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“Nathan.” The voice is gravelly and hoarse.
I frown, my eyes still closed.
“Nathan. Jesus Christ, get your dick out of my back.”
My eyes snap open. “What?”
I’m cuddling Eliza from behind. My hand is resting between her bare breasts, and my erect cock is nudged firmly against her lower back.
“Shit.” I scramble to my side of the bed. “Fuck, sorry. It’s morning…” I splutter as I run my hands through my hair.
“Hmm.” She grumbles before she drifts back off to sleep.
I close my eyes in horror.
I get up, go to the bathroom, and then ease myself back onto my side of the bed, lying dangerously close to the edge. I stare at her as if she’s a ferocious animal, because at this moment, to me, she is.
This is the unknown to me. This has never happened before.
Why is it happening now?
“Hmm.” She pushes her behind toward me.
I stay silent.
She does it again. “Nathe, cuddle me,” she mumbles sleepily.
Fuck.
I pull her close and hold her tight as a sense of dread fills my soul.
And it’s not about my dick this morning; that shit happens. It’s about last night.
Seeing Eliza naked…
Jerking off to the sight of her…
I close my eyes in disgust at myself, and the sick taste of shame fills my mouth.
Our friendship is special. What we have together is perfect. My dick doesn’t come into this equation, and it never will. I won’t let it.
I can’t lie here beside her any longer. I sit up on the side of the bed and run my hands through my hair. Perspiration dusts my skin.
I frown as I try to understand what I’m feeling, but I can’t because I don’t understand it. Ten years of nothing.
Why now?
There’s a reasonable answer to all of this, there has to be, and surely this is just a misunderstanding. If I could just decipher what’s going on in my head.
Who can sort this out for me?
I think for a moment.
Yes, of course, that’s it! I’ve got it.
Three hours later, I’m sitting in the waiting room of one of the best psychologists in San Francisco. My elbows rest on my parted knees as I wait. I’m battling an erratic heartbeat, and nerves are coursing through my veins. I’ve never been to a psychologist before—never needed one.
My eyes roam over the people in the waiting room as I wonder why they are here.
