Chapter 11
11
MARNIN
T he receptionist—a middle-aged woman with spectacles slipping down her nose—glanced up from her computer screen and gave us a practiced smile.
“Last name?”
“Rosser. Marnin Rosser,” I replied, my voice betraying none of the apprehension that gnawed at my gut.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Rosser. You’re a little early. Please take a seat, and Dr. Stein will be with you shortly.” Her fingers danced across the keys as she checked us in, efficient as the click-clack of a metronome.
“Thanks,” I muttered and turned toward the waiting area. I chose two chairs by the window, which were wet and foggy from the drizzle. Ennio followed suit, perching on the edge of the chair next to mine, legs crossed at the ankles.
Dressed in bright red pants and a tight-fitting orange, yellow, and red silk shirt, he looked like a colorful bird amid the beige walls and nondescript furniture—a touch of vibrancy in an otherwise dull space. His sparkly red nail polish fit his outfit, and as usual, he was wearing subtle eyeliner. He was so gorgeous, like the prettiest bird you’d ever seen.
I hadn’t spent a lot of time in medical practices and hospitals, but I had noticed they always tried to soothe you with their decorating choices. As if various shades of boring would prevent you from worrying about possibly having prostate cancer. Though the art—detailed photographs of orcas—was a nice touch.
I was still nervous as fuck and struggled to keep my leg still. It kept bouncing, my foot tapping on the floor. Ennio simply took my hand and laced our fingers together. Funny how a little gesture like that could mean so much. He didn’t even need to say anything. Knowing he was there was enough to keep that ice-cold fear from invading me.
“Marnin Rosser?” The nurse’s voice sliced through the hum of the waiting room. I stood, my legs feeling like they might buckle beneath me. Ennio let go of my hand, and I missed his warmth immediately. He stayed seated.
“Come with me,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t know why, but I needed him there. The thought of facing this alone was terrifying. “Please.”
“Okay.”
Relief filled me as he followed me.
“Right in here.” The nurse motioned us into an examination room that smelled of antiseptic and faintly, oddly, of mint. “Can you step on the scale first?”
I was the same weight as six months prior at my yearly physical, which was a small comfort as I hoisted myself onto the crinkling paper of the examination table. Her gaze flickered between Ennio and me, a hint of assumption knitting her brows together. “You can sit there,” she told Ennio, who nodded and sat in a chair next to the exam table.
“I’m going to take some vitals and draw some blood, and then Dr. Stein will be in to do the examination, okay?”
She was efficient as she took my blood pressure and pulse, putting all the data in my digital file. Drawing blood was always easy with me, my veins presenting themselves with clarity under my skin, and she took six vials without an issue. “Okay, perfect. Please undress completely and put on this gown. Dr. Stein will be with you shortly.”
It took a few minutes, which Ennio and I passed in a heavy silence once I’d changed. He seemed to sense I couldn’t handle conversation now. Part of me wanted the distraction, but my brain refused to focus on anything else.
Then Stein entered, and after a greeting, he sat behind a laptop, his eyes scanning the information before he looked up at me. “So, Marnin, I see your primary physician referred you to me after a positive PSA test. What led you to ask for a test?”
I took a deep breath. “I’ve been having erectile issues recently and wanted to have them checked out.”
“I see. How frequently has this happened?”
I clenched my jaw, willing the heat not to crawl up my neck. Discussing my sex life—or the recent lack thereof—wasn’t high on my list of enjoyable pastimes. But the clinical detachment in the doctor’s tone helped me find my own objective stance. “At least five times now, and it’s not a problem I’ve had before.”
“Any particular situations where this occurs, or is it random?”
“Random. Sometimes, everything works fine. Other times, it’s like trying to start a car with no gas.”
“How often do you have sex, on average?”
“Before this started, at least three times a week, with various partners. I’m pansexual and have always had a high sex drive, so I sleep with all genders.”
I refused to feel embarrassed about that, but thankfully, the doctor didn’t even blink an eye. He merely tapped on his keyboard. “Do you have anal sex?”
“Yes.”
“Frequently?”
“Yes.”
“Do you usually top or bottom?”
At least he knew the terminology. “I’m vers, but I top more often. About a three-to-one ratio, I’d say.”
“And your erectile issues have happened with both?”
“It never even got that far. I bowed out beforehand.”
“Any recent injuries or surgeries in the groin area?”
“None.” My voice sounded foreign, detached, as if floating from someone else across the room.
He continued with a battery of questions about urinating, whether I had blood in my urine or stool, and all kinds of stuff that wasn’t suitable dinner conversation. I battled my way through it. If I wanted a correct diagnosis, he needed the facts. Embarrassment had no place here, and strangely enough, Ennio’s presence didn’t bother me at all. The intense relief over not being alone was too strong for that.
“Alright, I’m going to conduct a physical examination now. This will include checking your testes and prostate. It may be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly toward Ennio before returning to me. “You can ask your partner to leave if you wish.”
Partner? Oh, of course. He assumed Ennio was my partner. I didn’t have the energy to correct him. “I’m fine with him staying.”
“Ready?” the doctor asked, looking up at me.
“Let’s get this over with,” I replied, bracing myself. I focused on the sterile smell, a scent as impersonal as the room’s beige walls.
The doctor’s touch was professional, but it couldn’t erase the vulnerability clawing up my throat. My analytical mind wanted to dissect each movement, to predict and control, but I forced it into silence, instead studying the medical posters adorning the walls, anything to distract from the intimate invasion of my space.
“Take a deep breath,” the urologist instructed.
I complied, inhaling deeply, feeling Ennio’s silent support beside me like an anchor in this storm of discomfort. When the doctor’s fingers pressed in areas too personal, I exhaled through clenched teeth, my facade of composure cracking ever so slightly.
“Good,” Stein murmured. “Now, I’m going to conduct the digital rectal exam. You may feel pressure.”
The pressure came, firm and unrelenting, a necessary evil in the quest for answers. I fixated on a stain in the ceiling tile, tracing its lines with my eyes, anything to ground me to reality.
“Almost done,” the urologist reassured, his voice distant to my ears over the rush of blood and the loud hammering of my heart.
“Fantastic,” I managed, sarcasm laced with relief.
When the examination finally ended, I sat up swiftly, eager to diminish the lingering sensation of exposure. “That wasn’t on my list of top-ten experiences,” I quipped, attempting to chase away the gravity of the moment with humor.
“Very few patients would put it on theirs.” Stein discarded his gloves with a snap.
“Can’t imagine why.” Thank fuck that was done, though the hardest part was still to come.
“Let’s talk about your results. The good news is I haven’t found anything concerning from a physical standpoint.”
The breath I’d been holding escaped in a silent whoosh.
“I’m sure your primary physician explained the frequent occurrence of false positive PSA tests to you.”
“He did.”
“We’ll run another one, plus some more blood tests to rule out other possible causes. Barring any positives there, I think we’re dealing with a psychological cause.”
The word landed like a lead weight in my stomach. “Psychological?” I echoed, the word tasting like disappointment and skepticism on my tongue. The relief that had begun to unfurl within me twisted into a knot of frustration. I yearned for something tangible, an explicit problem to fix, not the ambiguity of the mind.
“Stress, anxiety—these can significantly affect sexual function.” Stein offered an empathic look, and he made it seem genuine. “And from what I understand, you have a high-stress job and place considerable pressure on yourself to perform well in every area of your life, including sexually. My theory is that the first time was an abnormality caused by something as simple as sleep deprivation or your body not feeling well, and after that, your need to perform caused you to focus on it, thus reinforcing and repeating the problem. But that’s just an educated guess.”
Fuck me sideways.
Ennio reached out and put his hand on my thigh for a moment, a reminder I wasn’t alone in this sterile room filled with hidden fears and half-answers. Did he realize he was like a lifeline to me?
“I would recommend you talk to a sex psychologist or a sex therapist if you prefer that term. We have a few excellent professionals that we work with, all of them queer-friendly and accepting of any lifestyle.”
It was like he’d seen the protest on the tip of my tongue and had countered it before I could even utter the words. Jesus, a sex shrink. How crazy was that? “You really think it’s in my head?”
“I know those aren’t words anyone wants to hear. On the other hand, I’m sure you prefer that over a much more serious diagnosis.”
“Yeah.” He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean I had to like this. “Anything else I can do in the meantime?”
“Based on what you’ve told me about your tendency to explore, my advice is to be mindful of your sexual activities.”
I snorted. “Mindful? Doc, my whole existence is an exercise in not giving a damn.”
“Exactly why I suggest limiting encounters to trusted partners for now.” He met my gaze then, serious and unflinching. “Stress can have a significant impact on performance, and familiarity breeds comfort.”
“Comfort?” I echoed, rolling the word around my mouth like a foreign object, tasting its oddity. “That’s not something I’ve ever associated with sex.”
Ennio caught my eye, his blue irises soft and supportive. If there was anyone who could teach me about comfort, it was him. But we were only friends—surprisingly close, but not that kind of close.
Dr. Stein glanced between Ennio and me, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Having a supportive partner can be beneficial. It’s good to see you’re not going through this alone.”
“Ennio’s the best,” I said, the truth easy despite the false assumption.
“Well, being intimate with someone you trust could help alleviate some of the psychological barriers.”
My heart stuttered, the suggestion knocking the breath from my lungs. I didn’t miss the way Ennio’s cheeks pinked, and on instinct, I reached for his hand, squeezing lightly—a gesture that should’ve been simple but felt somehow loaded.
“Thanks for the advice,” I managed.
“The receptionist will set you up with some recommendations. The results of your bloodwork should be in by Tuesday. If there’s anything abnormal, we’ll talk about further tests, okay?”
“Thank you.”
As Dr. Stein exited the room, I let out a long sigh, my gaze falling to the floor. My moves were slow as I got dressed again, Ennio discreetly looking the other way. He was sweet like that, though I wouldn’t have cared either way.
“Hey,” Ennio said softly when I was done, stepping into my line of sight with a look of earnest concern. “You good?”
“Am I ever anything else?” I replied, meeting his steady gaze with a wry smile. It was a dance we did well—him offering the quiet strength of his presence, me responding with deflections. Guilt gnawed at me for not correcting the urologist when he got it wrong, assuming Ennio was more than a friend. The lie by omission sat heavily on my chest, yet there was a hint of curiosity that spiraled through my thoughts, teasing me with what-ifs I’d never allowed myself to ponder before.
“Sometimes,” he countered, his voice gentle but firm. “Even if you deny it. But you will be. We’ll figure this out.”
“I admire your optimism.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Ennio murmured, his hand still warm in mine.
“Lead the way.” The solidity of his touch grounded me, kept me from spiraling out.
We stopped by the receptionist, who handed us a sheet with names and numbers that I folded and put in my pocket, and then we were out the door.
We were silent as we walked back to the car. When we reached it, my hand shook as I opened the door. “Do you need me to drive?” Ennio asked softly.
I looked at Ennio, really looked at him, noting the crease of concern between his brows. “Sorry, I’m just…” I didn’t even know how to begin articulating the magnitude of emotions bottlenecking within me.
“Talk to me, Mar. I’m here.”
And that was all it took. The dam broke. Tears streaked down my face, surprising me more than they did him. I was never the type to cry. Fuck, I despised vulnerability, saw it as a weakness. But here I was, bawling in public like some melodramatic protagonist in a B-movie, my body racked with sobs I couldn’t stifle.
“I’m here,” he whispered again, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to somewhat calm the storm inside me. But what should’ve been a comfort also unlocked something primal within me—a yearning for connection, for reassurance on a level deeper than mere words could provide.
Gradually, my sobs subsided to sniffles, the tears slowing until they were a cool dampness on my cheeks. I pulled away slightly, enough to see Ennio’s face, his blue eyes full of worry and something akin to pain—empathy, perhaps, or the reflection of my own tumultuous emotions.
“Sorry,” I rasped, voice hoarse from the crying. “I didn’t mean to, you know, fall apart like that. And for not correcting him when he thought you were my partner,” I added, the memory of the urologist’s assumption a fresh twinge of guilt in my chest.
“You don’t have to apologize for having feelings, Marnin. Or for leaning on a friend when things get tough.”
I looked into his eyes, seeing the open honesty in them, the unwavering support.
“I’m not used to this. Falling apart, needing someone.” My voice was a confession, an admission of how deeply his presence affected me.
“Need is human, Marnin. And I’m here because I want to be, not because you’re forcing me. You know that, right?” His voice was soft, filled with a warmth that wrapped around me like one of those thick knitted blankets.
“Right.” A restless energy was building inside me, a need for something more tangible than words and promises. The vulnerability of the day had stripped away layers of my usual defenses, leaving me exposed and raw.
“Ennio…” My voice broke on his name, my request hanging unspoken in the air between us. “I need…? Would you…?” I trailed off, my mouth suddenly dry, my heart pounding a frenetic beat against my ribcage, and my mind reeling with the audacity of the question I was about to ask.
“Anything.”
He had no clue what he was saying or what I was asking.
“Would you…have sex with me?”
The silence stretched, taut and electric, as if the air itself waited for his response. My pulse echoed in my ears, each beat a reminder of the line I’d crossed. I hadn’t meant to say it, not really. But there it was, out in the open, blurring the edges of our friendship into something uncharted and dangerous.
Now, the ball was in his court.