The Comedian, His wife, His lover and Avenue Q
Ryan/Colin
by writer


I knew he was gay when I met him. The wife and kids fiasco is merely a front, but still, I don't blame him. I'm just as guilty as he is.

It's nine o'clock pm and I am holding in my hand the cryptic note he left for me in my jacket pocket two nights ago when we were last together. He does these things, knowing full well how they tend to excite and frighten me, all at once. So, when I was sitting at dinner with my family, I was sweating like a race horse because I was positive she knew. And when she asked if I was alright, I nearly leaped out of my skin but answered calmly, "Yes, dear. I'm fine. Why?"

Her blue/green eyes betrayed nothing when she smiled, and I realized this is why she's such a better actor than me. My eyes reveal everything.

So anyway, it's 9:05 and I keep glancing down at the note. His script is loopy and erratic in places, a lot like mine, and I'm shaking my head absently, so fond of him that it hurts.

EYEHEARTUMEETMEATNINEPMAVEQ

It comforts me to think that even if she'd found the note (which I am now convinced she hasn't) then she probably couldn't decipher the ugly cursive letters to even understand the message: I love you, meet me at 9:00pm on Avenue Q. I'm all giddy with excitement at this point but a little dismayed by his lateness; he's rarely late.

But Avenue Q isn't bad, and it stands for Quahog -- which is funny, I think. There are many shops along this strip and restaurants and stuff. Incidentally, though, I'm not hungry and I'm not in the mood for shopping. I just keep replaying the events which have led up to this point, beginning from our very first meeting at Second City.

He was so tall and so goofy and yet there was a certain handsomeness about him, a certain depth. I'd pretended not to notice, but inside I was dying to know him. I'd hoped we'd become really close, and lucky for me, he'd made that possible. He was persistent, even then, and just when I'd started to get used to his attention, he'd introduced me to her. Amazing isn't it? How things snowball in life and lead you down a path you never intended towards.

Lost in a trance, I nearly jolt out of my skin when I feel large cool palms cover my eyes.

"Guess who." He breathes against my neck.

I shiver as a grin comes over my face. "Any relation to the giraffe?"

His chuckle is deep as his hands fall at his sides, and I turn to face him. "Hi."

"Hi." I'm overcome with emotion -- like every time I see him. "You're late."

"You got the note."

I nod. "Yes. Thank goodness. And thanks for your discretion." He makes a face as we start to walk down the avenue. "Well. I wanted to see you."

Shoving my hands deep into my pockets to combat the horrible urge to throw my arms around him, I settle for looking at him, letting my eyes travel along his face and re-familiarize myself with him. God, he looks good. The wind is ruffling his blond hair and I swear I see a fleck or two of gray. He's aging nicely, looking a tiny bit distinguished instead of merely boyish.

"I love meeting like this." He murmurs, then meets my eyes. "What are you staring at?"

I'm shaking my head, slowly. "You. You look…really good."

His cheeks pink a bit as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one. "I started smoking again. The family drove me to it."

I don't respond but secretly hate him for doing this to us, putting all these other people in the way, barricading us from each other. Instead of responding, though, I merely walk beside him, as close as possible in public, letting the chill of evening be my excuse for being so near.

We brush against each other as we walk in companionable silence, and I idly wonder where he's leading us. There are only two places on Avenue Q where we could 'get away' to. One of them is in the other direction.

"Ryan." I murmur with a tinge of excitement in my voice. "Are we going where I think we're going?"

He nods and tries to suppress the devilish smirk that comes across his lips. "Yep. You got it chief."

I smirk and look at him sideways, more than a little tingly. "You're terrible."

"And insatiable." He mumbles, his words sending chills down my spine. In all honesty, our times together are mostly spent cracking jokes at each other or making fun of our colleagues and complaining about our families until we get drunk on beer and fall asleep together on a hotel bed. Then, there are those other times…

I can remember our first time together -- when we both had toddlers and our wives seemed to be on the same lunar plane that suggested they drive us both insane, and neither one of us wanted to go home but neither one of us was really ready to commit to anything substantial with each other. Although, we had been flirting for years. I remember a time when I felt as if I might wilt if he didn't call me and miraculously, he'd call. Every time I got to that point. It was almost scary because I could never admit my feelings like Ryan can. It just doesn't work that way for me, talking about myself and expressing my emotions -- but I can show him. I can physically let him know how I feel, a thousand times over, and I have, through hugs and kisses and…

"I've been wanting this for so long." He whispers, picking up his step as we near the Hotel, a huge gaudy, ugly thing with neon lights and painted doors in brilliant colors like Mardi Gras, and I am feeling lightheaded. It has been a while.

The first time was a little awkward. Up until that point, I had managed to not sleep with another man, somehow, but Ryan had mostly been with men. He showed me what to do, how to make love to him, and I was more than willing to try. I wanted to please him and I wanted to be good at it. I'll never forget that look on his face, that first time right before implosion, right before he reached Euphoria. I'd been breathless as he trembled moved beneath me, his naked body covered with a fine sheen of sweat. By that point, I'd fallen completely in love with him.

"Do you think we'll need anything else before we go inside?" He pauses outside the threshold, waiting. "I have no intentions of going back out."

I shake my head, looking up at him expectantly, hands trembling inside my pockets. "I'm fine."

He nods and opens the door, and once inside, door closed behind us, there is only a split second delay before he finds my embrace.

"Oh Colin…" He whispers against my mouth. "…I missed you. I missed this."

My hands are in his hair, and we're kissing. Every time with him feels like an awakening. He feels so good against me, and I feel a certain possession of him, an ownership. I never want to let him go.

"Shirt…" I mumble, starting in with the buttons. "…off…"

"Yeah…" He gasps as he takes over the buttons and I start running my own pale hands over his tanned chest. His body is like gold, but pliant, warm. My mouth works of its own volition, licking his torso, circling an errant nipple. I've gotten so good at making love to him over the years -- even better than making love to myself.

Getting him naked is easy, getting myself naked is slightly harder because I can't stop focusing on his long sexy body. Even at his age, he's still in quite good shape, definition in his chest and the hint of abdominal muscles. His long arms wrap around me as I climb on top of him still wearing my slacks and t-shirt.

"Christ Mochrie! Get out of those fucking clothes."

I'm blushing and laughing. It's funny how we fit. I'm way more dominant than him in bed, but he's more dominant in general. His hands are insistent as he yanks the white cotton over my head and starts unceremoniously on my fly.

"I'm so hard it hurts." I manage as I roll over onto my back to assist him with my trousers. And soon, we're both nude and he's straddling me, leaning over to kiss my mouth as I run my hands up and down his thighs.

"Tell me you don't love this." He whispers, dragging his blunt nails down my chest.

"I don't love this."

"Liar!" He asserts as he leans over me to take a nipple inside his mouth. I wince and bury my fingers in his hair.

"I love this." I grunt, reaching for his long stiff cock, teasing the head with my thumb. He arches and starts to thrust.

My mind is all over the place in this instant. I am thinking of him, of his gorgeous flushed face, of his green eyes and the faces he makes as I toy with him. And I am thinking of having to leave him again to go back to my life while he returns to his. It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but it still does bother me.

"Colin…" He moans. "…I need you. Inside me."

I nod and sit up, facing him, wrapping my arms around him. He's in my lap, his tongue dragging along my lower lip. Reaching between us, I hold onto his cock again and start stroking it. He's moving his hips, and I push him over onto his back, guiding myself at his entrance and thrusting to the hilt.

His eyes shut and he winces as I worry if I've hurt him. "Ryan…"

"I'm fine…" He manages. "…fuck me, Col. Do it…"

I oblige him, of course. What else could I do? Having sex with Ryan is like heaven, pure unadulterated freedom -- and he adores me so much. It makes the affair that much sweeter.

Some time later, we're lying together in a spent heap. Ryan is smoking, and I'm tracing a finger along the center of his chest.

"I'm going to steal you from her." He murmurs.

I snort a laugh ."Yeah. And then what? Take me home to your family?"

He eyes me, considering my words. "Maybe. She'd have to be blind not to see how I feel about you."

Me, ever the optimist, shakes my head. "Nah. They both just think we're really good friends."

"Really REALLY good friends." He laughs, letting his free hand slide through the white locks of my hair.

I try not to let his words get to me, but actually, they reach to the heart of me, straight to my soul and chill me because deep down, I know he's right. I just choose not to believe it.

So, hours later, after we've ordered dinner and talked a bit and had a drink and made love again, I am showered and dressed and walking down Avenue Q again, headed towards home. I try to ignore the wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach at having to leave him again, but I have done it a million times so I know the routine -- and besides, we'll be meeting again soon. It's just what we do.

When I arrive at the intersection of Quahog and Morton avenue, I stop dead in my tracks. No, I wouldn't have expected to see her here. In fact, my heart is playing an uneasy rhythm inside my chest as I meet her blue/green eyes. To say I'm frightened is an understatement.

"W-What are you doing here?" I glance down at my watch. Ten after midnight. What the hell is she doing here? "Who's with Luke?"

She shrugs, non-committed. Her face is neutral, which scares me beyond all reason. "I read your note."

Color drains from my face. I know this because I can feel it. "What?"

"Your note." She says, without much inflection. "I love you, meet me at Avenue Q at 9pm." She smiles, a thin unfriendly smirk. "I'm late…" she pauses, and I can hear my heartbeat in those few seconds, a loud, labored thumping noise. "…unless, however, it wasn't meant for me. Was it meant for me, Colin?"

Thinking fast (because of course, I do Improv for a living), I shrug and nod, knitting my brows angrily. "Well, yeah…" Brad would be laughing at me right now, maybe wiping my sweaty temples with a white towel. "…I didn't think you'd come, though since I'd forgotten to give it to you."

Her face seems relieved, but her eyes look veiled. I know what she's thinking, but I don't dare speak it or think it. I don't wanna jinx myself, afterall.

"So…what did you want to do?" She asks, still looking a bit guarded but more open. It's late as hell and I hope she doesn't smell the beer on my breath, but like a Super Hero, I have an opportunity to save the day -- at least for a few hours.

"Um. Anything, but lets get out of here. I've had enough of Avenue Q for one night."

She eyes me cautiously before slowly linking her arm inside of mine, and we stroll off into the night -- her with a unwavering curiosity and me with the taste of Ryan on my lips. A tangled web, indeed.

FIN