Robert Glazer
“Oh, yes, Robert. Please, please fuck my ass…”
I turn him around against the tree and yank down his shorts. He’s just as perfect as I envisioned. I worship him from his long, thick thighs to his plump, pale ass to his smooth, muscled back, then I lick his neck as I whisper filthily into his ear…
“You want me to fuck you, baby? You want this dick out here in the wilderness?”
“Yes, please,” he moans. “Please. Now.”
I spit on my hand, then place my cock against his tight hole. And slowly I start sinking myself into him…
He groans louder with every inch. I can’t believe he takes the whole thing, but soon I’m buried to the base.
“Fuck!” he cries, and suddenly the trees are disappearing and the forest is melting into the white light…
~
I open my eyes. It’s dawn over the treetops outside, and my cock is seeping onto the sheets. Actually, it’s more like I had a mini-orgasm, and all of this pre-cum originated from fantasies of Eliot Prince.
As I rub my head, the memories flood back to me in a heady, hungover rush. Oh, fuck. Did last night really happen?
I head into the shower and take my dick into my hands to get rid of the cum weighing down my big balls. God, this is weird. I never thought last night could happen, but I was drawn to Eliot like an old woman to a sale at a grocery store. I dreamed about him all night, actually. And it wasn’t just his eyes, his floppy blonde-ish hair, his cleft chin. It was the way he lets others speak first, the way I saw him caring for his nieces last night, the way he never talked about himself, the way he held open the door for people. There was a light behind his eyes, a light that many other people simply don’t have, or lose as the years go by.
And fine, his big ass doesn’t hurt, either…
I pump myself faster and faster, my toes curling, and then I am spurting my liquid onto the tile wall in the single most intense orgasm I’ve experienced in years. Jesus – that felt good. And it’s all thanks to the memories of last night…
After the jackoff session I take out my iPad and decide to do some social media stalking. We’re not friends, but I can see most of his posts and photos.
There’s a curious lack of David content on his pages, which doesn’t surprise me – Eliot is clearly beyond him, and just doesn’t know what to do. Some kids from his generation are incredibly annoying, posting all kinds of polls and games and links and nonsense, but he’s very brief – I like that about a man. Talking too much does nothing but get you in trouble. Everyone likes the strong, silent type.
I go back so far I come across photos of a guy he must’ve dated before David, and he is incredibly attractive – the kind of guy that can make a room go silent. What happened? Why did it end? And why am I so jealous right now? I feel so possessive I want to reach through the screen and separate them a few inches, and I have never been unreasonably possessive of a partner. Is it because Eliot is hot and young and smart, and I know he’s a catch, and would therefore be hard to hold onto?
I am never this insecure about men. I’m not cocky, but at the same time, I can admit it’s not hard for me to get guys. But at the same time, I’m not getting any younger. Sometimes on a weeknight, when it’s just me and the cat and the Housewives, I am so alone, I can feel it in my bones. More and more eligible guys I meet at the bar are married, and are just out for a night with friends. Maybe I should get on this before it’s too late…
On a whim, I take a moment to Google something that makes my heart stomp – the laws regarding step-parents and former step-children. Very quickly I am relieved to find there aren’t any. As soon as the divorce goes through, there are no longer any legal bonds between step-family members, in any way. Sure, it might be morally wrong, but legally there is nothing in the books regarding this.
But then again, Mary Kate’s revenge could possibly be far more terrifying than anything the law could hand down to me…
I start getting ready for the day, my mind still racing. Looking back, my marriage to Mary Kate Powers Prince was a clear case of temporary insanity. I was raised in a military family, moving from base to base, one city to the next, and we were as conservative as conservative gets. When I started suspecting there was something different about me, my first instinct was to completely reject and deny the possibility. I’d never even met a gay person, and whenever they were brought up in the evening news my parents talked about them in hushed tones, like just speaking about them too loudly would pox the house. So at first it wasn’t even a possibility to me.
But nature doesn’t wait long. My mom found a Playgirl in my room, and brought me to a Methodist minister who prayed with me and said God would “cleanse” me of this “imperfect urge.” So throughout my adolescence, I believed him. When I met Mary Kate, she was everything my parents ever told me I wanted. She was cute and spunky and female and could give me children. One thing people don’t understand is that when someone is as desperate as I was, they will want to believe in the fantasies so badly, they actually do start to believe in them. In my mind, I wasn’t a gay man marrying a woman I could never love. I was a good Christian overcoming my sinful nature to do the right thing and “fit in.”
Shocker: the marriage was a disaster from the vows onward. I didn’t love her, and she resented me for it. Actually, I did love her very much, but on a sisterly level. I knew very quickly that I had made a massive miscalculation. But if anything, she saved my life – by marrying her, I had it spelled out for me, in big bold letters that human nature was set in stone, and that I couldn’t “pray away” my complete disinterest in females. I didn’t like her sexually, and that was that.
The first year of matrimony was full of knock-down fights, with Mary Kate melting down over the simplest things and tossing hairbrushes or pitchers of water at me (never around Eliot, though, as he chose to live with his father and stepmom). I wasn’t even there half the time, as I’d flee the chaos and sleep at my sister’s house. Within a year, we separated.
That’s why I don’t know Eliot – in all the mess, I barely ever encountered him. Mary Kate is a…complicated woman, some would say crazy, and I understood Eliot’s choice to live with his dad. She never got over it, though, and hated his dad for it forever.
God, that must’ve made it doubly worse for Eliot when his dad dumped both of his kids for his mistress and moved to Asia…
Leaving Mary Kate and moving to the gay portion of Atlanta was the single most terrifying thing I ever did. It was also the best. More than anything, I was petrified of being seen as “that poor confused gay guy” who had misguidedly walked a woman down the aisle and ruined her life. But Mary Kate got over it and moved on very quickly, and living authentically proved to be my savior. For the first time, I was waking up happy. For the first time, I was doing what I wanted to do, every single day, instead of following my parents’ orders. My depression eased up within weeks. Looking back, I should’ve told my parents to fuck themselves a decade before my marriage and lived on my terms, but you know what they say about hindsight…
Still, I didn’t experience my first relationships and first heartbreak until most of my peers were paying mortgages. For many, to be gay is to live all your adolescent experiences on a decade-long delay. But I try not to regret my journey, because all of it brought me to the here and now. It reminds me of a quote from one of my favorite authors, a writer named Seth King who is very talented but also, unfortunately, hopelessly ugly:
The very best people have been broken before. The most interesting people hear a heartbreak song and slow a little, as they understand the lyrics a little more than the average listener. The wisest people see a swirl of color in a piece of art and wince as they see a mental montage of that summer with the lover that got away. Most people would choose an easy life, a tranquil path - but we are not given the luxury of that choice. Some of us are put through the ringer, some of our hearts are treated like they were bought at secondhand stores. They may seem weary or beaten down, but they know the truth: they are the wise ones. They are the storm-strong. They are the survivors. A broken human heart is a living miracle - what else could break over and over again, and still function?
So at the end of the day, I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m me. Finally.
As I brush my teeth I think of Eliot’s eyes, and an undeniable jolt shakes my body. Nobody has made me feel like this in…well, years. Passion never chooses its recipients, and Mary Kate knows that now. Part of me thinks she’d understand, if she ever found out we hooked up – if she can only work through the rest of the facets of her reaction. But what would she think about more than a hookup?
Eliot is gorgeous, he’s an adult, and he’s single. (Technically, but still.) We keep locking eyes, and every time I get that jittery feeling I’ll get in a club when a dude looks at me and I know he wants to fuck me.
But that’s wrong, right?
That’s when I realize I need to deal with this. Whatever is going on here, whatever happened, I am going to have to resolve it before we leave. I’ve let too many good guys run away from me, and time is getting scarce. So instead of running from this, I start getting ready for the day in my best clothes. Because I won’t run.
Whatever this becomes, I will dive in headfirst.