David - 1. The Story

One young man stood out from among the group, excited and animated. He threw his hands about as he talked and smiled, and laughed among his friends. I wondered if his liveliness extended into the bedroom. The thought had barely passed through my mind when he turned and surveyed the room. His gaze caught mine and went no further, imprisoning me with an intensity I had never experienced. It acquainted me with the impression that he was rooting around in my head. I attempted to repay the impact, but the sensation that any moment I would be found wanting and dismissed arrested me.

I didn’t want to know how a dismissal by him would present itself. But ahead of me breaking eye contact, some undefined switch seemed to flip. The vibrancy of his eyes went out, his facial expressions became empty, and he was suddenly not the same person sitting in that chair.

My mind flinched. I knew the behavior, had seen a similar response in other, different circumstances and dreaded being the cause of such a thing. It appeared the fellow now talking recognized a thing about the action too and he paused, scanned the room and locked on me. He appeared not much more than a slip but he broadcasted fire during his brief inspection. He returned to his friend, reached across the table and inched the pretty boy’s chin up. He spoke to him and received a nod for his trouble. I twisted toward the bar and gestured for another beer. No need to get caught up in the group reaction. Safety in numbers, I figured; I did not come to the bar for trouble.

As for my interest in getting laid, the night proved a bust. While not drunk, I did drink too much and felt ready to call it a night. More men were coming into the bar but I couldn’t keep the young man’s reaction from drifting over my reasoning. Tired of the place, I headed for a piss before a cab ride home. On my return journey from use of the dented up, half-clogged stainless trough in the restroom, I spotted the pretty boy again, alone this time and sitting with his head down at the same table. Somebody must have done a number on the boy’s head, somebody I reminded him of, I suppose. I’m not sure why, I’d never seen him prior to tonight, I didn’t expect I would again, but leaving the boy thinking of me as I supposed he did, didn’t feel right. I needed to clear things up, if only for me.

Unsure of what to do, or say, and one of the few times faced with the situation, I stopped anyway. Standing there for the briefest second, trying to think, I decided on action instead. I dipped my finger under his smooth chin. Although firm and strong, he allowed me tip it up to look at his face. He kept his sight shuttered. Far prettier up close, I noted the features which my former bar based position caused me to miss; the long, thick eyelashes and light brown eyebrows matching his hair, and pink lips the right side of full. It all gave proof to my original attraction to him.

Deciding it better not to rush him into looking at me—he seemed to expect an examination—I brushed the fingers of my left hand through his hair, caressing his ear as I passed it. His shoulder was rounded and firm but lean, and I tipped his head from side to side as if examining a future purchase. I understood his behavior somewhat, although not much else about what it pronounced. If I found him wanting, I could walk off, but if I liked what I saw…

“What’s your name, boy?” I asked.

Still not looking, he said, “David, sir.”

“Open your eyes, David. Look at me.”

I saw up close why I noticed a brightness in him over the others. David’s eyes were big and brown, expressive, and the vitality visible earlier was shown again. He was found acceptable now and no matter how it was that we met, I found myself turned on by his reaction to me. I studied him close, not yet aware of what I wanted from him, and he trembled. It felt surreal. With our vision linked one to the other, we were no longer part of the room and it fled. I ventured into the most disarming smile I could manage and hoped for the best.

“There’s nothing to fear, David. I won’t hurt you.”

“I think I know it already,” he said.

He whispered low and I lifted an eyebrow in question just ahead of getting slammed in the side. The music and noise crossed the former silence to rush in with an exclamation. Knocked off balance and side-stepping to catch my footing, I lost my hold of David’s chin.

I spun about to find the person giving me the evil eye earlier. He stood, spit-fire, hell and destruction all wrapped up, and I supposed this one would face an army of darkness if he must. Dipping my brows, I directed a menacing glower designed to intimidate. The way I knew it, a large frame, muscles, and a dark aspect have prevented fights in the past. Who in the hell was this guy?

“You leave him alone! You bastard!” he yelled.

David jumped to the rescue and for the better. I knew I could mop the floor with the guy, however foolhardy and courageous his act, if he forced things. His behavior, although an aggressive act, leaned toward protective. My thinking this made it easy for me to let David handle things when he stepped between us. His intervention provided the added benefit of preventing me from having to prove I knew how to fight and his friend from getting hurt. For whatever reason, I felt relieved by the penetrating idea of this guy as no competition.

“No, Dougie. Stop! Don’t. Please, he’s not hurting me.” David held his hands out, palms up facing his friend. He reached for and grabbed his friend’s hands, pulling them apart from where he held them tense and tight against the sides of his thighs. Carefully, he unraveled the fists Dougie clinched them into, all the while examining his face and he led his friend to a side wall. David offered me a backward glance as they walked, his apology plain to see. I would have used the interval to calm myself but noticed several faces pivoted toward me expectantly. I spotted a couple of the original peers making a close assay of me and proudly returned their stares. No one contrived any further reason to interfere.

Turning to glance over at David, I found Dougie slouched in defeat after his spectacular showing, and studying his shoes with aggressive interest. David used his right hand like a butcher’s cleaver, chop-chop, to make whatever points he needed to make. I judged it good to see a showing of strength from David toward his friend. It brought out a greater attraction for him.

Minutes later David returned to my side, his friend having shuffled off in a presumed effort to rejoin his friends, who had dispersed after our fit of staring. David, at a guess five inches shorter, looked up, but he appeared nervous. I reached out with my right hand and cupped the side of his neck and brushed my calloused thumb over the warm skin of his cheek. He pushed into my hand and fuck all if I didn’t find it sexy.

“I’m sorry for that. Dougie gets…um, protective sometimes,” he said

“Nothing to be sorry for. I suspected the cause, David.” I tried for another smile but ended up grinning out of one side of my mouth instead. “Name’s Robert.”

His laugh, silvery and gentle to my ears, pleased me. “You’re right. It wasn’t a proper introduction. Pleased to meet you, Robert.”

He laid a hand on my forearm, lifting his fingers to browse the hair and continued to chuckle until it tapered off into a thin-lipped smile, as dumbfounded by all the goings on as me. I guided him over to sit at a table where we could talk, hopeful of no interruption by David’s friends.

After a few shy one word answers, I asked more open-ended questions. In my hope of learning more about him, the simple questions weren’t providing any clues. He was quite the contradiction: open about many things, then oddly shy and there were times I sensed fear. Perhaps afraid I would get angry at his answers, and based on his earlier reaction to me, I chalked it up to learned responses from dealings with other men.

As the clock ticked nearer to closing time, I asked for his phone number and David gave me a surprised expression. I desired to take him home with me and it convinced me, mine for the taking. But something about the boy, if twenty-seven could ever be a boy, worked me up to grabbing for time to spend with him. Convinced of his interest, I made a calculated decision to take a chance and assured David of wanting his number, and it was not out of politeness I asked. Inexplicably, this got me a blush which continued its way down his neck. Unable to prevent it, I leaned toward him and firmly kissed his soft lips. Unsurprisingly, the blushing continued after we separated.

Outside later, about to hail a cab, I spotted David’s friend leaning backward against the building. He noticed me looking and walked the short distance and stuck out his hand. I grabbed it and gave him a firm grip. He winced but didn’t pull his hand from mine and I felt I effected my point.

“Sorry about…in there, you know. My name is Douglas. Everybody calls me Dougie.”

I nodded. “Name’s Robert. Thanks for the apology, Douglas.”

“He’s attracted to guys like you. I mean, David…he’s attracted to men who look like you do,” he said. The little shit gathered up enough nerve to screw up his face at me. Then he turned more serious and became emotional on me.

“They, they hurt him, those guys. They took advantage of him. He…he has scars from them on his body!” Visibly, he shook with anger, and I could appreciate the reaction. Still heated, he added, “He’s not the one you want, Robert!”

“I’m not those men, Douglas. It’s not the way I treat people and who I want is up to me.”

He stepped back, frowned and shrugged, then reversed and found his way back to the entrance. What a fucking mixed up night and all I wanted was an attractive man in my bed and to get off. I might be rough looking but I enjoy a considerable share of one-nighters. Not accustomed to so much work and leaving without a bed warmer, I went home irked at the evening, even if it was my own doing.

***

Dating David excited a curious affair, partly because dates had been few and far between for me over the years. I knew how to get a man into bed but keeping him there night after night wasn’t anything I ever had to worry much about. David also required a hurried mental maneuvering from me. He would be engaged and thoughtful one minute and skittish the next, and he would squirm or offer the occasional flinch at a hint of my displeasure. Far from turning me off from him, his behavior intrigued me and refusing him because he wasn’t easy to figure out never entered my mind.

The couple of times we joined up with his friends became a chore, if only because of Douglas, and I tried my best to stay upbeat despite excessive scrutiny from him. I kept thinking how nice it would be to reach over and rap his skull. The rest of David’s friends seemed more cautious above anything else and they performed satisfied attempts at social affability. The thirteen-year age difference didn’t seem to make a difference to David, a thing I attributed to his taste in men. As for David’s friends, I assumed he read the riot act to them prior to our first get together. Our age difference did make me uneasy, though, even after weighing the feeling against my stronger attraction, and I hoped the feeling wouldn’t last.

One night after we had been dating for nearly two months, we were lying on the sofa after sharing Chinese takeout. It was a Thursday and the second night we had made time for each other during the work week. David spooned against me and I enjoyed having him close. We were watching an early movie, all wrapped up in a nice quilt my mother gave me last Christmas to keep the chill of the room removed, and his deliberate squirming against my crotch created a rock hard erection. I endured it as long as I could but the constant friction and pressure began to take their toll. In order to prevent spending myself into my briefs, I asked him to stop wiggling his ass, and he jumped off the couch and faced me.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want me, Robert? Everything I do is wrong.”

The last part unclouded exaggeration but his eyebrows were scrunched together in such a way as to narrate his confusion. I wished to kiss it gone. I sat up and scrubbed my face with my hands, forcing my fingers round to lock together on the backside of my head, an act and a poor attempt, to set my mind before dealing with David. I grabbed the remote and switched the television off and faced him. I didn’t like him confronting me; I attempted a good thing. I strived to keep the frustration and anger from showing (yes, anger) but apparently not successfully. He cringed as I stood up and it hurt me to see it.

“Of course I do, David. I would like to toss you on the couch right now and fuck the hell out of you.” I aspired to keep my voice calm and even but I sounded condescending even to me, though it wasn’t on purpose.

“Why don’t you?” he asked. David wasn’t as calm as me, but smart to call me on what I claimed.

A simple enough question, why didn’t I? Fucking him would make him happy. Hell, it would make me happy. I centered my focus on exploring him, searching for right answers. How in the Sam Hill did I explain my behavior?

“I want you, David. But you need to know, and believe me when I say it…I want you for more than just someone to fuck.”

“I know it!” he said.

“Do you? Do you really, David?” Some of his intensity crept into my own words.

“Well, yeah…sure.” He angled his head to the hardwood, finding wood grain preferable to the argument. He wasn’t sure at all; his lackluster reply convinced me of it.

A proposal slithered into my head, a viper to bite and maim; David might not be interested in me except for sex. Not letting this doubt take hold took immense effort. Not able to accept it or believe it, I forced it to go. It wasn’t helpful, nor useful to me in getting him to understand my intentions. I pushed ahead after allowing him to think.

“I’m not sure you understand how much I enjoy your company, David. Or how much I want you around.”

No matter how hopeful of his expression, after he faced me, I knew he didn’t follow me.

“You don’t want me, Robert. You won’t have sex with me.”

He said it calmly and son-of-a-bitch, it pissed me off.

“Fucking hell, David. Do you equate getting your ass fucked with love? Is that what those other men taught you? I’m not like those men who treated you like shit! I opted to show you someone better and prove to you how good I could be for you before we fucked.”

Like that, I imparted my knowledge of his past partners. I didn’t mean to do it. Ever. I wanted him to trust me enough to talk about them on his own. It took the fight right out of me, I stood there with my teeth clamped and lips pressed tight together, defeated by my own outburst. David stood there for a moment more, shaking—his eyes wet and glistening—and for what I took as a further sign of his anger, clenching and releasing his fingers, before he lit into me.

“Fuck you, Robert! I don’t know what you think you know. But you know nothing about my life!”

Tears were running rivulets over the contours of his cheeks and he gave me one last angry glare and stomped heavy footed to the front door. Picking up a backpack he had set there attendant to his arrival earlier, one I hadn’t questioned at the time, he stormed out without further attention to me. Just as lightning strikes it dawned on me, David may have hoped on spending the night and in hindsight, all of this, his aggressive behavior, the bag, all of it hopeful of my wanting him to stay. All I accomplished was to make him feel rejected.

Alcohol may be the refuge of fools in situations like this but I was damn sure a glass of Jack would make me feel better before it made me feel worse. I crumpled into my comfy chair with my drink, shifted to submerge into the cushions, but what comfort it provided didn’t make a dent in my mood. After about an hour and another shot, there came a knocking on my door. Late for a work night, nine-thirty or there about, and I wasn’t in the mood.

“This better be good,” I mumbled on the way to the door.

I opened the door to find David clutching the backpack to his chest as if it were a lifeline and anchor to his spot on the stoop, his viewpoint downcast and his cheeks still damp; the light from the hall contrasted with the snow falling behind, made his appearance even more abject, which made me even sorrier for causing him to run. He talked to me in a hushed and trembling voice, the spirit he exhibited earlier gone. Like mine left me while sitting in my self-created misery.

“I don’t want to leave, Robert. Please, let me stay. I don’t want to go home.”

I took the few steps necessary to reach him upon the last word leaving his mouth. I pulled him into me, crushing his pack and arms between us. The pack I didn’t give a damn about, but him, I loathed to hurt him, I never wanted to hurt David. I loosened my grip. David pulled his arms free, dropping the pack and threw them around my waist tight, gripping me like he’d never done. He returned, because he wanted to, and I wanted him. I kissed his hair several times, rested my head on his and held on.

“You don’t ever have to go, babe.” Emotional uttering I knew, but the words expressed the direction my heart begun to head.

It existed now, the first of a possible lifetime I assigned to David anything other than his true name, and I didn’t plan. I held him there in the hall, standing in front of my open door with the cold chill of winter punctuating the moment. Howbeit, I felt him relax and loosen his grip, I removed an arm long enough to push the door shut.

David stayed overnight and we undressed in the darkness of my bedroom, climbed into bed skin to skin and as raw as our emotions, and too wrung out for anything but gentle caresses and kisses. David’s backside cupped into me like he belonged, which as far as I was becoming concerned, he would and soon. I wasn’t sure, but I felt in the first phases of falling in love with him, an unfamiliar and altogether foreign feeling until now. I did make one solid decision lying in bed prior to falling asleep; I wasn’t going to give a shit about the age difference anymore. If it didn’t matter to David, I wouldn’t let it bother me. As for the rest, we could work it out in the morning.

***

Morning arrived double time and me with it, and the alarm clock needed a half-hour to clamor its plead of get your ass out of bed. Wide awake and in the soft light filtering through the cloth shades on my windows, I chose to take the occasion to examine my boy. If David’s returning to me meant anything, it at least meant he held dear the idea of being mine and I aimed to lay claim to that authority. His soft hair, lengthy enough to curl around one of my thick fingers, shined, sweat damp as the hair on my chest from lying curled up under my chin. David’s hair still smelled fresh and I inhaled, drawing in the scent of citrus.

Sliding the covers exposed his shoulder and David shifted, allowing more of his backside to show. I spotted a long scar below his left shoulder, the side he lay on, about four inches long and in a noticeable straight line, white against the darker tone of his skin and puckered in the middle. I recalled Douglas’s mention of the scars outside the bar the first night we met, as its telling never left my mind. The worst of them, I pondered, or would I be shocked if I checked further? I ran the pad of a finger the length of the scar, feeling the contours and tiny folds of skin, a visible reminder of what caused it. How could someone have done this to him?

David, although he remained quiet, wasn’t asleep. “The scar is from my father.”

Shocked, my heart lurched for him. I kissed his shoulder, skimming his skin above the scar with my lips in reply, remaining still and silent otherwise, and hoping he would continue.

“I was sixteen and gay, I hadn’t been with anyone yet but I knew. A drug store a few blocks from where we lived carried adult magazines and I stole a copy of Playgirl. I enjoyed jacking off to the men in it every occasion I could. My father made a habit of barging into my room any opportunity he felt like it, but he went to bed drunk, and normal for him meant he didn’t come out until the morning after, it offered one of the few times in the day to relax for my mother and me. I believed it safe but he must have needed to take a piss or whatever and saw a light on in my room.

“Focused and not paying attention otherwise, I didn’t hear the old doorknob rattle, it always rattled. Before I noticed anything, he shoved my door open and stood there, and I saw his bushy eyebrows knit together in a moment of confusion. It didn’t last long. He crossed to me, grabbed the magazine and yanked me to the floor, and dragged me naked from my room. Down the hall we went and into the kitchen, where he slung me to slide along the linoleum my mother loved so much. She was sitting at the table with her tea.”

David halted there, I expected him not to continue and I gripped his shoulder firmly in support, ready to grasp him to me and wrap myself around him, keep him safe. After a shudder and a choked-back sob, David made no effort to turn or flee and continued.

“Mom sat there with tea every night; it was her moment to wind down with my father at home. Dad slammed the Playgirl down on the table. I saw my mother stare at it before she locked on me. She wasn’t angry, just sad and for sure wise to what it might cost me.

“My father said, ‘Look what your faggot son was jackin’ off to.’ He told mom but his eyes never left me. He went on and on about not raising a faggot for a son and how my mother must have been whoring around because nothing like me would come from him.

“My mother tried to rise and intervene more than once but each time he warned her against it. He commanded me to get out of the house but despite my effort to answer, he knocked me down again. He asked me where I planned on going. I suggested getting my clothes on, but he reached out and grabbed one of Mom’s kitchen knives from the block it rested in. Pointing it at me, he ordered me to keep my eyes turned and not look at him. I was scared bad, Robert, he was irrational and I scrambled fast for the back door. I wasn’t quick enough; he stabbed me in the shoulder before I could open the door.”

I felt David having said my name was indication, whether he finished with his tale or not, to pull him tight against my chest, and I did. I smothered his hair and head with kisses, trying to chase away his pain and maybe the pain I felt for him. He trembled in my arms and pushed into me but he wasn’t through the telling yet.

“I didn’t realize mom followed us and when dad stabbed me, she jumped on him, hitting him and screaming, and he lost grip of the knife. I made it out the door, stumbling down the rear steps and collapsing on the lawn. Our neighbors were getting home from somewhere and the driveway lights were on. He and his wife were entering their side door as I came bursting out. I remember hearing Larry tell his wife, Jenny, to call nine-one-one ahead of his running over. My dad must have shaken off my mother, I didn’t see her but he stood inside the doorway. ‘You take him. That faggot ain’t welcome here no more,’ he said to Larry in a calm, dead voice before turning around and walking inside.”

David flipped around showing his wet face and fixed his red-rimmed eyes on me. “An ambulance came and took me to the hospital, naked, with the knife still stuck in me. My father was charged with assault and received probation. For trying to kill me, that’s all he got.”

I kissed David over and over about his face—his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks and chin—and crushed his lips with mine. David’s hold fierce on me, he opened his mouth and I slipped my tongue past his lips. The damn alarm clock chose to go off. I reached for it behind me, slapping with one hand, not willing to stop our kissing, and when I grabbed a hold of it, I flung it across the room.

It seemed much had happened in the short span from waking up but I wasn’t ready to lose my connection to David for a snooze button. He honored me with his sharing of such a painful memory. He relived it, with pain still vivid for him, even after a decade. Pride bloomed in me for him. If I had to be late or miss work today because he needed me…

We lay there wrapped up in each other until nature interrupted. I eased myself from David’s arms, slid from my mooring and stood, giving my body a much needed stretch, and scratched my nuts. David studied me, his scrutiny verged on fascination. His first opportunity to see me head to toe naked and his attention came to rest where I was doing my scratching. I hung low and relaxed from the heat of the bed and thickened from the close proximity to David, and the need to piss.

Groping around through my pants gave him an idea of what I offered but seeing it hanging there in all its glory, lengthy and thick, if soft, made him wide-eyed. I sniggered and headed into the bathroom. Standing in front of the toilet, my fists on my hips, I relaxed enough to piss. Not having gone all night meant a fast and furious flow.

“I never heard of anyone washing their hands before they pissed.” David hollered it out, caused me to crack up, and I let out a hearty laugh and came near to going over the rim in my movements. I listened to David giggling in the bedroom. It felt good to laugh and it helped remove the last few threads of sorrow. Finishing up and after giving myself a few pulls, I noticed David standing in the doorway watching me with a smile on his face.

“My turn,” he said. I gave him room and made to leave but hadn’t yet reached the door… “Aren’t you going to wash your hands?”

“Why? They’re just going to get dirty anyway,” I said.

“Really?”

I crossed the small space between us, gripped his ass, a cheek in each hand, and slipped my fingers into his cleft. I squeezed and kneaded each cheek and spread butterfly kisses from shoulder to neck to shoulder. David giggled, tried to shrug me off and wiggled his rear-end, and told me to get; he couldn’t piss with me hanging on him. He received another chuckle and I pulled away, noticing what appeared to me, a ring of deep teeth marks above his right cheek at the curve of his ass. I liked the boy, I liked him a lot and nothing from his past was going to prevent that feeling. I walked out, deliberate in not washing my hands.

While waiting on David to finish, I lay back looking at the ceiling, wondering if mirrors up there would be appropriate. If David wound up as sexy in bed as I suspected, I wouldn’t be burdened here in this position and watching him writhe on top. Fantasy, I overruled, and dismissed the mirrors as leftover imagery from watching porn. I could hear the toilet flush and then the faucet in the sink thundering in what sounded full force, a not so subtle reminder. I smiled. Good boy. The sound ended but he didn’t make his way to bed, so I glanced up.

David parked in the bathroom doorway leaning against the jamb on his left side, his hand draped over his sex. He stood, face down with his right arm crossed over his chest hugging himself. I ran my eyes over his uncovered body, pleased with his lithe form and the light musculature he maintained. There were mighty fine genetics involved in his creation despite who they came from. His right leg held his weight and those long toes of his foot curled over the threshold, leaving his left foot tapping the sill in an unconscious manner. David didn’t seem too sure of what to do. I lifted the covers and held them open, inviting him.

“Get over here, babe.”

He came close to leaping toward the bed and lunged under the covers, coming up from underneath them on my chest; I saw hope in those big brown eyes and mischief, and it damn near gave me an instant erection. After kisses and cuddling, I suggested breakfast.

“Sure, I’m starving. You know what they say about Chinese food not sticking.” I did something I normally do not do and I rolled my eyes at his use of the cliché. But further, the little smart ass added, “You are washing your hands, right?”

“Come on, then. Put some clothes on, it’s too chilly to be running around naked.” I smacked his ass, hopped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Just to humor him, mind you.

I was pulling on my pants when David yelled out, telling me to ‘come see’. Making my way up the hall into the living room, I was confronted with the view through my big picture window. The forecast called for one to two inches of snow last night but now, a windswept jeopardy of a foot-and-a-half or more blinded the scenery and down it still came. We gawked at the weather unbelieving until I switched on the TV for the news.

An unanticipated shot of cold air from up north had moved in from the Atlantic and created a classic Nor’easter. Unprepared, the New England states were declaring an emergency and telling people to stay home and not to get on the roads. The view out my window showed there weren’t any roads to get on to.

“Well, babe. Looks like you’re stuck here for the duration,” I said.

“I brought a change of clothes,” David said, “and some other things too.”

He blushes, sometimes out of the blue, and it always endears me to him and during this occurrence, I presumed he had good reason.

During a breakfast of half-burnt toast—my fault—and overdone sunny-side up eggs—David’s—we at least had decent bacon. We kept the conversation light and easy and afterward, while we were clearing things and loading the dishwasher, David presented his best arguments for having a shower together before we got into a discussion about us. I put up a defensive posturing against the shower, a playful one, but gave in knowing I would from the get-go. It was time I gave in to both of our desires and so I gripped his neck and walked him on a return to the bedroom.

“Robert,” he called. He had both hands, thumbs stuck in the elastic of his boxer-briefs and a look on his face best described as stage fright. It gave me goose bumps.

“I’m not very big,” he said. “That’s why I pushed for sex so hard. So…you would find out, before I…before I fell for you. But now, I’m afraid it’s too late.” In yet another show of bravery for him, he pushed his underwear down.

I hadn’t gotten a good glimpse at his sex yet. We undressed in the dark last night, he had his back to me this morning or he covered himself with his hand. Even clothed, I’d run my hands over him or grasped him through his clothes as part of making out. He stood expectant, waiting and watching me close for disapproval. I could see it. I took my time examining, just as I did in the bar for him. It wouldn’t do for me to rush; my opinion would have been without reason and suspect.

“You’re perfect! Absolutely, perfect.”

In need of assurance and in a small voice, he asked, “Yeah?”

“Yes! You are.” I confirmed it with conviction, and held out my hand. “Come on, let’s go get wet.”

***

David lay asleep as I stared out the bedroom window, watching a storm rage. The shower, as fun as it was, acted as a teaser for what came after it. Sex with other men was good, excellent at times, but it didn’t compare. I never knew what was missing or that I was missing anything at all, but David changed that. The game had changed the moment he enchanted me in that dinky bar. I looked at him, shoulders bare and the sheet down by the curve of his ass, the knife wound visible and white against his flesh. A storm outside and a storm within, nature and nurture, and in their own ways, both perilous.