Straight

by Seth King

  I can feel that the time is coming. He looks down at me one last time, his eyes desperate. “Henry Morgan…” he gasps, and then his head tilts back and his abdominal muscles twitch and suddenly my mouth is salty. I gulp, then giggle. And as his body relaxes, I smirk up at nothing – I think it’s safe to say our first big fight is officially over.

  But still, I know I’ve got some serious thinking to do. My world is changing at light speed, and I cannot keep up my old life for much longer. If I am no longer “straight,” I’m going to have to figure this all out before it all comes tumbling down.

  11

  I wake up the next morning filled with a dread that has nothing to do with my hangover: I have to spend the day with Caroline. Which means I’ll be apart from Ty. Which means my day will be as colorless as the sky in winter…

  The brunch is at this fancy restaurant on the marsh. I know I’m totally single, but still: I’m sitting next to a girl who wants to date me, in the presence of her family, and it makes me more than a little anxious and uncomfortable. Ty texts and Snapchats me the entire time, thankfully, which makes it a bit more tolerable. I’m starting to get addicted to even his digital correspondence, and sometimes I get mad if he even takes a few minutes to text back. But I’m grateful for the distraction. I have no interest in any of these people, and whenever something happens I find myself wondering what Ty would think about it, or what he would say about so-and-so. A few times I picture myself envisioning what I’ve already decided is my favorite part of his body: that curve of the top of his thighs where his legs join and give way to his balls…

  I am horny the entire meal. (My rage button is bizarrely close to my sex button, and always has been.) Caro won’t stop touching me and asking me to come home with her, either, which isn’t helping my horniness or my annoyance. Basically I simply cannot stand her family and friends. The more I am around these people, the more I realize this isn’t what I want. The men do not talk to the women, as if there is a magical line separating male from female. The men only chat about hunting and football and business, and the women only chat about weddings and babies and dresses. Was this ever me? Was this ever the person I was? Suddenly it all seems so mindless, so narrow. Ty and his friends and girlfriends – they would be dancing and twerking and taking shots and talking about Housewives drama right now. Meanwhile everyone around me is chortling in hushed tones into glasses of Rosé about the latest college football coaching news, or stock market temper tantrums. How did I ever stand this? All of these people have the same life, or are trying to attain the same life: they want to meet a nice girl or guy, have a pastel-toned wedding at a plantation somewhere, settle in Charlotte or Atlanta, and spend the rest of their lives in four-bedroom McMansions hooting for their teams on Sundays and working their lives away the rest of the time. I don’t want that. I don’t know what I want, but still, I know it’s not this prefab little life, this maze they’ve gotten lost in. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to Ty – he lives so far outside the lines, these people can’t even see him.

  Caroline’s dad is the worst part, though, constantly smacking me on the shoulder in that distinctly Southern way and mentioning “how happy he would be to have a fine young man like me in the family.” Caro is mortified, since we aren’t even a couple and she’s obviously overblown my involvement in her life to everyone here, but mostly I just feel…icky. I basically have a boyfriend at this point, and yet Mr. Friar is sitting here breathing down my neck, pressuring me to propose to his daughter and become his newest son…

  Caro won’t stop trying to entice me, rubbing my knee and giggling against my chest and even blowing air into my ear, which she knows is my ultimate turn-on move. (I used to be able to orgasm just from having her suck on my neck and ears.) Soon she sends me into territory I can’t come back from. When we can sneak away, Caro wants to talk about her friend’s baby shower or something, but I dismiss her, lead her into the little building where they keep the lawnmower, and start kissing her. I need a release, a diversion. And suddenly I want to compare her to Ty, to compare male to female, figure out which I like better, which one I want. So I lean in and kiss her. (Like I said, anger always did make me horny.) I’ve never really been into the public thing before, but she lets it happen, and soon she even gets pretty into it. Our sex was always pretty solid, after all, which is why we kept hooking up for weeks and weeks after the breakup. This hookup is no different – even if I wish for a penis to suck on a few times…

  But when my hand migrates southward, I stop myself. Then I realize this won’t help anything, it’ll just make me more confused. I already knew I liked women, so what is the point of this? What would I accomplish?

  “So what was that?” she asks after I step away. “You avoid me for weeks, and then try to hook up with me in a shed like we’re a couple of golden retrievers?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just…feeling horny.”

  She laughs, but it’s more self-loathing than anything.

  “What?”

  “It’s just that everything you say is always My, Me, My, I this, I that. You could’ve at least told me you kissed me because I looked hot or something. How is it, living inside your own anus? How’s the weather?”

  I slide into autopilot mode. “Oh, well…you do. You look great, Caroline. You always do. I mean, obviously you’re the best looking one at that brunch. You outclass them within the first ten seconds.”

  “Whatever,” she blushes. “We still shouldn’t have done that. For many reasons…”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  She finally looks at me. “Ugh, Henry. Don’t say sorry if you’re not sorry. You know I never asked for too much from you. You know I let you stay a million miles away from me sometimes while I waited around like a dumbass. And then I still got burned. Right now we’re not even official...”

  “Which we mutually agreed was the best for us, by the way…”

  “And it is. But watch yourself, boy. You-”

  Suddenly her phone lights up with a text from Thad. My best friend, Thad.

  “Wait, you’re texting Thad?” I ask as she grabs her phone away. “My Thad? Why?”

  She looks away. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s been caught being a total psychopath. When I first started signaling that I wanted out of the relationship, she rushed to everyone in my life, pleading her case. She started going through my phone looking for “other women,” and a few times she even dropped hints that her family had ties to the Mob and “didn’t like being crossed.” One day I even walked into my house to find her sitting with my own mother, sharing a bottle of wine and smirking directly at me. That’s why the breakup took so long: it was all designed to pressure me into a marriage I didn’t want; paint me into a corner I didn’t want to be in. I thought she’d moved past this behavior, but apparently not. And I thought I’d maneuvered us into a place where we could be friends, but this was getting very weird, very quickly.

  “Sorry. I wanted to talk to him, about…us,” she says, caught red-handed. “And maybe see what he could…tell me. About where you’ve been.”

  I sigh. “Caroline. I’m sorry, but there is no us. Not anymore. You know that. And I have never been anything but honest about that. I only came here today because you asked me to. And not to mention that you’re the one who just basically tried to foreplay with me at the brunch table…”

  “So what? I’ve had four mimosas.”

  I shrug, and I can’t deny that she looks sad and dejected. I know she’s torn up about this, but I can’t do this anymore. Today confirmed that. I can’t pretend to love someone when I don’t. Every moment of that was a slow, burning torture, and I’m never going back. My soul would die. All this has taught me is that I want to run into Ty’s arms with everything in me right now. Why does she even want me, anyway? I was an awful boyfriend, and I own that.

  “Fine,” she says, facing the marsh. “But still, you’re around my family and my friends today. If I find out I’m being disrespect
ed, I might have to make some calls and see what I can do about that.”

  She gets up and walks away, just like that, and I can’t say I’m not a little shaken up. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get away from her. She asked me to come here; she is the one who won’t stop texting me. Is there no other single man in Savannah for her to pursue? Why won’t she just leave me alone? What’s her endgame with this?

  I text him as soon as I am alone: Please meet me at my house in an hour or so. I need you. Badly.

  12

  Ty sleeps over that night. When he shows up, he’s shaved the sides of his head and darkened his hair to a glowing golden color – it takes me approximately two seconds to ruin his hairstyle with my fingers, though. His crisp white button-down shirt offsets his tattoos perfectly, and it’s like he’s getting better looking every time I see him. So I fuck him on my bed and against my dresser and on top of my bathroom sink…

  For the first time I understand all those pop songs about being addicted to touching someone you love: my hands (and lips, and eyes…) are constantly drawn to him. All I ever want to do is be naked in bed with him, chest to chest, soul to soul. Even the smell of his armpits is an aphrodisiac to me at this point. Once during the night he does nothing but turn around and look at me, but I’m blown away his beauty – he’s always overpowering me like that, with nothing but his cheekbones. A bouquet blooms inside me, and I realize I am only his.

  “Hey,” I ask in the darkness before we fall asleep. “Are you still talking to anyone else?”

  “No. And I don’t want to. But…”

  An anxious jolt zaps through my stomach. “What?”

  “Well, my ex has been texting and Snapchatting me, but I swear on a Bible I haven’t responded. Do you want to look?”

  “No, I believe you.”

  “Okay. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think I want to be official.”

  He smiles. “I thought we already kind of were?”

  “Let’s not label it, actually,” I finally say. “This is beyond some cheesy ‘dating’ thing. You’re just my dude. Let’s keep it at that.”

  “Okay, dude. Now sleep with me. I’m pooped.”

  After he falls asleep I run my fingers across his upper arms and chest, noticing scars and freckles I’ve never noticed, marveling at things I never could while he was awake. The crazy thing is that it doesn’t feel wrong or weird at all to be with him like this – it feels amazing. The mole on his neck, the way his eyelashes are longer and fluffier than a female model’s – none of his beautiful details feel bad to notice up close, in the way lovers do. I don’t feel any of the angst that society tells me I am supposed to feel. I just feel amazed. And horny. And amazed. Mostly, in this moment, though, I honestly feel horny. But that’s the most beautiful part of all this – around him, I know I can be honest with my feelings, and with myself, even if my feelings are dumb or immature. I don’t have to overthink anything or try to come off in any way. I can be Henry, plain and tall and maybe gay, and Ty accepts it. He understands the things about me that I don’t even understand about myself, and that is rare and special and aching and gorgeous.

  ~

  The next morning, Ty wakes me up with a sweaty, intense blowjob. It’s weird at first, and I’m somewhat self-conscious I must taste sweaty after sleeping for so long, but soon I give into it, and bust into his mouth.

  “Wig,” he whispers after we’re all washed up.

  “Excuse me? My hair is real, thank you very much.”

  “No, wig is something gays say instead of, like, wow or gosh or holy crap. Like, if you’re shocked or blown away, you just say wig.”

  “Okay, wig. I got it. Any more gay terms I need to know?”

  “Hmm. Twink. That’s a skinny guy with a cute face. Fish. That’s when you see a drag queen, and you can’t tell if she’s a biological woman or not. Bear. That’s a bigger, hairier dude.”

  “I think I saw some of those words when I searched gay porn, the first time I met you.”

  “Hot. My little student is learning already!”

  “I’ll have a PHD in homosexuality in no time at all.”

  As we cook breakfast, he puts on Mariah Carey’s Christmas album.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s seventy degrees outside.”

  “And? It’s November, which means the Christmas season is officially here.”

  “Whatever you say,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. He smacks my ass, and it makes my dick jump a little.

  “Scratch what I said about you learning,” he says. “Christmas is catnip to gays, and Mariah is the queen. Now listen to her angelic voice and cook me some food.”

  I do as I’m told, but halfway through the pancake process my phone lights up while it’s next to him. It’s from Caro: Thanks for hanging out. Regardless of how awkward it was, and what happened…

  “Hey. What’s this?” he asks, reaching over. “And who’s Caro?”

  “Oh,” I say, snatching the phone away. “Oh.”

  “Who is he?”

  “It’s a she. Caroline. She’s the girl I dated.”

  “The blonde girl in the Facebook pictures? From the other night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you were with her?”

  “Uh, we might’ve gone to brunch, yeah.”

  He leans back, crosses his arms. “You told me you did nothing yesterday.”

  “I did do nothing. It was boring as hell. And why does this matter? She’s one of my closest friends and always has been.”

  “I’m leaving,” he says, getting up with a flourish. “I hate liars.”

  “No!” I say as I follow him across the kitchen. “Don’t leave. I should’ve told you, I’m sorry. And honestly…”

  “Yes?”

  I swallow and steady myself. “Well, we never put a label on this, or even talked about it until last night. How can you get mad at me for hanging out with an old friend when we’ve never even discussed what this is?”

  His tongue appears between his teeth. “What are you trying to rationalize to yourself?”

  “What?”

  “There’s something in your eyes. Did you kiss her?”

  I look away.

  “You did, didn’t you? What the fuck? I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t sign up to fight over someone with some girl.”

  The panic rises. What did I do yesterday? “Please. Okay, look, I’m still trying to figure this out, and maybe I fucked up. But please don’t get mad. I never liked her, anyway. I swear,” I say, but he’s already disappearing into the library and slamming the door.

  ~

  An hour later, after he’s ignored all of my texts about the food being ready, I gather the courage to go into the library and face him. He’s staring into the empty fireplace, still fuming.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “What’s that?” he asks. “I can’t hear liars. Did someone talk?”

  “Ty, please, you’re acting like a child.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  I try to touch him. He pulls away. “Fine!” I say. “Dump me! Just ditch me and get it over with.”

  Finally he looks up at me. “Is that what you want?”

  “No, of course not. Look, the thing is-”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking in the kitchen. I think this all shook me up more than I knew. The last few weeks have made me re-evaluate everything I thought I knew about myself. So yesterday I just wanted to…I wanted to see my old friends, go back to my old life one last time, and see if I missed it.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “I found that you are what makes my heart keep beating, Ty. You are like blood and electricity to me.”

  He closes his eyes.

  “What, Ty? Say something. Are you dumping me?”

  He opens them again, smiling. “Oh, hell no, I’m not gonna dump you. I am going to punish you. I decided that a few minutes ago.”

  “What?”

&nbs
p; “You were right – I don’t have that much of a right to be mad at you. We weren’t really officially together, and I’ve been rushing the process. But I still need revenge.”

  I see images of being spanked, or maybe getting tied up. It makes me more excited than it should. “How?”

  “You’re gonna wear a butt plug,” he smiles. “I’m sick of being the only one on the bottom.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. This is my punishment. We’re gonna go on a walk, and you’re gonna feel the plug in you every step of the way. Now you’ll know how it feels, to get fucked, like how you fucked me over at that brunch.”

  I can’t lie – absolutely love his fiery, dominant eyes, and it instantly washes away all my guilt. Nobody has ever spoken to me like this before, not even close. Usually I was the dominant one, in every conceivable way.

  “Come with me,” he says, and with large, hesitant eyes, I follow him upstairs and start heeding his directions. After I clean myself up in the bathroom, I go back into the bedroom, where I find him with something from his overnight bag. It’s a shiny black sex toy, about four inches long, curved, and widened at one end.

  “Is that clean?”

  “Oh, please,” he scoffs, “I bought it a few months ago and never used it. Come over here. I’m not some little girl you can walk all over. I’m on your level.”

  I follow his directions. He kisses my forehead, then drops to his knees. After he gets me hard, he tells me to spread my legs.

  “Really?” I ask, sucking in some air.

  “Really. Now you’ll never lie to me again,” he whispers, and it makes me fully hard. He spreads some lube on the toy, then some onto me. “Take a breath,” he says. “Loosen yourself up. You’re so tense. That’ll just make it hurt more.”