Straight

by Seth King

“Was that her? The girl you dated?” I look away. “It was! You acted so…familiar with her!” I take a quick breath to buy some time, then try to steady my voice. “Hey. Come on. I was just talking.” “I’ll say. Why didn’t you introduce me?” “Oh, be real – you know that would’ve been weird. You have to give me time. I don’t know what this is any more than you do.” His face goes slack. “You fucked me. You like guys now. That’s what this is.” “Ty! I thought I was straight a few weeks ago. Look at it from my eyes.” “Well, I have news for you: the other night you were moaning my name.” I look away. “Ty. Stop. Please don’t talk like that.” He turns, grabs his temples, breathes. “Okay. Sorry. This is hard for me, too. I’m falling for someone who could leave me for some chick any day.” “You’re falling for me?” “Isn’t it obvious?” “Well, no. Nothing with you is ever obvious.” “You are like the sun. You are all I see,” he says plainly. I don’t know what to say to that, because it makes me feel like I’m drowning in blue eyes. “Look. I won’t make you choose,” he says soon. “I’m not like that. This is your own journey. But just don’t disrespect me. That’s all I ask.”

But the defeat in his eyes terrifies me, and I realize I need to make it up to him. So after we return to our booth, I slide up next to him and rest a hand on his cock under the table, making sure Caro is nowhere in sight. “Hey,” he says, looking down. “What is it?” “I want you down my throat,” I murmur. His eyes expand. “What?” “I want to taste your cum, baby. I want it all over my face. We’re dating and I want my man’s dick in my mouth, no matter what happens tomorrow. I want to taste you right now.” He glances at his friends as I feel his dick grow. “We’ll be right back,” he tells them as we both get up and rush to the bathroom.

“Ugh,” he says his eyes roll back. “I’m gonna come, slow down. You turn me on like crazy. I started pre-coming the second I saw you in that suit, I swear…”

A bouquet blooms inside me, and I realize I am only his.

“Hey,” I ask in the darkness before we fall asleep. “Are you still talking to anyone else?” “No. And I don’t want to. But…” An anxious jolt zaps through my stomach. “What?” “Well, my ex has been texting and Snapchatting me, but I swear on a Bible I haven’t responded. Do you want to look?” “No, I believe you.” “Okay. Why do you ask?” “Because I think I want to be official.” He smiles. “I thought we already kind of were?” “Let’s not label it, actually,” I finally say. “This is beyond some cheesy ‘dating’ thing. You’re just my dude. Let’s keep it at that.” “Okay, dude. Now sleep with me. I’m pooped.”

“I’m mad and drunk, so there you go – that’s the truth. You walked away while I spent an entire summer crying myself to sleep. You acted like we never mattered, like it was nothing. And it’s even worse, now that you sit here and refuse to admit the elephant in the room. You broke my heart. Why do you think I-” She stops herself. I come closer and rub her arm. “Caro. Please. How do you think it was for me? I was so alone after that. We have such a history – do you think it was a piece of cake for me to just become single again? I’ve been so lonely…” She looks away, pouting. “Oh, boo hoo – you’re the one who distanced yourself.” “And you’re the one who got caught stalking me several times and trying to look through my Gmail account.” “Whatever,” she hiccups. “And you didn’t even give me the dignity of a proper dumping, you just phased yourself out.” I sigh. With Caro it’s usually hard to tell what is genuine emotion and what is just another drama meltdown, but this time she’s really crying. I pull her closer, and it fills me up with a warm, comfortable sensation I can’t even begin to explain. “Look,” I begin. “I’ve actually been thinking a lot lately, and I’m sorry. Truly, really. I apologize. For everything. I was a dumb kid and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m growing up so much, and I didn’t understand the power of my actions. It never occurred to me that you could love me.” “Why?” “I guess I kind of hated myself and my life, and I didn’t even know it. I was depressed....

All the angst melts away the second my eyes touch him – I could not be more relieved to be seeing him. I am immediately entranced by how at home he looks in such a well-designed space: his arms look especially toned under his tattoos, his flannel shirt is hanging off his frame like he’s a mannequin, and his lips are pink and wet. Once we’re in the darkness of a booth beside the bar, I kiss those lips immediately. And as I do, my heart beats at a rhythm I’ve never felt before, and I know with certainty that this, this is the life I want. I want Ty, in beautiful restaurants and stately old public parks, in shopping malls and gay bars and dark bedrooms, in countless other places we will visit together, forever, in heaven and in hell. This is what I want. This is what I need. No more back-and-forth. I am his now.

“You just kissed me in public,” he says, somewhere between confused and elated. More elated, though. I blush. “So what, this is probably the gayest restaurant in Savannah. And plus, I couldn’t resist. You are so beautiful it makes my chest hurt.” “Wow,” he says, his face expressionless. “What?” “It’s just that I didn’t think I could ever like you any more, but I just did. It just became more.” “Aw. You’re my more, too.” Finally he leans away. “So, straight guy,” he laughs after we order. “My straight Henry. What does this mean? Are we together? For real? Finally?” I swallow and put my napkin in my lap. “I guess?” “What does that mean?” “It means you take up all the space inside me, and I’m with you right now, and I want to be with you as often as possible, maybe forever.” He deliberates for a moment, then finally a smile breaks through. “Forever. That can be arranged.” “Good.” I lean in. “Oh, and also?” “Yeah?” “My butt isn’t sore anymore, and I’m craving you again already. Can you fuck me again tonight?” His smile fades into a smirk. “That can also be arranged.”

“Girl, are you kidding? I can’t even figure out my own situation, much less anyone else’s. All I watch is lesbian porn, and yet I’m desperate for a boyfriend. The sooner we forget about all that shit and just rock with it, we’ll be good.”

“What’s Ty really like? How do his friends see him?” He laughs, then cringes. “Want me to be honest?” “Sure.” “Well…everyone likes him. Everyone. And it’s always been like that. His eyes, his tattoos, his body…we try to treat him like a friend, but let’s be real – any one of us would hop on his dick at any time. No offense.” This makes me grip him harder, but I don’t say anything. “Beyond all that,” Zed says, “he really is an amazing person, and so smart. And such a big heart. And we all laugh at how he sees red whenever he sees intolerance and injustice – he wants to protect everyone he can, and it makes him crazy. But at the same time he’s just always been kind of…down. A little depressed. We called him ‘the emo Abercrombie model.’ But he’s been a different person since he met you.” “Really?” “Oh, hell yeah, girl. He laughs, he comes around more, he’s lighter and happier. At first I thought it was just because he was getting some good dick, which makes all of us happier, but then…” He trails off. “But then, what?” “Honestly,” he says, “I think he’s completely in love with you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t ready to come out?”

“By the way, I have a surprise for you.” I take his hand and lead him into my bathroom, then turn on the light. He walks up to the mirror, which I’ve decorated with Post-Its of every color, all folded in half from the bottom up. “What’s this?” “Just pull them off and read them,” I say quietly. He reaches over and grabs a yellow one. “You are special,” he reads as he unfolds it. Then he takes a purple and unfolds it, too. “You are worthy.” He turns to me. “Henry, what is this?” “When you said that thing about Facebook, and Atlanta, it just broke my heart…nobody should ever feel like that, so I felt like you should hear all the things I think about you. I won’t be silent anymore. Keep going.”

When he reads the last note, You are perfect for what you are, he turns to me with tears in his eyes. “Never forget these things,” I say. “Please. You are dream fuel to me.” I watch and wait. I’m somewhat nervous about his reaction – what if it was too much? What if he doesn’t want hearts and flowers and harps from me? What if he just wants something more low-key? “Thank you for being here through my pain,” he finally says, and I just sigh. “Oh, Ty.” “Seriously. And you forgot to add one Post-It.” “What’s that?” “You are hopelessly in love with Henry Morgan.” “Ty, you are?” He wipes his eye and glances down. “Just kiss me.”

“Let’s just start over, and get back to the beginning. I’m Henry Morgan, founding captain of the Savannah Christian Prep Lacrosse team, three-time state champs.” He shakes my hand, giggling. “Okay. And I’m Ty Stanton, president of the Savannah Art Academy’s board to enforce school-wide celebration of Pride month. Now kiss me.” “Yes, Mr. President.”

In front of her monument, he grabs me by the collar, and I just breathe onto his skin. We just stare at each other for a few moments as his friends take pictures and read gravestones.

What is love? I wonder. How do people find it? How do they let it go? Is this something we have to sink into, or can we just stumble into it in one miraculous instant? Can you find it inside any gender, or are we restricted to one? Did I love him the second we locked eyes on that bus? Is that what’s been making me so confused? Did I know this all along?

Ty asks her to get an Uber to drop us off at my house. By the time we stumble through my door, we are undressing each other. I fuck him wildly against the headboard, against my ottoman, against my bathroom wall, on my bedroom floor. We cannot get enough of each other and I love it. I love him. I want the rest of my life to contain him in it, no matter where the rest of the dominoes may fall…

I scroll through my photos over and over again until my phone dies, just so I can look at us back when we were still us, and then I plug it in and do it again. I keep stopping on one picture of him I’d taken in bed – you can’t even see his face, just his graceful neck, his high cheekbones, that artfully-built hair. Once I get lost in the photo, staring for twenty minutes, and then I finally say it. Bursting out of me like a diva’s unexpected climax during a quiet moment of a play, it just flows out of me, the thing I never said to him: “I love you.” But he’s not here anymore, and we aren’t us anymore. He’ll never hear me. And the words are sent into silence.

“So can I meet him one day?” I want to cry, but I swallow it and look at the ceiling. This was my worst fear and suddenly it’s becoming nothing at all. I was dumb to be so afraid. “Of course you can. If we get back together, that is. I kinda fucked it up...” “Wow, I’m sorry.” “Happens every day.” “Is it hard?” he asks soon. “The breakup?” “I feel him everywhere,” I whisper. “Well let me know if you want me to come over and watch a movie or something. I mean it.”

Who is the guy in Ty’s most recent picture? For a second I think she hates me, and she won’t respond. But soon she starts typing. Hey. Sorry about what happened, first of all. You heard? I ask. Everyone did. And I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s his ex. He’s in town, and they met up. Everything inside me slides to my feet. The thought of him touching someone else…laughing with someone else…having sex with someone else…it’s too horrific to bear. I need help, I tell her. I’m not ready for this. What’s going on? What is he doing? Well, they’ve been hanging out a little… Are they in love? They are, aren’t they? She doesn’t respond. Seriously are they???? I ask. Finally she starts typing again. Sorry, my dog just shit on the floor. No, are you kidding? He loves YOU. This is only a desperation thing. He’s only hanging out with this guy because he’s miserable and needs to get out of the house. This makes me feel better, but only a little. He’s still out there, with someone else, and I still feel like too much of a fucking fool to try to go out and get him back. What would I even say? Has he told you any specifics? I ask. Nothing too in-depth. But I think he feels bad, and he feels like he scared you off with some speech he gave about how homophobic the world is. What should I do, then? Just get him! Go get your boy!

“I love you,” I whisper, taken over by the force again, but he’s already ended the call. And just like that, it is over.

And so out of my door and into the December cold I run, accompanied by visions of bus rides and decks of cards and a pair of blue eyes that just won’t stop shining, no matter how dark the world around them may become…

I wasn’t born thinking that Hispanic people are lazy and black people are violent and women who are assaulted are crying for attention. Those things were taught to me, by people who’d been taught them as children before me. Inside the isolated, protected brain, evil can seep in and bloom. We are not bad, but when we allow ourselves to close our minds and become islands of ignorance, our worse impulses can take over. We have to unlearn all those things; unteach ourselves the lessons of our fearful fathers. When we see injustice in the world and do nothing, we are just like the oppressors – because silence is an answer too.