Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Duncan
If anyone tries to tell you banging on drums is not a form of therapy, they are lying.
Because honestly, it’s what’s saving me from completely walking out this door.
My entire body is still racing from adrenaline.
From kissing Felix.
Though, I know when Lou walked in on us, I was headed toward a lot more than just kissing.
What was I thinking?
You weren’t thinking with a clear head, that’s for sure. Not with the right head, anyway.
Eddie did apologize to Felix, but the tension between them could still be felt in the air, which didn’t help matters.
When we wrap the last song, I pack up my shit without a second thought and bolt out of the studio.
True to his word, Felix’s guy did drop off my car last night, not long after he left, and I have a feeling he did a hell of a lot more to my car than just fix the starter.
For God’s sake, the inside smelled like brand new car, but I was certain it wasn’t a new car.
I checked the backseat, where Bobby painted his initials in the door plastic with his mother’s nail polish. Nothing took that shit out, and it was still there.
I offered to pay the guy, but he’d only told me, “it was taken care of,” which made me feel awkward as hell, so I made sure to at least give the guy a hefty tip and told him I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
A part of me, the insane part who is probably responsible for kissing Felix instead of telling him off, wishes he’d come running out of the studio to stop me from leaving.
To tell me we never have to talk about what happened again.
That we can just go on with our lives like nothing happened.
But I know as I get into my driver’s seat, turning the ignition, which purrs now instead of hisses, that that is just not going to happen.
There is no way in Hell I am ever going to be able to forget Felix buckling underneath my grip, or his throaty fucking moan when I touched him, or how my entire body vibrated at the sound.
“Fuck!” I hiss as I back out of the parking lot, speeding onto the highway.
The last thing I want to think about right now is Felix and his deep blue eyes, his pouty lips with that goddamn lip ring, and his fucking attitude.
When I auditioned for this gig, I thought I knew who Felix was. I thought he was just some spoiled rotten rockstar who got too famous too early, who was just a pain in the ass who needed someone to put him in his place.
Make no mistake, he is still a pain in the ass who needs someone to put him in his place, but the reality that I want to put him in his place—in a way that is more than highly unprofessional—only makes this whole situation worse.
For starters, I’m straight. I have been my whole life. Never have I ever had feelings for another man.
Attraction?
Maybe?
I’m not sure what Issax and I had could be classified as anything other than circumstantial. Yes, I loved the guy, but not like I loved my wife.
We were brothers in arms, not... boyfriends.
It was the damn eighties, man. We were all fucked up six ways from Sunday most of the time, and my wife likened to the filling in a Hollow Pointe sandwich. So sue me if I liked it, too.
Though I’m not entirely sure how much of that was me and how much was a desire to please my wife, and how much was because I was wasted and young.
It was just part of who we were.
I grip the steering wheel tighter as I grind my jaw.
Second, Felix is half my age. Christ, he’s closer to Bobby’s age than he is mine.
Third, I might’ve had my fair share of Issax and Marci, but prior to being in the band, I hadn’t really had that much experience with women, but I knew I liked pussy.
That has to count for something, right?
I groan as I count down all the reasons I should fucking put an end to this damn gig.
I turn up the radio, needing to focus on something else, because all I’m doing is thinking in circles, and every path cycles back to Felix Hart.
And because God has an awful sense of irony and humor, the first song I hear over the radio is Carnage .
You think you can escape the devastation you leave in your wake.
But you can’t fight the carnage, baby, because your carnage is mine to take.
God, it’s like I can’t get away from the guy.
But do I want to get away from him?
Or do I want him to ruin me?
When I finally make it home, much later than I planned, thanks to some construction hold up, I walk in the door and am immediately accosted with the smell of sweet, smokey barbecue and aromatic cheese.
My stomach growls at the scent and I see my son flitting about the kitchen.
He looks up to see me as I close the door.
“What’s all this?” I ask, knowing I should still be somewhat pissed at him for getting suspended for a day, but finding it very hard to be mad when he’s making dinner that smells better than any five star restaurant.
He knows just how to play his cards.
Smart kid.
“Dinner,” he says softly, his gaze dancing with slight alarm.
Before I can ask what’s wrong, or what he wants—because this dinner smells like he wants something—he opens his mouth.
“There’s... something I need to tell you. But first, let’s sit down, okay?”
The tone of his voice is uneven, and I can tell he’s nervous, which, on top of my already frayed nerves, makes my adrenaline spike again.
But all I can say is, “Okay,” gruffly as he fixes a plate and hands it to me.
I sit down, letting the potent scent of melty cheese and sticky barbecue pork soothe my soul, if only for a brief moment.
Bobby sits across from me with his fork poised in his hand, and my stomach flips.
I don’t know how much more shit I can take today.
I grab my fork and stab a macaroni noodle.
“So... what’s got you all Martha Stewart in the kitchen today? What are you buttering me up for?”
Bobby takes a bite of his barbecued brisket before looking me dead in the eyes.
“Yesterday, I got into a fight with another student because...”
I set my fork down, noting the pain that comes over his face.
But he steels his resolve, swallowing it down like a macaroni noodle.
“Because Callahan called me, and I quote, ‘a piece of shit cock chaser bottom who could only get into college if I fucked my way onto the dean’s list.’”
My blood boils, and my immediate thought is I want to murder this kid.
What kind of kid thinks they can go around saying that kind of shit to another person?
Bobby’s smarter than most of those kids in that pricey ass school. For God’s sake, he’s been in gifted since he was in the fourth grade.
“I told him to fuck off and leave me alone... maybe with some choice words about how he’s failing everything but gym and the only way he was going to get in anywhere was is if he could actually score a touchdown, and... and then he got in my face and called me a fag, and then he insulted Brendan, and... and then he hit me, and—” His words come out almost all at once without a breath in between.
I set my fork down as I watch Bobby’s face fall.
There’s that name again, Brendan.
“I just, I didn’t want to be another victim, Dad. I wanted to show that asshole that just because I’m...”
The silence between us is palpable, and I think for a moment he’s going to evade me again.
But he doesn’t.
He looks right at me, his eyes glassy as he says two words that ultimately change everything.
“I’m gay.”
There’s a lot of things you hope you never hear as a parent. Whatever it was I thought he was going to say didn’t matter. Not now.
I thought he was in trouble. That he was going to tell me he knocked up some girl or that he’d gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have. I know he’s a good kid, but these last few years he’s been so isolated, so quiet, I wasn’t sure he wasn’t going through something monumental, but all the parenting blogs advocated I not push the issue, so I didn’t.
But never in a million years did I ever think I’d hear those words come out my kid’s mouth.
I’m gay.
I know my response is pivotal, and will forever change the course of our relationship.
I look at him, underneath the dining room chandelier lights, at his soft green eyes and perfectly windswept hair, and I see myself, but I also see the sparkle of Marci shining through in his bravery.
Because without a doubt, coming out to me like this, in general, takes fucking balls.
There’s a hundred things I could say, but all I settle on is, “Oh.”
Bobby raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Really? I tell you this big thing, and all you can say is oh? ”
“Can I ask you a question?” I pick up my fork.
Bobby blinks, looking a little worried. “I mean, sure, I guess.”
“How long have you known?” I ask delicately. “That you’re gay, I mean.”
Bobby shifts in his chair, pursing his lips as he stabs at some pork. “Since I was fourteen. I guess.”
Two years.
The realization makes me feel like somehow I’ve failed.
As a parent, as a person.
“How do you... know ?” I ask, not meaning to sound harsh, but not able to hide the pain and disappointment that he kept something like this from me for so long.
I’m not sure what I would have done, or said, but it’s my job to help guide him. To make sure he’s safe, and happy, and?—
Bobby shrugs, catching my gaze. “I mean, how do you know you’re straight?”
His words make my throat constrict, my blood run cold.
Because they sound like an accusation, and despite my desire to answer him and tell him ‘I just know’, I don’t.
Because the moment he says those words, all I can think about is Felix.
I’d told him to leave last night, not because I didn’t like what was happening, or because I felt uncomfortable, but...
Because I did.
I did like the feel of his lips, the metallic taste of his metal in my mouth, the little groans and whimpers that escaped his throat.
I did like how pretty he looked playing my guitar, lit up by the sunlight in my house.
Shit.
Does that mean I’m not straight?
I swallow harshly and my stomach flips, and I blink as I try to process this information.
“I, uh... guess that’s a fair point,” I say evenly, despite my insides feeling like a building has collapsed and we’re short on first responders.
“You’re not... mad?” he asks in the smallest voice, and I hate that he expects such behavior from me.
He’s my fucking kid.
My flesh and blood.
How could I be mad at him over something like this ?
“I’m not mad at you, Bobby. Not about you being gay. I’m a little pissed you got in a fight and got yourself suspended for a day... Even though I am equally proud you gave that asshole what he deserved, your mother would tell you violence isn’t the answer to anything, and she would be right.”
Bobby raises one eyebrow. “Did you say you’re proud I hit that kid?”
I can’t hide the half-smile on my lips as I nod in response. “Yes, I did.”
His half smile melts my heart just a fraction, as I continue.
“However, I am a little disappointed you didn’t come to me sooner. Two years is a long time to keep a secret. That can’t have been easy. You must have felt so alone...”
I can only imagine.
He frowns as he pushes around his macaroni. “I wanted to t tell you, but?—”
“But what?” I ask.
“I guess I just needed time to figure some stuff out on my own first.”
This entire conversation is uncomfortable, but parenting in general is uncomfortable.
Doing it alone is like scaling a mountain. It just gets harder the further up you go. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.
“So this Callahan, he knows you’re gay? Are you two?—”
“Oh God, no!” Bobby says adamantly. “He’s so not my type. He’s an asshole for one, and two, he’s not even that good looking, and three, he’s not even that good an athlete, and four?—”
I hold my hand up. “I get it. Maybe he likes... you?” I suggest, thinking about all the boys I’d known growing up, before I signed with the record company.
It wasn’t an uncommon behavior for guys to be total dicks to the girls they liked, because they liked them.
Maybe it worked the same way for guys who liked guys?
As I ask the question, my mind filters in thoughts of Felix and his downright bratty attitude.
Is that what was happening between us ?
Is... Felix gay?
Or is he like me?
He’s been tied to a lot of women in the press, but I know how the rumor mill and tabloids worked. It didn’t mean any of it was true...
Isaax never shied away from his sexual image, but he wasn’t exactly talking about our group sex antics. The world would have lost their minds, and I wasn’t too keen on the world knowing what I did behind closed doors with my wife.
God, I am so out of my element here.
A strange thought permeates my brain and I wonder if sexual preference is hereditary.
It’s not, right?
Bobby rolls his eyes. “No, he’s just an asshole who thinks he can catch the gay.” His voice is sarcastic, but somehow humorous. “Like Felix said, some guys are just assholes.”
I shrug as I take a bite of my macaroni, which has finally cooled down enough it won’t burn my tongue.
“You know, for the record, guys are dicks. Seriously.”
Bobby laughs. “Yeah, but some aren’t. Some are just hard on the outside, and squishy on the inside. Some are worth a hundred Callahans.”
Something about his words soothes something in my soul.
Sometimes kids can be wise beyond their years and not know it.
Sometimes, they can heal you, too.
My next words are careful. I can appreciate the delicacy of the situation, and I know right now I’m not fucking things up, so I’d like to keep it that way. Keep the channel open for my son to come to me if he needs to, even if it makes me uncomfortable because I don’t know probably half of what he does.
“Is it safe to assume you, uh... have someone in your life who is worth a hundred Callahans, or...”
Bobby blushes, and I know without his admission the answer is yes.
“Um... I mean... not really... but... sort of.”
I take a bite of a mouthful of noodles. My God, if this kid doesn’t end up in a culinary career, he will make one hell of a husband.
“Sort of? Last I checked relationships were pretty much you’re either in or you’re not.”
Again Felix’s words filter through my brain, along with the memory of his fingers grabbing my hips.
I shove the thought away.
“Unless....” I twist my lips. “This person doesn’t know you like them.”
Bobby sighs, as he takes another bite of his dinner.
“It’s complicated.”
“For the record, if you can punch that asshole Callahan and come out to me over a plate of the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had, I’m pretty sure you can handle anything.”
Bobby smiles. “Thanks, Dad.”
I nod in response as we eat the rest of our dinner.
After cleaning up and making sure I’m giving my kid enough space, I retire to my studio cave.
Though, I was able to channel my best face for my kid and focus on him and his needs—which included a hug and a reminder that our home is the safest place for him to be honest with himself and with me—I knew, eventually, I’d have to deal with my own dishonesty.
I couldn’t help but think about Bobby’s words when I’d asked how he knew he was gay.
I asked, because I was curious how he’d come to this determination on his own, not because I didn’t believe him.
But as I asked the question, and as he answered, ‘How do you know you’re straight?’ I found myself feeling like the world had just exploded in front of my very eyes.
Because I couldn’t say with one hundred percent certainly that I am straight.
But I couldn’t remember ever wanting Issax to touch me the way Felix did.
After Issax went to rehab, Marci and I both decided to put an end to bringing anyone else into our lives. We wanted to give the white picket fence thing a real shot.
Then Marci got pregnant, and suddenly, nothing else really mattered.
All we needed was each other, and our kid. She was happy. I was happy.
After she died, I couldn’t fathom wanting anyone else. Not even Issax.
The hole she left was far too big for anyone to fill, and I had a six year old to take care of.
I couldn’t afford to be selfish, and I didn’t think finding another wife was the answer, no matter how many people told me I needed to find Bobby a “new mom.”
As if anyone could replace the perfect one who gave birth to him and raised him.
Of course, I was lonely, but I wasn’t alone. I had family, friends from the neighborhood. I had Bobby.
As far as I was concerned, I didn’t need to date anyone, and sex...
Sure, I missed it, but I couldn’t picture myself sinking my cock into another woman who wasn’t my wife. I still can’t.
But the moment Felix touched me, squeezing my damn cock in the studio dressing room...
I close the door, falling into my chair, swiveling back and forth as that question ricochets in my brain.
How do you know?
I look at my computer screen, thinking about the last time I was in the room, looking up articles on Felix.
Looking at his full nude spread in Playgirl.
Him all slathered up in oil, showing off more than just his lip ring.
My cock throbs at the thought, and an idea forms in my brain.
As a kid, I wasn’t a stranger to going through my dad’s Playboys, but as a teenager, I didn’t need to look at tits or ass in a magazine when it was practically thrown in my lap every day.
Which is how I met Marci to begin with. When she cornered me on the Hollow Pointe tour bus after a show in Pasadena.
I type in “threesome” into Google, figuring that’s at least a good place to start, right?
A list of search results comes up, from YouTube videos to Cosmopolitan articles telling you how to practice safe throuple sex.
Throuple?
There’s a word for it?
I almost shut down the search, thinking I am clearly out of my league. Until I stumble upon a result that reads MMF threesome.
I don’t think twice about clicking it.
The video that fills my screen is one I can’t look away from.
A curvy woman with bright red hair is being pinned against the wall while a much larger man spears her, his fingers digging into her sides as he rails her, making her rather large breasts jiggle from each pounding.
It’s hot, I won’t deny that, but my gaze is fixed on the man behind him.
The tall, thin, and certainly less muscular man that walks in, who I guess is supposed to be the husband or the boyfriend, home from work early who finds his wife being porked by the service man.
A typical plot, I guess, if you’re a frequent porn watcher.
Which I’m certainly not.
But I can’t tear my eyes away as I watch the tall blond’s graceful movements, the way he slinks across the room, undressing as he goes.
Once his clothes are off, we get an ample money shot.
The guy is hung like a damn horse, and my cock twitches at the sight. I’m transfixed on the way he slides his hand over his rigid rod, approaching the man, who ignores him, continuing to pound away at the woman beneath him, making her thighs jiggle as much as her breasts, which he adamantly starts sucking on.
I can’t help but slide my own hand in my pants, my own hardness twitching from the touch. I slowly stroke myself as I watch the tall blond tease the other man with the head of his cock, telling him to keep going.
I watch as the other man arches his back, biting out some sort of incoherent mumble, in which, the blonde retaliates.
He spits on his cock and my own throbs as I build my rhythm.
I settle in on an even pace, keeping in time with the thrusts of the men on screen, but it feels lackluster.
I keep stroking, squeezing, but I’m no closer to coming, even when it’s clear that everyone has reached their pinnacle.
My head falls back against the cushion of my chair as I huff out an annoyed grunt.
I knew this was a bad idea. I should just let it go, go to bed and forget about this stupid little experiment.
But I also know I’m halfway there, and I hate to go to bed with the guilt and shame that comes with not getting off.
Even if it is in the privacy of my own home.
I sit up, noticing the video log has queued up some other results. Since I’m already committed to my dick, I figure clicking on something else is probably the best option.
Before I can make a decision, another video starts playing, so I figure the autoplay will roll into something similar. Another MMF video, perhaps.
But I soon discover this video is not a threesome.
It’s a twosome, between two men, and I cannot tear my eyes away.
One is a larger guy, and pretty hairy, while the other is as smooth as porcelain.
My cock twitches as I watch the tall, pale, lanky man drop to his knees. The camera pans to show a close up of his face, the larger man’s swollen cock in full view.
Holy fuck, he’s thick.
The look on the lanky man’s face is almost like he’s been drugged. It’s euphoric as he opens his mouth, pushing his tongue against the slit of the cock before him. Groaning and licking until he opens his mouth, swallowing down the monstrosity before him.
I watch as thick hands slide through his disheveled dark hair, as his mouth endures a good, hard fuck that makes his damn eyes water, and I groan as I feel my own cock pebbling with moisture.
I close my eyes, letting the sounds fill my cave.
I imagine pouty lips and cold steel against my leaking slit, familiar groans and bratty grunts accentuating the sounds from my entertainment.
It’s too much.
I open my eyes, watching as the larger man’s cock disappears down the other man’s throat again, and I know there is no denying I like this.
The realization hits me just as I come to that edge, as the door opens and everything goes to hell.
“Oh my God!” Bobby hollers as he turns around.
“Fuck!” I hiss, sitting up in my chair, with the worst blue balls of my life.
If there is ever anything to kill the mood, it’s having your kid walk in on you in the middle of masturbating.
To gay porn.
Fuck!
“Jesus Christ, Bobby, don’t you know how to knock?” I hiss as I hurry to shut off the moans and sounds coming from my computer screen.
“I did. You didn’t answer, and I got worried... I thought maybe you fell asleep at the computer, or?—”
I lean forward, running my hand over my face, and I can’t help but bust out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Bobby mutters.
I shake my head. “I’m just thinking how this should be the other way around,” I reply as he turns, his cheeks still red, but he glances at me, his eyes questioning. “I’m supposed to be the one to walk in on you.”
“This isn’t because of what I said... is it?” I can see the panic in his eyes. “Because if you have questions, you can just ask me... I’ll do my best to give you better resources than...” He glances at my computer, raising an eyebrow. “Pornhub? Seriously, Dad...”
I sigh, as the words tumble out of my mouth without warning, clearly because I’ve lost my marbles. “I needed to know... for myself.”
Bobby’s eyes widen as his mouth falls open. He blinks like I’ve been replaced by an alien.
And I’m sure, to him, this is news is huge.
Hell, it is for me, too, and I’m the one who just got caught with my hand in my pants.
“Oh.” He nods, his blush still coloring his otherwise pale cheeks.
“Oh? That’s all you can say?” I quip, laughing like an idiot.
Bobby laughs, too, all of a sudden, and for a moment, all that can be heard is our hysterics.
When we finally catch our breath, I ask, “What did you want? Before you so rudely interrupted me.” I clear my throat.
Bobby shrugs. “I wanted to ask you if I could bring a friend over... tomorrow. For study group.”
I nod. “You don’t have to ask me permission. I appreciate you doing so, but it’s fine.”
“I mean, you’re not like... grounding me or anything because of what happened, right?” He leans against the doorway.
I shake my head. “No. But if I get another call about you hitting someone or getting in a fight, you will be.”
Bobby smiles and says, “Okay,” as he turns toward the hall, when he stops, turning to look at me once more. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“I love you. No matter what. I just... wanted you to know that.”
My heart feels like it might burst out of my chest as my throat constricts again.
“Ditto, Bobby.”