Page 4 of The Cubby Hole

The current track was the Alice Deejay hit that featured a girlish vocal repeatedly asking Do you think you’re better off alone? The contrast of the upbeat synth melody with the enigmatic question had always made the message of the song seem foreboding.

When radio stations and random playlists seemed to eerily sync with your life circumstances, Ben and I called the phenomenon the ghost in the machine. The messages could be taken out of context, just whatever part of the lyrics the mind latched on to. It was hard not to play that game in my head and question what the ghost was trying to get across to me right now.

I probably was better off alone. And, considering my disastrous history, maybe I should stay that way.

“We’re not the only ones here.” Ben gestured toward a foursome playing pool in the corner and the campground manager, Jim, supervising a couple of younger guys. The Cubby Hole’s usually rustic, roadhouse decor was in the midst of a transformation. A cute cub named Ryan was up on a ladder attaching wire to what looked like a large chunk of foam core cut in the shape of a cartoon-like cloud. Jim was holding the piece in place with the help of another muscular guy who looked familiar.

Jim glanced over his shoulder and flashed a bearded smile. “Hey, y’all. I’d come over there and talk to you, but I’m deep in the decorating zone.” He laughed, an infectious, deep belly chuckle that made him impossible not to like.

Jim had worked at the campground as long as we’d been coming here. He was only a few years older than we were, but he played the role of everybody’s favorite gay uncle.

“No worries,” I called out as we bellied up to the bar.

Ben started bopping his head to the music and drumming his fingers on a drink coaster. It was the closest thing to dancing he ever managed, but it usually only happened when the club was full, the floor was packed, and he was really buzzed. None of which explained his current, uncharacteristic display of hyperactivity.

I gave him a quick side-eye. “You’re being weird.”

Ben pulled a face. “No, I’m not.”

I sighed. “I freaked you out with the whole picture thing.”

“Eric.” Ben rolled his eyes. “You didn’t.”

I realized now it may have been a little too much to ask, even with our long platonic history. I wasn’t buying that he didn’t mind, but I decided to change the subject. “Check out the beefcake on staff. Is that somebody new?”

The muscular guy in question turned his head and acknowledged us with an up-nod. “I’ll be right over.”

I immediately recognized his boyish face, happy grin, and mischievous dark eyes. “Oh, it’s Austin,” I whispered to Ben. Austin had started working at Bear Mountain last summer. Everybody on the property had lusted after him all season, and he'd ended up being crowned “Best Cub” at last year’s Bear Run. Ben and I hadn’t attended the event, but we’d definitely heard about it. “No surprise they hired him back.”

Austin did a double take. I couldn’t blame him. Ben was every bit as handsome as Austin. More so in my opinion.

In the years since we’d split, we’d gotten pretty good at being each other’s wingmen. Ben always wanted to go to the bar with a buddy, but he rarely left alone and never with the one he came with. That buddy was most often me. I was used to him going to take a piss and summarily disappearing. It was his MO. He was a skilled cruiser. He could negotiate a fuck with a man across the room with zero conversation.

“Blame it on these pretty blues,” he’d always say, referring to his eye-fuck superpower.

When we’d met, Ben had been the innocent one—a total virgin in every sense of the word. Never hooked up with anybody, guy or girl. Never even been kissed.

I’d been his first everything: kiss, blow job, fuck, relationship…

I’d started fooling around with guys in the ninth grade, and I’d briefly had a boyfriend in high school. Despite my five-year head start in sexual experimentation and dating, Ben had been my first real love. The first guy I thought I’d be with forever. The first heartbreak I thought I’d never get over.

But I’d tried to settle down and play house with Ben at a time when we were immersed in parties and cute guys. Everybody was discovering themselves. It hadn’t been the best stage of life for trying to start something long-term.

Ben’s unselfconscious hotness, and his innocence about it, had made me way too anxious. He hadn’t yet had a chance to be truly out and single, and we both had new guys wanting to hook up with us every weekend. I’d become convinced monogamy and white picket fences would never survive our twenty-year-old hormones and that Ben and I trying to have a serious relationship was doomed.

I’d attempted to preempt the pain of him cheating on me by suggesting we be open. At first, he’d protested and questioned my lack of faith, but then we’d met this guy Keith, who liked us both, and… three-ways had become commonplace for a while until I’d proved I was too jealous to handle that.

My insecurity had fucked it all up.

Every experience turned into an argument and a public scene. Our relationship had turned into a reality show with our friends dreading my next meltdown.

We’d retreated into playing with other guys on our own and just not talking about it while still sharing an apartment and a bed like a couple.

I had inadvertently manifested the very monster I’d most feared. From that point on, especially after our breakup, Ben’s quiet prowess had become part of his persona, and looking for the right kind of boyfriend material had become mine. I thought I’d gotten really close to the real thing with Ben and that the next guy would automatically get me closer.

But the one thing I could never have survived was a life without Ben in it. In some capacity. Fortunately, we’d known how to be friends before we’d been together, so we’d gone back to that.

It wasn’t that unusual for gay men to remain friends with their exes.