by J. D. Walker
Gregory actually snorted. “Oh my God. No way you said that to some guy. Where? At a bar?”
“Yeah. A lot of men like to be complimented, so I do. It always works.”
“Unbelievable…okay, tell me another one.”
“All right…Umm, okay. ‘Last night I dreamed of a stud in my bed. He looked just like you, baby. Pretty, hot and tempting.’“
This time, Gregory dropped his paintbrush and rolled around on the floor, cackling with abandon like one of his daycare kids. “Shit, that’s soooo bad,” he wheezed between guffaws.
It was the first time I’d heard him swear. His mouth sounded good spouting dirty talk. “Honey, when men are drunk, anything sounds good. All you have to do is know when to strike. A lot of guys are lonely. They want attention, flattery and to lose themselves in someone for a little while. I know this, and I may have taken advantage of that knowledge from time to time.”
Gregory stood and grabbed a half-empty bottle of water that sat beside his paint cans. He perched next to me and said, “I can bet just how many men ended up in your bed because of that.”
“It would be ungentlemanly of me to say. Unless you really want to know. I kept count.” I waggled my eyebrows and he laughed.
“Stop it.”
“Okay, I’ll behave. For now.” I finished my pineapple and asked, “This may be none of my business, but do you plan to pursue painting again, outside of the daycare? I mean, your talent is amazing.”
“Thanks for that. I don’t know. It’s linked to something ugly, and so for a long time, this was the only way to make it beautiful again for me. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to move beyond this. A few of my professors were distraught when I left without finishing my degree. A couple of them still keep in touch, hoping to lure me back with offers of possible scholarships.”
I said nothing, hoping Gregory would talk more. He sat in silence next to me, picking at the label on the bottle while the smell of paint, tea, and pineapple wafted around us. And then, his stomach growled.
I laughed. “Okay, how hungry are you? Would diner food do, or do you have stuff in the kitchen?”
He blushed, charming me. “I have leftover rice pilaf in a container in the refrigerator. Would you mind popping it in the microwave? There’s enough for both of us, if you’re interested.”
“Sure.”
I went to do as he asked, thinking the whole time that it actually felt good to be with a guy and just get to know him—no sex, no agendas—just us. I could definitely get used to this.
* * * *
We spent the rest of Sunday afternoon talking about our childhoods. He told me about the arts and crafts competitions he’d entered and won, about when he learned he was gay, how supportive his parents were.
“I wanted to hold out for the right guy, not give it up just because I was sixteen and horny,” he said.
“I should start calling you Saint Gregory,” I teased.
“Do that and I will end you,” he replied as he finished the house in which the purple bird lived within the mural.
“I’d like to see you try.”
He looked at me and shook his head. “I bet you would.”
A little after that, Gregory stopped working for the day. He started to put everything away, and I helped where I could.
“It’s getting crowded in town again,” he said as we finished up.
“It’s spring. Tory is busy at the motel. It’s going to be hell getting through the streets. I’ll probably ride my bicycle since it’ll likely be quicker.”
“I have one, too, but I need to fix the brakes and get a new chain. I don’t have the expertise, though.”
“I do. Bring it over to my house sometime and I’ll work on it for you. We can go for long bike rides together now that it’s warmer.”
Gregory stared at me from where he now stood washing out his brushes over a large, paint-spattered tub. “You would do that?”
“Hell, yeah. I’m a nice guy.”
“Maybe you are, at that. I like this version of you. Makes me feel…warm inside.” His cheeks turned red and he looked at the brushes he was cleaning, suddenly intent.
“Wait, was that a compliment?” I asked, trying to catch his eye.
“No.”
“But it was.” I was delighted. “No way can you take it back now.”
“Enough already.”
Before I could tease him further, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and read the screen. “My mother is bugging me to call her.” I sent her a quick text that I would phone her later. “You’d think that calling her three times a week would be enough, but no. She wants more.”
Gregory appeared wistful. “She sounds like my mom.”
I clapped my hands. “Excellent! Then our parents will get along just fine.”
“Hey! How did we get from hanging out with paints and pineapple to meeting the parents?” The panic on his face needed to go away.
“Shhh. I’m teasing. It may or may not happen. Nothing’s set in stone, and everything is going at your pace, got it? No pressure, no time frame. No expectations, though it pains me to say that. You prefer honesty, after all. Yeah?” I longed to reach out and touch his face, kiss his lips and hug him to me, but he looked like a skittish, hurt colt and I refused to cause him anymore pain than what he seemed to already live with daily.
Gregory squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “You think I’m a basket case, don’t you? This is why I shut people out. Because the moment they find out how neurotic I am, they run far, far away.”
I shook my head. “Not running.”
And I meant it.
* * * *
Gregory lived in his parents’ former house about a half mile from the center. He told me he liked to walk back and forth. I offered to drive him home and he accepted.
“Your parents left you this house?” I asked as he led me inside a spacious two-story dwelling.
“Yes. They wanted to move to Florida, of all places. I’m their only child.”
“I’m an only child, too. My mother is constantly calling me, as you already know, and my dad is only marginally better. He badgers me by email.”
Gregory led me to the back of the house where he had chairs and a table set up on the porch facing the ocean.
“This is gorgeous,” I exclaimed as I took in the setting sun and the gentle motion of the water along the shoreline.
“Isn’t it?” he replied. He left briefly to get me a glass of water. “Sit here and enjoy the view while I make us some dinner. Bathroom’s to the left when you re-enter the house.”
“But I can help,” I protested.
“I know that. I want to do this for you. You’re the first man I’ve had here…and I want it to be special.”
Sweet, sweet man. “If you insist.”
He gave me a small smile. “Thank you.”
I sat at the table, letting the gentle evening breeze soothe me while I waited. I’d certainly hoped to get this far with Gregory, but for it to actually happen was a little scary. Here was a man who admitted freely that he had issues with relationships, and I was someone who had never done relationships before. It would be a first for both of us.
Soon enough, Gregory brought a tablecloth, which he asked me to spread out. Then came a big pot of chili, along with warm bread, bowls, and a salad. I helped him set things up, then he turned on the porchlight after bringing out a pitcher of virgin margarita mix.
“This looks delicious, Gregory. Thank you.”
His cheeks pinkened in the evening light. “You’re welcome.”
We spent the next hour or so enjoying the meal, talking little and just enjoying each other’s company. It reminded me of watching Tory and his boyfriend together, like we were a couple.
I helped him clear away the remnants much later, and load the dishwasher. Afterward, we sat next to each other in rocking chairs that he said had belonged to his parents.
“I love this chair,” I said. It was c
omfortable, solid, and well-made.
“Me, too. My dad made them the year he and Mom got married. He loved the idea of sitting next to her in the evenings and gazing out at the view. Me, too.”
“I love that he did that,” I said, the pitcher of margarita mix sitting between us on a small table.
“You have a romantic streak, don’t you,” Gregory said, looking at me with a half-smile.
“Shhh. It’s our secret.”
“Why start now? You’ve been practically stalking me since we met, and everyone knows it. There are no secrets in this town.” Except what happened to you in college.
I cringed. “Yes, I’m fully aware of how I’ve acted, and I’m sorry for being so obvious.”
“I’ll just assume you couldn’t help yourself. How’s that?”
“Agreed.”
Gregory cleared his throat and set down his glass. “I need to tell you a story. It’s not pretty, and I still have nightmares about it. I hope it will help you understand why I am like…this.”
That he had decided to gift me with something so intimate after such a short time floored me. “I appreciate your trust.”
He took a deep breath and declared, “I was raped the summer before my junior year in college.”
* * * *
Gregory’s quiet admission left me speechless. When I remained silent, he continued. “I’d been awarded an internship at a local museum that summer, and I was so excited. I was the youngest intern ever and I was proud of that accomplishment. I was also naïve and very susceptible, turns out. I see that now, but a young adult of barely twenty years old…what do we know at that age?”
He shifted in his chair. “One of the museum’s extremely wealthy patrons had a son. He was a bit like you, self-confident, aware of how good-looking he was, and so charming. He threw money around like water and was a flatterer. I was impressionable. Remember how I told you that I had been saving myself for the perfect guy?”
I nodded.
“Well, I thought, ‘This is it.’ He swept me off my feet and I fell for him. All he had to do was crook his finger and I’d come running.”
Gregory breathed in and out a few times before he continued with the story. “One night, I asked him back to my off-campus apartment. Up to this point, we’d been to clubs, movies, made out a little. This particular evening, he was drunk. You know how they say that alcohol affects people differently? That you can become a totally different personality under the influence? Well, he was one of those, and I paid the price.
“He and I fought, then he knocked me on the head with something hard. While I bled on the floor and my head was pounding, he raped me and left me lying there, bruised and bloody. I screamed the whole time, but no one turned up at my door until after he’d left. By that time, I was too weak and battered to care.
“I ended up in the hospital. One of my professors contacted my parents and they came as quickly as they could. I reluctantly told them what had happened, but we never got far with the charges. The son denied everything and said I was just a pathetic, sycophantic mess who craved attention and was after his money. People remembered us going home together, but nothing more. Needless to say, we got screwed.
“My parents brought me home after I healed enough to be moved. I stayed in my room for months, shutting everyone out and the world in general. The trauma of everything that had happened ran over and over in my head on a loop. And then one day, friends of my parents had their grandkids over, and I played with the toddlers for a while. It was the first time that I’d felt…joy or peace since the incident. Mom and Dad saw that tiny spark and worked to help me heal through caring for little kids.” Gregory spread his hands. “And now, here we are.”
My only comment was, “Goddamn.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you…spoken to anyone other than your parents about this?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t face therapy back then, and it was a long time before I wasn’t skittish when people wanted to touch me, no matter how innocuous. No issues with children, though. Perhaps their innocence soothes me.”
I wanted to reach out and take his hand in mine. Would he let me, I wondered? How does someone come back from an experience like Gregory went through? No wonder he didn’t let people close to him.
“You think I’m pitiful now, don’t you?” he said, a deep breath expanding his chest before he dropped his head against the chair. “I mean, why would you want to date someone who’s as messed up as I am?”
I thought carefully before I said, “Truth is, as new as dating might feel to you, it’s the same for me. I’ve never met anyone like you, someone who came back from the edge and made himself new in order to survive. You’re strong, Gregory, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. I feel like I have nothing to offer, as superficial as I am, most days.”
He sat up quickly and surprised me by grabbing my hand. “Don’t say that, please. As stalker-ish as you have been, you’re the only person in town who hasn’t approached me with kid gloves, aside from my parents when they’re here, or the kids. I must admit, I like that.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Let me prove it to you.” And he leaned forward just enough to touch his lips to mine.
* * * *
Naturally I did something stupid to ruin the ultimate Kodak moment. I flinched and backed away in shock, and Gregory’s face fell. Before he could move away, I stopped him by gently caressing his chin.
“Wait, slow down. It’s okay. You just…surprised me, is all. I didn’t expect a kiss from you.”
He struggled against my hold and I let him go. “I feel like a fool.”
“Furthest thing from it.” I got out of the rocking chair and knelt down in front of him. “Truth, okay?”
He nodded.
“Are you attracted to me?”
Gregory closed his eyes and murmured, “Yes.”
“I’m attracted to you, too, but you know that already, right?”
A tiny smile. Good.
“Do you want to have sex with me?”
He swallowed, eyes huge with fear and, yes, lust. “I-I want to, but I haven’t…touched myself there in years.”
“There, as in anal penetration?” I asked, just to be sure.
“Yes.”
“We don’t have to do that, if you don’t want to. I like being fucked.” When he scoffed, I shot back, “Hey, it’s true. I enjoy everything the body has to offer. ‘Hedonist’ is my middle name.” I reached out to tenderly tuck some of his hair behind an ear. He let me. I counted that as a small win.
“Okay, sweetheart. How about we start with something small? Why don’t you lead me into the house and make out with me on the couch.
Gregory cracked a smile. “Like teenagers?”
I grinned. “Absolutely.”
He rolled his eyes but I could tell he liked the idea.
I stood, my knees popping as I straightened, then pulled him out of the chair. “This is at your pace, okay? Anything freaks you out, anytime you want to stop, just say the word.”
He took a deep breath. “You realize that the asshole who raped me was my first and only, right?”
Anger surged through me. “If I ever meet that man, he’ll be mincemeat, I promise you.”
Gregory chuckled. “Simmer down, small-town hero.”
I groaned as he led me inside the house and toward the couch. “No, not you, too. I thought the moniker had faded away.”
“Not if I can help it. Don’t be surprised if we name a day after you in this town.”
I was horrified. “You’re joking.”
He winked as he arranged himself on my lap and we made ourselves comfortable against the cushions. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I blinked. “Who are you and what have you done with Saint Gregory?”
He slapped me lightly on the chest. “Hey! I told you what I’d do if you called me that.”
“Show me, then, Saint Gregory. Make me beg for mercy,” I sa
id as I grabbed his ass and ground against him so he could feel my boner.
His body stiffened slightly, and I stopped.
“Is this making you uncomfortable? We can do something else, if you prefer.”
Gregory paused a moment, as if to take stock of how he really felt about the situation. “This is a position I remember from before. I’m just reminding myself that it’s different now. That you’re different. You’re not an asshole. Well”—he grinned—”you have your moments, but I can live with your version of being a dick.”
“I suppose I should be flattered?” I asked, gently rubbing my hands up and down his back over the thin T-shirt.
He laughed. “Coming from me, that’s a compliment.”
“Well then, thank you.” I tenderly cupped his face in my hands. “I want to kiss you, Gregory. May I?”
He nodded as much as I’d let him. I moved in slowly, watching his brown eyes dilate as I tentatively licked his lips with my tongue. His gasp tasted sweet, and I wanted more. I did it over and over until his eyes closed and he slanted his head a little to open to me.
And then I learned what true pleasure could be, with the right partner.
* * * *
Gregory lifted his hands from where they had been gripping my shirt and held my face in a vicelike grip. He wanted all of my mouth and he took it, stormed the battlements, and conquered the castle. I felt weak and strong at the same time.
He gave me everything and our tongues mated second after second, the mating messy, saliva running down our chins as my cock turned into thick, hard steel. I could feel the same thing happening to Gregory. It was heady.
Gregory briefly broke contact to catch his breath, his hair all over the place. He was breathing heavily and the lust in his eyes likely matched mine.
“You,” he said. “I want you. I want to make you mine.” And then he grabbed my hair in one fist as he sucked my Adam’s apple, hard enough for my cock to throb, so close was I to coming. God, this was what he’d been holding back? I’d died and gone to heaven.
I fumbled with his zipper in order to touch him, but Gregory stayed my hand. “I want to stay hard so you can suck me after this. But right now, I want to see you lose it. Can you do that? For me?”
