by Rachel Kane
“Oh, Nat,” I called out, “who hurt you like this? Your poor heart must be beaten and blue!”
That got a laugh out of him at least.
“It’s not that I don’t wish it ever happened,” he said. “But if you’re sitting here kind of lonely and haven’t had a relationship in a long time, to see these two model-perfect guys falling in love instantly just feels...wrong. A little insulting.”
I started to make a joke, then reflected on my conversation with Sergio earlier. He and my neurosurgeon ex had certainly gotten together quickly. None of that awkward fumbling that made the early stages of a relationship so tentative and nerve-wracking, just two hot professionals with a lot of money and respect, licking whipped cream off each other’s abs and pledging eternal faithfulness.
I realized Nat was right. It felt a little like a slap in the face.
“When we tell the tale of our own fake love affair,” I said, “we should emphasize that it took forever to come to fruition. Lots of pining looks and deep conversations, before we even so much as held hands.”
“I’m really nervous about this,” said Nat. “I need the show’s help so much, but I worry I’m just going to be a laughing-stock. Everybody knows we’re not together.”
“Everybody in the entire country? The show airs in places other than Oceanside.”
“You know what I mean. Our friends. The people around town. They’re going to think it’s a big joke.”
“Isn’t it? Not a joke on us, of course, but on...someone. Fate. The god of kitchens.”
Mr. Thurgood had gotten up on the couch between us and put his head on Nat’s lap. Nat stroked him absently, and the good pup had begun to drowse, snoring softly. It looked very natural, my pup sitting with him.
“I guess I’m worried that the joke’s on me,” Nat said after a long silence.
I picked up the remote and paused the movie. It was clear that neither of us was watching it right now. But I also felt strange, because I wasn’t sure I knew Nat well enough to have the conversation he wanted to have. I like to keep things as light as possible. Superficial, even. It’s my specialty. It keeps me from getting hurt, although I don’t think I’d ever admitted that to anyone. I don’t get into deep conversations with anyone, least of all guys I just met who I’m doing a favor for.
But I couldn’t just leave him hanging, either. “How so?” I asked.
“Oh, you know what they’ll say. Nat couldn’t find a real boyfriend, how sad. He could never find someone like Owen.”
I blinked. “Wait, was that a compliment? It has been a while since I have heard one, and I’ve forgotten exactly what they sound like.”
He brushed away my remark. “Come on. Don’t go fishing for praise. You know you’re out of my league. Or...I’m out of yours? How does that phrase work? Our leagues are different, is the point.”
“Since I don’t know sports, I’m going to assume this is all nautical talk, with your fishing and your leagues. However, Cap’n, don’t hoist yourself by your own petard.”
“Wait, that’s not nautical.”
“It’s not? Isn’t a petard one of those things on the boat with all the ropes on it? There’s a sail, and the petard kind of spins around--”
He laughed. “It’s a bomb. It means basically blown up by your own bomb. It’s from Hamlet.”
“If I’d known I was faking a relationship with a scholar, I might’ve studied up a little more! Beware, Mr. Thurgood, soon he’ll be telling us that Bostons are not cultured enough a breed for him!”
Nat reached down and scratched Mr. Thurgood on the head, which elicited some sleepy tail-thumping. “No, Mr. Thurgood is clearly a well-read and thoughtful individual.”
“As are you. Which I guess is my point. Don’t put yourself down, just because we’ve been thrown into this weird situation together. You’re fine. Your kitchen is gross, your apartment needs light, but you yourself seem like a normal person.”
He smiled. “At least you didn’t call me nice.”
“No, no. I sense your hidden rage, roiling inside you.”
The camera crew was going to get here really, really early, and since neither of us was into the movie, we decided to turn in. He brought me some sheets and pillows for the sofa, and described in mortifying detail the deal he had with the bodega across the street to borrow their bathroom. I brushed my teeth using bottled water, pulled on my pajama bottoms (it felt disrespectful to be a guest on someone’s couch wearing my usual nothing-but-skin), and made sure Mr. Thurgood was comfortable, before clicking off the light.
I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the couch or anything; I’d successfully managed to doze off on park benches, bus seats, and the occasional boulder in the woods. No, it was my brain keeping me awake. I could hear Nat sleeping, and somehow, even though he was in another room, the darkness and quiet made him seem very close.
There was a lot going on in my mind. That last conversation with Sergio, for instance. If Harris was being all distant with Sergio, that wasn’t a good sign. I remembered how that started happening back when Harris and I were together, and how quickly it spelled our doom. But then why did Harris keep bugging me? He should spend that time talking to Sergio instead of me. Maybe it was just habit.
My thoughts slipped away from Harris and Sergio though, as I felt the couch cushions shift beneath me. I was back in the present. I heard Nat roll over in bed. Had he left the bedroom door open? I lifted my head just enough to confirm he had. Was that on purpose? Was he keeping an eye on me? Maybe he was nervous I’d steal something. I laughed quietly. That was silly. He was probably just used to having the door open, living alone like this. I set my head back on the pillow.
I wondered what would lead someone to buy a place like this. It was such a permanent decision, or at least long-term, and yet seemed so reckless and unplanned. Could there have been some pressure to buy a place immediately, without really investigating it first? I tried to imagine what that might be.
My thoughts were getting looser, lying there in the dark. I imagined Nat and some lover buying the place with plans of fixing it up, then a sudden break-up left him without any help. I imagined him on the run from the law, under some different name, settling down and trying to put roots down in a new community. All kinds of crazy things.
It took me a while to realize my hand had slipped down into my pajamas. Oh come on, I told myself.
What, why can’t I touch my cock? It’s a strange place, it’s late at night, I’m not bothering anyone.
My thumb ran over the flare of my cock-head, sending a little shiver down my spine. Surely I wasn’t seriously going to jack off on Nat’s couch? Even though it might be a way for me to relax and finally fall asleep? It was past midnight, and 5 in the morning was approaching fast. This was how I always got myself to sleep, if my mind was too busy. Besides, I was in the house of a cute guy--wound a little tight, yes, but cute nonetheless--and my mind could casually wander around the idea of Nat lying in bed.
But you’re a guest in his home! And he’s right there in the next room! What if he wakes up and sees that you’re playing with yourself? Oh, god, now you’ve moved the blanket out of the way, your cock is in the open air!
I scowled at my conscience to make it stop bothering me. My hand was wrapped around my shaft now. I was only half-hard at this point, although it was responding to my ministrations. Nat was safely asleep--I could still hear him breathing. It wasn’t like I was going to walk in there and stroke myself while watching him like a creepy stalker. More realistically, it wasn’t like he was going to walk out here and see me.
Sometimes you get turned on by things you know are just socially wrong. The thought of him walking in here, catching me, was suddenly getting me all the way hard. I didn’t know why. My hand started moving more quickly. It would be so embarrassing for him to be standing over me, just staring down at my hard-on, watching it bulge. He would say, What are you doing? I’d be caught, squirming under his judgmental gaze, but somehow
unable to let go of my cock.
Oh, you just can’t control yourself, he might say. Filthy bastard, stroking your cock like that.
I can’t help it, I’d plead, it’s just so hard and it has been so long since I’ve had a real orgasm!
What if he thought it was so disgusting that he reached down to brush my hand away, except that when he did, my cock landed in his palm? You’re so dirty, I bet that’s what you’ve wanted all along, he might say.
I wouldn’t have any words. At the feel of his hand, I’d close my eyes, my head tilted back, and feel him stroking me.
I can’t believe you expect to just lie there with your fat cock in my hand. You really think I’m going to keep jacking you off? You think I’m going to let you come all over my hand? You’re so filthy you’d probably just spurt it all over me.
I groaned loudly. My hips bucked, and I bit my lip. All alone in the room, my whole body seemed to tighten up and then release into a massive orgasm. I tried to keep quiet. I did. But my cum hit my belly and chest, got my hand all wet and sticky.
I lay there silently for a minute. Nat was still asleep, thank god. Oh, that would’ve been so embarrassing. I doubted reality would work out like that fantasy. I managed to find a t-shirt in my bag that I could use to wipe myself up, then lay back down and hoped that I looked innocent and virginal, rather than looking as dirty as I felt right now.
Amazingly, after that, I had no trouble dropping right off to sleep.
8
Nat: Getting To Fake-Know You
Owen sure did look strange the next morning. At first, I thought it was from a bad night’s sleep on the couch because he was sort of hunched over, but then I realized he was looking a little shifty as well, like maybe he’d just stolen something. Obviously, I didn’t think he’d stolen anything, but it was strange to see him look so guilty.
“Everything okay?” I asked him.
He looked up quickly. “What? No, no, it’s fine. And good. Everything is fine and good.”
Did he blush just then? It was hard to say. But before I could ask anything else, he said Mr. Thurgood needed a trip outside, and then they were gone.
Moments later the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and instead of Owen and dog, there was an army of people with equipment cases at my door.
What happened next was so chaotic and strange, I can hardly describe it. Joan was there, amazingly well-put-together for this time of the morning, shaking my hand and asking me to sign a few more forms, but that was almost all I understood. She might’ve looked sharp, but I was all blurry and out of focus. People were unpacking boxes and taking measurements and setting up lights. I have never had this many people in my condo before today. It was making me so nervous! Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but I felt like an accessory, a decoration, pushed to the side and not very useful.
When Owen got back, the crowd didn’t bother him at all. He and Mr. Thurgood made the rounds, shaking hands and getting pats (well, Mr. Thurgood got the pats). It was like Owen already knew everybody, and was welcoming them all back after a long time away. And they responded, making jokes, pointing out some technical details of what they were doing, including him in everything. It took him a while to make it all the way to the end of the living room where I was standing next to my bookshelves.
“Dude, don’t be a wallflower at your own party,” he said, sliding an arm around my shoulders.
I didn’t flinch exactly, but I hadn’t been expecting contact, and so I think I jumped. He squeezed me and said, “Remember, we’re together. They expect us to act like it.”
It wasn’t uncomfortable, not physically. In fact, his arm was stronger than I would’ve expected, pulling me close to him. I could smell the scent of pine on him from his soap. I relaxed against him, hoping we looked realistic enough.
“Sorry, just nervous,” I whispered.
Then he did something I had not expected at all. He turned his head, and nuzzled my ear, whispering, “Let me know if these little displays of affection go too far, okay? I don’t want to cross your boundaries.”
Was I blushing? My cheeks felt hot. I wasn’t sure what to say to him.
The truth was, I’d had another dream about him last night. A really, really vivid one, where I wandered into the living room and caught him jacking off on the sofa. It was so realistic that it woke me up briefly in the night, and I lay there, straining my hearing against the silence, hoping to hear him rubbing himself. I would never admit this to anyone, but I’d found myself totally hard, my cock jutting up from my sheets. It was so embarrassing. Although, I’m not sure why I was so embarrassed about it, it’s not like anyone was there to see. I’d heard him breathe a little heavily and thought I heard him roll over on the couch, so I know he was asleep. I had reached down and played with myself very, very quietly.
Now suddenly he was nuzzling my ear and whispering, and it was all a little much for me. Attractive guys didn’t make physical contact with me like this...ever! Even my friends would only go in for the occasional hug. Maybe that was me. Maybe I kept some sort of wall up that everybody saw but me, a wall that said Do Not Touch! I felt a little bit fortunate that Owen couldn’t see that wall, even though I had to hold very still so the shiver I felt from his warm breath didn’t show.
Joan walked over. “I think we’ve got everything set up. We’re going to start with The Knock.”
“The Knock?” I asked.
“Yeah. We’ll go back outside, except for sound and camera. Then we’ll knock, and you’ll act all surprised to see us.”
Owen leaned toward her. “How surprised, exactly? Like on a scale of one to ten, one being very mild, ten being wetting our--”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t act, Owen. You’re happy to see them because they’re going to fix everything. Smiles. Happiness. We don’t have a lot of time, so I don’t want to see big drama right now.”
Owen looked just a bit disappointed, but nodded. “Keep it down to a two or three,” he told Mr. Thurgood, who wagged in agreement.
It was so strange. I don’t think I’ve ever been on camera before. There was no sitting in a chair getting made up, like I’d half expected. Nobody did my hair. Someone came over and mashed at my face with some blotting sheets, but that was it. Suddenly the lights were on, the room’s temperature went up ten degrees, and the doorbell rang.
I tried so hard not to look into the camera. I felt stiff and awkward. Was I walking correctly to the door? Did I look too much like a robot? Meanwhile, Owen was so smooth, like he lived his life on camera. “I wonder if it’s them?” he ad-libbed. I caught Joan scowling at that, and it made me smile.
Then it was chaos. I opened the door. The crew flooded in, and there were handshakes and introductions of all the people we’d already met.
“All right,” said Joan, after reviewing the shots on her tablet a few times. “That’s fine. Arnold?”
“First job is to get the water back on,” he said. He directed a plumber towards the sink.
Joan turned back to us. “So they’re going to do a lot of preliminary work, and it’s going to be noisy in here for a while. We need to get some interview footage of you two.”
I glanced around the living room. It was still too early for any morning light. “Here?”
“Oh god no. No offense, Nat, but your house would depress the nation.”
“What about the dog park?” suggested Owen. “Mr. Thurgood loves it there. Although it’s not a Saturday, so he may be a little confused and demand some snow peas. Expect that.”
Joan stood there with her mouth open, staring at Owen. “Um. Okay. Yes, we could do the dog park. The light won’t be right yet, so go have breakfast or whatever you need to do, then we’ll drive over there.”
The morning sun had lit the dog park all in gold. It was surprisingly pretty; I’d never been out here this time of the morning. Of course, not having a dog, I didn’t come near the park very often. Owen and Mr. Thurgood looked right a
t home.
We’d run out to the diner but I was too nervous to eat, and my coffee wasn’t really sitting right. What would I say? What if I looked like an idiot on camera? Would people laugh at me?
I tried to tell myself it would be okay. Reality shows filmed thousands of people a year, and most of them were just like me, normal people without any training in acting, without great looks or style or anything.
Joan squeezed my arm. “Quit worrying,” she said.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re not a politician about to be raked over the coals on live TV. These are all softball questions.”
“I just don’t want to sound stupid.”
“We edit out all the umms and ahs. But seriously, nobody cares. They want to see a happy family made happier by a new kitchen. That’s it.”
Meanwhile, Owen was looking as confident as always, lounging on the park bench with his arms spread over the back. Mr. Thurgood had gone to explore the territory, snuffling around the trees.
“Let’s get started while the light is good,” said one of the crew, and so I sat next to Owen, and he called Mr. Thurgood up to sit with us.
My mouth was so dry I wasn’t sure I’d be able to speak. The camera was pointed at us. Everyone was staring. Joan was off to the side. “All right,” she said, “I’ll start with a couple of getting-to-know-you questions.”
“You don’t have to say Lights, Camera, Action?” I asked, a little concerned.
“It’s not really something we do,” she said, “but I can say it for you if it’ll make you feel better.”
She was so intent on putting us at ease that I had to laugh at that, and laughing broke the ice. I felt better now, less like I was going to screw up.
“So introduce yourselves, one at a time. Name, where you’re from, and why you asked the show for help. Keep it short and general--we’ll get into the nitty gritty later on.”
“Hi,” I said to the camera. “My name is Nat Jackson. I’m originally from Silver Scar, which is this little town in the mountains, but--”