Page 83 of Unexpected Boyfriends

I need the lube but it’s still in my backpack.

“Wait,” I murmur, getting up and hurrying to get my supplies from the bag. I’m back in no time, but by then something has changed, and when I press my lubed finger against his hole, Justin tenses.

“Are you okay?” I check.

“Yes, keep going.” Something in his voice doesn’t sound right, but he wants me to keep going, and I'm hard as a rock, so I ignore my gut feeling. It's a big mistake.

My finger begins to enter him, but he doesn’t move or say anything. He’s gone completely still, and it’s not anticipation or even discomfort. He doesn’t stop me but I feel very uneasy. Something is wrong. I know it.I can't ignore this.

I gently withdraw my finger.

“Justin, what’s going on?”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then…

“I can’t do it,” he says brokenly, covering his face with his hands. He lets out a muffled sob. “I’m sorry. I really want to. But I just can’t.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, “We don’t have to do anything.”

He pulls his legs up and hugs them to himself, sobbing brokenly into his knees, but when I go to comfort him, he moves away.

“Don’t touch me!”

It’s like a smack across the face and I flinch. Then he’s gone and the bathroom door rattles the frame as it slams shut, and I hear him retching, and then sobbing again.

The sound of Justin throwing up in the bathroom makes me feel ashamed. I slump on the end of the bed, feeling helpless. At some level I’m pretty sure this doesn’t have anything to do with me, or anything I’ve done wrong, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. What I was doing with him, doing to him, has made him throw up, for god’s sake! So yes, I feel shameful. I’ve never felt that way about sex in my life and it’s devastating. And now I understand a little, the terrible crushing weight he carries around with him since those bastards messed with him. He’s being doing a good job of suppressing it, until finally he couldn’t.

I’m depressed and defeated. I’ve let my own lust cloud my judgment and I’ve made a big mistake. I should have realized he wasn’t ready for this after what he’s just endured. And I recognize we need to get him professional help as soon as possible. I hope that it’s not too late for us. That I haven’t become something, someone, that triggers him.

After some time, I become aware of silence in the bathroom. And a little while later I hear Justin’s door click shut.

I’m alone and shut out. I want to go to him and talk to him, because I know he must be hurting and he’s putting a wall up between us, but I have to respect his wishes and he clearly doesn’t want to see me right now. Will that change, I wonder, or have I become someone who reminds him of things that make him feel ashamed?

Not knowing what else to do, I text.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you ok?

Please, please tell me you’re okay.

After the longest time, he replies.

It’s not your fault

Can we talk? I’m worried about you

I can’t right now.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m devastated. I want to go to him and hold him and promise him this will all turn out okay. But I don’t know that, and in any case, he doesn’t want me near him right now. I’m torn between what I think he needs and what he thinks he needs.

And I’m leaving in the morning. Oh god, I don’t want to leave with things like this between us. If I do that, I’m not sure we’ll ever get back on track. The distance between us – the emotional distance – might be too great to bridge.

Frustration and despair chase the thoughts around in my head. I lie in the darkness searching for answers but there are none.We’re caught in a web not of our making but I can’t see any way out.

I look at the old-fashioned bedside clock. An hour has passed. I can’t sleep. I’m so afraid this spells the end for Justin and I. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, but a hot tear trickles out anyway, followed by more. My pillow grows wet as I silently weep. Despair drains me of hope and weighs down my chest. Though the oblivion of sleep eventually claims me, it’s a slumber disturbed by random thoughts and sad dreams, and I toss and turn and wake frequently. And every time I wake, dread and despair choke the air out of me.

Sometime after midnight, waking again from my restless sleep, I hear the sound of muffled sobbing down the hallway. I’m sure it’s Justin and I can only listen to it for so long until I have to do something. I pull on pants and a hoodie and go out into the corridor. Standing outside his closed bedroom door, I can feel his pain in the heartbreaking sobs coming from inside.

He may not want to see me, but I can’t leave him to bear this on his own.

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