Day 7 New Brunswick, NJ #2
Damian reaches out, laying a hand on my knee. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
I take a deep, shuddering breath, and I let it all out.
MAX
I’m a fucking asshole.
I watch Sam sneaking out into the darkness with that fucking guy and I feel like I want to break something.
My knee won’t stop jiggling and I’m clenching my teeth so hard I feel like they’re going to shatter.
And the worst part is, I have no fucking clue why.
I probably can’t even count the number of times I’ve watched this exact same scenario unfold.
Sam doesn’t owe me anything. But still, here I am.
On the TV in front of me, my corner of the screen dissolves into a curtain of blood, and I toss my controller down onto the sofa in front of me.
“Sorry, guys — I’m playing like shit tonight.” I push my hair back from my face with both hands. “I think I’m just tired with the tour and all.”
“Do you want to crash?” one of the dudes asks. He never told me his name but for some reason everyone kept calling him Bread. “I’ve got a couch in my room and I can push all the laundry onto the floor.”
“Do not take him up on that —” the girl next to me whispers. Her name is Becca, and she’s been making eyes at me all night but I’m not in the mood.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I reply diplomatically. “Except — would it be weird if I go take a shower? I just need to unwind a little bit.”
“Sure, you can use the one off the kitchen,” Becca says. “Do you need a towel or anything? I could go get you one.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
I grab my bag from the corner of the room and head to the back of the house. Maybe if I let hot water pound over my head for a bit, I’ll get it screwed back on straight.
I guess the thing with Sam is, I’ve seen him pick up dudes before, but I’ve never actually watched him flirt.
I know that Sam is a deep, emotional guy because I’ve been friends with him forever.
But for some reason, the casual hookup thing seems to work for him, and I’ve never seen him pursue anything more than that.
Tonight, though? That looked fucking intimate.
Nobody has ever made him laugh like that, except — well, me.
What if Sam actually finds a boyfriend? Will he even need me anymore?
While I wait for the water to heat up, I take off my clothes and pile them in the corner. I stare at myself in the mirror, my own dead eyes peering back at me.
I know way too much about Sam’s sex life.
And it’s my own fucking fault, because I keep asking him about it.
I know that he loves sucking cock and that he prefers to bottom, although he’ll switch for the right guy.
I wonder if he’s sucking Damian’s cock right now.
I wonder if they’re gonna sneak upstairs while I’m in here and go all the way.
I close my eyes and try to push the image out of my head, because it’s not my fucking concern.
The water is almost too hot, and I hiss as it hits my skin. But I don’t turn it down. I duck my head under the spray, letting it soak my hair, rivulets pouring down my face.
I’m sick. I don’t want to think about this shit anymore, but once I pop the top the images keep coming.
Sam and Damian, barely making it in the door of Damian’s room before they’re on top of each other.
Sam’s fingers clutching Damian’s shoulders.
His skinny thighs spread wide. His narrow waist circled by Damian’s huge hands.
I wonder how they’d do it, if Damian would just push him facedown on the bed or if — if —
Fuck, I’m hard. And it’s natural, right?
Nobody has any privacy on tour, which is why Roxie and Blake fuck like rabbits the second Sam and I leave them alone for ten minutes.
And me? When it comes to personal maintenance, I’m the kind of guy who cleans the pipes at least once a day.
But when I’m sleeping next to Sam every night and hanging out with people all day, sometimes I don’t get a chance, and it’s been —
I count the days back. No wonder I’m going nuts.
But I fucking can’t. I can’t do this when I’m thinking about — when I’m picturing —
I try an experimental stroke along my shaft and my eyes nearly roll back in my head.
Okay. Okay. I just need to make sure — I take a deep breath, and I close my eyes, and I picture Krista’s tits. The way she liked to rub them against my chest, grabbing me by the hair and burying my face between them, the hard nub of her pink nipple against my tongue —
Fuck, it’s not —
Linoleum straddling my lap, kissing me like she’s going to suck the air out of my lungs but keeping my hands outside her clothes even though my dick is pressing against the zipper of my —
Nnnnh —
Trying to sort through all the porn I’ve watched, pulling the right images into my brain — round tits and sweet, wet pussy — not thinking about — not thinking about —
Not thinking about Sam and Damian, about what they’re doing right now — not thinking about Sam on his knees, Damian’s fingers twisting in his pink hair — not —
Not thinking about what would have happened if I had kissed Sam on the beach like I wanted to —
My hand is flying now, hips jerking into my fist, my other arm braced against the tile wall, and I’m too far gone, there’s no stopping it — no stopping —
What if I had gripped his elbow when he tried to pull away? What if I had held him back? What if my other hand had landed on his waist, our bodies flush together? What if our lips had met? What if he’d kissed me back?
Ocean spray all around us, wind in our hair, both of us nearly naked, wet skin against wet skin, his hot mouth moving against mine, my hands sliding down his back — lower — until I’m grabbing — until he feels — and he knows that I want — I want —
“Fuck!”
My eyes fly open and my whole body convulses, and I’m coming hard — and I know I need to wipe that shit up before it sticks to the wall but I can’t move, trembling under the spray.
SAM
“And that’s my whole story.” I sigh, grateful for Damian’s warmth beside me, his hand on my knee. “I love Max. I am in love with Max. And there’s not a single fucking thing I can do about it.”
I’ve completely lost track of time. I know that it’s late, and the night breeze is a little chilly, even though it’s almost summer.
Even though I’ve said these words in my head countless times, even though I’ve ruminated over them, skywritten across my consciousness, I’ve never said them out loud to another person.
And somehow it makes it feel concrete to state it so baldly.
Sam fucking Dove, the saddest sack on the planet.
Damian gives me a sad smile. “You make a compelling case, though. Sounds like you guys are great together.”
“That’s the fucking worst part,” I burst out.
“You know — we’ve been friends forever, we’ve lived together on our own for three years and everything just clicks.
He knows how I like my eggs and I know which Chinese food to order for him without even asking.
We like all the same movies and music, we agree on pretty much everything — if we were married, we’d end up like one of those old couples in the nursing home who die on the same day. It’s fucking perfect, except —”
“Except he doesn’t want your dick.”
“Yeah.” I bury my face in my hands. “God, I am so fucking pathetic.”
“You’re not.” He gives my knee a little squeeze. “It’s the forbidden fruit, you know? Straight boys — they’re the ultimate fantasy.”
I lift my head and stare at him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “I dunno, but it’s pretty well documented. Every gay guy I’ve ever met has gone stupid over a straight boy at some point. The thrill of the chase, maybe? Or thinking you could be their one exception.”
“Damn, I thought I was the only moron.” I mull this over. It’s weird, but with all the hookups I’ve had, I’ve almost never talked to another guy like me about any of this stuff. But then something hits me. “Who was yours?”
“Huh?” Damian furrows his brow.
“I mean — you said every gay guy gets stupid over a straight boy. What was yours called?”
“Ohh —” He chuckles softly. “Brandon. His name was Brandon.”