“Yeah.”
I know he can probably see me from the corner of his eye while he’s watching the movie. Something about it puts me on edge.
I hope I’ve picked something that doesn’t have any guys making out. We watched one once where two guys started going at it in an Adam Sandler movie and neither of us knew where to look. It was worse for me because I’d probably jerked off the night before thinking about Nate. I clear my throat.
“You want a drink? I’m gonna get something.”
“Sure, if you’re getting something, I’ll have whatever.”
I don’t realize I haven’t been letting myself breathe properly until I get half way down the stairs and suck in afull breath.
I don’t want him here. It’s too much like old times that don’t fucking exist anymore. Those days are over. I’m not that kid anymore. There’s the me before my dad got sick and the me after. There’s no going back to the old one. Nate’s just a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
I bring him a drink and some snacks and try to watch the rest of the movie and not think about anything. When I glance over to where the snacks are, I catch Nate watching me and I swear there’s a bulge in his pants.
He shuffles when he sees me looking and he’s so fucking obvious. It wasn’t over me, I know that, but what the fuck was he getting a chub on for? Adam Sandler? Nate is not gay. I’d know. I remember that stupid crush he had on Amanda Harper at school. How much he’d blush and act like an idiot any time she walked by.
We watch the rest of the movie in awkward silence, neither one moving to grab a snack.
As soon as the credits roll, Nate stands up and says he has to leave for some fraternity thing. I don’t know if he’s bullshitting or not, but he’s not hard anymore. I nod and don’t bother walking him out as he leaves.
I clearthe food away and put everything back downstairs before logging onto the app on my phone. I need to get Nate and his unexplained hard-on out of my head.
I haven’t been online to do this for a while. There was a time when I was addicted and would go on nearly every night, meeting different guys every time, going wherever they told me to meet them. Getting in the car with them and letting them take me wherever they wanted, without even asking where we were going. Sometimes it was deep into the woods, to let them fuck me against a tree or on the groundin the freezing cold—sometimes with a blanket or towel, sometimes not. Most of the time, we just stayed in their car and they fucked me on the backseat. One time we were close to being caught. That scared the shit out of me. I thought about what it would do to my dad to find out on his deathbed his only son had been caught getting fucked by some guy twice his age in the backseat of a Ford fucking Escort. But it didn’t scare me enough to stop doing it. What’s been stopping me these days is a lack of desire. Now a reminder of every horny teenage fantasy I had has been dropped into my life and I need to get it out.
A guy showing his bare chest with faded tattoos and the kind of muscles that probably used to be more impressive piques my interest. He’s probably married, which is usually a good sign. Won’t want to see you again. Wants to get it over with quickly. Though they’re usually the most worried about mess.
I ask him to turn his camera on so I can see his face. My face isn’t on here either, and he agrees so I’ll turn my camera on, too.
He’s not bad looking. Grey hair neatly trimmed with a matching beard. He doesn’t look as old as his grey hair would suggest. I’d rather he leave it like that than dye it.
He tells me I’m very pretty.
Whatever.“Where can we meet?”
“I can pick you up near where you are.”
“You know the woods by the boardwalk?” I start to describe the spot, but he knows it well already.
Another good sign. He knows what he’s doing.
I try not to linger on the fact he’s probably deceiving some poor woman at home as I get my keys and jacket and lock up. I don’t want my ma to see me going out and askingquestions.
I have to wait twenty minutes for him to show up and I’m freezing by the time his headlights dim as he pulls up the dark street.
The car’s a big, fancy SUV. I hope this means we can do it inside.
I climb in the passenger side and he says hey and looks me over like I’m a piece of meat. I don’t look at him. I don’t care that much what he looks like anymore.
He keeps his eyes on the road as he drives. I’ve warmed up after a few minutes in the car with his heating on full blast.
“You said on your profile you like to bottom.”
I grunt a response.
“That’s good. It’s unusual. You don’t tend to get guys like you bottoming. I usually have to just take whatever’s on offer.”
I need him to stop talking. To distract myself and block his voice out, I glance at his hands on the steering wheel. His fingers are chubbier than his body. Wedding band digging in on the left hand, like it’s been there a while and he hasn’t tried to take it off in years.
