The Naked Remedy

by Vivien Dean

  I kept my email short.

  Thanks for sticking up for me. I got a friend to take a pic after work tonight, so here it is. I hope it doesn’t break your computer or phone or whatever you open it on.

  Noah

  More people had commented on the bravery post, but once I’d read through those, I couldn’t settle on any one thing to keep me distracted until it was time to give up on hearing back from Fisher tonight and go to sleep. Games were out. I was too jittery to concentrate. Porn was out, too, because I could still hear my parents moving around in the living room. I spent half an hour scrolling through Tumblr, but that just left me with this weird annoyance at all the narcissism I saw. Which was pretty rich coming from the guy waiting to hear back on a selfie.

  My inbox wasn’t quiet, but nothing showed up from Fisher until almost ten.

  Whoa. If you’d posted that pic last night with your comment, you’d have been propositioned by that asshole instead of trolled. You just might be the hottest guy to ever send me a pic.

  I have to admit, it wasn’t what I expected. I thought you were older. Your insights gave me that impression, plus you were a lot more empathetic than most guys our age tend to be. I had this image of a guy who’d been around the block a few times and been burned in the process. That would explain why you said dating wasn’t just about sex. That’s another thing a lot of guys our age don’t get. I hate to think what you might’ve gone through to get you to this place.

  If you’re still up when you get this, feel free to message me. Do you have Skype? My account is under this email if you do. I’ll be up for another half hour, but after that, I’ll have to crash.

  I look forward to hearing about your next act of bravery.

  Fisher

  He thought I was hot. The guy I’d been crushing on for the past week was practically asking me to hit him up. Was I dreaming? This didn’t happen to me. I was the guy who stood in the corner, ignored by all no matter what.

  I did have Skype, an account I’d got a couple years back when I thought I might actually try out Grindr, but I’d never used it, just like I’d never followed through on the Grindr app. There’d never been any reason to.

  Fisher was giving me a reason.

  Was he going to be disappointed? The new hair might have given me a boost of confidence for the pic, but I was still the same boring Noah Booker I always was. I didn’t know if I could handle Fisher’s rejection if we started talking and he decided it was a waste of his time.

  I glanced at the time. I had twenty-three minutes before he went to bed.

  From the sound of it, Mom and Dad were getting ready to do the same. With the bathroom separating our rooms, I could talk to somebody without fear of being overheard, and if they asked in the morning, I could say I was chatting with Dez.

  I buried my head in my pillow. God, Dez was my beard and she didn’t even know it.

  Fuck it. What did I have to lose? Fisher lived in Florida. He’d already demonstrated that he would respect whatever I asked of him. He was also a decent enough guy not to be a jerk if I bored him to tears, too.

  Grabbing my headphones, I jacked into my laptop, sat up against my headboard so he couldn’t see my messy room, and booted up Skype.

  Chapter 5

  Hi, it’s Noah. Still up?

  I chewed on the corner of my thumbnail while I waited. He hadn’t sent me a contact request to approve, so it was like shouting into the void.

  Until the void answered me back.

  I’m here. All right if I add you to my contacts?

  I was grinning as I typed. Sure.

  A minute later, he was firmly in my contact list, its first and sole occupant. Before I could ask if he wanted to take it to video, he sent me another message.

  You’re the first guy from my blog that I’ve ever Skyped with.

  The heat that had arisen at his email ignited further, radiating from the inside out to make me hyperaware of my skin. Maybe it would be better if we didn’t use video. I was probably flushed a deep red.

  Another message pinged.

  Which are you more comfortable with, chat or video?

  I wanted to see him more than I cared about how I looked. Video. Please.

  His video request came immediately on the heels of my message. When I accepted, I found myself staring into the dancing hazel eyes that had mesmerized me from the very first picture I’d seen.

  Fisher was sprawled on his stomach, his shoulders bare, a pillow bunched up beneath his chest. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw, and his hair was wild as if he’d been running his fingers through it all day. The most important thing, though, was the relaxed smile he wore.

  “Isn’t it after midnight where you are?” I asked first.

  “Almost one-thirty,” he clarified. “That’s when I usually go to sleep, but I wanted the chance to talk to you tonight if I could.”

  “If I stayed up that late, I’d be a zombie at work.”

  “I work a delayed shift to deal with the west coast, so I don’t have to be there until eleven.”

  “You’re still in PR, right?”

  “Yeah. What do you do?”

  “I’m a sonographer at the hospital. I do the ultrasounds,” I added when I caught his note of confusion.

  “Like for pregnant women?”

  I nodded. “They’re the biggest part, yeah. But I do it for any of the doctors when they want to see what’s going on inside of a patient. Tumors, cysts, that kind of thing.” I grimaced at the macabre turn our conversation had already taken. “Okay, I didn’t mean to go there.”

  A quizzical gleam appeared in his eyes. “Why not? I asked.”

  “You’d be surprised at how many people are squeamish about that kind of thing.”

  “I lost any squeamishness I had ages ago.”

  Only then did I remember the fire and what he’d gone through with all his hospitalizations to get his mobility back. I’d been so wrapped up in the excitement about what talking to him meant to me that I’d forgotten the heart of what had driven me to devour his blog in the first place.

  “Stop it.” The chastisement in Fisher’s tone was soft. “You don’t have to second-guess everything you say with me.”

  It took all my willpower not to look away. “Was it that obvious?”

  “Let’s just say, you have a very expressive face. But you probably get told that all the time.”

  “Not really.”

  “Then everybody in your life is an idiot. Now that I think of it, you look exactly how your comments have always sounded to me.”

  “What happened to thinking I was older?” I teased.

  A faint stain crept into Fisher’s cheeks. I’d embarrassed him, but he shrugged it off more gracefully than I could’ve. “That was clearly a mistake on my part. But you always came across as so thoughtful, as if you knew what I was going through, so I took it as a sign of experience.”

  “And now you know the truth.”

  “That you’re gorgeous as well as sensitive to others’ feelings? Absolutely.”

  I didn’t recognize this person he was describing, but it felt too good to tell him how off the mark he was. “I love your blog, by the way. I never would’ve dared to dye my hair if I hadn’t read it.”

  Fisher blew a raspberry. “You would’ve worked up the nerve, sooner or later. You’re stronger than you think.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d been in my head before I messaged you. I almost didn’t do it.”

  “But you did, and that’s what matters in the end, right?”

  How could I argue with him when he made it sound so rational? “You have an answer for everything. I’m envious.”

  “Not everything. It’s just easier to see things clearer when you’re on the outside of a situation instead of in the middle of it.” He hesitated, his lashes ducking for a moment. “Can I ask something before I get in too deep here?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you seeing anyone? And please don�
�t lie to me. I hate getting invested when it can’t go anywhere.”

  My heart lodged in my throat. He kept hinting at more, glimmers of dreams I could barely admit to myself. But he asked for complete honesty. I wanted him to be a safe haven more than anything else I could think of, but the truth could drive him away. Who wanted to deal with a closeted virgin?

  “Shit,” Fisher muttered. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

  “No!” Fear of him getting the wrong impression made my denial come out louder than I intended, and I glanced at the door to make sure Mom and Dad hadn’t heard me. When I was confident it was safe, I turned back to Fisher. “It’s not what you think,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m not dating anyone.”

  “But there’s something,” Fisher said warily.

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not out.”

  Fisher’s frown didn’t disappear. “Why do I think that’s not it?”

  “Because it’s not,” I confessed. “I live in a really small town. Everybody knows everybody. I go to church with my parents every Sunday I don’t have to work. I can honestly say I don’t know anybody who is out.”

  “Where is this going?”

  “I just want you to understand where I’m coming from. I’m not…the most outgoing guy. It’s hard for me to talk to people. Being in the closet doesn’t make that any easier.”

  The lines between Fisher’s brows eased. “You’re doing just fine with me.”

  “Because you’re safe. I know that. That’s one of the things I love about your blog. You’ve created this environment that encourages people to let go of their fears. I’ve taken more risks in the time I started reading it than I have my whole life.”

  “But that’s good. That was the whole reason I started the blog. I didn’t want people to be afraid of things that didn’t really matter.”

  Time to do or die. “What all that means, though, is that I’ve never dated anyone, and definitely never dated a guy. You’re the first I’ve ever talked to like this.”

  Fisher’s eyes widened at my confession, and I braced for the rejection to come. Please don’t let him throw pity on top of it. I could handle the former, but the latter would hurt like hell.

  “Wow,” Fisher said. “You always end up surprising me.”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “No, of course not. I just—” Fisher shook his head, then buried his face in the pillow. “I’m such a jerk.”

  Though his words were muffled, I couldn’t have misheard. “You’re not.”

  He peeked up through the lank of hair that fell over his forehead. “I’ve been flirting with you when that’s probably the last thing you need right now. I think that qualifies.”

  “But that’s exactly what I want,” I said. Didn’t he see? He seemed to see everything else. “You make me feel that I can actually do this. Like I’m not crazy for hoping my life doesn’t always have to be so shut away. You showing even a little bit of interest? That’s a thousand Christmases to me, because it means I’m not some freak.”

  “Freak is the last word I’d use to describe you.”

  “Even though I’m a twenty-six year-old virgin who still lives with his parents because it’s easier than facing the potential backlash if he came out?”

  The softness returned to his gaze, reaching across the miles and through the screen as assuredly as a hug. “Still doesn’t apply.”

  I sagged in relief at his acceptance, but the air wasn’t completely clear yet. “So I’m not a freak, and you’re not a jerk. What exactly does that make us, then?”

  “Friends,” Fisher said without hesitating. “With the understanding that this friend thinks his new friend in California just might be the hottest, nicest guy he’s met in a very long time.”

  A slow smile spread across my face. “Same here.”

  “That’s because I’m the only guy you’ve met like this.” When my breath caught to argue with him, he laughed. “I’m kidding. But so you know, I’ve become something of an expert at deflecting compliments since the accident. I’m much better at bestowing them.”

  “We’ll have to work on that.” I noticed the time in the corner of my screen, and though I hated bringing it up, I didn’t want him to blame me for anything tomorrow. “Shouldn’t you be going to bed soon? It’s after one-thirty.”

  His arms tightened around his pillow, his chin resting on the white cotton. “I’ve decided I can float an extra half hour if you don’t mind talking some more. I want to hear about you.”

  “My life’s pretty boring.”

  “Only because you’re in the middle of it. C’mon, spill. You’ve got to give me something to fantasize about until we get to chat again.”

  I chuckled. “Or I’ll put you to sleep, which I suppose isn’t a bad outcome, either.”

  “Never happen.”

  So I talked. I told him about Coughlin and how tiny it was, how nobody outside of California would believe it wasn’t the progressive image the rest of the state presented to the world. I segued to my family, painting my parents as generously as I could, talking about living in my brothers’ shadows even though they were decent guys at heart. He listened throughout, commiserating on what it was like being the youngest and how the expectations could be killer even when they came from people who loved you more than anyone else in the world.

  “Yeah, exactly like that,” I said in wonder. I’d never made that connection before. No wonder I’d reacted so strongly to his original story. In some ways, I knew exactly what he’d been going through before the accident ever happened.

  “My dad was pushing me to stick with the department in some capacity,” Fisher said. “He thought I could get into investigations or get certified as an EMT or even get into testing. Anything but walk away completely. Mom finally convinced him to stop bringing it up, but I can hear him wishing I’d fall back in line every time I see them.”

  “Even after what happened?” I was appalled. What parent would ever want his child to relive such horrific events?

  “Dad’s pretty old school. He thinks the only way to get over it is to get back on the horse. Or the truck, in this case.” He grimaced. “If he ever found out about the blog, he’d never let me hear the end of it.”

  “I thought you were out.”

  “Oh, I am. He doesn’t have a problem with me being gay. It’s the pictures and talking about everything that happened he’d object to.”

  “But your name is all over it. How have you kept it a secret?”

  “Sheer dumb luck,” he said with a laugh. “But seriously, everybody in my life who knows about it knows how Dad would react. They’ve respected my request not to tell him. Besides, nobody I know in real life pays much attention it. They lived through it already, and my buddies from when I was at the station have already seen enough of my naked ass.”

  I joined in his laughter. “Do you tell people you date about it?”

  A shadow passed behind his eyes. “I did once. Way back when I first started. I was so proud of the damn thing, I couldn’t shut up about it. But he didn’t like the idea that I might talk about him someday on it, even though I promised I’d never mention him if that was his preference, so he stopped answering my calls after a few dates.”

  That could be tough. I believed Fisher would keep his word, but anyone with trust or privacy issues would never be comfortable having a partner so out there. “You don’t want someone like that in your life anyway,” I said.

  “What about you?”

  “I wouldn’t want someone around who didn’t trust me, either.”

  “No, not that. How do you feel about the possibility of getting talked about on the blog?”

  I’d been so wrapped up in the conversation of the moment, the idea hadn’t occurred to me. “In what way?”

  He shrugged. “Talking about people I follow, people I connect with. Maybe talking about what defines bravery.” A twinkle appeared in his eye. “If you ever came out, I could do a post o
n hot guys and put up the picture you sent me.”

  Though I snorted and shook my head at the notion, he had valid suggestions. What should I say? Did it actually bother me if he thought I was interesting enough to talk about?

  The short answer was no. I was flattered, and Fisher was always respectful.

  “If you don’t think it’s going to drive away traffic, go for it,” I replied. “You have my permission to say what you want. Just don’t use too many specifics about me if you do, okay? There’s too many psychos out there.”

  “Never,” he promised.

  It was approaching two, and though his voice was still bright, Fisher’s eyelids were starting to droop. “You should go. It’s getting late.”

  “No, I’m having fun.” But the suggestion of sleep obviously sounded better to his body than it did his brain as he suddenly broke into a long, audible yawn. “Damn it,” he muttered when he was done. “You’re probably right.”

  “It’s better this way.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  I gave him what I hoped was a cocky grin and not the weird leer it felt like. “Because I’ve left you wanting more.”

  His returning smile settled that question. “Can we do it again?”

  The butterflies went off in my stomach. “Sure.” Then, because his response was bolstering my courage…“We should make it a virtual date. Maybe Friday?”

  “A virtual date.” He rolled the words over on his tongue, making them sound far more sensual than I could’ve. “I like that. Are we going to do something, or is it just to chat again?”

  “Why not both?”

  “That’s the spirit. All right, well, let’s see. What are our options?”

  “You’re the one with all the dating experience.”

  “Which means you should be the one to choose.”

  That made no sense. “How do you figure that?”

  “Shouldn’t first times be special? Besides, you asked me. Ball’s in your court.”

  I chewed my bottom lip as I weighed my options. Most of what I knew about dates was gleaned from Hollywood. People went to movies or out for dinner. Watching a movie together was possible, syncing up to start at the same time, but that felt like an easy choice. Plus, Fisher wouldn’t want the normal. He certainly wouldn’t be satisfied with anything superficial.