Page 70 of Forever Not Yours

“You know what I mean.”

He smiled knowingly into his plate.

“I’m not ashamed, and I have zero qualms about what I do. It’s what turns me on, and what I like.”

“I know that, but come on. That’s not what I’m asking.”

He looked a bit dumbfounded by my question. Or maybe it was because I was suddenly using all these words. I couldn’t explain that. It was just easy with him, though I still couldn’t control my stupid body or make sense of why I reacted to him the way I did. Why I’d reacted to other men in the past. How it all went together with who I was on the inside. I didn’t understand that at all.

“Bastien, I’ve always known I was gay, even long before uni. It’s always been a part of me, as natural as getting up in the morning. Breathing. Going to sleep at night. It was always boys. Men. Then I had a type.”

“Me.” I grinned.

“Absolutely. Blondes. Smaller build. Perfect arses.”

We both smiled. This? This was lovely. Just him and me. Two glasses of white wine and now empty plates between us.

“You know what it’s like in your teens. You watch stuff, and hear others talk. The web is full of confusing advice, and porn? God, I watched some dreadful stuff. It didn’t do much for me, and I spent years thinking I was, like, the worst gay in the world. Like I wasn’t into any of the stuff I was supposed to be into.”

“I know the feeling,” I admitted.

“I ended up in this club one night, with this guy I was hooking up with. And there was this couple fucking in a corner, and the top was just…you know? Not my type at all. Big and burly with leather trousers, and he was fucking this other guy, who was just taking it. And he was loving it. Every bloody thrust, the way the guy was just pounding him. And I didn’t understand what it was, but something clicked in me. That it didn’t have to be a certain way. That there were other ways of…I don’t know. Having sex.”

I hummed in agreement. He was right.

“Why did we never sit and talk like this at uni? We were forever watching films and gaming and drinking, and… If we’d just sat down and shared stuff…”

“Too young. Immature. I wouldn’t have been ready. I figured all this stuff out way later.”

“Me too.” So many secrets, so many things I never managed to vocalise, were now suddenly so easy to say. Even out loud.

“Anyway, I ended up cornering the guy in the club and rambling out some drunk incoherent crap about having failed as a gay man and not understanding shit and how the hell did you get someone to let you do that to them? I mean, he could’ve just laughed in my face. But he didn’t. He gave me his number and invited me round the next weekend and let me fuck his boyfriend while he smoked and watched.”

“Jake!” I shrieked in all kinds of second-hand embarrassment. “You didn’t!”

“I did. And I did it again. He taught me how to spank, how to fuck, how to hogtie someone, how to use a sex swing…”

“Fisting?” I rolled my eyes.

“Nah, that was Carl, years later. Little twinkly type but was thirty-five and worked in accounting. Loved anything up his arse. Also bossy as anything and made me work for it. It was good, though. I mastered that skill in a few sessions and then he moved on.”

“You never saw him again?”

“Nah. Too much hard work. Not for me.”

“Says the guy who…” I had to stop myself. I wasn’t ready to say that bit out loud.

“The guy who loves you doesn’t ever think you’re hard work. Not even when you’re being especially bratty and horrible and drink too much and dance on bars and get women to hobby-tattoo their numbers onto your arms.”

“Wasn’t like that.” I pouted.

“It was. But I’ve forgiven you for that. Now, this weekend. We’re not going to go clubbing, are we?”

“My lips are sealed.” I laughed.

“You can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

He removed our plates and put them on the side, while I did my bit and wiped down the kitchen island and put the stools away. We never usually sat here toeat, but it had been a nice change from the sofa. Like we were on some kind of date. Almost.

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