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“I should have asked,” I preface. “Were you…okay with that?” Whatever that was called. Dick friction?
Turning his head, his rose-tinted cheeks frame a guilty smile. “Definitely. If you hadn’t noticed, I kind of like it when you take charge.”
The confession has me wanting to roll over and cover him again. Fucking hell. He can’t say things like that to me or I’ll never escape the fog.
Chuckling, he sighs and shakes his head. “It’s ironic, I know. I’ve been told what to do my entire life by my dad and two older brothers. You’d think being told what to do in the bedroom would be a huge turnoff for me, but it’s just the opposite.”
I blink at him, mystified. How can he possibly enjoy Unleashed Pete after a life like that? I’m relieved that he does, so I don’t feel like a domineering psychopath, but how?
“I like not having to worry about what to do,” he explains softly. “I like knowing that no matter what happens, I’ll feel good. It’s like…you know what I need, so I feel safe.”
The amount of trust he just threw at me clamps a vise around my heart. I honestly don’t know if I do know what he really needs. I’ve been operating purely on the impulsive instincts he rouses in me.
“You should always feel safe, no matter who you’re with,” I offer sagely, awkwardly.
Every piece of advice I give him feels fraudulent, even though I meant what I said. He looks up to me—well, the me he thinks I am in his mind.
“Yeah. Maybe it’s because you’re the first guy I told,” he adds thoughtfully.
“Will you ever tell your family?”
Wincing, he sighs up at my ceiling. “Maybe. I mean, probably. Some day. Some day when I…”
He doesn’t finish, but I can easily fill in the blanks. Someday when he feels safe.
If I told my family I was dallying with a man, they’d most likely be shocked, since I never have before, but I suspect they’d come around rather quickly. They stopped questioning why I do anything the way I do a long time ago. I honestly think, in my case, that would be a blessing in regard to telling them what I’ve been up to. Hypothetically. They’d accept my decision, likely with some obnoxious questions, but also with as little fanfare as the Carvers can. Cam, however, probably doesn’t know what safe looks like in his household.
“I remember when I went to my high school prom,” he says, idly. “It was at this fancy lodge on Meydenbauer Bay. My parents sprung for a limo and organized a block of rooms with some of the other parents for me and the group that I went with. We were unsupervised. The entire evening. We had this elaborate dinner in the lodge, and after the dance we had these amazing rooms all to ourselves. I felt like an adult for the first and maybe only time in my life, or, at least, I should have.”
Worrying his lip, his gaze stays trained on my ceiling. I watch the sculpting of his bare chest rise and fall, feeling like a special guest to this unexpected storytelling.
“Everyone was laughing and having the time of their lives. Couples. They were all making out in some form or another all night. It looked so effortless for them.” Grimacing, he pauses. “I remember my dad before I left the house that night. He…basically slapped me on the back like he was preemptively congratulating me on becoming a man with my date.” His Adam’s apple undulates in his throat. I don’t have to be a fortune teller to know it’s a painful memory that he’s swallowing. “Theresa Barlow. That was my date,” he adds, glancing at me for a second. “She was…shy and quiet like me, so I thought everything would be fine. I thought maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about…about doing what everyone else was going to be doing that night, but she made it pretty obvious that she wanted that rite of passage. She kept putting her hand on my knee, and then she kissed me when we were sitting on a couch in the lounge.”
I wait with bated breath for him to continue this adolescent story that I should have no interest in. What do I care what teenagers get up to? Except, I want to know. I want to know how teenage Cam navigated an uncomfortable situation like that, trapped, living an identity that he didn’t want. A sprig of hope has me anticipating that a hero stepped in because that’s what’s supposed to happen in fairy tales. However, the knot in the pit of my stomach tells me I know there was no hero.
“Everyone laughed and egged us on because I think they realized they’d never seen me kiss anyone before. We went up to the room, and…and I could just tell that she was nervous, but hoping I’d make some kind of move, give her some kind of sign that she wasn’t being rejected. I mean, I get it. She didn’t want to be the only one who wasn’t having sex that night. It was prom. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
When he pauses again, I can’t take the anticipation. The cum on my stomach is getting cold and thick, sticking to my palm, but I can’t bear to move until I find out what happened.
“What did you do?”
When he turns his head on the mattress and looks at me, I can feel every ounce of pain in his eyes. Chewing his lip, he glances down at my chest and murmurs, “I…told her I had too much to drink, and that I was going to be sick.” His eyes flick up to mine with a humorless laugh, but he forges on. “I went downstairs to the patio and just looked out at the water. Let the cold air hit my face so I could breathe.” Gazing back up at the ceiling, he slings his wrist over his forehead and closes his eyes on another laugh. “I cried. I couldn’t stop crying. I’d always wondered, you know. That maybe I wasn’t into girls, but I knew for sure then. There was nothing wrong with Theresa. She was pretty, and we’d always gotten along well. It was me, and I realized it wouldn’t matter who had been in that room with me. I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You know that, don’t you?” I interrupt.
Glancing over, he flashes me a little smile. “I know that now. I just…I guess I haven’t felt safe since then.” When he gives me another smile, I understand. I understand the point of his teenage flashback, and it damn near breaks my heart. However, when he adds, “Until now,” I’m certain something inside of me just broke.
I have no idea how to repay a compliment like that. I have no idea how I managed to make him feel safe or accepted by losing control. Maybe the need for being desired makes about as much sense as my need to collect every complimentary pen I receive. I’m not about to question it, if it answering that need with me brought him solace.
Pushing off the mattress, I warn, “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
I head to the bathroom and wet two cloths, cleaning myself with one, and then returning with the other one. I’m supposed to be a gentleman, after all, but silently worry he’ll think it has something to do with my need for cleanliness.
Smiling gratefully, he accepts it and wipes off his stomach, tucking himself back into his pants. I try to divert my attention to re-donning my shirt and grabbing his from my floor. Handing it to him, I crack the shell on the conversation I intended to have when he arrived.
“So, do you think you’ve got the hang of it now?”
Chuckling, he slides his arms into his sleeves. “Yeah. It, um, didn’t require as much thought as I imagined it would.”
