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I wonder if my whole childhood was just a string of lies I kept telling myself. I wonder if my adulthood is the same.
“So?” Stefan nudges me. “No one’s caught your eye in this town? No one at all?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm.” He shrugs, which practically jostles my whole body. “Just thought you’d have a … special person in your life by now.”
I blink. Person. He said “person”.
My body stiffens up. Why did he use that totally non-gender-specific word? Am I reading too much into it? Or …
Stefan Baker has to know the truth. Hell, he sat right on it when he straddled me that day long ago in the boy’s bathroom.
So if I’m so sure that he knows already, why haven’t I outright said it? And why the hell hasn’t he asked?
Maybe this is his way of asking. Maybe he’s fishing.
Maybe I just need to … bite.
“You went quiet,” he mumbles, then gives his shoulder that’s pressed against me another shake. “You fall asleep on me?”
“Nah. I’m awake. I’m just …” I shake my head. “I’m just lost in some thoughts.”
“Yeah? Wanna share any?”
My heart thrums uncomfortably. I was prepared to fall right asleep a couple of minutes ago. Now I’m wide awake and playing tug of war with my fight or flight response.
Flight seems to be winning. “Not really,” I answer through a tightened throat.
“Come on, fucker. I’m fading quick. Quit being a pussy and just tell me what’s up.”
“It’s nothing.”
He sighs. “There’s definitely something. You can’t hold out on me. You know I’m gonna get it out of you.”
I feel like my heart’s trying to climb its way up my throat. Is that possible? Am I going to start talking and have my heart jump out of my mouth midsentence?
“So it’s a sensitive topic?” he fishes. “Your dating life? Or are you on the cusp of a string of really bad first dates? Been there.”
“I …” Stop trying to suffocate me, constricting throat! I’m trying to speak right now! Let me get out my words! “I don’t think I’ve even been on a date in years.”
“Years??” He pulls away from me slightly to get a look at my face. He only gets the side of it. I feel my cheeks warming. “What happened, bro? Did your dick fall off or something?”
“Might as well have,” I mumble.
A tiny smile plays on his lips. “Well, if that big-ass tent you were pitching in your jock last weekend is any indication, you still got a dick, that’s for sure.”
I turn away and shield my burning face with a hand, groaning. He’s seriously bringing that shit up?
“You gonna tell me what that motherfuckery was about? Or am I going to have to keep wondering what you were doing?”
“Just drop it,” I beg him, my eyes clenched shut behind the hand glued to my face. “Forget you saw that. Please.”
“Leaving me hanging is worse. Trust me. I’m thinking of the weirdest, freakiest shit right now. Don’t leave me to my dirty-ass imagination. The truth is probably lame as hell.”
The truth is going to make you rethink staying here at all. Muffled by my hands, I say, “I was just cleaning out my closets. Totally … just … wondering if I still fit my, uh … uniform.”
“Bullshit. You were hard as a rock.”
I’m so embarrassed all over again that I start laughing. It’s like he’s tickling me without fingers. My body is literally trying to find a way to teleport from this couch to halfway across the country, just to avoid what Stefan keeps relentlessly digging at.
“Hey, listen.” His voice is suddenly much softer. “One of my teammates Dylan had a kinky wife, and he told me about all sorts of weird-ass role play shit they’d do in the bedroom. I’ve heard it all, man. If you need to play the part of a tough baseball player to get your custard squirtin’…”
I gag.
“I’m not judging you,” he insists. “Even if I think it’s hilarious to picture you pretending to be a baseball player again and fantasizing about scoring with one of the … the …”
His words trail off, and I find myself frozen to the spot.
What is he about to say? And what is he trying not to say?
Then he finishes: “With one of your … adoring fans.”
Again. The gender-neutral shit. My heart hasn’t calmed at all, and I think it’s because the words are about to push their way up my throat again, words I’ve never dared to say.
This kind of stress isn’t healthy. It’s like trying to come out to my mom all over again.
That’s the shittiest thing about coming out as a gay man. You never do it just once and have the damned thing over with. You have to come out over and over again your whole life. Who do I tell? Who do I not tell? Am I acting too gay? Should I “straighten” up for a certain crowd? Do I let my queer flag wave when it’s a bunch of women around me who are having fun? Do I play “gay bestie” now, or “asexual Ken-doll-crotch buddy”, or just me?
