Page 12 of For Life
She was right, but when I went to hug her in thanks, Maria pointed a carving knife at me. No consent, no hug. I just laughed and backed away, taking the stairs two at a time. I had my clothes all upstairs, though not organized yet with a last piece of furniture to bring over. The idea of such a short commute appealed to me and also scared me. It might not work out, and Shepherd was my landlord either way, but I loved the idea of being in a sex-positive and kink friendly environment everyday. And I wasn’t staying at Shepherd’s Kitchen forever.
Sorting through piles of my randomly packed bags, I found that most of my clothes were for work or clubbing. Crop tops, leather booty shorts, and harnesses had their time and place—so did stained jeans and t-shirts with pop stars and pithy phrases— but I was pretty sure dates weren’t it. Looking at my mess thirty minutes later, I still had no clue. I was the worst queer ever.
What I hadn’t told Shepherd, or Maxx, or any of my friends, was that I’d never been on a real date. Sure, a quick meal or drink out where we knew that point was to hook up, but never with the goal of getting to know one another. Between clubs and dating apps, I had never had to try for a blowjob or makeout session while we rubbed each other off, and even that I did less often than I pretended. The truth was that I’d had very little experience, and had only really dated in High School when I was closeted, so they were girls.
Living on the streets before meeting Shepherd meant I connected sex to negative things. Subsistence living and regular physical abuse had been hell. I almost considered going home to my parents and pretending I had repented. Maybe I could join the Catholic priesthood with the rest of the repressed gays in their religion. But no, I couldn’t and wouldn’t.
Flopping onto the bed and checking the time on my phone, I realized Maxx would be there in less than an hour. My eyes caught on my black boots on the floor, one of the most expensive items I owned from an awesome thrift store on Folsom. Alright, maybe I could pick one thing and build off of that. My new roommate July was a fashion designer, and he was always saying you could make a complete outfit off of one piece. So, what goes with black, lace-up boots?
“Ah-ha!” I spotted the new black overalls I’d bought for work. No stains yet, and matched the shoes. I could match black with black, I wasn’t completely hopeless! But that was so boring, and I was anything but boring.
Digging through my piles of shirts and accessories, I found a pink crop-top with “Queer” in rainbow metalic lettering. I slipped it on and it did show off my arms perfectly. Now, accessories. A newsboy cap felt silly, as did my cowboy hat, but a knit beanie felt right. Belt? No belt. Maybe a scarf in case we ate outside? I had a rainbow one and a black one, but I figured my shirt was my pop of color. After slipping on my overalls, I polished my boots quickly and went to brush my teeth.
Hair under a beanie, and no need to do my hair when I was going to wear a helmet, I went down to the restaurant to wait. The breakfast rush was on, with a mix of customers from hipsters to families, and those with shopping carts holding all their worldly possessions. I didn’t know if there was anywhere else you’d see that accepted, and was thankful I got to work there.
Grabbing a croissant breakfast sandwich, in case I was too nervous to eat when out with Maxx, I sat at a sidewalk table. Exactly on time, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle pulling up. Maxx was clad in leather again, but it looked like he opted for a white t-shirt underneath. I supposed he had ruined his button up.
Seeing him dismount as I rose to greet him—thick thighs gripping the seat then tossing one leg over to stand as he removed the sleek black helmet and ran gloved fingers through his hair— had my mouth going dry.
“H-hi, Maxx.”
“Hi, Ant.”
The smile he gave me made me warm all over. Oh yeah, I had a crush. The motorcycle, leather, and sexy body were all doing it for me too. I wanted to lick him from head to toe and then up the backside again…
“...so I was thinking we could go to a place on the wharf. Or did you want to eat here?”
“Yeah, sounds cool,” I realized I’d missed part of what he said in my distraction. “I mean, no to here, yes to your choice.”
Stammering was not hot.Get it together, Anthony!I chastised myself internally when Maxx handed me a spare helmet. He helped me put it on again while I swooned, but kindly didn’t comment on my behavior.
The ride to the wharf wasn’t as fun as the first time. Lots of red lights and my anxiety making me self conscious of if I should hold on when we stopped. Maxx must have noticed my unease, because he paced a hand over mine to hold me there for the rest of the ride.
We had a comfortable silence from the bike to the wharf, and kept sneaking glances at each other to look away quickly everytime we got caught. The place was cute and a little bit eclectic, with knick knacks and San Francisco themed items to buy. There were seats outside and string lights on even in the morning, but it didn’t look too busy. Maxx walked me in with a hand on my back and opened the door for me.
“Such a gentleman. Thank you.”
“Welcome,” he said gruffly, stopping just inside. “I thought we could order and stay inside since it’s still foggy?”
We got our drinks, an iced mocha for me and dark roast for Maxx, and picked a quiet corner with two cozy chairs in weird patterns.
“So, I-” Maxx started.
“Do you-” I stopped myself. “Go ahead.”
“I was hoping to get to know you better,” he finished more confidently. I loved seeing a big strong man get nervous, because it made me feel less bothered about my own insecurities.
“Let’s start over,” I suggested, “Like we haven’t seen one another naked or when you were working a case.”
“I’d like that,” Maxx grinned at me as he set his mug with the city skyline down to offer his hand, “Hi, I’m Maxx Wu.”
Restraining from asking why he didn’t reveal his whole naming history to me like when we’d met at the club, I held my hand out too. “Hi, I’m Anthony Costa, but I go by Ant. And my pronouns are they/them.”
“Oh,” Maxx sat up straighter, looking like he got called in class when he didn’t study, “My pronouns are he/him. I should have asked you yours at the club. The others had to correct me.”
Waving a hand dismissively, I got it. “You haven’t done anything wrong. And now you know.”
Maxx nodded and drank his coffee. We were a little awkward, but I liked watching him squirm.