by K. C. Wells
“Really? You wanted the table that badly?”
“Yep. My feet are killing me and there was only one of him and two of us. He should thank us. He’ll meet more potential beaus at the bar, not sitting here in the dark. He was practically being a wallflower!” Aaron’s hands were flying a mile a minute as he shared his convoluted logic with me.
“You are devious.” I had to laugh out loud at the very self-satisfied expression on his face. It was much darker at this table than it had been at the bar. A single votive lit his face. The candlelight suited him. “I guess you have a story to tell now. Your turn,” I prompted.
“I can’t remember the questions, remind me, or better yet, just ask me new ones. Much more exciting that way.”
“Okay. Um, let’s see. What do you do? I mean for a living? Where were you born? How long have you lived here? What nationality are you? Brothers or sisters? What’s your favorite band or singer? Favorite TV show? Um, I can’t think of anything else. Go ahead. Answer away.” I leaned back and noticed him watching me intently. His bangs fell into his eye again, and my fingers yearned to touch him. Talking was better. “Well? I answered yours. Your turn.”
“I have a quirky memory, but I’ll do my best here.” He gave an exaggerated cough and began. “I work as an editorial assistant at a fashion mag. You didn’t ask but I love fashion. Specifically fashion photography. I try to get my editor to loan me out to our lead photographers to assist them when it’s slow in her office.”
“So you want to be a photographer?” I interrupted. That sounded very interesting and for some reason, I wanted to know why.
“Yes. I do it as a hobby for now because I need to pay the rent, so for the time being, that’s all it can be. I’m trying to build a portfolio, but it’s just a work in progress at this point. So… now that I’m completely distracted, what exactly was the next question?”
“What do you like about photography? If you could make a living at it, would you want to freelance or what? I’m interested.” Aaron gave me a dubious look. “Really,” I assured him, “tell me.”
“I love that a moment is captured and a story can be told all with one single shot. If a photographer is truly great, you want to go back time and again to look at that photo and see what you may have missed after the first peek. I would love to be sought after and unique enough that I could freelance at a high level. But that’s a dream, Matty. Bills must be paid. And stop interrupting me. I’ll be talking about me all night if you’re not careful. You’ll be bored to tears, asleep on this very popular table, and if anyone I know comes by, I’ll never live it down. ‘Aaron talks guy into catatonic state.’ I can hear them now.” I noticed, as he wound himself up at the end with his little speech, that his hands were moving at record speed and his effeminate vocal affectation went up several notches. I guessed I’d caught him off guard asking about something he was passionate about. Interesting.
“Matty? You called me Matty.” I gave him my best annoyed expression and saw Aaron’s shoulders visibly shift downward. He was relaxed again, and I was inordinately pleased with myself. “Okay, Aaron, please continue. But first tell me, what’s your last name?”
“Mendez. And I’m Puerto Rican. I believe that was one of your questions. Full-blooded. Both parents from there and sí, yo hablo español.” He gave me a very Americanized Spanish accent, but I would bet his Spanish was impeccable.
“Were you born there? In Puerto Rico?”
“No. I’m from a little town outside Baltimore called Ellicott. Almost local. It’s just an hour away. Forty-five minutes if there isn’t a smidge of traffic. My parents were both born in PR, though. My mom came over when she was really little and my father was in his early twenties. He learned to speak English when he was younger, but his accent is still pretty thick.”
“Siblings?”
“Three. Two older sisters, Maria and Tess, and a younger brother, Paul. And moving on and away from family fun… I love Project Runway, Heidi is adorable, but honestly I think Nina is my favorite. I love people who say it like it is, you know? And I love America’s Next Top Model. Tyra is great, right?”
Huh? I didn’t know. I had lost him at Project something, and I didn’t know who Heidi and Nina were. I thought he said his sisters were Maria and Tess.
“I’m not sure about that, but let’s stay on track. I think we move onto music. Who is your favorite band or your favorite singer?” I asked.
“I’m a huge Gaga fan. And I love Rihanna! Oh, and Adele too. And….”
Our tastes in music were polar opposite; however, music was a subject I could discuss for hours. And before I knew it, we had done just that. We talked about music in movies and television. Jazz music, American standards, commercial jingles, and even musicals. Aaron seemed to know a little bit about most genres and was passionate about those he liked the best. His enthusiasm was contagious. He was easy company and the time flew. A quick look at my watch told me it was after 2:00 a.m. The bar would be offering last call soon. I needed to get home. I had a ton of work to do for school next week. But I was reluctant to leave my new friend.
“Whoa! I had no idea it was so late. I should get going. Can I give you a lift home? Do you live nearby?”
Aaron smiled a little tiredly.
“No, I’m good. I live close. I feel like a short walk.”
“I’m not letting you walk home alone in the middle of the night. Let me take you home. Just drop you off, okay?”
“Well, since you’re being so chivalrous, I shouldn’t refuse. Thanks.”
We headed out of the still-packed bar and into the cool early morning air. It felt great, and I had to admit I felt great. I had honestly enjoyed just talking with Aaron. He was funny, interesting, and very intelligent. Our conversation ranged from music to movies to politics. I was more than a little sorry for our time together to end.
We walked the short distance to my car in silence, and he gave me directions to his place, which definitely was very nearby. I still felt better taking him home at this time of night/morning. The radio was on. Aaron heard the classic rock tune and scoffed.
“Yuck.” He changed it to a techno-sounding song. “Better,” he said and started to hum along. I should have been really irritated by his over familiarity, but I found myself mildly intrigued with his force of personality. And I could handle the techno crap for a two-minute drive.
“Thank you, thank you, kind sir. Here is my humble abode. I’m much too tired to invite you up, and I’m not that kind of girl. Actually, scratch that last part. But I am tired. It’s been great hanging out with you, Matty. See you around.”
He blew an air kiss in my direction and turned to open the car door. I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to face me, and suddenly we were much closer than we had been since our first dance at the club. Our eyes met, and I moved in closer still. I noticed for the first time that he was wearing eyeliner. His eyes were beautiful either way. They were a true hazel, and even in the darkened car interior, I could see the flecks of brown and green.
He moved the smallest bit closer and our lips touched. Our eyes were still open, and our lips just touched. The air suddenly felt electric in the small car. One of us moaned, and that was it. Our lips sealed in a true kiss, our eyes closed, and I moved my left arm to bring him closer to me. I needed to touch him. He licked over my bottom lip. My whole body reacted as I opened my lips to let him in. Our tongues danced and swirled. It was frenzied and passionate, like nothing I’d felt kissing anyone ever. My hands moved over his face and through his dark hair. It was soft to the touch. I shifted my hands to the nape of his neck to hold him closer as I deepened the kiss. He groaned into my mouth, and I could feel it throughout my body. I was more turned-on than even a hot kiss should call for. And it ended too soon. He pulled away from me and gently pushed me back.
“Wow, Matty. That was some good night kiss.” Aaron let out an exaggerated sigh and once again reached for the door handle. “I’ll see you
around.”
“Can I get your number?” I held my breath for a second. I wanted him to want to see me again too. But I had no idea what I was thinking. To what end?
“Matt.” He paused and looked into my eyes. “Why? I’m not sure if it was apparent to you or not, but I’m gay. I’m out, I’m proud. You are maybe iffy about the gay part, bi, or just curious, I don’t know. But you aren’t out or proud. And you told me you have a girlfriend. I don’t know why you want my number. I like you and I loved just talking to you tonight, but really.”
“Aaron.” I had to try one more time. “Please. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I admit it. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop for a week. And somehow I run into you again tonight. We spend the evening talking. Look, I don’t know why, but I’m….” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Frustration was eating at me. It was silent in the car for a minute, just the sound of us breathing.
Aaron sighed heavily again.
“Okay. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you so you have it in your received calls. Good? But Matt….” He paused and looked into my eyes with a very serious expression. “I’m not playing games. You’re hot and you seem like a good guy. Against my better judgment, I like you. But you have baggage, my friend. And I prefer to travel lightly.”
He took my number and called it from his cell. Then he looked at me meaningfully before getting out of the car.
“Good night, Matty. Take care.”
I leaned across the center partition and watched as he opened the door to his apartment building. Once he was safely inside, I sat back in my seat and put my head on the steering wheel. I let the waves of confusion and frustration wash over me before I pulled slowly away from the curb.
THE month that followed passed quickly. I didn’t see Aaron. I didn’t try to call him. I didn’t regret anything that had gone on between us. It really was innocent enough, with one minor exception. Aaron was a man. A beautiful, sexy gay man. And I identified myself as a heterosexual and had a girlfriend.
Here was the truth… I wasn’t completely straight, which I suppose meant I was bisexual. What I hated was that I had to qualify what I meant by that statement. I had found other men attractive in the past; however, I only acted on it once.
I was a freshman in college at a very raucous party when I met my one and only previous gay experience. But it was a doozy. I didn’t know the guy at all. I think he was a little older than me. I remember us talking in the kitchen and then him being literally in my space. It didn’t bother me. I remember being turned on. So when he told me he wanted to show me something in the bedroom, I followed him. I wasn’t thinking sex. I was thinking he was going to offer me drugs, which I would have refused. But I didn’t predict the searing-hot kiss or the way his hands moved all over my body. I couldn’t have predicted my body’s response. I just went with it. When he fumbled with my belt and unzipped my jeans, I just went with it. When he slipped his hands under my briefs and kneaded my ass with strong, sure hands, I sighed and pushed forward. When he cupped my balls and my dick, my breath caught, but I still went with it. I remember he was suddenly urgent as he stroked me. His grip was tight and felt amazing. I didn’t think I’d last long. But he pulled away from me, taking something out of his pocket before shucking off his jeans and shoes. I literally stood there with my very hard dick in my hands, watching as he walked toward the bed and then placed a condom and packet of lube by his knees as he arranged himself on his hands and knees in front of me. His ass on full display. I remember he seemed breathy as he told me to fuck him.
I don’t remember thinking beyond desire at that moment. I’d never done any of the things I’d done with him before. I was a homo virgin. I’d had sex with a couple of girlfriends in high school, but I was well aware that I was crossing into new territory. That was all the thinking I let my head do as I slipped the condom on, lubed up, and reached for him. We fucked. It was hot, tight, sweaty, and yeah, I liked it. A lot. Looking back at it, I’m sure I was a lousy lay. I think he knew enough to take care of himself. I couldn’t think beyond my own primitive urges. We didn’t linger after the act. I didn’t feel ashamed at all, but I definitely felt confused.
In the six years since that experience, I had never seriously looked twice at a man until Aaron. Until Aaron, I had convinced myself that was a one-off drunken experience. One I owned but doubted I’d ever do again. Aaron and I hadn’t done anything sexual, really. We had kissed. That’s it. And now one month had gone by since that kiss, and all I could do was think of him.
I was very busy with classes and with my internship at the law firm. I’d played guitar and sang at the bar I had told Aaron about a couple of times. I’d watched my fair share of football with my friends, and yeah, I managed to spend some time with my girlfriend. But none of this stopped me from thinking of Aaron, wondering if I’d bump into him at the market, at a coffee shop, or even on the street. I was thinking I should just give into the urge I had to call him. Then one day something happened to make me think I needed to do something sooner rather than later if I was going to get my sense of balance back.
It was a late Saturday afternoon in mid-November, so naturally I was parked in front of our large-screen TV watching college football with my buddies. Empty beer bottles and bags of chips were strewn about. The games hadn’t been particularly exciting that day, but it didn’t stop us from screaming at the television and one another with mostly good-natured jibes. I loved hanging out with my friends. I loved being with a bunch of guys sharing a beer or two and debating sports, politics, and current events. It was times like this that kept me from thinking about Aaron, which was a topic I didn’t want to share with anyone. Not even Curt, who strangely enough hadn’t brought up Aaron once since the day after I’d introduced them at the bar last month. Curt had asked me how my “friend” was the next day, made a comment regarding his hotness (“sizzling,” I believe he said), and that was it. Not a word since. I was relieved.
There was a banging at the front door, and Jason got up off the ratty old sofa to answer. I gave a quick glance toward the door but was otherwise engrossed in the action on the screen. A double take had me groaning inside but plastering a fake smile on my face. It was Kristin with Chelsea, Jason’s girlfriend, and Jen, a friend of Kristin’s who was crushing on Dave. They walked into the apartment with grocery bags in hand.
“We’re here to cook! Man cannot live on chips and beer alone!” Chelsea declared.
“How about spaghetti, boys? Garlic bread? A Caesar salad?” Kristin asked sweetly. She gave a shy smile aimed in my direction. I tried to return it and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace. I wasn’t happy with the new development.
I looked around at my buddies to see what they were thinking and found no support. Jason had his tongue down Chelsea’s throat, and Dave had a stupid smile on his face. He looked genuinely pleased to see Jen. That left me staring at my girlfriend like an idiot. I needed to get up off the sofa and act like I was grateful she had come with reinforcement to save us from another weekend of eating pizza in front of the big screen.
I looked over at Curt, who had greeted the girls when they walked in but had since turned all his attention to his phone. I could tell he was not going to stay for dinner with three couples. Since I wasn’t getting out of it, I needed to get up off my ass and say something to Kristin. “Why are you here?” probably wasn’t the right thing to say, although it was all I could think.
She didn’t seem to notice any awkwardness from me. In fact, she just gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and set to work in the cramped kitchen. I grabbed a beer and headed back to the living area, but not before I heard Chelsea say, “Kristin, are you making those Italian wedding meatballs too? Those are so yum!” I choked on my drink and scurried as quickly as possible back to the men and the game.
The rest of the evening was my own personal nightmare. Three couples, one obviously serious, one more casual (at least that was my take on Kristin and me), an
d one in the just-getting-to-know-each-other stage. And conversation centered around marriage. Ugh! How old did you want to be? Did you want a big or small wedding? What did you think about eloping? Like I said, hell. To be fair, the reason the conversation came up was that mutual friends of ours had just become engaged. They’d been dating for two years and he’d just popped the question. It still smelled a little bit like a setup to me. Maybe I was paranoid, but I felt like the girls were all testing the waters to see what the guy reaction to marriage and settling down was like. I was painfully silent. I was afraid to even look at Kristin. She didn’t really think we were heading that way, did she?
Apparently, she did. She was telling a story about some friend of hers whose wedding we went to in the spring and commenting on how gorgeous the flowers were. Next she was onto bridesmaid dresses. What colors look good in what season? Seriously. The conversation was bad enough, but the surreptitious looks she cast in my direction made me feel a little queasy.
I liked Kristin, but marriage? I guess she’d make a good wife if I were ready for that kind of commitment. Let me be clear that I was not. Someday, sure, but honestly, I didn’t think I felt like Kristin and I would really make it in the long run. We talked easily, we’d never had a real argument, and the sex was nice. But that’s it. There was no passion. I admit it. I felt more passionate about the game she interrupted by bringing over dinner than I did about seeing her and being with her. If anything, I felt annoyed.
Hypothetically speaking, if we were to marry, it would be a polite kind of affair. I could see my life ten years from now when I was approaching my midthirties with my pretty wife, our two kids, and a dog living in the suburbs. I’d be a soccer dad on the weekends, and she’d be the perfect mom, involved in the kids’ school and attending yoga and Pilates in her spare time. Maybe I would come to love her in time, but maybe I was just being a selfish bastard. If we had different ideas about where this relationship was heading, one of us should say something. Did it have to be me? Maybe I misread her wistful expression after all.