by Ann Grech
Trent didn’t answer my question before the manager returned. Instead, he wandered off. It was a strange reaction, but I couldn’t ponder it without being unprofessional. I took the proffered card with the gallery’s email address, and the manager said, “Send through a few examples of what you’d propose we stock, and we can talk, Mr. di Pasqua.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, shaking her hand and bidding her goodbye. I looked around the gallery but couldn’t see Trent. It wasn’t until I walked outside, my eyes drawn back to the homeless person near the dumpster, that I saw him. Crouched down, he was talking to them, holding their undoubtedly frail hands in his strong ones. As I crossed the street to him, he pulled something out of his jacket pocket. Halfway into the alley, I realized he was talking to a woman, and he’d given her his gloves. He slid them onto her hands and pulled out his wallet. What’s he doing? I paused, watching them quietly from a few yards away. Trent pulled something out and handed it to her. They spoke, her crying and him nodding and soothing her. It wasn’t until she shifted to pocket the note that I got a look at it. Unmistakably red, it meant one thing—he’d given her a hundred dollars.
I was floored. The homeless were so often invisible. People never knew how to react, me included. Did you smile? Would that be misread as you laughing at their misfortune? Did you show them pity? Homelessness might be a sight better than where they came from, but people rarely asked for it. Did you give them money? What if they were drug addicts or alcoholics and you were just making things worse? Most people simply ignored them. Walked past as if they weren’t there. But not Trent. He’d gone out of his way to speak to her and help her where he could. Even the way he held her hands showed how much he cared. He’d literally given her his own gloves to help keep her warm. My breath caught in my throat, and I closed my eyes, thanking God for giving me his friendship.
By the time Trent made his way back out of the alley, I’d returned to the sidewalk and was browsing the kitschy display of tourist knickknacks in the windows of the nearby store. “Hey, I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” I mused. I was sure Trent saw right through my façade, but he didn’t call me on it, in the same way I didn’t say anything more about the lady he’d helped.
It was weird to daydream, wasn’t it? I’d been sitting at the desk in Riccardo’s lounge room, my Mac in front of me, with the final edits of Brad and Jenna’s wedding photos spread open. Ricky had long ago gone to bed, and I should have done the same, but I wanted to get the album finished. Except that I hadn’t touched the images for an hour. I was distracted. I couldn’t focus on anything except Trent crouching down in that alley helping the woman. Giving her a lifeline. My friend, the same one who had something going on that was eating him alive, had stopped to help her. He hadn’t hesitated either. Then when I hadn’t questioned him on it, he’d looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But why?
My cell pinged, an incoming message from my sister, Gabriella. She was visiting her boyfriend a few hours away from our parents.
Gabriella: Are you around?
I opened up Skype and dialed her, waiting for her to connect our call.
“Ciao, Ang,” she greeted when her face appeared on the screen. She looked radiant, her dark hair glowing and her tan a deep golden color. We all had the same eyes—hazel—but hers were a vibrant green this time. She was happy, and my heart warmed seeing her like that.
We spoke in Italian, my brain heaving a sigh of relief at no longer having to translate my thoughts into a foreign language before I spoke. “Hey, beautiful.”
We caught up on the goings on, and I broke the news from earlier in the day. When I’d arrived home, I’d emailed the gallery and the manager was impressed. She’d have to speak with the owners but was going to recommend they purchase a few of my images as exclusive one-off pieces and others as prints that could be supplied on demand. That combined with the family portrait shoot had me confident I’d one day be able to make a living from my photography gig.
She was telling me about her stay, about how her boyfriend wanted her to move in, but I was only half listening. “What’s wrong, Angelo? You’re off with the fairies. I’ve been quiet for a whole minute and you haven’t even noticed.”
“Sorry, it’s late here,” I hedged. “Had a busy day.”
“Old man,” she teased. “Are you sure that’s all?”
Sighing, I admitted, “No, I’ve got a bit on my mind. I’m worried about my friend, Trent. Something is bothering him. He’s had a rough few days from what he told me, but then today he did something that I can’t get out of my head.”
“What?” she asked, her head cocked to the side like she often did when she was curious.
“I told you he’s a mountain rescue paramedic too, didn’t I?” I continued without waiting for her to answer. My sister had gotten her accreditation in specialist first aid only the year before. “Anyway, I suppose it’s not strange that he’d help people, but he was down today. I wanted to make him smile, you know? We went for a walk together, and even though he’s got a lot of shit going on, he still took the time out to help a homeless lady. He talked to her, gave her his gloves and money. Not just pocket change either. I can’t get it out of my head. I’ve been sitting here replaying it over and over.”
“You like him,” she said with a small smile.
I paused, confused. “Of course I do. He’s my friend.”
“No, you like him, like him.” Her smile grew and I scoffed at her, laughing at the ridiculous notion that I was crushing on my friend. There was no way. It was ridiculous. But at the same time, the way he made me feel…. No. Impossible. Wasn’t it?
“What are we? Fifteen? And anyway, I’m straight.”
“Are you?” she asked without missing a beat. “You’ve told me yourself that you’ve never lusted over anyone, you’ve never been sexually attracted to anyone before. It’s one of the ways you figured out that you’re asexual. Maybe you haven’t connected all the dots yet, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility that you’re falling for your friend. Remember, sexuality is a spectrum. You might fall at a different spot than you thought.”
“Yeah, but what’s the likelihood of having two people in one family ‘on the spectrum’ as you say.” I added the air quotes in as I spoke. “Riccardo’s pan. I’m gay, or bi, or whatever now?”
Gabriella shook her head and gave me a patient smile, like she had all the time in the world. “You do realize you’re already on the spectrum, don’t you? Asexuality is just as much a sexuality as homosexuality or heterosexuality. Bisexuality, pansexuality. You get my drift. And come on, after our upbringing does it surprise you that we accept sexuality isn’t as easily defined in society’s nice little boxes?” Our very Italian, Catholic parents were swingers and had an open relationship during their entire twenty years of marriage. They were divorced now, but when they were together, we would often have sleepovers at Nonna’s. Turns out date night for them was swapping keys or visiting their latest girlfriend, boyfriend, or both. As we got older, they were more candid about their preferences, letting us see that while unconventional, their relationship was solid. Then they simply outgrew each other. Papà wanted to move in with his girlfriend, and Mamma was happy hooking up with her men—two bisexual guys in a committed relationship who were voyeurs and exhibitionists too. They liked to bring her in—the sexy cougar—as a third member. It wasn’t hostile in any way and Mamma and Papà still apparently got together when the urge struck, but mostly they were just friends now.
“No, I suppose not. But regardless, I’m not into him.”
“All I’m saying is maybe he’s someone special to you.”
I nodded and agreed, “He is special to me. He’s my friend. Nothing more, Gab.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “You obviously know your own feelings.”
We wrapped up the call soon after and I turned in for the night. Crawling into bed in sweats and an old T-shirt, I pulled the covers up to my neck
and closed my eyes. It took me a long time to wrangle my thoughts into line. Gabriella had gotten to me. She had me thinking things that I didn’t want to. I wasn’t crushing on him, and if I kept telling myself that, the stupid nagging voice in the back of my brain would finally shut up and listen.
Sunlight peeked around the outside of the wooden timber slat blinds that adorned the windows in the room I was staying in. I had no idea what time it was, but I couldn’t smell coffee. Either it was really early—which by the look of the amount of light coming in, it wasn’t—or it was late and Riccardo had long ago left for the workout he did at the ass crack of dawn every Sunday morning.
I stretched, my hard length tenting the covers even more as I arched my back. It’d been a while since I’d had an erection, months since I’d jacked off last, and it felt good to be hard. I closed my eyes again and relished the heat, the stretch of taut skin over my dick, the soft fabric of my sweats brushing against my nerve endings. I palmed myself, squeezing my dick over the material, and moaned quietly. I wanted to feel, wanted the release. I didn’t have lube handy, but I didn’t care. Pushing down my sweats, my feet flat on the bed, I closed my fist over my hardness and stroked slowly. Up and down I moved, and heat pooled between my legs while a natural high flooded my body. Every part of me tingled. I sped up, using the drop of precum to ease the movement of my hand and rocking my hips in time. Images flashed before my closed eyelids. Hands cupping and touching, soft brushes of skin against skin. Facial hair against my palm, thick legs, and a spicy scent. The curve of firm muscle, peaks and valleys of abs and the dark happy trail below his navel leading down to the waistline of his loose-fitting basketball shorts. The V that followed the same path, pointing to his package hidden away. His pecs, and the hair on his chest. I gasped as my dick pulsed in my hand, my imagination telling me exactly what I wanted to happen next. Trent’s warm hands, big and strong yet gentle, pulled me closer, and our mouths joined. Lips pressing together, our tongues softly sought each other out. Moans and gasps as he drew me closer, aligning our bodies, every inch of our naked skin touching. Our legs tangled together, and arms wound around each other. His warmth blanketed me, his solid body sheltered me, but he was vulnerable too. Hurting. I cupped his face and pulled back to look in his eyes. I didn’t see pain there anymore. I saw love. Contentment. Desire. He smiled and my heart fluttered. I’d done that. I’d given him peace. I’d made him happy. He whispered my name, his voice husky with desire, and it sent me over the edge, my climax washing over me. My seed spilled onto my stomach and I gasped for air as I rode the high. Orgasms were never powerful and all-consuming for me, but this one was different. It was longer, harder.
Breathless, I lay there, holding my softening erection as I realized what I’d done. I’d thought about another person while I was jacking off. It wasn’t just any person either. It was my friend, my male friend. Gabriella’s words came back to me, “Maybe he’s someone special to you.” He was. But I couldn’t be falling for him. Like Gab said, I’d never been attracted to anyone, male or female. His gender didn’t bother me. The fact that he dated women did. I couldn’t be that clichéd, could I? The one person who had made me even think of touching another sexually was straight? Completely out of reach? Fuck. I’m screwed. But maybe not. Maybe I’m only thinking of Trent because Gab mentioned it. Like she planted the seed and in my pre-caffeinated state, my body is using the last thing I thought of before I slept as inspiration.
I chose to ignore the voice in the back of my mind reminding me that going to sleep thinking of Trent and waking up with him there too meant something more. He was my friend. As long as I kept reminding myself of that, it’d be true. I hoped.
I didn’t see much of Trent over the next few days. He pulled a few extra shifts to make up for the ones he’d missed the week before, and the one night he had free, I had the family photo shoot scheduled. I was looking forward to Thursday night with him watching the rugby match on the big screen at the sports bar. He’d been invited to go with a group of friends, and he’d asked me along too. I was nervous, but I didn’t want him to know that. I stood in front of my closet, wearing only my briefs with three discarded changes of clothes on the floor and countless shirts tossed on the bed. I was going out of my mind. I wasn’t comfortable in anything casual. T-shirts and sweaters made me antsy, and while I didn’t want to go too formal, I knew I wouldn’t be able to settle in a large group of people until I was at ease in my own skin. But if I didn’t pick something, I’d be late, and that was even worse. I settled on black jeans and a pale purple checked shirt with a gray waistcoat.
I looked over my reflection once more, fixed my hair, and snagged my wallet, cell, and keys off the nightstand before jogging down the stairs. My heavy coat lay on the sofa, and I snatched that up too. The drive to Trent’s house only took a few minutes, and as I parked in the drive, I took a deep breath, hoping that I wasn’t so overdressed that I stood out like a sore thumb.
Trent must have seen me pull up because the next moment he was out the door, walking toward me. Blue jeans, a black button-down, and his black leather jacket gave him a dark edge that made him look mysterious. His eyes, his strong jaw, and those muscles combined with his lips and the air of what I was coming to realize was sadness, made me want to photograph him. Black and white, stripped of anything but a gray background. I wanted to peel back the layers, rid him of the background noise—and his clothes—so the world could see him the way I did. He was beautiful.
He slid into the passenger seat, looked me up and down, and grinned. “The guys are gonna think you’re a Storm supporter.” When I raised my eyebrow at him questioningly, he laughed and added, “I love how clueless you are about this.”
I probably should have been annoyed by the smart-assed remark, but instead, I laughed. “Fuck you.” I gave him my middle finger and grinned. “You try moving to the other side of the world and be an overnight expert.” That comment had him chuckling again, and I smiled at his easy laughter as I reversed out the drive and headed back toward the center of town and the sports bar we’d become semi-regulars at.
The door hadn’t even swung closed behind us when I wanted to turn around and leave again. I knew the group as soon as I saw them—loud and obnoxious all wearing the home team’s color: black. My purple would stand out like a lighthouse beacon, and worse still, was the color of the opposing team. Shit.
“Come on.” Trent nudged me in their direction with a hand to my lower back and flashed a small smile at me. “They’ll give you a hard time, but they’re all pretty good guys.” His reassurance only made me more nervous, but it was his touch that had me sucking in a breath.
Trent made the introductions, and I shook a few hands and nodded at a couple of the men on the other side of the round bar tables cobbled together into a line. Stools were pulled up and a pitcher of beer put in front of us. I waved it away, not wanting to drink while I was driving. “I’ll get your drinks tonight,” Trent said from next to me. Before I could object, he was off his stool and walking to the bar. I watched him go, watched the way he moved easily through the crowd, greeting people as they recognized him. I turned back to the table and saw everyone busy in their own conversations. I was people-watching like I often did, looking at the way they held themselves. Individuals stood out to me. There was one woman a few tables over who captured my attention. She was fascinating. With soft features and a slim build, she moved like a ballerina. Graceful and almost feline. At another, there was another woman who had a hearty laugh. Warmth radiated from her. At our table, two men who were deep in conversation looked like they’d come straight from work. Dressed much like me, it was clear they were in business, but it was their heads close together that made me wonder whether their conversation was about work or something else. None of them held my attention for longer than a few moments though, and I found my eyes drifting back to the man at the bar. I watched his lips move as he chatted with a woman, casually leaning against the black timber bar while my soda
water and lime and his drink sat untouched next to him. Trent tilted his head over in the direction of our table, and the girl held her hand out. He didn’t hesitate, handing over his cell. I watched as their hands connected, but it was his that I was focused on—big and strong, but gentle too. I’d seen with my own eyes how caring those hands could be.
“Look at that bastard, getting another number,” Jason, the man beside me, huffed with a laugh. “Lucky prick.”
Trent took back his cell and smiled at the woman before pocketing it, picking up my drink, and coming back to the table. Our eyes met across the room, and he smiled. My heart beat faster, and I yearned to reach out to him, but I pulled away, forcing the connection to be severed. Disappointment surged through me, but I ignored the sensation. I wasn’t going to do this. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
“Another admirer, Trent?” Jason asked.
He shrugged, but the satisfied smirk gave him away. There was no doubt she was sexy. Curvy and voluptuous, with a shock of red hair down to her waist. Jason’s elbow hitting me hard in my shoulder snapped me out of my musing. “Keep staring at him like a faggot and you might get your teeth knocked out in this bar, but you’ll learn the secret to getting laid, won’t ya?” His question, spoken as a statement, made my skin crawl. But it was Trent’s reaction that made me wish I was anywhere but there.
“Nah, man. Angelo’s no homo.”
