, and trying to be as serious as I could be, I asked, "Who are you to me? Are we related?"

"You're really serious aren't you?" he asked. He went over to the dresser and retrieved a picture in a simple frame. "Look," he said, and sat back down on the bed.

In the picture, two young men are standing with their arms around each other's shoulders. In the background there is plenty of water and many ships. The two young men are obviously the two of us, but much, much younger. I realized that I had known this man in the life I couldn't remember. More than that; we were obviously very good friends. I looked at him quizzically. He realized that I needed an explanation.

"The picture was taken more than fifteen years ago in Key West."

"Did we vacation there?" I asked.

"Yes, we went down there to perform a commitment ceremony. Surely, you haven't forgotten that. It was the happiest day of my life. You must remember," he said sadly. "If you're pulling some sort of sick joke on me, Harry, I'll never forgive you."

The poor man looked so forlorn that I forgot he was queer. I got up and sat beside him on the bed. I actually leaned into him for comfort. I was more scared than he was.

"What's your name?" I asked. He didn't answer; he just stared at me. His silence was killing me. I really needed to know. "Please," I was begging now. "Tell me your name."

He put his arm around my shoulder, but I pulled away. I could see how that saddened him. "My name is Stuart Carpenter. I am your life partner. We have been together a very long time. This September we will celebrate our twentieth anniversary. I am an architect and you are a lawyer. You graduated from NYU Law. I was your only guest at your graduation ceremony. Your folks disowned you when they walked in on us one day while I was fucking you. You worked part time, and I helped you through law school. Please try to remember something."

"I am not gay, I tell you. Why do you keep telling me that I'm gay? I would never let a guy fuck me. Where are my folks? I need to straighten that out with them too."

Now anger consumed Stuart's face. Well if you aren't gay, how is it that I have cum hundreds of times in your mouth and in your ass and you have done the same to me? To my knowledge you have never slept with a woman in your life. But I happen to be aware of an affair or two you've had with other men. I looked the other way and I never cared, as long as you were careful and came home to sleep in OUR bed. And oh yes, your parents are dead."

I tried to feel remorse, but I didn't remember my parents. I had no history to recall, so I was cold to Stuart's announcement. Anyway, I was concentrating on his accusations of sodomy. Of course, I didn't believe him.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You seem like a really nice guy and I don't mean to upset you, but I need to get out of here. I don't want to have to bust your nose if you act out of line." Even as I said that, I regretted it.

"You are an absolute, utter, fucking jerk!" Stuart yelled. ""You live here. This is your home. Where would you go? To a hotel? Stay here and get some sleep. To make you happy I'll sleep on the sofa and you can lock the bedroom door. In the morning I'll make us breakfast and then I'm taking you to the doctor. If she's too busy to see us, I'll take you to the emergency room."

He was really insistent so I gave in to his demands. As soon as he left, I did indeed lock the door. I wasn't sleepy and I began to examine my surroundings. It was very obvious that the room was inhabited by two men. The adjoining bathroom was filled with only men's toiletries, including lots of tubes of lubricant. There was a queen size bed and I already knew which side Stuart slept on. I concluded that whoever did this to me had thrown me down on the other side of the bed. I wondered what happened to Stuart's lover. Maybe he was the one who did this to me. Maybe he and Stuart were in on a plan to extort money from me. If so, how could they get anything from me? I could not remember a blessed thing, especially not any of my PIN numbers. Did I have any assets worth extorting? Nothing made sense.

Next, I examined the closets. There were two walk-in closets in the room. One of them was obviously Stuart's. The clothing size was definitely his. The other closet contained clothing which would most certainly fit me. The idea of a massive plot was slowly giving way to the possibility of amnesia, but I resolved to remain vigilant. There was always the possibility that I was a dead ringer for Stuart's real partner. Even if I was, what would be the motive for any such conspiracy?

I needed to speak to Stuart. I wanted to know what went on before we went to bed. I shuddered at the thought of climbing into his bed naked and of him being naked as well. I consoled myself by convincing myself that whoever did this to me stripped me after I was put in the bed.

I unlocked the bedroom door and went to look for Stuart. I was unfamiliar with the town house, but I figured that the living room was downstairs. I found Stuart sitting on the couch. He was still in his gym shorts. He had his head buried in his hands and he was sobbing. Fags, I thought, they cry about everything. I felt sorry for him and started to put my arms around his shoulder, but I stopped short. What if he figured I wanted to have sex with him? Nosiree!

I shook his shoulder instead and he looked up at me. "I need to ask you some questions," I said. "I need to try to make sense of everything." He took his hands away from his face and nodded at me.

"Were we together before we went to bed last night?" I started.

He didn't speak he just nodded his head.

"Did anything happen? Did I bump my head or anything?"

Stuart started to laugh. That surprised me. "You really don't remember?" he asked. I shook my head. "Well," he continued, "you were fucking the life out of me. I guess we pretty much started out in the middle of the bed, but the action moved us to one side. When you finally rolled off of me, you must have thought you had plenty of room on the bed, but you rolled off onto the floor. I could swear you hit your head on the bedside table. When I asked you about it, you said the only thing you hit was your dignity, which I took to mean your ass. You said you were fine, but I still think you hit the table."

I felt all over my head for a telltale bump, but I couldn't discover any. In fact, nothing hurt me at all. I had no evidence on my body that I had fallen at all. Again I got suspicious of Stuart's motives. What if he was making the whole story up to give credence to my amnesia theory, when maybe he had actually drugged me? I was growing more miserable by the minute. I glanced down at Stuart. His eyes were pleading silently with me. I guessed they were pleading for me to remember him. He stood up and said he would be right back. I didn't trust him, so I followed him. He went into a small room which appeared to be a library/den/office. It was actually a guest bedroom which had been converted. On one of the bookshelves he pulled out two of six picture albums. I followed him back to the living room and he motioned for me to sit next to him on the couch. I did so reluctantly. His near naked thigh touched mine and I pulled

away. Touching another man so intimately revolted me.

For the next fifteen minutes he showed me pictures of us taken over the years. Some were taken at special events and some were taken on vacation trips. I could see myself and Stuart at different stages and different ages in our lives. Stuart told me little anecdotes about each picture, and he pointed out OUR friends. He told me which ones WE were still close with, and which ones had strayed from OUR lives. I know he was trying hard, but I didn't recognize anyone, especially Stuart himself. Furthermore, I could not relate in any way to his references to we and our.

He pointed to a picture and said, "This one was taken the night we made love for the first time. God, I can still remember how wonderful your cock felt in my mouth, and later when you put it up my ass I almost fainted with joy. Surely you can't have forgotten that sweetheart." I got a visual image of what he was saying, and wanted to vomit. How disgusting, I thought. There was no way I had ever done anything like that.

When we had gone through the two albums, Stuart wanted to get the others, but I wouldn't let him. I had seen enough and was getting more certain that I was suffering from amnesia. Stuart suggested that we shower and dress. He said that he would make us breakfast and by that time he could call the doctor's office.

We went back to the bedroom and Stuart stripped. I stood pat. "Aren't you going to shower with me?" he asked. "We always take our morning shower together."

"Not on your fagging life," I answered cruelly. Stuart cringed and went into the bathroom to do his morning things and take his shower. When he was finished, he came out wrapped in a towel and said to me, "Everything on the right hand side of the counter top belongs to you." I could see how hurt he was. Well fuck, whatever had happened to me was not my fault.

When I finished everything I had to do, I came out of the bathroom and was relieved to see that Stuart was not in the room. I went through the drawers he said were mine, and put on underwear, socks and a shirt. I chose a pair of trousers in the closet, and an appropriate pair of shoes in the shoe rack. I admired myself in the mirror and thought that I looked pretty damned dapper.

I went down the stairs and followed the smell of bacon and eggs into the kitchen. Stuart was at the stove, and when he heard me, he turned to look at me. His eyes were puffy, swollen and red. Still there was no mistaking what a handsome man he is. Nevertheless, I could not picture myself giving him a blow job or letting him fuck me, without wanting to barf. That goes for visa versa also.

I sat down at the table, and Stuart served me breakfast. I consumed three cups of black coffee, believing somehow it would cure me of this terrible hangover. We ate breakfast in near silence. I helped clean up and load the dishwasher and when we were squared away I thanked Stuart for making such a fine breakfast.

Instead of the expected `you're welcome,' he said, "I make breakfast every morning." Then after more silence he said, "It will be at least one more hour before I can call the doctor. Is there anything else I can tell you about your life?"

"Yes," I answered, "everything!"

We were comfortably seated at the kitchen table. Stuart poured another cup of coffee for both of us. I noticed that neither of us used sugar or milk. He took a sip and began his narrative:

"I met you on orientation day at CCNY. We ended up sitting next to each other in the auditorium. I glanced up at you when you sat down, and my heart literally skipped a beat. I thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I got an instant erection."

I got really nasty. "Please skip all the sex shit. It isn't helping me and it's turning my stomach." Again Stuart looked like I had slapped him on his face, but he continued.

"I was sure you were straight, so after I said hi, I tried to pay no further attention to you. Imagine my delight when you extended your hand and introduced yourself. After the session, we stood around talking and then went to lunch together. We didn't have any classes together, but we would run into each other in the cafeteria, and occasionally eat together. That was it. Since it was a city school, all the students lived at home, so there wasn't too much after school socializing unless a strong friendship was made.

"One Saturday night, during the second semester of freshman year, I was with some friends in a gay bar in Greenwich Village, and you walked in. You were alone and I almost screamed out loud at you, but I controlled myself. I walked up to you and when you saw me, you smiled the broadest smile I have ever seen. Then you did something that took my breath away. You grabbed me and kissed me. You told me that you had the hots for me since orientation, but you never said anything because you thought I was straight. I told you that was my story too.

"We hung out together at the bar all evening. You kept rubbing your erection against mine and kissing me between sips. One of my friends had a camera with him and he took the picture I showed you before. My folks had a wedding in Buffalo, and they had gone there for the weekend, so you came home with me. We made love all night. You may have forgotten, my love, but I never will."

"It's impossible," I interrupted Stuart. "I could never have sex with a man, not in a million years, not even if we were stranded alone on a desert island. Why are you lying to me?"

By now Stuart was completely defeated. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Harry, I swear I am not lying."

"Then how come when I think about having sex, I fantasize a voluptuous blond lying beneath me and my cock buried deep in her cunt? Explain that to me, gay boy!"

Stuart didn't bother to answer. Instead he resumed his narrative.

"I had a gay friend, a former fuck buddy, who didn't go to college. He snared a position in Bloomingdale's executive training program, and rented an efficiency apartment in the Village. He let us use his apartment anytime we wanted to, except we had to have a three way with him whenever he was home. Neither of us seemed to mind that at all. Those were fun days Harry. We didn't have a care in the world until a few days before graduation.

"Your folks had tickets to a Broadway musical, and we went to your house to make love. It turned out that the star of the show became sick and they didn't want to see the understudy. They were able to exchange their tickets for a future performance. They came home early and when they saw what was going on, they kicked us both out of the house. You gathered a few belongings and came home with me. I came out to my folks that night, and told them that you had been disowned. I guess they were a lot more tolerant than your folks because, they took you in. They also said that they had figured out about our relationship a long time ago.

"After graduation, I got a job with a prestigious architectural firm and you started law school at Columbia, which I paid for by the way. I'm a junior partner now, and you are a senior partner in your law firm, which you started right out of school with one of your classmates. We bought this town house shortly after law school graduation. We have lived here like any other married couple for all these years. We are both too busy to do a lot of travelling, but we try to get away at least once a year. Everything was normal until this morning. In fact, last night we watched TV for awhile and then went to bed. We had a wonderful love making session. You fell out of bed, but seemed to be alright. After we cleaned ourselves up, we both fell asleep and you know what happened this morning. You do remember, don't you?"

Of course I did, and I nodded my head.

Stuart looked at his watch and excused himself to telephone the doctor. I had no objection to that. He had a long conversation with the doctor's receptionist and when he was off the phone he said, "Dr. Sharpe will squeeze us in at 3 PM today. I'm going to call my office and call in sick. You should do the same."

But I didn't know my office number or anything else about my work environment, so I asked Stuart to do it for me. The receptionist at my office seemed well acquainted with Stuart. He told her that I was very ill and couldn't make it in today. She left a message for me to get better quickly.

Then he called his office and when he was done he sat back down at the kitchen table. He kept staring at me with such concern and with such puppy dog eyes that I started to cry.

"I would like to put my arms around you and comfort you," he whispered, "but I know you won't let me."

"It's OK," I answered. "Just let me be."

"We usually do The Times crossword puzzle together before we go to work every morning," Stuart said. We have to kill all morning so would you like to do it with me?"

"That's a great idea," I answered. "Maybe that will help me to evaluate how much more I have lost besides my personal memory. Would you do me a favor before we start," I asked. "Could you please get fully dressed?" I was still nervous about being with a near naked man outside of a gym. He jumped up, ran to the bedroom and returned shortly, dressed much like I was. A lot of the puffiness around his eyes was gone now, and he began to look like an ad in GQ. Don't misunderstand. I admired his good looks, but had no sexual feeling for him at all. I was also beginning to appreciate his kindness and understanding. Someone less sensitive might have said fuck you and gone off to work.

Suddenly a light went on. I realized that he was being this kind and understanding because he truly loved me, and he was concerned for what had happened to me, to us. That confused me even more. How could two people of the same sex love each other? Revolting as it was to me, I could almost understand having sex together, but I couldn't buy loving each other. It was just too weird.

Stuart pulled his chair around so we were sitting on the same side of the table. This time I didn't mind at all, even when occasionally our thighs touched. This time we were both wearing trousers.

"The puzzles get harder from Monday to Saturday. Today is Tuesday. Our best time for a Tuesday is 26 minutes. Let's try to break the record," he said. We smiled at each other. He gave me a pencil and he took one himself. Stuart glanced at his watch and jotted the time down in the margin of the newspaper.

"Let's go," he said.

Immediately I blurted out, "one across is `aver.' " Before the words were out of me I wrote the word into the puzzle. We didn't break the record that day, but we did complete it in 29 minutes. We high fived each other, and Stuart made a suggestion.

"Would you like to take a walk? It's a beautiful day, and maybe seeing the neighborhood where you live, might jar some memories." It seemed like a good idea, but it turned out not to be so good for Stuart. As we walked in the street, I commented on every female wiggly ass that passed by, and how I would love to squeeze it. When a nubile young man passed by, Stuart tried to get me to show interest in his bubble butt. I'm afraid he was fighting windmills.

We walked around all morning and the balmy air really felt good. We happened upon a quaint outdoor cafe, and Stuart recommended it as a great place to have lunch. When the waiter handed us menus, I reluctantly admitted to Stuart that I didn't know what I liked. The dear man ordered for me, and everything was delicious.

After lunch we went back to OUR apartment to wait until it was time for my doctor's appointment.

This is where I began my narrative and so you are now up to snuff with my dilemma.

To be continued....