A gay story: Prom Night Ch. 07 Dear Readers,
Thank you so much, as always, for the time you take to read my work. I’m truly grateful for all the comments and words of encouragement I’ve received, and I hope you’ll enjoy where the story goes from here.
You may notice in this chapter (and in others) references to Pennsylvania law. While all characters in Prom Night are at least 18 years of age (including Dominic), the law broken in this case is a state law prohibiting relations between a teacher and student (regardless of age). In my efforts to be as true and accurate to the conflict the characters are in, I wanted to make this clear so there is no confusion.
I’m currently working on the last two chapters, which I’m excited to share with you just as soon as they’re ready. Until then, hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think of Chapter 7! I look forward to any and all feedback!
Take care,
Steve
Prom Night: Chapter 7
The next few weeks were a blur of emotional and physical passion. I lost count of just how long it’d been since that first dinner together because what seed was planted seemed to be growing into something more. A fact which both had me terrified and beaming with excitement every night I drove home with another rock’n’roll song on my lips thanks to James’s musical taste.
One of the greatest hits from our dates then were bowling together over in Swanton, where I creamed James so bad he kept jesting that he was only letting me win. We didn’t dare to touch or even kiss—I guess both of us still getting used to the roles we were constructing in our relationship—in that crowded bowling alley. But later that night, after I treated him to ice cream for being a good sport, we drove over to the Swanton Reservoir and took a long walk in the dark of the deserted park. There, with only the moonlight as our witness, I gave him another consolation prize and swallowed every drop for him.
By our fourth—or maybe even fifth—date, it was decided that going out together in public was maybe not such a hot idea with how magnetized to each other’s bodies we seemed to be. That night, we went to a drive-in movie in Hinkley with only the intention of catching a second-run of the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, but I guess with all the nudity of Mr. Grey on screen we both got a little carried away. Halfway through the movie, we wound up in the backseat where James took me from behind and reminded me just how hard I make him. When I got home that night, he was leaking down the back of my leg as I made awkward small talk with my mother—a moment that now is more of a turn on than embarrassing.
But of those nights on the verge of summer where we first tended our blossoming relationship, my favorite dates were the nights after that—where we stayed in together, cooking in just our shirts and underwear to some classic rock album James put on low in the background. I discovered James’s small talent for whipping together a delicious meal without measuring ingredients and only half-following a recipe. And in turn, James taught me some cooking tips he’d picked up over the years both from his mother and from Food Network. He let me do some of our meal preparations while he took photographs of me with one of his DSLR cameras. And when he heard I’d never seen some of the older movies he referenced like Young Frankenstein, An Officer and a Gentleman, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and the like, James shared those with me too.
I shared my world with him in turn, teaching him some of my talents like Texas Hold ‘Em and even imparting fishing advice. We cuddled together and read to each other. Sometimes, we slow danced while dinner cooked in the oven—other times just teasing each other and horsing around. And sometimes, we just talked a little or snuggled up to watch a movie, where one of us would fall asleep in each other’s arms—or maybe even grow restless enough to guide the other to the bedroom.
His apartment was our safe space where we could embrace what our attraction was building, and maybe that was why it sometimes felt more like home than my parents’ house. Who wouldn’t be overjoyed with the solace of a gentleman with his arm around them and a sweet kitty like Toby purring happily in their arms?
I certainly couldn’t think of anyone.
“What are you thinking about?” James breathed a kiss into the top of my head. We were in our spots on his living room sofa—his arm around me as my head rested against him. Rising and falling with his heartbeat. We were watching The Graduate, and on screen, Dustin Hoffman was swinging a giant crucifix to keep the bridal party back as he and Katharine Ross tried to flee the church.
I hadn’t realized I had zoned out. I turned to him, kissed him, and answered, “I’m just glad to be here with you.”
James slowly kissed me back, smiling as we broke away. Toby repositioned himself from my lap—where he had been curled up—and gave us a bored look before hopping onto the floor and wandering off. James took the opportunity to draw me closer, and I watched as Dustin and Katharine boarded a bus together. Then Simon and Garfunkel played as they drove off into the city streets.
My older lover let out a sigh as the credits started rolling. He stopped the DVD but made no move to get up—only continued to hold me. I nuzzled his chest, and his hand slipped to the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair.
“Do you think they’re happy?” I had no idea where my question came from; it just came to mind.
“Do I think who is happy?” James looked down at me, puzzled.
“Ben and Elaine.”
“From the movie?”
I nodded. My brain had no idea where the track of thought was going with it. So I lowered my gaze from his, hoping to play off whatever awkwardness just occurred.
But James only kissed the top of my head again before softening his voice. “I would like to think so, baby.” He kissed my hair again and repeated. “I would like to think so.”
I smiled against him, still not wanting to look at him for reasons I still can’t put into words even all these years later. The edges of my eyes moistened a little, and while I’m no wimp, part of me wanted to cry. I took a deep breath, if only to suck in the emotional moment, and then I did face him. And my lips found his, and we kissed long and slow. His fingers weaving themselves in my hair, his other arm wrapped around me in a way that I knew he wouldn’t let me go.
My tongue collided with his. His batted against mine, and our kiss grew hungry. I could feel the front of his underwear hardening. Just as mine was. We both knew where it was going, and both of us knew we wanted it more than anything—knew we wanted each other that way.
I shrugged out of his arms and climbed over him. My ass was now perched right above his hard cock as I straddled him, my own hard cock poking him in the stomach as I drew him close for another kiss. Then his arms enveloped me again in this new position, protectively holding me from the danger of falling backward. Mine hooked around the back of his neck, and we were one—a two backed creature fused together by our mouths.
This was unlike our previous trysts, this was sensual and slow. Passionate but soft. I wonder now if it was the first time we made love instead of had sex. When our mouths broke away from each other, James’s eyes burned into mine with a secret knowing. It was the kind of look that told me he saw me just the way I was and still wanted me—just as I saw and wanted him too. Its very existence on his face brought a smile to my lips, so glad that we had found each other on prom night.
I kissed him again, my lips hesitant like they might break his. And for a while we stayed like that, our fingers roaming over one another as we let our emotions dance with each other. He traced my spine lightly and sent tingles of pleasure all over my back. My fingers traced the creases in the back of his neck, until he was sighing into our slow and smooth kissing. My bottom rubbing just a little against his lap as his erection flexed up against me. Reminding me how I made him feel.
When our mouths needed air too bad that we could not continue, our lips parted again. But my hips still rolled just enough against his throbbing bulge, the tip of my dick poking into his stomach just enough to remind me this moment was real. That James was mine.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back, watching me with that same soft expression. Like he knew I was his. I blushed as I continued to grind into him a little; if anyone had ever told me there would be a day when I’d be in my underwear straddling my History teacher, I would have told them they were nuts. But here we were on his sofa, and I never wanted it to end.
“What are you thinking?” I whispered to him.
James’s eyes lit up. “Just about how amazing you are.”
I climbed off him with a smile, and for a minute, he seemed confused. The front of his underwear was wet. And although I hadn’t felt it soak through mine yet, I knew it was from how turned on he was. When I was on my feet, I gently took his hand in mind and led him to the bedroom.
Toby had claimed a spot on the bedspread, but as soon as he saw us enter the room, he scampered off the bed and into another part of the apartment. Alone together, I brushed James’s hand away from the light switch when he went to turn on the lights. When he understood tonight’s love making would be in the dark, my fingers found the front of his shirt and lightly started undoing the buttons.
He stared at me with that mesmerized look in his eyes, watching me slowly reveal his body inch by inch as I undid the buttons. And I could feel his amazement with me—at how this situation had evolved from unexpected sexual exploration to whatever was this new territory we were encroaching upon. When I had finished with the last button, my hands grasped each side of his shirt—my thumb tips making tiny circles on the skin near his pecs as they wound themselves up in his chest hair. My eyes never left his, and James only stood there, sighing with every movement of my thumbs. A silent trust between us.
I drew nearer to him and moved my hands under the folds of his shirt. I could feel his heartbeat under my palms, feeling his nipples—which were hardening—rise and fall with his breathing. I had felt that hairy chest many times, but this was different. My older lover stood before me as not just a man but my man. He leant in and kissed me softly as I closed the distance between us.
When our lips met this time in the low light of his bedroom, my hands parted further from each other and slipped his shirt off. It fell with a purr to the floor, and as soon as his arms were free of it, they circled around me. Hooking gently under the bottom of my t-shirt and lifting it off with care. Till we were bare chest to bare chest. His arms around me again to draw me closer to him, where my hands could explore every nuance of his hairy chest while he trailed kisses just under my left earlobe. His hot breath tickling my sensitive neck each time he took a breath in between kisses.
If there was anywhere in the world I could have been, I wouldn’t have been anywhere except there against him. My arms found their way around him and drew him closer, till I could feel the warmth of his chest hair against my young adult torso. Knowing that every bit of that hair was my man’s hair. That I was giving myself—willingly—to him in a way that I had never given myself to anyone else before.
My fingers swirled over his back, feeling his back muscles as he held me close. And every audible sigh I could hear only made me long to give him more. To pleasure him in ways I previously had never known I wanted to pleasure another man before. I felt so vulnerable and frail but so alive and empowered—knowing this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Knowing that, right here and now, if nothing made sense outside this bedroom, this was exactly who I needed to be right now.
As if in agreement with this thought, James’s lips found that special button on my neck that always makes me tingle when he kisses it. I moaned a little into him, spurring my body to grind my hardness into him as I planted gentle kisses into his shoulder and neck. My fingers still stroking his goose-bumped back light enough to make him quiver and buck a little into me.
My own nipples were hardening from the electric pleasure he was giving me, to the point that every time their tips kissed the fine hairs of his chest, I felt like sighing. I pressed my body closer against him and felt my heart thrum in my ears as we stood closer together. His fingers exploring the nuances of my lower back, caressing my beltline just above my underwear. Finding the warmth of my flesh under the waistband and inching them lower, over the mounds of my glutes, until at last they fell to the floor.
When his lips reluctantly ended their soft travels on my skin, he looked down at my naked body. Then James faced me. Those charming eyes were softer than ever, telling me without words that it was okay to be defenseless and vulnerable like I was. Those eyes told me that he belonged to me too—as much as I belonged to him. No one—man or woman—had ever looked at me that way before. And while outside that room—that moment—it might have scared me with all the thoughts and possibilities of what was and what could be, in that moment, it made me weak. My spine tingled from that expression on his face, and carefully, he eased me back the step or two to the bed.
I felt the back of my legs brush against the bed. James took my hands in his—fingers entwined tight—and a moment later I was easing backward onto the bed. Not being able to see it behind me but trusting that it was there as I stared into my lover’s eyes—the same way I somehow knew I could trust him. The soft folds of the plush blanket caught me, having me the way James would have me tonight. Then he let go of my hands, his eyes still staring down at my naked body exposed to him.
His hands hooked in the waistband of his underwear, and they too joined the floor. Allowing me to see every inch of his hairy nudity in the dim of the room. My eyes traced every bit of his masculinity just as I felt his eyes doing the same to me. Until, when it seemed he could help himself no longer, James slowly climbed into bed next to me, crawling over me to envelope me with his form. I rose to meet him. His hand took my chin and lightly drew my face to his till his lips brushed against mine like a feather. It was a kiss that seemed totally new to both of us—the kind of lip meeting where it seemed both of us could feel the nervous hesitation in the other. But neither one of us stopped; I knew we both didn’t want to stop.
That soft sensual kiss deepened, and then I took his hand in mine and broke away just long enough to kiss the tops of his knuckles as our fingers entwined. Then our hands fell to the side of me on the bed, and my lips—like two travelers returning home—found his again. Our mouths deepening the kiss to gently introduce our tongues; we slowly made out like it was the first time we were making out ever.
My other arm circled around his back and held James close. His other arm did the same to me, and we were entwined in each other’s arms in such a way that I wondered if this was how true love was made. As if to answer my question, James’s lips broke away from mine to trail kisses down my throat and then to my chest. The tip of his tongue dotted my skin in morse code bursts of sensual passion.
Then he sank lower. My hand—which had been rubbing his shoulder blade and his back—found the back of his head as his lips made their trek to my nipples. I ran my fingers through his thick head of hair, knowing that, yes, this was how true love was made. He planted gentle kisses on and around my nipples for a while—alternating between them—until I was whimpering from the tingle of him. Feeling his leaking erection against my thigh, my other hand in his—fingers clutching each other the way our hearts were learning to clutch each other.
I threw myself back on the bed, arching my back as James followed my every movement. My every nerve exploded in a series of passionate overload, his chest hair making love to my skin as his tongue traced every contour of my nipples, his mouth still alternating between them. Flicking the tips till my breath hitched and my toes curled.
Hearing my sharp breath, James whispered to me. “You want it, baby?”
My fingers tightened in his hair, massaging the back of his scalp. “Yes,” I breathed. And a moment later, fearful he hadn’t heard me, I repeated it a little louder. “Yes, baby.”
To acknowledge my answer, he left a trail of lighter kisses on my skin in a long V down to my waist. The tip of his tongue touching me lighter and lighter as he trailed downward till every nerve within me was electrified. I writhed with the feeling of it, feeling like I was his.
But before his mouth could travel below my waist, our holds on each other broke apart. Then he slunk off the bed and stood before me again between my slightly spread legs. His eyes locked on mine, and I knew what was to come now. James dropped low enough to take one of my calves in one hand and the other in his other. Then he lifted them a little higher, eased them wider apart, and bent over the bed to shrug them onto his shoulders.
My hands grabbed the side of the bed I’d come to know so well lately and, bracing myself a little on his shoulders, scooted myself closer to the edge. His loving smile returned—his erection still solid at attention—and I knew I was safe and loved. Like a girl about to be deflowered by her high school sweetheart.
That smile never left me as he reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube on the nightstand. It had been full last week, but as proof of our bond together, we had used enough it that it was now only half-full. James worked some of it onto his manhood, capped the bottle and tossed it on the bed beside me. Then I felt him line up the tip against my pucker, feeling it prod the outside of my opening as we continued watching each other. Until, finally, with a sigh, James glided the tip inside me.
My breath hitched from the feel of him sliding into me, still not loose enough to take him without a measure of discomfort. But I relaxed—trusting him—and let my body welcome my lover into me like I was gifting myself to him. And like a gift to me, James was gentle as he eased into me, stopping every inch or so to allow me to get used to him before he continued giving me a part of him I knew no other man had ever been gifted before. That softness was still in his eyes, telling me he had me—that I was his. And I’m sure the look I was giving him confirmed that for him too—until I felt his pelvis flush with my ass as he finished sliding fully inside me.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that—his erection twitching in the warmth of me in that dim room—embracing the feel of the closeness we were making. But when it seemed like it would go on forever with my hole clenching and unclenching around his hardness, James eased his erection backwards till only the tip was inside me. Allowing me to feel the emptiness trailing after him as he withdrew.
Only for him to fill me up again.
He eased forward little by little until his pubic hair met my skin again. This time grinding a little against me as my ass met his pelvis. Then he eased out again, just as gentle as ever. The feeling made me melt, experiencing the pleasure spread through me as he continued his slow journey back and forth. Not rough—not hard. A steady rhythm that wasn’t fucking; in a motion I can only describe now as making love to me, James eased in and out of my welcoming body.
We were like that for the longest time, his chest hair rubbing the backs of my legs as our bodies met and parted. Met and parted. Working a steady rhythm together that left us both sighing, borderline moaning. I could feel every inch of him sliding in and back out—in and back out—to the point every nerve ending within me was tingling with passion. Wondering how I could ever live without this—without James—and knowing that I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t if I had any say in the matter.
My spine was turning to Jello from the feeling of my lover hitting that spot deep within me—that special place only he knew—and my mouth opened wide. I couldn’t make a sound or even form a thought. All I knew was the pleasure James kept hitting again and again as he continued to ease himself in me and out of me and that I didn’t want it to stop. I rode the waves of that tingling sensation as it shot from my ass up my back to my brain, until I felt that nothing could be better than this with someone you love.
(And did I really just think of love?)
Fuck if I knew. I didn’t understand the thought even after it entered my mind—like it was written in a language completely foreign to the pleasure language my body was experiencing. Only able to comprehend the nuances of those pleasure waves as they came and receded…came and receded…came and receded and came and receded and came and receded until my brain was nothing but the constant joy.
I felt wetness on my pelvis, but I couldn’t even lift my head to make sense of what it was or look at it. My face frozen in that incredible pleasure, all I could do was gaze at James as he thrust a little steadier into me. His chest rising and falling with ragged breathing as his gaze burned into me to the point that I wondered if his mind was as void as mine. Knowing that it must have been and loving him for it when the concept of love no longer made sense. When it was lost in those churning waves of bliss that were growing larger and larger with his every thrust.
I loved those waves a little more each time they flowed through me, my hole twitching its love around him every time he thrust into me. And as those blissful waves built larger and larger, I watched James angle his head back, looking to the heavens as he enjoyed me. Hearing his breathing quicken into a pant.
His gaze fell back to me, our eyes locking on each other like two lost souls who found home. James’s mouth opened but could not form words. Like my jaw, his too hung open. His voice making miniscule formations of sounds in an almost completely inaudible volume that might have been words if he could have formed them.
But I understood them.
He was close. And so was I. I could feel that volcano of pressure forming within me. Threatening to erupt. But my body fought it as best it could, my pelvis muscles tightening to try to contain it. To keep in that physical solace which threatened to drain every ounce of my being if it were unleashed. I felt like a water balloon being overflowed with only my thin efforts keeping me from popping into crazed spray. I fought the eruption as best I could, and when I felt myself losing the battle, I continued to fight just so I could feel our love making just a few seconds longer. Understanding that this was my place—in bed with someone truly special—and never wanting to give it up for anything.
But I could feel James tensing too. His thrusts were getting a little more blunt—still slow but just rough enough that I knew he too was fighting the losing battle against his own eruption. He stared at me, his expression seemingly dumbfounded that someone could make him feel this way, and I closed my eyes if only to burn that picture into my brain forever.
Then I lost the battle.
The pleasure reached its peak, and my twitching cock spewed its love all over myself. With a gasp big enough to make my brain rush with oxygen, I felt the bliss which had been threatening to break free of me finally burst. It washed over every inch of me, leaving me whimper as I teetered on the verge of coming down from it.
James grunted, and I felt him follow me. His hardness hit home within me only one more time, and then he was twitching inside me. Filling me with the liquid love he had for me. I felt his hot semen shoot inside me, welcoming the full and warm feeling of him spreading inside my hole.
I opened my eyes again, panting. He only shook his head with that same soft look, and I understood he was in as much disbelief as I was that something could feel so good—so right—that our places in the world were exactly where they should be. That even if we couldn’t put anything in words yet, our hearts spoke the same language. That they knew our connection was—
(Love?)
—something sacred that doesn’t just happen every day.
I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the moment we’d made. So I took his hand in mine, and we shared a smile. Knowing exactly what we meant even if no words were used.
***
Just before I dressed and left the apartment, I almost felt myself tell him I loved him. But before I could, I held the words on my lips, uncertain just how to put it into words. We had lost track of time together again, lying in each other’s arms in the darkened bedroom till just after midnight, telling each other secrets and making out. Funny stories and jokes from our lives intermixed with one or two feelings, until it seemed like the humor was our way of trying to put distance between the uncomfortable conversations of our predicament even when our hearts timidly wanted to embrace more of each other.
When I finally got home, I kept my head down, fearful that my father might be upset since it was the latest yet I’d arrived home. But true to that fatherly secret he’d once imparted a few weeks ago that he didn’t mind me being out late, he didn’t scold me when I came through the door. He only sat there watching some late-night movie, giving me the same nod when he saw me.
I thought of going right to my room again, still wanting to hide from the inevitable conversations with him about my sexuality. But something tonight felt better. Remembering the feel of James’s arms around me—knowing that he cared about me—I was at ease enough that the idea of talking to him didn’t seem as scary if I didn’t focus on it too much. So before I could stop myself, I entered the living room and took a seat on the sofa near him.
“What are you watching?”
“Murder at 1600, I think it’s called.” He shrugged without looking at me. “It’s pretty good so far, but I didn’t catch the beginning.”
I nodded and watched as Diane Lane fired a gun at a helicopter. Not daring to break the silence more than that. We watched like that for a while, and it seemed like the longer the movie went on, the less confident I was becoming. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe I could just hide away a little bit longer—putting off the discomfort of being near my father for a few days…a few weeks…maybe even till I went to college.
Just as Diane Lane and Wesley Snipes were entering a secret tunnel near the Washington Monument, my father seemed to take the initiative. “You know, you’ll want to hide that hickey from your mother.”
I froze, no longer able to focus on the movie. Fear flooded me, making me wonder how I could have been so careless not to check my neck before sitting down. Whatever confidence I had to handle being near my father vanished as the reality he must know set in. I bit my lip, trying to think of some response that would convince him the mark on my neck wasn’t what he thought it was.
“Relax,” he continued. “I’m just telling you so you don’t catch twenty questions from Mom. Take a really hot shower tonight and tomorrow night with the water focused on that mark, and it’ll probably be gone.” I saw him turn to me and smile out of the corner of my eye. “I’ve had my share of those when I was your age.”
I blushed a little, thankful he was trying to help me. A smile spread across my face, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. So, I only said, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dad replied. For a few seconds, there was silence with only the sounds of Hollywood gunfire on the TV screen. And I could tell there was probably more that my father wanted to say—but that he wasn’t sure how.
When it seemed like that quiet would go on forever, I managed to find the courage to help him talk too. “You know…” I trailed off for a little before putting my words in the best order. “I’m sorry about that night a little while back.”
“Nothing to be sorry about; you weren’t comfortable. And I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable.”
I nodded and looked down at my lap. The topic had been brought up, much to both of our awkwardness. I wanted to reassure him that it was me that was the issue—that he was no more responsible for my discomfort than the Pope was responsible for the prices at Walmart. But I couldn’t put my feelings into words.
“He must be quite a guy, keeping you out so late every night.”
I blushed a little more, both embarrassed and thankful all at once that my father was making this as easy on me as he could. Even when I think back now on that night—so many years later—I can’t help but be thankful out of all the fathers in the world he was mine. I opened my mouth to respond, stopped myself, and then just said it anyway. “He really is, Dad.”
I turned to face him, and for the first time that night, I felt my eyes moistening. My father smiled at me. “That’s good—as long as he’s good to you, that’s all that matters.”
“He is,” I managed. And in that moment, I wanted to tell him everything—knowing I couldn’t. Still fearful of our predicament despite the acceptance and love my father was showing me. Instead, I admitted what I could. “It’s just a little new and nervous for me.”
He nodded. “I’m sure it is,” he stopped himself, as if wanting to put his thoughts in order. “I can’t really relate to this because I’ve never had feelings like that for another guy, Dom. But that doesn’t make them any less natural or okay. You’re young, and this is the time to explore if you’re going to.” He paused again, thinking, and added. “And you’re my son, no matter what. Even if you are gay, I’ll still love you just the same.”
My throat choked, the emotions inside me hot. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t think of anything that I could say. Instead, when I opened my mouth to talk, tears starting coming down my face.
“Hey, now,” he stood from his recliner and came to my side. My father sat next to me and put his arm around me, drawing him close to him in the same way he used to when I was a child and would fall off my bike. And despite every ounce of masculinity I had, I clutched onto him and cried more. Feeling instantly better every second that he just shushed me and whispered that it was alright. That I was still a man and still his son. And that he still loved me just the way I am.
“It’s just so…”
“I can imagine, buddy,” he soothed. “I’m sure it’s very confusing. But you’ll figure it out.” The longer it seemed his words weren’t helping, the more my father spoke. And the more my tears came. But I wanted to tell him his words were helping—that I was crying because I felt safe to cry. Finally, he said, “And who knows, maybe you just haven’t met the right girl yet.”
I shook my head against him, and he stopped talking to look at me. I broke away from him, and looked at him, for the first time in my life wanting my father to know me and fully understand what I had been afraid to admit since prom night. “I’m gay, Dad,” I whispered.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
He drew me in again and held me and kissed the top of my head—something I couldn’t recall him doing since I broke my finger playing basketball in elementary school. “And I love you no matter what,” he told me. “I just want you to be happy, Dom.”
I nodded again, the tears finally stopping. I hugged him, grateful again that out of any father in the world, he was mine.
“I only have one small request,” he said, his words gentle as he spoke. I broke away from him, looking into his soft brown eyes, feeling a little tense as I waited for the next shoe to drop. “When you’re ready—when you feel like you can do it—please share this with your mother. And with your brother. Okay?”
I nodded, unable to say anything. Wanting to say everything. Knowing I couldn’t put my thanks and what I was feeling into words. So I just hugged him again, telling him how much I loved him the only way I could.
***
After Dom left that evening, James Monaco felt the emptiness of his apartment. It was a feeling that he had become accustomed to feeling every time Dom left for the night lately, so it was no stranger to him. But that didn’t make feeling it any less of an experience for him when it set in. He sat with Toby in his lap—who even seemed to be looking around, searching for Dominic—on his living room sofa watching some late night infomercial about copper cookware. Hearing the television but not truly seeing it—his eyes focused on the memory of the eighteen-year-old he had embraced in the dark only a short time ago.
The look on Dominic’s face kept no secrets from him as they enjoyed their—what? Tryst? Love making? He didn’t even know how to describe it, as he had never had experienced something quite as intense as he had with Dom. Not even his encounters with Caroline had come close to them. Sure, there was pleasure in them…he guessed. But their roles seemed written in a script they were acting out, lacking that fiery spontaneity which came so easily with Dominic. James knew he had been afraid of that feeling and its intensity for so long; now, he only wondered how he had managed to live without it.
Yes, his mind finally concluded, he supposed he found some attraction in the raw masculinity of men. It was quite a mindfuck, he thought, because he had never in his life dreamed of doing any of the things with other men that had been doing with Dom. Thinking back on his coming-of-age years in high school and early college, he imagined that he had had some chances to experiment, in retrospect. When he was a teenager and still a virgin, there was a friend of his who had offered to show him one of his father’s Playboy magazines. And in college, a classmate of his had made a running joke of playing gay chicken when he drank a little too much at a party.
But James was Catholic. And while his family had raised him that there wasn’t anything truly wrong with same-sex relationships—unlike some of the more intense religious households his friends grew up in—they had never spoken about them. And so James had grown up thinking not only that he was a man but that part of being a man meant pursuing a relationship with a good woman he could call a partner.
Now, all of what he knew—what he felt he knew—had been upended by a young man about to graduate high school. It wasn’t fair, in more than one manner.
Toby, as if sensing the heavy thoughts on his mind, placed his front paws on James’s partially unbuttoned shirt, stretched, and yawned. Then he rose and nudged his face against his owner’s, nuzzling just under James’s chin.
James smiled. What a life it would be to be a housecat, he mused. Toby would have none of these human problems. He would have no reason to feel guilty for potentially hurting a good woman whom had done nothing wrong other than accepting a marriage proposal from the wrong man, someone who didn’t fully understand himself enough to understand why he was so attracted to Dominic. Why—although he’d never tell anyone—he found some of the male nudity in Fifty Shades of Grey oddly interesting when he and Dom went to see it together.
Toby, feeling James’s mind still elsewhere, changed tactics and settled back on his lap. This time, he splayed himself on his side, doing his best adorable kitty routine when he looked up at his owner. No, James thought to himself, Toby wouldn’t have to feel guilty for any of that. Nor would he have to feel guilty for drawing a young man with his whole life ahead of him into a mess of confusion about his sexual orientation and a marriage looming on the horizon that he didn’t truly want.
He petted Toby, and still hungry for more attention, the cat playfully batted at his palm when he drew his hand away.
And, perhaps, Toby wouldn’t have to feel this longing when that young man left for the night. Before he could stop himself, the thought entered his mind. And while it made him uncomfortable, James Monaco couldn’t deny it anymore. Knowing not only that there was truth to the thought but that it had deeper implications than ever.
They had crossed a line a while ago together. And while it was not expected at all—or maybe not ideal in how it had happened—he had developed real feelings for Dominic Anderson. Feelings which ran deep enough that sometimes made James Monaco wonder what it might be like to not have to hide their time together. And sometimes—just sometimes—made him imagine what it might be like to wake up next to Dominic every morning.
***
Their nights together burned as fast as birthday candles—seemingly slow whenever they were together but quick enough that they were over when it felt like they had only begun—to the point that James wondered if there ever could be a night when Dom would not have to leave. He felt childish and maybe even a little greedy whenever the thought came to him, but he couldn’t help it. Nothing brought a bigger smile to his face than spending time with—
(his boyfriend?)
—Dominic. It seemed that they fit together in such a way that their individual personalities encouraged each other to flourish. Bringing out both solace and new experiences together.
James discovered the tranquility that came with fishing and star gazing on nights when Dominic wanted to enjoy the peaceful summer dark. He learned what bait was best used to catch different varieties of fish and how to set the line just right. Dominic discovered a love for the music of Stevie Nicks thanks to CD album copies James burned for him. And he learned enough in the kitchen from their dinners together that he could almost put together a full holiday meal for fifteen people—if he had a reason to.
But while their romance—which they had not verbally acknowledged but both thought of it as such—continued to blossom into what was beginning to look like a healthy relationship, James still couldn’t help but carry the weight of his guilt. Like heavy shackles around his ankles, the guilt and discomfort held him back, often forcing him to mull over just how terrible of a person he was.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have opportunities to correct his wrongs. He had had dinner with Caroline three times in the past two weeks, each time with the intention of politely breaking off the engagement so she would be free of him. He wanted her to be happy.
But every time he came close—once even begging the question, “May I say something?”—James didn’t feel like he had the balls enough to follow through. Drawing back from the brink of forever altering his life and using the comfort of what he knew to avoid facing the truth. Because when he thought about it—actually admitted the extremely uncomfortable truth that he might be gay—he felt different. He felt scared. He didn’t understand that feeling, as emotions and the human psyche—unlike historical facts and records—seldom made sense. And that fear was that, if he were gay, he would forever be different than the James Monaco he’d always been. James couldn’t have that. He had never felt as much of a need to belong in societal cliques before—except in the eyes of his family. This fear changed that.
If it meant being different, he didn’t want to be gay.
But he did want Dominic.
The duel of desires was a personal hell that kept his engagement with Caroline intact only by a mere thread and the future of his situation with Dominic a constant question mark. To the point that he felt trapped—powerless to either follow the desires of his heart or the desires of his mind. And that, James understood, was itself a decision of the worst kind. One that—if allowed to solidify—would surely destroy everything that he held dear.
James Monaco considered this thought as he lay in the afterglow of yet another sexual encounter with—
(his boyfriend?)
—Dominic. They lay, entwined, naked together in James’s bed in the night dim coming from the street lights outside. The younger man lay in his arms, nuzzled up just under his chin, and as the mental prediction of what was going to happen—the very real future that was being decided from his inaction and his fear—so did the thought that this was not what two men who are straight do together.
James had known plenty of jocks like Dominic when he had been in high school—some of whom had even been friends of his—and he couldn’t picture any of them removing their clothing after practice…their underwear…their jockstraps…and climbing naked into bed together. He couldn’t imagine any of them kissing…touching…sucking…and fucking each other till they came all over one another the way he had done on multiple occasions with Dom…
His thoughts were interrupted by a twitch of his cock. It had hardened again. James had already given a load to Dominic tonight—this time all over his chest—but it seemed the taboo mental pictures of his high school classmates in various states of undress and homoerotic acts had stirred a reaction in him. He ran his hand down Dominic’s soft back to the top of his glutes, and despite himself—despite how wrong it was for a teacher (especially a male teacher) to be naked with his male student—James felt himself getting harder. And when the mental image of shooting his warm, sticky load all over the younger man’s nipples—nipples James had suckled on countless times before—fill his mind, he was just about leaking.
It wasn’t fair. He may want to be straight, and maybe on nights when he was having dinner with Caroline and even kissing her goodnight at the end of it—a part of him fearing she would be able to taste some of the cum he’d taken in his mouth from Dominic—he might be able to convince himself that he is straight. But the time in the dark, naked with Dominic and becoming aroused from thoughts of other men, made it impossible for him to lie to himself. Because the truth was that he probably wasn’t as straight anymore as he thought…or maybe…just maybe….that he was never quite as straight as he thought to begin with.
And despite that desire to belong with society—to be a straight man—James feared the truth. That he was always different. That time he had gotten an erection from a physical from his male family doctor as a teenager being proof enough.
His thoughts were interrupted again. This time, it was by the feel of Dominic wrapping his fingers around him. He gripped James’s erection without a word and eased his hand upwards and back down. Upwards and back down again. Slow to start and gradually increasing pressure and speed. And yes, James thought to himself, different or not, I’ll never be able to give this up… I don’t want to give it up… God, please don’t make me give it up…
Dominic’s thumb rubbed the tiny droplet of precum that started on the tip of James’s cock, and James gasped from the intensity. His groin was electrified—a state of tensing and untensing—till he realized he was thrusting into his student’s palm. Fucking Dominic’s grasp on him.
James moaned.
“Twice so soon?” Dominic teased. He sat up a little, watching James writhe as his hand jerked him. His eyes traced every inch of the hairy teacher. His face was close enough that James could feel his breath on him, and it made him tingle.
He felt naughty.
No, his mind reasoned, this was not what straight boys did. This was not even what straight men did—lying naked and vulnerable while another equally naked man touched him. Stroked him to pleasure in a way no other man had ever done for him prior to Dominic. The thought intensified it in him—making him feel powerless and sexy—as his eyes locked with Dominic’s. His lips quivering with wordless pleading. Wanting to beg the younger man not to stop and being afraid of how gay it’d make him to beg for it.
The pleasure was building as Dominic’s hand moved faster, his pinky giving his hairy balls a light caress with every downstroke. Revving up the intensity in a way only Dom knew to do. He thrust harder, forcing the younger man’s hand further into the air as it met his pelvis. Till he was on the verge of losing control.
“Please,” he finally whispered. And when it seemed that Dominic could not have possibly heard him, he repeated himself. And this time, it was harder to hide the desperation in his voice. “Please, baby… Please…”
“Please what?” Dominic teased.
James groaned. “Please…”
As if he was in no mood to further tease, Dominic squirmed down the bed until his mouth was in line with James’s waist. Then, only seconds later, he brought his mouth down on his teacher’s throbbing erection and took it deep to the base. Dom’s face went tomato red as he went down, forcing himself to take it as deep as he could, only to lighten seconds later when he tightened his lips around the dick and drew back up till only the tip was in his mouth. The hand Dom had been using to masturbate him found James’s balls, rubbing the fuzzy orbs till James moaned even more. Panting as he fought to keep the pleasure from exploding.
It seemed the harder he tried to control the sensual feel of his younger lover’s mouth on him, however, the more determined Dom became to finish him off harder and faster than anyone had ever made James climax before. His mouth tightened around his teacher’s concrete erection, his tongue zig-zagging under the shaft as his mouth traveled down. Sucking as much precum out of his history teacher/lover as he could.
Dominic’s fingers traveled away from their toying with James’s balls to rubbing his perineum and—as he deepthroated the tip of his cock—in between his ass cheeks. James could feel every manipulation and intense pleasure Dominic was providing to him. He quivered in the delicious wrong of it all and that naughty, persistent thought that, yes, this was what he needed. That despite all of his mental efforts to latch onto a sexual identity which brought him no pleasure, he really just needed a man. Because men—he couldn’t deny—knew best how to pleasure other men.
As if in agreement, Dominic’s finger zeroed in on his hole and slid in for the first time. James just about yelped from the combination of pleasure and pain. His hole burned from the invasion of Dominic’s digit. But the slobbering wetness from Dom sucking him—the warm feel of his throat welcoming him in—was near divine. And that wonderfully taboo thought that this was so wrong—so wrong not only because of the teaching law it broke but because it was another male—consumed him, making him harder as Dominic’s finger touched a toughened nub somewhere inside him. Rubbing it—giving him fireworks of euphoria whenever Dom’s finger ran across it—until James was reduced to whimpers. Panting and barely managing that pathetic plea again and again—”Please….please…please…”
His hole flexed around Dom’s finger, wishing it could go deeper. James could feel that building tension within him, but now he was powerless to stop it. He was losing control. He was vulnerable. And as wrong as it might have been, it was so right. So right that the stars must have aligned and conspired with time to create this beautiful moment of unbelievable sensations. Right enough that he could be okay with never having been completely straight to experience this, knowing he would have admitted to being gayer than Elton John if Dominic’s finger would just keep touching him this special way.
His dick exploded, spewing forceful loads into Dominic’s throat. The tip twitched into his warm mouth like a machine gun until the skin became too sensitive for it to give any more. Dominic stayed latched onto him that special way for a while, using his tongue to coax as many remaining droplets as James could manage, until finally it was too much for him to bare and he eased the younger man off him.
Dominic’s finger departed James’s opening, and James found the empty feeling it left behind a little awkward. His mind even unable to process the fact he had just been fingered and enjoyed it more than a straight man should.
The eighteen-year-old crawled up the bed and collapsed beside his teacher. He gave him a sloppy kiss with what cum remained on his lips before rolling onto his back, eyes taking in the ceiling. And for a moment, they shared no sounds but their ragged breathing coming down from orgasmic high.
“You always feel so good,” Dominic whispered.
James nodded, his mind flood and receding like a wavy shoreline with his conflicting thoughts. He said nothing.
When their breathing finally slowed to normal, the younger man opened his mouth and stopped. And while he had said nothing, a small piece of James could sense there was more behind it. Something which was, perhaps, too difficult to put into words. He waited, both hoping and not hoping Dominic would gather the courage to speak his mind. Wanting to be there to be supportive and loving but also scared of the unknown which might further complicate their already complex matters of the heart.
After a beat, Dominic said in a low voice. “I love being with you.”
And although it wasn’t exactly an “I love you,” it filled him with as much warmth as those three words could have. James Monaco would sometimes wonder in the future if that hadn’t been just what Dominic Anderson meant and if the future of their conversation could have altered if he had said it back. After a minute, he realized he hadn’t said anything in return. He opened his mouth to alleviate the storm of conflict in his mind, but before he could bring himself to do that, he found himself speaking from the heart. “I miss you when you’re not around…and I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.”
Dom turned to face him, a smile spreading across his face. But James’s brain became so entangled with his deepest fears—that he was falling in deeper with someone he was bound to hurt if this continued—that he couldn’t look at him. He knew if he did it the image of him would only haunt him in the morning. After another minute of silence, Dom said slowly. “I want you, James.” And when it seemed his words were not clear enough, he added. “I want only you… For good.”
James’s breath hitched in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. And for as much warmth as those words filled him with, they dripped icy fear deep in his spine. He swallowed hard and managed. “For good?”
Dominic nodded. “For good.”
The teacher opened his mouth to speak, only to let his words fall off. His heart warm and overjoyed with what was happening between them. His mind telling him that it could never work. Finally, he managed, “I truly wish that was possible…but I don’t know if it ever could be…”
“What do you mean?” Dom’s face was a glass jar—empty and fragile. His tone cautious.
James finally looked at his lover, and that fragile face did haunt him. And he felt terrible for all of this—for allowing their hearts to entangle so far when it seemed that the deck was stacked so well against them. “I don’t know how to put it into words to sum up all of this…but you know that I want you Dom. And I do want only you.” He sighed, the next part harder for him to say. “But what we’ve been doing has been illegal, even though you’re legally an adult. And while I’m sure we could be very happy together, even if there was no law breaking, I don’t know if the world would ever understand… If your parents would understand.”
Dom shook his head. Moisture was forming in his eyes. “You’re wrong. I came out to my Dad, James… I’m gay. He told me he just wants me to be happy.”
The older man sat up and took his younger lover’s hand in his. Fighting off the tinges of fear creeping up his spine and catching at the base of his neck. “So you…told him.”
“Well…he knows I’m with a guy. Not…”
James nodded and finished for him. “Not your History teacher.”
Dom nodded.
James looked down at their fingers, entwined on the bedspread. He tried to remember the details of that handhold—fearing it would be their last—and tried to commit the feel of Dominic’s fingers against his to memory. When he spoke, his voice was lower. Dripping with defeat. “If he ever finds out that you have been with your teacher, Dominic…I can almost guarantee that he wouldn’t be so accepting.”
The young adult drew his hand away from his lover. “How can you say that? You don’t even know him.”
“I know people, Dominic.” James bit his lip and swallowed before continuing. “And I know parents. Your father loves you and wants the best for you. But parents also have a habit of interfering when you’re putting your life together—most often with the intent of trying to do more good than harm.”
Dominic shook his head.
“Your parents would probably view this as a situation where I had the upper hand because I’m older and the one in a position to give you a grade… And in quite a few scenarios between other teachers and students in the past, that’s exactly what the dynamic looked like. And…because of the way some scenarios like that have been, I doubt they’d be willing to believe in what we have.”
“You’re wrong, James,” Dominic whispered.
James faced him and shook his head. “Maybe yes and maybe no… But if I’m not, will you visit me in prison, Dominic?”
“I wouldn’t let them do that.”
“You might not want them to… But that doesn’t mean it’ll stop it from happening.”
Without a word, Dominic was out of the bed, and James could tell the jar broke. It killed him seeing his younger lover like that, and more than that, he hated himself for having caused that. And then, like a domino effect, he hated himself even more for allowing Dominic to get so close to him that he could be hurt this way. He watched in silence as Dominic put on his clothes, his back to him so—James guessed—it would hide the beginning of tears.
After a few seconds, he reluctantly climbed out of his side of the bed and grabbed his underwear from the floor and put them on. Then he stopped Dominic in his tracks as he made for the bedroom door. The eighteen-year-old tried to sidestep him, but James stepped in front of him, trying to look him in the eye. “All I’m saying is that this is—”
“No,” Dominic said quietly. One of his cheeks was wet from a stray tear. And the eyes that had looked up James so lovingly lately were void of joy. Hurt filled them. “It’s not complicated, James.”
“It is, baby… I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”
“Then I don’t know what to do.”
“I want to be with you,” James said before he could stop himself. “I…Please listen.”
But Dominic shook his head. “That’s just it. I want to be with you too…but maybe I don’t know if I can do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can’t visit you in prison, James. So, that leaves us with carrying on in secret…and I’m in love with you. I don’t want to be a secret, James. I want it all.”
James felt as though he’d been kicked in his stomach. Whatever words he could have said to try to repair the damage done left him as the most beautiful words in the world to him—
(…I’m in love with you…)
—struck him with the fact that Dominic was right. The weight of his realization that Dominic needed—and deserved—better than some romps in the sheets and sneaking around with an engaged man hit home. And he knew then Dom deserved much better than he could give him.
He couldn’t say anything, so he only stepped aside.
Dominic left the room. And as if hoping that he’d give some indication that he’d be back again tomorrow night or the next night, James trailed behind him slowly. But Dom gave no indication. He only gathered the few things he brought over without a word and headed for the door.
James intercepted him, wanting to say something but uncertain what would make it better. The eighteen-year-old locked eyes with him, and the deep void in James’s stomach told him this would be the last time he would probably ever see Dominic Anderson outside of school.
They shared a brief moment of silence, staring at each other. And then James broke it, saying the only thing he could. “I don’t want this to be goodbye.”
Dominic wiped his eye and looked past James, if only to stifle his emotion. “If you don’t want it to be goodbye, then try.”
“I have been—”
“No,” Dominic said simply. “You’ve been sneaking around with me, holding your life in limbo because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of being gay—”
“Now, wait a minute,” James could feel his throat getting tight.
“You’re afraid of loving me,” Dominic continued. “You’re afraid of breaking it off with Caroline—”
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re even afraid to try to rebuild your photography business. How many albums have you shown me of your work? Ten—fifteen? You have so much fucking talent. When are you going to drop your fear and go for the happiness you want?”
His chest was tight with emotion now too, and it was hot and mixed with anger like vinegar. He was afraid of nothing except prison, now; couldn’t Dom understand that? Before he could stop himself, he responded. “Then I guess you have it all figured out. And why not—you’ll be done with high school next week. The world is just one big fucking pack of gummy bears, isn’t it? You have no concept of how the real-world works, Dominic.”
“You fucking asshole,” Dom breathed. His eyes looked on in disgust.
He reached for the door handle, but James tried to stop him. Dom batted his hand away. Then he had the door open and banged it into James’s shoulder as he swung it wide. He went out into the night, and as James made to follow him, he wheeled around. And then James could see that he was starting to cry, and whatever anger James had vanished. In its place was a new hurt—the realization that he’d done even worse damage to someone he loved.
“I’m right here,” Dom’s voice was low, the fight suddenly out of him. “I’m right here, James, and all I want is for you to take a chance with me…to fight harder and figure something out so that we can have happiness together.”
James only stared at him, unable to speak.
“But you can’t do that, can you?”
“I’m sorry,” James whispered.
“Me too.”
Then Dominic turned and went to his car.
James stood watching him till he had the engine running and was speeding off into the night. Wishing things had been different. Knowing, deep down, that Dominic was both right and wrong. Wanting to go after him. Knowing he couldn’t.
Then when only the night lay before him, James went back inside, their last words to each other replaying in his mind.
To Be Continued…