Page 44 of Romance Languages

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JULIAN

Tonight, I wasn’t meeting up with my friends for a night out as the regular, normal Julian Bradford.

I was transformed. This was a Julian Bradford who was sexually active on the regular. This was a Julian Bradford who had given and received multiple handjobs.

Over the past few days, Seamus and I had gotten lots of practice.

Handjobs at my apartment.

Handjobs at his place.

Handjobs in the car.

Handjobs in the classroom before school.

Handjobs for everyone. Handjobs for Algernon.

To say it was amazing was an understatement. How much joy had I been missing out on? How bleak had my life been without the touch of another man?

I’d thought Seamus was eventually going to do the whole straight guy thing of getting weirded out by the whole arrangement, but it never came to pass. The only thing that came was each other. Multiple times.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it. Sure, on a purely physical level, he was enjoying himself. A hard dick didn’t lie. But he really got into it. The moaning, the mumbling of my name like it was a religious chant, the way his eyes blazed into me.

He got lost in the pleasure. I wasthatgood. Was I a sex God in training?

I knew better than to read too much into it. A guy liked getting jerked off. In other news, the earth was round.

When I met up with my friends at Remix, Sourwood’s biggest gay club, I strutted into the club like it was my personal catwalk. Usually, I’d slink in with my head down, avoiding the inevitable way guys would turn away when they saw me.

But not tonight. Tonight, I strolled through the main floor of the club feeling like a boss, deserved or not. I was getting it on with a hot straight guy, a hot straight guy who was absolute putty in my hand, a hot straight guy who I reduced to muttering in tongues.

Bow down, bitches.

“J, you seem different tonight,” Amos said around our usual table next to the dance floor, a table that gave us a perfect line of sight through the whole club.

I sipped my mai tai and shrugged. “I do?”

“Oh, you totally fucking do.” Everett sipped his vodka Sprite. “Did you get a raise and not tell us?”

“Nope.” I made a hot straight guy get a raise.Ba-dum-bum.Thank you. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.

Amos and Everett stared at me like two detectives on the case.

“Something’s up with you,” Amos said, mixing his drink with his straw. “I like it, and I’m intrigued.”

“I guess it’s Friday, and I’m happy it’s the weekend?” I offered.

“Frankly, you’re never this happy to be at Remix,” he said.

I couldn’t help but take that as a small dig.

“Not that you’ve been miserable or a drag to be around,” Everett said, backpedaling for our friend. “It’s just that you seem…I can’t describe it. Here, let me act it out.”

“You really don’t have to,” I said. Everett was a trained actor and prided himself on his charade skills, but I wasn’t ready to be his next project. Yet I knew better than to try and stop Everett from being his dramatic self.

“This is how you used to be at Remix.” Everett dipped his head, then lifted it to signal the start of the scene. He had a neutral look on his face, a fake smile that hid a poor time. His shoulders slumped as he hunched over the table swirling his drink.

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