by Mari Thorne
I didn’t know what to say, or if I even should say anything. He was pouring his heart out to me and I just gaped at him, stunned. Had he just come out to me? Was this a confession?
“I’m sorry to dump all of this on you. I’ve been keeping it a secret because I was worried about what it might mean for our friendship. I—I guess I thought if we were friends, if we were close, then nothing else mattered. But I can't go on like this. I can't pretend to be someone I'm not just so you'll stay close to me. So if you're gonna freak out, do it without me. It's time for me to move on.” His cheeks colored when he said this, but otherwise, his expression was resolute. Though his brown eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red, the tears from earlier had been wiped away, replaced with aching disappointment.
My brain wasn't making all the right connections. It was like someone had climbed in and pulled out all the wires and stuck them back in the wrong spots. He slid out of the Jeep and I wanted to grab his arm and pull him back in, but my hands shook and I couldn’t make them move. Everything was so messed up. I looked down at my hands. Why wouldn't they go? Was I broken? That was the problem. It wasn't just someone who had fucked up my wiring; it was Sean.
He grabbed his bag out of the back and retreated to his car. Move, you fucking idiot, tell him not to go, you two can figure this shit out, don't let him leave like this. But none of my limbs worked. I watched dumbly as he got into his car and drove off. I collapsed against the steering wheel, gasping for breath like he'd just stabbed me in the heart and walked away. And maybe that’s exactly what’d just happened.
5
Sean
My hands were cold where they gripped the steering wheel of my Toyota Camry. No, it wasn't only my hands. My entire body trembled, shivering from the aftershock of what I'd just said to Alan.
"Fuuuuuck," I moaned, slumping over my steering wheel when I parked in front of my apartment. I'd told him I was gay. Not bi, like I'd always told myself. No, when I faced the decision to come out to Alan, I was definitely not bi. Despite my desperation to pretend otherwise, women hadn’t turned me on in... well, ever. Truthfully, only Alan had ever done it for me. That fleeting moment of sex with him had been the best thing I'd ever felt in my entire life. Would it be the last wonderful thing I ever felt? I may have ended our friendship with that speech. How could I face him again?
My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket with shaking hands. Part of me hoped and dreaded that it might be from Alan, but it was my boss.
“Hello, this is Sean,” I answered, trying to be as professional as possible when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry for a week.
“Hi Sean, glad I caught you. I hate to do this to you since you just got back into town last week, but I need to send you to Austin for a few weeks. Our newest and biggest client needs some face time with one of our techs. Josh's wife just had a baby and Candice is on her honeymoon, so you're all I've got.”
Sometimes it sucked being the only single guy in the office, but in that moment, leaving town on legitimate business sounded spectacular. “That's fine, Frank, send me all the details and I'll make the arrangements.”
Frank let out a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. Had he been expecting me to say hell no? Frank usually tried to give us all a break between trips before sending us out of town, but lately we'd been busy with new clients. Everyone wanted to take full advantage of the service they'd paid for, and business was good. "Thanks Sean, you're a lifesaver."
Austin reminded me of Denver a lot. I'd never been to Texas, much less Austin. Everyone told me I needed to eat as many breakfast tacos as possible, stuff my face with BBQ, and to, "keep Austin weird," whatever that meant. It seemed to be a common phrase in the area, tie-dyed t-shirts in the airport carried the phrase as the scent of smoked meat filled the terminal. Texas knew just what I needed, and I purchased my first brisket and egg breakfast taco before I even stepped out of the airport.
I picked up my rental car and drove to the hotel, checking my phone before I peeled my sweaty jacket off and flopped onto the bed. It had been twenty-four hours since Alan had driven us home, and I still hadn't heard from him. Sure, I hadn't texted him either, but I'd expected Alan to text first. I replayed the scene over and over in my head. Alan had just stared at me like he was in shock. What had I expected? In my fantasies, Alan would have jumped out of the car, chased me down, and kissed me. He would have confessed his undying love and pulled me inside for another round of mind-blowing sex.
But it wasn't a perfect world. Alan had gaped like a goldfish out of water, then watched me leave. I had to leave after all those embarrassing things I'd said. I'd practically confessed my love to him. I didn't need to stick around for the rejection. I could imagine that well enough on my own.
Still, I checked my phone religiously, hoping he might send me something. Could we go back to normal? We used to text each other dumb memes and jokes all day long. Life without him was already boring. My phone vibrated and I scrambled for it. Damn, I was fucking pathetic. But it wasn't Alan. It was the client, asking if I wanted to join them for a welcome dinner and drinks. Well, I was in an exciting, new place, and I needed to get Alan off my mind. Drinking to forget sounded like the perfect idea.
I met the client at a little bar and grill with some people who worked at the office. They bought my first round of beer, and I settled into the booth with them. They were friendly and proud of their Southern hospitality. To my surprise, none of them wore cowboy hats, though one guy had on a pair of cowboy boots.
As the night continued, Cowboy Boots cornered me after a few drinks. “I don’t normally do this with clients, but damn you’re hot.” I sputtered into my beer and he blushed and laughed, “Oh God, I’m sorry, I thought you were gay.”
“I’m flattered,” I wiped beer off my chin and gave him a dopey grin. He was hot too, in good ol' boy sort of way, clean-shaven and all sirs and ma'ams, his Texas accent giving him a gentlemanly twang. He had short-cropped dark brown hair and he had a similar build to Alan’s, tall with broad shoulders and just enough muscle to make him look fit but not overdone. Skin lightly tanned like he spent time outside on the weekends, I wondered if he actually put those boots to work. He would be the perfect thing to get my mind off of Alan. “I honestly didn’t think it was that obvious. Even my best friend didn’t know. I’m gay, but not out though, I guess I'm still learning about myself.”
"I could teach you a few things," he grinned. That Southern hospitality would be the death of me.
"Oh? Like what?" I asked, leaning in conspiratorially.
He winked and tipped his imaginary hat. My phone vibrated, and I glanced down at it, expecting an email from Frank. Instead, it was a text from Alan, and my heart skipped a beat. I opened it to see a gif of a bear scratching its back on a tree. His message read, When I saw this, I thought it was you.
"What's so funny?" Cowboy Boots asked. I realized I didn't know his name, nor did I care in that moment. Alan and I were back on speaking terms. Better than speaking terms, he’d sent me a joke! I needed to send him back something just as clever.
I glanced up at the expectant man. "Sorry, I've got some business to take care of."
He raised an eyebrow and picked up his beer, toasting me with it. "Okay, good luck."
I typed a response, deleted it, and typed another one. Then I deleted it. Wait, I was mad at Alan. Wasn’t I trying to avoid him right now? One text and I was jumping to respond? I put my phone in my pocket and picked up my beer, sauntering back over to Cowboy Boots. "You know, I don't think I ever caught your name."
He smirked and held out his hand to shake mine, "It's Clint. Your business taken care of?"
"It wasn't as important as I thought. It can wait." I could do this. I could flirt with someone that wasn’t Alan. Clint and I chatted and he bought me a few beers. We didn’t have a ton in common, but he taught me how to two-step. I tripped over my feet and he caught me in a low dip and we both burst into laughter. This is wha
t it looks like going out with someone who's attracted to you and isn't afraid of what it means.
I took a selfie with Clint smiling in the background and I posted it to my Instagram. I captioned it: First day in Texas and I’ve already had tacos, Shiner, and learned how to two-step. Maybe I should get a cowboy hat. #Austin #EverythingsBigger
I wondered what Alan would think of this photo. Would he be jealous? I didn't want to think about Alan, but all I could do was compare him to Clint. Yes, Clint was attractive, but he didn't do it for me the way Alan did. When he touched me, it didn't send that same heat through my body. When he looked at me, it didn’t fill my chest with pesky fluttering things. When he said my name, it didn’t make me want to fall to my knees and pull out his cock.
Was I broken? Was that why Clint didn’t turn me on? I should have adored the attention from someone who accepted me, not someone who thought fucking me was a mistake. But part of me doubted Alan had really thought that. Sure, he said that, but did he mean it? Would he have touched me the way he did if he didn’t care? Well, he sure cast me aside like he didn’t care.
I couldn’t throw away my oldest friendship. I owed it to our history to put the pieces back together. It might not go back to the way it was before, but I didn’t care, as long as I could still have Alan.
Clint found me in the bathroom and gave me an appreciative once-over while I was at the urinal. “They got you up in the Holiday Inn Express around the corner?”
“Yeah,” I tucked myself away and made a beeline for the exit. I was tired, and more than a little drunk. I needed a glass of water and bed.
He stopped me, a hand on my shoulder, “You could join me tonight. That place has shitty beds, but mine is soft and warm and ready.”
I hesitated. I needed this. Really needed this. Some nice, casual sex with a guy I’d never see again after a few weeks. I scratched the back of my neck and looked away, “Sorry man, as much as I want to, I can’t.”
His face fell, not even trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, I gave it my best. Can we at least exchange numbers, in case you get bored?”
Clint was bold, I’d give him that.
“Sure,” I took his phone and programmed my number. Why not? Maybe he was right. In a week, I might beg him for that bed.
6
Alan
As soon as I sent the gif, I regretted it. Why did I do that? I’d agonized over it for an entire day, trying to decide what I should say to him. I was trying to be funny, but what if Sean thought I was making fun of him? Almost immediately after I sent it, the message showed as read. Then there were three dots telling me he was typing. Then they disappeared, then reappeared, and disappeared. I stared at that stupid text message screen until my vision blurred and I threw my phone on my bed in frustration. He wasn't going to respond. He was still pissed at me. Rightfully so. And the first thing I sent him after twenty-four hours of silence was a gif poking fun at his embarrassment? I was an ass.
Part of me wanted to do some grand gesture. That was what you did in this situation, right? Should I send another message? Worry gnawed at my stomach and I curled into a ball around my phone. What was wrong with me? I was acting like a lovesick schoolgirl. This was not me. I stalked Sean's Instagram and found a photo of him and some guy, tagged at a bar in Austin. He was in Austin? His work had been sending him to a bunch of places lately, but normally he told me when he was leaving town.
How mad was he that he didn’t even tell me he’d left? He’d been so desperate to get away from me he’d fled as soon as we got back home. And who was this guy he took a selfie with? Was he wearing cowboy boots? Was Sean into that? Were gay guys into cowboys? This guy was handsome, in a clean-cut farmersonly.com kind of way. If you were into that kind of thing. Seriously, was Sean into that kind of thing? I thought Sean was into me.
I'd fucked our relationship up the minute I fucked him. I poured a glass of whiskey and downed it like a shot, letting the alcohol seep in and warm me. Things were over, I could feel it. I'd fucked up too much. I should have chased him down when he left my Jeep that day. And what? Thrown him against his car and ravished him? Told him he wasn't just a hole for me to stick my dick into? I didn’t even to apologize. Instead, I'd opted for silence until he was so mad he went off on me. Classic Alan fuck-up.
I wish I knew what to say in situations like this, but no one ever taught me the words. Sean was always the one that knew how to make me feel better. That was what I needed. I needed him to reassure me I hadn't fucked our friendship up beyond all recognition, and that he wasn't sleeping with that douchey-looking cowboy-wannabe in Austin.
My phone vibrated and I snatched it off my bed. Alan had sent me a gif in response, of a boy getting drenched in what looked like milk or white paint. Underneath the gif, his message read, When I saw this, I thought it was you.
I started cackling, collapsing onto the bed and writing back, You wish.
We bantered back and forth, the tension in my body easing away with each joke and silly gif we exchanged. Before I realized it, we’d settled back into our old routine of ribbing each other and poking fun.
I saw you're in Austin.
Yeah, it's weird here. It’s way too hot for this time of year, but the food is good.
For how long? Our hunting trip is coming up in a few weeks.
There was a hesitation, another one of those three dots that kept disappearing, like he didn't know how to respond, so he kept deleting it. "Please, please don't go dark on me again," I begged the phone.
I'm here for three weeks.
A pause, then the dots did their dance before a second message came through. Are you sure you want to go hunting with me?
Oh, come on, now he was just being dumb. Why not? We go hunting every year. It's tradition. Well, I could think of one reason he said that. I tacked on, Unless you don't want to go with me. I would understand.
That's not it and you know it.
Then it's settled. When you come back, we're going hunting, just like we’d planned.
Nothing like a little murder to bring friends back together. He attached a gif of Bambi and I laughed again. Since he'd messaged me back, I hadn't been able to wipe the goofy smile off my face. I was happy Sean and I were talking again. Well, at least texting. I wanted to ask him about the guy he'd selfied with, but I thought against it. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. I'm not even sure why I wanted to ask him about the guy. What did it matter who he hung out with in Austin?
Over the next three weeks, time moved agonizingly slow. Sean and I were back on texting terms, but I missed his presence. I always missed hanging out with him when he went on his business trips, but this time around it felt ten times worse.
The first week after the camping trip, I’d spent three nights jerking off to thoughts of that night in the tent, myself buried in Sean balls deep. I clung desperately to the memory of how he tasted and smelled, and the sounds he made when I fucked him and he came. Each time, I came harder than I ever had on my own. The deep, intense shame I felt afterward had me wondering if I was more fucked up in the head than I realized.
The fourth night, instead of jerking off, I swiped through Tinder and found a few matches, but none of them really did it for me. Our conversations fizzled out and I lost interest almost immediately. Every time I talked to a girl, my chest ached and my dick refused to perk up unless my thoughts turned back to Sean.
At the end of the first week, I deleted all the apps from my phone in frustration. Was I broken? What had Sean done to me? No, I couldn’t blame him for this. He didn’t fuck me, I’d done that. Or maybe I was broken long before that and it took fucking my best friend to realize how truly messed up I was. I was so fucking confused.
The second week, I started looking up flights to Austin to surprise Sean. They weren’t that expensive. Or I could drive. It was only fourteen hours, doable in a day. But I wouldn’t be that guy, would I? I didn't even know where he was staying or working.
And what wou
ld I do if I walked into a bar and saw him making out with that faux-cowboy? Why was I even thinking about that? Sean and I were not dating, and I was not gay. Sean could kiss anyone he wanted to for all I cared. But why did I care? I didn’t. Totally one-hundred percent didn’t care who he kissed or sucked or fucked. Thinking about it definitely didn’t make my chest tighten and my jaw clench.
Sean posted more photos from Austin and the cowboy dude was in some of them, but nothing about a relationship and no kissy photos, so that was an excellent sign. Not that I cared what he did with cowboy dude. Or anyone else.
In that second week I moved on to porn. I needed something to go with my jack-off sessions other than Sean’s face in my tent as he rode my dick like a carnival ride.
The problem with the porn was, it all sucked. The women were too loud or too needy or the men were too muscular, their dicks unrealistic, splitting these women in half as they howled with ecstasy. I tried muting it, but that didn’t help.
By the end of week two, I’d found the gay section of Pornhub. I didn’t even know it had its own section, but there it was. There were so many categories, and it took me a while to find a video I didn’t hate. I realized I liked it because the guy getting fucked look a lot like Sean. I hadn’t prepared myself for the shame I felt jerking off to gay porn where one man was a dead ringer for my best friend. It didn’t stop me from doing it a few more times, though. Each time I told myself it would be the last.