Page 25 of Dust and Desire
“You,” he said. “I wanted you to keep touching me. I wanted to touch you back. I wanted...” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?” I asked, shifting slightly closer on the rock. Not close enough to crowd him, but near enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Because I don’t know how to be this person,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I spent thirty-two years pretending to be someone else. I was married, Alex. I had a wife who loved me, and I destroyed her life because I was too much of a coward to admit what I was.”
The pieces began falling into place. The sadness, the isolation,the way he pulled back just when things started to heat up between us.
“You’re gay,” I said, not a question but a gentle statement of fact.
He nodded, still not looking at me. “Took me long enough to figure it out. Or to admit it, anyway. I think part of me always knew, but it was easier to just... not deal with it.”
“What happened with your wife?”
“Her name is Ali,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “Alison. We met in law school, got married right after graduation. She is beautiful and smart and kind, and she deserved so much better than what I gave her. What I forced her to endure.”
“What did you force her to endure?” I asked softly, my heart aching for the pain I could hear in his voice.
He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers picking at the grass beside the rock. “Years of feeling like she wasn’t enough. Like there was something wrong with her, something she couldn’t give me. I tried so hard to be the husband she deserved, but I couldn’t... I couldn’t want her the way she needed me to.”
The words hung heavy in the air between us. I wanted to reach for him, to offer some kind of comfort, but I sensed he needed to get this out.
“She knew,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe not consciously, but she knew something was wrong. She’d try harder, dress up for me, suggest things in bed that I just...” He shook his head. “I made her feel like she was failing when the failure was all mine.”
“That’s not failure, Dustin,” I said gently. “That’s just being human.”
He finally looked at me then, those blue eyes bright with unshed tears. “Is it? Because it felt like I was living a lie every single day. Going through the motions of being a husband while fantasizing about men I’d never even spoken to. Coming home to her after seeing some guy on the subway and having to excuse myself to the bathroom because I was so wound up I couldn’t think straight.”
The raw honesty in his voice made my chest tight. I could see the shame he carried, the weight of years spent denying who he was.
“When did you tell her?” I asked.
“Two years ago. After I saw her crying in the kitchen one night because she thought I didn’t find her attractive anymore.” His voice cracked. “She was blaming herself for my inability to be what she needed, and I just... I couldn’t let her do that anymore. So, I told her everything.”
“How did she take it?”
“Better than I deserved,” he said with a bitter laugh. “She was hurt, obviously. Angry. But mostly she was relieved to finally understand why our marriage felt so... hollow. She said she’d been wondering if there was someone else, and in a way, finding out I was gay was better than thinking I’d fallen in love with another woman.”
I nodded, understanding more than he probably realized. “The divorce was her idea?”
“Mine. She deserved a chance at real love, and I...” He trailed off, staring out at the dark water. “I deserved to stop pretending to be someone I wasn’t. But knowing that doesn’t make the guilt go away.”
“Is that why you came here? To escape the guilt?”
“Partly.” He pulled his knees closer to his chest. “I needed to get away from everything that reminded me of the life I’d built on a lie. The apartment, the job, the friends who all knew us as a couple. And I needed somewhere I could figure out who I actually was, not the lie I thought I was supposed to be.”
I watched as Dustin’s face softened in the moonlight, his profile sharp against the darkening sky. The creek gurgled beside us, a soothing backdrop to his confession.
“And have you?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Figured out who you are?”
He turned to me, a sad smile playing at his lips. “Not entirely. But I know I’m not the man I pretended to be all those years.” He ran a hand through his hair, the motion endearingly nervous. “I know Ilike it here, away from the noise and expectations. I know I don’t miss corporate law. And I know...” he paused, swallowing hard, “I know I’m attracted to men. To you.”
The admission hung between us, fragile as a soap bubble. I wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, but I sensed he wasn’t finished.
“That’s why I ran the other night,” he continued. “Because feeling that attraction and actually acting on it… that makes it real in a way I haven’t been ready for.”
“And now?” I asked, heart hammering against my ribs.
“Now I’m terrified,” he admitted with a soft laugh. “But I’m tired of running from what I want.”
