Chapter Five Reality Check
So, in less than an hour, I’d gone from thinking I’d never see him again to bringing him home. And we were gonna...
Back when I believed there was no chance this would happen, I used to wonder what it might be like to do...
stuff with him. Not sex, exactly, but physical stuff that would feel nice.
But now it was actually going to happen, I felt...
Freaked out was an understatement. I realized that the faster I walked, the sooner I’d get to my apartment, and I was really not ready for that.
Also, I was way ahead of him because I was speed walking while he was walking normally, totally chill. Because he’d been with a guy before.
I made myself slow down till I was walking beside him. Not too close, because I was afraid to touch him.
“Bloor Collegiate, orange, and ‘Welcome Home’ by Liberty O’Connolly,” he said.
“What?”
“What you asked me about. Now you know. How about you?”
I had to think because I was caught off guard. Did he really want to know, or was he just trying to break the tension?
“Timmins High, gold, and ‘Jumping Jive’ by Cab Calloway.” I hoped he didn’t think I was weird for listening to music his grandfather probably listened to.
He had this expression on his face that was maybe a millimeter away from a smile, like he wanted to laugh with me, but I wasn’t there to join him.
We got to my apartment building. I didn’t check my mailbox, because I didn’t want to bump into any of my neighbors.
Because I didn’t know how I’d introduce him.
The elevator was empty. I forgot how small it was.
I stood right against the side. He wasn’t a big guy, and he was giving me space, but I felt his presence filling up the elevator like heat.
“You don’t need to be nervous,” he said. “I’m not gonna do anything unless you want me to.”
I felt like English was my tenth language because the most articulate thing I could think to say was, “Oh.” And I felt embarrassed because it must have been obvious how uncomfortable I was.
“I’ll make sure your first time is a good time,” he said.
I knew he was trying to be nice, but what he said scared the hell out of me because I was not ready for that. Then I felt guilty for feeling scared, because he’d done nothing wrong. I avoided eye contact with him for the rest of the ride.
As soon as the elevator doors popped open, I got out of there fast and practically ran up the hallway to my apartment. By the time I’d unlocked the door and gone inside, I felt better because I’d figured out what to do.
He came in and shrugged off his jacket. I took it from him without touching him and hung it on the hook by the door.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Beer?”
“I don’t drink,” he said.
I’d assumed he wasn’t drinking just for that night at Deep Ice, not that he never drank, period. “You want a Coke or something?”
“Water’s fine.”
He stood in the kitchen doorway and watched me pour water from the Brita into my best glass and put two ice cubes in.
Then, I sliced a lemon to put on the glass and looked for my red-striped straws, at which point I realized I was what my mom would have called “being dramatic,” so I just handed him the glass.
Then, I got a bottle of beer from the fridge. I figured if it worked for me at Deep Ice, it would work here too.
“Want to watch a movie?” I said.
“Sure.”
I put in Aliens. Mainly because it wasn’t romantic.
Plus, it wasn’t the kind of movie you listened to in the background while you had a heavy conversation.
By the time I got back to the couch, he was sitting at one end, so I sat at the other.
And we watched the movie. I’d seen it dozens of times, so my mind kept wandering, and I watched him in my peripheral vision, his physical presence like pressure in the air against me.
Every time I felt uncomfortable, I drank more beer.
I had four beers.
I wasn’t used to drinking, so when the beers hit me, they hit hard. Like, I was fine, normal, normal, normal, then boom, super relaxed, and my filter had packed its bags for Australia.
The movie ended, and I got up, put the DVD in the box, went back to the couch, and sat right beside him this time.
Not touching him, but on the cushion beside him.
Then I stared at him. He was wearing a sky blue T-shirt with a torn seam, slouching back on the couch, looking more relaxed than I felt, staring back at me.
“I wanna tell you something,” I said.
“What?”
I leaned over and, even though we were alone, whispered in his ear. Because if I heard myself say it, I’d freak out.
What I whispered was, “I want to suck your dick.” Like I said, no filter.
I sat back and blinked at him.
“No,” he said.
“What?”
“Look,” he said. “Do you see what’s happening here?”
“No?”
“The second I agreed to have sex with you, you got scared, but you were too embarrassed to tell me. So instead of talking, you wanted to watch a movie. Because if we talked, we might get physical, which would mean you having to reassess your identity, and you clearly aren’t ready.
Then you had some beer so you wouldn’t be scared anymore, but now you’re drunk. ”
He’d said the everything part out loud. I felt like an idiot.
But. “I’m not drunk. I’ve only had four beers.”
“I’m not doing anything with you unless you’re completely sober.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
He sighed. That was my first clue he was done humoring me.
“If the only way you can have sex with me is by drinking, you’re not ready.
If you try to do this when you’re not ready, you’ll wake up tomorrow, and you won’t be able to deal with what you did.
So you’ll ask me to leave. You’ll use the beer as an excuse for what happened, and you’ll never end up figuring out if you’re bi.
And maybe we’ll never see each other again. ”
That hit me. Because I knew what not seeing him would do to me—had done to me. The weird thing was, by taking sex off the table, he’d made me want him even more.
“So what’s going to happen?” I said.
“We’ll watch another movie. We’ll get tired.
You’ll go to bed, and I’ll sleep on your couch.
You’ll wake up tomorrow with a hangover and probably a hard-on, but you won’t feel embarrassed, because we didn’t do anything.
You’ll let me stay here, and eventually, you’ll get used to the idea of having sex with me. And then we’ll do it. Sober.”
Hearing him talk about us having sex, so matter-of-factly, was...hot.
“I wish I hadn’t drunk those beers.”
“Well, you did. Might as well watch another movie.”
Since I was in a different mood now, I put in Four Weddings and a Funeral. This time, I sat on the couch closer to him than before. All I could think about, apart from his proximity, was that he’d had a boyfriend for eight years. He was experienced. I’d bet that meant he was really good at it.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I asked him if I could put my arm around him.
“Better not,” he said. “You don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t do if you were sober. Pretend you’re watching a movie with a good buddy.”
I couldn’t sit still, and I couldn’t pay attention to the movie. So I concentrated on my leg, made it stop jiggling and relax, and then it went sideways till my knee rested against his thigh. I froze.
“Okay?” I said quietly.
“Sure.”
“Feels nice.”
“Yeah,” he said.
It felt better than nice. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt anything this much better than nice.
I didn’t want to move, in case I stopped touching him.
I felt like I was connected to him, that I could feel his heartbeat, feel him breathing, feel his fingertips on the arm of the couch.
I was so focused on him I didn’t notice the movie had ended. I hadn’t realized how late it was.
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”
“Would you hug your buddy if you were going to see him the next day?”
If I tried that with Bexley or Ben, they’d ask me what was wrong. “No.”
“Then it’s probably not a good idea.”
“You’re killing me here, Eddie.”
“You’ll thank me for it later.”
“Fuck you.” I wasn’t angry, just frustrated.
“You will, eventually.”
Now he’s a fucking comedian. I’d had enough, so I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Then I realized if he was going to sleep on my couch, he’d need bedding. I got blankets and a pillow out of the linen cupboard. Then I almost had a panic attack wondering if he slept naked.
But when I came back to the living room, he was sitting on the couch, fully dressed.
“I thought you could use these,” I said, putting the pillow at the end of the couch.
He stood up. I stared at him like a dumbass, holding the blankets.
“You want to tuck me in, too?” he said with his half smile.
“I want to do more than that.”
“I know.”
“Aw, fuck.” I dropped the blankets on the couch and went to my room. His tone of voice, like, I know I’m right, and you’ll see, got to me. So I went back to the living room. He was unfolding the blankets on the couch.
“If tomorrow morning when I’m sober, I still want to have sex, can we do it?” I said.
“If you want, sure. But realistically, when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll lose your nerve.”
“The hell I will.”
“Look,” he said. “Your dick won’t be calling the shots tomorrow.
Your brain will, and your brain thinks you should never have sex with a man.
But your dick will be weighing in on this debate, and it’ll have just enough of a vote to keep me around.
You’ll tell yourself it’s to give me a place to stay because you’re a nice guy, and you don’t want to turn me out onto the street.
So you’ll keep me around till you get used to the idea, and, no offense, I think it’s gonna take you a while to get used to the idea.
You’ll have to work up to it. You’re not gonna go from nothing to fucking me.
We’ll probably need to fool around a lot till we get there. Like, a whole lot.”
I felt less frustrated and a lot more interested. And excited. Because he was willing to wait for me.
“Sounds like fun.”
“It will be,” he said, “if you don’t push past where you’re comfortable, and I won’t let you do that.”
“Shit.”
I went to bed and tried to sleep. Which was not happening.
Not after what he’d said. But, more than that, I was so used to being alone at my place, and now I wasn’t, it felt comforting.
I usually slept with my bedroom door shut, but I left it open now so I could hear him.
After all the time I’d spent missing him and worrying about him, he was safe and here with me.