Unlike Any Other (Unexpected #1)

by Claudia Burgoa

  Love is not always what you think,

  You’ll always be right here with me.

  I didn’t want to give it up

  You stole it

  It’s now with you

  My love, my heart, my soul.

  Love is not always what you think,

  You don’t choose, it chooses you.

  Love is not always what you think,

  You’ll always be right here with me.

  The story of my life repeats

  It’s impossible for it to exist

  Reality strikes one more time

  There won’t be dreams or a place for it to exist.

  Love is not always what you think,

  You don’t choose, it chooses you.

  Love is not always what you think,

  You’ll always be right here with me.

  When your best friend is a musician, you learn a few things about their lyrics. For all we know, a song about a person the singer can’t live without or who has disappeared, is really just a brand of soda they loved and went off the market.

  That’s what “Nothing Will Be the Same” by the Dreadful Souls was all about. Chris’s favorite grape-flavored soda had been taken off the market. A loss he immortalized with a song that millions related with but in a different way. This song in particular, by solo artist Christian Decker, was about his best friend. He had only had one best friend.

  Me.

  Chris singing about love stumped me. Then there was the part that he never had a family and didn’t want one, while I dreamed of a big family. A relationship between us wasn’t an option, it couldn’t exist. I wasn’t into men and neither was Chris.

  Sliding the car inside the garage, I turned off the engine and banged my head several times against the steering wheel. During the drive home, the images of Chris and I making love to another woman had come to mind.

  At one point, our encounters became intimate. Our hands held each other’s hips, asses or thighs to achieve the perfect posture.

  The best moment was when we would thrust inside a woman at the same time and rubbed against each other; the only separation between us being that little membrane that separated her asshole from her cunt.

  We never spoke about it, but by the end of the tour and those nights, my favorite moment was when we both came together and let our heads drop onto each other’s shoulders.

  Pure ecstasy.

  I took it as male bonding, but the bonding took a one-eighty shift the last night we had a threesome. The chick left in the middle of the night and we woke up in each other’s arms.

  “Dude,” Chris woke me up. “You’re hot, but I think you’re too close for comfort.”

  We let it slide and didn’t talk about it again. The next night in New York, we opted for our own room and our own chicks. Well, no, I didn’t sleep or fuck anyone that night. Then we traveled to my parents’ house and finally reached California. Within days, he left the house and I buried the subject.

  Until now. That song.

  A tune with lyrics that confused the hell out of me. Without a clue, I dragged my ass out of the car to call him.

  Voicemail again!

  I decided not to leave a message.

  I gave myself a few days to cool down.

  Chris was my best friend; I couldn’t fuck up our relationship because I got hard each time I thought about him.

  His green playful eyes, his broad shoulders, his voice, his long, thick cock.

  Fuck, how can I remember his dick at a moment like this and get hard? I shouted in frustration at the top of my lungs in the middle of the library one night.

  That same night I went out to buy tons of porn magazines, jerked myself off to tits and pussies. My head needed to be fixed.

  Chris and I needed to talk before my dick fell off with all the hand jobs I was giving it.

  I called him several times each night, but not once did he pick up the phone.

  Damn, he has to talk to me, I thought.

  Chris had become an essential part of my life. His gentle outlook on life had kept me going when I wanted to scream and give up. Several times, I pushed myself to dismiss any thoughts about Chris, then all of them. But how could I do it when we’d spent nights discussing everything and nothing about life. I decided that missing my best friend was twisting my mind toward unreal notions about a romance that didn’t exist. I made the resolution to seek out my friend and not lose him.

  1989

  Over the weekend, I took off for Seattle. By then I had a cell phone. When I arrived, I called again but there was no answer. My guess: he was screening the calls. Chris was a homebody.

  “Chris, I listened to your new song… we need to talk,” I cleared my throat. “I’m on my way to visit you, you better answer the door.”

  “Don’t come, Gabriel,” he picked up the call. “We’re good. You do your shit, I do mine and that’s the best way for me to live.”

  The line went dead.

  Hopeful that he thought I was in California and that by the time he opened the door of his house, he would have at least to talk to me, I paid the cab extra to speed my trip. He blew a couple of streetlights and drove way above speed limit for a hundred bucks.

  Duffle bag in hand and with the resolution of finding out what the hell was wrong with him, with me—with us. I entered the red brick building where he now lived, climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor, and banged his door.

  He didn’t ask who it was, just opened the door.

  Chris’s hair was longer than usual, curling in back, as it reached his neck, his bangs almost covering his eyes. The scruff around his jaw, t-shirt, sweats, and bare feet indicated he hadn’t gone out in a couple of days.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Why would you assume that, Gabriel?” he combed his hair with both hands pressing it before releasing his arms. “I told you not to come.”

  “Look, I’m doing this for me.” I pushed him inside and closed the door behind me, avoiding a circus within the building. “You’re my best friend, the one I seek when I’m in deep shit, the one who used to talk with me daily and who vanished from life without a word. Just tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged and put some distance between us.

  I took a breath, crossed my arms, and uncrossed them. I slipped my hands inside my pockets and glanced at Christian. My stomach twisted and my limbs tingled.

  “This shit, the song, the distance, and your shortness toward me is driving me crazy.” I poked at my temple twice. “So fucking crazy, I can’t think straight.”

  “No pun intended,” he added crossing his arms.

  “So you know what I’m talking about?” My skin tingled and I felt like a needy chick.

  “It’s not what you think, Gabe, I’m not gay.” His strangled tone made me lean closer to him and he took a few steps back.

  “You don’t need to be gay to be in love.” My eyes widened as his brows lifted. Where did that illogical shit come from? “We’ve never been anything but honest with each other since the first day, haven’t we?”

  He made a non-committal sound and shrugged.

  “Back in high school I fell for this girl,” I started. “Lindsay. I couldn’t think of anyone else. She was on my mind all day, I wanted to see her every day, talk to her, and make love to her. She was my first.

  “Lindsay and I broke up when she moved to Oklahoma for college. We had been each other’s first love, first kiss, first fuck, and first heartbreak. I’ve been in this same emotional place, the one I am in today.”

  “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he insisted. “So what if I have wet dreams about you, we fucked chicks together for months. They will go away as long as you stay away.”

  My mouth dried, my muscles weakened. He couldn’t be serious, b
ut his hard green eyes told me he had made up his mind.

  “If that’s what you want,” I said. “I’ll leave under one condition.”

  His shoulders slumped and he let out a big breath.

  I straightened my spine, puffed out my chest and stepped forward until I was only a couple of inches away from him.

  He pressed himself against the wall, his eyes grew two sizes bigger, and his Adam’s apple moved in slow motion as he stared at me.

  “For scientific purposes, to make sure this is only in my head,” I began. Fear and anticipation washed over me. Adrenaline drilled a hole in my stomach.

  I put all my investments into one basket and tried to cash in. Whatever happened after this moment would remain with me for the rest of my life—either emptiness after losing him or… I didn’t know what would come next if he accepted me.

  The heat his body radiated made my body ignite. Not letting me second-guess, my lips pressed against his, moving lazily, slowly. I banded one arm around his waist and the other behind his head. My hand threaded through his soft hair. A throaty moan escaped me, and that tender noise unleashed Christian.

  His demanding lips parted mine and his tongue plunged deep inside my mouth. His hands slid up my torso, my back, then hugged my ass and he pressed my hips against his. Our cocks rubbed against each other. Both hard, swollen. I shuddered as his hands pulled up the hem of my shirt and his hands seared my skin with his warm touch.

  My cock was about to explode with anticipation, but my head went first when his fist connected with my cheekbone.

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” his hitching breath matched mine.

  We were both panting, needing each other. He flushed red from his face to his neck. His dark eyes enraged me. It was there, I felt it: attraction. Love.

  For me.

  “Go to hell, Christian,” I walked to the door and opened it. “You feel the same, be a man and deal with what we have. You know where I live.”

  “I can’t,” he growled like a wounded animal. “Your fucking face is everywhere, women love you. How do you think it will go if you announce that you like dicks?”

  “I like both: pussies and dicks.” My crude words were delivered with a raw tone.

  I closed the door and leaned against it, crossing my arms.

  “Yours is the first dick I’ve liked, Christian.” I stared at his erection still pressing against the fabric of his sweats. “But it isn’t about your dick; it’s about you, who you are.”

  “That career you love is over if you let me take that tight ass of yours,” his raw voice sounded more desperate than my own. “Then there’s the children, that family you want. Neither one of us is equipped with the right instruments to have a baby. We should forget about each other.”

  Christian stared at me, the green slits cutting through my body. Confusion. Anger.

  “That’s the coward’s way to face life, Christian,” I scowled at him. “I don’t need a family, I need you. No one knows you and I lived together for a couple of years. How hard would it be to continue? We’ll move here, far away from LA, and I’ll keep the house for pretense.”

  His frozen body and glare remained the same. My frustration rose, he had made up his mind. I screwed everything up, our friendship, our future, and myself.

  “If this is what you want, Christian, so be it.”

  I spun around and left, heartbroken.

  1989

  I wanted to drink myself into unconsciousness, to numb the pain, the confusion.

  Instead, I sat at my parents’ breakfast table and stared at the walls of their canary yellow kitchen. My morning coffee tasted like dirt. All the food I ate tasted like crap since the day I left Christian’s home.

  I arrived the same day in Santa Barbara and the next, I took a plane to New York. I had stayed with my parents while I toyed with the idea of moving back to Albany and taking over the insurance business.

  “Why are you here, Gabe?” Mom asked as I sipped my coffee and read the newspaper. “We love to have you here, but I think it’s time for you to go back to work.”

  “I don’t know, Mom,” I answered honestly. “I don’t know if I want to go back or change my life. I’m confused.”

  “Is it that girl Abigail?” She set a plate with bacon and eggs in front of me. “Yesterday, while I was in the grocery line, I read that she’s with a new beau.”

  I snorted. Those grocery lines spread the news better than any other source.

  “I don’t care for her, Mom.”

  She waltzed around the kitchen preparing my father’s plate, his coffee, and his lunch because he never had time to come home. Once she finished, she sat down and ate with us.

  “I’m in love,” I blurted as my parents ate their breakfast holding hands. I wanted breakfast with my partner. Dinner, forever. “It’s ten times stronger than what I felt for Lindsay.”

  “Did you hear she married?” Mom said.

  I shook my head and refrained from the eye roll. I was talking about me. Why bring her up?

  “I heard he’s a nice boy, a football player,” she continued. “That was years ago, in college.”

  Staring blankly at the both of them, I made up my mind to shove the idea of Christian aside. So what if I was bisexual, that didn’t have to rule my future. I was Gabe ‘Colt’ Colthurst and I could get whomever I wanted, male or female.

  No, not with your career, I reminded myself.

  Well, Chris can go to hell, I amended.

  He let me walk, so I walked.

  “I like guys,” I blurted. “And women. I’m bisexual, and I’m in love with a man.”

  My parents set their forks down and stared at me. My heart thumped fast and loud, and beat so hard that I feared it would burst from my chest.

  “Chris?” Mom gazed at my father, and something I couldn’t recognize passed between them. I froze and didn’t confirm. “We thought so, but then you were with Abby.”

  “How?” I asked curious.

  “When you visited, it was clear. You two were in harmony,” Mom explained. “One of you spoke and the other finished the sentence or provided the other with the small things. Like when he needed sugar, you’d fetch it without him asking. You completed each other. What happened?”

  Her acceptance was confusing. My head spun but I took advantage of the moment before they disowned me. I explained that I had no idea about my feelings for Chris back when we visited. That only a few months ago I came to the realization about my own sexuality. Plus, Christian and I drifted away. A month ago when I confronted him, he didn’t want to do anything with me.

  “Everything will work out for the best.”

  My unmoving stare mirrored my body. Why were they so calm?

  Mom patted my hand, stood up, and started cleaning up the kitchen.

  Dad and I went outside and headed to the car, but before we climbed in, he stopped me.

  “It’s hard for a man to assimilate what you have in the past few months, Gabe.” Dad squeezed my shoulder. “When your mother brought the matter to my attention… it wasn’t easy for me to think that you liked men. It took me time to come to an understanding that you’re my child, and I love you no matter who you love.”

  Now I understood why my parents didn’t jump out of the chair and kick me out of the house for being different; they had worked through that even before I did.

  “Give the man some time,” Dad continued. “I remember you mentioned that he didn’t have a family. It’s harder when you don’t know love to understand it, let it go for now. You two love each other, we noticed. That’s how we realized you were gay.”

  “Bisexual, Dad,” I corrected him.

  He shook his head as if it didn’t make any difference.

  That night I called Chris for the first time, but his machine picked up.

  �
�Chris, babe, I miss you,” I paused with the hopes that he’d pick up, but he didn’t. “I’ll be here waiting for you until you’re ready. Be ready soon. The pain of not having you is killing me.”

  A couple of days after I talked to my parents and my siblings, I went back to California and flushed away the idea of quitting my career. My brothers weren’t as supportive as my sisters, but they didn’t kick my ass. The pressure inside my chest lightened; whatever happened next my family supported me—most of them. If down the road I fell in love with another woman or another guy, it wouldn’t matter, they would love me.

  I took a cab from the airport to the house, the driver dropped me in front of the iron gate and I made my way toward the main entrance. Ideas swirled inside my head—from investing part of Chris’s money and losing it, to visiting him and punching him until he gave up and decided to be with me.

  Neither of those solutions seemed reasonable. As I approached the house, I gave up on him. He was stubborn. Nothing I did would change his mind.

  I opened the door threw my bag on the couch, and I heard it.

  The piano.

  I walked toward it hopeful that it wasn’t the maid playing music while cleaning. I stepped inside the library where I had placed a new piano for him, in case he decided to come back to me. His music filled the room.

  His expert fingers danced across the keyboard. His eyes were closed and his head swayed as he created a new melody.

  “You said you’d be waiting,” he spoke while still playing. I had no idea how he knew it was me. “I was about to leave when I found your new addition. No one has ever given me presents. Well, that’s a lie. Your family did during Christmas.”

  The music came to an abrupt stop, his eyes opened.

  “Have you thought what our relationship will do to your family?”

  Christian rose from the bench, his long legs in denim jeans and his toned torso clad in a plain black Henley; the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The scruff around his face was cleaner than the last time I saw him and his hair was short again.

  “They know.” He tightened his jaw but I pressed on. “My brothers aren’t thrilled about my new found sexuality, my father thinks I should give you time, and he doesn’t want you to call him Dad.”