19. Ben
19
Ben
T rey stays with me that night, ultimately spooning up behind me and stroking my belly as we fall asleep. I’m a little sore, but it’s actually sort of… good? He hadn’t been rough – I had been a little worried it would be uncomfortable or I wouldn’t like it once we were in the middle of it, but that had not happened.
I kept picturing Trey’s face as he watched me finish, his beautiful dark eyes dilated and wild, a focused grimace on his face. That face will star in my personal fantasies for a long time.
Trey joins me in my bed the next evening, too, mouths and hands working in tandem to leave us both messy and sated, and again, he sleeps with me.
By the third night, I find myself laying out the lube and some washcloths, looking forward to what we might do this time. Would we jerk each other off again while we shared sloppy, frantic kisses or long, slow ones? Would he let me blow him again? I remember the last time I did that, and I get distracted as I stand next to the bed, the washcloths still in my hand. The taste of him, his girth in my mouth, has my dick stirring as I think of it…
I realize, standing there, that I’ve never wanted anything in my life the way I want Trey. I’ve never needed to touch and taste someone the way I do right now. He’s my addiction, and I don’t think it’s possible to get enough of a fix.
It’s not the first time I’ve thought about how intoxicating I find both his body and the idea of sharing mine with him, but it amazes me each time. With that in mind, I know exactly what I want to do with him tonight. When he gets home from working at the shelter, I greet him in nothing but a robe, kissing him and pulling him toward the bathroom to share a shower. He is surprised at first, but it quickly morphs into delight, and the way he touches me tells me that this, too, will happen again.
***
Trey and I haven’t gone out together much. We walk the dogs together once in a while. He works a lot, and most of our time together has been spent at home – first in the living room, and now that our relationship has progressed – in the bedroom. We go on a few more hikes, his shirt coming off only a few miles into it with a smile as he shows off, and I try not to stumble off the trail while three-quarters of my blood volume is far below my brain.
Today, though, we both have an afternoon off, and we decide to make it into an event.
We plan lunch first, and Trey takes me to a little place in a strip mall that I’ve never heard of. Dar Marrakech looks dated, and the sign’s deep, burnt-orange lettering is peeling a little, but when we step inside, the scents of meat, spices, and fresh bread hit me, and my mouth immediately begins to water.
We order several dishes both because Trey clearly wants them all when we are reading the menu and because I haven’t tried most of the things they have on offer.
We share the food and try some of each, with the chicken lula quickly soaring to the top of my list. “Oh my god, this place is so good,” I say enthusiastically, which makes Trey smile.
“It really is,” Trey agrees. “It’s also a great cheap lunch spot. I don’t eat out much, but I really love the food here.”
I pop into the hardware store once we are finished with lunch, while Trey opts to stay in my truck, and then we’re off to the grocery store for our final errand.
Inside the grocery store, we walk and talk close together. I am very aware of him and how close he is, and I want to take his hand, but we haven’t discussed PDA or hand-holding in public, and it feels presumptive to do it spur-of-the-moment. The distance between us, his big hands when he reaches for something to put into the cart, and the desire to just reach over and grab it consumes me slowly.
I have almost worked myself up to asking when I feel his fingers slip between mine, entwining just the way I was wishing for. I look at his face, and he is smiling slightly sheepishly.
“Okay?” he asks, and the smile that breaks across my face must be blinding. He squeezes my hand, and I press him against the canned veggies, kissing him briefly but passionately.
“Wow,” he whispers when I back away.
I smile at him and take his hand again, wearing what I know has to be a big, goofy smile. I don’t care in the least. I feel happiness in my chest, fizzing like sparkling water in a crystal glass. He wants to show me off , I think giddily. That works for me because I want to shout about our relationship from the rooftops.
No, from the mountaintops.
We collect everything on my shopping list, plus a couple of extra things because it’s no fun without a couple of impulse purchases, and we head for the checkout, still holding hands. I spot a woman named Holly, the mother of one of Mandy’s roommates from her first year in the dorms. We aren’t friends, but Sherri and I met her at the dorms. I cannot recall her last name, but I smile at her in recognition when we get in line behind her.
She gives us a double-take, then looks at Trey, who shifts slightly, putting more space between us. I squeeze his hand and tug him back in.
“Ben,” she says, her voice sweet. “Who is this?”
I smile wider. “This is Trey,” I say, stopping short of calling him my boyfriend because we haven’t talked about titles. I make a mental note to remedy that oversight the first chance I get. I mean, yes, we’re holding hands in public, but–
Holly raises her eyebrows at me. “Is he a friend? ” she asks.
I smile brightly into Trey’s eyes. “Yes,” I say. “A special friend.”
Holly rolls her eyes and says, “It’s nice to meet you,” to Trey, in a tone of voice that implies it’s anything but. She turns away from us, and I hear her mutter, “Fags.”
I think about calling her on it just because it was so rude. It would have cost her nothing to just keep her mouth shut. It’s just not worth the energy, though, and I don’t want to ruin the great day we’re having. I go ahead and unload our shopping cart. She doesn’t deserve a response, and I know it won’t actually change her mind anyway.
Trey is quiet while we drive back to the house and put the groceries away. I get a chicken into the oven to roast for dinner while he drifts around, tidying up.
When dinner is cooking, and the kitchen is tidied, I slip up behind him and slide my arms around his waist. “Trey?”
He makes an inquiring noise, leaning back into me, his big hands landing on top of mine to hold them in place.
“You’re quiet. Something on your mind?”
I feel his muscles shift, tensing, and then he relaxes again. “No, Ben, no. It’s not important.” He turns in the circle of my arms and kisses me, his hand cradling the back of my head, and I don’t think about anything else until the timer for our dinner goes off.
***
The next day, Trey is working his internship, and I have back-to-back Zoom meetings with a number of clients. I start the day thinking it would be a toss-up to see who was finished with their workday first, but my second, third, and fourth meetings all run at least twenty minutes over the allotted time, and it's clear that I will be burning the midnight oil – or at least the mid-evening oil.
I am on my second-to-last meeting, and we are chatting as my client, Grant, sorts through some paperwork in search of documentation that I need. We’ve worked together for a long time and usually catch up a little when we have a meeting.
“Do you have anything happening for the weekend?” he asks. “I’m taking the wife out on the boat. She’s finally over the morning sickness, and I want to enjoy it being just the two of us as much as possible.” Grant’s wife is much younger than him. I believe she’s from Thailand. I’m glad I’m not the one starting a family in my fifties.
“That’s a good idea. Spending time together is important, and you’re not going to have the chance once your bundle arrives. They take up a lot of your time, and your wife is going to be completely exhausted for approximately the next five to ten years.” I chuckle, but I’m only half joking.
Grant laughs. “Ten years? Don’t they start sleeping through the night when they’re four months old?”
I bite my lip, shaking my head. “It’s possible,” I allow, but I think privately that he’s going to have a lot of surprises ahead of him.
“What are your weekend plans,” he asks when I don’t elaborate on infant sleeping schedules.
“I’m probably going to do some grilling, and if my boyfriend is up–” I begin.
“Boyfriend??” Grant cuts me off, his face twisting in anger and disgust.
I stop. His reaction surprises me. It seems like a strange thing to get angry about, and in all of our conversations, nothing had come up to indicate intolerance. “Yes,” I tell him. “It’s pretty new yet, but he’s a great person, and I’m excited.”
“Jesus, when did you turn homo?” Grant exclaims in disgust. “I didn’t think you were into all that ‘woke’ shit.”
“‘Woke shit’?” I ask, deliberately keeping my voice low and steady.
“Homos and trans and shit. Men putting on dresses and sneaking into the women’s room. That ‘me too’ bullshit a couple of years ago.” He shakes his head. “You’re not really a part of all of that.”
I stare at my screen for a minute, the vitriol in his voice combined with what he had just revealed about himself shocking me into silence. I’m trying to figure out how to tell him how many things are wrong with what he just said when he laughs, a mocking sound. “Oh yeah, you’re one of them. Well, I’m going to need you to send me everything you have for my business. I’m not comfortable sharing my confidential information with someone like you.”
“Someone like me ?” Oh, there are the words. “You mean the person who helped you save several thousand dollars on taxes last year? Who has done your accounting without audit or error for fifteen years? ‘Someone like me’ because I’m in love with a man, though, right?” I am angrier than I can ever remember being, adrenaline pumping through me. “You’re afraid of ‘woke bullshit’? Of people who were brave enough to stand up with a Me Too story? You know what, Grant? That makes you an ass. What are you so afraid of, anyway? Worried someone might treat you the way you treat women?” I smile angrily. “You left some of those receipts in, didn’t you? I hoped that I was wrong, but after this, it’s clear that I wasn’t. Now you can take your bigoted bullshit and shove it up your ass.”
I manage not to raise my voice, but I am breathing hard, and Grant is purple with rage and sputtering in indignation.
“I will send you everything I have in your file and delete my copy. Do me a favor, Grant. Don’t recommend me to anyone you know. I’m too woke.” I click the disconnect button as hard as I can and shove my chair back.
Then I hear the front door slam.