Destination, Wedding!

by Xavier Mayne

  “Wow,” he said, surprised by her sudden vehement eloquence. “I guess ‘divine bit of crazy’ pretty much nails it.”

  “And my bit of crazy is what I told you before—that I used to hang around with gay guys because they weren’t supposed to be interested in me, so if I could make them interested that meant I was some kind of superwoman. It was ridiculous.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it, that you relived that experience by spending the day with a guy who discovered he actually could be kind of… interested.”

  She fixed him with a withering glare. “Oh, shut up again. We both know that there is nothing on this earth that can compete with Gabriel for your affection.” She sat back for a moment while the waiter poured more wine. “But thank you for saying you were at least aware that I was there, which was more than I was ever able to accomplish before.” She took a drink, then set her glass down and stared at it for a moment. “I need a new hobby.”

  Brandt smiled at her resignation. “Or you need to meet some straight guys who aren’t already in love, with themselves or anyone else.”

  “If you know of such a unicorn, please send him my way.”

  “Don’t come across many straight men lately, I’m afraid. Myself excluded, of course. But then I guess there aren’t many like me in the world either.” He sighed, weighed down by the barren loneliness of that statement. “I think ‘straight guy who fell in love with a guy’ has got to be the rarest sexual orientation ever.”

  “You know, I’m proud to call myself a feminist—always have been. And despite our inability as a gender to close the wage gap, this is one of the rare cases where women have it better than men. I could fall in love with any number of women, especially during college, and never have to think of myself as anything other than a straight gal with curiosities. Just like every other straight gal. Making out with my roommate on a lonely Saturday night in the dorm didn’t mean I was suddenly a lesbian. But guys get that pressure, and it never lets up. Kiss one guy and you’re gay forever, right?”

  “That seems to be the way it works. For most people.”

  “For most men. But somehow women don’t seem to work that way. And either this is one of those fundamental biological differences between the sexes, or it’s a result of a social stricture that requires something from men that it doesn’t from women. In case you’re wondering, the answer is ‘B.’ So you’re not strange or somehow defective—you’re just not limited by social strictures on sex and gender. Congratulations.” She held up her glass and toasted his lack of limitations.

  He drank to that, as little comfort as it offered him. It certainly wouldn’t make tonight any easier to face. “So, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Well, when you change the subject, you just go for it. Good for you. Fire away.”

  “Where should I sleep tonight?”

  “Oh, okay, you really are going for it. All right.” She drained her wine glass and set it on the table with a clunk. “Let’s think this one through. If we keep the same arrangements we had last night, is my virtue at risk?” She failed to keep a straight face, bursting into giggles almost immediately.

  “Virtue. Funny.” He rolled his eyes; then he too drank the last of his wine.

  “Yeah, so we’re agreed that I haven’t exactly saved myself for marriage. But I don’t see a reason to send one of us to the couch. I mean, we’re grown-ups—and just because you’re straight doesn’t mean you’re going to throw yourself at me, right?”

  “You may rest assured I’m not going to do that,” Brandt replied. “But sleeping next to you causes a certain… reaction. And that may be uncomfortable.”

  “Only if you roll over on it!” She hooted with laughter at her dirty joke but regained her composure quickly. “Seriously, though, lying next to you gives me a boner too. You seem to have no idea what a beautiful specimen you are, my friend. But I managed to keep my hands to myself, and you did as well. I think we’re good, as long as I can have a nice long bath before climbing in the sack with your gorgeous self.”

  “You don’t need to wash up before you get into bed,” he said but then stopped as the realization dawned on him. “Oh, it’s not about washing up, is it?”

  She shook her head slowly. “In the spirit of perfect candor, I only thought about you twice. The other three times I thought about Gabriel.”

  “But you’ve never met him!”

  “I know, I know. But I figure if he can land a man like you and keep you that bewitched, he must be un-fucking-believable. So I may have spent some time picturing him. And maybe you with him. A little.”

  He blushed and scowled at her, then smiled at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

  “Oh, come on. Tell me you haven’t found a quiet moment during this great adventure to think impure thoughts about Gabriel Donnelly.”

  The blush rose in his cheeks again.

  “Yep, thought so. Good for you, chief.”

  “I can’t believe we’re talking about this,” he said quietly.

  “We’re both grown-ups, Ethan. The circumstances are a little convoluted, but as long as we are honest with each other we’re going to be fine.” She picked up her purse. “So, shall we?”

  He got to his feet and lent her a steadying arm as she stood. “We shall. And I shall aspire to be as grown-up as you are about the sleeping arrangements.”

  “You know what they say,” she remarked as they walked through the restaurant. “A boner is the sincerest form of flattery.”

  “Remind me to introduce you to Bryce at the wedding,” Brandt replied. “You two will find you have a lot in common.”

  “He sounds delightful.”

  Late night, at sea

  DONNELLY AND Sandler had decided to call it a night when Ankur got off duty, and he accompanied the men back to their suite—much to the dismay of Dax and Stanley, who were still obviously hoping to have their chance at them.

  “This isn’t a problem for you, coming back to our suite like this, is it?” Donnelly asked. He enjoyed seeing Sandler so happy but didn’t want to be the source of complications for Ankur.

  “No, not at all,” Ankur said. “I covered for Emmett several times recently when there was a large group of conservative politicians on board for a seminar. He always says, ‘the deeper the closet, the harder they fuck.’ He was barely able to walk after an evening with that angry man from Fox News.”

  “I don’t think I can close my eyes hard enough to stand being in the same room with someone like that, much less the same bed,” Sandler said.

  “Emmett’s a very committed service professional,” Ankur said wryly. “I couldn’t do it either. My standards are too high.” He reached out and traced along Sandler’s jawline with his finger.

  “Fuck,” Sandler sighed. “You know you don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

  “But I mean every word,” Ankur said seriously.

  “You two are adorable,” Donnelly said, laughing at their earnest flirtation.

  “And we’ll try to be quieter tonight,” Sandler said sheepishly.

  “I told you before, you should have fun, and don’t mind me. I’m a big boy.”

  “That’s what I said,” Ankur said. He smiled, seeming pleased to have contributed a joke that made the other men laugh.

  They arrived at the suite, and Donnelly opened the door and stood aside to let the others in. Rutherford had made up the bed already, and the lights were low. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he said. “You two have fun, okay? Will you be able to stay for breakfast on the balcony, Ankur?”

  Ankur turned to Sandler, eyes wide.

  “I would love for you to stay,” he said, seeming to understand perfectly what Ankur was too shy to ask.

  “That would be lovely,” he said, deeply pleased.

  “All right, then,” Donnelly said. “See you in the morning.” He retreated to the bedroom and closed the door behind himself, smiling inwardly at the charming joy of Sandler and Ankur at having an evenin
g to enjoy each other’s company. He stripped off his clothes and took a short but relaxing shower—mainly to give the two lovers in the other room some privacy to start their evening off. He toweled himself dry and put on the plush robe that hung in the bathroom (Rutherford left a fresh one daily, whether he used it or not), then walked back into the bedroom. He could hear no sound coming from the other room—they were still on their best behavior—as he turned the lights down and tossed the robe over the chair that sat next to the bed. Naked, he slipped between the silky sheets and tucked a couple of the large pillows under the covers next to him. They weren’t as firm as Brandt, but he needed to have something pressed up against him as he slept.

  “Good night, Ethan, wherever you are,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  He closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes.

  Chapter Seven

  Wednesday

  Before dawn, at sea

  “GABRIEL! GABRIEL!” That voice could wake the dead.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” he called back, shouting so she could hear him downstairs in the kitchen. He threw back the covers only to discover, to his horror, that the sheets bore a dark spot where his still-erect penis had thrown a little party for itself in the wee hours of the morning. “Fuck, not again,” he sighed. Luckily she didn’t make his bed anymore. He got up and bundled up the sheets, wondering what she would think about him washing a third load of bed linens this week.

  He showered, dressed, and slammed down his breakfast in the space of the next fifteen minutes, and was at the bus stop with more than a dozen seconds to spare before the ancient school bus came wheezing up the street. His stop was the last before the bus turned and headed back into town, bearing its precious cargo of rural kids to the only high school for thirty miles.

  They reached the city limits—if you could call this township of two-and-a-half-thousand souls a city—and stopped at the housing project that sat at its farthest reaches. There they picked up the usual cargo of truants in the making before continuing on to their final destination. They stopped; the door opened.

  Unlike Gabriel, who dashed for the bus every morning still wiping sleep from his eyes, Cam boarded the bus looking like the world was his. He made a show of looking for open seats, but Gabriel knew which one he would pick for the five-minute ride to the high school parking lot.

  “This seat taken?” he asked—he always did—before sitting down.

  “It is now,” Gabriel answered, as he always did.

  “Good morning, Gabriel,” he said pleasantly.

  “Good morning, Cam,” Gabriel replied. Then he dropped his voice so the bus drive couldn’t hear. “Fuck this morning.”

  Cam’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Happened again,” Gabriel muttered.

  “You gotta get a grip, man.” Cam laughed but suppressed it quickly before anyone else could hear.

  “It’s not like I can keep it from happening,” Gabriel objected.

  “Sure you can. If you don’t want the pool to overflow, you drain some of the water. That’s what I meant by getting a grip, dude.” He winked. “Just think of me doing this.” He maintained an expression of utter boredom, looking blankly out the window, while his hand slipped over and onto Gabriel’s crotch. He massaged what he found there with a surreptitious vigor that got Gabriel’s attention, then yanked his hand back before anyone could see what he was up to.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking of when it happened, actually,” Gabriel replied as he adjusted his jeans to accommodate his rising boner.

  “Bullshit,” Cam replied. “You were thinking about him, not me.”

  Gabriel blushed at the truth of Cam’s accusation. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Not like he’s gonna suddenly drop Cheryl Jenkins to be with me.”

  “You never know,” Cam replied. “Maybe he’ll get tired of boning the head cheerleader and decide to take a run at the star of the wrestling team. It’d certainly be more fun than rolling around on those huge boobs of hers.”

  “I think huge boobs are mostly what guys like him are interested in.”

  “Because they don’t know better,” Cam replied, shaking his head. “Now, take Ross over there.” He nodded toward a massive guy in a varsity jacket two seats away. “In the locker room, all he ever talks about is the girls he’s fucking. But after Friday night’s fuckup that lost us the Woodley game, Coach made him spend Saturday cleaning the bathroom with a toothbrush. Well, I managed to get myself punished too, so Ross and I spent the day together. Turns out the only thing he likes more than fucking girls is getting blow jobs from this guy.” Cam gestured to himself with his thumbs. “He’s hung like a donkey. Course, he’s as smart as one too.” He looked over at Ross, who pointedly looked the other direction. Cam turned back, smirking. “I guess we’re not on speaking terms anymore. Oh well, it wasn’t the worst Saturday I’ve spent.”

  “Slut,” Gabriel muttered as the bus lurched into the parking lot behind the high school.

  “Really?” Cam replied, his tone showing no evidence of offense. “Please, sir, impress me with the dignity of your drooling now that he’s here.” Cam pointed out the window.

  He was getting out of his car, a European sedan that surely exceeded in price the net annual income of the Donnelly household. The morning light struck his hair and Gabriel felt the pang in his chest of longing—fruitless longing—that seeing him always inspired. Then, from the passenger side of the car, Cheryl Jenkins emerged. Gabriel didn’t hate her, of course—that wasn’t in him to do—but he sure wished she would find a reason to transfer to some other school. Woodley, perhaps.

  I’d make him happier, Gabriel thought. Bryan deserved to be loved.

  As he passed the math exam back, their hands touched for just an instant. Gabriel blushed, but Bryan didn’t seem to notice. Gabriel turned back to face the front and looked down at his hand, trying to figure out the divine magic that made it tingle after such a brief moment of contact. No one else made him feel this way. He looked down at his test and found mashed potatoes.

  “Lunch lady seems particularly pissed off at humanity today,” Cam remarked. “What the hell is this?”

  “I think… chicken? Not sure,” Gabriel replied, though his eyes weren’t on his plate. It was a hot autumn day, and he was watching a group of guys testing the dress code with T-shirts that had been cut down the side to reveal their entire torsos.

  Cam turned to follow his gaze. “Oh fuck. Someone’s been working out.” He tipped his head back, pretending to scrutinize the view through spectacles. “He’s definitely filled out since last I laid eyes on him.” He turned back to Gabriel with a wicked grin. “Or hands, for that matter.”

  “Basketball shorts are the best thing ever,” Gabriel muttered, watching the globes of ass after ass bobbing by as the group passed the table.

  “I like how you can slip your hand all the way up, and there’s still plenty of room to move once you’re there.” He made a not-very-subtle wanking motion with his hand. “I bet I could get my whole head up there.” He nodded at the last guy in the line, whose basketball shorts were both voluminous and well-packed.

  “We could each take a leg and meet in the middle,” Gabriel said with a flick of his eyebrow.

  “I didn’t think team sports were your thing,” Cam replied, sipping his soda.

  “You’ve forgotten that time after Homecoming?”

  Cam’s wicked grin grew wider and wickeder. “I’ll never forget that. I spent the entire weekend scrubbing out the back of my dad’s SUV, and it still smelled like cum.”

  “Not my fault. He swallowed most of mine, and you took care of the rest.”

  “See? Teamwork. Next time, though, we hold out for someone with their own car.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You’re late for practice,” a voice called, and when Gabriel turned around, he was in the gym. Everyone else was already scrimmaging, and he didn’t have a partner. He looked to Coach to ask what to do.


  “I’ll be your partner,” Bryan said.

  He was in a singlet. Which means he must have joined the wrestling team. Which didn’t make sense since he was the best running back on the football team. But Gabriel nodded, and they took up position on the mat.

  “Ready?” Bryan asked.

  “Ready.”

  It was supposed to be a warm-up, but Bryan hit him hard and knocked him to the mat. Then he reached around between Gabriel’s legs and gripped his already hard cock. He stroked it through the thin fabric while staring into Gabriel’s eyes.

  “Like that?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “Uh….” Gabriel couldn’t form words, his throat was so dry.

  “Would you like it if I did this?” Bryan leaned in for a kiss.

  Gabriel felt joy surge through his chest. He was so elated he didn’t even see the balled-up fist flying toward his face. It made contact, wrenching his head sideways with a sickening crunch.

  “Faggot,” spat Bryan. He stomped away, leaving Gabriel, bleeding and broken, on the mat.

  Donnelly bolted upright, gasping. He brought his hands to his face, terrified to feel the broken bones and pulsing blood. He felt nothing out of place and only then began to realize he’d been dreaming. He sat, breathing hard, trying to will the adrenaline out of his system.

  So that’s what it would have been like, he thought to himself. I guess I’m better off not knowing I was gay back then.

  Once he’d caught his breath, he could hear Sandler and Ankur in the next room, softly talking. Their peacefulness together made him smile, and he lay back down. Sleep came eventually, when he had finally convinced himself the dream wasn’t real.

  It was only five thirty in the morning when Donnelly awoke, but he knew once he’d opened his eyes that there was no going back to sleep. He hadn’t had any more nightmares, but his body ached to tell him it needed a good stretch and a harder workout than he’d been giving it. He rose and slipped on a pair of running shorts and a light T-shirt, then picked up his running shoes—with socks tucked inside—and tiptoed silently into the outer room.