Chapter 1

Lindsey followed me out onto the balcony I had built outside our upstairs bedroom. We looked down across the windswept weedy meadow to our large rickety barn beyond. My heart was breaking.

"It's not that I don't love you any more," she said, continuing her pronouncement. It had started a few minutes ago when I caught her packing our biggest suitcases. "We just don't connect any more."

"Dammit," I growled out, barely restraining the urge to scream at her, or, even worse, grab her and shake her until she regained her senses. "What the hell do you mean?"

She frowned, eyes squinted almost shut in anger? pain? "You know what I mean."

I wanted to grab her and hold her tight. I wanted to throw her off the balcony. "NO, I DON'T know what you mean!"

Her tight control slipped, fell away. She screeched at me, "What's wrong with me? You won't touch me any more. You never want sex. You always have some excuse. Every time I try to talk to you about it, you tell me I have to give you more time. I'm sick of giving you more time. I have needs, and you don't care any more. I think you're the one with the problem, not me. I am so, so, so LONELY." And with that, the sobs burst out of her, and she covered her face with her hands.

Oh, that. Sigh. I reached for Lindsey and pulled her into my arms against my body. She was right. I hadn't felt any desire for a long, long time, and I truly didn't know why not.

She held herself rigid, and refused to allow my warmth to comfort her. She looked up at me, tear stained and tousled. "Please just admit to me you're seeing somebody else. Please, just tell me. Please."

Oh, God, she was beautiful, even now when she was at her most hateful. I sucked in a deep breath.

"Lindsey, I swear to you, there's nobody else. It's just ... I don't know what's wrong," I told her,

honestly.

Her eyes bored into mine, searching for the answer. "Then it's me, isn't it? What have I done

wrong? Why don't you want me any more?" she pleaded.

I pushed her back away and held her at arm's length. "Lindsey!" I snapped sharply. "You are a beautiful woman. I love you with all my heart. I don't know why I don't want sex with you. I sure don't want to fuck anyone else. Please don't leave me. I just need more time to figure out what is wrong. If you leave, I'll have nothing. Please don't go."

Her eyes grew distant, and she pulled back away from me to stand against the railing with as much air between us as possible. She spoke sadly, "You always say that. Every time I try to talk about it, you say the same thing. You tell me it's not me, and you won't admit you've got a problem. I feel helpless, you won't let me do anything and you won't take any steps to help yourself. I can't stand it any more. I've got to get out of here before we destroy each other."

I could feel my heart tearing in two. I couldn't argue because it was true. I made myself pull my arms back down from reaching for her, and felt the tears I had been fighting spill down across my face.

"Yes, you must go. I'm, I'm ... I'm not good for you," I whined out, feeling a surge of self hatred. At that moment, I really detested me.

Now was the time in our argument, based on our history, she would leap to reassure me.

"You Asshole," she spit out, shocking me. "It's always about you, isn't it? Poor little you." She glared at me a moment while I was gasping at the sudden devastating blast, then she twisted away and went back into the house. I watched in paralysis as she snatched up the suitcases and strode resolutely out of the bedroom door. A moment later, she reappeared down in the yard where she threw our suitcases in the backseat of her little MG, and then roared away, out of my life.

Well, of course I was demolished, quite literally a wreck, but I didn't feel like I was. No, I was completely numbed out. Before Lindsey left, it was my gonads that had gone to sleep. Now, it was nearly all of me.

I had bought this place with a small inheritance providing the down payment, and I still had a little left, though not much. I really had to be working to make it now, because within another month or two, I would have no funds at all. I am an artist, and one of the former outbuildings on the farm had been turned into a gallery. Here, in early summer, I had to get the gallery cleaned up with a fresh coat of paint and replace all of the lightbulbs that had burned out. I needed to make artwork and I needed to sell it. I couldn't do any of that. All I could do was sit and read or hang out online, guzzling down coffee and stuffing my face with food. I kept my door locked tight and the windows curtained darkly closed. I felt nothing. There was no sign of Lindsey, she didn't call, and I didn't know where she had gone. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to try her cellphone.

After a while, the numbness receded enough for me to go out and cut the grass in the yard. It wasn't much improvement, and hacking away at what had by this time turned into hay, was hard and sweaty work, but at least I was physically moving again. However, every time I looked at the gallery and thought about my artwork, my stomach filled with acid. (Funny, that's what had been happening when I had thought about sex with Lindsey before she left. What's going on?) So, I went to a guy I sorta knew who had a cabinet shop, and asked if he could use a helper. He could, and I was willing to work for what he was willing to pay. I became an employee who didn't have to think about selling myself in the form of my art, nor did I have to make decisions. It felt like quite a step forward.

One night, I was chatting with guy on IRC when I threw away a comment about our nearby small town. He exclaimed that he was just in the next city over. Interestingly, the channel we were on catered to gay men, and I had never hidden the fact that I was not a gay man. I really didn't have an earthly clue about why I felt drawn to hang out there, and I didn't know why this guy had decided I was great to talk to. Anyway, DrkStud asked if I'd meet him at a gay bar in his city. Amused, I thought about it for a minute, and decided, what the hell? Why not? Obviously, I was still numb or I probably would have given more weight to the possible dangers of the situation. I think part of me was still hoping I'd find something to stir me out of my catatonic state.

We met up in the parking lot outside the bar. Rick, previously known to me as DrkStud, unfolded himself out of a black shelby mustang, and came over to my Jeep, which I had described to him. "Hi," he said with a smile, as he pulled on the door handle to let me out. "You must be Chris."

I blushed (Ohmygod, why the hell was I blushing?). "Hello," I said, my voice sounding soft and mushy to me. "Yes, and you're Rick." I stated, with slightly more verve.

"Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you." He was tall, of a rich mahogany color, and was wearing a black tank top covered with a denim jacket, with white jeans and a showy belt. He had on a lot of jewelry, and the tank top and jeans were skin tight. He had a presence, an aura, of sexuality. I held out my hand, intending to shake with him, but he grasped it lightly, bent down, and kissed the back of it with the utmost sensuality. This seemed completely ridiculous, given who we each were, but I cannot deny that his touch set off a buzz in my nether regions. What the fuck? This couldn't be real.

I muttered something noncommittal and jerked my hand back. Instead of looking offended, Rick simply smirked and lightly laughed. My head felt faint and my stomach roiled (and I was decidedly, suddenly, aroused). "Let's go in," I squeaked, desperate to escape the alarming intensity that had arisen.

"Sure," he said smoothly, sliding his arm around me and moving us toward the door. I gulped, did a little do-si-do, and gave myself a little distance from him. He simply smiled at me once more, and held open the club's front door for me. Frowning, I allowed myself to precede him.

Loud music immediately bombarded us. The bouncers just inside gave me a weird look as I came in. The very butch looking hefty woman sitting on a stool to the right just glared at me. The willowy male on the left looked at me, looked at Rick, then looked back at me again with his eyebrow raised.

"What's this?" he demanded of Rick in a peevish voice, shouting over the noise.

"It's cool, it's cool," reassured Rick, holding his hands out palms down, and motioning toward the floor a couple of times as if to hold down any resistance.

"Yeah, well it better be," Mr. Twink bitchily said. He sulkily took the cover charge Rick gave to him and stamped my and Rick's hand. Rick moved forward and began to herd me toward the inner racket. Why did I let Rick pay for me?

I felt a hand grab my arm. Turning around, I came face to face with the dyke on the stool. She looked challengingly into my eyes for a long blink of time, then two, then dropped her hand from my arm and flicked her fingers as if flinging away germs. She turned her back to me.

Now I was feeling threatened and insecure, on top of being terrified of Rick. If I had thought coming into the bar proper would provide a distraction, however, I was wrong. Men were groping men, women were french kissing women, and same sex couples were grinding against each other on a very crowded dance floor. The smell of sweat, sex, and ancient alcohol saturated the air. Without intervening walls to deflect the direct hit, the cacophony of sound broke against my body in physical waves. All of a sudden I felt violently ill.

I made it back to the front door and through it. My stomach heaved, I fought it down. I staggered to my Jeep. I spun my tires burning out of there, barely missing the wildly gesturing Rick who had chased out after me. I couldn't have stopped at that point if a cop had held a gun to my head. My body was driven to get the fuck out of there.

I did, too - not just physically, but mentally, as well. I went home and I deleted the mirc chat client from my computer. Thank God I had never given my telephone number, nor even my last name, to Rick. I thought about selling my Jeep so he couldn't recognize it, but decided there were enough other Jeeps around that he would never be sure if he was spotting mine or someone elses. At any rate, I made up my mind to only go to work, the grocery store, the gas station and back home again for the foreseeable future. He wasn't very likely to see my vehicle on the road.

What I couldn't figure out is why I had flirted with the gay scene in the first place. I wasn't attracted to men, I told myself sternly. I wasn't even a fag hag, or so I thought. I dunno. I guessed I was just curious, and lonely enough to respond to Rick's weird attention, but it was so out of my system now. I was done with it.

So I went back to living in a cocoon. Funny thing, it wasn't working as well this time around. For a tiny, brief second, Rick had awakened my sexuality again. And even though the thought of sex with Rick himself nauseated me, I could no longer simply convince myself that any sexuality at all for me was dead forever. I couldn't figure out why it had gone dormant with Lindsey, and resurrected, however briefly, with Rick. I knew I wasn't attracted to Rick in the slightest, I really didn't like him, but somehow my nerve endings had fired at his touch. I began to drive myself nutty, with my thoughts compulsively going around and around, trying to figure this out.

A couple of weeks later, I found stores of my favorite tea had run low. I told my boss I was taking my lunch hour for a change, and he chuckled and said I should take as long as I needed. I tended to be a workaholic, and hardly ever took a break, and he teased me a lot about it.

Once I got to the little specialty shop and had made my purchase, I thought about my friend Tawny who owned the arts and crafts store next door. I cringed, remembering that Tawny had been in the middle of an awful divorce last time I had talked to her. That had been several months ago. I hadn't been there for her, not once in a long while, because of being caught up in my own misery. Kicking myself in the rear, I walked over to Tawny's store.

"Chris!" she gushed when she saw me. She came right over and gave me a big hug. "How ARE you?" she cried.

"Oh, Tawny, I feel so bad I haven't been in contact. Ever since Lindsey left, I've been completely in hiding," I gave as a sorry excuse. "I know I haven't been there for you. Are you doing ok? Things were pretty rough for you last time I saw you."

"Oh pshaw," she answered, waving her hand. "You've been doing what you need to do. Don't worry about it. Hey, I've been fine. You wanna hear about it?"

"Oh, yeah," I agreed. I loved talking with Tawny, she was one of those people who made you feel special just by spending time with you.

She poured two cups of coffee from the coffeemaker she kept behind the counter, and together we walked out to the big wooden table on the front porch of the place. There wasn't anyone in the store at the moment, and since the only way into the place was right next to the table, we would know when someone arrived. Tawny put down her cup, and fired up a cigarette.

"Do you know Dr. McDonough in town?" she asked, then took a puff.

I admitted I didn't.

"Well, he's a psychologist, and I've been going to therapy with him. I'm beginning to understand a lot of why I got hooked up with Don in the first place, and why I let him treat me the way I did." She tapped her butt on the ashtray in front of her, knocking off the ash. "Chris, I'm like the sheep who keeps trying to get the wolf to look after her and protect her. I keep loving and giving things to the wolf so he will like me and be good to me. The problem is, is that the wolf is a wolf and just wants to eat me up!"

I guffawed. Her words made such a picture. "Is that why you keep giving things to people?"

"Yes!" Tawny agreed emphatically. "I'm a compulsive giver!" She gave a snort of laughter at herself.

We had a great time talking. I was really impressed at the change. She was as vivacious and animated as ever, but there was a confidence I'd never seen before. Most of all, she was happy. She had always seemed like a brittle little girl before, bright and shiny but fragile. Now she was strong and peaceful. I was happy for her.

When she asked about me, I steered her back to talking about herself. I was in too much turmoil to reveal my inner state. Tawny was someone who I would be most likely to trust ... if I could trust anyone. However, as usual, I kept my walls firmly in place.

Finally, I got up. "My boss is really forgiving, but it's time I got back to work," I said. I took the metal stand I had picked out to display artwork to her cash counter.

"Here," she waved it back to me. "You can just have it as a gift."

"Tawny," I said it long and drawn out, like a warning. She glanced at me, puzzled, then cracked up. "Ohmygod," she said. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"Yup," I replied, pulling out the cash. "As your friend, I'm not going to let you do it to yourself."

She solemnly took the money from me, and made change. Then she gave a huge smile, came around the counter, and gave me the biggest hug ever. "Thank you," she mumbled into my shirt.

"Thank YOU," I responded, backing up. Touchy feely stuff always made me uncomfortable. To let her know I wasn't rejecting her, I cast about and came up with telling her she had already given me something. "What you've said has got me thinking. Maybe I should call Dr. McDonough."

"Good!" she strongly asserted. "I think it would be really good for you," she said, more softly.

She walked me out to my Jeep, and with lots of promises to stay in touch this time, I left for work.

Well, I really wasn't going to go to a shrink, no matter what I had said to Tawny, but over time I got more and more depressed. My life felt empty. No lover. No friends I'd allow to get close. No social life. I didn't trust people. I couldn't make art. I didn't even have enough sexual oompah to masturbate. All I did was go to work, and come home and eat in front of the computer or a book. At least I had a creative job, my sole joy at this time was to hold the wood in my hands and use it to make something beautiful. Doing anything else felt far too overwhelming to even try.

Then one day, I couldn't even make myself turn on the box or open my sci-fi. All I could feel was this big empty hole of pain. Food wasn't going to fill it. Reading wasn't going to distract me away from it. Drugs or alcohol, something I had tried when I was much younger, would make me numb, but they'd make me sick or dysfunctional in the end, and my problems would still be there when I sobered up or got straight. Self preservation got me through the brief temptation I felt to use.

Well, why not? What did I have to lose? If I didn't like him, or I couldn't handle it, I could just walk away from therapy, I promised myself. I called Dr. McDonough.