“Okay, that makes more sense.” His mouth stays open and I wait a moment for him to say what he clearly wants to. “Do you… What’s your preference? To ‘top’ or ‘bottom’? Wait, do people ever do both? Obviously not at the same time. Unless I guess there’s more than two people involved but… shit, sorry, my mind wandered. So yeah, are you a ‘top’ or a ‘bottom’?”
I smile. “You don’t need to use air quotes every time you say those words. As it happens I do both. I’m vers, short for versatile. But honestly, I prefer bottoming.”
“You do?” Marcello’s whole face lifts and maybe it’s the afternoon sunshine filling my living room and kitchen but it looks like his eyes become brighter too.
“Yeah.” I hold his warm stare.
“Well, I got that wrong,” Marcello says, almost to himself. “I imagined you as the bossy, dominant type.”
“Oh, bottoms can still be dominant. You’ve obviously never heard of a Power Bottom either.”
“A what now?”
“Relax,” I say and put my hand on his forearm again, sparks tingling my palm as it brushes up against the thick dark hair there. “Forget about names and labels. For now, just make yourself at home while I go and get ready for you. But again, no pressure.”
“How are you… How exactly are you getting ready?” Marcello looks confused.
“I need to douche,” I say after the briefest moment questioning how I should answer. But I guess if I really am going to give Marcello queer sex lessons, this is an important one. “Did your previous partners not do that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess they must have. But wait… What do you actually mean by douche?”
Oh, Jesus.
“It’s a way to clean out your… passage,” I say as levelly as I can and I’m quite proud that my voice doesn’t wobble at all. “You flush it out with water. So it’s ready for… penetration.”
“Oh, so inside?”
“Yes.”
He nods thoughtfully. “I guess they must have done that. The women I was with, I mean.”
“Not everyone does it the same way. Some douche. Some just clean thoroughly. Some just eat a certain way and hope for the best. Whatever the individual wants, I guess.”
“But you like to… to douche?”
“I do, yes.”
“Okay, but don’t go to any trouble on my account. I mean, I’m well aware of what we’re doing and what the primary use of a bumhole is.”
Marcello speaks with so much ease, I feel like an idiot for struggling, especially when I’m the more experienced man between us. But I actually can’t remember the last time I spoke about these things with such frankness before, even with another queer man. In the past it’s usually been a few grunts about who’s going to top, a hurried ten or fifteen minutes in the bathroom and then we just carry on as if nothing happened.
“You know I once saw a Drag Queen say, you can’t eat Caesar salad and not expect some croutons,” I recall out loud with a soft laugh. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, exactly that. And funnily enough Caeser salad is my favourite kind of salad.”
“With or without croutons?” I let my voice sound as suggestive as I feel.
Marcello leans a little closer to me. “I guess I’d prefer without but it’s been a long time since I had Caeser salad so I’m not going to turn it away for having croutons.”
We share a moment of laughter together and somehow, through it, our bodies creep closer together.
“I will do my best to serve it without,” I say and I feel brave when I slide my hand up his arm and grip his bicep. “I’m feeling some gains here.”
“Really?” He flexes.
“Definitely.”
“I’m relieved we’re no longer talking about croutons,” he says. “Or, let’s be real, shit.”
