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Even during sex, they talk dirty and fuck me good, but it’s always with an element of tenderness and care. A constant pattern of checking on me to make sure I’m comfortable and finding as much, or more, pleasure as them. If luck or fate plays a part in any of this, I’ve been dealt the winning hand. A royal flush.
In love isn’t something I’ve ever been. It seems it’s true what they say, though. When you know, you know.
I know that I’m falling in love with two men.
18
Damian
Even in late winter, the heat and humidity in New Orleans can be impressive. Especially, when you’ve been living in the Pacific Northwest for so many years. I take in all the familiar buildings as I walk to the café where I’m meeting my oldest friend, Fig. I arrived in my home city yesterday and spent the afternoon with my financial guy moving around some things, setting up some new accounts and trusts. My priorities aren’t what they were the last time we met. It was time for adjustments.
After that, like a proper dutiful son, I had dinner with my parents. It’s mostly a farse, but I like to put my eyes on them from time to time. If for no other reason than to give my father the peace of mind that I’m alive and well and he doesn’t have to produce another spawn to carry on the family pretention.
Wealth is great, I’m not complaining about it. But it’s often a lonely life. Being here reminds me of that. Makes me even more appreciative of the family I’ve found, the one I’ve chosen and that has chosen me. The feeling is worth its weight in gold.
I get to the café before Fig and order from the server who looks like she hardly got any sleep but still places my cup of chicory with a pleasant smile.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “Can you bring out an assortment of your fanciest pastries? You choose. My friend has a sweet tooth.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
“You’re looking like a pasty ghost, Damian. What’s Seattle doing to you,” Fig asks, taking the chair across from me.
“Not drenching me in sweat every time I walk out the door.”
“It’s good to see you. Pale skin and all,” he says.
“Good to see you, too, asshole.” Fig looks no different than he always does, dressed in bright colors and prints that lend to his Creole heritage. His family has deep roots in New Orleans, everyone knows the Parnells for one thing or another. Either from business, their ties to the city’s historical preservation, or for the fact that Fig’s parents are the most notorious swingers in the state. His mother is part owner of a small and very exclusive chain of sex clubs. I used to be a member, once upon a time. Mostly because it was the best place to watch, as I like to do.
All of them, including his sister, Cookie, are eclectic, artistic, and classy with a side of geekiness. They’re the best people I’ve ever known. I miss Fig, and New Orleans, but I don’t miss the life I had here.
“How’s school?”
“Nearly done, so great. It will be nice to be done,” I tell him as the waitress comes by with a plate of pastries that make Fig light up with childish excitement. “How’s Bree?”
“Great, five months pregnant.”
“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?” He met her a few months before I moved away. A sweet girl who flipped this man on his head so quickly it was almost comical.
“I don’t know, she has some superstition about the first trimester or something. She swore me to secrecy until just recently, but by then, you had made plans to visit.” He shrugs and takes a bite of something that’s covered in glazed almonds. “What about you? Still talking to that guy?”
That guy.
Even with my best friend, I was always vague about my relationship with Alexander.
“Yes. Alexander’s back in Seattle now.”
“He played hockey, right?”
“Still does, he’s playing for the Blades.”
“You’re dating a professional athlete?”
“Listen, I’m a motherfucking catch. Okay?”
“I know you are.” He laughs. “Is it serious with him?”
“With them,” I correct.
