The Small House, Chapter 5

Chapter 5



The sex club is dim lit with a deep motion beat of Lady Gaga and Beyonce shuffling back and forth.  It makes you wonder what gay people did before Lady Gaga and Beyonce.    All eyes are on me.  I’m assuming it’s because of my cascading abs or my body.  We can only wear towels in this place and even high I knew I was the shit.  Lerrick Bradshaw always had one thing that worked for me.  I had the thick eyebrows, I had the bristle stubble on my face outlining my full lips.  My arms were fit, muscular and nice with tense veins.  My stomach was toned with a hair trail basically attracting gay boys like the fucking yellow brick road.  Let’s just say everyone was looking for some brains at this point.  Sure my brothers all had the same thing but I was different and I knew it.


All of a sudden I walk in knowing I was a piece of meat.   So why the hell did I feel so fucking low?


“Fine ass…” I hear some guy say as I walk past.



The red light flickers and I see a guy.  Spanish looking guy.  He was the type I usually go for.  Nice body.  Nice face.   He licks his lips when he sees me.   Sure enough, he frequents this place a lot.  Dude just pulled his dick out and started stroking it and making sounds like a cocking a shotgun.  What the fuck was in those pills?



I’m drunk and I have two pills in my pocket.  Not sure if they are pain pills, depression pills or straight up Ecstacy.   Bishop always told me if I didn’t know what a pill was I should take half.


Fuck it.  He’s not here.  I take all three.


“You should slow down with those pills…”

I turn and see this boy.  He has some sharp features.  He’s thin, cute but thin like he probably realized he’s sexy enough so why hit the gym.  He leans over like he’s too cool for the gym, he’s too cool for the club.  He has somehow transcended past this place but just ended up here for the night.  Not the kind of guy to stop traffic but the kind of guy who looks more intriguing the longer you look at him.


“Relax, it’s just dick pills.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Dick pills?”

There’s something alluring about this boy’s voice.  I lean over.  I grab my dick through the towel.  The random kid looks down and sees that I’m relatively hard.  He sees the size of my dick.  I could go flirt with shotgun dick over there but this guy was a lot more interesting.

“Yeah.  Magic dick pills so I can stay hard for you all night.  I’m trying to take you on a magic carpet ride,” I state, “You know that moment when all the alcohol kicks in and suddenly you realize the bar is very loud and you want to bite someone sexy and ride their ass.  I’m in that kind of moment.”


“Should I be turned on?” he asks.


“It is a sex club.”

“I didn’t notice.  Thought it was a zoo.  What are you exactly?”

He’s a smart ass.   I kind of liked it.

“Call me something sexy and ethnic.  Like Hakim.  But mystical too.  Like Unicorn Hakim.  And add some glitter in there too.”


At this point, I’m just high and any attempt at flirting is a joke.  Hell at this point he’s not even finding it funny.  He’s just staring at me in the most intimidating way I’ve ever seen someone staring at me before.   He’s definitely not the usual guys.  Leo was basically in love with me the first time he saw me.  This guy.  He was different.  Very different.


“Funny.  Good times, right?  Nothing says depression more than walking into a sex club in the middle of the night, with an oiled up chest thinking with the confidence of Donald Trump, the body of coked up Go-Go dancer, smelling like sweat, sex, and desperation.  But it’s OK, you are confident though, right.  Maybe no one notices it’s probably your 3rd time in here.  By the look on your face higher.  4th time?  Oh wow—-higher, still?”


He smirks, “5 times in one night.  But confidence is key.  Amazing pills, right.  You get drunk faster, you spend less money on food, and you’re losing a shit ton of weight to show off those perfect abs of yours.  I guess you have it all figured out.  Suicidal thoughts and depression must be doing wonders for you.”

My eyes get wide.

No One’s  ever talked to me like that before.  All of a sudden I feel lower than low.

“Who the hell are you to judge me.  You’re in here too.”

“I’m looking for someone.  A piece of scum that would frequent a place like this.”

“You really know how to make a man feel great huh?”

“Would you rather me lie?”

“Kind of.”

“Well I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m lying.”

With that, he walks away.  He’s an asshole but it’s hot.  Maybe that’s why I find myself following him.  Almost like a magnet.  All my life people have told me how great I was.  They have told me how amazing I was.  My little brother Kwamie always looked up to me.   He always lived his life through me focusing on my relationship with Leo to the point that I felt like if things with Leo didn’t work out I’d be letting him down.  I wanted to show my little brother how a successful gay relationship could turn out.  Even after Bishop fucked me over he just assumed I was going to be alright.  But lately, I haven’t been feeling amazing.  Lately, I’ve been feeling exactly how this stranger has described me and it feels as though for the first time someone sees Lerrick Bradshaw for the piece of shit I am.


And I’m standing there desperate to help out.


“Who were you looking for?” I ask, “I come here all the time.  Maybe I can help.”

“Bishop Bradshaw.”

“You’re joking…”

“Do I look like I’m a joker?  I know guys like you care a lot about appearance so let’s cater to your strong points.  Give me a long hard stare.  Do you see a comedian?”

I got the point.

“Bishop Bradshaw is my brother,” I state.



He seems shocked, “I saw him online.  Looked like he came here often.”

“He told me about this place.  He frequented it a lot, but lately something else has his attention,” I state



“I traveled a long way to find him,” the boy responds seeming irritated.



“How do you know him?”

“He wrote me letters.”

“Like a pen pal?”

“Like fan mail.”

“You some sort of celebrity or something?” I ask.


“I’m a problem solver,” the boy explains, “He had a problem and I had a solution.  I came all the way from Los Angeles.  He’s been avoiding me lately.  Ignoring all my messages.  I’ve come to get my payment.”

Fuck.  I should have known.  If someone was looking for Bishop it was because of money.  What the hell did Bishop get himself involved in now?  This boy was sexy.  He was legit one of the sexiest people I’ve ever met and it had nothing to do with his looks.



“He’s broke.  And he’s bad news.  All he does is a scheme.”

“Good.  I taught him everything he knows.  He’s not broke.  He’s broken, but I fixed him,” the mysterious boy responds, “And now I want what he promised me. Tell your brother, when you see him, that I don’t respect being ignored.”


He came all the way here because Bishop ignored him.  This boy definitely wanted something from Bishop and it was kind of worrying that my brother was going around ruining potential relationships before they even started.

“Get used to it,” I explain, “Bishop will let you down every single time.  I could go on forever.  Why do you think I’m depressed? Why do you think I’m taking pills?  Why do you think I’m coming to this club every night looking for ways to dull my pain?  It’s fucking Bishop.  My brother literally slept with my boyfriend—”


“Hold on.”


“I want to stop you there.  Before you continue, I left something out in my rental car.”


“What was it?”

“The only fuck I was going to give about this conversation,” he states, “So hold that thought I’ll go get it and come back.  I promise I’ll come back—  You believe me?”


He sighs, “Aw damn.  I thought we agreed you liked when people lied to you.”

He is trying to ditch me again.   This boy definitely played hard to get.  I am beyond intrigued though.  I grab him up.  I do it in a way that could either go one of two ways.  He could slap the fuck out of me or he could not resist.

He didn’t resist.

“You just put your hands on me,” he asks, “Are you masochistic?

“Do you mean sadistic?”

Masochistic meant that someone sought pain from hurting themselves.  He probably thought I was sadistic because I was getting turned on by hurting him.  I hadn’t meant to hurt him.  I hadn’t meant to push him so hard.


“I used the right word,” he states, “You must enjoy hurting YOURSELF if you’re fucking with me.  Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You haven’t given me your name but I’m intrigued.  At least give me your name.”


Fuck.  My dick was getting hard by how he was resisting.  He could feel it.  I know he can.  I know he can feel it because my towel drops and my hard dick is pressed up against his leg.  I know he can feel it because he looks down.  I never in my life wanted to fuck someone as much as I wanted to fuck this boy.  I wanted to put my dick into parts of him that he didn’t know existed.


“Why won’t you—-” I start but then stop, “Fuck.  What the hell are you doing here?”

“Excuse me?” he asks.

“I wasn’t talking to you.  I was talking to my brother…”

Just then my brother walks in.  It’s Kwamie.  Kwamie has his arms crossed.  The looks on his face when he sees me butt naked with a raging hard dick pressed up against a stranger is priceless.

“Really?  You break up with Leo and almost immediately you’re trying to get your dick wet with someone else?” Kwamie asks, “Bishop told me I’d find you here—-”


“What’s happening?” the mysterious boy looking at me with this look of complete confusion.  This situation couldn’t possibly get any more awkward than it is now.

“Can you leave?” I ask Kwamie, “You’re embarrassing me?”

“Well you’re worrying me,” Kwamie explains, “This isn’t you.  This is Bishop who does things like this.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you more than you think,” Kwamie responds, “And I’m not fucking leaving here without you.”

“Interesting…” the stranger states.


Kwamie had a way of doing this.  He had a way of showing up at the worst times.   I knew what it looked like to Kwamie.  It looked like I was going into the darkness.  I was getting lost in the darkness.  What Kwamie didn’t realize was that there was a light in this darkness.  This beautiful bright light that had my heart fucking spinning in circles.

And this stranger is this light.



“Kwamie give me a second,” I beg him, “Please…

He gives the stranger a judgmental look.



“He’s not cuter than Leo…” Kwamie grunts clearly playing his major role in life as Leo’s supporter,  “He looks like Scar from the Lion King.  That’s a face you can’t trust.”


“Wow…” the mysterious boy says.

The mystery boy tries to pull away from me clearly turned off by what Kwamie says.  I give Kwamie the craziest look at that moment.  The kind of look that tells him I will KILL him if he doesn’t leave right now and stop embarrassing me in front of this boy.


Kwamie reluctantly sighs, “You have 1 minute or I’ll pull out your naked baby pictures and show that you weren’t always so blessed.”

Kwamie leaves and I’m flushed with red.  I mean I was as red as a highlighter.   What the fuck was that, Kwamie?  Really.  I look over at the mystery boy and I am sure that he wanted nothing to do with me.

“Little brothers…” I sigh before grunting, “Listen I know you’re probably turned all the way off right now…”

“Actually I’m not.  I think I just found that fuck-to-give that I was looking for.”


“I’m intrigued,” he states, “I don’t know what THAT was, but I love it.”

“My relationship with my brother?”

He nods, “Yes.  I’m intrigued.”

I’m not sure why.  Actually, I’m confused on why honestly but he definitely seemed to be intrigued.  Hell, maybe I would have to bring Kwamie around hot guys more often.

“So does that mean I get your number?”

“No, but give me yours.”

He hands me his phone and reluctantly I’m writing my name and number in there, “I saved my name in there.  L-E-R-R-I-C-K, but it’s pronounced Lyric.  Like a song.   Hopefully a love song…”

“Do you use that line on everyone?”

“You’re the only person I’ve been interested in since my ex.  Can I—-AT LEAST, get your name?”


“Jesus Christ you’re hard to get.”



He grabs his phone when I’m done putting my number and turns to leave, “So try harder.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want me—try harder,” he explained, “This won’t be easy.  It’ll probably be the hardest thing you ever do.  You’ll have to dig deep.  You’ll have to find vigor, strength, and power that you didn’t know you even possessed.  This won’t be easy. But I’m worth it…”


With that, he turns and leaves, just as ominous as he came.



Yes, you are, mystery boy.


Yes, you are…





“Have you lost your mind?”



It’s the next morning and I feel like it’s the next morning.  Literally.  I’m butt naked with my dick in one hand and my phone in the other in case the sexy ass mystery boy from last night decided to call.  I projectile vomit across the bathroom floor and a part of it lands on a cross that Kwamie has hung over the toilet.   He’s the only one that is religious.  He freaks out while running the cross under water to clean it out.  At this point, if Jesus didn’t hate me, I’m sure he did now.


“It’s not my fault.”

“The fact that I am have been sitting home writing the blogs for our website and barely keeping us afloat while you’re out inducing vomit makes me feel like way more of an adult than I’m ready to be,” my little brother complains.

“It’s all worth it.  I met the boy of my dreams last night.”

“Leo is the boy of your dreams.  He’s been sending emails to the company site asking you to reach back out to him.  He’s a good guy,”  Kwamie states.

“Fuck Leo.  Actually, I can’t.  Bishop beat me to it.”

“Bishop is going to make you lose out on a good thing,” Kwamie explains, “Like this bullshit about us being Stuyvesants.”

“You don’t believe him?” I ask.

“Do you?”

I pause.  Knowing Bishop he was up to something.  The fact that we could possibly be Stuyvesants never crossed my mind, even when Bishop made this huge announcement saying that was the case.  I was broke as fuck.  I had ramen noodles for dinner last night.   I drunk vodka out of plastic bottles.  I damn sure didn’t feel like anyone’s Stuyvesant.



“No…” I state, “But maybe we should get some sort of paternity test or something.  Just in case.  I mean, if you were a Stuyvesant that would mean Bentley is—-”

He shakes his head.  He doesn’t want to hear it.

“That’s a lie.  FROM HELL.  I like Bentley.  And Bishop is going to about ruin everything with him.  Just like he did with you and Leo?  Don’t you get it?  There is always one common issue in our life.  Bishop.”

“He’s our brother…it’s not like we can do anything about it.”

“What if we could?”

I’m confused.  I turned to Kwamie.  Kwamie wasn’t really the one who came up with plans.  Not unless they were how he wanted his dream wedding to be to his dream man one day.  That was the kind of stuff Kwamie plotted about.  Right now though he seems desperate and I kind of get it.



I look over at Kwamie and I’m confused.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe it’s time we left him.”

“Left him.”

“Moved out.  Did our own thing,” Kwamie explains, “We’re grown.  You and me can go find an apartment on the West End.”

I roll my eyes, “Bishop would never be able to afford this rent alone.”

“Fuck Bishop.  We don’t even have to tell him.  We can just up and poof—disappear.  What would he know?”

Damn.  He had a point.  Why the hell was I worried about Bishop?  He never worried about me.  Not even in the least bit.

“Shhh…” I whisper hearing footsteps from the living room.

It’s Bishop.


“Hey Small House Family,” Bishop announces with a smile on his face.


He loves to call us the Small House ever since he decided Mom’s journals had proof that we were really Stuyvesants.   He was so sure of himself too with this smile on his face.  I can’t wait until he finds out that is complete bullshit.  I wonder how he is going to react then.

“We are NOBODY’s small house,” Kwamie responds crossing his arms, “Plus can you keep your voice down.  Your brother is hungover.  He’s been vomiting all morning.”

Bishop gives me a look.  That’s the difference between Bishop and Kwamie.  All morning Kwamie has been helping me out, fixing tea and making sure that I was OK.  He refused to leave the threshold of the bathroom door unless it was to get me something else.  Kwamie could be annoying as all hell but I loved him for being so goddam nurturing.

Then there was Bishop who walks past the bathroom and mutters, “Pussy…”

As though he was disappointed in me for keeping the liquor inside of me.

“Don’t listen to him,” Kwamie states, “You want some more of my special tea?”

“In a minute.  Thanks, Kwamie.”

I had to admit it kind of scared me Kwamie liking this guy Bentley.  It scared me more that Bentley seemed to like Kwamie back.  What if Bentley came and stole my little brother away?  Who the hell was I going to be stuck with them?



Hell no.  Maybe I should take Kwamie up on his offer now.  Maybe he won’t run away with Bentley Stuyvesant if he already ran away with me?  But that would mean leaving Bishop—-


He’d never forgive us.  I knew Bishop to know that he couldn’t live alone.  He just couldn’t.  His life would be in shambles if not for me and Kwamie.  But Bishop was bad for us.  He just was.  I had to really consider this…



“Bishop we need to talk,” I state, “I met a guy yesterday.”

“You’re Lerrick Bradshaw.  You have guys throwing themselves at you all the time.  Even now smelling like throw up you can probably get more dick than Kwamie.  And you don’t even like dick.”



“I’m only interested in ONE dick,” Kwamie grunts, “Quality, not quantity.  Thank you very much.”



Bishop gives me a look, “You ever look at our little brother and wonder: Why wasn’t he swallowed?”

“Can you stop Bishop…this is serious.  I’ve been thinking about this guy all night,” I state.

Bishop sighs, “What’s this got to do with me?”

“You know him.”

“Fine what’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

Bishop laughs, “Well why didn’t you get his name?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.  I damn near begged him.”

“You had your shirt off when you met him?”

“Yes…” I state, “Crazy right!  He wouldn’t fold.”

Even Bishop looks concerned at this point.  My cascading abs routine always worked.  I mean I literally had a banging ass body.  What kind of guy turned all this sexy down?

Bishop sighs, “OK, I’m listening…”

“He said that you owed him.  He came to collect.  Said you used to send him fan mail.”

“I remember that,” Kwamie interrupts, “Isn’t that the life coach guy.  Remember.  When Bishop was in that weird cult.  Used to watch youtube videos of the that weird new age speaker that sounded like something off the Empire Strikes Back.”

“Cult?” I ask, “Bishop you were in a cult?”

Bishop is really quiet.  Really quiet.  I’d never seen him this quiet.  The whole time Kwamie and I are discussing this guy he gets pale.  Real pale.



“It can’t be…” he states.



“Should we be concerned?” I ask, “Is this guy some sort of black mafia guy or something?  Do you have a hit on us for owing him money.”

“I wish it were that,” he states, “It’s worse.”

Bishop is pacing back and forth.  He is concerned. Really concerned.

Kwamie crosses his arms, “Bishop what kind of shit did you get us into now?”

“Some people called it a cult.  Other people called it some kind of following.  He helps you out in your life.  Sometimes he does it for free but other times he wants payment.”

“What kind of payment?”

“He gave me the idea to scam the Stuyvesants, but said that I would have to repay him once I got the Stuyvesant money.”

“What Stuyvesant money?” I ask, “Look around.  We’re still broke.”

“This is all taking longer than expected.  I thought I would have more time.  I thought I would have more time before he came to collect.”

“How much does he want?” Kwamie asks, “I can get a 2nd job.  I can….”

“You can’t afford how much he wants.  He wants money and connections with the Stuyvesants.  Meaning,  if I don’t get in with the Stuyvesants soon—-he will RUIN me.”

Bishop looked petrified.

“So he’s not in the mob?  He’s just one guy?  What’s the big concern?” I ask seeming more and more confused about why the fuck Bishop was so worried.


“You have no idea who he is,” Bishop responds.

It’s the same thing the sexy guy had said to me when I met him at the sex club.  He said I had no idea who he was.   All of a sudden it was clear that Bishop made a check that he couldn’t cash and now it was necessary for us to get to the Stuyvesants quickly.

“How long do we have?”

“This…boy…he plans on raising money to run for Senate but he wants the Stuyvesant money to one day run for president.”

“He wants to take over the country?” Kwamie laughs.


I look over at Bishop.  Kwamie didn’t spend time with this guy as I did.  Bishop was the only one who knew this guy though and for the first time, Bishop wasn’t amused.  For the first time, Bishop was speechless.

“Kwamie,” I shut him up, “I don’t think this is a laughing matter.”

Kwamie sighs deeply.   He is getting nervous too as we see how sick Bishop looked.

“Who is he?” Kwamie asks, “Who is this guy?”

Bishop stops pacing.  He looks over at us.

“His name is Syn Clinton.”