Geno came through the warehouse lobby, heading from the art room to dinner. Jav and Stef stood by the security booth. Their laughter echoed off marble and the sunlight from the front doors etched them in gold.
“You moron,” Jav said, putting a palm against Stef’s chest and shoving him. He looked up and saw Geno. “Ah-ha,” he said, pointing. “You. Come here. Got something for you.”
“For me?”
“I’ll be outside,” Stef said, and with a wave, he left.
“Two things,” Jav said. “One educational, the other not so much.” From his messenger bag he took a small, buff-colored paperback, Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World.
“Nice,” Geno said, laughing. “I will definitely read this.”
Then Jav took out a small, leather-bound book out. “And this is also for you. Because every man should have one.”
Geno ran a thumb along the blank pages, strangely touched. “Thanks.”
“Careful, don’t lose the bookmark.”
A business card was tucked in the spine.
Camberley Jones
Journalist & Storyteller
National Public Radio
“She’s a friend of mine,” Jav said. “I didn’t give her your name or any details. I only said I knew a guy with an important story to tell. She said to give you her card. So I am.”
“Wow,” Geno said. “Okay.” Important rolled around his head. Shedding its skin. Unfolding, unwinding and opening up.
I have an important story to tell.
“Thanks,” he said.
Jav smiled and came in high for a handshake. Their palms smacked together, fingers folding down. A beat. Then Jav hugged him.
“Eres el más valiente,” he said, rubbing Geno’s head.
Geno was lying in bed that night when out of the dark, like a shooting star across Nos, he remembered Seth and the roller coaster that fell four hundred and fifty-six feet. Straight down.
“You must’ve been shitting your pants at the top,” Ben said.
“Worse,” Seth said. “I was so scared, I had a fucking erection.”
Followed by the memory of Natasha, with her pink hair and piercings. “Maybe fear’s another form of arousal.”
Geno stared open-mouthed at the ceiling as pieces of his past joined hands with the present.
Was Natasha right?
As one, every particle in every fiber of his being replied, Yes.
Why else would the memory have imprinted on his brain, gone dormant and then revived right here, right now, when it would link up with everything Stef taught him and become truth?
It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing, zero to do with sex.
He believed it now. His body believed it.
Fear was another form of arousal. Fear and excitement were equal parts removed from normal.
And your dick doesn’t know the damn difference, he thought.
You didn’t get hard for him. Your body reacted without your brain’s permission because you had all that shit in your bloodstream. Enough to kill someone with a weaker heart.
You survived because your heart is strong.
Geno floated in the serenity of long, slow easy breaths. The immaculate joy of believing your own thoughts. Feeling every square inch of his forgiven body press into the bedclothes. Aware of his skin and bone and muscle and hair for the first time in nearly a year.
It wasn’t your fault.
His hand slid tentatively down the waistband of his sweats. It curled around his penis, small and cool and shy.
It’s okay.
You’re allowed.
His breathing stayed long and measured as he felt himself grow larger. Warm and tactile, with a give. Then harder, but still uncertain.
You’re allowed.
His bottom lip retreated behind his teeth a little as his mind searched around for an image. It had been so long, nothing came to him. No female face from his past, no celebrity fantasy, no idealized dream-girl musings. Just his hand. The feel of him holding himself. Like coming home. His head quiet. No voices at his shoulder. No memory. Only bright golden light spilling out of his pores. Soft like soap. Luscious like butter. His skin glowing pink then red. Then with a pop, a bright marigold of yellow and orange behind his eyelids.
It was the tiniest orgasm he ever had. A squeezed hiccup. A weak spurt, barely anything.
But it was his.
And it had been so long.
He laughed weakly in the dark, the heat flowing over his skin and the bright light in his veins.