“I don’t need to. I know what Giles’ type is.”
“So why did he agree to give you sex lessons?”
“Because…” I pause again but no quick answer materialises. Until it does, making complete sense. “Because he’s a nice guy. A really nice guy.”
Another traffic-defying tut from Kris. “Nice guys don’t suck dick or whatever it is you’ve been doing just because they’re nice. There must be more to it.”
“Kris, he has changed his whole gym schedule for me too. And he gives up his Saturday mornings to go running with me. He is genuinely that nice.”
“I’m not convinced. Anyway, how did you even ask him to give you sex lessons ifhe’sthe reason you wanted them in the first place?”
My suit suddenly feels uncomfortably tight. “I told him I thought I was feeling attracted to another man I’d met.”
“But not him? Left up here.” She sticks her arm out and I do the same.
“No, not him.” I follow her around the corner before catching up again. “A man at my swimming training.”
“And is there a man at your swimming training?”
“There are lots of men at my swimming training. And they’re all very friendly. Women too, of course—”
“But do you fancy any of them?” Kris cuts me off.
“No,” I admit after a beat.
“It’s really only Giles that you’re attracted to?”
“I mean, I saw a photo of Tom Hardy this morning in a magazine in the café and that may have stirred some feelings in my nether regions.”
“Ew. But the whole reason you wanted to figure out if you were queer, that all started with Giles, right? Not some man at your swimming training.”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I had hoped I’d feel relief at coming clean to Kris but I feel almost the opposite. I feel the full weight of the predicament I’ve gotten myself in, and I feel a not-insignificant amount of shame about that too.
“So this super nice guy thinks that you’re just using his body to figure out if you’re queer or not. Have you told him that you’re pretty certain that you are?”
“Not in as many words,” I mumble as a black cab beeps at us because apparently us cycling in a bike lane is a problem for him.
“Pardon?” Kris shouts at me.
“Not exactly!”
“And is he really completely happy about your arrangement? He doesn’t seem confused by it at all?”
I think back to Sunday, to watching him cleaning his windows like a man-possessed.
“I think so,” I lie.
“Rather him than me,” she says.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, firstly, I wouldn’t agree to give somebody sex lessons, but even if I did, I would want to know if the whole reason that those sex lessons were happening was because my so-called pupil has feelings for me not some imaginary guy at swimming training.”
“He’s not imaginary. There actually is a man at swimming who wears yellow Speedos and—”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Marcello?”
“Fine. Point taken. So you think I should tell him I have feelings for him?”
