17. Ford #2
One innocent question, one casual answer, and suddenly it felt like the easy rapport we’d spent all summer building was gone, replaced by a tension so thick I could almost taste it.
I watched Dylan, the way his jaw was tight, the way his eyes avoided mine, and an all-too-familiar dread settled in my stomach.
We were supposed to be relaxing, enjoying the last bit of daylight by the lake after our swim, not dredging up old wounds.
"Like what?" I asked.
"That you've always known.” He sat up, facing me. “You've known me since I was a kid. I didn’t even know back then.”
"That's not what I meant. I didn’t know when you were a kid. Once you came out, once I heard you were gay, then it made sense," I said, trying to clarify, to stuff this awkward-as-fuck genie back in the bottle.
"But you weren’t even around then. How did you find out?" Dylan pressed, his gaze finally snapping to mine, sharp and accusatory.
"From your mom," I said, the words feeling flat, almost useless. “It wasn’t like she held a press conference.” I did my best to keep my tone even, though I was extremely upset with myself for hurting him, even if it was unintentional.
"See! That's what's even more fucked up about this. You're still friends with your ex-wife. She was telling her gay ex about her gay son. Her gay son who was caught by her husband jacking it to his jockstraps." Dylan’s voice rose, a raw edge to it that made me wince.
"Are you still worried about that?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. The old shame, the old anger, it was all pouring out, and I wasn’t about to correct his assessment of my sexuality now . “Sure, it was embarrassing, but jerking off isn’t shameful.”
"Isn't it part of why you got a divorce?" Dylan shot back, and the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded.
"Is that what you think?" I asked, my own temper beginning to fray.
"What was I supposed to think? You left a few weeks after that without a single word about it.”
I crawled over to him, kneeling on his towel next to him.
It took a lot of control not to touch him, but I didn’t want to influence his feelings with physical contact.
“Every time I tried to talk to you I had the door slammed in my face or you ignored me. What was I supposed to do? Tie you up and force you to listen? You obviously didn’t want to talk to me.
Is that why you're this angry?" I said, a desperate attempt to defend myself, to make him understand.
"No. I'm angry because the one thing I wanted the most walked away from me and out of my life. I was still figuring things out. I needed you and you left."
He flipped over and slumped down on the towel. I could tell he was crying. After a few minutes, he swore, and said, “You probably think I’m some big crybaby. All I feel like I’ve been doing the last few weeks is cry.”
I mean, he had been crying, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
I very much liked my cock and balls where they were.
“That’s one of the things I like about you.
You’re in touch with your feelings. It’s refreshing.
” That wasn’t even a lie. I had dated some pretty repressed guys and not letting shit out was a recipe for disaster.
“Touch me,” he said, his voice muffled against the towel. “Make me feel better with your magic hands.”
I finally let out a small sigh of relief and a chuckle. This was just a bump in the road. One of many if we were going to be together.
With both hands massaging his shoulders and back, I said, “I tried, Dylan. I don’t know what else to say, I really did.
” When his only reply was a groan, I continued, “Seeing you masturbating with all my underwear was the biggest clue to your sexuality for me, but before that, I didn't really think about it.
I shouldn't have said I've always known.
I've always known about myself, but I think it's different when it's someone else.”
"I understand that," Dylan said. "I wanted you to be gay as soon as I knew jizz came out of my dick."
I chose to ignore that because focusing on the words he just said would lead to needing lube, and we left it back at the cabin this time.
Instead, I clarified something else. "I definitely didn't leave you or divorce your mom because I found you pleasuring yourself in our bedroom.
I was already planning on doing it. That was just an awkward surprise. "
"Was it because of what happened with your gymnasts in London?" Dylan asked, his voice softer now, his anger had been replaced with curiosity.
"You saw that?" I asked, an octave above normal.
"I was a closeted teenager in love with my stepdad who happened to be a muscular gymnastics coach. Yes, I saw Cam and Luke kiss on live television. I jacked off to the GIF of that for years."
"That is not something I will be passing on to them."
“Do you still talk to any of your athletes?”
“Most of them through social media, but not every day.” We were losing track of our conversation, so I brought it back.
“I divorced your mom solely because I wanted to explore being with a man, and it wasn't fair to her—or you—to stay.
I didn't feel this then, but looking back at the past, I also know I wasn’t ready to be a dad either. I was way too young," I said.
"And now you’re ready to be a daddy?" Dylan asked. I could hear the smirk in his voice.
"If that’s what you wanna call me," I said.
"Spank me, daddy."
I thought about it, then stopped. “I don’t know if I even want to know, but…those times I spanked you as a kid?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you"—I swallowed—"like it?"
He wiggled his butt back and forth. "What do you think?"
Oh no. "Is that why you acted up?"
"I mean, the spanking definitely wasn’t a deterrent."
"I told your mother it wasn’t working. That made me so uncomfortable."
"And she made you do it anyway?"
"I don’t think we should keep talking about this."
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re definitely spanking me later.”
Oh sweet Jesus.