Page 22 of You, Again

That night was the beginning of me and the end of me all in one fell swoop.

That night changed me for good and forever. It had scared the fuck out of me, and I didn’t do well with fear.

Fear made me hard, it made me mean, it made me dangerous—great qualities for a D-man. But it also weakened me in ways no one could understand.

Well, maybe Nolan, but after almost two decades, it was probably too late to stir that pot. He’d said it himself…the past was over and done. I was less worried about my relationship with Ronnie. I loved that guy and he knew it.

Nolan…

He was a different story.

Maybe I was being an idiot, but everything about that night haunted me. It lived in the shadowy parts of my brain and popped up randomly. It faded when my focus was hockey. But I didn’t have hockey anymore. What I had was a lot of churned-up emotional bullshit I couldn’t figure out how to process.

If I’d come home to rid myself of whatever guilt or shame I’d attached to that night, Nolan had set me free. He’d moved on.

But I hadn’t.

* * *

I wasn’t knownfor my deep thoughts, so it was vaguely alarming that I couldn’t shut my brain off at night. My conversation with Nolan was on constant replay.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

No, I wasn’t talking about that semi-innocent lip mash at the diner the other day. That was nothing. The summer before I left town for college…and for good? Those kisses were burned in my memory. He’d seemed so clear-headed and unaffected by the past. Me? I lay in the dark with my hand wrapped around my dick, reliving ancient events for the third night in a row.

Contrary to Nolan’s claim, it wasn’t just one night. It was a string of summer days where every glance and touch had led to something so unexpected, I’d had no way to shield myself from the avalanche of…desire.

At seventeen, I’d kissed a boy and I’d liked it.

Then I’d craved it.

My childhood was filled with memories of Nolan. My best friend’s little brother laughing at all of my jokes, taking every dare, and following me on some ill-advised adventures.

I couldn’t figure out what had changed that last summer.

Why had my pulse raced whenever he smiled at me? Why had I needed his attention? Why had I manufactured ways to be near him…to touch him? His bony elbow, his sun-kissed shoulder…anything.

I’d lain awake with my hand on my dick back then too, drumming up porny fantasies of Sandy Martin’s tits, only to have my subconscious switch the channel on me. Instead of soft curves and the taste of strawberry-tinted lip-gloss, I conjured images of Nolan’s tanned, toned abs and the way his swim trunks accentuated that sexy dip where his V-line met his pelvis.

And that ass. Perfectly round and muscular…we grew up changing in and out of hockey gear, PJs, and swim trunks. I’d seen his junk and he’d seen mine dozens of times. The difference was that I’d suddenlynoticedhim.

Yeah. That was one big, scary hint. Was I gay or something? Bi, probably. I liked girls and by the time I was seventeen, I’d had plenty of sex. But I’d never obsessed about those girls like I obsessed over Nolan. I’d jerked off to strange snapshots of him undressing in the locker room, tying a towel around his waist, jokingly showing off his biceps. Even his scrawny muscles had done something for me.

I’d planted my feet on the mattress of my childhood bed, gripped my dick, and let it fly. Nineteen years later, I was at it again. I was older, wiser. I’d had more women in my bed than I should ever admit. Beautiful women, amazing lovers, fun companions…but I couldn’t picture their faces or their bodies to save my life.

Only Nolan.

I shoved my boxer briefs off and kicked the sheet to the end of my king-sized bed, closed my eyes, and stroked myself. My cock was a fucking steel rod. I thumped it against my lower abs a couple of times, smearing precum over the head to use as lube before going at it in earnest.

The teenage boy in my fantasies was replaced by the cautious man with broad shoulders and a sharp gaze. Nolan was a good-looking guy and damn, he had a sexy mouth. So sexy, I’d wanted to shove my tongue inside, rip the buttons off his shirt, and plaster my body all over his. Like we’d done that night so many years ago.

And there went my dirty mind…

Those two boys kissing tucked in the arch of an abandoned church were replaced by two grown-ass men, chest to chest, sucking face as we pressed our cocks together and moved along to some ancient rhythm we knew well. I tweaked my left nipple and jacked myself a little faster, a little harder, wondering what he’d say if he knew I wanted him.

Just one more time.

I wanted to feel him, see him, touch him—so much that it hurt. How big was he now? How thick did he get when he was strung out and ready to combust?