by Marie Sexton
TO MY surprise, Cole wasn’t waiting for me when I got home. I had fully expected that we would spend the rest of the weekend together—we usually did when we were both in town.
I called him on his cell phone, and his voice when he answered was wary. “Hello, love.”
“Are you coming back for dinner?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Cole, are you mad? I’m sorry if—”
“Honey, I’m not mad.”
“Then what?”
“You have to tell Marcus your decision on Monday?”
“Yes,” I said, unsure what that had to do with dinner tonight.
“If you like, I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.”
“Why can’t I see you tonight?”
“Because I can’t help you, love. I know you want me to. But I can’t. You need to decide what’s right for you.”
“But Cole—” I said, feeling like he had abandoned me, but he interrupted me.
“Whatever your decision is,” he said quietly, “we’ll work it out.”
I sighed. I still wished he would say more, but I also felt better hearing those final words. We would work it out. “Okay,” I said.
“I’ll have a glass of wine waiting, and I’ll make the Bolognese. I know how much you like it.” That made me smile. It was one of my favorites. “We haven’t had dessert in an awfully long time, love,” he said, and it was good to hear that mocking tone back in his voice.
“You’re not getting out of it on Monday.”
I laughed. “Why in the world would I want to?”
I RATTLED around my house all afternoon, and most of Sunday.
Finally, around four, I called Julia.
“I’ll buy beer and pizza if you’ll keep me company,” I said after she answered.
“An offer I can’t refuse,” she said, laughing. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
We sat in my living room with the beer and pizza on the coffee table between us and talked. She told me about her husband’s job and her kids—the oldest was in the drama club, and the youngest played soccer, and the middle one didn’t seem to do much of anything. She talked about her brother Tony in California, who couldn’t seem to stay faithful to any man and then couldn’t understand why they left him.
She asked about Cole and about what shows we had seen recently and about work. And finally she asked, “So what’s bothering you?”
“What makes you think anything is?” She didn’t even bother to answer. She finished her beer and opened another one. So I told her my dilemma. “And all Cole or my dad will say is that I should do what feels right,” I concluded. “And I have no idea what to do.”
She sat there looking at me for a long time. I started to squirm a little under her obvious scrutiny. “Here’s what I know, Jon,” she said at last. “We’ve been talking for the last three hours. And every single time you say Cole’s name, you smile.” And as if I had to prove her right, I did it again. “And every time you say ‘Vegas’”—I felt the smile leave my face—“you stop.” She shrugged. “It’s that simple.” She put down her beer and stood up to leave.
“You’re going?”
“I have to get home, Jon. But thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Let me know what you decide.”
She left, and I sat there thinking about what she had said. It was so ridiculously simple, and it seemed like a foolish thing to base my decision on. But she was right. The thought of moving to Vegas had kept my stomach tied in knots all weekend. Every single time I thought about it, it made me wince.
I leaned back on the couch. I closed my eyes. And for the first time, I really thought about the alternative. I quit worrying about the stigma of accepting a demotion, and I thought about the job.
As a Junior Liaison Account Director, I would be working from our Phoenix office to support the guys who were still in the field. It would mean phone calls, but mostly during business hours. It would mean less pay, but not significantly. It would mean less travel.
I stopped there for a moment.
Not just less travel, but almost no travel at all.
And that knot in my chest started to ease.
I would be home almost all the time. I could actually use my show tickets instead of giving them all to Julia. I could spend more time with my dad. Not only would that make me happy, it would make him happy, and that was important to me. And not traveling would mean a return to a normal life. Not living out of suitcases half the time.
Maybe I could even get a cat again.
And Cole?
I felt myself smile.
Yes. And Cole would be there too, hopefully waiting for me when
I got home.
I thought about the way I had felt on Friday as I unpacked. How good it felt to be home again after so long with Cole in the kitchen cooking dinner. I remembered thinking so clearly that it simply felt right.
Julia, my dad, Cole—they had been telling me all along. It really was that simple.
Monday morning, I drove to work feeling good. I told Marcus my decision. He was surprised, but he assured me it wouldn’t be a problem.
It would still be several weeks before the change took effect, and until then, I would still be traveling like always. But now, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. It looked like salvation.
After work I went home where Cole was waiting, barefoot in my kitchen. I told him my decision, and although he turned quickly away to hide his reaction, I saw the relief there on his face.
I didn’t care about dinner. I turned off the stove. I took his hand and led him to the bedroom….
And everything about it felt right.
Date: January 24
From: Cole
To: Jared
It seems Jonathan won’t be moving after all. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear him say the words. And the fact that I was relieved frightened me.
I WAS surprised when only a week later, Cole informed me that he was leaving town. I had returned home from work like always to find him cooking in my kitchen. We had a nice dinner, and then I did the dishes and caught up on some work while he read on my couch. And then we went in the bedroom and made love. And it wasn’t until afterward, when we were lying in the dark, on opposite sides of the bed like always, that he told me.
“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow.”
“You’re what?” I asked, stunned. “Why?”
“It’s just time, love. That’s all.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know really. A week, I suppose. Maybe two.”
I resisted the urge to ask bitterly if he would be seeing Raul while he was there. “We’ve only had a few nights together since before Thanksgiving,” I said, trying not to sound like I was whining. “Do you have to go now?”
“I really do, love,” he said, but there was something strange in his voice. I wished once again that I could see his face. He always waited until the lights were out to bring these topics up.
“Is everything all right?” I asked him.
“Of course,” he said, but I wasn’t sure I believed him.
I GOT up the next morning and went for a jog. When I came home, he was gone. That was it. He didn’t even say goodbye. I tried not to be hurt. I tried not to be angry. I did my best not to imagine him with Raul. I partially succeeded at the first two, but at the last, I failed miserably. I told myself over and over again that I was being an idiot.
There had never been any pretense that our relationship was exclusive.
I had known about his other lovers from day one. So why did I care so much now?
We had been seeing each other for approximately nine months. In the first two or three months of that time, I had still seen other men occasionally. Cole had been out of town a lot, and I never knew when he would return. It hadn’t been a big deal. But at some
point over the summer, I had quit wanting to see anybody else. It wasn’t that I ever made the decision to be exclusive with him. It wasn’t out of any false sense of faithfulness. It was only that what I had with him was good. It was comfortable and exciting and so much more fulfilling than the casual flings I had been making do with up until then. I simply didn’t have any desire to look elsewhere. I always knew he would be back eventually, and I chose to wait. It was that simple.
But now I reminded myself that I had other options as well. I could go to a club. I could go to the bathhouse. There was no reason to think I couldn’t have sex with somebody else if I chose to. It would do me good to get out there and get laid—pick up some anonymous stranger and fuck each other’s brains out. I knew it was exactly what I needed to take my mind off of Cole. Every time I jacked off in the shower, I told myself, “Today I’m going to have sex with somebody who isn’t him.”
I never did.
I refused to call him, because I didn’t want to seem desperate. He never called me either. That was fairly normal for him when he was gone. Still, every time the phone rang, I couldn’t help wishing that it was him.
He had been gone a week when Marcus informed me that I was going to Vegas the following Monday. He estimated I would be there seven to ten days. As ridiculous as it was, it created a bit of a dilemma for me. I felt that it was only polite to let Cole know where I was. On the other hand, it seemed obvious that he was trying to distance himself from me, and giving him updates on my whereabouts seemed pathetic.
On my second day in Vegas, I broke down and sent him a text message.
It said only, “In Vegas.” Nothing more.
The week was long. I was beginning to realize how much I hated Vegas. And how much I hated my clients. And how much I hated my job. I began to anticipate the day my demotion would take effect and I would be able to stay home. We worked late on Friday and agreed to meet again early the next morning. It was after eight by the time I got home.
I knew the minute I walked into my condo that something was strange. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Only that it felt different. It felt… right. I stopped just inside the door and looked around. And then I saw all the pieces, and everything fell into place. A wine glass on the coffee table, a book with a French title on the couch, shoes by the door. And I tried to tell myself that the happiness I felt at seeing them was only because it would make my last few days in Vegas more fun. There was nothing more to it than that.
He was just taking off his shirt when I walked into the bedroom.
His back was to me. And though I may have wanted to, I could not deny the way my pulse skipped a beat when I saw him. “What are you doing here?” I asked, and he jumped.
“Good lord, love, don’t sneak up on me like that!” He turned away from me, and I knew it was so I couldn’t see that he was blushing. “I was getting ready to take a shower.”
“I thought you were in New York.”
“I was,” he said, still not looking at me, “and I know I should have called. It’s terribly inappropriate of me to barge in on you like this.”
I crossed over to him and wrapped my arms around him from behind. He was stiff in my arms, but he didn’t push me away. I buried my face in his silky hair and breathed in that scent I loved so much.
“You don’t care if it’s inappropriate or not,” I said, “and you know I don’t mind. And even if I did mind, it wouldn’t stop you. You’d probably do it just to annoy me.” He still hadn’t relaxed in my arms, but he hadn’t pushed me away yet either. I kissed the back of his head.
“How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know yet. As long as you’re here, I guess. I….” He stopped, sounding hesitant, which wasn’t like him at all. “I wanted to see you,” he finally said, and it almost sounded as if he was surprised at his own words.
“Thank God,” I sighed, “because I haven’t missed you one bit.”
“I got in a couple of hours ago. I thought you’d be here. I was worried maybe you’d gone out, to the bathhouse, or….” He let his words trail away, as if he hadn’t meant to say them at all.
I debated telling him that I wanted nobody but him, but I feared it would only make me sound ridiculous. “We had to work late,” I said instead. “It’s not going well. I have to be back in by seven tomorrow.”
He turned in my arms and looked up at me flirtatiously, although his cheeks were still red. “New York was no fun at all.”
I leaned down to kiss him, lightly sucking on his lower lip. “What about Raul?” I asked, trying hard to keep my tone light.
He put his arms around my neck. “Like I said, love,” he whispered against my lips. “No fun at all.”
I kissed him, and he let me. He tasted like something fruity and sweet, and I realized it was probably five-dollar wine. It only made me want to kiss him more.
I felt his hands fumbling at my belt, and I gently pushed them away. I took his face in my hands and kissed him again, making sure not to push too much, to allow him to decide how deep it went. But I wanted to keep tasting him. He kissed me back for a moment, but then I felt his hands at my belt again. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them behind his back. His eyes when he looked up at me were huge and wary.
“Are you really so impatient, or are you trying to make me hold you down again?” I asked.
He strained against me, his breath shaky. “Yes.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I held his wrists tighter and bent to kiss him lightly. “Yes to which?” I asked in a whisper before biting gently on his lower lip. He moaned and let himself go limp against me. I shifted both of his thin wrists to one hand. I used the other to unbutton his pants. I slid my hand inside of them, rubbing his swollen dick through the silky fabric of his briefs. “Well?” I whispered against his lips. “Which is it?”
He made a ragged sound that was almost a laugh. “Both.”
I pushed him roughly back onto the bed and with one quick motion pulled my tie from around my neck. I climbed on top of him, using my weight to hold him down, and pulled one of his arms toward the headboard.
“A tie?” he asked, although his voice was thick and breathy.
“Isn’t that rather cliché, love?”
I secured the knot around one wrist, looped the tie around one of the posts on the headboard. “It may be,” I told him, “but it’s very effective.” I grabbed his other hand and brought it toward the headboard. I knotted the other end around his wrist. There was about a foot of fabric between his hands, where it looped around the frame of the headboard, so he had some slack to move around in, but it would keep him from being able to rush me.
I stood up and got rid of the rest of my suit as quickly as I could.
He watched me in silence, his eyes wide and apprehensive, but the bulge in his pants told me he was turned on as well. I pulled them off of him. It was incredibly arousing, looking down at him, knowing that he was restrained and that I could do whatever I wanted to him, within reason of course. The crazy thing was I didn’t want to do anything rough or domineering. I only wanted more time to touch him and to kiss him. I wondered how many other people had to restrain their partners in order to have more foreplay.
I moved on top of him so I could look down into his wide eyes.
“Now,” I said, my voice thick with arousal, “what should I do with you now that I have you tied down?”
He wrapped his legs around me, pulling me down against him.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, and I laughed.
“You’re too impatient. That’s what got you into this, remember?” I teased.
“Please,” he said, grinding against me.
“Not yet.” I kissed his neck and his ear. I caressed his hip. I loved the way it seemed to fit against my palm so perfectly. I let my hand wander up his side and heard him catch his breath. I traced his ear with my tongue. I kept my touch light as I slowly moved my hand up to his nipples. I caressed them for just a moment—until he mo
aned a little, grinding himself against me—then I moved my fingers back down, back over his hip. I slid my hand underneath him. That was another part of him that felt perfect in my hands, and I pulled him tighter against me and heard him whimper a little in response. “Still no requests?” I asked him.
He opened his eyes and looked up at me, and I froze. What I saw there worried me. He looked afraid.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, suddenly serious.
“Yes,” he said, although his voice shook.
“Do you want me to untie you?”
He shook his head, just barely. “No.”
“I will,” I said, and started to reach for the tie, but he tightened his legs around me.
“No,” he whispered. “I want you to kiss me.” I hesitated, still wondering what had caused that look of trepidation in his eyes.
“Please,” he said. “Like last time.”
For better or worse, I couldn’t find it in me to argue. I loved kissing him. Ever since that day on the floor of his living room, I couldn’t get enough of it. I did as he asked, slowly teasing each of his lips, alternately sucking on them and kissing him gently. Like before, I spent a long time doing only that while we ground against each other.
The effect it had on him was undeniable. By the time I worked around his mouth, his lips were red and swollen, and he was arching against me, making sounds that were driving me wild. Just rubbing against him as I kissed him and hearing his breathless cries had me close to orgasm far too soon.
I started to move down, thinking I would use my mouth to bring him off, but he tightened his legs around me. “No,” he said. “Not that way.”
“Okay.” I leaned down to kiss his neck some more. “Do you want me to fuck you now?” I whispered in his ear.
“I don’t care,” he said, “as long as you’re here.” And by “here,” I knew he meant as long as I was in a position to keep kissing him.
I didn’t want to move on to anal sex. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy sex with him. I most definitely did. But with him, sex was generally just sex. It rarely felt intimate. I wanted this to be different. I reached into the drawer by the bed and found the lube. Unfortunately, that presented me with a bit of a problem. I didn’t want to break contact with him to do this. I felt like I would somehow lose something if I did.
