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Prom Night Ch. 03

Category: Gay Male
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Dear Readers,

Everything is going according to plan.


For a minute, I couldn’t help but stare at him. Shock washed over me, intermixed with hurt, as if a needle full of misery had been injected into my veins. Whatever had been built last night was beginning to crumble all around us. It was like watching the 1871 burning of Chicago and being powerless to stop the devastation as it swept across town.

There could be nothing that I could say to him that would change the act that he had just completed. Hurt dug into me, and I knew, just like the fire, after this conversation was over, all that would remain would be the bone and fingernails of what was once a pleasant dream.

Then came the wave of anger.

“You’re married!” I couldn’t help the growl of my voice. It bit into the tension between us, making a heavyset man at a nearby table give us a strange look before returning to his oatmeal. My hands gripped the side of the table with white knuckles, wanting nothing more than to erase all memory of the night before. Casual sex was one thing; casual sex with a married man was another. All I could think of when it came to tampering with a relationship like that was disgust. Disgust with the person breaking the relationship apart and the memory of how my uncle had refused to date again after his wife of fourteen years left him for her coworker.

Regret seemed to drip from James’s face. “Technically…engaged. I’m not married yet.” He swallowed before continuing. “I’m sorry, please-”

“Oh, great, engaged is so much fucking better!” My voice went lower so no one would hear, and I had trouble keeping the edges of emotion from creeping into it.

“Dominic…” James stared at me pleadingly, “Please, just let me try to elaborate before you castrate me. Then, I swear, any repercussion of this discussion or of last night, I accept full responsibility for…”

I stared at him, uncertain.

Finally, as if he could no longer take my stare anymore, James looked down at the plate of eggs he hadn’t touched. “Christ, you’ll never believe a word I say, and, Dominic, I don’t expect you to. I just need to say this so, regardless of what you ultimately decide to do, you’ll at least know how I feel. I accept any consequence that goes with all of this… And although I know I’m the last person that you want to be around right now, I truly am sorry…” He trailed off, eyes meeting my gaze of pure ice again, then continued, “For whatever it’s worth.”

I stayed staring, feeling the vibrations of the confrontation rattling my bones. Chills raced over me, telling me to do nothing more than to sprint from the hotel. But, instead, I stayed, and I waited for him to go on.

As if seeming to get the cue, James swallowed again and looked back at the tabletop. Then, trying to piece together what words would not set me off further, he pushed his plate away from him and clasped his hands together. “Her name is Caroline… We met in college, and there never seemed to be any huge problems with her. So, I guess, in the end, it was only natural that we should…” He paused, trying to choose the words carefully, and finally gave up, “You know…” Another pause. “But, as you had mentioned before, something was… I don’t know.”

My sight never left him for a moment, watching the way he struggled with his words and attempted to condense his form and shrivel away.

“Last night wasn’t a lie, Dom… It was the first night in months that I felt like I wasn’t just doing something because it was safe. I felt…Hell, I don’t even know what I felt. But it was real, whatever it was. I should have said something; I’m not going to sugar coat that…” One of his hairy hands went up to rub the scruff around his mouth again, as if James wanted nothing more than to vocalize the best words to describe exactly how he was feeling. “I didn’t plan on kissing you; I certainly didn’t plan on anything else after that. For me, it was just getting lost in what I felt was…” His voice lowered, “beautiful.”

I caught the last word despite his obvious humiliation in admitting last night felt more natural than it did with his own fiancé. I bit my lower lip and looked around the tabletop. I was unsure if I wanted to hear more of it or if he was telling the truth. I found my anger losing intensity, being replaced with more hurt.

A long silence passed between us, and then finally, James went on, “I allowed myself to get lost in last night, and I’m sorry… As soon as I went into the bathroom to wash up last night, I knew I should have told you everything, even before our first kiss. But then it was too late…and now, because of me, I hurt an innocent person. I never wanted to hurt you, although I don’t expect you to believe that. And no matter what you decide to do or what consequences I face, I want you to have the best life possible. I want you to be happy, Dominic, because if last night was only the tip of who you are…” A tiny bit of moisture seemed to coat his blue eyes when I found them, as if he were about to cry. I knew he wouldn’t be able to go on with that sentence; the hurt in his face was too much. “Whatever you decide to do,” he swallowed, “I deserve it. You’re well within your right to go to the school board.”

The anger flared again, like the fires of Chicago, at the mention of the last sentence. “Are you fucking serious?” I snapped. His blue eyes looked back at me with hurt and remorse. “Are you fucking serious, James? Do you think I’d go to the school board? Do you really think this is about the school board anymore?”

He stared down at the table again, as if he were trying to distance himself. Then, after a long hesitation, he spoke, “I’m just telling you what your options are, Dominic.”

“Fuck your school board,” I hissed and got up from the table. I couldn’t take it anymore, the pain riddling my body with its pin pricks. Before James could respond, I already had my backpack slung over my shoulder and was pushing through the patio doors into the breakfast lounge. I didn’t look back as I charged into the lobby to the front desk and checked out. I heard frantic footsteps behind me as I handed over my room key, but it only made me want to leave sooner.

A minute later, I was almost at a run across the parking lot to where I parked my car. In the morning sun, it usually looked like just another powder blue 1989 Plymouth Horizon that was badly in need of more clear-coat on its right front fender. But this morning, it was a sleek rocket ready to blast me away from misery. Fidgeting with the key, I tried to stuff it into the ancient lock and fumbled, noticing for the first time that my hands were shaking.

I could still hear the footsteps rushing, which only served to further motivate me. I tried again, failing, then at last managed to get it in and unlock the car. In a heartbeat, I threw the bag onto the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. I didn’t bother with a seatbelt but immediately started it, listening to the motor groan to life. I slammed it into first gear, and with a squeal of the suspension, it was off. While I had rarely stuffed my foot to the floor, the Plymouth responded with surprising quickness, allowing me to shift up into second, then third and fourth until I was punching fifty before I even left the parking lot.

The hills of Destin, Pennsylvania rushed by as I raced the car out of the lot and weaved it in and out of traffic on the two lane road heading away from the corporate parks. Only when I was two miles away, racing past the white block building of my high school did I begin to relax. My heart was pounding, my emotions still churning with confusion. How could he think of doing that to me? The question was laden with shards of glass around it, hurting every corner of my mind as it bounced around inside my head.

My Plymouth whined as I shifted down into third, slowing down. I had no wish to be pulled over by the police, especially after the morning I had just had. Instead, I found myself turning onto 19th Street, stomping on the brakes to avoid ramming into the rear end of a Prius making a turn into a car dealership. Absentmindedly, I slapped the wheel in my shock.

“‘You’re well within your right to go to the school board.’ Are you fucking kidding me?” Anger coursed through my veins at the memory of his words. Since when did this concern anyone but the two of us? And how could he believe that I would be capable of destroying his life? The very idea was a betrayal to the invisible trust that wrapped around us the night before, shattering it like a sledge hammer against a glass bottle. Well within my right to go to the school board… I fucking should.

As soon as my mind processed the sentence, I regretted it. He had hurt me, yes, but did that make it worth it? When I assessed the pieces of my predicament in my mind, I attempted to set the hurt aside. What I had when I tried was last night, a night that I had… I stopped in my assessment once more; had what? Fallen for him? No, that wasn’t logical. It was sex, and in a hotel room, no less. Now, it was sex with a man that was engaged. Stop that, and look at the facts!

The light turned green, and I let my foot off the clutch. The Horizon yelped and stalled, rocking forward. In my search for some peace of mind, I had forgotten to replace the car back into first gear. Behind me, a Mazda began blaring its horn as I quickly moved the shifter into first, slammed my foot on the clutch, and flipped the key in the ignition. With ease, the Plymouth roared back to life, and I quickly began easing the car forward, paying attention to the drone of the engine telling me when to shift up.

At last, having left the last traffic light behind and motoring down a winding road heading away from town, I began to pick up the pieces of the problem at hand again. It was sex that, I had to admit, was good. No matter what, I couldn’t deny it. I believed that even a part of me was attempting to entice him further this morning when I got out of bed naked. For that, I knew, I would never be able to live with myself if I had gone to the school board. Regardless of the fact that I was not the type of person to destroy someone’s life, knowing I had enjoyed it and had wanted more, on some level, would intensify the guilt associated with it.

But how much of it was bullshit? That was the trillion dollar question that needed an answer. Surely, James had seemed true when he attempted to explain himself to me and accept responsibility for his wrongs. But was it a game? I found myself going back to the moments of the past when I had been lied to before in intimate relationships. Kara had been one of the biggest liars of all, and how much different was James from her? Did I switch from an arsenic and tonic last night to a straight shot of cyanide?

Bitterly, I recalled how Kara had told me how badly she was looking forward to the prom with me. She had even made a point of whispering in my ear when I showed up at her house to pick her up that she was wearing something special for me for a very special night. She lied to me, using me as the turn key. And what had James done? He escorted me around the hotel, telling me that he enjoyed the evening. For what? To tell me that he was getting married.

They were the same, both of them. Regardless of how different James seemed on the outside, he was still the same bitch that Kara was. They come in all different packages with different names, but they’re all the same. I slammed the gearshift into fourth, and the Plymouth groaned as it accelerated.

The game was over.


Fuck, fuck, fuck! Handled that one nicely, didn’t you! James Monaco’s mind screamed at him as he watched his hurt student storm away from the table. The last thing he had wanted to do was to upset Dominic even more than he had already. Knowing that he had made him feel worse than before. For a moment, James sat in the aftermath of his own wrongdoing, trying to piece together how swiftly the air had changed since his time with his student last night.

He should never have slept with the boy; that much was true. Not only was his career now over, James knew he had hurt someone who was completely innocent. Noting this, they were consequences he would have to live with. He could not go back. No matter how many times he apologized or tried to accept further responsibility, James knew that there was nothing he could do. That fact alone was enough to disgust himself. He buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table top to support himself.

What the hell made you think it was okay? The question pounded away at his brain, until James could not help but admit that he didn’t try to convince himself last night that it was. He tried to rationalize how he was blind to thinking about the woman who would become his wife soon, but the only answer that his mind found was that there was no thought. Instead, there was something- he didn’t know what- deep rooted within himself that found Dominic’s kiss to be like sugar to a child- addictive and, at the same time, a fuel source for the heart. From the moment their lips met, James was under a spell without a name that crossed the boundaries of years and professionalism and even sexual orientation. It was…what? Need? It couldn’t be.

What the fuck else do you call it, scumbag? He didn’t know. He only knew that it couldn’t stop there. Raising his face from his hands, he quickly got to his feet and began walking inside. At first, his steps were hesitant, and on some level, James understood that he was crossing into further unknown territory. He passed some of the tables, jacket in hand, allowing this to sink in.

Feet heavy, they seemed to want to scream at him to stop. Tell him that he had done enough damage already. But another part of him, far away and almost a whisper in its volume compared to the voices of his conscience that he normally followed, told him to move faster.

He did.

Foot by foot, his trail to the patio doors and then to the lobby began moving faster all around him as his pace quickened. By the time he reached the lobby, he was almost at a dead run. The blue eyes that now registered with such hurt at knowing the destruction he caused spotted Dominic. He began rushing towards him, the others in the lobby seeming to melt away as his subconscious desire to be close to the boy, to attempt to comfort him, and to console the wrong he had done, took over.

Weaving between guests as best he could, James rushed after the boy he hurt. His mind pounded with trying to figure out what he would say- what he could say without worsening the situation. But, try as he may, nothing came to mind. Clumsily, James bumped into a woman on her cell phone and almost collided with an elderly man in a wheelchair. He tried to focus on keeping himself from causing mayhem, but his mind was a blur of thoughts. The image of Dom’s face haunted his memory, making a crystal clear vision of the fact that nothing would be the same after this.

Before he could stop himself or attempt to call out to him, James was running across the parking lot, watching as the figure of the eighteen-year-old boy climbed into a powder blue Plymouth. He was halfway across the lot when he heard its rickety engine cough to life and start off. At first, James was sure he might be able to catch it. But then, the car was leaping into action, its compact four-door body cornering like it was on rails, rocketing into the main aisle and toward the entrance of the hotel parking lot.

Sighing, he slowed and finally stopped, watching the rusted blue blur disappear into the haze of traffic on Freeman’s Street. His heart sank, knowing that not only had Dom been hurt but that he no longer wished to see him at all, even platonically. It was as if his bundle of nerves were being twisted until his stomach yelled “uncle” and could no longer stand to look at it. Frustrated, he threw his suit jacket to the ground and turned back to the hotel, blue eyes searching for any window on the third floor that might have been theirs’. But why? It didn’t matter anymore; last night had changed something within him but had been swiftly strangled by his own stupidity.

If you try, you can probably still catch him. Get to the car! The strange voice of his mind seemed to scream at him, until he was unaware that he had fished the key to his 2007 Jeep Sahara out of his pocket. He looked down at the mix of black plastic and shiny metal, turning it over in his hand. He wanted to drive after him and ignore all the traffic laws. But he stopped himself and, instead, after a long pause of allowing the pain to wash over him, carefully picked up the suit jacket and stalked across the lot to his own car. Normally, the dark green hardtop was overlooked and considered average sized. But now, it seemed larger, just the way an angry parent appears to a teenager during a heated confrontation.

He got in the car and tossed the jacket onto the passenger seat without a care. On any given day, taking care of it would have mattered to him. Today, it did not, as it was a symbol of his wrong. He sat there, allowing how frivolous that symbol was now. Ever since his time student teaching, it was the coat that suggested business to him. It separated him from the rest of the world, commanding respect. Now, it was just a jacket, dusted from the parking lot and wrinkled from the night before. No longer did it command respect; it insulted his soul.

James was not sure what he could ever do for Dom to let him see that all he had told him was true. Disturbingly, a part of him knew that he might not be able to convince him. Regardless of this, James still felt the need to try.

Tough luck, fucker. He cursed himself. Why had he been so blind to the consequences of his actions? How could he be so careless as to not think about the bigger picture? Caroline. The name was a knife to his ribcage in knowing how he had let her down too after making a commitment. After all, James was her man; she had told him enough times to make it clear. Last night, regardless of how right it may have felt, was a violation of that.

Still, it seemed far away right now, despite his inability to assess why.

The truth seemed, James knew deep down, whether he wanted to admit it or not, that he had been living a life of safety. It was a truth that scared him when it entered in his mind. But, trying to debate it, he could found himself powerless to discredit it. There had been something missing as Dominic had suggested, for the past few weeks, and it scared him to no end. Was he making the correct choices?

Sitting in the silent car, James pondered this. He had been seeing Caroline since college; they met at a gathering at the Carlton student center through a group of friends. They had found each other equally stimulating, intellectually and had quickly developed a relationship. Despite his time having dated off and on throughout high school and his first year of college, Caroline remained to be James’s longest relationship. She was well accepted and liked by his family, and her parents treated James like the son they never had. So, what was the problem?

James could not be certain, but something within him had felt emotionally uncomfortable when Caroline asked him during their fourth year together if he would want to get married. He couldn’t understand what had brought on this feeling; Caroline was a wonderful person. It had kept him up for two nights after they discussed it, until James chalked it up to normal nervous tension with change. For a while, it seemed to disappear entirely, until a few weeks ago when it began to creep back into his mind. James had been feeling terrible for keeping such feelings inside. They were poison inside of him, and he wished they would diminish again.

What choice did he have left? James knew he cared about Caroline, and at the moment he sat looking out at the expanse of The Rose Hotel, he hated himself for hurting her the way he knew it would if she found out. His blue eyes found the gold wedding band wrapped around his finger, recalling the way she had repeatedly asked him to wear it when he got her engagement ring. James did not feel comfortable with it, despite her relentlessness on the matter. To him, the band was a symbol of a sacred, loving union, meant to materialize at the moment that the vows were vocalized.

“James, honey, I don’t know what the big deal is. Just wear it; times change. Most men who are engaged wear them nowadays.” Her words rang in his ears until he found himself cursing his own traditionalism. This aspect of their relationship had always made him feel pressured. The more she asked, the less he felt like it was right to wear it. He hated that feeling, knowing that it would hurt her if she were ever to find out. It did not, however, make the feeling any less true; it made him feel like a stranger, as if he was lying about his own happiness. It kept him from keeping it on when out of her presence, and now, it felt heavier than usual. It was not the coldness of the gold and its weight, he knew, it was the fact that such an act had ultimately hurt innocent people. It was the first time in his life that James ever cheated, and its effect rattled him to the bone.

For a moment, he let the silence wash over him, noting these thoughts. Then he switched on the engine, adjusting the air conditioning controls until the Jeep Sahara was cooling rapidly. He wanted a cigarette. Despite having refrained from smoking since his sophomore year of college, the need for stress relief was unending. He wanted the nicotine to tell him everything would be alright, that it would be for the best in the end.

Reaching over, James pulled a six-year-old pack of Marlboro 100’s from the glove box and pushed one between his teeth. He was just about to light it before his blue eyes found himself in the rear-view mirror. His face showed remorse for his choices in deep lines, like railroad tracks, and watched the cigarette bob between his lips.

James didn’t light it; he thought about it, but then a memory came into his mind. Dominic, during one of their after-class discussions before the bell, surprised him. Another student named Vicky was trying to convince James to read the historical novel she was nearly finished with. An avid student and, James mused, verified teacher’s pet, she was lecturing him on how “accurate” the writing was for 19th century women finding it acceptable to smoke. James did not have the heart to correct such an enthusiastic student, but Dominic broke in to correct her as soon as she paused.

“Actually, it was more prevalent for women to begin smoking in the 1920’s. The companies actually took to developing ‘ladies’ cigarettes. They contained less tobacco and were considered more becoming… But ever since the 1990’s, companies now put more nicotine in them than ever to make it harder to quit. Dreadful habit, really…” A thoughtful look crossed James’s face in the mirror as Dominic’s words came to him, recalling how the student’s face registered a look of nervousness at having corrected a know-it-all. Carefully, as if still lost in the memory, James removed the cigarette from his mouth and replaced it back in the pack. He replaced it back in the glove box and put the Jeep in gear.

The memory was months ago, and yet, somehow, he felt as if Dominic would not approve if he knew James indulged in a smoke. But what did it matter? He asked himself this as he slowly drove out of the parking lot and proceeded to drive home; in exactly three and a half weeks, James Monaco would be a married man, if his life did not veer off road to the point he would lose Caroline. And there would be nothing that could be done after that. Dom would be free to love and cherish whomever he wanted, and he wouldn’t have James to screw up his life.

It would be okay in the end; Dom could be at peace, regardless of what became of James.


The rest of the drive home was short, and I was able to make it in record time with the speed of the Plymouth. In a few short minutes, I was turning onto Highland Circle, the street my house was on. With ease, the compact relic from the 1980’s charged up the coal-black pavement that cut between two large slate rock outcroppings and a tight cluster of enormous pine trees. While I had still considered it the city version of the countryside, I had to admit that my parents had good taste in choosing it as a development. Our house was one of the first ones built in it during the early 1990’s, allowing me to see a gradual change in the neighborhood as more houses were built. Thankfully due to the local farm preservation, however, our development did not become a monstrosity, keeping a nice cluster of woodlands between each home to preserve privacy.

The road snaked its way back until I found the stone and sided two story colonial my family and I lived in. Set back from the road up a curved driveway, I could just make out the outline of the deep porch as I pulled up to the driveway. The car gently pulled off the road, maneuvering up the blacktop until I was faced with the two attached garage doors adjacent to my own make-shift garage fashioned out of my father’s utility shed. I pulled around until I had the rear of the Horizon aligned with the pressure treated doors and climbed out. At first, I was only going to undo the bolt and open them up, but then a thought occurred to me. I made my way to the electric garage doors and peered through the glass.

Both spaces were empty.

Relieved, as I did not wish to deal with anyone else right now, I quickly undid the bolt securing the doors and swung them open. Carefully, I slowly backed the car into the narrow shed, mindful of the tennis ball my father and I strung from the ceiling. It served as a warning of when to stop so I would not mistakenly back into the collection of toolboxes, workbenches, and lawn equipment in the very back of the building. If only such a device could have been used last night to prevent myself from going too far with James, I mused. Satisfied that the ball tapped the back window, I switched off the engine and re-bolted the doors.

Peace of mind swept through me in the silence that carried as I strode through the front door and into the living room. I found my pain lessening from the morning, the way a burn still tingles after the initial accident but is not as intense as when it first occurs. But I found it difficult to believe that this was the first time James had strayed in a relationship. That alone was enough to tear through my decision making skills and scold all of the signs that I had assumed meant he was trustworthy.

I usually prided myself in my ability to read people, which just made it all the more sickening that I was wrong about him. Then again, I remembered, Kara had the ability to give the innocent eyes when she wanted something too. So, who is really innocent in a world of hazards? It confused me.

Confused, you are, but it’s not about him, is it? The train of thought in my mind rounded a sharp turn and skipped tracks, jolting onto a tangent. I realized as it did that I did not know how much of it was a man or the fact that I was embarrassed at my own actions with a man who ultimately had been a cheater. Would it have been different if it was sex with one of the single guys I knew from school? Would I have regret then? Having always assured myself of my sexuality, I thought the idea absurd at first, but it still intrigued me.

Alone with the fact that hours earlier, I was begging a man ten years older than myself to fuck me, I tried to think back to some of the boys I usually showered with at school. Never before had I considered myself uncomfortable with nudity, but the idea of picturing them as they were in the locker room- in various stages of undress- was breeching the walls of my comfort zone.

I thought of Tyler Preid, whose ass normally got spanked with a towel during our team’s showering sessions after practice. He was a scrawny junior who was held back a year, making him one of the only eighteen-year-olds in his class. Despite his five foot five size, I had overhead a few girls chat about the tight buttocks and smooth chest that they saw during meets since he was also on the swim team. I had never given him a second glance, especially naked, but now I tried to force my mind to experiment with the idea that at least a growing part of my regret was due to the fact that it was sex with a man. I laid down on the sofa and tried to think about what it would have been like if it were Tyler in bed with me.

Try as I did, I couldn’t picture it; the picture was distorted by the fact that I had never taken a long, intent gaze at him. Past the face, I managed to imagine the tiny nipples but no lower. Not the definition of the stomach or anything beneath the standard speedos that the swim team wore. Sighing, I took out my phone and checked the time, trying to decide how to proceed.

11:03 AM.

Shit… I decided that it was a futile effort and began making my way to my bedroom. As I climbed the carpeted steps in the foyer to the second floor, I shifted my phone from one hand to the other, and, as if by turning on a light in a darkened room, I found clarity. I paused and gazed down at the android in my hand. After entering the pin for the lock screen, I opened Facebook. Tyler and I were friends on Facebook, and he frequently posted various things on it. I started up the stairs again, my eyes focusing on the screen loading in front of me as I typed Tyler’s name into the search bar. At the first door on the left, I entered my room, paying no attention to the clutter on my desk and dresser.

Instead, I stripped off my clothes until I was just in my tight Jockey shorts and plopped myself down onto the ruffled sheets I did not bother making up the last time I got up. I opened the photo section of his page, watching each of his pictures come into focus. My eyes scanned the various stupid photos of him and some of his friends until they found what they were looking for. Tyler Preid had shirtless pictures of himself. Although they were taken at odd angles from one of his friend’s pool parties, I examined the chest. It barely had muscle definition, but the prominence of his dime-sized nipples and the flatness of his lower abdomen made up for it. I tried to imagine that grin he wore in the photograph and the details of that chest on top of me, feeling it inside of me.


I tried staring at it more, picturing him removing the swim trunks, but it was to no avail. Who else “hot” by female standards? I switched pages until I was on my own, going through my friends list. My eyes stopped when I saw a familiar name- Frank Donaldson. Hurriedly, I opened his page and then his photo section, scanning for more shirtless pictures. I found none, but there were pictures from a prom after-party he attended last night. The photo showed him playing basketball with some of the other members of our team, Frank in the middle of a half-court shot at the time it was taken. Dressed in just a black tank top and a pair of maroon athletic shorts, the shot showed off the power of his arms.

Just above the waistline of his athletic shorts, the brand Calvin Klein could be clearly read on the waistband of his underwear, a sliver of electric blue under the band before the waistline of the shorts signifying the color of them. The waistband clung to his firm abs, sheltering a trail of hair from further up under his tank top. I tried to picture what I vaguely remembered the rest of his chest looked like, but it was not needed. My cock was already tenting the inside of my shorts, flexing and desperately in need of release.

Trying to keep the picture clear in my mind, I pulled them down until they hugged my knees. At first, I was not certain how far I should go, but then the need for this moment won the battle over my comfort with the experiment and I found myself with my hand wrapped around my throbbing cock. I recalled how the sweat would glisten off of Frank as he’d strut into the shower, exuding sheer confidence. In my mind, I was there now with him, tracing my index finger from his collarbone down between his pectorals, gently feeling the sweat slicked skin beneath my fingertip.

I closed my eyes, savoring the moment and beginning to give into pleasure. My hand found a slow, sensual rhythm and teased my dick with the prospect of sexual climax. My body was not that of a straight boy in that moment, giving in to a new experience I would have normally been afraid of pursuing.

In the fantasy, my finger went lower, Frank stepping towards me until I was forced with no alternative but to take a few steps back. It imagined what the steamy hiss of the showerhead would sound like as Frank’s roughened hand reached out to turn it on. I could almost feel the warmth of the water raining down on our naked bodies, his deep brown eyes staring intently into mine. My finger trailed downward still and stopped at the cleft of his belly button where the trail of blonde hair was matted under the steam of the shower.

I used my thumb to massage my shaft and stroke it, combined with my fingertips of the next three fingers to massage my balls. In a smooth, rocking motion, I could feel the pleasure mounting, but I didn’t want it to ever end. Frank was trapping me between his muscular arms under the spray, his short blonde hair now like a mop on his scalp as the water washed down on it.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, Dominic, you won’t even remember your own name.” The mental image was seeming to become all too realistic in my mind, but there was a part of me that didn’t want it to stop. It was a piece of myself that knew if I halted the experiment now that I would never have the courage to explore it again. I couldn’t have that; since the night with James, I knew deep down that I needed answers more than anything.

Yet, somehow, I knew that I wanted it. My right hand dropped the phone at my side and took responsibility for stroking my cock as my other hand went from massaging my balls downward. Its fingertips caressed the insides of my thighs, going higher until they made me feel as though they might touch the sensitive skin behind my balls where they met.

But they did not; I was too nervous.

I was nervous in the embrace of the straight boy fantasy, but I could not deny the pleasure that came as Frank attacked the side of his neck with his lips. The tongue tingled as it danced up to retreat behind my earlobe, then skated back down again. The sensation was enough to deepen my breath in real life, making me briefly shudder with excitement. I was in uncharted territory, exploring a side of myself that desperately needed what I was too afraid to do myself.

My left hand continued to explore like a spider of pleasure, searching for a place to make love to. It found the patch of sensitive skin, my index finger massaging it gently as my stroking picked up a little more pace. Before I knew it, my right thumb was rubbing pre-cum around the tip of my dick, making me go insane.

Frank’s assault on me grew even fiercer as he pressed his chest against me. I could feel the tufts of hair kiss my chest hairs, then my nipples as he grinded his hardened dick into me. I was with my back flat against the cold shower wall of tile, powerless to my fantasy’s sexuality. I could feel the large seven inch long member stroking my thigh with his movements. My knees grew weak in the explosion of sensitivity, evoking an almost pant-like breathe from me.

My left hand’s fingers traveled on, the index finger tracing down the burrow between my buttocks until it found the forbidden zone I never touched myself. Fear enveloped me in knowing what it would mean at the end of the experiment, but waves of excitement came with it, pleading for me to continue on. My knees rose a little from the tangle of bedsheets as the tip of my finger neared the pucker, as if it were a trespasser uncertain whether it should proceed on private property.

In the shower, the roughness of the kisses trailed down until the mouth reached my right nipple. But something was different about it now, softer. The tongue was not as demanding but more careful. When the stomach brushed against me the trail of hair seemed to be wider than I remembered. I tried not to care, forcing myself to focus on the pleasure.

My finger circled the hole, tracing the lines of its pucker. This would be the moment that would decide, once and for all, if there was more than a general acceptance of a male form. Taking another deep breath, I let my index finger tickle it, teasing myself about what I was about to do.

Frank’s chest seemed to lose some definition in my mind. Instead of the hard six pack, it was firm but not overly developed. Covering it, I could feel a drenched mat of hair brushing against me, each tingle from it a gentle kiss. The tongue was still as tender with my nipples as it did when it softened, and around it, I began to feel the scratchiness of stubble.

It was no longer Frank.

By that point, I was too far gone to care, rubbing the outside of my asshole with a little more pressure each time. My finger was burrowing with care, making me sigh in the relief of knowing it would soon be securely inside of me. Meanwhile, my cock was flexing, my grip on it finding that it was harder than I ever remembered it being when I masturbated before. The dribble of pre-cum ran freely down the shaft, oozing over the tops of my fingers as it gripped the warm flesh tighter.

I could feel my stranger’s mouth working its way back up my neck. Although I knew who it was before he broke away, my mind was still shocked as it pictured the piercing blue eyes of James Monaco.

“Whoa, sorry there!” I suddenly found myself broken away from it all at opening my eyes to the awkward face of my father in the doorway of my room. It was clear from the bags under his eyes and the wrinkled pajamas he wore that he was just heading downstairs to start the day. Obvious discomfort showed through the lines of his face as his light green eyes tried to focus on something- anything other than his nearly naked son.

As soon as I noticed him, my hands instinctively pulled some of my covers over myself. My face was pale with embarrassment at the balding man of fifty two seeing me pleasuring myself. What I knew in my heart I had been about to do before he found me only heightened the feeling as it swept through me. “S-s-sorry,” I stammered, unsure of what else I had to say for myself. Panic made my heart pound inside my chest.

“No, it’s cool- perfectly natural…” my Dad trailed off, his ‘I wish I could just end this damn conversation’ expression on his face as he seemed to try to come up with what to say, “Sorry, I’ll give you some privacy.”

Without a word, his head of graying hair turned as fast as I thought it possibly could, one of his hands desperately closing the wooden door. It shut with unintended finality, leaving me to hope that he did not get a good look at exactly what I was doing- or about to do, at least. The last thing I needed was my father thinking that I was a homosexual.

But as I thought about it, the word echoed in my ears: homosexual. Homo for same, sexual for mating practices; it broke up into two. Then it was replaced by another word: bisexual. Likewise, it split up as well until the pieces no longer seemed realistic. Could I truly be attracted to other men?

Gazing under the covers, I knew two things for certain. The first was that I was attracted to other guys, or at least some other guys. The second was that I was, without question- regardless of its extent- attracted to something about James Monaco.

But, unfortunately, James was a happily engaged man.

To Be Continued…

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