by Rowan Shaw
LING: So, are you coming?
ME: Today is Thursday.
LING: So?
ME: So it's summertime for the kids, and I have work early tomorrow.
LING: Are you eighty or something? Just drink some coffee in the morning.
I knew her too well to trust I could talk her out of it, so I caved in as I always did.
Me: Fine.
Ling: YES!
ME: What should I wear?
LING: Something sexy.
ME: I think we both know I don't do sexy.
LING: I know you can be sexy when you want to be.
ME: Give me one example. Just one example of me ever being sexy.
LING: I'm almost married to someone else, Brandon. It's not appropriate.
Right. As if Ling was the kind of woman to blush and recoil from sex talks.
ME: You're thinking about that time we sneaked into the locker room for sex in high school, aren't you?
LING: Not answering that.
I gave a short laugh.
ME: I'll find something to wear.
LING: Maybe those leather pants you own.
I scrunched my nose at the screen.
ME: I bought those as a joke for that party you forced me into. That's all. Never wearing them again. Plus, it's forty degrees Celsius outside...in the shade.
LING: If I remember correctly, those pants open in the back. It's perfect.
ME: Don't be gross.
LING: Hey, you're the one who's been whining 'cause you've never been with a man. If I got money every time I heard you complain you've never even kissed a guy, I'd be rich as hell by now. Besides, anal is good for your prostate.
ME: Says who?
LING: Says me and many people.
ME: Right. Well, I'm turning off my phone now.
LING: You deserve to be happy...
And there we went down the same road she liked to lead me on every single time.
ME: And anal is supposed to do that for me?
LING: Don't knock it till you've tried it. I can tell you from personal experience that it feels unbelievable, and I don't even have a prostate.
I knew Ling loved anal. It was her favorite position when we were married. She'd offered to peg me many times, but I'd always refused.
LING: You really need to work on your internalized biphobia, Brandon. I've been telling you for years. You're not responsible for what he did.
I hated it when she brought him up.
ME: I have no internalized biphobia.
LING: Did you make an appointment with that shrink I told you about?
ME: Yes. I'm seeing him tomorrow. Happy now? Can I hang up and get back to my life?
LING: We'll come pick you up at ten. Be ready. You'd better look hot, or I'm choosing your outfit.
I had no desire to go out, especially if I had to make the effort to dress up to impress some random guy I didn't even care about. But if I didn't join in, Ling would harass me all evening from inside the club, taking pictures of all the hot men she saw just to let me know what I was missing out on. I set the phone on my table with a deep sigh, then stood to grab a fork and knife from the utensil drawer and eat my cold quiche.
Chapter 4
PATRICK
When Jean-Francois got on stage, wearing a cowboy outfit that hid everything but his bare ass, I went to the bar in the next room. I'd seen him dance enough to know he looked gorgeous, and I didn't care to be caught in the hysterical crowd. I asked the bartender for a beer and turned around, leaning against the counter to check the area. But I didn't see straight boy Eric. When he spent the night at my place last week, I'd fucked him brainless before he left at the crack of dawn, ashamed of himself for letting a queer man dick him so good he'd reached multiple orgasms. Realizing he enjoyed cock was probably too much for him. I doubted he'd ever come back.
I scanned the room with another circular glance, my eyes catching on a man standing at a table with two women. He seemed tall enough, with slicked-back black hair, his nose long and straight, and Asian features sculpted with delicacy, though I couldn't pinpoint his origins. He was strikingly beautiful, really. Clad in a black tank top that molded his lean frame and some leather pants that seemed too tight to be comfortable, he wasn't someone I'd ever seen around here before.
The white woman with pixie blond hair gave the Asian woman a kiss on the lips that lasted so long, the guy turned his gaze away, his eyes landing on me. I raised my drink at him and flashed a smile before taking a swig. He stared at me as if mesmerized until the blond woman unglued her mouth from her girlfriend's and said something as she waved her hand in front of his face. He gave a faint nod, sent me one last quick glimpse, and focused on her. When she grabbed her girlfriend's hand and left the table to head to the dance floor in the other room, it was my chance to make a move.
As I walked up to him, he seemed almost nervous, looking around quickly to make sure it was him I meant to accost. His Adam's apple jumped in his throat when I asked if I could join his table, and his eyes fled mine shyly through a nod. I'd met my fair share of timid guys, but never one who was so damn hot he could burn a hole through the floor. Most hot males around here were so damn confident, it was impossible to approach them.
"Never seen you before," I shouted over the loud music.
"This is my first time."
"Your first time here or at a gay club?"
"My first time at a gay club."
"Are you straight?"
"No, I'm not straight." He almost choked on the word. I could smell the closeted queer on him from a mile away.
The deafening environment worked in my favor, allowing me to get closer to him to be heard. "I think I've seen your two friends before, though. They seem familiar."
"They've come here a few times already."
"Are you American?" I asked after distinguishing a slight accent to his perfect French.
"Yes."
"Really? Where are you from?" I was intrigued. It wasn't like I met Americans every day around here.
"Queens."
I had to strain my ear to hear him over the music blast. The entire time, he barely looked at me.
"In New York City?"
"Yeah."
I may have been wrong about him being interested. Making him talk was like extracting a tooth.
"I like it here. The city is nice," he finally volunteered as he raised his dark eyes toward me.
"So what brought you to France?" I asked, leaning even closer so I wouldn't have to yell every question in his face.
"My ex."
"Oh." I wondered why he was still living here if he was no longer with the guy, but I didn't want to pry. "So you're single now?"
He gave another nod, his gaze dancing.
"I'm Patrick, by the way." I extended my hand to shake his.
"Brandon." His palm was warm against mine, his grip firm. He sent me a fleeting look, his eyes quickly fleeing my persistent stare.
"The only Brandon I know is the one from Beverly Hills 90210," I joked. "Too bad he was straight. He was cute."
A tiny snort escaped his beautiful, fleshy mouth. "That's the first time anyone has ever compared me to him."
"Really? Well, we don't have many Brandons in France, you know?"
His smile grew. "I'm not as wealthy as he is either."
"Really? Because watching those American shows, you'd think everyone lives on Wisteria Lane or something."
He let out a laugh and shook his head. I never thought he could be any more stunning, but I was wrong. His grin was breathtaking, his teeth perfectly aligned and shining in the strobe lights. I didn't know what else to talk about, and I wasn't into chitchatting for long before finding out if I stood a chance or not.
"Got any plans after this?"
He swallowed hard but didn't respond. I wasn't one to force myself on men if they didn't want me. There were plenty of other guys who were more than willing.
"Okay, well if you need me, I'll be at the
bar," I said.
He grabbed my wrist when I made a move to leave. "It's just...it's my first time at a gay club, like I've said. I'm a bit new to the scene. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do."
I arched an eyebrow at his confession and gave a lopsided smile. "How about you come to my place, and I'll show you what you can do, mon chaton?"
His eyes widened. "I don't even know you."
"Well, then ask whatever question you want."
"Do you take a lot of strangers home?"
My lips pulled into the tiniest smirk. "Is loving sex something I should be ashamed of?"
"No. I...I didn't mean to judge." He cleared his throat, his dark gaze avoiding mine again. "It's just I don't know you. I mean..."
He was fucking adorable. I wanted to defile him so badly, my pants tightened around my swelling dick. He was new to the cruising scene, which made me want to corrupt him even more.
"So what do you like to do in your spare time?" I asked, hoping he would chill at last.
"I enjoy reading and boxing. And I play the piano."
"Boxing, huh? Is the piano the only instrument you play?"
"I also play the electric guitar, but not well enough to teach it."
My eyebrows shot up. "You teach the piano?"
"Yes."
"You learned all that in the US?"
"Yes."
"When did you move here?"
"About six years ago."
Deeply intrigued, I ran my eyes all over him. "Do you miss your country?"
"Yes." The monosyllabic answers were getting old, but at least his shoulders were finally loosening.
"What do you miss the most?"
"My family. Certain foods. The city."
I tilted my head to the side. "If I offered to take you out to one of those new burger joints sometime, would you come? Both my best friends are vegetarians. It gets really lonely being the only one with carnivorous tastes in the gang."
"Sure." He gave me a tiny smile, his eyes dancing once more.
I wasn't sure why I'd even offered. I would usually just cut to the chase and not bother suggesting anything other than sex. I looked him straight in the eyes. "Wanna come to my place tonight?"
To my surprise, he gave a short nod.
"Is that a yes?" I asked. "I'm not inviting you to my place to talk."
"I know that," he replied with more affirmation.
I beamed a mega-watt smile and leaned closer to him. He didn't flinch when I extended my hand to caress his jaw and lift his face up, my index under his chin. I leaned in to brush my lips again his, just once, almost like air, before I came back for more and slid my tongue inside tentatively. He was hesitant at first, but he didn't take long to wrap his hand around my neck and let his tongue dance against mine. His kiss turned hungry and demanding as I claimed his mouth with no more restraint.
When I pulled back for air, his eyes opened and pinned on mine for a mere second before he pulled me forward and kissed me more deeply. We made out until he could barely hide his arousal under the tight leather of his pants.
I pressed my forehead against his. "You bottom, right?"
I didn't want to waste my time if he didn't. Hot as hell or not, I wasn't going to offer him my ass. That was the line I never crossed.
He nodded. His eyes were wide open when he swallowed on a gulp.
"You'll use protection, right?" he asked.
"Always. But I'm clean. You?"
"Clean too." His timorous veneer slowly peeled away, revealing a new kind of excitement I rarely saw in other guys. It wasn't lust per se, but something else I couldn't pinpoint.
I flashed him a grin. "Let's go."
"Let me just tell my friends."
When he slipped past me, a whiff of his cologne hit my nose, masculine and heady, before I watched his nice ass sway while he walked away. He returned a few minutes later and didn't pull back when I grabbed his hand, about to lead him out of the club. His two female friends scurried to the bar area like a couple of village gossips and studied me from afar as if to gauge if I could be trusted. It was cute and all, but I dragged Brandon toward the door before they could come engage in a conversation.
When we exited, the bouncer ran his eyes all over Brandon, then he winked at me. "Have a good night, Patrick."
"Oh, I will," I replied with a smirk.
Chapter 5
BRANDON
I got home with barely an hour left to shower and get ready for my piano lesson with Denise, who always arrived at ten A.M. sharp. I asked her to work on “Fantaisie Impromptu” by Chopin this morning. A delicate woman who had started her sessions with me only a couple of months ago, Denise couldn't handle the competitions involved in some other classes. Her anxiety made it impossible to play in front of an audience, and she'd told me she'd spent a long time looking for a teacher who wouldn't ask her to prove her skills in front of anyone else.
After a half-hour of practice, she seemed satisfied with herself. Though I loved working with her, I sighed in relief when she left. I could finally make myself breakfast. I'd walked out of Patrick's place in a hurry without eating anything and rushed through the morning traffic of Nancy to reach my house on time.
I made myself a bowl of cereal and settled on my couch, wincing when my muscles cramped, reminding me of my long night. Patrick had barely let me close my eyes at all. I could still feel his mouth all over my skin and his fingers clutching my waist hard as he penetrated me so hard, I thought I might pass out from the onslaught of pain and pleasure.
I had no idea what came over me. I never did hook-ups. But there was something hypnotizing about him. He was by far the most beautiful man I'd ever met. I couldn't forget his piercing green eyes as he took me in a missionary position and gave me the first prostate orgasm of my life. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I'd erroneously assumed I'd regret my decision, but if anything, I wanted more.
Sighing and rubbing my eyes from pure exhaustion, I took off my shoes and left them on the large Moroccan rug, then set my feet on the coffee table. I winced from the pain in my thighs and finished my cereal in silence. I didn't have another student for two more hours as my work schedule was never stable. My salary depended entirely on my students taking lessons or canceling them. My income fluctuated, which got stressful at times, though I managed to make ends meet in spite of my crippling university debt.
I tried hard not to think about that as I took my last bite, ready to drink the milk out of the bowl when the light blinked on my phone.
LING: You never texted me last night. Are you okay?
I smiled to myself and snatched the device from the coffee table. I hadn't felt this good in a very long time, actually.
ME: Yeah, sorry. Things just went so fast.
LING: Did the dark hunk take good care of you?
Another little smile curved my lips.
ME: I'm not sure how to reply to that.
LING: Did you take him home?
ME: We went to his place.
LING: Did he pop your ass cherry?
I rolled my eyes.
LING: How was it?
ME: I can't even describe it.
LING: Well, was it good or bad?
Considering how hard he made me come, good was an understatement. I thought I might go nuts every time he touched me. I'd never imagined sex with a guy could be so intense.
ME: It was good.
LING: Just good?
ME: Fine. It was unimaginable.
LING: Lucky. So you got a good fuck for your first time? I'm glad.
ME: Well, technically, you were my first, and you weren't so bad. Are you saying our first time was awful?
LING: I meant your second first, silly. And no, ours was fine...for a first time.
Okay, so I had to admit our first time was a bit of a disaster. At first, it was going well. I even put the condom on right. I did everything I'd read on the internet to prepare Ling for penetration. I'd fingered her until she was wet enough
to receive me without hurting. I went in as slowly as I could. She didn't even bleed or anything. It was almost perfect until I came within one minute.
LING: We made up for it later, though. Don't worry.
We sure did. Our hormones were completely out of control at hardly age sixteen. Saying we did it like bunnies was no exaggeration. Since our divorce, I thought for sure I'd lost my stamina, but Patrick proved me otherwise.
LING: You're still going to the appointment I made for you, right? I think you're ready.
ME: Yes, I'm seeing the therapist after lunch.
It wasn't as if I could forget. Ling had made a huge deal about this shrink and how supposedly awesome and highly qualified he was. She wanted me to overcome my fear of coming out. She said I needed to be myself at last and no longer hide in the closet I'd so comfortably built for myself. I wasn't sure seeing a therapist would help with that and the train of issues I tended to ride, but I was willing to try just so she'd get off my back.
LING: He's excellent at his job. I got his number through Aurélie. Apparently, he's overbooked, and he rarely takes new patients. You lucked out.
ME: You've said all that already. Like a thousand times.
LING: Text me to let me know how it went.
ME: No problem. What's his name again?
LING: Lefèvre. Okay, gotta run. The boss is walking my way. TTYL.
ME: Bye.
I dropped my phone on the couch and closed my eyes to breathe deeply. I was nervous about seeing this guy. It was my first time seeking counseling, and I didn't know what to expect. I already knew what petrified me the most about coming out. Granted, my mom wasn't a bigot. Though she was disappointed when Ling and I got a divorce, she didn't even bat a lash two years later when I told her Ling had moved on with a woman. And yet, the thought of being open about my own sexuality terrified me. I worried she might think I was lying the entire time about liking women. Or that she'd think I was like him—the asshole who messed up our lives. I knew I needed help. It was just difficult to accept.
