“I had no idea my father was attending the French Open,” I tell her. “That was a shock to me and to Gabriel.” I tilt my eyes to my man. “My husband is the one who spotted him first.”
Gabriel nods. “Everyone has seen the videos,” he says. “We don’t need to revisit every moment of that fight. But I do want to go on the record as saying that I don’t regret sticking up for my man, but I do regret the way it went down.” He swallows, and his voice comes out firm. “Homophobes and bigots like Douglas Wilchins are not worth our time. We stand up to them when we need to, of course. But whenever possible, they’re best left in the past where they belong. Irrelevant.”
Maisel looks at me. “What was that day like for you, Spencer? You had a tough opening match after the fight.”
I nod. “I won’t lie. The shock of what happened affected my game, and it nearly knocked me out of the tournament. But it also clarified a lot. I’d already told my father that I was choosing my happiness and my man over him and a closeted life. Gabriel might have lost his temper trying to defend me, but I know Douglas Wilchins. I know he’s the one to blame.” I squeeze Gabriel’s hand. “Once I got past the shock of it, once I remembered how good our love is, my game came roaring back.”
Maisel smiles. “Can you tell us about the campaign your friends have been organizing behind the scenes?”
Gabriel nods. “Everett Navarro gets the credit for lobbying the International Tennis Federation,” he says. “Him and his husband Reggie, of course. Douglas Wilchins took a swing at me, and that’s a clear violation. He won’t be attending any future Grand Slams.”
Maisel nods. “There have been a flood of statements from pro sports organizations, announcing their commitment to LGBT equality in the wake of all this. The incident has reverberated beyond the tennis world.”
“If Everett and Reggie were here,” I add, “they’d be sure to point out all the other people who made that possible. Tennis legends like Billie Jean King paved the way for out players in this game years before other sports started opening their doors to LGBTQ athletes. It’s their work and the work of countless queer people and allies that made my success possible.”
“The NHL has remained silent,” Maisel adds, “but it seems the consequences for your father keep rolling in. He’s lost sponsorship deals, had honors stripped away, and his public opinion has cratered.”
I nod. Gabriel spares me some of the finer details for my own peace of mind, but he’s been active in the PR campaign himself, helping Alyssa behind the scenes.
This is the way it needs to be. People need to see the sports world and culture at large standing up for me and taking a firm stand against hatred and homophobia. But Douglas Wilchins is still my father, and despite the satisfaction, there’s still sadness in seeing his fall.
I move on, wanting to keep the interview focused on the good. “The best outcome would have been for my father to grow and push beyond his own small-mindedness. Since that wasn’t possible, it’s up to us to look to the future. And with the tennis season in full swing and Gabriel busy laying down tracks for his new album, there’s plenty to look forward to.”
Maisel takes the cue and moves the interview on, switching to the topic of Gabriel’s new songs. As he happily answers the questions, I can’t help but beam at him from my end of the love seat.
I found my love, the man I’m going to spend my life with, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
EPILOGUE
GABRIEL
One year later...
I pull my legs back,spreading my hole for Spencer. He’s standing naked at the foot of our giant bed, slowly stroking his fat cock while he admires the view.
“Is this your way of asking me to fuck you?”
“No.” I suck my fingers into my mouth and then push them across my rim, earning a satisfying drip of precum from Spencer’s throbbing dick. “This is.”
My voice breaks into a grunt as I stroke my hole. I’m slicked with spit, but it still burns when I push my fingers in.
“Feels good,” I groan, still holding one leg back. “But I need a good, strong pounding from my husband’s dick.”
Spencer jumps onto me with a hungry groan. It’s a rainy Seattle day, and except for the patter on the windows, the loft is quiet.
His strong arms take my torso as he meets me in a kiss. Spencer gets in position to rub his crown on my hole, stroking his dick roughly between my cheeks while he grunts promises in my ear.
“I’m going to give you my cock, and I’m going to keep giving it to you until you’re drunk on orgasms. Good and satisfied for the release of your solo album.”
“That’s right.” I tease his neck with my lips and tongue, letting him take charge. “Make sure I feel you inside me all night.”
He bucks, nearly entering me. “Send you up on stage good and fucked.” Spencer drags his rough hand up my side and to my face, rubbing me as we kiss and push each other closer and closer to penetration.
“Cum leaking down my legs.”
Spencer convulses against me, his crown hard and steady at my twitching rim. “If I don’t eat it all out of your asshole first.”
My dick pulses, precum leaking on my abs as I groan my approval. “Fuck yeah.”
