The Anti-Boyfriend

by Ward, Penelope

  Barely able to get the words out, I said, “I, uh, got an unexpected call from Sharon. She had some time today and offered to babysit. So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out.”

  I couldn’t break my eyes away from his amazing chest, hard and glistening. He was even more ripped than I remembered. Deacon had mentioned working out more lately, perhaps to get out some of the sexual frustration.

  “I would absolutely love to spend time with you.” He stepped out of the way. “Come in. Please.”

  We faced each other in the middle of his living room, the proximity of his body wreaking havoc on me.

  He smiled knowingly.

  Yup. He was onto me. “What?” I asked.

  His mouth curved into a smirk. “I like the way you’re looking at me right now.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “I know you’ve worked really hard not to be alone with me up until this point. I get it. But…what do you want, Carys?” His eyes brimmed with intensity. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s the same fucking thing I want right now.”

  The utter need in his voice matched the feeling in my loins. He pressed his chest into me, and I buried my face in his hard pecs.

  “Apparently, I’m obvious,” I said, speaking into his skin. “Even Mrs. Winsbanger called me out for coming over here to have sex with you.”

  His laughter shook against me. “Mrs. Winsbanger thinks everyone is having sex twenty-four-seven.”

  I looked up to meet his glassy eyes. “I want you,” I whispered.

  He nodded. “But you’re scared.”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled back to look into my eyes, placing his big, rough hands around my face. “Please don’t be scared of me anymore.”

  My breathing quickened. “I’m sorry.”

  Deacon placed a firm kiss on my forehead. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

  He kissed down to my nose, and then my mouth. I opened for him as his tongue slipped inside. Damn. It was good to taste him again.

  His nails dug into my side, his voice filled with need. “It’s been a long fucking time for both of us. If you want me right now, it doesn’t have to mean shit, Carys. Just use me. Fucking use me. Let me make you feel good. I promise it doesn’t have to be anything more than sex yet, if you don’t want it to. And yes, I would say just about anything to have you. Because I need it. But I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Closing my eyes, I nodded, so desperate for him.

  The next thing I knew, I felt his hand under my dress and between my legs, shifting my drenched panties to the side and slipping his fingers in. The sound that escaped me signified a long hunger, finally satisfied.

  Burying his fingers inside me, he moved in and out as I tightened the muscles between my legs. His lips enveloped mine as he continued to fuck me with his hand. My body went wild. Unable to pull his hair hard enough, I was practically climbing him. As soon as he pulled his fingers out and pressed his erection against me, I knew I was done for. There was no turning back.

  “Carys, I’m gonna fuck you so damn hard. Do you want that?”

  “Yes,” I panted.

  I ripped the towel off of him. His erect cock glistened at the tip, and I couldn’t wait to feel him inside of me.

  Deacon undid the zipper at the back of my dress and pulled the frock over my head. He lifted me off the ground and wrapped my legs around his waist, entering me in one hard thrust. It burned for a few seconds before the euphoria set in. He was bare inside of me with no barrier, something I’d never experienced with him before.

  “Fuck. I forgot how damn good this feels,” he said, pumping in and out of me.

  Deacon’s teeth sank gently into the side of my neck as he began to fuck me hard, holding me up with his hands under my ass. There was something so carnal about biting my neck. This felt different from any other time we’d had sex.

  He suddenly pulled out. “I have to get a condom.”

  As much as I didn’t want to stop, I knew that was the right decision.

  He put me down gently, and I marveled at his sculpted ass as he ran to his bedroom. He returned with the rubber in hand, ripping the package before slipping the condom over his thick shaft.

  “I want to take you on the floor, down on this rug, because Sharon doesn’t need to hear how hard I’m gonna fuck you right now. I would fucking break the bed.”

  I quivered with excitement and lowered myself to the floor. As soon as my back hit the soft, shag rug, Deacon was inside of me again, penetrating me hard and fast. The weight of his body was overwhelming. How I’d missed having him over me like this. His lips locked on mine as we refused to come up for air, our hands intertwined. Every part of me felt connected to him as he rammed into me.

  “I love you, Carys,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I know I said this was just sex, but I fucking love you, and I need you to know it while I’m inside you. I love you so much. Don’t say it back. That’s not what this is about.”

  As much as I’d tried to convince myself this was only sex, the second he said those words, my muscles pulsated even harder. The thought of fucking him had thrilled me, but the knowledge that he was making love to me put me over the edge. Because the truth was, I loved this man so much, and no amount of fear or mistrust could erase that. I would always love Deacon.

  He snapped me out of my thoughts when he lifted my ass, sliding me toward him before throwing my legs over his shoulders.

  He thrust into me hard for a few seconds from that position before his body shook and he groaned in pleasure. The feel of Deacon’s hot cum filling the condom prompted my own release. It was the most intense orgasm of my life.

  As he came, he kept repeating, “I love you. I love you, Carys. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  With the wind knocked out of me, my body lay limp against Deacon’s floor as he hovered above, still inside me.

  He lowered himself to kiss my neck. “Are you okay?”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  He cupped my cheek before taking my mouth with his again.

  Then he pulled out and stood up, showcasing his gloriously naked body, the full condom tip hanging from his cock.

  He ventured to the bathroom to dispose of it, then returned to the rug. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling my body into his.

  I turned to meet his face. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  He drew me in closer. “Of course not. But on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You let me take you to our favorite diner for lunch.”

  I beamed. “That sounds good.”

  I sat up and was just about to head to the bathroom when he wrapped his arm around my waist. “Come here,” he said, pulling me back for another kiss.

  After he finally let me go, I took a long shower, relishing the masculine smell of his body wash. My insides ached in the best possible way.

  Once out, I took my clothes into his room to change, where I noticed an open book face down on his desk. Down Syndrome Parenting 101. Another book sat next to it. The Everything Sign Language Book.

  While I’d been stuck in limbo over whether to trust Deacon again, he’d been moving forward—learning and preparing for a life with us, whenever I was ready.

  * * *

  A week later, Deacon and I hadn’t spent a night apart since that day at his apartment.

  One afternoon he offered to go on a Target run for me since Sunny wasn’t feeling well. She almost never got sick, but today she had a small fever.

  One of the things on my lengthy, handwritten list was children’s pain reliever, since I was running out.

  Deacon sent a text from the store.

  Deacon: Is the generic brand really as good as the name brand?

  Carys: It’s supposed to be the same thing.

  The dots moved around.

  Deacon: Okay.

  A few minutes later, he sent another message.

  Deacon: Not gonna risk it. Getting the na
me brand.

  I smiled. The sweet and caring side beneath that masculine exterior never ceased to amaze me.

  Carys: Okay.

  Several minutes went by before he reached out again.

  Deacon: What’s organic penis?

  Carys: Huh?

  He sent a photo of my handwriting.

  Carys: That says organic peaches. Sorry for my chicken scratch.

  Deacon: I was gonna say… ;-) Mine is totally organic, by the way. But got it. Peaches. Organic.

  He followed that with five peach emojis.

  Deacon: Ironically, the peach emoji represents ass. So you can imagine where my mind is going right now.

  Next, he texted an eggplant emoji and a peach.

  Carys: That reminds me, get an eggplant, too. Gonna try to make eggplant lasagna tomorrow.

  Deacon: Yes, ma’am.

  The texts stopped for a while. Then I received a photo of a black, lace thong draped over his hand.

  Deacon: After all that talk of eggplants and peaches, I walked by the ladies’ underwear section, saw this, and pictured you in it, bent over in front of me. Now I’m fucking hard in the middle of Target.

  Deacon: I need to get in line, but it’s not safe to leave this aisle at the moment.

  Deacon: Shit! An old lady is looking for granny panties across from me, and I’m hiding in place with a stiffy.

  I doubled over in laughter.

  Deacon: I shit you not, I think the old lady just farted.

  Deacon: Fuck my life.

  Deacon: That’s it. I’m moving out of here. I’ve got the cart in front of me to hide my junk. And thanks to her, I’m not that hard anymore anyway.

  Carys: Will you just come home before you get into trouble? LOL

  Deacon: Heading home. With the thong. You. Me. Tonight. It’s on.

  I sighed. We’d had our ups and down, but I really did love this man.

  Deacon: By the way, you’re a size small in shirts, right?

  Carys: Yes. Why?

  Deacon: I got you something.

  Carys: Uh-oh. Let me guess. Low-cut neckline?

  He sent a photo of a plain, white, fitted T-shirt with a simple message on the front: I Heart My Boyfriend.

  My face hurt from smiling.

  Carys: You know, before we got together, I used to refer to you as the “Anti-Boyfriend.”

  Deacon: Oh really? Well, the “Anti-Boyfriend” found the one.

  I sighed.

  Carys: Hurry back.

  One more text came in about five minutes later.

  Deacon: Picked you up a coffee from the Starbucks in here.

  He sent a photo of the cup, which had a message written in black marker. At first, I thought it said, Carys Like Paris. But then I looked closer and realized he was getting me back for the peaches mistake earlier.

  Carys Likes Penis.

  EPILOGUE

  Deacon

  Getting Carys to fully believe in me didn’t happen as quickly as I’d hoped. And there was no formal discussion or announcement when things had finally crossed the barrier of trust. Our being back together happened slowly and organically. I spent every day for months showing her I wasn’t going anywhere, and taking the time to learn how to be a good partner to her and a father to Sunny. Because I’d put in the work, I finally reaped the rewards.

  In the five years since Carys entered my life, I’d learned many things, including the following, in no particular order.

  One: You can’t prove yourself with words, only actions.

  Two: You can’t choose who you love. It never mattered what I told myself about not getting into a relationship with Carys. From the moment we connected, I was destined to lose the battle with my brain.

  Three: Full freedom can’t be achieved until you forgive yourself. I finally sought therapy for my fear of failure and harming others and learned how important self-compassion was to my recovery.

  Four: It’s not all about you, Deacon. There were things in life far more important than myself. Sunny taught me that. When you have children, they come first, always.

  And finally, I learned blood doesn’t make you family. Sunny is my daughter, and it doesn’t matter that I didn’t technically make her. The only caveat? I had to share the father role with Charles. She called neither one of us Dad. I was Deek and he was Cha-Cha. But we both believed we were her father, neither of us willing to give that designation to the other. So we accepted that Sunny would have two fathers, each checking and balancing the other and holding each other accountable.

  My daughter is a trip. She recently learned to twerk, thanks to Charles’s daughter, Talia. At five and a half, Sunny’s speech was still a work in progress. While Carys and I could understand almost everything she said, it wasn’t always clear to others. But we’d been told that with continued therapy, her speech would improve as she got older. She’d be able to meet all the same milestones as a typical kid, just on her own schedule. No one knew exactly what the future would bring for Sunny in terms of living independently, but I had high hopes that she would achieve whatever she set her sights on. I’d be there cheering her on until the day I died.

  Of course, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to fall in love with Sunny if I hadn’t fallen in love with her mother first. A couple of years ago, Carys and I left Sunny behind with Charles for the first time and flew to Vegas to get married. It was four glorious days of having my beautiful ballerina all to myself. Soon after we got back, we moved to the suburbs of New Jersey so we could have a yard.

  Now we were typical suburbanites, spending our Saturday morning at our kid’s soccer game. Not only had I never foreseen myself as a dad, but I certainly never imagined my grand return to sports would be as a soccer coach for a bunch of rugrats. Sunny’s school offered an integrated sports program, so the kids with special needs played right alongside the others. I figured rather than having to force myself to stay on the sidelines, I’d coach the team—you know, in case Sunny ever needed me.

  But you know what? Most of the time, she didn’t. And I was learning to let her fall sometimes. That was hard.

  I waved to Charles, sitting in the stands with his two kids. They showed up for each and every one of Sunny’s games. When we moved, we’d intentionally bought a place close to Charles, since he often helped out with Sunny.

  Our daughter was a joy to watch on the field. She loved being around other kids, and they’d often help lead her in the right direction. She didn’t always follow the rules of the game, and had only made one goal the entire season, with the help of one of her peers, but she always had a smile on her face. With Sunny, it was never about the destination. It was the journey. If she fell while running, she always picked herself up and kept going. People could definitely learn a few things from my little girl.

  When today’s game finally ended, Sunny ran to Carys, who’d been watching from a blanket on the grass. Charles and his kids came over to give her high fives.

  A couple of parents interrupted me on my way to my family, so it took me a while to join them.

  When I finally broke free and got to Carys, I said, “Ready to head home?”

  She nodded and tugged on one of Sunny’s two blond braids. “You’re going to need the longest bath, girl. Let’s get you home and scrub you down.”

  I leaned in to whisper in Carys’s ear, “Did you say rub down? I could use a rub down later.”

  She shook her head, and I stole a quick kiss before wrapping my arm around her. We walked back toward the car.

  Sunny looked up at me and made her hand into a fist while mimicking licking a cone, which was sign language for ice cream. The ice cream truck was parked at the edge of the parking lot.

  “You need to have lunch first,” I told her.

  She jumped up and down. “Peez, Deek!”

  I sighed and reached for my wallet.

  “You’re such a sucker.” Carys laughed.

  After we got Sunny her frozen treat, we resumed the long walk to t
he car, which was parked at the far end of the lot in a shady spot under a tree.

  “I was so proud of Sunny today,” Carys said. “I’m glad I never pushed the ballet thing, because it’s clear she’s much more interested in sports.”

  Carys now held a part-time position as an instructor for a local dance school. She’d tried enrolling Sunny in some classes there, but all our daughter did was fidget with her tutu and make silly faces at me. She had no interest, but she was always excited for her soccer practice and games.

  “Well, if Sunny’s going to be a tomboy, maybe I can get this one to dance with me.” Carys kissed the top of our baby boy’s head.

  “If he wants to dance instead of playing sports, that’s his choice,” I said.

  Jack had been sleeping in the carrier on Carys’s chest the entire game. He was six months old now—exactly the age Sunny was when I met Carys. We’d waited to have a baby so we could give Sunny as much attention as possible in her toddler years. Then when Carys found out she was pregnant, she decided to leave her PR gig to devote more time to the kids and not commute into the city. Our boy evened out our little family of four. And I was much better equipped to change diapers this time around.

  We got to the car, and Carys got Jack into his car seat while I fastened Sunny’s seatbelt as she continued to eat her ice cream.

  As we drove through the parking lot, Sunny yelled, “Monkey bah!”

  Carys and I turned to each other.

  “Did she just say monkey balls?” Carys asked. “Who taught you that, Sunny?”