Who Am I?
Chapter Four
When I woke up Sunday morning, I found myself nested up against Stuart's rounded butt. Stuart was either fast asleep or pretending to be asleep. My first inclination was to pull away, but I was beginning to feel so helpless, hopeless and alone in the world, that snuggling with Stuart was comforting to me. I had a morning woodie when I woke, but when I realized what was happening, I quickly lost it. If Stuart was playing possum, I wondered if he was disappointed that I lost my erection. I lay against Stuart for awhile, and finally pulled away and did my morning things. When I came out of the bathroom, freshly shaved and showered, Stuart was sitting up in bed.
He smiled at me and I smiled back. "You smell like a whore," he told me.
"It wasn't meant for you," I answered. "I'm trying to entice some gorgeous dame."
"Seriously," Stuart said. We haven't gone to church in ages. I'd like to go today to pray for your recovery, I'd really like it if you went with me."
Once again, I told Stuart the truth as I saw it, and I knew how hurt he was. "I don't know if I want to get cured, Stuart. I'm functioning in my profession; my income has not been impacted, and I'm straight. Think about it. I might meet Mrs. Right and have children. Wouldn't that be fantastic?"
Stuart looked crest fallen. "Yes," he said. "We've talked about adopting for years. I'm sorry now, that we never got past the talking stage. If we had kids together, you might want to stay with me." He started to get out of bed. He looked so sad, my heart went out to him. I nearly grabbed him to hug him. Nearly!
"I'll go to church with you," I said simply. It didn't seem to boost his spirits at all.
In the end I was glad I went with him. I didn't recall any of the ritual, but it came back to me as the service progressed. I wished that my personal memory would respond as well. After church, the two of us went to brunch and then we decided to take a long walk in Central Park. I wasn't sure at first where the park was, but as usual Stuart guided me. I was going to need his guidance for the foreseeable future, and notwithstanding my threats of leaving him, I knew I couldn't do that for quite a long time.
We found a park bench and watched a boys' soft ball game for a couple of hours. We talked to each other about everything. Stuart never tired of filling me in on my prior life. He always made sure to tell me about some of the good times we had enjoyed together. It was hard for me to imagine engaging in some of the sex acts he spoke about, but at least I wasn't gagging anymore when he spoke of such matters. I still had no desire to have sex with Stuart, but I knew that I would be devastated if I lost his friendship. The knowledge that I couldn't leave him for awhile was reinforced in my head.
Shit, it suddenly occurred to me, we never went looking for twin beds. Well OK, next weekend! I wondered if subconsciously, I didn't want to. For sure, Stuart didn't want to.
"What would you like for dinner?" Stuart suddenly asked me.
"Do you do all the cooking?" I asked. Stuart nodded.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really have to learn how to cook so that I can pitch in."
"I really don't mind," Stuart said. "Cooking is kind of my hobby. You don't have to learn."
"Nevertheless, I want you to teach me. Do you have any ideas for tonight? We can start our lessons immediately."
Stuart started to laugh and grabbed my hand. He dropped it just as suddenly, realizing that he had disobeyed my conditions. I wouldn't tell him, but I really didn't mind.
"We'll start easy," Stuart said. "I had planned on pork chops with baked sweet potato and applesauce tonight." Just to refresh your memory, it's one of your favorite dinners."
The next morning we were the first ones in Dr. Lundgren's office. He hadn't arrived yet, and when he did, he rushed into his office, looked at us, held up two fingers and said, "I'll be with you in two."
Five minutes later he called us into his office. "Sorry to be late," he said. "I was all dressed and ready to go to work, but my partner got frisky and seduced me back into bed." Stuart laughed, and I winced."
"Sorry," Lundgren said, addressing me, "I think of you as a gay man and you think of yourself as straight. I'll have to watch myself."
I was impatient with Dr. Lundgren's sexual escapades so I said, "About my MRI, Doc, what's the verdict?"
He looked first at me and then at Stuart, then back to me. I felt like strangling him. Finally he spoke. "I guess you did hit your head on the night table after all. You have a tiny blood clot in the portion of the brain that is associated with memory. We can dissolve the clot with a laser beam, but I don't know if your memory will be restored, and for certain, I don't know what will happen to your sexual orientation. But like I told you at your MRI, that part of the brain must also have something to do with determination of sexual orientation. Whether you revert to homosexuality or not, you have set my course in life for the foreseeable future. I am going to do research on that part of the brain, using straight and gay brains. Who knows? I may discover the genetic cause of homosexuality. But I digress. I'd like to operate on Wednesday."
Stuart grabbed my hand and smiled at me. I pulled away.
"What if I don't want to remove the clot? What if I want to remain straight?" I asked.
"I can understand how you feel," Lundgren said, "but that's not an option. It's too dangerous. The clot could come loose from the brain tissue, travel through your blood stream and through your heart. That could cause a stroke or worse, death."
Poor Stuart gasped.
"You say that you can't guarantee that my memory would be restored?" I asked.
"I have no way to tell if any of the memories of your former life will be restored. The only thing I know for sure is that the clot must be removed. It's a simple procedure. We'll drill two tiny holes in your cranium and insert a camera and a laser beam to melt the clot away. If I operate Wednesday, you can probably go home Thursday evening or Friday at the latest. I would urge you not to hesitate in removing this potential killer." Dr. Lundgren knew how to be graphic and get to the heart of the matter.
"Please," Stuart said, "do it."
"For your information," Dr. Lundgren said, "Stuart is your medical surrogate. We can get a court order and declare that you are not able to make your own decision in this matter, and the court can order the procedure."
I was truly conflicted about what to do, but the simple truth was that I had a blood clot in my brain and it was dangerous. I knew I had to have it out, and I nodded my assent. Stuart let out a sigh of relief and Lundgren said, "Good."
"Dr. Sharpe's internal examination is fresh and I can use it as a valid medical clearance for surgery." He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper.
"Here are instructions for neurosurgery," he said. Follow them, and get to the hospital no later than 7 AM on Wednesday morning. I'll see you in the surgery.
When we left the doctor's office, we took separate cabs to work. I told Ben that I would not be in the rest of the week, and would have to play the following week by ear. I cleaned up as many of my cases as I could, and turned the rest over to one of the associates. Before I left for the day, Ben hugged me and wished me well. He promised to come see me on Thursday morning because he didn't think it was wise to visit on the day of the operation.
Stuart arranged for Tuesday to Thursday off, with Friday a possibility. We both put in a full day trying to tie up loose strings. Stuart got home only five minutes before me. When he saw me, he forgot his promise. He wrapped his arms around me and started to sob. I let him.
"I'm going to be just fine," I told him.
"May I say something?" Stuart asked.
"Sure."
"I don't care what you are praying for, but I'm praying for you to come back to me and to fully share OUR bed again."
I still hoped that somehow I would remain straight, and move into the mainstream, but I couldn't say that to Stuart. "Che sera," I muttered, but then I added, "Stuart, straight or gay, I want to be your friend forever."
Stuart gave one heartbreaking sigh and ran out of the room.
He cried all evening and when we went to bed, he was still not himself. I couldn't help it. I broke our rules. I took him in my arms and literally rocked him to sleep. I was very careful not to let my cock touch any part of his body.
When Dr. Lundgren came out of the operating room, he went right to the waiting room to find Stuart. He put his hand on Stuart's shoulder and said, "The operation was routine and went just fine. Except for a tiny area of shaved hair, he's going to look like himself. They have taken him to ICU. The law permits only immediate family into the ICU, so I told them that you were his half brother, and you can visit him anytime. He was awake during the procedure and I am sure he can talk to you now."
"But Doctor," Stuart asked, "What about his memory and his sexual orientation?"
"It's too soon to tell. He's still foggy. Just be patient. We'll know something in a few hours."
Stuart ran to the ICU and found the nurse's station. He asked where I was. The nurse consulted my chart and asked, "Are you his brother Stuart?" Stuart nodded and the nurse winked. She obviously knew the score. She personally took him to my cubicle.
"He just dozed off," she said, "but you can sit at his bedside if you'd like."
"I'd like," Stuart said.
As the nurse left, she drew the curtain around the bed. Stuart kissed me on the forehead, and sat down in a chair beside my bed. He took my hand closest to him and squeezed it tightly. He wasn't exactly sure, but he thought that maybe he felt a slight squeeze back.
I continued to doze for over an hour. At times Stuart thought that I was going to awaken, but each time I would slip off into sleep again. It was Stuart who finally dozed off just as I awoke. We were still squeezing each other's hands.
I looked around me. The curtains were drawn around my bed, affording me and Stuart complete privacy. Stuart was squeezing my hand and his head was resting at the edge of the bed. He was completely asleep. I struggled to remember where I was and what brought me here. For sure I wasn't home. At home Stuart would be in the bed with me. With my free hand I began to stroke, Stuart's soft, silky blonde hair. Stuart stirred and woke up.
"What's up, stud?" I asked.
"Not much, super stud," Stuart answered. "I haven't been getting much lately."
"Well, we'll have to take care of that won't we?" I took Stuart's hand, which was squeezing mine, and I laid it on my crotch.
"Thank you God," Stuart sighed. "My honey's back."
As soon as Stuart got me home, he put me to bed and he lay down beside me. We were both naked now as in the old days, and Stuart began to fondle me. That first evening at home, I was not very mobile. I could only lie flat on my back and let Stuart do all the work. Stuart was happy to do so. He let his tongue explore the length of my body. He was in no hurry. He had all night. His tongue lingered, for as long as he could manage, on every inch of my flesh. It was Stuart and not me who finally could bear it no longer and he finally began to suckle my balls and he ran his tongue up and down my shaft. I could only moan and groan in pleasure as I got harder and harder.
"I know that I prevented you from doing this when I was sick?" I said. "I was crazier than I thought."
Stuart didn't bother to comment. He was too busy sucking my cock. His tongue caressed my head, and he licked up and down the shaft. My balls began to constrict, and Stuart withdrew. He covered my cock with a thick coat of goo, and sat himself down on it. He pushed down until my blessed thing was all the way up his ass. He bounced up and down until I came gushing inside of him. Most of the cum was subjected to gravity and oozed out of his ass. Stuart reached under himself, and scooped up some of the cum. He offered it to me, and I ate it.
I was not able to reciprocate at this time, but Stuart could care less. A few days later, I was able to totally satisfy him in every way. Now he was happy again, in and out of the bedroom.
One month later, I went to Dr. Lundgren's office for a follow up visit.
"There is something you need to know," I said.
"Sounds serious," Lundgren said.
"It probably is. It's a confession meant only for your ears. Nobody else must know. Agreed?"
He nodded.
"I'm not cured," I stated as simply as I could. "I can't remember my past life and I'm still straight." The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand to silence him.
"The day before surgery," I continued, "I was packing some stuff to take to the hospital. In a dresser drawer, buried under some personal junk, I found a journal. It was mine. I don't think Stuart knows about it. If he did, he would have urged me to read it to help me regain my memory. It spans the years from the day I met Stuart until just shortly before I lost my memory. I read it, and it made me see how much we meant to each other, how much I had loved him once. Finally I realized how devastated Stuart must be at the change in me. I was destroying his life. But more than that, the journal filled in gaps in my life that Stuart couldn't; like my feelings about my parents; like how lucky I was to have met Ben Gross; the fact that I had the hots for him, which would forever go unrequited, and stuff like that.
"When I woke up after surgery and saw Stuart sleeping on my bed, I was overwhelmed with love for him. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he was the best person, the only person I could share my life with. I vowed to have sex with him and live with him as a couple. Closeted gay men say that they can make love to a woman if they fantasize that they are with a man. Well, I fantasize that I am with a woman when Stuart and I make love. He's a fantastic lover and he can do things to me no woman would, but that still doesn't mean that I would rather be with him than a beautiful woman. The bottom line is that sex is only a small part of a relationship, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have as a companion in the journey through life, than Stuart."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Lundgren asked.
"Because I thought it would have a profound effect on your research."
"Yes, of course it would. I appreciate your telling me. Do you think you will ever tell Stuart?"
I shook my head. "I love him too much," I said. "I could never hurt him again."
Dr. Lundgren dropped his head as if it was hurtful to ask the next question. "Closeted gay men often cheat on their wives with other men. Have you cheated or do you think you will cheat with women?"
"In all honesty, Doc, I have already cheated once, and I know I will continue to cheat. In my defense, I keep Stuart happy in the bedroom. I know what he likes and I do it for him. I just pretend he's a beauty queen, whom I just crowned Miss America. We make each other happy just being together, and I don't feel guilty."
"Good luck, pulling it off ," Dr. Lundgren said.
As for Dr. Lundgren, his research kept running up against brick walls. He had plenty of volunteers who wanted to go straight, so to speak. No matter how he stimulated that section of the brain, the subject's sexual orientation remained the same. After ten or so years, he concluded that I was an anomaly, and he abandoned his research.
What has become of me? I grow fonder of Stuart every day. To use that corny old line, he completes me. There are even times, I don't have to fantasize that he's a woman to get it up for him. The anticipation of the way he is about to make me feel is erotic enough, and produces the desired effect. But maintaining the erection remains a problem. I have to resume fantasizing that I am with a woman, in order to continue our love making.
While Stuart more than satisfies my lust, I have three lovely, willing, female fuck buddies, who satisfy the emotional part of my sex life. None of them is aware that I live with a man, and I will hide that from them as long as I can.
Every day I ask myself if I can hide the truth from Stuart forever. Then one night, just a few days ago, as Stuart slept in my arms, I had an epiphany. Stuart is too smart to fool. Surely there is a difference in my passion, and in my ability to satisfy another man sexually, than when I was gay. Surely Stuart would be aware of the difference, no matter how subtle. I am convinced that Stuart is aware of the truth, and is willing to accept crumbs for my love and companionship. When I suspected that he knew the truth, my love for him became even deeper. I hugged him tighter to me, crying myself to sleep, knowing that I could never be the man he so desperately desired and deserved.
The End