by Nikki Sex
I say nothing, but we both glance down at our sexual impediment—the sleeping child in her arms. Either she’ll put him to bed, or not. She’ll have to give me a more obvious hint if she’s looking for sex.
My cock twitches, I’m already erect and “up for it,” as usual.
Renata has plans for me to become more hands-on with Briley. I draw the line at giving baths and changing diapers. If he was a girl, it might be different. As it is, there’s no way I’m going there.
When I tell her that, she simply says, “OK,” complacently. In time, I know she fully intends for me to get past this particular hang up of mine. Whatever. That will be a battle postponed for another day.
“What are you so excited about?” I ask, toweling off.
She laughs happily. It’s a wondrous, enchanting sound—another appealing trait of hers I never want to live without.
“You remember me telling you about Mr. Brand, my grade school teacher who was so kind to me?”
“Of course.”
“He wrote me the best letter,” she gushes. “He was so pleased to hear from me. I’ll let you read it after your shower and you can help me write a reply. He’s even sent photos. I’ll put Briley to bed so we can shower together.” She gives me a playful wink. “After that, we’ll talk about it over breakfast.”
A slow smile tugs at my lips.
There’s the rather obvious hint I was hoping for, thank God.
I preferred the dark, but I’m already getting over that. If I had it my way, neither of us would ever leave my bed. Quite honestly, I don’t want to freak out Renata with my overwhelming lust for her.
Is my body trying to make up for lost time? Right now, I’m utterly insatiable. I feel as though twenty times a day wouldn’t be enough.
Renata tilts her head and stares at me with a sexy, teasing glint in her eyes. I swear to God, that woman can read my mind.
She stares at me intently. “I want to lick off some of your sexy sweat before we shower.”
~~~
This is the second time we’ve had sex in the shower and each time it gets better and better.
Renata finishes showering first, so when I dry off and come downstairs, she has a breakfast of oatmeal, toast, bacon and orange juice ready and waiting. Renata knows Mitten and I love bacon. Southerners say, Bacon is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy.
“Thank you, Renata, this looks great. You didn't have to go through all that trouble. I can make breakfast.”
“I enjoy cooking,” she says with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it. You do plenty around here. I don’t feel as though cooking is my job or anything.”
“I’m not a very good cook,” I admit.
She laughs. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too.”
Mitten sits with us at the table. That cat has better table manners than most people. We began eating and Renata gives me a printed copy of Mr. Brand’s letter. I just start reading it when my phone rings.
It’s 7 a.m. and usually, only my mother calls at this hour. Frowning, I check my caller ID and am surprised to find it’s Sally Ann. Sally Ann has always had a crush on me, but she has never once phoned me. I can't imagine why she'd phone at all, much less understand why she’d call me this early.
“Hello?”
“Grant?” she says softly. “I’m sorry to call you at this hour, but Danny and I really need to see you this morning—hopefully, right now. If it’s not too great an imposition, may we come over?”
“You’re both welcome anytime,” I say, knowing Renata won’t mind.
“Is Renata there now?”
I smile. “Yes, Renata’s here, why?”
Renata tilts her head and arches one eyebrow. She wants to know who’s on the phone.
“Oh,” Sally Ann says, “that’s good. I’d like to see her again. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“No, of course, I don’t mind. I’ll leave the door open for you. Briley’s asleep, so y’all come on in, but don’t ring the doorbell.”
“Fine. We’ll be over there in fifteen minutes,” she says and hangs up.
When I tell Renata about our unexpected visitors, she is as surprised as I am. We finish eating breakfast, tidy up and put on a fresh pot of coffee.
Neither of us can imagine why they want to stop by here at this hour, yet we aren’t the least concerned.
If we did know why they were coming over, we certainly would be.
Epilogue
“Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed…”
— Lyanla Vanzant
~~~
Grant Wilkinson
“Knock, knock?” I hear Sally Ann’s soft, feminine voice coming from the entryway.
“Come on in,” I say, walking toward the front door with Renata.
Sally Ann is dressed casually in designer jeans and a silk blouse that matches her electric blue eyes. The woman looks stunning no matter what she wears.
It’s the presence of her brother, Danny that surprises me. The last time I saw him he was a scruffy wreck. Today, he’s in smart dress slacks and a short sleeve shirt. If he was wearing a tie, he’d look as though he was going to a job interview.
“You look well, Danny,” I say, genuinely pleased to see him.
Danny smiles and shakes my hand with a firm, dry grip. The male version of his sister, he’s also attractive, unless he’s suffering through a major depressive episode, which as far as I can tell, is most of the time. Right now, however, his expression is bright, and his mood is upbeat.
“I feel well, thank you,” Danny says, still smiling at me. “I appreciate your letting us come over so early, Grant. I urgently need to talk to you.”
“No problem, let’s go into the living room.”
We all take our seats and briefly engage in small talk. Mitten immediately gravitates to Sally Ann, jumping up on her lap to her adoring coos and pats. Renata prepares coffee for everyone and joins us. There’s a slight lag in the conversation, as Renata and I wait to see what was important enough to bring them here at this early hour.
We can hear the sounds of Briley waking up over the baby monitor, so Renata excuses herself to go check on him. Sally Ann stands up as well.
“If it’s OK with you Renata, can I go with you?” she asks uneasily. “Danny has already told me what he wants to talk to Grant about.”
It’s odd. Although Sally Ann is her usual gracious and courteous self, if anything she also seems tremendously uncomfortable. I wonder what has her seeming more shy and uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen her?
“I’d enjoy your company,” Renata says, with a welcoming smile. “Briley will love to see you, too.”
Renata, Sally Ann and Mitten leave the room, shutting the door behind them, so Danny and I can speak privately.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“I had to talk to you,” Danny says, biting his lip uncertainly. Anxiety is radiating off him in waves. “Now that I’m here, I’m not sure how to where to begin.”
“OK.” I lean back on the couch, put one ankle up on my knee and adopt as casual a position as possible. I’ve watched André do that to put me at ease when I’m nervous.
The silence between us is awkward. As the minutes pass, it becomes painful. I suddenly remember something André once said that loosened my tongue.
“Danny, we’ve always been good friends, haven’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because I want you to know there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me think any less of you. So go ahead, jump right in.”
He inhales deeply and blurts out, “Did you know I’m gay?”
“No.”
His eyes narrow and his brows furrow anxiously. “Does it bother you?”
I frown and shake my head. “No.”
Jesus. I thought I had problems.
Our Church places homosexuality near the top of the list when it comes to sin. That was part of the reason I so feared my obsession with dicks—
an ingrained belief that same-sex attraction was the devil’s work. What must poor Danny be going through? Especially since his father is a deacon in our church?
Danny leans forward in his chair, studying me intently, while searching my face for any sign of insincerity or deception. He doesn’t appear to find anything disturbing.
“Are you sure you’re OK with it?”
“Positive.” I sigh and give him a one-shouldered shrug. “Danny, people love who they love—no one can change that. If it’s any consolation, I think the church has the subject of homosexuality all wrong. I feel no different toward you, now I know you’re gay. I’m honored you trust me enough to tell me.”
My acceptance transforms his face. Danny smiles, pathetically grateful to find that I think it’s perfectly fine for him to be who he is—poor bastard.
“Thank you, Grant. I knew you’d understand. Most people around here would freak out.”
I nod.
He gives me a shy smile. “I know you like women, but I’ve always had a secret crush on you—I hope you don’t mind my telling you. You constantly came to my rescue when I was at school. It meant so much to me and to Sally Ann. My sister and I have both had hopeless crushes on you.”
I say nothing, letting the dust silently fall.
How can I reply to that unexpected admission? I don’t even want to think about it.
Ignoring his statement, I change the subject. “Is your sexuality what’s been messing you up for all these years? Guilt over who you’re attracted to?”
“Hmm, well, yes… and no.” Danny’s gaze is intense. Now he’s past telling me the difficult part—the fact he’s gay, something has changed. His eyes are brighter and he seems quietly confident.
To my surprise, my phone rings again. I hate talking in general and talking on the phone is even more abhorrent. Most people know this about me, so I rarely get phone calls. I grin as soon as I view my caller ID display.
I glance at Danny. “Excuse me, Danny, but I have to take this call.”
He nods.
“André,” I answer, standing up and walking across the room in order to speak freely to him. “It’s wonderful to hear from you. How are you? Is everything OK?”
“No, mon ami, I regret to say that it is not.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“This morning I have received a subpoena which forces me to release certain details of our counseling sessions. I fear the police must have obtained substantial evidence for them to proceed in this manner.”
My world stops.
Blood-freezing dread ices within my veins.
Fuck! Have the police found a motive? If not, they’ll certainly have it when they see André’s records. Am I going to end up in jail for a murder I didn’t commit?
And then, another horrific thought occurs to me. Jesus H Christ. The police will know, but will others find out about my father’s perversions?
A vivid memory suddenly slams into me. It arrives so quickly I stand there, helplessly staring into space. My living room, Danny, and André’s phone call all disappear as I fall back into my past.
I remember one time in the boys' locker room at school, when I was perhaps fifteen years old. Aloof and alone, for some reason I’ve never fully understood, my peers used to look up to me. Was it because I was handsome, wealthy and from a ‘good’ family? Those things put me at the top of the social ladder. Or perhaps it was because I was such an aggressive football player who helped the team achieve many victories.
Most people thought I was proud and stuck-up.
I didn’t have friends, not real ones anyway. How could anyone know me enough to befriend me? It wasn’t safe for me to open up. Yet on this particular day, just that once, I found myself trying to fit in.
The boys were talking about girls, a common occurrence. However, the conversation had degenerated to cruel jokes about anal sex and homosexuality. At the time, I had been at the height of my porn-watching career.
Luke, the captain of the football team, said, “Ask Grant—he knows all about anal sex.” Silence thickened the air, as every boy there, perhaps ten or twelve of them, turned to look at me all at the same time.
I froze, utterly terrified and humiliated.
My stomach turned into knots as a sense of dread overtook me.
Do they know about my father? Or don’t they know? They must! Why would Luke say that if he didn't know? Has someone discovered my perverse addiction to watching Internet porn?
Found out! Caught!
The appalling fear of being exposed—of my shameful secrets being discovered, made me instantly and thoroughly sick. I’d never known such terror, humiliation and shame.
“Mon ami? Grant?” André’s familiar voice instantly pulls me back to the present, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Yes, André,” I say quietly. “I’m here.”
“My friend, you have much to consider. My phone will be with me all of this day. When you are ready, call me and I will answer any questions you have. This is acceptable to you?”
“Yes.”
“Très bien. Is Renata there?”
“No.”
“Bon. I will call her and speak of this, yes?”
“Yes, please,” I say. “Thank you for letting me know, André.”
“We will talk later, my friend, when it is more convenient for you. Au revoir.”
“Goodbye.”
What André means is, he’d like me to call him once I get myself together. That might take a while. My nerves are fried.
I gaze over at Danny, about whom I'd actually forgotten momentarily. He’s studying me intently. His brows are drawn down in concern.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“No,” I mutter, struggling for control. “I’ve… um, I’ve just heard some bad news.”
“Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to leave?”
“No,” I say, attempting a fake, reassuring smile. Intentionally, I slouch casually back down on the couch, once again sitting across from Danny. I’d much prefer to focus on whatever distraction he might provide.
Diving head first into my safe, detached mode, I count my heartbeats and begin to take slow, measured breaths. I’m hyper-alert, yet emotionally, I’ve shut down. I need to focus. I need to think! This is as dangerous a crisis as any I ever dealt with when I was in the Army.
First, I’ll hear Danny out—and then I’ll get rid of him.
“What was it you wanted to tell me?” I ask, in an even, measured voice.
Danny shakes his head. “Um… well, there's more. Something happened. I could’ve gone to my counselor, but fuck her! What does she know? She never had a fucking clue. I did talk to my sister, who did her best to understand. Sally Ann knows I’m gay, but this?” He frowns and again bites his lip. “She couldn’t begin to understand it—not really. I told her some things, but the whole truth would upset her too much.”
“OK,” I say, warily. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“The thing is, all of my life, for as far back as I remember, I’ve been totally screwed up. I always felt like a worthless piece of shit, you know? I thought I’d be doing the world a favor if I was dead, but I never understood why.”
Confused, I frown. “And do you now know why?”
Danny sits up straight, leans forward and beams me a wide grin. “I do!” he gushes happily. “I’ve been so frustrated, depressed and angered by sick thoughts and images in my mind. Most of all, I doubted myself. I honestly felt I had completely lost my mind.”
I still have no idea what he’s talking about.
Yet, I experience a peculiar sensation, as though I’m suddenly being consumed by his happiness. Emotionally shut down or not, Danny’s joy seeps into me, lightening my mood.
“It’s dreadful but it’s also fantastic!” he says, face shining. “I mean, I finally found the missing piece of the puzzle. I was ignorant and contrary to popular belief, ignorance is not bliss! I always knew
something was wrong with me. My whole life, the paranoia, my screwed-up thoughts, everything—it suddenly all made sense. You can’t imagine the relief I feel at finally knowing what’s been wrong with me!”
“Good for you,” I say genuinely pleased for him. “Can you tell me what happened to cause this epiphany?”
“Yesterday morning, I found this in my mailbox.” Danny opens his jacket and pulls out a standard 4” X 6” white envelope.
“What is it?” I ask.
Danny’s gaze is thoughtful and strangely peaceful. He taps the envelope against his hand. “This brought it all back. It helped me to remember.”
Grinning, he hands me the envelope. “This is the answer to the questions I’ve been asking myself for the past twenty-six years: What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so bat-shit crazy?”
I take the envelope in my hand and study it. There’s no return address. “To: Daniel Berdeaux,” is written on the outside in simple block letters.
I open it, but there’s no letter inside—only a photograph. Curious, and with no sense of approaching disaster, I extract the photo.
Monster! Pervert!
After the briefest glance at the image, I instantly drop it as though I’ve been scalded.
What the hell?
The picture lands face-up on the coffee table, in my direct line of sight. I want to, but I am incapable of looking away. The soul-crushing shock that sweeps over me cannot possibly be described.
I feel sick.
Danny has been sent a photo of himself as a child, half-dressed in his Boy Scout uniform. There’s a man with him in the photo who is doing terrible things to him. It’s a horrific, monstrous image.
I can’t see the perpetrator’s face, but he’s instantly and intimately familiar to me.
The man in the picture is my father.
The blood drains from my face. I’m burning hot, yet I break into a cold sweat. I didn’t know about Danny and my father.
Why didn’t I know or even suspect this? I should have known.
My mind returns to a time I spent with André. We were in a tent and he was drawing a bullseye to represent my life.
“Here, I think, is the start,” he says, tapping his pencil on the bullseye. “Right now, together we explore only your life. How your childhood affected you, how it colored the emotions, the behavior and attitudes toward yourself and others. We focus on you and consider in what manner we can bring you back to yourself. Back to the true man you are inside—to who you were meant to be.”
