Memories with The Breakfast Club: A Way with Words

by Lane Hayes

  Most of the patrons were young and hip. They looked like enthusiastic Wall Street moguls-in-training or fitness models. In other words, they oozed beauty and success, though not necessarily class. They looked like the type of people who laughed at their own jokes but kept a watchful gaze on their dates’ reactions. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was sure they had me pegged for an overdressed guido obviously trying to impress the date he hoped would show up already and put him out of his misery.

  “Hi there, handsome. You look hot.”

  I turned with a start and did a double-take. Holy fuck, he cleaned up nice. Remy wore a black button-down shirt and snug-fitted dark jeans. He looked casually dressy and curiously commanding. I adjusted my cock in as stealthy a maneuver as I could manage on a barstool and then picked up my beer, draining the last of it in one gulp. Procrastination at its finest. I needed a second to figure how to act without making a fool of myself. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and inclined my head.

  “So do you.”

  Remy busted up. “Come on, charmer. Our table is ready.”

  I left some cash on the bar then followed him into the main dining area. The restaurant was dimly lit with modern-looking sconces on the walls over tufted booths and votive candles on every linen-clothed table. I couldn’t see anything clearly. I wasn’t used to eating in the dark but I had to admit, the shadows set me at ease. And when the hostess seated us in a private, circular booth tucked into a corner, I finally felt my shoulders relax. She left us with a leather-bound wine list, dinner menus on thick fancy paper, and the promise of water.

  Remy nudged my knee with his foot under the table. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat,” I replied, setting my napkin on my lap and picking up the menu. “I can’t see this thing.”

  “Use the light from your phone. Want a glass of wine or a cocktail? Or would you rather stick with beer? I love your shirt, by the way. You really do look handsome.”

  I glanced down at my pale blue oxford shirt and licked my lips nervously. “Um…thanks. I’ll, uh…I’ll have whatever you are.”

  “You sure? I’m going to have a martini.”

  “Yeah. In fact, you order everything. The pressure is killing me,” I said, pulling at my collar. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “Hey, look at me. Tony, honey, come on.”

  I automatically obeyed. “Did you call me honey?”

  “Yes. Is that bad?” he asked with a grin.

  “No. It’s—sweet. Fuck, I want you.” I tried to temper the needy sound in the low timbre of my voice, but I couldn’t. “I mean—”

  “Shh. I feel the same way.”

  “Maybe we should just go—”

  “No, I’m going to feed you first and I don’t mind ordering. Anything you want me to avoid?”

  “Oysters, snails, and go easy on the spinach. Otherwise, I like everything.”

  Remy snickered. “How about filet mignon with a cherry reduction, rosemary roast potatoes, and mixed vegetables?”

  “Perfect,” I replied, unable to keep my smile from spreading when he arched his brow and made a funny face. “What are you having?”

  “Maybe the same or…the seafood linguine. That looks amazing.”

  “No, don’t order pasta. I’ll make you seafood linguine that’ll make your mouth water.” I knit my brow when he shot a “What the fuck?” look at me. “What? You don’t believe me? I’m a decent cook. I don’t get much practice but I gotta say, my linguine is off the charts.”

  “Look at you. We’re only ten minutes into this date and you’re already planning our next one,” Remy teased.

  “I have a good feeling about you,” I said with a shrug. I winced as soon as the words left my mouth but Remy’s quick grin told me I got it right.

  We shared a smile. The kind that blocked out all external noise and could fool us into thinking we’d found another oasis. I leaned back when the waiter stopped by to take our drink orders.

  “And sir, what can I get you?” the young man prodded.

  “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “Great. Two Dirty Sex martinis coming right up!” the waiter declared before moving on to the next table.

  Remy guffawed at my shell-shocked expression. “Relax, it’s just a dirty martini. No sex required.”

  “You sure he wasn’t coming on to me? I can’t tell. My gaydar has never worked.”

  He sobered quickly and narrowed his eyes. “Why? Did you think he was cute?”

  “He’s a little skinny but sure, he’s cute.”

  “Hmph. Just don’t tell me you’re thinking about dirty sex with him.”

  My dick twitched against my zipper again. I leaned forward and impulsively caressed his hand with my thumb. “I’m definitely thinking about sex. How ’bout you?”

  Remy’s Adam’s apple slid theatrically in his throat. He nodded slowly before answering in a husky tone. “Yeah.”

  “Dirty sex or just sex?”

  He coughed and then reached for his water glass. “We should change the topic. Fast. Tell me another childhood story. Like the one where you washed your clothes with bubble bath soap. That was hysterical.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You heard enough of those. Let’s fast-forward a decade or more. Tell me about your first time.”

  “Hang on. A minute ago, you were nervous and now you want to talk about sex?”

  “Yeah. I guess I’m comfortable around you and…I want to know about you. Everything you’ll tell me.” My smile turned slightly lecherous when I added, “Especially sex stuff.”

  “Um…okay. I was seventeen. He was eighteen. We were secret boyfriends in high school. We didn’t do much besides make out and grind against each other on one of our beds when our parents were at work. But the summer before he left for college, we turned it up a few notches. I think we knew it was almost over for us and we wanted to…”

  “Seal the deal?” I offered.

  “Something like that. It was awkward and honestly, it hurt like a motherfucker, but no regrets. He was important to me and I’m a stupid romantic. I would have hated my first time to be with someone whose name I couldn’t remember.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Spencer.”

  “I think I hate him,” I growled.

  Remy chuckled. “What was your first’s name?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark and we didn’t talk much beyond ‘condom, lube.’ I do recall he wanted three fingers in his ass, which seemed like a lot but hey…I wasn’t going to ask why.”

  “He probably figured he needed you to stretch his—okay, this was a bad idea. Did you catch the Yankee game last night?”

  I snorted. “Not so fast. We need to finish this first. I didn’t know the guy. It was a one-off thing in a nasty bathroom stall at a dive bar. Not glamorous, not sexy, and in no way romantic. But…it did the trick.”

  The waiter came by just then with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. When Remy didn’t speak up, I ordered the filet mignon he’d mentioned and handed over the menu before glancing expectantly across the table at my companion. Poor guy still looked shell-shocked.

  “Do you want the filet too, honey, or the linguine?” I asked. I’d only meant to tease him but I was surprised at how easily the term of endearment fell from my tongue.

  “Uh…linguine. Please.”

  “You got it. I’ll send some bread over pronto,” the young man said with a knowing grin.

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t know. You called me ‘honey.’ ”

  I stirred the olive speared on a plastic sword in my martini lazily before glancing at Remy.

  “Yeah. I was going for roman-tic. How’d I do?”

  I’d purposely thickened my accent to lighten the atmosphere, but I had a feeling it was too late. The undercurrent of sexual tension made it difficult to breathe. He was right. We had to go back to swapping dumb childhood stories or I’d be sitting here with a hard-on f
or the better part of an hour.

  Remy’s laughter drifted over us. I smiled at the sweet sound and curbed my impulse to dive across the table and thrust my tongue between his lips.

  “You did pretty awesome. I love the way you talk. You don’t say anything you don’t mean. That’s a gift, Tony.”

  “And a curse.”

  “Hmm. How old were you your first time?” he asked, popping an olive into his mouth.

  “Eighteen. I used a fake ID to get into the bar. I knew the whole thing could have gone south before I set foot inside but I had to try. Not the sex part…although like you said, no regrets. It probably could have been better, but I wasn’t looking for love,” I huffed humorlessly.

  “Just sex,” he supplied with a wry half smile.

  “Yeah, but something else too. I wanted to see if I belonged. I’d never been in a roomful of gay men. I was pretty sure I didn’t know even one gay guy personally. But I knew something was different about me. I tried so hard to like girls. I faked it okay but not great.”

  “Did you have sex with women?”

  “A couple of times. Not my best performances. I could lie to myself and blame teenage inexperience but the truth was…I had zero desire. I knew why but I kept trying. It wasn’t easy with women but I popped wood just thinking about a hot guy. It was fucking embarrassing. I was a hormone-crazed dude desperate to be with my own kind. So I made it happen. I looked up out-of-the-way sleazy bars and clubs online, then I planned my big night out. Which involved numerous lies, by the way. I was shaking like a leaf when I pushed that door open, but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Within five minutes, I realized I was home. It looked nothing like my parents’ place in Brooklyn but it fit me like a glove.”

  Remy nodded thoughtfully. “So you have two homes now. One public and one that’s a secret.”

  I scowled. “I guess but—”

  “Don’t get defensive. I’m not criticizing. I know it’s not simple for everyone to come out. And for most people, even if your family and friends know you’re gay, it’s not like they’re part of your gay world. Something is always held back. They don’t know how we feel or where we’ve been. Not that you’d want to share your back-room nookie stories with your cousins.”

  “Fuck no,” I declared definitively.

  “But empathy and support are important too. It’s good to be known.”

  “You’re saying I should tell my family I’m gay, huh?”

  “No. I told you that you have to do what’s right for you.”

  “What did you do? You told me how your mom found out. What about your brother?”

  “She probably told him at dinner that night. Very anticlimactic. Reeve didn’t care at all, which was weird to me because he was kinda macho back then. He was super into sports and he always had a girlfriend. We’re only two years apart, and I figured he wouldn’t want my gayness to mess up his social standing in high school. He surprised me. Although”—Remy paused to pick up his glass, his eyes twinkling merrily—“when he came out as bi in college, it all became clear.”

  “Your brother is gay too?” I asked incredulously.

  “No. He’s bi. He’s single now, but he’s had girlfriends and boyfriends.”

  I sat back and cocked my head. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “No! Not at all. I—your mom was cool with it?”

  “Of course.”

  “I must seem like a big fucking coward. I can’t comprehend the potential backlash from my family without breaking out in a cold sweat and you were blazing trails as a teenager.”

  “I’m not suggesting it’s easier to say, ‘I’m gay’ to one or two people than it is to twenty. It’s not. You can’t compare my teenage coming out to your circumstances because we’re different. You have more to lose.” He looked up when the server approached with our meals before adding, “Or gain. Only time will tell.”

  By unspoken agreement, we left heavier topics and sexual innuendo aside during dinner and chatted about lighthearted things like movies, music, and travel. As always, conversation with Remy was easy and time flew too damn fast. He was talking about a trip to Spain he’d taken five years ago when the waiter dropped our check off at the table.

  “We used to go to Italy to visit family when I was younger. It’s been years since I’ve been, but I loved it. I can’t wait to go back. Have you been there?” I asked as I slipped my credit card into the folder.

  “Yes, but—hang on. I was going to take you to dinner. Put your card away.”

  “No can do, Rem. I asked you on a date, I’m paying.” I handed the folder to the waiter and grinned at my companion.

  “I coerced you. It’s not fair for you to—”

  “Can it. I’m here because there’s no place I’d rather be. Say thanks, and let’s get the hell outta here.”

  Remy’s expression softened to a dreamy state that let me know he was pleased with whatever I’d said. Though I had a pretty good feeling it had nothing to do with buying dinner.

  “Thank you, Tony. Wanna walk me home?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Remy lived two blocks away from the restaurant in an old brick building that quite honestly had seen better days. Our breezy conversation dwindled as we neared our destination. I had no idea what he was thinking and I didn’t want to push my luck, but truthfully, I was overcome with my own inner turmoil. I wanted him with a feverish quality I couldn’t begin to quantify. Just walking beside him made my heart race and my palms sweat. I felt like a much younger version of myself getting a redo with a boy I had a crazy crush on.

  Except Remy wasn’t like anyone I’d ever known. He was a wild combination of free-spirited and down-to-earth. He knew who he was and even if he wasn’t sure about his direction, he trusted his instincts. He inspired me to trust mine.

  “…you tasted it. Was the pasta anywhere near as good as yours?” he asked, pushing a code into the panel. When the glass door swung open a second later, he gave me a wicked grin. “Come in, Tony.”

  I swallowed hard and followed him inside and up three flights of stairs, content to listen to his monologue about the texture of his favorite types of seafood. He didn’t seem bothered that I answered his questions with grunts. Maybe this was an alternative form of communication. His nervous chatter and my unintelligible replies. It wasn’t as awkward as it seemed. In fact, in a strange way, it was like we were in sync.

  He stopped in front of 3A and glanced over his shoulder at me. “My roommate might be home. He’s okay but I don’t really know him very well so…”

  “Behave?” I supplied with a half laugh.

  “Yeah, but not too much.”

  “I have no idea what that means. How ’bout I follow your lead?”

  Remy gave me another shy, lopsided smile then bent his head and unlocked the door.

  He hadn’t exaggerated. His apartment was tiny. The galley kitchen was right off the entrance and the living area furnished with a ratty old sofa and a short bookcase, was just beyond. He led me down a short hallway and turned left into the first bedroom. I could hear a television faintly from the room across from his and guessed his roommate was home. I’d never lived with anyone other than family and thankfully, that was a while ago. Tiptoeing around a stranger in an effort to be considerate seemed…weird.

  Remy attacked me from behind the second I stepped into his room, wrapping his arms around my chest and nuzzling my neck. “God, you smell good,” he purred.

  I twisted to face him and crashed my mouth over his, driving my tongue between his lips. It wasn’t a smooth move but he seemed to love it. He met me halfway, groaning into the connection and humping my thigh in a quest for friction. I pulled back slightly for air and immediately started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Can I do this?” I whispered.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Do mine. Is the door locked?”

  “It doesn’t l
ock but…don’t worry, he won’t bug us.”

  I frowned as I took a step backward. I finished unbuttoning my shirt then pushed the fabric off my shoulders. “What if he thinks I’m strangling you or something?”

  “Are you planning on it?”

  “No. I’d rather fuck you. Why are you staring at me?”

  Remy lifted his gaze from my chest and gulped audibly. “You’re so big. I mean…muscular.”