Chapter Twenty-One
Marcello
I’m definitely bisexual.
Those are the exact words I texted Kris in the bathroom after I’d cleaned up and got dressed following The Best Blow Job Of My LifeTM. I’d stared at myself in the mirror while waiting for her reply, which I knew was coming when I’d seen the three dots appear almost immediately.
She’d replied.
Fucking amazing, I’d wanted to say. But I didn’t, because even I knew it wasn’t fair or accurate to summarise my entire minutes-long experience of queer sex based on one mind-blowing blow job.
I’d texted back instead.
Kris had replied with a rainbow emoji and that made me smile.
I’m still smiling now as I sit beside Giles on his sofa watching The Mummy of all things. But I’m not smiling because of the rainbow emoji. I’m smiling because as I watch the film I have even more confirmation that I’m very, very bisexual.
Brendan Fraser? Hot.
Rachel Weisz? Smoking.
The bald baddie guy? Scorchio! He could tie me up in a pyramid any day of the week.
I turn my head to tell Giles just how stupid I’ve been not realising that all those moments when I thought, “Wow, that’s a good-looking guy.
” in my past were actually thinly veiled, “I wouldn’t mind kissing his face off.
” fantasies, but I see he’s asleep. His head tipped back against the sofa cushion, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes firmly closed.
Soft snores leave his lips as his chest lifts and lowers in a steady rhythm.
Fuck, he’s even handsome when he sleeps.
Because I’m not brave enough to do it when he’s awake, I lift my hand to his face and cup his cheek.
The beginning of his afternoon stubble tickles my palm and he flinches slightly, his moustache twitching, but I don’t let go.
I hold his face and smile at him in a way I wanted to after he’d given me that bone-shaking orgasm, but couldn’t, wouldn’t.
Because if I did that, then he’d know that these sex lessons are not for a man who wears Speedos at my swimming training sessions.
They’re for him. They’re so I can feel close to him. They’re so I can be close to him.
And I don’t want that to stop.
So maybe it’s just as well he’s asleep so I can’t admit just how certain I am that I’m bisexual, just how happy I think I am now I know that truth about myself.
Because if I have that answer, then surely I don’t need to explore and experiment with these lessons anymore.
Perhaps he would then decide that it’s better I go on an app and find other men to play with, but that’s not what I want. I want Giles.
That might make me dishonest and selfish and conniving, and I don’t feel proud about the fact.
But I want to keep doing what we’re doing too much to stop.
As long as Giles is happy to continue, that’s exactly what I want to happen.
I want to be with him as long as I possibly can be.
Until somebody comes into his life and catches his eye, and maybe his heart.
Because I have no doubt that will happen eventually.
He is the guy who gets stopped on the street and in the gym.
And it’s not just about his looks. It's his kind heart, his confidence, his easy sense of humour.
He's just too good to not get snapped up by somebody who’s just as good for him.
I remove my hand and turn my attention back to the film.
It’s been so long since I watched it that it’s like watching it anew and I quickly become absorbed in the storyline.
I should watch more films, I think to myself when the credits start rolling.
They help me calm my busy brain and take me out of my head.
Also, I can now freely fancy as many of the cast members as I want…
Maybe one day I could take Giles to the cinema…
The thought arrives quicker than I can stop it by pointing out that that would be a date, and Giles doesn’t want to date a man like me.
Sure, I might be fun to fool around with – he didn’t seem to hate sucking me off – but I know that he’s waiting for the real thing when it comes to relationships and I am so far from what that looks like for him.
I am not good enough for a man like Giles.
I’m not a bad person, I know this, but I’m chaotic and a café manager and living at home with my mum. I’m not in the same class Giles is.
This realisation pulls a deep sigh out of my chest, and it’s loud enough to have me looking at Giles to see if I’ve woken him up, but he’s still fast asleep in the same position.
Seeing our empty mugs of tea and the glass bowl we used for popcorn lying on his coffee table, I stand up carefully and collect them all, trying not to make any noise.
I take them with me over to his open-plan kitchen, planning on washing up before I let myself out, but as I put them down I forget that his countertops are marble and the mugs and glass bowl make an almighty chiming din as they land.
As I fear, it’s loud enough to wake Giles who grunts from behind me.
“Sorry.” I turn to wince at him. “I was trying to be quiet.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “No, no, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. If I sleep now, I’ll be up all night.”
His comment is a little surprising until I realise that Giles probably has a sleep schedule the same way he has the rest of his life organised for optimal performance.
“Well, let me wash these up and then I’ll go,” I say, turning back to the sink and starting to fill it with warm water.
“You’re going?” Giles’ voice is closer to me and over my shoulder, I see him approaching.
“The film finished,” I say to explain my decision.
“Oh,” Giles says and it’s such a short, sharp sound and yet it seems to say so many things. But they are things I can’t decipher.
I wash up quickly and efficiently, just like I do in the café and then I grab a tea towel to dry everything.
“You don’t have to do that,” Giles says.
“It’s the least I can do,” I say as I pick up a mug. “After what you did for me.”
Giles’ mouth goes slack and his gaze drops to the floor.
“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean…” I trail off because it’s very important I get my next words right, but no surprises, Giles is quicker than my slow, stuttering brain.
“I know what you meant,” he says and there’s no edge to his voice. He yawns and lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. It makes his shirt rise out of his trousers and it reveals a glimpse of his sculpted abs.
“We could… We could have lesson number two if you wanted? If you really don’t have plans?” I ask and I should be embarrassed at the hope in my voice, but I’m not.
“I,” he pauses, for what feels like a long time, “I don’t think so.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes and I think that disappoints me just as much as him rejecting my suggestion.
“Okay, well, I’ll finish this and get going.” I turn back to drying up the last mug and bowl. It takes me no time at all and yet the few minutes seem to stretch and gain weight, or maybe that’s just because I feel Giles’ eyes on my back the whole time.
Once finished, I hang the tea towel over the handle of his oven and look around for my shoes. Finding them near the front door, I head over there and again, I feel Giles’ stare on my shoulders as I move. With my trainers on, I stand and finally turn to face him as he gets up and walks towards me.
“So,” I say. “Gym after work tomorrow?”
“Gym after work tomorrow.” He nods and folds his arms.
I’m about to turn and leave but that feels wrong. After what we did, what we shared, and yes, what I felt as it was happening, it feels all kinds of wrong to just walk out of the door. But what is the right way to say goodbye at the end of a sex lesson? A handshake? A high five? A hug?
“I… I don’t really know how to say goodbye,” I admit with a short laugh.
“What do you mean?” Giles squints.
“I mean, like, you sucked my dick, man.” I laugh again. “It feels a bit rude to then just walk away without so much as a fist bump.”
“We can fist bump.” Giles unravels his arms and steps a little closer. “Or whatever you want.”
I make sure I have his eye contact before I reply. “I want to kiss you.”
“You do?” Giles’ shoulders pull back.
“Yeah. I liked kissing you. A lot. And I probably won’t get a chance to do it in the gym this week so…”
Giles’ moustache lifts with his smile, a grin I’m pretty sure he’s trying to bite back, but it’s all the invitation I need to take a step closer to him.
“Can I?” I ask.
“You can.” He nods, looking up at me.
I close the distance between us and grip his shoulders.
Immediately, I’m aware that I would likely never hold a woman this way to kiss her and that feels frustratingly awkward.
Maybe it’s because I’ve already come. Maybe it’s because I’ve realised just how much I’m starting to feel for him.
Maybe it’s because he’s still a man and I still have next to no experience kissing men.
Whatever the reason I’m strangely more nervous about this kiss than I was when I practically pounced on him earlier.
I smile down at him nervously, very nervously.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m… overthinking. Again.”
His returning smile is genuine. “I know how that feels.”
“Really?” I’m surprised and it’s clear in my voice.
Giles leans towards me and I feel the hard warmth of his chest and stomach push up against mine. “Yeah, maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it,” he says and then he pushes up on his toes and presses his lips to mine.
For a long time, our lips stay like that.
Pressed together, still closed and unmoving.
His moustache tickles my top lip and I start to think that I could very much get used to that now not-so-foreign sensation.
It’s like little jolts of electricity adding something to our already charged contact.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, still and connected, but eventually I forget about time.
It’s like neither of us want to part but we’re also hesitant to deepen the kiss.
I slide my hands down Giles’ arms feeling every dip and rise of his muscles and I have every intention of finding his hands, squeezing them and using that as a way to end the kiss, but Giles doesn’t let me do that.
Instead he moves his hands and he places them on my hips.
My hips that are still soft and plush, nothing like his sculpted body.
I’m suddenly and uncomfortably aware of what he’s feeling there – flesh, a lot of flesh – and my body tenses, my hands falling off Giles’ arms.
“What?” Giles breaks our kiss and pulls back. “What’s wrong? Your whole body just changed.”
“You’re touching my… my love handles.”
Much to my dismay, Giles smiles and a crafty look brightens his eyes. “Your love handles?”
“My muffin top, my spare tyre, my gutbucket, my middle-aged spread.”
“Those are a lot of not very nice words for such a lovely part of your body.” He squeezes a small handful of my flesh in each hand.
“Lovely?” I snort. “Not likely.”
Giles looks down the length of my torso to his hands. “You’d be surprised how useful these could be, in certain positions.”
That has my eyebrows lifting. “Something for a future lesson?”
“You want more lessons?”
“I do,” I say and feel heat in my cheeks. This is getting fucking ridiculous. It’s going to be so bloody obvious how I feel about him if I carry on like this, and yet, I don’t stop myself from asking, “Same time next week?”
“That could work,” he says after a moment’s thought.
“Okay,” I say. I know that’s my cue to leave, but his hands are still on my hips, his fingertips stroking the soft rolls of my body there and I don’t move. I don’t step back.
“One more kiss for the road?” he asks and I am so tempted to push out a long breath of relief but I manage to stop myself in time and instead I lean down and press my lips to his and tell myself to enjoy the seconds he gives me a sweet, innocent kiss like this.
But that’s not what happens, his mouth is open and his tongue darts out and caresses my bottom lip. And that’s exactly what it is, a caress. It’s gentle and slow. It’s tender and tentative. And I want more.
Parting my lips, I meet his tongue with mine and I return his soft flicks and licks.
But then he comes back firmer, greedier and I meet him where he’s at.
Our kiss deepens and so does our grip on each other’s bodies.
His hands dig harder into my skin, clawing at the flesh there, like he can’t get enough of what I have only ever thought as the flabbiest part of my out-of-shape body.
But that doesn’t seem to put him off as he starts to grunt little moans into my mouth.
Each noise he makes has me exploring his body more, my hands sliding down his strong back and finally cupping his tight, tight ass.
It’s so unlike any other backside I’ve grabbed before – firm and solid – but I like it.
I like it a lot as I start to paw at the muscle there.
It’s when I feel his hard length press against my thigh I realise that this is not a kiss goodbye, or at least it shouldn’t be.
Momentarily, I think about dropping to my knees and trying my best to give him some of the pleasure his mouth gave me, but I already know I wouldn’t get close and I’m self-conscious enough to not even try.
But there is something I could do that I have a bit more confidence in.
I bring one of my hands between us and trail it down Giles’ abs.
“Please can I touch you?”
“Marcello, you don’t—”
“I want to,” I say with emphasis but still Giles is silent. I try a different approach. “I mean, I’m ready for lesson two now, if you are?”
I watch Giles’ throat as he swallows. “If you’re sure…”
My hand lowers and I grip the waistband of his trousers. “I’m very sure. So tell me, Giles, please. Tell me I can touch you.”