Freedom to Choose

by Sam LaRose

  “You sure you’re as straight as you say you are?”

  I nodded, “Yeah, I’m pretty straight.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me. I thought I might die. A guy had never had that kind of effect on me before. Come to think of it, a girl hadn’t either. But he was different. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to pull him close and do anything he wanted. I was flooded with the overwhelming urge to fuck him until he cried for mercy. To kiss him, until he could barely breathe.

  “Not bad,” he pondered.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been around the block a couple of times.”

  “So, you’ve been with guys before. Top or bottom? Most straight guys are tops. But you don’t strike me as the top-type.”

  “I’ve done my share of both,” I shrugged.

  “Oh really? And what do you prefer?”

  “Women,” I shrugged.

  “C’mon,” he didn’t even look down as he started undoing my belt. “I can tell you like me. You wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t find me attractive.”

  “Attractive yes,” I nodded. “But I can control myself.”

  “Can you?” He raised an eyebrow. “If you could control yourself, wouldn’t I be back on that couch already with all that space between us?”

  He had a point. I nodded, “Okay, so I don’t have that much control, but I still haven’t flipped you over the stool and fucked you senseless yet. I’m still ahead in that sense.” I managed to get his hands out of my pants, and to push him back towards the couch. “Why don’t you go sit down, so I can continue with my painting?”

  He nodded, “Alright.” He didn’t put up much of a fight and sat back down, as he had been for the previous two and half hours. We didn’t say much for another hour or so. It was starting to get late, and I was having a harder time concentrating on painting instead of my model.

  “Alright, I think that’s enough,” I stood up. I kicked my stool towards the closet and turned my easel towards the wall.

  “Can I see it so far?” He asked, getting up to start pulling on his clothes.

  “I don’t think so,” I shook my head. “When it’s done, I’ll let you see it. I’ve barely even started it.”

  He frowned, “Aw, c’mon...”

  “Are you a free again tomorrow night?” I asked. “I can work from the picture during the day, but I’d like to keep the flesh-and-blood display for at least another night. I can probably finish it tomorrow night if I work on it all day.”

  “Don’t you have classes?”

  “Of course I do,” I shrugged.

  He nodded, pulling his jeans up over his hips, “And tomorrow night. Are you going to be less of a jackass when I come on to you?”

  I shook my head, “No. Probably not.”

  He sighed, shaking his head, “Then I’ll have to try harder.” He put his hands against my face to kiss me again. His tongue probed into my mouth, but I tried not to let it surprise me. He was smiling as he backed away, “I’ll see you same time tomorrow?”

  I nodded, “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

  “I look forward to it then, Patrick Corner.” He patted my cheek. “And who knows, maybe you’ll revise your straight-ways?”

  “Maybe,” I shrugged.

  The next day, I made sure that I was prepared for Devin’s arrival. I had worked feverishly on the painting all day, but took the time to acquaint my cock with my right hand at least twice before he arrived at seven. I was packing myself away when he knocked on the door.

  “Hey, come in.” I had turned the canvas towards the wall so he couldn’t see it. I had tried not to touch the couch area or lamp that I had been using for lighting. “Could you stand there for a minute? I need to do your eyes and lips again.”

  He closed the door behind him and waited patiently while I pulled out the eyeliner and lipstick from the night before. I tried to ignore how good his skin felt under my fingers when I brushed my thumb over his lips. I stepped back away from him to wipe my hand on a spare towel again. My room was littered with empty paint tubes, Styrofoam plates covered in paint residue, and empty water bottles.

  “Sorry about the mess. I don’t clean much when I’m working to finish a project.”

  “It’s okay, I hardly noticed it,” he lied through his teeth as he moved towards the couch, taking off his shirt. I turned the canvas back to its place and pulled my brushes out of the mug I was rinsing them in to dry them off on my towel. When he was naked, he sat back down on the couch, resuming his pose from the night before. I put some fresh paint on my plate.

  “You can turn on the TV or radio if you want. So we don’t have to sit in such silence.”

  “Ah, but Patrick, your silence speaks volumes about you,” He shook his head. “Plus, it’s cute to watch how frustrated you get.”

  “I don’t get frustrated,” I shook my head.

  “Yes you do,” he shook his head. “But I won’t argue with you about it.” He reached over to pick up the remote, flipping on the TV.

  I kept worked at a little more precise of a pace then I had during the day. By eleven o’clock. Devin had shifted and wasn’t even posing anymore. It was OK; I was nearly done and putting in final touches. His eyes were closed and I was pretty sure he was asleep. I stepped back from the painting completely at midnight, deciding if it wasn’t finished by now, it wasn’t ever going to be. Devin’s head had lolled to the side, and he was breathing softly. He had tugged a blanket over his waist. I hated to wake him up when he looked so peaceful, so I let him be.

  I turned off the lights and TV and changed in the dark before climbing into bed. I had an eight A.M. class in the morning that I probably shouldn’t skip, no matter how much I wanted to. I turned against the wall, pressing my forehead against the cool brick.

  I wasn’t asleep for long when I felt warm arms wrapping around me. At first I was a little startled, but then I realized it could only be one person.

  “You know, I have a top bunk for a reason, Devin.”

  “I always hated sleeping on the top bunk,” He nipped at my ear. “I had a tendency of falling.

  “Then I’ll sleep up top and you can sleep down here. It doesn’t make that big of a difference to me.”

  “Or we could stay right where we are.” He leaned over me and turned my face towards his so he could kiss me. I could taste the lipstick that still stained his lips. “C’mon, Patrick. It’s only for a couple of hours.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you,” I turned back to the wall, pressing my arm over my face.

  “I never said you had to,” Devin shook his head. “I want to share a bed with you. It’s too late to walk back to my dorm. It’s not safe, you know?” He tried to nudge my arm away from my face and pouted when he wasn’t successful. “Pleeeeease?”

  “I told you, I don’t want to sleep with you. You can stay here, I don’t care, but I won’t have sex with you.”

  “It’s all about sex with you,” he sighed, snuggling down against my back. “But okay. I’ll stop trying so hard.” His arms wrapped around me and he gave a more contented sigh, pressing his face against my shoulder. “Hmm, you feel good.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to ignore him. He had gotten half dressed, which I was thankful for. At the same time, I was a little disappointed. I couldn’t squelch this feeling of wanting to take him in my hands, in my mouth, and make him moan. I was pretty sure he had a great sounding moan.

  “Hmm, you’re getting excited,” his fingertips brushed over my crotch. “I can feel it. Your back is all tense too.”

  “A warm body is a body, it doesn’t matter what kind of equipment is attached to it.”

  “Hmm, so you’re not as straight as you want everyone to think,” he hummed, sucking on my earlobe. “Why is it so important for you not to be gay, Patrick?”

  “It’s not,” I shook my head. “I wish everyone would stop assuming that my Mom made me gay just because of the kinds of books she writes.”

  “I don’t think your M
om had anything to do with it,” Devin shrugged. “But I’ll stop teasing you now,” he rolled away from me, taking up the open portion of the bed as he spread out, stretching. “Hmm, I’m tired. Good night, Patrick.”

  After that, it’s weird to say it, but we started dating. I kept telling him that our “dates’ were just two friends, hanging out, but he loved to see my blush when he introduced me to his friends as his boyfriend.

  “I’m not his boyfriend,” I would correct. “I’m straight.” His friends would laugh at that as though it was some kind of a joke. After awhile, I started to feel like it was kind of a joke too. My whole sexuality was a sham. Devin would get jealous if I looked at girls; he’d hold my hand or even kiss me in public to make sure that everyone knew that he had dibs on me, like I was a piece of prime choice meat. But I didn’t stop him either. I held his hand, because I liked how soft his skin was. I kissed him because the taste of his mouth, a mix between Colgate toothpaste and lemon drops, was totally intoxicating. I also didn’t mind so much when he spent the night, refusing the couch or the top bunk so he could feel me up.

  But, we weren’t having sex.

  And we kept not having sex for almost three months. It was Devin that snapped. He had cuddled against my chest as we watched a Made-for-TV movie, on one of those channels that specialized in Made-for-TV movies. He started kissing me, which was fine. He started stroking his fingers down my chest, which was fine too. But when he started to unfasten my jeans. That wasn’t fine.

  “Hey, c’mon.” I pulled his hands away. “We were watching a movie.”

  “So what? All we ever do is watch movies. I want you –no, I need you to screw me.” He gave me what I supposed was supposed to be a ferocious kind of kiss. “What do you say? Get hot and dirty with me.”

  I shook my head, “Devin, don’t be like this.”

  “You’re my boyfriend! I want to have sex with you, Patrick! What’s wrong with that?”

  “I am not your boyfriend.”

  “Then what are we, huh? I think about you every second we’re not together. We go out on dates. We sleep in the same bed. We make out like crazy.” He pressed his forehead to mine, staring into my eyes with those deep pools of his. “What am I to you?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged, trying not to get sucked into his look. “I try not to put tags on everything.”

  “Patrick,” he groaned, pushing closer. I could feel him, pressing against my thigh. I hoped he couldn’t tell I was as turned on by our close contact as he was. “Please! If it doesn’t go well, or you really truly don’t enjoy it, I’ll give up. I’ll stop trying. We’ll just be friends.”

  “Why do you want to have sex with me so badly?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I can think of lots of reasons,” I shook my head.

  He sighed, tugging his fingers through my hair. He gave me a couple of peck-like kisses before he gave me his best pout. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think I love you.”

  “You can’t love me,” I shook my head. “You barely know me.”

  “I might not know you, but I know how you make me feel. When you’re not pushing me away and being and ass,” He sighed. “I know I love you.”

  “Devin, stop it,” I shook my head, pushing him away so I could get up from the couch.

  “Does it bother you because I can say it out loud, or does it bother you because you might feel the same way about me?”

  “Devin,” I shook my head. It was cliché, but I had this inner-turmoil thing going on. I wanted to give in to him. To tell him that I loved him too. But was it possible for me to really maintain my straightness if I had a boyfriend?

  And I guess being straight wasn’t a big deal. I’ve never been a fan of tags, but since I realized what my mother’s profession entailed, I always felt I had to keep up this wall that clearly stated who I was. Devin made me rethink that wall.

  “C’mon,” he was kneeling on the couch, his hands folded neatly in his lap. I could tell he wanted to reach out to me, touch me. And I wanted him to touch me. If he did, I was more than sure I couldn’t say no to him anymore. “You have to open up to me. I’m gay, feelings are part of my thing. You don’t have to be all manly for me.”

  I shook my head, turning away from him. I heard him get up, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind. I closed my eyes when I felt his cheek against my back.

  “Look, I know this hard for you. You’ve spent your whole life trying to be straight for reasons I don’t understand. It’s okay. A lot of ‘straight’ guys aren’t as straight as they think they are.”

  “It’s not like that. I don’t have a problem being with men.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Part of me wants to give in to you. I’ll admit it. But there’s still that part that says if I do have sex with you, I can’t say I’m straight anymore.”

  “You’ve slept with guys before. You’ve told me that. Why am I different from the other ones?”

  “Because I care about you,” I admitted. “If I have sex with you, I can’t deny being your boyfriend. The other guys; they were both stupid mistakes. They used me as a way to fulfill some kind of a fantasy, to get closer to my Mom, to her characters. It only happened once with each of them. I can’t do that with you.”

  “You don’t have to. I want to be your boyfriend.”

  “You say that now. What about after we have sex?”

  “What about it?”

  “What if we have sex and it’s not any good?”

  “Babe, any sex is good sex,” he laughed. He turned me around to kiss me. “And if it’s not up to par, I’ll teach you. I’ll turn you in a certified sex machine,” He promised.

  “Devin...”

  “Patrick.”

  “I can’t just have sex with you.”

  “Why not?” He asked. “I’m ready. You’re ready,” he started unbuttoning his jeans. “All we have to do is get naked.”

  “I don’t have, you know, stuff.”

  “Stuff?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “You know. Condoms, lube.” I went along with him as he pulled my t-shirt over my head.

  He rolled his eyes, “Alright, condoms are probably a sensible thing given the times we live in –but I promise, I am totally D-D free. If you really want me too, I can walk to my dorm and get you my last screen report. It’s only a like two months old.”

  “I doubt that’s necessary,” I shook my head.

  “As for lube, we can make do. Spit works just as a well. Or come.” His lips brushed my bare shoulder. I found my fingers inching under the back of his shirt and it wasn’t long before I had pulled it over his head and tossed it to the floor by my own.

  “Or we could go to the gas station down the street and pick some up,” I shrugged.

  “Yeah, if you want to stall,” he rolled his eyes.

  “Look, I haven’t slept with a guy in a while.” I stopped him from pushing my jeans and boxers down.

  “Good,” he wrapped his arms around my neck, leaving my pants alone. “Forget everything you ever did with those fools. I want a fresh slate. A real virgin to the art. I want to blow your mind.” He pushed me back onto the bed. He grabbed the bottom of my jeans and yanked. Hard. I groaned as they were basically torn from my body and tossed to the floor. He pushed off his own before he got on top of me, kissing me.

  “Uhh—Devin?”

  “Trust me a little, okay? You don’t have to do anything.” He straddled my hips as he kissed me.

  I did as he asked, word for word, to the best of my ability. It didn’t take very long until he was impaling himself on me for the first time. He was on top, his hands gripping tightly on my shoulders. I was totally enthralled with the way that his body moved. Even when I had sex with women, I had never paid much attention to anything other than the fact that I was getting some.

  “Tell me when you’re going to come,” he requested, taking my hand and putting i
t down on his stomach. I was mesmerized by the feel of his abdominal muscles tightening and flexing as he thrust over me. His fingers stroked down my chest, and he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to my lips. “You’re kinda quiet.”

  “I’m soaking it all in.”

  He hummed as I wrapped my hand around his member, jerking him off. He had to have felt widely ignored. The only action his cock had been getting was the methodical slap against my stomach. But he was hard as a rock and dripping pre-come, regardless.

  “Are you close?” He asked, nuzzling my neck. He groaned as he stretched forward.

  “If it hurts, you don’t have to keep going.”

  “I like it,” he assured me. “I’m running a dry is all.” He kissed me again, swirling his tongue around mine. His mouth opened wide and he gasped, “Ah, fuck.” He tightened up as he emptied in spurts onto my abs. The sight of him was enough to send me off too. I barely had enough time to warn him and slipped me out of him. After I had unloaded on his backside, he pushed me back inside. He rocked forward, kissing me. When he finally slid to my side and laid his head against my chest, his breathing was starting to return to normal.

  I wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed my chin to the top of his head. He looked up, and I noticed little worry lines across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.

  “What?” I brushed my fingertips over his hair.

  “Are... Was I okay?”

  I smiled, kissing his forehead, “Yeah.”

  After that, we had sex all the time. He basically lived in my room with me. He woke me up with blow jobs in the morning. We met periodically between our classes for quickies against the door. At night we fought for position –except it wasn’t much of a fight since he typically let me win. After another three months, it was over.

  “What’s wrong?” He caught my arm as I was frantically packing a bag. “What’s going on?”

  “Ah, family emergency,” I shrugged off his arm to keep packing.