Page 21 of The Time It Takes

I didn't think so. But the truth is, I didn't know. Because my partnership with Arlie was the most meaningful relationship in my life, and emotional closeness was something I was grieving before it was even gone.

Which was kind of pathetic, whatever way you thought about it.

Chapter ten

"You okay?" My partnerglanced at me as he drove us to our latest assignment.

"Mm-hm," I said vaguely. I'd been obsessively checking my email, then scrolling social media, and I'd been just about ready to get into a further spiral by checking the forums to read about other people's drama. The last thing I needed to do. I needed my head in the game. I needed to calm down.

I just kept thinking about what the alpha had said to me, and the whole can of worms it had brought up for me. Who knew I had so many feelings about people thinking I was gay? I mean, I used to have all those feelings, but I thought they were long gone. I thought I grew out of caring so much, and feeling so conflicted, exposed, and ashamed when people thought that of me.

I didn't look down on Arlie for being into guys. I didn't think I harbored any deep homophobia towards gay people. I was pretty sure I could be normal about other people's orientation. After all, why should I care?

Some people liked apples, some people liked oranges, some liked both, and some neither. Whatever. It was a clumsy metaphor, but it seemed about that simple to me—pretty dumb to decide only apple lovers were good people.

But somehow, when it was about me, it didn't feel the same.He thinks I love oranges, but actually I only like apples. That's how little it should matter to me, literally a nothingburger. But it didn't matter that little, or I wouldn't keep thinking it to death.

Maybe I could shake it off, if I hadn't just been feeling sad that I'd miss having so much of Arlie's attention on me, instead of his date. Or if I'd been in a relationship, confident and happy, secure with myself and my girlfriend. But I wasn't. I hadn't been those things even when I was in the relationship I'd meant to last for the rest of my life. I'd wanted it all with Darby. But it all went so wrong, and I got so hurt and beaten down by all the negative feelings. I still hadn't wanted to leave, not until I had no other choice.

Some would say I took commitment seriously, trying to make it work. And some people would say I was a wuss and a fool to not notice sooner, to not get out. To wait until my confidence was so beaten down, and my trust in Darby. To wait till I couldn't even walk into my own home without feeling anxious about what she'd say or do. But I'd stayed till then. Because I was straight, I liked women, and this was the woman I'd wanted. She was so pretty and smart and exactly built to give a man confidence when he was with her—she was so perfect, and she wantedme.

And when I was with her, nobody thought I was gay anymore. I was safely and confidently straight, and those old whispers and questions went away.

Now they were back.

I thought about my college years—obsessively hooking up with any girl who wanted me, never saying no. I'd been so grateful for the sex, for being looked at like that by women. Being wanted. I hadn't had to put myself out there or make the first move; I'd just had to accept. I was young, I was horny, I was lonely; hot girls my age wanted me. Sometimes older women even wanted me.

And I'd been so glad, at that age, till I started to feel like I was just a thing to them. Then I had a few bad experiences and started to get nervous about the women who wanted me, and then afterwards, wanted more than I had to give. Like when I thought it was a hookup and somehow it turned into something close to getting stalked.

Having a girlfriend—a real, serious girlfriend—kept me from getting into that weird zone with girls I hadn't said no to, but didn't have any deeper interest in.

Sex was nice; sex was fun. But sometimes, people who wanted sex wanted to slash your tires if you didn't want more later. Maybe dating, maybe marriage, maybe something else that was mostly in their heads, and confusing to mine. It had gotten scary, because I didn't know who was going to be dangerous and who was just enjoying things the same way I was—casual, chill, a nice release.

Would my life have been different if women didn't find me attractive? Yeah, but how different? Once I reached a certain maturity—I think they call it a glow up now—I kind of just didn't have to say no. If I was in an environment with women, and available, it seemed like things just happened. I hadn't had to find or pursue, just not reject. Sometimes that felt amazing. And sometimes it felt like it was all just a game, them using me for sex, me using them for sex, passively accepting whatever was offered and never even thinking about doing otherwise.

Fine if that's all anyone wanted, but it hadn't been. I'd reached a point where I wanted to be loved, and to have a real partner. I'd pictured a happy home. It would be nice; it would be comfortable and sweet, and sexy, too. That long term, trust-filled sex, with the emotional connection there as well, and not someone new to impress each time.