Chapter Twenty-Two Getaway #3
He was looking at me, really serious. “I was just...thinking about fucking you.”
“Care to share your fantasy?” I’d never done that with any of my girlfriends. Apart from Deb, we didn’t talk about sex. We just did it.
“You’re out in the woods,” he said, “and you’re wearing a blindfold.”
“Who blindfolded me?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “And your hands are tied behind your back.”
“Who did that?”
“I dunno. They’re just tied. That okay?”
I hadn’t known or trusted any of my girlfriends well enough to let them do that.
“Depends who did it to me,” I said. “I’d be okay if it was you.”
“I’m not with you. But I can see you through the trees. You’re standing there like you’re waiting. You know someone’s out there, but you don’t know it’s me.”
“I’d know it was you,” I said. “When we’re in bed, I can sense you even when we’re not touching. I know you’re there before I open my eyes. I can smell your soul.”
“Jesus, Craig.”
“Keep going.”
“So I’m walking through the woods toward you. You can hear me, but you can’t see me.”
“I’m getting turned on because I know it’s you.”
“Whose fantasy is this? Mine or yours?”
“Ours,” I said.
“Okay, I’m touching you now.”
“Where?”
“I’d rather do it than say it,” he said.
“So would I, but I’m driving.”
“Don’t freak out, but I’m gonna touch you the way I would in the woods.”
Then he let go of my hand, reached across the center console, and pulled my coat open—it wasn’t zipped.
I grabbed the wheel with both hands because I didn’t know what he was about to do.
I leaned forward a little because I did not want him to touch my dick.
Okay, I did. But not while I was driving.
He didn’t do that. Instead, he reached inside my coat and slid his hand around my back and under my hoodie until he was cupping my hip. He started stroking it.
After a minute, he said, “Pull over. I wanna make out.”
“If I pull over, we’re gonna end up having sex.”
“Sounds good.”
“We’re on the highway.”
“Pull into one of those side roads into the woods. No one’ll see.” He kept stroking me.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but could you stop touching me, please?”
He didn’t argue, just pulled his hand out of my coat slowly, stroking my back along the way.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Any time.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?” he said.
“What are you doing for Christmas this year? Seeing your folks?”
“I haven’t seen them in years.”
“How come?”
“They kicked me out when I was seventeen,” he said.
“When you came out?”
“I didn’t exactly come out. I was in my bedroom with Tommy, and my mom caught us.”
“Shit. What did you do?”
“We couldn’t go to Tommy’s place, because his dad was a drunk who beat him. But Tommy had an uncle who had a one-bedroom condo. He let us come live with him. He had a pullout couch we slept on. We lived there while we finished high school.”
“He didn’t mind you were a couple?” I thought about how my family would have reacted if I’d come out at seventeen. Considering how they’d grounded me for only getting a B in grade 10 History, I didn’t want to think about it.
“All he wanted was for Tommy to be happy,” he said.
“Sounds like a good guy.”
“He was.”
“Was?”
“He died a couple years after we moved in. Got hit by a car, crossing the street.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” His expression closed up, so I knew I’d touched a sore spot.
“So where did you live then?”
“He left the condo to Tommy in his will. That’s where we lived till I was twenty-two, and I met Trish. Then I moved in with her.”
“You haven’t talked to your parents since they threw you out?”
“Nope,” he said. “You’re not gonna talk me into doing that.”
“I wasn’t gonna try.”
“Have you come out to your parents?” he said.
“Not yet.” I tried to sound casual, not like I’d been worried about it for months.
“It’s complicated because I haven’t told them about what my uncle did.
I’ve got a lot of stuff to tell them, and I don’t want to tell them over the phone.
They live in Timmins. Too far to drop by for a couple of days.
I want to tell them about you, but I can’t do that until I’ve told them about the other stuff.
What I’m trying to say is I can’t take you with me this Christmas. ”
“It’s okay,” he said. He reached over and took my hand again.
“I talked about it with my therapist. I’m gonna book a ticket to go there for Christmas. That’s when I’ll tell them. I’m gonna tell them about my uncle first. Then before I leave, I’m gonna come out to them. Depending on how that goes, I’ll tell them about you.”
“You think they’ll be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if they’re not?”
“If it’s a choice between them or you, I’m gonna pick you.
Just so you know.” I really did not want to start crying in front of him again, so I looked at the road and blinked a lot because everything was blurry.
“It’s gonna be hard not seeing you. You’re my whole world, and leaving you alone over Christmas when I should be with you—when I want to be with you—sucks. I’m sorry.”
He squeezed my hand.
“You’re not blaming me,” I said.
“Because it’s not your fault.”