Chapter 8
brEK
I’ve felt guilty for a few days now. In a way, I accepted help from Voss when I’m still pushing my friends off so they don’t try to help.
Voss’ help is different, though. He handed me a website and then said nothing else unless I talked.
And when our conversation continued, he didn’t talk about my asexuality.
For the past few days, we haven’t talked about it at all. We’ve hung out again after work. We kiss sometimes. We cuddled again last night.
Voss hasn’t so much as tried to make out. I haven’t had to feel like I need to make a decision on whether I’m in the mood with this man again, and… I appreciate it.
The stress that followed my orgasm with him was something I didn’t anticipate.
It had nothing to do with him. Not his fault in the least. Not even the stress that came after.
It was all me because I was thrown into a new reality about myself that didn’t make sense.
I thought I knew myself. Suddenly, I wasn’t the man I thought I was an hour before.
There’s a quiet tap on my door that has me looking up. I’m sitting in the middle of my big bed with my tablet propped up, open to the website Voss provided me three nights ago. It’s the most thorough that I’ve found, though I have looked up specific terms in more detail anywhere I can.
It’s easier for me to relate to a label when I can find firsthand accounts of it. Sexuality labels are a lot like medical terms, where you’re given very clinical, matter-of-fact definitions. I need to know what it means in real-life terms. How it feels. What it means for a person’s day-to-day.
Firsthand accounts aren’t always easy to find, though. Either I’m not looking in the right place, or this isn’t an experience that people are forthcoming about sharing their experiences with.
Voss steps into my bedroom. He meets my eyes before shutting the door behind him. I stopped locking the door since he forced me to acknowledge my assholery.
He stops at the end of my bed, arms crossed over his bare chest. He’s… sexy. It’s strange thinking of someone that way. For me, anyway. My opinion of someone’s sex appeal has been so silent, I thought it was nonexistent for most of my life.
“Graysexual,” I tell him. “That’s what I’m going with for now.”
“There’s no pressure to decide which term fits you best,” he counters.
“I know. It’s no one’s business. I don’t owe anyone this information—not even my friends.” He grins. I get the distinct impression he’s proud of that statement. “But like you need to know things, I need to know this. For me.”
“I understand.”
“I think it’s the one that fits best.”
“What happened to WTFsexual?”
I snort. “I’m still a little baffled that all these sites list it as an actual term, and I admit I definitely relate to it, but… I don’t know. Graysexual, in the most basic of terms, means sometimes. No rhyme or reason. Just… sometimes. You know?”
Voss nods.
“You have no opinion on that?”
“Nope. I accept you, however you are.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks. I’m sure you’ve done a deep dive into sexuality, though. Haven’t you?”
He grins. “Yes.”
“Because of your triplet brothers?”
Voss inclines his head. “I’ve given you too much information about me. You know too much.”
I laugh.
“Yes, because of the triplets. Deep dive into gender studies and sexuality.”
“Then you must have an opinion.”
“No. No one is allowed to tell you who you are. Anyone who tries can fuck right off.”
My chest feels all warm and uncomfortable at his words. I chew my bottom lip as I watch him stand there and know that I’m probably going to have another freak out before too long. Somehow, Voss is challenging what I understand about my aromanticism, too. I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.
I close down my tablet and push it aside. “You still okay hanging out?” I ask awkwardly. That’s not the actual question I want to ask, though. Since my cheeks feel like they’re burning, I’m guessing that Voss knows that too.
He climbs onto the bed and drops to his hands right in front of me so he can press his mouth to mine.
“Yes,” he answers. “I’m almost thirty. Believe it or not, I’m pretty adept at taking care of my own orgasms, Brek.
I don’t need you to do it for me. I still want to hang out and kiss and cuddle and grope when we’re in the mood. ”
“You’re kinda great,” I admit.
“Took you long enough to figure that out. I was beginning to question your observational skills.”
“Great at taking a compliment, too,” I mutter.
He laughs, pressing his mouth to mine again. He leans more fully into me, pushing me backward. I let myself fall onto my back, and he follows me down.
“I’m going to err on the side of too much consent for a while, okay? This isn’t me pressuring you into anything right now. I just want to kiss if you’re down for that. I won’t push for anything else.”
I wrap around him as he settles on top of me, my arms around his neck and my leg hooked over his ass. “Yeah. I like that.”
“I’m also going to tell you that I’m not interpreting a little chubbing as you being into something more. If you’re not comfortable moving further on your own, we can talk about it and come up with a code word or maybe a gesture. Okay?”
“Yes, okay. Now stop talking and kiss me.”
Voss does.
You hear a lot of people compare making out to something teenagers do a lot, and okay, sure. But teenagers are inherently bad at it. Not their fault, of course. They’re learning on their own. They’re learning from their peers, who are equally uneducated and with limited experience.
Kissing Voss is nothing like making out as a teenager. This is sensual. There’s no awkward exchange, no excess spit—which I think is a preference, but to me, it’s gross. There’s not too much teeth, or tongue, or bad breath.
His hands don’t move over my body in a way teenagers do. But he still touches me. It’s soft, affectionate. Like petting. The kind that feels admiring.
I get that feeling because as my fingers trace over his bare back, I’m in awe of the lean muscle. His hard lines. The definition of his arms. The softness of his hair. The scratch of the stubble on his chin.
There’s something not quite put together about him. Like I’m getting a private peek at the part of Voss that the world doesn’t see. The part that isn’t professional all the time.
“Want to know something?” he asks.
“What?”
“I’ve been secretly waiting for a bi-awakening since I was a teenager.”
I raise my eyebrows and then laugh. “Seriously?”
“Mhm. Remember all the sexuality studies I did? We just talked a bit about it.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I have several hypotheses, and one of which is that everyone is bisexual to some extent, whether they’re calling that one exception enough to identify that way.
It’s not truly about identity as it is about the sexuality spectrum.
I don’t actually care how everyone identifies.
There’s a reason ‘girl crush’ and ‘guy crush’ are such big, universally recognized terms for straight people. ”
“Huh.”
“So yeah. Hypotheses are only useful if you can test them. I’ve made a few observations in my life.
Most closely, Loren. So I’ve been waiting for me to be my own test subject.
But I refused to put myself ‘out there,’ so to speak, because my hypotheses are all about natural environment and self-honesty. ”
“So it needed to happen on its own,” I say.
“Exactly. Interestingly, I wasn’t exactly attracted to you until somewhat recently.”
“When I stopped being an asshole?”
“No. It didn’t coincide with that.” Voss laughs. “I’m not sure it coincides with anything other than when I came back from New York, I was a little startled by how much I missed you specifically.”
“Absence did it.”
He shrugs. “So I’m kind of the opposite of the lame bi-awakening freak out. I’m fucking ecstatic.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Wow.”
“Right?”
“Loren didn’t freak out,” I note. “Did he?”
“Loren doesn’t have a freak-out mode,” Voss answers. “I actually have another hypothesis. I think this bi freak out is straight people imagined because they can’t fathom anyone just accepting their sexuality being anything other than hetero.”
“You think so?”
“I’m probably not quite accurate in that. Maybe it’s my own negativity toward hetero-normative indoctrination. But in my experience, I haven’t seen a freak out.”
“How many bi-awakenings have you witnessed?”
“Closely? Loren. Briar. Myself. You.”
“Me.”
“You’ve always referenced girls when talking about relationships and hookups,” he points out.
“I kissed my best friend and declared that I was in love with him,” I remind him. “Remember? Your brother was going to kill me. Literally.”
Voss nods. “Yes, but that was derived from something specific emotionally. No?”
I think about it and then shrug. “I don’t know. I suppose so.”
He studies me, and I can practically see his mind whirring.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“I think maybe I had you pegged wrong.”
“No pegging has happened,” I say.
He snorts but doesn’t take the bait to lighten the mood. I’m not sure I want to know what he’s thinking, but then again, it’s so clear that he’s thinking something. “Tell me.”
Voss shakes his head. “No. You like—”
“Whatever you’re thinking isn’t even on my radar, so just tell me what you’re thinking. Something just occurred to you, and I want to know.”
“I was just thinking that maybe you’re not straight or bisexual. You’re incredibly aloof when it comes to gender. I think perhaps you align more closely with pansexuality.”
“All genders,” I note.
“Indifferent to gender,” Voss says. “Bisexual people tend to have a leaning. Often, it’s one way more than another, though they acknowledge and embrace being attracted to both. Pansexual is more or less indifferent to gender. It often encompasses genders outside male and female.”
“Like…”
“Like Uncle Noaz—nonbinary, for example.”
“Yeah, Uncle Noaz is stunning,” I agree. “Seriously, one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.”
He grins. “I know. But Uncle Noaz isn’t one gender. Not male or female. They don’t even call themselves nonbinary. They say they’re gender fluid.”
“Oh.”
“You’re indifferent to their gender, too, aren’t you?”
“Uh… yeah, I guess. I don’t know that it’d even occur to me to… I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.”
Voss chuckles. “Just so you know, I’m not labeling you.
It kind of clicked when you recounted the events with Oakley.
It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t embarrassing.
It wasn’t anything but a general note. That’s how you are with everyone.
I don’t think your attraction is conditional on their gender at all. ”
“You think it’s based on what? My libido that doesn’t know what it wants?”
He snorts. “No. I think it’s just who you are, and there doesn’t need to be an explanation as to why.”
“Good. I’m not sure I want to think of an explanation.”
“You don’t have to claim pansexuality, you know. It was really just something that snapped together in my mind.”
I shake my head. “I’m not concerned about it.
You’re right, anyway. My past has been mostly women, but not because I sought them out.
They sought me out. I don’t think I’d have reacted differently if men had sought me out more.
Or gender fluid, nonbinary, transgender—whatever.
You’re right. I’m pretty open to whatever.
Not that it matters since I don’t get attracted in the expected definition of the word anyway. ”
“You’re pretty amazing, Brek.”
“Right.” I snort, rolling my eyes.
“You are. I think you’ve lived too long without someone pointing it out.” He kisses me, and I close my eyes again. “I’m going to remind you daily. Be ready for compliments, sunshine.”
I roll my eyes again, but since they’re closed, he can’t see them. We return to kissing and petting and just… being together. I definitely chub up, but it’s not… I’d like to say it’s not arousal, but a hardening dick is certainly the very definition of arousal, right?
It doesn’t feel arousing in the way it did a week and a half ago. This is even less so than past make-out moments on the couch. It’s more intimate. Like my slightly chubbed cock makes the moment between us more personal. Is that a thing?
We fall asleep wrapped around each other, and I think it’s the first time in a very long time I’ve felt completely at peace.
Maybe graysexual isn’t something I’ll identify with forever, but everyone grows and changes over time.
Voss is right; situations, experiences, people… they all influence the moment.
Something about Voss specifically talks to my body in a way no one else ever has. I don’t know what it is about him, and while a few months ago, I’d have said I’m not in the least bit interested in experiencing sex like others talk about it, I am now. With Voss.
I’m excited to see what happens between us. I don’t feel repulsed as I have with past partners. I don’t feel pressured to perform. I don’t feel like I need to be someone for him. Most importantly, I don’t need to keep him at arm’s length in case I don’t feel like doing something with him one night.
I trust Voss. I trust that if I tell him I’m not feeling it, he’ll accept it. Without anger, without guilt, without bribery, and without making me feel shitty.
This is what everyone should feel. The safety and security, the comfort with a sexual partner like I feel with Voss. I love having the kind of relationship with him where we can kiss for a while and fall asleep wrapped up together.
More than anything, I love this feeling. I love being in someone’s arms. I love feeling their heartbeat against my body and their even breathing on my skin.
I may still feel guilty because I let Voss in when I pushed my friends away.
But now I’m excited to talk to them. I’m excited to tell them what I learned about myself.
It’s not the end of what I’ll learn about myself, and I think more than anything, that’ll help me avoid the asshole moments more than anything else.
I thought being asexual was the end-all answer. But it’s just the beginning.