Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
“Yes, yes they do.”
“Hmm. Okay, well…my parents found out I was gay when I got caught with a dildo up my ass. It was the summer after high school, and I was experimenting. I’d been jacking off for years, but I was just getting into ass play. It was embarrassing as hell, but then…” Shit. Why had I started this story?
“But then what?” When I didn’t respond right away, Mickey added, “I didn’t mean to push. You don’t have to tell me.”
No, I didn’t, but I found I wanted to. I wanted Mickey to know everything about me, just like I longed to know everything about him. “It was…devastating. Heartbreaking. All the things I knew it would be when they found out. I come from a very old-school family, incredibly religious. They shamed me. Demanded I deny who I was or have nothing to do with them, so I left. It was a hard time for me. I’d already been…let down…hurt…by someone else. I was at my lowest. I felt really bad about myself, but that’s when I decided I wouldn’t allow anyone to make me feel that way again. That I had nothing to be ashamed of. What’s wrong with being gay? With pleasure? With pleasuring myself or with someone else doing it? So I left home for college, worked my ass off to pay for everything myself—outside of grants, loans, and such—and I’ve never let anyone make me feel unworthy since. I definitely haven’t allowed anyone to make me feel bad about my sexuality or that I enjoy sex.”
Mickey was watching me as I spoke, something in his eyes I couldn’t read. The stare was intense, one I felt down to the marrow of my bones. Not in a bad way. It made me feel…hell, like I could fly, if I were being honest. Like he respected me and believed in me, which was odd.
“Sorry,” I added. “That was a lot and a bit off topic from what you actually asked.”
“No. Don’t be sorry. I envy you. How passionate you are about things and that you don’t tone it down. I wish I had it in me to be so vocal about…stuff like that.”
“You can. It’s in you, Freckles. I see it. I think that’s part of the reason you intrigue me so much. You’re locked up tight, but there’s fire in your eyes. It burns so damn bright I feel the heat of it every time I’m close to you. I can’t wait for you to set it free, and I want to be there with you when you do.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I might have gone too far, but I wasn’t one for holding back how I felt or if I wanted something.
Reaching over, I hooked my finger beneath his chin and closed his mouth. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”
For the first time, he didn’t blush when he said, “Thank you…for sharing what you did about yourself and for seeing me. No one has ever seen me before, not even myself.”
It was my turn to suck in a breath. He’d just given me a gift, shared himself with me, told me he thought I was right about him and that he was trying.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I told him, and when his eyes darted away, I added, “there’s that pretty blush.”
“I’m glad I’m here too…though it doesn’t feel real.”
“It is.”
“My parents and family…they were the same. We’re okay now, but I grew up similarly, in a religious household. I felt very alone, knowing I was gay and what it would mean to them.”
“Did you have anyone to talk to about it?”
“One person…but I screwed that up and lost him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“I’m glad things are better with your family now, though. I can’t say the same.”
It took a moment, but then Mickey reached over. I watched in awe as the beautiful, intriguing, passionate man tangled his fingers with mine.
We stayed up all night, sitting on the deck, talking and holding hands, only separating when one of us went in for a drink or to use the bathroom.
It was the best night of my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mickey
My life had turned into a dream. No, actually, it had turned into one of my novels, except with a lot less sex. Or, ya know, without any sex so far.
For the past three weeks, Ronan and I had been hanging out at least a few days a week, most of the time at his place or grabbing dinner at one of our favorite restaurants around Cleveland. I hadn’t spent the night again, but I always stayed late, and Ronan always walked me out to my car and hugged me goodbye. When we weren’t together, we texted frequently—random things like a photo I’d sent him of a book that had been returned with what looked like jizz on it or more serious things like Ronan talking to me about ideas for upcoming podcasts. We’d tell each other jokes, and he’d ask my opinion about specials at the coffeehouse, or we’d chat about favorite books or authors or quotes.