2. North43 #2
Luca gets himself and Nico another round of drinks, and their voices turn to background noise as I scroll through the profiles on the app. Despite the new age range setting, most guys have clean-shaven jaws and ripped bodies. Not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for…
Him. I land on the profile of a man who’s sitting down.
He’s got a white T-shirt on, and his belly bulges a little over his slacks.
His hand is subtly but suggestively placed by the crease of his thigh, right by his groin.
It looks massive. All of him does. The picture cuts off above his muscular chest and shoulders.
His username says “North43,” and his profile information tells me he’s forty-three years old and six foot five, which is… tall, especially compared to my five-foot-nine frame. For “position,” it says “top.”
Something tugs deep inside me—a jolt of something hot and forbidden and so thrilling it scares me.
None of the other guys I’ve seen on this app have done this to me, but the man in the picture looks so confident and self-assured.
Grounded. Calm. Even though I can’t see his face, I can tell he knows what he’s doing, and that he’d know what to do when, um, doing the deed.
All kinds of scenarios pop up in my head. Kneeling between his legs. Burying my face in his crotch and inhaling deeply. Getting my face pressed into the mattress while he…
I gulp, face turning hot. Ever since I came to terms with being gay, this is what I’ve fantasized about. Somehow, my desires latched onto the one man I should never want, but maybe North43 will fix it? Maybe he could make me forget all about Logan. Even if it’s just for one night.
One casual hookup that would open me up to new experiences—experiences that have nothing to do with getting hard to memories of Logan’s tight hugs or the way his gentle eyes crinkled when he smiled and called me “Ollie.”
Somewhere along the line, my idolization of him turned into a silly crush, and then he left our family behind. As the years passed, my crush turned into something even more forbidden.
Most of the time, remembering him makes me sad.
But sometimes it makes me horny. Sometimes both.
Yeah, it makes no sense, but I’ve tried to control it again and again and failed, so I need another tactic.
Sleeping with the man in the picture will fix me.
Probably. Hopefully. And even if it doesn’t, I still want to sleep with him.
The problem is, I have no idea how to make that happen. Messaging him seems like the first step, though.
Adrenaline running through my veins, I type out a “Hi” with sweaty fingers. Then I wait with bated breath, as if North43 will see my message right away and reply.
He doesn’t. Minutes pass without anything happening, and I’m both disappointed and relieved.
Luca stands up. “I need to get ready.”
“Call me if you need to get out,” Nico mutters, and they exchange a knowing look that I can’t interpret.
Luca disappears upstairs, and Nico disappears into his room. I’m left alone on the couch, gripping my phone so hard I fear I’ll break it. I kind of want them to stay and guide me through this, but that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? I need to manage this alone.
But what if he doesn’t reply? Or what if he does reply? What if—
My phone pings.
North43:
Hello.
Oh shit. My cheeks heat up at the thrill, but I feel so out of my depth, I don’t know what to say. Finally, I tap my fingers over the screen, typing out a generic message.
Me:
what r u up to?
North43:
How old are you, really?
I panic and write “23,” hoping he won’t ask for a face pic since that might give it away. I don’t want to come off as a liar just because the twins convinced me to tweak my age.
North43:
Okay. So what do you like?
The replies come slowly, as if the guy’s doing something in between. Not a surprise. It’s a Saturday night—he’s probably out. Maybe messaging other guys while I’m stalling and panicking about what to do.
Biting my lip, I type out the only reply I can think of. When I imagine sex, it’s always me on the receiving end, cheek on the mattress and being slowly taken by a man who knows what he’s doing.
Me:
I want to bottom.
His reply takes longer than any before it. I tap my foot impatiently, sweat breaking out on my temple. Finally, the message comes through.
North43:
I like to take things slow, okay? There’s no rush. You’ll come to my place for a drink, and we’ll go from there. Communication is key.
His reply makes my cheeks burn. I was too forward with my last message. I don’t know how to do this at all, but it seems like North43 does. He’s done this before—that’s obvious. I feel young and inexperienced and stupid, but I’ve gotten this far, and I can’t stop now.
I take a deep breath and type out my reply.
Me:
Okay.
His reply takes longer than ever this time, and I’m sweating through my clothes by the time North43’s message finally pops up on my screen.
It’s an address.
Holy shit. I look it up frantically, and turns out it’s only a few blocks away. When I look out the window, it’s pouring rain, but it can’t be helped. I’m going to take a shower, get ready, and get my shit together.
The first step was moving in with the twins.
Sleeping with a stranger is the second step in becoming who I’m supposed to be: a confident and unbothered Oliver who doesn’t long for things that can’t come true.
And yet, a part of me wishes things were different.
That my first time being intimate with someone would be special, with someone I actually have feelings for.
Not an anonymous man from a hookup app, but someone else…
Someone with gentle eyes and rough hands—someone who’d take me with equal parts lust and restraint, and smell not like a stranger but like home.