“Morning, Stud,” he mumbles, his voice still blurry with sleep.
“Morning.” I avoid the teeth-brushing question by spontaneously leaning over and kissing him on the forehead. I’m surprised at how natural the gesture feels. His smile broadens and he nuzzles against my neck with a happy hum.
“Want coffee?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm,” he nods. An instant later, he pops up as if he just thought of something. “I’ll get up and make it.”
“You don’t have to.”
His eyes glow as he looks at me. “I know. But I like doing things for you,” he says, a little shyly. Something flips in my belly.
“Thanks. I’ll be down in just a bit, then,” I say, pulling my arms over my head into a stretch. Errol hops out of bed, all smiles, and puts on a T-shirt over a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.
After he leaves, a thought strikes me. I grab my phone, open up a browser window and type in “gay porn.”
So. Much. Dick. I scroll for a little bit, clicking on images here and there. Do I like this? Does it turn me on? I’m not sure, mainly because no matter what the cock on my screen looks like, I find myself unconsciously summoning a mental image of Errol’s instead. Do I like dick, or do I likeadick?
Remembering how my eyes were riveted to Errol’s dick when it was just an obscene bulge leaking precum all over the red satin of his underwear, I add the word “lingerie” to my search query. “Well, OK then,” I mutter. I guess Errol’s not the only guy who likes his junk in lace. I scroll for a little bit before going back to the search bar and adding “ass.”
Oh. I blink at the images on the screen as my cock stiffens in an instant. Well, I guess I answeredthatfor myself, at least.
“What’s up?” Errol’s tone is tentative.
Next to him on the sofa, I take a sip of my coffee before I shake my head and try to put on a smile. “Nothing.”
He scowls. “Don’t do that. Don’t saynothing. Tell me you don’t want to talk about it or that it’s none of my business. But don’t tell me nothing’s bothering you. Because I know that’s not true.”
“Forgot how long you’ve known me for.” I let out a rueful laugh, realizing it was naive to think I could get away with not telling Errol what I was thinking. I can’t keep anything from him, and I sure as hell can’t lie to him.
“I was just thinking how I always assumed I was straight because I like sex with women. I never thought about being with another guy. Maybe I’m not straight anymore. Or maybe I never was?”
Errol rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, his face serious. “I’m not asking you to change how you identify or think of yourself. I don’t want to rush you or force you into anything. And I had a really, really good time last night, but Ran —” he reaches out and grabs my hand.
“I’d rather never do that again than screw upus. I just got you back, and I don’t want to risk losing you again. I’d be happy just being friends like we used to be.”
I don’t believe him, but I don’t want to tell him that. I’m not sure what I should say, though. So, like usual, my mouth just takes over.
“I was looking at gay porn before I came downstairs,” I blurt out. Errol looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter. I’m mortified, but I guess I can’t blame him.
“I wanted to see if it was just —I don’t know — something about you, or if looking at other guys’ dicks would get mine hard, too.”
“All in the name of research, huh?” he teases, a smirk curling his lips. “So, what did you find out?”
I take a deep breath and drop my head so I don’t have to see the quiet mirth sparkling in his eyes. “I think I’m definitely an ass guy. And I like those asses in, well, the feminine type of underwear you were wearing yesterday. A lot.”
My cheeks are blazing as I blow out a sigh and push myself to finish self-immolating my dignity and get it over with. “So I guess I like dick?”
Errol makes an interrogative hum. “But you’re not sure?”
“Every other dick I looked at made me think about yours,” I admit. “Like, they were fine, I guess. But Ilikeyours.”
Errol rolls his eyes. “Pfft. You’re just saying that.”
“No! I promise. Last night, you looked so sexy —” When I see his lip curl like he’s thinking something self-deprecating, I interrupt myself. “Stopit.”
“What?” He looks offended.
“I can see what you’re thinking.”
