I realize that this scenario is completely nonsensical, but the idea popped into my head one day and didn't leave. Enjoy.
"I'm gonna throw up," I moaned, rubbing my temples.
David set a cup of coffee in front of me. "Yet another night of debauchery?"
I nodded and pull the mug close. Bitter life-giving brew. "I had to take a fucking bus downtown to get my car. Again. And my shirt smells like sandalwood."
"Ah, so the mystery masseuse is back," David joked. "Got essential oil on your dick?"
"No, dumbass. And I told you that I don't remember anything." These blackout nights didn't happen every weekend; more like a monthly occurrence. It wouldn't be weird given how much and often I drank, but I always woke up at home, showered and in my pajamas, and I always smelled of incense. I didn't burn incense and I never wore pajamas any other day of the year. Weirder and better still, I woke up feeling like my balls had been completely drained. It was as though I'd had amazing sex in my sleep.
"Maybe if you quit getting crossfaded every time you drink you'd start recalling shit. Like a massage hooker." David tapped my desk. "I need that concert review today, junior."
"You're a fucking idiot. And I only had the one joint. I think." Staring at the screen was going to make this hangover worse. Thinking about the previous night could make me hurl.
"G'morning Gary," David addressed an approaching figure. "Nicky here is attempting to reconstruct the events of last night to prove that he does get laid on the occasion."
Gary, ever the awkward soul, blushed to nearly the color of his hair.
"Don't believe him, Gary. I got pussy aplenty last night. I can feel it in my bones," I declared between sips of coffee. Gary looked tired. "Did you go out?"
He paused. "You don't remember seeing me?"
"Nope, sorry."
"Oh, um..." Gary scratched his head. "I guess you were pretty wasted."
"Don't remember a thing past the beginning of the after party," I said around a yawn.
"Oh, uh, of course. Right."
David and I watched as Gary turned tail and scurried off to his IT annex. So weird.
"You know," David commented, "I think you make him nervous."
"No, your ugly face makes him nervous," I grumbled.
David kicked my chair before settling at his desk. "I'm serious, bro. He doesn't act like that around me. He's all chatty until you walk in the room, and then he clams up like a dry twat."
I don’t think I care. "You have such a way with words, Señor Editor."
"Maybe you were an ass to him," David suggested.
I groaned and scrubbed my hands over my face. "Dave, when would I even have the opportunity? I'm never around the guy. Gary's just kind of squirrely."
"Apparently you saw him last night."
Directing a glare at my supervisor, I pointed my coffee mug at him. "Lay off me, douchebag. I don't need to be his friend."
"When you say shit like that,” David said calmly, “you sound like a fucking asshole."
"Fine, mother, I’ll talk to him!" Why did it even matter? I had a hangover, blank spots in my memory, and an article to write. David was a good supervisor and better friend, but he was nosy as hell.
David shook his head. "Geeze, touchy."
I kind of felt bad for snapping at David, so I resolved to do what I promised and talk to Gary. But how should I even bring up some transgression that might not have happened because I can’t even remember it? Lucky for me I didn't have the opportunity to do so. I could have worked it in when he came to show me what was wrong with some of my coding, but it felt awkward. He was all nervous, and I was incredibly conscious of the sandalwood emanating from my shirt.
It wasn't until we were leaving that I said more than two words to him, all because his damn car wouldn't start. David and I were the last two out of the building as usual, nearly an hour later than everyone else. We weren’t five feet out the door when we heard a resounding “Sheee-it” as though one syllable wasn’t descriptive enough. Scared the crap out of me.
“Gary? You're still here?” David asked. “Something wrong with your car?”
Gary scrubbed both hands through his hair, but answered, “Oh, no, it’s fine, I just…my car won’t start, even with a jump.” He gestured at the lump of rust he drove.
David elbowed me hard in the ribs. Wishing I could shut him up with my mind, I spoke up. “Er, do you need a ride somewhere?”
Eyes wide, Gary waved wildly in front of his body. “No, no, no I…no. The tow truck should be here in five minutes or so, and my buddy gets off work in an hour. He’ll pick me up.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. Panic hadn’t been the reaction I expected, but maybe Gary had social anxiety. Whatever.
“An hour?” Dave interjected. “It’s freezing out here, man. One of us can take you home.”
Godammit, that meant me.
“I couldn’t possibly,” Gary protested. “I live all the way out by the Southland Mall. I know you’re up by Memorial.”
David clapped me on the back. “You’re in Nicky’s neck of the woods.” He turned to me with false innocence. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Gary looked like he was about to wet his britches. “Nick, you really don’t have to.”
“It’s fine, really. Give your friend a call on the way.” I was going to kill David when I had the chance.
David hung around to make small talk until the tow truck arrived, then scampered off while I let Gary into my car.
“Sorry, my car smells like sandalwood,” I apologized. “Seems to be my cologne of choice whenever I’m drunk.”
“I don’t mind.” Gary glanced at me. “Do you not like it?”
I waved a hand dismissively as we buckled ourselves in. “Naw, I like it, but I think I put it on a little strong or something.” Why was I making shit up? I didn’t know why I smelled like a massage parlor.
Fuck, this is awkward.
I had no idea what to say to the guy, but there was an incredible pressure to talk to him. I thought Dave had been talking out of his ass, but now that I was in close proximity to Gary I could see what my friend had meant. He didn’t look at me. He sat with his knees together and his hands clasped, looking out the passenger window and chewing on his lower lip.
“Er, you live on Vidalia, right?” I said casually.
“You remember?” Gary sounded shocked.
I flipped the radio on just to relieve the tension. “Let me guess, you told me when I was drunk.”
He shifted in his seat. “Yeah.”
“You know, getting shitfaced all the time and then remembering stuff later is like having a secret encyclopedia in your brain,” I informed him. “I don’t know how I know something, and then I get to feel psychic.”
Gary nodded. “I can see that, but then you look like an idiot when you can’t recall the rest of it.”
Was he joking, or chastising me?
“Right. Um, did you have fun last night?”
The man's head snapped around so fast it’s a wonder he didn't get whiplash. “What?”
What the hell was wrong with him? Or with me, that he freaked out so much at a simple question?
“The concert.”
His body relaxed immediately. Looks like I wasn't the only one who had a night of debauchery. “Ah, right. Yeah, of course. The venue turned out to be a little cramped for the sound, I thought.”
“True,” I agreed. “The reverb made everything sound all mushed. But the set was good.”
“Yeah, that lead singer—what’s her name? Angela? Angelea?—sure has a some of pipes for such a tiny body.”
“I know, right? Like a house elf singing opera or something,” I chuckled. “Oh hey, if you need to call that friend—"
“Ah, right! Thanks, I almost forgot.” Gary pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial number. “Hey, it’s me. No, I got a ride home. Yeah, a coworker’s driving me back now. No, David’s my boss. His name is Nick…Steve, no.”
Gary looked over at me and I pretended to be very focused on changing lanes. In a lower voice he argued, “It’ll be fine. Stop it. I’ll call you later. Okay.”
The secret encyclopedia suddenly opened to the entry titled "Gary." I knew that Steve and Gary were or had been together. Gary was gay, and he was uncomfortable around me because of it. Maybe I had said something stupid last night and given him the impression that I was a homophobe.
“Hey Gary,” I said when he hung up, “I’m cool, you know, with your, uh orientation or whatever. I mean, I hope you know that I’m not going to give you a hard time or anything like that.”
Gary’s head turned towards me, and I think he smiled a little. “I know. Or, I didn’t think you would.”
"Okay. Cool." Smooth, me. It was nice to know that I came off as the unbiased type. “So, is Steve really just a friend, or is that what you tell all the bigoted straight people?”
Gary chuckled, “You’re not that bad. He really is just a friend. We went out for like, three months way back in high school, but that was it.”
“He seemed pretty concerned about you.” My shoulders were tense; I didn’t know why. “Wait, have I met him?”
“The psychic genius makes itself known,” Gary joked. “Yeah, he was there last night.”
“Was I an asshole to you guys or something?” I asked, trying hard to recollect any memory of seeing Gary and Just A Friend. All that surfaced was the taste of beer and the sound of terrible electro pop beats.
Gary shook his head. “Naw, Steve just takes himself too seriously.”
“Oh my god, I was an asshole,” I groaned.
This time when Gary laughed I looked over. He had that kind of funny guffaw that would have made anyone around him smile.
“What?” I grinned.
“Nothing it’s just, um,” he shook his red head and chuckled. “I guess I didn’t believe you really could forget everything until just now. Or that anyone could get so intoxicated that they remember nothing of an entire night multiple times. I mean, I think I only talk to you when you’re drunk, so…”
I tried to scowl at him. “You’re going to blackmail me.”
“We’ll call a ride home even,” he said with a lopsided smile.
“Deal.”
We couldn’t find much else to say after that, but least the relative silence in which we rode didn’t seem so uncomfortable. It didn’t hit me until I pulled into his driveway that Gary hadn’t given me any directions. I knew how to get here. I could have walked to my apartment in ten minutes.
"I feel like I've been here before," I commented. The house was eerily familiar, like something from a dream, or remembering events from a blackout drunk night. Blackout. “Have I?”
Gary was suddenly fidgety. “Uh, nope. I mean, yeah, I think so. Er, yeah, one night after a concert there were, like, six of us who came back here for a little bit.”
Unsurprisingly, I couldn't recall any of that. “When was this?”
“Battle of the Bands.”
“Uh huh.” That was nearly a year ago. I had to have been here since. It felt too real. Gary looked completely uncomfortable, but he wasn’t getting out of my car. What was he not telling me? I looked at his small house again, waiting for my brain to churn out tidbits of information and fill in the blanks.
Gary unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, er, thanks Nick—”
“You have a small bedroom but a giant bed that you had to shove in through the window,” I interrupted, startling us both.
“Oh, um, hah hah, you remember the house tour,” he replied lightly.
A house tour? That wasn't it. Maybe I'd heard him telling the story at the office. Gary got out of the car and in my desperation to solve this mystery feeling I followed.
I pointed at the window on the left side of the house. “That’s your bedroom. The laundry room is next to it. You have one of those boxy pianos, something old, and you have to tune it yourself.”
“It’s called a Spinet,” Gary said.
These were all just details, dumb, insignificant elements, but I knew them. Why? I felt like I could walk in and make myself a cup of coffee without asking where the spoons were. Gary played ragtime and jangly Western swing on the piano because he thought it was funny and fitting. His couch was light brown leather. I knew that I would find recycling bins next to the trash can, and not just because Gary seemed the type. I could almost hear him, using a tone I’d never heard at the office, Good god, you lush, how many fucking times do I have to tell you: Put your bottles in tub. It wasn’t angry or nagging, in this half-memory Gary sounded affectionately exasperated. Were we drinking buddies?
“Okay, well, it’s cold. I don’t want to keep you,” he said quickly. “See you tomorrow.”
My brain whirred as I tried to think of reasons to keep Gary from walking in that door. He came around the front of the car with hurried steps, and my feet took me toward him. Intending to say something not as creepy or interrogative as I felt, I inhaled and—Sandalwood. It isn’t just me, it’s him. Gary smells like incense. I grabbed his arm.
“Hey!” he protested.
"Gary, why do we both smell like a Catholic church, and why do I know what your bedroom looks like?"
He tried to laugh it off. “You mean like a Buddhist temple. Catholics burn frankincense or something.”
“You know what I mean,” I growled. There was no reason for me to be so harsh. Something weird was going on. Damn you, secret encyclopedia. Open.
Gary glanced sideways towards the safety of his house. "Uh, you crashed at my place that one time, and my dryer sheets are sandalwood-y. That’s all."
I clenched my teeth. “But I smell like incense today, Gary. And it’s happened before. You're not telling me everything.”
His muscles bunched in my grip, a familiar feeling. It was too familiar. I had grabbed Gary before for some reason. Had we fought? Come on, fucking brain, help me out. Gary stared at my hand on his arm like he couldn’t decide what he should do about it. I wasn’t hurting him; he could take worse. I thought.
Finally Gary sighed. "It's nothing. I know you don’t want to...” He ended with a groan. "Ugh. Fuck." The last part might have been to himself.
“What, Gary, do I not want?” I shook him a bit. “What?”
“You don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled.
Frustrated, I demanded, “I can’t fucking remember anything, so how would I not want to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Please, just tell me.” I need to let go of him. I need to let go of his arm. I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye.
Gary glances down the street and lowers his voice. "You. Er. Sleep with—over here a little bit. Sometimes."
“How often is ‘sometimes?’” I bit out.
“I don’t know, maybe once or twice a month since that night when everyone came over.”
That sounded like every single time I’ve blacked out. "This has been happening for a year and you never thought to mention it? That's weird. Like, what if I broke something? Or puked on your carpet?"
“You didn’t. The most annoying thing you ever did was go boneless one time when I tried to get you inside.” Gary shook his head and smiled a little at the memory, which just made me more irritated that I couldn’t remember this hilarious rubber legs incident.
"What? Why? Did you give me drugs or something?" I was only half-joking.
"God no, nothing like that! You always came to find me to take you home! I didn't even think you were interested; I mean, all you talk about are women." Immediately Gary looked horrified and clamped his mouth shut, as though he’d revealed something terrible.
My stomach sank. “What do you mean, that you didn’t think I was interested?” Don’t tell me. Lie to me. Maybe my hangover was coming back. Any moment I was going to puke all over Gary’s driveway. Halfheartedly I shook his arm again. “What do you mean, Gary?”
Gary shuffled his feet and his shoulders suddenly slumped. “I didn’t think you were interested in me, or guys or whatever."
“In guys.” Tell me, but don’t tell me. I needed to know. Pandora’s box was opening, spilling out all my darkest secrets, but I didn’t have the strength to throw back the lid and peer inside. Help me out, here. “So you mean I don’t just crash at your place. I have sex with you?”
My own words rang in my ears. I have sex with you? I have sex with you? How did I manage to say it so smoothly?
“Hah,” Gary laughed softly, looking at the ground. “Fifteen minutes ago you were afraid I thought you were a homophobe.”
That was as much of an answer as I needed. Finally I loosed my grip on his sleeve to sit back on the warm hood of my car, just in case my legs gave out. “Oh, my god.”
“Don’t think I like, tried to seduce you or anything,” Gary said in a tone that he meant to be comforting. "You were really, really drunk, so I was going to just let you sleep over and then see you out the next day. It wasn't like you had come over by yourself; you had been hanging out with me and my friends and we just wanted to drink closer to home, you know. Then everyone left, and when I tried to put you on the couch you were like, 'I don't want to sleep here, I wanna sleep with you.' We didn't, like, go all the way that time, but...You told me that if I told anyone that you would literally kill me."
I blinked at him. "Huh?"
"I know, I know, but you seemed serious," he shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, "but you kissed me and it was really great, so I just kind of stopped thinking."
I was no longer sure whether I was searching for memories or repressing them, but they seeped through the cracks in the blackout barrier: Gary laughing at me in the car with the dark night surrounding us. Sitting him down at that tinny piano and ordering him to play. Watching the way his nose wrinkled when he drank tequila. Gary rubbing my back when I threw up in his toilet. Telling him “no homo, but you have a nice mouth,” and us cracking up at his kitchen table. That kitchen table—I didn’t remember in images, just in feelings of feverish excitement, of being in incredible lust with the body against mine.
“So all those times when I blacked out,” I began slowly.
Gary took pity on me. “Maybe you needed the liquid courage. But yes. We’ve slept together. You're, ahem, you're a top, in case you were worried about, you know…that." He sat down next to me on the car, just far enough to remain a stranger. "I’m sorry I didn’t say anything; I thought you were really trying to keep it on the down-low.”
How had I not figured this out? “I never wake up here, though.”
“You shower and I walk you home.” After a brief pause he added, "The first time you just kind of left afterwards without saying anything. It freaked me out, like, I had possibly screwed us both over by not thinking with my head. There wasn't even an excuse; I was drunk by that time, but not too drunk to know better. So I was really nervous, but you didn't seem to remember or care, so I thought it was a one time thing."
"But it wasn't," I finished.
Gary shook his head. "'Gary, I need a ride,'" he mimicked my drunken slur pretty well. "I could have said no and saved us both this trouble. I'm no saint. I may let you make the first move, but only so I could say it wasn't my fault in the morning."
My chest was a cavern, filled with only cobwebs of memories and disconnected words. “Let you make the first move.” “You kissed me.” “You’re a top.” “Interested in guys.” How the fuck had this happened to me? How had I done this to myself?
"Does that make me gay?" My voice came out in a whisper. I wanted to sound more socially advanced, like that wouldn't bother me at all. Instead it sounded as though my entire world had been yanked from under my intoxicated feet.
Gary sighed heavily. "Fuck, Nick, I don't know. What 'makes' you gay? Maybe you're bi; I never saw you hitting on another guy. I've slept with women before I came out—no gold star for me—but I'd still count myself as a gay man. Maybe you're straight and I'm an idiot."
I looked down at my hands. "I feel like I did a lot more than just sleep with you," I muttered.
"Well, yeah, I guess you did," Gary acquiesced, "but you can blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol."
I smiled a little at that. "That's a fucking horrible song."
"Seriously, Nick," he said, clapping me on the shoulder, "don't worry too much about it. You don't have to make any major changes or life decisions because you get a little horny when you're drunk. No one else knows, so you could forget it if you like."
"Uh huh." I couldn’t forget what I couldn’t remember. Or was he referring to the grand revelation that I fucked guys—a guy, assuming Gary was my first—during the full moon? How the hell could I ever forget that, as though years down the line I could scratch my head and honestly say, “I am positive that I’ve never experimented with another man.” This was bullshit.
"Well," Gary said as he stretched his legs and stood, "thanks for the ride. If you need to talk or whatever, let me know."
I'd straight up fucked the guy multiple times and remembered none of it. This wasn't over. He couldn't leave me here wondering what exactly we did and why I kept coming back. It wasn't fair. Gary was almost to his door. He'd go inside and I'd be out here in the cold with my brain turned to mush. Running after him seemed like the natural thing to do.
“Invite me in, Gary.”
He looked at me askance. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, dammit, just…” I stepped in closer than I should have. “Let me in.” I needed to see, to remember.
Gary shook his head; he seemed to do that a lot around me. "I don't know if this is a good idea."
"What more damage could be done?" I argued. "Cat's out of the bag; we've been fuck buddies for the last year. At least do me the decency of letting me recall some of it by myself."
Wordlessly Gary opened the door and let me cross the threshold in front of him. I felt strange; ease and disquiet mixing to sit like a stone in my belly. I glanced around at the small living room and the kitchen behind it. I do know this place. I knew that couch was great for a nap, but the leather got really sticky from sweat. I knew that the coffee table teetered on one broken leg. I knew the old DVD player sometimes stuck. I knew Gary never had paper towels; he used cloth ones for everything. I knew that the kitchen floor was uncomfortable. I knew that the shower took a little bit to warm up and the soap was organic. The bedroom was at the end of hall. Gary followed me as I walked over to open the bathroom door. An orange toothbrush sat next to a blue one of a different brand. Orange was my favorite color.
“I have a toothbrush.” This was way more serious than I thought. When had I last left a toothbrush at a casual hook-up’s home?
“Yeah,” Gary said quietly.
“You like me.”
He put his hands up. “You've found me out. Sorry.”
“We're not just fuck buddies,” I said Gary laughed a little. “Are you saying that to make me feel better? I'm not above just sleeping with guys because they're hot and pay attention to me.”
"I mean me." I turned to face him. "I, or me when I'm drunk, at least, likes you as more than a fuck buddy." My body had hijacked me and gotten me a boyfriend. We hadn't always had sex. I strode down the hall and barged into the bedroom. The bed stared at me. It was still rumpled from last night, so Gary had no time to hide that there had been a separate head-sized indent on each pillow.
Since Gary had said that I had never slept here, we must have lain there, side by side. Not having sex, or no longer having sex, far enough apart to focus our eyes but close enough to touch. I sat down on the bed and put my head in my hands. Gary stood anxiously in the doorway.
"This must be weird for you," he commented sympathetically.
"I don't know what to think," I replied honestly, scrubbing my hands over my face. "It's like discovering that I have a split personality. I've been fucking around behind my own goddamn back, with a man, no less, for almost a whole year. I can't be angry with you, and I don't know why I would be since I was clearly the instigator."
"Just ninety-nine percent of the time," Gary interjected. I looked up to see him smiling at me, that aw, poor guy kind of smile. It made me feel like shit.
"I don't know if I can continue this," I told him honestly. "I mean, I don't know that I can be invested...Er, it's like, I know that I know you, and you know me, but I don't have any memory of our, whatever this is," I finished lamely, gesturing between us.
"So this house tour isn't working?" Gary asked, leaning against the door frame.
"Oh, I don't know. Like, I was here last night, on that side," I answered, pointing to the pillow that somehow I knew was mine. "The thing is, I still couldn't tell you what we did or talked about."
"Huh."
"Fucking on that kitchen table."
Gary flushed.
"I don't know when, how, or how many times, but I know it happened."
He dropped his gaze from mine. "Does that bother you?"
"I can't really tell. Like, yeah it does, but I don't know if it should. But dude, come on. Don't you want something better than that? A guy who likes you and who can hold his liquor?"
"I guess I should," Gary agreed, half to himself.
I realized then that I was hurting him, and even my Jekyll and Hyde consciousness could merge long enough to know that was the last thing I wanted. Whatever I felt about our nighttime activities there was no denying that a part of me cared about him. That's probably why I felt like such an asshole.
"Gary, I'm sorry—" I began, but he held up a hand.
"Look, I've told you already that we can forget about this. I'll just...we don't have to see each other outside of work. I'll stay out of your way if you want to get fucked up at a party."
Not yet, I’m not finished, I wanted to say. Don't make me leave just yet. But it was Gary's house, and he deserved to have it to himself. I was just some jackass in the middle of a sexual identity crisis.
I got up and Gary turned sideways to let me pass. I looked at him staring at nothing over my shoulder, and I remembered.The last time I'd seen that expression I had put my hands on the sides of his ribcage and pressed him against the wall. I remembered how I'd kissed him until we were breathless. I remember Gary had sighed with resignation and how his arms crept around my back to pull me close. Moreover, I remembered how much I had liked it.
My right hand moved before I could order it otherwise, spreading splay-fingered onto Gary’s abdomen, just above his belt. I felt Gary’s shocked inhale through his stomach. We stared at each other for a moment—it was the first time that I had really looked at Gary, studied him, noticed how dark his brown eyes were in comparison to his pale lashes and strawberry brows. His narrow shoulders made him look scrawnier than he felt through his sweater. He must have grown into his looks; he had a fierce chin and sharp nose that would have been awkward on a boy.
Gary broke the charged silence. “What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” I responded just as quietly. “I’m trying not to analyze it.”
“Uh…” He looked ready to bolt into the bedroom and lock the door behind him.
I turned slowly so that my back was against the wall opposite his. The heat from his body was reaching through his shirt to my chilly fingers. Come warm me up, some soft echo from another time, and a fleeting view of bare-chested Gary pulling me down this very hallway flitted across my memory.
“Can I try something?” I asked.
With a look of worried anticipation, Gary replied, “What?”
I stepped closer and put my hands on either side of Gary’s head so he couldn’t run. Don’t think, I ordered myself as I lowered my head. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think. And my mouth was on his.
That first kiss, the first sober kiss, felt ages long. My heart was racing and I was a little afraid that Gary would shove me away or hit me. I didn’t have a playbook for this. All I had were two handfuls of Gary’s coat, his gentle lips against mine, and sparks behind my eyelids.
He blinked and licked his lips when I pulled back. “Uh, wow, um,” Gary cleared his throat. “That was…Are you—”
“I meant to do that.” What a stupid thing to say.
“So, are you trying me on for size?” he joked, flicking his gaze to the side. "Feel any gayer?"
I took a deep breath. “Show me what we did.”
He laughed disbelievingly. “You mean, you want to have sex? Now?”
“Yes.”
Shaking his head yet again, Gary asked, “Do you want a beer or two first?”
“No.” God, yes.
Gary sighed. "I really don't know if this is a good idea. Do you want to think about it?"
"What? Fuck no!"
Narrowed eyes and a slight flare in his nostrils were the only sign that Gary was perturbed by my hasty retort. "Seriously, Nick, I'm not sure you can handle it right now. I'm not trying to be funny, I'm just saying."
It wasn't that I was gung-ho I'm-gay-now, it was that I was out of my depth and scared shitless. I can't believe I'm doing this. "We could just make out for a bit," I suggested.
"Why?"
"Do you not want to?"
Gary threw his arms wide. "Do you really want to fuck me, full on, no take-backs, queer style? Can you, even?"
He was avoiding the question, and I needed him to make some decisions for me. “What do you want, Gary?" I thumped his chest. "Enough about what I want, why did you let me come back? Why did you tell me the truth? What do you want from me?”
Gary rolled his eyes, shifted his weight and huffed. His mouth opened and quickly shut again, and then he exhaled shakily. “I don’t know,” he said in a wobbly voice. “I’m a normal human being; I want something real and reliable. I want someone I’m sure of.”
“You can’t be sure of me?”
“When you’re drunk I could, yeah. That was predictable. There was a pattern. Now, who’s to say? Either you like me or you don’t. Or really, you like me and you don’t." He gestured between our bodies. "You didn’t even know—you can’t remember the things you said to me, or how you acted around me. Nothing transferred, obviously, so I think that drunk Nick was probably just horny and willing to take what he could get.”
Ah, how the truth makes asses of us all. Or mostly me. "Gary, I'm not drunk now," I reminded him.
"I know, I know, it's just..." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to get more hurt."
"I won't hurt you," I promised. I wasn't sure what prompted me to say that, but I meant it.
"You don't know that," Gary replied, but he smiled a little.
I stepped back a little. "How about this: you sit me down and we neck like kids in an eighties horror movie. If we aren't feeling it, we'll stop," I offered. I meant me, though. If I wasn't feeling it I would run like my ass was on fire.
"Who says 'neck' anymore?"
"No one. So? Are you in?"
Gary rolled his eyes to the heavens and opened his mouth; I was sure he was about to tell me to leave. This is weirdly humiliating, I thought, but then Gary pulled me into the bedroom by my elbow.
"This is maybe the worst idea ever," he told me as we removed our coats.
I let him push me onto the bed and kicked off my shoes. "You're probably right."
"You're going to freak out in the middle of it," he assured me, crawling up to where I sat against the headboard, "tell everyone at work that I slipped you a mickey and tried to get in your pants, then I'll be fired and gay bashed in the parking lot."
If Gary was trying to distract me from how close we were, it wasn't working. Our lips weren't touching just yet, but I could feel his body heat and his dark eyes filled my field of vision.
"What fucking soap operas have you been watching?" I retorted. Shit, but I was nervous. What the hell was I doing? And why, again? Why couldn't I be content with the numerous outs that Gary had given me? My heart was pounding madly; my breath already coming short.
“Just kiss me, damn it,” Gary groaned, and to stop the possible "and get it over with," I did.
It was so different and yet so familiar. Gary's nose brushed against my cheek and his breath feathered over my upper lip. The kiss was practically chaste; aside from knowing it was Gary the feeling wasn't much different from any other kiss I'd had. There's more than this, I thought. This wouldn’t have been enough to make me throw my sexual preference out the window. I tried again, catching Gary's lip between mine, pulling him to me a little. His hand came to rest lightly on my arm, then trailed to my shoulder, then to the back of my neck. The sober, clear-headed part of me thought it was weird to have someone else’s thumb on my jaw, tilting my head back. The other part, that werewolf in me that had already had sex with Gary, was getting excited. He’s like this, I half-remembered. Aggressive.
Gary kissed down my neck, pulled my shirt collar down to suck on my collarbone, trailed his tongue up again, and nipped at my earlobes. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he knew where I liked to be touched, but I was in disbelief at how hot it was, how good it felt. I chased his mouth, determined not to be left behind, and tasted the spicy musk of his soap and the savor of his skin. Swinging his leg over mine Gary straddled my lap and grabbed my chin. I was about to say something, I don’t know what, but he interrupted by dipping his tongue into my open mouth. That, I could feel in my toes. Suddenly Gary pulled back and looked at me nervously.
“We’re not finished,” I informed him. Gary’s throat worked when I leaned in, but then he broke into a grin so that when I kissed him my lips hit his teeth. That made me laugh, which gave him the opportunity to lick at the corners of my mouth. We weren’t drunk, we weren't high, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had so enjoyed just making out with somebody.
“Take your shirt off,” Gary ordered.
I blinked. “Already?”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Now.”
I did as requested and then watched Gary remove his sweater. His white undershirt lifted with it, revealing row after row of tight muscle on his narrow frame. He was pale but warm; he flinched a little when I touched his side with my cold fingertips. Was it strange because I was uncomfortable, or because I had done it before? Gary had all the same body parts, provided there wasn’t an extra nipple hanging around somewhere. Sure, he was a good kisser, but had that merited sleeping with him whenever I got hammered?
“You’re thinking too much,” Gary said. “You asked to do this, so quit analyzing me.”
I made a face. “I can’t help it.”
“It’s because you keep pausing,” Gary retorted. “Nut up, Nicholas.”
That struck a chord somewhere in my subconscious. A memory, this one clear as glass, of us together in this bed. After crawling into bed with him, complaining that the couch was cold and lonely, Gary had let me touch him with clumsy hands. I think that time I was hungry for skinship, horny, and honestly just looking for another body. However, as soon as Gary responded in kind, slipping his hand under my shirt, some switch flipped in my brain. I had been voracious, embarrassingly so, now that I thought about it. Everything had flowed like it was the most natural thing in the world, right until we had gotten to the actual sex. "I want to suck you off." Had I really said that? Couldn't have. I wasn't the type.
"Go ahead," Gary had laughed. "I won't stop you."
I had slid my hand down his pajama pants, yet had the fucking audacity whisper loudly, "But I don't wanna be gay."
Gary had rolled his eyes and given me a titty twister. “Nut up, Nicholas,” he had said then. It had worked; had he already known it would? Holy fuck, I really had instigated all of this. Had I been repressing something? Why was this happening now?
Two fingers tweaking my nose brought me out of my reverie. “And lighten up,” Gary added, “before I lose my boner.”
I giggled like a schoolkid—Heh heh. Boner.—before I realized that Gary wasn’t kidding. The bulge stared back at me through his dorky khaki pants, running long and thick toward his hip. Even as my hand reached for it my brain reeled. That's from Gary and me making out. I helped make that. I ran my thumb around the outline to the sound of Gary’s inhalation.
“Wow,” I said softly. Such a lame word for a consumingly profound moment. I knew how to touch a dick, sure, but this time it wasn’t mine. For a moment I forgot about my vacillating sexuality, the blackouts, and the toothbrush in the bathroom. It was so firm in my hand, searing; I half expected it to burn through the fabric.
Gary stroked the back of my neck and kissed the top of my head. The intimacy was likely left over from the night before, from all those nights I couldn’t remember, but it fit. It all fit, really, from the way Gary ran his hands over my bare shoulders to the pressure I used to squeeze his cock. Whether his lips on my skin or his erection hot under my palm, a switch flipped on. While my rationality tripped and stumbled to keep up my body sprinted ahead, doing what it recalled from the most carnal of kinesthetic memories.
I grabbed Gary by the neck and pulled him down.
Skin between my teeth, under my tongue, and guttural urgent unhs in my ears; Gary and I tussled and tugged until he rid me of my jeans. He bit my lip, my neck, and slid down to lick leisurely at my nipples, stroking my dick with a slow but firm touch. I tried to sit up and return the favor, but Gary shoved me onto my back with a naughty grin. Settling catlike between my thighs, his dark brown eyes penetrated the air between us, holding me still while his tongue snaked out to run the length of my shaft.
“Oh, god,” I exhaled. Gary chuckled and moved his left hand to grasp the base while the right rolled my balls between his fingers. His hot, wet mouth engulfed the cockhead and Gary bobbed up and down leisurely. I sat up a little, just enough so that I could stroke around his ears. "Holy shit that's good."
Gary pulled off for a moment but kept his hand in motion. "Remember telling me that you heard faggots suck better cock?"
"No. Was I joking?"
"No." His expression was sly, as though leading me to a conclusion that he came to a long time ago.
"Seriously, Gary, why do you like me? I am a fucking dick to you."
I only got a half smile in response, which would have been completely unsatisfying if Gary hadn't followed it by going back to licking up and down my shaft. Stop looking a gift horse in the mouth, commanded the part of my brain that operates on sex. It was never easier to obey than when Gary started humming around my cock.
"Oh, fuck yes."
With a laugh Gary bobbed up and down. Strong fingers slid up and down the base in time. Gary sucked as though he was trying to drain me from the head down, and I was ready to let him. Grabbing the sheets helped keep me from pulling Gary's hair out, but I couldn't keep still; Gary wrapped his free hand around my hips to prevent me from shoving myself all the way down his throat. Not that he would have choked—he kept doing exactly that, but at his own pace. Licking at the tip, Gary would slowly, slowly, seal his lips around the head and slide down to the bottom.
"Holy shit."
Gary grinned. "Do you like that?"
"You know I do," I breathed. Gary crawled up to kiss me. I could taste myself on his tongue.
We broke apart for a moment, grinning like kids.
"Well, mini-me likes you," I said.
Gary rolled his eyes, but smiled. "I suppose that's a relief."
"It's my turn," he told me, "but I want to hold you down and fuck your mouth, just like you'll be fucking my ass."
I nodded consent. Nut up, Nicholas. I’d done this before. Had I been surprised at the dichotomy of Work Gary and the aggressive More Than A Fuckbuddy Gary behind closed doors? Now, even though I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted his dick all up in my face, Gary's forceful sexpot behavior was turning me on enough to follow through what I had started.
He straddled my chest. "Take my belt off." I did. "Now undo my pants. Pull them down just enough to take my dick out." Without any ceremony Gary grabbed my hair and shoved his cock in my mouth.
No panic, no fear of choking, no gagging; I knew to breathe out of my nose and trust Gary to avoid smashing it. How the fuck am I doing this? I wondered. Had I known how to do this innately, or had Gary taught me? The holy-shit-aren't-I-straight part of my brain balked for a millisecond at the approach of a reddish patch of pubic hair, silenced with brutal effectiveness by the yay-dick-in-my-mouth part. There was no taste, it was just skin, just flesh, sliding over my tongue and bumping against the roof of my mouth. Then again, if I followed his cock with my tongue on its way out, there was the bitter hint of something.
Gary grabbed my hair. "That's it," he growled. "Get that pre."
"Mmf." It was all the sound I could manage, but I did as I was told. That drunk consciousness, my id perhaps, told me that I wanted to see Gary lose control now, to go buck wild while his cock was still in my mouth. I used my hands to spread his ass cheeks and felt for the puckered entrance.
Gary's balls slapped my chin obscenely as he used my fingers to fuck himself, barely allowing me to breathe. I could take it; Gary had taught me how at some point. Cock was such a weirdly familiar taste and texture. The thin hot skin smoothed over shaft and veins was almost comforting, and the curly hair at the base tickled my lips. Working my lips and tongue as best I could, I let Gary thrust towards my throat. Another memory surfaced, this one of me watching him deepthroat me and asking drunkenly, "How do you do that?" Gary, a little drunk himself, had asked, "You want to learn?"
I breathed deep and opened my throat.
"Holy shit, Nick," Gary groaned. In this position he couldn't get all the way in, but the feeling of his glans kissing the back of my throat was wild. Sexy. A little like breath play, but with a cock instead of a collar. Gary's hole was soft and tight around my fingers, probably still a little loose from last night. I wish I could remember last night, at least.
He let me breathe soon after, clambering off me to find lube. "Stay there," Gary ordered.
I obeyed. He shed only his pants and underwear, and before I could sit up properly Gary was on top of me again, slicking us both up with copious lube with one hand in a kind of desperate rush that excited me.
"You were going to never tell me about this," I teased him.
He acknowledged that comment only with a smirk. "Hold your dick for me," he said.
I did, watching closely as Gary positioned himself above me with incredible balance. He used both hands to pull his plump ass cheeks apart, and lowered himself towards my straining cock.
His sphincter brushed the head, then he clenched so that the tight ring kissed my glans and sent a shock through my pelvis.
"Fuck, Gary."
"Are you sure you're ready?" he asked cheekily.
"You're fucking cruel."
He repeated the action, watching how my abdomen quivered as I tried to stay still for him. "You sure?"
"Gary, come on," I begged.
Maybe that was exactly what he'd wanted to hear, because Gary bit his full bottom lip and sank down on my cock. Yes, we'd done this before, but I was completely unprepared for just how good having even the tip of my dick inside him felt. The heat, the grip, the way Gary kept lifting up just a little only to work more of my inside him; I had to concentrate to keep holding my shaft so he could keep going.
Finally he had enough of me inside of him to put his knees on the mattress, caging my ribcage between his knees. Gary touched me like he had known me forever, running over my chest with the exact right pressure to drive me crazy. He took my hand from my dick and placed it on his stomach underneath his shirt. I felt him flex as he began to ride me, slowly, then working up a tempo to rival the drummer from last night.
Almost like a prayer, I exhaled, "Oh my god, that is so fucking tight."
"You want to move?"
"Fuck yes."
Gary leaned over to let my free arm wrap around his slender hips. "Go ahead," he said with a grin I never would have seen sober before now.
My hips moved like a machine, my heels pressed firmly in the mattress so I could give Gary what he wanted. What we both wanted. The meaty slap of our bodies filled the room obscenely.
"That's it, straight boy," Gary said with a grin. "Fuck me."
I reached for his jaw and Gary bit my fingers.
"You make my cock feel so good," I told him truthfully.
"You make my ass feel so good," he rejoined, but he pulled my head to his for a hot, breathy kiss. Our tongues slid together; our breath clashed. Gary liked it a little rough, I thought I remembered, but affectionate. How could I have ever forgotten these feelings? The way we fit together, the way we fucked should have been branded on my mind after the first time.
Gary broke our kiss with a lusty moan. "Oh my god, you're so big."
I grinned. "You like that big dick in your ass?" I squeezed the flesh in question.
"Yeah, give it to me."
He was close, then. I pounded up into him as Gary groaned, screamed my name, gripped my pecs with one hand and pulled his hard, weeping cock with the other. The wonder of seeing him so lost in his lust overlaid the heat of his hole working my hard shaft. I was close, too.
"Can you come?" I asked him.
Gary nodded down at me. "Keep going."
"Yeah?"
"Please keep fucking going."
Hearing him plead for my dick drove me over the edge. I rolled us over and yanked his legs up to hold his thighs as I pummeled his ass with my cock. Gary's face scrunched with pleasure as he neared his climax, one hand pumping his shaft frantically.
"Come on," he said. I couldn't tell if it was a request or a command. "Come on, Nick."
Holy shit that did it for me. My hips went into overdrive, slapping my tightening balls against his juicy ass more erratically as my orgasm began, fucking Gary like I was trying to break him. I heard him yell, but my brain was on fire, exploding into a shower of ecstasy that raced down my spine and thundered out of my cock.
"Fuck," I groaned as I came down.
Gary panted beneath me. He'd come, too—the whitish specks of his cum were already blending into his undershirt.
He blew out a gust of air. "Holy shit," he told me, "you're even better when you're sober."
I pulled out gently, another sense memory of Gary coaching me through this part tickling the back of my mind. "I had a good teacher."
I looked down at the mess I'd made of my coworker. His cheeks were flushed red, sweat beaded on his smooth forehead and slicked errant strands of his red hair. His legs spread wide. My cum trickled out of his incredible ass. We had—did we seriously just fuck raw? For real?
"So," Gary laughed, out of breath, "what do you think, now that you've done it sober?"
I looked down at him. "I think I like it." I liked it a lot. It might have been the best sex I'd ever had, and I was only mad that I couldn't remember enough about all those other times we'd been together. A year of this? If I had known, I never would have let Gary leave the bed.
He smiled, the one from my secret encyclopedia that I knew was special just for me that tilted up one side of his mouth higher than the other. "Good."
"I'll..." I swallowed, feeling the weight of what I was about to say in my throat. "I'll be sober from now on."
"Nick, you don't have to go out with me just because you feel bad," Gary said, moving to sit up.
"I'm not!" I contested, flopping down to throw an arm over his chest. Anything to keep him there as my brain caught up with my body's experiences. "I'm really, really not."
"Good." He smiled, then seemed to get uncomfortable with me looking at him so closely.
"Good," I replied with a grin. "Wait a second, why does Steven actually hate me if he doesn't know we've been sleeping together?"
Gary laughed. "You roasted him for his music taste, which was a bad first impression. And I’ve bailed on him a couple times to be with you, so he thinks you’re a really needy, probably alcoholic coworker who I take care of way too much."
"He might be right," I responded. "I'm hungry now. Food?"
"Food if you're buying," said Gary as he rolled over and grabbed his jeans and underwear off the floor. Even through the odor of sex and sweat, as Gary shook out his clothes the faint scent of sandalwood drifted to my nose.
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