Page 30 of Man On

"Nah, just the special ones," he says, waggling his eyebrows. His silliness takes the edge off my discomfort, but still.

Who asks someone questions like these?

Noah doesn’t move, waiting for me to answer.

"I have never willingly watched pornography, no."

Thankfully, he doesn't pick up on the subtext, but when he pats the couch cushion next to him, I nearly choke.

"You're kidding, right?"

Please let this be another one of his bullshit jokes to make me uncomfortable. Because that would be preferable to this being a serious conversation.

"Come sit."

“Noah, I am not watching porn with you.”

“Lane. Sit. Down.”

I don't know how I end up next to the couch, and I don't know why I do as he says. I think I might have subconscious authority issues, because the moment he tells me to do something, my body rebels and automatically complies. The problem is that he knows it. It’s a problem that’s been haunting me since the first time he told me to take my dick in my hands.

I scoot as far away from him as I can.

"First rule of internet porn is never download anything, and don't click anything suspicious. But there are sites, like this one, that have a lot of options for anything you could be looking for. There's definitely some scary and questionable shit on here, so be careful what you search."

"Uh, thanks. It’s unnecessary though, I don't think I'll be searching for anything."

"That's fine. But I know you like to research things, and this site is pretty safe. If you were ever, you know, curious about anything."

Heat rises in my cheeks, and my ears burn. "Because I grew up so ignorant or because you think I'm gay?" I ask, indignantly.

"Yes?"

"Noah, I'm not?—"

"I don't need to know. I don't care if you're gay or straight or anywhere in between. I don't care if you're in your room watching pterodactyl porn, as long as you send me the link when you're done." He waggles his eyebrows again. I’m beginning to hate when he does that, because it makes me laugh even when I don't want to. "We all need to let off some steam sometimes, you know? It's stress relief. Probably better than yoga even."

I clear my throat and look down at the floor, saying a silent prayer that this conversation will be over soon. I've already had a very similar conversation with my mother. That was awkward enough. This is somehow worse, because he's seen things my mother hasn't.

"I don't think it can help me, but thanks. I'll, uh, keep it in mind." Before he can mortify me any further, I make a beeline to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, and then I all but run from the bathroom to my bedroom, breathing out a sigh of relief when the door latches without him trying to talk to me again.

Except there's a text on my phone.

Noah: What do you mean by that?

Lane: By what?

Noah: What you said before, that you don’t think it can help you.

Laying in the dark, I don't answer for several moments. Long enough that the little dots that indicate Noah is typing come and go several times. I've decided not to answer and just roll over and go to sleep, but my phone vibrates again. Unable to control myself, I reach for it off the side table and check the message.

Noah: ?

Noah: I'm just trying to be a friend, I promise. I won’t repeat anything you tell me or ever bring it up again.

Noah: You're wound up tight, dude.

Understatement of the century, right there.

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