CHAPTER ELEVEN
“How are you feeling?” He asks the next morning in bed.
I’m a little sore. Besides being out of practice, I realize I may have taken on a little more than I can chew. That said, it’s a good pain, like going to the gym and a day or so later knowing you had a great workout. “Hurts just right,” I tell him.
He holds me tighter in bed, bringing me closer to his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. “We probably should have stopped after the first round.”
He’s probably right, but what can I say? The man drives my body completely insane and fills me with a nearly unquenchable desire for him.
The first round was dedicated to him. Me having already made a mess of myself fully clothed, it was his turn. He was gentle, slowly getting the juices flowing, and easing into things. I remember his breath changing as he made his way inside of me. His eyes were attentive, looking for the slightest sign of discomfort on my part. But he was well versed in being the dominant one, knowing how to turn me on in such a way that my body practically begged for it. He was so turned on himself that the moment didn’t last long and I soon saw in his eyes that he was about to come.
“That doesn’t usually happen,” he’d said after he’d exploded within five minutes. It was understandable, considering the state I’d left him in when he left the apartment.
The second round was after we’d dozed off. I was awakened by desire and the heavy feeling that let me know I needed to once again ejaculate. He’d woken up at the same time, with the same need. That round lasted more than a mere five minutes. It took hours to take turns exploring and tasting each other everywhere.
The third time was me just being greedy. What can I say, I had a lot of time to make up for and my god, the man is such a fucking turn on. It was hard being next to him without being hard. Something about him turned me on uncontrollably and turned on the reproduction factory below. The tiniest brush against his nipple woke him and he spent the next part of the night inside of me.
“Maybe we should have stopped after the second time,” I say.
He gives me a look that asks if I’m crazy. We both came at the same time during round three, making it the best round of them all.
His buzzer rings, interrupting the kissing we’ve somehow begun.
I’m not sure what time it is, but as I was forced to take today off thanks to yesterday’s events with Matthews, I don’t care.
“You’re way too popular,” I tell him.
He smiles and kisses me again. “Wait here,” he says.
I smell a hint of me and morning on his breath, which somehow turns me on. I watch the flexing muscles in his rear as he goes to check the door. I also notice the slew of condom wrappers and a rubber or two on the floor. I can’t decide if I’m grossed out or turned on. My erection decides on the latter.
“Terrible timing,” I hear him yell through the door.
“Answer your phone,” I hear his sister yell back.
I hear what sounds like him quickly putting on clothes, then the door open.
“Oh,” she says, “it’s obviously a very bad time. It smells like sex,” she says. “Lots of it. Open a window or something.”
“What do you want?” He asks.
“I need you at the shop,” she says.
“The shop’s not even open yet.”
“It will be,” she says, “And I need help with my 12:30. It’s you-know-who.”
He takes a deep breath. “Okay, wait for me there.”
“Okay,” she says. “Hurry up.” I hear her make her way toward the door. “Hi Danny,” she says just before it closes.
He comes back in the room wearing a t-shirt and shorts.
“Do you need to go?” I ask.
“I will,” he says, “but it’s barely 10. She’s just being nervous and needy.”
I don’t say anything about that; family business is something I tend to steer clear of.
“Besides,” he says, “I have needs of my own.”
I smile.
“Not that,” he says, also smiling. “I don’t want to wear you out.”
The words turn me on and I want to tell him not to worry, but at the same time, I do need a rest.
He gets back in bed and grabs me. “I just wanna lay with you for a minute, is that alright?” He nudges his head against mine, almost like Cuddles used to. I lay on my side, realizing I should have run to the bathroom and swished around some mouthwash. He spoons me and pulls me closer, putting one of his legs on top of mine.
I feel a poke in my back and smile.
“Sorry,” he says, the word tickling my ear, “can’t help it.”
We doze off, our bodies cocooned, both with an uncontrollable stiffness.
We’re up an hour later and shower. Unable to keep our hands off of each other, we end up having a very quick fourth round.
“Want to wear something of mine?” He asks.
There’s something slightly walk of shame-ish about putting on the same clothes as yesterday, especially since the wet spot in my pants has dried into a crust, and my shirt has no buttons.
“Yeah, I think I need to borrow something,” I say.
He leads me to the closet. “Back in here again, are we?”
We both laugh, though on second thought it does remind me to ask him more about his she-ex.
We wear the same size pants, but he’s taller than me, so I decide on a pair of khaki shorts. They fit with no problem but the shirt is a different story. I’m a medium while he’s a rippling large or xl. I end up in an old polo he loved that shrunk in the wash.
“Looks hot on you,” he says.
It’s still too big and not quite me, but him saying it’s hot makes it look better. I run into another problem, however. Shoes. I’m not a fashionista, but I’m also not one to be wearing khaki shorts, a too big polo, and the dress shoes I wore to work.
He has at least 10 pairs of shoes in his closet, all size 12. I’m a 10.5, so wearing any of his shoes is out of the question. I notice another box. “Whose size nines are these?” I ask.
“Don’t think you can fit those,” he says. “What about these?” A pair of flip flops dangles from his fingers.
“Perfect,” I say.
He puts a pair on himself and we flip flop our way out of the apartment.
We make our way to the shop, but Cassie isn’t there. It’s 11:30 and the shop doesn’t open for another half an hour. Patrick sends her a message to which she quickly replies.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He shows me the message:
CASSIE: Knew you’d take forever, having breakfast with Mark.
“Mark?”
“Her on again/off again guy.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Yeah, she gets bored with guys pretty quickly. Keeping my fingers crossed for this one. They’ve got the same birthday and are two birds of the same flighty feather.”
I laugh, wondering what Rachel would make of the pairing.
He types a message back then puts away his phone. “How does breakfast sound? There’s a great diner around the corner.”
“Lead the way,” I say.
He grabs me the hand and does so.
As we make our way down the block I realize that everything about this is different from the typical me. From the clothes I’m wearing, to the way he takes the lead, I feel for a moment that I’m not myself. A voice in my head tells me I’m giving up too much control and losing myself. I’ve been described by more than one person as headstrong; a definition I think is actually appropriate. Still, I think I’m more independent than headstrong. Whichever it is, it’s not the guy being led around like this.
I’m about to stop and assert my independence but I resist the urge. As much as I hate to admit it, I recognize exactly what’s whispering in my ear, telling me to take charge and not allow myself to be lead along: insecurity and fear.
I have a fear of getting hurt, and even a fear that someone may jump out and bash us across the head at the sight of us holding hands. I’m not a PDA guy. Not in this world that we live in. I always feel like that’s something reserved for straight people who never have to even think about such a thing occurring. It’s not that I’m afraid—Matthews isn’t my first KO—it’s just a reality of the world we live in and I’m not one to do something to initiate a fight. At least not sober.
Still, I like this and am determined to give a grand fuck you to the fear I’m feeling.
I hold Patrick’s hand tighter.
He notices and looks at me and smiles, then grabs my head and pulls me in for a quick kiss.
Yeah, I could get used to this.
We make our way to the diner. It’s Greek. Another first.
He knows everyone that works there.
“Patrick!” The host says, excited to see him.
“Andreas,” Patrick replies. They exchange a quasi-hug/pat on the shoulders. “And this is…”
“Danny,” I say, speaking for myself. I shake the guy’s hands.
“Good to meet you, Danny. Andreas. This way guys,” he says.
At the table I begin to make a fool of myself. “Is it strange that I consider Greek breakfast strange?” I ask. It sounds stupid as soon as I hear it come out of my mouth.
Patrick laughs. “Not strange at all,” he says. “It’s a well-known fact that Greeks don’t eat breakfast. It’s a foreign concept.”
“Shut up,” I tell him.
“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” he says and grabs my hand.
We end up ordering egg white omelets with spinach and feta cheese and some fruit, his usual.
“So,” he says, “Andreas is a pretty nosy guy.”
I look over to him and he’s staring at us. He smiles and waves and I give an awkward wave back.
“Told you,” Patrick says. “Anyway, I think he wanted to know more than your name.”
“Meaning?” All the action of the past night and this morning must have deprived my brain of necessary blood flow and I’m a little slow on the uptake. “Oh,” I say figuring it out. “Oh,” I say again, thinking I’ve really figured it out, but I’m not sure how to answer. I’m pretty sure several beads of sweat now populate my forehead. “A threesome?” I ask.
Patrick laughs out loud. “No,” he says, still laughing. “But close. Well actually, the opposite,” he corrects.
Now I’m both embarrassed and confused. “What?” I ask, smiling like an idiot.
He flashes his scruffy dimpled smile and I’m instantly at ease. “I’ll be honest,” he says, “I’m old school and a one-at-a-time kind of guy. Not saying you have to also be. But I like you,” he says. “A lot. I’m not big on flings, but I get it, we’re both guys and all. And boyfriends,” his face contorts like he’s eaten something sour. He goes on for a bit like this and I’m sure I see beads of sweat also forming on his head. He’s even cuter smiling nervously and looking away.
Having just spent the last few years as the “other” person, I’ve come to gain a new appreciation for fidelity. It’s actually not a new appreciation, but rather renewed. I lean across the table and give him a kiss. “I know how you feel,” I say, honestly knowing what it feels like to have your heart tugged and to always be worrying about someone else stealing the heart you’re falling in love with. “Let’s call it exclusive,” I say. “Or dating exclusively. Or seeing someone. Or…” I try to remember a few other statuses that indicate something more than a one night stand but not yet walking down the aisle.
He looks at me and smiles. “Exclusive it is,” he says.
We make it official with another kiss.