Page 44 of The Time It Takes

Chapter nineteen

Our week together wasawesome. We had some amazing sex, and bonded really well, and just enjoyed the hell out of it. It was such a relief, such a joy. And not having to worry about what other people thought about us was a weight off my mind.

At the same time, I was having to face the feelings that were coming up about the fact that I was bi—and maybe a little more on the side of attraction to men than I'd have guessed.

I clearly wasn't just gay. You don't have sex with women for most of your life by accident. But I'd also never had such a deeply satisfying connection, or as good of a sex life, as I did with Arlie. That wasn't an accident, either. It wasn't just physical; it was everything. We really matched, in surprising ways. Sex with him was amazing—but the warmth and connection we shared sealed the deal.

I was never going to be able to tell myself I was straight again. It was just never, ever going to be true—and it hadn't been, even before I knew that. It was an adjustment realizing that, coming to terms with it. There was grief about the time I'd lost—and grief about the loss of the identity I'd held onto so fiercely. I didn't get to be the "default" anymore—the straight guy. I hadn't realized how important that was to my sense of feeling okay about myself, and like I fit in the world. Now I had to find new ways to fit, and learn to accept myself for who I actually was.

I still struggled some days with immense shame. And other days, all I felt was joy.

I didn't want to make Arlie leave the pack, but I also didn't know if living there was going to work with us in a relationship. How accepting would they be? How much privacy would we have? The truth was, I needed some privacy to have sex. If I knew everyone was aware of what we were doing—maybe could hear us if they tried—it would feel awkward, whether anyone acknowledged that or not.

"Sure, we can get our own place," said Arlie, after hearing out my concerns. He didn't seem bothered at all.

"Really? You won't miss the pack?" I studied his face, hoping he wouldn't lie to me about something so big. I knew he liked to make me comfortable, but I could read him pretty well by now, and we really did have a lot of trust in each other. He wouldn't try to fake being okay with something big, would he?

He shrugged. "We don't have to leave the pack, just not live quite so close. It would be good to have our own place—settled, you know? Comfy."

"Yeah, exactly. You sure? You're not just saying that?" I studied him closely. "You love being near the pack."

"And I'll still love it, even if I don't sleep in the next room. It's fine. What's the other choice, get a queen sized bed and squeeze it into one of our rooms?"

"I figured that's what you'd want to do." We could get our own condo nearby if there had been anything available, but there hadn't been any units for sale here for a long time.

"Nah. I'm good with moving, as long as it's together. I want my name on the deed, like a proper partner."

"Or boyfriend," I suggested.

"Or boyfriend." He gave a small, decisive nod. "I like this. You're actually telling me what you want instead of making me guess. You're getting better at that. Is it the therapy, or the sex?"

He was teasing now, but it made me feel good. I hadn't realized I was actually getting better at expressing myself. But it was true, he'd often had to drag out of me whatever was bothering me. Now I was bringing up concerns on my own. He didn't have to beg.

I cleared my throat self-consciously. I knew it was stupid—that it wasn't going to be an issue—but some scared, superstitious part of me needed to say it out loud, and be clear. "I need a say in any decorating we do. I don't mean—total control or anything. Just. I need a say."

He looked at me, and his mouth opened, and then closed again, and his gaze grew soft. "Yeah. You do." He took my hand and held it.

He always saw me more clearly than I meant for him to. But maybe I was starting to appreciate that. I moved into his arms and leaned against him, letting myself start to feel safe.

It was going to take a hell of a lot of therapy—or something—before I felt safe coming out to everyone, or maybe anyone. We'd have to tell the pack, of course. I was dreading their reaction—or lack of reaction. I didn't know why it was worse, somehow, to have everyone know before I did that maybe, possibly, I could be into my partner. It was humiliating to feel so stupid and clueless.

But if they cared about us, they wouldn't be awful about it, no matter how they felt—surprised, thrilled, annoyed, whatever. If they cared about Arlie, they'd accept his choice.

His choice—me. What a lovely thought! He'd chosen me as his partner, his friend, and now, as his boyfriend.