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It takesa pep talk of epic proportions to get my ass out of the car. Ford’s plain, little brick house somehow feels a thousand times more intimidating than the last time I was here. Maybe it’s because I know he’s inside. Maybe it’s because of what happened here last time. Maybe it’s because of what I think is going to happen next.
All I know is Iwantto get out of the car; I’m just having trouble making that happen.
Pushing past the building weight of who Iwas, I click open my door and gather the courage to walk up to the house.
The main door is open, and I knock on the security screen and wait.
“Come in!”
I almost expected Ford to be waiting at the door for me, but I get the impression he’s giving me space. Letting me come to him in my own time. As much as I’d love him to shove me into this, I appreciate the way he’s always thinking of me.
I kick off my shoes outside, then follow the smell of cooking fish through the house and find Ford out on his back deck, standing at the grill.
“You came,” he calls.
“Just how scared do you think I am?”
Ford shrugs as I step outside. “I gave you good odds.”
He’s already got a drink waiting for me, along with stuffed baked potatoes and mushrooms on a plate. “This looks amazing.”
“Fish is almost done.”
While he finishes up, I take a seat at the outdoor table and watch him work. It’s cooler out now than it was earlier, and Ford’s wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt that hugs every line in his big body. I’m shameless about checking him out. About imagining him pressed against me again. Impressive chest and arms, stocky middle, round ass that leads to legs like tree trunks. How he holds himself, how he moves, everything about him is all hard, rough, unrefined. I’ve never been attracted to someone like him before.
All afternoon, I’ve been on my computer, looking up stories that mirror my own. Words like bisexual, pansexual, demisexual, and split attraction filled my head, but I couldn’t pin it down to one thing. From what I read though, my situation isn’t unique. For whatever reason, there’s story after story out there where one relationship ended, and then the person became attracted to someone they’d never imagined being attracted to before.
There are all sorts of theories about why, but one stuck with me. “I learned something today,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a pretty dense psychological conditioning type of thing. I might bore you.”
“Eh, if you bore me, I’ll spend the conversation checking you out instead.”
Of course he will.
Ford plates up our fish, and I wait until he’s sitting across from me to keep talking.
“I’ve been researching, trying to figure out how the hell I can be forty-five and only now realize being attracted to men is possible. A lot of what I read doesn’t apply to me, but I did find an interesting explanation. I have no idea if it’s what happened, but it’s the closest I’ve gotten.”
Ford’s full attention is on me. It’s unwavering, like he’s interested, and I can’t help comparing how he’s just letting me get it out, to how much effort the conversation with my friends was the other night. This is a nice change.
“I think I’m bisexual, but not the half-and-half type. You heard of the Kinsey scale?”
To his credit, he doesn’t laugh at me. “I have.”
“So I think I’m like a one. Mostly straight but could swing to another gender under the right circumstances. But because the attraction is so rare, I’ve been taught to ignore it. All my life, it’s beengirls girls girls, and I realized I can’t remember a time before hearing about growing up and getting a girlfriend. It was always expected. It stayed with me. In my mind, there was no other option, so I didn’t even think about it. But since everything with you … I’ve been thinking back on things more. Really evaluating them. When I gave other guys lap dances, sure, I never got hard, but there was definitely a rush of endorphins. A feeling of power and accomplishment over turning them on.” My lips turn down as I consider that maybe my body’s been trying to tell me the truth about myself for years.
“That makes a lot of sense,” Ford says.
I exhale loudly. “Can I be honest for a second?”
“You can be honest forever.”
“It really pisses me off.” The words are out before I can stop them. “If my parents, my aunts, my uncles, all those people on TV hadn’t pushed the concept of husband and wife down my throat every fucking day, would I have picked up on it earlier? Would I have been able to be myself? Experiment? Experience the things that were my right to experience?” I scowl in an attempt to discourage tears. It’s crushing, all the what-ifs, but I don’t want to turn our night into something negative when it could be the start of a whole new positive for me.
Ford reaches across the table and gently rests his hand over mine. “I agree. It’s not fair.”
