Being With Him

by Mickie B. Ashling

“Sheesh,” he remarked, “this isn’t exactly made for seduction.”

  Alex chuckled. “Perhaps it’s the reason why Middle Eastern men always look so constipated.”

  Zeb snorted. “A not-so-obvious chastity device.”

  “Unless you tear if off in a manly display of dominance,” Alex said.

  “Are you into that sort of thing?” Zeb asked.

  “Not at all,” Alex replied. “Any form of aggression is an instant turnoff.”

  “Another thing we agree on,” Zeb said. “Gentle is good.”

  “Lovingly proficient is even better,” Alex said.

  “You think I’m proficient?” Zeb asked in surprise.

  “Stop fishing, sugar. You know you are.”

  “It’s nice to hear you say it out loud.” When Zeb finally parted the white linen, he caressed Alex’s chest, thumbing his nipples delicately. “How does that feel?”

  “Tingly.”

  “There’s enough sensitive tissue to make a difference?”

  “Yes, I had a terrific surgeon.”

  “Good to know,” Zeb said. He lowered his head and sucked on the dark nub, relishing the texture and taste. He hadn’t touched Alex’s nipples last night, concentrating on other areas to get him off, but this felt more intimate, strangely enough, and the purring sounds of happiness coming from Alex made his own flesh ripple with goose bumps.

  After that, things got more intense. Hands and mouths met hungrily, mingled with grinding hips and intertwined legs looking for more friction. Twisting this way and that, one minute face-to-face, and the next, head-to-groin, always with one goal in mind. Giving and receiving pleasure.

  Lovemaking with Alex was different, but far more satisfying than anything in Zeb’s limited experience. It was the mental connection that made it more meaningful, and the total absence of judgment from either side. When they peaked, almost simultaneously, it felt like he was skydiving for the first time. Facing the unknown was at once exhilarating and terrifying but worth every second. He couldn’t wait to do it again. And again.

  After cleaning up—their bodies and the kitchen—they ended up going downtown to wander around Rockefeller Plaza. Zeb had no desire to make a fool of himself or end up in the emergency room, and neither did Alex, so they didn’t rent ice skates. They had hot chocolate instead and watched, trying to pick out the amateurs from the more experienced.

  “I’d like to try that someday,” Alex remarked. “If and when I can afford to hire a teacher and rent some private time at a rink. That way I can wear pads and look like a hippopotamus while I’m bumbling around on the ice.”

  “We want a hippopotamus for Christmas,” Zeb crooned.

  Alex slung an arm around Zeb’s shoulders and drew him closer. “Shut up, you dork.”

  “You started it,” Zeb hooted.

  “Don’t encourage me,” Alex said. “I love that song, by the way. It’s so catchy.”

  Zeb grinned. “I never heard it back home, but it seems to be everywhere these days. I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe if you’re a good boy, Santa will get you a pink hippo for Christmas.”

  The next evening, they went back to the club where they’d had their first “moment.” It was teeming with revelers in town for the long weekend, and no one paid any attention to the couple exchanging kisses while swaying on the dance floor. Alex left his ninja attire at home and wore the white tunic Zeb found so attractive. He looked relaxed and didn’t withhold the PDAs, which jump-started Zeb’s feelings of ownership as others looked on enviously.

  The highlight of each day was the moment they stood across from one another and began to undress. Unwavering understanding must have shone through Zeb’s eyes, because Alex’s level of confidence and trust grew with each new encounter. Soon Zeb was asking for things he wouldn’t have dreamed of in the past, and Alex had no problem accommodating him. Neither one of them questioned the speed with which they’d found their comfort zone, only enjoying it for what it was. A delightful exploration of what did and didn’t work between two men who were slowly falling in love.

  On Saturday, they took the subway to Queens to have dinner with Zeb’s cousins. He could tell Alex was nervous, having donned the all-black ensemble once more.

  “Are you sure this is what you want, sugar?” Alex asked as they climbed the subway stairs leading to the sidewalk. “We can turn around and go home if you’re having second thoughts.”

  Zeb looked confused. “Second thoughts about what?”

  “Being… with me,” Alex faltered. “They’ll be on the phone with your family back home before we walk out the door. Is this the way you want your parents to find out you’re gay?”

  Realization dawned, and Zeb blinked a couple of times as he considered his options. He could turn around—breaking Alex’s heart in the process—or he could forge ahead and hope his local family were more evolved than their Filipino counterparts. The thought of losing Alex over what-if scenarios was unbearable. He’d rather face the wrath of his father than be crushed by the end of a romance barely getting off the ground.

  “Don’t worry about my family,” Zeb said. “I’ll deal with the fallout.”

  “Are you sure?” Alex asked again. Hope mixed with fear was stamped on his face, and Zeb felt like he’d been throat punched. Seeing the vulnerability so close to the surface was a reminder of everything Alex dealt with daily.

  “One hundred percent sure,” Zeb said firmly. “Let’s go and meet my crazy relatives. They’ll probably be roasting a whole pig in their backyard.”

  “Just like we do back home,” Alex commented, visibly relaxing.

  “You have lechón in the South?”

  “I’m assuming you’re talking about suckling pig, right?”

  “Yup,” Zeb said. “Roasted over an open pit.”

  “It’s featured in Cajun cuisine. Cochon de Lait is an annual festival that happens in Mansura, Louisiana, where the main attraction is roasted pig.”

  “And you like it?” Zeb asked.

  “I love it,” Alex replied.

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Zeb said. “When I tell my family how you’re a master in the kitchen, and they see you eating our delicacies without cringing, you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

  “If you say so.”

  Thankfully Zeb was right. His cousins were gracious and friendly, pouring on the hospitality without reserve. The only snide comment—more a question than an insult—was when they asked Zeb if he needed a step stool to kiss his boyfriend. It was all in good fun. The food was delicious, and Alex gained more brownie points when he requested a list of the ingredients that went into the sweet-and-sour liver gravy used with their lechón. Alex gave up his pecan tart recipe in exchange.

  Weighed down with a grocery bag filled with leftovers in assorted plastic containers—a Filipino tradition, Alex would come to find out—they headed home.

  “Tomorrow’s our last day,” Zeb commented, already feeling the loss.

  “Don’t I know it,” Alex grumbled.

  “What am I going to do without you to snuggle with at night?”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Alex said. “We’re definitely in sync. How often can you come and visit?”

  “I can check my schedule when I get back and maybe set a tentative date.”

  “That sounds real good,” Alex said. “Do you get a break for Christmas?”

  “Of course.”

  “Spend it with me?”

  “Okay,” Zeb said, feeling a lot better. This wasn’t going to be a short-lived romance, and the prospect of spending Christmas with Alex lifted his spirits. It was less than a month away, after all. He wondered if Luca and Chyna would be in town for that holiday, or if they’d go back to Illinois again. As much as he enjoyed their company, the idea of having Alex alone for a stretch of time was the best gift he could possibly receive.

  When they walked into P.J. Clarke’s the next day, they were surprised and excited to see Luc
a and Chyna. Apparently, they’d had the same idea to have a hamburger dinner before Luca boarded the bus back to Cornell. They headed straight for their table and exchanged greetings and bro hugs.

  “Did you guys just fly in?” Zeb asked.

  “Yup, and when Chyna suggested food, I jumped on the idea. It’s easier to sleep on the bus when you’re not listening to a growling stomach,” Luca joked.

  “Have a good vacay?” Alex asked.

  “It was great,” Chyna said. “How was yours?”

  Zeb and Alex looked at each other, holding the stare for a few beats until Chyna interjected. “Okay, that’s enough eye-fucking for now. You answered my question.”

  Alex’s laughter rumbled up from his chest.

  Zeb flushed the exact shade of the tomato slices garnishing his plate.

  Turning to Luca, Chyna said, “It’s a good thing we’re back. These two look exhausted.”

  “Sex is hard work,” Luca deadpanned.

  “Especially when it’s good,” Alex replied, mouth quirking.

  “Oh my God, you guys, stop,” Zeb pleaded. “I refuse to walk to the bus with a boner.”

  Luca turned to Zeb. “There’s a quick fix for that, you know. I’m sure Alex can give you a hand.”

  “Shut it,” Zeb scolded.

  When Alex stopped laughing, he asked, “Are you guys going to be in town for the Christmas holidays?”

  “The ’rents have invited us to join them for a week at a resort in Grand Turk,” Luca said. “We said yes.”

  “So Zeb and I will have the apartment all to ourselves?” Alex asked, looking radiant.

  “Don’t look so devastated,” Chyna joked. “You’ll probably be ticking off the days on your calendar.”

  “We’ll miss you,” Zeb lied.

  “Uh-huh,” Alex seconded.

  “You could join us,” Luca offered. “I’m sure our dads won’t mind.”

  “I won’t kennel Bacon,” Alex said. “Especially at Christmas.”

  “Most airlines allow dogs in the cabin,” Luca said. “You want me to look into it?”

  “No,” Zeb said decisively.

  “Perhaps another time,” Chyna said.

  “Yeah,” Luca agreed. “There’s always next year.”

  Chapter 8

  December

  ALEX DIDN’T have to get up at six thirty in the morning—as he did on most weekdays—but body clocks have a mind of their own, and his was no different. Once the eyelids fluttered open and the brain engaged, further sleep was impossible. His ingrained work ethic refused to give him a pass, even if it was the day before Christmas and he had a warm body tucked tightly against his chest.

  Deciding that a few more minutes in bed wouldn’t impact the Earth’s rotation, Alex willed his impatient self to chill and reflect on the rare gift the good Lord had seen fit to lay at his feet, or in this case on his mattress. Zeb’s soft snoring was a pleasant reminder that Alex’s nonexistent love life was definitely on the upswing.

  He’d had his doubts in the beginning. Alex had wondered if Zeb would stay the course and throw his lot in with a trans man. Discovering he was gay was enough of a mindfuck, but falling for Alex meant a hell of a lot more. Zeb would have to dig deep and draw courage from a well he’d never tapped, because the word easy didn’t exist in Alex’s world.

  Like a diamond, judged by cut, clarity, color, and carat, Alex was subjected to intense scrutiny on a daily basis. The way he moved, how he talked, his choice of colors, and attitude in general. Was he professional? Could he withstand criticism, kindly or otherwise, and take it on the chin like a man or dissolve into tears like an excitable diva? Alex knew it was unfair. Most cis men couldn’t measure up to the clichéd standards of what was and wasn’t “macho,” but he understood that conforming was the only way he’d achieve a normal life. Everything he currently possessed—career, friendships, respect—had been hard-won, and the lessons he’d learned couldn’t be passed on to Zeb as easily as Luca’s rules. He appreciated Chyna’s boyfriend for trying to open Zeb’s eyes, but not all of his advice applied in their case.

  Great strides had been made in the last decade for homosexuals, but for Alex, and transgender people in general, discrimination was still a way of life. No one who could make a difference dared to stick their necks out and rock the boat. It was a sad truth Alex had learned to live with, but Zeb was horribly naïve. It would never occur to him that their pairing might be viewed as abnormal, and a vast majority of people didn’t find Alex in the least bit attractive. He’d been called everything from monster to wannabe, and it was only the fashion and entertainment industry that afforded his tribe the sanctuary they deserved. Unfortunately, not everyone could be a movie star or motivational speaker. Most of them had to live in the real world and somehow make it work.

  Gently, he extricated himself from the comfortable tangle of limbs, relieved that Zeb continued to sleep. Alex reached for his robe and a few more clothing essentials and headed toward the bathroom. After the usual teeth brushing, shave, and shower, he dried off, stepped into tight black briefs, and inserted his prosthetic. A pair of loose sweatpants and his favorite T-shirt added the finishing touch.

  Ready to start his day, Alex padded barefoot toward the kitchen, set the coffee to brew, and began to prepare their Christmas Eve dinner. On the menu were sugar-glazed ham, sweet potatoes with marshmallow topping, acorn squash drizzled with maple syrup and bacon bits, and his maman’s favorite pimiento-cheese green bean casserole. Dessert would be the pecan pie he’d made the day before. Alex hoped to have the dishes ready before they left the apartment to go tree and trim shopping. This way, all they’d have to do later was set the oven, insert the roasting pans, and relax.

  The aroma of fresh coffee and frying bacon must have awakened Zeb, because he staggered into the kitchen in search of the source. Only clad in red flannel pajama bottoms dotted with images of black Scottish Terriers, he blinked at Alex and mumbled, “I can’t believe you’re awake so early.”

  Alex smiled, poured coffee, and handed the mug over to Zeb wordlessly. After blowing at the rising steam, Zeb took a tentative sip and sighed with contentment. Alex couldn’t stop staring at his man. Despite the bedhead and slightly confused expression on his face, Zeb looked good enough to eat in those holiday-themed sleep britches. They were hanging just below his waist, low enough so Alex could get a good glimpse of the dark love trail he enjoyed following with his tongue. Zeb’s bare chest was moderately defined and completely devoid of hair. Waxing had nothing to do with the smooth torso, Alex had been informed weeks ago, only genetics.

  Zeb coughed and Alex shifted his gaze.

  “See anything you like?” Zeb asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  Alex flushed, embarrassed at being caught in the act. “Nice britches,” he said lamely.

  “It’s an early Christmas present from Luca. He tried finding something with toy poodles but gave up and got these.”

  “I like them,” Alex said.

  “What else do you like?” Zeb teased.

  “Having you here.”

  “I’d kiss you good morning, but I haven’t brushed yet,” Zeb remarked. “You’ve had a head start.”

  “Let’s not stand on ceremony,” Alex said, stepping closer. He kissed Zeb on the lips. “Good morning, sugar.”

  “Why do I melt whenever you call me sugar?” Zeb queried, caressing Alex’s face gently. “You use it all the time, but when it’s directed at me, I feel special.”

  “In your case shoushou is more apt,” Alex said softly.

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s Creole for sweetie.”

  “Aww… that’s cute. Does your family mainly speak Creole?”

  “Or French because of my father,” Alex said.

  “Cool,” Zeb said. “Knowing more than one language can be an advantage.”

  “How many do you speak?” Alex asked.

  “Most Filipinos are at least trilingual. Aside from English, and t
he local dialect, they speak Spanish or a semblance of it.”

  “Because you were colonized by Spain, right?” Alex asked.

  “For over four hundred years.”

  “The people of Louisiana are tied to the French for the same reason,” Alex noted. “Spain also colonized us for a while, but the French left a more distinct mark.”

  “Interesting,” Zeb replied. “I’m not that familiar with American history.”

  “My mother’s ancestors came over on slave boats, and their stories were passed down by word of mouth. It made no difference if their new masters spoke English, French, Dutch, or Spanish. What mattered was they weren’t free. I think it’s fair to say the world back then was a giant chessboard with rulers trying to outwit each other for control. Your people and mine were collateral damage.”

  “We’re alike in that sense,” Zeb said.

  Alex cocked his head. “How’s that?”

  “There’s a certain mindset when you’re not part of the mainstream,” Zeb remarked. “We have to try harder to get ahead and do it in such a way that doesn’t cause repercussions. No one notices a quiet adversary until it’s too late.”

  Alex rewarded Zeb with a half smile. “Now I know how you got into Cornell.”

  Zeb grinned.

  “Ready for breakfast?”

  “Your counter is covered with dishes,” Zeb noted. “I’m not that hungry yet.”

  Alex laughed. “This isn’t breakfast, sugar.”

  “What’s all this?”

  “I’m preparing tonight’s meal in advance so I can spend the evening enjoying your company instead of sweating over a hot stove.”

  “Good idea, but I feel guilty I can’t contribute,” Zeb said, frowning. “We should have ordered takeout to save you all this work?”

  “On Christmas Eve?” Alex said, horrified. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then let me do the cleanup,” Zeb said. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Okay, no problem,” Alex agreed. “Have your breakfast first, then get in the shower. I should be done with the prep by the time you’re done.”

  “Deal.”

  Alex made them fried egg sandwiches topped with cheese and bacon. Zeb tore off pieces of the egg-dunked toast and fed Bacon, who was sitting by his feet patiently. The fact that he didn’t beg made it much easier to indulge the pup. Normally, Alex would have stopped him, but the holiday called for special treats.