Excerpts from Different Voices

Selected excerpts from: DIFFERENT VOICES
A Different Voice and Other Stories
Fiction by Walter Febick

From A Different Voice:
He put on another tape, a mellow one this time, asked if I wanted to smoke a joint. I told him no, but he took out a joint anyway and lit up. I realized he was somebody who might be used to getting his own way, getting what he wanted when he wanted it, handing me the joint with a spoiled and cynical expectation, as if I would not refuse. I held up my hand and pushed back the smoking rolled paper, letting him know I wasn't going to go along with his assumption, getting some satisfaction from his annoyed expression.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing. Guess I'll be leaving."
"Wait. Don't you want to tell me the story of your life?"
"Why?"
"Because that's the kind of crap that people usually talk about after . . ."
"After they've done what we've done?"
"Well, yeah."
"There's not much to tell. And what there is you'd probably laugh at anyway."
"How do you know?"
"I can just tell."
"Well, do you want to hear mine?"
"Not particularly."
But he knew he had me. I sat down on the edge of the bed. He smiled and handed me the joint. I took a puff and handed it back to him. He moved closer and I moved away. He frowned, then smiled again, and said, "I understand."
"What do you understand?"
"This game," he said simply.
I wished I could have thought up a real cool answer for that one. A real clever put-down. Only I couldn't think of anything fast enough, and he was already heading for the bathroom. I told myself he was one of those people who were always coming up with these real snappy put-down comments and then leaving the room before you could think of an answer.
Questions began entering my mind, questions about who he was and how he'd come to live in that great big house. It was curious, even beyond bizarre, the more I thought about it. Yet thinking about wanting to find out more made me uneasy. . .
* * * *

I moved toward him but he turned away as I continued. "Maybe I did figure it out but wouldn't allow myself not to believe in the fantasy. Some part of me still wants to believe in it. I still want to think it's possible for us. I guess it's going back to being selfish, not wanting to share you with Martin. But I'm willing to do that now. I'm so in love with you, Brian, I'll sink as low as you want me to go. I'll take it on any terms you want. I just don't want to let go."
"You've got to let go. You've got some kind of a life ahead of you. You can't waste any part of it on me. We need to be with different kinds of people. You've got to find someone who has as much life as you have, somebody you can go on with."
"I want to go on with you."
"It can't happen."
"You mean there's nothing left. You can't give anything because you've got to give it all to Martin. Don't shut me out. I promise I won't get in the way. I'll accept things any way you want them. Just don't turn me out, I don't deserve that."
"There's more to it."
"No."
"You know there's more to it."
"No. It's settled. We'll work this out. We'll work it out any way you want."
"You're not listening to me."
"I don't want to hear you tell me it can't happen. Please don't say it."
"I've got to."
"Go ahead and abuse me. You won't get rid of me."
"Don't put it that way."
"Why not? Isn't that what you're doing? Saying we can't even be friends? Why don't you just say it? Go ahead and say it. Just tell me to get lost. Isn't that what you want? So you can play at romance with some other fool?"
He looked at me with sad regret but said nothing.
I felt anger rise inside me. "I'm no good to you anymore, am I? The games won't work because I'm too wise now. So you've got to go on to someone else, don't you? You can't waste any more time on me. That's the truth, isn't it?"
"The truth is. . ."

From the short story, Gym Dandies:

Greg slipped out of his gym shorts in one easy motion, looking around to see if anyone might be watching. A man was pretending a search through his bag, but Greg was aware of the ruse. He pulled the briefs downward as he studied the man's amazed stare. Now he stood up and stuffed his gear into his locker before reaching for a towel. He stretched the towel across his back as he faced the mirror, looking at his own reflection as well as the man's astonishment. Slowly he wrapped the towel around his waist as his eyes connected with the other man. He smiled, and winked, before walking away.
He slid open the glass partitioned doors of the steam room, walked into a cloud of mist, stretched out on a tiled ledge, and waited for the obscuring jets of steam before removing his towel. Lately he had become particular about his chosen moment of display, enjoying the tease, as the steam subsided and others became aware of the exhibition. He collected their stares, waiting for the discovering glance of some special beauty who might stir him. The silence among the men was occasionally broken by whispers of gossip, irritating to Greg, who only wanted the silence of quiet worship.
The partitioned doors slid open and Greg watched a lithe, well-formed body enter the area. In another moment he recognized the man as someone he had admired in the workout area. Often he would watch him exercise, or see him just talking to friends, most of whom were also very handsome men. He would wonder what it would be like to be his friend, or just to know him. As much as he enjoyed occasional exhibitionism he had to admit he was often quite shy and sometimes found it difficult to approach people.
In the steam room he felt anything but shy. He liked to catch the reactions of the other men. Often it was quite amusing to see how some of them handled the sight of a huge endowment. Sometimes they acted as if it was nothing at all but still couldn't help looking. Others openly enjoyed the display, some even moved to voice compliments. Occasionally the remarks were rude but he still took it as a sign of admiration. At times he was struck by bouts of modesty if he began to attract an audience and he would cover himself with a towel. It occurred to him he might risk losing his gym membership if he caused too much of a disturbance, that things had to be maintained at a discrete level. But he still risked the display and guessed his audience of admirers would be disappointed if he ever stopped.
Greg could not believe that chance had finally provided him with an opportunity to display himself before the young beauty. As the misty steam thinned he could not believe his further good fortune. He saw now that the man was sitting directly opposite, a spot which would allow him the best possible view. Greg had placed the towel over himself and suddenly became shy about letting it fall away. He worried that the guy might think he was rude, or that he might offend him, and remembered the times when men had responded with derision. As he looked at the handsome face he thought it might be impolite to disturb his reverie, wondered what dreams might pursue him.
A jetblast of steam rose up again and the man's face disappeared in the mist once more. Greg realized there was a chance he might be thought of as crude but he told himself at least he would make an impression, a very big one, he was sure. He decided he would not take his towel away but instead would hike it up a bit and spread legs to allow a good view. When the mist subsided and the man caught sight of what was in front of him, Greg recognized the reaction as one he had seen before, a look of stunned disbelief.
The handsome man sat motionless as Greg told himself that at least the guy would probably never forget him, and played with the idea he would come around again, like others, wanting another look. He thought of experiences he'd had with men who had become addicted to his endowment. They had not really wanted to do anything, recognizing the impossibility of any considerations of a practical nature. They simply wanted to watch, many returning for another view, some becoming devotees of the visual display. One of these men had once revealed to Greg that he often dreamed of his phallus, and Greg thought of him and others like him, men whom he suspected he had changed in some way.
The mist thinned and in another moment Greg felt a hand on his thigh. He saw it was the beautiful man who had sat before him, now kneeling next to him. Greg reached down to feel his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his own heart beating wildly. He tasted the sweetness of the moment, didn't want it to end, but became aware of the stares of other men as the thinning of the mist offered greater clarity. The man became aware of an audience as well, and now slid away as Greg covered himself with a towel. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Let's go to my place." Greg nodded in agreement.
* * *

He became aware of Kevin studying him as he dressed.
"You are the biggest," Kevin now declared. "I guess it's hard to hide something like that."
"People notice," Greg admitted. "Although some people pretend not to."
"I don't see how anyone could pretend."
Greg laughed. "You want to trade phone numbers?"
"Yes. I'd like to see you . . . outside the gym."
"Sure."
"Can you do me a favor?"
"What's that?"
"If you ever see me in the gym you don't have to bother to say hello."
"Why?"
"If my friends see us talking they might catch on to the fact that I'm a size-queen."
"It's none of their business anyway."
"I just don't want anybody to know."
"You didn't seem to mind in the steam room."
"I couldn't help myself."
"How do you think this makes me feel?"
"I was hoping you'd understand."
"Understand what? The fact that you want to keep me in the closet along with your dildos and other dirty little secrets?" Although he attempted to beckon Kevin's eyes with his heated words, it was clear his gaze was fixed on Greg's crotch.
"Greg, you've got to understand. You've got such a humongous basket and you show so much that anywhere you go people are bound to notice. If they see me with you they'll understand what's going on immediately. And I can't risk my reputation."
"So because I've got a big dick you're willing to play with me but you're not willing to be seen in public with me."
"Greg, you've got to understand . . ."

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