Robert Glazer
I stop at the buffet table near Eliot and then nod at him, pretending I want a cocktail wiener – but really we all know what kind of wiener I suddenly want.
And it’s probably the most confusing thing I’ve ever felt.
I try to look calm, but inside, I am collapsing and exploding at the same time. Something isn’t making sense. I am looking at what is obviously Eliot Prince, but at the same time it’s not Eliot at all. This person is an adult, a full-fledged man – actually, he is anyone I would usually flirt with at a bar or a restaurant. And he is my ex-wife’s son.
Fuck, this is weird. I can admit that. But it’s also extremely powerful. I can’t remember ever reacting to someone like this. He is taking off my clothes with his eyes, and I am welcoming it. But…I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t even be entertaining this feeling, whatever it is, no matter the intensity.
Right?
On second thought…this may be crazy to even consider, but…how wrong is this attraction, really? I was only married to Mary Kate for two years. Two years. We were separated for one of those years. When we met, I was going through the deepest homosexual panic of my life, and looking back, I put her through hell with my distance and my coldness. But I didn’t know what was “wrong” with me, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought my sexuality was something that would just go away if you ignored it long enough, like a weird smell in your kitchen that you’re too lazy to investigate until morning. I thought forcing myself to ignore my feelings would cure me, but really it just made me more miserable by the day. My soul wasn’t breathing, and I noticed it with every second. So did she. Mary Kate knew she wasn’t wanted, not in the way most husbands wanted their wives. But neither of us knew what to do about it.
This was all before legal gay marriage, before Lady Gaga, before anything. Coming out wasn’t a death sentence or anything, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything like it is today, where kids change a status on their Facebook profiles and get patted on the back. My journey was hard, rough, and scary, but I’m finally here. For the first time in my adult life I don’t hate myself. I’ve climbed the money ladder, I’ve got a condo in downtown Atlanta, and apparently I also want to plow the brains out of a guy whose mother I used to be married to. Isn’t that grand?!
Eliot has gotten fucking hot. I can say that. He’s probably five eleven, with grown-out copper-blonde hair and freckled skin and lips thicker than a Jolie. Yes, he’s an authentic ginger, the kind you only really see in movies and books. His skin is slightly pinkish and ruddy, too, in that peaches-and-cream way that makes gingers so enticing. There’s something androgynous about his look, sort of like how all the biggest female supermodels are somewhat strong in the face, too. All the sexiest people are a bit androgynous to me. He’s got an average build, but his biceps are noticeable, and the hair on his arms is bright white for some reason. He’s hot, and I can’t ignore it. At the end of the day, I am still a man, with feelings…
I try to think back to what I knew of him before, which…wasn’t much. I never paid two seconds’ worth of notice when I saw him before, because…well, for obvious reasons. He was just a kid, and since he already had a father, I never tried to step in and be that figure for him. I wasn’t even around him enough to do that, if I wanted to. He definitely seemed like he didn’t want me getting any closer, either. He was fine. From what I remember, we mostly just tolerated each other whenever we’d cross paths. There was no bad blood, per se, he just seemed occupied with other things.
But now…
God. I heard from Mary Kate that he came out of the closet at about nineteen – in a conversation they had inside his own closet in his dorm, ironically – but that’s all I really know.
He looks back at me, his lips slightly open. We’re playing that peek-at-me game, and it’s only getting more intense. That’s when my cock jumps in my pants. I know penises don’t “jump,” but that’s honestly what it feels like. Then my face gets numb. I haven’t felt like this in years.
I’ve never been the swoony type before, actually. Calm and collected are my middle names. Sure, I’ll ogle a hot guy in a bar as he walks by, but insta-obsessions have never been my thing. But this, whatever it is, is undeniable. As I watch him, I wonder what his lips would look like around my tip, I wonder what that bubble butt would look like bouncing up and down on top of me, I wonder what those big arms would like wrapped around me after we switch roles and I let him fuck me…
God. I need to get ahold of myself. Or do I? On one hand, this is normal on some level. I’m forty-one, and he’s…twenty-two, I think. If we were, say, a male doctor and a female yoga instructor, nobody would bat an eyelash. May-December is totally normal in most circles.
But technically, he is still my former stepson. What would his mother think? What would this family think? You can’t move from a woman to her son. That’s weird, right? Or is it like the first option, where we barely have a connection anymore, and we’re just two guys on vacation who have a slight chance of blowing each other’s minds with our dicks?
Whatever the case, there’s a definite energy here. An electricity. And a…well, a sense of danger, too. Because it is dangerous. Regardless of all the levels of nuance, Eliot is still the son of the woman I once married. Imagine if she found out that I’d accepted the invitation to Sara’s wake, only to fall for her own son. The thought alone terrifies me. This is wrong, right?
If it is, wrong has never felt so good. And, holy shit – he’s already kind of hard.
Yes, I can see it clearly – that cock is jammed upward in his khaki pants. He’s trying to hide the boner, but it’s clearly visible. Damn, and the shape of it – it’s not too long, but it’s thick, with a big head. I could have a world of fun with that thing over the course of this week.
Wait – no I can’t. That would be inappropriate. Even though Sara’s instructions were to have the time of our lives, I doubt she meant for this to happen. This mountain air is getting to us already. I’ll just have to stay away from him.
But in order for me to do that, he’s going to need to keep himself away from me, too. Because at this point I can already imagine how he would taste in my mouth, and that would be bad. Very bad…
Suddenly our eyes meet again, my hazel fusing with his grey-blue. And this time, he doesn’t look away.
Not until a guy walks over to him and grabs him gently by the arm, at least.
Who the hell is this?