"Well. Just... be careful of your leg. You still shouldn't engage in anything too rigorous." I could barely speak; my mouth was so dry.
Keith snorted softly. "I'll make sure he knows he's going to have to do all the work."
All I could do was nod, letting his leg down on the ottoman again. I put the resistance equipment away and grabbed a bottle of warming oil. Touching him seemed like the worst idea imaginable right now, but I needed to make sure his muscles were relaxed before I left.
"I'm just going to rub this in, then we'll be done for today. It might start as a little cold, but it'll warm up quickly."
"Hey, sure. Knock yourself out," Keith said. I couldn't be sure, but I swore there was the slightest waver to his voice.
Squirting some of the liquid into my palm, I rubbed them together to start the activation process, then crouched down to massage his leg. It was a clinical touch. A necessary touch. Yet as my hands glided over the tapered muscle, all I could think about was moving higher. Up to his thighs. Inward to his groin. Slowly rubbing and kneading as I lowered my head down to--
"Okay," I said suddenly, almost springing to my feet. I needed to get out of here. Now. "That's it. Good session. Good progress. I, ah... I'll drop by on Thursday, if that still works for you?"
"Yeah," Keith answered, and this time I was positive his voice shook. "Sure."
"Good luck with your..." I gestured vaguely to his phone, but was smart enough not to finish that sentence.
Instead, I stowed the bottle of oil in my bag, pulled the strap up to my shoulder, and left that apartment as quickly as I could without just breaking into a run.
7
Keith
We weren't even a full week into the therapy, and I'd already realized that inviting Brendan into my home time and time again, letting him work his weird magic on my leg, was a terrible idea. Just being around him again made a part of me revert to my stupid teenage self. Whenever I caught a hint of his soap -- the same soap he'd used back then -- I grew nostalgic for the days when I'd not-so-subtly leaned close to him just for a sniff. Like a little hit of endorphins to get me through the day.
That wasn't even mentioning when he'd leave clothing at my house. It'd been innocent at first. His shirt held up to my face as I inhaled his comforting scent and imagined him laying beside me in bed. But then it'd turned... not innocent, and though he'd never left any intimate clothing at my place, his shirts and jackets had enough of his scent on them to make me imagine his body draped over mine. My imagination did the rest.
Only, my imagination didn't have to work that hard when Brendan was bent over me and sensuously rubbing my leg with hands that were both strong and soft in equal measure. I knew there was nothing unprofessional about it. Brendan had made that clear from the start, and he probably felt the same way touching me as he did about touching anyone else. It was a job for him. He might as well be practicing on a mannequin.
For me, though, it was... distracting, and that was putting it lightly. It wasn't even just the touching, but the fact that he kept trying to make friendly conversation with me. Like he actually gave a damn about what I'd been doing with my life. Every time I told myself he didn't care and that he'd exploited my feelings for him, I remembered Reuben staring at me like I was batshit crazy, telling me Brendan was definitely gay.
That was the worst of all. If Brendan was gay, then what I believed about him was wrong. If Brendan was gay, there was a chance something could happen between us. The right -- or wrong -- combination of looks and touches could end with me forgetting about my injury and slamming home on his dick until we both came.
If he was gay, it meant he just... hadn't wanted me. It wasn't a matter of sexual preference; he just didn't want me, specifically.
I tried not to think about any of that. Since the experimental night out with Elliot and Reuben had gone well, I planned more. When the weekend rolled around, they invited me out to dinner and a movie with them. Even though Tina couldn't make it, I was desperate to get out of the house and out of my own head. So I agreed.
I instantly regretted it when I showed up to the restaurant to see Brendan on the opposite side of the booth. Immediately, I glared at Elliot, but he just gave me an apologetic look. Reuben acted oblivious the whole time, yet I knew he was probably the one who'd invited Brendan to come out, likely after getting the confirmation that I'd be there.
I couldn't just turn around and leave. That was the coward's way out. So I slid into the booth, my thigh touching Brendan's, and pretended to be perfectly fucking fine with all of it. I ate my spinach and artichoke dip, I challenged Elliot to a wing-eating contest which I handedly won, and I even kept up conversation. Completely normal. Not weird at all.
Except for the fact that my thigh seared with heat from where it touched his, and every time I had to reach for my napkin under my table I was afraid my out of control hormones were going to yank my hand toward his crotch.
That would've been something.
Fortunately, I kept my hands to myself, and when we headed to the theatre, I managed to get a seat on the opposite side of the happy couple. For a while, it was almost easy to forget Brendan was there at all, until he laughed.
I'd always both hated and loved how loud he laughed in theatres. Mostly it was endearing, but it just made me jump out of my skin when everything else was quiet. There were days when I'd dreamed about shutting him up the old-fashioned way, though. When we were in junior high, I'd imagined just leaning over and putting my lips on his. When the hormones hit in full force around our sophomore year of high school, I thought of everything from scandalously kissing him with tongue to getting down on the sticky theatre floor and taking his dick in my mouth under cover of darkness.
My thoughts veered more in that direction and I had to shift uncomfortably in my chair, adjusting myself when everyone else was paying attention to the movie. By the time the credits rolled, I was in a more acceptable state, and I hobbled down the ramp first, giving myself a little bit of breathing room.
"Thanks so much for inviting me," Brendan told the others. "I hate feeling like a third wheel, but this was nice."
His gaze strayed to me and I immediately looked down at my phone, opening up the Lyft app.
"Of course, man," Reuben said, clapping him on the arm. "Anytime."
Great. That meant anywhere Reuben went, Brendan might also be. And, anywhere Elliot went, both of them would be because Elliot never went anywhere without his boyfriend.
The next time I felt stir crazy, I texted Tina. It'd been a while since we'd gone out, just the two of us. Usually, I helped her do her hair and makeup and then acted as her wingman while she scoped out guys in a club or bar. Tonight she was just interested in a quiet dinner, so we got a table at the Cheesecake Factory -- not my favorite, but I would endure it for Tina -- and I prepared to enjoy a night free from all things Brendan.
We settled in and eventually she got around to telling me about her latest dating disaster.
"What the fuck, Tina?" I exclaimed, practically choking on my drink. "How do you keep finding these fuckbois?"
"I don't know!" she whined, sounding just as exasperated as me. "I feel like I've got some kind of chip that's sending out a pulse to every incel in a thirty mile radius."
"Give me your phone," I told her, holding out my hand expectantly. When she hesitated, I said, "Give me your phone and let me see your apps. There has to be something in your profile that's drawing them in."
She was still reluctant, but eventually handed over her phone. I opened up Tindr and immediately swiped left on every guy who popped up, much to her displeasure, then I checked out her profile. A loud groan left me.
"'I'm not like other girls.' Seriously?"
"What's wrong with that?" she asked, snatching the phone back from me.
"You might as well say that you're looking to snuggle on the couch and watch anime with some guy who doesn't shower more than once a week and thinks smelling nice is just something advert
isers made up to sell more deodorant."
"It's not that bad," she groused, staring down at her phone with a pinched brow.
I was prepared to tell her just how bad it was, even to demonstrate, but I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Or someone. At first I wasn't sure, but when I caught the hint of a dimple popping out on his right cheek, I knew.
"Are you fucking kidding me," I hissed, sinking down in my chair.
"What's--ohhh."
"I swear to God, Tina, it's like he's everywhere. Just a big, stupid, sexy shadow."
The big, stupid, sexy shadow hadn't noticed us, and Tina was nice enough not to draw attention to our table. We got to-go boxes for the rest of our meal and cut out of there as fast as we could, proving again why Tina was my favorite.
As her car idled outside my apartment, she said, "You're going to have to face this eventually, Keith. Otherwise it's all just going to come to a head."
Maybe literally. I wisely chose not to say that and just gave her a peck on the cheek. "Why face today what you can put off indefinitely?" I asked with a wink before hauling myself out of the car and heading for my apartment.
She was right. I needed to do something about it. As I tossed my keys down and hobbled over to the couch, I tried to think of a solution that didn't involve directly confronting Brendan. It was best for everyone involved if I could just... let it go.
That led me to scrolling through old group chat conversations with Elliot and Tina, though, my curiosity getting the best of me as I looked to see if they'd said anything about Brendan. The further back I read, the more caught up I got in reliving Elliot's drama with Reuben which was a lot more entertaining and safer to get caught up in than my own.
About halfway through, I saw a link he'd posted to a service called Dear Lonely Guy. I remembered Elliot writing to the guy and getting some decent responses. Better advice than I've given him. Sure, it'd blown up in his face, but that was because it was 2020 and he still didn't lock his phone.
It couldn't hurt to at least send the guy a quick email, right? I looked up the site and followed the instructions, sending in payment along with my question.
Hey Formerly Lonely Guy,
If you're really as good as people say you are, then I guess you'll have no trouble helping me out of a jam. Back in high school, I had a crush on my best friend. More than a crush, I guess. We only ever kissed and fooled around a little, and just one time. Then he went off with his homophobic dad and went to live his perfect, straight life without me.
He's back in my life now and I can't avoid him. We have to be in physical contact sometimes and it's fucking with my head. One of my friends says he's not straight, but I don't know if I believe that. Either way, there's a lot of hurt feelings and bad blood between us.
How do I deal with this and move on with my life?
Signed,
Not Lonely, Just Trying Not to Get Caught in Crazy
I went about my business, which mainly consisted of laying upside down on my couch browsing Netflix. Before I'd even picked something out, I was alerted to a response.
Dear Trying Not to Get Caught in Crazy,
Good instinct. Your friend probably means well, but if they don't know the history between the two of you, you'll have to take what they say at face value. There's a chance this guy is gay or even bi, but there's a chance your friend is reading him wrong. Especially if your friend is queer, too. Sometimes, our senses are just off about these things.
Normally I'd say it's common for young people to leap back into the closet, especially if they're dealing with overbearing parents. Maybe that's true for him and he eventually found his way out, but that doesn't change the fact that he toyed with your emotions and hurt you.
You're going to have to weigh out whether or not it's worth getting hurt like that again. The fact that you're even writing to me tells me you care about this guy and you really want to be impulsive, but you're looking for someone to tell you not to.
I'm happy to be that person: Whatever you do, don't let yourself get drawn in. Tell yourself he's straight and off limits and let that be the end of it.
Signed,
Formerly Lonely Guy
I read the response a few times before I finally put my phone away. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was probably what I needed. He was right. Brendan was a lost cause on so many different fronts. I needed to just tell myself he wasn't accessible and move on.
8
Keith
I spent an hour before Brendan's next visit just re-reading the advice I'd been given, resolving to follow it. If he was off limits, I couldn't think about him in any way that was going to drive me crazy. If he was off limits, I wouldn't be so hurt by what he'd done. If he was off limits, I wouldn't wonder if what Reuben said was true -- if maybe I'd had it all wrong.
I could just get my leg wrenched in every which way and go about my life. No big deal. No unwanted feelings clouding my mind or awakening my body. Just the feelings of a patient being mildly annoyed by how far his therapist wanted to push him.
For a while, it worked. Brendan didn't seem in the mood to be chatty. He actually seemed a little distracted, and I stopped myself from asking where his mind was. It didn't matter. His troubles weren't my concern anymore. He'd made sure of that, and it was better this way because the more preoccupied he was by his own bullshit, the less time he had to devote to confusing me.
Not that I really thought Brendan was doing it on purpose. That was a level pf psychosis far more advanced than he'd ever reach. Even when I told myself I hated him, I hadn't thought that. He was just... oblivious and insensitive. Another two words that didn't really fit him if I thought about them for any length of time at all, but I let it ride for now.
He asked me about my range of motion over the weekend, if I was experiencing any pain after going out and putting weight on it. All safe, clinical questions I answered without issue.
"It's crazy I kept seeing you so much," he commented offhandedly. One sentence, and I knew things were about to go off the rails. "Almost like kismet. Like fate keeps wanting to throw us together."
I sucked in a breath, covering for myself by the fact that he'd just pushed my knee up toward my chest. He was close again. Uncomfortably so. I wished it was in the "get the fuck away from me, you creep" way and not the "fuck my dick is getting hard already" way.
"Don't really believe in fate," I said, grunting as he pushed with more of his weight.
With my leg pushed up the way it was now, it was easy to imagine him holding it there for a different reason. Hiking it up and out of his way so he could thrust deep inside of me...
Fuck.
"Besides, it's pretty weird that 'fate' somehow kept us from seeing each other at all over the past fifteen years, despite the fact that we live in the same city."
"Maybe things just happen when they're meant to," he said, pressing closer to me.
Deep down, I knew he was just doing his job, but what if he was having the same thoughts as me? My gaze flicked down to his slacks as quickly as I could manage. Was that a bulge...? No. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Probably.
My own dick twitched and I tried in vain to shift my position. If he didn't stop this particular stretch soon, there was no way I was going to be able to conceal my erection.
"Or maybe random happenstance is random," I answered, my voice strained.
He released me from that stretch and I let out the heaviest breath, my eyes closing briefly. I tried to force my body to cooperate, drawing in a few deep breaths. I could feel Brendan's gaze on me, though, and when I opened my eyes he was...
Staring at my crotch. Specifically, at the tent in my board shorts, my cock having definitely not listened to my silent pleas.
I wanted to snap at him, but the words wouldn't come. His gaze lifted to mine and I swore I saw a flash of heat steal across his eyes. Heat and hunger, which only made me ache all the more, a shock of molten need shooting through me.
Fi
nally, he broke the spell, stepping away to fetch some of his little resistance gadgets from his bag. I had the chance to breathe, and I gulped down air like I'd been deprived of it for full minutes. The more oxygen I took in, the more I could force blood to rush back to my brain instead of my dick. That was how science worked, right?
The rest of the session progressed with Brendan rambling on about the most random, disjointed things. At one point, he was talking about Reuben, then the Gators, then the weird weather, then the latest movie he'd seen. He was all over the place and while I tried to keep up -- for the sake of my sanity, so I didn't focus on how close he was -- but it was impossible.
I could tell he was nervous, but why would he be nervous unless he was feeling the same undeniable tension I was? It was there in the air between us, ready to snap at any moment. Every time he leaned over me, every time any part of his body brushed against mine, my brain's horniness receptors went into overdrive. I wanted him to do something; wanted him to make this session something wholly unprofessional.
For the first time, I could believe he might want that, too. He was so flustered, barely looking me in the eye for more than seconds at a time. All of it was... confusing, to say the least. I told myself he was just flustered because he'd seen obvious evidence of my boner. It was weird to work with somebody whose dick wanted in on the action. Of course that made him uncomfortable. Not like a straight guy wanted to see that.
But I swore his gaze kept straying that way. I swore he licked his lips and even adjusted himself at one point. And I swore the bulge I saw in his pants wasn't just a trick of my imagination.
"Hey, I need you to cut this session early," I suddenly blurted, springing up from the couch.
I instantly regretted it, feeling a twinge of pain in my leg. It was stronger, but not strong enough that I could forget the injury entirely.
Time Out (Dear Lonely Guy Book 2) Page 5