“Yes, itis.”
He seizes my wrists and pulls them back over my head, pinning me down. His lips slam down againstmine.
As much as I enjoy the fantasy of topping him, I certainly don’t mind bottomingeither.
38
Eric
The next morning,Jesse and I stop by my storage unit, where we grab my camping gear and lug it to thecar.
When he showed up at my condo beforehand, he looked so adorable in shorts and a tank. He brought a backpack and a sleeping bag with him, ready for our weekendexcursion.
We load the gear into the back of my Audi before I hop into the car and prepare for a leisurely drive to NorthCarolina.
I’m excited, not just because I’m eager to spend time with Jesse, but because we’re doing it inpublic.
When we first got back from Puerto Vallarta, I was fine with confining our relationship to my condo. It wasn’t different from what we shared in Mexico, and in a way, it was nice getting to have our private affair in this fantasy that was removed from our reallives.
However, the more I get to know him, the more I don’t want it to be a fantasy. I want him to be in my life, and I’m enjoying the fact that this weekend we’re not feeling like we have to be a secretanymore.
Jesse deserves better than being treated like some sort of dirty little secret. He deserves a man who wants to show him off, who’s proud of him, which I am—so incredibly proud. Young as he is, he’s not some kid. He’s a man who’s been through more than most people would ever guess—something I canappreciate.
As we begin our drive, Jesse takes my phone, scanning through my musicselection.
“Who the hell is Kate Bush?” heasks.
“Are you kidding me right now? She’s only one of the greatest musical artists ever to walk theearth.”
“Never heard ofher.”
He turns on the music, and I recognize Kate Bush’s soothing voice and the sweet melody as “And So Is Love” fills the air. But as quickly as I start enjoying the song, Jesse makes a gaggingsound.
“Would you prefer to have One Direction on through thedrive?”
“Shut the fuck up. You know I don’t listen to One Direction,” he says with alaugh.
“What about one of those podcasts you’re always telling meabout?”
“Really?” he asks, seeming excited that I brought it up. This is more the kid version of him. “I’d love to listen to one, if you reallywant.”
“Yeah. I’d like to hear where you find out some of those stories you tell meabout.”
“Okay. I’ll find one. There are some I listen to that are kind of like listening to NPR, but I want to introduce you with something that’s a little more on the funny side. I bet we can find something that works, and then if you’re really appalled, we can put on this screeching voice you callmusic.”
“I can’t believe you said that about KateBush.”
As I turn to him, he smirks in a way that lets me know he’s enjoying pushing my buttons. It reminds me of a button I really want him to hit—something I’m eager and excited and nervous at the same time about sharing with himlater.
On the long drive, we share some of his podcasts, and he indulges me with some of my music, which at one point he admits he’s not totally against and that I have some decent taste, aside from the fact that he thinks Kate Bush is shit, which is a fuckinglie.
We stop at a Wendy’s forlunch.
“Come on. Let’s go inside,” Isay.
“Inside? Oh, around people? What if the paparazzi catch us?” Jesseteases.
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be plastered all over the internet. We’ll be the talk ofTMZ.”
