This is related to Lightning In A Bottle. You do not need to read "LIAB" to understand "John Opens The Bottle," but you may want to.
By way of background, you will see that John was not honest with Mace when they met. Mace was not John's first boy. In fact, Mace was not John's first love.
This is the "LIAB" story from John's perspective, in truncated form. It continues after Mace leaves John in D.C., explains how John's marriages failed, and reveals whether John and Mace ever reconnected.
Part One
As soon as I saw the blonde boy in Bryan Cave's library, I knew I wanted him. I do not now what it was, but it was palpable. I had resolved to leave those days behind me, but he instantly forced me to consider reversion.
He looked so young, I thought he might be a high school kid running books for minimum wage. I thought wrong. He was Mason Raymond Davis, the only 1L the Cave hired for that summer.
I raised my eyebrow and my hand to him as I walked by. I felt his eyes on my back as I walked away.
Mason - "Mace" for short - clearly did not know how attractive he was. He was too diffident, in both style and substance.
But, he was terribly attractive. He had thick blond hair, green eyes with an obvious circle of orange around the pupils, and a bright but elusive smile that dimpled his cheeks to match the dimple on his chin.
His face was not half as attractive as his mind. I had grown up privileged. I went to St. Louis' Country Day School, then to Yale, and then to the University of Chicago. I had spent my life around smart people. Mace was easily the smartest. He saw and thought things I did not.
I had no idea if Mace was interested in what I was interested in. But, I knew I wanted to find out. I would have to play it slowly. One misstep could end my reputation and my summer.
My reputation was paramount, and I guarded it zealously, especially when I weakened and dallied with boys or men. It had started my last year of high school, as graduation approached. Until that point, I had only toyed with the idea that I might some day toy with a boy.
I was an actor. As a Senior, I got a large role in our Spring production of The Breakfast Club. I had the Anthony Michael Hall role. Cole Samuels, also a Senior, had the Judd Nelson role.
Cole and I came from opposite sides. I walked the line. I never did anything wrong. A Pisces, I was an 18 year old virgin. Not because I lacked opportunity, but because I was an avowed conservative and moralist.
My conservatism showed in my appearance. I looked like I could be President of the Young Republicans. I wore my brown hair short, parted on the right. I had silver glasses. I wore white oxfords and various shades of khakis, held up by an embroidered belt. I always wore loafers, usually without socks. I was a little pudgy. I followed the rules. I was headed for Yale.
Cole was the antithesis of me. One, he was older than all of us by two years. After junior high, his hippie parents had pulled him out of school to work in a mission in one of the Salvadors, El or San. It was supposed to be one year, but it had turned into two.
Two, he was unabashedly liberal. His liberalism showed in his style. He wore his dark hair long and loose. He shaved only when forced. He sat in the back. He listened to music in class. He pushed the edges of our dress code. He hated the line. After CODASCO, he was headed to the College of the Atlantic in Bar Harbor, Maine, an experimental school dedicated to the study of something called human ecology.
Cole was also openly gay. He did not care who knew. He was way ahead of his time.
Other than in drama, our paths rarely crossed. We certainly were not friends. We were friendly only in the way that people are friendly because that is what is expected of them. My parents hated rudeness. They considered it low class.
I was paranoid when Cole asked me to read lines with him. I immediately suspected an ulterior motive. One of Cole's best friends had the Ally Sheedy role, so she seemed a natural option if he needed or wanted to rehearse outside of rehearsal.
Genetically incapable of rudeness, I agreed. But, I insisted we work somewhere public. I did not want to be the subject of innuendo and rumor.
Innuendo and rumor swirled around Cole. Some claimed he went to the fruit loop in Forest Park for anonymous sex with older men. Some claimed he and his best friend growing up were boyfriends until they were caught and the friend's parents forced him to DeSmet for high school to get him away from Cole. Some claimed he would blow a guy if asked, no expectations and no strings attached. No one admitted to asking.
Everyone at school called me Jo, short for John (my father was "John II" so I had forever been "Jo" to his "John" to everyone in my family). I was taken aback when, during our first time reading together, Cole took it to a more intimate level and called me "JoJo." He lowered his chin and narrowed his black eyes when he did.
"Please call me Jo or John," I said.
"No can do, JoJo," he answered, again lowering his chin and narrowing his eyes. "Jo's a girl's name and John's are for whores or for pissing and shitting. You're no girl, and you're too pretty for piss or shit."
He was right. I was pretty. I had bright blue eyes and tremendously dark, long eyelashes. They looked fake and like I was wearing mascara. They were not and I was not.
Cole's smile was sly, almost mischievous. His lips were full and bright red, and they usually stayed together when he smiled. When they did not, his smile revealed pronounced canines and a left lateral incisor that slightly overlapped with the central incisor.
Cole was not objectively beautiful. But, he carried himself with such confidence that he made himself seem more beautiful than he was. It was the confidence of someone who knew who he was and what he was doing.
As we read lines, Cole put his hands on me a lot. I flinched every time he reached for me. "What's wrong, JoJo?" he asked. "I don't bite. . . . Unless, of course, you want me to."
I had seen Cole like this with other boys. I did not want it. "Stop it, Cole," I warned. "I will quit working with you. I will."
"You don't want me to stop. And you know it."
He was right. I do not know how he knew it, because I did not even know it. But, he was right.
After a couple of weeks of working in classrooms and libraries, we relocated our rehearsals to the second floor of my home, which I had all to myself. I do not remember who first suggested the relocation, but I knew it might portend something I did not know I wanted.
I was riddled with anxiety waiting for Cole to arrive. I do not know what threatened me more, the possibility of action or the possibility of inaction.
Cole arrived directly from swimming practice, in shorts and a tee, his wet hair tucked behind his ears. I introduced him to my parents and, after a brief exchange, we upstairs to my rooms to run lines. We went to my study and sat in desk chairs, opposite each other.
As I read, Cole moved to the floor and started sidling toward me. He grabbed the legs of my chair and slid his legs through them. He was directly in front of me, his strong hands slowly kneading my calves.
The touch of his hands titillated and aroused me. I was wearing only boxers and mesh shorts, and the effect he was having on me was obvious.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Only what you want," he said. "You're in charge. When you say stop, I'll stop."
I said nothing. I went back to reading lines as Cole's hands moved to my thighs. With every squeeze, he went further up the leg of my shorts. I felt his thumbs where my thighs met my crotch and then on my scrotum. I was straining as he moved his right hand to my glans, running his thumb in small circles around it. I could feel myself leaking. When I looked down to see the evidence, I saw wild lust in Cole's dark eyes. He took my hardness in his right hand and started squeezing and then slowly releasing it. He stared at me as he did.
"Stand up," he finally said.
I did, and he pulled my shorts out and then down. I was staring down at him, my erection right in front of his face. He looked up at me, smiled, and asked if I was okay.
I could not answer. My mouth was so dry, I had gone mute. I nodded up and down.
He kissed my glans, using the tip of his tongue to lop up what I was leaking. I had never been in anyone's mouth, and I was eager for him to take me. Without thinking, I tried to force myself in.
He put his hands on my hips and said "Easy, JoJo, slow down a little."
"I cannot," I croaked.
He took my glans in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it the way his thumb had. I thought I might pass out. I again tried to force myself in, only to be resisted by his right hand on my pelvis.
He took my balls in his left hand and took the length of me into his mouth. When I was so deep he was inhaling my bush, I felt the orgasm I wanted to suppress crash though. I did not want to come, but I could not prevent it. I filled his throat, embarrassed by how little control I had shown. He kept his mouth around me, and I felt him swallow whatever I had fed him before again feeling his tongue swirling around my glans and under my foreskin.
When he was finished, he looked up at me, smiled, and again asked if I was okay. I still could not answer. I could not believe what had happened and did not know what was expected of me. I pulled my boxers and shorts up and sat back down.
Cole moved back to his chair. He stared at me as he pulled his shorts aside and started stroking himself.
"You can help, if you want."
I did want, but I had no idea what to do. So, I did nothing. I just watched him work his hand up and down the shaft of his penis, which appeared to be smaller and and thinner than mine.
Cole smiled at me as he jacked off. As he speeded up, I raised my eyes to his. He pulled his shirt up with his left hand, revealing a narrow trail of dark hair from his navel into his shorts. He came on his stomach, much of pooling in his navel. He worked out every last drop that he could. He shook his head and shuddered when he was finished.
"Please get me something," he urged. He cleaned himself with the tissues with which I returned. Then, he just sat and stared at me, smiling broadly.
"That was my first time," I finally said, breaking the silence.
"Mine, too," he answered. Suprised, I raised my eyebrows at him in response, and he quickly added "With a turtleneck."
"When was your real first time?"
"Last summer. He was older. He taught me a lot."
"Was he, like, your boyfriend?"
"Kinda sorta. He was a friend of my brother's. We snuck around behind my brother's back. He doesn't know about his friend."
"What happened?"
"He went back to college."
I had a million more things to ask him. I had a thousand things to say to him. I did neither.
"You should go," I said.
