Maybe I got my exploration out of the way for a time. I’d been having a hookup every six months or so for almost two decades. I didn’t need to change that pattern. In a few months, maybe a year, I’d check out X Club again.
You won’t be so lucky next time.My nagging conscience reminded me of how well Basil and I fit together. Both from crime families, both new to sex with men, and he’d seemed to revel in the kinks I tried out with him.
Reality didn’t always match expectations. We were perfect for each other for the brief moment when all our kinks had aligned, but not in the real world. I was too old for him, anyway.
Rolling over on the couch in my office, I realized I’d dozed off. Sleeping in my office because my bedroom reminded me of Basil was not a sign of depression; I just found it more convenient. It wasfine.
“Papa,” I heard my daughter’s voice ring out, echoing down the hall and in through the cracked door. “Where are you?”
Sitting up, I tried to tame my bed head, but she and her brother found me before I could check if I had dried drool on my face. “Angie, Beppino? What are you doing here?”
Angie pushed into the room, annoyance clear on her face, while my son followed with concern as they took in my appearance. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a suit or left the house, but Iwasretired.
“Are you okay, Papa?” Beppino asked, sitting beside me on the dark leather couch.
Taking his hand, I offered a smile, “I’m fine–”
“No,” Angie interrupted. “You have been saying you’re fine for weeks and I don’t want to hear that word again.”
“Alright,” I shrugged and stood to stretch. “What brought on this impromptu visit?”
“We texted and called but you didn’t answer, we were worried,” my son leaned forward and bit his lower lip, reminding me far too much of the person I didn’t need to think about.
“I was napping,” I gestured to the couch and crossed my arms, leaning against my desk. Groaning at my sore muscles from the too short nap in a too small space, I grunted. “I’m old.”
Angie rolled her eyes and mirrored my stance, “You’re in sweatpants on a Friday afternoon, and Santo says you’ve been sleeping in here.”
“Oh, does he?” I raised a brow, planning to have a talk with my man Santo. “That’s none of his–or your–concern.”
“Papa?” Beppino stood, “You were fine when we had brunch, just distracted. What happened?”
Closing my eyes, I thought back to how they’d teased me for smiling and telling them I had plans. I wanted to see how many times I could make Basil come before he begged me to stop, and instead I’d found him hiding. And he was gone within the hour.
“I…”
Stopping the unformed lie I was trying to come up with, I rubbed at my eyes. How to explain that I took a young man home, minutes after meeting at a kink club, got us off, and then had him threaten my life. Followed by my holding him prisoner while I had my way with him. But he called his criminal family, who I used to be at odds with, to take him home early. And I was still fucked up over it almost a month later, because it was deeper than all of the other meaningless hookups I’d had over the years.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wiped away a single tear. I hadn’t cried while deep in my denial, but I also hadn’t talked about Basil to anyone. Maybe it was time to vent a little. My children have always been so open with me, and I wanted to be open with them. I looked to my son and he nodded in encouragement, opening the floodgates on my emotions.
“I met someone,” I sniffed, trying not to start crying in earnest.
“That’s wonderful,” Angie clapped, a smile brightening her face. “Can we meet them?”
Angie’s use oftheminstead ofher, made my lip quirk and wiped away my furrowed brow. My children had accepted my change in sexuality without blinking. How to explain it wasn’t wonderful, though?
“It started off good, then we had a misunderstanding,” I summarized the night I met Basil and what came after. “I got him to come around, I thought.”
“What happened?” Beppino asked, catching my tone but not reacting at all to the person being ahim. I’d raised them well.
“He rejected me,” I admitted, hating the truth in my words, “and asked to end it suddenly.”
“So, you’re not avoiding us, you’re just sad,” Angie stated as if it was good news.
“I’m not sad, I’m–” I cut myself off when she raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I’m sad. Are you happy now?”
“Of course not, Papa,” Beppino rushed to assure me, giving his sister a glare. “We only wanted to know what was going on?”
“Well, now you know.”
