It was not until he sat down at the table, Sandra introduced us and I shook his hand, that I realized, they think I am gay. I have known them for three years, they cannot think I am gay.
I thought about it, I had not had a girlfriend, or even been on a date. I wasn’t the kind to talk about my attraction to woman, and all my friends were girls. “Hi” I muttered to him. It came out nervously, why was I nervous. He was quite good looking, with blue eyes, and black wavy hair. That was normal, all gay men were good looking.
“I am not gay.” I said it in a plain kind of way, and looked at the girl’s uncomfortable faces. “What do you mean?” Sandra asked. “I mean I am not gay.” I repeated, “It is not a hard concept to grasp.” The girls looked between the two of us, worried that my stern tone opposing his sexuality might offend the newcomer who had introduced himself as Henry. He just laughed casually.
“I thought you said he was your best friend,” he said. They looked at me, before Jen laughed.
“Really?” she said. “We always just assumed that you were.”
“Yeah,” Sarah added. “You don’t talk about girls. Everyone in the office thinks you are gay.”
“What do you mean everyone thinks I am gay? Just because I do not go around bragging about my sexual conquests, that does not make me gay.
“Amen Sister,” said Henry.
Henry looked straight at me, and asked, “How would you determine someone’s sexuality.”
“I think I would ask them,” I said, and he giggled.
His light laugh dismissed all the tension in the booth. Sandra and Jen attempted an apology for thinking I was gay, but gave up after the three bout of laughter stopped them short. I liked to think I was an open minded man who wasn’t the kind to get offended if people mistook my sexuality. So I chippered up and got into the spirit of the afternoon.
There was a staff meeting on Tuesday, and the boss was going through a team building faze. Each department had their own staff meeting in a different part of the building. The head of our department did not have a backbone, he caved when we pressured him into holding our meetings in the lobby on the couches. We were always atrociously hungover, and strung words together between hefty pauses, it was something of an office tradition. The HR department was not to be approached with any serious problems on a Monday morning.
The bar was beginning to wobble as we poured burning liquids down our chest. We were talking about how happy we all were, then moved on to how we were all the best of friends. Henry was such a charismatic guy, we included him in the intimate affair, because it felt like he belonged. Am I attracted to him? The thought popped up from time to time, but I dismissed it. The girls had planted the idea in my head, and the liquor was feeding it. He was a beautiful man, and men know when other men are good looking, though they pretend not to. It is the false pretense of masculinity that have us pretend we do not. I realized I had never thought about my sexuality before.
I found that I was looking at Henry longer than I would normally look at a man. He caught me doing it a few times, and smiled back cheerfully at first, than a bit more uncertain as I held his gaze. I shook my drunk mind out of the semi stare I had been holding. The alcohol was really weighing me down and I hoped I wasn’t coming across as weird. He smiled and we went back to talking.
This man was stupidly interesting. He had travelled all around the world, living on just the money he made from advertising necklaces on his blog before settling down and starting a restaurant locally that had won all kinds of awards. He was a fierce intellect, and I found myself ignoring the girls. Watching those beautiful lips move up and down, he probably got that brown tan, on a Mexican Beach or running with the bulls in Spain. I was really drunk, and I spoke nonstop, until his hand came to a rest on my leg.
I felt the slight weight on my upper thigh and the shiver of pleasure that ran through me from the point of contact. The girls noticed something was afoot and watched on, while pretending not to. In a mind that wasn’t my own, I leaned forward and kissed this man, with all the passion that I could muster. We locked lips for a while, before I came to my senses and pushed him away. He did not budge at first, but I closed my mouth and waited for him to realize the show was over. The girls were staring at us.
“That was hot,” Jen said with a laugh. “I thought you weren’t gay.” I tried to speak but stumbled over my words. My mind was awash with an identity crisis and hormones, shifting to hide the bulge in my tight work clothes.
I told her, “I am not,” I questioned the words as they left my mouth. This is silly, people know when they are gay. I am twenty-three years old and have never thought about a man before. As I reflected, I realized this was not strictly true. The first time I watched porn, I was with my friend Jordan. We were fourteen, but I asked if I could see his cock, and even touched it a few times. We were kids, kids do that kind of stuff. I remembered a blonde boy at university, I could never string a conversation together when he was around. I put it down, to his confidence and popularity. My friends joked that I had a crush on him, and I wondered about it myself from time to time. I realized there were more than a few slip-ups in my supposed heterosexual ways. “Maybe I am,” I said. This I was equally unsure of.
“Do you not know? John, you are twenty three, how can you not know?” Sandra asked. The table went silent as they all waited for me to explain myself.
“I suppose, I have never really thought about it,” I said
“Have you had a girlfriend?” Jen asked
“Never a serious one.”
“Have you had sex?” Sandra asked.
“Yeah once.” This surprised them.
“But John you are such a looker. We only started coming to this bar with you because Jen wanted your.” Sandra said pointing down and making a silly duck face. This was news, I had never thought of either of them in a sexual way before.
“I don’t think of you guys like that, we are friends.” I said.
“John, you’re a man, it shouldn’t matter if we are your cousins.” Jen replied.
“John dear” Henry spoke. “If you are not busy tomorrow after work, would you come by my apartment? I wrote the address down.” He handed me a napkin with a city address on it. “I am new to town, and get terribly lonely. I do not much care if you turn out to be gay, but would really appreciate your company.” Like clockwork, his phone rang as soon as he finished speaking. “Sorry I have to take this, see you tomorrow.” He winked at me as he put the phone to his ear and excused himself from the pub.
The girls both looked at me wearing an identical expression. “Do you like him John?” Sandra asked.
“He is a very interesting person,” I said.
“Oh, but John, he is built like a Greek God. And, all the adventures he has been on. He speaks five languages, has an amazing collection of art, and has a small fortune locked away somewhere. So dreamy,” Jen said.
“All the good ones are gay,” Sandra said with a sigh.
“Or married,” I added, completing the expression without thinking about it.
“No John, my take is they get worse when you marry,” said Sandra.
“You just think that because your parents hate each other,” said Jen.
All the stools along the bar were empty and the staff watched with blank expressions as they polished the last of the glasses. Last call had come and gone and our glasses were disgraced to the middle of the table. The girls drank the flavored water that was once ice floating in our last rounds and sucked the pulp from their limes before leaving.
It was an hour into tomorrow and I felt that I needed to get home and sleep off yesterday. With a sense of urgency, we hailed a cab. “Are you a real Indian?” Jen asked
“SSSHhhhhhh!!” said Susan, and stepped on my foot. Between manic laughter, she said “Sorry John that was for naught- ‘hiccup’- y Jen.”
“Yes ma’am, I assure you I am a real Indian,” the driver said.
“Yay!!” said Jen. They laughed som
e more.
“You two are terrible people.” I whispered to them.
I lived in the next lot of suburbs out from the inner city suburbs. Jen and Susan shared a flat with another girl, a three-minute drive away from the pub. If I live as close as they did I would have walked home, but I am not a skimpily dressed female with fad diet arms. The taxi dropped them off at the door of their flat. I had him wait until I saw them go inside before squishing back into the leather seat for my longer trip.
My apartment was nothing special. It had a kitchen tucked away in an alcove, wooden floors, white walls, and a big window. I was only on the second story, so I had the same view as a tall person walking down the street. Nevertheless, I still arranged all my dining room furniture against that window, it was nice to watch the hustle and bustle of almost inner city life. I slammed my keys down on the kitchen bench and opened my bedroom door, it was a mess. Discarded clothes were strewn around the room among McDonald’s bags and a variety of half-empty drinks on my bedside table. I fell on my bed fully clothed.
I was dreaming, what children call nightmares. I was all grown up, and a part of growing up is the learned behavior, or ignoring what goes on in your head. A child wakes up screaming from a dream, not because they imagined scarier monsters, but because they still think the monsters of their imaginations matter. Nothing in my head matters. I cannot think my way out of the work my boss wants on his desk today, or the stupid team building exercise I have to attend. The hungover had certainly brought out the cynic.
My room is pitch black. It has no window, and cursing, I tripped over a mound of clothes on the filthy floor. I caught myself on the door and opened it. Faint blue light made its way into the room. The big window faces west, so until midday, the whole apartment was dark. I would not get to see that today because I have to be at work in forty-five minutes. The room spun slightly as I made my way to the kitchen, flicking on lights as I went.
I will not go on about work, I did a job, which anyone else could do. For eight hours a day, I sat in an air-conditioned office, turned off my brain, and moved things around spreadsheets. People spoke to me, but none of them worth listening to, as I waited for my hour lunch break, I loved my hour lunch break. It was almost worth working just so I could stop.
The clock finally succumbed to my lunch hour. I switched off my monitor and stood up. The light green border of excel, was burnt into my eyes. Jen and Susan, meet me at the Starbucks where we have coffee. The coffee is shit, but we go there for the couches. It is close, and the mentality that kept our co-workers out of dingy bars, also worked at Starbucks. The firm lost an important case against Starbucks, and drinking coffee there was a little like sacrificing a goat to Satan, as far as they were concerned.
We left the office at slightly different times, coordinated through text to avoid being followed by any of the undesirables. This was paramount to coping with my hangover. I needed to be around like-minded individuals, and I swear everyone in that office spoke like an enthusiastic chipmunk.
They wasted no time. Jen asked, “ how are you feeling? And moving straight to “are you going to see Henry,” We had only just ordered our quad shot lattes with hazelnut syrup, and snuggled into the comfortable couches. It had been on my mind all morning. But the mention of his name, put a pit of worry in my stomach.
“I don’t know,” I said and took a big sip of my latte. “I don’t think I am gay. I was just drunk.” They looked at me with disbelief.
“Straight men don’t kiss gay men. Are you in denial? Are you like secretly really religious?” Jen asked.
“No it is nothing like that.” They looked at me, urging me to go on. “I guess I’ve never really thought about my sexuality before. Then, you two told me you thought I was gay, and put a beautiful man in front of me.”
“Are you saying, we like placebo gayed you?” Jen asked.
“That doesn’t make sense, no, you just got me thinking, and Henry was there, so I kissed him,” I said.
“Like, just to try it out?” Sandra asked.
“Yea, I guess so,” I said.
“Oh, you’re weird John,” Jen said.
“Yeah, but it’s John,” Susan said. “Are you attracted to woman?”
“I think so, maybe,” I said.
“See, he doesn’t have a clue, John doesn’t ask himself the hard questions.” Susan said.
“So, are you going to go?” Jen asked
“I don’t know if I should,” I said.
“Well, if you get there, and it was the alcohol that made you give him a sloppy one, then come home, no biggie. I kiss Sandra when I am drunk all the time.”
“I didn’t think we were telling people that.” Said Jen.
The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than I would have hoped. I was partly dreading going to see Henry. I needed answers from myself, which only he could give me. When my mind wandered, I found it entertaining mental pictures of Henry, standing over me naked. The anxiety increased as I walked through the train station, and took the inner city line to the address on the napkin, smudged by my sweaty palms. I would not feel this way if I was going to meet a woman, why should Henry be any different.
It felt like someone else was in control of my actions when I rang the doorbell at the address he gave me. “Coming,” a deep voice said from inside. I could still run away, he would never even know I was here, but then, the door opened. He was a beautiful man, and I was questioning my sexuality, and more open to appreciating just how beautiful. His hair was straight and black, it glistened, reflecting the light above the door. His jawline could cut cheese, it was a masculine extension to that perfect face with soft, tan skin. A light stubble grew, which he maintained perfectly to highlight his already flawless features. Henry had answered the door, in a light white shirt and casual pants. He had neglected to do up the wooden buttons attached to the material, which hung carelessly on either side of his torso. His abs were perfectly defined. I could see how they pulled the skin taut as they protruded from his stomach.
“Would you like to come in,” he asked.
“Yes I would.” All of my anxiety was gone, and I followed him into his apartment. “Beautiful place,” I said, because it felt expected. He had clearly put a lot of time into this apartment, nothing was out of place. Everything complimented something else, and there was nothing more than there needed to be. It was a loft, and on the first floor, there was a kitchen and dining table, which also looked out to a view. His view was twenty-six stories up, not quite the top of the building, but not far from it. There was a light green and blue theme, throughout his apartment. Which traced the cushions on the couch and the curtains. It was beautiful, the kind of apartment, you dream about one day living in, if everything goes right in your life. There was even a chandelier, over the dinner table.
I was standing by the window with my back to him. “Do you like the view? I stand there for hours sometimes just watching people.” He said, and I laughed.
“I can see into maybe, a hundred people’s apartments. What do you do, if they catch you looking?” I asked.
“Who’s to say I didn’t catch them, looking at me?” He said.
Henry poured wine, and we turned the couch to look out the window. We watched and maintained a commentary on everyone we could see. I was an easy conversation to have, and I suspected it was one Henry had chosen for that exact reason. We did not have to talk about ourselves; there was no obligation to share anything. It was a light-hearted laugh, and laugh, we did.
“You know, they say that small minds discuss other people,” I said.
“Nonsense,” he said dismissed the notion with a wave. “It is a statement about other people that by its own reckoning has been made by a small mind.”
I got a bit lost in his blue eyes. He held my gaze and shifted forward to kiss me. The wine I had been holding spilt all over him, as I dropped it in a moment of clumsiness.
“I am so sorry,” determined to apologize until he felt bad for blaming m
e. But I was stopped short. Henry removed his shirt and pulled me into a kiss. He carried me upstairs, and dropped me, on his feather soft bed, which was also light blue and yellow. We undressed in a hurry. I had never felt a drive like this. I wanted to scratch off his skin, and do unspeakable things to this man. His breath was hot on my neck as he held me naked. I could feel him all down me. His legs twisted over mine. Then I saw his shoulder press against one of those glorious pectoral muscles. His hand traced, my stomach, ventured across my leg, before backtracking to my cock. It was like a rock, and his eager hands were appreciative of this. I reached down and grabbed him, he was big, bigger than me by an inch or two, and thick. when the strokes started to yield grunts, I spoke up.
“I have never had this kind of sex before.” He laughed, not in a condescending way, but as a cute chuckle.
“Would you like to?” He asked.
“I think so,” I said, sounding hesitant although in that moment, I was willing to do anything for this man. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a pack of condoms, and a bottle of liquid. I had not been expecting the condoms, but decided not to raise the issue. He answered my unspoken question.
“Don’t want you to catch anything now do we.” I did not know if he was being serious, and opted for a nervous chuckle. “Do you bottom or top?”
“huuuh?” I did not know what he was talking about.
“Uumm, would you like me inside you, or would you like to be inside of me?” He said. My cheeks reddened and I felt stupid for not knowing what he meant. How do I answer this one? I struggled to think through the hormones. I thought of the rush I had felt, submitting to Henry when he carried me up the stairs. I wanted him to dominate me, but I knew enough to expect some pain. Oh, fuck it.
“I want to bottom.” He looked at me, a smile on his face that read I had given the right answer. Henry grabbed me, and flipped me around on the bed. His fingers played around my cheeks, massaging and applying gentle pressure around my hole. I tried to relax, although my heart raced as he slipped a finger in. It shot up me, and my back arched In pleasure. Encouraged by this, he applied lube all around my cheeks. I felt his finger enter me again, cold this time. He rubbed lube inside of me. I was so hard at this point, and he stroked my cock as his longest finger darted inside of me. He built the sensation inside of me, and my body jerked, and my cries of pleasure had become a single, uninterrupted wail when he stopped.
Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance Page 67