by Xavier Mayne
“Because I heard you. And your voice made me… hard.” He took a deep breath. “And when you came, I came.”
“Wow.” Sandler’s voice was soft with surprise. “That’s even awesomer.”
“But I’ve never done that before.”
“Well, I assume you don’t go skulking around listening to people have sex. But really, it’s not any different than looking at porn for a quick wank when you need one.”
“It was different.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t watching anonymous people on the Internet have unrealistically well-lit sex. It was listening to you—hearing you. At first all I could hear was Ethan, and then I started to hear how you were different from Ethan, and then it was like I could feel your voice inside me. When you grunted, I could feel it. It wasn’t like I even chose to touch myself—I couldn’t help it.”
“That’s incredibly sexy,” Sandler said, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I feel like I cheated on him.”
Sandler reached out and put his hand on Donnelly’s. “You didn’t cheat. You are human, and you had a human reaction. An incredibly sexy one that, quite honestly, is making me a little light in the head right now, but leaving that aside, you did nothing wrong. You’re a gay man, Gabriel, and gay men sometimes get turned on by other gay men having gay sex in the next room. It doesn’t mean you cheated.”
“It’s just never happened before. I think our talk in the bar beforehand jarred something loose. Ethan’s the only man I’ve ever had a sexual thought about.” He looked hard at Sandler. “Until last night.”
“I’m honored to have complicated your sex life,” Sandler replied. “But Freud was right about one thing: having sexual thoughts is what makes us human. It’s the bond we share, the communal weight we carry. That you had one makes me happy, because not having them… well, it’s not good. I was worried that you were still resisting coming to grips with being gay, but now I know you’re fine. So congratulations. You now are like every other married gay man in the world, surrounded by beauty he can look at but cannot touch. Unless,” Sandler raised an eyebrow, “he agrees to touch with you.”
Donnelly laughed. “If you think my development as a gay man has been delayed, you have no idea what you have in store for you when you meet Ethan.”
“I look forward to that more with each passing day.”
“Speaking of which, how shall we pass this day?” Donnelly, eager for a change of subject, tossed the daily program over to Sandler, who looked at it but didn’t pick it up.
“First I need to stop by the salon and apologize for not waiting in the bar long enough to meet up with Dax and Stanley. Bad form there.”
“But you would have missed your chance at Ankur.”
“Right you are. And you would have missed my epic performance last night.”
Donnelly tossed a tasteful accent pillow at his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Don’t say that. I like being able to talk with you about this stuff. And I kind of love the idea of seeing Ankur again. So let’s lay out in the sun, or work crossword puzzles in the library, but for God’s sake we have to be back in that bar again tonight. There are things I need to do to that strapping lad.”
Donnelly rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop by the shop for earplugs.”
“Like hell you will.”
Donnelly shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, I probably won’t. But if you breathe a word of this to Ethan….”
“The muscular guy with a gun? I don’t think you have to worry about that. But if I know you, you’re going to tell him everything, and then you two will have impossibly gorgeous sex that will drive any thought of my little escapades with Mr. Peaches right out of your head.”
“Damn right,” Donnelly replied. “Now, get a move on. There are pancakes to be had.”
Motel Paradise
“VIRGIL. HEY, Virgil.”
Michael’s whisper brought no response from the dark form of the man lying next to him. He kicked at him gently under the covers. “Virge! Virge, wake up.”
“Might I be of service to you, sir?” Bryce’s voice, cheerfully emanating from the heart-shaped loveseat by the window, startled Michael so desperately that he jumped and shivered.
“Wha—Oh, it’s you.” He rubbed his eyes as if Bryce were a bad dream he was trying to wipe away. “You stay over there, you succubus.”
“Oh my, you country folk do have a way with flattery. Thank you, darling.”
“He say you a devil,” Nestor offered from the loveseat, where he had moments ago been sleepily entangled with Bryce.
“Not just a devil, love, but one who preys on sleeping men to extract their seed.” Bryce turned back to Michael. “You charmer, you.”
“Just stay where you are,” Michael said, his voice tense. “I don’t have a drop of seed left to give you, and it feels like my dick’s been sandpapered.”
“Oh pish,” Bryce tutted. “I used plenty of lube, and you were still producing several drops during rounds six and seven.”
“Six and seven?” Michael’s voice cracked. “Oh my God. How many times did you do that last night?”
“Oh, seven was the end last night. You seemed to need a little rest. Which was fortuitous because you won it for me in a sudden death overtime bonus round this morning, darling. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“There was more this morning?”
“Yes, rounds eight through ten were after midnight, so technically—”
“Ten?” Michael shouted, managing to bring himself upright with great effort. “You did that to us ten times? How could you?”
“Oh, I can’t take all the credit, darling. You played a large role yourself, of course. Though right at the end I will admit that while the spirit seemed willing, the flesh was a bit weak. But I persevered, and we arrived at our happy ending.”
“Ten times?” Michael’s shouting was growing steadily more unhinged.
“Ten fuckin’ times,” Virgil said with a chuckle. “How fuckin’ awesome was that?” He sat up, punched his pillow into shape, and reclined easily against the headboard, which was carved with hundreds of little Cupids.
“You’re okay with this?” Michael asked.
“Me? Fuck, you were all revved up about it. You were all like ‘if you stop now, you forfeit,’ and ‘don’t be a fucking wimp, Virgil.’ I gave in because you were like some lust-crazed beast.” He leaned over and kissed Michael on the nose. “Which I love about you, by the way. That was all kinds of fun.” Virgil lay back again with a groan. “Oh fuck. My balls feel like a punching bag.” He looked down at his red, somewhat swollen scrotum, then up at Bryce. “Totally worth it. By the end I couldn’t even tell when one orgasm stopped and the next one began.”
“Luckily you were in the hands of experienced professionals,” Bryce replied modestly. “Your amateur practitioners will often stop when there’s no more spunk to be had. What a waste—that’s when the fun begins! There’s nothing more gratifying than seeing a burly man such as yourself straining every muscle trying to achieve an orgasm his body is simply too drained to accomplish. It clears the mind and allows the body to achieve what it thought impossible. I like to think of it as the purest form of meditation.”
Virgil laughed. “Zen and the art of the dry orgasm. You are brilliant, Bryce. Just brilliant.”
“Oh, stop,” Bryce said, halfheartedly holding up a hand. “Eventually.”
Virgil laughed even harder and was joined by Michael, who seemed to be slowly coming to forgive the succubi who had drained and exhausted him overnight.
Finally Virgil sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Well, I gotta get on the road.” He stood, a little unsteadily. “But first, I need a shower. Who’s with me?”
Three hands were raised, and soon the large shower was full of men discovering they weren’t as exhausted as they had thought. The road could wait for another couple of hours.
THE RESTAURANT didn’t look like much from the street—just a heavy oaken door with medieval hardware and a discreet brass plaque that announced its presence through a deep patina.
Brandt pulled open the door and motioned for Kerry to enter. She glided past him in her stunning new dress, and he followed closely behind. Inside, the restaurant was stark in black and white, punctuated by aggressively colorful artwork on the walls, brilliantly lit from above and below. The canvases appeared to have been painted by an artist who tripped on acid and remembered being Kandinsky in a previous life. Or a really angry Pollock.
They were shown to a table for two—the rarity of which the concierge at the hotel had stressed several times when describing the reservation he’d been able to secure for them. The menus they were handed presented an overwhelming range of indecipherable wonders. Brandt looked helplessly at Kerry over the top.
“Any ideas?” he asked with a shrug. “I’m not sure I’d be able to understand it even if it were in English, honestly. I’m more of a diner guy.”
She nodded in sympathy, but then her expression brightened. “We’re saved,” she said. “There’s a prix fixe dégustation. And it comes with wine pairings, so even if we have no idea what we’re eating, we won’t care.”
He sighed in relief. “Thank God. I would have needed to go back to school just to be able to order dinner.”
Three hours later they were wending their way toward the dessert course. The wines that had accompanied the seven preceding courses had done their job, and the two of them were laughing as they shared stories from their lives.
Brandt had told Kerry things that only Donnelly knew, and he suspected that she was telling him secrets as well. It felt good to unburden himself this way, even if he had not felt himself to be laboring under any discernible burden previously.
The dessert arrived, and like all of the previous courses, it looked gorgeous and tasted even better. As they traded bites of the two different dishes, Kerry suddenly grew quiet.
“Ethan, I need to tell you something,” she said, setting her fork down.
“Whoa, sounds serious.”
“It is,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier today when I said I’d forgotten how nice it is to have gay friends.”
“Yeah, about that,” he broke in, emboldened by her sudden honesty. “I have something to tell you as well, once you’re done.”
She nodded. “So here’s the thing: I think I realized today why I always had gay friends.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Because there was some part of me that needed validation.”
He thought about this for a second and wondered whether the wine was clogging his brain. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s like this,” she continued. “And I’m not proud of this, but I feel like I can tell you. It’s because there’s some part of me that wanted to see if I could, um, attract some… interest?”
Brandt stared at her for a long moment. “Interest?”
“Stupid, right? And pointless. But sometimes being young and insecure makes you do stupid, pointless things.”
“Okay, so let me get this,” Brandt said slowly, hearing his words slur a bit. They had had too much to drink, he thought, as if he hadn’t known that already. “You liked hanging out with gay guys because you thought maybe they weren’t… gay?”
“No, not that they weren’t gay, but that maybe they would find me so breathtakingly attractive that they might… have second thoughts about being gay. Like they might be straight, just for me.”
He stared at her. “You are breathtakingly attractive. And completely insane.”
“I know. That’s why I said I wasn’t proud of it. But being with you today, in the dressing room, it reminded me of those times, and the ridiculous things I used to fantasize about. I mean, honestly, in college the hottest guys were gay—sharp dressers, and they worked out all the time—and I guess I thought that if I were hot enough to make one of them find some… flexibility? That would mean I was like the sexiest girl in the world. So, yeah, I know it’s insane. And you helped me realize that, because today I could tell from your face that seeing me change clothes did absolutely nothing for you. So on behalf of the former me, I would like to say I apologize for what I did before I knew you.”
He was still trying to figure out what she was saying when she polished off the rest of the muscat in her glass, set it down, and blurted, “So, you were going to tell me something, which I hope is equally embarrassing.”
Brandt’s regret at having mentioned that he had something to say was strong enough that he tried to swallow it along with the rest of the wine in his glass. But once he had swallowed, she was still there looking expectantly at him, and he had to go on.
“Okay,” he said, mainly to steady himself. He took a deep breath. “Okay. You know how you said you could tell that seeing you change clothes did nothing for me?”
“That was thirty seconds ago. I remember it like it was yesterday.” She giggled at her lame joke but quickly composed herself when he didn’t join in.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly true.” He paused for a long moment, trying to figure out how to explain. “The fact is, seeing you change clothes was actually really hard to do. For me to do, I mean.”
“Am I that horrible to look at?” she asked, her expression stricken.
“No, that’s the problem.” He took another deep breath, mostly to give himself something to do other than talking. He was about to hyperventilate. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not… I’m not as gay as you think I am. I’m actually… not gay at all.”
Her mouth dropped open. She closed it, but then it dropped open again. Finally, she was able to make a sound and shortly able to form words. “But, Gabriel” was all she managed to say.
“Yes, Gabriel.” Brandt’s damnation of his own conduct was heavy in his voice.
“Gabriel’s a man.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And you are about to get married to him.”
“Yes.”
“And you are a man.”
“Last I checked,” he said.
“And the two of you are… intimate?”
“Spectacularly so.”
She stared at him, searching his face in sheer confusion. “So when you say you’re not gay,” she said, carefully enunciating each word, “I think you must be working with a definition of which I am unaware. One I don’t think I understand. I….” Her shoulders slumped, and she braced herself with an elbow on the table. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
This was not a surprise to Brandt, of course. He had told few people about his struggle with sexual identity, and those he had told were uniformly baffled. The only people who seemed to understand it at all were Donnelly, of course, because he seemed able to understand everything about Brandt without his having to say anything, and their friend Will, who had experienced something very similar when his wife left him and Lucas came into his life. Everyone else gave him the look of utter befuddlement worn by Kerry at the moment, even when sober.
“I don’t know if I can explain it,” he said quietly. “And it may not make sense to you even if I could. I guess the simplest way to say it is that I’m a straight man who fell in love with another man. I love Gabriel, and I love being with him in ways that I cannot imagine being with anyone else, man or woman. Back in San Diego, before my talk, when I said you were wrong about me being bisexual? This is why I said you were wrong. I’m not bisexual. I’m Gabrielsexual.”
Her jaw, which had been dropping steadily as he spoke, snapped back into place and a smile burst across her face. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” She grinned goofily and clapped her hands like a kid on Christmas morning. “That you would be so dedicated to one person that he defines your sexuality is pretty amazing.” Then her brow furrowed a bit, and she settled into a more serious attitude. “But does that mean you’re not
attracted to anyone else, ever?”
He sighed. “That’s what I needed to tell you. Since I’ve been with Gabriel, our social lives have been centered on the group of friends we’ve made as a couple. Just about every single one of them is a gay man. I mostly feel like an imposter in that group because I don’t see myself as gay. When they go on and on about some cute new produce guy at the supermarket, I just hang back—I’m just not attracted to guys that way. But this trip with you….” He shook his head and looked down at his hands.
“This trip with me… what?”
He sat, fiddling with his fingers, trying to find the words. Finally, he began. “This trip with you is the first time I’ve spent any time at all with a woman—at least a straight woman—in what seems like years. And when you asked if I wasn’t attracted to anyone else, ever? Yeah. Before this trip, I would have said that.”
She sat back in her chair, eyes wide. “And now?” Her voiced was flat with shock.
“And now I have to realize that my lack of sexual attraction to anyone other than Gabriel was less the result of my superhuman virtue and more a product of the complete lack of women in my social circle.” He lifted his gaze from his hands. “I am so sorry. Sorry to not be the person you thought I was—the person I thought I was.”
She goggled at him for a long moment, as if he had sprouted another head. Then finally, she rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, shut up.”
He stared at her, stunned. “What?”
“If you torture yourself for a single second because your sexuality doesn’t behave the way you want it to, I will reach across this table and slap you.” She raised her hand suddenly, waving at the waiter. “Garçon?” The waiter came to the table, eyebrows up. “En plus?” she asked, pointing at their empty glasses. He nodded and hurried away. “Now, where were we…? Oh, that’s right. Shut up.”
“Heard you the first time.”
“Yes, but I want to make sure you really get it. Don’t apologize for your sexuality. No one gets to choose who they love, or what gives them a boner. Desire is a divine bit of crazy the gods give each of us, to delight us and derange us in equal measure. You can’t explain it to anyone who isn’t you, and a lot of times you can’t even understand it yourself. But never think it’s your burden alone. We all have it, mister, and we all think we’re the only ones.”