Chapter 11
-Dylan Drake-
Here’s the thing, I’m intelligent enough to know when I’m mistaken.
The question I have to ask myself therefore, is whether I’m man enough to admit being wrong?
It’s not easy processing something you’ve refused to entertain even the merest smidgen of a possibility of for all your adult life and a fair portion of your childhood.
I’ve always been attracted to guys. I knew I was gay, and have identified as such for well over a decade.
I still am. Although, there’s apparently a bit of me that also gets fired up by a nice pair of tits, a curvy hourglass figure, and the wet heat of a thoroughly willing pussy.
Madness, I know, hence the pounding in my head echoing the thump of my feet against the treadmill.
Sweat drips into my eyes, and instinctively I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
I fucking hate the gym. This is not where I want to be.
Running, rowing, climbing my way to nowhere, and that’s before we get to the ingrained stink that permeates every inch of the place.
There are pastures surrounding this hotel.
Fields upon fields of greenery, all bathed in an ethereal morning mist. I could get lost in that shifting sea of grey.
It’s where I pretend I am now, negotiating stony, broken pathways, uncovering hidden dells, instead of listening to Techno garbage and watching an endless parade of scantily clad men and women twerk their arses on the music channel.
It appears I possess some modicum of self-preservation, which is why I’m enduring this trauma, rather than enjoying some tranquillity in the great outdoors. Mustn’t go out alone, the big bad bogeyman…woman…thing might get me. It’s only safe to show my face if I’m accompanied by security personnel.
My current bodyguard is still blissfully dreaming.
I don’t want her around now anyway. I need to think. I can’t do that when she’s present. The logic centres in my brain shut down the moment she walks in the room and dickie takes over.
Kira fucked me into near oblivion last night. That might be why I can just about think about her now without sporting a monumental hard-on.
The attraction is real. There’s no denying it.
And no doubt a goofy grin is right now contorting my face.
I fucking loved every minute of last night. Every, fucking, intense, moronic, illuminating minute.
What’s more, I know that what exists between us doesn’t change who I am.
I’m still Dylan Cornelius Drake. I’m still predominantly gay.
It’s just that I’ve unexpectedly stumbled across the one woman in the world whose magic hoodoo works on my cock, and now I’ve had that taste of pussy, I want more…
but only of that very specific pussy. The rest are still…
pfft…like pretty ornaments to me, aesthetically pleasing on some level, but nothing to get excited about.
Kira, though… Kira, I could fall in love with, if I didn’t also think that was the dumbest idea to ever cross my mind. Believe me, I’ve entertained more than a few brainless thoughts in my time, and in fact, acted on more than a couple of them.
So, yeah, falling for Kira is a stupid plan, notwithstanding the fact she has a stupendously hot bod.
Okay, think, Dylan, think. For once in your life reason things out sensibly.
Why would I even contemplate a relationship with her?
If I’m going to surrender that lump of gristle in my chest to another person, why choose her?
Why not go out and find some nice guy with delectable, lickworthy buns and smoky grey eyes to go gaga over?
Why allow myself to be tempted down a road that’s going to engender nothing but criticism and derision?
Because…because, we can’t choose who we love.
Christ! How many times have I said those words, or expressed similar sentiments in my quest to get people to accept that everyone is different, and some of them happen to be attracted to individuals who are the same gender as they are.
But that’s okay, because we should celebrate love in all its infinite permutations.
Unless you’ve espoused one thing for years and are now going to have to radically alter people’s perception of you, and that’s right after you’ve accepted the possibility that you might be at least five per cent not gay.
Fucking hell! I’m like five per cent straight.
The public are going to grasp this even less effectively than I’m managing to do. They’re going to throw that word around. The one Kira used so willy-nilly the other night—bisexual. Oh dear God! Cue a dozen jokes about being undecided, indecisive, deluded, or else plain greedy.
I want to knock my head against the wall until I re-establish some smarts.
I’ve already got one lunatic determined to fuck me up. If my thing with Kira gets out, there’ll be a whole host of deranged fuckers determined to put me in my grave.
“You’re a fucking traitor!”
“Sad git.”
“One sniff of pussy and you’re a convert.”
“Faker!”
“Liar, liar, bum’s on fire…”
I can hear them catcalling inside my head already.
“Fuck off, you hypocritical bastards!”
“Dylan?”
Help me, God. She’s here. I ramp up the speed on the treadmill a couple of notches so that I’m too lathered to converse.
Kira wanders over so that she’s just visible out of the corner of my eyes. Her hair is still mussed up, and her clothing has clearly been pulled on in a hurry. I probably should have left a note telling her where I was going so she didn’t have to worry.
“Got the devil on your tail?” she remarks.
I pick it up another notch. Maybe I can sweat all the heat and desire out of me.
Or not. Having her standing there, still sleepy and ruffled makes my insides sigh like I’ve been handed a kitten or a puppy. I want to stroke her hair, cup her cheek, and place gentle kisses on her lips. I want round—whatever it is we’re on—of fucking like crazy.
Despite my feet pounding away and the sweat flying off me, my cock attempts a vertical posture and I stumble as a result.
“Dylan…Dylan.” Kira yanks the key out of the slot on the control pad bringing the belt and me to a jerky halt. Whereupon I bend double, breathing hard, facing away from her. “Are you all right?”
I wave at her in as dismissive a manner as I’m able. She apparently interprets this as a request for a towel, as there’s suddenly one in my palm. It’s definitely welcome, and put to good use drying off my face and hair.
“You scared the crap out of me, coming down here. I thought you’d got some dumb idea into your head and taken off.”
There are certainly plenty of dumb ideas currently running riot inside my skull. One of which involves grabbing hold of her and humping her senseless on the nearby weightlifting bench.
Rather than acting on such nonsense, I take myself over to the water fountain and down several plastic cups of icy water.
You’d think that might cool my ardour a bit.
I swear it only makes it worse by reminding me of her demeanour the first time we met.
She appeared so cold, so rigid and icy. Clearly, that’s not really who she is.
“Dylan?” She’s followed me, and there she goes touching me. It’s only the light pressure of her fingertips on my forearm, but even that’s enough to give me a full-on stiffy. This girl—woman—is like my personal, walking aphrodisiac.
Breaking the contact is the only option if I don’t want to end up fucking her on a yoga mat.
“Am I to take it we’re back to pretending we’re strangers and ignoring everything that’s happened?”
“I’m not ignoring it. I’m dealing with it.”
“By running until you’re ready to fall down?”
“I’m endeavouring to wrap my head around whatever—” I move my hand back and forth in a flowing motion between us to compensate for the lack of properly descriptive words to express our interactions, “—whatever it is that exists between us.”
I’m trying to get my head to follow where my heart has already gone.
“You’re trying to rationalise fucking me?”
“Jeezus.” I hush her, clasping her upper arm and walking her into a corner, even though we’re the only people here. “Keep your voice down. Have you no notion of what will happen if it gets out that I’m involved with a woman?”
“Other people’s opinions don’t mean that much to me.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have a career that puts you under a spotlight. And you sleeping with a guy isn’t anything out of the ordinary.”
Her eyes narrow as if to suggest that maybe it is, but even if she doesn’t regularly hook up with guys, the world sees what she’s doing as entirely normal.
What I’m doing on the other hand is betraying the heck out of a lot of people who look up to me.
Dozens upon dozens of people have stepped out of closets because of me.
They’ve found their courage because of me, and now, if I pursue this thing with Kira, then I’m giving a voice to all the haters, and the idiots who think we choose to be different, and that homosexuality can be cured.
Look here, Dylan Drake, gay poster boy, man-slut extraordinaire has been converted and settled down to have a proper, respectable relationship with a woman. Next thing you know he’ll be getting married and having kids.
“I’m going in the shower,” I say, cutting the conversation off before she attempts to extend it. “I’ll meet you back upstairs. There’s no need to stand over me.” And in fact, she’s unable to, as this gym isn’t modern enough to have unisex changing facilities.
I spend an inordinately long time in the shower.
Until, the growling of my stomach eventually chases me into the cold air.
My clothes are damp and rank with sweat.
Rather than put them on, I don a bath robe.
The distance between here and our room isn’t far, and it’s still extremely early.
It’s unlikely that I’ll happen upon anyone who doesn’t work here.