Fic: Another Modern Swinger (skating RPS, Sandhu/everyone)
Due to another fucking crisis, the next batch of mixes will appear sometime very late tonight. But posting this will make me feel better, so here goes.
Title: Another Modern Swinger
Fandom: figure skating RPS
Pairings: Emanuel Sandhu/Evgeni Plushenko, Sandhu/Evan Lysacek, Sandhu/Benjamin Agosto, Sandhu/Stephane Lambiel, Sandhu/Johnny Weir
Rating: R for frank, but not graphic, descriptions of sex, as well as mature situations and language.
Continuity: During the 2006 Champions on Ice tour, with many references to events before that.
Summary: Five people that Emanuel Sandhu probably had sex with.
Word Count: About 8,000.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is Copyright 2006 Mosca. All rights reserved. All wrongs reversed. And now everyone knows what his penis looks like.
Notes: Thanks to callmesandy for IM audiencing and to her and sathinks for beta reading. The title is from a Pink Spiders song.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Emanuel Sandhu has had sex with every top-level male skater under the age of 35. This is a truth that normally goes unspoken in the skating community, mostly because it is so widely known as to not bear repeating. Young skaters who have just moved up into senior-level competition get helpful whispers from their more experienced rivals, if they're lucky. Or, arguably, the luckiest are the ones who get to find out for themselves, bent over a hotel bed in a strange city the night before quals.
It is late summer when the conversation turns to the Sandhu legend. The Champions on Ice tour bus thunders down the interstate, bound for California. The conversation begins safely enough, with the customary cautious chatter about costumes and pop music, but as the hour grows later, it transforms into a game of "I Never," albeit one threatened by ironic indifference and the language barrier. Johnny Weir is of course the one to broach the forbidden topic. "I've never slept with Emanuel Sandhu," he says. The other skaters are so busy drinking, or not drinking, or deciding whether their experiences merit a drink, or just plain laughing, to note that this is one of the few rounds in which Johnny's cup has remained down. The ones not consumed in their own guilty behavior are, for the most part, noticing that Zhenya has taken a large, anxious gulp.
When he realizes that everyone is staring expectantly at him, he says, "It was -- it was my only, eh, gay experience." This evokes further doubtful glares, so he adds, "I have been skating for many years, and I am comfortable, you know, but I have to be certain. I have been asked, of course, and I always say no, I am sorry, I am not gay. Sometimes there is disappointment." A few people snicker. A few look around to see if the others around them are among the disappointed parties, but there's no luck. Only three of the skaters on this summer's tour are openly gay, and all are fairly shy, not the type to bluntly proposition a man not known to be one of their own.
"It was 2001 Worlds. I was feeling strong, but also lonely. The year before, I was a new skater, and I was not expected to do so well as I did. This year, 2001, I was known to be among the best, and there was much press, all those microphones. I did not yet speak English well, and it was Canada, so many times they ask questions and I do not understand, and I am embarrassed. So I am hiding, I am trying to hide. The other skaters, they, eh, they avoid me anyway, they are competitive, they do not want to talk to me. Even Alexei, who I think is my friend, he pretends like he is not, he did not win Nationals and he is ashamed. And so although I don't wish to be noticed, still I am lonely.
"So I am relieved to meet Emanuel. He had not been at Worlds the previous year, and we had been maybe introduced, but we had not spoken much. But this time, he is friendly, he is interested, he asks about my flight, was it comfortable, he makes jokes about his unfair advantage. He speaks slowly, and I am grateful. At this time, he is not yet known for his, eh, his adventures, so I think he is making a friend. Why should I think he has another motive? We talk about how strange it is, competing, how you look around and you know, you know you are best, you know you can win everything. But at the same time, you know the histories of everybody, and though you know you can win, you believe for some moments that you will not. You believe it is better to withdraw. So it is about wanting. He understands this difference, and in this he is genuine, even if he plans to seduce me. And I do not know -- I did not know then, I do not know now -- if he came to me with this plan, or if he made this plan as we spoke.
"After some time, I sense that we are -- that others are looking at us with suspicion, that we should be speaking to many people. I note this, and I tell him it was a pleasure to meet him. These are my words exactly, which I learned from my language tapes, and he laughs because it is very unnatural. He tells me that we should meet again at the end of this reception, and at that time we will finish our conversation." Zhenya pauses and looks around him. He has learned, in the five years since, that this is gay skater code for arranging a post-reception hookup, and he is relieved to see the skaters around him nodding and chuckling in recognition.
"You will laugh at me because I say I was surprised. He said we should talk more in his room, and this surprised me. I asked if it was allowed, to do this. He thought it was a joke, and I wanted him to like me, so I pretended. And all this time, back to the skaters' lodge and to his room, he is talking and he is friendly. He is like this until the exact moment when he has closed the door. At that point, he kisses me. I am shocked, and I step back from him. This is the first time in my life I have to explain that I am sorry, I am not gay, I have misunderstood. Maybe not the first time a man has, eh, hit on me, but before this I did not know the signals.
"I tell him good night, and he tells me he is very hurt. He says I misled him. Now, of course, I am, eh, cynical, and I think he is only trying to win me. But I am curious, because this is a compliment to me, that he chooses me. Also, because I do not know him, I am afraid that he will tell lies about me. If I say that I, eh, I reject him, no one will believe. So I think, maybe it will not be so bad. And then the next time, I will be certain, I will know I am not gay because I have tried. So I tell him, okay, he can do what he wants, I will not leave him, but I apologize because I do not know how to do anything. He says that is all right, it is better, that is what he likes." Some of Zhenya's audience laughs in shock; a few laugh in recognition. Evan's face turns beet red, and they all know that his story is going to be next.
When there's silence, Zhenya continues, "I waited for him to kiss me again, but he didn't. He walked away from me. He was proud of himself, I think. He turned his back to me and took his shirt off, and he looked over his shoulder at me like I am supposed to be impressed. Now, I have by this time seen many skaters without their shirts, and he is nothing special. I realize that I am better-looking than him, and now I have no trouble. I take off all my clothes." There is more laughter, and Zhenya knows he has his audience captive. At first, he'd planned to stop short of the sex, but now he realizes that they are all waiting for the good part, the punch line. He's married, with a new baby; it's clear how this ended. And the vestiges of shame dissolve away.
"I am not, eh, hard when I am naked, and he sees this, and I think he takes this as a challenge. He comes to me and he goes down to his knees. He smiles up like he is... favoring? Doing a favor for me. And he, eh, he takes my dick in his hand and he starts to, eh, give me head. I close my eyes, and the whole time I am imagining that he is a beautiful woman. And I do forget who he is really. Only when I, eh, finish, I open my eyes, and I think I make some kind of sour face, because he says he can see I really am straight. He says many skaters, they are lying, or they lie to themselves. He says he helps them, and maybe this is even true. He does not want me to do anything to him, he says. I should go to my room and rest well for quals. I do this, and this is the first World Championship that I win, so I think it was not such a bad choice after all. And since this, we are, we are not the best friends, but we are always getting along. We are having an understanding. You know?"
He doesn't have to ask them, really. Much of the skating community is founded upon such agreements, the lines that people don't cross. Sometimes it's because they aren't attracted to each other; sometimes, it's because they are. Johnny and Evan keep just that much space between them. Tania and Max can spend more time together than apart and still go to bed with different people. The few people brave enough to date among their own -- not just skaters in general, but skaters who are as good as they themselves are -- tend to leave messes behind them. Nobody wants to compete against an ex, or even to catch his or her eye at an opening gala. Nobody wants to dodge that "I had him" smirk.
This is probably why poor, blushing Evan has so many eyes trained on him. Everyone watched him take a quick drink, not quite hiding it but not trying to draw attention to it, either. More to the point, everyone saw when Zhenya's story made him turn scarlet. "Yeah," he says. "Just -- just the once, though." He waits for them to move along, but nobody budges. "It was at Four Continents. 2003." He waits again. Silence. "Fine. I lost my virginity to him." He admits this knowing that he is not going to get away with leaving out a single detail.
"God, I've never told anybody this," he said. "And now I'm... apparently telling everybody this. Okay. I was seventeen, which means it was basically illegal, and I also sort of technically had a girlfriend, who I hadn't even remotely had sex with because okay, I pretty much knew I was gay, in theory, but I, um, I was just getting to the point where that didn't bother me. So I'd, like, I was sitting in my lodge room with my coach in the other bed, like, rehearsing how I was going to break up with my girlfriend because I was, like, fuck it, it was getting to the point where it was just stupid. But I don't know, it was like I needed an actual boy to prove that I was. And the only people I saw were, like, the guys I went to high school with and other skaters. High school was, like, no, and I didn't know where to start with the skaters. So I just kind of ended up... stuck. And, like, the longer it went on, the more embarrassed I was, the worse it got.
"Apparently, by then, people were, like, aware of this." A couple of snorts from the peanut gallery confirmed this. "Because, okay, Scott Smith? We were sitting next to each other on the plane, all the way to Beijing, and he was being nice or whatever, and I just kept thinking, wow, he's a lot older than me, he's my teammate, that would be weird. But it was to that point, I'm serious. It was a long flight, and nobody could sleep, and I ended up telling him more than I'd planned to. Like, the second we hit the ground, he's dragging me over to Emanuel. Who I'd totally met and stuff, but this was -- it was pretty clear there was some kind of arrangement being made. And it occurred to me, standing there in the baggage claim, having all these people talk over my head? It occurred to me that I was going to have to work pretty hard not to get laid in Beijing. And I was like, yesss." He raises his fist and flexes his bicep a little to reinforce the point.
"I still had the sharing-my-room-with-my-coach problem," he continues, and the comment is greeted with groans of sympathy. "But I went to my first practice slot and someone literally dropped a note down the front of my shirt. And there was, like, nowhere to go to take it out without attracting attention, so I skated for about twenty minutes with this piece of paper down my shirt, just praying that it wouldn't fall out and land on the ice. It ended up getting kind of lodged in my waistband, which was really fucking uncomfortable, and the first thing I did when I was in the catwalk to the dressing rooms was reach into my pants and pull it out. All it had on there is a room number, a time, and the word 'today.' I was so excited that I locked myself in the men's room with my skates still on to jerk off." That goes over so well that he's glad he mentioned it.
"I don't remember the room number anymore, but I remember that I was supposed to be there at 5:25 in the afternoon. It just seemed like such a random time. And I was, like, perfectly on time, to the point where I was standing outside that room staring at my watch for two minutes until it was exactly 5:25. I remember, like, swallowing and thinking I was going to throw up. Like, I knew I wasn't going to win Four Continents, I was only the third best of the American skaters that went, I was mostly there for the experience. It was, like, the first time I'd ever felt that way about a competition, that I wasn't really there to win. Even at Nationals when I was an insanely long shot, coming in twelfth, I was there to win, but I was standing outside that door and it was like, suddenly, I knew why I was in Beijing, and it wasn't to win a medal.
"So the door opened, and he was, like, he was really hot. Like, it's weird, I see him now at competitions, and I'm like, I thought he was hot?" People are laughing, and Evan feels the need to backtrack, to explain himself. He's as guilty of malicious gossip as anyone, but he's serious about the campaign to cut down on that. If they're going to gossip, and that's inevitable, it's wiser to do so charitably. "Because, I mean, he's not bad, but he's not... he's not someone I would really go after now, I don't think. Anyway, he was in this tight shirt and tight jeans, no shoes, totally waiting for me. And he was, he was tall, and that was a big deal. Like, I wasn't quite done growing, but I was taller than, like, everyone else in the sport, and it was a relief that he was even a little bit taller than I was. He looked me over, and he smiled, and he was like, 'Are you a top or a bottom?' And I realized that I had no idea. I was just getting to the point where I knew I wanted a boy. I hadn't really thought about what I would do when I was actually, like, with one.
"So I told him I didn't know. And I think he realized the extent to which I was, like, I had no idea what I was doing. He said, like, 'You're the one with the girlfriend, right?' and I nodded and he said, 'Okay, we can start slow, and you let me know when you figure it out.' By then, I was, like, completely terrified. Like, I'd just sort of assumed he would lie me down on the bed and just do whatever, like I wouldn't have to make any decisions. But he did lead me over the bed, and he kind of sat me down on the edge and sat down next to me. And he just -- I swear, all he did was touch my face and then kiss me, and I was like, oh my God. I think I actually said it out loud. Because, like, I'd been kissed before, I'd kissed girls, but this was -- okay, if I'd had any doubts left about my sexuality, they were totally gone. We were just, like, making out on the bed, and his hands were all over me, and I was like, I didn't care if anything else happened, I would have been happy with just that.
"Only not really." He waits for the laugh, and he gets it. The story gets easier as he tells it, and he begins to wonder why he's found it so humiliating. "By now I was, like, really hard, and all I could think was, I want him, like, under me. But I felt like even if I could find some way to say that, it wasn't going to happen that way. Even though he'd asked, you know? I didn't think he was really giving me the choice. But he stopped, and he looked at me for a minute, and he was like, 'You are so not a bottom.' He asked if I wanted to take my clothes off, and I didn't even answer, I just did it. He got undressed, too, and he was like, like Zhenya said, he was showing off, because, I mean, he's famous for being... well hung. And I wanted to, like, touch it, touch him, and I asked if I could. I think he rolled his eyes a little. I had his dick in my hand, and all I could think was, this is so cool. So I was just sort of playing with it, feeling it, and he was like, 'Harder,' so I did, and he came, like, right in my hand. I freaked out a little and started laughing, and he gave me a tissue.
"When I was done wiping myself off, he gave me this sort of, I don't know, this almost businesslike look. He had a condom in his hand, and he put it on me. And then he got down, like, not quite flat on his stomach but not really on his hands and knees. Like he was trying to put himself at an easy angle. He was just waiting for me to, like, fuck him, and he couldn't see that I was shaking. But I managed to get myself on top of him, and it was... disappointingly quick, but I don't think he minded that much. I think maybe your first time, it's like, you're good as long as it's not incredibly traumatic. Anyway, after, he's like, 'Do you want to stay for a while?' But it was basically dinnertime, and I was worried that my coach would wonder where I was, so I told him no, it was okay. Which, it seemed like he was kind of impressed by that. I remember that I kissed him goodbye, that I decided to do that.
"I moved to California that summer, right after I graduated from high school. It took me that long to break up with Naomi, which was kind of bad, especially because by then she pretty much knew. I mean, not about Emanuel specifically, but she had to know I was gay. I met my first boyfriend that summer, and that was... better. So it all turned out fine, you know? No interest from Emanuel after that, though," he says with a laugh.
"You are too aggressive for him," Stephane says.
"Right," Evan says.
"I am serious," Stephane says. "Too aggressive." He knows that everyone is waiting for him to elaborate on this, and he's willing. But when he tries to start, his tongue gets tied, caught up in the English and the force of emotion. "Ask me later," he says. "Someone else, go first."
There is substantial silence, people shifting in their seats. "There isn't anyone else," Ben says, accidentally drawing attention to himself and instantly regretting it.
"There's you," Tania says.
"What?" Ben says.
"You drank," Gwendal says. "I saw, you drank."
Ben sighs deeply. "Okay. I took half a drink. Because it's technically possible that I -- Okay. There was this night in Montreal about a year ago, the night before some, I don't even remember, some charity exhibition or something. Like, it wasn't skating that anyone cared about, we were mostly there to be there, and I got kind of... drunk. And there's a possibility that something... happened."
"Oh my God!" Tanith jumps in. "I always kind of wondered what happened that night."
"Yeah," Ben says. "Me too."
"Do you not remember anything?" Tanith says.
"There's, like, bits and pieces," Ben says. "You could probably fill stuff in."
"I don't know," she says. "It's kind of your thing, right?"
"But you were so much less drunk than I was."
"I had one beer. I was completely not drunk," Tanith says. "And okay, just so this is clear? This is the only time I've seen Ben drunk like that. Before or since."
"Everybody was," Ben says. "I mean, everyone was drinking. It was, I think it was that we were in Canada with a lot of Americans, and it was just an off-season exhibition so nobody cared that much. And a bunch of people who were a year or two underage in the US could drink there. So it just... we found this sports bar, and things got out of hand."
"Oh, wait," Johnny chimes in. "I think I was actually there. And I'm pretty sure nobody remembers that night. Except Tanith."
"I remember it," Sasha says. "But I had, like, no idea."
"Okay, wait, who's telling this story?" Ben says.
"Everyone," Tanith says.
"Fine with me," Ben says. He stretches and sits back on his hands. No one else is talking. "All right. I had a good excuse to get drunk that night. I mean, you know how relationships have good periods and bad periods, and this was... a really bad period for me and Merrie. Like, we were on the verge of breaking up, and I was pretty devastated. It was medicinal."
"You were doing tequila shots," Tanith laughs.
"Because they taste like medicine," Ben says. "I hadn't done shots in, like, ever, so they went right to my head. I remember standing up and getting dizzy and sitting back down, and then possibly hugging a lot of people."
"Okay," Tanith says. "The thing you need to know about Ben at this point is, when he drinks, he loves everybody." Although Ben doesn't get drunk often, most of the group is well aware of this. "He comes up to people he barely knows and tells them how beautiful they are. He will go on for hours about what a good friend I am and how he couldn't ever live without me. It's very sweet, but it's also, if he's acting like that, you really need to cut him off. Which I was trying to do, but every time I said something, he'd pat me on the arm and say how nice it was that I cared about him."
"I don't remember any of that," Ben says.
"Of course you don't," Tanith says.
"Tell me I didn't say anything like that to --"
"Oh, but you did," Tanith says.
"What did I say?"
"I don't know," Tanith says, "but it seemed to encourage him."
"Holy shit, that explains so much of that night," Ben says.
"It really does," Tanith says. "Because, like, I was watching Ben talk to Emanuel, and I was thinking, this could not end well. One boy very drunk and on the rocks with his girlfriend, one boy who has a tendency to take advantage of the drunk and vulnerable? No. I went over there to, I don't know, break things up a little, and Ben threw his arm around me and said, 'I have something very important to tell you. I think I'm going to throw up.' So I basically dragged him to the ladies' room, which I figured would at least be safe for two minutes, and I held his hair."
"Which was nice of you," Ben adds. "And then, okay, it's coming back a little. I think we, like, we went out of the bathroom, and Emanuel came up to us and told us he'd called me a taxi and he'd take me back to the hotel and get me sobered up. Tanith was like, 'That's okay, I'll take him back,' meaning me, but I was, you know how you get drunk and stubborn? I was, like, insisting that she was still having fun and she should stay."
"Even though I wasn't, and I shouldn't have," Tanith says.
"Well, obviously, but I wouldn't let you leave. So I went back to the hotel with Emanuel. I honestly don't know whether he tried anything in the taxi, but I was probably too drunk to be any fun. He brought me up to my room and got me to sit on the bed, and then he made a big pot of hotel coffee and brought me some water. Up to that point, he actually was being nice and helpful, regardless of what he was hoping I would agree to when I'd sobered back up to the point of overly friendly drunk.
"He'd propped me up with pillows, and I had my legs sort of v'd apart." Ben tries to demonstrate, but there's not enough room on the bus. He shrugs and moves on. "Emanuel brought me the coffee, and when it was in my hands, he stayed there, sitting between my legs. And there was not enough tequila in the world for me to think anything but, if I were to switch teams for someone? It would not be him. But there was enough tequila in my system for me to tell him this, flat out. He was like, 'What makes you think I was even interested in you?' and I was like, 'You're sitting between my legs, and I'm alone in a hotel room with you, and you know what? I'm fucking calling my girlfriend.' Which I did, and thank God she didn't pick up.
"I finished my coffee, and because Emanuel has apparently never learned the rules of babysitting a drunk person, I fell asleep. And that's all I know, because when I woke up, Tanith was in the room, yelling at Emanuel."
"There was a reason for that," Tanith says.
"Do tell," Ben says.
"A bunch of us left the bar, like, five minutes after Ben and Emanuel did," Tanith says. "It was one of those weird groups: it was, like, Megan Wing and John Baldwin and Sasha, were you there?" Sasha nods and giggles a little. "Yeah. It was nice out, and I was trying to convince myself not to wig out, so we walked back. When we got to the hotel, I was like, fuck not wigging out, I'm going up there. I had Ben's key, because we usually exchange them in case there's an emergency or he oversleeps. And I admit, I probably should have knocked, but I was pissed off and irrational. Which I had reason to be, because I came in the room, and there the two of them are, lying in bed with their shirts off. The TV was on low, in the background, and Ben was asleep with his head on Emanuel's shoulder. I just lost it. I was like, 'Get out! Get out!' I don't even know what I thought had happened, but it was just, it was bad.
"Emanuel started trying to explain. He said Ben had thrown up again, on himself and on Emanuel, and it got on their clothes. He'd cleaned them both up, thrown their dirty shirts in the bathtub, and helped Ben back to bed. And Ben had kind of fallen asleep on him." She turns to Ben. "Do you remember any of this?"
"Not a thing," Ben says. "I found my shirt in the morning, and it smelled wretched. But that could have been from the first round. I do remember you yelling and waking me, and having less clothes on than I remembered, and his arm around me. And I sort of shoved him off me. Because even if what he said was true, you don't do that to a guy."
"You really don't," Tanith agrees. "There were ways to deal with that without making it look like he'd... conquered you or something. And it was obvious that was what he was trying to get across, you know? He probably assumed you'd wake up alone with him and --"
"What? Think, what the hell, we've already done it once, let's make some memories?" Ben says. "Anyway. I was pretty unsteady on my feet, and it took both of us to throw him out of the room. Tanith hung around for a while afterward, until she was sure I was okay. We watched that movie, the one with the sorority girl who goes to law school? I can fucking remember the movie we watched and I can't remember for sure if I did anything but sleep on his shoulder. That's more than a little unfair.
"The next morning he was all, like, 'Some night we had, right?' Of course, I was completely hung over, so I was basically just growling incoherently at anyone who came near me, but it was pretty obvious he was trying to convince me that something happened. That kind of leads me to believe that nothing did happen, you know? Like, both of you where something actually did, he kept his distance, he was done with you. Me, he still seems like he's sniffing around a little."
"Then you are right," Stephane says. "Nothing happened. He wasn't lying."
"Thank God," Ben and Tanith say in unison. They stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. It's funny to other people, but the others hold back. There are some moments that can't be intruded on.
"So," Zhenya says into the quiet, furrowing his brow intensely at Stephane. "You are the expert on Emanuel, are you?"
"I'm not," Stephane says.
"But with all of us, you are so sure," Zhenya says. "You tell Evan why he is not interested again. You tell Ben whether he is forgetting something important. But I have no questions, so you don't tell me anything. I have a question now: how is it you know so fucking much?"
"We're friends," Stephane says. "Emanuel and I, we're friends. That is all." But his eyes are heavy and guarded, and nobody believes him. He corrects himself: "That is what we are now. I think, to him, maybe it is what we have been always. We don't talk about it. I don't think that he discusses it with -- when it becomes complicated. Because he -- he pretends that he has no feelings, it is all the same to him, but I believe he feels very much sometimes. And then there are problems.
"The first time we had sex, it was like Evan said, only I was not so bold as him. It was not my -- I was not losing my virginity, not close to that, but I lied because it seemed this was what Emanuel wanted me to say. I let him do everything he wanted. When we were finished, he told me that I was very beautiful, and he liked me very much. I do not always think this of myself, so I was eager to hear it and to believe it. He asked me to stay all night. I did not think that this was good for my skating, but again, I was afraid to tell him the truth. We stayed up very late talking about life, about men, about love. I thought that it was very romantic. Maybe only because I was sixteen years old, and everything was romantic to me then. But I believe that it really was."
"Wait," Johnny interrupts. "When was this?"
"Trophée Lalique," Stephane says. "2001."
"Oh my God," Johnny says. "I knew it."
"You kicked my ass there," Stephane says.
"I kicked both your damn asses," Johnny says.
"We were both very... distracting. Distracted."
"Yes to both," Sasha jumps in.
"You were there, too?" Johnny says. "I totally forgot." He looks around. "Oh, shit, a lot of us were at that one."
"I never skated at the 2001 Trophée Lalique," Evan says, with perfect timing, and nine people drink in response.
"All of you were there?" Stephane says, a note of panic in his voice. "And all of you... noticed?"
There is widespread nodding. "Some people thought there would be a, a reprimand," Marina says. "From the ISU."
"He is always obvious, you know," Max says. "But this time especially. And you were very young, which made it more... awful. To some people."
"You are the one who made his reputation, I think," Tania says.
Stephane cuts off the chatter by saying, "I fell in love with him then." This casts a hush over the bus, and that's what he wants. There is, he realizes, a measure of control in admitting this: control over his own memories, control over Emanuel. "My first love. He seemed very interested in my thoughts and ideas, and he liked me, he desired me. This is what attracted me to him. And some feelings, you cannot explain, right? I spent all of this competition with him. Even when I was skating, my mind was with him. At the end of the week, I believed that he was my boyfriend. I decided to believe this although I did not ask him if it was true. I knew that he would not say yes. So the only way that I could believe he loved me was, I could not ask him.
"Soon, it became clear to me that he had a new boy at every competition or exhibition. Still, I learned that most of them, he only had once, he did not have a... a connection with them. I felt that I was still special to him, although I did not see him or talk to him for several months. But he was badly injured that season, and he called me on the phone in, I think, January to tell me that he would not skate at the Olympic Games. It was an international phone call, and I was very surprised. I convinced myself that he kept my number, but I was surprised that he really did. He said that he was disappointed because he had not seen me, because he had enjoyed meeting me. He talked to me as a friend, but he also flirted. I think he was bored, recovering from his injury, but he also needed a friend then. So this was the beginning of our friendship. It hurt me a little in my heart, that he wanted only a friend. But this did not last long, because at Euros that year, I met another boyfriend. I felt more purely in love with him, and my feelings for Emanuel became more quiet."
Stephane isn't sure whether the others know who the new boyfriend was, but he decides it's not important. If they know, then they know. By now, that relationship is water under the bridge, too. He's got a lot of water under his bridge for someone who's just turned twenty-one. "Because I was in love with someone else, it was easier to, to build the friendship with Emanuel. Our schedules were at odds with each other for most of that year. We even did different exhibitions: he was usually in North America, and I was in Europe. Also, at this time, I was finishing secondary school, so my studies were very important. We did not see each other in person again until 2003 Worlds. But we talked on the phone very often, once a week at least.
"When I came to Worlds in 2003, and he was there, it was like reliving a memory. I was single again. I had not been to Washington, DC, before, so after the first day of practice he took me to the gay neighborhood there. He thought it was funny that I was too young to drink, not even eighteen years old. He told me that I have an "old soul," that I did not seem so young to him. I asked him if he should not be searching for a boy to keep him company. He said that he had already found that boy. So we made love several times that week. I was worried that my heart would wake up again, and I would fall in love with him again. But this didn't happen. I had not had this experience before, of making love with a friend, and it was very wonderful, because it is comfortable. At the end of this week, I asked him if he would want to do this again, if we were in the same competition, only as friends. He hesitated, and I don't know why: maybe because every commitment was frightful for him, maybe because he was not accustomed to hearing me ask things of him. But he said yes. We would see about the situations, but yes, he would like to.
"It went this way at Worlds for the next two years, and also at some appearances, exhibitions, that sort of thing. He made me a priority when we were in the same place, even if there was another boy who he had his eye on. In the meantime, I had other lovers, other boyfriends as well. But there was never a conflict until last fall, in Beijing for the Cup of China. I was dating someone, not so seriously yet, but I felt that there was a possibility. I did not feel comfortable to be with someone else, even if it was just Emanuel -- maybe especially if it was Emanuel. I told him this, and he became very angry with me. He said that I was breaking my promises to him. I had changed very much since we met, too much for him, and he did not recognize me. I saw the pain in his eyes, and I realized that after all this time, he was in love with me. But I couldn't be in love with him, not after so many years, when I had worked very hard to only feel friendship for him. I kissed him, and I told him that I was sorry. He went on to beat me in that competition: he came in first, and I second. I fell during my long program. It seems like this was fair."
Stephane is greeted with silence, and he wonders if they're expecting him to continue. He doesn't think there's anything else to say. He feels tears welling; he cries too easily. He blinks them away and smiles unevenly. "I don't know what I am... supposed to do now," he says, and he means it about Emanuel, too.
"I think you are supposed to let him go," Ira says. There is nervous laughter, not least because Ira has been so silent that it wasn't clear she was paying attention. She adds, "But it's a shame. It is very romantic."
"It's, like, epic," Johnny says.
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you've got," Evan says. He leans forward. He's not the only one.
"Who says I have anything?" Johnny says
"Oh, come on," Sasha says. "Of course you have something."
"But I don't," Johnny says. "I've got nothing. I've never slept with him." He throws up his hands. "The end."
"Right," Tanith says.
"Oh, it's not like he hasn't tried," Johnny says. "My first senior-level international competition? 2001 Goodwill Games? He's all over me like a fresh coat of paint. Like he can smell me. I'm a last-minute substitution and I'm way out of my league; I know I'm going to lose badly. Which I hate, so I'm already pissy, not to mention that the flight to Brisbane was hell and I picked up some kind of stomach thing on the plane. And he's coming up to me all, like, asking me questions, and I'm considering pretending to only speak French so he'll fuck off and die. Not that it would have helped. So I'm giving him these one-word answers, totally blowing him off, and he's, like, confused. Like it hadn't occurred to him that someone might be really obviously gay but just shudder at the idea of touching his dick for reasons that have nothing to do with sexual orientation and everything to do with the fact that I could, like, feel the sleaze dripping off of him. He starts to get desperate, which I of course find hilarious, because I'm mean. So he touches my arm and says, I don't know, something, but the point is, I'm not really good about having my personal space violated. I jerk away from him. He's like, 'Please don't tell me you're pretending to be straight.' And I'm like, 'No, just pretending to have standards.' That was the end of it, more or less. The whole competition, he kept giving me these looks, like I was supposed to be intimidated and suddenly bend over for him or something. And that's, like, that's round one of a long and repetitive history that I don't need to tell you. I mean, do I?"
There is scattered giggling. People are sitting on their hands. "Yes," Zhenya says, finally, and a small chorus of yeses echoes him.
"All right, but I'm telling you, it's the same thing over and over for five years," Johnny says. "I go to Skate Canada two months later, and there he fucking is again. And he's all, like, 'Hi, I didn't forget you,' and I'm all, like, 'Hi, still think you're gross.' He hooks up with Massimo Scali at that one, but he's right there with the staring again, like he blames me for his having to resort to ice dancers. Or Italians. Or whatever. Two weeks later, I'm in Paris for the Trophée Lalique, and thank God he only had eyes for Stephane at that one, because if he'd ruined Paris for me -- seriously, that would have been ugly. The whole Stephane thing made me think it was all over, or at least hope so. Like, Stephane was younger and prettier, so I would be off the hook.
"No fucking luck. Like, I pretty much took the whole next season off, and by the time I was competing again I'd practically forgotten about him. But had he forgotten about me? Right. Apparently our time apart had raised me to mythical status in his mind. At 2004 Worlds, he came after me like a salesman, like he was going to convince me that it'd be good for my career to just give up and let him fuck me. And I was like, 'Honey, the problem with that starts with "give up" and ends with "let you" do anything.' He fucking cleaned up at that Worlds -- I think he got Stefan Lindemann and Andrei Griazhev -- so I don't know what his problem was. Except that I do. I always get the sense that he enjoys it more when he has to work for someone, when he has to wear them down a little. When it's a game he can win.
"He doesn't try as hard anymore. I'm pretty sure he's figured out that he doesn't have a chance in hell, that I've moved into a place where I'm proud of refusing to fuck him. And, I mean, it's not like he'd actually have a good time with me. I think he realizes that, too, that I'm the exact opposite of what turns him on. That I was even when I was sixteen. And still, you know, he came up to me at the Campbell's Classic last year and he was like, 'You know, once you retire, nobody's going to want to fuck you. There are a million catty little twinks who are prettier than you. Once you retire, you're not going to be special anymore.' And I'm, like, seriously. I'm in a relationship. I'm with someone who actually likes me, who's not just desperate to put another notch in his bedpost. But I guess that's hard for some people to understand."
There is muttering, and Johnny worries that he's accidentally offended someone. It bothers him that people take him so seriously, that they think he's judging them. He admits that he's judging them, but he's not always judging them negatively. He wants to hate people more than he can, and this is a frustrating contradiction. "It's not even that," he says. "If I broke up with my boyfriend tomorrow, the answer to Emanuel would still be never. I'd fuck any of you a thousand times before I'd lay a finger on him. You know why? Because you're fucking honest."
He has been sitting cross-legged in the aisle, but he gets up from the floor and shoves his way to the back of the bus. Even more than it bothers him to know that people think he's judging them, it bothers him that people really are judging him, and for having the good sense to keep it in his pants, no less. That's the figure skating community: a skater learns quickly that if he is to be successful, he is supposed to shut up and let them fuck him in the ass, and afterwards to grin and crow about how the experience has strengthened him. Johnny is constitutionally incapable of this. He puts on his iPod and closes his eyes, as if the others will disappear if he cannot see or hear them.
"Should someone go after him?" Tanith says, craning her neck.
"Give him time," Marina says. No one moves. This is why these matters aren't discussed: someone always gets upset.
"Does he realize how much they're alike?" Stephane says.
"Of course," Sasha says. "I mean, he has to, right?"
"All right, but, I mean, there's one difference," Evan says. "I've never slept with him. Up until two minutes ago, he's never asked. I mean, has anyone?"
There is a lot of silence and some scattered shaking of heads. Finally, Ben says, "What I want to know is, how are all the gay skaters going to lose their virginity once Emanuel's gone? They'll be all on their own."
"He's very valuable," Zhenya says. "Maybe he will go on TV."
The bus crosses the state line into California. Nobody notices; they've stopped noticing. After a while, the cities run together and even the competitions. What's so frightening, and so weird, is that all of them can remember, without hesitation, where and when Emanuel happened. He gets into people's heads. He's like a landmark. He knows it: he shows it off in those shiny silver costume pants, the tights that show off his package, the way he smirks at the camera when he bothers to look at it. He provides an essential service to the skating community and a way to pass a dull hour on the tour bus. As a result, even Johnny can't really hate him. It's hard to hate an institution, a rite of passage, a role that someone has to play.
Title: Another Modern Swinger
Fandom: figure skating RPS
Pairings: Emanuel Sandhu/Evgeni Plushenko, Sandhu/Evan Lysacek, Sandhu/Benjamin Agosto, Sandhu/Stephane Lambiel, Sandhu/Johnny Weir
Rating: R for frank, but not graphic, descriptions of sex, as well as mature situations and language.
Continuity: During the 2006 Champions on Ice tour, with many references to events before that.
Summary: Five people that Emanuel Sandhu probably had sex with.
Word Count: About 8,000.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is Copyright 2006 Mosca. All rights reserved. All wrongs reversed. And now everyone knows what his penis looks like.
Notes: Thanks to callmesandy for IM audiencing and to her and sathinks for beta reading. The title is from a Pink Spiders song.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Emanuel Sandhu has had sex with every top-level male skater under the age of 35. This is a truth that normally goes unspoken in the skating community, mostly because it is so widely known as to not bear repeating. Young skaters who have just moved up into senior-level competition get helpful whispers from their more experienced rivals, if they're lucky. Or, arguably, the luckiest are the ones who get to find out for themselves, bent over a hotel bed in a strange city the night before quals.
It is late summer when the conversation turns to the Sandhu legend. The Champions on Ice tour bus thunders down the interstate, bound for California. The conversation begins safely enough, with the customary cautious chatter about costumes and pop music, but as the hour grows later, it transforms into a game of "I Never," albeit one threatened by ironic indifference and the language barrier. Johnny Weir is of course the one to broach the forbidden topic. "I've never slept with Emanuel Sandhu," he says. The other skaters are so busy drinking, or not drinking, or deciding whether their experiences merit a drink, or just plain laughing, to note that this is one of the few rounds in which Johnny's cup has remained down. The ones not consumed in their own guilty behavior are, for the most part, noticing that Zhenya has taken a large, anxious gulp.
When he realizes that everyone is staring expectantly at him, he says, "It was -- it was my only, eh, gay experience." This evokes further doubtful glares, so he adds, "I have been skating for many years, and I am comfortable, you know, but I have to be certain. I have been asked, of course, and I always say no, I am sorry, I am not gay. Sometimes there is disappointment." A few people snicker. A few look around to see if the others around them are among the disappointed parties, but there's no luck. Only three of the skaters on this summer's tour are openly gay, and all are fairly shy, not the type to bluntly proposition a man not known to be one of their own.
"It was 2001 Worlds. I was feeling strong, but also lonely. The year before, I was a new skater, and I was not expected to do so well as I did. This year, 2001, I was known to be among the best, and there was much press, all those microphones. I did not yet speak English well, and it was Canada, so many times they ask questions and I do not understand, and I am embarrassed. So I am hiding, I am trying to hide. The other skaters, they, eh, they avoid me anyway, they are competitive, they do not want to talk to me. Even Alexei, who I think is my friend, he pretends like he is not, he did not win Nationals and he is ashamed. And so although I don't wish to be noticed, still I am lonely.
"So I am relieved to meet Emanuel. He had not been at Worlds the previous year, and we had been maybe introduced, but we had not spoken much. But this time, he is friendly, he is interested, he asks about my flight, was it comfortable, he makes jokes about his unfair advantage. He speaks slowly, and I am grateful. At this time, he is not yet known for his, eh, his adventures, so I think he is making a friend. Why should I think he has another motive? We talk about how strange it is, competing, how you look around and you know, you know you are best, you know you can win everything. But at the same time, you know the histories of everybody, and though you know you can win, you believe for some moments that you will not. You believe it is better to withdraw. So it is about wanting. He understands this difference, and in this he is genuine, even if he plans to seduce me. And I do not know -- I did not know then, I do not know now -- if he came to me with this plan, or if he made this plan as we spoke.
"After some time, I sense that we are -- that others are looking at us with suspicion, that we should be speaking to many people. I note this, and I tell him it was a pleasure to meet him. These are my words exactly, which I learned from my language tapes, and he laughs because it is very unnatural. He tells me that we should meet again at the end of this reception, and at that time we will finish our conversation." Zhenya pauses and looks around him. He has learned, in the five years since, that this is gay skater code for arranging a post-reception hookup, and he is relieved to see the skaters around him nodding and chuckling in recognition.
"You will laugh at me because I say I was surprised. He said we should talk more in his room, and this surprised me. I asked if it was allowed, to do this. He thought it was a joke, and I wanted him to like me, so I pretended. And all this time, back to the skaters' lodge and to his room, he is talking and he is friendly. He is like this until the exact moment when he has closed the door. At that point, he kisses me. I am shocked, and I step back from him. This is the first time in my life I have to explain that I am sorry, I am not gay, I have misunderstood. Maybe not the first time a man has, eh, hit on me, but before this I did not know the signals.
"I tell him good night, and he tells me he is very hurt. He says I misled him. Now, of course, I am, eh, cynical, and I think he is only trying to win me. But I am curious, because this is a compliment to me, that he chooses me. Also, because I do not know him, I am afraid that he will tell lies about me. If I say that I, eh, I reject him, no one will believe. So I think, maybe it will not be so bad. And then the next time, I will be certain, I will know I am not gay because I have tried. So I tell him, okay, he can do what he wants, I will not leave him, but I apologize because I do not know how to do anything. He says that is all right, it is better, that is what he likes." Some of Zhenya's audience laughs in shock; a few laugh in recognition. Evan's face turns beet red, and they all know that his story is going to be next.
When there's silence, Zhenya continues, "I waited for him to kiss me again, but he didn't. He walked away from me. He was proud of himself, I think. He turned his back to me and took his shirt off, and he looked over his shoulder at me like I am supposed to be impressed. Now, I have by this time seen many skaters without their shirts, and he is nothing special. I realize that I am better-looking than him, and now I have no trouble. I take off all my clothes." There is more laughter, and Zhenya knows he has his audience captive. At first, he'd planned to stop short of the sex, but now he realizes that they are all waiting for the good part, the punch line. He's married, with a new baby; it's clear how this ended. And the vestiges of shame dissolve away.
"I am not, eh, hard when I am naked, and he sees this, and I think he takes this as a challenge. He comes to me and he goes down to his knees. He smiles up like he is... favoring? Doing a favor for me. And he, eh, he takes my dick in his hand and he starts to, eh, give me head. I close my eyes, and the whole time I am imagining that he is a beautiful woman. And I do forget who he is really. Only when I, eh, finish, I open my eyes, and I think I make some kind of sour face, because he says he can see I really am straight. He says many skaters, they are lying, or they lie to themselves. He says he helps them, and maybe this is even true. He does not want me to do anything to him, he says. I should go to my room and rest well for quals. I do this, and this is the first World Championship that I win, so I think it was not such a bad choice after all. And since this, we are, we are not the best friends, but we are always getting along. We are having an understanding. You know?"
He doesn't have to ask them, really. Much of the skating community is founded upon such agreements, the lines that people don't cross. Sometimes it's because they aren't attracted to each other; sometimes, it's because they are. Johnny and Evan keep just that much space between them. Tania and Max can spend more time together than apart and still go to bed with different people. The few people brave enough to date among their own -- not just skaters in general, but skaters who are as good as they themselves are -- tend to leave messes behind them. Nobody wants to compete against an ex, or even to catch his or her eye at an opening gala. Nobody wants to dodge that "I had him" smirk.
This is probably why poor, blushing Evan has so many eyes trained on him. Everyone watched him take a quick drink, not quite hiding it but not trying to draw attention to it, either. More to the point, everyone saw when Zhenya's story made him turn scarlet. "Yeah," he says. "Just -- just the once, though." He waits for them to move along, but nobody budges. "It was at Four Continents. 2003." He waits again. Silence. "Fine. I lost my virginity to him." He admits this knowing that he is not going to get away with leaving out a single detail.
"God, I've never told anybody this," he said. "And now I'm... apparently telling everybody this. Okay. I was seventeen, which means it was basically illegal, and I also sort of technically had a girlfriend, who I hadn't even remotely had sex with because okay, I pretty much knew I was gay, in theory, but I, um, I was just getting to the point where that didn't bother me. So I'd, like, I was sitting in my lodge room with my coach in the other bed, like, rehearsing how I was going to break up with my girlfriend because I was, like, fuck it, it was getting to the point where it was just stupid. But I don't know, it was like I needed an actual boy to prove that I was. And the only people I saw were, like, the guys I went to high school with and other skaters. High school was, like, no, and I didn't know where to start with the skaters. So I just kind of ended up... stuck. And, like, the longer it went on, the more embarrassed I was, the worse it got.
"Apparently, by then, people were, like, aware of this." A couple of snorts from the peanut gallery confirmed this. "Because, okay, Scott Smith? We were sitting next to each other on the plane, all the way to Beijing, and he was being nice or whatever, and I just kept thinking, wow, he's a lot older than me, he's my teammate, that would be weird. But it was to that point, I'm serious. It was a long flight, and nobody could sleep, and I ended up telling him more than I'd planned to. Like, the second we hit the ground, he's dragging me over to Emanuel. Who I'd totally met and stuff, but this was -- it was pretty clear there was some kind of arrangement being made. And it occurred to me, standing there in the baggage claim, having all these people talk over my head? It occurred to me that I was going to have to work pretty hard not to get laid in Beijing. And I was like, yesss." He raises his fist and flexes his bicep a little to reinforce the point.
"I still had the sharing-my-room-with-my-coach problem," he continues, and the comment is greeted with groans of sympathy. "But I went to my first practice slot and someone literally dropped a note down the front of my shirt. And there was, like, nowhere to go to take it out without attracting attention, so I skated for about twenty minutes with this piece of paper down my shirt, just praying that it wouldn't fall out and land on the ice. It ended up getting kind of lodged in my waistband, which was really fucking uncomfortable, and the first thing I did when I was in the catwalk to the dressing rooms was reach into my pants and pull it out. All it had on there is a room number, a time, and the word 'today.' I was so excited that I locked myself in the men's room with my skates still on to jerk off." That goes over so well that he's glad he mentioned it.
"I don't remember the room number anymore, but I remember that I was supposed to be there at 5:25 in the afternoon. It just seemed like such a random time. And I was, like, perfectly on time, to the point where I was standing outside that room staring at my watch for two minutes until it was exactly 5:25. I remember, like, swallowing and thinking I was going to throw up. Like, I knew I wasn't going to win Four Continents, I was only the third best of the American skaters that went, I was mostly there for the experience. It was, like, the first time I'd ever felt that way about a competition, that I wasn't really there to win. Even at Nationals when I was an insanely long shot, coming in twelfth, I was there to win, but I was standing outside that door and it was like, suddenly, I knew why I was in Beijing, and it wasn't to win a medal.
"So the door opened, and he was, like, he was really hot. Like, it's weird, I see him now at competitions, and I'm like, I thought he was hot?" People are laughing, and Evan feels the need to backtrack, to explain himself. He's as guilty of malicious gossip as anyone, but he's serious about the campaign to cut down on that. If they're going to gossip, and that's inevitable, it's wiser to do so charitably. "Because, I mean, he's not bad, but he's not... he's not someone I would really go after now, I don't think. Anyway, he was in this tight shirt and tight jeans, no shoes, totally waiting for me. And he was, he was tall, and that was a big deal. Like, I wasn't quite done growing, but I was taller than, like, everyone else in the sport, and it was a relief that he was even a little bit taller than I was. He looked me over, and he smiled, and he was like, 'Are you a top or a bottom?' And I realized that I had no idea. I was just getting to the point where I knew I wanted a boy. I hadn't really thought about what I would do when I was actually, like, with one.
"So I told him I didn't know. And I think he realized the extent to which I was, like, I had no idea what I was doing. He said, like, 'You're the one with the girlfriend, right?' and I nodded and he said, 'Okay, we can start slow, and you let me know when you figure it out.' By then, I was, like, completely terrified. Like, I'd just sort of assumed he would lie me down on the bed and just do whatever, like I wouldn't have to make any decisions. But he did lead me over the bed, and he kind of sat me down on the edge and sat down next to me. And he just -- I swear, all he did was touch my face and then kiss me, and I was like, oh my God. I think I actually said it out loud. Because, like, I'd been kissed before, I'd kissed girls, but this was -- okay, if I'd had any doubts left about my sexuality, they were totally gone. We were just, like, making out on the bed, and his hands were all over me, and I was like, I didn't care if anything else happened, I would have been happy with just that.
"Only not really." He waits for the laugh, and he gets it. The story gets easier as he tells it, and he begins to wonder why he's found it so humiliating. "By now I was, like, really hard, and all I could think was, I want him, like, under me. But I felt like even if I could find some way to say that, it wasn't going to happen that way. Even though he'd asked, you know? I didn't think he was really giving me the choice. But he stopped, and he looked at me for a minute, and he was like, 'You are so not a bottom.' He asked if I wanted to take my clothes off, and I didn't even answer, I just did it. He got undressed, too, and he was like, like Zhenya said, he was showing off, because, I mean, he's famous for being... well hung. And I wanted to, like, touch it, touch him, and I asked if I could. I think he rolled his eyes a little. I had his dick in my hand, and all I could think was, this is so cool. So I was just sort of playing with it, feeling it, and he was like, 'Harder,' so I did, and he came, like, right in my hand. I freaked out a little and started laughing, and he gave me a tissue.
"When I was done wiping myself off, he gave me this sort of, I don't know, this almost businesslike look. He had a condom in his hand, and he put it on me. And then he got down, like, not quite flat on his stomach but not really on his hands and knees. Like he was trying to put himself at an easy angle. He was just waiting for me to, like, fuck him, and he couldn't see that I was shaking. But I managed to get myself on top of him, and it was... disappointingly quick, but I don't think he minded that much. I think maybe your first time, it's like, you're good as long as it's not incredibly traumatic. Anyway, after, he's like, 'Do you want to stay for a while?' But it was basically dinnertime, and I was worried that my coach would wonder where I was, so I told him no, it was okay. Which, it seemed like he was kind of impressed by that. I remember that I kissed him goodbye, that I decided to do that.
"I moved to California that summer, right after I graduated from high school. It took me that long to break up with Naomi, which was kind of bad, especially because by then she pretty much knew. I mean, not about Emanuel specifically, but she had to know I was gay. I met my first boyfriend that summer, and that was... better. So it all turned out fine, you know? No interest from Emanuel after that, though," he says with a laugh.
"You are too aggressive for him," Stephane says.
"Right," Evan says.
"I am serious," Stephane says. "Too aggressive." He knows that everyone is waiting for him to elaborate on this, and he's willing. But when he tries to start, his tongue gets tied, caught up in the English and the force of emotion. "Ask me later," he says. "Someone else, go first."
There is substantial silence, people shifting in their seats. "There isn't anyone else," Ben says, accidentally drawing attention to himself and instantly regretting it.
"There's you," Tania says.
"What?" Ben says.
"You drank," Gwendal says. "I saw, you drank."
Ben sighs deeply. "Okay. I took half a drink. Because it's technically possible that I -- Okay. There was this night in Montreal about a year ago, the night before some, I don't even remember, some charity exhibition or something. Like, it wasn't skating that anyone cared about, we were mostly there to be there, and I got kind of... drunk. And there's a possibility that something... happened."
"Oh my God!" Tanith jumps in. "I always kind of wondered what happened that night."
"Yeah," Ben says. "Me too."
"Do you not remember anything?" Tanith says.
"There's, like, bits and pieces," Ben says. "You could probably fill stuff in."
"I don't know," she says. "It's kind of your thing, right?"
"But you were so much less drunk than I was."
"I had one beer. I was completely not drunk," Tanith says. "And okay, just so this is clear? This is the only time I've seen Ben drunk like that. Before or since."
"Everybody was," Ben says. "I mean, everyone was drinking. It was, I think it was that we were in Canada with a lot of Americans, and it was just an off-season exhibition so nobody cared that much. And a bunch of people who were a year or two underage in the US could drink there. So it just... we found this sports bar, and things got out of hand."
"Oh, wait," Johnny chimes in. "I think I was actually there. And I'm pretty sure nobody remembers that night. Except Tanith."
"I remember it," Sasha says. "But I had, like, no idea."
"Okay, wait, who's telling this story?" Ben says.
"Everyone," Tanith says.
"Fine with me," Ben says. He stretches and sits back on his hands. No one else is talking. "All right. I had a good excuse to get drunk that night. I mean, you know how relationships have good periods and bad periods, and this was... a really bad period for me and Merrie. Like, we were on the verge of breaking up, and I was pretty devastated. It was medicinal."
"You were doing tequila shots," Tanith laughs.
"Because they taste like medicine," Ben says. "I hadn't done shots in, like, ever, so they went right to my head. I remember standing up and getting dizzy and sitting back down, and then possibly hugging a lot of people."
"Okay," Tanith says. "The thing you need to know about Ben at this point is, when he drinks, he loves everybody." Although Ben doesn't get drunk often, most of the group is well aware of this. "He comes up to people he barely knows and tells them how beautiful they are. He will go on for hours about what a good friend I am and how he couldn't ever live without me. It's very sweet, but it's also, if he's acting like that, you really need to cut him off. Which I was trying to do, but every time I said something, he'd pat me on the arm and say how nice it was that I cared about him."
"I don't remember any of that," Ben says.
"Of course you don't," Tanith says.
"Tell me I didn't say anything like that to --"
"Oh, but you did," Tanith says.
"What did I say?"
"I don't know," Tanith says, "but it seemed to encourage him."
"Holy shit, that explains so much of that night," Ben says.
"It really does," Tanith says. "Because, like, I was watching Ben talk to Emanuel, and I was thinking, this could not end well. One boy very drunk and on the rocks with his girlfriend, one boy who has a tendency to take advantage of the drunk and vulnerable? No. I went over there to, I don't know, break things up a little, and Ben threw his arm around me and said, 'I have something very important to tell you. I think I'm going to throw up.' So I basically dragged him to the ladies' room, which I figured would at least be safe for two minutes, and I held his hair."
"Which was nice of you," Ben adds. "And then, okay, it's coming back a little. I think we, like, we went out of the bathroom, and Emanuel came up to us and told us he'd called me a taxi and he'd take me back to the hotel and get me sobered up. Tanith was like, 'That's okay, I'll take him back,' meaning me, but I was, you know how you get drunk and stubborn? I was, like, insisting that she was still having fun and she should stay."
"Even though I wasn't, and I shouldn't have," Tanith says.
"Well, obviously, but I wouldn't let you leave. So I went back to the hotel with Emanuel. I honestly don't know whether he tried anything in the taxi, but I was probably too drunk to be any fun. He brought me up to my room and got me to sit on the bed, and then he made a big pot of hotel coffee and brought me some water. Up to that point, he actually was being nice and helpful, regardless of what he was hoping I would agree to when I'd sobered back up to the point of overly friendly drunk.
"He'd propped me up with pillows, and I had my legs sort of v'd apart." Ben tries to demonstrate, but there's not enough room on the bus. He shrugs and moves on. "Emanuel brought me the coffee, and when it was in my hands, he stayed there, sitting between my legs. And there was not enough tequila in the world for me to think anything but, if I were to switch teams for someone? It would not be him. But there was enough tequila in my system for me to tell him this, flat out. He was like, 'What makes you think I was even interested in you?' and I was like, 'You're sitting between my legs, and I'm alone in a hotel room with you, and you know what? I'm fucking calling my girlfriend.' Which I did, and thank God she didn't pick up.
"I finished my coffee, and because Emanuel has apparently never learned the rules of babysitting a drunk person, I fell asleep. And that's all I know, because when I woke up, Tanith was in the room, yelling at Emanuel."
"There was a reason for that," Tanith says.
"Do tell," Ben says.
"A bunch of us left the bar, like, five minutes after Ben and Emanuel did," Tanith says. "It was one of those weird groups: it was, like, Megan Wing and John Baldwin and Sasha, were you there?" Sasha nods and giggles a little. "Yeah. It was nice out, and I was trying to convince myself not to wig out, so we walked back. When we got to the hotel, I was like, fuck not wigging out, I'm going up there. I had Ben's key, because we usually exchange them in case there's an emergency or he oversleeps. And I admit, I probably should have knocked, but I was pissed off and irrational. Which I had reason to be, because I came in the room, and there the two of them are, lying in bed with their shirts off. The TV was on low, in the background, and Ben was asleep with his head on Emanuel's shoulder. I just lost it. I was like, 'Get out! Get out!' I don't even know what I thought had happened, but it was just, it was bad.
"Emanuel started trying to explain. He said Ben had thrown up again, on himself and on Emanuel, and it got on their clothes. He'd cleaned them both up, thrown their dirty shirts in the bathtub, and helped Ben back to bed. And Ben had kind of fallen asleep on him." She turns to Ben. "Do you remember any of this?"
"Not a thing," Ben says. "I found my shirt in the morning, and it smelled wretched. But that could have been from the first round. I do remember you yelling and waking me, and having less clothes on than I remembered, and his arm around me. And I sort of shoved him off me. Because even if what he said was true, you don't do that to a guy."
"You really don't," Tanith agrees. "There were ways to deal with that without making it look like he'd... conquered you or something. And it was obvious that was what he was trying to get across, you know? He probably assumed you'd wake up alone with him and --"
"What? Think, what the hell, we've already done it once, let's make some memories?" Ben says. "Anyway. I was pretty unsteady on my feet, and it took both of us to throw him out of the room. Tanith hung around for a while afterward, until she was sure I was okay. We watched that movie, the one with the sorority girl who goes to law school? I can fucking remember the movie we watched and I can't remember for sure if I did anything but sleep on his shoulder. That's more than a little unfair.
"The next morning he was all, like, 'Some night we had, right?' Of course, I was completely hung over, so I was basically just growling incoherently at anyone who came near me, but it was pretty obvious he was trying to convince me that something happened. That kind of leads me to believe that nothing did happen, you know? Like, both of you where something actually did, he kept his distance, he was done with you. Me, he still seems like he's sniffing around a little."
"Then you are right," Stephane says. "Nothing happened. He wasn't lying."
"Thank God," Ben and Tanith say in unison. They stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. It's funny to other people, but the others hold back. There are some moments that can't be intruded on.
"So," Zhenya says into the quiet, furrowing his brow intensely at Stephane. "You are the expert on Emanuel, are you?"
"I'm not," Stephane says.
"But with all of us, you are so sure," Zhenya says. "You tell Evan why he is not interested again. You tell Ben whether he is forgetting something important. But I have no questions, so you don't tell me anything. I have a question now: how is it you know so fucking much?"
"We're friends," Stephane says. "Emanuel and I, we're friends. That is all." But his eyes are heavy and guarded, and nobody believes him. He corrects himself: "That is what we are now. I think, to him, maybe it is what we have been always. We don't talk about it. I don't think that he discusses it with -- when it becomes complicated. Because he -- he pretends that he has no feelings, it is all the same to him, but I believe he feels very much sometimes. And then there are problems.
"The first time we had sex, it was like Evan said, only I was not so bold as him. It was not my -- I was not losing my virginity, not close to that, but I lied because it seemed this was what Emanuel wanted me to say. I let him do everything he wanted. When we were finished, he told me that I was very beautiful, and he liked me very much. I do not always think this of myself, so I was eager to hear it and to believe it. He asked me to stay all night. I did not think that this was good for my skating, but again, I was afraid to tell him the truth. We stayed up very late talking about life, about men, about love. I thought that it was very romantic. Maybe only because I was sixteen years old, and everything was romantic to me then. But I believe that it really was."
"Wait," Johnny interrupts. "When was this?"
"Trophée Lalique," Stephane says. "2001."
"Oh my God," Johnny says. "I knew it."
"You kicked my ass there," Stephane says.
"I kicked both your damn asses," Johnny says.
"We were both very... distracting. Distracted."
"Yes to both," Sasha jumps in.
"You were there, too?" Johnny says. "I totally forgot." He looks around. "Oh, shit, a lot of us were at that one."
"I never skated at the 2001 Trophée Lalique," Evan says, with perfect timing, and nine people drink in response.
"All of you were there?" Stephane says, a note of panic in his voice. "And all of you... noticed?"
There is widespread nodding. "Some people thought there would be a, a reprimand," Marina says. "From the ISU."
"He is always obvious, you know," Max says. "But this time especially. And you were very young, which made it more... awful. To some people."
"You are the one who made his reputation, I think," Tania says.
Stephane cuts off the chatter by saying, "I fell in love with him then." This casts a hush over the bus, and that's what he wants. There is, he realizes, a measure of control in admitting this: control over his own memories, control over Emanuel. "My first love. He seemed very interested in my thoughts and ideas, and he liked me, he desired me. This is what attracted me to him. And some feelings, you cannot explain, right? I spent all of this competition with him. Even when I was skating, my mind was with him. At the end of the week, I believed that he was my boyfriend. I decided to believe this although I did not ask him if it was true. I knew that he would not say yes. So the only way that I could believe he loved me was, I could not ask him.
"Soon, it became clear to me that he had a new boy at every competition or exhibition. Still, I learned that most of them, he only had once, he did not have a... a connection with them. I felt that I was still special to him, although I did not see him or talk to him for several months. But he was badly injured that season, and he called me on the phone in, I think, January to tell me that he would not skate at the Olympic Games. It was an international phone call, and I was very surprised. I convinced myself that he kept my number, but I was surprised that he really did. He said that he was disappointed because he had not seen me, because he had enjoyed meeting me. He talked to me as a friend, but he also flirted. I think he was bored, recovering from his injury, but he also needed a friend then. So this was the beginning of our friendship. It hurt me a little in my heart, that he wanted only a friend. But this did not last long, because at Euros that year, I met another boyfriend. I felt more purely in love with him, and my feelings for Emanuel became more quiet."
Stephane isn't sure whether the others know who the new boyfriend was, but he decides it's not important. If they know, then they know. By now, that relationship is water under the bridge, too. He's got a lot of water under his bridge for someone who's just turned twenty-one. "Because I was in love with someone else, it was easier to, to build the friendship with Emanuel. Our schedules were at odds with each other for most of that year. We even did different exhibitions: he was usually in North America, and I was in Europe. Also, at this time, I was finishing secondary school, so my studies were very important. We did not see each other in person again until 2003 Worlds. But we talked on the phone very often, once a week at least.
"When I came to Worlds in 2003, and he was there, it was like reliving a memory. I was single again. I had not been to Washington, DC, before, so after the first day of practice he took me to the gay neighborhood there. He thought it was funny that I was too young to drink, not even eighteen years old. He told me that I have an "old soul," that I did not seem so young to him. I asked him if he should not be searching for a boy to keep him company. He said that he had already found that boy. So we made love several times that week. I was worried that my heart would wake up again, and I would fall in love with him again. But this didn't happen. I had not had this experience before, of making love with a friend, and it was very wonderful, because it is comfortable. At the end of this week, I asked him if he would want to do this again, if we were in the same competition, only as friends. He hesitated, and I don't know why: maybe because every commitment was frightful for him, maybe because he was not accustomed to hearing me ask things of him. But he said yes. We would see about the situations, but yes, he would like to.
"It went this way at Worlds for the next two years, and also at some appearances, exhibitions, that sort of thing. He made me a priority when we were in the same place, even if there was another boy who he had his eye on. In the meantime, I had other lovers, other boyfriends as well. But there was never a conflict until last fall, in Beijing for the Cup of China. I was dating someone, not so seriously yet, but I felt that there was a possibility. I did not feel comfortable to be with someone else, even if it was just Emanuel -- maybe especially if it was Emanuel. I told him this, and he became very angry with me. He said that I was breaking my promises to him. I had changed very much since we met, too much for him, and he did not recognize me. I saw the pain in his eyes, and I realized that after all this time, he was in love with me. But I couldn't be in love with him, not after so many years, when I had worked very hard to only feel friendship for him. I kissed him, and I told him that I was sorry. He went on to beat me in that competition: he came in first, and I second. I fell during my long program. It seems like this was fair."
Stephane is greeted with silence, and he wonders if they're expecting him to continue. He doesn't think there's anything else to say. He feels tears welling; he cries too easily. He blinks them away and smiles unevenly. "I don't know what I am... supposed to do now," he says, and he means it about Emanuel, too.
"I think you are supposed to let him go," Ira says. There is nervous laughter, not least because Ira has been so silent that it wasn't clear she was paying attention. She adds, "But it's a shame. It is very romantic."
"It's, like, epic," Johnny says.
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you've got," Evan says. He leans forward. He's not the only one.
"Who says I have anything?" Johnny says
"Oh, come on," Sasha says. "Of course you have something."
"But I don't," Johnny says. "I've got nothing. I've never slept with him." He throws up his hands. "The end."
"Right," Tanith says.
"Oh, it's not like he hasn't tried," Johnny says. "My first senior-level international competition? 2001 Goodwill Games? He's all over me like a fresh coat of paint. Like he can smell me. I'm a last-minute substitution and I'm way out of my league; I know I'm going to lose badly. Which I hate, so I'm already pissy, not to mention that the flight to Brisbane was hell and I picked up some kind of stomach thing on the plane. And he's coming up to me all, like, asking me questions, and I'm considering pretending to only speak French so he'll fuck off and die. Not that it would have helped. So I'm giving him these one-word answers, totally blowing him off, and he's, like, confused. Like it hadn't occurred to him that someone might be really obviously gay but just shudder at the idea of touching his dick for reasons that have nothing to do with sexual orientation and everything to do with the fact that I could, like, feel the sleaze dripping off of him. He starts to get desperate, which I of course find hilarious, because I'm mean. So he touches my arm and says, I don't know, something, but the point is, I'm not really good about having my personal space violated. I jerk away from him. He's like, 'Please don't tell me you're pretending to be straight.' And I'm like, 'No, just pretending to have standards.' That was the end of it, more or less. The whole competition, he kept giving me these looks, like I was supposed to be intimidated and suddenly bend over for him or something. And that's, like, that's round one of a long and repetitive history that I don't need to tell you. I mean, do I?"
There is scattered giggling. People are sitting on their hands. "Yes," Zhenya says, finally, and a small chorus of yeses echoes him.
"All right, but I'm telling you, it's the same thing over and over for five years," Johnny says. "I go to Skate Canada two months later, and there he fucking is again. And he's all, like, 'Hi, I didn't forget you,' and I'm all, like, 'Hi, still think you're gross.' He hooks up with Massimo Scali at that one, but he's right there with the staring again, like he blames me for his having to resort to ice dancers. Or Italians. Or whatever. Two weeks later, I'm in Paris for the Trophée Lalique, and thank God he only had eyes for Stephane at that one, because if he'd ruined Paris for me -- seriously, that would have been ugly. The whole Stephane thing made me think it was all over, or at least hope so. Like, Stephane was younger and prettier, so I would be off the hook.
"No fucking luck. Like, I pretty much took the whole next season off, and by the time I was competing again I'd practically forgotten about him. But had he forgotten about me? Right. Apparently our time apart had raised me to mythical status in his mind. At 2004 Worlds, he came after me like a salesman, like he was going to convince me that it'd be good for my career to just give up and let him fuck me. And I was like, 'Honey, the problem with that starts with "give up" and ends with "let you" do anything.' He fucking cleaned up at that Worlds -- I think he got Stefan Lindemann and Andrei Griazhev -- so I don't know what his problem was. Except that I do. I always get the sense that he enjoys it more when he has to work for someone, when he has to wear them down a little. When it's a game he can win.
"He doesn't try as hard anymore. I'm pretty sure he's figured out that he doesn't have a chance in hell, that I've moved into a place where I'm proud of refusing to fuck him. And, I mean, it's not like he'd actually have a good time with me. I think he realizes that, too, that I'm the exact opposite of what turns him on. That I was even when I was sixteen. And still, you know, he came up to me at the Campbell's Classic last year and he was like, 'You know, once you retire, nobody's going to want to fuck you. There are a million catty little twinks who are prettier than you. Once you retire, you're not going to be special anymore.' And I'm, like, seriously. I'm in a relationship. I'm with someone who actually likes me, who's not just desperate to put another notch in his bedpost. But I guess that's hard for some people to understand."
There is muttering, and Johnny worries that he's accidentally offended someone. It bothers him that people take him so seriously, that they think he's judging them. He admits that he's judging them, but he's not always judging them negatively. He wants to hate people more than he can, and this is a frustrating contradiction. "It's not even that," he says. "If I broke up with my boyfriend tomorrow, the answer to Emanuel would still be never. I'd fuck any of you a thousand times before I'd lay a finger on him. You know why? Because you're fucking honest."
He has been sitting cross-legged in the aisle, but he gets up from the floor and shoves his way to the back of the bus. Even more than it bothers him to know that people think he's judging them, it bothers him that people really are judging him, and for having the good sense to keep it in his pants, no less. That's the figure skating community: a skater learns quickly that if he is to be successful, he is supposed to shut up and let them fuck him in the ass, and afterwards to grin and crow about how the experience has strengthened him. Johnny is constitutionally incapable of this. He puts on his iPod and closes his eyes, as if the others will disappear if he cannot see or hear them.
"Should someone go after him?" Tanith says, craning her neck.
"Give him time," Marina says. No one moves. This is why these matters aren't discussed: someone always gets upset.
"Does he realize how much they're alike?" Stephane says.
"Of course," Sasha says. "I mean, he has to, right?"
"All right, but, I mean, there's one difference," Evan says. "I've never slept with him. Up until two minutes ago, he's never asked. I mean, has anyone?"
There is a lot of silence and some scattered shaking of heads. Finally, Ben says, "What I want to know is, how are all the gay skaters going to lose their virginity once Emanuel's gone? They'll be all on their own."
"He's very valuable," Zhenya says. "Maybe he will go on TV."
The bus crosses the state line into California. Nobody notices; they've stopped noticing. After a while, the cities run together and even the competitions. What's so frightening, and so weird, is that all of them can remember, without hesitation, where and when Emanuel happened. He gets into people's heads. He's like a landmark. He knows it: he shows it off in those shiny silver costume pants, the tights that show off his package, the way he smirks at the camera when he bothers to look at it. He provides an essential service to the skating community and a way to pass a dull hour on the tour bus. As a result, even Johnny can't really hate him. It's hard to hate an institution, a rite of passage, a role that someone has to play.