Chapter 30
THIRTY
LUCAS
“Earth to Lucas,” Tyler says, snapping me out of the fog I’ve been swimming in.
I blink up at him as he’s gently painting my nails in soft pink. His expression is amused but curious, like he knows I’ve been miles away.
“You’ve been zoned out for like five minutes,” he says. “What’s got you all swoony? Is it the rich Russian again?”
I sigh quietly, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. I haven’t seen Alex since Saturday morning, right after that night. It’s Wednesday now, and the memory of his touch still lives under my skin like an echo I can’t shake.
He had to leave for an urgent business trip with Anton. And promised he’d be back this Thursday. He texts sometimes—brief messages. But he calls me every night, right when I’m tucked under the sheets. His voice in my ear is the only thing that calms me lately.
That morning, before he left, he handed me his Amex card, as if it were no big deal. I remember staring at him, a look of confusion on my face.
“Just use it while I’m gone,” he’d said with a shrug. I still haven’t used it yet.
That same night, while Tyler and I were watching a movie, a CashApp alert lit up my phone—$5,000 from Alex. I stared at it, then texted him instantly.
Lucas: What is the money
For this time?
Alex: The usual weekly
Payment.
Lucas: We barely had
Lessons this week.
He replied with a GIF of a stubborn little kid with his arms crossed.
Now, back in the present, Tyler waves a hand in front of my face.
“Seriously, Lucas. You’re glowing.” He says with a smirk. “Like, post-spiritual-awakening glowing. What’s going on in that curly little head of yours?”
I exhale, then sign with my free hand:
“A lot.”
He watches me, the teasing slipping into something softer.
He finishes painting the last nail, then blows on it gently like he’s sealing magic into it. The soft pink shines under the light—calming, sweet, and delicate. I glance down at my hands, then back up at him, my thoughts still tangled in the memory of Alex.
I hesitate, then sign slowly:
“How was your first time?”
“First time what?” He asks with a raised brow. “ Kissing? Blowjob? Bottoming? Topping? Using glitter body gel in public? You gotta be specific, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes and sign, “You don’t even top.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he groans dramatically, “Say it louder for the people in the back, why don’t you?”
Despite the sarcasm, there’s a playful glint in his eye. I smile and watch as he starts cleaning up the polish bottles.
“You know how my first time went anyway,” he says after a beat. “Ninth grade. That house party. That stupid jock.”
I bit my lip, giving him a nod.
“You didn’t like it.” I sign.
Tyler runs a hand through his hair and exhales.
“Of course I didn’t. It was awful. Painful. The guy had no clue what he was doing, just… shoved in like it was some game.”
“I’m sorry,” I sign, hesitantly feeling guilty.
I knew he hated it; he told me after we came back from the house party that very night years ago, there had been tears in his eyes that he was trying not to let out. He thought doing it with a senior wouldn’t hurt and would be perfect.
“You don’t have to apologize, Lucas.” He says with a soft smile. “I wanted it. I said yes. I was just… stupid about who I gave it to. That’s on me.”
I study him, my chest tightening.
“But it got better, right?” I sign. “I mean… is it good now? For you?”
He shrugs, eyes drifting to the nail polish bottles, avoiding mine.
“It’s… okay.”
Okay?
That surprises me. Everything Alex did to me, every touch, every whisper, every maddeningly slow stroke of his fingers—was not just okay. It was surreal. It was terrifying and beautiful and made me feel like I was unraveling and being put back together at the same time.
“Just okay?” I sign, blinking.
He sighs and leans back in his chair,
“Yeah. I mean… I like being a bottom. I do. I enjoy it.” He pauses, eyes flicking up to mine. And for a second, all the playfulness drains from his face, leaving something raw behind.
“But I’ve never felt loved doing it.”
I watch him quietly, the air between us thickening with something unsaid.
“Most guys I’ve been with…” he shrugs, fingers twisting in his lap, “they’re sweet at first. They say the right things, touch you like you matter—for a night, maybe two. But after that, it’s like… I was never really there. Just a stand-in for whatever fantasy they were chasing.”
He lets out a soft, hollow laugh.
“And I thought I was okay with that. I thought that if I kept it light and fun, it wouldn’t get to me. But it does. It gets heavy after a while. Like I’m giving pieces of myself away to people who never even looked at me.”
A lump forms in my throat, but I say nothing. I just listen. It feels like he needs me to.
“And it doesn’t help that dating as a gay feminine guy is…
” he huffs, then looks away, jaw tight. “It’s brutal, Lucas.
We are treated like the bottom of the barrel.
Not just by masc guys, but by other feminine gay guys too.
Like… we’re not desirable unless we’re pretending to be something we’re not. ”
His voice quiets. There’s something painful in it now, something close to shame.
“I’ll be honest. I don’t want to date another feminine guy.
I’m not attracted to them. And I know that’s hypocritical, but it’s the truth.
I want someone masculine. Someone who’ll take care of me and still see me as beautiful in the way I am, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming or shaming masculine gay men for typically preferring other masculine guys, but fuck, being a feminine gay and seen as the most unattractive to gay men sucks. ”
He lifts his eyes to me again, and they shine—not with tears, exactly, but something heavier.
“Most of the men who are into me are straight or closeted,” he says.
“They’ll hook up with me behind closed doors, hide me from their friends, then ghost me the moment it starts to feel real.
And I can’t even blame them, not really.
And the men that are into me have a fetish for feminine men like us. ”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“It hurts. Every time. Because all I want is… to be loved. Out loud. By someone who’s not ashamed to hold my hand in daylight. Someone who sees me, all of me, and stays.”
My chest aches. I reach for his hand again, squeezing it gently.
“You’ll find someone,” I sign. “Someone who sees you the way you deserve to be seen.”
He snorts gently. “Says the boy who’s been glowing like Rapunzel ever since his rich sugar daddy swept him off his feet.”
I glare at him and sign. “Stop calling him that.”
“So…” he says, waving me off, “you enjoyed getting fingered in the ass, huh?”
I feel the heat flood my face and ears before I can stop it.
I nod, cheeks flushing deeper as I sign,
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
His eyes widen a little with a grin tugging at his mouth, but it’s not mocking—just warm. A little awed, he leans back and lets out a low chuckle.
“And now you’re thinking of letting him have sex with you? You’re ready?” he asks. “Like… really?”
I nod, but not immediately. It takes me a second. The kind of second where your chest tightens a little, but your heart still says yes.
“I think I am,” I sign. Then, after a pause, “But I’m scared too.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I think he can feel the shift in me, that mix of nerves and anticipation trembling beneath the surface of my skin.
“Alright,” he says with an exhale, sitting up straighter. “I guess it’s time for The Talk.”
I blink at him, confused.
“The talk?” I sign.
He gives me a playful look.
“Yep. The first-time bottoming talk. The ‘how not to die of embarrassment or pain’ talk. The ‘Tyler cares about you too much to let you not go in blind’ talk.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Still, my chest tightens with something warm and grateful. He notices. He always does.
“I wish someone had this talk with me before my first time,” Tyler says softly. “So I’m going to tell you everything I wish I’d known… and everything I know now. No sugarcoating. No porn-filter. Just the truth, okay?”
I nod, my fingers curled loosely in my lap.
“First of all,” he says, voice gentler now, “bottoming is vulnerable. It’s not just sex—it’s trust. Real trust. With your body, your safety, your comfort. That has to come first. Always.”
I nod again, slower this time, my heart thudding a little harder. He’s right, I know he is.
He leans forward, resting his elbow on his knee.
“You already know this is important, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Staying clean down there means you’ll have to douche. It’s not glamorous or sexy, but it matters.”
I feel my cheeks warm as I glance at him, and he grins, playful again for a moment.
“Luckily for you, I’ve been making you take fiber supplements with me for months now,” he adds, smirking. “So you’re ahead of the game, baby boy.”
That makes me laugh a little, and I give him a grateful look. He shrugs like it’s nothing, but I can tell he’s glad I’m relaxing a bit.
“Douching isn’t fun,” he continues, more serious now. “It takes patience. Use warm water, never soap, and take your time. Don’t force it. Everyone’s body reacts differently, so learn yours. And don’t beat yourself up if it’s not perfect every time.”
I nod, filing every word away like it’s sacred scripture. My nerves are still buzzing, but Tyler’s calm makes them easier to hold.
“Next up: lube,” he says, raising his eyebrows like it’s the holy grail. “Your new best friend. Use more than you think you need. Water-based is fine, but silicone-based is better if you’re going longer or things get intense. Condoms are important too.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.
“condoms…” I sign almost shyly, “Does he have to use them?”
He looks at me and then gives me a teasing smirk.
“You don’t want him to use them, huh?”
I lick my lips and nod, my face heating.
“I know you trust him. But let me ask you something—do you know if Alex is on PrEP?”