Page 3 of The Masks We Wear
My eyes dart down to the gravel floor. “My ex said I was fun, but that I got too moody when we weren’t at a party. I don’t hate him for breaking up with me, because I wasn’t feeling the relationship anyway, but still…”
“The parties have to stop sometimes, even for dancers,” Superhero says.
My head snaps up. “Exactly!”
He nods and looks back out at the city. “You want someone to support all of you. Every part of you. The shining moments and the quiet times, too.”
My breath hitches in my throat. “That’s…exactly right.” Am I hallucinating? Did someone spike my drink? Because Superhero is acting like a sexy confidante, and I’ve never experienced this much romance in my life. And we’re strangers who haven’t even touched. “How did you know that, Superhero?”
“Yer story sounds like my story.” He turns to me, and I have no doubt his eyes are locked on mine. “But you’re not alone, Kitty Cat. And you deserve the real deal.”
I look back down. “Well, I also miss that intimacy, too. I dance a lot, touching my partners, but it’s not the same. I love my friends, but they’re all platonic to me. I want someone who gets me, but also…”
“Wants you,” he says, finishing my sentence. My eyes once again bolt up to see him staring at me. We stand like that, silent for the longest ten seconds of my life. I’m not even breathing as the tension between us builds to a crescendo.
“It’s yer turn to ask me a question now.”
“I suppose it is,” I reply.
“There’s only one question I want you to ask me, Kitty Cat.”
I gulp. “And that is…?”
“Ask me if I want you.”
PART 2: JAMAL
I DON’T KNOWwho moved first. I don’t even know who I am right now. There’s no way I’m Jamal Dawes from Laurel, Mississippi. I can’t be that shy, light-skinned black kid who moved to the big city to finish pre-med credits. That dude would never kiss a masked stranger, let alone another guy.
Yet, here I am, kissing Kitty Cat, like my life depends on it. He’s the air I need in my lungs, and I’m a drowning man. I’ve spent years repressing what I want with guys. Those tenuous kisses and hook-ups in darkened rooms back home were never enough. But now, at my first big city university party, a man is kissing me.
And boy does he know how. Seeing Kitty Cat walk onto this terrace awoke something in me. Gone was the Jamal who stuck to his books—this new Jamal plays the game and takes what he wants.
I don’t know his name. I don’t even know what the bridge of his nose looks like. All I know is him; he speaks like he wants so much more out of life. Like I do. Maybe he’s lying, maybe I’m reading too much into it, or maybe one of the watered down beers I had earlier was stronger than I thought. Still, Kitty Cat feels so real.
And he tastes damn good.
His tongue meets mine as his mouth massages my lips. He cradles my face, pulling at the fabric of my dumb Spider-Man costume, and our masks brush against each other. I pull him closer, gripping the waist of his jeans, and my hands won’t stop moving. The ambient noise of New York City is drowned out by my heart jackhammering in my ears. I hear my soul say, “It’s finally happening!”
But a lot more is happening as Kitty Cat moves closer to me. His denim-swaddled bulge rubs against mine, and it’s evident we’re both sporting wood. His kisses taste so good, and I never want him to stop. I want more, but I don’t want to blow my load so soon.
I got over twenty years of repressed sexuality, Southern style, locked in my chamber, and this guy has me ready to pull the trigger.
My sexy stranger kisses down my neck, and I grab the ledge. “Oh hell, darlin’,” I mutter.
“Oh fuck, your accent is something else,” he rasps. He kisses down to where the costume neck-line is, and I kick myself for not having a tear-away button-down on. I didn’t think I’d actually be getting any action tonight.
I grind closer to his hips, the spandex of my suit giving me delicious friction. My eyes roll back in my mask, and I barely have the lucidity to ask, “What are we doin’ here, Kitty Cat?”
He pulls off, and I immediately miss the contact. “Do you…?” He stares at me, concern pooling in his eyes past his Black Panther mask. “Are you not into it?”
“We just met.” I wipe my mouth, then grin. “And I wanna continue this uh…getting to know you.” We both look around. New York City is huge, and more freaky stuff happens before nine a.m. than two college dudes hooking up in the open.
“Is your dorm here?”
“No,” I reply. It’s the truth, but the idea of Kitty Cat being near my room, where therealme exists, bothers me. “The janitor’s closet by the staircase is pretty secluded though.”
He bites his lip as if to mull it over. To sweeten the pot, I grab his hips and pull him in. “Come on, darlin’. I came to the big city to meet cute boys like you.” I lean into his ear, then whisper, “It’s Halloween, Kitty Cat. One night of fun, that’s it. The masks don’t even have to come off.”
