Kaden
“Go left! Go left!”
“No—”
“Yes, fucking go left and we can take—”
“No! Wait!”
“You’re not gonna—ah, fuck! I’m down.” Seth tosses the PlayStation controller on the coffee table and leans back on the couch.
“You wouldn’t be if you’d just waited. I had him!” I snap.
“Yeah, obviously,” he deadpans.
I sigh, dropping my head on the back of the couch. “Fucking stubborn.”
“Pot, kettle.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“No, you’re slow.”
I fold my hands over my stomach, staring at the red-ish screen with the text ‘GAME OVER’. “You wanna go again?”
He picks his phone up, glancing at it. “Nah, I have to go shower soon.”
“Now?” I glance at my own phone.
“Yeah, Adam texted earlier. He’s coming over.”
“Adam? Your neighbor?”
“Yeah. I’m giving him another chance.”
I roll my eyes, sighing, before dragging a hand down my face. “Seriously?”
Seth sighs. “What now, Judy?”
“I’m not judging. It’s just—”
“Yeah, you are.” He turns to look at me.
“Fine. I think you’re being reckless,” I say, hunching forward, elbows on my knees.
“Well, I’m gay, Kade.” He throws his arms out. “We don’t get anything unless we’re being a little reckless. And every bad thing is always out to get us.”
“What?” I snort.
“First,” he says, throwing a thumb up. “It was the AIDS shit in the eighties slash nineties. And who were the ones getting screwed over? Right, the gays. Then—” He throws up his index finger. “—fucking COVID, and—”
“Okay, first off? AIDS wasn’t just affecting gay people.”
“Dude!” He whacks my shoulder. “We were like two-thirds of the death toll. Don’t even go there.” He gives me his version of a stern look.
“And that’s fucking horrible, man, but you weren’t even born then, and—”
“I could’ve been?” he frowns.
“Yeah, and I could’ve been a Viking in the 900’s, what’s your point?” I shake my head, shrugging. “Because gay men died from AIDS, you’re somehow authorized to risk another deadly disease?”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.
“What?”
He shoots me a look. “What, CDC sent you? To preach about the danger of social interaction, and the importance of using Purell? I hope they’re paying you for that.”
“Shut up,” I chuckle.
“You shut up!”
I shoot him a grin, shaking my head.
He rolls his eyes, snorting.
“Look, all I’m saying,” I tack on. “COVID’s affecting all of us. Fuck, I haven’t had sex in forever.”
“Well, Kadey-babe, I’ve told you, you know where to find me.”
“Fuck you,” I laugh and he cracks up.
“Yeah, that’s the point. Keep up, will you?”
I’m chewing my lip, leg bouncing as I scroll through Tinder. I make it four swipes before I toss the phone beside me on the couch.
I don’t want to get sick, okay?
It’s not worth the risk, or the fucking paranoia I know’ll be hitting me the second I leave this hypothetical hook-up.
My foster-brother Zach got sick last year, twenty-eight years old and on a ventilator for three weeks.
No, thank you.
Besides, does anyone really enjoy one-night stands?
Like, for real? I feel like it’s just something people have kept blowing out of proportions for decades, and now, everyone just goes with it.
You can’t hit a bar without being knocked down by horny ass cavemen, trying to be the first to sweep the place down and find a fuck for the night.
I’m a relationship kind of guy. I like to know who I’m doing. And I hate waking up to someone I don’t know, not remembering her name, or where the hell I am, and on top of that, being hungover as fuck.
So, I don’t. And me and my hand’s been getting to know each other pretty well over the last eight months since Tara and I broke up. It’s not that bad.
Except it fucking is, because I’m so sick of solo sessions, I could cry.
I miss a warm body pressed up against me. Hands that are not my own.
I miss exploring someone’s body, learning what makes them unravel and lose control.
I miss kissing. And not only that hot, uncontrolled chase. I miss that lazy, hair stroking, kissing. Like when you’re too tired to have sex, but you still want the closeness because you can’t get enough of them.
Fuck, I miss just sleeping next to someone.
This pandemic? It’s fucking lonely.