26. Johnny

If Kurt and I are gonna be together for real—and I want that more and more every day—he needs to know everything about me. Even the ugly stuff that I've tried to hide.

Christian is a professional. It's her job to listen to this sort of thing and not react. But this may make Kurt look at me differently. Make him think less of me.

My stomach feels hollow and empty, and my mouth goes dry. I start looking for the exit—which is the door. It's right there. I could run.

"Are you sure you want to talk about it?" Kurt asks, breaking through my nerves. "I'd never force you to."

Honesty.

The only way out is through.

I can do this.

I scratch at my face. "No, but yes. I don't want to, but I'll have to talk about it again at the trial, anyway. The thing is, I'm afraid you ain't gonna like me no more, Kurt."

"That's never going to happen," he says, lightly stroking my forearm. I want to lean into him, but I've gotta be strong or I'll never get through this.

"Johnny, in these sessions, you don't have to say anything you don't want to. So why don't you start with what you want to tell us?" Christian says.

I scrub my cheeks and start twisting my wedding ring. "Y'all know I've always been a top, right?" I look at Christian. "You understand gay sex terminology?"

She nods. "Yes. Why are you exclusively a top?"

"That's what I like. I tried bottoming once, and it hurt, and I didn't like it. I try to make it good for the people I'm with, but it's not for me."

"You have every right to set boundaries that work for you, regarding sex and elsewhere in your life," Christian says.

I clear my throat and rub my hands over my jean-covered thighs. "Okay, so, well. I've worked for a lot of different studios. The one I usually worked for had a founder who was big on ethics and consent. He got sick, though, and left a new guy in charge. And this new guy—well, he's a veteran in the industry, so he's not new, just new to me—he's known for being … edgier. He brought in his own company, where he jointly produced and directed, and started to take over different planned productions. More than once, he asked me to do some scenes outside my costar's limits. I said no, and he got pissed. I did the scene the way I thought it needed to be done. He chewed me out something fierce afterward, but I wasn't gonna do what he asked. Then he asked me to work with another actor who I guess was a buddy of his, who called me a sissy for respecting my costars' boundaries. Anyway, a few weeks later, I got called for a job, but the director sends me to his studio. I'd worked there before, though it wasn't my favorite. That day we were gonna film on a sound stage with a bed and some props. Nothing too unusual. They told me we'd be filming an orgy scene. I've done plenty of those, and this time I think there were maybe eight guys? I didn't think anything of it, and that was my first mistake."

I can tell that Kurt doesn't like where this is going, but he doesn't say anything. A sour taste rises in my mouth, and I swallow hard.

"What happened?" Christian asks softly, putting her notepad down.

"Well, I get there and they hand me my usual bottle of Gatorade, and it's open. I figured it was just my brain tricking me. You know how that happens, like you think ‘Did I open it already, and just forgot?' I guess I wasn't really thinking straight or wasn't suspicious enough." I shake my head. "There are some sketchy people in porn, and I know better than to trust anyone I don't know well, but I didn't think I'd need to check my drink at a place where I'd worked before, for damn sake." My stomach rolls. "And I always had Gatorade before filming."

Kurt makes a soft, hurt noise.

"At any rate, after I drank it, I started to feel woozy. Wrong. Loose. Dizzy. And then I was in this kind of—I don't know how to describe it, but I couldn't control what was happening. I don't bottom, Kurt," I whisper. "Not ever. I'm good with a lot of sex and kink, but that's a hard limit for me."

He takes my hand, not squeezing, just warm and gentle.

"It's like I was out of my body. I could tell the cameras were rolling. I could tell that the other actors were messing around and making fun of me. Making fun of the fact that here's this big cowboy who don't bottom. They handcuffed me to the bed and spread my legs, and I couldn't really fight back. And then there are periods I remember and periods I don't. But I remember guys ramming themselves up my ass. Taking turns. Laughing at me."

I'm starting to tear up, which I don't do. "I mean, I'm a big guy, and I'm fucking strong, but I ain't strong against seven or eight guys, not drugged, not handcuffed. I kicked and screamed to the extent I could. What I thought was going to be a fun scene was … I can't describe it. It was like being in hell."

I can't bear to look at Kurt, so I'm laser focused on Christian, who has a kind look on her face. "I dunno if the other actors knew that I was drugged. It might have been—I hope it was—just the director. I'm pretty sure he's the one who roofied me. He was pissed at me for questioning his authority. The other guys said later that he'd told them I was going to resist and playact like it was a rape scene. Only it actually was. He wanted my genuine reaction. He wanted my fight. Well, he got it." My eyes are hot. "I'd told him I'd never bottom. And he wanted Velvet Finally Gets Topped."

"Johnny," Kurt says, and I finally turn to him. He gives me a reassuring nod and looks like he wants to hug me but doesn't know if he should.

"Don't pity me. Please. I don't want it. I don't want you to not touch me, either."

"I'd never—" he starts, but I interrupt him. I want to get the rest of this out and over with.

"I had to take myself to the hospital the next day, because they didn't stretch me properly, and I had … injuries. Tearing and bleeding inside. Bruises and scratches all over my body from where I fought. Where they held me down. I couldn't stop them. I'm a strong guy, but not when I'm shackled to a bed." I'm repeating myself, but I don't know how else to explain it. "I feel so damned ashamed about the whole thing. How could I have been so stupid, to let this happen? I should've known better than to trust them. That studio was known for its grittiness. I should've been smarter."

Christian's started taking notes again. Kurt's got tears in his eyes, and he scoots closer, putting one arm around me.

"The doctors treated me, but I got funny looks from some of them. I guess word got out."

"Jesus," Kurt mutters. "This keeps getting worse and worse."

"The police came and took a statement. They did an investigation, but I'd waited too long and the hospital didn't run drug tests right away, so the shit was outta my system. No charges. So I talked to a lawyer. Your buddies, Danny and Noah and all. It took me a long time to tell them everything. I didn't know—I mean, I wanted to just forget it had ever happened, but I can't forget, and what if I didn't say anything and he kept doing that to, to other people, and … anyway, they filed a lawsuit for sexual harassment and sexual battery. That's been going on for a while. Only no one believes me, because I'm a porn star, so I'm supposed to have my body used however by whoever." I can't keep the sourness out of my voice.

"Babe," Kurt whispers.

"All the witnesses they deposed said that they thought I was acting. That I'm a veteran in the industry. That they were doing what they were told was supposed to happen. No matter how hard my lawyers have worked, I ain't got no evidence other than my word, the medical reports—which can be interpreted as a natural consequence of a rough scene—and the video, which could be me being a really good actor. Then the company sued me back, but the lawyers got that tossed out. So that's where we are," I finish.

The room's silent. My eyes are hot. My body's drained.

Christian's watching me, letting me feel the bad feelings, I think.

Finally, Kurt asks softly, "Were you taking those sleeping pills to deal with the trauma from the rape?"

I nod. "I wasn't taking them. But that's why they were prescribed, yeah."

Kurt's rubbing his leg, and his muscles are jumping under his skin. Then he clenches his hands into fists, and his face crumples. "Babe," he whispers. "I'm so fucking sorry."

I stiffen. "Don't be sorry for me. I hate it. I hate people feeling bad."

"I know," he says. "But I want to help you however I can."

I want to roll my eyes, but here's my pushy husband. Who I'm quite sweet on, if I'm being honest. He's a catch.

I wish he were my husband for real.

"Don't treat me as if I'm damaged because of what happened," I murmur.

"I promise I won't," Kurt murmurs back. "And I'll never ask you to talk about this again if you don't want to. But who was the director who did this to you? Tell me his name."

I look everywhere but at him. Finally, I mutter, "Gary Pinkerton."

Kurt blinks. Gary's famous enough to be known outside of porn circles. Along the lines of Hugh Hefner or someone like that—someone famous for being a smut peddler.

"I thought he only made straight porn," Kurt blurts.

"Oh, he'll film people having sex with anything that moves. And some things that don't."

"What's going to happen to him? He should be in jail."

"Like I said, there's no criminal case. The lawsuit's plugging along, for whatever that"s worth, but I ain't likely to win. There's no proof that I was roofied other than my word. There ain't no one else to testify that I didn't consent, because they were told I did. There ain't no one who cares, because I'm just a fucking porn star," I say bitterly.

"Do you believe you couldn't be raped, because you're a man?" Christian asks.

I nod. "I know it ain't right, but yeah. That's part of it. I'm big. Strong. A cowboy. Ain't no one who can violate me." I cough. "But they did."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Like a fuckin' loser!" I explode, pounding my fist against my thigh. "Sheee-it, I ain't weak." I glare at her, my lips curled in a snarl. My cheeks burn, and my breath hitches.

"But having your control over your body taken away like that makes you feel weak?" Christian asks.

"Fuck. Yeah. Like I'm … helpless." I let my overgrown hair flop into my face.

We all sit in silence as the room recovers from my hollering.

"Can I say something?" Kurt asks.

Both Christian and I nod.

"Now that I know all of this—and it's horrible, babe, and I'm sorry. I don't have words bad enough to say how fucked up it is. But I have another concern. You have nightmares sometimes. I've seen you touch your wrists, and now that I think about it, you were careful when I handed you drinks in Vegas. So I'm scared I'm going to accidentally trigger you. That I'm going to do something—just something innocent that I don't even realize—that makes you think you're back with those monsters. Do you think I could mess you up like that?"

"Maybe," I say, my throat thick. "I do get flashbacks sometimes."

"If Johnny reacts when you touch him without meaning harm, Kurt, what are you going to do?" Christian asks.

"I guess talk to him, remind him what's real and what isn't," he says.

"That's a good start."

Again, the room goes quiet. After a moment, Christian says, "Johnny, it seems as if you may lack the levels of safety and security many of us take for granted, and you've got some shame piled on top of that. You've been relying on yourself for a long time, being the primary resource—financial and, in earlier years, physical and maybe emotional—for your mom. Who took care of you when you were growing up?"

"Didn't need no one," I mutter. My head is starting to hurt.

"You didn't need someone to care for you?"

I shrug, and she nods. Not in an agreement way, more a moving-things-along way.

"Now you're a provider and a caretaker, and it seems like you think you have to do it on your own. Does that sound right to you?"

"Sometimes," I mutter.

"But it's okay to let other people help if they want to," she says.

"Shit." My jaw hurts. I wanna get out of here.

"Babe, you might have some toxic masculinity," Kurt says.

"Possibly," Christian says. She turns to him. "We don't have to label it as toxic. We're all products of our environment."

"Sorry," Kurt says. "I didn't mean it like that. You're also a softie."

I put on a smile that falls with Christian's next words.

"Let's speak plainly. You were violently assaulted at work, on camera," Christian says. "Not only was your body violated, but the fact that it was recorded, there's documentation of it that others might see—that perpetuates the violation and keeps it fresh. It's natural for you to feel like you need to protect yourself against further harm by not letting anyone get close to you. It's a sign of healing that you've let your husband in to hear about this."

"I'm fucking scared he's gonna leave me, now that he knows," I say, my eyes wet.

"Never," Kurt hisses. "What happened at that studio wasn't your fault. Period. And if you try to judge yourself for it, I'll … well, I'll tell you as many times as you need to hear it that you have nothing to be ashamed of. The fact that it happened and that asshole isn't being punished, though, that's making me ragey."

How does Kurt always break through my defenses? Instead of running, I want to curl up in his warmth.

Christian notices when I move closer to him. "It's important that you have someone like Kurt," she says. "He supports you. Can you feel it?"

"Yeah," I say. "I feel like we've always been together."

"I do, too. Even though that's so far from the truth," Kurt says.

"What do you mean?" Christian asks. "How long have you two been together?"

I turn to Kurt. "I don't want to minimize what you've done for me, but she should know that we only just met two days before we first came to see her." I turn to her. "We've known each other a little over a month. It was one of these get-drunk-and-married-in-Vegas things."

"I didn't know that," she says, her eyebrows raised. "Does the length of time you've known each other matter to you?"

"No," I say. "I feel like Kurt's exactly what I need."

He glances at me, and his expression makes me feel like I've just downed a cup of hot cocoa on a cold day. "I'm so glad to have Johnny in my life," he says. "I liked him before I met him"—he coughs—"um, from his videos, but now that I know him as a real person, know how complicated and caring he is, it's …" He shrugs, apparently at a loss for words.

"Forgive me for asking, but with such a … spontaneous marriage, did you ever consider dissolving it?"

"Yeah," Kurt says. "I did, at first. But … well, this sounds awful, but I thought that it would look bad for my political career if we divorced immediately. And then I got to know him, and now the last thing I want is to split up."

Kurt's not one to fib, but is that true? Seems too much to hope for.

Will he still want to stay with me even if his political career doesn't take off? Because I've seen the poll numbers, and … he's a lovely man, but the race isn't close. No matter what he says, I'm still not sure he's with me by choice. I've trapped him, in a way.

"What do you think?" Christian asks me.

"I think I like Kurt a heck of a lot. And I'm grateful he's helping me through this. I'm scared, though, that we're only bonding because I'm a mess—the folks at the hospital said sometimes that happens, and I want something real."

"It feels real to me," Kurt says, which makes my pulse flutter in my throat.

"I'm scared you're gonna change your mind about me after the election." I laugh humorlessly. "For a marriage that wasn't even meant to be real, I'm really hung up on you."

"The election has nothing to do with our marriage," Kurt says. "And for what it's worth, I'm really hung up on you, too."

Christian gives us a warm smile. "It sounds to me as if you both care deeply about each other, despite your relationship being very new. And that's good. We all need people who we can rely on, especially in times of stress. Now, outside of this room, there are things happening in your real world," she says. "Kurt, you have an election coming up. And Johnny, you've got your lawsuit."

"Yeah."

"How's your stress level with that?"

"Pretty fuckin' high," I admit. "And it's not just the lawsuit. I've been jumpy. After the … the incident, I started carrying a gun for protection. I also had some fantasies about making Gary Pinkerton go away permanently." I quickly hold up my hands. "I'm not a murderer. I just needed to feel safe, you know? My plan B, back in Vegas, was going to be either him or me. But when it came down to it, I didn't think I could shoot someone else. Not, like, out of the blue."

"The gun was for him?" Kurt asks. "I didn't know that."

"Or me. I was gonna take the pills, then use the gun if I needed it."

Christian looks at me for a long moment, apparently trying to figure out if I'm a danger to society.

"I locked up the gun," Kurt assures her. "Even though I'll admit hearing his story makes me feel violent, too, and I'm not a violent person."

"Are either of you two going to do anything with the gun?" Christian asks.

"No," I say.

"No," he says.

"If that changes, you call me."

We both nod.

She looks satisfied. We get to the end of the session, and she says, "I don't know what the ‘right' outcome for your relationship is. You got together in highly unusual circumstances, and while the immediate crisis has passed, Johnny, you're still working through a lot of difficult issues. In any case, you didn't come to me for relationship counseling. But whatever path or paths you two end up walking, as I said before, it's clear that you truly care for each other."

I nod and smile at Kurt. "I think that's true."

He nods back. "Definitely."