It's Like This (3 page)

“Are you drunk?” he asked, suddenly right next to the bed, looking down at me.

“No,” I half-lied.

“Good,” he responded, his voice rough but sure. And then he was over me, thighs gripped tight, straddling mine, his hands anchoring mine to the bland quilt at my sides. He mashed his lips against mine without a second thought.

For what seemed like a full minute, but for what was probably only a second, I didn’t get it. I didn’t know what he was doing. I remember my brain trying to process what was happening, seeing his eyes clamped closed and scrunched, and feeling his inexperienced mouth connect with mine.

I didn’t get that he was kissing me until I did, and then my first reaction was to wonder
why
he was kissing me. Clueless suggestions bombarded my mind: maybe he thinks I’m a girl, or maybe he’s sleepwalking, or maybe I’m having some fucked-up Freudian dream that I should never tell anyone about. But finally, I got it. He was kissing
me
. Rylan was persistent. I mean, I wasn’t giving him shit in return, but he was kissing my lips over and over again, not knowing if he could use tongue. It was therefore darting awkwardly out before retreating worriedly into his mouth again. I had to make a choice. I could push him off. I knew we could both plead drunkenness and never speak of this again, or else I could kiss him back.

In the end, my dick made my choice for me. Him rubbing against me as he attacked my mouth got me pretty hard, pretty quick. Looking back, I think that that reaction was probably the crotch friction in combination with my hands being held down, but I hadn’t really clued into my more…non-resistant side at that point. So: an erection, and the terrifying realization, “Holy shit! I’m a fag!”

Because a guy was kissing me and it was making me hard. In the end, I figured that since I was fucked already, I might as well kiss back. So I did. At that moment, I heard the only sigh of relief that I have ever heard Rylan make. Within minutes, his tongue was officially done with hanging out in his mouth, and so I tried to kiss him back with tongue too, mainly to disguise the fact that I didn’t know what I was doing. It was messy, and awkward, and saliva wasn’t really staying where you mainly want saliva to stay, but we were undoubtedly kissing.

I don’t know if it was his first kiss. It was awkward enough to be, but I couldn’t say for sure. I don’t ask him about things like kissing, or girlfriends, or relationships or sex, because God forbid we actually address anything. It was definitely mine, though. I remember thinking, “Holy fuck, I’m kissing!” which gradually morphed into, “So, this is what kissing is like,” until my cock took over my ability to think and we just kept rubbing up against each other, kissing (mouths only, we didn’t think to explore necks or ears or anything) until we came: me then him, but not by much.

After a minute or two, Rylan started a tradition we follow to this day: he got up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smiled, and left, leaving me with a red face and sore lips and sticky boxers and a ridiculous amount of questions, not the least of which was, “What the fuck is going on?” I was sixteen. Our friends were straight. Fuck, I had assumed
we
were straight. And hours later, over Cinnamon Eggos and video games, we both acted like nothing had happened, like we both weren’t commando under our jeans. And so I never brought it up. And he never brought it up. And when things escalated with every chance that we got, I felt more and more unable to actually talk about it.

Which leaves me here: intermission at a symphony, having ignored the entire first half, like I ignore everything in life, because I refuse to address this one little…who am I kidding, the
only
fucking issue I have. But I don’t have time to think about that now, because Rylan’s leading me with determination to an unmarked door, and I’m pretty sure he’s hoping we can jack each other off before the lights in the foyer begin to flash.

* * *

“You know, you can bring your ambiguous friend along, if you like.”

“Hmm?”

I’m at Shona’s pre-gaming. She’s got her hair with that hill thing at the front, which really just reminds me of a Corythosaurus more than anything. I don’t get it. But Shona likes it and she’s subtly creative with make-up, and while her shirt is cleavage-y, it’s not tacky cleavage-y. She looks nice.

“Rylan,” she clarifies. “I don’t mind if you invite him. I mean, no offense or anything, but I’m kind of looking to get laid tonight anyway…so I don’t mind if you want him to come. It will make me feel less guilty if I ditch you.”

“Shona, you are a slut and I love you.”

“No way, Nigh,” she protests. “Sluts go to the club looking for meaningless sex weekly. I go to the club looking for meaningless sex after a devastating break-up with my boyfriend of, if you’ll recall, a year and three-quarters.”

His name was Jesse. He was…alright? Kinda bland, but Shona made it clear she didn’t put a lot of stock in what I considered “alright” relationship-wise.

“Riiiight. Because you never had meaningless sex while you and Jesse were together, or anything…”

“Not, like, on the regular! Now, silver, gold, or black with little stars?” She’s holding up hoop earrings.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Anyone ever mention you are the most useless gay BFF ever?”

“You. Daily.”

Shona grins and kisses—more like smooches—my cheek.

“Oh right! Glad someone’s keeping you in check.

I end up calling Ry. He sounds pleasantly surprised, seeing as I usually leave him in charge of making the plans. Which I guess is a lot to put on him, considering we see each other pretty much every day.

Before I met him, I didn’t get that. I thought girls who spent every day with their boyfriends were needy and didn’t have a life of their own or something. But I get it now. What it comes down to is this: he’s my best friend and my favourite person to hang out with, so, if possible, why wouldn’t we hang out? He says he thinks Ian and Parker are working, but he’ll call the other guys and see if they’re up for it. I’m glad that he and I never really, like, lost our friends—that we didn’t get sucked into the relationship vortex. Looking back, I’m surprised we didn’t. We kind of kept the whole “him and me” thing under wraps for about six months or so, and we were never technically out when we were in high school (that just introduces way more issues than we were interested in dealing with—another one of those things we seemed to decide on without ever talking about), but after a while, Rylan began to slip up on purpose. When we were hanging out with just Ian, Brice, Parker and Dylan (who Rylan takes great delight in referring to collectively as DRIP), it was a bit different. Ry was subtle at first. He would push me over if I beat him at Mortal Kombat, or MarioKart or whatever, or he’d sit closer to me than maybe was necessary when we were all hanging out. It weirdly kind of excited me, like a crush coming to fruition, I guess. It felt like proof. That even if we weren’t talking about it, it wasn’t a secret, either. I felt, or, maybe I pretended to myself that he was, I don’t know, staking a claim or something—and that I most definitely liked.

The guys ignored it. They ignored it when Ry would card a hand through my hair, or over my back, or, you know, cuddle up to me while we all watched a movie. I figure they all had, “Are you guys like gay or something?” lodged in their throats, but none of them were willing to ask first. They just waited for someone else to say something. So, when no one did, and when Rylan and I refused to offer any information, I guess they just kind of grew into it. They’re all so chill about it now, no one would guess that there was ever any awkwardness about it at all. I mean, obviously there was, the first few months, like…uncomfortable shifting and sidelong looks, and Brice has a horrible problem with blushing, but, I don’t know. I probably don’t even appreciate how good I’ve got it.

It’s the same with my family. I never really came out to them either. I just started spending more and more time alone with Rylan and…they just sort of figured it out. I remember the first day my mom referred to Rylan as my boyfriend I was so startled that I think I knocked my cup of limeade all over the kitchen island. I mean, I guess I just had always assumed that I had kept them kind of separate, like, I figured if I didn’t act like a stereotype then they wouldn’t catch on, and I kinda bristled whenever Ry tried to touch me in front of them and stuff. I obviously didn’t give them enough credit—that, and just because you keep things separate in your head doesn’t mean they are actually separate in real life. And my mom is just kind of awesome: instead of trying to sit me down and have a big talk about it, she just stuck it out there to let me know that she was cool with it and I had nothing to worry about. I don’t know if they had a more direct talk with my younger sisters or not, but Matilda never made a thing about it, and Kya’s too young to know whether or not a thing is normal.

So, my family = rad, but Rylan’s family…they’re fucked. You know how there’s families that are dysfunctional, and yet adorable in their dysfunctionality? Like quirky dysfunctional? Rylan’s family is not like that. They are just fucked. His folks split (divorced? maybe? I’m not really clear as to whether or not they were ever married? Not that that matters, but I honestly just don’t know) when he was a kid. His dad’s kind of a loser and his mom’s a total alcoholic. He moved back and forth between them a lot growing up, but mostly ended up with his mom. She did the whole, like, spending his swimming registration fees on booze and stuff, or ending up puking in the bathroom when he tried to have us all sleep over—embarrassing, awkward, private stuff like that. He’s pretty pissed at her for a lot of things, so he moved out as soon as he’d saved some money and he doesn’t see her. Ry says she can deal with her fuck ups herself. I don’t know if I necessarily agree with him on that, but…it’s not my area to touch. If he thinks he needs her out of his life in order for him to live like he wants, then I don’t really think I can get in the way of that.

I’ve only ever met Rylan’s mom a couple of times. She seemed friendly but she might have just been wasted. I was only fourteen or fifteen and I didn’t have a lot of experience around drunk people, and she’s one of those people who drinks so constantly that it’s hard to tell when she’s drunk. Ry says it is easier just to assume she is. He calls her a functioning alcoholic. She has a job, she goes to work, goes home, drinks until she passes out, gets up and does it all over again. Rylan sees his dad, the EI king, once in a while, though. They like to bowl together, but that’s about all his dad does. I doubt Ry’s folks know that he’s gay. (Or bi. Or whatever. Because we’ve never actually had that conversation. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?)

My family adores him. My little sisters attack him every time he walks through the door, even Matilda (who we call Attila (the Hun), which arose a long time ago from TV, I think? I can’t actually remember? and it just stuck) who is sixteen, and would probably be considered too tall to be jumping on people. Whatever though, Ry likes the attention. If we ever break up (if we can break up, seeing as we’re not officially together), I think it will devastate them as much as it will me. Kya, my youngest (and yes, definitely accidental) sister, who’s seven, tells people she’s got two older brothers. This tends to confuse things later, if they see Rylan and me acting more than brotherly towards each other.

* * *

Brice meets us at the club. Sandi, his current girlfriend (read: brunette airhead who won’t last two months) follows him in, dressed about as skankily as one can dress—just the way Brice likes them. I think he’s one of those guys who, when he turns about thirty-four, will suddenly grow up and marry a wholesome pharmacist and have a couple of kids and a big house in the Uplands and have a cabin on the lake, but…well, right now he’s into being, in general, an asshole, and drinking too much and driving too fast and, most of all, having not strictly safe sex with a variety of women. He gropes Sandi’s ass while we wait for the dance floor to fill up.

Rylan buys Shona and I pornstars because they are on special. He has his usual rum and Coke, and Brice downs three Jägerbombs in quick succession. I’m not that interested in getting drunk tonight, but everyone else seems to be. Shona’s eyes are skimming the club for, well, anyone to bang, pretty much. She and I are sitting on tall stools attached to the floor, and Rylan is standing behind me, pressed right up against me. He’s such a sucker for physical contact. Not that I’m exactly complaining. A group of about ten women comes in, wearing pretty much nothing but lingerie—like corsets and fishnets, and I don’t get it for a moment until I notice that one near the back, looking pretty fucking embarrassed, is wearing a veil and a tiara and a big pink, plastic necklace that says “BRIDE.”

The girls approach the bar and, with the exception of the bride-to-be, are being pretty damn raucous. Brice whistles at them, and Sandi looks confused and hurt. I feel bad for her. She probably thinks Brice’s asshole act is, well, an act. It’s not. Not even close. When it comes to girls, Brice is pretty much a douchebag. We all move down to the dance floor. It’s finally started to fill up a bit, and we’re not interested in listening to the girls beg free drinks in honour of the occasion. Brice and Sandi immediately find a quasi-secluded corner in which they grind up against each other and make out. Shona and Rylan and I just dance. Clubbing is such a strange phenomenon: music so loud it hurts, everyone pretty much just looking around for someone to fuck. I don’t need someone to fuck, seeing as I already have someone, so it’s not an activity I particularly enjoy. I get bored of dancing fast. I’m basically just wingmanning for Shona until she finds
herself
someone, and then I intend on indicating to Rylan that we could be elsewhere, like, for instance, in a bed, or against a wall, or over a countertop.

A short but kind of hot dude dances his way up to Shona. She grins at him and doesn’t hesitate to make him feel welcome. I start to calculate the number of songs it will take before I can shout “you good?” into her ear and take off with Rylan in tow, when a couple of girls start moving in on Rylan and me. He’s good-natured and grins and wiggles his hips and does stupid-adorable fake dance moves with the one that seems interested in him. Not knowing what else to do, I kind of half-heartedly dance with her friend. I wonder if we’re both wingmanning tonight.