Apologia
Content warning: sexual assault, alcoholism
The thing they don’t tell you about early spring in Wisconsin is the crap, Nolan thought as he pressed his face against the charter bus window. He could feel the moisture forming along his forehead, dripping down to his eyebrows.
Not the literal crap, but the mud and slush and detritus that remains when the snow sighs away. It’s not a pretty sight.
He stopped counting cows an hour ago as the normally captivating rolling hills of the Driftless began to blur indistinctly. His phone was about to die and he didn't think to bring a book.
Why did he agree to come along on this trip? It was mostly Sara’s doing: sure, you have to sit through a week of conferences but there’s booze and free food. And waterparks.
Of course, Nolan hadn’t been comfortable at a waterpark since he was 11 years old, running around and heaving his slight body into shallow pools of water. He loved the feeling of weightlessness as he kicked through the water, the secret world hidden underneath the surface. Now Nolan only worries about the insinuation of his future beer belly, his complete and total lack of ass.
“Nolan”, Sara stared at him when he shared this insecurity a week before. “It’s not P-town. No one is looking at you. Just have a beer and relax for once in your life, yeah?”
Wait. Was Sara gay? She’d never mentioned having a partner at work, though they never talked about their personal lives. She was into the requisite lesbian hobbies: hiking, camping, making her own tapiche. But crunchy het girls in Wisconsin do that sort of thing all the time. Huh.
Maybe she’s just knowledgeable.
And she’s right – he did need a vacation. After a lonely winter in La Crosse the touristy balms of the Dells sounded appealing to him. Maybe he’d go gambling. He’d never done that before. That’s a thing people of the world do.
The large healthcare system they worked for that always seemed to be on the brink of running out of money apparently had the money to send twelve of them to an animal themed hotel and talk for a week about medical scheduling and “analytics”.
In the back of the bus a cackle that was unmistakably Sara’s. Nolan peaked behind his seat and saw her throw a smirk his way. Of all the people on this trip, she was the one who packed the most luggage. She was going to get her money’s worth. She kept telling him that there was a half dozen state parks less than an hour away from where they were staying. He reminded her that it was supposed to be a work trip.
Out the window Nolan could see the shape of the land change and crest as they drove eastward. Maybe going to a resort during the off season getting day drunk and poorly playing arcade games meant for literal children was the break he needed. Nolan reached down to try and plug his phone into the outlet below his seat, but it was not working.
―
You slump down onto your hotel twin bed. The sheets are a hideous shade of green, but the mattress is surprisingly comfy. Your coworker Dave, your roommate for this trip, is gone for the evening, no doubt with the contingent who had taken the shuttle to Ho-Chunk to spend their paychecks.
What had turned from a drink with coworkers after your last seminar of the day, had turned to three, four, who knows how many after the shots started being ordered. Your face feels warm, a not unpleasant humming sensation forming in the space behind your eyes.
You open your phone and check your texts. An hour ago Sara sent you a text complaining about a coworker. Three hours ago your landlord sent you a message about the water bill. Beyond that, nothing new.
You get bored. You open Grindr. Your boyfriend broke up with you a year and a half ago and it’s been longer than that since you got laid. You’re naked under this green elephant themed comforter and you’re feeling festive.
You spend some time scrolling through the app, sipping your strategic hangover prophylactic cup of water and setting it on the end table. Uncut cub bottom. Biker dad, can't host. Nothing piques your interest.
Turns out the men in Wisconsin Dells are not very different than the men in La Crosse. Maybe they’re higher caliber in tourist season.
You get a message from an account without a profile picture. You’re hovering over the block button when a couple pictures of a handsome, seemingly normal looking guy pop on screen.
He says he’s in town for the week, if you would be interested in meeting up. He follows up with another picture, this time shirtless. Not bad to look at.
You think to yourself, why not? You respond and pick a time. After work tomorrow. You’re excited. He sends you a picture of his dick.
Before you even realize you’re doing it, you absently reach your hand under your pants. It occurs to you that you don’t know where he's staying.
Maybe if you time it right you can send him a video of your cum.
―
After a day of meetings about workflow optimization catered with Wisconsin cheese platters and deviled eggs, Nolan walked out of the hotel and into the bright afternoon sun.
He crossed the parking lot and followed along the busy street that stretched from his hotel to the main drag. Instead of sidewalks dead grass and slush, soaking his gym shoes in gray brackish water.
Nolan refused to take an Uber; he was determined to spend as little money on this trip as possible, save for drinking. A little humiliation was a small price to pay for not spending $20 to drive a mile.
He could feel the judgement of those driving past. He passed an attraction shaped like the White House but upside down; he remembered seeing it on trips with his mother as a kid, he’d never been, he didn’t know what was in it. As far as he knew it had always been there and it always would.
The March sky was a dull grey that cast a lifeless sheen over the world. A singular moment endless in its total blandness.
A father and son exit a gas station shaped like a dinosaur. A tired woman patiently holds the door open for a family leaving an ice cream shop, her hands dry and cracked. A manager smokes cigarette outside a pink motel with an empty pool and fake palm trees. The bottom of the pool an admixture of water, dead leaves, and trash.
The Cozy Badger. Sara always said that if you’ve been to one dive bar in this state, you’ve been to them all. Nolan felt defensive; he liked them. He loved to sit in a booth in a darkened room and let the alcohol fade him into the scenery.
And he couldn’t afford the nicer bars anyway. He stepped through through the door into a dingy bar lit by a half dozen TVs all playing a different channel. The bartender gave him a curt nod and went back to his phone.
Nolan’s date saw him first, half waving him over to a booth in the back of the room.
“Hey. Nolan right?”
“Harry?”
“Yup,” Harry said, giving him a surprisingly business-like handshake as Nolan slipped into the booth.
“Let me buy you a beer,” Harry said, smiling at him. He got up and came back with two lagers, handing one to Nolan.
“You drive here?” Harry said.
“No, I walked,” Nolan said. “I mean I took the bus into town on a work trip. But I walked to the bar.”
The man gave him a look of mild surprise. Nolan felt shame redden his face, but he tamped it down.
"I like, have a car at home," Nolan said. "Just not here."
“Not much to see on that walk I bet," Harry said.
“Not really,” Nolan said, taking his first gulp of beer. “You drive here yourself?”
“Oh yeah, I drove up here from Chicago over the weekend,” Harry said, sipping his beer. “I try to come up once or twice a year to meet with some friends and get some serious fishing done.”
Nolan was not part of the class of men who fished. His father attempted to teach him as a child, but every time they caught a fish, Nolan would cry inconsolably until his dad put it back in the water. Their last trip ended with his dad barely hiding his disappointment in him, his faulty son; his father never asked to go again.
A guy he was fucking being into fishing though? So butch and rustic. Maybe he'd take him with before the end of his trip? Nolan always was going on about the erotic potential of boat sex.
Nolan’s eyes gave Harry a once over. The White Sox hat and red Hawaiian shirt belie the gym body that hid underneath. The maybe seasonably optimistic cargo shorts with a respectable inseam. His wedding band ostentatiously present on his hand, almost a challenge. He didn’t mention that on his profile.
Of course he’s married. Of course he probably has two children. Of course he probably bangs his wife to their mutual completion at least once a night in their tastefully decorated home in Downer’s Grove. He’s beautiful. They’re probably all on vacation right now one big happy family. It’s just stressful, he just needs something on the side.
The initial buzz of adrenaline wearing off, Nolan feels that familiar pit in his stomach. Even with the cursory exchange of pictures, he was hotter than he expected. The dynamic has changed.
They talk like they were just work buddies, like Nolan wasn’t planning on blowing him in the next few hours. What if this was all just some bizarre misunderstanding and he was just looking for a drinking buddy.
“I hear there’s some fun bars in Madison,” Harry said. “We could go there. I mean, if that doesn’t sound crazy to you.”
Nolan’s eyes met his. Fun bars.
“I’d like another drink I think,” Nolan said, getting up unsteadily. They crossed the mostly empty room to the bar. Without consulting him, Harry orders two beers and two shots.
Nolan watches Harry knock back the shot like a pro, and he follows suit.
“Chase with this,” Harry says, bringing a full beer can to Nolan’s lips, gently tipping it back into his mouth. Nolan gulped it down without protest, Harry not breaking eye contact the entire time. He drank down the last of the beer and gasped for air, his face bright red. Harry gave him a sly smile; Nolan could feel himself stiffen.
Harry leans in and kisses Nolan, harder than anticipated. Nolan’s blood feels like warm syrup. Nolan kisses back, harder, like someone with experience, not caring that the Bucks game is on or that the bartender has just run out of Aperol.
―
That’s when things get fuzzy.
Harry kisses you in a way that tells you he’s drunk drunk. Lightweight. You both walk to his car as the March sun quickly sets. Briefly you forget that this man is cheating with you and imperiling his family of three children and probably a dog.
His car is surprisingly clean. He mumbles something about what you want to listen to but puts on country radio before you can respond. That’s fine. You can see the Amtrak pass through the tiny downtown, rattling along the elevated track. You suddenly feel embarrassed, like the people on the train can see you somehow.
You think about texting Sara something but decide better of it. Instead you silently scroll on social media while this stranger drives you both 40 minutes away.
You’re at another bar, this one with rainbow flags and pictures of naked men on the TV. You feel like you relax a bit.
Harry goes to get another beer.
A dyke with a buzzcut caterwauls after hitting a bullseye on the dart board. Big hairy men in their underwear talk sensuously with each other, laughing resting their hands on each others shoulders. Tall women and short men shoot pool by the window. You’re floating on the dance floor, giggling, trying not to get hit by an errant dart.
You don’t even see the man come in. He comes behind you and sticks his hand into your pants and onto your dick. You are not enjoying this. But if you’re quiet and don’t react maybe he’ll lose interest. He keeps swaying and digging around, you can smell the alcohol on his breath. Words die in your throat and you’re silent. Then there’s shouting. You’re confused. Everyone is yelling and you’re confused. The man is chased out of the bar by its patrons and employees. Someone helps you sit down and you feel really bad. Why is everyone mad at you? Harry looks at you, a hint of disgust on his face. No. Why did you let him do that? He says. You shrug and give a weak smile.
You both drink some more. You rest your hand on Harry’s thigh. His pants are back on. Harry starts kissing you again. It feels cold; the crush of bears has trickled out of the room and it’s emptier. Harry moves your limp hand to feel his hard cock through his pants. You forget why you were sad.
You’re on the street outside, with Harry’s hand on your ass as he walks you back to the car. You remember the hazy glow of the capitol dome as your eyes grow heavy.
Harry drives you out to a nature preserve on the outskirts of town and parks the car. Or did you drive? You fumble with his belt as he grabs your hair. Laughing. You greedily put him in your mouth as he rides your face. He lets out a strained moan. Faggot.
He sticks something under your nose and you inhale. Stars form behind your eyes and you feel hot. Poppers?? I wonder if his wife lets him do this the thought enters your mind as he slides into you. When did that happen? You press your hips back into him as he awkwardly fucks you in the rear of his Toyota Corolla. He busts in your face. There’s some fumbling for tissues as you lie there placidly.
You lay your head against the glass as the faint light of small towns zoom by like distant stars. You think you might have left your credit card at the gay bar.
―
Nolan and Sara were the only ones brave enough to take the shuttle to Devil’s Lake on their morning off. Nolan’s hangover was terrible but the thought of being left to his own devices today felt even worse.
As the shuttle pulls into the state park’s parking lot, Nolan taps out an “are you up to anything tonight????” on his app and stows the phone. It’s his third message in a row. Fine.
One could imagine Devil’s Lake looking beautiful in the summer. He could see himself setting up a chair at the beach, floating on his back in the clear blue water, letting go.
In March, it was a different story. The lake ice had almost completely thawed and muddy slush swamped the hiking trails. There weren’t many other people there.
Nolan didn’t care to think the state his gym shoes would be at the end of the week. As a teen, he and his friends eagerly explored the bluffs of the Mississippi looking for cool places to smoke. They would find a secluded spot, park the car, and sprint to the outlook. Even then something about the way they moved through the world made him jealous.
Nolan hadn’t really spent time in nature since. Sara packed hiking boots in her luggage ahead of time and had opinions about what trails they should take.
She opted for them to tackle the bluff trail, a stairway up the side of a cliff composed entirely out of tumbled rocks. A difficult ascent, at least by Wisconsin standards. Nolan assented, giving his phone one last check before stowing it in his backpack. He tried to psych himself up for the climb, but there was a free floating panic fluttering in his chest.
Sara led him along, deftly stepping up from rock to rock. As he attempted to keep pace, he could feel the damp start to soak into his socks. Every time he began to lag behind, Sara waited patiently for him to catch up.
"I missed this," Sara said. Nolan declined this opportunity to talk and instead rubbed his temples, hoping the ringing sensation would eventually go away.
What had started out as slightly chilly had become uncomfortably warm, as Nolan realized that he had worn one too many layers. He removed his jacket and tied it around his waist. Sara's pace was relentless; he knew better than to complain.
“Just a little more to go, then we can take a breather,” Sara said, clambering up another rock. She was oblivious to the mud streaked along the legs of her cargo pants.
Before long they reached the top. Sara stepped out to the overlook and gazed at the frozen lake below. Nolan took a long swig from his water bottle and stepped over; he could admit to himself that the view was nice.
Better than staying at the hotel, but he could think of nothing other than slinking back into his hotel room and burying himself under the covers.
“There’s a couple of spots I want to see before we head down the other side,” Sara said, pulling a plastic baggie of trail mix out of her backpack.
“Okay,” Nolan said, biting into a granola bar. “I think the fresh air is helping with my hangover.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“I don’t think that he's gonna text me back. He’s probably gonna ghost me, he got kinda weird after we went to Madison.”
“Madison? I thought you were meeting at the Cozy Badger,” Sara said, dropping a handful of trail mix into her mouth.
“We did.”
Sara stopped and looked hard at him.
“And you just drove an hour away with a stranger? Wait, were you drinking?”
Nolan looked away.
“You could’ve killed yourselves! Or someone else.”
“I don’t appreciate being shamed,” Nolan said. The words escaped flatly from his throat, like someone else was saying them.
They stood there for some time, leaning against a rocky outcropping. Below them Nolan could hear a family struggling to walk their two dogs up the steep trail. He could see the forest stretch along the horizon, the bright midday sun making him squint. He could feel tears bubbling up, and before could stop himself his voice cracked into a choked sob. Fuck.
The frown on Sara’s face gave way to concern.
“Are you ok?” Gently, she reached out to Nolan’s hand and he flinched away.
―
It’s Thursday morning and you’ve skipped your work meeting to play Flappy Bird. There’s not even children at this arcade right now, it’s just you and Flappy Bird. The arcade version is more difficult than you remember the phone game being.
You ignore the texts you get from Sara as you pointedly play Skeeball. It’s not her fault but you don’t enjoy the resentful feeling you get when you think about her, her impeccably trimmed nails and tasteful choices in outerwear. As you sink your last ball into the 10,000 point hole you think that maybe if you’re lucky your department will be restructured and you won’t ever have to talk with her again.
You’re sober and playing Dance Dance Revolution. You don’t need alcohol to play Dance Dance Revolution. Maybe you won’t drink alcohol anymore. That’s a nice thought. Though you probably won’t commit long to that because it’s Wisconsin and the social fabric and everything.
As you’re playing House of the Dead 2 you see a familiar man walk by with a beautiful woman and a singular young boy, their luggage in tow. You’re not sure but you think your eyes make contact. They pass just as you lose your last life; you set your face, dig a token from your pocket, and try one more time. *