Before I felt comfortable with my positioning on the Kinsey scale, I was dishonest with myself too, because the truth hurts and consonants and vowels can bruise just as easily as sticks and stones. They all didn’t stem from drugged up reunions or drunken encounters either. Most of them don’t bother with the gray areas because it’s a lot easier not to. In fact, I’d wager that the majority of the men that I’ve slept with in life identified as straight. I guess curious about.”Īfter some prolonged uncertain expressions from me, some nervous chuckling from him, a meek acquiescence on my end, I was in between his legs, tugging down his basketball shorts as he reaches for his laptop and began searching for straight homegrown porn on RedTube to get him in the mood even though he’s already brick hard before the video even buffers up. “I mean, I’m not gay or anything, but it’s always been something I was. “Nah, it’s nothing weird,” he slurred, realizing he was too far in now to go back.
But the hesitation tactic was more calculated than anything, as if I needed him to be certain that we were running this red light together and I wasn’t pushing the pedal through the metal on my own. I was on my way towards forgetting he even existed before receiving that text earlier and probably wouldn’t even see him again afterwards. There was nothing to make weird between us. “I wouldn’t want to make things weird between us,” I repeated, taking a sip out of my Solo cup now. I accepted because this isn’t the first time this type of thing has happened to me. To my surprise, he sent out an invite to watch it at his place tonight because his girlfriend was at her parent’s for the week and he didn’t have anybody else to talk to about them. Life’s been shit and I’d already watched 12 Years A Slave and American Hustle and I was saving Her and Dallas Buyers Club for tonight. He wanted to know how life’s been going since I lost my job and to remind me that Oscar season screeners have started to leak. I already deleted his number because I didn’t expect I’d need it again seeing how I’d only used it to ask when our shift started whenever I’d typically forget. When I received a text from him a few weeks after that, it kind of came as a surprise. I was fired a few weeks later because I always find a way to get fired from my shitty jobs once I get a little monetary leeway and can look for something more reasonable with my skill set. I had my own life outside of that fuckin’ time clock. Like a lot of hetero men, they’ll be cool with you in private company, but when they’re in a space where they can be judged, they act aloof. I assume he had to field jokes about being partnered up with the faggot and he’d defend himself because his fragile masculinity had no choice. We’d eat the clock analyzing Tarantino films and when it was time for lunch, he’d branch off toward other employees and pretend we didn’t. Dialogue started off scarce, but as the weeks went by and the realization that I probably wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon, you find a little more common ground and it goes slightly deeper. It was everything they teach you in the sensitivity training videos I always cringe at. He knew I was gay and treated me accordingly as the environment called for. The classic: “I heard men give better head than women.”Ī few weeks prior, we worked together during one of my stints of blue collar fuckery.
When the boilerplates stretched as far as they possibly could, he finally decided to caution himself into. When the convo paused, he’d ask another question and I’d answer as quickly and positively as I could. I pretended I didn’t sense the awkwardness of it all and answered his questions with comforting facial expressions.
He downed the remnants of his Solo cup and stumbled into a conversation about homosexuality. It wasn’t long after Rayon strutted into the Dallas Buyers Club bootleg that he had finally found his segue. I could see him playing Scrabble in his head trying to find the right words. Coming out of his bedroom with a comforter under his arm, he sat back down next to me and pressed the spacebar on the pirated Oscar season screener neither of us were really paying attention to on his MacBook. He had agreed to let me sleep on his couch as a way to extend his opportunity. It was a bump to a conversation that had long past grew stale. It was sometime around the witching hour and I assume he waited as long into the night as he possibly could. “I wouldn’t want to make things weird between us,” I bullshitted, shaking my head and reaching for my drink.