45. Johnny

Iput a finger under Kurt's chin and kiss him. "You good, precious?"

"I am. You?"

"Very much so. In fact, I think I got more out of that than I'd expected."

"In what way?"

"I think you got to see the best part of me. I was reclaiming a job I used to enjoy—but with you, so it meant something. Fucking you on camera felt right," I say. "It didn't feel like a performance. More … that I was giving you what you wanted—and what you wanted was the true me."

"Yeah," he says, curling into me. "That sounds right. The true you is more confident than you usually let on in real life, I think."

I nod. "I'm not so aw-shucks as I come off as. I can dial up or down my country roots, although they're always gonna be there to some extent. I'm never gonna be comfortable with putting on airs. But that doesn't mean I'm auditioning to be in a western movie like my Velvet the Cowboy namesake."

Kurt has a skeptical eyebrow raised. "I think you're always going to be a cowboy." He snuggles into me. "Did you miss it, though? Porn?"

Kissing his head, I say, "A little, yeah. I'd treated giving up porn—my livelihood—as no big deal, but it mattered to me. I wouldn't have stuck with it so long if I hadn't gotten something out of it. The true me loves sex. The true me loves to be on camera. You unwittingly combined a few things that I very much need, or at least enjoy: sex on camera, a sense of play, and sometimes … a performance."

"And I've always liked sex as something in a movie." Kurt smiles. "This is good. We can make this work. Now we know that, when you're getting a little too low, we can maybe turn the camera on and both get our needs met." He pauses. "Do you think you'd want more than just me?"

I shake my head. "I've never needed to be promiscuous." He chuckles. "I just like to use my body this way and to give it to someone else."

"I'm happy to receive it."

"Then giving myself to the love of my life suits me just fine."

He smiles shyly and kisses me hard.

"Should we get cleaned up?" I ask.

Kurt nods. I watch his ass as he heads into the bathroom to get some towels to clean the floor, and I know I'm in love with him.

The following weekend, we drive up to see Mama, who's a few months out from her kidney transplant. We've been keeping tabs on Kurt's mom, and she's doing well, but this is the first chance we've had to see my mama since she was cleared for visitors.

Kurt had this funny thing where he used to call his mom "Momther," because he explained that she wasn't close enough to be a mom, but she wasn't distant enough to be a mother.

That's stopped now. She's just plain mom. Especially to me. Especially since she donated a kidney to my sweet mama.

As we drive up the interstate, Kurt fiddles with something on his phone. While he usually lets me pick the radio, he says, "Listen to this," and music comes over the car's speakers. Lady's ears perk up in the back seat.

It's a pop song, and I recognize the voice as that of Julian Hill. A lump forms in my throat at the violins that are rocking alongside the guitar and drums.

"Well," I say. "That's May Ella, isn't it?"

"Yes. Doesn't she sound fantastic?"

"It's amazing."

"I guess Jules spread the word about her being a contract musician, and now other musicians are wanting to work with her. They like her story, and they like her sound."

"It's a dream come true."

When we get to Mama's, she's walking around. Slowly, but she seems stronger than before.

"Hey, Mama," I say, giving her a gentle hug.

"John, you're a sight," she says. "Always so handsome. And Kurt, it's good to see you." Her eyes well with tears. "I'm sorry for gettin' emotional. I'm just so grateful for your mama."

"She's a good egg, isn't she?"

"Do you think she really has a chance at the White House?"

"She's leading in the polls right now," he says. "And I've never known her to fail at anything she put her mind to."

"She deserves every success," Mama says. "She's a keeper. Like her son."

Two months later, I glance around the movie set, which is being prepped for a shoot. The soundstage is dressed for a period drama in which a penniless stranger is going to have sex with a handsome duke.

This ain't a porn production. It's part of a scripted series on a streaming service. My job is to go through all of the movements with the actors and ensure they are completely on board with who will be touching what, and how. I've read through the contracts and know what each actor has agreed to do and not do.

"Okay," I say, flipping to the next page in the script. "In this scene, Tristan and Johan are overcome with passion and are going to have oral sex, so let's talk about how that's going to be shown on the screen and what y'all are comfortable with doing." The actors are in robes, and we lounge on the bed, talking through the choreography of their upcoming scenes.

I've got no qualms about talking about sex in a plain manner. And I'm really good at making sure that everyone is on board. That we're all speaking the same language. That they are in agreement with every touch, every kiss, every part of their body that will be shown on camera. That there are going to be no surprises and no one is going to feel that what they are doing is wrong. That no one is going to get hurt or go beyond their comfort zone.

This is the most important job I've ever had.

When I'm done for the day, it's not too far to Burbank, where Kurt's working at Weston Ramirez House. We carpooled today, knowing that we were going to be in the same neighborhood, and I pull up in my old truck, which Kurt managed to track down, since my neighbor had sold it. He somehow found it via the VIN, but he did me the honor of not buying it for me.

I appreciate that more than he'll ever know. Even though I have plenty of money now, I still wanna have some things be mine, and since I was the one who sold it, I wanted to buy it back. It felt important, and I'm glad Kurt got that.

Weston Ramirez House looks like a normal middle-class family home, although the area's a little gentrified now, Noah told me. I knock on the door and walk in.

My husband's standing at an easel in the living room. Two other easels are on either side of him, so the kids standing at them can see what he's doing on his canvas. Tarps cover the floor. Kurt turns around and smiles when he sees me. I recognize the two teens he's teaching, Toby and Quint, and they wave at me.

"Howdy," I say.

"Hey, babe," Kurt says, giving me a quick kiss. "I have a little more to do."

"Don't mind me. I've got all the time in the world."

Kurt continues with his art lesson, while I settle back to watch. "If you layer in color like this, you can get this 3D effect."

The two teens copy his brushstrokes on their own canvases. He does a few more strokes, then goes over to watch what they're doing.

"That's terrific," he says. "Toby, that's awesome."

"Thanks," Toby says.

The resident assistant comes in with two other teens, and the kids close up the art projects for the day.

"See you tomorrow," Kurt says, as the kids wave at him. Well, most of them do. One doesn't, and he looks somewhat sullen.

Kurt goes up and whispers something in the kid's ear. After a moment, the kid nods, and Kurt smiles.

When we get out to the truck, I unlock his door and ask what he'd said.

He pauses with a foot on the side step. "I just made him promise to stay alive until I saw him again."

I inhale sharply. "Damn, babe."

"Yeah. Some of these kids have had it real rough. We bring in medical care for them. Therapists. Counselors. All kinds of help."

I tug him into a hug. "That kid gonna be okay?"

"We have staff watching him at all times, but I think forming a connection with him, showing up when I say I will, and listening to him are the big things. Getting him medical help, of course. And making him promise me he'll stay alive until the next time. I'm getting a chance to keep these kids from becoming Andrei," he says.

I kiss him, then go around to the driver's side. As we head home, I ask, "What was Andrei like?"

Kurt looks out the window for a moment. "I mean, he was a kid. We were in high school. We liked music and art and movies. We were trying to figure out what our style was and who we were. He had a darkness to him, an edge, and I think I found it seductive, but he also had a fun, goofy side. He liked the absurd. He didn't think that he fit in."

"Not many of us do," I say.

"Yeah. I know. But I let these kids know that not fitting in is how we all feel. Maybe that will help them hang in there."

"You're damn good at that. But remember, it's not all on you."

He shakes his head. "I know. All I can do is my best. Show up for them. Love them. Respect them. Listen to them."

He's way more suited for this job than being a senator … or designing mailing inserts for utility bills. He's also throwing his energies into getting his mom elected. While he doesn't have the stomach for a lot of the things that go on in the background of politics, he has an interest in policy, and he can donate his skills in art and graphics.

I let him go on his rants about fairness, and when he's done, I kiss him silly.

It works. I love his passion and how much he cares.

And I love that he can be on the ground, working to create the changes he wants, but still have the ear of those who are higher up.

It seems ideal.

A year after Kurt and I met, I pause at the front doors of a Sacramento art museum.

"What's the plan, precious?" I ask, feeling relaxed and confident. I won't know many people in there, but that don't matter none, because they'll all know us.

"As far as I know, we just need to show up," Kurt says, looking dapper in a classic black tuxedo. I'm wearing a western-style tuxedo, my white cowboy hat, and my favorite boots. My good dog Lady is on a leash at our heels. She goes most places with me.

"I love the fact that you're here with me," he says. "I've done these events by myself, and it's so much better with someone else. And you're not just someone else. You're you."

"Precious, everything's better with you."

"Shall we go in?"

I give him a quick kiss and open the door. We cause quite a stir walking in. Likely because in this hat and boots I'm close to seven feet tall. But more likely because on my arm is the most handsome man in existence.

Oh, and his mom's the front-runner for president of the United States.

I've lost track of how many photos I've been in, standing behind her as she talks at a lectern. Standing next to my husband. Supporting her.

Supporting him supporting her.

The Delmonts treat me like I'm a natural part of the family. I'm Kurt's husband. Part of the group.

It makes me feel more welcomed than I ever have in my entire life.

With me at his side, Kurt goes up to potential donor after potential donor and charms them into supporting his mom. Or charms them into donating more money to her. To pledging more assistance. He reminds them what it is we're fighting for.

Makes me proud to be part of this family.

At the end of the night, Kurt and I are deciding whether to go back to the hotel or get a drink at one of the Sacramento watering holes.

"Do you have any plans tonight, cowboy?" Kurt asks, making me chuckle. Reminding me of the night we first met.

I kiss him. "The only plan I have right now is to spend the rest of my life with you."