Page 28 of This or That
One step at a time. Fingers. One step at a time. Ass. One step at a time. Prostate. Why is the world ruled by men who believe that dicks are the ultimate power when it’s blatant that prostates bring you mind-blowing, stars-in-your-eyes orgasms? This world’s priorities are definitely upside down.
Well, not really. Mike is mine at the moment, and let me tell you, Mike is one horny beast when he shuts down that overworked brain of his. The one that instills the guilt. The one that questions what his friends would think. The one that dares to underestimate what we have. He jokes about how fucking tight I am and how he has no clue how he’ll fit; I wasn’t joking when I said Big Dick Richie fit him better than Magic Mike. Jokes aside, I can appreciate his desire and apprehension. Life’s taught me to be patient, and I’m in no hurry. The fact that I’m his dirty little secret doesn’t bode well.
We’re good together. Why hide? Why pretend? Why wait? Suddenly, words that I probably should have said earlier tumble out of my stupid mouth. “You know I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you, right?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
I thread my fingers through my hair, staring into his fierce eyes. “I should have made it abundantly clear much sooner. I’m not after a relationship, but I don’t play the field either.”
“Okay.” He pecks my cheek again.
“That’s it?” My brows knit.
“Let’s make a deal, Troy Hunter. You hate labels and some scare me. So first, no label for what’s going on between us which, to me, is a relationship, no matter how hard I fought against it and you still are. Second, no label for my sexual orientation when I come out to Matteo later tonight.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 18
True Colors
Mike
Nursing my Guinness, I glance at Matteo while the famous jazz club near my place gets busier by the second. I’m more of a rock and 50’s classics fan, but his love of jazz knows no bounds, same with electro. He shares the former with my mom and the latter with his wife. Me? I’m happy to tag along, although my clammy hands are a clear indication that I’m lying to myself. How pitiful!
Oblivious to my discomfort, my friend shoots a text to Luana; I admire how the newlyweds make solo time for their friends. Chuckling at how different my younger, infatuated self acted with Ella, I guzzle my beer.
His double bass in hand, the artist is about to begin, and I sigh at my cowardice.
Where to start? What to say? How to confess?
Grinning my way, Matteo shuts off his phone and puts it face down on the small round table that’s covered with a thick white tablecloth, embroidered with the club’s monogram. He focuses on the music and I feign to do the same, but my mind is running a mile a minute.
During intermission, my Italian friend shoots me an odd look.
I purse my lips and snap, “What?” My index finger circles the rim of my empty beer glass.
Instead of responding, he swivels to catch the tall waitress’s attention and orders sparkling water without bothering to ask what I want.
When she’s gone, his attention returns to me. “You tell me.” His joined hands land on the edge of the table. “You’ve been awfully quiet for someone who sounded so eager to see me. I gave you ample time to spill the beans, but all I see is your nervous habits. So… You. Tell. Me.” His piercing eyes bore into mine, and despite the dim light, I feel exposed.
This is it.
The chianti that we enjoyed with our gnocchi dinner didn’t help to loosen my nerves, neither did the Guinness.
“You’re really perceptive, you know.”
“Shocker!” His right hand splays over his heart before he resumes his position. “Isn’t that what got us talking when we were both kids?”
“True.” I break eye contact to gather my thoughts and sigh. When I raise my eyes to his, I announce, “I met someone,” and catch my breath, grumbling at my shaky voice. My throat is parched, and I welcome the sparkling water that the waitress deposits on the table at the right moment to grant a brief reprieve. Only now do I notice how hot she is. We exchange a flirtatious yet harmless smile.
My initial confusion regarding my sexual orientation after being attracted to Troy and being turned-on by gay porn was quickly resolved; good old straight porn remains equally arousing. Although most would argue that I’m too old to indulge in adult movies, Brandon Boner’s non-trashy ones did the trick. Troy scoffed when he managed to weasel this information out of me one drunken night.
Anyway, I’ve come to terms with discovering that I’m bi. It’s time to spell it out loud to make it a reality. Why am I so jumpy? My sexual orientation is a part of me, but it doesn’t define me. I’m still me.
“Must be someone important.” As always, Matteo’s spot-on. His voice is gleeful and collected. I must be imagining the hint of pain in it. “Because it’s not like you to keep things under wraps, especially with me.” My silence hurt him! Fuck!
Suddenly, I’m at a loss for words. I nod and sip on my water to soothe my aching throat… and buy a few more precious seconds. He offers a small smile and drinks as well. “So, where did you meet thisimportant someone?” Playful, he air quotes his last words.
