Chapter 9
Cam
So um . . . don’t think I’m into dudes.
Or at least, not this one.
Moaning with gold-star enthusiasm, he sucks my cock.
Ten out of ten for technique. It feels great, don’t get me wrong.
Max clearly knows what he’s doing. It’s just, I don’t know.
It’s hard to stay focused. It’s hard to stay, well, hard in this moment.
It’s awkward and kind of weird, but I don’t hate it.
I mean, it’s a mouth on my dick. I really can’t complain.
The problem is that there’s no heat behind it.
No zing. The electricity with Bowen caught me off guard.
It was just a brush of his lips, his body pressed to mine, and I felt crazed with need.
The way his soft brown eyes looked at me, it drove me crazy.
His red pouty lips, the way they looked swollen after kissing .
. . like erotic chapstick. I close my eyes and pretend I’m there.
Home. Home with Bo, kiss drunk and melting into my body.
“Oh—fuuck.”
“Yeah, baby?” My eyes pop open and I look at him.
He hits me with a smile before taking me in his mouth again with a moan.
I try to shut him out and just think back to that night—Bo’s kisses altered my entire world.
The way he rolled his hips against me . .
. It was unreal. I want to know how he tastes, how he’d respond with my head between his thighs.
Would he taste as sweet as the cherry bodywash he uses?
What would have happened if I’d rolled him under me, slid his pants down, and just lost myself inside him?
Does he like it rough or gentle? Has he even been with anyone before? I can’t remember any boyfriends ever. Did he just not introduce me? And if so, why? And why does that thought piss me off?
I have no right to feel any jealousy. I’ve slept my way across Upstate New York for the better part of my adult life, and just one thought of Bo with someone—like he may be now—is making my guts clench.
Ignoring that thought, I try and lose myself again.
I just . . . can’t. I can’t stop the images as they twine with the feeling of Max sucking me.
So I don’t fight it; I give in. I think about what it would be like, my fingers laced around his throat, forcing his gaze onto mine while I drive inside his sweet body.
I want to hear him. I want it to be so good he’s shaking.
I want him begging to come while falling apart at the seams. I’d drink in every whimper and moan that leaves his pretty lips. “Oh fuck, I’m coming.”
The pleasure slaps me, but wanes so fast as I open my eyes and watch this man grin up at me while licking the crown of my swollen cock, desire burning bright in his warm chocolate eyes. They’re a few shades lighter than Bo’s.
This is all wrong.
Oh shit, he’s going to want a return, right?
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I am a dick.
I always make sure to give . . . honestly, I’m usually the one giving.
I don’t mind, I love pleasuring my partners.
I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t have done this.
It’s not fair to him. What am I doing? Fuck. “Relax.”
Max stands, wiping his mouth, then he shakes his head.
“What?”
Ignoring me he walks out of the room, leaving me with my pants around my ankles. Slowly I pull them on. I just want to leave. Coming back into the room, Max grabs his own underwear and slips them on.
“You don’t want me to—”
“You don’t want to, and you’re not my only option. Relax.” He smiles at me genuinely.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He tsks. “Straights and their experiments.” He shakes his head. “I’m alright.”
“That’s not—”
“You barely got hard until you shut your eyes. Dream about a nice girl with big tits?” No.
My face flushes. I stay silent, though. He’s giving me an out and I’m about to take it.
“I did have fun. You’re sweet. Like a puppy dog.
” Max shrugs, patting my cheek. “You have a nice cock. It wasn’t a hardship. ”
“Oh um, thank you.”
“Whoever you were thinking about, though. Go find her. Figure your shit out.”
Not her.
Him.
Maybe the only him. Does that even make sense? How could I not be into this but with Bo the connection had been instant? This guy is objectively gorgeous, but it feels so wrong. Am I even attracted to him? He is attractive, but I don’t think I am. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mind sucking your dick but I would like you to leave now.” Okay. He's giving you an out. Take it!
“Thank you uh, for everything.”
He chuckles settling back into his bed. I take one more look at him then turn to leave. “Lock the door on the way out, handsome.”
“Yeah, of course. Um, night.”
He chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Night.
I drive back to Bo’s but I’m not ready to go up there yet.
My mind’s still a mess and I don’t want to wake him up, that’s assuming he’s even home.
Maybe he had a better night than I had. Instead, I go for a walk.
It’s about one in the morning, and streetlights line the sidewalk allowing me to see, because if I couldn’t, I’d be going the fuck home.
Yeah, okay, it’s lame for someone in their late twenties to still be afraid of the dark, but I think it’s more that I’m afraid of what I can’t see.
It freaks me out. Turning down toward Main Street, I hear faint voices.
Bars are just letting out now as people come and go from various places.
It’s a college town, with two in the area.
This time of year all the new college kids are trying to figure out where the their hangout spot will be.
Downtown you can’t go more than a block without finding a bar or two.
I avoid it now, walking down another darker street instead.
There’s still a streetlight ahead, and the moon is offering enough light to keep me from freaking out.
Now, with the quiet of the night finally settling in, I think about tonight.
I’m more confused than ever. I just don’t understand this.
I know sexuality is a spectrum, I get that, but up until that night with Bo, men had never been on my radar. Like at all.
Bo and I have been friends for nearly two decades, and not once have I felt anything close to lust or romance with him. Now I can’t turn it off. It’s like he flipped some switch. Quite literally changed my brain chemistry.
Yet even as I think it, I wonder if it’s not exactly true.
I am always happiest when I’m around him.
I love hanging out with him, and if I’m honest with myself, even when I’ve been in relationships Bo’s is always the place I want to be.
Have I just confused these platonic feelings?
Sure, it’s a lot. Friends don’t normally kiss, or hug, or cuddle the way we do.
That’s just how we are. But I’ve never been turned on before. Right?
That first night when Bo touched me . . .
that night he lit something inside me. And it’s refused to die out.
There was zero feeling with Max, but with Bo .
. . I felt everything. Max was hot, but touching him was awkward.
We’d made out a bit before he got to his knees, but it was nothing like the makeout session Bo and I had.
I can’t exactly call myself straight, can I?
Maybe I’m the Q in LBGTQIA because I am very very much Qing my sexuality right now.
I’ve always thought Bo was cute. I love his soft silky hair and his slim elegant fingers as they fly across the piano keys.
I love the scowl he gives me when I say something stupid and the emotion in his eyes when we’re having so much fun together.
His glasses are like an extension of him, magnifying his beautiful eyes, and his cheeks always pink up in the winter or when he’s sad.
His pale skin looks like porcelain, it’s so smooth, and his ears stick out a little, and it’s fucking adorable.
Okay, what the hell.
I don’t know if I have a type when it comes to women. It’s always a vibe. I do prefer thicker girls with lush curves, soft stomachs, thick thighs, and plenty of ass to grab onto. Bowen is none of those things—well, I mean, his ass is pretty cute.
What the hell is happening to me?
Bowen’s always been the most important person in my life. My safe place and best friend. The attraction I feel is new yet old at the same time. I’ve always felt warmth toward him, but that’s a product of circumstance.
One time, when my father had hurt me, I ran away to Bo’s house.
This was after my mother died. I snuck in through his window, and he tugged me inside and held me against his body for what felt like hours.
He was so small then, could barely wrap himself around me while I cried against him, but I’ve never felt safer than I did there, with him.
I need to talk to him. If I can talk to anyone about this, it’s him.
Maybe he has answers for me.
Up ahead I see someone on the sidewalk. Are they painting?
It’s still sort of dark out here even under the full moon, so I shuffle my feet on the pavement so they can hear me walking.
I don’t want to startle them. The person looks toward me and takes off their hood to glare at me.
Getting closer, I see her under the streetlight.
A Desi woman eyes me suspiciously. “Just walking home. Don’t worry.
I just didn’t want to startle you.” Her eyes lock onto me as I come closer to see what she’s doing. “Are you painting?”
Her eyes soften just a touch and she nods, turning so her back isn’t to me. “Yeah, I’m just putting some sealant on it.”
“At nearly two in the morning?” I laugh. I try to look at the painting but still give her space. This is a pretty safe town, but I get it. I don’t want to frighten her. I take my hands out of my pockets so she can see they’re empty, and I give her space.