by Seth King
He asks me to help him work out. I stand over him, guiding the weights as he bench-presses, and my cock accidentally brushes against his mouth. He discovers he loves the taste, and we have sex right there on the weight bench.
Harry gets dumped by his latest girlfriend, and I walk in on him crying in the kitchen. I wipe his tears away and help him through his emotions, and he realizes he needs someone caring and sensitive like me. He proposes by Christmastime.
As you see, I think about this a lot. But oh, well. I should stop. There are actual gay dudes here, dudes who would actually hook up with me, so I remind myself to stay in the moment.
Soon, a go-go dancer appears close to me with a platter of liquor shots in little glass vials, and with the bar so clogged, there’s an instant rush to buy them up. I manage to snag three, then throw a ten dollar bill at the salesman, and swallow one of them. It tastes like green acid, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.
“Hey,” Ryan says after downing a shot. “Your ex isn’t coming, is he?”
“I wouldn’t know. We stopped talking.”
“Ha! I’ve heard that one before.”
“I’m serious this time,” I say.
“Whatever. If I see you two talking at any point tonight, I’m warning you beforehand that I’m going to grab you and drag you away, no matter what you say.”
“That won’t happen, but…noted.”
Ryan scoffs. I understand why they don’t want me around him, though…
Ryan and I dance and talk for a few minutes. I watch the costumes go by: Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper in A Star is Born, a few iterations of different Madonnas from over the years, several couples in matchy-matchy looks, and lots of guys just wearing booty shorts with no real theme or running joke. One guy I recognize from Grindr is just wearing baggy jeans and a regular T shirt.
“But what are you dressed as?” I ask him as he passes. “You don’t look scary.”
“Oh,” he says, “but I am. I’m dressed as a straight guy.”
“Ohhhh. Gotcha.”
I turn to Ryan, then see that they’ve been shoved up against the wall. As I try to push forward to get to Ryan, a new wave of people comes through the doorway, and that’s when things really get hectic. So I decide to just dance where I am.
The pulsing synth-pop of Robyn’s Dancing On My Own makes my body start to feel slutty. So right there in the middle of the crowd, I dance like nobody is watching.
But fuck, it’s too crowded even for this. Someone bangs into me from the side and pushes me against someone else, and the way I hit them means their arm gets jammed up against me, their hand pressed up against my ass.
I prepare to get mad, then realize it feels…good. Very good. It’s a nice hand. A big one.
I feel the person squirm and try to pull away, just as a voice starts apologizing profusely.
And that voice has an accent.
“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry, that was not intentional, I was waiting for a drink and that drag queen totally pushed you into me, and my arm was down, and your butt got forced up against my…my hand…but the thing is…it was a nice butt, and now I’m confused, and I…”
But no – it can’t be him. I’m squeezed in so tight, I still can’t quite turn or see his face, so I tread lightly. “Um. Really?” I say towards him. “You liked my butt?”
Now, his voice is softer. And it’s familiar, too. Devastatingly familiar.
“I mean, I’ve never touched a guy like that before, to be honest…but yeah, it was nice…uh, very nice, actually…and…fuck…wait, you’re not…you, are you?”
Finally the crowd thins a little, and I look up and stop breathing.
Because I am staring into the black eyes of Harry Young.
My fantasy roommate.
Except, you know, in real life.
Well, then – I guess that explains tonight’s awkward conversation.
He looks stop-you-in-your-tracks beautiful in a perfectly-fitted tuxedo and a small black Batman mask that covers him from his upper lip to his forehead, with two little pointed ears on top. Bruce Wayne, I guess, but even hotter than any actor I’ve ever seen portray him. He’s alone, by the looks of it, and he looks just as surprised as I feel.
But wait, what the fuck is he doing here?
And, um – did he just compliment my ass?
Harry Young
I didn’t know it was him.
I swear it.
I got pushed around in the crowd and then ended up stuck against someone in barely any clothing, and my arm happened to be awkwardly at my side with my palm out…giving me an accidental handful of a person’s ass. I know people get sued for this shit, and rightfully so, but I swear his ass just sort of got pinned up against my hand and stuck like glue.
But the thing is, after that I kind of, well…
Enjoyed it.
A lot.
His ass was firm and soft and big and compact at the same time.
Maybe I should’ve touched it sooner.
He is my roommate, after all…
Then I remember: fuck, he’s my roommate.
At first, I panic a little. I didn’t want to be seen, and Joshua clearly knows me well enough to recognize the eyes underneath my mask.
And then I start to realize: if I can trust anyone, I can trust him. What do I have to hide? And why would he judge me? He’s the least judgmental person I’ve ever been around, actually.
And, uh, like I said: he looks good. Very good. All in all, I could’ve had worse people get slammed into me tonight.
“Oh,” I say. “Well.”
“Oh.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I blurt out. He looks around.
“What? Why would I?”
“I don’t know….” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Come on, it’s cool. Straight guys come to the gay clubs and bars all the time now. Lemme guess: some girl brought you here, right? As a jokey little date, correct? Hey, let’s go get drunk and laugh at the freaks. Or maybe you walked into the wrong place…?”
I take a breath and tell myself what I already know: I can trust him, and he would never judge me.
“Hello, Joshua,” I begin. “For your information, I’m in the right place. I came here alone. Because I wanted to. But please don’t tell anyone.”
His face goes blank. His eyes grow. “I…won’t. I understand. Well…not really, but still.”
I feel the need to correct myself for coming off so indignantly. “I mean…I’m not ashamed, trust me. I wanted to come, like I said. I just want to be sure before I…you know, make any big changes in my life. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I…I do, I think…yes. I just never would’ve guessed…”
“Ha. Well. Like I always say, life is full of surprises.”
His eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you just tell me earlier, then?”
“Well,” I say, “you weren’t supposed to be here.”
“True, sorry, I had a change of plans.”
“I see. Can I have that shot?”
He hesitates, then holds up a hand, offering me the glass vial.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it and downing it. Blech – it tastes like chemicals. Oh well, it was free.
Joshua gives me another strange look. Why is this such a big deal?
“What?” I ask.
“I just…this is weird, you have to admit it.”
“Why is it weird? You’re not going to tell anyone, right? Why does it matter?”
He shakes his head. “Harry. I get that part of it. Trust me. I was outed in high school, so I would never in a million years do the same to anyone else.”
Sympathy unfolds in my chest. “You were forced out? You never told me that.”
“You never asked…or, well, spoke to me in general…”
At first I feel kind of guilty. Then I feel annoyed, and I don’t know why.
So I’ve kept my distance. But so has he. I can count on one hand the nu
mber of times he’s ever even approached me.
“Hm,” I say. “I could say the same about you.”
“I mean…well, yeah. Point taken.” He laughs, and finally things start to feel more normal between us. “Sorry about the sex thing, by the way. I really did think my door was locked that night.”
I swallow hard. “Joshua?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need to apologize. Trust me.”
He sways in place a little, even though he does not appear to be very drunk at all. “Okay…and…why do you call me Joshua?”
“Sorry, it’s a lingering British thing. We don’t use as many contractions.”
Someone knocks into him again and pushes him even closer, and an unsaid understanding passes between us.
I look him up and down: he’s lost weight and gotten toned, and the bikini – or whatever it is – rides up on his thighs like how the swimsuit models did it in the eighties.
I tilt my head a little. If you took his head and replaced it with a woman’s, I’d be hitting on him right now. He’s that curvy.
Or maybe I’ll just hit on him now?
I mean, I know there’s the whole roommate thing. But it’s the first Halloween full moon in decades, according to some tweet I saw somewhere. (Can’t vouch for its veracity, sorry.) But crazy things can happen tonight, right?
Reckless things.
Delicious things.
I lean closer. “So. That dance you were doing, where you were humping the floor…can you do it again?”
He stares. A Missy Elliott song comes on.
“Sure, why not? It is Halloween, after all,” he finally says, starting to dance alone.
But I hold his gaze. “No,” I say. “Against me, I mean.”
He keeps staring.
“Do you object?” I ask.
“Fuck no! I mean, no. I’m just…confused.”
“Well, don’t be. I’m not.”
Annoyance crosses over his face. He scoffs and looks away. “Ha. You think because I’m a gay dude, at a gay club, I’ll just dance all over you?”
“No, I don’t think that at all. I came here with no preconceived notions. But to be honest, I’d like it if you did.”
He gawks at me, then gets more thoughtful. “Well. Actually…”
“Yes?”
“I mean, now that I think about it, it might make a bit of sense, you being here. I mean, I did walk in on you watching The Golden Girls the other day…”
I laugh. “Now who’s generalizing?”
“Ehh, true, sorry.”
A guy walks by and checks him out, making me clench my fists. Sure, he looks good, but I’m not done with him yet – someone else can’t scoop him up when we’ve just started talking.
Suddenly I see a vision of myself being wheeled down that hallway in the hospital, and I think of all the time I’ve wasted in my life. Football, sports camps, it was all so pointless…
So I grab his arm, swing him around, and rest him against me, his ass to my crotch, his back to my chest.
“Harry,” he says breathlessly.
“What?”
“What are we doing?”
“Feeling the mood.”
“Why?”
“Because we feel it.”
“We do?”
“Well, I certainly do.” I lean even closer, so my lips are against his ear. “I came here looking for someone. Anyone. But it seems I could’ve found my anyone.”
I laugh to myself.
“And to think I could’ve saved all this time by just walking down my own hallway…”
He freezes. “Okay, back up. What?”
I take a swallow, then decide to just spill it out. No need to hold back now when his ass is against my dick. “I think I might like guys, Joshua. That’s why I came here in this mask. I came to investigate.”
“Okay…”
“Yes?”
“I’m just…processing. Why this place? Why now? Why didn’t you just download the apps, like everyone else? You don’t even have to post a photo, you know.”
I shrug. “Too anonymous, too impersonal. I researched it and came across some articles on Google, but…no, not my style. I wanted to do it in person, or not at all. And the opportunity to hide tonight, in plain sight…it seemed perfect.”
He keeps dancing against me very casually, but his face is all scrunched up.
“So…all along?” he asks soon. God, it feels nice to finally have someone to talk about this with…
“Not exactly. It started a few weeks after I moved in.”
“Really?” he laughs, in disbelief. “So you mean it was because of me? What, did my homo-ness rub off on you?”
I laugh, too. I can forget sometimes how funny he is, and how joyful it is to be around him. “No. I…I don’t know. To be honest I don’t think it was about you, in a personal sense. I just admired the way you lived your life, how free you were, how happy you seemed, how bold and interesting and cool your friends were…and it made me think…”
I lean in, the liquor from the revolting shot making me feel bolder. “But then I saw you in these knickers tonight, and I guess all that changed.”
He gulps, then laughs.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s the sexiest I’ve heard the word ‘knickers’ sound, ever.”
“Sorry, my British-ness came out – underwear, thong, whatever you want to call it.”
“Can you stop talking about my thong, please?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me horny, and I don’t understand why.”
Fuck.
A Britney Spears song from our childhood starts playing, and he lets go of some of the hesitance. He starts dancing against me, like we were any regular couple here, and he is good. Very good.
I try to play it cool. But I can’t. I don’t believe in accidents, and something larger was at work when he bumped against me tonight. I mean, he wasn’t even supposed to be here – that has to count for something, right?
Soon, the sex monster, the thing that takes over when I am with Ashley, comes over me.
“Let’s cut the bullshit,” I say into his ear.
“Bullshit?”
I lower my voice. “I know you look at me, Joshua. I’m not stupid. I see how you glance at me. And stare at me. Almost every single day. Including, well, today. In the gym.”
His face goes pale, even under the lights.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” I ask, growing irritated at how hard he is to understand.
“Um, yeah, duh…guilty as charged. Haven’t you ever heard of a fantasy, though?”
“Pardon me?”
“Sure, I had some…moments. It was like…a joke with myself, or something, though. I thought you were straight. And I lived with you. It’s not like I would have ever…”
“Made a move?” I ask.
“Yes. Exactly.”
I shrug. “Some fantasies can become reality, though. I mean, look at us.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mr. Cheeseball.”
“I’m not joking. Can I be honest about something?”
“Yes, you usually are, whenever we do speak.”
“Ha. Well. Here’s the honesty. Your body against mine is really, really getting me going, and I don’t know how or why, but I…I feel it.”
I feel goosebumps on his skin.
“And fine. I’ll admit it. I really did come here tonight because of you,” I murmur. “Well, not because I thought you were coming, but because of living with you. You made me see into a world I never knew existed. So I came to see if I would like it.”
“And?”
“And I do like it. But I like this more. Us.”
He laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Oh, come on. You’ve barely spoken a paragraph to me in six months.”
“Why do you think?” I ask. “I was confused. Increasingly so.”
“Oh. I
just thought you were just an asshole.”
I gawk at him, then smile – it’s refreshing to have someone be this honest with me, and not just kiss my ass.
“Joshua,” I say soon. “Seriously. I just didn’t know what to say around you.”
“Well, now you do. Just say hi.”
“I’d like to say more. Maybe…maybe back at our place?”
I gasp at my own words. It just slipped out – I don’t know why I said it. It just happened.
I wait for his reaction. He shudders, then makes a face.
“What, Joshua?”
“First of all, can you please stop calling me that?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s making me want to fuck you. Like, sit on your dick right here, right now. Literally.”
I take his hand and turn him around. “You really feel that way?”
“Horrifyingly, yes. Duh.”
“Here, then. Let’s not waste any time.”
And then I kiss my roommate.
Josh Nash
He grabs my face and kisses me on the lips.
I shock myself by kissing him back.
Most shocking of all: it is hot, very hot, and it makes me feel things, lots of very butterfly-ish things.
Then I realize, all at once, what I am doing. I am kissing Harry Young.
My brain glitches, and the sound it makes is like when you smash a keyboard with your palm because you have nothing to say:
Dsksksdjdkslskskj;;;
That’s all I can form in my head.
I am gobsmacked.
Part of me can’t believe he just grabbed me and kissed me like that, without even asking.
Another part of me can’t believe I liked it.
But then again, I guess I can believe that part of it. No matter how hard I try to act like I’m independent and modern and feminist and all that, I become humiliatingly retroactive and passive when it comes to guys. Give me a big dick and a sexy pair of eyes, and I become a 1950s housewife just like that. I just slide into this weird submissive mode, despite myself. So I have to admit I’ve always been drawn to take-charge kind of dudes, as much as the more cerebral part of my brain hates it.
Finally Harry pulls back and stares into my eyes.
