Chapter 12 Shaun
Shaun
Shit, shit, shiiiit!
I toss my phone onto the duvet and get back to the problem at hand: the full-mast erection tenting my boxers to the point of ripping them open.
Waking up like this—on the verge of creaming my bedsheets—used to happen a lot when I was younger, usually following a vivid teenage dream about Scarlett Johansson. Except now I’m thirty-three and the star of my fantasy this time was none other than Freddie-bloody-Young!
I stare at my bulging underwear in dismay.
Come on. Go away!
I’ve been sitting here for the last few minutes, waiting for it to go down on its own, but my dick apparently has other ideas.
It feels like if I so much as touch it, I’ll completely paint the inside of my boxers, and that absolutely cannot happen.
Because it’ll mean the first orgasm I’ve had in weeks will have been caused by Freddie.
My employee, Freddie. The one I’m supposed to be ignoring.
The one I told in no uncertain terms to back off.
I tried to distract myself by checking the news on my phone, but that’s when I saw the heartfelt text from the star of my dream himself—such a sweet and earnest apology which made me feel like the biggest hypocrite on earth.
Bloody hell, if he only knew the fun my imagination had been having with him…
Mortified, I screw my eyes shut. As I do, still images from my dream flood back into my head: Freddie’s mouth on mine, his hands running over my body, skin on skin. It was so vivid, I swear I could feel his breath on my neck as he whispered my name.
My hand strays to the hem of my underwear.
No!
I pull my hand back, my heart pumping with dizzying speed. There’s no way I’m crossing that line, even if every instinct is screaming at me to indulge, I can’t. I'm his boss!
Whatever this is feels like a high-school crush times a thousand and it isn’t fading quietly into my subconscious like I wanted it to. Quite the opposite. It’s turned from a whisper to a foghorn overnight.
After another minute of failing to will my rogue stiffy away, there’s nothing else for it but to take a cold shower. I toss the duvet aside and waddle awkwardly to the bathroom. Jester meows at me from his bed in the hallway—a cry for breakfast.
“I know, I know,” I switch on the shower and turn the temperature all the way down. “Just as soon as I’ve dealt with this!”
I clamber out of my boxers, take a deep breath and step inside.
Shitting hell!
The icy water lashes my skin, making me yelp, but I force myself to stay under the jets, letting the chill spread until I’m numb to it. Cold shock helps settle the hormones and my anatomy starts to return to normal size.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I crank up the heat and lather up my hair and body with peppermint shower gel.
The mint stings my eyes, but I don’t dare close them in case I picture Freddie’s hands on me instead of my own.
What was it he said in the car? I have a nice build?
And the way he said it, like he wanted to explore my body first-hand.
Like he did in my dream, caressing me with those strong, rough hands—
Gah!
I slap a hand to my forehead. This feels like one of those time-loop nightmare movies.
Every time I try to avoid thinking about him, he pops back into my head, more enticing and confusing than ever.
Denial didn’t get me far, so I suppose I have to consider that maybe I’ve lost my mind.
Perhaps I’m so overworked that a few wires have come loose in my brain and caused this complete and utter meltdown.
Or maybe you just like him. A new voice in my head offers its opinion.
I don’t like how calm and rational it sounds, especially amid the warzone of my body.
It can’t be as simple as that. I remember the autism assessor telling me it's normal to experience emotions a lot more strongly than most, but there's strong emotions and then there's this. A total hormone explosion.
I finish showering and dry myself off before heading back through to my bedroom to get dressed. My phone screen is lit up with a text from Anna:
Everything’s fine. Easy morning. STOP WORRYING. A x
I feel a little too seen for my liking, but at least Anna, Freddie, and the café are in one piece. If only work was the biggest thing on my mind.
As I swipe her text aside, I see Freddie’s last message just below. Next to his name, a circular profile picture shows him sitting cross-legged against a wall, playing an acoustic guitar cradled in his lap. His head is turned to look at the fretboard, showing off his sharp, supermodel profile.
There’s no denying it’s a stunning photo—artfully taken, but just casual enough to appear candid.
Whether posed or not, there’s no hiding the joy he gets from playing the instrument.
I wonder if he’s any good? Not that it matters; he could probably pull off singing the alphabet, he’s that confident.
Warmth blossoms in my belly as I examine the picture, absent-mindedly zooming in on Freddie’s perfect face. After a few moments of shameless ogling, I catch myself and quickly close the messaging app.
I need to get a grip. But with my traitorous dick and runaway thoughts, clearly both my brain and body are working against me. Everything about this screams “crush” but how can it be? I like women! Sexuality can’t change overnight like that, can it?
I’m about to tuck my phone away when curiosity gets the better of me.
Opening up a browser, I take a deep breath and type into the search bar:
Can sexuality change?
I hit search and immediately I’m bombarded with articles and blogs about sexual fluidity. It’s daunting, but amidst the reams of search results, a message board post catches my eye:
I’ve only ever been with women. Now I think I have feelings for a guy. Can sexuality change?
My heart leaps. It’s reassuring to know I’m not the only one.
I click on the link and scroll through the comments. Some of them are less than helpful. The most upvoted one says “I dunno bro, sounds a bit gay” and another simply states “no.”
About halfway down, my eyes land on a longer comment with a lot of upvotes. I read:
My husband, let’s call him Steve, and I [62F] were together for twenty-nine years.
I loved him unconditionally and never questioned my attraction to him, nor my sexual preferences.
A decade ago now, I lost him to cancer and it all but broke me.
I spent a long time alone, thinking it would be impossible to find another man I loved as much as I did Steve.
I was half-right.
I’ve been with my current partner [51F] for almost a year. She is bold, exciting and I am completely besotted with her. While she could never replace Steve, I know for sure what I’m feeling is real because it’s just as wonderful as before. Different, but wonderful.
Love is love. Sexuality can change and it’s quite possible for it to happen later in life: I am living proof of that.
Or maybe I always had this potential and just never met the right woman before.
My advice: love who you want and cherish every moment.
If you like him and he likes you, then go get him, tiger!
The comment is from last month and has several replies from people confessing reading it made them tear up. The author of the original post responded too with a short, but tender:
Thank you, maybe I will.
I wonder if he did.
The rest of the morning snails by as I try not to think about Freddie or work but as it turns out, it’s either one or the other.
As a distraction, I make a big batch of apple flapjacks to sell, struggle through some push ups, and watch an episode of a true crime documentary I’ve fallen asleep to a lot in recent weeks.
Nothing really works though, and every time I think about either Freddie or the café, the other automatically springs to mind.
How am I supposed to not fixate on him when I’m going to see him most days anyway?
Well, that one’s easy: don’t hire him in the first place.
Unfortunately, it’s too bloody late for that.
Once the flapjacks have cooled, I cut them up and put them in boxes. I stare at the golden bricks of cake, each one topped off with a fan of sliced apple. They look sublime. Seems a shame to keep them here while they’re still fresh.
Maybe I should swing by work quickly, just to check everything’s okay?
I can drop these off at the same time, so it won’t look like I’m worrying, even though I am.
I just don’t like the idea that they’ve been totally swamped and Anna’s too concerned for my wellbeing to tell me.
With Freddie being so new, perhaps an extra pair of hands will be welcome…
Before I know it, I’m in the car and driving to work.
Just a quick visit, I promise myself. In and out.
Anna can’t be too angry; I resisted coming in for a whole twenty-four hours! Plus, I’m bringing flapjacks.
The fact Freddie will be starting his shift around now is pure coincidence, of course.