Gareth
Chapter nine
Next Monday, I'm in my cubicle at work fighting for my life.
Every few minutes, a memory of my night with Trey will invade my brain, sending a bolt of lightning through my stomach and down to my cock.
I've been fighting this hard-on all day.
Even still, I can't help but smile like a love-drunk idiot.
My night with Trey lifted a weight from my shoulders I didn't know I had been carrying.
The relief I feel, having taken the first step to aligning who I think I am with who I actually am, is a constant companion.
I knew I'd be nervous as hell, and we've barely begun to scratch the surface of homosexual sex, but it had been the single most incredible night of my life.
I feel a little guilty that it's not the birth of either of my kids, and while those days were magical, I'd still been living a lie.
So, their memory is coated with a blanket of deceit and shame.
I wouldn't take it back, though. I have a small framed picture of me with the kids on my desk.
A small, sad reminder of why I put up with this shitty job.
It's not the job, per se, that's shitty.
It's just numbers and spreadsheets. Accounting.
Money in, money out, and triple-checking for mistakes.
It's everything else. It's the guys I work with - all young, frat-boys, nepo-babies, with their bleached highlights and golf shirts.
It's the fact that they spend more time bullshitting than working.
They're my "friends", sure, but they don't really know me, and I don't really know them.
They took one look at me on my first day and decided that I was one of them. So, they occasionally come over to my cubicle and talk sports, celebrity gossip, or anything and everything that they think makes them look cooler, hotter, or richer than me.
I've been play-acting as someone else my entire life, so it was easy to slip into that role. It's the same role I chose in high school. Alpha-bro, sports-guy, ladies-man.
It's two o'clock in the afternoon. I worked through lunch because I couldn't trust myself enough to walk into the kitchen area and not sport a semi. These dress slacks do nothing to hide an erection. I guess most men don't get hard at work.
I never did until now.
But my third cup of coffee is cold, and the hollowness in my stomach has taken the edge off of reminiscing about my night with Trey. With the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. And how wonderful he made me feel. How free. How safe.
I lock my computer, grab my empty coffee mug, and walk to the kitchen area. I suppress a wince when I see Kevin, Kyle, and Dave leaning against the wall and counter by the coffee pot.
"'Sup, Gare-Bare?" Kyle says.
I give a small smile, avoiding eye contact, and lift my empty mug, hoping they don't try to pull me into conversation. They're not bad guys. I don't think. They're just... surface-level. I don't think they've had a difficult day in their entire lives. Not one that daddy's money couldn't solve.
I rinse my mug, vaguely aware of them picking back up their conversation, but I can't hear it over the water.
Unfortunately, I'm forced to squeeze past Kyle and Kevin to get to the coffee pot.
"Need an afternoon pick-me-upper?" Kyle asks. It's a throwaway question. One that should be obvious and is more polite than anything.
I lift the communal pot and start filling my mug.
"Yeah. The file I got from Accounts was corrupted, so I have to redo all of the work they did last month by hand," I reply. Again, it's a throw-away reply, but that's all these people need. They don't want to know more. I don't really think they care.
"Man, that's gay. I'm sorry."
I suppress the sudden and aggressive cringe.
I know that that was a saying in the nineties, before people were encouraged to be more inclusive, but it still stings.
"Gay" being a synonym of "bad" still feels like rubbing at an old wound.
I don't reply. I'm afraid they'll be able to read how "gay" I am all over my face.
I try to make an apologetic face as I leave, but it feels more like a grimace, even to myself. My heart races as I retreat back to my cubicle.
I drag my finger between my neck and collar, desperate to loosen some of this pressure and breathe easier.
Logically, I know it's just internalized prejudice, but I don't know how to push past it.
I have no prejudice against gay men, but being gay myself still feels so wrong.
I've had this alpha-male, football player misogyny pushed on me from when I was old enough to walk.
From family, from friends, from society.
Gay men don't play sports. Gay men can't be aggressive.
My parents still don't know why Lindsey and I divorced.
Together, we agreed it was better to simply say that we were better off as friends than partners.
It's not a lie. I'm just not sure I can look my father in the eye and admit that I'm gay.
I already know he won't take it well. His entire personality is based on almost a caricature of what a 'man' should be.
Think of if Tom Selleck had a baby with Hulk Hogan.
I breathe in through my nose, willing my heart rate to slow as I sip my coffee. It tastes more bitter than it should. Would it really be the end of the world if I told my coworkers? Would it be the end of the world if my parents knew?
Maybe. Regardless. I know this thing we have right now is fragile, and I'm not ready to upend my entire life for something that may fizzle out and die before it really even becomes anything.
I log back into my computer and force myself to focus on the numbers.
And to stop thinking about my next time with Trey.