Tied Together (8 page)

We got out of the car and entered the building. She waved to the doorman, and he returned a wave with a smirk that said, “Way to go! Catching another one.” Nicole pressed the elevator button and took my hand again. I bit my nails on my free hand and started to bounce on my heels. My feet wanted to turn and run the other way. I kept telling myself I wanted this, I needed this—I needed her.
Right?

The elevator opened, and I wasn’t surprised Nicole pressed the number for the top floor.

“I have an amazing view of the city. Especially in the bedroom.”

My mouth turned dry and my hands began to tremble. She noticed and took my hand and placed it right on her breast.

“You’re so quiet. Perhaps you’re the type of man that likes a woman to take control.”

I sucked in a breath, but out of surprise not lust. Nicole must have read it as the latter and stood on her toes to place a kiss on my lips. I took inventory of the kiss. Her lips were small, thin, and tasted manufactured, perhaps due to her lipstick. This kiss was so different than kissing Ryan. His lips were rough, strong, and confident. Her lips were too soft and all wrong. She backed away and looked at me, my hand still resting on her breast.

“Aren’t you the shy one,” she said—but not as a question. “That’s okay, I like shy men. Easier to show them what feels good. Men who are set in their ways are like old dogs you can’t show new tricks.”

“It’s just been a little while. With all the work I’ve had to do at school, I haven’t been able to date a lot,” I said, hoping the lie sounded convincing.

Before I could think of what tricks she was referring to, the elevator stopped at her floor. Nicole led us to the apartment while she rummaged in her purse for keys. She opened the door, pulled me in, and before I could even look at her apartment, she pushed me against the wall. She was everywhere: kissing, licking, and caressing me while I stood frozen in fear. She went for my belt buckle and had my pants unzipped in a matter of seconds. She dug into my boxer briefs and then paused. I looked down at my flaccid dick.

Christ.

“Is something wrong?” Nicole looked up at me like a puppy being left behind at the pound.

“Uh, no. I just…”

Say it. Say you don’t want her. You don’t want to be here.

The words weren’t out of my mouth before she was down on her knees with my dick in her mouth. She sucked with zeal, moaning like a seasoned porn star.

She popped me out of her mouth, still stroking me with her hand, and looked up at me with doe eyes.

“Mmm, baby, you taste so good.” Words I’m sure she’d said to many men before me.

I closed my eyes and silently prayed for something to happen.

I want this. I want this.

Only one image appeared in my head. Ryan: Ryan kissing me, holding me, and stroking me until I broke free. Ryan never judged me or lied to me. He never pretended to be anything he wasn’t and told the world to fuck off if they didn’t like it. He would help me and guide me to be the person who hid so deep inside me. I loved him, and I needed to be with him.

Tears ran down my face. My heart wanted to burst into a thousand different pieces, but there was only one person able to piece them back together. And it wasn’t the person down on her knees in front of me.

“Brandon, what’s wrong?” Nicole frowned at me in confusion.

“Nicole, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” She looked at my limp dick in her hand. I felt like such an asshole as I removed her hand and put myself back together in my pants.

“Is it something I said? I mean, we can watch some porn or something to get you going?”

I had to hand it to her for not relenting. “No, it’s not that.” I took a deep breath, knowing the next words were going to hurt. “I’m in love with someone else.”

She dropped back on her knees. “Oh, I see.” I offered my hand to help her off the floor. She took it and stood. She smoothed out her dress. “Well, she’s one very lucky girl.”

“Man,” I said. “He’s a very lucky man. And I hope you’re right and I can live up to the man he deserves me to be.”

That left her speechless. But instead of taking the time to explain myself further, I opened the door and walked out. As the saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens. I hoped that the other door opening was a life with Ryan.

I paced around the apartment like a lion in heat looking for another manly lion to fuck senseless. I clutched my phone in my hand so hard I thought the phone might break open. I sent Brandon a text this morning asking how his date went last night. I had several thoughts on what he would say.

“She was so hot. I got her in the car, and we didn’t make it to the restaurant before I fucked her in the parking lot.”
Or
“Did you see the size of her titties?”
And
“We totally need to go back to the bar so I can pick up more chicks. Maybe we’ll make that a nightly thing.”

Then I thought he’d say that the date went great, and he planned on asking her out again. “
We made out for a while and I hit third base. She’s totally shaved down there and I can’t wait to taste her essence. I plan on taking her to the Italian restaurant you and I really like and then maybe walk about Millennium Park. Hey, wasn’t that something you and I were supposed to do? Hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather do it with Nicole“.

My final thoughts were:
“It was amazing. Nicole is the girl of my dreams. We’re going to Vegas to elope and then I’m going to fuck her until she can no longer walk. But that’s okay because I will glide her around in a wheelchair for eternity because she is my heart and soul. Oh, and then we are going to have ten kids and call them all Ryan to honor you.”

Bile rose in my throat when I thought about Brandon with Nicole. I didn’t have the right to have any of those feelings. He didn’t belong to me, so why did I have to hold on to that one memory from my high school graduation and then the gym? Maybe because it was a spark of hope that the person I cared the most about felt the same thing I did. He said that he was just curious, and a lot of people are curious about their sexuality. I could have sworn there was something more there. The connection was so real, so alive. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I almost let it slip because my hands were trembling from nerves. I looked at the screen and read the message.

Date didn’t work out. Nice girl, but not the right fit.

I let out a yelp and did a fist pump in the air. Sam came out of his room looking sleepy and disheveled. His hot pink silk pajamas were wrinkled, and his hair stuck up in every direction.

“What on earth are you causing such a stir about out here? Did Ricky Martin finally realize that his life is worth nothing without me?”

I lifted my eyebrow and shook my head. “Still expecting him to show up, I see. You know he has kids, right? Twins.”

“Sugar, I can play stepdaddy. We’d just send those kids off to boarding school so my man and I can bask in the Miami sun and have monkey butt sex all day long,” he said before blowing on his perfectly manicured nails.

I rolled my eyes. “So glad you’re keeping that dream alive.”

“Pfft. So says the man who’s pining over his straight best friend.” Sam looked down at my phone clutched in my hand.

“I am not pining after my best friend. I’m just hoping the date didn’t go well because I didn’t think that girl was right for him.”

“Mmm-hmm. And she wasn’t right because she didn’t have a penis and her name didn’t start with an R?”

I fused my lips together and crossed my arms over my chest. There was no point in arguing with Sam. He was able to read me from forty miles away. He said it was a special gift. I personally thought it was his way lure men in. With that line and Sam dressed in drag, he could pull men in even if their dicks were as limp as a ten-day-old banana. Gross.

“Since I’m assuming your lover boy is free tonight, why don’t you both come down to the club and watch me perform. I’ve got a whole new Madonna act that I came up with.”

“Now there’s an original idea—drag and Madonna,” I said, knowing that would raise Sam’s hackles. Sam lived and breathed all things Madonna. According to him, Madonna was really Jesus Christ in female form. He was convinced of this because he said who else would strap themselves to a cross and sounded like angels weeping with joy when they sang. The answer was easy; she wanted to make millions of dollars off dumbasses like him.

Sam sidled up to me until we were nose to nose. He spoke softly, but sternly. “Do not say such horrendous things about the living Lord. One day she will destroy all the things you hold dear.” He slowly backed away and turned around with dramatic flair, stalking back to his bedroom and slamming the door.”

I let out a small snort. Sam would stay upset for all of three seconds.

Looking back down at my phone, I thought about how to respond to Brandon’s text. I didn’t want to sound overly enthusiastic, so I went for simple.

She wasn’t right for you. Glad it didn’t pan out.

Perhaps I needed to work on my tact. However, I followed up with an opportunity for some bro time. Bros before hos and all that crap.
Shit, gotta remember tact.

Sam invited us to go to Pearl tonight to catch his show. It will be good for you to get out. It’s a huge club with a dance floor and bar. We can get loaded, dance, and you can forget being with girls.

I was starting to think that someone needed to check my texts before I sent them. I started to bite my nails as I waited for Brandon to text back. My phone buzzed.

Sounds fun. What time? You’re going to be designated driver tonight. I’m going to drink myself numb.

Shit. I thought about a drunk, dancing Brandon, and felt myself harden.
What am I getting myself into?

I picked Brandon up at ten o’clock, which, in clubbing terms, was like going for the early bird special. Things didn’t start to pick up until later, but I’d promised Sam we’d come to the dressing room and hang out while he got ready. Brandon had never seen a drag queen get ready, and it was certainly a sight to behold. There were times I watched Sam become Jasmine and seriously questioned my sexuality because she looked fucking gorgeous as a woman. I explained to Brandon it was important to get the pronoun usage correct when you were around queens. When dolled up in drag, you referred to a queen as
she
. For example,
she
looked like a fucking whore wearing thigh-high boots and a leopard print leotard. Actually, that’s what Jasmine said about her fellow queen Imgonna Eatchu when she performed.

We passed through security and entered the club, which was surprisingly busy this early in the evening. The club was about as kitschy as it got. There were shiny red leather couches, Christmas lights strung in all directions, chandlers and disco balls dangled from the ceiling, and mirrored walls made the club seem double its size. There was a small stage where the girls performed and a rather large dance floor in the middle. Everyone gathered on the floor when the queens performed and then danced to the DJ when they were finished. Pearl drew in a variety of people: gays, lesbians, straights, bisexuals, transsexuals, bears, twinks, and I think I even spotted some furries. I couldn’t stomach what a costume full of jizz smelled like.

I led Brandon up the stairs to the dressing room. I knocked on the door because one time I let myself in and Sam was having sex with some dude wearing only a strap-on on his chest. Honestly, I was a little jealous. Out of respect to her holy majesty, I now knocked.

“You may enter,” Sam called. I opened the door, and Sam was putting on makeup, but still hadn’t slipped on her wig or dress. The dressing room had a mirror like the ones on Hollywood sets with bright lights to maximize your features. Costumes of every shape and color hung on racks against the wall and a small couch, which was currently covered in Sam’s Madonna costumes, sat behind Sam’s chair.

“Nice of you two to grace us with your presence.” He smiled and held out this hand. I walked over to him, bowed down, and kissed the back of his hand. I looked at Brandon and gave a little nod in Sam’s direction. Brandon caught on and copied me, giving Sam a kiss on the hand.

“Have you ever seen a queen prepare herself, Brandon?” Sam put the final touches of lipstick on.

“Can’t stay that has been one of my action items,” he replied, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black pants.

“It’s very technical,” Sam said and stood, dropping her robe to the floor. She stood as naked as the day the doctor spanked him on the ass for the first time. I was used to Sam
au naturel
, as it was his usual state at home. Brandon’s eyes looked like they were about to fly into outer space. The show didn’t end there. Sam spread his legs, took his junk, and started to tuck.

“Sam! No one wants to see you play peek-a-boo with your dick,” My hand flew to cover my eyes.

“Ryan, my darling, this is a real world problem of being a queen. One must tuck her jewels away for safekeeping. You don’t see the Queen of England leaving her crown jewels out for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to steal. Plus, Tom, Dick, and Harry already got to wear these precious jewels the other night.” She giggled as she continued the tucking process. I looked over at Brandon, who was inspecting the cobwebs on the ceiling. He was also shifting on his feet, and I sensed he was nervous about something. It was time to get him some liquor.

“Sam, I know you wanted us to chill with you, but we’re going to head to the bar for a drink. Brandon just had a crap date, and I promised him booze to ease the pain.” I linked my arm through Brandon’s and pulled him toward the door.

“I would need a drink if I had come that close to having a vagina in my face, too. Hell, I would need a whole bottle and a six pack.”

“You would need a lobotomy because it would scar you for life,” I yelled behind me as we walked out.

Brandon and I made our way through the crowd until we reached the bar. Dave, the bartender, was working. Sam had told me that Dave had a crush on me, but I didn’t generally go for the skinny type of guy. I went for guys like… Brandon. I mentally damned myself for the thought and promised God I would flog my back like the guy did in
The Da Vinci Code.
Then I apologized to God because I had no intention whatsoever of flogging myself.

“Ryan, nice to see you.” Dave’s eyes smoldered. Then he noticed Brandon and he soured.

“Hey, Dave. I’ll take a Bud Light and my friend here will take a Fireball.”

Dave quirked an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut and went to make our order.

“What’s Fireball?” Brandon asked.

“Think of it as your one-way ticket to Numbville.” Dave brought us the drinks, and I passed the small glass to Brandon. I picked up my beer and held it up for a toast. “To a night of friendship,” I said, clinking Brandon’s glass. What I really wanted to say was,
“Here is a liquid potion that will automatically turn you gay so I can get well acquainted with your butthole.”
I’d keep that one for the day he got married. Brandon downed the liquid and his hand flew to cover his mouth when he swallowed. I patted him on the back while I laughed.

“What the fuck did you give me?” He coughed, his face growing red.

“I’m just following your directions, remember? Get you drunk.”

“I said get me drunk, not try to kill me.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help swooning more and more by his sweet features. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and he drew my attention toward his lips when he bit them. I could’ve sworn he noticed me checking him out and dragged his teeth over his lip slower. A voice over the speaker alerted the club that the show was about to start. I ordered Brandon one more drink, and then we took our places on the dance floor.