Page 9 of Ctrl+Alt Submit

AARYN

“ D id you have a lot of girlfriends?” Errol asks abruptly, breaking the silence. “You know, in college and afterwards?”

I shake my head. “Not exactly. I had some college hookups, but we were usually working on the same projects or whatever. Once I started doing my own thing, things kind of dried up for a while. I was just too busy .”

“What about after business started to take off and you started making it big?”

I snort. “Oh yeah, that changed things. All of a sudden, girls who wouldn’t give me the time of daygot over themselves real quick. So yeah, I guess I… enjoyed myself. But I still didn’t have a lot of girlfriends.”

“No?” Errol sounds surprised.

I sigh. “I think I spent too much time wondering if the women who came onto me were really interested in me, you know? Wondering if they would’ve been nice or bitchy if I’d known them back in high school,” I admit.

I’ve never really talked about this, the way my heart always tripped over my brain, the way I’d get stuck in my own head.

“Just women?” Errol asks.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Just figured you might’ve had guys throwing themselves at you, too.”

“Oh. Uh, not really. I don’t think so, anyway.”

Errol snorts out a laugh. “You’d know. Dudes are pretty fucking blatant.”

Interesting . Back in high school, I kind of figured Errol might be into guys based on some comments he dropped, but I never came out and asked. I figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would. Not like either of us were hooking up with anybody back then, anyway.

The unusually authoritative tone of Errol’s response makes me think my earlier half-formed hunch might be right. I huff out a little laugh and hope I can make this sound casual instead of prying. “Now that sounds like the voice of experience.”

A grin curves the corners of his mouth up. “Yeah. You could say that.”

I’m surprised. Not about the gay thing, but that Errol came out of his shell enough to seek out connections with other people who weren’t me. I should be happy for him. I should be proud of him for overcoming whatever force held him back from talking to anyone but me. But instead, strangely —

“Everything OK?” he asks, and I realize there’s a scowl on my face.

I’m embarrassed at the inexplicable possessiveness that suddenly sprung up inside of me.

The sensation snakes through my guts, sharp and tight.

I’m driving on a straight highway, but my thoughts keep taking hairpin turns and wild detours.

And I’m not going to be able to stop myself from asking a question that’s going to make me sound both nosy and needy.

“You’re not, um — are you like, seeing or dating anybody now?”

Errol looks astonished. “Oh God, no! Not in months .”

I’m going to feel like an ass if I look anywhere near as relieved as I feel.

“Oh, OK then.” I try for humor to dispel the tension I sense I’ve just created between us.

“Wanted to make sure some big, hunky boyfriend wasn’t going to show up at the house later and flatten me because I’m moving in on his turf. ”

“ Pfft .” I dart another glance at Errol and see him roll his eyes. “No. Sheesh. And besides —” An amused look steals over his features as he shakes his head. “ Hunky ? Really?”

“Beefcake isn’t your type?” I say with a smirk. I sigh inwardly at myself. For God’s sake, why are you thinking about this? Whatever gets his dick hard has literally nothing to do with you.

Errol is quiet for long enough that I briefly take my eyes off the road again. He gives me a sharp look that makes my heartbeat pick up before he says, “Not exactly.”

Oh, good. Wait, what? Where the hell did that thought come from? Why is it in my head?

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice the panicked argument my mind is having with itself. “I don’t think I really have a type , if you mean like features or a particular physique or whatever.” He shrugs. “It’s more of an attitude.”

I snicker. “BDE?”

I’m surprised when Errol flushes. “Um, it’s… I like some kinky stuff. I like sex that’s as much mental as physical. Power dynamics, dominance, submission —that kind of thing. Honestly, I don’t think I’m wired for vanilla sex. I’ve tried, and it just doesn’t do much for me.”

I hope my face isn’t showing whatever I’m afraid it’s showing. “Oh. So you get off on, like, ordering guys around or tying them up or spanking them when you fuck them?”

“When I fuck them ?”

“Well, I…” God, I’m an idiot. “I mean, do you…” A complete idiot.

Errol lets me flounder around for a few seconds before asking, with amusement in his voice, “Are you asking if I’m a top or a bottom?”

I’m relieved that I didn’t offend him. I’m also wildly embarrassed —and only slightly less-wildly curious. “Um, I guess?”

“I’m pretty much one hundred percent bottom. I guess if I was with somebody who really wanted me to top them, I might occasionally, but it just makes me feel awkward.”

“Huh.” Don’t picture it, don’t picture it, don’t picture it.

“And I definitely skew submissive. I know the assumption is that bottoming and subbing are the same thing, but I’ve encountered dominants who want their sub to fuck them.”

I didn’t make this assumption. Mostly because I didn’t even know there were assumptions about this kind of thing. “Ah,” I say, feeling stupid.

I did not see this coming. Lo and behold, my shy best friend has a secret wild streak — not to mention what sounds like a lot more sexual experience that’s not vanilla , to use his term,than me. I’m way out of my depth here. When did Errol , of all people, turn into an expert on kinky sex?

I’m dumbfounded. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also at least a little bit curious.