Prom Night Ch. 03

What choice did he have left? James knew he cared about Caroline, and at the moment he sat looking out at the expanse of The Rose Hotel, he hated himself for hurting her the way he knew it would if she found out. His blue eyes found the gold wedding band wrapped around his finger, recalling the way she had repeatedly asked him to wear it when he got her engagement ring. James did not feel comfortable with it, despite her relentlessness on the matter. To him, the band was a symbol of a sacred, loving union, meant to materialize at the moment that the vows were vocalized.

"James, honey, I don't know what the big deal is. Just wear it; times change. Most men who are engaged wear them nowadays." Her words rang in his ears until he found himself cursing his own traditionalism. This aspect of their relationship had always made him feel pressured. The more she asked, the less he felt like it was right to wear it. He hated that feeling, knowing that it would hurt her if she were ever to find out. It did not, however, make the feeling any less true; it made him feel like a stranger, as if he was lying about his own happiness. It kept him from keeping it on when out of her presence, and now, it felt heavier than usual. It was not the coldness of the gold and its weight, he knew, it was the fact that such an act had ultimately hurt innocent people. It was the first time in his life that James ever cheated, and its effect rattled him to the bone.

For a moment, he let the silence wash over him, noting these thoughts. Then he switched on the engine, adjusting the air conditioning controls until the Jeep Sahara was cooling rapidly. He wanted a cigarette. Despite having refrained from smoking since his sophomore year of college, the need for stress relief was unending. He wanted the nicotine to tell him everything would be alright, that it would be for the best in the end.

Reaching over, James pulled a six-year-old pack of Marlboro 100's from the glove box and pushed one between his teeth. He was just about to light it before his blue eyes found himself in the rear-view mirror. His face showed remorse for his choices in deep lines, like railroad tracks, and watched the cigarette bob between his lips.

James didn't light it; he thought about it, but then a memory came into his mind. Dominic, during one of their after-class discussions before the bell, surprised him. Another student named Vicky was trying to convince James to read the historical novel she was nearly finished with. An avid student and, James mused, verified teacher's pet, she was lecturing him on how "accurate" the writing was for 19^th century women finding it acceptable to smoke. James did not have the heart to correct such an enthusiastic student, but Dominic broke in to correct her as soon as she paused.

"Actually, it was more prevalent for women to begin smoking in the 1920's. The companies actually took to developing 'ladies' cigarettes. They contained less tobacco and were considered more becoming... But ever since the 1990's, companies now put more nicotine in them than ever to make it harder to quit. Dreadful habit, really..." A thoughtful look crossed James's face in the mirror as Dominic's words came to him, recalling how the student's face registered a look of nervousness at having corrected a know-it-all. Carefully, as if still lost in the memory, James removed the cigarette from his mouth and replaced it back in the pack. He replaced it back in the glove box and put the Jeep in gear.

The memory was months ago, and yet, somehow, he felt as if Dominic would not approve if he knew James indulged in a smoke. But what did it matter? He asked himself this as he slowly drove out of the parking lot and proceeded to drive home; in exactly three and a half weeks, James Monaco would be a married man, if his life did not veer off road to the point he would lose Caroline. And there would be nothing that could be done after that. Dom would be free to love and cherish whomever he wanted, and he wouldn't have James to screw up his life.

It would be okay in the end; Dom could be at peace, regardless of what became of James.

***

The rest of the drive home was short, and I was able to make it in record time with the speed of the Plymouth. In a few short minutes, I was turning onto Highland Circle, the street my house was on. With ease, the compact relic from the 1980's charged up the coal-black pavement that cut between two large slate rock outcroppings and a tight cluster of enormous pine trees. While I had still considered it the city version of the countryside, I had to admit that my parents had good taste in choosing it as a development. Our house was one of the first ones built in it during the early 1990's, allowing me to see a gradual change in the neighborhood as more houses were built. Thankfully due to the local farm preservation, however, our development did not become a monstrosity, keeping a nice cluster of woodlands between each home to preserve privacy.

The road snaked its way back until I found the stone and sided two story colonial my family and I lived in. Set back from the road up a curved driveway, I could just make out the outline of the deep porch as I pulled up to the driveway. The car gently pulled off the road, maneuvering up the blacktop until I was faced with the two attached garage doors adjacent to my own make-shift garage fashioned out of my father's utility shed. I pulled around until I had the rear of the Horizon aligned with the pressure treated doors and climbed out. At first, I was only going to undo the bolt and open them up, but then a thought occurred to me. I made my way to the electric garage doors and peered through the glass.

Both spaces were empty.

Relieved, as I did not wish to deal with anyone else right now, I quickly undid the bolt securing the doors and swung them open. Carefully, I slowly backed the car into the narrow shed, mindful of the tennis ball my father and I strung from the ceiling. It served as a warning of when to stop so I would not mistakenly back into the collection of toolboxes, workbenches, and lawn equipment in the very back of the building. If only such a device could have been used last night to prevent myself from going too far with James, I mused. Satisfied that the ball tapped the back window, I switched off the engine and re-bolted the doors.

Peace of mind swept through me in the silence that carried as I strode through the front door and into the living room. I found my pain lessening from the morning, the way a burn still tingles after the initial accident but is not as intense as when it first occurs. But I found it difficult to believe that this was the first time James had strayed in a relationship. That alone was enough to tear through my decision making skills and scold all of the signs that I had assumed meant he was trustworthy.

I usually prided myself in my ability to read people, which just made it all the more sickening that I was wrong about him. Then again, I remembered, Kara had the ability to give the innocent eyes when she wanted something too. So, who is really innocent in a world of hazards? It confused me.

Confused, you are, but it's not about him, is it? The train of thought in my mind rounded a sharp turn and skipped tracks, jolting onto a tangent. I realized as it did that I did not know how much of it was a man or the fact that I was embarrassed at my own actions with a man who ultimately had been a cheater. Would it have been different if it was sex with one of the single guys I knew from school? Would I have regret then? Having always assured myself of my sexuality, I thought the idea absurd at first, but it still intrigued me.

Alone with the fact that hours earlier, I was begging a man ten years older than myself to fuck me, I tried to think back to some of the boys I usually showered with at school. Never before had I considered myself uncomfortable with nudity, but the idea of picturing them as they were in the locker room- in various stages of undress- was breeching the walls of my comfort zone.

I thought of Tyler Preid, whose ass normally got spanked with a towel during our team's showering sessions after practice. He was a scrawny junior who was held back a year, making him one of the only eighteen-year-olds in his class. Despite his five foot five size, I had overhead a few girls chat about the tight buttocks and smooth chest that they saw during meets since he was also on the swim team. I had never given him a second glance, especially naked, but now I tried to force my mind to experiment with the idea that at least a growing part of my regret was due to the fact that it was sex with a man. I laid down on the sofa and tried to think about what it would have been like if it were Tyler in bed with me.

Try as I did, I couldn't picture it; the picture was distorted by the fact that I had never taken a long, intent gaze at him. Past the face, I managed to imagine the tiny nipples but no lower. Not the definition of the stomach or anything beneath the standard speedos that the swim team wore. Sighing, I took out my phone and checked the time, trying to decide how to proceed.

11:03 AM.

Shit... I decided that it was a futile effort and began making my way to my bedroom. As I climbed the carpeted steps in the foyer to the second floor, I shifted my phone from one hand to the other, and, as if by turning on a light in a darkened room, I found clarity. I paused and gazed down at the android in my hand. After entering the pin for the lock screen, I opened Facebook. Tyler and I were friends on Facebook, and he frequently posted various things on it. I started up the stairs again, my eyes focusing on the screen loading in front of me as I typed Tyler's name into the search bar. At the first door on the left, I entered my room, paying no attention to the clutter on my desk and dresser.

Instead, I stripped off my clothes until I was just in my tight Jockey shorts and plopped myself down onto the ruffled sheets I did not bother making up the last time I got up. I opened the photo section of his page, watching each of his pictures come into focus. My eyes scanned the various stupid photos of him and some of his friends until they found what they were looking for. Tyler Preid had shirtless pictures of himself. Although they were taken at odd angles from one of his friend's pool parties, I examined the chest. It barely had muscle definition, but the prominence of his dime-sized nipples and the flatness of his lower abdomen made up for it. I tried to imagine that grin he wore in the photograph and the details of that chest on top of me, feeling it inside of me.

Nothing.

I tried staring at it more, picturing him removing the swim trunks, but it was to no avail. Who else "hot" by female standards? I switched pages until I was on my own, going through my friends list. My eyes stopped when I saw a familiar name- Frank Donaldson. Hurriedly, I opened his page and then his photo section, scanning for more shirtless pictures. I found none, but there were pictures from a prom after-party he attended last night. The photo showed him playing basketball with some of the other members of our team, Frank in the middle of a half-court shot at the time it was taken. Dressed in just a black tank top and a pair of maroon athletic shorts, the shot showed off the power of his arms.

Just above the waistline of his athletic shorts, the brand Calvin Klein could be clearly read on the waistband of his underwear, a sliver of electric blue under the band before the waistline of the shorts signifying the color of them. The waistband clung to his firm abs, sheltering a trail of hair from further up under his tank top. I tried to picture what I vaguely remembered the rest of his chest looked like, but it was not needed. My cock was already tenting the inside of my shorts, flexing and desperately in need of release.

Trying to keep the picture clear in my mind, I pulled them down until they hugged my knees. At first, I was not certain how far I should go, but then the need for this moment won the battle over my comfort with the experiment and I found myself with my hand wrapped around my throbbing cock. I recalled how the sweat would glisten off of Frank as he'd strut into the shower, exuding sheer confidence. In my mind, I was there now with him, tracing my index finger from his collarbone down between his pectorals, gently feeling the sweat slicked skin beneath my fingertip.

I closed my eyes, savoring the moment and beginning to give into pleasure. My hand found a slow, sensual rhythm and teased my dick with the prospect of sexual climax. My body was not that of a straight boy in that moment, giving in to a new experience I would have normally been afraid of pursuing.

In the fantasy, my finger went lower, Frank stepping towards me until I was forced with no alternative but to take a few steps back. It imagined what the steamy hiss of the showerhead would sound like as Frank's roughened hand reached out to turn it on. I could almost feel the warmth of the water raining down on our naked bodies, his deep brown eyes staring intently into mine. My finger trailed downward still and stopped at the cleft of his belly button where the trail of blonde hair was matted under the steam of the shower.

I used my thumb to massage my shaft and stroke it, combined with my fingertips of the next three fingers to massage my balls. In a smooth, rocking motion, I could feel the pleasure mounting, but I didn't want it to ever end. Frank was trapping me between his muscular arms under the spray, his short blonde hair now like a mop on his scalp as the water washed down on it.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, Dominic, you won't even remember your own name." The mental image was seeming to become all too realistic in my mind, but there was a part of me that didn't want it to stop. It was a piece of myself that knew if I halted the experiment now that I would never have the courage to explore it again. I couldn't have that; since the night with James, I knew deep down that I needed answers more than anything.

Yet, somehow, I knew that I wanted it. My right hand dropped the phone at my side and took responsibility for stroking my cock as my other hand went from massaging my balls downward. Its fingertips caressed the insides of my thighs, going higher until they made me feel as though they might touch the sensitive skin behind my balls where they met.

But they did not; I was too nervous.

I was nervous in the embrace of the straight boy fantasy, but I could not deny the pleasure that came as Frank attacked the side of his neck with his lips. The tongue tingled as it danced up to retreat behind my earlobe, then skated back down again. The sensation was enough to deepen my breath in real life, making me briefly shudder with excitement. I was in uncharted territory, exploring a side of myself that desperately needed what I was too afraid to do myself.

My left hand continued to explore like a spider of pleasure, searching for a place to make love to. It found the patch of sensitive skin, my index finger massaging it gently as my stroking picked up a little more pace. Before I knew it, my right thumb was rubbing pre-cum around the tip of my dick, making me go insane.

Frank's assault on me grew even fiercer as he pressed his chest against me. I could feel the tufts of hair kiss my chest hairs, then my nipples as he grinded his hardened dick into me. I was with my back flat against the cold shower wall of tile, powerless to my fantasy's sexuality. I could feel the large seven inch long member stroking my thigh with his movements. My knees grew weak in the explosion of sensitivity, evoking an almost pant-like breathe from me.

My left hand's fingers traveled on, the index finger tracing down the burrow between my buttocks until it found the forbidden zone I never touched myself. Fear enveloped me in knowing what it would mean at the end of the experiment, but waves of excitement came with it, pleading for me to continue on. My knees rose a little from the tangle of bedsheets as the tip of my finger neared the pucker, as if it were a trespasser uncertain whether it should proceed on private property.

In the shower, the roughness of the kisses trailed down until the mouth reached my right nipple. But something was different about it now, softer. The tongue was not as demanding but more careful. When the stomach brushed against me the trail of hair seemed to be wider than I remembered. I tried not to care, forcing myself to focus on the pleasure.

My finger circled the hole, tracing the lines of its pucker. This would be the moment that would decide, once and for all, if there was more than a general acceptance of a male form. Taking another deep breath, I let my index finger tickle it, teasing myself about what I was about to do.

Frank's chest seemed to lose some definition in my mind. Instead of the hard six pack, it was firm but not overly developed. Covering it, I could feel a drenched mat of hair brushing against me, each tingle from it a gentle kiss. The tongue was still as tender with my nipples as it did when it softened, and around it, I began to feel the scratchiness of stubble.

It was no longer Frank.

By that point, I was too far gone to care, rubbing the outside of my asshole with a little more pressure each time. My finger was burrowing with care, making me sigh in the relief of knowing it would soon be securely inside of me. Meanwhile, my cock was flexing, my grip on it finding that it was harder than I ever remembered it being when I masturbated before. The dribble of pre-cum ran freely down the shaft, oozing over the tops of my fingers as it gripped the warm flesh tighter.

I could feel my stranger's mouth working its way back up my neck. Although I knew who it was before he broke away, my mind was still shocked as it pictured the piercing blue eyes of James Monaco.

"Whoa, sorry there!" I suddenly found myself broken away from it all at opening my eyes to the awkward face of my father in the doorway of my room. It was clear from the bags under his eyes and the wrinkled pajamas he wore that he was just heading downstairs to start the day. Obvious discomfort showed through the lines of his face as his light green eyes tried to focus on something- anything other than his nearly naked son.

As soon as I noticed him, my hands instinctively pulled some of my covers over myself. My face was pale with embarrassment at the balding man of fifty two seeing me pleasuring myself. What I knew in my heart I had been about to do before he found me only heightened the feeling as it swept through me. "S-s-sorry," I stammered, unsure of what else I had to say for myself. Panic made my heart pound inside my chest.

"No, it's cool- perfectly natural..." my Dad trailed off, his 'I wish I could just end this damn conversation' expression on his face as he seemed to try to come up with what to say, "Sorry, I'll give you some privacy."

Without a word, his head of graying hair turned as fast as I thought it possibly could, one of his hands desperately closing the wooden door. It shut with unintended finality, leaving me to hope that he did not get a good look at exactly what I was doing- or about to do, at least. The last thing I needed was my father thinking that I was a homosexual.

But as I thought about it, the word echoed in my ears: homosexual. Homo for same, sexual for mating practices; it broke up into two. Then it was replaced by another word: bisexual. Likewise, it split up as well until the pieces no longer seemed realistic. Could I truly be attracted to other men?

Gazing under the covers, I knew two things for certain. The first was that I was attracted to other guys, or at least some other guys. The second was that I was, without question- regardless of its extent- attracted to something about James Monaco.