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“When did you realize you liked men?” Thorne had wanted to ask that question for weeks now.
Dash chewed on his lip as he considered the question. “I think I’ve always known. When friends were salivating over actresses, it was always the hot actors that made me feel funny inside. When I first started jerking off, it was never to thoughts of boobs and always to the thought of some hot athlete or even a guy I’d seen at school. Male bodies were what did it for me. I hated that at first. I didn’t want to feel different from all my friends, but I knew I was. I never went out with a girl other than as a friend. By the time I was seventeen, I was ready to admit exactly what I wanted and go for it. I didn’t go quite so far as to take a boy to prom, but I sure as hell fucked one afterward.”
Thorne laughed with him.
“So what about you?” Dash asked.
Thorne should have known that question was coming. He’d asked Dash, so it was only fair for him to reveal a little about himself, though the real answer to that question was one he’d never told anyone.
“I guess the feelings had been there for me all along too, but I hid them, pushed them down so deep I occasionally forgot they existed. I dated girls in high school and college. I slept with them and enjoyed it, but something always seemed to be missing from those encounters.” He paused and looked at Dash.
Dash reached up and ran his thumb over Thorne’s cheekbone. “Tell me more.” His voice was low and compelling. Thorne did as he asked.
“One night when I was twenty, I got drunk with a guy I was friends with. We made out, and it was better than any sex I’d ever had. He never spoke to me again. But after that, I occasionally gave in and went to a gay club, where I’d pick up a guy, fuck him and then pretend it meant nothing. I kept dating women, because that was what I was supposed to do.”
Thorne paused, not sure he should go on. Was he really going to let Dash in on a secret he’d kept for sixteen years? Had it really been that long? For the first few months, he kept thinking someone would find out, some clue would give him away, but if anyone figured it out, they never mentioned it.
“I met Clint when he hired me to work at Symthson Associates. He was…” Thorne took a slow breath, needing a moment to focus so he didn’t get lost in the memories. “I’ve never told anyone about him.”
Dash laid a hand on his leg. “I’m here to listen if you want to tell me. If not, that’s okay too. Whatever feels right.”
“I’ve never wanted to talk about it until now, but with you…I think it’s time.”
Dash nodded. “Go as slow as you need to. I’ll be here.”
Thorne rolled over on his side and propped his head on his elbow so he was looking down at Dash. “Clint was married. He was so fucking conflicted about cheating. He didn’t want to hurt his wife or leave his kids, but he knew he was gay. From the moment I met him I thought about him constantly, fantasized about him fucking me. Then one day we were the last ones leaving the office. He asked me to join him for a drink. We were in the bar long enough to take a sip, maybe two, before we headed to a hotel.” Thorne glanced at Dash. He didn’t look phased. He’d probably heard far worse.
As if reading his mind, Dash took his hand and squeezed it. “I’ve slept with plenty of married men. I’m certainly not going to judge you.”
Thorne should have realized Dash would have married clients. Maybe he hadn’t thought about it because he didn’t like thinking of Dash with other men at all. “I knew Clint’s wife and his kids, saw them at company picnics, had to pretend…” He paused as tears stung his eyes. He hadn’t even cried when Clint died. He’d been too shocked, too much in denial. And then he’d been shut out. He’d focused on work, on simply keeping moving.
Dash rose up and kissed him softly. He was tempted to lose himself in Dash, but if he didn’t finish his story now, he never would. “We were together such as it was for two years and then Clint had a heart attack. He died a few hours later. I never got to say good-bye and then I couldn’t grieve for him like I needed to, because I had to hide what he meant to me. Someone from the office had to travel to see a client on the day of the funeral. I scheduled myself to do it because I knew I couldn’t hold myself together.” The tears came then, hot and fast. “So now you can see why I’m so fucked up about relationships.”
