Ethan
Ethan
Demisexual.
I struggle to think, to speak, to engage, to feel, to do…anything while we finish our coffee on the deck, and I think Blue understands. Once I’ve fallen silent, too lost in my own head trying to sort through the idea that I might not actually be broken to respond to conversation, he downs his coffee quickly before leaning across the table to press a feather-light kiss to the top of my head. That’s not something I’m capable of processing in this moment. No one has offered me such a tender gesture in so long that my chest aches with the sweetness of it.
“Seems like you might need a minute, so I’m going to go shower, okay?”
I nod, silently fighting tears as I watch him disappear back into the darkness of our hotel room.
As soon as I hear the water start, I rush inside to grab my phone, curling up on the bed with my knees tucked into my chin as I lean back against the headboard to search.
I search and search and search, grateful that Blue seems to be taking his time in the shower.
Ace, greysexual, demisexual, demiromantic.
How have I never known these identities exist? I mean, okay, it’s not like I spend a lot of time googling sexual identities. It’s not like I even spend enough time watching porn that I may have accidentally stumbled onto a video titled “Demisexual man decides to sexually experiment with his long-time friend.” Until today that is because, somehow, that’s something I find before I realize that I should probably stick to articles rather than video clips for this search.
I've spent my entire adult life dating man after man, trying to force myself to feel sparks that have never appeared. Suffering through bad conversations and, even worse, through awkward and painful and just plain awful sex while completely avoiding any other personal relationships or connections. I've steered clear of friendships while desperately looking for love, only to find out at thirty-two years old that maybe I can only fall in love with friends. It’s a real thing. Maybe I’m not defective after all. I’ve just spent the past fourteen years unintentionally avoiding the one thing that could have allowed me to find the type of love I've always craved so desperately.
Demisexual. Demiromantic. Everything I read seems to fit so perfectly. It makes sense in a life-changing, world-altering way. I want sex. I always enjoy my body on my own, and I’d give almost anything to enjoy it the same way with someone else. I want romance too, and I’ve spent countless hours lost in romance novels imagining that I might one day magically feel the things described on those pages. But I’ve never been instantly drawn to anyone the way other people seem to be, and every time I’ve given in and gone on dates and spent the night with someone, it’s just been…wrong. What I felt for Jordyn was different, but he was my best friend for years before I woke up one morning and realized that what I felt for him had changed somehow. What does that mean for my future? Do I stop dating and start trying to make friends in the hope that one day I’ll miraculously fall in love with one of them the way I fell for Jordyn? How is that going to happen if I continue to travel around for work? Does that mean that the strange, soft, comfortable haze that seemed to surround Blue and me last night was something more? Could the stolen moments I find myself thinking about his tattoos and his piercings and the way he looks when he laughs mean that I’m enjoying his company more than I would that of a friend? I haven’t had a friend in so long that I don’t really remember how that feels. What about Gabriel? He’s my friend too. Maybe I should start considering him a potential romantic partner?
I’m so immersed in thought, so caught up in the amazing and terrifying concept that perhaps I’m not broken and that one day I really might be able to fall in love again that I don’t hear the shower turn off or the bathroom door open. I don’t notice Blue has entered the room until the bed dips and his hand comes to rest lightly on my knee.
“You okay?” His voice is soft and concerned, his touch light and gentle.
“Ya, I’m…” I lose my train of thought when I glance up to see blue-grey eyes peering into my soul. He’s close enough for me to feel the residual heat from the shower rolling off his skin, and he’s naked save for the towel slung around his waist. One knee is bent and resting on the bed, and I can’t help but notice that his tattoos cover his legs as well.
“Your legs have tattoos too.”
His laugh is so loud that it startles me, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s because I’ve said that out loud.
“Oh god. I’m sorry.” I can feel yet another embarrassing flush spread along my neck and up my cheeks. One day I’m going to manage to make it through an interaction with him without blushing. “I really didn’t mean to say that out loud. I guess it surprised me. I’m not sure why. And just because something is surprising doesn’t mean that you should say something about it out loud. I just…”
When I slap my hand across my mouth and drop my head toward my chest to stop my rambling, strong fingers squeeze my knee a bit harder until I look back up to find him smiling kindly.
“It’s been a big morning for you, I think.” There is laughter in his words, but it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at me.
I nod without removing my hand from my mouth.
“Why don’t you go shower? Take your time, and then we’ll go find some breakfast, huh?”
I nod once more and slide off the bed quickly. Once I’m out of his line of sight, maybe he’ll magically forget what a mess I am.
“And, Ethan…”
I glance back warily as his voice trails off.
“You can comment on my tattoos anytime you want.” It almost sounds like he’s teasing me, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was practically flirting.
He punctuates the sentence with a wink, and I spin away, rushing toward the bathroom with the sound of his gentle laughter rumbling behind me.
It doesn’t take long for the hot spray to calm me down, and after a few minutes, I find that the urge to disappear alone into a dark closet and sink deeper into an internet research rabbit hole is overpowered by my excitement to spend another day with Blue. He’s the best friend I’ve had since Jordyn, and not only has he tried to help me figure myself out this morning, he’s done it in a way that feels caring and supportive and lighthearted rather than critical or judgmental. I’m grateful that we met, that for whatever reason fate saw fit, I stumbled into his life and he decided to offer me his friendship. It’s the first time in so very long that I feel happy and alive and something other than lonely, and I know that I want to keep him in my life for as long as he’ll let me.
When I step out of the bathroom, Blue is dressed in tight jeans, combat boots, and a simple black T-shirt. He’s clutching a thick Henley in one hand as he gathers up his wallet and phone with the other. The tie-dyed tapestry is tied around his neck like a cape.
“What in the world is happening here?” I’m wildly unsuccessful at repressing my snort laugh.
“What if it gets cold again?” He grins.
“Then we buy jackets.”
He shakes his head, his face morphing into one of the most serious expressions I’ve ever seen him wear. “No way. This is the best cape I’ve ever had.”
“Umm, how many capes have you ha…”
The hand holding the Henley comes up to his chest as if he’s clutching at pearls or having a heart attack. “You can’t just ask something like that, Ethan, my god! That’s like asking someone’s age or whether they dye their roots.”
My cheeks almost hurt from trying to repress my smile as we continue to pretend this is a serious conversation. “You’re right, of course. I would never ask you if your hair color is natural or from a box, so I certainly shouldn’t ask about your cape collection.”
He nods once, his face still incredibly serious. “I should think not.”
A tingling sense of warmth settles in my belly as I shake my head, grab a light sweater out of my suitcase by the foot of the bed, and follow Blue toward the door. If I bump my shoulder playfully against his as we walk toward the stairwell, well, that’s just me having fun with my friend.