Page 6 of Coming Clean

Connor

F inally done with the day, I crashed on my couch and turned on the TV.

I flipped through channel after channel, eventually stopping on a soccer game I didn’t really care about.

A few minutes later, I realized I didn’t know the score or what team had possession of the ball.

I’d been too busy daydreaming about Jeremy, wondering if his blond hair felt as smooth and soft as it looked, how his plump lower lip would feel between my teeth, and whether his eyes would widen just before I kissed him the way they did when I’d realized Jeremy was staring at my crotch.

I’d never kissed another man. I’d fucked men, jerked them off, and received blowjobs, but I’d never kissed a man on the mouth. Kissing represented a level of intimacy I wasn’t comfortable with. Sex had always been about what my dick needed, not some screwed-up version of romance.

A few years ago, I would have argued I wasn’t going to kiss a guy because doing so would make me truly gay. Jesus, that was so stupid. I was gay, nothing was going to make me more gay than wanting to stick my dick up a guy’s ass or feel a man’s body move under me.

I’d only hooked up with a few men since I’d finished my last tour.

None of them had done anything for me beyond filling a basic need.

They damn well hadn’t made my heart pound the way Jeremy did.

What was wrong with me all of a sudden? Jeremy was about as far from my type as one could get.

I liked military guys, didn’t I? Or had I just liked what was available?

Along with a slender frame, Jeremy had soft features and delicate, long-fingered hands.

He wore thin, gold-rimmed professor glasses, which was appropriate since he was a fucking English professor, one who specialized in poetry—yes, I had cyberstalked him.

Jeremy was smart as hell and wealthy, at least after his inheritance.

I had barely made it through high school.

I earned enough to pay the bills but not much more. He was completely out of my league.

I needed to forget about him. Why did I find him so fucking attractive anyway? He’d been tongue-tied and maybe a little crazy—weren’t all professors a little crazy? And those socks, those damn cock socks.

You said you liked them.

I was just being polite.

Sure you were.

They were absolutely not sexy. I do not have a weird sock fetish.

Sounds more like you’ve got a nerdy poetry professor fetish.

No. I. Do. Not.

I could feel my conscience laughing at me. Fuck!

I pushed myself off the couch. Maybe I needed to get laid. I was going out, and I was going to find someone to fuck, someone who was nothing like the beautiful professor I could never have.

I pulled out some jeans that fit like a second skin, and a black t-shirt. I was going to find a guy to fuck, one who liked a strong man to give it to him hard and rough. Would Jeremy like raw, nasty sex or would he like it sweet and gentle? No. No. No. I was not going to think about Jeremy.

I tossed my clothes on the bed and headed for the bathroom. Once I was showered and dressed, I grabbed my keys and headed downtown to a bar I’d been to a few times since moving to Asheville.

Miraculously, I found streetside parking a few blocks from my destination. When I stepped into the barely lit bar, I glanced around. There were groups of guys clustered around the pool tables toward the back, and a row of men with their backs to me at the bar, only one of them turned around.

Fools. I’d sure as hell never sit with my back to the door. Always watch your six. Didn’t they know that?

I found a seat at the far end of the bar and turned so I could see my surroundings.

When I finished my first beer, I had yet to see anyone whose bearing screamed “I need to be pounded by a big, tough Marine.” Someone appealing would eventually show up.

Probably. Either way, I could wait. I was good at it, even when I hated the sensation of time ticking by.

A few minutes later the door opened and two men walked in.

One of them was laughing, if you could call it that.

The high-pitched, nerve-grating sound carried easily across the room.

I was so distracted by the man’s impression of a dying hyena that I didn’t look at his companion for several seconds.

When I realized who it was, I nearly fell off my stool.

I looked down quickly as Jeremy turned my way. This was a disaster waiting to happen. I’d been right. A man I wanted had come through the door, but I damn well wasn’t going home with Jeremy.

Are you so sure he wouldn’t say yes?

He’s already with someone.

Who might be a friend. It’s not like they’re obviously that kind of together.

More importantly, he’s a client.

So? It’s not like you have a boss to answer to.

He’s not my type. He looks like a strong breeze would snap him in two.

Um… according to your dick he actually is your type.

I had really wanted a rough, nasty fuck, but now that I was in danger of being recognized any second, it wasn’t looking like I would go home with anyone.

Jeremy and his friend headed toward the back. Jeremy was the one laughing now and rather than grating on my nerves, the sound made my cock stir. Longing, harsh and deep, like the thirst I felt under the desert sun, took hold of me. I did not need this.

Hyena Boy led Jeremy to a table. Fortunately, Jeremy took a seat facing away from me. As I watched them talk and laugh together, I had the urge to grab his friend, drag him to the door, and toss him to the curb. I did not want that bastard anywhere close to Jeremy.

Jeremy hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, not that there had been any reason for him to.

The man with him looked familiar, but where would I know him from?

He was fairly nondescript: medium build, brown hair, dressed in black pants and a button-down like he might have come from an office job.

Then he crossed his legs, and his pants rode up enough to show his socks.

Neon stripes. Was this the friend who’d given Jeremy his outrageous socks? If so, were they really just friends?

I drained my beer and clinked the pint glass down.

Jeremy’s love life, or lack of it, was none of my business.

As I paid for my beer, I suddenly remembered where I’d seen Jeremy’s friend.

Rita, one of my longest-standing clients, had recommended Spit Shine Clean to Jeremy.

Hyena Boy lived next door to Rita. I often saw him leaving for work when I showed up to clean Rita’s house.

I’d never seen Jeremy there, though. And I would’ve remembered him, since apparently poets were my new thing.

I realized I didn’t actually know if Jeremy was a poet himself or if he just taught people about poetry, but it didn’t matter.

I’d never understood poems when I’d tried to read them in school, and if Jeremy tried to teach me anything I wouldn’t hear a word because I’d be too busy thinking about how much I wanted to push him up against the wall, rip his pants down, and fuck him until he begged for more.

I continued to observe the two men, waiting to see if they kissed or did anything else that would indicate they were lovers, not just friends.

But other than Hyena Boy’s casual arm around Jeremy’s shoulders, I saw no physical contact.

A noisy group of four men and two women walked in a few seconds later.

The men struck up a game of pool while the women settled on stools to observe, looking rather bored.

I watched as Jeremy prodded his friend’s shoulder.

His friend started to laugh and then covered his mouth, which made both of them lose it.

When they finally settled down, Hyena Boy stood and walked over to lean against the wall next to where the women were perched.

One of them, a redhead with enormous breasts, smiled at him and they started what looked like a serious flirtation.

Except that didn’t make sense. Wasn’t Jeremy’s friend gay?

Jeremy didn’t look the least bit confused, though. He smiled at his friend with what looked like encouragement.

Get up and go talk to him.

No.

You want to .

I want a lot of things I’m not going to get.

Don’t you remember how he was eating you up with his eyes this morning?

Going over to him is the same as outing myself.

Who’s going to care?

Me.

Why?

I don’t fucking know, all right? I’m used to hiding. It’s…

Fucking stupid.

I don’t need everyone making a big fucking deal about who I like to fuck.

Who’s everyone?

He’s a client. I don’t fuck clients.

You’re a housecleaner, not a lawyer. What difference does it make if you fuck him and clean his house?

What would that make me? His rent boy?

That could be a fun game.

No, it couldn’t.

Seriously? You wouldn’t enjoy that at all?

Fucking hell. I wanted to bang my head on the bar.

Just go talk to him.

I seriously considered it. I watched Jeremy as he watched his friend. His expression changed from amused to wistful. What was he longing for? Did he want his friend to join him again, or did he want something else?

My mind made up, I stood and headed for the door. Whatever Jeremy needed, I wasn’t the one to give it to him.