Crash: M/M Straight to Gay First Time Romance (4 page)

Reid

              The money hits my account like an atomic bomb, taking my personal finances from hovering near red to way into the black. I take the time to pay off some small debts that have been eating up my loose cash for a while and buy my sister something pretty to go with her pixie frosting hair. It’s a pink and brown cupcake themed outfit that she’s been drooling over for some time.

              “It’s extremely popular in Japan,” she tells me.

              “This ain’t Japan sweetie,” I remind her. She sticks her tongue out at me and goes to try on the whole outfit. She comes out looking like a life-sized baby doll. That is the point, or so I’m told.

              “Lolita fashion is not for the faint of heart,” she says.

              “Is that what they call this? I thought they were costumes for the fashionably insane,” I tease. She sticks her tongue out at me, adding to the childlike look she is sporting. I suppose if the worst thing she does is wear frilly dresses made out of fairytale themed fabrics and tights with bows on them, then I have nothing to worry about.

              “So this guy is going to live with you for the next month while he writes his book and goes to therapy?”

              “That’s pretty much it. Of course, I will have to do all of the housework and take him back and forth, but as he gets better, there will be less for me to do. “

              “But you aren’t a nurse. You already have a day job. How are you going to make this work?”

              “The way any married couple would,” I say, chuckling.

              “Oh yeah, it’s going to be one hell of a honeymoon, with him out of commission like that.” She winks and makes several obscene gestures with her fingers.

              “Stop,” I say rolling my eyes.

              “He did pay up front. You should be sure to show him a good time big boy,” she says, elbowing me in the ribs.

              “You are so messed up. I just hope he gets along with Buster,” I say, trying to switch gears.

              “If not, Buster can bunk with me until he leaves. You can’t pass on the amount of money he is paying you. For one thing, who knows when you will see that much money in one lump sum again?”

              “I looked it up online. That’s what private, in-home care costs back east,” Reid said.

              “Jesus, I am in the wrong business on the wrong side of the country,” Darlene said, sympathizing.

              Back home, I cleared out a spare room that I had been using as a home gym. It smelled a little like a locker room, but nothing a little disinfectant and elbow grease couldn’t cure. It took me all night to move everything out and clean up. I was surprised by how much dust and cobwebs had accumulated in the room despite the fact that I used it all of the time.

              When the home care equipment was delivered, it all finally hit me. This was for real. I was in charge of taking care of another person. A moody, sarcastic person, but a person just the same. I felt like I was waiting for something but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I just felt this nervous energy build up in my body that teetered between anxiety and excitement. In all of these years, I have never had a roommate. I have always lived alone. In some ways, I prefer it that way. My sister, on the other hand, has always preferred communal living. When she was fifteen, she was one stolen credit card away from running off to live in an ashram. She has always been like that.

              “I assume you have Wi-Fi in your home,” Liam asked the night before. Apparently, his “rustic” cabin had excellent internet connectivity, which is a must for him since “I like to stream all of my shows”.

              I couldn’t shake the feeling that he acted like a brat on purpose. He ran too hot and cold for it to be genuine. Maybe that was his way of dealing with pain. God knows my coping methods have been less than admirable. I decide to dismiss it and grin and bear with him. For Liam,
for
my
Liam, I can do that much. I owe us both that much.

              They discharge him in the afternoon and set up a bunch of follow up appointments and three therapy sessions before we leave. He signs his forms as I check to make sure everything is in order. We don’t say much to each other. The nurses help him into the wheelchair, and I wheel him off the ward.

              “They are good together. I hope my husband is like that if I ever get sick,” says one nurse to the other. I forget that we are supposed to be a couple. Liam reaches up and taps my forearm.

              “Take me home, honey,” he says adoringly. His voice sounds sincere, and I am caught off guard. I look down at his smiling face and see the mischief dancing in his eyes and smile.

              “Sure thing,” I reply, going along with his farce.

              “Aww,” the nurses squeal as we turn the corner.

              “I just made you the sexiest man in this place,” Liam says once we are out of earshot.

              “I don’t think it works that way,” I whisper.

              “Oh no, believe me. They are all wondering just how committed this committed relationship is and if you will need a heaving bosom to cry on during this difficult time,” Liam chuckles.

              “So I should be thanking you for making the nursing staff believe that I am gay?”

              “No...I think I should be thanking you. Thanks a lot,” he says softly. “If you had just walked away, I wouldn’t be here today.”

              “You’re welcome, buddy,” I say. He can’t know how much those words mean to me. I am not ready to tell him.

              He doesn’t say much else as we drive home. I wheel him around and show him the layout of the place. He doesn’t look very impressed. I don’t know why that matters to me, but it does. I want him to like my house. Darlene is right. Maybe I am mixing him up with my Liam. The one whose quiet approval and silent companionship I began to crave. The strange thing is, I didn’t realize how much it meant to me until he was gone. At the time, I had the approval of everybody except the two people who mattered the most. Somehow those blue eyes filled that hole. So here I am trying to impress this cynical guy with my modest townhouse. I want him to see that living this life, no matter how small or unimportant it may seem to a big Hollywood writer, is important.

              “You have been single for a long time,” is all he says when the tour is over.

              “What?”

              “You have a few womanly touches here and there, but I guess your mom or sister did that for you,” he says absently.

              “Darlene, my sister,” I agree with him.

              Buster burst through the back door then and runs right up to the intruder. Liam doesn’t even flinch, which is a good sign. He said he liked dogs, but liking dogs and being comfortable with a charging pit bull are two different things. Buster jumps into his lap immediately and wags his tail happily. Liam makes friends right away, and I walk away while the two new housemates get to know each other. Seeing them like that takes a load off of my mind and makes something inside my chest feel warm. They say dogs have great instincts about people. I don’t know if I believe that but seeing Liam’s unguarded smile as he pets Buster and talks to him in a soothing voice means he can’t be all bad. Maybe the hardnosed act really is an act? Something he does to protect himself.

              “Do you want a beer?”

              “I’d love one, but I’m pretty sure at least one of those bottles of pills in my bag have a warning label about alcohol consumption,” he says sarcastically.

              “Oh, right,” I say. The first day on the job and I am already in danger of causing a dangerous drug interaction.

“Don’t worry about it. I have a ton of work to do,” he says, wheeling himself back into the room I prepared for him. “Call me when dinner is ready.”

Four hours later I decide to heat up the chicken, noodle, and vegetable casserole my sister packed into my fridge. I notice that, besides the continual clicking of keys and a light mumbling, there had been no noise from Liam’s room. Whatever he is working on has him totally engrossed. He barely notices when I put a bowl of food down by his laptop and place his meds in a small dish on the corner of the desk.

“Make sure you eat something and take your meds,” I say, trying to force him to look away from the screen.

“Yeah,” he says, but I know he isn’t hearing me.

“Liam, pay attention. Take your meds and eat some food.”

“I got it. Disappear.”

So I do. Even terminal patients have the right to refuse care. The money is already in the bank, and I am holding up my end of the bargain.

Three more hours pass by like that. It’s late, and I know he is going to need help getting ready for bed. Of all of the tasks ahead of me, this is perhaps my least favorite. I was an athlete. Communal showers aren’t new to me. But usually, you keep your hands to yourself, your mind and your eyes on your own business and finish as quickly as possible. Undressing Liam and helping him reach all of his nooks and crannies is not my idea of a great way to spend the evening, but a deal is a deal.

I knock on the door before I go in, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He seems angry at something on the screen.

“Hey, I gotta call it a night soon. How about I help you get ready for bed?”

Liam looks up at me like he doesn’t recognize me. For a moment, I get the urge to turn around and leave him to rot in front of that glowing screen.

“I know you need some help, so before I go to bed...I can help you if you just tell me what to do,” I repeat my offer.

He wheels himself away from the desk and turns on the light in response. Lifting his hands above his head he smiles a naughty smile.

“Thanks a lot, hubby,” he says.

I roll my eyes at his flirtatious invitation. Something tells me nothing is going to go as planned tonight.

Liam

I am having one of those moments when you look back over a full day’s work and realize it is all a massive steaming pile of shit. Not even salvageable prose, just nonsensical garbage that I am going to have to delete. I am trying to remind myself that this is a screenplay and not a novel, so the style is different. What works for script writing doesn’t fly in genre fiction, but it’s hard to resist the urge to bash my head on the keyboard until something I like finally appears.

I sit dumbfounded in front of that ominous glowing screen. It’s a love scene. They are not my favorites. I hope they get one hell of an actress to play my leading lady, because this love scene is sexy, bordering on porn actually, but not romantic. I want to fix that, but I don’t have time to get caught up in the details right now. I have a deadline to meet. Even if it’s shit, I need to meet that deadline.

              “Hey, I gotta call it a night soon. How about I help you get ready for bed?” he says.

Where the hell did he come from?

I look at the time on the bottom of my screen and realize I have been at this for nearly 8 hours straight. When I am working, I have a habit of losing track of time. I can go days without leaving the house, subsisting on energy drinks and chips. It looks like Reid isn’t having any of that. The casserole earlier had been too enticing to resist. After a few weeks of hospital food, dog chow would seem appealing. So it got eaten. And now he was offering to bathe me. I might even sleep in a bed instead of collapsed on my desk. Winning!

“I know you need some help, so before I go to bed...I can help you if you just tell me what to do,” says Reid.

Standing there he looks so much like his old self I find it hard not to tease him. He looks uncomfortable yet resigned to his fate. How many times have I seen him wear that expression? Maybe that was why I started paying attention to him all those years ago. Like me, he was just trying to play the hand he’d been dealt. Although his hand seemed a whole lot better than mine, things are rarely the way they seem. Like right now, I seem like a willing victim, asking a burly man in blue jeans and a plaid shirt to undress him. It
seems
like the opening scene of a stag film. In reality, it's just me asking my assumed husband to help me take a bath. Nothing is what it seems here folks. It’s all very innocent. Isn’t it?

It takes a moment before he realizes I’m yanking his chain, but he does as he’s asked. It takes several minutes before we find the tape and plastic to cover the cast on my wrist. I’ll be glad when this thing is gone. With a little teamwork, I manage to arrive naked in the shower.

I don’t know what I was expecting. The nurses in the hospital who had assisted me with bathing were cold. Their touch was clinical, efficient and strong. Reid was different. He acted as if I had the words “handle with care” etched into my skin. It was a nice change. Was it almost...just barely….erotic?

“If you are going to help me with bathing every day, are you going to help me flog my log as well?” I hold up my right hand. “It’s sort of out of commission right now, and the left hand just doesn’t do it for me like it used to.”

I am yanking his chain again, trying to make an already uncomfortable situation unbearable. I don’t mean anything by it, but Reid doesn’t seem to see it that way. For a whole minute, a full sixty seconds, he stands there looking at me while he tries to decide if he should be offended or flattered. I don’t mean to brag, but I am a pretty well-formed piece of clay. I work out regularly...more or less...when I am not falling off of mountains. And I’m not hideous to look at...more or less...according to my agent.

“I thought you weren’t gay?”

“I thought I paid you to assist me personally?” Now I'm just acting like a dick. I don’t need to pay for a hand job, and if I did, I wouldn’t pay this guy.

“So is this a personal request or a contractual obligation?”

“You are the one who keeps telling people we are married. What do you think marriage is? A personal relationship or a contractual one?” What the fuck am I saying? What am I doing? This is not what I had in mind. I am almost sure this is not what I wanted. What do I do if he calls my bluff? What do I do if I like that idea?

“So this is about me?”

“Yup, I’m gay for you, Reid. Are you going to help me out here or not?” I am using the pissiest voice I can muster because, for some unknown reason, my little monster is not completely averse to the idea of Reid Cummings touching me. I painted myself into this corner; I am just praying that Reid is offended enough to leave me a way out of it.

He examines my naked body, scars and all, pressing his lips together until they become a thin, pale line in his face. Then he walks towards me. Oh shit! I hold my breath as I try to find ways to make this situation not happen. I can’t just yell “hey I was just kidding around, please don’t touch my penis.” That would mean admitting defeat, and I have no intentions of doing that. 

To my surprise, he bends down until his lips are an inch from mine, and then he smiles.

“You are an asshole; you know that?” he says, helping my wet ass out of the tub and into my chair. Throwing towels around my shoulders and across my lap, he wheels me out of the bathroom. That is almost more humiliating than admitting that I had been joking.

And I had been joking. Those feelings, those thoughts, were a thing of the past. There was nothing tender or soft in my heart these days. Especially when it came to tall, burly mountain men who rescue me and make my dinner and buy my overpriced peppermint shampoo as a gift to cheer me up. Nope, who would be impressed by something like that?

“So did I pass the test?” he asks as he helps me change into pajamas.

“Who said I was testing you?”

“Did you want me to help you jerk off?”

“No,” I say a little too fast to be believable.

“It’s cool if you did. We all did some pretty crazy things in college. Circle jerks were practically a team building exercise. I just didn’t think you were serious about it,” Reid says, sounding way too cool and liberal.

“So you just whip it out for anybody who asks, as long as they are serious,” I say, annoyed by the idea of Reid standing around with a bunch of guys with his genitals in his hand.

“Not exactly. I am just saying I am not a homophobic hick. So if you
are
gay or bi or whatever, you don’t have to lie to me. You can just be yourself,” he says.

“Can I ask you something? Your accent isn’t from around here, and other than the nurses in the hospital I don’t think this place is a beacon of enlightenment and inclusivity. So where are you really from?”

“New Jersey. I moved out here to be with my sister and get a fresh start,” he said. There was that honesty again.

“Get a fresh start to what?”

“I did some things I wish I hadn’t done. I hurt a lot of people. I did some time in detox and then rehab, and I needed to turn my life around. So, I moved,” he says. His face darkens, and his eyes get a faraway look as he talks.

“You hurt people?” I doubt he will admit to what he did. He walked away so confidently. He ran away.

“There was a guy-”

“The one I remind you of?”

“Yeah, him…”

“What was his name,” I ask because I want to believe that he forgot. He was the only person in that school who knew my name, and I wish he would forget it.

“Liam. His name was Liam.”

“And?”

“I wasn’t a nice guy back then. I hurt a lot of people, but I think I hurt him the most.”

He did. Of all the people who hurt me, he hurt me the most. He ran away when I needed him, and he didn’t look back. No matter how sexy and kind he appears, I have to keep reminding myself that that is who he is. A coward.

“Why?” I wanted to ask that question for years. Why would you do that to me? I thought we were friends. I thought you were different. I obviously thought wrong.

“I don’t know,” he says, and it’s the first time in all of these weeks that I am sure he is lying to me. Those three words burn through me as I try to get control over my temper. He remembers me; he just can’t recognize me. Am I really so different? Have I changed so much? Maybe it’s just easier for him to believe that the broken boy he left in the back of a burning car along the side of a road isn’t the man in his house today.  He leaves to get my meds. One last dose of painkillers so I can sleep through the night and a stool softener so I can shit in the morning.

I take them obediently and climb into bed. He moves in close to help adjust my pillows, and I grab the front of his shirt with my left hand.

“I am serious,” I say, pressing his hand against my crotch. I am not sure why I want this, but I do. And the fact that I am mad at him means that I won’t have any problems watching him walk away afterward. Tomorrow I won’t feel anything about what we did tonight. Right now I just want him to be on his knees, serving me. On his knees in front of the boy he kissed, abandoned, and forgot.

“If you are serious,” he says, something breathless and fearful in his voice. I look him in the eyes, so he knows I’m serious. He looks back at me the same way he did when I was the Liam he remembers. His hands grasp the waistband of my pajama pants and pull firmly. He kneels on the floor beside the bed, folding his frame, and lowering the bed so that we are face to face. I don’t let go of his shirt as if I am afraid if I do, he will run away.

He takes some lotion from my nightstand and puts a little in his hands, rubbing them together quickly. I’m not sure if that is for my benefit or his, but he seems like he knows what he is doing. I say nothing. And then, without ever taking his eyes off of my face, he wraps his large, strong hand around my semi-erect member and strokes the length. The feeling of his rough hands on the sensitive skin sends electricity through my veins. I exhale suddenly and close my eyes as I try to make sense of what I feel.

As the seconds tick by, I can feel my cock pulsating with need. Maybe Reid is more talented than I thought, or maybe I have been celibate for too long, but without thinking, I snake my hand up his chest and grip his shoulder. The warmth of his skin beneath the flannel material invites me to grasp him tighter. The rhythmic flexing of the muscles in his shoulder seduces me.

I open my eyes and look at Reid, who hasn’t flinched, hasn’t taken his eyes off of my face, and shows no signs of stopping. The way his intense gaze makes me feel is something I have never hoped to experience. Imagine having all of the intensity and strength of a lion focused on you. The fear and the exhilaration mixed in my blood and eroded any sense of self-preservation I was still clutching.

“Almost there, buddy,” he says as if he is reassuring me. I grit my teeth and try to say something sarcastic but my mind goes blank, and all I manage is a humiliating moan.

His hands perform the most seductive magic on my body. One hand caressing my lower stomach and the other coaxing a hard orgasm from my shaft. I resist the urge to wrap both arms around his neck and press my body against his. That would be too intimate. That is the way lovers embrace, and we are not lovers. We aren’t even friends in reality. None of those things that would make this ridiculous situation make sense apply to us, and yet here I am letting him touch me.

I bite my lip as the tension in my balls hits critical mass. Without warning I feel my body erupt, pumping hot thick liquid in short, forceful spurts from my body. No matter what they say, climaxing is always better with a partner; even if he happens to be somebody you should hate.

“You should warn me next time,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Next time? There is a next time?” I can barely keep my eyes open. He gently pries my good hand off of his shoulder and helps me lay back as he cleans his hands and the tip of my still throbbing cock. I watch his quick and decisive movements from under heavy lids. He doesn’t say anything; just presses his lips together tightly as he works.

He turns the light out and then leans over me and kisses me softly. The tip of his tongue sweeps along my lip briefly before he pulls back and stands up.

“What was that for?”

“That was for you because you wanted it,” he says softly.

“You aren’t allowed to do that. Not unless you mean it,” I say, trying not to sound panicked.

“Okay,” he says, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.