Page 2 of The Deviation

At his distraction, the man he’s with starts to turn, and he snaps his focus back to their conversation. The connection between us cuts off, but it’s far from over.

My whole body is hot, restless, itchy with sensation. My clothes irritate. Even my nipples are tight. Without thought, I bite down on my bottom lip, allowing the pain to drag me back from the brink of temptation. The reflex is old, it’s automatic. It’s also unnecessary.

I’m not married anymore. I’m free to do whatever I want, with whomever I want. It won’t be cheating. It won’t be wrong. And for the first time since my marriage ended, I want something to happen.

Relief blossoms in my chest as I let go of a stale, belated sigh. There were times I wondered if I’d ever feel anything for anyone, ever again. But this man… he has me feeling all the things—all in the same horny, joyous, overwhelming moment.

The strength of my reaction to the gorgeous ginger-haired man is surprising, but hardly a shock. I was seventeen when I discovered my fervent and expected attraction to girls came with an equally fervent and unexpected attraction to boys. But Ellie and I were childhood sweethearts; we’d already been together for two years. Our relationship rendered my bisexuality redundant before I even realised it existed. She was my first kiss, my first girlfriend, my first everything. My only everything. I would have lived my whole life that way and had no regrets, except… now I don’t have to.

I look up at my ginger. He’s giving me a once over. A covert, but interested, once over. I smile as our eyes meet again. His dart away. His jaw tightens and he pretends to ignore me. Oh no, it’s too late for that now.

The desire to satisfy every curiosity rushes over me. What would it be like to touch a man? To kiss and hold and be held by a man? I want the roughness of his stubble against my cheeks. I want the smell of his sweat, the taste of his skin. I want hard muscle and low, rumbling moans. But I don’t want to experience these new and untested sensations with just any man. It has to be him.

That man.

Right there.

“You’re right,” I say to Toni, lightheaded with lust and hope. “I’ve dreamed of being here most of my life. No more moping on the sidelines. It’s time to enjoy it.”

Toni nods in my periphery. “That’s more like it. The ladies won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Grinning, I lean down to speak low in his ear. “What if it’s not a woman I’m hitting on?”

He laughs out loud, eyes widening. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

Ned looks between us curiously, but I don’t let him in on my secret. There would be shock and questions. Those things take time, and I’m not willing to wait.

I turn back to my ginger. Heart pounding. Stomach fluttering. I’m ready.

Aaand… he’s gone.

With a quiet curse, I search the crowd until I spot him making his way to the exit. He glances back at me before continuing on his way. Am I supposed to follow? Will we meet up outside? Is he planning to pull me into the darkness beyond the festival lights and do wicked things to me? God, I hope so.

Draining the last of my beer, I toss the cup into a nearby bin before grinning at my friends. “Don’t wait up.” My heart pummels the inside of my ribcage as I rush off.

The freedom I’ve resented for months is a blessing now. My isolation, however miserable, is the greatest of gifts. After all these years, I have the opportunity to indulge a part of myself I’ve always known about but never explored.

There’s no one here to disapprove of this new deviation from my expected life path. No one will censure me or be disappointed in me.

I can have this. No one will even know.

TWO

______

CALUM

I shouldn’t have looked back. Not even to check if he’d caught me making my escape, which of course he had. I may as well have held up a sign: this way for blow jobs.

My sex-deprived brain leaps at the idea, eagerly supplying images of me sinking to my knees for the beguiling stranger. Right there in the middle of the crowd. A rush of saliva fills my mouth, and I clamp down on a needy moan in the instant before it reaches my vocal cords. That’s it. I’ve officially crossed the line from desperate to utterly pathetic. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Bursting free of the VIP tent, and the tempting man within, I stride through the throng of festival goers in search of food. It’s been a long day, and my chance of grabbing lunch was forfeited when Kerbside Desire’s drummer failed to show up to prepare for their two o’clock set. I found him passed out in the band’s trailer, snoring fit to shred the metal roof. Five more minutes and the whole thing may have popped open like a tin can.

I’d prodded the poor guy awake, poured a cup of hastily made coffee down his gullet, and deposited him on stage with drumsticks in hand and two whole minutes to spare. Arthur, the band’s manager, patted me on the back—literally—before sending me off to solve the next crisis. As if it’s not his incompetence that keeps landing us in these messes in the first place. Thankfully, I’m now off the clock until tomorrow morning. It’s time for one of the other lackeys to take their turn doing Arthur’s job for him.

My stomach growls as a row of food trucks comes into view. I scan the lines in front of them more closely than their offerings. I don’t much care what I eat at this point, as long as it’s food. Joining the end of the short burrito line, I pull out my phone to call Hannah.

“Hey, big brother.” Her soft drawl is relaxed and sleepy… and a little slurred.