I’m Not That Boy, Part 6

Accelerando

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked. 

I must have looked as if I were shattered into a thousand pieces.  I was caught in a lie—the kind of lie where you withhold some of the details rather than sharing the whole truth. 

“Anderson just texted me.  He’s on his way.” 

“This is hilarious,” he said.  “Don’t sweat it.  You were never exclusive or anything.  Why would he be here in the first place if he wasn’t looking for some action himself.”

“But I was—”

“You had a family thing after your date with him and he didn’t know you just didn’t mention you had a date afterward as well.  Don’t worry.  Anderson’s the forgiving type.  He may be shocked at first, but he’ll still be friends with both of us no matter what.”

Although I knew deep down that this was true, it wasn’t all that comforting.  I hadn’t been who I wanted to be and that’s what mattered in this situation. 

I didn’t know what to text back, so I didn’t. 

“I’m at the door, but I need two bucks to get back in,” he texted moments later. 

My anxiety was anything but relieved.   “I’m sorry” was all I could think to respond. 

The next half hour was spent intermittently receiving frantic text messages from Anderson and shrugging off Derek’s advances, until the final word came “Gave up on finding an ATM.  I’m going home.” 

After a simple “Good night,” I let loose. 

I danced and even made out with Derek who reminded me, “You’re here to have fun on your 24th, remember?”

The evening was entrancing.  The rumblings of music against the walls and the dancing lights were somehow welcoming.  Everything that became unquestionably forbidden only because it was gay suddenly took on that air of the exotic.  I could like things that were stereotypically gay or associated with pop culture for the sensation of liking them—fashion, art, hairstyles—and it didn’t really matter. 

In that moment, kissing Derek seemed to fit into that category.  He was definitely the most experienced guy I’d kissed, and as I paid attention to the way his lips moved.  I pondered the rhythm and the pressure of each movement and his arms around me helping me complement his every movement.  In one sense it was very gratifying and in another I wondered if that was going too far. 

As the drag show began and we debated staying or leaving to avoid the crowds and the people, I spotted Drake Hatch, who upon noticing my presence gave a friendly nod and smile.  This coincidence led me to wonder once again if that was the future me—at home in the club and enjoying anonymous, suggestive dancing.  Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing?

After a small taste of the drag show (there were a lot of big queens to handle in one night), we drove back to my car.  The discussion centered a lot around where I was in the senses of coming out, especially in regards to the church. 

“Why do you even go?”

“Sometimes I wonder, but I just feel like I need to make it work.”

“Like you owe it to someone?  You don’t owe anybody anything.  Especially if you are uncomfortable.  I know you’re not 100% comfortable.”

“I make it work.  I just have rules.”

“Like what?  I know you’re dying to try coffee.” 

“I keep to the swimsuit rule.  I don’t touch anywhere a swimsuit would cover a guy and vice versa.”

“Wow.  I remember that one from Primary.  You’re really cute that way.”

“Well thanks.”

“I’ll do my best to respect that but no promises.”  He chuckled.

As we said our goodnights, he joined me on my side of his car for one last kiss… which turned into a very long kiss… which turned into something more physical.  He was on top of my.  His large frame was heavy but in a comforting way.  My hands starting in the small of his back ended up in his thick, dark hair—where they’d wanted to travel all night—as his travelled downwards caressing my face and neck, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt, and then coming to a rest above my waist. 

I could barely breath from the exhilaration.

“Come up for air before you pass out,” he teased.

After a brief pause, we continued where we’d left off and he unbuttoned the top button of my jeans. 

“Oops.”

“No.  Not tonight,” I said not nearly as firmly than I’d anticipated. 

He stopped after a playful grind and we sat smiling at each other.  I took a deep breath, said goodnight, and went on my way. 

End, Part 6.